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32X

THE

Atithor of

VICTORIA;

a(i

OB.

/? syy

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

yrZ C.J ^r .-^r^/c '^u ci.^ J>/- ^

^y ^'r^'wc- ^:^t.<-A

•i^

. BY MRS. MAY AGNES FLEMING,

AnihoT of "The Dark Secret; or. The Mystery of Fontelle Hall," "An Awful Mystery;
or, Sybil Ca/mpbell, the Queen of the Isle,'* etc., etc.

NK-VSr YORK:

BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,

98 WILLIAM STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870,

By Beadle and Company, in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United

States for the Southern District of New York.

YICTOEIA:

OR,

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

of the UDitod

CHAPTER I.

AT THE THEATRK.

The theatre was crowded. The pit, reeking
and steaming, wiis one swaying sea uf human
faces. The galleries were vivid semi-circles of
eyes, blue, black, brown, and gray ; and the
boxes and the upper tiers were rapidly tilling,
for was not this the bencfik-night of Mademoiselle
Vivia ? and had not all the tlieatre-going world
of London been half mad about Mademoiselle
Vivia ever since her first appearance on the
boards of the Theatre ? Posters and play-
bills announced it her benefit. Madam Rumor
announced it her last appearance on nny stage.
There were wonderful tales going about this
same Vivia, the actress. Her beauty was an
undisputed fact by all ; so was her marvelous
talent in her profession ; and her icy virtue was
a houseliold word. Every one in the house
probably knew what was to be known of her
history — ho^ the manager of the house stum-
bled upon her accidentally in an obscure, third-
rate Parisian play-house ; how, struck by her
beauty and talent, he had taken her away, had
her instructed for two years, and how, at the end
of that time, three months previous to this partic-
ular night, she had made her debut, and taken tlie
good people of London by storm. Gouty old
dukes and apoplectic earls had knelt in dozens
at her feet, with offers of magnificent settle-
ments, superb diamonds, no end of blank
checks, carriages, and horses, and a splendid es-
tablishment, and been spurned for their pains.
Mademoi.'>elIe Vivia had w6n, during her profes-
sional career, something more than admiration
and love — the respect of all, young and old.
And yet that same gossiping lady. Madam Ru-
mor, whispered low, that the actress had man-
aged to lose her heart after all. Madam Rumor
softly insinuated, that a yo'ing nobleman, mar-
velously beautiful to look upon, and marvel-
looBly 'rich to back it, had laid his heart,
hasd. and name most honorably and romantio-

ally at her fair feet ; but people took the whis-
per for what ft wad worth, and were a little du-
bious about believing it implicitly. No one was
certain of anything ; and yet thi) knowing ones
raised their glasses with a peculiar smile to as-
certnin the stage-box occupied by three young
men, and with an inward conviction that the se-
cret lay there. One of the three gentlemen sit-
ting in it— a large, well-made, good-looking
personage of thirty or so — was sweeping the
house himseh, lorgnette in hand, bowing, and
smiling, and criticising.

" And there comes that old ogre, the Marquia
of Devon, rouged to the eyes ; and that stiflF an-
tediluvian on his arm, all pearl powder and
pearls, false ringlets and more rouge, is iiis sis-
ter. There goes that oily little cheat, Sylvester
Sweet, among the swells, as large as life ; and
there's Miss Blanche Chester with her father.
Pretty little thing, isn't she Lisle?"

The person thus addressed— -a very tall, very
thin, very pale, and veiy insipid-looking young
person, most stylislsly got up, regardless of ex-
pense, leaned forward, and stared out of a pair
of very dull and very expressionless gray eyes,
at an exceedingly pretty and graceful girl.

" Aw, yes ! Very pretty indeed !" he lisped,
with a languid drawl ; " and has more money,
they say, than she knows what to do with.
Splendid catch, eh ? But look there. "Who are
those? By Jove 1 what a handsome woman!"

The attention of Lord Lisle — for the owner of
the dull eyes and lantern jaws was that distin-
guished gentleman — had been drawn to a party
who had just entered the box opposite. They
were two ladies, three gentlemen, and a little
child, and Sir Roland Clilfe. The first speaker
leaning over to see, opened his eyes very wide,
with a low whistle of astonishment.

"Such a lovely face! Such a noble bead!
Such a grand air !" raved young Lord Lisle,
whose heart was as inflammable as a luciflBr-
match, and caught fire as easily.

UNMASKED: OR

Sir Roland raised his shoulders and eyebrows
togctlier, and strokud hie flowing benrd.

" Which one 5"' he coolly aeked. Belle blonde,
or jolie brurettet"

Tlie lady in pink satin and diamonds ! Such
splendid eyes ' Such a manner ! Such grace !
She might be a princesei !"

Hearing this, the third occupant of the box
leaned furwiud also, from the Inzy recumbent
position he hud hitherto indulged in, and glanc-
ed across tlie way. lie looked the younger of
the two — slender and boyish — and evidently not
more than nineteen or twenty, wearing the un-
dress uniform of a lieutenant of dragoons, wliich
eet'off liis eminently-handsome face and figure to
the best possible advantage, lie, too, opened
bis large blue Saxon eyes slightly, as they rest-
ed on the objects of Lord Lisle's raptures, and
exchanged a smile with Sir lloland Cliffe.

The latly thus unconsciously apostrophized and
stared at was lying back in her cliair, and fan-
ning herself very much at her ease. It was a
blonde face of the purest type ; the skin, satin-
smooth and white; the blue veins scarcely trace-
able under the milk-white surface ; the oval
cheeks tinged with the faintest shade of rose,
deepening into vividness in the thin lips. The
eyes were large, blue, and bright — very coldly-
|>right though ; the eyebrows, light and indis-
"tincl ; and the hair, which was of a flaxen fair-
Aess, was rolled back from the beautiful face, a
la Marie Stuart. Light hair, fair blue eyes, an '
colorless complexion usually make up rather ai
insipid style of prettiness ; but this lady wa.s
not at all insipid. The eyes, placed close to-
gether, had a look of piercing intentness ; the
thin lips, decidedly compressed, had an air of
resolute determination ; and from the crown of
her flaxen head to the sole of her sandaled foot,
she looked as high and haughty as any lady in
the land. Her dress was pale rose satin, with a
profusion of rare ol(J point, yellow as saffron
with age, and precious as rubies. Diamonds
ran like a river of light round the beautiful
arched neck, and blazed on the large, snow-
white, rounded arms. Her fan was of gold and
ebony, and marabout feathers ; and she man-
aged it with a hand like Helic'sown. One dain-
ty foot, peeping out from under the rosy skirt,
showed tlie nrched instep, tapering ankle, and
rounded flexibility, of the same type ; and, to
her finger's tips, she looked the lady. Her age
it was impossible to guess, for old Time deal»
gallantly with those flaxen-haired, pearly-skin-
ned beauties, and Lord Lisle could not have told,
for his life, wliether to set her down as twenty
or thirty. She certainly did not look demoi-
selle ; and her figure, though tall, and slight,
and delicate, was unmistakably matured ; and
then her style of dress, and the brilliant opera-
cloak of scarlet and White, slipping off her
shoulders, was matured, too. She and Her com-
panion formed as striking a contrast as could be

met with in the honse. For the latter wia n
prononc^e brunette, and a very full-blown bru-
nette at that, with lazy, rolling black eyes ; n
profusion of dead-bla^jk hair, worn in braids and
bandeaux, and entwined with pearls : her large
and showy person was arrayed in "light mourn-
ing ; but her handsome, rounded, high-colored
face was breaking into smiles every other in-
stant, as her lazy eyes strayed from face to face,
as Lhe bent to greet her friends. A lovely little
boy, of Borne .«ix years, richly dressed, with long
golden curls falling over his shonldcis, and
splendid dark eyes straying likii her own around
tlie house, leaned lightly against her knee. They
were mother and son, though they looked" little
like it ; and Mrs. Leicester Cliffe was a buxom
widow of five-and-twenty. The black roving
eyes rested at. last on the opposite box, and the
incessant smile came over the Dutch face, as
she bowed to one of the gentlemen — Sir Roland
Cliffe.

"How grandly she sits! — how beautiful she
is !" broke out Lord Lisle, in a fiesh ecstasy.
" Who in the world is she. Sir Roland ?"

" You had better ask my beloved nephew
here," said Sir Roland, with a careless motion
toward the young; officer ; " and ask him at the
same time, how he would like you for a step*-
father."

Lord Lisle stared from one to the other, av.d
"-Mn at the fair lady, aghast.

V» by — how — you don't mean to say that it
•xdj/ Agnes Shirley I"

■' But I do, though I Is it possible. Lisle,
that yon, a native of Sussex yourself, have
never seen my sister ?"

"I never have!" exclaimed Lord Lisle, with
a look of hopeless amazement ; " and that is
really your mother, Shirley ?"

The Lieutenant of dragoons, who was sitting
in such a position that the curtain screened
him completely from the audience, while it
commanded a full view of the stage, nodded
with a half laugh, and Lord Lisle's astonished
bewilderment was a sight to see.

" But she is so young ; she does not look
over twenty."

" She is eight years oMer than I, and I am
verging on thirty," said Sir Roland, taking out
a penknife and beginning to pare his nails ;
" but those blonufcS never grow old. What do
you think of the black beauty beside her?"

" She is fat !" said Lord Lisle, with gravity.

"My dear fellow, don't apply that terra to a
lady; say plump, or inclined to embonpoint!
She is rather of the Dutch make, I confess,
but we can pardon that in a widow, and you
must own she's a splendid specimen of the Low
Country, Flemish style of loveliness. Paul
Rubens, for instance, would have gone mad
ubout her ; perhaps you have never noticed,
though, as you do not much affect the fine
arts, that all his Madonnas and Yenuses have

tter wta n
ilown bru-
ik eyes ; ji
braids and

her large
lit raourn-
gh- colored

other in-
»ce to face,
ovely little

with long
Idcrs, and
wn around
nee. They
oked' little

a buxom
ick roving
K, and the
\h fnce, as
iiv Roland

utiful she
ih ecstasy.
1?"

i nephew
!B8 naotion
lim at the
}r a Btep»-

3th er, av,d

lay that it

de, Lisle,
lelf, have

jisle, with
d tirnt is

'as sitting

screened

while it

I, nodded

stonished

not look

and I am
ikiug out
lis nails ;

What do
er?"

gravity,
terra to a
bonpoint !

confess,
and you

the Low
8. Paul
>ne mad

noticed,
the fine
aes have

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

the same plontitul supply of blood, and brawn,
and muscle, that our fair rclalivo yonder rc-
ioices in."

" She is your relative, then ?"
1 " Leicester ClitFe, rest his soul f was my cou-
sin. That is lier son and heir, that little
shaver beside her — tino little follow, isn't he V
and a Cliffe, every inch of him. What arc you
thinking of, ClifTo?"

" Were you speaking to mo?" said the lieu-
tenant, looking up, uhstrttctedly.

" Yes. I want to. Ujxow wiial makes you so
insufFerably stupid tonight? What are you
tliiirking of mnn — Vivia?"

The remark might be nearer the truth than
the speaker lliouglit, for a slight flush rose to
the girl-like cheek of Lieutenant Ciitfo Slijrloy.

*' Nonsense ! I was half nslecp, 1 believe.
I wish the curtain was up, and the play well
over.'

" I have heard that this is Vivia's last night,"
remarked Lord Lisle ; " and that she is about
to be married, or something of that sort. How
is it, Sir lioland ? as you know everything, you
must know."

" I don't know that, at all events ; but he is a
lucky man, whoever gets her. Ah! wiiat a

})retty little thing it is I By Jove I I never see
ler without feeling inclined to go on my knees,
and, snj — Ah ! Sweet, old fellow, how ore
you ?"

This last passage in the noble baronet's dis-
course was not what he would say to Mdlle. Vi-
via, but was addressed to a gentleman who had
forced his way, with some difficulty, throui^h
the crowd, nnd now stood at the door, lie
was not a handsome man, was Mr. Sweet, but
lie had the most smiling and beaming expres-
sion of countenance imaginable. He was of
medium size, inchned to lie angular and sharp
at the joints, with a complexion so yellow as
to induce the belief that ho was suffering from
chronic and continual jaundice. His hair, what
was of it, was much the color of his face, but
he iiad nothing in that line worth speaking of;
his eyes were small and twinkling, and general-
ly half closed ; and he displayed, like the
blooming relic of the late lamented Leicester
Cliffe, the sweetest and most ceaseless of smiles.
His waistcoat was of a bright cannry tint, much
the color of his face nnd hair ; lemon-colored
gloves were on his hands ; and the yellow neck-
tie stood out in bold relief against the whitest
and glossiest of shirt collars. He wore large
gold studs, and a large gold breast-pin, a large
gold watch-chain, with an anchor, and a heart,
and a bunch of seals, and a select assortment
of similar small articles of jewelry drngling
from it, and keeping up a musical tinkle as he
walked. He had small gold ear-rings in his
ears, nnd would have had them in his nose, too,
doubtless, if any one had been good enough to
set him a precedent. As it was, he was so

bright, and so smiling, and so glistening, with
Ills yellow hair, and face, and waistcoat, and
neck-tie, and jewelry, that ho fairy soentillaccd
all over, and would have made yo*i wink to look
ut him by gaslight.

" Hallo, Sweet! How do. Sweet? Come in,
Sweet," greeted this sniiling vision from the
three young men. And Mr. Sweet, beaming nil
over with smiles, nnd jingling his seals, did
come in, and took a s at lietwcen the haiulsomu
young Lieutenant and his uncle. Sir Roland.
The orchestra was crashing out a tremendous
overture, but at this moment a bell tinkled,
and when it ceased, the oui tain shriveled u|) to
the ceiling, nnd disclosed " Henry VIH.", a very
Hlout gentleman, in flt-sh-culored tights, scarlet
velvet doublet, profusely ornamented with IIm-
scl and gold lace, wearing a superb crown of
|i> ste-board and gilt paper on his royal head.
Oiitherino, of Arragun, was there, too, very
^M'and, in a long trailing dress of purple cot-
ton and velvet, and blazing ail over with bril-
liants of the purest glass, kneeling before her
royal husband, amidst a brilliant assembly of
gentlemen in tights and mustaches, and lalirs
in very long dresses and paste jewels, in the act
of receiving a similar paste-board crown from
the fat hands of i he king himself. The pla}' w as
the " Royal Biue-lJeard", a sort of half musi-
cal, half-danceabie burlesque, and though tlie
andieice laughed a good deal, and applauded a
little over the first act, their enthusiasm did
not quite bring the roof down; for Vivia was
not there. Her role was " Anne Bolej'n", a'ad
when in the second act that beautiful and m«iat
unfortunate lady appeared among the maids of
honor, " which meaneth", says an ancient writ-
er, " anything but honoraljle maids", to win the
fickle-hearted monarch by her smiles, a ch^er
greeted her that made the house ring. She was
their pet, their favorite ; and standing among
her painted companions, all tinseled and span-
gled, she looked queen-rose, and star over all.
i^etite and fairy-like in figure, a clear colorless
complexion, lips vividly red, eyes jetty black
and bright as stars, shining black liair, falling
in a profusion of curls and waves far below her
waist, and with a smile like an angel ! She was
dressed all in white, with flowers in her hair
and on her breast ; and when she came floating
across the stage in her white mist-like robes,
her pure pale face, uplifted dark eyes, and
tvaving hair, crowned with water-lilies, she look-
ed more like a fairy b}' moonlight than a mere
creature of flesh and blood. What a sliout it
was that greeted her ! how gentle and sweet
was the smile that answered it! and how ce-
lestial she looked with that smile on her I [s,
Sir Roland leaned over with flashing eyes.

"It is a fairy; it is Titania! It is V»niis
herself!" he cried, enraptured. " 1 never saw
her look so benntifnl before in mv life."

Lord Lisle pt.uvd ,it him in his duil, vnc:ir.t

rNMASKED ; OR,

way ; and Mr. Sweet smiled, and stole n sldcloni;
glanoel at the Jjeutoimnt, whiolt nouoliuliint
yonng warrior lounged easily back on his scat,
;in<l watched the silver-ehining viaiou with
|iliilo8uphical composure.

The play went on. The lovely Anne wins
tiie sliglitly-fickle King with her " bocks, and
nods, mid wreathed smiles", and triiunpha over
tite unfortunate lady iu the purple train. Then
oomes her own brief ana dazzling terra of
glory ; then blue-eyed Jane Seymour conquers
the conquercsB, ana Mistress Anne is condemned
to die. Throughout the whole thing, Vivia was
superb. Vivia always was ; l>ut in the hist
scene of all she surpassed herself. From the
moment when she told the exeoutiont-r, with a
gny liiiiHli, that she beard be was expert, and
she lia<l but a suiall neck, to the moment she
was lud forth to die, slie held the audience
spellbound. When the curtain rose in the laat
scene, the stage was hxivg in black, the lights
burned dim, the music waxed faint and Tow,
and, dnssed in deepest mourning, and looking
by contrast deadly pale, she laid her beautiful
head on the block. At the sound of the falling
axe, as the curtain fell, a thrill ran through
every heart; and the four gentlemen in the
stage-box bent over and gazed with their hearts
— such n-i tliey were — in their eyes. A moment
of profoundest silence was followed by so wild
a tempest of applause that the domed root rtuig,
and ''Vivia!" "Vivial"' shouted a storm of
voices, cntliusiastically. Once again she came
before them, pale and beautiful in her black
robes and flowing hair, and bowed her acknowl-
edgments with the same lovely smile that had
won ull llieir hearts long before. A small iiva-
lancue of bouquets and wreaths came fluttering
down on the st.ige, and three of tlie occupants
of tne 8t;»ge-box iiung tlieir offerings too. A
wreath of white roses, clasped by a great pearl,
from Sir lloinnd ; a bouquet of splendid hot-
house exotics from Lord Lisle ; and a cluster of
jasmine flowers from Lieutenant Shirley, which
he took from his buttonliole for the purpose.
Mr. Sweet had nothing to cast but his eyes ; and
casting those optics on the actress, he saw her
turn her beauLifnl face for one instant toward
their box ; the next, lift tiie jasmine flowers and
raise them to her lips, and the next — vanish.

" She took your flowers, Shirley — she actual-
ly did," cried Lord Lisle, with one of his blsirnk
stares, " and left mine, that were a thousand
limes prettier, just where they fell!"

" Very extraordinary," remai-ked Mr. Sweet,
with one of his bright smiles and sidehnig
glances. " But what do all the good folks mean
hy leaviui^ ? I thought there was to be a farce,
or ba let, or something."

" S»» there is ; but as they won't see VIvia,
tiiey don't care for stayinsr. And I think the
Iw'st thing we can do is, to follow their example.
What do you say to coiniug along with us,

Sweet? We are going to hnve a small supper
at my rooms this evening."

Mr. Sweet, with many smiles, made his ac-
knowledgements, and accepted at once ; and
rising, the four passed out, and were borne
along by the crowd into the open oir. Sir Ro-
land's night-cab was in waiting, and being
joined by three or four other young men, they
were soon dashing at breakneck speed toward
a West End hotel.

No man in all London ever gave such petite
aoupers as Sir Roland CfifTe, and no one ever
thought of declining his invitations. On the
present occasion, the hilarity waxed fast and
furious. The supper was a perfect chefd'auvre,
the claret deliciously cool after the hot theatre ;
the sherry, like liquid gold, and the port, fifty
years old at least. All showed their apprecia-
tion of it, too, by draining buiuper after bum-
per, until the lights of the room, and every-
thing in it, were dancing hornpipes before their
eyes — all but Mr. Sweet and Lieutenant Shir-
ley. Mr. Sweet drank sparingly, and had a
smile and an answer for everybody ; and the
Lieutenant scarcely nte cr drank at all, and was
abstracted, and silent.

" Do look at Shirley !" hiccoughed Lord
Lisle, whose eyes were starting fishily out OT
his head, and whose hair and shirt-front were
splashed with wine ; " he looks as sol — ^jes —
as solemn as a coffin I"

" Hallo, Cliffe, my boy ! don't be the death's-
head at the feast ! Here !" shouted Sir Roland,
with flushed face, waving his glass over his
head — " hero, lads, is a bumper to Vivia I"

"Vivia!" "Vivia!" ran from lip to lip.
Even Mr. Sweet rose to honor the toast ; but
Lieutenant Shirley, with wrinkled brqws and
liasiiing eyes, sat still, and glanced round at the
servant who stood ot his elbow with a salver
and a letter thereon.

'• Note for you, Lieutenant," insinuated the
waiter. " A little boy brought it here. Said
there was no answer expected, ond lef ."

" I say, Cliffe, what have you there ? A
dun ?" shouted iinpetu>ii8 Sir Roland.

"With your perini.-sioii I will see," rather
coldly respo'ided tue young officer, breaking the
seal

Mr. Sweet, sitting opposite, kept his eyes in-
tently fixed on liis face, and saw it first flush
scarlet, and then turn deathly white.

"That's no dun, I'll swear," again lisped
Lord Lisle. " Look at the writing ! A fairy
could scarcely trace anything so light. And
look at the paper — pink-tinted and gilt-edgeJ.
The fellow has got a billet-doux .'"

" Who IS she, Shirley ?" called half a dozen
voices.

"But Lieutenant Shirley crumpled the note
in his hand, and rose abruptly from the table.

" Qentlemen - Sir Roland, you will have the

good nets
beiii<^ obli(
He had
appeared
ered their
him back,
about him
wise in his
tenant Shi
and eye fl
to be trifle
and then
ll«3 would
had about
and walket
dimly lit
have jump
Shirley ha
the still st
hotel in a
ti^ure—afi
ml close
trinoe, sh
till morn
S'lirley ha
sistad her
tu>) next,
speed, witi

A. bron

throtigli «'■
pet, on r
easy-chair
hright wi
st'iuding I
lor. The
eoT.-e, an

cold toug

one w;is it
white jaci
and tongi
tvo chain
parture.
and a lad
pioud au'i
back from
the pretti
black lac
casiunere
lar and a
luaiia:^ d
aiil hauij
lig it blue
resteil on
the w lite

'• Has
a voice ^
and cold,
" No, t
"You

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

all snpper

de his ao-
)noe ; nnJ
ere borno
. Sir Ro-
ind beiiit;
men, tliey
led toward

such petite

one ever

On tlie

fast and

e/d^auvre,

't theatre ;

port, fifty

oppreoia-

fter biim-

nd cvery-

efore their

aant Siiir-

nd hnd a

; and the

1, and was

led Lord
ily out oY
ront were
ol — yea —

le death's-
ir Roland,

over his
via !"
p to lip.
toast ; but
rqws and
ind at the

a salver

lated the
^re. Said

'■ "

iiere ? A

:," rnther
aking the

8 eyes in-
irst flush

in lisped

A fairy

ht. And

dt-edged.

' a dozea

the note
e table,
have the

goodncH to exouae me I I regret extremely
beiir^ obliged to leave you. Good -night !"

He had strode to the door, opened it, and dis-
appeared befor any f the company had recov-
ered their maudlin senses sufficiently to call
him buck. Mr. Sweet always had hia senses
iibout him; but that shining gentleman was
wise in his ironeration, and he kne^v when Lieu-
tenant Shirley's cheek paled, and brow knitted,
and eye flashed, he was not exactly the person
to be trilled with ; so ho only looked after him,
and then nt his wine, with a thoiii^htfal stnile.
lid would have given all the spare change he
had abont him to have donned an invisible ca|),
and walked after him throui^h the silent streets,
dimly lit by the raw coming moral tii^, and to
have jumped after him into the cub Lieut -nant
Shirley hailed and entered. On he flow through
the still streets, stopping at lai^t before a quiet
hotel in a retired part of the city. A mutfliid
ti^ure— a female figure— wrapi)ed in a longoloak,
III 1 closely vuiled, st.ood near the l.-idies' en-
tt'inoe, shivering under her wrappings in tlie
till morning blast. In one instant, Lioufenant
S'lirley had sprang out; in another, he had as-
sisted her in, and taker the reins himself; and
wi-i next, he was riding away with breakneck
speed, with his face to the rising sun.

CHAPTER ir.

MOTHER AND SON.

A broad moivrmg stinbeara, stealing in
tlirougli natln c'.iri.aiiis, fell on a Bi'ushoIs c ir-
put, on rosewood furniture, pretty pictures,
easy-chairs and ottomans, and on a ronnd-table,
bright with damask, and silver, anl china,
standing in the middle of the handsom'i par-
lor. Tlie table was set for- breakfast, and the
eo,r;e, and the rolls, and the toast, anil the
cold tongue, were ready and waiting ; but no
one was in the room, sive a siiruoe waiter, in a
white jacket and apro i, wlio arranged the eggs,
and tongue, an<l toast artistically, and sot up
tvo chairs vis-h-ois, previous to taking his de-
parture. As he turned to go, the door opened,
and a lady entered— a lady tall and graceful,
pt'oud and handsome, witii her fair hair combed
back from her liigh bred fice, and a<lorneil with
the prettiest little trifle of a raoining-cap, all
black lace and ribbons. She wore a white
casiimere morning-dress, with a little lace col-
lar and a ruby brooch, nnd Lady Agnes Shirley
niaiiag d to look in this simple toilet as stately
anl haughty as a dowager-tliiehess. Her large
lig it blue eyes wandered round uhe room, anil
rested on the obsequious young gentleman in
the w lite jacket and apron.

" Has my son not arrived yet ?" she said, in
a voice that precisely suitea her face— Bweet
and cold, and clear.

" No, ray lady ; shall I—"

" You will go down stairs ; and when he

oomea, yoa will aak him to atep up here di-
rectly.''^

There was a auiok, decided rap at the door.
Agnes turned from the window, to which she
had walked, oa th« waiter opened it, and ad-
mitted Lii'Utenaut Cliffe Shirley.

"My dcareat mother 1"

•'My dear boy 1 ' And the proud, cold eyea
lit up with loving pride as he kissed her. " I
thought I was never Jestined to see you again."

"Xet me see. It is just two months amce I
left Cliftonlea — a frightful length of time,
truly."

" My dear ClifTe, those two months were like
two years to me !"

Lieutenant ClifTe, standing hat in hand, with
the morning sunshine fulling on hia laughing
face, made her a courtly bow.

" Ten thousand thanks for the compliment,
mother mine. And was it to hunt up your
so ipegraoe son, that you journeyed all the way
to London ?"

" Yes !" She said it so gravely, that the
smile died away on his lips, as she moved in
her graceful way across the table. " Have yon
had brert •'fast ? But of course you have not ; so
sit down there, and I will pour out your coffee
as if you were at home."

The young man sat down opposite her, took
his nankin frooi its ring, aid npread it with
most uelioate precision on his knees. There
was a resemblance between mother and son,
though by no means a striking one. They had
the same blonde hair, large blue eyes, and fair
complexions— the same jihysictfl Saxon type,
for the lioast of the Climes was, that not one drop
of Celtic or Norman blood ran in their veins
— it was a pure, una.lulterated Saxon stream, to
be traced back to days long before the Con-
queror entered England. But Lady Agnes's
haughty ]>i ide and grand manner were entire-
ly wanting in the laughing eyes and gay smile
of her only son nnd heir, Cliffe

" When did you come ?" he asked, as he took
his cup frou) her l.idysliip's hand.

'* Yeateiday— di 1 not my not« tell you ?"

"True! I forgot — how long do you re-
main ?"

Lady Agnes buttered her roll with a grave
face.

" That depends !" she quietly aaid.

"On what?"

" On you, my dear boy."

" Oh ! in that case," said the Lieutenant, with
his bright smile, "you will certainly remain
until tlic end of the London season. Does
Charlotte return the same time you do ?''

" Who told you Charlotte was here at all ?"
said Lady Agnes, looking at him intently.

" I saw her with you last night at the theatre^
and little Leicester, too !"

" Were you in the box with Sir Roland and
tlie other two gen'lemen, last night?"

UNMASKED ; OR,

" Yee. Don't look to eliooke.l, ray iKi/ir
juotherl How wm I to g«;t tlirougb uli Unit
crowd to your box? and he«iili'8, 1 was engugcd
to Sir Koland for n HupiKr at lii« rooins : we
left before the balltt. liy tlie wiiy, I w.nid.r
vou were not too ranch fiuignod witii your
jjonrimy, both of you, to think of the theiitro."

" I WH8 fiitigned," said Latly Agiioa, us she
■lowly stirred her coffee witIi one poiirl-whito
hand, and gazed intently at her «t>n ; " but I
went folely to gee that ncircsB— wliab do you
call her? Viviu, or eomething of tliat aort, ia
it not?*'

'Mademoisel'e Vivia is her iianio," said the
young man, blushing anddt-niy, prolmbly be-
oauae at that moment he took a sip of cotTee,
scalding hot.

Lady AgncB shrugged her tapering ehoulders,
and curled her lip in a little, slighting, disdain-
ful wiiy, peculiar to herself.

" A commitn place little thing na ever I saw.
They told me -she was pretty ; but 1 confesa
when I saw that pallid face and immense black
eyes, I never was so disappointed in my life. I
don't fancy her acting, either — it is a great deal
too tragic ; and I confess I am nt a loss to know
why people rave about her as they do."

"Bad taate, probably," said her aon, laugh-
ing, and with quite-recovered composure ;
•* since you differ from them, and yours is in-
disputably perfect. But your visit to the thea-
tre was not thrown away after all, for you must
know you made a conquest the first moment
yoii entered. Did you aee the man who eat be-
side Sir Koland, and stared so Laid at your
box ?"

" The tall young gentleman with the sickly
foce ? Yea."

"That waa Lord Henry Lisle — you know the
Lislea, of Lisletown ; and he fell desperately in
love with you at firat sight."

"Oh! Donaense ! don't be absurd, ClifFe ! I
want you to be aerious this morning, and talk
sense.

" But it's a fact, upon my honor ! Lisle did
nothing but rave about you all the evening, and
proteated you were the prettieat woman in the
house."

" Bah ! Tell me about yourself. Cliffe — what
have you been doing for the last two months ?"

" On ! millions of things ! Been on parade,
fought like a hero in the sham fights in the
Park, covered myself with glory in the reviews,
made love, got mto debt, went to tlie opera,
and—"

" To the theatre !" put in Lady Agnes, coolly.

" Certainly, to the theatre ! I could as Boon
exiat without my dinn-r :ia without that !"

" Precisely so ! I <l<)n t object to theatres in
the least," said Lady Agnes, transfixing him
witli her cold blue eyes, " but when it comes to
nctrf'Sdcs, it is going a little too far. Cliffe,
whiit lire tihoae stores that pt^ople are whisper-

ing about you, and that the birds of the air liavo
borne oven to Cliltonlea y"

" Stories about me I Haven't the first idea.
What nre they V

" Don't cijuivocate, sirl Di» you know what
has brouglit mo up to town in such haste V '

" You told me a few momenta back, if my
memory serves me, that it waa to see me."

" Exactly I and to make you giv^ me a final
nnawer on a aubject we have often discussed be-
fore."

" And what may that bo, pray ?"

"Matrimony !" said Lady Agues, in her quiet
decided way.

Lieutenant Shirley, with his eyes fixed in-
te'itly on his plate, began cutting a slice of
toast thereon into minute squares, with as mucii

1)reoiBion as ho had used in spreading his nap-
lin.

" Ah, just so ! A very pleasant subject, if
you and I could only take the same view of it,
which we don't. Do you want to have a daugh-
ter-in-law, to quarrel with at Castle Ciiffe so
badly that you've come to the city to bring one
home ?"

" One thing, I don't want. Lieutenant Shir-
ley," said Lady Agnes, somewhat sharply, " is
to see my son make a sentimental fool of hini-
selfl Your cousin Charlotte ia here, and I
waiit you to marry her and go abroad. Tve
been wisiiing to go to Rome myself for the Inst
two or three months, and it will be an excellent
opportunity to go with you."

"Thank you, mother! But, at the same
time, I'm airuid you and my cousin Charlolt
must hold me excused !" said the Lieutenant, in
his cool manner.

" What are your objections, sir ?"

" Their name ia lenion ! In (ho firat place,"
said the young gentleman, beginning to count
on hia fingera, " dhe in five years (dder than I
am ; secondly, she is fat— couldn't, possibly,
marry any one but a elyph ; thirdly, ahe is a
widow— the lady I raise to the happiness of Mrs.

L , must give me a heart that has had no

former lodger; fourthly, she has a son, and I
don't precisely fancy the idea of becoming, at
the age of twenty, papa to a tall b<y of six
years; and, fifthly, and lastly, and conclusive-
ly, ahe is my cousin, and J like her as such,
and nothing more, and wouldn't marry her if
ahe was the last woman in the world I"

Though this somewhat emphatic refusal waa
delivered in the coolest and most careless of
tones, there was a determined fire in hia blue
eyes that told a different story. Two crimson
spots, all unusuiil therf, #ere burning on the
lady's fair cheeks ere he censed, and her own
eye" flashed bine flame, but her voice wns p^r-
fectly calm an ' ci<."ir Tj'hI' Airnes whh too
great a lady ever to get iubu «u vulgar a thing
as a passion.

" You refuse ?"

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

the air liarc

e tirat iJoa.

I know wlmt
Iwiat.o r '
hfick, if my

ittO IllU."

•' 11)0 n final
iuciiiistid Lo-
in lier quiet

■es fixed in-

A aiice of

viMi na nuicli

iiig liJB iinp-

t subject, if
IV view of it,
nve ft (liiiigh-
!l,!e Cliffe BO
tu bring one

tenant Sliir-
eliarply, " i«
fool of liini-
liert', and 1
lb road. J"vo
f for tlie hist
I an excellent

at the enmo
iin Oharlott
jieutenant, in

first plflce,'"
ling to count
older than I
I't, possibly,
dly, she is a
^iness of Mrs.
I: has bnd no
a son, niid I
becoming, nt
1 boy of six
I conclusive-
her as such,
nnrry her if
d!"

5 refusal was
t cfti'elegs of
e in his blue
Fwo crimson
ning on the
md her own
>iop wfis p-r-
les \v»iH too
ilgar a thing

•• Moil decidedly ! Why, In Heaven's name,
my dear mother, do you w mt me to take (with
rovereneo he 't said) tliat great 8liii{ tor it wile 1"

<' Aud |)ruy what earthly rcMoiiri are there
why you HhouiJ uut Uike liery i^iiu i« young
mid handsoiiie, immenaely rich, and of one oi'
ilie (ii'dt families in DerhyHhirel It would be
the bust matuli in the world !"

" {»», if I wanted to make a marimje de con-
ejmnee. I am rioli enough as it is, and Madam
iiirlutte may keep her guineas, and her blaok
eyed, and her tropical person for whomever vhe
plea-ius. Not all the wealth of the Indies would
tempt me to marry Ui«t aensual, full-blown,
bii^h-bloodud Cleopatra!"

Oiirt siiikrnlar trait of L'mitenant Shirley was,
that hi; said the strongest and moxt pungent
th I ;i in tlie coolest anifquietost of tones. The
fir' in his lady mother's eyes was fierce, the
sp'iu on her cheeks, h< ^and tlaming, nnd in her
voice there was a ringing tone of command.

" And your reasons!"

" I have given you half a dozen already, ma
mire /"

" They are not worth thinkinc; of— there must
be a stronger one I Lieutenant Hhirley, I de-
mand to know what it is ?"

" My good mother, be content! I bate this
subject. Why cannot we lot it rest."

" It shall never rest now I Speak, sir, I com-
mand I

" Motlier, what do you wish to know?"

" There is another reason for this obstinate
refusal— what is it?"

" You had better not ask me — you will not
like to know !"

"Out with it!"

" The very best reason in the world, then," he
said, witli hia careless laugh. " I am married
alroadv I"

CHAPTER HI.

THE HRIRE9S OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

A stormy March morning was breaking over
Lon<lon. The rain and sleet, driven by the
wind, beat and olammered against the windows,
flew furiously through the streets, and out over
grive-yarda, brickfields, marshes, and blenk
commons, to the open country, where wind and
sleet bowled to the bare trees, and around cot-
tages, as if the very spirit of the tempest was
out on the "rampage". Moat of these cottages
out among briok-yards and ghastly wastes of
marsh, had tlieir dfoors secured, nnd their shut-
ters closely fastened, as if they, too, like tlieir
inmates, were fast asleep, and defied the storm.
But there was one standing awav from the rest,
on the hill-side, whose occupants, judging from
appearances, were certainly not sleeping. Its
two front windows were bright with tlie illumin-
ation of fire and candle, and their light flared
out red and lurid far over the desolate wastes.
The abutters were open, the blinds tip, and the

vivid glare would have bton a welcome tight to
any atoriu beaten traveler, hud itiieh beun out
that impetuous March day . hut nobody wm
foolhardy enough to be abroad at that diitinal
liourof that duiiial morning ; and tue ma'i wh->
8at bet'ore the great wood tire in tlie p: ^lal
Mom of tie Cottage, thou^^h he liate'ieu uii^^
watched, like sister Anne on Oie toweito|). |o^
Homebody s couiing, tliat Homebody uaiiie not,
and ho and tiis matin luedilatious were left nii-
disturbeil. lie wuh a young man, Bunburiit and
Kood-looking— a lahoi.T unniiHtakably, though
dressed in Inn l/est ; and with his chair drawn up
close to the fire, and a boot on eaeh andiron,
he drowsily HUioked a short clay pipe. The
room was uh neat and clean as any room could
be, the floor fanltleosly sanded, the poor furni-
ture deftly arranged, and all looked oozy aud
cheerful in the ruddy fire light.

There was nobody else in the room, and the
rattling of the raiu and sleet against the win-
dows, the dull roar of the firte, and the sharp
chirping of a cricket on the heart h, were tlie
only aounda that broke the tilenoe. Yes, there
waa another : once or twice, wliile the man ent
and smoked, and nodded, and listened to r,\io
storm, there had been the feeble cry of an in-
fant ; and at such times he had started* and
looked uneasily at a door behind him, opening
evidently into another room. As a little Dutch
clock on the roantel-piece chimed slowly six,
this' door opened, and a young, fair-haired, pret-
ty woman came out. Her eyes were red and
swollen with weeping, and slie carried a great
bundle of something rolled in flannel carefully
in her arms. The man looked up iuquisitivelT
and took the pipe out of^his mouth.

"Well?" he pettishly asked.

" Oh, poor dear, she is gone at last !" said
the woman, breaking out into a freah shower of
tears. " She has just departed! ' I feel tired,
and if you will take the baby I will try to sleep
now,' siie says, and then she kisses it with her
own pretty, loving smile ; and I takes it up,
aud ahe just turns her face to the wall and dies.
O poor dear young lady!" with another ten-
der-hearted tempest of aobs.

" How uncommon sudden !"'
looking meditatively at the fire,
baby?"

" Yes, the pretty little dear I
sweetly it sleeps.'

The young woman unrolled
flannel, and displayed an infant of very tender
age indeed — inasmuch as it could not have been
a wpek old — simmering therein. It waa very
much like any other young baby in tliat fresh
nnd green atage of existence, having only one
peculiarity, that it was the merest trifle of a.
baby ever waa seen. A decent wax-doll would
have been a giantcsm beside it. The mite of a
creature, void of hair, and eyebrows, nnd nails,
sleeping so quietly in a sea of yellow flannel,

said the man,
"Is that the

Do look how

the bundle of

UNMASfeED; OR,

""nae

might have gone into a quart-mug, nnd found I
the preinisfs loo cxtensire mv it at that. Joliu
I >ukeJ nt it as men do look at very uew babies,
nitU u suioiuu and awe-Btruci{ face.

" It"3 a very email baby, isn't it ?" he re-

niarkt-d, in a subdued tone. " I should be afraid

lay my finger on it, for fear of crushing it to

eatli. It's a girl, you told me, didn't you V"

"To be sure it's a girl, bless it's little iieart!

Will you cume and look at the young lady,

Jolm f'

John got up and followed his wife into th.i
inucr '-jou]. It was a bedroom ; like the apart-
ment they had left, very neat ; but, unlike that,
very tastetully furnished. The floor had a
)»retty carpet of green and white ; its windows
were draped with white and green s:i c. A pret-
ty toilet-table, under i large gilt-framed mirror,
with a handsome dressing-case thereon, was in
one corner ; a guitar and uuisi^-rack in another ;
a htunge witit grccii silk cushions in a third;
and. 111 a fourtii, u i^'rencb bedstead, all druped
and covered with wiiite. Near the bed stood a
round gilded stand, strewn with vials, medicine-
botiles, and glasses ; beside it. a great sleepy-
hollow of an arm-chair, also cushioned wiih
green silk ; and oa the bod lay the raistriss and
owner of all theae pretty tilings, who had left
them, and all otiier thinj;s eartlily, forever, A
sliaded lamp stood on the dressing-table. The
womun tuoK it up and held it so that its light
fell full on the dead face — a lovely face, whiter
than alabaster ; a slight smile lingering round
the parted lips; tiie black lashes lying at rest
on tlie pure cheek ; the black, arched e^'ebrows
sh.irply traced agriinst tlie white, smooth brow,
staiupoil with the majestic seal of death. A pro-
f.ifion of curling hair, of purplish black lustre,
eireained over the wiiite pillow and her own
delicate white nigiit-roht. One arm was under
her heail. Hi she had oficM lain in life; and the
other, which was outsiile of tlie clothes, was al-
ready cold and stiff. Man and woman gazed in
■-awe — neither spoke. Tlie still majesty of the
f.ict' h'lslied them ; and tiie man, after looking
for a luiin.eut, turned and walked out; on tiptoe,
ns if araid to wake the calm sleeper. The wom-
an ilrew the shi et reverently over the face, laid
the sleeping baby among the soft cushions of
the lounge, followed her husband to the outer
room, and closed the do r. lie resumed his
seat and loked seriously into the fire; and she
fto"d besiJe him, with <-iie hand resting on his
.shoulder, nnd crying s-iftly still.

*' Pi>or dear la.ly ! To think that she should
die awiiy from all her friends like this, and she
e» young and beautiful, too!"

'• Young and beautiful folks must die, as well

ns oM and ngly ones, when their time comes,"

said the man, with a touch of philosophy. " But

litis Due is uncommon handsome, no mistake.

.^nd so yon don't know her name, Jenny ?''

'-*'No," »aid Jenny, shaking her head retro-

spectively, "her and him— that's the yonng
genllemiiU, you know — came bright and early
— morning '■ " 1 -_j ■ , . . i

one

in a coach ;

" and my opinion
a scamp, and the

and he said he haU
heard we were poor folks and lately married,
and would not object to taking a lodger for a
little while, if she paid well and gave no trouble.
Of course, I was glad to jump at the offer ; and
he gave me twenty guineas to begin with, and
told me to have the room furnished, and not say
anything about my lodger to anybody. The
young lady seemed to be ill then, and was shiv-
ering with cold ; b"<t she was patient as an an-
gel, and smiled and thanked me like one for
everything I did f>r her. Atnl that's the whole
story ; and the young gentleman has never been
here since."

"And that's — ^how long ago is that?"

" Three weeks to-morrow. You just went to
London that very morning, yourself, you re-
member, John."

" I remember," said John ;
is, the young gentleman is
yo'ing lady no better nor she ought to be."

" I don't believe it," retorts his wife with
spirit. " She's a angel in that bedroom, if ever
thii-e was one! Only yesterday, when the doc-
tor toll her she was a dying, she asked for pen
and ink to write to her husband, and she said if
he was living it would bring him to her before
she died yet — poor dear darling!"

"But It didn't do it, though!" said John,
with a triumphant grin, "and I don't believe —

Here John's words were jerked out of his
mnuth, as it were, by tlie furious gallop of a
horse tiirough the r>in;andthe next moment
there w.as a thundering knock at the door that
made the cottage shake. John sprang up and
opened it, and there entered the dripping form
of a man, wearing a long cloak, and with his
military cap pulled over his face to shield it
from the storm. Before the door was closed,
the cloak and cap were off, and the woman saw
the face of the handsome young gentleman who
had brought her lodger there. But thiit face
W'ls changed now; it was as thin and bloodless
almost as that of the quiet sleejier in ihe other
room, and there was something of fierce inten-
sity in his eager eyes. At the sight of him,
Jenny put her apron over her face and broke
out into a fresh shower of sobs.

" Where is she ?" he asked through his closed
teeth.

The woman opened the bedroom door, and
he followed her in. At sight cf the white shape
lying so dreadfully still under the sheetf, he re-
coiled ; but the next moment he was bcsiiie the
bed. Jenny laid her hand on the sheet to draw
it down, he laid his there, too ; the chill of death
struck to his heart, and he lifted her hand away.

"No!" he said hoarsely, "let it be. When
did she die?"

" Not half an hour ago, sir."

"You had a doctor?"

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFPE.

le yonng
imd early
d liti liad
niarrieJ,
iger for a
o trouble,
offer ; and
with, and
id not say
)dy. The
was shiv-
as an an-
e one for
tlio wiiule
ever been

st went to

f, you re-

ly opinion
), and the
) be."
wife with
)m, if ever
n the doo-
id for pen
she said if
her before

laid John,
believe —
out of his
allop of a
t uiouiont
door Mint
ig up and
ping form
with his
> shield it
as closed,
'oman saw
eraan who
that face
Moodlt'ss
ihe otlior
;rce inten-
it of him,
md broke

his closed

door, and
hite shape
cet, he re-
bcsi<!e the
et to draw
11 of death
land away.
«. When

" Yes, sir, he oiime every day ; he came last I
night, but he oould do nothing for hor." |

" Is that man in the next room your husband ?'

" Yes, your honor."

" Tell him, then, to go and purchase a coffin,
and order the sexton to have the grave prepared
I y this evening. In twenty-four lionrs I K?ave
England forever, and I must see her laid in the
grave before I depart."

"And the baby, sir?" saiil the woman, tim-
idly, half-''rightened by hi^ stern, almost harsh
tone. " Will you n«>t look at it —here it is."

" No !" said tlio young man, fiercely. " Take
it And begone !"

Jenny snatched up the baby, an<l fled in dis-
may ; and the young man sat down b< side his
dead, and laid his face on the pillow wiiere the
dead face lay. Rain and hail still lashed the
windows, the wind shrieked in <lismnl blasts
over the bare brick fields and bleak common.
Morning was lifting a dull and leaden eye over
the distant hills, and the iiow-burn <iay gave
promise of turning out as eullon a'ld dreary as
even a March day could well d". " lUeescd is
the corpse that the rain rains on !" and so Jen-
ny thought, as she laid the baby on her own
bed, and watched her husband plunging through
the rain and wind on his doleful errand.

The dark, sad hours stole on, and the solitary
watjher in the room of death kept his vigil un-
disturbed. Breakfast and dinnor-liour pastiod,
and Jenny's hospitable heart ached to think
that the young gentleman had not a mouthful
to eat all the blessed time ; but she would not
have t?»ken broad England and venture to open
that door uninvited again. And so, wiiile the
storm raged on without, the lamp flared on the
dressing-table, the dark wintry day stole on,
and the lonely watcher sat there still. It was
within an hour of dusk, and Jenny sat near the
fire singing a soft lullaby to the baby, when the
door opened, and he stood befor ' her like a tall,
dark ghost?"

"lias the coffin come?" he asked. And
Jenny started up and nearly dropped the babv
with a shriek, at the hoarse and hollow sound
of his voice.

" yes, sir, there it is !"

The dismal thing stood up black and ominous
against the opposite wall. He j"st glanced at
it and then back again at her.

" And the grave hat been dug?"

" Yes, sir; and if you please, the undertaker
has sent his hearse on account «f the rain, and
it is waiting now in the shed. My John is
there, too. I will oall him in, sir, if you
please."

He made a gesture in the affirmative, and
Jenny flew out to do her errand. When she re-
turned with her John, the young man assisted
Jiim in laying the <lead form within the coffin,
and they both carried it to the door and laid it
within the hearse.

•* You will come back, sir, won't yon ?" ven-
tured Jei:ny, standing at the door and weeping
incessantly behind her apron.

"Yes. G.I on!"

The lienrse started : and John and the stran-
ger foiliiwed to the la.st re8tiii<ji)Iiice of her ly-
ing within. It was all drt^ary, the darkenini^^tk
sky, the drenched earth, l,he gloomy hearse, an(^^
the two solitary figures following silently after,
with bowed heads tlirough the beaving s'orin.
Luckily tlie cimrchynrd was near. The sexton,
at sight of them, ran off for the clergyman,
who, sl)ive:-ing and relnciant, appeared on the
scene just as the coffin was lowered to thu
ground.

" Aslies to ashes, dust to dust!" The beauti-
ful burial-service of tiie English Church was
over. Tlie coffin was lowered, and the sods
went rattling drearily down on the lid. The
young raan stood bareheaded, his auburn hair
fluttering in the wind, and the storm beating
unheed'd on Ids head. John was barehead-
ed, too, much against his will ; but the
clergyman ran hotne with uncicrical haste the
moment the last word was uttered ; and the
sexton shoveled and beat down the sods with
professional phlegm. Just then, fluttering in
the wind, a figure came throuirh the leailen
twilight ; the j'oung man lifted his gloomy eye«.
and the new-comer his hat. He had yellow a^
hair, and a jaundice complexion, and his over y^
coat was a sort of yellowish brown — in short, it ^^ii
was Mr. Sylvester Sweet. |Ji|

"Good-morning, Lieutenant Shirley ! Who in
the world would expect to meet you here ? Not
lost a friend, I hope ?"

" Have the goodness to excuse me, Mr. Sweet.
I wish to be alone '." was the cold and haughty
reply.

And Mr. Sweet, with an angel smile rippling
all over his face, left accordingly, and disap-
peared in the dismal gloaming.

With the last sod beaten down, the sexton de-
parted, and John went slowly to the gate to wait
in wet impatience for the young gentleman.
Standing at his post, he saw that same young
gentlcmaa kneel down on the soaking sods, lean
his arm on the rude wooden cross the sexton
had tiirust at the liead of the grave, and lay his
face thereon. So long did he kneel there, with
tlie coid March rain benting down on his un-
covered head, that John's teeth were chattering,
and an inky darkness was falling over the city
of the dead. But he rose at last, and came
striding to his side; passed him with tremendous
sweeps of limb, and was standing, dripping
like a water-god, before tlie kitclien fire, when
tlie good man of the house entered. Jenny
was iu a low chair, with the baby on her lap,
still sleeping — its principal occupation appar-
ently ; and he looked at it with a cold, steady,
glance, very like that of his lady mother.

" I am going to leave England," he said, ad-

UNMASKED; OR,

dressing them botli, wliea John entered. "In
twenty-fuur hours I am going tu India, and if I
should never oouie back, whut will you do with
that child?"

"Keep it always," said Jenny, kissing it.
^ Dear little thing ! I love it already as if it
^Bfcrere my own I"

."If 1 live, it will not only be .provided for,
but you will be well paid for your trouble. You
. may take this as a guarantee of the future, and
BO— goo'1-bye !" '

He dropped a purse heavy with |;uinea8 into

John's willing palm; then going ov^, looked nt

the sleeping infant with a cold, set face, for one

i instant, and then stooping down, touched his

! lips lightly to its velvet cheek. And then, wrap-

Eing his cloak closely around him, and pnlling
is military cap far over his brows, he was out
I into the wild, black night. They heard his
horse's hoofs splashing over the marshy com-
mon, and they knew not even the name of the
, " marble guest" who c«me and disappeared as
I mvsteriously as the Black Horseman in the
German tale.

And so the world went ! In her fur-off home,

amid the green hills and golden Sussex downs,

sat a lady, whose pride was so ranch stronger

than her love, that by her own act she had

made herself a childless, broken-hearted woman.

I Steaming down the Thames, in a great trans-

! port, a young officer stood, with folded arms,

I watching the receding shores he might never

i Bee again, whose love was so much stronger

than his pride, that he was leaving his native

land with a prayer in his heart that some Sepoy

I bullet might lay him dead under the blazing

I Indian sky ; and, sleeping in her cottage home,

j all unconscious of the destiny before her, lay

I the Utile heiress of Castle Cliffe !

CHAPTER IV.

TWELVE YEARS AFTER.

The great bell of Clifton Cathedral was just
riuging the hour of five. The early morning
was dim with haasy mist, but the sky was blue
ard cloud less; and away in the east, a crimson
glory was spreading, ihe herald of the rising
>iun. Early us the hour was, all was bustle and
busy life in the town of Cliftonlea ; you would
have thought, had you seen the concourse of
|>eople in High street, it was noon instead of five
in tlie morning. Windows, too, were opening
in every direction ; night-capped heads being
popped out ; anxious glances being cast at the
sky, and then the night-caps were popped in
again ; the windows slammed down, and every-
body making the'r toilet, eager to be out.
Usually, Cliftonlea was as quiet and well-be-
haved a town as any in England, but on the
night prtvi'^"", fcO this memorable morning, its
two serene guardian nngeis ^eace and Quiet-
ness, had taken uulu Ihomselves wings and flown

far away. The clatter of horses and wheels had
made uight hideous ; the jingliug of bells and
shouts of children, and the tramp of numberless
footsteps, had awoke the dull echoes from night-
fall till daydawn. In short, not to keep any
one in suspense, this was the first day of the
annual Cliftonlea Races— and Bartlemy Fair, in
the days of Henry the Eighth, was not a cir-
cumsta'noe to the Cliftonlea Races. Nobody in
the whole town, under the sensible and settled
age of thirty, tliought of mating a mouthful that
morning ; it was sacrilege to think of such a
groveling matter as breakfast on the first glo-
rious day ; and so new coats and hats, and smart
dresses, were donned, and all the young folks
came pouring- out in one continuous stream
toward the scene of action.

The long, winding road of three miles, between
Cliftonlea and the race-course, on common
every-day days, was the pleasantest road in the
world — bordered with fragrant hawthorn hedg-
es, with great waving fields of grain and clover
on each hand, and slnidowed here and there with
giant beeches and elms. But it was nut a par-
ticularly cool or tranquil tramp on this morn-
ing, for the throng of vehicles and foot-passen-
gers was feartul, and the clouds of simooms of
dust more frightful stdl- There were huge re-
freshment caravans, whole troops of strolling
players, gangs of gipsies, wandering minstrels,
and all such roving vagabonds , great booths
on four wheels, carts, drays, wagons, and every
species of conveyance imaginable. There were
equestrians, too, chiefly mounted on mules and
donkeys ; there were jinglin^^ of bells, and no
end of shouting, cursing, aui vbciferating, so
that it was the liveliest morni.ig that road had
known for at least twelve mon:.hs.

There rose the brightest of suiis, and the bluest
of skies, scorching and glaring hot. The vol-
umes of dust were awful, and came rolling even
into the town ; but still the road was crowded,
and still the cry was, " They come !" But the
people and vehicles which passed were of an-
other nature now. The great caravans and
huge carts had almost ceased, and young Eng-
land came flashing along in tandems, and dog-
carts, and flies, and four-in-hands, or mounted
on prancinir steeds. The ofiiicers from the Clif-
tonlea barracks — dashing dragoons in splendid
uniforms — flew like the wind through the dusti
and sporting country-gentlemen in top-boots and
knowing caps, and fox-hunters in pink, and
betting men, and black legs, book in hand, follow-
ed, as if life and death depended on their haste. In
two or three more hours came another change —
supero barouches, broughams, pheetons, grand
carriages with coachmen and footmen in livery,
magnificent horses in silver harness, rich ham-
meroiotbs with coats of arms emblazoned there-
on, came roiling splendidly up, filled with
splendid ladies All the great folks for fifty
miles round came to the Cliftonlea races; even

the Right Re^
deigned lu uon
And the see;
describe it?
refreBliment-b<
ot amusement
the hundreds i
hither and thi
living sea ; thf
near the raoe-g
visions of glf
waving plume
air was filled
performers, m
not unpieasan
was the cloadl
Bun.

A group of
betting-books
its of the rival
Vivia, owned
lea, and Lad;
Lisle, of Lisle
day.

" Two to OB
las, of the Lig
"Done!" c
ready to bad
odds!"

The bets w<
las put his be
smile on his 1
and wide, he
"And here
looking statel
she always do
" Where ?"
Warwick, looi
^pect!lcles.
roan."

'• I don't m
Douglas, laui;
Agues hersell
tilts, iiUe a f
pony phaeton
" llandsona
young Ensi{j
That's her nc
who is that I
" That's h(
they say the
'• How car
thought the <
" The Shir
the village i
of Lady Agn
Shirley. So
strictly entai
nes can leave
if she likes."
" Has she i
Major, who v
liltlo ttupid

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

lie Right RevereiKl tli« Bisliop uf Clifboulea
dbigiied lu uome luere hiraoelt'.

AuJ the Boeue on the ra<e«-ground — who shall
deticribe it? The circuses, the theatres, the
refreshment-boutlis, the thousaDd-and-ooe places
ot ainuseineut aud traps tor catching money ;
the hundreds and hundreds of people running
hither aud thither over the green sward in one
living sea ; the long array of carribges drawn up
near the raoe-ground and tilled with such dazzling
visions of glancing silk, and fluttering lace,
waving plumes and beautiful faces. Then the
air was filled with music from the countless
performers, making up a sort of oats' concert,
not unpleasant to listen to ; and over all there
was the oloadless blue sky and blazing August
Bun.

A group of officers standing near the oourfle,
betting-books iu hand, were discussing the mer-
its of the rival racers, and taking down wagers.
Vivia, owned by Sir Roland Cliffe, of Ciiltou-
lea, and Lady Agnes, owned by Lord Henry
Lisle, of Lisletiam, were to take the lend tiiut
day.

" Two to one on Vivia !" cried Captain Doug-
las, of the Light Dragoons.

" Done !" cried a brother officer. " I am
ready to back the Lady Agnes against any
odds!"

The bets were booked, and as Captain Doug-
las put his betting-book in his pocket with a
smile on his lip, and his quick eye glanced far
and wide, he suddenly exclaimed :

"And here comes th» Lady Agnes herself,
louking stately as u queen and fair as a lily, as
she always does."

" Where f" said his superior officer, old Major
Warwick, looking helplessly round through Liis
Npcctiicles. " 1 thought Lady Agnes was a
roan."

'• I don't mean the red mare," said Captain
Douglas, laughing, " but the real bona fide Ludy
Agues herself— Lady Agnes Sliirley. There she
Bits, like a princess in a play, in that superb
pony phseton."

"Handsomest woman in Sussex!" lisped a
young Ensign, " aud wortli no end of tin.
That's her nephew, young Shirley, driving, aud
who is that little fright ju the backseat?'

" That's her niece, little Maggie Shirley, and
they say the heiross of Castle Ciitfe."

"How can that be?' said the Major. "I
thought the estate was entailed."

"The Shirley i:s ates are, but the castle and
the village adjoining were the wedding-dower
of Lady Agnes Cliffe when she married Doctor
Sliirley. So, though the Shirley property is
strictly entailed to the nearest of kin, Lady Ag-
nes can leave Castle Cliflfe to her kitchen-maid,
if she likes."

" Has slie no children of her own ?" asked the
Major, who was a stranger in Cliftonlea, and a
littio Btnpid about pedigree.

'• None now ; she had a son, Cliflfe Shirley —
splendid fellow he wns, too. He was one of us,
aud as brave as a iion. We served together
some years in India. I remember him so well,
there was not a man in the whole regiment who
would not have died for him, but he was a dis-
carded son !"

" How was that ? Lady Agnes looks more
like an angel than a vindictive mother."

" Oh, your female angels often turn out to
have the heart of Old Nick himself," said Cap-
tain Douglas, tightening his belt. " I don't
mean to say she has, you know ; but those
Cliflfes are infernally proud people. They all
are. I have known some of their distant cous-
ins, and so on, poor as Job's turkey, and proud
as the devil. Cliffe Shirley committed that
most heinous of social crimes — a low marriage.
There was the dickens to pay, of course, when
my lady yonder heard it ; and the upshot was,
the poor fellow was disinherited. His wife died
a vti&r after the marriage ; but he had a daugh-
ter. I remember his telling me of her a thou-
oaod times, with the stars of India sliining down
on o'lt bivouac. Poor Clifford ! he was a glo-
rious fellow! but I have heard he was killed
since I came home, scaling the walls of Mona-
goola, or Huoh some such place."
" Whom diJ he marry ?"
'• I forgot, now He never would speak of
his wife ; but I have heard she was a ballet-
dancer, or opera-singer, or something cf that
sort."

" All wrong !" «a:d a voice at his elbow.
And there stood Lord Henry Lisle slapping his
boots with a rattan, and listening languidly.
" I know the whole storv. She wa.i a French
actress. You've seen her a score of '.!"''»''.
Don't 3*ou remember Mademoiselle Vivia, who
took all London by storm some twelve yearn
ago ?"

" Of course, I do ! Ah, what eyes that giri
had ! And then she disappeared so niysteri'
ously, nobody ever knew what became of her."
"I know. Cliffe Shirley married her, aiitl
she died, as you have said, a year after.".

Captain Douglas gave an intensely long whis-
tle of astonishment.

" Oh, that was the way of it, then ? No won'
der his lady mother was outrageous. A Clifft;
marry an actress!"

"Just so!" drawled Lord Lisle, clapping the
dust off his boots. '*' And if her son hadn't
married her, her brother would! Sir Roland
nearly went distracted about her."

" Oh, nonsense ! He married that black-
eyed widow — that Cousin Cliarlotte of his, with
the little boy, in half a year after."

" It's true, though ! I never saw one half so
frantically in love ; and he hasn't forgotten her
yet, as you may see by his naming his blacc
mare after her."

Captain Douglas

laughed.

FNM ASKED; OP.

•' And is it for the same reason you have
named your red road steed after Ladv Agnes —
eb, Lisle?"

Lord Lisle actually blushed. Everybody
knew bow infatuated tlio insipid youny (-eer
was about the haughty lady of Castle Cliff«,
who might have been liis mother; and every-
body laughed at him, except the lady herself,
Who, in an uplifted sort of way, was spKndidly
and serenely scornful.

" Lovely creature I" lisped the Ensign. " An^
those ponies are worth a thousand guineas if
they're worth one."

" How much ? Where is she ? Is she here ?''
cried Lord Lisle, who was mentally and physi-
cally rather obtuse, staring around him. "Oii,
I see her ! Excuse me, gentlemen, I must pay
my respects."

Oflf went Lord Lisle like a bolt from a bow.
The officers looked at eacli other and lauehed.

" Now. you'll see the grandly -disdainful re-
ception he'll get," said Captain Douglas. " The
queenly descendant of the Cliffes (reats the late-
ly-fledged lordling as if he were her fooiboy ;
and probably his grandfather shoed her grand-
father's horses."

The whole group were looking toward the
glittering filo of carriages, drawu up near the
end of which was an exquisite phaeton, drawn
by two beautifully-matched ponies of creamy
wliiteness. The pheaton had three occupmits —
a lady lool;ing still young and still beAutiful.
and eminently distinguished, dressed in flowing
robes of black barege, with ii large lace shawl,
gracefully worn more Jiite drapery than a shawl,
half slipping off one shoulder, daintily gloved
in black kid, and wearing a black tulle bonnet,
contrasting exquisitely with the pearly fairness of
the proud face, and shining bandoaux of flaxt-n
hair. In those flaxen btndeuux not one gray
hair was visible ; and leaning back with lan-
guid liaui.eur, she looked a proud, indcient, ele-
gant^ woman of the world, but not a widow
wearing icouniing for her only son. Lady Ag-
Bes Shirley might have felt — widows with only
sons mostly do — but certainly the world knew
nothing of it. Her heart might, breait ; but
she was one who could suffer and make no
sign.

Sitting beside hor and holding the reins,
pointing everything out to her with vivid ani-
tuiition, talking witti the greatest volubility, and
gesticulating with the utmost earnestness, was a
tall, dark-eyed, dark-haired, good-looking young
giant, who, although only sixteen, was six feet
high, and told iiis friemls he wasn't half done
growing yet. He was Tom Shirley, an orphan,
the son of Lady Agnes's late husband's young-
est brother, now resident at Castle Cliffe, and
senior boy in the College School of Cliftonlea.
And that was Master Tom's whole past histo-
ry, except that he was the best-natured, impet-
tious, fiery, rough, kind-be. rted young giaitt,

whose loud voice and long strides brought np'
roar everywhere he went.

There was a third figure in the back soat — u
small girl who looked len, and who wus in real-
ity fifteen years old — Miss Margaret Sinrlev,
the daughter of Doctor Shirley's second brother
— like Tom, an orphan, and dep' inlent on her
aunt- Siie was dressed in bright rose silk, wore
a pretty summer-hat trimmed wi'.h rose rib-
bons; but the bright colors of robe and cha-
peau contrasted harshly with her dark, pale
face. It was a wan, sickly, solemn, unsmiling
little visage as ever child wore ; with large, hol-
low gray eyes, neither bright nor expressive ;
sharp, pinched features, and altogether an in-
explicably cowed and subdued look, iier hair
WJ.8 pretty — the only pretty thing about her—
dark, and thick, and curly, as all the Sliirieys
were ; but it could not relieve the soU mri, sal-
low face, the pinched, angular Hgure, and ev-
erybody wondered what Lady Agnes could see
in I hat fairy changeling ; and shrugged their
shoulders to think that she should reign in Cas-
tle Glifle, whose mistresses had always been the
country's boast for their beauty.

The knot of officers watching Lord Lisle had
ail their expectations realized. His profound
bow received only the slightest and coldest an-
swi'ring bend of the haughty head. Then Tom
Sliirjey jumped from the carriage, and diggint;
his elbows into everybody's ribs who came in his
way, lore like a fiery meteor through the crowd.
And then tlie horses were starting, and the «fli
cers had no time to think of anything else. F<>r
soiie time, Yiviaand Lady Agnes kept neck and
neck. The excitement and betting were im-
mense. Captain Douglas doubled his wager—
Vivia gets ahead — a shout arises — she keeps
ahead — La<ly Agnes is dead beat! and Viv;a,
amid a trenaendous cheer, comes triumphantly
in the winner.

*' That's three thousand pounds in my ;.-<5k
et!" said Captain Douglas, coolly. "Hallo,
Shirley! Wnat's the row?"

For Tom Shirley was tearing along, very red
in the face, his elbows in the ribs of society^ and
looking as much like a distracted meteor as
ever. He halted in a high state of excitement
at the captain's salute.

" The most glorious sight I Such a girl !
You ought to see her I Slie's positively stun-
ning!"

" Who's stunning, Tom? Don't be in .i hur-
ry to answer. Youre completely blown."

"I'll be blown again, then, if f stop talking
here I If you want to see her, come along, and
look for yourself."

"I'm your man!" sail the Captain, thrust-
ing his arm through Tom's, and sticking his
other elbow, after that spirited you'ig gentle-
man's fashion, into the siaes of everybody who
opposed him. " And now relieve my curiosity
liite a good fellow, as we go along."

"Oh, it'i
*' Make has
sight to see

" Is she p

"A regul
way, you o
the middle

This last
gentleman,
ing, and mo
tleman and
of this huD
found them
around whi(
young and
fifty feet hii
this tent, ai
down to the
a bright ui
keeping th<
band of mo
ments in tl
"British G
beating a v<
that when t
•8 people ^^

"How ar
the tent, if i
it"

" Oh, she
" she is goin
imen of he
dizzy top o
mazurka, or
sort, on the
her, just loo
The Capt
were huge p
in every oo
ran might n
ers vfs somi

The Pet and
ity, and Gentr;

Come one !
The Infant V<

Admit

By the tir
of this absc
muring and f
him that the
in the oute:
rush — the m
batons dang
public. Tbei
IS she?" '
see her!"
log out of
Infant Venui
not an opti<
satisfied. A

THE HEIRESS OP CaSTLE CLIFPE.

brought up

mok 8«iat — u|
wild in I'i'iil-
irct 8airley,|
uuiiil bi'utlier
iiiieiit un herl
use bill<i worel
if-U rose rib-
•be and clia-
\r dark, (mlel

D, UIlStUlliDg|

ith large, hoi-
• exprc-saive;]
pettier uu in-
k. Uer liairl
about her — I
the Sliirleya|
I BoKiuri, sal-
gure, and ev-
ites could 8C'e
irugged their
I reign in Cas-
ivaya bceu tbtil

ord Lisle hail I
His profound I
id coldest an-
. Then Tom I
e, and diggini;
10 came in liisj
igh the crowd.
, and the offi
ling else. Foil
kept neck and
ing were ini-
l his wager— I
s — she keeps
! and Viv.a,!
triumphantly I

in my /-ck
lly. '• Hallo,

ong, very red

f society^ and

ed meteor as I

of excitement

Swch a girl! I
jsitively stun-

't be in .i hur-|

blown."

stop tfiikiiig I
me along, and |

nptain, thrust-
^ sticking Ids |
you'ig gentle-
very body wiio I
e my curiosity

"Oh, it's a tight-rope dancer!" said Tom.
" Make haste, or you won't see her, and it's a
eight to see, I tell you !"

"Is she pretty, Tom?"

" A regular trump !" said Tom. " Get out of
way, you old kangaroo, or I'll pitch you into
the middle of next week."

This last apostrophe was addressed to a stout
gentleman, who came along panting, and snort-
ing, and mopping hio face. And as the old gen-
tleman and ev'-rybody else got out of the way
of this human whirlwind in horror, they soon
found themselves before a large canvas tent,
around which an iuimense concourse of people,
young and old, were gathered. A great pole,
fifty feet high, stuck up through the middle of
this teut, and a thick wire-rope came slanting
down to the ground. Two or three big men, in
a bright muform of scarlet and yellow, were
keeping the multitude away from this, and a
band of modern troubadours, with brass instru-
ments in tlieir mouths, were discoursing the
"British Grenadiers". A very little boy was
beating a very big drum in u very large way,io
that when the Captain spoke, he had to shout
IS people do through an ear-trumpet.

"How are we to get through this crowd to
the tent, if the damsel you speak of is within
it"

"Oh, she'll be out presently!" said Tom;
" she is going to give the common herd a spec-
imen of her powers, by climbing up to the
dizzy top of that pole, and dancing the polka
mazurka, or an Irish jig, or something or that
sort, on the top. And while we are waiting for
her, just look here I"

The Captain looked. On every hand there
were linge placards, with letters three feet long,
in every color of the rainbow, so that he who
ran might read, and the text of these loud post-
ers v fa somewhat in this fashion :

"UNRIV4LED ATTRACTION!
Unprecedented Inducement !
The Infant Vincs!
The Pet and Favorite of the Royal Family, the Nobil-
ity, and Gentry of England :

Come one ! Come all ! '
The Infant Venus ! The Infant Venus ! ! The Infant
Venus '. ! !
Admission, 6d. : Ckildren, half price."

By the time the Captain had pot to the end
of this absorbing piece of literature, a mur-
muring and swaying motion of the crowd, told
him that the Infant Venus herself had appeared
in the outer world. There was a suppressed
rush— the men in scarlet jackets fleurislied their
batons dangerously near the noses of the dear
public. There was an excited murmur: " Where
IS she?" " What is she like ?" " Oh, I can't
see her !" And everybody's eyes were start-
ing out of their head to make sun that the
Infant Venus was of real flesh and blood, and
not an optical illusion. But soon they were
satisfied. A glittering figure, sparkling and

shining like the sunlight from head to foot,
bearing the Union Jack of Old England in
either band, went fluttering up this slender
wire. The crowd held its t)reath, the music
changed to a quick, wild measure, and the beau
tiful vision floated up in the sunshine, keeping
time to the exciting strain. It was tlie light,
slender figure ot a girl of thirteen or fourteen,
with the Tittle tapering feet gleaming in span-
gled shppers of white satin, the slight form ar-
rayed in a short white gossamer skirt reaching
to the knee ; and, like the slippers, all over sil-
ver spanglee. Down over the bare white shoul-
ders waved such a glorious fall of iroldeu
bronze hair, half waves, half curls, such as few
children ever bad before ; and the shining
tresses were crowned with ivy leaves and white
roses. The face was as beautiful as the hair,
but instead of the blue or brown eyes that
should have gone with it, thev were of intensest
black, and vailed by sweeping lashes of the
same color. The music arose, quicker and
faster, the silvery vision, scintillating and shin-
ing, flashed up, and up, and up, with her wav-
ing flags, till she looked like a bright, wliit«
speck against the blue summer sky, and the
lookers-on hushed the very beating of their
hearts. One false step— one dizzy turn, and
that white 14 -ck will cover a bleeding and man-
gled little form, and the bronze hair will be
crimson in blood. But she is at tlie top ; she
is looking down upon them, she waves her flags
triumphant in her eagle eyrie, and a mighty
cheer goes up from a hundred throats, that
makes the whole plain ring. And now the mu-
sic changes again; it grows slower, '".nd the
fairy in silver spangles hegins to descend. If
she should miss, even now ! but no, she is on
the ground even before tliey can realize it, and
then there is another shout louder than the
first ; the bnnd strikes up an " lo Triomphe",
and Tom and ^he Captain take off their own
hats, and cheered louder than any of the rest.
And the brave little beauty bows right and left,
and vanishes like any other fairy, and is seen
no more.

" Didn't I tell you she was stunning !" cried
Tom, exultingiy.

" Tom, you're an oracle I Is she going to do
anything within ?"

Lots of things — look at that rush

»«♦

There was a rush, sure enough. The doors
had been opened, and everybody was scram-
bling in pell-mell. Sixpences and threepences
were flying about like hail-stones in a March
storm, and women and children were getting
torn and " squeezed to death".

Tom and the Captain fought their way
through with the rest. Two people were taking
money at the door, in which they entered— a
man and woman. They paid their sixpences,
made a rush for a seat, and took it in triumph.
Still the crowd poured in— it might have been

UNMASKED; OR,

the bcAuty of thd girl, her dizzying walk ap the
wire-rupe, or the rumor uf her dancing, that
brou^lit them, but oertaiulj the canvas tent
was filled from its sawdust pit to its tented roof.
They were not kept long waiting for the rising
of the curtain, either— the same thing was to be
played at least half a dozen times thut diiv, so
the moments were precious ; and the solemn
green curtain went up in ten minutes, and the.v
saw the youthiul Venus rise up from the sea-
foam, with her beautiful hair unbound, and
floating around her, her white robes trail-
ing in the brine, and King Neptune and
Queen Amphitrite, and their Mermaid court,
and the Graces and attendant Sylphs, all around
her. The scene was all sea and moonlight ;
and she floated, in her white dress, across
the moonlit stage, like a fairy in a maeio ring.
The tent shook with the applause ; ana nobody
ever danced in trailing robes as she did then.
Tiie contest for the crown of beauty arose —
Juno, MinervA, and Venus were all there ; and
so was the arbiter and judge. Venus, says leg-
endary lore, bore away the palm, as much on
account of tier scanty drapery as her unparal-
leled loveliness. The Venus standing before
them there was scantily enough draped, Heaven
knows! the dainty and uncoverea neck and
arms whiter than her dress, one as short a? the
heart of any ballet-dancer could desire ; nnd
oh ! what another storm of applause there was
when Paris gave her the gold apple, and Juno
and Minerva danced a pas de deux of exaspera-
tion, and she floated round them like a spirit in
a dreamt And then she bowed and smiled
at the audience, and kissed her finger-tips to
them, and vanished behind the green curtain ;
and then it was all over, and everybody was
pouring out in ecstasies of delight :

"Isn't she splendid?" cried Tom, in tran-
sport. " She beats the ballet-dancers I saw
when I was in London, all to sticks. And then
she is as good looking as an enchanted princoss
in th« ' Arabian Nights' !"

" My dear Tom, moderate your transports. I
wonder if there's any way of finding out any-
tliing more about her? I must confess to feel-
ing a trifle interested in her myself."
" Let us ask the old oodger at the door."
" Agreed."

The twain made their way to the door, where
the old codger, as Tom styled the black-browed,
sullen-looking man who had taken tlie money,
stood counting over his gains with his female
companion — a little, stooping, sharp-eyed, vix-
enish-looking old woman. The man looked up
as Captain Douglas lightly touched him on the
shoulaer.

" See here, my friend, that is a very pretty
little cirl you have there !"

" Olad you like her I" said the man, with a
sort of growl.
" I thought you would be. What's her onme f "

" Hop name ? Can't you read ? Her name
is ou^ there on them bil^ t Don't yon see she
is the Infant Venus?"

" But I presume, for the common uses of
everyday life, she has another? Come, old
fellow, don't be disobliging — let's hear it."

" Not as I know on," growled the questioned
one, civilly.

Tom, combating a severe mental resolve tu
punch his head, then drew out a sovereign in-
stead, and flourished it before his ey^s :

" Look here, old chap ! tell us all about her,
and I'll give you this.*'

'* I'll t»ll you !" said the old woman, snapping
with vicious eagerness at the money. " She'^
his daughter, and I'm his mother, and she's my

granddaughter and her name's Barbara Black!
ive it here !"

Before Tom could recover his breath, jerked
ont of him by the volubility with which this
confession was poured forth, the old woman had
snatched the coin out of his hand, and was
thrusting it, with a handful of silver, into her
pocket, when a pleasant voice behind her ex-
claimed :

" Dear little Barbara, the prettiest little fairy
that ever was seen, and the very image of her
charming grandmother!"

All looked at the speaker — a gentleman in a
canary colored waistcoat, wenring gold studs
and breastpin, a gold watch-chain with a pro-
fusion of shimmering gold talismans attached,
a lemon -colored glove on one hand, and a great
gold ring on the other, with a yellow searl that
reached nearly to the second joint ; a saflFronlsh
complexion, and yellow hair, that seemed to en-
circle his head like a glory — a gflntleraan who
glittered in the sunlight almost ns much as
the Infant Venus herself, and whose cheerful
face wore the pleasantest of smiles— a gentle-
m-in to make you smile from sympathy as you
looked at liira, and not at all to be afraid of;
but as the grandmother of the Infant Venus had
her eyes upon him, she uttered a terrified
scream, dropped the handful of gold and silver,
and fled.

CHAPTER V.

THE PRODIGAL ao>f

" Ah, Sweet, how are you ?" said Tom, nod-
ding familiarly to the new comer. " What the
dickens nils the old girl ?"

" A hard question to answer. She is out a
little, you know" (Mr. Sweet tipped his fcre-
boad significantly with his forefinger, and looked
at the mai:)— " just a little here !"

" Can we speak to the Infant Venus?" asked
Tom of the old oodger.

"I tell you what, gents," was the angry re-
ply, " I want you three to clear out of this !
rhere are other ladies and gents a coming in,
and I can't be having you a loitering round
h-re all day ! Come I"

"Quite

way. *♦ I

for you I

the Majoi

a little c

Tom, I hi

"All 1

away arm

his head t

you old bi

precious li

or I'll bre

With w

Captain i

looked aft

more whe

before hir

smile, and

" Come

"Oh nc

not at all ;

found thai

old lady w

" You w

"My dt

that unple

and I'm su

me to that

think you

And Mr.

back.

" I'll bre
man, snptc
him, and
was most
another mi
The two
other — the
fectly serei
in a calm,
make an
Mr. Sweet
mostly hid
but they
man with
would hav
slowly dro
crouched
ter.

" What
his customi
mnn what's
wish you
coming in,
" But I
Mr. Sweet,
deed, until
lady! do

Mutterin
led on thi
aside the ^
stage. MrJ
him the tef

Her name
iron see she

ion uses of
Gome, old

itir it."
questioned

1 resolve fco

overeigii in-

S^s:

1 about her,

in, suapping
cy. " Sl»e*B
ind she's my
bara Black!

reath, ierked
I which this
) woman had
nd, and was
ver, into her
bind her e»-

st little fairy
image of her

ntleman in a
[ gold studs

with a pro-
ins attached,
, and a great
[uw searl that

a saffronish
eemed to en-
n tie man who

ns much as
ose cheerful
!8— a gentle-
pathy as you
be afraid of;
it Venus had
a terrified
Id and silver,

id Tom, nod-
" What the

She is put a
ped his fcre-
er, and looked

'"enus ?" asked

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIPPE.

I I

the angiy re-

^ out of this!

a coming in,

ituring round

" Quite right,** said Mr. Sweet, in his pleasant
way. '* Mr. Tom, 1 heard Lady Agnes asking
for you a short time ago. Captain Douglas,
the Major told me to say, if I found you, he had
n little commission fur you to execute. Mr.
Tom, I believe her ladyship wishes to go home."

'* AH right I" said Tom, boyishly, moving
away arm-in-arm with the Captain ; and turning
bis head as went : " Give my love to Barbara,
you old bear, and don't let her be risking her
precious little neck climbing up that horrid wire,
or I'll break your head for you ! Vale /"

With which gentle valedictory Tom and the
Captain moved away ; and tlie doorkeeper
looked after them with a growl ; but he growled
more when he found Mr. Sweet standing still
before him, gazing up in his face with a soft
smile, and showing no signs of moving.

"Gome ! get out of this!" he began, grufflv.

" Oh no !" said Mr. Sweet. "By no means ;
not at all ; not yet. 'Tis just the hour. Moore
found that out, you know. I want to see the
old lady who ran away."

" You will want it then ! Be off, I tell you !"

" My dear fellow, don't raise your voice in
that unpleasant manner. People will hear you,
and I'm sure you would reget it after. Do lead
me to that dear old lady again — ^your mother, I
think you said."

And Mr. Sweet patted him soothingly on the
back.

" I'll break your neck !" cried the exasperated
man, snetching up a cudgel that stood besi* ^
him, and flourishing it in a way thrt showed he
was most u -oleasantly in earnest, '■ if you stay
another minuu here."

The two men were looking straight at each
other — the one with furious eyes, the other, per-
fectly serene. There is a magnetism, they say,
in a calm, commanding human eye tlint can
make an enraged tiger crouch and tremble.
Mr. Sweet's eyes were very small, and were
mostly hid under two thick, yellow eyebrows ;
but they were wonderful eyes for all that. The
man with the stick was a big, stout fellow, who
would have made two of him easily ; but he
slowly dropped his stick and his eyes, and
crouched lilie a whipped aouod before his mas-
ter.

"What do you want?" he demanded, with
his customary growl, " a coming and bullying a
mnn what's been and done nothing to you. I
wish you would clear out. There's customers a
coming in, and you're in the way ''

" But I couldn't think of sucti a thing," said
Mr. Sweet, quite laughing. " I couldn't, in-
deed, until I've seen the old lady. Dear old
lady ! do take me to her, ray friend."

Muttering to himself, but still cowed, the man
led on through the rows of benches, pushed
aside the green onrtain, and jumoed on the low
stage. Mr. Sweet followed, and .ntered with
him the temporary green-room, pausing in the

doorway to survey it. A horrible place, full of
litter, and dirt, and disorder, and painted men
and women, and children, and noise, and racket,
and uproar. There was a row of little lookiut^-
glasses stuck all round the wall, and some of
the players were standing before them, looking
unutterably ghastly with one cheek painted
blooming red, and the other of a grisly white^
nesB. And in the midst of all this confusion,
" worse confounded", there sat the Infant Venus,
looking as beautiful off the stage as she bad
done on it, and needing no paint or tawdry Hu-
sel to make her so. And there, crouching down
in the farthest corner, horribly frightened, ns
every feature of her old face showed, was tlie
dear old lady they were in search of The noise
ceased iit the entrance of the stranger, and all
paused in their manifold occupations to stare,
and the old wom^n crouclied farther away in
her corner, and held out her shaking hands as if
to keep him off. But Mr. Sweet, in his benevo-
lent designs, was not one to be so easily kept
off; ond ne went over aiud patted the old lady
encouragingly on the back, us he bad done her
son.

" My good old soul, don't be so nervous !
There is no earthly reason why you should
tremble and look like this. I wouldn't hurt a
fly, I wouldn't. Do compose yourself, and tell
me what is the matter."

Tite old woman made an effort to speak, but
her teeth chattered in her head.

" You said you were — you said—"

"Precisely! That wos exactly what I said,
that I was going to America ; but I haven't
gone, you see. I couldn't leave England, I
couldn't, really. ' England, my country, great
and free, heart of the world, I leap to thee,'
and all that sort of thing, you know. What!
you're shaking yet. Oh now. really, you mustn't,
it quite hurts my feelings to see one ot your
time of life taking on in this faehion. Permit
me to help you up, and assist you to a chair.
There is none — very well, this candle-box w.M
do beautifully."

With which Mr. Sweet assisted the old ladj
to iirise, placed her on the box, amid the won'-
dering company, and oiuiling in 'jis pleasant
way around on them nil, pursued his discourse.

" These good ladies and gentlemen here look
surprised, and it is quite natural they should ;
hut T can assure them you and I are old and
tried friends, and I will intrude on them but a
few mlautes longer. I am anxious to say five
words In private to your son, my worthy soul !
and lest his naturally prudent nature should in-
duce him to decline, I have come to you to ob-
tain your maternal persuasions in my favor. I
will step to the door and wait, but I'm sure he
will listen and obey the words of a tender
mother.

Humming an air as be went, Mr. Sweet walked
out, after bowing politely to the company, and

UNMASKED; OR,

waited with the ntiioBt patience for some ten
miiuitca at the door. At the end of that period
the gentleman waited for made his appearance,
looking sour, suspicioua, and diaoontented. Mr.

, S^eet instantly tooii bis arm and led him out. in

I his pleasant way.

" Dear old fellow! I knew yon would come —

' in fact, I wna perfectly sure of it. About fifty
yarda.from thm plnoe there ia n elump of birch
trees, ore''ha'iging a hedge, a great place where
nobody ever cornea. Do you know itf
A sulky nod was the answer.
" Very well. Have the goodneaa to precede
me there — people might aay aometbing if they
saw ua go together. I have a very intereatiug
'little story to tell you, which will not bear more
than one listener, nnd that dark spot ia just the
place to tell it in. Go on 1"

The man paused for one moment and looked
nt him in mingled suspicion and fear ; but Mr.
Sweet wna pointing ateadily out. And muttering
in his peculiar, growling tones, like those of a
beaten cur, he alunk away in the direction indi-
oatedi The distance was short ; he made his
way through the crowd and soon reached the
spot, a gloomy place with white birches, costing
long cool shodowa over the hot grnss, in an ob-
scure corner of the grounds where nobody
came. There was an old stump of a tree, rot-
ting under the fragrant hawthorn hedge ; the
man sat down on it, took a pi[)e out of bis
pocket, lit it, and began to smoke. As he took
the first whiff, something glistened before him
in the sun, and raising his anllen eyes, they
reated on the smiling visage of Mr. Sweet.

" Ah, that's right !" that gentleman began in
his lively way ; " make yourself perfectly com-
fortable, my dear Black — your name is Black,
is not— Peter Black, eh ?"

Mr. Black nodded, and smoked away like a
volcano.

" Mine's Sweet — Sylvester Sweet, solicitor nt
law, and agent anc' steward of the estates of
Lady Agnes Shirley, ol^Cnstle Cliffe. And
now, that we mutually ka^ each other, I am
sure you will be pleased to iiave me proceed to
business at once."

There was a rustic stile in the hawthorn
hedge quite close to where Mr. Black sat. Mr.
Sweet took a seat upon it, and looked down on
him, smiling all over.

" Perhaps you're surprised, my dear Mr.
Black, that I should know you as if you were
my brother, and you may be atill farther sur-
prised when you hear that it was solely and ex-
clusively on you* account that I have come to
these race. I am not a betting man ; I haven't
the slightest interest in any oif these horses ; I
don't care a snap who wins or who loaea, and I
detect crowds ; but I wouldn't have stayed away
from th''ae races for a thousand pounds ! And
all, ray dear fellow," said Mr. Sweet, jingling bis

watoh-seals till they aeemcd laughing in ohorns,
" all becauae I knew you were to be here."

Mr. Black, smoking away in grim silence, and
looking stolidly before him, might bavo been
deaf and dumb for all the interest or curiosity
he maniftated.

" You appear indifferent, my good Black ;
but I think I will manage to interest you yet
before we part. I liave the moat charming
little atory to relate, and I muat go back — let
me aee— eleven yeara."

Mr. Black gave the alii^hteBt perceptible
atart, but atill he neither looked up nor apoke.

" Some fifteen milea north of London," said
Mr. Sweet, playing away with hia watob-seals,
" there ia a dirty little village called Worrel,
and in this village there lived, eleven years ago,
a man named Jack Wildman, better known to
hia pothouae companions by the soubriquet of
Black Jack."

Mr. Peter Black jumped m if he had been
shot, and the pipe dropped from bis mouth, and
was shivered into atoms at his feet.

"What is it? Been stung by a wasp or a
hornet ?" inquired Mr. Sweet, kindly. " Those
horrible little insects are in swarms around
here ; but sit down, my good Black ; sit down,
and take another pipe — got none f Well, never
mind. This Black Jack I was telling you of
was a mason by trade, earning good wages, and
living very comfortably with a wife and one
child, a little girl ; and I think her name was
Barbara. Do sit down, Mr. Black ; and don't
look at me in that uncomfortably atead&st way
— it's not polite to atare, you know I"

Mr. Black crouched back in his seat ; but hia
hands were clenched and his face was livid.

" This man, as I told you« was getting good
wages, and was doing well ; but he was one of
those discontented, ungrateful ours, wh<>, like a
spaniel, required to be whipped and kicked to
be made keep his place. He got dissatisfied ;
he went among his fellow-laborers, and stirred
up a feeling of mutinous revolt. There was a
strike, and to their great amazement and dis-
gust, their masters took them at their word,
hired other workmen, and told the cross-grain*
ed dogs to beg or starve, just as tiiey pleased.
They grew furious, houses were set on fire, the
new workmen were waylaid and beaten, works
were demolished, and no end of damage done.
But it did not last long ; the law has a long
arm and a strong hand, and it reached tbe dis-
affected stone-masons of Worrel. A lot ol
them were taken one night after havint; set a
bouse on fire, and. beaten an inoffensive man ta
death ; and three months after, the whole viU
Ininous gang were transported fur life to Ne^
South Wales, Allow me to give you a cigar,
my denr Black ; I am sure you can listen bettei;
and I can talk better whilst smoking."

There was a strong club, with an il-on head,
that aome one bad dropped, lying near. Mr.

Black plot
with a fu;
but hia COD
hud thrust
drawn out

"Dear c
comes of a
trigger ! i
over the hi
I would a V

Mr. Swet
an ^olian
seraphic,
of Mr. Blac
baffled tige
hedge, and
ed Dy feai
human.

" Dear b<
keep quiet 1
Mr. Wildmi
founding a
land, at thi
heard of h
ago, there
known quai
Black— Pet
got up wifj
and mousta
that his owi
him. In fa
him at al
search and
her an unes
meeting
known wore
justice to a
son — and si
Sweet, taki
thumb, an(
sigh.

Mr. Pet<
the trunks
like those o
did not Be<
mother to
then, taste
ashes dainti
it between
the glaring
Mr. Pet«
of meeting
the late
parted — let
his mothei
charming

Sopular li
[iaa Barb)
formed he
long cruisi
through he
him as tic
wandering

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

' J

in ehonis,
lere."

ilcnoe, and
have been
If curiosity

od Black ;

Bt you yet
obarming
back — let

perceptible
or spoke.
DdoD," said
ratoh-seals,
led Worrel,
1 years ago,
r known to
abriquet of

e had been
mouth, and

, wasp or a
^. " Those
'ms around
: ; sit down.
Well, never
ling you of
I wages, and
fe And one
ir name was
; and don't
teadfast way
!"

eat; buthia
as livid.
;etting good
I was one of

wlio, like a
d kicked to
dissatisfied ;

and stirred
There was a
3nt and dis-

tiieir word,

cross-grain*
hey pleased.
; on fire, the
)t>aten, works
limage done.
V has a long
ihed the dis-
A lot of
havine set a
nsive man to
ie whole viU
■ life to New
you a cigar^

listen bettei;
ng."

in ii-on head,
g near. Mr.

Black picked it np, nnd B|>rang to bis feet
with a fu.'lous face. The motion was quick,
but his companion had maile a quicker one ; bo
bad thrust his hand into his breast-pocket, and
drawn out something that clicked sharply.

"Dear o!J boy, keep cool! No good ever
comes of actine on impulse, and this is a hair-
trigger! Sit aown — do — and throw that club
over the bedg<:, or Til blow your brains out as
I would a mad dog's !'*

Mr. Sweet's voice was as soft as the notes of
an ^olian harp, and his smile was perfectly
seraphic. But his pistol was within five inche^
of Mr. Black's countenance ; and snarling like a
baffled tiger, he did throw the club over the
hedge, and slunk back with a fnce so distort-
ed oy fear and fury, that it was scarcely
human.

" Dear boy, if you would only be sensible and
keep quiet like that ; but you a' < so impulsive I
Mr. Wildman was transported, and is probably
founding a flourishing colony in that aclightful
land, at this present moment, or nobody ever
heard of him again. But some five mouths
ago, there arrived in London, from some un-
known quarter, a e^ntleman by the name of
Black — Peter BlacK, who was so charmingly
got up with tlie aid of a wig, false whiskers,
and moustaches, and a suit of sailor's clothes,
that his own dear mother couldn't have known
him. In fact, that venerable lady didn't know
him at all, when after a month's diligent
search and inquiry, he found her out, and paid
her an unexpected visit ; but it was a delightful
meeting. Don't ask me to describe it ; no
known words in the English language could do
justice to a mother's feelings on meeting a lost
eon — and such a son ! Ah, dear me !" said Mr.
Sweet, taking his cigar between his finger and
thumb, and looking down at it with a pensive
sigh.

Mr. Peter Black, crouching down between
the trunks of the trees, and glaring with eyes
like those of a furious bull-dog about to spring,
did not seem exactly the sort of son for any
mother to swoon with delight at seeing ; but
then, tastes differ. Mr. Sweet knocked the
ashes daintily off the end of his cigar, replaced
it between his lips, looked brightly down on
the glaring eyes, and went on.

Mr. Peter Black, when the first transports
of meeting were over, found that the relict of
the late transported Mr. Wildman had de-
parted — let us hope to a better land — and that
his mother had adopted Miss Barbara, then a
charming young lady of eleven, and the most

Kopular little tight-rope dancer in London.
[iss Barbara was introduced to Mr. Black, in-
formed he wos her father, just returned after a
long cruise, and no end of shipwrecks, and
through her influence, a place was procured for
him as ticket-porter in the theatre. It was a
wandering affair that same theatre, and Mr.

Black and his charming danghter nnd mother
went roving with it over the country, and finol-
ly came with it to the Clift^nlea Itaces. Sly old
fox! how you ait there drinking in every word
—do let me prevail on you to light this cigar."
He threw a fragrant Havana as he spoko
from his cigar-case ; but the sly old fox lot it
roll on the grass at his feet, and never took his
savage eyes off the sunny face of the lawyer.
His face was so frightfully pale, that the un-
earthly glare and the mat of coarse black hair,
made it look by contrast quite dreadful.

" You won't have it— well, no matter ? How
do you like my story ?"

" You devil," said Mr. Black, speaking for
the first time, and in a horrible voice, " where
did yi)U learn my story ?"

" Your story, eh ? I thought you would find
it interesting. No matter where I Jearnt it, I
know you, Mr. Peter Black, as pat as my prayers,
and I intend to use that knowledge, you may
take your oath I You are as much my slave as
if I bought you in the Southern States of Ameri-
ca for so many hundred dollars ; as much my
dog as if I had you chained and kenneled in
my yard ! Don't stir, you returned transport,
or ril shoot you where you stand."

With the ferocious eyes blnzing, and the
tiger-jaws snarling, Mr. Black erawled in spirit
in the dust at the feet of the calm-voiced, yel>
low haired lawyer."

" And now, Mr. Black, you understand why I
brought you here to tell you this little story ;
and as you've listened to it with exemplary pa-
tience, you may listen now to the sequel. The
first thing you are to do is, to quit this roving
theatre, you, and the dear old lady, and the
pretty little tight-rope dancer. You can remain
with them to-day, but to-night you will go to the
Cliffe farms, the three of you, and remain there
until I give you leave to quit. Have you money
enough to pay for lodgings there a week?"

Mr. Black uttered some guttural sounds by
way of reply, but they were so choked in his
thr'>'».t with rage and terror that they we4'e un-
distinguishable.

Mr. Sweet jumped down and patted him on
the shoulder with a good-natured laugh.

" Speak out, old fellow I Yes or no."

" Yes."

" You won't go secretly, you know. Tell the
prof^rietor of the affair that you like this place,
and that you are going to settle down and take
to fishing or farmini; ; that you don't like this
vagabond kind of life for ^'oUr little girl, and so
on. Go to the Cliffe Arms to-night. You'll
have no trouble in getting quarters there, and
you 4nd your delightful family will stay till I
see fit to visit you again. You will do this, my
dear boy — won't you ?"

" You know I must 1" said the man, with a
fiendish scowl, and his fingers convulsively
working, as if be would have liked ta spring on

UNMASKED; OR,

tlie pleMaut lawyer and tear him limb from
limb.

" Oh yiy<, I know it I" said Mr. Sweet, laugh-
ing ; " and I liuow, too, that if you ahoul.i at-
tempt to pluy any triol(8 on me, thiit I will buve
you swinging by the neck from the Old Bailey
BIX months after. But you needn't be afraid. I
don't mean to do you any harm. On the con-
trary, if you only follow my diruotious, you will
find me the beat friend you ever bud. Now,

go-"

Mr. Black rose up, and turned away, but be-
fore he bad gone two yai'ds be was back
again.

'What do you want? What does all this
mean?" he asked, in a husky whisper.

" Never you mind that, but take yourself off.
I am done with you for the present. Time tells
everything, and time will tell what I want with
you. Off with you !"

Mr. Bliiok turned again, and this time walked
steadily out of sight ; and when lie was entirely
gone, Mr. Sweet broke into a musical laugh,
threw his smoked-out cigar over the hedge,
thrust his hands in his pockets, and went away
whistling :

" My lore is but a lassie yet."

But if the steward and agent of Lady Agnes
Shirley had given the father of the Infant Ve-
nus a most |)leasant surprise, there was another
surprise in reserve for himselt' — whether pleasant
or not, is an unanswerable question. He was
making his way through the crowd, lifting bis
bat and nodding and smiling .right and left,
when a hearty slap on the shoulder from behind
made him turn quickly, as an equally-bearty
voice exclaimed :

" Sweet, old fellow, bow goes it?"

A tall gentleman, seemingly about thirty,
with an unmistakably military air about bim,
although dressed in civilian costume, stood be-
fore him. Something in the peculiarly erect,
upright carriage, in the laughing, blue eyes, in
the fair, curly hair and characteristic features,
were familiar, bu(< the thick, soldier's mustache
and suiibrowned skin puzzled him. Only for a
moment, though ; the next, be had started back,
with an exclamation of:

" Lieutenant Shirley !"

" Colonel Shirley, if you please. Do you
suppose I have served twelve years in India for
nothing — do you? Don't look so blanched,
man. I am not a ghost, but the same scape-
grace you used to lend money to lang syne.
Give me your hand, and I'll show you."

Mr. rfweet held out his hand, and rece'ved
•uoh a bear's grip from the Indian officer that
tears of pain started into his eyes.

" Thank you, Colonel ; that will do," snid the

lawyer, wincing, but in an overjoyed tone all the

: same. " Who could have looked for such an

unexpected pleasure? When did you arrive?''

" I got to Southampton last night, and start-

ed 'or here the first thing. How are all out
people ? I haven't met any one I know, save
yourself; but they told me in Cliftonlea, Lady
Agnea was here."

" So she is. Come along, and Til show you
where."

With a face radiant with delight and surprise,
Mr. Sweet led the way, and Colonel Shirley 'ol-
luwed. Many of the faces that passed were fa-
miliar, 1^ 'aud's among thereat ; but the In-
dian hurrying on, slopped to speak to no
one. iu file of carriages soon came in sight.
Mr. Sweet pointed out the pony phaeton ; and
his companion, the next instant, was measuring
off the road toward it in great strides. Lady
Agnes, with Tom beside her, was just giving
languiii directions about driving home, when a
handsome face, bronzed and mustached, was
looking smilingly down on her, a hand being
held out, and a well-known voice exclaiming :

" Mother, I have come home agrin 1"

CHAPTER IV.

KILIINO THB FATTED OALr.

It is a vnlgai' thing to be surprised at any-
thing in this world. Lady Agnes Shirley was
too great a lady to do anything vulgar ; so the
common herd, gathered round heard only one
faint cry, and saw the strange gentleman's hands
wildly grasping both the great lady's.

" Don't frtint, mother. They haven't killed
me in India, and it's no ghost, but your good-
for-nothing son Cliffe!"

" O Clitfe !— O Clifife !" she cried out. " Is
this really you?"

"It really is, and come home for good, if you
will let me stay. Am I forgiven yet, moth-
er?"

•' My darling boy, it is I who must be forgiv-
en, not you. How those odious people are star-
ing ! Tom, jump out, and go away. Cliffe, for
Heaven's sake! get in here and drive out of
this, or I shall die 1 Oh, what a surprise this
ia !"

Master Tom, with his eyes starting out of his
head, with astonishment obeyed, and the Indian
officer laughingly took his place, touched the
cream-colored ponies lightly, and off they start-
ed, amid a surprised stare from fifty pairs of
eyes.

" O Cliffe ! I cannot realize this. When did
you come ? "Where have you been ? What
have you been doing? Oh, I am dreaming, I
think I"

*' Nothing of the kind, ma mere. There ia not
a more wide-awake lady in England. I came
here an hour ago, I have been in India fighting
my country's battles, and getting made a colo-
nel for my pains."

" My brave boy ! And it is twelve years-
twelve long, long years since I saw yon last !
Shall I ever forget that miserable morning iu
London ?"

•• Of ooi
gouus be I
settle don

Senlleiiian
o things

" Exoeei
the world
killed."

" Likely
for it whe
near it tlio
o*'er now,
and swore
hind ?

" You r
— well, bo
Wretched
lowering li
ly. " But
work-hous
get home i

The two
train thro
ddightful,
two imnici
granite ar
thereon,
man who <
least, as n
can go in
and the \
with gran(
upward c
crossed a
have half-
reality sp
might ba\
running s
line of
Past this
of the gr
saw that
lake, lyin
and with a
was a Swi
and child
other, a I
and a woi
a baby in
grant arc
frame,
the aveni
windings,
along am
deer spoi
steep hill
of a grar
towers,
end of pi
and quee
flag fly in
left, thcr
witli a hi

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

r are all oai

know, save

toDlea, Lady

'11 show you

and surprise,
Shirley 'ol-

ssod were fa-
but theln-

o speak to no

me in sight.

hnton ; and

ks measuring
ides. Lady
just giving

r>me, when a

itached, was
hand being

(olniraing :

in I"

,r.

ined at any-
Shirley wns
Igar; so the
fird only one
e man's hands

^'8.

aven't killed
; your good-

id out.

good, if you
1 yet, moth-

ist be furgiv-
ople lire star-
7. Cliffe, for
drive out of
surprise this

ig out of his
id the Indian
touched the
ff they start-
ifty pairs of

. When did

een ? What

dreaming, I

There is not
nd. I came
idia fighting
aade a colo-

sire years—

iw 3'ou last !

morning iu

" Of course, you will. Why not? L«t by-
gones be bygoiius, as the Soots suy, and I slmll
settle down lalu tlio most contented country

Sentitiinati you ever saw at Castle Clitfo. How
o things uo on at the old place ?"
" Exceedingly well.

but,

1 liav« the best atjentin
Cliffe, wo beard you were

the world,
killed."

" Likely enough ; but you may take ray word
for it when I toll you I was not. I was very
near it tUough, more than once ; but that's all
wer now, and I'm out of the reach of bullets
and sword-cuts. Who is the young lady b«-
hind r

" You remember your^unole, Edward Shirley
— well, ho is dead, and that is his daughter.
Wretched little creature !"" said Lady Agnes,
lowering her voice, and laughing contemptuous-
ly. " But I took her to lieep her out of the
work-house 1 Drive fast, Cliffe ; I am dying to
get home and h«;nr everything."

The two creamy ponies flashed like an express-
train through Cliltonlea, and along through ii
deJightful, wooded road, and drew up before
two immense iron gates, swinging under a great
granite arch, with the arms of Cliffe carved
thereon. The huge gates were opened by a
man who cnmc out of an Italian cottage — or, at
least, as near an imitation of a cottage as they
can go in Italy — and which was the gate-lodge,
and the ponies dashed up a spacious avenue,
with grand cedars of Lebanon on cither hand, for
upward of a atinrter of a mile. Then they
crossed a great white bridge, wide enough to
have half-spanned 1 ho Mississippi, and which in
reality spaimed an ambitious little stream you
might have waded through in half a dozen steps,
running sparkling througn the green turf like a
line of light, and disappearing among the trees.
Past this the avenue ran along through a part
of the grounds less densely wooded, and you
saw that the rivulet emptied itself into a wide
lake, Ijing like a great pearl set in emeralds,
and with a miniature island in the centre. There
was a Swiss farmhouse on the island; with fowls,
and children, and dogs scrambling over each
other, a little white skiff drawn up on the bank,
and b woman standing in the rustic porch, with
a baby \ii her arms, aud looking, under the fra-
grant arch of honeysuckles, like a picture in a
frame. Tiien the plantation grew denser, and
the avenue lost itself in countless by-paths and
windings, and there were glimpses, as they flew
along among the trees, of a distant park, and
deer sporting therein. Once they drove up a
steep hillside, and on the top there was a view
of a grand old houf>e on another hillside, with
towers, and turrets, and many gables, and no
end of pinnacles, and stone mullioned windows,
and queer chimneys, and a great cupola, with a
flag flying on the top ; and further away to the
left, there were the ruins of some old building,
witl) a huge stone cross pointing up to the blue

•ky, amidst a solemn grove of yvw trees and
gulduii willows, mingling light and shadu pleas*
antlv together. AuJ there wore b>-autiful rose-
gardens to the ritfht, with bees and butterflies
glauoiui; around them, and fountains splaithing
like living Jewels here and there, aud hot-houses,
and graeu-houHes, and summer-houses, and bee-
hives, and a |<erft'ot forest of oingnifioent horse-
chestnuts. And further away still, there spread
the ceaseless sea, Hpurkling as if sown with stars ;
and still and white beneath the rock-*, there was
the fisherman's village of Lower Cliffe, swelter-
ing under the broiling sea-side sun. Ob, it was
a wonderful place, was Castle Cliffe I

They were down the hill in a moment, and
dashing through a dark, cool, beech wood. A
slender gazelle came bounding along, and lifting
its large, tearful, beautiful eyes, and vanishing
a^ain in affright, and Colonel Shirley unoovvreu
his head, and reverently said :

" It is ^o( ' to bo homo I"

Two minutes later, they were in a paved court-
yard. A groom came and led away the horses
looking curiously at the strange gentleman, who
smiled, and followed Lady Agnes up a flight vi
granite steps, and into a spacious portico. \
massive hall-door of oak and iron, that had swung
on the same honest hinges in the days of the
Tudor Plantagcnots, flew back to admit them,
and they were in an immense hall, carved, and
paneled, and pictured, with the Cliffe coat-of-
arins emblazoned on the ceiling, and a floor of
bright, polislicd oak, slippery as glass. Up a
great 'weoping stair-case, rich in busts and
ui'onzett — where you might have driven a coach
and four, and done it easy — into another hall, aud
at lust into the boudoir of Lady Agnes heiuelt'
— a very modern apartment, indeed, for so old a
house. Brussels- carpeted, damask-curtained,
with springy couches, and eaay-chairs, and
ottomans, aud little gems of modern pictures
looking down on them from the walls.

" It is good to be home I" repeated Colonel
Shirley, looking round him with a little satisfied
smile, ar he sat down in an arm-chair ; " but this
room is new to me."

" Oh ! I left the Agnes Tower altogether — such
a dismal place, you know, and full of rats I and
I had the suit to which this belongn all fitted
up last year. Are you hungry, Cliffe ? You
must have luncheon, and then you shall tell ire
all the news."

With which practical remark the la-ij rang,
and ordered her maid to take off her things, and
send up lunch. And when it came, the traveler
did ample justice to the ebampagne and cold
chicken, and answered big mamma's questions
between the mouthfuls.

" Oh, there is very little to tell, after all I You
know I was thrown from my horse that morn-
ing, after I left you at the hotel in London, and
it was three weeks before I was able to go about
again. And then I got a note from Yivia" (his

UNMASKED ; OR,

■unnv fnce dnrVcned for a motnenl), "tellins
me n(i*) wh« ill — ilying ! She waa more — wbaii I
reaolitid her, I found h^r — deiktl 1"

But Lady Akiics wns Bitting, Tory ooM, and

Sale, and upriglit, in her ■uat. What wna t.he
eittli of a French actress to her Y

" There was a child — n midge of a crcrtture, a
week old, and I ](fft it with the good iieuple with
whom she lodged, and set sail for India the next
morning, a despurate mnn. I went on praying
that some friendly bullet would put an end to a
miserahio existence ; but I bore a charmed life ;
and while my comrades fell around me in scores,
I scaled ram parts, and stormed breaches, and
led forlorn hopes, and came off without a scratch.
I would have made the fortune of any Life As-
surance Company in England!" he said, with
his frnnk laugli.

" And the child ?" said Lady Agnes, intensely
interested.

" Do you really oare to know anything of
her?"

•• It wns a daughter, then ? Of course I do,
you absurd boy I If she lives, she is the heiress
of Castle Cliffe 1"

Colonel Shirley took an oyster-pate, with a
little malicious smile.

" And the daughter of a French actress I"

•♦ She is my son's daughter I" said Lady Agnes,
haughtily. And, with a slightly-flushing oheek,
said : " Pmv, go on !"

" I sent the people who had her, money, and
received in return semi-aiin"al accounts of her
health for the first sixyeai.. Then tiiey sent
me word they were going to leave England, and
emigrate to America, and told me to come and
take the child, or send word what they would
do with her. I wanted to see old England ogain,
anyway, and I had natural feelings, ns well as
the rest of mankind, so I obtained leave of ab-
sence and came back to the old land. Don't
look so incredulous, it is qtite true!"

** And you never came to see me. O Cliffe !"

" No I" said Cliffe, with some of her own cold-
ness. "I had not quite forgotten a certain
scene in a London hotel, at that time, as I have
now. I came to England, and saw her a slender
angel in pinafores and pantalettes, and I took
her with me, and left her in a French convent,
and there she is safe and well to this day."

Lady Agnes started up with clasped hands
and radiant face.

" Oh, delightful 1 And a descendont of mine
will inherit Castle Cliffe after all! I never
could bear the idea of leaving it to Margaret
Shirley. Cliffe, you must send for the child,
immediately I"

" But I don't think she is a child now— she is
a young- lady of twelve veara. Perhaps she has
taken the vail befora thfs !"

" Oh, non0«nse I Have yon seen her einoe ?''

" No ; (he Snperieure and I have kept up a
yearly corr«spond«Doe oa the aubjeot, and th«

young peraon lias favoreii in** herself with a
ualf-docen gilt-edged, cream- lail little French
effusions, b«ginnin(^, 'I embrace, my deareet
papa, a thousand times', and ending, ' with the
most affectionate sentiments, your devoted
child ' ' How does your ladyship like the style
of thatr*

" Cliffe ! don't be absurd ! You are just the
same great boy you were twelve years ago!
What Is her name !*"

" True 1 I forgot that part of it I Her good
foster-mother being et a loss for a nume, took
the liberty of calling her after Her Most Gracious
Majesty bcraelf, and when I brought her to the
convent I told them to add that of her mother ;
so Miss Sliirley is Victoria Qencvieve."

" What a disgrace ! She ought to have been
Agnes—all the Cliffcs are. But it is too late
now. Whom does she re>>emblti, us or — ,"
Her ladyship had the grace to pause.

*' Not her mother I" said Colonel Shirley, with

fyerfect composure. "She hns blue eyes and
ight hair, and is not bad-looking. I will start
for Paris to-morrow, if you like, and bring her
home."

•' No, no ! I cannot part with you, ofter your
twelve years' absence, in that fashion! I will
send Mrs. Wilder, the house-keeper, and Ro-
berts, the butler — you remember Roberts, Cliffe,
and they will do, excellently. I shall not lose
a moment, I am fairly dying to see her, so vun
must write a letter to the Superieuro (O, the idea
of placing my granddaughter in a convent .'),
ami Roberts and Mis. Wilder cuu start in the
afternoon train."

Lady Agnes could be energetic when she
ohoae, and ink and paper were there in a mo-
ment. Cliffe laughed ut hia mother's impetuos-
ity, but he wrote the letter, and that very after^
noon, sure enough, the dignified liousukocj)er,
and the old family butler, were steaming .away
on their journey to Paris.

There had not been such a sensation in Clif
tonlea for years, as there was when it became
known that the lost heir hod returned. Every-
body remembered the handsome, laugliing, f.iir-
haired boy, who used to dance with the village-
girls on the green, and nat the children in the
town-streets on the heaa, and throw them pen-
nies, and about whom there were so many
romantic stories afloat. Everybody called, and
the young Colonel rode everywhere to see his
friends, and be shaken by the hand ; and Lady
Agnes drove with him through Cliftonlea, with
a flush on her cheek, and a light in her ey«
which had not been seen there for many a day.
And at the end of the first week there was a
select dinner-party in his honor, in his own
ancestral hall— a very select dinner party, in-
deed, where no one was present but his own
relatives (all Cliffes and Shirleys) and a few
very old personal friends. There was Sir Ro-
land, of course, who bad married and buried the

dark-eyed
had once i
now stepfa
curls wu I
CliftonloH,
tain Doiigl
Shirley, u
others — al
It wa.s a p'
and Colon
ingly, and
ing jackall
Mmels, an^
ia black v<
And the 1
gorgeous v
gilding, ai
andbrilliai
just tellinii
in the Pii
every day,
lower hall,
to see, cair
ment, to f
turned, an
expected i
It was ii
Castle Cli
there at lu

Arnora<
lively euoi
versation,
to run out
of Cliffe !:
it would
did it exc
etiquette <
might wel
a case, an^
of an anil
and sailed
were stani
ing stairci
with its <
crowd of I
of their f
and right
burners, t
Roberts, i
dently Mi
person in
doubtedly
reached t
toward tl
Iner ladys
edit.

" Yes, 1
and here

The lit

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

Htilf with •
iIm Freiioh
ny (lenrect
' with the
r devoted
e the style

ro just the
mat* agu !

Iler good
mime, took
stCirHoious

Iter to th«
ler mother ;
e."

hare beea
is too late
us or — ,"

hirley, with

e eyes and

will start

bring her

I, after your
on! I will
r, and Ro-
>ert8, Gli£fe,
ill not lose
KT, so yon
(O, the uleo
convent .')i
start in the

when she
re in a nio-
8 impetuos-
vcry aftor-
uusokocj^er,
ming .awftj

on in Clif
I it became
d. Every-
gliing, f.iir-
t.he viliai^e-
]ren in the

them pen-
so many
onlled, and

to see his
; and La<iy
onlea, with
in her eye
any a day.
here was a
n his own

party, in-
It his own
and a few
'M Sir Ro-
bnriod the

dark-eyed oousin Charlotte, whom Lndy Agnes
had oMOO wanted her son to wed, and who was
now stepfather to the little boy of the golden
curls wu Hiiw at the theatre. The Bishop of
Gliftonlei«, also a relative, was there ; and Cap-
tain Douglas was there ; ami Mmgaret and Tom
Hliirley, and Lord Liiile, and some half dozen
otiierd — all relatives and oonuexious, of oourse.
It wan a pi-rfeot ehef d'tzuore of a dinner-party ;
and Colonel Shirley, as the lion, roared amaz-
ingly, and told them wonderful stories of hunt-
ing jaokalls and tigers, and riding elephants and
Oftmels, and shooting natives. And Lady Agnes,
in black velvet and rubies, looked like a queen.
And the blue drawing-room, after dinner, *"a9
gorseous with illumination, and arabesque, and
gilding, and jewels, and perfumes, and mueio,
and brilliantcoMversatiun. And Lady Agnes was
lust telling everybody about her gran<laaughter
In the Parisian convent, expected home now
every day, when there was a great bustle in the
lower hall, and Tom Shirley, who had been out
to see, came rushing in, in a wild state of excite
ment, to say that Wilder and Iloborts liad re-
turned, and with them a French bonne, and the
expected young lady herself.

It was indeed true! The rightful heiress of
Castle Cliife stood within the halls of her fa-
thers at last.

CHAPTER VII.

HADSMOISELLK.

A moment before, the drawing-room had been
lively enough with music, and laughter, and con-
versation, and everybody felt a strong impulse
to run out to the hall, and behold the daughter
of Cliffe Shirley and the French actress. But
it would not have been etiquette, and nobody
did it except Tom Shirley, who never minded
etiquette or anything else, and the Colonel, who
might well be pardoned for any breach in such
a case, and Lady Agnes, wito rose in the middle
of an animated speech, made a hasty apology,
and sailed out after her sou and nephew. They
were standing at the head of the grand, sweep-
ing staircase, looking down into the lower hall,
with its domed roof and huge chandelier. A
crowd of S'Tvauts, all anxious to catch a glimpse
of their future mistress, were assembled there ;
and right under the blaze of tiie pendant gas-
burners, stood the travelers : Mrs. Wilder, Mr.
Roberts, a coquettishly dressed lady's lady, evi-
dently Mies Shirley's bonne, and, lastly, a small
Serson in a gray cloak and little straw hat, un-
oubtedly Mins Shirley herself, A= Lady Agnes
reached the landing the travelers were moving
toward the staircase, and Mrs. Wilder, seeing
Iner ladyship's inquiring face, smilingly answer-
ed it.

" Yes, my lady, we have brought her all safe ;
ond here she is. '

The little girl followed Mrs. Wilder quite

slowly and deoorously up the stairs, either too
much fatigued or with too strong a sense of tho
proprieties to run. It was a little thing, but it
predisposed Lady Agnes — who had a horror of
rouips — in her favor, and they all stepped back
us she came near. A pair of bright eyes under
the straw hat glanoed quickly from face to
face, rested on the handsome Colonel, nnd with
a glad, childish cry of "Ah, mnn fire I" tiie U|tle
girl flung herself into his arms. It was quK« a
scen««.

" My dear little daui;hter I Welcome to yoni
home l" said the Colonel, stooping tu kiss her,
with a laugh, ond yet with a happy glow on hia
own face. " I see you have nut forgotten UM
in our six years' separation I" ,

" Non, mon perel'*

The Colonel pressed her again, and turned
with her to lady Agnes.

•' Genevieve, say ' how do you do?' to this lady
— it is your granJmother !"

'' I hope Madame is very wejl !" said Made-
moiselle Genevieve, with sober oiroplicity, hold-
ing up one cheek, nnd then the other, to be
saluted in very French fashion.

" What a little parrot it is I" cried Lady
Agnes, with a slight and somewhat sarcastic
laugh, peculiar to her. "Can you not speak
English, my child?"

" Yes, Madam," replied tho little girl in that
language, speaking clear and distinct, but with
a strong accent.

" I am glad to hear it, and I am very glad to
see you, too I Are you tired, my dear'?"

" No, Madaii ; only very little."

" Then we wi.l take this cloak and hat off, and
you will stay with us fifteen minutea before you
retire to your room. Come.!"

The great lady took the small girl's hand and
led her, with a smile on her lips, into the draw-
ing-room. It was more a stroke of policy than
of curiosity or affection that prompted the
action ; for one glance had satisfied Lady Agnes
that the child was presentable au naturel, and
she was anxious to display her to her friends
before they could maliciously say she had beea
tutoring her. And tho next moment Mademoi-
selle, fresh from tho sober twilight of her con-
vent, found herself in the full blaze of a grand
drawing -root a, that seemed filled with people and
all staring at her. Half reeoiling on tiie thresh-
old, timid and shy, but not vulgarly so, she
was drawn steadily on by tho lady's strong,
small hand, ond heard the clear voice raying ;
" It is my granddaughter — let mo take oft youi
wrappings, my dear." And then, with her own
fair fingers, the shrouding hat and cloak were
removed, and the littlo heiress stood in tho fall
glow of the lightS; revealed.

Everybody paused an instant to look at her
father and grandmother, who had not yet a view
of her, among the rest. A slender angel, quite
small for her age, with the tiniest hands ana £eet

UNMASKED; OR,

ia the world— bnt then all the Cliffes had been
noted fur that trait — a amall pale face, very pale

Inst now, probably from fatigue, delicate, regu-
ur fuaturca, and an exuberance of light hair, of
tlie same flaxen lightness as Lady Auucs's own,
combed behind her ears, and confined in a thick
black chenille net. Her dress was high-necked
and long-BJecTed, soft and gray iu siiade, thick
aod rich in texture, and slightly trimmed with
peach-colored ribbons. Tlie eyes were down-
oast, the little head drooping in pardonable
embarrassment ; and wiih the small, pale face,
the almost colorless hair, and dingy gray dress,
she did not look very dazzling, certainly. But
Lady Agnes had the eye of an eagle, and she
eaw that, under different auspices, and in differ-
ent costume, Miss Shirley was not wholly an
unprumising case. She was not awkward : she
uigitt some day yet be even pretty.

All the ladies came forward to kiss her ; and
Miss Lisle, who saw in her already tlie future
bride of Lord Henty, went into pertect raptures
over her. Some of the gentlemen kissed her,
too ; foremost among whom was Master Tom
Shirley, who was mentally contrasting her, to
her great disadvanta!,'e, wilh the silver-gilt In-
fant Venus, on whom he had lavished his youth-
ful affections. And yet, in the midst of all this
caresijing, there stood one Mordecai at the
king's gate, who did not seem inclined to fall
down and adore the rising star. It was Mar-
garet Shirley, who, in amber gauze and flutter-
ing ribbons, and creamy flowers, looked dark,
and pale, and unlovely as ever; and who hung
back, eitlier from timidity or some worse feeling,
until the sharp blue eyes of her aunt fell upon
her.

"Margaret, como here, and embrace your
cousin!" called that lady ?n authoritative dis-
plaasure ; far Miss Margaret was no favorite at
the best of times. "My dear child, this is
your cousin, Margaret Shirley."

Mademoiselle, a good deal recovered from her
emtiarrassment, raised her eyes — very large,
very bright, very blue — and fixed them, with a
look that had something of Lady Agnes's own

!)ieroiug intenscncss, on the sallow and unhealthy
(ice of Cousin Margaret. A cold look came
over it, as if with that glance she had conceived
a sudden antipathy to her new relative, and the
cheek she turned to bo saluted was offered with
marked reserve. Margaret murmured low some
words of welcome, to which an unsmiling face
and a very slight bend of the head was return-
ed ; and then she shrank back to her grand-
mother, and the blue eyes went wandering
wistfully round the room. They rested on those
for wliom she was seeking — her father's. He
held out his hand with a smile, and in a twink-
ling the grave little face was radiant and trans-
formed, and she was over and clinging to his
arm, and looking up in his face with dancing
eyes. It whs quite evident that while all the

rest there were mere shadows \o her, seeni^nd
thought of now for the first time, mon phre was
a vivid image in reality, beloved and dreamed
of for years.

•' "Were you sorry to leave your convent,
Genevieve?" lie asked, sitting down in an arm-
obair, and lifting her ou hia knee.

" Oh no, papa !" she answered, readily, ppeak-
ing in English, as he had done.

"And why ? Your friends are all <heie ; and
here, everybody is strange."

" Not everybody, papa — you are here !"

"And she only saw me once in her life,' and
that's six years ago," laughed the Colonel,
looking down at the little faoo nestling against
his shoulder.

" But I dreamed of you every day and every
night, papa ; and then your letters — O those
beautiful letters 1 I have them every one, and
have read them over a thousand times !"

" My good little girl ! and she loves papa,
then?"

" Better than everything else in the world,
papa!"

" Thank you, Mademoiselle !" still laughing ;
" and grandmamma — ^you mean to love her too,
don't you?"

" Mais certainment /" said Mademoiselle, with
gravity.

"And your uncle and your cousins ? There
is one now — how do you think vou will liiio
him ?"

Tom Shirley was standing near, with hid
hands, boy-fast!ion, in his pockets, listening
with an air of preternatural solemnity to the
conversation, and the Colonel turned his laugh-
ing face toward him. Miss Genevieve glanced
up and over Tom with calm and serious dig-
nity.

" I don't know, papa — I don't like boys at all
— that is, except Claude I"

" Who is Claude, petite ?"

" Oh, you know, don't you ? His father is Le
Marquis do St. Hilary ; and I spent the last
vacation at the chateau, away out in the couu-
try."

"Grand connections? Who sent my little
girl there ?"

" I went with Ignacia — that's his sister ; and
we are iu tue same division at school. Papa,"
in a whisper, " is that girl over there, in the
yellow dress, his sister?"

"No petite— why?"

•• For they have black eyes and black hair
alike, only his is curly, and he is'^ great deal
handsomer. Grandmamma said she was
cousin — is she ?"

Yes ; and his."

Well, what now

" Does she live here ?"
" Yes, they both live here,
^-don't you like them?"

"I don't hke her at all I Oh how ugly she

IB I

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

r, seeniiftnd
on phre was
ad dreanied

ir convent,
in an arm-

iJily, ppcok-

iheie ; and

lere I"
ler life,' and
16 Colonel,
ing against

ond every

8 — O tbosd

xy one, and

nee !"

loves papa,

the world,

1 laughing ;
jve her too,

loiselle, with

ns? There
>u will lilio

ir, with hid
a, listening
mity to the
d his laugb-
eve glancod
serious dig-

> boys at all

father is Le
!nt the last
in the couiK

t my littk

sister; and
ol. Papa,"
lere, in the

black hail

great deal

lie was my

1, what now
w ugly the

The Colonel laughed, and laid his hand ever
her lips.

"My dear Genevieve, what are you saying?
it will never do for you to talk in that fashion I
Maggie is the best little girl in the world, and
slie will be a nice companion for you to play
with.'

" I shan't play with her ! I shan't like her
at all !" said Qenevi; ve, with decision. " What
makes her live here ?"

" Because she is an orphan, and has no other
homo, and I know you will be kind to her,
Vivia. Who taught you to speak English as
well as you do?"

'* Oil, we had an English teacher in the con-
vent, and a great many of the girls were En-
glish, aad we used to speak it a great deal.
Did I tell you in my last letter how many prizes
I got at the Distribution ?"

'* I forget-— tell me again ?"

" I got the first prize in our division for
singing and English ; the second for music and
drawing, mathematics and astronomy."

" Whew l" whistled Tom, siill an attentive
listener. "This little midge taking the prize
in matlieniatics! What an idea that is !''

" Can you sing and play, then ?"

" Yes, papa, certainly !"

" Then, suppose you favor us with a song !
I should like to hear you smg, of all things !"
said the Culunel, still in his half-laughing way.

" my dear ClifFe, the child must be too
tired 1" said Lady Agnea, sailing up at the mo-
ment, and not oaring half so much for the
ohiM's fatigue as the idea that she miglit make a
show of herself.

" I am not fatigued ; but I don't like to sing
before so many ladies and gentlemen, papa,"
whispered Miss Genevieve, blushing a little.

" Oh, nonsense ! 1 am certain they will be
delighted. Come along."

Miss Lisle having iust favored the company
with a Swiss composition, that had a great many
" tra la-las" at the end of each verse, closed with
a shrill shriek and a terrific bang of all the keys
at ODce, and arose from the instrument. Colo-
nel Sliirley, holding his little daughters hand,
led her reluctant and blushing, to the seat the
young lady had vacated, amid a profound silence
of curious expectation.

" What shall I sing, papa ?" inquired Made-
moiselle, running her nugers lightly over the
keys, and recovering her self-possessession when
she found herself hopelessly in for it.

''Oh! whatever you please. We are willing
to be enchanted with anything."

Thus encouraged, Mademoiselle played a
somewhat difficult prelude from memory, and
then, in a clear, sweet soprano, broke out into
'• Casta Diva". Her voice was rich nnd clear, and
full of pathos; her touch highly cultivated ; her
expression perfect. Evidently her musical talent
ras wonderful, or she had the best of teach-

ers, and an excellent power of imitation. Et<
erybody was astonished — no one more bo than
papa, who had expected some simple French
chaiisonette, and Lady Agnes was equally amoz-
ed and delighted. The room rang with plauiW
its when she ceased ; and, coloring visibly, Made-
moiselle Genevieve rose quickly, and sought
shrinking shelter under papa's wmgs.

" It is a most wonderful child I" said Miaa
Lisle, holding up her hands. " No profession-
al could have sung it better."

" She sings well," said Lady Agnes, smiling
graciously on the small performer, and patting
the now hot cheek with her gold and ivory fan.
" But she is tired, now, and must go to rest.
Tom, ring for Mrs. Wilder.

Tom rang, and Mrs. Wilder came.

*' Bid your friends good-night, my dear," said
Lady Agnes.

Mademoiselle did so, courte^ying with the
prettiest childlike grace imaginable.

" You will take her to the liose lioora, Mrs.
Wilder, next my boudoir. Good night, my
love. Pleasant dreams !"

And Lady Agnes finished by kissing her, and
turning her and the housekeeper out of tlte
drawing-room.

" Where is Jeannctte, Madam ?" inquired
Miss Shirley, as she tripped along up another
grand staircase, and through balls and Oorri-
dora, beside the housekeeper.

" In your room. Miss Vivio, waiting fcr
you."

" Is she to sleep near me. I must have Jean-
nette near me."

" She is to sleep in a little closet off your
room. Here it is. Good night, Miss Vivia."

But Miss Vivia did not speak. She had stop-
ped in the doorway in an ecstasy of admiration
and delight. And no wonder. In all her child-
ish dreams of beauty, in all she had seen at the
Chateau and Hotel de St. Hilary, there hail
never been anything half so beautiful as this.
The apartment had once been Lady Agnes's
study, where she received her steward, and
transacted all Iter business ; but during the last
week, it had been newly furnished and fitted up
for the youthful iieiress. Her ov/n rooms —
bath-room, dressing-room, bed-room, and bou-
doir — were all en suite, and this was the last of
them. The feet sank in the carpet of pale
rose-colored velvet, sown all over with white
buds and deep-green leaves ; the walls were
paneled in piuK satin bordered with silver ; arad
the great Maltese window was draped in rose
velvet, cut in antique points. The lofty ceiling
was fretted in rose and silver ; and the chairs of
some white wood, polished till they shone like iv-
ory, were cushioned in the same glowing tints ;
BO were the couches, and a great carved and
gilded fauteuil, and the flashing chandelier of
frosted silver, with burners shaped like lilies,
had deep red shades, filling the room with rosy

UNMASKED; OR,

radiance. Tlic bed in a distant nieove, screen*
ed with filmy-white lace curtHii.s, nr.is carved
and gilded in the same snow-wiiii« wuod ; and
oyer the head, standing on a Grecian brocket,
was a beautiful stAtute b( the " Guardian Angel",
with folded wings, drooping bead, outstretched
arms, and smiling face. The inlaid tables were
exquisite *, a Bible lay on one of them, bound
in gold and rose-velvet, with the name " Victo-
ria Genevieve" in gold letters on the cover ; a
gilded bird-c:ige, with two or three brilliant
tropical birds therein, was pendant near the
window ; and over the carved mantle of Egyp-
tian marbid hung the exquisite picture of" Christ
Blessing Little Children." The whole thing had
been the design of Lady Agnes. Every article
it contnined had been critically inspected be-
fore being placed there, and the effect was per-
fect. In it, Moore might have written " Lalla
Bookh" ; and not even Fadladeen could have
found anything to grumble at ; and little Gene-
vieve clapped her iiands in an ecstasy of speech
and delight.

"It is perfect, Mademoiselle!" exclaimed
Jeannette, the bonne who had attended the little
girl from Paris. " Look at this lovely dressing-
case ! and here is the wardrobe with such great
znirror-doora ; and in this Psyche glass I can see
jnyself from top to toe ; and here is a door at
Ibe foot of your bed opening into your grand-
mamma's boudoir, and this cedar closet — lioes
it not smell deliciously? — is here I am to
deep."

<'0h, it is beautiful ! There is nothing at all
in Hotel de 8t Hilary like it ! It is like heav-
en !"

" Yes, Mademoiselle ; and your grandmamma
is a very great lady ; and they say down stairs,
there is nut a finer house in all England than
this ; and that you will be the richest heiress
that ever was heard of I"

" That is charming ! I will sit in this great,
beautiful chair, and you may take my dress off,
and bru!*i< out my hair. Did you see my papa,
Jeannette ?"

Yes, Mademoiselle. He looks like a king !"'

" And I love him ! Oh, I love him better
than all the whole world ! and ma grandemere —
you saw her, too, Jeannette? She makes one
afraid of her, in her splendid dress and rubies —
far finer than anything that Madame la Marquise
de St. Hilary ever wore ; but she is very grand
and handsoijje, and I admire her ever so muoh !
And my cousins — ^you did not see them — did
you, Jeannette ?"

" No, Mademoiselle. Do yoii like them ?"

" I don't like one of I hem at all. Mademoiselle
Marguerite — oh, she is so ugly, and has such a
yellow skin ! Just as yellow as poor old Sister
Lucia, in the convent f There, Jeannette, you
ean go. I shall say my prayers and go to bed !
Oh, what a lovely room this is!"

The flaxen faa> was gathered in a little cambric

night-cap ; the gray dress exchanged for a .ong
sacdenuit; and everything being done, Jean-
nette vanished, and Mademoiselle said her pray-
ers with sleepy devotion, and climbed in, and
sunk from sight in pillows of down ; and, think-
ing how splendid everything was, fell asleep.

" Lady Agnes Shirley, waking at some gray
and dismal hour of the cavly morning, felt a
strong impolse of curiosity prompting her to
rise up and take a look at her little grand-
daughter asleep. So, arising, she donned slip-
pers and dressing-gown, entered the boudoir,
softly opened the door of communication be-
tween it and her little girl's room, and looked
in. And there a surprise nwaitcd her! instead
of finding Mndenioiselle fast asieep among the
pillows, something half dressed, a fairy in a
white undershirt and loose sack, stood with her
back toward her, trying — yes, actually frying lo
make the bed ! But the ambitious effort was
unavailing, the small arms could by no mean&
reach halfway across, nnd the little hands could
by no effort shake up the mighty sea of down ;
and, with a long-drawn sigh, the heiress of the
Shirleys gave up the attempt at last. Tbep
elie went to the basin, washed her face and
hands, brushed out the profusion of her pale
hair, and then coming back, knelt down under
the "Guardian AuKel", crossed herself devoutly*,
and with clasped hands and upraised eye begop
to pray. The child looked almost lovely at
that moment, in her loose drapery, her un-
bound falling hair, her clear, pale face, clasped
hands, and uplifted earnest eyes. But Lady
Agnes was a great deal too stupified at the
whole extraordinary scene to think of admira-
tion, or even think at all, and could do nothing
but stand there and look on. A quarter of -an
hour passed, the little girl did not stir ; half an
hour, the little saint prayed still ; when the
door of the cedar closet opened and out came
Jeannette. Genevieve finished her devotions
and arose.

" Now, Mademoiselle, what have you been
about ? You have never been trying to make
that bed ?"

"Yes, I have though, but I couldn't do it!
It's so very large you see, Jeannette."

" Mademoiselle, I am surprised at you ! What
would your grandmamii.<a say if she knew it?"

Mademoiselle opened her bright blue eyes in
undisiruised surprise.

" Knew what ? What have I done ?"

*■ You are not to make beds, Mademoiselle !"
said Jeannette, laughing. "lam sure your grand-
mamma does not expect you to do anything of
the sort."

"But I have always done it. We all made
our own beds in the convent, except the very
little ones."

"Well, this is not a convent, but a castle^
and you know. Mademoiselle Vivia, there is a
proverb that we must do in Rome as the Re

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFPE.

mans do. So jou need not do it any more, or
they'll think you have been a housemaid in
France ; and another thing, what in the world
do you get up bo early for ?"

" Early ! Why the sun is rising, and we al-
ways got up before the sun, in the convent I"

" The convent ! the convent I Please to re-
member you are nut in a convent, now, Made-
moiselle, and sunrise is a very early hour.
There is not one up in the houw, I believe, but
surselves/'

" I don't ct^re for that, I shall get up as early
OS I please, unless papa or grandmamma pre-
vent it, and I don't think they will. Ho here,
curl my hair, and say no more about it."

Jeannette twined tlie flaxen tresses over her
fingers and let them fall in a shining shower to
the child's waist. Then a dress of fresh white
muelin was brought out and put on, a sash of
broad blue ribbon knotted round the little
waist; and Lady Agnes, from her watching place,
allowed, what she could not last night, thab her
granddaughter was pretty.

'' Now," said Maaeraoiselle, trying her straw
hat over her prettv curls, " T saw some lovely
rose-gardens out of the window, and you must
come with me to see them. Do you think you
can find yonr way to the door : it is such a
great house this !"

" I will see. Corao along I"
The two went out of the Rose Room ; and
Lady Agiiea having got the better of her
iimiiztiinent, laughed her low and sarcaatio
laugh, and went back to her own bedchamber.

" lb is a prodigy — this smalt granddaughter
of mine, and so French ! I am afraid she takos
after that dreadful French actress, tho>igir, Dieu-
merci ! she does not look like her. Well, if
they liave taught her nothing worse than getting
up at sunrise in lier French convent, they have
(lone no harm after all ; but what an extraor-
dinary child it is, to be sure I She took to that
exhibition of herself quite naturally last even-
ing — the Frencit actrcsa ac^ain. And that odious
uaiue of Genevieve 1 I wish I could have her
ciirigtened over again and called Agnes; but I
Buopose Victoria will do for want of a l)etter."

The young lady thus apostrophized was
meantime having a very good time, out among
the rose-gardens and laurel walks. Jeannette
had found her way through some side door
or other. And now the little white
foiry, with the blue ribbons, and fluttering
flaxen curls, was darting hither and thither
among the parterres like some pretty white
bird. Now she was watching the swaas sailing
serenely about in the mimic lakes ; now she
was looking at the goldfish glancing in the
fountains ; now she was lost in admiration of a
great peacock, strutting up and down on'one of
the terraceH with the first rays of sunshine
sparkling on his outspread tail — a tail which its
owner evidently admired quite as much as the

little girl ; now she was hunting squirrels ; now
she was listening to the twittering of the birdji
in the beechwood and through the shrubbery;
now she was gathering roses and carnations to
make bouquets for papa and grandmamma, and
anon she was running up and down the terraces
with dress, and ribbons, and curls streaming ia
the wind, a bloom on her cheek, and a light in
her eye, and a bounding, elastic life in every
step, that would make one's pulses leap from
sympathy only to look at her. The time went by
like magic. ICven tue Htuid Jeannette so far for«
got the proprieties as to be seduced into a rao«
up and uown the green lanes bc^tween thechesfc*
nut trees, and coming flying back, breathless and
panting, Genevieve ran plump into the arms of
the Colonel, who stood on the lawn laughing,
and smoking his matin cigar.

" You wild gipsy ! Is this the sort of thing
they have been teaciiing you in your sober oon-
I vent ? At what unchristian hour did you rise
this morning ? and who ure those bouquets for ?"
'* One is for you, pupa ; and I've been oul
here three hours, and 1 uin so — so hungry!"
laugh'.ng merrily and pressing the hand he held
out for the flowers.

" That's right! stick to that if you can, and
you will not need any rouge — ^your cheeks are
redder now than your rosea. There ! they are
in my button-hole, and while I smoke my cigar
down the avenue, do you go in with your
bonne and get some bread and milk.''

Vivia ran off after Jeanette, and a housemaid
brought them the bread and milk into the
breakfast-parlor. Like all the rooms in the
house, it was handsome, and haurlsomely fur-
nished ; but Vivia saw only one thins; — a por-
trait over the mantel of Master Clitfe Shirley
at the age of fifteen. He wore the costume of
a young Highland chief— a plumed bonnet oa
his princely head, a plaid of Rob-Roy tartan
over bis shoulders, and a bow and arrow in his
hand. The handsome, laughing face, the bright,
frank, cheery eyes, tl»e beamy locks, peculiarly-
becoming dress, gave the picture a fascination
that riveted the gaze even of strangers. Lady
Agnes Shirley, cold, hard woman of the world,
had wept a heart-broken tear over that splendid
face in the days when she thonirht him dead
under an In>iian sky ; and now his little daugh-
ter dropped on one knee before it, and held up
her clasped hands with a cry :

" O my handsome papa ! Everything in this
place is beautiful, but be is the best of all 1"

CHAPTER VIII.

CASTLB CLIFl'K.

Lady Agnes was not an early riser. Noon
usually found her breakfa.sting in her boudoir ;
but on this particular mornitig she otitic sailing
down stairs, to the infinite iistonii^kinciit ana
amazement of all beholders, just n« the little
French closk in the breakfuot-paHur woa chioi'

UNMASKED; OR,

ing eight. Genevieve eat on an ottoman oppo-
site tlie mantel, with a porcelain bowl on her
lap, a silver epuoii in her hand, gazing iutently
at the portrait, and feasting her eyes and her
palate at the same time. !She started up ns
Lady Agnes entered with a smiling courtesy, and
eame forward witli ftuuk grace, holding up her
blooming cheeks to l>e saluted.

" Good morning, petite I Fresh as a rosebud,
I see! So you were up and out of your nest
before the birds this morning ! Was it because
you did not sleep well last night?"

" Oh no, Madam. I slept very well ; bnt I
dways rise early. It is not wrong, is it?"

" By no means. I like to see little girls up
with the sun. Well, Tom, good morning !''

" Can 1 believe my eyes ?" exclaimed Tom
Shirley, entering, Bad starting back iu affected
horror at the sigiit. " Do I really behold my
Aunt Agnes, oris this her ghost?"

"Oil, nonsense! Ring the bell. Have you
seen the Colonel ? Oh ! here he comes. Have
you ordered the carriage to be in readiness,
Gliflfe?"

" Yes. What is the bill of fare for to-day ?"
said the Colonel, sannterine in.

" You know we are to return all those calls —
such a bore, too ! and this the first day of our
little girl's stay among us ! What will you ''.o
all day, my dear ?"'

" Oh, sbe will amuse herself, never fear!" said
the Colonel. " 1 found her racing like a wild
Indian. Don't blusli, Vivia ; it's all right.
And she can spend the day in exploring the
place with her bonne."

" Would you like to see the house, Victoria ?"
inquired Lady Agnes, taking her place at the
head of th^ table, and laying marlced empha-
sis on the name.

" If that does not inconvenience you nt all.
Madam."

" Let Margaret stay from school, then, and
show her the place," said the Colonel,

"Margaret! Absurd! Margaret couldn't
show it any more than a cat. Tom, can you
not get a half-holiday this afternoon, and show
Cousin Victoria over the house ?"

" Certainly, if that yonn^ gentlewoman her-
self does not object," said Tom, buttering his
roll witli gravity.

The small gentlewoman in question, standing
in the middle of the floor, in her white dress,
and blue ribbons, and ttuxen curls falling to her
waist, did not object, though, had Margaret been
decided on as chaperon, she probably would
have done so. BoCh cousins had been met last
night for the first time ; but her feelings tow-
ard them were quite different Toward Tom
they were negative ; she did not dislike him,
bat she did not care for him one way or the
other. Toward Margaret they were positive re-
pulsion, and expressed exaotly what she felt
toward that young person. Still she looked a

little doubtful as to tho propriety of being
chaperoned by a great boy six feet high ; but
grandmamma suggested it, and papa was smil-
ing over at her, so there could be no impro-
priety, and she courtesied gravely in assent, and
made toward the door. Margaret entered at
the same moment, arrayed in pink muslin. She
passed Mademoiselle with a low " Good-morning,
Cousin Genevieve I", and took her place at the
table.

" Won't you stay and take a cup of coffee
and a pistolet with us ?" cilled her father after
her, as she stood in the hall, balancing hersell
on one foot, and beating time a la militaire
with the other.

" No, papa, thank you ; I never drink coffee.
We always had bread and milk for breakfast in
the convent."

"Oh! that ev'^rlasting convent!" exclaimed
Lady Agnes, pettishly. " We will have another
martyred abbess in the family, Cliffe, if you
ever send the littje nonette back to her Paris
school."

Immediately after breakfast, Tom donned his
college-school trencher, slung his satchel over
his shoulder, and set out with Margaret to Clif-
tonlea, telling that young lady, as he weut, he
expected it would oe jolly showing tlie little
original over the house. And as her toilet was
made. Lady Agnes and her son rolled away in
the grand ramily carriage, emblazoned with the
Cliffe coat of arms ; and Genevieve was left to
her own devices. In all her life she could not
remember a morning that went so swiftly as
that, flying about in the sunshine, half wild
with the sense of liberty, and the hitherto un-
imagined delights of the place. She found her
way to the Swiss farm-house, and was trans-
ported by the little i)igs, and calves, and poul-
try ; and s'.ie and Jeannette got into the little
white boat, and were rowed over the sparkling
ripples of the lah.e by one of the farn ^r's girls.
?he wandered away down even \o the extreme
length of the grand avenue, tiring Jeannette
nearly to death ; made the acquaintance of the
lodgekeeper and his wife in the Italian \*lla,
ana was even more enchanted by a little baby
they had there than eho had been before by the

f>ig8 and calves ; and when Tom returned for
lis early dinner at one o'clock, he fo\ind her
swinging backward and forward through space,
like an animated pendulum, in a great swing in
the trees.

The young lady and gentleman had a tite-a-
tite dinner that day ; for Margaret was a half
boarder at the Cliftontlea Female Aoudemy,
and always dined there ; and before the meal
was over, they were chatting away with the fa-
miliarity of old friends. At first, Mademoiselle
Vivia was inclined to treat Master Tom with
dignified reserve, but his animated volubility
and determination to be on cordial terms were
pot to be resisted ; and tbej rose from the table

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFR

of being
high; but

was smil-
lo impro-
lasent, and
entered at
islin. She
-morning,
ace at the

of coffee
ithcr after
ng heraell

militaire

ink coffee,
realifast in

exclaimed

ve another

Fe, if you

her Paris

lonned his
tcbel over
•et to Clif-
e went, he

the little

toilet was
id awoy in
d with the
ras left to
could not
swiftly as

half wild
therto iin-
found her
iras trans-
and poul-

the little
sparkling
^r's girls.
J extreme
Joannette
ice of the
liiin \*lla,
ittle baby
re by the
urned for
'o\ind her
gh space,
/ swing in

I a lite-a-
18 a half
Uudemy,
the meal
'h the fa-
emoiselle
om with
olubiiity
rms were
the teblfl

the best friends in the world. To vbit Clifton-
lea without going to Castle Cliffe was like yisit-
ing Rome without going to St. Peter's. All
sight-seeers went there, and were enchanted,
but few of them ever h^d so fluent and voluble
a guide as its heiress had now. From gallery
to gallery, through beautiful saloons and sup-
per-rooms, through blooming conservatories,
magnificent suites of drawing-rooms, oak par-
lors and libraries, Tom enthusiastically strode,
gesticulating, describing, and inventing some-
times, when his memory fell short of facts, in a
way that equally excited the surprise and ad-
miration of bis small auditor. The central, or
main part of the Castle, aocordint^ te Tom, was
88 old as the days of the Fifth Henry — as in-
deed its very ancient style of architecture, and
aaa inscription in antique French on an old man-
tel-piece, proved. To the riglit and left there
were two octagonal towers : one called the
Queen's Tower, built in the time of Queen
Elizabeth, and so named because that illuatrous
lady herself had onoe lionored it with a week's
visit — the other, called the Agnes Tower, had
been erected in the same reign at a lat«>r date,
and was named after Laily Agnes Cliffe, the
bride of its then proprietor, i'om had won-
derful stories to tell about these old places ; but
the great point of attraction w is tlie picture-
gallery, an immense hall lighted with beautiful
oriel windows of otained glass, and along whose
walls hunt^ the pictured faces of all the Cliffes,
who had reigned there from time immemorial.
Qallant knights, in wigs, and swords, and dou-
blets ; courtly dames in diamond stomachers,
and head-dresses three feet high, looked down
with their dead eyes on the last of their an-
oieat race — the little girl in the white dress and
blue ribbons, who held her breath with awe, and
felt as if she heard the ghostly rustling of their
garments against the oak walls. Master Tom,
who had no Cliffe blood in his veins, and no
bump of Veneration on his head, ran on with an
easy fluency that would have made his fortune
29 a Btump-leoturer.

'* That horrid old fright up there, in the bag-
wig and knee-breeches, is SirMarmaduke Cliffe,
who built tbe two towers in the days of Queen
Elizabeth ; and that sour-looking dame with a
mffle sticking out five feet, was Lady Agnes
Neville, his wife. That there is Sir Lionel, who
was master here in the days of the Merry Mon
arch — the handsomest Cliffe among them, and
everybody says I'm his born image. That good-
lookmg nun over there witli the crucifix in her
hand and tlie whites of her eyes upturned, was
the Lady A'lbess, onoe of the ruined convent be-
iWad here, and got hnr brains knocked out by
that abominable Boarap, Thomas 6romweII.
There's tlie present Lady Agnes in white aatin
and pearls — her bridal drese, I believe. And
there— do you know who frhat is ?"

A young man, looking like a prince in the

uniform of an o£Boer of dragoons, with the blue
eyes, golden hair, and laughing face, she Itnew
by heart ; and a flush of light rose to her face as
she looked.

"It is my papa — my own splendid papa.
And there isn't one among them all who iooki
half as much like a king as he !"

" That's tme enough ; and as he is the best,
BO he is tbe last. I suppose they will be han^
iug up yours near it very soon."

" But my mamma's, where is that ? Is not
her picture here as well as the rest V

Tom looked her, and suppressed a whistle.

" Your mamma's — oh ! I never saw her. I
don't know anything about her. ller picture is
not here, at all events !"

" She is dead !" said the child, in her manner
of grave eimplioity. " I never saw my dear
mamma !"

" Weil, if she is dead, I suppose she ean*t
have her portrait taken very easily, and thatac-
euuiits ! And now, as I'm about tired of going
from one room to another, suppose we go out
and have a look at the old oosivent I promised
to show you. What do you think of the house V

" It is a very grea^ place !"

" And the Cliffes have been very great peo-
ple in their time, too ; and are yet, forthn* maV'
ter : best blood in Sussex, not to say in i Zng'
land."

" Are you a Cliff-i ?"

" No — more's the pity I I am nothing but a
Shirley !"

" Is that girl ?"

"What girl?"

"Mademoiselle Marguerite. "We three are
cousins, I kno^r, but I can't quite understand
it!"

" "Well, look here, then, and I'll demonstrate
it so that even your low capacity can grapple
with the subject. Once upon a time, there
were three brothers by the name of Shirley :
the oldest married Lndy Agnes Cliffe, and he is
dead ; the second married my mothet, and
they're both dead ; the third married Ma-
demoiselle Marguerite's mother, and they're
both dead, too— dying was a bad habit the
Shirleys had. Don't you see — its as clear aa
mud."

" I see ! and that is why you bbth live here."

"That's why! And Mag would have had
this place, only you turned up — bad job for her,
you see ! Sir Roland offered to take me ; but as
I had some claim on Lady Agnes, and none at
all on him, she wouldn't bear of such a thing
at any price."

" Sir Roland is the stout gentleman who told
me to call him uncle, then, and — grandmam-
ma's brother. Has he no wife ?"

"None now; she's defunct. He has a stepson
up at Oxford, LeioeBter Shirley — Cliffe, thej
call him, and just the kind of fellow you would
like, I know. Perhaps he will marry you 8om<V

UNMASKED; OR,

day wliea he comes home ; it would be just the
thing fur him !"

"Murry me! He will do nothing of the
kind," suid Miss Yivia, wilU some dignity, and
« good deal of asperity. *' I shall marry no-
body but Claude. 1 wouldn't have anybody
'%lse fur the world."
"Who is Claude?"

"Why, just Claude — nothing else; but he
will be Marquis de St. Hilary some day, rud I
(rill be Madame la Marquise. lie is a great deal
handsomer tlian you, and I like him ever so
muoh better!'

"J don't believe it! I'm positive you like
me better than anybody else in the world, or at
least you will when we come to be a little better
acquainted. Almost every little girl falls in
love the moment she claps her eyes on me !"

Genevieve lifted her blue eyes, flashing with
mingled astonishment and indignation ; but
Tom's face was perfectly dismal lu its serious-
nass, and he bore her angry regards without
wincing.

" You say the thing that is not true, Monsieur
Tom. I shall never love you as long as I
live!"

"Then all I have to say is, that yon ought to
be pitied for your want of taste. l3ut it is just
as well : for, in case you did love me, it would
only be an nH'nir of a broken heart, and all that
sort of thing ; for I wouldn't marry you if you
were the heiress of Cnstle ClifFe ten times over.
I know a cirl — I saw her dancing on the tight-
^^ope at the races the other day — who is a thou-
sand times prettier than you, and whom I in-
tend making Mrs. S. as soon as I get out of
roundabout jackets."

Genevieve looked horrified. In her peculiar
simplicity, she took every word for gospel.

" A tight-rope dancer ! O Tom ! what will
grandmamma say ?"

" I don't care what she says !" said Tom, des-
perately, thrusting his hands in his pockets
**A tight-rope <lancer is as good as anybody
else ; and I won't be the first of the family,
either, who has tried that dodge."

This last was added sotto voce ; but the little
girl heard it, and tiiere was a perceptihle draw-
ing up of the sinnll figure, and an unmistakable
erecting of the proud little head.

" I don't see how any Cliffe could make such
a mesalliance, and I don't believe any of them
ever did it. I should think you would be
ashamed to speak of such a thing, Cousin
Tom."

" Ton despise ballet-dancers, thwi ?"

"Of course."

" And actresses, also ?"

*^Mais certainement ! It is all the same. Claude
often said he would die before he would make a
low marriage ; and so would I."

Tom thrust his hands deeper in his trowsers
pocl<ets, rolled up his eyes to the firmament,

and garve vent to his feelings in a j-rolonged
whistle.

" And this little princess, with her ohin up
and her eyes flashing, is the daughter of a
nameless French actress," was his thought.

Then, aloud:

•' You seem to have very distinct Ideas on the
subject of matrimony, Miss Victoria. Was it
in your convent you learned them ?"

" Of course not. But Claude, and I, and
Ignacia have talked of it a thousand times in
the holidays. And, Cousin Tom, if you marry
your dancmg-girl, how will you live f You are
not rich !"

"No ; you might swear that, without fear of
perjury. But my wife and I intend to set up a
cigur-shop, and get our rich relations to patron-
ize us. There, don't look so disgusted, but *Jok
at the ruins."

Whilst talking, they hud been walking along
a thickly-wooded avenue, and, as Tom spoke,
they came upon a semi-circular space of green
swurd, with the ruins of an old convent in the
centre. Nothing now remained but an immense
stone cross, bearing a long inscription in Latin,
and the remains of one superb window in the
onlyunruined wall. The whole place was over-
run with ivy and tangled janiper, even the
broad stone steps that led up to what once had
been the grand altar.

" Look at those stains," said Tom, pointing to
some dark spots on the upper step. " They say
that's blood. Lady Edith Cliflfe was the lasl
abbess here, and she was murdered on those
steps, in the days of Thomas Cromwell, for re-'
fusing to take the Oath of Supremacy. The
sunsliine and storm of hundreds of years have
been unable to remove the traces of the crime.
And the townfolk say a tall woman, all in black
and white, walks here on moonlight nights. As
I have never had the pleasure of seeing the
ghost, I cannot vouch for that part of the story,
out I can show you her grave. They buried
her down here, with a stike through her heart ; '
and the place is called the ' Nun's Grave' from
that day to this."

Genevieve stooped down and reverently kiss-
ed 'he stained stones.

" I am glad I am a Cliffe !" she said, as she
arose and followed him down the paved aisle.

The grave was not far dif-l.int. They entered
a narrow path, with dismal yew and gloomy
elm interlacing their branches overhead, shut-
ting out the summer sunshine — a spot as dark
and lonely as the heart of an old primeval for-
est. Andf at the foot of a patriarchal dryad of
yew was a long mound, with a black marble
slab at the bead, without name, or date, or in-
scription.

"Horrid dismal old place !— isn't it?" said
Tom, flinging himself on the grass. " But, dis-
mal or not, I am about done vp, and intend to
rest here Why, what is the oat r?"

THE HT^IRESS OF CASTLE CLIFPE.

For Genevieve, looking down at t\.e grass, i
ba4 suddenly turned of a gliuatly wliiteuesa, and
sunk duwii in n violent ireiuur and I'aiiitnesa
aoross ilie niound. Turn sprung up in dire
alarm.

•• Vivia, Vivia ! What in tlie world U this?"

Slifl did not apeak.

He lifted her up, and she clung with a name-
less trembling terror to hia arm, her very lips
blanched to the "'hiteneas of death.

'* Vivia, what under heaven is this f"

The p^le lipa parted.

" Nothing !" she said, in a voioe that oould
scarcely be heard. " Let us go away iVom
this."

He drew her arm within hio, and led her
away, mystified beyond expression. But, iiithe
terrible after-days, when the " Nun's Grave "
lind more of horror for him than Hades itself,
he had reason to remember Yivia's first visit

there.

CHAPTER IX.

ylOTORIA REOIA.

Before the end of the first week, the fittle
heiress was thoroughly domesticated at Castle
Gliffe. Everybody liked her, from Lady Agnes
diiwn to the kiiohen-mnids, who sometimes had
the honor of dropping her a courtesy, and re-
ctiiviug a gracious little emile in return. Lady
Agnes had keen eyes, and reading her like a
printed book, saw that the little girl was ariato-
crat to the core of iier heart. If she wept, as
slie once or twice found occasion to do, it vras
like a little lady, uoiseleaaly, with her handker-
chief to her eyes, and her face buried in her
arm. If she lauglied, it was careless, low, and
musical, and with an air of despiaing laughter
all tiie tiiihe. She never romped ; she never
screamed ; she was never rude. Heaven forbid !
The blue ulood o.' the Ciiifes certainly dowed
with proud propriety through those delicate
veins. The girl of twelve, too, understood it
all, as the duckling understands swimming, by
iAtuition, and was as radically and unaffectedly
haughty in her way as Lady Agues in hers.
She was proud of the Cliffes, and of their lon^
pedigree ; proud of their splendid house and its
splendid surroundings ; proud of her stately
grandmother ; and proudest of all of her hand-
some papa.

" The child is well named," said Lady Agnes,
with a oonacious smile. She is Victoria — ex-
actly like her namesake, that odd, wild, beauti-
ful flower, the Victoria Regia."

Everybody in Cliftonlea was wild to see the
heiress — the return of her father had been
nothing to this furore ; so the white niualiu
and blue ribbons were discarded fur brilliant
silks and nodding plumes, and Lady Agne^ and
Miss Shirley drove through the town in a grand
barouche, half-buried among amber-velvet cush-
ions, and looking like a full-blown queen and a
prineess in the bud. Certainly, it was a be-

wildering change for the little gray-robed pen-
nonnaire of the French convent.

It was a hot, sultry September after*
noon, with a high mua, a brassy sun, and
crimson clouds in a dull, leaden sky — a Sat>
urday ailcrnouH, and a half-holiday with Tom
Shirley, who stood before the portico of the hall-
door, holding the bridles of two ponies — one his
own, the other Cousin Victoria's. This latter
was a perfect miracle of Arabian beauty, snowy
white, slender-limbed, arched-necked, fiery-
eyed, full of spirit, yet gentle as a lamb to a
master-hand, it was a present from Sir Roluud
to the heiress '>f Castle Cliffe, and had been
christened by that small young lady, "Claude"— ~
a title which Tom indignantly repudiated for its
former one, of " Leicester". The girl and
boy were bound for a gallop to Sir Roland's
home, Cliffewood, a distance of some seven
miles ; and while Tom stood holding in the im-
patient ponies, the massive hall-door was tiirown
open by the obsequious porter, and the heiress
herself tripped out.

Tom had very gallantly told her once that the
rope-dancer was a thouaand times prettier tnao
she ; but looking at her now, as she stood for
one moment on the topmost step, he cried in-
wardly, " Pucavi!" and repented. Certainly,
nothing could have been lovelier — the light,
slender figure in an exquisitely-fitting hubit of
blue ; yellow gauntlets on the fairy hands, one
of which lightly lifted her flowing skirt, and the
other poising the most exquisite of riding-whips ;
the fiery lances of sunshine glancing through
the Buuny curls flowing to the waiat, the small
black riding-hut, and waving plume tied with
azure ribbons ; the sunlight flushing in her bright
blue eyes, and kissing the rose-tint on her pearly
cheeks. Yds, Victoria Shirley was pretty — a
vcy different-looking girl from the pale, dim,
colorless Genevieve who had arrived a little
over a week before. And, as she came trip-
ping down the steps, planting one dainty foot in
Tom's palm, and springing easily into her saddle,
hia boy's heart gave a quick bcund, and his
pulses an electric thrill. Ue leaped on his own
horae ; the girl smilingly kissed the tips of her
yellow gauntlets to Lady Agnes in her cliamber-
window, and they dashed away in the t'^ .th of
the wind, her curls waving behind like a golden
banner. Vivia rode well — it was an accomplish-
ment she had learned in France ; :he immense
iron gates under the lofty stone arch split open
at their approach, and away they dashed through
Cliftonlea. All the town flew to the doors an I
window, and gazed, in profound admirat'an and
envy, afler the twain as they flew by — the bold,
dark-eyed, hark-haired, manly boy, and the deli-
cate fairy, with the blue eyes and golden hair,
beside him. The high wind deepened the roses
and brightened the light in Vivia's eyes, until
she was glowing like a second Aurora, when they
leaped off their horses at the villa'a gates. This

.r-

TJNMASKED ; OR,

villa WM a pretty place— a very pretty place,
but painfully new ; for which reason Vivia did
not like it all. The grounJa were epaciotis and
beautifully laid out ; the villa was a chef d" autre
of got».io arohiteoture, but it had been built
by Sir Roland himself, and nobody ever
thought of ootniug to see it. Sir Roland
did not care, for he liked comfort a great
deal better than historio interest nnd leaky
roofs, and told Lady Agnes, with a good-na-
tured laugh, when she spoke of it in ht-r 8Corn_
ful way, that she might live in her old ruined
eonvent if she liked, but he would stick to his
eommodious villa. Now he came down the
grassy lawn to meet them, and welcomed tbena
with oordiality ; for tlie new heiress wus au im-
mense favorite of his already.

" Aunt Agnes thought it would do Vio good
to gallop over," said Tom, switching his boot
with bis whip. " So here we are. Hut yo'i
needn't invito us to stay ; for, as this is Saturday
afternoon, you know it couldn't be heard of!"

" Oh, yes !" said Vio— o name which Tom had
adopted for shortness ; " we ought to go right
back ; for Tom is going to show me something
wonderful down on the shore. Why, Unole Ro-
land, what is this ?"

They had entered a high, cool hall, with glass
doors thrown open at each end, sl»owing a sweep-
ing vista of lawns, and terraces, and shrubbery,
rich with statues and portraits ; and before one
of these the speaker had made so sudden a halt
that the two others stopped also. It was a pic-
ture, in a splendid frame, of a little boy some
eight years old, with long, bright curls, much
the same as her own ; blue eyes, too, but so
much darker than hers that they seemed almost
black , the straight, delicate features character-
istic of the Cliffes, and n smile like an angel's.
It was really a beautiful face — mucli more so
than her own ; and the girl clasped her hands in
her peculiar manner, and looked at it in a per-
fect ecstasy.

"Why,'' Tom was beginning impetuously,
" where did you — " when Sir Roland, smilingly,
oaught his arm and interposed.

" Hold your tongue, Tom. Little boys should
'be seen and not heard. Well, Vic, do you
know who that is?"

" It looks like — it does look like" — a little
• doubtfully, though — " my papa."

" So it does ; the forehead, and mouth, and
hair are alike, exactly. But it is not your
papa. Guess again."

" Oh, I can't I hate guessing. Tell me who
it 1»."

" It is a portrait of my stepson, Leicester,
taken when a child ; and the reason you never
saw it before is, it has been getting new-framed.
Good-looking little fellow, eh I"

*' Oh, it is beautiful ! It is an angel !"

Sir Roland and Tom both laughed; but
•Tom's vai a perfect shout.

' ^oester Cliffe an nngelf O ye gods I
won't I tell him the next time I see him ; and
he the veriest scamp that ever flogged a fag!''

" Nothing of the kind, Vic I" said Sir Roland,
as Vic colored with mortification. " Leicester
is an excellent fellow ; and, when he comes bomCf
you and he will be capital friends, I'm sure.''

Vio brightened up immediately.

" And when will be be home. Uncle Roland ?"

" That's uncertain — perhaps at Christmas.'

"Is he old?"

"Considerably stricken in years, but not
quite as old as Methuselah's cat," struck in
Tom. " He is eighteen."

" Does he look like that now?"

" Except that all those young lady-like curls,
and that innocent expression, and those short
jackets are gone, he docs ; and then he is as tall
as a May-pole,or as Tom Shirley. Come in
and have lunch."

Sir Roland led the way ; and after luncheon
the cousins mounted their horses and rode to
the Castle. The sun was setting in an oriflamme
of crimson and black, and the wind had risen to
a perfect gale, but Tom insisted on his cousin
aooompauying hiia to the shore, nevertheless.

" 1 won't oeable to show the Dev — I mean the
Demon's Tower until next Saturday, unless you
come now : so be off Vic, nnd change your dress.
It is worth going to see, I can tell you I"

"Vio, nothing loth, flew ap the great oaken
staircase with its gilded balustrade, to her own
beautiful rooru, and soon reappeaied in a gay
silk robe and black velvet basque. As she
joined Tom in the avenue, she recoiled, in sur-
prise and displeasure, to see that Margaret wap
with him.

" Don't be cross, Vic," whispered Tom, giv-
ing her a coaxing pinch. " She was sitting
moping like an old hen with the distemper, un-
der the trees, and I thought it would be only an
act of Christian politeness to a^>k her. Come on,
she won't eat you ; come on, Mag I"

Tom's long legs measured off the ground as
if he were shod with seven-leagued boots ; and
the two girls, running breathlessly at his side,
had enough to do to keep up with him. The
shore was about a half-mile distant, but he
knew lots of short cuts through the trees ; and
Itefore long th'-y were on tlie sands and scram-
bling over the rocks, Tom holding Vic's hand,
and Margaret making her way in the best man-
ner she could, with now and then an encourag-
ing word from him. The sky looked dark and
menacing, the wind raged over the heaving sea,
and the surf waslied the rooks, far out, in great
billows of foam.

" Lo-^'' there !" said Tom, pointing to som**-
thing that really looked like a huge mass oi
stone tower. " That's the Demon's Tower, and
they call tliat the Storm Bar beyond it We can
I walk to it now, because the tide is low, but any
one caught thereat high water would be drown-

ye gods!

uim; And
id a fag!'*
■i\r Roland.

Leicester
>inea borne,

m sure/'

e Roland?"
iristmas.'

I, but not
Btruok in

7-like ourlB,

those Bhort

he ia as tall

Come in

er luncheon
ind rode to
in oriflamme
had risen to
n bia cousin
rerthelesB.
—I mean the
r, unless you
e your dress.
?ou I"

great oaken
, to her own
ed in a gay
ue. As she
Diled, in sur-
[argaret wap

3d Tom, giv-
was sitting
stemper, un-
id be only an
r. Come on,
!"

le ground as
1 boots ; and
at bia side,
li him. The
;ant, but he
e trees ; and
s and scram-
; Vic's hand,
tie best man-
an enoourag-
:ed dark and
I heaving sea,
out, in great

ing to sonit.
luge mass oi
's Tower, and
id it We can
low, botany
lid be drown-

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFPE.

ed for certain, nnleBS it was an uncommon
Bwiiiiuier. There's uo ddnger now, though, as
ic'd far out. So make haete, and come along."

But over the slippery rocks aud siiuiy sea-
weed Vic could not '* come along" at all. Seeing
which, Tom lifted her in his arms, with aa much
ceremony aud difficulty as if she had beeu a
kitten ; and calliiit< to Margaret to mind her eye,
and not break her neck, bounded from jug to
Jag witli as much ease as a goat. Mui-garet,
slipping, and falling, aud rising again, followed
patiently on, and iu fifte<^n minutes they were
m the cavern, and Vic was standing, laughing
and breathless, on her own pedals ouce more.

It was in reality a tower without a top ; for
8om<^ twenty feet above them they could sec the
dull, leaden sky, and the sides were as steep, and
perpendicular, and nnciimbabie as the walla
of a house. The eaverc was sufficiently spa-
cious ; and opposite the low miturul archway by
which they entered were half a dozen rougb
steps cut in the rooks, and above them was a
kind of seat made by a projecting stone. The
place was filled with hollow, weird sounds, some-
thing between the sound we hear iu sea-shelU
and the mournful sighing of an seolian harp,
and the effect altogether was unspeakably wild
and melancholy. Again Vic clasped her hands,
this time in mingled awe aud delight.

" What a place! How the sea and wind roar
among the rocks. I could stay here forever !'

'* I have oftien been here for hours on a
stretch with Leicester Cliffe," said Tom. " We
cut those steps in the rock ; and, when we were
little shavers, he used to play Robinson Crusoe,
aud I, Man Friday. We named it Robinson
Crusoe's Castle ; but that was too long for every
day : so the people in Lower Cliffe — the fishing
village over there — called it the Devil's Tower.
Vio, sing a song, and hear how your voice will
echo round those stone walls !"

•'But," said Margaret, •' I don't think it's safe
to stay here, Tom. You know, when the tide
rises its fills this place nearly to the top, and
would drown us all !"

" Don't be a goose, Maggie ; there's no dan-
ger, I tell you ! Vic, get up in Robinson Cru-
soe's seat, and I'll be Man Friday again, and lie
here i>t your feet."

Vic got up the steps, and seated herself on
the stone ledge ; Tom flung himself on the stone
floor, and Margaret sat down on a pile of dry
seaweed in the corner. Then Vic sang some
wild Venetian barcarole, that echoed and re-
echoed, and rang oat on the wind, in a way
that equally ;;imazed and delighted her. Again
and again she sang, fascinated by the wild and
beautiful echo, and Tom joined in loud choruses
of his own, and Margaret listened seemingly
quite as much delighted as they, until suddenly,
in the midst of the loudest strain, she sprang to
her feet with a sharp cry.

" Tom ! Tom I the tide is unon ub !"

Inetautly Tom was on his feet, as if be were

made from head to heel of spring-Bteel, and Out

of the black arch. For nearly two yards, the

I epace before the archway waa clear of the aurf ;

I but, owing to a peculiar curve in the shore, the

Tower liad become an ibland, and was almost

I encircled by the foaming waves. The dull day

■ was darkening, too ; the fierce blast dashed the

; epray up in his eyes, aud iu onu frantic glance

' he saw that escape was impossible. Ue could

not swim to the shore in that surf ; neither he

nor they could climb up the steep sides of the

cavern, and they all must drown where they

were. Not for himself did he care — brave Tom

never thought of himself iu that moment, nor

even of Margaret, only of Vic. In an instau'.,

he was back again, aud kneeling at her feet on

the Btone floor.

" I promised to protect you !" be cried out,
" and see how I have kept my word !"

" Tom, is it true ? Can we not escape ?"

" No ; the sea is around us on every hand,
and in twenty minutes will be over that arch
and over our beads ! Oh, I wish I had bt^u
struck dead before ever I brought you here I"

" And can we do nothing," said Vic, clasping
her bands— always her impulse. " If we could
only climb to the top."

Affain Tom bounded to bis feet.

" I will try ! There may be a rope there, and
it is a chance, after all !"

In a twinkling he was at the top of Robinson's
seat, and clutching frautloally at invisible frag-
ments of rock, to help him up the steep ascent.
But ill vain ; worse than ia vain. Neither sailor
nor monkey could have climbed up there, and,
with a sharp cry, he missed his hold, and was
hurled bacK, stunned and senseless, to the
floor. The salt spray came dashing in their
faces as they knelt beside him. Margaret
shrieked, and covered her face with her hands,
and cowered down ; and " Sancta Maria, Mater
Dei, ora pro nobis peccaloris, nunc et in hora moT'
tis nostra /" murmured the pale lips of the
French girl.

And still the waters rose !

CHAPTER X.

BARBARA.

The Cliftonlea races were over and well over,
but bi; least one-third of the pleasure-seekers
went home disappointed. The races had been
successful ; the weather propitious ; but one
great point of attraction had mysteriously dis-
appeared — after the first day, ♦^^he Infant Venus
vanished and was seen uo mon . The mob had
gone wild about her, and had besieged the thea-
tre clamorously next day . but when another and
very clumsy Venus was substituted, and she
was not to be found, the manager nearly had
his theatre pulled down about his ears, in their
angry disappointment None could tell what
))ad Decome of her, except, perhaps, Mr. Sweei

UNMASKED; OR,

— wbieb prudent gentl<tman cnobauted tbe mca-

S round no luiiser with his preseuoe but duvuted
iuaulf ezoluaiYciy to a little busintiu uf hu
own.

It wu a BwelteriDg August evening. Tbe sun,
tbat had tlifobbed and bbized uU day like a
great heart of fire in a uloudteits Bky, was going
ttlowly down b«hiud the iSuasL-z hill«, but a few
vagrant wandering aunbeaius lingered still on
tbe open window, and along the «ar[ etleas tloor,
in an upper room in the Cliife Arms. It wua a
small room, with an attic roof — stifling hot just
now, and tilled with reeking fumes uf tobacco ;
for Mr. Feter Black sat near the empty fire-

{)iaoe, smoking like a vuloami. There were two
adies in the ruum ; but, despite their presence
and tbe suifocating atmosphere, Mr. black kept
bis hat on, tor tbe wearing uf which article of
dress be partly atoned by being <a bis shirt-
sleeves, and very much out at tbe elbows at that.
One of these ladies, rather stricken in years, ex-
ceedingly crooked, exceedingly yelli-, and with
an exceedingly «harp and vicioud expression ge
nerally, sat on a low stool opposite bim; her skm-
ny elbows on ber knees, her skinny chin in her
bands, aud ber small, rat-like eyes transfixing
bim witb an unwinking stare. The second
lady — a youthful angel arrayed in f«ded gauze,
ornamented witb tawdry ribbons aud tarnished
tinsel — stood by the open window, trying to
cntch tbe slightest breeze, but no breeze stirred
tbe stagnant air of tbe sweltering August after-
noon, It was the Infant Venus, of course — look-
ing like anything just now, however, but a Ve-
nus, in ber babby dress, ber uncombed and
tangled profusion of hair, and the scowl, tbe
unmistakable scowl, tbat darkened tbe pretty
face. There never was greater nonsense than
tbat trite old adage of" beauty unadorned being
adorned tbe most". Beauty in satin and dia-
monds is infinitely more beautiful than the same
in linsey-woolsey , and tbe caterpillar witii sulky
face and frowsed hair, looking out of the win-
dow, was no more like tbe golden butterfly,
wreathed and smiling on tbe tight-rope, than a
real caterpillar is like a real butterfly. In fact,
none of the three appeared to be in tbe beat of
bumors : tbe man looked dogt^ed and scowling ;
tbe old woman, tierce and wrathful, and tbe girl,
gloomy and sullen. They bad been in exactly
the same position for at least two hours with-
out speaking, when tbe girl suddenly turned
round from the window, witb flashing eyes nnd
fiery face.

" Father, 1 want to know bow long we are to
be kept roasting alive in this place ? If you
don't let me out, I will jump out of tbe window
to-nigbt, though I break my neck for it !"

" Do, and be ," growled Mr. Black, surli-
ly, without looking up.

" What have we come here for at all ? Why
liave we left the theatre ?"

"Find out!" aan^ Mr. Black, laconically.

The girl's eyes flamed, and hvr bands oleneh
ed, but the uld wuiuan iuterpused.

" Barbara, yuu're a fuol ! and fools ask inor6
questions in a minute than a wise man con an>
Bwer ill a day. 7/e have come here fur your
guod, and — tuere's a knock, open the dour."

"It's that yellow uld ogre again," muttered
Barbara, going to the dour. " I know he's at
the buttuiu 01 all this, and I should like to
scratch hia eyes out — I should I"

She uniucKed the dour o ohe uttered tbe gen-
tle wish ; and tbe yelluw old ogre, in tbe person
of the ever-smiling Mr. Sweet, stepped in. Cer-
tainly be was smiling just now — quite radiantly,
in fact ; and his waistcoat, and whiskers, and
hair, and profusion of jewelry, seemed to scin-
tillate sparks of sunshine and smile, too.

" And bow does my obarmintf little Venus
find herself this warm evening — blooming as a
roae-bud, I hope" — he began, ohuokling lier
playfully under the chin — " and tbe dear old
lady quite well and cheerful, I trust ; and yon,
my dear old boy, always smoking and enjoying
yourself after your own iiashioa. Uow uu you
do, all r

By way of answer, tbe charming little Venus
wrenched herself angrily from bis grasp ; the
dee old lady gave him a malignant glance out
of uer weird eyes, and tbe dear old boy smoked
on witb a steady scowl, and never looked up.

" All silent I" said Mr. Sweet, drawing up a
chair, and looking silently round. " Why, that's
odd, tool Barbara, my dear, will you tell me
what is tbe matter t"

Barbara faced round from tbe window with
rather discomposing suddenness, not to say
fierceness.

" Tbe matter is, Mr. Sweet, that Tm about
tired of being cooped up in this hot hole ; and
if I don't get out by fair means, I will by foul,
and that before long. What have you brought
us here for. You needn't deny it, I know you
have brought us here!"

" Quite right. Miss Barbara. It was I !"

" Then I wish you bad just minded your own
business, and lei us alone. Come, let me out,
or I vow I shall jump out of the window, if I
break every bone in my body.''

" My dear Miss Barbara, 1 admire your spirit
and courage, but let us do nothing rash. If I
have brought you here, it is for your good, and
you will thank me for it one day I"

" I shall do nothing uf the kind ; and you
won't thank yourself eitiier, if you don't let me
me out pretty soon. What do you mean, sir,
by interfering with ua, when we weren't interfer-
ing with you?"

" Barbara, hold your tongue !" agftin the old
lady sharply cut in. " Iler tongue ia lunger
than the reat uf her body, Mr. Sweet, and you
mua'n't mind ber. How dare you speuk so dis-
respectful to the gentleman, you minx! "

'* Vou needn't call either of us names, grand*

motlier," i
old lady I
of ■ ber wi
you and f
derud abi»
minding li

Mr. P.
chuckled
his small
looked at

'• Oeiitij
too fust I
brought y
good. I i
aud who (
mined yoi
low drudg
lady, aihl
a great de
geruus a I
lad/ yet !'

"How?
all of her i

" Well,
cated ; yoi
ble 8ituati(
of strolliii|
grown up,
wife!'

Mr. Swe
shrugged I
itidnitii CO

♦• O thau
that case,
Sue prom
tlieiu, aud

" My da
tai^e I hi
dreases yo
will make,
awar'i this
the world,
pose of te
night. Y
self in ret
future b«<i

Mr. Bill
looked up

" Wher

" Down
below het
cottage «\
com for tab

'• And t
perhaps i^
of me ! 1
but 1 don

"My c
can help
the oldest
apostles
know."

•■ 1 don

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

ittle Venua

motluT," uM BarLaru, quite as elinrpl y ns tbe
uld laJy berMlf, «ud with a spectral flash out
uf'her weird dark «yes. "1 shuuldu't tliiuic
you and tath«r wuuid be suoli fouls as tu be or-
ilurud abiiut by au old lawyer, wliu had butter be
ujiiidiiig his owu affairs, it he has auy tu miud !"

Mr. Peter Uluck, smukiug siulidly, still
ehuokled grimly uuder !iis unshaveu beard ut
his smull daughter's large spirit ; aud Mr. Sweet
looked at her witii mild reuruaoh.

''Uuutly, gently, Miss Barbara I you think
too fast ! As you have guessed, it is 1 who hav«
brouglit you here, and it is, I repeat, for your
good. I snw you at the races, and liked you —
aud who could help doing that? — aud I deter-
mined you should not pass your life in such
low drudgery*; for I swear you were born for a
lady, aihi shall be one I Miss Barbara, you are
a great deal too beautiful for so public aud dan-
gerous a life, aud I repeat again, you shall be a
lady yet !"

"How?" said Barbara, a httle mollified, like
all of her sex, by the flatterv.

''Well, in the first place, you shall bo edu-
cated ; your father stiall have a more respecta-
ble situation than that of ticket-porter to a band
of strolling players ; and, lastly, when you have
grown up, I shall perhaps make you — my little
wife!'

Mr. Sweet laughed pleasantly, but Barbara
shrugged her shoulders, and turned away with
iuiinitii contempt.

'- O thank you ! I shall never be a lady in
that case, I am afraid ! You may keep your
nue promises, Mr. Swet't, for those who like
theru, and let me go back to the theatre."

"My dear child, when you see the pretty cot-
tai^e I have for you to live in, and the tine
dresse;! you shall have, and all the friends you
will make, you will think differently of it. I am
awar'j this is not the most comfortable place in
tlie world, but I came up for the express pur-
pose of telling you you are to leave here to-
night. Yes, my good Black, you will hold your-
self ia readiuess to-night to quit tnis for your
future h«<iie."

Mr. Black took his pipe out of his mouth and
looked up for the first time.

" Where's that ?' he gruffly asked.

"Down in Tower ClittV, the fishing-village
below here, aud I have found you the nicest
cottage ever you saw, where you can live as
comfortably as a king !"

*• And that respectable occupation of yours —
perhaps it's a lawyer's clerk you want to make
of me! I'm not over partrisular. Lord knows!
but 1 don't want to come to that !"

" My dear Black, don't be sarcastic, if you
can help it ! Your occupation shall be one of
the oldest and most respectable — a profession
apostles followed — that of a fisborraan, you
know."

*' I don't know anything about the apostles,"

said Mr. Black, gruffly, and I know less about
being a fishermau. " Why don't you set me up
for a milliner, or a lady's luaid, at ouue?"

" My dear friend, 1 am afraid you got out of
tlie wrung side of the bed this muruing, you're so
uucommuu savage ; but 1 can uverluuk that aud
the few uiher delects yuu are troubled with, as
people overlook spots on the sun. As to the
fishing, you II soon learn all you want to know,
which Won't be much ; aud as yuu will never
want a guinea while I have one in my purse,
you need uever shorten your days by hard
work. In three hours from now — that is, at nine
o'clock— 1 will be herewith a conveyance to
bear yuu tu yuur new home. Aud now," said
Mr. 8weet, rising, " as much as I regret it, 1
must tear myself away ; for I have an engage-
ment with uiy lady at the Castle in half an ijour.
By the way, have you heard the news of what
happened at the Castle the other day ?"

"How should we hear it?" said Mr. Black,
sulkily. " Do you suppose the birds of the air
would fly in with uuws ; and yoo took precious
good care that none should reach us auy utlier
way !"

"True! I might have known you would not
hear it, but it is a mere trifle after all. The
only son uf Lady Agnes Shirley has returned
home, after au aosence of twelve years, and all
Cliftonlea is ringing with the news. Perhaps
you would lik>* to hear the story, my good Ju-
dith," said Mr. Sweet, leaning smilingly over
his chair, and fixing his eyes full on the skinny
face of the old woniaa " It is quite a romance,
I assure you. A little over thirteen years ago,
this yuung man, Ciiffe Shirley, made a low
marriage, a French actress, very good, very
pretty, but a nobody, you know. Actresses are
always nobodies!"

"And lawyers are something worse !" inter-
rupted Barbara, facing indignantly round. " I
would thank you to miud what you say about
actresses, Mr. Sweet."

The lawyer bowed in deprecation to the little
vixen.

" Your pardon. Miss Barbara. I bold my-
self rebuked. When my lady heard the story,
her wrath, I am, told, was terrific. She comes
of an old and fiery race, you see, and it was nn
undeard of atrocity to mix the blood of the
Ciiffes with the plebeian puddle of a French
actress, so this only son and heir was cast off.
Then came righteous retribution for the sin
against society he had committed ; the artful
actress died, the young man fled into voluntary
exile in India, to kill natives and do penance
for his sins, and after spending twelve years in
these pleasant pursuits, he has unexpectedly re-
turned home, and been received by the great
lady of Castle Ciiffe with open arms !"

'' grandmother !" cried Barbara, with ani-
mation, " that mu'it have been the lady and
gentleuian we saw driving past in the grqipd car-

UNMASKED: OR,

ringe jostcrilay. There were four beautiful
lior««i, ttll shining witii lilver, and a ooaohamn
atkl fuotuiaa in livery, and the Imly wuh dreiHuJ
■pieudiJiy, and tho guulltiiuun was — oh I ev«ir so
hftndaoiuu. Duu't yuu rt-uietubvr, gruudiuuth-
er r

But grnndmothcr, with Ucr eyes fixed as if
riiBcinulu'l oti the ohuerlui fiioo uf the uurrulor,
her eld hands trembling, and her li]i8 sposiuod-
icully twiiciiing, wus crouching A^iny in the
chinincy-oorncr, and answervd nowr a word.
Mr. Swuut turned to the girl, and took it tipou
biuiself to answer.

" Kight, Miss Barbara. It was Lady Agnes
and Colonel Shirley ; uo one else in (Jliftonlea
bus Hiich un equipage ns timt; but your grand-
tuolher will like to liear the rest of tlio storv-

"There Is a vequel, uiy good Jr.dith. ^fhe
young soldier nnd the pretty ii'.tretis had a
daughter ; and the child, after ruinuining six
years in England, was taken away bv its fatiier
nnd placed in n French convent. Ihere it lias
renmined ever since ; and yesterday two mesc'in-
gers were sent to Paris to bring Iter honae,
and the child of the French actress is now the
heiress of Costle Clitfe I Miss Barbara, how
Would you like to be in her place?''

" You needn't ask. I would give half my
life to be a lady for one day !"

Mr. Sweet laughed and turned to go ; and old
Judith, crouching into the ohininey-corner,
shook ns she heard it like one striokeu with
palsy

" Neve'' mind, my pretty little Barbara, you
shall be one some day, or I'll not, be a living
man. And now you iiad Itoter see to your
grandmother ; I am afraid the dear old lady is
Dot very well."

CHAPTER XI.

THR FIRST TIME.

The village of Lower Cliffe was a collection
of about twenty wretched cottages, nestled
away under bleak, craggy rockB, that sheltered
them from the broiling sea-side sum. About a
dozen yards from the one straggling road win<l-
ing nway among rocks and jutting crags, was
the lont;, sandy beach, where the fishermen
mended their nets in the sunny summer-days,
and where their fishing-boats were moored,
and away beyond it spread the blue and bound-
less sea. To the right, the rough, irregular
road lost itself in a mist of wet maishes and
swampy wastes, covered with tall rank grass,
weedy flowers — blue, and yellow, and flame-
colored— and where the cattle grazed on the
rank herbage all day long. To the left, was
piled up miniature hills of sea-weedy rooks,
with tall, in their midst, the Demon's Tower ;
and in the back-ground, the sloping upland was
bounded by the high wall that inclosod the park-
grounds and preserves of the castle. The vil-
lage belonged to Liidy Agnes Shirley ; but that

august lady had never set her foot therein. In
a grand and lofty sort of way shu was aware of
such a place, when her agent, Mr. Sw«et paid in
the rents ; and she nourouly knew anything more
about it lliun she did of any Hottentot village
in Southern Africa. And yet it was down here
in this obscure place that lier lawyer located
the little dancing-girl whom he had promised
one day to make a lady.

The Jelighlful little cottage ho had mentioned
to Mr. Black stood away by itself at the end of
the village farthest trom the marshes, and
neareHt the park-gate — a little, whitewashed,
one-story affair, with its solitary door facing the
sea, and opening immediately into the only
large room of the house. The place had been
newly furnished by the benevolent lawyer be-
fore his prot^g^s came there ; and tliis room
was kitchen, sittine room, dining-room, and
parlor, all in one. 'ihere were two small bed-
rooms opening off it— one occupied by the old
woman Judith, the other by Barbara ; and Mr.
Peter Black courted repose in a loft above.

The little dancing-girl, much as she had re-
gretted being taken away from her theatre at
firdt, grew reconciled to her new home in a
wonderfully short space of time. Mr. Sweet had
given her n boat— the daintiest little skiff that
ever was seen — painted black, with a crimson
streak running round it, and the name " Barba-
ra" printed in orinisou letters on the stern
And before she had been living two days in th«
cottage, Barbara had learned to row. There
must have been some wild blood in the girl's
veins, for she lived out of doors from morning
till night, like a gipsy — climbing up impassable
places like a cat — ^makiug tlio ucquuintunoe of
everybody in the village, and taking to the
water like a duck. Out long before tlie sun
rose red over the sea, and out until the stars
span '"d on the waves, the child, who had been
cooped up all her life in dingy, grimy city walls,
drank in the resounding sea-side wind, as if it
had been the elixir of life, went dancing over
the marshes gathering bouquets of ttie tall rank
reedy blossoms, and blue rockets, singing ns
she went, springing from jag to jag along the
dizzy cliffs, with the wind in her teeth, und her
pretty brown hair blowing in the breeze behind
lier. It was a new world to Barbara. Mr.
Sweet was certainly the most benevolent of men.
He not only paid the rent for the tenants in the
sea-side cottage, but be bought and paid for the
furniture himself, and made Barbara new pres-
ents every day. And Barbara took his pres-
ents — his pr'^tty boat, the new dresses, the rich
fruits and flowers from the conservatories and
parterres of the castle, and liked the gifts im-
mensely, and began to look even with a little
complacency on the giver. But being cf an in-
I tensely jealous nature, with the wildest dreams
of ambition in her childish head, and the most
I passionate and impetuous of teniperf, she neve;

got on TCI
bara oerU
not appar
Esther or {
it lav don
but bersel
but she I
but he wa
walk dow
Clift»nlua
to see bitu
always soi

One ev
turned do
er man's <
over the e
to olateb
blowing if
of a lea<le
west, and
a roar lik
the villagi
bokedan;!
ing from i
sight be V
road. No
ever, in tli
he watohe
his foot e
the sand,
the reeds
instantly i
and he s(
looking
wrong ;
len ; and
the attack

" What
on people
made of

"My <
pardons !

"Oh!
suppose!
go anywl
else sure

With w
scowl disi
up the {
among tb
away un '
bunch of
laid then
lap.

"Wha
Somethi

"No, t
and wi'-.h
"Nothini

"Wha
1 "Noth

" Youi
the dear

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

«rein. In
• aware of
Bet paid in
hin^ more
tot village
down bere
er located
pruiuMod

mentioned
tho Olid of
ralies, and
lit^washed,
facing the
the only
had been
lawyer be-
tiilH room
room, and
email bed-
by the old
a ; and Mr.
above,
she had re-
' theatre at
home in a
'. Sweet had
ti akitf that
a crimson
tne " Bar ba-
the stern
days in the
•ow. There
in the girl's
}m mornint;
> impassable
uuiatanoe of
(ing to the
ore tlie sun
til the stars
ho had been
y city wails,
rind, as if it
anoing over
ihe tall rank
siiigiiig as
g along the
eth, und her
:eeze behind
-bara. Mr.
dent of men.
nants in the
paid for the
•a new pres-
»k his pres-
ses, the rich
vatories and
he gifts im-
with a little
ing cf an in-
dest dreams
nd the most
f, she neve;

ffot on very friendly terms with any one. Bar-
bara ourtainlv was half a barbarian. Hlio hud
not apparently the slightest alTeotluu either (or
talher or grandmother ; luid if she had a heart,
it lav doriuuui. yet, and the girl loved nobody
but^ierself. Mr. ttweet studied her profuundly,
but she puzzled iiim. Hoareely a Jay paMsed
but he was at tho oottai^e — taking the trouble to
walk down from bis own handsoiuu huuse in
Cliftonlea ; and Barbara was never dinpleased
to see him, because his hands or his pockets had
always something good for her.

One evening, long after sunset, Mr. Sweet
turned down the rocky road leading to tho fish-
erman's cottage. A high wind was surging
over the sea, an<l rendering it necessary fur him
to olutoh bis hat with both hands to prevent its
blowing into the regions of space ; the sky was
of a Iea<len gray, with bars of hard red In the
west, and the waves cannonaded the shore with
a roar like thunder. No one was abroad. At
the village, all were at supper. But Mr. Sweet
boked anxiously for a lithe girlish figuru, bound-
ing from rock to rook as if treading on air — a
sight be very often saw wh>'U walking down that
road. No such figure was flying along, how-
ever, in the high gale this evening ; and while
he watched for it over the olififa and saud bills,
his foot stumbled againot something lying in
the sand, with its head pillow<'d in the midst of
the reeds and rushes. The recumbent figure
instantly sprang erect, with angry exclamationu,
und he saw the sunburnt face of ber he wtis
looking for. Something bad evidently gone
wrong ; for the bright face looked dark and nul-
len ; and she began instantly, and with aspecity,
the attack.

" What are you about, Mr. Sweet, traraping
on people with your great feet, as if they were
maue of cast-iron ?"

" My dear Miss Barbara, I beg a thousand
pardons ! I really never saw you."

" Oh ! you didn't ? You're going blind, I
suppose! But it's always the way! I never
go anywhere for peace but you or somebody
else sure to come bothering!"

With which Barbary sat upright, a very cross
scowl disfiguring her pretty face, and gathering
up the profusion of her brown hair, tangled
among the reeds and thistles, began pushing it
away under her gipsy had. Mr. Sweet took a
bunch of luscious grapes out of his pocket, and
laid them, by way of a peaoe-oflfering, in ber
lap.

" What's the matter with my 'ittle Barbara ?
Something is wrong."

"No, there isn't!" said Barbara, snappishly,
and without condescending to notice the grapes.
"Nothing wrong!"

" What have you been about all day ?"
f "Nothing!"

" Your general occupation, I believe I Has
the dear old lady been sooldiog?''

" No ! And I shouldn't ear* if she had 1"

" Have you been to supper ?"

"No!"

" liow long have you been lying here ?"

" I don't know. I wish you wouldn't tor-
ment me with questions."

Mr. Sweet laughed, but he went on persever-
iiigiy, determined to get at the bottom of Bar-
bara's fit of ill-humor.

" Were you in Cliftonlea this afternoon?"

The right spring was touched — Barbara
sprang up with HaHhing eyes.

" Yes, I was in (Jtitlonfea, ai>d I'll never go
there again ! There was ''vt^rybody making
such fuuU of themselves over that little pink-
aiid-white wax doll from France, just as if she
were a queen I She and that cousin of hers,
that tall fellow they call Tom Shirley, were
riding through the town ; she on her white
pony, with her blue riding-habit and black hat,
yellow curls, and baby lace, ^nd everybody
running out to see theui, and the womon drop-

tiug courtesies, and the men taking otf th^'ir
ats, OS they passed. Bah ! it was enough to
make one sick!"

Mr. Swoet suppressed a whistle and a hingli.
Envy, and jealousy, and pride, as usual, were at
the bottom of Miss Barbara's ill-temper, for the
humble tisberniau's girl had within her n con-
suming fire — the fire of a fierce and indomita-
ble pride, lie laid bis hand on her ehonlder,
and looked at ber passionate face with a smile.

" They are right, my dear! She is the rich-
est of heiresses, and the Princess of Sussex!
What would you give to change plaTo with her,
Borbara?"

"Don't ask me what I would give!" said
Barbara, fiercely. " I would give my life, my
soul, if I could sell it, as I have road of men
doing ; but it's no use talking, I am nothing
but a miserable pauper, and always shall be."

The lawyer was habitually calm, and had
wonderful self-possession ; but now his yellow
face actually flushed, his small eyes kindled, and
the smile on his face wao like the gleam of a
dagger.

" No, Barbara !" he cried, almost hissing the
words between his shut teeth ; " a time will
come when you will hold your head n thousand
times iiigher than that yellow-haired upstart!
Trust to me, Barbara, and you shall be a lady
yet."

He turned away, humming as h<^ went.
" There's a good time coming, wait a little lon-
ger." And walking much faster than was his
decorous wont, he passed the cottai;e and en-
tered the park-gates, evidently on her way to
the castle.

Barbara looked after him for a moment a lit-
tle surprised ; and then becoming aware that the
night was falling, the sea rising, and the wind
raging, darted along the rocks, and watched
with a 8ort of gloomy pleasure the wild wayei

'iff '

UNMASKED; OR,

daahiug themselvcB frautically along their dark
Bides.

" Wiittt a night it will be, auJ how the mia-
ute-guna will sound before morning !" she said,
speaking to hsrself nnd the elements. " Ajd
how the aurfwill boil in the Demon's Tower,
when the tide ris'-^ ! I will go and have a look
before [ go in."

Over the rocks she flew, her hands on her
sides ; her long hair and short dress streaming
in the gale ; her eyes and cheeks kindling with
exciteiaeut at the wild scene and hour. The
Demon's Tower was much more easily scaled
from without than within, and the little tiglit-
rope duncer could nliuost tread on air. So she
flew up the steep aides, hand over hand, swiftly
as a suilur climbs the rigging, and .'cached the
top, breathless, and flushed. Pushing away the
hair that the wind was blowing into her eyes,
she looked down, expecting to hear nothing but
the echo of the blast, and see the spray fly in
showers, when, to her boundless astonishment,
she heard instead a sharp cry, and saw two hu-
man figures kneeling on the stone floor, and u
third falling back from the side with a crash.

Barbara was, for a moment, mute with amaze-
ment ; the next, she had comprehended the
whole thing instinctively, and found her voice.
Leaning over the dizzy height, she shouted
at the top of her clear lungs :

"Hallo!"

Ti^e voice, clear as a bugle-blasu, reached the
ears of one of the kneeling figures. It was Vi-
via, and she looked up to see a weird face, with
streatning hair and dark eyes, looking down at
her, in ihe ghostly evening light.

" Hallo !" repeated Barbara, leaning farther
over. " What in the world are you doing dewn
there ? Don't you know you 11 be drowned ?"

Vivia sprang to her feet and held up her
arms with a wild cry.

" Oh, save us ! save us ! save us !"

" Yes, I will ; just wait five minutes !" ex-
claimed Barbara, who, in the excitement of the
moment, forgot everything but their danger.
" I'll save you if I drown for it!"

Down the rocky sides of the tower she went
as she had never gone before, bruising her hands
till they bled, without feeling ^he pain. Over
the cragy peak, like an arrow from a bow, and
down tc a small sheltered cove between two
projecting cliffs, where her little black and red
boat, with its oars within it, lay safely moored.
In an instant the boat was untied, Barbara leap-
ed in, and shoved off, seated herself in the
thwart, and took the oars. It was a task of no
slight danger, for outside the little core the
waves ran high ; but Barbara had never thought
of danger — never thought of anything, but that
three persons were drowning within the De-
mon's Cave. The little skiff rode the waves
like » cockle-shell ; and the girl,,a8 she bent the
oars, h..d to stoop her head low to avoid the

spray being dashed in her face. The evening,
too, was rapidly darkening; the fierce bars of
red had died out in the ghastly sky, and great
drops of rain began splashing on the angry and
heaving sea. The tide had risen so quickly, that
the distance to the cavern was an ominous
length, and Barbara had never been in such
weather before, but still the brave girl kept on,
undismayed, and reached it at last, just as the
waves were beginning to wash the stone floor.
The boat shot ou through the black arch, stop-
ping beside the prostrate figure of Tom, and
their rescuer sprang out, striving to recognize
them in the gloom.

" Is he dead ?" was her first question, look-
ing down at the recumbent figure.

"Not quite I" said Tom, feebly, but with
strength enough in his voice to put the matter
beyond all doubt. *' Who are you ?"

" Barbara Black. Who are you ?"

Tom Shirley — what's left of me ! Help those
two into the boat, and then I will try to follow
them up before we all drown here."

" In with you, then !" cried Barbara.

And Margaret at once obeyed, but Vivia held
back.

" No, not until you get in first. Tom ! Help
me to raise him, please. I am afrihid he is bad-
ly hurt!"

Barbara obeyed, and with much trouble and
more than one involuntary groan from Tom,
the feat was accomplished, and he was safely
lying in the bottom. Then the two girls fol-
lowed him, and soon the little black and red
boat was tossing over the surges, guided through
the deepening darkness byBarbara's elastic armo.
But the task was a hard one ; more than onoe
Margaret's shrieks of terror had rung out on
the wind ; and more than once, Barbara's brave
heart had grown chill with fear ; but some good
angel guarded the frail skiff, and it was moored
safely in its own little cove at last. Not, how
ever, until night had fallen in the very blackness
of darkness, and the rain was sweeping over the
sea in drenching torrents, Barbara sprang out
and secured her boat as it had been before.

" Now, then, we are all safe at fast !" she
cried. " And as he can't walk, you two must
stay with him until I come back with help.
Don't be afraid. I won't be gone long."

She was not gone long, certainly. Fifteen
minutes had not elapsed until she was back
with her father and another fisherman she had
met on the way. But every second had seem-
ed an hour to the three cowering in the boat,
with the rain beating pitilessly on their heads.
Barbara carried a dark lantern ; and, by its
light, the two men lifted Tom and bore him be-
tween them toward the cottage, while Barbara
went slowly before, carrying the lantern, and
with Vivia and Margaret each clinging to an
arm.

A bright wood fire was biasing on the cottage*

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

hearth when they entered ; for tliongh the month
W.18 September, Judith's bones were old and
chill, and Judith sat crouching over it now,
while she waited for their ooiniug. The drip-
ping procession entered, and Yivia thought it the
pleasanteat thing she had ever seen even nt Cas-
tle Cliffe. A wooden settle stood before it —
Tom was placed thereon, and Margaret drop-
ped down beside it, exhausted and pauting ; Hud
Vivia and Barbara stood opposite and looked
at each other across the hearth. Vivia's rich
silk dress hung dripping and clammy around
her; and her long white curls were l^rencbed
with rain and sea-spray. Barbara recognized
her instantly, and so did the fisherman who had
helped her father to carry Tom.

"It is Miss Shirley and Master Tom!" he
cried out. " Oh, whatever will my lady say ?"

Old^ Judith started up with a shri'.l scream,
and darted forward.

" Miss Shirley ! the heiress I Which of them
is her?"

" I am," said Vivia, tumiag her clear blue
eyes on the wrinkled face with the simple dig-
nity natural to her ; " and you must have word
sent to the CaaUe immediately."

Old Judith, shaking like one in an ague fit,
and looiiing from one to the other, stood grasp-
ing the back of the settle for support. There
thoy were, facing eacli other for the first time,
and neither dreaming how darkly their desti-
nies were to be interlinked — neither the dark-
browed dancing-girl, nor the sunny-haired
heiress of Castle Cliife.

CHAPTER Xn.

THE NCTN'S ORAVK.

" Some one must go to the Castle," repeated
Vivia, a little imperiously. " Papa and grand-
mamma will be anxious, and Tom's hurt must be
actended to immediately."

Old Judith, like a modern Gorgon, stood star-
ing at this figure, her bleared eyes riveted im-
movably on her face, and shaking like a wither-
e>i aspen as she clutched the settle. Victoria
stood like a lit'ie queen looking down on her
subjects ; her bright silk dress hanging dripping
around her, and her long hair uncurled, soak-
ing with seas-pray, and falling in drenched
masses over her shoulders. Barbara, who had
been watching her, seemingly as much fasci-
nated as her grandmother, started impetuously
up.

" I'll go, grandmother. I can run fast, and
I won't be ten minutes."

*' You'll do nothing of the kind," interposed
Mr. Black, in his customary gruff tones. " You're
a pretty-looking object to go anywhere, wet as a
water-dog! Let the young lady go herself.
She knows the way better than you.'*^

Viotui'ia turned her blue eyes flashing haughty
fire on the surly Bpeak«'r ; hut without paying
the slightest attentiou to him, Barbara seized a

shawl, and throwing it over her head, rushed
into the wild, wet night.

The storm had now broken in all its fury.
The darkness was almost palpable. The ram
swept wildly in the face ot the blast over the
sea, and the thunder of the wuvcs aguiust the
shore, aud the lamentable wail of the wind united
in a grand diapason of their own. But the fleet-
footed dancing-girl heeded neither the wind
that seemed threatening to catch up her light
form and whirl it into the regions of eternal
space, nor the rushing rain that beat in her
face and blinded her, as she leaped at random
over the slimy rocks. More by instinct than
eyesight, she foxiad her way to the purU-gates —
they were closed and bolted ; but that fact was
a mere trifie to her. She clambered up the
wall like a cut, and droppe i^ cat-like, on her feet
among the wet shrubbery vitbin. There was
no finding a path in the darkness ; but she ran
headlong among the trees, 6lip|iing, and falling,
and rising, only to slip, aud full, uud rise again,
until, at last, as she was stopping exhausted and
in deapair, thinking she hud iusi her way in the
tliiokly-wooded plantation, slie saw a number
of twinkling lights flashing in aud out, like fire-
flies, in the darkness, aud heard the echo of dis-
tant shouts. Barbara comprehended instantly
that it was the servants out with lanterns in
search of the missing trio ; aud starling up, she
flew on again at break-neck speed, until her
rapid career was brought to a close by her run-
ning with a shock against two persons advanc-
ing in an oppositedirection. The impetus nearly
sent her head over heels ; but recovering her
centre of gravity with an effort, Barbara clutch-
ed the branches of a tree, and paused to recov-
er the breath that had been nearly knocked out
of her by the concussion.

"Whom have we here?" said the voice of one
of the men, coming to a halt ; " is it a water-
witch, or a kelpi, or a mermaid, or — "

" Why, it's little Barbara !" interrupted the
other, holding up the lantern he carried. " Lit-
tle Barbara Black, actually ! My dear child,
how in the world came you tft be out aud up
here on such a night?"

» Barbara looked at the two speakers, and rec-
ognized in the first, Colonel Shirley, and in the
second, Mr. Sweet, who held the lantern close to
her face, and gazed at her in consternation.

" They're saved, Mr. Sweet ; they're all saved !
\ ou need not look for them any more, for they're
down at our cottage, and I've come up here to
bring the news!"

" Saved ! How — where — -whot do you mean,
Barbara?"

" Oh, they were in the Demon's Tower — went
there at low water ; and the tide rose and they
couldn't get out ; and so I took ray boat and
rowed them ashore, and he has hurt himself,
and they're all down at our house, waiting fo»
lomebody to come t" I

UNMASKED; OR,

Colonel Shitley laughed, though a litlle dis-
mayed withal, at this very intelligible explana-
tion.

" Who is this Jittle sea-goddeas, Sweet, and
where does she come from f" he asked.

" From Lower Cliffe, Colonel ; her father is
a fisherman there, and I understand the whole
matter now!" a

" Then we must go down to Lower ClifFe im-
mediately. W hat could have brought them to
the Demon's Tower ? But, of course, it's some of
Master Tom's handiwork. Wait one moment,
iSweet, wliile 1 send word to Lady Agnes, and tell
the rest to give over the search. What an es-
cape they uiust have had if they were caught
by the tide in the Demon's Tower?"

"And Colonel, you had better give orders to
have a conveyance of some sort follow us to the
village. The young ladies cannot venture out
in such wind uud rain ; and, if I understood our
little messeuger aright, some one is hurt. Bar-
bara, my dear child, how could they have the
heart to' send you out in such weatlier?"

" They didn't send me — 1 came !" said Bar-
bara, composedly, as the Colonel disappeared
for a moment in the darkness. " Father wanted
me not to come, bui I don"t mind the weather.
I'll go home now, and you can show the gentle-
man tlie way yourself!"

•'No, no ; 1 cannot have ray little Barbara
risking her neck iu tliat fashion. Here comes
Colonel Shirley, -^o give me your hand, Barbara,
and I will show you tlie way »iy the light of my
lantern.''

But Miss Barbara, with a little disdainful as-
tonishment even at the offer, declined it, and
ran along in the pelting rain, answering all tlie
Colonel's profuse questions, until the whole
facts of the cuse were gained.

" Very rash of Mr. Tom — very ra»h, indeed !"
remarked Mr. Sweet, at tlie oonolusioa ; " and
I hope his narrow escape and broken head will
be a lesson to him the rest of bis life. Here we
are, Colonel — tiiis is the house."

The ruddy glow of the fire- light was shining
still, a cheerful beacon, from the small windows,
to all storm-beaten wayfarers without. Barba-
ra opened the door and bounded in, shaking the^
water from lier soaking garments as she ran,
followed by the lawyer and the Indian officer
The wood lire blazed still on the hearth ; Tom
lay on the settle before it; Margaret and Vivia
were steaming away in fr nt of the blaze, and Mr.
Peter Black sat in the n'liraney-oorner sulky and
sleepy. But old Jui ih's chair opposite was
vacant, and old Judith herself was nowhere to
be seen. Vivia sbirt.ed up, as they entered, with
a cry of joy, and sjirang into her father's arms.
•' O papa, I am so glad you've come ! O
papa, I thought I was never going to see you
again !"

" My darling ! And to think of your being in
tiich (fnj.fjfftr ami 1 not i(ii.»w it!''

" O papa, it was dreadful I and we would all
>'.«ve been drowned, only for that girl !"

" She is a second Grace Darling, that brave
little girl, and you and I can never repay her
for to-nigbt's work, my Vivia ! But this rash
boy Tom — I hope the poor fellow has not paid
too dearly for his visit to the Demon's Tower."

" He is not seriously hurt, papa, but his face
is bruised, and he says he thinks one of Lis
arms is broken."

" It's all right with Mr. Tom, Colonel," said
Mr. Sweet, who had been examining Tom's
wounds, looking up cheerily. " One arm is
broken, and there are a few contusions on his
head-piece, but he will be over them all before
he is twice married ! Ah ! there comes the
carriage, now !"

" And how is it with little Maggie ?" said the
Colonel, patting her on the head, with a smile.
'• Well, Tom, my boy, this is a pretty evening's
work of yours— isn't it?"

Tom looked up into the handsome face bend-
ing over him, and, despite his pallor, had the
grace to blush.

" 1 am sorry, with all my heart ; and I wish I
had broken my neck instead of my arm — it
would only have served me right!"

"Very time! but still, as it wouldn't have
helped matters much, perhaps it's as well as it
is. Do you think you can walk to the carriage ?"

Tom rcse with some difficulty, for the wounds
on his head made him sick and giddy, and lean-
ing heavily on Mr. Sweet's arm, managed to
reach the door.

The Colonel looked at Mr. Black, who still
maintained his seat, despite the presence of his
distinguished visitors, and never turned his
gloomy eyes from the dancing blaze.

" Come away, papa,'' whispered Vivia, shrink-
ing away with an expression of repulsion from
the man in the chimney-corner. " I don't like
that man !"

Low as the words were spoken, they reached
the man iu question, who looked up at her with
his customary savage scowl.

" I haven't done nothing to you, young ladv,
that I knows on ; and if you don t like me or
my bouse — which neither is much to look at.
Lord knows ! — the best^hing you can do is to go
back to your fine castllr and not come here any
more !"

Colonel Shirley turned the light of his dark
bright eyes full on the speaker, wh'» quailed un-
der it, and sank down in his seat like the cow-
ard he was.

" My ^ood fellow, there is no necessity to make
yourseU disagreeable. The young lady is not
likely to troubla you again, if she can help it.
Meantime, perhaps this will repay you for any
inoonvenienoe you may have been put to to-
night. And aa for this little girl — your daugh-
ter, I presume — we will try if wb cannot find
Ii>in4 hattor wf»y of ro,.oi.n.n,i»in(r |,ta|- j^ i\m>(

THE HEIRES9 OP CABTLE CLIFFE.

at least — for the invnluable service she has ren-
dered."

He threw Lis purse to the fisherman as he
would have thrown a bone to a dog ; iiud turned,
an instant after, with his own bri{{ht smile, to
tue fisherman's daughter. She stood Jeauing
against the mantel, the firelight shiuing iu hov
splendid eyes, gilding her crimson cheeks, and
seiiding spears of light in and out through the
tangled waves of her wet brown hair. 8ome-
taiug in the attitude, in the liark, beautiful face,
in the luminous splendor of the large eyes, re-
called vividly to the Colonel some dream of the
past — something S' en before — seen and lost for-
ever. But the wistful, earnest look vanished
as he turned to her, and with it tbo momentary
resemblance, as it struck him, as a lance strikes
oa a seared wound.

" Ask her to come up to tlie Castle to morrow,
papa," again whipered Yivia. '*! like that girl
BO mucii •"

" So you should, my dear. She has saved
your lire. Barbara — vour name is Barbara,
is it not r

" Yes, sir."

"My little girl wants you to come to visit her
to-morrow, and I second her wish. Do you
think you can find your way through the park-
gates again, Barbara ?"

The smile on the Indian ofifieer's face was in-
fectious. Barbara smiled briglitly buck an an-
swer ; and albeit Barbara's smiles were few and
far between, they were as beautiful as rare.

" Yes, sir ; if you wish it."

" I never wished for anything more ; and I
shall be glad to see you there every day for the
future. Genevieve, bid Barbara good-night and
come."

Yivia held out her lily-leaf of a hand, and
Babara just touched it with her brown fingers.

" Don't forget. I shall be waiting for you at
the park-gates. Good-night."

" I shall not forget. Good-night."

The tall, gallant, soldier-like form, and the
little vision in shot-silk and yellow-hair, went
out into the stormy night ; and Barbara went
to her room, but for once in her life not to
sleep. Her book of life had opened on a new
page that day. The vague yearnings that had
grown wild, like rank weeds, all her life, Id her
heart, had struck deeper root, and sprang up
6 rong and tall, to poison her whole future
life.

It was sometime iu the afternoon of the fol-
lowing day, when Barbara walked slowly —
something unusual for her — up the rough road
to the park-gates. As she passed through uud
went on under the shadows of some giant pines,
a bright little figure came flying down the ave-
nue to meet her,
« " Barbara !"

And two little hands clasped hers with child-
ish impetuosity.

" Barbara I I was so afraid you would not
come."

" I couldn't come any sooner. I was in Ciif-
toulea uU morning. Oh, what great trees those
.are here, and what a queer old cross that is
standing up there amongst them."

•' That's the ruins of the convent that used to
be here long ago — hundreds and hundreds of
years ago — when there were convents and njjon-
asteries all through England ; and the last ab-
bess was murdered there. Tom told me all about
it the other day, and showed me her grave.
Come ; I'll show it to you now."

The two children, the high-born heiress in
rose-silk and the daintiest of little French hats,
and the low-bred dancing-girl in her plain me-
rino and cotton suubonnet, strayed away togeth-
er, chattering like mngpies, among the gloomy
elms and yews, down to the Nuns Grave. With
the tall plantation of elms and oaks belting
it around on every side, and the thickly-inter-
lacing branches of yew overhead, the place was
dark at all times, and a solemn hush rested ever
around it. The very birds seemed to cease
their songs in the gloomy spot, and the dead
nun, after the lapse of hundreds of years, l>ad
her lonely grave as undisturbed as when she had
first been placed there with the stake through
her heart.

" What a lonesome place !" said Barbara, un-
der her breath, as the two stood looking, awe-
struck, at the grave. "When I die, I should
like to be buried here !"

Vivia, mute v.ith the solemn feeling one al-
ways hns when near the dead, did not answer,
but stood looking down at the quiet grave, and
the black marble slab above it.

The silence was broken in a blood-chilling
manner enough.

" Barbara !"

Both children recoiled with horror, for the
voice came from the grave at their feet. Clear,
and sweet, and low, but distinct, and unmistak-
ably from the grave 1

" Victoria !"

The voice again — the same low, sweet, clear
voice from beneath their feet !

The faces of both listeners tamed white with
fear.

The voice from the grave came up on the
still summer air, solemn and sweet, once more !

" From death, one has been saved by the oth-
er ,• and in the days to come, one shall perish
through the other. Barbara, be warned ! Vic-
toria, beware !"

It ceased. A blnokbird perched on an over-
hanging branch, sat np its chirping song, and
the voice of Mademoiselle Jeannotte was heard
in the distance, crying out for Miss Vivia. It
broke the spell of terror, and both children fled
from the spot.

'• Barbara ! What was that ?" cried Vivia,
her very lips white with fear.

UNMASKED; OR,

" I dou't know," said Barbara, trying to bide
ber own terror- " It oaniti from tbe grave. It
couldn't be the dead nun — aould it? Is tbat
place haunted ?"

" No— yes — I don't know f I think Tom said
there was a ghost seen there. Don't tell Jean-
nette ; she will only laugh at us. But I will
never go there as long as I live !"

" What made you stay away so long, Made-
moiaelle Vivia ? Your grandmother was afraid
yon were lost again."

" Let us hurry, then. I want grandmamma
to see you, Barbara ; so make baste."

The great hall-door of the old mansion was
wide open hh they came near, and Lady Agnes
herself stoci in the hall, talking to ^be Colonel
and Mr. Sweet ; Vivia ran breathiessly in, fol-
lowed by Barbara, who glanced around the
adorned, and carved, and pictured bail, and up
the sweeping staircase, with its gilded balustrade,
in grand, careless surprise.

"Here is Barbara, grnndmamma! — here '9
Barbara !" was Vivia's cry, as she rushed in. " I
knew she would come."

" Barbara is the best and bravest little girl in
the world !" said Lady Agnes, glancing curious-
ly at the bright, fearless face, and holding out
two jeweled tapered fingers. *' I am glad to see
BarJbara here, and thank her for what she has
done, with all my heart."

Mr. Sweet, standing near, with his pleasant
smile on bis face, stepped forward, hat in
hand.

" Good afternoon, my lady. Good afternoon,
Miss Victoria. Our little Barbara will have
cause to bless the day that has brought ber
such noble friends."

With a tune on his lips, and tbe smile deep-
ening inexplicably, he went out into the great
portico, down the broad stone steps guarded by
two crouching lions, and alon^ the great avenue,
shading off the golden sunshine with its waving
trees. Under one of them he paused, with his
bat still in his hand, the sunlight sifting through
tbe trees, making his jewelry and his yellow
hair flash buck its radiance, and looked around.
Th44 grand old mansion, the sweeping vista of
park and lawn, and terrace and shrubbery,
and glade and Woodland, mimio lake and radi-
ant ruse-garden, Swiss farmhouse and ruined
oonvent, all spread out before him, bathed in
the glory of the bright September sun. Tbe
tune died away, and the smile changed to an ex-
ultant laugh.

"■ And to think," said Mr. Sweet, turning
away, " that one day all this shall be mine 1"

Such

CHAPTER XIII.

THE MAT QUEEN.

a morning as that first of May was !

Had the good people of Cliftonlea sent up an
express order to the clerk of the weather to
manufacture them the fairest day he could poe«

sibly turn out, tbey could not have had a more
perfectly unexceptionable one than that. Sun
and sky were so radiantly bright, they fairly
made vou wonder to think of them. Cfeylon'a
spicy freezes conld not have been warmer or
spicier than tbat blowing over Cliftonlea Com-
mon. The grass and the trees were as green as,
in many'other parts of England, they would have
been in July. The cathedral-bells were ring-
ing, until they threatened to crack and go mm
with joy ; and as for the birds, they were sing-
ing at such a rate, that they fairly overtopped
the bells, and had been hard and fast at it
since five o'clock. All the town, en grande
tenue, were hurrying, with eager anticipation,
toward the Common— a great square, carpeted
with the greenest possible grass, besprinkled
with pink and white daisies, and shaded by tall
English poplars — where the Cliftonlea Braes
Banii was already banging away at the " May
Queen". All business was suspended ; for May
Day had been kept, from time immeniurial, a
holiday, and the lady of Castle Cliffe always en-
couraged it, by ordering ber ager*'. tu furnish a
pul)lic dinner, and supper, and no end of ale,
on each anniversary. Then, besides the feast-
ing and drinking, th^re was the band and danc-
ing for the young people, until the small hours,
if they chose. And so it was no wonder that
May Day was looked for months before it came,
and was the talk months afterward ; and that
numberless matches were made there, and that
the May Queen was the belle all the succeding
year, and the envy of all tbe young ladies of
the town.

The cathedral-bells had just begun to chime
forth the national anthem ; the crowd of towns-
folk kept pouring in a long stream through
High street toward the Common ; when a slight
sensation was created by the appearance of two
young men, to whom the women oourtesied and
the men took off their hats. Both bore the un-
mistakable stamp of gentlemen, and there was
an indefinable something — an indescribable air —
about them, that told plainer than words they
were not of the honest burghers among whom
they walked. One of these, upon whom the
cares of life and a green shooting-jacket ap-
peared to sit easily, whs remarkable for his
stature — being, like Saul, the son of Kish, above
the heads of his fellow men — with the propor-
tions of a grenadier, and the thews and sinews
of an athlete. On an exuberant crop of short,
crisp, black curls, jauntily sat a blue Scotch
bonnet, with a tall feather. On the herculean
form was the green bunting-jacket, tightened
round the waist with a leather belt, and to his
knees came a pair of tall Wellington boots.
This off-hand style of costume suited the wearer
to perfection, whicli is as good as saying his
figure was admirable ; and suited, too, the
laughing black eyes and dashing air generally.
A mustache, thick and black, became well the

THE FiEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

h»d a more
that. Sun
tliey fairly
1. Ceylon'B
n warmer or
ftonlea Coni-
) as green as,
y would have
s were ring-
and go mad
sy were aing-
f overtopped
id fast at it
1, en grande
anticipation,
are, carpeted
besprinkled
haded by tall
'tonlea Brass
It the "May
led ; for May
nmeniurial, a
fife always en-
; tu furnish a

end of ale,
lies the feast-
ind and dane-
! small hours,

wonder that
efore it came,
rd ; and that
lere, and that
he BVicceding
ang ladies of

fii'.n to chime
owd of towns-
earn through
when a slight
larance of two
lourtesied and

1 bore the un-
ind there was
scribable air —
,n words tliey
among whom
)n whom the
ing-jttcket ap-
kable for his
of Kish, above
i the propor-
ivB and sinens
crop of short,
i bine Scotch
the herculean
ket, tightened
;lt, and to his
lington boots,
ted the wearer
as saying his
ited, too, the
air generally,
came well the

■unburnt and not very handsome face; and he
held his liead up, and talked aud laughed in a
voice sonorous and clear, not to say lou''. as a
bugle-blast,

The oung giant's companion was not at all
like him— nothing near so tall, though still
somewhat above the usual height, and much
more slender of figure — .but then he had such a
figure ! One of tliose masculine faces, to wliich
the adjective beautiful can be applied, and yet
remain intensely masculine. A light summer
straw-bat sat on the fair brown hair, aud shaded
the broad pale brow — the dreamy brow of a poet
or a painter — large blue eyes, so darkly olue
that at first you would be apt to mistake them
for black, shaded bs they were by girl-like, long,
sweeping lashes — wouderful eyes, in whose clear,
c&Im depths spoke a deathless energy, fiery
passion, amid all their calm, aud a fascination
that his twenty-four years of life had proved to
their owner, few could evv resist. The clear
pale complexion, the straight delicate features,
somewhat set aud haughty in repose, were a pe-
culiarity of his race, aud known to many in
London and Sussex as the " Gliffe face''. His
dress was the most faultleso of morning cos-
tumes, and a striking contrast to the eiisv style
of his companion's with whom he walked arm-
and-arm ; pattii.g, now and then, with tiie other
hand, which was gloved, the head of a great
Canadian wolf-hound trotting by his side. Both
young gentlemen were smoking ; but the tall
wetirer of the green jacket was carrying his cigar
between his finger and thumb, and was holding
forth volubly.

" Of course, they will have a May Queen !
Tliey always have had in Ciiftonlea, from time
immemorial ; and I believe the thing is men-
tioned in Magna Charta. If you had not been
such a heathen, Cliffe, roaming all your life in
foreign parts, you would have known about it
before this. Ah ! how often I have danced on
the green with the May Queen, when I was a
guileless little shaver in roundabouts ; and what
pretty little things those May Queens were ! If
you only keep your eye sKinued to-day, you
will see some of the best-looking girls you ever
saw in your life."
" I don't believe it."

'Seeing is believing, and you just hold on.
The last time I was Itere, Barbara Black was
the May Queen ; and what a girl that was, to be
sure ! Such eyes ; such hair ; such an ankle ;
such an <nstep ; such a figure ', such a face I
Just the sort of thing you painting fellows al-
ways go mad about, I believe I was half in
love with her at the time, if I don't greatly mis-
take."

" I don't doubt it in the least. It's a way
you have," said his companion, whose low, re-
fined tones contrasted forcibly with the vigorous
voioe of the other. " How long ago is that ?"
. " Four years, precisely."

'• Then, take my word for it, Barbara Black
is homely as a hedge-fence by this time. Pretty
children always grow up ugly, and vice versa.'''

"Perhaps 6o,'° said the giant in the green
iacket, and tightening his belt. " Well, it may
De true enough as a general rule ; for I was un-
common ugly when a child, and lo«.\ at me
now! But I'll swear Barbara ie an exception;
for she is the prettitst girl I ever saw in my
life — except one. Only to think, being four
years absent from a place, and then not to find
it tlie least changed when vou come back."

"Isn't it? I know so little of Ciiftonlea, that
its good people might throw their houses out of
the windows, without my being anything the
wiser. What a confounded din that band
makes I and what a crowd there is I I hate
crowds I"

" They'll i^uke way for us," said the young
giant ; and, true to his prediction, the dense
mob encircling the Common parted respectfully
to let the two young men through. " "Look
there, Cliffe, that's tlie'May-pole, and that flower-
wreathed seat r.nderneath is the Queen's throne,
God bless her! See that long arch of t;reen
boughs and flowers ; that's the way Her Majes-
ty will come. And just look at this living sea
of eager eyes and faees I You might make a
picture of ail this, Sir Artist."

" And make my fortune at the Exhibition.
It's a good notion, and I may try it some time,
when 1 have time. Who is to be the May Queen
this year ?"
" Can't say. There she comes herself!"
The place where the young men stood, was
within the living circle around the boundary of
the Common, in the centre of which stood a tall
pole, wreathed with evergreens and daisies, and
surmounted'on the top by a crown of artificial
flowers, made of gold and silver paper, spark-
ling in the sunshine like a golden coronet
From this pole to the opposite gate were arches
of evergreen, wreathed with wild flowers, and
under this verdant canopy was the Queen's
train to enter. The militia band, in their soar-
let and blue uniforms, stood near the Queen's
throne, playing now " Barbara Allen" ; and the
policemen were stationed here and there, to
Keep the crowd from surging in until the royal
procession entered. This Common, i.. may be
said in parenthesis, was at the extreme extremity
of the town, and away from nil dwellings ; but
thci^ were two large, gloomy- looking stone
buildings within a few yards of it — one of them
the court-house, the other the county jail — as
one of the yonng gentlemen bad reason to know
in after days, to his cost.

There was a murmur of expectation and a
swaying of the crowd ; the band changed from
" Barbara Allen" to the national anthem, and
the expected procession began to enter. Two by
two they came ; the pretty village-girls all dress-
ed in transUicerit white, blue sashes round their

UNMASKED; OR,

)

waists, and wreaths of flowers on their heads ;
blonde dnd brunette, pale and rosy, stately and
petite — on they came, two and two, scdttering
(lowers as they went, and singing " Qod Save
the Queen". It was, indeed, a pretty sight,
and the artist's spleadid eyes kindled as tliey
looked ; but though many of the faces were ex-
ceedingly handsome, tlie May Queen bad not
come yet. Nearly thirty of this gauzy train
had entered and taken their stand round the
throne, looking in their swelling amplitude of
snowy gauze and swaying crinoline ten times
that number, when a mighty shout arose un ini-
mously from the crowd, eunounoinir the coming
of the fairest of thf m all — the Queen of Maj?.
Over the flower-strewn path oamo a glittering

Suipage, the Queen of the Fairies migbt b',r-
f ^avc ridden in ; a tiny chariot dazzlir:g with
gilding, vivid with rose-red paint, and wreath-
ed and encircled with flowers, drawn by six of
the BDow-olad nymphs, the Queen's maids of
honor. By its side walked two children, neither
more than six years old, each carrying a flag,
one the Union Jack of Old England, the other a
banner of azure silk, with the name " Barbara"
shining in silver letters thoreon. And within
tlie chariot rode such a vision of beauty, in the
same mi6ty white robes as her subjects, the blue
sash round the taper waist, and a nrreath of
white roses round the stately head, such a vis-
ion of beauty as is seen oftener in the brains of
poets and artists than in real life, and heard of
oftener in fairy tales tban this prosy, everyday
world. But the radiant vision, with a coronet
of shining dark braids twisted round and round
the stately head- -Nature's own luxuriant crown
—with tlie lustrous dark eyes, flushed cheeks,
and smiling lips, was no myth of fairy tale, or
vapory vision of poetry, but a dazzling flesh-and-
blood reality ; and ns she stepped from her
gilded chariot, fairest where all were fair,
" qneen-rose of the rosebud garden of girls'',
buju a shout went up from the excited crowd,
thit the thunder of brass band and drum was
drowned altogether for fully ten minutes.
" God Save the Queen !" " Long Live Queen
Barbara !" ing and rerang on the air, as if she
were indeed a crowned qneen, and the tall,
stately wuite figure, slender nnd springy as a
young willow, bent smilingly right and left,
wliile the baud still banged out its patriotic
tune, and the crowd still shouted themselves
hoarse.

" Great Heaven !" exclaimed Cliffe, " what a
perfectly beautiful face !"

The young giant in shooting-jacket did not
answer. From the first moment his eyes had
f.llen upon her, his face had been going through
all tlie phases of emotion that any one fitce can
reasonably go through in ten minutes' time.
Astonishment, admiration, recognition, doubt,
and delight, came over it like clouds overasum-
ner sky ; and as she took her seat under the

flower-bedecked Maypole, spreading out her
gauzy skirt and azure ribbons, he broke from
his companion with a shout of "It is!" and
springing over the intervening space in two
bounds, he was knaAlmg at her feet, raising her
hand to his lips, and crying in a voice that rang
like a trumpet-tone over the now silent plain :

" Let me be first to do homage to Queen Bar-
bara I"

♦' Hurrah for Tom Shirl / !" said a laughing
voice in the crowd, aud " Hurrah I hurrah !
hurrah for Tom Shirley;" shouted th« multi-
tude, catching the infection, until the tall May-
pole, and the ground under their feet, seemed to
ring '"'th the echo. It was all so sudden aud
so stunningly loud, that the May Queen, half
startled, snatched away her handf, and looked
round her bewildered, and even Tom Shirley
was startled, for that giant gazed round at the
yelling mob, completely taken aback by his en-
thusiastic reception.

" What the aemon do the good people mean ?
Have they all gone mad, Barbara, or do they
intend making a May Queen of me, too ?"

"They certainly ought, if they have any
taste I" said the girl. " But do let me look at
you again, and make sure that it is really Tom
Shirley !"

Tom doifed bis Scotch cap and made her a
courtly bow.

" Certainly ! Your Majesty may look as much
as you like. You won't see anything better
woi h looking at, if you search for a month of
Sundays. I promise you that !"

The young lady, trying to look grave, but
with a little smile ripfjling round her red lips,
began p,t the toes of his Wellington boots, scru-
tinized him carefully to the topmost kink of his
curly head, and recommencing there, got down
to the soles of his boots again, before she was
prepared to vouch for his identity.

" It is yourself, Tom ! Nobody else in the
was ever such a Brobdignag as you ! If you had
only come a little earlier, you might have sav-
ed them the trouble of seelcing for a "jlay-pole ;
and just fancy how pretty yon would look,
twined round with garlands of roses, and a crown
of silver lilies on your head I"

Mr. Tom drew himself up to the full extent
of his six feet, four inches, and looked down on
the dark, bright, bt autiful face, smiling up at
him, under the white roses.

"Well, this is cool! Here, after four years'
absence, during which I might have been'dead
and buried, for all she knew, instead of welcom-
ing me, and falling on my neck, and embracing
me with tears, as any other Christian would do,
comniennes, the moment she clasps eyes on me,
calling mo names, and loading me with oppro-
brium, and" —

" Oh, nonsense, Tom ! You know I am real
glad to see you!" said Barbara, giving him her
band, carelessly, " and as to falling on your

ing out her

broke from

It iar and

pace in two

raising lier

ice that rang

lent plain :

> Queen Bar-

a laughing

ib ! hurrah I

the niulti-

le tall May-

ct, seemed to

sudden and

Queen, half

and looked

.om Shirley

round at the

ok by his en-

leople mean ?
I, or do they

too?"
y have any
i me look at

really Tom

made her a

look as much
f^thing better
' a month of

k grave, but
her red lips,
1 boots, scru-
st kink of his
ive, got down
ifore she was

f else in the
I If you had
;ht have sav-

a "jlay-pole ;

would look,
I, and a crown

e full extent
>ked down on
miling up at

r four years'
re been dead
ad of welcom>
rid embracing
ian would do,
9 eyes on me,
I with oppro-

low I am real
ving him her
ling on your

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLUTE.

oecU, I would have to olimb up a ladder or a
fire-escnpe first, to do it. Bui there, the band
is playing the ' Lancers', and everybody is eta--
ing at us -, so do, fur goodneia sake, ask m«; to
dance, or something, and let us get out of this!"

** With all the pleasure in life. Miss Black,"
said Tom, in solemn uoliteness. ' May I have
the honor of your hana for the first set ? Thank
you I And now— but first, where 's — Oh yes,
Iicre he is. Miss Black, permit roe to present
this youthful relative of mine, Mr. Leicester
Cliffe, of Cliflfewood, late of everywhere in gen-
eral and nowhere in particular — an amiable
young person enough, oi rather vag'tbondish in-
clination, it is true, but I don't quite despair of
him yet. Mr. Cliffe, Miss Black.^'

" You villain ! I'll break every bone in your
body I" said Mr. CliflFe, in a sav j. undertone to
his friend, before turning with ofound bow
to Barbara, whose handkerchief bid an irre-

Sressible smile. " Miss Black, I trust, knows
[r. Tom Shirley too well to give any credit to
anything he says. May I beg the honor of your
hand for — "

" You may beg it, but you won't get it," in-
terrupted Tom. " She is mine for the next set,
and as many more as I want — ain't you, Bar-
bara?"

" For the second then. Miss Black ? I'll not
leave you a sound bone from head to food !"
said Mr. Cliffe, changing his voice with start-
ling rapidly, as he addressed first the lady aad
then the gentleman.

" With pleasure, sir," said Barbara, who was
dying to laugh outright.

And Mr. Leceistor Cliflfe, favoring her with
another bow, witli a menacing glance at his
companion, walked away.

" Sic transit gloria mitndi ! They're waiting
for us, Barbara," said Tom, making a grimace
after his relative.

And Barbara burst out into a silvery and un-
controllable fit of laughter.

"Tom, I'm ashamed of you! And is that
really Mr. Leicester Cliff?"

"It really is. What do know about him,
pray ?"'

" Notliincf. There ! he is our vis-h-vis — actu-
ally with Caroline Marsh. I have had the honor
of seeing him once before in my life — that is
all !"
" Where ?"

" There is a picture at Cliffewood, in the hall,
of a pretty little boy, with long yellow curls
atid blue eyes, that I have looked at many a
time — first, with you and Miss Vic, and after-
ward when I went there alone ; and I saw him
on several occasions when he was here six years
ogo."

" Six years ago ? Why that was just after
you came to Lower Cliffe at first ; and I was
here then, and I don't remember anything
about it."

" No, I know yon don't ; but the way of it
was simple eno-igh. You, nnd Miss Vic, and
Lady Agn<><i and Colonel Shirley, and Miss
Margur«t, all left the castle three mouths after
I came to livi here — you to Cambridge, Miss
Vic to her .^ rc-ncli convent. Miss Margaret to a
London boarding-school, and Lady Agnes and
the Colonel to Belgium. Do you compre-
hend ?"
" Slightly."

" Well, let us take our place then, for the
quadrille is about to c<:mmence. Sir Roland
was going away, too, to Syria — was it not?
And Mr. Leicester came down frum Oxford to
spend a week or two before his departure ; and
I saw him most every day hen, and we were
excellent friends. I assure you."

" Were you ? That's odd ; for when I was
speaking of you ten minutes ago, he seemed to
know as little about you as I do about the pug-
faced lady."

Barbara smiled and shrugged her pretty
shoulders.

" Out of sight, out of mind 1 Monsieur has
forgotten me ?"

" Oh, the barbarian ! As if any one in their
proper senses could ever see you and forget
you ! Ever since we parted," said Tom, laying
bis hand with pathos on the left side of his
green jacket, " you have been my star by day
and my dream by night — the sun of my exist-
ence, and the cherished idol of my yuung affec-
tions. Don't be laughing ; it's truth I'm tell-
ing!"

'^ Bah ! don't be talking nonsense ! Do you
remember the night you nearly broke your
neck, and I saved you and your two cousins
from the Demon's 'Tower ?"

" That was six years ago — a long stretch to
look back ; but as if I could forget anything
you ever had a baud in, Barbara!"

" III box your ears. Sir, if you i.aep on mak-
ing an idiot of yourself I You remember I was
up the next day to the castle, and enjoyed the
pleasure of the first chat I ever had with you ;
aad we had a terrific quarrel, that raged lor at
least three days ?"

" I remember. I told you that when I grew
up and married Vic, you should be my second
wife, and that whichever I found suited me best
should be first sultana. Well, now, Barbara,
to make amends, suppose you become first,
and—"

" Stuflf ! Tell me where you dropped from so
unexpectedly to-day ?"

" From Cliffewood the last place. I came
down with Leicester in last evening's train."
" Are you going to remain ?"
" 'So, indeed. I'm off again to-night."
" A flying visit, truly. Did you come for a
coal, Mr! Tom, and want to get back to London
with it before it goes out ?"
" Nut exactly. I came to poke up that super*

UNAIASKED • OR,

annuated old dame, Mro. Wilder, tritb tbe iu-
tt'lligencti tlint my Lady and auito are to arrive
thin duy niuntli at tlie oastle."

" Is It pos8ii)le ? Are all coming ?"

" All. My Lady, the Colonel, Miss Sbirley,
and Miss Margaret Shirley, not to mention a
wbole drove of visitura, who are expected down
later in the summer."

*• And Miss Vic— is she well, and as pretty as
ever ?"

*' Pretty ! I believe you ! • She's all my
fancy painted her ; she's divine' , and her heart
it is no others, and I'm bound it shall be mine!
Did you hear she was preseuted at court ?"

" I read it in the papers, with a full account
of her diamonds, and moir^ antique, and honi-
ton lace, and tlie sensation she created, and
everything else. I suppose she has been hav-
ing a very gay winter ?" said Barbara, with a
little envious sigh.

" Stunning I It's her first season out, and
she has made a small regiment of conquests
already. You ouglit to sae her, Uarbara, m her
diamonds and lace, looking down on her multi-
tude of adorers like a prii'cesa, nnd eclipsing
all the reigning belles of Loadon. One of her
lovers— a poor devil of a poet, who was half
mad about her — christened her tiie ' Rose of
Sussex' ; and, upon my word, she is far more
widely known by that title than as Miss Shirley."

" Oh !" said Barbfira, drawing in her breath
hard, " if I only were she !"
. " If you were,*^ said Tom, echoing the sigh,
'"I would wish you to possess a little more
heart With all' her beauty, and her smiles,
and her coquetry, she is as finished a co-
quette as ever broke a heart. The girl is made
of ice. You might kneel down and sigh out
your soul at her feet, and she would laugh at
you for your pains!"

'' Slie must have changed greatly, then, since
■he left there six years ago."

" Cliauged ! There never was such change —
improvement, perhaps, some people would call
it ; but I can't see it. She used to be Vic Shirley,
then, but now she is Miss or Mademoiselle Gen-
evieve ; and with all that satin and crinoline
floating around her, a fellow can only look on
and admire from a ri>speotful distance. Have
you never seen her since ?"

" Never ! But," said Barbara, with a sudden
crimsoning, that might have been pride or any
other feeling, deepening the rose-hue on her
cheek, " she wrote me one letter !"

" IIow generous ! And you saved her life,
too! What was it about?"

" It was ft year ago," said Barbara, in a low
tone : " a few months before she left school, and
the Colonel brought it from Paris — you may
have heard she was here for a few Says last
May. The Emperor and Empress had viRited
her convent-school, and she had been chosen to
speak an address, and present a bouquet to

each, and the Emperor was struck by her — by
her beauty, perhaps," ivith a litile tremor of
the clear voice ; " and when it was all over, be
name up to her and inquirecl her name, and
chatted with her for some time, to the great
envy of all the rest of the school."

" Oh, I've heard of all that!' said Tom, with
an impatient shrug. '* Lady Agnes has taken
care to tore hvir dear five hundred friends wiih
it at least a thousand times !"

'* Vea i but that is not all. Next day there
came to the convent a little casket of purple*
velvet and ivory for Mademoiselle Shirley, bear-
ing tbe imperial arms, and within there whs a
superb chain of gold and seed pearls, with two
lovely pearl iiearts set in gold, and rubies
united by a scroll bearing the letter ' N ' at-
tached. It was the gift of the Emperor ; and
Miss Victoria gave me tbe whole account in her
letter , and the Colonel had a duplicate made in
Paris, and gave it to me — only," said Barbara,
laughing, with tears iu her eyes, " with his
cipher instead of the imperial one."

•' That was prime ! And why don't you wear
his pretty present?'*

"I always do, liere," tapping lightly on her
white corsage. •' I shall never part with it till
I die ! And are you going to marry your
cousin, Tom?"

• i don't know !" said Tom, with a groan. •• I
wish to Heaven I could ; but it doesn't depend
on me, unfortunately. She is encircled from
week's end to week's *end with a crowd of per-
ftimed Adonises, who always flutter around
heiresses like moths round a lighted candle ;i
and girls are such inconceivable fools, than they
are always sure to prefer one of those nicely-
winged moths to a straightforward, honest, sen-
sible, practical man. Miserable little popinjays !
I could take the best of them by tlie waistband
and lay them low in the kennel, any day, if I
liked !"

" You great big monster ! Then the great
bear has actually lost his heart I"

"Great bear! You are all alike; and her
pet name for me is Ursa Major, too!"

" But you are really in love, Tom ?"

" I don't know that, either !" groaned Tom.
" Sometimes I love her — sometimes I hate her!
and then, she is provoking enough to make a
meetinghouse swear! Oh, there's old Sweet,
the lawyer, as j^Ilow and smiling as ever, dally-
ing along with Leicester, and I suppose I must
give you up to him for one set, at lea^t ! By«
the- way, how is the governor and the old lady ?"

*' If yon mean my father and grandmotner,
they are as well as usual."

" Well, that's jolly— beg your pardon ! Ursa
Major lias bruinish ways of talking, and th?y
never could knock any manners into me tU
Cambridge. Oh, I see something nice over
there, and I'm going to ask her tor the next
dance."

OJF wen
suave and
smiling b^>
" I beli
lady fair,"
and Tom i
i.'' one mi{j
Barbaru
"Tom I
when old
things to e
" Sfr. CI
when I wa
"Oh,bu
with anotb
" Well,
you ? Bai
anter and
GliflFe."
Barbara
" If I w<
he talk to
do mi table
rose up, ai
fire to be)
haughty lil
"Six ye
said, ooldlj
forgotten r
"Miss B
hav^ been
myself," h
little wild-
knee and s
cease to
shall have
There w
and Barba
ed at his
speeches
was glowin
her eye
Mr. Sweet,
iUid not pa
The hei;
daughter
quadrille,
upon then
Shirley
nearly as
— that wai
•' What
bad said.
And a
young art
eyes, his
tic iace, ai
with roaet
pride, as
gauzy whi
worn witl
her finger
they moT

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

ick by her— by
ittle tremor of
'08 all over, be
her name, and
e, to the great
I."

said Tom, with
^nca baa tflkea
ed fritiuds wiib

Next day tbere
isket of purple-
le Shirley, bear-
,biu tbere whs a
pearls, with two

Id, and rubies
( letter * N ' at-
I Emperor ; and
e accuuut in her
iiplicate made ia

/' said Barbara,
yes, " with bis
ue."

don't you wear

lightly on ber
part witb it till
to marry your

ith a groan. " I
t doesn't depend
8 encircled from

a crowd uf per-
( flutter around

lighted candle o
e fools, that, tbey
I of tbose nicely-
ard, boiiest. sen-
! little popinjays!
bytlie waistband
nel, any day, if I

Tbfcn the great

i alike ; and her
r, too!"
i, Tom ?"
• !" groaned Tom.
times I bate her !
nough to make a
bore's old Sweet,
ing as ever, dally-
I suppose I must
set, at lea4 ! By*
ind the old lady ?"
ind grand motner,

ur pardon ! Ursa
talking, and tb'jy
nnera into me at
letbing nice over
: ber tor tbe nest

t rocket, and up carne,
eiceHterClitTe, witb tbe

Off went Tom, like
suave and grnceful,.Mr
smiling b^;ent of iKdy Agnes Sbirloy.

" I Delie«re I bave the bouor of the next,
lady fair," said tbe younc gentleman. " You
and Tom tppeared to preier talking to dancing,
if one might judge from appearances."
Barbara laughed.

" Tom and I are old friends, Mr. Cliflfe ; and
when old friends me6\ they bave a thousand
Uiines to say to each otl er."

" Mr. Cliffo and you uted to call me Leicester
when I was here before."

•' Oh, but you were a boy, tben !" said Barbara,
with another gay laugh and vivid blusb.

'* Well, just think I'm a boy again, won't
you ? Barbara and Leicester are much pleas-
anter and shorter than Miss Black and Mr.
Gliffe."
Barbara did not speak.
" If I were a lady," was her, thought, " would
be talk to me like this I" And all the fierce in-
domitable pride, asleep but not dead, within ber
rose up, and sent a crimson to her cheek and a
fire to her eye, and a sudden uplifting of the
haughty little head.

" Six years is a long time, Mr. Gliffe !" i^^he
said, coldly ; " and haa an hour Ago you bad
forgotten me I"

*' Miss Barbara, I have sinned in doing so, and
have been repenting of it ever since. I accuse
myself," be said, penitently, " of forgetting tbe
httle wild-eyed gipay who used to sit on my
knee and smg for me ' Lang-syne' ; but when I
cease to forget the May Queen of to-day, I
shall have ceased to forget all things earthly !"
There was a low, mocking laugh behind them,
and Barbara turned round. She bad not laugh-
ed at his speech aa she had done at similar
speechea from Tom Shirley, and uer dark face
waa glowing like tbe heart of a June roae when
her eye fell on tbe laugher. But it waa only
Mr. Sweet, talking to a vivacious little damsel.
lUid not paying any attention to them at all.

The heir of Cliffewood and the fisherman's
daughter took their station at the head of the
quadrille, and hundreds of eyes turned curiously
upon them. The gulf between herself and Tom
Snirley was not bo very wide, for Tom was
nearly as poor aa she ; but tbe heir of Cliffewood
—that was quite another thing !

" What a handsome couple!" more than one
bad said, in a stage whisper.

And a handsome couple tbey were. Tlie
young artist, witb his dreamy brow, bis epiendid
eyes, his fair brown liair, bis proud characteris-
tic fice, aud princely bearing : tbe girl crowned
with roses, and crowned with her beauty and
pride, aa a far more regal diadem ; her dreaa of
gauzy white a ducbeaa or a peoaont might have
worn with equal propriety, looking a lady to
her finger-tips. The whicper reached them as
they moved away at the conclusion of th^

dance, she leaning lightly on his arm; and be
turned to ber with a smile.

" Did you hear that f Tbey call you and I a
eouple, i^arbara?"

" Village gossips will make remarks !" said
the young lady, with infinite composure ; " and
over in that field there are a horse and an ox
coupled. Noble aud inferior animals should find
their own level."
" You ore pleased to be sarcastic."
*' Not at all. Where have you been all these
years, Mr. Cliffe ?"

*' Over tbe world. I made the grand tour
when I left Oxford four years ago ; then T vis-
ited the East ; and, last of all, I went to Amer-
ica. This day six weeks, I was in New York."
" America I Ah ! I should like to go there !
It has been my dream all my life."
"Aud why?"

She did not speak. Her eyes wer) downcast,
and her cheeks crimson.

" Will your majesty not tell your most faith-
ful subject," be said, laughing in a careless
way, that reminded her of Colonel SI iley ;
and, indeed, his every look, and toae, anj smile
reminded ber of tbe absent Indian ofiScer, and
made ber think far more tenderly of Mr. Leices-
ter Cliffe than she could otherwise have done ;
for Barbara bad tbe strongest and strangest af«
fection for the handsome Colonel iu the world.

" Why would you like to go to America ?" he
reiterated, looking at her curiously.

She raised ber eyes flasbfjg with a strange
fire, and drew her band hasti.y from his arm.

" Because all are equals rhere. Excuse me,
Mr. Cliffe ; I am engaged yj Mr. Sweet for this
cotillion."

Ue looked after her with a strange smile, as
she moved away treading tbe ground as if she
werci indeed a queen.

" You will smg another tune come day, my
haughty little beauty," said be, to himself, " oi-
my power will fail for onoo"

The day passed delightfully. There was thv9
dinne: on the grass, and more dancing, and long
pronr.enades ; and tbe May Queens innumera-
ble admirers uttered curses not loud but deep, to
fi.ud Mr. Leicester Cliffe devoted himself to her
all day, aa if she had been tbe greatest lady in
tbe land. To contest any prize against such a
rival was not to be thought of ; and, when sup-
per vvas over, and tbe stars were out, and tne
young May moon roae up, tbe Leir of Cliffe-
wood walked home with the cotuige-beauty on
bia arm. Tom Shirley had taken the evening
train for London, and there waa nonf> to tell
tales out of school.

Tbe sea lay aaleep in the moo. light, and the
fisbing-boata danced over the silvery ripples
under the bush of tbe solemn stars.

" Oh, what a night !" exclaimed Barbara.
" What a moon that is ! end what a multitude
pf stars ! It seems to me," with a light laugh,

UNMASKED; OR,

>■■'

" tbey never were bo many or so beautiful be-
fore.'"'

" They're all beautiful," said Leioeater, apeuk-
ing of tbeui and lookiuK at ber. " But I have
Been a star brighter tuao anv there, to-dny t
Fairest Barbara. Qood night. '

Tbuie same slandered stars watohed Mr. Lei-
cester Clitfe slowly riding homeward in their
Elacid light, and watched him fall usleqp, with
is head on his arm, and the stiwe queer half
smile on his lipit, to dream of Barbara.

CHAPTER XIV.

THK WAUNINO.

Sir Roland Gliffe flat in his dining-room at
Cliffewood — a pleasant room, witii a velvet car-
pet of crimson and white on the floor ; crinisun-
satiu curtains draping the French windows that
opened on a sunny sweep of lawn ; pictures on
the satin-paueled wails — pretty pictures in gild-
ed frames, of fruit and the chase, with green
glimpses of Indian jungles, American prairies,
and Cnnndian forests — the Utter, the work of
Sir Rolanil B heir. Sir Roland himself sat in a
great arm-chair of crimson velvet, with gilded
back aud arms — a corpulent gentlemen of fifty,
much addicted to that 'gentlemanly disease, the
gout — before au antique mahogany table, draped
with the snowiest of damask, strewn with bas-
kets of silver filagree, heaped with oranges,
grapes, and nuts, aud flanked with sundry cut-
glass decanters of ruby port and golden sherry.
An open letter lay on the table, in a dainty
Italian hand, that began, " My dear Brother" ;
and while the May sunshine aud breezes floated
blandly through the crimson curtains, Sir Ro-
land Hipped his pale sherry, munched his wal-
nuts uud grapes, auJ ruminated deeply. He
bad sat quite alone over his dessert, making bis
meditations, when right in the middle of an un-
usually profound one came the sound of a
light, oi'ick step on the terrace without, the
sweet notes of a c'ear voice singing, " The
Lass o' Oowrie", and the next minute the door
was t.'.^^wn open, and Mr. Leicnster ClifFe
walked in, with his huge Canadian wolf-dog by
his side. The young gentleman wore a shoot-
ing-costume, and had a gun in his hand ; and
the sea-side sun and wind seemed to agree with
him mightily, for there was a glow on his pale
cheek, aud a dancing light m his luminous
eyes.

" Late, as usual !" was his salutation, as he
stood his gun in a corner, and flung his wid<
awake on a sofa. " I intended to be the soul of

Sunctuality, to-day ; but the time goes here one
oesn't know how, and I only found out it was
getting late by feeling half-lamished. Hope I
aven't kept you waiting ?"
" I have not waited," said Sir Roland. " Ring
the bell, and they'll bring your dinner. Been
gunning, I aee f I hope with more success than
vsual."

* I am sorry to p y not. Loup and I have
•pent our day and bagged nothing."

" Very shy K^'ne yours must be, I think."

"It is!" sniif Leicester, with emphasis.

" Well, you'll have the chance to aim at
game of another sort, soon — hieh game, too,
my boy I Here is a letter from Lady Agnes."

'* Indeed !"

" And it contains a pressing invitation fbr
you to go up to London and be present at a
ball her ladyship gives in a few days."

"Does it? I won't go I"

" You will go I Listen :

" ' Tell Leicester to be sure to come, Roland. I wonld
not have him absent for the world. It is ul>oiit the laal
ball of tii« season, and he will meet scores of old friends,
who will iMiaDxiouH to see him after all those years of
hentlieniih wandering. And you know there is another,
and still stronger reason, my deur brother, for if the
proposed alliance between Victoria and him erer be-
comes an established factj I am extremely desirous to
have Jt settled, and the engagement publicly mads
known before we leave London.' "

Sir Roland laid down the letter at this pas-
sage, and looked complacently across the table
at his stepson ; and that young gentleman, who
had been paying profound attention to his din-
ner, and very little to ber lady's letter, now
raised an eye haughty and indignant.

" The proposed alliance ! What does Lady
Agnes mean by that?"

" Precisely what she says, my dear boy. Paw
those oranges, if you please."

" That I'm to niarry her granddaughter. Miss
Victoria Shirley y"

" Exactly ! Oh, you needn't fire up like that.
The matter is the simplest thing in the world.
Lady Agnes and 1 have intended you for one
another ever since little Vic first came from
France."

" Much obliged to you both ; at the same
time, I beg to decline the honor."

" You will do notliing of the kind I It is the
most reasonable and well-assorted match in the
world. You are both young, both good-look-
ing, both of the same family, yet unrelated, and
thi.' two estates will join admirably, and make
you one of the richest landed gentlemen in Eng-
land."

" Unanswerable arguments, all. Still permit
me to decline."

" And why, pray ?" 'nquired Sir Roland,
slightly raising his voice.

" My dear Sir," said the young gentleman,
filling with precision his glass wi*h sherry, " I
am infinitely obliged to her ladyship end yourself
for selecting a wife for me in this most royally
and courtly fashion ; but still, strange as it may
appear, I have always had the vague notion that
I should like to select the lady myself. It
seems a little unreasonable, fallow, but then it's
a whim I have."

" Stuflf and nonsense'! What would ibe boy
have? If you want riobes, she is the iichest
ixeirese in the kingdom : and if you waut beau*

ty, you

not see n
•' I doi
her."

"You
the same
" I lia\
old hall,
round bl
eipid, I a:
oi miik u
Gtyle of J
cream-cai
their waj
ever."

" Speal
oream-car
the hand
" Reall;
Dt^int-blar
Ins Shir
BtatI iner'«
Or, 1.* tha
party io t
» She k
made kno
London."
"And d
ty, an lieii
cles, with
feet, will c
jump into
The day
English g|
Eastern sli
" She is
birth and [
heart; an|
to this st^
opposing
what you I
military si
tions as
kangarooJ

"And

Miss Shirl

mother.

daughter I

"I'llbJ

insinuate

furiously!

Iiis heat

" Miss SI

worthless

Sir, I ha^

make To|

her the

objection!

Leicesff

"I do

and Lad J

tors ever)

to unite r

THE HEIRESS Or CASTLE CLIFFE.

4»

ear bov. Pass

at tbe same

tj, yon mny search the three kingdoina and
Dot Bee anything like her."

" I duu't know about that. I have never Been
her."

*' You Iinve seen her picture, then. It is all
the same in Greek."

" I have looked at a picture over there in the
old hall, of a very pink-nnd-wliite daniBol, with
round blue eyea and coiorleBS hair, and as in-
sipid, I am ready to make inv affidavit, as a mug
or milk and water. 1 don't funoy the small-beer
Gtyle of young ladies ; and as for her beauty —
cream-candy and strawberries nro very nice in
tlicir way, but nobody can live on them for-
ever."

" Speak plain English, Sir, and never mind
cream-candy. Do you mean to aay you refuse
the hand of Miss Shirley ?"

" Really, Sir Kolanu, 3 ou have the most
pi^int-blanlt way of putting questions. Does
Alns Shirley know that she is to remain, like a
Btatr)ner'8 parcel, to be left till I call for her?
Or, i> that is not plain enough English, is she a
party io this affair ?"

" She knows nothing about it ; but it will be
made known to her as soon as you arrive in
London."

" And do you suppose. Sir, that she, a beau-
ty, an heiress, a belle, moving in the first cir-
cles, with all the best men of the day at her
feet, will consent to be made a puppet of, ond
iuinp into my arms the moment I open them ?
The diiy has passed for such things. Sir, and
English girls ore too spunky to be traded like
Eastern slaves."

" She is no English girl. She is French by
birth and education ; French to the core of her
heart; and, being French, slie is too well used
to this style of thing to dream for a moment of
opposing the will of her guardians. The girl is
what you are not — as obedient as if trained in a
military school. A girl with such French no-
tions as she has, would almost marry a live
kangaroo, if her friends desired her."

" And that in itself is another objection.
Miss Shirley, as you say, is French, So was her
mother. Would you have a Cliffe murry the
daughter of a French actress ?"

" I'll break your head with this decanter if you
insinuate such a thing again !" said Sir Roland,
furiously ; for there was still a tender spot in
his heart sacred to the memory of 7ivia,
" Miss Shirley is altogether too good for such a
worthless scapegrace as yoursel* And I vow.
Sir, I have half a mind to disinherit you and
make Tom Shirley my heir. He would marry
her the moment he was asked, without the least
objection."

Leicester laughed at the threat.

'* I do not doubt it in the least. Sir. But you
and Lady Agnes are the most artless conspira-
tors ever I heard of. Now, when you wanted us
to unite our fovtunes, your plan was to have

brought us together in aone romantio and un>
usual way, and warned us, under the most fright-
ful penalties, not to dream of ever being any-
thing but acquaintances. The conaiquence
Would have been, a aevero attack of the grand
paenion, and an elopement in a fortnight. I
compliment you, Sir, by saying that you hare
no more art than if you were five instead of
fifty years old,"

" We don't wont to be artful. The matter la
to be arranged in tho most plain and straight-
forward manner— nothing occeitful or under-
hand about it. If you choose to marry Misa
Shirley, and gratify tho dearest wish o' my
heart, I shall be grateful and happy all my life ,
if you prefer declining, well and good. Vic will
get a better man, and I shall know how to treat
my dutiful stepson."

" Is that meant for a threai. Sir Roland ?"

" You may conotrue it in any way yon choose,
Mr, Leicester Cliffe, but I certainly have count-
ed without hesitation on your consent in this
matter for the last six years."

" But, my dear Sir, don't talk as if the affair
all rested with me. Miss Shirley may be the
first to decline."

•• I tell you she will do nothing of the sort.
Miss Shirley will obey her natural guardians,
and marry you any moment you ask her."

"A. most dignified position for the young
lady," said Leicester, with a slight shrug and
smile, as he proceeded with solicitude to light
his cigar. " Of course, her father knows all
about this."

" Her father knows nothing of it as yet. He
is one of those men who set their faces against
anything like coercion, and who would not have
his daughter's wishes forced in the slightest de-
gree."

" I admire his good sense. And 8upp6se I
consent to this step, when shall I start for Lon-
don ?"

" To-morrow morning, in the first traha.
There is no time to be lost, if you wish to arrive
for the ball."

" And the first thing I have to do upon getting
there, I suppose, is, to step up to the young
lady, hot in hand, and say : Miss Shirley, your
grandmother and my father have agreed that
we should marry. I don't core a snap for you,
but at their express command I hove come here
to moke you my wife. How do you liiie tho
style of that, Sir ?"

" You may propose any way you please, so
thot you do it. She is a sen.^ible girl, and will
understand it. You will go, then ?"

" Here Loup !" said the young man, holding
out a bunch ot grapes to hi- dog, by way of an-
swer; "get down off that velvet ottoman dN
rectly. What do you suppose our worthy
housekeeper will say, when she finds the tracks
of your dirty paws 6n its whiteness ?"

" I knew all along you irould go," said Sir

UNMASKED; OR,

Roland, filling bit glnss. " Here's h«r health in
old port, Aud suooeaa to you both t The only
natoiiishing thing is, liuw you oould havu ru-
UMiinuil here bo long. When yuu gut hfro first,
two weeks ago, you told ni«t before you hn«l
been five minutes in the house thnt yuU would
die of eunui to stay hero a week ; l>ut two of
them havu passed now, and hvre you r'e, a per-
mantMit fixture, and not a word of ennui. To
be sure there are amusements, you can go out
■booting erery morning, and return every even-
ing empty-bandeil ; you o^m go out sailing,
there are plenty of boats in Lower Cliife, and
there are plenty agreeable fishermen, too, with
handsome daugltters."

It might have been the reflection of the cur«
tains — tue young gentleman was standing by the
window smoking, and contemplating the scen-
ery ; but his face turned crimson.

"There is one partionlnrly," went on Sir Ro-
land, dryly. " Black i» the man. I think — very
fine fellow, I have no donbt, with a tail, dark-
haired daughter. Barb.-.r ; ia a nice little girl,
always was, and will teach you to row and catch
lobsters to perfection, very likely ; but still Mr.
Leicester Cliffe has other duties to fulfill in life
besides those two. Take care, my dear boy,
and when you reach London, don*t talk too
much of the fisherman's girl to the heiress of
Castle Cliffe."

The young man had been standing with bis
foot on the window-sill during this harangue;
now he stepped out on the lawn.

" I will go to London to-morrow. Sir," he said
quietly ; and wa« hid from view by the screen-
ing curtains.

Flinging away his cigar, he strode around to
the stables with his dog at his heels, an! without
waiting to change hie dress, mounted hia horse,
aud in five minutes after was dashing along in
the direction of Lower Cliffe. A horse in that
small village would have created a sensation,
Mr. Leicester never brought one there, and he
did not now. Leaving it in the marshes in the
oare of a boy, he walked down the straggling
path among the rooks, and halted at the door of
Mr. Black's cottage.

"Come in!" called a sharp voice in answer to
his low knock; and obeying the peremptory
order, he did walk in, and found himself face to
face with old Judith. No one else was visible,
and the old lady sat upon the broad hearth,
propped up against the chimney-piece, with her
knees drawn up to her chin, emoraoed by her
clasped fingers, and blowing the smoke Trom »
small, black pipe in her mouth, up the chimney.
"If you want our Barbara, young gentle-
man,' said Judith, the moment her sharp eyes
rested on him, "she's not here; she went out
ten minutes ago, and I rather think, if you go
through the park gates and walk smart, you'll
catch up to her."
" Thank you. What a jolly old soul she is !"

said Leicester, apostroiihizlng the old lady, as
he turned out again and sprang with long stridon
over the roud, through the open gates, and
•long the sweeping path leading to {lie ca«tle.
As he went un, he caught sight of a fluttering
skirt glancing in and out through the trees, unil
in twu minutes he was beside the bill, girlish
figure, walking under the waving branches with
a fr«e, quick, elastic step.

Barbara, handsomer even in her plain, winter,
crimson merino, trimmed with knots of black
velvet and black lace ; with no covering on the
graceful head, but the shining braids of dark
nuir twisted, and knotted, and looped, as if there
was no way of disposing of their exuberance,
and with two or ttireu rosy daisies gleaming
through their darkness, looked up at him hall-
surprised, half pleased.

" Why, Leicester, what in the world hot
brought vou here *"

*■ My uorse part of the way — I walked the
rest."

" Don't be absurd I When you went away
half an hour ago, I did not expect to see you
•gain in Lower Cliffe to-day."

*' Neither did I ; but it seems I am going
away, and it struck me I should like to say,
Good-bye."
Barbara started and paled slightly.
" Going awny! Where?"
" To London."

"Oh, is that all? And how long are you
going to stay ?"

" Only a week
coming back then
them.'^

His grave tone startled her, and she looked
at him searchingly.

" Is anything wrong? What are you looking
so solemn about?"

" Barbara, I hove two or three words to say,
Come along till we get a seat."

They walked along, side by side, in silence,
and turning into a by path of yew and elm, they
came in sight of the Nun's Grave, lying still
and gloomy under their shade.

" Thin is just the place," said Leicester ; " and
here is a seat for you, Barbara, on this fallen
tree."
But Barbara recoiled.

" Oh, not here I it is like a tomb — it is a tomb,
this place I"

" Nonsense! What is the matter with you?
What are you looking so pale for ?

" Nothing," said Barbara, recovering herself
with a slight laugh ; " only I've not been here
for six years. Miss Shirley was with me, then,
and something startled us both, and made us
afraid of the place."

"Ah!" his face darkened slightly at the
name ; " nothing will harm you while I am near.
Here is a seat."
She seated herself on the old trunk of a tree,

or two. The Shlrlays are
en, and I'm to return with

TTIE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

oM lady, »■
1 lung itritlvn
n (Ttttea, and

uie ca«tle.
f a fl«tterin«
the trees, nti<i
! till, Kirli«h
)ranob«a with

plain, winter,
notii of black
rering on the
raida of dark
ed, aa if theru
p exuberance,
lies gleaniini^
) nt him bail-
ie world bat
■I walked the

lU went away
set to see you

, I am going
id like to Bay,

itly.

long are you

e Shlrlays are
10 return with

tod she looked

are you looking

e words to say.

aide, in ailence,
w and elm, they
rave, lying atill

LelceBter; "ami
a, on this fallen

lb — ^it ie a tomb,

atter with you?

or?

icovering herself 1

e not been here

} with me, then,

;h, and made ub

ali^htly at the |

1 while I am near.

i trunk of a tree,

anTcr^d with moia, and be threw himacif on the

f;rave, with bla arm on the black oroaa, and
uokuil up in the beautiful queationin^; face.

•« Well, Barbara, do you know what I've oome
to any r"

'• You've told me already. Good-bye!" said
Barbara, plucking the daiaiea, with a ru^hlesa
baud, from the (jrave, without looking up.

'■ And aomethmg olae^ — that I love you, Bar-
bara!"

Hhe looked np at him and broke into a low,
mocking laugh.

" Do you not believe me ?" abe aaked, quiet-
ly-

" No !"

" Pleasant that, and why T"

" Becauae, air I" ahe aaid, turning upon him
BO auddenly and fiercely that he atartcii, " such
worda from you to me, apoken in earnest, would
be an insult."

Barbara, I don't know what you

An insult 1
mean !"

"You don't.
leas. You are

It is plain enough, neverthe-
the son of a baronet, and the
beir of Cliffewood ; I am the daughter of a
fisherman, promoted to that high estate from
being n rope-dancer ! Aak yourself, then, what
sucli words from you to me can be but the dead-
liest of insults !"

"Barbara, you are mad, mad with pride.
Stay and hear me out."

"I am not mad. I will not p' y!" slie cried,
passionately, rising up. **I di^i think you were
iny friend, Mr. ClifiTe ; I did think you respect-
ed me a little. I never thought I could fall so
low. In your eyes, as this !"

He sprang to his feet and caught both her
Imnds aa she was turning, with a passionate cea-
lure, away, and, holding her firmly, looked in
lier eyes with a smile.

" Barbara, what are you thinking of? Are
you crazy ¥ I love you with all my heart, and
tome day, sooner or later, I will make you Lady
Cliflfe."

" You will make me nothing of the kind, sir.
Release me, I command you, for I will not stay
here to be mocked."

" It is my turn to be obstinate now. I will
not let you go, apd I am not mocUing, but in
most desperate earnest. Look at me, Barbara,
and read the trntii for yourself!"

She lifted her eyes to tlie linndsome, smiling
face bending over her» and read there truth and
honor in glance and Ml^9-

" Leicester 1" she paauonately cried. " Do
not deceive me now, or my heart will break !
1 have had wild dreams of ray own, but never
before anything so wild as this. How can you
care for one so far i>eneath you ; and oh ! what
will Sir Roland and Lady Agnes say if it be
true?"

" What they pUaae I I am my own master,
Barbara I"

" But Sir Uoliind may disinherit you."
" Let him. I have my own fortune, or ra-
ther my niofher'a ; and the day I waa of ago I
came into an income of aome five Ihouannd a
year. So my proud little Barbara, if my wor-
thy atepfather aeea fit to diainherit me, you and
I, I t!iink, can manage to exint on that!
" () Leicester, can you mean all thia?"
"Much more than this, Barbara. And now
lot me hear you eay you love me !"

Khe lifted up to hia a face tranafornied and
pale with intoriae joy ; but, ere ahe could anawer,
a voice, aolenin and aweet, rose from the grave
under tlieir feet.
" Barbara, beware 1"

The words ahe wouM have uttered died out
on Barbara's lipa, and ahe atarted back with a
auppreaaed ahriek. Loiceater, too, recoiled, and
looked round him in wonder.

" Wliat waa that ? Where did that voice
come from, Barbara ?"

" From the grave, I think I" aaid Barbara,
turning white.

Leicest^'r looked at her, and seeing she was
perfectly in earnebt, broke out into a tit of boy-
ish laughter.

"From the grave! O what an ideal But,
Barbara, I am waiting to hear whether or not I
am to be an accepted lover."

Again the radiant look came over Barbara's
face, again she turned to answer, and again arose
the voice, jo solemn iind so sad :
"Beware, Biirbara!"

" Thia is some devilish tricK t" exclaimed
Leicester, paesionately dashing off through the
trees. " Some one is eavesdropping ; and if I
catch them I'll smash every bone in their
body !"

Barbara, white as a marble statue, and nearly
aa cold, stooti, looking down in horror at the
nuns grave, until Leicester returned, flushed
and heated, after his impetuous and fruitless
search.

" I could see no one, but I am convinced
some one has been listening, and hid, as I start-
ed in pursuit. And now, Barbara, in spite of
men or demons, tell mo that you love me !"
She held out both her hands.
" O Leicester, I love you with all my heart?"
In her tone, in her look, there was something
BO strangely solemn that he caught the in-
fection, and raising the proffered hands lu his
lips, he said :

" My own Barbara ! When I prove false to
you, 1 pray God that I may die !"

" Amen !" said Barbara, with terrible earnest-
ness, while from her dark eyes there eliot for a
moment a glance so fieree, that he liaif dropped
her hands m his surprise.

" But I shall never be false !" he said, re^
covering himself, and believing at the moment
what he said was true ; " true as the needle tc
the North Star sliail I be to the lady I love.

UNMASKED; OR,

■11

See! I shall be romantic for onoe, and make
this old elm a memorial, that will oonvince you
it is uot all a drenm when I am gone. It has
stood hundreds of years, perhaps, and may
stand hundreds more, as a symbol of our death-
less faith T

Haif-laughingly, half-earnestly, he took from
his pocket a dainty pen-knife, and vfith one
sharp, blue blade began carving their united
initials on the bark of the hoary old elm, wav-
ing over the Nun's Grave. "L. S. C", and
underneath " B. B.", the whole encircled by a
carved wreath ; and as he fir' hed,a great drop
of rain fell on his glittering blade. He looked
up, and saw that the whole sky had blackened.

" There is going to be a storm !" he ex-
claimed. "And how suddenly it has arisen!
Come, Barbara, we will scarcely have time to
reach the cottage befoi*e it breaks."

Barbara stopped for a momeuc to kiss the
wetted initials ; and then as the rain drops be-
gan to fall thick and fast, she flbW along the
avenue, keeping up with ^'6 long man-strides,
and in ten minutes reaches the cottage, panting
and out of breath. Old Judith stood in the
doorway looking for her, so there was no
chance of sentimental leave-taking ; but looks
often do wonderfully in such cases, and two
pairs of eyes embraced at the cottage-door, and
said. Good bye.

The ligiitning leaped out like a two-edged
sword as Barbara hastened to her room and sat
down by the window. This window command-
ed a view of the sea and the marshes — the one
black, and turbid, and moaning ; the other,
blurred and sodden with the rushing rain. Ami
" Oh, he will be out in all this storm !" cried
Barbara's heart, as she watched the rain and
the liirhtnine, and listened to the rumbling
thunder, until the dark evening wore away, and
was lost in the darker and stormier night. Still
it rained, still it lightened and thundered, and
the sea roared over the rooks, and still Barbara
sat at the window, with hor long hair streaming
around her, and her soul full of a joy too in-
tense for sleep.

With the night passed the storm, and up rose
the sun, ushering in a new-born day to the
restless world. Barbara was up as soon as the
Bun, and wbiking under the dripping bougiis,
along the drenched grass to the place of tryst.
But the lightning had been before her ; for
there, across the Nan's Grave, lay the old elm
— the emblem of their endless love — a blacken-
ed and blasted ruiu.

CHAPTER XV.

TBB SHAOOW IN BLACK.

Old Judith, when not sitting in the corner,

amokine, had a habit of standing in the door-

tway, taking an observation o. all that passed in

' Tower Cliffe. She stood there now, while the

sun set behind the golden Sussex hills, with a

blftok-silk handkerchief knotted ^under her
wrinkled chin, and her small, keen eyes shaded
by her band, peering over the sparkling sea.
On the sands, in the crimson glow of the sun-
set, the fishermen who had been out all day
were drawing up their boats ou the shore, and
among them Mr. Peter Black, with a tarpaulin
hat on his head, and noisy fishy oilcloth jacket,
and trowsers to match, was coming up the rocky
road to supper.

Old Judith, on seeing him, turned hastily Into
the cottage, grnmbling as she went, and began
arranging the table. There was no one in the
house but herself, and the room did not look
particularly neat or inviting : for Barbara, lazy
beauty, liked far better to dream over novels
and wander through the beautiful grounds of the
Castle than t > sweep fluora iind wash dishes, and
old Judith was fonder of smoking and gossiping
than paying any attention to ^^^ Uttie houst:-
hold matters herself. So, when Mr. Black en-
tered his roof-tree, he found chairs and tables,
anil stools and pots, and kettles and pails, all
higgle-piggledy over the floor, as if these house-
hold Kods had been dancing a fandango ; and his
appearance, perfuming the air with a most an-
cient and fish-like smeil, did uot \t all imprute
matters.

Judith's sotto voce grumblings broke into i\a
outcry t)ie moment f le found a listener.

" It s just gone seven by the sun-dial at the
park-gates !" she cried, shrilly, " and that girl
has been gone since sunrise, and never put her
nose inside the door since."

" What girl— Barbara ?" inquire 1 Mr. Black,
^ nlling a clasped cknife out of his pocket, and
;alling to his supper of bread, and beef, and
beer.

" To be sure it's Barbara — a Inzy, undutiful,
disrespectful minx as ever lived! There she
goes, gadding about h^om one week's end to
t'other, with her everlasting novels in her hand,
or strumming on that trashy old guitar Lawyer
Sweet was fool enough to give her, among the
rucks. Her stockings may be full of holes, her
dress may be tern to tatters, the house may be
dirty enoush to plant cabbage in, and I may
scorn till all i« blue, and she don't care a straw
for one of 'em, but gives snappish answers, and
goes on twioe as bid as before."

"Can't you talk in the house, mother?'
gruffly insinuated Mr. Black, with his mouth
full, as the old woman's voice rose in her anger
to a perfect squeal. "You needn't make thu
village think you're being murdered about it."

" Needn't I?" said Judith, her voice rising an
octave higher. " I might be murdered, and she
go to old Nick, wheit she is going as fast as slie
can, for all vou care. But I tell you what it ih,
Peter BlaoK, if you're a fool, I'm not ; and I
won't see my granddaughter going to perdition
witliout raising ray voice against it, and so I tell
you !"

away
agam
since
dare

!head<
went
and

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIPFE.

i ^under her
a eyea shaded
sparkling sea.
"ow of ilie suu-
D oat all day
the shore, aud
th a tarpauliu
oilcloth jacket,
ig up thti rocky

ned hastily into

eut, aud began

no one iu the

did not look

r Barbara, lazy

urn over novels

grounds of the

rash disbeb, and

and gossiping

ise little huusti-

Mr. Black en-

airs and tables,

IS and paiis, all

) if these house-

idango ; anil his

rith a most an-

; \t all improve

I broke into (sn
listener,
sun-dial at the
" and that girl
i never put her

lirel Mr. Black,

his Docket, and

, ana beef, and

liizy, undutiful,
ed! There she
I week's end to
rels in her hand,
I guitar Lawyer
her, among tbe
jll of holes, her
> house may be
I iu, aud I may
n't care a straw
iSh answers, aud

>a8e, mother?'
with his mouth
986 in her anger
ledu't make the
ered about it."
r voioe rising an
urdered, and she
iig as fast as she
1 you what it ib,
I'm not ; and I
ling to perdition
t it, ana so I tell

Peter Blaok laid down the pewter-pot he was
raising to his lips, and turned to his tender
mother with an inquiring scowl :

".What do you meau« you old screeoh-owl,
flying at a man like the devil, the moment he
sets his foot .inside the door? Has Barbara
stuck you, or anybody else, that you're raving
mad liKe this ? Lord knows," said Mr. Black,
resuming his supper, " if she let a little of that
spare breath out of you, I shouldn't be sorry."

" There'll be a little spare breath let out of
somebody afore lon^ I" screeched the old lady,
clawing the air viciously with her skinny fin-
gers, " and it won't be me. I told you before,
and I tell you again, that girl's going to Old
Nick ns fast as she can, and perhaps ; when you
see her there, and it's too late, you'll begin to
think about it. Her pride, and her bad tem-
per, and tbe airs she gave herself about her red
cheeks, and her dark eyes, and her long hair,
and the learning she's managed to get, weren't
bad enough, but now she's fell in with that be-
scented, pale-faced, high and miglity popinjay
from foreign parts, and they're together morn-
ing, coon, ana night. And now," reiterated olu
Judith, turning still more fiercely on her scowl-
ing son, " what good is likely to come of a fish-
erman's daughter and a baronet's son and heir
being together for everlastin' ? — what good ? I
ask you yourself."

Mr. Peter Blaok laid down his knife, opened
his eyes, and pricked up his ears.

" Hey ?" he inquired. " What the demon
are you driving at now, mother ?"

"Do you know Sir Roland Cliflfe, of Cliflfe-
wood ? Answer me that."

" To be sure I do."

"And do you know that fine gentleman with
all the grand airs, Mr. Leicester Clifife, his step-
eon?"

" What's the old woman raving about I" <x-
dahned Mr. Black, with an impatient appeal to
the elements. " I've seen Mr. Leicester Cliffe,
and that's all I know about him, or want to.
What the deuoe has he to do with it ?"

" Oh ! nothing, of course. Ever since he
oame here last May-day, two weeks gone, ho and
your daughter have been thicker than pick-
pockets — ^that's all! Only a trifle, you know
—not worth worretingabout !"

" Well ?" said Mr. Black, fixing his eyes on
her with a powerful expression.

And the old woman ran on with fieret volu-
bility :

" No longer ago than last night, they oame
home together at dark; and she was iff and
away this morning at day-dawn, to inaet him
agam, of course. It's been the same thing ever
since May-day ; and she's so savage nobody
dare say a word to her ; and you're ts thiok-
; headed as a mule, and couldn't see water if you
went to the sea-side I Everybody els* sees it,
and she's the town's talk by this time. Mr.

Sweet sees it; and by the same token, she
treats Mr. Sweet as it he were the dirt under
her feet. You know very well he wants her to
marry him— him that might have the pick of
the parish— and she holds her head up in the
air, aud sneers at him for his pains,' the un-
grateful hussy !"

" Look here, mother !" said Mr. Black, turn-
ing round, with the blue blade of the knife
gleaming in his hand, and a horrible light
ahining in his eyes, " I know what's in the wind
now, and all that you're afraid of, so just listen I
I'm pjfoud of my girl ; she's handsome and high-
stepping, and holds her head above everybody
far and near, and I'm proud of her for it ; I'm
fond of her, too, though I mayn't show it ; and
if there's anything in this cursed world I care
for, it's her'; but I would rather see her dead
and buried — I would rather see her the misera-
ble cast-oflf wretch you are thinking of than
the ricli wife of that black-hearted, double-dyed
hypocrite, liar, and scoundrel. Sweet I I would,

by !" cried Mr. Black, with an awful oa/;h,

plunging his knife into the hump of cold beef,
lis if it were the boiled heart of the snake, Mr.
Sweet

With the last imprpcn'inn yet on his lips, a
clear girlish voice was heard without, singing
the good old English tune of " Money Muuk",
and the door suddenly opened, and Barbara,
who never sang of late, stood, with the tune on
her lips, before them. The long, dark hair, un-
bound and disheveled by the strong sea-breeze,
floated in most becoming disorder over her
shoulders; her cheeks were like scarlet rose-
berries ; her dark eyes dancing, her red lips
breaking into smiles like a happy child ; she
fairly filled the dreary and disorderly room with
the light of her splendid beauty. Mother and
son turned toward her — one wrathful and men-
acing, the other with a sort of savage pride and
affection.

" So you've come at last !" broke out old
Judith in her shrillest falsetto, "after being
gadding about since early morning, you sloven-
ly-"

''0 grandmother, don't scold!" exclaimed
Barbara, who was a great deal too happy nnd
full of hope to bear anger and scolding just
then. " I will clear up this room for yon in
five minutes ; and I don't want any supper ; I
had it up at the lodge."

"Oh! you were up at the lodge, and with
Mr. Leicester Cliffe, of course ?"

Barbara flushed to the temples, more at her
grandmother's tone than words, and her eyei
flashed ; bat once she restrained herself.

" No I wasn't, grandmother. Mr. Cliffe left
for London in the first train this morning."

Old Judith sneered.

" You seem to know all abont Mr Cliffe 'a
doings. Of oourse, he told you that, and bade

UNMASKED; OR,

cou good-bye, when jou were caugbt bo nioely
m tbe rain last night."

Barbara eompressed her lips in rising wrath ;
but she went steadily on arranging stools and
obairs in silence. Old Judith, however, was
not to be mollified.

" Now I tell you what it is my lady, you had
better bring these fine goings-ou to an end, and
let Mr. Leicester Ciiffe go gallanting round tbe
country with grand folks like bimseli, while you
mend your father's nets, and keep bis house
clean. There is Mr. Sweet been here looking
for you hair a dozen times to-day, and a pretty
thing for him to hear that you had been away
since daylight, nobody knew where, but Mr.
Leicester Ciiffe, perhaps, and — "

But here Barbara's brief thread of patience
snapped short, and with an expiesaioti of un-
governable anger, she fluni' the chair she held
m her hand against tbe wall, and was out of the
house in an mstant, slamming the door alter
her with a must sonorous bang. Before she had
icau, aa she was doing in her angry excitement,
five yards, she heard a heavy step behind her,
and a voice close at her ear singing, " Oh I
there's nothing half so aweet in I'm as Love's
young dream !" It made her turn and behold'
the auusbiuy figure and smiling face of M.*.
Sweet

" Home at last. Miss Barbara I I have been
at least half a dozen times to-day in the cottage,
thinking you were lost !"

" You give yourself a great deal of unnoeoes-
aary trouble, Mr. Sweet"

" Nothing done for you cau be any trouble.
Miss Barbara. I hope you've spent a pleasant
day."

" Thank you !"

" This evening wind is cool, and you hatre no
shawl— shall I not go to lue house and bring
you one ?"

" No ; I don't need it."

" Miss Barbara, how cold you are ! I wonder
what kind of a shawl would warm your manner
to me !"

Miss Barbara, leaning against a tall rock, was
iookiug over a dai^ening sea, with a face that
might have been out out of the solid stoae,
(or all tbe emotion it expressed. The crimson
And purple billows of sunset had faded awav
into the dim gray gloaming, pierced with briglit
white stars, and the waning May moon was lift-
ing her silver crescent over the raurm^iring
waves. The fishing-boats went dancing in and
out in the shining path it made across the wa-
ters ; and Barbara, with her lone hair fluttering
behind her in the wind, watched them with her
cold, beautiful eyes, and heeded tbe man beside
her no more than the rook against which she
leaned.

He looked at her for a moment, and then
shrugged his shoulders, with a slight smile.

" Leicester Ciiffe left town this morning for

London, did he not J" he Asked, at leogtbf Ab*
ruptly.

** I believe so.'

" Is that the cause of your g]oom and silencfi
to-night?"

Barbara turned Impetuously round, with a
dangerous fire in her great darK eyes.

" Mr. Sweet, take care what you are saying.
You will oblige me exceedingly by going about
your own affairs, whatever tuey may oe, and
leaving me alone. I didn't ask your company
here, and I don't want it!"

Mr. Sweet smiled good-naturedly.

" But when I want you so much, Miss Bar-
Bara, what does a little reluctance on your part
signify I Two weeks ago, on the morning ol
May-aay — you remember May-day — I did myr
self the honor to ask you for this fair hand,"

" And received No for an answer. I hope
you reraemlier that also, Mr. Sweet."

*' Distinctly, Miss Barbara ; yet in two weeks
your mind may have change<^ ■ and if so, I hen
to- night renew tbe offer "

" You are very kind ; but I have only the
trouble of saying No over again."

" Barbara, stop and think. I love you. I
am a rich man— richer than most people imag-
ine — and I think, without flattering myself, there
are few girls in Cliftonlea who would not hesi-
tate about refusing me. Barbi^ra, pause before
you tiirow away so good an offer."

" There is no need. I suppose I ought to
feel honored by your preference ; but I don't
in the least, and that is the truth. You may
make any of the Cliftonlea young ladies happy
by so brilliant an offer, if you choose ; ana I
promise to go to her wedding, if she asks me,
without feehng the least jealousy at her good
fortune."

" You are sarcastic, and yet I think there are
some feelings— gratitude, for instance — that
should make you treat me and my offer with
at least decent respect."

" Gratitude 1" said Barbara, fixing her large
dark eyes with a strong glance on bis face. " I
don't owe you anything, Mr. Sweet. No, don't
interrupt me, if you please. I know what you
would say, that I owe all the home I have known
for the last two years to you, and that you res-
cued me from a life of hardship, and perhaps
degradation. Well, I've been told that so often
by you, that I Ixave ceased to think it a favor ;
ana ai from the first it was your own pleasura
to do 10, and without my will or request, I con-
sider I'm not indebted to you th» value of a far-
thing. As to education and Jl that, you know
as well as I do, that Colonel Ciiffe sent me l»
the Town Aoademv, and provided me with
everything while there. So, Mr. Sweet don't
Ulk of gratitude any more, if you and I are t«
be friends."

While she spoke, n a voice clear and high,
with a ringing tone of oommand and a warmina

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

leogtbi Ab*

and silence
und, with a

38.

are saying,
going about
uay De, and
ar company

, Miss Bar-
>n your part

morning ot
r — I did myr
AT hand,"
er. I hope

in tiro weeks
I ifso, IhePB

Etve only the

ove you. I
people imag-
myself, there
lid not hesi-
pause befor«

I I ought to
but I don't
You may
ladies happy
lOose ; ana I
she asks me,
at her good

link there are
stance — that
ay offer with

ng her large
his face. " I
;. No, don't
low what yon
I have icnown
that you res-
and perhaps
I that so often
ak it a favor ;
own pleasure
equest, I con-
iralue of a far-
lafc, you know
e sent me fn
ded me with
'. Sweet don't
and I are t»

sar and high,
nd a warming

ifir^ ia her eye, Mr. Sweet watched her with the
eame quiet, provoking smile. In her beauty
and in her pride she towered above him, and
flung back his gifts, like stones, in his face.

" And when is it to be 7" be asked, when she
ceased.

«What?"

'* Your marriage with the heir of Sir Roland
diffe."

■Even in the moonlight, he saw the scarlet
rush that dyed face and neck, and the short,
half-stifled breath.

" This is your revenge I" she said, calmly,
and waving him away, with the air of an out-
raged queen ; '' but go— go, and never speak to
me again 1"

" hot even when you are Lady Cliffo?"

"Go!'* she said, fiercely, and stamping her
foot. •' Go, or I shall make you !"

" Ouly one moment. When there are two
moons in yonder sky ; when you can dip up
all the water iu the sea before us with a tea-
spoon ; when ' Birnam wood will come to Duu-
sinaiie' ; then — then Leicester Giiffe will mitrry
^rbara Black ! I have said you will be my
wife ; and, sooner or later, that time will come.
Meantime, proud and pretty Barbara, good-
aiKbt!"

Taking off his beaver, he bowed low, and
with the smile still on his lips, walked away in
the moonlight; — not only smiling, but singing,
and Barbara distinctly heard the words :

" So long as he's constant,
So long I'll prove true ;
And then if he /shanges,
Why, so can I, too."

Barbara sank down on the rock and covered
her fice with her hands, outraged, ashamed, in-
dignant ; and yet, in the midst of all, with a
siiarp, keen pain aching in her heart She had
been so happy all that day— beloved, loving,
and trusting— thinking herself standing on a
rook, and finding it crumbling to dust and ashes.
Oh, why had they not let her alone ! Why had
they not let her hope and be happy t If Leices-
ter proved false, she felt <>;> though she should die;
and balf.hating herself for believing for a mo-
ment he could change, she sprang np and dart-
ed off with a fleet, light step toward the still
open park-gates — determined to visit once more
the trysting-place, and reassure herself tliere
that their mutual love was not all an Illusion.
She never thought of the ghosdy voice in her
Bxoitement, as she walked up the moonlit ave-
tue and down the gloomy lane, toward the fal-
len elm. The pale moon's rays came glancing
faintly through the slanting leaves; and kneel-
int; down beside it, she saw the united initials
his hand had carved, and the girl clasped her
hands in renewed hope and joy.

" He is true !" she cried, to her heart. •' He
will be faithful and true to me f<»rever!"

"He is false I" said a low, solemn voice from

the grave on whic nhe knelt ; and, starting up
with a suppressed shriek, Barbara found herself
face tp face wlCh an awful vision.

A. nun, supernaturally tall, all in black and
white, stood directly opposite, with the grave
and the fallen elm between them. Without
noise or movement, it was before hei ; how, or
from whence it came, impossible to tell ; its
tall head scemluff in the shadowy moonlight to
reach nearly to tlie tree-tops, in a long straight
nun's dress, a black, nun's vail, a white band
over the forehead, and another over the throat
and breast. The moon's rays fell distinctly on
the face of deadly whiteness, and with two stony
eyes shining menacingly under bent and stern
brows. Barbara stood stupefied, spell-bound,
speechless. The figure raised its shrouded arm,
aud pointing at hur with one flickering finger,
the voice again rose from the grave, for Um
white lips of the B]>vutre moved not.

"Thrice have you heen warned, and thrice
have you spurned the warning ! Your good
angel weeps, and the doom is gathering thick
and dark overhead ! Once more, Barbara, be-
ware !"

Still Barbara stood mute, white almost as the
spectre, with sitpernatural tt-rrur. With shroud-
ed arm and flickering finger still pointing toward
her, the ghostly nun ^azed at her while the sad
solemn voice rose again from the grave.

" You love and think you are beloved in re-
turn, rash, infatuated child ! Spurn every
thought of him as you would a deadly viper ;
for there is ruin, there is misery, there is death,
in his love I"

*' Be it so, then !" cried Barbara, wildly, find-
ing voice in a sort of frantic desperation ;
*' better death with him than life with another I"
" Barbara, be warned, for your doom is at
hand I" said the unseen voice. And as it spoke,
the moon was lost in shadow, a dark cloud
shrouded the gloomy grave and the black shape.
There was a quick and angry rush as l." vanish-
ed among the trees, and the whole night seemed
to blacken as it passed.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE ROSE OF 8C88EX.

Wliile Barbara hoped and Barbar.i feared,
Leicester Cliffe was whirling away as fast as the
steam-eagle could carry him toward London anu
his promised bride. And the same white cres-
cent moon that saw her standing at the trysting-
place. came peering through the closed shutters
of a West-End hotel and saw that young gen-
tleman standing before a swing-glass, making a
most elaborate and fanltleas toilet A magnifi-
cent watch, set with brilliants, that lay on the
dressing-table before nim, w^ pointing its gold-
en hands to the hour of eleven, when there came
a rap at the door, and, opening it Mr. Cliffe was
conrronted by a tall waiter, witli a card in his
band.

tJNMASlCSD; OR,

"Show th« gentleman up," said Leicester,
glanoing at it, and going on witli bis toilet.
And two minutes after, a quiok, impetuous,
noisy step was talcing the stairs fire at a time,
and Tom Shirlej^, flushed, excited, and breath*
less, as usual, stood before him.

" My dear fellow, how goes it?" was his cry;
seizing his cousin's hand with a grip that made
him wince. " I should have been hero ages ago,
only I never received your note until within the
last ten minutes ! I was nt the opera, and had
just come to my lodgings to spread myself out
in goi^eous array for the ball, when I found
your letter, and came streamin;; up here without
a second's loss of time. When did you come ?
And are you going to make one in my lady's
crush to-night?"

" Sit down !" was Leicester's nonchalant re-
ply to this breathless outburst. " I had given
you up in despair, and was about starting on my
own responsibility. What brought you to the
opera, to-night?'

" Oh, this is the last night of the brightest
star of the season ; and besides, we are time
enough for the ball. How long before you have
finished making yourpalf resplendent?"

" I have finished now. Come !"

Tom, who had jrjst seated himself, jumped up,
and led the vray down stairs, five at a time, as
before, and, on reaching the pavement, drew
out a cigar-case, otfered it to bis companion, lit
one, and then, taking the other's arm, marched
him off briskly.

"Wo won't call a cab — they're nothing but
bores : and it's not ten minutes' walk to Shirley
House. How did you leave all the good people
in Cliftonlea — Sir Roland among the rest?"

" Sir Roland has had the gout ; otherwise
believe he's 'lad nothing to complain of."

" Well, that's a good old family disorder we
must all come to In the fullness of time. Was
it to-day vou arrived ?"

" Yes. Lad^ Agnes was good enough to sc d
me a pressing invito to this grand ball of hers,
and of course, there was nothing for it but obe-
dience."

" Ton must have f&und life in Cliftonlea aw-
fully slow for the last two weeks," said Tom,
with an energetic puff at his cigar. "What did
you do with yourself all the time ?"

Leieester laughed.

" So many things thai; it would pniszle me to
recount them. Shooting, fishing, riding, boat-
ing— "

" With a little courting in between whiles !"
interrupted Tom, with gravity. " How did you
leave little Barbara?"

Leicester Cliffs took his cigar ft-om his lips,
and knocked the white end off carefully with
biU fing'ar.

** Ashes to ashes, eh ? I don't know what yon
ui«an."

•• Don't you ! Oh, you are an artleaa youth !

Perhaps you think I don't know bow steep you
have been coming it with our pretty May Queen ;
but don't trouble yourself to invent any little
fictions about it, for I know the whole 4h«ng,
from beginning to end !"

'• What do you know ?"

" That you have been fooling that little girl,
and I won't have it f Oh, vou needn't fire up.
Barbara is a great frien<l of^mine, and you will
just have the goodness to let her alone !"

" Pshaw ! what nonsense is all this ?"

*' Is it nonsense ?"

" Yes. Who has been talking to you ?"

" One who is too old a bird to be caught with
chaff. Fred Douglas, of the Draeoons — he
came up here to London a week ago.'

" I'll put a stray hullet through Fred Doug-
las's head, and teach him to hold his tongue, auJ
yours, too, my good cousin, if you take it upon
yourself to lecture me. How are all the Shi^
leys?"

'• Tolerable. Lady Agnes is up to her eyes
in the business of balls, and receptions, and
concerts, and matinees. The Colonel has been
voted unanimously by all the young ladies of
Belgrave Square a love of a man, and Vic is all
the rage, and has turned more heads and de-
clined more offers this winter than you or I
could count in a week. The Rose of Sussex is
the toast of the town !"

" Indeed ! And at the head of her list of
her killed and wounded stands the name of Tom
Shirley."

Tom winced perceptibly.

" Precisely ! And I'll wager my diamond
ring that yours is there, too, before the end of a
week."

" Is she so pretty, then ?"

" Pretty ! That's a nice word to apply to the
belle of London. Here we are, and you will
soon see fbr yourself."

long file of carriages was drawn up before

e door of Shirley House, and a crowd of serv-
ants in livery were flitting busily hither auJ
thither. Some of the guests were just passing
in to the great lighted ball, but instead of fut-
lowine their example, Tom drew his companion
toward a deserted side-door.

*' We Won't go in there and have our names
bawled by the flunkeys, and be stared at as we
enter by a hundred pairs of eyes. I know aH
the ins and outs of this place, and there's a prt
vate way that will bring us to the ball-room,
where you can have a good look at the Rose of
Sussex before yon are presented to her in form."

He rang, as he spoke, the bell of the side-
door, and on its being opened by a liveried
slave, he led the way through the marble ball
up a wide and balustraded staircase, through sev-
eral empty roome and pnssages, all sumptuously
fitted up, and echoing with the sound' of distant
music and merry-making, and finally into a
great eoniervatory, with the moonlight itream*

THE HEIRESS OF OASTLE CLHTR

ovr Bteep yon
y May Queen ;
ent any little
I whole siting,

bat little girl,
ledn't fire up.
and you will
alone !"
this?"

to you •"
>e caught with
Dragoons — be
go.'^

1 Fred Doug-
is tongue, auJ
n take it upon
■e all the Shi^

p to her eyeg
eceptions, and
ouel has been
oung ladies of
, and y io is all
heads and d»-
tlian you or I
se of Sussex is

of her list of
e name of Tom

: my diamond
)re the eud of a

to apply to the
I, and you will

rawn up before
I crowd of serv.
lily hither and
ire just pasainz
I instead of fut-
his companion

aye our nanies
stared at as we
!B. I know aU
id there's a pri-

the ball-room,
: at the Rose of
to her in form."
ill of the side*
. by a liveried
he marble hall
se, through sev-
kU sumptuously
Ducd' of distant

finally into a
onl^hfc itream*

ing througn two large aronea winaows, wbioh
opened into a forsaken music-room, which opened
into the crowded beil-roum. There was no door
between the music and ball-rooms , but instead,
a wide arch huug with curtultis of green and
silver, and under their friendly shade the two
new-comers could sit anobserved, and look on
the scene before them to iheir heart's content.

The great ball-room was filled, but not to re-
pletion. Lady Agues had too much tasLe and
sense to sutfucate her guests ; and every moment
the distinguished uuines of fresh arrivals came
from the lips of the tu!l gentleman in livery at
the door. The musicians, sitting perched in a
gilded gallery, were blowing away on their brass
Instruments, and tilling the air with German
dauce-musio ; two or three sets of quadrilles
were to full swing at the upper end of the room,
while the wall-flowers and the elderlies, who did
not fancy cards, were enjoying themselves after
their own fashion at the lower end. The glare
of the myriad cluster of gap (6*^^ fell on the
splendid throng, where satiu><^;.ud velrets rus-
tled, and point lace — the tW4;nty years i'abor of
some Brussels lace-maRer — d?'i.ped snow}' elbows
and arms, where jewels flashed their rainbow
fires, where fans waved and plumes fluttered,
and perfumes scented the nir ; where each pretty
and liigh-titled lai'j acemed to vie and eclipse
the other in splendor. And near the centre of
the room, superb in family diamonds and black
velvet, stood Lady Agues by the side of a starred
and ribboned foreigner, receiving her guests
Hive a queen. Lady Agu«*8 always wore black —
the malicious ones said, because it suited her
style, and made her look youthful ; but whether
from that cause or not, she certainly did look
youthful, and handsome, too, albeit her mar-
riageable granddaugliter was the belle of the
ball. Paie and proud, she stood toying with her
fan, her rich, black dress sweeping the chalked
floor, her diamonds blazing, and her haughty
head erect, while the distinguished foreigner
bent over her, listening with profoundest respect
to her lightest word. Tom touched Leicester
on the shoulder, and nodded toward her.

" That's my lady, standing there with the air
of a dowager-duchess, and talking to the Due

de as if she thought him honored by the

condescension."

" Lady Agnea is handsome !" said Leicester,
glancing toward her, "and looks as if the pride
of aril the Cliffes were concentrated in herself.
I remember her perfectly, though I have not
seen her since I was a boy ; but where is your
Rose of Sussex ?"

" Behold her !" said Tom, tragically. " There
she comes, ou the arm of Lonl Henry Lisle.
Look !"

Leicester looked. Movine slowly down the

A room at the ht^ad of the dancers, oamo one

whom he oould almost have known without

being told, to be the Rose of Sussex. A youth*

ful angel, girlish and slender, stately, but not
tall, with a profusion of golden curls failing
over the shoulders ti> the taper waist, beautiful
eyes of bright, violet blue, and a bright radiant
look within them, like that of a happy child.
Uer dress was of pale-blu-- glao^ silk, unuer
flounces of Houiton lace, looped up with bou-
quet of rosebuds and jasmine, a Inrae cluster of
tlte same flowers clasping the perfect corsage,
and pale pearls on the exquisite neck nnd arms.
Her dress was simple, one of the simplest, per-
haps, in the whole room; but as the artist
loolfed at her, he thought of the young May
moon in its silver sheen, of a clear, white star
in the blue summer sky, of a spotless lily, lift-
ing its lovely head in a silent mountain-tarn.
It was hardly a beaiHiful mco— there was a score
handsomer in the room, but there certainly was
not another half so lovely. A vision roae be-
tore him as he looked, of the smiting faces of
Madonnas and angels as he had seen them pi<y>
tured in grand|old cathedrals ; and before the sin-
less soul looking out of those clear eyes, be
quailed inwardly, feeling as tuough he were un-
worthy to touch the hem of her ntbe.

" Well," sai>l Tom, looking at him curiously,
" there is the Rose of Sussex, and what do yoa
think of her?"

" It is a sylph ; it is a snow-spirit ; i'. is a
fairy, by moonlight ! That is the ide*il fuce jjve
been trying all my life to pairt, anu failed, be-
cause I never oould find a model !"

" Bah ! I would rather have one woman of
flesh and blood, than a thokisand on cauvits !
Come, we have stood here long enough, and it
is time we were paying our respects to Lady
Agnes."

"With all my heart!" siid Leicester, and
making their way through the thronu', both
stood the next moment before the stately lady
of the mansion.

" Aunt," said Tom, describiiw a graceful circle
with his hand, as he bowed before thut lady.
" I come late, but I bring my apology. Allow
me to present your nephew, Mr. Leicester Shir-
ley Clitfe !••

Liidy Agnes turned with a bright sudden
smile, and held out her jeweled hand.

" Is it possible I My dear Leicester. I am
enohaoted to see yon. How well you are look-
ing I and how tall you have grown ! Can this
really be the little boy, with the long eurls, who
used to run wild, long ago, at Castle Clitfe ?''

Leicester laughed.

'* The same, Madam, though the long curls
are gone, and the little boy stands before yon
six feet high."

" I had quite despaired of your coming. And
you have actually been in Eugtau'l a fortnight,
and never came to see us. I am, fositively,
aifhamed of you. Have you seeu the Colonel i"

"No; we have just arrived."

" How was it yoa were aok anaouuoed?"

UNMASKED; OR,

;.: I

If; U

*' Oh, I brought him round by a Bide-door : we
were late, and our mudeaty would not permit ua
to become the ovuoaure of all eyes. There
cornea the Culoneland Vie, now."

Colonel Shirley, looking quite aa young and
bandaome aa on the day of the Cliftoulea racea,
BIX yeara before, was advancing with the belle
of the roon4, and my lady tapped him, lightly,
with her fan on the arm.

"Cliffe! Do you know who thia ia ?"

" Leiceater Clife, I'y Jove t" cried the Colonel
in delighted recognition. "My dear boy, ia it
possible 1 aee you again after all tlitae yeara,
Hud gr'^wn out of all knowledge. Where in the
world have you dropped from?"

'■From Gliftonlea, the laat place. I have
foiinJ "I't, after all my wandering, that there ia
no jiliice like home."

*• Right, my boy. Vic, thia ia your oouain,
Leiceater Cliffe."

The long laahea drooped, and the young lady
conrtesied profoundly.

" You remember him, Vic, don't you ?" aaid
Tom ; " or at leaat \on remember the picture
in Cliffwood you uaed to go into auch rapturea
about long ago. Did you think I waa not com-
ing to-night, Vic ?"

"I never thought of you at all!" aaid the
^oung lady, with the prettieat fluah and pout
iniaginable.

"I know better than that There goes the
.next quadrille. May I have the honor, Vic ?"

*' No. I am engaged."

" The next, then ?"

•♦ Engaged !"

"And the next?"

Miaa Vic laughed and eonaulted her tablets.

" Very well, Sir, that ia the laat before aup-
per, and, perhap., you may have the honor also
of taking me dowu."

" And after aupper, cousin mine I" aaid Lei-
oeater, as her partner for the set, then forming,
came to lead her away. " May I not hope to
be equally honored ?"

" Oh, the first after supper," with another
alight laugh and blush, " is a waltz. Monsieur,
and I never waltz."

" For the first quadrille, th n ?''

The young lady bowed asaent and walked
away, just aa the Colonel, who had been absent
for a moment, came up with another lady on
his arm — a plain, dark girl, not at all pretty,
very quietly dressed, and without jewela.

"You haven't forgotten this young lady, I
hope, Leicester. Don't you remember your for-
mer playmate, little Maggie Shirley?"

"Certainly. Why, Maggie!" he cried, his
eyea lighting up with real pleaaure, and catch-
ing the hand ahe held out in both hia.

" I am glad to aee you again, Leiceater," said
Maggie, a faint color coming for a moment into
her ^ark cheek, aud then &ding away. " I

thought you were never going to come baok te
old England again."

" Ah ! I waa not quite so far gone as th.<U.
Are you engaged ?"

"No."

" Come, then. I have a thouaand things to
aav to you, and we can talk and dance to-
gether."

They took their placea in one of the quad-
rilles, Leicester talking all the time.

Margaret Shirley had been hia playmate in
childhood, hia friend and favorite alwaya, and
they had correaponded, in all hia wanderings
over the world ; but aomehow in thia, their first
meeting, they did not get on ao very well after
all. Margaret waa, naturally, tcoiturn aa an In-
dian, and the habit seemed to have grown with
her growth, and to all hia queationa ahe would
returu none but the briefest and quieteat aiv-
awera.

"Oh, confound your monoayllables !" muttered
Leiceater, aa he led bur down to aupper, and
watched Tom and Vic chatting and laughing
away opposite as if there were nobody in the
world but themselves. What a lovely face aba
had I and hon- all the gentlemen in the room
aeemed to flock round het ,like flies round a
drop of honey ! Leiceater was too much of an
artiat not to have a perfect piiasion for beauty
in whatever ahape it came ; and though h«
could aiimire a diamond in the rough, he cer-
tainly would have admired the aame diamond
far more in aplendid aetting. He might love
Barbara with his heart ; but he loved Vic al-
ready with his eyes. Barbara was the dark
daughter of the earth : this fairy sprite seemed
a vision from a better land. He was not worthy
of her, he felt that ; but yet what an iclat there
would be in hisc arrying oflf this reigniig belle ;
and with the wily tempter whispering a thou-
sand auch thougbta in his ear, he went back to
the ball room, and claiming her prumiae, led
her away from Tom, to improve her acquaint-
ance before the quadrille commenced. The
ball-room was by thia time oppreaaively hot,ao
they atrayed into the music-room ; there a ladj
sat singing with a group around her, and from
thence on to the cool conservatory, where the
moonlight shone in through the arched windows ;
the words of the song — Tennyaon'a " Maude"—
came floating on the perfume of the flowers.

" Come Into the garden, Maud,

For the black-bat night has flown.
Come into the garden, Maud,

I am here at the gate alone ;
And the wood-bine Bpiceg are wafted abroad,

And the musk of the roses blown.
" For a breeze of morning moves.

And the planet of Lore ii on high.
Beginning to faint in the light that she lovt*.

On a bed of daffodil sky ;
To faint in the light of the snn that she loves

To faint in his light and di«.

" All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, baaooo ;

sad aa
window,
eyea. 1
ball, of
they hn
•ong.

" Lov
up at laf
"Yes
and feel
" Maude
"We
think, M
our qua
"How
vet we I
"Oh,
no more
" Yet
Leiceste
" Is it
"Try
" If il
said th'
eertainii
and I ki

But
lead of
old Til
nnda .
House,
too qui^
dim aa\
called
aeasoQ

Backl
feverisl
ing on
him of
blue el
reigninl
Euglanj
it ther^
Quder

\^mi

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

ae baok to
ue M th.<U.

d tiiingf. to
dauof to-

)f the quad-

)laymate in
Iways, and
wanderings
8, their first
well after
rn as an lo-
grovrn witb
s 6he wuuLd
quietest ao-

i !" muttered

supper, and

nd laughing

)ody in the

ely face 8h«

in the room

ies round a

much of an

for beauty

though h«

)ugh, he cer-

me diamond

i mi^ht love

oved Vio al-

ras the dnrk

prite seemed

18 not worthy

in iclat there

ignlig belle;

ring a thon-

rent back to

promise, led

ler acquaint-

enoed. The

lively hot, so

there a ladj

ler, and from

y, where the

led windows ;

J " Maude"—

;e flowers.

abroad,

he loTtH,
he lores

All iiight has the casement Jeifamlne itlrr'cl,

To tb« diincerit dancing in tune {
Till a ullence fell with the waking bird,

And a hush with the setting moon.

*The slender acacia would not shake

One lung milk-blnom on the tree ;
The w lite-lake blossom fell into the lake.

As (he pimpernel dozed on the lea ;
But the rose was awake all night for yoar sake,

Knowing your promise to ne ;
The lilies and roses were'all awake,

They sighed for the dawn and thee.

" Queen rose of the rose-bud garden of glrl^

Come hither, the duncera are gone,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,

Queen lily and rose in one ;
Shine out, little head running over with ourls,

To the flowers and be t^eir sun."

Side by side they btood together in the moon-
light, she in a cloud of white lace and lustrous
pearls, tlie little head " running over with
^arls", and the fair face looking dreamy and
sad as slie listened — be leaning against the
window, and watching her with his heart in bia
eyes. They had been talking at first of the
ball, of Castle Cliffe, of his wanderings ; but
they had fallen into silence to listen to the
song.

<' Lovely thing, is it not?" she asked, looking
np at last.

" Yes !" said Leicester, tldnking of herself,
and feeling at that moment there was no other
" Maude" for him in the world but her.

" Wo had better no back to the ball-room, I
think, Mr. Glififc. If I am not greatly mistaken
our quadrille is commencing."

" How formally jou call me Mr. Oliffe ; and
yet we are cousins."

" Ob, that is only a polite fiction ! You are
no more my cousin than you are my brother !"

" Yet, I think, you might drop the Mister.
Leicester is an easy name to say.

"Is it?"

" Try it, and see !"

" If it ever comes natural, perhaps I may,"
said th<^ yoDug lady, with composure ; " but
certainly not now. There I it is the quadrille,
and I know we will be 'ate I*'

But they were not late, and came in time to
lead off the set "^ith spirit. Somewhere, ugly
old Time was mowing down his tens of thou-
sands ; but it certainly was not in Shirley
House, where this gaa-lit moments flew by all
too quick] J, tinged with c ruhur de rose, until tiie
dim dawn began to steal in ; aiid carriages were
called for ; and thu most succossful ball of the
season came to au end.

Baok in his own room, Leicester Cliffe was
ieverishly pacing up and down, with a war go-
ing on in his own heart. A vision rose before
him of pearls and floating laoe, golden curls.
Hue eyes, and the face of a smiling nngel — a
reigninjT belle, nod one of t,he richest heiresses in
England — all tc be his for the asking ; but with
it there came another vision — the Nun's Grave
under the gloomy yews ; the dark, wild gipsy

standing beside him, while be cirved her name
and his together on tlie old tvoe ; his own words :
*' When I prove false to yon, I pray God thak
I may die"; and the dreadful fire that had
filled her eyes ; and the dreadful "Amen'' abe
had biased through her closed teeth, The skein
bad run fair hitherto, but the tangle was
coming now ; and, quite unable to see bow he
was to unwind it, he lay down on his bed at
last. But Leicester Cliffe did not sleep mach
that morning.

CHAPTER XVir.

OWW WITH THE OLD LoVH.

The daintiest of little Swiss clocks on a gilded
mantel-piece was beginning to play the " Sophia
Walts" preparatory' to striking eleven, and Lady
Agnes Shirley looked up at it with a little im-
patient frown,. The Swiss clock and the cilded
mantel-piece were in the breakfast-parlor of
Shirley House ; and in a great carved arm-chsir,
cushioned in violet velvet, before a sparkling
Coal fire, sat Lady Agnes. She had just aK.'4«ii ;
and in her pretty morning-dress of a warm rose-
tint, lined and edged with snow-white fur ; the
blonde hair, which Time was too gallant to
touch with silver, and only ventured to thin out
a little at the parting, brushed in the old fashion
off the smooth, low forehead, and hidden under
a gauzy affair of black lice and ribbons, which
she wab pleased to call a morning-cap ; a brooch
of cluster diamonds sparkling on her neck, and
her daintily-slippered feet resting on a violet
velvet ottoman, she looked like an exquisite
picture in a carved oak frame. At her elbow
was a little round stand, coverod with the
whitest of damask, ^rliereon stood a poroelaine
cup half filled with chocolate ; a tiny glass, not
much larger than a thimble, filled with Oogniac ;
a little bird swimmini^ in rich sauce, and a plate
of oyster-patd. But the lady did not eat, she
only stirred the cold chocolate with the golden
spoon, looked dreamily into the fire, and waited.
Last night, before the ball broke up, 8ht> liad di-
rected a certain gentleman to call next morning
and discuss with her a certain important matter ;
but it was eleven, and he had not called yet ;
and BO she sat with her untasted breahfast be-
fore her, and waited and thought. She thought
of another morning, more than eighteen years
ago, when she J ad sat and waited for another
young gentleman, to talk to him on the very
same subject — matrimony. Eighteen years ago
she had found the young' gentleman obstinate
and refractory, and herself outwitted ; but then
all young gentlemen, were not &s self-willed as
he, and she had great hopes of the particular
one waited for this morning. So, tapping her
:<lipperod foot on the ottoiuan, and beating the
devil's tattoo with her spoon, she alternately
watched the Swiss clock and the red cinders
falling from the grate, until the door was flung

UNMASKED; OK,

open by a foottnnn, and Mr. CliiFe announoed in
a Btenturisn Toioe. An<i hat in band, Leioester
Cliffe stood bcfuro bcr the next moment.

" Punctual t" said Lndy Agnes, glauoing at
the tiinu-piioe, and languidly holding out her
hand. *' I told you to oume early, and it is
hAlf-rmst olcYcn c'dlock !"

"Ten thousand pardons; but it is all the
fault of the people of the hotel, I assure you ;
I ffave orders to be called at ten precisely ; but
it was nearer eleven vhen the waiter came. Am
I forgiven?"

"You've kept me waiting half an hour, and
I detest people who n>ake me wait ; but I think
I «aii forgive you. Take a seat near the fire —
the morning is chilly."

"And how are the young ladies?'' inquired
Leioestor, as ho obevea ; " not over fatigued, I
trust, after tlie ball."

" I cannot answer for Margaret, who is prob-
ably asleep yet ; bat Victoria came to my room
AiUy two hours ago, drossed for a oanter in the
Park. Quito true, I assure, my dear Leicester
-«it is the most energetic child in the world!
Will Tou have a cup of coffee ?"

" Not any, thank you. I have breakfasted.
Miaa Shirley is certainly a modern miracle to
get up so early ; but, perhaps, to*day is an ex-
oeption."

" Not at all ! Victoria is an early bird, and
constantly rises at some dismal hour in the
early morning, and attends church — convent
habits, and so on I' said Lady Agnes, with a
shrug nnd a short laugh. " Shall I ever forget
th« first morning after her arrival at Castle
Cli£fe, when, on going to her room at sunrise, I
found bur making her bed, like any chamber-
maid t I believe you never saw her before last
night."

" I never had that pleasure ; but I knew her
immediately. There is a picture at tho Castle
of a small ohild with blue eyes and long curls,
and It is like her, only Miss Shirley is far
lovelier."

Lady Agnes lifted her keen eyes from the
fire with a quick, eager sparkle.

"Ah, you tliink her lovely, then I"

" Lady Agnca, who could look at her, and
think otherwise f"

"You arc right! Victoria is beautiful, as
half the young men in our cet know to their
oost. Ah, she is a finished coquette is my
handsome granddaughter I Whom do you thiuK
proposed for her last night?"

"1 cannot iiuagine."

" The youug Marquis de St. Hilary, whom
the knew long ago in France. He spoke to me
in the handsomest manner first, and having ob-
tained my consent— for I knew perfectly well
what the answer would be — proposed."

"And the answer was — ?" said Leicester, with
A aliKbt and oousoions tuiile.

" UTo, of course ! Had I dreafeaed for a uq*

ment it «ould have be«n aoything else, rest afr
sured the Marquis de St. Hilary would never
have offered his hand rnd name to my grand*
daughter. There is but one name I shall ever
be glad to see Victoria Shirley bear, and tlmt is
-Cliffe I"

" Now it is coming !" thought Leicester, sup-
pressing a smile jirith an effort, and locking
with gravity at the fire.

Lady Agnes, leaning back in the violet velvet
arm-chair, eyed her young kinsman askance.
Hers was roally an eagle glance — sharp, side*
long, piercing ; and now she was reconnoitcring
the enemy like a skillful general, before begin-
ning the attack. Dnt the handsome face baf-
fled her. It was as emotionless as a waxed
mask, and she hent over and laid her hand on
his with a slight laugh.

" What a boy it is I sitting there as unreada-
ble as on oraole, without a sign ; and yet ha
knows all I"

"All what, Lady Agnes?"

" Nonsense 1 I am not going to have any
fencing here ; so sheathe your sword, and let us
have the whole thing, and in plain English. Of
course, Sir Roland has told you ail about it."

" Madam," stammered Leicester, really ut a
loss.

" There, don't blush I Victoria herself could
not have done it more palpably. Of course, I
say Sir Roland has told you the whole matter;
the object of my invitation, in short. Yes,
your face tells it ; I see he has I"

" Lady Agnes, I have .cad your letter."

" So much the better ! I need not waste time
making a revelation ; and now, what do vou
think of It?"

" Your ladyship, I have not had time to think
of it all. Consider, I have seen Miss Shirley
last night for the first time !"

" What of it! On the continent, the bride-
groom only sees his bride when they stand be-
fore the altar."

" But this is England, Lady Agnes, where we
have quite another way of doing those things !
I am a true-born Briton, and Miss Shirley is—"

" French to the core of her heart, and with on
implicit faith in the continental way of doing
those things, as you call it. You saw her last
night for the first time. True. But the sight
was satisfactory, I trust."

" Eminently so, yet — "

" Yet what ?"

" Lady Agnes," said Leicester, laughing, yet
coloring a little under the cold, keen gaze of
the woman of the world, " there is an old fash-
ioned prejudice in favor of love before marrioge,
and you will allow we have not had much time
to &11 in love with each other."

"Bah I" said Lady Agnes, with supreme
scorn. " Is that all ? How many times in your
life, my dear Leicester, have you been in love
before this ?''

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLITFE.

Leiceitor langbod, and ■book baok his fkfr,
•last^riug bair.

"It is past counting, your ladysbip !"

" And Jiovr niauy nr thrwo ludy-lovct baT«
you married ?"

'*Rutber a superflnou* qaeation, I should
Uiink, La'^y Aauea."

" Auswer it V'

* Not one, of course I"

Again Lady Agnes shrugged bor shoulders
with iier peculiar ecornful laugh.

" • Wo have met, we have loved, and we have
parted' I That is the burden of one of Victoria's
Bougs ; and, of course, your henrt was broken
long ago, after all tbose sharp blows upon it I"

" I am not aware that it is I It feels all right
— beats much the same as usual I I never
heard of a man with a broken heart in all my
life 1"

" Neither have I ; and so, Mr. ClifTe, as you've
had love enough without marriage, suppose
you try marriage witliout love ; that sentiment
will come afterward, believe me!"

" You know best, of course I I bow to your
superior judgment. Lady Agnes I" said Leices-
ter, bending to hide an irrepressible smile.

" Love is all very fine, and exccssi* .iy useful
in its place," said Lady Agnes, leaning back with
the air of one entering upon an abstruse subject ;
** the stock and trade with which poets and au-
thors set up business, and without which, I don't
know how the poor wretches would ever get
along. It is also well enough in real life ; for
you must Vnow I believe in the existence of
such a feeling when in its proper place, and
kept in due bonds, but not at all indi'^pensable
to the happiness of married life. For instance,
I made a mariage de convenance ; Dr. Shirley
was twenty years my senior, and I had not seen
him half a duzen times when I accepted him,
and, of course, did not care a straw for him in
that way, yet I am sure we got along extremely
well together, and never had a quarrel in our
lives. Then there was Sir Roland and your
mother. You know very well they married, not
fur love, but because it was an eminently prop-
er match, and she wanted a guardian for her son
— yourselfi yet how contentedly they lived to-
gether always. O my dear Leicester, if that is
aU your objection, pray don't mention it again,
lor it is utterly absurd I"

" So I perceive," said Leicester, dryly. " But
is your ladyship quite certain Miss Shirley will
agree with you in all these views. Snpp<He she
has what is called a prior engagement . ^

Lady Agnes drew herself up, and fixed her
oold blue eyes proudly on his face.

"The idea is simply absurd I Miss Shirley
has nothing of the sort f My granddaughter, my
proud, pure-minded Victoria, stoop to sueh a
tiling as a clandestine atttohment for any man I
Sir, if any one else hod uttered such an idea, I
ihoold have eonsidcrod it an insaltl"

•1

" Pardon t I had no intention to offend."
" Perhaps" — still with hauteur — •• perhaps
yon judge her by yourself; perhaps you have
some prior attaohmi'nt which causes all those
scruples. If so, speak the word, and yuit have
heard the last you will ever hear fruni me or
any one else on this subject I The heiress ni
Castle ClifTe," said Lady Agnes, a flush orimsnn-
ini; her delicate face, " is not to be forced on
any man 1"

O Barbara I his heart went back with abound
to the cottage by the sea, but never before hod
you power over him been so feeble. What would
this satirical kinswoman — this grand and stornful
lady, soy— if he stood before her like a great
schoolboy,. and uhishingly blurted out his grand
passion for the fisherman's daughter. His
check reddened at the very thought ; au<l feeling
that the eagle eyes were pieroing him like nee-
dles, he looked up and confronted them with a
gaze quite as unflinching and almost as haugh-
ty.

" You are somewhat inconsistent. Lady Ag-
nes. You gave me carie blanche a moment ago
to love as many as I [iloased !"

" I gave you absolution for the post, ;)ot in-
dulgence for the future ! With Leiccsfor Cliflb
and his amours I have nothing to do, ^ut ths
husband of my granddaui^hter must be true to
her as the needle to the North Star I"

He bowed in haughty silence. Lady Agnes
looked at him searohingiy, and calmed down.

"If we commence at daggers drawn," she
said, still laughing her satirical luugh ; " we
will certainly end in war to the knife! Listen
to me, Leicester, my nephew, the last of the
Cliffes, and learn why it is that tliis marriage is
so dear to my heart — why it has been my dream
by day and Ly night since I first saw Victoria.
Some of the noblest names in the i>cerago have
been laid this winter at my granddaughter's
feet, and by me rejected — she, the most dutifal
child in the world, never objecting. You know
what an heiress she is — wurth at least twenty
thousand a year ; and do you think I would
willingly let the milho^s of our farnilv go to
swell the rent-roll of some impoverishcti foreign
duke, or spendthrift English earl? You are
the last, except my son and Sir Roland, bearing
the name of GlifFe ; they will never marry, ana
I don't want a name that existed before the Con-
queror to pass from our branch of the family.
By your marriage with ray granddaughter, the
united fortunes of the Cliffes anl Shirlcys will
mingle, and the name will descend, noble and
honored, to posterity, as it has been honored
in the past. It is for ^'ou to decide whether these
hopes are to be realized or disappointed. VIo*
torm has no will but that of her natural guar-
dians, and your decision must be quick ; for I'm
determined she shall leave town engaged."

You shall have ray answer to-night I" saUj

"S.

Leicester, rising and taking bis hat.

UNMASKED; 0R»

"That is well! We go to tLo theotro to-'
Dight, and y<»u mny coinc to our box."

, " I sbuU not fail to do 80 1 Until then, adicn 1
and au revoir /"

Lady Agnes held out her hand with a gra>
«ious smile, but he just touched it, and ran
down stairs. As be pusaed through the lower
ball the librarv-duor stood njar, he caught
sight of a figure sitting in the recess o( a win-
dow. It was Margaret, holding a book listless-
ly in one hand, wbile the other supported her
«beek. She was looking out at the square,
where a German band was playing "Love
Not", and her face wore tt look bo lonely and so
sad, thut it touched him to the heart. If Lei-
cester ClifFe hod one really pure feeling for any
human being, it was — strangely enough — for
this plain, silent cousin of his, whom nobody
eyer noticed. He went in, and was bending
over bee with his fair hair touching her cheek,
before she heard bim.

"Maggie — little cousin — what is the mnt-
ter?"

She started np with a suppressed cry, her
dark face turning, for a moment, brightest
oriroson, and then white, even to tlie lips.

"O Leicester 1" she oried, laying her hand
on her fast-throbbing heart ; " how couIJ you
startle me BO?"

" Did I ? I am eorry J What a nervous lit-
tle puss it ia. Her Gracious Majesty, up-stairs,
told me you were asleep."

" For shame, Sir ! Have yon been with Lady
1 Agues f"

" Oh, haven't I ?" said Leicester, making a
■light grimace. "What are you doing here
alone? Why are you not out riding with your
cousin ?"

♦' I prefer being here. Won't you sit down ?"

"No t What makes you so pale ? I remem-
ber, long* ago, rhen we played hide-and-seek to«
S ether in the old balls of Castle Cliffe, you
ad obeeUs like rose-berries, but they are as
white as those lace curtains now."
" Oh, rare pale Margaret !
Oh, fair pale Margaret !"

tell your old play-fellow what it is all about."

She glanced up for a moment at the hand-
aome face bending over her, and then stooped
lower over her book, turning almost paler than
before.

"My good little consi^, tell me what it
means."

"Nothing!"

"I know better I Young ladies don't go
about like white shadows, with as much life in
tiiem as one of those marble statues, for noth-
ing. Are you ill?"

"Nol"

" Are you happy ?"

"Yes!"

"Ts tiiat grand sultaua up atalra good to
yeuV"

"And the princess royal— 4iow does she treat
you?"

" Cousin Yiotoria is like a sister."

" Then what, in Heaven's nam<>, hasorusbcil all
the life out of the little Maggie Shirley I romp-
ed with Isng syne! Do you know you're bol
the ghost of your former self, Mnggie ?"

She did not speak — she only held the book
close to her face, and something fol' ou it, mid
wet it. There was a tap on tiio door, and a
servant entered.

" Miss Margaret, my lady wants you to come
and read to her."

" I must go, Leicester. Good-morning I"

She was gone in an instant, and Leicester,
feeling there was a screw loose somewhere, and,
like all of his stupid sex, too blind to guess
within a mile of the tmth, went down the steps,
took his horse from the groom in waiting, and
dashed off through the Park. As he entered
Rotten Row be was confronted by three eques-
trians : Colonel Shirley, his daughter, and Tons.
The image of Yiotoria had been before him all
the way, flashing in lace and jewels as ho had
seen her last night, but now she dawned upon
him in quite another vision of beauty. From
her childhood the girl had taken to riding ai
naturally ns she had to sleeping, and she sat her
spirited Arabian with as easy a grace as sire
would have sat on a sofa. Nothing could have
been more bewitching than the exquisitely fib-
ting habit of dark-blue cloth ; the exuberant
curls confined in a net, seeing that curls under
a riding-hat are an abomination ; her fair cheeki
flushed with exercise, the violet eyes sparkling
and laughins with the very happiness of living
on such a day, and the rosy lips all dimplc'l
with glad smiles. She touched her blncll
plumed hat, coquettishly, h la tnilitaire, with ber
yellow gauntleted hand, as the young gentleman
bowed before her.

" Well met, Cliff'e 1" said the Colonel ; " we
were just speaking of you. Come borne and
dine with ns."

" Thanks. I regret to say I am already c»>

To-morrow, then I Have you any engage-
ment for to-night ? We are for the theatre."

" None ; and I have promised her ladyship to
drop into her box. Miss Shirley, I need not
ask if you have recovered from the fatigue of
last night ; you are as radiant as a rose."

" Oh, I am never fiitigued !" said Miss Shirley,
with her ironk laugh. " Papa, come ; Clando
is impatient Au revoir, Mr. Oliffe."

She looked back at him with a saucy glance,
waving her band, and the next moment was
dashing away out of sight. And Leicester Cliffa
went to bis hotel to arcss for dinner, witli "•
dancing shape, an image gay", haunting bii
mind's eye, to the exclusion of everything i^N
— the princess royal on horseback.

Tlie (

a very

Leiccstc

all at J

over. '

in pane

wliulo f

ia^ucd 1

ing his

so inuci

right wl

order, al

leys. L

splendid

like an i

with a I

off her t

leaning <

sense vei

good-nat

very sim

ver" stil

cur ains.

Agnes rc<

"Lazy

are late,

• Undine'

your eye

There sh(

the come

Vivia t

him withj

to his aui

while the

hia respei

had iner<

talking-

snd in

flow.

" Have
die was
" Neve
"Ah!
love • Un
I took a
pnrpose
Look! t
It wei
knight b(
ed wood,
smiled.

" This
tern to
ever visi

"Do
a long ttJ
"It is.!
with Lad
site, sat
tenant

{er— a
tmade
the rauc

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFIf^.

(ffj

]o«i aba trcftt

you to oome

am already e*-

Tlie dinnor-partv at Lor.l Honry Lislo's wns
ft very ii«»ii>y nn-l prolontjdl ntfiiir iiiil«e»l.
Leicester, tliiiiKifu' of tlic llMutn'. wislicd tlictn
all at Jvriclio a liiou^aiii] times before it wait
over. 'I'lio lloHe of Sussex was toasted so often
ia ptinoii and port, tliicl: and sweet, that tho
whole party were ratlior glorious when they
issued forth — Leicester excepted. Remend)er-
ing his engagement, he bad not imbibeil quite
BO much of the rosy as the rest, and was all
rigiit when he presented himself, according to
order, at the stage-box belont^ing to the Shir-
leys. Lady Agnes was there, as usual, in a
•plundid toilet; besida her aat Vivia, looking
like an angel in moii'u antique and emeralds,
with a magnificent opera-cloak half dropping
off her bare and beautiful shoulders. Tom was
leaning devotedly over her chair, talking non-
sense very fast, at all of which Miss Shirley was
good-natured enough to laugh ; and Margaret,
very simply dressed, according to custont, snt
ver*^ still and quiet under the shadow of the
eui ains. The Colonel was absent ; and Lady
Agnes received him with gracious reproof.

*' Lazy boy I The first act is over, and you
are late, as usual ! Such a charming play —
•Undine' I Tom, hold your tongue, and use
your eyes, or else go aad talk lo Margaret !
Tbore she sits, like little Jack Horner, alone in
the corner, moping!'

Viviu turned her beautiful face and welcomed
him with a bewildering smile ; and Tom, deaf
to bis aunt's hiut, merely moved aside a little,
while the new-comer bent over her chair to pay
his respects. The wino he h.\d been drinking
had merely raised his epirits to an excellent
talking-point. Vivia was a good talker, too ;
and in ten minutes conversatian was in full
flow.

•' Have you ever seen that play — ' Undine' ?"
die was asking.

" Never."

«' Ah I it ia beautiful ! I love it, becu'ise I
love ' Undine' herself. Do you know. Monsieur,
I took a fancy to study German first for tlie
parpose of reading 'Undine' in the original?
Look t the curtain is rising now I"

It went up as she spoke, ond showed the
knight battliqg with the spirits iu the enchant-
ed wood. Leicester looked at the stage and
smiled.

" This first visit to the theatre since my re-
tern to England reminds me of the first time I
ever visited a theatre at all."

" Do you remember it ? It must have been
along time ago?"

" It is. It is eighteen years. I wns in a box
with Lady Agnes and my mother ; and, oppo-
site, sat Sir Roland and your father, then Lieu-
tenant ClifFe, Lord Lisle, and that yellow law-
fer — a money-lender he was then — Mr. Sweet,
t made a vivid impression on me — the lights,
the rausio, the gay dresses, and the brilliant

scenery. I forget whot the piny was, but I
know the house was crowded, because it was t!ie
last appearance of a beautiful actress, Madamoi*
Belle—''

lie had been speaking with animation, but
bo stopped suddenly ; for tlio *>oautiful face was
crimHoii, and thoro was a quick uplifting of tho
haugh'y head, which reminded him forcibly of
Lady Agnes.

'■Mademoiselle Vivia?" she said, lifting l|cr
violet eyes with a bright free glaaoe to his face.
" My mother — my beautiful mother, whom I
have never seen !'

"Miss Shirley, I did not mean— I never
thought I CttD you forgive mo?"

" Out of my heart. Monsieur. See I there ia
•Undine'!"

She leaned forward. A tum'ult of applause
shook the house, and he bent over too. There
was the sea-coast and tho fisherman's cottage,
and there from the sea-fbam rose "Undiae".
robed in white, with lilies in her hair. It re-
minded Tom Shirley of tho "Infant Vcniw" ;
it reminded Leicester Cliffe of Barbara — tho
same, though he did not know it. In the dazslo
of tho music, and lights, and the girl bee d^
him, lie bad not thought of her before ; and ncT
her memory tcame back with a pang, half plea-
sure, half pain. Somehow, Vivia's thoughts,
by some mysterious rapport, were straying in
the same direction too.

"Monsieur CI iiTe," she said, so suddenly lift-
ing her violet eye* that he was disconcerted,
"do you know Borbarri Black?"

The guilty blood flow to his face, and be
drew back to avoid the innocent eyes.

" I have seen her!"

She laughed a gay little mischievous laugh.

"I know that! Tom told me all about the
May Queen, and how you were struck. I don't
know how it is, but ' Undine' always reminds
me of Barbara."

"Does she?"

" Yes. Barbara was a little watcr-sprito hor-
Rolf, yon know ; and I wonder ebo has not melt-
ed away into a miniature cascade before tliis.
Did she ever tell you she saved ray life ?"

"No!"

" Proud girl ! Spartan Barbara ! Is sho as
handsome as she was long ago ?"

" She is very handsome."

Mentally she rose before him as he spoke in
her mimic chariot, crowned and sceptred, with
eyes shining like stars, and cheeks like June
roses ; and lie drew still farther back, lest the
violet eyes should read bis guilt in his faod.
She drew book a little herself to avoid the fire
of lorgnettes .directed at their box — some at tiie
irre.it Sussex .leiress, others to the noble and
lovely head alone.

" 'Undine' reminds me of her," she went on,
" only ' UndJie' died of a broken heart ; and if
Barbara wore deoeived, I think — "

UNMASKED ; OH,

■4#

She stopped with a blutb and a laugh.

*• Qo on, Miss Shirley."

•• I think— bat I am fooliih, porhapa— that
aho W(>ulil have revenge ; that elio would have
it in her to kill her betrayer, instoaJ of molting
away into the sea of neglect, nml being beard
of no more."

He turned pale aa he looked at the Rtacre,
where Btood tlio false knight nnd liis higlfbcrii
bride, while Undine floated away in tiio moon-
li^it, BJnging her death-song. Aguin Vivia
leaned forward to look.

" Poor, forsaken • Undine' f Ah I how I have
half cried my eyes out over the story I ond
howl hate tunttrcnchoroHS lIuMcbrandl I
oonld -oonld nininst kill him myself!"

'*IIavo you no pity for him?*' siiid Leicester,
turning pal< r, as ho identified himself with the
condemned knight. " Think how beautiful
Bertralda is ; and ' Undine' was only the fish-
erman's daughter I"

"That makes it all the worse I Knights
ahould have nothing to do with fishermen's
daaghter's 1"

"Not oven if they are beautiful ?"

" No ; eagles don't mate with birds of para-
dise."

" IIow haughty you are !"

" Not at all. You know the proverb, ' Birds
of a feather. Poor Barbara ! I do pity her for
being poor !"

" Does wealth constitute happiness V"

*' I don't know ; but I do know that poverty
would constitute misery for mc. I um thankful
I am Victoria Shirley, the heiress of Castle
GLififo ; and I would not be any one else for the
world !"

She rose, as she spoke, with a light laugh.
The curtain had fallen with the laab scene of
" Undine", and Lady Aitnes was rising, too.

"Where are you goTng?" asked Leicester.
" Will you not wait for the afterpiece ?"

"A comedy after 'Undine'! IIow can you
suggest such a thing ! Oh, never mind me. I
will follow you and grandmamma."

So Leicester gave his ana to grandmamma,
and led her fortli, Vivia gathering up her flow-
ing robes and following. Tom, who had long
ago retreated, sulky and jealous, from the field,
came last with Margaret.

The carriage was at the pavement ; the foot-
man held the door open ; the ladies were handed
within — Margaret wrapping her mantle around
her, and shrinking away into a comer the mo-
ment she entered.

Vivia leaned forward, and held out her snowy
hand, with the smile of an angel.

"Good-night, Monsieur. Pleasant dreams!"

He raised the pretty hand to his lipt.

** They will be enchanting. I shall dream of
you !"

Lady Agnes bent forward with a look of tri-
oraph.

** And your answer, Leice«f.er. You ««fft Id
give it to-night. Quick ! Yes ()r no."
..yes!"

CHAPTER xvin.

A DUTirCL OKANPnAroiITKll.

The drive homo was a silent one, or, at least,
it Would l;ave been, only Vivia chatted like a
magpie all the wny. Lady Agnes, sitting with
her luce to llie horse, looked thouglitful and pre-
occupied ; and as for Margaret, silence was her
forte.

Vivia stopped at length, with a pout.

" I declare you are too provoking, grand-
mamma 1 Here I have asked y<>n three tiiiiec
what you tlionght of the Countess Portiei, to-
night, and lier superb opals, and you've never
deigned to answer me once."

Iltr lody8l»i|>, coming out of a bro?n study,
looked at lier displeased granddaughter.

"My dear, excuse me; I was thinking o{
somt'iliirg else. What wore you saying V*

" Ever so many things ; but you'and Marga-
ret won't speak a word. Perhaps Margaret ii
thinking of the conquest she made to-night."

" What oonquestr' asked Lady Agnes, look-
ing suspiciously at her niece, who shrank far-
ther away as she was spoken of, nnd had tnro
scarlet spots on cither cheek quite foreign to her
usual complexion.

'* Tom, of course ! Could you not see he wm
her very humble most obedient servant nil the
evening ? I wisli you joy of your victory, Mar-
guerite."

" Thank you I You forget he only came tn
me in desperation, beonuBo ycAi discarded him
Cousin Victoria."

" Both Tom and Margaret know better thsn
to dream of sueh a thing,"/^uid Lady Agnes,
with dignity. "Tom must marry a fortune;
for he can only take a ]>uur wife on the princi-
ple that what won't keep one will keep two. Ai
for Margaret, I shall see that she is properly set-
tled in life, after you are married."

"O Grandmamma!" said Vivia, laughing.
" What an idea I"

" A very reasonable idea, my dear. You ex-
pect to bo married some time, I trust. And,
apropos of flirtations, what do you call your
tcle-d'tite this evening with my handsome ne-
phew?"

"A cousinly chat, grandmamma, of course,"
said the young lady, demurely.

" Ah I Cousinly chat ! Precisely ! And
what do you think of this new-found cousin?"

Miss Vivift shrugged her pretty sisoulders in
very French fashion, that bad a trick of grand-
mamma's self in it.

" I have not had time to think of him at alL
I only met bim last night for the first time, yea
recollect."

'*And bow long does it take to form yonr
mighty opinions. Mademoiselle Talleyrand. Do
you like him?"

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

Ton ««rt to

no.

TKB.

fl, or, at leait,
olmltcd like «
8, sitting with
(litftil aiitl pre-
'ciico wat ber

pout.

okiiig, grand-
on tliroe timet
!8« I'urtioi, to-

you'vo never

broT-n itudy,
lighter.

OS thinking o{
flaying ¥"
ou'ond Marga-
ps Margaret ii
do to-night."
]y Agnes, look-
mo eiirank far-
f, and hud two
:e foreign to her

11 not SCO he wai
servant all tlie
ur victory, Mar-
ie only came t"^

I discarded him

now better than
,id Lady Agnes,
arry a fortune;
) on the priuci-

II keep two. At
e is properly set-
)d."

rivia, laughing.

' dear. You ex-
t, I trust. And,
I you call your
y handsome ne-

ama, of course,"

'rccisely ! And
-found cousin?"
itty sitoulders in
I trick of grand-

ik of him at alL
iie first time, yoo

ko to form yoni
i Talleyrand. Do

" Yf ; tliat ie, I don't know."

*' Do yen like him better than the Marquis
defit. HilarvT"

** O grauuniamma I" said Vivia, blushing viv-
idly.

'• You have changed your opinions, if yon
do." said Lady Agnes, a little malicioa'sly.
• Long ago, wlion Sir Koliuid gave yon the
pony, named L<'ioestcr, after this newfound
cousin, you insisted on olnuiging the name to
Ciando, en amour. Do you recollect?"

" Grandmamma I I was such n goose, then."

" Exactly. And in six years more, when you
look back, you will iliink you were just as great
a goose now. Of course, you have deoidudthat
Leicester is handsome ?"

"There can bo but one opinion about that,"
said the young lady, ns the cnrriatro stopped be-
fore the door, and she tripped tij^htly up the
steps, humming an air from " Undine .

A most aristocratic and sleepy porter threw
open the door, and tbcv entered the brilliantly-
lighted ball.

Margaret, with s very brief good-night, went
to her room ; and vivia, gnvly kissing her

{[rand mother, was about to follow, when that
ady detained her, and opened the drawing-room
door.

" Not good-night, Victoria. It is only ten
o'clock, and too early to think of bed. Come
in here. I have five words to say to you, that
may ns well be said to-night as to-morrow."

Very much surprised at grnndmamraa's grave
tone, Victoria followed her into tlx! deserted
drawing-room, on whose marble her.rth a few
red embers still glowed ; for the Mi^y evenings
were chilly, and ner ladyship liked fires. The
girl sat down on a low ottomnn beside the elder
lady's couch, looking very pretty with flushed
eheeks and her brilliant eyes, her golden hair
falling damp and uncurled over her shoulders,
fi-om which the gay opera-cloak was loosely
slipping to tho floor. She lifted up an inno-
cent, inquiring face, like that of a little child.

" What is it, ma mere ?*'

Lady Agnes tjok one tiny, taper hand, spot-
less and ringlesB as the free young heart. Miss
Shirley never wore rings.

"Pretty little hand !" she said, caressing it,
the cold blue eyes looking fondly down into tho
beautiful up-turned face ; " and how well an eu-
gagement-rmg '^•ould become it I"

" O grandmamma!"

" You expect to wear an cngageraent-ring
some time, my dear ! You do not always ex-
pect to be Miss Shirley."

" 1 wish I could be. It is suoh a pretty name,
I never want to change it !"

"Little aimpletonl If I have my way, you
■hall change it within two months I"

" Why, grandmamma I"

** Doirt look BO Mtonished, child. One would

think you never had such ftn idea m marriage lo
your life I"

" Fiut, grandmamma, I don't want to be mnr-
ricd I" said Mademoiselle, with the prettiert
pout in tho world , " it is so dowdyish ! And
then I am too young — I am only eightoea t"

" Eighteen is an exoeileut marriageable age,
my dear — I was married a year younger thuu
that I"

'* Grandmamma, have you got tired of me all
of a sudden, that you want to Mod me away ?
What have I done."

" You great baby I What has it done I" mim-
inioking the young lady's tone. " I shall have
you put in pinafores and sent back to the nurs-,
ery, if you don't learn to talk sense I Do you
know why I have rejected all the eligible offers
you have had this winter ?"

>' Because you are the dearest* kindest grand-
mamma in the world, and you knew your Vio
did not want to accept any of them I"

" Nothing of the kind ! Tlicy have been re-
jected because I have reserved you, since you
were twelve years old, for another f"

Up flew the flaxen eyebrows, wide opened the
violet eyes, in undisguised amaze.

" Since I was twelve years old i Why, I waa
onl, that age when I came first firom 1* ranee."

'■RigV.' I And from the first moment I saw
you, your destiny was settled in my mind I"

Lady Agnes was certainly a wonderful woman.
She ought to have been at the head of a nation
instead of at tho head of the fashionable society
of London. The calm consciousness of triumpa
radiated her pale face now, and she looked down
like an empress on tho ilaxen-haircd fairy at
her feet, snr.iiug, too, at the look of unntterahle
wonder on the pretty countenance.

" Can you guess who this favored gentleman
ia, my dear ?"

" Guess ! Oh dear me, no, grandmamma I"

« Try I"

" It can't be— it can't be—"

" Who ?" said Lady Agnes, curiously, as she
stopped with nn irrepressible little laugh.

" Tom ! You never can mean Tom, grand-
mamma?"

"Tom! Oh what a child! You may well
call yourself a goose I Of course nut, you lit-
tle idiot. I mean a very different person, in-
deed — no one else than Leicester Clino !"

The hand Lady Agnes held was suddenly
snatched away, and the girl covered her ft?,ce
with both, with a beautiful movement of modestv.
Lady Agnes laughed — her short, satirical laugli.

"Don't blush, dear child I There is nobody
here but grandmamma to see it ! What do yoa
think of your intended bridegroom f"

" To think that I should have laaghed and
talked with him as I did to-night!" said Vivia,
iu a choking voioe, as she turned away her hid-
den face, "and he knowing this I O grand-
mamma, what have you done?"

VXMASKED; OR,

" IT^tbini; tbut yon neoil po 'ato lij'sterics
abont ! Are you never goinj? to laugh nnd tiilk
with the person yon inteiiil to innrry ?"

She did not B|ieak, niid the la<ly saw that the
arertod cheek was scarlet.

'* You are right iu thinking he knows it. lie
does ; I told him to-day, and ho haa oonscntcd !"

No answer.

"Uo admirea you exceedingly— lie loves yon,
I am sure, and will tell you so ftt the proper
opportunity. Nothing could be more desirable,
nothing more suitable thaa this m^ttcii. I havo
set my heart on it, and so liae Sir RohinJ, for
year3. You will ho the happiest bride in the
world, my daughter !"

The heiress of Cnstle Gliffe, one liau>1 still
shading the averted face, the other ouain held in
grandmamma's, the scarlet cheek vailed by the
falling hair, thj graceful little figure drooping,
never spoke or looked round.

" lie is everything the most romantic raaiflen
could wish — young, handsome, agreeiVble. a man
and a gentleman, every inch ! Then he ia a
Cliffe — not your cousin, though ; consins should
never marry — and heir to a fortune second only
to your own."

Still silent.

"Child!" cried Lady Agnes, impatiently,
" what are you thiniu^'^ of? are you asleep ? do
you hear me?"

"Yea, grandmamma."

"Then why don't you answer! You will
revcr dream of refusing, surely."

It came so hesitatingly, though, that the lady,
who had been leaning easily back, sat up very
straight and lookc 1 at hor.

•' Victoria, I am surprised at you ! Did you
ever dream for a moment } w would be left lo
choose any stray coxcomi), such as girls are
given to take a fancy to ! llavu you not always
understood that your marriage was to be arrang-
ed by your guardians, myself aud your father V '

"Docs papa know of this?"'

'• Certainly I I told him to-day, after dinner."

Vivia rcniombereil, now, that papa and grand-
mamma had been closeted in close conveis; for
over an hour, after dinner ; and how the Colonel
had come out, looking very grave, and had
given her a glance in passing, half-tender, half-
mirthful, half-sad ; had declined accompanying
t'tcm to the theatre, and had solaced himself
with cigars all the rest of tiie afternoon. She
Btartod up now at the recollection.

"Grandmamma, I must see pana! I muat
apeak to pupa about this to-niglitl"

Lady Agnes sat up very stately and dis-
pleased.

" Is it necessary you should speak to hini be-
fore you answer me, Miss Shirley ?"

"O grandmamma, don't be angry! but I feel
■0 — BO strange ; and it 'n all so sudden and
^ueer!"

" Rentembcr, Victoria, tli.it I hive set my
heart on thia Miatter, and that It hns been set on
it for years. Take care you do not disappoint
rac !"

Victoria Knelt softly down, her beautiful eyes
ill ltd with tears, nnd touched the still smooth
wiiite hand with her lips.

'• G:iindmftnima, you know I would not disap-
point y«Mi for all the world ! Surely, it is little
as I cttfi do, after all these years of care and
love, to yield my will to yours! But, I must
— I mnst see papa !"

" Very well. You will find him in the libra-
ry, 1 4fiare say ; but I must have your answer
to-night."

'' Yoa shall. I will be back here in ten min-
utes."

"That is my dutiful little granddoughter."
said Lady Agnes, otooping to touch the pretty
ple.ading lips with her own. " Go, then ; I will
wait here."

The fairy figure with the golden hair floated
down the staircase, through the hall, and into
the library. An odor met her at the door — not
the odor of sanctity, but the fragrant one of ci-
gars, heralding the gentleman who sat in the
crimson ana-chair by the window. The gas
had been turned down, and one flickering ray
ahme pierced the darkness like a lance. The
lace curtains had been drawn back, and the
pale starlight shone in and rested on the Colo-
nel, sitting witii his back to the door, nnd his
eyes looking up at their tremulous beauty.
One hand rested on a paper on bis knee ; the
other absently held a cigar that had gone out
long ago. Ihe handsome an<? ever gay face
looke<l strangely pale and grave, and he did
not see the figure floating through the shadowy
room, with the wan green emeralda flashing
feebly on the white neck, until it sank down
with a cry of "O papa!" beside him; and a
pretty flushed face, and a shower of gold hoir
fell bowed on his knee. Then he looked down
at it, not in snrnriso, but with the same glance,
half tender, hall gay, half sad.

" Well, Vivia, it has come at last, aud my
little girl has found out she is no longer a
child." *

It was a characteristic trifle — character is al-
ways shown best in trifles — that while Lady
Agnes, overlooking in her grand and lofty way
the very memory of so plebeian a personage ub
the dead French actress, always called her
granddaughter Victorio, not Vivia, the Colonel
scarcely ever thought of coiling lier anything
elae.

"Papa! papa!" sobbed Vivi:i, her voice los-
ing itself in a sob. " I never thought of this !"

He laid his hand lovingiy on the little bowed
head.

"I have bern sharper-eyed than you, Vivin,
and have foresi.'cn what was coming long ago,
though my lady-mother has never given m«

credit for

you. to-nii

-Thisn

" And M

" O pap

thing uuti

" Sly dji

the matte

"Oh, I

know wha

unexpeete

nil ! Oh !

France, ii

where I wi

" Foolis

spite of h

tress, " is

ried ?"

"It is
grand mam
"You f(
who is sen
have Leic
groom, y(
nnd you ii
er !" laugh
Voice.
" Papa,
Onolittl
Lis lips, wl
water.
" When
"Tonijj
" And w
'• Pana,
Ills hai
grew stcri
Been it on(
"Never
nnibitious
tiint ever
spoke En^
weigh on(
daughters
Bwer, Vivi
one living
Vivia Ic
and clung
" Dear,
Oh, the uj
affair is, t
lie lau(
" Oh, it'
over the
nud die
I have a
comes oft",
lueantimo
«a\ Yes.
' ' Will
" My ci
you have
ui \iT'

ive set my
1 been act on
; disappoint

'autiTal eyes
still siuooUi

1(1 not disap-
it is little
of onre nnd
But, I mnst

in the libra-
your answer

e in ten min-

nddaughter."

ih the pretty

then ; I will

I hair floated
mil, and into
.he door — not
int one of cl-
\o sat in the
>w. The gas
Bickering ray
i lance. The
aok, and the
on the Colo-
door, nnd his
iilous beauty,
his knee ; the
had gone out
ever gay face
?, and he did
1 the ehiulowy
raids flashing
it sank down
) bim ; and a
r of gold hair
looked down
same glance,

last, and my
no longer a

iaraotcr is al*
t while Lady
and lofty way
I personage us
8 called her
a, the Colonel
her anything

her voice los-
ught uf this !"
16 littio bowel

an you, Vivin,
ling lung iigo,
ver given ui«

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

credit for so much penetration. She bia toIJ
you. to-night, then V"

•'This moment, papa."

" And what has my Vivia said ?"

" O pupa ! Do you think I conld say any-
thing until I had seen you ?"

" My darling, I have not one word to say in
the matter. Vivia shall please herself."

"Oh, I don't know what to say! I don't
knaw what to do ! It is all go sudden and so
unexpected ! and I don't want to be married at
oil ! Oh I I wish I was back in my beautiful
France, in my dear, dear old convent-home,
where I was always so peaceful and so happy !"

" Foolish child !" said the Colonel, smiling in
spite of himself at the storm of chiMish dis-
tress, " is it then so dreadful a thing to be mar-
ried ?"

"It is dreadful to leave yon, papa, and
grandiuam.r,a, and all Umt I love."

**You forget, Vivia, tlmt it is grandmamma
who is sending you away ! And then you will
have Leicester Clifife to love — your bride-
groom, you know — handsome and dashint,' —
nnd you will soon forget us old folks altogolh-
er !" laughing still, but with a little tremor of the
Voice.

" Papa, when I forget you, I will be dead !"

One little hand lay in his, and he lifted It to
Lis lips, while the stars shook as if seen through
water.

" When is my Vivia' to answer grandmama?"

"Tonight."

" And what does she intend to say?"

'' Papa, you know I must say Yes!"

Ilis hand closed over hers, and his muuth
grew stern and resolute, as Lady Agues had
seen it once eighteen years before.

"Never, my girl, unless you wish it! The
ambitious drea.MS of all the Cliffca and Sliirleys
tliiit ever existed, from the first of them who
spoke English at the Tower of Babel, shall not
weigh one feather in the scale against my
daugiitcr's inclinations ! Let your heart an-
Rwer, Vivia, Yes or No, as it chooses ; nnd no
one living shall gainsay' it!"

Vivia looked lialf frightened nt the outbreak,
and clung closer to his protecting arm.

" Dea?', dear piipa! how good yon nro to me !
Oil, the most misemblG thing about the whole
aiFair is, that I shall have to leave you I"

lie laughed his own gay, careless laugh.

" Oh, if tlmt be all. inignonne, wo must get
over the objection. You don't mean to live
nud die an old maid for papa's sake, surely 1
I have R plin of my own, when this wedding
comes off, that I shall tell you about presently;
lueantimo grandmamma .awaiting for you to
say Yes. It will bo Yes, will it not?"'

•' Will yon consent, papa ?"
"My consent dcpenaaon yoi

yours. You're sure
Vdu have no personal objection to this young

Ul 11?"'

" None at all, papn. How could I?"

*' 'Irue ; he is good-looking nnd apiritcd-^T-
•rything the veriest heroine of romance eould
desire ; and the whole affair is very much like
ft romance itself. I must say. And you don't—
but I hardly need ask that question — you don't
care for any one else ?"

" Papa, you know I don't !"

"Very good! I see no reason, then, why
you should not marry him to-morrow. If the
hero of this sentimental plan of grandmamma't
ha<] been any other man than Leicester Cliffe, I
should not have listened to it for a moment t
but as it is, I fancy it's all right ; and we must
conclihle it's one of the marriagea made in
heaven. I own I have a weaknesa for people
fallitig in love in the good old orthodox way, aa
I did myself long ago. Look here, Vivia."

Vivia' had often noticed a slender gold chain
that her father wore round bis neck, and won-
dered what talisman was attached. Now he
withdrew it, displaying a locket, which he open-
ed and handed to her. Vivia looked at it with
awe. The beautiful uplifted eyes; the dark hair,
half waves, half curls, falling back from the
oval face; the superb lips smiling upon the
gazer— site knew it well. Reverentially she
liftetl it to her lips.

" It is my mamma — my dear dead mamma I"

" It is ! nnd next to you, my Vivia, I have
prised it through all those years as the most
precious thing I possessed. I give it to you,
now. and vou must wear it all your life I"

" I shall wear it over my ^heart till I die !
But, papa — "

She had been looking at it with strange in-
tentnesa, and now she glanced up at him with •
puzzled face.

"Well, Vivia?"

" Papa, it ia the oddest thing ; but, do you
know, 1 think it resembles somebody I've seen."

•'Who?'

" You will laugh, perhaps, but it is Barbara
Black ! It is a long time since I have seen her ;
but I have a good memory for faces, and I do
think she looks like this."

The Colonel leaned forward and looked at it
thoughtfully.

" I have 0otice<l it before. There is some-
thing in the turn of the head .and in the smile
that is like Barb.ira; but we see these chance
rf'Semblances every da}'. Are you not afraid
Lady Agnes will be tired waiting ?"'

"I will go to her in a moment, papa!" she
said, kis^iing the likeness again, and placing it
round her neck. " But first tell me about the
plan you spoke of, after I am — " she atoppedi
blushing.

"Married, Viva!" he said, laughing.

" Yes, papa. You spake of m plan, yoa

;now

" I did, ainl here it ia I"

lie pointed, as ho spoke, tu the paper, w

UNMASKED ; OR,

wfli filled with accounts of tlio xrnr. whose echo
from the fruten ehorca of Russia was ihon
clanging throiieb Llie world. A grcnt victory
had just bcun gained, and the colunius wire
dark with devds of l>iood and heroism. Vivia
clasped her buuds, and turned pale, with a prc-
senttueDt of whut wad coming.

"It is hardly tli« thing," enid the Colonel,
"that an old soldier, like myself, should loiter
here iu inglorions idleness, while such deeds ns
these are making men famous every day. Now
that Yivia is to leave, the old house at homo
will be rather dreary for comfort, and I shall be
off for Sebastapool within a week after you be-
come Mrs. Glifte."

She did not speak. She clasped her hands
on his shoulder, and dropped her face thereon.

"The plan is — Lady Agnes has the whole
thing arranged — that you and she and Leicester
(for she intends accompanying you) arc to pass
'he summer in France and Switzerland, the
winter in Italy, enjoy the carnival in Venice,
Holy Week in Rome, and come back to Clifton-
lea m the following spring, so that you will be a
whole year absent. Meantime I shall be storm-
ing redoubts, and leading forlorn hopes, and
writing letters, in the Russian trenches, to my
pretty daughter, who will be—"

" Praying for you, papa !"

He had felt his shoulder glowing wet with
tears, and before he could speak, she had risen
and glided lightly from the room.

Up-stairs, Lady Agnes was pacing up and
down, in a little fever of impntieuce. Vivia
paused fur a moment, hb she passed on her way
to her own room.

" I will do every thing ycu wish, grandmanw
ma!" site suid. *• Good night!"

Conquering Lady Agues! What a radiant
smile she cast after the graceful form, disap
pearing in its own chamber. But once tlKre,
the bride-elect fell down on her knees by the
window, and buried her face in Ler haiidH, feel-
ing that the shining stream along which she had
floated all her life was becoming turbid and
rough, and that she wos drifting, without rudder
or compass, into an unknown sea, void of sun-
shine or shore. So long she kuelt there., that
the stars waxed pale and went dimly out, one
by one, before the j,'ray ey«8 of the coming
morning, and one— the morning »,tar — looked
brightly down on her alone. Well might Vivia
keep vigil. In one hour her whole childhood
had passed from her Uke a dream.

CHAPTER XtX.

BACK AGAIN.

Once more the oatliedral- bells were cracking
their brazen -broats ringing out peals of joy ;
onc<; more there were triumphal arches all along
jHigh street t-) the very gates of Castle Cliflfe,
! with "Welcome, Rose of Sussex!" "Long life
and happiness to the beu-css of O&stle Cliffe I"

and a score of other flaming mottoes ; once more
the charity-childrea turned out to strew the
road with (lowers ; once more the town was as-
sembled in gula attire ; once more there were
to be public feasting and rejoicing, and beer
and beef for every "chawbacou" iu Sussex, ad
libitum. Tiint day month there had been shout-
ing for the May Quee^ — now there was shout-
ing for a fur greater personage, no less than the
heiress of Castle Ciitfo.

In the Bunsiiine of a glorious June afternoon,
under the arches of everg: .en and over the
flower-Btrcwn road, came the triumphal chariut
of the heiress, otherwise a grand barouche,
drawn by four handsome grays in silver-plated
harnwss, with out-riders. In this barouche sat
the Colonel and Miss Shirley, Lady Agnes and
Leicester Cliffe. The young lady was kept
busv bowing ; for, as the crowd saw the briglit,
smiling face, they hurrahed again and aga'a,
with much the same enthusiasm as that which
made the Scotch Commons shout whea Mary
Stuart rode among them, " God bless that sweet
face!" In the next carriage came Sir Roland
and Lord Lisle, Tom and Margaret Shirley, and
the two that followed were filled with a croird
of ladies and gentlemen from the city, whum
Lady Agnes had brought down, though they
knew it not, to be present at her grand-daugh-
ter's wedding.

The great gates swung majestically back ud-
dcr tiiu carved arch, emblazoned with the es-
cutcheon of the ClifTes, to let the car of triumph
in ; and the lodge-keeper stood in the door uf
thu Italian cottage, to bow to the passing prio.
cess. The flag on the domed roof, flung out its
folds proudly to the breeze, and a long^ line of
servants, many old and gray iu the service of
the family, stood drawn up in the hail to bij
them Welcome. There, too, stood Mr. Sweet,
ever smiling and debonnaire, the sunshine seem-
ing to glint and scintillate iu his yellow hair
and whiskers, in his jingling jewelry and smiliDi;
mouth, until he made one wink again to look
at him. All sorts of miracles had been work-
iun' iu tlie house for the last fortnight. A whole
rogiuieut of upholsterers had been sent dowu
from London, to set every room topsy-turvv
and the servants distracted, and to make them
perfectly resplendent with damask and velvet.
And now the heiress of all this wealth and splen-
dor, fair ond youthful, h?r cy«'8 filling witii
teors, was entering, leaning on the arm of lur
hero of a father, stately and handsome ; and
some of the servants were wiping their eyes, too,
and whispering how like she was to all the
Cliffed generally, but particularly to the ah-
be£8, whose portrait hung in the liall above.

Marshaled by (he housekeeper, evervbodv
hurried off to their rooms to dress for duiue'r.
Vivia went to hers (the Rose Room), where b1i6
had slept the first night she ever entered Castle
Cliffe. In all the changes and preparations it

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

38 ; once more

to strew the

town was aa-

po there were

ing, aud beer

iu Sasaex, ad

ftd been sbout-

re was about-

> leas tban tbc

lue afteruoon,
and ovc-r the
impbal cbariut
Lud barouche,
n silver- plated
s baruuohe eat
idy Agnca and
iidy was kept
saw the bright,
ain and aga'o,
aa that which
ut wbea Mary
bieaa that awoet
me Sir Roland
ret Shirley, and
with a crond
Lhe city, wham
n, though they
p grano-daugU-

Ically back vin-
)d with the es-
) car of triumph

in the door uf
e passing pr:n-
lof, flung out its

a long line of

the service of
the ball to hiJ
,ood Mr. Sweet,

BUDshine eeetu-
bia yellow hair
elry and smiliDi;
k again to Juok
bad been work-
uight. A whole
been sent dowu
am topsy-turvy
1 to make thvm
aak and velvet.
vcalth and aplen-
)«'a filling witii

the arm of lur
handsome ; nud
»g their eyes, too,
I was to all the
laily to the ab-
le hall abov'.'.
eper, evervbody
ilresB for <Jinu>r.
loom), where sli«
er entered CastU
1 preparations xt

bad not been altered, by her own espeoial re-
qaeat ; and she danced round it like the happy
child alio was, glad to bo huoie again. There
stood the dainty bod in the recess, guarded by
the watchful angel; there was the picture over
the mantel — the majestio figure, with the halo
round the head, blessing little children ; and
there, yes, there was one change, there was
another picture — a fair-haired boy, witli a face
beautiful as an angel; tlie picture that had
once hung io the villa in Gliffewood, and sent to
her by Sir Roland within the last fortnight, as
having decidedly the beat right to it. Alone aa
aho was, her cheeks grew hot and criniaon at
the sight, and then she laughed to herself oiid
kissed her finger-tips to it, and resigned herself
into the hands of Jeannetto, to make her ))retty
for dinner. And pretty she did look when it
was all over ; for the waa too impatient to go
through the house to see the changes, to waste
time over her toilet. Mr. 8wee% standing in
the hall talking to the housekeeper, looked at
her,' quite lost in admiration, as she came out
in s floating amplitude of bright blue silk, low-
uecked and short-sleeved, according to her cool
custom; her golden hair tnshly curled, falling
around her in an amber cloud ; her blue eyes
shining, her rounded cheeks flushed. Low he
bent before her, with a gleam in his eyes that
waa half admiration, half derision. Now, Vivia
did not like Mr. Sweet, and Mr. Sweet was not
fond of Vivia. The yonng lady had an unwink-
ing way of looking out of her great I lue eyes,
and discerning tinsel from gold, despite its piti-
ful glistening, with much of her grandmother's
eagUj glance; and Mr. Sweet always shrank a
little under those fearless, guiltless eyes.

" He is too sweet to be wholesome, Tom,"
she had said once to her cousin. " No man i hat
always smiles and never frowns, is anything but
a hypocrite."

But to-day she was at peace with the world
and all therein, and she bent her pretty head
and shimmering curls till they flashed back the
sunlight, and then danced down the hall like an
incarnate sunbeam herself.

It was well Vivia knew the old house by heart,
or she certainly would have got lost in the laby-
rinth of halls, and corridors, and passages,
changed as they were now. A certain suit of
oak rooms in the Agnes Tower, with windows
facing the east— she liked a sunny eastern pros-
pect—had been, by the orders of Lady Agnes,
fitted up ostensibly for Miss Shirley ; in reality,
for Mr. and Mrs. Cliffe. There was a boudoir
whose very carpet was a miracle in itself— vio-
lets and forget-me-nots so natural that you
scarcely dared step on them, on a groundwork
of purest white, like flowers blooming in a snow-
bank. There were window curtains of Muo sat-
in, with silver embroidery, untler white lace ;
walls paneled in azure satin and hun\< with ex-
quisite pictures, each of which bad C(»st, in Italy

and Qermany, a small fortune in itself. Tiiere
was a wonderful enbinel of ebony and gold, vases
half as titU as herself, a ceiling whoro silver star;*
shone on a blue ground, and chairs of 8oiu<'
wliito wood, that looked like ivory, cusliioued
in blue satin. There was a rosewood piano in
one corner, with the music she liived on the
rack beside it. Tliero were carved awingiug-
shelves of the same white wood, with uU hir
favorite authors, gayly bound, thereon, from
William Shakspero to Charles Dickens. Thero
were hot-house flowers on the table, and sweet-
voiced canaries, singing in silver-gilt cages ; and
a portrait of herself, resplendent iu the dress
she had worn to Court, smiling |serenely down
on all. And —

" Dear, dear grandmamma!" she murmuivd.
" How good, liow kind, how generous she is !'*

The next of the suite was an oratory — a qu««r
room, fitted up as a curiosity, to be shown to
visitors. The floor was of black polished oS'k,
inlaid with polished wood of different colors iu
fanciful mosaic, and slippery as ice. The walls
were hung with faded silken arras, rcpresentiug
the adventures of Genevieve of Brabant, the
work of some ancestress, whoso fingers had li;ng
ago mouldered into dust ; and standing out ou
brackets around the four walls was carved iu
ebony the Way of the Cross, representing the
whole mournful iourney to Calvary, from rthe
Judgment Hall of Pilate to the sepulchre whe'ie-
in no man had ever lain before. Tlicre wa» a
great altar carved in oak,with a toll length statao
of the Madonna crushing the head of the S'tr-
pent, aud opposite was another of Eve being
tempted by Iho same enemy of mankiud. A
dingy painting of the Last SiippcV served for au
altar piece ; before it was a prie-dieu, or kutel"
ing-bench, carved also in ebony, with a great
iAuniinated Roman missal thereon. A gothio
window of stained glass, with the figures of the
Twelve Apostles gorgeously painted, admit-
ted the afternoon sunshine in rainbow hues.
Everything in this room, a visitor would think,
was at least a century old. Nothing of the kind ;
Lady Agnes had had them all brought from Ger-
many for the occasion. Vivia looked round her
in delight, and having knelt for a moment to
murmur a prater bcfo-e the grand altur, passed
on to the next — the dressing-room. It was a
bath-room as well as a dressing-room ; the walls
were incrusted witii mirrors, reaching f: om floor
to ceiling, with fragrant O'-dar closets on either
hand. On one of the tables lay a dressing-case
of mother-of-penri, and the carpet and hangiu

Jf<r1'

were of dark crimson. The next was tlie bed-
chamber, a snperb room, witii four lorgo win-
dows draped in green velvet, out in autiquo
points, and lined with white sutin, overlooking
an extensive prospect of terraces and slirub-
bery, and plantations and avcnu»-s. Green and
white were the pervn'1>'>g tints throughout the
the room ; the bed-hangings were of tiiosi

UNMASKED; OK,

•liaJca ; tlie cosy-oliairs and lounges were nphol*
itered ia green velvet, and tbe carpet looked like
green moBB with wreaths of white roses laid on
it. And then came another dressing-room,
whose shades were amber and jet, which made
Vivia open her eyes ; and beyond it there was
a littio btudy, with rosewood »liclvcs roimd three
sides of the room,weil filled with books, and there
was a gentleman's Turkish dressing-gown of
bright scarlet and yellow, lying over the back
uf an arm-chair-, and ou the t:ii>lc was a lung
Turkish pipe, with an amber mouth- piece, and
beside a crimson foz. The other side of the
room seemed to be a small armor}', for there
were swords and daggers of Damascus steel,
whose keen blue glitter uiado hur flesh creep ;
and pistols and revolvers, at sight of wliiclx she
recoiled precipitately to tlio otiicr end of the
room.

"Grandiaamraa is determined ihat I siinll
have a variety of dressing-rooms!" thought
Vivia, in horrified surprise ; " bu. what all
those horrid things nro for, I cannot imagine!
Does she expect mo to wear that red and yellow
dressing-gown and flumiu<^ cap, and smoke that
dreadful long-stemmed chibouque, I wonder?
I ehall go and sec !"

Each of those rooms had two doors, one open-
ing on the outer hall, the ctiier in a straight
line communication with each other. Vivia
hurried on to the beautiful boudoir, and W'th
the free, light elastic step peculiar to her, trav-
ersed the ball and corridor, the last of which was
her own. The door of the lady's dressing-room
was njar, and the girl looked in.

^'GraLdmamma, I have been throagh the
rooms, and they are charming 1 I never saw
anything prettier in my life!"

Lady Agnes was sitting listlessly, with her
eyes closed and her hands folded, before a great
Peycao mirror, under the hands of her maid.
At the sound of the voice, she opened her eyes
and looked round in s'irprise.

" My dear child, is this really you ? How is
it possible you are dressed already ?"

Miss Shirley pu"ed out a watch about the size
of a penny-piec , set with a blazing oirelet of
diamonds, and consulted it with precision.

" I was dressed just twenty minutes ago,
firandmamma!''

" What an absurd toilet you must have made,
then ! C»m.3 in and let mo look at you !'-

Vivia came in and made a respectful little
housemaid's courtesy.

'* my Lady! don't soold, if you please I I
was dying to see the rooms ; and how oould I
think of my toilet the very first hour I got
homo?'

" Well, you are tolerable," said Lady Agnes,
leaning over with a critical eye, " but too
piniu, «hi)<I ; simplicity is very nice in young
gi»-U. hutaoiu" ornament — aflower, a few pearls,
ftvcrylhin^ln keeping, remem' er." (She herself

was blaxing in jewels.) " And yon Lave rathet
too much of a milkmaid flush on your cheeks ;
but still you are very well. Where did yoa
say you had been ?"

"To see the oak rooms in the Agnes Tower.
They are lovely, grandmamma, especially that
dear, delightful oratory, which is prettier even
than" — Vivia paused suddenly, and Lady Ag*
nes, with a little, malicious laugh, finished the
sentence :

^ Than the famous oratcire in the Chateau St.
Hilary, which you have described so often, and
of which this is a copy. Well, my dear, as yoii
declined being mistress of that, I determined
you should possess a prettier one ; and so yoa
really like it?"

"Of course: who could do othctwise! But,
grandmamma, I don't understand why I'm to
use two dressing-rooms, and what all those
shocking swords and pistols are fur !''

"Dear child!" said Lady Agnes, in German,
that Mademoiselle Hortcnse, the maid, might
not undcr^^^and, " they arc not thine alone) but
Mr. and Mrs. Cliffe's! The amber dressing-
room and study are your husband's I"

•' Oh I' said Vivia, laughing and blushing.

" After your bridal-tour, you know, they will
be of?eupied — not until then ; and afterward,
when you visit the Castle. And now, Victoria,
there's something else I want to speak to you
about — the announcement of your engagement.
As I acceded to your silly entreaties in town, and
did not announce it there, I think it ia only
propi-r that our guests should be informed im-
luediatcl}'. As the marriage is to take place
itself within a fortnight, the notice even now
will be absurdly short."

" O graudmamma— no I don't publish it yet,
not on any account 1"

" Victoria, I'm surprised at you 1 I have no
patience with you? Now why, for Heaven's
sake, might not the whole world know it?"

" Grandmamma, you know very well. I told
you ia town why. I should feel so ashamed
and BO silly I and I am sure I should not be able
to speak a work to Monsieur, my cousin, again,
until after the ceremony. And then, to think
that every one in Cliftoulea, and in Lower OliflFe,
and in Lisleham, and all round tiie cou itry will
talk about it, and my name will be ba.idied on
every lip, high and low ; and how the trousseau,
and settlciMents, and parure will be discussed I
and how the sentimental people will wonder if
it was a love-match or a mariage de convcnance ;
and how they will conjecture over there in the
town what sort of an appetite I had the day be-
fore, and how many tears I will shed on being
led to the altar. And then those people here —
how, for the next two or three weeks, it will be
the sole subject of discussion ; how they will
sliower conscious smiles and glances at me,
whenever I appnmch, and make our united
names their theme over the billiard and oacd

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

have rathef
»ur cheeks ;
re did joa

;ne8 Tourer,
ccially that
rettier even
1 Lady Ag-
finishcd the

Chateau St
o often, and
lear, as yoa

determined
and so yon

wise ! But,

why I'm to

it all those

in German,
maiti, might
e alone^ but
ler dreesing-

blushing,
>w, they will
.1 afterward,
ow, Victoria,
peak to you
engagement.
) in town, and
ik it la only
informed im-

take place
ce even now

iiblish it yet,

[ I have no
fur Heaven's
low it?"
well. I told

1 BO ashamed
Id not be able
iousin, again,
jcn, lo think
Lower Oli fife,
couitry will

) ba.idied on
ho trousseau,
e discussed I
ill wonder if
s convenance ;
there in the
1 the day be-
icd on being
>eople here —
tks, it will be
ow they will
luoes at me,
) our united
ard and oacd

tat>leB ; and tell each other what an excellent
match it is ; and move away, and luave us
alone, if we chanoo by accident to come togctlier
amon)^ the rest ; and I will be congratulated,
and kissed, and talked at. O dreadfufl I sliouKl
never survive it I"

All this liad been poured forth with such cx-
oited veliemencc, that Lady AgU'S opened her
liglii", blue eyes in surprise, and Macleinuiselle
llortonse, witbovit understanding a worJ, stared
an 1 pricked up her cars. As slio stopped, witli
very red clieeksj and very briglit eyes. Lady
Agues broke out, with energy :

" Victoria, you arc nothing but a little fool P'

" Y 3, grandmamma ; but p-p-pleose don't
tell!"

"Now, grant me patience! Was there ever
anything heard like this ? Pray tell me, Miss
iShirley, if you are ashamed of your coming
wedding?"

" O grandmamma!"

" la ib ever to be announced at all, or are our
quests to l<now nothing of it, until the wedding
morning — tell me that?"

" Oil, not 80 bad as that I Won't nes* week
do?"

"This week will do better! Are you not
aware that Leicester leaves to-morrow for Lnn-
ilon, to arrange about the settlements, and will
not return within three or four days of the
day?"

•' \ es, grandmamma ; and I don't want you
lo Bi\v anything about it until ho comes back."

" Victoria, tell me — do you care at all for your
future husband ?"

Victoria wilted suddenly down.

'• I — I think so, grandmamma.**

" I — I think BO, grandmamma !" said her La-
dyship, mimicking her tone. " Oh, was there
ever Buch another simpleton on the face of the
earth I Victoria, I am ushamed of you ! Where
ore you going now ?"

" To the Queen's Room. Don't be angry,
grandmamma. I shall do everytiiing you tell
rue ia all other ways and all other matters ;
but, please, like a dear good grandmamma, let
tue have mine in this I"

It was not in hum' i nature to resist that
sweet coaxing tone, nur that smile, half gay,
half deprecating, nor yet the kiss with which
the grand lady's lips were bribed and sealed.
Lady Agnes pushed her aw ay, half smiling, half
petulant.

" You're all the same as a great baby, Victo-
ria, and altogether spoiled by that other great
baby — your pnpa ! Go away I"

Laughing, V'otoria went, and singing to her-
self a merry chansonette, danced along the old
'halls to the Queen's Room in the Queen's Tow-
er. In this particular room, said the traditions
of the house. Quern Elizabeth had slept ; and,
frtim (hat meuiorahlc time, everything had rc-
lUiiintid precisely as tlie great Queen had left ib.

It bad been the awo and admiration of Viiria's
childhood— this room— and it seemed filled
with ghostly rustling now as she entered, as if
good Queen Bess's one silk dress still rattled
stiffly ngiiinst iho moulded wainscoting. It was
a dism.iily-old npartmcut, very long, and very
low-ceilingcu, ith great oaken beams crossing
it transversely, and quartered in the centre in
the snmo wood, with tiie arms of Cliffo sur-
mounted by the Moody hand. A huge bed, in
which the Seven Sleej)ers might have reposed,
with lots of room to kick about in, stood in the
centre af tho dusty oak floor, and the daylight
came dimly through two narrow, high windows,
with minute diamond paues set in leaden ease-
ments, all overrun with ivy. There was a black
gulf of a fire-place, wherein yule logs had bias-
ed a Christmas tune ; and there was a huge
granite mautel-picce, with a little ledge ever so
far \ip. Tliere must have been giants in the
days it was used, and Vivia kissed the cold
gray stone, and read tho pious legend carved on
it in quaint letters : '• Mater Dei, memento me I"
(Dear reader, if you've nevi r loved wood or
stone, you cannot understaml Vivia.) All sorts
«)f grotesque lieaJs wore carved on the oak pan-
els — sylphs and satyrs, tods and goddesses
heavenly and infernal ; and opposite each oth-
er, one of tho niart\Ted abbesses and Queen
Elizabeth. This last was a sliding panel open-
ing with a secret spring, and lending by a sub-
tcrrancons passage out into t!ie park— a secret
passage by which many a crime had been con-
cealed in days gone by, i.nd which Vivia knew
well, and had ofien passed through in her
childhood. She had been walicir ' r^und tho
room examining the carvings, an--" looking at
her own pretty self In a dusty ol :iiirror, be-
fore which the royal tigress of England had
once stood combing out her red mane, when
she was interrupted in a startling and mysteri-
cus way enough.

" Victoria !"

Vivia started and looked round. Tho Toioe,
soft and low, was close beside her — came actual-
ly from the carved lips of the nun in the paneL
' " Victoria !"

Again from the lips of wood came the name
clear and sweet. She started back and gazed
with blanchsd cheeks and dilating eyes on the
beautiful dust-stuijed face. Once more came
the voice, vibrating clear and distinct through-
out the room.

" Victoria Shirley, the hour of your downfall
is at hand ! For six years you have walked
your way with a ring and a clatter over the
heads of those whose handmaid you were born
to be ; but the hour comes when might shall
succumb to right, and you Bhall be thrust out
into the slime from which you have arisen!
Ileiress of Castle Cli£fe, look to yourself, and
remember that the last shall be first, and the
first shall be lost!"

nor

UNMASKED; OR,

Tlie faint, low yoice took a Btcrn nnJ meuao-
ing tone at the close, anJ then died avray in
impreasivo eilence. Vivia bad been Btanding
Orcathlees, and Bpel]-bound, and terror-struck,
with her eyes on the carved nan's face over the
door. When it ceased, tho spell was broken,
and Vivia turned in horror to fly. Not lor
worlds would bIic have gone near it to pass
through the d<-or ; so she touched the spring in
th'j secret panel, on<l p»ssed out into tlio open-
ing beyond. As it closod Bhutt'ni^ out tho last
ray of'light and leaving liar in utter darkness,
she caught a glimpse of a dark figure disa|>-

S earing before her in tho gloom, and she ilew
own along the spiral staircase— how, she
scarcly over oflorward know. At tlio foot was a
long arched storio paasago, nearly a quarter of
a mile in extent, ending in a wiich'rness of ivy
and juniper, cioao beside one of tiic laurel
wallis. Through it she flew, pale and breath-
less, paiisJiig n-t until site found lierself out in
•unshino, with tho birds singing in the branches
overlica.1, and the pure breezes sweeping up
eool and sweet from the sua. Sometiiing else
was there to reassure her also — a figure walking
up and doven tiie laurel walk, and smoking fu-
riously. It turned the instant after she emerged
from the tangled wilderne^js of ivy, and, seeing
lier, took tiie cigar between his finger and
thumb, and stared with all hi* niiglit. Vivia's
courage and presence of mind came back all at
once.

" Docs Monsieur think I have dropped from
the skies !" she osked, coquettishly, for, being
more than half French, Mademoiselle Genevieve
took to coquetry as naturally as a wasp takes to
stinging.

"Mademoiselle", said Leicester Cliffe, flinging
away his cigar, and coming up, " 1 might very
easily bo pardoned for mistaking you for an
antjel, but, in the present instance, I merely
tbuik you a. J a witcii I Two seconds ago I was
oil alone ; no one was visible in any direction
but myself. At the end of these two seconds I
turn round, and lot there Btands before me a
nhining vision in gold and azure, like the queen
of the fairies in a moonlit ring. Will you van-
ish if I coTie any nearer?"

" You may coino and see !"

He needed no second bidding. And ns he
•tood before her, looki:ig at her in astonishment,
he saw how pale she was, and tiie excited gleam
in her serene blue eyes.

" What has happened ? Has anything fright-
ened jou ? Why are you looking 'so pale?" be
Mked.

She shivered, drew closer to him involuntarily,
And glanced behind ber with a startled face.

"YJvia, what in it? Something has gone
wrong I"

•'Yes

you

oome away from here, and I will tell

Be drew her hand within his arm, and turned

down the laurel wnlk. It ended in a long
avenue leading past the old ruin ; and, as they
entered, ho asked again :

" Well, Vivia, what has gone wrong, and how
came you to appear there so suddenly and mys-
teriously?"

" There is nothing myaterious about my get-
ting there. You know tho subterraneous pas-
sage leading from the Queen's Tower to tho
park ? I merely came tlirough that."

"A pleasant 'notion I to come through that
dark and rheumatio old vault, when you could
have stepped out through the front-door with
double the case and convenience ! Did you see
the gliost of Queen Elizabeth on the way?"

*• No, Monsieur ; but if you laugh a't me, I
shall not say another word. The mysterioos part
is to come. '

" Oh, ther*: iis i; ».. 'tery, then — that's refresh-
ing! Let me hear itt"

•• You are laughing at me !"

" By no means ! Pray don't keep me in this
torturing suspense !"

"Monsieur, I bad been through the house
looking at the improvements, and I came to the
Queen's Room, to see if thev had been sacrileg-
ious enough to alter that, la one of the panels
there is cawed the head of a nun, the abbess
Who—"

" Oh, I know perfectlif ! Lady Edith Cli&e,
wiio was murdered there in the old monastery —
what else ?"

" Monsieur, there was a voice — it seemed to
come from that head — and it said tilings it chills
my blood to think of! I think there was no one
else in the whole tower but myself; I am sure
there was no one else in the room ; and yet,
there was that voice, which seemed to come from
the carved head ! Don't laugh at mo, Monsieur,
I am telling the whole truth !"

Monsieur was not disposed to laugh — not at
all. He was tliinking of the Nun's Grave, and
of tho warning voice so mysterious and so sol-
emn. This voice was possibly the same. Vivia
looked up with her earnest eyes.

" What does Monsieur think of this?"

"That there is not the least reason in the
world to be afraid. Mademoiselle, I, too, have
heard that voioe !"

"You!"

••Erenso!"

"Where?"

"At the Nun's Grave!"

*'0 Monsieur, I, too, heard it there long ago!
I was a child then, and I was there alone with
Barbara Black !"

"I, too, was alone with Barbara Black!"
thought Leicester, but he only said : " Do not
distress yourself, Miss Shirley — believe me that
mysterious voioe is not supernatural !"

"What, then, is it?"

" That I do not altogether know t I have a
snspioion ; if it prove » oertMntiy, you will yet

respec
"and

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFR

High at me, I
lysterions part

-that*8 refresh-

be able to laugh over to day's terror. Mean-
time, I have sometliirig else to speak to yott
about, as I believe this in Uic only time since I
have liaJ tlie pKnBiiru of seeing yuu, that we
have ever been for fivo luiiiutes utterly and
completely niorie together!"

Vivift turned p-Ue, auJ drawing her hand sud-
denly from Ilia urin,i<tuopod tugitther thedaitiies
growing under tlnnr feet, lie looked at hor
with a smile that lind a little of sarconm in it.

"Are you aware, Mias Shirley, we are to be
married in a fortnight V"

Vivia, with a pule face and stdrtled eyes,
looked round her for a moment, aa if meditat-
ing flight; and Leicester, with an inward laugh
at her evident dread of a '(.ve-scene, took her
band and held it iirtnly. \

" Are you sure you know we are to be mar-
ried, Vivia ?■'

" Yes, Monsieur '." very faintly.
" You know, too, that I leave to-mcrrow for
London, to arrange the final settlements, and
will not return till within a day or two before
the wedding."
'•■ Yes, Monsieur !"

"Aud though I never h.ad an opportunity of
telling you bo, you know, of course, I love
you!"

"Grandmamma told mo so, Monsieur!"
Leicester smiled outright at this; but as she
was not looking, it did not matter. Without
lifting h»r eyes, she tried to release her hand.
" Please to lot me t^o, Monsieur Cliffe."
" You'll run away if i do."
"No ; but it is time we were returning to the
iiouse — the dinner-bell will ring directly."

»• Ono moment only ! As we are to be mar-
ried so soon, it strikes me I should liko to know
whether or not you care for me "

With her released hand Vivia was tearing
meroilossly to pieces the daisies ahe had pulled.
Bhe was fcllenfc so long, with face averted, that
be rcptated the question :
•• Mademoiselle does not answer."
'♦ If I do not answer, Monsieur," siie said, with
infinite composure, looking straight before her,
" it is because I was thinking bow to say what I
feel on t!:" *=iubjeot. If I marry you, I shall
love vou, depend on that. Your honor, or as
much* of it as will be in ray keeping, shall be
dearer to me than my own life, and your hap-
piness will be the most sacred thing to me on
earth. But as for love, such as I have real of
and beard of from otuer girls, I kn>w nothing
of it, and if you ask me for passion, I have it

membered bow he had stood there laitt, and
how different a love had been given him then.
Much as he admired the heiress of Castle
Cliffe, noble and high-minded, unworthy as he
felt to touch the hem of her dress, he know that
Barbara was a thousand tiuK-a more to his taste.
MittS Siiirley was an angel, and he was a great
(leal too much of theeanh, earthy, not to prefer
the dar'', passionate daughter of Ids own world,
lie did not want to marry an angel. Had Miss
Shirley been a fisherman's daughter, ho would
as soon have thought of falling in love with a
drift of SCO-foam as she. But it was too late for
all such thoughts now, and he suppressed a
sigh, and looked down at the fallen trt'e. He
started to see the carved initials staring him
full ia the face, like reproachful gh-'Stx, and the
guilty blood oame crimson to his brow. Vivia
saw them, too, and was leaning on the grass,
looking at them ourionaly.

"Do look at this, Monsieur I B. B. and L.
S. C. Why, those last are your initials ; did
you carve them ?"

*' I think so— yes I" be said, carelessly.

" And whose are the others t"

Leicester Cliffe did not like the idea of will-
fully telling a lie, but it would never do to say
" Barbara Black" ; so be answered, with the

Dot to give! I love my papa best of lUl on
earth ; next to him, and in a diiforent wav, I
respect and — " a little tremor of the voice ;
"and love you! And, Monsieur. I shall be
your true nnd faithful wife until death !"

In speaking, they had drawn near to the
Nun's grave without noticing it. Tiiey were
•tai^i&g on its vei^e now, and one of tltetn re-

guilty color high in bis face

"I don't know! There is the five minutes*
bell ; bad we not better return to tiie house ?"

"I should think eo; what will grandmamma
say ? I have been fully an hour rainhlinu' about
the place, and I love every tree nnd stone in it,
even that frightful, charming, and romantic
Queen's Room. It is like paradise, this place-
is it not, Monsieur?"

"Any place would be like paradise to me
where you were, Vivia !"

She laughed gayly, and they walked away
under the elms, and disappeared. And neither
dreamed of the unseen listener T?ho had heard
every word.

CHAPTER XX.

ACCEPTED.

Away beyond the Nun's grave the green lanes
and windimr avenues of Cliffo Park lost them-
s-.-lves in a dry arid marsh, where tall, blue rock-
ets and fiam<--oolored flowers danced crazy fan-
dangos in the wind, where the sli^ep nnd cattle
gruz«:d in the rank grass, and wln-ru wil<| straw-
berries were sosvn liivo scirlet stars, on thu gold-
en June evening, when the betrotiied lovers
stood talking by the fallen elm. At the head
of the grave whs a wild jungle of tall (urn, and
juniper, and reeds, shaded by tliiok eitns and
lieechcs— n lontly spot, in whodu grecnisii l>lack
i^loom many a dark deed might bo committed,
an I no one the wiser — a place as gloom*' and
-ilent, and lonelv, as the heart of a primeval
forost. But it was not deserted now : crouching
among the fern and reedy blossoms was a figure

!l*\-\

UNMABKED; OR,

in wLito — A slender, girlisli flgure, willi orimaon
buds wrealiied in tliu bauds of her sbining dark
hair— a figure tliat, on coming toward tbe Nun's
Grave, bud diHCovcred two otbers approaching
it from iiu oppudite direction, and had shrank
down hi-ro out of sight. Unseen and unheard,
•be liad lislcnud t<> Ibe whole conversalion ; and
it v/an well neither saw tho terrible eyes gleam-
ing u( on them from tho green vines, or they
■earcely would have walked back to the dinner-
table us composedly and as happily as they did.
She had Blurted at fir^t, flushing redder than
tue flow.>r» in her hair; but this had pnssod
away as quickly as it cume ; and as sbo half-sat,
halNkucIt, and listened, she seemed slowly pe-
trifying, turning from stone to ice. Long after
they went away she knelt there, like something

earvcd in luurblo; he^
color ; her eyes lookin;^ >
a dull, glazed, vacant a
that the red luncts of su. >
ing green gloom had dieo
the eveiiiiii; wind sigliin;;

dress »>' \ face aH one

■y ai'- j.jfore her with

. H:. long she knelt,

' ? p ' ng the shift-

•.:»«3 oy one, and

fiorn tho stirred

restlessly in the branches of tlie elms overhead.
Then she iiroHe. witb u face that no one had ever
■een Barbara Black wear before. They had
seen her in sorrow, in anger, in pride, and joy ;
bat never with a face like that, so set, so stone-
like, so rigidly calm. She might have been a
galvanized corps'- ; only no corpse ever had eyes
wherein the liglit of life burned with so fierce
and steady a glare. She had not gone to Clif-
tonlca that day to see the triumphal procession
enter; always jealously proud, si"* i/ns more
exclusively so now than ever, for t' e sake of an-
other. Ob, no ; it would never do for tho future
bride of Leicester Cliffc to bo splashed with the
mad of his chariot-wheels, like the rest of the
eommon herd ; so, smiling in heart she had
drassed herself in the flowing white robes of
the May Queen, in which he had seen her first,
and gone forth like a bride to meet him.

Of course, ho had been dreaming of her all
day, and losing his sleep thinking of her all
night, and fretting himself into ^ fever ever
•:nce he went awny, to get back to lov^and her
—men uhvays do in such cases! Of course,
tho first visit of so ardent a lover would be to
the spot made sacred by their plighted vowa ;
and she would be there, beautiful and radiant
in her i>ri<lal robes, and be the first to greet
him homo 1 Voung ladies in love are invaria-
bly fools, mid they generally get a fooTa re-
ward. Barbara was no exception ; and verily
«he h ui her reward. As she rose up and turn-
ed away, she tottered, and leaned for a moment
against a tree, witii both hands clasped hard
over her heart.

" O fool I fool I fool I" she cried out, in bitter
•corn of herself. " Poor, pitiful fool ! to think
f,ha£ this Ixart should quail for one instant,
thcfigh trodden under the feet of such a traitor
and dastard as that T'

There was • atrong net-work of tho tall rank
vines in her path, but ahe brushed them aaida
like a cobweb, and went on over tho arid marsh
on her way to tha gates. Bubbling from a rook
very near bfaem, aod sparkling clear and bright
beneath the shadow of the overhanging fern,
waa a crystal spring, with a sea -nymph
watching aver it, and a beautiful little drinking*
cup made from a sea-shell hanging from the
stone girdle round ita waist.

Barbara filled the cup, and was raising it to
her lips, when she stopped. For the carved
face of the goddesa was that of Victoria Shir*
ley, and earved on the rose-tinted shell were
the words :
" Victoria Regia."

Barbara drew ber white lips off her glistening
teeth with a low, derisive laugh, and dashed the
shell so furiously against the aiatue that it shiv-
ered on her stone bosom into a thousand frag-
ments.

" Oh, if that pretty, rosy, smiling face were
only here, how I could beat out every trace of
its wax -doll beauty, and send it back, hideous
and lacerated, for him to kiss I" she said, look-
ing at the unmoved smile on the stone face,
witb tho eyes of a tigress. "^ Pretty little devil I
If that wero she in reality, instead of her stone
imago, how I could throttle her as she stands!
Why, I would rather drink poison than any.
thing on which she had looked ! sooner touch
my lips to red-hot iron than to anything bear-
ing her name!"

She literally hissed the words out througli
her set teeth, without raising her voice ; and
casting one parting look with the same wolfish
eyes on the smiling block of stone, she hurried
on through the park*gatcs, and into the cottage,
just as the lost little pink cloud of sunset was
dipping and fading behind the distant hills.

The cottage looked disorderly and uncomfort-
able as usual, with piles of nets and oars, and
fish-baskets and oil-cloth garments scattered in
the corners, and chairs and tables at sixfs and
sevens, and perfumed with an anciciit and fish-
lika smell. A wood-fire burned on tho hearth,
and the green wood did not mend matters by
vomiting ptiffs of smoke, and the kettle on the
crane seemed in a fair way to boil sometime be-
fore midnight.

In a olmir in tho chimney-corner, smoking se-
renely, sat Mr. Peter Black, his hands in his
Sockets, his bat on his head., and his eyes on the
re ; and Barbara, entering, a spotless and
shining vision, made him look up. Mr. Black
did more than look up— he stared, with his eyes
open to the widest possible extent.

'* Good Lord !" said Mr. Black, still staring,
in the utmost consternation, " whatever is the
motter with the girl ?"

Barbara took a long drink of water, and then/
coming over, rested her arm on the mantel, and^
faced him with perfect cumposure. )

THE HEIRESS OP CABTLE CLIFFE.

T.-?

tho tall rank
i tboin Mid«
10 arid marth
g from a rock
ar and bright
langing fern*
Bott - njrapli
ttle drinking*
ing from the

raiaiug it to

* tho carved

''ictoria Shir*

id siieli wero

ler^liatening
id dashed the
ethat itshiv-
ouaand frag-

ng face wero
very trace of
>ack, liideovui
he said, look-
e atone fuoes
;y little devil I
of her atone
9 she etanda !
on than any-
sooner touch
uy thing bear-

I out througli
:r voice ; and

same wolfish
s, she hurried
bo the cottage,
of sunset wna
tant hills,
nd uucunaforU
lud oara, and
9 scattered in

at Bix«-a and
liciit and lish-
1) tho hearth,
d matters by

kettle on the
sometime be-

r, smoking se*
hands in hia
lis eyes on the
spotless and
>. Mr. Black
, with hia eyes

still staring,
nlever is the

iter, and tlietui
e aiantel, aodi

•« Whot to It, father T"

** What the foul fiend is the matter with
fon f You look as though you bad been dead
k week."

"Am I pale t"

"Pale? It's quite horrible, I tell you. Ilavo
you aeon a ghost V

*« Yea, father."

Mr. Black's jaw dropped to suddenly at this
BTiDounoeraent, and bis eyes opened so wide,
that there aeemed atrong danger of their ever
being able to regain tlieir natural poaitlon
again.

" What— what's that you said V"

" That I had seen a gliost, father — the ghost
of truth and honor forever dead !'*

Before Mr. Black could frame an answer to
this speech, which was to him Greek or tlierea-
abouts, tho door opened, and oil Judith, attir-
ed in promenade costume — thut is, a faded scar*
let cloak, with a hood thrown over her head — en-
tered. Now, Judith's promenading at all be-
yond thrco yards of her own threshold was so
very unusual and striking a circumstance, thnt
Barbara turned to look at her, and Mr. Black
actually took tiie pipe from his lips, nud stared,
if posmblo, harder than ever.

" Why, grandmother," said Barbara, " where
have yo"i been V"

The old Woman threw back the hood of her
cloak, and slioMcd an animated and Bpri(;btly
countenance assho drew up her chair and held
out her hands, with a shiver, to the blaze.

"Ah!"' s:»iil Mr. Black, still holding his pipe,
and still starint,', " that'n just what I should kke
to know. Where have you been ?"

"Up to Cliftonlen,.to bo sure," said Judith,
with a low, dry, cackling laugli, and a sly look
out of her eye^, first at her granddaughter and
then at her son. " Everybody went, and why
conldn't I go among tho rest?"

Mr. Black gave vent to his suppressed feel-
ings in a deeply bass oath, and Barbara stood
looking at her steadily out of her great dark
eyes.

Old Judith cackled again, and rubbed her
hands.

"It was a fine sight I a grand sight! a brave
sight!— tiner than anything even at the thea-
tre! There were tho arches with l>cr namo on
'era ; and flags a flying ; and flowers all along
the road for her wheels to go over ; and there
were four shining horses all covered with siiver,
holding up their heads as if they were proud of
her, and walking on the flowers as if they scorn-
ed them and the comraon-lblks who threw them ;
and there was she, among all the gnind ladies
and goMl lemen. with her silk dreis rustling, and
her eyes like blue stars, and her cheeks like
pink velvet, and her smile like— ah! like an
angel !— and she a flinging of handfulsof silver
among the charity-children, as if it was dirt,

Across Bat .la
sudden cririfc,>A
Lara's eyes ere i
clutcliod *'
hand like ,

and ahc despised it. Ah I she is a great lady—
a great lady— « great lady 1"

Old Judith rubbed iier liands so hard that
there aeemed some danger of her flaying them,
and looked alternately at iier son and grand*
daughter, with a glance of such mingled ahy*
ness, cunning, and exultation, that the gentle*
man sot exasperated.

*' Wbitt in blazes!" inquired Mr. Blnck, put-
tbg it tcm|ieratc'iy, "is tliu bl'ssed old tJure*
crow a talking of! Slio can't have been dr-. k-
ing, can she V" Tliou^h the adjective Mr. L )k
used was not exactly " blessed", and ihot^ul: 'ne
look with which he favored his tender j^ 'ent
was not the blandest, yet old Judith cnoklou uer
shrill laugh again, and diving one skinny arm
into the grensy depths of a pocKet by her side,
fished up a iiandful of silver coins.

" Look at them!" cried the old lady, thruat-
ing I hem very near Mr. Black's nose, with an
exultant gleam in her gre<Miish bkick eyes.
" Look at them ! She saw mo sitting by the
roadside, and she threw them to me as she rode
past, and asked for Barbara. Stop — keep off—
ii'sminol civ io my money, Barbara!'

vhite face there had shot a
<i&k, and in each of Bar
leaped a demon. Slio had
tii any arm of the old woman in a
..U; ttud wrenched tho money from
her avnriijioa .ilu'oh, and dashed it with all her
might tl' ougli the window, amashing tlic glass
as it w« Tlion, without a word, uhe resumed
her plact. At Line mantel ; but father and grand-
mother sprang to their feet, the one with a sav-
age oath, the other with a shrill and angry
scream.

" What's all this for?" demanded Mr. Black,
looking fiercely at hia unmovablo daughter.
" What the devil has got into tlio .i;irl ?"

She looked at !iim wiih a quiet eye.

" You've said it, fati>er — the devil !"

" My mon«'y is gone i nil ray mono v 2" whined
old Judith, who stood in morUil dread of her
tameless granddaughter. " All my money, nnd
there was three crowns, two lialfcrowns, and a
fi'penny bit I And she gave it to me, too, all
for myself— the pretty young lady !'*

" What did you do it for, you—". Mr. Black
paused with the epithet on his tongue, for some-
thing like the savage light in his own eyes shone
in his daughter's, and warned him that it would
bo safur unsaid.

" That's not much !" she said, looking at him
with a atrange laugh. " What would you aay
if I murdered aomebody aud was goiug to be
hanged ?"

" Oh, the girl's gone mad ! stark, staring
mad'." said Mr. Black, staring again, until his
eyes seemed starting from their sooltets.

" No, filth' r."

"Curse it, then!" he cried, ferociously.
" What do you mean by looking aud acting like

UNMASKED; OR,

this? Stop glowering on mo like that, or DI
■mash in your face for yoa m I would tmaib an
, shell r

'Anil this is tny father!" said Barbara, with
the same wild laugii ; and turning toward the
door, " Don't try ft, father, it would nut be safe.
Good evuiiiiig to you both."

She wnikvJ rapidly out and down to the
shore, with a step that rang like steel on the
rocks. A slender new moon was rising away in
the ens , and its radiance silvered the waves and
lighted the long, witite, sandy beach, and black
piles of 8cn-wcody rocks above them. The tide
was far out, and Barbara strode over the wet
shingles and slippery sea-wccd, heeding them
no more than if sue were gliding over a moonlit
lawn, and never stopped until she found herielf
within the gloomy precinots of the Demon's
Tower. Th^n she glanced round with a look
the arch fiend himself might have envied.

" Here, six years ogo, I saved her life," she
•aid. "O beintiful htiresa of Castle Cliffe 1
if that hour would only come back, and I were
looking down on your dying struggles, as I
eonld liftvc done that night."

She loaned against the dark archway, and
looked over the rocks. The scene was placid
and serene ; the waves murmured low on the
•ands ; the boats glided over the silver shining
waters, ami a gay party of fishermen's girls,
their bont floating idly on the long, lazy swell,
were singing the " Evening Hymn to the Vir-
gin", and the words came clear and sweet to
where she stood.

" Ave sanctlRsIuta !

Wo lift our souls to thee,
Ora pro nobis,

'Tis nightfall on tho sea.
Watch us nrhile 8hP(ioiri lie

Far o'er the waters spread,
' Hear the heart's lonely sigh.

Thine, too, hath bled.
Thou that ha^it looked on death

And us, when death is near,
Whisper of Heaven to faith.

Sweet mother, iwcet mother, hear.
Ora pro nobis.

The waves must rock oar sleep ;
Ora, mater, ora,

Bright star of the deep.

It wns no whisper of Heaven that changed
Barbara's face su strongly ns she listened. Her
bent brow grew rigid and stern, her eye dark-
ened with ileftdly resolve, her lips compressed
with resolnfc deturminiition, her hands clenched
until the nnils sunk into the rosy flesh, and
her very figure seemed to dilate and grow tail
with the deadliest resolve new born within her.

♦'Barbara!'* A gentle voice behind pro-
nounced the name, but she never moved or
turned round. " Barbara, my dear girl, what
•re you doing here alone in this place, and at
thlsliour?"

" Thinking, Mr. Sweet."

Mr. Sweet, shining with subdued yellow Ins*
IN in th« white moonlight, got over the rooks

with a face fall of concern, and stood beside her.

'* And your bands, Barbara— what ails tbemf
they are ail bleeding."

She had out tliem while ooming over tke
rooks, without ever knowing it; and now she
looked down at the flowing olood with an icy
smile.

" It is nothing. I have been bleeding in-
wardly for the last two or three hours, so I am
not likely to mind such a trifle as torn hands."

" Poor little hands I" suid Mr. Hweet, tender-
ly, as he took out his handkerchief and b(*gaa
wiping >iway the blood. " My dear, dear Bar-
bara, what is tho meaning of all this?"

" Your dear Barbara I How many have you
called dear, besides me, to-day, Mr. Sweet V

" No one ; you alone are dear to me, Bar^
bara."

" Oh, to be sure 1 Men always say that, and
always mean it, and always are true. I beUeve
yon, of course."

" How bitter yon are I"

" Not at all 1 Broken vows and broken hearts
are such everyday matters, that it is hardly
worth while erowing bitter over them."

" Sol" said the lawyer, looking at her stead-
ily. ♦' So you've heard all ?"
" Everytliing, Mr. Sveet."
"Who told your

"A little bird; or, oerhaps, I dreamed it?
Is it such n mysterv, then, that Miss Shirley
and Mr. Cliffe are to be man and wife?"

" It is a fact, but it is also a secret. Lady
Agnes told me ae soon as she arrived ; but she
also told me no one knew it here but myself.
Where can you have heard it, Barbara?"

" WouM you like to know?"

"Yes."

" It is quito romantic ! I dressed myself, ns
you see, to meet my love ; for I beg to inform
you thnt the heir of Cliffewood and the fisher-
man's daughter were er^aged. He came, but
not olone, to the trystiiig-place — Miss Shirley
was with him, and tliey had quite an nnirauted
talk over their approaching nuptials. Somo
initiols were out upon a tree, his and mine, and
it wns his h.md carved them, but I hoard him
deny it, with as much composure as nny vulgar
lior who never had an ancestor in the world."

"Barbara, how strnngelv you talk, and how
wild you look ! Vour hand is like ice ; yon ore
ill !" lie said, really alarmed.

"Don't distress yourself, Mr. Sweet! I am
|)erfectly well !"

" May I talk to you, then ? Will you listen
to what I have to say ?"

" With all the pleasare in life."

"Will vou answer my questions?'*

" Begin ?'»

•' You love Leieester Cliffe ?"

" Yts."

" He »aid he loved you ?"

"He did."

answer<
"No
it do?"
"On
morrov
next Ti
ing be
Think
" Hoi
" Hel
have oi
ther 01
selves. I
it will
you
•nothcj

oA betide ber.
i«t ailt tbemf

ing over tWe

aod nuw abe

cl with an icy

bleeding in-
loun, BO I am
torn banda."
Hweet, tender-
ief and bttgan
Bar, dear Kor-

laiiy bave yoa
r. Sweet?"
r to me, Bar^

say that, and
ue. I believe

broken hearts
it is hardly

ibera."
at her stead-

dreamed it?
i Mies Sbirley
wife?"

seoret. Lady
rived ; but slie
re but myself.
rbara?"

ised myself, as

beg to inform
ind the fisber-

Uo oamc, bat
— Miss Sbirley
be an nnirauted
uptiftls. Somo

and mine, and
it I bciird him
! OS ftiiy vulgar
n the world."

talk, and bow
e ice ; you are

. Sweet! I am

Will you listen

It
ns?"

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

•• He promised to marry yoa V*

•• Do you love him still!"

** Jnst at present, very mnob."

" You know be is to be married to Mlis Shir-
ley in two weeks?"

"I think I bad the pleasure of hearing him-
self mention tbo fuot."

*' You know that you have been slighted,
■eorned, jiltttd, oast off for her ?"

" I don't need yoa to remind me of that, my
good friend."

** You are a woman. Slighted women, they
say, never forgive t Barbara, would you be re-
venged ?"

" Snob is my intention, Mr. Sweet"

There was such deadly intensity of purpose,
in her very quietude, as she said it, that it
ohilled oven Mr. Sweet for an instant — albeit,
lawyers' blood does not easily run cold.

*■ How ?" be asked, looking at her earnestly.

''That is my affair, sir!"

" Shall I tell you of a speedy revenue, that
he will feel, as you oaa make him feel, no
other?"

•* You may."

" A revenge !" said Mr. Sweet, his very voice
trembling with eagerness — "a revenue that
will pierce bis heart, like an arrow from its
shaft — a revenge tliat will make him feel that
he is the jilted one, and not you ?"

"Name it?"

'* Marry me I"

" Bnh 1" Raid she, looking down on him with
her scornful eyt-s. " As if ho could not see
tbrougii do pitii'ul a sham as that. How reason-
able it would look, that I would forsake tbo heir
of Clifftiwood, the handsomest man in Sussex,
for a poor, paltry nttornoy, old cnougli to bo ray
fiitber, and wiio was, cortainly, bcliiud the door
when beauty was given out!"

The sallow face of the lawyer turned actually-
scarlet for ono moment ; but the next, bo laugh-
ed, bis g!iy and musical laugh.

" Well, I don't set up for a beauty, Barbara,
and you know Mudatno Do Statil sava men have
tlio privilege of looking ugly ! You have not
answered my question. Will you marry mo ?''

" No !' she said, coldly. " What good would
it do ?"

" Only this. The young gentLiian leaves to-
morrow for London, and will not r«'turn until
next Tuesday. As he returns, let bis first greet-
ing be tbo news that Barbara Black is married !
Think bow ho will feel tbot?"

" Ho will not care."

" He will. Men never liUe the women who
have once loved them to marry another, whe-
ther or not they bave ceased to love ber them-
selves. He never loved you, that is plain ; but
it will cut him to the quick, nevertheless, to find
you oare ao little for him as to be tbo bride of
•aothcrl**

** If I tboaght he would care t" said Darb«r«s
breathing quick.

"Ho would oare. And if he ever bad the
smallest spark of love for you. it will spring
into a flame tbo moment be tinJs b« bos lust
you forever! Think what a triumph it would
be for him to boar off bis Iwautiful bride it>
triumph, while he fanoioil you were pining here
like a love- lorn damsel, fit to cry your eyes out
for bis sweet sakel"

Her eye was kindling, ber cheek flashing, her
breath coming quick and fust, but she did not
•peak.

" You shall be a lady, too, Barbara I ' said the
phlegmatic Mr. Swoet, kindling, for once, into
something like excitement. "You shall hold
up your head with the highest in the land — yea,
higher th m she has ever held hers, with its yeU
low curls ! You shall be a lady, Barbara ; yes,
I swear it I"

Barbara laughed, something like Ver old
laugh.

'* You are simply talking nonsense, Mr. Sweet,
neither you nor anybody else can change me
from whnt Ood made me — a tisberman's daugh-
terr

*• You were never made a fisherman's daugh-
ter I" he said energetically, and tiien be ntopped
and knit bis brows, and changed bis tone.
" But, Barl)ara, if you wont revenge, marry
mo ! I am a rich man, and Mrs. Leicester
Cliffe will not long look down on Mrs. Leicester
Sweet, depend on that."

" You are very kind, but I am not quite so
bad as to take you at your word ; for, rest as-
sured, if you married mo you would repent it,
in mental sac cc loth aud ashes, uli the rest of
your lifo!"

"I will risk it!" he said, with an inoreduloua
smile. " Only consent." *•

" If I do, you will repent 1"

" No."

*' I bave no love for you. I cannot answer
for myself. It shall never bo said that I en-
trapped you or any one else into u marriage, for
my own ends. Nothing but evil can eome from
a connexion with mo. I am not good ; and so I
tell you!"

" Yoa are good enough lor me, for I love
you."

'♦ You will have it, I sec. Remember, if I
consent, and you repent of it afterward, you
have been warned."

" I take all the risk, so that I can take you
with it!"

" Very well then, Mr. Sweet !" she said quiet>
ly. " I will marry you whenever you like I"

CHAPTER XXI.
BARBJlRA'S bbidal ivi.
" Where is Barbara ?"

Mr. Sweet was the speaker, and Mr. Sweek
was leaning in Barbara^s favorite ^ sition ooj

UNMASKED; OR,

tlie mnntfl, Itonling nn impAlient tnttoo on its
•raoky leilge, uiiil looking down un v\A Jutlitli,
who sat VM-y hIt'ftr-eyctT nnd very gi'imy with
■mokv, on iiur creepy on tli« henrth. Urenkfast
WAS juit over in lli« cottage, fur n quantity uf
very iloppy earthcn-waru iitreweii tliu wuuJen

"Where is Bnrbarn?" ropeated Mr. Swoct, n«
Judith's only reply was tu blink und look at
him with a 'oute smile.

" In her own room I Ah t you've done it at
liisf. Sir !"
•* Done what ?"

" What you always said yon would do— make
her marry you."

" She hasn't married me yet, that I know of."
" No, Sir ; no. of course not ; but she's com-
iog to it — oomins to it fas^"
"How do you know?"

"Mr. Sweet, I ain't blind, though my old
eyes are red and watery with smoku, and I saw
you coming up from the beach lust nii^ht, and
ah I you was sweet upon her, yuu was, Mr.
Sweet !"
" Well ?"

To this Query Old Judith only grinned in
answer; ana Mr. Sweet relaxed into a smile
himself.

"You are quite right," said he, pulling out
his watch and glancing at it. " She has prom-
ised to marry me."

"I always knew it !" cried Judith, rubbing
her hands in glee — " I always said it ! Nobo<ly
could ever hold out long against you. Mr.
Sweet, you have the winningest ways witli yon !
Ah I she has come to luck, has my hand-
some granddaughter!"

" It is a pity your handoome granddnuprhtor
is not of the same opinion as her aniiablv grand-
mother. When can I see her ?"

" Directly, sir. I will go and tell her ; but
first — it's no use askinir her, for she never tells
me anything — when is it going to be ?"
" Wlien is what going to be y"
"The wedding."

" That is precisely what I want to know.
That is why 1 have made such an early call on
your handsiime granddanghter this morning."
" Didn't you settle it last niglitV "
" No. She told me she would marry me
whenever I liked ; and then she turned and was
gone like a flash before we could come tu any
further terms."

"That is just like her!" snid old Jnditb, no
way astonished at this cimracteristic trait, as she
walked across the mom and ropped at her grand-
daughter's door. There was no answer; and
she knocked again, and still there was no reply.
Judith turned tUe handle of the door, which
opened readily ; and she entered, while Mr.
Sweet, a little startled, stood on the threshold
and looked in.
Barbara's room was small, and not at all the

immaculate apnrtniint the heroine's of a s'ory
stiould be ; fur dreaovtf, and manlles, and bonnets,
and all sorts of wt-aring apparel were hung
round the walls; and tlieru were two or three
)airM of gaiter-boots strewn over the floor, with
loki*, and papent, an«I mngnzines ; and the table
in the corner was one great litter of sketolus
and engravings, and novels, and pnintim; ina-

L','

terinis, and a guitar (Mr. Sweet's gift) on the top
of all. There was a little easel in one corner,
for Barbara was quite an artist ; and this, with
the small bed and one chair, quite filled the little
clwimber, so that there was scarcely room to
move. But the bed was neatly made — evident-
ly it had not been slept in the pi eceding night ,
and sitting on the solitary chair at the window,
in the gauzy-white dress ot the preceding evening,
her arms resting on the ledge, her head on
them, was Barbara, fast asleep. The exclama-
tion of Judith at the sight awoke her ; and she
lilted her face, and ]o<)Ked at them vaguely at
Hrnt, as if wondering how rhe and they came to
be where they were. It all came back to her
in a moment, however ; and she rose to her feet,
gatliei'ing up the fallen braids of her hair, and
looking at Mr. Sweet with a haughty eve.

" Well, Sir," she demanded, angrily, " and
what are you doing here ?"

"It wasn't his fault," cut in Judith. ••!
rapped twice, and you never answeiv.l, and I
thought something had happened, und 1 asked
him to come in."

This last little fiction being invented to
avert the storm of wrath that was kindling in
Barbara's fiery eve.

" Well, Sir," reiterated Miss Barbara, still
transfixing her disconcerted suitor with her
steady glance, " and being here, what do yon
wanty"

This was certainly not very encouraging, nnJ
by no means smoothed the way for bo ardent n
a lover to ask his lady-love to name the day
So Mr. Sweet began in a very huuiblo and sub-
dued tone indeed :

"I am very sorry. Miss Barbara, for this in-
trusion ; but surely you have not been siLlin;,'
by that window, exposed to the draft all night V"
" Have yon come all the way from Cliltonlcft,
and taken the trouble to wake me up to say
that., Mr. Sweet?"

Mr. Sweet thought of the plastic Barbara he
had had last nigiit, and wondered where she
had gone to. Mr. Sweet did not know, perhaps,
that

" Colors seen by candlelight
Do not look the same by day ,"

and women, being like weathercocks or cliame*
Icons, are liable to change sixty times an 'hour.

" Barbara," he cried in de8|urnitoii, *• have
you forgotten your promise of lii»t niglit?"

" No !"

'* It is on that subject ,that I came to speak
Can I not see you for a moment alone V

THE IIEIRESB OF CABTLE CLIFFE.

I of « »'ory
An\ bt)nii«'U,

wo or three
e flour, with
lui the lahl«

of BketclK*
nii>tini( niii-
t) oil tl>« top

on« corner,
nd thin, with
lied the little
ely room to
,de — evidtnt-
sedingniglit,

the wiiuluw,
ding evening.
Iter hend on
rhe fxolamn-
her \ and she
m vftguelyak

they came to
) back to her
186 to her feet,

her hair, and
ity eye.
ingriiy. "and

Judith. -I
iswer«-'l, and I
id, ttuii i oukcil

invented to
ras kindling in

Barbara, still
litor with her
>, what do jou

icouraging, nnJ

for BO anient n

imino the (li»y

uuiblo and sub-

rtra. for this in-
nut been sittin;;
iiftftall night K"
from Ciiltonlfft,
e lue ui) to s;iy

ftstio Bar\)ara he
icred where she
t know, perhaps,

day,"

pcooks or chame-
V titnfs an ^hour
|,».iuiioi«. -hive
ln»t niglif?"

1 came to speat
int alone V

"There i* not the ■lightest n<>cd, Sir. If you
have anything to say, out with it I"

For oitne in hi« liie, the oily and debonair Mr.
Sweet wan totally disconoertel. " Not at homo
to suitors" was writttid in capital letters on Uar-
biiru's bent br«)W and ateru eyu ; yet tbure vth4
notliing for it but to go on.

** Vuu said last night, Barbara, thnt you
would marry me whenever I liked ! That would
be »ithin this hour, if I oould ; and aa, perhapH,
you Would not fancy so rapid a business, will
yuii please to name some more definite <late f'

He quailed inwardly as ho spoke, lest she
should rctrnot the promise of lust night, nltoge>
tluT. lie knew he held her only by a hair, and
that it was liablu to snap at any moment. Her
face looked foreboding, sunless, smileleiiB, and
dark; and the eye, immovably fixed upon him,
hud little of yielding or tendurncss in it.

" The time is so short, Biirbura," he pleaded
with a sinking heart, " that it must be soon."
" Wh'tt do you mean by that?"
"Within this present week, Barbara, or if
that is too soon, next Mcmday. That will give
you time for your preparations."
" I have no preparations to make !"
" For mine, then. Do yon consent that it shall
be next Monday ? '

" Mr. Sweet, I Raid last night it should be
whenever you pleased. I say the same thing
to-day I 'there, you need not thank me , do me
tlie favor to go awny ! '

" Only one moment, Barbara. You must
have dresseH, you know. I shall give orders to
tlmt Frenohwouian up iu Cliftunlea, and she will
come down here to see you, and provide you
with everything you want."

Barbara stood looking at hiiu stonily, with
tlie door in her hand. Old Juditii was glancing
from one to the other, with her keen eyes.

" On Monday morning, at ten, you will be
lendy, and I will drive down here and take you
ti> the church, and another thing, you must have
a brideranid."

" I bnvo one thing to say to you. Sir !" said
Barbara, opening ia-r corapressctl lips, " that if
you torment me too much with these wretched
details, there shall neither be bridesmaid nor
bride on that day. Whatever is to be done,
you must do yourself. I eliall have mother act
nor part in this business. Let me alone and I
will marry vou on Monday, Binc« you wish it.
Begin to i nrasa me with this stupid rubish,
about dresses and bridemaids, and I will have
Dutbing wliHtever to aay to yon."

With wliich (larsh and decided valedictory,
the impatient bride-elect closed the door \n
tlieir faces, and turned the key insido, to the
unspeakable discomposure of the lawyer, and
the intense deliglitot the amiable oI<l la.ly, who
grinned maliciously, until a very yellow blush
in her sunken jaws was visible.
" Oh, it is a charming courtuhip, a charming

eourtship I" she chuckled, rubbing ber hands
and Ittcnng up sideways at her visrt«>r. " And
she is a nwwt bride, she is. 1 wish you Joy of
her, Mr. 8v»t.etl"

" My good old soul !" said that gintlemnn,
bringing the vellow lustre of his eves ami smilo
to b*'ar on his friend, " don't be uialioioiis.
Don't, or you and I will full out I Think what
a pity that would bf, after having been tried and
trusty friends so long I"

Perhaps it was at the bare idea of losing th«
invaluabiu friendship of no good a man, or, per*
iiapn, it was at some bidder meuiuse in his tune
anil look, that made Judith cower down, and
shrink away fearfully under his cnim gaze.

" I expect you to do everything in your pow-
er for me," he went on, " in the present case.
You see she is willful, and will do nothing her-
self; her promise is as frail and brittle lu glass,
if I leaned ou it evar so lightlv it would shiver
into atoms beneath me, th>'i'«h)r« I cannot ven-
ture to s|>eak to her. You roust act for her ;
and, my uear old friend, if you don't act to tlit
utmost of your power, you will find yourself
within the stone walls of Cliftoulea jail b<-for«
the Wedding day dawns I"

" O^t ! what can I do 1" whimpered old Judith,
putting her dirty apron to her eyes. " I das-
sent speak to her. I'm afraid of her. Ii«r
eyes aru like cgals of fire I I am sure I want
her married as much as you do. I never hnv*
any peace with her at all!"

" Very woll, I think we shall not fall out. I
am going now, and I will send my housekee(>er
down here for one of ber gowns, and the Freiieli-
woman must make them by that, for Barbara
won't be measured, it appears. Does my dear
friend, I'eter Black, know anything about this

yetr

" No, ho don't"

" Then I shall take the earliest opportunity
of letting him know. I should like to hi>ve my
intended father-in-law's blessing, and oil that
sort of thing. Where is be?"

"Oh, where he always is- drinking goes of
gin and water at the ClifTe Arms I"

•' Dear im|>rudent boy I I suppose he re-

Snires a gentle stimulant to keep up his spirits,
luod-morniug. Mistress Judith, and try if the
future Mrs. Sweet will not partake of some
breakfast ?"

With this parting piece of advice, the pleasant
lawyer walked away, drawing on bis gloves and
humming gayly, the " Time I have Lost in Woo-
ing".

Judith did not take his advice, however,
regarding the breakfast. She \7ould aluu st aa
soon have put her hend inside of a lion's den as
into ibe little room where her handsome giund*
dauj^liter sat. It needed no second light to sea
that the (dd worn v stood in the g l«et awe of
the grave, majes ' girl, who loi at people
BO strangely and v ddly out of her dark, spec '.

DNM ASKED, OR,

oyci — an awe which, truth to tell, her sulky nnd
savage son Bhnr<-iJ. The dogged and sullen
ferocity of the man cowered under the fiercer
and liiglier spirit of his daughter, an. I Miss
Black, for t!ie laut two or three years, had pret-
ty much i-eigned 7-tady Paramount in the cot
tTigc. *ho gray ir.are m that stable was by loug
odds the hotter horse ! So Judith lit her pipe,
and sat on her stool by tlio smouMjring fire,
and she an 1 it puffed out little clouui» of smoke
torrether, and the big brass hands if the old
Dutcli clock went swinging round to twelve, and
nobudv entered tlie cottage, and no sound came
ff<Mn ilie little clianibcr, and the future Mrs.
Swcft, got no brenkfaat, when, at last, a shadow
darkened the sunny doorway, and a uieek little
woman presented lu-rself, and clainiec the hoyor
of being Mi\ Sweet's housekeeper. Lucki'ly
there was a (^•^'sa of Barbara's hanging in the
kitchen, or Judith would have been between the
horns of a very sad dilemma, in fear of the
lawver on one hand, and the young lady on the
other ; and the meek little matron rolled it up,
and ha8t<^ned off to the French modiste up m
the town.

That .Tds Wednesday , and as there were
only three working tlays between him and his
bnual morning, Mr. Sweet seemed in a fair way
to have his liands full. There was a long talk
to be had in the first place with that dear boy,
Peter Black, who swore a great many oaths un-
der his unkempt beari, ami couldn't be brought
to see reason until Mr. Sweet had smiled a
grt;at deal, and referred severaF times to Mr.
Jack Wildma.i, and finally ordered another
gu of gin and water for his future parent in-
law, Hiui c1a|iped him on the back :ind slipped
two guineas irto liis horny palm. Then Mr.
Black growled out his paternal a.sseiit, and
scowled like ii tii>8y tiger on his new son, who
only laughed good-natured 13-, and patling hiru
on the back again, walked awa}*.

Then he had to visit Madame ModiHre, the
fashionable dressmak- r, who came in smiling
and dip|iing, and with whom he held another
consultation, ami filled out a blank eheqie, ami
obtained a promise that everything should be
ready on Saturday night

There were a thousand and one other little
things to ilo, for getting married is a very
fus.^y piece of business ; but the Cliftonlea law-
yer wa.s equal to matrimony or any other emor-
genc}'. and everything bade fair to come off
swiniiningl}'.

Lady Agnes Shirley had to be informed the
next day. .'or he wanted leave of absen^-e for
two or threi davs, to make a short brid.il-tour
to London iind back'; and Lady Agnes, with as
mud) langttid amaze as any lady in her position
I could be ej pectcd to get up, gave him carte

• hlanchc ,to fctay a month, if he pleased. Then
there was the license and ring to procure, and

• the woddiag-breakfast to order, and some pres-

enta of jewelry to mab; to his bride, and new
furniture to get for his house, and the short week
went; and only he was so impatient to make
sure of his bri<le, Mr. Sweet could have wished
every day forty-eight hours long, and then
found them too short for all he had to do.

But if the bridgroom was busy from day-
dawn to midnight, the bride made up for it by
doing nothing whatever on the face of the earth,
unless sitting listlessly by the window, with
her hands folded, could be called doing some-
thing. All the restlessness, all the fire, all the
energy of her nature seemed to have gone like
a dream ; and she sat all day long looking out
with dull, dread eyes over the misty marshes and
the ceaseless sea. She scarcely ate ; she scarce-
ly slept at all; she turned her listless ejes
witliout pleasure o" interest ou the pretty
dresses and jewels, the flowers and fruit, her
friends daily brought, :.nJ then turned awav
again, as if they had merely siruck on the nervo
o; vision without conveying the slightest idea
to her mind. Thursday, Friday, and Satur-
day, she passed 1 a dull dream — the lull that
{^recedes the tempest. But when Sunday came,
ler bridal eve, she awoke from her lethargy at
last.

Sunday had always been the plcnsnntest day
in Barbara's week. She liked to hear the mu-
sical bells chiming over the sunny downs ; she
liked to go up into the grand old cathedral,
with its old-fashioned stained-glass windows
and sleepy hollows of pews. Slie liked to wan-
der through the quiet streets of the town, hush-
ed in Sabbath stillness, and in the purple sun-
set she liked to lie on the rocks, lazy as a Syb-
arite, and listen drowsily to the nmrmurini,'
trees and waves. But it was a dull Sunday
this — a dreary day, with the watery sky of
lead— a dismal day, with a raw sea wind and
fog — a miserable day, with the drizzling rain
blotting out the marshes in a blank of wet and
cold — a suicidal day, with a ceaseless drip,
drip, drip. The windows were blurred .md
clammy, the waves roaring and Hwashing-witli
an eerie roar over the rocks, and everything
slimy and damp, cheerless and inicomfortabK'.
And on this wretched day, the bride-elect w.)l;«
from her heavy trance, and became possessed ef
a walking demon. She wandered aimlessly in
and out of her own room, down to the soakin;,'
and splaHhing shore, over the wet an<l shiny
rocks, along the dark and dreary marshes, a;id
back again into the house, with her clothes wot
and clinging around her, and still unable to eit
down anywhere.

Afer the one o'clock dinner, she retreated
agairi to her chamber, heedless of Judith's
warnings to change her clothes, and did nut
make tier appearance until the dark day wna
changed into a darker and dismaUr evening.
The cottage kitchen looked, if possible, more
obeerlesB and disordered than ever. The grecD

wcod on

pirtfeil 01
and tier 1
uf a re pa
dc'or op(
and bonti
one look
scene, an
either, w
Little pu
chill win(
fectly im
went on,
way throi
ping tree
Jvjght «
erable ni{
horrors ;
the rows (
to the si(j
the serva
A footi
from the
standing i
"Oh, 1
man, who
Wet night
"La! 1
dcr, the h<
the hall w
"I haven
What in tl
nasty nigl
' I hav(
Barbara, c
She had
lier voice
to herself,
nnil gave
look at W
" What
when flust
ing up at
" What 01
look like

" Unoot
Mr. Johns
" No I"
to see Ci
goodness,
Black is
him y"
" Oh
stairs,
with thes(
step into
know."

Barbari
itig tlio
cliandelie
liidc-and
8 long t.
Iftin, and

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

ride, nnA new
the Bliort week
tient to make
J have wished
iig, an<l theu
ad tu do.
jsy from day-
|« ui> for it hy
ce oi the earth,

window, with
d doing Bome-
,he fire, all tlie
have gone like
ng looking out
sty luarslieB aud
ite ; bIic acarce-
er liBtless e^eg
ou the prelty

and fruit, her
;n turned awi\y
ck on the nervo
e Bligl'.ieBt idea
hiy, and Satur-
n—the lull tllftt
n Sunday came,

her lethargy at

pleasnntest day
to how the mu-
nny dowiiB ; slie
d old C8thedri\l,
l-gliis8 windows
lie liked to wan-
f the town, hush-
the purple suii-
i, lazy ns a Syb-
the murmuring
I a dull Sunday
e watery sky of
iw Bca wind iiml
le drizzlin^' nin
jlank of wet nml
ceaBcless drip,
ere blurred ami
[»d HWdsiiing'Willi
, aiitl evc'r> thini;
(1 tniconiforUbli'.
1 hride-elect W.)l;«
cam*' possessed of
ercd aimlessly in
,-ii to the Bi)ivkiii;5
10 wet and fliiny
eary marslies, aiul
,h her clothes wot
Btill unable to sit

Iner, she rctreateil
Hess of Judith's
th(!8. and did not
the dark day wiu
dismaUr evening.
, if poBBible, more

b ever. The green

wcod on the luni tli spnttored, and liissod, and
pnffed out viciuus clouds of smoke ; and Judith
and lier son were at the wooden table partaking
of ft repast of beef .ind brown bread, when her
door opened, and Barbara came out shawled
and bonneted for a walk. She paused to give
one look of unutterable disgust at the whole
scene, and tlien, without heeding the words of
either, walked out into the dismul evening.
Little pools of water filled the road, aud the
chili wind bl -w the ruin in her face ; but, per-
fectly indifferent to all outward things, she
went on, entered the park gate, and too' her
way through the avenues, and heavy and <h*ip-
ping trees, up to the old manor.

Night was falling when she reached it — a mis-
erable night^nough to give any wayfarer the
horrors; but long lines of lii(ht streamed from
the rows of windows, and showed her the way
to the side-door, where she stopped and rang
the servant's bell.

A footman opened it, and a flood of light
from the hall-lamp fell on the tall, wet figure
standing pale in the doorway.

"Oh, it'8 you, Misa Black, is it?" said the
man, who knew Barbara very well ; " come in.
Wet night— isn't it?"

" La ! Barbara, my dear !" cried Mrs. Wil-
der, tlio housekeeper, who was passing through
the hall with a trayful of liedrocjiciindlesticks.
"I haven't seen you for a mouth, I think.
What in the world has brought you out such a
nwjtv niglit?"

' 1 have come to see Colonel Shirley," said
Barbara, entering. " Is ho at home ?'

She had scarcely spoken before thnt day, and
he/: voice seemed strange and unnatural even
to herself. Mrs. Wilder started as nho heard it,
and gave a little scream as she took another
look at Barbara's fa-e.

" What on heartli !" said Mrs Wilder, who,
when flustered, had a free-aml-easy way of tak-
ing up and dropping her '• h'a" at ploasuro.
" Wliat on heartii hails j-ou, ray dear ? You
look like a ghost— don't she, Johnson ?"

" Uncommon like, I sliould say !" remarked
Mr. Johnson. " Been sick, Miss Black V

"No!" said Barbara, iinpatieiiilv. "T want
to see Colonel Shirley. Will you have the

goodness, Mrs. Wilder, to tell him Barbara ,•■•,,•

Black is here, and wish-s particularly to see nate uprightness ami iiidomitahlc i.r
LjjjjV" I her always epeak the straightforward t

" Oh yes, I'll tell him ! Come along up
stairs. 1 was just going into the drawii.groom
with these candlesticks, any way. 'Ere, just
step into the dining-room, and I'll let him
know."

Barbara stepped into the blaze of light fill-
ing tlio spacious dining-room from a huge |
cluindelier, where gods and goddesses played ^
hideand seek in a forest of fmsted silver; where
8 long table flashed with cut-glnss, and porce-
lain, and Bilver-plate, and bouquets of hot

house exotics, in splendid vases of purple Bpar
and snowy alabaster ; where a carved oaken aide-
board was loaded with wine and dessert, and
where tho walls were brilliant with pictures of
the chase and banqueting scenes. It was all
so glaringly bright aud dazzlirg, that Birbara
was half blinded for a moment ; but she only
looked quietly round, and thought of the smoky
kitchen, and the bare deal table, with the brown
bread and beef at home. She could hear voices
in the blue drawing-room (which was only sej)-
arated from the one she was iu by a curtained
arch), and the echo of every laughter, and then
the curtain was lifted, and Colonel Shirley ap-
peared, his whole face lit with an eager sndle of
welcome, and both his friendly hands extended.
" My good little Barbara ! my dear little Bar-
bara ! and you liave come to see us at last !"

She let him take both her hands in his ; but
as he clasped them, the glad smile faded from
his animated face, and gave place to one of as-
tonishment and concern. For (he beautiful face
was so haggard and worn, so wasted and pale ;
the smooth white brow furrowed by such deep
lines of suffering; the eyes so unnaturally, so
feverishly bright; the hands so wan and icily
cold, that he might well look iu surprised oon-
Bternation.

" My dear little Barbara !" he said, in wonder
and in sorrow; "what is the meaning of ad
tills? Have you been ill?"
"No, Sir!"

" Your very voice is changed ! Barbara,
what is the matter?"
" NoUiing!

" Something, I think ! Sit down here and
tell me what it is."

lie drew up an easy-chair and placed her in
it, taking one opposite, and looking anxiously
into the wasteii and worn faee.

•' Barbara, Barbara ! pomething is wrong —
very much is wrong ! Will you not tell an old

luslious
pity.

friend wliat has changed you like tliis

"No!" she said, looking with lier
eyes straight into his.

He sat silent, watching her with grave
ing tenderness, then :

" W^hy liave you not been to see us before,
Barbara?"

" I did not wish to," said Barbara, vhose in-

ide made
pealc tlie straigliriorwara truth,

"Do vou know that Vivia sent for you al-
most every day ?"

"Yes!"

" Why did you not come ?"

" I did not wish to."

" Do you know that my daughter and I went
to your cottage the day after our return to se^
you ?"

" Yes !"

"We did not see you; your grandmother
said you were ill. What was the matter V"

■<»»'

-V)-;;

UNMASKED ; OR,

*' I was not ill, but I couKl not aee you."

More [lerplexed than ever, the Colonel looked
nt. Iiur, won lennt^ whnt niyaterjr was behind all
tills lo iiitVK uhunged bersu

" I liuve iit'Hrd, Barharti,'* be etiid, after a
lianse, "that joa are going to be luarried. Ii
It true ?"

'•I Mb,"

'• And to Mr Sweet ?"

*• To Mr. Sweet!" she said, calmly ; but with
tiie f.-verish fire still streaming from lier eyes.

His only answer was to take tier baud again
iu but!) bis own, and look at ber in a way he
soBietimeH locked at bis own dHiij;bter of late —
half sadly, balf g'tyly, balf tenderly. Barbara
was looking at liim, too. There was sometbing
eo grand in tlie man's face, sonictiiing so noble

elet of gems olaspisg back tb« flowing cur!?,
came in with & debgbied little orj of girlish de-
light.

"O Barbara! Barbara!" bow glad I am to
see you !"

But Barbara recoiled, and held ont botb artca
with a gesture of such unnatural terror and re-
pulsion, that the shining figure stopped auj
looked at her in speeoblfss amaze ; and then be-
fore either she or her father coubl speak, or in-
tercept her, she was across the room, out of iLe
door, through the ball, down the stairs, and ou!
into the wet, black night again. Mr. Pettr
Black had long retired to seek the balmy, be- —,
fore bis daughter got home ; Judith was sitting IJ"'"*'" "^ *'
up for her, very cross and sleepy in her corner; Bf"*-'"'' ^^"
ond Mr. Sweet was there, too,' walking up anJB'°*'*°'? . '

en the ab
il yet, an
would sat
It was trt

dicam^'nl
it waa like
the fire ;
itraw aboi
married b;
the would
if jiapa fti
She would
were scor<
take iiis p

in his broad, serene brow ; simiething so genial j down the room, feverishly impatient and anx
in his bint* eye. shining with the blenied fire of j i«>"B. Barbara came in soaking wet, and witlj.
man and tenderness of woman ; something so > o"t looking or speaking to either of tliem, wnl •
sweet and strong iu the handsome, smiling { ed straight to her room. The bridegroom

'g
month ; something so protectniu' in the clasp of

the firm hand ; something infinitely good and
great in the upright bearing of figure, and kind
voice, that Barbara's heart broke out into a
great cry, and clinging to the strong arm as if
it were her Inst hope, she dropped down on her
knees at his feet, and covered his hand with pas-
sionate kisses.

'* O my friend ! my friend !" she cried ;
''you, wiio are so noble, and so good, who have
been kind and tender to lue always, and wlioiii
I love and revere more than all the world bo-
sidi-H. I could not do it until I had heard you
s:iv one kind word to nie again ! I could not

bridegr
sought bis own home, with an anxious heart;!
ana the happy bride sat by her window th«
whole livelong liight!

CHAPTER XXII.

A8KIN0 F«»R UKKAO AND RKCEIVmO A 8T0KI.

It is not a very pleasant notion for any lady or I
gentleman to take it into their heads that ilievl
have made fooln of thfUiselves, yet Mr. Leicisttrl
Cliffe, albeit not t'iven to hold too bumblu iia|
opinion of himself, had just arrived at that com.
fortal)le conclusion, as tuecars whirled him buck I
from London to Sussex. Absence, like tleiiiii, |
show perrtons and things in their proper lij.'hi,

sell my soul tr; perdition, until I bad knelt ut I oi>d strip the gilding from granite , and as di;-
/our feet, and told you how much I thank you, \ tance removed the glanitmr from liis eyt-s, tb*
liow much 1 love you, anil how, if I dared, II lieir of Clitfewond had taken to serious reflection
would pray for vou all fho rest of my life! Oh, ' i>id come to a few very decided decisions- 1«-
1 am i^he wickeifest and basest wretch on God's , pnmis, that he had fallen iu love with Barbari
earth! but if there is anything in this world ! the first time that he had ever seen her; thm
that could have redeemed me, and made me ' bo hatl loved her pver since, that he love.l hfr
what I once was, what I never will lie again, it i now, and tb it hu wae' likely to keep on dointc»o
is the memory of you and your goodness— you, | *» l"»g as it was in him to love anybody. So-
for whoso sake I oould die." | ond, that he admired and respected bis pntiy

She sank lower down, her face and his hand ' cousin excessively; tliat he knew she wos i
all bliittod with the ruin of tears ; and quite be- thousand times too pure for such a sinner u
side himself with consternation, the Indian ofii- he, and that he had never for one instant feit»
cer strove to raise her up. ; stronger stutiment for her than admiration,

"Barbara, my dear chihi, for Heaven's sake, I Thirdly, he was neither more nor less tliaa «»|
rise! Tell me, I Ug of vou, whnt you mean 1" ! unmitigated coward and villain, for whcni liaug-

'• No, no, 1 eannot! I dare not! but if in ing would be too good. But just as he arrivtj
the time to come, the miserable time to come, { at this consoling conclusion, and wan ii t.initj
you bear me spoken of as sonielbing not fit l<j a mental " Mcaailpas !'' hesuildenly belhoUfiiil

name, you will think there is one spot in my
wretched heart free from guilt, where your mem-
ory will be ev*»r cherished I Try and think of
me Hi my best, no matter what people may
sayf-

Before be could speak, the door opened, and
Barbara leaped to her feet with a rebound. A
fairy figure, in a splendid dinner toilet, v.ith
jewels flashing on the neck and arms, and a oir-

himself of the wise old saw — "It is never to4|
late to mend !" and Mope once more planted hd
shining foot on the threshold of his heart. Wlitl
if now that his eyrs were opened, even now
the eleventh hour, he were to liiaw buck, kind
before the lady of his love, and be forgivji
He knew the would forgive ; she loved hini.m'
women are so much like spaniels by nature, ihi
the worse they are used the more tifey will U*

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

flowing cnrle.
•y of giriwb de-

r glad I »ccv to

d oat botb arma
A terror and re-
ire Btopped and
Ee ; and then be-
ulil apeak, or in-
room, out of ilt
le Btaire. and out
'ain. Mr. Pettr

)y in her corner;
walking up anJ
patient and anx-
ng wet, and with-
HT of tliCDQ, will •

The bridegroom
n anxious hi-nrl,
r her wiudow tli« I

P-?rli!'.p8 she even had not heard I the lawyer paced np and down with a more

anziouH heart than any otLer happy bridegroom

cz the abaoer.

il yet, and he could easily find excuses that
would aattsfy her for his absence and silence.
It was true that would leave him in a nice pre-
dicam^'nt with Miss Shirley — so nice a one that
it wao like jumping out of the frying-pan into
the fire ; but then Miss Shirley did not care a
itraw about him one way or the other ; she
married him ao a matter of obedience, just as
the would have marrieo Mr. Sweet, the lawyer,
if napa and grandmamma had inaiated upon it.
Slif would not suffer by his leaving her — there
were scores of better men ready and willing to

, - ■take iiis place, and her name would not be in

k the balmy, be- Biyf^,! jjy it, for no one knew of their engage-

udith was sitting B'{„^.„t Not that Mr. Leicester dreamed for one

instant of being Quixote enough to avow his sen-

liim^ntal intention, lie shrank in horror at t!ie

bare idea of the unheard-of scene that would

enaiie, and which would probably end by his

lieing shot like a dog by that fire-eating Colonel

Clitfe ; but he would induce Burl ara to elope

with him ; he would marry her probably in

London, and then with his bride would set sail

for America, or Australia, or aome other howl-

inir wilderness, and live happy forever after.

Ami having settled the whole matter to his infi-

Dito satisfaction, he leaned back in his sent,

ojieiied the Times, and was borne swiftly on,

not to Victoria's, but to Barbara's feet.

And while the grimy engine was tearing over
tlip level track, vomiiing clouds of black smoke,
and groaning with the commotion in its iron
howels, the said Barbara, all unconscious of her
[good fortune, was very differently employed, in
jjiotliing less than in dtt-ssing for her bridal.
.\8pkndid morning of sunshine and summer
rofzes had followed the gloomy night, and Mr.
wflet had risen with the lark ; nav, fully two
ours before that early bird had woke from his
loriiing nap, and had busily proceeded to
nake all the final arrangements for his mar-
aije. Before sitting down to his eight o'clock
reakfiist, of which he found he could not swal-
uw a morsel, for matrimony takes awny the ap-
iti(i) us effectually »» Hi-a-sicknees, he had dis-
alched tho meek little housekeeper down to
owtr Cliffe with sundry bnndhs and band-
oieu, whenin tho bride wai to be arrayed, and
twas with a troubled spirit Mr. Sweet liad seen
er depart. For half an hour he paced up and
lown in a perfect ag-ny of feveriah impatience,
nd still the burden of hia thoughts waa, what if
ft<r all, at tho last moment, the willful, way-
ird liarbara, should draw lack. No oue
"il.i .-.ver count on that impuUive and head-
irnni^ young lady more than two minutes at a
imc, and just a* likely as not, wheu he arrive.)
it the cottage, he would find her locked in lier
oom and refusing all entreaties to corue out ;
r ohe might come out with a vengeance, and
ith two or three sharp sentences knoek all his
autiful plans remorselessly ou the head. So

iU.

ElVINO A 8T0NI.

ion for any lu«iy or
ir heads that tliey
1, yet Mr. Leicesttr
j|d too humhlf iia
•rived at thai com-
Is whirled him back
^sence, like dtiiui.
Lheir proper li^'lii.
anite , and nsdij-
from his eyes, tbe
;o eerious refltction
led decisions- jra-
love with Barbara
or seen her ; tii»l
that he loved lift
to keep on doini; sd
•ve anybody, f^"'-
spected hia preli)"
J knew she was »
such a sinner u
)r one instant feln
r than admiraiiun
V. nor leos tliau «»l
ain, for whi:ni bang,
t just Krt he arrivtJ
u, and was u t.rnjj
suddenly l.elhougii

" It is never ti

mce more planted li
il of liis heart. Win
opened, even nti«'
to draw back, kia-
|ve, and be fon;iv»
; she loved hiii..i"!(
aniels by nature, ibi
e more tUey willli

ever had on his bridal morning ; and eertainly
none ever had a more exasperating bride. And
in tbe middle of a dismal train of refiectious
about finding himself dished, the clock struck
nine, a cab drove up to the door, and he jump-
ed in and was driven through the town and
down to Tower Clitfe. Radiant as Mr. Sweet
always was, he had never been seen so intensely
radiant as on this particular morning, in a
bran new suit of lawyer-like black, a brilliant
canary-colored waistcoat, ditto stock, and ditto
gloves, and mitylly stuck in his button-hole ap-
peared a bou([uet of the yellowest possible
primroses. But his sallow face was pale with
excitement, and hia eyes gleamed with feverish
eagerness as lie entered tho cottage, from which
he could not tell whether or do be was to bear
away a bride.

But he might have spared his fears, for it was
all right. Tiie cottage looked neat for once, for
the little housekeeper bad put it to rights ; and
Mr. Black ami Judith were arrayed in their best,
and neither was smoking, and in the middle of
the floor was Barbara — the bride. Barbara was
not looking her best, as brides should always
make it a point of conscience to do ; for her
face and lips were a great deal too colorless, her
e}08, surrounded by dark circles, telling of sleep-
less nights nights and woful davs, looked too
large and b(dlow, and solemn ; but stately and
majestic she must always look, and i>he looked
it now — looked as a dethroned and imprisoned
queen might do at her jailers. She was to \n
married in her travelimj-dress, as they started
i:iimediately after the ceremony for London , luid
Mr. Sweet countermanded the order for the wed-
ding breakfast, on finding there would be no-
body but himself to eat it, and the dress was i.f
silver-gray barege, relieved with knots and
bows of mauve ribbon, a pretty mantle of silk
and lace, and a straw bonnet, trimmed also wit i
mauve and silver-gray. The toilet was 8iin|)U',
but elegant , and if Barbara did not look one-
half so brilliant and beautiful in it, as she bad
done a fortnight before in her plain, crimsoa
nierino, it was her fault, and not Madame Mo-
diste's. The housekeeper was jhsL fastening the
last little kid glove, ami Barbara lifted her eyes
from the floor on which they hal been bent, a^d
looked at him out of their solemn dark depths
as he entered.

" Are you quite ready V" he nervously asked.
*' Quite ready. Sir," answered the house-
keeper, who was to accompany them to church.
•' Tho carriage is at the door. Come, Bar-
bara."

She would not see his proffered arm, yet sha
followed him quietly and without a word, an I
let him hand her into the carriage. The liltio
housekeeper came next, nn<i then Mr. Black,
who had enjoyed the unusual blefsings of shav-

UNMASKED; OB,

ing aiiil Imir-cuttiiig, stumbled up tlie Btops,
looking imrticuliirly eulky and UDCuiufurtiiliU; in
liiu now (ilulliL'S ; niid then Mr. Sweet jumpt'd in,
too. uu'l i,'(ivo the I rdcr to drive to the catLf-

••ul. it \vu8 .1 Wvi.d woddiiig- party, witnout
bri icBm.iid(j or 'jlesdings, or flowers or ftiopery ,•
ar..l on llic way nut oiio word wna spoke by any
of t'ae party. Barbara sat like a cold, white
«tatue, lier handx lying listlessly in Imm- lap, her
eyes fixed on the floor, her thoughts— where?
Mr. Sweet's heart was beating in feverish and im-
patient throbs, and his breath came quick, and
on Ills sallow choeks were two burning spots ; in
his serene eyes hhone a strange lire, and his yvl-
low-gloved hands trembled so that he hua to
grnsp the window to keep them from seeing it.
The little housekeeper looked frightened inui
nwe-struok ; and Mr. Blank, with his hands stuck
very deep in his coat pockets, was scowling des-
perately on them all by turns. Fifteen minutes
fast driving brought the grim bridal-party to
the cathedral, where a curious crowd was col-
lected : some came to attend morning service
which was then going on, and others ])rought
there ly the rumors of the marriage. The law-
yer drew his bride's orm firmly within his own,
imd led her in while the two otliers followed,
while more than one audible comment on the
^Iritnge looks of Barbiira reached his ears as
he passed. The cathedral wag half filled, and
the ur.'.nii poured forth grand swelling notes as
tluy walked up the aisle. Behind the rails, in
t-tate and surplice, and book in hand, stood one
of the curates ; bride and brid<-groom placid
themselves before him, and the bridegroom
could hoar nothing, not even tlie music, for the
loud beating of his heart. Everyhod}' held
their lireuth, and leaned forward to look, and

" Who gives this woman to be married to this
man?" demanded the curate, looking aurionsiv
at the strange bride. And Mr. Black 8t< '(j-wwi
forward and gave her, and then^ ' !

" Wilt thou take this woman to be thj v.j-
ded wife?" demanded the curate agiin.

And Mr. Sweet said, " I will!" in a voice that
was husky and shook , and llie bride said, " 1
will." too, clearly, distinctly, unfalteringly. And
then the ring was on her finger, and they joined
hands, and th« curate prouuced them man and
wife.

The organ that had been silent for a moment,
as if it, too, had 8loj)ped to listen, now broke
out into an exultant strain, and the voices of
the choristers uiade the domed roof ring. The
n»»,u';B of the married pair were insertsu in the
ttv,i8ter, 'I 1 Mr. Sweet took his wife's arm — his
V'ife's tliis time— to lead her down the oin/e.
The --k eves were looking straight before her,
with i; ,:xed, fierce, yet ca' .i intensity, and a-:
' )?y i ,'Hi'ed t'«e door t'.ey ,'ell on something she
I H-i i.ar.lly bargained for. Leaning ttu-ainst a
,>i.i.r, pale i.".niaught_>, stt>od Leicester C'l.fe,
..''ho :.\c' aru ted just in time to witneas tb« i

cliarming sight, ard whose t;'ue eyes met tho'
of th^* bride with !. powerlul look. Tl>e bappr
bridegroom saw iiim at tbi sfime instant, anil
the two burning cy 'jA (i^'ijj;''.':('C on his cluck
bones, and the fire in <ii» flyts too . n uefiuii
and triumphant p^iarklc. 'Al.-^re bud been a yal-
vanic start on the pii/f, ol the (o.it.e ; but Ik-
held her arm li^htly, and Air. weot, with a
smile on his lip, bowed low to hiiu as lie passeil,
and Barbara's sweeping skirts brushed i.im, iiui] j
then they were gone, ^'.lut up in tiie ciirriai,'t',
and driving away rapidly to catch the next Luu-
don train.

Leicester Cliffe turned slowly from the catlie-
<lral, mounted his horse, and rode to Clifl^ewuod,
Th.ie he had [lis dusty traveling-d' ess to chance, j
his breakfast to take, and a great deal to lieur
fiom Sir Roland, who was full of news, an I
whose first question was, if he knew that hisuil
flame, pretty little Barbara, had married tii^tl
oily fellow, Sweet. Then, as in duty bound, liel
had to ride to his lady-love, oud report the sue-
cofisful aoccMiplishmont of idl his trusts nnj
charges, and spend with a ^oy party there tlu'l
remainder of the day. It was on that eventl'ul
day the engagement was publicly and forniully
announced, and all the kifj>King and congratiiUt-
ing Vivia had dreaded so much, "as guiiel
through with, to her great di.^composure ; ,,„jj
she WHS glad when eveUHs); ijame to leave tliel
talking crowd, and wundev u:ider the trees aiuiiel
with her thoughts. It was u lovely night nioM-j
lit and starlit, ani the was loaning against al
tree, looking wistuniy up at the "far-off skvj
thmking of the wedding that had tnken |)lace|
thot day, and the other so soon to follow, wluu
the sound of a hnrso i-,a]K>jnng furiously u|i tliel
avenue male her look round and liehold Tmal
Shirley dashing along iike a madman. He liajl
been spending the day at Lisleham with L.rj|
^lenry; and V^ivia as she watched him AyinA
long so fiercely, began to think the wine atj
dinner had been a little too strong.

" Why, Tom !" was her cry ; " have you gone!
crazy !" I

Tom h.id not eeen her, but at the sound ol'liej
voice recheoked his horse so sharply and huJ
denly, that the steed came down on his huiiktrii,|
and pawud the air animatedly with his two fore|
legs.

The next moment his rider had jumped reck-l
lessly to the ground, leaving him to find liiJ
way to the stables himself, and was standmi,' bJ
side Vivia, very red in the face, and very exoilf
ed in the eyes, holding both her hands iu
fierce clasp.

"Vic! Vic! it's not true! it can't be trucj
I don't believe word of it I" began theyoiina
man with the utmost incoherence. " Tell ni*,
for Heaven's sake, that it's all a lie."

■The wine was certainly dreadfully strong,]
thought Vic, looking nt him in terror, and tnj
ing to free her iiauds. But Tom only lit J

them tl

tly, ai

"Yoo.

I i"0 rn"

Uie, J sa^

" Wlrl

you're tii

looking I

Li 8|>i

saw her |

aware tli

if they V

bear-like

'• I am

itence hai

'•I'uor li

thet.i ; bi

I' '. that

u riven m

what mus

Vio Itij

" That

you have

you. Coua

"Uh.sl

another bi

allow me

(lined at a

than wine

There w

Vie op.ne

looked at

ivas Very

felt inclm

variably d

" Somet

ind you al

tell me wf

There (i

chestnuts.

ikirts, anJ

Tom woull

price, andf

" It is

were goinj

The bril

:ook t ic t|

" I knof

She dull

" SpealJ

"speak ail

"I canil

" My ()[

to say it if

She arc!

terror clii[

♦' What

" Vio, il

*' It is !(

" You

"Cliffe?"

;;! am

The rul

TETE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

,'68 met thof
The 'jftpl"'
e instnnt, an'

on his clitik
,00 . a Uetiiiii
tu'j been 11 u;il-
h.it.e ; but lio

svect. wil.li II
a IIS he piisseii,
i8he«' i.vin, uuil
I the f;iirrini;t',

the next Luu-

roui the catlie- 1
> to ClifFt'Wtiud.
irc'BS to chance, I
it deal to liuiirl
I of news, ni\'l
lew thai hii uil
il luarritd iIniI
duty bomiil, he
report the sue-
his trusts nni
party there Ww
(U that eventful I
ly aud forumlly
Hid congrntiiUt-
luch, "as giiiiel
loinposure; iinJI
lie to leave the
r the treesnloiiel
lily uight iiiiK'n-
ailing against il
the far-i)tt' bky,[
had titken \<\-m«\
I to follow, win 11 1
furiously up ii«;l
iii'l hehoid Tuial
adiiiAU. He li«l|
eham with L< ^1|
jhed him flviiKl
link the wine at|

ong.
" have you gonel

; the sound of lierl
sharply and siiJ-r
n oil his hunkerJ
with his two forel

had jumped reokl

liim to finii liul

I was stiiiidini,' Wi

c, and very fxoit'l

her hands iu

them toe tighter, and brokd oi't again, more
tiy, and wildly, and ve'^ecieM.i". , than before :
"Yoi: ^hall not no, \ic! yon ^iiall never

have heard all. Tell

'm: ^liall not go
l.f^ve rc^ again until you
lae, I say, liiat it is not true."

"What ia not true? Oh, I don't know what
you're talking about. Cousin Tom!" said Viviii,
UH)king round lier iu distuss.

In spite of his momentary craziness, Tom
saw her pale face and terrified eyes, and heoame
Hwure that he was crushing the little hands as
if tliey Were in thumb-sciews, and relaxed his
bear-like grip contritely.

'* I am u brute !" said Tom, in a burst of pen-
itence hardly less vehement than his former tone.
'• I'oor little hands! I didn't mean to hurt
thei.i ; but you know, Vic, what a fel!ow I am,
II '. that inlerniil story they told me, has nearly
uriven me crazy. I am a savage, I know, and
what must yon think of me, Vic ?"
Vic la.;iglied,butyetwitha rather pale cheek', immaculate Victoria Shirley
" That Lord Lisle's port is rather strong, and , tor an angil, and made
y-ou have been imbibing more than is goud for
you. Cousin Tom."

'■ Oh, she thinks lam drunk !'' said Tom with
another bu.st, this time with indignation ; •' but
allow me to tell you, Miss Shirley, I haven't
ilined at all I Port, indeed ! Faitli it was more
than wine that has got into my head to-night "

There was a cadence so bitter in his lene that
Vie op'ued her pretty blue eyes very wide, and
looked at him iu astonishment. Coui^in Vic
was very fond of Cousin Tom, and she never
felt inclined to run away from him, as she in-
variably did from Coufin Leicester.

" Something has gone wrong, Cousin lora,
md you are excited. Come, sit down here, aud
lell me what il is."

There was a rustic bench under tip' waving
jhestnuts. Vic sat down, spread out lier rosy
ikirts, and made room for him beside her ; but
Tom would not be tempted to sit down at any
price, and burst out again :

" It is just this, Vic ! They told me you
were going to be married !"

The bright eyes drooped, and the pale cheeks
iook t le tint of the reddest rose ever was seen.
" I know it is not true ! It can't be true !"
She did not answer.

"Speak!" exclaimed Tom, almost fiercely;
"speak and tall me it is not true!"
" I cannot !" very faintly.
" My God !" he said ; " you can never mean
to say it ia true ""

She arose suddenly, and looked at him, a cold
terror chilling her heait.

" What do you mean ?" she asked.

" Vio, is it true V"

" It is !"

" You are going to be -narricd to Leicester
^liffe?"

'• 1 am I"

The rosv light had left her cheeks, for there

was something in his face that no one had ever
seen in Tom Shirley's face before.
" Do you love iiim ? "

"Toi.i, what art you thinking of, to ask 6u>'.U
a question?"

' AiM.vei it!' hu said, savrj^ely.
'I will love him!" haio Vivia, firmh , ana
Tom broke out into n bitter jyering laugh.

" Wnich means you will marry him now be-
cause he is an excellent parti, and papa nh-l
grandmamma, aud Uncle Roland, wish ).. -Hid
trust to the love to come afterward ! Vic .^i.iA-
h'yi y«u are a miserable, heartless coquctU\ nn'.l
I despise you !"

She was leaning against a tree ; clinging i ,
it for support; her whole face perfectly coloi
less, but the blue eyes quailed not beneath his
own.

" You I" — he went on, in passionate scorn,
and with flaming eyes — "you, the spotless".

You who set up
an aiigi'l, and made common mortals i'c>:\
unwiirthy to touch tiie hem of your garment.
You the angel on earth ! a wretched, jold-blood-
ed, perjured girl ! O Lucifer! star of the morn-
ing, how thi'U art fallen !"

" Tom, wlua have 1 ever done to you to maUo
you talk like this?"

"Oh, nothing! only sold yourself body aed
soul — a mere trifle not worth speaking of."

.""ihe gave him a look full of sorrow and re-
proach, and turned with quiet dignity to \'o
away.

"Stay!" he half shouted, "and tell me for
what end you have been fooling me ull Lb««e
months."

" \ do not understand."
" Poor child ! Its little head 'lever was maiio
to untangle such Knotty prohlemp Will y<m
understand if I ask you why yo-.i'vj led me j,
like a blind fool, to love you 5*"
" Tom !"

"You never thought of it be' ' f:
but you have done it, and I Icvi
now, before you stir u step, you »'!
whether or not it is returuuii."

1 do loV' >ou, Tom — I always
dearly as if \ were my brother."

'• Via exceetlingly obliged to you ; bti<, aa it
happens, I don't want your brotherly love, and
I sliali take the first opportunity of sending a
bullet through Mr. Leicester Cliffe's heal. I
have tlie lionor, Miss Shirley, to bid you good
I night."

ol coutae ;
y-ju. And
;il I ell i'M

v\— as

"Tom, stay ! Tom, for God's sake—"
And hero the voice broke down ; and cover-
ing her face with both hands, she uiiirit inio a
hysterical pMssioii of weeping. Tom turned,
and the great grieved giant heart, so iit rv iu iUs
wrath, melted like a boy's at sight of her tears.
He could ha^e cried himself, but for Bhamc, as
he flung hi . df down n the biuoh with u sob-
bing groan.

UNMARKED ; OR,

'•OVicniow could you Jo it? Bct^ could
fou treat mo so? '

Sbe catre uver, and kneeling beside biin, nut
on arm round hin neck, as if, indeed, he uad
b >cn the dear brutlier slie thought him.

' O Tom, I never meant it — I never meant
it!"

" And you will mar rj' Leicester ?"

"You know I must, Tom ; but you will be
my dear brother a) ways."

He turned away and dropped his head on his
arm.

" You know it is my duty, Tom. And, oh,
you inuBt not think such dreadful things of me
any more ! If yoa do, I shall tii<*!"

"Go!"' he said, lifting his head for a moment
and tiien dropping it again. '• Go and li avc
me! I know, Vic, vou are un angel, and 1 — 1
am notiiing but a mlserabh' fool ! '

And with the words the lioy'a hiMirt went out
from Tom Shirley, and never came back any
more. .

CHAPTER XXIII.

victoria's briual ktb.

In the bluest of suinnier skies, heralded by
the rosiest banners of cloud, rose up the sun on
Victoria Shirley's Wfcddini,'-ilay.

Tlie rose-gaiileus aroumi Custie Cliffe were in
lull bloom, the bios ai.d butterflies held grand
carnivals there ^il the long suitry days, and the
uir was heavy wuh their burden of perfume.
The chestu'.jtLi, the oaks, ilie poplars, the beeches
were out in ' iieir greenest garni- nts ; the
swans floated about -ircnelv in tiieir hikes ; the
Swiss fiirir-house wnd rr.imiit. in the glory of
new paint; ond the /.talian cotuige was lust in
a wildern '88 of sceiiu-d creepers The p<!a-
cock and gazelles, the deer Hnd the dogs, had
tine tiui'S in the June Runshine; aiid ovei all,
the bflhiier floated out f'->m the fl-ig-towfT, and
everybody knew that il .vua the bridal-day of
the Ueiivbs of Castle Clitfe.

And v/it'iin the mansion wonderful were the
prt'imr.tii/ns. At nine in the evening the cere-
uiooy was to take pl.tce, and Lady Agnes iiad
resolved and uio. unced that a grand ball
should lullow; tnd nt, twelve the next day. they
were to stt'jj into tlie rs and bid good-oye to
Ciiflonlea f.^r i»» ■ io'it; vara. A whole regi-
ment of («nr' i's D :'a ban comedown from T,ou-
don to attend to the up,- -r, which was to be
the greatest miracle oi aooi • ry of modern times ;
and another regini'.it oi } iing peixiiif in the
dress-making depa-tmeul tiliid tlie dressing-
rooms SI;; H'ldrs. lovitations inui been sent to
half the ounty, beisi '"^tt ever f!:> niiinv in Lon-
don — .<< many, in fact, tiia* the railway trains
had tl 2r first oloss conpit crowded all day, and
their j/repnetors realized n emal] fortune. The
gaoundr were all to be ill'unin&ted with colored
lamps, hung in a') uorts of faccifui devices.
i: nd there was to be such a feast there for the

tenantry, with music and dancing afterward,
and such a display of fire-works, and such h
lot of boniires, and such ringing of bells and
beating of drums, and shouting and cheerinu',
•nd general joy, as bad never been seen or heard
of before. Lady Agnes declared herself dis-
tracteii and nearly at death's door, although
Mr. Sweet, who had come back from his short
wedding-tour, helped her as much as lie could,
and proved himself perfectly invaluabli^. And
in the mid.«t of it all, the bridegr oiii spent his
time in riding over the sunny iSuseex downs,
lounging lazily through the rooms at (Jliftoulea,
and smokiag unheard-of quantities of cigars.
And the bride, shut up with Lady Agnes Knd
the dress-makers, in the former's room, was
hardly ever seen by anybody — least of all by
her intended husband. But the wedding-day
came, and all the snowy gear in whicii she was
to be tricked out lay on the bed in the Rose
Room — gloV2S, and slippers, and vnil, and
wreath, and dress ; and the inlaid table:* were
strewi: with magnilioent presents, every one of
them a siiian furtnne in itself, to be publicly
displayed that evening. And Vivia, who had
been shut up all day with the seamstresses, n
good two hours before it was time to dress, she
had broken from her captors and turned to
leave the room.

" Where are yon going, child ?" asked Lady
Agnes. " There is the dressing-bell ringing."

•• 1 don't care for the dressing-bell. I'm not
going down to dinner!"

" Where are you going, then ?"'
'Tlirough the house — the dear o!d house —
to say good-bye to it before I go ! There will
be no lime to-morrow, 1 suppose."

*• I should tliink not, indeed, since we start
at noon ! I suppose you expect the house will
say good-bye to you in return?"

" 1 shall think it does, at all events. I wish
we were not goinu away, at all."

•' Ur' course, you do ! 1 never l>new y<ni wisli-
ing for anytliiiig but what was ul)6ur.i 1 Voii
must have dinner in your own room, and n--
member you are not late to dress for your wed-
diiig ! It would be just like you to Jo it!"

Lady Agnes saileil past majestically to make
her own toilet, and Vivia, with a fluttering lit-
tle heart \ft Jiappy while she trembled, wnt
from room to room to take a last look. She
had nearly finished the circuit, even to the
dreadful Queen's Room, and was standing in tlie
pieture-gallery, looking wistfully nt the haunted
faces of all her dead ancestors, when some one
came wearily uji the stairs, and, turning, she
saw Margaret Shirley. If others ha<i been
changing within the hist few weeks, so had Mar-
uaiet ; al-'ays pale and thin, she moved about
like a colorless ghost now ; her black eyes, the
only beauty she had ever possesned, sunken and
hollow ; and the deep lines ah(»ut the nioulli
ami fo'chi-ud told tikeir own story of silent suf-

an<l, s
gent

HtOpp(

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLUTE.

nflerwiir'l,
anil Biicli H
if b<;U» hikI
d cbeerink!,
gen or beard

horself dia-
)r, aitluiuirb
rii bis Bbopt
UB be oouid,
liable. And
nil 8|)<'Ut hia
188«'X downs,
atCliftoulert,
M of oignrs.
y Agnes Rnd
B room, was
wt of all by
wedding-day
bicli slie was

in tbe Rose
id viiil, and
id tables were

every one ot

be publicly
ivia, wli<> bad
BOcnstresaeB, i^
! to dress, slie
lid turned to

" asked Lady
ell ringing."
[)ell. Tui not

r old bouse —
)\ There will

(•ince we start
tbe bouse will

ivents. I wish

Knew youwisli-

iil)siir>l ! Vou
I room, and r*;-
i for yonr wt.il-
a to do It !"
bically to make
[I flultermg lii-

trt-mbled, \y»'nt

last look. She
it, even to tlie

standing in tlie
y at tlif liaunlotl

when some oiio
id, turning, flie

bers litt'l I'**''"
■ks, Ko liad Mivr-
le moved about
black eyes, tb*!
s-i'd, sunken and

bout tlie nioulli
>ry of silent 8uf«

n-ring. She shunned everybody, and most of
(if all, her brigbt and beauiiful Cousin Victoria,
and, seeing ber now standing ra<liant and refnl
gent in the nnaber haze of tli« sunset, she
Htopped, and made a motion as if to retreat.
But the clear sweet voice called her buck :

" Don't go, Marguerite ; I want you. Come
here I"

Margaret came to the head of the stairs and
there stopped.

" I have been wanting to see you all tlie week,
hut 1 could not get near you. Why do you
keep away from me?"
" I do not keep away !"
" You know you do ! Why are you not cor-
dial as you used to he ?"
'* I am cordial !" still hovering aloof.
'• Come nearer, then !"

Again Margaret moved a step or two, and
again stopped.

" We ought to be friends, Marguerite, since we
are counins! But we bitve not been friends
this long time !"

No answer Marguerite's eyes were on the
floor, and ber face looked petrined.

" You are to be one of my bridemaids, and
my traveling companion for the next two
A ears ; and nil that proves that we ought to be
ifriends.

"You mistake. Cousin Victoria; I am not
g'ji Iff to be your traveling oompanion!"
•'No! Grandmamma said so 1"
*' Probably she thinks so !" '

" You are jesting. Marguerite !'•
"No!"

" Where are you going f What are you go-
ing to do?"

" Excuse me ; you will learn that at the prop-
er time!"

Vivia looked at her earnestly. An intelligent
ligtit wnc in her eve, and a scarlet effusion rising
hot to her fiice, and rapidly fading out.
*• You are unhappy !"
"Ami?"

'• Yes ; and T know the reason !"
The I'laok o\es were raised from the floor and
fixeii quietly on her face.
"Shall I "I I you what it is?"
"A? you like!"

Vivia leaned forward, and would have lai'K
her haiid on tho others shoulder, but Mar-
gnerite recoiled, with a look on her face that re-
niin'led her cousin of Barbara. She drew back
proudly and n little cohlly.

" You have no right to be angry with me,
fou-iii Miiririieiile ! Whatever! have done has
1h en in obedience to grandmamma's commandi*.
ll" l>y it you are unhappy, it is no fault of mine !"
The black eyes were si ill looking at her
quietly, and r.ver the dark grave face there
dawned a smile sad and scornful, that said as
plainly as words, "Siie talks, and knows not
what she is talking about !" 'out before she could

speak, MademoiMlle Jeannettc came tripping np
stairs.

" MademolBelle Genevieve, I have been
searching for you all over. My Lady says you
are to go directly and take your dinner!"

Margaret had' vanished like a epirit at the
appearance of the maid ; so Mademoiselle Gen-
evieve, with a little sigh, followed her cousin
to ber boudoir, where the slender meal was
placed. There was a little Sevres cup of coflfee:
a petite verre of sparkling champn^;n«, pate h
la crime, and an omelette ; and Vivia ate the
pnte, and tasted the omelette, and drank the
coffee and wine with a very good appetite ; and
had only just finished when Lady Agnes came
in, and announced that it was lime to drese.
After her, came half-a-dozen bridemaids. Cousin
Margaret among the rest, and they were all
marshaled into Lady Agnes' dressinK-room, and
handed over to a certoin French artist, who had
I come all the way from London to dress their
hair. Vivia's beautiful tressen required least
time of all, for they were to be simply worn in
flowing curls, acconlini; to her jaunty custom ;
but most of the other damsels had to be braid-
ed, and banded, and scented, and " done up"
in the latest style. This important piece of
business took a lung time, nn<l wh^ n it was over.
Monsieur withilrew. The femmea de chambre
flocked in ; and Vivia, under the hands uf Jean-
nette and llortense, went to her own room to be
dressed. Lady Agn< s followed, looking as if
Bliti had something on her mind.

"There is no time to lose !" she said to the
maids. " You will have to make your young
lady's toilet as fast as you can ; and Victoria,
child, don't look so pale ! A little paleness is
eminently propc* in a' bride -, but I want you
to look ever so pretty to-night I"

" I shall try to, ijrnniimniiima! What are all
the people about down stairs ?"

"'They are all dressing, of course! and it is
time I was following their example," glanoiug
at ber watch.

"Grandmamma," said Vivia, struck with a
little cloud on that lady's serene brow, " you
have been annoyed. What is it ?'

" It is nothing— tlist is, nothing but a trifle ;
and all about that absurd boy, Tom !"

Vivia started suddenly, and caught lur breath.
Since the night under the chestnuts she had not
snen Tom — no one had ; irnd it was a daily sub-
ject of wonder and inquiry.

" Grandmamma, has anything happened to
him ? "'

Nothing that I am aware of — certainly noth-
ing to make you wear such a frightened face.
But what will you think when I tell you he is
ill Cliftonlea and never comes here. It is the
most annoying and absurd thing I ever beard
of, and everybody talks about it.*'

" How do you know he is in Cliftonlea?"

" Your papa saw him last night, lie, an^

nil

UNMA8KKD; OR,

CApUiii Dunglae, and toino raure uf tbe gentln | alruoat m d>-Hr to her aa Tom, and wbose life
uieu li::.>i l><:tu uiit nt tilt; mt-et of tliu Duke of ahe liad euibittertid like Lia : uf tliti firat viait

li::,d li<:t'U uiit Ht tlie tnt'ot of tlio Duke of

B 'a liuiinda ; and, riding liuiuti about dark,

tJHiy Haw liiin down tlieru near tbc bet'cit wuuda.
Tiioy citllt'd to liiiii, but bti disappeiireii ainontr
thu irt'».'rt, and the peoplo here have done uotli-
iiig but talk of it all diiy diiy ioii«:. llogePB,
the gau>t;kee|ii-r, Buya he had aecn Tiim libunf-
ing tlie })lacu in Ihj t>tnkiigi-Bt nianuer for the
last few <lay8, iia if he wat» atVaid ;o be st-en."

Tli« paloiieBd with whifih the speaker bad
found fault .locjjc-nin! ad Vivia listened, and her
heart aeeiU'U'>l to atand atill.

*' It ia the nioBt unaccountable thhig I ever
beard of; and I never saw your papa ho vexed
about a trifle aB 'lo ia about thia, 1 oaiinot un-
dcratand it all.'*

But Iter granddaughter could ; and aha avert-
e** 'ur fice that grand iiiuiunta'a sharp eyes
uiitj a not read the Ule it told. Tiie eagle tjyea
Buw, however, and her arm woa suddenly

irraaped
^ V.c

ictoria, you ci n rend Mh* riddle. I aee it

ahd had embittered like hia ; uf the tirat viait
to England and to thia beloved home, where
ahe had met thia alately grundmamma aud idol-
ized father; and then, more vividly than all
the reat, came back the hrat meeting with Bar
bara Black. Agaii ahe wna kneeling in thu
DeniiMi'a Towvr will: Margar t crouoUiiig in a
corner, her black eyea ahining like Bta a in ita
gloom— Tom at her feet, bleeding imd lielplesa ,
the raging aea upon them in itd might; the
black night aky ; ihu wtiiliug wind und lashing
rain, and a little figure iu a frail skitf flying
over the pillowa to save them. They had been
so good to her, aud had loved her ao well —
Barbiiia and Mari^aret ; but, aomehow, ahu had
alienated iheui all, iind they loved her no long-
er. What wua it that was wanting in her "i what
waa thia string out of luue that had made the
discord y Was ahe only a sounding braas aud
tinkling cjri.i'ml, and was the real germ of good
wanting in her after all f Vivia's blue eyea
were lull of tears, but ahe could not tind the

iu your eyea. When did you meet Tom last?" jarring chorda ; and now uU that was post, and

Ko answer.

" Speak !" said the lady, low but imperiously.
•• Whan was it?"

" Last Monday night."

•' WhtMo -r

" Out under the chestnuts."

•' What did In; say to you ♦"

*' Grainluianima, dou"t ask ine !"

And Lliu pule cheek turned scarlet.

Liuiy Agnea looked at her a moment with
her cold and piercing eyes, aud then dropjxjd
her arm.

"1 see it all," she said, a haughty flush dye-
ing her oW»' delicate cheek. " He has been
making a le of himself, and has got wliat he
deserved, ile ia wise to stay away ; if he comes
within reach of ine, he will probably hear some-
thing u'oru '.o the point than he heard under
under the chestnuts! Wheu I am dressed, i
will coine back."

The tliin lips were coinpreased. The proud
eyea flasliing blue flame >.' Lady Agnes swept
out of thu rose-room. If looks were lightning,
and Tom Shirley uear enough, he would cer-
tainly never make love to auy one else on
earth !

But Vivia'a face had changed aadly, and she
stood under the bauds of the two maids all un-
cousoiouH of their doings and their [ireeenco,
and thinking only of hira. She thought of a
thousand otiier things, too — things almost for-
gotten. Her whole life seemed to pass like a
panorama before her. She thought dimly,
08 we think of a oonfused dream, of a poor
home, and a little playmate that had becu hera
long, long ago ; then of the ouiet content iu
her .'.ear Franco, where year after year paaaed
ao aerenely ; of the pleaaant chateau, where her
holidays were apeut ; of Claude who hud been

a new day was dawning for her. Her whole
life wu« changed , but tlie dark vail of Futurity
was down, and it was well for her she could not
aeu what was beyond it.

And while Vivia sighed and mused, the hand-
maidens were going on with their work, and tho
moments were flying fast. The wreath unJ
vail were on ; the diamond necklace and brace-
lets clasped ; the last ribbon an. I fold of lacc
arrange.!, and the door waa opened, and I^ady
Agnes, iu velvet and jewela, looking still youth-
ful and unmiatakably fair, re appeared. At
her coming, Vivia awoke from her dream. She
had something to do besides dream, now.

"Ah! y<)U have flnished I" was uiy lady's
cry. *Turu round, Victoria, and let me sue
you!"

Victoria, who bad not once Been herself,
turncil round with a bright face.
•' Will I do, gi-uudmamuiay"
" It is charmiug! Itiasujyerb! It ia love-
ly i" aaid Lady Agnes, in a aort of rapture.
"My child, you never looked so beautiful be-
fore in your life !"

Hearing this. Vivio turned t^ look for he^
aelf, and a radiont glow came to her face tit the
sight. Lovely she must have looked in any-
thing. I>azzring ahe appeared in her bridiil
dress. The dress itaelt was euperb. It had
been imported from Paris, and had cost a for-
tune. It waa of rich white velvet, the heavy
skirts looped with cluatera of creamy-while
roaes, the ooraage and sleeves embroidered with
seed-pearls, and a bouquet of jessamine flowers
on the breaat. The arching throat, the laige
aud exquisitely-moulded arms were claepc.l
with diamonds that atrenuied like rivers of
light ; the sunny curls showered to the siuiill
waiat orowned with u wreath of jeweled vm^v-

TIIE HEIUESS OF CABTLE CLIFFE.

nd wboBe life
,lie tirat visit
home, wlitsrc
iiuu Hud idul-
iJly lliun ftll
lag with liar

ueliiig >>> I'll"
ouoUiiig in a
c tilii a in iu
nu<\ lielplvdil i
d niiglit; lliti
uiiii Itisliing
111 akitf living
'Ley liad been
her 8o well-
how, alio had
1 her no long-
j in her V what
Imd luadu the
iiig braaa uud
germ of gooil
a'« blue eyea
not tind the
waa poat, and
Her whole
jl of Futurity
she could not

used, the hand-
r work, and the
le wreath and
lace and bruco-
iil fold of lac>;
■ned, and Lady
icing still youtli-
appeared. At
ler dream. She
am, now.
was my lady's
and lei uie hcu

so Been hereelf,

rb! It ia love-
lort of rapture.
ao beautiful he-

to look for her
) her face at tlie

looked in any-
d in her bridul
Buperb. It had

Imd coat a for-
L'lvet, the heavy
[>f creamy-while
(mbroidered witli
jeasiiiuine floweiu
throat, the large
IB were claBjied
id like rivers of
red to the suiiill
f jeweled oraiig*?-

bluaaomi Bparkling with diamond dewdropa ;
and over all, and aweeping tlie carpet, a bridal
vail, euuii'oiing the shining tigin-e like a cloud
of niist. but Lhe lovely Inad, liie perfect face
drooping in iia exqumii.e modesty, and blush-
ing and smiling at iij* own beauty, neither lace,
uor velvets, nor jewels were aught eonipared to
that.

" My darling !" oried Lndy Agnes, iu an ec-
Btasy very, very unoommoii with her, "you
look lil'e an angel to-mglit!"

*' Dear, dear grandmamma, I care for nothing
if I only please you Are the rest all ready?"

'' i have Uot been to see. but 1 am goiir Do

J'ou know," lowering her voice, "u moat aiugu-
ar thing Itaa occurred."

"WhatV"

" It is only half an hour to the time appointed
for thu ceremony, the drawing-room id filled,
everybody ia there, but the one that jhuuld be
there most of all."

" Who'flthat?'

"There's a question! Leicester ClifTe, of
courae."

'• Una he not come, then?"

"Ko, indeed; and when he does come, lie
flhall be taken most severely to task for this de-
lay. The man who would keep auch a bride
waiting, deserves, deserves — the bastinado I
No, that would be ..oo good for him ; deavrves
to lose her."

Vivia laugkjed.

" C) grandmamma, that would be too bad.
Ilns Uncle Kolaml comuV''

" Uncle Roland has been here fully an hour,
and knows nothing a^out the matter. It ap>
pears the young gentleman has been out riding
all day, and never umdo his appearance untn
dimmer, when he drank more wine than is usual
or prudent with bridegrooms, and behaved him-
self in a manner that was very strange alto-
gether.

"What did he do?"

" Oh, I don't kiHiw, he was queer and fixcited,
Bir Roland says ; but he thought little of that,
considering tlie circumatances. He has setMi
noiliiiig of him since, and came here in the full
expeetalion of seeing him hero h. fore him."

" Well, grandmamma, he will be here before
the end of the half-hour, I suppose, and that
will lio, won't it?"

" It will do for the wedding, but it won't save
him from a severe Caudle lecture from lue — a
sort of foretaste of what he may expect of you
in the future. Everything seems to ho going
wrong, and I feel as if it would be the greatest,
relief to box somebody's ears."

Lady Agnes looked it, and Vivia laughed

agiiin.

" You might box mine, grandmamma, and re-
lieve your feelingH, only it would spoil my vail,
and Jeannetle would never forgive you for
that."

But Lady Agnea was knitting Ler brows, and
uot paying the leadt attention to her.

" I'o think he should be late on such occasion !
it is unheard of— il is outrageous!"

" O granlmamuia. dun'', worry. I am sure
be cannot luip ; perlnij/*, he >s come now."

" Here come your bndeiiiaiils, at all events,"
said Lady Agnes, as th<; conimuniculing door
opened, and the bevy of gay girls tioiiled iu,
robed in white, and crowned wiih flowers, and
gathered round the bride like ..lutterflits round
a rose, and

" O how charming! O how lovely ! () how
beautiful!" was the univeisal cry. " Vou are
looking your very best to-night, Victoria."

" So she ought, and so will you all, >oung la-
dies, on your wedding-night," said Lady Agnes.

"Is it time to go down? has everybody
come?" inquired one.

" It ia certainly time to go down, but I do not
know whether anybody has come. Hark ! is
uot that your papa's voice in the hall, Victoria?"

" Vea Do let him come in, grandmamma.
I know he would like to see me before gving
down stairs."

Lady Agnes opened the door, and saw her
son coming rapidly through the ball, looking
very nale and stern.

" Has Leicester come yet?" * *

"No!" •

" (toot! Heinens ! And it is nine o'clock !"

" Exactly. And all those people below are
gathered in grou|>s, and whiapering mysterioua- .
ly. By Heavens! I feel tempted to put a bul- '
let through his head when he does come."

"O Cldfel somethin|{ haa happened!"

" Perhaps — is the bride ready ?''

" Yes ; come in, she wishes to see you— the
bride iti ready ; but where is the britlegroom?"

"Where, indeed? But don't alarm yourself
yet : he may come after all."

Ue followed his mother into the bride's maid-
en bower, and that dazzling young lady cauu)
forward with a ra<tiant face.

" I'apa, how do I look? '

" Don t ask me ; look in the glaaa. You are
all aiigela, every one of you."'

He touched his lips to the pretty brow, and
tried to laugh, but it was a failure ; and then,
nervous aa a girl, for the first time in his life,
with anxiety, he hurried out and down atairs, to
see if tlie truant had ooiue.

No, he had not come. The bonHres were
blazing, the joy-bells were ringing, the park
was one blaze of rainbow light, all the clocks in
the town were striking nine, and Leicester Clifi'e
had not como. Sir Roland, nearly beside him-
Heif with mortification and rage, was striding
up and dov the hall.

" Is she ready ?" he asked.

" Ye?," said the Colonel, uaing the worda of
hia mother, " the bride is ready and waiting,
' but where the devil ia the bridegroom ?"

UNMASKED; OR,

CHAPTER XXIV.

T7IIKRK TIIK DllIDKCmuOM WAR.

The waning Bunli^lit of Vivia'H brid(il-<Iay,
Ktrtiaming tlirougli tlio rather dirty windows of
Peter Biaok'a ootingo full on Mr. SilveHtor
Sweet, titling buaide tlio hciirth, and talking
very enniesily indeed. Hiu only listener was
old Judith, who had ouvcrcd bcr face with her
hands, and was moaning and crying, and rook-
ing to and fro.

** My dear Judith — my good Judith I" he wa«
■oothiu<^ly saying, " don't distrosa yourself, there
is no oooasiuu— not the leiist in tlio world !"

But his good Judith was not to he oomfortod,
■be only lilted up lit-r voice and wept the loud-
er.

" You knew all along it must come to this ; or
if you didn't, you ought to have known it. Such
guilty secrets cannot be kept for ever !"

"And they will put me la prison; they will
transport me ; muvlx' they will hang mo! Oh,
I wish I was dead ! I wish I was dca I 1" wailed
the old woman, rocking t* that extent ti>»t
there seemed some danger of her rooking off
her stool.

•'Nonsense. They will neith«r put you in
prison, transport, nor hang you. Though,"
added Mr. Sweet, politely, " you know you de-
servo it all."

"And tlfcn there's Barbara!" cried old Ju-
dith, paying no attention whatever to him, and
brea'icing out into a fr';«li bnwt of wailing.
♦•Sho'llWll me. I know she will. She always
was tierce and savngc ; oiul wlien she hoars this.
Oh dear mo ! I wish I was dead —I do 1"

'• Yes ; but, my dear old soul ! we oan't spare
you yet a while.' Now, dry up your teaiii ond
be rciiBonabltt ; now do. Remember, if all
doisn't go well, I'll hang your son !'

*' Oh, I don't expect onything but thai we'll
all hanu' together! Oh, I wish 1 was dead!'" re-
iterated Judith, detorraiued to stick to that to
the last.

" I'll soon gratify that wish, you old Jojebel !"
saiil Mr. Sweet, setting his teeih, 'if you don't
stop your whimpering. What did you do it for,
if you are such a coward oKout it now V"

" I didn't expect it woul.l ever bo found out.
Oh I I wish—"

£zasi)crated beyond enduranoe, Ikt oompan-
ion seized tho tongs; and old Judith, with a
shrill shrielv, cowered back autl held out Iu3r
arms in terror.

" Be still, then, or by " (Mr. Sweet swore

a frightful oath, that would bave dune honor to
Mr. Blftck himself ) "III smash your head for
you I Stop your whining and hear ti» reason.
Arc you prepared to take your oulh, oouoeruing
tho story 1 have to tell ?"

Again Judith took to rooking and wringing
her liands.

" I must— I must — I must! and I will be kill-
ed for it, I kaoir 1"

•• Yoa won't, I tell you. Neither you noi
your son will oome to harm. I'll see'to tliati
But mind, if you don't swear to everything,
straight and true, I'll have both of you hang-
ing, by the end of the month, as high ns U»-
man I'"*

Judith set lip such n howl of despair at this
pleasant intimation, that the lawyer had <>
grasp the tongs again, and brandish them with-
in half an inoh of her uose, l)eforo she would
Consent to subside.

'* My worthy old lady, I'll knock your hrains
out if yon try that again ; and so I give you
nolioo! Yon have ouly to swear ti the facts
before Colonel Shirley, or any other person or
persons eonoerned, and you will be all right!
Stick to the truth, through thick and thin ;
there's nothing like it, and I'll protect you
through it all !''

Judith s only answer was to rook and whine,
and whimper uismally.

" You know," snid Mr. Sweet, looking at her
■I'tttlily, "you had no advisers, no accomplices.
You plotted the whole thing, aud carried it oat
alone. Di.lnt you ?"

" Yes ; I did— I did !"

" You had the very natural desire to benefit
your own tlesh and blood, and you thought it
would never be found out. Your daughter-in-
law went crazy, was sent to a lunntio iisylum,
and you told your son, on his return from —
no matter where — that she was dead. Didn't
youy

" Yes, yes ! Oh dear me, yes !"

" Some things that you dropped maile nio
■n^pooL I accused you, and in your guilt yuii
confessed all. Didn t you V

" Yes ; I s'pose I did. I don't know. Oh, I
wish I was — "

For the third .time her companion grabbed
the tongs, and the old woman subsided again
into pitiful whimpering.

"Now you know, Judith Wildman, if you ag-
gravate lue Loo niuoh, what will bo tlio conse-
quence. 1 am going np to the Caslle, to tell
this story to-night — a sliameful story, that you
should have told lung ago — and you mucit liuid
yourself prepared to swear to it, when called
upon to do so. Your son knew nothing of it —
ho knows nothing of it yet ; so no blame at-
taches to hiiu, and all will end rieht.

That might be ; but Judith couldn't see it, nnd
her misery was a piteous sight to behold. Fur
that matter, Mr. Sweet himself did not look too
much nt his ep^e, nothing near so much as was
his suave wont, and tho paleness that lay on Ida
f^ce, and the excited llgut that gleamed in his
c^es, were much the siime as had been seen on
his weddiug-day.

" The whole extent of the matter is this," ho
said, laying it down with the tiuger of his ri;.;ht.
hand ou Uio palm of his left : " I will tell llie''
story, and yuu will be called upon. 11 you do'

ash

for

pie;

a S(

crir

eoz

rcc

tur

but

not

rut

Uu^

daj

Wel

tti-ej

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFPli

yoa ooi
e'to that I
'orytliiug,
,'ou haiijf
b nt Ua-

ir at tbis
r hail o
leio with-
ib« wuulJ

int brains

give you

th» facts

porsdii or

All riglitt

aud tbin ;

■t>teot you

tn<l whine,

ing at her
looitiplioes.
Tied it out

) to benofit
thought it
aughlcr-in-
tio Kdylum,
ru froiu —
»a. Didn't

made nio
r guilt y^u

low. Oil, I

ion grabbed
sided agaio

1. if you ag-
) tlio conse-
iisLie, to tell
ry, Hint yott
II IlUltit bold
wlifii called
,biiit; <»f it —
lo blame at-
t.

n't see it, and
jobold. ¥oT
not look too
much as was
at lay on bis
tjauiud in his
)Ocu seen »>u

r is tliis," lio
p of bis ri'^ht.
will tell ilie''
. It vou do';

right, aud keep to tlio truth, ynu and your son
will get otf Hout free, and I will sen I you away
from this place riober than you ever wtre bsfore
ill your lives. If, un the contrary, yuu buDtfto,
and niaUn a mess of it, out will oouie the piia-
sunt little episodL- of Jack Wildmnn, who will
•wing from the top of tbe CliftonlcM Jail, iin-
mediately after th« assizes ; and you, my worthy
soul I if you eHoaiio a similar fate, will rot out
the rest of your liio iu the workhnuso. Do you
uiider8t:ind thai.?"

The question was rather superfluous, for Ju-
dith understood it so well that she roiled oiTbsr
Bto<d, and worked on the floor in ii Hort of fit.
Iliitiier dismayed, the lawyer jumped up ; but,
Hi iu the course of a ILttls more kicking and
struggling, she worksd herself out of it again,
into a state of ijioaning und ga«ping, he took
bis hat and glovcft and turned to go.

You ba4T better gel up off llio floor, Mrs.
odvice. " Good-bye. Don't go to bed. Y«u

Wildinaii, and lake a

1:1 up ott
sluidc ,'

was his parti Dj

wid probably be wanteil before morning.'

lie walked away, turning one backward glance
IB the waving trees at the IhirU, Hiniling as he
did so The tishornien he met pulled off thtir
hats to the steward of their liidy, and never be-
fore had they known him to bo ho condeseeiid-
ingly gracious in returning it. As he pisso I
through tliu town, too, everybody noticeii that
the lawyer was in unooinuiou go'W humor, even
for him; and ho quite beaincil on tbe servant-
maid who opened the door of bid uwn house,
when he knocked. It was a very nioe house —
was Mr Sweet's — with a spacious garden orouiid
jl, belonging lo Lady Agnes, ami always occu-
pied by her agent.

"Wlieie is your Mistress, Elizabeth?" ho
UKed

•• Misses bo in tho parlor, sir, if you please 1"
Two doors ilanked the ball. He opened
one to the right and entered a prett)- room —
medallion caqnit 011 the lloor, tasteful paper-
hain,'int,'8 on tho walls, nice tables and sofas,
some pictures In gilt frame.-, a largo marble-
topi>ed table strewn with b«.)olvS iu the centre
of tho floor, and a groat many China dogs and
cats on tho mantle- piece. iJut the window—
for it bad only one win iow, this parlor— was
pleasanter than all— a deep bay-wuidow, with
!i sort of divan all round it; and \.hen the
crimson moreen curtains »vere down, it was the
coiiest litllo room in the world. It was iu this
recess, lying among soft cushions, that the new
Mrs. 8weot bad speutall lar time since her re-
turn to Oiifionlea; and it was there her lais-
bund expected to find her now. There she was
not, however ; but walking up and down the
room with the air of a trngedy-queen. Neither
Uachel nor tho Mrs. Siddons in their palmiest
days could have surpassed it. llcr hands
Wire clenelied ; her eyes wero flaming ; her
Biep had a fieroely-motallJo riug ; her dark pro-

fusion of hair, as if to add to the effect, was un-
bound and screaming around her ; and had
any BtraDKt;r entered Just then, and seen her,
bis thought would have been, that he liad got
by mistake into the ceil uf some private lunalio
asylum.

" What uewtantram is t'ds my lady has sot
into?" (bought Mr. Swewt, quailing a litllo be-
fore tho terrible light in his la<iy's eyes, as h«
shut the door and stood looking ut her with his
back to it. " My dear Barbara, what is th«»
matter?"

Tho only answer as she strode past wug a
glare out 01 the flushing eyes, which ho cower-
ed inwardly under, even as he repeated tbe
question.

" My dear Barbara, what is the matter?"

She stopped this time and stood before him,
looking so muob like a frenzied mimiao, that
his sallow complexion turned a sort of lea-
grccn witii terror.

" Don't ask mo !" she said, fairly his^iof; the
words through her closed tectb, "don't I There
is II spirit within uie that is iiotfrom heaven ; and
the ln&i you of all people say to ine to-nigbt,
tho better I"

" But my dear Barbara — "

" Your dear Barbara !" she broke out, witU ^1

Eassionate seorn. '* U blind, blind fool! blind, ,,,
esotted fool that I was ever to ootue to this t ■
Go, I tell you I If you have any mercy on ,
ourself, go and leave! I am not myself. I ,

am mad, and you are not safe in the samo |,
room wiUi me !''

'■ Barbara, boor mo 1"

-' ITot a word, not a syllable. I have awoke ,
from my trance — the horrible trance in which I
was inveijjle I to mairy you. Man !" she cried,
in a sort of frenzy, stopping before him again,
'• if you had murdered me, I could have for-
given you ; but for making me your wife, 1 cau ,
never forgive you — never, until my dying .
day !••

" Barbara !"

But sho would not bear him ; for the time,
she was really insane, and tore up and down
tho rooit like a very fury.

" O miserable, driveling idiot that I have
been ! Sunken, degraded wretch that I am, ,
ever to have married this thing ! And you,
poor, {utifvl hound, whom I bate and despise
nore than any other creature on God's eurtb,
,'(iu forced mo into this marriage when I was
eside myself, and knew not what I did! You, ,
knowing I loved another, cajoled me into mar- ,
rying yourself,- and I hate you for it! I bate ,
you! I hate you!"

Mr. Sweet's complexion, from sea-green,
turned livid and g'astly ; but his voice, though >
husky, was strangely calm.

♦'1 did not force you, Barbara ! You know .
know what you married mo for — revenge !" ,

** Revenge !" she echoed, breaking into a byi- ,

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UNMASKED; OR,

terieal laugh. •' Why, man, I tell 'you, one
otlier Buch victory would cost me my kingdom !
Yes, [ have the revenge of knowing I am de-
spised by the man whom I love. Do yon hear
that, Sylvester Sweet— wliom I lovo! Every
hair of whose head is. dearer to me tlmn your
whole miserable soul and body !"

Strange lividness this in Mr. Sweet's placid
face ! Strange fire this in hia calm eye ; but
his voice was steady and unmoved etiil.
" Yon forget, Barbara, that he jilted you !"
" And you dare to tannt me witii that!" she
almost shrieked, all her tiger passions unchain-
ed. " Oh that I had a knife, and I would drive
it to the hilt in your heart for daring to say
such a thin>r to me ! Oh, I had fallen low lie-
fore — a forsaken, despised, cast-off wretch !
but I never sunk entirely into the slime until I
married you ! Yes. he jilted me ; but I love
him still — love him as rauoh as I hate and de-
spise you ! Go, I tell you ! go, and leave me,
or I will strangle you where you stand !"

She was mad. He saw that in her terrible
&ce. But through all his horror, he strove to
. soothe her.

" Barbara ! Barbara ! let me say one word !
The hour for full and complete vengeance has
come at last! To-night, you will triumph over
him — over them all. This very bride shall be
torn from him at the altar, and you sliall be
^ ^. proclaimed Barbara — Great Heavens !"
,<sisu«\ She had been standing before him, br.t she
( J reeled suddenly, and would have fcllen 'jad he
not oauglit her. Tlie frantic fit of fury into
which she had lashed herself had given way,
and with it all her mad strength. But she was
not fainting ; for, at his hated touch, a look of un-
utterable loathing came over tlie white face,
and, witli a sort of expiring effort, she lifted her
!, bands and pushed him away.
I " Go !" she said, rising and clinging to the

P table, while her stormy voice was scarcely
' louder tlmn a whisper. " Go I If you do not
leave me, I shall die !"

He saw that she would. It was written in
every line of her deathlike face — in every quiv-
er of the tottering form all thrilling witli re-
pulsion. He turned and opened the door.

" I will go, then, Barbara !" he said, turning
for a last look as he passed out. ♦' I go to ful-
fill my promise and complete your revenge !"

He closed the door, went through the hall,
down the steps, along the graveled walk, and
out into the busy, bustling street. And how was
Mr. Sweet to know that he and his bride had
parted for ever ?

With Mie last sounds of his footsteps, Barba-
ra had tottered to the divan and sank down
among the cushions with a prayer in her heart
she had not strength enough to utter in words,
that she might never rise again. All the giant
fury of her passion had passed away ; but she
had DO tears to shed — nothing to do but lie '

there and feel that she had lost life, and that
her seared heart had turned to dnst and ashes.
There was no wish for revenge left ; t!iat was
gone with her strength — no wish for anything
but to lie tliere and die. She knew that it was
his wedding night. She heard carriage after
carriage rolling away to Castle Cliffe, and she
felt as if the wheels of all were crashing over
her heart. The last. rosy ray of the daylight
faded ; the summer moon rose up, stealing in
through the open curtains, and its pale light
lay on the bowed young head like the pitying
hand of a friend.

There came a knock at the front door — a
knock loud and imperative, that rang from end
to end of the house. Why did Bnrbara's heart
bound, as if it would leap from her breast?
She had never heard that knock before. There
was a step in the hall, light, quick, and decided
— a voice, too, that she would have known all
the world over. She had hungered and thirsted
for that voice — she had desired it as the blind
desire sight.

" And am I really going mad ?" was Barbara's
thought.

It was no madness. The door was opened,
the step was n the room, and Elizabeth, the
housemaid, was speaking :

" Misses be in here, Sir. I'll go and fetch a
light."
'* Never mind a light."

The door was closed in Elizabeth's face ; the
key turned to keep out intruders, and some one
was bending over her as she lay, or, rather,
crouched. She could not tell whether she was
sane or m'jd. She dared not look up : it must
be all an iliusioti. What could he be doing
here, and to-night ?
" Barbara !"

Oh, that voice ! If this was madness, she
never wished to be sane again.
" Bnrbara !"

Some one's haif was touching her cheek —
some one's hand was holding her own — the dear
voice was nt her ear

" Barbara, have you no word for me, either
of hatred or forgiveness? Will you not even
look at me, Barbara?"

She lifted her face for one instant. Yes, it;
was he, pale and passionate — he here, even at
this hour. She dured not look — she dropped
her face again in the cushion.

" Have I then sinned beyond redemption ?
Am I BO utterly hateful to you, Barbara, that
yon cannot even look?"
Barbara was mute.

" Do you know that I was to be married to-
night — that my bride is waiting for me even
now?"

" I know it! I know it I" she said, with a sort
of cry— that arrow going to the mark. O Leices-
ter, you have broken my heart!"
" I have been a traitor and a villain. I know ;

]ife, and tlint
Bt nnd ashoB.
eft ; t!iat was
for anything
w that it was
snrriage after
iiffe, and bIiu
irnBliing over
the dayliglit
), stealing in
itB pale light
e the pitying

•ont door — a
*ng from end
irbara's heart
her breast?
sfore. There
, and decided
7e known all
I and thirsted
as the blind

ras Barbara's

was opened,
llizabeth, the

and fetch a

Ij'a face ; the
nd some one
jr, or, rather,
her she was
up : it must
xe be doing

nadness, Bhe

ler cheelt —
vn — the dear

r me, either
)u not even

nt. Yes, it
ere, even at
she drojiped

edemption ?
larbara, that

married to-
or me even

, with a sort
c. O Leioes-

lin. I know ;

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFPE.

but, villain as I am, I oould not finish what I
had begun. At the last hour I have deserted
them all, Barbara, to kneel at your feet again.
She is beautiful and good ; but I only love you,
and "JO to you I have come back. Will you
send me away, Barbara?"

Her Imnd only tightened over his for answer.
In that moment she only knew that eiie was
utterly miserable and desperate, and that she
loved this man. She felt herself standing on
u quickBfind, and that it was shifting away un-
der her feet, and letting her down.

" Wiien I left you and went to London, Bar-
bara," the dear low voice went on, " and saw
hor first, I was diizzled ; and somehow, Heaven
only knows how ! I promised to fulfill an en-
gagement m.ide years before I had even heard
of her. While she glittered liefora me, the daze
continued ; but the moment I left her, the scales
fell from my eyes, and I saw it all. I came
back to Cliftonlea, determined to give up every-
thing for love and you — ta make you my wife,
nnd seek together a home in the New World.
I came. As I passed the cathedral I saw a
crowd, and entering, the first thing I beheld
was you, Barbara, the wife of another man — my
repentance and resolution all too late."

His listener had a long account to settle with
thot other man. It was only one more item
added to the catalogue, and she said notV.ing ;
and still holding her hand tighter, and comiug
nearer, the voice went on ;

" I thought I would give you up, forget you,
and take the bride they liad chosen for me ;
but now, at the last hour, I find that life with-
out you is less than worthless. Your marriage
was a mockery. You cannot care for this man.
Will you send me away, desolate and alone, over
the world ?"

Still she did not speak. The sand was slip-
ping away fast, and she was going down.

"Barbaral" he whispered, "you do not love
this man — yon love me. Then leave him for-
ever, and fly with me."'

CHAPTER XXV.

THE STORY.

The road from the town of Cliftonlea to the
Castle was a somewhat long one ; but by turn-
ing off and going through Lower Ciiffe and the
i)ark-gute8, the distance was shortened by half,
dr. Sweet, however, did not choose to take this
short cut ; but walkfed on through the town, at
his usual steady pace, neither slowly nor hur-
riedly, and the wliite summer moon was shining
over his head as he passed the Italian cottage.
The whole park seemed alive. Up on a hill
fireworks in full blaze, and a vast ciowd was
gathered round them. Down in a smooth hol-
low the Cliftonlea bross band was discouraing
merry music ; and on the velvet sward the dan-
cers were enjoying themselves in another way.
The place wus one blaze of rainbow light, from

the myriad colored lamps hung in the trees ;
and the moon was more like a dim tallow-cAn-
dle, set up in the sky to be out of the way, than
anything else. The joy-bells were clashing out
high over all, and mingled with their loud ring-
ing, the lawyer caught the Bound of the cathe-
dral clock tolling nine as he entered the paved
court-yard. He paused for a moment with a
smile on his lips.

"Nine o'clock — the appointed hour! Per-
haps I will be too late for the ceremony, after
all," he said to himself, as he ran up the steps.
The great hall-door stood open to admit the
cool niglit-air, and, standing in a blaze of light,
he saw Sir Roland and Colonel Shirley at the
foot of the stairs. No one else was in the domed
hall but the servants, who flitted ceaselessly to
and fro at. the farther end ; and he stepped in,
hat in hand. The two pentlemon turned simul-
taneously and eagerly, but the luces of both fell
when they saw who it was.

" Good evening. Sir Roland ; good evening,
Colonel Shirley,'' began Mr, Sweet, bowing low.
" Permit me to offer my congratulations on thi,'^
happy occasion."

"Congratulations!" exclaimed the Colonel;
" faith, I think there will be something besides
congratulations needed shortly ! Have you seen
Mr. Leicester Ciiffe anywhere in your travels
to-ni^'ht, Mr. Sweet;?"

Mr. Sweet looked at tiie speaker in undisguis-
ed astohisliment.

'" Mr. Leicester, is it possible that he rs not
here ? '

" Very possible, my dear Sir. I shall be
most happy to Ban him when he comes, and
let him know what it is to have a bullet tbrougli
the head !"

" Is it really possible ! Where in the world
can he bo to-night of all nights, if not here ?"

" Ah l that is what I would like to have some
one tell me» Wherever he may be, Castle Ciiffe
has certainly not the honor of containing him;
and the hour for the ceremony, you see, is past."

" It is astonishing !'' said Mr, Sweet, slowly,
and looking a little bewildered by tiie news.
" It is incomprehensible ! I never heard any-
thing like it in my life 1"

" 1 agree with you. But that does not mend
the matter unhappily ; and if he does not ap-
pear within the next fifteen minutes, you will
have the goodness to go and stop those con-
founded bells, and send all those good people
in the park about their business !''

" And there has been no wedding, then, to-
night?' said Mr. Sweet, Btill looking bewildered.

" None ! Nor is there likely to be, as far as I
can see."

" And Miss Shirley is still—"

" Miss Shirley ! and seems in a fair way of
remaining so for the present, at least."

" You have something to say, Sweet, have
you not?" asked Sir Roland, who had been

^1
'I

UNMASKED; OR,

/jn».!,^

wAtcbiiig the lawyer, and seemed struck by
Bometbiug in bis face.

Mr. Sweet liesitated a little ; but Colonel
interposed itiipaiieutly :

" Out nritb it, maul If you have anything to
say, let us have it at once."

"My request may seem strange — bold — al-
most inadmissible," said the lawyer, still hesi-
tating. " But I do assure yuu, I would not
make it were it not necessary."

" What is the man drivini; at?" broke out the
tlie Colonel, in astonisliment and impatience.
" What's all chis palaver about? Come to the
point at once. Sweet, and let us have this inad-
missible request of yours."

" It is, Colonel, that I see Miss Shirley at
once and alone ! I have two or three words to
suy to her that it is absolutely necessary she
should hear."

Sir Roland and Colonel Shirley looked at
each other, and then at Mr. Sweet, who, in
spite of every effort, seemed a little nervous and
excited.

" See Miss Shiriey at once, tmfl ninnfi !" re-

Eeated Sir Roland, looking at biiu wiiii some of
is sister's laercing intentuess. " You did right
to say that your request was a strange and
bold one. What can you possibly have to say
to Miss Shirley ?"

" A few very important words. Sir Roland."

*• r*iiy them, then, to the young lady's father ;
she lias no secrets from him."

" I beg your par. Ion, I cannot do so. That
is, I would infinitely rather say them to her-
self first, and leave it to her own good pleasure
to repeat them."

" Are you sure it is nothing about my son ?"

♦'Certainly, Sir Roland. Of your son, I
know nothing."

" Well, it's odd !" said the Colonel. " But 1
have no objection to your seeing Yivia, if she
has none. Come this way, Mr. Sweet."

Taking the wide staircase in long bounds as
lightly ae he could have done twenty years be-
fore, the Colonel gained the upper hall, follow-
ed by the lawyer, and tapped at the door of
the Rose Room. It was opened immediately by
Lady Agnes, who looked out with an anxious
face.

" O Cliffe ! has Leicester come ?"

" No, indeed ! but a very different pfrson has
—Mr. Sweet." *

•' Mr. Sweet ! Does he bring any news » Has
anything happened ?"

"No; though he says he wants to see
Vivia."

•' See Vivia 1" exclaimed her ladyship, looking
in the liiBt degree amazed, not to say shocked,
at the unprecedented request. " IlasMr. Sweet
gone crazy ?"

" Not that I know of. But here he is to an-
swer for himself."

Thus invoked, Mr. Sweet presented himself
with n deprecating bow.

" I beg your pardon, my Lady. I know the
request seems strange ; but I cannot help it, un-
rtiusonable as the time is. I beg of you to let
me Sec Miss Shirley at once, and the explana-
tion shall come afterward."

"I shall do nothing of the sort! Vm sur-
prised at you, Mr. Sweet I What can you mean
by so outrageous a request f "

'-My Lady, if you insist upon it, I must till
you ; but I earnestly entreat you not to force
me to a public explanation, until I have spoken
in private to Miss Shirley."

'* Oh, it is something about Leicester ! I know
it is, bz'd he wants to prepare her for some
shock. Mr. Sweet, do not dare to trifle with
rae I I am no baby ; and if it's anything about
him, I commend you to speak out at once 1"

" Lady Agnes, I liave said, again and again,
that it is nothing about him, and I repeat it.
Of Mr. Leicester Cliffe I know nothing whatev-
er. The matter simply and solely couoerus Miss
Shirly alone."'

'• me i}oict .''' cried a silvery voice. And the
beautilul amiling face of the bride peeped over
grandmamma's satin shoulder.

" Who vyants Miss Shirley ? Mr. Sweet,
is it you ? Uas anything happened to — "

She paused, coloring vividly.

Nothing has happened to Mr. Cliffe, I hope.
Miss Shirley," said Mr. Sweet, turning his anx-
ious face toward that young lady. '■ I have no
doubt he will be here presently ; but before he
comes, it is of the v.tmost importance I should
see you a few minutes in private."

Miss Sliirley opened her blue eyes according
to custom extremely wide, and turned them in
bewildering inquiry upon pupa.

" Mr. Sweet lias some awful secret to reveal
to you, Vivia," observed that gentleman, smil-
ing. " The ' Mysteries of UJolpho' were plain
reading compared to him this evening."

" If Mr. Sweet has anything to say to Miss
Shirley," said Lady Agnes, haujjhtily, " let him
say it here and at once. I cannot have any se-
cret interview and mysterious nonsense."

" It is not nonsense, my Lady."

" The more reason you should out with it at
once. You do not need to be told that any-
thing that concerns Miss Shirley concerns her
father and myself. If you do not like that, you
had better take your loave."

"Mr. Sweet turned so distressed and iraplor
ing a lace at this sharp speech toward Miss
Vivia, that that good-natured young lady felt
called upon to strike in.

" Never mind, grandmamma. There is noth*
ing so very dreadful in his speaking to me in
private, since he wisiies it so nmch. It is not
wrong — is it, papa?'

"Not wrong, but rather silly, I think."

" Well, Mr. Sweet and I are so wise general*

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

ented himsell

. I know the

lot help it, un-

of you to let

the ezplana-

)it! Vm Bur-
eau you lueiiQ

it, I muat till
1 not to force
I have spoken

jester! I know
her for some
to trifle with
mjthiug about
it at once I"
ain and again,
ud I repeat it.
jtbing whatev-
f couoerus Miss

Dice. And the
le peeped over

Mr. Sweet,
ned to — "

. Cliffe, I hope,
iruing his aux-

. '• I have uo
but before be

rtauce I should

eyes aooording
urued them ia

secret to reveal
entleman, smil-
)ho' were plain

eiiiug."

to say to Miss
;litily, " let him
ot have any se-
mseuse."

d out with it at

told that any-

iy concerns her

[>t like that, you

ed and iraplor'
sh toward Miss
^■oung lady felt

There is noth'
jaking to me in
luch. It is not

I think."
BO wise general^

ly, that we can afTord to be silly for once. Dnn't
eay a word, grandmamma ; it's all right. This
way, if you please, Mr. Sweet."

Turning her pretly face as she went, with an
arch little smile, she tripped across the hall,
nnd opened a door opposite — .what was called
the Winter Drawing-room. The lawyer followed
tiie shining figure of the I ride into the apart-
ment, whose pervading tints were gold and
crimson, and which wns illuminated with amber
sliailod lamps, filling it with a sort of golden
haze. He closed the door after him, and stood
for ft moment with his back to it.

'• Will your two or three words take long to
eny ?" asked Miss Shirley, still smiling—" which
means, am I to sit down or stand ?"

'' Yon had better sit down, I think, Miss
Shirley.-'

••Ah! I thought it was more than two or
three words ; but you had better l>e quick, for
1 have not much time to spare on this particu-
lar evening!"

She sank into afauteuil of scarlet velvet ; her
gossamer robes floating about her like white
mist ; her graceful head, with its snowy vail,
and golden curls, and jeweled orange-blossoms,
leaning liglitly against its glowing back ; the
exquisite face whereon the smile still lingered,
as she lightly waved him to a distant chair.
Truly, she was dazzling in her beauty and her
g|>lendor ; but her companion was not dazzled —
Le was smiling a little as he 'ook Ids seat.

•' Well, Mr. Sweet, what is this terrible mys-
tery of which papa speaks ?"

" Colonel Shirley has termed it rightly— it is
a terrible mystery."

" Indeed ! And it concerns me, I suppose, or
you would not be so anxious to tell it to me."
" Yes, Miss Shirley, J am sorry to say it con-
cerns you very closely indeed."

" Sorry to sfj ! Well, go on and let me hear
it, then."

"It is a somewhat com plexed story. Miss
Shirley, and requires me to go buck a long
time — over eighteen years."

Miss Shirley bowed slowly her willingness
for him to go back to the flood, if he liked.

" More than eighteen years ago, Miss Shirley,
there lived, several miles from London, in a
poor enough cottage — for they were very poor
jieople— a certain man and wife — Mr. and Mrs.
John Wildman."

At ♦-his unexpected announcement, Miss Shir-
ley opened her blue eyes again, and smiled a
little amused smile, as she looked at him inquir-
inglv.

"^his Mr. John Wildman was by trade a
bricklayer, and often absent from home weeks
at a time. One morn'ng, very enrly, during
one of *he8e ahsences, a carriage drove up to
the door, and a young ladv and gentleman
made their appearance in tne cottage. The
young Iftdr appeared to be ill, and the gentle-

man seemed exceed, gly anxious that she should
lodge there. Mrs. Vildman was not many
months married ; they were poor ; she wished
to help her husband, If she could ; the gentle-
man promised to pay well, and she consented.
He went away immediately, and for the n. xt
two or three weeks did not make his aj-Diar-
ance again, though money and furniture 'were
sent to the cottage. At the end of that time,
two events happened— ft child was born and
:he lady died. Before her death, she had sent
a message to the young gentleman, who came
in time to see her laid in the grave, and con-
sig.ied his infant daughter to the care of Mrs.
Wildman before departing, as be thought, for-
ever, from his native land."

During this preamble, the blue eyes had
opened to their widest extent, and were fixed on
the speaker with a little bewildered stare that
said plainly enough, she could make neither
head nor tail of the whole thing.

♦* Several months after this," Mr. Sweet went
on steadily, " this John Wildman, with a few
others, perpetrated a crime for which he was
transported, leaving his wife and child— for
they had a child some weeks old— to get on as
best they might ; the strange gentleman's infant
with them. It was by means of this very in-
fant they managed to exist at all ; for its fath-
er, immediately on his arrival in India, for
wliich place he had sailed, sent her plentiful re-
mittances; and so, for nearly six years, they
got along tolerably well. At the end of that
time, she fell ill, and her husband's mother,
who lived in some ont-of-the way place in the
north part of England, was sent for, and came
to nurse her and; the two little girls— whose
names, by the way, I forgot to tell you, wciv
Victoria and Barbara."

During all this time his listener had been
" far wide". But now she started as if she had
received a galvanic shuck.

"What! Victoria and Barbara! It isu t
possible that — "

" Permit me to continue. Miss Shirley," said
Mr, Sweet, bowing without looking up, "nnd
you will soon recognize the characters. Yes,
iheir names were Victoria and Barbara. Vic-
toria, the elder by a few moaths, was the daugh-
ter of the dead lady ; and Barbara, the daughter
of tiie transported felon. Judith, the mother-
iu-law, oame to take charge of them, aud heard
for the first time the whole story. She was a
crafty old woman, was Juditli, with little love
for the daughter in-law or granddaughter whom
she had cotre to take care of. But she was
wicked, ambitious, and mischievous, and a de-
moniac plot at once entered into her head. A
letter was dispatched to the gentleman in India
— he wf an oflScer, too— telling him that the
Wildmniis were about to leave for America, and
that he had better come home and take charge
of bis daughter. Miss Shirley, he oame ; but

''-■'A'

UNMASKED; OR,

'r*--.
1

it was not his daughter lie received from the
old woman, but her granddaughter. The chil-
dren were not unlike ; botli had the same fair
cumplexiuns, and light hair and blue eyes.
The reai Victoria was kept carefully out of
sight, and he carric ' o£f the false one lu implic-
it trust and placed ner in a convent iu France.
Mi.«8 Shirley, I beg — "

He stopped and rose hastily, for Miss Shirley
had sprung from her seat, and wad confronting
them with flushing eyes.

"It is false! It is false! I shall never be-
lieve it ! What is tliis you have dared to tell
ine, Mr. Sweet ?"

" The truth, Miss Shirley."

" My God ! ho yon mean to say that I am
really — that I am nut — Oh, it is too false, too
absurd to hear ! I will nut slop and listen to
you any lo:iger."

Shp turned excitedly to go ; but he placed
himself between her and tbe door.

" Miss Shirley, I beg, I entreat, for Heaven's
sake near me out! It is every word true. Do
you think I would come here and repeat such a
tale, if I was not positive ?"

" Man Dim!" what is he saying? Am I
dreaming or awake?"

•' Miss Shirley will you sit down and hear me
out?"

" Miss Shirley !" she said, with a sort of wild-
ness in her look. " If what you have dared to
say be true, I have no right to that name. It
has never for one poor moment belonged to

You are quite right ; but the name, just now,
is of little oonBe(]^uence. Will you be pleased
to sit down and listen while I finish?"

" I am listening — go on."

She sank back into the seat, not leaning back
this time, but sitting ereot, her little white
hands clinging to one arm of the chair, the
wonderful blue eyes fixed upon liim wild and
dilated. Her companion resumed his seat and
his story ; his own eyes fixed on the carpet.

" The little girl in the convent, who bore
the name of Victoria Genevieve Shirley, but
who in reality was Bai-bara Wildman, remained
there until she was twelve years old, when the
Indian oflScer, who fancied' himself her father,
returned to England, his mother, and his native
home, and his little girl, the supposed heiress
of Castle Cliffe, was sent for and came here.
Miss Shirley, to tell you any more of her his-
tory would be onperfluous ; but perhaps you
would like to hear the story of the real, the de-
frauded heiress, the supposed Barbara?"

He paused to see if she would speak, and
looked at her ; but one glance was all he dared
venture, and he lowered his eyes and went hur-
; riedly on :

" The sick mother knew nothing of the change

I until it was too late, and then she went frantic

with grief. Old Judith alarmed, as she very

well might be, managed to remove her to Lon
don, by telling her she would recover her child
there ; and when there, gave out she was mail,
and had her imprisoned in a mad-hous*'. It is
all very dreadl'ul, ifliss Sliirley, but I regret tu
repeat it is all quite true, uevertheieso."

She covered her face with her hands, and
snnk down among the cushions of the seat, quiv-
ering all over for a moment, and then becoujiug
perfectly still.

" The old woman changed the name of Wild-
man for that of Black ; and during the next tno
or three years iived on the money paid her by
Colonel Shirley. That began to give out, and
she resolved to make Colonel Shirley's daughter
find her more. Barbara — the children's iiauiee>, I
as I told you, were changed — was a pretty little
girl of nine, and attracted the attention of the
manager of a band of strolling players. She
became one of the band — the most popular one
among them — and for the next two years bbel
and her grandmother managed very well, when I
one day they were astonished by the unlocked- 1
for appearance of the transported Mr. Wild-
man, who had made his escape, and had found |
them out. He, too, took tbe name of Black-
Peter Black — attached himself to the same com-
pany, and the three went wandering over Eng-
land together. Are you listening. Miss Shir-
ley?"

He really thought she was not, she lay sol
rigid and still ; but at the question she partlyl
raised herself and looked at him.

" Barbara Black that was — -^our wife that isl
— is then the real Victoria Shirley ?*' '

» She is."

He did not dare to look at her ; but he feltl
the blue eyes were transfixing him and readingi
his very heart. It was only for a few 8econdis|
and then she dropped down among the ca6Lions|
again, and lay stilt.

'' They came here to Sussex six years flgoJ
and, strange enough, settled here. The oldf
woman and her son had each probably tlieirj
own reasons for so doing. It is an out-of-tbe
way place, this little seucoast town, and the re-
turned convict was not ambitious to extemi
the circle of his acquaintance ; and hia niothfij
mother, probably, was actuated by a desire t(j
see how her wicked and cruel plot worked,
the real and supposed heiress grew up, boilj
beautiful ; bnt all similarity ended betweeij
them there — one in the lap of luxury, envied
admired, and happy ; the other wretchedly poorl
little cared-for, and miserable. But I, Miss Sbirl
ley, knowing nothing of all this, loved her anf
married her ; and it is only within the last da]
or two these facts have come to my knowledge
I beg your pardon, but are you really listenf

He oould not tell what to make of her. Sb
lay drooping over the side of the chair so in
luovably that she might have been dead, for i

Tl>e
bride-elei
hour , bi
a strange
fallen <t\(
scend, th
the pale
at ::ut.
" Is yo
" It is
"And
" In thi
" Why
" She-
my Lady,

"Not
Iter pierc
" Not we
then ?"

'My I

better go

♦♦Veiy

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

10 '-'6 hf.T to Lon
recover her child
ut Bbe was uiin\
lad-bouB*'. It is
, but 1 regret to
rtbeleB8."
ber bancle, nnd
of tbe seut.qiiiv-
ud tbeu becouiing

be name of Wild-
ifing tbe next two
oney paid ber by

to give out, and
Shirley's daughter
I cbildren's name?,
was a pretty little
i attention of the
ng players. She

most popular one
ixt two years bhe
d very well, when

by tbe unlooked-
iported Mr. Wild-
,pe, and had found

nanae of Black—
If to the same com-
idering over Eng-
jteniug, Miss Shir-
as not, she lay sol
luestion she partly!
lim. . 1

—your wife that ul
birley ?*' '

it her ; but he feltl

g hira and readingi

for a few secondJ

imong the cushionsj

,8ex six years ngoi
d here. The m
ach probably theirf
It is an out-of-tbe
t town, and the re-
iibitious to exteiul
;e ; and his niotlieif
ated by a desire td
b1 plot worked. H
ress grew up, boill
ity ended betwefi|
p of luxury, envied,
ler wretchedly poorl
e. But I, Miss Shirl
this, loved her m
within tbe last dal
je to my knowledgej
e you really listew

make of her. Sh|
of the chair so in
ve been dead, for i

ibe signs of life she exhibited. But she was
very far from dead ; for she answered us she
had done before, and at once ; and tbe sweet
voice was almost harsh, so full was it of sup-
pressed inward pain.

'♦ I am listening. Why need you ask ? Go on."'

" This miserable old woman was fund of you
— excuse me if I pain you — and her exultation
betran to come out when she found you were to
be tlie bride of the first gentleman in Sussex.
lL;r reputed granddaughter, whom she feared
and disliked.wan my wife ; all her schemes seemed
accomplished, and, in her triumph, she drojipcd
hints that roused my suspicions. I followed
them up, suspected a great deal, and at Inst
boldly accused her of all. She was frightened
and denied ; but her denials confirmed my sus-
picions, and at last I forced I'rom ber the whole
disgraceful truth. It wasn't over an hour ago.
I came here immediately. And that, Miss Shir-
ley, is the whole story."

He drew a long breath, and looked rather
anxiously. She neither spoke nor moved.

♦' Miss Shirley !"

" I am listening."

"I have told you all. What is to be done
now."

" You are to go and leave me."

He rose up and walked to the door.

'• Yes, Miss Shirley ; but I will remain here.
Lady Agnes and Colonel Shirley must know all
to night."

He opened the door and passed out. The
hnll, in a blaze of light, was deserted ; but be
heard the murmur of voices from the room op-
posite and from belo.v.

"Yes," he murmured to himself; "yes, my
dear Barbara, thanks to you, it is all mine at

last."

CHAPTER XXVI.

DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND.

'ri»e interview between the lawyer and the
bride-elect bad not lasted over a quarter of an
hour , but, as he stood in the hall, be felt that
a strange and ominous silence seemed to have
fallen over the house. As he was about to de-
scend, the door of the Rose Room opened, and
the pale and haughty face of Lady Agnes look-
2t :;Kt.

" Is your conference over ?" she asked.

" It is over, my Lady."

" And where is my granddaughter ?"

" In the drawing-room, my Lndy."

" Why does she not come out ?"

" She — she — I am afraid she is not quite well,
my Lady.'

" Not well !" exclaimed Lady Agnes, fixing
her piercing eyes in stern suspicion on him.
" Not well 1 what have you been saying to her,
then ?"

' My Lady, pardon me ; but I think you had
better go to Miss Shirley directly."

"Veiy well, Sir I. And you will have the

goodness to stay where you are until this mys-
terious matter is cleared up."

She swept proudly past him with a majestic
rustle of her silk skirts, and opened tbe dour
of the Winter Drawingroom. But she paused
on the threshhold with a shrill shriek— such a
shriek as made Mr. Sweet turn ashy white, ter-
rified the i: nests below, and made her sou comu
from the lower hall in half a dozen fleet bounds
tu ber side.

Vivia bad fallen to the floor, not quite pros-
trate, but ber bands grasping the arm of tbe
chair, her head on them, and her whole atti-
tude unnatural and distorted. It was a stnmge
sight — the glowing room filled witli amber
light, all gold and fire ; the slender shape in its
floating robes, misty vail, and sparkling bridal
wreath, crouching down in that strained, writh-
ing position — its profusion of long ringlets
sweeping the crimson eiirpet

" The child has fainted !" screamed Lady
Agnes, " or that wretch has killed her !"

"Vivia, my darling !" criea hsr father, fly-
ing in and littiag her in bis arua. " Vivia, my
child, wiiat is the matter ?"

Lady Aj^nes was wrong ; she had not fainted
Her eyes were wide open, sta- ing straight before
her with a fixed, unnatural look ; her face was
quite ghastly ; but she made a feeble motion
when raised, as if struggling u> get away.

" Vivia, for Heaven's sake do not look so !
Vivia, dearest, do you not know me?"

The glazed and fixed intensity slowly lefl
ber eyes, and they came back to his face with a
look of unutterable love.

" Dear papa I" •

" My darling, what is this ? What ails you?"
he asked, pushing back the curls from the pale
brow, and touching it tenderly with his lips.

" papa, don't !" she cried, in a voice so full
of sharp pain that he scarcely knew it ; and
again the feeble struggle to rise from his arms
commenced. •

Wondering exceedingly, he lifted and placed
ber in a chair, just as Jeannette rushed in
with smelling-salts and sal volatile ■ and Lady
Agnes held a handkerchief steeped in Cologne
to her temples. A crowd bad collected by tidy
time in the doorway, and seeing them, and re<
vived by stimulants, she rose up.

"Papa! Grandmamma! take me away!
Where is Mr. Sweet ?"

" Here, Miss Shirley," said that gentleman,
presenting himself promptly, with a very pale
and startled face.

Tbe well-bred crowd in the doorwsn;', seeing
by this time they were de trop, hurried immedi-
ately down stairs, and no one remained in tbe
drawing-room, except Vivia, her father and
grandmother, and Mr. Sweet.

" I knew no good would come of this outrage-
ous interview r' exclaimed Lady Agnes, flash-
ing a look on her agent that might have scorctt*

■t'M

UNMASKED; OR,

h .»

Litn, 80 fierce wm Ub fire; "but I scarcely
thought it would end like this. What have you
been aaying to her, Sir ? Out with it at once,
nuil no more fooling, or I will have you thrust
out witiiin t!)e next five minuteu I"

" My Lady,' hurriedly began Mr. Sweet.
But Vivia started up, all her strength recover-
ed — more than her usual strength fur that mat-
ter. In the height of her pride and power, she
liad been beaten to the dust ; but in lier last ef-
fort, slie reared herself higher and prouder than
ever before in her life.

" Grandmamma, it is useless to talli to him
like this. I have heard notliing but what I
should have heard before — what he should have
told us all long ago !"

" Miss Shirley, you forget — "

" I forgnt notliiue, Mr Sweet. In spite of all
that you have said, I am convinced you have
Known the mitter all along, and have been si-
lent for your own ends. Those ends are not
very difficult to see, and you have aocomplisb-
«d tliem."

" But, my dear Vivia, what are you talking
about?" said her father, looking to the last de-
gree puzzled. " What does tliis all mean ?"

" It means that I am not Vivia ! thut I have
sever bad a right to that name ; that for twelve
years I have been a usurper : that, in short,
twelve years ago, you were deceived, and I pm
no daugliter of yours I"

The same unnatural look that had be ■
her ey»s before came back, and jarred in
tone, whose very calmness and steadiness were
unnatural, too. For the time being, quiet as
Sue Heemed, she was quite beside herself, or, as
tlie French say, out of herself, and could no
more have shed a tear, or uttered a cry, or
made a scene, than she could have sunk down
at their feet and died. She was not even con-
scious of sorrow at the revelation ; every nerve
seemed numb, every feeling callous, her very
heart dead. She only felt there was a dull,
heavy pain aching there ; but the swiftness and
keenness of the stroke deadened every other
feeling. She stood before them, a dazzling fig-
ure, and calm as if made of marble ; her eyes
wildly bright alone betokeniut; momentary in-
sanity. Lady Agnes and the Colonel looked at
her as if they thought she had really gone in-
sane.

" Vivia, what are you talking about ? I don't
understand."

" It is plain, nevertheless ; and sudden and
quite unexpected as it is, I believe it all.
It comes back to me now, what I had almost
forgotten before, that Barbara was my name
long, long ago, and that she was Victoria ! Oh,
I know it is true I I feel it in my heart !"

The Colonel turned in desperation to the
lawyer.

'.' Sweet, will you explain this ? I do not
comprehend a word of what she is saying,"

" Colonel Shirley, I am sorry — . am very
sorry ; but it is out of my power to help you,
The young lady speaks the truth. Twelve
years ago, you were deceived, and she is not
your daughter."

•' Not my daughter !"

" No, Colonell Can you remember twelve
years back, when you came from India and re-
ceived her?"

" Certainly. I remember. But what of it?"

" It was not the person you intrusted her to I
that gave her to you back, but an old woman |
— was it not?"

'• Yes."

" Do you recollect what she looked like ?"

"Kecollect! No. I did not pay so much I
attention to her as that. What the deuce are!
you driving at, man ?"

" Only that you have seen her since! Sb«|
lives in Lower Cliffe. She is Black, the fisher-
man's mother — she is old Juditli !"

" By Jove !" cried the Colonel, his face light-
ing up with sudden intellieeuce, " I believel
you are right. That woman°8 face puzzled mel
when I saw it. I was sure I had seen it somel
place before, but could not tell where. It ill
all plain now. And it puzzled me the more, ul ,
she always seemed dreading to look or speak tow the speal
me."

" She had reason to dread you. By her youj
have been most grossly and basely deceived '

" How ?"

" The child she gave you twelve years agol
was not yours, hut her own granddaughter.
This young lady is not your child I"

" What !" exclaimed the Colonel, sta'^ing for-
ward and turning very pale. " STou villainll
what are you daring to say ?"

" The truth Colonel Shirley, told by her owi
lips."

*' Do you mean to say — do you dare to sai
that Vivia is not my daughters'

" I do."

Colonel Shirley stopped and looked at liii
mute with consternation. The lawyer stood
fore him very pale, but meeting his eye witiij
out quailing — sincerity and sympathy on ever]
feature.

'• I know you are stunned by the suddennei
of the shook. Sir. I know it is hard to beiiefi
it at first , but it is Heaven's truth for all that]
If you will only listen to me five minutes, Iwil
tell you all I have told to — " a pause — " to tl
young lady!"

" Go on ?"

Mr. Sweet went on accordingly. The stoi
was listened to with profoimdest silence, and
long and ominous pause followed, passionateii
broken at last by La^ly Agnes :

/'It is a lie, from beginning to end! I wil
never believe a word of it! The man has fsl
ricated the whole thing himself, for the purpoi
of trumping his own miserable wife upou

"0, Vivii
"I belies
I can reu

oir. I oou
Iream, that
I playe
irm. I "

Anothei
iffeet, embo
id to rese
use she is
ut Barbari
ite. I rera
ait J look
He drew
laced it
lauii. It
l^ory whilst
ivia, at fl)
egold chi

given

ther hand.

e resenib

loe, with th

«ie profus,

oiu the br<

|J«8, clear a

>»uth and

«ing, the ej

f. and 8ter

''ose faces

oonvinoi

""■'lie, ere

Tlie nij

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

ClifFe, if jou do ri;j;ht, you will make the serv-
aiiu kick him outl"

I will apar^ your servants tliat trouble, Lady
Agnes!" said Mr. fSweet, whose fuce was per-
fectly culorless, as h» luuved toward the duur ;
but no amount of kicking can nltur the truth ;
and justice must be had, though the heavens
fidi!"

Stop!" cried Colonel Shirley, in a voice
that made the room ring. " Come back ! What
rout' can you give of the truth of all this,
tteyoMil that of your word, and that of this old
woman, whom you may easily have bullied into
Hie plot!"
"The old woman is ready to depose to the
acts, ou oath ; and you can visit the daughter,
if yuu clioose, in her madhouse, where she raves
hat the deuce are iaces-iautly of her lost ciiild, and tells tho story
;ii every one who visits lier. Consider, too, the
probabilities. What more natural, than that this
irretclied woman should, with her own grand-
daughter, be placed in iifflii'nce, when she had
it' ill her power. It is not the first time the
lime thing has been done, and the young lady
eruelf believes it."

Colonel Shirley turned to her ; she was stand-
Dg as before. Sue had not moved once, but her
syes had restlessly wandered from face to face
f the speakers.

"0, Vivia. can you believe it!"
"I believe it all!" she said, quite calmly.
I can remonib :i' it with perfect distinctness
lOT. I could remembi-r it ail alontr, like a dim
iream, that long ago I was culled Barbara, and
liat I played with another child who was Vic-
iria. I believe it, every word !"
" Another thing, Colonel Shirley !" said Mr.
Iweet, emboldened ; " tiiis young lady lias been
aid to resemble your family very much, be-
ause she is a blonde, and so are all your race.
iut Barbara is the living image of }oiir dt-ad
you dare to say file. I remember her well. Here is her por-
trait; look at it for yourself!"

He drew a miniature out of his pocket, and
and looked at liin ''^^^^l it respectfully in the Indian otiicer's
he lawyer stood b« aad. It was a likeness of Barbara, paimcd on
" fory whilst in London, and strikingly like her.
"ivia, at the same instant, drew from her neck
he gold chain to which the portrait the Colonel
° given her was attached, and placed it iu liis
itiier hand. Strange and striking, indeed, was
be resemblance ; the same oval contour of

irry — - am very

»wer to help you.

truth. TweUe

, and abe is not

remember twelve
oiu India and re-

But what of it?"
I intrusted her to
but an old woman

J looked like?"
not pay so much

n her since! Sb«
Black, the fisher-
dith !"

)nel. his face ligbt-
jeuce, " I believe
's face puzzled me
I had seen it some
tell where. It ii
ed me the more, ai
to look or speak to

you. By her you
basely deceived."

u twelve years ago
firn granddaughter,
child 1"

Colonel, sta'-^ing for-
do. " Sfou villain!

ley, told by her own

lerf'

ietiug hiB eye with
sympathy on ever

by the suddennei
it is hard to believi
8 truth for all that

e five minutes, I vil >oe, with the deep bloom on the checks ; the

-" a pause " to tbi "ne profusion of dark waving hair swept back

■cm the broad brow ; the same large, uplifted
yes, clear and bright ; the same characteristic
rdingly. The stoi "outh and chvi : the most striking difference
indest silence, and eing, the expression. Barbara looked far cold-
llowed, passionatel r, and sterner, and prouder than tiie otlier.
fc,gg . ' Bhose faces settled the matter. The Colonel

ining to end! I wiViis convinced, and his face seemed changed to

The man hus fal»>«r''le, ere he looked up.
nself, for the pnrpoij " The night you gave me this, papa," said
arable wife upon

Yivia, catling him the old familiar name, " I
told you tliey were alike, and you snid it was a
chance r>isetublance. It was no chance resem>
blanoe, you see now !"

"I see! BntO, Vivia— "

He leaned against a tall ebony cabinet, and
covered his eyes with his hand. Lady Agnes,
who had been standing in dumb bewilderment
all the time, broke out now with a wild cry :

"Cliffe! Clitfe! This cannot be true ! Y
cannot believe it !"

" Mother, I do !"

" Dear, dear grandmamma !" exclaimed Vivia,
springing forward and catching her hand, terri-
fied at her changing face, " I will always. O
papa, couie here !"

For Lady Agnes, with a casping cry, had
fallen back quite senseless. Her son caught her
in his arms, and Mr. Sweet violently rang the
bell. Jeannette and Hortense were there in a
moment. Colonel Shirley carried her to her
room, and was back directly.

"Well, Sir!" he said to Mr. Sweet, ''and
what now ?"

The lawyer looked really distressed and at a
loss, but Vivia came to the rescue at once

" The first thing to be done is, to go to Lower
ClifFe immediately, and see this woman. I can
never rest now until tlie whole matter is settle'!.
If you will wait for me, I will be ready to go
with you in five minutes."

The Colonel took both her hands in his, and
looked down pityingly and tenderly into the
death- white face.

"You go, Vivia! You look fit to die this
moment.''

" I am not going to die. I never was so
strong before iu my life. Don't say a word,
papa, it is of no use. X will not keep you five
minutes."

' She disappeared in the Rose Room ; and both
gentlemen looked after her, more astonished by
the sudden and complete change the girl's
whole nature seemed to have undergone within
the hour, than by anything that had happened
that night. True to her word, site was back in
au incredibly short space of time, the briHal-
dress doffed, and arrayed in mantle and liat.
Again objections were upon the Colonel's iips ,
but they died out at sight of the pale, resoiute
face.

" We must go out this way." she said. " It
will never do to go down stairs and pas.s all
these people."

She led the way to another fliglit of stairs at
the opposite end of the hall, and the three went
down, and out of one of the side dours, into the
shrubbery. The bells had ceased to ring ; but
the fire-works were still blazing, the music still
cliinging ; the people still dancing and feasting —
the whole park like a glimpse of fairy-land.
What n bitter satire it all wt^s ! and the keenest
pang^^l«rl3SIoneni»l .jet felt, wrung his heart

**l

' lOTHECA

. )SV'=

too

UN^IASKED ; OR.

as he drew Vivia't arm within hia own, anil har-
ried, by Hiuulry by-patha, to the village. Not
one word was 8|iokeii on the way. They hus-
teued aloni;, and aoun came in uiglit of th« cot-
tage. A liglit alione from the windows. Tlie
lawyer, without hesitation, opened the door and
walke4l in, followed by ids two com|ianions.
Old Juditli, cowering and shivering, was in her
oaiiul seat. A tallow candle, in a dirtv brass
candlestick, ilared, and glittered, and dripped
big tears of fat all over it. No one else was

E resent. At sight of them she shrank away,
olding out her arms, with a piteous cry.

" Don't take me away ! Don't seuu me to
prison! I confess it all — all — all !"

" What have you to confess ?" asked Colonel
Shirloy, standing sternly before ber.

" I changed them, I did ! I changed them, I
did ; but I never meant no harm ! O good gen-
tlemen, liave mercy! I'm an old woman uqw,
and don't send me to prison !"

Vivia bent over ber, with a face like that of
an angel.

" Vou shall not be sent to prison. No one
will harm vou, if you speak tJie truth. Am 1
your granddanghier?"

But the sound of the sweet voice, the sight of
the lovely face, and the earnest quehtion,
seemed to act worse than all on old Judith ; for
she sprang up and fled into the farthest corner
of tlie room, as she had done once before, long
ago, at sight of Mr. Sweet, holding out her arms
in ft sort of horror.

•'Speak, woauin!" cried the Colonel, striding
forward. "Speak at once, and tell me , if you
gave me your grauddaughter, twelve years ago,
and kept my Ciild ?''

••Pnpii, papa, she is iu a fit!" exclaimed
Vivia, in terror.

It was true. Whether from fear cr some
other cause, the wrelched woman had fallen
back in a fit of paralysis, her features black-
ened and convulsed, the foam oozing from her
lips— a horrible sigiit to look on. Of all the
terrible changes of that fatal bridal-night, there
was nothing to equal this; and Vivia covered
her face with lier hands, and turned away, shud-
dering, from the revolting 8|iectacle.

•'If you'll have the kindness to knock at the
cottage next door," said Mr. Sweet, who had
sipraiig forward and lifted her up. " I will
place her on the bed and send a message for the
doctor."

The Colonel obeyed, quite horror-stricken,
and the women from the next house came flock-
ing in. A man was sent in hot haste to Clif-
tonlea for a doctor, and Mr. Sweet consigned
old Judith to their care.

" Do any of you know where her son is ?"
he asked. One of the women did ; and, with
numberless courtesies to her master and her
young lady, told how, a couple of hours before,
he had entered the cottage, and, after staving

for some ten minutes, had left it again in hasto,
and took the road for the town. Then, as they
could do no more, the two left, and paused fur
a moment out in the moonlight.

"Nothing more can bu Jone to-night," re-
marked Mr. Sweet; "and, with your permis-
sion, I will return home."

" As you please ; but I shall expect you very
early to-morrow, and — your wife also. Now
tbut we have couimenced, this matter must be
investigated to the bottom."

Raising his hat coldly and haughtily, the
Colonel turned away, and Mr. Sweet hurried off
rapidly toward his own home. It was late wheii
he reached it — the cathedral-cluck was striking
eleven. Most of the houses were silent and
dark ; but a light burned in his, and his knock
at the door was promptly answered. Elizabelli
looked rather startled ; but he did not notice
that, and hurried at once into the parlor, where
his wife usually sat up to all hours. She was
not there to-night. And he ran up to ber I'ooiii.
She was not there either. But something el«e
was — something that made Mr. Sweet p(\use ua
the threshold, as if a hand of iron had thrust
him back. Over the bed, over the floor, over
the table, clear in the moonlight, lay all the
gilts he had ever given her, before and after
their marriage. Something gleamed at his feet.
He stooped and picked it up. A broken ring-
broken into three or four pieces — but he knew
it at once. It was his wife's wedding-ring, brok-
en and trodden in the dust, like the vows she I
hud pligiited — vows that were brittle as glass-
slippery withes, that she had snapped like hnirs,
and trampled under her feet as she had tiaiu-
pied the ring that bound them. He saw all in
an instant ; and in that instant his face altereil I
so frightfully, that no one would have kiionn
it. He tore down the stairs, livid with fear and
fury, to find himself baffled in the very hour of]
triumph, and clutched Elizabeth by the arm in I
a terrible grip.

" Where is your mistress?" he cried, furiously

'• Please, Sir, she is gone !" said the territieJ I
handmaid.

" Gone I Gone where ? Speak, or 111 strangle I
you!"

"Please, Sir, I don't know. The gentlemnn
went away ; and the next I saw, she went out
the back way, in her bonnet and shawl ; ami i'
was dark, and I couldn't see where she went."

" Who was the gentleman? Who was he?'
Mr. Sweet almost screamed, shaking the girl
until she writhed in liis grasp.

" Please, Sir, it was young Mr. Cliffe. O Lor',
let go my arm !"

Mr. Sweet clapped on his hat and rnslieJ
out like a madman. Through the streets lie
tore, knocking down everything and everybody
that came in his way. He fled through Lower
Cliffe, through the park-gates, up the aveiiiif.
and into the house. Everybody ran screauiin

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFPE.

101

it Rffain in haste,

. Thtii, M tlay

I, Boil paused fur

It.

i»o to-night," re-

bli your peruiis-

expect you very

wife also. Now

matter uiuat be

1 haughtily, tlie
Sweet hurried utf

It wat) iatt) wliuu
lock was strilciiig

were silent atiu
is, and his knock
vered. Elizabelli
lie did not notice
the parlor, wlier«

hours. Shu wag
■n up to her room,
it something eUe
r. Sweet p<^use oa

iron had thrust
er the floor, over
[ilight, lay nil the
, hefore and after
learned at his feet,

A broken ring-
cea — but he knew
redding-ring, brok-
like the vows she
( brittle as glass-
mapped like hftirs,
; as she had trum-
hi. He saw all in
int his face altereil
iTould have known
livid with fear ami
1 the very hour of
eth by the arm k

he cried, furiously
said the territieJ

3ak, or 111 strangle

The gentlemnn
saw, she went out
and shawl ; an^l i*
where she went."
? Who was he?"
I, shaking the girl

Mr.Cliffe. OLor".

is hat and ruslieJ
ugh the streets lie
ling and everybody
led through Lower
,es, up the aveinK'.
)ody ran screauuni;

before him ; but he rushed on until he found
biiusulf in the presence of Sir Uoland Cliffe,
Colonel Shirley, and the crowd uf unknown la-
dies and gentlemen.

"She IS gone I she i gono!" he screamed,
fianlically. " They have uoth gone together.
My wife has eloped with Leicester Cliffe !"

CHAPTER XXVI.

WHAT LAY ON TUK NUM'S QRAVK.

Within the memory of the oldest inliabitant,
that pleasant-spokeu gentleman, the agent of
Lady Agues Shirley, had never been known to
be otherwise than perfectly self-possessed and
equal to any emergency. The said legal gen-
tleman had imuginea himself that nothing
earthly cuuld have moved his admirable sang
froid ; but, on the present occiisiou, both he and
the oldest inhabitant found their mistake. Ever
afterward, he had a very vague and mdistinct
idea of what followed his startling announce-
ment. Ue had a dim recollection of a sense of
suffocation ; of a roaring sound m his ears ; of
being the centre of a surging sea of white and
terrified faces ; of bearing cries and exclama-
tiuus ; and, deep and high overall, the clear, au-
tlioritative voice of Colonel Shirley, giving
some orders. Then he felt himself carried away
and laid on a bed ; felt mistily that some one
was bleeding him, and some one else ' olding
ice to his hot head . of being relieved from the
unpleasant sense of strangulation, and at last
oi gradually dropping off into a profound and
dreamless sleep ; and, being left alone in his dis-
tant room to sleep the sleep ot the just, he knew
nothing of what was going on in the other parts
of the great mansion— how Sir Roland Cliffe
bad dropped down in a fit of apoplexy, and
been borne away to another chamoer, a dread-
ful sight — how the guests had all dispersed in
consternation and dismay ; how the news had
flown like wildfire through the town , how the
lights had been put out, the tenantry sent home
all agape. Castle Cliffe shut up in silence and
darkness, and the crowd of servants — an hour
before so busy and bustling— grouped together
in the lower regions, talking in hushed and awe-
struck whispers, and never thinking of bed.
How Colonel Sliirley was pacing ceaselessly up
and down the lower hall, and unable to stop
fur one instant ; how tiie head doctor of the
town was flying incessantly from Sir Roland to
Lady Agnes ; and how she who should have felt
it all the most, was the calmest and most col-
lected person in the house. In a simple morn-
ing-wrapper, all her bright curls gathered up
and confined in a net, Yivia bent over Lady
Agnes, very pale, very quiet, very calm, obey-
ing all the doctor's directions implicitly ; and
when at last that lady consented to come "«' of
aer hysterics, swallowed an opiate, and fell
asleep, the ex-l>ride left her to the care of a
nurse, and went away to her own room— her

own pretty Hone Uooni — wherein she hud i»o
often Hlept the innocent sleep uf fart-lrHo girl-
hood — that Hh«> never, never could t»leep inort'.
Over the mantel, looked down on her still Ihu
sweet, n:aje8tio face, encircled by the golden
halo ; and Vivia dru(<ped down bilote it, her
fuco hidden in her hands, and pinycd ns tmly
those pray who see the whole Morld darkening
around them, and no light but the light of
Heaven. Long ago, wliuu a little child, she
had knelt before the grtx^ altar in her dear old
convent in sunny France, atid prayed as she
was doing now, and "Oh!" cried Vivias heart,
"if 1 had only died then !"

And Mr. Sweet, skepiiig serenely, as all good
men should do, knew nothing of all this, and nev-
er woke until the summer sunbeams were glanc-
ing in through the curtains. Then he awuke with
a Jerk from some unpleasant dream, and roso
slowly up on his elbow, a little confustd and be-
wildered still. His right arm felt stifl'und sore,
and looking down, he saw it was bandaged, ami
the bandage stained with blood. That recalled
the bleeding, and the bleeding recalled the
rest , and feeling his head a little hot and giddy
still, he got out of bed, filled a basin with cold
water, and plunged his cranium into it. This
cooling process had the desired effect — having
mop]ied his yellow hair dry with a towel, he
felt he was his own collecled, clear-headed Eelf
again, and sat down on the edge of the bed to
dress himself slowly, and think over all that had
happened. To sleep over a matter sometinied
changeH its complexion very materially ; and Mr.
Sweet's first idea was one of wonder, how hu
ever could have been such a ninny as to be
overcome for a moment by the little affair of
lust night. It was true, all the plans he had
be<n forming and cherishing so long were
knocked in the head at one blow ; but he cou <1
s'ill form new plans, and nobody knew better
than he that all is not lost that is in danger.
His wife, Colonel Shirley's daughter and heir-
ess, hud eloped, to be sure , but there was yet
a possibility that she might be fonud again and
reclaimed ; and, for his part, he was a sufiicient-
ly good Christian to overlook the little episode
and take her back aguin, ns if nothing had hap-
pened. Even should she refuse to comeback —
it would be just like Barbara to do it — that did
not alter in the least the facts of the case, she
was none the less his wife and the heiress of
Castle Cliffe. The only thing he blamed him-
self for was, not having told her all beforehand.
It might have prevented this disagreeable con-
tretemps. But It was too lute now, and —

Here Mr. Sweet's meditations were cut short
by a rap at the door.

" Come in !" he called , and Hurst, Colonel
Shirley's valet, came in accordingly.

" Ah, good-morning, Hurst !" aa'id Mr. Sweet,
blandly, hastily putting the finishing touches t*
his toilet.

Ill

i02

UNMASKED; OR,

Mr. ilurst bowed rtautiolfully.

•' Gcod-morning, Sir! Uow do you find your-
■elf tbit morning T'

" Much b«tter, tliauk you— quite well, I may
nay."

*' Then my master senda hia ooiiiplimeDta,
and bega you will oumu to biiu immediately."

Mr. Sweut being uuitu aa auxiuud to aee tbu
Colout'l aa tbat geutltiiiiuii could puHaibly be tu
bee liiin, needed no accuud invilatluu, and fol-
lowed Ibe valet witb alaurity tbruugli vnriuua
liiiliH, down ataira, and into tlie niorniug-ruom.
(J <lt>nel Sbirley was there, dressed aa on tbe
preceding evening, walking restlessly up and
down atiTl, and looking very pule, very stern.
He stopped and glanced searubingly at tbe law-
yer's tiielauolioly face.

" Are you better?" be asked, brii-fly.

" Quite recovered, tbunk you. 1 scarcely
know yet how it happened, or what was tbe
matter with me."

" A rush of blood to the lieal, or something
that way. I hope you remember tlic extraor-
dinary announoemeut you came rushing here
witb, just aa you were taken V

Mr. Sweet raised a pair of reproachful eyes.

"^It would be still more extraordinary, Colo-
nel,' if I could ever forget it. When a man's
wife elopes, it is not likely to slip from hia
memory in a single night."

" It is quite true, then ?"

" Entirely I"

" And Barbara has fled ?"

"She has."

" And with Leiceater Cliffe ?"

Mr. Sweet put bis handkerchief to hia eyes,
and tui*ued away to conceal his emotion.

"How did you discover it? What proof
have yuu of it V continued the Colonel, rapid-
ly, ousting a somewhat cynical eye on his be-
reaved companion.

" There can be no doubt of the fact, Colo-
nel," said tbe lawyer, in a tremulous tone. " I
wish to Heaven there was ! My wife kas fled ;
and Leicester Cliffe is a traitor and a villain !"

" Be good enough, Sir, to keep to the point.
What proof have you of what you aay ?"

" Colonel, last night, when I went home, my
servant — we keep only one — met me at the
door, and told me her mistress had left tbe
house, and was not returned ; that Mr. Leices-
ter Cliffe had been there with her all the even-
ing, and tbat his departure had preceded hers
but a few moments. I went over tbe house in
search of her. In her room I found scattered
about all I had ever given her — her wedding-
ring broken and lying on tbe ground among tbe
rest. There was no longer a doubt ; and, almoat
beside myself, I came here with tlie news."

" And tbat is all the proof you have tbat
that they have fled together ?"

" I scarcely think that any more is required.

What else could have oauied hia abaenoa laat
night?"

" But wby in Heaven'a name ahould he elopo
with yuur wife !" exclaimed the Colonel, impa-
tiently. " VV bat did he care for Barbara ?"

'* A great deal. Colonel Shirley I" ai'id Mr.
Sweet, quietly, " aiuce he waa in love with her,
and promiaeu to marrv her, before ever he auw
your daugh — I mean Misa Vivia I"

Colonel Sbirley stopped in hia excited walk,
and looked at him wiiu so much astonishment
that Mr. Sweet felt called upon to ex(dain.

" Lust May Day, Sir he saw her. She waa the
May Queen ; and he fell in love with her, I taku
it, un tbe spot. From that time, until he wmt
to London, they were inseparable. The peo-

f>le in Lower Cliffe could tell you the mooii-
igbt walks on the ahore, and tbe sails wft tliu
water ; and the lodge-keepers could tell yuu
many a tale of their rambles in tbe park undi-r
tbe trees. Sir Roland knew it all ; but he took
good care to keep silent ; and I believe, but for
him, Mr. Leicester would never have accepted
my Lady's invitation, and gone up that time to
London."

Still the Colonel stood silently looking at him,
in stern inquiry.

" Tbe evening before he went, Sir, I chanced
to be strjiling about under the trees down there,
near the Nun's Grave, when I haitpened to hear
voices , and, looking through the branches, I saw
Mr. Leicester and Barbara together, exchang-
ing vows of love and promising everlasting
fidelity. He told her — he almost swore — he
would marry her secretly, when he came back ;
and they would fly to America, or some other
distant place ; and then, not wishing to be an
eavesdropper, I hurried away from tbe spot"

" Well," said Colonel Shirley, bis stern eye
still unmovably fixed on his companion, " and
how camejjBarbara to marry you after all this ?"

" For spite, Sir ! A woman would sell her
soul for spite ; and I, I loved her so well tbat I
was only too hap|>y to marry her, no matter
what was the motive."

Again Mr. Sweet's handkerchief oame in re-
quisition , and Colonel Shirley seized the bell-
rope and rang a violent peal. The valet ap-
peared.

" Hurst, bring my breakfast immediately, and
order round my horse and another for this gen-
tleman."

Hurst flew to obey. Tbe lawyer used his
handkerchief, and the Colonel strode up and
down unceasingly, until breakfast appeared.
Mr. Sweet was invited to take a seat, which he
did ; and, despite his illness and his bereave-
ment, drank the strong coffee and ate Mie but-
tered waffles with infinite relish. But the Col-
onel c^ither ate nor drank ; and, throwing a
large military cloak over his evening costume,
imoeratively ordered him to come out, mount,
ana follow him.

abienofl lut

mid he elopo
ulunvl, iuipu-
»rbara?"
y !" ii'Ml Mr.
ove will) lif r,
) «ver be saw

excited Wftlk,
astuiiiBhoifiit
explain.
. She WA8 the
tU her, I tuki)
uutil he wiitt
le. The pto-
i)U the moon-
a suila uf) thu
ould tell you
10 pnrk uudiT
; but he took
elieve, but for
iiiive nooeptetl
p that time tu

ooklng at him,

3ir, I chanced
>es down there,
l>pened to hear
tranches, I Baw
ther, exohang-
ig everlasting
ost Bwore — he
he caiue back ;
)r Bome other
ling to be an
m the spot"
his stvrn eye

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLITFE.

108

npaiuon,

' and

after all this ?»*

nrould sell lier

so well that I

ler, no matter

ef oame in re-

leized the bell-

The valet ap-

mediately, and
er for this gen-

iWjer used his
strode up and
fast appeared,
seat, which he
nd his bereave-
nd ate Mie bnt-
But the Coi-
n.l, throwing a
ening costume,
me out, mount,

"Where to. Sir ?" Mr. Sweet took the liberty
of iuquii'ng.

*' To yuur house, Sir," the Coluuel a^twered,
Bternlv.

" You do not doubt what I told you, Colo-
nel ?"

'* I shall investigate the matter myself," reit-
erated the Colonel, coldly.

" And after that, Sir t" again Mr. Sweet ven-
tured.

" After that. Sir?" cried the Colonel, turning
his pale face and flashing ayaa full on his com-
])anion. " After that, I shall search for them,
if it be to the ends of the earth ! And if, when
they are found, things should turn out as I
mure tlian half suspect, yon, Mr. Sweet, had
beHer look to yourself I Now, come on !"

With this last abrupt order, given in the same
ringing tone of command with which, in former
days, he had headed man * a. gallant charge, the
Colonel dashed spurs into lis horse and gallop-
ed down the avenue. Mr. Sweet followed and
kept up to him as best he could, in silence ; for
he had enough to do tu keep up within sight of
bis reckless leader, without thinking of talking.
Early as the hour was, Cliftonlea was up and do-
ing ; and the people stared with ail their eyes as
the two riders dashed past. The lawyer's bouse
was soon gained, and the Indian ofHoer was
etormitig at the knocker as if he thought it was
nn enemy's fortress. Elizabeth answered the
appalling clatter, so terrified by the noise that
sliu was fit to drop ; and the Colonel strode in
and caught her by the arm.

" h this the servant you spoke of, Mr.
Sweet?"

" This is the servant. Sir," said Mr. Sweet.

And Elizabeth's mouth flew open, and her
complexion turned sea-green, with terror.

" My good girl, you need not be frightened.
I am not going to hurt you. I merely want
you to answer me a fe^v questions What time did
your master leave home yesterday afternoon ?"

" Please, Sir," gasped Elizabeth, quaking all
over, " it were nigli unto seven o'clock. I know
I was in the hall when lie went out, and the
clock struck seven a little after."

"Was your mistress at home then?"

••Please, Sir, yes. Slie was in the parlor."

••Who was with her?"

•♦Please, Sir, nobody. It was after that he
oome."

" Who came ?"

'• Young Mr. Cliffe, please. Sir— Mr. Leices-
ter."

"How ion« did he stay?"

"Please, Sir, a good long while. Hina and
misscB was a-talking in tiie parlor ; and it was
'after dark wlien be went away."

"Did your mistress go with him? Did he
go alone ?"

" Please, Sir, yes. And misses she come out
all drcBBed in her bonnet and shawl, a little after,

and went out the bick way ; and she ain't ntver
oome back sino«."

"Do you know which way she went?"
" Please, 8ir, no ; I don't. I don't know noth-
ing else I decliire fur't," said Elizabeth, put-
ting her apron to her countenance, and b«>j
uing to whimper.

It WHS quite evident she did not. The J'olo-
nel dropped a gold coin into btr band, went
out, remounted, followed in silence still by
Elizabeth'^ master.

" To Clitfuwood !" was the second sententious
order.

And agnin away they galloped over " brake,
bush, and scar", to the great nieutul and physi-
cal discomfort of one of them at bust.

A rumor of the extraordinary events going on
at the castle had renched Clifrtwood, and a flick
of curious Servants met them ns tbey entered.
The Colonel singled out one of them— Sir Ro-
land's cuufidential ; and he folluwed Ihe two
gentlemen into the drawing-ruom.

" Edwards," he began, " wlmt time did Mr.
Leicester leave here fur t he castle yesterday ?
Sir Roland, you know, came early, and he re-
mained behind."

•' I know, Sir It was about sunset Mr. Lei-
cester loft, I think."

•* He was out all day. Did he dress, or did
he leave in what he Imd worn previously?"
" No, sir. He was in fall evening dress.
" Did be walk or ride ?'" •
" He left here on foot. Sir."
" Do you know which way he took ?"
•' Yes, Sir. He took the road direct to tlio
town."

•' And you have not seen or heard of h'm
since ?"
" No, Sir."

The Colonel turned as abruptly as before, and
strode out, followed still by the mute lawyer.
" To Lovver Cliffe !" came again tiie order.
And once more they were dashing through
the town, on and on, until they reached the roud
that turned off toward the village. Here the
horses were left at the Cross Roads Inn— an inn
where, many a time and oft, Leicester Cliffe had
left his gallant gray when going to visit Bar-
bara; and they struck down the rocky foot-
path that led to the cottage. The wonderful
news had created as much sensation in the vil-
lage as the town, and curious faces came to the
doors and windows as they passed, and watched
them eagerly until they vanished within Peter
Black's roof-tree. The cottage looked unusu-
ally tidy, and three gentlemen etuod near one of
the windows conversing earnestly ; and in those
three the new comers recognized : Mr. Jones, the
town apothecary ; Squire Channing, the village
magistrate, and in the third, no less an individu-
al than the Bishop of Cliftonlea. This latter
august persona),! e held in bis hand a pape*
which he had been diligently perusing ; am

••I

104

UNMASKED; OR,

/j?3ie^

with il in his hand, he came forward to address
the Colonel.

"Ah! you've come at last! I feared our
messenger would scarcely find you in time."

•' What mesenger ?"

" Joe, the gamekeeper's son. Did you not
see him ?"

" No. What did you want of me ?"

" That wretched old woman," said the Bishop,
j'jrking his thumh ovor his shoulder toward the
door of Judith's bed-chamber, "recovered her
speech and her senses during the night, as
luanv do at die poii.t of death ; for she is dying,
and becaui>j frantic in her entreaties for a cler-
gyman and a magistrate. Considering the mat-
ter, I could do no less than come myself; Mr.
Channing nccomptinied me, and Mr. Jones fol-
lowed sljortly after, but too late to b- of any
service. The woman is at the point of death."

" And what did she want ?"

" To make a dying deposition concerning the
truth of the story Mr. Sweet told you last night.
She stated the case clearly and distinctly. PJere
it is in black and white ; and she was most anx-
ious to see you. We sent Lhe gamekeepers son
in search of you ; and Providence must have
sent you, since Joe has not succeeded. Come in
at once. There is no time to lose.''

The Colonel followed him into the chamber.
Old Judith lay on the bed, b-ir eyes restless, and
the gray shadow of coming death over her face.
The prelate bent over her in his urbane way.

" My good woman, here is Colonel Shirley."

T'liC eyes, dulling in death, turned from their
restless wandering and fixed themselves on the
Colonel's face.

" It is true I" she whispered, hoarsely. " It is
all trte ! I am sorry for it now, but 1 changed
thcra ; Barbara is your child. It drove her
mad, and I'm dying with it all on my guilty
soul!"

She stopped speaking suddenly ; her face
turned livid ; the death-rattle sounded in her
throat ; she half sprang up, and fell back dead I
Colonel Shirley stood for a moment horror
struck, and then turned and hastily left the
room, tf one lingering doubt remained on his
mind, concerning the truth of the story, it had
all vanished now,

" She has gone I" said the Bishop, addressing
his companions. " It is useless remaining long-
er here. L Ji us go !"

They all left the house, and bent their steps
ia the direction of the park-gates. The Col-
one], the Bishop, and the magistrate, going first ;
the lawyer and the apothecary following.

"Have you seen this old woman's son — this
Peter Black?" asked Colonel Shirley, as they
walked along.

" No !" said Mr. Channing. " The nurse men-
tioned that he had not been seeu sicce yesterday
eveoiug."

" Is it true about this elopement ?" asked the
Bishop, in a low voice.
•' Quite true."

"How dreadful it all is, and yet how calmly
you bear it, Cliffe ?"

The Colonel turned on him a h)ok — a look
that answered him without words — and they
walked on in silence. When the Bishop spoke
again, it was in an uncommonly subdued tone.
" How are Sir Roland and Lady Agnes, this
morning ? I should have been up to see, but
for — "

The sentence was never finished. A yell
broke the silence- a yell to which an Indian
war-whoop was as nothing ; and out from among
the treeo burst Joe, the game-keeper's son, with
a face of ghastly whiteness, hair standing on
end, and eyes starting from their sockets. At
sight of them, another yell which he was setting
up seemed to freeze on his lips, and he, him-
self, stood stock-still, rooted to the spot. At
the same instant, Squire Channing set up an
echoing shout:

"There goes Tom Shirley! Look how he
runs ?"

They looked ; bursting out from the trees, in
another direction, was a tall figure, its black
hair flowing. It vanished again, almost as soon
a-s it appeared, into a by-path ; and they turned
their attention to the seemingly horror-st; uck
young person before them.

" What is the matter ? What has frightened
you, my boy ?" asked the Bishop.

"Oh. my Lord ! O, Colonel 1 O, Colonel !"
gasped Joe, almost paralyzed, '* he's dead ! he's
killed I he's murdered !"

The throe gentlemen looked at each other,
and then, in wonder, at Joe.

" He's up here on the Nun's Grave ; he is,
with his head all smashed to pieces. Come
quick and see !"'

They followed him up the avenue, into the
by-path, under the gloomy elms, to the forsaken
spot. A figure lay there, on its face, its hat off,
a horrible gash on the back of the head, where
it had been felled down from behind— its own
fair brown hair, and the grass around, soaked
in blood. Though the face was hidden in the
dust, the moment they saw it they knew who it
was, and all recoiled as if struck back by a
giant-hand. It was the Colonel who recovered
first, and, stooping, he raised the body, and
turned the face to the garish sunlight. The
blood thiit had rained down from the gash in
the head hnd dipooior«id it all, but thoy knew
it— knew that, on the spot where he had prayed
for a short life if he proved false, Leicester
Cii£fe lay cold and dead !

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IIAISON DS o'kVIL.

Murdered ! there could be no doubt of it-'
this, then, was where the bridegroom was

m<
the
hii

fig

OVi

dai

the

his

int

lou

Dll

r asked the

how calmly

look— a look
B — and they
ishop spoke
bdued tone.
r Agnes, this
p to see, bub

ed. A yell
h. an Indian
t from among
er's son, with
standing on
sockets. At
16 was setting
and lie, him-
lie spot. At
,g set up an

jook how he

1 the trees, in
re, its black
Imost as soon
3 tliey turned
horror-st; uck

las frightened

O, Colonel !"
e's dead ! he's

it each other,

Grrave ; he is,
deces. Come

mue, into the
o the forsaken
ice, its hat off,
8 head, where
aind— its own
round, soaked
hidden in tlie
y knew who it
ttk back by a
vho recovered
he body, and
unlight. The
m tiie gash in
>ut thoy knew
he had prayed
.Ise, Leicester

doubt of it— '
legroom v&s

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

105

While Uiey had been accusing him in their
thouglita, and vowing future vengeance, he had
been lying here, assussiuated by some unknown
baud. The faces of all liad wiiitencd with hor-
ror at the sight ; but Culonei iSbirley, whose
■tern calmness nothing seemed able to move,
lifted his head au instant after, with a face that
looked as if changed to stone.

" A horrible murder has been done here I
My boy," turning to Joe, whose teeth were chat-
tering in his head, " how and when did you dis-
cover this ?"

"It were just now. Sir," replied Joe, keeping
far from the bodv. and looking at it in intensest
terror. " My lord and Mr. Clianning, they
sent me up to the Caslie a-looking fur you.
Sir, and you wasn't there ; and 1 was a coming
back to tell ihem, so I was, down this way,
which it's a short cut to Lower Cliffe ; and as I
got here, I saw a man standing up and looking
down on this here, which it were Mr. Tom Shir-
ley, OS I knowed the minute I seen him. Then,
Sir, he turned round, and when he saw me, he
ran away ; and then I saw him lying there, all
over blood ; and I got frightened aad ran away,
too ; and then I met you ; and that'^ every-
thing I know about it."

"Can Tom Shirley be the murderer ?" asked
the Bishop, in a low, deep voice.

'• Circumstances, at least, are strong enough
against him to warrant his arrest," satil Mr.
Channing. " As a magistrate, I feel it my duty
to go in search of him before he escapes."

Ue hurried away, as he spoke ; and the Col-
onel, taking o£f liis large military cloak, spread
it on the ground.

"Ueip me to place the body on this," he said,
quietly ; and, with the asjistanco of Mr. Sweet,
tue still bleeding form was laid upon it, and cov-
ered from the mocking sunlight iu its folds.
Then, ut another motion from the Colonel, (he
apothecary and the lawyer lifted it by the
lower ends, while he himself tool tlie head and
they slowly turned with their droadful burden
toward the house. Joe followed at a respectful
distance, still with au excessively scared and
horrified visage.

Mr. Channing had, meantime, been making
au arrest. Getting over the ground with tre-
mendous sweeps of limb, he had nearly reached
the house, thinking to call the servants to aid
him in his search, when he espied a tall, dark
figure leaning against a tree, one arm thrown
over a higlt urauch, and the head with all its
dark curls, bare to the morning breeze, lying
thereon. The magistrate went up and dropped
his band heavily on the shoulder of the droop-
ing figure, and Tom Shirley lilted his face and
looked at him. What a face ! What a change
iu a few brief days 1 Usually it was red enough
and bold enough ; but now it was almost ghast-
ly in ita thinness and pallor. The face of the
iuurd»red man could scarcely have been more

oorpse-like— the black hair heightening the ef*
feet, as it hung damp and disordered around it,
and the llaok eyes looking unnaturally large
and sunken. Nothing, Me. Channing thought,
but remorse for some enacted crime could have
wrought so vivid a change ; but then, perhaps,
Mr. Chaniiing had never been in love — at all
events, so crazily in love — and been jilted, like
poor Tom Shirley.

" Well I" said Tom, in a voice as hollow, and
changed, and unnatural as his face.

" Mr. Shirley, it is my painful duty to arrest
you."

Tom 8pr.\ng erect as if some one had struck
him.

" Arrest me ! What do you mean ?'

" Mr. Shirley, I .>m very soriy ; but duty
must be fulfilled, and it is mine to make you my
prisoner."

"Your prisoner. Sir!" cxclaimod Tom, in
somethio;^ like his customary tone, ehaking him
off as if ho had been a baity. " On what
charge ?"

" On that of murdering your cou^iiu, Leices-
ter Cliffe."

Tom stood perfectly still — stunned. A vol-
ley of fierce words, that had been rising hotly
to his lips, seemed to freeze there. 11 is face
turned dark-red, and then whiter tiiau Lofore,
and the arm he had raised dropped po«\erlc8S
by his side. Whatever the euuitiou which
prompted the display, the magistrate set it
down to one cause, guilt ; and again laid his
hand firmly on the young man's siiouldcr.

"I regret it, Tom, but it must bo done. I
beg you will not offer any resistance, but will
come with me peaceably to the housie. Ah!
there they go witli the body, now !"

Tom compressed his lips and lifted up his
head.

" I will go with you, Mr. Channing. It mat-
ters very little what becomes of me one way or
the other!"

He raised his hat from the ground, to which
it had fallen ; and they walked on togather, side
by side. The body was borne before them into
the morning-room, and through that into a
smaller one, used by Yivia as a studio. It was
strewn with easels, blank canvas, busts, and lay
figures ; and on a low coucli therein tjieir bur-
den was laid. The cloak was removed. The
Colonel sent one of tho servants iu bourch of the
physician, who had remained all ni^^ht in the
house, sternly warning the rest not to let a
word of the event reach tlie ears of Lady Agnes
or the young ladies. Hurst brought in warm
water and sponge, and thn blood was washed
off the dead face. It was perfectly calm— there
was no distortion to mar its al:iio3t uomanly
beauty, or to show that he had suffered iu th«
last struggle. The blue eyes were wide o]>cn iu
the cold glaze of death ; and the Bishop, bend-
ing down, had just closed them reverently, at

106

UNMASKED; OR,

Che pbysiciaD oame in. Tb« examination that
followed wai brief. Tbe blow bod evidently
been grren by a tbick club, and be bad been
struck but once—deaib following almost instan-
taneously. Tbe deed, too, from tbe appearance
of tbe wound, must bave been committed some
bours previously ; for tbe blood on bis clothes
was tbickly clotted and dry. In silence tbey
left tbe studio and gatbered together in tbe
morning-room. Tbe Colonel bad warned tbe
servants to keep quiet ; but who ever knew
warnings to avail in such cases ? Half-a-dozen
gentlemen, the guests who bad remained in the
bouse tbe previous night, had been told, and
were there already. Tbe magistrate bad taken
a seat of authority, and prepared to bold a sort
of inquest and investigate the matter. The
prisoner stood near a windovz, drawn up to bis
lull height, with folded arms, looking particu-
larly proud, and especially scornful, guarded by
Messrs. Sweet and Jones. The Colonel took a
seat, nnd motioned the rest to follow his exam-
ple ; and Mr. Channing desired Hurst, keeping
aentry at the door, to call in Joe.

Joe, standing in tlie ball, telling bis story
over and over again to a curious crowd of serv-
ants, came in, looking scared as ever, and told
bis tale once more, keeping to the same facts
steadily, in spite of any amount of cross-ques-
tioning. When this first witness was disnrssed,
the Bishop turned to the prisoner.

" Tom, what have you to say to all this ?"

" Nothing, my Lord,"
' •' Is what this boy says true ? Did be really
discover you by tbe body ?"

'Uedid."

" And why, if you are not guilty, should you
fly at bis approach f "

"I did nothing of the sort. Joe makes a
mistake there ; for I never sitw him at all."

" And bow do you account for your presence
there?"

"'Very simply, my Lord. I chanced to be
walking through the ground?, and came to that
particular spot by mere accident."

" How long bad you been there when Joe dis-
covered you ?"

" I didi not remain five minutes altogether.
I saw and recognized who it was ; and when I
recovered from the first shock of horror, I
turned and fled to give the alarm."

Mr. Chnnuing leaned over and spoke in a low
voice to Colonel Shirley.

"Some one told me, when here last evening,
that the prisoner has been absent for several
days— is it true ?'f

" Yes."

"Mr. Shirley," said tbe magistrate, speaking
uloud, "'yoa have been absent for the past week
—Will you inform us whe.-e?"

" I have bee a absent," said Tom, coldly. " I
liave been in CUftonlcn."

" Wbcri» !•

" At tbe Clifle ArQis.'*

" Why were you not at bome f"

** I decline answering that question, Sir.**

" Were you in tbe town last night ?"

" No, Sir ; I was on the grounds 1"

Everybody looked at each other blankly.
Tom stood up bauirbty and defiant, evidently
perfectly reckless what be admitted.

"It IB very strange," said Mr. Channing,
slowly, " tliat you should bave been there in-
stead of the bouse here — your proper place.
What reasons bad you for such a course ?"

"I decline answering that question, too ! I
decline," said Tom, wilb comprosBed lips and
flashing eyes, " answering any more questions
whatever. My motives are my own ; and you
nor any one else shall ever bear them !"

There was very little need for Tom to make
his motives known. Not one preeent — the Col-
onel, perb'ips, alone exceptea— but knew bow
niaiily be had l)een in love nitb bis cousin, and
that his furious jealousy of ^the accepted lover
had driven bim from bome. All knew bis vio-
lent temper, too ; his fierce outbursts of passion ;
and believing hira guilty, not one of tbem
needed to be told the cause of bis prowling
about in the grounds in secret last night. Dead
silence followed, broken by a rap at the door.
Huriit opened it, ond the gamekeeper entered,
carrying in his hand a great bludgeon, all stain-
ed witii blood and thickly-matted tufts uf hair.

"Gentlemen," said tbe man, coming forward
nnd bowing, " this here is what did the deed I
I found it lying among the marsh grass, where
it bad been chucked. You can see the blood
and the hairs sticking in it. I know the stick
very well. I have seen it lying down there near
the Nun's Grave fifty times."

The gentlemen examined the slick — a mur-
derous-looking bludgeon, with a thick head, full
of great knobs and knots— capable, in a strong
hand, of felling an ox.

" And, gentlemen," continued the gamekeep-
er, " I have something else to say. Last eve-
ning, about halt-past eight, as I was standing
down near the park gates, I saw Mr. Leicester
come through, walking very fast. I thought, of
course, he was going up to tbe Castle, and had
come through LowcrCliflfeby way of a sliort cut.
" Was he alone ?" asked Mr. Channing.
" Yes, Sir."

" Did you see any one following him ?"'
" I didn't wait to see. Sir. Me and some more
went up to see tiie fireworks, and that was the
last I saw of him."

" I thii k the facts are quite strong enough to
warrant his committal," said Mr. Cliauniug to
the Colouc '
" I think so !" was the cold reply.
And the warrant of committal was made oufc
immediately. Then there was a general upris-'
ing ; a carriage was ordered, and Mr. Channin/ir'
I approached Tom. >

Sir.**

r blunklv.
evidently

Chaimiog,
there in-
)er place,
rse ?''
a, too I I
\ lipa and
questions
; and you
i!"

ri to make
—the Col-
knew how
ousin, and
pted lover
3W bis vio-
}f passion ;
a of them

prowlin

gbt. Dca<

the door.

;r entered,

1, all stain-

;s of hair.

ig forward

the deed I

ass, where

the blood

r the stick

there near

k — a mur-
k head, full
iu a strong

gamekeep-
Last eve-
B standing
Leicester
bought, of
e, and bad
I sliort cut.
aing.

im?'

some more
lat was the

enough to
launiug to

9 made oufc

leral upria-J

Cbauniofr'

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

107

" I nm sorry — I am very sorry— but — "

" Don't distress yourselt, Mr. Ghanning," said
Tom, cynically. " I am ready to go with you
at any moment."

The Bishop came over, and began, in his ur-
bane way, some pious admonition ; to which
Tom listened as unmoved as if he were tallying
Greek. The carriage came round to the door,
and be and Mr. Channing turned to go. One
glance he cast back toward the Colonel ; but
he was standing with his face averted ; and Tom
passed the great portico of Castle Cliffe, the
home of bis boyhood, for the last time, and in
five minutes was on his way to Cliftonlea jail,
to be tried for his life on charge of willful murder.

And still the news fled ; and while the exam-
ination was going on below, it had been whis-
pered, up-stairs and down-stairs, nnd had reach-
ed the ears of her who should have been the
last to henr it. As all slowly dispersed from
tlie morning-room, the Colonel turned into the
studio to take one last look at wliat lay there,
and found that another had preceded him. Be-
sides, the door of communication with the morn-
ing-room, the studio had anotlier opening in
the hall. It stood wide now ; and standing over
the rigid form, gnzing at it as if the sight were
slowly turning h'-r to marble, was Vivia!

" V ivia ! My God !"' cried the Colonel, in
horror. " Wluit do you do here?"

She turned nnd lifted her eyes ; and the next
moment, without word or cry, she had fallen
back senseless in his arms.

It was the first time in his life he had ever
seen Vivia faint. She was of too sanguine a
temperament for that; and he nearly tore the
bell down in his frantic summons for help, as
he quitted the room of death and carried her up
to her chamber. Jeannette came in dismay,
with smelling-salts and cologne ; and leaving
hep iu lier charge, the Colonel went out. In
the hall he was encountered b^ Margaret, look-
ing, like everybody else, pale and wild.

"Is it true? What is this story they are
telling? Has Leicester Cliflfe been murdered ?"

" Margaret, go to your room ! It is no story
for you to hear !"

"I must hear!" exclaimed Margaret, in a
suppressed voice, her dark eyes filling with a
dusky fire. " Tell me, or I shall die !"

He looked at her in wonder.

" Margaret, you are ill. You look like a
ghost! Do go to your own room and lie
down."

" Will you tell me, or shall I go and see for
myself?"

" If you will hear such horrors, it is quite
true ! He has been murdered !"

" And they have arrested some one for it,"
she hoarsely whispered.

'* They have arrested Tom Shirley."

Sh« clasped both hands over her heart, and a
spasm crossed her face.

" And do you believe him guilty ?"

" I do," he coldly and sternly said.

She sank down with a sort of cry.

But he had other things to think of besides
her ; and he left her leaning against the wall, her
hands still clasped over her heart, and her face
working in a sort of inwar<i anguish. So she
stood for nearly an hour, without moving, and
then Jeannette came out of the Hose Room,
crying and wiping her eyes, followed by Vivia,
who seemed to have no tears to shed.

" You ought to lie down and be nurssd your-
self. Mademoiselle, instead of going to nurse
other people," cried the bonne. " You are
hardly fit to stand now I"

" It will not be for lon^, Jeannette," said
Vivia, wearily. " All my labors here will soon
be at an end."

*' Your grandmamma won't see you, either ;
so your going is of no use. Horteuse told me
that she gave orders you were not to be admit-
ted to her room."

It was quite true. In the revulsion of feeling
that followed the awakening from her hysteria,
Lady Agnes had been seized with » violent
aversion to seeing her once almost idolized
granddaughter. She could no longer think of
her without also thinking of her connectiou»|
with some wretched old woman in Lower ClifFe
and a returned transport. She felt— unjustly
enough — as if Vivia had been imposing on her
all her life, and that she never wanted to see
her again. And so, when Hortense openel the
door m answer to the well-known gentle tap,
she was quietly and firmly refused admittance,
and the door civilly shut in ht-r face. It was
only one more blow added to the rest — only ful-
filling the rude but expressive adage, • '.Vuen n
dog is drowning, every one offers him water";
but Vivia tottercl as she received it, and stood
for a moment clinging to the gilded stair-balus-
trade for support, with everything swimming
around her. Then this, too, passed, as all blows
do . and she walked back, almost tottering as ^be
went, to her own room.

Even there, still another blow awaited hers '
Margaret stood in the middle of tb« floor* ber
face livid, her eyes blazing.

" Margaret !" was Vivia"^ cry, as she drop-
ped her head on her shouMer.

But Margaret thrust her off with repulsion.

" Don't touch me— don't I" she said, in the
same suppressed voice. " You murderess !"

Vivia had been standing looking at her as a,
deer does with a kiiife at its throat, but at the
terrible word she dropped into a seat, as if the
last blow she could ever receive bad fallen.

"You," said Margaret, with her pitiless black
eyes seeming to scorch into her face, and her
voice frightful in its depth of suppressed pas-
(gjon — '♦ you, who have walked all your life over
our heads witl» a ring and a clatter — yon, who
are nothing, after all, but a pitiful upstart —you

108

UNMASKED; OR,

A ;

who have been the curse uf my life and of all
who have ever known you. I tell you, you aro
n double murderess! for not only is his blood
on your head who lies down there a ghastly
corpse, but another who will die on the scaffold
foryour crime!"

The corpse down-stairs could scarcely have
looked more ghastly than did Vivia herself at
tliiit mom«iit. Her white lips parted to speak,
but no suuud came forth. Pitilessly Margaret
wenten .-

" You. who stood so high and queenly in your
pride, could stoop to lure and wile, like any
other co4uette— could win hearts by your false
smiles, and then cast them in scorn from your
feet. I tell you, I despise you ! I hate you I
You've brought disgrace and ruin on him, on
all couneoted with you, and you have broken
my heart!"

" O Margaret ! have you no mercy ?"

"None for such as you! I loved him — I
loved him with my whole heart, ten thousand
times better than you ever could do, and you
had no mercy on me. You won his heart, and
then cast it from you as a child does a broken
toyl"

" Margaret, listen to me. I will be henrd !
I know vou loved Leicester, but it was not luy
fault that—"

Margaret broke into a hysterical laugh.

" Loved Leicester I Is she a fool as well as a
miserable jilt? Oh, you might have married
him with all my heart !"

"And who, then—. Margaret, is it possible
you are speaking of Tom Shir—"

" No !" cried Margaret, holding out her hands
with a sort of scream, " not his name from your
lips! Oh, I loved him, you know it well ; and
now he is to be tried for his life, and all through
you ! Murderess you are — adouble murderess ;
for if he dies it will be through you, as mucli
as if you placed the rope around his neck !"

Vivia had dropped down, with her face hid-
den in her lands.

" Margaret, spare me ! Oh, what have I
done — what have I done, that all should .'irn
from me like this? iMiirgaret, I am going
nway. I am going back to my convent in
France, where 1 shall never trouble you nor
anybody else again. All the world has turned
atrainst me ; but there, at least, I can go and
die !"

" Go, then ; the sooner the better. You are
no longer needed here."

*'0h, I know it! All have turned against
me — all whom I love; and I would die for
them. Even you, Margoret, might forgive me
now."

" Ask forgiveness from God ! I never will."

Yivia's head dropped down on the arm of
the chair.

Mnrgaret left her, sought her own room, and
appeared no more that day.

In the gray dawn of the next morning, when
the first train went siJ-ieking from the Clifton-
lea depot, on its way to' London, a slight, girl-
ish figure, shrouded in a long mantle, and
closely vailed, glided in, took a seat in a re-
mote corner, and was borne swiftly away from
the home to which she had returned so short a
time before like a triumphant queen, which she
now left like a stealthy culprit.

That same moraine. Colonel Shirley found a
baief note lying on'liiBdressing-table, that
moved him more than alltTtei. strange and trag-
ical events of the past two days :

"DiAs Papa :— Let me call you iio this once, for tlie
last time. When you read this, I shall be far away ; but
I could not go without saying good-bye. I am going
bacic to my dear France, to my dear convent, where I
was so happy ; and I shall strive to atone by a life of
penance for the misery I have caused you all to suffer.
Dear, dear papa, I shall love you and pray for you al-
ways i and I know, much as you have been wronged,
you will not quite forget Vivia.

She, too, was lost ! Down below, Leicester
Cliffe Jay dead. Tom Shirley was in a felon's
cell. In his room. Sir Roland lay ill unto death.
Lady Agnes and Margaret, shut up in tiieir'own
apartments, never came out ; and he was left
utterly alone. Truly, Castle Clifi'e was a house
of mourning. ^^

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE SENTENCE.

The August roses were in full bloom, in the
scorching heat of early afternoon, within a
pietty garden, in a pretty village, some miles
trom London, as a gig, holding two gentlemen,
drove through the wooden gates, and up a
shaded avenue, toward a large brick building.
The gentlemen — one, tall and handsome, with a
grand, kingly, sort of face, and dark, grave
eyes ; the other, middle-sized, but looking puny
compared wiih his companion, a very shining
personage, with yellow tmseled hair, wearing a
bright buff wuiscoat, and a great profusion of
jewelry — alighted before the principal entrance.
A stout little gentleman, standing on the steps
awaiting tliem, rati down nt their appro.'ich, and
shook hands with tliis latter, in the manner of
an old friend.

'• Good afternoon. Mr. Sweet ! It is a sight f
sair een, as the Scotcli say, to see you again.'

" Thank you. Doctor," said the tinseled in-
dividual. *' This is the gentleman I told you
.if. Doctor South, Colonel Shirley !"

The Doctor bowed low, and the Colonel rais-
ed his hat.

" You are welcome. Colonel ! I presume you
have come to see my unfortunate patient, Mrs.
Wildman ?"

" I have. We can see her, I hope."

" Oh, certainly, poor thing 1 A very quiet
case, hers, but quite endurable. Most oases of
melancholy madness are. This way, if you
please."

fling, wb«n
Lhe Clifton-
slight, girl-
lantle, and
at in a re-
nway from
I BO sliort a
I, which she

ley found a
taoie, thnt
e and trng-

once, for tlie
ar away ; but
I am goJDg
v^ent, where I
e by a life of
all to suffer,
y for you al-
ien wronged,

ViVIA.

7, Leicester
in a felon's
unto death,
in their'own
be was left
vas a house

oom, in the
1, within a
some miles
gentlemen,
and up a
sk building,
ome, with a
dark, grave
loking puny
ery shining
r, wearing a
profusion of
)al entrance,
n the steps
pro.'ich, and
I manner of

is a sight f -

ju again.'
tinseled in-
I told you

/olonel rais-

tresume you
mtient, Mrs.

very quiet
ost cases of
way, if you

THE HEIRES.S OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

109

Lefttling tltem through a long hall, the Doo*
tor ascended a itaircase, entered a corridor,
with a long array of doors on either hand, fol-
lowed by bis two companions.

"My female patients are all on this side," be
said, unlocking cue of the doors, and again lead-
ing the way into another, wii h neat little elecp-
ing-rooms on each side, and, finally, into a
large, b)ng apartment, with the summer sun-
shine coming pleasantly through two high win-
dows, grated without, nlled with v/omcn of all
ages. Some sat peaceably knitting and sewing ;
some were walking up and down ; some sat
talking to themselves; but the Colonel was
astonished to see bow comparatively quiet they
all were. His eye wandered round in search of
her be bad come to see, and it rested and linger-
ed at last on one sitting close to a window, who
neither moved nor looked up at their entrance,
but remained gazing vacantly out, and slowly
and continually wringing her bands. A pallid
and faded creature, with dim, fair hair, cut short
like a child's, and streaking her furrowed fore-
head ; a thin, wan face, pitiable in its quiet
hopelessness, the light-blue eyes vacant and
dull, and the poor fingers she twisted continu-
ally, nothing but skin and bone. Yet, as Col-
onel Shirley looked, his thoughts went back to
a certain stormy night, eighteen years before,
where a pretty fair-haired woman had kissed
and cried over his little child ; and bo recogniz-
ed this faded shadow instantly. The Doctor
went over, and patted her lightly on the shoul-
der:

" Mrs. Wildman, my dear, look round ! Here
is a gentleman come to sec you."

The woman turned her pale, pinched face, and
looked up, in a hopeless sort of way, in the
pitying eyes of tlie Indian officer.

*' Have you brought her back ?" she asked,
moarnfuily. "She sent her away; my little
Barbara ; my only child ; my only child !"

"She keeps that up contiuualy," said the
Doctor, with an intelligent nod to the Colonel.
" Nobody ever can get anything out of her but
that."

"I wish you would bring her back to me !"
said the imbecile, still looking in the same hope-
less way at her visitor. " She sent her away —
my little Barbara— and I loved her so much !
Do go and bring her back !"

The Colonel sat down beside her and took
one of the wasted bands in his, with a look that
vas infinitely kind and gentle.

'• Who was it sent her away — your little Bar-
bara?"

" Slie did 1 Tlie one she kept was the gen-
tleman's chill, and it was always crying and
troublesome, and not kind and goo3 like my
little Barbara, I wish you would go and bring
her back. It is bo lonuson^e here without her ;
•nd she was my only child, my only child !"

"I told you 80," Baid the Doctor, with aiio

ther nod. " Yoa won't get her beyond that, ii
yoa keep at Iicr till 'doomsday !"

" Whuro did she send her to ?'' asked the Col-
onel; but the woman only looked at him va-
oautly.

"She sent her oway," she repeated, "and
kept the gentleman's oliiKl.— tho tall gentlemau
that was so handsome, and gave mo the mouey.
But she sent away my little Barbara ; my only
child, my only child i Oh 1 won't somebody go
and bring her back ?"

The Colonel bent over her, took her other
hand, and looked steadfastly into the dull eyes.

"Mrs. Wildraan, do you not know me? I
am the gentlemau who left the child."

She looked at him silently ; but her gaze was
listless and without meaning.

" Your little Barbara lias grown up— is a
young lady, beautiful and accomplished — do yoa
understand ':"'

No ; she did not. She only turned away her
eyes, with a little weary sigh, very sad to hear,
and murmured over again :

" Oh ! I wish somebody would bring her back!
She was my only child, my only child l"

" It's all no use l" interposed the Doctor.
"No earthlj power will ever get her beyond
tiiat. Uurs is a case quilo harmless and quite
ho|)ele88.

Colonel Shirley arose, and pressed something
he took out of his waistcoat- pocket into the
Doctor's hand.

" Be good to her Doctor. Poor creature I"

"Thank you. Colonel," said tho Doctor,
glancing witii infinite com[>laccncyat the bank-
note for fifty pounds. " She shall' have the beat
of core. Perhaps you would like to go over the
whole establishment?"

"Not to-day, I think. We must oat«h the
two o'clock train back to London.''

The Doctor led the way down-stairs, and
bowed them obsequiously out.

Only one sentence was spoken as they drove
rapidly down to the depot.

"Poor thing 1 she is greatly changed, but
looks like Miss — Vivia," Mr. Swett bad said,
and bad received a IcoK in answer Itiat eiTectu-
ally silenced him for the rest of tlio way.

Next day, when the early afternoon-train
from London came steaming into Cliftonlea,
Colonel Shirley an j Mr. Sweet had got out and
walked up the town. Tho latter gentleman
speedily turned off in the direction of his owii
bouse, and tlie Colonel walked with a grave face
up High street, turning neither to tiie right no?
the left, until bo stood knocking at tho princi-
pal entrance c* tho town-jail. Th'i turnkey
who opened it opened his eyes, too ; for, dor*
ing the two months his young relative bad been
a lodger there, the Colonel bad not come ooeo
to visit him.

All Cliftonlea was in a state of fermcni ; for
the tissizcs were on, and Tom Shirley's triaJ

110

UNMASKED; OR,

Would begin to raurrow ; aaci setting LU visit
dowa to tbis cause, tlie taraiiey miniitteJ him.

There was no difficulty ia obtaiuiug tbe de-
sired interview, nnd in a few minutes a ponder-
ous key was turning in n ponderous lock, a
strong door swung open, tbe Colonel was in tbe
prison-celJ, listening to tbe re-locking of tbe
door witbout, and retreating steps of tbe jailor.

The cell was as dismal as could be desired,
and as empty of furniture, bolJinff but a bed,
a cbair, and a table ; but tbe August sunsbine
came just as brigbtly tbrougb tbe little grated
square of ligbt as it did tbrougb tbe plate-glass
ot Castle Cilffc, and lay broaJ, and brigbt, and
warm on tbe stone floor.

Tbe prisoner sat beside tbe table, reading a
littio book bound in gold and purple velvet,
tbat looked odd enough in the dreary cell. It
was a gift, prized hitherto for tbe sake of the
giyer— a little French Testament, with "To
Cousin Tom, with Vivia's love", written in a
delicate Italian hand on tlie fly-leaf; but of
late days Tom had learned to prize it for a sake
far higher.

He rose at sight of his visitor, looking very
thin, very pale, very quiot, and both stood
gazing at each other for a few seconds iu si-
lence..

" Is it really Colonel Shirley f" said Tom, at
last, with just a shade of sarcasm iu bis tone.
" Tbis is indeed an unexpected honor."

" You do not need to ask, Tom, why I have

I never been hero before," said tbe Colonel,
whose face, always pale laiel)', had grown even
a shade paler.

" Scarcely. Do me the honor to be seated,
and let me Know to what I am indebted for this
visit."

He presented his chair with formal polite-
ness as he spoke ; but bis visitor only availed
himself of it to lean one hand lightly on its
back and tbe other on tbe young man's should-
er.

" Tom," be said, looking earnestly and searcb-
ingly at him, " I have come here to ask you one
question, and I want you to answer it truthfully
before GoJ 1 Are you innucent ?"

" It is late to ask that question," said Tom,
disdainfully.

" Answer it, Tom I"

" Excuse me, Sir. The very question is an
insult."

'* Tom, for Heaven's sake, do not stand bal-
ancing hairs with me 1 You always were tbe
aoul of honor and straightforwardness, and, late
M it is, if you will only tell me, in the face
of Heaven, you are inuoeent, I will believe
you !"

'i'om's honest black eyes, tbat never quailed
before mortal man, rose boldly and truthfully
to the 8^>caker's faoe.

*« Before Heaven," be said, solemnly raising
bia arm and dropping it on tbe puffk '« uk,

" as I shall have to answer to God, I am iniM^
cent !"

" Enough I" said tbe Colonel, taking his band
in a firm grasp. *' I believe you, with all nij
heart t My dear boy, forgive me for ever think
ing you guilty for a moment."

"Don't ask it 1 How cuuld you help think
ing me guilty, in the face of all tb<8 oiroum*
stantial evidence ? But sit down, and let me
look at you It is a good to see a friend's face
again. You have been getting thin and pale,
Colonel."

" I am afraid I must return the eomplimenL
I see only the shadow of tbe ruddy, boisterous
Tom Shirley of old."

Tom smiled, and pushed book in a careless
way bis exuberant black curls.

"Nothing| very odd in tbat. Sir. Solitude
and prison-tare are not tbe best things I ever
heard of for putting a man iu good coudi-
tion. How goes tbe world outside i"

"Much as usual. Have you no visitors,
then -r

'* None to speak of. A few mere acquaint-
ances came out of cui-iosity, but I declined to
see tbem ; and as my friends" — said Tom, with
another smile tbat had very much of sadness in
it — " thought me guilty, ond held aloof, I have
been left pretty much to my own devices."

'' Yoiw triui comes on to-morrow?"

"It does."

" You have engaged counsel, of course f "

" Yes ; one of the best advocates in England.
But his anticipations, I am afraid, are not over
brilliant."

"Tbe evidence is very strong, certainly, al-
though merely circumstantial, but — "

" But better men than I have been condemn-
ed on circumstantial evidence. I know it," said
Tom, very quietly.

" What do you anticipate yourself?''

"Unless Providence should interpose and
send tbe real murderer forward to make a clean
breast of it, I anticipate a very speedy termina*
tion of my mortal cares."

" And you can spfeak of it like this I You
are indeed chonged, Tom."

" Colonel," said Tom, gravely, " wh«n a man
sits within four stone walls like tbis for two
months, with a prospect of death before bim,
he must be something more than human not to
change. I have had at least one constant vis-
itor, his lordship the Bishop ; and though I
am perfectly certain he believes me guilty, be
has done me good ; and this small book has
helped the work. Had I anything to bind mo
very strongly to life, it would be different ; but
there is nothing much in the outer world I care
for ; and so, let the result be what it may, I
think I shall meet it quietly. If one bad «
choice in so delieate a matter"--witu onotbw
smile— "I might, perhaps, prefer a dilferenl
mode of leaving this world ; but what con't be

«j

d, I am iittM>>

iking his hand

I, with all tuy
for ever tbink

>u belp think
11 this oircutU'
1, and let me
a friend's faoe
/bin and pale,

i oompliment.
Idy, boiBteroos

In a carelesa

Sir. Solitude
thiugs I ever
t good CQudi-
ier

I uo visitors,

aere acquaint*

I I declined to
jaid Tom, vriib
:h of Badness in
d aloof, I have
1 devices."
ow?"

)f course f "
ttei in England,
d, are not over

;, certainly, al<
•ut— "

been condemn-
I know it," aaid

irself?"
interpose and
to make a clean
peedy termina*

ikti this ! You

', " when a man
\c this fur two
ith b'^fore bim,
u human not to
le constant vis-
; and though I
i me guilty, be
imall book has
ing to bind mo
3 different ; but
iter wrorid I caro
what it may, I
If one had •
'—with anoth«i
efor a different
Lt what can t b6

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

Ill

ourvd-yoa know the prorerb. Don't let us
talk of It How is Lady Agnes V*

"Well in body, but ill in mind. She is shut
ap in her room, and I never see her."

'•And Margaret?"

"Margaret followed her example. Sir Ro*
land is laid up again with th^ gout at Clifton*
wood."

'* Castle Cliffe must be a dreary place. I won-
der you can stay there."

" I shall be there but a short time now. My
old regiment is doing some hard fighting bef ire
Sebastopol ; and as soon as your trial is over, I
jball rejoin them."

Tom's eyes lighted, his face flashed hotly,
and then turned to its former pale and siukly
color.

*' Oh that I—" ho began, and then stopped
short ; but be was understood-

'♦ I wish to Heaven it were possible, Tom ; but
whatever happens, we must content ourselves
with the cry of the strong old crusaders, ' Gud
wills it !' You must learn, as we all have to,
the great lesson of life — endurance. '

Poor Tom had begun the lesson, but his face
showed that ho found the rudiments very bit-
ter.

The Colonel paused for a moment ; and then,
looking at the noor, went on, in a more subdued
tone :

" Somebody else is learning it, too, in the
solitude of a Trench convent — Vivia."

Tom gave a little start at the unexpected
sound of that name, and the flush came bacV.
to his faoe.

" You have heard from her, then'"

"I have Jf'ne better — I have seen her A
•hadow, a spiil, came behind the convent

frate and shook hands with me tlirough it.
he was so wan and wasted with fasting and
▼igils, I suppose, that I scarcely knew her ; and
we talked for fifteen minutes with the grate be-
tween us. Satisfactory — was it not?"

" Very. Has she taken the vail?"

"Not yet. No thanks to her, though. It
was her wish ; but the superior, knowing it was
merely the natural revulsion of feeling, and that
she had no real vocation, would not permit it.
Then Vivia wished to go out as a governess —
think of that !— but Mot! er Uursula would not
bear of that, either. She is to make the con-
vent her home for a year, and if, at the end oi
that time, she still desires it, she will be permit-
ted to enter upon her novitate. I will go by
Paris, and see her again before I depart for the
Crimea."

*» Does she know—"

Tom paused.

"She knowB all. She gave me this for
yuu."

The Colonel produced his pooket-book, and
took from between tixit leaves a little twi^tod

lOtCii

Tom opened it, and read :

"Mt Bkothrr:— I know you are ianooeDt. 1 Icve
yon, and pray for you every oight and day. God keep
you always ! Fitia."

That was all.

Tom dropped his faoe on the table without a
word.

Colonel Ohirley looked at him an instant, then
arose.

" i shall Icavo you now. Remember, I bnvo
firm faith in your iuuocence from henceforth.
Keep up a good heart, and, until to-morrow,
farewell."

He pressed his hand.

But Tom neither spoke nor looked up ; and
the Colonel went out and left him, with his head
lying on the wooden table, and the tiny note still
crushed iu his hand.

CHAPTER XXX.

At day-dawn next morning Cliftonlea was all
bustle and stir ; and at ten o'clock the court-
house was a perfect jam. There were troops of
people down from London, who all knew the
Bhirleys; swarms of newspaper-reporters, note-
book and pencil in hand, not to speak of hulf
the county besides. The gallery was filled with
ladies, and among them glided in one in a long
shrouding mantle, and wearing a thick vail ; but
people knew the white face of Margaret Shirley,
despite any disguise. The Colonol was tiiere,
and eo was Sir Roland, vialffrc his gout ; and so
was Joe, the gamekeeper's son, lo«liing scared
beyond everything, and full of the vague no-
tion that he stood iu as much danger of hang*
ing, himself, as the prisoner. The prisoner did
not look at all scared ; he sat in the duck as he
had sat in his cell the day before, pale, quiet,
and perfectly calm, scanning the crowd with hi*
dauntless black eyes, and meeiiug the gaze of
all known and unknown with the stoicism of an
Indian at the stake. Some of the reporters be*
gan sketching his face in their note-books.
Tom saw it, and smiled ; and the crowd set hiuk
down as a cool hand, and a guilty one. Very
few present had any doubt of his guilt, the
facts that had come out of the inq-iest were
strong against him ,* and there was nobody else,
apparently, in the world who had the least in*
terest in the death of the murdered man. All
knew by that time how everything stood — how
infatuated he had been with the young lady, and
how madly jealous he was of the accepted lover.
And everybody knew, too, what jealousy will
make, end has made, the best of men do,
from King David down ; and Tom's hasty and
violent temper was notorious. Worst of all, he
refused to give any account of himself what-
ever ; for the simple fact that he had no account
to give that would not involve Vivia's name ;
ana the torturea of a martyr would not have
drawn that from him in a crowded court-room.
^I^t the soeoQ in the starlight under the obest*

112

UNMASKED; OR,

nuts, he bad fled from the place, and haunted
Clittonleu like a loat spirit. On the bridal-
iiigbt, an insane impulse drew biui back again
witli a relentless band, and be bud waudered tip
and down amung tlie trees almost beside him-
self, but wholly unable to go away.

Tom could Lot very well bave told his pitia-
ble tule of love-sicknesa and insanity to a grim
judge nrul jury ; so be just held bis tongue, re-
solved to let things take their oouree, almost in-
different to the issue.

Things did take their course. Tbey always
do, where those two inexoral)ie fates. Time and
Law, are in question. The case was opened
in a brilliant speech by the counsel for the
croyrn, cnat told bard on the prisoner, and then
the witnesses were culled. Joe came in requisi-
tion, and so did Mr. Swe^^t's Elizabeth ; and it
would be hard to say which of tlie two was the
most terrified, or which cried tlie most before
they were sent down. Mr. Sweet bad to give
evidence, so had Colonel Shirley, so had Sir Ro-
land, so bad the Doctor, so had the gamekeep-
er, so had a number of otiier people, whom one
would think bad nothing to do with it. And at
three o'clock the court adjourned, leaving things
pretty much as they were before, the prisoner
was remanded back to his cell ; the mob went
home to their dinners, and to assert confidently,
that before long there would be an execution in
Cliftonlea.

The trial lasted three days ; and with each
passing one the interest grew deeper, and the
case more and more hopeless. Every day the
crowd in nnd around the court-house grew more
dense ; and always the first on tlie ground was
the shrinking fii^ure of the vailed lady. But
on the third, just as the case was drawing to a
final close, something happened that settled the
last doubt in the minds of the jury, if such a
thing as a doubt had ever rested there. A
woman bad made her way through the crowd by
dint of sharp elbows and sharper tongue, and
had taken her place on the witness-stand, in a
very determined and etcited state of mind.
The woman was Joannette, who had followed
her young lady to France, and had evidently
just come back from that delightful land ; and
CO informing them she bad taken a long jour-
ney to give important evidence, she was sworn,
and asked what she had to say.

Jeannette bad a good deal to say, chiefly in
parenthesis, with a strong French accent, a
great many Mon Dieuc, and no punctuation
marks to speak of. It appeared, however, when
the evidence was shorn of all French embellish-
ment, that on the night the deceased had re-
turned from London (a couple of days before
the one fixed for the wedding). Miss Yivia had
been wandering alone in the Park, where she
was suddenly joined bv the prisoner. She,
Jeannette, had followed her young lady out t»
warn her against night-dews, when, hearing a

loud and angry voice, she baited, disoreetly, at
a distance, witb the true instinct of iier class, to
listen. There she bad overheard the prisoner
making very loud and honest protestations of
love to Miss Shirley ; and when rejected, and
assured by her she would marry none but Mr.
Cliffe, he had flown out in such a way, that
she, Jeanette, was scared pretty nearly into
fits, and she was perfectly sure she had beard
him threaten to murder the bridegroom-elect.
Mademoiselle Jeanette further informed her
audience that, believing the prisoner guilty, her
conscience would not let her l<eep the matter
trecret, and it had sent her across the Channel,
in spite of sea-sickness, unknown to her }oung
lady, to unburden her mind. It was hard evi-
dence against the prisoner ; and though Made-
moiselle underwent a galling cross-examina-
tion, her testimony could not be shaken, though
it left her, as it well might, in a very wild and
hysterical state of mind, at its close. Colonel
Shirley, standing near Tom, stooped down in
dismay, and whispered :

" Have you anything to say to all this ?"
" Nothing ; it is perfectly true."
" Then your case is hopelesti."
"It has been hopeless all along!" said Tom,
quietly, as Mademoiselle Jeannette descended,
quite out of herself with the cross-examination
she bad undergone.

There was nothing more to be done. The
evidence was summed up in one mighty mass
against the prisoner, and the jury retired to find
a verdict. It was not hard to find. In five
minutes they v/ere back, and the swaying and
murmuring of the crowd subsided into an aw-
ful hush of expectation as the foreman arose.

" Gentlemen of tlie jury, is the prisoner ai
the bar guilty or not guilty of the felony witb
which he is charged ?"

And solemnly the answer oame, what every*
body knew it would be :
"Guilty! my lord."

The judge arose witb his black cap on his
head, iiis address to the prisoner wa.' eloquent
and touching, and the crowd seemed to hush
their very bean-beating to listen. There were
tears in his eyes before he had done ; and hia
voice was tremulous as he wound up with the
usual ghastly formula.

" Your sentence is, that you be taken hence
to the place from whence you came, from thence
to the place of execution, to be liung by the
neck till dead, and may God have mercy on
your soul !''

He sat down, but the same dead silence
reigned still. It was broken at last by a sound
Common enough at such times — a vailed lady
in the gallery had fallen forward in a deac
swoon. — —

CHAPTER XXXI.

THR TURN OF THE WHEEL.

It was a wild night on the Sussex coast. A

lisereetly, at
' iier cIms, to
the prisoner
>te8tation8 of
rejected, and
none but Mr.
a way, that
nearly into
le had heard
egroom-elect.
u formed her
er guilty, her
p the matter
the Channel,
to her }oung
was hard evi-
huugh Made-
roBS-examina-
laken, though
very wild and
lose. Colonel
Dped down in

all this ?"

j!" said Tom,
te descended,
i8-ex»mination

)e done. The
mighty mass
retired to find
find. In five
i swaying and
d into an aw-
eman arose,
le prisoner al
16 felony with

e, what every.

{ cap on his

war eloquent

imed to liush

There were

done ; and his

up with the

e taken henoe

e, from thence

liung by the

ive mercy on

dead silence
let by a sounJ
-a vailed lad^
rd in a deac

THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

118

ssex coast.

north wind roared over the Channel— a ten «le
north wind, that bUrieked and raved, and iasVied
the waves into white fury ; that tore up trees
by the ruuts, blewotf tall steeples, and tilled the
uir witli a sharp shower of tiles and chimney-
pots, and demolishing frailer buildings allogeth-
or. A terrible night down there on the coast —
a terrible night fur the ohips at sea — a night that
had ever^'thiug its own way, and defied t\ie
hardiest of wayfarers to venture out. Greut
slieets of lurid lightning flashed incessantly ;
great shucks cf thunder pealed overhead, shuk<
iug sky, and earth, and sea, to their very fouii'
daiions. A terrible night in Cliftonlea — the
oldest inhabitant had never remermbered any<
thing like it. Very few thought of going to bed
— a gentleman had come preaching there sho>-tly
before, with the important information that th«
end of the world was at hand ; and all Clifton
lea, particularly the fairer portion, believing that
it had come on this particular ni^ut, resolved to
appear with their clothes on. A terrible night
in Lower Cliflfe, where nobody thought of going
to bed at all ; for the dreadful roaring of the
storm and the cannonading of the rising sea on
the shore, seemed to threaten entire destruction
to the little village before morning. A terrible
night within the park, where tail trees of a cen-
tury's growth were torn up and flung aside like
straws ; where the rooks were cawing and
screeching in their nests ; where the peacocks
wore hidden away in their houses, the swans in
their sheds, and the roses in the parterres were
stripped and beaten to the dust. A terrible
night, even within the strong walls of the old
oiatle, where the great kitchen, and the servants'
..all, and butler's pantry, and the housekeeper's
room, were filled with terrified footmen and
housemaids ; where Lady Agnes shivered as she
listened to it in the ghostly solitude of her own
room ; where Margaret woke up, cowering and
shuddering from the stupor in which she lay,
and covered her eyes from the lightning, and
wondered how he bore it in his prison-cell. He,
sitting reading by the light of a flaring talluw
candle, in a little gold and purple book, lifteil
his pale and quiet face, and listened to it much
more calmly than any of them. Much more
calmly than Colonel Shirley, pacing up and
down in his own room, as the midnight hour
was striking, liki^ an uneasy ghost. It was a
splendid ruom — splendid in green velvet and
malachite, with walnut paneling and waius-
cotting, the furniture of massive mahogany, up-
holstered in green billiard-cloth, and the bed-
Uungings of green velvet and white satin. The
came sober tints of green and brown were re-
peated in the medallion carpet ; a buhl clock
ticked on the carved walnut mantel, and over it
a bright portrait of Vivia looked down and
smiled, "rhere was a small armory on one side,
lull of Damascus swords, daggers, and poinards,
pistols and muskets, eel-spears, bows and ar-

rows, and riding-whif.g, all flashing in the light
of u bright, Wood tire burning on the maihie
heartli ; for though tlie month was Aujcust, thvse
grand, v^ist old rooms were always chilly, and
on this tempestuous night particularly eo. A
round table, on which burned two wax candles,
was drawn up before the tire, and covered over
with ledgers, check-books, and pockages of
fresher-looking documents tied up with r«d tape.
A green cushioned arm-chair stood on either
side of the table ; and though they were empty
now, they had not been a couple of hours pre-
viously. In the first train to-morrow morning,
(Jolo.'iel Shirley was laiiving Cliftonleo, perhap*
forever, and going where glory led him, and so
on ,- and he and Mr. Sweet bad had a very busy
afternoon and evening in settling the compli-
cated accounts of the estate. They had finished
about ten ; and Mr. Sweet had gone home, de-
spite the rising storm which was now it ita
height ; and ever since, the Colonel had been
walking up and down, up and down, anxiously
impatient for the morning that was to see him
off. It was the evening that had couclnled
Tom Shirley's trial ; and he, too, like Margaret,
was thinking of him in his lonely cell; and
though the lightning came blazing through the
shuttered and curtained windows, and the roar
of the storm, the sea, and the wind, boomed an
awful harmony around them, he scarcely heeded
either ; and as the buhl clock vibrated on the
last silvery stroke of twelve, there was a Up at
the door, and (hen the handle was turned, and
the respectful face ot Mr. Hurst looked in.

*' There's a man down below, Sir, that has
just arrived, and he insists on seeing you. It is
a matter of life or death, he says."

The Colonel stopped, astonished, in his walk.

»' Some one to see me on such a night ! Who
is he?"

" I don't know. Sir. He looks like a sailor, in
a pea-jacket and a sou-wester hat ; but the col-
lar of the jacket is turned up, and the hat is
pulled down, and there's no seeing anything of
him but his nose."

" A..d he said it was a matter of life or death.
It ought to he, certainly, to bring him out in a
uight like this."

" Yefj, Sir. He said he would see you, if he
had to search the house over for you ! He's a
precious rougli-looking customer. Sir !"

" Show him up !" was the curt reply. And
Mr. Hurst bowed and withdrew.

He was leaning against the carved mantel, one
elbow resting upon it, and his eyes fixed thought-
fully on the tire, when his visitor entered— a
somewhat stout and not very tall man, in a large,
rough jacket, a shining hat, and splash top-boots.
There was more of the man splashed than bis
boots, for he was dripping all over like a water-
god ; and, as Mr. Hurst had intimated, his coat-
collar was turned up, and hid hat pulled dowu
so that, besi<^08 the nose, nothing was visibiu

114

UNMASKED; OR.

'T**^

but a pair of fioree eyei. Tbi> nooturnal intru>
der touk llie precuiitiua to turn the key ia tbe
luok as aoou aa tlio vnlet diannpearod, and then
•auiu siu wly forward uiid atuud iMifuro the Colonel.

" Well, my friend," eaid that gcutleman,
•aietly, "you wanted to see mo?"

" Ye«, I did I"

** On a maltcr of importanoe, my BervanteaiJ.

*' If it wuru't important," eaid the man,
gruffly, " it ain't very likely I'd oomo here to
tell it to you on a night that ain't fit fur a mad
dog to be out. It's something you'd give half
your estates to learn, Colonel Shirley, or I'm
misiaken 1"

" Out with it, then ; and, in the meantime,
•uppose you sit down."

Ills visitor drew up one of the green arm-
chairs «loser to the hearth, and subsiding into
it, without, however, removing his bat, spread
out hia splashed top-boots to the genial influ-
enoe of the hot wood-fire. There was some-
thing familiar about tbe man, in bis burlcy
figure, rough voice, and fierce eyes; but tiio
Colonel cuuld nut remember where he bad seen
and heard those items before ; and a long silence
followed, during which tbe man in the top-bouts
looked at the fire, tbe Colonel lool^ed at him,
tbe lightning flashed, the wind shrieked, and the
portrait of Vivia smi!ed down on all. At Inst :

^' If you merely wish to warm yourself, my
firjiead," said tbe Colonel, with composure, " I

Smume there is a fire in tbe servant's bull !
Jlo«v me to inform you that it is past twelve,
and I have a long journey to commence to-
morrow morning 1"

" You'll commence no journey to-morrow
morning," the muu in tbe pea-jiicket coolly said.

" Indeed I Suppose, for politeness' sake, you
remove that hat, and let me see the gentleman
who makes so extraordinary an assertion 1"

*' Just you bold on a mmut-, and you'll s^o
me soon enough ! As I suid, it's a matter of
life or death brings me hero; and you'll bear
it all in time, and you won't take any journey
to-morrow I I've b»"^a fool enough in my time,
Lord knows I but I ain't such a iool as to come
out on such a night, and get half drowned for
nothing 1"

" Very good 1 I am waiting for you to go on I"

"There was a murder committed here a
eouple of months ago," said tbe mysterious per-
son in the pea-jacket, " wasn't there ?"

" Ycst" said the Colonel, with a sfigbt recoil,
as he thought that perhaps tbe real murderer
■at before him.

" The young gentleman as was murdered was
Ifr. Leioester Ciiffe ; and another young gentle-
man, Mr. Tom Shirlev, has been tried and con-
demned for the murder ¥"

" Yea !"

** Well," said the man in the pea-jacket, atill
unite ooolly, ** he is innocent 1"

'•I know it!"

"Do yon I Perhaps you know, too, wliu's
the cuiLy party ?"

"No. Do you?"

"Yes, I dol" said tbe man; '*«ud that**
what brings me hero to-night 1"

Again ihero was a pause. The Colonel's lip*
had turned white, but nothing could shake his
stoical Composure. The man in the sailor's
dress had bis hands on his knees, and was lean-
ing forward, looking up at him.

"And w'l'- ''first, my mynterions friend,
bf foce an questions ere asked or answer-

ed, I must. jBist on your removing that hat, and
showing mo who you are."

" All right I It's only a hanging matter, any-
way I Look here 1"

Uis visitor rose up, turned down the collar of
the pea-jacket, lifted off tlie dripping sou'wester,
and glared up at him in the firelight with a pair
of exceedingly greon and wolfish eyes.

*' Ah 1" said the Colonel, slowly, *' I thought
it was you ; and you have come back, then f "

" I have come back 1" said bis visitor, with a
savage gleam in bis wolfish eyes. " I have
conu! back to be hung, very likely ; but by — —
I'll hang over and over again a thousand times,
fur tiie pleasure of seeing him hang beside me
oncel bunted down I hunted down 1 He's been
at it for the last six years, until he's got me to
the end of tiie rope at last! My dog's life
hasn't been such a comfort to uue. Lord Knows!
that I should care to lose it ; but when I do
hang, bo'U hang beside me, by !"

"ilave the goodness to calm yourself, Mr.
Black, and become intelligible! Whom are
you talking about ?"

"My name ain't Black, and you know it!
My name ii Wildmau — Jack Wildman, as was
transported for life ; nnd I don't care if tbe devil
beard it! Whom am I talking about? I'm
tullung about a man as I liatoi as I've hated for
years ; and if I bad him here, I would tear the
eyes out of his head, and the black heart out of
his body, and dash his brains out against this
here wall ! I would by 1"

The man's oaths were appalling. The Colo-
nel shuddered slightly with disgust and repul-
sion as ho heard him, and his face was like that
of a human demon.

" Will you come to the point, Mr. Black, or
Mr. Wildman, whichever you choose? Yousay
you know the real murderer of Leioester Clill'e
— who is he ?"

" Him as I am talking of— a yellow devil witli
a black heart, and his name is Sweet !"

Colonel Shirley started up, and grasped tbe
mantel against whioli be leaned.

" Man," he cried, " what have yuu said ?"

"I have said tlie truth, and I can prove it!
That yellow dog, that I would strangle if I had
him near me, that Lawyer Sweet— he killed the
young gentleman; I saw him with my own
«yes !"

along
and \
back^
and I
and w
know
tion
ran a
per wj
onto (
oiflik

ftv«et

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

115

too, wWi

loloueV* lipt

Id shake bis

the tailor's

,nd was l««n-

iriooa friend,
ail or ftuawer-
; that hat, sad

g matter, aoy-

u the collar of
Dggou'weater,
;Utvlthapair

eyes.

, 4. 1 thought

;aok,th«Dt"
visitor, with a
^es. " I have

J ; but by

bouaand times,
aug beside me
nl Hes been
lie's got me to

My doc's life
e, Lord knows!

but when 1 do
I"

yourself, Mr.
J I Whom are

you know it I

ildman, as was

care if the devil

: about? I'm

' I've hated for

would tear the

aok heart out of

out against tl>ia

iug. The Colo-
[gust and rcpul-
loe was like tliat

L Mr. Black, or

toose? You say

Leicester CUffe

jellow devil witli
ISweet I"
iud grasped the

|e you said ?"

I can prove it!

Utranglo if H'**!

let—he killed the

with luy owu

The Colonel stood looking a hundred ques-
tions ho could not epoali — atruok for the mo-
ment perfectly speeclilvss.

♦' Yes ; you may wonder," snid Mr. Black,
■obsiding into his chair iiKain, and Istting iiiin-
self cool down like a boltlo of ginger-beer oiler
the tirst explosion ; " I'Ut it'0 truoaagoi<[ii)I I I
•aw him do the deed myKclf the uigLt of the
wedding ; and Mr. Tom Shirley — he is inno-
cent 1"

*• Tell me nil," said the Colonel, finding voice ;
" and, for Heaven's sake, do it instantly 1"

"I am a going to. I have taken all this
journey in the wind and rain to-night to do it ;
and I'll hunt him down as he has hunted me, if
they were to hang, and draw, and quarter me
the next minute I You know that evening I
went away ; and I don't think anybody here
ever heard of me since."
"Go on I"

" I had been out that day, and it was nigh on
to sundown when I came home. I found my
old mother on the ground, just recovering from
• fit, and just able to tell me that that yellow
villain had be<iu with her, and was going tell
all — the secret he had kept so long. That was
the first I ever knew of Barbara's being your
daughter instead of mine ; tliough I did know
he had some power over the old woman I could
not get at the bottom of. Whatever he may
say, he knowed it all along ; and it was that
made him marry her. Front the time he met
you in the graveyard, the night you buried
your wife, he never lost sight of my wife »nd
that baby. But when she told me it all, and
how he threatened to peach about my being a
returned transport, I believe the very old Sutan
got into me, and I started up, and went out to
find him and kill him. They say a worm will
turn if trodden on ; he bad trodden on mo long
enough, Lord knows ! and it was my turn now.
If I bad met him in the middle of the town,
with all the people in it looking on, I weuld
have torn bis throat out os I would a mad dog's.
I would have done it if they was to burn me
alive for it the next minute! As I got «p near
his bouse, I saw him come out, and I hid behind
a tree to watch him Before be got far, he
stopped, and began watching somebody him-
seU ; it was Mr. Leicester Clift'e, wlio came
along High street without seeing either of us,
and went in. Then Sweet dodged round the
backway, and went into tlie house after him,
and I was left alone waiting behind the tree,
and waiting for my game to come out. I don't
know exactly what passed, but I have n no-
tion that Mr. Leicester wanted Barbara to
mn away with him, and that the yellow vi-
per was listening, «nd heard it all. It was nigh
onto dark when Mr. Leicester came out, and set
off like a steam-engine toward Lower ClifFe, to
take A short cut, I expect, to the castle ; and |

Bir«efc «ame sneaking after him, like the suake | don ?"

in the grass he is. There we was, a dodgini^
after each other, the three of us, and Sweet aud
me tryinff to keep out of sight fts well as wo
could, and getting into alley-ways and beliind
trees whenever we saw anybody cuiuing. There
wasn't many out to see us for that mutter ; fur
all the town, and the village, too, was up in lUe
park} and Mr. Leicester went up through liie
park gates, aud we two sneaked after bini with-
out meeting a soul. Inutead of going straiglit
up to the castle, as he'd ought to do, Mr. Lei-
cester turned off to that lonesome spot they
call the Nun's Grave ; and still we two was
dodging in through the trees after hitu. When
bo got there he stopped, and stood, with hid
arms crossed, looking down at it ; and there
was the yellow devil ochind him, and I could
see his face in the moonlight, and he looked
more like a devil than ever. There was a club
lying on the grass, just as if Old Nick hai left
it there for ' favorite son— a big knotted stick,
that would have felled an ox ; and Sweet he
raised it, bis grinning mouth grinning more
than you ever saw it, and, with one blow,
knocked the young gentleman stiff on the
ground 1"

Mr. Black paused in his long narration to
turn the other side of his steaming legs to the
influence of the blaze, and to look up search-
ingly at the ColoneL But aa that gentleman
stood as rigid as the marble guest in Don Gio-
vanni, and made no comment, he went on :

*' Tho minute be did the doed, as if be knew
his wo \ was finished, ho dropped the club,
made a .ush through the trees, and I lost him.
So there I was foiled again, with tlio young geu^
tieman lying as stiff as if he had been a month
dead at ray feet. I shouldn't at all have
min>leil being hung for murdering Sweet ; I
wouldn't have eared a curse for it ; but I didn't
want to hang for a murder I hadn't done ; so I
took leg I ail, and got away irom the place as
be had done. I knew Cliftonlca would bo too
hot to hold me now. I didn't know but what
that lying villain would make me out to be tho
murderer; so my notion was to be off in the
evening train for London, and take my time for
revenge. Just as I got through the park-gates,
whom should I see but Barbara on the beach
pushing off in a boat from the shore. I sung
out to hen, but it was no use ; she wouldn't
stop ; BO I just swam up to her, got on board,
and asked her where she was g'ing. I don't
know what she said. I think site was out of
her mind ; but I found out she was running
away from him — from Gliftonlea ; and then it
struck me, as I was in the boat, the best thing I
could do was to row to Lisleham, take the cars
for London there, and so throw folks off the
scent. And that is the way it happened you
couldn't hear anything from either of us."
" Well," said the Colonel, " you went to Loo*

116

UNMAb

OR.

«(«<:•

"No we didn't The first penon we met on
,]\e wliarf ot Lialebniu wae au old obiiiii of mine,
de tm<l bee» wilb nie from Hem South Wal«a
}Ut Uv. was well otf now, and the onptain of a
icboonor. 1 bud nothing ti> do but to tell biin
.ho police were on my truck, uiid I wus sure of
tafo quarters on board )ii8 ct-al't until the heat
jf the hunt was over. We nailed tliut vi;ry day
for Dover ; and before we were two liours out,
Barbara was down raving mad with braiu-fevur.
i'here was no doctor on board, and she hud to
,ret out of it the best way she oould ; but we
made the voyage, stayed awhile iu France, and
was back in Lislehaia long before she slopped
raving or knew anybody. 1 got some English
piipers in Dover, and there I saw nil about the
iiiunlcr ; how I saw Mr. Tom was took up for it ;
and 1 knew I hnd held my tongue about long
enough. I would huve come posting back by
express ; but 1 couldn't leave Barbara alone in
the schooner, and 1 knew I was liine enough.
We got in two hours ngo. The schooner ii* at
anciior out there now ; and, in spite of the
4torm, I came on shore. And now, 8ir, that's
the whole story. Sweet he's the munierer ; and
rU see him nung for it. if I hung myself beside

him."

There was a long pause. The storm ieemcd
to increase in fury, and the uproar without hud
become terrilio. The Colonel lifted his head
und listened to it.

*• Barbara, you say, is in the schooner?"

" She is— but more like a ghost or a skeleton,
tliiiii anything living!"

" You're sure the schooner is safely anchored,
an'l not exposed to the fury of this storm ?"

Mr. Black opened his mouth to reply in t|ie
affirmative, when he wus ominously stopped by
the sharp report of a minute-gun echoing
tlirough the roar of the hurricuue, and rapidly
followed by another and another.

" I thought it would come to thnt," said the
Colonel. '■ The coast iu the morning will bo
birewn with wrecks! I am going down to the
sliore."

'• All right," said Mr. Black, "we can't be of
any use, you km>w ; but 1 have got cramped
with sitting here, and want to stretch my legs
a bit. Lord, how it's storming !"

The Colonel rapidly donned cap and overcoat,
.iMil followed by Mr. Black, left his bright tii-e
and pleasant room, and hastened out into the
night and storm. The sharp report of the
minute-guns still rang through the uproar; but
though they were met in the door by a rush of
wind and rain, that for an instant beat them
back— though the lightning still flashed, and the
thunder rolled, the storm had p-issed its merid-
ian, and was subsiding. Dawn was lifting a
leaden eye, too, above the mountains of black
eloud, and lighting up with a pale and ghastly
glimmer the black and foam-crested sea and the
lt<>rm-beaten eartl*. Long before thej reached

the shore in the lashing tempest, the mournful
uiiiiul«-guns bad oea«ed their cry for help, and
the vesitel, whatever it was, must IneTitablv
have auuk with all it« crew. DcHplte the winil,
and rain, und lightning, the shore was lined
when they reached it by the fishermeu, and
thrown up high on the shingly beach were
bri'keu spars, fragments of wreck, and most
ghastly Biglit of all, the stark bodies of drowned
men. A crowd hud collected in one spot around
a muu who, had turned out, was the only sur-
viv«ir, and who was telling the ctory of the dis-
aster, as the new-comers came up.

" We were scudding along like old Nick in •
gale of wind," the man was saying, " our spars
snapped off like kpitting-neeifles, when we run
afoul of the other orafi, smashed her like an
egg-shell, and down she went, head foremost,
like a stone."

A shrill screech from Mr. Black, and off he
darted like one posses'ed. Something hud just
been washed asliore, something hie quick eye
had caught, and over which he was bending
now with a face as ghastly as that of the drowned
men. With an awful presentiment, the Colonel
followed liim, and his presentiment was realized
to its utmost extent of horror. In the ooze and
mud of the beach, her long hair streaming
around her, her soaking dress clinging to her
slender form, lay the drowned heiress of Castle
Cliffe, with her face in the loathsome slime.

CHAPTER XXXIL

JRETUIBUTION.

Vhomme propose mais Dieu dispose I You
know the proverb. Colonel Shiri-iy was i ot the
only one who had intended starting on a jour-
ney that morning, and was doomed to diisan-
pointment. Mr. Sylvester Sweet having settled
all the affairs of tlie estate, and having nothing
to do for the next mouth or two, intended in hia
bereavement to give himself a long holiday, and
to go post haste to Puris. Perhaps, too, being
such an uncommonly tender-hearted gentleman,
he did not wish to stay to witness the exec".i*/nn
of hia young friend, Tom Sliirley — to drown liis
grief for the recent loss of his wife in the de-
lights of that delightful city. At all events,
whatever his motives, Mr. Sweet was going on a
journey, and was sitting down to an early break-
tost iu the back parlor. Most elaborately was
he got up, always radiant, he was considerably
more so this morning than ever ; bis buff waist-
cout had the gloss of spick-span newness, his
breuet-pin and studs were dazzling, the opal
rings he wore on his fingers made you wink, his
pocket-handkerchief was of the brightest yellow
China silk, his Malacca cane had a gold head,
his canary-colored gloves were as new as his
waistcoat, and his watch-chain with its glistening
ornaments, his yellow whiskers and hair, and
white teeth gleamed out with more than ordina-
ry brilliance, and his smile was so bland and

THE IlEmESfl OF CASTLE CLIFFF^

117

le moarnful
ur htilp. and
t iiittTiublv
le tUo wiiiu,

was liued
leimeu, and
beaolt were
:, and tuuttt
} of drowned

■}iot around
,be unl> Bur-
y of Uie dift-

)ld Nick in •
, " our Bpara
when wo run
her lilie an
lad foremost,

c, and off he
ling had just
is quiok eye
wna bunding
■ the drowned
, the Colonel
b was realized

1 the ooze and
lir streaming
nging to her
ress of Castle
me slime.

ispose I You
•y was I ot the
ig on a jonr-
ned to dUap-

luving settled
nving nothing
ntcuded in bia
g holiday, and
ips, too, being
ted gentleman,
J the exec'.iVon
—to drown Ids
rife in the de-
At all events,
was going on a
an early break-
jlaborately was
IB considerably

bis butf wuist-
in newness, his
iling, the opal
e you wink, his
)righte8t yellow
d a gold head,

as new as his
th its glistening

and hair, and
(re than ordina*
s BO bland and

debonair, it would have done your heart good
to tt'.a it. Ho liitd a<» fur rccovoVod from liiV Into
berooveinont tliat ho Imighod a liltli) flilvory
laugh ns ho eiit down to breakfast — wht'llier ut it,
or ot his own clovcrncss, or ot his expected two
montliH' holi<liiy, would bo hard to nay. So he
wo« sittini,', pleasantly sipping his M.»cha, ond
eating his t'ggs ond rolls, wiicn the door-bell
rang sharply ; and two minutes oftor. Colonel
Shirley stood in the d<»or-woy, regarding him.
Mr. Sw«et arose in a little surprise.

"Oo'td morning. Colonel. This is an unex-
pected pleasure. I thought you were off in the
BIX o'clock train?"

'• I have been dclayod I "Will you be good
enough to order your uorse, and ride bock wit'»
luo to Castle ClifVo?"

"Gortainly, Colonel I" But Mr. Sweet hesi-
tated a little, with his hand on the bell-rope.
" I have purchased my ticket for London, but
if the busuiess is pressing — '

•' It is most pressing! Order your horse im-
mediately !"

Mr. Sweet knew better than to disobey the
Indian oiBcer when hit dark eye flushca and
his voice rang out in that wringing tunc of cuni-
mond ; so ho ordered his horse, drew on his
ovcrcoot, ond substituted buckskin gloves for
the yellow liids, with a little disappointment
and a great deal of curiosity in his sallow face,
liut hia unceremonious companion seemed no
way inclined to' satisfy curioxity, ond was in a
mood Mr. Sweet dared not que'stion. So they
mounted their horses, ond drove through tho
town as rapidly os they had ridden once before,
when on the search for Barbara. The storru
hod subsided, the rain hod entirely ceased, but
the wind still blew in long lamentable blasts ;
and between keeping hia seat in the saddle antJ \
his bat on his head, Mr. Sweet hod enough t >
do until Castle Cliffo was gained. And still, in
grim silence, its master strode into the hall and
into tho morning-room, where that memorable
inquest had been held, and where Mr. Sweet
again found Mr. Channim,', tho magistrate, and
the head doctor of the town. Lying on a long
table, at tho farther end of tho room, was some-
thing that looked like o human figure; but it
was so muffled from sight, in a great cloak, that
he could scarcely tell what to moke of it. lie
turned from it to the others, and their stern
faces and ominous silence sent a sudden and
strange chill to hifj heart. Trying to look easy
and composed, be pulled out bis watch and
glanced at it.

" Ilolf-past seven I If the business is brief,
perhaps 1 may be in time to catch the nine-
o'clocK train yet."

"You need not trouble yourself about the
nine-o'clock train. You will not catch it !" said
the Colonel, frigidly.

" Excuse me ! Of course, I'm willing to woit
«ny time you please 1 I merely thought it

might have been some unimportant matter w<
had forgotten lost night. A terrildo night ln«t
nij/ht, gentlemen— was it not If"

No one ipoke. Mr. Sweet felt n'* If I heir
three pairs of eyes were three pairs of burning-
glasses •oorohing into his very siiin. At last :

" Your wife has returncil, Mr. Sweet!" said
tho Colonel, in a voice that thrilled witli tho
same nameless terror to Mr. Sweet's inmtist
heart.

*• Ueturned I When— whore— how ?"

" Last night, In the storm!"

*• Good heaven I Alone ?"'

••Qnite alone I"

" And wlicro is she now?"

"She is here I Will you come and look at
hcrf

lie walked toward the toblo whorcon the muf-
fled figure lay. Mr. Sweet, with his knees
knocking together, followed. Tho muffling was
removed, the dead face, livid and bruised, the
dark eyes staring wide open, tho white toctli
gleaming behind tho blue li[)8, os if she were
grinning up at him a ghastly grin. It wus an
ftwfid sight; and Mr. Sweet recoiled with a sort
of shriek, ond made a frantic rush for tho door.
But a man in a blue coot ond brass buttons, the
Captain of the Cliftonlea Police, stood sudilenly
between him and it, and laid bis hand foreiKiy
ou his shoulder.

" Not so fast, Mr. Sweet ! You oro my
prisoner!"

Thot brought Mr. Sweet to his senses faster
than cold water or smelling-salts, llo stood
stock-still and loo ved at the man.

" What !"

"Just so, Sir. i'ou are my prisoner! I ar-
rest you for tho murder of Leicester Cliffo I"

The sliock wus so sudden, so unexi)cctcd ; his
nerves were so unstrung by tho ojjpalling sight
he had just seen, that his self-control left him.
His sallow face turned to n blue white, his eyes
seemed storting, he stood there paralyzed, glar-
ing at the man. Then, with a yell that was
more Ii!;e tho cry of a wild boost tlian anything
human, ho dashed his clenched fist into the con-
stable's face, tore him from the door, rusliod
out, and into the arms of Mr. I'l ter Black, who
stood oiring his eye at the key-hw!o ! Tiierc
was another screech, wilder than tho first — an
appalling volley jf oaths, and then Mr. BKick's
hand was twisted in Mr. Sweet's canary-colored
uecklie, and Mr. Sweet was black in the face,
and foaming at the mouth. Then ho was down,
and Peter Black's knee was on his breast, and
tho lawyer's eyes bursting from their sockets,
and the blood flowing from his moutii, nose,
and oars, but the others crowded round, and
were tearing the avenger off. Not in time,
however ; for n murderous clasp-knife, with
which the returned transport was v/on', ia days
gone by, to slice bis bread and beef, wns out,
and up tu the hilt ia the lawyer's breast. The

118

UNMASKED; OR,

hot blood spouted upon his faoe as he with-
drew the blade ; but they flung him off, and the
constable lifted the bleeding form from the
ground.

•'I hovo done it!" said Mr. Black, whose own
face was purple, and whose teeth were clench-
ed. " I swore I would, and now jou may hang
me as soon as you like !"

Both were brought baok into the morning-
room. Mr. Black, like n perfect lamb, offering
DO resistance, and Mr. Sweet, altogetlier unable
to do so. He lay a ghastly spectacle in the
arms of the constable, catching his breath in
short gasps, and tlie life-blood pumping out of
th« wound with each one.

" Lay him down on this sofa," said the doc-
tor, *' and stand out of the way until I examine
the wound."

Mr. Sweet was not insensible. As they laid
him down and the doctor bent over him, he
fixed his protruding eyes on tiiat functionary's
face with an intensely eager look. The exam-
ination soon en<led, tbe doctor arose and shook
his licad dismally.

" It's of no use— the wound is fatal 1 If you
have anything to say, Mr. Sweet, you had better
say it at once, for your hours are numbered !"

Mr. Sweet's face, by no earthly possii<iIity,
could turn more gh.-istly than it was ; so he only
let his head fall back with a hollow groan, and
lay perfectly motionless. Mr. Channiug, with a
businoss-like air, drew up a seat and sat down
beside him.

"You have heard what the Doctor says,
Sweet I You had better make a clean breast of
it before you go !"

Another hoilow groan was Mr. Sweet's an-
swer. All bis spirits seemed to have fleJ, leav-
ing nothing behind but most abject terror.

** Out with it, SwectI it may ease your con-
scieace ! We will send for a clergyman, if you
like !"

'* No, it would be of no use I he could do me
no good ! Ob-oh-oh !" Another prolonged and
dismal groan.

'• Commence, then, at once — do one act of
justice before you die I It was you who mur-
^rcd Leicester Cliffe — was it not?" said Mr.
Channiug, briskly producing note-book and
pencil.

" It was 1 It's of no use denying it now I"

'• Why did you do it? What was your mo-
tive?"

*• Jealousy! I beard bim urging my wife to
elope witb him. I was mad with jealousy, and
I followed and killed bim I"

'♦ You came here directly after the murder ?"

"Ididl"

" Would you have let Tom Shirley hang for
your crime ?"

" How could I help it? Either he or I must
bang for it I Oh-oh'Oh-oh I" Another pro-
feuged groan.

"You've been o niee bypooritel" said Mr.
Channing, taking notes rapidly. "Is this other
story about your wife havmg been the daughter
of Colonel Shirley quite true f "

" It is — every word of it I"

" Not every word I You knew it all along,
of course?"

" Yes I"

"You said you didn't, though. And Miss
Vivia is really the daughter of that man at the
door?"

"Yes — curse himt" cried Mr. Sweet, with
momentary fury ; " and he is an escaped trans-
port ; and you know what the penalty of that

18?"

"I know very well! Another thing, Mr.
Sweet, Black mentioned, while the Colonel was
absent fetching you, that before you struck
Leicester Cliffe, a mysterious voice arose from
the grave and told him his doom was come, or
sometliing to that effect. Can you account for
that little uircumstance ?"

" Very easily t I am a ventriloquist ! And
I have made use of my powi^r more than once
to terrify Barbara and him, at the Nun's Grave 1"

"Humph I They say open confessions are
good foivtbe soul, and yours ought to feel re-
lieved after this I Is there anything else. Col-
onel?'

"I think not.' What miserable dupes we
have all been 1"

•|AhI you may say that! It's a thousand
pities so clever a rascal should have cheated
the hangman 1"

" He hasn't cheated him !" said the doctor,
composedly ; " lie is no more likely to die than
I am I The stab is a mere trifle, that some
lint ond linen bandages will set all right in no
time. Colonel, ring tbe bell, and order both
articles, while I stop the blood which is flowing
rather fast I"

" You said— you said—" gasped Mr. Sweet,
with horrible eagerness. " You said the wound
was fatal 1" ,

" So I did, my dear Sir 1 so I did ! but I just
wanted to frighten you a little, nnd so get uU
the truth. All is lair in war, you know, and
white lies are excusable in such cases I Here's
the lint— now tbe bandages — tbank you, Col-
onel T' Don't twitch so— I wouldn't hurt yoi
for the world 1 Please the pigs, we'll have you
all ready to stand your trial in a weelc I"

Every one drew a deep breath of relief, not
even excepting Mr. Black, wbo felt, upon ufter-
tbougbt, a little sorry he had ended Mr. Sweet's
sufferings so soon. But whether from the re-
action or the loss of blood, Mr. Sweet himself
had no sooner beard the conclusion of the doc-
tor's speecu, tlian he fell baok on the sofa, faint-
ing.

"Can he be removed. Doctor?" asked the
Colonel.

" Of coune he oaa I Put him in the earrias«

rope

teen

banc

Nigl

is a

The

their

by I

tiiti

ley.

whon

hum

Lone

soldi

But

terno

an a\

I) bel

tress,

on h

throi

mits

te !" said Mr.
<* la this other
Q the dangbter

w it all along.

h. And Misa
at man at the

r. Sweet, with
escaped Irans-
)enalty of that

cr thing, Mr.
he Colonel waa
re jou struck
ice arose from
, was come, or
ou account for

iloquist I And
Qore than once

Nuns Grave I"
confessions are

ght to feel re-
ihing else, Col»

able dupes we

It's a thousand
Id have cheated

aid the doetor,
kely to die than
rifle, that some
all riglit in no
and order both
which is flowing

iped Mr. Sweet,
1 said the wound

did ! but I just
!, nnd so get uU

yoa know, and
1 cases ! Here's
thank you, Col>
uldn't hurt yoi
}, we'll have you
a week !"
ith of relief, not

felt, upon ttfter-
ided Mr. Sweet's
ler from the re-
\ Sweet himself
ision of the doc-
>n the sofa, faint-
tor?" asked the
m in i,he earria([«

THE HEIBESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE.

119

ihd drive slowly, and he can go to the jail as
snfely as any of us ! I shall make a point of
conscience of visiting him there every day. I
never knew a gentleman I shall have more
pleasure in restoring to health than my dear
friend, Mr, Sweet !"

" Of course, Tom is free to leave immediate-
ly, Mr. Clianning ?"

' *' Of course, Colono' ! of course ! Poor boy !
Iiow shamefully he has been wronged ! and what
a providential thing the wrong did not go still
furtlier !"

♦' It's nllrightnowl" said the Doctor ; " the
wheel turns slowly, but it turns surely ! Blood
will cry for vengeance, and murder will out !"

A carriage was ordered round, and the blinds
closely drawn down. Mr. Sweet, still insensible,
was placed on the back-seat in charge of the
doctor and Mr. Channing, and Mr. Black and
the constable were accommodated with the op-
posite one. The Colonel mounted his horse and
rode on in advance, to bring glad tidings of
great joy to Tom Shirley in his prison-cell.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE FALL OF THE CnRTAIN.

The sun shines on the just and the unjust —
yes, for it shone one sqnny afternoon on the
glistening spires, and donaes, and palaces, and
tlironged paves of a great city, and on a large,
quiet-looking, gray building, enshrined in tall
trees, away from the ceaseless bum of busy life
in a remote street ; and the great city was gay,
brilliant, wicked Paris, and the quiet, gray
building among the trees, was the Ursuline Con-
vent. It is fourteen montlis since we were in
Cliftonlea, fourteen months since Colonel Shir-
ley and Tom left for the frozen and blood-
stained shores of Russia ; fourteen months since
Cliftonlea was thrown into a state of unparal-
leled excitement upon seeing Mr. Sweet with a
rope round his neck, dancing on nothing ; four-
teen montlis since Margaret Shirley joined the
band of devoted women who followed Florence
Nightingale to the Crimea. Fourteen months
is a tolerable time, with room for many changes.
The war was over, the allies had gone back to
their own countries. Colonel Sliirley had won,
by hard fighting, a baronetage, and the Cross of
tlie Biitii, and was now General Sir ClifFe Shir-
ley. Margaret had joined the Sisters of Charity,
whom she met in the hospitals, and was now the
humble servant of the very humblest class in
London ; and poor Tom Shirley was lying in a
soldier's grave outside the walls of Seoastopol.
But all thii) was passed, and on this summer af-
ternoon, you are going through an iron gate, up
an avenue of golden laburnums, and are ringing
a bell at the great convent door. An old por-
tress, sitting in an arm-chair, with her missal
on her lap, the beads of her rosary slipping
through her fingers, and dozing over both, ad-
mits you, and you pass through a long hall into

the convent church. The sunshine Citing
through the maguidcent stained-glass windows,
fills it with a solemn gloom ; an immense gcdden
lamp, suspended from the carved ceiling by a
long chain, burns before the grand altar. Su-
perb pictures line the walls, lovely statues
look down from niches and brackets, and tho
holy-water fount at the door is a perfect miracle
of exquisite carving. The solemn air is filled
with music ; for a young nun, lovely of face,
slender of figure, sits up in the organ-lcft, play-
ing and singing the " Stabat Mater". It is Sis-
ter Ignacia, once Mademoiselle de St. Hilary—
Vivia Shirley's old friend, wbo might have been
Yivia Shirley's sister, and she looks like the pic-
tures of St. Cecilia, as the grand notes of the
organ wail sadly out and she sings the mourn-
ful words :

" Stabat Mater dolorosa,
Juxtera crucem lachrymosa,
Dum pendabat filiua."

One other figure only is in the church, and it
kneels on a prie-dieu before a magnificent pic-
ture, a copy of Paul Ruben's Descent from the
Cross. There Mary Magdalen kneels with her
floating golden hair falling around her like a
vail, her lovely face uplifted ; there stands the
Mater Dolorosa, her colorless face and upraised
eyes full of her great woe ; there stands John,
the beloved apostle, with his beautiful boyish
fflce, and there hangs the drooping livid figure
they are slowly liftinc; to the ground. It is not
a nun who kneels before this picture, not even^a
novice ; for she wears no vail, either white or
black ; her golden hair, like Magdalen's own, is
pushed from her face and confined in a silken
net ; her dress is unrelieved black, but she wears
neither cross nor rosary at her girdle. You
cannot see her face, it is hidden in her hands as
she kneels ; but you can tell she is youne, by
the exquisite beauty of those hands, and the
slender, delicate figure. Whiie she kneels and
prays, and the young nun sings the "Stabat
Mater", the door softly opens. Sister Anastasia,
the old portress, glides in and taps her softly
on the shoulder, and the kneeler rises and fol-
lows her out of the vestibrle. You can see now
that the face is youthful and lovely, made more
lovely by the moveless purity and calm that
looks at you through the dark violet eyes than
by any perfection of feature or of complexion ;
for the face is thin, wan, and wnsted to a degree.
Sister Anasttjisia takes a card out of her pocket,
and hands it to the young lady, who becomes
livid crimson the moment she looks at it, and
who covers her face with her hands, and turns
away even from the averted eyes of the por-
teress. " He is in the parlor," Sister Anastasia
says with phlegm, and goes back to her missal,
and her rosary, and her dozing.

The young girl stood for a moment in the
same attitude, her bowed face hidden in her
bands; and then starting suddenly up, hastened

120

UNMASKED; OE,

fit.ilT

ir)

along a corridor, up a flight of atairs, aud tap-
ped at a door on the lauding above. " Enter,'
aaid a sweet voice ; and obeying the order the
young lady went in and knelt down at the feet
of the stately Lady Abbess, who sat with a pile
of letters before her reading.

" Well, dear child," said the lady, laying her
hand kindly on the bowed head ; " What is it ?"

For all answer the youug lady placed in her
hand the card she had juat received, aud bowed
her face lower than ever, Tlie nun looked at it
gravely at first ; and then, with <i little smile :

" Well, my dear, it is very well ; you have
my permission to receive your visitor."

" But nob alone, mother ! dear mother, not
alone !"

The lady still sat and looked at her with the
same quiet smile.

" Will you not come with me, mother ? I — I
— should like it so much !"

" Certainly, my dear, if you wish it.''

Both arose, descended the stairs, passed
through the vestibule, and opening a door to
the left, entered the very plainest of convent
parlors. The only occupant was a gentleman,
stalwart and tall, in undress military uniform,
bronzed and moustached, and looking wonder
fully out of place within those monastic walls.
He rose as they entered, bowed low to the state-
ly superior; and, crossing the room, eagerly
held out his hand to the younger lady, who
dropped her eyes, aud colored again as she
■touched it.

^ •' I am very glad you have returned safe from
your dangerous mission. Sir Cliffe," said the su-

t)erior, sitting down. "Allow me to congratu
ate you on the success you have achieved."

" You are very kind, Madam !" said tbe sol-
dier, looking a little reproaclifully, as he spoke,
at the young lady, who persistently refused to
meet his eye. " Can I not say two or three
words in private to Miss Shirley ?"

" Undoubtedly, Sir ; it w.is by her own re-
quest I came ! Vivia, take a seat over t'lere by
the window, and hear what your frienc has to
say."

Vivia and the gentleman seated themselves
near the window as directed ; and the superior,
taking out a rosary, began saying her Ave Marias,
witli her eyes fixed on the floor, to all intents
and purposes a hundred miles awa}' .

" You have just come from England, I sup-
pose," said Yiviii, at last breaking u somewhiit
embarrassing pause.

" I reached Paris an hour ago. And how
have you been, Vivia? Are you always goini;
to be pale and wan, and never get your roses
back ! 1 believe they half starve you here."

Vivia looked up with something like her old
laugh.

" Sist«r Th^rese, our cook, could tell a diff'er-
ent story I She would cook me pate de fois gras
every day if I w ->uld eat them. And how are

all in Cliftonlea — dear, dear, old Cliftonlea?
How often I have dreamed of it since I left !"

" You sliali see it again before the end of the
week. All are well, but terribly lonely without
Vivia I 1 believe I have a couple of billets-doux
for you somewhere."

"Hardly billets-doux I think," smiled Vivia,
as he drew out his pocket-book, and took from
between the leaves two dainty little missives,
one three- cornered, rose-colored, and perfumed ;
tbe otber in a plain white envelope. Vivia
smiled again as sbe looked at the first.

" Lady Agnes will always bo elegant ; I could
tell this was hers in Tartary !" she said, as she
broke '* open and glanced over its brief con-
tents. Very brief they were :

" My Darling :— Come back 1 have been dying of
ennui ever since you left. Nothing in the world could
have made me so happy as to know you are to be my
daughter after all. A. S.

Vivia glanced shyly up , and seeing the grave
smiling eyes bent upon her, blushed, and open-
ed the other without a word :

" Mt De AR ConsiN : —Try and forgive me for the past —
I never can forgive myself, Sometimes, in your pray-
ers, remember Maroarkt Suirlet."

" Your letters are somewhat shorter than
those ladies usually write," her companion said,
with his grave smile , but Vivia's eyes were full
of tears.

" Poor Margaret 1 dear Margaret ! I hope
she is happy in her convent 1 When did you
see her ?"

"Yesterday. And if one might judge by
faces, she is as happy as it is in her nature to
be. Poor Tom's death was a terrible shock to
her ; she saw him when he was brought iu rid-
dled with Russian bullets !"

" Did she ?"

She was sitting with averted face, her eyes
shaded by her hands, and Sir Cliffe went on :

"You heard, of course, he was dead, but you
never heard the partioulars. Poor fellow ! shall
I ever forget, that half an hour before he was
talking to me, sound and well, in my tent? But
these things are merely the fortunes of war."

"Go on !" Vivia said, softly.

" We were expecting an engagement, and my
post was one of imminent danger ; and not
knowing what the result might be, 1 was mak-
ing a few arrangements in case th» worst should
happen. It was then for the first time I told
him how I had called here when en route for the
scat of war, the question I asked you, and the
answer my good little Vivia gave. As he heard
it, he laid his head down on the table as be did
once before, I remember, when I gave him your
note in person ; and those were the last words
we ever exchanged. The encagoment began, a
forlorn hope was storming a breach in the wall,
and had been hurled back again and again by a
rain of bullets, until they were half cut to
pieces, and no one could bo found to lead them
again. Then it was that Tom sprung from the

THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE.

131

1 Cliflonlea?
,ce I lefk !"
le end of the
)nely without
f billetB-doux

smiled Vivia,
nd took from
ttle missives,
id perfumed ;
lope. Vivia
first.

jant ; I could
16 said, as she
its brief con-

e been dying of
tlie world could
lu are to be my

A. S.

eing the grave
led, and open-

me for the past —
I, in your pray-
lRkt Suiblkt."

shorter than
tmpanion said,
I eyes were full

aret! I hope
When did you

ght judge by
I her nature to
rrible shock to
brought in rid-

face, her eyes
.ffe went on :

dead, but you
or fellow ! shall

before he was
my tent? But
nes of war."

;eraent, and my
iiger ; and not
be, 1 was muk-
h" worst should
iTit time I told

en route for the

id you, and the

J. As he heard

[ table as he did

gave him your

the last words
;tment began, a
tach in the wall,

and again by a
ere half cut to
nd to lead them
sprung from the

ranks with a cheer, and a wild ory of " Come
ou, lade !" that rings ia my ears even now. In
one instant be scaled the wall, in another be
had fallen back pierced with a score of Russian
balls, but the last trial succeeded, and the
breach was won !''

Vivia did not speak, but he could see how
fast the tears were falling through the hands that
covered her face.

" When they came to bury him," concluded
the Colonel, hastily ; " they found in his breast,
all torn and shattered, a little book you had
once given him, and within it the note you sent
in prison. Poor Tom! they buried him with
military honors, but the shook of seeing him
nearly killed Margaret."

Still Vivia could do nothing but weep, Her
companion looked at her anxiously.

" I ought not to have toll you this story —
such horrors are not for your ears."

*' O yes, yes ; it is better I should know it !
Poor Tom ! poor Margaret!"

" l)o not think of it any longer I I have a
thousand things to say to you, and no time to
say one of them. Do you know I return to
England to-morrow?"

"So soon!"

" Yes. And I'm going to take you with me."

"Oh!" exclaimed Vivia, with a little cry of
consternation. '*It is impossible! I never
could!"

" There is no such word as impossible in my
vocabulary! You must! There is no occasion
for delay, and they expect ns at home."

"But it is so very sudden. I never can be
ready !"

"Permit me to judge of that! What readi-
ness do you require ?"

"Oh, I have nothing to wear!" said Vivia,
with a Jaugh and a blush.

" You can wear what you have on — can you
not?"

" Black ! Nonsense — what are you thinking
of? No one ever heard of sucli a tiling!'

"Very well! Since you are inexorable, I
shall appeal to higher powers, and see if they
cannot coerce you into obedience.'

He crossed vthe room as he spoke, and took a
seat near the superior, who lifted her eyes in-
quiringly from the carpet-pattern.

" Madame, business obliges mc to return to
Enghmd to-morrow ! Is ihere any valid reason
why Vivia should not return with me ?"

" It is very soon," said the lad}', musingly.

" True, but I assure you the haste is uniivoid-
able, and as the ceremony is to be strictly pri-
vate, a day more or less can not make much
difference.

"I suppose not. vveii. Monsieur, it shall be
as you wish ! Her friend, Madame la Marquise
de St. Hilary, and her bonne Jeannette, can ac-
company, her. in the cnn-n;,'!'. and meet you at

the churca. I cannot tell you, Monsieur, how
sorry we all will be to part with her."

So that matter was settled, and Monsieur le
G^n^ral took his departure with a beaming face
to prepare for the ceremony of lo-morrow, and
Mdlle. Vivia went lo prepare for it in her own
way, by spending the remainder of the day,
and long into the night, on the prie-dieu before
the altar. She was back there again by day-
dawn the next morning ; but when the grand
carriage of the St. Hilarys stopped at tlie con-
ventdoor, she was ready in the simplest and
plainest of traveling-dresses to take her seat
beside the Marquise. Adieu had been said to
all her convent friends, and she sat quietly cry-
ing behind her vail, until they drt-w up before
Notre Dame, where they found General Shirley
and a few of his friends, awaiting them. And
then a very quiet marriage-ceremony was per-
formed, and Vivia had a right to the name of
Shirley no one could dispute now, and was sit-
ting the happiest bride on earth, beside her sol-
dier-husband, in the express-train for Calais.

Once more the joy bells were ringing in Clif-
tonlea , once more the charity-children turned
out to stiviw the streets with flowe>s , once more
triumphal arches were raised, and tiie flag of
welcome floated from the cupola of Castle
CliflFe ; once more bonfires were kindled, fire-
works went off, and music and dancing, drink-
ing and feasting, were to be had for the asking,
and crowds upon crowds of well-dressed peojile
filled the park. Castle Cliffe, from eeilnr to
battlement, was one blaze of light , once more
the German band came down from London to
delight the ears of hundreds of guests , once
more Lady Agnes was blazing resplendent in
velvet ana diamonds, and once ni"re Sir Ro-
land, on his gold-headed cane, limped from
room to room, in spite of his gout, in perfect
ecstasies at seeing his pet Vivia again — it was
so delightfully like the old times. And Vivia
was there again, robed as a bride, in white lace
and satin, and orange-bloss'ims and jewels, love-
ly as a vision ; and this time the bridegroom
was not absent. He stood there in his grand
General's uniform ; and no shallow from tlie
pust was permitted to dim the brightness of
that night. Not eVen Lady Agnes could think
of her obscure birth ; for no princess could look
more noble and stately than did she: no one
thought of that father of hers who had broken
so ai-tfuUy from jail, and made his escape to
parts unknown — helped, rumor said, by Colonel
Shirley himself. No one thought of anything
but that tiie bride and bridegroom were the
handsomest and huppiest couple in the world.

"Come out here, Vivia!" he said to her,
opening a glass-door leading down to the ter-
race ; "it is a lovely night, and this ball-ri'om
is oppressively hot."

lie drew her arm within his, and ^\r Cliffe
and Lady Shirley walked along the trrace in

122

UNMASKED.

tiie H«reiie moonlight. Tlie park, looking like
liiiry-laud, lay at tbeir feet, filled witb their
tenantry, and the townsfolk, and music, and
linppy voices; the town lny quiet and tranquil,
1 )uking pretty aud picturesque, as all places do
ill the moonlight ; and far away, spread out the
wide sea, its ceaseless waves surgmg the same
iM song to the shore they had sung when she
heard them first, a happy, carelcs'? child.

'• Dear, dear Cliftonleal" said Viva, her eyes
filling with happy tears ; " How glad I am to
see it again I"

" I thought you would not forget it in your
French convent!'* he oiid, laughing. "My
dear little wife, there is no place like home t"

" True, but I have learned one thing in my
French convent, that favor is deceitful, and
beauty is vain, and that after all, num ante !"
pointing upward, " there is the true patrie /"

He did not speak. He only lifted the lovely
hand reverently to his lips ; and in silence the
bronzed soldier and his pretty bride stood on
the terrace watching the joung moon rise.

Item bsd.i

forget it ia your
lauching. " My
oe like home I"
one thing in my
is deceitful, and

all, mon ame /"
e true patrie /"

lifted the lovely
iad in silence the
y bride stood on
g moon rise.