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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. 0, 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. CI n 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 c fM 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, ;inut 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 liaii8 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, ani 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?" 8 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 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 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 C fM 10 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"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. 11 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- bcsit look at it —here it is." " No !" said tlio young man, fiercely. " Take it And begone !" Jenny snatched up the baby, aniun. 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. 1 lie Right RevereiKl tli« Bisliop uf Clifboulea dbigiied lu uome luere hiraoelt'. AuJ the Boeue on the rar 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 — Laf " 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. If 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 C n\ 18 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 ti THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE. It ' 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 c 90 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 'S THE HEIRESS OF CASTLE CLIFFE. 81 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. Is 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 |>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. 9e 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 Lau 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 M 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.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' n: 28 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 20 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 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. 88 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 84 UNMASKED; OR, — wbieb prudent gentl 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«* 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- c M 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 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'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 ' 88 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. 89 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 40 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. 41 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. 42 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. 48 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 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. 45 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<>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 w THE HEIRESS OP CASTLE CLIFFE. 47 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 tr 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, 48 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 00 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. 01 oM lady, »■ 1 lung itritlvn n (Ttttea, and uie ca«tle. f a fl«tterin« the trees, ntieneath 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. 53 UNMASKED; OR, >V ■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 !" I 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" 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. 66 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 friene 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* m 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 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?" S8 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.