s^. o>;^>^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) % // :/. . ^j.. fc -^ !.0 I.I ^ I" 1.8 IL25 i 1.4 h ^ V^ ^. ^» /: «> > 7 /^ Photographic Sciences Corporation iV <>^ ■^ <> o^ ^, ^. ^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 '^ ■^ k" ..'%^ d CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHIVI/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian da microreproductions historiques Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques The Institute has signifie "A SUIVRE". Ie symbole V signifie "FIN". Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at different reduction ratios. Those too large to be entirely included in one exposure are filmed beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to right and top to bottom, as many frames as required. The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film^s A des taux de reduction diffirents. Lorsque Ie document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul cliche, il est film6 d partir de I'angle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite. et de haut en bas, en prenant Ie nombre d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. irrata to pelure, n h D 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 8 Hi mm KATE DANTON. 4 By May Agnes Flemmg. — ••-•^. NORINE'S REVENGE. Grown, 8vo., Cloth and Paper. " Mrs. Fleming's stories are growing more and more popular every day. Their delineations of character, lifelike conversations, flashes of wit, constantly vary- ing scenes, and deeply interesting plots, combine to place their author in the very first rank of Modern Novelists." PUBLISHED UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME. BBX^FOIilD BROS., r»X7BLISHEIil TORONTO. KATE DANTON^; OR CAPTAIN DANTON'S DAUGHTERS ^ ^ovtt BY MAY AGNES FLEMING, Al'TIIOR OK NORINES REVENGE," "OUV EARLSCOURT's WIFE," '^A WONOERFl' WOMAN, "A TERRIBLE SECRET," "a MAD MARRIAGE, ''one night's mystery," etc. 1 " " A woman's will dies hard, In the field, or on the sward." TORONTO: BELFORD BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS. MDCrCLXXVII. t PKIXTKI) and STEHKiiTYl'F.n BT The OLunK Primixo Cumpanv, 26 & 2S Kixo Sthket Kast, ToitOXTO. I f Bound by HUNTKR, ROSK & Co. Toronto. " There were three little women Each fair in the face, And their laughter with music Filled all the green place; As they wove pleasant thoughts With the threads of their lace. Of the wind in the tree tops The flowers in the glen, Of the birds— the brown robin. The wood dove, the wren. They talked but their thoughts Were of three little men I" i ClIAPTRR. I. II. Ill IV. V. VI. VII. VIII IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI.- XVII. XVIII.- XIX. XX XXI.- XXII.- XXIII.- XXIV.- XXV.- OoN TENTS. :i; J V i:i^'^ I'AOR. — Grace Danton c) — Kate Danton |^ — A Chango of Dynasty 28 — Rose Danton 4^ — Seeing a Ghost 54 — Rose's Adventure yj — Hon. Lieutenant Reginald Stanford . . . , 87 — The Ghost Again jqi —A Game for Two to Play at 120 — The Revelation 131 —One Mystery Cleared Uj) 133 —Harry Danton 15^ — Love-making j^^j —Trying to be Tme 132 —One of Earth's Angels 195 -Epistolary 207 -**She Took Up the Burden of Life Again." 222 -"It's an III Wind Blows Nobody Good " 234 —Via Cnisis 247 -Bearing the Cross 259 -Dr. Danton 's Good Works 274 -After the Cross, the Crown 284 -"Long have I been True to You, now I'm True no Longer " 293 -Coals of Fire 3QJ -At Home n-%n M I ■ n I n ii' KATE DANTON. CHAPTER I. G r» A C E DANTON. i ,:M LOW room, oblonj:^ in .sliii|)e, three high naiTOW windows lulniitting tho li;,'ht through sinall, ohl- f^j f'iishioiiod |i:in,c5 afternoon was wearing on to dusk ; l)Ut v.wn tho «?>\> ^^'^"1 lialf-light showt'd you solid mahogany turni- fS^ ture, oM-fasiiioni'd as tiie winws themselves, black and shining with ago and polish ; a carpet soft and tliick, but its once rich hues dim and faded ; oil piintings of taste .ind merit, some* of thorn portraits, on tho papered walls, the red glow of a large coal tire glinting pleasiintly on their bi'oad gildiid irames. At one of the windows, looking out at 'ho ceaseless rain, a young lady sat — a young lady, tall, rathoi stout than slen- der, and not pretty. Her complexion was too sallow ; her feutuies too irregular ; her dark hair too scant, an I dry and thin at the parting ; but her eyes were tine, large, l)rown and clear ; her manner, scdf-possessed and lady-like. She was very .simply but very tastefully dressed, and looked every day of her ago — twenty six. The rainy afternoon w.is doopening into dismal twilight ; and with her check resting on her hand, the young lady sat with a thoughtful face. A long avenue, shaded by towering tamaracks, led down to stately entrance-gates ; beyond, a winding road, leading to a village, not to be seen from the window. Swelling meadows, bare and bleak now, spread away to the right anil left of the thicklv- wooded grounds ; and beyond all, through 1 ■Hi • ' i I ■ ll 10 on. ICE DAKTOS. i-t ;»■ I • the tices, there were i,'liiii|)ses of the j^ieat St. liawrence, tur- bid urivl swollen. ruKhiiiv Jove I it knows how to rain in Canada." The cold November blast swept in as Grace o]^ened the front door, and the rain fell in a downpour. In the black darkness Grace could just discern a white horse fastened to a tree. " That is minous, Grace," said her brother. ** Captain Danton and his daughter come heralded by wind and tempest. Take care it is not prophetic of dom(?stic squalls." He i*an down the steps, but was back again directly. " Who was that pale, blue-eyed fairy I met when I entered ? " " Eveleen Danton." ** Give her my best rejjiards — Doctor Frank's. She will be rather pretty, I think; and if Miss Kate snubs me, per- haps^I shall fall back on Miss Eveleen. It seems to me I should like to get into so great a family. Once more, hon soir, sister mine, and pleasant dreams. He was gone this time for good. His sister stood in the doorway, and watched the white horse and its tall, dark ridor vanish under the tossing trees. Ill CHAPTER IT. KATE DANTON. RACK went slowly l)Hck to the parlour and stood lookincf tlioiiijhtfiilly into tho fire. It was pleas- ant in that pleasant parlour, lirinrht with the illu- mination of lamp and tiro — doubly pleasant in contrast with the tumult of wind and rain without. Very pleasant to Grace, and she sighed wearily as she looked up from the ruby coals io the radiant face smilin<:f down fiom over the mantel. " You will be mistress to-morrow," she thought ; *•' the place I have hold for the last four years is yours from to- night. Beautiful as a queen. What will your reign be like, I wonder?" She drew up the arm-chair her brother had vacated, and sat down, her thoughts drifting backward to the past. Backward four y(?ars, and she saw herself, a penniless orphan, dependent on the bounty of that miserly Uncle Roosevelt in Montreal. She saw again the stately gentle- man who came to her, and told her he was her father's third cousin, Captain Danton. of Danton Hall. She had never seen him before ; but she had heard of her wealthy cousin from childhood, and knew his history. She knew he had married in early youth an English lady, who had died ten years after, leaving four children — a son, Henry, and three daughters, Katherine, Rosina and Eveleen. The son, wild and wayward all his life, bioke loose at the age of twenty, forged his father's name, and fled to New York, married an actress, got into a gambling aft'ray, and was stabbed. That was the end of him. The eldest daughter, born in England, had been brought up by her maternal grandmother, who was rich, and whose heiress slie was to be. Mrs. Danton and her two youngest children resided at the Hall, while the I rr — '"mklT'iTTTI katj': daxtox. 10 ^ Captain was mostly absent. After her death, a Canadian lady had taken charge of the house and Captain Daiiton's daughters. All this Grace knew, and was quite unprepared to see her distant kinsman, and to hear that the Canadian lady had married and left, and that she was solicited to take her place. The Captain's terms were so generous that Grace accepted at once ; and, a week after, was domesticated at the Hall, hou.sekeeper and com| uiion to his daughters. Four years ago. Looking hack to-night, Grace sighed to think how pleasant it had all been, now tli-tt it was over. It had been such a quiet, untroubled time — siie sole mistress, Rose's fits of ill-temper and Eeny's fits of illness the only drawback. And now it was ut an end forever. The heiress of Danton Hall was coming to wield the sceptre, and a new era would dawn with the morrow. There was a tap at the door, and a voice asking : *' May I come in, Grace 1 " and Grace woke uj) from her dreaming. " Yes, Eeny," she said ; -ind Eeny came in, looking at her searchingly. " Have you been crying ? " she asked, taking a stool at her feet. " Crying ? no ! What should I cry for ? " " You look so solemn. I heard your visitor go, and ran up. Who was it 1 " "My brother, who has just returned from Germany." " Dear me ! Didn't I say h j had eyes like you ] He's a Doctor, isn't he ? " "Yes." " Grace, I thought you said you were poor ? " " Well, I am poor- -am I not ] " " Then who paid for your brother studying medicine in Germany 1 " " Uncle Roosevelt. Ho is very fond of Frank." " Is your Uncle Roosevelt rich 1" "I believe so. Very rich, and very miserly." " Has he sons and daughters ? " " No ; we are his nearest relatives." " Then, perhaps, he will leave you his fortune, Grace." 30 RATE D ANTON. " Hardly, I think. Ho may remomber Frank inbia will; but there is no tellin*?. Ha is very eccentric." " Cirrace, I ho} f he won't leave it to you," said Eeny soberly. " Really, why not, pray ?" " IJecause, if vou wcm'o rich von would 20 awav. I shoiild be sorry if you left Danton Hall." Grace stooped to kiss the pale younu; face. " My dear J'^ciuy, you for^ifct that your beautiful .sister Kate is coniincf. In a week or two, you will have room in your heart for no one but her." ** You know bettor than that," said Eeny ; perhaps she will be like Rose, and I shall not love her at all." Grace smiled. *' Do you mean to say you do not love Rose, then?" " Love Rose ? " repeated Eeny, very m\ich amazed at the question ; ** love Rose, indeed ! I should like to see any one who could love Rose. Grace, whore is vour brother stop- ping 1 At the hotel ] " " No ; at Monsieur le Curd's. He knows Father Francis. Eeny, do you hear that ? " She started up, listening. Through the tempest of wind and rain, and the surging of the trees, they could hear carriage wheels rattling rapidly up to the house. " I hear it," said Eeny ; " papa has come. Grace, how pale you are ! " ** Am I ] " Grace .said, laying hor hand on her heart, and moving towards the door. She paused in the act of opening it, and caught Eeny suddenly and passionately to her heart. " Eeny, my darling, before they come, tell me once more you will not let this new sister steal 5'our heart entirely from me. Tell me you will love me still." " Always, Grace," said Eeny ; " there — the carriage has stopped ! " Grace opened the door and went out into the entrance hall. The marble-paved floor, the domed ceiling, the carved, and statued, and pictured walls, were quite grf^nd in the blaze of a great chandelier. An instant later, and a loud knock made the house ring, and Babette flung the front ■« KATE DAXTON. ft I his will; lid Eeny I siiould 'ill sister room in liaps she A" 3d at the any one ler stoi>- Francis. of wind lid hear ce, how art, and openinjT r heart. e more entirely age has ntrance carved, in the a loud 3 front door wide opon. A stalwart gontloman, buttoned up in a great-coat, with a young lady on his arm, strode in. " Quite a Canadian baptism, papa," the silvtuy voice of the young lady said ; '' I Jim almost drenched." Grace heiird this, and caught a glimpse of Captain Dan- ton's man, Ogden, gallanting a pretty, rosy giil, who looked like a lady's maid, and then, very, very pale, advanced to meet her niastei* and his daughter. " Mv dear Miss Grace," the heartv voice of the sailor siiirl, as he grasped her hand, " I am delighttid to see you. My (lauL'hter Kate, ]\Iiss Grace." My daughter Kale; bowed in a dignified manner, scarcely looking at her. Her eyes were fixed on a smaller, slighter ti'nire shrinking behind her. '' Hallo, Eeny ! " cii(!(l the Captain, catching her in his arms ; " tryini; to play hide-and-go-seek, are you ? Como out and let us have a look at you." He held her up over his head as if she had been a kitten, and kissed her as he set her down, laughing and breathless. "You little whiff of thistle-down, why can't you get fat and rosy as you ought 1 Tluue, kiss your sister Kate, and bid her welcome " Eeny looked timidly up, and was mesmerized at one glance. Two lovely eyes of starry radiance looked down into hers, and the loveliest face Eeny ever saw was lighted with a bewitching smile. Two arms were held out, and Eeny sprang into them, and kissed the exquisite face raptur- ously. " You darling child !" the sweet voice said, and that was all ; but she held her close, with tears in the starry eyes. " There, there I" cried Caj)tain . Danton ; " that will do. You tvv'o can hug each other at your leisure by-and-by ; but just at present I am very hungry, and should like some din- ner. The dining-room is in this direi^tion, isn't it, Grace] I think I know the way." He disa{)peared, and Kate Danton disengaged her new- found sister, still holding her hand. " Come and show me to my room, ICeny," she said. " Eunice," to the rosy lady's-maid, " tell Ogdeu to bring up the trunks and unpack at once. Come." I :! ! 'I I ; *1 i! tl 9i KA TE DAXTCN. Still lioMiii'^' hor Histor's hand, Kato wnnt upstairs, and Keny had oy(?s and ears for !io oiu^ (dsc. Kunico gavo hor youn;,' lady's onh-r to ()<^den, and followed, and (Irace was loft standin;,' nionr. "Already, "sIm' tlioui,'ht, bitterly, "already T am forgotten !" Not (juite. Caiitain Danton appeared at the IkmuI of the Btairs, divestcMl of his great-eoat. " I say, Ogden. Oli, JNIiss (iraco, will yon come up-stairs, if you jilease I Ogden, attend to the luggage, and wait for mo in my dressing-rooin." He r(!turn(Ml to the parlour, and (Irai-e found him standing with his hack to tlus iiie wlien she entered. A portly and handsome man, llorid and genial, with profuse tail" hair, mustache and side-.vhiskers. J[e placed a chair for her, courteously, and (J race sat down. " You are looking pale. Miss (irace," ho said, regarding her. "You have not been ill, 1 trust. Ogden told me you weie all well." " I am (piite well, thank you." " You wrote to Rose, I su})pose ? Where is it she has gone ]" " To the house of Miss La Touche, a friend of hers, in Ottawa. Eeny has written to her, and Rose will probably be here in a day or two, at most." The Captain nodded. " As for you, my dear young lady, 1 find you have man- aged so admirably in my absence, that I trust we shall retain you for many years yet. Perhaps I am selfish in the wish, but it comes so naturally that you will j)ardon the selfish- ness. Kate is in total ignorance of the mysteries of house- keeping. Heaven help me and ray friends if we had to depend on her catering ! Resides," laughing slightly, " some one is coming before long to carry her oflT." Grace bowed gravely. " So you see, my fair kinswoman, you are indispensable. 1 trust we shall prevail upon you to remain." " If you wish me to do so, Captain Danton, I shall, cer- tainly." " Thank you. Is that rich old curmudgeon, your uncle, alive yet V' KATE DANTOX. 2n tairs, and giivo luT I nice wna >r<;otten !" 'lul of the up-stairs, I wait for staiulini; ortly and fail- hair, for her, ^ef»ardi'ng 1 me you she has hers, in jrobably e man- retain le wish, seltish- house- had to " some nsable. .11, cer- uncle, " Yes, sir," •' And yonr brothop ? Fii rrormany still, F snpposfi." " No, . ir ; my brotlmr is in ('aimda -iti vSt. (.'roix. He \v:is h(!ro t,i.*s ovenin;^." " Indeed I Where is he stopping < We must fjfet him to come here." " Ife is on a visit to yi. h; ('iire, and I do not think iiuviiis to stiiv lony:.' The door opened as she said it, and Kate and Keny came in. The sistin's had their arms arotmd each othei-'s waist, and Eony seenuid (nitranced. Kate went over and stood Ijfside her father, looking up foinlly in his face. " How pretty tluj rooms are. papa I My i)oudoii' ami bed- room are charming. Keny is going to chaperone me all over to-morrow — such a dear, romantic old house." (jI race sat and looked at her. How beautiful she was I She still wore slight moui-ning, and her dress was l)lack silk, tliiit fell in full rich folds behind her, high to the round white throat, where it was clasped with a (lashing diamond. A solitaire diamond blazed on her left hand — those slender, .Iflicate little hands — her engagement ring, no doubt. They were all the jewels she wore. The trimming of her dress was of filmy black lace, and all her ma.sses of bright golden Inir were twisted coronet- wist* round her nol)le and lovely head. She was very tall, very sh-nder ; and the exquisite face just tinted with only the faintest shadow of rose. " lieautiful, and stately, and proud as a (pieen I" Yes, she looked all that, and (Irace wondered what manner of man had won that hiijh-beatinfj heai't. There was a witcherv in her glance, in Iier radiant smile, in every giaceful movement, that fascinated even her father's sedate housekeeper, and that seemed to have completely captivated little Eeny. In her beauty and her pride, as she stood there so graceful and elegant, Grace thought her father was right when he said a prince was not too good for his peerless daughter. He smiled down on her now as men do smile down on what is the apple of their eye and the pride of their heart, and then turned to Eeny, clinging to her stately sister. '* Take care, Eeny ! Don't let Kate bewitch you. Don't r (II !■: 1 ,1 . ! I V ;t! Il: 24 KATE DAN TON. you know that she is a sorceress, and throws a glamour over all she meets ] She's uncanny, I give you warning — a witch ; that's the word for it 1" Eeny's reply was to lift Kate's hand and kiss it. *' Do witches ever eat, papa I" laughed Miss Danton ; " because I am very hungry. What time do we dine J" " What time, Miss (Jrace ?" asked the Ca]»taiu. •* Immediately, if you wish, sii." " Immediately let it be, then." Grace rang and ordered dinner to be served. Thomas, the old butler, and a boy in buttons made their appearance with the first coni'se. Grace had always presided, but this evening she sat beside Eeny, and ]Miss Kate took the head of the table. " Tiie first time, papa," she said. " If I make any blun- ders, tell me." " Oh, ))apa !" exclaimed Eeny, " I thought some one else WHS coming. A sick gentleman— Mr. what ? — oh, Kich- ards]" The face of Captain Danton and his eldest daughter dark- ened suddenly at the question. Grace saw it in sur|)rise. '• He will be here presently," he said, but he said it with an air of restraint ; and Kate, leaning forward with tiiat radiant smile of hers, began telling Een}' souie story of their life at sea that made her forget Mr. Richards. They adjourned to the drawing-room after dinner. A long, low, sumptuous apartment, very stately and very grand, and decorated with exquisite taste. " What a beautiful room !" Kate said. " We had noth- ing half so quaint and old as this at home, papa ?' There was a grand ])iano near one of the tall windows, with a music-rack beside it, and the young lady went over and opened it, and ran her fingers with a masterly touch over the keys. " That's right, Kate," said her father ; " give us some music. How do you like your j)iano ?" " Like is not the word, papa. It is supeib !" The white hands sparkled over the polished ivory keys, and the room was filled with melody. Eeny stood by the KATE D ANTON. 20 nour over arning — a Danton ; ine ]" Thomas, ipearance , but tliis the head iny blun- 5 one else •h, Kich- iter dark- rprise. it with v^ith that of their A long, iind, and ad nolh- ■indows, nt over ly touch s some keys, by the piano with a rapt face. Captain Danton sat in an arm-chair and listened with half-closed eyes, and Grace sat down in a corner, and drew froni her pocket her crochet. '' Oh, Kate, how beautifully you play 1" Eeny cried ijcstatically, when the flying hands paused, " I never heard anything like that. What was it]" '• Only a German waltz, you little enthusiast ! Don't you play ]" '• A little. Rose plays too, polkas and waltzes ; but bah ! not like that." " Who is your teacher]" •' Monsieur De Lancey. He comes from Montreal twice a week to give us lessons. But you play better than he does." *' Little flatterer 1" kissing her and laughing, and the white hands busy again. " Papa, what will you have ]" " A song, my dear." " Well, what do you like ] Casta Diva ]" "I'd be sorry to like it ! can you sing the Lass o' Gowrie ]" " I shall try, if you wish." She broke into singing as she spoke, and Grace's work dropped in her lap as she listened. What an exquisite voice it was ! So clear, so sweet, so i)Owerful. The mute- wrapped stillness that followed the song was the best aj)plause. Miss Danton rose up, laughing at her sister's entranced face. " Oh, don't stop !" Eeny cried, imploringly. " Sing again, Kate." There was a loud ring at the door-bell before Kate could answer. Captain Danton and Grace had been listening an instant before to a carriage rolling up the drive. The for- mer started up now and hurried out of the room ; and Kate stood still, intently looking at the door. " Who is that ]" said Eeny. " Mr. Richards ]" Kate laid her hand on the girl's shoulder, and still stood silent and intent. They could hear the door open, hear the voices of the Japtain and his man Ogden ; and then there was a shuffling of feet in the hall and up the stairs. ** They are helping him upstairs," said Kate, drawing a long breath. " Yes, it is ]Mr. Richards." 2 26 KATE DAN TON. \ ! ' :! Eeny looked as if she would like to ask some questions, but her sister sat down again at the piano, and drowned her words in a storm of music. Half an hour passed, nearly an hour, Miss Danton played on and on without ceasing, and then her father came back. The girl looked at him quickly and questioningly, but his high coloured face was as good- humoured as ever. " Playing away still," he said, " and Eeny's eyes are like two midnight moons. Do you know it is half-past ten. Miss Eeny, and time little girls were in bed ]" Grace rose up, and put her work in her pocket. Eeny came over, kissed her father and sister good-night, and re- tired. Grace, with a simple good- night, was following her example, but the cordial Captain held out his hand. " Good-night, my little housekeeper," he said ; " and pleasant dreams." Miss Danton held out her taper fingers, but her good- night was quiet and cool. Her father's housekeeper, it would seem, did not impress her very favourably, or she was too proud to be cordial with dependants. Up in her own room, Grace turned her lamp low, and sitting down by the window, drew back the curtains. The rain still fell, the November wind surged through the trees, and the blackness was impenetrable. Was this wintry tempest, as her brother had said, ominous of coming trouble and storms in their peaceful Canadian home? " I wonder how she and Rose will get on," thought Grace. " Rose's temper is as gusty as this November night, and I should judge those purple eyes can flash with the Danton fire, too. When two thunder-clouds meet, there is apt to be an uproar. I shall not be surprised if there is war in the camp before long." Her door opened softly. Grace turned round, and saw Eeny in a long night-dress, looking like a spirit. " May I come in, Grace ?" " It is time you were in bed," said Grace, turning up the lamp, and beginning to unbraid her hair. Eeny came in and sat down on a low stool at Grace's feet. " Oh, Grace, isn't she splendid I" I KATE D ANTON. 27 questions, rowned her I, nearly an casing, and im quickly IS as good- es are like t ten, Miss cet. Eeny lit, and i-e- lowing her lid ; " and her good- ot impress rdial with low, and ins. The the trees, is wintry ig trouble thought )er night, with the there is re is war and saw up the se's feet. "Who?" •' You know whom I mean — Kate." "She is very handsome," Ciiace said quietly, going on with her work. " Handsome I She is lovely ? She is glorious I Grace, people talk about Rose being pretty ; but she is no more to Kate than — than just nothing at all." "Did you come in niiu-ely to s-iy that] It' so, Miss Eveleen, I must request you to dei)art, as I am going to say my prayers." " Directly," said F^eny, nestling more comfortably on her stool. '■ Did you ever hear any one play and sing as she does ? " " She plays and sings remarkably well." " Grace, what would you give to be as beautiful as she is?" " Noth-.ig ! And now go." " Yes. Isn't it odd that })apa did not bring Mr. Richards into the drawing-room. Ogden and papa helped him up slairs, and Ogden brought him his supper." " V/ho told you that ? " *• Babette. Rabette saw him, but he was so muffled up she could not make him out. He is very tall and slim, she says, and looks like a young man." " Eeny, how soon are you going ?" '•Oh, Grace," she said, coaxingly, " let me stay all night with you." " And keep me awake until morning, talking \ Not I," said Grace. " V^o ! " " Please let me stay % " "No! Beoti"!" She lifted her up, led her to the door, and put her out, and Eeny ran otF to her own chamber. As Grace closed her door, she heard Kate Danton's silk diess rustle upstairs. " (xood-night, papa," she heard her say in that soft, clear voice that made her think of silver bells. 'Good-night, my dear," the Captain replie.l. And then the silk dress rustled ])ast, a door opened and shut, and Miss Danton had retired. fl' I, h l! '•\t 1 f ' I CHAPTER III. A CHANGE OF DYNASTY. ^i»| ^ITH the cold November sunlight flooding? her room, Grace rose next morning, dressed and went down stairs. Very neat and lady-like '-,1^ she looked, in her spotted gingham wrapper, her snowy collar and cuffs, and her dark hair freshly braided. A loud-voiced clock in the entrance^hall struck seven. No one seemed to be astir in the house but herself, and her footsteps echoed weirdly in the dark passages. A sleepy scullery maid was lighting the kitahen tire when she got there, gaping dismally over her work ; and Grace, leaving some directions for Ma'am Ledru, the cook, departed again, this time for the dining-room, where footman James was lighting another tire. Grace opened the shutters, drew back the curtains, ana let in the morning sunburst in all its glory. Then she dusted and re-arranged the furniture, swept up the marble hearth, and assisted Babette to lay the cloth for breakfast. It was in- variably her morning work ; and the table looked like a picture when she had done, with its old china and sparkling silver. It was almost eight before she got through ; and she ran upstairs for her bonnet and shawl, and started for her cus- tomary half-hour's walk before breakfast. She took the road leading to the village, still and deserted, and came back all glowing from the raj)id exercise. Captain Danton stood on the front steps smoking a meer- schaum pipe, as she came up the avenue. *' Good morning, Hebe ! " said the Captain. " The November roses are brighter in Canada than elsewhere in August ! " A CHANGE OF DYNASTY 29 Grace laughed, and was ![?oing in, but he stopped her. ** Don't go ypt. I want some one to talk to. Where have you been ? " •' Only out for a walk, sir." " 80 early ! What time do you get up, pray ]" "About half-past six." '* Primitive hours, upon mv word. When is breakfast time?" " Nine, sir. The bell will ring in a moment." It rang as she s[)oke, and Grace tripped away to take off her bonnet and smooth her hair, blown about by the morn- ing wind. The Captain was in the dining-room when she descended, standing in his favourite position with his back to tlie fire, his coat-tails drawn forward, and his legs like two sides of a triangle. " Are tl^e girls up yet, Grace? Plxcuse the prefix ; we are relatives, you know. Ah ! here is one of them. Good- raorning. Mademoiselle." '* Good-morning, papa," said Eenv, kissing him. "Where is Kate ?" " Kate is here ! " said the voice that was like silver bells ; and Kate came in, graceful and elegant in her white cash- mere morning robe, with cord and tassels of violet, and a knot of violet ribbon at the rounded throat. " I have not kept you waiting, have I? " She kissed her father and sister, smiled and bowed to Grace and took her place to preside. Very prettily and deftlv the white hands fluttered amoni; the fragile china cups and saucers, and wielded the carved and massive silver coffee-pot. Grace thought she looked lovelier in the morning sunshine than in the garish lamplight, with that flush on her cheeks, and the beautiful golden hair twisted in shining coils. Grace was very silent during breakfast, listening to the rest. The Captain and his eldest daughter were both ex- cellent talkers, and never let conversation flag. Miss Dan- ton rarely addressed her, but the Captain's cordiality made amends for that. ** I must see that bi'other of yours to-day, Grace," he said, I 30 ^ CHANGE OF DYNASTY. '' iinil got liiiu to come up lieie. The Cure, too, is a capital tcllow — I hi'.^ liis pardon — I mdst \mn<:f them both up to dinner. Are tlio PonsonVjys, and the Landry's, and the Le Favres in the ohl phices yet ? " «' Yes, sir." " I'll call on them, then — thev don't know I'm here — and see if a little company won't enliven oni' long Canadian winter. Yoti three, Grace, Rose and Eeny, have been living het e like nonettes long enough. We must try and alter things a little for you." The Captain's good-natm*ed efforts to draw his taciturn housekeeper out did not succeed very well. 81ie had that unsocial failing of reserved natures, silence habitually ; and her reserve was always at its woist in the presence of the Captain's brilliant dauphter. That youthful beauty fixed her blue eyes now and then on the dark, downcust face with an odd look — very like a look of aversion. " What kind of person is this Miss Grace of yours, Eeny 1 " she asked her sister^ after breakfast. *' Very stujnd, isn't she 1 " " Stupid ! Oh, dear, no ! Grace is the dearest, best girl in the world, except you, Kate. I don't know how we should ever get on without her." " I didn't know," said Kate, rather coldly ; " she is so silent and impenetrable. Come ! You promised to show me through the house." They were alone in the dining-room. She walked over to the fire, and stood looking thoughtfully up at the two portj-aits hanging over the mantel — Captain Danton at twenty-seven, and his wife at twenty-four. " Poor mamma I " Kate said, with a rare tenderness in her voice. " How pretty she was ! Do you remember her, Eeny ? " " No," said Eeny. " You know I was such a little thing, Kate. All I know about her is what Margery tells me." " Who is Margery V " My old nurse, and Harry's, and yours, and Rose's. She nursed us all, babies, and took care of mamma when she died. She was mama's maid when she got married, and lived with her all her life. She is here still." 1 .'4., A CHANGE OF DYXASTY. 31 alter " I must see Margery, then. I shall like her, I know ; for I like all things old and storied, and venerable. I can remember mamma the last time she was in England ; her till), slender figure, her dark, wavy hair, and beautiful smile. She used to take me in her arms in the twilight and sing me to slecj)." " Dear Kate ! But Grace has been a mother to me. Do vou know, Margery says Rose is like her ? " "Whom? Mamma r " Yes ; all except her temper. Oh !" cried Eeny, making a sudden grimace, " hasn't Rose got a temper ! " Kate smiled. "A bad one?" *' A bad one ! You ought to see her tearing up and down the room in a towering passion, and scolding. Alon Dieu ! " cried Eeny, holding her breath at the recollection. " Do you ever quarrel ? " asked Kate, laughing. " About fifty times a day. Oh, what a blessing it was when she went to Ottawa ! Grace and I have been in para- dise ever since. She'll behave herself for a while when she comes home, I dare say, before you and papa ; but it won't be for long." Grace came in, and Kate drew Eeny away to show her over the house. It was quite a tour. Danton Hall was no joke to go over. Upstairs and down stairs ; along halls and passages ; the drawing-room, where they had been last nii]fht ; the winter drawing-room on the second floor, all gold and crimson ; a summer morning-room, its four sides glass, straw matting on the floor, flower-pots everywhere, looking like a conservatory ; the library, where, perpetuated in oils, many Dantons hung, and where book-shelves lined the walls ; into what was once the nursery, where empty cribs stood as in olden times, and where, under a sunny window, a low rocker stood, Mrs. Danton's own chair ; into Kate's fairy boudoir, all fluted satin and brocatelle ; into her bed- chamber, where everything was white, and azure, and spot- less as herself ; into Eeny's room, pretty and tasteful, but not so superb ; into Rose's, very disordered, and littered, and characteristic ; into papa's, big, carpetless, fireless, i ! \ !l L 32 // ClfANCK OF DYXASTY. dreadfnliy grira and unlike |)!i])!i hitnsolf; into Grace's, the peifection of order and taste, and tlien Eeny sto[»ped, out of breatli, " There's lots more," she said ; " papa's study, but he is writing there now, and the green-room, and Mr. Richards' rooms, and " " Never mind," said Kate, liastily, " we will not disturb papa or Mr. Richards. Let us go and see old Margery." They found the old woman in a little room appropriated to her, knitting busily, and looking l)iight, and hale, and hearty. She rose up and dropped the young lady a stiff curtsey. " I'm very glad to see you, Miss," said Margery. " I nursed you often when you was a little blue-eyed, curly- haired, rosy-cheeked baby. You are very tall and very f/retty, Miss ; but you don't look like your mother. She don't look like her mother. You're Dantons, both of you ; but Miss Rose, she looks like her, and Master Harry — ah, poor, dear Master Harry ! He is killed ; isn't he, Miss Kater' Kate did not speak. She walked away from the old woman to a wmdow, and Eeny saw she had grown very pale. " Don't talk about Harry, Margery I " whispered Eeny, giving her a poke. " Kate doesn't like it." "I beg your prrdon. Miss," said Margery. "I didn't mean to offend ; but I nursed you all, and I knew your mamma when she was a little girl. I was a yourg woman then, and I remember that sweet young face of hers so well. Like Miss Rose, when she is not cross." Kate smiled at the winding up and went away. " Where nowl" she asked, gayly. " I am not half tired of sight-seeing. Shall we explore the outside for a change ? Yes 1 Then come and let us get our hats. Your Canadian Novembers are of Ai'ctic temperature." " Wait until our Decenibers tweak the top of your impe- rial nose off," said Eeny, shivering in anticipation. " Won't you wish you were back in England !" The yellow November sunshine glorified garden, lawn and meadow as Eeny led her sister through the grounds. They A CHANGE OF DYNASTY. S3 oxplored tho lon^ oroliard, strollofl ]iinsif Jier w in the Tom the unned by ho would II behind, over the ory held er, a tall iris, with pg, " you my boy, "And ;o mince- id Eeny ne with- Id have 1. It is the , vil- uirtered no one molosted me. FiOt me mako you acquainted with my sister — Kato, I)octor Danton." K'Av held cut her hand with that bewitching smile of hers, " Tliank you and Tiger very much. T was not aware I had a namesake in St. Troix." " lie is (jfrace's brother," said Eeny, " and he is only here on a visit — ho is just from (Jormany." Kat(! l)owod, patting Tiger's big lioad with her snowflake of a hand. "This is another friend we have to thank," she sail. " How came you to bo so opportunely at hand, Doctor Dan- ton i " My the merest chance. Tiger and T take our morning lonstitutional along lliose desolate fields and flats. I'll have thf so follows pi'operly punished for tlioir rudeness." '■ No, no," said Kate, " lot them go. It is not likely to happen again. Besides," laughing and blushing, " I punished one of them already, and Tiger came to my assistance with the other." " You served him right," said the Doctor. •' If you will l)ormit nie, ^liss Danton, I will escort you to the village." " Come home with us," said Eeny, " we will just be in time for luncheon, and I know you want to see Gi-ace." •'A thousand thanks, Mademoiselle — but no — not this morning. Kate seconded the invitation ; but Doctor Danton po- litely persisted in refusing. He walked with them as far as St. Croix, then raised his hat, said good-bye, whistled for TiL'er, and was gone. The young ladies reached the hall in safety, in time to liiusli their hair before luncheon, where, of course, nothing was talked of but their adventure and their champion. " By George ! if I catch these fellows, I'll break every bone in their drunken skins," cried the irate Cai)tain. *' A piettv fix vou two would have been in. but for the Doct"^r. I'll ride down to the paisonage, or whatever you call it, im- mediately after luncheon, and bring him back to dinner, will he nill he — the Cur6, too, if he'll come, for the Cur6 is a very old friend." 36 ./ (JiiAxnE OF DYXAsry 1 1 I ^ r ii ' I li Captain Daiiton was as p;oofl as his worfl. As soon as Innclioon was ovor, Iw niDiintcd liis liorsp and rodo away, Imininini^ a tunc Kate stood on tlio steps, with the pale Novonilx'j- sunli<,di( i^ildini; the delieate rose-ljU)()ni ehf'eks, and making an aiiicoh' round tht^ tinsel haii watching; him out of sijLjht. Keny was clinc;injj roun«l her as usual, and Grace stf)pped to speak to Ium* on her way across the iiall. " Vou oui,dit to <^o and practise. I'^eny. You have not touched tJK; piano to-day, and to-morrow your teacher comes." " Yes, Eeny," said Kate, " •^'o attend to your music. I am goini; upstairs, to my room." Sh(f smiled, kissed liei-, openeil the ])Mrlour door, pushed her in, and ran u|) the broad staircase. Not to her own room, thou;.^h, hut alon<:f the quiet corridor leading to the jjreen baize door. The key of that door was in her pocket ; she opened it, locked it l)ehind her, and was shut up with the, as yet, invisible j\lr. Richards. Eony practised conscientiously tliree hours. It was then nearly live o'clock, and the afternoon sun was dropping low in the level sky. She rose up, closed the ])iano, and went in search of her sist(M'. U})stairs and down stairs and in my lady's chamber, but my lady was nowhere to be found. Grace didn't know where she was. PCunice, the rosy English maid, didn't know. Eeny was perplexed and provoked. Five o'clock struck, and she started out in the twilight to hunt the grounds — all in vain. She gave it up in half an hour, and came bad to the house. The hall lamps were lighted upstairs and down, and Eeny, goinc,- along the upper hall, found what she wanted. The green baize door was un- locked, and her sister Kate came out, relocked it, ano put the key in her pocket. Eeny stood still, looking at her, too much surprised to speak. While she had been hunting everywhere for her, Kate had been closeted with the mysterious invalid all the afternoon. *' Time to dress for dinner, I suppose, Eeny," she said looking at her watch. " One must dress, if papa brings company. Did you see Eunice ? Is she in my room ]" A CHAN (7 h OF DVXASTr. :\] Va soon as •odo nway, 1) tho pule ;»ni cheeks, telling' him usiiiil, and tlie hall. I have not ir teacher music. I pushed her own loom, the jifi'een ocket ; she vith the, a.s b was then )pping low nd went in ind in my be found. sy English piovoked. wilight to n half an imps were the upper or was un- anc put rprised to for her, id all the she said pa brings am?" " I don't know. Ffave you been in there with Mr. Rich- ards all the afternoon } " "Yes; he get's lonely, poor fellow! Run away and ilrcss. Kiinioe was waiting in hi)lauded, and immediately after break- fast the barouche was ordereil out, and Thomas was in at- tendance. Mr. Ogden packed his master's valise, and the trio entered the carriasje and were driven off. " Attend to Mr. liichards as usual, Ogden," said the Cap- tain, as Ogden h'dped him into his overcoat. " I will be back to-morrow." Orace stood in the door-way and watched the barouche until the winding drive hid it from view. Then she went back to attend to her housekeeper's duties — to give the ne- 3 Il' I 42 ROSE T) AX TON. cessary orders for dinner, see that the rooms were being pro])erly arranged, and so forth. Everything was going on well ; the house was in exquisite order from attic to cellar. Ogden shut up with Mr. Richards, the servants quietly busy, and Danton Hall as still as a church on a week-day. Grace, humming a little tune, took her sewing into the dining-room, whore she liked best to sit, and began stitching away indus- triously. The ticking of a clock on the mantel making its way to twelve, the rattling of the stripped trees in the fresh morning wind, were, for a time, the only sounds outdoor or in. Then wheels rattled rapidly over the graveled drive, coming to the house in a hurry, and Grace looked up in sur- prise. *' Back so soon." she thought 1 *' They cannot have driven far." But it was not the handsome new barouche — it was only a shabby little buggy from the station, in which a young lady sat with a pile of trunks and bandboxes. " Rose !" exclaimed Grace. " I quite forgot she was coming to-day." A moment later and the front door opened and shut with a bang, flying feet came along the hall, a silk dress rustled stormily, the dining-room door was flung open, and a young lady bounced in and caught Grace in a rapturous hug. " You darling old thing !" cried a fresh young voice. " I knew I should find you here, even if I hadn't seen you sit- ting at the window. Aren't you glad to have me home again? And have you got anything to eat? I declare I'm famished !" Pouring all this out in a breath, with kisses for commas, the young lady released Grace, and flung herself into an arm-chair. " Ring the bell, Grace, and let us have something to eat. You don't know how hungry I am. Are you alone ? Where are the rest T Grace, taking this shower of questions with constitutional phlegm, arose, rang the bell, and ordered cakes and cold chicken ; the young lady meantime taking ofi" her pretty olack velvet turban, with its long feather, flung it in a cor- ROSE DAN TON, 43 ere being I going on to cellar, etly busy, ,y. Grace, ling-room, :ay indus- laking its the fresh jutdoor or led drive, up in sur- ive .iriven : was only ?oung lady as coming shut with ss rustled d a young lUg. oice. " I n you sit- me home clare I'm commas, into an ig to eat. ? Where titutional and cold pretty lin a cor- ner, and sent her shawl, gloves, and t'ur collar flying after it " Now, Rose," expostulated Grace, picking them up, " how often must I tell you the floor is not the proper place to hang your things] I suppose you will be having the whole liouse in a litter, as usual, now that you have got home." " Why did you send for me then ]" demanded Rose. *' I was very well off". I didn't want to come. Never got scolded once since I went away, and I pitched my clothes everywhere ! Say, Grace, how do you get on with the new comers !" " Very well." Here Babette appeared with the young lady's lunch, and Miss Rose sat down to it promptly. " What is she like, Kate — handsome ?" " Very !" with emphasis. " Handsomer than I am ]" " A thousand times handsomer !" " Bah ! I don't believe it ! Tall and fair, with light hair and blue eyes. Am I right ]" " Yes." " Then she is as insipid as milk and water — as insipid as you are, old Madame Grumpy. And papa — he's big and loud-voiced, and red-faced and jolly, I suppose ]" " Miss Rose Danton, be a little more respectful, if you want me to answer your questions." "Well, but isn't he] And Mr. Richards— who's Mr. Richards ]" *' I don't know." "Isn't he here]" " Yes, certainly." " Then why don't you know ]" " Because I have not, like Rose Danton, a bump of in- quisitiveness as large as a turnip." " Now, Grace, don't be hateful. Tell me all you know about Mr. Richards." " And that is nothing. I have never even seen him. He is an invalid ; he keeps his rooms night and day. His meals are carried up, and no one sees him but your father, and sister, and Ogden." |! I i 44 nOSE DANTO\\ " Mon Dieu !" cried Rose, opening lior eyes very wide. " A mystery under our very noses I Wliat can it mean] There's something wrong somewhere, isn't there ]" " I don't know anything about it ; it is none of my busi- ness, and I never interfere in other peoi)k^'s." " You dear ohl Granny Grumpy ! And now that I've liad enough to eat, wliy don't you ask me about my visit to Ot- tawa, and Avhat kind of time I had ?" " Because I really don't care anything about it. How- ever, I trust you enjoyed yourself." " Enjoyed myself !" shrilly cried Rose. " It was like being in paradise 1 I never had such a splendid, charming, delightful time since I was born ! I never was so sorry for anything as for leaving." " Really !" " Oh, Grace ! it was beautiful — so gay, so much company ; and I do love company ! A b;ll to-night, a concert to- morrow, a sociable next evening, the theatre, dinner-parties, matinees, morning calls, shopping and receptions ! '' Oh," cried Rose, rapturoiisly, " it was glorious I" " Dear me !" said Grace, stitohing away like a sewing- machine ; " it must have been a great trial to leave." " It was. But I am going back. Dear Ottawa ! Charm- ing Ottawa ! I was excessively happy in Ottawa !" She laid hold of a kitten slumbering peacefully on a rug as she spoke, and went waltzing around the room, whistling a lively tune= Grace looked at her, tried to repress a smile, failed, and continued her work. She was very, very pretty, this second daughter of Captain Danton, and quite unlike the other two. She was of medium height, but so plump and rounded as to look less tall than she really was. Her profuse hair, of dark, chestnut brown, hung in thick curls to her waist ; her complexion was dark, cheeks round and red as apples, her forehead low, her nose perfection, her teeth like pearls, her eyes small, bright and hazel. Veiy pretty, very sparkling, very piquant, and a flirt from her cradle. " Did you learn that new accomplishment in Ottawa, pray V asked Grace. ROSE DAXTOX. 4.5 ^ery wide, it mean? f my busi- it I've had isit to Ot- it. How- was like clianning, > sorry for company ; oncert to- er-parties, ! '* Oh," a sewing- ! Charm- a rug as listling a a smile, •y pretty, te unlike io plump as. Her c curls to and red ler teeth Veiy from her Ottawa, *' Wliat new accomplishment 1" " Wliistling." " Yes, Jules taught me." " Who is Jules r " Jules La Toucho — the son of the house — handsome as an an!,'o], and my devoted slave." " Indeed ! Has he taught you anything else ]" *• Only to love him and to smoke cigarettes." " Smoke I" exclaimed (liace, horrified. " Yes, m'amotu- 1 I have a whole package in my trunk. If you mend my stockings I will let you have some. I could not exist without cigarettes now." " 1 shall have to mend your stockings in any case. As to the cigarettes, permit me to decline. What will your papa say to such goings on?" *' He will be charmed, no doubt. If he isn't, he ought to. Just fancv when he is sitting alone of an eveninjj over his meerschaum, what nice, sociable smokes we can have toL,'ether. Jules and I used to smoke together by the hour. My darling Jules ! how I long to go back to Ottawa and you once more ! Grace I" drop[)ing the cat and whirling up to her, " would you like to hear a secret T " Not particularly ; what is it T '' Yon won't tell— will you V " I don't know ; I must hear it first," ^ " It's a great secret ; I wouldn't tell anybody but you ; and not you, unless you ])romise profoundest silence." " I make up promises blindly. Tell me or not, just as you please. I don't think much of your secrets, anyhow." \ " Don't you V said Hose, nettled ; " look heVe, then." She held out her left hand. On the third finger shone a shimmering opal ring. " Well ?" said Grace. " Well !" said Rose, triumphantly. *' Jules gave me that ; that is my engagement ring," ( I race sat and looked at her aghast, " No !" she said ; "you don't mean it, Rose ?" " I do mean it. T am engaged to J ules La Tonche, and we are going to be married in a year. That is my secret, and if you betray me I will never forgive you." pli 1 1 I ■ 46 ROSE D ANTON. " And you are quite serious 1" " Perfectly serious, chi've groffnefise." " Do Monsieur and Madame La Touclie know V " Certainly not. Mo7i Dkii ! We are too young. Jules is only twenty, and I eighteen. We must wait ; but I love him to distraction, and he adores me ! Tra-la-la !" She seized the cat once more, and went whirling round the room. Her waltz was suddenly interrupted. A gentleman, young, tall, and stately, stood, hat in hand, in the doorway, regarding her, " Don't let me intrude," said the gentleman, politely advancing. " Don't let me interrupt anybody, I beg !" Grace arose, smiling. " Rose, let me present my brother, Doctor Danton ! Frank, Miss Rose Danton !" Miss Rose dropped the kitten and her eyes, and made an elaborate curtsey. " My entrance spoiled a very pretty tableau," said the Doctor, " and disapj)ointed pussy, I am afraid. Pray, con- tinue your waltz. Miss Rose, and don't mind me." " I don't," said Rose, carelessly, " my waltz was done, and I have to dress." She ran out of the room, but put her head in again directly. " Grace !" " Yes !" " Will you come and curl my hair by-and-by T " No, l''haven't time." " What shall I do, then 1 Babette tears it out by the roots." " I am not busy," said the Doctor, blandly. " I haven't much experience in curling young ladies' hair, but I am very willing to learn." ■, " You are very kind," said his sister, " but we can dispense with your services. You might get Eunice, I dare say, Rose; she has nothing else to do." " Who's Eunice T " Your sister's maid ; you can ring for her ; she under- stands hair-dressing better than Babette." HOSE DANTOS, 47 . Jules it I love )uncl the in hand, I)olitely (>» )anton ! nade an aid the ly, con- ne, and again )y the aven't a very ipense say, mder- Rose ran up stairs. At the front window of the upper hall stood Ogden and Eunice. Rose nodded familiarly to the valet, and turned to the girl. '' Are you Eunice I" " Yes, Miss." " Are you busv f "No, Miss." "Then come into my room, please, and comb my hair." Eunice followed the young lady, and (3gdcn returned to the mysterious regions occupied by Mr. Richards. Once more the house was still ; its one disturbing element was having her hair curled ; and Grace and her brother talked in peace below stairs. It was })ast luncheon-hour when the barouche rolled uj) to the door. Kate, all aglow from her drive in the frosty air, stopped her laughing chat with pale Eeny at the sight which met her eyes. Standing on the portico stei)s, playing with a large dog Kate had reason to know, and flirting — it looked like flirting — with the dog's master, stood a radiant vision, a rounded girlish figure, arrayed in bright maize-colored merino, elaborately trimmed with black lace and velvet, the perfect shoulders and arms bare, the cheeks like blush roses, the eyes sparkling as stars, and the golden-brown hair, freshly curled, falling to her waist. "Oh, how beautiful 1" Kate cried, under her breath. The next moment, Eeny ran up the steps, and favoured this vision of youthful bloom with a kiss, while Kate fol- lowed more decorously. " How do, Eeny T said Rose. " Kate !" She held out both her hands. Kate caught her in a sort of rapture in her arms. " My sister !" she cried. " My darling Rose !" And then she stoi)ped, for Doctor Danton was looking on with a preternatural gravity that provoked her. " When did you come. Rose ]" asked Eeny. " Two hours ago. Have you had a pleasant drive, Kate?" " Very , and I «,m hungry after it. We have kept Miss Grace waiting, 1 am afraid; isn't H past luncheon-time? Come to my room with me, Rose. Are you going. Doctor % Won't you stay to luncheon T 48 HOSE DA y TON. " Grace's l)rotlier ; and " He is not liandsome, in her arms au^ain, and " Home other time. Good morning, ladies. Come, Tiger." Ho sauntered down the avenue, whistling, and the three sisters turned into the house. **' Veiy agreeable !" said Rose, rather liandsome." " Handsome !" exclaimed Kate, my pretty sister." She took her kissed her fondly. " My pretty sister I how much I am going to love you I" Rose submitted to be kissed Avith a good grace, but with a little envious pang at her vain, coquettish heart, to see how much more beautiful her sui)erb sister was tiian herself. 8he nestled luxuriously in an arm-chair, while Eunice dressed her young mistress, chattering away in French like a magpie. They descended together to luncheon ; pale Eeny was totally eclipsed by brilliant Rose, and all the afternoon they spent together over the piano, and sauntering through the grounds. " Retribution, Eeny," said Grace, kissing Eeny's pale cheek. " You forgot me for this dazzling Kate, and now you are nowhere, l^ou must come back to Grace again." " There is nobody like Grace," said Eeny, nestling close. " But Kate and Ro.se won't be always like this. ' Love me little, love me long.' Wait until Kate finds out what Rose is made of." But despite Eeny's prophecy, the two sister? got on remarkably well together. Captain Danton did not return next day, according to promise, so they were thrown entirely upon one another. Instead, there came a note from Monti eal, which told them that business would detain him in that city for nearly a fortnight longer. " When I do return," ended the note, " I will fetch an old friend to see Kate." *' Who can it be T wondered Kate. " There is no old friend of mine that I am aware of in Montreal. Papa likes to be mysterious." " Yes," said Rose ; " I should think so, when we have a mystery in the very house." "What mystery?" ROSE I ixrox. 40 e, Tiger." the three lier; {ind uidsoine, •lin, nnd h I nni l)nt with 't, to sec herself. Eunice ich like le Eeny 'ternoon through 's pjile pel now lin." : close. )ve me it Bose ?ot on ing to other, them irly a te, " I 10 old likes ive a '* Mr. Richards, of course. He's a nivstorv worse than nnythinu; in the ' Mysteries of lTdoli)lio.' Why can no- body got to see him but that soft-stepping, oily-tongued little weasel, ( )gden ?" Kate looked at the pretty sister she loved so well, with the coldest glances sIk; had ever given her. " ]\Ir. Richards is an invalid ; he is unaltle to see any one, or quit his room. What mystery is there in that '." " There's a mvstery somewhere," said Hose, sagaciously. "Who is Mr. Richards f *' A friend of jjapa's — and poor. Don't ask so many (pies- tions, Rose. 1 have nothing mor<' to say on the subject." '• Then I nnist find cut for myself — that is all," thought Rose ; "and T will, too, before long, in spite of half a dozen Ogdens." Rose tried with a zeal and ])erseverance worthy a better cause, and most signally lailed. Mr. l»ichards was invisible. His meals went up daily. Ogdeii and Kate visited him daily, but the baize door was always locked, and Ogden and Kate, on the subject, were dumb. Kate visited the invalid at all hours, by night and by day. Ogden rarely left him except when Miss Danton was there, and then he took a little airing in the garden. Rose's room was near the cori-idor heading to the green liaize room ; and often awaking *' in the dead waste and middle of the night," she would steal to that mys- terious room to listen. But nothing was ever to be heard, nothing ever to be seen — the mystery was fathomless. She would wander outside at all hours, under Mr. Richards' win- dow ; and looking \ip, wonder how he endured his prison, or what he could possibly be about— if these dark curtains were never raised and he never looki'd at the outer world. Once or twice a face had appeared, but it was always the keen, thin face of Mr. Ogden ; and Rose's curiosity, growing by what it fed on, began to get insnp[)ortable. " What can it mean, (Irace ]" she would say to the house- keeper, to whom she had a fashion, despite no end of snub- bing, of confiding her secret troubles. " There's sonufthing wrong; where there's secrecy, there's guilt— I've always heard that." 00 liOUE DAXTOy, " Don't jump at conclusions, Miss Rose, Jind don't trouble yourself about Mr. Hichards ; it is no affair of yours." •' Hut I can't help troublin«^ myself. What business have papa, and Kate, and that nasty Ogden, to have a secret be- tween them and I not know it ] I feel insulted, and I'll have reven<(e. I never mean to stop till I ferret out the mysbery. I have th!ain enough ?" " That's remarkably plain, and I am very much obliged to you. My darling Kose I But hush ! A silk dress rustles — here she comes I" The do<»r opened ; it was Hose, but not alone ; both sisters were with her, and Doctor Danton arose fit once to make his adieus, " I depart to-morrow for Montreal," he said. " Farewell, Miss Danton." " Good-bye," letting the tips of her fingers touch his. *' Bon voyage." # She walked away to the window, cold indifference in every line of her proud face. He held out his hand to Kose, glancing sidewavs at his sister. " Adieu, Miss Rose," he said ; " I shall never forgot the pleasant hours I have passed at Danton Hall." He pressed the little plump hand, and Rose's rosy cheeks took a deeper dye ; but she only said, " Good-bye," and walked aw^ay to the ])iano, and played a waltz. Eeny was the only one who ex})ressed regret, and gave his hand a friendly shake. " I am sorry you are ^oing," she said. *• Come back soon, Doctor Frank." Doctor Flank looked as if he would like to kiss her ; but Kate was there, queenly and majestic, and such an impro- priety Avas not to be thought of. It was Kate, however, who spoke to him last, as he left the room. " Take good bye from rae to Tiger," she said. " I shall be glad when Tiger comes back to St. Croix." *' ' liove me, love my dog,' " (pioted Rose. " How about Tiger's master, Katel" " I shall always be pleased to see Doctor Danton," said Kate, with supreme indifference. •' Sing me a twilight song, Kose." ROSE DANTON, Rose sang " Kathleen Mavourneen " in a sweet contralto voice. Kiite stood listening to the exquisite words and air, watch- ing Doctor Danton's tiill figure fading out in the A'^oveniber gloom, and thinking of some one she loved far away. " O h.ast tliou foi'gotten how .s(}uii \v(! must sov(M" ; O hast tliou f'urjfotteu how soon ww must part ? It m;iy be for ycurs, anil it may be Ibn-ver, Then why art th'^i silent, tliou voice of my lieart ?" ~^JjIA i;! '11 11 ■t il I 1^ CHArTEll V SEEIN G A GHOST. iHEEK days after the departure of Grrace's brother, Captain Danton returned to the Hall. Strange to say, tlie young Doctor had been missed in these tliree days by the four Misses Danton. Even the stately Kate, who woukl have gone to the block sooner than have owned it, missed his genial pres- ence, his pleasant laugh, and ever interesting con- versation ; liose missed her flirtee, and gaped wearily the slow hours away that had flown coquet- ting with him ; Eeny missed the pocket^uls of chocolate, bon-bons, and the story books new from Montreal; and Grace missed him most of all. But Eeny was the only one hones^: enough to own it, and she declared the house was as lonely as a dungeon since Doctor Frank ^•'.' gone away. " One would think you had fallen in love v on him, Eeny," said Rose. " No," retorted Eeny ; *'I leave that for you. But he was nice ; I liked him, and I wish he would come back. Don't you, Kate f "I don't care, particularly," said Kate "I wish papa would come." " And bring that unknown friend of yours. I say, Kate," said Rose mischievously, " they say you're engaged — perhaps it's your fianc6," Up over Kate's pearl; ice the hot blood flew, and she turned hastily to the nearest window. " Too late, ma soeur," said Rose, her eyes dancing. " You blush beautifully. Won't I have a look at him when ho comes, the conquering hero, who can win our queenly Kate's heart." t »^^i SEEING A GHOST. 55 gone him, " Rose, hush !" cried Kate, yet not displeased, and with that roseate light in her face still. Hose came over, and put her arm around her waist coax- " Tell me about him, Kate. Is he handsome 1" " Who 1 Reginald ? Of course he is handsome." ** I want to see him dreadfully ! Have you his picture 1 Won't you show it me T There was a slender gold chain round Kate's neck, which she wore night and day. A locket was attached, and her hand pressed it now, but she did not take it out. " Some other time, my pet," she said, kissing Rose. " Come, let us go for a ride." Rose was an accomplished horsewoman, and never looked so well as in a side-saddle. She owned a spirited black mare, which she called Regina, and she had ridden out every day with Doctor Frank while that gentleman was in St. Croix. Kate rode well, too. A fleet-footed little pony, named Arab, had been trained for her use, and the sisters galloped over the country together daily. Eeny and Grace, both mortally afraid of horse-flesh, never rode. Between music, books, and riding, the three days' interval passed pleasantly enough. Rose was an inveterate novel reader, and the hours Kate s])ent shut up with that unfathomable mystery, Mr. Rich- ards, her younger sister passed absorbed in the last new novel. They had visitors too — the Ponsonbys, the Landrys, the Le Favres, and everybody of note in the neighbourhood called Father Francis, M. le Cur6, the Reverend Augustus Clare, the E?,.'scopal incumbent of St. Croix, an aristocratic young Englishman, came to see them in the evening to hear Miss Danton sing, and to play backgammon. The Reverend Augustus, who was slim, and fair, and had face and hands like a pi'etty girl, was very much impressed with the majestic daughter of Captain Danton, who sang so magnificently, and looked at him with eyes like blue stars. 50 SEEIKG A GfWST. The day that brought her father home had been long and dull. There had been no callers, and they had not gone out. A cold north wind had shrieked around the house all day, rattling the windows, and tearing frantically through the gaunt arms of the stripped trees. The sky was like lead, the river black and turbid. As the afternoon wore on, great flakes of snow came fluttering through the opaque air, slowly at first, then faster, till all was blind, fluttering whiteness, and the black earth was hidden. Kate stood bv the dining-room window watching the fast- falling snow. It had been a long day to her — a long, weary, aimless day. She had tried to re» \, to play, to sing, to work; and failed in all. She had visited Mr. Richards; she had wandered, in a lost sort of way, from room to room ; she had lain listlessly on sofas, and tried to sleep, all in vain. The demon of ennui had taken possession of her ; and now, at the end of every resource, she stood looking drearily out at the wintry scene. She was dressed for the evening, and looked like a picture, buttoned up in that black velvet jacket, its rich darkness such a foil to her fair face and shin- ing golden hair. Grace was her only companion — Grace sitting serenely braiding an apron for herself. Hose was fathoms deep in " Les Miserables," and Eeny was drumming on the piano in the drawing-room. There had been a long silence, but presently Grace looked up from her work, and spoke. "This wintry scene is new to you. Miss Dan ton. You don't have such wild snow storms in England 1 " Kate glanced round, a little surprised. It was very rarely indeed her father's hrusekeeper vol- nntarily addi-essed her. " No," she said, " not like this ; but I like it. We ought to have sleighing to-morrow, if it continues." " Probably. We do not often have sleighing, though, in November. There w^as another pause. Kate yawned behind her white hand. " I wish Father Francis would come up," she said wean'ly. " He is the only person in St. Croix worth talking to." SEEING A GHOST. jyi gone long You ' vol- 1, in } A gentleman The dark, short November afternoon was deepening with snowy night, when through the ghostly twiliglit the buggy fiom the station whirled u}) to the door, and two gentlemen alighted. Great-coats, with upturned collars, and hats pulkvl down, disguised both, but Kate recognized her father, the taller and stouter, with a cry of delight. " Pa])a I " she exclaimed ; and lan out of the room to meet him. He was just entering, his jovial laugh ringing through the house as he shook the snow off, and caught her in his wet arms. " Glad to bi> liome again, Kate ! You don't mind a cold kiss, do you ? fiet me present an old friend whom you don't expect, I'll vvager." The gentleman behind him came forward neither very young, nor very handsome, ner very tall ; at once plain-looking and proud-looking. The pale twilight was bright enough for Kate to recognize him as he took off his hat. '' Sir Ronald Keith ! " she cried, intense surprise in every line of her face ; '' why, who would have thought of seeing you in Cai .da 1 " She held out her hand franklv, but there was a "^larked air of restraint in Sir Ronald's manner as he touched it and dropped it again. " I thought it would be an astonisher," said her father ; '' how are Grace and £eny ] " " Very well." " And Rose 1 Has Rose got home ? " "Yes, papa." At this juncture Ogden appeared, and his master turned to him. " Ogden, see that Sir Ronald's luggage is taken to his room, and then hold yourself in readiness to attend him. This way. Sir Ronald, there is just time to dress for dinner, and no more." He led his visitor to the bedroom regions, and Kate returned to the drawing-room. Rose was there dressed beautifully, and with flowers in her hair, and all curiosity to hear who their visitor was. There was a heightened colour I' 1. '. \ ! 08 SEEING A GHOST. in Kate's face and an altered expression in her eyes that puzzled Grace. " He is Sir Ronald Keith," she said, in reply to Rose. " I have known him for years." " Sir Ronald ; knight or baronet ? " " Baronet, of course," Kate said, coldly ; " and Scotch. Don't get into a gale, Rose ; you won't care about him ; he is neither young nor handsome." " Is he unmarried ? " " Yes." « And rich r ' " His income is eight thousand a year." " Mon Dieu ! A baronet and eight thousand a year ! Kate, I am going to make a dead set at him. Lady Keith — Lady Rose Keith ; that sounds remarkably well, does'nt it 1 I always thought I should like to be ' my lady.' Grace, how do I look]" Kate sat down to the piano, and drowned Rose's words in a storm of music. Rose looked at her with pursed-up lips. " Kate is in one of her high and mighty moods," she thought. " I don't pretend to understand her. If she is engaged in England, what difference can it make to her whether I flirt with this Scotch baronet or not ? What do I care for her airsl I'll flirt if I please." She sat still, twisting her glossy ringlets round her fingers, while Kate played on with that unsmiling face. Half an hour, and the dinner-bell rang. Ten minutes after, Captain Danton and his guest stood before them. For a moment Rose did not see him ; her father's lai-ge proportions, as he took her in his arms and kissed her, over- shadowed every one else. " How my little Rose has grown ! " the Captain said look- ing at her fondly ; " as plump as a partridge and as Rosy as iicr name. Sir Ronald — my daughter Rose." Rose bowed with finished grace, thinking, with a profound sense of disappointment : "What an ugly little man ! " Then it was Eeny's turn, and presently they were all seated at the table — the baronet at Kate's right hand, talk- ^ v:j .■■» ;■■) I SEEING A GHOST. 59 ■e all talk- ing to her of Okl England, and of by-gono days, and of people the rest knew nothing about. ( 'jiptain Dunton gall.-intly de- voted himself to the other three, and told them he had brought them all presents from Montreal. "Oh, papa, have you though !" eried Kose. "1 dearly love presents ; what have you brought me ? " "Wait until after dinner, little curiosity," said her father. "Grace, whom do you think I met ia Montreal ?" " T don't know, sir." " Why, that brother of yours. I was loitering along the Champ de ^Fars, when who should step up but Doctor Frank. Wasn't I astonished I I asked what brought liim there, and he told me he found St. (Jroix so slow he could'nt stand it any longer. t*om])limentary to you, young ladies." Kate gave Rose a mischievous look, and Hose bit her lip and tossed back her auburn curls. " I dare say St. Croix and its inhabitants can survive tho loss," she said. " Papa, the next time you go to Montreal I want you to take me. It's a long time since I have been there." " I thought you were going back to Ottawa," said Grace. " You seem to have forgotten all about it." Rose gave her an alarmed look ; and finding a gap in the trte-a-trte between her sister and Sir Ronald, struck smilingly in. He was small and he was homely, but he was a baronet and worth eight thousand a year, and Rose biought all the battery of her charms to bear. In vain. She might as well have tried to fascinate one of the gnarled old tamaracks out- of-doors. Sir Ronald was utterly ins(nisible to her brightest smiles and glances, to her rosiest blushes and most honeyed words. He listened politely, he answered courteously ; but he was no more fascinated by Captain Danton's second daughter than he was by (Aiptain Danton's housekeeper. Rose was disgusted, and retreated to a corner with a l)Ook, and sulked. Grace, Kate, and Eeny, who all saw through the little game, were exceedingly amused. " I told you it was of no use, Rose," said Kate, in a whisper, pausing at the corner. " Do you always read with the book upside down ? Sir Ronald is made of flint, where pretty girls are concerned. You won't be * my lady ' this time." r: kii ■ :l ;i :! i I 60 SEEING A GHOST. " Sir Ronald is a stupid stick ! " retorted Rose. " I would'nt marry him if he wore a duke instead of a baronet. One couUhi't expect anything better from a Scotchman, though." It was tlie first experience Kate bad had of Rose's temper. Slie drew back now, ti'oubled. "I hope we will not be troubled with him long!" con- tinued Rose, spitefully. " The place was stupid enough be- fore, but it will be worse with that sulky Scotchman prowling about. I tried to be civil to him this evening. I shall never try again." With wliich Miss Rose closed her lips, and relapsed into her book, supremely indifferent to her sister's heightened colour and flashing eyes. She turned away in silence, and fifteen minutes after. Rose got up and left the room, without saying good-night to any one. Rose kept her word. From that evening she was never civil to the Scotch baronet, and took every occasion to snub him. But her incivility was as completely thrown away as her charms had been. It is doubtful whether Sir Ronald ever knew he was snubbed ; and Kate, seeing it, smiled to herself, and was friends with offended Rose once more. She and the baronet were on the best of terms ; he was always willing to talk to her, always ready to be her escort when she walked or rode, always on hand to turn her music and listen entranced to her singing. If it was not a flirtation, it was something vei'y like it, and Rose was nowhere. She looked on with indignant eyes, and revenged herself to the best of her power by flirting in her turn with the Reverend Augustus Clare. " He is nothing but a ninny I " she said to Grace : " and has eyes for no one but Kate. Oh, how I wish my darling Jules were here, or even your brother, Grace — he was better than no one ! " " My brother is very much obliged to you." " You talk to me of my flirting propensities," continued the exasperated Rose. " I should like to know what you call Kate's conduct with that little Scotchman." ' .Friendship, my dear," Grace answered, lepressing a smile. SEEING A GHOST. 61 con- shall and •*RemeniV)er, they have known each other for years." " Friendship ! Yes ; it would be heartless coquetry if it were T. I hope Lieutenant Re<;inald Stanford, of Stanford Royals, will like it when he comes. Sir Ronald Keith is over head and ears in love with her, and she knows it, and is drawing him on. A more cold-l)looded flirtation no one ever saw • " Nonsense, Rose ! It is only a friendly intimacy." l'»ut Rose, unable to stand tliis, bounced out of the room in a passion, and sought consolation in her pet novels. Kate and Sir Ronald were certainly very much together ; but, notwithstanding their intimac}^ she found time to devote two or three hours everv dav to Mr. Richards. Rose's mys tery was her m}'stery still. She could get no further towards its solution. JNIr. Richards midit have been a thousand miles away, for all any of the household saw of him ; and Grace, in the solitude of her own chamber, wondered over it a good deal of late. She sat at her window one December night, puzzling her- self al)out it. Kate had not come down to dinner that day — she had dined with the invalid in his rooms. When she had entered the drawinir-room about nine o'clock, she looked pale and anxious, and was absent and (Itstraite all the evening. Now that the house was still, and all were in their rooms, (irace was wondering. Was Mr. Richards worse ] Why, then, did they not call in a Doctor 1 Who could he be, this sick s« ranger, in whom father and daughter were so inter- ested ] Grace could not sleep for thinking of it. The night was mild and bright, and she arose, wrapped a large shawl around her, and took her seat by the window. How still it was, how solemn, how peaceful ! The full moon sailed through the deep' blue sky, silver- vhite, crystal-clear. Num- berless stars shone sharp and keen. The snowy ground glit- tered dazzlingly bright and cold ; the trees stood like grim, motionless sentinels, guarding Dan ton Hall, The village lay hushed in midnight repose ; the tall cross of the Catholic and the lofty spire of the Episcopal cliurch flashed in the moon's rays. Rapid river and sluggish canal glittered in the silvery light. The night was noiseless, hushed, beautiful. G2 SEEING A GHOST. :ii No ; not noisfiloss. A step cninchod ovor tlio frozen snow ; from under the still sliiulow of the trees a moving shadow (•aiiu;. A man, wrajjped in a lony cloak, and with a fur cap down ov(!r liis eyes, came round the angle of th(^ building and began i)aeing up and down the terrace. ( Trace's heart stood still for an instnnt. Who was this midnight walker I Not Sir lionald Keith watching ids lady's lattice — it was too tall for liim. Not the Captain— the cloaked figure was too slight. No one Cirace knew, and no ghost ; for he stood still an instant, lit a cigar, and resumed liis walk, smoking. lie; had loitered uj) and down the terrace for about a (piarter of an hour, wluai another figure came out from the shadows and joined him. A woman this time, with a shawl wrapped round her, and a white cloud on her head. The moonlight fell full on her face — pale and beautiful. Grace could hardly repress a cry — it was Jvate Danton. The smoker advanced. Miss Danton took his arm, and together they walked up and down, talking earnestly. Once or twice Kate looked up at the darkened windows ; but the watcher was not to be seen, and they walked on. Half an hour, an liour, passed ; the hall clock struck one, and then the two midnight pedestrians disappeared round the corner and were gone. The moments passed, and still Grace sat wondering, and of her wonder finding no end. What did it mean ? Who was this man with whom the {)roudest girl the sun ever shone on walked by stealth, and at midnight 1 Who was he 1 Suddenly in the silence and darkness of the coming morning, a thought struck her that brought the blood to her face. " Mr. Richards." She clasped her hands together. Conviction as positive as certainty thrilled along every ner\e. Mr. Hichards, the recluse, was the midnight walker — Mr. Kichards, who was no invalid at all ; and who, shut up all day, came out in the dead of night, when the household were asleep, to take the air in the grounds. There, in the solemn hush of her room, Rose's thoughtless words came back to her like a revelation. " Where there is secrecy there is guilt." SEEING A QHOST. g;5 When the fainily mot at breakfiist, Grace looked at Kate with a new intertjst. J Jut the quiet face tohl nothing ; she was a little pale ; })ut the violet eyes were as starry, and the smile as bright as ever. The English mail had come in, and It'ttcrs for \w.Y and her father lay on the table. There was one, in a bold, masculine hand, with a coat-of-arms on the seal, that brought the ro.sy blood in an instant to her face. SIk; walked away to one of the windows, to read it by her- self (irace watclu'd the tall, slender tigure curiously. She was beginning to be a mystery to her. " She is on the best of terms with Sir Ronald Kt^ith," she thought ; ** she meets some man by night in the grounds, and the sifjlit of this handwritiufj brings all the blood in her body to her face. I suppose she loves him ; I suppose he loves her. I wonder what he would think if he knew what I know." The morning mail brought Rose a letter from Ottawa, which she devoured with avidity, and Nourished before (Irace's eyes. " A love letter. Mistress Grace," she said. " My darling Jules is dying to ha\'e me back. 1 mean to ask papa to let me go. It is as dull as a monastery of La Trappe here." " What's the ne^vs from England, Kate .'" asked her father, as they all sat down to table. The rosy light was at its brightest in Kate's face, but Sir Ronald looked as black as a thunder cloud. " Everybody is well, papa." *' Satisfactory, but not explanatory. Everyl)ody means tlie good people at Stanford Rovals, I sup[)Ose T es. papa. " Where is Reginald V " /Vt Windsor. But his re^'iment is or seen the ghost of Danton Hall." *' Grace ! What do you moan ?" '* Excuse me, Doctor Frank, I never talk nonsense. You can keep your professional secrets ; I'll tind out from Mar- gery ali the same. Here ,is the Captain ; ho looks better than when he went out. Where is Kate ?" '' With Mari>erv. She won't be left alone." As she spoke, Kose came up, her brightest smiles in full play. " I have been soarching for you e\erywhere. Doctor Frank. You ought to be sent to CJoventry. Don't you know you engaged me for the German, and here you stand talking to Grace. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sir." " So I am," said the Doctor. " Adieu, Grace. Pardon this once. Mademoiselle, and for the remainder of the evening, for the remainder of my life, I am entirely at your service." Grace kept her station at the door watching for Kate. In another half hour she appeared, slightly pale, but otherwise tranquil. She was surrounded immediately by sundry " ginger-whiskered fellows," otherwise the oHicers from Montreal, and lost to the housekeeper's view. The house-warming was a success. Somewhere in the big, busy world })erhaps, crime, and misery, and shame, and sorrow, and starvation, .'ud all the catalogue of earthly horrors, were rife, but not at Danton Hall. Time trod on flowers ; enchanted music drifted the bright hours away ; the golden side of life was uppermost ; and if those gay dancers knew what tears and trouble meant, their faces never showed it. Kate, with her tranquil and commanding beauty, wore a face as serene as a summer's sky ; and her father playing whist, was laughing until all around laughed in sympathy. No, there could be no hidden skeleton, or the masks those wore who knew of its grisly presence were something wonderful. In the black and bitterly cold dawn of early morning the dancers went shivering home. The first train bore the city 70 SEEING A GHOST. 11 giuists, blue and fagged, to Montreal ; and Doctor Frank walked briskly through the piercing air over the frozen snow to his hotel. And up in her room ol> pines. near the *' Star-gazing, papa. Down under the gates, until five minutes ago." Doctor Frank looked up ([uickly, and met the violet eyes fixed full upon him. " I heard you, sir," that l)right glance saion ; jalk about trouble. Do vou want me to go to ^-Iv-x l.u'm-!iM , ,5]" " If you will be so kiixd i 4i:;:ped there last night. Tell old Jacques — that's the proprietor — to send some kind of a trap down here for me — a sled, if nothing else." " I'll be back in ten minutes," exclaimed Rose, mounting Regina with wonderful celerity, and flying off. Old Jacques — a wizen little habitant — was distressed at the news, and ran off instantly to harness up his old mare and sled. Madame Jacques placed a mattress on the sled and the vehicle started. '* Who is the gentleman 1 " Rose asked carelessly, as they rode along. ROSliPS ADVEXTURE. Old Jacques didn't know. He had stopped there last night, and paid them, but hadn't told them his name or his business. A few minutes brought them to the scene of the tragedy. The stranger lifted those dark eyes of his, and looked so un- speakably iiandsome, that Rose was melted to deeper com- passir-ii than ever. *' 1 am afraid you are nearly frozen to death," she said, springing lightly to the ground. " Let us try if we cannot hell/ you on to the sled." " You are very kind," replied the stranger, laughing and accepting. " It is worth while having a sprained ankle, after all." Rose and old Jacques got him on the sled between them. though his lips were white with suppressed jjain in the effort. " I sent Jean Raptiste for Dr. Pillule," said old Jacques, as he started the mare. " Monsieur will be — what you call it — all right, when Dr. Pillule comes." " Might I ask — but, perhaps it would be asking too much 1 " the stranger said, looking at Rose. " What is it r' " Will you not return with us, and hear whether Dr. Pillule thinks my life in danger 1 " Rose laughed. " I never heard of any one dying from a sprained ankle. Malgre cela, I will return if you wish it, since you got it in my behalf." Rose's steed trotted peaceably beside the sled to the farm- house door. All the way, the wounded hero lay looking up at the graceful girl, with the rose-red cheeks and auburn curls, and thinking, perhaps, if he were any judge of pic- tures, what a })retty picture sh(3 made. Rose assisted in helj>ing him into the drawing room of the establishment — which wa^j a very wretched drawing-room indeed. There was a leather lounge wheeled up befo^'o a large fire, and thereon the injured gentleman was laid. Doctor Pillule had not yet arrived, and old Jacques stood waiting further orders. *' Jacques, fetch a chair. That is right ; put it up here. ROSE'S ADVENTURE. SI ■ f near me. Now you can go. Mademoiselle, do me the favoiu' to be seated." Rose sat down, very neav — dangerously near — the owner of the eyes. " May I ask the name of the young lady whom I have been fortunate enough to assist." " My name is liosina — Rose Danton." " Danton," repeated the young man slowly. " Danton ; I know that name. There is a place called Danton Hall over here — a fiae old place, they tell me— -owned by one Cai)tain Danton." "I am Captain Danton's second daughter," *' Then, Miss Danton, I am very hajjpy to make your acquaintance." He held out his hand, gravely. Rose shook hands, laughing and blushing. " I am much pleased to make yours, Mr. " laughing still, and looking at him. " Reinecourt," said the gentleman, " Mr. Reinecourt ; only I wish you had not sprained your ankle doing it," " I don't regret it me, are you not 1 " " Certainly," ** Then I mean to have a return for what you owe me, I want you to come and see me every da}'^ until I get well." Rose blushed vividly. " Oh, I don't know. You exact too much ! " " Not a whit. I'll never fly to the rescue of another damsel in distress as long as I live, if you don't." " Hut every day ! Once a week will be enough." " I you insult me by coming once a week, I'll issue orders not to admit vou. Promise, Miss Danton ; here comes Doctor Pillule.'' " I promise, then. There, I never gave you permission to kiss my hand." She arose precipitately, and stood looking out of the win- dow, while the Doctor attended to the sprain. Nearly half an hour passed. The ankle was duly bathed But you are under an obligation to ^ liOSI'TS A DVKXTVRE. and bandaged, then old Jacx^ues and the Doctor went pway, and she came over and looked laughingly down at the in- valid, a world of coquettish daring in her dancing eyes. " \V(;11, M. Jieinecourt, when does M. le Medecin say you are going to die ? " " When you think of leaving me, Mademoiselle." " Then summon your friends at once, for I not only think of it, but am about to do it." " Oh, not so soon." " It is half-past two, Monsieur," pulling out her watch ; " they will think I am lost at home. 1 must go ! " " Well, shake hands before you go." " It seems to me you are very fond of shaking hands, Mr. Keinecourt," said Rose, giving him hers willingly enough, though. " And you really must leave me ? " " I really must." ' ]^ut you will come to-morrow 1 " still holding her hand. '* Perhaps so — if I have nothing better to do." '* You cannot do anything better than visit the sick, and oh, yes ! do me another favour. Fetch me some books to read — to pass the dismal hours of your absence." " Very well ; now let me go." He released her plump little hand, and Rose drew on her gloves. "Adieu, jMr. Reinecourt," movmg to the door. " Au revoir, Miss Danton, until to-morrow morning." Rose rode home in delight. In one instant the world had changed. St. Croix had become a paradise, and the keen air sweet as "Ceylon's spicy breezes," As Alice Carey says, ' What to her was our world with its stor.ns and rough weather," with that i)allid face, those eyes of darkest splen- dour, that magnetic voice, haunting her all the way. It was love at sight with Miss Danton the second. \Vliat was the girlish fancy she had felt for Jules La Touche — for Dr. Frank — for a dozen others, compared with this. Joe, the stable-boy. led away Regina, and Rose entered the house. Crossing the hall, she met Eeny going up-stairs. " Well ! " said Eeny, " and where have you been all day, pray 1 " ROSE'S ADVENTURE. m " Out riding." "Where]" " Oh, everywhere I Don't bother ! " " Do yon know we have had luncheon ] " *' I don't care- — I don't want lunclieon." She ran past lier sister, and sliut herself up in her room. Eeny stared. In all her experience of her sister she had never known her to be indifferent to eating aud drinking. For the first time in Rose's life, love had taken away her appetite. All that afternoon she stayed shut up in lier chamber, dreaming as only eighteen, badly in love, does dream. When darkness fell, and the lamps were lit, and the dinner-bell rang, she descended to the dining-room indifferent for the first time whether she was dressed well or ill. " What does it matter ] " she thought, looking in the glass ; " he is not here to see me." Doctor Frank and the Reverend Augustus Clare drojiped in after dinner, but Rose hardly deigned to look at them. She reclined gracefully on a sofa, with half shut eyes, listen- ing to Kate playing one of Beethoven's '' Songs without Words," and seeing — not the long, lamp-lit drawing-room with all its elegant luxuries, or the friends around her, but the bare best room of the old yellow fjirm-house, and the man lying lonely and ill before the blazing fire. Doctor Danton sat down beside her and talked to her ; but Rose answered at random, and was so absorbed, and silent, and preoccupied, as to puzzle every one. Her father asked her to sing. Rose begged to be excused — she could not sing to- night. Kate looked at her in wonder. " What is the matter with you. Rose 1 " she inquired ; " are you ill ? " What is it ] " •'Nothing," Rose answered, " only I don't feel like talk- ing. And not feeling like it, nobody could make lifer talk. She retired early — to live over again in dreams the events of that day, and to think of the blissful morrow. An hour after breakfast next morning, Eeny met her going out, dressed for her ride, and with a little velvet reticule stuffed full, slung over her arm. I 84 ROSE'S A D VENTURE. I ■I: , (< your \ \, I " Wliivt liave you got in that bag ?" asked Eeny, dinner 1 Are you going to a picnic ]" Rose laughed at the idea of a January picnic, and ran off without answering. An hour's brisk gallop brought her to the farm house, and old Jacques came out, bowing and grinning, to take charge of her horse. "Monsieur was in the parlour — would Mademoiselle walk right into the parlour ? Dr. Pillule had been there and seen to Monsieur's ankle. Monsieur was doing very well, only not able to stand up yet. ^ose found Monsieur half asleep before the fire, and look- ing as handsome as ever in his slumber. He started up at her entrance, holdiug out both hands. " Mori aiKje ! I thought you were never coming. I was falling into despair." " Falling into despair means falling asleep, 1 presume. Don't let me disturb your dreams." '•lam in a more blissful dream now than any I could dream asleep. Here is a seat. Oh, don't sit so far off. Are those the books '\ How can I ever thank you ?" " You never can — so don't try. Here is Tennyson — of course you like Tennyson ; here is Shelley — here are two new and charming novels. Do you reacT novels ?" " I will read everything you fetch me. By-the-by, it is very fatiguing to read lying down ; won't you lead to me 1" " I can't read. I mean I can't read aloud." " Let me be the judge of that. Let me see — read 'Maud.'" Rose began and did her best, and read until she was tired. Mr. Reinecourt watched her all the while as she sat beside him. And presently th(;y drifted off into delicious talk of poetry and romance ; and Rose, pulling out her watch, was horrified to find that it was two o'clock. " I must go !" she cried, springing up ; " what will they think has become of me f " But you will come again to-morrow T pleaded Mr. Reinecourt. " I don't know — you don't deserve it, keeping me here until this hour. Perhaps I may, though — good-bye." ROSES AD^EXTUIIE. §5 Rose, saying this, knew in her heart she could not stay- away if she tiied. Next morning she was tliere, and the next, and tlio next, and the next. Then v anie a week of wild, snowy weather, when the roads were lieaj)ed liigli, goincr out was iui impossibility, and she had to stay iit iiorne. Rose chafed desperately under the restraint, iind grew so in-itahle that it was quite a risk to speak to her. All lier old high spirits were gone. Her ceaseless flow of talk suddenly chocked. She wandered about the house aimlessly, purpose- lessly, listlessly, sighing wearily, and watching the flying snow and hopeless sky. A week of this weather, and January was at its close before a change for the bettcu- came. Rose was falling a prey to green and yellow melancholy, and perplexing the whole iioiis(!hold by the unaccountable alter- ation in her. AVitli the first gleam of fine weather she was off. Her long morning rides were recommcnctHl ; smiles and roses returned to her face, and Rose was herself again. It took that sprained ankle a very long time to get well. Three weeks had passed since that January day when Regina had slipped on the ice, and still Mr. Reinecourt was disabled; at least he was when Rose was there. He had dropped the Miss Danton and taken to calling her Rose, of late ; but when she was gone, it was really surprising how well he could walk, and without the aid of a stick. Old Jaccpies grinned knowingly. The poetry reading and the long, long talks went on every day, and Rose's heart was hopelessly and for- ever gone. She knew nothing more of Mr. Reinecourt than that he was Mr. Reinecourt ; still, she hardly cared to know. She was in love, and an idiot ; to-day sufHced for her — to- morrow might take care of itself. *' Rose, c/ic'r/e," Mr. Reinecourt said to her one day, "you vindicate your sex ; you are free from the vice of curiosity. You ask no questions, and, except my name, you know no- thing of me." " Well, Mr. Reinecourt, whose fault is that ]" " Do you want to know f Rose looked at him, then away. Somehow of late she had grown stranly shy. 86 ROSE'S ADVENTUEE. ' i; I " If you like to tell me." " My humble little Ro.se ! Yes, I will tell you. I must leave here soon ; a sprained ankle won't last forever, do our best." She looked at him in sudden alarm, her bright bloom fad- ing out. Ho had taken one of her little hands, and her fing(!rs closed involuntarily over his. " Going away !" she re])eated, " Going away !" He smiled slightly. His masculine vanity was gratified by the irrepressible confession of her love for him. " Not from you, my dear little Eose. To-morow you v/ili know all — where I am going, and who I am." " Who you are ! Ase you not Mr. Keinecouvt ?" " Certainly I" half laughing. " Dut that is ratlier barren information, is it not ] Can you wait until to-morrow ?" His smile, the clasp in which he held her hand, reassured her. " Oh, yes," she said, drawing a long breath, "' I can wait !" That day — Hose remembered it afterward— he stood hold- ing her hands a long time at parting. " You will go ! What a hurry you are always in," he said. '' A hurry !" echoed Rose. " I have been here three hours. I should have gone long ago. Don't detain me ; good-bye !" " Good-bye, my Rose, my dear little nurse ! Good-bye until we meet again." ! . St ir I' 1- CHAPTER Vn. HON. LIKUTI:;NANT REOINAM) STAM'-ORI). ► OS 1^1 T) ANTON'S slumbers Avcre unusually dis- turbed tliat niji^lit. Mr. Keineeourt haunted lier awake, Mr. Keineeourt haunted her asleep. What was the eventful morrow to reveal ? Would he tell her he loved her 1 Would he ask her to be his wife ? Did he care for her, or did he mean nothinij after all \ No tliought of Jules La Touche came to disturb her as she drifted oft* into delicious memories of tiie past and ecstatic dreams ol' the future. No thought of the promise she had given, no remorse at her own falsity, troubled her easy conscience. What aid she care for Jules La Touche ? What was he beside this s[)lendid Mr. Keineeourt ? She thought of him — when she thought of him at all — with angry impatience, and she drew his ring off her linger and flung it across the room. " What a fool I was," she thought, " ever to dream of marrying that silly boy ! Thank heaven I never told any one but Grace." Kose was feverish with impatience and anticipation when morning came. She sat down to breakfast, tried to eat, and drink, and talk as usual, and failed in all. As soon as the meal was over, unable to wait, she dressed and ordered her horse. Doctor Frank was sauntering u[) the avenue, smok- ing a cigar in the cold February sunshine, as she rode oft'. " Away so early, Di Vernon, and unescorted ? May I — " " No," said Rose, bru.squely, " you may not. Good mornins: !" Doctor Frank glanced after her as she galloped out of sight . " What is it V he thought. '• What has altered her of 88 IIOX. LlEl'TEXANT llEdlXALl) STANFORD. late 1 She is not the same girl she was two weeks ago. Has she fall(!u in love, I wonder ] Not likely, I should think ; and yet — " He walked on, revolving the finestion, to the house, while Rose was rapidly shortening the distance between hers(df and her Ixdoved. Old .Jac(|U()s was leaning over the gate as slie rode up, and took oil' his hat with ( Canadian courtesy to the young lady. " Is Mr. lleinecourt in, Mr. Jacques 1" asked Rose, pre- paring to dismount. Jacques liftfid his eyebrows in [lolitc surprise. " Doesn't JNIademoiselle know, then 1" " Know what I" " That Monsieur has gone ]" " Gone r " Yes, iSrademoiselle, half an hour ago. Gone for good." " But he will come back 1 " said Rose, faintly, her heart seeming suddenly to stop beating. (Jld Jacques shook his head. " No, Mam'selle. Monsieur has ])aid me like a king, shook hands with Margot and me, and gone forever." There was a dead pause. Rose clutched her bridle-rein, and felt the earth spinning under her, her fac«' growing white and cold. " Did he leave no message — no message for me T She could barely utter the words, the shock, the conster- nation were so great. Something like a laugh shone in old Jacques' eyes. '' No, Mademoiselle, he never spoke of you. He only paid us, and said good-bye, and went away." Rose turned Regina slowly round in a stunned sort of way, and with the reins loose on her neck, let her take her road homeward. A dull sense of despair was all she was conscious of. She could not think, she could not reason : her whole mind was lost in blank consternation. He was gone. She could not get beyond that— he was gone. The boy Mdio came to lead away her horse stared at her changed face ; the servant wjio opened the door opened his eyes, also, at sight of her. She iiever heeded them ; a feel- H0^^. UFA/TEX Ayr REaiXALD STANFORD. 89 ing that she wanted to ho aloiP wa8 all she could roalizo, and sh(! walk(!d straight to a. litth^ alcove o|)cnin,L( from the lower end of th(5 hing enti'anee-hall. An archway and a cMirtaiu of and)er silk separated it from tlu^ drawing-roum, of which it was a sort of recess. A sofa, piled high with downy pil- lows, stood invitingly under a window. Aniong these pillows poor Hose threw herself, to do hattle with her despair. While she lay there in tearless rage, she heard the draw- ing-room dooi- open, and some one come in. "Who shall I say, sir V insinuated the servant. ' Just sav a friend wishes to see Miss Danton," was the answer. Tliat voice ! Kose bounded from the sofa, her eyes wild, her lips apart. Her hand shook as she drew aside the cur- tain and looked out. A gentleman was there, hut ho sat with his back to her, and his iigure was only i)artially revealed. Hose's heart beat in great plunges against her side, but she restrained herself and waited. Ten minutes, and there was the rustle of a dross ; Kate entered the room. The gentleman arose, there was a cry of ' Reginald !" and then K:ite was clasped in the stranger's arms. Kose could see his face now ; no need to look twice to recognize Mr. Ileinecourt. The curtain dropped from Rose's hand, she stood still, breath coming and going in gasps. She saw it all as by an electric light — Mr. Reinecourt was Kate's betrothed hus- V)and, Reginald Stanford. He had known hei- from tiie first ; from the first he had coolly and systematically deceived her. He knew that she loved him — hc^ must know it — and had gone on fooling her to the top of his l)eni. Perha])s he and Kate would laugh over it togcither before the day was done. Rose clenched her hands, and her eyes flashed at the thought. Jjack came the colour to her cheeks, back the light to her eyes; anger for tlx^ moment quenched every sj)ark of love. Some of tlu; old Danton pluck was in her, after all. No despair now, no lying ou sufa cushions any more in helpless woe. " How dared he do it — how dared he 1" she thought- f 90 iroS. LIEI'TEXAXT niC'irXALI) STAXFORD. *' knowing uw to be Kate's sistt to apjiroaeh her. He sat and talked to his betrothed of the old times and the old friends and places, and seemed to forget there was any one else in the world. l(os(! listened, with a heart swelling with angry l)itt(!rness — sih^nt, except wlien discreetly uddre.ssed by Rate, and longing vindictivcily to spring up and tell the handsome, treacherous Englisliman what slu; thought of liim there and then. As luncheon hour . O^ 4^ 4 u 1 6^ 92 IfON. LIEfjTENANT REniXALD STANFORD. her sister's betrothed, and who talked to her father ; while Sir Ronald glowered over a book. Tlie ringing of the luncheon-bell brought Grace and Eeny, and all were soon seated around the Cai)tain's hospitable board. Lieutenant Reginald Stanford laid himself out to be fas- cinating, and was fascinating. There was a subtle charm in his handsome face, in his brilliant smile and glance, in his pleasant voice, in his wittily-told stories, and inexhaustible fund of anecdote and mimicry, ^ow he was in Ireland, now in Franco, now in Scotland, now in Yoikshiro ; and the bad English and the patoiif and accent of all were imitated to the life. With that face, that voice, that talent for imitation. Lieutenant Stanford, in another walk of life, might have made his fortune on the stage. His power of fascinA^tion was irresistible. Grace felt it, Eeny felt it, all felt it, except Sir Ronald Keith. He sat like the Marble Guvist, not fascinat(!d, not charmed, black and unsmiling. Rose, too — what was the matter with Rose 1 She, so acutely alive to well-told stories, to handsome faces, so rigidly cold, and stately, and uninterested now. She shrugged her dimpled shoulders when the table was in a roar ; clie opened her rather small hazel eyes and stared, as if she wondered what they could see to laugh at. She did not even deign to glance ait him, the hero of the feast ; and, in fact, so greatly overdid her part as to excite the suspicions of that astute young man, Doctor Danton. There is no effect without a cause. What was the cause of Rose's icy indifference l He looked at her, then at Stanford, then back at her, and set himself to watch. ■'* She has met him before," thought the shrewd Doctor ; *' but where, if he has just come from England ? I'll ask him, I think." It was some time before there was a })ause in the conver- sation. In the first. Dr. Frank struck in. " How did you come, Mr. Stanford 1 " he asked. " On the Hyspei'ia, from Southampton to New York." " How long agol " inquired Kate, indirectly helping him ; " a week ? " nOX. UEUTESAST llEniSALD STAXFOIID. 93 so " No," said r.ioutonant Stanford, coolly carving his cold ham ; "nearly five." Every one stared. Kate looked blankly amazed. " Tm)»osHible I " she exclaimed ; *' five weeks since you landed in Ne\v York ? Surely not." " Quite true, I assm-e you. The way was this — " He ])aused and looked at Rose, who had spilled a glass of wine, trying to lift it, in a hand that shook strangely. Her eyes were downcast, her cheeks scarlet, her whole manner palpably and inexplicably embarrassed. " Four weeks ago, I reached <^*anada. I did not write you, Kate, that I was coming. I wished to give you a sur- prise. I .stopped at Belleplain — you know the town of Belleplain, thirty miles from here — to see a brother ofi ;er I had known at Windsor. Travelling from Belleplain in a confounded stage, I stopped half frozen at an old farm-house six miles off. Next morning, pursuing my journey on foot, I met with a little mi.shap." He paused provokingly to fill at his leisure a- glass of sherry ; and Doctor Danton watching Rose under his eye- lashes, saw the colour coming and going in her traitor face. . " I slipped on a sheet of ice," continued Mr. Stanford. " I am not used to your horrible Canadian roads, remember, and strained my ankle badly. I had to be conveyed back to the farm-house on a sled — medical attendance procured, and for three weeks T have been a prisoner there. I could have sent you word, no doubt, and put you to no end of trouble bring- ing me here, but T did not like that ; I did not care to turn Danton Hall into a hospital, and go limping through life ; so I made the best of a bad bargain and stayed where I was." There was a general murmur of sympathy from all but Sir Ronald and Rose. Sir Ronald sat like a grim statue in granite ; and Rose, still fluttering and tremulous, did not dare to lift her eyes. '' You must have found it very lonely," said Doctor Dan- ton. " No. I regretted not getting here, of course ; but other- wise it was not unpleasaiit. They took such capital care of me, you see, and I had a select little library at my com- I IjL -I I: If ^i ii 94 noX. LIEUTENANT REGINALD STANFORD. mand , so, on the whole, I have been in ra\ich more disagree- able quarters in my lifetime." Doctor Frank aaid no more. He had gained his point, and he was satisfied. " It is 5 of tl<'S and smokiiif,' a cif]far, one evoninpf, about a week after tlio arrival of Stanford. Tlio Fohruary tNviH;,'ht fell tonrin<;-like, witli *lje full moon risin^j round and red. His walk eommanded a view of the great fiozen tish-pond where a lively scene was jjoint^ on. Kate, Rose, juid Eeny, strapped in skates, were float- in<^ round and round, attended by the Captain and Lieuten- ant Stanford. Rose was the best skater on the pond, and looke:'i ' 1 to relnnt. tt was hard to resist that porsiiasivo voice, but sho (lid. Sh(i iiarduiuMl luTself rosohitcly at tlic thoui^ht of liow he luul dec«'iv(!d her — lie wlio was soon to be her sister's husband. Rose got up abruptly, excused herself, and left the room. When the family were dispersing to tluur chambers that night, lleginald lingered to speak to Kate. " I have failed, you see," lus said. " Rose is a mystca-y,*' said Kate, vexed ; " she has quite a new way of acting, liut you know," smiling radiantly, " a Stanford never yields." " True. It is discouraging, but I sliall try again. Good- night, aearest and best, and pK;asant dreams — of me." He ascended to his bedrooju, lamp in hand. A fire blazed in the grate ; and sitting down before it, his coat off, his slippers on, his hands in his pockets, he gazed at it with knitted brow, and whistling softly. Fo)' half an hour he sat, still as a statue. Then ho got up, found his writing-case, and sat down to indit(! a letter. He was singing the fag- end of something as he dipped his pen in the ink. *' F^iml the sea to sluinbor stilly — Bind its odour to the lily — Hind the aspeii ne'er to quiver — Then bind love to last forever ! " " Danton Hall, February 26, 18 — . " My Dear Laudekdale : I think I promised, when I left Windsor, to write to tell you how I got on in this liorribly Arctic region. It is nearly two months since 1 left Windsor, and my conscience (don't laugh — I have discovered that I ^ave a conscience) gives me sundry twinges when I think of you. I don't feel like sleeping to-night. I am full of my subject, so here goes. " In the first place. Miss Danton is well, and as much of an angel as ever. In the second place, Danton Hall is de- lightful, and holds more angels than one. In the third place, Ronald Keith is here, and half mad with jealousy. The keenest north wind that has ever blown since I came to Canada is not half so freezing p.s he. Alas, poor 1 1 HON. LIEUTEyAXT llEUINALI) STAM-ollD. i)0 Yorick ! Ifo is a tine fellow, too, and fonght like; a lion in the Russian trenches ; but there was Sampson, and David, anctor, very tine felh)\v, and so cute. I catch him hulking' at nie .sometimes in a very peculiar manner, which I tiiink I un(h>rstand. " Vou (h)n't expect me before June, do you] Neverthe- less, don't faint if I return to our ' rii^lit little, ti<^ht little' island before that. Meantinu^, write and let me know how the worhl wafjjs with you ; and, only I know it is out of your line, I should ask you to ofl'er a prayer for your unfortunate friend '•Rkoinald Stanford." CIIAPTEli VIII. i THK (JHOST AOAiN. lOSE DANTON stood lejinuiff a^'ainst tho low, oldl'asliioiHul cliimncv picro in her b(Mlioon» staring at tln' llio with a very sulky lac((. Thos(? who fell in love with pictty Hoh«! sIiouM have seen her in her sulky niooils, if they wished to he thoroughly disenchanted. Just at present, as she stood look- ing gloomily into the tire, she was wondering how th(^ Jionoural)le Reginald Stanford would feel on his wedding-day, or if Im; would feel at all, if they should find her (Rose) rohed in white, floating in the fish-|)ond drowned I The fish-pond was large enough ; and Rose moodily recollected reading somewhere that when lovely woman stooi)s to folly, and finds too late that men l>etray, the only way to hide that folly from every eye, to bring re- pentance to her lover, to wring his bosom, is to — die ! The clock down stairs struck eleven. Hose could hear them dispersing to their bedrooms. She could hear, and she held her breath to listen, Mr. Stanford, going past her door, whistling a tune of Kate's. Of Kate's, of course ! He was happy and could whistle, and she was miserable and couldn't. If she had not wept herself as dry as a wrung sponge, she must have iela[)sed into hysterics once more ; but as she couldn't, with a long-drawn sigh, she resolved to go to bed. So to bed Rose went, but not to sleep. She tossed from side to side, feverish and impatient ; the more she tried to sleep, the more she couldn't. It was quite a new experience for poor Rose, not used to " tears at night instead of slum- ber." The wintry moonlight was shining brightly in her ■ , T' ^ »*^ .'I i 102 TifE nil OUT AOAry. room tlirouijli tlu^ jjartcd curtains, and that liolpod Iut wake- t'nln(!ss, ixM-liaps. As tlio clock stiuck twelve, she spi'ang up in (lespei-alioii, (hew a shawl loun*! Imm', and, in her ni^ht- fli'ess, sat l)arlin<^ sank down u])on a lounge, covered her face with lier hands, and burst into tears. ** Goodness mo !" exclaimed the second Miss Danton, as soon as surprise would let her speak, *' what on earth is the matter with you 1 What are vou cryini; about ? What has Doctor Danton done to you l" " Nothing ! nothing !" cried tlie worried little seamstress. "Oh, nothing! It is not that I I am very foolish and weak ; but oh, please don't mind me, and don't ask me about it. I can't help it, and .1 am very, veiy unhapjiy." " Well," said Hose, after a blank pause ; ''stop cryivig. I didn't know yoi v;ould take it so seriously, or I 'shouldn't have asked you. Here's the dress, and 1 want you to take a great deal of ])ains with it, Agnes. Take my measure." Jlose said no more to the seamstres on a subject so evi- dently distressing ; but that evening she took l^octor Frank hiras(df to task. kShe was at the piano, which K;ite had va- cated for a game of chess with ^tr. Stanbrd, and Grace's brother was devotcilly turning her music. Rose looked up at him abruptly, her fingers still rattling oflf a lively maz- urka. " Doctor Danton, what have you been doing to Agnes Darling r " I ! Doing ! I don't understand 1" " Of course you don't. Where was it you knew her ?" " Who says I knew her 1" " I do. There, no fibs ; they won't convince me, and you will only be committing sin for nothing. Was it in Mon- treal V , * " Really, Miss Rose—" " That will do. She won't tell, she only cries. You won't tell ; you only equivocate. I don't care. I'll find out sooner or later." no THE (tnoST ACrATN. ** Was she crying ?" " I shouhl tliink so. People like to make mysteries in tliis house, in my opinion. Where there is secrecy there is something wiong. This morning was not the first time you ever talked to Agne» Darling." " Perhaps not," replied Doctor Danton, with a very gra' 9 face ; " but, poor child ! what right have I to make known the trials she has undergone 1 She has been very unfortu- nate, and I once had tlie opportunity to befriend her. That is all I know of her, or am at liberty to tell." There was that in Doctor Fiank's face that, despite Rose's assurance, forbade her asking any more questions. " Jjut I shall never rest till I find out," thought the young lady. I've got at Mr. Richards' and I'll get at yours as sure as my nauK; is Rose " The int(Mvening days before the ball. Rose was too much absorbed in her pr(iparations, and anticipations of conquest, to give her mind much to Agnes Darling and her secrets. That great and hidden trouble of her life — her unfortunate love alfair, was worrying her too. Mr. Stanford, in pursuance of his promise to Kate, played the agreeable to her sister with a provoking perseverance that was pi'oof against any amount of snubbinj;, and that nearlv drove Rose wild. He would take a seat by her side, always in Kate's presence, and talk to her by the hour, while she could but listen, and rebel inwardly. Never, even while she chafed most, had she loved him better. That power of fascination, tha ' charm of face, of voice, of smile, that had conquered her fickle heart the first time she saw him, enthralle'oii not toll mo l>('foi(! that Diinton ifall wiis Iminitc*!, Kat(^ I " " I want to n^tuni iiniiKMliulcIy," was Kate's answer a littlo coldly. *' I must speak to Mr. ronsonlty and find Keny. Tcsll Sir lloiiald, please, and hold yourstilf in readi- ness to attend us." Slio swopt otr with liose to find tlndr hostess. Mrs. Pon- sonhy's re;,'rets were unultei"al)le, hut Miss J)anton was resolute. " How absurd, you know, Helen," sIk; said, to lur dan,i,di- t(!r, when they were '^owv, ; " such nonsense u))out a sick seamstress." " I thought Kat(^ hanton was proud," saivo Iioius njfo, A^nu's complained of toothai'Iio. and said sho \V(Mdd <,'o down stairs for somr pain- killer that was in tho st.'win'^'-room. Knnice, who was halt' a.lccp, remainiMl whcr*? slio was ; and ten minutes al'tei* heard a scream that t"rii,d>tened her out of h(3r wits. Wo had all njtin.'d, but tho nii;ht-lam|> was burniiiLj ; and rushin;,' out, she found A<.,'nos l«?anini^ ui^uinst tho wall, all white and treml)lin,i,'. The monuMit l*'nnic(^ spok(! to her, ' I saw his ^diost ! ' she said, in a chokin;; whisper, and fc^U back in a dead faint in Kunico's arms. I found lier s(» wIkmi I came out, for Eunice cried lustily ior hell), '"^'^ :•'■. 1- ..J H 1 f- 1 ^ ) 122 A GAME FOR TWO TO PLAY AT. 1 Another half-hour. Then the door of the seamstress's room opened, and her brother came out. How pale he was — paler and gi'aver than his sister ever remembered seeing him before. " Well," she said, rising, *' how is your patient?" " Better," he briefly answered, ** very much better." '* I thought she was worse, you look so pale." " Pale, do I ? This dismal morning, I suppose. Grace," he said, lowering his tone and looking at her fixedly, ** whose ghost did old Margery say she saw] " " WJiose ghost ! What a question ! " " Answer it I " " Don't be so imperative, please. Master Harry's ghost, she said." " And Master Harry is Captain Danton's son 1 " " Was — he is dead now." " Yes, yes ! he was killed in New York, I believe." " So they say. The family never speak of him. He was the black sheep of the flock, you know. But why do you ask 1 Was it his ghost Agnes saw] " " Nonsense ! Of course not ! What should she know of Captain Danton's son 1 Some one — one of the servants prob- ably — came up the stairs and fright* ned her out of her ner- vous wits. I have been trying to talk a little sense into her foolish head these two hours." " And have you succeeded ? " " Partly. But don't ask her any questions on the subject ; and don't let Miss Dan ton or any one who may visit her ask any questions. It upsets her, and I won't be answerable for the consequences." " It is very strange," said Grace, looking at her brother intently, " very straiige that old Margery and Agnes Darling should both see an apparition in this house. There must be something in it." '* Of course there is — didn't I tell you so — an overheated imagination. I have known more extraordinary optical illu- sions than that in my time. How is Margery — better again]" " No, indeed. She will never get over her scare in this If be A GAME FOR TJFO TO PLAY AT. 123 world. She keeps a light in her room all nisjht, and makes one of the maids sleoj) with her, and won't be alone a mo- ment, night or day." " Ah ! " said ]Joctor Frank, with i)rt)tessional jdilegm. " Of course I She is an old woman, and we could hardly ex- j)ect anything else. Does :she talk nntch of the ghost \ " " No. The slightest allusion to the subject agitates her for the whole day. No one dare mention ghosts in Mar- gery's })resence." " I hope you will all be equally discreet with Miss Darling. Time will wear away the hallucination, if you women only hold your tongues. I must caution Hose, wiio has an unfor- tunate habit of letting out whatever comes uppermost. Ah ! here she is ! " "• Were you talking of me \ " itujuired jSliss Rose, tripping upstairs, fresh and prett}', in a blue merino morning dress, with soft white trimmings. " Do I ever talk of anv one elsel" said Dr. Frank. " Pooh ! How is Agnes Darling ] " " As well as can be expected, after seeing a ghost ! " " Did she see a ghost, though 1 " asked J fose, opening her hazel eyes. " Of course she did ; and my advice to you, Miss Rose, is to go to bed every night at PLAY AT. self in the glass, hor eyes dancing, her cliooks tlushod, her rosy lips apart. " I am pretty," thought Koso. ** I like my own looks bottt'r than I do Katie's, and every one calls hnr beautiful. I suppose her (^ycs are larger, and her nose more jKU'fect, and her forehead higher ; but it is too ])al«i nnd cold. Oh, if lleginald would only love m(» better than Kat(5 !" She ran down-stairs as the last bell rang, eager and ex- p(!ctant, l)ut only to be disaj)pointed. (Irace was there; bJeny and Kate w(ao there, and Sir llonald Keith ; but where were the ivst \ " Where's papa ?" said Ro.se, talcing her seat. " Dining out," replied Kate, who looked pale and ill. " And Reginald and Doctor Danton are with him. It is at Mr. Howard's. They drove ofl' over an hour ago." Rose's eyes fell and her colour faded. Until tho meal was over, she hardly opened her lips ; and when it was con- cluded, she went back immediately to her room. Where was the use of waiting when he would not be there 1 CHAJTKIl X. TIIK nKVKLATION. KXT morning', at Iticakfast, ('ii))t!iiii Diiiitoii wiis back ; but H('jL,'iiial betimes % " " Good morning, p ipa. 1 didn't feel sleei)y, and so thought I would come down." " What time did you get home last night 1 " " I left a little after twelve." " Did you enjoy yourself, my dear 1 " " Yes, papa." " Reginald was with you 1 " " Yes, papa." "It's all right, I suppose," said her father, ]Mnuhing her blooming cheek ; " but if I were Kate, I wouldn't allow it. Young men are changeable as chameleons, and tiiese pink cheeks are tempting." The pink cheeks turned guiltily scarlet at the words, Grace, looking up from her work, saw the tell-tah; flush ; but Captain Danton, going over to the tiro to read the morning pa[)er, said nothing. Rose stood listlessly in her father's place, looking out of the window. The wintry landscape, all glittering in the glorious sunshine, was very bright ; but the dreamy, hazel eyes were not looking at it. " Rose ! " said Grace suddenly, " when did you hear from Ottawa?" Rose turned to her, roused from her dreaming. " What did you say ? " " When did you hear from Ottawa — from M. Jules La Touche ] " Again the colour deepened in Rose's face, and an angry light shone in her eyes. " What do you want to know for] " " Because I want to know. That's reason enough, is it not 1 " replied Grace, sewing away placidly. " T don't see that it's anv affair of vouis, Mistress Grace. Jules La Touche is a nuisance ! " uo ONE MYSTEEV CLEARED UP. ' " Oh, is he? He wasn't a month or two ago. Whom have you fallen in love with now, Rose 1 " " It's no business of yours," said Rose angrily. " But if I choose to make it my business, my dear, sweet- tempered Rose, what then? Do toll me the name of the last lucky man ? I am dying to know." " Die, then, for you won't know." " Suppose I know already." ""What]" « It's not Mr. Stanford, is it ?" Rose gave a gasp — in the suddenness of the surprise, col- ouring crimson. Grace saw it all, as she placidly threaded her needle. " I wouldn't if I were you," she said (juietly. " It's of no use. Rose. Kate is handsomer than you ai'e ; and it will only be the old comedy of ' Love's Labour Lost ' over again." " Grace Danton, what do you mean 1 " " Now, don't get excited, Rose, and don't raise your voice. Your father might hear you, and that would not be pleasant. It is plain enough. Mr. Stanford is very handsome, and very fascinating, and very hard to resist, I dare say ; but, still, he must be resisted. Mr. La Touche is a very estim- able young man, I have no doubt, and of a highly respectable family ; and, very likely, will make you an excellent hus- band. If I were you, I would ask my papa to let me go on another visit ^o Ottawa, and remain, say, until the end of May. It would do you good, I am sure." Rose listened to this harangue, her eyes flashing. " And if I were you. Miss Grace Danton, I would keep my advice until it was asked. Be so good for the future, as to mind your own business, attend to your housekeeping, and let other people's love affairs alone." With which Rose sailed stormily off", with vei'v red cheeks, and very bright, angry eyes, and sought refuge in a book. Grace, perfectly unmoved, quite used to Rose's temper, sewed serenely on, and waited for the rest of the family to appear. Eeny was the next to enter, then came Sir Ronald Keith, who took a chair opposite Captain Danton, and buried him- OXE MYSTERY CLEARED UP. 141 self in another paper. To him, in Kate's absence, the room was empty. The breakfast bell was ringinjjf wlien that young lady ap- ]»eared, beautiful and bright as the sunny morning, in flow- ing white cashmere, belted with blue, and her lovely golden hair twisted in a coronet of amber braids round her head. She came over to where Rose sat, sulky and silent, and kissed her. " lion jour, ma soeur ! How do you fciel after last night !" *' Very well," said liose, not looking at her. " Reginald came home with you ]" smiled Kate, toying with Rose's pretty curls. *' Yes," she said, uneasily. " I am glad. I am so glad that vou and he are friends at last." Rose fidgeted more uneasily still, and said nothing. " Why was it you didn't like him ^" said Kate, coaxingly. " Tell me, mv dear." " I don't know. 1 liked him well enough," replied Rose, ungraciously. " He was a stranger to me." '* My darling, he will be your brother." Rose fixed her eyes sullenly on her book. " You will come to England with us, won't you. Rose — dear old England — and my i)retty sister may be my lady yet r The door opened again. Mr. Stanford came in. Rose glanced up shyly. His face was unusually grave and pale ; t)ut all were taking their places, and in the bustle no one noticed it. He did not look at Kate, who saw, with love's quickness, that something was wrong. All through breakfast Mr. Stanford was very silent, for him. When he did tall:, it was to Captain Danton — seldom to any of the ladies. Grace watched him, wonderingly ; Rose watched him fur- tively, and Kate's morning appetite was effectually taken away. The meal ended, the family dispersed. The Captain went to his study, Sir Ronald mounted and 142 nNK MYSTERY CLEARED UP. rode off, Gmce w(mt fiway to attend to her housekeeping alFaiis, Eony to lior studios, and Rose liurried up to her room. The lovers were left alone. Kate took her embroidery. Mr. Stanford was immersed in the paper Captain Danton had lately laid down. There was a prolonged silence, dur- ing which the lady worked, and the gentleman read, as if their lives depended on it. She lifted her eyes from her embroidery to glance his way, and found him looking at her steadfastly — gravely. " What is it, Reginald ]" she exclaimed, impatiently. " What is the matter with you this morning T " I am wondering !" said Stanford, gravely. " Wondering ?" *' Yes ; if the old adage about seeing being believing is true." " I don't understand," said Kate, a little haughtily. Stanibrd laid down his paper, came over to where she sat, and took a chair near her. " Something extraordinary has occurred, Kate, which I cannot comprehend. Shall I tell you what it is ]" " If you please." " It was last night, then. You know I spent the day and evening with the Howards 1 It was late — past twelve, when I escorted Rose hon:e ; but the night was fine, and tempted me to lincrer still lon;Ter. I turned down the tamarack walk—" He paused.'* Kate's work had dropped in hor lap, with a faint cry of dismay. " I had reached the lower end of the avenue," continued Reginald Stanford, " and was turning, when I saw two per- sons — a man and a woman — enter. ' Who can they be, and what can they be about here at this hour V I thought, and I stood still to watch. They came nearer. I saw in the starlight her woman's face. I heard in the stillness her words. She was telling the man how much she loved him, how much she should always love him, and then they were out of sight aud hearing. Kate, was that woman you 1" I t re ONE MYSTERY CLEARED UP. 143 She sat looking at him, her blue eyes dilated, her lips ajiart, her hands chispcd, in a sort of trance of terror. "Was it yon, Kate]" repeated her lover. " Am I to believe my eyes ]" She rousetl herself to speak by an effort. *' Oh, Jieginald !" she cried, " what have you done ! Why, wliy did you go there 1" Tliere wns dismay in her tone, consternation in her face, but nothing else. No shame, no guilt, no confusion — notli- ing but that look of grief and regret. A conviction that had possessed him all along that it was all right, somehow or other, became stronger than ever now ; but his face did not show it — piU'haps, unconsciously, in his secret heart he was hojjing it would not be all right. " Perhaps I was unfortunate in going there," lie said, coldly ; " but I assure you I had vei-y litth; idea of what I was to see and hear. Having heard, and having seen, I am afiaid I must insist on an exi)lanati()n." " Which I cannot give you," said Kate, hei colour rising, and looking steadfastly in his dark eyes. " You cannot give me !" said Reginald, haughtily. *' Do I understand you rightly, Kate V She laid her hand on his, with a gentle, caressing touch, and bent forward. She loved him too deeply and ttmderly to bear that cold, proud tone. " We have never quarrelled yet, Reginald," she said, sweetly. " Let us not quarrel now. I cannot give you the exj)lanation you ask ; but papa shall." He lifted the beautiful lumd to his li))S, feeling somehow that he was unworthy to touch tlie hem of hov garment. " You are an angel, Kate— incapable of doing wrong. I ought to be content without an explanation, knowing you as Ido; but—" " But you must have one, nevertheless. Reginald, I am sorry you saw me last night." He looked at her, hardly knowinc: what to say. She was gazing sadly out at the sunny j)rospect. " Poor fellow !" she said, half to herself, " poor fellow ! Those midniffht walks are almost all the comfort he has in 144 ONE MYSTERY CLEARED UP. this world, and now ho will be jilVaid to venture out any more." Still Stanford sat silent. Kate smiled at him and jmt away her work. " Wait for me here," she said, rising. " Papa is in his study. I will speak to him." She left the room. Stanford sat and waited, and felt more uncomfortable than he had ever felt in his life. He was curious, too. What family mystery was about to be revealed to him 1 What secret was this hidden in Danton Hall ] " I have heard there is a skeleton in every house," he thought ; " but I never dreamed tliere was one hidden away in this romantic old mansion. Perhai)S I hav(5 seen the ghost of Danton Hall, as well as the rest. How calmly Kate took it ! — No sign of guilt or wrong-doing in her face. If I ever turn out a villain, there will be no excuse for my vil- lainy on her part." Kate was absent nearly half an hour, but i Tied a little century to the impatient waiter. When she entered, there were traces of tears on her face, but her manner was quite calm. " Papa is waiting for you," .she said, " in his study." He rose up, walked to the door, and stood there, irreso- lute. " Where shall I find you when I return T " Here." She said it softly and a little sadly. Stanford crossed to where she stood, and took her in his arms — a very unusual proceeding for him — and kissed her. *• I have perfect confidence in your truth, my dearest," he said. I am as sure of your goodness and innocence before your father's explanation as I can possibl}' be after it." There was a witness to this loving declaration that neither of them bargained for. Rose, getting tired of her own com- pany, had run down-stairs to entertain herself with her music. Stanford had left the door ajar when he returned ; and Rose was just in time to see the embrace and hear the tender speech. Just in time, too, to fly before Reginald left the drawing-room and took his waj' to the study. ONE MYSTEUY CLEAnED I'P. 145 Rose i)lnyetl no piano that inoininij ; luit, locked in her own room, made the most of wluit she had heard an«l seen. Kate Inul the dniNvin<,'-i'oom to herself, and sat, with chisped hands, lookinjj out at the l>ii;.dit Maieh morning. The hnsi- ness of th(^ »lay went on in theliouse, doors «tpened and shut, Grace and Keny came in and went away .•i','ain, Doctor Frank camci \ip to see Afjjnes Darlin*;, who was nearly well ; and in the study, Jle<^inald Stanford was hearing the story of Miss Danton's midnight stroll. '* You must have heard it sooner or later," Captain Danton said, " between this and next June. As well now as any other time." Stanford bowed and waite 1. " You have not resided in this house for so many weeks without hearing of the invalid upstairs, whom Ogden at- tends, who never ;i[>pears in our midst, and about whom all in the house are more or less curious I" ** Mr. Richards ]" said Stanford, surprised. " Yes, Ml". Richards ; you have heard of him. It was Mr. Richards whom you saw with Kate last night." Reginald Stanford dropped the paper-knife he had been drumming with, and stared blankly at Captain Danton. " Mr. Richards !" he echoed ; " Mr. Richards, who is too ill to leave his room !" " Not now," said Captain Danton, calmly ; " he was when he first came here. You know what ailed Macbeth — a sickness that physicians could not cure. That is Mr. Rich- ards' complaint — a mind diseased. Remorse and terror are that unhappy young man's ailments and jailers" There was a dead ])ause. Reginald Stanford, still " far wide," gazed at his father-in-law-elect, and waited for some- thing more satisfactory. " It is not a pleasant story to tell," Captain Danton went on, in a subdued voice ; " the story of a young man's folly, and madness, and guilt ; but it must be told. The man you saw last night is barely twenty-three years of age, but all the promise of his life is gone ; from henceforth he can be nothing more than a hunted outcast, with the stain of mur- der on his soul." 146 ONE MYSTERY CLEARED UP. " Good heavens !" exclaimed his hearer ; " and Kate walks withsuci' a man, alone, and at midniglit?" " Yes," said Kate's father, proudly " and will ap;ain, please Heaven. Poor boy ! poor, unfortunate boy ! If Kate and I were to desert him, he would be lost indeed." "This is all Greek to me," said Stanlord, coldly ; " If the man be what you say, a nuirderer, nothing can excuse Miss Danton's conduct." " Listen, Reginald, my dear boy — almost my son ; listen, and you will have nothing but pity ior the poor man u])stairs, and deeper love for my noble daughter. But, first, have I your word of honour that what I tell you shall remain a s-jretr Reginald bowed, " Three years ago, this young man, whose, name is not Richards," began (Japtain Danton, *' ran away from home, and began life on his own account. He had been a wilful, headstrong, passionate boy always, but yet loving and gen- erous. He lied from his friends, in a n)isera])le hour of ])as- sion, and never returned to them any move ; for the sick, sinful, broken-down, wretched man who returned was as different from the hot-headed, impetuous, h.ap\)y boy, as day difFei*s from night, " He fled from home, and went to New York. He was, as I am, a sailor ; he had command of a vessel at the age of nineteen ; but he gave up the sea, and earned a livelihood in that city for some months by painting and selling water-colour sketches, at which he was remarkably clever. Gradually his downward course began. The wine-bottle, the gaming- table, were the first milestones on the road to ruin. The gambling-hells became, at length, iiis continual haunt. One day he was worth thousands ; the next, he did not ])0ssess a stiver. The excitement grew on him. He became, before the end of the year, a confirmed and notorious gambler. ** One night the crisis in his life (iame. He was at a Bowery theatre, to see a Christmas jiantoniime. It was a fairy spectacle, and the stage was crowded with ballet-girls. There was one among them, the loveliest creature, it seemed to him, he had ever seen, with whom, in one mad ONE MYSTERY CLEARED UP. 147 moment, he fell passionately in love. A friend of his, by name Furniss, laughed at his raptures. 'Don't you know her, Harry X said he ; ' she boards in the same house with you. She is a little grisette, a little shop-girl, only hired to look pretty, standing there, while this fairy pantomime lasts. You have seen h(!r fifty times.' " Yes, he had seen her repeatedly. He remembered it when his friend spoke, and he had never thought of her until now. The new infatuation took possession of him, body and soul. He made her acquaintance next morning, and found out she was, as his friend had said, a shoj) girl. What did he care ; if she had been a rag-picker, it would have l)een all one to this young madman. In a fortnight he proposed ; in a month they were married, and the third step on the road to ruin was taken. " Had she been a good woman — an earnest and faithful wift — she might have made a new man of him, for he loved her with a passionate devotion that was part of his hot- headed nature. But she was bad — as depraved as she was fair — and brought his downward course to a tragical climax frightfully soon. " Before her marriage, this wretched girl had had a lover — discarded for a more handsome and impetuous wooer. But she had known him longest, and, perhaps, loved him best. At all events, he resum ^'uilty I" " VVe will undeceive him ; I caji •;ive him proofs, 'strong as Holy Writ ;' and, if he loves ynu, he will he open to con- viction. All will com(? rij^ht after a while ; only have patience and wait. Ket^p up a pjood heart, my dear child, and trust in (»od." She dropped feebly into a chair, lookins^ with a btnvilderctl face at the fire. " I can't realize it," she murnmnMl. " It is like a scene in a novel. I can't realize it." She heard the door close behind Doctor ?' rank— she heard a girlish voice accost him in the hall. It was Miss ]v0S(?, in a rustling silk dinner-dress, with laces, and ribbons, and jewvm.s ended. Miss ])anton's ringed white fingers were flying over the keys in a brilliant waltz. George Howard and Rose were floating i-ound and round, in air, as it seemed, and Stanford was watching with half-closed eyes. And in the midst of all, above the ringing music and the sighing of the wild wind, there came the clanging of sleigh- bells and a loud ring at the house-door. Rose and George Howard ceased their waltz. Kate's flying fingers stopped. The card-party looked up inquisitively. " Who can it be," said the Captain, " * who knocks so loud, and knocks so late,' this stormy night V The servant who threw open the drawing-room door answered liim. " M. La Touche," announced Babette, and vanished. There was a little cry of astonishment from Rose ; an in- stant's irresolute pause. Ca[)tain \ )anton arose. The name was familiar to him from his daughter. But Rose had re- covered herself before he could advance, and came forward, her pretty face flushed. " Where on earth did you drop from T she asked, com- posedly shaking hands with him. " Did you snow down from Ottawa ]" ''No," said M. La Touche. "I've snowed down from Lapiairie. I came from Monti-eal in this evening's train, aud drove np here, in spite of wind and weather." (Japtain Danton came forward ; and Rose, still a little confused, presented M. La Touche. The cordial Captain shook with his usual heartiness the profterE TnrE. 185 perfect composure. "Von don't niiiiahl(! subdued face, and bade everybody good-ni^dit without looking ut them. Eiuy, who sliarcnl (rrace's room, sat on a stool before the bedroom fire a long time that night, looking dreamily into the glowing coals. Ura';.!, sitting beside her, combing out her own long hair, watehed her in silence. Presently Eeny looked up. *' How odd it seems to think of her being married." " Who r " Rose. It seems queer, somehow. I don't mind Kate. I heard before ever she came here that she was going to be married ; but Rose — I can't realize it." '' 1 have known it this long time," said (irace. " tShe told me the day she returned from Ottawa. I am glad she is going to do so well." •' I like him very much," said Eeny ; " but he seems too quiet for Rose. Don't he T oj' ' " People like to marry their own opposite," answered Grace. " Not that but Rose is getting remarkably quiet herself. She hadn't a word to say all the evening." " It will be very lonely when June comes, won't it, Grace?" said Eeny, with a little sigh. " Kate will go to England, Rose to Ottawa, your brother is going to Montreal, and perhaps papa will take his ship again, and there will be no one but you and I, Grace." Grace i^tooped down and kissed the delicate, thoughtful young face. " My dear little Eeny, papa is not going away." " Isn't he ? How do vou know ]" 12 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A % 1.0 I.I UiU2A |2.5 |50 ■^~ ■■■ ■^ 1^ 12.2 :? lis IIIIIM 18 '•2^ l'-^ -^ ^ ^« ► ^ <^ /i ^l cJm .^^ > y ^ Photographic Sciences Corporation 1^V-6^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 t;i6) 872-4503 4^ 4^ ^1> ^ 186 TRYING TO BE TRUE. " That is a secret," laughing and colounng. ** If you won't mention it, I will tell you." "I won't/) What is it?" Grace stooped and whispered, her falling hair hiding her face. Eeny sprang up and clasped her hands. " Oh, Grace^!" " Are you sorry, Eeny f Eeny's arms were around her neck. Eeny's lips were kissing her delightedly. " I am so glad ! Oh, Grace, you will never go away any more I" " Never, my pet. And now, don't let us talk any longer ; it is time to go to bed." Rather to Eeny's surprise, there was no revelation made next morning of the new state of affairs. When she gave her father his good-morning kiss, she only whispered in his ear : " I am so glad, papa." And the Captain had smiled, and patted her pale cheek, and sat down to breakfast, talking genially right and left. After breakfast, Doctor Frank, Mr. Stanford, and M. La Touche, with the big dog Tiger at their heels, and guns over their shoulders, departed for a morning's shooting. Captain Danton went to spend an hour with Mr. Richards. Rose secluded herself with a book in her room, smd Kate was left alone. She tried to play, tut she was restless that morning, and gave it up. She tried to read. The book failed to interest her. She walked to the window, and looked out at the sunshine glittering on the melting snow. " I will go for a walk," she thought, " and visit some of my poor people in the village." She ran up stairs for her hat and shawl, and sallied forth. Her poor people in the village were always glad to see the beautiful girl who emptied her purse so bountifully for them, and spoke to them so sweetly. Sue visited half-a-dozen of her pensioners, leaving pleasant words and silver shillings behind her, and then walked on to the Church of St. Croix. The presbytery stood beside it, surrounded by a trim garden TRYIKO TO BE TRUE. 187 . with gravelled paths. Kate opened the garden gate, and walked up to where Father Francis stood in the o})en door- way. ** I have come to see you," she said, " since you won't come to see us. IFave you forgotten your friends at Danton Hall ? You have not been up for a wee!»." " Too husy," said Fatlier Francis ; " the Curt: is in Mont- real, and all devolves upon me. Come in,'' She followed him into the little parlour, and sat down by the open window. " And what's the news from Danton Hall 1" " Nothing I Oh !" said Kate, blushing and smiling " ex- cept another wedding '" " Another ! Two more weddings, you mean J" " No I" said Kate, surprised : " only one. Rose, you know, father, to I\l. La Touche I" Father Francis looked at her a moment smilingly. " They haven't told you, then ]" "What?" " That your father is going to be married !" Her heart stood still ; the room seemed to swim around in the suddenness of the shock. " Father Francis !" " You have not been told 1 Are you surprised 1 I have been expecting as much as this for some time." " You are je.^ing. Father Francis," she said, finding voice, which for a moment had failed her ; " it cannot be true !" " It is quite true. I baw your father yesterday, and lie told me himself." " And to whom—]" She tried to finish the sentence, but her rebellious tongue would not. " To Grace ! I am surprised that your father has not told you. If I had dreamed it was in the slightest degree a secret, I certainly would not have spoken." She did not answer. He glanced at her, and saw that her cheeks and lips had turned ashen white, as she gazed steadfastly out of the window. 188 TnrTXG TO BE TRUE. ! " My child," said tlio priest, " you do not speak. You are not disappointed — you are not i^rievt'd ?" Slie arose to go, still pale with the graat and sudden sur- prise. '* You have given me a great shock in t(;l]ing me this. I never dr«\un(;d of another taking my in<.j to say i^ papa ?" " Nothing'." ' " No <" Wliy don't you remonstrate I Tell him he's old enouijh and tjiij enoiijjfh to have l)etter sense." ** I shall tell him nothina; of the .sort ; and I heg you will not, cither. Papa certainly has the lirrht to do as he pleases. Whether we like it or not, doesn't matter much ; Uraee Danton will morc^ than supply our places." She spoke bitterly, and turned to l,'o up to her own room. With her hand on the door, she |)ausetl, and looked at l^^eny. *' Von are ploa.sed, no doubt, Keny I" "Yes, I am," repli«;d Eeny, stoutly. *'(rrac«' has always been like a mother to mv : I am ijlad she is going to be my mother in reality." " It is a fortunate thing vou do," said Rose, "for vou arc the only one who will have to put up with her. Thank goodness ! I'm going to be marri(Ml." " Thank goodness !" i-ei)eated Koiy ; " there will be peace in the house when you're^ out of it. I don't know any one I pity half .so much as that jwor ^^. Tia Touche." Kate saw Rose's angry retort in her eyes, and hurried away from the coming storm. She kept her room until luncheon-time, and she found her father alone in the dining- room when she entered. The anxious look he gave her made her think of Father Francis' words. " I have heard all, papa," she said, smiling, and holding up her cheek. " I am glad you will be happy when we are gone." " He drew a long breath of relief as he kissed her. " Father Francis toM you ] You like (Jrace?" " I v/ant to like every one you like, i)apa," she rejdied, evasively. (jlrace came in as she spoke, and, in spite of herself, Kate's face took that cold, proud look it often wore ; but she went up to her with outstretched hand. She never .shrank from disagreeable duties. " Accept my congratulations," she said, frigidly. " I trust you will be happy." 1 190 TRYINa TO BE TRUE. .' 1 Two deep red spots, very for* ign to her usual complexion, burned in Grace's cheeks. Her only answer was a bow, as she took hor seat at the table. It was a most comfortless repast. There was a stiffness, a restraint over all, tliat would not be shaken off — with one exception. Ko.sc, who latterly had been all in the downs, took heart of <,'race amid the general gloom, and rattled away like the Rose of other days. To her the idea of her father's marriage was rather a good joke than otherwise. She had no deep feelings to be wounded, no tender memories to be hurt, and the universal embarrassment tickled her considerably. " You ought to have heard (everybody talking on stilts, Reginald," she said, in the flow of her returned spirits, some hours later, when tlie gentlemen returned. " Kate was on her dignity, you know, and as unapi)roachable as a princess- royal, and Grace was looking disconcerted and embarrassed, and papa was trying to be preternaturally cheerfid and easy, and Eeny was fidgety and scared, and I was enjoying the fun. Did you ever hear of anything so droll as papa's get- ting married ?" " I never heard of anything more sensible," said Regi- nald, resolutely. " Grace is the queen of housekeepers, and will make the pink and pattern of matrons. T have fore- seen this for some time, and I assure you I am delighted." " So is Kate," said Rose, her eyes twinkling. " You ought to have seen her congratulating Grace. It was like the entrance of a blast of north wind, and froze us all stiff." " I am glad June is so near," Kate said, leaning lightly on her lover's shoulder ; " I could not stay here and know that she was mistress." Mr. Stanford did not seem to hear ; he was whistling to Tiger, lumbering on the lawn. When he did speak, it was without looking at her. " I am going to Ottawa next week." " To Ottawa ! With M. La Touche .?" asked Kate, while Rose's face flushed up. " Yes ; he wants me to go, and I have said yes. I shall stay until the end of April." Kate looked at him a little wistfully, but said nothing. Rose turned suddenly, and ran upstaire. t 1 TRYINO TO BE TRUE. 191 t " We shall miss you — I shall miss you," she said at last. ** It will not be for long," he answered, carelessly. " Come in and sing rae a song." The first pang of doubt that had ever crossed KateV. mind of her handsome lover, crossed it now, as she followed him into the drawing-room. " How careless he is !" she thought ; " how willing to leave me ! And I — could I be contented anywhere in the world where he was not 1" By some mysterious chance, the song she selected was Eeny's " smile again, my dearest love ; weep not that I leave thee." Stanford listened to it, his sunny face overcast. " Why did you sing that ]" he asked abruptly, when she had done. " Don't you like it 1" " No ; I don't like cynicism set to music. Here is a French chansonnetto— sing me that." Kate sang for him song after song. The momentary pain the announcement of his departure had given her wore away. ** It is natural he should like change," she thought, " and it is dull here. I am glad he is going to Ottawa, and yet I shall miss him. Dear Reginald ! What would life be worth without you ?" The period of M. La Touches stay was rapidly drawing to a close. March was at its end, too — it was the last night of the month. The eve of departure was celebrated at Danton Hall by a social party. The elder Misses Danton on that occasion were as lovely and as much admired as ever, and Messrs. Stanford and La Touclie were envied by more than one gentleman present. Grace's engagement to the Captain had got wind, and she shared the interest with her step- daughters-elect. Early next morning the two young men left. There was breakfast almost before it was light, and everybody got up to see them off. It was a most depressing morning. March had gone out like an idiotic lamb, and April came in in sap- ping rain and enervating mist. Ceaselessly the rain beat f 192 TRYIXa TO BE TRUE. \ w against the window-j,'lii.ss, jind the wind hud a dcsoUite echo that sounded tar more like winter tlian sjn'in^. Pale, in the dismal m(>riiinsr-li<^ht, Kate and Hose Danton bade their lovers adieu, and watched them drive down the dripping avenue and disappear. An hour before he had come down stairs that morning, Mr. Stanford liad written a hitter. It wa.s verv short: " DkahOld JJOY : — I'm off. In an liour I sliall bo on my way to Ottawa, and from thence I will write you next. Do you know why I am going? I am running away from myself ! * Lead us not into temptation ; ' and Satan seems to have me hard and fast at Danton Hall. Lauderdale, in spite of your bad opinion of me, I don't want to be a villain if I can help it. I don't want to do any harm ; I do w.int to be true ! And here it is impossible. I have got intoxi- cated with flowing curls, and Hashing dark eyes, and all the pretty, bewitching, foolish, irresistible ways of that piquant little beauty, whom J have no business under heaven to think of. I know she is silly, and frivolous, and coquettish, and vain ; but I love her ! There, the murder is out, and I feel better after it. But, withal, I want to be faithful to the girl who loves me (ah ! wretch that. I am I), and so I fly. A month out of sight of that sweet face — a mouth out of hear- ing of that gay, young voice — a month sh(joting, and riding, and exploring these Canadian wilds, will do me good, and bring me back a new man. At least, 1 hope so ; and don't you set me down as a villain for the next four weeks, at least." The day of departure was miserably long and dull at the Hall. It rained caaselesslv, and that made it worse. Hose never left her room ; hei plea was headache. Kate wan- dered drearily up stairs and down stairs, and felt desolate and forsaken beyond all precedent. There was a strange, forlorn stillness about the house, as if some one lay dead in it ; and from morning to night the wind nev» r ceased its melancholy complaining. Of ccv.rse this abnormal state of things could not last. TUYIS'l TO BE Ti:rE. 193 Sunshine cam<3 next e seen after. A journey to Montreal must be taken immediately, and business oomme'nced. Kate held a loni^ consultation with Kosc in her boudoir ; but Ttose, marvt.'llous to tell, took vei-y little interest in the sub- ject. She, who all her Hie made dress the «j;r(^at concern of her existence, all at once, in this most important crisis, .ted time near. The snow had Hed, the new grass and fresh buds wer(^ green on th(> lawn and tiees, and the birds sang their ril nights — at least by all save Doctor Frank, who sometimes chose to haunt the place, but who never saw anything for his pains. May came — with it came Mr. Stanford, looking sun- burned, and fresh, and handsomer than ever. As on the evening of bis departure from the Hall, so on the eve of his departure from Ottawa, he had written to that confidential friend : " Dear Lauderdale: — The month of probation has ex- pired. To-morrow I return to Danton Hall. Whatever happens, 1 have done my best. If fate is arbitrary, am I to blame ? Look for me in June, and be ready to pay your re- spects to Mrs. Stanford." i f C H A r T E li X V . ONE OF KARTIIS ANOELS. R. STANFORJ^'S visit to Ottawa had clmn«;e(l him somehow, it seemed to KaU\ The eyes that love lis are sharp ; the heart tliat sets us up for its idol is (piiek to feel every variation. Reg- inald was changed — vaguely, almost indefinably, but certaiiHy changed. He was more silent than of old, and had got a habit of falling into long brown studies in the midst of the most interest- ing conversation. Ho took almost as little interest in the bridal paraphernalia as Rose, and sauntered lazily about the grounds, or lay on the tender new grass under the trees smoking endless cigars, and looking dreamily up at the end- less patches of bright blue sky, and thinking, thinking — of what ? Kate saw it, felt it, and was uneasy. Grace saw it, too ; for Grace had her suspicions of that fascinating young officer, and watched him closely. They were not very good friends somehow, Grace and Kate Danton ; a sort of armed neutrality existed between them, and had ever since Kate had heard of her father's approaching marriage. She had never liked Grace much — she liked her less than ever now. She was marrying her father from the basest and most mer- cenary motives, and Kate despised her, and was frigidly civil and polite whenever she met her. She took it very quietly, this calm Grace, as she took all things, and was respectful to Miss Danton, as became Miss Danton's father's house- keeper. " Don't you think Mr. Stanford has altered somehow, Frank, since he went to Ottawa V she said one day to her brother, as they sat alone together by the dining-room window. in I 196 os'E OF KAirnrs asckls. DfK^tor Danton lookrd out. Mr. Stanford wiis sauntering down tlu! avrntic, a tishinfj-rod over his shoulder, and his hrido-t'loct on his arn\. "Altcivd: Howl" "1 don't know-how," siiiil (Jiacc, " hut ho has altered. TImtc is soniethiui,' chaii^^cd ahout him ; I don't know wluit. I don't think lie is scuttled in his niiM, and had won ^old(>n opinions tVoni all sorts of j»oopl(!. From the hiaclc-cyfid i,'ii'l.s who fell in love with liis handsome face, to the nivhins rolling; in the mud, and to whom he flunij handfuls of pennies. 'PIk' world and iMi'. Stanloid went nMnarkahly well with each other, and whiHtlini,'all tlut way, he rf^aeluMJ his destination in halt' an lioui* — a eh.'ar, silvei'v .stream, sha,doweam. All things weie favourable; but Mr. Stanfoid was evidently not a Very (enthusiastic disoiphi of Isaac Walton ; for his cigar was smoked out, the stump thrown away, and his tishing-rod lay unused still. He took it up at last and dropped it scientitrMlly in the water. " it's a biul business," he mused, " ami hanging, drawing, and (|iiarterin„' would be too good foi* me. I!ut what the dickens is a fellow to do ] And then she is so fond of me, too — poor little <^\v\ 1" He laid the fishing-rod down again, drew from an inner ]>ocket a note-book and pencil. From lu'tween the leaves he drew out a sheet of pink-tinted, gilt-edged note paper, and, using the note-V)Ook for « desk, began to write. It was a letter, evidently ; and after he wrote the tirst line, he paused, and looktjd at it with an odd smile. The line was, " Angel of my Dreams." " I think she will like the style of that," he mused ; " it's Frenchified and sentimental, antl she rather affects that sort of thing. Poor child ! I don't see how I ever got to be so fond of her." Mr. Stanford went on with his letter. It was in French, and he wrote very slowly and thoughtfully. He filled the four sides, ending with '* Wholly thine, lleginald Stanford." Carefully he re-read, made some erasures, folded, and put it in an envelope. As he sealed the envelope, a big dog came j: li -I ■'^- J 1 'fl) 198 Oi\r^ GF EARTH'S ANGELS. bouiKHnf? down the bank, and poked its cold, blacli nose in- quisitively in his face. ** Ah ! Tigor, mein Ilerr, how are 70U 1 Where is your master ]" " Here," said Doctor Frank. " Don't let me intrude. Write the address, by all means." " As if I would put you au fait of my love letters," said Mr. Stanford, coolly putting the letter in his note-book, and the note-book in his pocket. " I thought you were off to- day ]" " No, to morrow. I must be up and doing now ; I am about tired of St. Cioix and nothing to do." " Are you ever coming back !" " Certainly. I shall come back on the fourth of June, Heaven willing, to see you made the happiest man in crea- tion." •' Have a cigar V said Mr. Stanford, presenting his cigar- case. ** I can recommend them. You would be the happi- est man in creation in my place, woiildn't you 1" " Most decidedly. But I wasn't born, like some men I know of, with a silver spoon in my mouth. Beautiful wives drop into some men's arms, ripe and ready, but I am not one of them." " Oh, don't despond ! Your turn may come yet !" " I don't despond — I leave that to — but comparisons are odious." " Go on." " To Miss Rose Danton. She is pining on the stem, at the near approach of matrimony, and growing as pale as a spirit. What is the matter with her 1" " You ought to know best. You're a doctor." " But love-sickness; I don't believe there is anything in the whole range of physic to cure that. What's this — a fish- ing-rod ]" " Yes," said Mr. Stanford, taking a more comfortable position on the grass. " I thought I would try my luck this fine afternoon, but somehow I don't seem to progress very fast." " I should think not, indeed. Let me see what I can do." *■■- ONE OF EARTirS ANGELS. 199 ,1 Reginald watched him lazily, as he dropped the line into the placid water. ** What do you think about it yourself]" he asked, after a pause. '* About what ]" " This new alliance on the tapis. He's a very nice little fellow, I have no doubt ; but if I were a pretty girl, I don't think I should like nice little fellows. He is just the last sort of a man in the world I could fancy our bright Rose marrying." " Of course he is ! It's a failing of tin sex to marry the very last man their friends would expect. J^ut are you quite sure in this case ; no April day was ever more changeable than Kose Danton." '* I don't know what you mean. They'll be married to a dead certainty." '* What will you bet on :he event f " I'm not rich enough to bet ; but if I were, it wouldn't be honourable, you know." Doctor Frank gave him a queer look, as he hooked a fish out of the water. " Oh, if it becomes a question of honour, I have no more to say. Do you see this fellow wriggling on my hook V " Yes." " Well, when this fish swims again. Rose Danton will be Mrs. La Touche, and you know it." He said the last words so significantly, and with such a look, that all the blood of all the Stanfords rushed red to Reginald's face." " The deuce take your inuendoes!" he exclaimed. "What do vou mean?" " Don't ask me," said Doctor Frank. " I hate to tell a lie : and I won't say what I suspect. Suppose we change the subject. Where is Sir Ronald Keith ]" " In New Brunswick, doing the wild-woods and shooting bears. Poor wretch ! VV^itli all his eight thousand a year, and that paradise in Scotland, Glen Keith, I don't envy him. I never saw i:.nyone so hopelessly hard hit as he." ^v- 200 ONE OF E ART ITS ANGELS. \ I " You're a fortunate fellow, Stanford ; but I doubt if you know it. Sir llonakl would be a far happier man in your place." The face of the voun'' En::flishman darkened suddenly. " Perhaps there is such a thinj^ as Ixnn^' too fortunate, and gettinj^ SMtiated. I wish 1 could l)o steadfast, and firm, and faithful forever to one thin,;,', likt; some men, but I can't. Sir Ronald's one of that kind, and so are you, Danton ; but I—" lie threw his cigar into the water, and left the sentence unfinished. There was a long silence. Doctor Frank fished away as if his life depended on it ; and Stanford lay and watched him, and thought — who knows what? The May afternoon wore on^ the slanting lines of the red sunset flamed in the tree-tops, and shed its reflected glory on the j)laci(l water. The hum of evening bust''j came up from the village drowsily ; and Doctor Danton, iaying down his line, looked at his watch. " Are you asleep, Stanford 1 Do you know it is six o'clock '{" '* By George !" said Reginald, starting up. *' I had no idea it was so late. Are you for the Hall ?" " Of course. Don't I deserve my dinner in return for this string of silvery fish ] Come along." The two 3'oung men walked leisurely and rather silently homeward. As they entered the gates, they caught sight of a young lady advancing slowly towards them — a young lady dressed in pale pink, with ribbons fluttering and curls flow- ing. *' The first rose of summer !" said Doctor Frank. "The future Madame La Touche !" '* Have you come to meet us, Rose ]" asked Stanford. '• Very polite of you." " I won't be de trop" said the Doctor ; " I'll go on." Rose turned with Reginald, and Doctor Danton walked away, leaving them to follow at their leisure. In the entrance Hall he met JCate, stately and beautiful, dressed in rustling silk, and with flowers in her golden hair. " Have you seen Mr. Stanford ]" she asked, glancing ask- ance at the fish. ONE OF EAJrrn's axgels. 201 Vh " Yes ; he is in the grounds with Rose." She smiled, and went ])iist. Doctor Frank looked after her with a glance of unmistakable admiration. " Blind ! blind ! blind !" he thought. " What fools men are ! Only children of a larger growth, throwing away gold for the pitiful glistening of tinsel." Kate caught a glimpse of a pink skirt, fluttering in and out among the trees, and made for it. Her light stej) on the swartli. gave back no echo. How earnestly Reginald was talking — how consciously Rose was listening with downcast face ! What was that he was giving her I A letter ! Surely not ; and yet how much it looked like it. Another moment, and she was beside them, and Rose had started away from Reginald's side, her face crimson. If ever guilt's red banner hung on any countenance, it did on hers ; and Kate's eyes wandered wonderingly from one to the other. Mr. Stanford was as placid as the serene sunset sky above them. Likt; Tjilleyrand, if he had been kicked from behind, his face would never have shown it. " I thought you were away fishing," said Kate. " Was Rose with you i" " I was not so blessed. I had onlv Doctor Frank — Oh, don't be in a hurry to leave us ; it is not dinner-time yet." This last to Rose, who was edging off, still the picture of confusion, and one hand clutching something white, hidden in the folds of her dress. With a confused apology, she turned suddenly, and disai)peared among the trees. Kate tixed her large, deep eyes suspiciously on her lover's laughing face. '* Well V she said, inquiringly. " Well ]" he repeated, mimicking her tone. " W hat is the meaning of all this V Stanford laughed carelessly, and drew her hand within his arm. '* It means, my dear, that pretty sister of yours is a goose ! I paid her a compliment, and she blushed after it, at sight of you, as if I had been talking love to her. Come, let us havr a walk before dinner." 13 202 ONE OF EARTini! ANGELS. thought I saw you give her something? Was it "I a letter ]" Not a muscle of his face moved ; not a shadow of change was in his tone, as he answered : " A letter ! Of course not. You heard her the other day ask me for that old English song that I sang 1 I wrote it out this afternoon, and gave it to her. Are you jealous, ICate ? " " Dreadfully ! Don't you go paying compliments to Rose, sir ; reserve them for me. Come down the tamarack walk." Leaning fondly on his arm, Kate walked with her lover up and down the green avenue until the dinner-bell sum- moned them in . And all the time, Rose, up in her own room, was reading, with flushed cheeks and glistening eyes, that letter written by the brook-side, beginning, " Angel of my Dreams." When the ftimily assembled at dinner, it was found that Rose was absent. A servant sent in search of her returned with word that Miss Rose had a headache, and begged they would excuse her. Kate went up to her room immediately after dinner. But found it locked. She rapped, and called, but there was no sign, and no response from within. " She is asleep," thought Kate ; and went down again. She tried again, some hours later, on her way to her own room, but still was unable to obtain entrance or answer. If she could only have seen her, sitting by the window reading and re-reading that letter in French, beginning " Angel of my Dreams." Rose came down to breakfast next morning quite well again. The morning's post had brought her a letter from Quebec, and she read it as she sipped her coffee. " Is it from Virginie Leblanc ? " asked Eeny. " She is your only correspondent in Quebec." Rose nodded and went on reading. " Whao does she want ? " Eeny persisted. " She wants me to pay her a visit," said Rose, folding up her letter. " And of course you won't go '\ " OXE OF E ART 11!^ AXGELS. 203 IS up *' No — yes — I don't know." She spoke absently, cnimblinc; the roll on her plate, and not eating. She lingered in the room after breaktV.st, when all the rest had left it, looking out of the window. She was still there when, half an hour later, Grace came in to sew ; but not alone. Mr. Stanford was standing beside her, and Grace caught his last low words : ** It is the most fortunate thing that could have happened. Don't lose any time." He saw Grace and stopped, spoke to her, and sauntered out of the room. Rose did not turn from the window for fully ten minutes. When she did, it was to ask where her father was. " In his study." She left the room and went to the study. Captain Dan- ton looked up from his writing, at her entrance, in some ::ur- prise. •* Don't choke mc, my dear, what is it 1 " " Papa, may I go to Quebec ] " " Quebec 1 My dear, how can you go 1 " " Very easily, papa. Virginie wants me to go, and I should like to see her. I won't stay there long." " But all your wedding finery. Rose — how is it to be made if you go away ? " " It is nearly all made, papa ; and for what remains they can get along just as well without me. Papa, say yes. I want to go dreadfully ; and I will only stay a week or so. Do say yes, there's a darling papa ! " " Well, my dear, go, if you wish ; but don't forget to come back in time. It will never do for M. La Touche to come here the fourth of June and find his bride missing." " I won't stay in Quebec until June, papa," said Rose, kiss- ing him and running out of the room. He called after her as she was shutting the door : " Doctor Frank goes to Montreal this afternoon. If you are ready, you might go with him." "Yes, papa ; I'll be ready." Rosp spt to work ])ackini; at once, declining all a.ssistunc*'. Siie lilletl her trunk with all her favourite dresses ; stowed ^■T- I 204 OXE OF EARTH'S AXGELS. away all her jewellery — taking a very unnecessary amount of luggage, one would think, for a week's visit. Kvery on(^ was sui-priscd, at luncheon, when Rose's de- parture was announced. None more so than Mr. Stanford. "It is just like Hose I" exclaimed Kenv ; "she is eveiv- thing by starts, and nothing long. Flying ott' to Quebec for a week, just as she is going to be married, with half her dres.ses unmade. It's absurd." The afternoon train for Montreal passed tlirough St. Croix at three o'clock. Katarming the hours away. When they went into the house, and took their night-lamps, Stanford bade them good-bye. "I shall probably be off before any of you open your eyes 206 ONE OF EARTH'S A NOELS. on this mortal litb to morrow morninj^," he said, " and so had better say {^ood-bye now." " Yon leave by the eight A. M. train, then," said the Cap- tain. " It seems to me everybody is rnnning off jnst when they onght to stay at home." Stanford laughed, and shook hands with Grace and Kate — with one as warmly as with the other — and was gone. Kate's face looked pale and sad, as she went slowly upstairs with that dim foreshadowing still at her heart. Breakfast was awjiiting the traveller next morning at half- past seven, when he ran down stairs, ready for his journey. More than breakfast was waiting. Kate stood by the win- dow, looking out drearily at the matinal sunlight. " Up so early, Kate ? " her lover said, with an expression of rapture. " Why did you take the trouble?" " It was no trouble," Kate said, slowly, feeling cold and stranije. He sat down to table, but only drank a cup of coffee. As he arose. Captain Dan ton and Grace came in. " We got up betimes to see you off," r.aid the Captain. " A delightful morning for your journey. There is Sam with the gig now. Look sharp, Reginald : only fifteen minutes left." Reginald snatched up his overcoat. ' Good-bye," he said, hurriedly shaking hands with the Captain, then with Grace. Kate, standing by the window, never turned round. He went up to her, very, very pale, as they all remembered afterward, holding out his hand. '"' Goodbye, Kate." The hand she gave him was icy cold, her face perfectly colourless. The cold fingers lingered around his for a moment ; the deep, clear, violet eyes were fixed wistfully on his face. That was her only good-bye — she did not speak. In another moment he was out of the house ; in another he was riding rapidly down the avenue ; in another he was gone — and forever. CHAPTER XVI. PISTOLARY. rFrom Madame Lkblanc to Captain Danton.] QuEnEc, iMay 17, 18—. ^EAR SIR :--I write to you in the utmost distress ^UA f,;^\^«"*"«'o» «f ""'Hi. I hardly knoNV how to ^^^^ bleak to you the news it is my painful duty to re- veal, lest some blame should attach itself t^) me or mine where I ass.ire yoi. none is deserved. Your daughter Rose has left us-run away; in fact, I believe eloped I have reason to think she was married yesterday ; but to whom I have not yet that n.ithlrr'''" ^ ^'"^ ^." '^'•''"•" "^«"' ^•'I't''^'^ I>^nton, id^ of t . T'r'"' """ " "'^^' ''""•'^^ '^'^'^ th« remotest Idea of her intention; and we are all in the m-eatest consternation since the discovery has been nLle f would not for w'X)rlds such a thing had happened under my roof, and I earnestly trust you will not hold me to blame feix days ago, o . the afternoon of the 11 th, your daughter arrived here We were all delighted to see hl^^Z particular; for, hearing of her approaching mirriage wi h M La Touche, we were afraid she might not come. We all noticc.1 a change in hoi-her manner^different from what i! useii to De — a lanL'uor ;iii 'lunnn- fft here for the very purpose she has accomplished, and not to visit Virjijinio Lohlanc." " You believe that letter, tlien ?" '• Yes : I fear it is too true." ** But, heavens above ! What would she olope for i We were all willini; she should marrv La Touche." *' I don't think it is with M. La Touche," I said, reluc- tantly. '' I wish it were. I am jifraid it is worse than that." He stood looking at me, waiting, too agitated to speak. I told him the worst at once. " I am afraid it is with Reginald Stanford." ** Grace," ho said, looking utterly confounded, " what do vou mean V I made him sit down, and told him what perhaps I should have told him long ago, my suspicions of that young Eng- lishman. I told him I was cert.iin Rose had been his daily visitor during those three weeks' illness up the village ; that she had been passionately in love with him from the first, and that ho was a villain and a traitor. A thousand things, too slight to recapitulate, but all tending to the same end, convinced mo of it. He was changeful by nature. Rose's pretty piquant beauty bewitched him ; and this was the end. " t hope I may be mistaken," I said ; " for Kate's sake I hope so, for she loves him with % love of which h'^ is totally unworthy ; but, I confess, I doubt it." I cannot describe to you the anger of Captain Danton, and I pray I may never witness the like again. When men like him, quiet and good-natured by habit, do get into a pas- sion, the passion is terrible indeed. " The villain !" he cried, through his clenched teeth. " The cru«l villain ! I'll shoot him like a dog !" r i 212 EPISTOLARY. I was frightened. I quail even now at the recollection, and the dread of what may corae. I tried to quiet him, but in vam ; he shook me off like a child. '* T-ft me, alone, Grace !" he said, passior.ately. "I shall never rest until I have sent a bullet through his brain !" It Avas then half-j)ast eleven ; the train for Montreal passed through St. (Jroix at twelve. Captain Danton went out, and ordered round his gig, in a tone that made the stable-boy stare. I followed him to his room, and found him putting his pistols in liis coat-pocket. T asked him where he was going, almost afraid to speak to him, his face was so changed. " To Montreal first," was his answer ; " to look for that matchless scoundrel ; afterwards to Quebec, to blow out his brains, and those of my shameful daughter !'' I begged, I entreated, I cried. It was all useless. He would not listen to me ; but he grew quieter. " Don't tell Kate," he said. '' I won't see her ; say I have gone upon business^. If I find Stanford in Montreal, I will come back. Rose may go to j)erdition her own way. If I don't — " He paused, his face turning livid. " If I don't, I'll send you a despatch to say I have left for Quebec." He ran down-stairs without saying good-bye, jumped into iihe gig, and drove off. I was so agitated that I dared not go down stairs when luncheon-hour came. Eeny came up immediately after, and asked me if I was ill. I pleaded a headache as an excuse for remaining in my room all day, for I dreaded meeting Kate. Those deep, clear eyes of hers seem to have a way of reading one's very thoughts, and see- ing through all falsehoods. Eeny's next question was for her father. I said he had gone to Montreal on sudden business, and I did not know when he would return — probably soon. She went down-stairs to tell Kate, and I kept my chamber till the afternoon. I went down to dinner, calm once more. It was unsj)eakably dull and dreary, we three alone, where a few days ago we were so many. No one came all evening, and the hours wore away, long, and lonely, and silent. We were all oppressed and dismal. I hardly dared to look at Kate, who sat playing softly in the dim piano-recess. This morning brought me the dreaded despatch. Captain T f EPrSTOLARY. 213 Danton had gone to Quebec ; Mr. Stanford was not in Mon- treal. I cannot ilescribe to you how I passed yesterday. I never was so miserable in all mv life. It went to niv heart to see Kate so happy and busy with the dressmakers, giving orders about those wedding-garments she is never to wear*. It was a day of unutterable wretchedness, and the evening was as dull and dreary as its predecessor. Father Francis came up for an hour, and his shai-p eyes detected the trouble in my face. I would have told him if Kate had not been there ; but it was im])Ossible, and I had to ])revaricate. This morning has brought no news ; the suspen.se is hor- rible. Heaven help Kate ! T can write no more. Your affectionate sister, Grace Danton. [Lieutenant R. R. Stanford to Major Lauderdale.] , QuEBKc, May 17. Dear Lauderdale : — The deed is done, the game is up, the play is played out — Reginald Reinecourt Stanford is a married man. You have read, when a guileless little chaj) in roundabouts, '• The Children of the Abbey," and other tales of like kid- ney. They were romantic and sentimental, weren't they '] Well, old fellow, not one of them was half so romantic or sentimental as this marriage of mine. There were villains in them, too — Colonel Belgrave, and so forth — black-hearted monsters, without one redeeming trait. I tell you, Lauder- dale, none of these unmitigated rascals were half so bad as I am. Think of me at my worst, a scoundrel of the deepest dye, and you will about hit the mark. My dear little, pretty little Rose is not much better ; but she is such a sweet little sinner, that — in short, I don't want her to reform, f am in a state of indescribable beatitude, of course — only two days wedded — and immersed in the joys of la lune de inipl. Forsyth — you know Forsyth, of *' Ours " — was my aider ^H^ 2U EPISTOLARY. '% ; i and abettor, accompanied by Mrs. F. He made a runaway match himself, and is always on hand to help fellow-sufferers ; on the ground, I suppose, that misery loves company. To-morrow we sail in the Amphitrite for Southam[)ton. It won't do to linger, for my papa-in-law is a dead shot. When I see you, I'll tell you all about it. Until then, adieu and au revoir. RiiGiNALD Stanford. [Mrs. Keginald Stanford to Grace Danton.] Quebec, May 18. Dear Mamma Grace :— I suppose, before this, you have heard the awful news that my Darling Reginald and I got married. " Wouldn't I like to see you as vou read this ? Don't I know that virtuous scowl of yours so well, my pre- cious mamma-in-law ] Oh, you dear old prude, it's so nice to be married, and Reginald is an angel ! I love him so much, and I am so happy; I never was half so happy in my life. I suppose Madame Leblanc sent you the full, true, and I»articular account of my going on. Poor old soul ! What a rare fright she must have got when she found out I was miss- ing. And Virginie, too. Virginie was so jealcus to think I was going to be married before her, as if I would ever have married that insipid Jules. How I wish my darling Reginald had his fortune; but fortune or no fortune, I love hiui with all my heart, and am going to be just as happy as the day is lonir. I daresay Kate is furious, and saying things about me. It is not fair if she is. I all kinds of hard I could not help Reginald's liking me better than her, and I should have died if I had not got him. There ! I feel very sorry for her, though ; I know how I should feel if I lo.st him, and I dare say she feels almost as bad. l^et her take Jules. Poor Jules, I expect he will break his heart, and I shall be shocked and disappointed if he does not. Let her take him. He is rich and good-looking ; and all those lovely wedding-clothes will not go to waste. Ah ! how sorry I am to leave them EPISTOLARY. 215 behind ; but it can't be helped We are off to-morrow for England. \ shall not feel safe until the ocean is between us and |)a])a. 1 suppose papa is very angry ; but where is the use? As long as Reginald marries one of his daughters, T should think the particular one would l)e immaterial. 1 am sorry i cannot be present at your wedding, Grace ; I give you carte blanche to wear all the pretty things made for Mrs. Jules La Touche, if they will fit you. T(j11 poor Jules, when he comes, that I am sorry ; but I loved Reginald so much that I could not help it. Isn't he divinely handsome, Grace 1 If he knew I was writing to you, he would send his love, so take it for granted. I should like to write more, but I am going on board in an hour. Plesise tell Kate not to break her heart. It's of no use. Give my regard to that obliging brother of yours. I like him very much. Perhaps I may write to you from England if you will not be disagreeable, and will answer. I should like to hear the news from Canada and Danton Hall. Rap- turously thine, Rose Stanford. [Grace Danton to Dr. Danton.] Danton Hall, May 30. Dear Frank : — " Man proposes — " You know the prov- erb, which holds good in the case of women too. I know my prolonged silence must have surprised you ; but I have been so worried and anxious of late, that writing has become an impossibility. Danton Hall has become a maison de deuil — a house of mourning indeed. I look back as people look back on some dim, delightful dream to the days that are gone, and wonder if indeed we wore so merry and gay. The silence of the grave reigns here now. The laughter, the music — all the merry sounds of a happy household— have fled forever. A convent of ascetic nuns could not be stiller, nor the holy sisterhood more grave and sombre. Let me 1' .f' 216 EPISTOLARY. t begin at the beginning, and relate events as they occurred, if I can. The day after I wrote you last brought the first event, in the shajje of a letter from Rose to myself. A more thor- oughly selfish and heartless epistle could not have been penned. I always knew her to be selfish, and frivolous, vain, and silly to the backbone — yea, backbone and all ; but still I had a sort of liking for her withal. That letter effectualiv dispelled any lingering remains of that weakness. It spoke of her marriage with Jieginald Stanford in the most shame- lessly insolent and exultant tone. It alluded to her sister and to poor Jules La Touche in a way that brought the " bitter bad " blood of the old Dantons to my face. Oh, if I could have but laid my hands on Mistress Rose at that mo- ment, quiet as I am, I think I would have made her ears tingle as they never tingled before. I said nothing of the letter. My greatest anxiety now was lest Captain Danton and Mr. Stanford should meet. I was in a state of feverish anxiety all day, which even Kate noticed. You know she never liked me, and latterly her aversion has deepened, though Heaven knows, without any cause on my part, and she avoided me as much as she possi- bly could without discourtesy. She inquired, however, if anything had happened — if I had bad news from her father, and looked at me in a puzzled manner when I answered " No." I could not look at her ; I could hai'dly speak to her ; somehow I felt about as guilty concealing the truth as if I had been in the vile plot that had destroyed her happi- ness. Father Francis came up in the course of the day ; and when he was leaving, I called him into the library, and told him the truth. I cannot tell you how shocked he was at Rose's perfidy, or how distressed for Kate's sake. He agreed with me that it was best to say nothing until Captain Dan- ton's return. He came that night. It was late — nearly eleven o'clock, and I and Thomas were the only ones up. Thomas admitted him ; and I shall never forget how worn, and pale, and hag- gard he looked as he came in. . KriSTOlARY. 217 " It was too late, Grace," were his first words. " They have gone." " Thank iloavcn !" I exclaimed. " Thank Heaven you have not met them, and that there is no blood shed. Oh, believe me, it is better as it is." " Does Kate know ?" he asked. *' Not yet. No one knows but Father Francis. He thought as I did, that it was better to wait until you re- turned." " My poor child ! My poor Kate !" he said, in a broken voice, " who will tell you this ?" He was so distressed that I knelt down beside him, and tried to sooth and comfort him. " Father Francis will," I said. ** She venerates and esteems him more highly than any other living being, and uis iiilluenco over her is greater. Let Father Francis tell her to-morrow." Ccti)t;iin Danton agreed that that was the very best thing that could be done, and soon after retired. I went to my room, too, but not to sleep. I was too miserably anxious about the morrow. TJie night was lovely — bright as day and warm as midsummer. I sat by the window looking out, and saw Kate walking up and down the tamarack avenue with that mysterious Mr. llichards. They lingered there for over an hour, and then I heard them com- ing softly upstairs, and going to their respective rooms. Next morning after breakfast, Captain Danton rode down to the villag«i and had an interview with Father Francis. Two liours after, tlioy returned to Danton Hall together, both looking pale and ill at ease. Kate and I were in the drawing-room— she practising a new song, I sewing. We both rose at their entrance — she gayly ; I with my heart beating thick and fast. " I am glad the beauty of the day tempted you out. Father Francis," she said. " 1 wish our wanderers would come back. Danton Hall has been as gloomy as an old bas- tille lately." I don't know what Father Francis said. 1 know he looked as though the errand he had come to fulfil were unspeakably distasteful to him. 14 218 epistolahy. hurried out of the room — could go upstairs, Captain " Reginald ought to be home to-day," Kate saiJ, walking to the window, " and Rose next week. It seeCi^ like a cen- tury since they went away." I could wait for no more — I crying, I am afraid. Before I Danton joined me in the hall. " Don't go," he said, hoarsely ; " wait here. You may be wanted." My heart seemed to stand stiU in vague apprehension of — I hardly know what. We stood there together waiting, as the few friends who loved the ill-fated Scottish Queen so well, may have stood when she laid her head on the block. T looked at that closed door with a mute terror of what was passing within — every nerve strained to hear the poor tor- tured girl's cry of anguish. No such cry ever came. We waited ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, half an hour, an hour, before that closed door opened. We shrank away, but it was only Father Francis, very pale and sad. Our eyes asked the question our tongues would not utter. " yhe knows all," he said, in a tremulous voice ; "she has taken it very quietlv — too quietly. She has alarmed me — that unnatural calm is more distressing than the wildest outburst of weeping." " Shall we goto her?" asked her father. " I .think not — I think she is better alone. Don't disturb her to-day. 1 will come up again this evening." " What did she say T I asked. " Very little. She seemed stunned, as people are stunned by a sudden blow. Don't linger here ; she will probably be going up to her room, and may not like to^ think you are watching her." Father Francis went away. Captain Danton retired to his study. I remained in the recess, which you know is opposite the drawing-room, with the door ajar. I wished to prevent Eeny or any of the servants from disturbing her by suddenly entering. About an hour after, the door opened, and she came out and went slowly upstairs. I caught a glimpse of her face as she passed, and it had turned to the pallor of death. I heard her enter the room and lock the door, and I believe I sat and cried all the morning. PPISTOLARV. 219 to is to by She did not come down all day. 1 called in Eeny, a d told her what had happened, and shocked the poor child as she was never shocked before. At dinner-titne I sent her upstairs, to see if Kate wonld not take some refreshment. Her knocking and calling remained unanswered. She left in despair, and Kate never came down. Another sleejdess night — another anxious morning. About eight o'clock I heard Kate's bell ring, and Eunice go up-stairs. Presently the girl ran down and entered the room where I was. "If you plea.se, Miss Grace, Miss Kate wants you," said Eunice, with a scared face ; " and oh, Miss, I think she's ill, she do look so bad !" Wanted me ! I dropped the silver I was holding, in sheer affright. What could she want of me ] I went up- stairs, my heart almost choking me with its rapid throbbing, and rapped at the door. • She opened it her-self. Well might Eunice think her ill. One night had wrought such change as 1 never thought a night could work before. She had evidcmtly never lain down. She wore the dress of yesterday, and I could see the bed in the inner room undisturbed. Her face was so awfully corpse-like, hei* eyes so haggard and sunken, her beauty so mysteriously gone, that I shrank before her as if it had been the spectre of the bright, beautiful, radiant Kate Danton. She leaned against the low mantelpiece, and motioned me forward with a cold, fixed look. " You are aware," she said, in a hard, icy voice — oh so unlike the sweet tones of only yesterday—-*' what Father Francis came here yesterday to say. You and my father might have told me sooner ; but I blame nobody. What I want to say is this : From this hour I never wish to hear from anyone the slightest allusion to the past ; I never want to hear the names of tho.se who are gone. I desire you to tell this to my father and sister. Your influence over them is greater than mine." I bowed assent without looking up ; I could feel the icy stare with which she was regarding me, without lifting my eyes. 220 EPISTOLARY, " Father Francis mentioned a letter that R- -"; she hesitated tor a moment, and tlnally said — '* tliat slie sent you. Will voii lot me see it?" That cruel, heartless, insulting letter ! I looked up im- ploringly, with clasped hands. " Pray don't," I said. " Oh, pray don't ask me ! It is unworthy of notice — it will only hurt you more deeply still." She held out her hand steadily. " Will you let me see it 1 " What could I do ? I took the letter from my pocket, bit- terly regretting that I had not destroyed it, and handed it to her. " Thank you." She walked to the window, and with her back to me read it through — read it more than once, I should judge, by the Lngth of time it took her. When she faced me again, there was no sign of change in her face. " Is this letter of any use to you ? Do you want it ? " *' No I I only wish I had destroyed it long ago !" " Then, with your permission, I will keep it," " You ! " I cried in consternation. *' What can you want with that 1 " A strange ^ort of look passed across her facC; darkening it, and she held it tightly in her grasp. " I want to keep it for a yery good reason," she said, be- tween her teeth ; *' if I ever forget the good turn Kose Dan ton has done me, this letter will serye to remind me of it." I was so frightened by her look, and tone, and words, that 1 could not speak. She saw it, and grew composed again instantly. " I need not detain you any longer," she said, looking at her watch. " I have no more to say. You can tell my father and sister what I have told you. I will go down to break- fast, and I am much obliged to you." She turned from me and went back to the window. I left the room deeply distressed, and sought the dining-room, where I found the Captain and Eeny. I related the whole inter- view, and impressed upon them the necessity of obeying her. ,. EPISTOLART. 221 ft -e r- r. The breakfast-bell rang while wo were talking, and she came in. Both Eeny and her father were as much shocked as I had been by the haggard change in her ; but neither spoke of it to her. Wo tried to be at our ease during breakfast, and to talk naturally ; but the effort was a miserable failure. She never s])oke, except when directly addressed, and ate noth- ing. She sat down to the pian:, as usual, after breakfa.st, and practised steadily for two hours. Then she took her hat and a book, and went out to the garden to read. At lunch- eon-time she returned, with no better appetite, and after that went up to Mr. Richards' room. She stayed with him two or three hours, and then sat down to her embroidery-frame, still cold, and impassionate, and silent. Father Francis came up in the evening ; but she was cold and unsocial with him as with the rest of us. So that first day ended, and .so every day has gone on since. What she suft'ers, she suffers in soli- tude and silence ; only her worn face, haggard cheeks, and hollow oyes tell. She goes through the usual routine of life with treadmill regularity, and is growing as thin as a shadow. She neither eats, nor sleeps, nor complains ; and she is kill- ing herself by inches. We are worried to death about her ; and yet we are afraid to say one word in her hearing. Come to us, Frank ; you are a physician, and though you cannot " minister to a mind diseased," you can at least tell us what will help her failing body. Your presence will do Captain Danton good, too ; for I never saw him .so miserable. We are all most unhappy, and any addition to our family circle will be for the better. We do not go out ; we have few vis- itors ; and the place is as lonely as a tomb. The gossip and scandal have spread like wildfire ; the story is in everybody's mouth ; even in the newspapers. Heaven forbid it should come to Kate's ears I This stony calm of hers is not to be trusted. It frightens me far more than any hysterical burst of sorrow. She has evidently some deep purpose in her mind — I am afraid to think it may be of I'evenge. Come to us, brother, and try if you can help us in our trouble. Your affectionate sister, Grace. CHAPTER XVII. " SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGAIN." HE secoiul train from Montreal passing through St. Croix on its way to — soniewliere else, was late in the afternoon of the fifth of June. Instead of shrieking into the village depot at four p.m., it was six when it arrived, and halted about a minute and a half to let the passengers out and tike passengers in. Few got in and fewer got out — a sunburnt old Frenchman, a wizen little Frenchwoman, and their pretty, dark-skinned, black-eyed daughter; and a young man, who was tall and fan-, and good-looking and gentlemanly, and not a Frenchman, judging by his looks. But, although he did not look like one, he could talk like one, and had kept up an animated discussion with pretty dark eyes in capital Canadian French for the last hour. He lifted his hat politely now, with " lion jour, Mademoiselle,^^ and walked away through the main street of the village. It was a glorious summer evening. " The western sky was all aflame " with the gorgeous hues of the sunset ; the air was like amber mist, and the shrill-voiced Canadian birds, with their gaudy plumage, sang their vesper laudates high in the green gloom of the feathery tamaracks. A lovely evening with the soft hum of village life, the distant tinkling cow-bells, the songs of boys and girls driving them home, far and faint, and now and then the rumbling of cart-wheels on the dusty road. The fields on either hand stretching as far as the eye could reach, green as velvet ; the giant trees rustling softly in the faint, sweet breeze ; the flowers bright all along the hedges, and over all the golden glory of the summer sunset. The young man walked very leisurely along, swinging his light rattan. Wild roses and sweetbrier sent up their eve- ning incense to the radiant sky. The young man lit a cigar, and sent up its incense too. ''SHE TOOK UP THE HURDES OF LIFE .KfAlX." 223 Ho loft tho village bohind him prosontly, and turned off by the pluasant road leadiuijf to Dantou Hall. T(Mi niiuiitos brought him to it, changtul siuco ho had soon it last. Tho pines, the cedar.s, the tamaracks wore all out in their sum- mer-dre.ss of living green ; the flower-gardens were athime with flowers, the orchard was white with blossoms, and the red light of the sunset was reflected with mimic glory in tho still, broad tish-pond. Climbing roses and honeysuckles trailed their fragrant branches round the grim stone i)illars of the portico. Windows and doors stood wide to admit the cool, rising breeze ; and a big dog, that had gambolled up all the way, set up a bass bark of recognition. No living thing was to be seen in or around the house ; but, at tho sound of the bark, a face looked out from a window, about waist-high from the lawn. The window was o})en, and tho sweetbrier and the rose-vines made a very pretty frame for the delicate young face. A pale and pensive face, lit with luminous dark eyes, and shaded by soft, dark hair. The young man walked up, and rested his arm on the low sill. " Good-evening, Agnes." Agnes Darling held out her hand, with a look of bright pleasure. " I am glad to see you again. Doctor Danton ; and Tiger, too. " Thanks. I thought I should find you sewing here. Have you ever left off, night or day, since I left V She smiled, and resumed her work. " I like to be busy ; it keeps me from thinking. Not that I have been very busy of late." " Of course not ; the wedding-garments weren't wanted, were they 1 and all the trousseaux vanity and vexation of spirit. You see others in the world came to grief besides yourself, Miss Darling. Am I expected '" " Yes ; a week ago." " Who's in the house 1" '* I don't know exactly. Miss Danton is in the orchard, I think, with a book ; Eeny is away for the day at Miss Howard's and the ('aptain went up the village an hour ago. I dare aay thoy will all be back for dinner," 224 "SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGAFK" Doctor Fnink took anothnr jjosition on tho window-sill, and leancfl f'orwunl. siiviiii; with a loweifd voiro : " And how docs the ghost get on, Agnes 1 Hiis it made its appearance since ]" Agnes Darling dropped her work, and looked up at him, with clasp(;(l hands. " Doctor Danton, I have seen him !" " Whom i The ghost ]" " No ghost ; but my husband. It was Harry as plainly as ever I saw him." She spoke in a voice of intense^ agitation ; but the young Doctor listened with perfect coohufss. ** How was it, Agnes I Where did you see him V " Walking in the tamarack avenue, one moonlight night, about a week ago, with Miss Damton." " And you are positive it was your husband ]" " Do you think I could make a mistake in such a matter ? It was Harry — I saw him clearly in the moonlight." ** It's surprising you did not run out, and fall down in hys- terics at his feet." She sighed wearily. '* No. I dared not. But, oh. Doctor Danton, when shall I see him ] When will you tell him I am innocent ]" " Not just yet ; it won't do to hurry matters in this case. You have waited long and patiently ; wait yet a little longer until the right time comes. The hapjaness of knowing he is alive and well, a;v.l dwelling under the same roof with you should reconcile you to that." '* It does," she said, her tears falling softly. " Thank Heaven ! he still lives. I can hope now ; but, oh, Doctor, do you really think him Captain Danton's son V " I am certain of it ; and no one will give you a more cordial welcome than Captain Danton, ^vhen I tell him the truth. Just now I have no proof. Do you know what I am going to do, Agnes V " No." " Crosby is married, and living in New York. I mean to take a journey to New York shortly, and get a written declaration of your innocence from hipa. There — no thanks , "SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AOALV." 225 now. Keep up h good lioart, and wait patiently for a month or two louj^or. ( 'onie, Ti^cr." He was fjonc, wliistlinfj it tune as he went. The entrance hall was deserted, tlus dinin;.(-rooin was empty, and lie ran up stairs to the drawinj,'-room. (Jrate was there with her back to the door ; and coming up noiselessly, lie put his arm around her waist, and kissed her hel'ore she was aware. She faced about, with a littlo cry, that changed to an ex- clamation of delight, upon s(^eing who it was, **()h, Frank ! I am so glad I W'hen did you come I I expected yon a week ago." " I know it," said her brother ; ** and I could have come too; but it struck nuj I should like to airrive to-day." '•Today! Why? Uh, I forgot the fifth of June. It is hard, Frank, isn't it, just to think what might have been and what is." ** How does she take it I" ** She has been out nearly all day," rejjlied Urace, know- ing whom he meant ; " she feels it, of eourse, more than words can tell ; but she never betrays her.self by look or action. I have never seen her shed a tear, or utter one desponding word, from tlu; day the news r<>ached her until this. Her face shows what she sutlers, and that is beyond her power to control." Doctor Frank walked thoughtfully to the window, and looked out at the fading brilliance of the sun.sct. A moment later, and Eeny rode up on hor.scb:ick, sprang out of her sad- dle on the lawn, and tripped uj) the stops. Another moment, and she was in the drawing-room. *' I saw you at the window," she said. " I am glad you have come back again. Danton Hall is too dismal to be de- scribed of late. Ah ! iJtnir old Tiger, and how are you ? Doctor Frank," lowering h(;r voice. *' do you know what day this is r Doctor Frank looked at her with a faint shadow of a smile on his face, humming a line or two of a ballad. " • Long have T been true to you. Now I'm tiue no lon- ger.' Too bad, Eeny, we should lose the wedding, and one wedding, they say, makes many." 22G "', tired at lying down, listless and apathetic always. If Reginald Stanford had murdered her, it would hardly have been a more wicked act." Her brother did not reply. A few minutes later, Kate walked into the room, still with that slow, weary step. She looked at the new-comer with listless indifl'erence, spoke a few words of greeting with cold anathy, and then retreated to another window, and bent her eyes on her book. Captain Danton returned just as the dinner-bell was ring- and his welcome made up in cordiality what his mg; daughter's lacked. He, too, had changed. His florid face had lost muci- of its colour, and was grown thin, and his eyes were ever wandering, with a look of mournful tenderness, to his pale daughter, i I *'SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGAIX. 097 'es to They were all rather silent. Grace and her brother and the Captain talked in a desultory sort of way during dinner ; but Kate never spoke, except when directly addressed, and silence was Eeny's forte. She sat down to the piano after dinner, according to her invariable custom, but not to sing. She had never sung since that day. How could she '{ There was not a song in all her collection that did not bring the anguish of some recollection of him, so she only played bril- liant new, soulless fantasias, that were as emi)tv as her heart. When she arose from the instrument, she resumed her book and sat down at a table studiously ; but Doctor i'rank, watching her covertly, saw she did not turn over a page in an hour. She was the first to retire — very early, looking pale and jaded to death. Half an hour later, Eeny followed her, and then Captain Danton pushed away the chess-board impatiently. He had been playing with the Doctor, and began pacing feverishly up and down the room. "What shall I do with her?" he exclaimed. "What shall I do to keep my darling girl from dying before my eyes 1 Doctor Danton, you are a physician ; tell me what I shall do ? " Take her away from here," said the Doctor, emphat- ically. " It is this place that is killing her. How can it be otherwise ? Everything she sees from morning till night brings back a thousand bitter recollections of what is past and gone. Take her away, where there will be nothing to recall her loss ; take her where change and excitement will drown thought. As her mind recovers its tone, so will her body. Take her travelling for the summer.' '* Yes — yes," said Grace, earnestly. " I'm sure it is the very best thing you can do." " But, my dear," said Captain Danton, smiling a little, " you forget that the first week of July we are to be married." " Oh, p it it off," Grace said ; " what does a little delay matter ? We are not like Hose and Reginald ; we are old and steady, and we can trust one another and wait. A few month's delay is nothing, and Kate's health is everything." " She might go with us," said the Captain ; " suppose it took place this month instead of next, and we made a pro- longed wedding-tour, she might accompany us." \ ■■■■li 328 " SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGAIN." i Grace shook her head. " She wouldn't go. Believe me, I know her, and she wouldn't go. She will go with you alone, willingly — never with me." " She is unjust to you, and you are so generously ready to sacrifice your own plans to hers." " Did you ever know a young lady yet who liked the idea of a step-mother ?" said Grace, with a smile. " I never did. Miss Danton's dislike and aversion are unjust, perhaps; but perfectly natural. No, no, the autumn or winter will be soon enough, and take Kate travelling." *' Very well, my dear ; be it as you say. Now, where shall we go ? Back to England ]" " I think not," said Doctor Frank. " England has nearly as many painful associations for her as Danton Hall. Take her where she has never been ; where all things are new and strange. Take her on a tour through the United States, for instance." '•'A capital idea," exclaimed the Captain. *' It is what she has wished for often since we came to Canada. I'll take her South. I have an old friend, a planter, in Georgia. I'll take her to Georgia." " You could not do better." " Let me see," pursued the Captain, full of the hopeful idea ; " we must stay a week or two in Boston, a week or two in New York ; we nmst visit Newport and Saratog.t , rest ourselves in Philadelphia and Washington, and thai* make straight for Georgia. How long will that take us, do you suppose ?' " Until October, I shoidd say," returned the Doctor. " October will be quite time enough to return here. If your daughter does not come back with new life, then I shall give up her case in despair." " I will speak to her to-morrow, said the Captain, " and start the next day. Since it must be done, it is best done quickly. I think myself it will do her a woild of good." , Captain Danton was as good as his word. He broached the subject to his daughter shortly afte'' breakfast next morn- ing. It was out in the orchard, where she had strayed. "SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGAIN:' 229 according to custom, with a book. It was not so much to read — her favourite aiithors, all of a sudden, had grown Hat and insipid, and nothing interested her — but she liked to be alone and undisturbed, *' in sunshine calm and sweet," with *the scented summer air blowing in her face. She liked to listen, dreamy and listless, and with all the energy of her nature dead within her, to the soft murmuring of the trees, to the singing of the birds overhead, and to watch the pearly clouds floating through the melting azure above. She had no strength or wish to walk now, as of old. She never passed beyond the entrance-gates, save on Sunday forenoons, when she went slowly to the little church of St. Croix, and listened drearih', as if he was speaking an unknown tongue, to Father Francis, preaching patience and long-suffering to the end. She was lying under a gnarled old apple-tree, the flicker- ing shadow of the leaves coming and going in her face, and the sunshine glinting through her golden hair. She looked up, with a faint smile, at her father's approach. She loved him very much still, V)ut not as she had loved him once : the power to love any one in that old trustful, devoted way seemed gone forever. " My pale daughter," he said, looking down at her sadly, " what shall I do to bring back your lost roses f " Am I pale '?" she said, indifferently. " What does it matter? I feel well enough." " I don't think you do. You are gone to a shadow. Would you like a change, my dear ? Would you not like a pleasure tour this summer weather T "I don't care about it, papa." " But you will come to please me. I shall take you to the Southern States, and fetch you back in the autumn my own bright Kate again." There was no light of j)leasure or eagerness in her face. She only moved uneasily on the grass. '* You will come, my dear, will you not 1 Eunice will accompany you ; and we will visit all the great cities of this New World, that you have so often longed to see." " I will do whatever you wish, papa," she said, apathetic- ally. 230 " SHE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGAIN:' It " And you will give Eunice her orders about the packing to-day, and be ready to start to-morrow I" " Yes, papa." " Ogden will lemain behind," continued her father, in a lowered voice. " I have said nothing to any one else as yet ' about Harry. I shall go and speak to them both about it now." " Yes, papa." She AN-atched him striding away, with that look of weary listlessness that had grown habitual to her, and rose from her grassy couch with a sigh, to obey his directions. She found Eunice in the sewing room, with Agnes Darling, and gave her her orders to pack up, and be prepared to start next morning. Then she went back to her seat under the old apple-tree, and lay on the warm grass in a state between sleeping and waking all day long. The day of departure dawned cloudless and lovely. Grace, her brother, and Eeny went to the station with the travel- lers, and saw them off. Kate's farewell was very cold, even to Eeny. What was the use of loving or being sorry to part with any one, since all the world was false, and hollow, and deceitful ? She had lost something — heart — hope — con- science— -she hardly knew what; but something within her that had beat high, and hopeful, and trusting, was cold and still as stone. The little party on the platform went back through the yellow haze of the hot afternoon, to the quiet old house. Ah ! how indescribably quiet and lonely now ! Some one might have lain dead in those echoing rooms, so deadly was the stillness. There was one consolatioii for Grace and Eeny in their solitude. Doctor Frank wa^ going to remain in the village. It was chiefly at the solicitation of Father Francis that he had consented. " Dr. Pillule is superannuated," said the young priest, "and old-fashioned, and obstinately prejudiced against all modern innovations, at the best. We want a new man among us — particularly now that this fever is spreading." A low fever had been working its way, insidiously, among *'f^HE TOOK UP THE BURDEN OF LIFE AGATN." 231 the people f.ince early spring, back while Eiinico dressed her for dinner, and stared bhmkly into the tire, wonchu'ini,' if h(!i' whoh; life was to tjo on like this. Only twenty-oue, and life such a hojudess hhmk already ! She could look forward to her future life -a Ion lonjj vista of davs, and every day like this. J>Y-aud-by the dinne'r-lxdl rani,', arousini;' her from her dismal reverie;, and slu; went down sttiirs, ni!ver taking the? trouble to look at herself in the i^lass, or to see how hei" maid had dressed her. Yet she looked b(!autiful--coldly, palely bc'antiful — in that lloatinu: dress of deep Idue, and jewelled forfi;et-nie-nots in her rich aml>er hair. Her face and tij^iu'e had recovcsred all tluiir lost roundness and S3nnmetry, but the former, e.\c(!j)t when slu; spoke; or smiled, was as cold and still as marble. Father Francis and J)octor Dantou were in the dinin*;;- room when she entered, but their welcome home was very apathetically met. She was silent all throu<^h dinner, talking was such a tiresome exertion ; nothing interested her. She hardly looked n]) — shi; could feel, somehow, the young priest's deej), clear eyes bent upon her in grave disajiproval, against which her proud s[)irit mutinied. " Why shoi'.Id I take the trouble to talk f she thought ; " What do i care for Doctoi' Danton or his sister, or vvhat interesc have the things they talk of for me T So she listened as if they had been talking Greek. Only once was she aroused to anything like interest. Their two guests were relating tue progress of that virulent fever in the village, and how many had alreadv been carried off. '• I should think the cold weather would give it a check," said her father. " It seems rather on the increase." replied the priest ; " there are ten cases in St. Croix now." *' We heard the bell as we drove up this afternoon," said the Captain ; " for whom wa*it tolling ?" " For poor old Pierre, the sexton. He took the fever only a week ago, and was delirious nearly all the time." Kate lifted her eyes, hitherto listening, but otheiwise iueaningless. "frs A.y ILL irixn niAurs xobody aooDr 'I'Xi \o\\<^, very king She '* I'iorre, who used to light the tiros iind sweep the clmrdi r " Yes ; you know liim," said Father Francis, looking at her; "he talked of you more than once during his delirium. It seems you sang for hiui once, and he nev(M- forgot it. It dwelt in his mind more than anything else, during that last illness." A pang pierced Kate's heart. She remembered the day when she had strayed into the chun-h with Reginald, and found old I'ierre sweej)ing. He had madt^ his reciuest so humhlv and earnestly, that sh(> had sat down at tlui little harmonium and played and sung a hymn. And he had never forgotten it ; he h;ul talked of it in his dying hours. The sharpest remoi-so she had ever felt in her life, for the good she might have done, she felt then. " My poor people have missed their Fiady JJountiful,' continued Father Francis, with that grave smile of his — " missed her mor(^ than ever, in this trviuLr time. Do vou remember Hermine Lacheur, Miss Danton T ''That pretty, gentle girl, with the great dark eyes, and black ringlets { Oh, yes, very well." " The same. She was rather a pet of youi-s, I think. You taught her to sing some little hymns in the choir. You will bo sorry to hear she has gone." " Dead !" Kate cried, struck and thrilled. " Dead," Father Francis said, a little tremor in his voice. " A most estimable girl, beloved by every one. Like Pierre, she talked a great deal of you in her last illness, and sang the hymns you taught her. ' (live my dear love to Miss Dan- ton," were almost her last words to me ; ' she has been very kind to me. Tell her I will i)ray for her in Heaven.' " There was silence. *•• " Oh," Kate thought, with unutterable bitterness of sor- row ; '• how happy I might have been — how happy I might have made others, if I had given my heait to God, instead of to His creatures. The bountiful blessings I have wasted — youth, health, opulence — how many poor souls I might have gladden(;d and helped I" She rose fi'om the table, and walked over to the window. 23ft " /7".v AX TLL WTXD niojrs xonoDV nnnn:' t 'I'ljo hlacUucss or' (l.iikMcss li.ul sotthid down ovov the earth, l)iit sIk! lu'vcr siiw it. Was it tt)o late yet / Had she found lier niisfsion on earth \ Jliid she; .still soiiiethint^ to live for I Was she v oi'thy of so great a char-je I A few Jiours before, and life vas all a hlank, without an object. Had Father Francis been sent to point out the object for whicli she must henceforth live \ The poor and suffering were around her. It was in her power to alhn-iate thciir })0verty and soothe their suffering. The great Master of Earth and Heaven had spent His life ministering to the afilicted and humble — surely it was a great and glorious thing to be able to follow afar off in Jiis footstej)s. The thoughts of that hour changed the whole tenor of her mind — })erhaps the whole course of her life. She had found her place in the world, and her work to do. She might never be happy herself, but she might make others happy. She juight never have u hor of her own, but she might brighten and cheer other horn A.s an un- professed Sister of (Jiiarity, she might go among those poor ones doing good ; and dimly in the future she could see the cloistered, grateful walls shutting her from the troubles of this feverish life. Standing there by the curtained window, her eyes tixed on the pitchy darkness, a new era in her exist- ence seeuKid to dawn. Miss Danton said nothing to any one about this new reso- lution of hers. She felt how it would be opposed, how she would have to argue and combat for permission ; so she held her tongue. But next morning, an hour after breakfast, she came to Grace, and in that tone of quiet authority she always used to her father's housekeeper, requested the keys to the sideboard. Grace looked surprised, but yielded them at once ; and Kate, going to the large, carved, old-fashioned, walnut wood bufi'et, abstracted two or three bottles of old port, a glass jar of jelly, and another of tamarinds ; stowed away these spoils in a large morocco reticule, returned the keys to Grace, and, going upstairs, dressed herself in her plainest dress, mantle, and hat, took her reticule, and set ofi'. She smiled at herself as she walked down the avenue — she, the elegant, fastidious Kate Danton, attired in those sombre garments, carrying that L /rr AN ILL W'lXD BLOWS NOIiODY aoOIt." 23'J woll-fillofl b:i;;, and tuniinj^, all in a inoinont, a Sifter of !Mercy. It was noaily noon wIkmi sho rotui'nod, ]>!ilo, ami very tired, t'roni Uvv lon^f walk, (jrraoe woiiilerod nioro than evtu", as slid saw her drai^i^dnLf luM'sclf slowly upstairs. " \Vh(M( can she have been I" slu? inuscil, "in that dross and with that b;i,L,'. and what on earth can she have wanti;il the keys of the sidi -board for I" (jlrace was eiilii^htcncd some houi's later, when Father Francis canie up. and infornuHl the household that he had found Kate niinisterinijf to one of the worst cases of fever in the village — a dyini^' old woman. " She was sitiinj^ by the bedside reading to her," said tlu! priest; "and si e had Ltiven poor old Madame Lange what she has been longing lor weeks past, wine. I a.ssure you 1 was Gonfounded at the sight." " Hut, good gracious I" cried the Captain, aghast, 'she will take the fever." "I told h(;r so — I expostulated with her on her rashness, but all in vain. I told her to send them as much wine and jell'es as she pleased, l)ut to kee|) out of these pestiferous cottages. She only looked at me with those big solemn eyes, and saist for every one. He would tell me how to do what is right, and I want to do what is right if I can. But I have nciglected, and avoided, and prevari- cated with him so long that I have no right to trouble him now. And I know he would toll me I am doing wrong ; I have read it in his face ; and how can I do right f ' She sat thinking drearily, her face lying on her arm. It was the afternoon of the 14th — ten days more, and it would indeed, be too late. The nearer the marriage approached, the more abhorrent it grew. Tho waving trees of Glen- Keith Ciist inviting shadows no longer. It was all darkness and desolation. Sir Ronald's moody, angry face frightened and distressed her — it was natural, she supposed. She did not behave well, but he knew she did not care for him ; she had told him so, honestly and plainly'- ; and if he looked like that before marriage, how woidd he look after 1 She was un- utterably wretched, poor child ; and a remorseful conscience that would give her no rest did not add to her comfort. She sat there ^or a long time, her face hidden on her arm, quite still. The short, wintry afternoon was wearing away ; the cold, yellow sun hung low in the j)ale western sky, and the evening wind was sighing mournfully amid the trees when she rose up. She looked pale, but resolvtd ; and she dressed herself for a ^^alk^ with a veil over her face, and slowly descended the stairs. As she opened the house door, Sir Ronald came out of the drawing-room, not looking too well pleased at having been deserted all the afternoon. 16 • i\ : 250 VIA cRucrs. 111 lij'l I i ii ] ii' " Are you going out ?" he asked. " Yes." " Where r " Up the viUage." " Always up the village !" he exclaimed, impatiently, " and always alone, late." " There is no occasion," she replied, May I not go with you ] It is growing. looking at him proudly. *' I need no protector in St. Croix." She opened the door and went out, and walked rapidly down the bleak avenue to the gates. The authoritative tone of the baronet stung her proud spirit to the quick. " What I'ight has he to talk to me like that f ' she thought, angrily. " If I loved him, I would not endure it ; I don't love him, and I won't endure it." Her eyes Hashed as she walked along, lightly and rapidly, holding her haughty head very erect. Greetings met her on every hand as she passed through the village. She never paused until she reached the church, and stood by the en- trance gate of the little garden in front of the Curb's house. There she i)aused irresolute. How peaceful it was — what a holy hush seemed to linger round the place ! All her cour- age left her, and she stood as timid and fluttering as any school-girl. While she hesitated, the door opened, and Father Francis stood looking at her. " Come in. Miss Danton," he said. " You look as if you were almost afraid." She oi>ened the little gate and went up tlie path, looking strangely downcast and troubled. Father Francis held out his hand with a smile. ** I thought you would come to see me before you left Canada," he said, " although you seem to have rather for- gotten your old friends of late. Come in." " Are you alone ?" Kate asked, following him into the little parlour. Quite alone. The Cur6 has gone two miles off on a sick call. And how are the good people of Danton Hall ? *' Very well," Kate answered, taking a $ and looking out at the pale, yellow sunset by the window VIA cnucTs. 251 *' That is, except yourself, Miss Datiton. You have grown thin within the hist fbrtuij^ht. What is the matter 1" '•J am not v(!iy happy," she said, with a litth; tremor of the voice ; *• periiajis that is it." " Not hap))y ?" repeated Father Francis, with a sliort, pectdiar hiiigh. " I thought vdien young hidies married baronets, tlie height of earthly felicity was attained. It seems rather sordid, this marrying lot- wi^alth and title. I hardly tliought Kate Danton woidd do it; but it appears 1 have made a foolish mistake." " Thank vou," Kate said, verv slowlv. " I came here to ask you to be cruel to me — to tell me hard tiuths. You know how to be cruel verv well. Father Fiancis." " Why do you come to me for hard truths ?" said the priest, rather coldly. " Vou have been deluding yourself all along ; why don't you go on ] What is the use of telling you the truth ? You will do as you like in the end." " Perhaps not. I have not fallen rpiite so low as you think. I dare say you despise me, but you can hardly de- spise me more than I despise myself." *' Then why walk on in the path that leads you downward ? Why not stop before it is too late ']" *' It is too late now !" *' Stuff and nonsense I That is more of yo\ir self-delusion. You, or rather that ja-ide of yours, which has been the great stumbling-block of your life, leads you on in that self- delusion. Too late ! It would not bo too late if you were before the altar ! Better stoj) now and endure the luiuiilia- tion than ri ii.l(?r your own and this man's future life miser- able. You will never be happy as Sir Jionald Keith's wife; lie will never be iia[)[)y as your husband. I know how you are trying to delude yourself; I know you are trying to be- lieve you will love him and be hai)py by-and-by. Don't in- dulge such sophistry any longer ; don't be led away by your own pride and folly." " Pride and folly !" she echoed indignantly. '* Yes, I repeat it. Your heart, your conscience, must own the truth of what I say, if your lips will not. Would you ever have accepted Sir Ronald Keith if your father had not been about to marry Grace Danton I" i\ I IMI VTA npjrcrs. : I The sndiloti llnsli that ovorsprcad her fnco answorod fof licr, tlioiii^li she (lid not spcik. She sat lookinij; strai'^lit be- liard, (Ii'spaiiiiii;- l(jolc in lior tore licr into \acaiii_v, with a dark, dor]) eyes. '' Vou know von wonld not. JJiit vonr father is L'ointj to many a most I'xccllont and most (!stiinal)lf3 woman ; his ailection is not wholly liis dauLjlitcr's any k)n},M'r ; she mnst stand a little in tlu! shade, and see another reit.'n where she nscd to 1)0 quet-n. She cannot hold tlic* lii'st place in her father's lieart and liome ; so she is ready to leave tltat home Avith the first nnin wiio asks hei*. She (hjes not love him ; tliei'(! is no sympathy or feelinii; in common between them ; they are not even of tin; same re]i<,don ; slu; knows tliat slie will be wretched, and that she will make liim wretched too. But wJnit (h)es it all matter i Her ])rido is to be wonnded, her self-love hniniliatf^d, and every othc consideration must yield to that. She is readv to commit jieijuiy, to sweai- to love and hoiionr a. iiui'' who is no more to her than that peasant walking,' along the road. Slie is ready to degrade herself and risk her soul by a mercenary marriage sooner than bear that wwund to pride!" " Co on r' Kj'to said, bitterly ; " it is well to havt^ one's heart laceratcnl soiu(;tinicH, [suppose. Pray go on." *' 1 intend to go on. You have been used to cpieening it all your life — to being ilattered, and indulged, and pampered to the top of your bent, and it will do you good. When you are this man's miserable wife, you shall never say Father Francis mi J>anton — all these gifts that God has bestowed upon yon so bountifully, you have misused. Ic doesn't sc^om so to you, does it ] You think you have been very good, very cliarit;iblo, very condescend- ing. I don't deny that you have done good, that you have been a sort of guardian angel to the j;oor and the sick ; but what was your motive 1 Was it that which makes thousands j'f.i cnrcrs. 253 -we of pirls, as youiit;, and rich, iiiid liaiidsonu' as yonrsclf, icsii^n ovorvtliin^' for tlio IminMc u^arb and lowly duties r)f a Sister ofriiarity ? Oh, no! "N'ou liked to he idnli/ed, to he vene- rated, and looked nj) to as an an^^el upon eiirth. That |)rid»5 of yours whieh induces you to sell yotu'self for so many tliousand ])ounds per annum was at the hottom of it all. You want to hold a foremost ))hu'e in the i,'reat hattle of life — you want all olystacles to ;,'ive way before you. It can't be ; and your m'IioIo life is a failui'e !" ** do on," Kate reiterated, never stirriuLf. never looking at liim, and white as deatli. " You have fancied youisclf very ijood, very immaculate, and tlianked Ifeaven in an uplifteil soi't of wny that yoti were not as other wonu'n, false, and mean, and sordid. You wanted to walk thiouLrh life in a pathway of roses without tliorns, to a ]dacid death, and a lieritiiLre of ^huy in IFeavfMi. The trials of common ])eopl(! wvvi\ not tor you ; s(/rrow, antl dif^appointment, and suifeiinij were; to pass INIiss Danton by. You were so go <1, and so far up in the clouds, nothini^ low or base couhl reach you. \\'ell, it was not to be. You W(U'0 only clay, after all — the ))orc<'lain of human clay. ])erhai)s, but very brittle stuff' Avithal. Trouble did come ; the man you had made a sort of idol of, to whom you had given your whole heart, with a love so intense as to be sinfid— this nnin abandons you. The sister you ha\'e trusted and been fond of, deceives you, and you find t]!at troul)le is som«'thin<; mon? than a word of two svllables. You liave been verv <'reat, and noble, and heroic all your life, in theory — how do we find you in practice? Why, droopinji" 1J'<<- smy other lovelorn damsel, pining away without one; effort at that greatness and heroism you thought so much of; without one ))urp()se to conquer yourself, without one efibrt to be resigned to the will of Heaven. You rebel against your father's nuirriage ; everybody else ought to be lonely and unhapi»y because you are; the world ought to wear cra])e, and the light of the sun be darkened. But the world laughs and sings nnich as usual, the sun shines as joyously. Your father's marriage will be an accomplished fact, and our modern heroine says * yes ' to the first man who asks her to marry him in a tit of I i I 254 VIA CRUCI^. w •■ < 1 m ji" ! '' i ! ■ li ' li ft: spleen, because she will be Grace Danton's stepdauj^hter, and must retire a little into the background, and look for- ward to the common humdrum life ordinary mortals lead. She doesn't ask help where help alone is to be found ; so in the hour of her trial thei'e is no light for her in earth or Heaven. Oh, my child ! stop and think what you are going to do before it is too late." " I can't think," she said, in a hollow voice. " I only know I am a miserable, sinful, fallen creature. Help me, Father Francis ; tell me what I am to do." *' Do not ask help from me," the young priest said, gravely; "ask it of tluit compassionate Father who is in Heaven. Oh ! my child, the way to that land of peace and rest is the way of the Cross — the only way. There are more thorns than roses under our feet, but we mist go on like steadfast soldiers to the end, bearing our cross, and kee[)ing the battle- cry of the brave old Crusaders in our hearts, 'God wills it.' ¥"our trouble has been heavy, my i)oor child, I don't doubt, but you cannot be exempt from the common lot. I am sorry for you. Heaven knows, and I would make your life a happy one if 1 could, in spite of all the harsh things I may say. It is because I woi'.ld not have your whole life miser- able that I talk to you like this. Your heart acknowledges the truth of every word I have said ; and remember there is but one recipe for real happiness — goodness. Be good and you will be happy. It is a hackneyed precept out of a copy- book," Father Francis said, with a slight smile ; " but believe me, it is the only infallible rule. Rouse yourself to a better life, my dear Kate ; begin a new and more perfect life, and God will help you. Remember, dear child, * There is a love that never fails when earthly loves decay.' " She did not speak. She rose up, cold, and white, and rigid. The priest arose too. " Are you going T he asked. *' Yes." " You are not offended with me for all this plain talk ? I like you so much, you knc w, that I want to see you happy." i ] VTA CRUCIS. 255 ** Offended?' she answered; "oh, no! Some day I will thank you ; I cannot now." She f jned the door and was gone, flitting along, a lonely figure in the bleak winter twilight. She never paused in her rapid walk until she reached Danton Hall ; and then, pale and absorbed, she ran rapidly upstairs, and shut herself into her room. Throwing off her bonnet and mantle, she sat down to her writing-desk at once, and without waiting to think, took up a pen and dashed off a rapid note : " Sir Ronald : — I have deceived you. I have done vei'y wrong. I don't love you — I never can ; and I cannot be your wife. I am very sorry ; I ask you to forgive me — to be generous, and release me from my promise. I should be miserable as your wife, and I would make you miserable too. Oh ! pray forgive me, and release me, for indeed I cannot marry you. " Kate Danton." She folded the note rapidly, placed it in an envelope, wrote the address, " Sir Ronald Keith," and sealed it. Still in the same rapid way, as if she were afraid to pause, afraid to trust herself, she arose and rang the bell. Eunice answered the summons, and stared aghast at her mistress' face. " Do you know if Sir Ronald is in the house ]" Miss Dan ton asked. *' Yes, Miss ; he's sitting in the library, reading a paper." " Is he alone ?" " Yes, Miss." " Take this letter to him, then ; and, Eunice, tell Miss Grace I will not be down to dinner. You can fetch me a cup of tea here. I do not feel very well." Eunice departed on her errand. Kate drew a long, long breath of relief when she closed the door after her. She drew her favourite chair up before the fire, took a book off the table, and seated herself resolutely to read. She was determined to put off thought — to let events take their course, and cease tormenting herself, for to-night at least, 256 FIA CRUCIS. *n Eunice brought up the tea and a little trayful of dainties, drew the curtain, and lit the lamp. Kate laid down her book and looked up. ** Did you deliver the note, Eunice 1" " Yes, Miss." "And my message to Miss Grace]" " Yes, Miss." " Very well, then — you may go." The girl went away, and Kate sat sijiping hoi- tea and reading. She sat for upward of half an hour, and then she arose and took the way to the apaitinents of ^Ir. Ricluirds. It was after ten before she returned and entered her sitting- room. She found Eunice waiting for her, and she resigned hersnii' into her hands at once. " I shall go to bed early to-night," she said. " My head aches. I must try and sleep." Sleep mercifully came to her almost as soon as she laid her head on her pillow. She slept as she had not done for many a night before, and awoke next morning refreshed and strengthened for the new trials of the new day. She dreaded the meeting with her discarded suitor, with a nervous dread quite indescribable ; but the mooting must be, aiul she braced herself for the encounter with a short, fervent prayer, and went down stairs. There was no one in the dining-room, but tlie table was laid. She w^alked to the window, anld the letter out, but she would not take it. The strong and proud spirit was beginning to rise ; but the recollection that she had drawn this on herself held her in check. " I cannot take back one word in that letter. I made a great mistake in thinking I could marry you ; I see it now more than evei\ I have owned my fault. I have told you I am sorry. I can do no more. As a gentleman you are bound to release me." " Of course," he said, with a bitter sneer. " As a gentle- man, I am bound to let you play fast and loose with me to your heart's content. You have behaved very honourably to me, Miss Danton, and very much like a gentlewoman. Is it because you have been jilted yourself, that you want the pleasure of jilting another? It is hardly the thing to re- venge Reginald Stanford's doings on me." Up leaped the indignant blood to Kate's face; bright flashed ti anijrv fire from her eves. " Go I" she cried, in a ringincj tone of command. " I^eave my fither's house. Sir Ronald Keith I I thought I was talking to a gentleman. I have found my mistake, *' Go ! If you were monarch of the world, I would not marry you now." He ground his teeth with a savage oath of fury and rage. The letter she had sent him was still in his hand. He tore it fiercely into fragments, and flung them in a white shower at her feet. " I will go," he said ; '' but I shall remember this day, and so shall you. I shall take good care to lot the world know how you hehavc; to an honourable man when a dis- honourable one deserts you." fi 258 VU CRUCIS. m it'\ With the last unmanly taunt he was gone, banging the house door after him until the old mansion shook. And Kate fled back to her room, and fell down on her knees be- fore her little white bed, and prayed with a passionate out- burst of tears for strength to bear her bitter, bitter cross. Later in the day a man from the village hotel came to Danton Hall for the baronet's luggage. Captain Danton, mystified and bewildered, sought his daughter for an expla- nation of these strange goings on. Kate related the rather humiliating story, leaving out Sir Ronald's cruel taunts, in dread of a quarrel between him and her father. " Don't say anything about it, papa," Kate said, implor- ingly. " I have behaA'ed very badly, and I feel more wretched and sorry for it all than I can tell you. Don't try to see Sir Ronald. He is justly very angry, and might say things in his anger that would provoke a quarrel. I am miserable enough now without that." Captain Danton promised, and quietly dispatched the Scotchman's belongings. That evening Sir Ronald departed for Quebec, to take passage for Liverpool. \\ CHAPTER XX. BEARING THE CROSS. ■ ( H E (lead blank that comes after excitement of any- kind is very trying to bear. The dull flow of monotonous life, following the departure of the Scotch baronet, told severely on Kate. The fever- ish excitement of that brief second engagement had sustained her, and kindled a brighter fire in her blue eyes, and a hot glow on her pale cheeks. But in the stagnant quiet that succeeded, the light grew dim, the roses faded, and the old lassitude and weariness returned. She had not even the absorbing task of playing amateur Sister of Charity, for the fe\er was almost gone, and there was no more left for her to do. There was no scandal or eclat this time about the broken-off marriage, for it had been kept very secret — only in the kitchen-cabinet there were endless surmisings and wonderings. The wedding garments made for the second time for Miss Danton were for the second time put quietly away. Father Francis, in all his visits to Danton '"^all. never made the slightest allusion to the event that had taken place. Only, he laid his hand on Kate's drooping head, with a " Heaven bless you, my child !" so fervently uttered that she felt repaid for all the humiliation she had undergone. So very quietly at Danton Hall December wore away, and Christmas eve dawned, Grace Danton's wedding-day. About ten in the morning the large, roomy, old-fashioned family sleigh drove up before the front door, and the bridal party entered, and were whirled to the church. A very select party indeed ; the bride and bridegroom, the bride's brother, and the bridegroom's two daughters. I i 260 BEARING THE CROSS. I '' Grace's brown velvet bonnet, brown silk dress, and seal jacket were not exactly the prescribed attire for a bride ; but with the hazel hair, smooth and shining, and the hazel eyes full of happy light, Grace looked very sweet and fair. Eeny, in pale silk, and a pretty hat with a long white plume, looked fiiir as a lily and haj)py as a queen, and very proud of her post of bride-maid. And Kate, who was carrying her cross bravely now, very simply attired, sat beside Doctor Frank and tried to listen and be interested in what he was saying, and all the time feeling like one in some unnatural dream. She saw the dull, gray, sunless sky, speaking of coming storm, the desolate snow-covered fields, the quiet village, and the little church, with its tall spire and glittering cross. She saw it all in a vague, lost sort of way, and was in the church and seated in a pew, and listening and looking on, like a person walking in her sleep. Her father going to be married ! How strange and unnatural it seemed. She had never grown familiarized with the idea, perhaps because she would never indulge it, and now he was kneeling on the altar-steps, with Frank Danton beside him, and Eeny at Grace's left hand, and the Cure and Father Francis were there in stole and sur- plice, and the ceremony was going on. She saw the ring put on Grace's finger, she heard the Curb's French accented voice, " Henry Danton, wilt thou have Grace Danton to be thy wedded wife?" and that firm, clear " I will," in reply. Then it was all over ; they were married. Her pale face drooped on the front rail of the pew, and wet it witli a rain of hot tears. The wedding quartet were going into the sacristy to regis- ter their names. She could linger no longer, although she felt as if she would like to stay there and die, so she arose and went wearily after. Her father looked at her with anxious, imploring eyes ; she went up and kissed him, with a smile on her colourless face. " I hope you will be very happy, papa," slie whispered. And then she turned to Grace, and touched her cold lips to the bride's flushed cheek. " I wish you very much happiness, Mrs. Danton," she said. ^EARINO THE CROSS. 261 " Yos, she could never be mother — she was only Mrs. Danton, her father's wife ; but Father Francis gave her a kindly, approving glance, even for this. She turned away from him with a weary sigh. Oh, v/hat trouble and mockery evc^ry thing was ? What a dreary, wretched piece of business life was altogether ! The sense of loneliness and desolation weighed on her heart, this dull December morning, like lead. There was to be a wedding-breakfast, but the Cur6, and Father Francis, and Doctor Frank were the only guests. Kiite sat at her father's side — Grace presided now, Grace was mistress of the Hall — and listened in the same dazed and dreary way to tlie confusion of tongues, the fire of toasts, the clutter of china and silver, and the laughter of the guests, She sat very still, eating and drinking, because she must eat and drink to avoid notice, and never thinking how beautiful she looked in her blue silk dress, her neck and arms gleaming like ivoi y against azure. What would it ever matter again how slui looked ] . Captain and ]\[rs. Danton were going on a brief bridal- tour to Toronto — not to be absent over a fortnight. They were to de[tait by the two o'clock train ; so, breakfast over, Grace hurried away to change her dress. Dr. Frank was going to drive Eeny to the station, in the cutter, to see them off, but Kate declined to accomjjany them. She shook hands with them at the^door ; and then turned and went back into the empty, silent house. A wedding, when the wedded pair, ashamed of themselves, go scampering over the country in search of distraction and amusement, leaves any household almost as forlorn as a funeral. D >ad silence succeeds tumult and bustle ; those left behind sii down blankly, feeling a gap in their circle, a loss never to be repaired. It was worse than usual at Dan- ton Hall. The wintry weather, precluding all possibility of seeking forgetfulness and recreation out of doors, the absence of visitors — for the Cure, Father Francis, Doctor Danton, and the Reverend Mr. Clare comprised Kate's whole visiting list now — all tended to make dismalness more dismal. She could remember this time last year, when Reginald and f ! n li I 262 BEARING THE CROSS. Rose, and Sir Ronald, and all were with tliera — so many then, so few now ; only liersolf and Eany left. The memory of tlio past time came l)ack with a dulled sense of pain and jnisery. She liad sulfered so much that the sense of suffering was blunted — there was only a deso- late achin^c of the heart when she thouo Kate's mind the tho.;^}:t th, ;. fihi had never done this woman justice. Here she was, generous and self-sacriticing, risking her own safety by the sick-bed of her husband's own son. Could it be that after all she had married her father Ijecaiise she loved him, and not because he was Captain Danton of Danton Hall } " Father Francis ought to know " she mused ; " and Father Francis sings her praises on every occasion. I know Eeny loves her dearly, and the servants like and respect her in a manner I never saw surpassed. Can it be that I have been blind, and unjust, and prejudiced from first to last, and that my father's wife is a thousand times better than -I am V Tiie two women sat together in the sick-room all the fore- 268 BEARING THE CROSS!. noon. Kate talked to her stop-mother far more socially and kindly than she had ever talked to her beibie, and was sur- prised to find (rrace had a ready knowledge of every snhject she started. She smiled at herself bv and-by in a little ijause in the conversation. "She is really very pleasant," she thought. " I shall be- ^'ui to like her presently, I am afraid." Karly in the afcernoon, Doctor Frank returned. There was little change m his patient, and no occasion for his re- maining. He stayed half an hour, and then took his hat to leave. He had more pressini; cases in tlie village to attend, and departed promising to call again before niglitfall. The news of Mr. Richards' illness had spread by this time through the house. The young Doctor knew this, and wondered if Agues Darling had heard it, and why she did not try to see hitn. He was thinking about it as he walked briskly down the avenue, and resolving he must try and see her that evening, when a little black figure stepped out from the shadow of the trees and confronted him. " * Angels and ministers of grace defend us,' " ejaculated the Doctor ; " I thought it was a ghost, and I find it is only Agnes Darling. You look about as pale as a ghost, though. What is the matter with you 1 " She clasped her hands and looked at him [nteously. " He is sick. You have seen him 1 Oh, Doctoji- Danton I is it Harry ? " *• My dear Mrs. Danton, T am haj)py to tell you it is. Don't faint now, or I shall tell you nothing more." She leaned against a tree, wiiite and trembling, her h;tnds clasped over her beating heart. *• And he is ill, and I may not see him. Oh, tell me what is the matter." " Fever. Don't alarm yourself unnecessarily. I do not think his life is in any danger." " Thank God ! Oh, thank God for that ! " She covered her face with her slender hands, and he could see the fast-falling tears. "My dear Agnes," he said, kindly. "I don't like to see von distress yourself in this manner. Besides, there is no BEARING THE CROSS. 260 occasion, I think your darkest days are over, I don't see wliy you may not go and nurse your husband." Her hands dropped from before her face, her great dark eyes fixed themselves on his face, dihited and wiklly, " You woukl like it, wouldn't you \ Well, 1 really don't think there is anything to hinder. He is calling for you per- petually, if it will make you happy to know it. Tell Miss Danton your story at once ; tell her who you are. and if she doubts your veracity, refer her to me. I have a letter from ]Mr. Crosby, testifying in the most solemn manner your in- nocence. I wrote to him, Agnes, as I could not find time to visit him. Tell Miss Kate to-day, if you choose, and you may watch by your husband's bedside to night, (iood after- noon. Old Renaud is shouting out with rheumatism ; I must go and see after him." He strode away, leaving Agnes clinging to the tree, trem- bling and white. The lime had come, then. Her husband lived, and might be returned to her yet. At the thought she fell down on her knees on the snowy ground, with the most fervent prayer of thanksgiving in her heart she had ever uttered. Some two hours later, and just as the dusk of the short winter day was falling, Kate came out of her brother's sick- room. She looked jaded and worn, as she lingered for a moment at the hall-window to watch the gi-ayish-yellow light fade out of the sky. She had spent the best i)art of the day in the close chamber, and the bright outer air seemed un- speakably refreshing. She went to her room, threw a large cloth mantle round her shoulders, drew the fur-trimmed hood over her head, and went out. The frozen fish-pond glittered like a sheet of ivory in the fading light ; and walking slowly around it, she saw a little familiar figure, robed like a nun, in black. She had hard.y seen the pale seamstiess for weeks, she had been too much absorbed in other things ; but now, glad of companionship, she crossed over to the fish-pond and joined her. As she drew clos>'r, and could see the girl's face in the cold, pale twilight, she was struck with its ]^)allor and indescribably mournful expression. 270 BEARING THE CROSS. "Yoii poor, pale child!" Miss Danton said; "yoii look like some stray s])irit wandering ghostily around this place. What is the matter now, that you look so wretchedly for- lorn 1 " Agnes looked up in the beautiful, pitying face, with her heart in her eyes. *' Nothing," she said, tremulously. " but the old trouble, that never k?aves me. I think sometimes I am the most un- happy creature in the whole wide world." "Every heart knoweth its own bitterness," Miss Danton said, steadilv. " Trouble seems to be the lot of all. But yours — you have never told me what it is, and I think I would like to know." They were walking together round the frozen pond, and the face of the seamstress was turned away from the dying light. Kate could not see it, but she could hear the agitation in her voice when she spoke. " I am almost afraid to tell you. I am afraid, for oh, Miss Danton ! I have deceived you." •' Deceived me, Agnes 1" " Yes ; I came here in a false character. Oh, don't be angry, please ; but I am not Miss Darling — I am a married woman." " Married ! You 1" She looked down in speechless astonishment at the tiny figure and childlike face of the little creature beside her. " You married !" she repeated. '* You small, childish- looking thing I And where in the wide world is your hus- band ?' Agnes Darling covered her face with her hands, and broke out into a hysterical passion of tears. " Don't cry, you poor little unfortunate. Tell me if this faithless husband is the friend I once heard you say you were in search of 1" " Yes, yes," Agnes answered, through her sobs. " Oh, Mis; L'anton ! Please, please, don't be angry with me, for, indeed, I am very miserable." " Angry with you, my poor child," Kate said, tenderly ; .10, indeed ! But tell me all about it. How did this cruel husband come to desert you 1 Did he not love you]" (< BEARINO THE CttOSS. % " Oh, yes, yes, yes." " And you — did you love liim ?" " With my whole heart." The memory of her own dead love stung Kate to the very soul. " Oh !" she said, bitterly, "it is only a very old story, after all. We are all alike ; we give up our whole heart for a man's smile, and, verily, we get our reward. This husband of yours took a fancy, I suppose, to some new and fresher fac, and threw you over for her sake ]" Ao;nes Darling looked up with wide black eyes. "Oh, no, no! He loved me faithfully. He never was false, as you think. It was not that ; he tljpughtl was false, and base, and wicked. Oh !" she cried, covering her face with her hands again ; " I can't tell you how base he thought me." " I think I understand," Kate said, slowly. " But how was it ] It was not true, of course." Agnes lifted her face, raised her solemn, dark eyes mourn- fully to the gaze of the earnest blue ones. *' It was not true," she replied simply ; " I loved him with all my heart, and him only. He was all the world to me, for I was alone, an orphan, sisterless and brotherless. I had only one relative in th(i wide world — a distant cousin, a young man, who boarded in the same house with me. I was only a poor working-girl of New York, and my husband was far above me — I thought so then, it know it since. I knew very little of him. He boarded in the same house, and I only saw him at the table. How he ever came to love me — a little, pale, quiet thing like me — I don't know ; but he did love me — he did — it is very sweet to remember that now. He loved me, and he married me, but under an assumed name, under the name of Darling, Avhich I know now was not his real one." She paused a little, and Kate looked at her with sudden breathless interest. How like this story was to another, terribly familiar. " We were married," Agnes went on, softly and sadly, •* anu I was happy. Oh, ^liss Danton, I can never tell you 079 BEAllIKO THE CROSS. A how unspeakably happy I was for a time. Hut it was not for long. Troubles began to gather thick and fast before many months. My husb;ind was a gambler " — she paused a second or two at Miss Danton's violent start — " and got into his old habits of staying out very late at night, and often, when he had lost money, coming home moody and miserable. I had no influence over him to stop him. He had a friend, another gambler, and a very bad man, who drew him on. It was very dreary sitting alone night after night until twelve or one o'clock, and my only visitor was my cousin, the young man I told you of. He was in love, and clandestinely engaged to a young lady, whose family were wealthy aiKJ. would not for a moment hear of the match. I was his only confidante, and he liked to come in evenings and talk to me of Helen. .Sometimes, seeing me so lonely and low-s])irited, he would stay with me within half an hour of Harry's return ; but Heaven knows neither he nor I ever dreamed it could be wrons:. No harm might ever have come of it, for my husband knew and liked him, but for that gambling companion, whose name was Furniss." She paused again, trembling and agitated, for Miss Dan- ton had uttered a sharp, involuntary exclamation. " Go on ! Go on !" she said breathlessly. " This Furniss hated my cousin, for he was his successful rival with Helen Hamilton, and took his revenge in the cruelest and basest manner. He discovered that my cousin was in the habit of visiting me occasionally in the evening, and he poisoned my husband's mind with the foulest insinua- tions. He told him that William Crosby, my cousin, was an old lover, and that — oh, I cannot tell you what he said I He drove my husband, who was violent and passionate, half mad, and sent him home one night early, vhen he knew Will was sure to be with me. I remember that dreadful night so well — I have terrible reason to remember it. Will sat with me, talking of Helen, telling me he could wait no longer ; that she had consented, and they were^oing to elope the very next night. While he was sp'^'akiug ilu. door was burst open, and Harry stood before ub, 1 v;d v/ii.ii fury, a BEARING THE CROSS. 278 pistol in his hand. A second hitcr, and tlierc was a report — William Crosby sprung from his seat and fell foi'ward, with a sci-eam I shall never forget. I think I was scream- ing too ; I can hardly recollect what I did, but the room was full in a moment, and my Imsband was gone — how, I don'c know. That was two years ago, and I have never seen hnn since ; but I think — " She stojjped sliort, for Kate Danton had caught her sud- denly and violently by the arm, her eyes dilatiug. " Agnes !" she exclaimed, })assionately ; " what is it you have been telling me ] Who are you ]" Agnes Darling held up her clasped hands. " Oh, Miss Danton,'' she cried. " for our dear Lord's sake, have i)ity on me ! I am your brother's wretched wife 1" / ^'^, ' CHAPTER XXI. DOCTOR DANTON S GOOD WORKS. HE two women stood in the bleak twilight looking at each otliei — Agnes with piteous, imploring eyes, Kate dazed and hopelessly bewildered. " My brother's Avife !" she repeated. ** You ! Agnes Darling !" " Oh, dear Miss Danton, have pity on me ! Let me see him. Let me tell him I am innocent, and that I love him with my whole heart. Don't cast me ofF ! Don't dispise me 1 Indeed, I am not the guilty creature he thinks me !" " Agnes, wait," Kate said, holding out her hand. " I am so confounded by this revelation that I hardly know what to do or say. Tell me how you found out my brother was here 1 Did you know it when you came ]" " (^h, no. I came as seamstress, with a lady from New York to Canada, and when I left her I lived in the Petite Rue de St. Jacques. There you found me ; and I came here, never dreaming that I was to live in the same house with my lost husband." " And how did you make the discovery 1 Did you see him r " Yes, Miss Danton ; the night you were all away at the party, you remember. I saw him on the stairs, returning to his rooirj. I thought then it was a spirit, and I fainted, as you know, and Doctor Danton was sent for, and he told me it was no spirit, but Harry himself." " Doctor Danton !" exclaimed Kate, in unbounded aston- ishment. " How did Doctor Danton come to know anything about it V " Whv, it was he — oh. I haven't told vou. I must go DOCTOR D ANTON'S GOOD WORKS. 275 back to that dreadful ni 7. B M '/ Photographic Sciences Cbrporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4S03 V <^ •s? <^ J 6^ <> 'i*. I ^ 280 DOCTOR DAiVTOX'S GOOD WORKS. as he had left him, quietly looking? at the shaded lamp, very feeble — very, very feeble and wasted. The Doctor sat down beside him, felt his pulse, and asked him a few questions, to which the faint replies were lucid and intelliijible. " No fever to-night. No delirium. You're fifty per cent, better. We will have you all right now, in no time. Kate has brought an infallible remedy. The sick man looked at his sister wonueringly. " Can you bear the shock of some very good news, Harry darling ]" Kate said stooping over him. " Good news !" he repeated feeiily, and with an incredu- lous look. " Good news for me !" " Yes, indeed, thou man of little faith ! The best news vou ever heard. You won't agitata yourself, will you, if I tell you]" Doctor Frank arose before he could reply. " I leave you to tell him by yourself. I hear the dinner- bell; so adien." He descended to the dining-room and took his place at the table. Captain Danton's new-found daughter he compelled to take poor Rose's vacant place ; but Agnes did not even make a pretence of eating anything. She sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed steadily on the door, trying with all her might to be calm and wait. The appetite of the whole family was considerably im- paired by the revelation just made, and all waited anxiously the return of Kate. In half an hour the dining-room door opened, and that young lady appeared, very pale, and with traces of tears on hei' face, but smiling withal. Agnes sf>rang up breathlessly. " Come," Kate said, holding out her hand ; " he is waiting for you !" With a cry of joy Agnes hurried out of the room and up- stairs. At the green baize door Kate restrained her a moment. " You must be very quiet, Agnes — very calm, and not ex- cite or agitate him." " Oh, yes ! yes ! Oh, let me go !" Miss Danton opened the door and let her in. In a mo- DOCTOR DANTON'S GOOD WORKS. 281 tnent she was kneeling by the bedside, her arms around his weak head, showering kisses and tears on his pale, thin face. *' B^orgive me !" she said. " Forgive me, my own, my dear, my lost husband. Oh. never think I was false. I never, never was, in thought or act, for one moment. Say you forgive me, my darling, and love me still." Of course, Kate did not linger. When she again entered the dining-room, she found one of those she had left, gone. " Where is Doctor Frank 1" she asked. " Gone," Grace said. " A messenger came for him — some 15 one sick in the village. Do take vour dinner. I am sure you must want it." " How good he is," Kate thought. " How energetic nnd self-sacrificing. If I were a man, I should like to be such a man as he." After this night cf good news, Harry Danton's recovery was almost miraculously rapid. The despair that had dead- ened every energy, every hope, was gone. He was a new man ; he had something to live for ; a place in the world, and a lost character to retrieve. A week after that eventful night, ho was able to sit up ; a fortnight, and he was rapidly gaining vigour and strength, and health for his new life. Agnes, that most devoted little wife, had hardly left these three mysterious rooms since she had first entered them. She was the best, the most untiring, the most tender of nurses, and won her way to the hearts of all. She was so gentle, so patient, so liumble, it was impossible not to love her; and Captain Danton aometimes wondered if he had ever loved his lost, frivolous Kose as he loved his new daughter. It had been agreed upon that, to avoid gossip and inquiry, Harry was not to show hiiiiself in the house, to the servants, but as soon as he was fully recovered, to leave for Quebec, with his wife, and take command of a vessel there. His father had written to the ship-owners — old friends of his — and had cheerfully received their promise. The vessel was to sail for Plymouth early in March, an4 it was now late in February. 18 282 DOCTOR DAXTON'S GOOD WORKS. Of course, Agnes t was to go with liim. Nothing could have separated these reunited marrieil lovers now. Tlie days went by, the preparations for the journey pro- gressed, the eve of departure came. Tlie Danton family, with the Doctor and Father Francis, were assembled in the drawing-rooH), spending that last evening together. It was the first time, since his return to the Htill, Harry had been there. How little any of them dreamed it was \o be the last ! They were not very merry, as they sat listenin'j to Kate's music. Down in tliat dim recess wiiere the piano stood, she sat, singing for the first time the old songs that Reginald Stanford iiad loved. She was almost surprised at herself to find how easily she could sing them, how little emotion the memories they brought awoke. Was the old love forever dead, then? And this new content at her heart — what did it mean ? She hardly cared to ask. She could not have an- swered ; she only knew she was liappy, and that the past had lost power to give her pain. It was late when they separated. Good-byes were said, and tenderhearted little Agnes cried as she said good-bj^o to Doctor Frank. The priest and the physician walked to the little village together, through the cold darkness of the star- less winter night. At the presbytery-gate they parted. Father Francis going in. Doctor Danton continuing his walk to the distant cottage of a poor sick patient. The man was dying. The young doctor lingered by his bedside until all was over, and morn- ing was gray in the eastern sky when he left the house of death. But what other light was that red in the sky, beside the lif'ht of morning ' A crimson, lurid light that was spreading rapidly over the face of the cloudy heavens, and lighting even the village road with its unearthly glare 1 Fire ! and in the direction of Danton Hall, growing 'brighter and brighter, and redder with every passing second. Others had seen it, too, and doors were fiying open, and men and women flocking out. " Fire ! Fire I" a voice cried. " Danton Hall is on fire !" And the cry was taken up and echoed and reechoed, and DOCTOR DANTON'S GOOD WORKS. 283 every one was rushing pell-mell in the direction of the Hall. Doctor Frank was one of the first to arrive. The whole front of the old mansion seemed a sheet of fire and the red flames rushed uf) into the black sky with an awful roar. The family were only just aroused, and, with the servants, were flocking out, half-dressed. Doctor Frank's anxious eyes counted them ; then; were the Captain and Grace, Harry and Agnes, and last of al^, Kate. The servants were all there, but there was one missing still. Doctor Frank was by Grace's side in a moment. " Where is Eeny T '* Eeny 1 Is she not here ?" " No. Good Heaven, Grace ! Is she in the house T Grace looked around wildly. " Yes, yes ! She must be ! Oh, Frank—" But Frank was gone, even while she spoke, into the burn- ing house. There was stiil time. The lower hall and stair- way were still free from fire, only filled with smoke. He rushed through, and upstairs ; in the second hall the smoke was suffocating, and the burning brands were falling from the blazing roof. Up the second flight of stairs he flew blinded, choked, singed. He knew Eeny's room ; the door was unlocked, and he rushed in. The smoke or fire had not penetrated here yet, and on the bed the girl lay fast asleep, undisturbed by all the uproar around her. To muffle her from head to foot in a blanket, snatch her up and fly out of the room, was but the work of a few second.s. The rushing smoke blinded and suffocated him, but he darted down the staircases as if his feet were winged. Huge cinders and burning flakes were falling in a fiery shower around him, but still he rushed blindly on. The lower hall was gained, a breeze of the blessed cold air blew on his face. They were ssen, they were saved, and a wild cheer arose from the breathless multitude. Just at that instant, with his foot on the threshold, an avalanche of fire seemed to fall on his head from the burning roof. Another cry, this time a cry of wild horror arose from the crowd ; he reeled, staggered like a drunkt^n man ; some one caught Eeny out of his arms as he fell to the ground. •; CHAPTER XXII. AFTER THC CROSS, THE CROWN. HE glare of a brilliant April sunset shone in the rainbow-hued western sky, and on the fresh, green earth, all arrayed in the budding promise of spring. Grace Danton stood by the window of a long, low room, looking thoughtfully out at the orange and crimson dyes of the far-off sky. The room in which she stood was not at all like the vast old-fashioned rooms of Danton Hall. It was long and narrow, and low-ceilinged, and very plainly furnished. There was the bed in the centre, a low, curtainless bed, and on it, pale, thin, and shadowy, lay Grace's brother, as he had lain for many weary weeks. He was asleep now, deeply, heavily, tossing no longer in the wild delirium of brain- fever, as he had tossed for so many interminable days and nights. Grace dropped the curtain, and went back to her post by the bedside. As she did so, the door softly opened, and Kate, in a dark, unrustling dress and slippers of silence, can 10 in. She had changed in those weeks ; she looked paler and thinner, and the violet eyes had a more tender light, a sadder beauty than of old. * Still asleep," she said, softly, looking at the bed. "Grace, I think your prayers have been heard." *' I trust so, dear. Is your father in ?" ** No ; he has ridden over to see how the builders get on. You must want tea, Grace. Go, I will take your place." Grace arose and left the room, and Kate seated herself in the low chair, with eyes full of tender compassion. What a shadow he was of his former self — so pale, so thin, so wast- AFTER THE CROSS, TITE CROWN. 285 ed ! The hand lyinrj on the counterpane was almost trans- parent, and the forehead, streaked with damp brown hair, was like marble, " Poor fellow !" Kate thought, pushing these stray locks softly back, and forgetting how dangerously akin pity is to love — " poor fellow !" Yes, it has come to this. Sick — dying, perhaps — Kate Danton found how dear this once obnoxious voung Doctor had grown to her heart. " How blessings brighten as they take their flight !" Now that she was on the verge of losing him forever, she discovered his value — discovered that her admiration was very like love. How could she help it? Women admire heroes so much ! And was not this brave young Doctor a real hero ? From first to last, had not his life in St. Croix been one list of good and generous deeds 1 The very first time she had ever seen him, he had been her champion, to save her from the insults and rudeness of two drunken soldiers. He had been a sort of guardian angel to poor Agnes in her great trouble. He had saved her brother's life and honour. He had perilled his own life to save that of her sister. The ])Oor of St. Croix spoke of him only to praise and bless him. Was not this house besieged every day with scores of anxious inquirers ? He was so good, so great, so noble, so self-sacrificing, so generous — oh ! how could she help loving him ? Not with the love that had once been Reginald Stanford's, whose only basis was a fanci- ful girl's liking for a handsome faoe, but a love far deeper and truer and stronger. She looked back now at the first infatuation, and wondered at herself. The scales had fallen from her eves, and she saw her sister's husband in his true light — false, shallow, selfish, dishonourable. . " Oh," she thought, with untold thanksgiving in her heart, " what would have become of me if I had married him T' There was another sore subject in her heart, too — that short-lived betrothal to Sir llonakl Keith. How low she must have fallen when she could do that ! How she despised herself now for ever entertaining the thought of that base marriage. She could thank Father Francis at last. By the sick-bed of Doctor Frank she had learned a lesson that would last her a lifetime. I I 286 AFTER THE CROSS, THE CROWN. The radiance of the sunset was fading out of the sky, and the gray twilight was tilling the room. She rose up, drew back the green curtains, and looked for a moment at the peaceful village street. When she r«^turncd to the bedside, the sleeper was awake, his eyes calm and clear for the first time. She restrained the exclamation of delight which arose to her lips, and tried to catch the one faint word he uttered : "Water]" She gently raised his head, her cheeks flushing, and held a glass of lemonade to hi^ lips. A faint smile thanked her ; and then his eyes closed, and he was asleep again. Kate sank down on her knees by the bedside, grateful tears falling from her eyes, to thank God for the life that would be spared. From that evening the young man rallied fast. The Doctor, who came from Montreal every da^^ to see him, said it was all owing to his superb constitution and wondrous vitality. But he was very, very weak. It was days and days before he was strong enough to thinl:, or speak, or move. He slept, by tits and starts, nearly all day long, recognizing his sister, and Kate, and Eeny, and the Captain, by his bedside, without wondering how they came to be there, or what had ailed him. But strength to speak and think was slowly returning ; and one evening, in the pale twilight, opening his eyes, he saw Kate sitting beside him, reading. He lay and watched her, strong enough to think how beautiful that perfect face was in the tender light, and to feel a delicious thrill of plea- sure, weak as he was, at having her for a nurse. Preseiitly Kate looked from the book to the bed, and blushed beautifully to tind the earnest brown eyes watching her so intently. " I did not know you were awake," she said, composedly. " Shall 1 go and call Grace ]" " On no account. I don't want Grace, been sick ?" " Oh, many weeks ; but you are getting better rapidly How long have I now. "I can', recall it," he said, contracting his brows. "I AFTER THE CROSS, THE CROWN. 287 know there was a fire, and I was in the house ; but it is all confusod. How was it V ** The Hall was burned down, you know — poor old house ! — and you rushed in to save Eeny, and — " " Oh, I remember, I *'emember. A beam or somethinjj fell, and after that all is oblivion. I have had a fever, I suppose ]" ^* Yes, you have been a drendful nuisance — talking all day and all night about all manner of subjects, and frightening us out of our lives." The younrf man smiled. " What did I talk about ? Anything very foolish ]" " I dare say it was foolish enough, if one could have un- derstood it, but it was nearly all Greek to me. Sometimes you were in Germany, talking about all manner of outland- ish things ; sometimes you were in New York, playing Good Samaritan to Agnes Darling." " Oh, poor Agnes ! Where is she 1" " Taken to the high seas. She and Harry had to go, much against their inclination, while you were so ill." " And Eeny — did Eeny suffer any harm that night T' " IS o ; Doctor Frank was the only sufferer. The poor old house was burned to the ground. I was so sorry." " And everything was lost]" " No, a great many things were saved. And they are building a new and much more handsome Danton Hall , but I shall never love it as I did the old place." " Where nre we now V " In the vill ige. We have taken this cottage until the new house is finish od. Now don't ask any more questions. Too much talking isn't good for you." " How very peremptory you are !" said the invalid, smil- ing; " and you have taken care of me all this weary time. What a trouble I must have been !" " Didn't I say so i A shocking trouble. Acd now that you are able to converse rationally, you are more trouble than ever, asking so many questions. Go to sleep." " Won't you let me thank you first V " No, tiianks never would repay mo for all the annoyance 288 AFTER THE CROSS, THE CROWX. : you have been. Show your gratitude by obedience, air- stop talking and go to sleep !" Perhaps Doctor Fnink found it very pleasant to be ordered, for he obeyed with a smile on his face. Of course, with stich a nurse as Miss Danton, the man would be obstinate, indeed, who would not rally. Doctor Frank was the reverse of olxlurate, and rallied with astonish- ing rapidity. His sister, Eeny, and Kate were the most devoted, the most attentive of nurses ; but the houis that Captain Danton's eldest daughter sat hy Jiis bedside Hew like so many minutes. It was very pleasant to lio there, propped up with pillows, with the Ai)ril sunshine lying in yellow squares on the faded old carpet, and watch that beau- tiful face, bending over some piece of elaborate embroidery, or the humble dress of some village child. She road for him, too, charming romances, and poetry as swe(5t ats the ripple of a sunlit brook, in that enchanting voice of hors ; and Doctor Frank began to think convalescence the most delight- ful state of being that ever was heard of, and to wish it could last forever. But, like all the pleasant things of this checkered life, it came to an end all too soon. The day arrived when he sat up in his easy chair by the open window, with the scented breezes blowing in his face, and watched dreamily the cows grazing in the fields, and t^i dark-eyed French girls tripping up and down the dusty road. Then, a little later, and he could walk about in the tiny garden before the cottage, and sit up the whole day long. He was getting better fast ; and Miss Danton, concluding her occupation was gone, became very much like the Miss Danton of old. Not imperious and proud — she never would be that again — but reserved and distant, and altogether changed ; the delightful readings were no more, the pleasant tete-a-tetes were among the things of the past, the long hours spent by his side, with some womanly work in her fingers, were over and gone. She was very kind and gentle still, and the smile that always greeted him was very bright and sweet, but that heavenly past was gone forever. Doctor Frank, about as cleai'-sighted as his sex generally aro, of course never guessed within a mile of the truth, ' '\ AFTER THE CROSS, THE CROWN. 289 '• What a fool I was !" ho thoni^ht, bitterly. " flattnrinj[» myself with 8uch insune (lr«vinis, bocauso she was <^iMtoful to nje for saving her sistiM-'s life, ami pitied me \vh(;n she thought I was at death's door. Why, s)ie mu'sed every sick pauper iu St. Croix as tenderly as she did me. She is right to put me back in my place before I have made an idiot of myself !" So the convalescent gentleman became moody, an»l silent and generally disagreeable ; and Grace was the only one who guessed at his feelinsfs and was sorry for him. Jiut he grew well in spite of hidden trouble, and began to think of what he was to do in the future. " I'll go back to Montreal next week, I think, he said to his sister ; " now that the fever has gone, it won't pay to stay here. If I don't get on in Montreal, I'll try New Yoik." Man proposes, etc. That evening's mail brought him a letter that materially altered all his plans. Ho sat so long silent and thoughtful after reading it, that Grace looked at him in surprise. " You look as grave as an owl, Frank. Whom is your letter from ]" Doctor Frank started out of his reverie to find Kate's eyes fix(jd inquiringly upon him too. " From Me.ssrs. Grayson tk Hambert, my uncle's solicitors. He is dead." Grace uttered a little cry. Dead ! Frank I And you are his heir ?" "Yes." "How much has ho left?" Mrs. DanLon asked, breath- lessly. " Twenty thousand pounds." Grace clasped her hands. " Twenty thousand pounds ]" My dear Frank ! You have no need to go slaving at your profession now." Her brother looked at her in quiot sui-pi-ise. " I shall slave at my profession all the same. This wind- fall will, however, alter my plans a good deal. I must start for Montreal to-morrow morning." V 200 AFTER THE CROS.^, TffE CROWN. \ici rose and left the i-oom. Oraco turned to her step- daughter. " I am afraid you must think us heartloss, Kate ; but we have known very little of this uncle, and that little was not favourable. He was a niiscT — a stern and hard man — living always alone and with few friend.s. I am so thankful he left his money to Frank." Doctor Frank left St. Croix next morning for the city, and his absence made a strange blank in the family. The spring days wore on slowly. April was gone, and it was May. Captain Dantou was absent the best part of every day, superintending the eroction of the new house, and the three women were left alone. Miss Danton grew listless and languid. tShe spent her days in purposeless loiterings in and out of the cottage, in long reveries and solitary walks. The middle of May came without bringing the young Doctor, or even a letter from him. The family were seated one moonlight night in the large, old-fashioned porch in front of the cottage, enjoying the moonlight and Eeny's piano. Kate sat in a rustic arm-chair just outside, looking up at the silvery crescent swimming through pearly clouds, and the flickering shadows of the climbing sweetbrier coming and going on her fair face. Captain Danton smoked and Grace talked to him ; and while she sat. Father Francis opened the garden gate and joined them. " Have you heard from your brother yet ]" he asked of Grace, after a few moments' preliminary conversation. ** No ; it is rather strange that he does not write." " He told me to make his apologies. I had a letter from him to-day. He is very busy preparing to go away." " Go away ! Go where 1" " To Germany ; he leaves in a week." " And will he not come down to say good-bye 1" inquired Grace, indignantly. " Oh, certainly ! He will be here in a day or two." "And how long is he going to stay abroad]" " That seems uncertain. A year or two, probably, at the very least." Grace stole a look at Kate, but Kate had drawn back into AFTER THE CEOSS, THE CEOJVy. 591 the shadow of the porch, and her face was not to bo seen. Father Francis lingered for half an hour, and then departed; and as the dew was falling heavily, the group in the porch arose to go in. The young lady in the easy-chair did not stir. " Come in, Kate," her father said ; ** it is too damp to re- main there." " Yes, papa, presently." About a quarter of an hour later, she entered the parlour to say good-night, very pale, as they all noticed. •* I knew sitting in the night air was bad," her father said. " You are as white as a ghost." Miss Danton was very grave and still for the next two days— a little sad, Grace thought. On the third day, Doctor Frank ariived. It was late in the afternoon, and he was to depart again early next morning. " What are you running away for nowl" asked his sister, with asperity. " What has put this German notion in your headi" The young man smiled. " My dear Grace, don't wear that severe face. Why should I not go 1 What is to detain me here V This was such an unanswerable question that Grace only turned away impatiently ; and ^ "ate, who was in the room, fancying the brother and sister might wish to be alone, arose and departed. As the door closed after her. Captain Danton's wife faced round and renewed the attack. *• If you want to know what is to detain you here, I can tell you now. Stay at home and marry Kate Danton." Her brother laughed, but in rather a constrained way. " That is easier said than done, sister mine. Miss Dan- ton never did more than tolerate me in her life — sometimes not even that. Impossibilities are not so easily achieved as you think." " Suppo.se you try." " And be refused for my pains. No, thank you." "Very well," said Mrs. Grace with a shrug ; "a wilful man must have his way ! You cannot tell whether you will be refused or not until you ask." 292 AFTER THE GROSS, THE CROWN. " I have a tolerably strong conviction, though. No, Mrs. Grace, I shnll go to Germany, and foi-get my folly ; tor that I have been an idiot, I don't deny." " And are so still ! Do as you please, however ; it is no affair of mine." Doctor Frank rode over to the new building to see how it progressed. It was late when he returned with the Captain, and he found that Kate had departed to spend the evening with Miss Howard. If he wanted further proof of her in- difference, surely he had it here. It was very iate, and the family had retired before Miss Danton came home. She was good enough though, to rise, very early next morning to say good-bye. Doctor Frank took his hasty breakfast, and came into the parlour, where he found her r>.lone. " I thought I was not to have the pleasure of seeing you before I went," he said, holding out his hand. *' I have but ten minutes left : so good-bye." His voice shook a little as he said it. In spite of every effort, her fingers closed around his, and her eyes looked up at him with her whole heart in their clear depths. "' Kate !" he exclaimed, the colour rushing to his face with a sudden thrill of ecstasy, and his hand closing tight over the slender fingers he held. " Kate ! " She turned away, her own cheeks dyed, not daring to meet that eager, questioning look. " Kate !" he cried, appealingly ; '4t is because I love you I am going away. I never thought to tell you." Five minutes later Grace opened the door impetuously. " Frank, don't you know you will be la — Oh, I beg pardon." She closed it hastily, and retreated. The Captain, stand- ing in the doorway, looked impatiently at his wntch. '• What keeps the fellow 1 He'll be late to a dead cer- tainty." ^ Grace laughed. " There is no hurry, I think. I don't believe Frank will go to Germany this time." CHAPTER XXIIT. ^ LONG HAVE I BEEN TRUE TO YOU, NOW i'm TRUE NO LONGER. AR away from the blue skies, and bracing breezes ^ of Lower Canada, the twilight of a dull April day was closing down over the din and tumult of Lon- don. It had been a wretched day— a day of sopping rai i and enervating mist. The newly-lighted street- lamps blinked disma^!; through the wet fog, and the pedestrians hurried along, poising umbrellas, and buttoned up to the chin. At the window of a shabby-genteel London lodging-house a young woman sat, this dreary April evening, looking out at the cheering prospect of dri[)ping roofs and miuldy pave- ment. She sat with her chin resting on her hands, staring vacantly at the passers-by, with eyes that took no interest in what she saw. She was quite young, and had been very pretty, for the loose, unkempt hair was of brightest auburn, the dull eyes of hazel brown, ai.J tlie features pretty and delicate. But the look of intense sulkiness the girl's face wore would have spoiled a far more beautiful countenance, and there were traces of sickness and trouble, all too vitsible. She was dressed in a soiled silk, arabesqued with stains, and a general air of neglect and disorder characterized her and her surroundings. Tiio Ciupot was littered and unsv.ept, the chairs were at sixes and sevens, and n baby's crib, wherein a very new and pink infant reposed, stood in tho Diiddle of the rooui. The young woman sat at the window gazing sullenly out at the dismal night for upwards of an hour, in all that time hardly moving. Presently there was a tap at the door, and an instant after, it opened, and a smart young person entered and began biiskiy Living the cloth for supper. The young person was the landlady 's daughter, and the girl at the win- -# 294 NOW PM TRUE NO LONGER. I dow only gave her one glance, and then turned unsocially away. ** Ain't you lonesome here, Mrs. Stapf'ord, all alone by yourself?" asked the young person, us she lit the lamp. " Mother says it must be awful dull for you, with Mr. Stan- ford away all the time." " I am pretty well used to it," answered Mrs. Sanford, bitterly. " I ought to be reconciled to it by this time. Is it after seven T " Yes, ma'am. Mr. Stanford comes home at seven, don't he? He ought to be here soon, now. Mother says she wishes you would come down to the parlour and sit with us of a day, instead of being moped up heie." Mrs. Stanford made no reply -whatever to this good- natured speech, and the sulky expression seemed to deepen on her lace. The young person tinished setting vhe table, and was briskly departing, when Mrs. Stanfoid's voice arrested her. " If Mr. Stanford is not here in half an hour, you can bring uj) dinner." As Mrs. Stanford spoke, the pink infant in the crib awoke and set up a dismal wail. The young mother arose, with an impatient sigh, lifted the babe, and sat down in a low nurse- chair, to soothe it to sleep again. But the baby was fretful, and cried and moaned drearily, and resisted every effort to be soothed to sleep. " Oh, dear, dear !" Rose cried, impatiently, giving it an irritated shake. " What a torment you are ! What a trouble and wretchedness everything is !" She swayed to and fro in her rocking-chair, humming drearily some melancholy air, until, by-and-by, baby, worn out, wailinjfly dropped off asleep again in her arms. As it did so, the door opened a second time, and the brisk young person entered with the first course. Mrs. Stanford placed her first-born back in the crib, and sat down to her solitary dinner. She ate very little. The lodging-house soups and roasts had never been so distasteful before. Sho pushed the things away, with a feeling of loathing, and went back to her low chair, and fell into a train of dismal minery. i (^ NOW I'M TRUE NO LONGER. 295 f r Her thoughts went back to Canada to her happy home at Danton Hall. Only one little year ago she had given the world for love, and thought it well lost — and now ! Love's young dream, splendid in theory, is not always quite so splendid in prac- tice. Love's young dream had wound up after eleven months, in poverty, privation, sickness and trouble, a neg- lectful husband, and a crying baby ! How happy she had been in that bright girlhood, gone forever ! Life had been one lODg summer holiday, and she dressed in silks and jewels, one of the queen-bees in the great human hive. The silks and the jewels had gone to the paM'nbroker long ago, and here she sat, alone, in a miserable lodging-house, sub- sisting on un[)alatible food, sleej'ing on a hard mactrass, sick and wretched, with that whimpering infant's wails in her ears all day and all night. Oh ! how long ago it seemed since she had been bright, and beautiful, and happy, and fiee — hundreds of years ago at the very least ! She sighed in bitter sorrow, as she thought of the past — the irredeem- able past. " Oh, what a fool I was ! " she thought, bursting into hysterical tears. " If I had only married Jules La Touche, how happy I might have been ! He loved me, poor fellow, and would have been true always, and I would have been rich, and happy, and honoured. Now I am poor, and sick, und neglected, and despised, and I wish I were dead, and all the trouble over !" Mrs. Stanford sat in her low chair, brooding over such dismal thoughts as these, while the slow hours dragged on. The baby slept, for a wonder. A neighbouring church clock struck the hours solemnly one after another — ten, eleven, twelve ! No Mr. Stanford yet, but that was nothing new. As midnight, struck. Rose got up, secured the door, and going into an inner room, flung herself, dressed as she was, on the bed, and fell into the heavy, dreamless sleep of exhaustion. She slept so soundly that she never heard a key turn in the lock, about three in the morning, or a man's unsteady step crossing the floor. The lamp still burning on the table. # "^ 296 NO TV PM TRUE NO LONGER, enabled Mr. Reginald Stanford to see what he was about, otherwise, serious consequences might have ensued. For Mr. Stanford was not quite steady on his legs, and lurched as he walked, as if his wife's sitting-room had been the deck of a storm-tossed vessel. ' " I s'pose she's gone to bed," muttered Mr. Stanford, hiccoughing. " Don't want to wake her — makes a devil of a row ! I ain't drunk, but I don't want to wake her." Mr. Stanford lurched unsteadily across the parlour, and reconnoitred the bedroom. He nodded sagaciously, seeing his wife there asleep, and after making one or two fntile efforts to remove his boots, stretched himself, boots and all, on a lounge in the sitting-room, and in two minutes was as sound as one of the Seven Sleepeis. It was late next morning before either of the happy pair awoke. A vague idea that there was a noise in the air aroused the gentleman about nine, o'clock. The dense fog in his brain, that a too liberal allowance of rosy wine is too apt to engender, took some time to clear away ; but when it did, he became conscious that the noise was not part of his dreams, but some one knocking loudly at the door. Mr. Stanford staggered sleepily across the apartment, un- locked the door, and admitted the brisk young woman who brought them their meals. Mr. Stanford, yawning very much, proceeded to make his toilet. Twelve months of matrimony had changed the hand- some ex-lieutenant, and not for the better. He looked thin- ner and paler ; his eyes were sunken, and encircled by dark halos, tolling of night revels and morning headaches. But that wonderful beauty that had magnetized Rose Danton was there still ; the features as perfect as ever ; the black eyes as lustrous ; all the old graceful ease and nonchalance of manner characterized him yet. But the beauty that had blinded and dazzled her had lost its power to charm. She had been married to him a year — quite long enough to be disenchanted. That handsome face might fascinate other foolish moths ; it had lost its power to dazzle her long, long ago. Perhaps the disenchantment was mutual ; for the pretty, rose-cheeked, starry-eyed girl who had captivated his i f yOPF I'M TRUE yo LONGER. 297 idle fancy had become a dream of the past, and his wife was a pale, sickly, peevish invalid, with frowsy hair and slipshod feet. The clattering of the cups and saucers awoke the baby, who began squalling dismally ; and the baby's cries awoke the baby's mamma. Rose got up, feeling cramped and un- refreshed, and came out into the parlour with the infant in her arms. Her husband turned from a dreary contemplation of the sun trying to force its way through a dull, yellow fog, and dropped the curtain. " Good-morning, my dear," said Mr. Stanford, pouring out a cup of tea. " How are you to-day 1 Can't you make that disagreeable youngster hold his confounded tongue T " What time did you get home last night ?" demanded Mrs. Stanford, with flashing eyes. " It wasn't last night, my dear," replied Mr. Stanford, se- renely, buttering his roll ; " it was sometime this morning, I believe." " And of course you were drunk as usual !" " My love, pray don't speak so loudly ; they'll hear you down stairs," remonstrated the gentleman. " Really, I be- lieve I had been imbibing a little too freely. I hope I did not disturb you. I made as little noise as possible on pur- pose, I assure you. I even slept in my boot?, not being in a condition to take them off. Wash your face, my dear, and comb your hair — they both need it very much — and come take some breakfast. If that baby of yours won't hold its tongue, please to throw it out of the window." Mrs. Stanford's reply was to sink into the rocking-chair and burst into a passion of tears. " Don't, pray !" remonstrated Mr. Stanford ; " one's enough to cry at a time. Do come and have some breakfast. You're hysterical this morning, that is evident, and a cup of tea will do you good." " I wish I were dead !" burst out Rose, passionately. " I wish I had been dead before I ever saw your face !" " I dare say, my love. I can understand your feelings, and sympathize with them perfectly." "Oh, what a fool I was !" cried Rose, rocking violently 19 M 298 NOIV J'M TRUE No LONGER. backward and forward ; " to leave my happy home, my in- dulgent father, my true and devot< d lover, for you ! To leave wealth and happiness for poverty, and privation, and neglect, and misery ! Oh, fool ! fool ! fool ! that I was !" ** Very true, my dear," murmured Mr. Stanford sympathet- ically. " I don't mind confessing that I was a fool myself. You cannot regret your marriage any more than I do mine." This was a little too much. Rose sprang up, flinging the baby into the cradle, and faced her lord and master with cheeks of flame and eyes of fire. " You villain !" she cried. " You cruel, cold-blooded vil- lain, I hate you ! Do you hear, Reginald Stanford, I hate you ! You have deceived me as shamefully as ever man de- ceived wcii'in ! Do yoa think 1 don't know where you were last night, or whom } ou were with 1 Don't I know it was with that miserable, degraded Frenchwoman — that disgusting Madame Millefleur — whom I would have whipped through the streets of London, if I could." " I don't doubt it, my dear," murmured Mr. Stanford, still unruffled by his wife's storm of passion. " Your gentle sex are famous for the mercy they always show to their fairer sisters. Your penetration does you infinite credit, Mrs. Stan- ford. I was with Madame Millefleur." Rose stood glaring at him, white and panting with rage too intense for words. Reginald Stanford stood up, meeting her fierce regards with wonderful coolness. " You're not going to tear my hair out, are you. Rose ? You see the way of it was this : Coming from the oflice where [ have the honour to be clerk — thanks to my marriage — I met Madame Millefleur, that most bewitching and wealthy of French widows. She is in love with me, my dear. It may seem unaccountable to you how any one can be in love with me, but the fact is so. She is in love with me almost as much as pretty Rose Danton was once upon a time, and gave me an invitation to accompany her to the opera last night. Of course I was enchanted. The opera is a rare luxury now, and la Millefleur is all the fashion. I had the happiness of bending over her chair all the evening — don't glare so, my love, it makes you quite hideous — and accepted NOJy VM TRUE \0 LONGEH. 299 a seat beside her in the carriage when it was all over. A delicious petit soitper awaited us in Madame's bijou of a boudoir ; and I don't mind owning I was a little disguised by sparkling Moselle when I came home. Open confessions are good for the soul — there is one for you, my dear." Her face was livid as she listened, and he smiled up at her with a smile that ncai'ly drove her mad. " I hate you, Reginald Stanford !" was all she could say. " I hate you ! I hate you !" " Quite likely, my love ; but I dare say I shall survive that. You would rather I didn't come here any more, I suppose, Mrs. Stanford r' " I never want to see your hateful, wicked face again. I wish I had been dead before I ever saw it." *' And I wish whatever you wish, dearest and best," he said, with a sneering laugh ; " if you ever see my wicked, hateful face again, it shall be no fault of mine. Perhaps you had better go back to Canada. M. La Touche was very much in love with you last year, and may overlook this little episode in your life, and take you to his bosom yet. Good morning, Mrs. Stanford. I am going to call on Madame Millefleur. He took his hat and left the room, and Rose dropped down in her chair, and covered her face with her hands. If Kate Danton and Jules La Touche ever wished for revenge, they should have seen the woman who so cruelly wronged them at that moment. Vengeance more bitter, more terrible than her worst enemy could wish, had overtaken and crushed her to the earth. How that long, miserable day passed, the poor child never knew. It came to an end, and the longer, more miserable night followed. Another morning, another day of unutter- able wretchedness, and a second night of tears and sleepless- ness. The third day came and passed, and still Reginald Stanford never returned. The evening of the third day brought her a letter, with Napoleon's head on the corner. "Hotel Du Louvrk, Paris, April 10. ** My 1>eak Mhs. Stanfoud : — For you have still the un^ 300 NOW I'M THUK yo LONGER. happiness of bearing that odious name, although I have no doubt Captain Dantou will shortly take the proper steps to relieve you of it. According to promise, I have rid you of my hateful presence, and forever. You see I am in brilliant Paris, in a palatial hotel, enjoying all the luxuries wealth can procure, and Madame Millefieur is my companion. The contrast between my life this week and my life last is some- what striking. The frowning countenance of Mrs. Stanford is replaced by the ever-smiling vface of my dark-eyed Adele, and the shabby lodgings in Crown street, Sti'and, are ex- changed for this chamber of Eastern gorgeousness. I am happy, and so, no doubt, are you. Go back to Canada, my dear Mrs. Stanford. Papa will receive his little runaway with open arms, and kill the fatted calf to welcome her. The dear Jules may still be faithful, and you may yet be thrice blessed as Madame La Touche. Ah, I forget — you belong to the Church, and so does he,that does not believe in divorce. What a pity ! " I beg you will feel no uneasiness upon pecuniary raat- tera, my dear Rose. I write by this post to our good land- lady, inclosing the next six months' rent, and in this you will find a check for all present wants. " I believe this is all I have to say, and Adele is waiting for me to escort her on a shopping expedition. Adieu, my Rose ; believe me, with the best wishes for your future happiness, to be Ever your friend, ** Reginald Reinecourt Stanford." CHAPTER XXIV. COALS OP FIRE. J (r|NE afternoon, about a foi-tnight after the receipt of that letter from France, Rose Stanford sat alone once more in the shabby little parlour of the London lodging-house. It was late in April, but a fire burned feebly in the little grate, and she sat cower- ing over it wrapped in a large shawl. She had changed terribly during these two weeks ; she had grown old, and hollow-eyed, a haggard, worn, wretched woman. It was her third day up, this April afternoon, for a low, miserable fever had confined her to her bed, and worn her to the pallid shadow she was now. She had just finished writ- ing a letter, a long, sad letter, and it lay in her lap while she sat shivering over the fire. It was a letter to her father, a tardy prayer for forgiveness, and a confession of all her mis- doings and wrongs— of Reginald Stanford's rather, for, of course, all the blame was thrown upon him, though, if Rose had told the truth, she would have found herself the more in fault of the two. " I am sick, and poor, and broken-hearted," wrote Mrs. Stanford ; " and I want to go home and die. I have been very wicked, papa, but I have suflered so much, that even those I have wronged most might forgive me. Write to me at once, and say I may go home ; I only want to go and die in peace. I feel that I am dying now." She folded the letter with a weary sigh and a hand that shook like an old woman's, and rising, rang the bell. The brisk young woman answered the summons at once with a smile on her face, and Mrs. Stanford's baby crowing in her arms. They had been very kind to the poor young mother and the fatherless babe during this time of trial ; but Mrs. 302 COALS OF FIRE. Stanford was too ill and broken down to think about it, or feel gi-ateful. " Here, Jane,' .said Mrs. Stanford, holding out the letter, " give me the baby, and post this letter." Jane obeyed ; and Kose, with the infant in her lap. sat staring gloomily at the red coals. " Two weeks before it will reach them, two weeks more before an answer can arrive, and another two weeks before I can be with them. Oh, dear me ! dear me ! how shall I drag out life during these interminable weeks. If I could only die at once and end it all." Tears of unutterable wretchedness and loneliness and misery coursed down her pale, thin cheeks. Surely no one ever paid more dearly for love's short mad;ies8 than this un- fortunate little Rose. " Marry in haste and repent at leisure," she thought, with unspeakable bitterness. " Oh, how happy I might have been to-day if I had only done right last year. But I was mad and treacherous and false, and I dare say it serves me right. How can I ever look them in the face when I go home r The weary weeks dragged on, how wearily and miserably only Rose knew. She never went out ; she sat all day long in that shabby parlour, and stared blankly at the passers-by in the street, waiting, waiting. The good-natured landlady and her daughter took charge of the baby during those wretched weeks of expectation, or Mrs. Reginald Stanford's only son would have been sadly neglected. April was gone ; May came in, bringing the anniversary of Rose's ill-starred marriage and finding her in that worst widowhood, a day of ceaseless tears and regrets to the un- happy, deserted wife. The bright May days went by, one after another, passing as wretched days and more wretched nights do pass somehow, and June had taken its place. In all this long, long time, no letter had come for Rose. How she watched and waited for it ; how she had strained her eyes day after day to catch sight of the postman ; how her heart leaped up and throbbed when she saw him approach, COALS OF FIRE. 303 and Hank down in her breast like lead as he went by, only those can know who have watched and waited like her. A sickening sense of despair stole over her at last. They had forgotten her ; they hated and despised her, and left her to her fate. There was nothing for it but to go to the alms- house and die, like any other pauper. She had been mad when she fancied they could forgive her. Her sins had been too great. All the world had do- serted her, and the sooner she was dead and out of the wav the better. She sat in the misty June twilight thinking this, with a sjid, hopeless kind of resignation. It was the tifth of June. Could she forget that this very day twelvemonth was to have lieen her wedding-day ? Poor Jules — poor Kate! Oh, what a wretch she had been ! She covered her face with her hands, tears falling like rain through her thin lingers. *• I wonder if they will be sorry for me, and forgive me, when they hear I am dead 1" she thought. " Oh, how I live, and live, when other women would have died long ago with half this trouble. Only nineteen, and with nothing left to wish for but death." There was a tap at the door. Before she could speak it was opened, and Jane, the brisk, came rustling in. " There's a gentleman down-stairs, Mrs. Stanford, asking to see you." Rose sprang up, her lips apart, her eyes dilating. " To see me ! A gentleman ! Jane, is it Mr. Stanford ?" Jane shook her head. " Not a bit like Mr. Stanford, ma'am ; not near so 'and- some, though a very fine-looking gentleman. He said, to tell you as 'ow a friend wanted to see you." A friend I Oh, who could it be ] She made a motion to Jane to show him up — she was too agitated to speak. SIh; stood with her hands clasped over her beating heart, breath- less, waiting. A man's quick step flew up the stairs ; a tall figure stood in the doorway, hat in hand. Rose uttered a faint cry. She had thought of her father, ■^r ;^04 COALS OF FIRE. of Julos La Touche, never once of him who stood before her. " Doctor Frank I" she gasped ; and then she was holding to a chair for support, feeling the walls swimming around her. Doctor Frank took her in his arms, and kissed her palo cheek as tenderly and pityingly as hor father might have done. " My poor child ! My poor little Rose ! What a shadow you are ! Don't cry so— pray don't !" She bowed her weary head against his shoulder, and broke out into hysterical sobbing. It was so good to see that friendly, familiar face once more— she clung to him with a sense of unspeakable trust and relief, and cried in the full- ness of her heart. He let her tears flow for awhile, sitting beside her, and stroking the faded, disordered hair away from the wan, pale face. " There ! there !" he said, at last, " we have had tears enough now. Look up and let me talk to you. What did you think when you received no answer to your letter 1" " I thought you all very cruel. I thor.ght I was forgot- ten." . " Of course you did ; but you are not forgotten, and it is my fault that you have had no letter. I wanted to surprise you ; and I have brought a letter from your father breathing nothing but love and forgiveness."' " Give it to me !" cried Rose, breathlessly ; " give it to me!" " Can't, unfortunately, yet awhile. I left it at my hotel. Don't look so disappointed. I am going to take you there in half an hour. Hallo ! Is that the baby T Reginald Stanford, Junior, asleep in his crib, set up a sudden squall at this moment. Doctor Frank crossed the floor, and hoisted him up in a twinkling. " Why, he's a splendid little fellow, Rose, aiid the very image of — What do you call him ?" " Reginald," Rose said, in a very subdued tone. " Well, Master Reginald, you and I are going to be good friends, aren't we, and you're not going to cry ?" w roALS OF FIRE. son 7 He hoiHted iiim high in the air, and baby annwered with n loud crow. " That's right. Babies always take to me, Pose. You don't know how many dozens I have nursed in my time. But you don't ask me any ([uestions about home. Aren't you curious to know how they all get on '<" " Papa is married, I suppose?" Rose said. " Of course — last January. And Danton Hall was burnt down ; and they have built up another twice as big and three times as handsome. And Mr. Kichards — you remember the mysterious invalid, Rose ?" " Yes." " Well, Mr. Richards turned otit to be your brother Harry, who lived shut up there, because he thought he had committed a murder, some time before, in New York. And Agnes Darling — you have not forgotten Agnes Darling ?" " Oh, no." " Agnes Darling turns out to be his wife. Quite a romance, isn't it 1 I will tell you all the particulars another time. Just now, I want you to put on your bonnet and come with me to my hotel. Don't ask me why — T won't tell you. We will fetch the baby too. Go, get ready." Doctor Frank was imperative, and Rose yielded at once. It was so indescribably delightful, after all these weeks of suspense and despair, to see Frank Danton's friendly face, and to listen to his friendly voice, commanding as one who had the right. Rose had her hat and shawl on directly, and, with baby in her arms, followed him down stairs. A han- som stood waiting. He helped her in, gave the cabman his orders, took his place beside her, and they rattled oflf. " When am I going home ]" Rose asked, suddenly. " Have you come to fetch me 1" " Not precisely. You are to return with me, however." " And when are we going 1" " That is not quite decided yet. It is an after-consider- ation, and there is no hurry. Are you particularly anxious to be back to Canada ]" " I am tired of being lonely and homeless," poor Rose re- plied, the tears starting. " I want to be at rest, and among fi. 306 COALS OF FIRE. the dear familiar faces. Doctor Frank," she said, looking at him appealingly, " have they forgiven me, do you think T " Whom do you mean by they, Mj*s. Stanford f " Papa and — and Kate." "I have reason to think so. Of course, it must have been rather disagreeable to Kate at first, to have her lover run away and leave her, but I really think she has got over it. We must be resigned to the inevitable, you know, my dear Rose, in this changeable world." Rose sighed, and looked out of the window. A moment later, and the cab drew up before a stately hotel. " This is the place," said the Doctor. '* Come !" He helped her out, gave his arm, and led her up a long flight of broad stairs. It was quite a little journey through carpeted corridora to the gentleman's apartments ; but he reached the door at last. It opened into a long vista of dplendour, as it seemed to Rose, accustomed so long to the shabby Straiid lodgings. She had expected to find the Doctor's rooms empty ; but, to her surprise, within an inner apartment, whose door stood wide, she saw a lady. The lady, robed in blight silk, tall and stately, with golden hair twisted coronet wise round the shapely head, stood with her back to them, looking out of the window. Something in that straight and stately form struck with a nameless thrill to Rose Stanford's heart ; and she stood in the doorway, spell-bound. At the noise of their entrance, the lady turned round, uttered an exclamation of pleasure, and advanced towards them. Doctor Frank stood with a smile on his face, enjoying Mrs. Stanford's consternation. Another second and she was clasped in the lady's arms. " Rose ! Rose ! My dear little sister !" " Kate !" Rose murmured, faintly, all white and trem- bling. Kate looked up at the smiling face of the Doctor, a new light dawning on her. " Oh, he has never told you ! For shame, Frank, to shock her so ! My darling, did you not know I was here ?" " No ; he nevor told me," Rose said, sinking into a chair, and looking hopelessly at her sister. *' What does it mean, Kate ] Ts papa here V* COALS OF FIRE. 307 ( " I leave the onerous duty of explaining everythr ,' to you, ite," said the Doctor, before Kate could reply. " I am Kate going down stairs to smoke. " That provoking fellow !" Kate said, smilingly, looking after him ; " it is just like him." " Is papa here ]" Rose repeated, wonderingly. " No, my dear ; papa is at Danton Hall, with his wife. It was impossible for him to come." " Then how do you happen to be here, and with Doctor Frank ?" Kate laughed — such a sweet, clear, happy laugh — as she kissed Rose's wondering face. " For the very best reason in the world, Mrs. Stanford ! Because I happen to be Doctor Frank's wife !" Rose sat, coufqunded, speechless — literally struck dumb — staring helplessly. " His wife !" she repeated. " His wife !" and then sat lost in overwhelming amaze. " Yes, my dear ; his happy wife. I do not wonder you are astonished, knowing the past ; but it is a long story to tell. I am asliamed to think how wicked and disagreeable, and perverse, I used to be ; but it is all over now. I think there is no one in all the wide world like Frank !" Her eyes filled as she said it, and she laid her face for a moment on her sister's shoulder. " I was blind in those past days. Rose, and too prejudiced to do justice to a noble man's worth. I love my husband with my whole heart — with an affection that can never change." " And you forgive me ?" " I forgave you long ago. Is this the baby ? How pretty ! Give him to me." She took Master Reginald in her arms, and kissed his chubby face. " To think that you should ever nurse Reginald Stanford's child ! How odd !" said Rose, languidly. The colour rushed into Mrs. Frank Danton's face for a second or two, as she stooped over the baby. " Strange things happen in this world. I shall be very fond of the baby, I know." 308 COALS OF FIRE. " And Grace, wliom you disliked so much, is your mother and sister botli together. How very queer !" Kate laughed. " It is odd, but quite true. Come, take your things off ; you are not to leave us again. We will send to your lodg- ings for your luggage." " How long have you been married T asked Rose, as she obeyed. " Three weeks ; and this is our bridal tour. "We depart for Paris in two days. You know Frank has had a fortune." " I don't know anything. Do tell me all about it — your marriage and everything. I am dying of curiosity." Mrs. Doctor Danton seated herself in a low chair, with Reginald Stanford's first-born in her lap, and began recapit- ulating as much of the past as was necessary to enlighten Mrs. Stanford. " So he saved Eeny's life ; and you nursed him, and fell in love with him, and married him, and bis old uncle dies and leaves him a fortune in the nick of time. It sounds like a fairy tale ; you ought to finish with — ' and they lived happy forever after I' " " Please Heaven, we will ! Such real-life romance hap- pens every day, sister mine. Oh, by-the-by, guess who was at our wedding ?" " Who r " A very old friend of yours, my dear — Monsieur Jules La Touche." " No ! Was he, though 1 How did you come to invite him ]" " He chanced to be in the neighbourhood at the time. Do you know, Rose, I should not be surprised if he accomplished his destiny yet, and became papa's son-in-law. Rose looked up, breathlessly, thinking only of herself. " Impossible, Kate ! What do you mean V " Not at all impossible, I assure you. Eeny was my bride-maid, and you have no idea how pretty she looked ; and so Monsieur La Touche seemed to think, by the very marked attention he paid her. It would be an excellent thing for her ; he is in a fair way of becoming a millionaire." COALS OF FIRE. 309 A pang of the bitterest envy and mortification she had ever felt, pierced Rose Stanford's heart. Oh ! what a miserable — what an unfortunate creature she had been ! She turned away, that her sister might not see her face, and Kate care- lessly went on. " Eeny always liked him, I know. She likes him better than ever now. I shall not be at all surprised if we find her engaged when we go home." " Indeed !" Rose said, trying to speak naturally, and fail- ing signally. " And when are we going home ]" " Early in November, I believe. Frank and I are to make Montreal our home, for he Avill not give up his pro- fession, of course ; and you shall come and live Avith us if you like the city better than St. Croix." Rose's slumbers that night were sadly disturbed. It was not the contrast between her handsome bedroom and downy pillows, and the comfortless little chamber she had slept in so long ; it was not thought of her sister's goodness and generosity : it was the image of Eeny, in silk and jewels, the bride of Jules T^a Touche, the millionaire. Somehow, unacknowledged in her heart of hearts, there had lingered a hope of vengeance on her husband, triumph for herself as the wife of her deserted lover ! There would be a divorce, and then she might legally marry. She had no conscientious scruples about that sort of marriages, and she took it for granted Monsieur La Touche could have none either. But now these hopes were nipped in the bud. Eeny — younger, fresher, fairer, perhaps — was to have him and the splendid position his wife must attain ; and she was to be a miserable, poor, deserted wife all her days. I am afraid Mrs. Stanford was not properly thankful for her blessings that night. She had thought, only one day before, that to find her friends and be forgiven by them would be the sum total of earthly happiness ; but now she had found them, and was forgiven, she was as wretched as ever. The contrast between what she was and what she might have been was rather striking, certainly ; and the bitterest pang of all was the thought she had no one to blame, from first to hist, but herself. 310 COALS OF FIRE. Oh, if she had only been true ! This was v/hat came of marrying for love, and trampling under foot prudence, and honour, and truth. A month or two of joy, and life-long regret and repentance ! Doctor Danton, his wife, and sister, took a hurried scam- per over London, and departed for Paris. The weather in that gay capital was very warm, indeed, but delightful to Rose, who had never crossed the Channel before. Paris was comparatively familiar ground to the young Doctor ; he took the two ladies sight-seeing perpetu- ally ; and Mrs. Stanford almost forgot her troubles in the delights of the brilliant French citv. A nurse had been engaged for baby, so that troublesome young gentleman no longer came between his mamma and life's enjoyment. Her diminished wardrobe had been re- plenished too ; and, well-fed and well-dressed, Rose began to look almost like the sparkling, piquant Rose of other days. The Dantons had been three weeks in Paris, and were to leave in a day or two en route for Switzerland. The Doctor had taken them for a last drive through the Bois de Bou- logne the sunny afternoon that was to be theii* last for some time ill the French capital. Kate and Rose, looking very handsome, and beautifully dressed, lay back among the cushions, attracting more than one glance of admiration from those who passed by. Mrs. Danton was chatting gayly with her husband, and Rose, poising a dainty azure parasol, looked at the well- dressed Parisians around her. Suddenly, the hand so daintily holding the parasol grasped it tight, the hot blood surged in a torrent to her face, and her eyes fixed and dilated on two equestrians slowly ap- proaching. A lady and gentleman — the lady a French- woman evidently, dark, rather good-looking, and not very young ; the gentleman, tall, eminently handsome, and much more youthful than his fair companion. Rose Stanford and her false husband were face to face ! He had seen them, and grown more livid than death ; his eyes fixed on Doctor Danton and his beautiful wife, talking and laughing with oUch infinitely happy faces. WALS OF FIRE. 311 / One glance told him how matters stood — told him the gii*l he had forsaken was the happy wife of a better man. Then his glance met that of his Avife, pretty, and blooming and bright as when he had first fallen in love with her ; but those hazel eyes were flashing tire, and the pretty face was fierce with rage and scorn. Then they were past ; and Reginald Stanford and his wife had seen each other for the last time on earth. The summer flew by. They visited Switzerland, Germany, Italy, and were back in Paris in October. About the middle of that month they sailed from Havre to New York, and reached that city after a delightful passage. It being Rose's first sight of the Empire City, they lingered a week to show her the lions, and early in November were on the first stage of their journey to Danton Hall. m €:>m&M^ irK- •^. ■^•^i /I CHAPTER XXV. AT HOME. 'ate in the afternoon of a dark November day our travellers reached St. Croix, and found the carriage from the Hall awaiting them at the station. Rose leaned back in a corner, wrapped in a large shawl, and with a heart too full of mingled feelings to speak. How it all came back to her, with the bit- terness of death, the last time her eyes had looked upon these familiar objects — how happy she had been then, how hopeful ; how miserable she had been since, how hopeless now. The wtll-known objects flitted before her eyes, seen through a mist of tears, so well-known that it seemed only yesterday since she had last looked at them, and these dreary intervening months only a wretched dream. Ah ! no dream, for there sat the English nurse, with the baby in her arms, a living proof of their reality. One by one the old places spun by, the church, the presbytery, with Father Francis walking up and down the little garden, his soutane tucked up, and his breviary in his hand, all looking ghostly in the dim afternoon light. Now the village was passed, they were flying through wide open gates, and under the shadow of the dear old trees. There was Danton Hall, not the dingy, weather-beaten Danton Hall she knew, but a much more modern, much more elegant mansion ; and there on the gray stone steps stood her father, handsome and portly, and kindly as ever ; and there was Grace beside him — dear, good Grace ; and there was Eeny, dressed in pale pink with fluttering ribbons, fair and fragile, and looking like a rosebud. A little group of three persons behind, at sight of whom Kate uttered an exclamation of delight. " Oh, Frank ! there are Harry and Agnes ! To think AT HOME. 313 i papa never told U9 ! What a charming surprise !" That was all Rose heard ; then she was clasped in her father's stalwart arms, and sobbing on his breast. They all clustered around her first — their restored prodigal — and Grace kissed her lovingly, and Eeny's soft arms were around her neck. Then the group in the background came forward, and Rose saw a sunburned sailor's face, and knew that it was her brother Harry who was kissing her, and her sister Agnes whose arms clung around her. Then she looked at the third person, still standing modestly in the background, and uttered a little cry. " Jules ! M. La Touche !" He came forward, a smile on his face, and his hand frankly outstretched, while Eeny blushingly hovered aloof. " I am very happy to see you again, Mrs. Stanford — very happy to see you looking so well !" So they had met, and this was all ! Then they were in the drawing-room — how, Rose could not tell — it was all like a dream to her, and Eeny had the babe in her arms, and was carrying it around to be kissed and admired. " The beauty ! The darling ! The pet I" Eeny could not find words enough to express her enthusiastic rapture at such a miracle of babydom, and kissed Master Reginald into an angry fit of crying. They got up to their rooms at last. Rose broke down again in the seclusion of her chamber, and cried until her eyes were as sore as her heart. How happy they all looked, loving and beloved ; and she, the deserted wife, was an object of pity. While she sat crying, there was a tap at the door. Hastily drying her eyes, she opened it, and admitted Grace. '* Have you been crying, Rose?" she said, tenderly taking both her hands, and sitting down beside her. " My poor dear, you must try and forget your troubles, and be happy with us. I know it is very sad, and we are all sorry for you j but the husband you have lost is not worth grieving for. Were you not surprised," smiling, " to see Mr. La Touche here V " Hardly," said Rose, rather sulkily. " I suppose he is here in the character of Eeny's suitor V 20 314 AT HOME, " More than that, my dear. He is here in the character of Eeny's affianced huijband. They are to be married next month." Eose uttered an exclamation — an exclamation of dismay. She certainly had never dreamed of this. " The marriage would have taken place earlier, but was postponed in expectation of your and Kate's arrival. That is why Harry and Agnes are here. M. La Touche has a perfect home prepared for his bride in Ottawa. Come, she is in Kate's room now. I will show you her trousseau." Rose went with her step-mother from her chamber into Eeny's dressing-room. There was spread out the bridal out- fit. Silks, in rich stiffness, fit to stand alone ; laces, jewels, bridal-veil, and wreath. Rose looked with dazzled eyes, and a feeling of passionate, jealous envy at her heart. It might have been hers, all this splendour — she might have be«^n mistress of the palace at Ottawa, and the wife of a millionaire. But she had given up all for love of a handsome face ; and that handsome face smiled on another now, and was lost to her forever. She choked back the rebellious throbbing of her heart, and praised the costly wedding outfit, and was glad when she could escape and be alone again. It was all bitter as the w j,ters of Marah, to poor, widowed Rose ; their forgiveness, so ready and so generous, was heaping coals of fire on her head ; and at home, surrounded by kind friends and every comfort so long a stranger to her, she felt even more desolate than she had ever done in the dreary London lodgings. But while all were happy at Danton Hall, save Captain Danton's second daughter, once the gayest among them, the days flew by, and Eveleen Danton's wedding-day dawned. Such a lovely December day, brilliant, cloudless, warm — just the day for a wedding. The little village church was crowded with the rich and the poor, long before the carriages from the Hall arrived. Very lovely looked the young bride, in her silken robe of virgin white, her misty veil, and droop- ing, flower-crowned head. Very sweet, and fair, and inno- cent, and as pale as her snowy dress, the centre of all eyes, AT HOME. 315 as she moved up the aisle, on her father's arm. There were four bride-maids ; the Demoiselles La Touche came from Ottawa for the occasion. Miss Emily Howard, and Miss La Favre. The bride's sisters shared with her the general admiration — Mrs. Dr. Danton ; Mrs. Stanford, all auburn ringlets, and golden brown silk, and no outward sign of the torments within ; Mrs. Harry Danton, fair as a lily, cling- ing to her sailor-husband's arm, like some spirit of the sea ; and last, but not least. Captain Danton's wife, very simply dressed, but looking so quietly happy and serene. Then it was all over, and the gaping spectators saw the wedding party flocking back into the carriages, and whirling away to the Hall. Mr. and Mrs. La Touche were to make but a brief tour, and return in time for a Christmas house-warming. Doctor Frank and his wife went to their Montreal home, and Mrs. Stanford remained at St. Croix. The family were all to re- assemble at Ottawa, to spend New Year with Madame La Touche. Rose found the intervening weeks very long and dreary at the Hall. Captain Harry had gone back to his ship, and of coui-se Agnes had gone with him. They had wanted her to stay at home this voyage, but Agnes had lifted such appealing eyes, and clung in so much alarm to Harry at the bare idea of his leaving her, that they had given it up at once. So Rose, with no companion except Grace, found it very dull, and sighed the slow hours away, like a modern Mariana in the Moated Grange. But the meiTy New Year time came round at last; and all the Dantons were together once more in Eeny's splendid home. It made Rose's heart ache with envy to walk through those lovely rooms — long vistas of splendour and gorgeous- ness. " It might have been mine ! — It might have been mine !" that rebellious heart of hers kept crying out. " I might have been mistress of all this retinue of servants — these jewels and silks I might have worn ! I might have reigned like a queen in this stately house if I had only done right !" But it was too late, and Mrs. Stanford had to keep up ap- 316 AT HOME. pearances, and smiles, though the serpents of envy and regret gnawed at her vitals. It was very gay there ! Life seemed all made up of music, and dancing, and feasting, nnd mirth, and skating, and sleighing, and dressing, and singing. Life went like a fairy spectacle, or an Eastern drama, or an Arcadian dream — with care, and trial, and trouble, monsters unknown even by name. Mme. Jules La Touche played the r61e with charming grace — a little shy, as became her youth and inexperience, but only the more charming for that. They were very, very happy together, this quiet young pair — loving one another very dearly, as you could see, and looking forward hopefully to a future that was to be without a cloud. Mrs. La Touche and Mrs. Stanford were very much ad- mired in society, no doubt ; but people went into raptures over Mrs. Frank Danton. Such eyes, such golden hair, such rare smiles, such queenly grace, such singing, such playing — surely nature had created this darling of hers in a gracious mood, and meted out to her a double portion of her favours. You might think other ladies — those younger sis- ters of hers included — beautiful until she came ; and then that stately presence, that bewitching brightness and grace, eclipsed them as the sun eclipses stars. " What a lucky fellow Danton is ! " said the men. " One doesn't see such a superb woman once in a century." And Doctor Frank heard it, and smiled, as he smoked his meerschaum, and thought so too. And so we leave them. Kate is happy ; Eeny reigns right royally in her Ottawa home ; and Rose — well, poor Bose has no home, and flits about between St. Croix, and Montreal, and Ottawa, all the year round. She calls Dan- ton Hall home, but she spends most of her time with Kate. It is not so sumptuous, of course, as at Ottawa, in the rising young Doctor's home ; but she is not galled every moment of the day by the poignant regrets that lacerate her heart at Eeny's. She hears of her husband occasionally, as he wan- \ \ AT HcmE. m ders through the Continent, and the chain that binds her to him galls her day and night. Little Reginald, able to trot about on his own sturdy legs now, accompanies her in her migratory flights, and is petted to death wherever he goes. He has come to grief q\\k,e recently, and takes it very hard that grandpa should have something else to nurse besides himself. This something else is a little atom of humanity named Oracle, and is Captain Danton's youngest daughter. THE END. I