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 1 
 
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 22^ 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 6 
 
THREE JSrOTABLE STORIES 
 
■tv^'^ii^^^^^'^'' 
 
 Electi'o-Gui^tiVe In^tituision 
 
 ESTABLISHED 1874, 
 
 4 Queen Street East, 
 
 TORONTO, ONT. 
 
 
 ''•4«*i*" 
 
 A. NOmiAN'S ELECTRO-CUr.ATIVE APPLIANCES have 
 
 stood the test of time, and are the best in the world for the 
 
 HELZSF AND CTTHS OF 
 Rhsumaiic and Nsrvnus Diseases, 
 
 Indigestion, Livsr Complaint 
 
 Nervous Debility, and Loss of 
 
 Vital Power from Whatever Cause. 
 
 There are many Imitations, but none are equal to 
 
 these Appliances. 
 
 CONSULTATION AND CATALOGUE FREE. 
 
 REFERENCES. 
 
 Wm. Kersteman, Jr., Esq. Robert G. Dalton, Esq. N. G. Bigilow, Esq. 
 ilKssufi. Mamon S: Risch. J. Grant Macdonald, Esq. Donald O. Kidout, Esq. 
 R. C. Davies, Esq. Rev. J. Hudson Taylor, Hon. Judob Maodouoaix^ 
 
 AND MANY OTHBRS. 
 
THREE NOTABLE STORIES 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 RRSPECTIVRLT BT 
 
 TSfS, MARQUIS OF LOEI^-E. K.G. 
 
 MftS. ALEXANDER 
 
 THOMAS HARDY- 
 
 TORONTO : 
 WILLIAM BRYCE, PUBLISHEP. 
 
:-.y<d$4ii''iii^-^- 
 
 
 Entered according to the Act of Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eight 
 hundred and ninety, by Wm. Bryce, in the OlUoe of the Minister of Agriculture. 
 
iasAt^f ■ 
 
 i^OVE AND PERIL 
 
 a Stars of life ,„ ^, j^„ ^^^ ^^^^ 
 
 THE MARQUIS OF LOR.VE, G.C.^^.G. 
 
 ouaand eight 
 re. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 'HERE is an amount of egotistic 
 vanity about U3 tiiat mak-es as ilnd 
 of recaiJiDg our exploits and acts, 
 however silly tliese may have been. I do noi 
 believe that anybody looks back with the hor- 
 ror that novelists imagine men mu»t feel, even 
 
 upon such a deed as the slaying of a man. On 
 
 base murder they may look back with horror; 
 
 but even then the revengeful feeling „hioh 
 
 prompted the attempt lives on m the breast of 
 
 
n:^^^.'a;*j^;. 
 
 a LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 the slayer, and he is apt to think of his 
 work with some of the gratification of satis- 
 fied ang(?r rather than with remorse. So, 
 at least, it has seemed to me, iudirinw from 
 instances that have come under my observa- 
 tion, both among savages and civilised men. 
 
 Unless something we have done brings 
 to us misery of some kind, eitlier poverty 
 or danger or difficulty, we do not regret 
 our actions. When we suffer from them, 
 then, indeed, do we say, ** "Why the deuce 
 was I fool enough to do it ? " but in tliis 
 bad world, bad works are not always followed 
 by suffering, and it becomes a daily wonder 
 to those who believe in the prompt return 
 of a sowing of wickedness in a harvest 
 of destruction, how tne cause or wrong is 
 so often apparently triumphant. 
 
 But I am moraliaing too much, and the 
 
LOVE AND FEUIL 3 
 
 observations I have made are only due to 
 this—that I (lice was held by my frieuds 
 to have behaved in a very silly manner ; and 
 yet I did not at all regret it. Ou the con- 
 trary, I look back with interest, amusement, 
 
 and even joy to the days wlien I was actinc. 
 
 o 
 
 rather the part of a wild man of the woods 
 than the part taken in real life by your 
 humble servant, John Uptas, Esq., of Toronto, 
 Canada, now barrister-at-law, and doing 
 fairly well in my profession as the times 
 go. I have not : ..^ got a silk gown, but the 
 prospect of such a garment is not far ; and 
 Osgoode Hall, the great building where we 
 plead in the Provincial Courts, sees many 
 a more forlorn countenance than mine, and 
 many a figure far more bent, pacing the 
 corridors and passing the handsome Italian 
 doorways of its solid architecture. 
 
 B 2 
 
.4)tJ^^<i'mtm-i-"' 
 
 I I 
 
 4 LOVJiJ ASD PERIL 
 
 Gowns and ]aw used not to be to my 
 tuste. I was always of an a(|ive spirit ; and 
 stories read in boyhood of adventures 
 iii the Far West, made me think that the 
 life of a Hudson's Bay trap[jcr gave a career 
 far finer than that of most generals. What 
 was the knocking over a few battalions at 
 a distance with heavy artillery, compared to 
 the glory of taking single-handed the life 
 of a grizzly bear? These impressions con- 
 tinued to exercise their sway on my mind ; 
 and I could not stand college. I loved Pro- 
 fessor Wilson, and admired the talents of 
 several of the gentlemen who adorn the 
 chairs of the University; but I fled with a 
 friend from their seductions, and resolved, 
 come what might, that a few years among the 
 hunters and trappers should harden my body, 
 and, as I thought also, improve my mind. 
 
'i^**i*.^ 
 
 LOVE AND rV:RIl , 
 
 Sevenil „f „s students fell to t„lki„. 
 about .such Mspinitions one eveuiug at .suppei" 
 I felt tolerably in.lepeudeut, lmvi„fr a few 
 dollars invested in good funds, my heritage 
 from a frugal father, and I mag„anim„ujy 
 offered to pay the way for the ehum 1 had 
 asked to accompany me. We both resolved 
 to throw learning to the winds, and to start 
 as soon as might be-where, goodness only 
 knew. Not to the United Stat.» We were 
 patriotic, and we knew that our own xNorth 
 land afforded opportunity enough for ad- 
 venture. Westward, of course - westward 
 the course of the Empire takes its way. 
 We drank a good many times to the success 
 of our journey. But morning brought neither 
 hot coppers nor repentance. 
 
 la less than a fortnight's time we had 
 made what little Dreoanitinn^ „,« «..j..i . . 
 
6 LOVE AND FEBIL 
 
 we were off by the Grand Trunk Railway to 
 Detroit and Chicago. At that time our own 
 great national enterprise, the Canadian PaciBc 
 Railway, was iu the air, or at most hidden 
 away in the brains of some enthusiastic 
 gentlemen who were looked upon as having 
 moie imagination than ballast in their compo- 
 sition. But Chicago was, of course, already 
 a fact. Thither we proceeded, but stayed 
 only a short while among its straight and 
 multitudinous streets. The weather was fine. 
 It was summer. We passed on to places in 
 the head waters of the Red River of the 
 North, as it was then called, and lovincr 
 river life, we took to the stenmers, and then 
 to boats, and ultimately arrived at Fort 
 Garry, the modern Winnipeg. 
 
 From thence I remember writing to our 
 
 dear Prnfpssnr Wiloj-.^ of +l,.» TT» " 'i. 
 
 a iiooa at nic University, a 
 
ilway to 
 our own 
 I Pacific 
 
 hidden 
 lusiastic 
 
 having 
 compo- 
 already 
 
 staved 
 ht and 
 as fine, 
 aces in 
 of the 
 
 ovmof 
 
 d then 
 i Fort 
 
 to our 
 
 sity, a 
 
 10 VE AM) PERIL 7 
 
 letter which was a sort of payment of what 
 the Enolish call "conscience money," when 
 they send to their Financ.e Minister the 
 arrears en their terrible Income Tax. Thus 
 my letter was a kind of acknowledgment 
 of the debt I owed to our Alma Mater, and 
 the best beloved man there. 
 
 1 had been struck I,y the accounts of the 
 great freshets that took place, and still take 
 place, in the Red Eiver durino the spring- 
 time. Of ohJ these floods caught very many 
 of the buffalo herds that grazed m the wide 
 and rich pastures on the banks of the great 
 stream. The bufJaloes were swept Iway 
 m hundreds, nay in thousands, and I con- 
 nected this in my ,)nnd with what I had 
 read of the vast amount of mammoth ivory 
 and skeletons of elephants found at the 
 mouths of the giant rivers of Siberia. Was 
 
■■m'ii$f<-'^^&^'^:''^ 
 
 \ \> 
 
 
 ' in 
 
 ^ LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 it not possible that the deposits of extinct 
 mammals owed their origin to like causes ? 
 May not herds of elephants as numerous as 
 the herds of our "American Bison" have 
 grazed in olden days on the Prairies of 
 Siberia near those rivers, and may not these 
 spring floods have carried hundreds away, 
 and drowned them, and strewed their car-' 
 cases along their banks, and at their estuaries, 
 just in the same way as the Red River 
 drowned its thousands of buffaloes, and 
 strewed its banks with their bodies ? 
 
 I thought I should never see Toronto 
 again, and this was my tribute at parting to 
 its learning. We did not pause at Winnipeg 
 except to recruit supplies, but passed on 
 down the stream until the broad expanse of 
 its lake lay before us. Then on its bosom 
 we voyaged many days, until we came to 
 
"X' ,. 
 
 ►f extinr,t 
 ' causes ? 
 tierous as 
 n " have 
 aides of 
 lot these 
 s away, 
 tieir car- 
 istuaries, 
 I River 
 es, and 
 
 Toronto 
 'ting to 
 innip;^'g 
 3ed on 
 ansa of 
 bosom 
 
 im 
 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 9 
 
 where tlie gigantic Saskatchewan enters it 
 through a vast region of marsh, and sedge, 
 I and grass-grown flats, where my classical 
 
 studies called up remembrances of Viro-jl's 
 description of the Danube, to whose banks 
 he was exiled. There he bewailed his f^^e, 
 and the frozen wilderness, and longed for 
 the fleshpots of Rome. Not so I. We shot 
 bitterns, and ducks, and pelicans, and geese 
 by the score, and I was in Paradise. And 
 then, gettmg Indians to aid us. we canoed 
 onwards up the immense river, westward, 
 ever westward. 
 
 We had no lack of food— our guns gave 
 us all we needed. Oh, the delight after 
 our tame town life to be our own masters, 
 our ONvn purveyors ! Oh, the charm of those 
 evening camp fires when we had our meals I 
 We two stretched ourselves before the fire, 
 
I i . 
 
 ' '' ..-:■■ >=--^::iav^.!ii#fi.*'-^Si*a|*-j; 
 
 10 
 
 ! li 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 i ii 
 
 i .1 
 
 I'l 
 
 made up of willow and poplar wood, and 
 smoked our pipes, and dreamed of further 
 adventure and exploration. 
 
 Only one thing there was to disgust 
 us. Often, after rain, along the prairie paths 
 by the side of the water we came on ex- 
 traordinary- looking beasts or large lizards. 
 Hideous, bloated -looking things they were, 
 that lifted their fat tails above their broad 
 backs, and waddled rather than ran on 
 their fat legs before us among the grass. 
 But we had little time for the studv of 
 natural history. All that was not eatable 
 was disgusting, all that was eatable we 
 appreciated. 
 
 And so we voyaged on until we came 
 to the settlement of the Half Breeds, the 
 Metis, as they call themselves, below the 
 
 Forks" — the n !<>«'» •M»kc~ii xv- ^ • 
 
 wiic |;j«^^ TriiCxe i,ue twm rivers 
 
►od, and 
 further 
 
 disgust 
 ie paths 
 on ex- 
 lizards. 
 y were, 
 r broad 
 rail on 
 ! grass, 
 udv of 
 eatable 
 )le we 
 
 J came 
 
 Is, the 
 
 w the 
 
 rivers 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL n 
 
 of the North and South Saskatchewan join. 
 Here we were in a wooded fir country, with 
 numerous settlements of these people. But 
 onward still we went, now by land, for the 
 travelling was easier on the wooded banks, 
 the forest being not dense enough to impede 
 advance. So we journeyed to the bastioned 
 stockade of Fort Carlton, where was a stronc. 
 Hudson Bay post, with stores of skins and 
 food, and hearty welcome. Here we deter- 
 mined to go further north, and we crossed the 
 river to its northern bank. 
 
 My companion had up to this time 
 evinced nothing but a desire to accommodate 
 himself to my ideas, a frame of mind highly 
 creditable, as I thought, to him, for was I 
 not the author and originator of this journey ? 
 What could any opposition to my views do, 
 but destroy harmony and progress ? 
 
 I 
 
■^dV'^!!'!:*"®*^^^ 
 
 12 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 J 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 Mil 
 I'M 
 
 lljl 
 
 But the winter was coming on, and I 
 detected a certain amount of desire on his 
 part, to accommodate himself to the wishes 
 of some of the young clerks at the establish- 
 ment, who told him he could get plenty 
 of shooting and fun there without going 
 further. This was not to my taste, and 
 at first he took my counsel, and said' he 
 would go on with me. Sometimes, how- 
 ever, he forcibly suggested we should 
 remam I as forcibly suggested we should 
 proceed. I prevailed. 
 
 We were to go on upon a well-known 
 route, which, although it involved hard 
 travellings was a beaten path. But he 
 wanted to keep nearer the river, where 
 we were told we should meet with more 
 game, in the shape of geese and ducks, 
 for a week or two longer. The end was a 
 
LOVE AND PERIL 13 
 
 compromise, always a stupid thing. So we 
 set out, carrying on a toboggan (for snow 
 enough was now falling to make the drag- 
 ging of a toboggan possible) all our stores. 
 Then came all our difficulties. 
 
 At first we shut game enough. But 
 the marches became very wearisome. We 
 carried snow-shoes, and we used them for 
 the first cime. No one who has not had 
 experience of this mode of travelling, can 
 imagine how tedious progression on^now- 
 shoes becomes to one unaccustomed to the 
 exertion. To European ears the word often 
 signifies quick ana easy progression. The 
 Norwegian sno.v-shoe, a long board with 
 a strap for the feet, is the instrument that 
 comes to an old country mind. Our snow- 
 shoes are very different. Imagine a large 
 tennis racquet like a heart, but without the 
 
-;ir'!i^»Av'a:afrtt*:;,^ 
 
 u 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 
 ' i I 
 
 I I 
 
 I i 
 
 '\'\' . 
 
 Kli' 
 
 indentation at the broad end, which is 
 shaped into an even curve. There is a 
 space left in the cross catgutting for the 
 toes, over which straps are looped. At 
 first all goes well, and the even tramp, 
 tramp, although monotonous, has the sense 
 of novelty. Then you get into a snowdrift, 
 there may be some small accident — an upset 
 —which only provokes mirth. But after 
 hours and days the ball of the toes is apt 
 to get very sore— the mal de Racquet, as 
 the French call it — and then how tiresome 
 becomes the march, and how the feet ache 
 and ache ! 
 
 The temperature became cold, in the 
 evenings, and the nights were far from 
 warm. But we found fuel in the copses 
 that fringed the north bank. I always 
 urged that we should strike north, where 
 
'■ii*^iti:'t^' 
 
 which is 
 ere is a 
 for the 
 ped. At 
 D tramp, 
 ;he sense 
 nowdrift, 
 an upset 
 ut after 
 s is apt 
 cquet, as 
 tiresome 
 'eet ache 
 
 I in the 
 
 ar from 
 
 5 copses 
 
 always 
 
 1, where 
 
 LOVE AND PElilh 15 
 
 the country was more full of firs, but the 
 counter-plea was urged, "Let us stick to 
 the river for a few days yet." My com- 
 panion suffered more from his feet than 
 I did, and became more and more "cross" 
 every evening when we made camp. I had 
 now to go to cut the firewood, for he was 
 so tired and footsore that he always declared 
 that he could do no work when we came 
 to a halt, but help to cook at the fire. 
 
 He thought me unreasonable; I thought 
 bim opinionative. The marches were not 
 long enough for me ; they were too long for 
 bim. Finally, we quarrelled outright. Fatigue 
 bad made our tempers short, although the 
 day's work was still long enough. It became 
 colder and colder. We had but one good 
 robe (a buffalo skin) with us, and this hacT 
 to be shared by us both at night. But soon 
 
liil!! ! 
 
 ^* LOVE A^'D PERIL 
 
 my friend became so angered with me - 
 whether it was because I was always too hope- 
 ful and cheerful, whatever the circumstances, 
 or because I had "given it him back" when 
 he had been too a])usive in a gloomy fit, or 
 whether because ho had resolved to go no 
 further whenever he had a chance of re 
 turning, I know not ; but he would hardly 
 speak to me. I showed my dislike of this 
 conduct, and absolute silence reigned between 
 us. 
 
 But while his head got worse, as I thought, 
 I observed thar hi. toes got better. He was 
 able to march fully as well as I, and I some- 
 times thought that he was trying to punish 
 me by walking me down. But my toes got 
 better too, and I was determined to walk 
 him down. So we plodded on, and his 
 silence and sulkiness remained It was a 
 
 
 ,!i!' 
 
ith me - 
 too liopo- 
 imstnnces, 
 ik" vvlien 
 ny fit, Ol- 
 io go no 
 B of re • 
 id hardly 
 J of this 
 between 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 17 
 
 ridiculous position. There we were, two 
 lonely mortals, holding to our course, but 
 getting more uncomfortable and doubtful of 
 our own wisdom evening after evening. 
 
 thought, 
 
 He was 
 
 I some- 
 
 ) punish 
 
 toes got 
 
 to walk 
 
 md his 
 
 was a 
 
^>.ki''^^tfmi ' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 -if! 
 
 iHiii 
 
 ^S the blue shadows on ^,he snow 
 vanished, and gave place to the 
 advaDeing dusk of night, we 
 searched keenly for willow clumps that could 
 afford shelter and fuel, and having come to 
 some suitable spot we silently halted, turned 
 our toboggan, with its load, on edge, so as 
 to afford shelter for the fire which we soon 
 had alight. Thei , taking out our ;ro^i y^e lay 
 close together, coJd in body and in manner, 
 but rolled as near together as possible, for 
 the sake of the animal warmth our bodies 
 aflos-ded to each other. 
 
LOVE AND rERIL 
 
 19 
 
 I had become the more encrgetin of the 
 
 two, and one evening as we continued our 
 
 march I found that my companion and 
 
 whilom friend was lagging behind. I saw 
 
 it. I am ashamed to say, with delight. 
 
 "Now I will make him speak," thought 
 
 I, with malicious joy. On I went, tramping 
 
 the snow with even footfall, on and on. 
 
 At last, after we had passed some likely 
 
 places for a camp, I heard a voice behind 
 
 me. Was it indeed my friend, who had 
 
 found speech at last ? Yea, verily ! " it 
 
 Uptas, we must stop now. Where do you 
 wish to go ? " Another oath. I felt half 
 tempted to give no reply, but I relented, 
 an.l said: "All right, old fellow; we'll stop 
 here." 
 
 The ice was broken, and we lay down 
 after a surly conversation had taken place. 
 
v»-%.-vtii'i!i^ifci''aiNftf*' 
 
 I i 
 
 i I 
 
 I ' 
 
 !lt|!! I i 
 
 j'iii'll! 
 
 20 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 My friend declared he would take the first 
 opportunity to go back, and I did not demur 
 to his proposition. But we must first find 
 the regular trail, and some Indian lodge or 
 voyageur's tent. We knew well enough that 
 we could best find such to the north of our 
 present position, and we determined to strike 
 for the chain of posts due north. It was a 
 relief to have thus decided. 
 
 We had gone some considerable distance 
 too far to the west, but by making an angle 
 to the N.E. we should strike the regular route 
 to Fort k la Crosse by Pelican Lake. I 
 remember that night as we were about to 
 turn in, and were still discussing our pem- 
 mican at the fire, we suddenly saw standing 
 close to us the solitary and silent form of 
 an Indian. How he had got so near us 
 we did not know. There he stood hkp.. ar. 
 
 Hi =ii 
 
!-''ii!*j#4' 
 
 i 
 
 LOVB AND PERIL 
 
 21 
 
 b the first 
 not demur 
 t first find 
 n lodge or 
 snough that 
 3rth of our 
 d to strike 
 It was a 
 
 le distance 
 ? an angle 
 jular route 
 Lake. I 
 about to 
 our pem- 
 ^ standing 
 b form of 
 > near us 
 
 I hk 
 
 0. on 
 
 apparition, so motionless and statuelike was 
 he. Not a sound had escaped him, not a 
 rustling of his snow-shoes had betrayed him 
 as he approached. Wrapped in a blanket, 
 with a short bow in his hand, he stood and 
 gazed solemnly, mournfully, as it seemed to 
 me, at us. We offered him some food, which 
 he took in his hand without a gesture or 
 word. There might be others near us, and I 
 had not got used to the presence of such 
 mysteriously appearing guests. 
 
 But there was no reason for suspecting 
 him of any evil design. He departed soon 
 into the darkness. We agreed to keep watch 
 by turns, but slumber overcame both of us, 
 and we saw and heard no more of our friend. 
 Yet I shall never forget that suddenly appear- 
 ing figure, rooted apparently to the ground, 
 and gazing down upon us, looking m the 
 
■;^'nj^;«'S- 
 
 !i!|!i 
 
 22 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 firelight like a carven figure, or the genius of 
 those wild, steppelike lands. I knew now 
 that I should soon be alone with such com- 
 panions, for mj friend had made up his mind 
 to abide no longer than he could help in this 
 wilderness. 
 
 As I went to sleep, the scenes of mj 
 journey arose again before me — the turbid 
 rush of the Red River; the low banks cut 
 in the rich soil; then the endless expanse 
 of Lake Winnipeg; the dreary flats and 
 sedges and rapids at the mouth of the 
 Saskatchewan, the wide estuary of that 
 river gradually narrowing as its sides became 
 higher ; the firs on the ridges ; the stockades 
 of Carlton Fort with the surrounding hills, 
 often lit up vividly by the orange fires of 
 the Canadian sunsets; the recent weary- 
 marches : thft on]ii «n/J ,T«t +1-- 1- -„f . r 
 
 ^ WU1A ^cii Kuc UCciUty 01 
 
 ' ' 
 
LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 23 
 
 3 genius of 
 knew now 
 such cona- 
 3 his mind 
 elp in this 
 
 les of my 
 the turbid 
 banks cut 
 >s expanse 
 
 flats and 
 
 h of the 
 
 of that 
 
 es became 
 
 stockades 
 ling hills, 
 B fires of 
 it weary 
 )eauty of 
 
 the snowy landscape; and I longed as I 
 fell asleep for the murmuring shelter of 
 the pines, and resolved to hasten our march 
 to the trail, and the abodes of the gallant 
 pioneers of the fur trade, whose camps we 
 must find again as soon as possible. 
 
 My newly reconciled friend was still 
 asleep by my side when I awoke in the 
 morning, and how the cold struck down 
 on my head and between my shoulders I 
 I shivered and jumped up, to stamp about 
 and get all ready for a start, for now that 
 we had settled to get quickly to some 
 place where we might find white men, 
 despondency seemed left behind like the 
 cold night. How the sun glistened on the 
 frosty willow boughs and white carpet of 
 snowl How crisp and bracing felt the de- 
 lightful air, making the pulses tingle and 
 
-a*^-' 
 
 Mil i! 
 
 i \\m 
 
 i lii 
 
 !! 
 
 M inHiiil 
 
 ■ !;!' 
 
 24 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 <i ' -i, 
 
 redoubling the strength ! We started by 
 compass. It was astonishing how hard the 
 prairie had already become. The lakes that 
 we passed were also frozen. 
 
 Desiring some change in our diet, for 
 the geese and ducks had now all gone to 
 the south, and we had found none for some 
 time, Ave resolved to try our lines at a 
 lake. The pemmican was very "stodgy," 
 and we were soon tired of it, although it 
 was well made. Often there is nothing in 
 it but dried meat pounded up, and then 
 poured with a lot of melted fat into a bag. 
 But ours had been carefully made with 
 good berries, so that it was not disagree- 
 able. Still, a few fish would be a pleasant 
 variety. But now we found to our dismay 
 that the lake was so alkaline that there 
 Mere no fish in it This was another arau- 
 
 
 mm' 
 
itarted by 
 
 ' hard the 
 
 lakes that 
 
 diet, for 
 I gone to 
 i for some 
 nes at a 
 "stodgy," 
 though it 
 lothing in 
 and then 
 to a bag. 
 ade with 
 disagree- 
 
 pleasant 
 r dismay 
 at there 
 
 ler argu- 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 26 
 
 ment in favour of getting altogetlier awav 
 from the flatter country of the alluvial 
 earth, which is furrowed so deep by tlio 
 Saskatchewan stream. We resolved on two 
 or three forced marches, and were glad to 
 find agam the land swelling into hillocks 
 crowned with fir-trees. Among these there 
 were again pieces of frozen water, and near 
 the first we camped after some days of 
 toil, resolved, if there were fish, to rest a 
 little. 
 
 What joy to find a " nibble " at the end 
 of the line, let down through a hole made 
 in the ice ! The water was large, the further 
 shore being all fringed with pine. We 
 might hope for good fishing. What was 
 this, the first catch ? It was a good one, 
 for the tugs at the line were furious. But 
 there was a slackening of the efforts of the 
 
■•T^-sl:f.^''»#i#.<'" 
 
 ; It- Mi 
 ill) 
 
 26 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 fish, and cautiously I hauled him up to 
 the ice. Another tug, a sudden cessation 
 of all feeling of weight. Good heavens, 
 have I lost him? No; there he was at 
 it once more; but I pulled him steadily 
 through the ice, and lo, a splendid trout 
 lay gasping on the skyward side. Well 
 done, pemmican bait! But perhaps a piece 
 of this fish would serve for another. Let 
 us try. Some time elapsed before there 
 was any reply vouchsafed to the temptation 
 let down into the waters. Then came a 
 jerk, then a long, strong pull. We had 
 another! A similar fight with this, not 
 so prolonged, took place, and there soon 
 lay beside his mutilated comrade another 
 fish, but not this time a trout. It was a 
 " whitefish " or " coregonus," a kind of gray- 
 ling, much liked by all the dwellers within 
 
him up to 
 en cessation 
 od heavens, 
 he was at 
 lim steadily 
 endid trout 
 side. Well 
 laps a piece 
 lother. Let 
 efore there 
 temptation 
 m came a 
 We had 
 
 this;^ not 
 there soon 
 3e another 
 
 It was a 
 id of gray- 
 lers within 
 
 « 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 reach of the lakes, great or small, in North 
 America, for of this fish men never tire. 
 Of trout one cau soon have too much. 
 This is not so with the whitefish, so we 
 were rejoiced at getting one. 
 
 We were more determined than ever 
 to make a stay at a place where we could 
 have rest and good refreshment. Some 
 more fish were caught, and we went to 
 camp, lighting a large fire near a little 
 frozen stream. The fish were placed on 
 the surfatje of a little pool close to the fire, 
 and there we left them, content to stretch 
 ourselves near the flames and smoke our 
 pipes, and look upward into the dark boughs 
 that seemed to breathe comfort and warmth 
 after the snow glare of the open plains. 
 Some of the fish were split and put before 
 the fire on sticks, and very good they were. 
 
!T*4e-t *'ai*«*.^4;.' 
 
 ! ' 
 
 
 l-t 
 
 28 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 But what was our astonishment, some time 
 after supper and pipes had been discussed, 
 to find that in a little surface pool formed 
 by the melting of the brook ice by the 
 heat of our fire, soveral of the fish, captured 
 hours before and frozen stiff, had become 
 alive, and were deluding themselves into the 
 belief that they were about again to become 
 free trout and whitefish. We undeceived 
 them ; but that they could come alive figjiin 
 after so prolonged an apparent death was 
 startling and new to us. Whenever we 
 caught them afterwards we did away with 
 the hope of this resurrection by knocking 
 tliem on the head. So passed this evening, 
 and a good many more, for we were loth 
 to leave our quarters. 
 
 The winter became more intense in cold, 
 but that we looked for. and we were as- 
 
, some time 
 
 n discussed, 
 
 pool formed 
 
 ice by the 
 
 sh, captured 
 
 bad become 
 
 '^es into the 
 
 I to become 
 
 undeceived 
 
 alive agjiin 
 
 death was 
 
 icnever we 
 
 away with 
 
 y knocking 
 
 lis evening, 
 
 3 were loth 
 
 Qse in cold, 
 6 were as- 
 
 i 
 ,4 
 
 
 :# 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL ^ft 
 
 tonished at the comparatively small amount 
 of snow that fell, as compared to what 
 we had been accustomed to in Ontario. 
 We certainly never felt so well in Toronto 
 as we did here, on the border of what the 
 geographers rather affectedly call the Sub- 
 Arctic Forest. 
 
 We had made several excursions to look 
 for deer, whose tracks we had observed on 
 the border of the lake, and one day I 
 came upon a fine buck, who appeared to 
 be seeking some open water near its shore. 
 He stood still, apparently listening 'to some 
 lioise I must have made, his dusky brown 
 form clearly defined against the snow. My 
 rifle laid him low, and we held high 
 carnival over his flesh, which was exceliem. 
 It was a reindeer or Cariboo. 
 
 About two weeks later we moved on, 
 
■■%'«^^,&m*m'i -* 
 
 ! !l 
 
 ,^1,1 
 
 I 
 !i 
 
 ! 'IT 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 30 
 
 LOVE AND Pl'lBTL 
 
 and the ice being firmer with the increased 
 cold, we had no difficulty in crossing 
 several lakes whose waters stretched in 
 the direction we wished to take. It was 
 at the end of one of these marches that 
 we saw smoke from fires kindled on the 
 bank beneath the clumps of firs and 
 willow. One of the pleasures of travelling 
 in the wild parts of the Canadian North- 
 West consists in this, that although in the 
 United States you may be uncertain wliat 
 welcome may await you among the Indians, 
 in the British territories there is no fear 
 to be apprehended from them. Some events 
 I shall have hereafter to mention, which 
 may seem to prove the contrary, came 
 from accidental and purely temporary causes, 
 the Redskins having been led away by 
 
 viiuu. ikiuoiJUcu, bjlo l.XiXil JjltiiiUSt 
 
le increased 
 in crossing 
 retched in 
 e. It was 
 arcbes that 
 eri on the 
 firs and 
 f travelling 
 iian North- 
 ugh in the 
 jrtain what 
 he Indians, 
 is no fear' 
 Jome events 
 :ion, which 
 :ary, came 
 rary causes, 
 away by 
 
 '4 
 
 'I 
 
 i* 
 
 LOVE AND PBRIL jj 
 
 We thcr..fore aj^pmaiHicd the en,.;,m|,. 
 n-ent without any apprehension, and went 
 in among the lodges of the Indians as 
 though we had been long expected. And 
 their manner to us was qu.te the manner 
 you would regard as usual among your 
 own relatives, who may have been aceus- 
 tomed to see you go out and in among 
 them. The elders said absolutely nothing 
 The younger members of the party came 
 forth from their shelters to look at us. 
 and that was all. We sought the Chief's 
 lodge, and found him before his wigwam. 
 He listened as we asked him if all was 
 well, and if we could stay with him. 
 "Tukayow, it is cold," he said; "how 
 ■"any are you?" "Nesho," we replied. 
 "Two only," and we held up two fingers 
 to emphasize our assertion. "Nipakak," 
 
I 
 
 8fl 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 1 
 
 I inii 
 
 lie said, after a pause, for the night bad 
 fallen, aud this meant that we were to 
 sleep ; so we made our camp near to the 
 Jtidiaus, and soon obeyed the Chief, for 
 our slumbers were very sound. 
 
 Next day, my companion forthwith made 
 inquiries as to the means of getting back 
 to Carlton, and on his promising a reward, 
 an Indian undertook to guide him there, 
 so that he should arrive in a few days' 
 time I told them 1 would stay with 
 them, and the announcement was received 
 with a grunt, apparently of satisfaction. 
 We parted rather sorrowfully, although we 
 had fallen out by the way. 
 
 Now comes the beginning of my serious 
 adventures. All adventures in love are 
 serious, although they may seem to be of 
 no iuiportauce at the time. Yet they leavo 
 
Igt^ , 
 
 LuV±; AND Fh}RlL 
 
 33 
 
 e nigtit bad 
 we were to 
 near to thu 
 > Chief, for 
 
 thwith made 
 
 ijetting back 
 
 \g a reward, 
 
 him there, 
 
 a few days' 
 
 stay with 
 
 vas received 
 
 satisfaction. 
 
 ilthough we 
 
 my serious 
 Q love are 
 n to be of 
 
 i they leave 
 
 traces in a man's futnrP, and the evidences 
 of the attachments of other days creep up 
 when Ie;,st expected. So I ought to have 
 thought, but I did not, and when I found 
 that this old Chief had a dnnphter who 
 was certairdy pretty, "as Indinn ladies go." 
 I am afraid that I was guilty of directing 
 too many of my looks and too many of 
 my remarks in her direction. She was 
 the only daughter of " Okimow," or the 
 Chief, and although I never think that the 
 Red damsels can compare for one moment 
 with the beauties of Toronto, I have to 
 confess that by the side of her native 
 lakes and under the shades of her native 
 pines she was indeed beautiful. She had 
 some fanciful long-winded name, comprising 
 at least two sentences of meaning, some- 
 thing to the effect of "She is the one to 
 
 I 
 
■''■-^Am--mii4f^mm'}/^ 
 
 M 
 
 m\. 
 
 m 
 
 il! ' 
 
 
 11*' 
 
 ! i: 
 
 iil'l 
 
 34 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 whom all listen when she talks," but I 
 could not get my tongue round so much 
 of this lingo, and I called her " Kiooshka," 
 which was some imitation of her father's 
 word for "daughter." She managed my 
 name very well when I once graciously 
 took pains to teach it to her. She often 
 came after us on short, expeditions, asking 
 to carry something, and I began to fear 
 with a sort of sweet misgiving that I had 
 made too great an impression upon her. 
 Why should she always wish to carry 
 things for me, to look after my camp, to 
 let me find a charming pine-twig bed 
 always ready for me when I came back from 
 hunting deer? 
 
 I had misgivings, but 1 manfully sup- 
 pressed my misgivings, as most men do 
 under the circumstances, and I allowed 
 
 ■}^ 
 
mm^'4-'i- 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 35 
 
 :s;' but I 
 i so much 
 Kiooslika," 
 er father's 
 111 aged my 
 graciously 
 She often 
 >ns, asking 
 m to fear 
 hat I had 
 upon her. 
 to carry 
 camp, to 
 twig bed 
 back from 
 
 « 
 « 
 
 .'if 
 
 things to happen which in civilised society 
 might have been held as "compromising." 
 But how could I help it? This dear little 
 maiden, with her quick brown eyes, and 
 cheeks of deep nut-brown, with the glow 
 of healthy blood making them flush a 
 lovely dusky red, was my camp-maker, 
 and guardian spirit in my loneliness. I 
 could only get grunts from most of her 
 kindred. She had always a smile for me, 
 and never for an instant allowed anything 
 to mar my comfort as far as lay in li^r 
 power. This is a trait in woman which is 
 universally apprcjciated. 
 
 fully sup- 
 men do 
 allowed 
 
^'-^'i^t^mk-mmmu' 
 
 f II 
 
 !l{l: 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ^}\^^^ me, what an angel Kiooshka 
 is!" I used to say to myself, as 
 I stretched myself on the fir- 
 twig mattress before the fire she had kindled, 
 and helped myself to the nice roa«t steak of 
 venison, or the smoking fish she had pre- 
 pared. And thus time passed, and I felt no 
 inclination to regret that I did not keep 
 Christmas that year at home in the far-ofi" 
 East. The blaze of the pine logs lit up for 
 me C}*istraas-trees in the wild forest which 
 seemed to me fairer than any I had helped 
 to delight the children with at hnm^ Onj. 
 
mmii--'^- 
 
 jel Kiooshka 
 :o myself, as 
 on the fir- 
 bad kindled, 
 >aflt steak of 
 'le had pre- 
 id I felt BO 
 I not keep 
 the far-oflF 
 5 lit up for 
 orest which 
 had helped 
 
 inrriA Onr 
 
 LOVE AND FEBIL j, 
 
 caiKlles amid tho branches were only the 
 sparks ascending fitfully and dying in the 
 green boughs, through which everywhere and 
 there tow.rd the outer fringes peeped the 
 stars of the clear frosty heavens. My lo.lge 
 of cedar and spruce bark, hung around a stalk 
 of sturdy young tree poles, was as smart and 
 good as any in the camp. I bad a store of 
 smoked fish, and venison strips for all con- 
 tingenciea. I had deerskins, and furs f.om 
 the bodies of some boar,, we had slaughtered 
 . beautifully cured by Kiooshka. and o, these 
 I sat and smoked the pipe of contentment. 
 Then came entanglements of a yet more 
 formidable character. I had gone with two 
 Indians on a hunting expedition. One of 
 these men was a decided admirer of 
 Kmoshka's. and although she seemed to ^ive 
 ^ no encouragement, he had been looked 
 
mm^i^^k^f4-"^. 
 
 1 ; 
 
 ,i iii il'i 
 
 I ' i '|i 
 
 nnii 
 
 ! 'I'i 
 
 : ! 
 
 38 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 
 upon as her affianced husband. This worthy- 
 young Brave naturally disliked me, and I 
 saw him sullenly contemplating me often 
 enough. He and the other had been no 
 choice of mine as companions that day, but 
 I had started with a rifle, and they had 
 followed the same path I had taken. After 
 a while, in a thicket of cedar, we came upon 
 traces of moose. By tiiis time the ill-dis- 
 posed Mistusu, Kiooshka's friend, only was 
 with me. The other man had diverged from 
 us, and we had not seen him for three hours 
 or more. I had not expected to have much 
 sport, and had only taken three cartriflges 
 witli me loose in my pocket. In following 
 the game I stumbled more than once, and 
 it must have been then that I lost these 
 spare cartridges. But my rifle was loaded, 
 auil looking amid the boughs lieavily laden 
 
 1,1 1! 
 
 •«MOT 
 
pm^'i-^^. 
 
 LOVE AND I'ERIL 
 
 39 
 
 This worthy 
 
 me, and 1 
 
 * me often 
 
 id been no 
 
 lat day, but 
 
 d they had 
 
 a,ken. After 
 
 ! came upon 
 
 the ill-dis- 
 
 1, only was 
 
 L verged from 
 
 three hours 
 
 ) have much 
 
 je cartridges 
 
 In following 
 
 n once, and 
 
 I lost these 
 
 was loaded, 
 
 iavily laden 
 
 ^w 
 
 
 m 
 
 with snow, I heard a rush, and saw a dark 
 object for a moment. I raised my ri^e and 
 liied, and struggling tlirough the dense and 
 snow-laden boughs of evergreen I came on 
 blood marks, jtnd eagerly tracked them. Jn 
 about half an hour I came up to a fine bull 
 moose, whose horns were alone at first visible, 
 for the animal was lying down in a little 
 gully. I stopped for a moment to recharge 
 my rifle, and found to my consternation that 
 my few spare cartri(]g<\s were gone. I pulled 
 out my knife, and rushed on, and as I did 
 so, and when near the moose, he re<Tained 
 his legs, lowered his head, and charged like 
 a Spanish bull. I leaped on one side, but 
 too late to avoid a sweep of his broad antlers, 
 which wounded me in the leg, and threw 
 me on one side. But it was his last effort. 
 He reeled and fell, and I found that my 
 
• . m^&^*fmifi"^ 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 I 
 
 1 40 LOVE AND PERIL ' WL 
 
 1 
 
 bullet had been well planted behind the 
 
 1 
 
 i shoulder. M 
 
 
 ! ;i| I shouted to the Indian, but he was ro- 
 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 where to be seen. I now felt my letr very 
 
 1 
 
 1 1 painful, and I dragged my«elf with diliicultv 
 
 1 ;iij , 
 
 
 !! out of the gully, and shouted again through 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 the glades of the woods. There was no 
 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 ;; answer. Whether the Indian was watching 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 III me or not, I never knew. I felt the greatest 
 
 
 : 1 distrust of Mistusu. I don't think I should 
 
 j ! ':' 
 
 
 ! ! have minded Kiooshka's marrying some Indian 
 
 ; t i i ■ 
 
 
 1 !|ii ■ 
 
 1 || ; at this period, but I certainly did dislike 
 
 ' 
 
 1 
 if 
 
 11 very much the idea of her marriage with 
 
 ! ; 
 
 ■i 
 
 : i 
 
 jil Mistusu. Now, however, I thought little of 
 
 j 
 
 1 
 
 1 Kiooshka, and I shouted again for Mistusu. 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 1 I certainly could not carry oflf any meat from 
 
 t 
 
 
 if the carcase without bim, ajid I doubted, so f 
 
 1 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 ii i^ 
 
 ! ■ 
 
 i; 
 
 1 ; i 
 ■ i ' \ 
 
 ,ij great was the pain in my leg, which was now || 
 ail swollen and blue if I could get home S 
 
 i ll'i 
 
 wmem 
 
LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 41 
 
 behind the 
 
 b he was ro- 
 my leg very 
 ath diliicultv 
 gain through 
 lere was no 
 ;^as watching 
 : the greatest 
 link I should 
 r some Indian 
 ' did dislike 
 larriage with 
 ight little of 
 for Mistusu. 
 ly meat from 
 doubted, so 
 lich was now 
 [Id get home 
 
 without him. It was no joke to be benio-htcd 
 in this lame condition, and I shouted and 
 shouted again. There was no re^-ly. For- 
 tunately I had matches with me. I felt in 
 my pockets for them, and they were there, 
 all right. This relieved me of any very 
 serious apprehension, for I thought that I 
 could surely make my way back slowly, and 
 I should not perish with the cold. A fire 
 could always be made, and Kiooshka or the 
 old man would send men on our track. 
 
 But time was slipping on, and I determined 
 to make the most of what daylight remained. 
 But my progress was pitifully slow, and the 
 pain was so great that I found I was sweat- 
 ing as if in the tropics with the exertion of 
 hobbling back on the track I had so swiftly 
 made in the morning. At last I could bear 
 It no longer ; I exerted my remaining powers 
 
I 
 
 ! ll.i!' 
 
 Iliil ■•: 
 
 I 
 
 i :' 
 I, 
 
 i! Irl 
 
 In 
 
 
 !'!' 
 
 iiii' 
 
 'i i'!:' 
 
 i 
 
 lilB.' 
 
 Mi 
 
 '•I^^aM^*: ^i-»*«*V'* 
 
 42 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 of locomotion to get material for a fire, which 
 I accomplished with much trouble, and lay- 
 down before my little pile of wood, and 
 husbanding it carefully, scraped away the 
 snow and lit a small fire, keeping the re- 
 mainder to prevent its dying out. My sleep 
 was very broken, my wounded leg hurting 
 me greatly. 
 
 As soon as it was dawn I crept on, and 
 when nearly exhausted, saw to my joy 
 Kiooshka with some of her people coming 
 towards me. They lifted me and bore me 
 back to camp, where Kiooshka became my 
 ministering angel. My hurt was much in- 
 flamed, and she came to me with a white 
 decoction of some species of bark, and made 
 signs to me to bathe it. Never was there 
 a more effective lotion. But movement was 
 evidently impossible for some time. The 
 
 ,1 
 
LOVE AliD PERIL 
 
 43 
 
 a fire, which 
 )le, and lay 
 wood, and 
 away the 
 ing the re- 
 . My sleep 
 leg hurting 
 
 ept on, and 
 :o my joy 
 )ple coming 
 id bore me 
 became my 
 3 much in- 
 ith a white 
 :, and made 
 p was there 
 vement was 
 time. The 
 
 horns of the powerful animal had torn the 
 muscles and sinews, and some time must 
 elapse before the limb could get whole. The 
 white medicine had alleviated the pain, and 
 nature would do the rest in time. I groaned 
 in bitterness of spirit at this, the end of my 
 sporting expedition. But Kiooshka seemed 
 by no means unhappy. I asked after Mistusu, 
 but my nurse only shook her head. 
 
 One morning the back doorway was 
 darkened by an uncouth figure, the form 
 of an Indian medicine man "got up," as 
 we would say, " in full canonicals." He had 
 come to heal me, J supposed; but I was 
 weak and nervous, and this hideous figure 
 seemed to me a nightmare. On its head 
 were two horns, and strings of feathers 
 depended from them around his head and 
 breast His face was concealed by a mask 
 
■'■'^^^ui'^isstkm'u"^' 
 
 l! i 
 
 n !' 
 
 
 u 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 of some kind of white fur, leaving little 
 visible. A white squirrel or soma email 
 animal had been used for this purpose ; and 
 there were odd tags and r^gs of all sorts of 
 cloth and beads and feathers all a])out the 
 figure, which came danr^ing and gibbering up 
 to where I was lying, bending over me, and 
 making strange incantations. He raised my 
 head and put something to my mouth, and, 
 although I had no doubt the action was well 
 meant, I had strength enough to dash away 
 the ill-smelling stuff which had been held 
 under my nostrils — and then I looked at 
 the bedizened face, and I thought I recognised 
 Mistusu I I called aloud, and Kiooshka entered. 
 As soon as she saw the figure she ran to us, 
 and uttering cries, and what seemed to me 
 to be energetic but still ladyUke imprecations, 
 she pushed the figure aside, aad followed it 
 
 .■tfk 
 
S0iAi-U' 
 
 leaving little 
 soma Gmall 
 purpose ; and 
 f all sorts of 
 ill al)out the 
 gibbering up 
 over me, and 
 le raised my 
 mouth, and, 
 tion was well 
 X) dash away 
 d been held 
 I looked at 
 'j I recognised 
 shka entered, 
 le ran to us, 
 emed to me 
 imprecations, 
 i followed it 
 
 LOVE AND I'UUIL 45 
 
 with maledictions as it disappeared again 
 through the doorway. Her anxiety about 
 n.e was evident. »he picked up tl^e birch 
 cup that Bad been presented to me, smelt 
 it, and turned it round, and then went to 
 the door and threw it away, and with signs 
 and a great outflow of words made me und^er- 
 stand that I was to liave notiiing to do with 
 it. Isaid "Mistusu?"and she nodded and 
 jabbered with a volubility that astonished 
 me. for I had never seen her yield to 
 excitement before. 
 
 Whether I was right or wrong I know 
 not, but I imagined she had saved my life, 
 and 1 took her hand and drew her towards 
 me and kissed her. feeble as I was. and 
 thereafter she seemed to be incessantly 
 watching over me. She allowed no one 
 but herself to see me, and tended me with 
 
'-*<i4.^»ili*»^''-f 
 
 i; ■ 
 
 46 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 the jealousy of a woman, and tlic devotion 
 of a friend. I confess that 1 found myself 
 longing for her presence, and IVetful at her 
 absence. My limb became less 'sensible of 
 its injury, and I walked a little, and sat 
 trying to make Kiooshka understand my 
 mixture of Croe and En dish. I beojan to 
 think that life with her in the woods would 
 be very tolerable ; but then came the re- 
 collection of marringes which liad been 
 made by white men with Indian demoiselles, 
 and how I had always seen that the man 
 seemed to descend to tue woman's level, 
 rather than the woman be elevated to the 
 man's. To be sure there were exceptions, 
 and was it not only because the man had 
 not given the woman a fair chance that 
 she had not improved? Why should she, 
 and iiow could she improve, unless ohe 
 
mmi-"'^ 
 
 i 
 
 tlic devotion 
 bund myself 
 
 L-etful at lier 
 J Sensible of 
 .tie, and sat 
 der.itand my 
 
 I began to 
 woods wouJd 
 ame the ro- 
 had been 
 I demoiselles, 
 lat the man 
 Oman's level, 
 ^ated to the 
 i exceptions, 
 he man had 
 chance that 
 
 sliould she, 
 , uiileus Sue 
 
 M. 
 
 4 
 
 LOVE AND PEUIL 47 
 
 lived with white people'? In the cases I 
 hud known, the man had lived almost 
 entirely with the Indians, or at least by 
 himself with his Indian wife. Yet I had 
 known men happy enoui^h, although they 
 were men as well educated as I was. I 
 remembered seeing a white baby in a lod-e 
 and asking whose it was, and had found it 
 belonged to a young engineer from Ontario 
 who had married a fine-looking squaw 
 "That beb's h.i^ Injun and half engineer," 
 was the observation, and Mrs. Engineer 
 seemed a bappy enough wife. "Better 
 fifty years of Europe than a c)cle of 
 Catlay," I quoted to myself; but Canada 
 might be better than old Eurc.pe and (Jathay 
 put together. Oh, Kiooshka, how weak is 
 man, even though he be a Toronto lawyer ! 
 Meanwhile, the only decided proposition I 
 
^-iM^i^^-^im^iUd'^^'f 
 
 i 
 
 in 
 
 Ill 
 
 \m 
 
 liiii ii 
 
 1 i 'i' 
 ! i 
 
 
 I 
 
 i'iii 
 
 48 LOVE AND Ph'BIL 
 
 made to her was that she should cease to 
 put a vermilion line dowii tlie parting of 
 hor hair, for this she was apt to do when 
 she de=<ired to please me most, as well as 
 a little red lead rouge on her clieeks. 
 That I did not like this rather hurt her, 
 I fear, but I thought her appearance de- 
 cidedly improved without the vermilion. 
 Sh6 never wore it after I had shown her 
 I liked her best without it. There was 
 nothing else that was artificial about her. 
 She never wore a bird's cage in the small 
 of her back, as do the' Toronto belles, nor 
 did she ever comb her fine black hair over 
 an old sponge, to make a glossy bunch at 
 the back of her head. All round she was 
 natural and well-shaped, and, as I thought, 
 a very dear little girl. Her teeth were 
 positively beautiful; this nobody could 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 49 
 
 Duld cease to 
 
 le parting of 
 
 to do when 
 
 it, as well as 
 
 her clieeks. 
 
 ber hurt her, 
 
 ppearance de- 
 
 ie vermilion. 
 
 id shown her 
 
 There was 
 
 al about her. 
 
 in the small 
 
 bo belles, nor 
 
 lack hair over 
 
 ssy bunch at 
 
 )und she was 
 
 as I thought, 
 
 r teeth were 
 
 obody could 
 
 deny. Her voice was pleasant, her ex- 
 pression charming, her helpfulness most 
 laudable. Her dependence on my appro- 
 bation was most flattering, and, as I 
 thought also, most natural. She could 
 quickly be taught anything- of this I was 
 positive. One day I made her put up her 
 hair in our fashion, and certainly she looked 
 very well. I told her so in my best Cree, 
 and she was enchanted. Oh, those pleasant 
 days, how soon to be ended I 
 
 She told me one evening that she had 
 seen a deer close to the camp. " Would 1 
 like to come and kill it?" Yes, I was 
 quite well and willing enough, and we 
 were off, wending our way cautiously and 
 slowly, and as noiselessly as possible. We 
 had got deep into the woods when the 
 deer was shown to me by her. I lired. 
 
-S«^*5,■ 
 
 ■III! 
 Iliil 
 
 |i! 
 
 lilill 
 
 II 
 
 ! 
 
 \nm 
 
 "'ii 
 
 Hi 
 
 
 ill 
 
 lilll !l! 
 
 \i 
 
 III 
 
 Hill 
 
 60 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 and she and I ran forward to the dying 
 deer. As we were standing close together 
 over the body, she took my hand in hers 
 and said, simply, " Sak^ ittan." "I love 
 you." What could I do? I kissed het ! 
 The next moment — " S-s-s-s-t— thud," an 
 arrow shot just over my shoulder, and 
 struck her full in the chest. She gave 
 one long cry and fell. I was frantic. 
 Turning sharp round, I fired desperately 
 into the bush, where I imagined the enemy 
 to be. Then I flung myself down by her 
 side. To pull out the arrow seemed 
 impossible and useless. There it was, 
 imbedded in her heart. The next moment 
 she had drawn her last breath. 
 
 I rushed back to camp, and loudly, 
 furiously accused Mistusu, for I felt sure 
 it was he who had shot at me, and had 
 
 •A 
 
LOVU AND PERIL 
 
 61 
 
 the dying 
 lose together 
 land in hers 
 I." "I love 
 
 kissed hel- ! 
 
 — thud," an 
 
 loulder, and 
 
 She gave 
 
 was frantic. 
 
 desperately 
 i the enemy 
 ^own by her 
 row seemed 
 re it was, 
 ext moment 
 
 and loudly. 
 
 1 felt; sure 
 16, and had 
 
 m 
 
 killed her. All wa« consternation, but the 
 old Chief and head men were calm and 
 silent. I led them to the body. Where 
 was Mistusu? I demanded him— I swore 
 to kill him. I know not what I said, for 
 I raved. We bore her back to canp. I 
 felt heartbroken. Mistusu had disappeared. 
 Woe 1 tide him, if I nwjt him again. I 
 c«;v'(1 not stay in that place any more. 
 I journeyed hurriedly to Carlton Fort, and 
 there bidding good-bye with tears to the 
 two Indians who accompanied me, and to 
 whom I felt as to dear brothers, I took a 
 dog tenm. Travelling as fast as these could 
 take me by the known route to Portage le 
 Prairie and Fort Garry, I arrived, worn 
 out and harassed in mind and body, at 
 that place. It was not till the spring had 
 again clothed the plains around T^ith gra^-^, 
 
 B 2 
 
62 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 !i III ; 
 
 ii'iiiin I 
 III' 
 
 i:w III 
 
 ""ill" 
 liii. 
 
 I' 
 
 iiiii ii 
 
 II I 
 
 III II 
 
 lilll-!i I 
 llllil i 
 
 and the lakes were again alive with wild- 
 fowl, that I thought of proceeding eastwards. 
 But at last I made up my mind to plunge 
 again into my old life, and found my 
 Toronto friends greeting me as if 1 had 
 only just left them. Yet to me years 
 seemed to have passed. Many years did 
 pass before fate again called me from my 
 busy avocations in our Queen City. 
 
 But there came again a time that 
 recalled to me all the bitterness of the 
 days whose story I have narrated. 
 
 
 !i 
 
 ^'11! 
 
 tiliiilll 
 
 liii 
 
 4 
 
 'M 
 
e with wild- 
 ig eastwards, 
 id to plunge 
 found my 
 IS if I had 
 5 me years 
 y years did 
 ae from my 
 ity. 
 
 time that 
 Qcss of the 
 sd. 
 
 \. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HE Half Breed Insurrection in 
 the North-West broke out Riel, 
 who had made mischief in 1871, 
 was again in the field, and was again 
 hatching rebellion, not this time in his 
 old quarters, but far away in those regions 
 I knew too well. There his countrymen, 
 the " Metis," had taken it into their heads 
 that "Les Anglais" would interfere with 
 their possessions, which were usually, as in 
 French Canada, elongated slips of land, 
 having a frontage on the Saskatchewan, 
 and stretching back into the country behind. 
 
'Si*?*!': 
 
 11 !:lh 
 
 i 1 
 
 
 
 Willi : 
 
 "III 
 
 !il i 
 
 Mm 
 
 01 
 
 ill 
 III ill 
 
 lii.i 
 itii 
 
 ill: 
 
 
 54 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 The English, they said, would "square" 
 these lands and interfere with their tenure. 
 It was a false idea and could easily have 
 been removed. But they were not reassured 
 in time. They had arms, and got more, 
 with some ammunition. Ricl came at their 
 invitation from the States, and it was 
 evident that mischief was in'\int. Already 
 some of the Indians had joined their Half 
 Breed kinsmen. 
 
 I had been for some time an enthusiastic 
 member of one of the Toronto Militia 
 regiments. We were ordered up to " the 
 front," as we already called the scene of 
 impending trouble. But how different was 
 this journey from that I had last under- 
 taken to the North-West Now we were 
 regularly "entrained" in the splendid cars 
 of the Canadian Pacific Railway, and we 
 
i^rii:,- 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 65 
 
 lid " square " 
 their tenure, 
 d easily have 
 not reassured 
 ad got more, 
 came at their 
 and it was 
 ant. Already 
 ed their Half 
 
 m enthusiastic 
 ronto Militia 
 
 up to " the 
 the scene of 
 
 different whs 
 d last under- 
 S^ow we were 
 
 splendid cars 
 I way, and we 
 
 reached without much trouble the city of 
 Win ipeg, now grown into a fine town, 
 and very different from the tumble-down 
 village I remembered. The greatest heartiness 
 was shown by the troops. At that time 
 there were some breaks in the line north 
 of Lake Superior, and we had to march a 
 bit through disagreeable slushy snow and 
 ice, for the spring was coming. Nothing 
 could discourage for a moment the high 
 spirits of our men. This was made very 
 apparent when we left the rail, and began 
 a very tedious and toilsome march over the 
 trail I had years before passed over in mid- 
 winter with my dog team. The food was often 
 insufficient, and the hardship from cold and 
 wet great. But onward we went, all lonffino- 
 ^ to be doing what we could to justify the 
 proud name of the Canadian Militia. 
 
i•ii4l4*4''IB*t«^!^■ 
 
 Ml 
 
 !! 
 
 I I 
 
 I ill 
 
 I.IIH il • 
 
 I ill 
 
 liilll Hi 
 
 I 
 
 lli^l'li!' 
 
 iillii 
 
 'I'll 
 iiiWir 
 
 iiiiint|' 
 
 I II Mil 
 
 59 
 
 LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 While the main body, after arriving in 
 the neighbourhood of the south branch of 
 the Saskatchewan, were turned towards 
 Batoche, a name soon to become only too 
 famous for the desperate fight which took 
 place there between our men and the 
 enemy, who were in numbers not inferior, 
 and had all the advantages of position; I 
 was one of a smaller force which was 
 directed further to the west, to prevent a 
 number of Crees and others from joining 
 the rebels. 
 
 Carlton Fort was again reached, but we 
 found it in ruins ; it had been burnt by 
 the enemy. How strange it seemed to me 
 to be here again, with a number of red- 
 coats, and with a strength great enough, 
 as we believed, to carry all before it! But 
 want of regular supplies of food told to 
 
LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 67 
 
 r arriving m 
 
 ;h branch of 
 
 led towards 
 
 me only too 
 
 which took 
 
 en and the 
 
 not inferior, 
 
 I position; I 
 
 which was 
 
 ;o prevent a 
 
 from joining 
 
 ihed, but we 
 en burnt by 
 jemed to me 
 aber of red- 
 reat enough, 
 Pore it! But 
 bod told tQ 
 
 •i 
 
 some extent on the men, and we marohed 
 on, grumbling but resolute, until another 
 stockaded fort on the river, named Battle- 
 ford, was reached. Here we were com- 
 fortable enough. The long swelling lines 
 of the bare prairie looked cheerless enough, 
 but there was the great shuilow stream 
 still rolling past us in the vast hollow it 
 had scooped for itself during the course of 
 ages in the gravels and alluvial sands of the 
 plains. A river always makes a lands.-ape more 
 interesting. Here, too, on the Battle River, 
 which joins at this place the Saskatchewan, 
 was a village among poplar groves. This 
 had been looted by Indians, who, we were 
 assured, had taken the war-path. Well, 
 they should have a taste of our lead and 
 steel 1 We had with us men of the Mounted 
 Police — a gallant corps— well mounted, and 
 
i I 
 
 II m 
 
 l! 
 
 ll f|l|l|i[J|( 
 
 I 
 
 ) illi'hi 
 
 58 
 
 LOVM] AND i^ElilL 
 
 accustomed to Indian manners, whether 
 hostile or friendly. We had the brave 
 Short, the heau ideal of an artilhuy officer, 
 who would have been an ornament and 
 credit to any service, and was the pride 
 and darling of our own. 
 
 We heard that Poundmaker, a Cree, 
 who had but lately acted as a guide to 
 the Governor-General when he travelled 
 hence to the Blackfeet, at the foot of the 
 distant Rocky Mountains, had joined the 
 rebels. This seemed to show that the 
 hostile movement must be pretty general, 
 for this man was an intelligent Indian, 
 who had been much among the Blackfeet 
 natives, as w^ell as a leader among the Crees. 
 Our leader determined to prevent these 
 men under Poundmaker from joining Kiel, 
 to the westward ; and as we had good 
 
 ! 1!!:'1 
 
LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 09 
 
 , whether 
 the brave 
 I'ly officer, 
 ment and 
 the pride 
 
 , a Cree, 
 
 guide to 
 
 travelled 
 
 )ot of the 
 
 oined the 
 
 that the 
 
 y general, 
 
 it Indian, 
 
 Blackfeet 
 
 the Crees. 
 
 ent these 
 
 ning Kiel, 
 
 had good 
 
 4 
 
 information from our scouts, we left Bnttle- 
 ford with a Gatling gun, two 7 lb. guns, 
 45 waggons, and about 150 men. 
 
 We Ijalted at night until the moon rose, 
 and then marched southwards all night, 
 across long, swelling plains, with here and 
 there a higher hill, and many clunips of 
 poplar, growing especially in the little 
 ravines. At daybreak we were near the 
 Indian camp. Our guns opened with shrap- 
 nel as soon as the enemy was felt. Tlicir 
 fire was brisk, and our men suffered a good 
 deal, their zeal causing them to expose 
 themselves too freely. I was near Short, 
 who, with ixutherford, was directing the 
 fire of the guns. Short, as our leader 
 (Colonel Otter) afterwards said, seemed to 
 have a charmed life, as he coolly stood in 
 the front lines working his guns. The action 
 
eo 
 
 LOVE AND PBlilL 
 
 vmM 
 
 II I 
 
 iii! ,1' 
 
 111' i; 
 
 1 1 ' ' ' . 
 
 II! II III 
 
 was very sharp, and it was difficult to see 
 the enemy's sharpshooters, hidden as they 
 were in the brushwood. 
 
 While I was watching a severe contest on 
 my left, I heard some one shout: "Look out 
 there — look at those fellows," and I saw 
 a party of many Indians in the bush close 
 to us. They came quickly, making a rush 
 for the Gatling. In an instant, Short, with 
 his revolver and sword drawn, had c;illed 
 us to l)im, and following him we rushed at 
 the enemy. I remember only seeing Short's 
 light forage cap lifted on his head by a shot 
 that passed through it, and then I saw him 
 hand to hand with the Indians, shooting 
 one and rushing for another, who fired at 
 him but missed. The Indian f(?ll, a war 
 whoop on his lips. We fired and fired, and 
 the enemy ran. I stopped for a moment 
 
Iflficnlt to see 
 I (leu as they 
 
 jre contest on 
 & : " Look out 
 ' and I saw 
 le bush close 
 aking a rush 
 ;, Short, with 
 , had culled 
 we rushed at 
 seeing Short's 
 ead by a shot 
 !n I saw him 
 ins, shooting 
 who fired at 
 fell, a war 
 md fired, and 
 r a moment 
 
 't 
 
 ■i 
 
 Lore AifD PERIL ex 
 
 at the body of the IwVmn who hud fired 
 last at Short. What face was that, now 
 pale, and gasping f„rth blood from the 
 lips ? It was Mi ,„«»„ 1 Here we had met 
 "gain J bad bit ti-ne to tear away his 
 headgear. In the icitement I should like 
 to have looted all his savage frippery,, but 
 we had to rush back to the Gatling. Then 
 occurred more fighting, and it was not until 
 some time later, that we found we had 
 done what we could in breaking the enemy's 
 march westward, and in giving them a lesson, 
 and that our small force was not able to do 
 more. We limbered ,ip the guns with great 
 cifficulty, and retired slowly, the gun-trails 
 having been broken and difficult to move. 
 Short, ever at the post of danger, was the 
 last to go, ever giving a return fire to the 
 Bhaip pinging of the enemy's bullets. They 
 
•<M^i^4'-Wb^-' 
 
 W I 
 
 Ami' 
 llii. 
 
 ""fct* 
 
 i! II i 
 
 
 Illllllilll 
 
 ! il 
 
 I! I Hi 
 
 
 iMIMIIlliiP 
 
 w - f n li : 
 
 I 
 
 iiiip I 
 
 ! 
 
 ! ! ilii: 
 
 !!! 
 
 MM"! 
 
 62 
 
 LOVU AND PERIL 
 
 did not pursue us, and we reached Battle ford 
 in good order, carrying all our dead but 
 one. 
 
 I need not pursue the story of our brief 
 campaign and victory. I do not desire more 
 Indian experiences, either in love or war. 
 Our successes were dearly achieved, and a good 
 lesson was afforded by the outbreak to the 
 Canadian Government, that lesson being that 
 the r61e of the soldier is one that must be 
 played even among the most peaceful and 
 peace-loving people, and that it is folly not 
 to have at all times a force well organised 
 for defence, or the necessary offence which 
 is the safeguard of defence. 
 
 If Canada had had more troops regularly 
 enrolled, the outbreak would have been 
 impossible. If she had recognised earlier 
 the necessity that peace must be guarded 
 
 in 
 
LOVE AND PERIL 
 
 63 
 
 ;d Battle ford 
 r dead but 
 
 of our brief 
 desire more 
 )ve or war. 
 i, and a good 
 Dieak to the 
 n being that 
 hat must be 
 peaceful and 
 is folly not 
 3II organised 
 Qfence which 
 
 >ps regularly 
 
 have been 
 
 lised earlier 
 
 be guarded 
 
 by armed men in good array, she would 
 not have had to deplore the doubtful 
 battle of Cutknife, or the heavy lo ses at 
 Batoche. 
 § My tale is told, and although I say that 
 
 my Indian experience has been quite enough 
 for me, I am still in Canada's militia, although 
 ] do carry about in the Law Courts the blue 
 bag which is the badge of the enterprising 
 barrister. I began with some moral reflec- 
 tions on the regret that does not always 
 accompany silly actions. I hope Canada, 
 as a whole, will be wiser than I, a humble 
 Canadian individual. Although long since 
 happily married, I do not regret either my 
 acquaintance with poor Kiooshka or havin<^ 
 been " in at the death " of Mistusu. 
 
illlili 
 
 I i ii 
 
 I' 
 lliliillll 
 
 
 lilt' 
 
 ill 
 
 ! 11 
 
 :! '! : 
 
 1 
 
 Hi"'M 
 
 'l I 
 
 mm 
 
 iri.jiiiiiiriMniiH 
 
 Piilii',,, 
 
 ilil'fipi 
 
 w 
 
 ||i|,||nl'!i; 
 
 4 
 
 V 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
33* * 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 By MRS. ALEXANDER 
 
 ID you ring, mem ? " 
 
 The question was addressed 
 by a tall, angular, hard-featured, 
 elderly woman, in an old-fashioned black 
 stuff dress, a lar£ snow-white apron, and 
 an equally white cap, closely befrilled in 
 bygone style, to a lady not unlike herself 
 — but older s^'ghter whiter, and gentler 
 in aspect — who, clothed in black silk, with 
 a gray Shetland shawl round her shoalders, 
 and a cap of delicate lace on her carefully- 
 curled white hair, sat by a small fire. 
 
 # 2 
 

 , 1. 'II M >',: 
 
 T'^: 
 
 il 
 
 4m 
 
 iiilisHiii^iil 
 
 lll"« !!ll 111 
 
 !,:r' 
 
 ili! 
 
 m 
 
 ^''i III 
 
 iiiH I! 
 I! iir ■-'■■'■'■' 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BIS 
 
 "I did, Janet. Will you atr^ajil to the 
 fire? It hurts my hnck to wtoop." 
 
 "And wliy should ye? You are aye 
 too rea'ly to fash yourfael'." 
 
 As she spoke the elderly servar.!: knelt 
 dowti iind proceeded to add a few lumps 
 of cual, with much caution, to the dying 
 embers, covering them with th»: best cinders 
 she could pick from the hearth, which she 
 swept up, and striking the brush against 
 the bars, to shake off the dust, hung it up 
 
 again. 
 
 "Has Miss Ayton returned yet?" 
 
 « No." 
 
 "She is very late," said the old lady, 
 querulously ; *' she needn't take two hours 
 to buy half a shoulder o£ mutton and two 
 pounds of potatoes." 
 
 'Hoot toot, memv l' fine bright 
 
 m 
 
'm 
 
 TO BE, on NOT TO Lb! 
 
 C'J 
 
 ■'.'ijil to the 
 
 J? 
 
 u are aye 
 
 ■va; . ■: knelt 
 few lumps • 
 
 the dying 
 best cinders 
 
 which she 
 ash against 
 hung it up 
 
 et?" 
 
 e old lady, 
 
 two hours 
 
 on and two 
 
 fine bright 
 
 
 4 
 i 
 
 f 
 
 morning. What for shouldn't a fine young 
 lassie like Miss Olive tak' a turn round 
 about? Ye ken she is kepit pretty close 
 i' the hoLise." 
 
 "She has much more liberty than yountr 
 leddies have in geneiMl," returned her 
 mif=!tress, sitting very upright. "For all 
 the twent}'- years I was companion and 
 secretary to the Marchioness of Giencairn, 
 I never once knew the Leddies McCallum 
 go out alone." 
 
 *' Eh ! then they might have walked 
 round the world, any one of them, an' 
 naebody give a second look at their reed 
 heeds I What for should ane sort o' girlie 
 be so sair looked after, and anither just let 
 to face a' the dangers of life alane ? " 
 
 " Janet, for a Christian woman, you are 
 a aad democrat I " 
 
■i?.t«'lS*t*'f 
 
 1(11 iiH 
 
 r, 
 
 !' I' ' i,; 
 
 ^■yr\ 
 
 ira'V'ii^ 
 
 Mi'i^ 
 
 iHiiilti' 
 
 m 
 
 iiii> 
 
 
 iiiiililjilit 
 
 i! ! 
 
 70 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 "For a Christian, mem? Weren't 
 Christians the first democrats of a? But 
 I hear the gate," stepping sharply to a 
 little bay-window. "Yes. it's herself and 
 Amanda wi' the basket 1 Eh! of all the 
 untidy taupies, yon girl's the worst ! There's 
 half a yard of the braid from her dress 
 streeling behind her." 
 
 "Send Miss Ayton to me," called her 
 mistress, as she was leaving the room ; " I 
 want to give her her letter." 
 
 She took up the letter whicn lay on 
 a little work-table boside her and turned it 
 over, studying the post-marks and evidently 
 much exercised by its aspect. 
 
 While she looks and ponders, an ex- 
 planatory word. 
 
 Miss Tabitha Drummond, of Hazelwood 
 Villas, Notting Hill, was a Scotch gentle- 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 71 
 
 Weren't 
 a' ? But 
 )ly to a 
 self and 
 f all the 
 ; There's 
 her dress 
 
 ailed her 
 room ; 
 
 "1 
 
 ;li lay on 
 turned it 
 evidently 
 
 s, an ex- 
 
 [iazelwood 
 
 ,ch gentle- 
 
 woman of ^ood family — indeed a remote 
 kinswoman of that Marcliioness of Glencairn, 
 so well known for her works of benevolencie 
 and missio!iary enterprises, and who — in 
 spite of her supposed boundless charities — 
 had left a tolerable fortune, on which a 
 small annuity was charged in favour of the 
 faithful companion who for years had been 
 an almost unpaid attache. This, with the 
 interest of a small sum inherited from a 
 relative, enabled the good spinster to live 
 with great economy and some comfort in a 
 tiny house all her own, with her faithful 
 follower, Janet, erst school-room maid in the 
 great Glencairn establishment. 
 
 Here, when the last summons called her 
 half-brother, the Eev. John Ay ton, from 
 his work as vicar of Netherly, she received 
 hh, orpiiined, penniless daughter, Olive — 
 
 fii 
 
■;r«^4*««"ai*rtt*^ 
 
 I 
 
 iii'i 
 
 •J 
 
 MB 
 
 i;i;i';';i;i r " 
 
 ■m 
 
 ' fii 
 
 72 
 
 ,, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 albeit, by no means friendly with the de- 
 ceased, who had forsaken the Kirk and 
 taken holy orders in tiiat yemi-Eomanist 
 institution, the Church of England, and was 
 altosetlier too much of a Southern. 
 
 The girl had been petted and somewhat 
 spoilt. She had never been sent to scliool, and 
 though by no means ignorant, had not been 
 fitted to earn her bread. The pooi vicar 
 had invested his little all in a tempting 
 scheme, which smashed according to its 
 kind —his last hours being embittered by 
 the knowled'j^e thr his young daughter was 
 left unprovided for. Then he turned to his 
 estranged sister, ana she diu not fail him. 
 
 Miss Drummond lad laid down thtj lelxr 
 again, when ti' do • opened,- and her nie^e 
 entered— a talJ, slender, willowy-looking girl» 
 with nut-brown hair, and dark eyeo of na 
 
 i,' 
 
 I 'III 
 
 i I'liiil 
 
 j^!. .*i- 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 73 
 
 1 the de- 
 Kirk and 
 -Romanist 
 , and was 
 
 a. 
 
 somewhat 
 school, and 
 I not been 
 pooi vicar 
 , tempting 
 ig to its 
 littered by 
 ughter was 
 •ned to his 
 
 fail him. 
 n the letter 
 1 her niece 
 ooking girl» 
 
 ey 
 
 CO 
 
 of no IB 
 
 particular colour, but somewhat sad when 
 she neither spoke nor smiled. She had pale 
 checks, but red lips, and a r/ither wide but 
 sweet mouth, a little suggestive of kind words 
 and kisses. 
 
 " Did you want me, auntie ? I only stayed 
 to give the things to Janet. I ventured to 
 buy a little seakale, for I know you like it." 
 
 " I am afraid you are a wasteful bairn 
 — but come your way. Here is an Indian 
 lettf^r for you ! " 
 
 Ah I How good of Selina to write so 
 soon again I " 
 
 " It's not from Selina Prendergast ! 
 'Sialkot' in the name in the post-mark, 
 and it's a man's writing ; so be frank with 
 me, niece. What man in India has the 
 right to address a letter to vou ? " 
 
 "What maax'i" repeated Olive Ayton, 
 
 ;i 
 
v*?:**«*^'r 
 
 11 
 
 74 
 
 TO JiE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 with a )ne of frank surprise in her soft, 
 fresh voice. " I cannot imagine what man 
 could write to me 1 I don't think I have 
 spoken to one since my dear father died 
 — except that dreadful scholastic agency 
 creature. I am sure you are welcome to 
 see it, Aunt Tab I " With another specu- 
 lative look at its exterior, Olive opened 
 the envelope, and proceeded to read the 
 letter enclosed, her eyes growing rounder 
 and more surprised as she proceeded. 
 Finally, with a sudden sigh of astonishment, 
 Bhe exclaimed : " Horace C. Barclay 1 How 
 extraordinary 1 Did you not know some- 
 thing of him, auntie ? " 
 
 " Yes, of course I did. I gave him and 
 his cousin an introduction to your father 
 when they went into country lodgings to 
 fitudy, years and years ago. The cousin 
 
 
 I 1 
 
 11 
 
 Liilll;!!: 
 
^j^:.;r .^ 
 
 TO BE, on NOT TO BE 
 
 75 
 
 her soft, 
 what man 
 ik I have 
 at her died 
 Ac agency 
 (welcome to 
 her specu- 
 ve opened 
 
 read the 
 ig rounder 
 proceeded, 
 tonishment, 
 :lay ! How 
 :now some- 
 
 ve him and 
 your father 
 lodgings to 
 The cousin 
 
 was a wiselike laddie — hut he's dead, poor 
 fellow ! What is it all about, mv b.iirn^" 
 
 "Read it yourself, auntie. I am afraid 
 Horace is not as 'wiselike' as his cousin." 
 Miss Drummond put on her speotaoles, 
 and read in a sort of unconscious whisper: 
 " I wonder if my dear, sedate little Olive 
 —my playfellow of nearly ten years ago— 
 remembers the uncouth medical student who 
 used to tease her, even to tears, during his 
 pleasant visits to Netherly Vicarage? If 
 she does, I fear the impression left on her 
 memory is by no means delightful! Yet, 
 in spite of this conviction, I am going to 
 do what almost every one would declare 
 was foolish, if not insane. Let me say a 
 few words about myself before I avow my 
 folly. I bade good-bye to you, and to the 
 only bit of life that ever gave me the 
 
•^it.-S*!SS*»««*''-i- 
 
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 11 
 
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 76 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 faintest idea of home, a day or two before 
 starting for India, and here I have been 
 ever since, very busy, and not unsuccessful. 
 Many a time I have sat in the Dalmy 
 evening air, and the silence of some re- 
 mote station, and thought of you and your 
 good father. I wrote to him once, but 
 never had a reply, so 1 thought he did not 
 care to hear more of me, and many absorbing 
 matters connected with my profession pushed 
 the past out of my mind. 
 
 " About a month ago I was down at 
 Umljalla, and there I met Colonel Prender- 
 gast, who invited me to his bungalow, and, 
 conversing with his wife, I found that the 
 old Squire at Netheriy was her father, and 
 that one of her daughters was your especial 
 friend. They told me that the good vicar 
 was dead—that you had to leave your sweet 
 
TO BE, on NOT TO BE 77 
 
 home and struggle among strangers, as my 
 former patroness, Miss Drummond, could not 
 keep you always under her wing; they 
 showed me your photograph, and I could 
 scarcely refrain from making an ass of my- 
 self, and kissing it before them all! Then 
 a passionate wish to take you in my arms, 
 and take care of you always, sprang to life 
 in my heart, and set my pulses beating! 
 A day or two after I returned to the 
 reoin^.et.t here, and found a letter offering 
 me an appointment I hnd been long anxious 
 
 to gain, on the Medical Staff at G . 
 
 I resolved at once to take eighteen months 
 leave to go home, to offer my.^elf to you, 
 and risk a snubbing if you were so disposed. 
 Now don't think me presumptuous. You 
 may be married by the time I reach England 
 —you may be engaged ; if so, why, give 
 
''..^M^m*^^mm*i^ 
 
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 ! 1 
 
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 !ii< 
 
 :i'lt:his 
 
 i ■ (■ 
 
 78 TO BE, OB J^OT TO BE 
 
 my best wishes to your husband or your 
 fiance, and tell him if he makes you happy, 
 I'll be proud to .be his friend. If you are 
 still free and heart-whole, don't refuse me 
 right away, give me a chance, and if I am 
 80 lucky as to win you, I'll try with all 
 my heart and soul to make your life as 
 fair and smooth as it was in the old days. 
 Am I a fool to write all this? God knows! 
 Anyhow, I'll stick to it. I cannot resist 
 the impulse that prompts me. I have your 
 address from Miss Prendergast, and I hope 
 to be in London almost as soon as my 
 letter -so good night, sweet little friend! 
 Will you ever be more? 
 
 *'Your sincerely attached, 
 
 " Horace C. Barclay 
 .«p.S._I shall put up at Morley' 
 Charing Cross." 
 
 •I 
 
!^*s^ 
 
 [ or yonr 
 ou happy, 
 f you are 
 refuse me 
 id if I am 
 y with all 
 ur life as 
 J old days. 
 Jod knows! 
 mnot resist 
 L have your 
 and I hope 
 QOD as my 
 Lttle friend ! 
 
 Barclay 
 fct Morley' 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 79 
 
 " % patience ! " ejaculated Aunt Tabitba, 
 handing the letter to its owner. "Did any 
 one ever know the like? Nay, he is not 
 wiselike; but for all that, I can see a direct 
 Providence in yon letter, only I'm thinking 
 that if you two agree together, it's but 
 small common sense yell have between ye 
 —it's what you're very deficient in, Olive ; 
 
 and for this young man " 
 
 "He is — he must be rather crazy," 
 interrupted Olive, who was smiling as she 
 re-read her letter. "Why, he may not like 
 me when he sees me ! and I-I had nearly 
 forgotten him. He was a dreadful tease, 
 and a great, long, bony creatuie, with wild 
 black hair. But he was kind. I remember 
 when I slipped and sprained my ankle, 
 how he carried me home; but to marry 
 him— that is a very serious matter." 
 
•^- . . :'"^^J?'*r5f%i?S|i^4'JK*^-- 
 
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 ii 
 
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 80 
 
 TO Bin, OR IsOT TO BE 
 
 "Ay! a very serious matter indeed 
 Olive Ayton ! You laust just look ou it 
 as the workings of a Divine Prc-vidence. 
 Here you have been three months locking 
 for an engagement, and never one offered. 
 Even if it did, what would you get I Five- 
 and-twenty pounds a year at most - you 
 had but twenty besides your keep at Mrs. 
 Kerrmudgeon's, and you had three girls to 
 teach-for-bye th' rudiments o' Latin to two 
 boys! Your education has been sore neg- 
 lected. You never acquired French in 
 Paris, your arithmetic is just woful, and 
 you have never passed an examination of 
 any kind. Then you have no style in 
 your composition. Do you think my late 
 kinswoman, the Marchioness of Glencairn, 
 would have put up with me for twenty- 
 aeven yeara as her companion and ama- 
 
 m 
 
 M 
 
r indeed 
 )ok on it 
 rovidence. 
 is looking 
 le offered, 
 et? Five- 
 ost — you 
 p at Mrs. 
 ee girls to 
 ,tin to two 
 
 sore neg- 
 Frencli in 
 woful, and 
 nination of 
 10 style in 
 nk my late 
 ' Glencairn, 
 for twenty- 
 
 aud ama- 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 81 
 
 nuensis, if I had not; had some elegance of 
 style in my letter-writing?" 
 
 "I am sure I dread another engage- 
 ment, if I am to meet with a second 
 supply of Kerrmudgeons," said Olive with 
 a sigh. "I know I am too ignorant to 
 teach, except quite little children. I would 
 far rather go out as lady's-maid. I love 
 handling pretty clothes, even if they are 
 not my own— only you would be ashamed 
 of me, Aunt Tab." 
 
 ••1 would be! I am ashamed of you 
 for your want of proper pride! Now the 
 Lord has shown you an honourable way 
 out of the drudgery you dislike so much. 
 Here is an honest man ready to take you 
 — and it's mt many that would take a 
 penniless lati. ~- with or without a ' kng 
 i^edigree ' -^ so you make up your mind, 
 
V"*,'-*" f^..i.-i&fm*^»**--'- 
 
 'rfhi 
 
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 11 t 
 
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 82 
 
 TO Bi;, OE NOT TO BE 
 
 and when you meet this well-meaning 
 laddie, just accept him with all due dignity 
 and consideration, and you'll have an easy 
 life of it'* 
 
 "Don't be too sure of that, auntie. 
 From all I see, most married lives are 
 exceedingly wneasy. If I could like Horace 
 Barclay it would be very nice, but if I 
 cannot, why, the last state of this young 
 person," tapping her bosom, "would be a 
 good deal worse than the first." 
 
 "Don't quote Scripture in a disrespectful 
 spirit, Olive Ayton. Once ye have the 
 minister's blessing and feel you are pledged 
 for life, a proper degree of affection would 
 
 spring up 
 
 " Or an imprope degree of dislike," 
 returned Olive, thoughtfully. 
 
 MiflB Drumtuona couiimaefi to utter mach 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 83 
 
 meaning 
 
 dignity 
 
 an easy 
 
 auntie. 
 Ives are 
 B Horace 
 3Ut if I 
 is young 
 lid be a 
 
 respectful 
 bave the 
 i pledged 
 on would 
 
 dislike," 
 
 tter moch 
 
 admirable &i.i religious sense, but somehow 
 it did not penetrate to Olive's understanding. 
 She somewhat abruptly interrupted the flow 
 of her aunt's eloquence by saying she must 
 go and take oft' her hat and jacket. 
 
 In the retirement of her own room she 
 read over more than once the startling 
 letter she had just received — read it 
 with blushing cheeks and moist eyes. Its 
 kindly, generous tone touched her heart. 
 This man only asked to give her every- 
 thing, and seemed to look on her acceptance 
 of his aff'ection as a favour. She quickly 
 began to hope she could love him. Perhaps 
 he had grown less angular and wild-looking; 
 she would like to make him happy and 
 comfortable. If he were nice and sym- 
 pathetic, how lovely life might be ! She 
 seemed suddenly to realise how hard it 
 
 o 2 
 
84 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 was at present. The stern necessity of 
 working for herself, of relieving her aunt 
 from the cost of her maintenance, com- 
 pelled her in self-defence to shut her eyes 
 to much that she dreaded. 
 
 The rest of the day passed over in a 
 dreamy condition. Aunt Tabitha talked and 
 drew pictures of the future, but Olive 
 silently plied het needle - and heard her 
 not. And when night came. Horace Barclay 
 might have had reason to hope, could he 
 have known the innocent yet disturbing 
 visions which visited his sleeping love. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 WEEK had passed over in a 
 curiously slow yet rapid way, 
 at least to Olive. To her aunt it 
 went fast indeed. She had the whole house 
 cleaned and put in order, fresh muslin 
 curtains were hung up, and as the last 
 extremity of preparation sundry bottles of 
 superior Highland whisky were ordered by 
 Miss Drummond, from the famous firm that 
 formerly supplied her revered patroness, 
 Lady Glencairu. 
 
 Thus armed at all points, Aunt Tabitha 
 sat down with a quiet conscience to await 
 
■"■'II 
 
 ''I 
 
 ^ TO BE, OB, HOT TO BE 
 
 the arrival of her niece's future husband, 
 
 83 she determined Dr. Barclay should be. 
 
 It was rather late iu the afternoon, and 
 Olive was busy with her needle as she sat 
 beside her aunt's work-table, occasionally 
 forcing herself to talk in order to resist 
 the thoughts which haunted her, when the 
 sound of a carriage stopping, with an in.- 
 mediate loud peal at the front-door bell, 
 made her !,„.,« leap and then stand still. ' 
 "Goudne.sl" said Miss Drummond, lay- 
 
 ing down her patchwork. "It can't be " 
 
 She looked anxiously at her niece. It was 
 not necessary to finish her sentence. Olive 
 
 knew what she meaIl^ nnri 
 
 xueanc, and growing very 
 
 white, exclaimed: 
 
 "Oh, no I It would be impossible." 
 
 To them enters Janet, upright and grim, 
 
 ^^Hli u card. 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 87 
 
 "It is," ejaculated Au.it Tal.itha, and 
 read aloud, " Dr. H: C. Barclay." "Ask the 
 gentleman to step up, Janet." 
 
 01iv« rose, feeling she could . .rcely 
 stand. The next monieut Dr. Barclay was 
 greeting her aunt. Could this be the tall, 
 lanky, frolicsome Horace she had known? 
 Ves; the features, tb. height, the bald black 
 eyes, the abnndaut black hair, all were the 
 
 same, but He had g.own stout, very 
 
 stout; his massive, fleshy shoulders gave 
 him the nir of being short-neckcl ; his some- 
 what puffy cheeks made his eyes look small 
 "ad piggish. He was well and fashionably 
 dressed ; well groomed from head to foot ; 
 certainly good-looking-but so much older' 
 so different from what she expected, that her 
 heart sank. Meantime Dr. Barclay was 
 greeting her aunt with a kind of blunt 
 
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 assurance, by no means pleasing to Olive's 
 fastidious taste. 
 
 "How dye do, ma'am « Glad to find 
 you looking a^ well as ever. Lost no time 
 in coming to see you. Only arrived yester- 
 day. Got your address from Prendergast, 
 son-in-law of the old Squire at Netherly." 
 
 " You are exceedingly good, Dr. Barclay, 
 to call 80 soon on a lonely old woman. I 
 assure you, you are most welcome." 
 
 "Thank you, thauk you." The doctor 
 was slightly short of breath, and puffed a 
 little. "So this is my old friend, Olive" 
 —putting out a large fat hand— "grown 
 up a deuced pretty girl, by Jove! Hope 
 you are glad to see me, too. Miss Olive—as 
 I suppose I must call you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes; an old friend is always 
 welcome!" murmured Olive, vaguelv. 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 89 
 
 "That's right I" looking ronnd uneasily 
 for a seat strong enough to bear his 
 weight. 
 
 *'Try this,' said Olive, perceiving his 
 difficulty, and drawing forward a solid oaken 
 arm-chair—the one piece de resistance in the 
 room. 
 
 " Ah I thanks ! the very thing," Raid the 
 doctor, taking it and depositing his beautiful 
 new glossy hat on the carpet "So you 
 have left the Vicarage? Nice jolly old 
 place. Never tasted better stout or finer 
 home-brewed than at your poor father's. 
 I was awfully cut up when I heard of his 
 deatii—though he wasn't a young man, you 
 know. I'd give him sixty-three." 
 
 **My late brother was sixtj-five at the 
 time of his decease," said Miss Driimmoud, 
 a little stifflv. 
 
l> I 
 
 80 TO Bb], OR NOT TO BE 
 
 "Ah! Indeed. Didn't marry young. 1 
 suppose?" continued the doct.r, still ad- 
 dressing Olive. "And quite right, too! I 
 h«ive no patience with the boys who rush 
 into matrimony nowadays. They should 
 wait, as I have done, to be in the prime 
 of life ! I begin to think it's time to lock 
 out for a wife to take back with me. A 
 fellow is awfully alone in India-one gets 
 sick of always dining in uniform and boots- 
 often tight boots— day after day." 
 
 "Why don't you wear easy ones?" asked 
 
 Olive, who was rallying from her dismay, 
 
 largely assisted by her sense of the ridiculous. 
 
 "Hey?" returned the doctor. "Why? 
 
 Why, you see the fellows in London send 
 
 you out a pile of boots in a box -deuced 
 
 natty, and all that, but they forget the effect 
 
 a tropical' climate has on the extremities. 
 
TO BE, OH JsiuT TO BE 91 
 
 You see my hands. I used to take sevens 
 when I went out first, and now I take 
 eic^hts and a half-give you my word I do. 
 But you haven't told me what the poor vicar 
 died of." 
 
 "He took a (ihill, going to see a 
 
 parishioner— an old labourer, who- " 
 
 "Ay, it's just like those sort of pnople. 
 I find no patients half so selfish and in- 
 considerate as paupers - think no more of 
 having you out of your bed in the dead of 
 the night for nothing than if they were 
 ready with a five-guinea fee." 
 
 " Death, too, is very inconsiderate respect- 
 ing times and seasons," said Olive, gravely. 
 
 " Gad, you've hit it," returned the docur, 
 seriously, by no means affected by her tone or 
 words. Then, turning to Aunt Tahitha: " i'uu 
 are a good bit older than your brother.. I 
 
92 
 
 TO BE OB NOT TO BE 
 
 fancy, but you look hale ind ^e[\. I have 
 always remarked that Scotchwomen are re- 
 markably touffh." 
 
 " The Scotch have remarkably good health, 
 if that's what you mean,'' returned Miss 
 Drummond, rather severely 
 
 "Exactly. Now, Miss Olive, I expect 
 you to lead me about. I haven't seen a 
 play for years — I'm uncommon fond of a 
 play if it's funny and makes you laugh. 
 i suppose you'll not mind coming to the 
 theatre with me ^ " 
 
 "There is no reason why she should; at 
 any rate, I do not see any," remarked Miss 
 Drummond, unbending. 
 
 " You are very good," cried Olive, colour- 
 ing. " But our tastes wonld not agree ; 1 
 nnly lilve plays that make me cry." 
 
 "And you call that amusing yourself I" 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 98 
 
 said the doctor, with a laugh ; then address- 
 ing Miss Drummond : " I have brought you 
 a present, ma'am, from Miss Prendergast- 
 a deuced troublesome concern, I can tell 
 you. It's a Persian kitten. I didn't bring 
 it with me to-day, I wasn't sure about 
 finding you. The chamber-maid is looking 
 after it it's jet black, and considered a 
 beauty. If you like, I'll bring it up to- 
 morrow." 
 
 '* I am much obliged to Miss Prendergast. 
 I shall be very pleased to have it. And 
 perhaps. Dr. Barclay, you will partake of 
 luncheon with us, at half-past one?" said 
 Aunt Tabitha. 
 
 "With pleasure; I shall be delighted; 
 in short, t am somewhat pressed for time, 
 and I shall be glad to have a longer talk 
 to-morrow. Then, Miss Olive, we'll settle 
 
94 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 ul t 
 
 !'>« 
 
 about the theatre. If 1 go and cry with 
 you, you must come and laugh with me. 
 Gad! I had no idea I should find you 
 grown up into such a fine young lady ! Do 
 you remember how angry you used to be 
 with me when I swung you too high in 
 that swing under the lime-trees?" - 
 "I don't think I do." 
 "That's too bad of you, Olive-^ome, 
 you must let me call you Olive— why, you 
 were only a baby when I knew you. Oh ! by- 
 the-bye," turning to Aunt Tabitha, "what's 
 become of Dugald McCallum ? He was in the 
 107th Highlanders—awful scamp." 
 
 " Lord Dugald McCallum was perhaps a 
 little too high-spirited, but he was a brave 
 soldier, and married an Indian Princess with 
 a large fortune. Thej live chiefly on the 
 Continent 1 " 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 95 
 
 "Yes, I know! She was a desperate 
 darkie, and they say he gambled away most 
 of her money, etc." 
 
 A little more gossip and he rose to take 
 leav^:. 
 
 "To-morrow at 1.30, then, I'll bring the 
 kitten, and try and make friends with you I 
 By Jove, I don't think you have forgiven 
 me that swing yet!" shaking hands with 
 Olive. 1' Delighted to find you so well, Miss 
 Drummond I Till to-morrow." 
 
 Olive went to the window and watched 
 him depart in silence; then she turned, 
 and meeting her aunt's eyes, which were 
 fixed upon her with an inquiring glance, 
 burst into a laugh, and, throwing herself 
 into a seat, exclaimed: 
 
 "Oh, auntie I what a falling off is 
 there I" 
 
m 
 
 96 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 '* I don't understand you, niece I What 
 have you to find fault with ? " 
 
 •"Oh, I don't find fault. But could 
 you imagine that stout, self-satisfied, pros- 
 perous-looking man— writing such— such a 
 letter ? ' 
 
 *• He is a remarkably fine looking, sen- 
 sible man— and will make you an excellent 
 husband," returned Aunt Tabitha, with strong 
 emphasis. 
 
 "He shall not be my husband T' cried 
 Olive, resolutely ; " and I do oeg and implore 
 you," clasping her hands as she spoke, 
 " never to allude to that unfortunate letter. 
 I intend to write him i few civil lines, 
 saying I cannot accept his offer — very 
 friendly, you know." 
 
 " Olive Ayton I If you commit so rash 
 an act," cried her aunt, tremulously, "I 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BB 97 
 
 must, reluctantly, insist on your quitting 
 my house ! It is-yes-it's not delicate, or 
 -or ladylike, to think much of a man's ap- 
 pearance. It is a distinct flying in the face 
 
 of Providence to reject the mercies " 
 
 The entrance of Janet, who handed a 
 letter to Olive, interrupted her. 
 
 " It is from the Scholastic Agency," cried 
 Olive, when they were alone, " and comes 
 at the right moment. I shall be able to 
 obey you. I am to be at the office on 
 Tuesday, the 25th, at 10 a.m., to meet the 
 lady principal of a prepar ,t>ry school for 
 boys, at Margate, who requires a governess 
 for the junior class ; salary, twenty pounds, 
 no washing or travelling expenses. I am 
 advised to go early, as the young ladiea 
 will be interviewed in the order of their 
 coming, and a rush is expected. There is 
 
98 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT T') BE 
 
 a brilliant chance. I need not marry Dr. 
 
 Barclay, and I can quit your house '' 
 
 *' Don't be too sun* ! How do you know 
 you will be chosen out of the expected 
 crowd ? " 
 
 "That is true. Oh, how dreadful it 
 is to be poor I But I do not want to live 
 on you, auntie ; you have little enough for 
 yourself. Why — why did you ask that 
 great staring man to luncheon? IJe will 
 want no end of goodies." 
 
 She rose and left the room without 
 waiting a reply, for she felt the tears she 
 could not repress almost welling over. 
 
 It was a cruel disappointment, and she 
 wo-^ ashamed it should be so. She did not 
 juiiow how the castles she could not help build- 
 ing had laid their foundations in her heart. 
 Home — with a kii^d, delicate, considerate 
 
TO BE, OB NOT To UJ 
 
 99 
 
 gentleman for a companion, instead of the 
 ruggedoess of school-life, its sordidness and 
 • uncertainty — could she be blamed for 
 dwelling on a picture so fascinating in its 
 contrast to the reverse? But, with all her 
 tenderness, Olive possessed a certain back- 
 bone of resolution and self-respect. She 
 could never dream of marrying a blunt, 
 dull, uninteresting man like Dr. Barclay, 
 and she must not mislead him; so she 
 took her pen quickly, and wrote a nice 
 civil little note, thanking him far his kind 
 recollection of her, but avowing that, in 
 consequence of circumstances she could not 
 then explain, she could not accept his 
 oflfer — and therefore hastened to enlighten 
 him as to the true state of affairs as 
 soon as possible. Then she put on her 
 hat and went to post it herself. 
 
 u2 
 

 100 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 "Now he will not come to luncheon 
 to-morrow— and how arigiy and disappointed 
 poor auntie will be! I am sure she and 
 Janet are compounding curry in prepara- 
 tion for the feast; I can smell the frying 
 up here," was her reflection when she re- 
 gained her own room, after an hour's walk 
 through the avenues and "groves" of the 
 surburban neighbourhood. "I am sorry to 
 disappoint auntie; she has been very good 
 to me in her way." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 ;LL the next morning OJive was 
 
 tremulously watchful. Surely a 
 
 no.te or a telegram would come, 
 
 offering some excuse on the pare of Dr. 
 
 Barclay. But no! the hours slipped by 
 
 and nothing came. 
 
 One o'clock struck, and Miss Drummond 
 came into the room, inspecting the final 
 arrang-ments of the table. 
 
 "It's all very neat and orderly," she 
 said, in a tone of satisfaction, which 
 rapidly changed to shrUl disapproval. "My 
 
i02 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 patience, Olive ! are you going to sit down 
 in that shabby black frock ? " 
 
 " It's not so bat), auntie ; and Dr. 
 Barclay won't see what I have on." 
 
 " Now that is just a dishonest speech, 
 niece ! That man has a pair of sharp een. 
 
 Why, I am going to change my Eh ! 
 
 but here he is," interrupting herself, and 
 as a hansom stopped at the door, ** I can- 
 not be seen in my morning wrap." 
 
 Rushing from the room, she left poor, 
 dismayed Olive to bear the brunt of the 
 encounter. The next moment the doctor, 
 big, burly, self-satisfied, joyous as ever, was 
 shaking bauds with her, while she could 
 not control the vivid colour that would 
 mount almost to the roots of her hair. 
 
 " How are you ? Glad to have a word 
 with you by yourself; you know, somehow. 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 103 
 
 I didn't think you were all right with me 
 yesterday. Never miud. There's no reason 
 why we shouldn't be fast friends, is there, 
 now?" 
 
 "Oh, no; not at all I " cried Olive, 
 eagerly, understanding that the worthv 
 doctor accepted his dismissal, and was 
 anxious to be on a kindly, brotherly 
 footing. "I am quite delighted to be 
 friends with you." 
 
 " That's all right ; that's like a girl with 
 no nonsense about her;" and he shook 
 hands with her again. 
 
 *' I've got the cat there in a basket ; let's 
 take him out." 
 
 " By all means." 
 
 Quite relieved at this turn of affairs, 
 Olive went into the hall, where a hamper 
 stood. The doctor produced a pocket-knife. 
 
104 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 and cut the cords which tied it, liberating 
 a fine black kitten, adorned by a beautiful 
 bushy tail, who with much self- possession 
 yawned, stretched, and then sat down to 
 contemplate its new surroundings. 
 
 '•What a beauty!" cried Olive, taking 
 it up. 
 
 "Be careful; the little brute bites and 
 scratches, and I am deuced J y afraid of a 
 cat's scratches," said Dr. Barclay. 
 
 " It seems quiet enough. How delighted 
 auntie will be ! " And Olive carried it into 
 the drawiug-room and placed it on the 
 hearthrug, from which it soon started on 
 a tour of inspection. 
 
 "I suppose you don't go out much to 
 dances or concerts, or things of that kind, 
 hey?" asked the doctor. 
 
 * Ve-jil" emphatically. 
 
« 
 
 €t 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 105 
 
 " Come, that's hard lines for a pretty 
 
 girl like you. Now we understand each 
 
 other, you won't mind doing a play with 
 
 me?" 
 
 Not at all ; I shall be delighted." 
 'That's right. I'll settle about it with 
 the old lady." The words had hardly passed 
 His lips when Miss Drummond entered, 
 and the few minutes before lunch were 
 amply filled up by the receitioa of the 
 kitten and comments on its beauty. 
 
 Luncheon was successful on the whole. 
 Dr. Barclay approved the curry, and ate 
 largely of it. He was not quite so un- 
 stinted in his praise of the beer, of which 
 he was evidently a connoicseur, and when 
 after some macaroni cheese, his glass was 
 filled with sherry, Olive observed he did 
 
 not finish it; still the guest of the day 
 
 was 
 
106 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 evidently well pleased and did by far the 
 greater part of the talking himself He told 
 a variety of amusing stories, chiefly illus- 
 trative of his own cleverness in avoiding 
 dangerous situations, and shifting unpleasant 
 responsibilities on other people's shoulders. 
 He chuckled a good deal over his success 
 in these manoeuvres, and seemed quite imper- 
 vious to some rather cutting remarks from 
 Olive, for which Aunt Tabitha cast reproving 
 glances at the delinquent. 
 
 "I suppose you never saw much of 
 your cousin after you went out to India ? " 
 
 " No, next to nothing. He was a reck- 
 less sort of fellow — went in for sport and 
 all sorts of wild expeditions; don't do you 
 a bit of good, you know — so ** 
 
 " Ah ! just so ! generally ends the same 
 way I " interrupted Aunt Tabithe^ 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 107 
 
 Then the doctor tuniod to Olive. "I 
 will see if I can get places for to-morrow, 
 and come up and tell you what IVe done.' 
 Now I have a visit to pay at Putney -^can't 
 think what makes people live in these out- 
 of-the-way places-I'd rather live up here, 
 by Jove. Till to-morrow, then ! IVe paid 
 you an awfully long visit -but you are so 
 agreeable, you see. Give you my word I . 
 
 didn't know how to get away " 
 
 " Now, Olive, you have done very well," 
 said Aunt Tab, approvingly ; " you may turn 
 "P your dainty nose, but you know you 
 have an unusually good chance, and I 
 am glad to see that, after aJl, you have 
 some sense." 
 
 " Indeed, I have not, accord mg to your 
 Weal" said OUve, flushing. -I am afraid 
 you will be very vexed with me, but I 
 
108 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 wrote a line to him yesterday, explaining 
 that I could not really have anything to do 
 with him. Still he must be good-natured, 
 for he said just now there was no reason 
 why we should not be friends, so you 
 see " 
 
 "Olive Ayton," interrupted her aunt, "I 
 did not think, whatever your faults, that 
 you were a double-dealing taupie ! It's plain 
 yon doctor is a wiselike man. He is not 
 going to take the first * No * from a bit 
 lassie that doesn't know her own mind ! '' 
 cried Aunt Tabitha, greatly exercised. A 
 few sharp speeches were then exchanged, 
 and Olive had some difficulty in smoothing 
 matters sufficiently to induce her aunt to 
 ring for Janet, and show her the kitten. 
 
 The docvor showed no ill-feeling, nor 
 did ^Q fiieem to heed the decided rejection 
 
TO BE, OB HOT TO BB 109 
 
 I>e had received. He came tbo next day 
 to say he could not secure places for Our 
 Bovs until Monday. On this occasion he 
 had two cups at afternoon tea, and proved 
 hia appreciation of Janet's thin bread and 
 better. He described accurately to both 
 ladies the treatment which he pursued in 
 the case of the General-s youngest daughter, 
 who suffered the year before from an aggra- 
 vated attack of chicken-pox. Then finding 
 that Olive was goiug to visit Lady Twenty- 
 penny, a friend of her aunt's who lived in 
 Porchester Terrace, he offered to drive her 
 there in a hansom. Olive preferred walking, 
 whereupon, though he avowed his detesta- 
 tion of that exercise, the gallant doctor 
 offered her his escort 
 
 Olive grew touchy. Hep aunt was 
 probably right-this tiresome, egotistical, im- 
 
no 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 pervious man looked upon her aa a frivolous 
 baby who would say " yes " to-morrow as 
 readily as she said " no " yesterday — con- 
 sequently she was by no means an amiable 
 or sympathetic companion. 
 
 On Su'iday the immovable doctor again 
 appeared about tea-time with a fresh batch 
 of stories, and when taking leave of Miss 
 Drummond, exclaimed, as if with a happy 
 thought : " I say ! is there any reason 
 why Miss Olive shouldn't take a bit of 
 dinner with me at the ' Cri ' ? — deuced good 
 dinners they give. I could call for her, 
 
 you know, and Hey I what do you 
 
 think?" 
 
 " It is a proposition I should not en- 
 tertain from every one else," said Aunt 
 Tabitha, with much dignity ; " but con- 
 sidering that you are an old friend, and 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BE m 
 
 that I approve your very disinterested 
 
 intei.tions, I do not object » 
 
 "You must rcn)cml,er, I am not sure 
 how long 1 may be kept at that scholastic 
 '""•eau," said Olive, much annoyed by her 
 aunt's speech. 
 
 "The what?" asked the doctor, with 
 something of horror in his tone. 
 
 "An a,Q:ency for obtaining engagements 
 to teach-where I hope to find one." said 
 Olive, steadily. 
 
 "Oh I Ah-yes, to be sure; well, do 
 not let me interf;.re with your arrangements, 
 only if you can be ready at six to-morrow, 
 just drop me a line at my hotel-Morley's, 
 you know-Chariug Cross. Gad! it's past 
 six now; I always pay you such awful 
 long visits." With some hasne he left them. 
 ••I wonder he cares to come," said Olive. 
 
119 
 
 TO BE, on i\OT TO BE 
 
 " I feel lesH a»"Ml loss {jlilo to flo the a^reeaLle 
 the longer 1 know him." 
 
 " And I wonder at it, too," returned 
 Miss Drummond, solenmly ; "you are be- 
 liaving badly and foolishly, Olive. What 
 made you talk about seeking an engagement 
 and an agency office ? Men like Dr. 
 Barclay hate to hear of working women, or 
 poverty ; even though he might not ask 
 money with you, he would not like to think 
 you hnd come in contact " 
 
 "He need not trouble himself," inter- 
 rupted Olive. "What I am, or have been, 
 or will be, does not concern him. Do not 
 think about him any more, dear auiirie ; I 
 hiive a sort of hope tliat Monday may bring 
 iiie better fortune and you relie£" 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ;UT Olive's prophetic feeling was 
 but a will-of-the-wiap — false and 
 misleading. 
 The lady before whom the candidates for 
 the magnificent appointment above described 
 were paraded bad selected one whose accom- 
 plishments, in the way of darning house- 
 linen, turned the scale before it came to 
 Olive's turn to enter the audience-chamber. 
 
 As she was rather dejectedly leaving the 
 office, a lady was reading the various in- 
 scriptions which, in the usual way, adorned 
 
114 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 " I am looking for the Scholastic Agency 
 Office." she said in a pleasant voice. *' VV^ould 
 you be so good as to direct me ? " 
 
 " Certainly," returned Olive. " When you 
 get to the first landing, turn along a passage 
 to the left ; at the end of it there is a 
 dark, narrow stair. Stay, I will show you 
 — it is a little complicated." 
 
 And Olive led her to the presence oi 
 the agent himself; a small, sallow man, 
 with straggling beard and keen little eyes, 
 who was pleased to be very peremptory 
 with the humble seekers for employment 
 thronging his office, and filling his pockets 
 with their hard-earned shillings. As she 
 left the dusty, dingy bureau, she heard the 
 stranger ask, quickly : 
 
 "What is that young lady's name?" 
 Od reaching Hazel wood Villa, Olive found 
 
TO BE, on NOT TO BE 
 
 115 
 
 her aunt sitting up very straight indeed, 
 with her knitting in her hands, and severity 
 enthroned on her brow. 
 
 " After all, auntie, I have not had any 
 luck." 
 
 " No ; I'm thinking you have thrown 
 away your luck. Read that telegram," 
 handing it to her. 
 
 It was addressed to Miss Drummond, 
 signed H. C. Barclay, and contained these 
 words : " Called out of town — important 
 business — will write." 
 
 " There's an end of that, or I am much 
 mistaken," she said, bitterly. 
 
 " I dare say it is. Oh, dear ! how sorry 
 I am not to see Our Boys" 
 
 " Olive Ayton ! I did not think you 
 were a frivolous, light-headed young woman 
 who would turn your back on the mercies 
 
 I 2 
 
116 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 o* Divine Providence, and disregard the 
 counsels o' your only living kinswoman—" 
 
 And Aunt Tabitha scolded on, reorardless 
 of the fact that Olive had fallen into deep 
 thought and did not appear to catch the 
 sound of her words. 
 
 Dr. Barclay's business took him to see 
 an old Indian acquaintance at Cheltenham ; 
 and as his absence from town hardly ex- 
 ceeded forty-eight hours, he did not find 
 it convenient to write according to promise. 
 
 He reached town in time for his 7.30 
 repast, and making his way to the 
 coflfee-room, asked with some eagerness for 
 the carte. He was studying its contents 
 when another gentleman coming in, made 
 the same demand, in a deep, commanding 
 tone. The doctor looked up hastily, and 
 
ff 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 117 
 
 gazed for a moment at the speaker. A tall 
 man — very tall — and bony, even gaunt. 
 He had a fine, strong, embrowned face, 
 though by no means handsome, with re 
 markably dark, piercing eyes, thick blacli 
 nonstache, and abundant black hair, cut 
 close at the back in military fashion. After 
 an instant's hesitation, Dr. Barclay stepped 
 forward, holding out his hand. 
 
 " By Jove ! I did not expect to meet you 
 here. Had no idea you were coming home." 
 They shook hands with some cordiality. 
 "Well, it was a rather sudden thought," 
 replied the other ; "but I fancied a whiff of 
 native air would do me good, so here I am. 
 Shall we dine together?" 
 
 *'By all means — and, look here," seizing 
 the carte. "They make capital calves' head 
 hash, and let's have a duck — a pair of 
 
118 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 ducks — and green peas, and a bottle of 
 Moselle — it's not bad here, give you my 
 word. Did you see Allan before you left ? 
 He is a wonderful fellow — made such a 
 wonderful hit with the Commander-in-Chief 
 just before 1 started — tell you all about it 
 at dinner. Here, waiter, the wine carte." 
 
 The lively doctor chatted eagorly through 
 ' dinner. It was evident from their talk that 
 they had many reminiscences and acquaint- 
 ance in common, yet they were not especially, 
 intimate friends ; the new-comer was re- 
 markably taciturn and frequently did not 
 seem to hear the abundant talk of his 
 companion. At last Dr. Barclay exclaimed : 
 
 " What's . the matter with you, man ? 
 Are you down on your luck? You don't 
 seem yourself! Liver — eh? Do you know, 
 I have invented a capital pill, with a dash 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 119 
 
 of mercury in it, which would put you right 
 in a twiukliug? I'm thinking serioualy of 
 patcDting it. It is wonderful; old Sir 
 Peregrine Pounceby, First Commissioner of 
 Moolahbad, never stirs without a box of 
 'em in his pocket ; give you my word ! " 
 
 "Patent it if you like, but don't poison 
 a brother practitioner," returned his friend, 
 with a grim smile. "Fact is, England seems 
 strange and cold to me. I went away a 
 boy, I come back and find — nothing ! I 
 arrived yesterday morning, and yours is 
 the first familiar face I have seen since. 
 I'm thinking of going off to Paris on 
 Saturday, to join Sir Arthur Dacre, the 
 great shikari, you know ! He is going into 
 Hungary — the Carpathians — on a sort of 
 exploring tour. There is nothing to keep 
 me here." 
 
120 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 "My dear fellow, London is a first-rate 
 place! I am here barely a fortnight, and 
 I have more engagements than I know how 
 to keep. I've met lots of old friends, and — 
 oh! I knew I had something to tell you I 
 Do you remember the parson, down there at 
 Netherly, where you were so fond of going 
 to fish? Half-brother of that queer old 
 Scotchwoman, the Marchioness's amanuensis 
 — well, I found her out. The youngest 
 Prendergast girl sent home a cat for her — 
 and the devil's own bother I had with that 
 infernal kitten. Well, Miss Drummond has 
 old Ayton's daughter, little Olive, living 
 with her; she has grown up an uncommon 
 pretty girl — uncommon, by Jove 1 You 
 remember the Vicarage, and your taking 
 me there after you had been introduced 
 yourself?" 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 121 
 
 The other nodded, and began to pull his 
 long moustaches, and listen with an air of 
 profound attention. 
 
 "Well, you see, though I am pretty 
 wide-awake, I am no wiser, in some respects, 
 than my neighbours, and I was immensely 
 taken I She is such a shy, bright, sharp 
 little puss! And I thought it would be 
 deuced amusing to show her about a bit ; 
 she is awfully dull, you know, shut up with 
 old I^ady Glencairn's ex-secretary — they 
 haven't a rap, give you my word ! But 
 the poor little girl took to me at once; I 
 saw it was all up with her at the second 
 interview. She was all blushes, tremors, 
 and *keep your distance' airs, that we 
 understand, don't we, boy ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 His listener made a sudden movemeut, and 
 uttered a deep, inarticulate sound, which did 
 
122 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TQ BE 
 
 not seem exactly like a blessing. *' She was 
 ready to walk with me, or talk with me, 
 or go to the play with me," resumed Dr. 
 Barclay. "I was always rather a favourite 
 with the women! Well, I had got places 
 for some confounded burlesque here in the 
 Strand, and thinking it would be an awful 
 bore to drive all the way up to their place, 
 to fetch my little girl after dining. I said to 
 Aunt Tabby : ' 1 suppose there is no reason 
 why Miss Olive shouldn't dine with me at 
 the " Cri," or " Verey's " ? ' What do you 
 think the old girl said ? * Considering you 
 are an old friend, and that I am aware of 
 your disinterested or honourable intentions, 
 I do not ohjt ct '— give you my word, she 
 did! Now that expression 'intentions,' 
 brought me to my senses. It has a deuced 
 ugly sound, hasn't it ? I just said id write 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 123 
 
 a line and say what hour I'd call for Miss 
 Olive, but 1 found it wiser to be calle.i out 
 of town, ha ? and I will just let them dowu 
 easy! Take another glass of claret— it .iijt 
 bad, you see. Aunt Tabby knows that 
 I am well up in the Service, and that I 
 have a snug bit of house and other property, 
 and I dare say she has imparted Ikt know- 
 ledge to my pretty, tremulous, saucy little 
 dove, 80 I mustn't let myself be victimised ; 
 a wife ought to have something more 
 than " 
 
 Here his listener, who had become ratlier 
 restless, started from his seat, exclaiming 
 rather inadvertently: -It's infernally hot I 
 Suppose we take a stroll up Whitehall " 
 
 *' Don't move so soon after dinner I We 
 have to finish that claret, too. But, I say, 
 won't you go to see our friends ? " 
 
124 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 "No!" rather roughly. "They have 
 forgotten me, I dare say. Did Olive — I 
 mean Miss Drummond — ask for me?" 
 
 " Never mentioned your name, my dear 
 fellow." No reply. "I tell you who did 
 ask after you very kindly. Shirley ! Don't 
 you remember old Ayton's lantern-jawed 
 curate ? I met him in Cheltenham yesterday. 
 He has a grand church there — is a popular 
 preacher — wears a soft hat, white bands, and 
 a coat to his heels. He was struck of a 
 heap at seeing me, for it seems there was 
 a report that I died of fever or something 
 a couple of years ago. He asked after you, 
 and said how pleased he'd be to see you 
 again. He thought me so like you, only, of 
 course, better filled out. It is a pity that 
 nothing puts flesh on your bones." 
 " 1 prefer being as I am." 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 126 
 
 "Well, there's no accounting for tastes. 
 
 Won't you come up and see little Olive 
 
 Ayton? To tell you the truth, I want 
 
 to see her myself, and I'd feel safer with 
 
 you beside me." 
 
 "Nonsense, man. They don't want to 
 see an insignificant fellow like me, who 
 has no property at his back." 
 
 "As my relative you would be welcome," 
 said Dr. Barclay, impressively. " Besides, 
 you used to be the greater favourite of 
 the two with little Olive." 
 
 "Ay, but little Olive was an unsophis- 
 ticated little girl then." 
 
 "Well, she ain't bad now. It is only 
 natural that a girl should try to get hold of a 
 good-looking fellow with a decent property." 
 
 "Oh, very likely; at any rate, you are 
 not such an ass as I ami" 
 
126 
 
 TO BE, on NOT TO BE 
 
 "Well — perhaps not I" candidly and 
 modestly. 
 
 " Besides," con tinned the other, " there 
 is no necessity for ujy staying in this huge 
 wilderness of bricks and mortar. I can do 
 all I want to-morrow and run over to Paris. 
 Now, Bertie, I don't know what you are 
 going to do, but I am going out." So 
 saying, he took down his hat and left the 
 room. 
 
 " Beastly tennper ! " said Barclay to him- 
 self, complacently, " always had ! Forgotten 
 to pay for his dinner, too I But he'll put 
 that right — he was always ready enough 
 with his cash I " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HILE Dr. Barclay was thus en- 
 tertaining his co7ivive, th 
 
 e iin- 
 
 01 
 
 con.^cious heroine of his narrative, 
 ive Ayton, who had been out nearlv 
 
 the whole aftern 
 
 oou, came in at her aunt's 
 " high tea-time," looking much brighter than 
 she had for some days. 
 
 " May I take off my hat here, aantie ? 
 I am rather hungry and very tired, and 
 I have a great deal to tell you." 
 
 tt \r 
 
 Very well ; and tell Janet to cook 
 
 you 
 
 an egg ' 
 
 i< 
 
 Oh, a little cold beef will do as well 
 
 'I 
 
128 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 and quickly laying aside her out-door gar- 
 meuts, she set to work upon the food before 
 her. 
 
 " Well," asked Aunt Tabitha, when she 
 had waited a few minutes, " and what have 
 you to tell me ? " 
 
 "After all," began Olive, with animation, 
 "last Monday was not so unlucky for me; 
 I have found an engagement, and not a bad 
 one, at last." 
 
 "You don't mean to say, Olive, that 
 you have finally accepted anything without 
 consulting me ? " 
 
 "I was obliged, auntie, or I should 
 have lost it. Mrs. Buchanan, the lady who 
 asked me to call upon her, is the same 
 lady I met at the Agency Office, and she 
 seems rather to have taken a £tncy to me." 
 
 "Buchanan, eh 1— Scotch ? *• 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 129 
 
 " She is the wife of a Scotch minister 
 somewhere in Perthshire; she offers me 
 twenty-five pounds a year, and will pay 
 my travelling expenses ; she seems nice and 
 kind, and said it was a very small salary,- 
 but she really could not afford more. She 
 said, too, that if I were what I looked I 
 might be happy with them. She has two 
 girls and a boy— oh, and a bal»y. The boy 
 is in bad health, and she is so much occupied 
 with him that the girls are neglected; she 
 wants me to travel with her on Saturday." 
 "'What I without references on either 
 side?" asked Aunt Tabitha, aghast. 
 
 "Oh! she seemed satisfied with the 
 agent's account of me, and gave me the 
 address of the minister of that new Scotch 
 church near the Koyal Crescent." 
 " What I Mr. MacFarlane ? " 
 
130 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 "Yes: so I cali'^d there before I came 
 in, for I knew you would be in a fidsret. 
 Mr. MacFarlane seemed to know the family 
 quite well, and spoke highly of both Mr. 
 and Mrs. Buchanan." 
 
 " Olive, my bairn, you just take away 
 my breath. Now if you start off on 
 Saturday, how will you sort your clothes — 
 and the doctor ? What's to do about 
 him ? " 
 
 " He does not enter into my calculations 
 — at all events, he will understand that my 
 'no' meant no, and there's an end of it. 
 I fancy something we said or did when he 
 was here last offended him. He went off 
 so suddenly. I should not be surprised if 
 we heard vory little more of him." 
 
 " Hoot toot ! my dearie, it's bare three 
 days since he was h 
 
 ft 
 
TO BE, OB NOT TO BE m 
 
 "Do not let us trouble about him, 
 auntie ; I want you to see that this is reallv 
 a good chance for me. It is a long way 
 from you, but I am not of much use." 
 
 Miss Drummond was not to be so easily 
 persuaded into giving up her golden hopes 
 of the doctor, and the discussion was con- 
 tiuued with some heat on both sides, Olive 
 at last wringing a reluctant consent from 
 her disappointed aunt. 
 
 The day but one after was Friday, and 
 Olive went by invitation to arrange the 
 hour, etc., of their journey with her new 
 employer. The minister's wife was staying 
 with a relative in the wilds of Brixton, 
 and kept her visitor a considerable time. 
 It was therefore late when Olive alighted 
 from an omnibus and attempted to cross 
 the wide space at the top of :Northumber- 
 
 K 2 
 
182 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BB 
 
 land Avenue, which was much crowded. 
 Twice she essayed to start, and twice she 
 retreated ; a third time she ventured, when 
 a rough-looking man, with a heavy basket 
 on his shoulder, pushed impatiently against 
 her; her foot slipped on the pavement, 
 which was damp and greasy, and she fell 
 to tlie ground, almost under the feet of a 
 horse, which was commg rapidly along in 
 the shafts of a hansom. There was a 
 scrarrlling and clattering of hoofs, as the 
 driver strove with all his might to pull 
 the animal on its haunches ; a scream from 
 the crowd, « She's killed I She's under the 
 borse's feet I '» and, with a sharp sense of 
 pain added to her mortal terror, Olive 
 became for a minute or two unconscious. 
 The gentleman who was in the cab 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 133 
 
 sprang from it in an instant, and had 
 raised the half-fainting girl before the in- 
 evitable policeman could intervene. 
 
 "She's alive, and I hope she is not 
 seriously hurt," he said to those nearest. 
 "Is there a chemist's anywhere near? I 
 am a surgeon, and will see to her." 
 
 A dozen voices directed him, and pre- 
 ceded by the solemn guardian of the law, 
 who remained a sentinel at the door, the 
 gentleman carried the injured girl to the 
 druggist's indicated. 
 
 "Ah! here's the mischief," he exclaimed, 
 as Olive shrank from his touch and 
 moaned. -The left arm is broken; we 
 must put that to rights at once; we must 
 cut off the sleeve. Is there any woman 
 about who could help us?'* 
 
134 
 
 TO BE, OB iioT TO BE 
 
 "Might I not go home first?" mur- 
 mured Olive, faintly. She had come 
 to herself, though feeling curiously dazed 
 
 and bewildered, for the shock had been 
 great. 
 
 "Your arm will come right all the 
 sooner if we lose no time, and I have all 
 appliances at hand here," returned the 
 geniJeman, who had apparently taken the 
 command. 
 
 Here the owner of the shop, who had 
 gone out, hastily returned with a stout, 
 respectable -looking woman, his housekeeper, 
 who, with many whispered exclamations of 
 "Poor dear," "Bless her heart," "Ain't it 
 cruel?" etc., snipped away the sleeve, and 
 supported Olive's head, while the ex-occu- 
 pant of the cab set the broken bone. 
 
TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 IZb 
 
 "Can you tell me where you live?" 
 was his final question. 
 
 Olive, who again felt very f^iint. mur- 
 inured her address, adding: 
 
 *'My aunt will be frightened-and what 
 shall I do abouc Mrs. Buchanan ? I could 
 not travel to-morrow, could I ? " 
 
 " Most certainly not ! " was the prompt 
 reply. "Do not trouble about anybody- 
 just try to get well." Then, turning to the 
 chemist, he took from him some composing 
 mixture. "Take this, and I shall see yol 
 safe home. The sooner you are in bed- 
 after such a shock to the nervous system- 
 the better." 
 
 Olive obeyed meekly. 
 "I rather think I know this young lady's 
 relatives," said the surgeon to the owner of 
 
136 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 the shop. "If you send for a cab, I will 
 take her home. There is my card ; I am 
 staying quite near, at Morley's." 
 
 It seemed to Olive that only two minutes 
 elapsed before she was half lifted, half 
 supported into a cab, where cloaks and 
 cushions had been arranged for her comfort, 
 and she was dimly couscious that for part 
 of the way at least her head lay against 
 her kind companion's shoulder. 
 
 She was next vaguely surprised to find 
 Aunt Tabitha and Janet waiting in the hall, 
 her own room ready and the bed turned 
 down. 
 
 How thankful she was to be in it, and 
 quite quiet I Then the local doctor, who 
 did what healing Miss Drummond's small 
 household needed. < ame and felt her pulse. 
 
ro SS, OB NOT TO BB 137 
 
 aad patted her ia a fatherly fashion, asaurin. 
 ter she would be all right in a few weeks! 
 How delightful it was to feel a drowsy 
 sensation stealing over her, when her aunt 
 left ner, promising to write by the next 
 post to Mrs. Buchanan. 
 
 Less than a week saw Olive greatly re- 
 covered, and able to come into the drawing, 
 room, though still a li„le weak and 
 tremulous. Every one had been so kind; 
 their fer acquaintances had brought her 
 fruit and flowers; Mrs. Buchanan had come 
 all the way from Brixton the very day on 
 the evening of which she was to travel 
 north, a«d offered to wait a month for her- 
 and her aunt informed her Dr. Barclay 
 had caUed eveiy day. ..indeed," added 
 that gentlewoman. "if» yo„ „„„ fi.„,j ^ 
 
138 TO BB, OB NOT TO BB 
 
 yon ever have to go looking fo, » Jivi„g 
 
 again, and she smiled knowingly. 
 
 "Auntie," cried Olive, "not a word 
 
 about him, this first day of emancipation 
 
 from my room." 
 
 "Well, well, I must e'en humour you. 
 my bairn I You look wan and weakly 
 enough," said Aunt Tabitha, kindly. Wan, 
 but infinitely, delicately pretty, in her gray 
 dressing-gown, the left sleeve opened up 
 one seam and held together with bows of 
 pink ribbon, a soft, fleecy Shetland shawl 
 thrown round her, her dark gray, thoughtful 
 eyes looking larger than usual, from the 
 shade below them and the thinness of her 
 pale face. 
 
 " And that kind, clever gentleman, who 
 was so wonderfully good to me-I suppose 
 
»'0 BE, OB mr To BM j,g 
 
 h«« gone away? I remember. « «pite of 
 
 «.y torror-fop I thought my last hour had 
 
 co--t;.at there waa luggage, a portman- 
 
 teau. on the cab, as if he were going to 
 
 -«« train. It is curious, his eyes seemed 
 
 SO familiar to me ' Vn» u 
 
 ^' ^^^ ^»ve never told me 
 Ills name." 
 
 "You see. dearie," Miss Tabitha was 
 begmning, when Janet opened the door. 
 
 " "'"'« *''« doctor-Dr. Barclay. Will 
 Mss Olive see him?" she asked. 
 "Oh! not to-day, auntie." 
 "Hush! my bairn." hastily; "he'll „ot 
 «tay long-and-lll go and tell hin> you 
 "' ""' ^^""^ "> ■»"'=''•" She left the room 
 leavng an impression on her .ieocs mind 
 that she was r»ther upset, an e^^aordinary 
 condition for Aunt Tabitha. 
 
1*0 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 But the door opened again, this time 
 to admit the tall, dark-eyed, sunburnt man 
 who had succoured her so tenderly in ner 
 time of need. 
 
 "Oh I 1 am so glad to see you I " she 
 cried, stretching out her right hand, while 
 the colour sprang up in her cheek and gave 
 light to her eyes; "I was afraid it was 
 Br. Barclay I " 
 
 •' Poor Dr. Barclay I " he returned, with 
 a smile, as he took her hand and kissed it 
 gently. "What has he done? But first 
 tell me how you feel. I trust you are not 
 feverish," looking earnestly at her flushed 
 cheeks, resisting for an instant her eifort 
 to withdraw her hand. 
 
 "I am quite well — wonderfully well," 
 said OHve, feeling curiously confused ; « and 
 
TO BE, OP ifoT TO BB ,4, 
 
 « *° Dr. Barclay, he ha« only been very 
 Kood-natured ; but if yo„ ^now him you 
 -" think with .e that, for a person who 
 ■3 "ot ve^ strong, Dr. Barclay is a little- 
 a IittJe overpowering." 
 
 " P-^'Ws so," sitting down on the sofa 
 beside her. 
 
 "I "■" so glad to have an opportunity 
 of thanking y„„... ,,,„„^, ^..^^ ^ 
 
 My arm would not hav. 1 
 
 "■• '"STe l«,;u nearly so 
 
 well had you not sot if „» 
 
 •* ^ '"' " "t once- and— and 
 
 you were wonderfully ki„d." -p^^,^ „^ ^ 
 
 slight tremor in her voice. 
 
 "It makes me very happy to hear you say 
 r* ■ '' "'"""'^ - "^ 1- to-, leaning forward 
 to rest bis elbow on his knee, bis chin m his 
 hand, and turning to look into her eyes 
 "Taikmg of Dr. Barclay," he resumeH 
 
 3 
 
U2 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 *' I was more intimate with the other cousin, 
 the one " He paused. 
 
 *'The one who died," put in Olive. 
 
 " Neither of them died." 
 
 "What do you mean? The elder- 
 Hubert— died; my aunt told me so." 
 
 Her listener smiled and shook his head. 
 
 " 1 assure you that Hubert is quite well 
 —as large as life, and reposing himself at 
 this moment at Morley's Hotel, after a 
 severe dinner yesterday at the house of a 
 friend, an old civil servant. ** 
 
 "How extraordinary I That is where 
 Horace Barclay is staying too." 
 
 " No, my dear little friend Olive, Horace 
 Barclay is here beside you, to reproach you 
 with your hasty dismissal before you gave 
 him a chance." 
 
ro BE, OR NOT TO BB ^3 
 
 '.'Ahi-" exclaimed OJive—a U^ j 
 
 That accounts for yo^r eyes-I felt 
 ' l^"- ,our eyes. What an ' 
 
 -i'tafeef HO.-W did it al, '"^ 
 
 u J. ^ *^ ^^^ happen ? " 
 
 ^' -'^^ tl,e curious effect of a simple 
 cause. Bertip o. , ^ 
 
 ^erfe-as we We generally called 
 h.m-and I had uot met for « / 
 
 «■»« .- I had uo • , «°"«'deral,ie 
 
 „ , ' '"^ "° '^^'^ he was coming to 
 
 ^"'";- «^ ''°PP«^ - UmWl,, and was 
 
 ^"^" ""' '--« - - t„e .tten J 
 
 ---;heisHuLertCh.r,es Barclay lam 
 Horace Carter Barclay n r ■ 
 
 DarcJay. Bel.evmg Hnl-rt 
 
 to be dead (he was so reported after an 
 2-0. Cholera in his station). y_: 
 
 yur aunt .ery na.rally took him for me. 
 
 ; .'• T""' "'" ''^' -"--. every. 
 th,„. h. sa.d corroborated it. Moreover 
 
 thing 
 
 We 
 
144 
 
 TO BE, OR NOT TO BE 
 
 have a stronsr reseinhl 
 only, as he thinks, h 
 
 nnce to each other 
 
 , he IS so very mu^h a 
 
 finer felh)w tlmn J 
 
 am. Now mnv I teV. 
 
 you my side of tiie stoiy ? It will not tire 
 
 you 
 
 » 
 
 Oh, no; I am 
 
 curious to hear it," said 
 Olive, playing nervously with the border of 
 her shawl. ' 
 
 "Well, when I let myself write that— 
 that letter - for which I must ask your 
 pardon presently-I hoped I should be able 
 to set out in less than a week. I was, 
 however, unavoidabh- delayed. This gave 
 my cousin the start oi me. Knowing at 
 this season Morley's might be full, I tele- 
 graphed from Malta for room, and on 
 arriving was greeted by your letter of 
 refusal I had no right to expect anything ' 
 
14S 
 
 TO BB. OB NOT TO BB 
 from you ; but had you not written, I »igh, 
 " l^-^t have tried my chance. I „^ „„. 
 reasonably disappointed, and determined not 
 to "rtay in London. Nezt day I met 
 Hubert who told me he had renewed his 
 acquaintance with yon, and was evidently 
 a good deal smit. , p„„ing all this to- 
 gether, I jumped at the conclusion that 
 you had made up your mind to «cept the 
 elder cousin, and therefore were considerate 
 enough to warn the rejected candidate off 
 tie premisea Am I now to believe that 
 your letter was intended for Hubert-not 
 for me?" 
 
 "It waa certainly intended for the Dr. 
 Barclay who is stout, and loves a good 
 dinner, and is bored with poor patient." 
 returned OUve, with a sweet, gay lau^h. 
 
146 
 
 TO BE, OB NOT TO BE 
 
 " Not for me ? ' insisted Horace 
 "No, not for you," gravely. "Had your 
 cousin not appeared, I should not have 
 
 written anything ; I should have waited » 
 
 She stopped abruptly. 
 
 "Yon would ha-e given me a chance? 
 Will you give me a chance, Olive?" again 
 taking her hand, which lay unresistingly m 
 his. 
 
 "If you still wish for one," she said in 
 a low tone, -yes; but one cannot fall in 
 love to order I " 
 
 "If you are not absolutely averse to 
 me, Olive, I think I can teach you, for, 
 unreasonable or not, I love you well f With 
 all your softness, you are a plucky, sensible 
 little darling; you behaved beautifully, in 
 spite of your terror, the other daj, and X 
 
TO BE, OS NQ3' TO BM 147 
 
 am half ashamed of the delight I felt i„ 
 holding you, though I fear you were suffering 
 all the time." 
 
 "Hush!" murmured Olive, blushing 
 quickly. 
 
 "To think, too," continued Horace, 
 "that I was absolutely running away from 
 you-no! do let me hold your hand; it 
 '« such a little bit of a hand ! _ when I 
 was, or my driver was, nearly the death 
 of you ! I can never believe you will send 
 me adrift now." 
 
 " Have you no doubts about your own 
 
 wisdom?" began Olive, when Aunt Tabitha 
 entered with a cup of beef tea. 
 
 "I'm thinking that Olive will be wanting 
 a httle refreshment," she said; "and I 
 "" that you have settled mattex^ be. 
 
 hop 
 
 L 2 
 
148 TO BE, OB NOT TO BB 
 
 tween yourselves, for I am that tired with 
 the obstinacy of some folk," significantly, 
 "that I'd fain know what we are going 
 to do." 
 
 "I am entirely in Olive's hands," said 
 Horace Barclay, looking into her eyes, "and 
 will patiently await her decision." 
 
 " As soon as I am able to write you 
 another little note with this poor right 
 hand," said Olive, with a sweet, shy upward 
 
 glance, "you shall know ** 
 
 " If it's to be, or not to be f » put in 
 Aunt Tabitha; "and in promising so much, 
 my bairn, you promise a good deal." 
 
 Three months later. Dr. H. C. Barclay 
 was bidden to the marriage of Dr. H. 
 C. Barclay, jun. He came out weU on 
 that occasion, and presented his cousin's 
 
rO M, OB NOT TO BB u» 
 
 bride ^th a bracr.et of ctVeye,, «,t in 
 dmmonds, in remembrance of their original 
 acquaintance. He wa« buay a.d jolly at the 
 wedding, and whispered to mo.e than one 
 of his married lady friends that he was 
 "deuced near cutting out the bridegroom- 
 give you my word I" 
 
 
THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAB 
 
A 
 
 the 
 
 moi 
 
 dist 
 
 the 
 
 the 
 
 serv 
 
THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 Bl THOMAS HARDX 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 [ere stretch the downs, fresh and 
 breezy and green, absolutely un- 
 changed since those eventful days. 
 A plough has never disturbed the turf, and 
 Ae sod that was uppermost then is upper- 
 most now. Here stood the camp; here are 
 d.8tmct traces of the banks thrown up for 
 tbe horse, of the cavalry, and sp„(« where 
 the midden-heaps lay are still to be ob- 
 •erved. At night, when I walk across th« 
 
154 THE MELANCHOLY ItUSSAH 
 
 lonely pla e, it is impossible to avoid 
 bearirio-, amid the scourings of the wind 
 over the grass-bents and thistles, the old 
 trumpet and bugle calls, aud the rattle of 
 the halters ; to help seeing rows of spectral 
 tents and the impedimenta of the soldiery. 
 From within the canvases come guttural 
 syllables of foreign tongues, aud broken 
 songs of the fatherland; for they were 
 mainly regiments of the King's Gennan 
 Legion that slept round the tent-poles here- 
 about at that time. 
 
 It was nearly ninety years ago. The 
 British uniform of the period, with its im- 
 mense epaulettes, queer cocked-hat, breeches, 
 •gaiters, ponderous cartridge - box, buckled 
 shoes, and what not, would look strange 
 and barbarous now. Ideas have changed; 
 
TUB UELAmaoLT BUSSAR m, 
 
 invention ha« followed invention. Soldiers 
 were monumental objects then; a divinity 
 Btill hedged kings here and there; and 
 war was considered a glorious thirj,. 
 
 Secluded old manor houses a, I hnml.^ 
 lie in the ravines and hollows amo:.,; .hese 
 Wk where a stranger had hardly ever been 
 Been, till the King chose to take the baths 
 yearly at the seaside watering-place a few 
 "»Ie» to the south ; a, a consequence of 
 which battalions descended in a cloud upon 
 the open country around. Is it necessary 
 to add that the echoes of many episodic 
 taJes, dating f,.„^ ,^,, picturesque time 
 «tiil linger about here, in „,ore or less 
 fragmentary form, to be caught by the 
 attentive ear? Some of them I have re- 
 peated : most of then. I have forgotten ; 
 
1«« THE MELANOHOLY HU88AB 
 
 one I have never repeated, and assuredly 
 can never forget. 
 
 Phyllis told me the story with her own 
 lips. She was then an old lady of seventy- 
 five, and her auditor a lad of sixteen. She 
 enjoined silence as to her share in the in- 
 cident till she should be ''dead, buried, 
 and forgotten." Her life was prolonged 
 twelve years after the day of her narration, 
 and she has now been dead nearly twenty. 
 The oblivion which in her humility and 
 modesty she courted for herself, has only 
 partially fallen upon her, with the unfortu- 
 nate result of inflicting an injustice upon 
 her memory; since such fragments of hei 
 story as got abroad at the time, and have 
 been kept alive ever since, are precisely those 
 which are most unfavourable to her character. 
 
!■! 
 
 ms UELANCBOLT BUSSAS U7 
 
 -ft all began with the arrival of the 
 York II„,3ara, one of the foreign regin^ents 
 above alluded to. Before that day. scareel, 
 
 ; ""' ^""^ ''««° »-» -- her father's house 
 for week. When a noise like the brushing 
 ^t-rt of a visitor was heard on the door- 
 «tep. it proved to be a scudding leaf; when 
 a carriage seen.ed to be nearing the door 
 " -^ ^^^ father grinding his sickle on the' 
 ;'»- in the garden, for his favourite re- 
 Wion of tri™„i.g ,h, ,„^.,^^^ ^^^^^^^ ^ 
 
 ; Z' "' ^"'^ '"''^^^ ^*« '^ *^" -n 
 ' ''' ''"^ "' '^^^' -s a yew-bush cut 
 :"*" ' ^"^'''* «d attenuated shape. There 
 - - such solitude in eountr, places „ow 
 
 aa there was in those old 
 
 dajs. 
 
16» THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAB 
 
 Yet all the while King George and his 
 Court were at Weymouth, not more than 
 five miles ofi". 
 
 The daughter's seclusion was great, but 
 beyond the seclusion of the girl lay the 
 seclusion of the father. If her social con- 
 dition was twilight, his was darkness. Yet 
 he enjoyed his darkness, while her twilight 
 oppressed her. Dr. Grove had been a 
 professional man whose taste for lonely 
 meditation over metaphysical questions had 
 diminished his practice till it no longer 
 paid him to keep it going; after which he 
 had relinquished it and hired at a nominal 
 rent the small, dilapidated manor house of 
 this obscure inland nook, to make a suffi- 
 ciency of an income which in a town would 
 have been inadequate for their maintenance. 
 
THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 159 
 
 He stayed in his garden the greater part of 
 the day, growing more and more irritable 
 with the lapse of time, and the increasing 
 perception that he had wasted his life in 
 the pursuit of illusions. He saw his frieuds 
 less and less frequently. Phyllis became so 
 shy that if she met a stranger anywhere in 
 her short rambles she felt ashamed at his 
 gaze, walked awkwardly, and blushed to her 
 shoulders. 
 
 Yet Phyllis was discovered even here 
 by an admirer, and hor hand most unei- 
 pectedly asked in marriage. 
 
 The King, as aforesaid, was at Wey- 
 mouth, where he had taken up his abode 
 at Gloucester Lodge; and his presence in 
 the town naturally brought many county 
 people thither. Among these idlers-manv 
 
160 TEE MELANOBOLY BUS SAB 
 
 ^H 
 
 of whom professed to have connections and 
 interests with the Court— wac one Humphrey 
 Gould, a bachelor ; a personage neither young 
 nor old ; neither good-looking nor positively 
 plain. Too steady-going to be "a buck" 
 (as fast and unmarried men were then 
 called), he was an approximately fashion- 
 able man of a mild type. This bachelor 
 of thirty found his way to the village on 
 the down ; beheld Phyllis ; made her father's 
 acquaintance in order to make hers; and 
 by some means or other she sufficiently 
 inflamed his heart to lead him in that 
 direction almost daily; till he became en- 
 gaged to marry her. 
 
 As he was of an old local family, some 
 of whose members were held in respect 
 in the county, Phyllis, in bringing him 
 
TEE MELANCHOLY MUSSAB m 
 
 to her feet, had accomplished w/,at was 
 considered a brilliant move for „„e « „„ 
 constrained position. How she had done :t 
 was not quite Icnown to Phjiiis herself. I,, 
 those days unequal marriages were regarded 
 rather as violating the laws of nature than 
 » a mere infringement of convention, the 
 more modern view ; and hence when Phyllis 
 of the Weymouth hourgeoisie. was chosen' 
 by s«ch a gentlemanly fellow, it was as if 
 «he were going to be taken 'o heaven 
 though perhaps the uninformed would bavj 
 -en no great difference in the xespectwo 
 positions of the pair, the said Gould bein. 
 as poor as a crow. " 
 
 This pecuniary condition was his ex 
 cuse-probabiy a true one-for postponing 
 thcrunmn; and aa the wmter drew nearer 
 
162 
 
 TBE MELANCHOLY HVSSAB 
 
 and the Kiugf departed for the season, Mr 
 Humphrey Gould set out for Bath, pro- 
 mising to return to Phyllis in a few weeka. 
 The winter arrived, the date of his promise 
 piissed, yet Gouid postponed his coming, 
 on the ground that he co lid not very easily 
 leave his father in the city of their sojourn, 
 the elder having no other relative near 
 him. Phyllis, though lonely in the extreme, 
 was (ontent. The man who had asked her 
 in marriage was a desirable husband for 
 her in many ways ; her father highly ap- 
 proved of his suit ; but this neglect of her 
 was awkward, if not painful, for Phyllis. 
 Love him in the true sense of the word, she 
 assured me she never did, but she had a 
 genuine regard for him ; admired a certain 
 methodical and dogged way in wnich he 
 
 y 
 

 TEE MELANCHOtT BUSSAB m 
 
 sometimes took his pleasure; valued his 
 knowledge of what the Court was doing, 
 bad done, or was about to do; and she 
 was not without a feeling of pride that 
 he had chosen her when he might have 
 exercised a more ambitious choice. 
 
 But he did not come ; and the spring 
 developed. His letters were regular though 
 formal ; and it is not to be wondered that 
 the uncertainty of her position, linked with 
 the fact that there was not much passion 
 in her thoughts of Humphrey, bred an in- 
 describable dreariness in the heart of Phyllis 
 Grove. The spring was soon summer, and 
 the summer brought the King; but still no 
 Humphrey Gould. All this whUe the engage- 
 ment by letter was maintained intact 
 
 At this point of time a golden radiance 
 
 It a 
 
164 THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAB 
 
 flashed in upon the lives of people here, 
 and charged all youthful thought with emo- 
 tional interest. This radiance was the York 
 Hussars. 
 
CHAPTER If, 
 
 HE piesent generation has probably 
 but a very dim notion of the 
 celebrated York Hussara of niuety 
 years ago. They were one of the regiments 
 of the King's German Legion, and (though 
 they somewhat degenerated later on) their 
 brilliant uniform, their splendid horses, and 
 above all. their foreign air ax.d mustaehios 
 (ra«. appendages then), drew crowds of 
 admirers of both sexes wherever they went 
 These, with other regiments, had come to 
 encamp on the downs ai,a pastures, because 
 
the King in the 
 
 166 THE MELANCmr.x' mjS;:.AB 
 
 of the presence of 
 neighbouring town. 
 
 Phyllis, though not precisely a girl of 
 the village, wa? as interested as any of 
 them in this military investment. Her 
 father's hoLi^: stood somewhat apart, and 
 on the highest point of ground to which 
 the lane ascended, so that it was almost 
 level with the top of the church tower in 
 the lower part of tlie pa.ish. Immediately 
 from the outside of the garden wall the 
 grass spread away to a great distance, and 
 it was crossed by a patl, whi.h cam. close 
 to the wall. Ever since her childhood it 
 had been Phyllis's pleasure to clamber up 
 this fence and sit on the top— a feat not 
 so difficult as it may seem, the ^al in 
 this district being built of rubble, without 
 
THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 167 
 
 mortar, so that there were plenty of crevices 
 for small toes. 
 
 She was sitting up here one clay, list- 
 lessly surveying the pasture without, when 
 her attention wi.s arrested by a solitary 
 figure walkii)g along the path. It was one 
 of the renowned German Hussars, and he 
 moved ou.;ard with his eyes on the ground, 
 and with ' ,. manner of one who wished 
 to escape con , any. His head would pro- 
 bably have been nt like his eyes, but 
 for his stifi' neck-gear. On nearer view 
 she perceived that his face was marked 
 with deep sadness. Without observiiig 
 her, he advanced by the footpath till it 
 brought him almost immediately under the 
 wall 
 
 Phyllis was much surprised to see a 
 
1«8 THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 fine, tall soldier in such a mood as this. 
 Her theory of the military, and of the 
 York Hussars in particular (derived entirely 
 from hearsay, for she had never known a 
 soldier in her life), was that their hearts 
 were as gay as their accoutrements. 
 
 At this moment the Hussar lifted his 
 eyes and noticed her on her perch, the 
 white muslin neckerchief which covered her 
 shoulders and neck where left bare by 
 her low gown, and her white raiment in 
 general, showing conspicuously in the bright 
 sunlight of this summer day. He blushed 
 a little at the suddenness of the encounter, 
 and, without halting a moment from his 
 pace, passed on. 
 
 All that day the foreigner's face haunted 
 Plijllis; its aspect was so striking, so 
 
TBW MELANOHOLY BUSSAB ,B9 
 
 handsome, a.^ his eyes were eo blue, and 
 
 ^' '■" "•''"•-'^'J- It waa perhaps only 
 
 natural that on anm« f ii • 
 
 on some following day, at 
 
 ">« »ame hour, she should l„„k ,,„ 
 that wall again, and wait till he had 
 P-ed a second ti.e. On this oeeasion 
 he .<. reading a letter, and at the sight 
 of her his manner was that of ooe who 
 had half expected or hoped to discover her 
 Ho alo^ost stopped, smiled, and made a 
 courteous salute. The end of the meeting 
 
 r *'"" ^'^^ ^^'"""'««<^ « fe- words, 
 one asked him wlmf k« 
 
 mm what he was reading, and he 
 
 readUy informed her that he was reperusing 
 
 ette« from his mother in Ge^^ny ; he 
 
 d'd not get thein often, he s^d, and was 
 
 forced to read the old ones a great many 
 
 t-es. This was ail that passed at the 
 
hW 
 
 m 
 
 If 
 litt 
 
 .'■?!' 
 
 170 TBB MELANCHOLY EUS8AR 
 
 present interview, but others of the same 
 kind foJlowed. 
 
 Phyllis used to say that his English, 
 though not good, was quite intelligible to 
 ber, so that their acquaintance was never 
 hindered by difficulties of speech. When- 
 ever the subject became too delicate, subtle, 
 or tender for such words of English as 
 were at his command, the eyes no doubt 
 helped out the tongue, and --though this 
 was later on— the lips helped out the eyes. 
 In short, this acquaintance, unguardedly 
 made, and rash enough on their part, de- 
 veloped and ripened. Like Desdemona. she 
 pitied him, and learnt his history. 
 
 His name was Matthaus Tina, and 
 Saarbruck his native town, where his 
 mother was still Uving. His age was 
 
TBE UBLANCHOLY BUSSAB ,7, 
 
 twe„,7-t.„, ana he h,, ,,,,,,^ ^^^_^ ^ 
 . he grade of corporal, though he had not 
 '-? ''een in the army. p,,,,, „^^, ^^ 
 -ert that no sneh refined or well-educated 
 young man could have been f„„nd in the 
 -ks of the p«elv EngHeh regiments- 
 some of these foreign .old.er. having rather 
 the graceful manner and presence of our 
 native officers than of our rank and file. 
 
 She by degrees learnt from her foreign 
 fnend a ciroumsoance about himself and his 
 comrades, .i, oh Phyllis would least have 
 expected of the York Hussars. So far from 
 be-g as gay as its uniform, the regiment 
 was pervaded by a dreadful melancholy a 
 chronic home-s,ckne«, which depressed many 
 of the men to such an extent that they 
 could hardly attend to tbeir drill The 
 

 
 172 TUB MELANCHOLY HUSSAB 
 
 worst sufferers were the younger soldiers 
 who had not been over here long. They 
 hated England and English life ; they took 
 no interest whatever in King George and 
 his island kingdom, and they only wished to 
 be out of it and never to see it any more. 
 Their bodies were here, but their hearts and 
 minds were always far away in their dear 
 fatherland, of which-brave men and stoical 
 as they were in many ways —they would 
 speak with tears in their eyes. One of 
 the worst of the sufferers from this home 
 woe, as he called it in his own tongue, 
 wa« Matthaus Tina, whose dreamy, musing 
 nature felt the gloom of exile still more 
 intensely from the fact that he had left a 
 lonely mother at home with nobody to 
 ^heer her. 
 
'^'•-S^ PhyJJi., touched by all th' 
 
 J ' .. .ndee, . .,e e„„.,e«d he.3if 
 
 --e. The atone wall of necessity .7 
 
 nad never venturprl f« 
 
 entured to come, or to ask fn 
 
 r~" ^"^ ^- ovenl, eondueted 
 "cross this boundary. 
 
CHAPTER in. 
 
 [JT news reached the village from 
 a friend of Phyllis's father, con- 
 cerning Mr. Humphrej^ Gould, 
 her remarkably cool and patient betrothed. 
 This gentleman had been heard to say in 
 Bath that he considered his overtures to 
 Miss Phyllis Grove to have reached only 
 the stage of a half-understanding; and in 
 view of his enforced absence on his father's 
 account, who was too great an invalid now 
 to attend to his affairs, he thought it best 
 that there should be no definite promise 
 as yet on either side. He was not sure, 
 
 h 
 
 CJ 
 
 oi 
 
 th 
 
 on 
 
 hei 
 
 chc 
 
 wh( 
 
 kno 
 
 and 
 
 the 
 
 it w 
 
 Hum 
 
 wouL 
 
 so li^ 
 
^SB MMLANCBOLT BUSSAB ,,5 
 
 indeed, that he «;,,, „„, ^^ 
 eJsewhere. ^ 
 
 This account — though onlv « • 
 1^ * ^"v a piece of 
 
 credit—talJied so well with th« • ^ 
 
 of K- , ^® ^frequency 
 
 ^* ^"^"'^ <iid not doubt its truth fo 
 -enaoaent; and fron, that hour she felt 
 herself free to bestow her heart . 
 ^, '^^^^^ as she should 
 
 wHoie story to be a f k • • 
 
 -y « oe a fabrication. He h«^ 
 
 :::;f^— "^--isbo^hoo 
 
 „ Love .e little. We ^e W" 
 
 Humphrey was aa hououra'-'a 
 would not thint of treatin ""■ '^'^ 
 
 «o lightly. ^ '^" ^"^^''g^-^"' 
 
176 
 
 TBE Ml'JLASGHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 I*: 
 
 "Do you wait in ])atiei]ce," he said; 
 "all will be right p)iough in time." 
 
 From these words Phyllis at first imacrinod 
 that her father was in correspoi]d(>nce with 
 Mr. Gould ; and her heart sank within her ; 
 for, in spite of her original intentions, she 
 had been relieved to hear that her engage- 
 ment had come to nothing. But she pre- 
 sently learned that her father had heard no 
 more of Humphrey Gould than she herself 
 had done ; while he would not write and 
 address her fiance directly on the subject, 
 lest it should be deemed an imputation on 
 that bachelor's honour. 
 
 "You want an excuse for encouraging 
 one or other of those foreign fellows to 
 fl.itter you with his unmeaning attentior / 
 her fathef exclaimed, his mood having of 
 
TSE MELANOBOLT BU8SAB ,„ 
 
 !7 "- « -y u..i„d one towards W. 
 
 ^y permission. Jf von 
 
 ^a«ip, 111 take vou m^^. i^ 
 
 afternoon." ' "" ^""^ ^^''^'^ 
 
 f f ' '^^^ - the «, ,„,„,,„^ 
 
 . 01 disobeying him « * i 
 
 j'iu^ mm as to hov ir.f,-^. i 
 
 xicr actions, but sIjp 
 assumed herself +^ u • 
 
 herself to be independent wuh 
 respect to her fn i- 
 
 , , , i^er feelings. She no Jon^er 
 
 checked her far> i- ^"liger 
 
 feney fo. tte Huasar, th.u.h 
 
 she was far from ,• ' "o" 
 
 " irom regar,hug h,m as i,er 
 
 lover m tK^ « 
 
 "> tie se„ou3 «ense in which an 
 
 r • J 7"""°" ""'''' -^'^'^ - ^Ws. 
 
 appurtenances of an n-^ 
 
 a» ordinary house-dwelier • 
 «»« wl'o i.ad descended ate 
 
 knew 
 
 not 
 
hh i 
 
 178 THE MEL4N0E0LY HUSSAR 
 
 whence, and would disappear she knew not 
 whither ; the subject of a fascinating dream 
 — no more. 
 
 They met continually now — mostly at 
 dusk— during the brief interval between the 
 going down of the sun and the minute at 
 which the last trumpet-call summoned him 
 to his tent. Perhaps her manner had become 
 less restrained latterly; at any rate, that of 
 the Hussar was so; he had grown more 
 tender every day, and at parting after these 
 hurried interviews, she reached down her 
 hand from the top of the wall that he might 
 press it. One evening he held it so long 
 that she exclaimed : " The wall is white, and 
 somebody in the field may see yoiir shape 
 against it^" 
 
 He lingered so long that night that it 
 
TBE mLANCHOLY EVSSAB 179 
 
 ''as with the greatest difficulty that he could 
 run across the intemning stretch of ground 
 and enter the camp in time. On the next 
 occasion of his awaiting her she did not 
 appear in her usual place at the usual hour. 
 His disappointment was unspeakably keen • 
 he remained staring blankly at the wall, like' 
 a man in « trance. The trumpets and tattoo 
 sonneted, and stiU he did not go. 
 
 She had been delayed purely by an 
 accident. When she arrived she was anxious 
 because of the lafeness of the hour, having 
 heard the sounds denoting the closing of the 
 camp as well a. he. She implored him to 
 leave immediately. 
 
 "No," he said, gloomily. «l shall not 
 go m yet-the moment you come-I have 
 thought of your coming all day." 
 
 N 2 
 
WlH 
 
 tm 
 
 _. * 4 % 
 
 
 180 THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 "But you may be disgraced at being 
 after time?" 
 
 " I don't mind that I should have dis- 
 appeared from the world some time ago if 
 it had not been for two persons— my beloved, 
 here ; and my mother in Suarbruck. I hate 
 the army. I care more for a minute of your 
 company than for all the promotion in the 
 world." 
 
 Thus he stayed aod talked to her, and 
 told her interesting details of his native 
 place, and incidents of his childhood, till she 
 was in a simmer of distress at his recklessness 
 in remaining. It was only because she 
 insisted on bidding him good -night and 
 leaving the wall that he returned to his 
 quarters. 
 
 The next time that she saw him he was 
 
 i* 1, 
 
 && 
 
 mji^ 
 
nr^ ifELANCBOLT mrSSAB ,81 
 
 -ithout the stripes that had adorned his 
 -^--e. He had been broken to the level of 
 
 PM.3 eo„.d„ed he.elf to be the cause 
 of h,s d.a,raee. her «o„.. „^ g,^, ^^^ 
 
 the position was now reversed; it waa his 
 tnrn to cheer her. 
 
 ., "^<»'''' grieve, neine Ueblicher he said. 
 J '"" ^°' " ^«-«d, for whatever comes. 
 
 Z "" '""'"'"^ ' ^«««- "y »*«Pes, 
 would your father allow ,ou to .:rr, 
 
 • nou- commissioned officer in the York 
 Hussars ? " 
 
 She flushed. This practical step had .ot 
 
 beea in her mind in reJation tr. u 
 
 ^t^^ation to such an 
 
 unrealistic person as he was • an^ 
 
 a was, and a moments 
 
 reflection was enough for it 
 
 "% father would not-^certainl^ ,ould 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
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 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
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183 THE UELANOBOLT BUSSAB 
 
 not," she answered, unflinchingly. '■ It cannot 
 be thought of! My dear friend, please do 
 forget me; I fear I am ruining you and 
 your prospects I " 
 
 "Not at all! "said he. " You are giving 
 this country of yours just sufficient interest 
 to me to make me care to keep alive in 
 it. If my dear land were here also, and 
 my old parent, with you, I could be happy 
 as I am, and would do my best as a soldier. 
 But it is not so. And now listen. This 
 is my plan. That you go with me to my 
 own country, and be my wife there, and 
 live there with my mother and me. I am 
 not a Hanoverian, as you know, though I 
 entered the army as such ; my country is 
 Bavaria by right, and is at peace with France, 
 and if I were once in it I should be free." 
 
18? 
 
 THE liULANOBOLT BUSSAB 
 
 "But how get there?" she asked. 
 . Phyllis had been rather amazed than 
 Bhocke^ at hi, proposition. Her position in 
 her father's house was growing irksome and 
 painful in the extreme; his parental affec 
 t.on seemed to be quite dried up. She was 
 not a native of the village, like all the 
 joyous girls around her; and in some way 
 Matthaus Tina had infected her with his 
 own passionate longing for his country, and 
 mother, and home. 
 
 "But how?" she repeated, finding that 
 he did not answer. " Will you buy your 
 discharge ? " 
 
 "Ah, no," he said; "that's impossible 
 ■n these times. No; I came here against 
 "■y will, why should I not escape ? Now 
 " ""« «">«. as we shall aoon be leaving 
 
184 
 
 TSE MULANOHOLY BUSSAB 
 
 here, and I might see you no more. This 
 « my scheme. I will ask you to meet me 
 on the highway two miles of5f, on some 
 elm night next week that may be appointed. 
 There will be nothing unbecoming in it, or 
 to cause you shame ; you will n„t Hy al„a^ 
 with me. for I will bring with me mv de- 
 voted young friend, Christoph, who has lately 
 joined the regiment, and who has agreed 
 to assist in this enterprise. We shall have 
 come from Weymouth Harbour, wi we 
 shall hare examined the boats, and found 
 oue suited to our purpose. Christoph has 
 already a chart of the Channel, and we will 
 then go to Weymouth, and at midnight cut 
 the boat from her moorings, and row away 
 round the point out of sight; and by the 
 next morning we are on the coast of 
 
THE UELASOBOLY BUSSAB 185 
 
 France, near Cherbourg. The rest is easy 
 
 for I have saved money for the land journey 
 
 "^d can get a change of clothes. I win 
 
 write to my mother, who will meet us .n 
 
 the way." 
 
 He added details in reply to her inquiries 
 wbich left no doubt in Phylli.'s mind of 
 the feasibility of the undertaking. But its 
 magnitude almost appalled her; and it is 
 questionable if she would ever have gone 
 iurther in the wild adventure if, on enter- 
 ">g the house that night, her father had 
 
 not accosted her in fk« 
 
 ner in the most significant 
 
 terms. 
 
 " How about the York Hussars ? " he 
 said 
 
 "They are still at the camp; but they 
 soon 
 
 are 
 
 gomg away, I believe. 
 
186 THE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 "It is useless for you to attempt to 
 cloak your actions in that way. You have 
 been meeting one of those fellows; you 
 have been walking with him — foreign bar- 
 barians, not much better than the French 
 themselves! I have made up my mind— 
 don't speak a word till I have done, 
 please ! — I have made up my mind that 
 you shall st..^ here no longer while they 
 are on the spot. You shall go to your 
 aunt's." 
 
 It was useless for her to protest that 
 she had never taken a walk with any 
 soldier or man under the- sun except him- 
 self. Her protestations were feeble, too, 
 for though he was not literally correct 
 in his assertion, he was virtually only half 
 in error. 
 
The house of her father's sister was a 
 P-a to Ph,l,i. 8,, ,,, ^^.^^ 
 
 undergone experience of its gloon. ; and 
 when her father went on to direct her to 
 pack what would be necessary for her to 
 
 '*• '" ""^ "'-' -t'- her. In after 
 yeara she never attempted to excuse her 
 
 conduct during this week „f ■. • 
 
 ° ' ^^^^ « agitation ; but 
 the result of hei- <,„if 
 
 ter self-communing was that 
 
 she decided to join in th. u 
 
 jyin in the scheme of her 
 
 'over and his friend, and By to the counUy 
 which he had coloured with such Wei, 
 
 'r ': '" '"''="''"'*^""- ^''^ »'-,s said 
 that the one feature in his proposal which 
 overcame her hesitation, was the obvious 
 purity and straightforwardness of his in 
 t^ntions. He showed himself to be so 
 -«uous and kind; he treated her with a 
 
188 TEE MELANCHOLY EUS8AB 
 
 respect to which she had never before been 
 accustomed; and she was braced to the 
 obvious risks of the voyage by her coufi- 
 deuce iu him. 
 
CHAPTER 17, 
 
 pT was on a soft, dark evening of 
 ' W'e foIJow,„g ^eek that ti.ey 
 
 engaged ,n , he adventure. Tina 
 - *» -et her at a point in tiie hig^. 
 7 - ""''eh the iane to the vi„!e 
 branched ofi' n..- . , ^^ 
 
 of them . . ' "" '" S° ^^"^ 
 
 ,1 ^'^ *'^ ''''^'^"-' '^'^ere the boat 
 
 J-ow.t.o„ndtheKothe-or.ook-ont 
 "'- »P on the other aide of the ! 
 
 --. the haru/br^ T "' 
 
 -l^"'''-. over the .ook-o„t ^ " ^"^ 
 
190 
 
 THE MELANOHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 As Boon as her father had ascended to 
 his room she left the house, and, bundle 
 in hand, proceeded at a trot along the^ 
 lane. At such an hour not a soul was 
 afoot anywhere in the village, and she 
 reached the junction of the lane with 
 the highway unobserved. Here she took 
 up her position in the obscurity formed 
 by the angle of a fence, whence she could 
 discern every one who approached along 
 the turnpike road, without being herself 
 seen. 
 
 She bad not remained thus waiting for 
 her lover longer than a minute — though from 
 the tension of her nerves the lapse of even 
 that short time was trying — when, instead 
 of the expected footsteps, the stage-coach 
 could be heard descending the hill. She 
 
knew th«t Tina wouM „ . . 
 
 till rt„ . ' '''""' '"■•""elf 
 
 "" the road was Hear „nj 
 
 P«'ently for the „ I """' '™- 
 
 y the co„ch to pa,,. Neari,,. 
 
 'h« corner where she was it , , 
 »Peed, and, instead of g„i„„ u^ 
 ^- up within a few ,,1 If L T' 
 -g» a'ighted. and „he heard his \.t 'l 
 was Humphrey Gould's. 
 
 "6 had broil trhf » <• • , 
 
 °"Sht a fnend with him and 
 
 '"ggage. The ]„„„„„« w,, , • 
 
 "ogige was deposited on the 
 
 ««««• ^'"l the coach went „„ ■. 
 Weymouth. "" "^ '""'^ '» 
 
 "I wonder where fl,„* 
 with th. V. ^"""S "'"' is 
 
 -'«• the horse and trap?" said her fo.™er 
 
 '"^--- to his companion .-r h 
 
 shan't have to w * f P" "* 
 
 ten oVI r ''' '"''^- ^ ^o'd Wm 
 
 ten o clock precisely." 
 
 "Ho^^you got her present safe?" 
 
192 
 
 TUJ!J MKLAI^CIIULY HUSSAR 
 
 *' Phyllis's ? Oi), yes ; it is in this trunk. 
 I hope it will j)lease lier." 
 
 " Of course it will. What woman wouM 
 not be pleased with such a hundaome peace- 
 offering ? " 
 
 "Well, she deserves it. I've treated her 
 rather badly. Bui she has been in my 
 mind these last two days much more than 
 I should care to confess to everybody. 
 Ah, well ; I'll say no more about that. It 
 cannot be that she is so bad as they make 
 out. I am quite sure that a girl of her 
 good sense would know better ihan to get 
 entangled with any of those Hanoverian 
 soldiers. I wou't believe it of her, and 
 there's an end ou't." 
 
 More words in the same strain were 
 casually dropped as the two men waited; 
 
-rds which revealed to her. ^ ,y , ,„,,^„ 
 
 '!^r • '"" """"''^ °^ "- -"uet. 
 
 The conversation wa« at length cut off by 
 
 !'; ";-"' o^ ">o .an w.th the vehic.e. 
 
 " '"gg''g« was placed in it. a^j ^^ 
 "•ounted ana were driven on in the direc 
 fon from which she had j„st come. 
 
 Pi.yllis was so conscience-strickcn that she 
 -«« at firat inclined to follow then. ; but a 
 -omenfs reflection led her to feel that it 
 -»'d only be bare justice to MatthUus. to 
 -t till he arrived, and exp,ai„ candidly 
 '"«' she had changed her mind-diffieult 
 r *"« «'-^gle would be when she stood 
 face to face with h.m. She bitterly r^ 
 proached herself for having believed reports 
 wh.ch represented Humphrey QoM as false 
 to h^ engagement, when from what she 
 
194 TEE MELANCHOLY HUS8AB 
 
 now heard from his own Jips she gathered 
 that he had been living full of trust m 
 her; but she knew well enough who had 
 won her love. Without him her life seemed 
 a dreary prospect ; yet the more she looked 
 at his proposal, the more she feared to accept 
 it—so wild as it was, so vague, so venture- 
 some. She had promised Humphrey Gould, 
 and it was only his assumed faithlessness 
 which had led her to treat that promise 
 as naught. His solicitude in bringing her 
 these gifts touched her; her promise must 
 be kept, and esteem must take the place 
 of love. She would preserve her self-respect. 
 She would stay at home, and marry him, 
 and suffer. 
 
 Phyllis had thus braced herself to an 
 exceptional fortitude when, a tew minutes 
 
THE MELANOEOLY HUSSAR 195 
 
 later, the outline of Matthaus Tina appeared 
 behind a field-gate, over which he lightly 
 leapt as she stepped forward. There was no 
 evadinpr it, he pressed her to his breast. 
 
 "It is the first .1 last time!" she 
 wildly thought, as she stood encircled hy 
 his arms. 
 
 How Phyllis got through the terrible 
 ordeal of that night she could never clearly 
 recollect. She always attributed her success 
 in carrying out her resolve to her lover's 
 honour, for as soon as she declared to him 
 in feeble words that she had changed her 
 mind, and felt that she could not, dare 
 not, fly with him, he forbore to urge her, 
 grieved as be was at her decision. Un- 
 scrupulous pressure on his part, seeing hov/ 
 romantically she had become attached to 
 
 O 2 
 
196 TEE MELANCHOLY HUSSAB 
 
 him, would no doubt have turned the balance 
 in his favour. But be did nothing to tempt 
 her unduly or unfairly. 
 
 On her side, fearing for his safety, she 
 begged him to remain. This, he declared, 
 could not be. " I cannot break faith with 
 my friend," said he. Had he stood alone, 
 he would have abandoned his plan. But 
 Christoph, with the boat, and compass, and 
 chart, was waiting on the shore , the tide 
 would soon turn; his mother had been 
 warned of his coming ; go he must. 
 
 Many precious minutes were lost while 
 he tarried, unable to tear himself away. 
 Phyllis held to her resolve, though it cost 
 her many a bitter pang. At last they 
 parted, and he went down the hill. Before 
 his footsteps had quite died away, she felt 
 
TBE MELAmBOLT SUSSAB m 
 
 a desire to behold at least his outline once 
 more, and running noiselessly after him, 
 regained view of his diminishing figure.' 
 For one moment she was sufficiently ° ex- 
 cited to be on the point of rushing for- 
 ward and linking her fate with his. But 
 she could not. The courage which at 
 the critical instant failed Cleopatra of 
 Egypt could scarcely be expected of PhyUis 
 Grove. 
 
 A dark shape, similar to his own, joi„ed 
 him in the highway. It was Christoph, his 
 friend. She could see no more ; they had 
 hastened on in the direction of the harbour. 
 With a feeling akin to despair she turned 
 and slowly pursued her v,^y homeward. 
 Tattoo sounded in the camp ; but there 
 ' ea-np lor her now. It was as dead 
 
 was 
 

 Is-' i 
 
 I? 
 
 198 THE MELANOROLY HU88AB 
 
 as the camp of the Assyrians after the 
 passage of the Destroying Angel. 
 
 She noiselessly entered the house, seeing 
 nobody, and went to bed. Grief, which kept 
 her awake at first, ultimately wrapped her 
 in a heavy sleep. The next morning her 
 father met her at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 "Mr. Gould is cornel" he said, trium- 
 phantly. 
 
 Humphrey was staying at the inn, and 
 had already called to inquii-e for her. He 
 had brought her a present of a very hand- 
 some looking-glass in a frame of repousse 
 silver-work, which her father held in his 
 hand. He had promised to call again in 
 the course of an hour, to ask PhyUia to 
 walk with him. 
 
 Pretty mirrors were rarer in country 
 
TBE UELANCBOLT BUSSAB ,99 
 
 houses at tut day than they are now. and 
 the one before her won Phyllis's admiration 
 She looked into it. saw iow hea.y he,- eyes 
 were, and endeavoured to brighten tbem 
 She was in that v-retched .tate of mind wh.ch 
 leads a woman to move mechanically onward 
 « what she conceives to be her allotted 
 path. Mr. Humphrey had, in his undemon- 
 strative way. been adhering all along to the 
 old understanding ; i, „„ fo, ^^^ ^^ ^^ 
 the same, and to say not a word of her 
 own lapse. She put on her bonnet and 
 tVP«t, and when he arrived at the hour 
 named she was at the door awaiting him. 
 
CHAPTER Y. 
 
 HYLLTS thanked him for his beau- 
 tiful gift; but the talking was 
 soon entirely on Humphrey's side 
 as they walked along. He told her of the 
 latest movements of the world of fashion— 
 a subject which she would willingly have 
 discussed to the exclusion of anything more 
 personal— and his measured language helped 
 to still her disquieted heart and brain. 
 Had not her own sadness been what it 
 was, she must have observed his embar- 
 rassment. At last he abruptly changed the 
 subject. 
 
'TEE MELANOBOLT BmSAB 201 
 
 "I am glad you are pleased with my 
 little present," he said. '.The truth is 
 that I bought it to propitiate "ee, and 
 to get you to help me out of a mighty 
 difficulty." 
 
 It was inconceivable to Phyllis that this 
 iudependent bachelor-whom she admired in 
 «ome respects-could have a difficulty. 
 
 "Phyllis, rU tell you my secret at 
 once ; for I have a monstrous secret to con- 
 fide before I can ask your counsel The 
 case is, then, that I am married; yes, I 
 have privately married a dear young belle ; 
 and if you knew her. and I hope you will,' 
 you would say everything in her praise.' 
 But she is not quite the one that my father 
 would have chose for me-you know the 
 paternal idea as weU as I-and I have k.nt 
 
202 TBB UBLANOBOLT HUSSAB 
 
 it secret There will be a terrible row, r.o 
 doubt; but I think that with your help 
 I niay get over it If you would only do 
 me this good turn— when I have tohl my 
 father, I mean-say that you never could 
 have married me, you know, „r something 
 of that sort - -pon mj life, it will help 
 to smooth the way mightily. J am so 
 an^rious to win him round to my p„i„t 
 
 of view, and not to cause any estrange- 
 ment." 
 
 What Phyllis replied she scarcely knew, 
 or how she counselled him as to his un- 
 expected situation. Yet the relief that his 
 announcement brought her was perceptible. 
 To have confided her trouble in return 
 "as what her aching heart longed to do • 
 and had Humphrey been a woman, she' 
 
THE MELANOauLY HUSSAR 203 
 
 would instantly have poured oat her tale. 
 
 But to him she feared to confess; aud 
 
 there was » real reasoa for sUeuce, till a 
 
 sufficient time had elapsed to allow h.r 
 
 lover and his eomrade to get out of harn^'s 
 way. 
 
 As 3oo„ as she reached home again 
 ste sought a sohtary place, and spent the 
 t.me in half regretting that she had not 
 gone away, and in dreaming over the 
 meetings with Matthaus Tina from their 
 beginning to their end. In his own country 
 amongst his own countrywomen, he would 
 possibly soon forget her, even to her very 
 name. 
 
 * 
 
 Her listlessness was such that she did 
 Bot go out of the house for several days. 
 There came a morning which brote in fog 
 
204 THE MELANCHOLY HUiSSAB 
 
 and mist, behind which the dawn could be 
 discerned in greenish gray, and the out- 
 lines of the tents, and the rows of horses 
 at the ropes. The smoke from the canteen 
 fires drooped heaviI3^ 
 
 The spot at the bottom of the garden 
 where she had been accustomed to climb the 
 wall to meet Matthaus, was the only inch 
 of English ground in which she took any 
 interest; and in spite of the disagreeable 
 haze prevailing, she walked out there till 
 she reached the well-known corner. Every 
 blade of grass was weighted with little liquid 
 globes, and slugs and snails had crept out 
 upon the plots. She could hear the usual 
 faint noises from the camp, and in the other 
 direction the trot of farmers on the road 
 to Weymouth, for it was market day. She 
 
oW..ed t,,„ her fre,u.,„t visits to this 
 ~ had ,.,ite trod,,,. ,,„,„ ,,, 
 
 in the allele nf fi.« n 
 
 .'e of the wall, „„,, j.f^ ^,^^,^^ 
 
 -'-- «>>« had „,„u„eod to i„ok over 
 ;; "'^ '^'"- i--=" .-e there tiU 
 '"'• ^"^ '""^ -' -.idered that her 
 
 "r :"" "' -'^'"^ 'y '^y- Perhaps 
 
 ; r ;"r -''"='' '^•"^ ^-ied her trusts 
 to ijer father. 
 
 While ah, pa„,,, ,„ „,^,^^^^^,^ 
 
 '* '^^"-^ that the e«3to,„ar, sounds fr„« 
 
 ! '""' ^"^ «"-«-« ".eir character. !„. 
 ^'fferent as Phyllis .as to ea.p ,„,„^„, 
 
 -.she.o,.tedb,the.epstotheod 
 place. What she behold »f fi . 
 „ , :, . *' '^''s' awed and 
 
 perplexed her- thon .1 
 
 >- er, then she stood rigid, her 
 
 fingers hooked to the w,ll 1, 
 
 We wall, her eyes staring 
 
^06 Tm: MELANCHOLY IFUSSAB 
 
 ouf of her he.d, and her face as if hardened 
 to stone. 
 
 On the opon gronn stretrhing hefore her, 
 all the regiments in the camp were drawn 
 up in a square, in the midst of which two 
 empty coffins lay on the ground. The un- 
 wonted sounds which .he had noticed came 
 from an advancing procession. It con- 
 sisted of the band of the York Hussars 
 playing a dead march; next two soldiers 
 of that reginient, guarded on each side, 
 and accompanied by a clergyman. Be- 
 hind came a crowd of rustics who had 
 been attracted by the event The melm- 
 choly procession entered the square, ^ml 
 halted beside the coffins, where the two 
 condemned men were blindfolded, and 
 eai^h '- fd kneeling on his coffin; a few 
 
TUE UELANOIIOIA linssAlt 'tsi 
 
 niinufes pause was now given, while ihey 
 prayed 
 
 A firing-party of twelve stood reach- with 
 levelled carbines. The commanding offi..er. 
 Who had his sword drawn, waved it through 
 some cuts of the sword exercise till he 
 reached the downward stroke, whereat the 
 firing-party discharged their Tolley. The 
 two victin,3 fell, one upon his f«c. across 
 Us coffin, the otiier backwards. 
 
 As the volley resounded there arose a 
 shriek f,om the wall of Dr. Grove's garden, 
 and some one fell down inside; but nobody 
 among the spectators without noticed it at 
 the time. The two executed hus.,ars were 
 Matthaus Tina and his friend Christ.>ph. 
 The soldiers on guard placed the bodies in 
 the coffins almost mstantly; but the colonel 
 
208 
 
 THk; MELANCHOLY HUSSAB 
 
 of the regiment, an Ei)glishman, ro.e up 
 and exclaimed in a stern voice: 
 
 "Turn them out — as an exnmple to the 
 men ! '* 
 
 The coffins were lifted endwise, and the 
 dead Germans flung out upon their faces 
 on the grass. Then all ihe regiments 
 were marched past the spot, and when the 
 survey was over the corpses were again 
 coffined, and borne away. 
 
 Meanwhile Dr. Grove, attracted by the 
 noise of the volley, had rushed out into his 
 garden, where he saw his wretched daughter 
 lymg motionless against the wall. She was 
 taken indoors, but it was long before she 
 recovered consciousness, and for weeks they 
 despaired of her reason. 
 
 It transpired that the luckless deserters 
 
 W 
 
^BB M,.,,ANCBOLT BVSSAB 20» 
 
 ;r ''' '-' «-- '"a. cut t,.e b„. 
 fr- her .„„a„gs « Weymouth Harbour 
 --d.„, eo their ,Un, and. „,, .^J 
 
 , '-treat.en, fro. thei- coUel. had .aiied 
 
 mg their benrings tJiev .t,. j • 
 
 ,, . , . ^ ' *"*^ ^f'^^'-^'J >nto Jersey 
 
 r""f "'"' '^'-<' '■- Fre,.b ooasi: 
 Here t ey were perceived to be deserter, 
 -d delivered „p to the anthoriti... M.t 
 t'-ns and Christoph interceded f„r ^,, 
 f" '- «' *"e court..a,.tia,. sa,i„g that 
 ; "- -«-i7 by the former's representa- 
 t-ns that these were induced to go. Their 
 -ntence waa accordingly con,n,„ted to 
 fl-gg-g. the death p„,isb,,„, , ^^ 
 
 »Tved for their leaders. 
 I'he visitor to 
 
 iVmriti + l 
 
 wao 
 
 maj 
 
210 
 
 TEE MELANCHOLY HUSSAR 
 
 f«i 
 
 {•v.- 
 
 care to ramble to the neighbouring village 
 under the hills, and examine the register 
 of burials, will there find two entries in 
 these words : 
 
 •' Matth : Tina (Corpl.) in His Mcijesty's 
 Regmt. of York Hussars, and Shot for 
 Desertion, was Buried June 30th, 1801, 
 aged 22 years. Born in the town of Sars- 
 bruk, Germany. 
 
 " Christoph Bless belonging to His Ma- 
 jesty's Regmt. of York Hussars, who was 
 Shot for Desertion, was Buried June 30th, 
 1801, aged 22 years. Born at Lothaargen, 
 Alsatia." 
 
 Their graves were dug at the back of 
 the little church, near the wall. There 
 is no memorial to mark the spot, but Phyllis 
 pointed it out to me. While she lived she 
 
TMS MELANCHOLY BV8SAB 211 
 
 ««ed to keep the.r n^ouuds .eat; but now they 
 are overgrown with nettles, and sunk nearly 
 flat, lie older villagers, however, who know 
 of the epis„de from their parents, still re- 
 -"ect the place where the soldiers ii, 
 f^iiyllis lies near. 
 
 THE BNO 
 
Tiiej 
 
 tar Mountain Series 
 
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 THE ?Jy np Tu^ i."' ^'" Three-Masted Schooner. 
 THE SPY OF THE COLONY ; a Romantic Tale 
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 THE C/»NN1BAL CHIEF; or, The Mountain Gu de 
 
 luUl'Z': '"' '^'^^^^ '• * ^^l« «^ t'- VVild West 
 
 ?ni pL. c*"''*'"' ' ^ '*"'^^^^'^ Adventures 
 TOM PINTLE; or, The Sea Fight 
 
 THP PAVr'T.' '*''"'" ' °^' ^^h« F-« Ranger. 
 JEANETTE WETMORE^ The False Counsel. 
 
 «'. B.s Publication way be ordered trom all Booksollers. 
 
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 PUBLISHER, . TORONTO. 
 
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 CANADIAN COPYRIGHT Bn».,« 
 
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 15. LfH/e Lord Faiint/eroy 
 15o. " << t, 
 
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 17. Jos Boys, and How They Turned Out v^.t """.'. 30 
 
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 25. The Twin Soul. By Charles Mackay.. 30 
 
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 30. The Abbey Murder. 
 
 H. Burnett 25 
 
 By Josepli Hattou ' " "^^''^^ ^^ 
 J^.ine Argonauts of North Liberty. ByBretHaVt^ ^^ 
 
 32. Cradled in a Storm. By T. I. Sharp. ."'^'^ 25 
 
 33. A Woman's Face. By Florence Warden ^^ 
 
 34. Miracle Gold. By Richard Bowling 30 
 
 35. Molloy's Story. By Frank Merryfidd ■' " 30 
 
 M. Dr. Slennle's Daughter. By B. L. Fa^jeo'^.' ' ' ' ', *<> 
 
 «. 0««a Bamnglon. By Mrs. Jol,n Crocker. '^ 
 
 ^o. A mere Child. By L. B. Walford . ^^ 
 
 46. Black Blood. By Goo. M. Fenn 25 
 
 47. TheDream. By Emile Zola 30 
 
 48. A Strange Message. By Dora Russell.;:; ^^ 
 
 49. Under-Currents. By The Duchess 30 
 
 Astonishing 
 
 u'sHock. 80 
 
 as 
 
 51 
 
 "J!l?* °* I''' ^°^"- ^y A-*hoV of Deadma 
 
 Galloping Days at the Deanery. By 
 
 Chas. James. 
 
ii 
 
 m 
 
 
 i'c 
 
 
 f^fH 
 
 Canadian Copyright nooUH-Continued. 
 
 53. Commodore Junk. By G. W. Fenn ^^^^^' 
 
 55. Under False Pretences. By Mias Adeline 'seryeant fn 
 
 56. The Queen's Token. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey ^r 
 
 57. A Missing Husband. By Geor<,'e R. Sims 
 
 58. The Earl's Wife. By George R. Sims. . . . ..".'.'.". f, 
 
 59. The Reproach of Annesley. By Maxwell Grev ti 
 
 59q^ i( <( <, ,, "^ 25 
 
 60.'TheTentsofShem. By Grant Allen. " Cloth Edition 75 
 
 61. Cleopatra. By^H. Rider Haggard (Illustrated edition) .' . ." ." .' .' .' .' .' .' gj 
 
 62.°*F,amenka. By R. E. Frincillon. . '! '' ^^°*^'' ^'^* *°P ^ ''^ 
 
 63. The Pennycomequicks. By S. Baring Gould .?f 
 
 04. A Baic m Bohemia. By Frank Danby. . . Jl 
 
 «5. Upon This Rock. By M. C. O'Byrne. . . 
 
 66. Roland Oliver. By Justin McCarthy, MP f. 
 
 tl' ^r"'-f"^''°'-»""e- I^yAuthotof JackUrquhart'sDau-htJr"" 25 
 
 68. Allan's W.fe, '•Illustrated." By H. Rider Haggard. . .:..;;; 30 
 
 69. Hunter Quatermain's Story. .' I ^^°*^ '^'^ 
 
 70. The Haunted Fountain. By Katherine S. Macquoid f 
 
 71. Misadventure. By W. E. Norris "^ 
 
 72. Stanley and His Heroic Relief of Emin Pasha .••■.••.. 35 
 
 72o. " " « » „ ''J 
 
 73. Beatrice. By H. Rider Haggard . ' ' " ' ' ^"'^ ''"^^ '' 
 
 ^4. The Baffled Conspirators. By W. E. Norris.. .. f^ 
 
 >o. Forging the Fetters. By Mrs. Alexander J^ 
 
 76. Love and Peril. By Marquis of Lome .":. tt 
 
 77. Mystery of Blencarrow. By Mrs. Oliphant '.'.'.'.'.'.'..'. [ [ [ [ \ 25 
 
 301. Charlie Ogilbie. By Leslie Vaughan... ....".'.'.'.".'... 
 
 Bryce's Detective Series- 
 
 40. The Case Dr. Piemen. By Rene de Pont- Jest ... I 
 
 41. Bewitch ng Iza. By Alexia Bouvier ° 
 
 42. A Wily Widow. By Alexis Bouvier ^^ 
 
 52. A Dangerous Catspaw. By David Christie Murray It 
 
 onn'I. ?""'°**'"^°"''''^""y- By G.Rock ,, 
 
 -00. The r„an From the West. By a Wall S.reet Man.. ". ^ ' ' ' 30 
 
nued, 
 
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 60 
 
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 Edition 75 
 
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 25 
 
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 30 
 
 BRYCE'S HOME SERIES 
 
 1. Ten Nights in a Bar Room. By T. B. Arthur "T' 
 
 ^. How to be Happy Thouflli Married o« 
 
 2o. " «« u „ '^^ 
 
 3. Jlr Barnes Of New York. By Ardub;4c;G;;;t;r''''!' ^^"'"" S 
 
 4. Mr. Potter of Texas. By Archibald C. Gnnter . ... or, 
 
 o. Rudder Grange. By Frank 11. Stockton Tr 
 
 fi. Geoffrey's Victory By Mrs. Geo. Sheldon ... ." o? 
 
 7. Olive Varcoe. ByMrs.F. E. U.Notley t- 
 
 10. Robert Elsmere. By Mrs. Humphrey Ward J 
 
 ^' C. «' » u „ „ °^ 
 
 11' gL^'IIt t''?^'.'''- ^^^ th^^-^thor of the OdginalMrV Jacobs 25 
 12. Geoffrey Trethick. By. G. M. Fenn .... o^ 
 
 101. John Barlow's Ward . 
 
 ]Ti' I"' "H!'"'^ °^ * "^"''"" C*^- ' Sy F. " W.' fiume ." .' .'.'.■.'." gS 
 
 104. Karia Monk ^^ 
 
 106. A Gallant Fight. By MarionHariand .' ." * * .' l^ 
 
 11. Miss Brelherton. By xMrs. Humphrey Ward ...■;.■;.■ ." ' 25 
 
 112. Sta-r Crossed. By a Oalebrated Actress ... . t^ 
 
 113. A Lilent Witness. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth .... Z 
 
 ]]t' r° f« o""^"" '■^^y ^'""y •"«"«• ^y P'^^^ Barrett' ; ." ot 
 
 115. No. 19 State Str.c!. By David Graham Adee. ... ■■"■■• ff 
 
 lib. John Ward Preacher By Margaret Deland. ... .■;;;:; It 
 
 nl' n °« '^ "*oM?"'- C^'^P-»i°'> to Kobert Elsmere Jo 
 
 118. Buffalo Bill. By N3d Buntline. . „, 
 
 121. Guilderoy. By Ouida, ^^ 
 
 ]lo I'-%^<'*'*«"'- «^'"eau/' ora Brokei Life.' " By Georges* Ohnei' '"fa 
 123. The Storyof An African Farm. By Ralph Iron ...'.' -^ ' '5 
 
 125 "Strl.r;7'l'r^ By Mrs. Oliphant. ..::::: 25 
 
 125. Stranger than Fiction." By Kenneth Lee. ...... f 
 
 126.ALat,n.QuarterCourshlp. By Sydney Luska 25 
 
 127 Heaven and Hell. By E. Swedenborg .... f. 
 
 ZrUT-'"-''^- ^y ^^G^- McClelland... ;:: '' 
 
 130. The Painter of Parma. By S. Cobb. Jr. . . . ,^^ 
 
 131. Grandison Math.r. By Sydney Luska .' l^ 
 
 133 ?J?T 'ii'f'f'^ Edition. By A. Daudet :::::; • • • • 30 
 
 133. Th, Two Chiefs of Dunboy. By James A. Froude ^o 
 
 it sin'js:- Brc.'M^rt^nr"^— -^^--^^ - 
 
 26 
 

 ■'*■>''■ 
 
 H 
 
 If 
 
 Bryce's Home Series-r',;,,^/,*,,../. 
 
 138. Looking Backward. By Edward Bellamy """on 
 138o. «« «« u „ ' ' ^^ 
 
 139. Sformlighl. By F. E. Muddock. . . . ^'°"' ^^ 
 
 UO. Hel ;n's Babies. By HabbLrton . . . . 
 
 1^1. Fair Barbarian. By F. H. Burnett H 
 
 142. Lindsay's Luck. «< 25 
 
 143. Boolle's Baby. By J. S. Winter.... ff 
 
 144. Du,rav:n Ranch. By Captain C. Ki„ . . .. : H 
 
 145. Cousin Pon:. By Honore Balzao . . ^^ 
 
 146 Geunn. By Blanche Willia Howard !i 
 
 147. Infelice. By A. J. Evans Wilson . „ 
 
 148. Beulalj. «' .. u 30 
 
 149. Chatauqua Girls af Home. By Pansy V. ^J 
 
 150. Links h Rebecca's Life. «• 
 
 151. Julia Reid. .. ^^ 
 
 152. Ester Reid Yel Speaking. «« ^^ 
 
 153. Ester Reid. .. ^^ 
 
 154. Three People. »• [[ ^ 
 
 156. Four Girls at Chatauqua. «« ^^ 
 
 166. Ruth Erskine's Crosses. " *^ 
 
 157. An Endless Chain. «« ^^ 
 
 158. Naomi. By Mrs. Webb ^° 
 
 169. Daughter of Fife. By Mrs. A. E. Biirr. f° 
 
 160. A Bow of Orange Ribbon. " 
 
 161. Struck Down. By Hawley Smart. . . ^J 
 
 162. That Lasso' Lowres. By F. H.Burnett.. „. 
 
 103. Paul Jones. By Alexander Dumas . ^" 
 
 104. For England's Sake. By Robert Cromie Jt 
 
 165. Kathleen. By. F. H. Burnett.... . 
 
 166. Orion, The Gold Beater. By S. Cobb t^ 
 
 167. Ben Hur. By Lew Wallace. ... " 
 
 168. Carliles Manual of Freemasonry. Cloth' cover.' «, no 
 
 169. The Text Book of Freemasonry. Cloth cover ' ' " i ?? 
 
 170. Palllser's American Architecture ; Every Man his own BuilVpr' r'.." 
 
 170c. *7^"^^«.P^^-:/ ^^^-yi^ei!^^^^^^^ , ,, 
 
 171. The Diamond Button. By Barclay North " ^^°*^ "^ Tr. 
 
 172. The Shac'ow of John Wallace. By L. Clarkson." ". on 
 
 173. From Different Standpoinls. By Pansy Jl 
 
 174. Mrs. Solomon Smith Looking on. By Pansy. .'.*.".■.■ ^^ 
 
 176. Christie's Christmas. Bv Pan«y ^^ 
 
 176. The Last of The Van Slacks. By Edward's.' Van 'zile'. ■..■.'. '.';;.; H 
 
PRICE 
 
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 ^'O- 5t. Elmo. ByAucustft T T?„„ txr 30 
 
 170 A Di.:i L -^ ^'^'^'^ ''• -f^ vans Wilson... „„ 
 
 182. Marahum. By Harriott Watson . . ^^ 
 
 m rl a ^y A"fe'"«*'^ J- E. Wilson ; «0 
 
 190. Maca.-ia. By a. J. E Wilson ^^rummond... . 25 
 
 195. Or. Heldenhoff's Process. Bv F7 ^- ^''«on 
 
 196. Miss Luddington'; sS ^ Bv F^ "1 ^'"'^'"^ 20 
 
 109 Lotl"!''"!^"''"- By^-E.Ba;;"".;.: ^^ 
 
 uy. Lost and Found. By William Scott ^^ 
 
 201. Opening of a Chestnut Burr. By EPr;; ^^ 
 
 202. Near to Nature's Heart. .. .< .... 85 
 
 -J03. A Young Girl's Wooing. .. .. 35 
 
 204. From Jestto Earnest 35 
 
 ^505. An Original Belle. .. ., 35 
 
 206. The Earth Trembled. .< .. 35 
 
 207. A DayofFate. .. ,. 35 
 
 Pna' Ht ?"'"'-°'**''"» his Wife. " . 35 
 
 209. What can She Do. .. .. • 35 
 
 210. A Knight of the 19th Century. « » 35 
 
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 212. Without a Home. ByE.P.Roe.. 35 
 
 213. Sombre Rivals. «« .. 85 
 
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 Tobogganing, The Start, Joy 25 
 
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 THE PIIAI%TOiTI IIOUSEI?IAN. 
 
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 IIEACK RALPH ; or, the Mysterious Bolt. 
 THE SCOLT OF THE WE§T. 
 THE SOLDIER OF FORTUJ\E. 
 THE FATAL PAPERS; or. Adventures of a Spy. 
 BELLA^S ROJTIAI^CE; or. Morgan's Guerillas. 
 CARLTOIV and FLORIIVDA. 
 
 THE OCEAN ULOODHOUJ^D ; or, the Convict brother. 
 THE RICAREE S REVEJ^GE. 
 THE BORDER REBELS. 
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 THK WRO^VOED MOTHER; or, Jessie's Romance. 
 THE PRIDE OF THE HAItEM. 
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