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CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICMH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

1980

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oft!
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app

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upp
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late

§dter.

56 S3
|8?7

> /^P7F^

"VST. H. BI?;0'V7'3iT

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOLUME ONE.

ST. JOHNS, P. Q.

THE NEWS STEAM PRINTING HOUSE,

1877.

CONTENTS.

Chapter.

T^.— What Is It All About 1 - - .
2. — A Canadian Home. - - -

Z'—^ YoimgLady, A Lawyer and A Yankee,
/i,.— Moonlight For Three. ....

^.—Beneath The Wavy Boughs. - . -

6. — Barney And /erry.

1-—A Rrst Kiss. .....

^.— Enter Two— Great Things To Do.
9. — I Mnst Have Salmon. - - . .
10.— A Pic-Nic By The Lake. - - .
i\.—A Revelation; An Arrival, And A Lecture.
12. —Did' fit Kfiow When She Was Well Off.
13- — Arcadian Lovers Truly.
14- — The First Disagreement. - - . ' .
\^.~ Asking For What He Meant to Take,
id. —The Way To Do It.
^7— What's The Matter With My Rose 1
1^.— Emily Begins To Plot. - - . .
i^.— The Cricket Match And A Subsequetit Little

20. — Peccavi.

21.— And He Was Comforted. - • ,r
22. — Covering Up His Tracks. - - - .
2Z>~You Shall Have Your Trip, Ada.
24. — A Coming Storm. - - . * . .
2S.—My LoveFaileth Not / Ohf Edwin / Edwin /

Page.

■ - 5

- J I

- 14

- 21

- 29

■ . - 3(>
43

- -53

- 65

- - 74

- 89
- 107

'123

- 131

- 138

- 146

157

- 167
Game. 177

- 200
209

- 220

237

- 255
266

™»S

wwi^p w ^r/l

pHE

Might Have Done Bettei\,

CHAFTKR I.

"' WHAT IS f r AFI. AHOLT ? "

'• It is a burning shame f think, Uncle," said a hiindsonie
young lady, turning — in the front seat of the carriage, of \\hi< h
she was the charioteer — towards her two male comi)anions, the
person addressed and her father ; " you |)romised that this visit
was specially to me. I have driven twenty miles to meet you
this warm day, and how do you receive the honour I confer
upon you ? Since wo left the station you have not addressed
a word to nit

" Not addressc a word u» \ou, I'ithcl ? Well, at all events,
I have been talking ever since we met."

" Ves, I have been listening to you. it is not often that \ ou
are silent. Uncle. Lo(juacity itself — like a true Yankee. Hut
your conversation has not been interesting — one of your usual
harangues upon politics. But where is the use ? \ ou cannot
make a Canadian of Paj)a ; he is English. V'ou might as well
try to make an American of him ; so relincjuish the vain idea,
and let lis have something more interesting."

" Something more interesting I " echoed her uncle : " you arc
a Canadian, at any rate, Kthel, and the theme of our conversa-
tion should be of interest to you, or anything relating to the
land of your birth. Your father is a Canadian by adoption —
or should be — considering the number of years he has made

4HK M\C.UT TIAVK DON'K BKTTER

this country hi.s home, and it sliould also he of interest to him."

** A hopeless idea, Uncle. \'ou may rehearse for ever the
greatness of Canada, Uut I'apa is nl\va\s ready to hang out his
British standard hy svhicli to meastne it. N'ou IkmI better talk
to me."

" ^Vhich means that you want the conversation alj to your
self, Kthel. Very well : I shall tell you a story then."

"That will be nicer. Let us have the story by all means,
uncle."

"There is a farmer of my vicinity- -an American, of course,
Of the story would not be worth the telling — who once engaged
a neighbour — a real live N ankcc from "down east" — to help
him in logging up a piece of nearlv (lea red land, to put it in
readiness for a croj). Now. lugging — as you niay |)erh'ips be
aware — is a very laboriotis business, and recjuires considerable
])ersonal strength in diose engaged in it. So far as this qualit}
was concerned, my friend, the farmer, had made a good choice
of an assi.stant, for Ebene/er was as powerfully framed as his
master; but he had e(|ually with the latter, an uncomjuerable
aversion to using his strength in any greater degree than he
could help ; and both being remarkably keen hands, they were
constantly striving each to throw the lion's share of the hard
work upon the other. During their first morning's work, Eben-
ezer manipulated so successfully his talents in securing for
himself the light lifting, and throwing the heavy work ujMDn his
master, that the latter became impatient, as he found himself

v\ith at least one half of the labour to j)erform, while, as
master, he conceived himself called upon for a much lighter
share. At length, as one particularly heavy log was drawn up
to the j)ile, and Ebenezer — ever alive to his own interests —
ufihitching the ox-chain, had quietly sneaked off to the smal-
end of the stick for the light lift — his [)atience gave way. " Al-
AvayM take the butt-end, Ebenezer !" he shouted ; '' ' that's your
end you know. Never be afraid of the butt-end.'" and the

\MI.\r IS II Al.l. AlJOl I

l)lc

ere

arc!

jen-

for

his

self

Iter

lal-
Al-
)iir
the

hiui end Khene/er had to take, vsith all the rest ol the bwti
ends loo for that forenoon.''

" 'I'his, while it l)r(HiL,'hl fati^i^tic to the frame, also Wrought
vexation to the sjtirit. and he \o\ved revi-nj^e. The dinner
hour gave him release at last, and joyfully (hey wended the^r
way to the house. During the progress of the meal, the far-
mer's wife laid before her husband a goodly -sized pudding.
This pudding the skilful housewife had built upon a very wise
jjrinciple. 'i'he larger part, destined for herself and her hus-
band, was thickly stuffed with nice large raisins, while the
smaller, to be allotted to l''.bene/er, was but meagrely su|)|)lied
with tiiose toothsome things. A great saving this, and as
Kbenezer was to be served from the same dish as his employ-
ers, he, reasonably, could have nothing of which to comi)lain.

" As the farmer raised his hand to divide the |)udding, he said :
' Wall I Kb'ne/.er, seein' as heow yew ar hel|)in' us to-day, the
old woman has made a dessert for us.'

•' ' Ya'as ! 1 sees,' rej)lied Kbenezer, eyeing it narrowly.

" Down came the farmer's knife ujjon the line of intersection
between the richly and the barely stuffed ends.

" * Hold out your plate, Eb'nezer.'

'* But Kbenezer remembered his morning's lesson. Stretch-
ing acro.ss the table, he stuck his fork into the large and well-
raisined po:tion.

" ' Always take the butt-end ; that's the ttwsX for I'ibene/er,
you know,' he ([uietly observed, as he put the huge morsel
upon his |>late ; ' never be afraid of the butt-end,' he continued,
as the pudding, raisins an(i all, rapidly disaj)peared before the
astonished eyes of the mouth-watering farmer and his check-
mated wife."

" Well, what then ? " asked the young lady en(juiringly.

" 'I'hat is the story," was the reply.

" Indeed ! Then I am glad it is done, at all events. Uncle.
lUit where Is the ap[)IIcation ? '"

'~JK»rrf**efi£y^-"'^i;'t.

I'^i^'^M^Siasai ±^^d.ViibAr^j^ifjintse»aMt£iftmia3u»ii.

S\l\ .\II(;Hr HAVK IH).\K liKiriK.

" riiat is (o. you to discern, my dear."

" 1 see it. \'ourself, Tncle, who would take the butt-end of
the conversation."

" And you, I imagine, like K))enczer, would much prefer the
])Utt-end of the j)udding, and the lighter share of the work."

" Well, I think you had better continue your talk with l*ai)a.
That story is amply sufficient for me," returned she.

" Yes ; 1 think so too," said htfl- father. *' If your uncle
<annot j)roduce something better than that, he may as well go
on with his former subject. It will be the least tiresome."

"Just what I wanted," exclaimed the gentlemen referred to.

" Vour story was a regular Ya kee trick to bore us into
compliance with your wishes. Hut go on, Uncle. We are
now resigned. C'onunence where you left off, and finish as
soon as possible," .said the young lady with a comical sigh.

Her uncle braced himself erect in his seat, smiled delight-
edly U|)on his disgusted auditors ; " I shall have you all my
own way now" — and then he continued — " 1'he ultimate desti-
nies of a nation must evidently depend in great measure upon
the country in Avhich its multitudes reside : the land itself
which forms their heritage."

" No matter what may be the physical or the psychical
capabilities of the races inhabiting, the measure of the greatness
they may attain will be very much determined by the ])hysical
<npabilities of the land they inhabit. If their country be nat-
urally great, fertile, beautiful, grand in its contour and extent,
its peoi)le should become a great people, and reach the highest
civilization." *

" The peculiar genius and bejit of the races comjjosing it.
their mental and physical endowments, may be the chief factor
of the sum of the civilization and power they may reach ; but
not the sole causes. The natural conditions of that i)ortion of
(lod's bright world which has become theirs, bear powerful and
determining Influences."

U H.M IS n AM, AHOl I.

" The beauties of the land, the |)leasnnt, ever-new and vary
ing charms that the «^'lorious face of nature i)resents to the e}e.
must bias the mind towards that love of the beautitu) and jjiire.
the elevation ,)f sentiment and of idea which are the first es-
sentials of a high and beneficent civilization ; while the nation-
al |)ros|jerity, contimially accumulating, which a rich and fertile
country gives to its people, yields the strength and the i)ower
for an enduring civilization, 'ibgether — for enduring greatness.'

*' If then the physical lieauties and wealth of a country are
determining elements to make the people hapi)y, advanced,
refined and powerful, this ' Canada of ours ' should become a
great nation. Si)ringing from untouched virgin wilds into active
life ; under the ardent powers of a people sprung from Karth s
two greatest of races ; with their vivif\ ing culture and high
iivilization — the slow growth of centuries — trans|)lanted
ready-made to the new, fresh soil : surelv the wide land of the
maple and the beaver has all the elements for a future — great
and powerful."

" Waving her young flag over half a continent, she has di-
versity enough, range enough, verge nnd scope enough."

'• No narrow metes and ])ounds confine her energies."

"The great Dominion, stretching from ocean to ocean^
awaits but her millions to bring forth and vivify the vast resour-
( es she contains ; vast and varied as her wide extent."

" Probably no other country is ])ossessed of so great a
diversity ; so varied and so opjiosite a range of beauty in its
natural scenery as this 'Canada of ours.' Within its great bor-
tlers Nature seems to have selected a favourite field ; and glo-
ried in her work of groui)ing together every different and
charming effect; every grade of magnificent picturing that her
lavish hand could indulge."

" An infinite variety oversj)reads the land, and no sameness,
no fatal imiformity of design mars the ever-recurring freshness
and noveltv of the wonderful alternation of the scenen\"

SHK MKIHI HA\ K DoN'K IJK/I'I'KR.

i:'

" What n supcrlj panorama opens on the eye and moves the
proud sense, while the Canadian surveys die vast and mag-
nificent land of his birth. I'ruin the rock-bound yet grand
AdaiUic <;oasl three thousand miles — to the inlet indented
and beautiful shores ol the I'acific -what a pageant lies !
Mountains and vallcj ; hill and plain ; sea-coast and river —
the trackless forest and the boundless prairie. The vast lakes
— fresh-water seas — expanded to the dimensions of oceans,
and the silver lakelet, gleaming like a gem in die bosom of the
green woods. J'he tlesohite wildness of the frozen north, and
the rich, luxuriant beauty of an almost tropical clime. The
land of the grape and the icy home of the polar bear. 'J'lie
crowded city and the grassy range of the buffalo. The rich
and cultivated regions of the white man, with all their access-
ories of civilization, order and wealth ; and the rude Indian
camp. All ; all the.ie, are comprehended within the mighty
scene, whose vastness and grandeur might well inspire a jxitri-
otic ardour, a true Canadian pride; and give an exultant ring
to the voice wiiich proudly says — ' This is my Country !' "

"And upon what a magnificent scale has not the great
|)icture been laid ? No narrow distances or hemmed-in boun-
daries are pent in the great Canadian land. Its thousand-
miles-long rivers ; its thousand miles wide forests and prairies,
waiting with their virgin treasures for the coming millions.
The mighty St. Lawrence, its great gulf and ocean lakes — in
each of which a state might be submerged, piercing the length
of the land — draining die waters, and bearing the commerce of
a continent, are Nature's great works gi\en to a country that is
destined to be great."

" If the influence of the natural beauties, the social advan-
tages which Nature, with so lavish a hand has bestowed on our
land, have, as they surely ought to have, an elevating and
refilling effect on the s])irit and mind of the ])eople ; and tend
K) increase and foster that ardent patriotism- -that enduring

A CAXADTAX HOMK.

1 1

love of colintry which every man must feel for the land of his
birth : then this Canada ])ossesses the prime elements for a
'<reat future."

*' The rest h'es with the {>eo|)lc themselves — their morals,
their industry, and tiieir capacity to govern and be governed."

"Our heritage is a great one. If it is not felt to be a
heritage and an honour to be named ' a Canadian,' it is the
fault of Canadians."

CHAPIER n.

A CANADIAN HOME.

On the shores of one of the charming little lakes, which
f(>rm not the least attraction of the very picturestjue and beau-
tiful tract of country, lying well north of i^ake Ontario — stands
the extensive and well-ordered demesne of Mr. Henry Mor-
daunt. An Englishman of some means, who early in life had
crossed over to Canada, more from the pleasure to be derived
from travel, and from si)ort, than for any purpose of permanent
residence — he had fallen upon the spot (then almost a virgin
wilderness) and had been so attracted by its beauty, and the
sporting charms of the adjoining country, that he had pur-
chased some th(>iisan<ls of acres of lan<l sur-ounding his chosen
lake, and settled down to inj|)rove the j>roperty thus acquired,
and to lead the life of a C!anadian country gentleman.

Possessed of taste, as well as means, he had converted the
rough frontier clearing, of which years l)efore he had entered
into possession, into what was at once a large and well cultivat-
ed property, and a beautiful ])lace of abode ; and, while he
had cleared up his lands extensively, fully entering into the
><pirit of the Canadian farmer, who dearly loves wide fields — he
studied* to preserve the natural beauties of the pla<e : to im-

I 2

*HK MIGHI HAVK DuNK J}K'l riCR,

prove and enhance them by all the arts which his artistic tastes,
love of scenery a!i<l ctuninand «»r nmney «oiil(l bring to that
end.

One side of his jirdty lake he had sunired lo remain fringed
to the water's edge with the glorious old maples, elms and ])ines
of the ]jrimeval forest — a sheltering and a beautiful back-ground
—while on the gently rising and undulating shore of the other
bank la\- the cultivated grounds ; stretching back over a wide
extent ; interspersed with groves and copses, orchards and
ornamental plantations, wherever such would most heighten the
effect. The unsightly spots, common to every landscape, and
commonly left In their deformity to ]»ain the eye, had been
carefully hidden by fringes of trees : an<l the barns and out-
houses (generally unpleasing objects) in the same manner were
masked from sight. The fields bordering the shores of the
lake >\'ere cultivated to the water's edge, with no ragged and
unsightly range of bushes obstructing the view ; but the smooth
grassy slopes met the water, with here and there a tree, or an
effective copse to adorn and guard them from sameness.

J'he j)roperty, which under the ruthless and wholesale de-
struction of the forest (.sweeping away every tree with liand
that seems to hate — that too often marks the progress of the
Canadian settler), would have been but a bare clearing, resem-
bled a handsome and well-laid-out jjark.

On a gentle eminence near the head of the lake, sheltered
by the pictures(juely-wooded heights adjacent — with its lawns,
gardens and ornamental grounds running down to the water —
stood the house, a large, handsome and comfortal)le structure,
which looked j)retty and homelike surrounded with its trellised
and vine-covered verandah; with its hindsome conservatory,
well-kept walks and bright gardens.

Lake Mordaunt, as its owner had named his property, had
l)een so extensive a purchase that it still remained, as it were,
enveloped in its own ancient forests, so that the nearest neigh-

A vJVNAlJlAN HOM:l.

hour's house lay at a distance of three miles. The populous
village of Ten Lakes was four miles distant, whilst the nearest
railway station was twenty miles away. >Vell might it be called
a country place, and was probably none the less \alued by its
owner for that reason.

Mr. Mordaunt had married, a few years after his arrival in
the country — in Western New York, — an American lady whom
he had met in one of his numerous pleasure excursions. A case
of love at first sight on both sides, he had been attracted by
the winning disposition and delicate charms of the fair Amer-
ican ; while she, on her j)art, had not been "unwilling to share
the fortunes of the handsome and courtly Englishman, although
her future home was then sufficiently far removed from many
of the advantages of an older district.

Three children — a daughter, their first-i)Oiii ; a son two years
her junior, and a <;l>arming little girl, now three years of age —
had added to their ha])i)iness.

In his habits Mr. Mordaunt jiresented the somewhat unusu-
al anomaly of a strong love of literary pursuits, and an e(.[uall)
well-developed liking for field sj>orts, with a love of country life.
His books, with his gmi, his rods, his horses and his great farm
pretty equally and very pleasantly occui)ie(l his time.

About fifty years of age, he was still a young-looking, active
and vigorous man, to whom life was a jjleasure ; and its duties,
which, as far as his abilities went, were carried out to the letter,
an enjoyment, in his manners he was polished, refined and
courteous ; sim|)le as to his habits ; of fixed and earnest views
— especially as to religion, and utterly intolerant of all that was
profane or irreverent, hond of com])any and the society of
his friends, when at his own house ; he barely endured occasion-
al visits into the great world for the sake of his family — to
whom he was an affectionate husband and father, and by whom
he was tenderly loved.

His wife - w<V I'Ifirence Horton — was soiih- ten vears her

SHE MIGri'J' HAVE DONE BE'l'i'ER.

husband's junior, and still retained a great measure of her
superb youthful beauty. Delicate looking, as in her youth, her
happy married life and the fresh vitalizing air of her country
home — whose active duties she much liked — had preserved her
health ; and her husband and her children — with these duties
— yielded her a loving interest in life which had kept her a
happy and a handsome woman. *-

U she did not quite share her husband's love of abstruse
studies, yet she was well educated, refined and agreeable ; so
happily constituted with the rare charm of rendering all around
her pleasurable and bright — that an invitation to Lake Mor-
daunt was always eagerly accepted by the hapjjy reci[)ients.
Many of the adornments of the ]jlace had been of her creation.
Her conservatories, her flowers and her gardens were the boast
of the country around ; probably as much for her sake, as for
their intrinsic merits ; for l>er suave politeness to all ; her
kindness and sweet human sympathies gave in return the
respect and love of all classes with whom she came in contact :
while there was no surer way of gaining her good-will than an
honest admiration of the objects of her love :^ her husband,
her children, and I-^ike Mordaunt. •

ll!i

CHAPTER m.

A VOUNG LADY — A LAWYER — AND A YANKEE.

On a pleasant evening, closing a sultry July day, in the year
of grace 1873, three persons were seated in the cool and leafy
verandah that shaded the house at 1 ,ake Mordaunt, enjoying
the fresh evening breeze ; watching the declining sun as it dipped
over the pretty lake and l)urnished its tiny wavelets ; and ad-
miring the golden tinging of the woody points — the last bright,
farewell kisses of de|)arting day.

SSiiSfiMSJ^"''

SHK MIC.HT HAVE DONK nKTTKR.

As ihe thoughts, actions and events wliich shall brighten or
overshadow the lives of these three people have much to do
with this narration, it is l)ut right that they be introduced in
proper form.

' Place aux lianus,' md sweet I'.thel Mordaunt — upon whose
bright hair the lingering sun's last ray has fallen in golden
embrace through the wavy leaves — shall first turn her laughing
eyes and delicious face to the reader's glance.

Miss Ethel Mordaunt was very nice ; as nice a young lady
as could be found in all broad Ontario, and that is saying a
good deal. When, too, a young lady is nice, the application of
the word to her is very nice also. She was tall and slight, and
she was gracefully formed. She was all grace and soft, easy
movement. Her long, white neck was exquisitely set, giving a
peculiarly delightful and graceful poise to her beautiful little
head. She was handsome, refined and intellectual looking, yet
replete with the vivacity and quick delighted interest that her
twenty youthful summers gave her.

Her violet blue eyes — blue and soft as the sunset .skies —
looked out on the world with an expression so frank and so
open, with so kind a spirit shining in their clear depths, that it
was easy to read the innate goodness and amiability that dwelt
beneath. 'J'he generous and sympathetic nature — manifest in
every word and action — exulting in the noble and excellent,
sorrowing for the evil. rej<.)icing with the happy and grieving
with the wretched — but heightened her attractions with that
ineffable and undefinable beauty which is as much the external
signature of goodness, as are the bitter lines — marring man)-
an otherwise charming face — the markings of the poor and cold-
hearted spirit.

Her features wore regular enough to maintain her present
beauty, yet without the cold immobility of the classic models.
Her complexion, like her mother's, was delicate, fair and trans-
jxirent j bright tintings varying with ca<"h flitting emotion : warm-

--Y^i^-^':^^S&^^

.'^^>.'t':^&^~<.-.'.^^e..^r'J^:A^-L.^^>'i^>f ' c?i>u:»i»aDm« uriiiHiiiiinniiiiiii'ini i laiiiBW ■iia jwhiimi

'^'•'mivH miimiu.iH.^f.it.j'iL'

j6 a VOl'NG I.ADV, J^AVVVKK AM) VANKKK.

ed or i)alecl as her ycwithful interest in passing events, or her
kind symi)athy were aroused.

Educated and accomplislied — easy and self-possessed — she
could be stately enmigh if she choose, hut her eager, rosy little
lips and pearly teeth in general found a smile more natural — as
it was sweeter — and her society was very attractive.

She was sensible, too ; and if she liked poetry, she could also
make a cake, dust the piano and play it afterwards ; paint a
landscape or raise young turkeys. Vet her pretty taper Angers
showed that these dissimilar occupations could not affect their
whiteness or symmetry, fjke all young ladies, she thoroughly,
appreciated the gaities of a town life — the homage and atten-
tion she attracted — yet she did not allow these allurements to
blind her to the endearing charms of home and its pleasant
duties.

She was the very apple of her fiither's eye — the pride of his
heart. And, indeed, for that matter, there were many younger
gentlemen — not related — who would only have been too hap|iv
to be allowed to look upon her as the apple of their eye also.

As she sits on the cool verandah in her pretty white summer
dress — her charming figure framed against the leafy back ground
of the vines — her bright eyes dancing with pleasantness, for she
is in comi)any very agreeable to her, she forms a very i)retty
picture, and her companions cannot helj) but think — one espe-
cially, whose eyes are looking unutterable things — that Kthc!
Mordaunt is, as indeed she is, a very nice girl.

The young gentleman seated near her, and who unconsciously
yet very plainly showed his devotion, is Edwin Clereton Vance,
barrister-at-law, with very little practice, but wealthy enough to
lie inde[)endent of the ])rofession, and to follow his own ideas
regarding it.

The son of a considerable real estate owner of the City of

Toronto, he had been well brought uj) and carefully educated.

•Shortly, however, after he had taken his degree with high honor.-

SHK \II(;ilT llAVK DONK HI/m-K

or her

>d — she
sy little
iral — as

Lild also
l)aint a
■ lingers
:t their
roughly
[ atten-
lents to
!)leasant

i of his

Koiinger

) hai)|)y

also.

Hummer

ground

for she

I pretty

e esj)e-

t Kthet

<iously
Vance,
ough Ut
n ideas

City of

ucated.
honor.-

•ind passed the bar, his lather died, leaving to the son the care
of his widowed mother, and enjoining him with his last breath
dial whatever befell to live as an honest man,

Mdwij) Vance had entered on the profession of the law from
choice, conceiving it to be the noblest pursuit to which a man
could devote his life. Holding the chivalric idea, that as a
member of this noble profession, he would become a righter ot
the wrongs of the oppressed, an aid to justice, and an advocate
of the truth and the right, he had entered on die studies whi( h
he fondly hoped would yield him a career of usefulness, of honour
and of benefit to his felloAv creatures.

I'he instinctive feeling or percei)tion, whichever it may be. of
all right-thinking men, that the general intendons of mankind are
more directed towards the good than the evil, was with him
carried to the highest point. Hence he never imputed the e\il
motive, or suspected an action, upon whose basis by an)' rea-
soning a more charitable construction could be raised.

Thus the study of Law, which is, or ought to be, the exact
s( ience of Justice and of Right to all, was to him a delightful
one, and probably no young man, fresh from his college honours,
ever commenced the |)ractice of his profession in a more en-
thusiastic spirit than did Mr. Kdwin Vance.

It needed, however, but a very few months of its practice to
convince him that there lay a great difference between the Law
itself md its administration.

That an engine, as nearly a|)proaching perfection as human
intellect and foresight could bring it, should be perverted through
its necessary formalities, its re(iuisite safeguards, and unavoid-
ably complex machinery, by the misused ingenuity of but too
many of his professional l)rethren, to the delay of the righteous
cause, the advantage of the wrong, or to the gaining of their own
selfish ends, was to him a dreadful thing.

The maxim, not ])erhaps openly acknowledged, but so com-
nidnly j)ut into practice among legal men as to become strict!)

s^isu?vvZi5r

is A ^uu.s^; i.Ain, i,.\\vvKk and vankkk.

iill

theirs, that the end jv'stities the means, no matter how chil)ious
may he the end to he attained, or the means emjiloyed : that
the winning of a wrong cause, so long iis it is won, hy any
chicanery, juggling, douMe-dealing, evasion or sui)pression of
the truth that may he necessary, is a triumph and a laudable
thing, was to him ecjually abhorrent.

The enormous expense, the needless delay, the encourage-
ment of litigation, the perversion of the plain designs, and the
uncertainty in the administration of that which was intended to
be cheap, si>eeedy and effective — protective to the rights of all
— disgusted him. His keen sense of honour, and the dignity
with which he mentally covered that which should be, and was
to him, an honourable profession, i)revented him from entering
upon, or taking part in, any matter that was not wholly straight-
forward. By him no dubious cause, however lucrative, was
ever undertaken, and although ready and desirous to present
with proper force and in the best light those things that were
f:icts, and to employ his highest powers to bring forth the truth
to the light of day, yet he would not pervert his faculties to
make ajipear as the right Avhat was not the right, as truth what
was not the truth, or gain a client's cause by unworthy means.

In jjersonal ajjpearance he was prepossessing, showing in-
tellectuality and the evidences of a studious life. His broad,
white forehead bore the contour which indicates great reasoning
]jower, and the large, clear, dark eyes, which almost spoke,
showed his command of language. But the small, well-shajjed
mouth, the fair complexion, and the lower part of the face too
delicately cut, wanting massi\eness, while plainly telling the
amiability of his character, told also of the lack of strong deter-
mination. Yet the tall figure and handsome composed face,
carried their quiet air of intellectual i)ower and dignity, and he
looked, as he was — a gentleman.

Last, but not least, of our trio, comes Mr. Edward Jabez
Horton. a meml>er of Congress for the State of New York, the

SHE \iJGH r HAVE DONE HET'lEK.

li)

Jal)ez
rk, the

only brother of Mrs. Mordaunt. and a trequent visitor to I,akc
Mordaiint ; for his sister and his niece, Ethel, were especial fa-
vorites of his, and in general any relaxation he could obtain
from business or his pu! lie duties were devoted to a visit to them.
Being a widower with but one daughter, married and living in
St. Louis, he found the society of his sister and his niece an
agreeable relief from the tedium of his somewhat solitary home.
An educated and intelligent American of expanded views,
fixed and decided opinions, he was in his own district a man of
influence and weight. Like most of his countrymen he was in-
tensely patriotic, yet with the liberality of spirit and broadness
of view of the cosmopolitan. 'I'he Anglophobia and prejudice
which are common to many Americans was not shared by him,
nor did he consider himself the less a patriotic American there-
for. His views of life, the result of e\i)erience and thought,
when once formed, were steadfastly maintained with the con-
sistency of a mature and confident judgment.

His politics were not those of parties, but of measures ; the
good of his country and his fellow-citizens. To his consistent
and untiring efforts in the cause of temperance, of which he was
an ardent upholder, his consecutive elections to Congress had
been mainly due, and to have oi)posed him in his own district
nould have proved a hopless task.

In person he was tall, of large and powerful frame, active and
energetic, and though he had jmssed his fiftieth year, retained
tlie vigor of youth. His features were finely cut, though de-
cided ; his nose aquiline, his mouth firm ; capable, however, of
a {^leasing expression; and often lighted by a smile. His fore-
head broad, prominent and well arched down over the clear, steel
gray eyes, gave a striking expression of power and force to the
lace, which was one that instantly attracted attention and com-
manded resjject.

A personality he never uttered ; or a word, even in the heat
of debate, that could injure the feelings of another, and this

1I5TS

Etl^i^ifiHL' ! rii*^f «*■-'. '.^'i.'_.a( uaan

JO A \UUNG LAUV, I.AWYKR AM) YANKKL.

(iis|

amiable ciuality he carried into his private us well as his public
life.

A vein of genial humour lay under the grave and thoughtful
exterior. With pleasant people around him he formed a most
agreeable and entertaining, as well as instructive companion.
He had. managed to accumulate a handsome fortune by his
jjcrseverance and success in business, and although his energetic
habits would not allow him wholly to give up his active pursuits,
yet he had begun to give more of his time to leisure, and the
society of his friends, the Mordaunts in especial, than he had
heretofore done.

He was externally neai and fastidious in person and attire,
dressed habitually in l>lack broadcloth, wore a glossy beaver
hat, good jewellery and faultless linen.

"Weill Uncle Kdward, are we to remain here all /evening
star gazing .^" said l*'thel, " or shall we take advantage of the
cooler air for a row upon the lake. I know you are longing for
your evening cigar, only abstaining from it that you fear its odour
might penetrate through two feet of brick wall into my mother's"
drawing-room."

" I do not see, my dear I'lthel," he rei)lied, with comfortable
laziness, "why you should throw the res|)onsil)ility of our move-
ments upon my shoulders, any more than I can see Avhy you
should call me Uncle ' Edward,' thereby implying that you have
numerous Uncle ' Josephs ' and ' Henrys,' et cetera, at your im-
perative call, when you are perfectly well aware that I am your
sole uncle, on this side of the herring j)ond at all events.
Neither am I longing particularly for a cigar, and were I to in-
dulge in one and its odours should invade your mother's draw
ing-room, which as the windows are o|>en, is ])robable, it is not
from her that 1 w ould expect reproof. It would remain for your
saucy tongue to remind me of my misdoings. And, again, why
not follow your own sweet will as to a row upon the lake. I
am rea<lv to obey vour behests, and doubtless J'ldwln A'ance

iSSSi

Z_-V ' r"'*^''-'"*"^''*''-*"

MOONMCHT R)K THRKK.

2»

lliciv will be only too happy. \\c can divide the \vt)rk ecjiially
— he shall row, you shall sing, and I will smoke my evening
cigar, as you irreverently term it. Having been \ery busy all
day, any severer labor would be too much for me."

".Such a long si)ee<h ! with nothing in it, either," replied
Kthel. •• 1 will call you I'ncle jabez hereafter for taking me up
.so. What a sweet name it is ! No one can choose pretty names
like the Americans. As you say, you must be very much
fatigued. Vou have followed mamma and I about all day, ask-
ing (|uestions and giving advice, making the ac(|uaintance of all
the turkeys antl chickens, calculating the pounds avoirdupoise
of every individual pig, and criticizing every fruit tree, plant and
Hower that did not suit your exact taste."

•'That is all right, Miss Kthel," was answered laughingly.

There is no use re|)lying to y

ou, as

you will always manage to

have the last word. .So go and get your hat on ;ind we will
walk down to the lake."

•' ^'es ! do, Miss Mordaunt, it will be so i)leasant," said xVIr.
\'ance. '* I shall be happy, too, to accept the nither onerous
share thrown uj^on my shoulders by Mr. Horton's very equal
division of labor and do the rowing."

CHAPTER IV.

" MOON I, I CHI' FOR THRKK."

Hut just as they were about to start for their moonlight excur-
sion, the good-natured face of Barney Conley, the general fac-
totum about the house, appeared on the verandah.

" Here's a letter for ye, Miss Kthel, and one for ye, too, Mr.
V'ance, and a couple of them for you, sorr ! and laix ! if the con-
tents are as warrum as the carrying of thim up from the village

SMK MH.HT H.W'K I)«)XK nKTTKP..

! »

l»L'yanl iividc nv.- tin's Ma/in' cvL-nin', its tlic divi! eii'.'rtjly t!iL'
writers o\ thiin will he at'ccr plaNiii' wiil \e/ all, or e!.->c it.-, grate
love thev'll he inakin' till ve/.."

•• Wariii? Barney," said Kthe!. " How ((nild the carrying of
these few letters make you so w.irin ; hesiiles, you drove to the
village. \'oii didn't call in at t!ie hotel, did \-ou. Harney ?" she
asked, mischievously.

•' Kn'fh : 1 did thin. Miss lahe!. IJut what I wor a-.saying
wor intended for a purlite remark on the grate hate of the sea-
son ; tor I'm tould it's the weather entirelv that the tiualllv talk
al)Out. when they've nothin' else to say til! wan another."

"Very well put, Harney." said Mr. Horton. •* \'our remark
is sarcastic hut just. 'I'here is not much else to talk about, and
it /.>• warm. Here is a half dollar for the heat and for carr\insj;
those heaw letters. Hut I fe;'r. I'arnev. that the calling in at
the hotel makes the weather appear so very warm.

•' Medad I an' I would'nt doubt ye. sorr : and is it to!)acky
thin that I'm to buy wid this? 'Tobacky makes fire, and fire
makes hate."

** Yes : and fire-water makes greater heat still. Better try
the tobacco. Barney," rei)lied Mr. Horton.

" Barne} !" said Mrs. Mordaunt, stepping out on the veran-
dah ; "■ Barney I to-morrow morning early you will have to take
one of the driving horses and a light waggon to Cascades tci
m^'tit a gentleman coming by the two o'clcuk train. Start early
to avoid the heat, and try and get back by dark."

"Yes I ma'am, it shall be done; and how will I know the
gentleman when the train comes in, ma'am?"

•' Ask for Mr. VVolverton — but you know him very well al-
ready, Barney," was the reply.

" Faix, thin. I know him well enorgh,'and what the divil
does he " '^nt Barney thought l)etter of it and walked off

" Mr. \'ance." said Mrs. Mordaunt, turning to h m, " I have
a letter from your friend Sydr.ey Wolverton, .Scvi^tg that he

e-'vi..? ■■!*;a?rgra ,'i-i;i,««'H'i'?'»>r'^:.'

:ii>i>:«:Lh;H r fok tmrki^.

avails liiinsclf oi'an iinitatioii I m-icc ga\ -• Iiini ti) pay us a sliort
visit to-aiorrow, as juj is lo piay ia the groat cricket match at
'I'di Lakes oil Satiirtlay, antl he wishes to sec you, he says. So
ilarncy goes to the station for liini to-morro\s'."

" Ves, Mrs. MonkiiiiU, I have also just heard from him. tell-
ing me he had written )()ii ami would je here. He says he has
business ot' imjiortance to transact with :ne, though v.liat it may
he I cannot imagine. If he requires legal advice. I shall tell
him not to go to law. Too expensive a pleasure, and unsatis-
factory withal. But will you nol join us in our sail this even
ing, Mrs. Mordaunt ?"

" Xit. thank you. .Mr. Nance. 1 think not, as 1 have a tetter
'o write, too long ])Ut off alreail;. . So go and enjoy \ ourselves
— Kdward shall represent me."

•'Come along then, Kthel." said Mr. Horton.

But she. handing a letter to her mother, said —

" In a moment, uncle. Here is a letter, mamma, from Kmily
Dearborn : she and Ada are coming over to-morrow to spend
the day. 1 asked them, you remember, a week since."

As she delayed, sjjeaking with her mother, Mr. Horton took
Nance's arm, drew him to one side, and said, earnestly —

" I think I heard you say, my dear \'ance. that Wolverton's
<'oniing here is jjartly for the transaction of some business mat-
ters with you. Now, please excuse me for what you may think
in interference in your private affairs, and take it as it is meant.
the act of a friend, l)y permitting iiie to advise you most earn-
estly to have no transactions outside your i)rofession with that
young man. 1 cannot consider him straightforward, or honest,
or to be de}jended ui)on, and 1 have good reason for what I ad-
vance, although I cannot at this moment give you any particu-
lar proof in support, but merely ask you to rely on my judg-
ment and experience. I have reason to dislike AN'olverton :
neither do I like his coming here at this time. As a friend
he may be well enough ; he is i)lausihle and attractive in his

S5SiiSs33SiSSv^aB«t<«ifflE^

■^^''j:^i^ii'^~-i ■:)\i.

ill

SHK MIOHT HAXi: DUNK BK'I'TKR.

manners, hut he cannot be trusted, and, in my opinion, is a dan-
gerous man. I trust you will regard what I say. J can also
consider myself your friend, and it is in that quality that J have
spoken."

'* Thank you, Mr. Horton, for what you have said and its
kind spirit. But I have never had, or am I likely to have, am
other than ])iofessional I)usiness with Sydney U'olverton. We were
college chttms, and have been friends, though of late we ha\e
not met often. A year ago he asked me to join him in his mill-
ing establishments at Hojjetown, and offered me apparently great
inducements if 1 would put in capital. I declined the matter,
however, though he pressed it u|)on me with some jjersistence.
on the ground that I did not care to enter ujjon a business of
which I had no knowledge, and that 1 could not advance the
sum required without disposing of jjroperty. which I was not
inclined to sell. His i)resent l)usiness with me will, I imagine.
])rove to be something in the legal way. If, however, it is a re-
newal of his former offer, or aught similar, I will most certainl)
act upon the advice you have given me."

** So he has been trying to rope you in for that concern of his
at Hopetown, has he? Well, this strongly confirms the view J
have just expressed, for he had made the same offer to me, and
as I am generally ready for anything that has money in it. 1
went down there to see the thing. The property seemed good
enough, but 1 found in him such a persistent attempt at misre-
presentation of values, to foist upon me figures showing the |)ast
business of the concern and its capabilities, which bore the
impress of being cooked for the purpose, that I abruptly enaed
the negociation, which otherwise J should have completed on a
fair basis, even though I then foresaw the distant apjjroach of a
storm in the commercial world, which if it fortunately has not
fallen, is not averted. He is remarkably shrewd and smart in
his way of j)utting things, but 1 have had too many transactions
with my own acute countrymen to ])e easily blinded. I am

MOON'r.IGH'l' FOR THRKK.

l^lad of what you tell me, and hope you will keep in the same
mind. But here is Ethel."

The young lady coming n\), they walked down to the lake to-
gether, and getting out a boat, were soon sailing over the smooth
waters under the soft twilight sky.

Kthel, leaning ove"- the stern sheets, rijipled the water v\ ith
her white fingers and was silent,, the scene and the time being
very conducive to pleasant thought, even though it bordered on
romance ; some bright day dream or happy retrospect, sacred to
herself.

Her uncle went forward to be 'solus' with his cigar; to
w ntch its circlets of smoke as they rose in the air, and indulge,
perhaps, in a dream of his own, whose romance, if not probably
'A love, might very well be of love for his fellow men.

Vance, between them, |)lied his sculls slowl) , rewarding him-
self for the labor by gazing at the fair face before him that he
had learned to love so well. I'robably inspired by its presence,
his thoughts were evidently busy, for he sat silent and [)re-occu-
l)ied, and while the boat is moving slowly into the lake, let us
snatch a moment to reveal the subject of his reflections.

Although Mr. Kdwin Vance considered himself the friend of
Sidney W'olverton, liked and thought well of him, and would
have been proj^erly indignant had the strength and purity of
rhat friendship been ([uestioned, yet the reception of the news
that he was coming on the morrow had not given him the sen-
sation of pleasure that it ought to have done. On the contrary,
he did not like it, and sincerely wished his friend Sydney at
Halifax or Hopetown or anywhere else, so long as he was not
• uming to Lake Mordaunt. He was j)leasant enough, clever
and attractive enough, our hero liked him and did not suspect
his friendly motives, yet still he had an idea that Mr. Wolver-
um was not as indifferent as he could wish him to be, to the
desire of finding favor in the eyes of the fair Ethel. Now to
find favor in her eyes was the very thing of all others that he

,inmt,tL^miiiiMm<Kiaj,^iji;i t.J^m,^~M■■y^■ -y-.^r.- At^u-- -^^^^

IK MIGH'!' HAVK iKJNi: IIKTTKR.

•himself iiKjst carncsily (k-sireTl. and as tlic l;cst and truest fricnd-
shijj tha.; ever existed is not e(jiial to the strain of such a test.
the thought became simply un])earable to him and not to be
endured. And so Sydney U'olverton was heartily wished away
by his friend — much troubled in si)irit at his advent — and who
pondered and cogitated, hesitated and doubted, at one moment
I'orming the resolution to act at once, declare his love at the
rirst available moment and forestall danger ; and again the
modesty and self-depreciation v/hich the very de[)th of his lo\e
threw over him. caused him the fjiir of being premature, and of
bringing on a catastrophe too Iiideous to be <ontemi>lated.

He revolved his own and his j)ossil)le rival's chances over in his
own mind, with ])ainful minuteness and discomfort. Reviewing
every chance smile ; every stray glance from his di\inity's eye,
and every word she had uttered since he had learned to love,
he could not but feel that, thougli he had received no dire« t
encouragement on his fair lady's jtart. yet she had shown no
dislike to his attentions, which she must, he thought, with femi-
nine prescience, have interpreted in all their meaning. In fact
he felt almost sure that his society had not been found disagree-
able.

Hut a great love, not yet as'^ured of a. return, while magnify-
ing its object's worth, attractions and deservings, minimises in
its giver's eyes, his own deser\ ings, and robs him of the self-
conlidence. which in other matters than his love may be assured
enough.

And so poor Kdwin doubted and hesitated, longed and fear-
ed, worshi]^])ed the fair divinity sitting before him, feasted his
eyes in her sweet i)resence and tormented his soul with a lover's
fears.

Had they been but alone on that pretty lake, the stars shin-
ing down upon them, the soft face of nature hushed in the deli-
cious stillnesss I 'i ne splash of the leai)ing trout ri]/i)ling the
water with moonlit silver, the rustling of the leaves or the ch.irj) of

lii:

aoaHliWfeft:>W'3®W?S5ErT!«5i?iS5f*^

!\, •^<i:ttetii*\*!iiS4Jaii?i' "VS

illOONTJGHT FOR THREE.

<.o:nt waking Mrd the su'.c accumijanimciit, what a titting nuiincnt,
snatched from elysium, would not it have been to have {>t)ured
out his rapturous love and asked its sA\eet return? Would not
then liis fair Kthel. impressed with th'.- softness and beauty of
all around her, have listened [)roi)ititiousl)' to his fervid tale, and
with a little word disijelled his doul)ts ; dissijjated his fears ; made
ihat little lake a glorious scene of enchantment, a happy pic-
iure that would lie impressed on his mind for all his days.

Hut they were not alone.

Mr. Horton, sitting with them in that boat, wa.s a very palp-
il)!e fict. Also with a very paljuble cigar in his mouth, a very
paljjable smile u])on his face, a twinkle in his eye. as if he hatl
I)een engaged in reading the inmost thoughts of his companiojis.
while api)arent!y wra])t u\) altogether in the fragrance of his
Havana.

Removing the latter from his lii)sand throwing it into the
water he broke the silence, which so far had continued, and
said —

" \\d\. I'Ahel, our l)oaling expedition is a success. Not a
word has been spoken to disturb the qiu'et harmony of t!ie even-
ing, and we have had undisturbed leisure to observe the beau-
ties of the scenery. 'i"he delightful aspect of nature sinking
into the rei)Ose of night always seems the most lovely and
appeals the most powerfully to our sense of the beautiful.
How the cahn and softened trancjuillity of all around us
infuses its ([uiet s|jirit into ours. I^'reeing us from the dull
ihoughts of earth, its mild influence lifts the imagination up-
ward and arouses the sentimental and romantic suscejjtibilities
of our minds, so dormant under the active influences of the
glaring sunlight. ])oul)tless, Kthel, the charms of this tender
evening scene have raised your sensitive nature to a blissful
height of romantic asj^irations, fiir above the grovelling cares of
earth, esj)ecially as we are at present blessed with the absence <»f
the ravaging musqiu'toe. I know no more powerful disenchanter.

SHK MIGHT HAVK fK)NK BETTKR,

ii'l'

nutliiiig more effectual as a dispeller of romance, anything
that can bring us down from tlie clouds so quickly and land u-.'
on the Ixase earth again so suddenly as the advent of a few blood
thirsty Canadian mus([uitoes,"

"Oh, what a shame, uncle ! You have brought me down to
tlie earth again as effectually as if you had been a muscjuito
yourself. 1 do not believe you have an atom of poetry or ro-
mance in your whole comj>osition, uncle. Such an unfeeling
speech ! Adajiting your tine words to one's high-strung feelings
and then scattering them in the dust with their ridiculous termi-
nation. And do you mean to imply that you have no blood-
thirsty muscjuitoes in those precious States of yours? Yes!
Yankee musquitoes that can bite as well as ours, with the only
difference that they will never find any ' romance to dispel ' there.
Who ever heard of a romantic Yankee ? Your musquitoes, like
yourselves, are doubtless a very practical class of insects. • Cana-
dian musquitoes, forsooth I'"

"Oh, well. Ethel, I guess we can raise some as respe<table
mu.squitoes in the States as you can in these benighted Pro-
vinces, even though you do call them a ' Dominion.' And I
take it very hard, too, that you should abuse the muscjuitoes of
your uncle's native land. It isn't right."

" Never mind, uncle, I'll fix you, as the Yankees say," replied
Ethel, laughing. " I'll punish you for all this to-morrow by put-
ting Emily Dearborn under your charge for the entire day.
We'll get ui> a pic-nic on jjurpose, and you shall have the j)lea-
sure of being her chevalier. She is a dashing young lady, al-
though a * benighted i^rovincial,' as you would say, and will j)ut
your American gallantry on the (fui vhe, I can tell you."

" Ha ! ha ! Miss Ethie," replied the uncle, with a chuckle. " A
notable arrangement, truly. So that you can have our young
friend Kdwin to be your own particular * preux chevalier." Very
well thought of I must say. Hut how if he objects and prefers
tlK' stylish Miss Emily ?"

riM iTMiifirTnfl'Tr'"Tif"'iririri^f^^'''t"''

KKXKA'I'H THK WAVV MOUOHS.

29,

At the rather direct inuendo of the first pa.'t of tliis speech
poor Kthel liad to blush, while \'ance looked supremely dis-
gusted with its termination, and, to relieve his fliir lady, inter-
jiosed —

•• Miss Mordaunt's plan is a very good one, and Mr. Horton
w ill be only too delighted with his charming companion. .She
is a good talker on every subject, even including politics, and
is capable of a flirtation. So, Mr. Horton, beware."

" .\nd, you, also, are determined to sacrifice me." he replied.
■* \\ ell, 1 don't wonder at it, seeing your object. Kut how will
you manage with the other young lady ? ' Two are company, biKt
three are nont;,' " added he, laughing.

•' And now Ethel," he continued, '* make room for Mr. N'ance
lit'side \ou. I'll take the oars, for he has had his share by this
lime, and you shall give us a song."

" Vou don't deserve it then, uncle, for all your wickedness
this evening," she replied. " Nevertheless, I'll sing you a song
or two before we go home, as it is late."

As Kthel's sweet young voice rang over the waters, echoing
among the leafy points and bays in the soft melody of a fine old
French-Canadian * chanson,' the young lady herself little imagin-
ed that her evening's adventurewas not yet ended, or that aught
else than a walk home was to l)e its conclusion.

CHAPTER V

IJKNKA'IH I HI. WAVV HOUGHS.

As Ethel .sang and Edwin \'ance listened, with wraj)t delight
to the sweet voice — to him inexpressibly sweet — and thought
that little lake a scene ot more than mortal pleasure, as is the
\\ay with lovers, his well-wished aw ay companion, Mr. Edward

SHK MidHT HA\ 1-: 1>()NK IIF/H^KR.

jabez Morton. \v!io had lightcclanotherci|^Mr. and whose jtrosaic
eyes viewed that h'ttle lake as the scene of verv (;omfortal)le
earthly jileasiire. (iiiietly indulged himself in \aKioiis worldly re-
Hections to the following iJiirport: —

'* Now that young fellow h;is evidently caved under to the
channs of that saucy little neice of mine, Kthie there — head over
ears in love M'ith her, and showing it plainly enough for the very
cat to see it. 1 don't wonder at it, either. I'd be much more
inclined to blame him if he wasn't struck. She, too, 1 calculate,
isbv no means so indifferent as she would like to be considered,
or else I'm ver\ much mistaken.

** What a ])i(ture she is as she sits tliere singing' and looking
at the stars as if they listened to her; and that }oung goose
ga/ing at her as if she was sun, moon, stars, earth and every-
ihing combined. \'ery likely she is really the summing up of
all happiness to iiim. (^ueer. is'nt it ? lUit I like \'a!-ice — he
is honorable and good. Kligible enough, too, for that matter,
ind I know of no one to vrhoni 1 would sooner see my jjretty
Kthie married. Why should'nt Mordaunt and my sister think
the same.-' That vagabond Wolverton is coming here to-mor-
row, too. up to some deej) scheme, doubtless. I've heard it
vshispered that he entertains a sneaking fondness fof Kthcl —
her father's dollars jjrobably. Well, I would not give much for
his chance of either whilst I'm around this clearing, at any rate.
Still he might; make mischief, and he h.as got to be watched.
\'es, I like Vance ; he's just my style, except that he is too yield-
ing and inclined to judge ])eople by his own measure, and an
uncommonly high value he jjlaces on some \ery poor human
nature, too, sometimes, (irave faults these, especially in a
\'ankee's eyes, but time cures all these little amiable weaknesses.
After all, this tendency to think well of; to believe in his fellow
<:reatures, shows the true metal in the man. \ es, 1 like liini,
and I've a good mind to give him his oi>portunity this ver)-
evening to make it all right with Kthel. If he has the pluck

13KN1:A']"H 'i'Hr: WAVV jx;U(;hs.

.^'

jlioiit him that I think he hr.s, he'll go in and win, and very
siDoothiy i>i:t my friend U'olverton's nose out ot" joint for him
with a Vengearice."

Mtlie! still sanii; and \'ance still rapturoiislv listeiied, while
Mr. Horton. highly amused with his own ideas, chuckled over
them for a momeiii or two and tinallv lautjjhed outright, as he
hniipened to look u[) at his two comjjanions. for whom he had
"Iius cut out some work.

Klhel conc-.luded her song, the third that Kdv.in had succeed-
ed in (jl)taining. a;"id turning to her ur.cle. said —

" Well, you are jjoh'te. uncle, I must say. What was there
;il)()ut my singing for you to laugh at? I rather e\])ected praise
instead."

•' 1 did'nt laugh at your singing, Kthel." he rei^lied. " Some-
thing of which I was thinking struck me as ridiculous. As to
praising you. Mr. Vance will doubtless attend to that. He
ought to do, for he has been s > entranced with nic'lody, and you
>o delighted with your own singing that neither of you have yet
observed that the boat is at the landing."

.\nd such was the case. It lay close alongside the little
wharf.

Mr. Horton jumijetl out at (jn'.-e, walked off a stej) or two.
uid said —

" Please run the skiff into the boat-house, Kdwin. Mordaunt
Iocs not like his boats left out ; and. Ethel, see the door is se-
cured. The lo(-k is peculiar, and Vance won't understand its
"orkings."

Kdwin looked uj) surj)rised and vexed at the sudden close of
his delightful evening. He assisted Kthel ashore : put the boat
into the house, and locked the door, about which he found no
(lifticulty whatever, and no necessity for Ethel's assistance.
Then, looking uj), he noticed' that Mr. Horton had walked on
ahead a short distance with his cigar.

J)idnot a!! this appear unusual ? as the circumstances of the

"•"T" 'TiTriTitii¥iniiinrtwii'iMi fnTiiiii—iT

sm.fi?!itJsi!3iSMii;^i3miHi:

JSHE MIGHT HAVE DONK JJKTTKK.

strange landing Hashed upon his mind. Had not Mr. Hortoii
jumped ashore hurriedly ; ordered him to put the boat into its
house ; Ethel to attend to a perfectly easy lock, and while they
were obeying his orders, had he not walked off in advance?

Was it purposely done that he might be left alone with Kthel.
A giant hoj)e shot over his heart. Had his feeling been so i)lain-
ly show n that Mr. Horton, reading them, had been so well dis-
po.sed towards him as to favor his suit and to do this friend!)
thing for him.

Poor Edwin's heart thum|)ed tumultuously against his side.
Here was his opportunity ; here was his golden moment.

A golden moment, truly, yet a very brief one, for in the few
minutes' distance between them and the house would his fate
have to be decided.

There was no time to be lost, and, checking with a violent
effort the tide of emotions which swe])t over him, he turned t(v
ward Ethel, who had moved forward and calletl to him —

"Hlome along, Mr. Vance, lincle Ethvard has gone for-
ward."

" .\ moment, Miss Mordaunt," he replied, and then, overtak-
ing her, he walked a few steps by her side in silence, trying tc>
force his spirits into calmness, to clear his thoughts and to re-
gain the confidence that had deserted him.

At length, stepping suddenly before her, in a voice, low, earn-
est and impassioned, he said —

" Miss Mordaunt — Ethel — if I dare call you so, 1 have some-
thing to say to you so very momentous to myself, for an oppor-
tunity to .say which I have been ardently longing, that 1 must
ask you to accord to me here a hearing. I love you, Ethel. I
love you with such devotedness — you have become .so inexpres-
sibly dear to me — that I cannot longer e.xist without telling you
of my love, and asking you, oh! Ethel, if it is possible for its
return. It is not a new love — a sudden passion — the transitory
illusion of a day, that beauty alone might inspire. It is the

!lt|i|i

W.i'f^

r.KNEA'I'H THE WAVY lU)U(xHS.

'ii-

)\v, earii-

:imi, true and enduriiig love — grown into my very l)cin{
the very springs of my life, that will not end with me on earth.
I have loved you from the moment of our first meeting — two
years ago, on that bright Toronto morning, whose memory shall
never fade from me. .And to lovt: you, P^thel, has been so sweet,
day by day growing upon me ; day by day so multiplied, so
firmly rooted, as every admirable (juality, every loveliness of
your character torced their tribute of respect and esteem intt)
greater love — into the great love for you, Kthel, which has be-
( ome my very life itself To love you has been hai)])iness — but
:l ha|)piness of doubts and fears — a happiness of susjjense unen-
durable. Oh ! Kthel, I ask you for the treasure of your love in
return — I ask you for that which to me is all hajjpiness — all ex-
istence — all the world. 1 ask you to be mine, Ethel ; to be my
wife ; to give me back myself, for in you, in }'0ur love, is all
myself, my very being, centered. Can you give me your love,
i',thel ? One word — but one little word."

Now, .\Iiss Ethel had, ere this, felt in the inmost rec.esses of
!ier little heart that it had become jjrobable that one day or an-
other some such words as these would be addressed to her l)y
this same young gentleman, and she had also felt in those same
inmost recesses that when the words were spoken, the ordeal of
hearing them would not be so very disagreeable to her.

\'et she was utterly taken by surprise — so bewildered and
overwhelmed by the sudden coming upon her of her ordeal, that
she had remained standing — motionless — bereft of breath and
almost of sense, and looking up into his face in the very astonish-
ed attitude into which his first startling words had thrown her,
and had listened to his somewhat unlawyerlike harangue in about
as chaotic a state of mind as it was possible for a young lady to
he on. receiving a not imjjrobable declaration.

Taken by surprise she certainly was, for she had neither
noticed her uncle's manoeuvre on landing the boat, or the some-
u'hat unusual circumstance of his walking on ; leaving them thus

SHK Mlill-i'l" HAVK l)Ox\E BHTTKR.

'III!

M'^

alone, ;i!ul th.c latter s'lc haJ innoteiUly supposi:;d to liavt; aris'jii
from his desire to enjoy liis cigar witlioiit suhjectin^jj her to an-
noyance from its fmnes.

Had she observed her uncle's tactics, wliicli now were mani-
fest enoU!;h. thougli they had seemed so natural at llie time, it
might have heen that Mr. Kchvin \'an( e would have t\)und the
<Jl)I)ortunity he had. seized prematurely cut short.

iJut he had seized the opportunity, his declaration had been
made, her ordeal was uj>on her. and she had to meet it.

It was hard upon iier — very Iku-J. Much harder than if hei
surj)rise had come from one wiiom she did not like, and it was dan-
gerous for him also. Had she been :i jjassionate young lady, of
no self-control, it might have l)een fatal.

As it Mas, it ^\as very hard.

IV) a very young lady, to whom a word of love in earnest had
never ere this been addres.sed, receiving her first declaration.
surj)ri.sed in so sudden and unexpected a fashion, unnerving her.
taking away her seif-pos.session, even though the lover was tiie
right man in the right place, it was very hard.

As his words ceased, and he stood intent, ner\ous, uneasy and
excited, his love shining in his eyes and anxious expectancy dis-
tracting his brain ; awaiting his fate, she had to brace up her
spirits and force herself, widi an effort, into a state of mind that
it was possil)le for lier to think.

*' If he had not been so sudden. If he had but -^iven a mo-
ment of preparation. If I liad had but a clue to his intent and had
])een forewarned. If he had Imt chosen a less unexpected time
and i^Iace for his avowal — all ha[)j)\' though it was, and oh I if
1 had not lost all my self-possession ? It was cruel in him to
surprise me thus, with his ill-judged precipitancy, and he deserves
to be |)unished for his folly," were the ideas that ran through her
mind, and it was only with an effort that she restrained herself
from falling into tears.

Hut then came the thought of her trium[)h. 'j'hat she was

BKXEA'I'H THX WAVV HOUdHS. 35.

loved ; that he loved her — he had told her dial he lo\ed her —
>,he Iiad the strong assuram-e, and it was very sweet.

It was lier triumph.

He .vas hers ; lie was at her nierc:y, to do with as seeine<l
nest to her. He was at her feet, her victim : tlie spoil ot'her l)0\r
and her spear. He was hers, and for loving her she loveil him
noiiL' the le.ss. He loved her. and had told her that he loved,
lier ; he had asked her to he his wife, and it was very sweet.

And there came over her a flush of maiden timidity — a strong
impulse to tly towards her uncle, the glimmer of" whose cigar was
]ierceptil)le in the distance.

Hutdiere stood her lover with eager, appealing eyes fixed upon
her face, awaiting the answer which she knew she had to give
him; which she knew he ought lo have.

What could she sav? AVhat could she do? How could she
teil the man that she loved him ? She would die first, and yet
•^he lould not tell the man that she did //<'/ love him. What was
she to do?

AVhat would her father and mcAher say, antl that wicked Uncle
Kdward who had left her alone — if they knew that their dear
triend, A[r. N'ance, was making love to her and had asked her
to marrv him ? W'liv had nc>t //r left her alone, when thev .w ere
all so ha;){>y and comfortable together.

•' Oh ! it was too dreadful, and she must go home."

She made a step forward- —

■' Let me pass, Mr. Vance !" but he interrupted her.

" Kdiel, give me a word first. Do not send me away thus
unanswered. Ethel, J love you so dearly, my heart is dying
within me in susjjense. I cannot go n-ithout a word, a smile,
one glance — anything to give me a gleam of hope. Kthel, dar
ling, one little word."

He \ook her hand, and looked down into her eyes.

" ( )h, Kthel I you love me — } on love me ; my darling, forever
my own."

SHK M1(;H'1" HAVIC DONK liHTTIOK.

Without raising her eyes, she laid her hand upon his ami and
whispered —
" Yes, Kdwin."

CHAl^TKR VI.

H\k\l,\ ^M) JF.RRV.

()ur frieiKl, Barney Conley, had received his mistresses (jrdcrs
for the morrow's journey with unusual e(|uanimity, and, for a
wontler, with no opposition or grumbling. *' I'he i)Oor duml»
hastes a V harses 'uU he kilt intoirely wid pounding thimover the
roads in su<:h divil's weather," being Barney's general comment
ujjon all orders of the kind, and that too in every season of the
>ear. In his eyes the sending out of any of the driving horses
which were under his charge on any other business than taking
the family to church, going to the post office or to the stores in
the village, was a monstrous j)iece of cruelty to his poor •* bastes."
and a personal affront to himself, only to be submitted to under
j^rotest.

On this occasion, however, Barney had more than one good
reason for his forbearance and willingness to l)e turned out of
bed at an abnormally early hour of the morning. In the first
place he would have the advantage of the cool of the morning
for his horses j>erformance of the journey, an object to him, as
he looked upon each mile travelled as a nail in the coffin, so to
speak, of his much loved " bastes."

But the most important consideration, in his eyes, was the
lact that the ostler of the " Railway Hotel " at C xscades, the
town whither he was bound, was a most particular friend and
crony, a brother of his soul, and he looked forward with great
complacency, to a long and very garrulous day with him.

The prospect before his eyes, of the two of them seated on
the out-box of the hotel stiible, their coats off, their hats pulled

HARNKY AND |KRKV.

rni iinil

s orders
id. Tor a
)r dumb
over the
:onimcnt
n of the
•^ horses
n taking
stores in
bastes."
to under

ne good
d out of
the first
morning
I him, as
in. so to

<lo\vn \\\)on their noses, their pipes in their mouths, very com-
fortal)ly enjoying their that about "ouUl times and the ould
sod," the new times in their new countr\ , raking over all the
hits of scandal that lloated about the countrv. talking over their
neighbours concerns, criticizing the merits and demerits of their
respective emi)loyers. was so delightful that at four o'lock in the
moaning Barney was up and stirring, his horse fed, groomed and
harnessed into the lightest buggy available, yet amid his tender
commiserations.

'• Faix, an' it's a purty creature ye are, Dolly, me darlint," said
he, patting the horse's glossy neck. "An' a murthering shame
it is, so it is, and a disghrace to be afther dragging ye out this
(lay. an' for that ould salpeen of a Wolverton, too. The cranky
(/lid stage horses from J'in Lakes wid their bhones stickin' out
av their ould hides, are gud enough for sich as him. Whin wance
1 get ye back agin, the divil a fut ye'll stir out o' this for a wake
to come. It's kilt \e'll be entoirely the day."

Barney's start had been so early, and his i)rogi"ess so good,
that at the early hour of seven he was approacliing the town of
Cascades, and began to think it was time to attend to his })er-
sonal appearance, for, as he had travelled in his shirt sleeves in
an al fresco attire generally, an improvement was desirable on
the score of dignit}'. Removing the ten cent straw hat which
shaded his comical features, he re-placed it with a tall and very
furry-looking beaver. A high and tremendously starched white
linen collar was next placed in position, to grate nicely his ears,
and was secured by a large black silk handkerchief thrice wound
around his neck. He next pulled from nder the seat of the
uagon a newsijaj^er-covered parcel, from Mhich he produced a
long and very capacious black cloth coat, exceedingly short in
the sleeves and long in the tails. Inserting himself into this
si)ruce garment he considered himself attired in the height of
fashion, and proceeded to drive through the town with mucli
dignity and gravity of demeanour. In great state he drove up to

SHE MlGH'l" HAVE DONE BETI'ER,

' I

ill

the hotel door and threw tlie reins to a boy Avho was standing
near ; ordered him to drive tlie horse into the yard, and walked
himself in grave and solemn demeanour, into the office. Going
up to the register he seized a pen and, throwing himself flat upon
the book, produced, with much labour, a series of hieroglyphics
intended to represent his name and style, on the page before
him, which, unfortunately, he did not notice to be dated about
two months back.

Addressing the sleepy-looking clerk, who had viewed the
spectacle before him wtth such astonishment that he had be-
come almost awakened thereby, he told him that his " harse "
was to be put up and " fid dacent."

Considering then that all requisites of dignity had been satis-
fied, he walked into the bar, where Mr. Horton's half-dollar of
the preceding evening speedily resolved itself into a bottle of
** potheen," of Ontario manufacture, but good enough for the
purpose, which he put into his pocket, and went out to see Mith
his own eyes to the care of his horse, and to find his freind Jerr)
Coghlan, the ostler.

.^s he proceeded into the stable-yard, his ears were saluted
with an angry colloquy between the boy A\ho had driven the
horse round and the ostler, and, as he was unperceived, he list-
ened with much interest.

" Here's a horse to be put u}) right off, Jerry, that one of the
queerest old guys you ever seed drew up with a minute since,"
said the boy.

'' What's that ye say, ye young pup," exclaimed Jerry, stick-
ing his head out of the stable door.

** Here's a horse to be put, right off, 1 tell > er," screamed back
the boy. " VVhat's the matter with you this morning? Did
the old woman lick yer before breakfast that you're so mighty
ugly ?"

" A liarse to put u[>, did yer say, ye young imp. At this time

i< m'

<iaa,ijy.vP\Jf /..';

BARNEY AXD JKRRY.

of the morning too," answered Jerry, dancing with rage on the
>,tai)le floor.

" You'd better put her up, I can tell )ou, Jerry, for the old
guy that owns her will be around here in a minute or two, you
I let," said the boy, by no means daunted by Jerry's anger.

•' Begorra ! it's an ould guy, and a lunathic he is too, so he is,
cavourtin' 'round the counthr\- wid his ould baste afore sivin
o'clock a\ the marning, a botherin' dacent folks that keeps a da-
cent liot-tel afore there out a\- their war-rum beds. I suppose
now he thinks its phzed we are to put up him an' his old bhones
that the crows ought till have had tin years agone. Faix, it's
mishtaken he is. It's a shebeen he thinks we kape, is it, musha ?
And what the divil did ye bring his ould baste here for ? Wliy
didn't ye tie her till the post an' leave her there? ye young imp
ye!"

• Because he told me to bring her round and get her put up,"
«!creamed back the boy. " And you'd better put her up, too, or
the boss M ill be down on yer like a thousand of brick, my old
galoot."

"Be off wid ye, ye young limb, afore I break yur hid fur
yc. Lave the baste wid me, I say I" roared Jerry, as he unwil-
lingl) came fonvard to his duty. "Belike as not now, the
man sthole the harse, and is aff to the States wid her. She's a
[uirtv^ baste, anyhow, and its a quality vehicle, so it is. Troth.
and I believe it's wan av ould Mordaunt's up at the lake be-
yant, and, be my sowl, here's Barney himself The top ov the
marning till ye Barney, me honey. Ye're as welcome as the
owers in May, and it's plazed 1 am to see ye."

It's plazed ye are, is it.?" replied Barney, in chilling tones,

with an icy air of indignant hauteur. '♦ And wud ye be so kind

|;.s to tell me, Misther Coghlan, who it was yer >\ere plazed to

• all an ould lunathic the while? Eh! will ye? No more an

"uld lunathic thin yirself, Misther Coghlan. And it's a sheJjeen

I'his, ta it T ought to put up at, Misther Coghlan ? Kaiv, it's plis-

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

>t'f

iiif '^

anter and dacenter looking min than you'll iverbe, I've seen at a
shebeen, Misther Coghlan. An' 1 sthole the baste, did I, Misther
Coghlan ? Bad scran till ye, but it's not far that I'd thrust a
harse, nor anything else wid ye, for an ould rij) as ye are, Misther
Coghlan. Eegorra ! but it's a grate mind J liave to lave yez, baste
and all, and go where thay'd thrate a gintleman dacent, instid of
blaggarding him, black and blue, becase ye're too lazy to do the
wur-ruk ye're jjaid for."

"Och, musha, Barney dear, sorra a bit a v me knew it was yir-
self, so I did'nt, till I seed ye. I tought it was some other bother-
ing ould baste coming wid his harse whin I wor in the middle o\
my marning's wur-ruk,"

" Lookee here," he continued to the boy who had listened open-
eyed to their colloquy, " you clare out av this, ye young divil :
back to the hotel wid ye, and mind the bells. Ye're wanted
there and not here ; ye're room is better than your compan\ .
any day. Sthep in Barney, intill the sthable, an' take a sate, while
I put yer baste up.

" Och, thin," said Barney, " it wor all a mishtake, I sujjpose,
and we'll say no more concarning it. But I'll give ye a hand
till put up the baste, Jerry, and give him a taste av hay and oats
till ate."

" And how's the wife, Jerry." continued Barney, when, his
v/ork finished, he had got his precious coat and stove-pipe hat
off, his pipe lighted, and, very comfortably, they were seated on
the oat-bin.

" Faix, she's well •^Miough," replied Jerry, " barrin' that she's
as cross as a badger this marnin'. It's kilt I am wid her in
toirely."

" Crass is it, she is ?" said Barney. " Begorra ! and that's bad
enough. The crathurs will git as crass as two sticks betimes,
an' jist for nothin' at all, at all. Lave her till herself a bit, Jerr\-.
and by-and-by she'll come ]ihilandering around ye wid a smile
on her fiice, as swate as ye plaze."

u I.I '

BARXEV AND JERRY.

"Sure, thill, I wish ye had a wife till yerself, Barney, till ye
larnt the differ," was Jerry's mournful rei>ly.

"'I'he howly saints forbid," ejaculated Barney, fiiintly. '-There's
throuhle enough in the world widout i)oor Barney going fur till
make more av it."

*' Musha, and you're right tliere I" replied Jerry. " But may 1
make so bould as to inquire, Misther Conley, by your lave,
what brought ye down from the lake so l>right and airly, wid
twinty good miles ahint ye?"

'' Shure, thin, I'll tell ye, Jerry, how it is ye have the honour av
mc eomi)any, as the quality say, this blissed day. It wor the mis-
thress as kem to me yesterday and guv me a five dollar bifl.
• Barney,' says she, ' ye'il take a harse the morn and a kerridge,
and ye'lI take a holiday till yirself, for ye've been working hard
av late, so ye have, and, bedad, it's a day's pleasuring ye'll be
wantin', and the money's for yirself, Barney,' she said. And thin
she tould me to take care av mesilf, and not to forgit to go to
Cascades and see me ould frind, Jerry Coghlan, the dacent man,
and that 1 might, as well as not, wait fur the two o'clock train,
fur Misther W'olverton \Vud be aboord, and I might fetch him
u|) wid mt, an' that's the how and the wherefore av it, Jerry."

•* ( )ch I that's it, is it, Barney," said Jerry, laughing ; " I tought
the last part av yir spache had more trute in it nor the beginning
av it, sorra a bit ! an' what fur wud the ould lady be afthergivin'
ye a foive dollars fur yersiif to go on a day's jaunt with ? They
pay ye more nor ye earn, so they do, ye lazy ould rip. But it's
dacent people they are, the Mordaunts, every mother's son a^-
ihini, and daughters, too, mind ye that, and rale quality, even
the ould Yankee gineral or member of Parlemint that's up
till there wid thim. But what's VVolverton afther that ye're tak-
ing him up to the lake fur wid ye, the spalpeen."

"The divil a know I know what's takin'him up, bad scran till
him," said Barney.

•* Begorra I ye may be sure it's not fur nothin', thin. It's some

■"

SHE MKIHT HAVE DONE BET'lER.

■i

liiitt f

illilL

I il

111

■ I '■

l!li

Il i.

(Icludhering schame he has afut," continued Jerry. '* Mehbe it's
the daughter he's after, wid some of the ould father's dollars.
His ould mills at Ho])etown beyant are in a bad way, I'm tould.
and it's money he wants to^*iuare his comers with. Faix, if
the Mordaunt's knew as much av him as the folks here do, it's
little conversation they'd have wid him, good or bad, so they
would'nt. Bad scran till him."

'' Sorra a bit av me knows what's fetching him up anyhow,"
answered Barney. '' 'Vhe misthress got a letter yisterday, and
the minit she read it she tould me to come down here afther him.
But il's the day afther the fair, he is,^ if it's an eye on the young
daughter he has, for Misther ^'ance, the young lawyer, from
Toronto, is up there these tin days, is swate as ye plaze, and fur
all she looks as innercent as a cat in the panthry, it's asy telling
that it's dacent running he's making, and it's news we'll be hearing
l)efore the wake's out, if Barney's old eyes don't desave him.
Misthdr W'olverton will find his i)orridge burnt fur him, so he
will, when he commences his deludherings wid her, begorra, and
sarve him right too."

" Arrah, thin, it's sould he is, and I'm glad av it, fur he's mane
anyhow,/' answered Jerry. " A matther of tin days or a fortnight
agone, he was here at the hotel a drinkin' and a gamblin' wid
tree wild, taring chaps tkat kem aft" the train, a spending his
money as if there was no end till it, when it's betther he'd have
been at Hopetown beyant a mindhin his business. There's little
Jenny Houlahan, the wife's niece, as ye know, that works at his
mills beyant, and has'nt seen but one tin dollars av her arnins
this three months back. Faix he was a boastin' and a blowing
round with them chaps that he wud marry ould Mordaunt's
daughter and straighten out his loose ends wid her father's money.
But they laughed at him, and wan of thim axed him why he
did'nt go and ax the girl at oncet — just as he was, blind drunk
— and give the crathur a chance to see what kind of a man he
won 'J'he baste tould him, so he did, that it would'nt be till

A FIRS'J KISS.

jhbe it's
dollars,
ni tould.
Faix, it"
: do, it's
so they

nyhoNv,"
lay, and
her him.
e young
er, from
, and fur
y telling
i hearing
,ve him.
II, so he
)rra, and

;'s mane

brtnight

)lin' wid

ding his

'd have

re's little

s at his

arnins

blowing

rdaunt's

money.

why he

I drunk

man he

t be till

aftlier the wedding that she'd find that out. IJad cess till him.'»

' Ve did that, did ye, Misther Wolverton," exolaimed Barney,
as if in indignant address to a present enemy. " Begorra, ye'll
find out that Barney has a nate Irish tongue in his hid, and
nil get convarsin as simi)le as any omadhaun wid the misthress
and she'll hear tell av ye, me bhoy, before ye ate yir taa there, this
blissid night, ye vagabone thief av the world."

'' And, Barney ,avick," said Jerry, " the day's murthering warm,
and ye liave no nade to start till well on to evening. He'll have
to wait at the hotel here, and he'll get dhrinking, av coorse, as
usule, and whin you're a dhriving home, he'll be talking and axing
(juestions aff ye. How innocent ye'll be actin', Barney — a
.soothening of him down till ye find out what schame he's got in
]iis eye. Begorra, but it's the fine joke ye'll be playing on him."

" Thric fur ye, Jerry, and it's not all the trute I'll tell him,
aither. Rc'Il have more'n he likes, so he will. And now we'll
go in and HX)ther the crassness out av the crathur wid a bit
chat."

" Arrah I d'ye suppose she'd be crass whin comi)any comes
to the dure ? Faix, it's as purlite as ye plaze she'll be. It's
kilt entoirely \ im wid her, but it's pla/.ed as Punch she'll be till
see ye, Barnej."

*' Here's witl^ ye, Jerry, till the train comes," said Barney.

CHAP'l'KRVU.

A KIKSr KISS.

When Mr. Kdwii Vance awoke the next morning he became
very pleasantly awaie that he was a very hapi)y man — a Aerj'
happy man indeed. For him the world had i)ut on a very bright
aspect. I'he new d;y opened for him with a new interest — a
very delightfiil interet too. A new day surpassing all other

SHK MIGHT HAVE DONE HE'l'TER.

'ill

i I

days — the red-letter day of his life. A ntw day whose morning
l)rightness shone with new lightings. He was very hai)i)y, and
his new world was a very beautiful world. His troubles were
over ; his doubts and fears were ended. He had obtained that
which of all things was in his eyes the most desirable. His
love A\as a successful love, and so he was hai)py.

Vet he could hardly realize it all — this bright issue of his un-
certainties.

Was it not all a dream — a magnificent hallucination — that
evening scene of but a few hours ago — anxious, fearful, tortured
in its multitudinous and intense drawn out emotions ? in a mo-
ment transfigured by a word into his unmeasurable happiness.

Was it not an impossibility that he had really attained that so
longingly ho])ed tor, that so doubtingly wished, that blissful goal,
seeming so distant that its height was so unutterably desired.

How far off did it all seem but yesterday — how helplessly un-
attainable — and yet it was his to-day ; he had got it-^he held
the sweet assurance. The fliir l^thel was his fair Ethal, and the
world was very bright for him tliis new morning.

Yet he hesitated with a shame-faced hesitancy to go forth to
meet his happiness before the world. He hesitated to go down
and meet the family. He had upon him a half guilty feeling, as
if he had been stealing something and got caught ut it too.

He was a lawyer, yet where was all the brazen-Zace of his pro-
fession, which should stand him in good stead ? ,

No youthful appropriator of his mothers jam tVer shrank from
that mother's outraged eye as he shrank at the »rosj)ect of meet-
ing the calm gaze of Mrs. Mordaunt, of any of ihem, except ])er-
ha])s that of his Ethel alone. C)f course they all knew of last
evening's occurrences, though he had not acti any of them. His
Ethel had fled from him like a lapwing as sli^ spoke her single,
but to him al!-i)owerful word, nor had heagjim seen her, or even
her uncle. /

Could he meet the gaze of that uncle, wifi the ^rave face but

liuiii;!

A FIRST KISS.

mocking eye, whose every word would liave its lurking inuendo,
and who would be merciless to the victims for whom he had
limed the t\\ig. A\'hat i)ointed shafts, barbed with wicked v.it^
though veiled in seemingly innocent interrogatory, would he not
have to parry.

And oh ! the terrible ordeal of the formal interview to come
with stern father — enquiring mother.

The sole ray of comfort he derived from his reflections lay in
the remembrance of the curious psycological anomaly that
a mother is never averse to marriage, with its consecjuent separa-
tion, for her tenderly loved daughter, yet cannot with ecjuanimity
look forward to the same for a son. But even this soothing idea
was speedily dashed by the uni)leasing recollection that a fa-
ther's views are generally the reverse.

Radiant with happiness, yet shrinking from sight. Eager to
meet his love, yet l)y no means eager to face her friends, he de-
layed his ajjpearance before them imtil the very last possible
minute.

When at last he had screwed up his courage to the sticking
place and entered the breakfast room he found its only occu-
pants to be his fair one's father and her uncle.

The former greeted him with his customary hand-shake and
" good morning," uttered in his usual tone, and very like as if
he, at any rate, had heard nothing of that — in Edwin's eyes —
stupendous event, which seemed to him must occupy the undi-
vided attention of a world.

Such, indeed, was the case. Mr. Mordaunt had not yet heard
of it ] though he, of course, could not know that. Ethel had
rtown from her lover into the house, to her own private cham-
ber, and had remained there in the flush of her own happy
emotion. Not until the mornmg, when she had heard her fa-
ther safely down stairs, did she fly to her mother and reveal her
tender confidence on that tender maternal breast.

So Edwin got present relief: but there remained another pre-

46 SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

sent who knew a good deal more of tJie state of affairs ; who was
by no means inclined to let slip his oi)portunity for a little h;irm-
less teazing ot him he had so strangely l)enefitted, and this was
Mr. Horton. He shook his hand warmly, an unusual custom
with him, with a ])ercei)tible pressure, which was re-assuring
•enough, were it not that Edwin's instinct told him that something
else lay behind. Mr. Horton was an outsider enough, and at
the same time sufficiently closely related to them all to be a
privileged j)erson, while he was not so completely an outsider
that he could not, nor yet so very closely related that he would
not, take advantage of the somewhat open and unprotected posi-
tion in which Edwin was placed, to amuse himself and indulge
his humourously mischievous i)roclivities.

" Good morning, Edwin," he continued. '' Why, what makes
you look so unwell to-day ? How pale and nervous you look,
.and your eyes so excited and wild. A\'hatever have you been
doing? No bad news, I hope? Your heart's not out of order,
is it ? There's a jjrevalence about here of such complaints, I
imagine, and I have jierceived sym])toms indicating such with
you of late. Exciting yourself and staying out in the night air
^ire to be avoided in such cases. I expect now that you were
talking about the disease last night with your companion, and
probably, too, seeking advice as to the best remedies. Very
bad ! Very bad, indeed. No wonder you're so excited and flabber-
gasted this morning. Now does not he look very much out of
sorts, Mordaunt ?" continued the mischievous Mr. Horton, peer-
ing anxiously into Edwin's vexed face as he called the other's
attention to him.

"' But there's nothing the matter with me, Mr. Horton. I'm as
well as ever I was in my life, and better too," replied Edwin,
loudly and earnestly, though he could not help laughing at the
inuendoes. '* There's nothing the matter with me, at all, and
you know it."

" I know there is something the matter, though. Vou must

> IN

A FIRST KISS.

lia\e had a sharp attack of it. 1 wondered what detained
you so long on your way home last night, and that's what's the
matter. Now, don't you think you'd better stay in your room
close for a day or two, and avoid the exciting cause of your
malady. It's all right now. 1 sui)i)ose, and you'll soon calm
down again."

" Well, I don't see anything wrong with him ; one of yoiif
jokes. T suppose, Horton." said Mr. Mordaunt. " He's a little
pale, and looks as if he had not slei)t well. But here are the
ladies at last, and we'll have lireakfast," he continued, as Mrs.
Mordaunt and Ethel entered the room.

'The former inclined her head courteously to our hero as she
bid him "good morning." There was a kind light in her eye,
though, as she looked at him that he found very pleasant.

Ethel raised her gleaming eyes with a sudden flash to her
lover's face as she entered, and as suddenly droj)ped them
again, noticing the amused smile with which her uncle regarded
]ier. Her lips quivered as if she tried to form a word, but she
would not trust herself to utter it. ])ut went to her father, who
kissed her with his usual tenderness, and passed to Jier seat.

'*• Good morning, Ethel," said her uncle. " As I see that you
won't si)eak first this morning. I suppose I'd better commence
jnyself. Are you ill, too, like Edwin here, who is as pale as a
ghost, or are you only cross to-day ? We hear so much from
you as a rule that it makes a sur|)rising change when you are
silent."

Her mother raised her eyes to her brother's face and endea
voured to give him a warning sign, but he would not look at her,
and her attempts were unavailing. Kthel looked up with an
effort, and said —

" Thanks, uncle, I am (juite well, and not cross with any
person unless with yourself I think, too, that you are very
Avell able to talk for both of us, and generally do, into the bar-
irain.

^^AuCiz■V^i\2iL:^i^,JlJkii^:lk^i^^JJ^Z£iKM^^M£^^ j^ixaoBBaitmimi

SHE Micmr HAVE DOXK BKTTKR.

i II

imIhi

li: :i

i t

W'l'H, it scenis to mc there is some by-play going on of which
I am not in the secret," exclaimed Mr. Mordaunt. " Horton is
in his element this morning, and consequently there must be
some mischief on hand. Another cup of tea, if you please, Flor-
ence. Vance, you are eating nothing. I believe Horton is
right after all, and that you are on the sick list. Try some of
these brook trout — they are very good. \'ou must pluck up
your spirits and vour good looks, or you'll have no chance with
the charming Kmily Dearborn, who c( mes hereto-day.

" ^'es, that's the whole root of the matter," interposed Mr.
Horton. " Kthel assigned Em ly to me to be her cavalier to-
day, and he has had a sleepless night over it."

" \\'ell, what shall be done to make a pleasant day for them,"
.said Mrs. Mordaunt, to get the conversation into a new turn.
" '['hey wiil be here early and we must think of something to
do. I wish Reginald was back from his shooting expediton.
The week he promised himself has passed, and no sign of him.
He would soon get up some amusement were he here. Cannot
we have a pic-nic somewhere to pass a i)art of the day ]jlea-
santly ?

" That's a good idea, Florence," said her husband. " 1 am
going this morning to the new fields at the outlet of the lake,
where the hands are harvesting a field of wheat which I wish to
see, and I shall remain a great part of the day. So when the
girls come, you might get some prog ready and take the boats
or the carriages down there and have your pic-nic."

•' [t is a very pretty place, and, if you bring your crocjuet with
you, you will find some nice short gr ss, while there's some fish-
ing for those who like it," he continued, as he hurried on with
his breakfast.

" What do you say, Ethel ? and you, also, gentlemen ?" said
Af rs. Mordaunt. " Will such a place suit your views for the
day, or have you anything better to propose? Ff not, which
way shall we go — by the lake or the road ?"

,;li

! i

« v;^i:L<»aia»«j»wKnJCUB7UniHilfaanpaik3aiMU!ft'^^ S^ViU^-t^^: > '

A FIRST KISS.

1 am

lake,

ish to

;n the

l)oats

-■L

with
fish-

*' Oh I I think it will be very pleasant, mamma," answered
Ethel. " But we had better take the boats, the last part of the
road is very rough."

" We will go by the lake most decidedly, ft has i>leasing re-
miniscences for xome of us, eh, Edwin ?" said Mr. Horton, laugh-
ing.

"Well, that is decided then. 1 shall expect you all there this
morning, 'lake care of the young ladies, you two gentlemen.
Don't let them find \ou dull company. And now I must be off,
so ]jlease excuse me," said Mr. Mordaunt, rising.

Mrs. Mordaunt also rose with her husband, followed him as
she said —

" I wish to speak to you a moment before you go, if you i)lease,
Henry," and left the room.

" Important Inisiness on the Ar//V, that is evident," remarked
Mr. Horton, " But as I have nothing important upon my hand,
like some peoi)le I know, I betake myself for a stroll and try if
I cannot extract some stray grains of amusement from the philo-
sophical reflections of my friend Barney, whom 1 shall doubtless
find with his 'bastes.'"

" Well, then, you will be disapi)ointed, uncle ; for Barney
started early this morning for the station, to fetch Mr. Wolver-
ton," answered Ethel, ''and you must find your amusement in
some other quarter at j)resent."

"Indeed? That is a pity; and Barney might have been
on a better errand," was the reply. " But I'll go for my stroll,
nevertheless, for it would be a hoi)eless task to endeavour to
obtain a spark of amusement from such a distracted looking
pair as you two :" and with this j^arting salutation he left the
room.

" Ethel, my darling, have you not a word for me this morn-
ing," said her lover, as they were left tete-a-tctc.

" Plenty, Edwin, but not now. I must have leave before I'
speak with you again. As it was, I said more than I ought to

SHK MUiHr HAVK DOXK BKI'IKR.

luivf done last night, when you behaved so — so — so very
badly," replied Kthel

•'More ! Oh, Kthel '. what did you say but one little word,
and then ran away and left me. Vet it was a very sweet little
word, and it has made me very haiJi>y. Say it again, Kthel —
ihat little word. I am so hai>i)y that 1 cannot believe it real ;
and i long tor the joyful assurance again. And, Kthel, I do
not think i behaved so very badly ; on the contrary, was it not
very excellent conduct, since it received such great reward ?
Stay, Kthel — one moment — but one moment," as she rose and
tried to leave the room.

" I must go, Fklwin. Let me go ; what will they — " He
l)ressed his first kiss upon her brow, as she broke away and
escai)ed.

[.eft to his own reflections, our hero telt that he yet had
another trial before him ; and that was " to speak to i)apa."
V fearful ordeal ! at the prospect of which many a fine yoimg
man had, ere this, quaked in his boots. He had, however,
managed to get his nerves jjretry well braced up, and his
self-i)OSsession restored, by the not unj)leasant meeting with the
family that morning ; and he felt himself a little better prepared
Ibr the somewhat trying ordeal. So he detemiined to keep
watch for Mr. Mordaunt, and get the matter over at the first
opportunity. He knew that he had not yet left the house, and
he considered that it was highly probable that at the present
moment his fate was being discussed by the parents of his Kthel.
When he did broach the subject to lier father, his answer would
very likely l)e ready for him.

From the occurrences of the morning, he did not feel his
cause to be at all hopeless — at least with Mrs. Mordaunt and
her brother. Her manner towards him, when they had met at
the breakfast table, had not been unflivorable ; while he felt
pretty sure — since last evening — of Mr. Horton's good-will and

v^MiiAcivtBMnnMtt'V^vay- nuriiiwiiiiviTf ifunTrTrTT'ivnim-i^"^- ^

A F[RS'I* KISS.

sympatliy. The sole person, therefore, from whom opposition
uas to be dreaded was from his fair one's father.

Hut witli two such allies, he thought probable enough that
the latter would not pro\e an enemy ; that in the end, at any
rate, his cause was tolerably safe. Vet still, he was in suspense i
would ha\e been very glad indeed were all over, and his pofti-
tion defined.

He i)aced the room u]) and down in a state of restlessness,
waiting nervously for the api)earance of Mr. Mordaunt, in order
10 open the attack ; and he sincerely wished he would come.
He did not know where to find him, and if he had, he did not
• onsider it was yet the time to ask for him, for he might not be
prejjared for him. So he remained where he was, listening for
his stei> ^^^^ watching from the windows that he did not leave
the house. He was determined to take the first ojjportunity to
s[)eak, and prove thus his sincerity / placing his suit himself
before his Ethel's parents.

'J'heir conference — if indeed they were conferring — seemed to
him to be very ))rotracted, and he wondered and pondered
what caused the ])rotraction.

' In what light would they regard him and his suit ? Would
they consider him good enough for their lovely Ethel ? Could
it be possible that any malicious report could have been brought
against his name ? * and yet he did not think he had an enemy
ill the world. ' That could not be the case, for they would have
shown it in their manner towards him.'

With his Ethel he felt safe — safe for all time ; but opposition
on her i)arents' part would be the cause of great unhap])iness
to him, at all events, for he felt certain that Ethel would be
dutifull)- guided by their wishes. But why should there be
opjx)sition ? He was young — very well oflf; he had a good
profession and a good name, against which no e\il report could
stand. And he could not see how they should find foult wit.]>

'.'>^ii?:;■7■a]J*T^'f"A.■r^l<;■.^'lSJr^Si^-\■^■^Jt^■feifiQ^^lAfc

BIIIR£affiU.>.S

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

ii«i w

his suit. Amid reflections such as these he passed away his

time.

, When an liour had passed — a very long hour to him — the

door opened, and Mr. Mordaunt entered the ajjartment.

His aspect "svas (as it usually was) grave, and from that noth-
ing was to be judged ; but he gave no time for forebodings, for
he advanced straight before our hero, and without waiting for.
or giving him the opportunity to speak — addressed him :

" My wife has told me, Mr. Vance, of the occurrences Ijetween
yourself and Ethel last evening ; and I must say, has surprised
me not a little, as I had never imagined for a moment that there
was anything between you ; and if 1 am not too well pleased, it
is because J consider Ethel to be rather young for an engage-
ment. However, as the event has occurred, she seems favor-
-iibly inclined towards you, and we cannot well doubt the ardour
of your affection for her — we have talked the matter over, and
decided upon our course. I have come to tell you our views
upon the subject, in order that there may be no misconcei)tion,
amd that the affair be placed at once ui)on a decided footing.
We both consider Ethel to be too young yet to enter upon the
duties of a married life ' but, nevertheless, we l)oth consent to
approve the engagement between you, provided that it is under-
stood that for a year at least the question of the marriage is to
be deferred."

*' That lapse of time is necessary to both of you," he contin-
ued, " that you may the more thoroughly know and understand
each other — though, ])erhaps, you may not think it at all neces-
sary. If, then, at the expiry of that time, you are both in the
same mind, we shall have no further objections to offer."

"But, consider, Mr. Mordaunt. A year! — a whole year I
— an immense period to wait !" e.vclaimed Edwin eagerly. '* 1

am sure that six "

** r have considered, Mr. V\ince, and it must ])e as I say. A
year is no very serious length of time. Had I acted solely on

u' ■■%

ENTER ^J'WO—GREA'J' THINCiS TO DO.

\y his

11 — the

.t noth-
igs, for
ing for.

)etween

irprised

lat there

eased, it
engage-
is favor-

le ardour

ver, and

ar views

iception.
footing.
il)on the
nsent to
is under-
tige is to

le contin-
hderstand
all neces-
th in the
er."

|ole year !
terly. " 1

1 1 say. A
solely on

my own views, I should have made the time of your probation
longer ; but I have acceded to my wife's wishes in fixing upon
the year's delay ; and it must be in this as I have said. In the
meantime, Mrs. Mordaunt will tell you that we hoi)e you will
l)rolong your visit, and that we shall always be hapi)y to sec
you whenever you choose to come to us. She may also have
some few things to say to you which do not lie in my province ;
and any other subject can well be deferred for the year. Now
1 must be off." So saying, he shook Edwin heartily l)y the
hand, and prepared to leave the house.

" 1 must bow to your decision, Mr. Mordaunt," said Edwin,
" since 1 cannot change it. At the same time I thank you ver)-
heartily for the kind manner in which my suit has been receiv-
ed, clearing all difficulties from the way of my very hap])y pros-
pects."

" Well, if you are not both happy, it will be your own fault. 1
suppose I ohall see you all down at the lake's end before noon.
Good-bye until then, Vance."

And Mr. Mordaunt walked out of the room, mounted his
horse, which awaited him at the door, and rode away.

CHAPTER VIII.

KNTIIR TWO GRF.A'I' THI\(;S TO DO.

About ten o'clock of the same eventful morning, a rather
handsome carriage drawn by two strong horses, who were dri-
ven by a smart looking boy, dashed up the gravelled road wind-
ing through the grounds of Lake Mordaunt, and was sto])])edby
a sudden reining up of the animals, in the most showy manner
possible, opposite the door. 'I'he boy jum]>ed from his seat, ran
up the steps and rang the bell — a most unnecessary proct*eding
as Ethel had already come forward to receive her visitors — and
then had to make a bolt for the horses heads, the unceremonious

■mm

■HP

SHK MJGHI' HAVK DONK BK'ITKK,

ill!

^11

illi i

ii ■

11:

manner in which they had been pulled up liaving set them back-
ing and turning in a very undignified, if not dangerous, manner,
and effectually destroyed all the stylish dash of the approach.

Mr. \'ance, who was not, as nia^' be surmised, \ery far away
from his Ethel, had to run up to assist Miss Dearborn and Miss
Ada Dearborn to alight, amid the half-sui)pressed screams which
the eccentric oscillations of their vehicle imjjelled them to utter.
Once safely on terra firma they rushed effusively into Ethel's
arms and embraced her in the most affectionate manner. " Dear-
est Ethel, how glad I am to see you again." " It is an age since
Nve met," and "so nice to be with }ou again," were exclaimed
!)y the two young ladies, as they successively threw their arms
around her neck.

Miss Ada then, turning to the boy, who by this had succeeded
in quieting his horses, addressed him in very girlish anger —

'* Vou stupid James, why did you not stop your horses ])ro-
perl\ , frightening them so ? Why, we might have both been
killed. I'm sure you ought to know better than that, you great
stupid.

" It was'nt my fault," rei)lied the boy. " Did'nt Miss Emil)
tell me to drive up to the door quick and pull them up all at
once, so as to make a great show, now did'nt she ? And that's
what scared them. They don't know nothing about show them
horses don't." added James, impudently.

" James, I shall report your conduct to my father when I re-
turn." exclaimed Miss Dearborn, angrily. " Making such ridi-
culous statements. I never told you any such thing, you im^jer-
tinent boy. I will have you discharged."

" All right : I'm willing," retorted James. " But you did say
so, and I knowed it would'nt answer with them horses."

" Not another word, James." Ck) home again immediately,
and remember to come back again this evening for us. Papa
wants the carriage this afternoon," she continued, to Ethel, *' and
so Janies will con\e back for I's early in the evening."

i;ii

ENTKK TWO— GREAT IHIXUS TO DO.

"Oil 1 no, you are to renin in witli us a day or two, at any
rate," returned Ethel. " We can send }ou to Ten Lakf« d any
time : but you a»-e not going home to-night, so James need not
conve. Remember, James, that you need not return, and tell
Mrs. 1 dearborn taat the young ladies will not return l)efore to-
morrow or the next dav."

" Very well, Miss Mordaunt, I'll deliver the message," replied
James. ])leasantly enough, as he jumi)ed up to his seal. " Am
1 to tell the old gentleman you discharged me," he added to
Emih , with a grin.

" Be oft* with you," was all the reply Emily vouchsafed to
him.

" How do you do, Mr. Vance," she continued, turning to
that gentleman. " 1 am very glad to meet you again, though
not aware you were in our part of the country until this moiV.cat.
W'h} have you not been over to 'I'en Eakes to see us ? We
should have been delighted. \'ou find the country very dull, I
should imagine, after the gaities of a town life ? Do jou con-
trive to amuse yourself?"

" \'ery well, indeed. Miss Dearborn. 1 certainly don't find
the country dull," he answered, with an involuntary glance at
Ethel. Avhich Emily at once caught and understood. " I shall
certainly call at Ten Lakes, but I need not t. mk of that now,
when I have the present pleasure of your society. That shall
he reserved tor a renewal of the jjleasure," he rejilied gallantly.
•' Miss Ada, I am delighted to meet you again, although 1 should
hardly have known you. \'ou seem determined to charm your
firiends afresh each time they meet you, out of all knowledge of
your fair self"

" Tlianks for the compliment, Mr. Vance, which seems to imply
that my appearance is gradually becoming [)assable," Ada replied.
'' I don't care, thotigh. But I admire the coolness of you Toronto
gentlemen, who think, I veril}- believe, that anything will paas
current with us country girls."

f'l

jili

SHE MICHI' HAVK DONK BKTTER.

lii

11 i

Iff

" Now, Miss Ada, that's not fiiir. f meant no such thing,
you know 1 didn't. 1 pay no dubious homage to your charms."

" Oh I a truce to your compliments," interrupted Ethel, *' or
we'll be here all day. ^^"e are intending to have a little pic-nic
at the end of the lake for your sakes, Emily and Ada, that is, if
you like it, and, I am sorry to say, just among ourselves. Had
1 known earlier that you were coming, I would have asked some
other people, but for to-day we must enjoy ourselves as best we
can."

" Nothing could be more delightful, I'm sure," said Emily, who
having her own ideas to carry out, cared little whether there were
live people or fifty present.

" Well, we'll get ready then," answered Ethel. '' We'll take
the croquet with us, too, although we're short of gentlemen.
But we will inaugurate my uncle into its mysteries. My brother
Reggie is unfortunately absent on a shooting and fishing excur-
sion, but we'll make ]japa play, and there's lots of things we can
do when we tire of croquet."

'* Oh ! that will be perfectly delightful. A good croquet fight
is just the thing for our afternoon," exclaimed Ada, rapturously.
" One can take some interest in that and have some fun. 1
wish 1 were a man that I could play cricket, and base ball, anfl
lacros.se. I'd give anything to play in the cricket match at Ten
Lakes on Saturday."

'* Well, Ada, I'm sure," said her sister, " that's a nice speech
for a young lady to make. Can you not remember that you are
not a boy ? But it's just like you to make f^o unladylike, so
sliocking a remark."

i* Oh, yes ! Emily, that's all very fine ; but it's a shame that
the men should have all the nice games to themselves, and we
girls nothing but the stupid things. Croquet is the only game
we have with a bit of excitement in it, and only then when there's
enough to have sides and fight it out without mercy."

" I entirely concur in the spirit of the yoimg lady's remarks,"

ENTER TWO— (iREAT THINGS TO DO.

thing,
larms."
el, '' or
pic-nic
at is, if
Had
;d some
best wc

ily, who
^re were

e'll take
ntlemen.
f brother
ig excur-
js we can

net tight
tiirously.
fun. 1
ball, an^
at Ten

speech

you are

ylike, so

ame that
, and we
,ily game
in there's

remarks,"

said Mr. Horton, who had strolled up to the p(»rtico on which
they were still standing. " It is not entirely just that the fiiir
sex should be debarred from the exciting sports of the open air.
Reduced as they are to amuse themselves with croquet, flirting
and kindred occupations of tame character."

" Oh ! that's you, is it, Uncle Edward? Come, I want you,
said Ethel. ''Permit me to introduce my uncle, Mr. Horton,
to you — Miss Dearborn — Miss Ada Dearborn. He is an Ameri-
can, ladies, with a profound contem])t for us poor Canadians,
But we will teach him better shortly. He is rather nice, though,
and not so cross as he looks. We will begin this afternoon by
initiating him into the sublime game of croquet."

*' Thank you, Ethel," continued Mr. Horton, after the fomiali-
ties of the introductioji were over. "It is just like you to in-
troduce me in such outrageous fashion, showing off my points
as if I were a tame bear. I should be happy to play with you,
ladies, but I kn(^w nothing whatever of croquet, beyond having
often seen it."

" Oh, but you must, Mr. Horton. We cannot do without you,
a-nd 1 will teach you. You shall be my partner for standing up
for me just now. and we will get along fiimously against them,"
said Ada, with eagernes.s.

" \\'e must go in though and get ready ; it will soon be time
to start, and there are lots of things to do first," resumed Ethel,
and the young ladies followed her into the house, while the two
gentlemen betook themselves to the boat-house to get ready
their fishing tackle and prepare the largest boat for the trip.

Where we will leave them lor the ]>resent and follow the
ladies.

Miss Emily Dearlwrn, the elder of the two sisters, and now
in her twenty-second year, was a handsome and very stylish-
looking girl, very clever and ambitious, who made the most of
ever)' advantage that she possessed, and was detemnined that
her light should not, at any rate, be hid under a bushel. Her

SHK MKrHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

eyes were bright, sj)arkling and unHinching, of an intenviodiatc
hue — neither gray nor brown — her features pretty and her figure
very good. She dressed showily, yet with taste, and her exte-
rior was very pleasing. In fact, she was a very pretty and dash-
ing-looking girl. But she did not possess a single spark of
generosity in her whole nature. It was all for self If in pleas-
ing herself she happened to please others, it may safely be aver-
red the accident was notof her intention. Though she possessed
plenty of tact and the capability of making herself agreeable
when it suited her, yet she only used these jjowers when it suit-
ed her. \ot from sympathy, or kindness of s|)irit. or the desire
of plea.sing.

She was vain of her beauty — jealous of that of others, and
could not brook rivalry — even though she knew it to be uncon-
scious riMilry — with any degree of complacency. To attain her
objects she was capable of sacrificing every feeling, and ever)'
right of all those who stood in her way, or inflict without mercy
the greatest jjain.

She was a flirt, not so much" from the love of flirting per se,
as from the desire to outshine and rival every girl of her acquain-
tance.

And she [)Ossessed no .scruple as to the ap[)ropriation, if
possible, of other girls' property, in the shape of the masculine
heart. 'I'hat she and Ethel Mordaunt remained on friendly
terms was more easily deducible from the fact that they had not
been thrown sufficiently into each others society to conflict with
each other, than from the probability of such dissimilar temj^era-
ments being ])ermanently drawn together. Ethel was not one
to form great intimacies amongst girls of her own age — inti-
macies that so seldom last, while her own inclinations, with the
somewhat retired i)osition of Lake Mordaunt, and the retiring
disposition of its owner, i)revented her from mixing to an\' great
extent with the surrounding society.

But if Ethel Mordaunt liked Emilv Dearborn well tnouL:h, the

KNTRR TWO— (>RKA'r 'I'HINCIS TO DO.

great

[jh, the

UK. > '

hitter did not return the comphment. She did not like any per-
sun to any extraordinary extent, still less one of whose atirao
lions she was superlatively jealous. Her acceptance of the pre
sent visit was more referable to the agreeable tidings that n
young and eligible bachelor, whom she already knew, was stay-
ing at the lake, than to any desire for the society of her friend
(jr the passing of a day or two ni a j)lace she deemed very
slow.

Her faults, jmrtly those of disposition, were mainly due to an
injudicious bringing uj) and a sui)erficial education, the lack of a
restraining hand, and the lack of necessary discijjjine which
teaches self-restraint.

The daughter of the cashier of the branch l)ank at 'len Lakes,
an honest and worthy man of business, who inifortunately was
beset with that mania for keejjing up appearances and living
what is considered stylish life — the liane of so many — but whose
income was not commensurate with his ideas of himself and
family — her mental culture and rearing, consequent on such
family influences, had been directed towards outside show — sur-
face accomplishments and ambitious longings for high place in
society. Home examjjles surroimding her from her earliest
years had made these things a primary ])art of her mental edu-
cation, the overshadowing idea that biased all the rest.

Her mother, a vain and feeble woman, whom ill-health had
rendered selfish with an inert selfishness, was not the one to cor-
rect the faults and elevate the aspirations of her active and
sprightly daughter, whose natural disposition so much needed
the check of a wise restraining hand, and the exam])le before her
of a high and right thinking character. She pos.sessed neither
the cajjability nor the inclination to wisely lead the young mind
opening before her eyes, and imbuing itselt from her influence,
towards that natural bent of life ; those natural pursuits and ob-
jects ; that symi)athy and affection for fellow humanity ; and last,
but not least, the useful em])1oyments of daily existence vrhich.

SHE MIGHT HAVE IM)\E BETI'KR.

when they are combined with the chastening and elevating in-
fluences of the true Christian spirit, can best guide on the search
for ha}>[)iness.

On the contrary, the example of her vanity and love of osten-
tation had confirmed the same defects in her daughter.

While her constant bewailing the pressure for money which
their irrational mode ot life persistently forced uj>on them, and
for which they themselves were solely to blame, had made her
daugliter to feel and to act on the idea that escape from the evils
of poverty, to attain the possession of wealth for the gratification
of an unhealthy ambition, was for her to be obtained by the
emi>loyment of her talents and her beauty in securing for her-
self a good marriage, irrespective of all other considerations.
And this was the great end that she sought — her i)ur.suit of hai)-
})iness. 'I'hrough the evUs of such home infiuence and training
as hers had been, none but a rightly constituted mind, strengtli-
ened by firm princijjles, could, by any possibility, pass un-
scathed ; and these Emily Dearborn did not i)ossess.

The character of Ada presented a striking contrast to that of
her sister Emily, the more striking, perhaps, since they had been
brought u\) together, subjected to the same influence. Though
it cannot be said that her i)rinciples were solidly fixed, or her
disposition a perfect one ; a better one it certainly >vas, and she
had reached her seventeenth year a different being from her sis-
ter. Whether from an instinctive idea of what is right and pro-
per, a fixed stability of mind which formed and acted on its own
oj)inions, or an obtuseness which rejected and threw off, as a
roof sheds the rain, the impressions of those around her, she had
passed through the unhealthy examples of her home life with but
little injury to her mind and heart.

A frank, joyous, outspoken girl, free from pretence or afTecta-
tion and full of life and spirit, she accepted and enjoyed life as
it came to her, interested and delighted with it, and not caring
to trouble herself with things that seemed l)e>ond her reach.

li.

KNTER IWO— CiREAT J'HINGS TO DO.

un-

at of
Ibeen

High
her

I she

r sis-
pro-
own
as a
had

|h but

fecta-
Ife as
larhig
leach.

She had but little vanity to ])lajjue her or self-consciousness to
oi)[)ress her. Her care for dress and finery was confined to the
limit necessary to escape the reproaches of her mother and sister
tor neglect. If she wanted a new dress, it was as much that
she might get out of the house, which she was not allowed to do
if shabby, as for the love of it. She outraged the proprieties, in
her mother's and sister's sense, a do/en times a day a.id was none
the worse for it.

Essentially good-natured and generous-hearted, she would do
anything that was asked of her and take an interest in it too.
As clever and as active as her sister, she was better and more
soundly educated, since she willingly undertook the tasks as-
signed her.

Her active spirit made idleness irksome, and it generally fell
to her to perform the domestic duties and sui)ervision which
her mother could not, and her sister would not, i)erform.

Her bright young face gave ])romise of future beauty, a sore
subject to her sister, who foresaw a very formidal>le rival, but
her tall stature and slender build were at the present only re-
lieved from awkwardness by her active naturalness, which gave
her a hoydenish grace.

A beau meant chietiy to her a partner at croquet, to laugh with
and exult with over a victory, or to volubly scold on defeat.

If she was not a very refined and cultivated young lady, she
was clever enough. If she liked boisterous sj)orts, she always
did her duty.

[f her faults had not l)een pruned they had not overshadowed
her better ([ualities. She was a happy, contented girl — her
naturalness and youth likely long to remain with her.

.\ romping stroll with her brothers, a gay gabbling walk with
a lot of her school-girl comi)anions, fishing, lx)ating, skating,
snow-shoeing, riding about the country on horsel)ack, and the
delight of her heart — croquet — were her pleasures ; and she
detested the formalities that reigned supreme at home.

SHE MIGHT HAVE IXJNE BHTTKR.

: 'ii

ill I

Every l)ody liked Ada Dearborn. Her faults were caused by
the neglect of others, while she had the ring of true metal about
her.

" Well, girls, what news have you for me from Ten Lakes, to-
day ?" said Ethel, when the young ladies, having paid the atten-
tion to toilette matters which a drive, however short, during a
Canadian July day generally necessitates, had sauntered into
the conservatory for a look at the flowers. " Is there anything
occurring out of the ordinary ? I have not been from home tor
a week and long to hear what is going on."

" Oh, yes, Ethel, there is going to be such a si)lendid m;itch
on Saturday between the Ten Lakes Cricket Club and the
■County. Only think I our little Ten Lakes against the whole
County I Oh I I do hope they will beat them. I know 1 shall
])e on ])ins and needles the whole day. Our Tom is captain,
and Harry plays loo. Oh I how delightful it will be if they win,
A^'ou'll come to see it, Ethel, won't you ? Every one will be
there," exclaimed Ada, rapturously.

" Well, if you call that news, its about all there is at i>reseni.
There is really nothing going on worth telling," Emily rejoined.
" One cannot get any sense out of the gentlemen at this season.
Nothing but their ridiculous lacrosse and cricket, as if peopk.-
cared to see a lot of men, in an unpleasant state of warmth,
knock a ball al)Out. if anything th: t affords a chance of a little
amusement is proposed — a dance, a concert, or an evening's
entertainment, it is ' pooh poohed I' by them for their ridicu-
lous practices, and they seem to have nothing else to think of.
Hut you'll come over on Saturday, Ethel, and stay with us. We
are going to get some good out of the match by gi\ ing the strange
club a dinner, and having a ball afterwards in the evening,"

'* If we go at all, I am sure papa and mamma won't stay for
the evening," answered Ethel ; *«' and, consecjuently, I cannot,
and 1 cannot say whether they will even go for the match. Mr.
Vance is going, however, as he was asked to play, or be umpire,

"^jg^^r-TT^sr^ Miax

ENTER 'nvO—CRKA'l '1HIN(;S TO IK).

(>3

or
[it.
Ifr.

re,

or something about it, when he was in 'I en Lakes last week,
and 1 forgot to tell you, Kmily, an old admirer of yours — Sidney
Wolverton — is coming here this evening, and remains tor the
match, I think. At least he said he was going to play in hit
letter to Edwin — Mr. Vance," corrected Kthel, hastfly.

" So Sydney Wolverton is coming here, is he .-* ^'ou seem to
have plenty of gentlemen visitors, Ethel ? It's strange, as he
generally comes to Ten Lakes," replied Emily, acidly. "And
Mr. Vance, too, might have adled when he was there. It's you
we ought to look to for news, Ethel. Have not you anything
to tell us about Nfr. Vance and yourself, for instance. .Some-
thing interesting, you know. He seems very devoted, and you
seem to know all abouthim. It's too l)ad to take my old admirers
from me," contmued Emily.

" Now that's a shame. I declare, Emily," exclaimed Ada.
'•Of course Mr. Vance is Ethel's beau ; that is, if she wants him
to be. She is jjretty enough, and I don't believe he was ever
®ne of yours ; though Sydney certainly was, or is. for that mat-
ter. It is not any of your business whether Ethe! ]v^s a beaii or
]iot. Is he very good, Ethel ?" continued she. "Can he j'lay
croquet and games well? 1 would not have a be;iu unless he
was smart."

'' Oh, I think he is pretty fair in your sense of the word. Ada,"
rei>lied Ethel, laughing. " I sujijjose he can pla\- games well."

" Well, Ada, of all the rude speeches I have ever heard, yours
is about the rudest," rejoined Emily, in a by no means amiable
accent, and looking at her sister as if she would have liked to
annihilate her upon the spot. " Not to speak of the very un-
])ecoming manner in which you addressed me just now — which,
knowing you as I do, I could but exjiect ; it is highly impro-
])er, and couched in the extremest depth of vulgarity, to use
that low word ' beau ' in connection with the name of a young
lady. It is what we w( uld look for from a servant girl, and not
from one who, with the advantages she has had. and the example

ill

SHE MKIHI' HAVK DONK nK'l'I'KR.

set before her, ouglit to possess the manners and dei'-ortinent of
a lady. As it is, Ada, you will have to conduct yourself in a
more hecoming manner or remain at home in the nursery, which,
it would appear, is tiie proper place tor you. And then your
horridly conunon ai)])lication of the word ' smart.' Ft is simply
dreadful."

" Oh, well, Emily dear, 1 did not mean to vex you. I only
thought you should not tease Ethel. And if 1 did use the ob-
jectionable word 'beau* it was because I have heard you use it
.so often at home. Vou call Gus. Ferguson and Sydney W'ol-
verton and lots of other fellows your 'beaux,' and I think tluit
what one should not say before our friends should not be used
at home. And where was the harm in using the word ' smart '
in its Canadian sense .-* I was not reciting a i)iece at an exami
nation," answered Ada, dei)recatmgly.

Ada's interruption and drawing down upon herself of her sis-
ter's wrath had come in very timeousl}- for Ethel, as it saved her
the necessity of rej)lying to, or in some way taking notice of,
Mi.ss Dearborn's rather ])ointed and disagreeable insinuations as
to herself and Mr, Vance. The few words that had been said
on the subject had given her a feeling of repulsion towards that
young lady, and had shown her plainly that, if not a declared
enemy, she would not have a friend in that ([uarter.

She felt that she would not like to explain, nor yet \\as she
going to deny her engagement to Mr. Vance to this girl, who,
in the course of their few minutes' conversation, she had alread\
learned to dislike. Though to the frank and natural Ada she
would gladly have communicated her new happiness, and look-
ed for answering s}'mpathy.

Ada's interruption had come in \ er}- good time to her aid,
and had, at any rate for the present, relieved her of the necessity
of speaking on the matter.

11!"

I MUST HAVE SALMON.
CHAPTER IX.

I MUS'I- HAVF. SALMON.

-if

id.

lit)-

Emily Dearborn in truth was very anxious to find out how
matters really stood between Mr. Vance and Ethel Mordaunt.
So soon as she had heard that he was on a visit to the lake — a
long visit — she had scented danger. Mr. Vance stood very high
on the short list of eligil)les for one of whom she destined the
honour of her fair hand. At the head of the possibilities of its
graduated scale stood the name of F^dwin \'ance, and she was
not the girl to let him sli]) through her fingers without an effort
to save the prize.

Almost at the moment of her arrival — almost at a glance —
she had perceived with feminine intuition, how matters stood
with him ; that he was in love, and that he did not look as if his
love was an unhapi)y one — an unfortunate love. This was very
galling to her, and she blamed herself severely for allowing so
much time to slij) on his undisturbed visit at'ter she had heard
of it.

She was very anxious to know Ethel's sentiments in regard to
him. At the present she was very much in doubt. She thought
she had a clue in the little slip of the tongue with which Ethel
had nearly pronounced his Christian name, and afterwards cor-
rected it to " Mr. Vance." But she would watch, and if things
had come to the worst, and there was a private engagement be-
tween them, how many opportunities could she not find, or
make, to produce discord between them — to break it off — and
bring things back to where they were before ? She did not love
Edwin Vance — she did not love any one — but she thought him
an excellent /^?7'//, and she was determined that Ethel Mordaunt
should not marry him if she could help it.

But her reflections, and the silence which had continued for
a few minutes while they saimtered about the cool conservatory.

pmiipj.iiHM(lupu-.vrKjc»>'.

SHK MIGHT HAVK DONK BKTrKR.

!i.:j:.

wore Ijrokeii by the prattle of little feet, and Alida, the three-
year-old daughter of the house, came rushing in, lier brown eyes
sparkling and opened to their widest extent, and lier i)retty little
bright face all {lushed and eager,

" Oh ! Ktel, Ktel ! mamma say Reggie tummin'. Vet's go and
yook. Ally so vedy glad Reggie tummin'."

" Ally's so very glad that Reggie's coming, is she ? So is
Kthel, too," said that young lad}-, while Ada snatched up the
eager little thing. " We'll go and see him then."

At the same moment a boisterous \ oung voice was heard in
the hall, awd die sound of a loud kiss.

" Hallo ! mamma, how are you .'* I've got back at last. }0u
see. Had such a time. Where are thev all ? Where's Ethel
and Ally ? Oh ! I've had such a jolly lark."

" Oh I I'm so glad to see you back safely again Reginald,"
Mrs. Mordaunt was heard to say. " \'ou'\e been away, so long
.•iwa\-, over the time vou mentioned that I was getting uneasy
about )<ju. I'm very happy to see you l.)ack. You'll find them
with Emily and Ada Dearborn in the conservatory, [ think :
but \'ou are not very presentable^, Reggie."

•' Oh ! bother the ' presentable :' mv' face is clean, at an)- rate,"
and he rushed off to find them, shouting —

•' Ethel I Ethel ! where are you ? I want you."

*' Hallo, Ally ! give Reggie a kiss," he continued, seizing her
out of Ada's arms, and smothering her with rough brotherly
kisses.

•' Ally's so vedy glad Reggie tum bat. Ally wanted Reggie,"
said the pretty little thing, clasping her little arms around his neck.

" Ves 1 and Reggie wanted Ally, too. He's glad to see his
All) . Oh : Ethel," he continued, " r\e had such a jolly lark
this morning. How do you do, Emi ly ? How do you do, Ada ?
Ethel, old girl, how are you?" he exclaimed, kissing his sister,
and shaking hands with the two young ladies In a vehement
manner.

r^iW^f^&^^T^vrmiiiSSSw^

I ML'sr HAVK SALMON.

" W e!l, I declare ! you ought to he ashamed ot" yourself to
come l)etbre these young ladles in such a state as you are.
Reggie," said Ethel, looking, however, lovingly ujjon lier bro
ther. '• How in the world did you contrive to get yourself so
ragged and tattered, and oh ! how you do smell of fish. What
hare ) ou been doing with yourself?

"• \\\\\ I my clothes got torn in the woods, I suppose. V'ou
should have seen all the places we have been through — rocks,
woods, rivers, swamjjs, lakes, and all the rough places between
here and Lake Nipissing. But we had a good time, though, ind
oh ! the jolly lark I had this morning. So I smell of fish, do 1 ,
Kthel } [ should think I do. VV^hy, I have been occupied as ;i
fishmonger to-day. Such a lark I See all this money, Ethel,"
said he, producing a four dollar bill from his pocket. *' See the
hard-gained earnings of your brother I 1 exj^ect that it's about
the first money he ever earned, and I fear, I very much fear,
that it was not earned with that altogether strict and exact spirit
of honesty that should enter into the mercantile dealings of a
Mordaunt. But it was a great lark — fun, I can tell you. I shall
relate the whole story for your edification."

'* ^'ou see, all the chaps, e.xcept Gus. Ferguson and myself,
got tired out and disgusted with the expedition at the end of
the first week ; they cleared out for home, leaving us with one
canoe and the old Indian guide. We had a rough time of it,
and piles of adventures — after they left us — up to Lake Nipiss-
ing, and back on our way home, until we struck the Mmitoii
river two days ago, and followed it down to the settlements.
We got lots of fish too, and yesterday-night in the woods, up aL
Missiscjuit falls, we got six whopi)ing big salmon, as they rested
before making the leap — and a few smaller ones also. 'I'here
were piles of them. VV\'ll, we got out lo Harmer's ]>lace —
twent) miles from here — late yesterday evening, and tried to
get him to drive us home at once. He wouldn't do it, though,
until this morning ; and he routed us up, I can tell you, bright

SH]: MlCiHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

•

and eariy, for lie wanted to get back early to his harvesting.
His rig-out was not the most handsome m the world, though he
had a bully horse. We i)iled the whole lot of fish we
had caught yesterday — the six big salmon, a lot of pickerel,
bass, maskinonge, two whopj^ing sturgeons, and a lot of big
suckers to swell out the pile — in the the back of the wagon ;
and off we started. Gus' ajjparel was even in a more ragged
and used up condition than mine, and as old Harmer is not
very tasty as to his dress, we were three of about as tatterde-
malion a set of beggars as you w ould meet on a day's journey.
We jogged on splendidly, though, to Ten Eakes ; and when
Gus got out at his })lace, and had loaded himself up with his
share of the fish, his own mother didn't know him when she
came our of the front door,and told him she 'did'nt want any to-
day.' Gus laughed and told her she'd have to take them,
whether she wanted them or not. And then he got a rating for
daring to show himself in such a state of rags and dirt. He
didn't look much like a mother's darling, certainly, in his rags,
with a great pile of slimy fish in his arms ; and the Farquhar
girls all looking out of the window and laughing. But very
little Gus cared, as he stood, winking at the girls, and joking his
mother, that she didn't know his own son, I had to laugh too,
uj)on which the old lady ga\e me fits too. Then old Harmer
laughed, and he got fits too — at which he but laughed the more.
So the old lady finished up by ordering Gus into the house — a
command he dutifully obeyed, for he and his mother are crazy
about one another ; and old Harmer and I and the fish jogged
on again.

" Well ; just as we were going to turn in here from the main
road, who should we meet but a couple of commercial travellers
from Montreal, driving an express wagon, Avhich was loaded up
with their sample trunks. One of them was about half seas over,
and the other about as comfortably tipsy as he could be and live,
though it was not then more than ten o'clock. They had evidently

^^j^j^

. ' ^n*^ 1**^. *'AW*wi*' *"

1 MUST HAVE SALMON.

!;ed

lain

lers

fer,

ive,

itly

had a fine time of it tlie niglit before, and had commenced
early again, for they were awfu]ly-.sleei)y looking, and could
hardly see out of their eyes.

'"Hello! my honest agriculturalist," called out the l)iggest
and drunkest one. "' l^ this the road to 'I en Lakes ? '

" ' Yes it is. You're all *ght," I re])lied.

'' • And how many thousand miles have we to go before we
get there ? ' he enquired.'

*' * Three miles," I replied.

•' ' Tree mile I ' screamed the little one, a French-Canadian ;
* tree mile more? It was seex mile to 'I'een Lake when we did
leave de hotel dis morning, an we journey, we have make more
as twentv mile alreadies.'

" ' Look'ee here 1 my dear young bullock-hastener," continued
the big one, ' the fiiscinating outlines of thy bucolic lineaments
shall be forever engraved upon our hearts, if you will tell us —
though T misdoul)t me much if thou art cajjable, from thy Ar-
cadian simplicity, of judging — if they keep at the hotel there
anything fit for gentlemen to eat ? '

"MVell.' I said. M don't know whether they keej) anything
fit for gentlemen to eat ; but they have ])lenty of 'Id rye' and
* lT])per Canada whiskey,' which will suit your complaint tx-
actly — my affectionate old '1 apes-and-Laces.'

" ' \'at you mean — buckwheat larmare ? ' exclaimed the little
Frenchman, with excited gesticulation ; ' who you call Taj)es-
and- Laces — hey? Vat you mean to insult de gentlemans as
dis ? You bettare go vid yourself and cut \ ou grass, you
hay. March, den, vid Vou dirty feesh.'

" Fish : has he got fish ? Is my disresi)ectful and erratic
husbandman piscator as well as orator ? Latin, by Jove .' ' said
the big cha]> ; 'well, I must be slewed pretty comfortably when
I get on Latin,' continued he, muttering as he climbed down from
tlie wagon with laborious effort : ' We will inspect his mer-

ttMat

^x'>T?^y-7?-'/gyyTffi"'.."^'^"**j7

Kfi <v.<.

-■'III

8HK MIGHT BWli DONK i.JK'l'l'KR.

thandise,' and he ga/ed upon my finny treasures with eyes as
tishy as tlieirs.

" 'Glorious prosj>ect I How doth my longing soul gloat over
the pleasant vision. Here is your true romance — your real
j)oetry ! How ravishing the thought that no vile tavern dinner
shall desecrate to-day my gentlemanly interior. My youthful
agricultural friend, how style }'ou these noble creatures ? '

'* ' [ style these noble creatures salmon,' I replied ; ' but you
can give their Latin names if it suits you better. You seem
fond of the language, though it is the first time I ever heard a
bagman speak Latin.'

'* ' The lordly salmon I Feirre' — addressing his companion —
'my soul hungers for salmon. I must have salmon. 'I'he look
of .salmon is disorganizing the very being of your friend, Lo !
1 will temporize with this rude child of the soil.'

*' ' I not know vat you say wid yourself,' answered the
Frenchman ; ' f tinks you bettare climb u[) vid de wagon, and
leave alone de nasty feesh.'

•* Peirre, salmon I must have ! \Vould'st thou abridge to
t'urther tenuity the interior of thy friend ?" he rejjlied solemnly.
•• Young man, your aspect is one of impecuniosit)-. Poverty,
doubtless, has ofteii seized thee with iron gripe. These tattered
habiliments betray a pocket unwarmed by the comforting dollar.
\'oung man, I will be thy benefactor — a friend to thy )outhful
simplicity. 1 will give you gold for your salmon, (iold, boy!
the yellow glittering gold I What though my respected boss in
Montreal is doubtless fretting his gizzard, worrying and fuming
over his contracted discounts, his notes, his engagements and
inflexible bank managers. Doubtless he thinks I am doing the
same over lines of samples. Deluded man I Yet nuist T have
salmon I Is money scarce? Yet must I have salmon ! .Salmon
alone can soothe my outraged soul. I must have salmon. Let
him fret a little harder, for I will have salmon, and l will give
g«yld for salmon. I will e'en bargain with this corn-fed hind.

:.' ■'■r-T-llT^i>niliimifillrtiiMiMMiir]

rt*iiiihiiiniiirM<iiniiriii'-ri-r-i'-ir'irn-T-vi-tr ■■^1' 'f-i'-JtVi'-n.

-*■ ■■ v^

1 MUST HAVE SALMON.

My iricnd," he ccMitinucd to nie, " my soul is moved to benevo
Icnce by thy i)ite()iis condition. I would fain provide you with
the means of procuring for yourself a new pair of netlier gar-
ments by purchasing of thy fish. Now, how much filthy lucre,
current coin of the Dominion, will thou take for two of those
lordly salmon ?" and he pointed as he spoke to two great horrid
looking suckers which ornamented the to^^ of the i)ile.

" Most wortliy bagman," 1 rejjlied to him, '• I may be, as-
you say, but a corn-fed hind, a buckwheat tarmer, as your Frencli
friend says, yet I opine that I am as good as a couple of whisky-
soaked Montreal drummers, and I will not sell you my fish."

" Not .sell your fish — your salmon !" sliouted he, in accents of
mingled astonishment and despair. •■ Not sell your salmon 1
What means this ? Have we lunatics here to do with ? Be-
hold I" he exclaimed, seizing me by the wrist, ''just behold these
rags and tatters. Look down at this disgraceful old coat, these
shockingly dilapidated unmentionables, and pause ere you ven-
ture to utter so rash an assertion. Not sell your salmon and
get the cash ? W'hiit do I hear? Can these things be true?
A farmer, an honest agriculturalist, refusing money? Impos-
sible! My ears have deceived me. A tarmer refusing cash
down, and at his own i)rice. What ! have we Arcadia here ?
Has the millennium descended upon Central Ontario all at once ?
I will sit down and weej). Peirre, my worthy friend I Peirre,
I say I" he added, in mournful tones to his companion, " hand
me the little pocket pistol. I must e'en take something that 1
may die easy under this afilicting state of things."

" Oh ! my friend, my worthy and excellent young friend," he
went on to me, '' I see a noble spirit framed in your interesting
lineaments. Show mercy to us and revoke thy dire decision.
Behold this withered and emaciated anatomy, this wreck of
what was but a short week since, a robust and noble frame,
i)roughi down, by villianous fare of wretched country taverns,
to the j)oint of dissolution," and he patted, with melancholy

SHK MKIHT HAVK DONK I'.F/ITKR.

&
h' Si

asjjt'ct, liis rotund ligiire, " My whole nature lacks salmon —
longs for salmon — cries out for salmon — salmon to snatch it from
the jaws of death. Ileliold this four dollar bill — mark it — gaze
\ipon it ! It is yours, if those i)retty creatures," indicating the
two big suckers, " are mine."

" Why, you blamed old fool," shouted old Harmer, no longer
able to contain himself, "are you so blind drunk that yon can't
see that tliose ain't salmon, \othin' but great, dirty, bony, use-
less suckers."

'' My venerable friend of the wooden countenance," he re-
])lied to Harmer, " I did not address my observations to you
and do not require your advice. 1 am not blind drunk, my
worthy old patriarch, for I can very easily ])erceive the villainous
expression of your an( 'entand battered physiognomy. When 1
get drunk 1 i)a}- for the liquor myself, and therefore request you
will not shove }'Our dirty oar in. 1 know what a fish is when I
see it, my excellent sir. I have not fished for tommy-cods off
the wharves for nothing, my good sir. These are salmon, sir !
salmon, sir ! salmon."

1 broke in with as grave a face as I could command, and told
him that, seeing he was so nearly starved to death, I would sell
him two of my salmon for the four dollars, but not the two he
wanted, as 1 required them as a present to a friend, and would
give him two just as good. So I took a big salmon, weighing
nearly twenty i)0unds, and a maskilonge as big, and ]>.it them
into his wagon."

He handed me the mone\', and took his leave as follows : —
" Respected young member of the agricultural persuasion, our
conference is now at an end. I jmrt from thee with regret, but
still with a sense of joy in my heart at having met with thee. J
shall approach now the hostelry in Ten Lakes witli singular
equanimity, and I shall walk into the affections of these lordly
salmon in a style to astonish you. Farewell, young hay-seed I
Farewell, old wooden head ! Drive on Peine."

|£j£££a|icj>^>Aaj|-<^^^j«E 7- -.-'TJ:?:-

ga rfa^gg-':' ■oj :>s aiw >w ~'w?"wi i»i

1 Mi;sr HAVK SALMON.

Well I s:iid Old Harmcr U) tlicni, as a i)arting salutation : —

" Of all the blamed fools tl-.at ever I see, you two drunken
st;anips are the hardest to beat. If you don't know any more
about your business than you do about fish, it must be pretty to
see you at work. If I'd been him, I'm dogoned if I would'nt
have let you take the two suckers, and sarvedsuch l)lamed fools
right too.''

'• \"at dat you say, old man ugly." screamed tlie excitable little
h'renchman. " }5egar I if I joomp off d!s wagon, I make you see
tunder, begar ! (io vid yourself and feed your pig. I 'a done!
cochou ! Old wood face, begar," and he drove off in. a rage.

" \ow, wasn't that a jolly lark, Ethel ?"

" Well I" answered Kthel, " I think you ought to be ashamed
of yourself Wh;U business had you to talk with those drunken
men ? And you should not have cheated them by giving them
only one salmon when they bouglit two. It was not right,
Reginald, though i daresay you found it Uniny enougii. And 1
don't wonder at them taking you for a conunon laborer, for you
are simjjly disgraceful in your present attire. Hut 1 cannot .see
that it was a 'jolly lark,' as you call it, at all, and you have n( -■
thing to boast of by your share in it."

" I did not cheat them, Ethel ; I gave them a twenty-jx)und
salmon, which v.as worth the four dollars itself, and a maski-
longe, worth half as much more," answered Reggie ; " and how
do you suppose two men are going to eat twenty i)Ounds of
salmon while it is fresh? It can't be done, even bv bagmen
with unlimited grog."

" No matter ; it was not right, Reggie," said his sister. " But
you had better go and get yourself into decent attire again. A\'e
are going for a ])ic-nic to the end of the lake to-day, a«d we want
you for a game of croquet. Be quick I Win will be off di-
rectly."

" Ally doin' too, Reggie," broke in little Alida. " Ally dot

■

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONK J5KTTER.

new hat on and new boos (shoes) too. ( )o del new hat too,
Reggie, and yook i)itty."

CHAFI'KR X.

A PIC-NIC l',V THK I.AKK.

'J'he large sail-boat, ahnost large enough to be dignified with
the name of a yacht, were it not that cajjacity and not speed
had been the ])rincii)al object in its construction, was warped up
to the little landing-place with mast stcpj^ed, sail ready to hoist, ii
comfortable awning raised for the ])rotection of the ladies, and
all ready for a start.

The party, comprising Mrs. Mordaunt, Kthel. the two Misses
Dearborn and little Ally : L'ncle Edward, Vance and Reggie
stood on the little wharf ready for their embarkation. 'J1ie
hami^ers containing the good things, which form so important a
]^art of the programme of a i)ic-nic party, with the appliances
for comfort and amusement which Mrs. Mordaunt's and Ethel'^
foresight had jjrovided. were carted down already, and had but
to be jmt on board. A gentle breeze was Ijlowing down the
lake, the day was fine, the cool western wind mitigating the
sultry down-])our of a Ju.ly sun and nothing remained but ft)r
the party to step on board to proceed to their destination.

But Reggie, howe\"er. upon seeing the boat raised the perti-
nent question that, although the breeze was ver}- favora4)le for
their present voyage, it would not be found so easy, without a
<'hange of wind, to effect their return, unless the gentlemen
were willing to undertake the task of rowing so heavy a boat
])ack again.

** I'll tell you what it is," said he. " We'll sail down this morn-
ing all right, as nice as ninepece, but if there's not a change of
wind before evening, we fellows will have a jiretty time of it
rowing this concern four miles up ngain. She's big enough to

A IMC-NIC JJV IHK LAKK.

tarry twenty-five peoijle, and she's as heavy and chimsy as a St.
Lawrence batteau. Even if we have to row both ways, woiild'nt
it ])e better to take two small boats? 'J'hey'll carry us all and
tile plunder too. It's no joke to row that old tub uj) the lake,
I <:an tell you. I know it by sad experience."

" 'i'hero's something in that, Reggie," said Mr, Horton. " I
never thought of it when Kdwin \'ance and I got her ready. It
is too late now to change, and we'll have to get her back the
best way we can. The small boats, too, are not comfortable for
a warm day like this, and has not your father plenty of men work-
ing down there who can helj) us to row ?"

'' Rut she's rigged fore-and-aft, and is keeled enough to hold
the water ; we can tack her back this evening. It will be slower,
but it will be a pleasant sail. I'll engage to get her back if the
wind will only hold out until sunset, and if it does not we'll gt»t
the men to help us to row her u])," said Edwin, who thought the
larger boat would be more comfortal)le for his Ethel, to say no-
thing of the other ladies, and who did not wish to change.

" All right," said Reginald, " J'm willing. Anything for a
(••juiet life, so jump aboard, ladies. Uncle, give me a hand with
the plunder; it won't do to leave the eatables behind. Put the
ladies on board, Mr. Vance, and make yourself useful. J hoi)e
you have provisioned the garrison well, mother. I had my
breakfast at four o'clock this morning at Harmer's and I'm as
hungry as a hunter."

"You will ha\c no reason to complain, Reggie" said his
mother.

" That's right, mother, the inner man ha^ claims which are not
to be neglected," rei)lied Reginald.

'' The inner boy you mean, Reggie," said Ethel laughing.
Isn't that the case, Ada?"

" Never mind, Reggie, you'll be a man some day, though you
are not particulary ancient yet, and sell surkers for salmon to
tijjsy j)eople," answered Ada to him.

SHK MICHT HA\'K DONK BK'i'rKR.

■<• m

" Very well. Ada, just wait a bit, will you ? See if I don't, pay
you off for this at crocjuet to-day. You're mighty sauuy for a
little girl."

" Now, Reggie, stop your tal'King and i)us1i Jier off." said his
uncle. *• We are ready at last. U[) with the jib, Kdwin, while
J hoist the main sail, and we'll get her out."

Soon fairly on their way down the ple-isant lake, they sat
chatting and laughing over the iiUeresting trifles that form so
pleising a i)art of every day conversation. A hap])y looking
])art> cuougii, though doubtless to many of them there were
deeper tlioughts beneath than the light rijjj^les of their surface
talk would show, IJut these did not reveal themselves, and
merry voices and hai)])}' laughter echoed from beneath the cool
awning as they tlcjated on o\er the sunny waters,.

Mr. Horton and Kdwin X'ance, with little Ally a deeply in-
terested spectator beside them, were busily engaged in get-
ting out a trolling-line for the ca]jture of such of the finny
tribe as might be induced to try a bite of the silvery spoon, rlut
Kdwin's thoughts were far less intent upon this occupation than
upon what method he should adopt to induce his Kthel to sepa-
rate herself from her companions, that he might get////;/.!r^^into
an agreeable little tcte-a-tete.

Reginald, unable to sit still a moment, was teasing his sister
and the two Dearborn girls at one moment, and rambling al)Out
the boat the next. At length he got his incjuisitive hand into a
package among the supplies, and }»roceeded to an investigation
of its contents.

" Hallo ! gut i( e here. That's good this hot day. And what's
this.'* Champagne, as I'm alive! \\'ell done, Kthel I Now
you are coming out grand to-da). But who is going to drink
all this you have here ? \'ou girls, I suppose. Wh}', you'll all
be as tipj^y as the two drummers to whom I sold the f»>li," he
cried out.

" Yes ! I should'nt wonder, with that stuff here," ejaculated

A IMC-NIC n\ THK LAKK.

Mr. Horton. '' Wlint made you bring it, Kthcl ? And wlio Is
there to ilrink it ?

" \ot I. tor one. uncle," rei)liefl that young lady, laughing.
" Don't blame me for bringing it. I don't drink, thank }(?u.
Perhaps yourself, uncle. with Mr.\'ance and pa])a, will get tlirough
it all. It's a tem])ting beverage, uncle."

*' \'es ! I dare say it is a very temjiting beverage, but it will
not t'jmpt me," was the reply. " Thr temptation and the e\am|)le
to the young ])eople are the great evils. And "

"Oil! well, Mdward." interruj)ted Mrs. Mordaunt, " ! brought
some chamj)agnc because I thought my husband would like it
after liis long morning in the woods, and t'nr others, too, if tliey
choose it. There will be some claret-'. u|<, too. for those who pre-
fer that, and tea for good teetotallers like vourself. I am verv
sure that but little of what is brought will be drank, and certainly
claret-cup is a very mild beverage."

'* It may be so ; yet it is alcoholic, and therefore dangerous.
All such nuiy tester and confirm a habit of using the stronger
forms of the jjoison, whose dreadful intluence is the bane, not
alone of our country, but of nearly the v.hole world," rejilied Mr.
Horton, energetically, for he was u])on his favorite hobby, and
was very sincere on this question. •* Could I but see the day
when by the education of popular sentiment on the subject and
stern legislative enactments, the evil is totally swept away from
these countries. I should deem it the happiest of my life. The
cause is advancing, making its way among the peoi)le, and it
behooves us all by our own firm attitude, our consistent example,
to aid and strengthen it, until the governing bodies, whom 1 be-
lieve to be the chief defoulters in the matter, are forced into
action.

" I agree with you, Mr. Horton," said Kdwin ^'ance, " that
the vice of intemi^erance can be suppressed by a law of total
prohibition, in the strictest sense of the words, alone, and from
what I know of public sentiment on the question, I believe that

7'^

SHK MICH r HAVK DONK HKITKR.

wtTc it jnil U) />/('/> /sa'h' — llic vote of the eiuire population over
fifteen years of age — to-morrow, it would be carried by a large
Jiiajority in the whole Dominion. It is the duty of the (iiovern-
nient of the country to take this step — its plain duty ; hut the
aboniinahle s|)irit of party that ])rcvails, and thee(iually divided
strength of the two contending tactions, deter our |)resent rulers,
no matter how well inclined they jjossibly may be. A change
of the party in power will. I fear, do but little good either, as the
oj)])osition leaders, even if sound on the cjuestion. could not at
the jjresent, a-t any rate. gra])ple with the financial (juestioii,
which the loss of the revenues derived from alcohol would j)re-
sent for their solution. The bringing uj) of the sentiment of the
<'.ountry to a i)oint which will force the government of the day to
act, or dislodge it for one tiiat will, is, in my opinion, the only
means of affecting the ol)ject. and this recjuires time, unfortui
nately. I drink but little wine myself, and when the day of
prohibition arrives — as arrive it will — I shall be only too glad to
make the little sacrifice entailed by the deprivation of a needless
and useless luxur>."

"But why not make tiaat little sacrifice at once. a?Kl by join-
ing actively in this good and patriotic movement, aid it with
the influence of your name and ixjsition, instead of remaining jjas-
sive until others effect the object. A declared enem\ could do
but little worse than you do now." rei)lied Mr, Horton, effec-
tively.

" Because I hav'nt thought of the matter as yet." answered

Kdwin." Besides, like many other really temperace people. I
have a strong objection to ally myself with any of the socie-
ties."

" Ves I I am aware that many hold the same objection, but

you can be a firm and consistent abstainer without uniting yeur-
self to one of them. Remember that when once you become a
total abstainer your symi»athies will be^\ith the tem])erance cause,
and you become a declired enemy to King Alcohol. Otherwise
you remain i)assive or neutral."

A PIC-NIC JiV THK LAKE.

'• 1 will think of it aiul gi\c: you my ideas ii))oii tlic iiuittcr
kiter," re[)lied Kdwin.

'* And you, also, Reginald ; will you also (onsider the matter
and join the nohle cause?" added Mr. Horton.

" All right, uncle, I'll do so, said Reginald. " Kut seeing that
all the alcohol, as you call it, that I have ever drank would'nt
till a teaspoon. I think I'm pretty safe."

*' Ves ! do so, Reggie," said his sister. - For my j)art. 1 could
never again res])ect a ])erson whoever became intoxicated, were
it but for once onlv."

'* ( )h, untie I" screamed little Ally, who hail been much nxore
interested in watching the trolling-line than in listening to the
temperance lecture. -.Sometin' dot oo string. It's ])ullin' it.
I'um and see. Is it a big heesh?"

" ^'es I Ally, it is a big ' heesh,' as you call it, and we'll have
the tun of catching it instead of talking temperance any longer,"
said her uncle, running to the troller and hauling in the prize.
•' Bravo ! Ally, you've caught a fish as big as yourself," he con-
tinued, as he lifted a splendid lake trout into the boat. Ally,
however, who had \\atched its silvery struggles ax it was splash-
iiigly drawn up, with great delight, screamed with terror at its
energetic Houncings about in the bottom of the boat, and ran for
J protection to her mother's arms.

Reginald soon gave the [joor lake trout his c[uietus, however.

" Come and see him now. Ally. He's dead enough and can't
hurt vou."

'• He's a pitty heesh. Reggie," said Ally, who had ventured
again near her object of terror.

" Yes I he's a very pretty fish. Ally, and we'll eat him lor our
l)ic-nic dinner. Vou and I will cook him ourselves, Ally, and
he's a beauty, a regular fourteen-pounder. .Ain't you proud of
} our fish ?"

On nearing their destination, Reginald ran the boat towards
a pretty bay, which, embowered between wooded and hilly

art! TT. mc'-jr-^^'-'^v-jf^vrvvK'mv.iWjm.if^mir y^.''vxv'wxfvwv^''vry!ai'JK*Miwaium! i v * nMW%**wc*i'=wgnMfcfnK.-;j^.?^<r:7

SHE MIGH'I' HAn'IC DONE BETTER,

Ji:;-

points, lay on tlic nortlicrn side of the lake, near its end or
outlet.

" Here's the [)lace !" said Kthei. springing up and [joiiiting
up the bay. " Is'nt it i>retty, gir's ? It is the prettiest spot, 1
think, on our lake or any lake. 'I'here, too. stands pai)a await-

ing us.

It was, as i^thel had said, a very pretty scene. The high
])oints which guarded either side of the hay rail back inland in
rounded and somewhat steep ranges, covered with the primeval
growth of the beautiful maple, the towering elm and the silvery
birch, with an occasional pine rearing its dark foliage over all.
The smooth, broad valley lying between, was cleared far back
from the head of the bay, a'-^d lay '■smiling in its cultivated beauty
and green luxuriance beneath the umbrageous shelter of its
guardian hills. A clear and [)ebl)ly lirook wandered, like a sil-
ver riband, through the fields and jjlashed at last its bright wa-
ters into the little bay. Occasional groves and patches of hand-
some trees of various and contrasted foliage were intersi)ersed
throughout the cleared valley for the double purpose of shade
and ornament ; their situations judicio 'sly selected by the beauty
loving eyes of the owner of I.ake Moreaunt to modify yet not to
break the viev.-. Through these and the indented and wavy
lines of the woody hill sides, charming glimpses, winding \isias
of green fields and bright foliage were traced uj) the lovely val-
ley as it gently rose from the waters of the bay.

Arched in with the blue Canadian sky — heightened by the
warm, unclouded rays of a summer sun, and glowing in the
varied riches of foliage and harvest — the valley and its ba\
presented a delightful «-ffect as the boat ran in from the witlc
lake, contrasting, as it did, with the somewhat soml)re, yet still
beatiful, growth of i>ines and firs which here at all points
shrouded the lake shore to the water's edge, and constituted.
excei)t on th.e hills and points, wl-iere the l)irch, beech and oth-

A I'JC-MC BY 'I'HE lAKE.

er (leciduous woods glowed in their brighter green — the iiir.jor
jmrt of the primeval forest.

'Jo the Dearborn girls, Edwin Vance and Mr. Horton the
.scene ^vas novel, and Ada, with the two latter, loudly e.\i)ressed
their admiration of its beauty. Kmil\-, who though she saw the
beauty felt no enthusiasm on the subject — contented herself
with apj)roaching Edwin, in order to secure his undivided ser-
vices for the landing, and to get. it possible, the chance of a
Hirtation.

"Is not this most charming, Mr. Vance," exclaimed she, rather
affectedly. '' 'lb city gentlemen, like yourself, the dusty streets
and ujjroar of the town must surely stand at a disadvantage
with such a sweetly .sylvan landscaj)e as this which meets our
view. J do so admire the cjuiet beauty of our countr\'
scenery."

'i'his from P^mily, who infinite!}' ])referred the dusty streets
and ui)roar of the town, together with the gentlemen it con-
tained, to all the natural beauiv, was not altogether sincere ;
but Edwin accepted it as such, and replied :

" I'he scene is certainly very beautiful. Miss Dearborn, and
worthy of your admiration. I am not an admirer of city life
and would much ])refer the quiet beauties of the country, with
one's chosen friends, to all the uproar and bustle of a city. I
heartily agree with you in that. Hut j permit me to assist you
on shore," he continued, as the boat slowly touched the bank,
Its sails cut off by the ])oint from the imjjelling breeze of the
lake. "Stei)on the side of the boat, Miss Dearborn — now
jump," and holding her hand, he lightly dejjosited her on terra
iimia.

Much to her disgust, however, he at once stepped back on
board, to helj) his Ethel ashore.

Reggie and Mr. Horton had engaged themselves in securing
the boat, while Mr. Mordaunt had — as in duty boimd — h« Iped
ashore his wife and his little daughter. Ada, who needed no

SHE mi(;ht have done better.

M tl

cavalier, had, witli the spring of a deer, placed lierself comfort-
ably on dry land, and was waiting for little Ally.

Edwin thus had his Ethel — who had remained a few mo-
ments to see after the unloading of the hamjjers — to himself for
a word or two.

" Ethel, my darling, i have seen them both, and it is all
.ight. \'ou are my Ethel now ; but our engagement is to last :
whole year. It's too long altogether to wait — still, I am ver\
happ)', Ethel, my dear."

" \'es, Edwin ; but don't make too much love to me now ;
they're looking at us. Never mind about the year ; it will not
be very long, dear Edwin. But lift this out for me, and wait
for a better opjjortunit}' to talk to me," replied Ethel."

*' How do you do. Miss Dearborn ? and you, Ada ? " said
.VIr. Mordaunt, going up to the girls and shaking them by the
hand in his hearty fiishion : •• Come out for a day in the woods,
eh I and some fun, 1 hope. Ada, I foresee croquet this after-
noon. Hallo ! Reggie ; where did you sj^ring from, and where
have you been all this time? "

" \"es : I am l)ack safe and sound this morning, father. CI us
Ferguson and I got to Lake Nipissing. but the other fellows
left us the first week. We had fun and hard work enough — if
not much sport. I got home this morning remarkabl}- ragged,"
replied Reggie, as he jumj^ed from the l)oat with die last item
of the 'plunder,' as he called it.

"Where shall we take it all to, mother?" he in([uired ;
*' That grove is large enough for shade, and there's nice grass
there for croquet. Shall we go there ? "

" 'I'hat's the place, Reggie," said his father. " \ got one of
the men to mow a i)iece of grass as short as possible on tiic
shady side. We'll adjourn uj), too, at once, as I am very hur-
jfry — you are all so late."

hi a few minutes they were all engaged in tlie pleasureal)le
(>rru]>ation of preparing their 'al fretsco' meal, on the .shaded

^^Jii_^

A PJC-NIC n\ VHK LAKK.

«3

side of the little grove, Ktliel and tlie two young ladies spread
ing the white cloth on the green table of grass, and hastily ar
ranging the various substantials and delicacies that would re-
quire no appetiser after their breezy voyage, Reginald built
the fire, and his uncle i)repared the forked sticks, on which to
suspend the tea-kettle, "without which," he declared, "dinner,
and especially a pic-nic dinner, would be an unmitigated failure
for a Yankee, or for a Canadian either."

" Took my big heesh, Reggie," said little All}- ; " I want my
heesh for my Ijriktist. Took it, Reggie."

" All right. Ally ; I'll cook it as soon as the fire's hot, and
there's any coals. But you are not going to eat it all yourself,
are you, Ally ? "

Very well he cooked the trout too, backwoods fiishion, on
the hot embers.

" All right, mother," he answered to her objection, that they
had not brought plates enough for so many different things.
•' AVe'll eat off basswood leaves."

And very well it tasted, too, eaten off its primiti\e trenches.
Very well, too, the dinner passed off — altogether amid laughter
and fun, and pleasant chatting ; for a pic-nic dinner under the
trees, unceremonious and free — eaten lounging on the grass, is
a very pleasant, gustatory performance, after mus(iuito time has
jjassed — th(jugh hardly otherwise.

Mr. Mordaunt, Kdwin and Emily drank their glass of cham
pagne. which the others declined, and laughed at Mr. Horton's
good-natured grumblings al)out it. But Kthel oljserved, with
surprise, that Emily not only drank her's and enjoyed it. Init
had on two occasions during the meal asked Edwin \'ance : —
" .\re you looking for the champagne, Mr. \'ance.' " when, in
fact, he had neither been looking for it, nor had wholly emi)tied
his glass, and had answered a 'No, thank you' each time she
asked him.

*She sujxjly could not have wished," Ethel thought, "to in-

.84

<>HE MIGHT HAVE DOXE HETTKR.

■n iS.

(.luce liiiu to drink too much clianipagnc, knowing, as slie docs,
my opinion on ihc subject. She could hardly have formed a
motive so base ; yet it was strange, too," and Ethel did not like
it. ^'et as the attempt had been unsuccessful, the affair soon
dropi^ed from her thoughts.

Immediately after their open-air dinner had concluded, they
adjourned to the cro(iuet-ground, with the excei^tion of Mr.
Mordaunt, who strolled up tlie valley to his men — and Mrs.
Mordaunt, who with Ally, settled beneath the trees.

'* Reginald," said Ada. "you and I will clioosc sides. We
play the best, you know."

" Very modest, Ada. in your ideas of yourself," laughed Mr.
Horton. •* Vou don't know what the rest can do yet."

*' Oh : yes I do," answered Ada ; "and I can play well
enough to make U]) for \ou, so you are on my side, remember,"
Who do you choose, Reggie. I've taken Mr. Horton to show
vou I'm not afraid of \ou."

" Emily, i)lay with me," he replied.
" Ethel, you are on my side," said Ada.
"Mr. Vance — last but not least," concluded Reginald.
The sides thus stood: Ada, Kihel, and Mr. Horton:
against Emily, Reginald, and Mr. Vance."

" I claim to play last, as 1 know so little of the game, said
^[r. Horton; "and, Ada, you must direct me at first, until 1
see my way clear."

" N'ery well, Mr. Horton. Mmily, you begin, as you have
scarlet. And now to work."

l'!mily made the two first hoops, and got into position for the
third. She was followed by Ethel, who on getting through the
same missed a croquet ui)on Emily's ball, and went beyond,
hvdwin came next, got through his two first, missed l)Oth balls,
and left his own close to Ethel's, Ada followed ; got her ball
diagonally through the first hoo[), went hard through the second,
getting close to the others' l)alls, and crocjuetted Emily's ; split-

A PrC-NlC ()\ THE LAKE.

«5

ling on it, slie put her adversary's ball ont of position, between
the third and middle hoops; went through herseh"; croquet-
ted Ethel's and sent it through ; then on Edwm's and left him,
to go with her two strokes back to Emily's ; took it, placed it
where she wanted it, went through the middle hooj), and so on.
By her care and skill she struck the first post and back through
the two hoops ere her ])lay ceased. Reginald followed with his
play, but upon getting through his two first hooi)s found that
Ada had left him nothing to hit, and so had to play for a safe
position, out of danger from Edwin. Mr. Horton came last,
and as he was a good billiard player, and was co-aided too by
Ada, he croquetted Reggie's ball, got through his third hoojj,
croquetted Ethel, went through the middle, and made some
very good single shots and a good run.

So the game progressed, amid Ada's alternate rejoicings,
scoldings and endless directions. Croquettings, roijuetings.
drivings out of positions and general excitement.

Emily played affectedly, requiring endless instructions from
Edwin, whom she called to her side at every stroke she had to
make, and went to him to advise on each of his. He was so
polite and attentive to her requests ; so apparently anxious to
do anything she asked, that she alnwst began to think that she
had made an impression, and that it was not as she had feared
about Ethel. She was all smiles and sweetness, and worked a
great deal harder at being smiling and sweet than she did at
crociuet, which was a subsidiary object. F.dwin was very gal-
lant towards her, with the natural courtesy and chivalry of feel-
ing of a gentleman. Besides, was she not very pretty and
stylish-looking? and then she made herself very |)leasing when
she chose to do so.

Edwin's attentions to his Ethel during the game consisted
principally in croquetting her ball at every op])ortunity, and
driving it away as far as possible — thereby s])oiling his own

„,.. ^....^JtfiL

SHK MIGHT HA\ K DONK BKITKR.

ii »; :

[)iay, as tight-croquet had been voted old-fasliioned l)y that very
scientific player, Ada.

AVherever the battle raged the fiercest, tliere would Ada and
Reggie be found, they delighting more in hindering their adver-
saries' play than in advancing their own, and laughing obstrep-
erously whenever they succeeded in vexatiously sending an ad-
versar\- far out of ])Osition.

Mr. Horton, made interested by his first success, and his e) c
skilled by long practice at his national billiards, had pla)'ed
himself ahead, and became the first rover. Seeing this, Ada
commenced to coach Ethel, who was behind hand, and succeed-
ing in getting her through to the two last hoops, she then made
a diversion on the enemy, scattering them on the field ; took
Ethel's ball with her, and holding a good position with all
rovers, won the game in a canter, amid exultant rejoicings over
her crest-fallen antagonists.

Other games tbllowed with varying success, though in the
end victory ])erched upon the crest of the unconquerable Ada,
who was, therefore, satisfied and happy.

A pleasant stroll through the pretty valle>' succeeded, during
the course of which Edwin managed to get his fair one to him-
self for a few minutes, and doubtless many sweet things were
said; of much greater interest to themselves than any other
persons.

Ada and Mr. Horton went off together, and a very jjrosaic
flirtation they would have of it. Nevertheless, they contrived
to amuse each other very well, for every now and then a ringing
laugh from Ada, or a bass chuckle from her coinpanion, would
arise on the air, as they negligently and unceremoniously strolled
on in company.

Emil\' was thus left to the rather youthfL^l cavaliership of
Reginald. A very ])leasing dut\- to him ; for h.er formed and
stylish good looks were to his young eyes \ery attractive.
Like mo ft very young men, his admiration was bestowed upon

I 1

! it
I

A IMC-MC \\\ I'HK [.AKK.

^'7

d girl older than himsflf. Her handsouie dress, finished iij;-
pearance and fine figure impressed him very slrongl}- — the more
strongly, perha[>s, that not having himself attained j)olisl'v and
finish, he, conscious of the lack, found the (jualities admirable
m another.

Kven her somewhat overstrained manner and would-be
dignitv of demeanour were to him but additional charms.
When in her society he was very much in love, and not bei;ig
attlicted with bashfulness by any means, he pushed his bold
love-making in a direct and straight-through-the-bush nUiUner —
iio l)eating around it — that might not have been i)leasing to
many girls, but ver}' well suited her taste, and met with no dis-
couragement.

She doubtless would have [)rererred her walk to haxe been
with Edwin, as he was an immediately eligible parti, and lier
cause was in danger from Ethel ; but she had not obtained his
company, and was contented to exercise her charms upon Reg-
inald, who appr«"'iated, and who — if not directly — would cer-
tainly l)ecome an '• eligible ;" and she would hold her power over
him as a dernii'r resort. Besides, there were many things
which she very much wished to know which Reginald might
know, and which she might easily discover from him.

So during their walk — I'^dwin and Ethel a little in advance,
"jbliviiously interested in each other — she interrujjted the flow oi
Reggie's open compliment and direct fine s])eeches — Avhich slic
liad rewarded by a smile, a glance, or not unpleasing reply — In
remarking :

"Now, Reggie, you'll make me believe you're in love wth
me if vou .s'^eak to me like that. Vou should'nt, vou knov,
when, I dare say, you make the very same fine s[)eeches to evei >
girl you meet. But see, what a very interesting conversation
Mr. Vance and Ethel are holdmg. They seem totally lost to
all the world except themselves."

■*(.)h I that's nothiuv." said Re'.>'.:ie. '• \'ance was alwavs soft

SHE MIGHT HAVK DUNE BETTER.

upon Ethel, because she talks riibl)ish about books and poetry
with him ; astronomy and travels, and stuff. Til bet that its
botany or some such nonsense they're talking about now. I
never heard them at anything else but some scientific
humbug or other, and I'm very glad of it, too, for I would not
like him to come spooning around you, Emily. I'd rather tlo
that myself."

" Oh, fie ! Reginald," returned Emily ; "and such an ex-
pression to use I But," she added, " you've been away, and
young ladies see more quickly into these things than young
gentlemen do, at any rate. I'm very sure that if those two are
not engaged to each other, they soon will be — and then you'll
lose your sister, Reggie."

" Well ; if they're engaged, I know nothing of it. 'They
hav'nt told me anything, but I'll find out, though. I'll ask my
mother first chance I get ; I don't care if it is true, either. I'll
follow the example, and get engaged myself ; and I know to
whom," said Reggie, looking straight into her face as coolly and
unabashedly as possible.

" You seem very confident. Master Reggie," replied Emily,
who having discovered that her youthful admirer could tell her
nothing, thought she might as well relapse into the pleasant
flirtation again. " Pray who may the young lady be!* — any 1
know? 'This, too, after all the sweet speeches you have made
to me to-day, Reggie ! "

" I've been telling you all day — and her name is Emily,"

said the young reprobate, snatching a kiss with sudden adroit-
ness and agility, avoiding with equal alertness her rather playful
return-box of the ear of the by-no-means displeased Emily.
" Well, I'm sure ! " she exclaimed with a laugh. " Take care

that I don't take you at your word, you bold young 1 don't

know what to call you."

" That's right, Emily, do, and if you don't, I will," he said.
And so on, and so on — neither of them very much in earnest ;

A KKVELATION— ARRIVAL AXJ) LKCTLFRE. 89

and

neither of them troiibh'ng themselves with the reflection that
there are such things as conse(iiiences.

At length the decHning sun warned them of return. Mr,
Mordaunt mounted his horse and went home by the road, while
the rest of the party took to their boat again, which Edwin
slowly and surely tacked u\> the lake against the head wind.

'I'heir da}- had been a jileasant one, yet they were all glad
enough to step out upon the little wharf, with its short distance
to the house alone left them to traverse.

As Reginald and Emily walked uj) together, she asked him :
*' Well, Reggie ; what did your mother say ? Are Ethel and
Mr. Vance engaged? Did you ask yet?"

'* No ; I hav'nt as yet. But why do you wish to know about
it so earnestly ? " with some surprise and curiosity.

•M)h I young ladies always like to hear of engagements and
love affairs," she answered lightly.

•'Do they? How very odd! I'll remember that. And
perhaps you would not dislike to take part in a love affair also,"
said Reggie, looking up into her face and laughing.

On entering the house, Edwin enquired if .Mr. A\'olverton
had not come, and was answered in the negative, noi> at the
time that the family retired to bed, had he or Barney i)ut in an
appearance.

CH.VPTER XI.

A kKVKLA llON ; AN ARRIVAL AN1> A I.KC I'URI'..

When Mrs. Mordaunt — an early riser — descended the stairs
on the following morning, she entered, as was her wont, the
conservatory, for a few minutes' enjoyment of her beloved
flowers — the charm of whose beauty and fragrant;e is the most
keenly appreciated in the early hours of the day, when the eye
and the sense — refreshed, invigorated and unsatiated, awaken

*)0

SHK MKiHl HA\ K DONK 15K1 TKK.

') il^^H

■^1

1
■I

Avitli renewed dclij^ht lo the outsjjread and ever-new glories of
the universe.

The first ol)ject that met her eye, however, on this occasion,
was our friend Harney — by no means a beautiful Hower — loung.
ing in deeply reflective attitude up against the o])en door, through
which the fresh morning breeze entered ; and e\idently, knowing
iier custom, on the uatch for her coming.

'* (iood mornin' till ye, Mistiiress Mord;iunl," said he, doffing
his hat, and advancing in from the door. '* It's mighty foine
the harbs in ver conservathorv are the dav ; and, faix 1 it's \er-
self is lookin' as fresh and as purty, ma'ain, as iver a flower av
thim all, this blissid marn."

" (iood morning to you, Harney," said Mrs. Mordaunt. •' 1
know you have something to say to me, when you commence
with your soft solder and blarney, ^\'ell, what is it, l?arney ? —
fUit what in the world kept you so late last night ; and did Mr.
Wolverton come witli you? "

" Late was it? Och ! an it wur late enough or arly — wan a\
the two. Oh, yis ! ma'am, he kern wid me — bad scran ! or its
liome I'd a bin atadacent hour a\ the night. I tought now as
he niver intended to get hisself started," re])lied Barney.

•' But what kept him so late? Did he not come by the day
train ? ^'ou did not keejj him waiting, did you, Barney ?"

•' Faix ! the boot was on the udder fut, I'm thinking, ma'am ;
mebbe it wur bishness, ma'am, or mebbe he had raisons of his
own fur not appearin' before the family till he'd slej)' on it, and
got hisself brightened up agin. And it's right he was. more be-
token," returned Barney, sarcastically.

•' Why I whatever do >ou mean, Barney ? 1 can't under-
stand you ; don't speak in riddles," exclaimed Mrs. Mordaunt.

•'Troth 1 and indade, ma'am, it's jist nuthin' at all, at all, I'm
manin'," returned Barney. "Ye see, ma'am, av I wur to go out
to spind the avenin' wid a few friends, an' it wur not a timper-
ance meetin' they wur houldm', an' it shud ha])])en whin it

^iSS^iS^i^

A RFA KL.VnoN—ARKlVAL AND LKCTIKI'

in :
his
nd

1)C-

wur time to he makiiV fur homt, that I sliiid frnd incsilfa acliii'
strange aiV talking (juare, an' singin' and makin' to git a l)it av
shillalegh in me hands, Hke linough-more-he-token ; would'nl I
he fur waitin' anhile till the dacent folks wor in their hids, an'
thin I cud slij) in onohsarved ? Kaix ! an' barrin' a (juare fee! av
me hid It's all straight I'd be by marning." added he, with ;i
comiad twist of his eve.

•• Why you do not mean to say he had been drin " ex-
claimed Mrs. Mordaunt, impulsively, horrified at the idea, but
she was hastily interrupted by the shrewd i]arney at this
dangerous ])oint. witich threatened to bring a close to the con-
versation.

"Och! it was'nt alludin' to the gintleman I wor at all, ma'am,"
.said the hypocritical IJarney, conscious he had been trespassing
on the sacred rights of guesthood. ** it wuv nivsilf I wor ;i
sphakin' av whin I wud do the like. Ve see, ma'am." continued he,
" I wint to the stashin whin the train kem in. an" ! seed Misther
Wolverton git aff av it, .so I wint u])till himan'tould him 1 had a
baste riddy till fetch him u\> till the Lake, an' lie tould me till
wait awhile as he had some bishness till attind till, an' off he wini
liot-fut till the bank. He stayed there a mortial while, an' whin
he kem back till the hot-tel. lie lukked as black as tunder. He
called fur brandy intill a room there, where its two udder gin-
tlemin wor wid him."

•' 1 waited, an' I waited, an' 1 waited, " continued Barney,
** till it kem on six av the clock, whin I wint and axed him if it's
|)ut the baste in I wor to do. as it wor gettin' mortial late, an
we hid twinty mile afore us. Begorra I but it's sound asleep
they wor, an' it vor no timjjerance meeting they'd been houldin'
av ather, so it wur'nt.

*' Be me sowl I but it med me as crass as a i)0st-office dark,
so it did, till see the sthate he wur in, an" if it had'nt been that
he wor a gintleman fur the Lake, it's bla("k an' blue I'd ha' bate

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IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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1.0

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12.0

1.4 III 1.6

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hi!

SHE MIGHT HAN'E DONE BETTER.

him, so I wild, l)egorra ! fur disghracing us all that a-away, the
dirthy spalpeen."

" Stop, Barney I" wamily interrui)ted Mrs. Mordaunt. " 1
cannot listen longer to your imi)ertinent stories. Vou presume
too much in thus traducing the characterof a gentleman visiting
here. Vou mistake, also. Mr. W'olverton was probably fatigued
with his journey and needed some rest," added poor Mrs. Mor-
daunt, horrified at the character of the guest she had beneath her
roof, vet knowing that she ought to jjrotect him, while unable
to disbelieve Barney's very graphic and evidently veracious state-
ment.

" Faix I then, ma'am, an' ye don't wish till hear more av it, the
divil a wurrud more has Barney got to say agin it," rej)lied that
individual, carefully plucking a dead leaf from a geranium, but
nevertheless proceeding with a great many other words, unre-
strained too.

" Fur the mather av that, ma'am, ye can as will affoord till hear
anything consarning the family as Barney can. And its me
duthy, too, so it ' ;, be the powers ! till tell yes all 1 know av it,
gintleman or no gintleman. The ind av the mather wor that I
let them slape on till it kem to be nine at night, and thin I wint
and put the baste intill the vahicle — ]>oor ill used craythur, that
h.ad her day's wur-ruk afore her yit, whin it wur home she shud
be — and tould the waither till mek out his bill, an' we wint in,
A-an wid another, an' vvekkened him. Troth I an' the waither
pvor mighty short wid him, and poked the pajjer intill his neb
an' toult him till i)ay it an' be aff wid him. Faix ! he wekkened
up quite an' sober-like, an' dhrank some brandy till straightei^
himsilf up wid, an' I got him intill the vahicle aisy an' plisint, an'
its glad I wor till get aff wid him. A\'e driv on, nately enough,
an' niver a wur-rud he said, goodor bad, till we'd med a couple
av miles av the road."

" ' Barney,' says he, ' What's Misther Wmce doing uj) at the

A RRVELA'l'ION— ARRIVAL AND I.KCTURK. 93

Lake these days. He's been there tin days or more, hasn't
he?'

" ' ( )ch !' says 1, ' the divil a know I knows wliat he's doin' av.
He's a quite gintleman an' amuses hissilf as a gintleman shud.'

'* ' iiut how does he spind his time ? He must find it rather
dull up there, one would think, unless he has some strong at-
traction. Eh I Barney ?' says he.

" ' Dull is it ? An' what for is it dull he'd be ?' says I. ' Be-
gorra I if it's dull he finds himself, I'm thinkin' he likes it, an' he'll
be afther takin' wan av the family aff wid him to kaj)e him dull
for iver. * An' its how does he spind his time is it ?' Faix, its
mighty agraable his way of spindin' it, so it is. It's a mortial
hand he is tor jjlazin' the ladies,' says I. * A ridin' on horse-
back troo the fields wid thim. A sailin* on the little lough, a
talkin' pothry an' jommethry wid thim. Playin' crokey wid thim
— a quar : furrui game they have, where the gintlemin can be
coortin' the ladies, while they're pretmdin' to knock (luare little
wood balls troo wires up agin little barber's posts. An'standin'
in the consarvathory wid Miss Kthel fur hours togither, tilling
av her the names av her harbs in Latin an' Grake, an' i)ullin'
laves an' blossoms to bits — as a choild wud a fly — an' talkin'
about it as grand as ye plaze in the hay thin' tongues. Och I
it's a mighty plisint way he has av bein' dull, an' it agraes wid
more nor hmi up there, more-be-token,' says 1.

" * Oh ! that's the way of it, is it, Barney,' says he. ' I sup-
pose now he and Miss Ethel agree very well together ?"

" * Troth ! it's lookin' in the upholstheres shop he'll be afore
long,' says I, an' he looked as black as tunder, so he did, whin
he heard it. He swore till himself, and muttered away some-
thin' about ' forestalled,' though what he mint the divil a bit av
me knows. An' it's quite and silent he sat till w^e arruv home.

" Good rnarnin' till ye, Misthress Mordaunt. I must be aff
till me wur-ruk," exclaimed Barney at the conclusion of his long
story, and shuffling off as fast as he could. " It's mighty purty

til

«)4

SHK MKIHT HANK I)()NK BKITKR.

her harbs are lookin' the day, and a line day it is, so it is, thimk
the Lord."

Poor Mrs. Mordaunt liad l)ut h'ttle enjoyment left for her
flowers on this morning. 'I'hat was all taken away by Barney's
revelation. She blamed herself severely, now he had gone, for
having listened to it, though not a little shocked at its tenor,
while she could not but wonder at the tact and shrewdness with
which the man, a]jj)arently rude, ignorant and uneducated, had
carried out his statement, really compelling her to hear it by
sheer management and address, and who, when his tale was
told, had so adroitly scuttled off, without giving her the oppor
tunity for a word.

.She felt humiliated in her character of hostess that she had
had to listen to such a tale from a servant, reflecting in such a
manner upon her guest, Avhile she could not but recognize the
honesty of i)urpose and faithfulness of the man who had thus
given himself a dangerous and disagreealile task.

'' How could Kdwin Vance — her son-in-law that was to be —
have for a friend such a man as this Mr. Wolverton," she ask-
ed herself. "Ought he to be warned? Ought not his eyes
to be opened to this i)recious friend's character and habits?"

No '. that would not only be a violation of the hosi)italit} of
the rules of the house in which the man was a guest, but she had
nothing more than the story of an ignorant Irishman to support
her charges : and, again, she felt that she could not bring her-
self to repeat the details, some of them so humiliatingly j^er-
sonal.

No 1 she would do nothing at present, sjive to keep watch
and ward u])on Mr. Wolverton and his schemes while he was
in her house ; while to save Ethel from any possible annoyance
her engagement should be made patent to the world.

.So this Wolverton had come with designs to make himself
agreeable to her daughter, had he ? That man who had come
under her roof yet stui)ihed from his debauch. But he was too

A RKVKl.A'noN—ARRIVAI. AND LECTURE. 95

l.ite ; he was ' tbrestalle<I,' as Barney had said, ilioiigli the latter
knew not the meaning of the word his very unj)leasant hints had
brought out.

After all. Barney had done lier a service, she thought, and
he needed not to have scuttled off so fast when he liad com]>Iet-
ed his tale ; and he was forgiven.

Mrs. Mordaunt, with a bare look at her blossoming lavourites,
departed thoughtfully from the conservator)-, and went about
her morning avocations.

* 5!-- ;;: 5;i :;s * <;

Air. Sydney Wolverton. on entering the breakfast room an
hour later, presented by no means an unfiivourable ap])earance
either in dress, manner or look, and Mrs. Mordaunt, fresh from
her early conversation with Barney, thought, at the first glance,
'* how well he has got over his night's dissipation.'"

He api^roached her with ease and self-pos>ession as one al-
ready known to her, and though her .salutation, suftii-iei.tly polite,
was involuntary cool and even a little distant, he addressed a
few words to her and Ethel liefore going through the formalities
with the rest of the party.with the quiet and assured air of a gen-
tleman.

Edwin Wince's greeting to hira was warm and hearty, on his
[)art, at least, the meeting with a friend.

" I hardly exjjected to see you this morning, Sythiey. old fel-
low," he said. '* We ga\e you up for the night at eleven o'clock,
supposing you had been detained."

" Ves I" re]>lied Sydne\-, turning at the same time to Mrs.
Mordaunt. " I must beg [xirdon for detaining the conveyance
and its driver, which you so kindly sent for me. until an hour so
late.

" On arrival at Cascades I found there was some bank busi-
ness to which I had to attend, which kept me longer .than I
expected. Afterwards some gentlemen connected with me in
business arrived at the hotel, and >\ith \arious matters claimed

SHE MIGHT HAVE DOXK BKTTKR.

my time until ver) late. I trust that I did not cause much in-
convenience by my delay."

** Certainly not," replied Mr. Mordaunt, answering for his wife.
'' Further than that you would not meet with a very warm re-
cojition on arrival, as we had all retired. You must make u])
now with a good l)reakfast which, I am hai)py to say, is ready."

" You should have been here yesterday, Mr. Wolverton," said
Emily. " We had a uelightful sail and a })ic-nic, whick I know
you would have much enjoyed : and there have been lots of
things going on here and at Ten Lakes lately. You don't know-
how much you have lost by not making your ajj])earance amongst
us sooner."

*• Oh, yes, Mi.ss Dearborn! I am sure there has been much
of interest going forward with \'ou all, and a visit to this j)art i*;
always a bright era to me. But, unfortunately, my arrangements
do not often permit them. No one can be better aware than I
am myself how much I have missed," he replied, with a smile,
though his eye unconsciousl) rested for a moment upon Plthel's
face, and his thoughts returned to Barney's hints during their
drive. He had couched his phrase in words conveying more
than he otherwise would have expressed had he suspected that
either of those present were j)artially initiated into an idea ot
his views, and could construe them very differently from his inten-
tion. Kmily, who knew him best of all, was very certain that the
motives of his visit was not alone the enjoyment of such c[uici
pleasures as a countr)- house afforded, and who intuitively sus-
j)ected one ot them, at least — smiled mischievously at the
success of the bait she had thrown out, and resolved to make
him rejjent his meditated treason to herself.

Mrs. Mordaunt looked him fixedly in the face for a moment
— an ominous light in her eye, which he noticed, but could not
comprehend ; but she made no remark, and the conversation
l)ecame general.

Sidney Wolverton, as he sat easily and composedly among

A REVKLATION— ARRIVAL AND LKCTURH. ^)^

them, presented the appearance of a fine-looking and rather
distinguished, if not a handsome, man, with an air of ability
and force about him. Tall and well-built, carefully and effect-
lively dressed, he had the api)earance and manners of a gentle-
man. His features were good, though very marked ; he might
have been called handsome were it not that a somewhat satur-
nine and lowering expression sat upon his face in his usual
moods, which was not pleasing. Only when some conscious
effort or other occasion brought out a smile, would the dark ex-
pression change and brighten. But he was quite able to produce
the change when it suited him to do so. The acpiiline and
[pointed nose, with its large, thin and drawn nostrils ; the bright
dark eyes and black hair, determined mouth, the lips set tight
against the gleaming teeth, told of a forceful will — dark and
tierce as it was forceful, and of the strong executiveness to
carry out its decrees — a striking, if not a dangerous mentality.

And although the general expression of the dark face — when,
as under the present circumstances, it was smoothed down to
society appearance — -would hardly be called fierce or tigerish,
yet it was very easy to imagine that the man himself,if impelled by
necessity, the gratification of his passions, or his desired ends
— would become so, and spare nothing that stood in his
course.

From the advantages and opjjortunities which had been lib-
erally bestowed upon him, Sidney Wolverton ought to have been
a wealthy — a prosperous man.

The Hopetown mills — an extensive and heretofore profitable
establishment — had been bequeathed, at the death of a bach-
elor uncle, imencumbered and free from debt, although some-
what in need of renovation and repair. His father, a well-to-
do merchant of Nova Scotia, had put him in ])ossession of
sufficient cajjital for this purpose, and for an untrammelled and
unembarrassed carrying on of the business ; had advised him
to be careful and judicious ; that his property was a good one,

JSHK MiGH'l" HAVK DUNK BK'I TKR,

and by pnitlence and foresight, should lead him to fortune— ai
the same time warning him that he had now to depend upon
himself alone, without further assistance, as his other children
must also he advanced in life.

Instead, however, of profiting by thiswise advice, or [)robal)ly
too young for his j^osition — he had sunk a great jjart of his
capital in additions and extensions to his establishment, some
of them, too, altogether out of the legitimate course of the
l)usiness, and had of late purchased, for sjjeculatiNe purposes.
ii large tract of land totally unconnected with the establish-
ment, for which he had only been as yet enabled to pay a small
portion o^ the i)urchase money.

Naturally extravagant, and inclined to dissipation, he had in
the [)ursuit of his pleasures, entrusted too much to foremen and
overseers, that to which he should himself have attended ; and
as a consei[uence he had for some time found himself not in an
easy or ])rosperous condition, but continually harrassed and
embarrassed. As we know, he had endeavoured to alleviate
this i)osition by the attempt — unsuccessful, however — to induce
Mr. HortO:! and his friend, Vance, to enter the business with
him.

Since these attempts he had carried on the business as best
he could — da\' to day — a regular hand-to-mouth s) stem. But
what chance could there be left for a concern to stand under a
chronic state of hand-to-mouth administration ? At the time of
his visit to the Lake, things had arrived at a desperate pitch
with him. Aid he must have, by whatever means it might ))e
obtained.

" I say, Mr. W'olverton, how did you and the other fellows
get liome ? " asked Reginald — " when, in our late expedition,
you basely deserted Gus Ferguson and myself in the woods ? "

" \V^e reached home next day easily enough, Reginald, " he
rej)iied ; " but as to deserting you, I imagine it is the other
way, and you deserted us. That is my imi)ression."

A RbiVKLATION— ARRIVAL AND I.ECrijRK.

9'>

•• How do >oii make that out? I cai,i't see it in that light.
Did you not all of you turn l)ack before we hatl got halfway
to our proposed point ? " exclaimed Reggie defensively.

•'Yes; I'll admit we did not fulfil our whole intention; hut
how very often does not poor human nature fiiil to complete all
that it designs ? We had been gone a week, you must admit,
Reggie, and jjrovisions were expended. Again, there was
much more hard work than i>leasure upon that expedition into-
ihe wilds. Hut how did you two go.-*" asked W'olverton in
return.

•'Oh! we got to Lake Nipissing before we turned — as we
said we would ; and a rough time we had of it. You fellows
used up all the eatables and drinkables before you left, and we
had to depend upon our rifles and fishing-tackle for a living.
We only got back yesterday morning, but after all we had a
good time, and saw lots of countr)-. Adventures enough, too.'

•' Well ; I'm glad you found it rough. \'ou deserved it tor
your pains. A week in the woods is enough for any reasonable
Christian," answered Sidney, laughing. " Beyond that the hard
work gets monotop''

•' All right ! " excla d Reggie. " \Ve'll give you count}
fellows some hard worK on Saturday, too — see if we dor.'t..
You'll find it harder than a day in the garden, much more a
day in the woods — you bet I 1 suppose you fellows think you
have a soft thing on Ten Lakes in the match, don't jou ?
\'ou'll have to work for it, though."

" Oh, yes, Reggie I we must beat them, or I'U never be able
to show my face again I " said Ada energetically, clasping her
hands together. " I'd die before I'd let that boasting county
club beat us all 1 If they win, I'm ruined ! The pairs of gloves
that I'll lose, I'll never be able to pay for them all."

*' Ada," said her sister, severely. " One would imagine, from
the tenor of your conversation, that you belonged to the Ten
Lakes Club and were going to take your innings, as they call it,.

'♦

\ ifitlKi'.isarr.Jst.^^jMnisutt .u

(00

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE IJEITER.

in the match to-morrow.. Do try to remember that you are a
young lady."

" 1 wish I wasn't sometimes," Ada answered, in jiiteous tones
that made her hearers laugh. " And I only wish I was going to
play to-morrow. I do belong to the Club, and so ought every
girl in Ten Lakes who has any spirit in her," she added, ener-
getically.

** Well I if all the young ladies show the same interest as you
do, Miss Ada, in the Cricket Club, the * County ' will have to
look to its laurels against an opponent so inspired," said Mr.
W'olverton with a gallantry wholly unappreciated by her to whom
it was addressed. '* I must say though that I think it to be a
little over-confident in challenging so strong a Club as the
* County,' and I fear it will have to record a sound drubbing on
Saturday," continued Sydney to Reginald.

*' Not a l)it of it :"

*' I'd like to see them do it I" exclaimed Reggie and Adj? to-
j^ether in emphatic denial.

" That's right, Ada. I like to see you stand u\) for the honour
of your Ten Lakes, the place where you were bom and where
you live, though it is but a village," said Mr. Horton, warmly,
to her. " Were your spirit diffused throughout the extent of the
country, and did it animate all its inhabitants, it would
be the better for it — very greatly the better for it. Not that I
mean thus to infer the encouragement of local or sectional jeal-
ousies as a benefit, far from it, such is but an evil outgrowth.
The love of one's home, the i)lace of one's birth or residence, the
Jitrong personal interest in them is, when one possesses it, the
oiitspring of ardent sentiment, of which true patriotism, the love
of one's country — one's own country — is the extended growth,
and one of the purest, most unselfish sentiments that can animate
the human breast. Of this patriotic feeling, in its true sense,
I cannot but perceive a lamentable deficiency in this Canada of
yours. A deficiency the more consi)icus and the more inex-

_..„-»,-.. ,---.,-.T^%«.>^>.-. - .■.■i>Lwr'm«g.xja.-vw-s^j-,-.vti^-'--;:-r

Tmjv-

A REVELATION— ARRIVAL AND LECTURE. loi

disable in the inhabitants of such a land as this — a land whose
very vastness, grandeur and capabilities should arouse the senti-
ment in its highest degree. A deficiency which is one of the
great rocks ahead in its progress towards the status of a great
nation. There exists, too generally, I regret to say, a lack of
confidence, even of interesi, in the future of the country. A de-
j)lorable lack, which of necessity must exercise a paralyzing ef-
fect upon its advancement.''

" The patriotism of the F'rench-Canadian, for instance," he
continued, "seems to be mainly directed towards the language, the
laws and customs of the race from which he sprang, and I very
much doubt if the sentiment as towards his own country — Canada
— the land of his birth, is felt in any but a very slight degree. And
this same tone, with native born Canadians of uther races, holds
true also. They look with greater pride towards the country
from which they are descended than to the land to which they
are native. The confederation of the separate provinces, now
the great ' Dominion of Canada,' by binding them together into
a solid unit, by the gradual obliteration of narrow provin-
cial views and prejudices, and the aspect of power which
territory and population gives, will probably in the course of
time conduce to a change in this respect that is so desirable.
But a great deal depends upon the population itself. The his-
tory of the country though a short, is certainly not an inglorious
one, and its study — laid in proper form and colouring — before
the rising generation, should be used as powerful means to that
end. But I have observed with astonishment in my various
rambles throughout the provinces the great number of American
' text books ' and ' readers,' highly objectionable from a Canadian
point of view, which are used in the Common Schools. To thus
l)ermit the impressionable minds of the youth of the country to be
imbued and tinged, with the ideas, hostile and prejudiced, of any
foreign country, especially the case with those advanced by our
American School books, is simply a suicidal policy. As it should

Uf '

'..■'T*t-'*r^TPff-:' T;ryi-y ■

109

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BEITER,

be the aim of the government to foster a. national, a patriotic
spirit, without which a state never became great, it is its primary
duty tC' unhesitatingly stamp out so glaring a source of danger,
and enforcedly substitute, constitutionally or unconstitutionally,
whether agreeable to sectional feeling or disagreeable, a nation-
ally conceived course of their own in all the public schools.

" What can be a more despicable object than the man in whom
the spirit of patriotism, the natural love of his nati\ e country is
a. dead sentiment ? He cannot but think meanly of himself, who
thinks meanly of the land from which he sprang," continued Mr.
Horton, warming up to a favourite subject of his, and he went
on —

" Place in contradistinction the intense j)atriotisni of the Bri-
ton, for instance. With what pride, quiet and dignified, arrogant
and supercilious, as the case may be, he carries the love cf his
country about him, and bears himself as if its honours, its renown,
reflected themselves upon him. He feels himself a sharer of
them — that he and his ancestors achieved them, and he glories
in the name of a Briton. He may look with interest and admir-
ation, it is true, and accord the due praise to the great works of
a rival nation, but would laugh at an assertion of that nation's
superiority. From the fact of his being a Briton, and not from
physical or mental peculiarity, arises his proud confidence in him-
self and his native land. His coimtry may be hated for its power
and success, he knows it, and rather likes the idea, for it is, in his
'.>yes, the world's tribute, its sweetest praise to his beloved land.
What might be considered of the arrogant confidence of a power
that would venture to take up arms and wage war against the whole
world combined in assurance of success ? Yet who would affirm
that Britain would hesitate a moment in defence of her rights to
enter upon such a tremendous conflict. She'did urge that war once,
and did not emerge from it second best either. Tl-at is where
patriotism comes in ! And nowhere, Miss Ada, is the* love of
home, of one's own place, one's own roof-tree, more exerriDlified

jy^irttiirM y^>'

riotic
mary
inger,
nally,
ation-

whom
itry is
If, who
id Mr.
; went

le Bri-
TOgant
cf his
enown,
arer of
glories
admir-
orks of
lation's
from
in him-
power
in his
land,
power
e whole
d affirm
ghts to
ar once,
where
love of
TiDlified

A HEVELATION— ARRIVAL AND LECTURE. 103

than in England, and nowhere does there exist a people more
patriotic."

" Well done ! Uncle Edward,'' said Reginald, impudently.
" We'll run you in for member next election, certain. But 1
think you are rather hard on us Canadians. We younger ones,
at any rate, are proud of our country, and believe in it, and if
we do look with affection and pride to the country from which
we are descended, we do not love our own any the less on that
account. I do not deny, though, that there is more truth than
poetry in a good deal of that you have told us."

" That's right, Reggie," replied his uncle. " Stand up always
for the land of your birth. You won't run me for a member,
though," he added, as they rose from the table. " I'm too good
a Yankee for that."

" Oh ! are you though," returned Reggie. " An M. P. of
Canada is just as good as a Yankee Senator any day. Come
now ! senators and generals and colonels are as plentiful in the
States as leaves in Valambrosa."

" Yes !" and M. P.'s are plentiful enough in the Dominion also,
under the present condition of things. Why I how many par-
liaments are you running now? when one is ample for all there
is to do. Cut off your ridiculous little Provincial Houses, with
their parish politics and your country will be all the better for
it. I am free to confess my own country would be none the
worse for doing the same," replied Mr. Horton.

" Mrs. Mordaunt," asked Ada, as they entered the drawing-
room, " Have you anything for me to do this morning ? I
don't like to be idle, and to commence amusing one's self at
half past eight is rather early. I'd be tired out before night."

" No ! Ada, I have not," said Mrs. Mordaunt. " 1 think
you'll have to try to amuse yourself There's lots of things you
can do. Try billiards, or a book, or a ride on horseback, or get
the geiitlemen out to croquet. I have nothing to do myself par-
ticularly, or Ethel either. Mr. Mordaunt will keep so many ser-

104

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

f I

vants about that they hav'nt enough to do. I think I have heard
of the servant question certainly, and the difficulty peojjle ex-
perience in getting the assistance they require. For my part 1
have never had any difficulty in getting the assistance I require.
Yet I pay the wages only that are customary in this district.
And certainly not nearly so high as they pay in the cities."

"Well ! I'm sure you're very lucky, Mrs. Mordaunt," exclaim-
ed Emily, " for of all the pests and nuisances we have to endure
at home the servant question is the most vexatious. We never
can get the creatures to stay more than a month with us, no mat-
ter what wages we pay, A\''ith two we can get along, but most
of thp time we have but one, and generally when we manage to
get another, the first one has left us. I'm sure I don't under-
stand how it is that some people seem to have no trouble with
their girls."

" I think the matter can be easily enough accounted for in
oi.r case, Emily," said Ada, " With such a large family as ours,
it is as much as two servants can do to get through, even with
some little help from us ; but they get very little of that gener-
ally. And it is very much the same when we have only one.
We don't help her enough. The girl cannot do the work, and
won't stay with us. Besides, as a general thing, they are
not treated properly in our house, or spoken kindly to, and have
no time left for recreation, I don't wonder that we find trouble
with our servants."

" Oh ! that's Ada all over," rejoined Emily, " She likes to do
housework and place herself on a level with the servants. It's
only the other day that one of our girls gave her month's warn-
ing just because I scolded her for not having my breakfast ready,
for I'd been out the night before at a party and had come down
late, and told me that she would leave the house instantly, were
?t not that she knew Miss Ada would have to do all the work
herself. For my part, I would not curry favor with such crea-
tures. As it is, Ada does half the girls' work for them, speaks

[)j^y ^'i3jfMgw».?:?r;K!CT'Vi<BTM^gj,i»^7tw?a-:»;a''ji'-^^

card
t ex-
art 1
^uire.
strict.

:laim-
ndure
never
mat-
most
age to
under-
e with

for in
IS ours,
n with
gener-
ly one.
k, and
ey are
id have
trouble

es to do
s. It's
s warn-
t ready,

He down
y, were

■le work
h crea-
, speaks

A REVELATION— ARRIVAL AND LECTURE. 105

to them as if they were ladies, and that's why they like her."
" V^'ell ! 1 think Ada is right," sa"d Mrs. Mordaunt, quietly.
" A word of kindness goes a great way with them. But, Emily
and Ada, I have some news for you which I think you will find
interesting, and as we are alone I will tell you. Edwin Vance
and Ethel have taken it into their heads to fall in love with each
other, and they are engaged to be married. \\'hat do you think
of that ? It was, I must say, rather a surprise to Mr. Mordaunt
and myself We had not expected such a thing, though I could
see that Edwin liked Ethel. However, the match will be suit-
able enough in all respects, and, I think, will be for their happi-
ness. You must congratulate me upon the new and unexpected
ro/e which I am to enter upon — the uneviable one of a mother-
in-law. I do trust that my dear Ethd may be hap])y."

" Oh ! I am so glad, Mrs. Mordaunt, so glad to hear such good
news of Ethel. I always knew that she would marry some nice
fellow. So Ethel's going to marry Mr. Vance, Dear Ethel, I'm
so glad. I do congratulate you, dear Mrs. Mordaunt. He is a
nice fellow, and Ethel is just perfection. Oh ! I know they'll be
so hajjpy," exclaimed Ada warmly, springing from her seat and
kissing Mrs. Mordaunt in the impulsive good nature of her
heart.

" Then they are engaged. Well ! I thought as much the
minute I arrived," said Emily, almost unwittingly, for though she
had been half expecting such,the news came to her with something
of a shock. It was not utter dismay, for it was not her heart
that was touched. Her vanity and her jealousy were the feelings
that were outraged. It was not agreeable to her that Ethel Mor-
daunt, whom she disliked, and of whom she was envious, should
have come between her and a prize, which, in her eyes, was well
worth having. Still less did she like it that Edwin Vance should
have preferred that detested rival to herself. Besides, was it
not another " eligible" gone — a direct loss, for she held imaginary
rights over all that admired but limited class. And it was no

'1. '!

I ^

t
I

■

KM*

io6

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

wonder that she did not respond to the news with the joyous
unselfishness of her sister. She managed to say at last, " Well !
I wish them joy, and hope they will be as happy as they doubt-
less are at present. But when is it to be, Mrs. Mordaunt ? and
where is Ethel's engagement ring ? I'm sure she has not got it
on, for I looked," added she, unconsciously.

" There is time enough for the ring yet, Emily," returned Mrs.
Mordaunt, " seeing their engagement is but two days old. I
don't suppose either of them have as yet thought of sue!, a de-
tail. The marriage will not take place for a year, at any rate,"
she continued, a little restively, to these enquiries.

" Only two days ago !" exclaimed Emily, emphatically. With
self-reproach in her heart she thought : " Had I come but a day
sooner I could have prevented this." And then her spitefulness
overcoming her, " And they are not to be married for a year. >.
Don't you think it is rather a long engagement to allow to a per-
son so yielding and changeable as Mr. Vance ?" she added.

" I have never observed such traits in his character, Miss
Dearborn, nor I think have you," returned Mrs. Mordaunt, in-
dignantly, with displeasure and anger in her tone. " I am as-
tonished at the remark from you. Pray what do you mean ?"^

" Now ! Emily, you ought to be ashamed of yourself You
are vexed because Ethel is engaged to be married before you
are, and you show it. I would not be so mean if I were you,"
interrupted Ada, vehemently, yet putting the least unfavourable
construction to her sister's impertinence.

Nevertheless, Emily's words left an unpleasant impression on
Mrs. Mordaunt's mind.

" I'm sure I did not mean to offend, Mrs. Mordaunt," said
Hmily, a little ashamed at what she had done. " I only meant
that — that — that Mr. Vance was inclined to be very attentive to
young ladies," she added, lamely enough.

" As all young men are ! You would find it very dall were

wmmm

wmiA

' ^■T'7;,^ay?^^i^:■s^^■■.::^v;^te.■;>■^■;^.'

DIDN'T KNOW WHEN SHE WAS WELL OFF. 107

they not so, Emily," answered Mrs. Mordaunt, pointedly. " With
Mr. Vance the case is now a different thing."

" As if butter would not melt in his mouth," said Emily to
herself, but, wisely, she did not give the thought utterance.

CHAPTER Xn.

DIDNT KNOW WHEN SHE WAS WELI, OFF.

On the morning of the twenty-first day of July, A.D. 187 1, Mr.
John Hatchitfess, of the old and highly reputable firm of John
Hatchitfess & Son, Notaries, Conveyancers and House and Land
Agents, of the City of Toronto, sat in his comfortable room, one
of the suite of three which constituted the firm's offices, busily en-
gaged in reading the morning papers, and keeping a sharp eye
on the three middle-aged and respectable-looking clerks in the
main oftice, as busily engaged at their respective desks, and in
casting regretful glances into the third apartment, the most
handsomely furnished of all, which was the sanctum of, and
ought to have been graced by the presence of Albert Maximus
Montague Hatchitfess, Esquire, junior member of the firm and
only son and heir of the said Mr. John Hatchitfess. But as
business was not the forte of that young gentleman ; while spend-
ing his share of the profits about Her Majesty's goodly city of
Toronto in the most agreeable manner possible — most decidedly
was ; the regretful glances of his worthy progenitor continued to
meet but dull vacancy, and he had to content his paternal eye
by looking still sharper after the three middle-aged clerks, who,
well aware of the supervision, wrote away for dear life, as if it
were a certain nameless personage, sulphurously odorate, bifur-
cate of extremity, and of comate aspect, who so enthusiastically
drove them.

The firm was wealthy, and bore the odour of being very honest,
quite to be depended upon, though perhaps a little hard in its

*!|i(

■

io8

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

W' w

dealings. The offices, upon a flight of stairs in King street,
were very wel! known to a goodly proportion of the inhabitants
of Toronto, and to a goodl)' number of people outside of 'I'o-
ronto also. A very large business was done in those offices,
and a great deal of money was made by the firm, not so much
by its legitimate notarial business, as by the more general line
of the House and Land Agency.

It might be a very hard, but it was a very honest firm, and
numerous gentlemen who liked to have their rents paid them
the day they were due, and who did not wish to have their
charitable souls agonized by appeals for delay from jjoor ten-
ants, found it very convenient to place their business in the
hands of John Hatchitfess & Son, who had no soul, and they
got their rents to the day.

Gentlemen who wished to dispose of property, repaired
thither also, and they shortly had the pleasure of handling the
price. Even were there great necessity for the transactions
being very hurriedly got through with, it was all the same. The
seller may not have got so much money, but he got it promj)!-

ly.

Gentlemen who wished to purchase property, or invest
money or effect a mortgage, or do almost anything in the way
of real estate, did the same; and they got what they wanted.
Should a nice young man, with property behind him, have been
spending rather too freely, and his pocket needed replenish-
ment, he went to John Hatchitfess & Son, and got the needful
cash, on giving his written promise to pay the advance, with a
good deal more added to it ; which promise, too, the young
gentleman generally found that he kept, whether it were agree-
able or not to him to do so.

These processes going on for long years, resulted in the ac-
cumulation of dollars, and Mr. John Hatchitfess, at the period
of our story, was regarded in the light of a very wealthy man.

* Honesty ' had been so persistently the battle-cry of the

i>'in.'.*\\':^-''i^:^!*'^'L'^>';^*^t"-:^73'''-if-r-.^?'''c-.t-iV'--

street,
itants
)f To-
)ffices,
much
i\ line

m, and
I them
e their
or ten-
ia the
id they

repaired

ling the

sactions

The

])rompt-

ir invest
the way-
wanted,
ave been
plenish-
needful
;, with a
le young
re agree-

the ac-

le period

|thy man.

of the

DIDN'T KNOW WHEN SHE WAS WELL OFF. 109

firm, that they had built up a solid reputation for it, and in
their dealings /or or between other parties, not directly widi
them, they had been honest. After the transaction of some
piece of business, Mr. John Hatchitfess would severely remark :
" We are very honest, but we are not charitable, " in the words,
and probably in the paradoxical sense of the manager of the
steamboat company,who,one of his moribund tubs having bn.'ken
down on the journey, thoroughly cleaned out the pockets of
the poor passengers, already depl'ted by their expensive delay,
for bringing them back to their starting pointy in another of his
old machines.

Mr. John Hatchitfess could not certainly be regarded as a
handsome man ; but as beauty is at a discount in business
matters, and is wholly overlooked in the person to whom
one pays one's rent, the deficiency was but of little moment to
the principal party concerned.

In person, though largely built, he was spare, angular and
ungainly ; his face was angular, his cheek-bones were angular,
his nose was angular, his large mouth was angular, and dried-up
looking ; and his prominent eyes would have been angular also,
had there been anything else about them save the amiable ex-
pression of the cuttle-fish.

His visage was capable, certainly, of producing a smile ; but
the effect was so ghastly, and reminded the beholder so forcibly
of the hideous contortions produced by the galvanizing of a
corpse, that his physiognomy Avas a i)leasanter sight in a state
of repose. I'he movements of the dried-up mouth and the
baleful aspect presented by the wrinkling up of the fishy eyes
during the fearsome operation, was rather horrifying to nervous
people, and would freeze up the smile that might happen to be
playing on their countenances with instantaneous suddenness.

But if his personal appearance was peculiar, it was his own,
and he could not change it had he desired to do so. With his
manners, though, it was a very different affair; and he graded

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

them with infinite variety. Delicately shaded they were not to
the virtues or merits of those with whom he came in contact,
but to the amount of cash which their pockets contained.

With a wealthy client he was, oh ! so greasily nice ; so oilily
polite, and full of obsequious bowings and compliments, and
the fearful smile convulsed his countenance like the approach
of epilepsy. To one from whom he had nothing to expect or
gain, he was cuttingly brief and contemptuously indifferent.
But the unfortunate who ought to pay him money, and had it
not wherewith to pay, came in for savage wrath and roused in
full measure the natural wild-beast ferocity of his nature. Ve*
hement were the denunciations — outrageous the insults, and
bloodthirsty the threats hurled at the poor delinquent, who, if
he had expected — if not mercy — at least the politeness of a
gentleman — speedily found himself undeceived, and got neitJier
the one nor the other. Not a very agreeable character, on the
whole, was that of Mr. J-ohn Hatchitfess.

However, he sat in his office very comfortably, and did not
trouble himself about the estimate people might put on his
social qualities, so long as they did their business with his firm ;
and as the morning wore on plenty of people came in and
transacted business with him.

Some entered with a confident bearing, and proceeded to pay
their rents, interests, instalments, or whatever it might be — re-
ceived civility and a receipt, and departed, breathing the freer
that they were over it, and out again in the bright air. Others
anxiously, and with a deprecatory air, to ask, mayhaps,
timidly, for a few days grace for some payment. Stern refusal,
couched in insulting terms, was what they got, together with the
pleasing promise that a paper, of a wholly different nature from
a receipt, would very shortly be presented to them, commenc-
ing with the ominous words :

" Canada, Province of Ontario, ^^ictoria, by the Grace of

^v^f;^r■,,'-Vpv^^>J^^j:^Jyy;i^,'^I^^/.,;.l>f.^^■a><^v^»f^?^;^y^iyW''7"rJ■:^^^^^^

lOt to
mtact,

D oilily
s, and
proach
pect or
ifferent.

i had it
used in
•e. Ve^
Its, and
who, if
ess of a
t neitJier
r, on the

did not
on his

lis finn ;
in and

ed to pay
be— re-
the freer
Others
mayhaps,
rn refusal,
with the
itiire from
commenc-

Grace of

DIDN'T KNOW WHEN SHE WAS WELL OFF. 1 1 1

God, &c., " and very well might the unfortunate depend that
the promise would be kept before the day was out.

Has it not become high time, here let us observe in
parenthesis, that the honored name of our gracious Sovereign —
a name dear to every heart ; a name associated with all that is
good, fine and womanly ; a name blended into and almost re-
presentative of the sentiments of loyalty and patriotism that an-
imates our breasts — be removed from its present unworthy
appearance on the harrassing processes of the law, which, nec-
essary though they be, but too generally carry in their train the
evils of distress, anxiety, ruin, want and misery — and with such
evils that august name cannot be said to be in keeping. The
fiction is not only wholly unnecessary and absurd, but is also
ridiculous.

As if it were necessary for Her Gracious Majesty to send
" Greeting " — Heaven save the mark 1 — to every dirty officer or
bailiff, when authorized to pounce upon the wretched traps of
some miserable delinquent. With the unhonorable precepts,
uncleanly scriptures, and unholy procedures of law — the high
and honorable name of " Victoria " is degraded. Placed in
very bad company, in fact.

Some less august name — that of the judge, for instance, or
some other officer — would surely as well answer the purpose, if
a name is necessary, and would be more fitting for appearance
on such unnecessary documents.

Business was brisk in Mr. Hatchitfess' office this morning, and
liis hands were kept pretty full in attending to it. He had nu-
merous and well-improved opportunities of displaying the var-
ious phases of his character and disposition, from the fawning
civility and obsequious bowings with which he cringed to the
wealthy, down to the obstreperous bullyings with which he re-
galed impecunious humanity ; and a very varied assortment of
the genus komo in the course of an hour or two had passed
through the office, and had their business done for them, or

112

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

themselves done for. The ordinary run, however, of the busi-
ness was at length agreeably diversified by the entrance of a
young lady, who in tasty summer dress and jaunty hat, looking
as fresh and cool as the morning, and as bright as its earliest
sunbeams, stepped up to one of the clerk's desks, and asked for
Mr. John Hatchitfess.

She was very pretty, with a bright and spirited look about
her ; and as she stood in the dirty, hard and sordid office, she
ai>j)eared all the more charming and all the more out of keep-
ing with the scene.

The clerk addressed jumped down from his stool, with a
deferential " Good morning, Miss Seaforth. I'm sure Mr.
Hatchitfess will see you at once," and she was at once bowed
into that gentleman's room. He arose and bowed as she en-
tered, and as he placed a chair for her, smiled the sweetest
smile of which his countenance was capable, sufficiently grotesque
and horrible, however, and seeming as v^hough it would twist his
unlucky jaw from its sockets ere the ghastly convulsion was over.

" How do y(3u do I my dear Miss Agnes Seaforth," he said.
" I am very glad to see you again. You are very late in paying
your semi-annual visit to our poor office this time. First of
January and first of July are your days, and now it is the
twenty -first — three weeks behindhand. I generally find, too,
that people who have money to receive are prompt, to the day.
I am surprised to find you an exception."

" Well, Mr. Hatchitfess," was the reply ; " my aunt has been
so very unwell lately that I could not leave her, even for the
few minutes necessary to come here. I did not need the money
very particularly before, and knew it was useless to send for it."

" Ah I yes. Miss Agnes, quite useless. My instructions are
to pay the money each half year to yourself, personally; and
take your receipt for it — so that it is necessary that you honour
us at these times with your personal visits."

" In so far as that I have to come to your office twice p year

^TTHWilBMtll ■IW il I ■■

busi-
: of a
)oking
larliest
ced for

about
ce, she
f keep-

with a
ire Mr.
bowed
she en-
sweetest
lotesque
twist his
^•as over,
le said,
in paying
First of
It is the
find, too,
the day.

has been
n for the
the money
ndforit."
ctions are
ally; and
ou honour

ice n year

DIDN'T KNOW WHEN SHL WAS WELL OFF. 1 13

I have but little of which to complain, Mr. Hatchitfess. My
visits are i)robably more troublesome to yourself than they are
to me," replied the young lad) . " But there is one thing which
r wish to mention to you, and if possible have altered. Since
my mother's death, when I liave had to attend here to obtain
my annuity myself, it has been invariably paid me in the form
of Mr, Edwin Vance's cheque, payable to myself, to my own
name, so that 1 am compelled to present it in person at the
bank for payment. Why should I have to take Mr. Vance's
cheque ? It is my own money, and not his, and I wish that a
different and more pleasant arrangement be made."

" You cannot mean to be serious in objecting to such a
very trifling matter as that, Miss Seaforth," said Mr. Hatchitfess,
surprisedly. " Surely your si.\ hundred dollars per annum is just
as available through Mr. \'ance's cheque as from any other
source. I cannot see the force of your objection,"

'' That is not the question, Mr. Hatchitfess," Miss Seaforth
answered decidedly. '' Were the cheques yours, or those of
any other business firm, I would have nothing to say. But it is
inexpressibly painful to me to have to present these cheques,
of a young man like Mr. Vance, personally for payment; to
answer the questions and bear the gaze of impudent ])ank
clerks. I feel myself put in a position liable to misconstruc-
tion by reason of it, and I shall bear it no longer. Why cannot
you pay me the money yourself, Mr. Hatchitfess ? "

" For the very good reason, my dear young lady," he an-
swered drily, " that I hold no funds of Mr. Edwin Vance's for
the purpose."

'* Why of Mr. Vance's ? What have I to do with Mr.
Vance? It is of my own annuity I am speaking," she replied
hotly.

'* Certainly, Miss Seaforth ! of that 1 was aware. I can
only repeat to you that I have no power to alter existing ar-

114

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

Illi

rangements; and can only follow the instructions we have
received from Mr. Vance in the matter."

" Mr. Vance again ! What has Mr. Vance or his instructions
to do with the matter — I repeat again ? Are not the six hundred
dollars a year to which I am entitled, the income of the pro-
perty on Yonge Street? — which belonged to my poor dead
father ? " she exclaimed with excitement.

" In a measure, it arises from that source. I see, however,
that you do not understand the circumstances of the case, and
1 do not perceive that it is any part of my duty to explain
them you. I would advise you to ' leave we'll alone ' ; take
your money, and ask no more questions about it. Please to
sign the receipt," he continued, placing it and a pen before her.

" Then you are going to pay me in money this time, Mr.
Hatchitfess. I am so much obliged to you for sa\ing me the
annoyance of presenting the cheque," she exclaimed, as she signed
the receipt, but mistaking the tenor of his words, which she had
understood literally.

" Why this is a cheque of Mr. Vance's again," she continued,
as she glanced at it. *' You told me you would give me the
money, Mr. Hatchitfess. Why have you deceived me thus?"
looking for the receipt, which, however, he had already taken
into his possession, and rising from her chair in excitement.

" 1 did not deceive you. Miss Seaforth. You deceived your-
self." he replied, coldly. " I have already had the honour of
telling you I could not alter the arrangements. That cheque
you hold in yoyr hand is as much money as though I counted it
down dollar by dollar to you. If you will but think for a mo-
ment of what I said to you, you will perceive nothing more than
our usual course. Did I not advise you," he continued, " to let
what was well alone, and trouble yourself no more about the
matter ?"

" You did, Mr. Hatchitfess, and I ask your pardon for what I
said in my anger and disappointment. You must impute it to

;w?|ff.|,j ;^aA'».<fAa'X■'^l^'■^'■^^'''»!^lPFgg?^'^:gT?»»'l

DIDN'T KNOW WHKN SHE WAS WELL OFF. 115

have

:tions
idred
; pro-
dead

wever,

e, and
explain
; take
;ase to
3re her.
ne, Mr.
me the
e signed
she had

|ntinued,
me the
thus?"
taken

lent.

:d your-
»nour of
cheque
|ounted it
ir a mo-
tore than
., " to let
^bout the

)r what I
lute it to

the want of business knowledge of a woman. Uut there is some-
thing else which you said to me of which I must demand an
explanation. What did you mean by telling me there were cir-
cumstances connected with my annuity which I did not under-^
stand and that I had better leave well alone? These circumstances
and Mr. Vance's seeming connection with my affairs I must have
emphatically settled, or I shall be compelled to resort to legal
advice."

" That you had much better not do, young lady," shortly
answered Mr. Hatchitfess. " For your own sake, such a mea-
sure can but distress yourself and your warm friend, Mr. Vance,,
also. I warn you again, for your own sake, to leave matters as
they are, and seek to know nothing further of matters which cer-
tainly are, or ought to be, if you would not give way to a ridicu-
lous whim, very satisfactory to you. You are but seeking un-
pleasantness."

" AVhat you say, Mr. Hatchitfess, but the more determines
me. If there are circumstances connected with me or my af-
fairs, which have been hidden from me, I feel that I have a right
to know, neither do I perceive how their elucidation can cause
distress to those who are not concerned in them," replied Miss
Seaforth, with spirit.

" Very well ! Miss Seaforth. Since you are determined to
hear, you shall hear. For my own interest, as I do not choose
to risk the loss of a good client like Mr. Vance, who being — as
you will shortly know — t. very warm personal friend of you and
yours, would not be too well pleased if I allowed you to procure
yourself a greater annoyance than you have now brought on
yourself by the course you propose of seeking legal aid. For
my own interest, I repeat, I will tell you the circumstances you
find so mysterious, and shall preface the story by remarking that
were the firm of John Hatchitfess & Son in the ])osition of Edwin
Vance in this matter, you would neither be in this office at this.

..11

ii6

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

moment or liolding that cheque for three hundred dollars in your
hand.

" We are honest hut not charitable," exclaimed the amiable
Mr. Halchitfess, relapsing into formula, and shewing a touch of
liis tigerish nature towards the spirited young lady, who, in de-
fence of her rights, had so infringed u})on his precious time.

" What do you mean by that, sir?" exclaimed Miss Seaforth,
as she sprang from her seat, her eyes blazing.

" Never mind I You'll hear all in a few moments now, young
lady. " Pray delay me as little as possible, for I have many
affairs to attend to. It was a mere business expression that I
used, which almost unconsciously escaped me," he replied,
apologetically, waving her back to her seat again.

" Then, permit me to say that it is a very strange and im-
pleasant expression, and the sooner you learn to use more judg-
ment and discretion in the use of such tne better, sir," she said,
and then a little maliciously added —

" Though your honesty might possibly be disputed, T think
but few would be disposed to deny the truth of the htter i)art
of your aphorism, esi^ecially in regard to your charity towards the
feelings of others."

" Very true, young lady, I am a business man, and probably
know but little of sentimental things. But allow me to proceed.
*' Many years ago before you could remember, nay I before
you were born," he continued, '* your late father, during a season
of commercial disaster, met with some heavy lossess, and found
liimself in ])ressing need of a considerable sum of money. After
vainly endeavoring to sell the property on Yonge street — to which
you referred but now — he went to Mr. A^ance — the father of
the present young gentleman — and offered it to him at a price
much under its value, being in fact the amount he actually
needed for his business affairs. His friend, as he showed him-
self to be — instead of the sharp business man he ought to have
been — declined to take the property at a sacrifice, but offered

DIDN'T KNOW WHKN SHK WAS WKLL OFF. n;

1 your

miable

juch of

in de-

me.
eaforth,

V, young
^e many
n that 1

and im-

lore judg-

she said,

\^ I think
atter part
)wards the

probably
) proceed.
I^y : \)efore
ig a season
and found
|)ney. After
_to which
|e father of
at a price
le actually
lowed him-
Ight to have
Ibut offered

to advance your father the money he required. To this your
father, entertaining the same romantic notions about friendship
and such stuff — suitable enough for women, I dare say, demur-
red — stating tlie money was needed to carry on his business ;
that he could not see his way clear as to its repayment, and
that the [)roperty had to go at any rate. In the end, Mr. Vance
purchased the projjcrty actually for what he called friendship's
sake, paying the then full market value for it, when it was oflfer-
ed him for a great deal less, merely stipulating that the differ-
ence should be invested by your father in the ])urchase of an
annuity on his and your mother's lives. Mark this ! The an-
nuity was on the lives of your father and mother alone. Of these
facts I hapi)en to be aware, as the annuity was purchased from
our firm, and a very good bargain we made of it."

" If what you are telling me is true, Mr. Hatchitfess, how does
it happen then that I have been paid the six hundred dollars a
year since my mother's death? " asked Miss Seaforth, showing a
little agitation.

"The few words I have to tell will explain all to yoi . Miss
Seaforth. The purchase of the Yonge street property turned out
to be a very profitable speculation for Mr. Vance. Its value in
the course of a few years doubled, then trebled and quadrupled,
and the sale of a small portion of it, as I know, recouped him
the entire purchase money. On the other hand, your father was
not successful in his business matters, and when he died left
c-rbsolutely nothing behind him save the annuity on your mother's
life, and the little house with its furniture, in which you now re-
side — no very great fortune — when, if he'd held on to his lands,
he would have died a rich man. At your mother's death, two
years ago, the annuity, of course, ceased. Had her life not last-
ed so long by two days it would have saved me three hundred
dollars. Ft fell due just that time before she died. Think of
that ! ' We are verv honest, but we are not charitable.' Three
hundred dollars lost by ju.st two days. We are very honest, but

if.'

ii8

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

it is very hard to think about that," and Mr. Hatchitfess' feel-
ings ahiiost overcame him at the harrowing reflection.

" Shortly after this Mr. Vance came to me and actually had
tlie folly to propose buying an annuity on your life for your bene-
fit, and offered me a certain sum of money for it. Of course, as
you were a very young life, I had many enquires to make about
health and probability of life, and to find' out if you had any ten-
dency to diseases v/hich might make the bargain a more desir-
able one."

" But during our negotiations, Mr. Vance was overtaken with
his kst illness. Well do I remember the haste with which I
was summoned to his bedside to make his will, which, like too
many men of property, he had postponed until the supreme
moment had almost arrived for him. So near was he to disso-
lution, that it was in the briefest words I prejiared the documents
leaving a handsome income to his widow for her life, and the
remainder of his property to his son Edwin. It was not until
after all was executed, that he suddenly — almost at his last
gasp — remembered you, and, turning to his son, asked his
promise that, so long as you lived, he would cause you to be
paid the same sum as your mother's annuity amounted to, from
the proceeds of the Yonge Street i)roperty. The promise was
freely given, and has been faithfully kept. You see now, Miss
Seaforth, that I was right when I advised you to ' leave well
alone.' You see now that you have no legal right to it, though
Mr. Vance really bequeathed you six hundred dollars a year,
with his dying breath. While you are perfectly justified in
taking the money, you will perceive the propriety of moving no
fiirther in the matter. When Mr. Vance, in tender and loyal
consideration for you, caused the payments to you to be made
from this office — where your mother's annuity was paid by his
cheque, payable to yourself, both for your protection and to
cause you to think the money justly your own, — you will per-

' feel-

yr bad

bene-
rse, as

about
ny ten-
; desir-

en with

aiich I

like too

supreme

[O disso-

)cuments

I and the

not until
his last
ked his

3U to be
to, from
mise was
ow, Miss
;ave well
;, though
; a year,
Lstified in
noving no
[and loyal
be made
lid by his
In and to
will per-

DIDNT KXOW WHEN SHE WAS WELL OFF. 119

ceive the propriety of no longer objecting to the mode of pay-
ment ; and I trust you agree witli me in this."

Agnes rose from her seat, as Mr. Hatchitfess concluded —
pale, and evidently greatly agitated, though striving hard for
calmness.

•' What you have told me, Mr. Hatchitfess, is so strange — so
utterly new and unexpected — that I can hardly believe it possi-
ble. How is it, that my mother never told me a word of this ?
She must have known it, were it true."

" Of that I can tell you nothing, Miss Seaforth," he replied.
" Probably she did not know it. It would not be the first in-
stance of a wife being kept in ignorance of her husband's
affairs. Nevertheless, the story is true ; of that I can assure
you. It is to my own interest that what I have told you should
be the truth — no more, no less, — and that is the best guarantee
I could give you. Mr. \'ance will not be too well pleased that
yeu have heard the story ; but he would have been still less
satisfied had I deceived you when the exj}lanation became a
necessity — as you have made it to-day. If you do not believe
me, you can obtain copies of the deed-of-sale, and the deed-of-
annuity from the Registry Oflice in this city ; or you can write
to Mr. Vance, whom I suppose you know well enough to con-
sider worthy of belief"

" That I shall do, at any rate," replied Miss Seaforth. " I
thank you, Mr. Hatchitfess, for having told me to-day what I
ought to have been told before. 1 am not sorry to hear what I
have heard ; but it would have been better for me to have
heard it two years ago. No matter how pure the motiNe, de-
ception never aids in good. I take this money to-day because
1 need it ; — I must have time to think of the position in which,
so unexpectedly, 1 find myself and my poor aunt placed, and
to form my plans. Otherwise, I should not take it."

'• Not take the money I — not take six hundred dollars a year !
Pray why should you not take it ? Not take the money, when

t '»

SHE iMlGHT HAVE DO^JE BETTER.

all you have to do is to come and get it ! 1 know something of
human nature, and its folly ; but of all the arrant humbugs and
stupid folly that ever I heard of, this — Faugh ! — it is enough to
sicken one ! " exclaimed, with genuine indignation, that guile-
less son of nature, Mr. Hatchitfess, who would have taken
money from the glowing hands of Apollyon himself, provided
he could have gotten it to the Bank lefore it turned into slate-
stones ; and there was not too great consideration to be paid
therefore.

" I shall take it to-day, at any rate," said Miss Seaforth ; and
with " Good morning, Mr. Hatchitfess I " the interview closed.

The young lady departed from the office, where a throng of
impatient visitors were awaiting Mr. Hatchitfess' leisure, and
walked sadly and thoughtfully up the street in the direction of
her home.

She was a proud and high-spirited girl, and the story she had
so newly heard was very galling to her. It was not with her —
as with Mr. Hatchitfess — a matter of course, that she should
come to that office twice a year, and take this money, to which
she now knew she possessed no right.

Had old Mr. Vance left her this money directly by his will,
instead of extorting a promise — willingly or unwillingly — from
his son, that he would pay it to her, there would have been a
difference ; and she felt that she would willingly have taken it,
from the surplus wealth which her fiither's proi)erty had given
him. As the case stood — although it was morally the same
thing, ^'"helher effected by a few words signed by the dying
man's hand, or his dying connnand — the sense of jjecuniary
obligation was revolting to her. She longed to I;e at home in
the quietude of her chamber, to think over and i^onder her
position, which, if this story was true, she knew was a changed
one for her. 'Hie first thing she would do, at any rate, would
be to write to Mr. Vance, for corroboration or disproval of Mr.
Hatchitfess' narration : and, pending his answer, she could

'^:-i^'-l:i-L:-^f-i^;s^ ' ■-■

JSi.

jsmi.

jll^Ogg^

*'ifT^r'i?-;i''ig3a MWiw i « iBi M9*wi>e*>gp ■

ile-
kcii
ded
late-
paid

and
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iig of
, and
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from

been a
iken it,
given

lie same
le dying
icuniary
home in
ider her
I changed
would
a of Mr.
he could

DIDN'T KNOW WHEN SHE WAS WELE OFF. 121

make up her mind as to the course left open to her, in the
event of that narration being a true one, and prepare for the
battle of life on her own unassisted resources — a solution which
her proud heart indicated as the only solution of the j)osition.

She had reached the corner where she expected to meet the
street-car, which would convey her close to her residence, and
was watching its slow j^rogress towards her, when she was ac-
costed by a young gentleman, who, hurriedly advancing in the
direction from which she had come, had stopped suddenly in
his career on perceiving her; and taking off his very loud-
looking and extremely glossy beaver with elaborate profundity,
laboured grace, and extensiveness of sweep — aired his scented
and anointed locks in the calorific street breeze — and performed
a deep and conceitedly afiected bow, as he addressed her.

Georgeously arrayed in the very height and agonizing
extremity of the fashion ; be-ringed, be-chained, be-studded,
be-pinned, and diamond-locketed — with the utmost possible
l)rofusion of expensive and massive jewelry — booted, gloved,
tied, collared and cuffed, with painfully demonstrative s])ruci-
ness, this magnificent and interestmg individual actually
sparkled in the sun, as he i)erpetuated his polite gyrations,
amid the rattling of chains, the scintillation of gems, the flash-
ing of gold and the creavings of shining clothes.

But his personal appearance did not consort with the
beaming glory of his garments ; for excei)t that he was younger
and not so v/rinkled, Albert-Maximus-Montague Hatchitfess,
Esquire, was the very counterpart of his worthy and
and amiable progenitor. He ])Ossessed the same angular and
long feature.s — the same cheese-paring ex})ression — the same
fishily-lurid eye — even the same harrowing smile. The son —
it were almost needless to remark — resembled in disposition, as
in feature, almost to the last trait, his father ; save that one
liked to spend the money that the other liked to make. One

'trr

ill

1 :i

( (
. 1

y ,

•

1 ^

1 i

1 1 '

1 - ■ ;

122

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

led an evil, dissipated, idly-bad life, while the other led a hard,
avaricious and grasping one.

The father's one human weakness — as he would probably in
his own eyes view it — was his love for his son, whom he
indulged, allowed to have his own way, and to give free vent to
his idle and depraved tastes, when he had better have been
kept in check and restrained by persistent occupation.

To leave him the wealthiest man in Toronto was the father's
great ambition, but his son was unfitting himself for that end
faster than his father was accomplishing it.

" Good morning ! — ^fiss Agnes" — he said. " delighted to
meet you so very unexpectedly ; I'm sure. Such a lovely
morning — almost as lovely a,s yourself ; *' the loveliest flower
of Toronto."

" When you wish to address me, Sir, please to do so pro-
perly. It is a fine morning, Mr. Hatchitfess, pray do not let
me detain you from > our rnisiness," was replied coldly.

" Oh I no hurry at all ; only too delighted if I can be of
service to the ladies. Been to the office, I suppose, this morn-
ing ?— ^Miss Seaforth. You look very gloomy over it too.
Vance has not thought better of it, and cut off the supplies ;
has he ? Or forgotten to send a cheque ; Eh ? Not much
hope from the Governor in that case. If you'll walk back to
the olllce with me I'll use my influence for you. No one can
work on the old boy's feelings as I can."

"' Mr. Hatchitfess, if you do not at once free me from your
impertinence, and attend to your own concerns, I will call on
the passers-by — or the police for protection," said Agnes, in-
dignantly, as she walked on and left him.

But he was at her side again immediately.

" I'm sure I did not mean to offend you, ]\Iiss Seaforth, I
only thought you looked sad, and wanted cheering up with a
joke. "Were you looking for the car ? Now if you would wait
a moment — I left my turn-out standing up the street a little

ARCADIAN LOVERS TRULY

123

ard,

y in
I he
It to
been

.her's
end

sd to
ovely
lower

3 pro-
lot let

be of
morn-
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plies ;

much
ack to

e can

n your
call on
les, ki-

forth, I
with a

lid Nvait
a little

way, while I ran into the Governor's place for a minute —
I'll take you for a drive, behind a pair of spankers that you
ain't accustomed to every day, and we'll have some nice talk,
before I leave you at home. Come now — will you ? Miss
Seaforth."

" I prefer the street car, and I decline your escort. It is
not the first time I have told you so, and I should think that
any person possessing the faintest spark of a gentlemanly
spirit, would have taken the hint, which I now convert into
plain speaking. Your attentions and your company are disa-
greeable to me, and I will no longer be persecuted by you.
Good. morning, Mr. Hatchitfess."

Turning abruptly she walked back to the corner, where tke
street-car had just driven up, and entered it.

Looking after her, his eyes glaring, and his mouth distorted
with rage. " Oh ! very well, .Afiss Agness Seaforth, but it's
not the last of it, as you'll find to your cost. You're very high
and mighty with the beggarly six hundred dollars a year that
Vance pays you. I'll pay you for this. Take care I don't
make it hot for you, my young lady," he muttered savagely
between his teeth, and with a scowl he went on his way.

CHAPTER XIIL

ARCADIAN LOVERS TRULY.

" Well ! Ethel, I think you might hare told me the news
yourself, and before this too, when I have heard it from an-
other person," said Emily Dearborn, as the two girls putting
on their sun-hats, stepped mto the garden in search of the
other young people.

" What news ? — Emily. I'm sure I've heard nothing new
or strange this morning."

" Not this morning perhaps ; for I don't suppose you find

W. ti

I!'

Auv

f* \r

t ...

! i|

■M

124

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

the tender little love-scene in the conservatory, at which I
surprised you and Mr. Vance erewhile, anything new by this
time ; but I referred to your engagement with that gentleman,
Ethel, which you have kept to yourself so shyly," returned
Emily.

" Oh ! that's it, is it ? Well ! I did not think it would be
of interest to any but ourselves. But who told you of it ? —
Emily."

" Mrs. Mordaunt told Ada and me half an hour ago," — was
the reply. " You are wrong if you think it is not of interest
to any but you two lovers. If I am not very much mistaken,
the gentleman who made his appearance among us this morn-
ing, is so much interested that he will be dreadfully disappoint-
ed when he hears of it. I feel very certain the main object of
his visit here was to make you a proposal."

" To make me a proposal — Mr. Wolverton ? you mean — not
very likely, Emily. Why I have'nt spoken a dozen words to
the man in my life, or he to me. It's much more probable
that he would propose to you ; judging from all I have heard ;"
replied Ethel with a laugh.

" That might be — Ethel — were I an heiress like yourself, or
were my father as wealthy a man as yours. But, Sidney wants
money so much ; I know, that he is quite ready to throw love
and all other considerations over-board to get it, even if he had
to take a wife whom he did not want with it. I feel quite
certain that he came here for the purpose of honouring you by
a proposal for your hand and your dollars," said Emily, who
was determined to punish her recreant lover.

" Then he is a very contemptible person, and I wonder that
Edwin is such a friend of his," returned Ethel indignantly.
" You will be much better without his love, Emily. But I
cannot conceive it possible this which you tell me. In the
first place the man is almost an utter stranger to us here, and,

^^^M^IfteeSifajiagiB^^

ARCADIAN LOVERS TRULY

125

besides, I have heard Edwin say that he was coming here on
business wi'.h him."

" Some trifle as an excuse for his visit, probably. But you
can rest assured, that he will ask you, before the week is out
too, and this is Thursday, unless he is told of your engage-
ment ;" said Emily laughing.

" Well 1 I hope some one will tell him then. I do not feel
convinced that what you say may not be an error on your part,,
but were he to confirm it — by daring to hint at such a thing,
even ; he would speedily repent it, by as unceremonious a
dismissal as ever such a contemptible wretch received," replied
Ethel with warmth.

" Well ! it would serve him right," said Emily laughing. " I
don't thmk you need fear it though. Ada will soon blurt your
engagement out. You might do worse though than marry
Sidney Wolverton, who to my mind, is a far finer fellow than
your rather yielding and confiding Edwin Vance, with a little
more life about him," continued she, giving Ethel a hit for
herself safejy enough — as they came up with Ada and Regi-
nald — knowing that she would not reply before others.

Ada was sitting — croquet mallet in hand — very comfortably
in one arm of a rustic bench, with Reginald facing her at the
other, engaged in an apparently very earnest colloquy. Edwin
Vance and Mr. Wolverton a little in advance were strolling
along a shady path, the latter enjoying a cigar and neither
appearing very much interested witn each other.

Ada, on perceiving the approach of the two young ladies,
jumped up, and unceremoniously closed her conversation with
Reginald, by running forward to meet them.

*' Oh ! Ethel," she said. " I've been dying to see you for

the last half hour. I unfortunately told that tiresome Reggie

that I had some news and, when his curiosity was excited, I

remembered I had not got leave to tell it. He has been teaz-

ing my life out ever since to find out what it is, and I would

:|i

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER,

not tell him. 1 suppose I may though, as he is your brother,
and does not know it yet. It was about your engagement.
" Oh ! Ethel, I was so glad to hear it, and I know you'll be
happy, he is such a nice fellow, so quiet and gendemanly, and
not like that hateful Mr. Wolverton, who stared at me so
rudely when he passed just now, although he is Emily's lover,
and he knows I hate him."

*' But here's Mr. Vance coming," continued she, " Shall I
leave you alone with him, Ethel ?"

" Oh ! No. Vou need not, Ada," replied Ethel laughing.

" One does not want one's lover all the time, even though
we are engaged. You can tell Reggie, if you like, though he
will tease me awfully, 1 suppose. But you want some cro-
quet ; don't you ? Ada. It looks like it with that mallet in
your hand. Well ! we had better have a game. We have
but little else to amuse ourselves. Where is Emily off to ?"

" Oh ! she's off for a talk with her sweetheart ; I suppose,"
answered Ada scornfully. " We don't want either of them.
There are four of us here. Come on ! Reggie. You'll play
Mr. Vance ; won't you ! Ethel's going to play ; you know ?"

" I suppose I must, Ada, for your sake. Though it is a
little early in the day for croquet is it not ?" said Edwin.
Come along then ! let us get to work at once."

Emily, when Ada had run up to meet them coming, had
moved on to where Reginald had been left sitting alone, and,
as he rose to allow her to seat herself, as he too willingly sup-
posed, she said,

" I cannot stay with you just now, Reggie, a.< I wish to
speak with Mr. Wolverton there. I won't be long though.
Did you find that out yetj of which we were speaking yester-
day ? You've forgetten it, I suppose, as usual."

" Well ! It is too bad ; I declare. But I have forgotten
it again. Look here ! Emily, I'll find it out from mother as

li
m
h

hi
F
tri

'-■tmvmtsfwm

ARCADIAN LOVERS TRULY.

127

soon as we go back to the house, as you're so anxious to
know."

" You need not trouble yourself now, Reggie, for I have
found it out without your hel^:. It is true what I told you.
Your sister and Mr. Vance are engaged to be married. Your
mother told me this morning," answered Emily.

" Is that so," said Reginald drawlingly ; " Well ! they'll be
a quiet enough couple ; at any rate. They kept it pretty well
to themselves, though. But, I say, Emily, you know what I
told you yesterday when we were talking about it. One has
come off, and so will the other. Don't bt that W'olverton make
love to you ; or there will be a row in the camp." " I'll watch
you both," continued he as P^mily walked over to join !Mr,
Wolverton.

" Well ! Sidney, you look as if solitude would suit you this
morning. Your appearance is anything but bright and cheer-
ful. Have you found things on your arrival not altogether as
you could Vv'ish them, or what is the matter ?" said Emily as
she overtook him on his slow stroll alone.

Mr. Sidney Wolverton was not feeling too well on this
morning. The dissipation and late drive of the preceeding
night had had the effect as Miss Dearborn had said of leavmg
him anything but bright and cheerful. His head ached, and
that with the disagreeable thoughts and plans that occupied
him, gave him a more gloomy and saturnine air than usual.
For all that his brain was busily occupied. He had been
trying since he arose to discover if the hint given him by
Barney on their drive, concerning Ethel Mordaunt and Mr.
Vance was correct, or the mere gossip of a servant.

He had walked and talked with Edwin for an hour and by
hints, inuendoes and enquiries, had striven to obtam a glimpse
into the state of affairs ; but, having heard or discovered
nothing to confirm or disprove the matter, he had begun to
think that there was not anything between them, and a revival

128

SHE MIGH'I' HAVE DONE BEITER.

of his idea of Ethel Mordaunt which he had been incHned to
give up as hopeless, had taken form aga'n in his plans.

He was not as pleased as he should have been when so
charming a young lady as Kmily Dearborn apj^eared beside
him, nor were the words with which she addressed him more
pleasing; either. He did not wish, under the circumstances, a
renewal of their intimacy, and he did wish, as his time was
brief, to be alone, to arrange the order of his campaign.

'* I am a little fatigued and out of sorts to-day, after my late
drive last night, and I fear you will not find me amusing Cv^m-
pany, Emily, for the present at any rate. \Vniere is Vance
and the rest of them ? Don't let me detain you, if you are in
search of them."

" Oh I that is it, is it ?" replied Emily laughing, and looking
amusedly up at him. " But you need not fear. My presence
with you can no more injure your cause than it can advance
it ; for it is a lost cause. You may as well continue your stroll
with me, for my dangerous companionship cannot compromise
you, and I have interesting news for you."

" I cannot even conjecture what you mean : my dear Emily.
by your ' lost cause,' and 1 doubt the interest of news current
in this dull place," replied Sidney, as carelessly as he conld, but
evidently pricking up his ears.

"Oh ! you are not so innocent as you would have it appear
as to my meaning, Mr. Sidney W^olverton ;" retorted Emily.

*' And I happen to know that you have been prying about and
striving all the morning for the bit of news that I am generous
enough to come and give to you to save you from ridicule."

" Pray be more explicit. 1 am quite at a loss to understand
your rather mysterious expressions. 1 am unaware that I was
going to render myself an object of ridicule, and feel anxious to
know how I was to do it," quietly replied Sydney, though pro-
bably he was feeling uneasy.

" Well I I will both explain the mystery, which, however, is

iSSSisf

ARCADIAN LOVERS TRULY.

129

ined to

,'hen so

beside
n more
inces, a
ime was
I.

my late
Ing ccm-
is Vance
n\ are in

d looking

presence

advance

^our stroll

m promise

ar Emily.
ws current
conld, but

it appear
Emily,
about and
generous

icule."
.mderstand
that I was
anxious to
hough pro-
how* ver, i^

no mystery to you, and relieve your very great curiosity by sim-
ply telling you, that which I came to tell you, Etliel Mordaunt is
engaged to be married to Edwin X'ance. Is it not a great pity,
Sidney, that you should have Iiad all the trouble and annoyance
of a visit to a dull i)lace, and the perfecting of a nice little scheme
to find that your main object is defeated, and that you will not
dei)art strengthened by an engagement or probable engagement
to an heiress. It is very mortifying, is it not ?" said the cool
Emily, stooping to gather a rosebud.

" You are certainly very agreeable this morning, my deap
Emily," replied Sidney. " Permit me to tell you that 1 half ex-
pected to hear of this engagement on my arrival."

*' Permit me to tell you, my dear Sidney, that you came here
to propose for Ethel Mordaunt, and Ethel Mordaunt's money.
That was your primary object, and this engagement is a great
disappointment to you, or at least to your pocket You may
as well admit it at once."

" It is my opinion, Phnily, that you do not like this engage-
ment any more than I do," returned he, " and that you are just
a little bit jealous about it. I admit all you require ; to please
you. So you can admit also."

'* Oh ! with pleasure. I frankly confess that I am as much
forestalled as you are. I fully intended to have married Edwin
Vance myself if I could. Not that I like the man. He is not
my style. But then he is wealthy. Had you been — as you
ought with your opportunities to have been — a wealthy man, I
should probably have married you, as you know. The best thing
that could have happened to you. I would have wasted a small
portion of your wealth on my personal adornment and in mak-
ing a show ; but 1 would certainly have prevented you from
wasting the greater portion in your absurd speculations and your
expensive vices. I would have made a man of you."

" I believe you would, Emily, I believe you would, and per-
haps a better man than I am now. But you are not such a very

:el:

If:

130

SHE MIGHT HAVE DOXK BETTER.

I' 1

unsophisticated creature yourself. It is not yet too late to try,"
he said, looking interestedly at the pretty face near him.

" I don't know aDout that. Erom what I can understand I
fear you are pretty hard run. You have plenty of i)roperty, but
you are in debt, and need money })ressingly," she rei)lied, as
coolly as possible to his rather odd speech.

" I may as well tell you," she continued, " that having an idea
that your subsidiary object is an attack on Vance's purse to tide
over your difficulties, you may as well prepare yourself, if not for
defeat in that also, but for greater difficulty than you at present
imagine. I do not know what your plans may be, but I warn
you that you will have to be careful in the matter. You will
have to look for and assail him on a weak point — at a weak
moment — when he is not himself, if you desire success. I have
heard enough to know that he has been warned against you, in
so far as to have no money dealings with you, and I believe also
that he does not intend to have any such."

" I have no farther intentions with regard to him than to in-
duce him to join me m the Hopetown concern, and advance
some capital. If that were managed, I should be on my feet
again. To effect it was a principal part of my business here."

" ^^''ell then ! in my opinion you will not effect it. You can
but try though, and his refusal will ])ain him so much more than
it will you, that his heart will in all probability be more oi)en to
a subsequent attack in some other form. Make as little delay
as possible, as your visit will not be so pleasant to you as to
make you desire its prolongation. Keep good friends with Vance
at any rate. It is very necessary. You and I may as well be
friends also. We can help each other. And now I will leave
you to your meditations. Au revoir, Sidney."

" For the present, Emily. Yes ! we'll be friends at any rate,
and oh ! I wish that you and I Emily, were better than we are,
and a pair of innocent young lovers," he said, loc king tenderly
in the charming face and pressing her hand.

■" "A^'^-^g*^

THE FIRST niSAGREEMExNT.

131

" Not at present," she replied, laughing. '* It depends on
yourself though," and Emily walked away to rejoin the cro-
(|uetcrs.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FIRST DISAllRKKMENT.

That a pair of lovers, in the first bright halcyon days of their
engagement ; very happy in each other's society ; very much in
love with one another ; very anxious to show their affection in
all possible demonstrativeness, and all unselfish and tender,
would be veiy likely to agree with each other in all entirety on
every possil)le subject that could be raised between them is
highly probable ; though differing in a marked degree from the
later and duller days.

The most tenaciously held opinions ; the most obstinately
hugged theories ; the best loved dogmas or panaceas for the
ills of the world ; all the pet monsters of the imagination and
the brain, which the owners regard with joyful and admiring
eyes as their products of all beauty and perfection, would pro-
bably at once give way at the first dicta of the loved one during
the flow of these golden hours, and it would augur badly for
them and their future happiness if, in the budding spring time of
their love, such tender agreement one with the other should not
exist. Yet it is possible for instances to occcur even during
those bright periods of human existence, in which the \mY "pies
of those to whom principle is all in all, to whom the rig^t, as
they conceive and feel it, is plain duty, might be involved ; that
cases might arise in which both parties, feeling themselves to be
in their views the same as being right, might conscientiously
difter on some such question, and it could not properly be main-
tained that either could give way in such event.

Tliftt such an unfortunate question should not arise would be

■.f'

!(|H

132 SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

their best fortune, for the dim little cloud that such a difference
would show on their clear and spotless horizon, minute, trifling
and unimportant as it might appear, remains there, a hurricane
spot, to swell and augment, until its overcasting masses over-
•s'lad^w the darkened sky of their lives.

For such instances to occur is possible enough, but in gene-
ral the blissful opening days of an engagement are too entirely
devoted to tender rhapsodies, sweet inconsequential nothings of
imbecile yet rapturous converse and delightful egotisms and
truisms, for any really serious question to arise where discussion
might create difference. And very happy it is that the rhapso-
dical nonsense which permeate the brains of declared lovers
from the moment of declaration precludes the danger of such.
Tremendously important in their own eyes are their ecstatic im-
becilities, while absurdly ridiculous in the eyes of every one
else. An original idea, profound reflection or thoughtful re-
mark from people during the first week of their engagement are
remarkably scarce articles. It is all sugar-and-water, custard,
cream and candy and such like sweetmeats.

I^Mwin Vance and Ethel Mordaunt were very ha])py in those
new, bright days of their love. The delicious little tdes-a-tete
that opportunity gave them, if not so numerous as they could
wish, were all the more delightful when they did occur, and
when they did not, they were haj^py in being near to each other,
in speaking to each other, in looking at each other, and in lov-
ing each other.

They '.vcre very much in love with each other, and many and
ingenious were Edwin's little schemes to get his V.thel to himself
for a few delighltul moments.

It was with dismay he looked forward to the new week ap.
proaching, which for a time would separate them, as he was
obliged for a few days to return to Toronto, and here was Thurs-
day of the old week. Ethel herself was not at all averse to
enjoying the pleasure of her lover's society, and she had, with

■:-y*i?-.-lwf-si-'ki^t;'-A?,\f<..--':,

gr^g^gtaasEsa

THE FIRST DISAGREEMENT.

133

rence
rifling
:icane
over-

gene-
ntirely
ings of
ns and
3USsion
rhapso-
[ lovers
3f such,
tatic im-
,ery one
;htful re-
iinent are

custard,

in those
lics-a-iete
ey could
:cur, and
Lch other,
Id in lov-

hiany and
Ito himself

week ap.
lis he was

as Thurs-
a verse to
had, with

great meekness, obeyed his request, during the afternoon, tc put
on her hat and go for a walk with him, the more willingly since,
in addition to the delights of lover's converse, she had something
to tell him.

She had not forgotten the morning's conversation with Emily
Dearborn in reference to Mr. Wolverton, or Ada's single but
confirmatory remark, and had gone to her never failing source of
comfort and counsel, her mother, to repeat what had passed.
To her surprise she received both confirmation and warning
from that quarter, and in addition her uncle, who had entered
the room during their conference and had been taken into their
confidence, not only strongly agreed in Mrs. Mordaunt's views,
but related to her what he knew of Mr. Wolverton's character
and plans with all that had passed between them and between
Edwin Vance and himself. Sidney was therefore at a great dis-
count in her estimation. She had made up her inkid, at the
first opportunity, to warn her aftianced, without, however, going
into particulars, that his friend was not the friend that he ought
to be, or was looked upon to be.

Therefore, after the usual quantum of sugared and honied
raptures of a lover's tete-a-tete had passed with distinguished bril-
liance and interest to themselves, but probably to no other liv-
ing creature, she broached the subject to Edwin, hesitatingly and
timidly, as she knew that with him friendship was a reality, not
a name, and that it would be a difficult thing to convince him of
his friend's unworthiness.

" Edwin I there is a subject on which I wish to speak to you,
on which I feel that I ought to speak, yet do not know that I
have the right to do. But I think that you ought to know that
which I wish to tell you, and trust you will not feel it as an in-
terference on my part."

" My darling Ethel," he replied, " if you have not the right to
speak to me on any subject you choose, I would like to know
who could have. As if it would be an interference ? You need

134

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

r '''
rr

not have said that to me. I am only too happy to hear every
word that falls from your dear lips. You need not have said
that, Ethel !

*' I do not know about that, Edwin. Perhaps you may think
diflferently when you have heard what I have to say," answered
Ethel, looking lovingly at him for his words. " It is he whom
you consider your friend, Mr.Wolverton, of whom I would speak."

" Of Sidney ! Why ! what in the world has he done to you,
Ethel ?" he replied, laughing.

" It is what I have been told by others — Emily and Ada Dear-
bom, my mother and my uncle, that I wish to tell you. If you
do not know what is said of your friend, it is only right that you
should be informed, while you can judge for yourself as to its
probability," answered Ethel.

Now that she had commenced her subject, Ethel began to
find it more difficult than she had anticipated. The accumula-
ted charges which had seemed so heinous to her as they were
freshly brought against him, now that they had to be formulated
and marshalled before his friend, seemed to vanish into airy
nothingness, unsupported by proof, and Ethel almost wished she
had left the matter alone.

*' Your uncle," said Edwin, " two days ago spoke to me about
Wolverton's visit here ; warning me in a general way to have no
business transactions with him, and telling me that in his opinion
he was not straightforward. This may be so, though Mr. Horton's
proof was not of the strongest kind, and I told him then that I
had no intention of engaging in any of Sidney's speculations.
If then what you have to tell me is of the same kind, Ethel, you
see I know it already."

" I v/ill simply tell you what I can of that which for the first
time I heard to-day concerning Mr. Wolverton. This morning
Emily Dearborn told me something of him and of the object of
his visit here, which I could not believe and which seemed very
improbable, but its truth was so earnestly asseverated by her, that

tl|

All

£1

! I

■«|S5^

B OUKii;-..-.',..

THE FIRST DISAGREEMENT.

^35

, about

ive no
)inion
)rton's

[that I

titions.

lei, you

\e first
iorning
Inject of
Id very
ler, that

I thought it better to relate the matter to my mother. To my
surprise, the probabiHty of the story was conl rmed by her, with
some other particulars, no more to Mr. Wolverton's credit than
the other. These had only come to her ears from another source,
trustworthy sufficiently, my mother considered, though perhaps
liable to mistake. I was advised for that reason to think no
more of the matter, but my mother added that she did not con-
sider Mr. Wolverton was a person fit to be your friend. My
uncle came in and was told what had occurred, and he told us
that he had not a good opinion of Mr. Wolverton's character,
and that it was but too likely that all was true which was averred
against him.

" It made me feel so alarmed for you, that you were on such
friendly terms with one who was unworthy, that it has prompted
me to speak to you. I know I ought not to have done so as I
can give you no proofs. All I can say is, that under no circum-
stances could I ever look upon Mr. Wolverton as a friend, and
I ask you, dear Edwin, not to place too much reliance on him
in any way."

" To tell the truth, Ethel, when I heard that Sidney was com-
ing to Lake Mordaunt, I was not too well pleased, for the good
reason, I must honestly confess, that he might be as much in
love with my Ethel as I am, and he is a handsome fellow. I did
Mot then know that I was to be as happy as I am to-day, assur-
ed of her dear love. I certainly am not afraid of him now. In
fact, I can afford to feel very good-natured towards him. Sidney
has his peccadilloes, I suppose, though I have never seen any-
thing wrong in him, and I have known him now for years. Don't
you think, Ethel, that you are all a little hard on him ?" replied
Edwin, with a smile, and a pressure on her hand.

" Certainly not my mother or Mr. Horton. I never knew
them to be unjust, whatever I may be myself or you deem m«,
and I do not think you should have said so, Edwin," answered
Ethel quickly, and with warmth. " Emily, I admit, showed a

..,*iS^i^^t'■W;'iftiv^■■■?^i'i^':vSa...*-'i^»i.■^*'r.■^Ll

i'.?ft:'=A,:-.'irriaft:.:'.

■

fi«

136

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

little rancour in speaking of him, but he has been, oris, her lover,
afid he has not, it appears, been a very true one to her. But,
however, I see that the subject is not a very pleasing one to you,
and I will say no more, especially as Mr. Wolverton is at present
a guest in my father's house. It was for your sake alone that I
spoke at all, and I am now sorry that I did so."

" My darling Ethel I" repHed Edwin, anxiously, " I hope that
I have not offended you by anything that I have said. Such
was very far from my intention. Forgive me, if I have done so.
Sidney Wolverton is a friend, nothing more, and I shall most
certainly regard with all attention that which you have told me.
Tell me, Ethel, that you are not offended."

" Oh ! not at all ! only I can see that you do not like the sub-
ject," said Ethel.

But she did not like the way in which he had received her
warning, so kindly meant, and a first slight coolness, almost im-
perceptible, yet still existing, the first little difference of opinion
had arisen between them.

Their walk home was not so pleasant as it had been, though
both strove to throw off the incubus, and it was some hours be-
fore they were the same Ethel and Edwin they had been to each
other.

The conversation, short as it was, while it had the effect of
grieving Ethel, her lover not having taken it in the good i)art
she thought that, under the circumstances, he ought to have
done — had equally grieved him, and he thought over it with a
touch of bitterness towards Sidney that he had contrived to bring
down on himself so much dislike. He scanned over such details
of his friend's life with which he was acquainted, to discover if
from thence any grounds could be deduced to justify the verdict
of so many at Lake Mordaunt against him. Not, however, be-
ing of a susi)icious nature, and Wolverton having been quite
able to present only those points of character to his friend's view
which he thought would be acceptable, the process was not very

THE FIRST DISAGREExMENT.

^37

It,
>u,
;nt
t I

:hat
lUcH
I so.
most
. me.

: sub-

d Vier
)st im-
Dinion

lOUgh
irs be-
o each

[ect of
_)d part
have
with a
,0 bring
details
over if
verdict
ver, be-
ll quite
Id's vie%r
Lot very

successful, and he could bring very little to remembrance of dis-
credit against him. Yet it was strange, he considered, that people

like Mr. Horton, Mrs. Mordaunt and Ethel should, in so short
a time, have found so much, and so very evidently regarded his
friend with dislike.

The result of the conversation was that Edwin did not feel so
well disposed towards his friend, and though, without condemn-
ing him, he resolved to watch for himself, his conduct, and learn
the source of so much, to him, inexplicable ill-will.

He noticed during the day that Emily Dearborn and Sidney
seemed very friendly — in fact, rather lover-like towards each
other — and this was to him the more unaccountable since his
Ethel had told him that Sidney had not been '• true lover " to
her, and he also noticed that Ada either took no notice of him
or was markedly cold; that Reginald did not either look upon
him with favourable eyes ; that Mrs. Mordaunt, though polite,
was not gracious towards him ; while Mr. Horton talked and
laughed with him in all ease and absence of restraint. He, how-
ever, found hunself much more pleasantly occupied in devoting
himself to his fair Ethel, and in endeavouring with a lover's as-
siduity to remove the unpleasuig impression of their afternoon's
conversation. But the day had not been a pleasant day for
'Ethel, and though she was ha})py enough, while Edwin strove
so hard to be agreeable to her, yet the little clouds could not at
once be entirely removed from her sky. A certain restraint was
visible over all the party, with the exception of Mr. Mordaunt
and^Mr. Horton, the former of whom, knowing nothing of the
by-play, was quite at ease, and the latter, had there been a great
deal more of it going forward, would not have lost his.

Edwin was, however, the happiest of the party, for he found
the society of his Ethel, despite all little " disagreements," so very
delightful, that when during the evening, Sidney came up to
him and asked him if " he would not like a walk and a cigar, as
he had something to say to him," he assented with visible reluc-

> 1

138

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

tance, and rose to follow his friend out with a look that very
plainly expressed that he would rather have remained by Ethel's
side. Sidney had not been opportune in his choice of a mo-
ment for his communication, if he expected that any success to
attend it lay in the present good nature of his friend, Edwin
Vance.

CHAPTER XV.

ASKING FOR WHAT HK MFAXT TO TAKE.

" Well ! what can I do for you, Sidney?" said Edwin, as they

left the house and sauntered down the leafy-arched avenue of
the carriage-way together.

The soft evening breezes murmured through the foliage above
them with quiet and sluml)erous rustling. The golden wealth of
stars of the blue Canadian skies shone down on them with peace-
ful stillwess through the branchy openings of the trees. Long
gleams of silver moonlight pierced through the leaves and lay
like waving ribands on the soft svrard. The cool air of the
darkening evening, laden with the perfume of flower and of field,
moved with freshening touch around them, and brushed past
their faces like the cool hand of woman over the fever-heated
brow of the invalid.

The low chirp of some bird, awakened in its umbrageous rest-
ing place by their tread on the gravel, harmonized with the
sleepy rustle of the leaves, and these, the sole sounds of the night,
spoke of a world gone to rest. Nature in its night beauty —
wrapped in the soft silvery mantle of die moonlight ; watched
by the silent stars ; resting in the shadowy sleep — lay spread out
before them in calm and quiet peace, inviting man, with influ-
ence sweet and all delighting, to cast aside the cares and pas-
sions of the day, with the glare and the turmoil, and take to their
hearts and soften their thoughts with the still loveliness, the

ASKING FOR WHAT HE MEANT TO TAKE. 139

el's
no-
5 to
win

they
le of

above
ilthof
)eace-
T-ong
d lay
)f the
field,
past
seated

Is rest-
Ih the
ght,
[nty —
itched
lad out
influ-
pas-
their
;. the

beautiful quietude and majestic silence of the velvet-robed
Night.

But to these two men the lesson so conveyed was read, if read
by both, with very different view.

To the one, his thouglits full of the sweet object of his love,
whose side he had so unwillingly quitted, the romance and the
beauty before him seemed the fitting scene, the delighting mo-
ment for the whispering of a love tale, the tender out-pour-
ing of sweet phrases into the willing ear that would find them
sweet, and he thought — longingly thought — how much more to
him would the romance and the beauty be, were it her step that
sounded beside him and for her that the charming softness of the
night inspired him. The step that did sound beside him might be
that of a friend, it is true, yet, nevertheless, he heartily wished
the absence of his friend, and his replacement by the dearer
presence of his Ethel, so much more agreeable to romance, silver
moonlight and soft evening shades. The discordance of the
male presence, redolent of cigar smoke and the world, amid the
perfumed air, and in that witching hour, fretted him. It was
sulkily enough that he accepted the situation and walked on
with his friend.

To the other it was the fittest opportunity for the opening to
his plans, for rehearsing a story that was necessary for him should
be told, the telling of which was not too pleasant for him, and
which was easier for him to tell beneath the favouring shadows
of night, than in the open light of the day.

" Well ! what can I do for you, Sidney ?" Edwin had said.
Now, though this seemed, on its face, to be the opening, the
very proffer of service to Sidney, which he wished to obtain and
very ardently desired, yet he did not appear with any eagerness
to seize on the opportunity thus presented to him. He paused,
hesitated — the hurried puffing of his cigar and the nervous
clenching of his hands showing that he was in a state of incer-
titude and jDerhaps of mental excitement at the prospect of the

l-i

140

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

task before him ; which, from a previous experience, he could
but anticipate would be an unpleasing one.

Sidney Wolverton had contrived to get his affairs into such a
state that only the immediate aid of a very considerable sum of
money could extricate him from the embarrassment and prevent
him from going to the wall. The need was urgent, immediate,
and had to be met at once. Within a week he must have com-
mand of the money, or he might leave the country. Xay I would
have to do so, for some transactions would then come to light,
unless covered up by settlement, that would carry disgrace with
them, at the least.

Could he have gone back from Lake Mordaunt the accepted
suitor of an heiress, he would have staved off the evil day, and
all would have gone on well again, but that was now out of the
question altogether, while all other resources for aid were so far
dried up that he had to look to Edwin \'ance for extrication,
and to him alone. Nothing else was left him. Yet he paused,
and hesitated, even when the ice had been broken, and the, to
him, momentous [[conversation, had been commenced. The
sentiment of self-respect inherent, in some measure at least in
every man, held a deterrent effect against the renewal of a sub-
ject that had once before been discussed between them, and had
been closed with an unfavourable result to him. Perhaps there
lingered in his breast some little spark of conscientiousness,
some little ember, still warm amid the dust and ashes which a wast-
ed life had left of the generous fire of good intent and of right,
which, in common with most men, had been nurtured in his
heart during his better, earlier days, whose momentary sparkle
told him that it was not right to lead him, whom he called his
friend, into a risk which might as easily result in the sacrifice
of that friend's fortune as it had done with his own. It may
have been so. Perhaps within the seething depths of his mind
lay the thought that it were better, manlier and nobler for him
to suffer his shipwreck alone, to buffet manfully against the waves

ITiXT. .'.V i.^lZXJC:^

ASKING FOR WHAT HE MEANT TO TAKE. 141

which threaiened to overwhehn him, and if lie should rise over
them, to begin his life anew, a better man, purified by trial and
better prepared to bend his energies on the right road of ex-
istence.

His thoughts during the three or four moments of his hesita-
tion ranged backwards over the whole varied range of the years
he had passed with regretful glance at their misspent hours,
and the impulse was strong within him to draw back from that
on which he had resolved, and face his misfortunes boldly, in-
stead of seeking to draw another into the vortex. But, when
suddenly the remembrance of the coming week, with its dangers,
flashed back on his mind, his good resolves fled before the
prospect and his hesitation vanished. No longer was he dubi-
ous, uncertain or unreserved. He was himself again. The
bold, coolly-resolved, skillful of address, and calculating Sidney
Wolverton.

'* As I wrote you Vance, the business on wh!ch I came to this
place was principally to see you on a matter of importance to
myself. As it refers to a subject concerning which we ha\e al-
ready held some conversation, and on which I wish you to recon-
sider your then expressed detemiination ; may I ask you to
listen patiently to what I have to say,'' answered he, to the re-
mark that heads the present chapter.

" All right, Sidney ! go ahead with your story. Though if it
concerns the Hopetown business, I may as well tell you now
that my position and my ideas of the matter are the same as
when we spoke of the matter before, and I fear it will be use-
less to discuss that affair," replied Edwin, his irritation giving
way under the apparently frank manner of his friend, and his
usual good natnre struggling for its ascendancy.

" Well ! I will tell my story in as few words as possible, and
leave the affair to your judgment," said Sidney, who was bright
enough to perceive the improvement in his friend's manner, and
ready enough to take advantage of it. " You may remember.

142

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

wlien I asked you to join me in a partnership, advancing some
capital, it was for the purpose of extending the works and in-
creasing the business of the Hopetown factories. These exten-
sions I have since myself completed and with satisfactory results,
except that my available capital is all absorbed, and I find it
still necessary to take another into the business who can provide
the means requisite to its proper conduct. In addition, I have
made, wisely or unwisely, as the event may prove, the purchase
of a large and valuable tract of land in the same county, and no
great distance from Hopetown. On the purchase money of this
l)roperty I have paid a considerable part — nearly one-half; but
the balance is falling due, and, unaided, I cannot meet it. Under
this contingency I should not only have to bear the heavy loss
of the money paid up on it — neglect to meet the balance, by the
terms of purchase, carrying forfeiture — but would suffer a heavy
blow to my credit, which the great expense of the additions to
the Hopetown works has already somewhat strained.

" Now, I will give you one-half interest in the whole property,
mills, lands, stock on hand and all, if you will put forty thousand
•dollars into the business. Its value may be very fairly estimated
at five times the amount, so that really by assisting a friend out
of a difiiculty, you will do so much to your own advantage. The
sum I have named will clear off every liability to the last dollar,
and leave a suflicient amount available as working capital. The
lands have so increased in value since my purchase of them that
that part of the property will more than doubly recoup you the
money you are asked to put into the affair. It is the increase
that is taking place in the value that makes the former owner so
merciless as to payment of the balance due him. * Pay on the
day, or you forfeit,' is his ultimatum. They can be rendered
immediately productive on the rest of the purchase money being
paid. We can sell a part, sell the cut of timber, or make the
timber ourselves, and in either case large profits will result.
The factories at Hopetown are also in a prosperous condition.

ASKING FOR WHAT HE MEANT TO TAKE. 143

and would be more so, were I not so hampered for want of
capital, as you can easily imagine. It would be useless for me
to enter into details in this conversation, but if you entertain the
idea of accepting my offer, I will prove to you the truth of my
asseverations. The offer I make you is a most liberal one, such
as I would only offer to a friend, and will, if you accept it, in a
few years, treble your fortune. At the same time, by assisting
me, make mine also."

" That may be all very true, Sidney," replied Edwin. " But
the fact remains that I do not possess in ready money the amount
you name, or anything like it. My property, as you know,
wholly consists of real estate in the City of Toronto, and there
are many reasons — cogent reasons — to prevent me from dispos-
ing of even a part of it, were I inclined to do so. From the
offer you have made me, and the facts you state as to your pro-
perty, I should imagine you would have no difficulty in finding
some person able and willing to join you, who could assist you
in the business, which I cannot do."

" Yes I doubtless there are people who would be ready enough
to go in, but so far as I have made enquiry, they are not such
as I would care to associate with me. Rather I would prefer to
meet my losses. Besides, I must have command of the money
to complete the purchase of the lands next M'eek, or the cer-
tainty of it, and what time is left to me to look out for a suitable
l)erson to join me in a partnership ?

" If you win not do it, Vance, I will have to leave affairs to
take their course. Neither would there be the immediate neces-
sity for the disposal of any of your city property. Your name
alone would command the money. Come ! make up your mind
to that which will be so much to the advantage of both. I en-
gage to convince you of the truth of my statements as to the
condition of the Hopetown property, before I ask your name on
paper. It is a good thing that I offer you. An opportunity not
occurring every day of the year. An opportunity of enii'^.hing

III II

t;£S#:«$iyiSC9tt»«WHa«UR»KMx^.u^^M.

144

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER,

yourself in a legitimate business, without interference with your
profession, and at the same time materially assisting me in a
strait."

Sidney Wolverton had not laid his position before his friend
in the^'""' that he would have laid it before a man of business.
In tha; >e he would have found it an eminently useless i)ro-
ceeding to appeal to the feelings which he rightly supposed could
be engaged when addressing a friend on the subject. Under
the stern examination of figures and of facts, which would have
been required of him, he could not have stated his case in such
a rose-tinted aspect as he did to Edwin, and so far removed from
the real condition of things. His knowledge of the world and
of his friend had served him in good stead, for Edwin was evi-
dently wavering in his decision, and he paused in thought before
referring to his friend's remarks.

" I V Mid do a great deal to serve you, Sidney, as you well
know commenced. " To assist you in your difficulty, though
entering on a pursuit of which 1 am wholly ignorant is very re-
pugnant to me, and the hope of gain you picture would not be
my object, yet if "

Suddenly the conversation u])on this very subject which he
had held with Mr. Horton, and, that very day with Ethel, flash-
ed upon him, with the remembrance of the promise made to the
former, and he stopped barely in time to save himself from coiii-
mittal to Sidney's views.

" However much, for your sake, I might wish to help you in
this affair, Sidney, I unfortunately cannot enter into the arrange-
ment proposed, for I am under a promise not to undertake any
speculations whatever for the present. There are, however, a few
days left to you, and I will think over the matter before you leave.
What little ready money I have at command, which, however,
does not exceed a couple of thousands, is at your service, if it
will help you. I am sorry that I cannot do more at this pre-
sent, and meanwhile I will endeavour to find some way of extri-

ASKING FOR WHAT HE MEANT TO TAKE. 145

ith your
ne in a

s friend
)usiness.
ess pro-
ed could
Under
lid have
in such
i-ed from
)rld and
was evi-
ht before

you well

y, though

very re-

not be

hich he
lel, flash-
de to the
oni com-

) you in

arrange-

Uike any

•er, a few

ou leave.

lowever,

ice, if it

his pre-

nf extri-

cation foi" you. Let me know the name of the creditor from
whom you purchased these lands, and I can probably get you
time, at any rate, in which to get your affairs into a better
state."

To do this latter would not, however, by any means have
suited Mr. Wolverton, for the ver) good reason that the lands
had already been paid for in paj)er that would not bear scrutiny
or the light of day, and which if not met when due, would con-
sign him to flight, or to durance if he remained. He therefore
replied coldly and haughtily, wishing the other to feel as if he
had committed an injury against him.

" Thank you I no I Vance ; since you will not do that which
is easy enough to you, and would be salvation to me, I must
take my chance alone. You are right enough, I suppose, to
keep your j)romise sacred. As to the two thousand dollars you
so kindly offer me, I cannot take it, as it would no. oe of service
in clearing me and would probably be lost. Perhaps you are
right in keeping yourself clear from connection with such an
unlucky dog as I seem to be."

Then, walking on rapidly a few steps, he turned and con-
tinued : —

" Forgive me, Vance, for any hasty expression I have used.
I feel vexed and disappointed, and almost at my wit's end. We
will say nothing further of this. Let us go back to them in the
drawing-room.''

" I am always your friend, Sidney ^\''olverton, and would help
you if T could. Yes I do anything to help you," said Edwin,
feeling as if he had in reality outraged his friendship and acted
as a traitor to his friend. His generous, confiding and unsus-
picious nature had been moved thoroughly towards him who had
asked his friendly aid, and whom he had refused.

Sidney felt almost with triumph that, if he had not gained his
point, he had at any rate achieved a victory, and as they walked

^tr-j^f^icy •■'VT-'-7,'?»>/F^fegfcfi;f

! W'.i

I ii

!■

146

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

back together, his brain was busy with new schemes by whose
aid he trusted to reap its fruits.

Nothing further passed between them, and they re-entered
the drawing-room where they left the party, Edwin flying back
to the side of his Ethel.

In her sweet society to seek renewed solace to the feelings so
perturbed in his interview with his friend, and Sidney joined in
the genera! conversation around him as unmoved, and apparent-
ly as joyous, as if all his prospects lay before him bright and
unclouded as a summer mom.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE WAY TO DO IT.

" What a pretty dress you are wearing this morning, Ethel,
both in style and pattern. May I enquire of what material it is
composed," said her uncle," as the next morning after their early
breakfast the ladies and gentlemen staying at Lake Mordaunt
had gathered on the wide verandah for what remained of the
freshness of the morning air before the July sun ran the ther-
memeter up into the nineties.

" My dress ! Why whatever have you got to do with ladies'
dresses, uncle ? Are you going into millinery, or is it the insa-
tiable curiosity of a Yankee which prompts your question?" re-
plied Ethel, looking down at the gn.:ment referred to.

" Yes ! and like an Irishman you reply to one question by
asking another. I said your dress was pretty, and asked of
what it was made."

" So you find it pretty, uncle. Well ! it possesses another
virtue — that of cheapness. It is only a French pi 'nt. But wlmt-
erer do you want to know about it for ?" answered his niece.

" Curiosity, Ethel. So it's a print, is it ? But you need not
not have told me it was French. I fully supposed that, like

THE WAY TO DO IT.

147

everything else you Canadians use, it was of foreign manufac-
ture. You are not so smart as we Yankees nor have you sense
enough to employ your own people, and keep your money in
the country by producing your own requirements, but must re-
main tributary to and build up the wealth and power of foreign
nations, by employing their laborers to do it for you. I doubt
the cheapness of your dress also, Ethel. Did you ever reflect
how much freight, commission, insurance — how many profits,
etc., you paid out of the wheat, butter or other raw produce
which you sent to France to pay for that dress — to say nothing^
ot the same charges, with duties added, you paid also for sending
the dress out to you. Come now, think of that !"

" Such nonsense, uncle ! Why I paid for that dress in cash.
Do you suppose I go to the stores trucking wheat and butter for
my dresses ?" replied Ethel, laughing.

" Your answer shows that political economy is not your forte,
at any rate, Ethel. Why, you would do for a Finance Minis-
ter ! It's of no use talking with you on the subject longer. I'll
tackle your father and Vance and Wolverton there, and see if I
cannot hammer a little of the science into their benighted Cana-
dian understandings," returned her uncle.

" And a good riddance of you with your prosy talk, uncle.
I wish the gentlemen joy of their bargain," she answered.

" So you want an argument, Mr. Horton, this morning. )Vell !
we are resigned to our fate, and ready for the onslaught. But
if protection is the branch you are going to inflict upon us, I
range myself on your side at once by admitting its absolute ne-
cessity to build up the industries of a n«w country like this of
ours," said Vance, who had listened to the conversation with
Ethel.

" I should think there was an absolute necessity for it in this
country," exclaimed Mr. Horton, who had mounted a favourite
liobby. " Could a more suicidal policy be devised than that now
adopted by your wise rulers, and I suppose acquiesced in by

^'^»^t»»«»iasa«i6Wiw-i

■Tr^*tffiTfrfTf"i-

HHj

4 i

; f

'■J

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

your people, who, however, j^robably know no better ; a policy
which drives thousands of the bone and sinew of the land to the
States and other countries in search of the work they cannot find
at home, while you are paying thousands of labourers in foreign
countries to manufacture the goods you use every day of your
lives, which you might manufacture as well and as cheaply in
your own country, theieby keeping your population in the land
of its birth. You complain of its exodus, and talk insanely of
Reciprocity as a remedy. A powerful remedy, forsooth ! And
do you suppose the Yankees are so blind to their own interests
as to give it you ? No I you are just in the position they like
best to have you. You are compelled to take the goods they
want to sell you, because you do not manufacture them for your-
selves, and they don't want and will not have your raw pro-
duce to enter into competition with their own producers.

" From his cradle to his grave, the Canadian is the tribute-
paying slave to foreign manufacturers. Arriving on this sub-
lunary sphere, the screaming little stranger is swathed in English
flannel to begin with. Departing from it, after a long life of con-
sumption of foreign goods, the silver-headed nails that stud his
very coflin are English too. He eats his. dinner off English
plates, with English knives, forks and spoons. He drinks his
tea out of English cups and saucers. He looks out of the win-
dow through English glass. If he wishes to nail up a board —
one of his few native manufactures — does he use Canadian nails ?
Not he I they are made of English iron, driven with an English
hammer, and the holes bored witli an English gimlet. And yet
Canada contains mountains of the best iron in the world. The
vast amounts of hardware and the manufactures of metals he
uses are wholly English and American, while his country teems
with mineral wealth. He goes to church in a suit of English
cloths, and his wife and daughters in French silks or English
dress goods. With the exception of a little grey cotton and a
few tweeds, every yard of the vast quantity of cloths of all de-

cs his
e win-
)ard —
nails ?
nglish
nd yet
I'he
als he
teems

Inglish
nglish
and a
ill de-

THE WAY TO DO IT.

149

scriptions used in Canada are imported. Imported into a coun-
try whose natural manufacturing facilities are unrivalled, which,
had it but a pronounced and stable policy of encouragement to
its home industries to inspire the confidence of capitalists, would
become an exporter of most of the articles of which it is at
present an importer, and would at all events produce all of its
requirements that are possible to its situation and climate. A
state of things wliich is the true desideratum of a nation's life
and progress — tlie true savings bank and increaser of its wealth
and consolidator of its power. The markets of a country thrown
open and exposed as yours naturally are to the assaults of all
the world, lie at the mercy of every change or passing event and
are never stable, equable or sound.

" A purely agricultural country sucli as Canada at the pre-
sent time is, and seems to aim at remaining, never becomes rich
or powerful. It is of necessity poor, thinly settled and non-
progressive. Poor in material v/ealth and equally poor in in-
tellectual and scientific advancement. Manufactures, mines,
the thousand industries by which a nation produces, ready for
use, every possible article of its consumption — in short, by which
it does all its own work — conserve that nation's wealth, retaining
it within itself, employs its population, no matter how fast its
increase may be, and gives that limitless caj)ability fo expan-
sion of growth to which even territorial area is not a bound. A
new country, as this is, cannot inaugurate and establish on a firm
basis these industries without a vv-isc and stable policy of pro-
tection against the competition of the old, firmly-rooted and
strong manufacturing nations, ^\'ithout such aid any attempt to
establish manufiictures in a new country is met by the natural
strength and firm determination of old manufacturing countries
to crush out the rivalry in its infancy, in a market they have
come to regard as their own. Your fiscal regulations are un-
statesmanlike and vacillating, framed with no higher view than
the wants of the hour — as changeable and variable as the winds,

1 1

150

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

and apparently devised better to suit the unhappy spirit of party
which pervades tlie community or the thirst for office of poHti-
cians — than for the general good of the country. From such an
uncertain, shifting and unsound state of affairs can progress be
expected ?

" Experience would prove the co'^'trary 1 From a country
whose commercial matters are exposed to such continual and
dangerous interference, capital and enterprise must fly. They
must erect their foundation upon something more enduring than
such a shifting sand, or they v/ill not build at all. A fixed and
declared policy of protection to all industries that can be made
home industries, of keeping your Canadian market for your
Canadian producers, will build mills on your idle water powers ;
will erect and keep open the factories which you now keep open
in foreign countries ; will work your mines and employ your
surplus population, which now drifts away to swell the wealth
and power of the States. Will bring the operatives you employ
in Manchester, Bradford, Birmingham ; in France, Germany and
elsewhere, to do your work, over to your own country to do it
for you at home ; to spend the money you pay them amongst
yourselves and kee}) it in your own country, instead of augment-
ing the wealth of foreign nations ; will advance your wealth,
power and progress ; will teach you dependence on yourselves
— a real independence and patriotism. That is the true policy
for your country ! A regime of life and vigour. No more of
your truckling to Yankeedom under the illusory hope of obtain-
ing the ignis fatuus of Reciprocity, which they have no inten-
tion of giving you, bemg very well pleased and entirely satisfied
with you as you are ! ! ! !

" As it is at present, any fixed fiscal policy, so long as it is a
fixed one, is better than the meddlesome child's play — the vacil-
lating feebleness and cowardly fence-straddling that distinguishes
the labours of your church-door politicians and amateur states-
men. Even a policy of so-called 'Free Trade,' which is tantamount

THE WAY TO DO IT.

1^51

and
do it
longst
ment-
alth,
selves
jolicy
ore of
3btain-
inten-
tisfied

it is a
■e vacil-
uishes
states-
mount

to a declaration of ' No further progress here,' would be better
than that," and Mr. Horton looked around him with the virtuous
glance of one who has done his duty.

" Admitting that a great part of what you say is very appli-
cable to this country, Horton, yet you surely must admit that
free and unrestricted trade is the most just and perfect principle
of political economy," said Mr. Mordaunt, who, being English,
felt inclined patriotically to defend the Free Trade principles of
his native land.

" Yes ! I will grant it, with the proviso that all nations be first
on an equal position with one another. That all have their
manufactures, arts and industries equally established and firmly-
rooted — each producing all the products of civilization that it is
capable of producing, and consequently fairly capable of an
equal race with its compeers. Then Free Trade is the natural
and rational order of things. But in the case of a new country,
whose first industries lie mainly in the raw products of the
field, the forest, and the sea alone ; whose arts, manufactures,
completing and refining of their products, have not been estab-
lished, it is unequally matched against those countries who have
had centuries for their consolidation and building up, and must,
if she would fit herself for equality with them, shut them out
from her markets until she has built herself up and become strong
enough to bear their competition. Otherwise it would be the
infant trying conclusions with the matured and full-grown man,"
replied Mr. Horton, enthusiastically, and, warmed with his sub-
ject, he drew nearer to Mr. Mordaunt and Vance, and re-com-
menced in full force his arguments.

Sidney Wolverton, who had probably become tired of it,
moved towards the young ladies, who were conversing together,
and as he approached them, Emily Dearborn, advancing towards
him, apparantly to gather a morning glory that had attracted her
attention on the trellis, whispered as he passed her —

" Meet me in a few minutes in the walk towards the lake near

r .-MMiiJUiSiaNrai

152

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

the end of the garden ; I would like to spea^.c to you," and then,
plucking her flower, she continued aloud —

" Ethel I let us go for a walk in the grounds, the gentlemen
are talking their tiresome politics. Let us leave them to their
enjoyment and go and amuse ourselves."

" Very well !" replied Ethel. " Come along, Ada. We'll go
and get some flowers."

" Won't you join us, Mr. Wolverton ?" said luiiily, looking at
him, as Ethel and Ada moved away arm-and-arm together.

" Should like it above all things," replied he, and, as the others
had got out of ear-shot, he added : " I will join you there in a
minute or two."

Emily followed her sister and Ethel until they reached the
ilower garden, and occu[)ied herself in gathering a boquet until
the other.5 had become interested over theirs, when, watching her
opportunity, she strolled away slowly towards the place indi-
cated to Sidney, which was well out of sight of her companions,
and where, on arriving, she found Wolverton, sauntering about
waiting for her.

*' Ah ! you are here before me," she said, as she came up. " I
did not suppose you were gallant enough for that. Hov.'ever,
as it is not for love-making I am come, it does not matter whether
gallantry induced your promptitude or curiosity. How did you
get along with }'Our spooney young friend last night? Did you
attain your object or had the warnings of ofiicious friends closed
his heart against the appeal of friendship ?" continued she, look-
ing up sarcastically in his face. " Of such a friend as Mr. Sid-
ney Wolverton."

" Is that all you liave to say to me, Emily ?" he replied, gazing
at the charming face turned to him. " I had hoped it was for
something more than a sarcastic enquiry you had for me when
I came to meet you. I was not vain enough to suppose it was
as a favoured lover, though that thought would have been very
pleasant to me."

''A'-Z 't' ?:<&^i<M^'S^:7^-C- 'sJM

8 l:';8anlat^lH>.l■l B»?!»■^« ^^^I

lii

THE WAY TO DO IT.

153

Igazmg

I'as for

when

lit was

very

" Would it indeed ! I sliould hardly have imagined it, seeing
that you came to this place with the intention of becoming the
lover of Miss Mordaunt. Your affections seem to be conve-
niently adai)ted to quick and easy transition from one object to
another. There are disadvantages, however, for there are those
— your humble servant included — who are not apt to aj^preciate
the facile honours accorded them," replied E .ily, laughing.

" But," continued she, " if it is not as a lover I meet you to-
day, it is as a friend ; and in tliat capacity 1 wish to know what
passed between yourself and Vance last evcnmg. \'ou may
find it to your advantage to accept my assistance and advice in
the matter."

"I shall be only too happy to oI)lai i it, Emily, again, for it
has already been of use to me. As you had forewarr.ed me, I
found there would be great difficulty in managing him about the
partnership — in fact, that appears to be hopeless, as he claims
to be bound by promise not to enter into any busines:-; relations
with me. i placed the matter in a very attractive ar.d tempt-
ing light before him, and urged his acceptance — both :is a ques-
tion of advantage to himself, and of salvation to me — appealing
to his fi-iendshiijj strongly. Although I did not tell him the
whole urgent and pressing facts of the case, I sho.ved him
that without instant aid, 1 would meet with very heavy, almost
irreparable loss. My appeal would have been successiiil had it
not been for his promise, which 1 saw he regretted bitterly, and
was very nearly on the point of breaking. I must say this for
him, that his heart was generously moved. He did not,
however, break his promise ; he offered me what ready money
he had at disposal, but as it was not sufficient to be of use, I
declined it — he telling me at the same time, he would think
over matters, and wo ild assist me to the extent of his ability.
The interview was o'l the whole successful on my part. The
sum, however, which I need to clear me of danger is so large
tliat I do not know how to proceed towards him with hope of

154

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

success. I have little doubt that with careful management I
could get his name on paper for ten thousand dollars ; but, at
the least, thirty thousand dollars is requisite to wipe out press-
ing debts, and another ten thousand to place the Hopetown
business in a prosperous state again. To ask such sums would,
to a certainty, startle him, and I feel at a loss how to a^^t.
Have the money I must, or else all goes to pieces, and I leave
the country."

" Leave the country 1 " exclaimed Emily ; " why leave the
country — even if tilings come to the worst ? You surely can-
not have run through the whole jjroperty. There must be
more than sufficient to pay what }0u owe — unless you have
gone very fast indeed."

" Unfortunately," returned he, " there is some paper alloat
on whicli the names are not genuine — his amongst the number."

" Oh : that's it, is it ? \\;ell I you are bold," replied Emily,
laughing, and apparently more amused than disgusted at the
unblushing avowal of t!ie descent into crime, of him who had
been — and might really still be — considered, her favored lover.
" However, this puts a different face on the matter, and you
must no\v become successful. \'ance must be brought to aid
you by fiiir means or by foul."

"The worst of it is, there is so little time left me. The most
of this paper falls due next week," said Sidney, gloomily.

" Well you must procure his endorsement in time, then, and
for the full amount you require ; you may as well be hanged for
a sheep as a lamb, Sidney, — l)ut you must act energetically and
promptly. I'll tell you what it is," said Emily, walking on
rapidly a few steps, as of thinking out a decisive idea ; then
turning again towards him, she continued : " There will be a
cricketing dinner to-morrow afternoon, when the game is fin-
ished, and if Ten Eakes is what it used to be, champagne, etc.,
will be abundant at it. Vance will be at the match, and you
will not find it difficult to persuade him to stay at the dinner.

iwi«a»tTwt-g»»iM»y--'».''»7aiat^iwtqaw-^^B^^aia*wBiwgNway«*itB>w'^ff'^

i:i:rft?ly^^s«■' ''»-"'

THE \VA\' ro DO IT.

'55

You must play your cards well with him during the day, and
keep his friendly sentiments, towards you, alive. At the dinner
you must try by all possible means to induce him to drink
chamj)agne — sjieechify him, flatter him, cajole and persuade.
He will have to return thanks — to propose others, in his turn.
His nature is such that, unless bound by a promise not to do
a thing, he cannot bear pressure. He is yielding, and vv'ill ac-
quiesce in what he regards as a trifle, rather than dispute them.
Not being a total abstainer, he will look ujjon an extra glass of
Avine as a trifle. If you contrive to get him somewhat excited
with wine, you will have the game pretty well in your own
hands, if you act with caution. He will see things in a very
different light than in a calmer moment; and probably will not
scrutinize very closely any paper you ask him to sign."

" I am afraid he will have to be very tipsy before he will en-
dorse for thirty thousand dollars, " said Sidney. " It will not
be so easy to get him to drink to intoxication, Emily, I have
never known him to take enough wine to be in the least affected
by II."

" I could have told you that myself," replied Emily, impa-
tiently ; " but because he never drank, is that any reason that
he will not do so on this occasion ? It is what I am telling you
to induce him to do so. And it does not need that he is made
intoxicated. That would i)robably spoil all, by rendering him
perverse and obstinate. Get him to take some extra cham-
pagne, sufficient to pleasantly excite him — to raise his spirits to
a jovial, free and careless pitch — and if you seize the opportu-
nity, and adroitly introduce your subject, he will probably do
what you ask him, without even looking at what he puts his
name to, but will accept your word that it is what you repre-
sent. Why should he know that he endorsed for thirty thou-
sand ? ^^'■hy not ask him for three thousand ? — hand him the
note, and in all likelihood he'll write his name accross it with-
out looking at its face."

"^'^'■'•^^""••'"B" '

IH,'

156

SHE MIGHT HAVE DOXE BETTER.

" I don't see your drift, P^mily. Of what use will his en-
dorsement for three thousand be to me ? " interrupted Sidney.

"Why! cannot you see? It appears to me that you are
very stupid to-day, Mr. W'olverton, and that I am the man of
business. Ask him to endorse for tliree thousand — hand him
the note, with tlie three thousand in figures at the top ; but the
space for the written amount left blank. He'll probably take
it to be as you say, and sign without once glancing at the face.
Or, better still, make out a note for three thousand — show it
him before he endorses, and while you are signing it yourself,
spoil it by a blot. You can then make out another for the
higher figure ; hand it him to endorse, and you may feel assured
he will not trouble himself to scrutinize it. You will get your
money, and will have three months clear before Vance hears a
word further. Plenty of time to arrange your ])lans ; and then
Vance, to save himself, will be forced to go into the business
with you, whether he likes it or not."

" Why, Emily ! — you are a genius. The idea is a splendid
one, and if I can only manage the matter as A\e!l as you have
mapped it out for me, success is assured. You are the man of
business — that's certain," said \\'oIverton. " I shall most cer-
tainly act upon your suggestion. I should never have originat-
ed .so feasible a solution of the difficulty. You have rendered
me a great service, Emily, and one that I will not easily torget,"
continued he, gazing with admiration, and yet some astonish-
ment, at the girl beside him, who, so outwardly fair, had not
hesitated to i)ropound so atrocious a thing. His astonishment
though, could not be said to be raised by the atrocity, but rath-
er by the knowledge of human nature displayed, and the clever
adaptation of her scheme.

" I do not feel so sure that you would not forget it," she said,
" but I do not intend to allow you to do so. In return for
my assistance, I may shortly require yours in a little project of

WHAT'S THE MATTER Wri'H MV ROSE ? 157

my own, not yet developed ; and I shall not hesitate to de-
mand it."

" Or I to render it, Emily. Anything I can do — no matter

what it may be — you have only to ask, and I shall be read}- to
perform to the utmost extent of my ability. Oh, Kmily ! — if,
when things become better witli me, you would but permit me
to assume a tenderer relation towards you, it would make m.e
very ha[)py."

" Thank you, no, }>h. W'oWvvton — not at the piesent, at all
events. You can hardly be considered now — and, unless you
change mucli, it is to be doubted if you vv ill ever become — that
safe person to wJiom I would care to entrust my future. I will
make no promises. If you desire my love, you must deserve it
by success.

" I must return nov»- ; our interview has been long enough,

and I do not wish to be surprised in a i?tc-a-tete with you.
You had better give your thoughts to yoiu' affairs for to-morro^^•.
Ada and I return to Ten Lakes then. You had better call at
our house during the evening, and let me h,ear of your success
with Vance. And now I must go, — Good-morning, Sidney ;
we will remain friends and allies, at any rate," she said, extend-
ing her hand.

" Good morning, Emily, " he answered, taking her offered
hand ; then drawing lier towards him, before she was aware of
his intention, kissed her on the lips — " To inspire me for success
to-morrow, and for a yet sweeter success to come."

She freed herself instandy.

" I do not desire your kisses, Mr. Wolverton, and shall take
care in future ! " she exclaimed, and turning awa\', v/alked back
to the house.

CHAPTER XVn.

what's the matter with my rose?
During the afternoon, Ethel Mordaunt and her lover, esca-

lij.

±as£L-

y^/r ^•'-. ^y-^^

158

SHE iMIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

ping from the others of the party — to whom the fervour of the
summer sun, made the coohiess of the house preferable — had
•wandered off into the gardens, to enjoy the deHghts of each
other's society, and some sweet lovers' talk together. Any
amount of caloric was to them but a secondary consideration,
compared with the privilege of being alone. Old Sol might
have run the thermometer up to any i)oint he liked, and his fer-
vid beams would have been complacently endured by them —
provided that all others were kept there])y to the house. AVhat
were a few degrees of Fahrenheit to them when thrown into
the balance against the incstimuble pleasures of wandering aim-
lessly about the garden with each other, and being ridiculously
hapi)y together. Cacouna, without Ethel, would have been
Tcted a fraud by Edwin. A hundred and ten in the shade,
with Ethel — a state of bliss. And Ethel herself would ])roba-
bly have shared the opinion.

So they strolled on, and laughed and talked — api)arently
vastly interested in the smallest trifles — and really vastly inter-
ested in each other.

" How beautiful the world is I — Ethel," he said, though the
beautiful world looked as if it were very hot, indeed, and might
fairly be sui)posed to wonder if he would be able to stand
this thing out until sunset, without melting.

" It seems so much more beautiful since I am so happy. It
is my love for you, perhaps, that gives the added beauty to all
I see."

" It is still a beautiful world, whether we are happy or un-
happy, Edwin. But happiness, however, is a wonderful charm-
er to our eyes. I am happy that you love me, and the world
is very beautiful to me," replied Ethel. " Oh ! that our love
may be as lasting as it is great."

"Why should it not last, my darling? Our love will last
life-long, and while that exists, happiness is with us — will never
fail us," he replied.

W HAT'S THK MATTKR WITH MY ROSE ? 159

to all

1 un-

larm-

^orld

love

" Yes ; but it must be based on a higher — holier ground than
our earthly love. For true happiness, there must be the Divine
love. Tliat is the rock on which our lifelong structure must be
founded ; and then we shall find happiness, indeed," she said,
with earnestness.

" My good little Ethel I " he exclaimed, looking with loving
admiration into the beautiful eyes turned towards him ; " you
deserve all hapi)iness and all love. U it is not always yours —
darling — it will be because this world is not right, and that its
best treasures are those to whom its buffets are the hardest to
bear. Oh I — Ethel, how I pray that never through me shall
any misery flow to your angelic s[)irit. The very thought of
such possil)ility would be torture."

" Then don't think of it, lOdwin. I hardly chink it is probable
that you are going to cause me any misery," answered she laugh-
ing. " It is getting rather warm, though ; lei us go into the
shade. There is a rustic seat yonder under the trees. It is too
warm to walk," and together they went towards it. Hardly had
they seated themselves and resumed their conversation than our
friend Barney was seen making his way from the house towards
them. He approaclied them, and after performing an original,
complicated and in his own eyes, very graceful bow, said —

" It's a foine war-rum day, so it is, Miss Ethel. The poor
craythurs that are short o' firing this blissid weather won't know
how bad they're off, thank the Lard 1 It does a bhoy's heart
good till see the sun shinin' down on till us so swate and paceful
and so sthrong, as if he knowed the cowld winther was a comin',
whin it's no good, at all at all, he is, wid his bames all friz up
wid the cowld blasts of Bore-us. Faix I it's a har-rud sowl to
plaze he'd be that 'ud say he's not doing his best the day."

" I think so, too, Barney," said Ethel. " I'm sure that I am
quite satisfied with his exertions, and would have no objection
to a few of the rude blasts of Boreas at this moment."

" Troth ! We do be mostly havin' some sort of wedder or

i6o

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE PETTER.

anoder, the Lard be praised for it. But in convarsin' so p!issint
I kem near forghetting me missage. Mistlier \'ance, the masther
tould me he'd be plazed to si)hake wid ye for a minnit, av it
wild not be too much throuble till ye. It's in the liivrary he
wor."

" Wishes to speak to me, Barney ? Well I I'll go at once,
though I cannot imagine what he wants with me just now. Will
you return to the house or wait for me here, Ethel ?" replied Ed-
win, rising from his seat.

" Begorra I and jihat's the matter now wid that party rose tree
av yourn, Miss Ethel. Bedad, it's mighty sick it's looking," in-
terrupted Barney, suddenly looking towards a i)lant cf that si)ecies
a few yards off,

" Oh ! my poor rose ! I'll await your return here, Edwin,"
exclaimed Ethel, springing up, and running to her favourite, whilst
Edwin proceeded towards the house.

" Why I What's the matter with my rose, Barney ? I see
nothing wrong with it. it looks as well as ever," she con-
tinued, turning to that individual who was following Jier,

" Bcdad I To see the like of that now," was the surprised
remark of the hypocrite, who was perfectly well awarti that there
was notliing wrong with the plant. " Me ould eyes desaved me
purty nate now, by the pov/er ot Mosjs' feet. Yer iiower's as
sound as iver it^wor. Miss Ethel. I thought thin that it luhked
moighty bad, so i did. But I'm wantin' till sj^hake till ye a
minnit, Miss Ethel, honey, whin there's no wan Ijy."

'' 'i'o speak to me, Barney ? Well, what is it ? Oh I t/uit was
the matter with the rose. I see nov,-," said Ethel laughing.

" Well I go on with your story. You deserve that 1 should
listen for having managed the interview so well. Did you serve
Mr. \'ance with the same trick also, Barney ?"

But Barney, save by a comical twist of the eye, took no notice
of the latter question, and ])roceeded with his tale.

" Yer see, Miss Ethel, after me marnin's wur-ruk was redd

WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH MY ROSE ? i6i

up this marnin', I tought I'd go down till the long walk at the
lother ind of the gardin, and shear the little cedar hidge there
that ye're so fond oj havin' sheared, the same as if it wor a sheep,
though it's little wool ye git aff av it for all the shearin', begorra !
But, nevertheless, I sheared away, an' sheared away, an' faix I
it's a moighty nate job I made av it, as smooth an' as round as
the back of a young pig, be the powers. But the sun kem out
that povv'erful, so it did, that whin I wor troo wid the job, it's
war-rum I wor, and no mistake about it eder, sol tought I'd get
acrass intiil tlie shade av the hidge, an' lie down unther it fur a
dhraw of me pipe, an' it v.'as'nt long I wor there afore I see ould
Sidney Wolverton and the banker's daughtherover till 'i'in Lakes
a comin' along togeder, and me smhoking away undher the
hidge 1 ke a house afire. But it's no notice they tuk av me, they
were convarsing so arnest, an' I lay quite and said noting at all
to thim. They walked up an' down past where I wor a power
av times, bedad 1 an' 1 heard some av their conversation thin,
so I did, an' moighiy qunre talk it wor what I heerd av it, con-
sarnin' IMishter \'ance an' a schame of Ould Sidney's wid false
papers, they have agin him, an' so I tought I'd come and tell ye
yerself av it. Miss Ethel, seeing that I kno'.ved ye better nor I
did him, an' ye'd betther have them lukked out fur, fur it's at the
crickety dinner at Tin Eakes the morrow tliey're goin' te thry it
ontill him, so it is.'"

" But I have nothing to do with Mr. Vance's affairs, Barney,
and 1 must not listen to your stories. Why don't you go and tell
]\Ir. Vance himself everything that he ought to know?" answer-
ed Ethel, who hated eavesdropping, and had besides a lively re-
colleccion of an already unsatisfactory interview with her lover,
connected with Sidney \VoIverton, and who moreover deemed
it derogatory to herself and t'le guests of her father's house to
listen to idle stories concerning them.

*' Och 1 thin. Miss Ii^thel, wud ye be afther [)urtindin' the like
of that to an ould craythur like meself, that's knowed ye

I.,.

'!■ ;

mmftmmmtmm

l62

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

since ye cuddent crape over a sthraw. Sure I an' doesn't the
whole counthry side know that yersilf and Misther Vance are as
thick as two paas in a pod, an' that it's mari;it ye'll be till wan
another afore the year's done. It is'nt afeared I am till sphake
till him, an' it's tell't he ought to be, but for the likes avmesilf till
tell him wud be av no sarvice, fur it's^his friend he consithers ould
Sidney to be, an' it's blackguard me he wud, more-be-like, than
listen. But till a swate young lady like yersilf. Miss Ethel, that
he's going till be marrit till, he'll listen fast enough, be japers,
wid his ears open, an' it's know it he ought, fur I heerd the
banker's daughter, that wor there wid that baste Wolverton, not
the dacent little girl, but the tall flashy one, telling him to thry
to git Misther Vance dhrunk wid shampain at the crickety dinner
the morrow, and whin that he'd got him hot wid liquor, and him
not caring for man, baste or divil, savin' yer prisince, to soother
him intill writin' his name on a paper wid tree tousand ontill it
and thin he wor to splatther it up wid ink a purpose an' spile it,
and thin till ax Misther Vance to do it over agin wid anoder waft
like it, but wid tirty tousand ontill it, an' thin she tould him that if
he'd git l::m dhrunk enough, he'd nivir bother his hid to luk at
it to see av it wor like the first wan, an' thin in tree months
Misther Vance wud have to go in pardner wid Wolverton in his

ould rotten mill at Hopetown beyant, wedder he wild or

Och ! murther alive ! Here he is himsilf now, and me here yit.
Howly vargin ! but trie fat's in the fire now. Begorra ! an' it's
out av this I wish I wor," continued Barney, suddenly startled
by the appearance ol* Edwin \'ance, who, unnoticed in the ex-
citement of his story, had walked up unperceived, while Barney
endeavoured quietly to take himself off.

" I say, Barney," exclaimed Edwin, as he came up, " how came
you to send me on such a fool's errand ? Who gave you the
message ? Your master never sent it, nor had he asked for
me."

" The masther nivir sint me fur ye, Misther Vance !" replied

.M^^s^.-ro-or-<-^--^^f^v>

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WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH MY ROSE ? 165

Barney, apparently astonished. " Faix ! an' that's quare thin.
Begorra I it's soiild I am. Bad scran till her, it wor that desate-
ful jade of a housemaid sint me fur yiz. By the tousand pipers,
it's aven I'll be wid her before it's dark the night. Belike it wor
to redd me out av the kitchen r^he tould me fur, bad cess till
her. But sure now, Misther Vance, honey, there's no grate har-
rum done is there by me little mishtake ?"

" Well ! not a great deal, Barney. I'll forgive you this time."

" But it was laughable, too," turning to Ethel. " Your father
looked so astonished when I went in and announced myself as
awaiting his commands, and I was confounded and looked fool-
ish enough in exlpaining that I had received a message from him
that he wished to speak to me. AVhen, however, he found out
who had brought the message, he burst out laughing and said,
* Oh ! it was that blarneying old rascal was it?' "

" There's for you, Barney !" put in Ethel, laughing.

" Most likely, Mr. Mordaunt said," continued Edwin, " the
old Villain got you out of the way, Vance, in order to humbug
Ethel into saving him from the consequences of some of his
scrapes, or to get something or other. She likes the old hum-
bug, and he knows it, and in consequence does pretty well as
he likes, sure that sheVill befriend him. Ten to one he trumped
up the message to get rid of you while he related some pitiable
story to her."

" And how about the sick rose bush, Barney ?" added Ethel,
mischievously.

" Faix ! ye may laugh, Miss Ethel, it's wid yiz this time, and
it's a nice c'racther the masther's after givin' of a bhoy that's been
wid him this twenty year an' more. ' Blarneying old huml)ug
I am, am I, begorra !' " grumbled Barney, walking off apparent-
ly highly offended, but in reality accepting the uncomplimentary
terms as a gratifying tribute to his diplomatic powers.

Ethel, left again with her lover, had to decide whether or not
she would coinmunicate Barney's extraordinary and somewhat

(•I

m 1 '

164

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

incoherent story to him or any part of it. As she had not pre-
viously held a very high opinion of Mr. Wolverton or of Miss
Dearborn either, for that matter, she could very readily believe
that Barney, whom she knew to be faithfulness itself to her fa-
ther's family, and especially her friend, had really overheard some
part of a plot between the t\vo concernmg her lover, very much
she could easily suppose to his detriment than to his advantage.
A great part of the disjointed and incomprehensible history she
could not understand, though it appeared to her tolerably evi-
dent that the papers *' wid tree tousand ontill it and tirty tou-
sand ontill it," had reference to valuable securities that were to
be obtained from him for 'Wolverton's behoof There was, how-
ever, one i)art of the story that was very plain, and that was
that there was to be an attempt at the cricketer's dinner on the
morrow to produce her lover's intoxication, and that the success
or failure of the entire scheme hinged on the success of that at-
tempt.

To prevent that danger was to nullify the whole i)lot.
Ethel however could not and would not believe that her
Edwin, her hero, her prince of men, was or could be in any
possible danger of so dreadful ;i degradation. She would as
easily have imagined that lie would steal the spoons at her
father's table, as become, by any means whatsoever, intoxicated.
But she had heard of drugged wines ; she remembered also
that Kdwin at the |)ic-n!c had drank a glass of champagne, and
uas not therefore a total abstainer. Might he not at tlie dinner
jjartake of a single glass, and might not that glass be dru.gged.
She could easily believe any depth of evil possible to Sidney
Wolverton ; and that this su}jposition was therefore not outside
the range of possibility.

The unpleasant nature of her i)revious interview with Edwin
on the subject of Mr. Wolverton whose very name she now
thoroughly detested, had determined her never again to enter
dirccdy into a conversation regarding him ; and again, though

Tift

Iney
tside

WHAT'S THE MATIER WITH MY ROSE ? 165

Barney's incomprehensible story was fully believed by her to
have a sound basis of truth, it would in all likelihood be totally
rejected by him, as ridiculous and absurd. He had already
been fully warned as to W^olverton's character ; and so long as
his senses were clear, he ought to be ])erfectly able to take due
care of himself and his interests. \Miile her lover retained the
full possession of his faculties, she felt she had no right to inter-
fere further in his affairs.

Could she obtain from him, however, a promise that he would
drink no wine, at the dinner on the morrow, she could feel safe,
as regarded him. It would not need then for her to tell him of
what she had heard from Barney ; and she felt that this was the
best way open to her to discharge the duty that seemed incum-
bent upon her. She resolved thciefore that this should be her
course.

Accordingly as they returned from their walk and were n ear-
ing the house, she plucked up her courage, turned towards him
and said,

" Edwin, T have a great favor to ask of you ; a favor that I
do not feel that I ought to ask, but whicli I hope you will for-
» give me that 1 do ask."

" My darling Ethel it is granted, if within my possibility. As
if anything you could ask of me could be a favor for me to
grant. What is iL ? Ethel."

" I don't like to ask it, Edwin, it really seems to be an inter-
ference with you, but if you could grant it to me it would make
me very hapj^w \\.;u will probably have to remain for the
dinner after the match to-morrow at Ten Lakes. From what
I have heard of such dinners there, I fear there will be a great
deal of wine. There are many young men who will be present
to-morrow, who are not particular with respect to how much
they use, and you will be pressed — very much pressed — to
follow their example with regard to it."

" I wish to warn you against these young men, and to ask you

11'

i66

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

to be careful, as they will try to induce you if possible to drink
too much wine. Forgive me for mentioning such a subject to you,
but please promise me ; I know there is no danger of such a
thing as that you will take too much wine ; but I know that
you will be very much pressed to do so," and Ethel's lovely
eyes looked appealingly up into his face.

" My dearest Ethel, you may rest assured that if I remain
for dinner at all, I will be very careful as to what wine I take.
Most probably none at all. No amount of pressure will suc-
ceed in inducing me to exceed, at all events. That I promise
you. I have never exceeded yet, and most certainly will not
do now that I have my sweet Ethel ; my beacon of light and
purity and all beauty ;" he replied earnestly, but not so satis-
factorily as under the circumstances of which she was aware,
she could have wished.

In her earnestness and fear for him, she contmued the sub-
ject.

" And, Edwin, promise me that if you do take any wine at
all, you won't drink champagne. I have a reason for asking.
And don't sit near Sidney Wolverton. He has a design against
you. I would so like to aak you, as a personal favor to myself
to take no wine at all to-morrow."

Edwin as well as Ethel retained an unpleasant impression of
that interview between them concerning Sidney Wolverton and
he had a lively feeling that the subject would be better avoided.
Therefore, though a little interested and somewhat more an-
noyed by Ethel's reference to him, he forebore to notice it.
It was however an unfortunate remark.

" My darling," he replied, not quite so cordially, " I have
already told you that in all probabilit}' I shall take no wine —
and I promise you, since you wish it, that I will not drink
qliampagne to-morrow, at any rate and that I will not sit near
Sidney Wolverton, since you also wish that.

Satisfied with this almost direct promise and very glad that

EMILY BEGINS TO PLOT.

167

Edwin had nOt seemed to noace her unfortunate * lapsus
linguae, with regard to Mr. \\'olverton, Ltliel changed the sub-
ject, and they proceeded homeward.

CHAPTER XVIII.

EMILY BEGINS TO PLOT.

It.

Lve

lat

His long anticipated Saturday morning at length greeted the
expectant eyes of Reggie Mordaunt ; and greeted hmi as he
could have wished it.

A clear blue sky ; a brilliant sun, and a cool breeze to
tt:mper the fervor of his rays, made it a cricketer's day. To
Reggie a day of delights, for its exciting hours would test the
prowess and crown the victory — as he fondly hoped — of his
dear Ten Lakes Club over the formidable county.

Early was he astir ; unwontedly early, and as he hastened
down stairs he held the vain impression that every one was
equally enthusiastic with him and would be down stairs also.
It 7C'as a vain impression, for he found himself alone ; the
breakfast- room ready for occupancy but without occupants, and
It was very evident that he was the only one of the Lake Mor-
daunt party, who had as yet come to the conclusion that ihe
early freshness of the morn, with a cricket match in prospect,
could outweigh the lingering charms of somnolency.

Half an hour of impatient waiting and it was still the same.
No one, with the consciousness of virtuous early rising shining
over him, but looking as if it was yet the middle of the night,
had put in an appearance down stairs. Half an hour in the
early morning, alone down stairs, in a great house, the rooms
all done up ready, and wearing an intolerable air of waiting,
with breakfast not at hand, is a very quiet, very lonely, very
hungry, very long period of time. It was too much for Reg-
gie's equanimity. In another minute his feet were boisterously

'iir

S! 1;

tf i gBB # MJj t t^^i*Mr^_t^^

■ '^'.'^r'^'f"','

,^_,

1 68

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

ascending the stairs, and he was thundering at Vance's and
Wolverton's respective doors.

" I say ! you fellows — this is getting just a little too thin.
Here it is, as late as it can be, and you lazy wretches sleeping
away as if you hud nothmg to do but get up for an evening
party. If you sleep on much longer you'd be too late for that
even. Try and get down — do now — before sunset," he shouted
loud enough to wake up a pyramid of mummies.

" Hallo 1 what's the matter ? Reggie," exclaimed Edwin
drowsily. " Is it time to get up ? Why ! it isn't seven o'clock
yet, if my time is correct. You don't call that late, do you ?"

" I guess you'll find it late enough before you're through.
There's a pile of things to do, and no one up yet.

" You've got to get down stairs ; have breakfast ; write
your letters, get ready, and drive out to Ten Lakes, and wickets
to be pitched at eleven o'clock" replied Reggie in an injured
tone of voice.

" All right ! I'll be on hand. Plenty of time yet," was all
the satisfaction he got from Edwin.

" I say ! Uncle," cried Reggie, saluting that gentleman's
door. " A pretty specimen of a moral philosopher you are ;
to be sure. Here you are in bed in the middle of the day»
Why don't you do as that old humbug of a countryman of
yours, Ben Franklin says. I'll bet you never heard of him
though."

" Be oft ! you young scamp" replied his Uncle from within.
" It's little enough you know about Ben. Franklin. If it was
not for your stupid cricket-match, you would not have been out
of bed so early this morning yourself. I'm always down before
you are, at any rate." What are you making all that noise
for ? he continued, as Reggie kept shouting along the passages.
" Get up ! Ethel. I want my breakfast." Get up Allie,
and come to the cricket match. "Get up, Emily and Ada;
you'll be too late for the fun ;" were boisterously vociferated,

EMILY BEGINS TO PLOT.

169

all

day*
of
him

until he was satisfied that no one could by any possibility be
left longer asleep.

" Oh ! yes, Reggie. I'se tummin' to see the tittet," exclaim-
ed the small voice of Ally, as he retreated down stairs again to ,
another impatient wait for breakfast.

•K 'l^ •I* "t* 'P t^ 't^ 'P "I* V T^

" Well ! I suppose you are all going to the cricket match,"
said Reggie, who having satiated tolerably his hunger, found
leisure to make a remark to the party assembled at the break-
fast table. " I've told Barney to have round every trap about
the place at ten o'clock sharp, so everybody must be ready to
start then. " You are going, are you not, mother ? with Allie
and father. Mr. Vance, Mr. Wolverton and I ought to start
earlier, as there will be lots to do before eleven, and so uncle
you'll have to drive Ethel, and Emily, and Ada. Oh I my, what
a time you'll have driving three girls. I would not be you, I
know. Don't you feel delighted at the prospect, uncle.?"

" Never mind, Reggie. Til stand it for tlie chance of seeing
pride taken down before night. Perhaps you won't make such
a fuss coming home this evening as you have tliis morning. If
all your Ten Lakes Club are such boasters as one young gentle-
man I know, I'll probably have the pleasure of seeing ihem well
beaten to-day. Don't you hope so now. Miss Ada ? for I sup-
pose you will be on the grounds to-day," replied ]Mr. Horton,
addressing his last remark to Ada, with mischief in his eyes.

" I'll see every over of this match played, if I stay there until
dark ; I'll count every run, too, and I'll never speak to one of
the I'en Lakes Club again if they let themselves be beaten. No !
not to my own brother, I won't, ' answered Ada, with \'ehement
decision in her voice.

" Why I Ada, you seem to think it would be a disgrace for
Ten Lakes to be beaten. Don't you think now it would be a
greater disgrace for the County Club to be beaten by a small
affair like Ten Lakes ?" said Mr. Horton, teasingly.

ill'

A:M*^iit.^«lt*^'^/^■ ■^' ■

170

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

• I

*' Oh I who cares for the old fogy County Club, anyway ; and
let me tell you, Mr. Horton, that our Ten Lakes Club is no small
a ffair. If it does not beat the County to-day, I'm a Dutchman,
replied Ada, too excited to be elegant in her language.

" Ada, you perfectly shock me," said her sister. " Your ideas
and expressions are those of a common street boy. When are
you going to adopt the manners of a lady ? I am inclined to
ask mamma not to let you go to the match at all. You will he
much better at home where you cannot commit yourself"

•' Oh I no, you won't, Emily," exclaimed Reginald. " Ada's
all right, and she's a jolly girl for sticking up for the club.'"

A tap at the door at this point of the conversation turned all
eyes towards it as it opened a short distance and the comical
physiognomy of our friend Barney appeared behind it.

" May I come in, sorr ?" he enquired of Mr. Mordaunt.

" Certainly I Barney. AVhat's the mattei- now ? Are the
horses all sick this morning as usual when they are wanted? or
have you found out some new excuse for them to-day ? Eh !
Barney," said Mr. Mordaunt. " Don't you think now your
' poor bastes ' will be * kilt intoirely ' taking us all out to Ten
Lakes, four long miles, such a day as this."

" Troth ! thin, Mr. Mordaunt, ye na'adent be afther bantherin'
me the like av that about me harses. It's well enough the poor
crathers are the day, but it's going to folly yiz I am, to see they're
put up dacent ; nivir a fut wud I thrust thim divils at the hot-tel
wid a fut av thim," replied Barney.

" And look out for a little whiskey at the same time, Barney,
or is it the cricket match you want to see ?" said Mr. Mor-
daunt.

" Begorra ! av it wor a game of shinney ye had afut, where
iviry bhoy has a sthick av his own in his hand, an' can have a
belt at the ball whiniver he has a chance av it, an' can rap the
bhoy over the hid av they're onmannerly an' don't behave dacent

.< ^:-^i^ .^^t^^f^^^^i^^^j ^^,)i^j^.r.^r,^^ ^ ,.. . .-c ■■■■ .,^^^^^^4>;^, . j, <^^^u»,<^>^■, . . ^--.^e^im-iir ■

-, .t ^s^TSKs-joivr:.;

KMILY BEGINS TO PLOT.

171

an' paceful, it's i)lazecl I'd be to join in the divarshun, but cricket's
too quite a game fur me, sorr !"

" Every one to his taste, Barney. Is there anything else you
Avant ?"

" Faix ! there is'nt, sorr I barrin' that I've got the litthers and
])aijirs fur yiz. I got thim last night, but I wor kej) waitin' on
thim that long at Tin Lakes beyant, that I cuddent git back
time enough to give ye thim till the marning."

" Oh ! we'll say it was the letters, Barney, but I think it was
the tavern that kept you so late. It's all right, Barney. That
will do," and with a bow and a scrape that individual made hifj
exit.

" Here are a couple of letters for you, Vance," said Mr. Mor-
daunt, handing them to him. " One bears a lady's handwriting
too ; take caio, or some one will be looking after your corres-
pondence," he added, with a laugh.

" Oh ! it will bear inspection — I'm not afraid," replied Edwin,
lightly, as he put them in his pocket. " And they will bear wait,
ing also until I have finished my breakfast."

A delicious after breakfast saunter through the conservatory
with his Ethel caused them to remain forgotten until its conclu-
sion, when suddenly remembering their existence, he took them
from their resting place and read as follows :

Toronto, July 22nd, 1873.
Dear Sir, —

We beg to advise you that a decision has been reached in the
suit "Orden ef a/, vs. yourself," which terminates, it would appear
to us, with a result not unfavourable to your interests. Your title
to that portion of your Toronto property involved in the suit is
declared perfect, and should not have been questioned, and on
this ground costs have gone against the other parties. As was anti-
cipated, the properties in Western Ontario, attached in the same
suit, go to those New York people, but burdened with the pay-
ment to you, as representing your late grandfather, of the settle-
ments, etc., to which they were liable, when, as apparent next
of kin, he took possession, together with the interest to this date.

•; li

iil

|!:

"^''tt'iitfaseiBne^.iju.i gifrtwag

■wir >fwh«:

liyy^twir riTnriiTfii'

^t^^m

172

SHE MIGH r HAVE DONE BETTER.

Tlieir lawyers have already jiaid over on account twenty-five
thousand dollars, until the amount of your claims against the
property are definitely ascertained, and at the same time the>-
ask for a year's delay for payment of the balance. This we re-
fer to your decision. The sum of twenty-five thousand dollars,
mentioned above, we hold to your order.

We would also advise you that, yesterday, Miss Agnes Sea-
forth, on visiting our office to receive the half-)'early allowance
made her by you in lieu of the annuity exi)ired by her mother's
decease, comi)lained of annoyance to which she claimed to be
subjected, in presenting for payment your cheque for the amount,
and required, i)eremptorily, that some other mode be adopted.
Upon our statement of the fact that we held no other funds for
the purpose, she enquired in what manner your name had a
right to be mixed up with her business, and threatened law pro-
ceedings if her demand was not complied with or her enquiries
answered. In order to avert a course which could not fail to
be disagreeable to both herself and to you, and could be pro-
ductive of no good end, we were comi)elled to explain the entire
matter to her, and that in reality she possessed no legal claim
upon you for the sums she had received since the death of her
mother. As she very evidently hesitated to believe our account
of this matter, we advised her to address herself for its confirma-
tion to you. It is our opinion that the young lady, being of a
romantic turn of mind, will decline further to receive money from
the same source, which will be so much the better for you, and
will save you six hundred dollars a year.

Please advise us at your early convenience of your decision
in the matterc referred to above.

We are, Sir,

Your obedient servants,

John Hatch itfess & Son.
Edwin Vance, Esq., \
Lake Mordaunt. J
" Well ! t am twenty-five thousand dollars richer at any rate

than I supposed myself," said Edwin to himself. " For since
these people turned up with their claim, I have never considered
my title good, or that the property would ever yield me a dol-
lar. So much the better. I am very sorry, though, about this
matter of Agnes Seaforth's. It will be a difficult thing with that

MMM

rate
lince
ired
Idol-
this
Ithat

EMILY BEGINS TO PLOT.

173

proud and independent spirit of hers to arrange this affair again
on the satisfactory footing it held before the unfortunate inter-
view with the Hatch itfesses. If she would but have left well
alone ! The money is hers — most justly hers. My father's dy-
ing breath, which left it to her, makes it sacred to me — as binding
as if his command had been engrossed on parchment, signed,
sealed ahd delivered. I wish it had been, for I fear her proud
spirit will view it in a different light, and spurn the thought of
accepting the money from me, as she will too probably look at
my mere agency in it tor my dead father. 'I'his letter is, I sup-
pose, from her."

Toronto, 22nd, July, 1873.
Mv Dear Mr. Vanck, —

I trust you will excuse, for the sake of the old friendship
that existed between my father's family and yours, my address-
ing you on a subject which, though it is of serious and disquieting
importance to myself, may not be considered so by you, and that
you will on the same score, kindly consider and reply, at your
early convenience, to th(,' contents of this letter.

Yesterday I came to hear, for the first time, a story con-
nected with myself of a very unexpected nature, and one, which
if it be true, would have been much better for me liad I heard it
long since, as it would have relieved me from the involiintar}-
assumption cf a burden, whose removal presents an aspect of
great difficulty to me. •

During the course of a conversation with Mr. John Hatchit-
• fess, which conversation, I may premise, was brought on by
myself, in fact unwillingly forced upon him by me, for various
reasons, to which it is needless to advert. I learned to my sur-
prise and great disgust, that the income which, during my
mother's life, she had enjoyed, and which I had always been led
to believe had, since her decease, become mine, was an annuity
which expired with her life ; that in effect I was then left penni-
less, and that you, with a generosity which is none the less
honorable to you that it was mistaken, had continued since that
period, the same amount from your private funds for my benefit,
in deference to the expressed wish of your father. I also learn-
ed, at the same time, from Mr. Hatchitfess the various transactions
alike honorable -to both, that occurred betvveen your father and

I :

ill

. 1

■i

I 'I

174

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BEITER.

mine, with reference to the property from which my mother's
annuity was derived, together with the events which preceded
and brought to pass these transactions.

From all this, for the truth of which Mr. Hatchitfess vouched,
and which I do not see any reason to disbelieve, it would seem
that, for too long a time past, I have been receiving and living
in idleness upon money which was not mine, to which I was not
lawfully entitled, and for which 1 had no legal claim upon you.
Upon your money, in fact, I have been for over two years exist-
ing, and I have to repeat that it would have been much better
for me had I been informed of the true state of affairs at my
mother's death, and much easier also, as I would not then have
had to commence life under the burden of a heavy debt to you.
A debt which my self-respect will not permit me to breathe freely
under until it is discharged to the last dollar.

While thanking you for tlie kind motive which imi)elled your
mistaken generosity to me, I must at once and peremptorily de-
cline to accept any farther aid from that source. It would not
be right for me to do so. I will earn my own bread, by my own
exertions, and will not consent to live upon the generosity of
another.

I took yesterday the three hundred dollars which Mr. Hatchit-
fess paid me, as a loan, in order to enable my aunt and myself
to live until I can find the means of earning our living, and stern
necessity alone compelled me to take it even in that light.

May I request the favour of your early reply, as I wish the
assurance from yourself that Mr. Hatchitfess's account of these
matters has been a true one, and also the hope that my decision,
as expressed above, may not come between the friendship that .
exists between your mother and m}self, and, I hope I may add,
with you also.

I am, dear Mr. Vance,

Yours sincerely,

Agnes Skaforth.

Such was the letter that Edwin Vance read, and as he con-
cluded it he walked up and down the room disquietly and

soliloquised as follows : — ■

" Poor Agnes ! That brute Hatchitfess in his cold-blooded

epistle, describes you as of a romantic turn of mind. Well ! per-
haps he is not far wrong, but you are nor a whit more romanti-

EMILY BEGINS TO PLOT.

175

cally inclined than I am, and no more determined about this
matter either. It would more burn my fingers to keep this money,
which is so rightfully yours, than it will burn yours to take it."

" Not if I know it, shall you spoil your good looks and drudge
away your life in the slavery of teaching, or some other equally
harrassing and ill-paid occupation, to which won^en have to re-
sort. Could I rest at ease ? a great part of my fortune sprung
from the purchase, equitable though it may have been, of her
father's i)roperty, and with my fatlier's last commai. J yet ringing
in my ears, while she might be starving on a crust, No ! it shall
not be. "^he matter shall be decided at once. I'll write to-day
to Hatchitfess and order him to purchase an annuity for her life
out of this money which has so opportunely fallen to me, and if
she will not take it, it will not be for want of persuasion on my
part. I'll write to her also at once and try to ombat her deci-
sion."

Having formed this virtuous resolution, Ed'in Vance took
his way from the conservatory, and proceeded in search ot his
writing materials.

Passing through the hall, he met Mrs. Mordaunt, and asked
her if he could go to the lil)rary to answer the letters he had re-
ceived that morning, as he could post the replies in Ten Lakes
that day as they were pressing.

'* Certainly ! Edwin. You will find all the material you require
there. You have not much time, though, for Reggie is hurrying
the horses up to the door," she replied.

" Thank you I Mrs. Mordaunt," he said. " They are of im-
portance, so I must try to answer them to-day."

He entered the library, got out his letters for reference, and
had seated himself to write, when Sidney Wolverton entered the
room in search of him.

Dii-ectly after leaving the breakfast table, when the party had
separated in different directions, Emily Dearborn had sought an

!•

i,l

".'?«■« »!!a«:-»sV'"^"-

176

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETIER.

opportunity to meet Wolverton, and finding him alone enjoying
a cigar in the garden, addressed him —

" Sidney I I want you to do me a favour. Edwin Vance receiv-
ed this morning a letter from a lady, and I am convinced by a
glimpse 1 obtained of the envelope that it is the handwriting of
a, young lady that it bears. If you can by any means, without
showing interest in the matter, find out the name of the writer,
you will do me a service. I have a reason for wishing to know
this."

" I'll do it with pleasure, Emily, if I possibly can," replied he.
" But it is rather a difficult task. However am I to get an op-
portunity to see it ? I can't very well ask him who his fair
correspondent may be."

" If you can do so, I mean. It is not of great importance, but
if you find an opportunity take it. I will see you in I'en Lakes
to-day."

It was for this purpose that Sidney had followed Edwin into
the library and was lounging about the book-case, on the watch
for the means of accomplishing his undignified mission. That
he did not feel the indignity laid upon him in the mere proposal
that he should accept so unworthy an errand was very evident
from the fact of his seeking to fu'fil it. He had ceased to be,
though he still bore the outward semblance of a gentleman, and
no sense of his degradation, no mortifying perception of its
own withered insignificance, stung his soul to the quick, or
shrank him into nothingness.

Il ^He attained his object, such as it was, easily enough, through
the unwitting and unexpected aid of another.

Hardly had he been in the room a couple of minutes when
Reginald entered it with his usual impetuosity, shouting —

" Oh ! here yo.i are. Come on now as fast as you can. It's
nearly ten o'clock, and the horses are ail waiting. The others
all ready too. Never mind your letters, Mr. Vance ; write them
to-morrow. They'll wait for one day, I'm sure."

EMILY BECilNS To PLoT.

-ply written," exclaimed Ed^ l^. °"'^ g<« 'he half of one
pen would movs. ' ''^"''W.ng away as fast as his

" Well ! you can write them in r r ,
•e for the mail after the match i, '"'"^ ""'^ «^«»i"g in

-tel or the Dearborn,. HI how vnT ^°" <^''" «<> '<> "'e
^n wnte them. That's you bet ^ " °'" P'^'^*''* »*ere you
grotmd before eleven," retold '""'■ '^' °"S'« '° ^e o„Z
, " Ali right ; Regg,-; i"^2t T'""' '^'«^''-
"-- is one whiclfmu t b™ L':;';: •?'"• P'^" ''^ "'^ "-«, for
-;™e now, that is evident "'2 dF? "'"'""' ^"<^ ^ "--
ha!f-fin,shed letter to the HatcS , ""' ""'^ f^'dingup his
'"'". "' the same envelo,^ 1 ^ ?'' ''" '^'"'^^d " '"'th theirs to
*ch had contained M tattSTf. ''f"' "' ««^ ^ •
had forgotten that he had taken ? f 'j '"" ^"'"' >>'hich he
ference, he turned and left ^ oomaft ^ '"'^ '^'^'^ ^- -

Wolverton, whose eye had IT? R^S'nald.

emered noticed the omisS.^'f ;/ f" '"'^^ --e he had

Hatched t,p that which Vane had left 11 '''''"■ *^ '^"^ ''e

and followed them out of the room J"" " '""' ^'^ P°^ket

P-'y were on the road to T J^^TIJ^ "/?' ''''""''' '"^ -hole

Dunng the drive .S,d„,v, , /t '' "''*^' ™«'^h.

by^^he s,de of Knu-ly, ,„,;;;. ^"J^^-ntnved to seat himself
and Mr. Horton, seized ,„ .v,^ if '^''"''•■"'P'edalso bv Ada

j-iieres the letttT • i,,,, • ■
"'•Thant.t ■ " ""= "Sht one ; had no. time

^'HAPTKR XIX.

I'HE CRICKET AfviCH Avr.

-— «veo.loc,i::;;----™o...

'"itrest was manjiested

F'-ir

■ff

178

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

Ill

9i , 1

by the crowd of spectators assembled on the Ten Lakes cricket
ground as the match between the club of that village and the
formidable County Club drew to its close. Expectation was on
tip-toe ; little flutters of excitement and whispered ripples of
suspense ran over the field, for the Coimty had sent its last
man to the bat, and had still six runs to make to beat their op-
ponents. But one wicket to go down and six runs to make.

It was an unwonted position for them — in the present case
wholly unexpected. Instead of a score high above that of their
somewhat complacently regarded rivals, they had six runs to
earn ; with their last man handling his willow. Their men, col-
lected in an eager knot, watched with anxiously directed eyes,
each ball cf the over as after determinate preparedness it flew,
swift and direct from the round sweei)ing aim of the Ten Lakes
bowler ; to be carefully blocked down by the count}' batsman.
The Ten Lakes players, at their posts around the field, alert,
watchful and active, become doubly so with the close contest,
and the knowledge that victory or defeat for them depends on
the next two or three overs.

" Ha 1 Well played I For two — run it for two," shouts the
county-field captain, as a ball, slightly off the wicket is beauti-
fully cut to leg by the player, and as beautifully stopped in its
course and thrown up l)y the Ten Lakes fielder whose ground
it invaded.

" How's that ? Umpire," exclaims the wicket keeper, as sim-
ultaneously the bails fell and the panting runner's bat giound-
ed in his popping^crease.

" Not out," is the quiet reply, and two runs are added to the
score.

Four to make. The Coiuity men's faces lighten up with re-
newed hope, and again a buzz of excitement runs through the
field. Ada Dearborn, seated with her sister in a carriage among
the spectators, shivers with apprehension.

" Well be beaten. They're onl)' four to make to beat us.

A CRICKET MATCH.

179

Only three to tie ; will they never get that wicket down ;" she
groans out between her clenched teeth,

" Ha ! they're running it. "W^ell done I" shout the County
men, as a ball struck barely past mid-wicket is run by the ex-
cited batsman, who barely saves his wicket.

" Three to make to win," and the County is jubilant.

" Over," cries the Umpire, and as the Ten Lakes cross to
their posts, Reggie Mordaunt catches the ball thrown to him
by the wicket keeper, and walks to his place to bowl the over.

Determination is written on his face, but anxiety in his heart,
for he feels as if the honor of Ten Lakes lay in his hand.

Carefully he measures his distance and pitch, as he poises
himself in readiness.

" Play," cries the Umpire, and running his four paces, his
gracefully round-even ball flies straight for the middle stump.
It is blocked dead. Again, and it meets the same fate. The
third, somewhat swifter, rises higher, is missed by the batsman,
and passing six inches above the bails, goes into the wicket-
l«ee])er's hands.

" That's it ! That's the kind you don't like. Swift and
pitching high," mutters Reggie to himself, as he walks forward
to receive his ball. Again it liies to its mark, rises as it pitches
almost into the popi ing crease, glances over the shoulder of the
bat, and drops the off bail to the ground.

The match is over and the hitherto invincible County Club
is defea'.ed. Defeated b}- only two runs — it is true — but de-
feated by a young village club of their own county, whom they
had half condescendingly met, and had fully intended to defeat
in one innings. Instead of this, though they had played but
one innings, ^len Lakes had played but one also, and had de-
feated them by two runs.

Probabl) this over-confidence in themselves and their record
had led them to underrate their opponents' prowess, and had
induced careless play on their part. On the other liand, the

iMCUWll. «JlMiC«ietiBaD«!>trtnr''

't irt-vr:f^'T\'A'Wi'.-'.

i8o

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

Ten Lakes Club, in general younger and more active, and in-
spired by a wholesome awe of the formidable County, had
striven by constant practice since receiving the challenge to
bring their fielding and their play up to the scientific standard
of their opponents.

It was hard on the County, and they felt it hard, but like
true cricketers they did not shew their disappointment and cha-
grin. Gathered into a knot together, and swinging their hats
over their heads, they manfully gave three rousing cheers for the
Ten Lakes Cricket Club ; and by thus honoring those who had
defeated them, they honored themselves. In return the Ten
Lakes' proved themselves to be not less generous. Every out-
ward demonstration of the exultation that swelled their hearts
was carefully restrained, and their answering cheers were voci-
ferously hearty ; taken up and prolonged as they were by the
whole body of spectators, for Ten Likes had turned out its
population eu masse to witness the play of their cricketers
-against the picked men of the County. After the graceful
handing over of a new ball, the usual tribute to victory, had
been performed by the C(junty field Captain, the dispersal com-
menced, and the assemblage began to move towards home.

Sidney Wolverton, approaching the Dearborn's carriage,
found it occupied by Emily alone ; the delighted Ada having
flown to jubilate over the Ten Lakes' victory with Ethel and
Reggie, and every one else who would listen.

" So you are beaten, it seems, Sidney, at your stupid
cricket," she said. " Are your feelings much injured by the
defeat ?"

'' Well ! I should much liave preferred it the other way. It
comes hard on our fellows to be beaten by the club of a litde
place like this. I trust, though, I won't meet like defeat in the
little game I have to play to-night ;" he answered.

" If you play it right, you will not. It depends on yourself.
Are you sure he remains for the dinner ?"

glg^

>">l'X'WK-ffW.'1!<iJfiWBB'

iyg^^^p^^-a*s,>v^-^«w^:t.v;sv.^

A CRICKET MATCH.

i8i

)lf.

" Yes ! I think so," he replied. He said as much before
eaving this morning."

" You had better make it assured for all that," replied Emily.
" Remember he is rather love-sick at present, and the charms
of his beloved one may induce him to alter his intention and
return with her instead."

" It's ]iossible enough ; by jove, iMiiily. I'll go and hunt
him up. By-the-bye, was that letter the right one that I got
hold of so nicely this morning ?" inquired he, with a laugh.

" Yes I it was ; but, unfortunately, it is not of much impor-
tance to me," she answered. " I wonder if his rei)ly would
have been of use ? I should have liked to have seen it."

" His reply 1 Why he has not written it yet. He n^s in
terrupted by our starting, and intends visiting somewhere here
this evening," exclaimed Sidney.

" Well ! As you'll have him in low — try to see it or get it
for me, if you easily can do so. ft might be of use to me," re-
turned the young lady.

" All right, Emil)'. I'll kcej) m) e}cs open. I'll run over
and see you this evening, if ail goes well with my undertaking.
" All revoir" and Sidney went off to search for Kdwin in the
direction where he \" .' ^ lost likely to find him — with the Mor-
dant and I''the1.

The dinner of the Ten I-akes Cricket Club in honour of their
rivals and guests of the day, with its j)osi prandial accompani-
ment of laughter and song, toasting and speechifying, had at
length coriie to a conclusion. The i)layers, at least, had brought
sharji appetites to it, for a hotly-contested field-day ends with a
nol)le sense of hiniger, and the dinner had been a sumptuous
one, so sumpttious that by reason of it the funds of the Clflb
would i^robably also need refreshment by an assessment. But,
as Reggie Mordauiit had observed, " It's not everyday we play
with a County Club and beat them into the bargain," so that
the ordinarily i)lain cricketer's dinner had swollen to the pro-

iiiiim

- ■'/!»*■ .».^t.»f.^!■^#.tJ^;^^

ifift

i8:

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE 13ETTER.

portions of a banquet, and the flowing bowl had passed in mis-
taken hospitalitv-, more freely than was altogether good for the
revellers, even though there had not been excess. That there
was a ball on the tapis was tlie probable reason that there had
not been such, for there had been those present, Sidne)' 'W'olver-
ton among the number, to whom an orgie was an acceptable
element. But the entertainment had not degenerated into excess,
and had come to a conclusion.

Edwin Vance and Sidney ^Volverton were walking arm-in-arm
after leaving the dining-hall, down the street, in amicable con-
versation together.

The former appeared to be in a peculiarly light-hearted vein.
He talked fastly and freely, laughing heartily at every observation
of his companion or of his own that bore the faintest semblance
of point about it. There was an unv/onted sparkle in his eye,
an unwonted Hush upon his cheek, and there was aj^parent a
tendency to ellipse in his sentences, and to cut last syllables from
his words.

Wolverton, on the contrary, although he had drank three times
as much wine as his companion had done, did not betray the
slightest appearance of having drank any. Neither by his man-
ner, his conversation nor his looks would he have been supi)osed
to have just quitted a convivial meeting.

But then he was seasoned. ^Vhat would to another have been
a drunkard's potion, was to him a harmless and unexciting
draught. On this occasion he congratulated himself on the self-
sacrifice of being temperate, although the three or four glasses of
chamjjagne which had exhilarated his companion, fell far short
of the quantum he himselt had imbibed. But then the one was
an accustomed bibationist and the other was not.

" I have a couple of letters to write, Sidney, for this evening's
mail, and I must find a place to write them. AMiere shall we go
to ?" said Edwin.
" Oh ! we'll go the hotel and get a private room. You'll

A CRICKET .MATCH.

183

self-
>s of
lort
'as

-u'll

find materials there. I've got to dress for the ball, and my
valise is there, at any rate. We'll ^0 to the hotel," was the
reply.

" A'ery well I I'm agreed. I>y-the.l)ye, Sidney, have you done
anything since we had that conversation the other evening rela-
tive to your affairs ? Have you thought of any plan ?" returned
Edwin.

" Oh ! well ! Get your letters off your mind, and then we'll
have a talk over m?.tters. Here we are at the Ten Lakes Hotel.
I've seen better, but it will answer all our purposes."

Paltering the hostelry, a large, plain looking brick structure,
with an infinity of windows garnishing its front, and opening on
to the many-posted galleries which ran under each of its three
stories, they found themselves in a bare, uncarpeted liall, with
the usual Canadian-country-hotel arrangement of a dingy com-
mon sitting-room on one side, and the bar-room, with its inevitable
crowd of loafers, on tlie other.

Turning into the first, Sidney rang the hand-bell on t!ie cigar-
ash-ornamented table for an attendant. This operation having
failed in its effect, he proceeded to the bar-room in -lersonal
search of the delinquent official. Finding in that classic regioji
no one bearing the appearance of connection with the establish-
ment except the bar-keeper, he address^ . himself to that impor-
tant personage.

'' Can you give us the use of a private sitting-room for a short
time ? I have some business to transact."

'• All right I" was the curt reply of the man of bottles, desisting
for a moment from the dispensing of Upper Canada whiskey to
his bibacious clients. " Here ! Jim, show these gentlemen to
the little drawing-room up stairs, and see what they want," he
called out to a coatless individual sitting among the habitues of
the bar-room.

This personage, wljo was the ostler of the hotel, the perfume
of his attire sufficiently indicating the nature of his vocation,

1 "I

'.^'

i84

SHE MIGHT HAVP: DONE BETTER.

accordingly preceded the two gentlemen to a comfortable and
rather handsomely furnished room, and ligliting a lamp, awaited
their commands.

" Bring some i)ai)er, i)ens and ink," said Sidney. " And, look
here ! have you any chami)agne in the house ? C'hampagne. I
mean. None of your cider and gooseberry jokes. Have you
any good ?"

" You bet, we have !" replied he of the stables. "There ain't
as much fiz drank in this consarn as there is whiskey by a long
chalk. But we've got the real stuff for all that."

" Well ! bring up a botde and glasses, and don't forget the
writing materials," answered Sidney, and their queer attendant
departed on his errand.

" What did you order the champagne for, Sidney ? I'm sure
we've both had enough already. I shall not drink any, at least,"
said Edwin, reproachfully, to his friend.

" Oh 1 nonsense, Vance. What does a glass of champagne
amount to? I want some, at any rate, for I'm tired after my
day's work, getting beaten by those young scamps. And so do
you, too, after standing roasting in the sun all day with a bat in
your hand," replied Sidney, decidedly.

" I've had too much as it is, and I won't drink any more to-
night," answered Edwin. " A glass of soda would do better. I
wish you had not i)ressed me so often to take wine, Sidney. I am
not used to so much."

" Pooh ! AVhat the worse are you f jr it ? But have the soda
if you like," returned Sidney, and as he spoke their attendant re-
turned bearing the chami)agne in one hand and a couple of glasses
upside down in the other.

" Here's your fiz ! The writing fixings will be here directly.
They had to send out for them. Old Whiskey Mixer, down
stairs, allowed as how you champagne gents would'nt be satisfied
with the yallar envelope, blue-ruled, ten-cent-a-quire sort he
keeps on hand in gineral. It goes well enough with your hot

:^^

. MH^^^.^^ '■«»«

A CRICKET MATCH.

185

whiskey callers thougli," said the queer genius, who waited on
them.

•' All right I Bring up a glass of soda with a stick in it, mind,
for tliis gentleman," said Sidney. " Here I take your pay out of
this, and a quarter to treat yourself with. Hurry up with those
writing materials and the soda — a stick in it, remember," — he
added, the last words in a low and significant tone, as he hand-
ed the man a five dollar bill. ** High wines ! and keep the change
yourself"

" All right !" was the reply, and as the door closed behind him,
our worthy ostler shook his head and muttered —

" Sid's up to some of his games to-night with that young fel-
low. Soda and high wines is a queer mixture on the toj) of
champagne ; but its no business of mine, though."

He presently returned with the materials for writing, a bottle
of soda water, and a large tumbler, nearly a quarter full of the
fiery liquid, y'clei)t high wines, which, being colourless, escaped
Edwin's notice, through the thick sides of the common moulded
glass,

"That will do! Thanks," said Sidney to the man, wlio de-
parted.

" Here's your paper, \'ance. \V'rite away now as fast as you
like," he continued, handing Edwin the writing materials. Then,
taking up the bottle of soda, he opened it, and poured its
contents into the tumbler, with the fiery potion it contained.

" Here ! Drink it while it is fresh, though in my opinion a
glass of champagne would be better for you," he added, as he
gave the traitorous dose to his friend, who drank off what, inno-
cently, hj supposed to be a cooling draught.

" Well I that soda water has a very strange taste," said Edwin,
as he put down the empty glass.

Had he known what a glass of soda " with a stick in it " meant
as, if he had been a tavern'frequenter, like his friend, he would
have known, he would most certainly have avoided it ; but to his

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1 86

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

unsophisticated mind the stick meant merely a country contri-
trivance for adding si)arkle to a stale commodity, a mere dis-
engager of latent carbonic acid gas, which in country kept soda,
was probably very apt to be latent, or, in i)lain English, very
flat.

Hovv'ever, as the soda possessed a cooliiig effect in itself for
the moment, in spite of the dosing to which it had been sub-
jected, whose action was not so immediately apparent, he sat
down and finished his letter to the Hatchitfesses coolly and
equably enough.

But when, in the course of a fev/ minutes, he commenced his
reply to Miss Seaforth, and raised himself from the recumbent
attitude of v/riting to search for her letter, it could be seen that
there was a deeper tnish on his face, an unsteady and excited
light in iiis eye, and an unnatural expression of feature, which
too plainly showed that Wolverton's potion had accomplished
its intended purpose.

" What can I have done with that letter?" he exclaimed, im-
patiently, as, after searcliing his pockets in the vain attemj.t to
find what was not there, he held the empty envelope in his
hand. " I'm sure I picked it up with the other, and all I can
find is the envelope. I wonder now if I left it on the library
table. It's vexatious, for I wanted it to refer to in my replying.
However, I must do the best I can without it, and answer the
letter from memory."

" Perhaps you left it on the cricket ground to-day. Likely
enough if you had it loosely in your pocket," said Sidney,

" I may have done so, although it is strange too. I'll write a
few words, at any rate. I wish now I had UTitten this morning,
for I shall not express myself so clearly as I should wish after
that champagne. The soda water has done me no good either,"
replied Jie.

" I told you so at the time, Vance, that a glass of champagne
would have been better for you. Take some now."

A CRICKET MATCH.

187

)ntri-
dis-

for
sub-
sat
and

the

" Indeed I will not, Sidney. I feel as if I had toe much al-
ready," was his answer, as he picked up his pen again. After
a moment's consideration, he dashed off a few lines to Miss Sea-
forth, folded, enclosed and addressed the two letters, and taking
another, written the evening before, from his pocket, laid them
on the table.

" I sui)pose I can get that fellow who showed us up to mnil
these letters," he observed.

" Oh ! yes ! I think so ; I'll ring," replied Sidney, taking up
the hand bell.

" Never mind I Sidney. I don't feel very well, and will go out
for a minute. I'll send him up. That soda water or something
has overset me. A breath of fresh air is the thing," he said, and
going to the door, he walked down stairs.

Sidney thus left to himself with the letters he desired to obtain
wholly within his reach, pondered for a moment as to whether
he should risk the rhances of Vance's return to the room before
the man came up and take immediate possession of the prize or
w^ait until sure which of them came first. He hesitated awhile with
the uneasy and nervously guilty feeling, the deterring conscious-
ness that, spite of being alone in the closed room, its very walls
contained a thousand eyes fixed upon him and taking silent note
of the act he was meditating.

" Why did I not think of it at once," he said, almost aloud,
and jumping up he put the three letters into his pocket. " If
Vance comes \\\) first I'll tell him I have sent the letters off to
the post office, and I can then go down stairs and find the man
myself."

His pilfering object was attained.

But though attained there remained a sensation of intolerable
unrest upon him alone in the room. The letters seemed to burn
in his pockets like fire — to drag him down as by tons' weight.
Not from remorse or shame of the act he had accomplished, but
simply from the fear that, until they were safely on their way to

i ni

wii T I'lWil'ft.Wiii

■Ml

1 88

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

the post office, there was possibility of detection. Unable to
bear it longer, he left the room, and started down stairs in search
of the ostler, to meet him half-way coming up.

" The other gentl 'jman told me to get some letters for the mail
in the room you were in," he said to Sidney. " Hurry up with
them, or it'll be too late, and the office will be shut."

" Here they are," said Sidney, taking the two he did not want
from his pocket. " Save the mail if you can, there's a good fel-
low. Where's my friend ?"

" Oh ! he's walking about on the gallery down stairs. I cal-
culate he's feeling sick," replied the man with a grin, as he turned
down again with the letters.

Sidney followed slowly after him and joined his friend out-
side.

" Whatever is the matter with }'ou, \'ance ?" he exclaimed.
"If you are feeling the effects of the champagne still, you will
be better out of the air. Come up stairs again. You will be
all right shortly. Are you not well ?" he added.

" Oh ! I'm well enough, but I'm half intoxicated, I'm sorry to
say, and am worse since I took that villainous soda. I am not
accustomed to anything more than a single glass of wine, and I
am easily affected, I suppose," replied Edwin, with a half-asham-
ed laugh, continuing his rapid walk up and down in the fresh
evening air.

Sidney saw that he had gone quite far enough with his friend.
His eyes had assumed a glassy brightness and shone with an
unnatural and wild expression, which,with an occasional unsteady
movement in his gait, showed plainly enough that he was not
himself by any means.

" Pshaw ! You are not half intoxicated, but you will be better
out of the air. Come up stairs with me and sit down. Yc u will
be straight enough in an hour," said Sidney, taking him by the
arm to lead him in.

" Well ! I believe I shall do so. Anything would be better

A CRICKET xMATCH.

189

than my present sensations," replied Edwin, as they walked
into the house together. " I wanted to speak with you of your
own affairs to-night, but I don't feel capable of much at present,'
he continued.

Returning to the room they liad left, Edwin threw himself
down on a sofa and fanned his flushed face with his handkerchief,
while Sidney, pouring out some champagne, handed a glass to
him, which, however, was refused by a gesture.

" No more for me I thanks," he said. " I'm quite satisfied
with my evening's experience."

" Well I please yourself. You make too much of a trifle,
though," replied Sidney, puttmg the glass down again on the
table.

Seating himself, he continued. " I suppose you don't care for
going into business matters to-night, Vance. Don't feel up to it
quite, so we'll defer consideration of my affairs until another
opportunity, but in the meantime you can do me a g -eat favour
if you will. You mentioned, during our conversation the other
evening, that you had a couple of tl-iousand at command which
you could let me hare. Now, I find on a careful review of my
immediately available resources, that I can in the course of a
couple of days rake together a sum somewhere between six or
seven thousand dollars. If you will let me have a thousand for
immediate expenses, and give me your endorsation to my note
for three thousand five hundred dollars, I can tide over my press-
ing difliculty. I can thus pay ten thousand on the lands, and
get sufficient time to enable me to procure the balance either by
disposing of a portion of them or by some other method. The
payment for these lands is the most pressing demand I have
upon me, and that disposed of I can get along well enough, I
think. At any rate, will try to do so. Can you do this for me,.
Vance?"

This specious liltle address had been admirably calculated by
VVolverton. The falsehoods in regard to his position, and the

>lSSf^3SKNT

190

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

means necessary to dear him from his difficulties, had been so
stated that, in his present condition, Vance was neither Hkely to
perceive their want of coherence to former statements or to ques-
their probabiHty. The latter had listened, reclining on the sofa,
and his head resting on a cushion, and when Sidney had finish-
ed he raised himself to a sitting position, as if endeavouring to
pluck up a little interest in the matter, as he replied —

" All right ! Sidney. I'm glad to see that you think you can
get so easily out of your present troubles, and hope sincerely
that you will be enabled to do so. I am not fit for business or
anything else this evening, but will be happy to do as you ask.
You shall have a cheque for a thousand, and either my note
or endorsaticn for the three and a half Have you a blank ?
All right, then, fill it up, and here's my cheque-book. Fill up a
cheque, I can't do anything," he continued, throwing his aching
head down on the sofa again, unmindful of all his promises and
good resolutions with respect to Wolverton and his affairs.

Sidney hesitated a moment as to whether he would accept the
offer of the note instead of an endorsation. The former was in
many respects infinitely preferable. It was more business like.
The presentation for discount of his own paper, no matter how
well endorsed, did not look well and bore " accommodation " on
its face as plainly as if the word were written there, and Vance's
name on the face of the paper would make it the more easily
discountable. But then he reflected that bank managers knew
quite too much of his affairs to look on Vance's note to hmi as
other than " acommodation." Again, and this decided him,
Vance would have to put his name on the face of the paper in-
stead of the back, and this did not suit his ends.

" Oh ! If you endorse mine it will do as well, thanks. Much
obliged to you for the offer, though," replied Sidney, producing
a book of blank forms from his i)ocket.

Taking up a pen he then filled it in properly, promising to
pay three thousand five hundred dollars to Edwin Vance or

A CRICKEr MARCH.

191

order, three months after date, and handed it to liim for exami-
nation.

" All riflfht ! Sidnev. Three thousand five hundred. I see

you've made it payable at the bank where I keep my account.
All the better, since if you cannot conveniently meet it when due,
I can the easier see to it myself," said Edwin, sitting up and
glancing over the paper. He then got up, and, going to the
table endorsed it, handed it i)ack to Sidney, and then went back
to his sofa.

.Sidney took a bill stamp from his pocket-book, alfixed it to
the note, and took up the pen to cancel it with the date and his
initials.

" Confound it !" he exclaimed, springing up impatiently, " I've

sjioiled it. S{)lashed it all over with ink, with the spluttering

pen. I am afraid I'll have trouble you to endorse a new one,

Vance. This is done for," and walking over he showed it to

him.

"Yes, I think so," said Edwin, with a half laugh. " Make

out another and the cheque too. How my unfortunate head
does go I My brain feels as if it were red hot," he continued,
burying his head in the cushion.

Sidney filled up the new note, and a cheque from Vance's

book. Having finished them, he went to the piano, which stood

in the room, took a music book from it, laid the note and the

cheque upon it, the former face downwards, and carried it to the

sofa, with a pen in his hand.

*' Here ! Vance, just siga thern. I won't trouble you to get

up, as you are suffering," he said, in an accent of apparent con-
cern, as he held the bo jk before him.

Edwin raised himself with a sigh, took the pen and wrote

his name across the back of the note, and signed the cheque
without looking at either, too generously confident of his friend.
" Thank you 1 I won't trouble you again. Try to rest a few
minutes until the pain leaves you," said Sidney, removing the
book, the moment Edwin had signed.

\ I

192

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

He walked back to tlie table, and with a sense of triumph
placed the latter's endorsation for thirty-five thousand dollars,
duly signed, stamped and comi^leted into his pocket and he felt
secure.

No twinge of remorse, no sense of disgrace for the shameful
act he had peri)etrated, tugged at his heart strings with the
arousing grasp of conscience, or quenched the exultant gleam of
his eyes in self-humiliation. No inward retrospect swejjt over
his soul and lowered the confident poise of his head at the ab-
horrent aspect of his own vileness.

No gleam of pity for the generous-hearted and confiding friend
— blameable alone in that he was too aimable and too yielding,
whom he had not alone robbed, but had drugged and tried his
best to degrade that day — i)assed from his remorseless eyes.

Did not the reflection — chilling as a northern blast — sweej)
over him that, as crime after crime, the crimes whose perpetra-
tion he had but just accomplished, added their blackness to his
soul, the blackness became the more indelible ? the harder to
be washed out, as washed out they must be, even in tears of
blood. Did not the paralyzing thought, like a blow, crush into
his consciousness, that for the blackness of that which he had
received from his Maker in purity, he was alone responsible, for
had he not, with his eyes open, deliberately and again sinned ;
and as he was responsible, so must he atone ?

That, as he added wickedness knowingly to wickedness,
hardening his seared conscience in its guilt, so became it the
harder for him — the more impossible, the more undesired, even,
to turn himself away from his sin ; and looking towards the
Great Atonement, that would wash his soul again white as snow
— appealing to the world-embracing sacrifice — his Saviour's
blood, cry forth the cry that His mercy never refuses : '' I re-
pent me of my sin — forgive."

No ! Sensations such as these would be the last to occur to
Sidne}' Wolverton, as he stood there, triumphant. There was

A CRICKET MATCH.

193

no remorse or shame — no pity — no sense of his own vilcncss
present to him, as he looked down on the generous friend whom
he had injured — and considered as to his next move. He was
the victor — what cared he for the victim ? He had swei)t away
the trace of one crime, and its danger to himself, by the com-
mission of another — and what cared he who suffered therel)y ?
Joy, and the pride of success reigned in his heart in ]jlace of
bitter humiliation and disgrace of himself.

He had but little left to do : his work for the day was very
nearly completed. He had but to see Miss Dearborn, and then
take himself off with his spoil. Now that he had been success-
ful, he had not the slightest intention of returning to Lake Mor-
daunt to spend the Sunday, or even to bid his '* Farewell!"
He had brought his travelling valise with him to 'Jen I«ikes,
and an hour lience would see him on the road. He sat for a
few minutes meditating 'upon the events of the day, and his
next moves — and quietly finishing his champagne.

At length he rose from his seat, looked at his watch, and half
audibly muttered : " If I can make a start in half an hour, I'll
catch the night ' -^'n at Cascades ; and the first on .Monday for
Toronto. But 1 . ' .ve to hurr\ . though. I must see T'.mily
Dearborn before I g^. I uonder how m\' friend there is getting
along," continued he. walking over to the sofa, where Vance
still lay reclining, and found that he had fallen asleep.

" All the better for him," he said to himself; " he'll be straight
enough again when hr wakes. . Well ! If I had such a Ilea d as
he has — that two or iluvc gl.isses of champagne would knock,
me into a cocked hat, like ihal — I'd — yes ! — I'd become a tem-
perance man, or I'd season it with a little ' del. tre.'

" I guess that that vrhiskcy sickened him ; but it was a bright
idea of mine, though ! How Paiiily will laugh over it ! I'll go
and see her now, and I'll come back and bid him ' good-bye '
before I start," and turning away he walked quickly from the
room, not to disturb the sleeper.

194

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE l^E'lTER.

Proceeding to the bar-room, he asked that a conveyance be
read\' in lialf an hour to take him to Cascades.

" Cascades ! — the devil I " replied the bar tender with agree-
able politeness. "What in thunder do you want to go to Cas-
cades for, at this time of a Saturday night? Vou can't get out
of it before Monday."

" Can I have the team, or shall I go elsewhere for it ? " said
Sidney, jjeremptorily. " I want to catch the night train, and
am willing to pay for speed to do it."

"Oh ! you can have it fast enougli, if you must have it. It
will be ready for you on time," replied the bar-tender sulkily.

"All right ! I'll be back for it in half an hour," and Sidney
departed for his interview with Miss Dearborn.

" I wonder what in the world Emily wants this letter ot
Vance's for?" he soliloquized, as he walked along the street to-
wards the Town Hall. " She's up to some deep game or other
against him and his love affair with the Mordaunt girl. I can't
see into her idea — though I'm very certain there's nothing be-
tween him and this Miss Seaforth, to v/hom he is writing. He's
not the kind to make love to two at once, by any means," and
vSidney laughed at the idea of his very i)roper friend indulging
himself with two strings to his bow.

She's trying to break off the match with the charming Ethel,
I feel pretty sure ; but for what end I can't imagine," he contin-
ued. " She surely can't expect that he'll marry her after. Not
much I — he won't. I would not give a fig for her chance. She's
too fast — too knowing a chicken altogether for his taste. One
of your straight-laced beauties, very proper and very good, is
his ideal of female perfection. Strange ! — how tastes differ.

" I'd rather have that vicious litde witch of an Emily — full of
life and wicked cleverness — than forty Ethel Mordaunts. But
she won't catch Vance, though ; if she breaks off his marriage,
with some of her schemes, the poor wretch will break his heart
over it. Well ! it's no business of mine ; I have enough of my

A CRICKET MATCH.

195

own affairs to take care of at present, and she may play her
game for all I care. Let her fire away, and amuse herself. I'll
marry her myself as soon as I get ready.

"She'll be at the hop to-niglit, that's certain — flirting away
with some of the young puppies around here, in lieu of higher
game. I'll have to send in for her to come out to me, as I ain
not altogether in ball-room fig." and he concluded his soliloquy
as he arrived at the Town Hall.

He had to wait for a few minutes in an anti-room, after send-
ing in his message — until Emily Dearborn, a radiant vision in
white — beautiful as a dream — came out to meet him.

So very fair v/as she — so lovely in her charming youth and
beauty, — the gauzy folds of her shining dress floating around
her in snowy purity ; so sweet and so innocent seeming, she
hardly appeared as belonging to this lower earth, wliere angel-
visits are few and far between. And well might she be im-
agined some such starry creation, strayed from its transcending
abode ; yet how eagerly had she come forth on what she knew
to be a mission of evil !

Sidney Wolverton, fresh from his scene of crime, gazed v.-ith
rapt and wondering admiration at the spectacle of loveliness
before him, and — so strongly is imbued in our consciousness
the impression that innocence and beauty are natural allies ;
that loveliness is the visible appearance of innocence, — he ab-
solutely hesitated to address himself to her on his unworthy
errand, even though it had been herself who had instigated it.

" Well ; how have you succeeded in your projects ? " she en-
quired, as soon as they were alone.

" I felt a little dubious as to the result, as I found that the
dinner party broke up early, and that Vance had hardly drank
enough to be affected. How did you get on with him ? " she
continued.

" Everything worked to perfection, from beginning to end ;
and resulted as you foretold it would, Emily. In the first

iiil

196

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BFITTER.

place, here is his letter to Miss Seaforth, which you asked me
to get. Whatever is the motive you have in view with these
letters ? You surely do not suspect the pious Edwin Vance of
having two loves, do you ? " he rej^lied, handing her the letter,

" Never mind my motive for it," answered Emily, taking her
l)rize, which she unhesitatingly proceeded to o])en and read.

" This is splendid I — it's capital ! The very thing I wanted,
Sidney ! Tell me all al)out it, and how you got it ! " exclaimed
Miss Dearborn exciteal^'.

'• I'll tell you the whole story, Emily ; it will be the shortest
way, and I have not much time, as I leave for Cascades
to-night.

" Notwithstanding all I could do, Vance would not l)e per-
suaded to drink more than two or three glasses of champagne,
at the dinner; but, nevertheless, he was considerably excited
by what little he had taken, and when he got out into the fresh
air he was visibly affected. He is probably not so much accus-
tomed to drinking as some i)eoi)le I know. Well ! v/e got a
room at the hotel here, where he could write his letters, and
have a talk over my affairs. I ordered u\) chami)agne, but
nothing would induce him to partake of it. He complained of
my pressure at dinner, and said he had taken too much, and
called for soda-water. I privately directed the attendant to put
a strong glass of whiskey into the tumbler, and I i)Oured the
soda nito the same glass. This was worse than champagne
would have been for him, and speedily had a powerful effect.

•'Of course he was unable to find the letter I got for you this
mornmg ; and I noticed he merely dashed off a few lines in haste,
and seemingly glad to get it done. The whiskey had made
him ill as well as intoxicated him, and he laid down on a sofa,
just as I wished. In fict, he acceded to my request at once.
The little game of spoiling the first note was eminently success-
ful. He never looked at the new one 1 made, but^endorsed it
unhesitatingly — little imagining, however, that he endoised ten

A CRICKET MATCH.

197

per-
ignc,
cited
fresh

lCCUS-

lot a
and

iDUt

d of

and

put

1 the
;agne
ct.

i this
Kiste,
Imade
sofa,
once,
cess-
ed it
ten

times the amount lie sui)posed. 'This puts me all right, nnd re-
moves all danger. I doubt that he would have looked at it,
even had he not been suffering. He never susi)ects any one."

" Wish mc joy of my success, Emily," he continued. '* I am
a rich man again. 'I'ell me you are glad for my sake, and Emily I
tell me also you are glad for your own."

" Well I Tm glad for your sake, at any rate, Sidney. You are
not out of the mire yet, though you have escaped the danger
that pressed you. You know I like you, though you are not the
most honest man in the world," she answered, laughing. " But
I am still too doubtful of your future to make promises. How-
ever, I congratulate you," and she held up her rosy lips to him.
" How beautiful you are to-night, Emily," he said, when he
had availed himself of the tempting privilege. " As you came
in just now you were such a dazzling vision, so sweet, so lovely
and so innocent-looking, so like an angel might appear, I was
half afraid to speak to you on our rather uncelestial subjects.
Oh ! Emily, you know that I love you, and you say you like me ;
why then do you so unceremoniously throw to one side every
overture of my love ?"

" Because I'm not so innocent as I may appear, and T go
about the world with my eyes open, Sidney," she rej^lied, decided-
ly, though evidently pleased at his tribute to her charms and her
j)ower. " I've told you already that I will not marry an unsuc-
cessful man. Be successful, and it may be different, though I
make no promises."

" Unsuccessful ! I am not an unsuccessful man to-day, F.mily.
You nre too hard upon me," he replied.

" No ! I am not too hard upon you, Sidney, and if you think
a moment you will acknowledge that I am not so. I do not
pretend to romance, to ' love in a cottage,' or the thousand and
one merits of the heroine of a novel. I am a live girl, alive to
my own merits, and determined from the first that I wiil not
throw away my chances, my marketable value, so to speak, upon

198

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

any ridiculous notions of love, and love alone. Yet I can love, and
love intensely,\vith all the intensity of a woman's love, and can add
to that love the inestimable advantage, the infinite variety with
which the talent of a clever woman, who sees the world as it
should be seen, and adapts herself to it, enhaloes and glorifies
her love. But I intend to marry a rich man, and if 1 can love
the man I marry, so much the better. Yet if that is not possible,
I would still marry him, for without wealth and the power and
position it gives, there could not, for me, be happiness. Again !
silly as you may think it, Sidney, though I am not a good wo-
man, yet I would like to marry a good man, not alone for tiie
respectability which attaches to his status as such, but because it
would bt so much better for me in the end — in that future which
surely comes. Though such as you and I appear to regard it as
too far off — it's well worth our calculations. But enough of this."

" Well ! Emily, I am not a good man, most decidedly, and I
don't think I ever can be, I'm too far gone for that. But do
you think yourself that, even with your beauty and talents, your
marriage to a good man whom you loved, would make him
happy or yourself a good woman ?" sarcastically enquired
Sidney.

" No ! but if I loved him he might make me a good woman,
and then find both his own happiness and mine. As however,
such an event is not at present probable, we'll talk no further
about it," replied she, gently enough.

" I will have to be moving, 1 think. I must catch the night
train at Cascades, so as to get the first Grand Trunk train for
Toronto on Monday."

" Toronto ! Shall you be in Toronto ?" interrupted Emily.
" Then you can do something for me. Do you know Mr. Hatchit-
fess' office, Sidney ?"

" Oh ! Yes. I know the old villain to my cost and his scamp
of a son also. Whatever do you want with these people, Emily ?"
he replied.

?i'iD--».: • ,'Sf?:r:yiV Kji'mum mavst

A CRICKET MATCH.

199

lor

ut-

■

" Some information. I wish you would go to their office and
try to find out from one of them all they know about Miss Agnes
Seaforth. Who she is ? What they think of her ? What she
is like ? and generally any information you can obtain concern-
ing her, and write me at once the full details. You'll render me
a service by so doing, Sidney."

" Well I under the circumstances, I must say it is cool of you,
Emily, to exj)ect me to do this. I can see plainly enough that
you are hatching a scheme against Vance's engagement, hoping,
I suppose, to marry him afterwards. And you ask me to help
you to that end. I've helped you more than I like already,"
answered Sidney, disgusted.

" You will do it, Sidney, whether or not you like to do it, and
you had better not quarrel about tlie matter. You are in my
power at present. Supposing I were 'to enlighten Mr. Vance as
to to-day's proceedings, what then would follow ? You and I
had better remain allies and assist each other. Do you really
deem me capable of the folly of imagining that I could marry
Vance, supposing I wished it, by breaking off his engagement ?
His heart is too deeply concerned for so facile a change, and he
already honours me with his dislike. You will send me the in-
formation I require, Sidney," replied Miss Dearborn, decisively.

" That makes the matter different, Emily," and I will do all 1
can. I must really say ' good-bye,' though I could wish to stay.
By-the-bye, show me the letter to this Miss Seafortli which I
brought you. What can it contain to be of use to you ? Vance
is the most unlikely man in the world to have two loves. Let
me see it ?"

" I'd rather not at present. I'll tell you so much, that, had
Vance not drank any wine to-day, he would not have been so
careless in his expressions. " Well ! ' Good-bye.' Get yourself
out of danger as quickly as you can. and cease your vicious and
extravagant habits, if you have any object at heart which you
desire to attain. You know what I mean. Farewell," and shak-

> I

;

200 SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

ing hands with him she returned to the ball room, while he walked
back to the hotel.

CHAPTER XX.

PECCAVI.

Edwin Vance, lying asleep on his sofa, became suddenly con-
scious of the fact that he was undergoing the operation ^^ being
well shaken up, and shaken too with no gentle hand.

Springing to his feet he found himself confronted by the fami-
liar form of Mr. Barney Conley, whose features, generally twink-
ling with fun and of pleasant expression, on this occasion, at
least, wore by no means an asi)ect of amiability.

" What the divil are ye doing here, sorr ?" were the first words
that greeted his astonished ears.

" Doing !" repeated Edwin, not yet wholly awake, and looking
around him in a surprised manner. " What am I doing ? Why
r should think I have been asleep."

" Aslape ! It's just aslape ye wor, and no mishtake," re])lied
Barney, glancing significantly at the empty champagne botdes
and glasses on the tal);t'. "Ye'd better come wid me and at
wance too."

" Go home with you. What ! are you waiting for me, Barney ?
But Where's Mr. WoUerton?" answered Edwin, now thoroughly
awake, and finding that his nap had had the effect of making
him feel like himself again, mitigating to some extent his head-
ache.

" Oh ! it wor liim ye were with then ? I tought as much, be-
gorra ! It's in bad company ye wor, anyhow, sorr !" replied
Barney, sarcastically. Then, gazing fixedly at him for a moment
or two, he continued. " But ye're not dhrunk, after all, I per-
cave. By the j^owers o' war ! it's lucky for ye then, in this
murdhering shebeen ^vid ould Sidney Wolverton. Didn't ye

K-a«haaraaj;awg;*a

PECCAVI.

201

»g

|h, be-

iplied

)ment

II per-

In this

n't ye

have enough av it at the denner, that ye had to come here fur
more ?" he enquired, in continuation.

" Why, whatever is the matter with you, Barney ?" exclaimed
Edwin, gazing at the man as if probably thinking he had taken
leave of his senses. " Vou have not been taking too much whis-
key, have you ?"

" Faix, thin ! I had a tasthe or two, mebbe, av it, but I hav'ent
made an omadhaun av meself widit, and I did'nt put whishkey
and soda wather on the top av cliampagne eider," replied Bar-
ney, who had got a part of the facts of the dosed soda from
the ostler, whom he had closely questioned on finding the two
friends were there. " And did ye sign yer name to tlie false
jjapers ould Wolverton give ye } — for the tree tousand and the
tirty tousand ? Begorra I if ye've got "

'* Wliat's going on here ? " exclaimed Sidney A\''olverton,
walking into the room, at this [)oint of the conversation, to
which he had been quietly listening for a minute or so at the
door.

" Is our friend Barney drunk or crazy to-night, that lie is in-
flicting his maudlin rubbish upon you ? Vv'hat have you been
doing v/ith yourself, Barney, tliat you for;,j,et to whom you are
sjjeaking ? " h,e continued,

•• It's to Misther Vance I am sphnkin', sorr, and not to you,
sorr. It's better ye'd be wid the banker's daughter — hatching
schames again honest tolk, sorr. Dlirunk, am I I Faix I and
if I was as dhrunk as v/an gentleman I know, the night I drove
him to the Lake, it's raison \e'd liave to talk, ' returned Barney,
in high indignation ; for he cordially hatccl Sidney Wolverton,
ai^.d ^vas probably a little inspired by tht; elevating effects of
L'^pper ('anada whiskey.

'• Xo moj-e of this, Barne)' ! — we have had enough.
Go and get your carriage ready ; we will be down directly,"
broke in Edwin impatiently : and Barney turned on his heel
and left the room.

202

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

'' I see you are all straight again, Vance. It certainly does
not take much to overset you. When you fell asleep I went out
for a walk and a look at the ball-room, and I've come back to
say good-bye to you, and ask you to make my excuses at the
Lake. I have received a telegram calling me a*: once to Hope-
town on business of importance ; and 1 start direcdy to take
the night train at Cascades. I'm very much obliged to you for
what you have done for me to-night, \'ance ; you are a true
friend. Remember me to them all at the Lake, and especially
to yoiu- fair fiancee.

" (jood-bye, old fellow ; I must be off ; " and Sidney held out
his hand to his friend.

"Good-bye, Sidney — sorry you have to go to-night. You
have a long drive before you. 1 shall start, too. with Barney ;
so we'll go down together. When shall I see you again ? ''' re-
plied Edwin, shaking his hand warmly, as they went down
stairs together.

^ >i( ^ >|( :|e :|c Hf

Edwin Vance's reflections, as he returned with Harney to the
Lake, were none too pleasant.

As he looked back on the events of the evening, he felt hu-
miliated, and blamed himself >;everely for his want of firmness
and ability to utter that very useful word ' No 1 ' at the proper
time. Tie acknowledged to himself that his yielding nature,
which would submit to inconvenience, or the opinions and
wishes of others, rather than make a scene api>ear to be dis-
obliging or different from those around him, in the assertion of
what he knew to be the right ihingis'as a fault which on this
occasion notably had placed him in a false ix>sition, and which
must be corrected.

Had he not been, this very evening, overexcited by wine,
and been ill by reason of it ? \'et, though lie bad drunk but
little — had it not been too much for him ? A\'as it not his own
fault in weakly yielding to apparently friendly pressure?- — an

[Al5!Tv'iii4^tifS£*^UBS

Mli8IIHB8Sl^fiSiiJiMii^!i!^^-ifi^^ .

PECCAVI.

203

is-

example to those around him ? He was comj^elled to acknow-
ledge that it was such. - ...^^ •.

He remembered with dismay his implTqit promise to Ethel,
that he woiild not drink wine on this opCksion ; and how had
he kept it ? he asked himself. He had told her that in all pro-
bability he would not do so — and he meant what he said at the
time ; while she had evidently, to his mind, accepted his state-
ment as an unconditional promise, and was satisfied. Vet he
had broken his word to her !

'I'his was an intensely bitter remembrance to him — so bitter
that he could have thrown himself to the ground in his shame
and agonr. and ha\e hidden himself from the world and his
own thoughts.

Thiit, in the very fnst days of tlieir engagement -of the ac-
ceptance of his love by a being so beautiful, so sweet and so
pure — who. in return, luidoubtedly expected of him tliat he
should keep himself undefiled, both before the world and in his
own eyes : he liad not onl}' touched defilement, but had violat-
ed his word of honour to her. He groaned in spirit. His
humiliation and (^onlempt for liimself almost amounted to de-
spair.

"How has this evil thing arist-n to me ?' he asked himself, as
he gloomily and remorsefully jtoudered over the incidents which
had led to this self-ajjandonment.

" This morning I no more i;nagined tliat I should do what I
ha\e done, than I should lia\e supposed myself cai)nb1e of
commitdng a murder. 1. may do that next," he added with
bitter humour, " .After this, wh}' should I not deem myself
equal to any atrocity ? A man who will drink and tell lies, may
not regard himself as a saint ; and yet [ have been in the habit
of considering myself a \ ery decent fellow. 1 could hardly
claim dist.in(nion on that score to-da\ ," he continued, with a
savage Laugh at himself.

" ft is a hard lesson for mc — a ver\- hard lesson : but I will

ill

204

SHE MIGHl' HAVE DONE BETTER.

learn it to the last letter, and reap the benefits of its teachings.
I will drink the bitter cup to its dregs ; I will accept manfully
my humiliation and the consequences of my fault, and shall not
attempt to avert them by any dastardly throwing the blame
upon others, which so rightly rested upon myself.

" No more moderate drinking for me I I have had enough
of that ; I accept that as a finality. Moderate, indeed I It
would hardly seem so to-day. I have prided myself upon being
a temperate man ; that in this matter 1 was under control, and
could not commit excess ; yet my moderate drinking has bro't
me to grief. It shall do so no more. Never again shall the
wine cup touch my lii)S. AVith the firm resolve to place between
myself and harm tlie breast-plate of total abstinence, I can
deem myself safe. I have proved to-day that for me there is
not safety without its protection. The temperance people are
right. They may be injudicious and unwise towards the ad-
vancement of their cause, by their peremptoriness and resist-
ance upon this very subject of moderate drinking ; it is very
possible that they may rather repel than attract those who have
not )'et suffered ; — but I ha\e now for myself experienced its
insidious dangers, and can no longer wonder that they be not
dispassionate and calm in their denunciations.''

Edwin's reflections were here interrujjted by Earney, who
was driving him home, and had apparently been, since they had
started, cogitating over some cpiestion of interest — who now in
a tone wheedlingly conciliatory, and of disarming respectful-
ness, put forth the following quer}- :

" Shure now ! J\Iisther \'ance, didn't ye know Detter nor to
put whishkey intii yer sodha-wather, after the hoiglU av cham-
pagne ye'd all been dhrinking at the dinner? — or worita thrick
some wan wor playing on ye ? "

" What's that you say, Uaniey ? " exclaimed Edwin, looking
up hastily ; '' I don't understand what you mean. A\'hiskey !
put whiskey into my soda water ! I had no whiskey."

'.''ge>:''A't<<i':iM«Big3P'ii!twwigfsaitj

iiil'lM*'"'*^^'''^-'^ ''^'"' • »i^'^^''J^g**-^-^gMP'g'™'''^--'^*»»t' — ...

pt:ccAvi.

205

"Oh, begorral then, but it's the truth I am tellin' ye. It
wor the dirty baste of an ostler they kape over at the hot-tel there
as tould nie that he'd carried up a smashing big glass o' whiskey
and a bottle av sodha wather till ye, and, bad luck to me, but I
was thmking it was quare it wor av a quite gintleman the like av
yoursilf for to do. Arrah, thin ! but it was a bad mixther ye
made av it — the whiskey and the chamijagne ye drank. It's
foighting together they'd be, and it's as dhrunk as a piper and as
sick as a dog they'd lave ye, in just less nor no time."

" But I had no whiskey, Barney, I tell you. I drank nothing
but a glass of soda water at the hotel, though I noticed it was
not good, and had a peculiar taste," rei^lied Edwin, who was
becoming interested.

" Faix I It's likely the taste av it wud be peculer, wid a noggin
av high wines intil it. It wor a shabby thrick wor played ^on
yer, Misther Vance," answered Barney.

" You mistake entirely, Barney. What i)Ossible interest could
the people of the house have to serve by jjlaying me such a
senseless trick ? Besides, my friend opened the bottle of soda
water in my presence."

" 'Deed it wor not the people of the hot-tel played it on ye ;
they did as they wor bid, belike. If yed looked intil the tumbler
afore yer friend put the sodha wather intil it, }e'ed have seed
the whiskey there. If yer friend, Misther V\'olverton, did'nt
know of the dirthy thrick, then no man knowed it. But, be-
gorra ! he'd his raysins for getting ye dhrunk, and it wor him as
gin ye the whiskey, and no mishtake about it."

" This is impertinent nonsense, Barney, and I'll have no more
of it. You shall not say another word on the subject," returned
Edwin, angrily.

" Oh ! the divil another word '11 pass me mouth. But lie axed
ye till sign papers fur him, did'nt he now, Misther Vance ? False
papers and sphoilt papers, and he wanted to put ye free like and
careless, so ye'd take no notish till his doings. I meant no har-

wmr^iw. m'Jii'i:^''^ , '

206

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

mm to say what I've said. It's raisons av me own I have, and
ye can ax Miss Ethel."

Barney would say no more, and Edwin did not dsk him.
Here was a new light on the subject. He remembered again
and with more significance the pressure which Wolverton had
applied to induce him to drink champagne, both at the din-
ner and at the hotel afterwards, and tor the first time the suspicion
arose in his mind that all was not right. A suspicion that was,
however, cast aside and rejected as unworthy of himself and of
his friend, as soon as formed.

'* Absurd and imi)0ssible !" he said to himself ; but Barney's
words nevertheless left their impression.

'ITieir arrivel at I^ke Mordaunt, however, put an end to his
further reflections on the matter, 'i'he carriage drew up at the
house, and he proceeded to alight

Hardly had the crunching on the gra\el ceased, than Ethel,
who had evidently been on the watch for them, ap[)eared, a lamp
in her hand, at the door.

" How late you are I" she exclaimed.

Apart from her lover, she had probably found the time to be
long.

'* I thought you did not intend rem^iining for the ball, P'dwin."
As he entered the hall, and the light fell ii\)on his pale face
and eyes, from which the excitement of wine had vanished,
leaving them unwonted!}- dim and watery, she, looking up
eagerly for the accustomed smile, listening for the accustomed
loving words, saw the change, and with anxiety in her voice,
enciuired—

" Are you ill, Edwin? What has occurred? Is anything the
matter with you ? Tell me I dearest."

Then, as an idea of the truth flashed upon her, or as probably
some faint trace, some infinitesimal wafting of the odour of
wine reached her pure and sensitive nostril, she started and
said —

^^tmrntmrnrnMiam

•■TJd'.lSX .^'J.'.lL'^^n 'i!V\

^''^^™^"°="°^"°-^'

PECCWVI.

207

"Oh: Edwin.'"

The hearty rei)roach conveyed in the tone of the lo\v, Sweet
voice ; the fading away of the smile from that dear face ; the
mute sorrow expressed in the lovely eyes fixed upon his, was
anguish for hmi, as deep as he had ever experienced.

" Yes ! Kthel ; I have something to tell you," he answered ;
with deep sorrow in his voice, but a tone of firmness and deci-
sion ringing tlirough it.

" In regret, decj) shame and sorrow I tell it, yet whatever the
con.sequences to myself may he, I am decided to tell it — my
shame and my ■jin. 1 promised you, my darling, but yesterday
that [ would not, in all j)rol»ability I would not, take wine at
this dinner to-day, and I have broken my promise — my pledged
word to you, my pure d:uiing, my atfianced wife— that I would
not touch the acursed thing, and [ have touched it. I have
been miserably weak and yielding when I should, in my faith
to you, have been strong, and I have fallen. I have no one to
blame but myself. I have yielded, in {)ure want of tiimness,
when r should not have 3ielded. 1 have, it is true, committed
no disgraceful e.vcess, ami drank but little wine. Still, little as
it was, it was excess for me, for I was not mvself, and 1 was
made ill. The only atonement in my power to make, and my
l)lain duty to you, as my atlianced wife, required of me that I
should <ome, as I have cf)n-ie regardless of the shame, to tell
you of my tault and my sin.

" Could you but know, ni}- darling, the shame, the bitter
shame, and humiliation that o[)presses me as [ relate these
things to you, } ou would pity me. Forgi\e me, if \ou can !
Kthel ; though I cannt>t forgive myself. If you cannot do so,
r must l>ear the bitter conse(piences as I best can. My lesson
has been a hard one, but its teachings shall not be in vain, the
warning shall not be lost upon me, and 1 have made my re-
resolve : the determination to maintairi my resolve, that never
again shall my lips touch the wine cup. Bur as t have already

208

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

violated a promise, and that a promise made to you in the first
fe>v days of our new engagement, a promise, which of allothers»
I should have held sacred, you may well question my power or
my will to maintain the sanctity of another vow. But for the
.space of one year Ethel, I surely am able to hold inviolate my
word, and I solemnly promise you, that for such space, I will
remain in total abstinence. Had I been as little self-confident
as I am now — when you — knowing me better than I know my-
self — asked for my promise, I would not have had the shame
of these avowals to make to you ; my darling."

*' You did not break any promise to me Edwin, for you did
not make such. You merely told me that in all probability,
you would not drink wine at the dinner ; I would not have
thought of asking for your promise, had I not been aware that
in all i)robability an attempt would be made to induce you to
take too much wine. Had your friend, Mr. Wolverton been
absent, I should not have dreamed of such a request. It wa:>
in anxiety for you that I did so, for I had good reason to know
that he had a design against you, whicli was to be forwarded in
this manner. In fact you were plotted against," rei)lied Kthel,
quietly, standing before him as when she first spoke.

" That may be so, Ethel. Indeed, 1 suspect tliat all v/as
not right, though I cannot conceive what reason -Sidney Wol-
verton, could possibly have for such a cause ; still, that does
not excuse me, or relieve me of my culpability in yielding,
when tempted ; for breaking as I, in reality did break — my
word to you," returned Edwin mournfully enough.

" I do not blame you, Edwin, under the circumstances, '-ex-
cept for your over confidence in your friend, whom 1 know — if
you have not yet discovered — to be false, and also, perhaps,
thacyou are inclined to be too complaisant, and to give way to
those surroundinj, you. Forgive me for saying so. Let me
also tell you, tha I honour you for your manliness and cour-
age in coming tome as you have done to-night ; that. would

mmm^iii

AND HE WAS COMFORTED.

J 09

convince me, were I inclined 10 doubt the sincerity of your re-
solve of total abstinence ; in which I rejoice, as armed with
that one is always safe. Were it not for the mental sufferings
you havj endured both by the occurrences of this evening, and
by your brave avowal of them to me, I should not regret them,
if they have but the effect of opening your eyes to the real
merits of your friend Mr. Wolverton.

" Of whom hereafter I shall not speak."

" Where is Reggie ? Did you see him this evening ?" she
added.

" Not since we parted on leaving the dining hall. He then
told me that he would remain for the dance, and would not be
home until after midnight," replied Edwin to her question.

" And is it possible that you forgive me ? Ethel." "Is it
the same as ever between us ?" he continued looking wistfully
at her.

" I have told you so already, Edwin. There are others who
are to blame, and whom I do not forgive. Now run up stairs,
Edwin and make yourself presentable for the half hour or so
before bedtime," he answered with a reassuring smile.

CHAPi^ER XXI.

AND HE WAS COIMFORTED.

To apply to Miss Ethel Mordaunt the appellation of a 'girl
of the period ' in the usual acceptation of the term, would be
certainly the application of a misnomer. She was not either
ast enough, loud enough, dressy, showy or brnz-^n enough to
merit the enviable distinction. And yet, if she were not a gir
of the period, she was truly a girl for the period — for any
period — for all periods.

Whether her century were the nineteenth, the thirteenth or
the third ; A. D., or B C. ; in savage or in civilized life ; in

210

SHE MIGHT HAVE VOSK BETTER.

poverty or in affluence, the amiabilities of her character would
have made her, in every age, that best and lovcHest of creation
— a true woman ; an ornament and a blessing to the world in
which she lived.

That the Earth has been a treasure-house of such, through
all its ages, is a truth self-evident ; else had not the ))ages of
its history borne the record of so much that is noble and pure
and good ; else had not so much of happiness shone out over a
dark blank of misery and crime. Their beneficent influence
dies not with themselves, but flowing after them in t leir off-
spring, blesses the future. Were all the women of the world of
such-like cast ; how soon would not much of the pain and
care, the wretchedness and sin that mar its bright bosom, dis-
appear ?

The mothers of civilizers and advancers — as themselves —
rather than of the destructive and the criminal, how soon would
not the generations spread out over the earth, the pleasant pic-
ture of virtue, of goodness and ofpuritj^ ; of prosperity, peace
and happiness, in contrast to the old time storm-shadowed
landscape, all blackened with misery and lurid with crime.

Had not Ethel Mordaunt possessed the elevated and elevat-
ing characteristics which make a good woman, the discernment,
patience and Christian forbearance, the charitable amiability
and sympathizing kindness of heart which exist among the vir-
tues of such a being and make her a chief conservator of the
goodness arid happiness of the world, she might by an unguarded
word almost, during her trying interview of the preceding eve n-
ing, not only have destroyed her own earthly happiness, but
that also of the man who loved her, and whom she loved.

For a young girl, in the first bloom and joy of her love — her
hero, her pnnce of men set up on the high pedestal that youth-
ful love and romance assigns ; to find that hero slipping down
to earth, proving himself but mortal, the common clay of sur-
rounding humanity, is a sore disillusion, a bitter awakening,

i^M^ggjjjjgglgjjggjajjjjj^ggMsgjfc.

AND HK WAS COMFOR'rEI).

1 1

and carries with it a sufficiently sliarp sting, a personal loss and
injury that would be the more resented the higher and more
perfect are the susceptibilites thus wounded, and tliough Kthel's
lover had almost raised himself to the hero again by the moral
courage, the open candour he had displayed in a situation of
mental pain and humiliation, still, had he not fallen ?

'ITiere was a loss and an injury to be resented.

But though Ethel had felt the blow, the more keenly i)erhaps
as her own standard of i^urity was so high ; her Christian charity
that imputeth not the evil, and the true discernment it gave
her, had enabled her to perceive that it was not intentionally, but
from pure want of firmness, that her lover had erred, and she
had estimated at it's just value the painful effort — to a man of
his character how painful— 'le had made in the courageous avowal
of his faults to her.

In place therefore of selfish complaint and re[)roach, which,
to a man who had so thrown himself at her feet, would almost
inevitably have wholly alienated him, by ungenerosity; her power-
ful yet sweet infiuence had assisted him to his feet again before
her ; had raised him from his humiliation ; had strengthened his
resolution toward the good ; had doubly bound him in the bonds
of his love for her, and had raised herself the higher in his eyes
that she had raised him.

But although her Edwin's errors had been condoned and for-
given, and himself restored, she could not conceal from herself
that the faults existed. The habit of yielding to others in little
matters, arising from his want of firmness, and the rather jjer-
verted " trait " of an inconsistent, if honourable obstinacy, in
sticking to his friend, because he was his friend, even when he
held good reason to consider him an unworthy friend. That these
were not very grave errors she acknowledged, but, nevertheless,
strive as she might to put the remembrance of them away from
her, they left their imprei:sion on her mind. Had she not
asked him, almost in plain terms, to discard for her sake the

i?I2

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

lii

friend whom she knew to be false ? and he had not done so.
The sore touch of a woman's wounded vanity kept alive the pain-
ful recollection.

That sho cordially disliked Mr. Sidney Wolverton she felt in
the depth of her heart. Disliked him more thoroughly than she
had conceived it possible for her to dislike any human being,
and she imputed to him everything that had come between her
lover and herself that had ruffled the bright smoothness of their
young engagement. She remembered this l)itterly against him
and strengthened herself in the determination to brealc the friend-
ship with which she knew Edwin still regarded him. There
should no longer be but passive resistance on her part ; he had
become actively aggressive, and so would she beccane. It should
be war to the knife between them — a fight for her own and her
affianced's happiness.

The news of his sudden departure the preceding evening had
been received by the family of Lake Mordaunt with remarkable
equanimity and by herself with secret joy. He was gone, that
was an undisguised blessing ; she was rid of him and his machi-
nations for the time being. His absence was rejoiced over by
her, and not particularly regretted by any person else.

So little was it noticed that the want of courtesy displayed by
his hasty departure and the meagre explanations of it sent by
him was not commented uj^on, although it may have been out
of respect to Edwin that reticence was observed.

Ethel was, at any rate, perfectly satisfied — the disturber of
her peace was gone, and with him all present anxiety. She re-
solved to enjoy the hours as with golden feet they flew.

She was happy, and all she had to do was to make her lover
happy again also, that the remainder ot his visit should be as
delightful to both as their own society could make it.

Edwin Vance appeared among them on the Sunday morning
grave, silent and constrained enough. Although his interview
with Ethel, the evening before, had been a much happier one

m'9Kr^'-r''':ii!ir<<f-''^'

■^'r^^r^xs^im^.i

AND HE WAS COMFORTED.

213

ker of
he re-

I lover
Ibe as

)rning
trview
Ir one

than he had anticipated ; had resulted so favourably to him, and
his darling had shown herself before his loving eyes, almost as
an angel would have done, ii¥ kindness, mercy, soft sympathy and
forgiveness, still his night-accusing conscience had pressed hard-
ly upon him, and he depreciated himself the more that he had
the more to appreciate the worth of the lovely girl whose heart
he had gained. He loved her the more for her generosity to his
unworthiness, that he loved himself the less for that unworthi-
ness, and though she had forgiven him, he could not forgive
himself.

So he appeared before them constrained and depressed. The
smile and the loving glance of his Ethel, even her kind greeting
did not at once altogether reassure him, and he sat down to
the breakfast table with a more sombre aspect than was usual
with him.

Reggie, however, was full of life and in high spirits. Every
moment he could spare from his breakfast was devoted to an
enthusiastic narration of the delights of the ball, and his enjoy-
ment thereof ; marred, as he feelingly deplored, by the sad ftict
that it had taken place on a Saturday night, when respect for
the Sunday had necessitated a break-up before twelve o'clock.
'• Oh ! so you found the time short, did you, Reggie ?" said his
uncle with a mischievous laugh. " Twelve o'clock was all too
soon for your parting from the fair EmiKy Dearborn, was it?
Were I a young man I would not fall in love with a woman old
enough to be my grandmother. Did you dance with her all thft
erening, or only those dances for which she could not find a
more elligible partner?"

Highly disgusted at these insinuations, Reggie replied, " I
danced with her as often as I desired, uncle, and that's more
than some fellows there can say."

"Oho ! I dare say," said his uncle, laughingly. "She's old
enough to know how to keep you in good humor, and flirt with
half a dozen besides yourself. Why, she's as old as the hills and

214

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

the most consummate flirt in the country. Ada's worth twenty
of her. Why did you not take a fancy to her, Reggie ? Tliere
would have been some sense in that."

" Ada ! puoh ! that great hoyde;i," replied Reggie, indignantly.
" Emily Dearborn is the prettiest girl in this part of Canada, let
me tell you, uncle, and he'll be a very lucky fellow who gets her
for his wife," added he, incautiously, in defence of the cliarmer
who had bewitched him.

" Oh ! and you hope to be that lucky fellow," returned Mr.
Horton, in a fit of laughter. " Well ! Reggie, I don't admire
your taste. You might as well marry your grandmother at once.
Why, Sidney Wolverton and half the young men of Ten Lakes
have been making love to her for ages past. She'll only laugh
at you for your pains."

" Will she though ! I know better than that. Perhaps you'll

see before " But Reggie thought again and did not complete

his sentence, while Mrs. Mordaunt, whose attention had been
attracted by their conversation, interposed.

" Don't tease him, Edward. Reggie has more sense than that.
Emily Dearborn may be a pretty girl, but she is not one whom
Reggie would marry, or whom his father or I would like to see
him choose ; she is not, to say the least, an amiable girl, and, be-
sides, if I am not mistaken, Sidney Wolverton is the man whom
she will marry. Reggie has time enough in six or eight years
to look out for a wife ; meantime, he will find quite enough to
attend to with his books and his college."

Reggie muttered something so inaudibly that even his uncle,
who was watching him, failed to catch the words, and the latter,
thinking ne said enough, changed the conversation.

" When are you going to Cacouna, Florence ?" he said, ad-
dressing Mrs. Mordaunt. " As was proposed ; or do you prefer
waiting until the hot weather is all c^ei before you start ? Here
it is nearly the end of July, and we are nearly roasted alive. If

AND HE WAS COMFORTED.

215

)e-

irs

er,

Ifer

you will get your mind made up for the start in two or three
days, I'll go with you.

" But I don't think a winter trip would be agreeable," he con-
tinued, with a laugh.

" Don't be nonsensical ! Edward," she replied. '' We did
think of a trip there this summer, but it is so hard to get away
with a large household to look after and the farm. It would be
very nice, though, for us all. But oh ! there's so much to see
to on a large place like this, and who can be got to do it "

"Oh ! never mind your house, Florence," said Mr. Mordaunt.
" You have servants enough to look after it while you're away,
and I'll see that the farming matters are left in proper train.
We'll go to Cacouna for a month. August is the best time of
the season, as it is too hot here for comfort, and just getting a
Httle above freezing point down there. " We'll all like the change.
Suppose we start Thursday, so as to get comfortably settled by
Sunday. You'll go with us, Vance, won't you ? It is the long
vacation, and you have nothing to do at present. We'll take a
trip down the Gulf, too, while we're away."

" I shall be most happy to accompany the party, I'm sure,"
said Edwin, with a delightful look towards Ethel. " But I fear
I cannot remain for a month. I must be back in Toronto ten
days at least before Term time. But I can spare three weeks
for it, and will be delighted to join you in the trip."

" That is quite a long enough time for me to be away from
my home affairs, Mr. \ ance, and I cannot consent to a longer
visit, so we'll all come back together," Mrs Mordaunt said, deci-
sively.

" Oh ! well then I it's settled," remarked Mr. Mordaunt. "The
ladies must have their own way. Be all ready for Thursda}-
morning early to catch the mid-day train at Cascades."

And the party separated to prepare for the drive to church.

9|C T* V 1* ^ •!* V V

As Edwin knelt in worship beside the fair yoimggirl who had

■9S==rr-rr~

2l6

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

given him her love, his yearning soul rose in earnest petition —
heartfelt, sincere and humbled from the searchings and reveal-
ings of accusing conscience — for God's favour upon them both
— for her that she might have all happiness ; that if her life
and her happiness on earth were to be confided to his care, he
might have a greater strength than his own to fulfil the precious
trust ; that God with His merciffu! ces would look down
upon them and grant His all-powerful aid, i-i^U tb:/ might walk
before His face all the days of their life in purity and humble
faith ; that as he was weak and feeble and had sinned, he sought
for grace that he might sin no more, and be made strong.

As the grand old Litany of his Church sounded in his ears,
with its matchless songs of praise, its earnest and appealing
prayers, and its glorious promises of salvation, his full heart
clung with a deeper and more reverential love to the sublime
words that carried with them strength and comfort and hope ;
the grand old words that his infancy had heard, and that Sunday
morning after Sunday morning through the circling ages rise in
glorious concert from the worshipping lips of united millions from
one end of God's bright world to the other.

And he was comforted and strengthened.

He walked into the sunlit air with the reverential demeanour
of one who has been in the presence of his God, but with a new
happiness shining in his eyes, a lightened heart at peace with
himself and the world.

As the Lake Mordaunt party stood near the Church door
waiting for their carriage, Emily Dearborn and her sister Ada
approached them.

After the customary greetings and mutual enquires were over,
the former seeing that Ada was engaged in talking to Mrs. Mor-
daunt, attached herself to Ethel, and regardless of the fact that
she had just come out of Church, proceeded to regale her with
an account of her donigs at the last night's ball.

" Why in the world did you not wait for it, Ethel ?" she at

^^^<''^#*^

BBS!

WgJJW

AND HE WAS C03LF0RTED.

217

ith

Lor-

Ihat

ith

length asked. " It was a deHghtful affair, and you would have
enjoyed it wonderfully. Was it because you knew Mr. Vance
would not be there that you j^referred going home ?"

" I did not care for it, Emily. Mamma could not go, and of
course I could not hnve appeared there witliout her," replied
Ethel, coldly enough.

" But Mrs. Mordaunt would have gone had you asked her,
and you would have enjoyed yourself in spite of the early
break-up," answered Emily.

" By-the-by, huw did you get home, Mr. Vance ? All right !
I hope," she added, with a meaning laugh. " And why did you
not come to the ball ? I suppose, though, you would not think
of it unless Ethel were there. Or had you attractions more
potent than dancing ? The flowing bowl for instance. You were
at the dinner, I know, and I have heard that by some of the
revellers a good deal too much champagne was drunk. I hope
you were not one of the number."

This direct, pointed and very unexpected attack of the merci-
less Emily, took poor Edwin v.omi)letely by surprise. He gazed
at her speechlessly for a moment, though without indignation, for
the calm peace of his last two hours had not passed from him.
But he was thoroughly astonished, not so much at the rude at-
tack upon himself, but that it should have been made by so fair
and outwardly lovely a young lady as Emily Dearborn.

Recovering himself, however, he replied —

" I was not at the ball last evening, Miss Dearborn, for the
reason that " but Ethel indignantly interposed.

" Miss Dearborn ! After the conversation between yourself
and Mr. Sidney Wolverton, in the long walk at Lake Mordaunt,
during your visit there last week, which was overheard, and, I
am sorry to say, reported to me, I should have supposed it quite
unnecessary for you, at any rate, to make enquiries ag to the din-
ner and the drinking of champagne that was to accompany it >
seeing that you and the person I have named, on that occasion,

Ilil

2lS

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

arranged the details of a most nefarious scheme to force wine
upon a gentleman who was to be present, for certain ulterior
purposes with which you are well acquainted, and of which, per-
mit me to remark, I also have been informed. I wish you
'good morning,' Miss Dearborn."

Uttering these words with a cold sarcasm in the farewell that
suggested but kw others, Ethel turned away and walked to the
carriage which had tlien drawn up at the church door, leaving
Edwin standing in a fresh burst of astonishment at the sudden re-
versal of the attack and apparentl}^ incapable of either speech or
action.

Emily, on the contrary, though startled enough, was not in
the least abashed, but with an innocently surprised and per-
plexed expression of face, looked after Ethel as she walked
away.

" Whatever is Ethel talking of, Mr. Vance ? I don't under-
stand it at all. How very strange," she said, addressmg him in
a voice of wonderment.

He, however, raising his hat and bowing politely but gravely,
merely answered, '* Good morning, Miss Dearborn, I must join
them," and following Ethel, he helped her into the carriage, to-
wards which the rest of the party were then approaching. .

Emily, left to herself, gazed after them a moment. " However
came she to learn of that interview ? Who could have overheard
It! ? But it is all the worse for her, for there is open war between
us henceforth. Take care ! Miss Ethel Mordaunt. My turn
comes next," she soliloquised, with a dangerous gleam in her
eye, and then walked towards Ada, who, after shaking hands
with the Mordaunt party, stood waiting for her when they had
driven off.

The carriage had proceeded but a short distance — a couple
of hundred yards or so — when Mrs. Mordaunt, whose motherly
anxiety knew no rest, turned to her brother, and said —

" Edward, pray look back and see if Reggie is following us.

AND HE WAS C0:MF0RTED.

219

us.

He surely ought to have got his horse out by this time. Fm
ahvays anxious unless I have him in sight.

Mr. Horton, turning round, gazed in the indicated direction.

'' Oh ! yes ! I see him," he answered. " But he is walking

home with the Dearborn girls. He is going to dinner with them,

I'll bet a new dollar."

" I'll tell you what it is Mordaunt," he continued, " you will

have to look after that boy, or he'll give you trouble. He's in

love with that detestable Emily Dearborn to a certainty.

" If you don't take care she'll lead him into an entanglement,

she is as smart as a steel trap ; as fond of intrigue as she's

capable of it, and will stick at nothing. She knows what's good

for herself too, and, absurd as it seems to be with a boy of his

age, it would be a very good match for her. She's leading him

on, I'm certain — a spare string to her bow, and will marry him

the first day it suits her.

" Oh ! I hope not, uncle. It can't be true. Reggie would

never marry that hateful girl," exclaimed Ethel, with alarm in

her tone.

" Oh ! you have found out that she is a hateful girl, have you,

Ethel .^ She is both very pretty and very sharp as well, and
can do almost anything she pleases with a very young man like
Reggie. I am afraid for him I confess," replied Mr. Horton.

" Pshaw ! Horton. It is not so bad as you represent," said
Mr. Mordaunt. " Reggie likes to be with the girls, I dare say,
but he has too much sense to get himself into a scrape. How-
ever, he'll be away with us to the salt water in a day or two, and
after we return he goes to Sarnia for a visit to a college friend,
or for a trip up Lake Huron. That will keep him away and

occupied until vacation is over. He'll come out all right."
"Very well! I hope so," said Mr. Horton, in reply. "I

have warned you. That he is in love with the girl at this pre-
sent I am very confident. Keep him away from home as much
as possible, at any rate. I wish we were home, for I'm himgry.
I hope you have a good dinner, for us, Florence."

220

SHE MIGHT HAVE DOXE BETTER.

" Better than you deserve, uncle, for you've taken away my
appetite completely by the fright you gave me about Reggie,"
answered Ethel quickly, for her mother.

" Bad plan to lose one's dinner by the mere anticipation of
trouble. I don't lose mine, even when it arrives," said Mr.
Horton, and the conversation changed.

CHAPTER XXH.

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

The fair city of Toronto, throned in queenly state between the
two splendid domains over which her sceptral hand holds sway
— the noble Lake Ontario, with its golden commerce and the
vast and wealthy Province to which it gives its name — was duly
honoured, on the Monday evening after his hasty exit from
Lake Mordaunt, with the presence of Mr. Sidney VVolverton,
who, being determined to strike whilst the iron was hot, had
made such very good speed that he had caught the same morn-
ing tl'ke Grand Trunk day express from the East, and had been
delivered in the Queen City at the very earliest moment it was
possible for him to be.

But, nevertheless, the speed of his journey had been laggard
sloth to his impatience, for until the endorsed paper, he had so
villainously procured from his friend Edwin Vance, was convert-
ed into hard cash, he was in a fever of uneasiness and disquiet.
For might not, by some unlooked for mischance, some mischie-
vous contingency, his trick be discovered by him whom he had
wronged, and his design frustrated.

The glittering and interminable lengths of the telegraph wires
scorched his eyes with fevered apprehension, and carried guilty
fear and dismay to his heart as the train had flown passed them ;
for what was its speed to the instantaneous spark which at any
moment might flash the truth before him hundreds of miles in

s.r^ -

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

221

lert-
liet.

liie-

lad

Ires

ilty

im;

iny

advan> 0, which mocked at time and distance, to v/hich a thousand
miles was as one.

How he had longed, as the bright threads stretched on in
endless continuity, in danger-menacing completeness, for some
happy accident — a sudden gale — the lall of some monster tree
— a devouring thunder-bolt — anything that might dash them,
scorched, paralyzed and useless to the earth, to break their silen t
speakings and end his fears.

And had not his tortured reflections during the journey forced
his mind with painful minuteness to ponder again and again,
unending and unsatisfied, over every circumstance of that inter-
view whose results had been so triumphant for him ?

Had not his reason again and again assured him, with the
force of a mathematical demonstration, that discovery was well
nigh impossible ; that he might rest in the consciousness of safety
and peace ; yet had not even the logic of reason failed to con-
quer the nervous fears, the trembling apprehensiveness which
beset his guilt-dismayed heart ?

Every hour of the journey had been an unending nightmare,
every mile a long drawn agony.

But as station after station had been passed* in safety, when
no denouncing officer of the law had appeared to arrest his pro-
gress, his nervousness had been gradually allayed, and when he
stepped from the train at his destination, unopposedly placed
himself in the hotel omnibus, he regained his composure and
steadiness, satisfied that all was so fir right with him, and that
as discovery had not yet taken place, it was not likely to take
place at all.

In a few moments his name appeared on the register of dis
tinguished arrivals at the " Queens," one of the best hotels in
the Dominion, comfortable, homelike and withal fashionable ;
facts which Mr. Sidney Wolverton was not slow to appreciate,
for he had a keen sense of enjoyment for personal surroundings

TtT"

:-- ir^-ir^&i!

222

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

I { \
I

and the good things of this world, for which reasons he designed
to honour the said hostelry with his guestship.

When the necessary change of his travel-dusted attire had been
effected, and a prolonged attention to the wants of the inner
man paid, very necessary and enjoyable after his long, fatiguing
and anxious journey ; he resolved, as it was much too late for
the transaction of business, to devote the remainder of the even-
ing to the amusements most congenial to his tastes, of which
billiards, brandy and water and cigars formed a not inconsider-
able part, in the gratifications to be derived from which he found
little difficulty in obtaining the assistance of kindred and most
capable spirits, as ready as he himself for these or like exhilarat-
ing pursuits.

However, when two or three hours had been spent in these
delights, and he was lounging about the billiard rooms, fatigued-
ly, making up his mind to retire for a good night's rest, in
readiness for business on the morrow, a young gentleman —
magnificent of attire and of much jewellery, with his hatrakishly
stuck on one side of his head, a cigar angularly placed in the
corner of his mouth, and the fires of many hot brandies glisten-
ing in his eves — sauntered into the room, and proceeded to make
a patronizing inspection of the denizens thereof and of the play
going on.

His gaze at length rested upon Sidney, who had not perceived
his entrance, and when he had remained standing a few moments
with a hopelessly muddled expression on his features, as if he
was sayiixg to himself, " I ought to know who that fellow is, but
hang me ! if I can make him out," he decided apparently that
the best thing he could do would be to get nearer to him, and
find out. Accordingly he staggered as well as he could into
nearer proximity, when Sidney, turning at his step, held out his
hand, as he recognized him —

" Hallo ! Hatchitfess, is that you ? Arn't you out late to-night ?
One would think the worthy governor would have had you in

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

223

l)ccl long ago. How wags the world with you ?" said Sidney, as
they shook hands.

** Hang th« world and the governor too !" answered the duti-
ful Albert Montague Maximus Hatchitfess, for it was no less a
person. " The old boy would like to know I was in bed, I dare
say, but he's away out of town and can't help himself, the old
skin flint. But what's brought you to Toronto, Sidney Wolver-
ton ? No good, I'll be bound. If you have come for money
this time, you won't get it at our shop, I can tell you. especially
as the old boy's away," and the amiable youth grinned diaboli-
cally at his listener.

" Ha I ha ! ha ! Why you must have been drinking pretty
hard to-day, my worthy Albert. Do you imagine that I'm ass
enough to wish to put myself into your father's fifty per cent,
clutches, if I can help it ? Not yet awhile, if I know it. But
come along, and we'll have something to drink. I want to talk
to you. You can help me in an affair I have on hand of im-
portance," said Sidney.

" All right ! \Volvy. Brandy first and business after," replied
the playful Albert, as they adjourned to a parlour upon calling
for the desired stimulants.

" Well 1 What's your biz, Sid ?" he continued, as he mixed
himself a strong glass of brandy and water, which he sipped with
loving relish. " Look here, though, before we go into things I
must understand about the pay first. I don't ^v'ork for nothing,
and any business of yours is apt to be rather fishy, you know. I
must have money for it. The old governor, confound him !
has taken to tightening the purse strings of late to keep me in
order, he says, and I want a lot of tin just now."

" Oh ! you do, do you ?" answered Sidney, looking at him.
" Debts that it won't do to leave unpaid, I suppose. Got to
keep them dark, or the old man raves."

" Yes ! that's about the figure of it. And the money I must
get. It's pull devil or pull baker with me," was the reply.

>»

224

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

" Well ! you enact the part of the devil, I suppose, and if
you'll help me, I'll enable you to pull the !)aker about as you
wish. Look at this !" continued \Volverton,'producing from his
pocket-book the note which Edwin Vance had so innocently
endorsed. " I want you to get this discounted for me to-mor-
row morning, so that 1 can get away by the Eastern train in the
afternoon. You see I cannot very well put it up myself as I
am the maker of the note, and it would look too much like an
' accom.' Now, you get it done for me, and I'll i)ay handsome-
ly," he continued, showing the note to his companion.

f ' Hallo ! What's this ? You don't say. ^Vell ! If Vance
is'nt a bigger fool than I took him to be. How in the mischief
did you get this out of him ?" said Hatchitfess, staring at the
paper, and turning it over and over as if he could not believe
its too plain api)earance. " Look here ?" he continued, with
sudden suspicion. " Is this all right ? You did not put that
name on yourself, eh, Sidney? You're capable of it enough."

" No 1 I did not put that name there myself, my young friend,"
answered Sidney. " The name is genuine, as you could see
were you not so much under the influence of brandy and water
as you are at present. Do you suppose I'd run my neck into a
noose for such a trifle as this is ?"

" I don't know about that," was the flattering rej^ly. " The
signature looks right enough, aiy way. Yes I By George. It's
only a lawyer who could write such a villainous scrawl as this is.
But, if I put this up at the bank, I'll have to endorse it. I can't
do it," he continued.

" Now, look here ! Hatchitfess. You want money, don't you ?
Now, if you do this for me by twelve o'clock to-morrow, I'll al-
low you two per cent, out of it. That's seven hundred dollars
in a lump. Worth having for a short half hour's work," sa
Sidney, coming to the point at once.

"Seven hundred I" replied he. " Will the note be met.?"

md if
s you
m his
::ently
:)-mor-
in the
fas I
ike an
isome-

Vance
lischief
at the
believe
d, with
lut that
bugh."

riend,"
d see
water
into a

" The

It's

this is.

I can't

I't you ?
I'll al-
dollars
:," sa

It?"

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

225

" Yes ! It will," replied Sidney. " And is'nt Vance good for
it in any event ?"

" Oh ! Yes ! he's good enough. But your note is more likely
than not to go to protest. However, I ^uess I'm able to hum-
bug the old boy yet, mad as he'll be if it does . Seven hun-
dred," he repeated, musingly. " With what I can scrape up, I
can pay the piper, and have something left over, free, for running
expenses, independent too of old Grip and Gripe," continued the
dutiful son, with touching allusion to his father. " I'll do it, Sid,
if you'll keep mum, and pay me the seven hundred. No trouble
to get it done. Vance's name and ours would \nit anything
through."

" All right I" replied Sidney. " That matter is settled. You
can tais:e your seven hundred out of it when you get it done. No
cure, no pay, though. Now, mix yourself another glass, for I
have something else to say to you. Not business matters. Only
a few questions to ask."

" Go ahead with your questions. But you're not going to
make much money out of me with them, I can tell you."

" Bother your money," exclaimed Sidney, impatiently. " You
think of nothing but your money, you greedy little wretch. I
want to find out something concerning a young lady."

" Do you know a Miss Agnes Seafortli ?" he continued.

" Agnes Seaforth ! AVhat in thunder do you want to know
about her for ?" asked Hatchitfess in return.

" Oh ! you know her then, do you ?" replied Sidney. "Well !
Who is she? What is she like ? and what conneC'on has Vance
with her ? She writes to him and he to her."

" They write to each other ! oh ! I dare say," answered the
mischievous young imp, with a laugh. " Yes ! and more than
that too, if all were known."

" What do you mean by that ? You don't mean to say she's
a sweetheart of Vance's," said Sidney, with an answering laugh.

" Sweetheart !" exclaimed Hatchitfess, as with drunken fury

226

li I

^i (

SHE MIGHT HAVE DOXE BETTER.

his mind reverted to the very disagreeable interview he had held
with the young lady a few days previously. " Sweetheart," and
bending over he whispered, into Wolverton's ear, glancing with
guilty timorousness around, as if the spirited girl he traduced
could hear and revenge his words.

" Come now ! Hatch itfess, that's too thin. I know better
than that. Vance is not one of that kind, at any rate. But
with whom does she live ? Are her parents alive ? No ! no I
my sjiiteful young friend. Tell me a more probable story ; that
statement won't wash. I know Vance too well to beiieve all
that. He's got what he calls his principles, and he's a pious
young man," answered Sidney, who, though he stood up for his
friend, did so more from the deduction of reason which his know-
ledge of liim gave, than from the charitable wish to impute the
good motive rather than the evil.

" He's got principles ! has he ? and he's pious, is he ? Thun-
der !" sneered the remarkably unprincipled Albert Montague
Maximus. " Then what does he give her six hundred dollars a
year for, I'd like to know ?"

" Do you mean to say Vance gives her six hundred dollars a
year?" asked Sidney, with ahttle astonishment in his tone.

" Yes, I do ! I know it, for she gets the money twice a year
at our office."

" Oh ! Indeed I One would imagine that the respectable
firm of John Hatchitfess & Son would not mix themselves up
with so dubious a transaction as you would make it appear.
Stuff! It's some settlement or annuity, some just debt, I'll be
bound. Tiiere are fifty ways to account for it. Why, he's head
over ears in love with, and engaged to be married to, a very
pretty young heiress down in the country," replied Wolverton,
anxious, however, to get all the information he could from his
inebriated companion.

" Going to be married to an heiress ! Oh ! ho ! That ac-
counts then for his instructions to us to-day to purchase an

r^y£>j||^|jvr2^»<m]y^ ir,xw.»!i«frgj^

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

227

, year

annuity on the life of this same young lady for six hundred dol-
lars a year. Out of his own funds too, for she has not a rap,"
exclaimed Hatchitfess, with triumph in his tone. " What do you
think of that ? Looks fishy, don't it ? As if he wanted to keep
her quiet, you know !"

" I'm not so sure of that ! He may hold funds of hers in trust
for all you know."

*' Funds in trust. Pshaw ! She has'nta cent nor never had.
We know all about her," replied Hatchitfess.

" Well ! What is she like ? Is she a pretty girl ? and where
does she live ?" queried Sidney, getting interested in spite of his
convictions.

'•' She's one of the prettiest girls in Toronto, but she's got the
temper of a vixen, a perfect little fury, and looks at a fellow as
if he was dirt under her feet, confound her !" Hatchitfess replied,
brandy and spite getting the better of his tongue.

"^Oh ! I see," returned Sidney, " and you don't like it. Very
natural ; quite so, indeed. But where and with whom does she
live ?"

" She's an orphan, and lives with an old half blind and deaf
aunt in a little house out in the suburbs," was answered sleepily.
" I say ! Hatchitfess, wake up if you want to get home to-
night," said Sidney. " Rouse yourself up, and I'll see you part
of the way. Look here 1 What's Miss Seaforth's address ?"

" Oh ! leave me alone, can't you ? What do you want her
address for? Want to make love to her yourself? Try it on
just and see how you'll come out," replied Hatchitfess, impa-
tiently, as he was becoming more hopelessly somnolent and
intoxicated.

" Not much ! thank you. I'll leave that to you — I'm no

spooney gawk," said Sidney, with a sneering laugh. " Listen I

Hatchitfess, I've a reason for wishing to know the address.

Tell it me, there's a good fellow, and the old aunt's name."'

" Oh ! confound it ! I'm sick of your questions. The aunt's

■i i

1 ;

1;-

t2g

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

name is Patience Springle. The address I don't know, and if
I did I would'nt tell you, so there's an end of it," was the angry
reply.

" Indeed ! You won't tell it. Well ! It does not matter
much, at any rate. But its quite evident where the trouble lies
with you. I don't believe a word of that nice little story you've
told me. Is'nt it all pure malice and spite of your own ? You've
been persecuting the girl with your cubbish attentions, and you
have got thundering well snubbed for you pains. That's what's
the matter with you, my disappointed little Hatchy," said Sidney,
sticking his feet upon the table and surveying his companion
with an exasperating smile.

" It's no such thing. You be hanged* Sidney Wolverton. I
would not condescend to speak to the girl," exclaimed . Hatchit-
fess, springing up from his chair, his face purple with mortification,
rage and ardent spirits. " And my story is'nt true, you think.
All Toronto is ringing with it, at any rate, as you can find out if
you choose to enquire."

" Oh ! I dare say ! with your version of it," interrupted Sidney,
" but you need not get vexed, Hatchitfess. I don't care a pin
whether your story is true or false. It's no affair of mine. It
will, however, do very well for my purposes, and may probably
do more mischief than it has done already. Never mind what
I have said, Hatchy, I did not mean tc offend you. Take
another glass of brandy to steady yourself up, and I'll get a cab
called for you. You'd better get to bed, or you'll be fit for nothing
in the morning. Remember, you've to attend to that business of
mine."

" Don't trouble yourself about me. I'll be on hand, never fear.
" You'd better be more civil than you are, Wolverton, it you ex-
pect a man to do anything you want," was the surly answer, as
he helped himself from the decanter. *' Well ! I must be off,
I suppose. Come to the door with me, Sid. There's a cab-
stand close at hand, and I'm none too steady on my pins."

P**l^*^?S?r,

Ltttt^st'T¥3^^<aiMi»'i«tMart'»Sa3!B<aJi^iS«

id if
ngry

atter
i lies
ou've
ou've
5 you
what's
lidney,
oanion

;on. I
latchit-
i cation,
1 think,
d out if

Sidney,
re a pin
ine. It
robably
d what
Take
let a cab
nothing
siness of

^ver fear.
\ou ex-
iswer, as
It be off.
Is a cab-
Ins.

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

229

" All right ! Come along then. Here's your hat. I'll see
you at the office early to-morrow," said Sidney, taking his arm
and steadying him as they left the room.

" He's a beaudful specimen, I must say," soliloquised Sidney,
as he returned towards the hotel, after safely installing his pre-
cious friend in a cab. " He is his worthy father all over, with a
thousand additional and meaner vices superadded. The atro-
chus little wretch. I'm not a saint myself, by any means, but I
hope I'm not so unutterably bad, so despicably base as he is.
When I do evil, I do it because it is necessary for me or profit-
able, or because the stress of circumstances compels me to do
it. I may not be an honest or a good man, but nothing in the
w(jrld could induce to traduce and vilify a woman as he has
done this evening, and that too out of mere petty spite. I don't
want to do unnecessary evil. I'm bad enough as it is. The little
brute has almost made me sick with myself, tJiat I have to be
classed with such villiany as his. I am a villain, and I feel
myself more than ever such that I have to send this lying story
down to that girl at Ten Lakes. Could I help it, I would most
certainly not send it. She's bent on mischief against that unfor-
tunate Vance and his pretty Ethel. Such unnecessary mischief
too, for it can avail her nothing. But she's got the rein over me,
and I must obey. Well ! It's no affair of mine to attend to
the morality of other people. Plenty to do to look after myself.
Yet I don't like to do unnecessary evil," and with this highly
virtuous reflection on his lips, Mr. Sidney AA^olverton betook him-
self to bed.

* * * ^ ;|c H( *

At the hour of ten the next morning, as the banks opened,
and the stir and bustle of the city's daily life had fairly set in,
Albert Montague Maxinius Hatchitfess, Esq., compelled by the
dire necessity of his father's absence to attend to the affairs of
the office, was driven up in his own very gaudily equipped
vehicle — which rivalled himself in flashy magnificence — to the

tcmua!^£. i;^. .-.-'iSUFittiiU; t--^it ■ i

230

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

ii''

detested door, where work, which he did not like, and no idle
pleasures, which he did like, awaited him.

Excepting a somewhat redder aspect than usual of his fishy-
eyes, his potations of the previous night did not seem to have
affected his personal appearance to any great degree ; but then,
it is to be remembered, that his features had naturally been so
unpleasantly endowed that no amount of dissipation, or indeed
any other conceivable despoiler of beauty, could have made
him look more hideous than he appeared in his normal condi-
tion.

Entering the private office, after a glance around to see all
was going on as it should do, and a few harsh words to the
clerks to show his authority, he found Sidney Wolverton already
installed there before him, seated at the desk engaged in writing
a letter.

" Good morning I" said Sidney, looking up at the other's en-
trance. " How do you find yourself to-day ?"

" All right ! A little seedy perhaps, but I'm used to that.
You're early this morning. Making yourself at home, too, as if
it were your own office. Pretty cool ! I must say," was the
reply.

" Oho ! a love letter we're inditing. * My dearest Emily," and
so forth ! and so forth !" he continued, peering over the other's
shoulder at the letter.

" Well ! You're pretty cool too, my inquisitive yoimg friend,"
exclaimed Sidney, hastily turning down the letter in which he
was giving Miss Dearborn a full detail of their last night's con-
versation. " One would think you were raised in a barn by the
good breeding you display."

" Well, it's after ten and the banks are open."
" I wish then you'd attend at once to that little financial tran-
saction of ours, as I want, if possible, to be off by the afternoon
train for the East. It may take you a little time," he con-
tinued.

masi

lA'sr, .^^(tnwntwatg-i

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

231

and
)ther's

kend,"
Ich he
Is con-
)y the

" Confound it ! Wolverton. If I put that thing up for discount
I'll have to endorse. I've been thinking it over, and I'm afraid
almost, for if the old governor finds it out, I'll never hear the
last of it."

" Yes ! and if he hears about those little things which had
better be paid, and for which you have not the money, you'll
never hear the last of it either. You have your choice between
the two evils. Seven hundred dollars is a lot of money, when
one wants it," replied Sidney, coolly and quietly.

" Hang it ! Yes ! I suppose I'll have to do it. Here ! give
me the note, and I'll be off before my mind changes, for I must
have that money," exclaimed Hatchitfess.

" That's talking sensible now. Here it is ! Just sign this for
form's sake," said Sidney, rapidly writing off a receipt for the note
which he placed before the other.

" Well ! You are suspicious. Do you suppose I would run
away with your precious note, which if it was not for the name
on it's back, would not be worth the stamps on it," Hatchitfess
said, with grumbling indignation, as he wrote the firm's name
to the receipt.

" Safe bind, safe find, my dear Albert. In case of any little
accident I have this to show for the note, which is fortunately
worth a good deal more than its stamps. Farewell for the pre-
sent, and success attend you," replied Sidney, as the other took
up his hat and went off on his errand.

A period of something more than an hour elapsed, the first
part of which \Volverton occupied very comfortably in finishing
his letter to Miss Dearborn, and the latter very uncomfortably
in striding up and down the room, tormenting himself with all
the chimeras that harass the soul of the man who lives outside
the strict path of rectitude ; the thousand and one fears that
oppress the guilty mind in every thinking moment ; the squeez-
ing of the heart that makes the success of a nefarious plan as
intolerable as it's failure ; that blanches the hair and wrinkles

232

SHE MIGHT HxWE DONE BETTER.

the cheek faster and more surely than ceaseless labour or grind-
ing poverty ; that wastes the body as it dries up the soul.

His harassed thoughts, searing, anxious and painful, flew
over, again and again, every contingency, possible and impos-
sible, that could militate against and bar his success.

" Why did I not do it myself? Why did I trust another?
and he a rogue also. The bank ma}' suspect something and re-
fuse to discount.

" Emily Dearborn may have let fall a chance word ; Vance
may have discovered the fraud and telegraphed. At this moment
Hatchitfess may be in the hands of the officers, and they " — he
glanced uneasily around — '' are on the watch for me. Who knows
but at this moment a liveried official of the law stands outside
awaiting my exit ?"

Such were the unendurable reflections that burned in his brain
as he walked up and down and made that waiting hour a drawn-
out age.

*' I can't stand this longer," he exclaimed at length, catching
up his hat. " I'll go down to the bank and see for myself what
the upshot of tlie matter may be, let it be good or evil for me."
But just as he had wound himself up to the highest possible
extent of mental agon}- and misery, the door opened, and young
Hatchitfess entered, with an aspect cool and calm, very much
in contrast with AVolverton's excited and harassed looking ap-
pearance.

'* Hallo ! AVhat's the matter with you?" exclaimed the for-
mer, arresting his steps in surprise, as he gazed at Sidney.
" Have you been having snakes in your boots since I left you ?"
" Oh ! you're back at last, are you, Hatchitfess ? You've
been gone long enough," he said, snappishly, though evidently
very glad to see him. " Well ! How did you get along? Is it
all right?"

" Right as a trivet. And I've got the cash," was the reply.
" The Board is sitting to-day, and the thing was sent right into

SHE MIGHT HAVE DOXE BETTER.

233

rind-
flew
npos-

ther ?
nd re-
Vance
Loment
r "—he
knows
outside

is brain
, drawn-

:atching

elf what
or me

possible
d young
y much
ing ap-

the for-

Sidney.

^ftyou?"

You've

evidently

;? Is it

le reply-
isiht into

them. They kept me waiting long enough, and ?-fter all tliey
would not discount without our name, hang it. They were
rough on you too, Sid, I can tell you. The old Presideiit is a
great friend of Vance's, and before I got through getting the
cash and the other formalities, he came out and asked me a lot
of questions which of course I could not answer, as to wliat you
and Vance were doing together. He shook his head, and very
evidently showed he did not like the transaction. He had to
acknowledge the endorser.ijnt as genuine, but he said bed write
at once to Vance about ic. Fact he did !"

" The mischief he did I" exclaimed Sidney, unguardedly, the
surprise of such danger coming upcn liim being too much
for his presence of mind. " What business is it of his, I'd
like to know ? I suppose he'd like to constitute himself guardian
to Vance and myself, would not he ? AVe are quite co.iipetent
to manage our own affairs. He'll get no good hy his writing,"
he continued, recovering his momentarily lost self-possession.

" I say ! Wolverton. That name on the note is genuine, is'nt
it ?" Hatchitfess returned, with alarm pictured on his visage, for
he had noticed Sidney's imprudent and hasty exclamation. " You
did'nt put it on yourself did you ? You turned as pale as death
just now wiien ycu heard about t iiem writing to \'ance. There's
sometliing wrong about the affair, I'm certain."

"Stuff and nonsense! Hatchitfess. Don't make a fool of
yourself with your absurd suspicions. You know as well as I
do that the name is genuine ; did not the old banker himself
acknowledge it ? How about that, i/h ? And so I turned as
pale as death because he's going to write to Vance, did I ?
Ridiculous I I'll own I was vexed at his impertinent interfer-
ence in afHiirs v/hich do not concern hirn. But the terrors of
his writing to Vance are simply the creatures of your ov/n fright-
ened brain," returned Sidney, h.otly.

" Well ! It may be as you assert, Wolverton. Had it been
any person but yourself who presented the note, the name v»'ould

ikttMiJffjiji^JC^DtUiaM

i 1

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

have passed wholly unquestioned. But as the matter stands,
with our firm's name endorsing, I intend to hold the proceeds
until you have proved that it's not forged paper," said Hatchit-
fess, his fears lending him determination.

' Forged paper, the devil I" exclaimed Sidney, wrathfuUy, but
as a scene would not have suited him, he cooled down. " Come
now, Hatchitfess, be reasonable and use what sense you possess.
The note is genuine, and you know it — know it just as well as
you know that it is accommodation paper. Here ! hand me
over the cash before I have to resort to other measures," continu-
ed he in a firm tone, which showed he would allow no trifling.

" Resort to what you please ! I'll hold the money until you
get an acknowledgement of his signature from Vance," replied
Hatchitfess with equal firmness, though edging away from his
companion.

" You'll do no such thing," Albert Hatchitfess," was the calm
answer. " And you'll find I'm not the man you can play your
tricks upon. Settle up this instant, or I'll call a policeman."

" Pooh ! Call in your police, and see what you'll make by
it. Who'll be believed the first, I wonder? Albert Hatchitfess,
of the firm of John Hatchitfess & Son, or Sidney Wolverton, a
stranger of doubtful repute. Ha ! ha ! Call in your police,"
sneered the other rather emboldened that the law was the
arbiter proposed than intimidated by the threats of its terrors.

" That's your game, is it ? you little thief. I'll see about that,"
roared Sidney, as he sprung from his chair, and reaching the
door at a bound, he locked it and placed the key in his
pocket.

His features swollen and working with rage, every muscle of
his stalwart frame tense and quivering with his powerful excite-
ment he was not a very pleasant or reassuring-looking object
for the now thoroughly alarmed Albert Hatchitfess, locked in
alone with him, to confront. " Out with the money this instant,
you cursed little wretch, before I wring your ugly head off your

COVERING UP HIS TRACKS.

235

2 calm
y your
n.

.ke by
litfess,
rton, a
police,"
as the

errors,
t that,"
mg the

in his

iscle of

excite-

object

bked in

(instant,

)ff your

shoulders," and with a msh the unfortunate little Albert was seized
by tlie collar and whirled into his chair, helpless and gasping
in the strong hands of the enraged Sidney. " Now ! you cower-
ing hound I Will you fork out the cash, or shall I take it from
you and throttle you afterwards."

With one horrified glance at his captor, and an utterly futile
effort to wrench his half-crushed shoulder out of the vice-like
grasp that compressed it, the wretched litde Albert, with the
most abject expression of fear convulsing his features into ludi-
crous contortions, exclaimed, in mumbling accents,

" Here it is, Sidney. I did not mean to offend you. Oh !
let me go. You're killing me. It was but a harmless joke I
played you," and he threw his pocket-book down on the table
before him.

" A joke, however, which resulted differently to your anticipa-
tions, Mr. Hatchitfess," replied Sidney, releasing him and taking
up the pocket-book. " Sit down, I'm not done with you yet,"
he continued, and proceeded to count .he drafts and money con-
tained in the bundle he took from the pocket-book. " What dis-
count did they take ?" he enquired of his yet trembling com-
panion, " and have you taken your seven hundred out of it ?"

" Seven per cent, was the rale they charged. Yes ! I took
mine out," was Hatchitfess' reply.

" Well ! then, there's a hundred dollars short. There are only
thirty-three thousand five hundred here, and there ought to be
thirty-three six. What's the reason ?" asked Sidney, looking at
his companion.

" Well ! I had to endorse the note, and an extra hundred
was little enough, I thought, for the risk. Besides, I want the
money."

" Oh ! I won't quarrel with you about it," answered Sidney,
pocketing his cash. " Nevertheless, as you might wish to play
some more of your jokes upon me, and as I don't wish to be
detained in Toronto, you shall sign a receipt for it as your com-

/ '.^^.■i^'^iii.; «5jfii!a53iSiSi^^feyis*^ai" \^i!^; :vL^*; ';^^

:^^mmmmmm

235

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

mission for discounting the note for me. With this in my
possession I can defy any little joke you might like to perpetrate
upon me to make up for your rather imsuccessful first attempt.
Here sign this at once, and no nonsense, unless you choose to
get into my hands again."

Frantically snatching up a pen, for the terrors of Sidney's for-
mer attack were still so strong upon him that the prospect of
another was simi)ly appalling, he barely glanced at the first lines
of the receipt, and hastily dashing off his signature at the bot-
tom, he pushed the paper towards Sidney, exclaiming —

" Oh ! Here you are ; who wants to play tricks upon you ?
Not I, for I've had enough of you."

Sidney chuckled audibly as he placed the following paper in
his pocket —

"Toronto, July 27th, 1873.
" Received of Sidney ^^'olverton the sum of one hundred
dollars, our commission for procuring the discount of his note
endorsed by Edwin C.Vance, dated July 24th, 1873, at tliree
months, for thirty-five hundred dollars.

" John Hatchitfess &: Son,

" Per Albert Hatchitfess."

" How scared he must have been when he could not see that
hundreds were written in place of thousands," he thought to him-
self ; and then exultantly, " How well I'll humbug Vance with
this when the note falls due. It will come in most excel-
lently."

" Here is the acknowledgement you ga\-e me for the note. I
don't want it longer," he continued aloud to his companion.
" Look at it, before I tear it up ; it's of no use to any one. Well !
Hatchitfess, I don't bear malice, if you don't. Let's shake
hands and we'll go and have something to drink. Will )ou
come ?"

'* All right ! I want sometliing at any rate. I bear no malice,

e," he added to himself. " And vou

nth

your

^1! M

j£Si^£g^»MMW!

fess."

that
iiim-
iwith
Ixcel-

liion.
VcW !

I\ike
ou

I'ice,

)0U

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 237

call afford to come down handsomely after your morning's work,"
replied Hatchitfess, surlily enough, however.

" Oh ! Well ! for that matter you've made a good day's work
too. But, I'll stand the champagne. Come along I"

5(t * 5ft * * * >i; *

The Grand Trunk eastward bound express of that afternoon
carried one passenger, at least, who was very well contented and
light-hearted. Mr. Sidney \\'olverton's pockets were full of cash.
His troubles and anxieties were, temporarily, at least, thrown far
into the future. He felt that he had been successful ; that he
had obviated and overcome the dangers that menaced him ; his
confidence in himself and his self-importance hourly increased.
Prosperity was his again, and the sun shone for him more bright-
ly, and nature's loveliness smiled forth for him more sweetly as
he gazed on the bright panorama that Hashed past him as the
train flew on. . He did not watch the stations with nervous dread
or long for some falling tree to interru})t telegraphic communica-
tion on his return journey.

His soul soared above such vain terrors now. " What a fool
I was," and he laughed a light-hearted laugh.

CHAPTER XXni.

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA.

Mrs. Dearborn and her daughter, Ada, for Emily had reso-
lutely declined the sultry honors of a July afternoon's walk, had
betaken tliemselves, despite the heat, upon a shopping expedi-
tion among the half dozen stores of the village of Ten Lakes, for
the purpose of effecting some necessary household purchases.
To the former it was a sufficiently pleasant occupation, for she
dep.rly liked the spending of money, the lingering and long
drawn out delights of rambling from one store to another, ex-
amining with intense minuteness and circumspection each

238

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

separate i)iece of goods tliat each separate establishment con-
tained, and driving the outwardly smiling but inwardly anathe-
matizing attendants to the verge of imbecility and despair by the
wandering indecision, which would reject but to return again to
twenty different articles as many times in an hour, finally to re-
solve ''♦^d fix upon and purchase something as wholly unsuitable
to he -iposes as it was unexpected either by herself or any
person else.

But to the straightforward and decided Ada, who regarded
dress as a necessary evil incident to mankind and mipossible to
be averted, like whooping cough or ceremonious calls, and worse
than these because of daily recurrence — these expeditions were
simply unendurable horror. Any other mortal thing in this
world, washing dishes, darning stockings, or worse than all, en-
tertaining in state some fashionable visitor, were infinitely pre-
ferable in her eyes. It was only her sense of duty, and her love
for her -nother, outraged by the blank refusal of her sister, that
enab' er to listen and consent to a proposal of the kind with
any toi«_.^Ole comi)lacency, and even then her bright, good-hu-
mored smile had to cover a shuddering heart. A couple of
hours pleasure for the one and dire penance to the other had
come to an end ; they were walking, their purchases concluded,
to Ada's great content, itlong the street towards home, after Mrs.
Dearborn had nearly driven mad the two partners and the entire
force of assistants of the largest establishment in the place,
and were on the point of turning in at their own gate, when a
carriage dashed up behind them, stopped, and the pleasant voice
of Mrs. Mordaunt who, with Ethel, were its occupants, sounded
in their ears.

" Good afternoon ! Mrs. Dearborn — How do you do, Ada ? "
said the former. " We are coming to you in great haste, and
have a favor to ask of you."

" How do you do, Mrs. Mordaunt ? I'm sure I'm delighted
to see you both. Pray come inside out of this broiling sun,"

ia ? "
and

thted
5im,"

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 239

replied Mrs. Dearborn, shaking hands with the ladies. " I
hav'nt seen you, Miss Mordaunt, since I heard of a certain
event of late occurrence. I'm sure I congratulate you, and
hope you'll be very happy," she continued to Ethel.

" Thank you, Mrs. Dearborn," answered the latter. " But
my happiness is a long time off yet, and I wish that you will
make me very happy in the meantime by granting me a favor.
We are going to the seaside for a month, and mamma has come
to ask you to let Ada go with us for the trip ? "

" Yes, Mrs. Dearborn," continued Mrs. Mordaunt ; " Ethel
wants her young friend, Ada, with her, an'd we hope you will
let her come with us. We'll take good care of her, and try to
give her a i)leasant trip. We decided upon it very suddenly,
and we start to-morrow morning — consequently we don't give
Ada much time to get ready ; but we could not help it, and we
will see to everything after we arrive at '^-'couna."

" Ada ! — Ada to go to the seaside with you ! " exclaimed
Mrs. Dearborn, in utter amazement at the idea of Ada being
asked. " You want Ada — Oh I Mrs. ^lordaunt, I'm very much
obliged to you, I'm sure, but I'm afraid she cannot go. I'll
never get along without her, and she has not a dress ready.

Besides, I don't know where the rnon 1 am very sorry, but

I fear Ada will have to decline your kind invitation. We have
only one girl to help us, and I'd never get along without Ada.
I wished it had been Emily you asked," she continued, wring-
ing her hands in doubt and indecision. " But pray come in.
Ada ! call Fin to take the horse."

"Oh! nevermind about Ada's dresses, Mrs. Denrborn, or
anything else. She must come with us. She has not much
change or amusement, and a seaside trip would do her a world
of good every way. We want her with us, and I'll undertake
that her dresses shall not discredit you ," said Mrs. Mordaunt
laughing. " Thank you, Mrs. Dearborn, we are really in haste,
and will not come in to-day. You must consent that Ada goes

t ■

240

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

with LIS, though. You'll be ready for to-morrow morniug,
Ada?"

" Oh ! Mamma ! I should so like to go," said poor
Ada, looking up most supplicatingly to her mother. " I'll work
hard to make up when I come back. Could you not manage
it?"

But then, as she remembered their continued hard scrape for
money — her mother's ill health, and the numerous little things,
which if hie herself did not do, would be left undone, she
hesitated, and, with a sigh, continued :

" Oh ! well, then, m'amma, never mind ; I won't be so selfish
as to wish it, when you cannot spare me, and it's not conven-
ient. I'm so much obliged, dear Mrs. Mordauntand Ethel, but
I am afraid I cannot go this time," and she looked up wistfully
at them all.

"•You're a good, unselfish girl, Ada; but Mrs. Dearborn will
let you go, I know," said Mrs. Mordaunt, mih a kind smile at
the disappointed, yet bright young face.

" Yes ; she is a good girl, Mrs. Mordaunt, and slie deserves
a little i)leasure. But I don't know what iv say, and Mr. Dear-
born is not here," said Mrs. Dearborn, whose u-eak but loving
heart beat very warmly towards her dutiful little 4augliter,w]iose
willing liands had ever done so much to smooth her troubled
road. '-Run down to the bank, Ada, and ask your father if
you can go. It's after hours, but he will be tliere still, 'i'ell
him, too, that I'll try to manage without you."

" Oh ! thank you, Mrs. Dearborn," said Ethel warmly. "I
know Mr. Dearborn will let you go. Jump in, Ada ; I'll drive
you to the bank, and add my persuasions."

" Yes, do, Ethci," exclaimed Mrs. Mordaunt. '' I'll get out
and stay v/itli Mrs. Dearborn until you return."

In*afew minutes they were at the door of tlie bank offices,
and Ada had rushed into the little private room, where her
fLither sat, finishing his day's business.

,erves
)ear-

jving

■lose

ibled

er if

Tell

•' I

Id live

o;i:

luces,
her

'.•-C^lRTv'ite'JIBnBSJC.UHUWlSfffltiV^

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 241

'' Oh ! Papa ! " she exclaimed, breathless with excitement.
" Mrs. and Miss Mordaunt have asked me to go with them to
the sea-side to-morrow, for a month, and mamma has sent me
to ask you if it is possible ? "

" To go to the seaside with the Mordaunts, for a month !
That would be delightful, Ada ! " he answered, looking up from
his work with a smile. But a moment after the smile faded
from his face, as he remembered his difficulties and struggle to
make all ends meet — and he sorrowfully continued :

" My dear little girl ; Vm very sorry, but I am afraid I must
refuse. I don't think I can afford the expense, and you have
nothing ready. Do you wish to go very much, Ada ? "

" Oh ! so much, papa ! That is, if you can afford it. It
won't cost very much — just my travelling expenses and a little
bit to keep in my pocket. And I have lots of nice dresses —
all ready," said Ada, beseechingly.

" Yes ; but I would not like my daughter to look shabby
beside other people. I fear it's impossible, my dear little Ada,"
he replied — his besetting sin coming up to the surface, though
he looked very sadly in the pretty disappointed face of his dar-
ling Ada.

*' Oh ! but I sha'nt be shai)by, papa. I'll be as nice as any
one else, and I'd like to go awfully. But never mind, pajm, if
you can't afford it, I'll give up the idea. There are so many
things that the money has to go for that are necessary," she
added, with a sigh, and then she looked uj) lovingly into her
father's face.

" I love him — my dear, hard-working father," she continued
to herself, " and I will not increase his difficulties to gratify my
own selfish pleasures," and she turned away to rejoin Ethel.

" Stay, Ada — my dear little girl ! Let me think a minute,"
said her father. " The expenses cannot be very great, and you
are a careful little thing. You have hardly ever been out of
this dull litde place, or had any amusement — while you, at any

wmsm

if I I" ^

242

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

rate, are a dutiful and good girl. Yes ; you shall go, Ada, if I
have to scrape closer for it. You have not had many pleasures
in your young life ; you shall have this trip. You go with nice
people, too. I'll miss your bright face, though, my dear little
girl, from our dull fireside. You shall have your trip, though,
my dear ; so you may go and get ready," continued Mr. Dear-
born, with a kiss on his young daughter's cheek.

*' Thank you, papa ! — thank you so much. But I fear you
cannot afford the expense, and, if so, I'd rather not go. I could
not enjoy myself if it made things harder to you and mamma.
I'll give up the idea," said the generous-hearted girl.

" No ! No ! Ada. I can bear the expense well enough, and
it would be harder to me to think I had kept my unselfish
little daughter from a pleasure. You shall go with the Mor-
daunts, Ada," replied her father, and he looked with a smile
into the now grateful face, whose answering smile already re-
paid him for the little sacrifice he had made ; for to Mr. Dear-
born's credit, be it said, it was more that he would miss the
only bit of sunshine of his daily life, the presence of his joyous
and natural Ada, than he would the money that her pleasure
trip would cost him. He remembered how self-sacrificing and
generous had she been to him and to all, amid much that was
selfish and undutiful.

" Thank you ! Mr. Dearborn," exclaimed Ethel who had at
flie moment entered the room. " I knew we should get your
consent to Ada going with us, and I am much obliged to you,
for my own sake as well as for Ada's."

" Good evening ! Miss Mordaunt," he replied, warmly. " I
am delighted to see you, though yau are going to take my
little Ada from me. But I spare her willingly, for I know
she'll be happy with you, and enjoy her excursion to the salt-
water."

"Oh ! Yes I Mr. Dearborn. We'll take good care of her;
and bring her back to you all safely. And we'll try to make

a, if I
isures
li nice
r little
hough,
Dear-

ar you
[ could
lamma.

gh, and
Qselfish
e Mor-
a smile
ady re-
:. Dear-
liss the

joyous
ileasure
ing and

liat was

at
your
you,

" I

know

salt-

of her?
make

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 243

the trip pleasant to her you may be sure," said Ethel. " Ada !
We must be moving, mamma is in a hurry, and we both have
lots to do. Good evening ! Mr. Dearborn. We will come
round for Ada in the morning," continued Ethel, and they went
back to the carriage.

As they drove back again Ethel, who had heard the few last
words of the conversation between father and daughter and
who had her instructions from her mother, turned to Ada, and
said. " I'm very glad you are going with us, Ada, for Mamma
and I would have found it lonely without a nice girl like your-
self of the party, and I'm especially glad that I have a friend
to depend upon, when the gentlemen tire of us or we of them.
We ^hould have been very much disappointed if you could not
have come.

" But, Ada, there's not to be any question of expense on y.-^ui
part. You are my mother's invited guest, and one of us. So
you are not to waste your money on tickets or things, but keep
it for your own pleasures. The through tickets are already
purchased and everything arranged, so that "

" Oh ! but Ethel. Neither papa nor I could consent to such
a thing as — "

" Oh ! but Ada, you'll have to consent to it. It's all arranged
before hand. So make your mind easy that yo cannot help
it. And here we are back again," replied Ethel hastily.

" Well ! Ada is to accompany us ; is she not ?" said Mrs.
Mordaunt, who, with Mrs. Dearborn, came out of the house as
the carriage drove up. " I see by Ethel's face that such is the
case."

" Oh ! Yes ! Mrs. Mordaunt. Papa has consented that I
should encumber you, I am happy to say, and mamma will I'm
sure also. Won't you, mamma ? But Ethel, I'll dictate my
own terms about that of which we were speaking," said Ada,
with serious face.

^'!u^n

^ w^aT^pa^T^jTtn^TaHqPBF^I

i I

f I

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

" Very well ! Ada. We'll see though," replied Ethel, laugh-
ing.

" Come along, mamma. We must be off. We have lots to
do yet."

" Yes ! indeed we have." Good bye ! Mrs. Dearborn. I
am very glad, you have let Ada join us. I will take great care
of her. Good bye ! until to-morrow ! Ada. We shall call for
you in the morning," and shaking hands with the ladies, Mrs.
Mordaunt was assisted by Ada into the carriage and they
drove off.

During the time that Ethel and Ada had been absent on thei**
mission to the bank, Mrs. Dearborn and Mrs. Mordaunt had
com.fortably ensconced themselves in the cool and handsome
Dearborn drawing-room — the pride of the Dearborn heart and
measure of its claims to bank and society. Unless to Ada, to
whom it was the purgatory, where, for her sins, she underwent
the — to her, unendurable penance — of unendurably prosy,
momentously ceremonious and horribly pretentious, morning
calls — and amid the stumps ! ! ! ! !

And well might the handsome and handsomely furnished
apartment be their pride, — for to its glories were sacrificed the
necessary means for the comfort of the rest of the house ; a
bed of liowers in a garden of weeds — a swell of handsome coat
— but no shirt. Outside magnificence, held forth to the world,
at the cost of how many meannesses of discomfort endured by
themselves. And as the two ladies entered it, they found the
equally handsome and handsomely equipped Emily leaning
back in an easy chair, reading a lengthy letter of that evening's

mail.

Rising from her seat, at their entrance, she hastily concealed
the letter — crumpling it up out of sight, as if its very existence
was to be held secret, and proceeded to do the agreeable, in
her very sweetest manner to||Mrs. Mordaunt. She listened to
and was interested with the sweetest sisterly sympathy, to all

i;ff«3BftBffl^'Z.TS?',7i.':::-

laugh-

; lots to

»oni. I
reat care
call for
es, Mrs.
md they

t on thei'-
laiuit had
landsome
heart and
) Ada, to
underwent

^ly prosy,
morning

furnished
-rificcd the
house ; a
dsome coat
the world,
ndured by
found the
ily leaning
t evening s

concealed
|ry existence
Igreeable, in
listened to
athy, to all

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 245

appearance, in the proposed excursion of her sister with the
Mordaunts. She smiled, and made herself pleasant, was en-
thusiastic, delighted and hopeful for Ada's pleasure and enjoy-
ment j took the thing for granted and laughed at all doubts of
her father's consent ; shewed herself so generous-hearted and
open ; so unselfish and amiable in the matter ; was so avowed-
ly grateful on Ada's account and in consequence so polite and
deferential to Mrs. Mordaunt, that the latter lady, in the happy
unsuspiciousness of her heart, began to wonder if she had not,
— despite everything — wrongly misdoubted and calumniated
her. It was therefore with some twinge of repentance that she
regarded her, and was kind and conciliatory where, from pre-
vious impressions, she would have remained cool and distant.
So well had Emily's attractiveness and well assumed agreeabil-
ity won upon her preconceived dislike, that she began to wish
that her invitation had been extended as well to the elder as
the younger sister ; and to w^onder whether it was not possible
yet to manage the extension of it, without the proffer being
looked upon, and resented as an afterthought. But as she
listened and thought, there arose to her mind the remembrance
of her brother's warning ; so far, but lightly regarded by her-
self, it is true, that Reggie — her son — her child of promise, in
whom centered so much of her earthly future, was infatuated
with this girl, who sat there before her, so charming, so dan-
gerously sweet and attractive ; and as she looked at her — with
the warning present in her mind — she, for the first time realized
that it might not be wholly imaginary, and that there might be
a probability of the, to her, bitter truth. It might be, it is true,
but the evanescent and shallow-rooted passion of a boy, whose
budding love so oft does homage to the full-blown rose, and
then wears itself off so easily by its own expansion and capabi-
lities to fix itself anew upon some object whose real beauties
can bear the testing light of more matured experience.
■But yet tlie thought was agony to the mother's heart that

¥i

246

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

Reggie should love this girl. The remembrance cleared away
— as a wholesome breeze — the misty haloes of charms and soft-
ness, with which Emily's deferential politeness and attractive-
ness had enshrouded her real self, and revived more strongly
than before all the old dislike.

Whether the young lady was right in this matter, or was
wrong ; whether she encouraged or did not encoiu^age Reggie's
silly suit, was nothing to Mrs. Mordaunt. She disliked her —
hated her almost just the same for it. But that she did encou-
rage his love, was, to her mind, certain ; persistently en-
couraged it — for her Reggie, she was sure, would not need a
second rebuff, if his attentions were not agreeable. She was
therefore very glad that she had not included Emily in
her invitation. She would keep her Reggie away from the syren
as much as she could, and would save him from her if possible.

For what purer or nobler motive could the girl have who, all
the world said, looked with favoring eyes on no better a lover
than Sydney Wolverton, if she could look with favoring eyes
on any lover — than the hoped for advantages of position and
wealth which the prospect of a marriage with Reggie offered.
It could not be for love, that was certain — though the mother's
proud heart would not allow that it was possible for any girl
not to love her handsome Reggie — for if this girl loved at all, the
favored personage was Sidney Wolverton, and no person
else.

Her manner, which had been interesting, attractive and kind
— changed all at once under the new impression, and became
again cold and distant, and the keen perceptions of Emily in-
stantly noticed the alteration. The swelling burst of rage which
had filled her breast at the preference shown her younger sister
over herself — which heretofore she had kept forced down within
her breast — now almost over-mastered her ; while it was only
the knowledge that in her hand — soon to ripen into forceful
action — lay her triumph, a double triumph of revenge and

jg ^y.,X>i.jJ'M «ejigian

d away
Lnd soft-
tractive-
strongly

, or was

Reggie's
Led her—
id encou-
tently en-
ot need a

She was

Emily in
n the syren
if possible.
ve who, all
tter a lover
coring eyes

)sition and

rie offered.

le mother's

ir any girl

fd at all, the

no person

^e and kind
md became
l)f Emily in-
■ rage which
Imiger sister
iown within
[it was only
Into forceful
-venge *nd

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 247

victory to come; that did restrain her. When the two girls,
returning from their drive to the bank, stopped at the gate, and
Mrs. Mordaunt, rising to leave and bid her adieux, asked Emily
if she would not walk out and speak to Ethel in the carriage, as
they were hurried to reach home, — she declined, but could not
help saying :

*• No, thank you, Mrs. Mordaunt ; I vv'U not detain you, as
you have doubtless much to do in the v/ay of preparation, and
we also have to help Ada with hers. Pray give my love to
Ethel. Her bright young dreams of love, doubtless, urge her
back to Lake Mordaunt, and her waiting lover. It would be
cruelty to longer keep her. I only hope her dreams of happi-
ness may not prove evanescent. If Mr. Vance remains as suc-
cessfully cautious and reticent in his actions as heretofore, there
is no reason why it should not be so."

" What do you mean by that. Miss Dearborn ? " exclaimed
Mrs. Mordaunt, turning round and looking fixedly at her.

" Oh ! nothing in particular. It was only merely the expres-
sion of my hope that everything may go on as smoothly as it
has done, and that Mr. Vance may continue to avoid and get
over certain difficulties of his position," replied Emily, looking
back as fixedly in the face of the other.

Too indignant to reply, Mrs. Mordaunt bade Mrs. Dearborn
farewell, and left the house, accompanied, however, by the latter
to the carriage, and drove off, as before narrated, after promising
to call for Ada in the morning.

The fair Emily, so soon as her sister entered the house and
ran to acquaint her with her own happy prospects, commenced
at once, as stated to Mrs. Mordaunt, to help her on with her
preparations for the journey, as follows :

•' And so the dear little girl has wormed herself into an invi-
tation from the ?Iordaunts, to go to the seaside — has she?
Very well done indeed, for ingenious simplicity and innocence I
And pray from whence does the money come to pay Miss's

■ inm¥j«im'iivri

MIIM't

248

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

expenses ? — or are you hired out as companion and foil to the
magnificent Ethel ? Pray let us know," continued Emily, with
her profoundest scorn.

Poor Ada! her eyes sparkling and her face bright at the
prospect of her anticipated pleasures, was stopped in her course
by this sisterly salute as suddenly as by a blow. The light
faded from her face and the tears sprang to her eyes, at the
cruel words. But indignation at Emily's malicious and unde-
served taunts — coming as they did in place of the expected
sisterly response to her happiness — came to her aid, and over-
mastered her lachrymose tendency, as she warmly replied :

" What a shame ! Emily, to say such things ; which you
know to be as false as they are cruel to me. When have I ever
tried to worm myself into the Mordaunt's favor, or even sought
them ? You are a selfish and ungenerous girl. You are vexed
because it is I who am asked for this occasion, and not yourself.
It is my father who pays my expenses and it is no concern
of yours. Let me tell you also that Ethel ^fordaunt's beauty
requires no foil ; while I am quite sufficiently aware of my own
good looks to know that I am unfitted for the honorable poet
you would assign me, Emily."

" Oh ! indeed. We are getting on our high horse ; are we ?
And we talk of our beauty too. How very interesting !" replied
Emily, with a sarcastic laugh.

" The family, too, must remain contentedly stinted and cut
down to the scraping of cents that our sweet young lady may air
her newly-discovered good looks among the fashionables of
Cacouna. Truly a pleasant prospect for the rest of us."

"Have I ever si)oken to you — Emily — of the very many
pleasures you have enjoyed, in the manner you now speak to
me at the prospect of the only visit, almost, I have made from
home ?" queried Ada in reply, with a quiet but fixed gaze at her
sister.

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 249

to the
iT, with

at the
course
le light

at the
i unde-
xpected
id over-
jd :

lich you
ve I ever
m sought
are vexed
; yourself.

concern
:'s beauty
,f my own
Irable poet

, are we ?
I" replied

Id and cut

Idy may air
Duables of

IS."

^rery many
Iv speak to
(made from
Igaze at her

" No ! I should think not ! I should imagine there is a dif-
ference between us," answered Emily meaningly.

" Visit forsooth ! As if you, a mere country girl, were asked
without a purpose. If nothing else you will be made useful to
walk on ahead ' solus' in Miss Ethel's promenades, so that she
and Vance can spoon together to their heart's content."

" It is simply disgraceful in you to say such things, Emily, to
which I will not listen. You are beside yourself with rage that
I am to get this little pleasure ; and you do not know what you
are saying," said Ada, turning to leave the room.

" Stay a moment, piay ? I have not done with you, Miss,"
exclaimed Emily barring Ada's exit by running to the door.
" I suppose now, little Miss is looking forward to a delightful
time with Reggie Mordaunt for her devoted cavalier. Dear
me ! how mistaken we shall find ourselves ; how unpleasantly
shall we be undeceived."

" Reggie Mordaunt has been, and will still be, polite ; and
that is all that will be expected of him. I am not, which is
more than my sister can say — in the habit of flirting with any
person ; much less of endeavouring to draw on, and entangle a
mere boy, as he is."

" Oh ! mdeed. Then I have drawn him on to some pur-
pose though," replied Emily, now flaming with rage. " How
pleased you will be to hear that he and I are engaged."

" I should not be pleased to hear it ; either for his sake or
the credit of the family, Emily ; what is more, L do not think it
is at all a likely thing to occur ;" said Ada, with a startled look
at her sister, however.

" Oh ! hear the Mentor I Little miss has turned preacher.
' Credit of the family' — forsooth ! Little miss is not pleased to
hear it. How very dreadful," replied Emily, laughing long and
loud. " And not a likely thing to occur ; is it not ? Whether
our dignified little miss is pleased or is not pleased, allow me to
tell you that the event has occurred ; that Reggie Mordaunt and

250

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

myself are engaged to each other. What thinks our young
lady of that ? Her newly found beauty will be absolutely
thrown away upon a brotherin-law elect upon our pleasant
little trip. Ha ! Ha ! Ha !" and Emily shook with mingled
laughter and rage.

" Do you mean to tell me that you are engaged to be mar-
ried to Reggie Mordaunt, a mere boy of eighteen, Emily Dear-
born. In love with another man at the same time. You surely
cannot be in earnest ; so mercenary ; so evidently mercenary.
It simply means disgrace to us all. It's not true, is it ? Emily,"
rapidly and earnestly exclaimed Ada, now interested enough
and with a painfully shocked face.

" Yes ! it is quite true, Miss. Since it is so easy to disgrace
the family — it is disgraced. Reggie Mordaunt and myself are
engaged. At least he is engaged to me and I to him so long as
it suits me. The privileges without the penalties and disadvan-
tages, you know. Oh ! la ! how horried Miss appears. The
good little girl. As if butter would'nt melt in her mouth. Yes !
and shall probably marry him into the bargain. A very goM
match it will be for me, as he is the only son, and they're tc o
fond of him to throw hmi over. I'll do it to spite that hateful
Ethel and the old lady ; little miss here also," and Emily cour-
tesyed in mocking derision of her sister, took little dancing steps
before her, holding her skirts back as she took took them and
poking her face into Ada's with the most aggravatiug and exag-
gerated smilingness she could command.

" And are the Mordaunts acquainted with all this ?" asked
Ada, taking no notice of the pantomime, and regarding her sis-
ter fixedly.

" That is no business of yours ! little miss. You attend to
your own affairs and do not trouble yourself with mine, or it
will be the worse for you and your dear friends, the Mordaunts,
also," replied Emily, still backing up against the drawing-room
door.

;-,s.;tX*jt3«f»t.'*SI^-„

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 251

roung
lutely
jasant
ingled

; mar-

Dear-

surely
•cenary.
Emily,"

enougli

disgrace

yself are

o long as

iisadvan-

Irs. The

[th. Yes!

rery go.Mi

ley're tco
.t hateful
tily cour-
;ing steps
them and
[and exag-

■s?" asked
jig her sis-
attend to
Une, or it
kordaunts,
kving-room

" Have you told papa and mamma, Emily ?" again asked Ada.
" But I know "

" Mind your own business ! Ada Dearborn," wratiifully ex-
claimed the enraged Emily. You go upon your pleasure trip,
for which 1 and the rest of us have to pay, and do not you dare
to say a word of this to living soul, or I send word to Reggie,
and marry him to-morrow morning. He'll only be too glad."

" Yes ! I dare say, the poor boy. He is doubtless entranced

enough for that. I can only say your heart, Emily is not in

keeping with your beautiful face. I pity him, and hope for all

our sakes — for yours also — that his delusion will pass away.

Let me pass, Emily. I will no longer be stayed," and with a

push the vigorous young girl, who under less excitement would

not have dared, moved her sister aside and gained the door.

" Yes ! you have gained what you desired, Emily. I shall not

go with the Mordaunts to-morrow upon this excursion. I will

not be a party to this wickcuncos. I am a loyal sister to you,

but I will not, knowing what I now know, treacherously implant

myself among them as a friend, when I am not, and cannot be,

a real friend. It is not my business, as you say, and it is not

my place to interfere in this matter. But I will have nothing to

do with it, and I shall not go willi them, until your engagement

is approved by the Mordaunts, to whom at the present it is,

I am certain, wholly unknown, and by papa and mamma also.

I shall hold myself aloof I'rom them, and shall not pretend to be

a friend when I shall be a traitor. You have gained your wish,

Emily. I do not go with them to-morrow. I remain your sister

— most sorrowfully your sister. But you shall make my excuses !

No matter what they think ! I will not appear before them

to-morrow morning. I am your sister, and, as I see it, no longer

their friend !"

^P ^P ^P #1* *!* 'JV ^* ^P

Mr. Edwin Vance was very much astonished, on opening a
letter which his fair fiancee handed to him, on her return with

Mum

252

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

her mother from Ten Lakes. It was short, if it was not sweet.

Yet its contents surprised him ; not that they were very un-

usiial, but that he should have been written to at all upon the

subject.

"Toronto, July 28th, 1873.
" Mv Dear Vance, —

"I see that a note of Wolverton's for a considerable
sum, endorsed by you. was discounted at this bank to-day
by a third pajty. As president of the bank, I ask you if every-
thing is correct ; and, as an old friend, I ask you likewise if the
transaction is a wise one on your part ?
" I remain, dear Edwin,

" Yoiu-s faithfully,

" E. Chuter.'

" What in the world does the man mean ?" he exclaimed aloud,
as he glanced again over the epistle. " Can not I endorse a note
for two or three thousand dollars without being brought to book
about it, as if I was not capable of taking care of myself? If
I had a d >zen or so of them afloat it might be different, I allow ;
but even it I lose altogether a trifle like this I shall not be very
much hurt. * Is everything correct ?' That's tantamount to
saying that I or Sidney forged the note. If they were afraid
of it what did they discount it for ? and then come bothering me
about it. It is interference that I won't put up with. Though
I suppose old Chuter meant well enough."

Vance walked hastily into the library, snatched up pea and
paper, and replied as follows —

"My Dear Sir, —

" The note of which you speak in yours is perfectly correct.
Neither Wolverton nor I have forged it, as you would seem to
imply. I was not aware that either of us had developed talent
in that line. As to the wisdom or unwisdom of the transaction
that is another affair, of which, however, I must beg to retain my
own opinion.

I am, my dear sir,

"Yours faithfully,

" Edwin Vance."

YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR TRIP, ADA. 253

t sweet,
^rery un-
pen the

1873-

siderable
ik to-day
. if every-
vise if the

Chuter.'
med aloud,
orse a note
Tht to book
nyself? If
nt, I allow ;
not be very
tamount to
were afraid
othering me
Though

np pen and

Ictly correct.

juid seem to

[oped talent

transaction

I to retain my

riN Vance.

"There is one thing seems evident," continued he, as he
closed liis reply and left it for mailing. " That Wolverton manages
to get me into a scrape through everything I have to do with
him or for him. He is either uncommonly unlucky, or the ra-
ther bad opinion of him of which I have heard so much lately
about here must be formed by something other than mere pre-
judice. Well ! I won't trouble myself with old Chuter's letter

further," and he tore it up and threw it into the waste-paper
basket.

V ^r V *l* V V ^F T^

But after all Ada Dearborn went with the Mordaunts on their
trip to the salt water. There was a scene at the Dearborn resi-
dence that evening, but the commands of papa and mamma were
imperative and Ada had to submit. She resolutely persisted in
divulging, despite Emily's threats, menaces and fury, the secret
of the engagement between the latter and Reggie Mordaunt, but
was very much surprised that sides were taken against her, and
to find herself in a hopeless minority, represented, in fact, by

herself alone.

" It's Emily's affair and not yours," exclaimed her mother,

" and I forbid you to speak of it to any person, unless it is first

mentioned to you by some of the Mordaunts."

" It is no business of yours ! Ada, and go you shall ! whether
you like it or not," she continued with more than ordinary deci-
sion, for she was more delighted than vexed at Emily's engage-
ment, and possessed none of Ada's scruples.

" Do you suppose that the Mordaunts can speak to me about

it, mamma ? when they do not know it themselves. If they had
known and approved of it, would they not have asked Emily,
and not myself, to accompany them ?" queried Ada in reply.

" Approve of it ! Approve ! indeed. They may think them-
selves very lucky if a girl of Emily's accomplishments and refine-
ment marries him. Where could they find another who could
so well do the honors of his house ? Approve of it indeed," ex-
claimed Mrs. Dearborn, with scornful emphasis.

254

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

i 1

" A mere boy, for whom she does not care one straw," return-
ed Ada, warmly. " If she marries him it will be because she
thinks it will be a good marriage in a money point of view for
her, and for no other reason. She would throw him over and
marry Mr. Wolverton to-morrow if she thought he was rich."

" Come ! Cease all that nonsense and ridiculous stuff about
engagements and love," said Mr. Dearborn, impatiently. " Ada !
you will go on this journey to-morrow, as arranged ! I repeat
it. I'll believe it when I see it that Emily marries young Mor-
daunt. If he does, he's a bigger fool than I take him to be, and
all I can say is that I won't envy him," continued he, and, seiz-
ing his newspaper he turned away from the group and said no
more.

" Thank you ! papa, for the compliment," almost screamed
Emily, jumping from her chair in a flaming passion. " I'll marry
him if I choose, no matter who approves or who does'nt. As
for you, you minx," to Ada, " I'll pay you and your fine friends
the Mordaunts off for this, so sure as my name is Emily Dear-
born," and rushing past them, she slammed the door behind her ;,'
with a bang, and was gone.

So Ada went with the Mordaunts in the morning, but all the
anticipated pleasure of the trip seemed to have gone from her.
She obeyed her parents' commands, yet it was a woeful-looking
young face that appeared before them when they called for her.

" "Was it not traiterous and disloyal in her ?" she enquired, " to
accept the friendship and hospitality of these people, knowing
what she knew." She would much ratlier have stayed at home
and kept herself aloof from them.

She had to go, though, and bear her load — which would have sat
lightly enough in all conscience on many other shoulders — as
best she might.

How could she, a young girl, interfere in the matter, or say
anything to the Mordaunts of that which she felt sure they were
not acquainted with, but which they ought to know.

'41

//iiia.'c^i/f!!;-.;:'^/

A COMIXG STROKE.

255

It was not for her to interfere, and had she not her mother's
absohite command not to do so.

Oh ! how she longed and wished for an opportunity to arise
by which she could escape the visit witli them. But no such
god-send arose, and she had to go. She bade her farewells to
her brothers and sisters, and was driven off to enjoy or disenjoy
her pleasure trip as best she might.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A COMING STROKE.

ir say
were

That a human creature, the masterpiece of creation, living
in this world of ours, and to all appearance making it subservient
to him, though he be gifted with its choicest blessings, intellect,
energy and industry, wisdom, physical strength and beauty, or
even the possession of fortune, should have the current of his
life altered, turned aside and deflected from the wished for chan-
nel by the mere force of circumstances surrounding him, in almcct
as great degree as one who, possessing none of these advantages,
is floated helplessly along the stream of his existence, amid sun-
shine or amid storm as chance may befall, is a seeming contra-
diction, an apparent paradox, yet, nevertheless, a truth in fact.
For of those we see around us, no matter what talent, application,
force of character be displayed, who is there that can so wholly
direct and control his course, that some slight event, springing
mayhap from the veriest trifle, may not turn aside that straight
course into a devious pathway, unlocked for, unexpected and
irretrievably giving a new tenor to the whole after destiny ?

Happiness, the possession of all that seems desirable, may to
some of us appear to be almost a secured certainty — within the
grasp ; the cup of enjoyment overflowing to our lips, yet may not
some untoward accident of a moment drop its poison into the
sweet draught of existence and vitiate for this world every bright
prospect.

^'■T^^..-

256

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

*ii

It does not need that the untoward thing be of our own causa-
tion. Were it of such alone the race of man could much bet-
ter command its own happiness. Inevitable Death — with his
gaunt terrors that separate the beloved from us — would then be,
in things of earth, the sole destroyer we would need to fear.
For who could command the stay of his dread approach ?

It is not the effects of our own errors and imperfections with
which we alone have to contend. These are numerous and force-
ful enough to wreck full many a hope, to lend full many a carking
care and sorrow for the embittering of oiu- steps. But these are
not all.

Our course is devious and uncertain. Full many an evil of
which we are innocent shall bend its force against the would-be
straight lines of our life, and we have to bear the brunt who
provoked not the fray. Full many a good, that to our short
seeing eyes is disguised as evil, stems its power against and turns'
us from our fancied way, in present pain and toil, and though in
after days we recognise the brightness and the beauty, and ac-
knowledge the Beneficence that changed our road, yet in its time
it had added to our load.

Or how many chances and events, outside of our cognizance
or intention, wholly independent of us and beyond our control,
come between us and our wished for goal ; marring our fancied
happiness : thwarting our best laid plans ; diverting us, perforce,
from our most cherished aims, and, strive as we may, les.ving us
to flounder in uncertain seas, at the mercy of changing wind and
wave, to regain o'.t course, as we best may, in whatsoever sorry
plight we may find ourselves.

Even he, who battered by long misfortune, wearied, scarred
and calloused in the ceaseless fray of life, the bright vision > of early
days all dimmed, and hope ensanguined no more,^ forces himself
again upon his road, content with quiet content, that his hard
journey is brightened by the loved ones whos2 steps are with liim,
may not, even he may not, pass scatheless. Mayhap a lovely

ausa-
i bet-
h his
in be,
) tear.

s with
L force-
;arking
ese are

evil of
ould-be
nt who
r short
id turns'
^ough in
and ac-
its time

rnizance
control,
• fnncied
perforce,
;o.ving us
ind and
»er sorry

scarred

1 5 of early

fs himself

his hard

Ivvith him,

a lovely

A COMING STROKE.

157

little child, expanding before his eyes like a flower, and in very
sweetness and beauty winding close and closer its little bands of
love around him, until his seared heart wells forth again with
bright hopes for his little one, with tender and unselfish love,
and in fond prospects for his darling's happiness he is again
happy. Untimely Death — the surer that the little child is the
more lovely and loveable, too sweet, too pure and briglit for
earth's long, hard journeyings — snatches away his beloved form
from him, and casts him, with heart strings torn and bleeding
prostrate and nerveless to the desert sands ; until, from Him, the
great Aider, coming the strength, He always gives to those who
bow to His fiat, and seek His aid, knowing that in mercy was
His stroke — he rises to repeat the onward march of his sad pil.
grimage.

But if sorrow and pain and bitter trials seem to dog with re-
lentless pursuit the hard steps of man, yet how many gleams of
brightness, of goodness, and of love light up the dreary way ?
It is not all pain. The pleasures equal the pain, but are not
remembered in the same degree. To the sorest grief is brought
time consolation and solace. The short seeing eyes are opened
to the Mercy and the Benificence. It is not always sorrow.
Had not the fond parents, whose hearts are wrung by the loss of
their beloved little one, exquisite joy and pleasure in the pur.
little life whilst it was with them ? Do they wish in their agony,
their wringing of hands, that their darling had never been born
to them ?

No ! the loving breasts could never frame the thought ; that
their little angel in the robes of light had never been. Rather do
not they think, and thinking know that their child was God's
child — too pure and lovely for this world — that He made its
probation short, and here its journey ended, took it to Himself
safe in His arms forever ; that he loved their darling better than
the}-, and in His mercy removed it from earthly care and sin
to His heavenly realms of bliss, and do not they, with longing

181

IIM

258

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

hearts, look forward to the heavenly meeting, when, life's struggles
over, there shall be no more separation, no more sorrow, but in-
finite joy, eternal bliss ?

Man's life is not all darkness. There may be shadows over
the road, but God gives His light to aid us through them. There
may be pains to be endured, but there are pleasures also. La-
bors, but there is rest, and over all His Hand guides us — not,
perhaps, in the way we, blind mortals, would wish, but as He
knows best for us — in His mercy to lead us to Him. He places
the obstacles in our path. He sends the trials and the sorrows
that we may be turned from our own way and seek the true road
that His mercy and loving kindness would fain that we find and
which His Hand helps us to gain.

We may not see the Hand nor recognize the Mercy. We
grieve over the trials and fruitless labors, the hard chances and
circumstances that surround and prevent us. We fret at the
bonds tliat restrain us from our cherished aims ; not seeing that
our griefs and trials and the force of circumstances that we so
lament as beyond our control, are the putting forth of His force-
ful yet merciful strength to save us from ourselves, to lead us
in the right road, whose ending is everlasting felicity. And if
we bend to Him, and seek His guidance in humble faith, we shall
not find it all sorrow here below.

Five weeks have elapsed, and the Lake Mordaunt party have
ended their salt water excursion, and are again within the plea-
sant walks of home.

Delighted they all were to be back again amid the loved and
familiar surroundings, for there is nothing like absence, short
though it may be, to show the true beauties of, and open wide
the heart, to Home.

Their seaside visit had been a very enjoyable one to all of
them, except perhaps to Ada Dearborn, who had not started
upon it in a happy frame of mind, and who, unwillingly forced
by parental authority to accompany the Mordaunts, and to

t^-iT^ji "«^ia^. wr;>(»*r*i-*"«i«niB

iil

A COMING STROKE.

259

rgles
it in-
over
Chere
La-
-not,
ts He
places
arrows
e road
id and

f. We
:es and
at the
j\g that
we so
is force-
lead us
And if
we shall

rty have
he plea-
zed and
, short
len wide

Ito

all of
started

forced
and to

keep silence to them, had found herself wholly unable to cope
with, or interfere in the disagreeable subject that oppressed her,
and who though interested and attracted, as any young girl
would be, by the novel scenes and experiences of her trip, found
her chief pleasure in its conclusion, and was unfeignedly glad to
be on her way home, where, if she still had to maintain the se-
cret that weighed upon her heart, she could at any rate, keep
away from the Mordaunts, and no longer be involved in the
treachery of apparent friendship to them, when she felt that
' per force,' she was not a real friend.

To Edwin Vance and Ethel, the return had been the only
alloy to their pleasure, for it involved the sad season of their
first parting ; to lovers a very sad season.

Their five weeks* excursion had indeed been five weeks of
summery delights, the sunny hours, bright skies and smooth
seas of a happy love. Five weeks of Elysium together, never
to be forgotten ; the bright dawning of the long and happy day
of their love ; for which the sun rose brighter, and beautiful
earth smiled more sweetly on her children, whose softened eyes
drank in the greeting beauty that lighted the dawn of their life
of love and hope. The few weeks tliey had spent together
since their engagement had drawn them very close to each other,
and had brought their love into a perfect accord of thought and
of feeling. They had learned to perceive and to admire the
good qualities, the sterling worth, and the fitting amiabilities of
each other's character. Qualities which their love intensified
and brought forward the more prominently to each other's
view.

The threatening storm that had blown over them with menac-
ing wreck, had but cleared their sky, and freshened the morning
air of their life. The gale had swept away the dregs of egotism
and self-confidence from them, and its menacing aspect had
shewn them how necessary they were to each other —
that their love had become the greater part of their earthly

■ -■-/'■'.•.'-■ .r,^;;iTi^

^^jomsssm

^ [

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

life and the knowledge had drawn them the closer to each other.
If they had loved from the first with a pure and unselfish love,
they loved now more purely and more unselfishly. The enno-
bling passion that loves because the object is wholly worthy,
that recognises that in this love is alone to live as oneself ; that
Edwin Vance could not be Edwin Vance unless he loved Ethel
Mordaunt, and Ethel Mordaunt could not be herself unless she
loved Edwin Vance ; that no calamity could subvert that love,
or make either different. They felt this and gloried in the
knowledge. When Edwin Vance and Ethel Mordaunt return-
ed with their party from their bright summer'trip, they were, in
each other's eyes, perfect, they loved each other with an ab-
sorbing love, and they were happy.

But the hour of their parting had come ; the inevitable first
parting of little pangs and sweet memories. A short parting it
is true ; far a month was to bring her Edwin again to the tear-
ful Ethel's feet, but it was nevertheless the parting. The car-
riage that was to drive her hero away, stood at the door, and
Barney reining up his impatient horses, turning his reproachful
eyes into the hall from whence the lingerer came not, and she
hated Barney. Ada Dearborn, who was to accompany Edwin
to her home at Ten Lakes, stood on the verandah bidding
' farewells' to the Mordaunts, who had been so kind to her, and
yet from whom she longed to get away — while Edwin and Ethel
lingered over their parting in the hall.

" It is very hard to leave you, my darling !*' he said. " A
month away from you is the prospect of an age. But you shall
never be absent from my thoughts, Ethel, my beautiful love.
And you will write to me often. Will you not ? to brighten
my lonely absence."

" Yes ! Edwin, I will write, and you must also, so soon as
you reach Toronto, for I shall be anxious," she answered.
" But the time will soon fly away, tor we love each other, Ed-

7!HgWi.*a»wr>i'»v'^^ •;',■:. "?iJ'-iiir >>-jir?j .-

A COMIXG STROKE.

261

other.
1 love,

enno-
vorthy,
if ; that
d Ethel
less she
lat love,
i in the

return-
were, in
I an ab-

able first

parting it

) the tear-
The car-
oor, and

^proachful
, and she

ny Edwin
th bidding
D her, and
and Ethel

said. " A
you shall
jLitiful love,
(to brighten

Iso soon as
answered,
other, Ed-

win, in full trust and confidence, and we will be happy in our
love. Nothing can come between us now"

" That nothing can come between us now, is the sweetest
consolation that is left me in our parting; my darling ; and we
can trust each other's love. See ! Ethel, " he continued,
taking a handsome ring from its case, and holding it up that she
might read its inscription. " While this little circlet is the sign
of our happy engagem'^nt, it is also the pledge of my unalter-
able truth. I shall not change while time exists for me."

" I believe it Edwin," she replied ; " I know it, for I judge you
by myself. What a beauty it is !" she continued taking the
ring. My love faileth not. No need to have engraved the
motto within the ring, Edwin. Have I not your sweet pro-
mise in my heart. No need of symbols when I have the
reality."

" My darling !" was his brief but comprehensive reply. " If
I were but worthy of your love ! But I must place the ring on
your finger witii my own hand, and bind my pledge. Remem-
ber always, Ethel, that, whatsoever befalls, so long as life shall
last, ' my love faileth not.' And now I must say ' farewell ' — the
first sad ' farewell.' I must not miss my train, and Barney will
be raving."

Their parting words shall be sacred. A few short minutes
and he was seated in the carriage with Ada, in another he was
gone. Ethel, with her lover's parting kiss upon her cheek, turned
away and fled up stairs into solitude.

^^ ^0 *j^ %^ ^^ ^0 %t#

" Oh ! Indeed ! AVe've managed to find our way home at
last, have we ?" exclaimed Emily Dearborn, meeting her sister
in the hall of the parental mansion, Mr. Vance having hurriedly
bid her " farewell " at the door and driven on. " Oh ! yes ! our
little girl has come out grand among her fine friends, I see.
Fine feathers make fine birds, indeed," she continued with a
contemptuously critical gaze at her sister's general make-up.

262

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

f 1.'

" And pray, why could not little miss have come home the
day before yesterday, when she arrived ? I should like to be in-
fonned. But no ! that would not have done at all. Litde miss
must go on to Lake Mordaunt for two days mpre with her grand
friends. I know all about it you see. I have a friend at court
also. But how humbly grateful we must be that little miss has
condescended at length to honor us again with her presence after
her fashionable summer visit."

" Oh ! Emily, how can you speak to me so ? If you only
knew how glad I am to be back again. Mrs. Mordaunt insisted
on my going to Lake Mordaunt with them. They could not
come out of the way to leave me, as little Ally was not well, and
they hurried on home with her. It was not my fault, and, oh !
Emily, I'm so glad to be back," continued Ada, attempting to
kiss her sister.

" Enough of that, thanks !" returned Emily, repulsing the em-
brace. " A fig for your affection ; I know it's value. You were
net so much missed, let me tell you, that we are to be in raptures
at your coming home. Hardly that, I think. In fact, little
miss' return is at least as unendurable as her absence."

" Ada ! my darling ! my child ! How happy I am to see you
again," exclaimed Mrs. Dearborn, rushing in and clasping her
daughter to her warm motherly heart, kissing her again and
again.

" My dear mamma — my dear mamma. How glad I am to
be back to you again," returned the affectionate girl, holding her
arms around her mother's neck. " How glad I am ; how glad
I am. And how is papa, and all of them ? "

" They're all well, Ada. Your papa will be glad to see you
again. He has missed you more than you can tell, " was the re-
ply. " How well you look and how pretty you are grown, my
darling. Mrs. Mordaunt has taken care of you in every thing,'>
continued Mrs. Dearborn, gazing admiringly at the pretty figure
of her younger daughter. " Your trip has done you good, as it

L. »».'^>N?:?>gl?^ie>'?Btg;?^^

A COMING STROKE.

263

e the
be in-
j miss
grand
: court
iss has
ce after

)U only
msisted
)uld not
veil, and
and, oh '•
ipthig to

g the em-
You were
raptures
act, little

|to see you
,sping her

lagam

and

I am to
lolding her
how glad

see you
was the re-
grown, iT.y
verything,''

rctty fig^^'^^e
ood, as it

S«

has taught you to pay proper attention to your ap[)earance and
your dress. But you are looking very pale. Have you enjoyed
yourself, and has all gone right with you, Ada ?"

"Oh ! yes, mamma. It was all very pleasant ; but I am very
glad to be back again, though. 'J'hey had intended remaining
some time longer, but little Ally was taken unwell, and Mrs. Mor-
daunt hurried home."

" Alida unwell ! What is the matter ? Nothing infectious, I
hope. But come into the sitting-room and tell me all the news,
Ada," said her mother, fidgetting about and anxious for a chat.
" How are Mr. Vance and Ethel getting along ? and Emily's
Reggie ?"

" Mr. Vance left to-day for 1 oronto. He brought me home
with him on his way to Cascades. He is very nice, and so is
Ethel, and they are awfully fond of each other. Reggie goes
to Toronto and Hamilton to-morrow to visit a couple of his
college friends," answered Ada, with a quiet meaning glance,
which she could not help, at her sister.

*' Oh ! yes, Ada. I perceived your look towards me. It falls
harmless. Reggie was here yesterday, and he told me all about
it. He does not go of his own will. But I'm just as well pleas-
ed, so long as he is in the frame of mind that I find suitable.
I don't care for his presence, as I'm sure of his fidelity. So
your shot fails of effect, miss," replied Emily, with a laugh and
a sneer.

" You should not speak in that manner, Emily ; it is not right,"
said her mother, deprecatingly, but smiling nevertheless at her
elder daughter's assured confidence. " Did any of them speak
to you, Ada, about Reggie's and Emily's engagement ? Was it
referred to in any way?"
" No ! mamma, the matter was not mentioned. I'hey did not
speak to me about it, and I had your orders not to speak to
them. I think also that none of them are aware of the engage-
ment, at any rate, and I am very glad to be iwvay from them for

i-uaj&-j;>T' (^i^^,Sfl■<L'

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

that reason. The engagement should not be kept secret from
Reggie's parents."

" That is no business of yours, miss. Reggie and I can
manage our own affairs ; your opinion will not be required in
the matter. Of one thing you may rest assured, if I ever marry
Reggie, it will be of my own free will. We shall be married as
soon as Edwin Vance and Ethel Mordaunt are, in any case, as
you will shortly see," exclaimed Emily in a rage, getting up from
her seat, and preparing to leave the room.

" If their engagement is ever broken, it will be through your
treachery, Emily — your unhappy spite and malice. They love
each other truly, and it will not be easy to part them. But you
have warned me, and I will warn Ethel to beware of you," re-
plied Ada, warmly.

" Ah ! indeed ! How much little miss's efforts will avail," said
Emily, as she passed out of the door and looked back with a
mocking sneer at her sister. " I do not forget their insulting
slight in passing me over for little miss's desirable company.
We shall see."

"Mamma! I am confident that Emily is meditating some
scheme against Ethel Mordaunt's happiness,** said Ada, when
her sister had gone. " She does not like her, I know, and was
very much annoyed from the first that Edwin Vance became
engaged to her. She wished that his liking had been for her-
self, and I fear that she is ripening a plot to sunder them. Could
you not interefere with her and prevent any cruelty ag^nst poor
Ethel, who has been so kind to us both ; and again, discovery will
be in the end certain, with deep disgrace to us all. Speak to
her, mamma, on the matter." she continued.

" Oh ! now, Ada, how can you imagine such things of your
sister. I am sure Emily has no such wicked idea as you sup-
pose. What interest can it be for her to interfere^between Ethel
and Mr. Vance ? especially now as she is engaged to Reginald,"
replied Mrs. Dearborn, with some warmth. "You are unjust to

^^aasik^.^fer'J'^i^^^a'tin.Sit^t'Jfii.^^'^ifjdri^eL i. i,

^w-^<i-

-«•« »^ w,< iwi lam

A COMING STROKE.

265

from

[ can
ed in
marry
ried as
ase, as
ip from

gh your
ley love
But you
you," re-
tail," said
\i with a
insulting
Icompany. •

^ing some
Ida, when
[, and was
\q became
In for lier-
tm. Could
rd^nstpoor

[covery will
Speak to

Igs of yo^^^

Is you SUp-

jweenTi^thel
I Reginald,'
Ire unjust to

your sister. But even were it true, what can I do ? You know
she is unmanageable by any one, even her own father, and she
has her own way altogether. I can do nothing. I thmk though
that you are wrong, and that she has no such intention as you im-
pute to her. She is vexed, I dare say, that she was not asked
to accompany them to the sea side, while you were instead, and
she, very likely, does not like the necessity of keeping her en-
gagement secret from the Mordaunts."

" Well, it may be so, mamma, and I hope it i'> as you think,
but I do not feel confident. When Emily can consent that her
engagement can be kept a secret at her lover's requesi, she shows
so little self-respect that there can be no confidence. That sh«
does not lovelReggie, I am certain ; her engagement is but a part
of an ambitious scheme, and when she could do one wrong
thing she would do another, if it suited her. If she can break
Ethel's engagement and get Mr. Vance at her feet, do you think
she will not throw poor Reggie over ? Yes ! without compunc-
tion, and moreover, if Sidney Wolverton were in the position
she requires, it would be the same, for if she loves any person
it is that despicable man," said Ada, in return. *' I will watch
her as well as I can, and if I get trace of any overt act I will
warn Ethel."

" You are cruel to Emily, and have no reason to say such

hings, Ada," replied her mother. •' Don't do anything rashly,

at any rate, and make no more trouble than we have already.

What could a girl like Emily do ? I'd like to know, to break off

their engagement ?" answered Mrs. Dearborn.

*' That I do not know, manmia, but Emily is very clever, and,
I fear, unscrupulous. However, 1 vrlll say no more about the
matter. For all our sakes, do not allow her to do anything that
would disgrace us," said Ada, earnestly. And now I am going
to be useful to you after my long absence. I'll go and get my
fine clothes off, and get back to the dear old work-a-day life

■ir»TrT

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

which I had no l)usiness to have ever left. I would have been
better and happier at home."

"You are a good girl, my little Ada," replied her mother.
" Though I think you are too hard upon Emily, aiid misjudge
her."

CHAPTER XXV.

MY LOVE FAILETH NO'l' ! OH ! EDWIN, EDWIN !

A week after the events narrated in the last chapter, Mrs.
Mordaunt and her daugliter Ethel sat in their pleasant morning-
room, the former busily employed in looking over the dearly
loved plagues of a good housekeeper, the mending and darning
of a large family, and the latter as pleasantly at least engaged
in reading over and over again, a letter received the night be-
fore from her absent lover — the second love letter of her life
— and, as may be supposed, a very delightful occupation of an
hour it was to her before commencing the duties of the day.

There was a new liglit shining in the soft eyes, and a brighter
bloom on her fair cheek, a soft smile on the rosy lips, as the
loving words, read so often, and yet so fresh, passed before her
sense.

There lay the words on the paper, all plain, distinct and last-
ing. Plain and distinct as though he whispered them in her ear.
She could almost imagine he spoke them to her, and that she
would hear the soft inflections of his voice upon every syllable.
It was very delicious, and as each rounded phrase, redolent of
their sweet romance, and delightfully nonsensical — for even a
lawyer, it is to be supposed, can write a love letter — swept be-
fore her eyes and kept time with every pulsation of her heart,
she realized almost as keen a pleasure as if indeed in pro-
per person he spoke the words. For they did not, as spoken
words would do, die away with the sound and end there. There

L^^L£E%<faLl>;..

■/-?^???',-ttvW"'--:

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT ! OH ! EDWIN ! 267

ive been

: mother,
misjudge

apter, Mrs-
It morning-

the dearly
and darning
ast engaged
he night be-
of her life

pation of an
\hc day.

,d a brighter
lips, as the

T before her

[net and last-
mi in her ear.
land that she
Ivery syllable.
:, redolent of
-for even a
.r— swept be-
of her heart,
ideed in pro-
fiOt, as spoken
there. There

they were before lier, to be mused over, delighted over, pressed
to her lips and held to her heart exultingly, again and again.
Dreamt over again and again in bright day dreams. Soft smil-
ing landscapes, wherein lay pictured the bright unending vistas
of love and happiness.

" Well ! That' must be a very delightful epistle, Ethel," said
Mrs. Mordaunt, after a pause from her work, during which she
had gazed with a smile at her preoccupied daughter. " You have
spent an hour over it. You find your first letters from him very
sweet, I dare say. Your pre// x c/icTa/ierh3.s done his devoir in
knightly style. Two letters a week. It will not do ; you spend
the week in reading them."

Ethel, at her mother's first words, started, and a blush spread
over her face. With a forced little laugh she answered, " Oh !
mamma, that's too bad. I was only thinking a little."

" Yes I I dare say ! Dreaming hai)py dreams, Ethel," replied
her mother. " I hope your life will be as wholly bright as your
fimcy now pictures it, my darling daughter. Does he give any
news of interest to any one but yourself? Anything but sweet
phrases meant only for your own ear ?"

"Don't tease me, mamma ! He does not say much of him-
self, except that he is very bu?;-. He sends love to all, and asks
after every one, down to his friend Barney, who greatly amused
his journey to Cascades. He asks particularly after Ally, who
was so unwell after he left."

" Very kind of him. I feel anxious about x\lly. I think I
will send for Dr. Streatham again at once. She is getting very
thin, and I do not like the whooping cough stopping so suddenly,"
said Mrs Mordaunt, her motherly thoughts taking a new direc-
tion.

" Oh ! I do not know ! I think Ally is better. She is getting
very thin, certainly, and her cough is not altogether gone, though
there is no whoop left. She is a little weakened, and should be
strengthened up."

».

It;

: "»W^vii7 3

268

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

" She is not \?ell, at all, my little beautv'. She has no appe-
tite, and eats nothing. She is not like her usual little bright
self. I am getting very uneasy about her. She seems to have
a low fever, too, though there are hardly any ferverish sympton -S,''
replied Mrs. Mordaunt.

" She does not seem to me to be any worse) except that she
is weaker, than usual, which probably accounts for her listless-
ness. And then, is it not a good thing that the horrid whooping
cough is gone ? What did the Doctor say when he was last
here ? I hope our Alh' is not really ill."

" The last time the Doctor was here he said there was no
danger, but that we were to watch her well, and notice her throat
and lungs. All is right there, so far, but I do not like her list-
lessness and the sudden abatement of the cough. I'll go to her
now to see how she is, and I will send Barney off at once for
Dr. Streatham. She was asleep when I came down ; she is too
sleepy, more so than is natural," said Mrs. Mordaunt, as she rose
and gathering up her work, left the room.

* " Five minutes more with my dear letter, and then I must dis-
enchant myself for the work-a-doy world," exclaimed Ethel, throw-
ing herself back in her chair, and proceeding to lose herself
again in the bright reveries that charmed youth can alone weave
out of the unsubstontialitics and unrealities, which man, dis-
severing from the hard unpleasing facts of his existence, exalts
before him, and v/ith eager, though vain attempt, essays to erect
thereon the delightful structures of his happiness, but upon which
foundation, imstable as the shifting sand3, the painted house of
cards, comes all too soon and too oft, to hopeless wreck, at the
feet of the sanguine but hapless builder on the sand. Another
bright vision disappears before the disappointed eyes, and for
him again the world is all desolate, cold and bear.

But happy youth, all doubtless, of hope unl)lastcd, and
whose flowering blooms the withering frosts of disaj^pointment
have not cut down, builds fast its frail but brilliant edifices of

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT ! OH ! EDWIN ! 269

■ight
lave
in.iS,'

t she
tless-

oping
s last

as no
throat
er Ust-
. to her
nee for
s is too
phe rose

\ust dis-
l throw-
herself
- weave
m, dis-
;, exalts
Ito erect
|n which
use of
it the
|,\nother
md for

:d, and
|)intment
lifices of

imaginary bliss, and for Ethei, all happily engaged in such, the
minutes liew past with unsounding wings. At length the graving
of wheels on the gravelled roadway attracted her attention, and,
looking from the open window, she perceived the approach of
a rarriage towards the house, having for its tenant, so far as she
'"ould discern, a young lady.

" Who can it be at this time of the morning .?" she asked of
herself. " A lady driving herself and alone ! She cannot have
come from any distance to be here at ten o'clock in the morn-
ing. Who is it, I wonder ? Why, it is Emily Dearborn, I do
believe ! It is not likely that she would honor us by a mere
call and alone. It is something other than that improbable c\ ent
that brings her to Lake Mordaunt," she continued, with no par-
ticular pleasure on her countenance, for Emiiy had not made
herself a favorite. " Well ! I suppose I mu^ ' go and receive
her,^as mamma is up stairs busy, and I must, though somewhat
against my inclinations, be polite to her, for dear litde Ada's
sake," and as the carriage drew up before the door, she left the
room to meet her visitor on the verandah.

" Good morning ! Miss Dearborn," she said. •' Come in ! A
man \vill be round directly to take your horse. She will stand a
moment, I suppose."

" Thank you ! Miss Mordaunt, it is not necessary," was Emily's
reply. " I am going to remain but a few minutes, and will se-
cure the horse in a moment," she continued, throwing a weight,
which she produ(ied from the carriage, to the ground and attach-
ing it by its strap to the animal's head. " You see I am a Cana-
dian girl. Miss Mordaunt, andean manage my horse without other
assitance than my own."

" Yes ! I perceive so. ^Vere it otherwise we would be de-
prived of a chief pleasure of the country, driving about when
we wish to do so. Pray walk in this way," continued Ethel,
shewing Emily into the room in which she had been sitting

270

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

where she had built up her bright tinted castles of the cerial
future.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dearborn are well, I hope? and my friend
Ada. I have not seen her since she left us a week ago."

" Yes ! they are all well, thank you. Ada has been much
occupied ; she has to make up for lost time now, I suppose. I
was sorry to hear from her that little Alida had been very un-
well, and we all trust that by this time she has recovered," replied
Emily.

" "W'ell ! I cannot say that she is either better or worse. The
whooping cough lias apparently abated, but still she is not well,
and is very thin and weak, but I do not think there is any
danger."

" I have never heard that it is a dangerous disease, but Alida
is of a nervous organization, excitable and rather precocious _;
such children are easily prostrated," answered Emily, unable to
resist the temptation of administering a little of the comfort
which Job received so plentifully.

" Mamma feels uneasy about her, which must be her apology
for her absence this morning. Did you wish to see her?"

" No ! thank you, Ethel. It is yourself whom I came to see.
Something which I have to tell you," was the reply, and then
finding that her subject was more difficult to open than she had
imagined, Emily paused to collect her thoughts and prepare her-
self for her object.

" Something to say to me ! Well ! It must be something of
more than ordinary importance, then, to have brought you from
Ten Lakes on jiurpose. What is it, Emily ?" answered Ethel,
laughing after her first surprise, that the mission was to herself,
had giveii way to curiosity.

But Emily did not reply on the instant. Perhaps it was that
some tv'lnge of remorse awakened within her spirit and pressed
hardly on her evil-seared conscience. Perhaps the perception
th?t that which she was about to do, might be of more direful

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT! OH! EDWIN! 271

[erial

friend

much
>se. I
sry un-
replied

J. The
iot well,
: is any

)Ut Ahda
jcocious ;
enable to
I comfort

r apology

Ir?"

tiie to see.
and then
.n she had
:epare her-

uicthing of
t you from
[red Ethel,
10 herself,

it was that

.id pressed

perception

liore direful

consequence to the fiiicr, purer and softernature before her than
it would have been to her own case-hardened and earthy mind
— the mere destruction of a girl's ambitious hopes, a blow to
her vanity, whose pain a few days would smooth over or efface.
Or, perhaps, the risk of discovery, with its disagreeable prospects
of inconvenience, if not of danger to herself, might have been
the more selfish urging which prompted her delay. Did not the
very baseness of the act she was about to commit : the base act
which was to effect a baser purpose, appal her self-respect and
tighten the restraining chain of Pride — that quality, unworthy in
the main, but which is so often beneficial that it will hold back
from sin and crime those to whom, in but too many instances,
neither the Divine commands nor the ordinances of man v/ould
bring prevention.

Did not the remembrance of these Divine commands come
upon her soul even at this eleventh hour ? The fear of her God ?
All merciful, if she but repented her of her sin, at even this late
moment ; but whose justice she was about to provoke, and whose
mercy she was about to despise. It may have been so ! But
if these thoughts — even the dread thought of her Creator's
anger — flashed over her soul, her purpose was not altered.

Rejected as sentimentalities — which in the conduct of life were
to her absurd — were alike the soft gleams of mercy, the call of
self-respect and the promptings of her pride. The idea of dan-
ger held no terror to her bold si)irit, nor had either the prospect
of inevitable disgrace which would follow discovery of her plot,
and mayhap the deadened conscience was irresponsive and
answered not, to even the ligltening-stroke — the dread force of
the last terrible reflection — her Maker's wrath.

Emily Dearborn, clever, bold and self-confident ; ill brought
up, untrained to the right, and left, as she had been, wholly to
the unchecked workings of her own heart, was not the spirit
who, for a few moments timourons reflection, would turn aside
from her decided and matured way.

272

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

" What's the matter with you, Emily ? Why do you not speak ?"
at length exclaimed Ethel, who with gradually increasing sur-
prise had waited for Emily's reply, and at last broke the pause.
" What is it that you can have to say to me that yo u hesitate so,'
she continued, impatiently.

Thus adjured, Emily Dearborn straightened herself in her
seat, erected her head with a decisive motion, and turned her
face full towards her companion.

" My dear Miss Mordaunt, I am come to you, to day, on an
errand — a mission, I should rather call it — which is neither
pleasant to myself, nor, do I suppose, will it be pleasing to
you. A mission, which has been to me, the theme of anxious
debate, of doubt and hesitancy for some days, and of wiiich
I would much rather have been excused. And, I would most cer-
tainly have excused myself of a painful, and, to me, cruel
duty, had I not, after anxious deliberation, come to the con-
clusion that it would have been a greater cruelty and injustice
to you to have refrained from its performance ; for, from your
concern in the matter, it is but justice to you, and better for
you, for your own sake, in every way, that you should at once
be made acquainted with that which is of vital interest to you.
And this premise must be my apology and excuse to you for
entering upon a subject not otherwise of concern to me, and
for an apparent interference."

'* Oh ! never mind apologies, Miss Dearborn, but come to the
point at once ; if, as you say, the communication you have to
make affects me in any way, though I connot see how such
can be the case, thus indirectly brought forward," replied Ethel,
gravely and composedly, yet, nevertheless, with an involuntary
glance at the shining ring on her finger, and a tight clutch of
the precious letter in her pocket, as if they had power to protect
and comfort ; to allay the alarm that already gnawed at her
heart.

Emily's eyes flashed fire, and an angry colour rose in her

■.■.!^i..;ii'-:;s.j.lili,;-'L

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT! OH! EDWIN! 273

sur-
luse.
;e so,'

\ her
i her

on an
leither

iing to
mxious

which

ost cer-

I, cruel

he con-

njustice

m your

tter for

ut once
to you.
you for

[ne, and

^e to the
1 have to
)\v such
1 Ethel,
.luntary
llutch of
, protect
at her

le ui

her

cheeks, as the remark, and the tone in which it was uttered, fell
upon her ears, and there was no hesitancy or semblance of
anything that could be construed into feeling or friendliness in
her voice, as she continued. Her soul had thoroughly warmed
to her work.

" Yes, Miss Mordaunt, I will come to the point at once, for
the communication I have to make does affect you, notwith-
standing the impossibility you would imply. I am well aware
that what I have to say will be found unpleasing, and for that
reason, any apology, or rather, any delicacy of entering upon
the matter, is made by me. However, it pleases you to repudi-
ate the kindness, even before "

" I would repeat. Miss Dearborn, my desire that you will
confine your remarks to the object of your visit, or else permit
me to close the interview, which, I certainly find unpleasant,"
interrupted Ethel, who, although alarmed and anxious, would
nut allow Emily's impertinences.

" Very well ! Miss Mordaunt, as you desire, the interview
shall be made as brief as possible. I find it no more pleasant
than you do," returned Emily, quickly, but, in spite ol her
words, her whole appearance and manner showed that the in-
terview was not so unpleasing to her as she implied.

She was in battle now, and the ring of her \-oice already be-
trayed an anticipated triumph, as she continued —

" Three days ago, I received from a lady in Toronto this
letter and its enclosures, which have brouglit me here to-day.
With thi'j lady I am acquainted — slightly acquainted, it is true
— but still sufficiently so to know who she is, and to justify me
in taking notice of her communication. I may also mention
that 1 met her in the company of Mrs. Edwin Vance's mother,
which is sufficient guarantee of her respectability. My ac-
quaintance with her, is the probable reason why I have been
selected by her in this affair, and why the letter has been ad-
dressed to me, though for many reasons, I wish that it had not

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

been so. The letter speaks for itself, and requires no comment
on my part. It is here for you to read, if you choose to do
so, and is indeed meant for your perusal."

As she spoke, Emily Dearborn took from her pocket an
envelope, from which she produced a letter, within which
another i)aper lay. Handing the first to Ethel, but retaining in
her hand the other together with the envelope, she continued —

" Please to read this first, and its enclosures will then be at
your service."

Ethel, who, at the mention of her lover's name, had :;rown
deadly pale, her vague fears confirmed that the unwelcome
visit had reference to him, and who was now visibly startled,
took the letter handed her, and proceeded to read it, but not
before her eyes had again lighted on the ring, which, so few
days before, her Edwin had fitted on her finger, and not before
her lips had moved with a silent repetition of its legend " My
love faileth not I" as if she would assure her beating heart that
she could not mistrust. She read these words, written in a
cramped and old-fashioned hand :

"Toronto, Sept. 13th, 1875.

"My De:ar Miss Dearborn,

" For aadressing you, to-day, upon the subject which oc-
cupies the pages of this letter, I am well aware that I am
presuming very heavily upon the acquaintance which I had the
pleasure of forming with you, at the residence of our mutual
friend, Mrs. Vance, during your visit to this city a year ago.
Were it not a matter of i)aramount importance to one very dear
to me, and, consequently, to myself, I would not so presume
upon that slight acquaintance, but, as the affair in question is
most pressing, involving, as it does, the interests of a person
of your vicmity, and, as I have no other friend in that vicinity,
excepting yourself, in whom I could confide, I am under the
necessity of taxing your good nature, and asking you, in
Christian kindness, to lend me your fiiendly aid. A report — a
well-authenticated report — I regret to say, has reached me that
Mr. Edwin Vance, who, since the death of his father, two years

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT ! OH ! EDWIN ! 275

mment
; to do

cket an
1 which
aining in
tinned—
-n be at

ad thrown
[Welcome
y startled,
it, bnt not
ch, so few

not before
:gend"My
r heart that

ritten in a

1875-

which 00-
that I am
h I had the
our mutual
a year ago.
le very dear

so presume
I (question is
\oi a person
Ihat vicinity.
In under the
ling yon, in
1 V report — a

hed me that
|r, two years

ago, has been the affianced liusband of my niece, Agnes Sea-
forth, and who, by every right, human and divine, should, ere
this, have made her his wife, with the blessing of the Church,
and openly, as he has done, taking advantage of her love for
him, in real fact, has become engaged, during the last two
months, to marry a young lady of good i^osition in your neigh-
borhood — a Miss Mordaunt.

" If this report has the foundation of truth, and the source
from which it is derived, leaves me no reason to doubt its ac-
curacy, not only has a very gross act of cruelty been per-
petrated against my poor Agnes, but a great injustice is done
to this Miss Mordaunt, who, of course, must be in ignorance
of the real facts of the case, or she would have not accepted
the love of a man capable of the baseness of deserting the
sweet young girl, who so fondly had placed h.-r trust in him.

" As 1 am informed, that the marriage with Miss Mordaunt
is being hurried on, and takes place almost immediately, it be-
comes, for that young lady's sake, a pressing necessity that she
be, at once, made aware of the position in which she stands, of
the dangers of the almost inevitable wreck of her life's happi-
ness if she becomes the wife of a man, who, in the bitterness
of my heart, 1 am forced to proclaim a villain. A villain I And
yet the circumstances are such, iliat I un compelled to hope,
to wish, and to strive for his marriage with my poor niece.
Yes ! though the marriage be for her a living death, the sacri-
fice of her life's comfort and happiness, 1 am compelled to
strive for it, in ordei to save my child.

" I, therefore; write to you, trusting to your kindness, that
you will, at once make these things known to Miss Mordaunt,
wi.u whom, in all probability, you are acquamted. To-night, I
have addressed her directly, but, unfortunately, I am not ac-
quainted with her, and she might, very naturally, demur to, and
reject the unguaranteed statements of one to whom she is wholly
unknown.

" I have not yet been able to summon up sufficient courage
to inform poor Agnes of this last crowning proof of her lover's
perfidy. That she has had reason of late to doubt his good
faith to her, I am tolerably certain, for she has been visibly de-
pressed in spirit for four or five weeks past, and the en^jlosed
letter from Mr. Vance to her, of which I have been enabled to

obtain possessio.\ would ajDpear to have

given

her ample

'■■'-'A'JJUj

276

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

reason. And it is a!so a strong guarantee of the truth of the
statements I have advanced. For that reason I send it you.
If further proof is required, it is easily attainable, for the fact
of their intimacy and their engagement is not unknown in this
city. I would also mention the fact that, for some time past,
my unhappy neice has been in the habit of receiving from Mr.
Vance the annual sum of six hundred dollars. I had been
aware that, since her mother's death, some two years ago, my
niece was in the reception of such an income, but it had been
represented to me as derived from an interest in certain property
which had belonged to her father, and it has, but very lately,
come to my knowledge, on the authority of Mr. Vance's agents,
the Messrs. Hatchitfess, of this city, that such is not the case,
but that it was paid by Mr. Vance to Agnes, ostensibly for her
proper maintenance, until her marriage to him should take place.

" i have to admit, with pain and humiliation that my
niece has been most indiscreet, and much to blame in this
matter, but it has to be said for her that she has Icved him
fondly and trusted in him, and she is my dead sister's child.

" Were it only the desertion of a recreant lover, the wound
of which loss time would soon heal, we would have endured in
silence : I should not, old and infirm as I am, have interfered,
and Miss Mordaunt would have been welcome to her lover;
his gain not to be envied, or our loss worth the counting ; but
there is more than this involved. I must use all exertion to
bring him back to her, whom he ought to marry.

" Trusting that I am not asking too much in thus implor-
ing your kind offices, and that you will, at once, lay this before
Miss Mor daunt, with your representation that I am the person
I represent myself to be, and that you will forgive one, who is
not so well able to help herself in the hard affairs of the world
as she once was, for thus troubling you,
" I remain, dear Miss Dearborn,

" Sorrowfully, but faithfully yours,

" Patience Springle."

Poor Ethel ! Her bright world cut away from under her feet.
She read the. precious tissue of falshood, the fiendish concoction
of Emily Dearborn's brain, with blanching cheeks, wildly beat-
ing heart and pale drawn lips. What horrible calamity was this
to fall upon her youth ? What intense burthen of misery ?

.^>.vj.. •-•■ ./--..wrft^Vj^TT-.e* j?iw <.i .

ith of the
id it you.
r the fact
wn in this
time past,
y from Mr.
had been
irs ago, my
t had been
in property
very lately,
^ce's agents,
lot the case,
5ibly for her
i take place.
3n that my
ame in this
Ls Icved him
er's child,
r, the womid
'6 endured in
ve interfered,
to her lover;
[ounting; but
|l exertion to

thus implor-
ly this before
Im the person
}e one, who is

of the world

]:e Spring le.
imder her feet.
,sh concoction
s, wildly beat-
lamity was this
n of misery?

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT ! OH ! EDWIN ! 277

Quenching the happy sunlight from the set eyes that were still
fixed in direful fascination upon the dreadful words, whose import
squeezed her heart with vice-like deadening grip. Stunned and
bewildered she sat for a moment gazing at the paper, unable as
yet to wholly comprehend and realize the extent of her great
evil. Her mind groped about blindly in the dark unlooked for
shadow. Tumultuous images of despair and misery, unconnect-
ed and disjointed, surged through her brain, but she could not
think. At last the drawn lips quivered, and the soft tears forced
themselves into her eyes. And then started up like a fresh giant
to her aid. Pride — Pride, the invigorator, for her enemy sat be-
fore her, and she should never see the quailing of her heart.
The forcing tears vanished, the quivering mouth composed itself
into calm gravity, the colour rushed back into the white cheeks,
and Ethel Mordaunt, herself again, sat up erect with steady
gaze, and laid the letter cjuietly down on the table before her.

Her thoughts were pertinent enough now. Was not this girl
her enemy ? Always her enemy, her bitter enemy ; and, was
she not capable of any depth of scheming baseness for the ac-
complishment of her own ends. She could not believe her lover
could be so false. She knew that he could not be the villain that
dreadful letter would fain portray him. She was as certain of
his love as of her own existence, though, if these things were
true, she would have to cast it aw^y from her as unworthy, and
not of right hers, but due to anoth -. She glanced down at her
ring again, as if to derive comfort from its very presence ; the
encirclement of her finger of its faithful legend. She felt the
words pressing into her very flesh, and her very brain throbbed
with —

" ' My love faileth not.' Oh ! Edwin, Edwin !"

And then she spoke —

" This letter might be all very well. Miss Dearborn, did it
carry some stronger i)roofs with it. It will require something
more than its mere assertions, and these, coming, too, from a

: n;J,'^>!^«;ife»aR'^

278

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

m I

mere stranger, to convince me of Mr. Vance's disloyalty. How
am I to know that tliis letter is not a forgery, an invention of
your own, for instance. I am too well aware of your senti-
ments towards me to imagine that your mission, to-day, is not
a labor of love on your part, a i>leasing duty, tmd I am not in-
clined, without much stronger confirmation than 1 think you
are able to produce, to accept the luttc; as a veracity."

" Indeed I Miss Mordaunt. How sorry i am .!\at I have not
your good opinion," replied Emily, with s.neering politeness.
" My pleasing duty, my labor of love, as you term it, merely
requires me to lay before you these two letters. With the con-
firmation of their truth or falsity, wlicther or not they are genuine
even, I have nothing to do. Vuu can form your own opinion.
Pray read this letter, the enclosure of Miss Springle's. It may
enlighten you somewhat. Vou will, perhaps, notice that it is
dated from this house, a week or so after your engagement.
The reflection v/ill be pleasing to you. The handwritmg you
will hardly fail to recognize."

As Emily concluded her amiable remarks, she handed to
Ethel the letter which Edwin \'ance had addressed to Miss Sea-
forth, in response to hers, and which Sidney Wolvcrton had pur-
loined at the hotel in Ten F.akes. the eventful evening of the

en eke t match.

Ethel took the letters, and diough her pride and indignation

upheld her spirits, her heart nearly ceased to beat, when she

recognized the handwriting of her Edwin. Hastily she perused

it j hope dying within her at every \vord. Though short, it was

momentous, when taken in connection with the first letter

which had been written to suit its rather ambiguous terms, with

Emily's patient but remorseless ingenuity.

" Lake Mordaunt, July 26th, 1873.

" My DearI'.st .Vones, — Your letter was received by me,

this morning, and I reph' at once, though in haste. I regret

extremely the conversation you have had with these law people.

I wish that it had not taken place, as it makes things unplea-

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT! OH! EDWINM 279

How
ntion of
XT senti-
y, is not
n not in-
link you

have not
oliteness.
t, merely
[\ the con-
re genuine
n opinion.
3. It may
: that it is
\gagement.
/ritmg you

handed to
Miss Sea-
Ion had pur-
ning of the

indignation
„ when she
ishe perused
thort, it was
first letter
terms, with

|6th, 1873.
^ived by me,
te. I regret
law people.
fings unplea-

sant for both of us, which l:)efore were smooth enoiu;!i. As
you wish a categorical reply to your (luestion, I can only con-
firm tliat which xMr. Hatchitfess told you. You have no /e^^a/
claim upon me, ])ut )')ii Ivdvc a very strong moral claim. A
claim which I recognize to he as binding upon me as though
the law compelled it, and wliich I will fultil, as for the two past
years I have fulfilled it.

" The concealment vrhich has been j^ractised waD to spare
you from disa])pointment and mortification. That you have
reason to feel both disappointed and mortified, I mti.-l admit,
nor do I hold myself free from blame. I wish that things were
not as they are, but they cannot now be altered, to my regret.
This is hardly a fitting time to announce my engagement and
approaching marriage, to you, bill later 0:1, you will be able to
congratulate me.

" I have, to-day, instructed trie Messrs. Hatchitfess to im
mediately effect tlie i)urchase of an annuity on your life, for
six hundred dollars per annum. 'I'his Vv-i11 be your own, and is
but the certain carrying out of my solemn agreemer.t of two
years' ago. I will see you, my dearest Agnes, immediately on
my return to Toronto, and I trust then to remove any painful
impressions that may linger In }'our nund, r.nd will explain
everythinij fullv to vou. 'i'hese thinc^s are better done l)y word

J CD ^ O y

of n:;outh, than l.)y the cold formalities of a letter. Please re-
member me iindiy to your au?-;t.

'' L am, my dearest Agnes, . _

"Yours wis ever,

" Edwin Vance.

" P.3. — Any objection on your part to the life-annuity, Szc,
&c., will be useless, as by the time you I'eceive this,, the affair
will be completed, and 1 will not vary from my solemn promise.
— E. V.

" x^iiss Agnes Seaforth."

innocent of intention as Edv/in Vance had been in writing
this letter, he could' not have put a more powerful v/eapon
against himself into the unscrup:ilous hands to whom it had
falie.'i. What bitter fruits for his gathering had not already
sprung up from tha* fatal evening's weakness, and the bitterest
of them all was fast ripening to his unconscious hand. Had he

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SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

been himself when he wrote it, his judgment clear and uncloud-
ed, its wording had not been so incautious, so carelessly ambigu-
ous, and capable of misconstruction.

Yet how was he to suspect that his letter, a mere business
reply, would fall into evil hands. Even had it come before Miss
Seaforth's eyes, it was hardly a proper letter for him to have
written. Too warm in some of its terms, for his heart warmed
towards the high-spirited girl, for whose care his father's dying
commands had been uttered to him, in others, its rendering had
not been sufficiently smooth and careful. But such as it was, it
had been written, and, as the sowing of dragon's teeth it was to
be for him.

Poor Ethel ! all hope was dead within her as she read this
letter. Its meaning, all doubtful and ambiguous as it appeared,
was but too apparent to her. How could he have been so bad, and
so cruel? Within the very week of their engagement, and from
her father's house, her lover had written to this girl. That
very mornihg — she remembered, with a bitter pang — they had
had that long interview in the conservatory, the very words of
which were still vivid on her mind, that had held so well his every
lovmg tone, and had he not gone straight from her to pen those
wicked words, wickedly loving, wickedly familiar, and wickedly
cruel, to this Agnes Seaforth. It was quite enongh. Her
misery had come upon her, and she must bear it as best she
might.

The first thing to do now, was to get rid of her enemy, who
sat before her, watching, with gloating eyes, for the expression
of her pain and agony. But she should not see it. She laid
the letter down upon the other, folded them carefully, and put
them into her pocket

" You will be so good as to return me those letters. Miss
Mordaunt," exclaimed Emily, on seeing the action ; for her
triumph not having been as great as she had anticipated, and
Ethel apparently taking the matter a great deal too coolly, she

iii

incloud-
ambigu-

business
ore Miss
to have
warmed
's dying
ring had
it was, it
[ was to

ead this
ppeared,
bad, and
nd from
. That
they had
words of
his every
en those
wickedly
Her
3est she

ny, who

pression

She laid

and put

:rs, Miss
for her
ted, and
oily, she

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT ! OH! EDWIN! 281

had become alarmed and wished to have her forgery safely back
into her own possession.

" Most decidedly not ! Miss Dearborn. I have "

But at this moment the door opened, and her uncle hastily
entered, exclaiming —

" Oh ! you are here then, Ethel 1" He advanced into the
room, and perceiving Emily, bowed coolly, and said, " How do
you do, madam !" Then, turning to his niece, " I must bid you
a hasty ' good-bye,' Ethel," he continued. " I have this moment
received a telegram calling me to New York on business of great
importance to my interests, and I cannot delay a minute. Why !
what is the matter with you, Ethel ? You look as miserable as
if your lover had jilted you. What iz the trouble now ?" he ex-
claimed, with astonishment, as poor Ethel, with drawn face and
piteous eyes, rose from her seat at his speech. But she answer-
ed him —

" There is nothing much the matter, uncle. Miss Dearborn
has come to persuade me if she can, that he is false, and finds
it a pleasant duty."

" Tolerably successful too, I imagine," sarcastically added that
young lady, as Ethel spoke.

" Well then ! Ethel, you are a fool if you listen to her. It is
not Vance but she who is false, believe me ! Do not hear a
word I I will answer for Vance. But I cannot remain. I want
to catch the mid-day train at Cascades ; but write me all about
it, Ethel. Don't listen to her, and don't do anything rash. Write
to me. And now, good-bye, my darling. Believe me all will
come right."

Ethel looked up with a mournful smile at his confident words.
He kissed her more warmly than was usual with him, and turn-
ed away. As he left the room, he bowed with sarcastic pro-
fundity to Miss Dearborn. " Yours truly, madam," he said, and
was gone.
Miss Mordaunt turned and confronted her visitor with proud

r ',i li'ihi I ■■■■iiiiriiiii BniM

"mm^

SHE MIGHT HAVE DOXE BETTER.

scorn in her brilliant eyes and a cold smile on the beautiful face.
However crushing the weight of misery resting upon her, this
girl — her bitter foe — should not be delighted at the exhibit
should fail of her anticipated triumph, and though her heart was
weak and sinking, Emily Dearborn should not perceive its
weakness nor gloat over the sorrow she had hoped to witness.

' Is your case stated, or have you further dubious epistles for
my edification ?" she asked, looking at the other from a con-
temptuously averted profile.

" No more. Miss Mordaunt 1 I should have imagined you
had had enough. But I must insist upon the return of the two
you have appropriated,*' replied Emily, rising from her seat
angrily, and looking disdainfully at ,the other, though her most
prominent feeling was the desire to regain possession of her
letters.

" You can insist, if you please to do so, yet I shall most cer-
tainly retain them, Miss Dearborn," And then, though her heart
did not bear the same confidence as her voice, she continued :
" These letters are genuine, or they are not. If not, it will be
very interesting to trace them to their f:)untain head. I am not
surprised at your wish to have their possession, but I shall not
gratify it.''

" The letters are mine, and I will ha\-e them l)ack, Ethel /.Tor-
daunt, unless, indeed, you mean co steal ihem," exclaimed Emily,
her voice raised in passion. . . ,

" Our interview is, I presume, terminated. You have had
my answer," said Ethel, as she struck a silver bell. She tlien
resumed her seit and awaited the appearance of tl;e atten-
dant.

" Oh 1 you need not have rung. I am quite able to fmd my
way out of the house. I wish you * good nio/ning,' Miss Mor-
daunt, and I trust you find the prospect of your happiness in
the faithful love of ]\Ir. Edwin Vance — or rather in the sliare of

MY LOVE FAILETH NOT! OH! EDWIN! 283

utiful face,
n her, this
e exhibit
: heart was
lerceive its
) witness,
epistles for
:om a con-

agined you
. of the two
in her seat
jh her most
sion of her

}\ most cer-

if,fh her heart

continued :

will be

1 am not

1 shall not

Ethel T.lor-
imed Emily,

,. have had
She then
the atten-

10 ilnd my
Miss Mor-
luppiness in
Ithe share of

it he can spare from Agnes Seaforth — very reassuring," and
Emily, with head erect, marched past her out of the room.

Ethel followed her to the hall door and said : " If you will
wait a moment, Miss Dearborn, the man will attend to your
horse for you."

*' I can attend to him myself, thank you !" was the ungracious
reply, and in a moment Emily was in her carriage and had driven
off.

She departed from Lake Mordaunt with a great deal less of
pleasant triumph in her heart than she liad expected, and with
a great deal of mortification, anxiety and alarm for herself which
she had certainly uof anticipat'^d.

When once a vicious end is acccomplishcd, then commences
Its retribution.

The ardent desire of its attainment, the unholy devisal of
means to that end, overshadow consideration of consequences,
but, the act once committed and irretrievable, the false excite-
ment over, the expected pleasure a Dead Sea i.pple of dust and
ashes, then stalk in Fear and Anxiety. Then grim foreboding
and the degrading sense of guilt harrow the trembling soul. The
unnerved mind, frightened at every shadow ; its waking hours
one long terror; its sleep a vision of dread, is led along the
gloomy road of black Remors j, until in agony comes the cry :
'' Oh ! that I had not done this thing ! Oh ! that I could call back
my yesterdays !"

Ethel Mordaunt stood at the open door looking out on the
bright landscape, in its Hooding sunshine, where the birds sang,
and all was filled with peaceful life and happiness. She won-
dered, with a dull wonder, sprung from that refinement of
human]egotism winch would bind and connect the whole universe
to the pleasures or the pains of this individual I — how the sun
could shine, the flowers bk)om, the birds give forth their song,
or the world move on unchanged, in its daily round, when for
her had come such wreck. The stm shone, but its beams

284

SHE MIGHT HAVE DONE BETTER.

lightened not hev shadows. The birds sang, but their songs
were painful mockings to her ears. The flowers bloomed as be-
fore, but where was their fragrance and beauty for her ? The
world moved on in its bright paths, but she was struck down
from its brightness to follow on its dreary wake.

She turned away and went back to the sitting-room, where she
had that morning dreamed her sweet dreams, where their dissi-
pation she had witnessed, and the ending of her happy love had
come to her.

Tearless, pale and benumbed, she threw herself into her chair
and tried to think.

But she could not think. A dead weight pressed upon her
brain, and her temples throbbed to bursting.

Her eyes, burningly bright, fixed themselves, through Lie
window, on vacancy. She sat down and tried to collect her
thoughts, to bring herself to the knowledge of that which had
befallen her, to realize the full extent of her misery. Presently,
she took from her pocket the fatal letters. There might be some
loop-hole of escape, some overlooked expression from which to
deduce hope — some unthought of explanation. She opened out
that which bore the handwriting of her lover, and glanced,
shudderingly, over the fatal lines. But she could bear no more,
the strain upon her nerves had become too great. As its per-
verted meanings again flashed on her brain, she sprang to her
feet, and in the access of powerful excitement, the culmination
of agonized sorrow and outraged love, she would have torn the
paper into a thousand fragments and scattered them from her

but her nerveless fingers refused their oflice, and mechanically
she replaced the letter in the receptacle from which she had
taken it.

" Oh ! Edwin ! Edwin ! Cruel and false ! Why did you come
to me ? Why with your cruel love have you blasted my life ?"

An hour after Mrs. Mordaunt, entering the room, found kei
daughter lying senseless upon the floor.

END OF VOLUME I.

ill songs
led as be-
;r? The
ck down

vhere she
leir dissi-
' love had

her chair

upon her

ough Lie
Dilect her
'^hich had
Presently,
t be some

which to
pened out
[ glanced,
I no more,
is its per-
ng to her
ilmination
e torn the

from her

chanically

ri she had

you come
. mvlife?"
found liei