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32X

1 2 3

POPULAR NOVELS

MAY AGNES FLEMING

NORINE'S REVENGE.
A WIFE'S TRAGEDY.
A CHANGED HEART.
PRIDE AND PASSION.
SHARING HER CRIME.
A WRONGED WIFE.
MAUDE PERCY'S SECRET.
THE ACTRESS* DAUGHTER.
THE QUEEN OP THD ISLB.
THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN.
EDITH PERCIVAL.
WEDDED FOR PIQUE.
A FATEFUL ABDUCTION.
THE SISTERS OP TORWOOD.

Mrs. Plemjnjs's stories have always been extremely
popular. Their delineations of character, lifelikie
conversations, the flashes of wit, their constantly
varying scenes and deeply interesting plots combine
to place their author in an enviable position, which
is still maiutained despite the tremendous onrush of
modem novelists. No more brilliant or stirring
novels than hers have ever been published, and.
strange as it may seem, the seeker after romance
to-day reads these books as eagerly as did onr
mothers when they first appeared.

Boond in cloth, Price 50 cts. each, and sent ran
by mini on receipt of price, by

G. W. DILLINGHAM CO.,

Pubtishers
NEW YORK

EDITH PERCIVAL

SI anovti

MAY AGNES FLEMING,

AUTHOR OF

*GUY EARLSCOURT'S wife," " THE QUEEN OF THE ISLE,"

«*THE MIDNIGHT QUEEN," "A WONDERFUL WOMAN,"

"SILENT AND TRUE," "ONE NIGHT'S MYSTERY,"

"A TERRIBLE SECRET," " NORINE'S REVENGE," •

"THE ACTRESS DAUGHTER,"

ETC., ETC.

NEW YORK:

•WrmtHT, ttti, tr Oi W* DlkUNAHAlb

(SI 7K Dillingham Co,, Publisk$rSm

CONTENTS.

Chapter Page

I. The Two Friends 7

II. The Wreck 16

III. Saved 24

IV. The Burning Ship 29

V. The Home of Edith 43

VI. Father and Son 54

VII. The Hermit of the Cliffs 61

VIII. The Rivals 70

IX. Doomed 86

X. Major Percival in a " State of Mind.". 97

XI. The Abduction 113

XII. In Captivity 126

XIII. Elva Snowe 135

XIV. An Unlooked-for Interruption 142

XV. The Prisoners 151

XVI. Joe Smith 163

XVII. Joe visits his Prisoners 176

XVIII. Plotting 182

XIX. The Escape 192

XX. The Journey Home 200

XXI. The Hermit's Prediction 208

XXII. The Stake 222

XXIII. A Narrow Escape 237

ooimum.

Chapter Pkge

XXIV. The Last Resolve 245

XXV. The Old House on the Bluflf 252

XXVI. Caught in the Snare . 257

XXVII. The Catastrophe 262

XXVIII. Next Morning 268

XXIX. The Arrest 281

XXX. The Trial 287

XXXI. Edith's Story 301

XXXII. " The Wages of Sin is Death 310

XXXIII. A Startling DiscoTery 316

XXXIV. And Last 325

ii!

Edith Percival

CHAPTER I.

THE TWO FRIENDS,

** And its hame, hame, harne*

I fain wad be —
Hame, hame, hame.

In my ain countrie."

—Allan Cunningham.

Morning on the ocean ! Grandly rose the sun in
the red east, sailing slowly and majestically toward
the meridian — a burning jewel of fire set in the deep-
blue sky. Light, fleecy clouds dotted the azure
firmament here and there, looking as pure and as
stainless as snowflakes or the white wings of angels.
The balmy south breeze scarcely rippled the surface
of the deep, or filled the canvas of the good ship
Mermaidy as she glided gracefully onward, bound
for the bright shores of America.

The day was intensely hot. The crew lay in
groups, idly, about the deck. The captain — a stately-
looking man of forty or thereabouts — paced up and
down the quarter-deck — now letting his eyes wander
over his men, or giving them some order ; now

[7]

THE TWO FRIENDS.

looking aloft with a sailor's pride in his handsome
craft ; and now raising his glass to sweep the hori-
zon, on which no living thing was to be seen save
themselves.

Leaning over the taffrail, stood two young men.
The eldest appeared to be about twenty-five years of
age — tall and finely proportioned, with an eye like
an eagle, and hair that

— *• To shame might bring
The plumage of the raven's wing."

He stood leaning over the side, his eyes fixed
thoughtfully on the spray flashing in the sunlight,
as the ship cut her way through the rippling waves.
His hat was off, and the cool breeze lifted lightly the
jetty locks off his high, white brow.

His companion was a youth some three or four
years his junior, with a frank, handsome face, and
laughing hazel eyes. His look of careless ease was
very different from the proud reserve of his compan-
ion, but some secret bond of sympathy bound those
two together.

" Well, Fred," said the younger of the two, contin-
uing their conversation, ** since, as you say, you
neither have a lady-love in America nor expect a
legacy there, I confess it puzzles me to know what
inducement could have been strong enough to make
you quit Paris."

" Very easily told, my dear fellow : I have started
for America at the express command of my worthy
father."

*• Whew ! what a dutiful son you are, Fred. And,
pray, what has brought Sir William to that rebel-
lious land '"

THE TWO FJtlENDS.

"To assist in subduing the rebellious irankees, of
course I" replied the young man, with a slight sneer
on his well-cut lip.

" And he wishes his son and heir to aid him in
that laudable design, instead of spending his time
making love in Paris ?"

" Yes ; he has obtained for me the post of lieuten-
ant in the British army, he says."

" Which you will, of course, accept ?** said the
younger of the two, with a peculiar smile, as he lit a
cigar, and blew a whiff of smoke from the corner of
his mouth.

" Which I most decidedly will notT replied Fred,
coolly.

'• And why, may I ask T*

" Why ? What a question for you to ask, Gus !
Am I not an American by birth — an American in
heart and soul — a thousand times prouder of the
glorious land in which I was born than of my father's
broad acres in merrie England ? Why ? I tell you,
Gus Elliott, I will join the ranks of my countrymen,
and fight and conquer or die with them in defence
of their cause !"

He stood erect, while his eagle eye flashed, and
his dark cheek glowed with the enthusiasm with
which he spoke.

Gus stood regarding him with something like
admiration struggling through his usual look of care-
less indifference.

" Well," he said, after a pause, " I call that pretty
strong language for the son of such a staunch royal-
ist as Sir William Stanley. What do you suppose
your honored father will say when he sees his son
turn rebel ?"

"Doubtless," said Fred, quietly, "he will be in a

THE TWO FBI£ND8.

towering passion, and rather amazed that any one
should presume to disobey his commands. I have
long known it must, sooner or later, come to this.
When this war first commenced, how often has my
blood boiled with impotent rage, listening to the
insults and sneers of him and his tory friends on the
• rebel Yankees,' as they contemptuously called them .'
How I did long, then, to leave England and fly to
iHy native land, to aid her sons in their brave strug-
gles for independence ! I would have done so, but
I shrank from the storm of passion which I knew
must follow it. When my father left England to join
his Britannic Majesty's army in America, I left for
Paris, lest he should desire me to follow him,
and thus hasten a disclosure of our opposite senti-
ments. Three weeks ago, I received his command
to join him instantly. It seems some rumor of my
true sentiments had reached him ; and, indignant
that any one should presume to question the loyalty
of a son of his, he desires me to vindicate my alle-
giance to his gracious Majesty, and wipe off such a
stain on his name by immediately accepting the
post he has obtained for me in the army. Any fur-
ther concealment is, of course, out of the question :
and I thank Heaven it is so ; for it seems to me a
craven act in any one to remain an idle spectator
while his native land, in her struggles for freedom,
calls all her sons to her aid."

He leaned his head on his hand, and gazed thought-
fully on the bright waves below.

*' For myself," said Gus, who had been deeply
impressed by Fred's earnestness, " I always sympa-
thized with the Colonies ; but it was merely the
natural feeling which all must experience when they
see a band of brave men struggling for freedom.

THE TWO FRIENDS.

Like yourself, America is tlie land of my birth, but,
up to the present, I have been absent from it so long,
that I had almost ceased to regard if as such. Now,
however, my feelings are changed. Together, Fred,
we will fight the battles of our native land ; every
arm that will lift itself in her defence is needed
now."

"Your sentiments do you honor, my dear Gus ;
but, as you asked me before, what will your friends
say ?"

"Oh, I have no friends worth mentioning," replied
Gus, resuming his former indifferent tone. "I am
an orphan, you know, with a bank-stock sufficient for
all my wants, with no relations that I know of except
an uncle in America, whom I have not seen these ten
years. " And I tell you what," he added, with sud-
den animation, "he has two confoundedly pretty
daughters — especially the youngest. I used to be
desperately in love with Nell, as a boy."

" Indeed !" said Fred, smiling, " and who is this
uncle of yours ? — a tory, no doubt."

"You had better believe it !" said Gus, "Major
Percival hates the rebels as he hates Old Harry. Of
course, I'll be disowned when he hears what I've
done. Every one has his own peculiar hobby ; and
pride of birth is Major Percival's. If you were only
to hear him, Fred ! He dates his descent back to
the days of Noah, and a good deal further ; for
some of his ancestors, I believe,'were drowned in the
flood. His lady, too, Mrs. Percival, is the grand-
daughter of a lord ; so you see the major has some
foundation for his family pride. He's as rich as
Croesus, too."

"And Miss Nell. I suppose, is heiress to all his
wealth ?"

THE TWO FBTENDS.

^M4^r«

" Not she, faith ! Major Percival has a son ana
daughter besides ; Nell's the youngest„ You ought
to know Nugent Percival ; he s a glorious fellow, and
no mistake — about your age, too, I should think."

"I may see them all yet — who knows ?"said Fred.
" I wish this voyage were over. I long to see my
father and tell him all, and join the patriot army of
Washington."

" You told me you were born in America," said
Gus, after a pause. " I thought Lady Stanley was an
Englishwoman, and had never crossed the Atlantic
Ocean in her life."

" The Lady Stanley you knew was not my mother,"
said Fred, coldly.

" She was not! That's something 1 never heard
before," exclaimed Gus, in unbounded surprise

" It's none the less true on that account," replied
Fred, while a slight flush crimsoned his dark cheek.
" My mother was an American born ; she lived, died,
and was buried in that land."

*' Well, now, that's odd," said Gus, puffing medi-
tatively at his cigar. " Come, Fred, make a clean
breast of it ; I made an open confession to you : and
one good turn, you know, deserves another."

The young man smiled slightly, and then his face
grew serious — almost sad.

"Very few know my history," he said, with a half
sigh, *' but with you, my dear Gus, I know I may
speak freely. Many years ago, when my father was
a young man, business or pleasure — I know not which
— called him to America. Whilst there, he made the
acquaintance of a young girl far beneath him in
wealth and rank, but his equal in education, and his
isuperior in moral worth. Bewildered by her beauty,
«ie forgot their different degrees of rank, and the

THE TWO FRIE:'JD8.

young girl became his wife. His marriage waskep*-
a secret from his proud friends in England, and Sir
William knew that there was little fear of their ever
discovering it, for prudence had not been forgotten
by love, and he had wooed and won her under an
assumed name. My mother never dreamed her hus-
band was aught but one of her own station, and it
was my father's aim not to undeceive her."

" It was a confoundedly mean trick !" interrupted
Gus, indignantly.

"When I was about nine years old," continued
Fred, unmindful of the interruption, " my father
started for England, as he said, on business. As he
was frequently in the habit of doing so, my mother
was not surprised, but her husband had by this time
outgrown his love for her, and when, five mont^^s
after, he returned, it was as the husband of another."

Gus was again about to make a passing remark on
Sir Williams's conduct, but suddenly checking him-
self, he sank back in silence.

" He told her all," went on Fred, with stern brief-
ness ; "his iank, his title ; told her he was the hus-
band of another, and that she must no longer con-
sider herself his wife. He said he had come for me,
to take me with him to England ; that I was his son,
and should be educated as became a Stanley. My
poor mother shrieked and clung to me, but I was
forcibly torn from her arms. They said she fell to
the ground like one dead, and from that hour never
spoke again. One week after she was laid in her
grave !"

Fred paused, while the veins in his forehead grew
dark, and his voice choked with suppressed emotion.

" But she was avenged," he continued lifting his
head, while his eyes flashed; "she had a brother,

''tl

THE TWO FRIENDS.

absent at the time, but who, on his return, heard the
story from the sexton who had buried my mother.
His oath of vengeance was fearful, and fearfully
kept. Five years passed away. Sir William and
Lady Stanley had but one child, a daughter, whom
they idolized. Leila was the gentlest and most beau'
tiful creature I ever saw. Words cannot tell you,
Gus, how I loved that child. One day, as the nurse
was walking with her through the grounds of Stanley
Park, a man, dressed in the rough garb of a sailor,
sprang from behind the trees, and, in spite of the
shrieks and struggles of the attendants, bore her
off.

The nurse, wild with terror, fled back to the house,
and meeting Sir William on the piazza, fell, fainting,
at his feet. When she recovered, she related what
had happened, and the consternation and horror her
recital produced may by imagined. There was no
doubt in Sir William's mind as to who had done the
deed. The abductor had left a message : * Tell Sir
Will Stanley^ said he, * my sister is avenged!* Search
was made in every direction, enormous rewards were
offered, the police was put on the track, but all in
vain. Not the slightest clue to Leila could be
obtained. It was the belief of every one, the sailor
had destroyed the child to escape detection."

" It is more than probable," said Gus. " Poor
Lady Stanley ! I can now understand the cause of
the strange melancholy that used to puzzle me so
much."

"She never smiled from that day," said Fred.
*• Had the child died she would have grieved, but
such grief is as nothing. It was the terrible uncer-
tainty as to its fate that weighed on her heart. It
was well she did not survive it long."

TH« TWO FRIENDS.

*' And Sir William ? how did he bear the loss Tin-
quired Gus.

" He became a changed man from that day. He
grew stern, morose, and harsh to all. I have no
doubt he felt it to be a just retribution for his con-
duct to his first wife, and this reflection rendered his
remorse more bitter. Poor Leila ! dear little angel !
Gus, I cannot tell you how I loved that child."

He paced excitedly up and down, and Gus saw
there were tears in the deep, dark eyes of his friend.

"Yes, that's just the way I feel about Nell," said
Gus, who really was in a desperate strait for some-
thing to say, and the deep sigh that accompanied his
words seemed inexpressibly ludicrous.

In spite of himself, Fred laughed outright at his
friend's melancholy look, much to the disgust of
Gus.

" On my honor, my dear fellow, you are smitten.
I shouldn't wonder if you would be rash enough to
take a wife next," said Fred.

" Rash ! / think it's the most sensible thing a
fellow could do. Don't you ever intend to marry,
Fred ?"

" Not I," said the other, carelessly, " as I said
before, liberty or death for me. Why, Gus, the
tyranny of K* g George is nothing to that of a wife.
Don't you know what the French poet Mauvause

says :

' I would advise a man to pause
Before he takes a wife.
Indeed, I own, I see no cause
He should not pause for life.' "

" He must have been a crusty old bachelor who
wrote that," remarked Gus ; " as for me, I intend to
make fierce love to Nell the moment I land. " Ton

Tr.r, WRECK.

my nonor, i d give a diamond ring to see that flinty
heart of yours lying at the feet of some graceful
little Yankee — metaphorically speaking, of course.
Thev say, Fred, the American ladies are all pretty !"

♦' 1 doubt it."

"You're a stoic, a cynic, an unbeliever — an old
Diogenes in his tub. You deserve to die an old
bachelor. It's my firm and never-to-be-shaken belief
that you have been jilted by some heartless coquette,
and for spite, now rail at the whole sex."

" I cry you mercy !" said Fred, as he laughingly
ran his fingers through his luxuriant dark locks. " I
am now, as I ever was, and always shall be, * heart-
whole, and fancy free.* But I see," he added, draw-
ing out his watch, " it is the hour

•When lapdogs give themselves the rousing shake.
And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake.'

So let us go below ; the sable goddess of the cabin
will presently announce dinner is ready."

And together the two young men strolled into the
cabin.

CHAPTER II.

THE WRECK.

** Alone, alone, all, all alone.
Alone on the wide, wide sea."

** I say, Jack, old fellow, it '11 be doomsday before
we reach Boston, at this rate," remarked Gus, some
three hours after the conversation related above — as
he, together with his friend, stood once more on the
deck.

THE WRECK,

It flinty
;raceful

course,
retty !"

-an old
an old
n belief

Dquette,

ghingly

ks. " I

* heart-

1, draw-

shake,

he cabin
into the

ly before
us, some
bove — as
e on the

The pleasant breeze of the morning had passed
away, and was succeeded by a dead calm. Not a
breath of air rippled the surface of the deep ; the
sails lay flapping idly against the masts ; the crew
lay, gasping for breath, over the side of the ship.
The sun, with its fiery, brassy glow, glared in the
cloudless sky, loosening the very seams of the ship
with the scorching heat, until everything looked
parched and burning. The vessel lay motionless on
the glittering sea, her masts and ropes reflected
on the polished surface, as in a mirror. One could
almost imagine her to be a painted ship on a painted
ocean — so still, so lifeless, so sluggard was the calm.

The old tar addressed gave his trousers a hitch,
turned an enormous quid of tobacco into the other
cheek, and replied only by a dissatisfied growl.

" I'm fairly choking for breath," weiU on Gus,
leaning over the bulwarks in the vain endeaver to
catch a mouthful of air ; ** I wish to heaven a breeze
would spring up."

" Humph !" grunted the old tar, as he discharged
an enormous stream of tobacco-juice over the side^
" you'll have your wish before you sleep, youngster,
or Fm mistaken."

" Well, confess you're a better j udge of the weather
than I am, if you can see any sign of a breeze," said
Gus. " By the look of things at present I should
conclude we might lie sweltering here for a month
of Sundays."

" I've been on the ocean man and boy, for thirty
odd years, sir, and ought to know something of
weather signs. If it doesn't blow great guns before
the sun sets to-night, then you may call old Jack a
good-for-nothing lubber — that's all."

" I vow I hope it may ! This dog-trot rate of going

THE WRECK.

is enough to provoke a Quaker to kick his grand-
mother. A stiff breeze will give us new life, and set
things all right again," said Gus.

" Maybe so," said the old salt, rather doubtingly ;
"but, if I'm not mistaken, you'll wish yourself safe
on land before you see the sun rise again."

"Faith ! I wish I were there now." said Gus, with
a yawn. " I never was born for a sailor ; and never
were the children of Israel more tired of their quar-
ters in the desert than I am of this rascally old ark.
Look out for your storm, Jack ; and if you see it
coming, just let me know."

And Gus seated himself on the quarter-rail, and
leisurely lit a cigar.

An hour or two passed away in silence. The sun
was setting, but the heat was still intense. Fred lay
gazing idly into the ship's wake. Gus puffed away,
and thought of Nell ; but the heat had rendered
both too languid to talk. Suddenly a hand was
laid on his arm ; and looking up, Gus beheld old
Jack.

"Look now, sir," said the old man, pointing to the
sky. Absorbed in his own reflections, the young man
had totally forgotten the prediction of the old sailor.
As he glanced up at the sky, he involuntarily uttered
an exclamation of surprise at the sight which met
his eye.

As far as he could see, in every direction, a huge
black pall of intense darkness covered the face of the
heavens. A lurid, crimson line of fire in the west
showed where the sun had sank below the horizon,
and was reflected like a thin stream of blood on the
sea. Faint puffs of wind, from what quarter of the
heavens no man could tell, at intervals sighed
through the rigging, only to be followed by an omi-

THE WRECK.

nous calm, more profound than before. The ship lay
rolling heavily on the black, glassy billows, rising
and falling like a dull, heavy log. A gloom like tVat
of midnight was gathering over sea and sky — the
dismal, ominous silence involuntarily made the bold-
est catch his breath quick and short, and filled each
heart with a nameless awe, as they stood in silent
expectation of what was to follow this dead calm of
Nature, as she paused to take breath before the hur-
ricane of her wrath burst in its full force.

At this moment, the clear, commanding voice of
Captain Harden was heard giving orders to his men
to reef the sails.

" We'll have a rousing gale to-night," said he, a
few moments afterward, " or I'm mistaken. I knew
this dead calm didn't come for nothing. Ha ! here
it is ! Down, men, down, and hold fast for your lives !
The squall is upon us !"

Even as he spoke, the black pall that hung over
the sky seemed visibly lifted up, and a ghastly,
whitish light lit up the heaving sea. A vivid flash of
lightning blazed in the sky followed by ^ crash of
thunder that seemed to rend the very heavens in
twain, accompanied by a flood of rain and a terrific
gale ol wind — and the hurricane burst upon them
with tremendous force. For a moment the good ship
tottered and quivered in every timber, as if trem-
bling before the gigantic foe ; then plunging sud-
denly downward like a maddened steed, she flew
before the hurricane with the speed of the wind. On,
on, on, with the spray dashing over the decks, and
drenching to the skin the affrighted crew, she sped
like a flash. The lightning blazed as though the
whole heavens were one vast sheet of flame ; the
thunder crashed peal upon peal, as though 'he ciMrth

.! 1

THE W££OK.

were rending asunder ; tlie rain fell in vast floods of
water; the wind shrieked and howled like a demon
with impotent fury, and the bark plunged madly on,
quivering, creaking, groaning, and straining in every
timber. The huge billows rose black and terrific,
yawning as though to engulf them, the white foam
gleaming dismal and ghastly in the spectral darkness,
now and then shown in their appalling hugeness by
the blinding glare of the lightning. The whole scene
was inexpressibly grand and terrific — the most cow-
ardly soul lost all sense of fear in the awful sublimity,
the unspeakable grandeur of the elemental uproar.

Fortunately, the hurricane was not one of long
duration. Ere an hour had passed, the violence of
the squall had greatly abated, but not before it had
nearly dismantled the ship.

Fred Stanley stood clinging to a rope, gazing at
the troubled sea and sky with a feeling of unspeak-
able awe, that swallowed up every other feeling.
His hat had blown off ; his long dark locks streamed
wildly in the gale — his eyes were fixed, as if fasci-
nated, on the gigantic billows, rising like huge moun-
tains as if to overwhelm them.

His meditations were suddenly cut short by a hand
being laid on his shoulder. With a start he lookjd
up, and beheld, by the light of the binnacle-lamp, the
pale features of Gus Elliott.

"A wild night, my friend," said the youth; and
although he spoke loudly, his voice sounded almost
like a whisper amid the roar of wind and sea.

"A fearful storm, truly," was the reply, as Fred's
eyes again strove to pierce through the thick dark-
ness.

"Would to Hea\ren it were morning ! this intense
darkness is appalling. Could we see our danger I

THE WRECK.

and

would not care ; but in this fearful gloom the imag-
ination pictures a thousand horrors, far worse than
the most dreadful reality."

" It can scarcely be midnight yet," said Gus ; "I
see the clouds are breaking away in that direction.
It will be light enough presently."

•* Well, messmate, have my words come true ?" said
a voice at Gus's elbow, and turning, both beheld old
Jack.

"That they have," replied Gus; "and though I
must give you credit for being a true prophet, upon
my honor I wish to hear no more such predictions
while I am on board the Mermaid."

" T/iaf won't be long, sir, or I'm mistaken," replied
Jack, gloomily.

"What? croaking again? I thought all danger
was past," said the youth.

Jack shook his head despondingly.

" Come, my honest son of Neptune, out with it.
What's in the wind now ?"

At this moment, one of the crew shouted, in a voice
of horror :

" The ship has sprung a leak ! There's five feet
of water in the hold !"

" All hands to the pumps !" called the calm, trumpet-
like tones of the captain.

The eyes of Gus and the old sailor met.

" I knew how it would be," said the old tar, shak-
ing his head, mournfully, " I had a presentiment, last
night, that not a soul on board the Mermaid would
live to see the sun rise again."

As he spoke, he hurried forward ; but not until
Gus had fairly started back at sight of the ghastly
look on his fare, as it was revealed by the dim light
of the binnacle-lamp. The youth turned uneasily

il!

'! 1

THE WRECK.

away, and encountered the dark, earnest eyes of his
friend.

** Pooh ! nonsense ! what an old prophet of evil
that is," said Gus, striving to shake off the feeling
for which he could not account : " a raven could not
croak more dismally than he."

" And yet I fear he is right," said Fred. " We arft
far from being out of danger. How this old disman-
tled hulk is plunging and staggering. Hark ! what
is that r

It was the voice of one of the men who had been
sent below, and who now came to announce that the
water was rapidly rising.

The crew redoubled their efforts. Fred and Gus
sprang to their aid, and worked for their lives. But
all was in vain ; in spite of all their exertions, the
hold was filling fast.

Suddenly a voice full of horror was heard :

" TAe ship is sinking /"

In an instant every arm dropped as if palsied,
every face blanched to the hue of death, and the
silence of the grave reigned. Then the spell was
broken, and with a wild cry they sprang toward the
boats.

** Are you mad, men ?" shouted Captain Harden,
as the crew rushed pell-mell to the side of the
vessel.

But his words were in vain ; the frightened
wretches heard not, heeded not. Maddened by their
selfish fears, they sprang into the boats, pushing one
another fiercely aside in their cowardly haste.

" Those crowded boats will never live in this surf !"
exclaimed Fred, in a voice that intense excitement
had almost sunk to a whisper.

Even as he spoke, the nearest boat was lifted on

THE WRECK.

the crest of a monster wave. For a moment It poised
on its fearful height, quivering like a reed ; the next
a wild shriek arose from the doomed crew, and every
soul was struggling in the hissing seas. In less than
a minute, to their inexpressible horror, the other
boat shared the same fate ! One wild, wild agon-
ized shriek of mortal horror arose high above the
storm, and then all grew still. Engulfed beneath
the hissing billows, they had sunk to rise no more.

Of all the numerous crew of the good ship Mer-
maid, there were three persons remaining on board,
the captain, Fred and Gus. Above frowned the
angry sky, black and ominous ; beneath, raged the
angrier ocean — the tops of the white billows gleam-
ing like snow against the murky background.
Around was spread the dense, dark pall of night —
an almost impenetrable wall of thick blackness.
Boats and crew were alike gone. Alone they stood
on the wide sea, in a sinking ship, with death staring
them in every direction in the face.

The ominous words of the old sailor rushed to the
mind of Gus : *' Not a soul on board the Mermaid
would live to see the sun rise again !"

How true his words seemed likely to prove !

" We will soon follow them !" said Gus, turning
to the captain.

" God liveth !" was the solemn answer, " He
holdeth the ocean in the hollow of His hand. Trust
in Him !"

SAVED.

CHAPTER III.

SAVED.

** Rise ! for the day is breaking
Though the dull night be long!'
Rise! God is not forsaking
Thy heart — be strong — be strong."

For a few moments the survivors of the wreck
stood silent. With death stciring them in the face,
men are not inclined to be loquacious. Each one
inwardly commended uls sonl to his Maker, and
strove to nerve himself to fearlessly meet his doom.

" And can we not even make an effort to save our
lives ?" said Fred, at last. " Must we die without
one attempt to escape the doom which threatens
us?"

** While there is life there is hope," said the cap-
tain. *' Ha !" he exclaimed, as if suddenly struck by
a new thought, " here are plenty of loose spars and
ropes ; why not make a raft."

" This old hulk will go to the bottom before it is
half constructed," said Gus.

"It is worth a trial, however," said his friend,
springing up with new hope. "Let us not lose
time. Every second is precious."

Men working for their lives need little urging. In
less than an hour, a sufficient number of spars were
lashed together to make a tolerably safe raft.

Captain Harden went below, to discover how
much longer they might stay on the wreck in safety.

Turning to his friend, Gus said, as he touched the
raft with his foot :

SATBD.

" A desperate venture, Fred, to trust our lives on
these few crazy planks, on the wide Atlantic. I fear,
ray dear friend, the patriot army of Washington will
be deprived of two recruits this time."

" Desperate, certainly," said Fred, thoughtfully ;
" yet I feel a sort of presentiment that our end is not
so near."

♦' Would I could think so, too," said Gus, striving
to discover some sign of hope in the threatening
scene around. *' I cannot but recall the ominous
words of that old sailor. Tliey are continually
recurring to my mind !"

" To the raft ! to the raft, for your lives !" shouted
Captain Harden, as he rushed on deck, " the ship is
sinking !"

Even as he spoke, she began plung^ing to and frvO,
like a frightened steed.

In a moment they had flung their raft over the
side, and had leaped from the deck.

They were not a moment too soon. The doomed
ship, after a few mad struggles, began rapidly to
settle in the water. The waves seemed lashed into
fury, and the crest of each huge billow swept the dis-
mantled deck. Suddenly she was whirled round and
round by some impetuous force, then rising almost
perpendicularly, she plunged down, stern foremost.
In the enormous whirlpool thus formed, they almost
imagined they could see the bottom ; so great was
its force, that although they were at some distance,
they held their breath for a moment in involuntary
terror, as they were swept rapidly toward the hissing
vortex. But the waves again closed over her, and
every sign of life vanished from the horizon.

" There perished as noble a bark as ever braved

),»■"

8ATED.

the blue Atlantic !" said Captain Harden, dashing
the spray from his eyes.

There was no reply, for his companions were lost
in thought. How inexpressibly dreary and desolate
is all around. Alone on the wide ocean, on a frail
raft, that threatened each moment to go to pieces
under them by the violence of the waves. The cold
spray drenching them to the skin, benumbed them
with cold, a dull lethary was creeping over them,
when Captain Harden, who noticed with alarm how
frail the raft was, suddenly said :

*' Let us try to make this craft of ours a little
tighter. It threatens now to go to pieces every
moment. Work will keep us warm, too ; this cold
spray is enough to freeze a man."

The exertion produced the desired effect ; and they
soon had the pleasure of finding their float much
more secure than before. How long the hours
seemed that must intervene until morning ! As the
night slowly wore on, the storm seemed to die away,
the waves subsided, and the wind sank to a light
breeze. The clouds of night suddenly rolled away
before the white wand of morning. Far in the east,
the sky and sea were blushing scarlet before the com-
ing of the sun. Up he rose in fiery radiance, glow-
ing and golden, in a canopy of purple, crimson, and
blue. Not a cloud obscured the clear blue vault of
heaven, that a few hours before had shot forth forked
lightning and deafening peals of thunder. Their
frail raft rose and fell gayly on the sparkling waves,
that the night before had loomed up so dark and
frightful. Calm and peaceful the blue sea looked, as
though hundreds of brave hearts, that fearful night,
had not perished forever beneath.

" What a change a few hours has made l" said

SATED.

Fred, as the light, cool breeze lifted gently the dark
hair off his feverish brow ; ** last night, all was wild,
and dark, and tempestuous ; this morning, every-
thing breathes peace and beauty. Sunrise on the
©gean ! was there ever anything more glorious ?"

" A sailor's luck, Mr. Stanley," said Captain
Harden, shaking the spray from his hair ; ** a short
time ago we were shivering with the cold, and in
two hours hence, we will be sweltering in the rays
of a sun hot enough to roast an African."

" Do you think there is any chance of our being
picked up before night. Captain ?" inquired Gus.

** Can't say, sir. I trust so, however. There are
always ships cruising about in these latitudes."

The day wore on ; and, as the sun approached
the meridian, the heat grew almost intolerable.
Without shelter to ward off the burning rays of an
almost tropical sun, they sank down overpowered,
and utterly exhausted. Thirst, too, began to tor-
ment them ; and the consciousness that they were
without means to allay it, added to their suffering.
Too languid even to converse, they sat in dreary
silence, their eyes fixed on the boundless expanse of
sky and ocean.

Slowly the sun began to sink in the west, and the
conviction that they must pass another night where
they were, added anything but comfort to their situ-
ation.

When the glorious sunlight of the following morn-
ing fell on them, it found them parched with thirst,
and lying utterly exhausted on the miserable float.
Fred and Captain Harden still bore up, but the
fiery flush on the cheek of Gus and the wild light in
his eyt, showed the fever that was burning within.

As the morning passed, and noon approached, he

SAVED.

grew delirious. He raved wildly, and more than
once it required the united strength of his friends
to prevent him from plunging bodily into the deep.

" Would to Heaven aid would come !" said Cap-
tain Harden, with deep anxiety, as his eye fell on
the delirious youth. " Poor boy, I do not wonder
he has sunk beneath this trial. He is little inured
to the hardships and privations of a sailor's life."

" What is that ?" said Fred, who had an eye like a
hawk; "there is a vessel bearing down directly
toward us. Look ! look !"

"By Heaven, yes," exclaimed the captain; "let
us display our flag. Ha ! they see us ! There goes
their signal !"

" Saved, Gus ! Saved, my dear fellow !" exclaimed
Fred, seizing his hand, hot and burning, in both
his.

" Saved ! saved ! I knew we would be ! Hurrah !"
he shouted, with wild incoherence, as he endeavored
to spring to his feet — but weak and exhausted, he
fell back in the arms of his friend.

The vessel proved to be an American privateer.
In half an hour, the friends were on board, where
every kindness that could be required was gener-
ously bestowed upon them ; and poor Gus was
resigned to the care of an experienced surgeon —
who, to the great joy of Fred, affirmed, that in a few
days he would be out of danger.

■3'

i ;^!

THE BUBNING SHIP.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BURNING SHIP.

••Great God ! the sights that I have seen
When far upon the main,
I'd rather that my death had been
Than see those sights again." — LandoN.

" Yours was a narrow escape, Mr. Stanley," said
Captain Dale, the commander of the privateer, as,
about a week after their deliverance, Fred made his
appearance on deck.

Gus was there, too, looking rather pale, but per-
fectly restored both to health and spirits.

" Yes, sir," replied Fred ; *' and, though I have
been as near death in many shapes before, I never
felt it so horrible as when, wild with thirst, I stood
expecting it on that frail raft, on the broad Atlantic."

" And your friend," said the captain, smiling, ** was
in still worse condition when we providentially came
across you."

" Egad !" exclaimed Gus, " it came near doing for
me. I'll never undertake to sail across the Atlantic
on a raft again, if I can help it ; at least, not without
a beaker of fresh water on board."

** What is your destination now, captain ?" inquired
Fred.

"Boston ; but I mean to capture, if possible, a few
Britishers first, to make time pass pleasantly."

" Boston ? we're in luck, Fred," observed Gus.
** So," he added to the captain, " you sometimes have
a skirmish with the British, do you ?"

" Yes," replied Dale ; " it's only last week I sent a

THIi BURNING SHIP.

sloop-of-war to Davie Jones ; and, with the help of
the Lord, and that long Tom there, I trust speedily
to send some more of their brethren to look after
them."

" Sail hor called the shrill tones of the look-out, at
this moment.

" Whereaway ?" demanded Captain Dale, as he
seized a glass, and sprang into the rigging.

"Due east, sir."

** And an Englishman, by Jupiter !" exclaimed the
captain, as he again leaped on the deck. " There's
something wrong on board of her, too," he continued,
"for the crew are running wildly about the deck,
sometimes rushing in a body below, and again re-ap-
pearing. Can the crew have mutinied ?"

Again he gazed long and steadfastly at the ves-
sel.

" Heavens !'* he exclaimed, " the ship's on fire !"

" By Jove, so it is," said Fred ; and, even as he
spoke, a sudden jet of flame shot up the hatchway
of the ship.

" And there goes a signal of distress," shouted
Gus, as a white pennant suddenly streamed out in
the breeze from the mast-head.

"See how the poor wretches are crowding to-
gether," exclaimed the captain ; " we must not let
them perish before our eyes. Who will volunteer K>
go to the rescue ?"

As if by one impulse, men and officers all sprang
forward to offer their services.

" No, no," said Captain Dale, good-humoredly, " I
cannot let you all go. Here, Mr. Stewart," address-
ing his first lieutenant, " you will take command of
one boat, and — ah ! Mr. Stanley, I see by your eager
look how anxious ^^2^ are to lend assistance. Weil,

iii

THE BURNING SHIP.

to-
let

you can take charge of the other boat ; and," he
added, lowering his voice, "look out for the maga-
Now, be off, and God speed you !"

zme.

"Ay, ay, sir," came cheerily from a score of lips,
as the hardy seamen bent to their oars.

" Give way, my lads !" cried Fred, as he sprang
into the stern-sheets and waved his cap in the air.

The men bent to their oars with a will, and the
boat cut like a sea-gull through the waters. Fred
still stood with his eyes fixed on the burning ship —
his handsome face all aglow with excitement.

The scene was inexpressibly grand and terrific.
The flames were now bursting out from every part
of the ship ; while a dark, dense cloud of sulphurous
smoke clouded the blue sky above. The fiery mon-
ster ran up the shrouds and rigging, twining its
fierce tongue around the masts; while occasionally
the sullen booming of a gun would float over the
waters, as her armament, heated by the flames, went
off. The affrighted crew were huddled together — by
their frantic gestures and wild signs, striving to urge
the boats still faster on, as they beheld the flames
rapidly approaching the spot where they stood.

" Give way, my men I give way ! Will you see
them perish miserably before your eyes ?" shouted
Fred, his dark eyes blazing with excitement, as he
beheld the fiery-tongued monster almost within a
few feet of the unhappy wretches, whose skrieks of
terror came piercingly to their ears.

And the brave fellows did give way. In that
moment they thought not that the men they were
going to save were the enemies of their country — they
only saw fellow-creatures in danger of perishing
by a miserable death ; and with the proverbial gen-
erosity of sailors^ they bent their brawny arms to the

THE BUBNING SHIP.

f ■•*

||ii

task until great drops of perspiration stood in beads
on their flushedfaces, and the boat skimmed over the
water with the velocity of a bird on thewing. In less
than ten minutes more, they were within a few
yards of the burning ship,

" Leap into the water, and we will pick you up ?"
shouted Fred — fearing lest, if they approached too
near, the boats might swamp from the numbers who
would crowd into them.

Without a moment's hesitation, the command was
obeyed, and the crews of both boats were soon busily
employed in rescuing the poor fellows.

" Is this all ?" asked Fred, as the last of those who
had leaped from the deck were picked up.

*' All, sir," was the universal answer.

" No, sir ; it's no( all !" said a boy — a mere lad of
fourteen — springing from his seat. " There's a lady
aboard yet ; she is in the cabin, and we forgot her."

" Great Heaven !" exclaimed Fred, his dark face
paling with horror — " have you left a woman on
board that burning ship to perish ?"

" We forgot her, sir," was the muttered response ;
while more than one eye fell beneath the scornful
gaze of those fiery black eyes.

For one moment Fred thought of Captain Dale's
command — " Look out for the magazine .'" — and paused
irresolute. Not for himself — oh. no ! His deter-
mination was to rescue the lady or die, but for the
men intrusted to his care. He felt that he had no
right to peril the lives of many to save that of one ;
and for a moment he stood undecided what course
to pursue. Then, as the terrible thought, that a
fellow creature and a woman might even at that mo-
ment be perishing in the flames, sent the blood curd-

THE BUBXmO SHIP.

I
1

■ M

ling to his brave heart, he looked up and said, in a
clear and impressive voice, to his own men :

" My brave lads, I cannot leave a woman to perish
in that burning ship. I am going on board to rescue
her. You will, in the meantime, keep at some dis-
tance off ; and when I appear on deck, return for
me. Should you not see me again," (he paused for
a moment), "you will return to the privateer, and
tell Captain Dale I have striven to do my duty.
That will do. Stand off, and wait for me."

He caught a rope that hung over the vessel's
side, and sprang on the burning deck, " whence all
but him had fled." There was a moment's profound
pause of surprise and admiration in the boat, as the
crew of the privateer beheld the tall, slight form of
their gallant young leader disappear amid the thick
smoke. The crew of the Englishman bent their
heads in shame ; the scathing, scornful glance in the
eagle eye of the young American had brought before
them, more forcibly than any words could have
done, his lofty contempt for their dastardly conduct.

Meanwhile, through the dense smoke, Fred made
his way. A sudden breeze blew the flames aside ;
and to his inexpressible joy he saw that the flames
had not yet reached the cabin. He dashed down
the stairs, taking three or four steps at a time, and
paused for a moment to glance around.

The walls were of a dark, polished oak, the floor
covered with a rich Turkey carpet, whose brilliant
hues were bright as the gorgeous plumage of a
humming-bird. The chairs and lounges, profusely
scattered around, were of dark carved wood — old and
quaint in appearance, and cushioned with dark-blue
velvet. A guitar lay in a corner, and carelessly
scattered by it were several sheets of music. A book*

>:!!!

THE BURNING SHIP.

! :l

«l

case, filled with a choice selection of books, stood in
one corner ; and lying half open on the table, as if ii;
had just been dropped, was a small, elegantly-bound
volume of Milton. By it lay a tiny gold locket, con-
taining a miniature. Not doubting but that this
belonged to the occupant of the cabin, Fred snatched
it up, thinking she might value it, and turned to
look for its owner. She was not in the cabin — he
saw that at a glance. The door of an adjoining
state-room lay half open. It was no time for idle
ceremony. Without a moment's hesitation, he
dashed it open, and entered ; but paused in invol-
untary awe at the sight which met his eyes.

A young girl, transcendently lovely, was kneeling
in the middle of the floor. Her snowy robes fell in
spotless folds around her exquisite form ; the long
silken tresses fell like a shower of rippling sunbeams
over her pearly shoulders. The small white hands
were clasped over the stainless bosom, that rose and
fell with her soft breathing. Every trace of color
had faded from that fair face, leaving chtek and
brow as white as monumental marble. The large
blue eyes, calm and cloudless as mountain lakes,
looked from beneath the golden lashes as serene as
the heaven to which she seemed about to ascend.
On that sweet young face was a look of such rapt,
such sublime, such angelic devotion, that Fred for a
moment stood, not daring to disturb her.

A sudden crash on deck roused him from the spell
into which he was falling. Stepping before her, he
said, hurriedly :

** Madam, everything is in flames around you !
Come with me, or you will be lost."

At the sound of his voice she sprang to her feet ;
and with a wild cry of " Saved ! saved I" she threw

THB BURNING SHIP.

Up both snowy arms, and would have fallen fainting
to the floor, had he not caught her in his embrace.

Snatching a quilt from the bed, he wrapped it
round her slight form and rushed from the cabin.
To his unspeakable horror, as he sprang with one
bound up the stairway, he found the whole deck had
now become one vast sheet of flame. There was no
time to lose. Springing like a wounded panther, he
cleared the deck with two bounds, and leaped clean
over the side into the sea.

A wild cheer arose from the crew of the boat at
the sight. Propelled by strong arms and willing
hearts, in a moment it was by his side ; and in
another he stood among them, with his still insensible
burden in his arms.

" Pull, men ! pull for the love of God !" he
shouted, waving his hand in the air. " Work for
your lives !"

Like straws the strong oars bent in the brawny
hands of the rowers, and like an arrow sped from a
bow, the boat shot out from the burning ship.

One moment more, and it would have been too
late. With a roar that seemed to rend heaven and
earth, the magazine exploded, and the ill-fated ship
was blown to atoms. Like a shower of hail, the
burning spars and timbers fell all around them. But
they were almost miraculously saved ; the boat es-
caped uninjured, and in ten minutes was entirely out
of danger.

Every one drew a deep breath, and from the most
callous and hardened heart present went up a prayer
of thanksgiving for their unexpected deliverance
from death.

Fred seated himself, and throwing off the quilt in
which he had enveloped the slender form of the

THE BURNING SHIP.

Ill

young girl, began to chafe her cold hands ana
temples.

" Had this young lady no friends on board, that
she was thus forgotten," he asked, turning to one of
the crew of the Englishman.

" No, sir ; not when the vessel caught fire. She
was returning from England with her uncle ; and
one stormy night, about a week ago, he was washed
overboard and lost. She never came up to the deck
after that ; and, in the hurry and fright, when the
ship was found to be on fire, we forgot all about
her."

" Is «he an American ?" asked Fred, looking, with
a feeling for which he could not account, on the fair
face and graceful form lying so still and lifeless in
his arms.

"Don't know I'm sure," replied the man.

All Fred's efforts to restore her to consciousness
were in vain. She lay, in her snowy drapery, so
still, that he most feared life was extinct. A snow-
wreath was not more white than the colorless face,
off which the bright hair fell over the young man's
arm, on which the head reclined. The tiny hands
imprisoned in his were cold and lifeless as maihle.

With a feeling of intense joy, Fred sprang once
more upon the deck of the privateer, and resigned
the fainting girl to the hands of the surgeon, and
then hasteied to exchange his wet clothes for dry
ones. Gus, who had arrived in the other boat a few
moments before, listened with envy and amazement
to his friend's story.

" Well, luck is everything !" he exclaimed, with a
sigh, when his friend had concluded ; " if every ship
in the British navy were to take fire, I don't believe
I'd have the good fortune to save a single young

THE BUBNIKO SHIP.

ana

lady from a scorching ; while you're not well out^
when you return with an angel in your arms, wring-
ing wet, and never look any more elated by it than
if you were a mi-n of stone. O Fortune ! Fortune ?
thou fickle goddess, if you would only throw such
chances in my way as is thrown in the path of this
stony-hearted cynic, believe me, I would be far from
proving so ungrateful."

*' A very good speech for an extempore one,**
observed Fred, as he coolly lighted a cigar. "And,
by the way, here is the doctor, I must ask him how
his fair patient is."

" Hech ! mon, dinna fash yersel* aboot her, the
young leddy is doin' vera weel," observed Sawney ;
"an* fegs, ye ne'er seen sic 'n beautiful roses in a' yer
life as cam in her cheek when I tauld her aboot the
canny chiel that plucked her, as it were, a brand frae
the burnin'. Hoot ! Mr. Stanley, ne'er try to look
sae dignified ; d'ye think I dinna see the smile in yer
black e*e. If yer no prood o' savin* the life o' sic a
handsome leddy, ye dinna deserve to hear the mes-
sage she has sent ye."

" A message for me !" exclaimed Fred, with an
impetuosity that brought a sudden crimson to his
dark cheek.

" Aye, mon ! a message to ye, deil a less. And
what for wudna she ? Did ye no save her life ?'*

" But the message ! the message !" exclaimed Fred,
impatiently.

" Oo ! ay ! the message ! jist sae ! * Tell him,* says
she, an' soul o' me ! she lookit sae bonnie wi' her
blue e'e and her gowden locks as she said it, that I'd
a gi'en a hunder' pounds to hae been ye at the time."

" But the message ! the message ! the message !**
cried Fred, losing all patience.

i; i

TiiK iiURNiNci snir.

"And she looked handsome, did she ?*' inquired
GiJS, as he noticed the impatience of iiis friend.

" Hech ! ye may say that, hiddie. Deil a bonnier
las ivir I clapt my ain twa een on. An' a doot if she
winna load him wi' compliments when he ca's to see
her, judgin' frae the message. I'm mair nor half
sartin that — "

"But," shouted Fred, in his irritation seizing the
doctor by the shoulder, and wheeling him round like
a top, " what was the message, you old son of Galen ?'*

" Hech, sirs ! Laird protect us ! who ivir heerd
mair nor that ? " gasped the little doctor, panting
for breath, whicli his extempore waltz had nearly
shaken out of his body; " spinnin* a respectable
auld body lek me roun' as if 1 was a tap. *Twad na
be every laddie wad dae sic a dirty trick. Hech !
I'm fairly oot o' breath."

" It's excessively aggravating, no doubt," said Gus,
soothingly, " but you must pardon my unhappy
young friend here, he is a little flighty at times, but
perfectly harmless — "

Fred groaned.

" — But when very impatient," continued Gus,
secretly enjoying his friend's despair, " he is rather
violent. Therefore, ray dear doctor, you had better
tell him the young lady's message — when I have no
doubt, these alarming symptoms will vanish."

"Oo, ay ! just so I" said the doctor, retreating a
few paces from Fred, and eying liim as one might
a half-tamed tiger; "she said that ony time this
afternoon that wad be conveniant, she wad be maist
happy to see ye in the kabbin below. That's a'."

And the little doctor went off muttering " Gude
puitect us ! wha wad think sic a douce young laddie

THE BURNING fiHIP.

as that was nae richt aboot the upper warks?
Weel, weel, Laird save us !"

"An interview !" exclaimed Gus, with delight,
" by Jove ! Fred, you are in luck. I can forsee it all
— private interview — lady all blushes and gratitude
— gentleman all admiration and compliments — see
each other every day while on board — grow as thick
as pickpockets — moonlight interview — gentleman
grows tender — lady refers him to papa — papa informs
him she's not his daughter at all, but a princess in
disguise, with large estates in a land yet undis-
covered — matrimony — champagne, ice-creams, wax-
lights, roses, pretty girl's kisses — bride an angel
without wings — bridegroom in the seventh heaven —
whew ! there's the whole thing in a nut-shell. A
novel condensed."

Fred bit the end of his cigar to conceal a smile.

" I'd give a trifle to know her name,'' continued
Gus ; *' it's a wonder none of the crew of the vessel
knew it. Heigho ! I suppose I must restrain my
impatience until after the interview she has promised
you."

Fred, though appearing outwardly indifferent, felt
little less anxiety for the interview than his friend.

Having made himself very unnecessarily hand-
some, by a most careful toilet, he desired the little
doctor to inform the lady he was ready to wait
upon her.

" Walk doon ! walk doon, laddie," said Galen,
presently re-appearing, '* and for the love o* Hea-
ven !" he added, suddenly remembering Fred's con-
duct in the morning, "dinna be ony way violent.
Laird save me ! what wad the puir lassie do if ye
took ane o* thaim tantrums in her presence ?"

Fred having pledged his word to conduct himself.

THE BURNING SHIP.

1 1

||i

while before the lady, with due decorum, the doctor
bowed him into the cabin, which the captain had
generously given up to his fair captive, and, having
announced him as being " the laddie that had ta'en
her oot o* the burnin' ship," made his best salute,
and retired.

The lady, who was seated by the table, arose
as Fred entered, and advancing toward him, extended
her hand. The youth imagined she looked even
fairer now than when he had first seen her. The
bright, golden tresses were pushed off her fair brow,
and gathered into a burnished knot behind, thus
displaying the exquisite symmetry of the superb
little head. She was still pale from the effects of her
recent fright ; but Fred thought he had never
beheld a fairer face in all his life.

" My preserver, how can I ever thank you for sav-
ing me from such a fearful death," said the softest,
sweetest voice in the world. And raising the hand
she held in hers, she bent her graceful head, and
pressed it to her lips.

The act, simple and natural as it was, brought a
sudden flush to Fred's face.

" I need no thanks, fairest lady, for perfo~ming a
common act of humanity," he said, bowing. ** He
would, indeed, be a monster who would not endeavor
to rescue a fellow-creature from death."

** Oh ! it was fearful !" exclaimed the lady, *' to stay
there alone, expecting momentary death. It seemed
to me impossible I could be saved, with everything
in flames around me !"

She shuddered at the remembrance, and her face
grew a shade paler.

" It seems wonderful to me how you could have
been forgotten by all," said Fred.

THE BURNING SHIP.

"So it seemed to me at first, but not now. I
never went on deck after the death of my dear
uncle " — she paused, and her eyes filled with tears —
" he was lost in a dreadful storm, a week before you
rescued me. Alas ! this seems doomed to be a luck-
less voyage."

" I fear you will not like your quarters here," said
Fred, glancing around the narrow and poorly-fur-
nished cabin, " it is hardly in a fit condition for the
reception of a lady."

" Oh ! if that were all," she said, with a half sigh,
" but I am afraid it will be such a long time before
I can reach home."

" I too, have longed for the end of this voyage,"
said Fred, " but now the time will appear all too
short."

She looked up suddenly, to find the deep, dark
eyes of the speaker fixed upon her with a look of
profound admiration. For a moment, the golden
lashes dropped over the blue eyes, and a vivid crim-
son, whether of anger or embarrassment he knew
not, mantled her pale cheeks.

Her manner during the remainder of the interview
was so cold and constrained, that he felt sure he had
offended, and, with a feeling of vexation, he arose
and took his leave.

Fred's dreams, that night, were haunted by a pair
of blue eyes, that one moment smiled upon him — the
next, were turned coldly away. Once again, in fancy,
he was rescuing their owner from the flames, and
bearing her off in triumph in his arms, when he
awoke to the dull reality that he was clasping, most
affectionately, the pillow !

As he dressed, before going on deck, he suddenly
remembered he had neglected to ask the young lady

THE BURNING SHIP.

her name. Was there ever such stupidity ? Then it
orrurred to him that he had a locket belonging to her,
and opening it, he discovered that it contained the
miniature of the fair unknown herself.

Now, Mr. Stanley, though by no means given in
general to retaining other people's property, imme-
diately experienced a most felonious desire to keep
the locket. Accordingly, placing it as near his heart
as was convenient, he hastily added a few finishing
touches to his costume, and went on deck.

And when he had reached it, a sight met his eyes
that transfixed him with amazement. For there,
promenading the deck, and leaning most affection-
ately on the arm of Gus, was the fair unknown. The
morning breeze had brought a deep rose-hue to the
pearly cheeks ; her eyes were bright with pleasure,
and smiles were chasing the dimples over her fair,
sunshiny face. And there was Gus bending over her,
in a way for which Fred could have shot him with-
out remorse, calling up her smiles and blushes at his
own magnetic will.

No wonder Fred was amazed, angry, mortified.
He had saved her life almost at the risk of his own : ,
and, because he had uttered a few gallant words, she ,
had grown as distantly reserved and dignified as a
queen on her throne. And here was Gus Elliott,
whom she had never seen before, now her elected
chai*jpion, and, to judge by appearances, something
more than a friend.

As they passed, both looked up and recognized him,
she by a formal bow, and Gus by a smile of triumph.
With the air of an insulted prince, Fred turned aside,
and strolled in an opposite direction, with the firm
conviction that there was nothing in the ^^'orld but
ingratitude.

THE HOME OF EDITH.

While he still stood absorbed in gloomy thought,
he was suddenly aroused by a hearty slap on the
shoulder. He looked up haughtily, and Gus met the
full light of his fiery eye.

" Fred !" he exclaimed, without heeding his evi-
dent anger, " you're the luckiest dog in creation !
Guess whom you've saved ?"

'* Who ?" was the eager inquiry.

*♦ My cousin Edith, the eldest daughter of my uncle^
Major Percival."

CHAPTER V.

THE HOME OF EDITH.

** Where is the heart that has not bowed
A slave, eternal love, to thee ?
Look on the cold, the gay, the proud —
And is there one among them free ?"

— Landon.

It was a dark, unpleasant night — nearly a fort-
night after the adventure of the burning ship. The
privateer was still cruising about in quest of " Brit-
ishers," whom the captain was particularly anxious
to "send to tnunder !" — as he himself elegantly
expressed it. During this time, Fred's acquaintance
with Miss Percival hardly progressed as rapidly as
Gus had prophesied it would. There was a sort ot
embarrassment, a coldness, a reserve, in her manner
toward him, tliat offended his sensitive pride; and
their intercourse now generally consisted oi a bow,
when they met, and a formal ** good day.'* Though
she spent the greater part of each day with Gus, on

THE HOME OF EDITH.

n /:

deck, she seemed to shrink from meeting him ; and
Fred, seeing this, studiously avoided her. Yet some-
times, suddenly raising his head, he would find those
soft blue eyes wandering wistfully over to where he
stood, yet always dropping before his ; while her
rising color and averted head betokened emotions
she would fain have concealed.

Wrapped in his cloak, with his hat drawn down
over his brows, Fred paced up and down the deck
in no very amiable frame of mind. It was a dense,
gloomy night. The storm-clouds were drifting, dark
and threatening, over the leaden sky ; a chill, raw
wind was blowing, piercingly cold — sighing, dirge-
like, through the rigging, while the creaking of the
cordage seemed to chant back a sort of dismal
refrain ; a thick rain was falling, making everything
wet and uncomfortable. It was indeed suicidal
weather, but perfectly congenial to the thoughts
passing through the mind of the tall, cloaked figure
pacing so restlessly to and fro.

At times, sounds of song and peals of laughter would
come floating up from the cabin, where old Dr. Kirk,
Captain Harden, Gus, and Miss Percival were assem-
bled. These sounds were to Fred's feelings like ** vine-
gar upon nitre ;" and his lip curled scornfully and bit-
terly whenever he passed. Suddenly the mention of
his own name arrested his steps. Some secret power
held him, as it were, forcibly to the spot, to listen.

" Where's Stanley ?" inquired Captain Harden.

" Keeping sentry on deck, no dou'jt," answered
Gus, " according to his usual custom. I'll wager a
guinea that quick, excited tread we heard a moment
ago, was Fred walking up and down."

" Maister Stanley's a queer sort o' a lad," observed
the doctor. **I ne'er cam across ane sae proud in a'

THE HOME OF EDITH.

my days. T'ither day he was stannin* lookin' sae
dooer and sulky, by himsel' that I didna think hem
well, and I recommended a dose o' peells. Well,
instead o' thankin' me, as a body ought, h^ glowered
at me a minute, as if he thought me mad, and walked
off wi' himsel* without sayin' a word. Hech, sirs !
dell a more thanks I got I"

Gus couldn't help laughing ; but he observed :

"Oh, you must excuse him, doctor! Fred has
some queer notions ; but, in general, he *s a capital
fellow — brave as a lion, but proud as Lucifer."

"What is your opinion, Miss Percival, of the gen-
tleman now under discussion ?" inquired Captain
Harden.

Oh, what would not Fred have given to hear the
reply ! Miss Percival's low, musical voice had hith-
erto possessed an unspeakable charm for him ; but
now he would not have objected had it been as loud
as the boatswain's so that he might have heard the
answer ; but, though he strained every nerve to listen,
he could not catch her words.

" That's just like Edith," observed Gus. " Hasn't
* formed an opinion,' indeed ! As if any young lady
could meet such a good-looking fellow as Fred with-
out forming an opinion about him. He reminds me
wonderfully of the old woman in the song." And
Gus drawled, in a sing-song tone :

" There was an old woman — and what do you think ?
She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink —
Victuals and drink was the whole of her diet —
And yet this old woman could never be quiet."

If Gus had seen the fiery flash of Fred's eye, at
that moment, he might have hesitated a little about
the comparison.

THE HOME OP EDITH.

11*

" I dinna see how Maister Stanley's like that auld
wumman," said the doctor, solemnly.

" Why, my dear doctor, it's as clear as mud," said
Gus. " Fred, like the old lady in the rhyme, * never
is quiet.' It's a perfect martyrdom to a serious per-
son like myself, to be with one as restless as an uneasy
conscience, and as fiery as one of your own Scotch
Douglases."

Fred had not waited to hear this explanation ; but
wrapping himself more closely in his cloak, resumed
his solitary march up and down — the loud mirth and
laughter from the cabin, amid which at times he
could recognize the silvery voice of Edith — giving
added bitterness to his thoughts. Poor Fred ! Like
the country swain in love, he felt " hot and dry like,
with a pain in his side like ;" and like every other
young gentleman when he first falls in love, torment-
ing himself witH a thousand imaginary evils — until,
as Gus phrased it, there was " no standing him."

Upon their arrival in Boston, Fred would have
started immediately to see his father ; but Gus, who
was to accompany Edith home, urged him to go with
them. And Edith pleaded too — more with her eager,
blushing face and eloquent eyes, than with words.

" Doj Mr. Stanley," she urged, laying her little
white hand on his own — " do come ! Papa will be
so anxious to see one who has saved his daughter's
life."

Every nerve thrilled at that magnetic touch ; but
still he stood irresolute.

" Please^ M*-. Stanley," continued that low, musical
voice — to his ear the sweetest he had ever heard ;
and the starry eyes were raised to the face above
her.

Fred looked down, to encounter those pleading

)

THE HOME OF EDITH.

blue eyes raised so earnestly to his ; and — just asyou
would have done, my dear sir, had you been in his
place — surrendered.

The residence of Major Percival was several miles
from the city ; and after spending one night at a
hotel, the trio started next morning.

The drive to Percival Hall was always remem-
bered by Fred among the happiest moments of his
life. TV 2 cold reserve which Edith had always main-
tained on shipboard had entirely vanished. An
almost childish glee at being once more at home had
taken its place, and she chatted and laughed with a
freedom and vivacity that completely finished poor
Fred.

A sudden turn in the road brought Ihem, at
length, in sight of Percival Hall. An avenue of
stately horse-chestnuts led up to the Hall itself — an
imposing-looking structure of red brick. Behind the
house was an extensive orchard, and nearer still, a
pretty flower-garden.

" There's papa — there's papa !*' exclaimed Edith,
springing up and clapping her hands ; and before
Fred, who had risen, could assist her, she had leaped
out, and flew into the arms of an elderly gentleman,
who came humming carelessly down the steps in
front of the mansion.

While the major with many an exclamation of
surprise and delight, embraced his daughter, Fred
scrutinized him from head to foot.

Jn stature he was about middle size, stout, and
squarely built, with prominent features and high
cheek-bones. There was an air of sternness and
command about him, while the firmly-closed mouth
betrayed unusual obstinacy in following his own
opinions. The high, broad forehead and massive

'I i:i

THE HOME OF EDITH.

head displayed a lofty intellect ; and there was a
piercing keenness in the gaze of his sharp grey eyes,
that gave an observer the uncomfortable sensation
that he was reading their inmost thoughts.

He now advanced toward the young man, who had
alighted, and holding out his hand to Fred, said with
grateful courtesy :

" My daughter tells me, sir, you have saved her
life. I am not in the habit of making fine speeches ;
but believe me, sir, the heartfelt gratitude of an old
man will ever follow you."

Fred bowed in silence. r

"And don't you know this young gentlcT.an,
papa?" said Edith, with an arch glance toward Gus.

" I have not that hon — eh ?" he added, suddenly —
" can it be ? Bless my soul I Gus Elliott, is this
yourself ?" and the major seized his hand with a grip
of iron.

" Well, sir," replied Gus, with a grimace, " if ever I
had any doubts on the subject, the aching of my
fingers, at present, has convinced me I am myself,
and no mistake."

"Well, well, well ["exclaimed the major, surveying
him from head to foot with his sharp eyes, " how you
have shot up since I saw you last ! And you're Gus
EUioti ! Well, who'd have thought it ? Edith ! Ah,
she has gone, I see. Walk up, gentlemen — walk up.
Mrs. Percival will be delighted to see you,"

So saying, Major Percival ran up the steps, fol*^
lowed by the two young men. The long hall was
flanked by doors on either side ; and opening one of
these, he ushered the twain into the family sitting-
room. Here tliey found Edith clasped in the arms
of a handsome, middle-aged lady ; while a young

THE HOME OF EDITH.

jrip

girl stood by her side, alternately laughing and cry-
ing.

" My wife, and daughter Ellen, Mr. Stanley. I
suppose," he added, smilingly, to his wife, " Edith
has told you all about the achievements of this prom-
ising young gentleman. There, there — don't over-
whelm him with thanks. I see by his countenance
he doesn't like it ! Come, Nell — why don't you
thank your sister's deliverer ?"

" Mamma won't give me a chance," replied Nell—
a lively, dark-eyed girl, with pretty, restless features.
** She has monopolized Mr. Stanley all to herself."

" Weil, there, I'll resign him to you, sauce-box,"
said Mrs. Percival, smiling, " though I imagine Mr.
Stanley will soon tire of your everlasting chattering."

** Here is some one else you have not seen yet,
Nell," said her sister, glancing at Gus, who now
advanced.

" Why, can it — no, it — yes, it — why, I declare its
Gus !" exclaimed Nell, as she darted forward, and
without ceremony flung her arms around his neck.

" Dear me ! Ellen, that's shockingly improper con-
duct !" said the highly-scandalized Mrs. Percival.

"Oh, isn't it nico !" exclaimed Nell, as she came
dancing back, with cheeks and eyes all aglow.
"We'll have such good times, now you and 'Dith
have come back !"

"Where is Nugent, mamma ?" inquired Edith.

" He went away with Ralph De Lisle, about a
week ago, my dear," replied her mother. " We
expect them both home again in a few days."

The name seemed to act like a galvanic shock on
Edith, who gave a sudden start, and flushed to the
temples.

" And oh, Edith !" exclaimed her voluble sister —

THE HOME OF EDITH.

'; I

*' you ought to see Ralph since you left him to wear
the willow. Poor fellow ! he was such a victim to
* green and yellow melancholy' for a week after
that, I couldn't bear to look at him. My ! won't he
be glad to hear you've come back — and so will I,
too, for I do long for a wedding dreadfully."

"Ellen !" said her mother, reprovingly.

*• Oh, well, mamma, there's nobody here that
doesn't know all about it," said the chauer-box.
*' But, dear me ! Mr. Stanley, ain't you well ? — you
look like a ghost !"

Edith, who had been gazing steadfastly out of the
window, now turned suddenly round ; and Fred
started at seeing the deadly paleness of her face.

" Ring the bell, Edith, for a glass of water," said
Nell. "Why, I declare you're as bad yourself," she
added, suddenly confronting her. "Just look,
mamma, how pale they both are ! I'm afraid it's
catching. Do / look pale ?" And the serious
expression of Nell, as she glanced at her own bloom-
ing face in the glass, was truly laughable.

But the color that had faded from the face of both
speedily returned. The eyes of Fred and Edith met ;
and before that penetrating glance hers fell, while a
vivid crimson mantled cheek and brow.

During the remainder of the evening, the nsme of
Ralph De Lisle was frequently mentioned by all
save Edith, who seemed to shrink painfully from the
subject. From what he heard, Fred judged De Lisle
was a suitor for the hand of Edith — and what was
more, a favored one.

When Fred retired that night, it was with no very
pleasant feelings. Who and what was this De Lisle?
Ke asked himself the question repeatedly, without
much hope of obtaining an answer. His resolution

THE HOME OF EDITH.

was to see Gus alone ; and, if possible, obtain from
him an explanation, without exciting suspicion as to
the state of his own feelings. If, as he feared, he
was indeed beloved by her, then he himself would
immediately depart, and see her no more.

The next day an opportunity occurred. Fred and
Gus found themselves separated from the others,
and straying arm in arm through the garden.

"Who is this Ralph De Lisle, about whom they all
appear to be so anxious ?" inquired Fred, with
affected carelessness, unconscious that he was root-
ing up the violets with his cane.

"A suitor of Edith's, I believe," replied Gus,
indifferently.

" Ah ! and a favored one, if I may judge."

" Hum ! I should think so — they're to be married
in a few weeks."

There was no response from his companion, and
Gus went on :

" The father of this De Lisle was a Frenchman,
and the intimate friend of Major Percival. When
dying, he committed his son to his care, with a
request that Edith and Riilph, who had always been
firm friends, should be united, if they were willing,
when his son attained his majority. Major Percival
promised him that his request should be fulfilled ;
and his word with him is law unalterable. The
young couple love one another, it seems ; so their
* course of true love * runs smoothly enough.
Edith wished to visit some friends of hers in Eng-
land before she became Mrs. De Lisle, and she was
returning home when you rescued her from the
burning ship."

" Better, far better, I had left her to perish there !"

THE HOME OF EDITH.

was the bitter thought that passed through Fred's
mind.

" De Lisle is an immense favorite with the major,"
continued Gus : " some say he appears fonder of him
even than of his own son. He is the leader of a
gang of tories, and a tory himself to the core of his
heart. But here comes Nell — breezy and airy as
ever."

"Oh, Mr. Stanley !" she exclaimed, as she came
flying up to him, ** we are going to have a sailing
party to-morrow, and you must be sure to come.
So, if you have any engagement for that day, you
may just break it at once."

"I regret it is impossible for me to comply," said
Fred, gravely. •* I must depart to-morrow."

" Depart for where ?" demanded Gus, surprised at
this sudden announcement.

" To see my father. I should have gone before
could I have broken the spell that bound me here '"
and he bowed to Nell.

" Oh, nonsense, Mr. Stanley !" exclaimed that
young lady. " You sha'n't go, and that's the end of
it. Your father can wait a day or two very well.
Sister, come here, and persuade Mr. Stanley to stay.
He's going away, he says."

" Going away !" echoed Edith, growing pale as
she spoke.

" But we positively won't allow it, until after
to-morrow, at least — shall we, sister ? Coax him like
a good girl, while I have a race with Carlo — he's
pulling the dress off my back. You're such a good
hand to persuade people, you know. I remember,
when De Lisle used to be leaving, how you would
coax him to stay. Come, Carlo !"

Again Edith started at the abrupt mention of that

fji*'

'.A

THE HOME OF EDITH.

•*

name, and the subdued liglit that had filled Fred's
eye as he watched her changing face, gave place to
a look of cold determination. Gus urged him press-
ingly to remain, and Edith's eyes were raised plead-
ingly to his face as she faltered out a similar request.
But their entreaties were in vain. Fred declined
politely but firmly, and entered the house to
announce his determination to Major Percival and
his wife. Here, as he expected, he was again over-
whelmed with entreaties to remain ; but having
resisted those of Edith, he found little difficulty in
remaining firm in his determination.

"At least, then, you will soon visit us again ?"
urged Mrs. Percival, when she found all her entreaties
of MO avail.

To rid himself of their importunities, Fred
promised ; and early the next morning, he was off.

The family was all assembled on the front piazza,
to say good-bye — all but Edith.

" Where's Edith ?" inquired the major, as he, too,
missed her.

"She had a bad headache this morning, and
couldn't leave her room," replied Nell, to whom the
question was addressed. ** It's strange, too! I never
knev/ her to have the headache before."

She glanced demurely at Fred, who was shaking
hands with her father ; and there was a world of
meaning in her bright eyes.

** Well, good-bye, Miss Ellen," he said, approaching
her, "until we meet again. Remember me to your
sister."

He bowed, sprang into the carriage, and drove off,
quite unconscious that from her chamber-window
the eyes of Edith were watching him until he dis-
appeared.

FATHER AND SON,

CHAPTER VI.

FATHER AND SON.

* Fathers have flinty hearts, no prayers
Can move them." — Shakespeare.

; r \

It was drawing toward the close of a pier -ant
summer's day. The sun was lust sinking behind the
western hill-tops, when a carriage rattled along the
dusty streets, and stopped before a plain but com-
modious-looking dwelling.

A young man, tall and handsome, sprang out ;
andj turning to tho servant, whom the wheels had
brought out, demanded :

" Does Sir William Stanley live here ?"

"Yes, sir," was the reply.

" Is he at home now ?" inquired the young man.

" Yes, sir.**

" Alone ?"

" Yes, sir."

" Then show me to his room. I wish to see him
immediately."

"But, sir, really," stammered the man, "Sir
William dislikes to be intruded upon. If you will
give me your name, I will announce you."

" My good fellow, I'll not put you to so much
trouble. Just show me to his room, and I'll take the
consequences."

Hurried away by the impatient and commanding
manner of the young man, the domestic, sorely
against his will, was forced to obey. Preceding the
impudent stranger (as he considered him) to the
library, he opened the door, and ushered him into

FATHER AND SON.

the " presence," and imn^ediately beat a precipitate
retreat,

A tall, stately man, of middle age and military
bearing, sat writing at a desk. There was a striking
resemblance between the two — the same tall, com-
manding figure — the same haughty, aristocratic air,
the same fiery, dark eye. But the winning smile that
sometimes gave such a look of inexpressible sweet-
ness to the face of the younger, never appeared on
the thin, firmly-compressed lips of the other.

The noise made by the opening of the door aroused
him. He looked up quickly, with an air of anger at
the interruption ; but as his eye fell on the young
man's face, he sprang from his seat, and caught him
impetuously by the hand.

" Fred ! by all that's lucky !" he exclaimed, in a
tone of delight, " when did you arrive.' I was just
wishing this moment that you were here."

" I only reached here a day or two ago," replied
Fred, returning his cordial grasp.

" And how are our friends in Paris ?" Inquired Sir
William.

" They are well, sir. I had several letters for you
from them, but it was my fate to be shipwrecked, and
they were, unfortunately, lost."

" Shipwrecked," said the father, inquiringly.

"Yes, sir," replied Fred, as he related their adven-
tures on sea, omitting, however, that part concern-
ing Edith.

" So, Gus Elliott accompanied yo^:, did he ?"
inquired Sir William, when he hail concluded,
" Where is he now ?"

** At his uncle's, Major Percival's," replied Fred,
beginning to trace the pattern of the carpet with the
end of his riding-whip.

FATHER AND SON.

t^'i

"Ah, indeed ! I k.iow his son, young Percival.
Fine fellow, too — fine fellow ! And there's a friend
of his, too — De Lisle, I think they call him," con-
tinued Sir William, without noticing his son's sud-
den start, "an example for half the young men in
this rebellious land. You saw, of course, the appoint-
ment I've procured for you in the army."

" I did, sir," said Fred, preparing himself for the
storm that was coming.

" Well, I piusf say," said Sir William, surveying
him with a look of calm surprise, not to say displeas-
ure, "that for such good news you seem wonderfully
little elated. Why, sir, at your age, I would have
been wild with delight at such an offer."

Fred still sat silent ; and his father, after regard-
ing him for a moment with a look of increasing
astonishment, went on :

** There are sundry reports in circulation not at all
to your credit, Frederic, and though I have always
refused to believe them, yet they have given me a
great deal of mortification. It is now in your power
to prove these reports false, and enable me to hear
my son's name once more without blushing for him.
You will go immediately, and report yourself at
headquarters."

The last sentence was spoken with an air of stern
command terribly galling to Fred, ev?n though com-
ing from the lips of a father. His calm, truth-
beaming eye met that of his father unflinchingly, as
he rose to his feet, and stood confronting him.

" Pardon me, sir," he said respectfully, but firmly ;
" I cannot go."

" Cannet r repeated Sir William, starting back in
mingled anger and amazement. " Good heaven ! is

FATHER AND SON.

t»

it possible these reports were really true — can it
be that my son is a coward ?"

" I am no coward, sir !" replied Fred, proudly, an
indignant flush passing over his face.

" Then, sir, you are a traitor — a rebel !" exclaimed
Sir William, fiercely, as he involuntarily half-drew
his sword.

" Neither, sir !" replied Fred, with perfect calm-
ness.

" Then, in the name of Heaven, what are you ?
cried his father, passionately, hurried beyond all
bounds by the young man's cool, though respectful
demeanor.

Fred stood erect, while his eye lit up, and encount-
ered fearlessly the angry orbs glaring upon him.

" Sir," he said proudly. ** I am an American b^*^
birth and by feeling. I cannot take up arms, even
at the command of a father, against my country-
men !"

Sir William grew ebsolutely livid with passion.

" Ungrateful, undutiful wretch !" hu exclaimed,
in a voice that sounded hoarse and unnatural with
rage ; •* do you dare to reply to your father thus ? I
command you, sir, on your peril, never to speak such
words again. I tell you, mad-headed, disobedient
youth, that you will — you shall— yow must obey me !

Fred stood silent with his arms folded, and a look
of unmistakable determination in his eye.

" Have you heard me ?" exclaimed his father,
striding forward, and glaring upon him with his fiery
eyes. " I say you shall obey me !"

" I hear you, sir !" replied Fred, calmly, meeting
his gaze with an unflinching eye.

'* And you shall heed me, too. Go immediately,
instantly, and report yourself ; and by your bravery

FATHEK AND SON.

■ «
I

Strive to atone for your hot-headed presumption.
D'ye hear me, sir ?'*

" Yes, sir."

** And you will obey ?"

** Most decidedly, no^ sir !"

"You will not?" exclaimed Sir William, with a
glance that might have annihilated him, it was so
intensely, scorchingly angry.

" No, sir !"

" Base, degenerate scoundrel ! Do you not dread
a father's curse ?"

" Not when my conscience tells me I have done no
wrong to deserve it !"

" Conscience !" repeated his father, with a bitter
sneer ; ** methinks that is an article you are but little
acquainted with. Pray, Sir Parson, have you ever
heard the command : * Honor thy father ?' "

" Yes ; and I have heard another : * Husbands,
love and cherish your wives !* Which, in your estima-
tion, sir, has the greater force ?"

He spoke, almost without knowing it, in a tone of
such concentrated bitterness that his father quailed
before him.

" I am not in the humor for fooling," he said an-
grily. " Will you or will you not obey me ?"

" You have my answer already."

"And you still persist in disobeying me ?'*

" I must, sir, in this matter."

" And may I ask, most patriotic young man, what
you intend doing ?" inquired Sir William, with a
sneer of withering sarcasm.

" I intend joining the American army," said Fred,
calmly.

^* You doT exclaimed his father, with flashing eyes.

FATHEB AND SON.

** Do you really mean to say you are going to take
sides against me — your father, sir ?"

Sir William bit his lip, and began to pace rapidly
up and down. He saw he had injured his own in-
terest by getting into a passion ; his son was not one
to be intimidated. Gentle language, he felt, would
have produced a much greater impression ; and all
unused as his lips were to it, he determined to try its
efficacy. It was not that he really loved his son so
much, although he did feel more affection for him
than for any one else ; but it was not in his selfish
nature to love any one much. The opinion of the
world was what he feared ; he felt it would be a ter-
rible humiliation to be pointed at hereafter, as a man
whose son was a rebel !

Full of this idea, he advanced toward Fred, who
stood watching his varying countenance, and read-
ing, with his searching eyes, his very inmost thoughts.

" Frederic," he said in a subdued tone, " I feel I
have been wrong in speaking as I have done. But
consider the provocation. You are my only child —
the last descendant of an ancient house ; without you
to perpetuate it, our family will become extinct.
You are my only hope, Frederic ; you will not desert
me in my old age ?"

What was begun in policy ended in real pathos.
His anger and reproaches had fallen unheeded ; but
his last words went to the heart of Fred.

" Father," he said, " I cannot alter my determina-
tion. Therefore, cease to urge me to do what duty
forbids."

" Duty, Frederic ! Do not pervert the word. Your
duty is by the side of your father. Where else should
a son be? This cant about * freeing your country,*
is all very well for those hare-brained ragamuffins

'■ 1

f^'

ill

FATHER AND SON.

who follow the rebel Washington ; but does not be-
come you. Remain with me, and you will be heir to
oneof the noblest estates in old England. Persist in
his mad scheme, and I shall be compelled to disin-
herit you."

He commenced to speak calmly ; but, as he pro-
ceeded, his anger overmastered every other feeling,
and he assumed his former threatening tone of com-
mand toward the close.

" That last argument, father, was the most
ineffectual one you could have used," said his son,
quietly. " Wealth I have never coveted."

" Don't dare to call me father !" said the now
thoroughly incensed parent. "You are henceforth
no son of mine. I cast you off. I disown you ; and
if you are caught fighting for the rebels, I will have
you hung as a traitor, Mark my words — it is no
idle threat. And now, sir, begone, instantly ! Never
darken these doors again ! Away, thou ingrate !"

He paused, choked with rage. Fred's face was
deadly pale ; the words sounded terribly unnatural
and fearful, coming from a parent's lips.

" Father ! you do not — you cannot mean — "

" Away, sir !" repeated Sir William, waving his
hand. " I have spoken no hasty words, to be repented
of afterward ! I never threaten what I do not intend
to perform ; and if ever you are taken prisoner, I
repeat it, you shall hang as high as Haman ! Yes,
sir, I will keep my word, though King George him-
self pleaded for you ; and if none other could be
found, I would be your executioner myself ! You
have heard me ! Begone !"

Little did either dream how soon that threat was
to be fulfilled.

THE HERMIT OF THE CLIFFS.

be-
to
in

;in-

He held the door open, and signed for him to go.
Without a word, Fred took his hat and quitted the
house.

CHAPTER VII.

'.fS

THE HERMIT OF 7 HE CLIFFS.

*• It was a lonely spot in which he dwelt ;

Man shunned his roof, few cared to ask its shelter;
Not that the old man bore an evil name,
But that his house was lonely." — Old Play.

Three days later Fred sat in the parlor of an un-
pretending looking hotel, carelessly glancing over a
newspaper, when a waiter entered, and announced
" that a gemman was 'quirin* for him down stairs."

" For me ?" repeated Fred. " Who can it be ?"

" Dunno, sah," replied the darkey, fancying the
question was addressed to himself ; " I 'spect — "

" Show him up," said Fred, cutting short the
darkey's explanation.

In a few moments, a tall, handsome fellow, with a
good-humored look, and a frank, off-hand air,
entered. Advancing to Fred, he held out his hand,
with a smile :

** Mr. Stanley, I believe," he said, courteously.

** Yes, sir." replied Fred, bowing ; *' but I regret to
say I am quite ignorant of the name of — "

"Ah ! beg pardon !" interrupted the new-comer.
*'My name is Nugent Percival. I v/ish I could
thank you sufficiently for the inestimable service
you have rendered us all, in saving my sister's
life.'*

THE HEBMIT OF THE CLIFFS.

Fred strove to effect a genteel indifference, though
he felt the blood rushing to his face.

" Pray do not mention it," he replied. " I am
only too happy to have had the opportunity of sav-
ing" her. I trust she is v/ell ?"

*' Yes ; Edith is quite well, and joins most urgently
with th^i rest of the family in inviting you to return
with me home. Do not refuse, Mr, Stanley," he
continued, seeing the almost haughty expression of
Fred's face; "you have no idea how disappointed
they will all be. Gus would h_ive accompanied me
here ; but my sister Nell positively refused to let
him go — for fear, as she expressed it, he might get
shipwrecked again.'*

Fred smiled, and walked, irresolutely, to the win-
dow. Edith urged him to return : his heart leaped
at the words, but a moment's thought convinced him
that Percival had merely used the words as a matter
of form. Still, he felt an inward wish to go. Some-
thing made him fancy Edith was not wholly indiffer-
ent to him, and he longed to hear her say so with
her own lips. But, then, her affianced, De Lisle?
What if he were there ? Well, even so it would be
a comfort to see what manner of man his rival was.
Still, there was an undefined hope that he was not
at Percival Hall.

"I hardly know,'* he said, hesitating, " whether to
intrude a second time or not. There may be strang-
ers — " He paused.

*• Only the family," said Percival, in his frank way.
" So, if meeting strangers is your only objection, yod
see you can no longer refuse. Come, Stanley (excuse
my familiarity), you must come back with me. I
have been threatened v<^ith all manner of calamities

THE HERMIT OP THE CLIFFS.

by Nell (who, by the way, pronounces you * a love
of a man'), if I did not bring you."

There was something Fred could not resist in the
courteous, winning manner of young Percival. He
resembled Edith, too, far more than did her sister ;
and this, perhaps, was the secret cause that drew
Fred toward him.

"Well, since a lady commands it, I must obey,"
he said,gayly, as he ran his fingers through his dark
elf locks. " When do you start ?"

" My orders are to wait for you, sir," replied Per-
cival ; "and I shall most assuredly do so, not having
courage to brave the storm I should meet with, did
I venture to return without you. Therefore, until
you are ready, I remain your very humble servant."

" Then you are not likely to he detained," said
Fred, " as I am like the soldier's wife — ready to
march on a moment's warning."

" Very good !" said Percival ; " what say you to
starting to-morrow ?"

" I have ao objection," replied Fred. " I am only
spending a day or two here, to kill time."

The matter being thus arranged, Percival, after
conversing for a short time on ordinary topics, took
his leave. The next morning found them en route.

There was, we must confess it, an unusual throb-
bing at Fred's heart, when he again encountered
Edith. She was looking better, — more cheerful than
he had ever seen her, he fancied — and the cold reserve
with which she had formerly treated him, seemed
entirely forgotten in the unfeigned pleasure with
which she welcomed hiin back. Fred fancied, or
rather hoped, this might be caused by the prolonged
absfince of De Lisle (who had not yet made his
appearance), and iK>ticing the eager happy look with

i :

THE HEBMIT OF THE 0UFF8.

iwhich she met him, his heai t leaped with the wild
hope that perhaps she loved Aim after all.

The greeting of the rest of the family was most
cordial, especially that of Nell. That young lady
declared "she hadn't a bit of fun since he left ; that
she never was at a loss for something to laugh at
when he was present ; it was so funny to see him
sitting so stiff and dignified, looking more like a ban-
ished prince than an every-day Christian."

A wf:ek passed rapidly away at Percival Hall.
Rides, drives, and walks followed each other, in all
of which Fred unaccountably found himself the com-
panion of Edith. Gus, who was generally at his wit's
end by the capricw of Nell, found enough to do in
taking care of that eccentric young damsel. And
Percival usually started off by himself, leaving the
well-satisfied couples behind him to their own devices.
There was a dangerous fascination for Fred in these
interviews. Sometimes, feeling half-ashamed of loit-
ering here in idleness, when duty called him else-
where, he would resolve to depart immediately ; but
days passed on, and he found it impossible to tear
himself away. He strove to stifle the twinges of
conscience by specious arguments ; but reflection
would not be stifled, do as he would.

" Well, Stanley, have my sisters introduced you to
all the celebrities of the place ?" asked Percival, one
warm, sunny afternoon, as the whole party, after a
longer ramble than usual, strolled toward the house.

" No," said Nell ; " we haven't visited the hermit
yet !"

"And why have you not brought him there, Puss ?"
inquired her brother.

" Because the Hermit was absent, off on one of his

THE HERMIT OF THE CUFFBL

crazy rambles," replied Nell. *' He only returned
this morning. Old Mat, the gardener, told me."

" Then suppose we go in a party, and pay the old
man a visit ?" said Percival.

" Pray," inquired Fred, "who is the Hermit?"

" Oh ! a most singular and eccentric old man,"
replied Percival ; "one alike feared and shunned and
beloved by the villagers. He resides a few miles
from here, near the seashore, and is a lunatic, but
perfectly harmless. There is a range of rocks in that
direction, which has been known from time immem-
orial by the name of * The Cliffs,' and from his fond-
ness for strolling about there, he has received the
singular and f!on;ewb?.t romantic imme of the Hermit
of the Cliffs. He first made his appearance here a
few years ago, and from his skill in herbs and med-
icine, became a favorite. He has built a sort of cabin
up among the cliffs, and here he has since resided,
spending his time in cultivating a little garden, or
wandering among the rocks. His name is unknown,
but he is, no doubt, some unfortunate, whom the
cares of the world have made an idiot."

" I feel rather curious to see this singular person-
age," said Fred. " Let us visit him by all means."

"Is it not too far, brother?" said Edith, anxiously.
" The sun will have set before we return."

" What odds ?" interrupted the impetuous Nell.
« We can return by moonlight, which will be twice
as pleasant." And Nell hummed :

" Moonlight hours were made for Jove.**

" Let us start, then," said Gus, " if we are to visit
the wizard. There is no time to lose."
For awhile the party walked on together, chatting

THE HERMIT OF THE CLIFFS.

Si '

3 !

gayly ; but the usual phenomenon took place before
they had proceeded far. Gus and Nell saw some-
thing very interesting on ahead that caused them to
quicken their steps, while Fred and Edith found it
quite convenient to walk slowly. There was a
scarcely-repressed smile hovering about young Per-
cival's lips, as, under the plea of acting as guide, he
walked on by himself in advance of the rest.

Two hours slow walking brought them to the
cliffs, a high, steep, craggy range of rocks. As a
matter of course, each party sought the cottage of
the hermit by a different path. Fred and his fair
companion, absorbed in conversation, had nearly
forgotten the object of their visit, when, turning an
abrupt angle in the path, he raised his head and
shook back his dark locks, his eye fell on the most
singular-looking personage he had ever beheld.

It was an old man of grave and majestic aspect,
who stood leaning on a staff. His long white hair
and beard flowed over his robes, and gave to his
pale, but benign countenance, a venerable look, that
immediately commanded respect. A small skull-cap
of black velvet was on his head, forming a strong
contrast to the hoary whiteness of his aged locks.
His dress was most singular, consisting of a long,
flowing robe of some dark stuff, that swept the
ground as he walked, and was confined at the waist
by a girdle of black velvet. Altogether, his appear-
ance was so odd, so singular, that Fred stood staring
at him, transfixed with astonishment. The hermit
himself stood gazing upon them for a moment, then,
raising his cap, he said, in a grave, impressive voice,
laying his hand on his heart :

" Peace be between us, my children."

** Amen, father !" responded Edith, who was fa«

1'^

II J I

THB HEBMIT OF THI 0LIFF8.

miliar with the singular appearance'and address of the
hermit, while Fred still stood lost in wonder.

"Why hast thou visited me this evening, my
daughter?" said the old man, turning to Edith.

" My friend " — and she glanced toward Fred—
" has heard so much of the Hermit of the Cliffs, that
he was anxious to visit you. Therefore I took the
liberty of bringing him."

The old man turned slowly, and fixed his mild,
dark eye on the face of the young man.

"What is thy name, my son ?" he inquired.

" I am called Frederic Stanley, good father/' said
Fred, raising his hat, and bowing with deep rever*
ence.

The eyes of the hermit were fixed on him long and
steadily, as if striving to read his inmost thoughts.
As if still uncertain, he approached ; and pushing
back the thick curls that fell darkly over the young
man's brow, gazed earnestly into the calm, dark eyes
that fearlessly met his own. Edith looked up in
Fred's face with a smile.

"Yes," said the hermit, at last, speaking more to
himself than to the listeners, " he has his father's
proud bearing and haughty eyes. The same impet-
uous bravery, but a nobler and more generous heart."

" Do you know my father ?" inquired the young
man, in surprise.

•* Yes ; better, perhaps, than he does himself. I
know him for a rash, self-willed, obstinate, hard-
hearted man."

" Sir, he is my father !"said Fred, flushing angrily.

The penetrating eye of the hermit was fixed stead-
ily on his face.

" And can you defend him," he said, ** after part-
ing from him as you did last ?"

THE HERMIT OF THE CLIFFS.

|i )

I 5

■I I r.

Fred stood aghast. The meeting between the
father and son had been strictly private ; and yet
this mysterious being seemed to know all that had
occurred.

" How came you to know of our last meeting ?" he
demanded imperiously.

" Perhaps I know more than you are aware of, my
son," said the hermit, while something like a faint
smile passed over his face

" Pshaw !" exclaimed Fred, impetuously, " you
have merely made a clever guess. Since you know
we are both fiery tempered, it required no great skill
to predict that we might differ."

*' Shall I convince you, most noble doubter, that I
know of what I speak ?" said the hermit, quietlj'.

" If you can," replied Fred, with an incredulous
smile.

** Then name the way/'

"Tell me of the past," said Fred, glancing mean-
ingly at Edith.

" Be it so. We will begin with your age. You will
be twenty-five years old the third of next November."

Fred bowed, with a look of surprise.

** Your mother died alone and in sorrow ; the hands
of strangers placed her in the grave."

Fred grew deadly pale, and drew back.

" You have performed some great service for the
lady by your side," continued the hermit, quietly.
" And at present linger with her here, neglecting the
duty for which your father has disowned you."

"Enough sir," interrupted Fred,haughtily. "Be you
man or demon, I will listen to no imputations on my
conduct. How you have obtained this information
concerning me, I know not ; neither do I care. Come,
Miss Percival, let us go ; the evening air is too damp

THE HEKMIT OF THE CLIFFS.

for you, and I see our friends are on their way home.
I wish you good evening, Sir Sage.'* And raising
his liat, Fred turned coldly away.

" Stay one moment," said the hermit, laying his
hand on the young man's arm, and speaking with
such deep solemnity that it awed him in spite of him-
self. " Stay, rash youth, and be warned. Beware
of faLe friends. There is danger at hand ; you will
soon meet one who can work you much evil. I am
your friend, though you may not believe it. Go,
and be warned ! Despise not the words of one to
whom age has brought wisdom. Farewell^ my chil-
dren, and Heaven bless you !"

He bowed and turning slowly round, disappeared
among the rocks,

'* Let us go," said Edith, who clung, pale anc*
trembling, to Fred's arm ; ** his words frighten me."

*' Fear not, fairest Edith ; those ominous words
were not meant for you," Faid Fred, gently, as he
wrapped her shawl close around her, and hurried
down the rocks.

** It may be wrong — it may be superstitious," said
Edith, '* but I feel the strangest presentiment ot
coming danger stealing over me. Something terri-
ble and undefined, from which I shrink in fear and
horror."

'* I thought your nerves were too strong to be thus
shaken by the idle raving of a moonstruck old man,"
said Fred, gravely.

*'I am not nervous," said Edith, earnestly. **Tt is
a feeling for which I cannot account. Strange, is it
not, that the old man could tell you of the past so
truly ?"

" It is, indeed !" said Fred, thoughtfully, •* I can-
not account for it."

7<>

THB RIVALS.

During the remainder of the journey home, both
w€re silent and thoughtful. It might be fancy, but
Fred thought there was something more confiding
than usual in the way Edith clung to his arm. The
moonlight fell softly around, ere they reached Per-
cival Hall, subduing with its lights and shadows the
irregular outline of the building. As they walked
slowly up the avenue in front, Nell came flying down
the steps all in a flutter of surprise.

" Edith ! Edith !" she cried, as she caught sight of
her sister, " guess who's come ?"

" Who ?" said Edith.

" Why, nobody less than Ralph De Lisle !'*

What meant Edith's convulsive start ? She lifted
her eyes to the dark, handsome face above her and
Fred was struck by her deadly paleness. Their eyes
met and that one glance told what their lips had
«4ver spoken.

CHAPTER VHL

THE RIVALS.

•*It is a dreadful question, when we love.
To ask is love returned."— The Hunchback.

"Come along, Edith, here is a friend of yours,"
called the cheerful voice of young Percival, as they
entered the hall.

Still leaning on the arm of Fred — for she trembled
with inward emotion — Edith entered the parlor. A
gentleman arose, and advanced toward her with
extended hand.

THE RIVALS.

Fred ran his eye over his rival from head to foot.
He was tall, considerably above middle height, ele^
gant in person, -^nd easy in address. His features,
taken separately, were decidedly handsome ; but
there was a sinister look in the ever-restless glances
of his keen, black eyes. His complexion was dark —
almost swarthy — with hair, moustache, and whiskers,
of shining jetty blackness. There was an expression
about the well-cut mouth Fred could not tolerate ;
and the forehead, though high, was narrow and
retreating. He was d*"essed in the height of fashion,
and e'^erything about him, even to the carefully-mod-
ulated tones of his voice, bespoke the perfect gentle-
man.

"Mr. Stanley — Mr. De Lisle," said Edith, making
a faint attempt at an introduction.

Fred bowed coldly and haughtily, and his salute
was with equal haughtiness acknowledged. There
was something so contemptuous in the supercilious
air with which De Lisle regarded him, that Fred's
eye flashed and his cheek crimsoned with anger.

" This is an unexpected pleasure, eh, Edith ?" said
her father. "You did not expect to see your intended
so soon, did you ?"

Edith suddenly discovered there was an interest-
ing view from the window, and couldn't possibly
hear her father's words.

"I say, Ralph," said Nell, leaning over his chair
with a short laugh, " you had better look out for
Edith ! Mr. Stanley's is better-looking than you are,
and—"

The rest of the sentence was lost in a whisper.

An angry flush passed over De Lisle's face, as he
bit his lip till it grew bloodless. Fred sat talking to
Mrs. Percival with great empressement^ though he

THE RIVALS.

».

;?',

heard every word of Nelly's remark, and he awaited
the response with deep interest.

** Oh ! there is no danger ! I am not afraid c/
Aim^" replied De Lisle, with a sneer of intense con-
tempt.

" Don't be too certain," said Nell. " Don't you
remember the proverb : Nothing is certain in this
uncertain world. Well, it's as true as preaching ; so
you had better look out. If 'Dith gives you the sack
some fine morning, don't say I didn't give you fair
warning."

" I have a better opinion of your sister's taste, my
pretty black eyes. If I am to be a discarded lover, I
trust it will not be for an unknown adventurer and
rebely* said De Lisle, in the same sneering tone.

It may be imagined with what feelings Fred
listened to this dialogue. H<s fiery spirit was roused
beyond endurance by the last iosult ; and forgetting
his position as guest, he was about to make some
fierce retort, when Gus strolled leisurely in, and
asked Nell what she was talking about.

** Repeating poetry, ain't we, Ralph ?" said Nell,
with an arch glance.

" That's a good child. Say some more," said Gus
lounging on a couch.

Nell, always prepared for any emergency, stood
with clasped hands in the middle of the floor, and
repeated solemnly :

III

" My mother she tells me

Nature has gfiven thee lips —
Lips to speak with, my daughter, my own ;
And so thou must use them for speaking alone*

But why are they red^ then ?
White lips would answer for speaking as well;

And why has she said, then —

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THE BIVAL8.

" Only for speaking? Oh ! who can tell
A poor little innocent girl like me,
For what but to speak with can my mouth be ?"

" Shall I tell you ?" said Gus, taking a step toward
her, but gliding through his hands as if she had been
a sunbeam, she vanished through the open doors.

" Shall we take a stroll i:i tlie garden ?" said Per-
cival, advancing toward him. " The night is too
fine to be spent within doors."

Fred, glad to escape from the stream of small-talk
with which Mrs. Percival was overwhelming him,
arose, and passing his arm through that of his friend,
quitted the house.

" I heard the remarks of that thoughtless sister of
mine,** remarked Percival, in a tone of slight embar-
rassment, ** and feeling you must be annoyed, took
the liberty of inviting you out, I trust you have too
much good sense to feel hurt at anything Nell may
say ?"

" Did you hear what he said ?" demanded Fred,
almost fiercely.

*' I did ; and 1 felt as much annoyed by it myself
as you could possibly be. It was too bad of De Lisle
— too bad, positively. But we must make allowances
for these lovers, Mr. Stanley," he said smiling. "Jeal-
ousy will make the best of them slightly impertinent.
He was vexedwith Edith, too. Her welcome, as you
doubtless perceived, was a cold one."

"That he should dare call me2Si adventurer !" ex-
claimed Fred, with flashing eyes. " I, who have
descended from one of the proudest families in
England. And that I should be obliged to tamely sit
down, and bear with the insult."

He ground his teeth and clenched his hands with
suppressed passion.

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THE RIVALS.

" Oh ! never mind, my dear fellow !'* said Percival,
soothingly. " Ralph is a hot-headed youth ; and,
when angry, is not very choice in the words he uses.
I beg you'll think no more about it. Nell's remarks
were very tantalizing to a lover, you must allow, I
shall caution her against speaking so again."

" I tell you, Percival," exclaimed Fred, vehemently,
** were he not your father's guest, as I am, I would
call him out and make him retract his words or shoot
him like a dog. * Rebel and adventurer !' " he re-
peated, still more fiercely. " Is it from a hound like
that moustached puppy, I must bear such an insult ?"

" My dear Stanley," said Percival, laying iiis hand
on the young man's shoulder, ** I beg there may be
no quarreling on this subject. Consider my sister's
name will be involved ; and as you are a man of
honor, you will submit to this taunt rather than that
the breath of slander sliould be affixed to her."

" For your sister's sake I would do anything — sub-
mit to anytiiing," exclaimed Fred, impetuously.
Then, seeing the other's look of surprise, he added
almost fiercely: " Do you think I am blind — do you
think I have the heart of a stoic? Do you tliink it
possible I could be continually in your sister's soci-
ety, and not become interested in her ? I tell you,
Nugent Percival, I love your sister, though she be
betrothed to the man I hate, Ralph De Lisle."

There was something appalling in tlie unsubdued
fierceness with wliich he spoke. His eyes seemed
actually to emit flashes of fire, and his steps re-
sounded, as he paced up and down, as though he
was siiod with iron. There was a cloud on the
handsome features of Nugent Percival, as he again
placed the hand on his shoulder, and said, earnestly:

*' My dear Stanley, my dear fellow, I am sorry for

THE RIVALS.

you. I never dreamed that this was the case. I
would to Heaven Edith's choice had fallen upon you
first, instead of De Lisle. But it is too late now.
And for the sake of peace — for the happiness of all
— I beg you will endeavor to avoid a quarrel with
him while he remains here. He is a perfect fiend
when roused, and I greatly fear the happiness of our
whole household will be destroyed, should anything
occur."

" Forgive me, my dear Percival ; I have been mad.
To-morrow I will depart. I have loitered here too
long, neglecting the duty which calls me away. De
Lisle's taunt shall be borne this time, but should we
meet again — " He paused, but his eyes finished the
sentence.

" Oh ! come, Stanley, you mustn't think of going
to-morrow," interposed Percival. "Do you not
know to-morrow is Nellie's seventeenth birthday,
and she is to celebrate it by a party in the evening.
Come, my good friend, be reasonable ! You cannot
depart to-morrow. The thing is impossible !"

Fred knit his brow, and paced moodily up and
down.

" Besides, if you leave us so suddenly," continued
Percival, in his frank, cheerful way, " I will think
that my words have driven you off. That would be
a poor requital for saving my sister's life."

*' For ///a/ I need no thanks," said Fred, huskily.
Then seeing the anxious expression on Percival's
face, he said, more composedly : " My dear friend,
I will remain, as you request, but I certainly must
depart on the day following. Duty to my country
imperatively calls me away."

" Ah ! Edith told me something of this !" said Per-

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THE RIVALS.

cival, while a flush tinged his cheek. * Stanley, I
envy you."

*' E'vy irt ^ • * JJr. ed Fred, bitterly.

"Yes, for i hav<^ no doubt a brilliant career is in
store for you. I' or n'' it is out of the question."

" And why, may I ask ?"

•* Oh ! the reason is simple enough. I will not
accept a commission in the English army, and there
would be the deuce to pay did I enlist in any other.
I have not courage to face my father's anger, so I
choose to remain neutral. Rather cowardly, is it
not ?"

He laughed carelessly as he spoke, but there was a
bitterness in his tone tha' did not escape Fred.

" There's De Lisle, now, he continued, *' lie's a red-
hot tory, and is considered both by my father and
yours as the deau ideal of what a young man in these
times should be. There's something almost fiendish
in the hate with which he pursues the * rebel Yan-
kees.' I always considered mercy a necessary virtue
in a soldier, but he looks upon it as quite superfluous,
not to say childish. He is the leader of a gang of
savage-looking cut-throats, more like Spanish ban-
dits, to my mind, than Christian soldiers. With
these he goes hovering about, never bringing about
any particular result, but harassing the enemy, and
cutting off straggling parties. Heigho !" he added,
suddenly changing his tone, '* he does something
after all, and that is more than I can say."

" But why," demanded Fred, " do you not declare
your real sentiments to your father, and follow the
dictates of your own conscience ? If seems to me
(pardon my plain speaking) t'.iat there is something
unmanly in acting this way."

Percival turned away his head for a moment, and

£IE RIVAL8.

when he £gain spoke, his voice was low and
husky.

" I would do so, Stanley. Heaven knows it is from
no unworthy motive that I shrink from it, but my
mother, it would kill her."

"My dear Percival," said Fred, graspin ''is hand,
«* say no more, I honor you for your jin M.nents.
You will pardon my words, I feel assur .-c. "

" That is already done," replied Pe.^•l''^i, smiling,
"and now, since we have both talked oui selves into
a proper degree of coolness, suppose vre return to
the house."

Edith was seated at the piano singing when they
entered, with De Lisle standing by her side to turn
over the leaves. As may be supposed, this sight
did not tend to add to Fred's composure ; but with
the determination of avoiding all outward sign of
annoyance, he seated himself by the window, and
listened quietly to the sweet voice of the singer, as
she warbled the words of an old Scotch ballad.

Later in the evening, when Edith bowed her good-
night to him, he encountered the eyes of De Lisle
fixed upon him with a look of such undying bate
that he absolutely started. The next moment he
recovered his presence of mind, and regarding him
for a moment with a contemptuous smile, far more
stinging than any words, he passed from the room.

Alone in the solitude of his own chamber, he strove
to think calmly over the events of the day. Calmly !
It was hard indeed to do so with such a fire burning
in his heart and brain. The memory of the hermit's
strange prediction kept constantly recurring to his
mind, but though he thought until his head grew
giddy, he could not imagine who that strange being
was. Then, as the other events of the evening passed

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THE RIVALS.

one by one before him, he came in due course
of time to tlie insulting words of De Lisle, and once
again his eye flasiied, and his clieek burned, as he
trod fiercely up and down the room.

And Edith ! Did she love him ? That expressive
glance, as they entered the house, had seemed to say
so ! If so, would she still fulfill her engagement with
De Lisle ? He dwelt upon this problem until his
brain was in a whirl, and when he at last threw him-
self on the bed, it was with the intention of seeking
a solution from herself the following day.

As every member of the family, however, was busy
all day in preparing for the festivities of the evening,
no opportunities occurred for him to see Edith alone.
Accordingly, accepting Percival's invitation, he went
out with him to take a stroll, only returning in time
to dress for the evening.

When Fred entered the drawing-room, he found it
crowded to excess. Owing to the warmth of the
weather, the doors and windows were all left open,
and the cool nigiit-breeze came drifting in, laden
with the perfume of tlowers, the glare of the lighted
rooms contrasting pleasantly with the calm, full
moonlight. Edith, robed in snowy white, was there,
looking lovelier than ever. She stood by the open
window, partly in the shadow, her head leaning on
her hand, a sad, dreamy look on her fair face. As
Fred approached, she raised her cloudless blue eyes
to his face, and he started to see her look exactly as
she did the day he rescued her from the burning
ship. The rose tint on her cheek deepened to crim-
son beneath his gaze, and with an inclination of her
head, she glided away, and disappeared among the
crowd.

While he stood looking after her, Nell approached,

THE RIVALS.

leaning on the arm of De Lisle. Nell looked abso-
lutely beautiful, there was such a deep, living glow
on her cheeks, and such a bright, streaming light in
her eyes. De Lisle, most elegantly dressed, was also
looking handsome, and had evidently prepared him-
self to make a deeper impression than ever upon
Edith.

"Oh, Mr. Stanley !" exclaimed Nell, "wha^ have
you done with Edith ? She was here a moment ago,
with you*' — There was a wicked emphasis on the
pronoun. " Where is she now ? I want her dread-
fully."

At sight of De Lisle, Fred's face grew cold, almost
haughty.

" I am sorry I cannot inform you," he answered
stiffly, " Miss Percival did not remain here a mo-
ment."

" Dear me ! I hope she did not leave you on our
account," said the wicked Nell, noticing with delight
that De Lisle was pale with anger and jealousy.
*' Come, Ralph, we must look for her. Perhaps
you'll join us, Mr. Stanley."

•* Excuse me !" said Fred, bowing coldly, as he
turned on his heel and left them.

Nell clapped her hands with delight.

" What a creature !" she exclaimed, " as stiff and
haughty as papa himself. Did you ever see such an
iron face as he puts on when angry, and iht freezing
tone in which that * excuse me * was said."

And Nell imitated his tone so exactly, that any-
body but De Lisle would have laughed.

" Conceited, insufferable puppy !" muttered the
young man between his clenched teeth.

As Fred strolled into the dancing-room, he saw
Edith and Gus standing at the head of one of the

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THE RIVALS.

quadrilles, and laughing and chatting gayly during
the rests. Feeling in no humor for dancing himself,
he wandered into the music-room, where he could
catch glimpses of the gay dancers, and listen to the
merry strains of the music.

There was a deep bay-window in the music-room,
screened by heavy curtains. In this recess there was
a lounge. Fred threw himself on it, and drew the
curtains to screen himself from the observation of
any stragglers who might enter.

Suddenly the sound of a familiar voice met his ear.
Raising himself on his elbow, he glanced from his
hiding-place and beheld the well known features of
De Lisle apparently absorbed in earnest conversa-
tion with another man.

His companion, from some strange unaccountable
cause immediately riveted the attention of Fred, as
no other stranger had ever done before. Not that
there was anything remarkable about him. He was
a man of middle age, robust and sine^vy, but not
stout, and dressed in the plain garb of a civilian of
the day. His features were bronzed by the sun, and
seamed with more wrinkles than his age might seem
to warrant. His hair was grizzled, and streaked
alternately with black and gray. His eyes, small,
sharp, bright and piercing, were set in two deep
caverns, overhung by thick, bushy eyebrows, and
were ever wandering around, with a quick, restless
look that seemed to take everything in at once.

It was impossible for Fred to leave the room with-
out being observed, consequently, he was forced ta
remain.

"I tell you," exclaimed De Lisle, "he has sup-
planted me, any fool can see that the girl is in love
with him. Even that confounded little Will-o'-the

THB BIYALB.

wisp, her sister, can jibe and mock me about it. I
tell you, Paul, the infernal upstart shall repent it in
dust and ashes. No man can cross my path and
live."

" Why do you not tell Major Percival he is a
rebel ?" said his companion, " such a staunch royal-
ist would not harbor rebels, surely."

"Yes, he would," said De Lisle, vehemently, " the
very demons themselves seem to conspire against
me."

" Oh ! well you cannot always expect them to stand
your friends," said the man Paul, with something
like a sneer, " tlie;y have been true to you a good
long while. But were I you, I would tell the major,
anyway."

"Tell the major ! have I not done so, and what was
his answer ? * Mr. Stanley has saved my daughter's
life, and is now my guest, and, therefore, no one
shall presume to insult him while he is in this house.*
I mentioned his growing intimacy with Edith, and
giving me one of his stern looks, he replied, * Mr.
Stanley is a gentleman, and as such, it will be enough
for 1 im to know her hand is already engaged.' So
that was all the satisfaction I got from him. Perdition
seize them all I" And he gnashed his teeth with im-
potent rage.

*' Take it coolly, my dear captain," said his com-
panion, quietly, " no one ever does business by get-
ting into a passion. You hate this fellow, that's plain
enough, and now, what do you propose to do ?"

" Listen !" said De Lisle, in a tone of concentrated
hatred, "and tell me if it is not a glorious plan. Ha !
here comes a crowd of fools from the drawing-room.
Come elsewhere and I will tell you.*' And passing

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THE BIVALS.

hfs arm through that of his companion, the twain
quitted the music-room.

When they were gone, Fred arose to his feet.
What his feelings were whilst listening to the above
dialogue may be imagined. A profound contempt
for De Lisle mi»stered every other feeling. He saw
intuitively from the first he was not a man to be
tru5C(fd, but he had never believed him capable of
such villainy. And this was the man Edith Percival
was to marry. The thought was maddening I Fred
trod up and down like a caged tiger, unconscious that
the eyes of many were regarding him with wonder.
Becoming aware at last of this, he seized his hat, and
wandered out to the garden. The calm, holy still-
ness of the niglit soothed his excited feelings. The
cool, pitying breeze fanned his feverish brow, as he
shook back the dark locks that fell heavily over his
temples. The moonlight iay sleeping on the earth,
the trees waved and mourned softly together ; and,
at times, the shrill cry of the whip-poor-will and katy-
did, would come floating to his ear, mingling with
the strains of music that reached him, softened and
subdued by the distance. All breathed of peace and
repose, and unconsciously the calm of the scene stole
into his heart, subduing its tumultuous throbbings.

Scarcely knowing whither he went, he strolled
toward a little arbor at the foot of the garden, a
favorite retr<;at of Edith. He expected to find it
I ntenanted, but to his surprise he beheld the slight
figure of a young girl, robed in white, kneeling on the
grouiid, her face hidden in her hands, her long
golden hair falling in a bright shower over her
shoulders. One might almost fancy her some pity-
ing angel weeping over a fallen sou!, as she knelt

THE RIVALS.

there in the clear moonlight, in her snowy dress, as
still and motionless as though turned to marble.

'• Edith I" said the voice of him she was then think-
ing of, whose every tone could have recalled her from
death to life.

With a suppressed cry she started to her feet, and
seemed, for a moment, about to fly, but something
in the eye of Fred restrained her, and she stood
silent, her bosom rising and falling with powerful
emotion.

" Edith," he said, taking her hand, which she did
not attempt to withdraw, "why are you here alone,
exposed to the damp night air ?"

" Because I would be alone ; because I am weary
of all this empty gayety ; because I am wretched.
That is," she added, coloring painfully, and checking
herself, " I — I am — " She paused abruptly.

" Edith," he began, hurriedly. *' I have something
to say to you — something you must hear."

The words were intended to be spoken in a tone of
entreaty, but it partook largely of command.

"Oh ! let me return, Mr. Stcnley," said Edith, evi-
dently much agitated ; " we will be missed."

" Edith, you must hear me now !" he exclaimed,
vehemently, as she attempted to withdraw her hand.
" I cannot suffer this opportunity to pass unimproved,
and you must listen to me. Edith, I love you — since
the first moment I saw you I have loved you, and
even though you be the betrothed of another, I can-
not but love you still. You are the first to whom
these lips ever made such an avowal, and though
you may think me bold and presumptuous, I can no
longer remain silent. Tell me, dearest, have I loved
in vain } If so, we will nevei meet more. Edith !
Edith I dearer than life, answer me !"

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THE RIVALS.

There was no rep'y. Witli her face hidden in her
hands, she was sobbing" convulsively.

*• I am answered," said Fred, huskily. "Edith, fare-
well ! May you be as happy with the husband of your
choice as I would have striven to render you."

He turned to go. Edith raised her head, and saw
in the wan moonliglu the deadly paleness of his face.

" Mr. Stanley — Frederic !" she said, faintly.

In a moment, he was again by her side, looking
down into the fair face veiled by the long, golden
hair.

" Dearest Edith," he said, eagerly, " may I hope — "

" No ! no I hope for nothing !" she interrupted,
" but I feared you were offended. Oli, Mr. Stanley,
you do not know how utterly miserable I am !"

" And why, fairest lady .?" he said, almost coldly,
"since you love Mr. De Lisle, methinks you should
be happy."

" I do not love him — I do not care for him 1" she
said, earnestly ; " it is not that."

" And what, then, is it? Confide in me, dearest.
Is it even as I have been rash enough to hope ?
Dearest Edith, do you indeed love me }"

" I do \" she said, faintly, as her head dropped
on his sjjoulder. "But why do I say so.?" she
exclaimed, starting up — " I, who am to be the wife
of another ?"

*' Editii ! Edith ! will you marry a man you do not
love ?"

" I must !" she replied, dejectedly. " I dare not
refuse — my father has set his heart on this union.
Oh, Frederic ! would we had never met !"

" It would, indeed, nave been better, Edith. But
would it not be wiser to brave the anger of a parent

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THE RIVALS.

than to be made miserable for life by marrying one
you dislike ?"

" Oh ! I know not what to do !" said Edith, wring-
ing her hands.

•'Let me advise you, dearest Edith," said Fred,
earnestly. " Refuse, firmly, to marry De Lisle, your
father will not compel you to do so. Believe me, it
is from no selfish motive I urge you to do this. You
and I, dear Edith, are doomed to part. But it would
be a crime — a perjury, to go before God's holy altar,
and vow to love, honor, and obey a man you detest."

" But my father ? Oh, Mr. Stanley you do not know
how terrible his wrath is !" said Edith, wildly.

" Better to brave his wrath, Edith, than render
yourself forever wretched. De Lisle is not worthy
of you ; let me advise you as a brother, to reject
him!"

Edith dropped her head, and for a moment seemed
lost in thought. Then raising it, she said, firmly :

" With Heaven's blessing, Frederic, I will do so.
I feel it would be wrong to marry him, but his anger
and my father's will be fearful, a.nd you — " she added,
looking anxiously up in the face bending over her.

" I shall leave to-morrow," he replied, speaking
calmly, by an effort, " happy in knowing I ara
beloved, though we may never meet again."

She looked down with a shudder.

" It is so cold !" she said, absently ; " let us re-
turn."

He drew her arm within his, and turned slowly
toward the house. When they disappeared, the
figure of a man arose from where it had been crouch-
ing behind some low bushes, hearing every word.

It wj»s De Lisle ! and as the moonlight fell upon
it, his face wore the look of a demon.

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DOOMB*.

CHAPTER IX

DOOMED.

" Go some of you, cry a repiieve." — Beggar's Opera.

Night had settled over the earth, dark, chilly, and
starless. A thick drizzling rain was falling, while
the storm-clouds chased one another over the sky.

In a narrow, gloomy cell, cold and fireless, sat Fred
Stanley. It was a poor place for such an occupant
— unfurnished save by a wooden bench and a rude
cot on which lay a mattress, covered by a coarse
blanket, so filthy that he shrank from it in disgust.

When Fred quitted the residence of Major Perci-
val, he joined the American army, where his bravery
soon won for him promotion.

Being caught hovering around the English out-
posts with a number of his men, he was imprisoned,
tried by court-martial, and condemned to be shot as
a traitor and a spy. It was not death that could
subdue the proud spirit of Fred Stanley, but oh !
fearful to think of — his father had been his judge, it
was his lips that had pronounced his death-warrant.

Hs sat on the rude bench, his arms folded across
his breast, his lips compressed, his neglected locks
TaHtrn darkly over his face. It was his last night on
ca.tli. Lre tkt sun rose again, he would be in
clernity.

^;lf» ihc jgjhtof Edith, and wondered vaguely if she
."vouid grieve to learn his fate ; then of her stern
fatiier, compelling her to be the wife of De Lisle —
until almost maddened, he sprang to his feet and

DOOMED.

paced up and down, with clenched hands and flash-
ing eyes.

It was hard to die, too, so young, with such a
glorious career opening before him. To leave the
beautiful world that had never seemed half so fair
to him before. He thought of his father's bitter
words at their stormy interview, with a vague feeling
of wonder that they had come true so soon. And
then followed a feeling of utter desolation — he was
deserted by all, without a friend on earth, doomed
to die an ignominious death in the fiower of his
youth. He slrove to pray, but his brain was like
a seething cauldron, through which maddening
thoughts leaped in wild chaos. Even " God have
mercy " seemed glued to his lips.

Suddenly the grating noise of the key turning in
the rusty lock arrested his attention. The jailor
entered, bearing a lantern, followed by a tall figure
wrapped in a cloak. Setting down the light, the
man departed, and Fred was alone with e stranger.

" Stanley, my dear fellow !" he ex
choking voice, as the cloak fall off,
pale features of Nugent Percival.

" Percival, is it you ? this is inde
Fred, grasping his hand.

" I only learned about an hour ago of this,*' said
Percival, " and came here immediately. I had con-
siderable difficulty in persuading them to allow me
to see you. They seem particularly afraid lest you
should escape."

'* Escape I" repeated Fred, bitterly, " they need not
alarm themselves. There is nothing further from
my thoughts at present."

"Would to Heaven, my dear friend, I could aid
you I" exclaimed Percival, in a voice husky from

imed, in a
.losing the

kind !" said

DOOMED.

iff

deep emotion. " This affair is terrible, monstrous,
unnatural. They tell me Sir William sat as judge?"

" He did," replied Fred, with stern fierceness,
"and most coolly and deliberately condemned me to
death. He told me before he would do so, but I
little dreamed how soon his words were to come true.
The only thing he seemed to hesitate in was, whether
his rebel son should die by the rope or the musket.
Some of my former friends (the words were pro-
nounced with a withering sneer) persuaded him to let
me su<^er by the latter, as the most honorable. Have
I not reason to be grateful for such condescension ?"

He laughed mockingly. It sounded so wild, so
strange, s».> unnatural, that Percival shuddered.

*' It is terrible !" he said, in a low voice. " Has he
the heart of a man to condemn his own son to death ?
It cannot be, it must not be. Fred, he will relent —
you will be pardoned ; you need not fear death."

Fred started, raised liis head, and flinging back his
dark hair, exclaimed fiercely :

" Fear, did you say ? I do not fear death ! I can
walk to the muzzle of their muskets without my
heart beating one throb faster. Fear !" His lip
curled scornfully.

"But you do not wish to die such a disgraceful
death. It would be an honor to fall fighting for
one's country ; but this, the doom of a traitor ! Who
could think of such a fate calmly ? It might well
make the bravest heart quail."

" Poor comfort, my dear Percival I" said Fred, one
of those rare smiles that his face seldom wore of
late, lighting up his handsome countenance. " Sur-
prising as it may seem, your words do not tend to
cheer me in the least."

*• Fred, yon shall not perish if I have to intercede for

DOOUSD.

your pardon on my knees !" exclaimed Percival,
hurried away by his impetuous feelings. " I will go
to Sir William, and plead for your life."

" Percival, if you wish me to regard you as my
friend, never utter such words again !" said Fred,
sternly. " Do you think that I would accept the
poor boon of life on such degrading terms? No,
my dear friend. I thank you for your zeal in my
behalf, but think no more of pardon for me. My
hours are numbered. I will never live to see the sun
rise again,"

Percival strove to speak, but r ' boking sensation
rose in his throat, and kept him siient. Fred paced
up and down, after his custom when excited. At
last, stopping suddenly before Percival, who sat with
his face shaded by his hand, he dashed his heavy
locks back from his temples, and said, in a voice
quick and excited:

"There is one thing you can do for me — it is the
last favor I will ask on earth from any one. Tell
your sister — tell Edith, I loved her to the last, and
ask her to think of me sometimes when I am dead.
Tell her to think of what we spoke of last. She will
understand what I mean, and will then believe no
selfish motive prompted me ; for by that time I will
be beyond feeling any earthly pain."

" Time's up, sir !" said the jailer, sharply, shoving
his head through the half-opened door.

**Good-by, then, my dear Percival," said Fred,
grasping his hand — ** we part for the last time ! God
bless you !"

A convulsive pressure of his hand was the only
reply, as Percival turned aside his head to hide the
emotion he could not repress. Not trusting his voic;

DOOMED.

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to speak, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and
quitted tlie cell, followed by the turnkey.

Striding through the streets as though shod with
the famous seven-league boots, Nugent Percival
stopped not until he reached the hotel where he and
his father resided during their temporary stay from
home.

Major Percival was seated in stately dignity, look-
ing over a formidable pile of letters and accounts.
He started back in surprise and consternation as his
son, pale, wild, and excited, burst into the room and
stood before him.

" Father I" he exclaimed, impetuously — " Fred
Stanley saved your daughter's life. It is now in your
power to return the obligation by saving his !"

" Save his life ! What do you mean, sir ?" demand-
ed his father, amazed and angry at this abrupt
address.

" I mean that Fred Stanley is in prison, con-
demned to be shot to-morrow ; and it is in your
power to save him !" exclaimed his son, with still
increasing excitement.

" Shot to-morrow !" exclaimed Major Percival.
" Good Heavens ! what has he done ?"

" He joined the American cause, as you know, and
has been arrested and condemned as a spy," was the
reply.

" Sorry to hear it — sorry to hear it !" said the
major, shaking his head. " Stanley was a fine fellow,
but I can do nothing for him. He deserves iiis fate !'*

" And is this y >ur gratitude to him for saving
Edith's life ?" sai< 'ercival, with flashing eyes.

** But what car o, sir ? I told you it is not in
my pow .o hel^ xnn !" replied his father, in rising
anger.

DOOMED.

** You can help him, sir. Are you not the intimate
friend of his father ?"

" Well, and if I am ?"

" Then go to him and plead for 'lis son's life !**

" Plead for his son's life ! Are } on crazy, Nugent ?
Doubtless all the influence Sir William possessed has
been tried for his pardon before this."

"I tell you, father, it is Sir William himself who
has condemned Fred to death !" exclaimed Percival,
vehemently.

*' IVAaf /" gasped Major Percival, starting back in
horror — " condemn his own son ? Impossible !"

" He has done so, horrible as it seems. Father,
you wt7/ go to him and plead for a reprieve ?"

" In such a case I certainly will ! I'll go instantly !
Who ever heard of such >i thing ? It absolutely
makes one's blood run cold, i He mustpardon him !"

Sir William Stanley sat by the open window of his
room, his head leaning on his hand, his brows knit
as though in pain. The raw wind and chill rain beat
unheeded on his bare head — a few hours seemed to
have turned him into an old man.

He was thinking of his son, alone in his cold,
gloomy cell — the last heir of his proud house con-
demned to die a traitor's ignominious death on the
morrow ! It was his own lips that had pronounced
his doom, and though his sorrow and anguish were
intense, those words should never be recalled.

Sir William was neither hard-hearted "nor unnatural.
That his son was a spy, and as such, deserved death
— was his conviction. He would not have condemned
him unjustly ; but having once found h.im g«jilty,
nothing could save him. Duty was the ruling prin-
ciple of Sir William Stanley's life. It amounted

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DOOMED.

almost to a monomania with him. Once convinced
of what he considered his duty, no liuman consider-
ation could induce him *o swerve from it.

Therefore, he sat by the window a bereaved, broken-
hearted old man, bereaved by his own act. His
affection for Frederic had never been very strong,
but he was his son after all ; and now that he was
about to lose him, he had never seemed so dear before.
A thousand remembrances of him, that lie had long
forgotten, again rushed to his mind. He remem-
bered him a wild, impetuous, handsome boy, ever
rash, sometimes wayward, often liery and headstrong,
but always generous. Then, too, with him would
perish the last scion of his ancient family — the dis-
grace of his shameful death would ever cling to him-
self : and Sir William bowed his face on his hands,
and groaned aloud.

Suddenly, a servant entered, and announced that
Major Percival was below, and desired to see him.

Sir William was in no humor to see visitors, but
he could not refuse his old friend ; so composing his
face until it assumed an expression of rigid firmness,
he bade the servant show him up.

When the major entered the room. Sir William
advanced to meet him with extended hand, his face
looking as if it were made of cast-iron, so stern and
hard was it.

"To what am I indebted for the honor of this visit*
major ?" was his very unusual mode of addressing his
friend.

" To a very unhappy circumstance, Sir William !"
was the reply. " I allude to that affair of your son's."

Sir William's brow grew dark.

" Proceed I" he said stiffly,

**I hear that you have condemned him to be shot

ijH*

DOOVED.

as a spy I" said the Major, nettled by the baronet's
tone ; ** it is impossible, sir, you can have done so
monstrous an act."

•* Not at all impossible. Major Percival I" said Sir
William, coldly. " I have condemned him to death."

" But you cannot mean to execute such a sentence.
Good Heavens, sir, you will not become the mur-
derer of your own son !" exclaimed the major, in a
tone of horror.

"Major Percival, the young man is guilty I His
is a double crime — he is a spy and traitor. Sir, he
deserves death !" said Sir William, with stately dig-
nity.

" He is none the less your son !'*

"Were he my father, sir, he should die,"

"Sir William Stanley, have you the heart of a
fiend ? Will you be barbarous, inhuman enough to
condemn your only son to a disgraceful death ?
Zounds! sir! the very brutes of the forests would
not be guilty of such a deed !"

" Sir, I trust I know my duty !"

" Duty !" exclaimed the passionate old man, " I
tell you, Sir William Stanley, that sort of cant is
ridiculous ! Duty forsooth ! As if it was a man's duty
to commit a civil murder — for it is a murder, say
what you will — because you fancy him a spy. i tell
you, sir, if you slay your own son, liis blood will cry
out from the earth for vengeance on his murderer !"

Major Percival sprang from his seat, and stood
gesticulating, flushed, excited, fiery, before Sir
William. The baronet's face seemed to be made of
marble for, though he rose to his feet, it was as calm
and immovable as iron. There was something in
that stern, still look that awed and subdued the fiery
wrath of his more excitable companioo.

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(716)872-4503

DOOMED.

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** Major Percival," he said, and his voice sounded
strangely impressive in its deep calmness, ** I have
listened to your words, and I forgive your insults,
though, should they be repeated, my servants shall
show you out. And now, sir, hear me j as well might
you talk to this table, with the hope of winning it to
answer you as to plead for forgiveness for him.
To-morrow by day-dawn he dies, and no power
under heaven can save his life. You have my answer,
sir."

He paused. His cold, impressive voice had stilled
the excited feelings of the major. He felt his words
were ill-chosen, and with the determination of being
more careful, he resolved to try again.

" Sir William," he began, " we are old friends, and
I feel you will pardon words uttered in the heat of
anger. I feel an interest, nay, an affection, for your
son, he saved my daughter's life at the risk of his
own, and it is but natural I should plead for him."

A stiff bow and cold silence was his sole reply.

" Once again then," continued the major, " I
implore you to retract this sentence. Think of the
long, cheerless old age before you, without the strong
arm of a son to lean upon, without a relative on
earth to close your eyes. For his dead mother's sake,
sir, spare your son's life !"

A sudden start followed the abrupt words, and a
spasm of intense agony passed over the face of the
baronet. The major noticed it, and continued:

" You will pardon him, I am sure ; your heart is
not made of iron. For your own sake, my old friend,
grant me this boon !"

" Enough, sir !" interrupted the baronet, around
whose mouth a look of immovable sternness had set-
tled ; "I will hear no more ; you plead in vain. I

DOOMED.

know my diit)% Major Percival. Frederic Stanley
has been tried, and found guilty ; and ere the sun
rises to-morrow, he shall die !"

There was an almost passionate solemnity in his
tone. He looked as some Spartan hero of old might
of done when about to sacrifice what was dearest to
him on earth.

" Then, Sir William Stanley," said Major Percival,
growing absolutely white with anger, " our friend-
ship is forever at an end !"

" As you please, sir !" replied the baronet, with a
stiff bow.

" Now, mark my words, unfeeling man !" ex-
claimed the major, with a solemnity almost equal to
his own, " if you slay your own son, you will repent
it in dust and ashes. A miserable old age will be
yours — shunned by men, and accursed by God !"

" Go !" said the baronet, white and choked with
rage, as he held the door open and pointed out.

And without a word. Major Percival took his hat,
and left the house.

The chill gray dawn of morning looked with its
pale, wan face on many scenes.

It beheld Edith Percival, after a restless night,
kneeling with clasped hands by the window, praying
for strength, and thinking of one, now dearer than
life itself. It saw Sir William Stanley, cowering in
his room, white and ghastly, with an awful look of
fixed, settled despair in his stony eyes, shrinking in
horror as the moments flew by, bringing the dreaded
hour nearer and nearer. It looked through the little
grating, with its sad, pitiful e>es, into the lonely cell
in which Fred Stanley was confined. He lay on the
rude cot in a deep sleep — so still, so dreamless, that

DOOMED.

! t.

but for the deep, regular breathing, one might mis-
take it for death. His long, luxuriant locks fell darkly
over his white brow, saddening the still, marble-like
face. His was the profound slumber that follows
strong excitement of any kind, and he looked so
calm, so tranquil, that even the jailer shrank from
wakening him, with a feeling akin to pity for his
youth and sad fate.

But the noise of the creaking door aroused him.
Starting up he looked around with a bewildered
air. The narrow cell, that grated window, the hard-
looking jailer, too soon brought memory back. He
had slept for the last time. For a moment his face
flushed deep crimson, then the blood retreated to his
heart, leaving him paler than before.

** Why do you wait .?" he demanded, turning to the
jailer. " I am ready."

He rose to his feet as he spoke. Several men
entered the cell ; but he scarcely noticed them, as
murmuring a silent prayer for mercy, he proceeded
to the court-yard.

Several soldiers with fixed muskets stood ready.
At a little distance was Sir William Stanley ; and
no one, to look at his pale, but rigidly calm face,
could dream of the intense anguish he endured.

A man advanced with a handkerchief, but waving
him back with an air of calm command, Fred said :

** Stand aside ! I will not have my eyes bound."

" It matters not I" said Sir William, seeing the man
hesitated. Then, turning to the soldiers, he said :
** When I give the word, you will — "

He paused. With all his firm self-command, he
could not finish the sentence.

** Kneel !" he said, turning sternly to Fred, but his

KAJOS PESOIYAL IN A ^' STATE 07 MIND.'

face vvas like that of a corpse. " Now," he added,
turning to the others, and raising his arm, "fi — '*

**Hoid !" cried a voice, so deep, go sepulchral, that
every one started, and the next moment the Hermit
of the Cliffs stood before them.

CHAPTER X.

MAJOR PERCIVAL IN A "STATE OF MIND."

" Ah me ! for aught that I cou'ia ever read.
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth.**

— Shakespeare.

There was a moment's profound silence, and the
group standing in the court-yard, in the gray dawn
of the morning, might have formed a subject for a
painter.

The soldiers in a row, with gleaming muskets
presented, now motionless in surprise. Fred, still
kneeling in momentary expectation of death — Sir
William Stanley, transfixed with amazement, staring
at the new-comer — and the hermit himself looking
exactly the same as when Fred and Edith had met
him on the cliffs.

" Who are you, sirrah ?" demanded Sir William,
who was the first to recover his presence of mind.

" No friend of yours, Sir William Stanley," replied
the deep tones of the hermit.

" And how dare you venture here, man or madman,
or whatever you may be ?" cried the baronet, fiercely.

Away with you, or you shall repent this intrusion."

98 MAJOR PERCIVAL IN A " BTATB OP MIND."

f i

"Not at thy command will I go," replied thf
hermit, loftily. " No man on earth can make me do
otherwise than as I please."

"Then, by all the fiends in flames, /will make you
do otherwise," shouted the enraged baronet. *' Here,
some of you, arrest this hoary dotard, until we teach
him that our commands are not to be disobeyed with
impunity."

" Back !" cried the hermit, waving his hand ma-
jesticcilly. "Touch me not at your peril."

" Who is this old fool ?" asked Sir William angrily.

"One you have reason to fear, proud man," re-
plied the calm voice of the hermit.

** Now, by Heaven ! this is too much !" exclaimed
the baronet, fiercely. " What ! have you all turned
cowards, that no one dares raise a finger against
this gray lunatic ? Be off, old man, I do not wish
to harm you. Do you hear ?"

" On one condition only will I go," replied the
hermit, folding his arms, and gazing steadily in the
eyes of the angry baronet.

"Must I, then, make conditions with you ?" said
Sir William sarcastically. " Pray name it most ven-
erable father."

" That you allow yonder kneeling youth to go
forth free," was the calm reply.

For a moment. Sir William's face grew absolutely
black with rage. He stood quivering, speechless
with suppressed passion.

" Nay, Sir William," said the old man. in a tone of
conscious power, " There is no need to look so en-
raged. I can make you do it."

He walked over, as he spoke, to where the baronet
stood, and whispered a few words in his ear. The
effect was appalling. Sir William staggered back,

MAJOR PERCIVAL IN A " STATE OF MIND." 99

with ghastly face and straining eye-balls, then with
one wild cry : " Oh^ Great Heaven /" the strong man
fell stricken to the ground.

All were bewildered, amazed, terrified ! Several
rushed forward to raise the prostrate man, whilst the
others surrounded Fred, who had risen to his feet,
under the vague impression that he was in some way
about to escape. The hermit, as he passed him,
whispered " Fear not, you are safe !" And a moment
after he was gone.

Fred was reconducted back to prison like one in a
dream. What strange, mysterious power did this
singular old man possess ? He knew all the events
of Fred's past life, seemingly, as well as he did him-
self ; and in a few words had produced an effect upon
Sir William Stanley such as no human being had
ever done before. He could not account for it.

It seemed to Fred that that day would never come
to an end. He paced up and down his narrow pre-
cincts until he was tired, and then threw himself on
the wooden bench, forced to resign himself to the
prospect of remaining another night in his dreary
cell. He shortly after heard the key turning in the
lock ; and the next moment a tall, muffled figure
stood in the doorway.

" Come witli me," said a deep voice, that Fred
easily recognized as his father's.

The young man arose, and followed him through
a long, dark corridor, until they reached the court-
yard. Fred glanced around at it with a shudder.

" Go, you are free," said his conductor. And Fred
noticed now for the first time how hoarse and un-
natural was his voice. " Beware how you fall into
my hands again ! Go."

Mechanically, the young man obeyed ; and he

100 MAJOB PEBOIVAL IN A *^STATB OF liUfD."

found himself in the street like one who walks in his
slrep, half tempted to believe the events of the past
few days were nothing but a dream.

His first thought was whither he should direct his
steps. He did not know where Nugent Percival
was stopping, or he might have sought him out.
And by a very natural transition, whilst thinking of
the brother, his thoughts wandered to the sister, and
he was just falling into a delightful day-dream of
going to housekeeping with Edith, when a tap on
the shoulder startled him, and looking up, he saw a
man by his side wrapped in a long, dark cloak.

" Whither now, Frederic Stanley ?" said the well-
known voice of the hermit.

" Oh ! is it you ?" said Fred, a little surprised by
his sudden appearance. " This meeting is most for-
tunate. Sir, I owe you my life."

*' I am aware of that," said the hermit, quietly.

*• How can I show you my gratitude for what you
have done ? Believe me, I am not insensible to the
great obligation under which you have laid me."

" Cease your thanks, young man," interrupted the
hermit, in a tone of slight impatience. ** The only
return I ask is, that you will in all things be guided
by my counsels. Nay," he added, seeing an irreso-
lute expression on Fred's face, " believe me, I will
ask you to do nothing inconsistent with your duty,
or even your overweening pride."

There was a tone of slight sarcasm in the last
words. Fred felt half-ashamed of his momentary
hesitation.

" You may command me," he said. " I owe you
more than I can ever repay. I do need some one,"
he added, sorrowfully, " to stand between me and
my own headstrong passions. If you are, indeed.

HAJOB PEBOIVAL VSt A *< STATE OF HmD." 101

my friend — and I have every reason to believe it— I
promise to be guided by your counsels."

Something like a look of pleasure shone in the
eyes of the hermit. It quickly passed away, how-
ever, and when he again spoke, his voice had resumed
his usual quiet tone.

"Come with me, then," said the hermit, passing
his arm through that of the young man. ** I have a
friend residing here, with whom you can remain
until you wish to depart."

Both walked rapidly and in silence for a short
distance. Reaching, at length, a small, but comfort-
able-looking inn, the hermit, who seemed familiar
with the place, ordered a private room to be pre-
pared, whither he repaired with his young com-
panion.

" Well, sir," he began, seating himself, " may I ask
what you intend doing with yourself ?"

The question was so abrupt, that Fred could not
resist a smile.

" Really, sir," he replied, " I scarcely know how to
answer you. In the first place, I intend to return to
my regiment."

** Before you visit Percival Hall ?" inquired the
hermit, fixing his eyes with a peculiar expression on
his companion's face.

Fred started and flushed. His first emotion was
one of anger, but quickly repressing it, he answered
somewhat coldly :

" I have no intention of going there. May I beg
to know why you ask ?"

" Come, come, my young friend," said the hermit,
"no concealments from me, if you wish me to be-
friend you. You love Edith Percival ?"

102 MAJOR PEROIVAL IN A " STATE OF MIND."

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f ;

" I cannot deny it," replied Fred, half-irritated by
the abrupt question.

** And she is engaged to be married to another ?"
" Yes," replied Fred, sternly.

" You have seen your rival ?" continued the hermit.

Fred bowed.

" Are you aware he is your deadliest enemy ?"
said his strange questioner.

" Rivals are not usually very good friends," said
the young man, scornfully. " It would be something
new if we were not enemies."

" Young man, beware of him !" said the hermit,
solemnly. " You have reason to fear his machina-
tions."

Fred sprang to his feet, and dashed back his long,
dark hair, as he exclaimed impetuously :

" Fear ! I fear no man living ! Let him dare to
meet me in open warfare, and I will teach him I am
not to be insulted with impunity."

" Sir, sir, De Lisle is no honorable enemy. He
will not meet you in open warfare. He is subtle and
treacherous as a serpent — his vengeance will not be
open, but it will be none the less deadly. You can-
not guard against a foe who comes by stealth."

" Let him come," said Fred, scornfully. " I fear
him not."

" Rash youth !" said the hermit, in a tone of
mingled sorrow and anger. " You despise my warn-
ing.

" No, sir," replied Fred, resuming his seat. " I
thank you for your warning, which, however, was
scarcely needed. I am already aware that De Lisle
is my bitterest foe, and I can assure you his dislike
is returned with compound interest. I neither intend

ICAJOB rEBCITAL IN A

"STATl OP MIHD.**

108

to seek him nor to avoid him ; but should we meet
in honorable combat, one or other of us shall fall."

There was a moments silence, during which the
hermit sat with his eyes cast down like one lost in
thought.

" Does Major Percival know you love his daugh-
ter ?" asked he, abruptly, looking up.

" No," said Fred, shrinking sensitively, as he
always did, from discussing such a subject.

" Do you intend telling him ?" continued his
unwearing interlocutor.

" I do not know, sir. I must beg you will drop
this subject," said Fred, with stern impatience.

" My young friend, do not be angry. I have the
power, and, let me add, the will, to assist you.
With the natural fiery impatience of youth, you can-
not brook any interference in this matter now ; but,
believe me, the day will come when you will not be
so sensitive. Do you know Major Percival's present
address ?"

" No I" said Fred, eagerly. *' And I am very anx-
ious to see his son, too."

" This is it, then," said the hermit, writing as he
spoke on a card. " And now, farewell for the pres-
ent. Make this your home while you stay here."

" Going so soon ?" said Fred, rising, scarcely
knowing whether he felt pleased or otherwise by his
absence.

" Yes, I cannot now remain longer, but I shall
watch over you — not as a spy on your actions, but as
a friend who takes a deep interest in your welfare.
Some day it will need no argument to convince you
of this. Good-night, my son."

He folded his cloak around him, bowed gravely,
and was gone.

104 MAJOR PKROIVAL IN A '* STATE OF MIND."

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" Well, I musf say," he observed, throwing himself
in a seat, " of all the incomprehensible old gentle-
men ever I met, this half-crazed, wonderfully-wise
Hermit of the Cliffs beats them all. Here he gives
me a lecture as long as the moral law, and orders
me about as though I were of no consequence at all ;
and I, who was always headstrong and rebellious,
obey as meekly as though I were not old enough to
judge for myself. That man is a mystery. I would
give a trifle to know by what wonderful spell he
saved my life. Telling me he will watch over me,
too, as though I were a child. I am afraid, if he
watches over me too much, I will be inclined to resist.
There's Major Percival's address — I'll pay my
respects there to-night ; it is early yet."

So saying, he arose, took his hat, and quitted the
house.

Becoming absorbed in his own thoughts again, he
was quite unconscious how rapidly he was striding
along, until he struck against some one who was
passing, so violently as nearly to knock him down.

*• Better not try that again," said the angry voice
of the person he run against, as by seizing hold of a
lamp-post he recovered his equilibrium.

" Nugent Percival !" exclaimed Fred, laughing ;
** don't you know me."

** fVAai /" exclaimed Percival, drawing back
aghast, '* Fred Stanley, by all that's wonderful ! Can
this be you, or is it only your ghost ?"

** Myself, my dear Nugent ; my veritable self,"
said Fred, passing his arm through his, and drawing
him along, for Percival seemed too much astonished
to move. " I have not the least hesitation in assur-
ing you, I am myself — as good as a score of ghosts
yet."

XAJOB PEBOIVAL IN ▲ '' STATE OF MIND." 105

"Well, wonders will never cease !" said Percival,
drawing a deep breath, and surveying his companion
as though still in doubt. *' Here I was going along
bewailing your untimely end, when, lo ! you start
up as safe and sound as ever. My dear Fred, have
compassion on me, and tell me how it all occurred.
Did your father relent, as I told you he would?"

In as few words as possible, Fred related what had
occurred. Percival listened with a look of the
utmost wonder. " Phew !" was his comment when
Fred ceased, with a long whistle of most sublime
perplexity. *' If the hermit is not Old Nick himself,
he must be a near relation. What a providential
escape ! My father called to see Sir William, and
came home in a towering passion because all his
entreaties failed ; and here this unknown, moonstruck
luiuiiic, with a few words, has succeeded in what no
oilit 1 earthly being could have done."

Fred's mouth grew stern.

" I am sorry," he said, " your father degraded him-
self so much for me. I should not have valued a
pardon thus extorted from him."

"Oh ! well ! never mind ; it is all right now," said
Percival, who seemed the very soul of good-nature.
*' My father will be rejoiced to hear of your escape.
And those at home, too, thank Heaven ! we will not
have to carry them such direful news."

"I wish, Percival," said Fred, looking slightly
annoyed, " that you would not mention this affair to
them when you return. It is all over now, and it
might give — some of them pain. Promise me you
will say nothing about it."

"Oh, certainly !" replied Nugent, '* but they will
be sure to hear it. De Lisle, of course, wUl find out

i?^'

i ' * ■'

. >■ s

^ ^

I i

i !

106 MAJOB PERCIVAL IN A " STATE OF MIND."

all about it, and retail it to them with the greatest
gusto."

" His only regret will be that I did escape," said
Fred biting his lip.

" I have no doubt, but, of course, you're too sensi-
ble a fellow to care. You'll return home with me,
will you not?"

" No," said Fred, coldly, "I shall not trespass on
your hospitality so soon again. My path of duty
lies in another direction."

** Well, I wish you luck, and now we must part for
an hour or so ; for my path of duty at present lies
up the next street. You know where to find my
father ; I will see you there when I return."

** Until then," said Fred, raising his hat, and turn-
ing leisurely in the direction of the hotel.

A few moments brought him to it, and inquiring
for Major Percival, he was shown at once to his
room.

The major chanced to be thinking of him at the
time — thinking of his relentless father, and the sad
fate of the son in dying fo young, when, hearing the
door open, he suddenly looked up, and beheld the
object of his thoughts standing in the doorway, so
tall, and dark, and pale, that he might easily have
mistaken him for a ghost. Starting to his feet, the
major stood staring at him, as though he doubted
the evidence of his senses.

" You seem surprised, Major Percival," said Fred,
advancing toward him. " I presume you expected
ere this that I was numbered among the things that
were."

" What !" he exclaimed, ** do I really see alive
before me, Frederic Stanley ?" And the major's

greatest
)e," said

)0 sensi-
ith me,

pass on
of duty

part for
ent lies
find my

id turn-
quiring
: to his

n at the
the sad
ring the
e!d the
way, so
ily have
"eet, the
loubted

d Fred,
Kpected
igs that

:e alive
major's

XAJOB PEBOIYAL IN A

"state of mind."

107

face assumed a look of amazement most wonderful
to behold.

Fred smiled at his perplexity ; and once again
repeated the tale of his narrow escape. The major
listened with a look of utter bewilderment, now and
then ejaculating : ♦* Well, well !" " Jupiter !" " Won-
derful !" and sundry other expressions of astonish-
ment.

" And have you no idea who this Hermit of the
Cliffs, as they call him, is ?" he inquired, when Fred
paused.

" None, sir. The man is a mystery to every one,
and I believe is generally looked upon as a harmless
madman."

"There seems to be method in his madness, how-
ever !" said the major, " it is indeed most wonderful
what influence he can possess over your father !
Sir William Stanley and I were schoolmates once,
and intimate friends in after life. I saved his life
once, and in his gratitude he promised that the first
favor it would ever be in his power to grant to me
should be given. The first I ever asked of him was
to grant his own son his life — and it was angrily
refused. Yet here, at the last moment, a moon-
struck maniac come3 along, and at his first word
your life is spared. Strange ! Strange !"

" I fear it will always remain strange'' said Fred,
" neither my father nor the hermit are likely to
reveal it. I fear there my be some crime connected
with this mystery."

" Well, it is useless for us to perplex ourselves
trying to find it out !" said the major. " And now,
to change the subject. We return to Percival Hall
to-morrow, and I beg you will accompany us,'

K I

*»

108 MAJOR PERCIVAL IN A " STATE OF MIND,"

H:f:

1.1

" I thank you, Major Percival ; but I must decline
your invitation !" replied Fred.

" Oh, pooh ! pooh • I'll take no refusal, you must
come !" interrupted the major, heartily.

He looked up in the young man's face as he spoke,
and was almost startled by its cold, proud expres-
sion.

"Come, my dear Stanley, do not refuse! You
will spend a few days with us at least !" he said,
courteojsly.

" I regret, sir, that I must refuse !" was the frigid
reply.

" Well, if you will not come now," continued the
major, who seemed in an unusually hospitable mood,
" promise to do so in a few weeks. My daughter
Edith is to be married about that time, and we
should all like you to be present at the ceremony."

Fred had arisen as the other spoke ; and now
Major Percival looked up in bewilderment to see him
looming up above him so high, so dark, so passion-
ate-looking. He ceased speaking abruptly, and
stood staring at him in wonder.

" Major Percival," said Fred, in a voice so deep
and stern as quite to startle that worthy man, " I can-
not return to Percival Hall, because / love your
daughter. Wait one moment, sir, and hear me out !"
he added, as the Major sprang fiercely to his feet.
** Miss Percival will, you say, in a few weeks, be a
bride ; in that case we will never meet again, so that
I can speak without fear of misrepresentation. Since
the first mo"~ient I saw your daughter, I loved her —
loved her, too, knowing it to be hopeless, for she was
then the betrothed bride of another."

*' Sir, you're a villain, sir ; yes, sir, a scoundrel,
sir !" shouted the angry and deeply horrified major

;} ;

IIAJOB PEEOrVAL IN A " STATE OF MIBTD." 109

One moment, sir," said Fred, with such frigid
haughtiness as quite to overawe his excited com-
panion ; ** my intention was never to mention this to
any one, but the pressing invitations of both your-
self and your son render it necessary. Sir, I am a
man of honor, and as such could not again become
a member of your family, knowing that your
daughter loves me — "

" Do you dare to tell me this !" cried the major,
growing absolutely purple with passion,

" Knowing that she loves me," continued Fred,
with the same stern coldness as though the major
had not spoken, " I could not return, and my con-
tinual refusal of your invitation might lead to mis-
representation. Therefore, sir, I have told you all ;
and now, to whatever you have to say I am ready to
listen."

He folded his arms and stood like a statue before
him.

** My daughter love you, indeed I Sir, your con-
duct has been treacherous and dishonorable, sir,
unworthy of a soldier and a man of honor, sir ; yes,
sir, even from a rebel I expected better conduct, sir,**
exclaimed the enraged major.

Fred did not reply, but stood erect, calm and stern.

*' vV^hat business had you, sir," continued the
major, still more vehemently, "to worm yourself into
her affections ? You knew she was betrothed to
another ; you knew I would sooner see her dead at
my feet than the wife of a rebel, sir. Believing you
to be an honorable young man, sir, although false to
your king and country, I interceded with your father
for your life as I never humbled myself to plead for
any one before ; and in return you coolly come here
and boast that you have treacherously won the affec-

110 MAJOR PERCIVAL IN A " STATE OF MIND."

tions of my daughter, an inexperienced girl. Sir, I
repeat it, you are a villain, sir."

The major seemed to have forgotten, in his rage,
that though he had interceded in vain for Fred's
life, that young man had saved the life of his
daughter.

Still Fred, by a mighty effort, listened to his insults
without speaking, or betraying even that he heard
his words save by the intensely scornful light in his
eyes.

** And now, sir," again began the Major, absolutely
maddened by the contemptuous silence of his listener,
"I never wish to see your face again ! Never pre-
sume, sir, to see my daughter more ; begone, sir !
there is the door ! I expected something different
from you, but I have been disappointed."

He flung himself into a chair as he spoke, and
began wiping the perspiration from his heated and
inflamed face.

Fred took his hat, and turning toward the door,
said :

" Your kind and gentlemanly words, Major Perci-
val, will not soon be forgotten. With many thanks
for past courtesies, which I regret should have been
lavished on so unworthy an object, I have the honor
to bid you good-night."

He bowed with most ceremonious politeness, and
was gone. Despite all his outward calmness, his
brain was throbbing and burning as though on fire,
and his passionate heart was seething with fiery
scorn and the bitter sense of wrong and insult which
must be tamely borne.

As he stepped out into the moonlight, a hand was
laid upon his shoulder. Something of what was
passing in his mind must have displayed itself on

MAJOR PERCIVAL IN A

"STATB OF MIND."

Ill

his face, for Nugent Percival exclaimed, in a voice
of alarm :

** Stanley, my dear fellow, where are you going?"

"To perdition !" was the passionate reply.

" For Heaven's sake, Fred, don't look so wild,"
6aid Nugent, " tell me what has happened. Have
you told my father ?"

" Yes," interrupted Fred, fiercely. " I have told
him all, and been loaded with abuse and insult such
as no other man under heaven would have dared to
heap upon me. And all because I loved his daugh-
ter. Am I not her equal ? answer me that. Am I
not as worthy of her as that cut-throat, De Lisle ?
Tell me, for I have a right to know !"

He clutched Percival's arm with the grip of a mad-
man, and glared upon him with his excited eyes.

" My dear Stanley, do not talk so ! You look as
though you were crazed. Come with me for a walk
— the cool air will restore you to yourself," said
Nugent, soothingly.

He passed his arm through Fred's, and drew him
with him down the street. The cool night air did
indeed soothe him ; and after walking a short way
in silence, Fred said, more calmly :

" Forgive me, Percival, I knew not what I was
saying. But to be obliged to stand there, and listen
to his insults — I, who never bore a taunt from any
man — was maddening. I spoke to him as coolly,
Percival, as you could have done even, though every
word he uttered stung me to the very soul."

His eye blazed, and his face grew livid at the re-
membrance.

" Do not think of his words : they were uttered in
a moment of passion. Believe me, no one will

112 MAJOR PEKOIVAL IN A

" STATE OP MIirD."

f I

regret them more than himself, when he reflects upon
what he has said. There, my dear fellow, do not
excite yourself, you look as though you were deliri-
ous."

"My head aches as though red-hot wires were
passing through it," said Fred, removing his hat, and
shaking back his hair off his burning brow, while
the fierce light slowly died out in his eyes, as he
listened to the soothing voice of his friend.

** Hasten to your lodgings, then ; you require rest
and repose," said Nugent. ** Come, I will accom-
pany you. To-night, you are wild and excited ; to-
morrow, you will be a different man."

" To-morrow, I trust, I will be far from here," said
Fred.

" We leave to-morrow, likewise," said Percival,
" so we will probably not meet again for a while.
Here we are at your stopping-place. So, wishing
the world may go well with you until we meet again,
I will bid you good-by."

" Farewell, my dear friend," said Fred, wringing
his hand. And the two friends parted.

!■£•■!

pon
not

liri-

vere
and
iiile
; he

rest
;om-
to-
said

ival,
hile.
hing
?ain,

ging

THB ABDUOnOlf. 113

CHAPTER XI.

THE ABDUCTION.

" She Stands as stands the stricken deer,
Checked midway in the fearful chase ;
When bursts upon her eye and ear.
The gaunt gray robber baying near
Between her and her hiding place.
While, still behind, with yell and blow,
Sweeps like a storm the coming foe."

— Whittier.

Meantime, how was it with Edith, and our friendsat
Percival Hall ?

From the day of the departure of Fred, De Lisle
was most devoted in his attentions to his betrothed.
Never before had he appeared so deeply in love —
never had he been so devoted — never had he been so
urgent that she should name an early day for their
marriage. The fact of his having a rival, had made
him more resolved than ever to compel Edith to ful-
fill her engagement — an engagement from which he
saw, with fierce anger, she shrank with ill-concealed
loathing. The cause was to him only too plain ; and
he inwardly vowed, that once she was his wife, and
her fortune his, to make her repent this visible dis-
like.

The other members of the family were too much
absorbed by themselves to pay much attention to
Edith. And her lover, Gus, who seemed suddenly
to have forgotten his pat.iotism, was continually
tied to the apron-string of Nell — happy or jealous,
or irritated, according to the whim of that capricious
young lady. Mrs. Percival, wl'o was mostly always

THE ABDUCTION.

■V:

absorbed in the mysteries of canvas and Berlin wool,
left the young people to their own devices. And so
Edith was forced to submit to the hateful attentions
of De Lisle.

Edith had never been so deeply distressed before.
There was no one in whom she could confide. She
dared not even mention the secret of her attachment
to her mother or sister. Her father was soon to
return ; and then she felt sure De Lisle would so in-
fluence him with his specious reasoning,that he would
insist upon her marrying him immediately. But
gentle and yielding as Edith naturally was, and much
as she feared her father, she had a fund of natural
firmness — an unbending determination, which few
gave her credit for. She might never see Fred again;
but she was firmly resolved to die sooner than marry
De Lisle.

But, in the meantime, she shunned and detested
her suitor as much as possible. She could catch, at
times, the fierce gleam of his eye, as her voice would
involuntary become cold when he addressed her, or
she would shrink from taking his proffered arm.
And so, troubled by the present and dreading the
future, Edith grew silent, and pale, and restless,
passing her nights in tears and sighs instead of
slumber.

Seating herself at her chamber-window one night,
her head leaning on her hand, Edith was lost in
thought, when the door opened, and Nell, in dressing-
gown and slippers, entered.

" Why, Edith ! what have you done to De Lisle ?'*
exclaimed Nell. " I saw him go off, looking as cross
as a bear a few moments ago. Seems to me you and
he don't agree so well as you used to. What did
you say to him ?"

THE ABDUCTION.

115

. V*

** Nothing," replied Edith.

" Well, I'd advise you to say something next time,"
said Nell. " and not drive the poor fellow to distrac-
tion. I declare, Edith, I never knew the like of you
and Ralph — you're forever making him angry. Now,
there's Gus and I, we get along swimmingly together.
Lovers ! If you quarrel in this manner after you're
married, I don't know what sort of a life you'll lead."

Edith's face was hidden by her fallen hair, and
Nell could not see the expression of her face. After
a pause, that young lady returned :

" I heard mamma and De Lisle talking about the
wedding to-night. Papa has sent word that he will
be at home in a day or two, and has got some new
crotchet into his head ; for he says he wishes the
marriage to take place immediately. De Lisle is
wonderfully pleased about it, too ; he was awfully
jealous when Mr. Stanley was here. Oh, Edith !
isn't he a splendid-looking fellow ?"

But to Nell's stfrprise, Edith only buried her face
in her hands, and wept convulsively.

" Why, bless me ! what's the matter ? Have 1
said anything to hurt your feelings ? Tell me, what
is it, Edith ?" said Nell, winding her arms around
her sister's neck. " What are you crying for ?"

" Ellen, I am so wretched," sobbed Edith.

" Wretched ! what about ? Don't you want to
marry De Lisle ?" asked Nell.

" No, no ; no, no ! Oh, Nell ! I hate even to think
of it," said Edith, wringing her hands.

" Well now, that's odd," said Nell, meditati^'ely.
" Why, I thought you liked him !"

** Like him ! Heaven forgive me — I almost hate
him !" said Edith, with a shudder.

" La I" ejaculated Nell, " whom do you like then ?

11(5

THE ABDUOnOlf.

Edith, Edith ! is what Ralph says true ? — do you love
Fred Stanley ?"

Edith hid her face in her falling hair, and answered
only by a shivering sob. Nell's gay face wore a half-
puzzled, half-troubled, half-pleased look.

" Well, Edith," she said, aftei a little thoughtful
pause, "do you know I'm more than half glad you
don't care for De Lisle ? He's a jealous, suspicious
fellow, and not half good enough for you. My !
just see him alongside Mr. Stanley, why, he looks a
mere puppy compared with him. Really, if it wasn't
for poor dear Gus, I'd be desperately in love with
him myself."

Edith tipped her head, and gave her sister such a
radiant look of gratitude, that the latter was quite
startled.

" But, oh, Nell ! what shall I do ?" said Edith, in
distress.

" DoV said Nell, with a look of surprise. "Why,
refuse him, of course !**

" But papa — he will be so angry !"

"Yes, I know, oh ! he'll be awful. But, la ! that's
no reason why you should marry De Lisle, if you
don't like him. He can't kill you, you know, and so
you'll get off. You needn't care for a scolding."

** Oh, Nell, I dare not, I am afraid."

" Afraid !" repeated Nell, contemptuously. " Edith,
I wouldn't be such a coward as you for all the
world I Afraid, indeed ! Oh, don't I wish it was me
they wanted to marry. Wouldn't I tell them a piece
of my mind, and just let them storm as much as they
liked. I'd walk up to the altar and marry a fellow
I detested, because papa and the gentleman himself
desired it } Oh ! wouldn't I, though ?" And Nell
whirled round in an ironical pirouette.

THE ABDUCTION.

117

"But you know, Nell, papa is so violent."

"Violent? Fiddlesticks! Vou be violent, too;
that's the way to do it. Put your arms a-kimbo, and
tell them all up and down you won't have him ; and if
De Lisle gets mad, and tears around, just lell him
you are sorry for him — but he's too late for supper."

" Oh, Nell, you know I couldn't do that !" said
Edith.

" No !" said Nell, sarcastically, " no ; but you could
go and marry one man while you love another.
Well, do as you please, and the first time I see Fred
Stanley, I'll tell him he has had a lucky escape. Such
a timid thing as you are, would be the last a high-
spirited fellow like him should marry."

•'Sister, how can you be so cruel .'" said Edith,
weeping.

" Bother ! You'd provoke a saint. Thank the
stars I'm able to defend myself. Come, Edith," she
added more gently, " be a man. Dry your eyes, and
don't make a goose of yourself. Tell De Lisle to-
morrow you won't have him ; tell him you can't
bear him, and that you wouldn't marry him if he was
the last man in the world. He'll be mad, and make
a fuss, of course — there wouldn't be any fun in it if
he didn't. Then, when papa comes home, tell him
the same, and s^ick to it. Of course, they'll all tear
round, and be in a great way at first, but, after a
while things will settle down again — ' after a storm
there cometh a calm,' you know. Lor, Edith, I wish
I were in your place, for the time being ; I wouldn't
want better fun."

The energetic and vigorous spirit of the little
black-eyed Amazon seemed gradually to communi-
cate itself to her more timid sister. As she ceased,
Edith sat erect, pale, but collected.

118

THE ABnUOTION.

\! ■

I': i;

" You are right, Ellen !" she said, slowly, as she
gathered up lier disordered tresses. " Would to
Heaven I had your fearless spirit ! but since I have
not, I must nerve my own to bear the trial."

"Bravo, Edith, my dear!" exclaimed Nell, de^
lighted ly.

** Yes," continued Edith, like one thinking aloud,
*' there is no other way of avoiding the detested mar.
riage. Besides, I promised him I would !"

" Promised who ?" said Nell, opening her eyes.

" Never mind, my dear," said Edith, smiling and
blushing ; ** leave me now. Good-night. To-mor-
row you wiH find I have taken your advice."

Nell laughed, and, after kissing Edith, left the
room.

Edith passed an almost sleepless nrght. Naturally
timid, she shrank from the disclosure she felt herself
obliged to make, knowing well the violent scene that
would assuredly follow. But since there was no
alternative, she determined to brave the worst at
once, and seek an interview with De Lisle the next
morning.

An opportunity was not long wanting. Entering
the library in search of a book, after breakfast the
following day, she beheld De Lisle, seated at the
window, his head leaning on his hand, gazing
moodily out. He started to his feet as he beheld
her, while poor Edith, her heart throbbing like a
frightened bird, turned first red and then pale, and
then red again, feeling that the dreaded moment had
at length come.

"This is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Edith/' said
De Lisle, placing a chair for her.

She acknowledged his greeting by a slight inclina-
tiio4i of the head, and stood with one hand resting 00

THE ABDUCTION.

lid

the back of the chair, scarcely knowing how to
begin.

" Is it not a pity to spend such a lovely morning
in tlie house ?" said De Lisle. " What do you say
to a ride ?"

"Excuse me," said Edith, feeling more and more
embarrassed ; " I do not feel inclined for riding this
morning."

" You are not ill, I hope ?" observed De Lisle, some-
what anxiously. " You are looking very pale !"

*' I am quite well, thank you," answered Edith,
shrinking still more from the task before her.

"I am rejoiced to hear it," said De Lisle. Then,
after a pause, he added, abruptly : " I presume you
have heard your father and Nugent ar« coming home
to-morrow ?"

" To-morrow ?" echoed Edith. "Sio soon ?"

" So it seems. Your mother received a letter from
the major last night."

" Mr. De Lisle," began Edith, desperately, ** I
have — that is, I wish — to — " Edith paused, while
her heart throbbed so loudly, she grew almost
frightened.

De Lisle bowed respectfully, and stood waiting
with calm attention for what was to follow.

" In a word, Mr. De Lisle," she resumed, rapidly,
thinking it best to be brief, " it is impossible for me
to fulfill my engagement. Sir, I cannot marry you !"

Her voice trembled a little, but she looked boldly
in his face, which was rapidly darkening.

" What/** he said, slowly, "break your engage-
ment? Have I understood you aright. Miss Per-
cival ?"

" You have, sir," she answered, growing calm and
fearless, now that the worst was over.

120

THE ABDUCTION.

** And for what cause, may I ask ?" he said, with
outward calmness, though his face was absolutely
white with suppressed passion.

" Because I do not love you," was the answer.

" And because you do love that handsome rebel.
Master Fred Stanley. Is it not so, fair lady ?" he
asked, with a bitter sneer.

The bood flushed hotly Xo Edith's face, and for a
moment her eye fell before that dark, scathing
glance. It was only for a moment, and then she
looked almost defiantly up into his face.

"You are at liberty to assert what you please, sir.
I will not contradict you. But I repeat it : I cannot
— will not be your wife."

"That remains to be seen, Miss Edith,'* he
answered, with a mocking smile. " How do you
suppose your father will listen to such an independ-
ent assertion ?"

" He will be very angry, doubtless," said Edith ;
" but, in this case, even his anger cannot move
me. I cannot vow to love and honor one for whom
I cherish no affection, no ardent emotion. It would
be doing injustice to you, to myself, and to — "

" Fred Stanley — why do you hesitate, my dear
young lady ?" said De Lisle, with his evil sneer.

" Sir, I will not remain here to be insulted !" ex-
claimed Edith, indignantly, turning toward the door.

" Ah ! so you do consider it an insult to have your
name coupled with that of that rebel, Stanley ? I
am glad to hear you have so much sense left, at
least,'* said De Lisle.

Edith, whose hand was already on the handle of
the door, turned at his words, and confronted him
with glowing cheeks and flashing eyes, while she
exclaimed, vehemently :

I 1'

THE ABDUCTION.

121

"No! Ralph De Lisle. I do not consider it an
insult to be named with him. And now I tell you,
since you have driven me to it, that I do love him,
and him alone. Yes ; I am proud to own it, and I
never will marry any one save him !"

" We shall see," said De Lisle, with the same cold
sneer with which he had spoken throughout. " I
have very serious doubts as to whether the young
gentleman alluded to is not by this time in a better
world. As for this little scene, it is very well done
indeed ; meantime, you had better prepare for your
wedding. Pass on, fair lady,"

He held the door open, and bowed her out with
most ceremonious politeness. Without deigning to
notice him, Edith hurried away to her room, and,
burying her face in her hands, burst into a passion
of tears.

And three hours after, making some plausible
excuse, De Lisle left Percival Hall, to join the major.

The following day, the twain arrived (Major Per-
cival and De Lisle), business still delaying Nugent
in the city.

It was evident to Edith that De Lisle must have
prejudiced her father against her, for her greeting
was returned with cold sternness, very unlike his
wonted manner. But even this coldness aided Edith,
for had he met her with affectionate caresses, her
resolution might have faltered. As it was, her pride
and a sense of injustice sustained her, and with the
determination of dying sooner than marrying De
Lisle, she awaited the scene that was yet to come
Not long had she to wait. The following evening,
Edith, who had absented herself from the supper-
table, was summoned to the parlor, where, seated, in

=1:

ri;» 1

122

THE ABDUCTION.

State, was Major Percival and his lady, De Lisle, and
Nell.

" Be seated, Miss Percival," said the major with
overwhelming dignity.

The color deepened on Edith's cheek, as she
obeyed.

" Hem !" began the major ; " you are aware, 1
presume, that in a few weeks you are to become the
bride of De Lisle, here ?"

" I was to have been his bride, papa,** murmured
Edith.

" IVas, Miss Percival, was ?" said the major severely.
"You are to be, you mean !"

" I cannot; sir !" said Edith, though her voice
faltered a little.

" You cannot ?" repeated Major Percival, with an
ominous frown gathering on his brow.

« No, sir."

" But I say yes/** exclaimed the major, vehemently,
springing to his feet. " You shall be his wife. I
command you."

•* Then, sir, it will be my painful duty to disobey
you !'* said Edith with a heightened color, as she also
arose.

" My dear,** said Mrs. Percival, laying her hand
gently on her husband's arm, " do not be violent.
We can wait ; give Edith time — do not be angry with
her now."

The words so softly spoken subdued the fiery wrath
of the major. The fearless demeanor of Edith, so
different from all he had ever known of her, also had
some effect upon him. Seating himself, therefore,
in his chair, he growled :

'* Time ! the minx may have as much time as she

THE ABDUCTION.

123

likes, if it will only bring her to a reasonable frame
of mind."

"Oh ! thank you, papa," said Edith ; "but I can
never — "

" Major Percival," interrupted De Lisle, who had
listened in angry astonishment, "am I to understand
our marriage will not take place at the appointed
time?"

" Why, De Lisle, you hear what that vixen says !"

" But, sir, you should insist," said De Lisle, rising
angrily. " I protest against this decision !"

" Protest and be hanged !" said the major, grow-
ing angry in his turn. " Am I to be ordered by you,
sir ? Edith Percival shall wait as long as she pleases ;
and you may consider yourself fortunate to get her
in the end !" And the major, happy to find some one
to vent his wrath on, turned furiously to De Lisle.

" Sir, I will not wait !"exclaimed De Lisle, passion
and disappointment for the time over-coming pru-
dence. " Your daughter was to have been my wife
at the expiration of three weeks, and I now insist on
it as my right !"

" Insist, do you ?" thundered the major. ** You
impertinent scoundrel ! if you say another word, I'll
cancel the engagement altogether, and you may go
whistle for a wife !" And he brought his clenched
fist down with such a thump on the table, that every
one jumped.

De Lisle bit his lip, and was silent. Convinced
by this time how unwisely he had acted, he resolved
to adopt a different course. Assuming, therefore, a
penitent tone, he said :

" Pardon me, sir ; my feelings have carried me
beyond the bounds of moderation. I bow to your

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THE ABDUCTION.

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superior judgment and will bear my disappointment
as best I may."

The major rather stiffly acknowledged his apology
— while Edith, pleading a headaciie, hurried from
the room. In a few moments, she was joined by
Nell.

** Well, 'Dith, what did I tell you ?" exclaimed that
young lady. " You see the trial's over, and you're
in the land, and living yet, My ! did you see how
mortified De Lisle looked, though ? It's my opinion
his penitence was all a sham. I never saw angrier
eyes in any one's head than his were all the time he
was speaking so respectfully and humbly. Oh !
there's Gus in the garden ; I'm going down to tease
him. J3(?n soir T And Nell bounded from the
apartment.

All the next day, De Lisle maintained a respect-
fully reserved manner toward Edith and the major.
This evidently produced a deep impression on the
mind of the latter, though Edith plainly perceived it
was assumed. The following evening, as Edith
stood on the piazza, gazing out into the still moon-
light, De Lisle approached, and, touching his hat,
said :

"Good evening. Miss Edith, you are looking
charming in the pale moonlight. What do you say
to a drive this lovely night ? My carriage is at the
Joor."

"Thank you," said Edith, coldly, "I prefer
remaining where I am."

" What's that ?" said the major, who now ap-
peared.

" I ordered my carriage, sir, thinking Miss Per-
cival might feel inclined for a drive this fine night
She, however, refuses/* said De Lisle.

THE ABDUCTION.

125

** Nonsense, Edith," said the major, angrily, "you
are growing as obstinate as a mule. Away with you,
and get ready ; and don't let the grass grow under
your feet."

Edith could no longer disobey. She accordingly
entered the house, and soon re-appeared in carriage
costume. De Lisle handed her, with the most
respectful gallantry, into the carriage, and they
dashed oft' behind a splendid pair of bays.

For upward of an hour, they drove on, almost In
silence, Edith replying to all De Lisle's observations
only in monosyllables. Still, he showed no sign of
returning.

" Let us go back, Mr. De Lisle," said Edith, at
length ; " the air is very cold."

" Wrap this shawl around you," said De Lisle ;
** I am anxious to show you something a little
further on."

He folded the shawl carefully around her, while
she submitted in silence ; and again they dashed for-
ward more swiftly than before. Half an hour passed,
and still he showed no signs of returning.

**Mr. De Lisle," said Edith, impatiently, " I wish
to go home. Will it please you to return ?"

*' In one moment," said De Lisle, as he suddenly
reined in the horses, and gave a loud, peculiar
whistle.

"Sir! what does this mean*" asked Edith, in
alarm.

He turned, and gazed upon her for a moment with
an evil smile, but said nothing. An instant after,
two men stood holding the bridle-reins of the horses.

" Ralph De Lisle," said Edith, in increasing terror,
" what means this ?"

It means, fairest Edith, that Fred Stanley, when

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126

IN OAPTIVITT.

he comes to woo, will have to select another wife
than Miss Percival !"

"Sir, sir ! I do not comprehend you," said Edith,
growing sick and faint with terror.

"Do you not? Listen then, Edith; you must
come with me. When next you see Percival Hall, it
shall be as the wife of Ralph De Lisle !"

In the clear moonlight his face resembled that of
a demon. The truth burst at once upon Edith
with stunning force, and with one wild, shrill cry of
terror, she sank back in her seat, and the dark night
of insensibility closed around her.

CHAPTER XIL

IN CAPTIVITY.

•* When first, with all a lover's pride,
I woo'd and won thee for my bride,
I little thought that thou wouldst be
Estranged as now thou art from me."

When Edith again opened her eyes, she found her-
self lying on a couch, with some one bending over
her, chafing her cold hands and temples. Her eyes
wandered wildly around until they rested upon the
detested form of De Lisle, who stood leaning lightly
against the mantel-piece. Pushing away the hands
that rested on her forehead, she raised herself on her
eibow, and gazed with a bewildered air around.

" Leave the room, Elva," said De Lisle, carelessly,
without moving.

IN CAPTIVITY,

127

Edith heard the door open, but, before she could
look around, it closed again, and she was alone with
De Lisle.

" Where am I ? what means this, sir ?" exclaimed
Edith, springing to her feet, with an overpowering
but undefined sense of terror.

" That you must favor us with your presence in
this old building for a week or so. Miss Edith," said
De Lisle carelessly.

" Do you mean, sir, that I am a prisoner ?" de-
manded Edith, growing very pale.

" Exactly so, my dear," replied the young man.

*' You cannot — you will not — you dare not !"
exclaimed Edith, vehemently.

" Dare not !" he repeated, with a sinister smile.

" Yes, sir, I repeat it, you would not venture to
detain me here a prisoner."

" We shall see," he said carelessly.

" Mr. De Lisle, I command you to release me."

"Command away, then ; I like to hear you," said
De Lisle, with the utmost nonchalance.

" Sir, if you are a man of honor, you will restore
me to my father," exclaimed Edith, still more vehe-
mently.

" That I will do with pleasure, when you are my
wife."

" I will never be your wife, sir ; I would die first I"
she said indignantly.

" Indeed, fairest Edith," he said, with a sneer,
" perhaps you will not find it so easy to die as you
imagine. Most young ladies of your age would
infinitely prefer marriage to death."

" Ralph De Lisle, are you lost to all sense of
honor ? — forcing a girl to marry you against hef
will! Oh, shame r

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128

IN OAPTIVITT.

" Honor !" said De Lisle, bitterly ; '* that word
sounds well on your lips, fair lady. It was, doubt-
less, very honorable in you to break, your plighted
faith, and surrender your heart to the next
who asked you for it. Take care, pretty Edith :
those who live in glass-houses should not throw
stones."

Edith sank back in her seat, and, covering her
face with her hands, wept, with mingled fear and
indignation. De Lisle stood watching her for a
moment with a most sinister smile — then, turning to
the door, he said :

" Farewell for the present. Miss Percival ; I shall
send a girl to attend to you by-and-by. I shall have
the happiness of seeing you again during the course
of the day."

He closed the door, and was gone. Edith heard
the sounds of bolts drawing without, and felt she
was indeed a prisoner in the hands of the man she
detested. Oh ! where was Nugent — where was Fred
then ! She sobbed in a perfect passion of grief,
until her overcharged heart had had its way, and
she gradually grew calm.

" I «//// die sooner than marry him," she exclaimed,
vehemently. ** He will find I am not to be intimi-
dated by his threats — that I have spirit enough,
when roused, to resist injustice."

Her cheeks flushed, and the sparkling light in her
eyes bespoke her determination. Feeling more com-
posed, she glanced around the apartment with some
curiosity.

It was a long, square room, with a very low ceil-
ing, festooned elegantly with cobwebs. In one cor-
ner stood a bed, without curtains, covered with a
coarse, but clean quilt. Opposite this stood a table,

IN OAPTIVnT.

129

a wooden chest, and a chair. This, together with
the couch on which she sat, comprised the furniture
of the room. The floor wasuncarpeted, and the one
solitary window uncurtained.

Edith walked to the window and looked out.
The iron grating outside destroyed the faint hope of
escape which had begun to spring up in her breast.
The room was evidently two or three stories high,
judging by its distance from the yard below. The
prospect on which she gazed was dreary beyond
description. The dull gray dawn of morning was
creeping sluggishly over the hills with its spectral
feet. A thick, drizzling rain was falling ; and the
wind, at it sighed around the old house, sounded in-
expressibly dismal. The view from the window was
not very extensive — being bounded by tall trees,
from which she judged it was situated in the forest.
A high wall surrounded the wet, littered yard below;
and, altogether, a more uncomfortable place — both
within and without — could scarcely have been found
than the prison of Edith.

Drawing her chair close to the window, Edith sat
down and tried to think. It was a difficult matter ;
for her head throbbed and ached until her brain was
in a perfect chaos. Whilst she sat, she was startled
to hear the bolts clumsily withdrawn ; and, raising
her eyes, Edith beheld an object that made her spring
to her feet in terror.

It was a short, stooping, shriveled, toothless, blear-
eyed old woman, palsy-ctricken and frightfully ugly.
In her long, claw-like hands she held a tea-tray con-
taining Edith's breakfast. This, after closing the
door, she deposited on the table, and then turned
slowly round until she fixed her little sharp red eyes
on the shrinking Edith. A cap with an enormous

130

IN OAPTIVITT.

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frill, that kept continually flapping aDout her face,
considerably heightened her charms ; and this,
together with a woolen gown, reaching barely to her
ankles, and so remarkably narrow that she evidently
found some difficulty in walking in it, completed hei
costume.

" Here's your breakwis, ma'am," said this singular
old crone, in a voice uncommonly like the shrill
screech of a parrot ; " there's coffee and toast — too
good, a great sight, for such a chalk-faced whipper-
snapper as you are. Ugh ! whatever he wanted a
bringing of you here I can't tell."

" Who are you ?" asked Edith, beginning to recover
irom her fright.

" What ?"

"Who — are — you ?" said Edith, speaking as loudly
as possible, and fully convinced the old woman must
be deaf,

" Me ! Oh ! um ! — yes ! Why, I'm Miss Crow,
housekeeper and superintendent for Master Ralph.
Yes I um ! — take your breakwis, ma'am, will yer ?"

" I don't feel hungry," said Edith ; " you may
take it away again."

" Hungry !" screeched Miss Crow, who had the
faculty of only catching one word at a time ; " well,
if yer hungry, why don't you eat — eh ?"

" I am — not hungry," said Edith, exciting herself
to speak loud, until she turned quit^ red in the face.

"Oh, you're not?" cried the amiable old lady.
"Why couldn't you say so at once, and not keep me
a waiting, a wastin' of my precious time, and spilin*
of good vittils. Pugh ! I's disgusted. Wait till
Miss Crow trots herself off her legs a bringing of
your breakwis ag'in — that's all !"

And, with a grimace that made her look positively

cli

IN OAPTIVITT.

131

hideous, Miss Crow gatiiered up the untasted
"breakwis," and liobbled out of the room.

Left to herself, Edith resumed her seat by the
window, inwardly wondering if this pleasing attend-
ant was the young girl promised her by De Lisle
She felt she was surrounded by his creatures, whose
hearts were steeled against her. Then, by a natural
transition, her thoughts wandered home to her
friends. She felt sure they were even then looking
for her. But would she erer be discovered in this
isolated old house ? Or, even if discovered, would
not De Lisle force her into a marriage with him
beforehand ?

Absorbed in such thoughts, the forenoon wore
away ; and, as noon approached, she was once more
honored by a visit from Miss Crow, who came with
the tray again.

** Here's your dinner, ma'am," said the little old
woman, with her customary screech. " I hopes as
how you'll eat it, and not go bringing of me upstairs
for nothin' again, which is what I ain't no ways used
to. Pity if such a big lazy thing as you are can't
wait on herself, and not go bringing ageable old
women like I is up two or three flights of stairs, with
the rheumatiz in the small of my back." And here
the screech subsided into a groan.

" I am sorry to be a trouble to you," said Edith,
seating herself at the table.

" Trouble !" cried Miss Crow, spitefully ; " so you
think it's no trouble, do you ? But I'll let you know
it is. And Master Ralph may wait on you hisself ;
though I s'pose you'd sooner have a fine young
fellow like that to 'tend to you than an old woman
like Miss Crow."

Edith, not being inclined to shout a reply, ate her

132

IN OAPTIVITY.

H . 5

1, 1

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dinner in silence, while Miss Crow stood watching
her with her red, inflamed eyes, strangely reminding
Edith of the witches in Macbeth.

" Mr. Ralph told me he was coming to see you in
the course of half an hour," said the old woman,
after a pause ; "though what he can want with such
a baby-faced thing as you are, I don't know."

Here Miss Crow paused, as though she expected to
be told ; but Edith made no reply.

"VVhafll I tell him?" inquired the old lady,
sharply.

" Nothing," said Edith.

" What ?"

" You may tell him I don't want to see him," said
Edith, raising her voice.

'* Want to see him ! — hum ! hum ! — want to see
him ! Yes, I'll tell him so, replied Miss Crow,
rather complacently.

•' i don't want to see him — do you hear ? I don't
want to see him !" said Edith, still more loudly.

Sundry unearthly sounds, which the old woman
intended for a laugh, followed this reply ; and, still
chuckling to herself, she gathered up the things and
left the room.

Scarcely had she departed, when De Lisle entered.
Advancing into the room, he threw himself indo-
lently on the couch, and, turning to Edith, he
remarked, carelessly :

" I'm afraid old Nan Crow is not the most pleas-
ant attendant in the world. You won't be troubled
with her long, however ; to-morrow, Elva Snowe will
take her place."

Edith made no reply, but sat listening, in haughty
silence.

" The day after to-morrow, fairest Edith, will make

IN CAPTIVITY.

133

me the liappiest of men. I have made every arrange-
ment for our marriage, whicli will take place on that
day. My only regret is, that it must be delayed so
long."

" Sir, must I tell you again, I will never be your
bride ?" said Edith — a sudden crimson staining her
fair face, and then retreating, leaving her paler than
before.

" No !" said De Lisle, with a quiet smile. " Never
is a long time, my dear Edith."

" You cannot force me to marry you, even though
I am your prisoner," said Edith.

" Can I not ? There are ways of compelling you
that you dream not of, perhaps," was the cool reply.

" Sir, your conduct has been most base and un-
manly — most evil and treacherous. If you have one
spark of honor remaining in your heart, you will
release me !" exclaimed Edith, rising, with flushed
cheeks and flashing eyes.

" Never, Edith !" he said, fiercely, " never shall you
cross this threshold unless as my wife. \''ou talk
about honor, forsooth ! Did I not love you, as I
never cared for mortal before on this side of Heaven ?
were you not my betrothed bride ? was not our wed-
ding-day fixed ? — when, lo ! a dashing stranger comes
along, and I am coolly told to stand aside, for I am
loved no longer ? — told to stand aside and wait — wait
until my rival shall have wormed himself into the
good graces of the family, and become your accepted
lover ! One consolation is, that long before this he
must have been hung as a traitor."

Edith essayed to speak, but her voice failed ; and,
sinking into a seat, she buried her face in her hands
and wept passionately.

" After that interview with your father," went on

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134

IN CAPTIVITY.

De Lisle, with increasing bitterness, " I urged him
repeatedly to revoke his decision, and insist on the
marriage ; but in vain. And, at length, he com-
manded me to drop the subject altogether, and told
me I should wait until it pleased him to appoint the
time. You see, fairest Edith, I have done so." And
he laughed sarcastically. " Your worthy father may
search until he is tired ; but I doubt if he will dis-
cover you here. Once my wife, and he will not dare
to proclaim the deeds of his son-in-law to the world.
Your fortune will be mine. I will not attempt to dis-
guise from you, Miss Percival, that this forms no
unimportant item in my calculations. Your fortune
once mine, you may return to your father's house as
soon as you please."

"Release me now," said Edith, looking up ; " and,
since it is only my money you want, I will persuade
my father to give it all to you."

" Nay, Miss Edith, I must decline your kind offer.
I am inclined to think your good father would pre-
fer handing me over to the civil authorities rather
than to his banker. And a still more weighty con-
sideration remains : you love the man I hate — yes,
hate !" And his face grew livid with passion. " The
best revenge I can take is, by marrying you — whether
with or without your consent, matters not. Thus I
will raise an insuperable barrier between you, and
gratify my revenge."

Edith shuddered involuntarily. He stood watching
her, with his habitual sinister smile.

"I thought that would touch you," he said, with a
sneer. " Remember, the day after to-morrow is your
wedding morning. The girl I spoke of will assist
you to dress for your bridal. Au revot'r." And turn-
ing on his heel, De Lisle quitted the room.

ELYA 8N0WE.

135

CHAPTER XIII.

ELVA SNOWE.

** I see a little merry maiden, *

With laughing eye and sunny hair—
"With foot as free as mountain fairy.
And heart and spirit light as air."

The gray daylight was fading out of the dull sky.
The wind sounded inexpressibly dreary as it moaned
through the dark, fragrant pines. Far in the west,
a red, fiery streak glowed among the dark, leaden
clouds, like a burning line dividing heaven and
earth. Dreary and sad was the scene without ; but
more dreary and sad were the thoughts of Edith, as
she sat watching the approach of night. The gloom
around and above was congenial to her feelings ;
and, lost in thought, she heeded not the waning
hours, until all within and without was wrapped in
a mantle of pitchy darkness.

The entrance of Nan Crow, with her supper and a
light, roused her at last. The old woman seemed
unusually cross and out of humor ; and, after essay-
ing in vain to make her answer her questions, Edith
relapsed into silence. With a sharp command not
to " sit moping there like a ghost, a burning of can-
dles, but to go to bed," she went out, slamming the
door violently after her.

Her command was unheeded ; for, seated at the
window — her burning forehead pressed against the
cold panes, Edith remained till morning. It was a
strange scene — that long, shadowy room, so poorly

136

ELVA SNOWI.

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furnished, and that young girl seated at the window,
her face whiter than the robe she wore. The candle
guttered and burned dimly, with a long black wick,
capped by a fiery crest, until it went out altogether,
leaving the room enveloped in the deepest gloom.

So passed the second night of Edith's captivity.
Morning found her pale, spiritless, and utterly des-
pairing. She knew well De Lisle would keep his
word. And what could she — a weak, powerless girl
— do to prevent him ? Naturally timid and ac-
customed to magnify dangers, she could see nothing
but despair, look which way she would. To rebel
would be useless, and without ?in effort, she yielded
to utter dejection. At times, she could be brave
enough, when laboring under excitement of any kind :
or when, after listening to her vehement sister, she
would imbibe part of her spirit ; but these rare in-
tervals were always followed by a listlessness and
timidity greater than before.

The sun arose in unclouded splendor. Every trifle
of the former day's dullness had passed away, and
Nature once more looked bright and beautiful. The
chirp of the birds in the pine woods reached her ear,
but, for the first time, she listened with pleasure.
All was sad and desolate within her heart, and the
joyous splendor of that summer sunrise was to her
feelings like " vinegar upon nitre."

Suddenly, the sound of a gay voice carolling
reached her ear. It was such an unusual sound,
that she looked out, altogether startled from her
dreamy lethargy of sorrow. What was her surprise
to behold, emerging from the woods, a young girl
on horseback. From the distance at which she sat
she could not very easily discern hv" features, but
she saw her sit on her horse like a practiced rider.

ELYA SNOWB.

137

Her long hair hung in braids over her shoulders,
tied with streamers of bright ribbon. In one hand
she held a white sunbonnet, swinging it carelessly by
the strings, as she shouted, rather than sang, some
wild mountain chorus, or talked at intervals to her
horse. Edith could plainly hea." her, as her words
came borne on the air:

** Come, Timon, my boy," she said, patting her
horse on the neck, " hurry up, or old Nan Crow
will give you and me fits. Too bad, isn't it, you and
me have to go and live in that dismal old barn of a
house ? but orders must be obeyed, you know, Timon.
Deary me ! as that queer old maid used to say ' won-
ders never will cease, I believe !* Who in the world
would ever think of taking a bride to that horrid
old hole ? And so De Lisle is really going to be
married ! Well, I never ! father says she isn't dying
about him either — which I don't wonder at, I'm
sure, for I can't bear him. I'd like to see her, and
know what my future mistress looks like. Come,
gee up, Timon, my son ; I'm anxious to catch a
glimpse of old Nan Crow's beautiful face, and hear
her musical, screeching voice. Who knows but we'll
soon see my lady herself, and I'm dying to have a
peep at her, so get along, my boy, Elva's in a
hurry."

And urging her horse into a quick canter, the
girl rode off, singing at the top of her voice.

" Who can she be ?" thought Edith—" Elva, Elva !
the name is familiar. Yes, now I remember, De
Lisle spoke of sending me a girl of that name ; Elva
Snowe, I think, he called her. She spoke of coming
here, too, so il must be the same. I hope it is, she
will at least prove a more pleasant companion than
that cross old woman."

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ELVA SNOWE.

For nearly an hour, Edith sat expecting to see
her enter, but in vain. At length, just as she was
about to despair of seeing her, the outer bolts were
withdrawn, and the door was unceremoniously
opened, and the young girl stood before her.

Edith fixed her eyes on the other, and scrutinized
her from head to foot. The new-comer was small,
below middle height, round and plump in figure,
and looking to the best advantage in the crimson
silk basque which she wore. A short, black skirt,
which conveniently displayed a pretty little foot and
ankle, completed her costume — which, though look-
ing rather odd to the eyes of Edith, had the merit of
being very becoming. Her face was decidedly pretty,
though browned a little by exposure to sun and
wind. A low, smooth forehead, blooming cheeks
and lips, merry grey eyes, a piquant little nose,
that turned up with saucy independence, and little,
white teeth, made up the /<?«/ ensemble of the little
lady.

** Good-morning," she said, pleasantly, evidently
rather favorably impressed with the outward appear-
ance of Edith. "I have brought you your break-
fast."

" So I perceive," said Edith. " I was afraid I was
about to be favored with another visit from that
deaf old lady who has hitherto attended me."

"Yes, old Nan Crow," said the girl, laughing.
" Isn't she a horrid old case ? I have the greatest
fun witli her sometimes. Did you ever hear such a
voice ? like a penny whistle, for all the world."
Then changing her tone to a sharp screech, painful
to listen to, she began :

*' I'm Miss Crow, housekeeper and superintendent

BLVA SNOWE.

139

<or Mister Ralph. Yes, um ! I laid awake all lass
night with the rumatiz in the small of my back !*'

"That's she exactly," said Edith, with something
like a smile passing over her pale face " though it's
quite abominable of you to take her off in that man-
ner.

" She never stops scolding me from I come here
until I leave," said the other, '* and, indeed, I rather
deserve it sometimes, and it does one good to get a
blowing-up once in a while. My ! if she can't scold
it's a wonder — it's really a comfort to hear her, for
every word comes from the bottom of her heart. The
only pity is, that I'm not here often to listen to her."

*' Do you not live here ?" inquired Edith.

"Live here! Bless you, no! I wouldn't live in
this lonesome old place for any amount of money, at
least, any amount I'd be likely to get for doing so.
No, indeed ! I live in the village, eight or nine miles
from here, and splendid times we have, I can tell
you — at least we had, until this detestable war com-
menced, and all the young men were provoking
enough to go off and be killed. Heigho ! Isn't
everything still here ? One can't hear a thing but
the swaying pines and the birds. It's a splendid
day too. I'd love to have a good gallop over the
hills this morning."

" Pray, don't let me keep you here," said Edith.
" I wouldn't deprive you of the pleasure on any
account. I will not need any attendance during the
day, Miss Snowe — Isn't that your name ?"

" Yes, Elvena Snowe, but everybody calls me Elva,
for short ; you needn't mind calling me miss, I ain't
used to it, and Elva sounds better."

" Then, Elva, do not let me deprive you of that
coveted ride. Go, by all means."

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*' You're very good, but I guess I won't mind it
to-day. I'll stay with you, if you have no objection.
De Lisle will be here by-and-by, and, until he comes,
I will remain."

" How long are you to remain here ?'* inquired
Edith."

*' Dear knows," said Elva, suppressing a yawn,
" not long I hope, for I'd blue-mold, rust, or some-
thing else equally dreadful, if I had to stay in this
dull old tomb. Why everything's as still here as if
we were in our graves."

" It is still," said Edith, " what is the cause > Does
no one live here but Mrs. Crow ?"

" Oh ! dear, yes !" said Elva, "but this is a wing
of the building off by itself. It's a sort of double
house, with two front doors, and connected together
by a lono; hall. In the other end, De Lisle and some
of his men stay when they are here, and you have
this part all to yourself. Old Nan is their only
servant, except sometimes when De Lisle brings
some of his friends here, big-bugs you know, Eng-
lish officers, then I have to come here and help her."

" Then this place is not hidden in the woods ?"
said Edith, " and is visited by others beside De Lisle
and his men."

" La ! yes. Generals, and colonels, and captains,
not to speak of lieutenants and aid-de-camps, come
here in droves, sometimes, and spend whole nights
in a carouse. They generally stay in the other wing
of the building ; this part hasn't been much used for
yea^s."

"And so forms a safer prison for me," sighed
Edith.

** Why, yes, I suppose so," said Elva. ** But I guess
you won't be here long. I heard De Lisle telling my

ELVA SNOWE.

141

father, that after he was married, he intended get-
ting your money, and sending you home."

"Your father!" echoed Edith, ''who is he?"

" Oh ! he's only De Lisle's lieutenant, Paul Snowe's
his name, but he has a good deal of influence
over the men, and over De Lisle himself, for that
matcer. Only for him, you may be sure, I wouldn't
be here ; for I hate De Lisle as I do sin, and wouldn't
care a straw for his orders. But I'rn a little afraid
of father, and have to mind what he says, you know ;
though I'd much rather follow my own sweet will,
and stay in the village, and have fun, than come
here, and wait on De Lisle and those dashing officers
he brings here."

" And your mother, where is she ?" asked Edith.

" Dead," said Elva, sadly, " she died when I was
a child. I have only a faint recollection of her as a
pale, stately woman, who used to come to my bed-
side and kiss me every night. So you see I grew up
the best way I could, without any one to look after
me or make me a good girl ; and so I've got to be a
wild, sun-burnt, good-for-nothing romp. Oh, dear !
if mother had lived, I'd have been a different crea-
ture from what I am. She loved me, I know, but
father never seems to care for me, but rather to dis-
like me, than otherwise. I'm like the miller of the
Dee ; * I care for nobody, and nobody cares for me ;*
so I don't mind a pin what I do or say, since there's
no one to be grieved by it. It makes me feel sad and
lonely, too, sometimes," and she sighed involuntarily.

** Oh, Elva ! I feel that I can love you, if you will
let me !" said Edith, gently taking her hand.

** Thank you, dear Miss Percival," said Elva,
looking up with glistening eyes, " I \oveyou already.
But hark, there's a step on the stairs. That's De

142

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTERRUPTION.

Lisle, I know, for he always takes half the staircase
at a bounce. Good-by now, I'll be back after a
while." And Elva quitted the room as De Lisle
entered.

CHAPTER XIV.

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTERRUPTION.

Hi '

" Know, then, that I have supported my pretensions to
your hand in the way that best suited my cnaracter."—

IVANHOE.

hi V

" Good morning, Fairest Edith," was De Lisle's
salutation, as he entered. " You are looking very
pale. I fear you did not sleep well last night."

'* Not very well," said Edith coldly, *' a captive
seldom sleeps very soundly du»-'.ng the first night in
prison."

" You have no one to blame for being in prison
but yourself, Edith. Had you been less obstinate
and self-willed, you might now have been at home
with your father."

" Sir, these reproaches sit not well upon your lips,'
said Edith, bitterly, " I am neither obstinate nor self-
willed, as you well know, but I could not consent to
marry one whom I no longer loved."

^^ No longer loved,'' repeated De Lisle, fixing his eyes
upon her, *' then you did love me once ?"

" I may have done so," replied Edith, her face
suddenly crimsoning, " but you forfeited my good
opinion ; and where I cannot esteem, I cannot love."

" I pray you, fair saint, how did I forfeit your
esteem." said De Lisle, with a sneer.

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTEBRUPTION.

143

" By your base, unmanly conduct, sir, unworthy a
man or a soldier," replied Edith, her gentle spirit
roused to anger by his taunting words. " I had
heard of the merciless cruelty of you and your men,
the relentless fury with which you destroyed houses
and villages, and shed the blood of unoffending
fellow-creatures, whose only crime was in defending
their homes. And could I, could any woman, think
of you otherwise than with fear and loathing after
such acts, more fitted for savages than for civilized
men ?"

" You seem particularly well informed about what
I have done," said De Lisle, sarcastically. " Pray,
fair lady, how much of this raw-head-and-bloody-
bone story have you heard from Master Fred
Stanley ?"

" Mr. De Lisle," said Edith, her fair face flushing,
" I must beg of you to cease referring to hirri. If
you do not, I must decline holding any conversation
with you."

" Sooner than incur such a penalty, pretty one,
I would do anything," said De Lisle ; " but before
this time to-morro\v you will be my wife — and after
that I trust you will knowyour duty to your husband
too well to refuse talking to him."

" Sir, I will not, I will never be your wife," said
Edith passionately.

" Oh ! it is very weli for you to say so, Miss Per-
cival, but how are you to help yourself ? You are
here my prisoner, completely in my power, sur-
rounded by my people, the clergyman who is to
marry us will be most discreetly silent as to every-
thing he will see or hear — is prepared for hysterics,
tears and rebellion, and will pay no attention to

144

AN UNLOOKED-FOE INTEERUPTIOW.

•h!

them. How then, beautiful Edith, are you to help
yourself ?"

" God liveth !" said Edith, rising, and speaking in
a tone of intense solemnity, "and I appeal to Him
from you — unworthy the name of man."

" The days of miracles are past, Edith," said De
Lisle, with his customary mocking sneer. " He will
hardly send an angel down to prevent the marriage
of a silly girl. The time of miracles has long since
past, fair one."

** But not of Divine interposition," said Edith, " my
confidence in Him can never be shaken. I will trust
in Him, and you may do your worst. Heaven will
never permit the happiness of my life to be blighted
by you."

" Bah ! bah ! bah ! are you silly enough to believe
such cant, Edith ?" said De Lisle, scornfully. " I
thought you had more sense. But time will tell : ere
four-and-twenty hours you will be my wife, in spite
of yourself, and then where will be your boasted
confidence in Heaven ?"

" I have faith to believe that time will never come,"
said Edflth. *' But should it, my confidence in Heaven
will be as strong as ever."

" You believe that time will never come," said De
Lisle, "and may I ask, what do you expect will hap-
pen to prevent it ?"

" Oh ! fifty things might happen," replied the
voice of Elva, who entered abruptly, in time to hear
his remark, and took it upon herself to answer ; " the
Yankees might come and set fire to the house, and
carry her off — or the minister might forget to come
— or she might be very sick — or you might be acci-
dently shot, which would set everything right at

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTERRUPTION.

145

once. For my part, if / was Miss Percival, Td live
in hopes."

•' Would you, indeed ?" said De Lisle, angrily.
*• Well, I prefer living in certainty. And pray, Miss
Snowe, what brought >'^« here ?"

"My feet, of course," answered Elva.

" Don't be impertinent, minion ; answer my
question."

" I did answer it, Mr. De Lisle, sir," replied Elva,

*' What did you come here for ?" exclaimed De
Lisle, in a rage — " what do you want ?"

" Oh ! / want nothing," replied Elva, with pro-
voking indifference ; *' only father's arriv^ and sent
me here with a message for you."

*• What is it, what did he say ?" demanded De
Lisle, hurriedly.

"He didn't say much ; the message consisted of
just five words : * Tell him it's all right* that's all.
It's short and sweet, you see, like a weaver's kiss."

The look of satisfaction that followed her words
rather surpris<^d Elva, who, after watching him a
moment, turned to Edith — saying, in a very audible
whisper :

** Something dreadful has happened to somebody,
as sure as shooting ! Nothing else ever puts him in
such good-humor. See how absurdly happy he
looks."

" Clear out !" said De Lisle, who was too well
accustomed to the pert Elva to get into a passion at
her impertinent words. " Tell Paul I'll see him
by-and-by ; and don't you come here again until
you're sent for."

" Nice way that to speak to a young lady," said
Elva. " I guess Miss Percival would rather have me

146

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTERRUPTION.

I ,

than you with her, after all." And turning a pirou-
ette on one toe, the elf disappeared.

"Well, Edith," said De Lisle, turning to her, *'our
marriage will not have to be postponed till to-morrow
as I feared it would. I sent Paul to see if the
clergyman would come to-day and the answer is
favorable. Therefore, you will prepare to become
my bride this afternoon."

The blood rushed for a moment hotly to Edith's
face, and then retreated to her heart, leaving her
faint and sick. Siie had hitherto looked upon it as
some fearful dream — now it arose before her, a
terrible reality. She strove to speak ; but the words
died away on her pale lips. Involuntarily, she laid
her hand on her heart to still its loud throbbings.

" Of course," went on De Lisle, calmly, ** this
news must be equally pleasant to both of us. You,
no doubt, feel anxious to return home — whicli I
regret you cannot do until after our marriage, for
reasons before given ; and I know confinement in
this lonely place must necessarily be very irksome
to you. I trust, therefore, Miss Percival, you will see
the wisdom of submitting yourself, and make no
resistance to the ceremony taking place — a resistance
which you must know would be idle and useless,
since there is no one here who has either the will or
the power to prevent it."

" Ralph De Lisle, you cannot, you will not, be so
base !" said Edith, vehemently, rising. " I conjure
you, by all you hold sacred in heaven and dear on
earth, to desist ! Why should you render miserable
for life a defenseless girl who never injured you ?
It is not because you really love me that you wish
me to be your wife, but for my father's money ;
and that you shall have, I solemnly promise you.

Il>:^ i

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTERRUPTION.

147

You will — you will release me ! I cannot believe
you are so deliberately, basely wicked !"

She stood before him with clasped hands, flushed
clieeks, and glistening eyes — her long, golden hair
floating like a glory around her. Never had she
looked so beautiful ; and gazing upon her, De Lisle
grew more determined than ever in his resolution.

" Nay, Edith, you wrong me," he said. *' Your
money, I confess, is an inducement ; but were you a
beggar my affection for you is so strong I would still
make you my wife ! I love you better than you are
willing to give me credit for."

"You do not!" she exclaimed, impetuously.
" When did man wish to render miserable the woman
he loved ? You know I dislike you — detest you ! —
and with you can never be happy !"

" You will learn to overcome this dislike in time,
fair Edith," he said, coolly. " At present, it is quite
natural you should feel indignant, and fancy you dis-
like me ; but I assure you, it will weat away. Then,
too, your silly penchant for a person who shall be
nameless, renders you less reconciled to this union
than you would otherwise be. Time, however, works
wonders ; and I have no doubt you will be in quite
a different state of mind in a few months. I shall
not trouble you again to-day until the hour appointed
for our marriage ; but Elva will attend you in the
meantime. Aurevoir." And, risjng, De Lisle quitted
the apartment.

Edith sat like one stunned by some sudden blow.
Her arms dropped powerless in her lap ; her eyes
were wide open, with a look of fixed, stony despair.
Every trace of color had faded from her face, as she
sat like one suddenly turned to stone. From the
doom before her she felt there could be no escape.

Ill
w ■

i !

148

AN UNLOOEED-FOB INTBUBUPTION.

De Lisle was all-powerful, and she was utterly help-
less. One by one the faces and forms of loved ones
passed before her ; father, mother, brotlker, sister,
and — dearer than all — Fred. Where wese they all
now ? Was there no one in all the world to help
her? Sun, and moon, and stars seemed fading from
ner sky, and the future loomed before her so dark
and full of Horror, that she drew back appalled.
Only a few brief hours, and she would be the wife
of De Lisle — a face far worse than death ! Hope
there was none ; and involuntarily she covered her
face with her hands, and groaned in the depth of her
anguish.

She heard the door open and some one enter ; but
she did not look up. Her hands were gently removed
from her face ; and raising her head, she met the
pitying eyes of Elva.

"Dear Miss Percival," she said gently, "don't
grieve so ! Bad as Ralph De Lisle is, I don't think
he'll force you to marry him against your will."

" He will — he will !" exclaimed Edith, wringing
her hands. " Oh, Elva, what shdl I do ?"

" I'm sure I don't know," replied Elva. " I wish I
could help you ; but it is quite impossible. Really,
though, I never thought he'd be so mean. It's dread-
ful to think about ; but I don't see how it can be
helped."

The look of sublime perplexity on Elva's face
bordered closely on the ridiculous ; and, at any other
time, would have provoked a smile from Edith. But
she only sat with her hands pressed to her throbbing
head, striving in vain to think, with her brain in such
a whirl.

"When is this precious wedding to take place ?'
inquired Elva, after a pause.

i*f

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTERRUPTION.

149

•*This afternoon," answered Edith, hurriedly.
" Your father went for the clergyman."

"Why, you don't mean to say that little dried-up
anatomy, with a face like a withered pippin
and a nose like a boiled beet, who came home with
father, is a clergyman ?" said Elva, opening her eyes
in amazement.

•* I really do not know," said Edith, faintly.

" Well, if it is, I'll give up !" said Elva, drawing a
long breath. " Why, I saw him drinking gin and
water with father, and singing 'Old King Cole was
a merry old soul,' as jolly as the worst cut-throat in
De Lisle's gang !"

" Elva Snowe !" called the shrill voice of Miss
CvoWy at this moment.

*' Oh, there's Miss Crow !" said Elva, jumping up.
"1 must go and see what the blessed old seraph
wants, or she'll drive me wild with her screeches.**

And Elvr. vanished.

The hours dragged slowly on, and Edith waited in
vain for her re-appearance. The afternoon waned ;
but still, to her surprise, she came not. Rousing
herself from the lethargy into which she was falling,
she arose and paced up and down the room, striving
to collect her thoughts. She turned to the window
and gazed out. The sun was setting in cloudless
splendor. The heavens were flush with gold and
azure, and purple, and crimson ; and amid this ra-
diant setting, the sun shone like a jewel of fire. A
fading sunbeam, as it passed, lingered lovingly for a
moment amid lier golden hair. With clasped hands
and parted lips Edith stood entranced — forgetting
'everything save the sublime beauty of that glorious
sunset.

The sudden opening of the door startled her. She

-«^*?"PSwnMrM*B»"

150

AN UNLOOKED-FOR INTEERUPTION.

looked up, and her heart sank like lead in her bosom,
as she belield De Lisle.

"Come," he said, taking her hand — "the hour has
arrived, and the clergyman is waiting."

She grew faint and dizzy at his words, and was
forced to grasp his arm for support.

" Let me assist you," he said, kindly, as he placed
his arm around her waist and drew her with him.

She drew back involuntarily — her lips parted, but
no sound came forth, as she lifted her eyes in a voice-
less appeal to his face.

" Nonsense, Edith !" he said, almost angrily —
" you must come. Have I not told you resistance is
useless."

He drew her forcibly with him, as he spoke.
Quitting the room they crossed a long hall, descended
a flight of winding stairs, which led them to another
hall similar to that above. Opening one of the many
doors that flanked it on either side, De Lisle led his
almost fainting companion into a room, which she
saw indistinctly as in a dream, was filled with people.

The clergyman, book in hand, stood at the upper
end of the room. At a little distance stood the man
Paul — the same individual seen by Fred in the
music-room of Percival Hall. Near him stood Elva,
pity and indignation strucrgling for the mastery on
her pretty face. Old Nan Crow, grinning, chuckling,
and evidently in a sublime state of beatitude, was
perched on a chair in the corner. Various other
individuals — members of De Lisle's tory band — were
scattered round the room, watching poor Edith with
mingled curiosity and admiration.

Supporting the slight form of his companioa, Do
Lisle led her to where stood the clergyman.

THE PEISONEES.

151

" Go on, sir," said De Lisle, briefly. *• We are
ready."

He opened his book ; and already had the cere-
mony commenced, when a sudden noise broke upon
their ears, and startled every one to their feet
in consternation.

Shouts, cries, yells, and the report of fire-arms,
mingled together in wild confusion, resounded
without.

Ere any one could move, a man, wounded and
bleeding, rushed in, and fell lifeless at the feet of De
Lisle.

CHAPTER XV.

THE PRISONERS.

" A careless set they were, in whose bold hands
Swords were like toys."

For a few moments all stood spell-bound, gazing
in silence and consternation in each other's faces —
while the noise and uproar without seemed still
increasing. Loud oaths, the clash of swords, and
the report of fire-arms, united in fierce discord. So
completely unexpected was the surprise, that all
stood looking at each other and at their fallen
comrade in speechless wonder. But De Lisle's
presence of mind never forsook him — the true state
of the case seemed to flash upon him instantly — and
turning to Elva, he said, hurriedly:

" Conduct Miss Percival to her chamber ; and
whatever happens, see that shi does not escape."

• I

152

THE PRIS0NEB8.

Then, turning to the others, he called : " There is
danger without ! Follow me !"

And as he spoke, he disappeared through the open
door.

The men rushed pell-mell after him, and in a
few moments the room was deserted, save by the
/clergyman, Edith, Elva, and Nan Crow. Edith stood
listening breathlessly, while her heart once more
began to throb with hope. De Lisle's enemies were
her friends, and she might yet be free once more.

Nan Crow was the first to speak. Turning to
Elva, who stood listening eagerly to the sound of the
conflict without, she said, sharply :

" What are you a-standing there for, like a fool ?
Go 'long with you, and take her off to her room, as
Mr. Ralph told you."

" Yes. Come, Miss Percival," said Elva ; " there
may be danger in remaining here. Let me assist
you — you seem weak and faint."

She passed her arm round her waist, and led her
from the room. Wrought to the highest pitch of
suspense and anxiety, Edith tottered, and was
obliged to lean on her companion for support.

" Oh, Miss Percival, who do you suppose they can
be ?'* inquired Elva, when they reached the apart-
ment of Edith.

*• My friends, I feel certain," said Edith, pressing
her hands on her heart to still its tumultuous throb-
bings — ** who, having missed me, have by some means
discovered that I am here. Great Heaven, Elva I
listen to these terrible sounds without !" said Edith,
with a shudder.

** The conflict seems to grow more desperate each
moment," said Elva, listening breathlessly.

The noise and confused din of the fight was

THE PBISONEBS.

15S

indeed momentarily growing more violent. Almost
wild with excitement, Edith paced up and down the
room, striving to catch some sound by which she
could judge which party was the victor. But she
listened in vain — nothing met her ear but a discord-
ant din, in which the cries of each were mingled in
indiscriminate confusion.

For upwards of an hour the strife continued, and
then all suddenly grew still. They could hear, for
a time, the sound of many feet passing and repassing
through the different rooms and passages ; but grad-
ually this died away, and was followed by a silence
so deep and ominous that the young girls looked on
each other, pale with undefined fear.

" Oh, this suspense — this suspense ! it is killing
me !" said Edith, sinking into a chair and covering
her face with her hands.

" De Lisle must have conquered," exclaimed Elva,
" or your friends would be here before now."

" The will of Heaven be done !" came from the
pale lips of Edith — while the hope that until this
moment had animated her heart, died out in deep-
est despair.

"What can this sudden silence mean ?" said Elva.
" It is not their customary way of conducting them-
selves after a victory. I cannot stay here — I must
go and see."

" Let me go with you !" pleaded Edith, starting to
her feet.

" No, no — you must stay here !" exclaimed Elva,
hurriedly. " To go with me would be dangerous.
I will return immediately. Do try and restrain your
impatience for a short time, and you will hear all."

She left the room as she spoke, and Edith was
alone in the profound silence and rapidly deepening

^ <i

154

THB PKISONBRS.

I :

gloom. It was a calm, starless night. Without, in
the gray dusk, the tall swaying pine-trees looked
like dim, dark spectres. The shrill cry of the whip-
powill and katy-did came at intervals to her ears ;
and once the hoarse scream of the raven broke the
stillness, sending a thrill of superstitious terror to
the heart of Edith. Each moment seemed an age,
until the return of Elva. Unable to sit still, in her
burning impatience, Edith paced rapidly up and
down the room — her excitement lending to her feeble
frame an unnatural strength. There was a wild, burn-
ing light in her eye, and a hot, feverish flush on her
face, that betokened the tumult within. Her head
ached and throbbed with an intensity of pain ; but
she hardly noticed it in the fierce agony of impa-
tience, she endured.

She counted the hours as they passed on, midnight
came, but Elva was absent still. She seemed almost
like a maniac in her maddening impatience, as she
trod wildly up and down the long room. " She will
not come to-night !" was ringing in her ears, as she
clenched her small hands so fiercely together that
the nails sank into the quivering flesh until they
bled.

Her quick ear at last caught the sound of a rapid,
excited footstep without. She sprang forward, breath-
ing heavily in her unnatural impatience, when the
door opened, and Elva bearing a lamp in her hand,
entered.

Placing the lamp on the table, Elva drew a long
breath, and with a muttered " Oh, dear !" flung her-
self into a seat. Her long hair was streaming wildly
over her shoulders ; her face was very pale ; her dress
disordered and stained with blood.

THE PBIS0NER8.

166

" Elva ! Elva ! speak ! what has happened ?" in-
quired Edith, in a voice husky with deep emotion.

" Oh, just what I told you ! De Lisle and his vil-
lainous-looking set have conquered!" exclaimed Elva,
impatiently.

For a time, nothing could be heard but the labored
breathing of Edit'i. She strove to ask another ques-
tion ; but though her lips moved, they could not
utter the words. Elva sat with her lips compressed
and her eyes fixed moodily on the floor. Looking
up, at length, and seeing the expression on Edith's
face, she said, in reply to it :

" Yes, they were your friends — I heard De Lisle
say so. There were only seven of them altogether ;
but they fought desperately, and, I believe, killed
half of De Lisle's band. They were conquered, how-
ever, and killed — with the exception of those who
appeared superior to the rest, and whom De Lisle
said he would reserve for a more terrible fate. One
comfort is," added Elva, flinging back her hair
almost fiercely. " Old Nick will pay him with in-
terest for all this, some of these days !"

Edith did not exclaim or cry. Her face was only
a shade whiter, her eyes dilated with a look of un-
speakable horror, and her voice, when she spoke,
sounded unnaturally deep and hoarse.

" Did you hear what were the names of those
three ?" she asked.

Elva looked up in alarm at the strange sound of
her voice.

" One, the youngest of the three, I heard called
Gus, I think, and the other looked so much like you
that I think he must be your brother. But the third
— he was splendid ; he looked like a prince — so tall,
and dark, and handsome. He was wounded, too,

156

THE PRISONERS.

^\.^

I.( i

but he walked in, looking as proud and scornful on
De Lisle as though he were a king and De Lisle his
slave. I i.dvei saw such a look of intense fiendish
hale and triumph on any face as De Lisle's wore
when he looked on him. They are now confined in
separate rooms at the other side of the house, though
I fancy they will soon leave it for a narrower and
darker prison. ^ 'hj'iMiss Percival ! I have had to look
on such fearful sights to-night ! I have a little
knowledge of surgery, and I was obliged to bind up
those fearful wounds. Ugh !" and Elva shuddered
convulsively.

There was no reply from Edith, who stood like
one suddenly turned to stone. Her brother and
cousin were in the power of the merciless De Lisle
— and that oiAer. There was but one man in the
world to whom Elva's description could apply — one
dearer than life — whom she never expected to see
again. And he — would De Lisle let him live to see
the sun again }

" De Lisle is going -away somewhere to-inorrow,"
said Elva, looking up, after a pause. " He received
a letter, a few hours ago, which will take him off —
thank goodness ! I suppose he will see you before
he leaves, and tell you when he will return."

" Elva !" exclaimed Edith, suddenly, " if De Lisle
leaves here, why can we not ma'te our escape during
his absence ? You can aid us, can you not ?"

"I scarcely know," said Elva, thoughtfully. "I
might aid you, it is true ; but asfather is commander
here until De Lisle's return, he would be answerable
for it. Besides, you will al' be very carefully-
guarded J and I fear, were any attempt at escape
discovered, it would be worse for us. De Lisle
might marry you immediately, in spite of ali

THB PRIS0NBB8.

157

fij

obstacles ; and as for the other — well, I wouldn't
give much for their chance of life now, but any such
attempt would be their death-warrant !'*

"Then escape is impossible, and there is no hope
but in the grave !" said Edith, sadly.

" Oh ! do not say it is impossible," said Elva. " In-
deed, the more I think of it the less difficult it st :ms.
Let's see" — and she leaned her head thoughtfully on
her hand — ** De Lisle will probably be absent a week
or so. Before the end of that time, I may find some
opportunity of throwing the men off their guard,
and setting you free. I have no doubt I could
easily effect your escape ; but it may be more diffi-
cult to liberate your friends. However, if I cannot,
you can inform your friends where they are, and let
them come here and free them by force of arms."

** But, Elva, the moment De Lisle would discover
my escape, do you not think he would wreak his
vengeance on those remaining in his power. You,
too, dear Elva — what would he do to you ?"

" Oh ! as for me, / am not afraid of him — only I
don't like to get father into trouble ; but as there is
no alternative, he'll have to run the risk, and I'll set
you free if I can. But your friends — yes, it would
be very dangerous for them to be here after your
flight is discovered. I must think. I have no doubt
I can hit on some plan to get the whole of you out
of his power. And if I do, won't it be as good as a
play to see De Lisle ? Oh ! won't he rage though,
and blow us all sky high to think he has been out-
witted by a girl. La ! I think I see him."

And Elva, changing in a moment from seriousness
to gayety, laughed outright at the vision that rose
before her mind's eye.

" Do you think you see him, minion ?" suddenly

158

TIS'A PRISONERS.

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exclaimed a low, fierce voice, that made both spring
to their feet in terror. The door was pushed open,
and De Lisle, pale with rage, stood before them.

" Oh, well ! you heard us, did you ? I never had
a high opinion of you, and I'm not surprised to find
you playing the eavesdropper," exclaimed Elva,
defiantly.

** By all the fiends in flames, girl, you shall repent
this !"

" Shall I, indeed ! T/tat for you, Mr. De Lisle !"
said the audacious Elva, snapping her fingers in his
very face.

" Leave the room, you impudent — "

" Impertinent, outrageous, abandoned young
woman — ching a ring, a ring, chaw !" sang the elf,
making a whirl.

" You shall never remain another night in this
house — "

" Delighted to hear it," again interrupted Elva,
with a profound courtesy.

" Silence ! Who, then, will help this fair lady or
her lover to escape ?" said De Lisle, with a look
of triumphant malice gleaming in his eyes.

" Heaven helps those who help themselves," said
Elva.

" Well, I fancy Heaven will not trouble itself
about this affair. And now, Miss, the sooner you
leave this room and house the better," said De Lisle.

" Surely, Mr. De Lisle, you will allow Elva to
remain with me," said Edith, speaking now for the
first time.

" No, madame, I will not," said De Lisle, sternly,
" after listening to that ingenious plot. I shall take
care that every means of escape is cut off. Leave
her with you, forsooth ! Do you think me a fool ?"

THE FBIS0MEB8.

159

" Think r repeated Elva ; "not she, indeed : she
knows you to be one."

" Will you leave the room, or shall I turn you
out ?" exclaimed De Lisle, angrily.

" Don't trouble yourself," said Elva, coolly. "I'll
go myself, and be thankful to get out of this dismal
old tomb. Good-by, Miss Percival ; keep up your
spirits. Old Nick'll twist De Lisle's neck for this
by-and-by — a blessing for which I intend to pray
night and morning. Don't get into a rage, my dear
sir, as I see you are going to ; it spoils your beauty,
of v/hich you have none to spare." And, casting
upon him ;i look of withering contempt, Elva left the
room auu ran down stairs.

For a few moments after her departure, De Lisle
walked up and down, as if to cool the storm of pas-
sion into which the taunting words of Elva had
thrown him. Edith sat pale and motionless in her
seat. Pausing at last before her, he said, in a tone
of bitter sarcasm :

" Well, Miss Percival, I see you can plot better
than I ever gave you credit for. How unfortunate I
chanced to spoil your pretty little scheme ! After
all, you see Providence seems to favor me more than
you. Do you not suppose it was * divine interposi-
tion ' that so providentially sent me here in time to
discover your plans ?"

With the determination of not answering him,
Edith sat listening in silence.

" You do not answer," he went on, in the same
ironical tone, after waiting a moment. " It is just as
well ; t ilence gives assent. I know you will regret to
hear that business of importance calls me away for a
few days, thereby delaying our marriage ; but at the
end of that time, I will have the happiness of claim-

160

THE PRISONERS.

! • !

B. i

ing you as my bride. I scarcely regret the hasty
interruption we met with a few hours ago, as it will
permit me to invite a few friends of yours to assist
at the ceremony. Mr. Frederick Stanley, who will
shortly follow his friends to a better world, will be
present to witness our nuptials, fairest Edith, and
take his last farewell of my bride. He will, doubt-
less, feel happy during his last moments, when he
knows the lady he professes to love is the happy
wife of another."

He paused, and glanced with a look of malignant
triumph at Edith, who sat quivering like an aspen in
her cliair.

** Yes, fairest Edith," he went on, " my hour of
triumph has come. Ere five suns rise and set, he
for whom you would willingly die will hang a dis-
colored corpse between heaven and earth, and you
will be my wife. No power on earth can save you ;
if an angel from heaven were to descend and plead
for you both, I would refuse."

She lifted her head, and De Lisle saw a face so
full of horror, with such a look of utter anguish and
despair, that he started back appalled. She did not
see him, her eyes were gazing steadily forward,
fixed, glazed, and rigid. She only saw the vision
his words had conjured up — herself the wife of the
living demon beside her, and he whom she loved
dying in agony the death of a malefactor. So rigid,
so unnatural, so full of speechless horror was her
look, that, alarmed for the effect of his words, De
Lisle sprang to her side, exclaiming :

*' Edith ! Edith ! good Heavens ! do not look so
wildly. Edith ! look up — speak to me !"

The hand he held was cold as ice. Her head

THE PRTSONEIW.

1«1

dropped on lier breast ; her eyes closed, and she
fainted entirely away.

Terrified beyond measure, De Lisle raised her in
Iiis arms, and laid the apparently lifeless form on
the bed, and sprang down stairs at a bound in search
of Elva. He found that young lady in a violent
altercation with Nan Crow — who, in spite of all
Elva's vehement threats and protestations, positively
refused to let her out until morning.

"Go up stairs ! go ! — Miss Percival has fainted !"
exclaimed De Lisle, hurriedly, catching Elva's arms
in his haste to push her along.

Wrenching her arm violently from his grasp, and
casting upon him a glance of concentrated ccritempt
and hatred, Elva passed him, and flew, rather than
ran, up stairs to Edith's room.

She still lay lifeless upon the bed. Elva opened
her dress, and began chafing her hands and temples.
Long she labored in vain — no sign of life was there,
and something almost akin to a feeling of pleasure
entered the heart of Elva, as the conviction that
Edith had escaped the power of De Lisle forced
itself upon her. But life was not extinct — a few hard-
drawn, laboring breaths — a sudden fluttering at her
heart, and the long lashes were lifted, and the cloud-
less blue eyes sought the bright face of Elva.

" My dear, dear Miss Percival, I thought you
would never look on any one again !" exclaimed
Elva, as she soothingly pushed back the bright hair
off Edith's face.

*' You here, Elva ?" exclaimed Edith, vacantly,
"I thought — I thought — where is hef' she said, with
a sudden look of terror.

*' Down stairs ; the horrid wretch !" exclaimed
Elva, passionately

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162

THE PBIS0XEB8.

r m

*' I thought he had sent you away ?** said Edith.

** So he did, and I am going, too ; but when yoif
fainted, he sent me bere to attend to you. I am sorry
to leave you, Miss Percival, but you see I must go.*

" Oh, it don't matter J" said Edith wearily ; " it is
all the same to me."

Elva looked hurt — so much so that Edith noticed
it, and, laying her hand on hers, she said :

" Dear Elva, don't be offended. I did not mean to
hurt your feelings, but for the few days I have to
remain, it matters little who attends me."

" Are you going away ?" asked Elva in surprise.

*' Yes ; I hope so."

" With De Lisle ?"

" No."

*' Why, are you not going to marry him ?*

*' No. '

**JVo?" repeated Elva, beginning to think her mind
wandered ; " how will you avoid it ?"

" Elva, I shall die !"

"You will not commit suicide?'* said Elva, shrink-
ing back in horror.

"There will be no necessity, Elva ; I shall die T

" Dear lady, I trust not Heaven is merciful, and
there may be happy days in store for you yet. Be-
fore morning dawns, night is ever darkest. Do not
give way to despair, but trust in Heaven."

" You can go now," said the voice of De Lisle^ as
he stood in the doorway ; " your horse awaits you at
the door."

He paused, and drew back to allow her to pass.

Pressing a kiss on Edith*s brow, she arose, and
whispering in her ear the one word : ^^Ho^eTshe
left the room.

As she passed De Lisle, she cast upon him a look

JOB SMITH.

163

of such dark, withering scorn that he absolutely
quailed before her. Passing down the stairs, and
through thf numerous en^.pty rooms, she left the
house, sprang upon the back of Timon, and in a few
moments was lost to sight amid the trees.

CHAPTER XVI.

JOE SMITH.

" Dost deem that aught can hide in beg^r rags
A heart so bold as mine ?
And dream'st thou aught of common danger now
Can scare me from my purpose ?"

— Barry Cornwall.

To explain how the friends of Edith discovered
her prison, it is necessary to retrace our steps a
little.

For an hour or two after her departure with De
Lisle, Major Percival walked thoughtfully up and
down the broad piazza, debating within himself
whether it were better to wait or compel Edith to
fulfill her engagement. The words of Fred Stanley
had thrown a new light on the subject, and he felt
convinced that her affection for him was the cause of
her refusal. To marry or not to marry, therefore,
was tlie question ; and in a state of unusual indecis-
ion the major debated the case //-^ and con.

While thus engaged, Nell came running up the
stairs, and stood beside him :

" Papa» Where's Edith ?"

164

JOE SMITH.

1* :

" Out riding with De Lisle."

"With De Lisle?" and Nell's eyes opened to their
widest extent with amazement.

" Eh ? what's that ?" said the major turning round
sharply.

"Nothing, sir," said Nelly demurely, " but I really
thought Ralph De Lisle was the last person Edith
would go anywhere with."

"And why not. Miss Impertinence ? Whom should
she go with, if not with her future husband ?"

" Why, papa, I thought Edith refused to fulfill her
engagement ?"

" We'll make her fulfill it !*' was the short, sharp,
and decisive reply.

" Hem-m-m ! perhaps so !" said Nell, with a scarcely
perceptible smile, " but if I were in her shoes, I know
I would not have gone with De Lisle to-night."

" You wouldn't ?" And a storm began to gather
in the major's eyes. " Why^ may I ask ?"

" Oh, I don't know ; I wouldn't satisfy him so far ;
besides, he might try to run away with me or
something. I wouldn't trust him !"

The words were spoken thoughtlessly ; but the
major gave a sudden start, and stood silent. Nell
left him, and tripped down stairs to join Gus in the
garden, leaving him to his own reflections.

An hour passed away ; Nell and Gus left the gar-
den and piazza for the cool, pleasant parlor ; but the
major still remained watching for the arrival of
Edith and De Lisle. Another hour passed on, and
still tney came not. The major began to feel anxious
and angry at the prolonged absence. His anxiety
began to communicate itself to the other members
of the family, as another hour wore away without
them. A thousand conjectures were formed as to

JOE SMITH.

165

the cause of this unaccountable absence, but none
seenied satisfactory. As midnight approached,
uneasiness changed into real alarm ; and the major
and Gus, unable to endure the suspense longer,
mounted their horses, and rode off in the direction
they had taken.

A sleepless night was passed in Percival Hall.
Early in the morning, both returned from their fruit-
less search, weary and dispirited. No clue to their
whereabouts could be discovered ; and all gazed
into each other's faces, pale with terror.

Half an hour after their return, a servant entered,
bearing a note which, he said, had been given him
by a man, who immediately departed. The major
glanced at the superscription, and recognized the
bold, free hand of De Lisle. Tearing it open, he
read :

;

"My Dear Sir : As, for wise reasons, doubtless,
you decline bestowing on me the hand of your fair
daughter, I am under the painful necessity of making
her my wife without troubling you to give her
away. For your own sake, I feel convinced you will
not make a public affair of this — as I judge you have
too much pride to allow your daughter's good name
to become a byword for the town. Rest assured she
shall be treated with all the respect due to the daugh-
ter of so distinguished a gentleman as Major Per-
cival ; and when once my wife, shall be restored to
her home on one condition. It is, that you will give
me her fortune as a sort of ransom, which, as you
are wealthy, no doubt you will willingly do. If you
refuse, why, then it will be all the worse for your
pretty, but rather stubborn daughter. The retreat
to which I have taken her is secure, and you cannot

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166

JOE SMITH.

discover it ; therefore, you had better make up your
mind to comply with my terms at once. If you do,
your daughter shall be immediately restored to you ;
if not —

" I have the honor, my dear sir, to remain,

" Yours sincerely, Ralph De Lisle,"

** The scoundrel ! the treacherous, deceitful vil-
lain !" thundered the major, springing to his feet,
white with passion.

"What is it ?" demanded Gus and Nell, while Mrs.
Percival's eyes asked the same question, though her
lips were silent.

" Read that !" exclaimed the major, as he flung
the missive he had crumpled in his hand, fiercely
from him. " Read that ! for I cannot tell you !"

Nell took it up, and read it slowly from beginning
to end.

" Merciful Heavens !" exclaimed Mrs. Percival,
** what shall we do ?"

" Do ?" shouted the major, " I'll send a bullet
through his heart if ever rny eyes light on him
again. The black-hearted villain ! Is this his return
for all I have done for him ? My daughter ! My
daughter in the power of such a villain !"

" My dear sir, what is the matter ?" exclaimed a
well-known voice ; and looking up, they beheld
Nugent, dusty and travel-worn, standing before
them.

In a few words, Nell related all that had transpired,
for the rest were too much excited to do so, and
ended by placing De Lisle's letter in his hand. The
brow of Nugent grew dark, and his eyes flashed
fiercely ; but subduing all other signs of anger, he
turned to his father, and said :

JOB SMITH.

167

" Well, sir, on what plan have you decided ?"

" Plan ? I can think of nothing but of pursuing
that scoundrel to the ends of the earth. Mount !
mount ! and after him !"

**Stay !" cried a voice that made them all start, it
was so stern and commanding. " Are you mad to
start on such a wild-goose chase ? Wait ; follow my
directions, and all will be well !"

They looked up, and behold, to their amazement,
the Hermit of the Cliffs, who stood before them like
some prophet of old, in his flowing robes, majestic
bearing, and snowy hair.

" You here !" exclaimed Nugent, in surprise.

" And wherefore not, my son ?"

" I thought you were in the city. You were there
a short time ago !" said Nugent.

** Whithersoever my duty leads me, there am I,"
answered the hermit, in his calm, grave voice. " The
wolf hath stolen a lamb from the flock, and the rest
shall be left in the desert while we search for the
one that is lost. Listen to me, and go not forth
rashly."

" This is no time for fooling !" exclaimed the
major, impatiently. " Stand aside, old man, and let
us begone !"

" Nay, there is one come who will show you the
way," said the hermit. " Why should you wandej* in
the dark when there is light at hand ?"

'^Doyim know where my daughter is ?" demanded
Major Percival, fixing his eyes sternly upon him.

" One is at hand who does !" repeated the hermit,
in the same quiet tone. " My hand may not point
out the way, but trust in him who will follow me.
His eyes have been opened, and to him it is given to
rescue the maiden of the house of Pereival."

T *i

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I ;S!

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168

JOB SMITH.

** Pshaw ! why do we stay, listening to such non-
sense ?" demanded the major, impetuously. "What
can this hoary old man know of Edith ? Let us
away ; why should we waste time lingering here ?"

He turned to go ; but the hand of the hermit was
laid on his shoulder.

" Thou shalt remain, Major Percival !" he said, in
the same firm, calm tone of command. " It is given
me to know that if you now set out, you will prove
unsuccessful. Remain ; he who cometh after me is
at hand, and when he arrives, with thy son and this
youth, let him search for the lost daughter of thy
house ; but do you remain here and watch over those
who are left.

He bowed slowly and with grave dignity ; and
folding his garment around him, quitted the house.

All stood looking in the face of each other, in
amazement and uncertainty. Surprise^ that he
should know already what had occurred, and wonder
at the probable meaning of his words, where mingled
with an uncertainty whether to iollow his advice or
not. The major and Nugent thou^jht of the strange
power he exercised over Sir William Stanley ; and in
spite of their impatience, were half inclined to follow
his advice. Ere they could folly determine what
course to pursue, however, Fred Stanley, his fine face
flushed, and his garments disordered, stood before
them.

" Stanley ! by all that's wonderful !" exclaimed
Nugent, in unbounded astonishment.

The major's brow grew dark as night ; but the
young man, in his excitement, scarcely seemed to
notice him.

" What has happened ? Where is Edith ?" was his
first demand.

JOE SMITH.

169

" Young man, will you be good enough to tell us
what sent you here ?" said the major, sternly, step-
ping forward.

" Certainly, sir !" said Fred, with a stiff bow, " this
singular note." And he drew forth a letter, and
handed it to the major, who opened it, and read :

" Ride, ride for your life to Percival Hall. She
whom you love is in the power of your rival. He
has carried her off by force. Take the road to the
north, near the village of R. are the pine woods,
where an old mansion of De Lisle's is situated.
There you will find Edith Percival. E. S.,

''Hermit of the Cliffsr

" Let us start instantly !" exclaimed the major.
** Every moment is precious."

" You had better follow the directions of the her-
mit, and remain her«," said Nugent. " We three,
with one or two friends, will be enough. De Lisle's
men are in all probability far enough from their
leader, who feels too secure in his retreat to dread a
visit from us. Besides, I have a message for you
from your friend, Colonel Greyson, which admits
of no delay, and will absolutely prevent your going
with us."

The major seemed still uncertain ; but the others
joined Nugent in urging him to obey the hermit,
and remain behind.

Having at length reluctantly consented, Fred, Gus
and young Percival, with one or two friends, started
in the direction pointed out by the hermit.

Having reached the place indicated, they secreted
themselves in the woods, while Nugent, who was
familiar with the place, went to reconnoitre.

170

JOB SMITH.

:ii

1 i1

i ;
!

; I

iipi I

I' «'!!

Me 'a"* f-turnc'* with the ominous intelligence
th. t asti was a force six times their number in the
oid : ise, 3nd that it would ruin their cause alto-
gether to atun/ipt at present to contend against such
odds. Nothing remained, therefore, but to lie in
wait, and seize the first favorable opportunity.
None, however, presented itself ; and the afternoon
of the following day, accidentally overhearing a con-
versation between two of De Lisle's men, by which
they learned the marriage was to take place that
ver}^ day, they determined at all risks to make the
attempt, the result of which is already known to the
reader.

Half an hour after his interview with Edith, De
Lisle sat in his own room, eating a hasty breakfast
ere he departed on his journey. His meditations
were at length abruptly interrupted by the entrance
of Nan Crow, who, in her usual screeching tones,
announced that a boy without wished to see him.

" What does he want ?" said De Lisle.

" Want ?" repeated Miss Crow, *' yes ; he wants to
see you."

'' What is his business ?" demanded De Lisle, rais>
ing his voice,

** None of my business !" exclaimed Miss Crow, in
rising wrath ; "allers the way every one treats me
arter a trottin' me off mj legs with the rhumatiz in
the small of my back, a bringing of pesky young gals
to 'tend on, what ain't no business here, a fighten
and sitten up killing of one another, with the rhuma-
tiz in the small of my back — "

"Go to the deuce, you old fool !" angrily inter-
rupted De Lisle, " be off with you and bring him
here, whoever he is 1"

JOE SMITH.

171

Muttering to herself, Nan Crow quitted the room,
and presently re-appeared with a youth of some six-
teen years — a rough, uncouth-looking lad.

He was small for his age, ar ^ dressed in a suit of
coarse gray homespun, which )0 d, to use a com-
mon but expressive phrase, ? fh». jh they had been
thrown on by a pitchfork hi-z face was bronzed
and darkened by exposure to at sun, his eyes were
bright and intelligent, an sb-^ne and glittered like
glass beads through the coarse masses of uncombed
sandy hair. His walk was peculiar, as he shuffled
along in a pair of huge cowhide boots, dragging his
legs after him as though they belonged to somebody
else.

Such was the lad who now stood, hat in hand,
before De Lisle, shifting uneasily 'from one foot to
the other.

" Who are you ?" demanded De Lisle, gazing
rather contemptuously at the new-comer.

" Joe Smith, sir," answered the boy, with a strong
nasal twang of " deown cast."

" What do you want ?"

" Wall, I kinder kalkerlated on gettin' work."

** Work ? what kind of work ?" said De Lisle.

** Wall, I ain't particular ; most anything comes
handy to me."

" What have you been accustomed to ?"

" Little of everything, boss. I gen'ly worked on
the farm to hum."

" Why did you lea as you call it ?"

** Wall, me and m* id Glory Ann thought as

how I'd better com* Bosting and 'list ; but

arter lookin' round a spell, I didn't like it, and kin-
eluded 'twasn't no sich fun to be shot at as 'twas
cracked up to be."

173

JCE SMITH.

\ >. f'

" What induced you to come here ?"

" Why, I'd heart! tell o' you some, and thought
maybe you wouldn't mind hirin' a new hand to cook
vittils, and bring water, and chop wood, and sicA.
You see, boss, I'm rather a smart chap, 'specially
arter a lickin' ; and didn't see no reason why I'd
waste my talents a-raising punkins all my life ; so
when I makes my fortin here, I intends goin* home,
and gettin' spliced onto Glory Ann Lazybones, a gal
what's a reg'lar buster and no mistake."

" You are an original," said De Lisle, rather
amused, *' but I am surprised that you do not wish
to join the rebels, like so many others of your
class,"

" Wall, boss, I allers had high ideers since I was
'bout so old, when I used to ride roun' every day on
mother's old clothes-horse for exercise. These here
rebels ain't no 'count, and bein* the weaker party, I
intends pitchin' into 'cm like a thousand o' bricks.
Mother allers sez — sez she : *Joe,* sez siie, * you
stick to the strongest party, my son, it's allers best/
so, in course, as I'm a dootiful son, I obeys the old
'omati. 'Sides, if I turn Britisher, and help to lick
our boys, there's no tellin' but what they'll want to
make a lord or an earl o* me one o' these days.
Lord Joe Smith ! Jee-whittica '. that sounds sort o'
grand, don't it ?"

" I see — number one's your look-out !" said De
Lisle. " Well, since your ambition soars so high, it
would be a pity to deprive Glory Ann of the chance
to become Lady Smith ; so I don't mind taking you
into my service."

" Thankee, boss ; you're a brick I" interrupted Mr.
Smith, patronizingly.

" Don't be so familiar, sir," said De Lisle, sharply.

JOE SMITH.

173

"Learn a little more respect when addressing your
betters. For the present, your duty will consist in
assisting my housekeeper in her household affairs,
and in looking after and attending to the wants of
two or three prisoners confined here. One of my
men will direct you what to do. And now, to begin
your new duties, go and saddle my horse, and bring
him round to the door."

*' All right, siree !" replied Joe, clapping his hat on
his head, and giving it a vigorous thump down over
his eyes, as he hastened out to obey the order, leav-
irng De Lisle to finish his breakfast.

" There is yet one more duty to perform," muttered
De Lisle, rising : " one so agreeable that it amply
compensates for all the humiliation I have been,
through him, forced to endure. Master Fred Stan-
ley, I go to pay you a morning visit, and see how
you estimate my kind hospitality, in keeping you
here my guest."

The sinister smile he wore, made his face almost
repulsive, as he arose and left the room.

Passing through a long hall, he descended a flight
of narrow winding stairs, and stood in another long
hall, flanked on each side by doors. A sentry stood
pacing to and fro before them. He paused and
touched his hat respectfully on seeing De Lisle.

"Where is Stanley confined ?" he inquired.

" Here, sir," answered the man, opening one of
the doors, to allow him to enter.

De Lisle passed in, and found himself in a low,
gloomy room, with a damp, unwholesome odor.
Seated on a low stool, the only article of furniture it
contained, was Fred Stanley, his forehead leaning on
his hand, his eyes fixed on the floor, his brow knit,
as though in deep, troubled thought. As the creak-

" i

y f

ih "

174

JOE SMITH.

ing of the heavy door fell on his ear, he looked up
quickly, and sprang to his feet, as he saw his mortal
foe before him.

For a moment they stood silently facing each
other — those two rivals. De Lisle's face wore a look
of triumph, mingled with most intense and deadly
hatred. A bitter, sneering smile was on his lip, and
a look of gratified malice in his eyes. Fred, stern,
and cold, and haughty, stood opposite him, his arms
folded across his breast, returning his gaze with such
a look of lofty scorn, that, in spite of himself, De
Lisle quailed before him.

" Well, Frederic Stanley, my hour of triumph has
come," said De Lisle, with a look of malignant tri-
umph.

" Villain I do your worst ! I defy you I" was the
bold answer.

** That most assuredly I shall do," returned De
Lisle. " Before the sun's rise and set, you shall die
the ignominious death of the halter."

*• Do your worst, Ralph De Lisle ; I fear you not !"
was the rejoinder.

" When you crossed my path, and won the affec-
tions of her whom I loved, I swore a deadly oath of
vengeance. Fortune has favored me, the time has
come, and your hours are numbered. She whom
you love is in my power, and the same hour which
will see you swinging a discolored corpse between
heaven and earth, will see her a bride in my arms.
You both began a dangerous game, Fred Stanley,
when you thwarted my wishes, as you will find when
the halter is around your neck, and as she will
discover when, after making her mine, I will whisper
in her ear the fate of. him whom she loves better than
life."

JOB SMITH.

175

" Fiend ! Devil in human form ! Do your worst,
and may the heaviest curse of Heaven fall upon
you !" exclaimed Fred, growing livid with passion.

" Ha ! I thought you would feel that !" said De
Lisle, with a grim smile. " You will have ample
time to meditate on these and many other consoling
truths between this and the day of doom. It will
also, doubtless, be a pleasure to you to know that
Edith will be a prisoner under the same roof with
you until my return, which may be to-morrow, or at
the furthest, three days hence. And now it occurs
to me that my revenge will be greater to allow you
to be present at our bridal. I will thus have a
double triumph over you both."

" A fiend could not be more diabolical !" exclaimed
Fred, paling involuntarily at his words.

" Have I not well learned the art of torturing ?"
went on De Lisle, with a fiendish smile. " Death
itself would be nothing — that would be a poor tri-
umph. I know you well enough to be aware that
you do not fear death ; but the torture I shall inflict
before death will last even after the soul has left the
body. I will leave you now to repose and solitude.
You will have ample time," he added, with a sneer,
"to meditate on your latter end, i«nd make your
peace with Heaven during my .Tbsence. Shauid I
return to-morrow, before another s m sets yo i ihall
swing as high as Haman. Au revoir^ until 1 meet
you again on Abraham's bosom."

And turning on his heel, he strode from the
room.

*' To-morrow ?" repeated Fred, gazing after his
retreating figure, " who knows what to-morrow
may bring forth ?"

'17

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176

JOE VISITS EIS PKISONEBS.

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CHAPTER XVII.

JOE VISITS HIS PRISONERS,

" Trust in God !
Thou forlorn one, cease thy moan ;

All thy pain and all thy sorrow.
Are to God, the Highest known ;
He leaves thee now, but helps to-morrow.
Trust in God !"

The bright sunshine of the morning following that
eventful night shone into Edith's room ; but it was
all unheeded by her. She lay on her face on the
bed, not sleeping, but in a deep, heavy torpor, her
white arms extended above her head, so still and
motionless that but for the quick, rapid breathing,
one might imagine her dead.

Not of herself was she thinking, but of those
for whom she would have given her life — of ong
whom she would gladly have died to save. Fred I
Fred ! all through that miserable night his name had
been on i.cr lips — his image alone in her heart.
Never again would she meet those dear, dark eyes —
already, perhaps, closed forever ; that brave, impul-
sive heart, whose every throb had been for her,
might now be cold and still in death. All that had
ever made life desirable seemed lost to her forever ;
and in the glad sunshine of that bright morning, she
lay and prayed for death.

The bolt was withdrawn, the door opened, some
one entered, but she did not look up. Siie was con-
scious that some one was bending over her, but still

JOE VISITS HIS PRISONERS.

177

she did [not move until she heard a strange voice
muttering, in a sort of soliloquy :

" Crickey ! she beats the seven sleepers, she does !
I'm blamed if she ain't as sound as a top. Wall, I
s'pose I'd better leave the vittals here, and arter her
snooze she'll fall to."

With a start, Edith rose on her elbow, and gazed
wildly around. Her amazement at beholding the
uncouth figure and face of honest Joe Smitii, may be
imagined. So completely was she bewildered that
she continued to stare at him between surprise and
terror, scarcely knowing whether to cry out for help
or not. Joe, however, bore her scrutiny with wonder-
ful composure, and returned her stare with com-
pound interest.

** Good-mornin*, marm, fine day this ; how's your
folks? I hope the old woman and all the folks to
hum is well !" said Joe, in a tone of condescending
politeness.

''Whatr said Edith, rather bewildered by the
rapidity with which this speech was delivered.

" Never mind, 'taint worth sayin' over again,"
said Joe. ** I hope I didn't disturb any pleasant
dreams o' yourn. You was sleepin' away like all
creation when I came in !"

" Who sent you here ?" inquired Edith, vvhose
terror had not quite vanished.

" Wall, the cap'n did, marm," replied Joe ; " I 'xpect
I'm to be waitin'-maid till he comes back, I haint
no objections to it, though — 'cause, maybe, I'll be
able to I'arn Glory Ann somethin' in her line arler I
go back to hum. Here's your breakfas', marm, what
that jolly old case down in the kitchen sent me with.
Seems to me the cap'n's got a taste for keepin' peo-
ple in the lock-up, judgin' by all I've 'tended to this

178

JOE VISITS HIS PBISONEBS.

mornin*. Let's see — two and one's three and one's
four — four I've visited this mornin', countin' you."

An exclamation of delight broke involuntarily
from the lips of Edith. Three besides her I Then
Fred was living still.

" Hey ? What is it ? Did you stick a pin in you ?"
inquired Joe, mistaking the cause of her emotion.

** Who were the three you visited this morning }"
inquired Edith, with breathless interest.

*' Wall, let's see," said Joe, closing one eye and
laying his forefinger meditatively on the point of his
nose, " the first, I think, somebody called Goose^ or
somethin' about the size o' that."

'* Gus," amended Edith, eagerly.

" Yaas, Gus, or Goose, or some sort o' a fowl. I
found him lyin'on the floor, takin'a snooze, I s'pose,
somethin' like I found you. He got up when I came
in, and fell to the vittals as if he'd been livin' on
pavin'-stones for a week, an' 'tween every mouthful,
he took to askiu* me a string o' questions long as a
lawyer's conscience. He wanted to know all the
particulars 'howX. you^ and 'fore he'd give me time to
answer one of 'em, he blowed the cap'n and the
whole blamed consarn sky-high. 'Twa'n't no use to
try to reason matters with him, 'cause when I took
to arguin', 'fore I got to thirdly, he told me to go and
be hanged. You see I couldn't stand that — I wasn't
used to it, mother never 'lowed no profane swearin' to
hum, so I just told him to be hanged himself, if he
likedj but as for me, I was like the Highlandman,
in no hurry."

''What Highlandman ?" inquired Edith, absently.

" Why, some old Scotch big-bug, long ago, had a
servant that did somethin', T forgot what, and he was
goin' to hang tiim for it. But, you see, the servaaC

.„^^

JOE VISITS HIS PKISONEBS,

179

I 1

had been a favorite of his, so his master told him
he'd grant him the favor of choosing whichever tree
in his orchard he'd like to be hung on. The servant
was tickled to death to hear it an' went out to choose
the tree with his master. At last, he stopped before
a gooseberry bush, and said he'd be hung onto that,

"*Go to grass!' sez his master; 'that ain't big
enough to hang a six-footer like you on !'

" * Oh, well,* sez the servant, * I'll wait till it grows
big. Tm in no hurry !' "

" But the others — the others ?" exclaimed Edith,
who had listened impatiently to this digression.

" Oh, ya-as — ^just so. Well, the next was the very
picter o' you — s'pect he must be some relation. He
was sittin' down onto a bench, an' asked me a few
questions — not many, though ; 'bout a dozen or so
— if I'd seen you, and where was the boss, and so on.
It was sort o' comfortable to talk to him sides the
other two, who didn't seem to have a single grain o*
senses in their knowledge-boxes."

" And the third ?" demanded Edith, hurriedly.

" Him ? Oh, Jerusalem ! I've seen a wildcat — I've
seen a bear with a sore head — I've seen a gander
when somebody carried off the goslin's before him
— I've seen mother in a passion, and a-flarin* around
at the governor — but I never, never, never saw such
a savage, wild-lookin' stunner as the t'other one.
Cracky ! when I went in thar, he was a-tearin' up
and down as though he was boun' to have a walk
somehow if the floor held out — lookin' so sort o*
savage lookin' an' fierce, that I like to spilt his
breakfas' a top of him. It's lucky I didn't ; for if he'd
got his dander riz any wuss, the Lor' a massy only
knows whar Joe Smith 'd be now, I'm blamed if I

180

JOE VISITS HIS PRISONERS.

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ever seen any one in sicli a tearin' rage as that cove
was in."

" It must have been Fred," tliought Edith. "Was
he wounded ? — how did he look ?" she asked, aloud.

" Wall, marm, 1 don't know as I kin tell," said Joe,
thoughtfully. " He set me into sich a flusterifica-
tion, ihat it was most a danger to look at him. He
had a black coat and trousis, and hair on, and was as
tall as — as — I don't know who (that's a nice size for
a man). He was sort o' darkish lookin', with a black
tnurstnasher onto his upper lip. Some people might
call him good lookin' ; but Glory Ann allers sez fair
hair's the nicest." And Joe gave his tow locks a
complacent shake.

" Would you bring a message from me to them .?"
inquired Edith, eagerly.

" Wall, now, I don't know," said Joe rather reluc-
tantly ; "'twould be sorter agin orders, you know.
Sorry to refuse you, marm, but I can't help it."

"Tell him, at least, that I will die sooner than
marry De Lisl«. You will befriend me by doing so ;
and you can do no one any possible injury," said
Edith, pleadingly.

" Tell who, marm — which of 'em ?'*

" The one you spoke of last."

•' Oh ! the fierce-lookin' one. Yes'm, I don't mind
tellin' him. But I guess h« won't care. I don't
believe -le'd go to the weddin* if he was asked."

" You will tell him, at least ? — you will not forget
it?" s^aid Edith, anxiously.

" Oh, no fear ; I'll tell him if he does blow me up.
*Tany rate, I guess weddin's is the last thing he'll
think about, 'cause the boss is boun' to string him
up like a dried mackerel soon as ever he comes
back."

j'i

JOE VISITS HIS PBISONEBS.

181

A convulsive shudder was Edith's only answer.

" Wall, now, marm, I wouldn't take on so if I was
you," said Joe, gazing sympathetically toward Edith.
" Arter all, I shouldn't wonder if things should turn
out all right in the end. P'raps you've hearn tell o'
people entertainin' angels in disguise ?"

Edith lifted her head, and looked at him with so
much surprise, that Joe laughed and said :

*' Keep up heart — there's nothing like it. I
shouldn't be s'prised if me and Glory Ann danced at
your weddin' yet. There's never no use in frettin'.
Hope on, hope ever !"

" Who are you ?" asked Edith, with an undefined
feeling that she had heard the voice before.

" Lor' ! I'm only Joe Smith, from Bungtown. OM
Jake Smith's my governor, an' me an* Glory Ana
Lazybones is goin' to hitch teams one of these times,
when they make a lord or f Tiethin* of me--tha£*s
all. 'Taint wuth makin' a b

" I think you resemble so
said Edith, with a puzzled i
not tell. Well, you may le
alone. You will not forg

"All right, marm; Joe Smith's got a stunnin'
memory. Good morning. I s'pect that blessed old
angel down in the kitchen '.l give me fits for stayin*
here so long. Don't forget to keep up your spirits.
I don't believe we'll have a weddin' or a hangin' so
soon as the boss thinks."

With this sage concluding remark, worthy Joe
shuffled out of the room, leaving Edith to ruminate
on the probable meaning of his words.

A of."

one I've seen before,"

)k ; " but whom, I can-

e me now ; I wish to be

o deliver my message }"

182

PLOTTING.

CHAPTER XVIII.

PLOTTING.

' Nightly tears have dimmed the lustre

Of thy sweet eyes, once so bright ;
And as when dark willows cluster,

Weeping o'er marble rocks,
O'er thy forehead white,

Droop thy waving locks —
Yet thou art beautiful, poor girl,

As angels in distress —
Yea, comforting thy soul, dear girl,

With thy lovelinees."— TUPPER.

ii-»t'.,

l-i V

The day's toil was over. Nan Crow, after screech-
ing, and grumbling, and scolding to her heart's con-
tent, had thrown her apron over her head, and fallen
asleep in her easy-chair in the long kitchen. The
men were loitering idly about — some lying on the
cool grass, where the shadows fell long and dark,
rejoicing in the cool evening breeze after the scorch-
ing heat of the day ; some sat at the table playing
cards, swearing and vociferating at an appalling
rate ; others lounged in groups round the room,
with bottles and glasses before them, relating their
several adventures for the general benefit of all.

Mr. Joe Smith, who found his duties of maid-of-all-
work rather fatiguing, would gHdiy have left the
revelers to themselves ; but they, havui^ no one to
wait on them, were determined he should not escape
so easily.

Unceasing calls for Mrs. Smith, named

PLOTTING.

183

him, resounded continually from one end of the
room to the other, until, at last, in a fit of despera-
tion, he told them to go to grass and wait on them-
selves. A shout of laughter, and a unanimous cry
of ** Come back ! come back !" reached him ; bat
unheeding their shouts, Joe resolutely made his
escape, and set off for a ramble by himself.

Sitting on the trunk of a fallen tree, Joe leaned
his head on his hand, and fell into a fit of profound
musing. For upwards of an hour he remained thus,
with brows knit, eye^ iK-.-jd on the ground, and lips
compressed like one in deep meditation. Suddenly,
a new light seemed to dawn on him, and he sprang
to his feet with the triumphant exclamation :

♦' I have it !"

"Have what?" said a merry voice beside him,
and, turning abruptly round, worthy Joe beheld our
little friend Elva.

** Wall, now, I don't know as it's any business o*
yourn," said Joe, surveying Elva coolly from head to
foot.

" You're mighty polite," said Elva.

"Wall, yaas, rayther j Glory Ann allers said so,"
said Joe, modestly.

"Who's Glory Ann?"

" A young lady up to hum ; I'm goin' to be mar-
ried to her some day."

" Nice girl, I expect ?"

" Nice ! That word doesn't begin to tell about
Glory Ann Lazybones. I tell you she's a reg'lar
screamer, and no mistake."

" Shouldn't wonder !" said Elva. " Is she as good-
looking as I am ?"

"Wall, now, I don't know. Some folks might say
you was better lookin'; but / don't. You ain't so

^ 1 ii ■

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184

PLOTTING.

showy, you know. Glory Ann's got nice red hair;
and red-haired girls is aWers smart and spunlcy."

"Tliey are, eh ? Now, if I'd Icnown tliat before,
I'd have dyed, and not gone wliimpering tliroiigh
the world, afraid to call my soul my own. Perhaps
it's not too late yet, eh ? What do you think ?"

"Oh, you don't need it. You've got impidence
enough. Yoiill do**

" Well, really, that's cool. What's your name ?"

" What's j^arj/

" Elvena Snowe — not so pretty as Glory Ann
Lazybones, is it ?"

" Not quite ; hers is a Scripter name, you know.
Yours is pooty, though, and sounds sort o' cool this
hot weather."

*' Now, what's yours."

" Wall, it might be Beelzebub, or Nebuchadnezzar,
or any other Bible name ; but 'taint. I reckon I
won't tell you ; I'd rather not have it made public."

" Why ?"

" Oil, well, Joe Smith ain't a common name, so I
guess I'll keep it a secret. 'Sides, there's no tellin'
but you may fall in love with me ; and I'm anxious
to avoid sich a calamity**

"You're a case! Aren't you the boy De Lisle
hired yesterday ?"

" Wall, I mought be, and ag'in I moughtn't. Seems
to me you're very inquisitive," said Joe, suspiciously.

"And it seems to me you're very cautious. What
do you take le for .?" said Elva, indignantly.

" Why, y' might be a good many things — you
mig'^t be r , .vallis or Washington in disguise, or
you might be a spy from the enemy. There's never
no tePMi'."

"Yoj're too smart to live long, Joe, dear. How

PLOTTING.

185

do you suppose a little thing like me could be any-
body but herself ?"

" It does seem odd," siid Joe, scratching his head,
as if to extract some reason by the roots ; " but then,
you know, it's better to be sure tiian sorry. I like
to be on my guard, so's I won't leave Glory Ann a
widder."

"I honor you for your prudence, my son. And
now, Joe, when I assure you I'm no desperate char-
acter — neither Cornwallis nor Washington in petti-
coats — maybe you'll answer me a few questions ?"

" Yaas'm, if they're no ways improper for me to
listen to."

"You sweet innocent ! do you think I'd ask such
a saintly cherub TiS ^y^// anything improper? First,
then, there's a young lady confined a prisoner in that
old house over there."

*' Wall, now, I raally couldn't say." And Joe,
looked innocently unconscious as he issued this
little work of fiction.

*'Oh, get out, and don't tell fibs {"exclaimed Elva,
indignantly. " There's three other prisoners there,
too, isn't there ?"

" There might be ; I don't like to say for sartin, for
fear o' tellin' a lie," replied Joe, shutting one eye,
and fixing the other reflectively on a grasshopper at
his feet. " I'll ask when I go back, and send you a
letter to let you know."

" You abominable wretch ! I know very well
they're there," said Elva, losing all patience.

" Well, and if you know very v;ell, where the mis-
chief's the use o' askin' [me a string of impudent
questions, and callin' me names ?" exclaimed Joe, in-
dignantly.

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Ml' I

1*1

186

PLOTTINO.

Elva couldn't resist laughing at Joe's look of of
fended dignity.

"Yes, you may /ar/" said Joe, with a look of
intense disgust. " I s'pose it's all very funny comin'
and callin' a fellar names. It shows all the
brought'n up you had !" And Joe gave the innocent
grasshopper at his feet a vicious kick.

" There, now, Joe, don't get mad, like a good boy,"
said Elva, patting him soothingly on the back,
" listen to me ; I'm Miss Percival's friend and wish
to see her."

** Well, go and see her then," said Joe sulkily, " I
aint hinderin' you."

" But I can't," said Elva, " unless you help me."

" Me !" said Joe, opening wide his eyes, " how ?"

" Why, you must find the key of the side door, and
let me in that way. I don't want anybody to see
me. Now, do, like a dear, good boy."

" You be grannied !" exclaimed Mr. Smith losing
all patience, "can't you tell a fellar who you want to
see, and not be goin' on with your story hind-
end foremost."

" Why, I thought you knew," said Elva. " I
mean the prisoner. Miss Percival."

*' Oh ! that's her name, is it ? How was I to
know, when nobody never told me ? So you want
to see her, do you ?"

" Yes, yes, yes ! Do let me n, will you ? '

"Why don't you go and ask some of the others ?*

** Oh ! they won't let me, they're hateful, but
you're not. Ah, Joe, won't you ?" And Elva looked
pleadingly up in his face.

"Wall, now marm," said Joe, laying one finger
reflectively on his nose. "I'd like to oblige you if
'twas any ways possible, but •* ^'"^ found out, the

i»LOTTINO.

18T

»•

boss wouldn't make no bones o' stringing me up like
a red iierrin', and I tell you what, I hain't no ambi-
tion to be elevated in the world after tliat fashion."

"He won't find you out, how can lie ?" exclaimed
Elva, impetuously ; " he is away, the men are all
lounging and drinking in the other wing of the
building, old Nan Crow is asleep, and there is no
one plotting mischief or making love but you and
me. There ! you needn't look so surprised. I know
more about that old house and its inmates than you
think. So now, Joe, you dear, good-natured look-
ing old soul, let me in to see Miss Percival, and I'll
dance at your wedding."

This last entreaty had a due effect upon Joe, who
indulged in sundry low chuckles at the idea. Recov-
ering his composure at last, he seated himself delib-
erately on the log, and crossing one leg over the
other, and fixing his eyes solemnly upon his cow-
hide boots, fell into a profound fit of musing. Elva
stood watching him, swinging her light straw hat by
the strings, and tapping her little foot impatiently
up and down.

" Well, now, Joe, I hope you'll soon hone me with
an answer," she said, at last, quite out of patience.
" I declare I never saw such a stick of a fellow as
you are, a body can hardly get a word out of you."

** Eh ?" said Joe, looking up, " were you speakin'
to me, Miss Elva ?"

"Was I speaking to you, Miss Elva?" repeated
that young lady, mimicking his tone. "Yes, I was
speaking to you. Miss Elva. Did you ever hear it
was impolite not to answer a lady when the speaks
to you ?"

" Wall, if I don't talk much, I keeps up a mighty
big thinking," said Joe, " and as to answerio' ladies,

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188

PLOTTING.

why, as I never met one yet, I couldn't hev* bin very
imperlite to 'em."

" Why, you horrid, impudent fellow, what do you
call itie but a lady ?

" Oh ! my eyes !" ejaculated Joe, with a look of
infinite contempt. " You a lady. You hain't no
more the look of one than I hev. Lady^ indeed !
You git out !"

" Well, we won't argue the question now," said
Elva. " Perhaps we've hardly time at present to do
the subject justice. And now, once for all, will you
grant my request ?"

"Why, I don't mind if I do, seein' it's jv<?z^," replied
Joe ; " but first I'll go and see Miss Percival, and tell
her you want to see her. By the time I git back it'll
be dark, and you can git in without bein' seen, and
everything will go off smoothly."

** That's a good boy !" said Elva approvingly.
** Maybe I won't write to Glory Ann one of these
days, and tell her what a nice fellow she's going to
get. Hurry up now, and I'll wait here till you come
back."

So saying, Elva seated herself on the fallen tree,
and watched honest Joe, as he shuffled slowly out of
sight, and disappeared among the trees.

An hour passed, and Joe had not make his appear-
ance. A deep gloom was settling around, the dark
pines swayed solemnly to and fro in the night breeze.
There was no light save that of the radiant stars ;
no sound save that of the wind and the cry of the
katy-did. The silence was almost painful, as Elva
sat wild with impatience. At length, as she was
about to despair of his coming at all, a familiar voice
at her ear startled her with the expressive phrasft ;

" Here we is !"

PLOTTING.

189

" Oh ! Joe, is it you ? I thought you would never
come. Well, can I see her ?" she exclaimed, breath-
lessly.

" Yes'm ? I've 'ranged everything beautifully. I'll
go back to the house, and you steal round to the
side-door you was speaking of, and I'll let you in.
That's the way !"

And each took a different path, both leading to the
old house.

The side-door spoken of had long been unused,
and was almost hidden by vines and shrubs. Forc-
ing her way through these, Elva waited until she
heard the key turn in the rusty lock. Pushing open
the door, she entered a long, dark hall, where she
beheld Joe standing, lamp in hand.

"Here take this," said Joe, handing her the light.
" I s'pose you know the way up to the room better'n
I can show you. I'll be about here and wait, and
let you out."

" You're a darling !" exclaimed Elva, as she almost
flew up a long, winding staircase. "How I wish I
was Glory Ann Lazybones to get such a prize as
you." And with a merry laugh, she vanished amid
the gloom, while Joe gazed after her with a look of
decided admiration.

Reaching the well-known chamber of the prisoner,
she tapped at the door. A low voice bade her enter,
and witlidrawing the bolts, she passed into the room.

Edith sat by the table, her head leaning on her
hand, her bright golden hair falling like a vail over
her pale, sweet face. She looked up as Elva entered,
and approached with extended aands.

Elva was shocked beyond measure by the change
those few days had made. The face of Edith, always
fair, seemed now perfectly transparent, the deep-blue

190

PLOTTING.

3U>!

eyes had grown dim and heavy with constant weep-
ing. A long illness could hardly have changed her
more than those miserable days and sleepless nights,
albeit she was not used to " tears by night instead of
slumber."

" My dear Elva, how glad I am to see you again !"
said Edith, pressing the young girl's hands in her
own.

*' The pleasure is mutual, my dear Miss Percival.
But how pale and thin you are looking ! Have you
been sick ?"

" No, not exactly sick ; but I have been sick in
body and mind. Oh, Elva ! how could I be other-
wise in this dreadful place ?"

*' Very true !" said Elva, sadly, " and your friends,
are they still here, or has De Disle — "

" No, no !" interrupted Edith, hurriedly, " not yet !
But when he returns — . Oh, Elva, Elva ! pray
Heaven I may die before that dreadful time."

'* Not so. Miss Percival. You shall live and be
happy in spite of all the De Lisles that ever cheated
the hangman !" exclaimed Elva. ** We'll see if
woman's wit is not more than a match for man's
cunning. De Lisle will not return, father says, until
the day after to-morrow ; and when he does come
back and find his bird has flown away from her cage
during his absence, won't there be a scene ? Whew !
it will be as good as a play to see him !" And Elva
clapped her hands in delight.

" Elva ! what do you mean ? I do not under-
stand," said Edith, looking bewildered.

" Why, you shall make your escape to-morrow
night— that's the talk ! When everybody is sleeping,
I'll come here, fasten a rope-ladder to your window
— climb up — iron grating's old — easily taken off —

PLOTTING.

191

you'll get down — make a moonlight flitting — and
before morning dawns, you'll be over the hills and
far awav !"

Edith caught her breath at the vision thus con-
jured up. But a moment's reflection banished the
bright hopes Elva's words had recalled to her heart.

" My cousin, my brother, and — their friend, how
can I go and leave them here in the power of De
Lisle ? Oh, Elva ! I cannot go !"

" Bother !" exclaimed Elva, impatiently. " What
good can your staying here do them ? Will it help
them any you marrying De Lisle, as you will most
assuredly have to do, if you wait until he comes
back. If they really care for you, will it not render
them far more miserable than anything they may
have themselves to suffer ? Whereas, if you escape,
you may yet rescue them ; or, if you cannot, you can
at least let the world know what a villain he is, and
have the comfort of letting the world see him dance
on nothing. Stay here, indeed ! Nonsense, Miss
Percival ! I beg your pardon for saying so, but the
idea is perfectly absurd."

Edith's feelings always caught its tone and impetus
from whoever chanced to be with her. Now some
of the daring spirit that glowed on the cheeks and
flashed in the eyes of Elva animated her own heart,
as she raised her head and said firmly :

*• Be it so, then, kindest, best of friends. I shall
make the attempt ; if I succeed, I shall at least be
spared the wretched doom of becoming the wife of
one I detest ; if I fail, my fate can be no worse than
it is now."

" Fail !" echoed Elva, cheerily. " In my vocabul-
ary, there is no such word as fail. No, you will live
and laugh at De Lisle yet."

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192

THE ESCAPE.

** That s the chat !" exclaimed a voice that made
them both start ; and turning round in alarm, they
beheld the shock head of Master Joe protruded
through the half-open door.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE ESCAPE.

«(

The lovely stranger stands confessed
A maid in all her charms." — Goldsmith.

" Thai's the chat !" again repeated the worthy
youth, as, seeing he was discovered, he walked in
and coolly took a seat.

" Oh, Joe ! my dear ]oe I you will not betray us ?"
exclaimed Elva, while Edith sat in silent dismay.

" Don't know 'bout that ;" replied Joe. " 'Tain't
fair to be cheatin' the boss in this fashion. La ! how
nicely I caught you that time !" and evidently highly
delighted at the recollection, he leaned back and
laughed until the tears stood in his eyes.

" Oh, Joe ! you won't tell, will you ?" pleaded Elva.
" How would you like now if Glory Ann was a
prisoner and wanted to escape, somebody hindered
her ? Just think what a heartrending case that
would be, and let off."

"Wall, now, I don't know's I'd care. I's gettin*
sorter tired of Glory Ann !" said Joe, coolly.

" Unfaithful youth !" exclaimed Elva, in a voice
of horror. *' Poor, deserted Glory Ann. But since
that fails to move you. Miss Percival's father is very

THB ESCAPE.

193

rich, and if you help her to escape, your fortune Is
made."

" Go to grass !'" indignantly exclaimed Mr. Smith.
" What d'ye s'pose I care 'bout his money ? No'm ;
if you hain't somethin' better to propose than that,
I'll blab !"

^* What can I offer?" said poor Elva in despair.
"Just mention something yourself Joe, and if it's in
my power you shall have it."

" There's one thing," said Joe, meditatively.

" Name it ! — name it I" exclaimed Elva, im-
patiently.

** It's very easy, too, though I never thought of it
afore," went on Joe, in the same slow, thoughtful
tone.

** Name it ! — ftame itT exclaimed the impatient
Elva.

" Yes. I don't care 'bout Glory Ann, there's no
mistake in that. Red hair's common, and I guess I'll
take to some other color," continued Joe, seriously,
without lifting his eyes off the floor.

" Oh, you wretch ! You provoking creature !
V'ou stupid old thing you ! Will yo\i tell me what
it is !" and Elva, losing all patience, shook him so
soundly, that poor Joe looked up quite astonished.

"Hey? What's the matter? Oh, you want to
know what it is, do you ? Wall, ye see, I've got
kinder tired o' Glory Ann, as I sed, and I'd like a
change ; so I'll help the young lady to run off, if — "

Joe paused and looked doubtfully at Elva.

"Well : if what ?" reiterated that young lady.

" If you'll marry me !" exclaimed Joe, like a man
of honor, coming to the point at once.

"Done!" exclaimed Elva; "there's my hand on
it. Who'll say, after this, I haven't had a proposal ?"

194

THE ESCAPE.

I i

And Elva cast a glance toward Edith that, in spite
of herself, brought a smile to the face of the latter.

"You're a trump !" exultingly exclaimed Joe, " a
regular stunner ! I tell you what, I'll set free them
three coves down in the lower regions if you like.
I will, by gracious !"

With an exclamation of joy, Edith and Elva both
sprang forward and caught each a hand of Joe, who
looked a little surprised, not to say alarmed, at this
sudden attack.

"Joe dear, you're a darling!" exclaimed Elva,
"I'll marry you a dozen times over if you like !"

" All right !" said Joe ; "and now that the courtin*
part o' the business is over, s'pose we change the
subject. Let's see : to-morrow night, 'bout twelve
be ready, and if we don't fix 'em, it'll be a caution !"

And Joe arose to leave.

" But, Joe, won't you tell us what you intend to
do ?" said Elva ; " just consider I'm your better half
now, and have a right to know."

" Don't trouble yourself, marm. I'll tell you after-
wards," replied Joe; "and now I shouldn't be
s'prised if 'twas time for you to go. To-morrer
night, 'bout this time, come round to the side-door,
and I'll let you in, so's to be ready to start with
us." '

Elva laughed, and with a cheerful gopd-night
turned to follow him, leaving Edith with a more
hopeful look on her face than she had worn for many
a day.

The following day, Joe did not appear until nearly
noon, when he informed Edith that he had told her
friends of their plan, and that they were " tickled to
death 'bout it." To all her anxious inquiries as to

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THE ESCAPE.

195

what that plan was, he only replied by telling her to
" hold on and she'd see arter a spell."

With the approach of night came Elva, who was
silently admitted by Joe through the side-door, and
conducted to Edith's apartment. There that worthy
youth left them, after many charges not to be asleep
when he called for them, by-and-by.

Hlva knew that three men remained each night
in the corridor before the cells of the prisoners,
and how he was to conduct them past these was a
mystery she could not solve. Joe, however, turned
a deaf ear to all her questions, and repeating his
command to be ready at the appointed hour, left
them to themselves.

Passing through the many halls and passages, and
staircases, Joe at length reached the opposite end
of the house, and entered a spacious sitting-room,
where nearly a dozen men were seated round a long
tal)le in the middle of the floor, singing, shouting,
telling stories and vociferating in the most approved
fashion. At the head of the table sat Paul Snowe,
tlie father of Elva, in blissful ignorance of the plot
his audacious little daughter was weaving to free his
prisoners.

"Hi, there ! Mrs. Smith ! Where the deuce have
you been all evening ?" called a flashy looking indi-
vidual, known as Dandy Dan ; ** I believe, in my
soul, the tow-headed scoundrel is forever making love
to Lady Beauty above stairs."

" Come here, Mrs. Smith, my dear," said another,
" the jug's empty, and Nan Crow's asleep. Be off to
the kitchen and fill it, and here's your good health,
ma'am.

With a smothered growl, which elicited a shout of
laughter, Joe took the huge earthen jar which stood

196

THE ESCAPE.

in the centre of the table, and set oflf on the errand.
Filling it from a large cask wiiich stood in the
kitchen, he drew a bottle from his pocket containing
a colorless liquid, and emptied its contents into the
Jamaica rum. A smile of triumph flitted over his
face, which was, however, changed to one of sulky
stupidity, as he again stood before the revellers,
panting under his load.

•* Good boy, Joe !" said Dandy Dan, helping him
to lift the jar on the table ; " has your mother any
more like you."

" Yes, thar's lots on 'em to hum, but none so smart
as me," said Joe, in a tone of artless simplicity.

"You're a genius, Joe. Pity tliey didn't make a
lawyer of you !"

" No, sir, none o* our family ever fell so low as that
yet," said Joe, in a tone of offended pride ; " mother
was to law once and I never wants to know no more
'bout it."

" And what sent the old lady to law ?" inquired
Paul Snowe.

" Wall, 'twas 'bout our cow. Our cow and mother
and two other cows was out, and she kicked the
minister."

"Who did? Your mother?"

" No, the cow. He was goin' 'long, and she took
to jawin' him 'bout somethin' she didn't like in his
sermon."

" The cow did ?"

" No, mother. So he comes over to 'xplain and he
leaned agin her and taks to smootiiin' down her
back."

*' Smoothing your mother's back ?"

** No, the cow's. But she wasn't goin' to take none

THE ESCAPE.

197

o' his blarney, so she jist turned up her nose and told
him to goto pot."

"The cow told him so?"

"No, mother ! But he took to arguin' so at last
forgetting he wasn't in thepuipit, he brought his fist
down with an almighty thump on her back."

" On your mother's back."

" No, darn ye, on the cow's ! So havin' a spirit of her
own that wouldn't put up with sich insults, she lifts
up her hind leg and gave him a kick."

"Your mother did ?"

" No, blame you, the cow ! By gracious I won't
stand to hear the old woman insulted this way !"
exclaimed Joe, indignantly.

A roar of laughter followed, during which Joe stood
looking savagely from one to the other, and at last
turned away in evident disgust.

'* I say, Joe ! don't leave us, man I" called Paul
Snowe ; " tell us what happened to your mother and
the other cow ?"

" Find out !" said Joe, shortly. " What's the use
o' tellin' a story when you're too stupid to understand
it ? I wouldn't tell you another word if you was to
bust !" And with this spirited announcement, the
young gentleman gave his pantaloons an indignant
hitch, and repaired to the kitchen.

Another hour passed, and the uproar grew "fast
and furious." Joe listened with a smile and a mut-
tered " it will soon be over," and patiently "bided
his time."

Gradually, the noise died away. Now and then
a heavy sound would be heard, as one of the drunken
revellers fell prostrate on the floor, and a long-drawn
snore betrayed his profoundly drunken sleep. Joe
went in softly. Lying under the table, and in vari-

VJS

THE ESOAI'E.

I I,

: I

ous directions through the room, were De Lisle's
gallant band. Paul Snow lay back in his seat, his
head down on his breast, sleeping as profoundly as
the rest.

Joe seized the jar, considerably lighter now, and
repaired with it in the direction were the prisoners
were confined. Leaning against the walls, half
asleep, were the remaining three who had been left
to guard them.

" Who comes ?" cried one of the sentinels, opening
his sleepy eyes.

"Only me, Ben — Joe Smith. The other chaps
drunk theirselves asleep, and I brought the jar here,
thinking you might like the rest."

"Thanky, Joe ; may you never die till your time
comes," said tiie man, as he, together with his com-
panions, gathered around the jug.

" Don't see any reason why them coves upstairs
should have all the fun to themselves," said the
other, taking a long draught.

*'That was my notion exactly," said Joe.

" Prime that !" said the third, smacking his lips.
"Joe, you deserve to be made an archbishop of."

Joe took the compliment with all humility, and
looked with delight at their eagerness to empty the
jug. Very soon its effects became apparent, for the
three worthy sentinels lay stretched at full length,
as sound asleep as their companions upstairs.

Joe arose softly, and taking the keys from the
belt of one, then opened the nearest door, and Fred
Stanley stepped forth. He then noiselessly opened
the other two, and Nugent Percival and Gus made
their appearance.

Joe made a motion for them to be silent, and lift-
ing the lamp, beckoned them to follow. With noise-

le's

THB RSOAPB.

199

less step they obeyed, and in a few minutes, they
stood in the cool night air, free once more.

" Wait here a minute," said Joe, when they arrived
before the useful littie side-door, as he opened it and
disappeared.

"That small youth is worth his weight in dia-
monds," remarked Gus, as Joe disappeared.

" He reminds me strangely of some one I've seen
before," said Percival ; " but whom I cannot recol-
lect."

"Just fancy De Lisle's disappointment when he
comes back, losing his prisoners and his bride ! Eh,
Stanley ?" said Gus.

"What?" said Fred, rousing with a start from a
dream of Edith.

"Ah ! I fancy I know where your thoughts were
that time," said Gus, while Percival smiled slightly,
but said nothing.

" Here we are," said Joe, re-appearing, followed
by Edith, wrapped in a large cloak, and leaning on
the arm of Elva.

There was but little time for congratulations.
As the whole party passed through the gate, Joe
gave Elva a nudge in the ribs, saying, in a very audi-
ble whisper :

" S'posin' you and me goes and gets spliced right
off ! Where's the use losin' time ?"

"Thank you ; I guess I won't mind it just now !**
said Elva, laughing and blushing, as she caught the
dark eye of young Percival fixed upon her with a
look of decided amusement.

" We part here, then," said Joe, extending his
hand. " Good-bye, Elva. Have you no message to
send to Glory Ann ?"

To the surprise of all, he had suddenly lost his

200

THE JOURNEY HOME.

* i

■ ,1

peculiar nasal twang. Fred, who had been watch-
ing him earnestly, came forward, and laying his
hand on Joe's siioulder. said :

" Further disguise is unnecessary, I know you /"
Joe laughed, and colored slightly, as he lifted his
cap and removed his wig, and in spite of the dye on
his face, they beheld and recognized the merry face
and Dlack eyes of Nell FercivaU

CHAPTER XX.

THE JOURNEY HOME.

*• Oh. she is a shrewd one ! — as keen as a briar i
Though her lips pout with love, it can curl with
disdain ;
And her eye, now so soft, can shoot quivering fire.
Ah! she's a shrewd one!" — J. W. H.

" Nell I by all that's glorious I" exclaimed Gus.

" Is it possible !" ejaculated Edith, almost trans-
fixed with amazement.

" I thought I had heard that voice before," said
Nugent, scarcely less astonished.

•' Is she a girl or a boy ?" said Elva, turning from
one to the other, completely bewildered.

**A girl, my dear, a girl !" said Nell, gayly ; "and
I hope you won't forget you've promised to marry
me. rf you do, why then I'll call you out, and we'll
have pistols before coffee, as sure as shooting."

" But Glory Ann," said Elva.

"Ah, yes — poor thing I But we won't pursue the

V '.

THE JOUBNBY HOME.

201

itch-
his

I his
e on
face

ins-

laid

and
rry
e'll

the

»t

iiarrowing subject just now, having no time to lose,
said Nell. Then, lowering her voice, she added,
hurriedly : " Can you give me other garments. I
don't wish — that is — "

"Oh, to be sure !" interrupted Elva ; "we will
help ourselves to horses from De Lisle's stables, and
you can come home with me while the rest wait in
the forest. We won't be long."

A few minutes saw them on their way — Nell and
Elva far ahead of the rest.

" We had better wait for them here," said Percival,
suddenly halting.

" Who would ever think Nell so clever !" said Gus,
in a tone of delight.

" Seeing that cleverness does not gener uly run in
our family," said Nugent, laughing.

" 'Pon my honor, I'd never imagine it. She visited
me, daily, too, and I gave her a decided blowing up
once or twice," said Gus.

"She told me of that," said Edith, smiling, " and
seemed quite indignant about it."

** I say, Edith, who is that pretty little dear she
has gone off with ?" inquired Percival.

"Why, it's Elvena Snowe, the daughter of one of
De Lisle's men, for whose unfailing kindness I shall
>ever be grateful," replied Edith.

" I hope we will not be kept here much longer,"
said Gus. " Had I not better ride forward and meet
them ?"

" Meet theml — meet Nell, you mean," said Percival,
laughing.

" Here they come," said Fred, whose quick ear had
caught the sound of horses' feet in the distance.

In a few moments more, the young girls rode up.
Nell arrayed in a neatly-fitting riding habit of Elva's

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202

THE JOURNEY HOME.

— the bright face flushed a little, now that the paint
was off, as they could see even in the moonlight.

" I have coaxed Elv. to come back and bid you all
good-bye," said Nell. " Would you believe it ? — she
actually did not wish to come !"

" You would not have treated us that way, dear
Elva !" said Edith, kissing her fair brow. " How I
wish you could come home with us altogether !"

" Yes, do, Elva ; we'll have such glorious times ;
you, and I, and — Glory Ann !'* coaxed Nell.

" I cannot," said Elva, almost sadly ; " but I hope
to see you all once more. You had better hasten
now — delay is dangerous."

The adieux were hastily spoken. Waving her
hand in a last farewell, Elva turned and rode off
down the forest path.

There was silence for a while, during which the
party gained the high road — Nell in advance,
between Gus and her brother, and Fred and Edith
following rapidly.

" And now, Nell, tell us about this strange affair
of your masquerade," said Gus, at length.

** Well, it's nothing to make a fuss about," said
Nell. •* I suppose I needn't tell you that when you
went off that day, you didn't come back as we
expected. Papa was away, and mamma was mak-
ing a great time about it. I tried to cheer her up,
but 'twas all of no use ; she insisted the whole four
of you were comfortably located in Abraham's
bosom."

" 'Pon my honor, we came pretty near it," said
Gus.

" Well, the day passed, and none of you came.
Mamma was in a dreadful way, to be sure, and some
of her friends came to visit and console her. I knew

THE JOUBNEY HOMB.

203

she wodldn't want me, with so many to look after
her, so I asked and obtained leave of absence for a
week or two, and as I was always fond of adventure,
I determined, like a second Don Quixote, to go off
in search of you."

" Bravo ! Nell," exclaimed Percival.

" I knew how to find the old house, and felt pretty
sure Edith was there, at least, though I confess I had
my doubts whether you three had not been sent to
'kingdom come.* I determined to disguise myself ;
and, having colored my face, and procured that
horrid tow wig, I dressed myself in a suit of clothes
procured for the occasion. Before venturing into
the power of De Lisle, I determined to see if any
one would recognize me, and I actually chatted for
an hour with mamma, about the farm " to hum,"
and " Glory Ann Lazybones," withou-t t>eing recog-
nized. So, of course, I knew my disguise wa* per-
fect ; and I came, saw, conquered. That's all !**

"My Jove ! Nell," cried Gus, delightedly, " you're
a—"

" What ?" said Nell.

"A regular stunner !" was the reply.

" Well, I consider that anything but a compli-
meit," said Nell ; "and rest assured, Master Gus, I
should never have taken the trouble of going there
to save you — but as it was just the same to take you
along with the rest, I thought I might as well do it.
Being wonderfully amiable, I'm always willing to
oblige people when it's no trouble to myself !"

Conversing g^yly thus, they rode along until the
red hue of coming morn appeared in the east.

"Fred and Edith seem to have quite a nice time
of it behind there," said Nell, looking back ; " I expect
they're saying a lot of pretty things to one another."

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204

THE JOUBNEY HOME.

"Suppose we follow their example," said Gus.

" Perhaps I am dg tropy' observed Percival, smiling.

" Here they come !" said Nell ; " wonder if they
overheard us."

At this moment Fred and Edith rode rapidly up.
The keen dark eyes of Nell saw in a moment that
her sister had been weeping, and that Fred looked
unusually flushed and agitated.

Lifting his hat to Nell, he said, briefly.

" We part here, I believe. Allow me to bid you
farewell."

" What ! going to leave us ?" exclaimed Gus and
Percival — while Nell, completely astonished, silently
retained his hand, and Edith bent her head still
lower to hide her falling tears.

" Yes, I must be at N , to-morrow," answered

Fred.

*' But I thought you were coming home with us,"
said Percival.

" I regret I cannot do so. My presence here is no
longer required, and business obliges me to go to

N . Good-bye, Miss Ellen," he added, with a

smile, "give my best wishes to Glory Ann. Fare-
well Percival. Gus, when shall I expect to see you ?"

*• Let's see, a week at the furthest," replied Gus.

"Very well ! Until then, au rtwoir J Adieu, Miss
Percival."

Her lips moved, but her reply was not audible, as
she took in hers the hand extended. The next
moment he was galloping rapidly off in the opposite
direction.

" Now, that's what I call real mean of him," said
Nell, pouting, " to go ofiE and leave us that way. I
don't care if he was twice as handsome as he is, I

THE JOUBNBT HOME.

205

wouldn't have anything to do with such a fiery-
headed fellow for any possible inducement."

" Very flad to hear it, my dear," said Gus.

"Well, then, you needn't be, my dear! For
indeed, I'd no more have you than him."

" Oh, come now, Nell, you don't mean it !"

" Oh, come now, Gus, I do mean it ! And I'd
thank you not to be so confident that I'm dying
about you, for the future. If I choose to amuse
myself flirting with you, for want of any one else,
you're not to imagine I care one pin for you, I'd have
you know."

" My dear Nell, if I thought you were serious, I'd
take up the first broken ramrod I could find, and
blow my brains out."

"My dear Gus, you can do as you please ; only as
you happen, unfortunately, to have no brains, I don't
see how you're going to blow them out. Seems to
me, if I were you, I'd try to blow a few /«* instead
of blowing them out."

" Nell, be serious."

" Gus, I am serious, awfully serious, as you'll find
out to your cost."

" I know you just do this to torment me, you little
vixen. But do try and be good-natured for once,
Nell, you know I must leave you in a day or two,
* and be off to the wars again.* "

" Dear knows, I'll be glad to be rid of you," said
Nell, in all sincerity.

Gus looked hurt, so much so, that Nell looked up,
and exclaimed :

" There ! gracious me ! you needn't look so sulky
about it. Of course, I'll be glad when you go off,
for all my other friends of the masculine persuasion
were afraid to pay me the slightest attention, lest

. !

1 '

i' i ^

i
1

•' ■ ; ! '1

iil 4

206

THB JOUBNEY HOME.

they should be wasting their 'sweetness on the
desert air,' that is to say, on somebody else's prop-
erty. And I'll tell you what you'll do, Gus," she
added, as though struck by a sudden thought, " go
off and try if you can't captivate Elva Snowe. She's
a nice little thing, and almost as pretty as I."

"I'd rather have you, Nell."

" Oh ! I dare say ; but you see you can't have me,
Gus. It is not everybody in this vale of tears can get
such a prize as I am (not to be egotistical). Well,dear
me ! (to change the subject) won't this be an adven-
ture to talk of. Why, I don't believe one of your
wonderful Lady Aramintas in the romances could
have done it better."

" Nor half so well, my dear."

"I always had an immense respect for Joan of
Arc," went on Nell, " but I'll begin to admire my-
self after I perform two or three more wonderful
deeds of arms. How hot it is ! Poor Edith droops
like a flower wilted in the sun."

" I hope you're not going to take to poetry, Nell ;
if you do — "

" Don't be alarmed, Gus ; I have too much respect
for the feelings of my family to be guilty of such a
thing ; but poor Edith does look dreadfully used up."

** There is an inn not far from here," observed Gus,
** I think we can procure a carriage of some descrip-
tion there, that will convey you and Edith home.
You must be tired too, Nell."

"Oh ! not a bit. I'm never tired, but we must try
to get one for Edith. Wait, I'll tell her."

Nell drew up, and waited until the others had
reached her, then in a few words she communicated
her wishes to her brother.

" Yes, that will be best," said Percivai ; " Edith

THE JOURNEY HOME.

207

>»

does look worn out. How far is the inn from here,
Gus ?"

** Not more than a mile," replied Gus, " we will
soon reach it."

A few minutes brought them to it, and after wait-
ing for breakfast, they rejiumed their journey, Edith
and Nell comfortably seated in a light wagon, with
Gus driving, while Nugent galloped on to announce
the news at home.

There was a joyful meeting at Percival Hall that
night. Nell was decidedly the lion of the evening,
and bore her honors with edifying indifference.
Major Percival, who had only returned a few hours
before, was in raptures, and declared she was "every
inch a Percival." Mrs. Percival gazed upon her
with moistened eyes as she thought of the narrow
escape of her children, and the numerous friends of
the family were extravagant in their eulogisms of
her conduct.

Edith lay on the sofa, utterly prostrated in body
and mind, too wearied for the exertion of speaking
and with her eyes shut, she listened, while her
thoughts were far away. There was one wanting to
make that family-circle complete — one whose name
all avoided mentioning.

A few days restored Edith to her wonted health,
again a soft bloom began to mantle her pale cheek,
and her blue eyes grew bright and radiant once
more. A happy circle gathered in the parlor of Per-
cival Hall each evening — the past making it seem
more happy by contrast.

But leaving the inmates of Percival HaU, we must
follow the changing fortunes of Fred Stanley.

208

THE hermit's PBEDIOTION.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE hermit's prediction.

" My heart is with my native land

My song is for her glory ;
Her warriors' wreath is in my hand;

My lips breathe out her story.
Her lofty hills and valleys green

Are smiling bright before me,
And like a rainbow-sign is seen

Her proud flag waving o'er me.

The little village of Grassfield was in an unusual
state of excitement. Groups of old men, boys, and
women were scattered in everj'^ direction, talking
over, with exultation, the latest news from the "seat
of war." A splendid victory had been gained by
the American troops, the news of which had just
reached Grassfield ; and now the matter was being
talked over, in all its bearings, by the delighted vil-
lagers.

In the bar-room of the ** Bottle and Bowl," the one
solitary inn which the village contained, was assem-
bled the collective wisdom of Grassfield. The host-
ess, a pretty little black-eyed woman, bustled in and
out, attending to her guests, occasionally stopping
to glance in the cradle where a tiny item of humanity
lay, with wide open eyes, making desperate exertions
to swallow its own tiny fists.

The unusual sound of a horse galloping rapidly
along the street, caused the whole assembly to rush
pell-mell to the door. The horseman drew up, and

THE HERMIT 8 PREDIC3TI0N.

20^

consigning the animal to the hostler, passed through
the gaping crowd, and entered the bar-room.

Pretty Mis' ess Rosie, the liostess, who was busily
washing glasses beiiind the counter, no sooner
beheld liim, than, witli an exclamation of joy, slie
dropped her towel, and running forward, seized him
by both hands, exclaiming : ** Why, Mr. Fred, how
do you do ? I'm delighted to see you ! I am indeed !
Where have you been this long time ? Fighting
with the rest, I suppose ! Well, well, who'd have
thought it ? Sit down, sit down ! Well, I declare, I
am glad. Did you see my Josh, lately "i No, I s'pose
you didn't tliough, or he'd mentioned it. He's off,
figi)ting like the rest, he is indeed ! I had a letter
from him last night ; and he says he's quite well,
and expects to be home soon. Well, this is a surprise !
Dear me ; how glad I am to see you. But sit down,
la me ! sit down, Mr. Fred. I declare, I've kept you
standing all this time !"

And having by this time talked herself quite out of
breath, the bustling little woman danced out a chair,
and flirting her apron over it to blow off the dust,
permitted Fred Stanley (for he it was) to sit down.

" And how are all my friends, Mrs. Wilde," he said,
with a smile ; " for yourself, I need not ask, for I see
you are looking as blooming and handsome as ever."

"Oh, to be sure," said the lively little woman,
"what would hinder me ? All your friends are well,
too, and Betsey Higgins is married to the tailor —
you remember her, don't you ? the little milliner that
used to be in love with you. There, you needn't be
laughing now ; if you had been in Betsey's place, I
guess you wouldn't see anything in it to laugh at.
But, bless me ! I forgot to show you the baby. He's

I, Ji

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210

THB BBKMIT a PBEDIOTION.

\M\

named after you, too ; for everybody says he's your
born image."

Fred laughed, as he glanced down at the little fat,
red face, framed in an enormous cap frill. Mrs.
Wilde — evidently delighted at the striking resem-
blance between the tall form, and dark, handsome
face of Fred, and the little blinking atom, his name-
sake — lifted up the baby and deposited him, with a
jerk, into the arms of Fred.

"There !" exclaimed Mrs. Wilde, folding her arms
and nodding her head in a very satisfied manner,
" if he ain't your very picter. It takes after you
everyway, too, for it's the quietest, blessedest, young
one — "

Here a loud, shrill yell from the blessedest young
one himself interrupted its mamma's eulogium.
Fred, who seemed rather afraid of it than otherwise,
glanced appreheodingly at Mrs. Rosie.

" Ah, you aggravatin' little monkey, you are," said
that lady, snatching it from Fred with one hand and
giving it a shake, " stop that yellln', or I'll give you
such a spankin' as ye never had in all your born
days. There, lie in that, then, if you won't," she
added, dropping it into the cradle, and leaving it to
its own reflections.

Baby, who seemed quite accustomed to this kind
of treatment, immediately stopped crying, and be-
came so absorbed in contemplating its own little fat
fists as to forget all minor considerations.

" I suppose, Mr. Fred, you're going to stay all
night ?" inquired Mrs. Wilde, resuming the washing
of her tumblers.

" I rather think not," »aid Fred, doubtfully, " my
horse is lame, so I was forced to come here. If I
find he is well enough to proceed, I will go on."

THE HBBMIT's PBBDIOnON.

911

•If not, you'll stay ; so we needn't thank you for
your company," broke in the little hostess. " Hark!
here's somebody else, as I live ! I never did know
one to come unexpected, but another was sure to
follow. Who's this, I wonder ?"

The wonder was speedily solved, for a young man
with an exceedingly soldier-like air walked the next
instant into the bar-room.

"Ah, is it possible? Captain Rogers, my dear
fellow," said Fred, springing up, and extending his
hand.

" Stanley ! What, in the name of all that's wonder-
ful, drove you here ?" exclaimed the new-comer in
surprise.

*' Where did you expect I would be ?" said Fred,
smiling at his look of astonishment.

"With your regiment, to be sure ! But hold on ;
I haven't seen my old sweetheart Rosie, yet. Ah !
Rosie, here you are, as pretty as ever, I see. Why
didn't you send mean invitation to the wedding?
Well, never mind, it's not too late to salute the bride
yet !"

A sound box on the ear was his reward, while
Mrs. Rosie's cheeks grew most becomingly red.

" What's this ?" said the young man, who bore the
little woman's indignation with most exemplary
coolness, as his eye fell on the cradle — " a baby !
La ! what a comical little concern ! I say, Rosie,
you don't mean to say — "

But Rosie who wasn't going to put up with his
impudence, administered another box on the ear
with no very gentle hand and seizing baby, immedi-
ately decamped.

Captain Rogers looked after her and laughed.

'* Did you know, Fred, Rosie and I kept up quite

Ill

212

THE BEKMIT S I'KEDICTION.

a spirited flirtation winter before last. 'Pon my
honor, I was quite spooney about lier one time, too,
but Josh Wilde came along and cut me out."

" I never knew you when you weren't spooney
about some one," said Fred.

"Oh ! to be sure ! there's nothing like it. Don't
you know what the song says :

•* I am in love with twenty ,

I could adore as many more ;
There's nothing like a plenty."

]'<

\ I

■I

"You hardly find as much time to flirt now, as you
used to, I fancy?" said Fred.

"Why no, not quite; but when an opportunity
presents itself, I always improve it. By the way,
Fred, they say old Percival has two or tliree very
pretty daughters. Pshaw man ! never redden so ; I
intend to cultivate the old gentleman the first ciiance
I get, for the sake of ma'amselle Estelle — Edith —
what's her name ?"

"You may spare youself the trouble, my very dear
friend. She would not notice you."

" Don't believe it," said Captain Rogers, glancing
at the mirror. "Never knew a female heart could
resist me yet ! But nous verrons mon ami ! When have
you seen Ralph De Lisle ?"

Fred started at the name.

" Why, what of him ?" he demanded.

" Oh ! nothing, only they say you've cut him out
there. Serve him right, too ; he's an infernal
villain !"

" Have you seen him lately ?" said Fred, biting his
lips to repress his impatience.

" Saw him yesterday with young Bates, out oo

I ;i:

THE IIKBMIT 8 PRKDIOTIOlf,

213

lome expedition of miscliicf. But Stanley, is it
really true that you've won his lady-love from him ?'*

"Captain Rogers, if you wisli us to remain
friends, you will say no more on this subject," said
Fred sternly.

"Whew!" with a prolonged whistle. "You're
confoundedly touchy, Stanley. Well, that's one
proof you're guilty. And now, may I ask, if I can
do so without offending you, whitlier are you
bound ?"

"To N , to join my regiment."

"That's lucky ! Are you in much of a hurry."

"Why, no ; not particularly."

"Then might I ask you to grant me a favor?**

"Certainly, my dear Rogers ; anything in my
power."

"Thank you, thank you!" interrupted Rogers,
eagerly. " These dispatches I have been ordered to

convey to Colonel M ; but an affair of a most

pressing nature requires my presence in another
direction. Now, if you would deliver them, you
would render me an inestimable service.'*

" With all my heart, my good fellow. Stand and
deliver."

"It's rather a dangerous business,'* said Rogers,
drawing a formidable-looking document from his
breast-pocket. " You will have to make your way

through the forest to reach Colonel M 's quarters ;

and there are lurking parties of Indians and tories
forever prowling about — '*

" Say no more about it," interrupted Fred. ** I am
too well accustomed to danger to fear it ; besides,
who would shun danger in the service of hit
country ?"

You will itart to-night, I suppose ?**

; lis

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214

THE HEBMTT^S PREDICTION.

** Oh, certainly ; there is no time to lose. Here
comes our pretty hostess, so not a word !"

"Well, Rosie, I'll take a drink and be off.
What have you done with that pocket edition of
Josh Wilde ?"

"None of your business, Will Rogers," replied
Rosie, saucily. ** Here, take this, and be off ; I can't
be bothered with you."

Captain Rogers laughed, drained the glass she
handed to him, chucked her under the chin, shouted
a careless good-by to Fred, sprang on his horse, and
amid many an admiring glance from the bright eyes
of the village damsels, rode off.

" I think I had better follow him," remarked Fred,
turning carelessly from the window.

" You'll wait for dinner, won't you T' said Rosie.
*' Come now, I'll take no refusal. I have ever so
many things to say to you. There, I kniew you
would," she added, as Fred smiled. "Just walk into
the parlor, dinner '11 be ready in a minute."

So saying, she laughingly pushed Fred into the
parlor, closing the door behind her, and leaving
him to amuse himself during her absence as best he
might.

Fred seated himself, and taking up a volume of
Goldsmith's works was soon absorbed in the pages
of " She Stoops to Conquer," when the door opened,
and Mistress Rosie stood again before him.

"There's a gentleman out here inquiring for you,
Mr. Fred," said the little hostess.

" For me ?" said Fred, in surprise. ** Who can it
be^

" He looks like some of those old robbers in the
pictures," said Mrs. Wilde, "with a long cloals

IHMil

t m.jiu.- i .iimi

THE HERMIT'S PBEDIOTIOK.

215

wrapped around him, and his hat pulled way down
over his eyes. Will I show him in ?**

*' I suppose so," said Fred, inwardly wondering
who the mysterious personage could be.

The door opened, and the figure of a man wrapped
in a long, black cloak, with his hat pulled far down
over his eyes, stood before him.

" To whom am I indebted for the honor of this
visit ?" said Fred, rising.

" To a friend, young man ; one who is no stranger
to you." And removing his hat, Fred beheld the
white locks of the Hermit of the Cliffs.

" A friend you have indeed proved to me, good
father," said Fred, frankly extending his hand.
** Even now you were in my thoughts, though I
hardly expected the honor of this visit."

" You will ever find me near you when danger is
at hand," said the hermit.

** Danger ?" said Fred. ** And what danger threat,
ens me now ?"

" A soldier's life is always dangerous," replied the
old man, evasively ; " especially with so many ene-
mies as you have."

" Let it come, then," said Fred, carelessly. " I am
too well accustomed to danger to shrink from it
now."

" Perhaps you think you carry a charmed life," said
the hermit ; " and that because you have escaped the
bullet of the executioner, and the halter of De Lisle,
you can rush into greater dangers, and come forth
scatheless. Young man, I say to thee, beware; !
Last night, when the stars rode in solemn splendor
through th« heavens, I read thy fate. All was dark
and ominous. The shadow of the scaffold fell redly
across thy path. The steel of the assassin is sharpened

' i

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216

THE hermit's PKEDIOTIOW.

for the heart of one you love, and for the crime of
another shall you die. Again I say to thee, beware !
Be warned in time, else you shall repent it when too
late !"

The deep, intense, passionate solemnity with which
he spoke awed involuntarily the fearless heart of
Fred. A sensation of fear, not for himself, but for
one dearer than all the world beside, crept over him.

" Old man !" he exclaimed, seizing him by the
wrist with a vice-like grip, " who is this for whom
the steel of the assassin is prepared ? Speak, and
tell me, for I must know."

" That I saw not," replied the hermit, calmly. " Can
the lips of man reveal what the stars speak not ?
Guard against the danger which hangs over your-
self, and trust the rest to a higher power ?"

" Psha ! I might have known 'twas but silly rav-
ing," said Fred, shaking off the superstitious feeling
that had for a moment overcome him. " If you have
nothing more definite than this to warn me against,
good father, I fear your words have been in vain."

" And thou wilt not be warned ?" said the old man,
sadly. '* It is only when the danger is at hand you
will believe me ? Did I not warn you before, and
did not my words prove true ? Hast thou forgotten
thy powerful enemy, De Lisle ?"

" I am not likely to forget hini ; but I fear him
not," said Fred, scornfully.

" So thou didst say before," said the hermit, calmly ;
** and yet you fell in his power, and would have died
by his hand, but for the heroism of a young girl.
The same thing may happen again, when there will
be no one at hand to aid you."

" Forewarned is forearmed," said Fred. " Ralph
De Lisle will find it not so easy to get me once more

THE hermit's PBIDIOTION.

91T

within his clutches ; and should we ever meet in open
warfare, then, good father, you will find it your duty
to bid him beware instead of me !"

" Rash youth ! thou canst not read the book of
fate as I can," said the hermit, sorrowfully. " Again
I tell thee, danger is at hand — nay, hangs over thy
head, and over one for whom you would give your
life. In the hour of doom thou canst not say there
was no one to warn thee of thy danger."

The tone of profound melancholy in which the
last words were uttered touched Fred. Not that he
believed what the old man said — his words he con-
sidered the mere idle raving of a moon-struck idiot,
who warned him of danger after hearing of his
narrow escapes, and knowing De Lisle was still his
enemy. But his evident affection for him and interest
in his fate reached his heart.

" Accept, at least, my thanks for the interest you
manifest in me," said Fred ; "although I may never
make use of your warning, I feel grateful to you for
it. And now, let me ask you why should you care so
much for one who is a stranger to you, and whose
father you have spoken of in the most opprobrious
terms ?"

A moment after, he was sorry he had asked a ques-
tion wiiich seemed to act like a galvanic shock on the
hermit, whose head fell heavily on his clasped hands,
while his whole frame quivered with emotion.

"My dear sir," said Fred, starting up, " if I have
said anything to hurt your feelings, believe me it was
quite unintentional, and I am sincerely sorry for it."

'* Sav no more, say no more !" said the hermit,
raising his head, and startling the young man
by the deadly paleness of his face, " I am subject to
these sudden siiocks, and do not mind them. Some

21S

THB hermit's PBBDIOnON.

h> \

day, perhaps, before I die, should you survive me,
you will know who I am. But until that time comes,
let what you already know of me suffice. You think
me crazed — perhaps I am ; but there is at least
* method in my madness.* Believe me to be your
friend — your desf friend on earth. You say you are
a stranger to me. Believe it not. Long before you
saw me, I knew you ; and when you least fancied it,
I have been watching over you. I ask neither your
love nor confidence in return. Should we both live,
the time will come when you will give both wil-
lingly. And now, farewell ! I have come to warn
you, but you heeded not my words. In the hour of
your darkest trial, when your summer friends desert
you in the winter of affliction, I shall be near. When
danger threatens, look for me. Until then, fare-
well."

He wrapped his cloak around him, drew his hat
down over his eyes, bowed with dignity and was
gone ere Fred could frame an answer.

" Strange being !" thought the young man, throw-
ing himself into a seat, and leaning his head on his
hand. " How dark and mysterious are his words !
Can it be that that simple old man really reads the
secrets of futurity ? * Thou hast hidden from the
wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes.' Won-
derful being ! Will those ominous predictions come
true ? I have already seen his words verified, and
why may not those likewise ? * The shadow of the
scaffold falls across my path.' Well, though I have
escaped twice, I begin to think I have been born for
a halter, after all. I can easily account for my nar-
row escape from shipwreck by the wise old proverb,
that any one born to be hanged will cover be
drowned. It's a pleasant anticipation, truly.'

•>

m^*miimt0mtmmmmmtiiM

THE ETEBMITS PRBDIOTION.

219

" Why, Mr. Fred, you look as dismal as if you had
lost your last relation," said the merry voice of Rosie
Wilde, breaking in upon his reverie. ''Goodness
gracious me ! have you seen a ghost, or are you
thinking of suicide ? If you are, I've a bottle of
lodlum out in the bar that will send you sleeping
comfortably to the other world in less than no time.
Ha ! ha ! ha !"

" Egad ! I've a strong notion to follow her advice,
and cheat Jack Ketch, after all," muttered Fred.

" Well, now, dinner's ready, so never mind talking
to yourself just now, for fear I might overhear you.
So come along."

Fred laughingly accompanied Mrs. Wilde to the
dining-room, where they sat down to a comfortable
meal, to which both did ample justice.

An hour after, as Fred stood in the parlor with
Mrs. Wilde, previous to starting, another horseman
galloped up and alighted at the inn door.

" I'll have General Washington himself here next,
I expect," said Mrs. Wilde, who was rocking the
cradle. " Your coming brought them all, I think ;
for I haven't had so many visitors before this month
of Sundays."

" Landlady !" called a high, imperious voice, that
made Fred start and flush to the temples.

" Coming, coming !" answered Mrs. Wilde, hurry-
ing from the room.

Half an hour passed by. Fred stood with his
arms folded across his breast, all his indifference
gone, and a look of fierce sternness and intense
hatred on his face. Well he recognized that voice.

'* Gone at last," said Mrs. Wilde, again making
her appearance.

Fred looked out, a young man passed out of the

220

THE hermit's prediction.

i i

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It .11

door, sprang on his horse and rode off, but not before
Fred had caught a full view of his face.

It was Ralph De Lisle.

" Well, I regret to say I must leave you now, Mrs.
Wilde," said Fred, turning from the window, and
Striving to banish the shadow that had gathered on
his brow.

" Very sorry to hear it," said Mrs. Rosie, " but I
hope to see you soon again."

" Rest assured of that, my dear madame," said
Fred. " I shall certainly visit my little namesake as
soon as may be. Good-bye until we meet again."

Raising the plump little hand she extended to his
lips, Fred passed out, sprang on his horse, and was
soon out of sight, while the pretty little hostess of
the " Bottle and Bowl " stood in the doorway, watch-
ing him until he disappeared.

Night found him making his way slowly and with
difficulty along the slippery forest-path in the direc-
tion pointed out by his friend. Captain Rogers. It
was a gloomy, disagreeable night. A thin, drizzling
rain was falling, a cold, sharp wind was sighing
drearily through the trees. There was no light,
save the faint sickly glow of the spectral moon, as
she lifted her wan face over the bleak tree-tops,
through the dull, dark clouds that scudded across
the sky.

Urging his horse with rein and spur, Fred bent his
head to the storm, and proceeded slowly onward.
There was a strange presentiment of evil hanging
over him — an oppression of spirits he had never felt
before. It might have been caused by the words of
the hermit, his chance glimpse of De Lisle, which he
felt half-inclined to consider an omen of evil, or it
might have been caused by the dismal night and the

;...^Bi i><»0*ll

III I ' mm

THE hermit's prediction.

221

jfore

mtl

lonely path he was pursuing. He strove to shake off
these superstitious fancies, knowing there might be
more tangible evils at hand, for there were always
lurking bodies of Indians prowling about in the
woods. Now and then the cry of some wild animal
would break upon his ear, making his horse start and
snort with terror, but no enemy had molested him,
and ere morning he trusted to be far from danger.

Suddenly an abrupt turn in the road brought him
in view of a scene that made him start and draw
back in alarm.

In the centre of a large semi-circle, evidently the
work of Nature, and not of art, a large fire was burn-
ing. Gathered around it were some twenty half-
naked, hideously-painted savages, who, with a large
keg, which Fred well knew contained rum, were evi-
dently bent upon making a night of it, in spite of the
inclemency of the weather.

To escape without being discovered was now
Fred's idea. He turned noiselessly to proceed in
another direction, but his horse reared at the sudden
blaze of light, and gave a loud neigh of fear.

It reached the keen ears of the Indians. Snatching
up their weapons, they sprang to their feet, while a
series of diabolical yells rent the air, followed by an
ominous silence.

222

THE STAKS.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE STAKE.

" Through the leafy halls of the wild old wood,

Rang an echo full and free.
To the savage shout of a fearful band,
~As they bound the white man foot and hand

To the sacrificial tree."

— H. Marion Stephins.

'i.

Escape was now out of the question. Resolved to
sell his life as dearly as possible, Fred drew his pis-
tols, and two of the foremost savages, with wild
howls, bit the ground. Maddened by the sight, the
remainder sprang hercely upon him, and in spite of
his desperate resistance, he was overpowered by
numbers and securely bound. They next turned
their attention to their fallen companions. One of
them was only wounded, but the other was quite
dead. A long, low wail was heard, as he who
appeared to be their chief touched the fresh scalp-
lock which dangled at his belt.

The savages now gathered in a cluster, and
appeared to hold a consultation, while Fred, bound
to a tree, inwardly wondered what Dame Fortune
had in store for him next. In the red light Of the
fire, the scene resembled one of Salvator Rosa's wild
paintings. The dark, gloomy forest in tiie back-
ground, through which the wind sighed a dirge-like
chant. The wild faces, gleaming eyes, and horribly-
painted bodies of his captors, giving them the look
of demons in the lurid glow of the fire.

WMliiMliriMaillMW

THE STAKE.

323

Fred waited eagerly for the result of this confer-
ence. Now and then he would catch some fierce
exclamation, but as they spoke in their own language,
he, of course, understood not a word. Often, too, he
would catch a look directed to himself that boded
him no good. At last, they seemed to have arrived
at some conclusion ; for, rising to their feet, they
returned to their former places round the fire, glar-
ing savagely upon him as they passed.

Left alone, Fred was soon lost in thought. He
seemed to himself a mere foot-ball in the hands of
Fate, to be tossed wherever the fickle goddess willed.
In the power of the Indians, he well knew that death,
speedy and bloody, must be his doom. Death and
he had been too often face to face for him to shrink
from it now ; but to die thus, afar from all who ever
knew or cared for him, might have chilled the
stoutest heart. To die on the field of battle ; fighting
for his country, would have been glory ; but such a
death as he well knew was now in store for him, was
indeed appalling. He thought of Edith, freed from
the power of her mortal foe, and happy at home, and
wondered if she would ever hear of his fate. He
thought of the strange, mysterious hermit, and of
his dark prediction of coming danger so soon ful-
filled.

He turned his eyes to where sat his captors. Some
of them, overpowered by the eflFects of the fire-water,
were stretched on the ground asleep, looking like
dark statues in their rigid repose. The others still
sat drinking, some whooping and yelling fearfully
in their intoxication, the rest silently staring at
them, evidently more than half stupefied.

Fred's position was painful in the extreme. The
ligatures which bound his wrists behind him were

234

THE STAKE.

tied 80 tightly, that they seemed cutting their way
into the flesh. His position was painfully constrained,
his head being the only portion of his body he could
move.

To add to his sufiferings, the storm which had for
several hours been threatening, now burst in all its
fury. A blaze of lightning, so vivid that it seemed
as though the heavens were one vast sheet of flame,
followed by a terrific crash of thunder and flood of
rain, and the storm was upon them in full fury.
Roused from their slumbers, the stunned and half-
drunken savages gathered together in evident dis-
may. The wind howled a perfect tornado, the light-
ning still flashed in one continual sulphurous glare,
the thunder pealed as though the heavens were
rending asunder, and the rain fell in perfect torrents.
A tall tree, scarcely three yards frona where Fred
stood, was shivered to atoms by a blinding flash,
and another was torn violently up by the roots and
hurled almost at his feet.

For nearly two hours the storm continued in all
its fury. Then the sullen clouds began slowly to
break away, the lightning still flashed, but at rare
intervals ; the thunder growled far off in ilie distance,
the wind abated its fury, and though the rain still
fell, it was no longer in drenching torrents. The
savages recovering from the effects of their first
alarm, and still stupid with liqu'^r, again stretched
themselves on the wet ground, and soon lay motion-
less, like hideous figures in wax.

Fred, wet, cold, and benumbed, stood waiting the
approach of day. His arms felt as though they were
dead, having swollen from being so tightly bound.
As he thought of the fearful fate for which he was
most probably reserved, he had more than once, dur-

f*l.

TOE STAKE.

225

ing tlie raging of the storm, wished that some
friendly flash of lightning had freed his spirit, and
borne him from their power.

The hours of tiiat dreary night wore on, but Fred
thought it the longest he had ever known. Tlie gray,
foggy light of morning at last stole over the tree-tops,
coming slowly and unwillingly, as though reluctant
to behold the disasters of the preceding night. Fred
recollected that at that time, twenty-four hours
before, he had bade adieu to Edith, and something
akin to despair filled his heart, as the certainty that
he should never see her again stole over him.

His captors had by this time arisen, and were now
busily engaged in making their morning meal. This
over, some of them went in search of their horses
where they had left them the preceding night, while
two others approached the prisoner, and having un-
fastened the thongs which bound him, placed before
him a sort of hard, coarse cake made of Indian corn,
a gourd filled with water, and made signs for him to
eat.

It was some time before he could comply, for
his hands were stiff and benumbed, and the food
none of the most palatable. Knowing, however,
Nature must be sustained, he essayed to eat ; and
by the time he had finished his meal, the rest
returned with the horsae.

Fred was permitted to mount his own horse ;
and with one of his captors on each side of him they
dashed off at a rapid gallop.

They rode on for several hours, avoiding with the
utmost care all white settlements, and a little before
noon they halted at a running stream to rest their
wearied animals. Fred alighted, and was bound as
before, to prevent his escaping, while his captors

226

THE STAKE.

i< I'

.]:*■

! I

once more regaled themselves with their coarse
food.

All traces of the previous night's storm had now
vanished. The sun shone in unclouded splendor,
and at any other time Fred would have admired the
beaubiful scene around him, but now his eyes were
fixed on his captors.

They were a savage, blood-thirsty looking set,
hideously painted, and frightfully ugly, looking
fiercer and more barbarous in the clear light of day
than when he had seen them first. They ate in soU
emn silence, and having finished, again mounted and
rode off, seldom speaking, save when he who appeared
to be their chief addressed to them a few brief words,
evidently concerning tlveir journey.

Toward evening, the par. , again halted, and made
preparations for the night. Fred was again bound,
but in such a manner as would permit him to lie
down. The savages then proceeded to kindle a fire;
and seating themselves around it, after partaking of
their evening meal, of which Fred received a share,
they stretched themselves on the damp earth, and
were soon buried in sleep, with the exception of one
who remained to keep guard.

It was a lovely night. The moon rode in radiant
brightness through the blue arch of heaven. One
by one the solemn stars came out, looking with their
pitying eyes on the pale face of the captive. The
cool south wind lifted his long, dark locks off his
noble brow. The air was redolent with the odor of
flowers, and with a sing-song sound in his ears, Fred
fell asleep.

And sleeping, he dreamed Once again in fancy
he stood by the side of Edith, whispering in her ear
''the tale which ladies love to hear." Suddenly a

THE STAKE.

227

shadow fell across his path. Edith was torn from
his side, and with the rapidity of thought, he found
himself swinging by the neck from a halter. A shriek
of mortal agony reached his ears, and looking down,
he beheld Edith struggling in the arms of De Lisle,
now transformed into a hideously-painted savage.
With a start, he awoke to find his dream, in part,
realized.

The red hue of coming morn was already crimson-
ing the sky. His savage captors were up and gath-
ered together in a circle, as if holding a consultation.
Among them, Fred beheld the fierce, dark faces of
three or four of De Lisle's tory band ; and standing
above him, with his arms folded across his breast,
and a look of fiendish triumph on his face, was Ralph
De Lisle himself.

** So," said De Lisle, slowly hissing the words
through his closed teeth, " so, Fred Stanley, we have
met again."

" So it seems," replied Fred, calmly.

" You see, sir, you are in the hands of fate, and
that you cannot escape me. No doubt you fancied,
when you so cleverly freed yourself from my power,
that you were safe. Now you are convinced of your'
mistake. Since our last meeting, I have daily prayed
I might soon hold you in my clutches once more,
and now my prayer is granted."

"Which proves that your master, the devil, is
good to his own," said Fred.

" You are pleased to be facetious, my good friend.
Well, I can excuse that in one whose hours are num-
bered. Fred Stanley, Dame Fortune has favored
you long. One time I almost fancied you bore a
charmed life ; but fate can bear you no farther than
the end, and your hour has come. For your pres»

228

THE STAKE.

u- i

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ent risk you have no one to thank but yourself, and,
being such a hot-headed fool, our dusky friends yon-
der will prevent your getting intc^ any more scrapes,
by sending you to heaven where you belong, the first
opportunity. Dream no longer that you can escape.
Yonder sun, which is rising, you will never see set.
Ere three hours we will have reached the Indian vil-
lage, where the stake is prepared, and your doom is
sealed. No power, either in heaven or earth, can
save you now. And if, as you say, the devil is my
master, I most sincerely thank him for preserving
you from the rope, since it has reserved you for the
far more horrible fate of death by slow torture. 1!
shall faithfully, like a true friend, stand by you to
the last, and witnessing your death agony, console
you by the agreeable information, that in spite of
Fate, Edith Percival shall yet be mine. Doubtless,
she imagines, as you did a few hours ago, that she
has escaped me forever. Like you, she will find her
mistake ere long ; and I swear, she shall repent in
dust and ashes for her scorn of me. Ha ! you
change color. I thought that would touch you. I
see you can fear for her though not for yourself.
Well, every indignity that woman can endure shall
be hers, until your dainty lady-love shall weep for
the hour she was born."

De Lisle paused, while his eyes actually blazed.
An infernal spirit might have envied the diabolical
triumph that shone in his face.

" Villain ! monster ! devil !" cried Fred, almost
maddened by his words. "An hour of fearful reck-
oning will yet come for all this."

" You are disposed to moralize, my dear Stanley,"
said De Lisle, with his usual mocking sneer. " Well,
doubtless, the near approach of death does incline

THB STAKE.

229

men that way. As for the future reckoning you
threaten me with, believe in it if you will ; as for me,
I have a spirit above such hypocritical whining and
preacher's cant. However, I will not a; jue the
matter now, as in a few hours you will have an oppor-
tunity of knowing which of us is right. If, when
you reach the other world, you really do see the gen-
tleman in black — my master, you know — just give
him my compliments, will you, and tell him I trust
he will always remain as true a friend to me as he
has up to the present. Ah ! here comes my friend,
Long Knife — suggestive name, isn't it ? I will leave
you to meditation and prayer, hoping you will offer
up a good word for Edith and mey while I consult
with yonder dusky chieftain." And lifting his hat
with mock politeness, Dc Lisle turned on his heel
and strode away.

It would be impossible to give an idea of the tor-
rent of fiery, passionate, maddening thoughts that,
leaped in burning chaos through the brain of Fred.
The image of Edith in the power of De Lisle, that
demon in human form, was ever before him. And
he knew of the fate in store for her, and yet was
unable to assist her. He grew maddened, frenzied
at the thought, and struggled to burst his bonds,
until, finding all his efforts ineffectual, he sank back
exhaustCvi.

Standing at a few yards distant, talking to a fright-
fully-painted savage — who, from the number of
feathers waving from his scalp-lock, appeared to be
a chief of unusual distinction — stood De Lisle. He
saw the impression his words had made, and tlie
smile of gratified hatred on his lips ; and the light
of triumphant malice in his eyes made him appear
more of a demon than ever.

230

THE STAKE.

?■;

After a few moments rapid conversation, the
parties separated, and mounting their horses, pre-
pared to start. Fred rose as before, guarded by two
of tiie Indians. De Lisle put himself at the head of
his own men, not more than half a dozen in number,
and all dashed off.

For over three hours they rode on rapidly, knd
almost in silence. Now and then De Lisle would
turn to converse with the man Paul Snowe, who
formed one of his party ; but this was only at inter-
vals, and each seemed too much absorbed in his own
reflections to tnik.

At length, as they reached the summit of a high
hill, the whole party drew rein, and paused for a
moment. Below them lay an Indian village, envel-
oped by encircling hills, and forming a sort of circle
of thirty huts or thereabouts. The whole popula-
tion of the village seemed to have turned out to meet
them ; and with wild shouts, more than ha'f of Fred's
captors dashed off, leaving him with De Lisle's men
and the others to follow more slowly.

As Fred neared the village, he turned to gaze on
them, and was forced to think that a more repulsive-
looking set he had never beheld. The women were
even worse than the men, with their fiat, unintel-
lectual-looking faces, dirty persons, and savage,
unpitying eyes. Every look was bent upon him, as
he rode past, but all were fierce and stern, and even
the children seemed to glare with their dark eyes as
fiendishly as their parents.

One of the Indians made a sign for Fred to dis-
mount ; and bidding him follow, led the way toward
one of the huts, the crowd opening right and left to
allow them to pass. Pushing aside the skin which
served for a door, he motioned him to enter, and

THE STAKE.

231

then binding him hand and foot, he seated himself
beside the door to keep guard, with his scowling
black eyes fixed on his prisoner, with the steady gaze
of a basilisk.

Fred had made no resistance, knowing it would be
worse than useless ; and now he sat with his eyes
fixed upon i.he ground, striving to collect his thoughts
and think calmly. In vaia, all was wild confusion in
his heart and brain, everything seemed red and danc-
ing before his eyes. Death ! death ! seemed written
in fiery characters everywhere he turned. Never had
he felt so dreadful a certainly that his last hour
was come, than when sitting there, expecting each
moment to be led forth to the stake. He felt at that
bitter moment that De Lisle's words were true, and
that it would have been better to have died by the
halter than to be reserved for the fearful doom now
in store for him. His bodUy suffering almost equaled
the mental, for the ligatures which bound him were
cutting into the quivering flesh, ard his posture was
so constrained that he could not move. He strove
to pray ; but the hated image ci De Lisle, at such
times, would rise before him, driving away the pity-
ing form of his good angel, and filling his mind with
fierce, bitter thoughts.

And so two or three hours passed away. His
savage jailer still crouched at the door, glaring upon
him with his eyes of fire, his half-naked, horribly-
painted body and scarred face giving him the appear-
ance of some hideous painting, rather than a living
man. Now and then a bright ray of sunshine would
steal in through some chink, falling like an angel
hand on the black, glossy locks of the captive. There
was a drowsy stillness in the air, rendered more
oppressive by the dull, monotonous hum that came

232

THE gTAKB.

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from the village. At length, a profound stillness for
a few moments succeeded. Fred listened in wonder,
and even his guard betrayed some sign of interest.
They could almost hear each other breathe, so pro-
found was the stillness, when lo ! a yell so tierce, so
savage, so diabolical that it seemed to come from the
depths of Pandemonium, broke upon their ears.
With an answering cry, the Indian guard sprang to
his feet, and turned to Fred with such a look of
fiendish triumph, that he could no longer doubt what
these shouts purported. They were his death-
warrant.

A moment after, and the skin at the entrance was
burst rudely aside, and two fierce, hideous-looking
warriors entered, and spoke a few words to the
guard, who immediately rushed from the hut. Then
approaching Fred, they severed his bonds, and made
signs for him to rise. With some difficulty he
obeyed, for his limbs were cramped and painful in
the extreme. Then motioning him to follow, they
led the way into the air.

It was a golden, glowing summer day. The sun
shone in a sky of unclouded blue, and poured a glow
of light and heat over the green earth. The air was
heavy with the odor of flowers, and the clear chirp-
ing of numberless birds mingled gently with the
dreamy murmur of the trees. Never had Nature
appeared so lovely to him before, as he cast one
long last, lingering look around.

A series of unearthly yells g eeted him as he ap-
peared. The whole population of the village —
warriors, squaws, and papooses had assembled
around a large stake, firmly driven in the yielding
earth, and were glaiing upon him with their fierce
eyes.

i i

THE STAKE.

233

Around the stake was a pile of fagots ready to be
set on fire, and leading him toward it, they bound
his arms firmly behind him to the stake.

Almost unknown to himself, there had been
hitherto a wild hope still lingering in Fred's breast —
a hope that Fate or rather Providence had not re-
served him for a doom so fearful. But now the last
faint spark of hope died out, and with it wentallhis
wild, tumultuous thoughts, and a deep, settled calm
took their place.

He looked up. Before him stood De Lisle, his
arms folded across his breast, gazing upon him with
his evil eyes. The sneering smile of a demon was
on his face, all the intense hatred and revenge he had
ever cherished, glowed in his features, and a light of
intense malignity glittered in his serpent-like eyes.

"Well, Fred Stanley, we have met for the last
time," he said, mockingly. " You see now the death
you were born for — your doom is to roast alive by a
slow fire."

Fred made no reply. Fixing his eyes on De Lisle's
face he gazed upon him so long, so fixed, so steadily,
that involuntarily De Lisle quailed before him. It
was but for a moment, however, and recovering him-
self, he went on.

" And have you no message to send to Edith ? I
go from here to-night, and with the help of my mas-
ter, before referred to, I shall carry her off in spite
of them all, to where they will never again behold
her. Look as fierce as you please, my good fellow ;
I rather enjoy it than otherwise, since it tells me you
feel. Once, had I not hated you so intensely, with a
hatred that became part of my very being, I could
have envied you for the heart you had won, a heart
which I will yet trample under my feet, until your

234

THE STAKE.

1 f li' U

fate win seem an enviable one compared with hers.
She despised me, spurned me with contempt for the
gay, the handsome, tlie fascinating, the gallant Fred
Stanley, and in her turn she will learn what it is to
be spurned. No one who has ever yet injured me
escaped. To the very ends of the earth I would fol-
low them, like a bloodhound following a trail, until
I had wreaked my vengeance. You wronged me, in-
sulted me, and you see the result — a fate so dreadful
that manhood must shudder to contemplate it, will
be yours. Her turn comes next, for now that you
stand on the threshold of eternity, I swear to you,
Fred Stanley, that neither Heaven nor earth can turn
me from my purpose."

"Monster!" exclaimed Fred, in a voice that
sounded low and unnatural with intense horror, "is
this tlie return you make for all Major Percival has
done for you ? For myself, I neither have nor shall
ask for mercy from you, fiend that you are — I would
not accept it if offered ; but gratitude to the old man,
wlio has been more than a father to you, should
restrain you from a crime that even these blood-
tiiirsty savages around us would shrink from com-
miting. Man ! man ! if there is one spark of human
mature in your fiendish heart, you will not bring the
gray hairs of that old man with sorrow to the grave."

" Ha ! ha ! and Fred Stanley can plead for the
man who spurned him like a dog !" laughed De Lisle,
.scornfully. " If you continue in this strain, I shall
begin to think you are a saint — have you canonized,
and let Edith know you died in the odor of sanctity.
Yo .. eloquence is quite lost, my good friend ; that
one spark of human nature you see, does nof exist in
my fiendish heart. Say, my friend, was it not for
pretty Edith you were pleading that time, instead of

THE STAEB.

235

her doting old fool of a father ? Spare him ! — ha l
ha h— wiiy, I have a long score against him, too, that
must be wiped out by a few of his doubloons. When
he refused to compel his love-sick daughter to marry
me, I vowed vengeance against him as well as the
rest ; and, as I don't like to be in people's debts, I
shall lake care to cancel it as soon as possible."

" If there ever was a devil in human form, it is you,
Ralph De Lisle !" exclaimed Fred, with a look of
hatred and loathing ; " to pursue thus, with the ven-
geance of a tiger, an old man and a helpless girl for
some fancied wrong. Had it been a man — but old
age and helplessness. Oh, coivard T

De Lisle's face grew livid with rage, as he half
drew a pistol, and advanced a step toward him.

Fred observed the action ; and his heart bounded
with the hope, that in his rage, De Lisle might shoot
him, and thus save him from a more terrible fate.

The hope was in vain, however. De Lisle saw the
quick gleam of his eye, and stepping back, he
replaced the pistol in his belt saying, in his customary
sarcastic tone :

"No, don't flatter yourself I'll end your sufferings
so speedily. I have no intention of depriving my good
friends here of the pleasant scene they anticipate. I
must confess it is rather new for me to allow any
one to call me a coward, and let him escape immedi-
ate chastisement, but circumstances alter cases, you
know. I perceive Long Knife approaching, to give
the signal for the fagots to be lighted, and our red-
skinned friends are growing impatient. So farewell,
Fred Stanley ! I wish you a pleasant journey tp the
other world, and a cordial welcome when you arrive
there !"

He bowed with most ceremonious politeness, and

236

TEE STAKE.

y n

,>■'■
IS'

! I

Stepped aside, as the savage chief approachied.
Waving his ^and as a signal, one of the Indians
approached, and thrust a lighted brand among the
combustibles.

In a moment the whole pile was in a blaze. With
screeches and yells that can be likened to nothing
earthly, the savages joined hands and danced n^adly
around the flames that rose crackling, and blazing,
and roaring as though exulting in their power.

Fred raised his eyes to the bright sky above him
for one farewell glance. It was such a glorious day,
bright and radiant with sunlight. All Nature looked
peaceful and lovely ; in the breast of man alone,
fierce, dark passions existed — they alone thirsted for
each other's lives.

Higher and higher rose the flames, fiercer and
fiercer they blazed, faster and faster they spread,
until he stood alone within a red, lurid circle of fire.
The heat and smoke were beginning to grow unbear-
able, for the flames had not reached him. Fixing his
eyes on the devouring monster, Fred silently com-
mitted his soul to Heaven. One last thought of
Edith, and then all were turned to that dread Un-
known, to which he was so rapidly approachihg.

The cries, whoops, yells and screeches of the sav-
ages each moment increased, as they danced madly
outside the ring of fire. He scarcely heeded or
heard them, until suddenly they died away. Every
voice was arrested — the mad dance ceased — and all
stood as if transfixed. Following the direction
toward which every eye was now turned, Fred beheld
a sight which filled him with amazement.

" i\

' f*

▲ NABBOW ESOAPB.

237

CHAPTER XXIII.

A NARROW ESCAPE,

•* Oh f ask me not to speak thy fate—

Oh ! tempt me not to tell.
The doom shall make thee desolate,

The wrong thou mayst not quell.
Away f away ! for death would be

Even as a mercy unto thee."

The cause of their astonishment was soon ex-
plained. There, before them, like a spirit, in his
flowing robes and snowy hair, stood the Hermit of
the Cliffs !

With a grunt expressive of surprise and satisfac-
tion, not unmingled with awe, the chief advanced to
meet him. There was something truly imposing in
the majestic appearance of the old man — his fantas-
tic robes flutteriiigin the air, his long white hair and
beard flowing over his shoulders. There was an evi-
dent reverence and respect for this singular old man
in the hearts of the Indians, who looked upon him
as a superior being — something more akin to the
Great Spirit than to his fellow-men.

Pointing with his hand toward the prisoner, the
hermit addressed the chief in his own language, in a
tone more of command than entreaty. At first, his
words were listened to impatiently — then angrily —
and finally with a sort of awe. As the hermit went
on, increasing in veiiemence, the warrior listened in
superstitious silence, and when he had concluded, he
bowed his head, and, followed by the hermit, turned

) ;l

!,l

238

A NARROW ESCAPE,

\ %',

toward his own people, who had stood watching
them, during their conference, with looks of mingled
respect and curiosity, and began addressing them in
their own language. As a matter of course, Fred
understood not a word ; but, from the savage eyes
that were every now and then turned toward him,
he judged he was the subject of their conversation.

Surprise, first, and then rage, was depicted on
every face, while knives and tomahawks were brand-
ished, with fierce yells. But the loud, harsh voice of
the chief made itself heard above the din, in tones of
anger and command. The warriors gradually re-
lapsed into sullen, dogged silence, while every eye
was directed toward the captive, glaring with con-
centrated passion and disappointment.

When the chieftain ceased, the hermit addressed
the enraged crowd. High and clear, like the silvery
tones of a trumpet, his voice rang out, soothing the
waters of passion which the words of their chief had
lashed into fury. As they listened, their noisy dem-
onstrations of rage gave place to low, deep growls
and sullen mutterings, while they glared like wild
beasts upon Fred, whose position at the stake was
now almost unbearable.

As he folded his arms across his breast, and ceased
speaking, the warriors fell sullenly back, and the
chief himself, leaping over the burning circle, freed
the bonds of Fred, and motioned him to follow. No
second invitation was necessary to make him ^eave
his place of torture, and the next moment he stood
beside the hermit, who scarcely gave him a single
glance, as he turned again and addressed the chief.

During these proceedings, which occupied but a
few moments, De Lisle had stood watcliinor them,
like one who cannot believe what he sees. Now he

A NAKKOW ESOAPB.

239

advanced to where the trio stood, and with ?. face
perfectly livid with rage and disappointment, he
turned toward the hermit, and angrily exclaimed :

"Sir, what means this? By what devilish art
have you bewitched these savages into giving up
their prey ?"

*' It means, sir, that your evil machinations are
again defeated by me. I use no devilish arts, as
you well know ; but there is a Power higher than
that of man — a Power that can defeat man's most
cunning scheme, in its own good time !" answered
the hermit, with grave dignity.

*' Death and fury ! Old man, cease your prating !'*
exclaimed the maddened De Lisle. " Though this
copper-colored fool here has given him up, by
Heaven I I will disappoint you yet, and you shall
bear from hence but a dead carcase." *

He drew a pistol as he spoke ; but, ere he could
fulfill his threat, it was struck from his hand by the
chief, who branished his tomahawk before his eyes
with a fieroe yell, and would doubtless have pre-
vented his ever drawing another, but for the inter-
vention of the hermit. Motioning De Lisle back
with a majestic wave of the hand, he said :

'*Away, sir! One word from me, and you and
your band of cut-throats there will, in five minutes,
be in eternity I Though you can show no mercy to
others, mercy shall be shown to you. Away with
you ! — your very presence is pollution !"

" I obey, most reverend dealer in magic," said De
Lisle, with a mocking bow and smile, though his face
was perfectly ghastly with suppressed passion,- " but
think not, though you are triumphant now, you have
conquered Ralph De Lisle. I swear I will yet have

240

A NARROW ESOAPB.

!,'

li ^!

threefold vengeance on tliee, hoary sorcerer, and on
this double-dyed traitor beside you !"

With a fierce exclamation Fred sprang forward,
and De Lisle would doubtless have been felled to the
earth, but the hermit laid his hand on the young
man's shoulder, and said, sternly :

•* I command you not. * Vengeance is mine, saith
the Lord, and I will repay.' Leave this fiend incar-
nate to a higher Power. His race will soon be run."

*' Ha I say you so, good father ?' said De Lisle,
ironically. " It may be so, but I will send a few of
your particular friends before me, to announce my
coming. I regret leaving such pleasant company,
but * necessity knows no law.' I trust soon to have
the pleasure of meeting you both again. Until
then !"

He bowed, lifted his hat, and with the same cold,
sneering smile on his lip, he turned away. Whisper-
ing a few words in the ear of Paul Snowe, whose eyes
were fixed as if fascinated on the hermit, he gave his
men the order to mount. Ere five minutes had
elapsed, they were in their saddles and away.

" We must follow their example," said the hermit
to Fred. Then, turning to the chief, he spoke a few
words in the Indian language, to which the other
answered by a nod ; and making a sign that they
should follow him, he turned and forced his way
through the group of dogged-looking warriors, whose
glances toward Fred were anything but friendly.

Fred's horse was led forth together with the her-
mit's. The chief himself mounted, and gave some
order to his followers, upon which some half dozen
sprang into their saddles, and the whole party
dashed of!.

As they reached, the summit of the hill, Fred

A NARROW ESCAPE.

241

paused a moment to look back. Scarcely eight hours
had elapsed since he had stood in the same spot —
but how different were his feelings ! Then he stood
on the threshold of death, with his deadly foe on onj
side and bloodthirsty savages on the other. Now
he was safe and free, or at least on the high road to
freedom, saved by the same mysterious being who
had saved his life before. All the events since his
capture had passed so rapidly that he was almost
tempted to believe it was but a troubled dream
A glance, however, at his dusky cpmpanions soon
convinced him of the unpleasant reality, and quick-
ening his pace he descended the hill, and bade a
last and unreluctant adieu to the Indian village.

Near the spot where Fred had been made captive
their savage escort left them, and the preserver and
preserved went on their journey alone.

For a time they rode on in silence. Both were too
deeply absorbed in thought to converse. At length
the hermit looked up and said :

"Yours was a narrow escape, my friend. You
were indeed literally snatched a brand from the
burning."

" And to you I owe it," replied Fred, gratefully.
"You seem fated to place me under a debt of
gratitude. I will not attempt to thank you for sav-
ing me from a doom so dreadful. No words of
mine—*'

" I want no thanks," interrupted the hermit. " If
you really feel grateful, let your gratitude be inward,
and manifest itself by actions instead of words. I
know the world too well to place much confidence
in hollow promises !"

" How did you discover I was a prisoner ?" in«

iW'-'

I'
III

1 1 :
1.

1,
1 I

jii

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' ' '1

242

A NARKOW BSOAPB.

quired Fred, whose curiosity could no longer be re-
strained.

" Very easily. I foresaw danger when you started,
and followed you."

" Then you were near me during my journey,"
said Fred. " I wonder the savages did not discover
you."

" I was near you at first, but was unable to ride
forward as rapidly as your party. F'^wever, I fol-
lowed your trail, ard reached the village a few hours
after, and providentially in time to save your life."

"It is most wonderful they would surrender a cap-
tive at the stake," said Fred. "Your powf r, sir,
seems to be omnipotent."

" I had a strong claim on the gratitude of the
chief," said the hermit. " Once, when I found him
alone, wounded and almost dying, I had him borne
to my dwelling, and nursed him until he recovered.
Since then he has been anxious to redeem the prom-
ise made at the time, to grant me the first favor I ever
asked of him ; and as your life chanced to be the
first, he was forced to grant it. Besides," he added,
with a smile, " his superstitious followers consider
me something more than mortal, and labor under
the delusion, that in offending me they will draw
upon themselves the wrath of the Great Spirit."

" Your power extends over more than superstitious
savages," said Fred, " my father, stern and haughty
as he is, quails before you, as he has never done
before any other living man. Would I knew the
secret of your mysterious power !"

A shadow passed over the face of the hermit, and
when he spoke again, his voice was unusually low
and solemn: ^

** Some day, ere long, perhaps, you will learn all.

A NARROW ESCAPE.

243

Until that time, rest in peace, and believe this mystery
is all for the best. I go now to my home on the
cliffs, but something tells me we will soon meet
again."

"Well, let it be for joy or for sorrow, the meeting
will be welcome," replied Fred ; " but why should
you reside in that lonely spot — why not seek a home
with your friends ?"

" Friends ?" repeated the hermit, almost bitterly,
" who in this selfish world deserve that sacred name ?
No, I have done with trusting the world ; my expe-
rience has taught me how much reliance there is to be
placed in it. I would be alone with nature — watch-
ing the mighty, ever-moaning sea, listening to the
wild shrieks of the wind, or gazing upon the blue
lightning, I am happy. I never wish to mingle with
my fellow-men more."

" Strange, eccentric being," thought Fred, as he
gazed on the pale face of his companion, now lit up
by enthusiasm. " What strange vicissitudes he must
have passed through I"

" What do you think now of my prediction ?" said
the hermit quietly, after a few moments' pause.

" Think ?" replied Fred, " why, that your prophecy
has in a most unpleasantly short time been fulfilled,
and I must apologize for ever presuming to doubt
its truth."

" I fear still greater dangers are in store for you,"
said the hermit, gloomily.

" From what quarter now .?" inquired Fred.

" From your mortal enemy, Pe Lisle. There was
something perfectly fiendish in his look as he left
us ; and it needs no soothsayer to tell he is even
now plotting against you."

** Well, it seems to be a drawn battle, ' said Fre(}

!!!■

244

A NARROW ESCAPE.

•^i !

with a half smile, " he plotting and you counterplot-
ting. As for me, I seem like a rudderless craft
in the stream of life, drifting whichever way the
current sets. It is useless striving to guard against
dangers when we cannot foresee in what shape tilicy
may come. So, my dear sir, I shall preserve the
even tenor of my way, and place my trust in Provi-
dence and you r

"Youth is always hopeful and blindly trusting,"
said the hermit ; "but Heaven forbid my presenti-
ments should prove true, for there may be dangers
worse than death. Disgrace to you would be a
thousandfold worse."

"Disgrace!" exclaimed Fred, almost furiously,
while his face flushed ; " who dares couple my name
with disgrace ?"

" De Lisle will endeavor to do so, rest assured,"
said the hermit ; " there — there is no need of looking
so fierce about it. Do you imagine there is anything
iie can do to injure you in the opinion of the world,
more especially in that of the Percivals, that he will
not do ? And, speaking of the Percivals, I presume
that is your present destination."

" No," said Fred, " I go there no more. Would to
Heaven I had never gone there."

" It would have been better for all parties," said
the hermit ; " but the past can never be recalled, and
you can only endeavor to atone for it by absenting
yourself for the future. Edith's love for you has
remained firm throughout, and will to the end — for
her you need have no fear. The war will soon be
over, and there can be little doubt which side will
be victorious. Major Percival's views may change in
time, and his fair daughter may yet be your bride.
Who can tell what the future may bring forth ?"

>Iot.
craft

[y the
(ainst
tiliey
|e the
'rovi-

;en li-
ngers
be a

THE LAST RESOLVE.

245

"Who, indeed ?'* thought Fred, " though I fancy
that prediction is altogether too good to prove true."

"And now farewell !" said the hermit, when they
emerged from the forest road. " I go to my wild
home amid the cliffs, while you go to follow the path
of glory. It may be^ when we meet again, many
things now hidden in darkness shall be brought to
light. When in danger, remember you have a friend
in the Hermit of the Cliffs."

He turned in a direction opposite to that taken by
Fred, and was soon out of sight.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE LAST RESOLVE.

' There was a laughing devil in his sneer.
That raised emotions both of rage and fear;
And where his frown of hatred darkly fell,
Hope, withering, fled— and Mercy sighed farewell." |

—The Corsair.

■«

Months passed away. Hoary winter had shrunk
back before bright, smiling spring, and the golden
summer days were approaching again. Many excit-
ing events had taken place since the circumstances
recorded in the last chapter, for the war was over,
and America was free.

It was a dark sultry night in June. In the back
parlor of an unpretending-looking inn sat two men
conversing. They were our old acquaintances Ralph
De Lisle and his amiable friend Paul Snowe,

246

THE LAST RESOLVE.

ta ,

"Well, what is this wonderful plot you have in
your wise head now, De Lisle ?" inquired the man
Paul.

" A plot that, like some great medicines, must
either kill or cure !" answered De Lisle ; " one that
makes Edith Percival mine beyond hope of redemp-
tion."

" I never knew one of your plans yet that you
were not equally sure of. Take care this does not
prove a will-o'-the-wisp like the rest,' said the other,
with a sneer.

"No, by Heaven !'* exclaimed De Lisle, setting his
teeth fiercely ; "this night Edith Percival shall eithei
be my bride or that of death ; this night the crisis of
her fate and mine has come."

" Bah ! ball ! all foolery, all child's play !" said
Paul Snowe, in his bitter, jibing tone. "You lay
wonderful plans, and see them slip tlirough your
fingers when they are in your power. This girl, who
has made such a fool of you, was for a week under
the same roof with you ; her lover and your mortal
foe was likewise within arm's length of you. Well,
you let both go, let them give you the slip, and
laugh at you and your plans in safety."

• For that I may thank your dainty daughter and
that villainous young scoundrel Joe Smith," said De
Lisle angrily. " I should have liked to have twisted
her treacherous neck for her on my relurn, and would
have done so but for you."

" I have no doubt ot it," said Paul, deliberately
filling a glass of brandy ; " but you well know you
are too completely in my power to play any of your
tricks off on me. What would you do if I took a
fancy to split some day, and let all out ?'*

*^ If you would" exclaimed De Lisle, his face grow-

THE LAST RESOLVE.

247

ing absolutely livid with rage as he drew a pistol, " I
would—"

" What ?" said Paul Snowe, with his cold, deriding
smile, as his leader paused.

" Shoot you like a dog !" hissed De Lisle th: )ugh
his clenched teeth.

" Two could play at that game, my worthy cap-
tain," said the man, carelessly, touching a long knife
he wore. " If I took a fancy for perching, there
would be a slight obstacle in the way of your shoot-
ing me — something like this." And Paul made a
peculiar motion under his left ear, indicative of hang-
ing.

'* Villain !" said De Lisle, " there was a time when
you would not dare to be thus insolent. But boast
away ; I fear you not ; you are too careful of your
own precious jugular to risk it by such an experi-
ment. I fancy when Ralph De Lisle swings, Paul
Snowe will keep him company."

" Perhaps so. Well, it's a comfort to think the
world will wag just as merrily when we are gone.
There will be few tears shed over our grave — eh,
captain ?"

" You forget your affectionate daughter," said De
Lisle, sneeringly.

" Oh ! Elva ? She will be better without me ; but
for her sake I will avoid Jack Ketch as long as pos-
sible. But to change the subject, which is getting
rather personal when you talk of hanging : how do
you propose to abduct Miss Percival ?"

" I shall not abduct her, my good friend ; she must
come with me of her own free will, or not at all."

" Faith ! you're getting mighty particular. I've
seen the time you weren't so choice, and was glad to
get her by hook or by crook."

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248

THE LAST BESOLYE.

" Yes ; but that time has passed ; and my proud
Lady Edith shall sue to me now as I have heretofore
done to her. Love and hatred, worthy Paul, are
nearly akin. Next to myself, I loved that girl better
than anything on earth. Well, she jilted me for this
dashing rebel — or patriot I suppose I should say
l^now, since they have triumphed — and I hate her now
with an intensity far surpassing any love I ever felt
for her. JVow I would, as far as love is concerned, a
thousand times rather marry your pretty daughter
Elva than she."

" Much obliged for the honor," said Paul, dryly.
" But, in the name of my * pretty daughter Elva' I
beg respectfully to decline the illustrious alliance."

De Disle smiled scornfully, but, without noticing
his words, went on :

" Affection, therefore, you see, has nothing to do
with my wish to make Edith Percival my wife.
Hatred and revenge are my sole motives. She
loathes the very sight of me, I know ; and there is no
other means by which I can punish her for it so well.
Her lover, too — Master Fred — will feel it more than
anything else I could possibly do. Therefore, these
are my reasons for wishing to marry pretty Edith."

" Well, I didn't ask you for your reasons," said
Paul. " I don't take so much interest in either of
you. You say you are going to make her marry you.
Now, how are you going to do it ?"

** Listen !" said his friend, with a sardonic smile.
** I have learned that my quondam lady-love has
taken a fancy to a sick girl in the neighborhood, and
visits her very often. A brother of the invalid — a
child of nine — goes for her when wanted. This little
fellow I told to meet me to-night at a place I
appointed, but I have not yet told him what I want

THE LAST BESOLVI.

249

I think ! can manage to induce him to bring Edith
out. I will meet her— urge her to fly with me — and
if she persists in refusing — "

" Well, and if she does ?" said the man, looking
up.

" / will stab her to the heart T exclaimed De Lisle,
in a fierce, hoarse whisper, while his eyes glittered
with a demoniacal light.

Paul Snovve drew hack involuntarily at the strange,
wild expression on his companion's face. There
was a look almost of horror on his face as he
exclaimed :

" No, no ! — devil as you are, you would not mur-
der an unoffending girl !*'

" Ha, ha ! — Paul Snowe turned preacher !" mocked
De Lisle. ** When was it your conscience became so
tender, honest Paul ? — since the night your Spanish
knife let the moonlight through Dandy Dan's back-
bone for calling you a liar — eh ?"

" Perdition seize you ! Hush !" exclaimed Paul,
growing pale. " I meant not to dissuade you from
it ; but it will be discovered, and then we will swings
you know."

" Well, it's swing with us any way, sooner or
later. One may at well be hung for a sheep as a
lamb, Paul," said De Lisle, recklessly.

" To be sure," said Paul, turning uneasily in his
chair, and draining another glass of brandy. " But
Where's the use of being so desperate ? You ought
to take precautions."

" So I have, my honest friend. If it does come to
the worst, I think I have arranged matters in such a
manner that all the blame will fall on the shoulders
of that meddler, Fred Stanley."

" Ha ! you have ? — in what way ?'*

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250

THE LAST RESOLVE.

" This dagger belongs to him ; I saw his name
engraved on it ; and, thinking it might be useful to
me, I took charge of it. About three hours ago, I
saw him parting w'th Major Percival, and the major
foaming and scolding like an enraged washerwoman.
Shortly after, he mounted his horse, and left the vil-
lage in hot haste. Now, if the major's daughter is
found mur — well, you know what I mean — to-morrow
morning, with /ir's dagger somewhere near, that cir-
cumstance, taken in connection with his quarrel
with the major, and subsequent flight from the
village, will, without doubt, place the worthy youth's
neck in a tight place, and convince the world gener-
ally, and his admirers particularly, that, after all his
escapes, he was born to be hanged in the end."

There was a wicked and most sinister cmile on De
Lisle's lips, a glittering light in his evil eyes, that
involuntarily made Paul Snowe, hardened in crime
though he was, draw back in horror. There was
something so fearfully cold-blooded in the manner
in which he unfolded his diabolical plot, that his lis-
tener placed his ha?:d on the 'alt of his knl^e, and
looked for a moment into De Lisle'r gleaming eyes in
silence.

" Well, what do you think of it ?" demanded De
l,isle, at length.

** Think !" repeated Pau) ; "why, that if there ever
was a riend incarnate on earth, you are one !"

" Ha ! ha ! Well, no matter for that. Do you not
think my plan a safe one }"

" I neither know nor care, Ralph de Lisle. If you
are safe yourself, all right ; if ycu are not safe, all
right likewise. I will have nothing to do with your
diabolical plans ; therefore, as I said before, I neithef
know nor care whether you are safe or not.*

»t

yftE LAST RESOLVE.

** Insolent villain !" exclaimed De Lisle, springing
fiercely to his feet ; " you shall repent this !"

" Hands off, De Lisle !" said Paul, boldly confront-
ing him. " I am not afraid of you. Commit your
own murders for the future ; I will have no more to
do with such a cold-blooded assassin."

For a moment, De Lisle glared upon him like a
wild beast ; but the bold eye of Paul Snowe quaili J
not beneath his burning gaze. Seeing how little he
was feared, De Lisle changed his tactics, and throw-
ing himself back in his chair, he said, with a forced
laugh :

" Well, we won't quarrel, Paul ; we have been
friends too long to part in anger, and especially
about such a trifle."

" I never was friend of yours, Captain De Lisle,"
said Paul, doggedly. " Villainy bound us together ;
but the link of crime is very different from that of
friendship."

" Well, have it your own way,'* said De Lisle, with
affected carelessness, as he replaced the dagger within
his vest. " And now I see by yonder time-piece that
'tis time I was keeping my appointment with little
nine-year old. You'll wait for me here, of course ?"

" No, I won't !" was the short, sharp, and decisive
reply. " I have waited for you too long, as I may
yet find out to my cost. You and I part to-night,
De Lisle," continued Paul Snowe, rising, and taking
his hat. " I intend leaving the country as soon as
possible ; and, if you wish to avoid the hangman,
you will follow my example, and let Edith Percival
alone. Don't turn so white about the gills, man ;
I won't peach. But you know, however long the foK
may run, he'll be caught by the tail at last. So, as
we are parting, I'll take a last glass with you, ia

lik

It*

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252

THB OLD HOUeE ON THX BLUFF.

memory of old times. Here's wishing you long life
and an escape from the halter."

** I'll drink no such toast !" said De Lisle, biting
his lips to keep down his increasing anger. " Here 3
to the bright eyes of your daughter Elva."

"So be it then," said Paul, refilling his glass;
" and on those same bright eyes y<m will never look
again, my susceptible friend. Good-nigh i, Ue Lisle,
and luck be with you."

He turned and quitted the room. De Lisle looked
after him with an evil smile as he muttered :

" Say you so, worthy Paul ? That remains to be
seen. And now for the drama of the evening. Shall
it be a tragedy or a farce ? Well, ere midnight I will
know."

He drank deeply, as if to nerve himself for what
was approaching ; and then, muffling himself in his
cloak, and drawing his hat down over his brow, he
quitted the obscure inn, and disappeared in the
gloomy night.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE OLD HOUSE ON THE BLUFF.

•• A willing messenger — Crime's ready tool—
A thing of flesh and blood that may be bought
And sold like vilest merchandise."

The sky was dark and overcast with storm-threat-
ening clouds. The moon struggled feebly on her
way, shedding a sickly, watery light over the earth.
The wind had been rising all the evening, and now
blew chili and raw, accompanied by a thin, light

THE OLD H0U8B ON THB BLUFF.

253

iie

drizzle. Lights were twinkling here and there
through the village as De Lisle passed along ; but
there were few abroad — a circumstance he rejoiced
lest he should be discovered. Those wlio did

at.

meet him as they hurried homeward, paused to stare
in surprise at the tall, dark, muffled figure which
strode along as though gifted with the famous seven-
league boots.

Faster and faster he walked ; for, half mad with
excitement, he strove to lose memory in the rapid
motion. His head, hot and throbbing, felt as though
it would burst. He paused for a moment, and, lean-
ing a^i;ainst a tree, took off his hat that the cool
breeze miglit relieve him. His long, dark locks
streamed vvildty in the wind behind him, and his
heart throbbed so loudly that every pulsation
sounded like the stroke of a sledge-hammer. His
hands were red with blood — his soul dark with
crime ; but never had he meditated so dreadful a
murder as weighed on his heart to-night. The shad-
ows, a^ they flitted by, looked to his heated imagin-
ation like spectres rising from the grave to warn him
back.

The village clock struck nine. He started at the
sound, and, unable to remain longer inactive, started
on more rapidly than before. As he walked, he sud-
denly lifted his head, and beheld the churchyard be-
fore him. To reach the place where the boy was to
meet him, he must pass it. The tombstones gleamed
white and ghastly in the dim light. How they
seemed to glare upon him with their cold, pale eyes!

He shuddered, and hurried on faster than ever.
His rap id walking soon brought him to the place of
rendezvous ; it was an old deserted house on the
black hill-side, known as the Barn on the Bluff. It

254

THE OLD nOUSK ON THE BLUTF.

! i 4'

had been untenanted for many a day, and was only
used as a shelter for sheep on stormy nights. No
other house was near it on any side. It stood alone,
black, grim, and dismal — a fit place for the dark
scene it was to witness that night.

A boy of about nine — a vacant-eyed, stupid-faced
urchin — stood shivering beside one of the broken
windows, and endeavoring to peer out into the
gloom. Hearing approaching footsteps, he started
from his corner, and met De Lisle in the doorway.

" If you'd stayed much longer, I wouldn't a
waited," said the boy, rather sullenly. " Why didn't
you come sooner?"

" It's time enough," said De Lisle. " Do you
think you'll find Miss Percival at home now ?"

" Be sure I will," replied the boy. " They've a
party to-night, and she'll be sure to be there."

"A party !" muttered De Lisle ; " that defeats all
my plans. Why didn't you tell me this before, you
young rascal. She won't come with you if they
have a party."

" Yes she will, too," said the boy. " She did it
afore, and she told our Harriet any time she
wanted her she'd come, and oo bother about it."

" Well, will you go and tell her your sister is
dying, or any other lie that you think will be likely
to bring her here. See, I will give you this gold
guinea now, and a dozen when you come back."

" Will you, though ?" exclaimed the boy, his eyes
sparkling with delight.

" Yes, if you bring her here alone. Mind, don t
tell her there is a man waiting for her here. You
have to pass this Bluff on your way home, have you
not ?"

" Yes ; but there's another, shorter way.**

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THE OLD HOUSE ON THE BLUFF.

265

"Oh! well, don't mind the shorter way. Bring
her here — alone, mind — alone. Do you think tiiere
is any danger of her being accompanied by any
one ?"

*' No, I guess not ; she often came with me alone
to see Harriet as late as this."

'* Oh ! very well, then ; go now and don't be long.
Remember, if you bring Miss Percival here alone,
you shall have my purse upon your return."

"All right," answered the boy, touching his cap,
as he quitted the old house and bounded down the
hill.

Folding his arms across his breast, and drawing
his cloak closer around him, De Lisle leaned against
the broken doorway, and strove to still the wild
tumult within, and think. Think! how could he
think with heart and brain burning and throbbing
with such a blinding intensity of pain. His face was
deadly pale, his eyes inflamed and blood-shot, his
lips dry and parched A horror, nameless and
hitherto unfelt, was stealing over him. It was as if
some dread calamity were hovering over his own
head.

All was profoundly still. The lights in the village
below were going out one by one, as the simple vil-
lagers retired to rest, little dreaming of him who
leaned silent and alone in the old house with such a
tumultuously throbbing heart. The wind wailed
dirge-like through the trees, and at intervals
the harsh, ominous croak of a raven — that evil bird
of night — as it flew past, would break upon his ^ar,
startling him like a galvanic shock.

"Would this night were over !" he muttered, tf k-
ing off his hat, and shaking back his black loci ^.
" Am I turning coward« that I quake thus at ev6 ?

II ;,|

256

THB OLD HOUSE ON THE BLUFF.

1 .

I i

sound ? Ralph De Lisle, courage, man ! 'Tis but a
girl more or less in the world, and there is no one to
know it."

No one to know it t A stray gleam of moonlight
breaking through the clouds, fell on his face white
as that of the dead, but lighted up with such
intensely burning eyes. No one to know it ! A still
small voice, deep down in his heart, and silent for
many a j'ear, rang out with one word, clea.r and dis-
tinct. A host of memories — memories of his almost
forgotten childhood — rushed back to his mind.
Again he felt his mother's gentle hand straying amid
his hair ; her soft voice whispering, as she passed
from earth : ** Love and fear God, my son, and meet
me in heaven." How reproachfully her loving eyes
rose before him nov/. Again in fancy, he wandered,
hand in hand with E lith, as he had often done in
childhood, or lay on the grass at her feet, while she
sang for him the sweet " Evening Hymn," and he
thought the sky not half so blue and beautiful as her
eyes. Words he had long forgotten came again to
his mind ; the simple, earnest prayer he had said in
his boyhood, night and morning, like some wander-
ing strain of music rose to his lips. It was the last
struggle between good and evil in his heart. His
better nature seemed for a moment to prevail. He
turned to quit the old house, when the image of Fred
Stanley arose before him. The struggle was past —
he stayed. His good angel covered her bright face
and wept, and Ralph De Lisle was forever — ^lost t

CAUGHT IN THE 8NABB.

S67

CHAPTER XXVI.

CAUGHT IN THE SNARE.

1 *Tis done I I saw it in my dreams-
No mere with hope the future beams.

My days of happiness are few :
Chilled by Misfortune's wintry blast.
My dawn of life is overcast ;
Love, hope, and joy alike adieu ;
Would I could add remembrance, too t"

— Byron.

Percival Hall was all aglow with light and radi-
ance, music and mirth, feasting and festivity. The
lofty rooms were crovi^ded with the numerous friends
of the family for the last time, for Major Percival had
announced his intention of departing for England in
a few weeks, to reside there permanently.

Weary with dancing. Edith had quitted the ball-
room and sought refuge in the conservatory. The
gay sounds of music and dancing came to her ear
Softened and mellowed by the distance.

Seating herself in a shadowy corner, her golden
hair falling like a glory around her, she leaned her
head upon her hand, while her thoughts wandered
far away. She felt sad and out of spirits, and in no
mood to join the gay revelers. She was about to
leave her home for the shores of " Merrie England,"
to leave many whom she loved, and who loved her,
behind her. She thought of Fred, but no longer
with hope. At her father's command, they parted
^orever. Unable longer to resist the temptation, he

258

CAUGHT IN THB 8NABB.

had sought the village, and they had one interview.
The major discovered it, and a few hours before,
they had parted after an exceedingly stormy inter-
view, and she had been sternly forbidden ever to see
or speak to him again.

Therefore Edith sat, sad and silent, with tears
slowly filling her deep-blue eyes, and falling un-
heeded on her white hands. Tears for him, tears
for herself, and a weight heavy and oppressive on
her heart.

The entrance of a servant roused her from her sad
reverie. The girl paused as she approached her, and
Edith looked up inquiringly :

" If you please. Miss, little Eddy Dillon's out here.
He says his sister Harriet sent him with a message
for you."

" Oh, dear little Harriet ! I hope she is not worse.
Where is he, Betty ? I must see him immediately,"
said Edith, forgetting her own sorrows to listen to
those of others.

" Down here at the hall-door. Miss," said Betty.
And Edith flew past her and ran down to the hall-
door, where stood little Eddy, cap in hand.

" Oh, Eddy ! how is Harriet?" exclaimed Edith,
breathlessly.

" A great deal better — I mean worse. Miss Edith,"
said Eddy ; " don't expect she'll live till to-morrow,
nohow."

" Is it possible ? Poor, little Harriet ! Oh, Eddy I
why didn't you come for me before ?" said Edith.

** Cause I was busy," said Eddy, scratching his
head, as he composedly uttered the lie. " But she
wants to see you now, if you're agreeable."

** Certainly, I'll go. Betty, bring me my hood
and mantle," said Edith, promptly.

OATJOHT IN THB SNABB.

259

"Oh, Miss Edith! I wouldn't go to-night, if I
was you. It's going to rain, I'm afraid, and the
company — "

" Betty, you musn't talk so. Do you think any
such selfish consideration would make me refuse
that dear child's dying request ? Bring me my hood
and cloak immediately."

Betty disappeared to obey her ; and turning to
Eddy, Edith began inquiring so eagerly about this
sudden dangerous turn in his sister's illness, that
the good yo'jJ^^h, not having a stock of lies manu-
factured for the occasion, got quite bewildered.
Betty's re-appearance with the desired articles re-
lieved him from his dilemma, as she threw the cloak
over Edith's shoulders and tied on her hood.

" Hadn't you better let me or one of the others go
with you ?" said Betty. " It's powerful lonesome
going along alone."

" Oh ! no, thank you ; I'll do very well. Eddy
and I have often went alone on the same errand to
see poor Harriet."

" What will I say, if any one asks for you, Miss ?"
called Betty after her.

" You may tell mamma where I have gone ; and
if any one else asks you, refer them to her. Come,
Eddy, I am all ready."

They went down the steps together, and started at
a rapid walk. The clouds were slowly breaking
away, and the moon rode in silvery radiance through
the star studded dome. The cool night breeze
brought a bright flush to Edith's pale cheek and a
clearer light to her blue eyes, as she tripped lightly
along, thinking of ** dear little Harriet," and almost
envying her for being freed from earth so soon.
Master Eddy, too, was thinking — a very unusual

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260

OAUOHT IN THE SNARE.

I *i

thing for him, by the way — and which never occurred,
save on an nnusual occurrence like the present. He
was wondering what the tall, dark man could want
with her, and whether he had acted quite right in
deceiving her as he had done. Unable to solve this
knotty problem, he placed his band in his pocket
where it encountered and closed upon a guinea,
which, in a wonderfully short space of time, removed
all his scruples, just as it would those of an older
person. The recollection of the twelve he was to get
on his return, clinched the argument, and Master
Eddy lifted his head and walked along in the proud
consciousness of having discharged his duty as a
man and a Christian should. Having heard the vil-
lagers talk over the story of Miss Edith's rebel lover,
he concluded this mutt be he come to hold a clan-
destine interview with h'^r.

"Why are you taking this roundabout way .^
asked Edith, as her companion turned in the directiot
of the bluff. " The other path is much shorter."

"Yes, I know it; but the other road's muddy ,
'taint so good as this," said Eddy, rather at a loss
for a suitable lie. " This ain't much longer, either."

"Oh, very well !" said Edith ; "only hurry, I am
so anxious to see Harriet."

Both walked on rapidly, and in silence, until they
reached the dark bluff.

" Where are you going ?" asked Edith, as Eddy
began to ascend.

" I left something up in the old barn, I must go
after. Come with me ; I don't like to go alone."

Unconscious and unsuspecting, Edith followed him
up the steep hill-side. The bright moonlight shone
full upon the deserted barn, and showed it in all its
dreary loneliness

M 4

CAUGHT IN THB SNABB.

261

«♦ What a dismal place !" thought Edith ; •* it looks
wilder and drearier to-night than I ever remember
to have seen it before. How ghastly those moulder-
ing walls look in the cold moonlight !"

Within the shadow of those walls, how little did
she dream that he whom she dreaded most on earth
stood watching her Rapidly she followed her young
guide, whose steps were quickened by the recollec-
tion of the reward, promised on his return.

A tall, dark figure, muffled in a cloak, stepped
from within the shadow of the doorway, and
approached them. Something in his height and
air, reminded her of Fred, and, filled with the idea
that he had again sought her to bid her a final adieu,
she sprang forward, exclaiming breathlessly :

" Fred ! Fred ! can this be you ?"

He raised his hand, and, pointing to the lady, made
a motion for her to be silent. Then, slipping the
promised reward into his hand, he whispered,
sternly :

" Go !"

" Oh, Fred ! this is very rash I" said Edith, as the
boy bounded down the hill-side and disappeared.
*• What would papa say if he knew of this ?"

"Hist!" said De Lisle, disguising his voice in a
hurried whisper ; " come in here V*

He drew her arm v<;ithin his ; and, half bewildered
by this sudden meeting, she scarcely realized his
meaning until she stood with him in the old deserted
house. He released her arm, and stood between her
and the door, his hat still hiding his face, so tall, so
still, so motionless, that he looked like some dark
statue.

" Fred, is this you ?" said Edith, a wild thrill of
<ear shooting throufrh her b<tart, at his strange

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262

THE CATASTROPHE.

silence. The long cloak that muffled him fell off,
he slowly raised his hat, and she beheld the pale,
fierce face, and intensely burning eyes of her dreaded
foe, Ralph De Lisle.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE CATASTROPHE.

•• Murder most foul — as in the best it is-
But this most foul, strange, and unnatural."

Shakespeare.

Stunned, bewildered, giddy, the wild shriek of
mortal fear that quivered on the lips of Edith died
away, as she met those fierce dark eyes she dreaded
most on earth fixed upon her with such a fiery,
serpent-like gaze.

She grew dizzy, and gasped for breath ; for there
was a look more of a demon than o* a man on the
face before her. Alone with him in that deserted
house, too far from the village for her cries to reach
human ears — nothing but Heaven could save her
now. All the dangers of her appalling situation
burst upon her at once. A dimness stole over her
eyes — the sound of many waters was in her ears —
her heart throbbed like the muffled beating of a
drum, and she would have fallen, had she not
grasped the wall for support.

" I see you have not forgotten me, Edith," were his
first words, spoken with cold, bitter sarcasm. ** When
last we parted, you had decidedly the advantage of

THE 0ATA8TB0PHE.

263

ine ; now, the tables have turned, and Edith Per-
cival is again in my power."

She strove to speak ; but, though her lips moved,
she could not article a word.

'* You mistook me for Fred," he went on, in the
same mocking tone ; " 'tis a wondrous pity you were
disappointed. You need never call on him again.
This night is the crisis of both our lives. For what
purpose, do you think, I have had you brought
here ?"

" I know not," said Edith, speaking in a voice yet
faint from terror.

" Listen, then : this night you must either consent
to be my bride, or you will never live to see the sun
rise again !"

His face wore the look of a fiend — his glittering
eyes were fixed on her face ; his voice sounded low,
hoarse, and unnatural in that dreary room.

Her lips parted — her eyes dilated with horror ; her
face was deadly white, but no cry escaped her. Her
very heart seemed for a moment to stand still at his
appalling words, and then — the courage that had
never been hers was granted her in that dreadful
moment. In her awful peril, fear and horror alike
passed away, and a feeling of intense loathing and
lofty scorn for him who stood before her took its
place. Drawing herself up to her full height, she
shook back her golden hair, and fixing her large blue
eyes full on his face, she said, in a voice whose very
calmness startled even herself:

" My life you may take, for it is in your power ;
but I would die a thousand deaths sooner than be
bride or ought of thine !"

Her fearless words and undaunted manner were
so unexpected that he started back apace, and stood

264

THE CATA8TB0PHB.

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I ' I-

rcgai *in^ ii .r !n -iieni wonder. It was but for a
moment, ar i M : f^ ^i within his heart was aroused
into fury tenfola grea; than before.

" And you dare defy me thus I" he said, setting
his teeth hard together. " Beware ! your life hangs
but by a thread."

'* I know it ; but death is preferable to being the
wife of a demon incarnate, such as you !"

His face grew livid with diabolical passion, and he
grasped her by the arm so fiercely that she could
scarcely repress a cry of pain.

" Consent to be my wif or by all the fiends in
flames, this shall enter your heart !" he hissed, as he
brandished the gleaming dagger before her eyes.

" Oh, Ralph De Lisie, lay not the weight of this
dreadful crime on your soul, I conjure you !" ex-
claimed Edith, laying her small white hand on his
arm, and looking up in his face with her earnest
eyes : *' by the memory of the past, when you were
vQung and guiltless, I implore you to spare my life !
Think of the remorse you will endure for this awful
crime in days to come ! Oh, Ralph, Ralph ! by the
love you bore for me once, commit not the fearful
sin ! Think of the eternal woe pronounced against
the murderer hereafter, and have mercy upon your-
self !"

The thrilling, the intense solemnity of her tone
awed even his heart of stone. Like some wandering
strain of music it broke upon his ear, and for a
moment he paused, appalled at the magnitude of
the crime he was about to commit. But his evil
mentor whispered in his ear : " It is too late to re-
treat" — and the chord she had touched no longer
vibrated.

THE OATASTBOPHB.

265

•* Vou prate in vain !*' he exclaimed ; ** once again,
I ask you, will you be my wife ?'*

*' Never — never I"

He paused, as if to work his fee!ir"*s up to the
most intense pitch of maddening ex*, te -int. His
whole frame quivered, and his gliast fa was con-
vulsed by rage.

"For the last time I ask you, Eiiti P'rcival," he
said in a voice hoarse and chokerf " wUi you marry
me or die ?"

'' Iwilldier

Her words fell clear and distinct in the deep silence
of tlie lonely night. Foaming with rage, he drew the
slender, glittering knife, and plunged it up to the
hilt in her side !

The hot blood spurted up in his face. With one
wild cry of mortal agony, she fell to the ground.

De Lisle stood above her, ghastly and paralyzed
by the awful deed. With one last effort, she rose on
her elbow, fixed her dying eyes on his face, and drew
out the dagger. A torrent of blood flowed over her
snowy hands, and dyed with crimson the floor
around. Her white lips parted, but no sound came
forth — her eyes grew glazed and sightless, and she
fell back, stiff, and cold and lifeless.

And there, in the light of the solemn stars, in the
lonely silence of the night, the fearful tragedy had
been enacted. The cold glare of the moonlighc,
streaming through the broken casement, fell softly
and pityingly on the still form that lay on the
ground. The golden hair fell over her face, but the
wild, despairing eyes seemed still fixed on the face
of her murderer, as he stood, like one turned to
stone, above her. Her white festal garments were red

266

THE OATASTBOPHB.

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with blood, and one little hand still held the dagger,
dyed with the same dreadful hue.

De Lisle stood rooted to the ground, feeling as
though he neither lived nor breathed. Everything
danced red and fiery before his eyes — his brain and
heart seemed rending in twain. Heaven of heavens !
how those dying, despairing eyes seemed glaring
upon him !

Maddened, frenzied, crazed, he turned to rush
from the building. His foot struck against some-
thing, and he stumbled. He glanced down, and saw
it was the fatal dagger. With a fearful oath, he
hurled it from him over the craggy bluff, and fled
out into the open air.

He paused for a moment, and pressed his hands
heavily to his burning temples, that throbbed madly
beneath his fingers. His eyes were like burning
coals — his lips were hot and parched, and his hands
trembled as though he were stricken with the palsy.
The night-wind seemed to shriek in his ear, " Mur-
derer." Ringing — ringing through heart and brain,
was that last dying cry, until he stopped his ears in
agonized horror.

In all that tempest of remorse and terror, arose
before him the oft-spoken words, " What next ?"

What should he do? Whither should he go?
His first impulse was to rush from that dreadful
spot, and fly — fly far from the world, far from his
fellow-men, and far from himself. One other idea
filled his mind : it was, to destroy the evidence of
his crime — to burn the old house and what it con-
tained. He could not endure to see it standing
there, so dark and ghastly, seeming to mock him in
bis agony of remorse. There was a pile of loose

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THE CATASTROPHE.

267

brushwood near. He set it on fire, and paused to
gaze, as

" fierce and high

The death-pile blazed unto the sky/'

How red and fiery the flames looked ! Were they
too, tinged with blood ?

He knew the place would soon be surrounded,
and he dare not pause to see his dreadful work
accomplished. Like one pursued by a demon, he
fled, and paused not until he had gained the village.
There was no one astir ; all were buried in peaceful
repose, unconscious of the awful crime that had just
been committed. How the murderer envied them as
he flew past.

He paused not until he had gained his own room,
and locked himself in. A flask of brandy stood on
the table. Glass after glass of the fiery liquid he
drained, to drown recollection ; but all in vain — all
in vain ! Those dying eyes — that despairing cry —
that last imploring gaze, were before him still ; and
he paced up and down the room like a maniac, not
daring to pause one moment in his rapid walk.

" Fire ! Fire !"

The cry ran through the streets, and roused him
into action. All was bustle and confusion. Men
were rushing through the streets toward the scene
of the tragedy. He could not endure this dreadful
inaction longer. Opening the door, he left the inn,
and mingling with the crowd, rushed toward the
burning house.

Amid all that crowd, no one strove so zealously to
extinguish the flames as he. In the wild excitement,
there was no time to think, and he worked as though
his very life depended on it. All their efforts were,

(

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268

THB CATASTROPHE.

» i

however, vain — higher and higher rose the flameSf
rearing tlieir heads, red and fiery, into heaven, until
De Lisle almost fancied tliey were crying for ven-
geance on him.

Suddenly a bright slicet of flame shot into the
cloudless sky — the next moment there was a loud
crash, as the whole building fell, a mass of red, fiery
ruijis, to the ground.

De Lisle felt as though the sight was leaving his
eyes, as he witnessed that last act in the fearful
tragedy of the night. The people wondering how
the fire could have originated, were hurrying to their
homes. He dared not venture to go with them ;
for, in his excitement, he fancied every one could
read " murderer "in his face. He turned, and plunged
into the dark pine woods, scarcely knowing whither
he went, only striving to escape from himself and his
haunting remorse. He could hear that cry as the
wind wailed like a lost spirit through the trees — he
could see those imploring eyes still before him, wher-
ever he went. He put his hand over his eyes, to shut
them out, but all in vain — they were still before him :
so mournful, so beseeching, so sadly reproachful.

" Oh, that this night were over !" he said, wiping
the perspiration from his heated brow. " What have
I done, that I should be tortured thus ? Oh, for the
waters of Lethe, to drown maddening memory !
Sliall I never again know peace ? — can I never escape
from myself ?"

Through the dim, solemn woods he paced until
morning. The red sunlight gilded with golden glory
the green tree-tops, and the murderer shrank from
its bright, keen gaze like the guilty thing that he
was. He hurried to his roomii, drained glass after

NEXT MORNING.

269

glass of brandy, and then flung himself on his bed.
to lose the recollection of what he had done, in
feverish sleep.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

NEXT MORNING.

" And over all there hung a baleful gloom —
The step stole fearful though each shadowy room.
Dark, sumptuous, solemn as some Eastern pile
Where mutes keep watch — a home without a smile.

BULWER.

The red light of coming morn dispersed the revel-
ers from Percival Hall. One by one they departed,
until where lately all was music and mirth, profound
silence reigned.

And father and mother, brother and sister, all
slept, little dreaming of the fate of her they loved.
Du ing the night, when the gay hours flitted by on
"rosy wings," no presentiment of what was passing
in the lonely house on the Bluff arose before ihem
to mar tlieir festivity. And now, all uuconscious of
her absence, or her dreadful fate, they 'lept peace-
fully.

"Where is Edith?" asked Major Percival, as the
family assembled, a few hours after, around the
breakfast-table.

"Don't know, I'm sure," replied Nell, to whom
the question was addressed; "I haven't seen her
since early last night."

"She was not among the dancers during the

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••I'll

270

NEXT MORNINOu

morning," remarked Giis ; " I missed her, and
heard several wondering at her absence."

" Strange," said the major, frowning slightly.
" What must our guests have thought ? Edith has
acted very strangely of late."

" Perhaps she is ill," said Mrs. Percival, anxiously.
"Tell one of the servants, Ellen, to go up io her
room and see."

" I'll go myself," said Nell, rising, and hurriedly
leaving the room.

In a few moments she re-appeared, and with a look
of alarm, announced that Edith was not in her room
and that her bed had not been slept in at all that
night.

" Where can she be ?" said Mrs. Percival, now
thoroughly alarmed, '* Good Heaven! something
must liavc happened."

" Ring the bell, and see if any of the servants
know," said the major, more angry than frightened.

Nell obeyed, and in a moment Betty made her
appearance.

*' Have you seen Miss Edith this morning?"
demanded her master, as she entered.

" This morning? "^To, sir."

*' Do you know where she is ?" said the major,
for the first time beginning to feel slightly alarmed.

" Yes, sir ; little Eddy Dillon came here for her
last night, saying his sister Harriet was dying, and
wiched to see her. She went with him, and bade me
tell you, ma'am, but I found no chance."

" Oil, then, she's safe enough, I suppose," said
the major, while Mis. Percival drew a long breath,
as though relieved.

A.t Uiis moment, Nugent sauntered carelessly in.

. M

WEXT MORNING.

271

"Well, good folks, have you heard the news?" ho
asked, throwing himself indolently on a lounge.

" No — what news ?" said Nell.

"Why, the old barn on the Bluff was burned down
last night," said Nugent.

" Burned down ! it must have been the work of an
incendiary, then," said his father.

" Doubtless it was, though I cannot see what could
have been the object for which it was done," replied
his son.

** Some mischievously-inclined person, who wished
to rouse the villagers," suggested Gus.

" Very likely ; 'twas fit for nothing but a bonfire.
Where's Edith ?"

"At the Widow Dillon's."

" The Widow Dillon's ! Why, she hasn't been
there since yesterday morning."

" JV/iatr

" She has not been there since yesterday morning,"
said Nugent, decidedly ; " I was going past there
about half an hour ago, ani Mrs. Dillon called me
in to see her little girl. Harriet begged me to tell
Edith to come to her immediately, and Mrs. Dillon
said she had been longing for her since she had been
there yesterday morning."

" What can be the meaning of all this ?" said the
major, rising hurriedly, while Mrs. Percival grew
pale with terror. " Her son came iieia for Edith
last night, and they both departed together."

" She must have left him then, sir," said Nugent,
"for she certainly did not accompany him home.
He was in the cottage while I was there, and made
no mention of her having started with him ; neither
did the widow allude to her having sent for Edith at
all. And now I recollect, she said she would have

273

.NEXT MOBNIira.

5 '.

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senl for her last night, but on account of the ball,
she thought she would not trouble her."

*' Oh, Major Percival, something dreadful has hap-
pened," said Mrs. Percival, rising in great agitation ;
" I feel it ! I know it ! She has been carried off
again, and we shall never see her more !"

" Nonsense, Mrs. Percival ! She is doubtless
somewhere in the village," said the major, conceal-
ing his own alarm. " I will go in search of her."

" Let me accompany you," said Nugent, springing
up ; for the many dangers Edith had recently
escaped, made them doubly anxious.

Both quitted the house together, and walked rap-
idly in the direction of the village.

" I fear there may be danger, father," said Nugent,
uneasily ; '* the whole affair seems rather myste-
rious."

" Heaven forbid !" said his father, hurriedly ; " but
we must see this boy with «vhom she departed, and
learn what has happened from him."

They walked on in silence, until they reached the
widow's humble cottage. Mrs. Dillon met them in
the doorway, looked alarmed and excited.

" Oh, Major Percival, I'm so glad to see you !
Just look here," and the widow displayed a purse
filled with bright, gold guineas.

" Why, Mrs. Dillon, what piece of good-fortune is
this you have met with ? You haven't robbed a
bank, I hope," said young Percival.

" No, indeed, Mr. Nugent," said the widow, anx-
iously. " 'Twas Ag brought this home." And she
pointed to where sat her hopeful son and heir, with
his finger in his mouth, looking doggedly on the
ground.

" Eddy ; why, man alive, where did you get all this

HEXT MORMIKO.

273

money ?*' said Nugent, giving him a shake. " Look
up, sir. Have you turned highwayman ?'*

The boy sat in sulky silence.

" I'm terribly afeared he stole it," said th*» widow,
in evident distress ; " he won't tell where he got it,
and I know he never came honestly by it."

" This is serious," said the major, and wust be
seen to. " See here, my fine fellow," he said, sternly,
" where did you get this money ? Have you stolen
it?"

" No, I didn't steal it," said the boy sullenly.

" Where did you get it, then ? Answer me, or I'll
have you committed to prison," said the major with
increasing sternness, in order to intimidate him.

Eddy looked up, and seeing the inflexible look on
the face bending over him, burst into tears.

"Come, my little man, don't cry," said Nugent,
patting him on the head ; " tell the truth, and noth-
ing shall be done to you. Where did you get it?"

" The man gave it to me," sobbed Eddy.

*• What man ?" inquired Percival.

" The man wot told me to bring Miss Edith to
the bluff, last night."

" What /" exclaimed the major, catching him so
fiercely by the arm, that the boy uttered a cry of
pain.

" Father, be calm,'* said Nugent, though his own
face grew deadly pale, " we must hear all the partic-
ulars, and if you frighten him so, he will not speak.
Begin now at the first, Eddy. Who was this man ?"

" I don't know — he didn't tell me his name," re-
plied Eddy.

" Can you describe him ? What did he look like ?"

•* He was tall and dark, with black hair and whis-

374

VEXT MOBNIMO.

kers, and wore a long black cloak. I couldn't see
his face 'cause his hat was pulled away down."

"When did you meet him first ?"

" Yes'day evening. He asked me if Miss Edith
didn't visit Harriet, an' I said yes ; and then he told
me to meet him on the bluff at nine o'clock, and that
he would pay me well."

" Did you go ?" asked Nugent, growing more and
more excited.

**Yes, I went and waited for him in the old barn.
He came and told me to go up to the Hall, and say
Harriet wanted Miss Edith — and then bring her to
him and he'd pay me — I — "

The boy paused, and glanced in terror at the agi*
tated face of the major.

"Go on," said Nugent, hoarsely.

" I'm afraid," said tlie boy, again beginning to cry.

"Go on, go on, go on !" said the younger man, im-
patiently ; " no one shall touch you. Did you
obey ? "

" Yes. I went up to the ball and Miss Edith came
with me. She ran forward when she saw the man,
and called him Fred^ and he gave me this money and
told me to go, and as I ran down hill, I heard her
.voy : * Oh^ Fred, this is very rash !' and then she went
with 'lim into the old house."

Father and son gazed into each other's faces, pale
With •». idefinef! error.

'• Wei), whnt else ?" said Nugent, almost giddy
with strr-nge apprehension.

"Then I come home," went on the boy, reluc-
. r.titly ; " but I wanted to hear who he was, and what
he was going to do. So I came back and stood
where I could see them without they seeing me. I
couldn't see his face, 'cause he had hijs back turned,

NEXT MOBNING.

275

but I could hear them talking. He asked her to
go with him and marry him, or something, and she
said she wouldn't, and then — " Again the boy
paused, and covered his face with a shudder.

" Well, d!«d^ M<?«," said Nugent, in a voice that
sounded husky and unnatural.

" He got awfully angry, and took out a long knife ;
and I got frightened and ran away," said the boy,
trembling at the recollection.

Nugent paused for a moment to master the emo-
tions that threatened to unman him. Then, with an
effort at calmness, he said :

" And what followed next ?"

" I went home and went into bed," continued
Eddy, " until I heard them singing out * fire,' and
then I got up and went to the bluff, and the barn was
burning. I saw the man in the crowd, but I was
afraid to speak to him, he seeme so wild-like.
When the barn was all burned awn, the peo-
pie went away, and I saw him go f
and that's all I know."

"Merciful Heaven!" exclaime
back, as though stunned by a h
murdered r

" And Fred Stanley is her murderer," said the
major, in a voice so deep and unearthly, that it
seemed to issue from the jaws of death.

" It cannot be ! it cannot be I it is monstrous !
impossible ! absurd !" exclaimed Nugent, in wild
excitement. " Fred Stanley could never be an
assassin !"

"I tell you he has murdered her," said his father,
in a tone of concentrated fierceness ; " and by the
heaven above us, his life shall pay for hers. An eye

nto the woods,

Nugent, reeling
blow, •' Edith is

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276

NEXT MOBNIKO.

for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a life for a life !**
he cried, rushing madly from the house.

Nugent followed ; and feeling the necessity for
calmness and firmness in the dreadful crisis, he
laid his hand on his arm and arrested his flying
steps.

" Father, I'ather ! be calm ! be calm for Heaven's
sake ! Think of my mother, if she sees you thus,
and h'^ars this news ; the shock will kill her. For
her sake compose yourself and be calm.**

*' Calm, sir ! dar£ you talk, of calmness when
my daughter has been foully assassinated ? Oh,
Edith I my child ! my child ! I will not think of
mourning for thee until I have had vengeance on thy
murderer !"

" Father, ii is impossible that Fred Stanley has been
guilty of this dreadful deed. I will never believe it!"
cried Percival, excitedly. "A nobler heart nevei
beat within the breast of man than his."

" Who else is there to have done such an act ?**
said the major, passionately ; " did we not part in
anger a few hours before I tell you there was mur-
der in his flashing eyes, as I watched him ride away.
You heard how it occurred. He urged her to fly
with him. She, dreading my anger, refused, and no
doubt maddened by her resistance, he slew her on
the spot. Oh, my daughter ! my daughter ! why
was I not near to save you from so dreadful a fate !"

He wrung his hands, and groaned aloud in bitter
anguish.

" But the villain shall meet his doom," he again
exclaimed, with the old fierceness flashing in his
eyes ; " this very day shall he be arrested !"

They walked on in silence, until they reached the
foot of the bluff.

NEXT MORNINO.

877

" Let us visit the scene of the tragedy,'* said
Nugent, as they paused for a moment to contemplate
the heap of black, smoking ruins.

They turned to ascend. Scarcely had they gone a
dozen steps, when the major's eye fell on something
bright gleaming among the rocks. He stooped to
pick it up, and started back with a cry of horror.

It was the fatal dagger, red with still undried
blood. As he turned it over, his eye fell on the
name engraven on the handle — Frederic Stanley."

"Just Heaven ! how wonr^;' ful is thy retribu-
tion !" he exclaimed, as he hai. 'i:d the knife to his
son. " With this fatal blade the deed was done, and
the murderer's name is on it. In the excitement of
the moment, he has cast it away and forgot it."

Pale with horror, Nugent examined it. He had
often see.i the dagger with Fred ; it had been given
him by his father in his boyhood, and was prized as
his gift. To doubt his guilt longer, seemed out of
the question, and yet how could he believe him guilty.
Fred Stanley, so brave, so generous, so noble-hearted,
guilty of so dreadful a crime. Oh, never, never !
The thought was too unnatural to be entertained.

They stood at length, gazing with feelings impos-
sible to describe on the smoldering remains of the
fire. There Edith had been slain, and her body had
perished amid the flames.

It was with very different feelings they stood gaz-
ing upon the charred and smoking ruins. In Major
Percival's breast, above every other feeling, was the
fierce, burning desire for vengeance. He could
scarcely think of sorrow, so intense was his desire
for revenge ; it seemed an injustice to her memory
to allow her murderer one moment longer to burden
the earth. Hanging seemed a thousand times too

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278

NEXT MORNinO.

good for him, and he would have given worlds
to see him broken on the wheel, tortured on the rack,
or roasted at a slow fire for the crime he had com-
mitted.

In Nugent's heart, horror for his sister's dreadful
fate, a feeling of remorse that he had not been near
to save her, were mingled with agonizing doubts,
whether or not to believe Fred Stanley guilty. One
moment, he almost hated himself for believing him
capable of such an action ; and then the startling
train of circumstantial evidence would arise before
him, until there seemed no longer room for the
shadow of a doubt. Amid all this war of conflicting
emohons, neither of them suspected Ralph de Lisle,
whom they imagined far away.

"Ha! what have we here?" exclaimed Nugenl,
suddenly, as a portion of a blue scarf caught his eye,
lying under a charred and broken stick. He picked
it up. Both recognized it as one Edith had worn
that fatal night. It was of rich, blue silk, embroidered
with silver fringe, and now more than half burned.
It was spotted with blood, and near the end was a
hole, exactly such as would be made by the dagger.

" It is but another proof of his guilt," said the
major, in a low, thick voice. ** Oh, Edith ! Edith !
but there is no time for mourning ! When Justice
is satisfied there will be time enough for tears."

His eyes were burning and tearless, his face was
deadly pale, but there was a look of fierce determina«
tion in his face.

As they re-enter* the village, they were met by
the bust " little u Jord of the inn.

"Ah ! i^ >d morning. Major Percival I good morn-
ing, Mr Nugent ! fine day this ; been up to the fire,
I s'pose ; qtieer thing that, queer thing. S'pose you

HEXT MORNING.

279

haven't seen anything of a tall fellow in a black
cloak, and hat over his face, hey ?"

"What of him?" said Nugent, with breathless
interest.

" Oh, nothing ! nothing ! only he came here late
last night, and ordered a room ; then went out and
didn't come in till after midnight. Two or three
minutes after, he was off to the fire, and since then
nobody's seen him. Funny chap ! went off without
paying the reckoning, and drank more brandy than
I like to think of. Good morning !" And the land-
lord bustled away.

Major Percival hurried to the nearest magistrate,
to make a deposition ol the case, and obtain a war-
rant for the arrest of Fred Stanley. Nugent, finding
the task of anviouncing the dreadful news devolved
opon him, hastened home — stunned and bewildered,
like one who walks in a dream.

Gently as he broke the news to them, the effect
was terrible. Mrs. Percival fell into violent convul-
sions, and was carried to her room. Nell grew
deadly white, and such a feeling of sickness came
over her, that for a moment she was on the verge of
fainting. But when she heard Fred accused as the
murderer, indignation restored her to herself, and
she exclaimed, vehemently :

** I'll never believe it — never, never ! I would as
soon credit it, Nugent, if they said you did it your-
self. Oh, how dreadful ! how dreadful ! — to think
we were all here, dancing and enjoying ourselves,
and Edith lying cold and dead, without one friend
near to aid her ! Oh, Edith, Edith, Edith I my
dearly-beloved sister !**

She covered her face with her hands, and wept
so hysterically that both Nugent and Gus were

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VKZT MORHUro.

alarmed. The latter en'teavored to console her;
but she pushed him away, saying :

**No, no ! let me alone ! Oli, Edith, Edith ! my
murdered sister 1"

And all through that day she wandered about the
gloomy house, wringing her hands and repeating
that dear name — her pale face, disheveled hair, and
disordered dress, giving her the look of one insane.
It was a silent and gloomy mansion, indeed. The
servants, pale with horror, stole about as noiselessly
as ghosts through the house, still as the grave, save
when a wild shriek from the darkened room of Mrs.
Percival would reach their ears. And Nell wandered
vacantly about, twisting her pale fingers and repeat-
ing, ** Edith ! Edith !" — seeing but one object : the
murdered form of her sister.

Through the village the news had spread like wild-
fire. Men were gathered in groups at every corner,
talking over the tragic occurrence ; women forgot
their household affairs to speak of the goodness of
the murdered girl, and weep over her untimely fate
— for Edith was universally beloved. People spoke
of it in low whispers, for the whole affair seemed
wrapped in mystery. Never had such a thing been
heard of before in that quiet little village ; and they
almost: held their breath, as they wondered whose
turn it would be next.

THIS AJOLMT,

2Sl

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE ARREST.

" And yet he seems not overcome,
Although as yet his voice be dumb."

In the little parlor of the " Bottle and Bowl " sat
Fred Stanley. He was stretched at full length on a
lounge, leisurely smoking a cigar, and listening to
the merry, ringing voice of Mrs. Rosie Wilde, as she
alternately scolded the servants, laughed with the
neighbors, and talked to the baby. And while he
indolently watched the blue smoke wreathing up-
ward, Fred was thinking.

He thought of Edith, and wondered if he should
ever see her dear face again ; of her stern father
and his invincible antipathy to himself ; of his hated
rival, Ralph De Lisle ; of his father, who was on the
eve of departure for England, and whom he had
never seen since the night he liberated him ; of the
mysterious Hermit, and wondered what new dinger
was destined lo bring them face to face ; and lastly,
of himself, as yet undecided what to do or whither
to go.

The quick tramp of a horse's feet dashing down
the street arrested his attention. The horseman
drew up and alighted at the inn door. Fred fancied
his form was familiar ; but he stood undecided,
until he heard the new-comer pronounce his name in
quick, hurried tones. The next moment, the door
was thrown violently ooen, and Gus Elliott, pale,
haggard, dusty, and travel-worn, burst into the room.

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" Gus, my dear fellow ! is it possible ?" exclaimed
Fred, springing up and grasping his hand. " But,"
he added, seeing his despairing face, *' what in the
world has happened ?"

Gus fixed his eyes on his face. He could read
nothing tliere but frank astonishment. Would a
guilty man act and look thus ? His doubts, if he
entertained any, vanished in a moment ; and wring-
ing the hand his friend extended, he exclaimed :

** Oh, Fred ! then you have not heard ? How can 1
tell you the dreadful story !"

" WAa( dreadful story ? My dear Gus sit down and
compose yourself. You look as though you were
insane."

" Do I ? I may well look insane. You, too, will
look insane, when you have heard my story."

" Then let me hear it."

" Oh, Fred ! my business here is very painful —
painful in the extreme !"

'* Then, my dear Gus, let me advise you to get it
over as soon as possible. The longer you hesitate,
the worse it will be," said Fred, resuming his seat
on the lounge.

" Have you no idea of what my errand is ? I come
from Percival Hall."

" Well ?" said Fred, inquiringly.

Gus paced silently up and down.

" Does it concern Edith ?" inquired Fred, for the
first time beginning to feel alarmed.

"It does."

" What has happened ? Good Heaven ! Gus, has
De Lisle carried her off again ?"

" No, no ! worse still !" groaned Gus.

** What mean you ?" cried Fred, springing up^
white with apprehension. " Is she — is she — "

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THE ARREST.

283

**Dead/** said Gus, solemnly.

There was a long pause. Gus turned to the win-
dow, to hicje his agitation. He did not venture to
look at his friend, whose deep, labored breathing
sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of tlie room.

"Where — how — when did she die?" he asked, at
length, in a voice so altered that Gus started back in
terror. 4^

" Fred, my dear friend, prepare yourself for the
worst !" he said, scarcely daring to tell all.

"The worst has passed. Edith is dead ! Noth-
ing you can say now will affect me," he answered,
with such unnatural calmness that Fred almost
feared the blow had unsettled his reason.

"Then, Fred, she was — murdered !"

Another long paused followed. Fred's face had
grown so sternly rigid that it looked as though
turned to marble.

" By whom ?" he asked.

" That is unknown," replied Gus, who shrank with
cowardlly fear from telling him all.

"When was she — when did this happen?" said
Fred, whose lips seemed unable to frame the word.

" The night before last. The news has spread like
wildfire ; and I had hoped that you had heard it ere
this, and so spared me the pains of being the first to
announce it."

" Where is Ralph De Lisle .'" said Fred, in a tone
that plainly indicated he had little doubt who was
the murderer.

" I know not. Most probably on his way to Eng-
land, or in the far Southwest. No one suspects him
of being the murderer."

" Who. then, can it be ? How could one so sweet.

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281

THE ABKEST.

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so gentle, have enemies ? Was she robbed as well as
murdered ?"

*' Her body was not found," said Gus, who uttered
each word as slowly and reluctantly as though it
burned his lips. " You recollect, perhaps, the old
barn on the bluff?"

" Yes."

** She was decoyed there and slain. The barn was
afterwards set on fire, and her remains were con-
sumed in the flames."

Something like a groan escaped the lips of Fred.
Sinking into a seat, he shaded his face with his hand,
and for several moments sat silent and motionless.
Then, without rising his head or looking up, he said,
huskily :

" Tell me the particulars. I would know all."

Sadly and reluctantly Gus complied. Fred sat
with his hand still shading his face — his long dark
locks falling heavily over his temples — so cold and
still that he seemed to be slowly petrifying. Gus
related all save who was the suspected murderer —
his lips refused to reveal that.

" You see the affair is wrapped in complete
mystery," he concluded. "But no doubt the mur-
derer will yet be found. No exertion will be spared
to ferret him out. The arm of divine Providence is
long enough to reach him, even to the uttermost
bounds of the earth."

Fred did not speak or move. The suddenness of
the shock seemed to have completely stunned him.

"My dear friend," said Gus, going over and lay-
ing his hand on Fred's shoulder, *' bear up ! It is a
heavy blow, and I can sympathize with you ; but
never despair ! We all knew and loved Edith— we
all feel her loss ; but still, despair is useless. Bear

THE ABBBST.

285

up Fred, and be a man ! I have seen you before
novr face death at the cannon's mouth without winc-
ing ; and will you now sink under affliction like a
timid girl ?"

Fred looked up, and disclosed a face so pale and
eyes so despairing, that Gus felt his words were
worse than useless.

He went and took a seat by the window, and gazed
out. Fred, his face hidden by his hand and his black
locks, sat silent and motionless. And so an hour
passed before either moved or spoke.

The sound of a carriage stopping before the door
at length startled Gus. He looked up eagerly, and
grew a shade paler, as he heard a quick, authorita-
tive voice inquire for " Mr. Frederic Stanley."

" Step into the parlor, sir, if you please. He's
there with another gentleman," said the cheery voice
of Rosie Wilde.

The door was pushed open ; and stern and excited,
the sheriff of the county, followed by a constable,
stood before them.

" Mr. Stanley, I believe," said the sheriff, bowing
to Fred, who lifted his head and answered briefly in
the affirmative.

" Then, sir, I arrest you, in the name of the law,"
said the sheriff, letting his hand fall on the young
man's shoulder.

" Arrest me .'" exclaimed Fred, springing to his feet,
and fiercely shaking off the officer's hand, as though
stung by a viper.

" Such is my painful duty, sir."

" In the name of Heaven, sir, upon what charge ?"
impetuously exclaimed Fred, now thoroughly
aroused into action.

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286

THE ABREST.

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" You are arrested upon charge of having murdered
Edith Percival."

Fred reeled as though suddenly struck, and was
forced to grasp the table for support. For a moment
everything seemed swimming around him ; then, con-
scious that the cold, keen eyes of the official were fixed
upon him, he recovered his usual stately firmness,
and answered, with cold self-possession :

" I am ready to attend you, sir, Gus, farewell I
Do you believe this charge ?"

" Heaven forbid, Fred !" said Gus, in a choking
voice.

" You knew, when you came, I was suspected — did
you not ?"

" Yes ; but it was so monstrous, so absurd, I could
not tell you."

** It would have been better if you had ; but it
matters not now. The world, no doubt, believes me
guilty ; but what care I for the world now ? Sir, I
am quite ready."

The sheriff bowed, and in his charge Fred quitted
the room. Bidding adieu to Mrs. Wilde, whose
lamentations were loud and heartfelt, he entered the
carriage, which was driven immediately toward the
county jail.

THE TBIAL.

287

CHAPTER XXX.

THE TRIAL.

•* And he for her had also wept,

But for her the eyes that on him gaze4,
His sorrow, if he felt it, slept.

Stern and erect his brow was raised ;
Whate'er the grief his soul avowed.
He would not shrink before the crowd."

A fortnight had passed away since the arrest of
Fred Stanley. The court would sit in another week,
and his trial was among the first in the session.

In his cell the prisoner sat alone. His face was
pale but firm, sad but composed. His long-neglected
locks fell darkly over his loftly brow, as he sat
watching a faded sunbeam that stole through the
dusty, grated window. He heard the key turn in
the lock ; the next moment the door opened, and
Gus entered,

Fred arose and extended his hand, saying, with a
sad smile.

"This is indeed kind, Gus! All the rest of the
world seems to have cleserted me but you."

** They believe you guilty, Fred — I do not. I would
have visited you before, but circumstances would
not permit. When does your trial come on.^*

" To-morrow week."

" You have engaged counsel ?"

" Yes, Mr. Joice — one of the best lawyers in thft
State."

•* That's well. Oh, there's no fear of your acquit

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388

THE TRIAL.

5 m >i

tal, Fred. It seems incredible to me how you could
c*rer have been suspected."

"You forget the circumstantial evidence."

" Nothing dut circumstantial evidence, neverthe-
less, my dear friend."

" True, but much slighter has been found sufficient
to condemn a man before now."

** But it will not in your case. I feel sure of it !
It is impossible, Fred, that you can be convicted !**
exclaimed Gus, impetuously rising and pacing the
cell.

" Well, never mind that now. What's the news
from the outer world ? What does public opinion
say of me ?"

" Public opinion's a — fool !"

** In many cases it is, no doubt ; but what does it
say of me ?'*

*' I says you're — guilty."

" I thought so," said Fred, quietly. " This chari-
table world is always inclined to look on the worst
possible side of things. No doubt there will be an
immense crowd at the trial."

" Oh, of course ! you never saw such excitement.
Your family and the Percivals being so highly con-
nected, nothing else is talked of. People are looking
forward to the trial with an eagerness and anxiety
you can have no idea of. They are crazy to get a
sight of you, too, and you may expect to endure a
pretty prolonged stare from a couple of thousand
eyes on that day. This exaggerated anxiety would
be ludicrous were it not so annoying," said Gus,
biting his lip.

*' Where are the Percivals now ?" inquired Fred,
after a pause.

** The major and Nugent are in town, here Mrs.

THE TBIAL,

289

Percival, whose life is despaired of, is at home ; and
poor Nell, half-insane with grief, is with her."

" Is my father here yet ?"

" Yes ; I saw him yesterday, looking as though
fifty years had lately been added to his age ; but as
proud and haughty as ever. 'Tis said he will wait
until after your trial, and then leave for England."

" I suppose he imagines me guilty, like the rest ?'*

" No doubt ; but when your trial is over, and your
innocence clearly proved, perhaps they will change
their tune."

"It matters little," said Fred, "even though I am
acquitted ; public opinion will still believe me guilt}'',
and I will be just as much a murderer in the eyes of the
world, as though I had been condemned. But what
do I care for the opinion of the world ?" he added,
drawing himself proudly up, while some of the old
haughtiness flashed in his eye, and curled his lip.
" I live in a world of my own, as high above
theirs as heaven is above the earth. But you, dearGus
— I should be sorry to lose your faith in my integrity.
How will you be able to maintain your belief in my
innocence, against such an overwhelming mass of
testimony as will be brought against me ?"

" Though all the world should believe you guilty,
Fred, I never will," replied Gus, firmly.

" Even though I should be condemned ?"

" Even though you should be condemned !"

" Heaven bless you, my dear friend," said Fred,
grasping his hand, while tears sprang to his deep
dark eyes.

" And now I must leave you, Fred," said Gus. " I
will see you to-morrow again, if possible. Mean-
time, remember the old motto : * Hope on, hope

ever.

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THE TRIAL.

" There remains but little for me to hope for," said
Fred sadly. " Hitherto, I have always borne an
unsullied name ; but now, the disgrace of this trial
for murder will cling to me for life."

" Nonsense, Fred ! the world is not so unjust !
* Before morning dawns, night is ever darkest.'
There are bright days in store for you yet, believe

me.

"You are unusually full of * wise saws* to-day,
Gus," said Fred with something like the old smile
flitting over his handsome face. " I shall wait
impatiently for your coming, to-morrow ; for, shut
in this black hole, it seems like a glimpse of the outer
world to catch sight of you."

Gus knocked at the door to be let out. The jailor
opened it, and the youth disappeared.

The day of trial came at last. Even at early morn
the streets were crowded by the excited mob, anxious
to catch a glimpse of the prisoner when he should
be led forth. Stores were closed ; for men forgot to
buy and sell in talking over the dreadful murder,
and the assassin's probable fate. Women forgot
their ordinary occupation, to chat over the demerits
of the case ; for the prisoner being young, handsome
and highly connected, deeply interested the fair sex.
Even children forgot their marbles and tops in the
all-absorbing topic ; and played at " trials," and
talked of judge and juries, instead of kites and pen-
knives. In short, nothing was thought or spoken of,
but the one exciting subject — the trial of Frederic
Stanley, on the appalling charge of murder.

The doors were at length thrown open — the crowd
rushed in, and the court-room was filled to suffoca-
tion. A deep, low murmur, like the surging of the

THE TRIAL.

201

sea, filled the air, as the mighty crowd swayed to
and fro. The murmur increased almost into a roar
as the prisoner, in the custody of the sheriff, entered.
The dark, scowling faces on every side showed how
deeply the mob were prejudiced against him, and it
was with the utmost difficulty order could be main-
tained.

Fred entered with the careless grace habitual to
him — his fine head erect, his keen, dark eyes fixed
calmly on the excited crowd. More than one scowl-
ing glance fell before his haughty, scornful eye ; and
the public were forced to think that he looked far
more like some captive prince than an assassin. If
he were guilty, he certainly betrayed no sign of it.

Taking his place at the bar, Fred glanced again
at the crowd in the coart-room. There sat Major
Percival, with a brow stem and dark as night, his
eyes fixed on the prisoner with a look of such intense
hatred and loathing, that he seemed longing to tear
him limb from limb. Near him sat Nugent, his eyes
fixed on the crowd, his brow clouded ; but there was
a look far more of sorrow than of anger on his face.
That he believed him guilty there could be little
doubt ; and for a moment a feeling of despair
weighed on the heart of Fred at the thought : " If
Nugent Percival, with his Of>cn, generous nature,
and noble mind, believed him capable of murder,
what could he expect from strangers ?"

At the opposite end of the court-room, with his
arms folded across his breast, his cloak thrown over
his shoulders, and wrapped in his haughty pride as
in a garment, sat Sir William Stanley. His face was
cold and stern, his eye clear and unpitying, his
mouth firm and rigid. Whether be believed in his
ion's guilt or not, it would be hard to determine.

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292

THB TRIAL.

Nothing could be read from his face ; all was stern
and expressionless there.

Again he glanced over the crowd. Whichever
way he turned, nothing met his eyes but fierce looks
and sullen glances. Those who had been his friends
in other days, sat with downcast eyes and averted
faces ; no kindly look was there. Not one among
all that immense crowd, if called upon to pronounce
his doom, but would have shouted : '' Guilty !
guilty !"

He turned away with a feeling of despair at his
heart, but his outward bearing was bold, undaunted,
and almost defying. He glanced at the Bench.
Even the presiding judge seemed to have made up
his mind as to the guilt of the prisoner, judging by
the look his face wore.

As for the jury, little could be read from their
blank faces, but more than one of them he knew to
be his personal enemies.

Amid all that assembly, there was but one who in
his heart believed in the innocence of the prisoner.
Gus, faithful to the last, stood by his side, returning
every look of hatred directed toward his friend with
compound interest, and endeavoring, by his cheerful
face and hopeful glances, to encourage him to trust
for the best.

Having taken his place, the usual charge was read,
arraigning the prisoner with the willful murder of
Edith Percival, by stabbing her with a knife, on the
night of the fifth of June. Fred listened with out-
ward calmness to the cliarge, and when tlie clerk of
the court asked the usual question : "Frederic Stan-
ley, liow say you — are you guilty or not guilty of
the felony with which you are charged ?" his dark eye

THB TBIAL*

293

flashed and his lip curled, as he answered, with cold
haughtiness :

"Not guilty !"

The State's attorney then arose, and proceeded
witii liis address. No pen can describe tiie emotions
which liis eloquence and pathos produced in ii.inds
already made up to believe the prisoner's guilt. To
destroy any favorable impression the well-known
nobleness and generosity of the priscner might have
made on the minds of the jury, he spoke of the ex-
cesses to which blind rage will often excite even the
most tranquil, of his known haughtiness and fiery
temper, which could never endure opposition.

He dwelt long and eloquently on each trifling cir-
cumstance that could by any possibility heighten his
guilt, until Gus grew pale with apprehension.

As he proceeded to state the case, the audience
were wrought up to a pitch of the highest excite-
ment.

He stated that the prisoner at the bar had con-
ceived a passion for his unhappy victim, knowing
her to be the betrothed of another ; how by his art-
ful words he induced her to forget her plighted
engagement and turn her affections to himself, that
he had audaciously disclosed his feelings to the
father, boasting of his ascendancy over her at the
same time ; that meeting with what he deserved, an
indignant dismissal, he had departed in high anger;
that some time after, her former engagement being
broken by a circumstance not necessary to mention,
the prisoner, on the evening of the murder, again
made his appearance in the little village — thinking,
no doubt, he was now sure of success ; that he was
met by the young lady's father, who refused to per-
mit him to see her, that angry words ensued, and the

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THE TRIAL.

prisoner rode off in high displeasure ; but instead of
leaving the village, had by means of a little boy,
decoyed his victim to a lonely house, and there, upon
her steadily refusing to fly with him, murdered her.

The prosecuting attorney spoke of all this at length,
not with the brevity with which it is summed up
here.

He referred to the gentle and amiable character of
the unhappy young lad}^ — her beauty, her goodness,
and the deep, trusting affection for himself 'vith
which her murderer had inspired her. How unsus-
pectingly she had been betrayed into meeting the
unworthy object of her love, and because her sense
of duty was greater than her affection for him, was,
as she stood there with him, alone and helpless, basely
assassinated.

So touching was the picture he drew, so pathetic
were his words, that all the women present sobbed
convulsively, and even among the men, many eyes,
all unused to the " melting mood," grew dim, and
flashed still more fiercely through their tears on the
prisoner who, with his face shaded by his hand, strove
to hide the agony he endured, when the speaker
dwelt on the harrowing fate of his beloved Edith.

The State's attorney concluded by saying he would
prove his statements by /acfs — stern, undeniable
facts — by competent and respectable witnesses, whom
he would now call in the order of the circumstances
they were to prove had occurred.

"Major Percival will take the stand."

The major advanced, and after the usual oath, tes-
tified that the prisoner at the bar had conceived a
passion for the deceased, whicli she returned, that
the prisoner had boldly informed the witness of it,
and that they had parted in high anger. That on

THE TRIAL.

295

the evening of the murder the witness had accident-
ally met the prisoner, and accosted him, demanding
his business there, knowing he could have come for
no good purpose ; that the prisoner had audaciously
told him he came to see his daughter once more
before leaving the country ; that he indignantly
bade him begone, and that the prisoner in a rage
had rode off, and that he had not seen him since
until to-day at the bar.

Being cross-examined, he admitted, that at part-
ing, the prisoner had made use of no threats, and
that his own words had been angry and insulting.
The witness was then allowed to retire.

The next witness called was Nugent Percival.

He corroborated the testimony of his fat'ier ; and
further deposed, that after learning the particulars
of the murder, he had, in company with his father,
visited the spot ; that he had found a dagger,
stained with blood, which he knew to be the prop-
erty of the prisoner, as it bore his name, and had
been the gift of his father. That he likewise dis-
covered a portion of a silk scarf, which he knew the
deceased had worn on the night of the murder.

The dagger and scarf were produced, and identi-
fied by the witness.

A severe cross-examination followed, but nothing
more was elicited.

Sir William Stanley was then called ; who, after
closely examining the dagger, pronounced it to be
the same he had himself given his son.

Fred listened like one thunderstruck to this testi-
mony. That the dagger was his, there could be no
doubt, and he now recollected having lost it a short
time previous to the murder ; but had troubled him-

''4

I! I

296

THE TBIAL.

self little about it — never dreaming it would yet bear
so fatally against him in a court of justice.

Gus, who had listened with equal surprise, now
stooped down and whispered :

" Bah ! that proves nothing. The murderer might
have accidentally found it or stolen it to lay the
blame on you."

The third witness called was Edward Dillon.

Master Eddy came up with a swagger, evidently
in the hightest spirits. Convinced that nothing
would be done to him for his share in the transac-
tion, and elated by the reward promised him if he
told the truth boldly, he was in excellent humor,
and delighted to find himself shining off before so
great a crowd.

** Witness, do you understand the nature of an
oath ?" asked the State's attorney.

" 'Spect I do," said Eddy, seriously.

"What is an oath ?"

Eddy laid his finger on his nose in deep medita-
tion ; but, evidently, the question was a poser. He
glanced appealingly at the judge, but that high func-
tionary was looking at him through his gold-rimmed
spectacles, with silent but overwhelming dignity.
Finding no help from this quarter, Eddy scratched
his head with a look of intense perplexity.

" Witness, what is an oath ? " solemnly repeated
his interlocutor.

"Weil, if I must, I musf, though I plaguey hate
to," said Eddv. " When you told the tailor day
afore yesterday when he asked you for his bill, to *go
to the devil,* fAai was an oath."

A roar of laughter from the crowd followed this,
while the attorney, who was noted for now and then
indulging in profanity, turned crimson with rage.

TEE TBIAL.

297

** Silence, sir, and answer to the point,'* he angrily
exclaimed. "Do you know where you'll go to
when you die if you take a false oath ?"

" Well, I s'pose I'd go where they say all the bad
folks and the lawyers go."

And Eddy gave his head a peculiar jerk, to design-
ate the place below.

Another snicker from the crowd followed this ;
and convinced by this time that Eddy really did
know the nature of an oath, the court concluded
that that promising young gentleman should be
sworn.

"Witness, look at the prisoner at the bar."

Eddy turned and favored Fred with a patronizing
nod and grin.

" Now, witness, you have seen the prisoner. Do
you know him ?"

" Well, I can't say that I am particularly acquainted
with him," answered Eddy gravely.

" Have you ever seen him before ?"

" Well, now, I really couldn't say for certain, you
know. Think I have, though."

" Does he look like any one you have ever seen ?'*

" If he had a long cloak on, and a hat pulled over
his fa'e, I would be s'prised if he looked uncommon
like the chap as got me to go for Miss Edith."

" Witness, on your oath, can you testify that this
is not the same person who paid you on the night of
the murder to bring the young lady to the lone house
on the bluff ?"

** 'Twas after niorht, and his hat was away down
over his face, and the rest of him was kivered up in
a big cloak, and not having the eyes of a cat, I
couldn't 'stinguish him precisely. He was 'bout the

i •!

298

THE TRIAL.

!!l

•? ;

St*,' 7 -: (

size of that 'ere prisoner, though, and — yes, he had
long, black hair like him, too — I saw that."

" Well, now tell the jury all that passed between
you and the murderer that night."

Interlarding the narrative with many explanations
of his own, not particularly lucid, and many pro-
found observations on what he thought and said to
*' hisself," which were generally cut short by the
unceremonious attorney, Eddy proceeded with his
tale, which is too well known to the reader to need
repetition here.

When he came to the meeting, where Edith
addressed her murderer as *' Fred^' the prisoner lifted
his head and gazed upon the boy with a look of utter
amazement. That he was telling the truth there
could be no doubt, for there was an unmistakable
look of honesty and candor on his face.

Eddy was severely cross-examined by the counsel
for the defense, but all his answers were plain and
straightforward, and to the point. At length, thor-
oughly exasperated by this raking fire of cross-ques-
tions, he indignantly and stoutly refused to answer
a single question more. And amid the laughter of
the audience, Master Eddy was permitted to sit
down.

The girl Betty was then called, who corroborated
the evidence of Eddy, as far as coming for the
deceased was concerned, and further identified the
scarf as one the deceased had worn on leaving home.

The landlord of the inn was the next witness sum-
moned, who deposed that a stranger, answering to
the description given of the murderer, had engaged
a room in his house for the night, that half an hour
previous to the murder, he had hastily left the house
and turned in the direction of the old house on the

THE TRIAL.

sya

bluff ; that he had returned in great haste, and evi-
dently much excited, and drank a great deal of
brandy ; that, upon the alarm of fire being given, he
had hastened out with the rest, and that iiis almost
frantic actions had excited the wonder of several ;
that after the fire, he (the witness) had hastened
home, that he observed the assassin plunge into the
woods, and returned to his house no more. Being
cross-pxamined, he could not swear positively that
the prisoner at the bar and the murderer were one
and the same person, as he had not, during the night,
procured a good view of his face, but he thought \.\\t,y
were the same — their height was alike, the color of
their hair, etc.

Several other witnesses were examined, but noth-
ing more of importance was elicited, and the court
was shortly after adjourned until the following day.

On the second day of the great trial, the crowd
was even greater than before — all eager to hear the
fate of the prisoner. Every eye was turned upon
him as he entered. Pale, but firm, his eagle eye
met the gaze of that crowd, all anxious for his con-
demnation, without flinching, and taking his seat,
he lifted his princely head, and fixed his dark eyes
on the Bench as calmly as though the men before
him held not his life in their hands.

When the last witness for the prosecution had been
examined, the defense was taken up, and conducted
with great skill and eloquence by the counsel for the
prisoner. He spoke at length upon the high char-
acter his client had always maintained, and enlarged
on every point that could possibly been in his favor.
It was evident, however, his words made but little
impression on the minds of the jury.

The counsel for the prosecution then arose, and

300

THE TRIAL.

m-:'n

summed up the testimony against the prisoner in
one mighty, crushing mass of evidence. When the
judge stood up to charge the jury, the silence of that
mighty crowd was so deep that it might almost be
felt. It was quite evident that in his mind there ex-
isted no doubt of the prisoner's guilt, and though he
urged the jury to deliberate calmly upon the evi-
dence, every one present felt that the prisoner's doom
was sealed

The jury withdrew to deliberate, and the silence
of that mighty crowd was so profound and ominous
that it was painful to witness. Every eye was di-
rected toward the prisoner, who, with his stately
head erect, his proud, handsome face as cold and
firm as marble, betrayed no sign of his feelings with-
in. Gus, noble, true-hearted Gus, still stood faith-
ful by his side, his only remaining friend, and look-
ing fierce defiance at every scrowling glance
directed toward Fred.

And what were the feelings of those who in other
days had stood by him during those awful moments
of suspense. Sir William Stanley, as stern and grim
as death itself, sat with his lips compressed, his stony
eyes fixed on the floor, his iron face expressing no
emotion, whatever. Major Percival sat, deadly pale,
but with the old look of mingled hatred and triumph
on his face. Nugent's head was bowed on his hand,
his face hidden by his falling hair.

Presently the jury re-entered. The foreman
arose, and announced that their verdict was ready.
One look at their sad, stern faces, and every heart
stood still, knowing well what was to come.

The judge arose.

** Gentlemen of the jury, how say you, is the pris-
oner at the bar guilty or not guilty ?"

EDITH'S STOBT.

801

** Not guilty r cried the clear, excited voice of a
female, and forcing her way through the crowd that
fell back in mingled fear and amazement, a young
girl stood before the bench.

Throwing back the veil that hid her face, the new-
comer turned slowly round, and the wonder-struck
spectators beheld the pale but beautiful Edith Per-
cival.

CHAPTER XXXI.

EDITH S STORY.

** Then think of this maxim, and cast away sorrow.
The wretched to-day may be happy to-morrow 1"

For a moment the profound silence of intense
amazement held every tongue speechless, every voice
silent, and the dense crowd stood motionless, spell-
bound ! And then, " Edith ! Edith ! Edith Per-
cival !" rang out like the roar of the sea.

The excitement and uproar was fearful ; the judge
sat transfixed ; the jury gazed on her with mouth
and eyes agape ; the crowd reeled and swayed to see
one who seemed to have risen from the grave to vin-
dicate the prisoner ; the clerk of the court forgot to
cry silence, and stood staring in speechless astonish-
ment, like the rest.

And Fred — the sudden revulsion of feeling, the
unexpected sight of one he imagined in heaven, came
so stunningly upon him, that for a moment the sight
left his eyes, liis senses reeled, and he leaned his head
upon the railing, feeling as though he should faint.

.■

f i.

302

Edith's stort.

i I

It was but for an instant — then all his wonderful
power of self-control came back, and he lifted his
head — almost fearing what he had seen and heard
was but a delusion, a dream. But no, there stood
Edith alive, lovely and radiant as when he first beheld
her — lier soft, blue eyes beaming upon him with such
a look of deep unutterable love.

With a passionate exclamation. Major Percival
arose to his feet, and would have sprung toward his
daughter, but as well might he have endeavored to
force iiis way through a wall of iron, as through that
madly excited crowd. Nugent perceived how vain
would be the effort, and though almost delirious
himself with overwhelming emotion, he strove to
keep him back from the crushing throng of
human beings.

But above all the noise and uoroar that filled the
court-house, there arose a cry, a cry so full of
unspeakable horror and despair, that every heart
stood still. All eyes were turned in the direction
from whence it came, and there, before them, like a
galvanized corpse, stood Ralph de Lisle. Oh ! such
a ghastly face, such livid lips flecked with blood and
foam, such wild despairing, horror-struck eyes !
Every face blanched with a deep, unspeakable awe
as they gazed.

" Sheriff, I command you to arrest Ralph De Lisle,
on charge of attempting the murder of Edith Perci-
val," called a calm, commanding voice, that sounded
strangely clear and cool amid all that wild storm of
passion and excitement, and waving his arm to
where stood the conscience-stricken man, the Hermit
of the Cliffs turned toward the Bench.

" Never !" shouted De Lisle, fiercely — all his preS'
ence of mind returning with the imminence of his

Edith's stort.

3u;;

danger, as he struggled madly to force his way
through the waving sea of beings between him and
the door.

But he strugj^ied in vain. The strong hand of the
officer grasped his collar in a grip of iron.

" Dog of a sheriff ! release me !" he cried, foaming
witli rage, and endeavoring to wrench himself from
his powerful grasp.

Half-a-dozen willing hands were raised to aid the
officer, when De Lisle, seeing all hope was past, with
the rapidity of lightning, drew a pistol and leveled it
at Edith. She stood white and motionless, unable
to move, while a low cry of horror arose from the
spectators. But his murderous object failed, for as
quick as thought, his arm was struck upward, while
the pistol fell to the ground and went off. A shriek
of pain followed, and a boy was raised from the
floor, bleeding, and carried out — the ball having
lodged in his ankle.

This did not tend to allay the feelings of the mob,
who turned upon De Lisle, and would have torn him
in pieces but for the interference of the officers. His
arms, after desperate resistance, were pinioned firmly
behind his back, and still struggling like a madman,
he was borne to a place of safety.

With the utmost difficulty, peace was at length
restored, and Edith was commanded to tell her
story ; and then the deepest silence followed where
a moment before all had been fierce noise and wild
uproar, and all ears were bent and necks strained to
catch each word that fell from her lips. But Edith
was so weak and faint from excitement, that her
voice was inarticulate. A chair was brought for her,
and a glass of water presented by Gus, who — poor,
faithful fellow — scarcely knew whether he ought to

' ''<i

■i

304

Edith's stobt.

r li

laugh or cry, and consequently did neither, and then,
revived, Edith turned to the Bench, and began :

" I presume all here present know most of the
events of that night. Oh, that dreadful night ! I
cannot even now think of it without a shudder.

"Thinking I was to visit his sister, I accompanied
the boy, Eddy Dillon, from home. Forming some
excuse, he persuaded me to go with him to the old
house on the bluff. As we ascended the hill, the
figure of a man wrapped in a cloak — his face hidden
by his hat — stepped from the old house and stood
before us. I imagined it to be Frederic Stanley,
who that evening had been in the village, and think-
ing he had employed the boy to lead me there for
a clandestine interview, I addressed him by his name.
He did not reply, but said something in a whisper
to Eddy, who immediately ran away. Still, thinking
it was Fred, I followed him into the old house, and
again called him by his nair.e. Still he was silent.
I grew alarmed ; when he dropped his cloak, raised
his hat, and I saw before me my mortal enemy —
Ralph De Lisle !"

Edith shuddered, and covered her face with her
hands as memory conjured up that almost fatal
night.

" 1 was so shocked, so startled, so terror-stricken,
that for a moment I almost fainted. I scarcely know
how I rallied, but I was inspired by sudden courage,
and stood fearlessly before him. He urged me to fiy
with him or die. Death was preferable to life with
him, and I refused. Blinded, maddened by my
refusal, he drew a dagger and plunged it into my
side. Dimly, as one remembers a frightful dream, I
recollect falling to the ground ; then I drew out the
knife, and then all grew dark, and with a dull roar*

bdith's stout.

805

the
! I

ing sound as of many waters in my ears, memory and
life were alike for a time lost in oblivion.

" When I again opened my eyes, I found myself
lying in the little cottage umong the cliffs, occupied
by the aged hermit. For days I hovered between
death and life, and with a care for which I can never
be sufficiently grateful, the hermit watched over me,
night and day. He scarcely ever left me, even for
his necessary repose ; and owing to his care, I
slowly recovered. He said it would be dangerous
to remove me home, and I was too weak and power-
less to care where I was. As he never went out,
we heard nothing of what was transpiring in the
outer world, until yesterday, yielding to my entreat-
ies, he went to inform my parents that I was still
alive. The first person he met related the arrest of
Mr. Stanley, and informed him he was to be tried
for murdering me to-day. With almost frantic
haste, he turned home and told me all ; and scarcely
pausing to make the necessary arrangements, we
started for this place, and, thank Heaven ! we have
arrived in time to vindicate the innocence of Fred-
eric Stanley."

Edith paused and glanced with a look of
unchangeable affection toward the spot where Fred
sat — his face alternately flushing and paling with
powerful emotion. There was a moment's dead
silence, and then a cheer that made the old court-
house ring came from every excited heart. Yes ; in
that moment a complete revulsion of feeling took
place in every breast. Fred's triumph was complete ;
and with its usual impulsive inconsiderateness, the
mob as heartily rejoiced in his innocence as, a few
moments previously, they had done in his guilt.

** But how were you rescued ?" said the judge,

30«

Edith's story.

i' f

partaking of the universal excitement. " This blank
in your story — "

"Can be filled by me," interrupted the hermit,
stepping forward. " On the night in question, pass*
ing accidently — or rather by a dispensation of Prov-
idence which men call chance — near the bluff, I
beheld, to my surprise, a sudden jet of flame shoot
up from a pile of rubbish near. Anxious to know
the cause, I hastened up and entered the old barn.
All was deserted and dreary around ; and I was
about to quit it, and give the alarm, when my eyes
fell on an object lying at my feet, that almost trans-
fixed me with horror, that froze the very blood in
my veins. There, lying cold and lifeless, bathed
in blood, lay Edith Percival. In a moment, the
whole truth burst upon me. She had been murdered
there, and the assassin had set fire to the house to
conceal the evidence of his crime. Should I leave
her to perish in the fiames ? No ; not if I died with
her. An almost superhuman strength seemed to
inspire me. I raised her lifeless form in my arms as
though she had been an infant, and turned in the
direction of the Cliffs. At any other time the feat
would have been impossible ; but a strength not my
own seemed suddenly to have been granted to me,
and ere morning dawned, I had reached my little cot-
tage in safety.

I had imagined her dead ; but, to my surprise and
joy, I soon discovered signs of life. Having a little
knowledge of surgery, I examined the wound, and
discovered that, though dangerous, it was far from
being mortal. I applied such remedies as I knew to
be good in such a case ; and, in the course of a few
days, she began to recover. I did not wish to tell
her friends, knowing they would disturb her with

.iw.uiii gwggaBswffTWffu

BDITH's 8T0HT.

307

visits, and perhaps insist on having her removed —
a proceeding which I knew would be highly danger-
ous. The world calls me odd, and eccentric — per-
haps this was one of my eccentricities ; besides,
I wished to have the pleasure of returning to her
family she whom they imagined dead. It never
occurred to me that any one but the real murderer
would be arrested. Judge, therefore, of my surprise,
when the first time I left home I learned that Fred-
eric Stanley had been arrested, and was about to be
tried for her murder. I lost no time in hastening
here — and here I am."

And then such another shout as rent the air ! — the
crowd seemed to have gone wild. Then the court
was adjourned, and the prisoner ilischarged, and
Edith went over and laid her hand in his, and looked
up in his face with her love-beaming fjyes.

The friends of Fred were now pressing around
to shake hands and congratulate him on his tri-
umphant vindication. And first among them came
Gus, with " a smile on his lip and a tear in his eye,"
— and who shook Fred's hand until it ached, and
who squeezed Edith's little hand until her fingers
tingled. Then way was made for Major Percival
and his son, the dense crowd opening right and left
to allow them to pass. Their meeting was not
a very demonstrative one — it could not be in that
crowded court-room ; but it was none the less heart-
felt and deep for that.

•' And Fred, papa ?" said Edith, gently.

The face of the major grew red with a flush of
honest shame and embarrassment, as he held out his
hand. For a moment Fred hesitated ; all his pride
rose as he recollected the many indignities he had
received from the man before him. Edith saw the

308

EDITHS 8T0RY.

f fei t\

Struggle in his mind, and laying her hand on his arm
and lifting her soft, reproachful eyes to his face,
she said :

" Dear Fred !"

He could not resist that witching glance. The
next moment, his hand grasped that of the major's
in the warm clasp of friendship.

" And thus do I atone for the past," said the major,
placing the hand of Edith in that of Fred.

In that moment, the past — all its wrongs, and
sorrows, and suffering were forgotten. That instant
of bliss more than compensated for the troubled,
stormy past.

There was one other whose eyes fell on that scene.
Ralph De Lisle, pinioned like a malefactor, and led
out between two officers, saw it as he passed. He
gnashed his teeth in impotent rage, and his eyes, in
their frenzied despair, glared upon them like the
burning orbs of a tiger. Such a look of undying
hate and fierce anguish Lucifer might have worn,
when cast from heaven. His livid lips opened to
heap curses upon them, but words refused to come.
His face grew black and convulsed — his eyes turned
in their sockets — he reeled, and would have fallen to
the ground, had not the officers supported him in
their arms.

As they raised him from the ground, a dark stream
of blood flowed from his mouth. In his agony of
rage and despair, he had ruptured a bloodvessel.

They bore him off to prison, while the spectators
gazed on, horror-struck. Faint and sick, Edith hid
her face in her brother's shoulder, with a shudder.

" Let us go," said Nugent, turning away, pale with
horror, as he passed his arm around his sister's waist,
to lead her from the room.

Edith's story.

30d

*' You will accompanj^ us, of course*' said the major,
in an imperative tone to Fred, who glanced at Edith,
and bowed, with a smile. "And you, too," added
the major, turning to the Hermit, whose eyes were
fixed, as if fascinated, on Sir William Stanley — as,
borne along by the swaying rush, he was appror.clii g
them,

" No," said tne hermit, gravely ; " my task is
ended, and I must return home."

" Oh, pray come with us !" said Edith, eagerly ;
"you will be much happier, I am sure, than living
all alone among those dreary cliffs."

But the hermit only shook his head, and steadily
refused.

Finding entreaties vain, they turned to go out —
when, unable to extricate himself from the crowd,
Sir William Stanley stood directly beside them. All
paused, in momentary expectation. Fred's cheek
flushed, and his heart throbbed, as he caught his
father's eye. He would have held out his hand, but
the baronet's stern look forbade it. Lifting his hat
to Edith, he bowed coldly to the rest, and passed on,
with the same look of iron inflexibility his hard face
always wore. Suddenly, his eye fell on the Hermit,
who was half hidden behind the tall figure of Fred.
He gave a sudden start, as though he had received
a galvanic shock — his face grew deadly white, and
then deepest crimson, as he plunged into the crowd
and disappeared.

A carriage was in waiting, to convey them to Per-
cival Hall. The hermit, in spite of their united
entreaties, persisted in refusing to accompany them,
and at the door bade them farewell. The major,
Edith, Nugent, Fred, and Gus therefore entered, and
were soon on their way home.

I i

f^ I

< !

310

"the wages of sin is death."

They traveled slowly, for Edith was still weak ;
and the next day, about noon, arrived at the hall^
Who can describe tiie meeting that there ensued ?
Joy seldom kills, and though the shock nearly ex-
tinguished the slight spark of life that yet lingered
in the breast of Mrs. Percival, she slowly began to
recover. As for Nell, her first impulse was to embrace
every one present, which she accordingly did, to the
great disgust of Gus — who would have been infi-
nitely better pleased to have received them all himself.
That young lady remained quite serious for a day or
two ; but after that she became the same incorrigi-
ble she had been before. And Gus, driven to des-
peration, declared that, of all the trials his friend
had been afflicted with, he had never to endure so
SAvere a trial as Nell Percival.

y ;l

irH

CHAPTER XXXII.

"the wages of sin is death."

" Burning heart and beating brow
Ye are very quiet now " — E. B. BROWNING.

It was night — dark, chill, and dismal. The rain
pattered like spectral figures against the grated
windows, the wind moaned and wailed drearily
without.

In his cold, fireless cell, sat the once gay and
handsome Ralph De Lisle. Dark and wild was
the storm without, and darker and wilder was the
heart within his bosom. His face was blanched to

"the WAGK8 OP SIN 18 DEATH."

311

the hue of death, and looked still whiter, contrasted
with his heavy black locks. He was half-reclining
on his wretched bed — lying so still, so motionless,
that one might have tiiought him dead, but for the
fierce living light blazing in his wild, black eyes.

It was wonderful how he could lie there so immov-
able, with such a fire in his heart ; the burning fire
of remorse. All his life seemed passing in review
before him, and he almost shuddered to find himself
so young in years, yet so old in crime. His part in
the drama of life was over ; and the world would go
round as though he never had existed. He felt like
a man who has staked his all on the gaming-table,
and lost. The world had been to him a chess-board,
and men and women had moved as he willed ; but
an unseen though powerful hand had been playing
against him ; another had won, and Ralph De Lisle
was check-mated in the great game of life.

Like some dark panorama, all the events of his
life were still passing before him. He thought of
the past — of his boyhood, with all its bright prom-
ises, high hopes, and glorious delusions. How easy
all those noble projects seemed of realization then !
but like the mirage of the desert, one by one they
had faded away at his approach. His radiant day-
dreams had all set in a sea of blood and crime, and
he had went down, down, in his rapid career of
crime, not daring to look back at the height from
which he had fallen. And then came his visions of
that bright land of light and roses, where Edith
reigned queen ; and once more beseemed wandering
with her through the dim mystic aisles of the grand
old wood, and watching, with his old feeling of
adoration, the golden sunlight falling on her flowing
hair. His prison walls stretched away, and he saw

■il'

312

I'HB WAGES OF BIN IB DEATH.

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■ i 3

himself standing in the lofty rooms of Percival Hall,
with Edith blushing and smiling beside him, his
betrothed bride. He saw her so vividly before him
with her sunny smile, and her blue, love-beaming
eyes sinking beneath his, that the almost forgotten
love of other days came back, and with the irrepres-
sible cry, "Oh, Edith ! my hope! my dream ! my
life !" he stretched out his arms, almost expecting to
enfold the radiant vision before him. It faded away
in thin air, and he awoke with a start from the trance
into which he was falling.

The past was gone ; he could think of it no longer.
And the present ! Could this be he, Ralph De Lisle,
the high-born, the haughty — this convicted felon.
Had all his daring projects, all his bold schemes,
from which less reckless minds would have shrunk —
all his fearless deeds, come to this at last ? He had
trampled the solemn commands of God and the
slavish laws of men alike under his feet ; he had
committed crimes that no other would have dared
to contemplate, until he had begun to fancy himself
above punishment. He had went on so long in his
reckless career of crime with impunity, that he had
forgotten a day of reckoning must yet come ; and
now he realized it at length. He could have made
his escape after his diabolical crime had been perpe-
trated, but some pov/er within chained him to the
spot. He felt sure Fred Stanley would be convicted
and that his triumph would be complete. After the
execution of his rival, his intention was to return to
England, and in God-forgetting London lose the
recollection of the past. But all his projects had
fallen to the ground with a crash ; she whom he
imagined dead was clasped in the arms of his hated

"thb wages of sin is death."

313

foe, and her stern father smiled on their union ; a
life of happiness was before them — and he was here.

What had the future in store for him ? His trial
was soon to come ; and he saw the eyes of the crowd
fixed upon him in hatred and derision. They, whom
if at liberty he would have spurned under his feet,
could now point to him in scorn as the foiled assas-
sin. If the law found him g^iilty and he was con-
demned ! — He shuddered as the gallows and all the
fearful paraphernalia of a felon's death rose before
him. The maddened crowd, glaring at him with
their savage eyes, and ready to tear him limb from
limb as they had attempted to do in the court-house.
And his rival, his mortal enemy, would be there to
exult over his ignominious death ?

But his life might be saved ! True, he was as
much a murderer as though his victim had perished
in the burning house ; but the law might not find
him so. And if he was spared, what then ? A long
life-time of drudgery among felons, the lowest of the
low, until death would place him in a convict's des-
pised grave !

Those hands, small and white as a woman's, must
grow hard and coarse with unceasing toil ; and he, a
De Lisle, born to wealth and honor, must herd
with thieves and murderers for the remainder of his
life. The picture grew too horrible to be longer
endured. He sprang from his bed, with the perspi-
ration standing in great beaded drops on his brow —
his hand clenched until the nails sank into the quiv-
ering flesh — his eyes bloodshot and glaring — an
expression of horror unutterable on his ghastly face !
Oh, in that moment, how fearful was the madden-
ing storm of passion in his guilty heart ! A life-
time of agony seemed concentrating into each

! ;

"the wages of sin is death.*'

u I »

1 ir

It l:i

1 '"it

1 1

second as it passed ; the blood seemed to pour like
molten lead through every vein ; a wheel of fire
seemed crashing through his brain ; his very eyes
seemed like red-hot balls of fire.

He strode up and down like a maniac, and sprmg-
ing to the window, shook the iron bars with the
fierce strength of madness ! His hands were cut
and bleeding, but he heeded it not, as he struggled
like a caged tiger to wrench them away. All in
vain ! the strong grating resisted all his efforts, and
he fell heavily with his face on the stone floor. His
head struck on something sharp, and the blood
rained down from a gash in his forehead. He
pressed his hand to the wound, and gazed on the
flowing blood with a smile that might have chilled
the stoutest heart.

" Never shall they sc degrade Ralph De Lisle,"
he shouted, springing to his feet. " This night the
tragedy shall be completed, and the gaping mob
cheated of its victim ! Do I not hold my life in my
own hands ! and shall I live to become a mark for
the finger of scorn to point at ? Never ! To this
world, with all its dreams and delusions ; to sun, and
moon, and stars, I will this night bid adieu. Ere
morning dawns, this body, and the spirit it contains,
will have sunk into nothingness.

Into nothingness ! Was it a dream, or was it the
mocking laugh of a fiend that rang through the
lonely cell.

" Eternity ! eternity !" he said, passing his hand
across his clammy brow ; " can it be that what
preachers tell us is true, and that there really is an
hereafter ? My mother taught me so once — my
mother ! fiend that I am, dare I mention her sacred
name ! Well, in a few moments I will have solved

"the wages of sin is DEA.TH."

815

that problem, and have learned the mystery that no
living man can ever know."

He walked to the window and listened. How the
driving rain beat against that little casement, how
the wind howled and roared. It seemed to hira like
the voice of the Destroyer, shouting impatiently for
his prey. From the black pall of night that no eye
could penetrate, white spectral faces seemed gleam-
ing, mocking him with their deriding '.aughter. He
turned away ; amid the war of the elements and the
roar of the tempest, should his dark, crime-stained
soul go forth.

The storm passed away with the morning's dawn.
The bright summer sunshine was streaming glori-
ously through the window when the jailer entered.
And there, right in the glow of the blessed sunlight,
hung the convulsed form of Ralph De Lisle — dead
— by his own hand.

Of all the sights which the sun rose upon, it
looked on none more fearful than that. Without
the prison walls, the stream of busy life flowed mer-
rily on ; the bride stood at the altar, the man of
business hurried by, and people talked and laughed
as though despair was a word unknown ; and with-
in, stark and cold in the glare of the sunlight, lay the
rigid form of the dead man, his face upturned to the
sky, and staring wide open were the glassy eyes that
never would look on aught in this world again !

316

A STARTLING DI800VBBY.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

i i

ii.i U]

Hi ■

■i mi
I-

V And thus through all my life it stalked,
That deadly, deadly sin !
Though e'er so fair the outside mirth.
The spectre sat within."

** Go, Elva, go ! I musf see him before I die !**

" Oh, father ! listen to the storm ! How can I go
out to-night !"

"Girl ! I tell you I musf see him — I must ! Do you
hear > Even though fire were falling from heaven,
you should have to go forth, and bring him to me! **

" But, father, I know not where he is ! I could
brave the storm ; but you may die here before I
return."

"I cannot die — I will not die before you return !'*
almost screamed Paul Snowe, tossing in wild delir-
ium on his pillow. "Go, and find Sir William Stan-
ley, I tell you, and bring him here to me. I cannot
die until I have seen him."

It was that same tempestuous night on which
Ralph de Lisle had breathed his last ; and now his
accomplice in crime, Paul Snowe, lay wounded unto
death. Strange that, on the same night, both should
be doomed to die."

He lay in the little room of the inn, near Percival
Hall. It was the same house in which Dti Lisle had
planned the murder of Edith a few weeks before.
Perhaps the recollection of that night added to his
delirium, as he tossed on his bed in feverish agony.

Hiflir*

A STARTLINO DI800VBBT.

817

A week before, as he loitered round the village,
bound by some unaccountable fascination]to the place
of the supposed murder, he had been stabbed in a
drunken brawl. Finding his days were numbered
he had caused them to send for his daughter, Elva,
who had arrived a few hours before.

Troubled and anxious, Elva threw her cloak
over her shoulders, and, tying on her hood, hurried
out into the driving rain. As she passed out, she
encountered the burly landlord, who gazed at her as
though he had seen a ghost.

" Jerusalem !" he ejaculated, in amazement ** you
ain't surely going out anywhere in the storm, Miss
Snowe ?"

" Can you teli me where Sir William Stanley is to
be found ?" inquired Elva, hurriedly.

" Well, no, I rayly can't ; but his son lives up to
Percival Hall. Likely he can tell you."

" Percival Hall !" said Elva, with a start. *\Does if
belong to Major Percival."

" Yes'm."

" Has he a daughter, Edith ?" inquired Elva, with
increasing agitation.

"Yes'm," again responded mine host, looking
rather surprised at the emotion she manifested.

*' Edith ! dear Miss Edith !" exclaimed the impul-
sive Elva, in a sort of rapture, as she darted out into
the blinding storm.

" Well, I never !" said the jolly landlord, opening
his eyes in amazement, until they resembled two mid-
night moons.

In a moment she was back again, and by his side.

"Can you tell me which way I must go to reach
Percival Hall ?" she asked, breathlessly.

" Yes'm. Keep on straight for a spell, then turn

f 1

318

A STARTLING DISOOVEBY,

to the right, and take the forest road. Mind, and
don't go the other way, or you'll break your neck
over the cliffs. You'd better let me send Jemmy
along with you, to show you the way, 'cause — oh !
she's gone ! She's a queer one, and no mistake,"
said the worthy landlord, hastening to raise up the
spirits of his guests by pouring his own spirits down.

Meantime, Elva pursued her lonely way through
the driving rain and blinding storm, toward Percival
Hall, almost flying along, in her haste to reach it. I
scarcely know whether it is proper to tell a young
lady's thoughts or not; but certain it is that, though
ddith occupied a prominent place in her mind,
Edith's brother occupied a place still more promi-
nenter (I don't know whether that's according to
Webster, or not).

But Elva, bewildered by the storm, her own
thoughts, her haste, and the strangeness of the place,
forgot the landlord's directions, and took the road
leading to the cliffs. On she went, stumbling and
slipping over rocks and crags, at the imminent
danger of breaking her neck. Suddenly, the flash of
a liglit caught her eye, and, walking in that direc-
tion, she soon found herself before the home of the
Hermit of the Cliffs. Elva rapped loudly ; and, a
rioment after, the door opened, and the hermit stood
before her, holding a lamp in his hand, the full light
of which fell on his imposing figu**e.

With a half-suppressed scream of mingled terror
and surprise at this singular apparition, Elva turned
to fly, when she was arrested by the mild, kind voice
of the hermit :

" Fear not, my daughter ; the Hermit of **^e Cliffs
is the friend of all mankind."

Elva paused, and stood hesitating.

A STARTLING DISCOVERT.

819

" Come in out of tbe storm, my child. It is a wild
night for a young girl like you to be abroad."

Reassured by his friendly words, and wishing to
know more of this strange-looking personage, Elva,
who was naturally courageous, entered the cottage.

She glanced curiously around, but there was
nothing very singular about it. It was fitted up as
any other common room might have been, and was
singularly neat and clean.

'* Now, my child, what can I do for you ?" said the
hermit, in his grave, pleasant tones.

" I started for Percival Hall," answered Elva,
"and, being a stranger here, I lost my way ; and,
guided by the light of your lamp, 1 wandered here,
and sought admittance."

"You had better stay here until morning," said
the hermit ; " the night is too stormy for you to ven-
ture abroad."

" Oh, no ! I cannot. My father is dying, and I
cannot rest until he sees Sir William Stanley. I must
hasten to Percival Hall immediately, if you will be
kind enough to show me the way."

"Sir William Stanley, did I understand you to
say ?" said the hermit, with a sudden start.

" Yes. Perhaps you can tell me where to find
him ?"

" Who is your father, child ?" asked the hermit,
without heeding her question.

" His name is Paul Snowe," replied Elva.

"What !" exclaimed the hermit, almost boune.ing
from the floor.

" His name is Paul Snowe," repeated Elva, draw-
ing back in surprise and alarm.

"Good Heavens ! is it possible !" said the hermit,

i !l

' I''

520

▲ 8TABTLIN0 DISCOVERY.

deeply excited. " And are you Paul Snowe's daugh*
tcr ?•'

"Yes, sir," said the astonished Elva.

" What is your name ?**

*' Elvena Snowe."

** Elvena ! Elvena !" repeated the hermit. " Can
there be two Elvena Snowes in the world ?"

"Sir, I must go," said Elva, in alarm, beginning to
think him insane.

" Wait one moment, and I will go with you," said
the hermit, cloaking himself with wonderful celtrity.
" Can it be that I will see Paul Snowe yet once again
before I die ?"

They passed out, and the hermit turned in the
direction of the inn, holding Elva firmly by the hand.

"But I must go to Percival Hall," said Elva,
drawing back.

"Why ?"

"To see Sir William Stanley."

"He is not there, child !"

" His son is, then, and he can tell me where to find
him. I must go," said Elva, wildly.

" His son knows no more of his whereabouts than
you do, Elvena. Believe me : it is impossible for
you to find him to-night. If Paul Snowe wishes any-
thing, I will do as well as Paul Stanley. Do not hes-
itate," he added, as Elva still hung back ; "I repeat,
it is utterly impossible for you to find him^ to-night.
Come."

Elva felt convinced that he spoke the truth, and,
seeing no alternative, she allowed him to draw her
on, inwardly dreading to meet her father without
the man for whom she had been sent.

On reaching the inn, the hermit demanded to be
mt once shown to the chamber of the sick man. As

A 8TARTUNO DI800VEET.

321

they entered, Paul Snowe half raised himself on his
elbow, and glared at them with his inflamed eyes.

" Elva, is it you ?" he cried. " Have you brought
Sir William Stanley ? Ha ! who are you ?"

** Your best friend, Paul Snowe," said the hermit,
advancing to his bedside.

•* I shoukl know that voice. Who arcyou ?"

"Men call me the • Hermit of the Cliffs,' but you
knew me by another name once," was the answer.

"And Sir William Stanley, where is he, Elva?
Elva, did you not bring him ?" exclaimed the
wounded man in an agony of alarm.

" My friend, you cannot see him. Sir William
Stanley is many a mile from here. You will never
meet him in this world again, for your hours are
numbered. Anything you wish to tell him, confide
in me, and, believe me, he shall hear it."

** Can I — dare I tell you ? You will not have me
arrested V said the invalid, wildly.

" No, my friend ; you are beyond the reach of
human laws. Speak, and fear not."

" Men say you are good and generous," laid Paul,
tossing restlessly ; " therefore, since it cannot be
helped, I will tell you. Elva, leave the room.
Listen ; what I have to say concerns her."

" Your daughter, Elva ?"

" She is no daughter of mine ; neither is her name
Elva. I stole her when a child. Her name is Zei/a
Stanley r

He fixed his eyes on the hermit's face, to see what
effect this announcement would have ; but beyond
one sudden, convulsive start, he betrayed no emo-
tion.

*' Go on," he said, after a pause.

** To tell why I stole her, it will be necessary to

[

322

A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

go back in my history. I once had a sister — her
name was Elvena — whom I loved as I never loved
any other human being in this world. She grew up
a beautiful girl — the pride and belle of our village ;
but in an evil hour she met Sir William Stanley.
He was young and handsome in those days, and she
soon learned to love him. He pretended to return
her affection ; and, under an assumed name, he wooed
and won her. Sht became his wife — little dreaming
she had wedded a baronet. Well, I must hurry on
for I feel that I have but a few moments to live. He
used to go to England, under pretense of business,
and, during one of the occasions, he married again,
some high-born lady. He had grown tired of his
first wife, for he was always a heartless villain ; but
he w&nted his son (they had one child). He came
and forcibly tore him away, and departed for Eng-
land. I don't know what story he told Lady Stanley
about the child ; probably that he had been married
and that his wife was dead, or some other convenient
lie. I was absent at the time, but when I returned
I learned what had happened — that my sister had
gone crazy, and wandered off, and, as we afterwards
learned, died in a distant village. 1 swore a fearful
oath of vengeance, and that oath has been kept.
Years passed on before I could go to England, and
seek out my sister's murderer. I found him out at
last, and learned that he had another child — a
daughter, whom both he and Lady Stanley almost
idolized. He had stolen Elvena's child from her,
and so caused her death. He should suffer as she
had done — he, too, should know what it was to lose
a child ; and one day, when she was out playing, I
carried her off."

"My first intention had been to kill little Leila,

A STARTUNG DISCOVERY.

323

but 1 could not do it. As you may imagine there
was a mighty uproar made about Sir William Stan-
ley's child being kidnapped ; the whole country was
aroused, but I eluded them all. I hac" a friend —
the mate of a small trading-vessel, and his wife
consented to take care of the little lady. I gave her
my dead sister's name, and, as Leila grew up, she
forgot she ever had any other parent but me. I
brought her here, and, after a time, fell in with
Ralph De Lisle, and joined his reckless band of
licensed cut-throats.

"But during all those years, undying remorse for
what I had done haunted me day and night. Lady
Stanley had died shortly after her child's loss ; and
when I heard of it, I felt as though I were a mur-
derer. Do what I would, reason as I pleased, my
accusing conscience slept not. I was not one to
inspire affection, but I think Elva really likes me. I.
grew fond of the child myself, but I never could
endure her caresses ; for at such times the recollec-
tion of what I had done would rush upon me with
double force ; and I would think how she would
shrink from me in horror, did she know to what I
had reduced her — the heiress of a baronet.

" In after years, I met Sir William Stanley's son.
Loving my sister as I did, it may seem strange to
you I did not love her child also ; but I hated him
for his father's sake. He was once imprisoned by De
Lisle, and liberated by Elva, who little dreamed she
was freeing her own brother.

"As I told you, my undying remorse gave me no
rest, and I resolved, at last, to tell Sir Williain Stan-
ley what I had done, and then, if possible, fly the
country. But the hand of Providence overtook me,

324

A STARTLING DISOOVEET.

In:v:

and my tale of crime has been reserved for a dealh-
bed confession.

" The dress Elva wore the day I stole her is in
yonder chest," continued the dying man, pointing
faintly in the direction ; " also, a small locket, con-
taining her mother's portrait. If anything further is
needed to establish her identity, there is a peculiar
mark on her arm that cannot be mistaken, and will
set at rest all doubts. And now, thank Heaven, my
story is ended, and justice has been done at last. It
is said that you have great power over Sir William
Stanley ; therefore, you will have no trouble in in-
ducing him to believe my dying words."

" Thus it is that Heaven ever confounds the wicked,
and brings hidden things of darkness to light. Thus
it is that justice shall be rendered unto all men at
last," said the hermit, clasping bis hands solemnly.

" That voice ! — that voice !" said Paul Snowe,
raising himself wildly on his pillow. " Has the grave
given up its dead ? Are you a man or a being from
the world of spirits } Great Heaven, are you — '

Ere the Hermit could speak, the fearful death-
rattle resounded through the room. He clutched
the air convulsively with his hands, his features
worked convulsively, his eyes grew fixed and glassy,
and falling heavily back v*n his pillow — all was
over !

AND LAST.

325

CHAPTER XXXIV.

AND LAST

"All's well that end's well."

Half an hour passed away in the chamber of death,
ere the Hermit moved. He sat gazing, still and
silent, on tiie rigid form before him, wondering, per-
haps, liow such fierce passions could have existed in
that clay cold form.

Then he arose, and opening the door, beckoned
Elva to enter. Awed by the expression of his face
she stole softly into the room, and approached the
bed. As her eyes fell on the rigid figure stretched
upon it, she sprang back with a wild cry of grief.

For with all his faults, and notwithstanding all his
cruelty, Elva had really loved Paul Snowe. He had
been the only friend and protector she had ever
known, and with a passionate exclamatioi, " Oh,
father — father !" she fell on her knees by the bedside,
and hid her face in her hands.

" My child, grieve not," said the Hermit, laying
his hand on her head. " Paul Snowe was no father
of thine !"

She arose and stood before him, with pmrted lips
and wonder-dilated eyes.

" Not my father ?'* she said. " Who, then, is ?"

"Sir William Stanley."

She did not speak, but still stood regarding him with
such a wild, startled look of incredulity and amaze-
ment, that he hastened to explain.

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!.?3II

326

AND LAST.

"Sir William Stanley had wronged him ; and to
revenge himself, he stole his only daughter. Your
name is not Elva Snowe, but Leila Stanley."

"And this was why he implored me so wildly to
bring liim Sir William Stanley," said Elva, in a low,
breathless tone, almost bewildered by this sudden
announcement.

" It was ; he could not die in peace until he had
confessed what he had done. And now that you
know how deeply he has wronged you, can you for-
give him ?"

Elva was gazing sadly and intently upon the
death-cold form before her. At the Hermit's ques-
tion, she looked up, and said, earnestly :

" Forgive him ? Oh, yes, as I hope to be forgiven.
But tliis seems so strange — so improbable — so like
an Eastern romance. Can it be that I really have a
father living ?"

" And a brother likewise. You have seen Fred
Stanley .?"

" Yes — yes ; I have seen him. He is tall, and
dark, and handsome as a prince. And he is my
brother ! Something drew me toward him from the
first ; but I never, never could have imagined any-
thing so wild as this ! He is somewhere near this, is
he not ?"

" Yes, at Perci val Hall."

"Shall I see him to-night ?"

"No; it were better not. The last remains of
Paul Snowe must be consignel to the grave first.
For a day or two you will remain with me, and then
all shall be revealed."

" What God has joined together, let no man put
asunder."

K :i.

AND LAST.

327

The great drawing-room of Percival Hall was
ablaze with light. From basement to attic the house
was crowded with guests, assembled from far and
near, to witness the nuptials of Major Percival's
daughters.

Fred and Gus, looking excessively happy, and very
unnecessarily handsome, stood before the venerable
clergyman, who, in full canonicals and imposing
dignity, pronounced the words that made them the
happiest of men. Edith and Nell, radiant with smiles
and white satin, blushes and orange flowers, stood
by their side, promising dutifully to " love, honor,
and obey ;" although, if the truth must be told, Nell
hesitated a little before she could promise the latter.

Suddenly the door was flung open, and in a pomp-
ous tone, the aritocratic butler announced :

"Sir William Stanley."

Had a bomb exploded in their midst, greater con-
sternation could not have appeared on every face
present, as Sir William — pale, wild, excited, and
agitated — stood before them.

"This is an unexpected pleasure. Sir William,"
said Major Percival, advancing with extended hand.

" My daughter — my daughter I is she here ?"
demanded the baronet, wildly.

" Your daughter ?" said Major Percival, in surprise
•* If you mean Edith — "

" No, no, no, no ! I mean my cnun child — my long
lost daughter, Leila."

" Can he be deranged ?" said the major, turning
to Fred, with a look of alarm.

" I am not mad — read that !" said Sir William,
handing the major a note.

" Go to Percival Hall," it said. " This night yo«
shall hear of your lost daughter, Leila,"

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if2S

AND LAST.

It is from the mysterious Hermit of the Cliffs,**
said the major, in astonishment. " What can he

mean

v»

" What he says," said a calm, clear voice, that
made them all start, as they turned and beheld the
Hermit in their midst.

" My daughter — my Leila — what of her ?" ex-
claimed Sir William, striding forward.

" Behold her !" said the Hermit, stepping back,
and every eye turned to the slight girlish figure
behind him.

" Elva Snowe !" exclaimed half a d^zen voices,
simultaneouslv, while the baronet started back sud-
denly at the name.

" Not Elva Snowe, but Leila Stanley," said the
Hermit, drawing her forward. "On his death-bed,
Paul Snowe confessed he had stolen her and resigned
her to me. This trinket was on her person when
stolen. Probably you recollect it, Sir William."

"Yes — yes ; it was I who placed it on her neck ;
but if Leila, she bears on her arm a singular mark — "

" Look," said the Hermit, pushing up her eleeve,
and exposing a little crimson heart ; " are you con-
vinced now ?"

" My child — my child !" exclaimed Sir William,
clasping in his arms the shrinking Elva. " Thank
Heaven, I have found you at last !"

Amazement held every one silent. But the Her-
mit advanced and said :

" You have found one child and the other — "

" Sliall be mine likewise," interrupted the baronet,
approaching Fred, " if he can forgive the past."

" Willingly, joyfully, my dear father !" said Fred,
grasping his hand, while tears sprang to his dark
eves. "And Elva — Leila rather — may I claim a

AND LAST.

829

brother's privilege ?" he added, pressing his mous-
tached lips to her blushing brow.

" And now for a still more surprising discovery,"
said Sir William, turning with much agitation
toward the Hermit. '* On this joyful occasion it will
not do to have one cloud marring our festivity. If
you can forgive me for the great wrong I have done
you, we may see many happy days togetlier yet?"

For a moment the Hermit hid his face in his hands>
while his whole frame quivered with powerful emo-
tion. Then raising his head, to the amazement of
all present, he removed his flowing white hair and
his long beard. His. large flowing robe fell from his
shoulders, and lo ! a pale, stately, dark-haired
woman stood before them.

Wonder chained every tongue. Sir William Stan-
ley sprang forward and clasped her in his arms, ex-
claiming passionately :

"My wife — my wife — my own Elva !"

" Good Heaven ! Sir William Stanley, what means
all this ?" exclaimed Major Percival, finding his
tongue at last.

"It means," said Sir William, raising his head
proudly, " that this lady is my first, my only wife,
Elvena Snowe. Deeply have I wronged her, but I
shall strive to atone for it by a public confession
to-night. When I forcibly took her son from her,
yonder youth, she was for a time deranged, and
wandered away from the village of her birth. After
a time, a report went forth that she was dead. She
heard it, when sanity partially returned, and resolved
never to return to the spot where siie had suffered so
much. She found a cottage deserted among the wild
cliffs, and resolved to make her home there. Afraid
that some one would recognize and bring her bacl^

530

AND LAST.

I 1-

w .. '^f,'

with the cunning of partial derangement, she dis-
guised herse'f as you have seen, and for years lived
on alone, uniil she learned to love the dreary spot.
When the war commenced, I came here, and was fol-
lowed by my son. She heard of it, and unknown
herself, she determined to watch over her son, I, as
you all know, had condemned him to die. At the
eleventh hour, she came, and by disclosing who she
was, saved his life. I believed her, for the time, to
be a being from the world of spirits, and tlie shock
and surprise was so great that I spared my son.
Afterward we met, and she told me all ; but pride
would not allow me to confess to the world my guilt.
But now since Leila has been so miraculously
restored, I can trample pride and the opinion of the
world under foot, and proclaim the once Hermit of
the Cliffs my wife, in the face of heaven and earth !"

A month later, Sir William and Lady Stanley were
bounding over the blue waves *z- " Merrie England."

They went not alone ; for Leila, now Mrs. Nugent
PercivaU and her husband, accompanied her.

Fred and Edith, and Gus and Nell, dwelt long and
happily in the land they loved best.

And now, reader, farewell. We have journeyed
together long ; but nothing can last forever. All
things must have a close, and the characters who
have passed before you must disappear from your
view at last. I, too, must go from your sight — for
the daylight is dying out of the sky, and my task is
ended. I trust, however, we may, ere long, meet
again.

THE END

(

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