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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 BY 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 vi 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] 8 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. 9 "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 10 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. 11 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 ?" 12 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. 13 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 14 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. 15 *' 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 16 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, 17 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 ^ 18 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. 19 M 1 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 20 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. 91 and m 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 22 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. 29 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 !" u SAVED. P i| 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 ),»■" 36 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. 27 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 28 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. 2d 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 30 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. 31 he 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 S2 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. 33 I 1 ■ M 1 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* >:!!! 84 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. 35 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 86 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. 87 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 38 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. 89 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. 40 THE BURNING SHIP. 1 1 ||i 25 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. 41 "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 42 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. M THE HOME OF EDITH. 43 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 u 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. 45 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. 46 THE HOME OP EDITH. in li ii \\ I 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 ii ) THE HOME OF EDITH. 47 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 48 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. 49 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 — 60 THE HOME OF EDITH. '; I Im *' 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. 51 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 !" 59 THE HOME OF EDITH. H 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 W fji*' f '.A THE HOME OF EDITH. 58 •* 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. 64 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. 55 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. 56 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. 57 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 >* 68 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. 69 ** 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 ii 60 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. 1 THE HERMIT OF THE CLIFFS. ei 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.'* 62 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. 63 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 : h\ I 64 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 65 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. I Si ' if 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. er 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 ?" 68 THE HERMIT OF THE CLIFFS. |i ) I 5 y ■I I r. 1 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. 69 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. I CHAPTER VHL THE RIVALS. 11 •*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. 71 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 72 THE RIVALS. ii ». ;?', Hi ;J (i 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 78 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. 79 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 I : ( III !> t li ■ i I J f ^ t i: ( i^ . 1 ■ ( ^ ■ '■ ii 1 V J 1 ■ . 80 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. 81 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 (. n* V ! } l\ ^ i !. 88 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. 88 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 !" i; ♦ fi ■ ?r t- f ^ I f / ^ I ( f. ..i 1 i i; ( ■ • i: 1 r I 84 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 li 't THE RIVALS. 85 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. r L 1 !■ f \\:l w f ; (■ ^M . 18 S6 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. 87 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 ^c imed, in a .losing the kind !" said 68 DOOMED. iff 1 i^ 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. 19 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; 90 DOOMED. f |i I I ll > , ( Uf 1 ■ L i \ y i i£ jL 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. 91 ** 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 |P^ ;5| I , |.|i i ^lii 1 1 ■ ■« i ■ ! r 1 ! it i 92 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. 98 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. f ! ( \\ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ ^ ^0 // '* A ^4 2<9 Va ^ /a /a /A ''W 7 1.0 ■ 25 I.I 11.25 1^-^ IIIIIM ■UUu. U ill.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 2a WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)872-4503 94 DOOMED. r : t; i^ ** 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. 95 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 96 DOOMED. ! t. [i 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.' 97 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. A 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." n M 98 MAJOR PERCIVAL IN A " BTATB OP MIND." 1 fp \ I! 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 li H 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." i ( 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." !> • ! I i? I SI " 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 ' m m^ i?^' w i ' * ■' . >■ s I ^ ^ I i i ! l! 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 U f " 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