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 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
A MYSTERY 
 
A MVSTEITY. 
 
 7 
 
 BY 
 
 CARIS SIMA, 
 
 AXJTHOK OF "MlSSIO>r Om LOVir,,' KTC. 
 
 ROSE PUBLISHING COMPANY, 
 
 1886. 
 

 PmirnD akd Bonro bt 
 
 HDNTKR. ROSE &-C0., 
 
 TOBONTO. 
 
CHAPTER 1. 
 
 I'AUE. 
 
 Hallowe'en— THE sisters — an unexpected arrival — the 
 
 sriNSTER.S sense of TROPRIETY 0UTRA(!EI» 
 
 }) 
 
 tusand eight 
 ^he Minister 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FAMILY OF LINDWOOD— LOVERS VOWS, AND WHAT THEY 
 ARE WORTH — A WOMAN-FIEND — A TRUE WOMAN's LOVE . 
 
 20 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FIEND SUCCEEDS — ONE FOOL MORE — LESLIE 8 REPENTANCE — 
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. ........ 30 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SPINSTER CONTINUES TO GIVE VENT TO HER OUTRAGED 
 FEELINGS — KATE HOLDS THE SITUATION .... 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AUNT MERRYVALE— THE SPINSTER MAKES A LAST PROTEST 
 AGAINST THE INNOVATION — NEVER COULD FKKL SENTIMEN- 
 TAL ON AN EMPTY STOMACH ... . 39 
 
II 
 
 VI 
 
 PIIKFAC.'E. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TAGK. 
 
 THK ' EVENING CHRONICLE' — MR. AND MRS. HEECU — MRS. BEECH 
 CALLS ON MISS LINDWOOD AND FINDS THE SITUATIOK VERY 
 FUNNY — THE PLAINER THE GIRL THE SOONER SHE MARRIES 
 — THE COMING WOMAN — DR. DASHWOOD APPEARS UPON THE 
 SCENE— MRS. DASHWOOD IS UNNECESSARILY HEALTHY. . 40 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 » 
 
 KATE IS CAUGHT IN A RAIN-STORM — NOVEMBER MUSlJfGS— AD- 
 VENT OF JOHN WINDERMERE -AN UNFAVOURABLE TIME FOR 
 A DECLARATION — KATE's INWARD CONFLICT — LOVE VERSUS 
 MONEY — DR. DASHWOOD FINDS ANOTHER PATIENT . . 57 
 
 CHAPTER VIll. 
 
 KATE RECOVERS— SHE REFUSES JOHN — PEARL AND HELENA — 
 rate's MUSINGS — ANOTHER DOCTOR APPEARS UPON THE 
 SCENE -PESTERED BY WIDOWERS — A WOMAN MAY BE BEAUTI- 
 FUL AT ANY AGE 
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SPINSTER AGAIN — KATE BATTLES WITH HER LONGING FOR 
 THE UNATTAINABLE — HELENA's SUBJUGATION BEGINS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LOVE AND PRIDE— CONSTERNATION IN THE SMALL HOUSE ON 
 
 MAPLE STREET— AUNT MERRYVALE FKEL8 IT IN HER BONES. 80 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 vu 
 
 l'A«JK. 
 
 A NEW AKKIVAL IN nKKBoUorGH-i.'AUOHT ON TUK KKBOUNI) - 
 
 DR. DASH WOOD SOLltJIT.S KATK's C( .Ni-MI.KNCE— KATK's DHKAM. 80 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LESLIE HARrjKAVE's SELF-UPBRAIDINO 
 
 . 9G 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DR. ANNESi^EY'S RETURN— THE FRIENDS DISCUMS THE SITUATION 
 
 —THEY ADJOURN TO THE SMALL HOUSE ON MAPLE STREET. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE DETECTIVE-THE MEK'UNO OF LESLIE AND KATE . . 107 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MRS. BEECH TELLS A TALE-KATE's SILENT A.NGULSH-' ONLY A 
 
 LITTLE WHILE '—A LIGHT COMES TO AUNT MERRYVALE . 114 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SBLINA TRIES TO REGAIN HER INFLUENCE OVER LESLIE-THE 
 
 DETECTIVE AT WORK -DEATH OF THE WOMAN-FIEND. . 122 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SAYINGS AND DOINGS IN THE SMALL HOUSE ON MAPLE STREET 
 -KATE CONFIDES IN AUNT MERRYVALfl-DR. DASHWOOD 
 IS BEWILDERED— NEWS OF THE PEARL I30 
 
Vlll 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 CHAPTKE XVlll 
 
 I'AOK. 
 
 THH IVR OF ALL.HALL(,W8-KATK LINWOOD's RBFLECTIONS- 
 'I'AI'A'm PKARL'— MR. ANNFSLKY KXPLAINS-HELENA 
 HAPI'Y 
 
 IH 
 
 138 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 UNITBD AND RRUNITED 
 
 . 14^ 
 
 } 
 
PAoe. 
 
 OTIONS — 
 LENA IH 
 
 . 138 
 
 . 147 
 
 A MVSTHRY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 m 
 
 HALLOWEEN — THE SISTERS — AX UNEXPKiTED ARRIVAL— THE SPIN- 
 STER'S SENSE OF PROPRfKTY OUTRA(JEI). 
 
 HE autumn of 1874 was one of the most (ielightfiil 
 i-l seasons that the antiquated mortal, the oldest in- 
 habitant, can remember. Summer had lingered as 
 though loath to depart and give place to the bitter win- 
 ter of 1875 ; but on the evening on which my tale opens 
 the wind sighed with a coni'^'nining murmur that be- 
 tokened a change ; the crisp leaves hurried over the dry 
 ground into holes and against fences, as anxious to escape 
 the impending rain-storm that threatened destruction 
 to their lovely tints of violet, crimson, and yellow. The 
 sun sank behind a sullen cloud, and darkness crept 
 slowly over the little town of Beeborough. The clock on 
 the market tower pealed seven, an<l in ten minutes all 
 
10 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 tlio sliultcrs \\«r(; up, and husiucss .sus|>tM«lr(l for tlic day. 
 Eight, — nine, — and tlie streets wei(! almost deserted,— 
 ton, — all is still. Ten minutes later, had any interested 
 j»aity been on the wateli, and there may have Ijeen sueh, 
 dark forms might have lieenseen creeping in the shadows 
 of fences and hniJdings ; foi' an (inc.-my to a peace-loving 
 people was ahroad in the shape of those miscreants w'ho 
 play such senseless pivinks on All-llalloweve. 
 
 In a small house on Ma})le street there lived two maiden 
 ladies, known to the inhabitants of Beeborough as Miss 
 Linwood and Miss Kate Linwood. Miss Linwood had 
 been for years an invalid, and on the evenini; above- 
 mentioned was lying on a couch in a cosy, homelike little 
 sitting-room, absorbed in the study of a medical work, 
 through the Jiid of which she hoped to discover the pecu- 
 liar disease by which she was afilicted, and which had 
 baffled all the (,'flbi'ts put forth by the two leading phy- 
 sicians of Beeborough to discover. The shaded lamp that 
 stood on a small table near by threw a softened light on 
 a face that must once have been very attractive. The 
 large dark eyes' were very beautiful. Luxuriant brown 
 hair was brushed smoothly back from a broad, low" bi'ow, 
 and Helena Linwood, at thiitv, miijht have been girlishly 
 pretty but for the discontented lines that so often ap- 
 ]")eared about her mouth. Her face was smooth and soft 
 as an infant's ; and through five years of comparative help- 
 lessness there had been little suffering to leave its trace 
 on a well-rounded form. 
 
 While the invalid lay poring over her book the door 
 opened, and Kate Linwood entered with a tray whereon 
 was laid tea for two, drew a small table before the couch, 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 11 
 
 or tilt' <^lay. 
 ilesertt'd, — 
 interested 
 been such, 
 he shadows 
 eace-lovini^ 
 ;reants who 
 
 two n"iai<len 
 \<f]\ as Miss 
 iiiwood had 
 lini^ above- 
 nelike little 
 idical work, 
 er the pecu- 
 which had 
 eading phy- 
 d lamp that 
 ed light on 
 ctive. The 
 iant brown 
 , low^ 1)1-0 w, 
 en girlishly 
 ,0 often ap- 
 th and soft 
 rativehelp- 
 Ive its trace 
 
 )k the door 
 
 ly whereon 
 
 I' the couch, 
 
 took a seat [)y her sister's side, and connneuced pouring 
 
 out the tea. 
 
 ' Kate,' said the invalid suddenly, laying down her book, 
 
 ' I've found it now I 1 am perfectly satisfie<l, from the 
 
 symptoms here described, that it is chronic intlanunation 
 
 of the stomach. In a short time the stomach will not 
 I retain anv food, and then follows fjreat sufierinir and 
 i death.' 
 
 ' Well,' remarked Kate, coolly, 'Just try this In-ead and 
 
 butter, and a cup of tea, and if it stays down it will be 
 I proof positive that it has not yet reached a dangerous 
 I staixe ; and here is a fresh etijjj boiled just as v(»u like it.' 
 I The invalid smiled faintly, and took the offered food, 
 I and amidst a long rehearsal of aches and pains, real and 
 I imamnary, the evening meal came to a conclusion ; the 
 I trav was removed, and from a stand near the window 
 1 Kate brouijht a small l)0x of mignonette and a Bourbon 
 I rose in full bloom, and placed them on the table near her 
 i Sister. 
 
 I This delicate attention, however, was unheeded by the 
 I invalid, who was again busied in the medical work, 
 ifi'om which she read aloud, 
 
 I ' (creates great uneasiness and nervous irritability.' 
 I Then after a pause — 
 
 ' There's some mistake somewhere. I may be nervous, 
 ■;but I'm sure I'm not irritable.' 
 
 .^ ' I think you are a little irritable at times,' responded 
 
 '^ Kite, mildly ; she was much relieved to hear that what 
 
 |the day before had been cancer, was now only an in- 
 
 iflammation. 
 
 ' Well,' sna[)ped the invalid, * if you had been idle for 
 
12 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 f 
 
 five yearfi, as J have, you wouM be ho irritable there 
 would be no doing anything with you.' 
 
 'I am ([uite sure of it,' replied Kate soothingly: 'all 
 people are irritable when they are ill, and it is usiuilly 
 considered a favourable sign.' 
 
 * You think I can't die while 1 have spirit enough to 
 get in a temper,' retorted the invalid. 
 
 ' It surely betokens a certain amount of vitality,' 
 answered Kate with a smile, which was quickly followed 
 by a weary sigh, as she took up the Erenin<i Chronicle, 
 and was soon lost in its perusal ; and as she sits with the 
 softened light of the lamp falling upon her, we will bring 
 her more prominently before the reader. 
 
 She was tall and well formed, and moved with natural 
 easy grace. There was a picturesqueness about her dress 
 and surroundings in harmony with herself and unlike 
 other women, which was in itself an attraction. 
 
 The sisters resembled each otlier but faintly ; Kate 
 had not the regular features of Helena ; but what she lost 
 in feature she gained in expression. There was a charm 
 in her smile that was indescribable : little dimples played 
 like suiishine flickering in shadow about her muitli and 
 chin. Her eyes, a limpid hazel, looked into the beholder's 
 with the fearless glance of a child : c} s from which 
 looked a soul that thought no evil ; or to which the 
 thought of evil could never cling ; eyes that were even 
 more beautiful in sadness than in mirth, when they had a 
 tender wistful expression in their clear depths, that 
 irresistibly moved the soul of the gazer to tenderness: 
 and her perfect unconsciousness of this peculiar charm 
 rendered the attraction still greater. Kate seldoiu 
 
 IS 
 ; 'I 
 
 h 
 
 T 
 
 <li 
 I'l 
 
 ,:;S0: 
 
 lia 
 
 tl 
 
 1( 
 
A MYSTKRV. 
 
 1 *^ 
 
 table there 
 
 'all 
 is usiuillv 
 
 inglv 
 
 cnoug 
 
 h to 
 
 3f vitality,' 
 cly followed 
 (/ Chronicle, 
 its with the 
 je will bring 
 
 with natural 
 out her dress 
 and unlike 
 on. 
 
 iiitly; Kate 
 yhat she lost 
 Iwas a charm 
 nples played 
 muith and 
 le beholder's 
 from which 
 which the 
 t were even 
 jTi they had a 
 lepths, that 
 tenderness ; 
 uliar charm 
 ate seldoiu 
 
 thought of her personal appearance : her mirror told her 
 she wa> plain as it does all women who depend on 
 expression for beauty. She had at times felt this 
 plainness painfully; in contrast with Helena's regular 
 features, liers, she thought, were almost ugly ; yet she 
 was conscious that she must have some attraction, 
 because people liked her. 
 
 Such was Kate Li nd wood, as seen from a surface 
 
 j>oint of view ; the view from which all people form 
 
 impressions — some verging on the truth, some most 
 
 erroneous, according as the power is given of discerning 
 
 the inner motions of that most complicated of all 
 
 mechanism — the human mind, which, in the case of the 
 
 lady under discussion, we leave our story to develop. 
 
 4 After reading for some minutes, Kate turned to her 
 
 I sister and said, ' Jjisten to this, Helena,' and she read 
 
 ; aloud, 'Our townspeople would do well to look after 
 
 their signs, gates, cabbages, Arc, as the Mayo.r and Council 
 
 have neglected to pass a by-law to prevent the usual 
 
 riallowc'en depredations.' 
 
 ' Is this the thirty-first ? ' asked Helena excitedly. 
 
 ' I think so,' and Kate turned to the top of the page. 
 
 ' Yes, the thirty-first of October.' 
 
 ' What are we going to.do ? ' wailed the invalid. ' The 
 
 gate is sure to be taken off its hinges and laid in the 
 
 ditch ; or, perhaps, carried to the other end of the town. 
 
 I'm -ure, Kate, if you had spoken to the Mayor about it 
 
 some weeks ago, as I wanted you to, something would 
 
 I have been done; but you always put things off, and in 
 
 ithe end forget them.' 
 
 J 'Now, Nell, dear, dt)n't work yourself into a ferment 
 
14 
 
 A MYSTERV. 
 
 before anything dreadful has happened, 1 dislike these 
 senseless tricks just as much as you do ; but we have had 
 little to complain of so far at the hands of these imps of 
 darkness, who hold their revels on All-Halloweve. Two 
 years ago they left a whisky-barrel at our door, which 
 has served as a rain-water tank ever since ; and last year 
 they left some heads of cabbage which I took in and 
 cooked ; and they tasted just as nice as if I had paid five 
 cents a-piece for them, and I shall do the same this yeai* 
 should thev brinjj: more, and consider them as manna 
 dropped from heaven, as try how I might, I could never 
 find the owner. So let each individual look after his or 
 her own cabbage-patch,' she udded with a laugh, ' if they 
 do not wish us to be renaled on the fruits of their 
 industry ; for I am determined to take in whatever may 
 be brouijht to me this nio-ht, and treat it accordinii' to its 
 merits.' 
 
 As Kate ceased speaking, there was distinctly heard a 
 tap, tapping at the window. 
 
 She rose and peeped from behind the curtain, but 
 nothing was to be seen. 
 
 * The enemy is abroad,' she remarked, as she took a 
 chair, placed it before the fire and sat down to wait 
 developments, while the invalid nervously e:itreated, 
 ' Better keep quiet and take no notice, and they will be 
 less likely to aimoy us.' 
 
 So saying she went back to her book ; and Kate fell to 
 dreaming, as she gazed into the bright coal tire, her cheek 
 resting on her hand, her eyes fixed in deep thoughtful 
 expression on the fiame ; a soft smile at times played on 
 lier lips, and again was chased away by a look of intense 
 sadness and longing. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 15 
 
 islike these 
 VQ have had 
 ese imps of 
 veve. Two 
 door, whicli 
 nd last year 
 ,ook in and 
 ad paid five 
 ne this vear 
 11 as manna 
 could never 
 after his or 
 igh, ' if they 
 its of their 
 hatever may 
 3rding to its 
 
 ;t!y heard a 
 
 lurtain, but 
 
 slie took a 
 Ivn to wait 
 eitreated, 
 Ihey will be 
 
 llvate fell to 
 
 }, her cheek 
 
 thoughtful 
 
 played on 
 
 (if intense 
 
 I 
 
 i s 
 
 she was startled suddenly from her revery by a loud 
 peal on the door-knocker. 
 
 'The imps of darkness,' suggested Helena. 
 
 ' Don't go,' as Kate sprang up suddenly and took up a 
 hand lamp. 
 
 'Of course I'll go,' laughed Kate. 'Don't I want my 
 cabbages for to-morrovv's dinner, I haven't bought any 
 vegetables lately, because I felt so sure of being sui)plied 
 to-night ; ' and with this she walked straight to the door, 
 and threw it wide open, and as the poet Roberts hath it, 
 'AH the darkness shud-lered and fled back,' and the 
 lamp-light revealed, instead of the expected cabbages, a 
 large basket of autumn leaves, crisp and of varied tints, 
 
 Ivate lauijfhed as she drew the basket into the room. 
 
 ' Look, Helena,' she cried, ' this is the best jok>' of the 
 season, a basket of withered leaves; the imps are getting 
 poetical. They evidently consider us in the " sere and 
 vellow." ' 
 
 ' Throw them out,' suggested Helena, who diil not ap- 
 pear to relish this dis})lay of sentiment. 
 
 ' Oh, dear no,' cried Kate. ' Did I not say 1 would take 
 in all thinufs that came to me to-nio-ht, and treat tluMu ac- 
 cording to their merits. Some of these are lovely, and f 
 will decorate the room with them.' 
 
 As she spoke she bent over the basket and commeuvjcd 
 picking up the leaves and forming them in clusters. Sud- 
 denly they dropped from her hands to the floor, while 
 the exclamation, 'Good Heaven!' escaped her lips, and 
 he started back, white and treniblin<>-. 
 
 ' What is \t V demanded the invalid in excited tones, 
 rising fi'om the couch; and foru^etfnl of weakness, slu^ 
 
16 
 
 A MYSTKUY. 
 
 moved hurriedly forward, threw off the top covering of 
 leaves and disclosed to view an infant child some three 
 or four months old. The light falling full on its face 
 awakened it, and a low wailing cry rang through the 
 room. 
 
 Kate, who had recovered almost instantly, took the 
 little creature in her arms, and commenced soothing it, 
 with all the tenderness of a mother, while Helena ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 * You should not have touched it. It should be sent to 
 the Mayor immediately. Good Heaven, Kate ! if it is 
 found here, what will people think ? They'll never be- 
 lieve it was left hero. ^ tell you it must be sent to the 
 Mayor immediately, to see what is to be done with it. 
 Immediately ! To think that anyone should dare to leave 
 a baby on the door-step of two unmarried women. It's 
 disorracef ul ! ' and she sank back on the sofa and sobbed 
 hysterically. 
 
 Without a word Kate left the room, still holdino- the 
 child in her arms, and returned almost immediately with 
 a glass of wine, which she held to her lips. 
 
 ' This excitement has been too much for you, Nell, dear. 
 Drink this and you will feel better, and we can talk this 
 matter over, and see whether we send this babe to the 
 Mayor.' 
 
 The invalid drank the wine, and Kate continued : 
 ' Now, Nell, dear, this is no doubt a most unfortunate 
 and ridiculous affliir, and all we can do is to take it coolly. 
 Nothing can be done to-night ; it is now half-past eleven. 
 The Mayor will be asleep, and besides we have no one 
 to send with it ; you cannot go, and T am sure it would 
 
A MVSTKRY 
 
 17 
 
 covering of 
 some three 
 on its face 
 /hrough the 
 
 y, took the 
 soothing it, 
 Helena ex- 
 
 1 be sent to 
 te ! if it is 
 [1 never be- 
 sent to the 
 >ne with it. 
 are to leave 
 nnen. It's 
 and sobbed 
 
 lolding the 
 iately with 
 
 iNell, dear. 
 
 Ill talk this 
 
 »abe to the 
 
 continued : 
 ifortunate 
 
 it coolly. 
 Lst eleven. 
 Lve no one 
 
 it would 
 
 not look well for me, at my age, to be seen out at this 
 hour with an infant. I'd rather be found with it here.' 
 And Kate, whom no gossip could alarm, laughed a merry 
 little lauLrh. 
 
 ' You take it very coolly, Kate ; but I can tell you that 
 this is not a joke at all to my taste. In a scandal-loving 
 town like this there is no telling what will bo made of it.' 
 
 Helena Lindwood had always laid much stress on the 
 proprieties, and thii. was an innovation that she could 
 not approve of ; her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had 
 a feverish light. 
 
 ' Nell,' said Kate soothingly, * this will never do ; you 
 must try and tran([uilli.se yourself, or you will be set back 
 again as far as ever, and you have been so much bettei- 
 the past few weeks.' 
 
 'It's all very well for you to say tranquillise 3^ourself, 
 but I can't be tranquil under an abominable trick like 
 this and if you had spoken to the Mayor, as I wanted you 
 to, this never would have happened.' 
 
 ' Nell,' said Kate, and there was a weary soimd in her 
 voice, * don't vou think life is hard enou<:rh without mak- 
 ing it worse by anticipating evil. Your reputati(»n and 
 mine are above even the shadow of reproach ; but in any 
 case I should do what I thought was right, aye, even if 
 the whole town were howling at our door ; so try and 
 rest in peace, while I see what is to be done with my 
 waif ; it may have been stolen and the parents may come 
 for it to-morrow.' 
 
 This thought somewhat mollitied the invalid, and she 
 remained silent, thus giving Kate time to collect her 
 scattered senses, and, by way of soothing the distress- 
 
18 
 
 A MYSTKRV 
 
 1l! 
 
 ed infant she loosed its clothes, and as she did so, there 
 fell from the bosom of its robe a roll of bank notes and 
 a folded paper. 
 
 Kate seized the paper, and with tremblinf^ hands un- 
 folded it and read the followin;]^ lines which had been 
 hurriedly scrawled in pencil : 
 
 ' Miss ICate Ljndwood. — Be as a mother to this infant, and God 
 will bless you. Her name is Pearl. More money will be sent 
 when required. Search the basket.' 
 
 There was no sijjnature. Nothinij to tell where it had 
 come from. It was a leaf torn from a gentleman's pocket 
 book, and that was all the clew, and that told nothing. 
 
 Kate did search the basket and found there two changes 
 of apparel, and the nursing bottle known to all mothers 
 who rear a child by hand, as it is termed. Kate seized 
 this modern appliance, and soon succeeded in quieting 
 the little one, and while it lay asleep on her knee, she 
 took up the roll of notes and counted out one hundred 
 dollars. 
 
 ' Poor little thino:,' thoujj^ht Kate ; ' how soft and lovelv 
 you are, I wonder how your mother could have the heart 
 to part with you,' and she bent and laid her cheek to 
 the pink cheek of the infant with a fond caressing move- 
 ment, and as she again raised her head, the child opened 
 its large deep blue eyes, and fixed them on her face, while 
 a smile dimpled the baby mouth, and it stretched out two 
 little fat arms to be taken up. 
 
 Kate clasped it to her bosom, and paced up and down 
 the room excitedly as she muttered * I never heard of it, 
 never, why does this thought haunt me so '( 
 
A mystp:ry. 
 
 19 
 
 lid so, there 
 : notes and 
 
 hands un- 
 i had been 
 
 ant, and God 
 will be sent 
 
 rhere it had 
 an's pocket 
 nothing. 
 ;W0 changes 
 all mothers 
 Late seized 
 in quieting 
 knee, she 
 hundred 
 
 Her sister meanwhile had fallen into an uneasy slum- 
 Ijer, from which she did not awaken till Kate had un- 
 dressed lier infant charge, and laid it in her own bed ; 
 when suddenly opening her eyes, she exclaimed : 
 
 ' Oh Kate 1 I've had such a dreadful dream !' Then as 
 recollection came back, she cried, ' No it was not a dream 
 I remember it all now. What are we f'oinfif to do V 
 
 * We will see in the morning,' replied Kate, as she as- 
 sisted the invalid to her room, and did not leave her un- 
 til she again fell asleep, when she stole noiselessly to her 
 own bed, and taking the infont in her arms, murmured, 
 ' I shall keep you, my Pearl ; for the sake of your blue 
 eyes, I shall keep you. 
 
 and lovelv 
 the heart 
 cheek to 
 iing move- 
 ild opened 
 ■ace, wliile 
 sd out two 
 
 •i£?^ 
 
 and down 
 card of it. 
 
]fr 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE FAMILY OF LINDWOOD — LOVERS VOWS, AND WHAT THEY AUE 
 WORTH — A WOMAN-FIEND — A TRUE WOMAN's LOVE. 
 
 v-^^HARLES LINDWOOD, the father of Helena and 
 Kate, had lived many years in Beeborough. He 
 came to the town with a small capital, and by 
 lucky speculations amassed a considerable fortune ; so 
 that in the days of their early girlhood his daughters had 
 never known a wish ungratified. In later years an un- 
 lucky venture swallowed up the fortune. Lindwood's 
 constitution, always delicate, could not survive the shock ; 
 and three years before my tale opens liis remains were 
 laid in the church-3'ard of Beeborough. His wife, who 
 was devotedly attached to him, followed him in less than 
 six months ; and his daughters were left with barely suf- 
 ficient means to procure the common necessaries — the 
 elder a confirmed invalid, the younger with a brave true 
 heart, whose inner murmurings were suppressed as she 
 nerved herself to fight the battle of life, and add to their 
 small income by various fancy works, learned as a pas- 
 time in the days of their prospeiiiy, but which became 
 
 k 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 21 
 
 irksome in the extreme, when driven to labour by the iron 
 hand of neeessity. Kate was five years yountifer than her 
 sister, tliougli to some she miiijht liave a|)peared older, 
 as she was, practically speaking, the head of the house, as 
 tar as their arrangements, financial or otherwise, were con- 
 cerned, her sister's time beini; cliicHv taken ui) with the 
 study of her ailments, and weak lamentations over tlie 
 trials of life generally, and her own hard lot in particular ; 
 and Kate would listen to her, sometimes patiently, and 
 soothingly, sometimes rebukingly ; and sometimes quiz- 
 zically, as we have seen, according to the mood she was in ; 
 for she was not a perfect woman, and acknowledged to 
 her inner self, that she had many faults and weaknesses 
 that it would be well for her to conquer. When a child, 
 her temperament ran to extremes ; she was either at the 
 highest pinnacle of bliss, or in the deepest depths of woe. 
 As a woman this peculiarity became somewhat modified, 
 and as she usually buried her sorrows where no eye could 
 see them ; to the casual observer her life appeared one 
 long period of brightness ; though some say she had never 
 
 been quite the same since that year's visit to C , 
 
 when rumours of her engagement to the son of her father's 
 old friend, John Hargrave, had spread through Beebo- 
 rough ; but four years had passed since her return, and 
 nothing had come of it ; and the wise ones shook their 
 heads and looked wiseft still ; it was all they could do, as 
 they were in ignorance of what transpired after her re- 
 turn, though lively imaginations assisted them greatly ; 
 and Kate could have aided them still more, had she told 
 how she met Leslie Hargrave in that distant city. How 
 she had been attracted by his deep blue magnetising 
 
f/r*- 
 
 22 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 eyos. How from tlu' lirst liour oK ilirir nHMitin^ she 
 luul set him apart from all other men : he ha«l appearecj 
 so gifted, .so nohle. How he luni followed lu;r like her 
 sliadovv, till tliey hecame inseparahle. How in that one 
 year sIk; had giveti liim tlie ♦(reat deep love of her {)assion- 
 ate heart. Sheeould have told of tlieir parting vows as 
 they stood upon the verandah one glorious moonlight 
 night; and as liand clasped in hand, and eyes raised to 
 the moon as she rode l\igh in heaven, lie said, 
 
 'My darling, we are to ))e separated for one year, and 
 J want you to give me a proof of your love ; every time 
 that the moon is at the full at the hour of eleven in the 
 evening, will you come forth, no matter where you may 
 be, and look at her ; that our eyes may be bent at the 
 same time on the one object, that our communion of soul 
 may be more complete. Promise me you will.' 
 
 * I promise.' 
 
 She spoke slowly and solemnly ; awed, and troubled 
 by something, .she did not know what. He held her a little 
 from him and looked at her sweet ffice in the moonlight. 
 
 * Darling, I could never doubt you ; or I would not, 
 even now, let you go.' 
 
 ' Nor could I doubt you,' she replied, then added with 
 a laugh : * at least not while you are in your right mind.' 
 
 She never could tell why she said it, or wliy she laugh- 
 ed, such a weird laugh. Was it j;>rophetic '. Was it the 
 outcome of a feeling inspired by an incident that had oc- 
 curred a week before the evening we mention ? They 
 were at a large social gathering where Kate had attract- 
 ed much attention. She was not, as we have said, beauti- 
 ful, but there was something in her face that was beyond 
 
A MYSTKRY 
 
 2.1 
 
 iiion^ [ihy.sical loveliness ; an oxpressioii of trutli, }niiity 
 ami fresh girlisliiiess, that was caplivatin;^^ to men who 
 were sick of tlie eonventioiiul l)all-rooin beauty ; and as 
 Leslie noticed the .achnirini,' glances cast upon her, lie be- 
 came alarmed at the thou<^ht of losin^^ her, and crossinpr 
 the room to where she was in animated conversation witli 
 a ^roup of ladies and <^entlemen, he joined tliem for a few 
 moments; then <lrawin'^' lier arm through his, lie led h.er 
 to the verandah, when he began hurriedly, 
 
 ' Kate, I had dared to hope that you are fond of me, 
 even as I am fond of you, is it not so f Make me perfectly 
 happy to-night by putting it in words. Say, "Leslie J 
 love you." ' There was a slight pause. 'Say it,' he re- 
 peated with imperative eagerness. Kate raised her true 
 sweet eyes to his, then dropped them again and murmur- 
 ed in a half frightened tone. 
 
 * Leslie, I love you.' 
 
 He caught hei- hand and kissed it; he would have 
 drawn her to his bosom, and told her it was her resting 
 place forever, but he dared not. • 
 
 At this moment the figure of a woman cmercjed from a 
 screen of Virginia creeper near them, and looking straight 
 in Kate's face, with a light laugh passed through the long 
 French window into the drawing room. Kate shivered 
 and asked. 
 
 ' Who is she, Leslie V 
 
 ' Selina Vincent,' was his unmoved remark. ' She is 
 considered the belle of the city.' 
 
 Here the strains of one of Strauss waltzes floated out 
 on the air. 
 
 ' One waltz before we part, Kate, my darling,' cried the 
 
24 
 
 A MYSTERY 
 
 happy Leslie, as he led her to the ball-room. While Kate 
 glided round the room supported by her lover, many eyes 
 followed h(M-, and words of open admiration fell from lips 
 loiin^ unaccustomed to give voice to such a feeling, that 
 welled from liearts sated with the empty attractions of 
 fashionable women, and one, Selina Vincent, sat by and 
 listened. Never before had her reign been disputed, and 
 a feeling of hot anfjer and hate throbbed in her heart 
 against the unconscious girl, who was the cause of what 
 she considered the slight put upon herself. 
 
 She had met Leslie Hargrave several times, but had 
 never considered him a worthy object on which to exert 
 her unrivalled powers of ffisci nation ; Ijut now, when she 
 knew this girl who had dared to rival her, — loved him, 
 she saw the way to her punishment by making a breach 
 between them. She made a vow that the liirht in that 
 face should fade with weeping, and that young life be 
 bliffhted with jTfrievinGf over her shattered idol before 
 many weeks passed by. She knew her own power and 
 she intended to use it. 
 
 Several times as Kate floated round the room she saw 
 Selina Vincent, and each time felt as if the glance of an 
 evil-eye had fallen upon her; at last overcome with 
 nervous excitement she cried, — 
 
 ' Take me aw^ay, Leslie, I don't like Miss Vincent to 
 look at me ; I suppose it's foolish, but she has the look of 
 a bird of prey. Women don't reason, you know — they 
 have instincts — and my instincts tell me she is danger- 
 ous,' 
 
 Leslie laughed a happy laugh. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 25' 
 
 ' My darling, she is too small to be dangerous ; she is 
 not much more than halt" your size, my stately Kate.' 
 
 ' You may laugh,' responded Kate ; ' but I cannot, 
 lake me home, Leslie, I do not want to see her again ; I 
 don't want lier to look at me.' 
 
 'Well, she shall not see you; come this way, our 
 carriage is at the door even now. You are tired, love of 
 mine ; her look will not disturb you to-morrow.' 
 
 *■ I do not even wish to see her face again,' cried Kate 
 excitedly, as she sprang into the carriage. ' I have lelt 
 ever since she came stealthily out from behind the 
 creeper on the verandah, as though an evd thing were 
 near me. I have this feeling ; it may be wicked, but I 
 cannot help it.' 
 
 ' It seems very strange,' said Leslie ; ' she looks in- 
 ott'ensive enough; I never took nnich notice of her, she is 
 not my style,' with a look at Ivate that spoke volumes; 
 ' but I know she is considered very lovely.' 
 
 ' By men,' supplemented Kate, ' the greater nund)er of 
 whom never look beyond the surface.' 
 
 ' Now Kate, you are hard upon us pool" mortals.' 
 
 ' T don't mean you,' said Kate shyly. ' Of course, if 
 you had not been different from other men, I should 
 not ' she paused and blushed. 
 
 ' Should not what ^ ' asked Leslie sudliu"^ in hei- face. 
 
 'Should not dislike you so,' laughed Kate. 
 
 With this their conversation took a lighter turn, and 
 
 by the time they reached the shelter of the Hargrave 
 
 homestead, Kate had almost forgotten Miss Vincent. A 
 
 week later she left the city for hei' home in Beeborough, 
 
 and for some weeks letters passed between them ; letters 
 B 
 
26 
 
 A MYSTEKY. 
 
 that showed such close coimnimiori of soul, tliat it 
 would seem impossible the link could be severed, either 
 hei'c or hereafter; and then came one that Kate could not 
 understand ; it was so strange, so cold ; although it 
 commenced as usual ' Dearest Kate,' and ended ' ever 
 yours, Leslie,' and then for six weeks they ceased 
 altogether, when one day slie received tlie following — 
 
 * 95 River Street, 
 C 
 
 ' Forget me ; blot me from your memory forever. I am a 
 
 wretch, a dastard, too Cdntemptible even for your pity. 1 waa 
 
 married thre«i claya aj^o to Solina V^incent. I was mad. Your 
 
 Words have come too true. 
 
 •Leslie.' 
 
 Kate had felt that something was wrong, and had been 
 very miserable ; but she was not prepared for anytliing 
 like this. She staied at the ill-written scrawl as if she 
 had been turned to stone ; then raising her eyes upwards, 
 slie gasped in almost inarticulate accents, 'Oh, Father in 
 heaven, grant that he may live to feel as I do now.' 
 
 Then followed a deep sobbing ; but not a tear came to 
 her burning eyes. 
 
 ' Oh ! would that I had died before this doom came 
 upon me,' she moaned ; ' or that he had died true to me, 
 that I might have loved him still. What am I to do 
 with my life now ? Will I become hard and sceptical 
 and doubt the existence of truth and honour ? Will my 
 heart become like an arid desert — incapable of human 
 love, a withered, blasted thing ? ' 
 
 Slie stjirtcfl with horror at the thought, and cried 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 •27 
 
 that it 
 I, either 
 )uld not 
 ough it 
 jd ' ever 
 / ceased 
 
 ing— 
 
 Street, 
 
 I am a 
 
 by. I was 
 lad. Your 
 
 ' Leslie.' 
 
 had i)eeu 
 anything 
 as if she 
 upwards, 
 Faiher in 
 
 lOW.' 
 
 ir came to 
 
 oni came 
 
 lie to me, 
 
 I to do 
 
 sceptical 
 
 Will my 
 
 )i human 
 
 Lnd cried 
 
 ' Not that ! not that ! Ah I merciful Father, leave my 
 heart capable of loving, though everything else be taken 
 from me,' and she fell on her knees in an agony of 
 supplication, and there she was found some hours after- 
 wards rigid and insensible. Then followed a long illness, 
 of which she rememl)ered little, and which was succeeded 
 by her father's financial difficulty, and the illness and 
 death of both her parents, as has been already seen. 
 
 On the evening of the day of her mother's funeral, 
 after her invalid sister had retired to rest, a letter was 
 placed in her hands. She tore it slowly open, without 
 looking at the address, and as one in a dream, she read 
 the following lines : 
 
 ' 95 River Street, 
 «C 
 
 ' My Daklin(;, — Fur I must atill call you so, I know all your 
 trouble ; and oh how 1 wislithat 1 could comfort you ! No woman 
 has held or ever will hold your place in my heart. I was mad, my 
 darling, mad ; but my infatuation was short-lived ; three days of 
 wedded life restored me to my senses, and to tortures worse than 
 those suffered by fiends. Sometimes I feel 1 must lose my reason 
 in thinking of all I have lost. My darling, you who were so tender, 
 so pitiful to all living things, do not turn your heart utterly from 
 me, but keep your old promise made in the moonlight, and 
 through the dreary years to come let me feel that you have forgiven 
 me. It will not be wrong or 1 would not ask it. I was tempted of 
 the devil, and I fell, and have placed a barrier between us, here on 
 earth ; but in heaven all will be different. Our love was unlike the 
 love of other mortals, and it cannot die ; I feel it cannot. Though 
 I may never see your pure, beaiitiful face again, I shall carry this 
 love with me to the grave ; and you, whom I have wronged so 
 deeply, will not, as you read these lines, taunt me, even in thought, 
 
28 
 
 A MYSTKllY. 
 
 with having been faithless, for you know I was mad ! mad ! not 
 faithless, no, not faithless, that could never be, my darling, never. 
 
 ' Leslie.' 
 
 Kate read this letter over and over again, then she 
 pressed her cheek fondly upon it, and as she did so an 
 unearthly light trembled in her dark eyes ; a soft smile 
 played u[)(»n her lips, and at that moment Kate Lind- 
 wood's face was as the face of an angel. A weight 
 seemed lifted from her spirit ; silently she knelt beside 
 her bed, and a great feeling of thanksgiving welled up 
 from her heart as she murmured : ' Oh 1 I thank Thee, 
 I thank Thee, that Thou hast left me the power of 
 loving ; and now, O Father, watch over me always ; and 
 keep Thy child's heart pure and holy: day and ni^ht 
 watch over me, that I may always incline to Thy will 
 and walk in Thy way.' 
 
 She rose from her knees with a sense of happiness 
 she had never known before, she took a low chair, sat 
 down before the open window, and looked upon ttie night. 
 At this moment tlie moon that had been obscured by a 
 black cloud suddenly burst forth and glittered with 
 surpassing br.lliancy as she floated into a space of pure 
 ether, then passed behind another cloud, and again 
 peeped forth. Typical of human life, thought Kate, dark 
 and bright, dark and bright to the end, and how patiently 
 we pass through the dark, when we are looking forward 
 to the light. 
 
 While she thus mused, the moon, that had again passed 
 bcihind a cloud, burst forth into a glory of light, and as 
 slie did so, Kate, for the first time, noticed that she was 
 
A MYSTKRY. 
 
 '29 
 
 at tlic full. A strong- sense of spiritual j>resence was 
 upon her. She drew out her watch, — it was the hour of 
 eleven. ' My love, my love,' she murmured, ' you are 
 thinkinsf of me now. I feel as though you were with me. 
 1 almost fancy I hear you breathe. Leslie, do you see 
 the same bright spots that I am looking at ? the same 
 mountains and valleys ? Oh ! you are with me now, 
 Leslie, my love, my love.' Then her eyes went beyond 
 into the blue vault of heaven as she prayed : ' Father, 
 guard thy child.' Far into the small hours she sat watch- 
 ing the moon and thinking ; and every little while a 
 ])rayer or a thanksgiving was wafted up to heaven foi 
 what she considered hair-breadth escapes from calamity 
 or special blessings. There was no anger in her heart 
 now ; but a great ])itying, heaven-born love for the man 
 who had betrayed her trust, and whom she knew was 
 paying the penalty of his wrong-doing in passionate self- 
 upbraiding and bitterness of soul. ' The peace that pass- 
 eth understanding:' was hers, and when she souijht her 
 bed she slept the sweet refreshing sleep of a tired child. 
 
 ,gmmj^ 
 
■••■■""■•'■*— liU 
 
 ("A^*"' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 
 THE FIEND SUCC'REDS — ONE FOOL MORE — LESLIES llEl'ENTANOE — 
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 ELINA VINCENT was below the medium height, 
 and beautifully formed. Her movements had the 
 slow, soft, peculiar grace of the leopard, and her 
 eyes were of that colour so rare, so beautiful, and so 
 treacherous, the nearest approach seen in the human 
 being to the eye of these prowlers of tlie jungle, an orange 
 yellow, with large black pupils. These were fringed with 
 long, dark lashes, that were capable of giving them an}'' 
 variety of expression, from the glare of hate to the most 
 enslaving look of love. Her hair was light brown, with 
 a tawny shade running through it, and rippled in luxu- 
 riant waves from a broad white brow. Her complexion 
 was fair and a brilliant colour burned on either cheek. 
 There were some hard lines about her mouth when seen 
 in lepose ; but she never was seen in repose by those 
 whom she wished to conquer. She had beautiful teeth, 
 and an arch, fascinating smile usually parted her lips just 
 sufficiently to show them. She was a beautiful compound 
 of nature and of art. She met Leslie Hargrave often 
 
A MYSTERY 
 
 ni 
 
 after his botrotbed bad left tbe city ; and .she continued 
 attending every entertainment wbere she knew she would 
 meet him, and she brought the whole l)attery of her at- 
 tractions to bear upon him with too sure eti'ect. At tirst 
 he was curious to learn what Kate found amiss in her, 
 and purposely sought her society. On closer inspection 
 he found her charming ; and she alluded to his engage- 
 ment to Kate and praised her beauty till he was enchanted 
 with her sweetness ; then she envied those who could win 
 love, and lamented her own inability to do so, and she 
 looked so fair and guileless that he was perfectly fasci- 
 nated. He was thrown into her society daily, and daily 
 she practised her arts ui)on him, till he was bewildered. 
 He thought he sought her to hear the praises of his love, 
 and knew not the spell she was weaving round him. Her 
 fascinating eyes lured him wherever she moved. One 
 day when he called upon her, as it had become his wont 
 to do, she told him her father was going to take her to 
 Europe for an indefinite period, and that he expected her 
 while she was there to make a good match, as his finan- 
 ces were in a bad state. She passionately I'eiterated that 
 she did not want to marry ; then burst into tears and 
 vowed she would die if she were taken away from him. 
 That he had become part of her very life, and that she 
 could never love another. Then she was so humiliated 
 by her confession that, dazed by her beauty, her fascinat- 
 ing wiles, he clasped her in his arms and vowed that 
 nothing should part them ; and that evening (oh, shame 
 to womanhood that these things should be), they stepped 
 into a church and were married before he had time to re- 
 cover from the spell her enchantmi-nts had woven around 
 
 Ih 
 
:^2 
 
 A MYSTERY 
 
 liini. 'i'luit six'll onlv lasted a tew davs, for it was too 
 Hindi trouble to her to keep u]) tlie i'aico of love any 
 longer. But oh.tlie awakenini,^! who cainlcpiet its aL(ony, 
 its shame, its remoi'se ? Kate's pure, clear eyes looked at 
 liiin reproachfully whei-ever he turned. He tried not to 
 think of hei', hut the; last evenini,' spent with her would 
 come hack to him in spite of all his efforts to banish it 
 till the recidlection almt)st drove him mad. He wrote, as 
 we have seen, and told her he was married, and then set- 
 tled into dull a))athy, not caring what became of him, till 
 learning through the jiajiers of hei" father's linancial down- 
 fall, and the death of both her parents, a wild craving to 
 hear from her ])rompted him to write cagain, as we have 
 seen. After disnatchinij: his lettei- he waited some days 
 in fev(U•i^sh anxiety for a reply. At last it came, a small 
 note in her own handwriting, and he trembled as he took 
 it from the hand of the servant who broucrht it. He laid 
 it on the table and sat and looked at it, then he took it 
 up and laid it down again. He would rather think of 
 what might be in it; anything rather than be sure of 
 her scorn. At last, when he could bear the suspense no 
 longer, he tore it open and rea<.l these lines : 
 
 ' Leslie, I forgive you. 1 will keep my promise, but never while 
 I live seek to look upon my face again. You will acknowledge the 
 justice of this restriction, and respect my wish. 
 
 * Kate.* 
 
 What was this to him who was huno-erinix for one word 
 of affection ? Nothing ! he told himself in the first 
 misery of disappointment, for in spite of himself he had 
 expected something diffierent, some word that would tell 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 33 
 
 liim be was Htill <le.ar to Ikt. For li.'ilf an hour hv pacrd 
 the room like a mad man. Never, he felt, had lie loved 
 her as now, when she; wished never to see liis face 
 again. He cursed his folly for having lost her. He 
 cursed the beautiful woman who lured him away from 
 her. * I will see hei,' he muttered. ' 1 will look on her 
 sweet face again, and again 1 will hold her in my arms; 
 1 will kiss her sweet, sweet lips, J will make her admit 
 she loves me, my Kate, my pearl among women.' 
 
 Suddenly he stopped his mad pacing, and again took up 
 the letter, and as be did so, something dropped from be- 
 tween its folds to the floor ; he bent and ])icked up a 
 spray of mignonette. His face changed as if by magic. 
 He held it tenderly in bis fingers, and inhaled its per- 
 fume, while his thoughts w^ent back to the eve of their 
 parting, when Kate had worn a bunch of it in her bosom, 
 and he had asked her for a spray, and she had given it 
 him, remarking as her holy eyes met his : ' It is so sweet, 
 that to me it always seems emblematical of piire and true 
 love.' 
 
 ' And 3^ou have sent me this, my darling,' he cried 
 bitterly, ' and I am not even worthy to touch it.' 
 
 The storm was over, and he who had lately given little 
 thought to prayer, knelt there and prayed that God 
 would make him a purer and better man. 
 
 And Selina Vincent, what had she gained by wrecking 
 the lives of two human beings ? Only her revenge. 
 
 >She did not pretend to love her husband, or her liome. 
 She rushed into every species of dissipation, danced and 
 flirted to her heart's content. Her beautiful face and 
 figure were to be found at every scene of gaiety, her hus- 
 
w 
 
 ■r 
 
 f- 
 
 34 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 11 
 
 band accompanying her only to save appearances, and 
 in time even that became impossible ; and the last report 
 in the society column of the morning papers, issued a 
 short time before our story opens, was that the beautiful 
 Mrs. Hargrave had eloped with Captain Fitzgerald, of the 
 RiHes, and the guilty pair had sailed for Europe. 
 
 liiili'.' 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SPINSTER t'ONTINUES TO GIVE VENT TO HEK OUTKAOED FEELINGS 
 —KATE HOLDS THE SITUATION. 
 
 ^ ATE,' said Helena, as the former brourrht a cup of 
 
 -^ tea to her bedside the inorninfj followirifj the 
 
 memorable Hallowe'en mentioned in our first 
 I'hapter. ' Kate ! What have you done with that baby ?' 
 ' Dressed it and fed it,' replied Kate quietly, at the 
 same time bracing her nerves for the coming contest. 
 
 * I did not mean that,' irritabl}', * but liave you sent it 
 to the Mayor.' 
 
 * No. I had no one to send, and,' began Kate, 
 
 * Cannot you,' interrupted Helena, ' go to Mrs. Beech and 
 ask her if she will let her girl take it, and you can write 
 a note explaining how it came here. I know the Mayor 
 is the proper person to send it to, and the sooner it is 
 done the better. It is an abominable trick,' she added 
 hotly, ' for anyone to palm otf a baby on two single wo- 
 men.' 
 
 'Well, if that is where you feel it the most,' vsaid Kate, 
 demurely, * I can release you from your share of the 
 
hir* 
 
 ii 
 
 30 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 ' { 
 
 trouble, as it would M})pear 1)V this, tliat it is only palniod 
 off, as you term it on one single woman,' and she handed 
 to her sister the paper and tlie bank notes. 
 
 ' Why did you not tell me this last night :* ' snapped the 
 invalid, when sh6 had read tlu; paper, nnd counted the 
 money. 
 
 'Because you fell asleep, and when you awakened it 
 was too late to go into the matter ; besides, I was afraid 
 you would not sleep if you had anything more on your 
 mind.' 
 
 ' I wonder what woman could sleep with an annoyanee 
 like this on her mind. I can't, I know, and I don't want 
 to.' 
 
 * It need not be any trouble,' began Kate, ' I ' 
 
 * You don't mean to tell me you think of keeping the 
 brat,' interrupted Helena. 
 
 * I do,' responded Kate, in a low suppressed voice. 
 
 ' Kate, you must have taken leave of your senses,' 
 cried Helena in great excitement. ' You, a single woman, 
 only twenty -five years of age, think of rearing an infant. 
 Why, it will be the talk of the town.' 
 
 * The town might have something worse to talk about,' 
 replied Kate coolly. 
 
 * Now, dear,' she continued in a coaxing voice, ' try and 
 look at this matter from another stand-point ; so far you 
 have been thinking only of what people will say. Now, 
 here is another view of the case. We have no little peo- 
 ple about us, and are not likely to marry now.' 
 
 * Speak for yourself,' interrupted Helena. 
 
 ' And it might be a comfort to us in our old age,' con- 
 tinued Kate, without noticing her sister's interruption, 
 
 m 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 .•J7 
 
 ' we would learn to love it. It would keep our hearts 
 warm, and prevent us from becoming crabbed old maids.' 
 
 ' I'm not likely to live lon<' enoui'h to be a crabbed old 
 muid,' moaned tlie invalid, ' and as to you, I do not see 
 any reason why you should not marry.' 
 
 Kate had not told her sister of her enfjafjement to 
 
 Leslie Har^^a'ave on her return from C , as she did not 
 
 like to parade her happiness while her sister was ill. She 
 thought it would be time enouijjh when Helena was better ; 
 but Helena did not get better, and now that it was broken 
 off she would not tell her for Leslie's sake ; she would not 
 hear him spoken of as she knew Helena would speak, if 
 made acquainted with the details concerning his mar- 
 riage and its wretched results. 
 
 ' Why cannot you like John Windermere ? ' continued 
 Helena. 
 
 ' I do like him.' 
 
 ' Then why don't you marry him ? ' 
 
 ' He has not asked me,' replied Kate. * In any case, 
 Nell, dear, you had better not entertain the hope of my 
 marrying ; I'm not a marrying woman.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think matrimony would suit me ; I don't think 
 I would make a good wife.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I'm queer in my ideas and like to have my own 
 way ; so please, Nell, let me have my way about this babe, 
 tlie sender must have thought that I had a talent for 
 training a baby or he would not have sent it to me.' 
 
 ' How do you know it was a man left it ? ' 
 
 * I judge by the writing, and the money.' 
 
38 
 
 A xMYSTERV. 
 
 ' It is very strange,' said Helena musing ; ' it would al- 
 most appear as though it were some one who knew us ; in 
 that case,' she continued, ' the child may be well born/ 
 
 * [ think it is,' said Kate eagerly, carried away by her 
 sister's softened mood, ' and I would so like to keep it ; I 
 want something to live for.' 
 
 The last words were uttered involuntarily. 
 
 ' Something to live for,' cried Helena, staring at Kate 
 in amazement, * one would think you had tried everything 
 else and failed.' 
 
 A crimson Hush spread to Kate's white brow, and there 
 was a suspicious (piiver in her voice, as she replied : 
 
 ' I think I have been a failure in many ways, but in this 
 I think I would succeed.' 
 
 There was a pause of some moments ; the invalid who 
 was never very energetic was getting tired of opposition. 
 Kate resumed, ' May I write to Aunt Merry vale for ad- 
 vice ? She would know best what we ought to do. If I 
 write directly, there is time for a reply to reach us to- 
 morrow.' 
 
 ' Well, Kate, as you like ; I wash my hands of this mat- 
 ter.' 
 
 At this moment a low wailing cry came from the next 
 room, and Kate retreated to comfort her charge, and write 
 her note to Aunt Merryvale, whose advent we will leave 
 for a new chapter. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 AUNT MERRYVALK— THE SI'INSTER MAKES A LAST PROTEST AiiAINST 
 THE INNOVATION — NEVER COULD KEEL SENTIMENTAL ON AN EMPTY 
 STOMACH. 
 
 UNT MERRYVALK was the only .sister of Mr. 
 Lindwood, and lived in a small town thirty miles 
 from Boeborough, where she had resided many 
 years. She had married early in life and had lost her hus- 
 l>and in less than a year from their wedding-day, and had 
 remained a widow ever since, in spite of numerous tempt- 
 ations to change her state. She lived on a very small 
 life annuity, and at the time we write was in her sixtieth 
 year. She was above the medium height and very spare, 
 and adjusted her garments in a way to make her a[)pear 
 even more so than was necessary. She paid semi-annual 
 visits to her nieces, in whose welfare she felt a great in- 
 terest, and it was on one of these occasions that Kate had 
 suggested some improvement to her form and the set of 
 iici' dress, when tlie old lady drew hoi self up and replied ; 
 ' I'll have none of your fandangoes ; if you had been 
 born with a hump you would try every means to get rid 
 
 t, ^ 
 
■iMinli , , ■. -l«|.wi;.«t,..-n^!-Bi.-=>.,«,.B 
 
 40 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 t! 
 
 of it instead of making it large ; then why am I, who am 
 so perfectly made, to disfigure myself.' 'Her hair was pearl 
 white, and her complexion fair and pure as a young girl's, 
 a delicate shade of pink on e r cheek, and fine clear 
 grey eyes that had an undaun - and merry glance. She 
 was in all a very attractive woman. She was fond of her 
 home, and once when asked why she did not live with 
 her nieces, ' replied : * Oh, I think, as a rule, as regards 
 relatives, that distance lends enchantment to the view. 
 We agree now, and perhaps we would not if we lived to- 
 gether ; besides, I am too old to bear transplanting.' 
 
 Now, truth to tell. Aunt Merry vale would like to have 
 made her home with her niec3s, if she had been sure it 
 would have been agreeable to them ; and her nieces would 
 have liked her with them, but would not ask her, for 
 their sakes, to break up the home that had been hers so 
 many years. Thus circumstances were bringing matters 
 to a crisis likely to suit all parties, when Kate wrote and 
 posted the following note : 
 
 * Beekorough, Nov. Ist, 18 — . 
 
 'Dear Aunt. — Last night a baby was left on our door-step, "by 
 some person or persons unknown," with a request to me to train it 
 in the way it should go, and one hundred dollars to train it with, and 
 a promise of more when reciuired. Please tell me what I had better 
 do with it. Your alFectionate niece. 
 
 ' KaTK LlNDWOOD.' 
 
 Kate thought this note would bring her aunt in person 
 and she was not mistaken. At nine in the eveninjx that 
 estimable lady knocked at the door, and entered without 
 waiting for a reply to her summons. She gave her nieces 
 
A MYSTERV. 
 
 H 
 
 each a short crisp kiss, threw her bonnet and mantle on 
 the table, and taking a comfortable chair turned to Kate 
 and with a mock tragedy air exchiimed : ' Now, bring 
 on your baby ! I'm equal to any number of babies. Bring 
 them on !' 
 
 * There's only one,' said Kate with a smile. All her 
 troubles seemed to vanish in her aunt's cheery presence. 
 
 ' Well, bring it here.' 
 
 * It's asleep,' said Kate, turning to the basket, which 
 she had converted into a cradle. 
 
 * Never mind that ! I should like to know what kind 
 of temper it has. A child that can be wakened out of 
 sleep without crying may be worth rearing. Is it a girl 
 or a boy ? ' 
 
 * A girl, aunt.' 
 
 * Well, I am glad of that ! there are more men now in 
 the world than the world will be any the better for ; and 
 I should not like it on my conscience that I had any- 
 tliing to do with the rearing of another man to swell the 
 number that are no credit to themselves. I'd rather see 
 the world without a man in it. Bring me your embryo 
 woman, I say, and let me see what she is like.' 
 
 Kate took up the infant, tenderly, and laid it on her 
 aunt's knee. The movement partially wakened her and 
 she opened a pair of deep blue eyes, fixed them for a mo- 
 ment on Aunt Merryvale's face, closed them slowly and 
 again slumbered. 
 
 ' Good tempered,' continued Aunt Merryvalc, ' that's 
 
 one thing in her favour ; and now to busines.i. Which of 
 
 you two is most desirous that this child shouM remain 
 
 here, because ' 
 
 C 
 
 1 i!' 
 
42 
 
 A MYSTERY 
 
 * I don't want it, aunt,' cried Helena, hotly ; ' there is 
 sure to be a scandal made out of it.' 
 
 ' You interrupted me, Helena. I was sfoing to say be- 
 cause, if you wish to keep the infant, you will have to 
 take me as well, as there is a certain fitness of things to 
 be observed, as you say, there mijj^ht be a scandal. Let 
 me see, Helena, the child resembles vou stron<xlv ; it has 
 a nose, two eyes and a mouth. I see we shall have to 
 proceed very carefully.' 
 
 ' Dear aunt," said Kate, coaxingly, ' do come and live 
 with us, and that will end all the trouble.' 
 
 ' Want to draw a woman of my years and respectability 
 into this scandalous business, do you ? ' cried the old lady, 
 with a comical look. * Well, 1 will not make anv rash 
 promises, but will care for this infant while you bring in 
 some supper; anything you have will do. There is a 
 box of sardines in my satchel, T know Helena likes them, 
 and some pears for you. You are fond of pears, and why 
 you have never been paired puzzles me. You are not, 
 strictly speaking, bad-looking.' 
 
 'Am I not,' said Kate, laughing lightly. 'Then there 
 may be some chance for me yet, auntie, though I do think 
 it would be the making of a nice old maid spoiled.' 
 
 * Don't talk lightl}^ Kate,' said the old lady, rebukingly, 
 at the same time di'awing a long, solenm face. 
 
 ' Don't you know that the end of " old maids " is said 
 to be to " lead apes down there," ' and she slowly pointed 
 her forefinger downward, while her grey eyes twinkled. 
 
 ' Nevertheless, I'd rather die a spinster than run tlie 
 risk of leading one here,' laughed Kate, as she spread a 
 cloth on the table and left the room to prepare a sup})er 
 for three. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 43 
 
 IS 
 
 be- 
 ) to 
 
 3 to 
 
 Let 
 has 
 e to 
 
 live 
 
 oility 
 
 lady, 
 
 rash 
 
 ing in 
 is a 
 them, 
 
 [l why 
 ■e not, 
 
 there 
 think 
 
 :ingly. 
 
 lis saitl 
 iointed 
 ikled. 
 Ian the 
 >read a 
 isuppcr 
 
 While this badinasfe had been fjoino: on between Aunt 
 Merryvale and Kate, Plelena had remained silent : now 
 she raised herself to a sitting posture and beo-an — 
 
 ' Aunt, do vou reallv mean to encourai'e Kate in the 
 absurd foUv of rearinfj tliis child, in the tace of all that 
 is likely to be said about it ? ' 
 
 'What is likely to be said about it?' ([Ueried her 
 aunt.' 
 
 ' Everything I Beeborough is such an awful place for 
 scandal. I know this tiling will be the death of nie. I 
 cannot bear worry of any kind. No one knows how deli- 
 cate my nerves are.' 
 
 * You are not likely to die yet,' remarked Aunt Merry- 
 vale impressively. ' You are not good enough to go to 
 lieaven yet, and I hope that none of my relatives are bad 
 enouirh to 2fo below. j\lost of them have had uprisinnr 
 tendencies, and I trust you will follow their example in 
 this respect.' 
 
 Helena made no reply to these remarks, and the old 
 lady continued .solemnly, 
 
 ' Helena, we have many batth s with self; many i)reju- 
 dices to overcome ; many hard trials to l)ear l)efo]-e we 
 are fitted for the Kingdom of Heaven. Charity covers a 
 multitude of sins. Let us suppose that this community 
 is rot as uncharitable as vou think. Let us do our dutv 
 fearing notlung, and leave the sequel to a higher power. 
 You lie here ill till you get all sorts of fanciful notions, 
 and a change will do you good, and the care of this infant 
 will be a decided change.' 
 
 ' You surely do not wish me to take care of it ? ' cried 
 Helena, helplessly. 
 
 I <l 
 
 •^ » 
 
 ) ' I 
 
44 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 If 
 
 \x 
 
 \pl<l ' 
 
 * Certainly not ; but it will have an enlivening effect ; 
 will be a new and breezy element in your home. I do 
 not see any difficulty in this matter, but rather a blessing. 
 My dear Helena, there are many things equally hard to 
 lv,f,, ■■■!, ill health. The daily struggle with the ordinary 
 trials of life, — the care of a fretful invalid — (excuse me, 
 I only wish to show you things as they are) have changed 
 Kate so in the last year that I hardly knew her.' 
 
 ' T7' ,^ -^lio never complains,' cried Helena in astonish- 
 ment- 
 
 * No, that\' jast where it is. Complaints act on the mind 
 like a^i et ^ape • /e to an engine, and relieve the ma- 
 chinery. She ne^ as you say, complains, and conse- 
 quently the pressure is wearing her out. Now, I do not 
 blame you in any way. It is not your fault ; but now, 
 when there appears a way out of the difficulty, try and 
 fall into the current of events gracefully. You tell me 
 the babe was sent forth with one hundred dollars, and 
 more to come as required, and it is my belief that it will 
 come, probably quarterly ; and think of the assistance that 
 will be to you. Kate will be able to have help in the 
 kitchen, and life will not be so hard for her at least. And 
 if you wish it, and have room for me, I will add my little 
 income to j^ours, and make my home with you.' 
 
 'Dear aunt, I should like it above all things,' cried 
 Helena ; * I have always wished it, I feel better already 
 for having you here. Kate and I are rather dull some- 
 times, and a " new element " as you say in the household 
 will be refreshing, and,' she continued deprecatingly, ' I 
 will put up with the baby for the sake of having you.' 
 
 ' Then I will stay and take the responsibility of the in- 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 45 
 
 3ct ; 
 [do 
 
 nary 
 J me, 
 
 fant and administer all the spankings necessary to its 
 health and growth.' 
 
 Here Kate appeared with the supper-tray. 
 
 * And now let me satisfy the cravings of hunger,' con- 
 tinued Aunt Merry vale, laying the babe in the cradle, 
 * that I may be able to see the romance of this affair in its 
 })roper light. I^never could feel sentimental on an empty 
 stomach.' 
 
 nish- 
 
 mind 
 3 ma- 
 conse- 
 io not 
 ■j now, 
 •y and 
 ell me 
 and 
 
 it will 
 that 
 
 m the 
 And 
 little 
 
 le 
 
 cried 
 Iready 
 some- 
 ^sehold 
 
 |ou. 
 Ithe in- 
 
r 
 
 
 CHARTER Vr. 
 
 THE 'eVENIN(;(;HI{()N1CLe' — .MR. AXP MRS. BEEUH — MRS. BEECH CALLS 
 ON MISS LINDWOUD AKD FINDS TlIK SITUATION VERY FUNNY — THE 
 PLAINER THE fSIKL THE SOONEK SHE .MARR£ES — THE COMINC WOMAN 
 — DR. DASHWOOl) A PI'EARS UPON THE SCENE— MRS. DAHHWOOD IS 
 UNNECESSARILY IIEALTIIV. 
 
 JjTTN the Evemnr) Chnmicle 
 rij^ eighteen liundred and se^ 
 
 of the fourth of November, 
 seventy-four, among the ' local 
 item>,' appeared the following announcement : 
 
 ' Among the other wild acts perpetrated on AU-Hallow- 
 cve, we liear that a child, from three to four months old, 
 was left at the residence of Miss Lindwood, Maple street, 
 where it will be kindly taken care of till the parents can 
 be discovered. The child was well dressed, and money 
 was found on its person.' 
 
 The same evening, M r. Beech (manager of the ( 'ommercial 
 Bank, Heel)orough) read the paragrap . aloud to his wife 
 as they sat at the tea-table, whereupon Mrs. Beech sprang 
 up, passed swiftly to the opj)Osite end of the table, and 
 looking over her husband's shoulder, cried excitedly : 
 
 ' Let me see, Joseph ! how funny. Poor things. What 
 will they do with it ? Isn't it funny ? ' 
 
 4' 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 47 
 
 Mrs. Beech was only nineteen and had b;'en two years 
 married, and considered twenty-tive quite old, particu- 
 larly if single, and for this reason continually ap})lied 
 the term * old things' to women equally fresh-looking as 
 herself, for be it known, her trials during these two years 
 of house-keeping had been many. She was one of those 
 women who could not bear to see a chair out of jilace, a 
 book the wrong side up, a pa])er on tlie table, or the most 
 innocent description of cob-web. She vowed that dirt 
 would be the death of her ; so she swept and dusted, dust- 
 ed and swept, and there was no ])eace for the innocent 
 spider and fly, no peace for her liusband, no peace for her- 
 self, and the lines indicative of her peculiar disposition 
 began to show upon her face, though with all this anxiety 
 on her mind she was at all times meiry as a cricket, 
 
 ' Isn't it funny, Joseph,' she continued, 'to think of the 
 Lindwoods having a baby left on their door-step ? I must 
 go at once and see what it is like. They won't know what 
 to do with it. Old maids never do know anything about 
 children.' 
 
 * I think they have their aunt with them, and I believe 
 she has been married about as long as you have,' respond- 
 ed Mr. Beech, in a slow, quiet tone, ' though that being 
 some time a^jo miijht make a ditterence.' 
 
 ' Now, don't laugh, Jose[)h.' Mr. Beech had not laughed, 
 he seldom did. 
 
 *I know a good deal about* babies. I saw Mrs. Lane's, 
 our washerwoman, when it had the whooping-couglf, and I 
 know it had to be slapped on the back when it coughed.' 
 
 ' But probably this baby has not got the whooping- 
 
 
mi^mmji,im.L. 
 
 
 48 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 
 1 
 
 M 
 
 / 
 
 1 
 
 : 
 
 1 
 
 m 
 
 1 
 
 cou<,^h,' remarked the imperturbaMe Joseph. 'In that case 
 what paiticular use do you expeet to be ? ' 
 
 ' You think I don't know anythinf^,' cried tlie youn<^ 
 wife with a pout, ' but you can't say I'm not a good house- 
 keeper.' 
 
 * Certainly not, my dear, I do not know your equal,' and 
 added undor his breath, ' almost too good.' 
 
 ' What's that you say, Joseph ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing, dear, nothing ; I was only thinking aloud.' 
 
 * What were you thinking about ? ' 
 
 ' What a good house-keeper you are, and how very nice 
 this tea is," and he finished his third cup, rose and took a 
 chair before the tire, while Mrs. Beech, satisfied with this 
 little sop, rang the bell for the maid-of -all- work 
 
 * JVly dear,' said Mr. Beech, after the tea equipage had 
 been removed, and Mrs. Beech stood before him giving a 
 last fiirt to her dress, and pulling on her gloves, prepara- 
 tory to making a visit to the Misses Lindwood, to satisfy 
 her curiosity respecting ' that baby,' as she called it. 
 
 ' My dear, may I put my feet on the footstool ? I have 
 my slippers on.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, if you will put a paper on it first — these 
 things are so easity soiled,' and she left her husband with 
 his paper, while she tri})ped along the street and knocked 
 at Miss Lindwood's door. 
 
 •'Why, Kate,' she exclaimed, as that young lady opened 
 the door. ' Isn't it funny ? ' 
 
 * Is tft)t what funny ? ' asked Kate. 
 
 ' Why, that you should have a baby left on your door- 
 step. Joseph has just been reading about it in the even- 
 ing paper. Isn't it funny ? ' 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 49 
 
 lese 
 
 r'lth 
 
 :ed 
 
 kor- 
 len- 
 
 '1 don't know,' said Kate. ' Would you tliink it funny 
 if it liad been left with vou ? " 
 
 ' Well, no, but that would be different. I'm a married 
 woman, and might be supposed to know something about 
 the rearing of an infant,' and she straightened herself up 
 with an air that brought a smile to Kate's face. 
 
 After being made acquainted with Mrs. Merry vale, and 
 saluting the invalid's soft cheek, Mrs. Beech turned to 
 Kate. 
 
 ' Now, do let me see that baby. I do love babies. Where 
 is it i Do let mo see it.' 
 
 'It is here,' said Kate, drawing the basket to her visitor's 
 side, and disclosing to view ' The Pearl,' as they called 
 her, with her eyes wide open ; her mouth also, and into 
 which she was trying to force one dimpled hand. She 
 gurgled a welcome to Mrs. Beech, as that lady bent over 
 her, and exclaimed, 
 
 ' Ah, you beauty ! Kate, is'nt she a beauty ? ' and she 
 patted each cheek with the usual keck, keck, keck, keck, 
 a sound formed by a peculiar contact of the tongue and 
 teeth, and supposed to be the only language that the in- 
 fant mind is capable of comprehending, and Pearl showed 
 her understanding was above par, by dimpling and cooing 
 in the most enchanting manner. 
 
 * Isn't she sweet,' continued Mrs. Beech, as she took her 
 from the basket, to examine her more closely. ' She has 
 most peculiar eyes. I can't help looking at them. I have 
 seen eyes like hers somewhere before.' 
 
 ' Where ? ' cried Kate involuntarily, the colour rising 
 in her cheeks. 
 
 Mrs. Beech did not notice her agitation, but continued 
 
50 
 
 A MYSTKRY. 
 
 ']ifm 
 
 ' Somewhere, I do not know where,' and she puckered her 
 eyebrows witli a i)uzzled expression. 
 
 ' Tliey are not bad-lookin;^ oyes, now,' broke in Aunt 
 Merry vale, 'but there is no tellino- what they will be, child- 
 ren ehanf,^e so. A little while ago, I presume they t 
 have looked like the eyes of a boiled lobster, the next 
 pliase will probably be an ogling eye ; and fi'om that 
 the}^ will pass to the gooseberr^'^, and the gimlet, if she 
 remain single, eh, Mrs. Beech ? ' 
 
 * Ah ! she is too pretty to remain single,' twittered Mrs. 
 Beech. 
 
 * Not at all,' responded Aunt Merryvale, with emirres- 
 semenf ; * as a rule, the plainer the girl, the sooner she 
 marries.' 
 
 * How do you make that out ? ' queried Mrs. Beec^ er 
 colour rising, and the little sharp point on the end Oi jr 
 nose looking sharper still, for Mrs. Beech, as before stated, 
 liad married young. 
 
 * There are many reasons,' resumed Aunt Merryvale. 
 Firstly, she is unaccustomed to attention, and her heart 
 
 yields at the first siege. Secondly, she has usually only 
 one lover at a time, tlierefore she is not troubled in mak- 
 ing her choice between two or more. Thirdly, she thinks 
 her first offer may be the only offer she will ever have. 
 Whereas the beauty is accustomed to homage from her 
 cradle, and as she passes through life, men come and go, 
 and lovers wax and wane, and she marryeth not, for she 
 either does not find anyone to suit her, or she has set her 
 affections on the unattainable, or she loves to exercise her 
 power over men. In time, a gray hair, or a crow's foot, 
 awakens her to the consciousness that youth is past. Then, 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 51 
 
 if slio bo a fool, .sho ruslies Into a loveless iiianiajj^e, to 
 avoi«l the reproach, as some think it, of being an oM maid 
 ]f she be wise, she goes (juietly on her way to a beautiful 
 old age, and love, pure and true, will attend her to the 
 end.' 
 
 * You were married very young yourself, auntie,' said 
 Helena, with a view to covering their visitor's too 
 apparent discomforture. 
 
 * So I was, and for one of the reasons I have just 
 mentioned. What a career 1 miglit have had, if 1 had 
 only resisted that one temptation. What a model old 
 maid I might have been,' she added with a miscliievous 
 twinkle in her eye. 
 
 Aunt Merry vale had seen at a glance that ]\Irs. Beech 
 thought her nieces old, in fact quite beyond the pale of 
 matrimony, and determined to have a little fun at her 
 expense. 
 
 * I don't see any disgrace in a woman b^ ing single,' she 
 continued. ' It seems to me ratlier a credit 'than other- 
 wise. It shows she has some strenLith of mini], and is 
 able to resist the smiles and wiles of man. Kate, my «lear, 
 I must see what can be made of you. Spinsters aie 
 becoming; the fashion now, and \vc must not be without 
 one in oin* family.' 
 
 * I hope I shall be a credit to you,' laughed Kate. * Do 
 you wish me to model myself from tlie exclusive and 
 melancholy, crabbed and sour, prying and peeping, 
 tattlinc: and tale-bearinf]^, or frolicsome and ^i-ushinir 
 type ? ' 
 
 ' Not any of these,' responded Aunt Merry vale, * they 
 are all old-fashioned, and you may just as well live out 
 
\y-iH 
 
 52 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 of the world a.s out of the fashion. The thing to be 
 desired now, and in the coming time, is a sensil)le, true, 
 natural woman, one who does not care one iota, from a 
 society point of view, whether she be married or single ; 
 one who is willing to do her duty in that sphere of life 
 in which it has pleased God to place her, and with tluit 
 baby on your hands for occu})ation. and no time to note 
 the waning of your outward b'eauty, there v/ill be a fair 
 prospect of your attaining to tlie imvard beauty of the 
 type now in demand.' 
 
 ' I hope I shall come up to your exi)ectatioiiS, dear 
 auntie,' whispered Kate, as she pressed a kiss upon the 
 soft pink clicek of the old lady. 
 
 ' 1 think, with a liitle cultivation, you would make a 
 fair specimen of the gushing type,' put in Mrs. Beech, 
 who liad been watching for an opportunity to give vent 
 to a feeling of irritation that had been struggling for 
 utterance ever since Aunt Merr^^vale commenced speak- 
 
 ing. 
 
 * Kate has many years to live before she will be old, 
 whether married or single,' spoke up Helena from the 
 sofa wdiere she was restinn'. Helena disliked discussions 
 on ages, and never would tell her own, but persisted in 
 stating that a lady's age was what she looked, and in this 
 gained an advantage, as she looked younger than she 
 really was. 
 
 Here the conversation was interrupted by another 
 knock at the door, and the entrance of no less a 
 personage than Dr. Dashwood, who, after greeting Mrs. 
 Men y vale, whom he had known for some years, and 
 havinix a slv thrust at Mrs. Beech on finding her with a 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 53 
 
 child in her arms, and pincliing Katie's check, took a 
 chair and sat down by the invalid, and aftei- feelini; her 
 pulse for a few minutes, exclaimed — 
 
 * By Jove ! here is a decided improvement, what have 
 you been doing with her ? Pulse better than I have 
 found it for a month. Go on with that tonic and eat 
 plenty of beef-steak, and we'll be dancing at your wedding 
 yet instead of wearing crape at your funeral.' 
 
 * The doctor still likes his little joke,' put in Mrs. 
 Beech, turning to Aunt Merryvale. 
 
 * I don't think he means it as a joke,' returned Aunt 
 Merryvale. ' I think myself that Helena is better.' 
 
 ' Oh ! but about her marrying, I mean,' giggled Mrs. 
 Beech.' 
 
 * Ah, true ! ' responded Aunt Merryvale, with intense 
 gravity. ' I wish he would not put such ideas into the 
 child's head, another ten years will be time enough for 
 that. Speeches of that kind are apt to make girls 
 forward.' 
 
 Mrs. Beech's colour rose, though she scarcely knew why 
 she felt uncomfortable. 
 
 The doctor at this moment turned his attention to the 
 Pearl. 
 
 * Fine child, ^Irs. Beech ; but it was sly of you to get 
 this over without saying anything to me about it.' 
 
 Mrs. Beech's cheeks grew pinker still, but before she 
 could reply. Aunt Merryvale interposed. 
 
 ' That child is mine, and I won't have her given away 
 heedlessly to anybody.' 
 
 * Bless me, ma'am ! You don't say so !' 
 
 
■*""pliii 
 
 mmmm 
 
 54 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 * I do, I've adopted her, I want to see if I can't rear a 
 woman after an idea of my own, that she may be a pat- 
 tern for tlie I'ising exoneration to copy from. Poor tliini^s, 
 they have nothini^^ to follow now but the frilled and fnr- 
 belowed type, which I am going to make it the aim of ray 
 life to extinguisli before I die, and then will commence 
 the reign of counnon-sense.' 
 
 'Ah, true, it could not commence while you are on 
 earth,' said the doctor with a merry twinkle in his eye. 
 
 ' Now, doctor, don't practice any of your siiarpness on 
 me.' 
 
 ' Where did you pick up this infant, anyway V queried 
 the doctor, ' and whose is it ?' 
 
 Whereupon Kate ventured an explanation. 
 
 ' So it is you wiio have got the training of this infant, 
 is it ? Ah, I see, — no servant, — sick sister, haven't enough 
 to do to occupy your time. Suppose you try baby farm- 
 ing. I'll engage to supply you with a select number of 
 babies, on commission ; say ten per cent on the amount 
 paid for maintenance, Don't see why I should not make 
 my little pile as well as you ?' 
 
 ' I agree,' said Kate, 'on condition that you supjdy the 
 soothing syrup gratis.' 
 
 ' This being all arranged,' continued the doctor, ' I must 
 wander on in life's dreary way, and go and see my next 
 patient,' and the doctor took his leave, accompanied as far 
 as the door by Mrs. Beech, who informed him by the way 
 that ' it was very funny that the liindwoods should have 
 a baby left on their door-step." 
 
 ' It's a great blessing, Mrs. Beech,' said the kind-hearted 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 oo 
 
 doctor. ' If 1 mistake not, it will add considerably to their 
 income, and thus enable my patient to procure the ne- 
 cessaries for strengthening her constitution. Mv dear lit- 
 tie woman,' he continued * it is very sad to have to real- 
 ize these things, but I believe it is as much the need of 
 necessary nourishment, as actual disease, tliat has pre- 
 vented Miss Lindwood's recovery ; she would n(^t take the 
 nourishment I have ordered because she knew there was 
 no money forthcoming- to pay for it.' 
 
 * Good gracious !' cried Mrs. Jjeech ; ' I had no idea of 
 such a thincf.' 
 
 'No; few of us know how our next-door neighbours 
 live, and even when we do, it is almost impossible for ns 
 to assist people of their class,' save by kind words, Mi's. 
 Beech, and in that I know you will always be fust.' 
 
 The doctor went on his way, and as he will appear 
 from time to time in these pages, we will now introduce 
 him more fully to the reader. 
 
 Six years ago. Dr. Stephen Dash wood came to Beebo- 
 rough, with a wife and small family, to take the practice 
 of Dr. Ellis, deceased, since which time he and old Dr. 
 Newton had ranked as the first physicians in the town. 
 The doctor was forty 3'ears of age, of medium height, 
 broad shoulders, an expansive forehead, keen grey eyes, 
 reddish hair and whiskers, and a kindly, jovial manner that 
 was almost enoui-h to raise the sick without the aid of 
 medicine. He had often met Aunt Merry vale before, and 
 the two, with their shrewd conuuon-sense and love of 
 humour, thoroughly appreciated eacli other; indeed Aunt 
 Merryvale had been heard to say, that if ever she could 
 
5() 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 be tempted to marry again, it would be by Dr. Dashwood, 
 though she lamented that there was little hope of it, as 
 Mrs. Dash wood was, or appeared to be, unnecessarily 
 healthy. 
 
■IZ- V^v 
 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 KATB IS CAUGHT IN A RAIX-STOKM — NOVKMBER MU.SIXGS— ADVENT OF 
 JOHN WINDEKMERE -AN UNFAVOURABLE TIME FOR A DEULAUATKjN 
 — KATE'.S INWARD CONFLICT — L')V£ VERSUS MONEY— DR. DASH- 
 WOOD FINDS ANOTHER PATIENT. 
 
 ii; 
 
 * \ 
 
 FEW weeks after the events narrated in the last 
 cl: apter, while Kate, who had gone a little way 
 out in the country on an errand for her aunt, was 
 returning, she was overtalien by a violent rain-storm. 
 The only shelter near was a cluaip of evergreens, by the 
 road-side, and Kate succeeded in ensconcing herself on the 
 lee-sido of these, thus partially protecting herself from 
 the wind that came in wild gusts, sweeping a heavy rain 
 before it. She was tired and wet, and life at that mo- 
 ment seemed drear and desolate to the gii'l who had been 
 reared in luxury. She wondered if it would be thus al- 
 ways. Would life go on as now to the end ? 
 
 Then she thought of Pearl, and the changes of the last 
 few weeks, and she muttered, ' God forgive me. How 
 wicked I am to repine when I have so many blessings. I 
 
 am so glad auntie has come to live with us; she makes 
 D 
 
^P" 
 
 mm 
 
 58 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 home so rrmcli Ijrightor, and Helena is happier. Try as 
 one may, two are not enough to make a happy liome. I 
 wonder how it would be if the circumstances were differ- 
 ent,' and she thought of Leslie, and the home she had 
 once hoped to share with him, and which she pictured to 
 herself as a perfect Eden, where no harsh word, no angry 
 look, no thoughtless speech should mar the bliss of their 
 lives ; there might be troubles, but they would bear them 
 together, for were they not in soul as one, and no great 
 harm could come where there was perfect love. 
 
 ' Now all is changed,' thought Kate; 'the serpent be- 
 guiled him even before we entered in, and has left 
 its trail upon all I love. I never look in the sweet face 
 of Pearl but I expect to see the gleam of its evil eyes, 
 even when they look most like Leslie's. I never take 
 her in my arms but I feel its sting ; and I had thought 
 to fill my ^ife with my love for this child, and God 
 help me, 1 cannot. Yet is there always some good 
 thing to be found if we only look for it. I believe 
 Helena is getting fond of the infant, and her life, poor 
 girl, is even more empty than mine. Wliat right have 
 I to murnujr when I can walk out in the light and sun- 
 shine ; aye, and the rain and mud. How I hate mud, 
 and tlie necessity for walking in it; and of all the rain 
 in the year, November rain is the most miserably de- 
 pressing, and no pro})het can predict the exact length of 
 time occupied by a November shower; it may last ten 
 minutes or it may last three days,' and she looked rueful- 
 ly up at the weeping heavens, but could see no sign of a 
 cessation of the storm, and was about to fall into another 
 reveiy, when the sound of approaching footsteps smote 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 59 
 
 as 
 
 I 
 
 [er- 
 
 bacl 
 
 i to 
 
 heir 
 hem 
 
 jreat 
 
 : be- 
 left 
 ; face 
 
 eyes, 
 
 take 
 
 pught 
 
 God 
 
 o-ood 
 
 CI 
 
 .'lieve 
 poor 
 have 
 sun- 
 mud, 
 raiu 
 
 ly ^^' 
 
 tth of 
 
 tt ten 
 
 Heful- 
 
 of a 
 
 lother 
 
 unote 
 
 upon her oar, and looking round, she saw a young man 
 advancing toward her place of partial shelter, who, as he 
 gained her side, and held a huge umbrella over her head, 
 exclaimed, 
 
 * Kate ! What are you doing here ?' 
 ' Nothing,' answered Kate, meekly. 
 
 ' A delightful location you have selected for such a re- 
 fined occupation,' he retin-ned, quizzically. 
 
 * I have been listeninfj to the sobbinjj and moaninir of 
 sympathising nature, while the angels are weeping over 
 poor suffering humanity,' said Kate with a visionary 
 smile, as she tried to shake the water from her drenched 
 skirts. 
 
 * You looked as if you were posing for a picture of deso- 
 lation,' returned he. * What troubles you ?' 
 
 ' Nothing,' said Kate. ' It must have been the atmos- 
 pheric effect that caused the illusion. Do you think this 
 shower will soon be over V 
 
 * N o, it has set in for a three days' rain V 
 Kate shivered visibly. 
 
 ' It will not clear off; you had better let me see you 
 safe home. You will catch your death of cold standing 
 here, and then what would I do,' said the young man 
 looking tenderly at her. 
 
 * Go into mourning, most likely,' said Kate coolly. It 
 washer usual way of answering any of John Windermere's 
 soft speeches. 
 
 * One would think this drenching rain would have a 
 softening effect upon you ; but I find you are just as 
 hard as ever,' said he, in a vexed tone. 
 
 ' Now, Jack, don't be angry, I did not mean to say any- 
 
''^""^^mmmmmimm 
 
 » 
 
 60 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 thing disagreeable ; but one's speech must, to a certain ex- 
 tent, be in harmony with the weather, by way of main- 
 taining the fitness of thinofs.' 
 
 ' I don't agree with you ; the duller the weather the 
 kinder your speeches should be, to enable me to bear it 
 with patience. Come,* he added smiling,'! cannot say 
 '* Come under my plaldyj' but come under my umbrella, 
 and I will protect you as well as I can,' and he drew her 
 arm through his, while he added impetuously : * I wish 
 from my heart you would let me protect you through 
 life.' 
 
 Kate started and drew her hand from his arm, but he 
 coolly replaced it as he said : 
 
 ' Don't be alarmed, I'm not going to weary you with an 
 expression of my feelings, when you are so tired you can 
 scarcely stand. Lean on me and forget my thoughtless 
 words for the present. On a brighter day we will talk 
 on this subject again.' 
 
 He felt her hand tremble on his arm, and he contin- 
 ued — 
 
 ' Pardon me, I should not have spoken to you at a time 
 like this, but indeed I was not responsible. My words 
 came unbidden, and though I regret I spoke them now, 
 yet I will not take them back.' 
 
 Kate made no reply, and for some moments they walk- 
 ed on through the drenching rain in silence. 
 
 ' You are ill, Kate,' he remarked presently, as he noticed 
 that her face was white as death. 
 
 * No, not ill. Jack ; you frightened me ; we have been 
 friends so loug. Don't let me lose your friendship, Jack, 
 I could not bear it,' and the tears rose to her eyes. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 61 
 
 ex- 
 ain- 
 
 tlic 
 av it 
 . say 
 rella, 
 V her 
 
 wish 
 rough 
 
 lut he 
 
 ith ail 
 )U can 
 rhtless 
 1 talk 
 
 iontin- 
 a time 
 
 |i now, 
 
 walk- 
 
 lioticed 
 
 le been 
 Jack, 
 
 * I shall always be your friend, Kate, as I always have 
 been,' returned the younjr man, while he struggled aorainst 
 a suftbcatinc: feelin<x in his throat : ' but we won't talk 
 about it now; vou must G:et home and take off vou.' wet 
 clothes, or you will be ill ;' and ho tenderly guided her 
 weary steps to her own door, where he left her in the care 
 of her aunt, and wended his way home with a heavier 
 heart than he had known for years ; for look at his pros- 
 pects from whatever point of view he would, there was 
 no brightness ; her manner had been very discouragino-. 
 For years he had entertained the hope of some dav call- 
 ing her his wife, and now, when he was in a fitting posi- 
 tion to claim her, he felt his hopes crumbling away before 
 the strange manner in which she received his first open 
 confession of love. 
 
 John Windermere, with his widowed mother, lived in 
 a comfortable home on the outskirts of Beeborough, where 
 they had a considerable landed estate, which was mort- 
 gaged nearly up to its value, and for some years they had 
 had enough to do to meet their expenses, without adding 
 to them ; and John had found it impossible to take to 
 himself a wife under such circumstances ; but all this had 
 changed more than a month ago, when, through the death 
 of a relative, he had inherited a considerable fortune. 
 
 He and Kate had played together as children, and 
 thoufjh Kate was three years the elder, this knowledixe 
 did not prevent him, from a very early period of life, 
 entertaining the thought that she would be his wife; and 
 while he was marvelling how he should win her, she, 
 looking upon him only as a, boy, and treating him as such, 
 gave her love to an older, but not a better nor a wiser 
 
62 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 man, and had never guessed John's love for her till his 
 change of fortune, in the last few weeks, had unfettered 
 his tongue. 
 
 Kate retired to her bed that night with a weary load 
 at her heart. She knew that Jack would come on the 
 morrow to urge his suit, and what answer should she 
 give ? Of course she must refuse him. She tossed rest- 
 lessly on her bed, and why should I refuse him, she 
 thought. Hundreds of women marry with only a feeling 
 of cold respect. Hundreds more without even that, and 
 I am fond of Jack ; have always been fond of him in a 
 quiet, reliable way. Helena wishes me to marry him, 
 then why should I not ? Helena would have more money 
 if I were away, as I would leave her my little portion ; I 
 should tell Jack so before I married him. * Yes, married 
 him,' she repeated aloud, as though trying to accustom 
 herself to the thought, and she rose from her couch and 
 paced up and down the room. 
 
 ' And why should I not marry him ? ' she muttered de- 
 fiantly. ' If I do not marry him some one else will, some- 
 one, probably, who will not care half as much for him as 
 I do, and will not be good to him, and I shall feel as if I 
 might have saved him. Marry him. Yes, that means be 
 with him always ; keep nothing from him ; never have a 
 thought he may not share, and Leslie ' 
 
 She paused in her walk and stood like a statue for some 
 moments, then suddenly stretching out her arms in the 
 darkness, she cried : 
 
 * My love, my love, come back to me ! Oh, Leslie, I'm 
 so weary, so weary.' 
 
 The next morning Kate did not rise as usual, and Aunt 
 
A MYSTKRY. 
 
 63 
 
 I'm 
 lAunt 
 
 Mcrryvale cominj^ into her room found her so indisposed 
 as to render it necessary to send for tlie doctor. 
 
 There was a burning Hush on eitlier cheek, a feverish 
 liglit in her eyes, and her mind wandered continually. 
 
 Dr. Dashwood, on his arrival, examine<l his patient, and 
 expressed the opinion that a fever had set in, as the 
 natural result of cold and exposure ; but he added, draw- 
 ing Aunt Merryvale aside, 
 
 * There is more than this ; she is utterly prostrated by 
 hei' long attendance on her sister, and feels the reaction 
 now that you are in a measure bearing her burden.' 
 
 ' I never knew how hard her burden was until this 
 visit of mine, or I would have been here long ago,' ex- 
 claimed Aunt Merryvale with energy. * Poor child, I did 
 not know they had not means sufhcient to live on until 
 now.' 
 
 ' And how is it now ? ' asked the kind-hearted doctor. 
 
 ' Oh, with the care of the Pearl, if her allowance comes 
 quarterly, as I suppose it will, we can be very comfortable. 
 I wonder who she is ? ' 
 
 The doctor made no replj' to this query ; he seemed ab- 
 sorbed in thoughts of his patient. 
 
 ' Can you manage to nurse Miss Kate ? She will need 
 some care for a few days when this w^ill, I trust, pass 
 away.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' responded Aunt Merryvale, cheerfully. * I 
 have succeeded in getting a good maid-of-all-work, and 
 sliall have nothing to do but look after Kate and the 
 Pearl.' 
 
 Here Kate moved in her sleep and muttered : ' Pearl ; 
 let me keep Pearl.' 
 
64 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 ( « 
 
 * Brin;? the child in, Mrs. Merryvale,' ordered the doctor. 
 The child was hronght in and laid in Kate's arms, and 
 
 for a moment she looked at it with intense lonjxinir in her 
 brilliant eyes, as she said softly : 
 
 * Like Leslie's, yes, like Leslie's/ Then suddenly her 
 expression changed to one of horror as she exclaimed 
 wildly, 
 
 * Take her away ! Take her away ! She is false and 
 treacherous.' 
 
 The doctor removed the child and as he did so he mut- 
 tered, 
 
 ' Strange. I did not think she knew anything about 
 the child ; there is something here that I do not under- 
 stand.' 
 
 * Mrs. Merryvale,' he continued, speaking aloud, * you 
 will not let any one see your niece till she regains perfect 
 consciousness. I can trust you. It is necessary that she 
 be kept perfectly quiet. He mixed a draught for her and 
 saw it administered : then he sat down by the bed, and 
 bent his ear to catch her muttered words. Her mind was 
 now following another train of thought, and she whispered 
 softly, 'Poor Jack,' and entreated some one to be her friend, 
 as she was so desolate. 
 
 'Poor erirl,' thouiifht the doctor, 'life has been 
 too hard for her in some way ; let us liopo '' 
 right in the end. I always thought Joh .viuw nei 
 had a fancy for her ; but her strange talk al)Out Leslie 
 and the baby is more than I can comprehend, an<i I must 
 see to it.' 
 
 That evening]; Dr. Dash wood wrote a note which he a^d- 
 
 imlfi^:! 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 dressed to Dr. Annesley, Sfc . 
 
 England. 
 
 65 
 Hospital, London, 
 
 write to put you on your guard. As ever, 
 
 'Stefhkn Dashwooi).' 
 
'^^tiif^ 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 KATE RECOVERS— SHE REFUSES JOHN — PEARL AND HELENA — KATE S 
 MUSINOS — ANOTHER DOCTOR APPEARS UPON THE SCENE -PESTERED 
 BY WIDOWERS — A WOMAN MAY BE BEAUTIFUL AT ANY AGE. 
 
 ,^ ATE LINDWOOD'S recovery ^Ya^, slow ; but good 
 Jl V medical attendance and fjood nursino: combined 
 did wonders, and before Christmas she was fairlv 
 convalescent, and her natural gaiety had in a measure 
 returned. 
 
 John Windermere had been most attentive in sendinix 
 her fruit and flowers during her illness, but had not asked 
 to see her, till one eveiijng, when he could bear the sus- 
 pense no longer, he ventured again to plead his cause, 
 and was kindly but firmly refused. Winter passed away, 
 summer came and went, and time glided slowly on, with- 
 out any material change to any of the prominent pei*- 
 sons connected with our tale, save Miss Lindwood, who 
 had trained sufficient strencfth to enable her to walk out 
 into the small ganlen tliat surrounded the house, and 
 which was the pride of Kate's heart. Here l)lus]ied the 
 roses and geraniums, and here the sweet mignonette per- 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 0/ 
 
 ling 
 
 rlth- 
 per- 
 who 
 out 
 and 
 the 
 per- 
 
 famed the air, and here Helena reclined on a rustic seat 
 one lovely evening in June, more than a year and a half 
 after the events mentioned in our last chapter. Sho was 
 engaged in the childish occupation of twisting a hrilliant 
 hutton on a string for the amusement of Pearl, who, as it 
 glittered in the light of the setting sun, laughed and 
 dimpled in wild delight, as she stretched out her chubby 
 hands to catch it. 
 
 It was a pretty scene. The pale, delicate woman, and 
 the healthy, hap})y child ; and Kate watched it from the 
 open window with mingled feelings of pleasure and pain : 
 pleasure at the interest her sister took in the little one, 
 and pain at being so thoroughly supplanted in the child's 
 heart ; as it was evident to everybody ^hat Pearl be- 
 stowed her best affections on Helena ; and Kate acknow- 
 ledged it was just. 
 
 Helena never turned coldly away from the sweet, dim- 
 pled face raised to hers so trustingly. Helena never un- 
 clasped the little arms fi-om her neck as if their clasp 
 choked her. Helena would always play with Pearl un- 
 less she were too ill to sit up, and when this was the case, 
 the child would come softly up to her side and say, in her 
 childish accents : 
 
 ' Poor Heena, Heena's thick.' 
 
 Then she would take her little handkerchief, <lip it in 
 water, and la}^ it on the sufl'erer's brow; and Helena, as 
 she wiped away the surplus drops that trickled round her 
 neck, would call her ' Little Comforter.' 
 
 Helena was greatly changed since we lii'st introduced 
 her to the reader. Though still very far from strong, the 
 nervous irritability had left her, and she seemed to gain 
 
68 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 new life froni the fresh little life that was so constantly 
 l)eside lier. 
 
 As Kate looked at the two, she marvelled at the change 
 in her sister. She who, less than two years ago, strove 
 t(^ shut the little one out of her home, now seemed un- 
 able to live without lier ; and I, who wanted so much to 
 keey) her, she thought, ' has she ever been any comfort 
 to me ? Sometimes I think I may have been mistaken ; 
 but why was she sent to me ? And then the likeness, 
 there is no mistaking the likeness; and it grows greater 
 every day.' 
 
 As Kate mused in this strain, the garden gate was 
 thrown open, and Dr. Dashwood advanced up the gravel 
 walk, followed by a stranger. They paused directly un- 
 der the window where Kate was sitting concealed by the 
 curtain ; and the stranger, grasping the doctor's arm, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 ' What a lovely woman! Is she Miss Kate ?' 
 
 ' No ; Helena.' 
 
 ' And is that poor Leslie's child ? ' 
 
 Kate heard no more, for they passed on to greet He- 
 lena. 
 
 ' Poor Leslie's child !' she repeated. 'Then I was not 
 mistaken ;' and in gi'eat inwai-d agitation she rose and 
 followed the two gentlemen, in the wild hope of hearing 
 something of Leslie. 
 
 As she approached she saw, as in a dream, the stranger 
 sitting on the rustic seat beside Helena, and trying to en- 
 tice the timid child by attractively displaying the seals 
 on his watch chain. 
 
 The little one advanced and retreated, and advanced 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 69 
 
 lie- 
 not 
 and 
 
 iving 
 
 Liiger 
 en- 
 
 1 seals 
 
 tnced 
 
 again, and at last allowed herself to be lifted to his knee, 
 just as the doctor, who stood a little apart, exclainied : 
 
 ' Miss Kate ! this will never do, von are as white as a 
 ghost. What ails you, child { ' 
 
 ' Nothing.' 
 
 ' You must have more fresh air,' continued the doctor. 
 ' 1 declare, if you continue to look so pale, I shall have to 
 constitute myself your lover, and come every day and 
 take you for a drive.' 
 
 Always in fear lest her secret should be discovered, 
 the colour rushed in a Mood to Kate's cheeks, brow and 
 neck, and she had no time to recover when the doctor 
 continued : 
 
 * Dr. Annesley, Miss Kate. 1 have brought him here,' 
 he added, as tlie pair saluted each other, ' to help me cure 
 my patients ; and I shall put you specially under his 
 charge if ever you dare to come into my presence looking 
 so white again. I don't like white women.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you prefer black,' retorted Kate, wickedly, 
 as she tried to recover herself. ' If so, I am sorry for you, 
 What a sad thino; it must be to live for months toijfether 
 without seeing a face you can admire. I suppose want 
 of colour is a great blemish. Go south, doctor, if you 
 wish to see perfection.' 
 
 ' I see perfection now,' gallantly returned the doctor, 
 making a deep genuflection, as he looked smilingly into 
 Kate's Hushed face. 
 
 ' Miss Kate, I shall be very liappy to otier my services,' 
 interposed Dr Annesley, quietly, as he placed Pearl upon 
 the seat from which he had risen at Kate's approach ; 
 ' allow me to feel your pulse.' 
 
70 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 Kate tuT'ned away with a laii^^li, declaring she was not 
 ill. only a little tired. 
 
 With this they all rose and entered the house, Dr. An- 
 nesley offering his arm to Helena, and as he placed her on 
 a lounge in the cosy sitting-room, he took a seat by her 
 side, and gradually drew from her all the details of her 
 long illness. 
 
 ' Miss Linwood,' and his voice had an eager tone, ' I 
 wish, with my friend's permission, you would let me try to 
 bring you back to perfect health. T think I could do much 
 to forward your recovery. Will you let me prescribe for 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' I have no hope of ever being well,' returned poor 
 Helena ; * for a long time I have felt very rebellious, but 
 lately I have become resigned to my fate, and am almost 
 afraid to hope again.' 
 
 ' Trust me,' said the doctor ; * in this case I do not think 
 I can fail.' 
 
 Here little Pearl tried to clamber to his knee, as she 
 cried — 
 
 ' Dood man, mate Heena well.' 
 
 * I will try, dear,' he replied, tenderly, as he took the 
 child in his arms, and smoothing the hair from her 
 forehead, looked at her intently, while a shadow crossed 
 his face. 
 
 * I will try, if you will kiss me.' 
 
 The child innnediately ^nit both arms around his neck, 
 and kissed his bearded cheek, then struggled off his knee 
 to the floor, and looking up in his face, cried — 
 
 * Now, mate Heena well,' in a tone as if she expected 
 the transfoinuition to begin at that moment. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 71 
 
 the 
 
 her 
 
 Dttsed 
 
 beted 
 
 VVliile tills scene was going on Aunt Merryvale liad en- 
 tered the room, unnoticed, and after <a'eetini>; J)r. Dash- 
 wood, and being presented to his friend, she commenced, 
 
 ' Now, what was all that I saw as I came in. Did my 
 eyes deceive me, or did I see that young lady kissing a 
 man ? Oh, Pearl ! Pearl ! I thouo;ht I was ijoini,' to make 
 a model woman of you.' 
 
 ' Your course of instruction is all right, madam,' inter- 
 rupted J)r. Dash wood ; *A perfect woman must have a 
 perfect mouth, and a man never sees a perfect mouth 
 without experiencing a desire to have a perfect kiss,' 
 whereupon he approached Mrs. Merryvale with his mouth 
 formed into a preparatory pucker. 
 
 ' Off', wretch,' cried the old lady, with a tragic air ; 
 ' would you dare to insult a lady of my yeais and res- 
 pectability, by practising any of your wicked arts on 
 me ? ' 
 
 ' Arts, my dear madam ; you are mistaken ; it is a sim- 
 ple out-gushing of nature ; but I beg your pardon for 
 uffering you the homage of my — lip in public. I have 
 read somewhere some lines about " the bliss that's in the 
 kiss that's taken on the sly," and will wait a more favour- 
 able moment.' 
 
 Here a diversion was created by a loud knock at the 
 door, and a sunnnons for Dr. Dashwood. An accident had 
 occurred in the town, and he was wanted innnediately. 
 
 The doctor and his friend took a hurried leave, and as 
 soon as they were out of hearing, Aunt Merryvale ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 • Thank goodness they are gone ! When a man is taken 
 
72 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 with a kissiiif,^ tit there is no comfort in the house, at least 
 for that «hiy.' 
 
 'It's only his nonsense, auntie,' said Kate; 'he would 
 not really attempt to kiss you.' 
 
 * I sliould hope not ; but men are never to be trusted. 
 They are naturally tormenting,' said the old lady, as she 
 took up her knitting and rattled her needles with much 
 energy. 
 
 ' You speak feelingly, aunt,' said Kate. ' Have men 
 always been a trouble to you ? ' 
 
 Always/ the merriment i-eturning to her eyes. 
 
 ' How ? ' 
 
 ' I've been pestered by widowers for years. Wherever 
 I go there is sure to be a widower. I thought I should 
 have some peace here, but it is never well to be sure of any- 
 thing. 1 verily believe this friend of the doctor is a 
 widower.' 
 
 'Really !' said Kate, with a look of mock horror. 
 
 ' Yes, I do. I know the signs and symptoms, and he 
 has them ; I only hope he has not come for me. I have 
 never felt safe since I read that account of a lady of 
 seventy being captured by a youth of twenty-five. It is 
 true that she had money, and I have none, which might 
 make some difference ; though it is not a consoling reflec- 
 tion, yet it proves that poverty has its bright side. Had 
 I been rich, my trials might have been much greater.' 
 
 ' Auntie, dear,' said Kate, ' you will always win love, 
 money or no money. You are prettier now than half the 
 young girls,' and she kissed the pink cheek which we have 
 before had occasion to notice. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 73 
 
 It is 
 
 Iniglit 
 retlec- 
 Had 
 
 love, 
 
 [\i the 
 
 have 
 
 ' Don't try to turn my old head with your flattery, 
 Kate.' 
 
 ' I never flatter ; I mean what I say. I think there is 
 not any age that a woman may not be beautiful' 
 
 ' True, Kate,' responded the old lady gravely ; ' there is 
 beauty in childhood, beauty in youth, beauty in the prime 
 of life, and beautv in old ajje. All these beauties are 
 different, all equally lovely, and they have their source in 
 charity, purity, and patience.' 
 
 * I am afraid I shall never be beautiful,' said Kate. 
 'Why?' 
 
 * Because I am not patient, and I feel I never shall be.' 
 She changed the conversation by saying — 
 
 ' Helena, what do you think of Dr. Annesley ? ' 
 
 * In what way, Kate ? ' 
 
 * In every way ; as a })ractitioner, especially ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' replied Helena, ' I think he may be clever. Dr. 
 Dash wood tells me he has travelled much, and has been 
 through nearly all the hospitals in Europe, and wishes 
 him to try what he can do for me. 1 should like to get 
 strong again,' she added, ' but I am afraid to hope, I have 
 been disappointed so often.' 
 
 ' I don't see why you should not hope, Helena. You 
 are better than you were a year ago.' 
 
 ' Yes, I am better ; but I have no strength.' 
 
 * What does Dr. Annesley advise ^ ' 
 
 ' That I take some medicine that he will send me, and 
 that I keep as much in the open air as possible.' 
 
 ' I wish we had a horse and carria<jfe that vou misfht be 
 
 driven out every day,' said Kate ; and the thought of John 
 
 Windermere, and what a benefit it might have been to 
 £ 
 
^f^mmmmm 
 
 mm 
 
 74 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 Helena if .she could have said, ' yes,' rose for a nionient in 
 her mind to be as quickly cast out. ' All will be well in the 
 end, if I do what is right,' slie thought. ' It cannot be 
 right to marry one man while I love another, even though 
 I never see that other again. Ah, Leslie ! Leslie ! Why 
 cannot I still this longing to see your face once more, to 
 hear your voice, to feel the clasp of your hand, to know 
 that you love me still/ 
 
 h 
 b 
 is 
 
 m 
 M 
 
 do 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SjriNSTER AGAIN — KATK HATTLES WITH HER LONGING FOR THE 
 UNATTAINABLE — HELENA 's SUBJUGATION BEv.INS. 
 
 'Y 'HE next day Dr. Dash wood called with his carriage 
 and pair to take Helena for a drive, as he was on 
 his way to see a patient who lived a short distance 
 out of town. 
 
 ' I do not think I can <^o,' she said to Kate, who brought 
 the message while the doctor waited without. 
 'Not gol' cried Kate in wonder. 
 ' No, I think not.' 
 ' Why ? It is what Dr. Annesley }n-escribed.' 
 
 * Yes, I know ; but ' 
 
 * But what ? ' queried Kate, a little pucker forming on 
 her upper lip, as a thought of the possible stumbling 
 block crossed her mind. * If you feel strong enough, wher^^ 
 is the difficulty ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid it would not look well,' said Helena, tre ■ 
 mulously, * for me to be seen driving out with the doctor, 
 Mrs. Dashwood might not like it.' 
 
 ' We'll risk that,' said Kate, with a smile. ' It will never 
 do to annoy the doctor, even to save his wife's feelings. 
 
tjrnMtti' 
 
 ^"m^mm^mmmm 
 
 7f> 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 Supposing sho liad any in the matter, which 1 douitt, slie 
 is far too sensible to indulge in absurdities. Gome, Helena, 
 let me help you put on your wrap, and don't keep the 
 doctor waiting, or his patient may die before he gets to 
 his destination, and then you will have something worse 
 than Mrs. Dashwood on your mind.' 
 
 ' Don't be flippant, Kate ! ' cried Helena, with something 
 of her old irritability, as she allowed Kate to adjust her 
 wrap, and see her safe to the carriage, when she was as- 
 sisted in by the doctor, who to Kate's relief was looking 
 as grave as a judge, and they drove off, while Kate re- 
 turned to the house, her head bent down, her thoughts 
 runninjx in the following strain. 
 
 ' I wonder if I should be any better if I were always 
 worrying myself with what people would think ? What 
 does it matter what they think, while I have the conscious- 
 ness of doing right. If I do wrong I shall be })unislied 
 for that wrong, not for what people will think of it. I 
 shall never be a slave to public opinion like Helena. It is 
 well that one human being cannot see into the inner life 
 of another, or how shocked Helena would be. She thinks 
 it wrong to love before marriage, and I shall never marry ; 
 yet I cannot kill this great love, and I would not if I 
 could. I cling to my past as the one oasis in the desert 
 of my life. It is strange that Helena is my sister. We 
 are not at all alike, we cannot think the same on any 
 subject. I verily believe Helena cannot move or breathe 
 without considering first whether it be proper, while I 
 obey every impulse without ever thinking of the proprie- 
 ties at all. I like to feel a happy sense of freedom. I can- 
 not be chained down by conventionalities. I shall never 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 / / 
 
 make a proper "old maid," if I live to the age of Methu- 
 selah. I wonder what will become of me in the future ; at 
 present I am in a ([uiescent state, hut I know this can 
 not last. I am too stormy to remain ijuiet louij. Souie- 
 times 1 have a terror of the future -all seems so tlark 
 before me, and I who love the suiili^dit may live for years 
 and years, until I am quite old, with this shadow hnngini^ 
 over me.' Kate paced the room as was her wont wiien 
 indulging in this train of thought. It was a way slie had 
 of ffivinnf vent to her feelinirs of dissatisfaction uith life 
 
 or? ^ 
 
 generally, and herself in particulai*. 
 
 These moods were always followed by one of siucere 
 repentance, when the sad dark eyes, with th»dr expression 
 of longing and unrest, were raised upvv'{ir<l, aud a holy 
 light beamed in their shadowed depths, and th(3 hitherto 
 tremulous lif) was slightly compressed withtheoft-i'epeat(Ml 
 resolve to be more patient in the future, to Hll life 
 with its present duties, and cease longing for the un- 
 attainable. 
 
 While Kate was wrapped in this new nu^od, a small 
 figure entered the open door that led into the garden, and 
 a small hand placed in hers a spray of mignonette. The 
 .' ifjht of it acted on Kate like an electric shock. She 
 placed the mignonette in her bosom, took the child up in 
 her arms, and kissed her repeatedly, looking in her eyes 
 as she said : — 
 
 * You are your father's child, my darling, all his ; I will 
 not entertain any other thought. God bless my little 
 Pearl, and make me a better woman," 
 
 Helena returned from her drive fatigued, but in better 
 spirits. After this the doctor called often, and, although 
 
78 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 »! 
 
 she always demurred on account of what would be thought 
 of it, was always persuaded to go. 
 
 One day, Dr. Dash wood's duty lying in another direc- 
 tion, liis friend Annesley called to take her for the accus- 
 tomed airing, wlien Kate expected another difficulty, and 
 suggested that she should take the Pearl with her, as it 
 would look better, llele.ia, however, strange to say, did 
 not feel the force of this argument, and actually went, as 
 Kate told Aunt Merry vale, without any fuss. 
 
 * What can have come over Helena ? ' said Kate. 
 
 ' Only that which comes ovei* most of us once or twice in 
 a lifetime. Helena is falling in love, and don't you take 
 any notice, or you will spoil all. I have seen how it 
 would end ever since the first evening he came here. I 
 told you then I sr.w the symptoms. She does not realize it 
 herself yet. She only thinks she is obeying him because 
 he has constituted himself her physician ; but, if I mistake 
 not, Helena has found her fate. Some day you will find 
 yours, my dear, and then I shjill be left a desolate old 
 woman. It wall come hard upon me now that I have be- 
 come accustomed to live with you ; but I am not going 
 to lament over it ; " what is to be will be," and if you 
 make up your mind to marry, nothing will stop you,' 
 and she fixed her keen gray eyes on her niece as she 
 spoke, and noticed the flush that rose to her cheek as 
 she replied, 
 
 * But I have not made up my mind to marry ; so, 
 auntie, dear, there is an end to the discussion.' 
 
 * I wonder why she refused John Windermere when 
 she seemed to like him,' thought the old lady. ' There is a 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 79 
 
 mystcy somewhere that I cannot fathom. I feel .sorrv 
 for John, r,oo.- fellow ; he i.s fo„d of her yet Zle 
 
 , oTpa^rrr '^' f """''■ ' "«^- -"'J -placer; 
 
 1)001 lauJ, she thought witli a sif^h ^ 
 
 o ■ 
 

 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LOVE AND PRIDE — ('ONSrERNATIOX IN THE SMALL HOUSE OX .MAPLE 
 STHEET— AUNT MT5RRYVALE FEELS IT IN KER buNES. 
 
 «-i2> 
 
 ';'?71^^EKS parsed on, and Dr. Annesley became a con- 
 stant visitor at the small lit ise. Helena's health 
 improved under his treatment. Day by day 
 his attentions became more pointed, and 'the course of 
 true love ' seemed to run smoothly enough, till, one even- 
 ing, Dr. Dashwood carae in, and, among other chat, an- 
 nounced that his friend, Dr. Annesley, had been suddenly 
 called away to the city, and recjuested him to make his 
 adieus to the ladies. 
 
 No one noticed the paleness that overspread Helena's 
 face, nor that she retired earlier thau usual to her room, 
 to suffer all the pangs that a woman of her ty})e is capa- 
 ble of suM'ering when she, for the first time, realizes that 
 she may have given her love unsought. 
 
 She reviewed her conduct for the last few weeks min- 
 utely, and her pride would not allow her to think she 
 had shown more thnii ordinarv interest in him as tlie 
 friend of their family doctor. She thought it more than 
 probable that she would never see him again, but tluit 
 
A MYSTKKY. 
 
 81 
 
 his 
 
 that 
 
 linin- 
 she 
 the 
 
 Ithaii 
 that 
 
 thought was bearable so long as he did not suspect her of 
 an undue partiality for himself. In this possibility lay 
 gall and wormwood ; Helena's pride was her strong point, 
 and her sutierings were in proportion to her fears of what 
 he might think of her ; but it was not for long that she 
 was allowed to trriev^e over the loss of her new friend, for 
 a gteater calamity was hanging over her. 
 
 She had become greatly attached to Pearl. Since the 
 days of Kate's illness the child had been almost constantly 
 with her. Her innocent prattle had beguile 1 the tediuiu 
 of a lonely life. She was so tender, so small, so loving, 
 that she crept slowly but surely into the heart of the in- 
 valid, where she had reigned supreme, until she was in 
 danger of being supplanted by James Annesley, foi- 
 Helena's heart was capable of holding but one great love 
 at a time, and now when he had left her so suddenly 
 without a word of parting, Helena again turned her at- 
 tention to her little comforter. IncUrd, it was impossible 
 to help it, for the child, noticing a difference in her, would 
 climb into her lap, throw her little arms round hei' neck 
 and kiss her, to make, as she said in her childish accents, 
 ' poor Heena well.' ^Vnd this consolation was not long to 
 be hers. 
 
 On the evening of the third day after Dr. AnnesU>y's 
 departure, great excitment reigned at the cottage. 
 
 Search had been made all over the house and garden 
 and all the near neighbourhood for I'earl, and no Pearl 
 could be found. 
 
 Aunt Merry vale was still out searching every likely 
 >ipot near their home. Helena was lying on the sofa in 
 tears, and Kate was pacing up and down the sitting room 
 
82 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 waiting for Dr. Dasliwood, to whom she had sent a ))nef 
 note beg_i,dng him to come to her as she was in great 
 trouble. 
 
 The doctor was out when the missive arrived at his of- 
 fice, and Kate was in a frenzy of excitement before liis 
 well-known knock was heard at the door. She flew to 
 open it, and in scarcely articulate accents, exclaimed : 
 
 ' She is lost ! she is lost !' 
 
 ' Who is lost ?' cried the bewildered doctor. 
 
 ' The Pearl,' moaned Kate. 
 
 * The devil !' ejaculated the doctor without regard to 
 politeness ; ' here's a pretty pickle. When was she 
 lost ?' 
 
 ' We did not miss her till dark,' returned Kate in a 
 choked voice. ' The last time I saw her, she was playing 
 at the garden gate. What shall I do ?' cried the distressed 
 girl. ' She was left in my charge ; oh ! doctor, what shall 
 I do ?' 
 
 * Was the gate open ?' 
 
 * No. It never is left open, and this time I know it 
 was shut, for I had just come in from a call on Mrs. Beech, 
 and no one has been in or out since.' 
 
 'Strange,' nuittered the doctor, and as he xioted the 
 look of misery in the girl's face, he said : 
 
 ' Don't be alarmed, Miss Kate ; there is no time passed 
 yet. The child will be found in an hour or two. My dear 
 girl,' he added as he patted her shoulder in a fatherly 
 way, ' don't distress yourself ; I am as much interested in 
 the child a« you can possibly be, and I shall immediately 
 take ste|)s to institute a thorourjli search throu'di the 
 town, and she will be found in a few hours. In tlie mean- 
 
 Lh 
 
A xMYSTERY. 
 
 83 
 
 ll the 
 
 Lssed 
 dear 
 
 herly 
 
 cd in 
 
 Ltely 
 
 the 
 
 lican- 
 
 tiuie do you comfort your sister, or all the good that has 
 been done lately will be undone,' and the doctor left tlie 
 house to inau<,mratc a baud of searchers, as there was no 
 police force in Beeborough ; and Kate, tending all attempts 
 to console her sister were in vain, paced the room as be- 
 fore, hour after hour, wondering how Leslie would feel, if 
 be knew of the loss of his child, — his Pearl whom he had 
 left with her for safe keeping ; and she had neglected her 
 trust. At twelve o'clock. Aunt Merry vale came in exhaust- 
 ed with her fruitless seaich. No news of the missing 
 Pearl. 
 
 There was no sleep for the inhabitants of the small 
 house on Maple street that night. 
 
 In the mornini'* Dr. Dash wood called, and to their 
 eager questions answered that the town had been 
 searched from garret to cellar ; 1 >ut no trace of the 
 nussing Pearl could be found. One man indeed stated 
 that as he was going home to supper at six o'clock he 
 met a lady and gentleman tlriving down Maple street in 
 a carriage, accompanied by a child that answered to the 
 description of Pearl ; and this was all the information 
 that could be gathered after close inquiry. 
 
 The doctor su<i:<^ested there was nothin^T nf)w to do 
 but to advertise; he had little doubt that the child had 
 been stolen ; but where was the motive for stealing a 
 child supposed to be a waif thrown upon the world, and 
 adopted by people in poor circumstances ? It could not 
 be the hope of reward. Tlien where could be the induce- 
 ment. 
 
 The doctor racked his Ijrains in vain for any clue to 
 this strange affair. l)ay after day passed, and nothing 
 
84 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 was heard of the niissing Pearl. She went as mysteriously 
 as she came, and none could tell where. 
 
 A week passed and found Dr. Dashwood sitting alone 
 in his office ; and as he pulled his moustache reflectively, 
 he ni uttered — 
 
 ' I'm blessed if I know what to do. I've tried every 
 available means, and this golden-haired, blue-eyed cherub 
 is not to be found. I dare not tell Annesley at such a 
 time as this, it might be his ruin. After years of con- 
 cealment to have it leak out now is not to be thought of, 
 and yet if the child is not found he may never forgive 
 me. Egad ! but I'm placed in an abominable position. I 
 should like to know why Miss Kate must have sent to 
 me, so as to draw me into the difficulty as soon as 
 possible, when I'd rather not have known anything about 
 it. She nuist know whose child it is. I remember she 
 raved in her illness about Leslie's child ; and knowing, 
 she has been strangely reticent about it, for I am cei'tain 
 she has not told the old lady, or her sister. There are 
 women who can keep a secret; but how did she find it out? 
 *' There's the rub." ' 
 
 In the meantime, Kate, who could know no rest day nor 
 night, when all ettbrts to recover the Pearl were in vain, 
 wrote the following note, which she addressed to Leslie 
 Hargrave, Esq., 95 River Street, C . 
 
 ' The I^earl ia lost— stolen, I am afraid, and I cannot find it any- 
 where. What am I to do ? 
 
 *Kate.' 
 
 Kate felt better after posting this brief note, thougli 
 she was uncertain of its ever reaching him, as she had 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 .So 
 
 heard some months l)efore that he liad left C- 
 
 -, and 
 
 ly nor 
 vaii^ , 
 Le'^lie 
 
 was travelling abroad; still she felt she had done what 
 she could. 
 
 Gloom reigned in the home of the Lindwoods, for the 
 little waif had won her way into the hearts of all, and 
 the sorrow for her loss was deep and heartfelt. 
 
 Helena refused to be comforted, and her weak and 
 wearying lamentations seemed likely to prove fatal to 
 her friends' hopes of her perfect recovery, while Kate 
 went about her daily duties and made no sign ; but her 
 voice had a more patient tone and a more weird ex- 
 pression crept into her dark eyes, under whose fringes 
 iuiked violet shadows. 
 
 Aunt Merryvale was the only one who maintained an 
 appearance of outward cheerfulness, and was heard to 
 declare tha' 'she felt it in her bones' that the little one 
 would turn up all right before long, and Mrs. Beech, who 
 was very sympathetic could not help remarking — 
 
 * Isn't it funny that the child should come and go in 
 such a queer way ? Isn't it, though ? ' 
 
 lit any- 
 
 l\TE.' 
 
 liough 
 had 
 
[jf 7 '» "iHi ' 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A NEW AHBIVAL IN BEEBOROUGH — CAUGHT ON THE REBOUND —DR. 
 DASH WOOD SOLICITS KATB's CONFIDENCE — KATE's DREAM. 
 
 
 T* ^^^7 HILE the events related in the last chapter were 
 VW" transpiring, another was exciting an equal 
 amount of interest in Beeborough ; namely, the 
 arrival of a wonderful singer, who was advertised to give 
 a succession of concerts in the Town Hall. Half* Bee- 
 boi igh had gone wild over her beauty, her grace, her 
 fasei'iating voice, and so charming and piquant was her 
 manner, that she succeeded in gaining the entree to the 
 best society in the town, and several evening parties we*'e 
 given for her entertainment. 
 
 Madame Roland i had come to Canada from no one 
 knew where, she spoke English with a foreign accent, 
 and was accompanied by an elderly Fivnch lady who 
 acted as chaperon ; she had been heard of in some of the 
 neighbouring towns, and her fame had spread to Bee- 
 borough beft>re her arrival. 
 
 Among the first to pay homage to the beautiful singer 
 was John Windermere. 
 
D— DR. 
 
 r were 
 equal 
 iy, the 
 ,0 give 
 f Bee- 
 ;e, her 
 LS her 
 ;0 the 
 Is we''e 
 
 lo one 
 Lccent, 
 
 who 
 [of the 
 
 Bee- 
 
 Isinger 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 87 
 
 Kate's lefusal liad left him in tliat state, wlien a man 
 falls a prey to the first designing woman he meets, and so 
 unrivalled were the fascinations of Madame that ere 
 many days, he was as hei- shadow. He attended her 
 everywhere ; he rode and drove with her, and mad with 
 jealousy of the numerous satellites that continually 
 hovered round her, at the end of three weeks he offered 
 his hand and heart, and was timidly accepted by the 
 beauty, who demurred when he pressed for a speedy 
 marriage ; but eventually consented shortly to become 
 his wife. 
 
 Meantime the Misses Lindwood, grieved and depressed 
 by the loss of Pearl, took little interest in the gossip 
 about the beautiful sinijer, till rumour becjan to connect 
 her name with John Windermere. Then, indeed, Kate's 
 apathy left her, and she began to wonder who i"" was who 
 had won the heart tliat had Ijut lately been her own, 
 and a great desire to see this woman, whose praise was on 
 every lip, took possession of her ; therefore when Dr. and 
 Mrs. Dash wood came one evening to invite the sisters to 
 o'o to a concert where Madame Rolandi was to s'lncr, thou'^h 
 Helena declined, Kate gladly accepted the invitation. 
 
 The hall was crowded to its utmost capacity ; but the 
 doctor had taken reserved seats, and they sat where they 
 had a full view of the stage. 
 
 The native talent of Beeborough was singing a quar- 
 tette as they entered. 
 
 When this was concluded and the singers had retired, 
 Rate waited with a strange feeling of expectancy for the 
 entrance of Madame Rolandi, who, as the progranmie in- 
 dicated, would sing the next solo. 
 
S8 
 
 A MYSTKRY. 
 
 She liad not long to wait, when the green hangings at 
 the back of the stage were })artecl and the beautiful singer 
 moved forward .janing on the arm of John Windermere. 
 As she did so, Kate, whose eyes were rivetted on her, 
 grasped the doctor's arm convulsively, while a muttereMl 
 exclamation passed her lips. 
 
 ' She is lovely,' said the doctor, who thought Fvateonly 
 touched him to attract his attention to the stage. ' She 
 is perfect in some ways, and yet there is something about 
 her I do not like. I have watched her night after night, 
 and cannot tell what it is. John is a good fellow, I hope 
 all is right.' 
 
 Kate made no reply, her attention was absorbed by the 
 singer, though she neither heard a word of the song nor a 
 note of the music. 
 
 The concert proceeded, and Madame Rolandi came for- 
 w^ard and sang again and again, and once w^hen her com- 
 panion who was playing tbe accompaniment struck a 
 false note, an expression passed like a Hash across her face 
 that was not good to see, and Kate again grasped the doc- 
 tor's arm and felt as if she must shriek aloud as she recug- 
 nized Les]ie Hargrave's wife. 
 
 This time the doctor turned and noted her white face 
 and horrified expression. 
 
 * Well, this beats me,' he thought ; ' she must be fond of 
 John Windermere after all. Of all women I should have 
 thought that Kate Lindwood knew her own mind, but it 
 appears 1 was mistaken.' 
 
 The concert came to an end, and the lovely singer was 
 led to the footlights by John Windermere, and amidst a 
 burst of applause made her bow to the assembled multi- 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 89 
 
 at 
 Ter 
 iie. 
 ler, 
 red 
 
 )iily 
 She 
 
 30Ut 
 
 ight, 
 hope 
 
 Y the 
 nor a 
 
 16 for- 
 ce m- 
 ck a 
 r face 
 doc- 
 
 lecug- 
 
 face 
 
 Ind of 
 have 
 )ut it 
 
 Ir was 
 
 Idst a 
 iiulti- 
 
 tude, and as she bent her graceful head, the glare of twen- 
 ty lamps fell full upon her face, and Kate once again saw 
 the l^pard-like eyes of 8elina Vincent ; and as she did 
 so a strong shudder shook hei- from head to foot. She 
 clasped her hands togethei- while the words, — 
 
 * Oh, Heaven ! What shall I do ? ' bui'st from her invol- 
 untarily. 
 
 The assembly dispersed, and while doing so the doctor 
 procured a glass of v.^ine, and held it to Kate's white lips, 
 as he said in an authoritative tone, ' Collect your senses, 
 Miss Kate. This is no place for a faint.' Saying which, 
 he grave one arm to his wife and the other to Kate and 
 they left the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Dash wood was delicate, and complained of fatigue, 
 and begged to be allowed to rest at a friend's, while the 
 doctor took Kate home, as their dwellings were in con- 
 trary directions. 
 
 After leaving Mrs. Dash wood, the doctor and Kate con- 
 tinued on their wav, and both for a time remained silent. 
 At length the doctor in a kindly tone of voice began : 
 
 ' Miss Kate, we have been very good friends for the 
 last few years, have we not ?' 
 
 *I hope so,' said Kate. * I have felt very friendly to 
 you, doctor, and I owe you much for your kindness to 
 Helena.' 
 
 ' You do not owe me anything at all,' i-etorted the doc- 
 tor. ' It is quite the other way, I am indebted to you for 
 many a pleasant hour passed in the small house on Maple 
 street, and until to-night I have always taken j'ou for a 
 sensible girl. God knows there are few enough of them, 
 and I don't like to find myself mistaken ; still^if you are 
 
r^lllfcl 
 
 DO 
 
 A MYSTEUV. 
 
 not as sonsiblu as I tliouglit you, that is the more reason 
 why you may need help. Will you make a friend of me 
 and tell me what caused the distress I saw in your face 
 to-night V 
 
 Kate did not reply, and he continued, 
 
 * I know you have been accustomed to bear vour own 
 burthens, but sometimes circumstances occur in which a 
 friend may be usefid. In any case, Miss Kate, I cannot 
 bear to see you troubled and not try to aid yon,' and the 
 kind-hearted doctor took her hand and {)atted it, as he 
 said, 
 
 ' Oome, chila, what is it ? ' 
 
 'You are very kind, doctor, and I will tell you what I 
 may of that which is troubling me. I heard a rumour 
 some days ago that Jack — Mr. Windermere — is going to 
 marry the singer, Madame Rolandi.' 
 
 The doctor noticed how readily the name, Jack, came 
 from her lips, and drew his own conclusions ; but he made 
 no further remark than — 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' I want to stop it.' 
 
 ' Wh.y do you want to stop it ? ' cried the doctor, in 
 amazement at the candour of this speech. 
 
 ' Because — because; — it would be illeijal,' stammered 
 Kate, who felt In^rself drawn into she knew not what. 
 
 ' How illegal. Miss Kate ? I must know all about it if 
 yon wish me to interfere.' 
 
 ' I cannot tell 3^ou all about it,' cried Kate, desperately, 
 * but I can tell you this — it would be illegal, because she is 
 already married.' 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 01 
 
 |r, m 
 
 lered 
 
 it if 
 
 Itely, 
 he is 
 
 'Bless nie, you don't mean it, Miss Kate! How can 
 you know if she he married or sinf,de ? She is a foreigner, 
 by all accounts, lately come to the country.' 
 
 ' She is a native of this country/ cried Kate. ' I have 
 seen her before. She is disguised, but 1 carmot be mis- 
 taken in the cat-like movement. Her hair is dyed, but 
 her eyes are the same. I cannot be mistaken in them. 
 Oh, doctor ! ' she cried, ' this marriage nnist be stopped — 
 she is utterly unworthy of Jack. What am I to do ? ' 
 
 The doctor pulled his moustache and looked puzzled. 
 
 ' You are quite sure she has a husband living ?' he at 
 length inquired. 
 
 ' Quite sure,' repeated Kate ; and even as she spoke a 
 cold thrill went to her heart, and the hand that rested on 
 yie doctor's arm trembled. Was Leslie dead ? She had 
 not heard anything of him for months; could he bo dead ? 
 Could his soul leave this world and nothing tell her that 
 they did not inhabit the same sphere ? Impossible.' 
 
 The doctor noticed her silence and trembling and was 
 more puzzled than before. 
 
 ' Can you prove that this woman is married ? ' he ques- 
 tioned. 
 
 ' I do not know * replied Kate, ' but I can try.' Then, 
 after a pause, she added, * Would it not do for you to tell 
 him ? ' 
 
 * Oh, certainly, I could tell him,' growled the doctor, 
 ' and he would ask for my proofs, even if he did not punch 
 my head on the spot. Then I refer him to 3''ou, and that 
 would never do.' 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
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 Photographic 
 
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 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
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 (716) 872-4503 
 
 i 
 

92 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 * My dear young lady, is it true that John Windermere 
 has been a suitor for your hand ? ' 
 
 ' Quite true,' replied Kate ; ' but I do not think it hon- 
 ourable to mention such matters. Please respect my con- 
 fidence in this.' 
 
 ' In that case,' said the doctor, without taking any 
 notice of the latter part of her speech, ' it would place you 
 in a very awkward position if you interfered in this 
 matter.' 
 
 ' You mean that people will talk, and say I am fond of 
 Jack, and that I am actuated by petty spite, or something 
 of that kind ?* queried Kate. 
 
 * Yes, something of that kind/ responded the doctor. 
 
 * Well, I cannot help it if they do. To be supposed to 
 be in love with John Windermere will not harm me nor 
 any one else that I know of 
 
 The doctor looked curiously at her face in the star- 
 light. 
 
 * Well, of all the queer specimens of women that I 
 have met tliis one is the most peculiar,' he thought, and 
 a feeling of admiration for the lonely girl, who could thus 
 contemplate braving public opinion, swelled in his bosom. 
 
 ' My dear Miss Kate,' he said, after a long pause ; ' it 
 would not be of any use for you to interfere, unless you 
 can produce proofs. It would be exposing yourself to 
 public ridicule in vain.' 
 
 Kate quivered under his words, while he continued — 
 ' Why should you trouble yourself about John Winder- 
 mere. He is old enough to know what he is about, and 
 probably would not thank anyone for meddling with his 
 affairs/ 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 93 
 
 
 nere 
 
 tion- 
 con- 
 
 : any 
 
 e you 
 i this 
 
 )nd of 
 ithing 
 
 3tor. 
 )sed to 
 me nor 
 
 le star- 
 that I 
 ht, and 
 Id thus 
 bosom, 
 se ; ' it 
 ss you 
 self to 
 
 lued — 
 
 inder- 
 [nU and 
 rith his 
 
 ' Oh, doctor ! don't talk in that way,' cried Kate ; ' it is 
 hoiTible to think of Jack marrying her. She is a (h*ead 
 ful woman ; it will ruin his whole life, and he is so good. 
 It would be wicked of me, knowing what I do, to let it 
 
 go on. 
 
 * Miss Kate,' said the doctor impressively ; ' if he is so 
 good, and has found such favour with you, would you 
 mind telling me why you did not accept him ? ' 
 
 ' I — I — did not love him enough to marry him,' stam- 
 mered Kate ; ' and now if he marries this woman I .shall 
 feel as if it were my fault, and that I have been his ruin,' 
 and the tears rose to her eyes as she again exclaimed, 
 ' Oh, doctor ! what shall I do ? * 
 
 * I'm blessed if I quite know,' said the doctor ; ' does 
 not anyone else know of this affair save you ? Where is 
 her husband ? He is the one that should be appealed to.' 
 
 Kate made no reply, she could not mention the name of 
 Leslie Hargrave in connection with this wretched woman. 
 
 ' RememV)er,' added the doctor, as they appioached her 
 home, 'that it is impossible for you to do anything in 
 this matter personally. The wedding will not come off 
 immediately, .and in the meantime I will think what is 
 best to be done. Are you sure that you are not mistaken 
 in her identity ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Kate ; * I cannot be mistaken. It is true 
 that her hair was a light brown, and now it is black ; but 
 the eyes — no two women could have such eye.s. I carmut 
 be mistaken, she is Leslie's wife.' She uttered the name 
 unthinkingly. ' Good night, and many thanks for your 
 kindness,'; she said, as she entered the house, while the 
 doctor turned away, muttering— 
 
94 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 n 
 
 'Leslie's wife. Here's another mystery. What docs it 
 all mean?* and many and varied thoughts passed 
 through his mind as he wended his way home ; while 
 Kate, after giving Aunt Merry vale, who was waiting up 
 for her, an account of the concert, retired to her room, to 
 pace up an<l down, up and down, vainly trying to deter- 
 mine what to do, till exliaustion compelled her to seek her 
 bed, when she fell into an uneasy sleep, and dreamed that 
 she was in a church, and at the chancel knelt John Win- 
 dermere and Selina Vincent. The clergyman pronounced 
 the Messing, and as the |)air rose from their knees they 
 were slowly transformed, and John Windermere became 
 Leslie liargiavc, and he looked with rapture upon his 
 bride, who at that moment turned her face toward Kate, 
 and Kate saw that it was the face of a fiend ; and she 
 wanted to shriek and could not; there was a choking sen- 
 sation in her throat that prevented articulation. She 
 awakened trembling with hoiror, great drops of moisture 
 standing on her brow. Toward morning she again slept, 
 and this time the visions of her brain took a new shape. 
 She was sitting at the window watching Pearl, who was 
 playing at the gate. The light of the setting sun fell on 
 the golden head of the child like a glory. Suddenly 
 a carriage drove up, and Selina Vincent sprang out, and, 
 , leaning over the gate, stretched out a claw-like hand, and, 
 seizing the child by her glittering tresses, bore her away 
 to the carriage and drove oti*. Again she tried to scream 
 and could not ; a hand of iron clasped her throat. She 
 sprang up in bed and frantically beat the air before she 
 became conscious that it was only a dream. There was 
 no more sleep for her that night. An awful feeling of 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 95 
 
 hJrror hauntt'd her. Seliiia Vincent had stolen t^>e Pearl, 
 and Leslie had left the child in her care that she might 
 not be under the influence of her wretched mother, and 
 she — how had she guarded the trust so strangely reposed 
 in her ? She had let the thought of the motlier stand 
 between them, and shut out the love she would otherwise 
 have felt for tiie child. She saw, tis in a vision, the little 
 cherub face, the golden liair, the deep blue eyes so like 
 Leslie's, the dimpled arms stretched t(jwards her to be 
 taken up, and she fell upon her knees and prayed that 
 God would give her back her little waif, to be guarded in 
 the future with a tenderer love. 
 
 *ii«r/ 
 

 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 LESLIE HARORAVE's SELF-UPBRAIDING. 
 
 * Oh ! daya of youth, for thee my soul doth yearn ; 
 Oh ! halcyon days, that never can return ; 
 When pure of heart, from sin my conscience free, 
 With longing eyes my soul looks back to thee. ' 
 
 T a late hour, one lovely night in October, a traveller 
 paced the deck of one of the steamers that ply on 
 our great chain of lakes. He wore a loose over- 
 coat, and a soft felt hat, pressed closely on his head and 
 drawn low on his forehead, shaded his face. His figure 
 was proudly erect, and marked by the square shoulders 
 and deep, broad chest, indicative of manly beauty. He 
 paced the deck restlessly, and ever and anon he raised the 
 hat from his brow as though its weight oppressed him, 
 and passed his hand through his hair impatientl3% and 
 as he did so displayed in the light of a full moon rich 
 brown locks that fell in waves on a brow rugged, but 
 beautiful, with intellect akin to genius ; eyes of an in- 
 tense limpid blue, a straight, prominent nose, with flexible 
 nostrils, that expanded and contracted as he paused in his 
 walk for a moment and sniffed the air like a war hoi*se. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 97 
 
 * I wonder what ails me to-night,' he thought ; ' I feel 
 as tliough 1 were haunted ; turn where I will, her eyes 
 look into mine, with that sad pleading look that I have 
 seen in their depths, when something has troubled her ; 
 and three times to-night I have distinctly felt the clasp of 
 her small hand on my arm, and I have turned to speak to 
 her, and the empty space has mocked me. I never felt 
 her presence so strongly as I do now, since the hour when 
 we parted. Good God ! ' he muttered, as another thought 
 struck him. * Can she be dead, and her spirit here with 
 me now ? The air seems to tremble as though it were 
 instinct with life.' 
 
 ' My darling,' he whispered, though no sound was heard 
 save the ripple at the prow of the vessel as she cut 
 through the waves. ' My darling, where are you ? ' 
 
 He turned suddenly, as though feeling that some one 
 was near him, and breathed in short, impatient gasps. 
 Again he raised his hat from his brow, again swept back 
 the heavy locks, and as he did so the moonlight fell full 
 upon his face. He started, and drew forth his watch — it 
 was the hour of eleven. 
 
 ' Ah ! now I know what this means. How could I for a 
 moment forget ? She is watching with me now, and she 
 is sad. 1 know it by the inward pain I feel ;' and as he 
 gazed his heart was filled with unutterable yearning to 
 behold once more the woman whose love he felt was his 
 own, and whose life he had blighted. 
 
 ' My darling, if I could but have you with me now, 
 nothing earthly should part us. No law, human or di- 
 vine, should compel me to cleave to one who is utterly 
 
98 
 
 A MYSTEHY. 
 
 I ;: 
 
 lost; while my pearl, my tlow'ret, is left to battle witli 
 
 life alone.' 
 
 He paced up and down more excitedly than before. 
 
 ' I will see her/ he muttered ; * before a week is over 
 my head I will see her, and know why she is haunting 
 me — why I feel this dreary pain.' 
 
 He walked the deck for hours, living over again his 
 past life, his happy boyhood, his young unsullied man- 
 hood, his first meeting with Kate, who was so unlike the 
 city belles of his acquaintance ; he seemed to breathe the 
 odour of wild flowers when near her. She was so girlish, 
 so unsophisticated, so pure, so sweet ; and he had not 
 then been ashamed to offer her his heart's homage ; and 
 she, yes, she had loved him. Well he remembered the 
 timid confession he had extorted from her, the look of 
 love in the sweet eyes that fell beneath his glance. ' Oh, 
 would to God ! ' he cried, * that I could blot out the past 
 from that hour ; but it is impossible ! impossible ! ' 
 
 It was like the wailing cry of a lost spirit, and it is the 
 cry of thousands of others who, lured by the wiles of 
 beauty or the glamour of wealth, listen to the voice of 
 passion, or of Mammon, and lose 
 
 * The one woman, God's costliest gift.' 
 
 In the gray of the morning the vessel neared the land- 
 ing at Oakhurst, and one of the passengers, after collect- 
 ing his luggage, took the first tiain for C , where he 
 
 arrived in a few hours, and drove to 95 River street, en- 
 tered with a latch key, and immediately ascended to his 
 study. There were several letters lying on the table ad- 
 dressed to * Leslie Hargrave, Esq.' He turned them over 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 90 
 
 witli 
 
 over 
 ating 
 
 1 his 
 man- 
 :e the 
 le the 
 irlish, 
 d not 
 ; and 
 3d the 
 ook of 
 ♦Oh, 
 e past 
 
 is the 
 iles of 
 
 ice 
 
 of 
 
 land- 
 )llect- 
 jie he 
 |t, en- 
 Lo his 
 le ad- 
 over 
 
 one by one, and as lie took up the last, a li-^dit leaped 
 into his eyes, and his hand trembled as he hurriedly tore 
 it open and read the few lines already seen by the reader, 
 written by Kate Lindwood, telling him of the loas of the 
 Pearl. 
 
 ' Concise,' he muttered, and not one word of sympathy 
 or affection in it.' 
 
 * The Pearl is lost,* he read, a dazed look coming into 
 his face. * It is her writing, though a little unsteady.' 
 
 'The Pearl is lost!' he repeated; 'what can be the 
 meaning of this, and why has she notitied me in this cool 
 manner ? ' 
 
 After some moments of reflection he again .solilorjuized : 
 ' I will find it. I shall go and sec her. I have restrained 
 myself a thousand times, and this restiaint cannot go on 
 forever. I .shall go and see her. I shall hold her to my 
 heart again. I shall kiss her lips ' 
 
 He rose and walked excitedly up and down the room. 
 
 ' Fool that 1 am,' he thought ; * she will stand cold 
 and still before me, my pure love, and I shall not dare to 
 touch her ; but I shall go, 1 shall look upon her face 
 again. I shall find my pearl. She cannot blame me now. 
 Will she be angry ? K^te be angry ? Well, it will do 
 me good if she is ; I cannot feel any worse tlian I do 
 now, no matter what happens.' 
 
 He ranor the bell. 
 
 A few moments after a servant entered, not much sur- 
 prised to .see her master, as she was accustomed to his 
 erratic movements. 
 
 ' Jane,' he said, turning to her, ' attend to my satchel, 
 please, and let me have clean linen.' 
 
 *• 
 
100 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 ' Going away again, sir ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Will you be here for dinner ? * 
 
 * No. I leave in an hour. Let me have lunch — any- 
 thing you have.' 
 
 The servant obeyed, and after a light refreshment. 
 Leslie Hargrave again left his home, not this time to rove 
 aimlessly about, but with the intention of making his way 
 directly to Beeborough ; and with this end in view we 
 leave him on the first train that left the depot for places 
 in that direction, and return to Dr. Annesley, who had 
 been suddenly called away to attend the death-bed of an 
 uncle a hundred miles dif. want. 
 
 ^r. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DR. ANNESLEY'S RETURN— THE FRIENDS DISCUSS THE SITUATION — THEY 
 ADJOURN TO THE SMALL HOUSE ON MAPLB STREET. 
 
 ,N the evening of the day after the concert before 
 mentioned, Dr. Annesley returned to Beeborough, 
 and at once proceeded to the house of his friend, 
 Dr. Dash wood. The doctor was at home when he arrived. 
 
 * Glad to see you back, James. Sit down, man, and 
 make yourself comfortable,' and he pushed a large easy 
 chair toward his friend. 
 
 * And now tell me all that has happened since you have 
 been away. How about your uncle ? ' 
 
 ' The poor old man is gone,' said Annesley, in a dreary 
 tone. 
 
 ' Why, man, your voice sounds as if it came from the 
 grave of buried hopes. Surely he did not disinherit you 
 after all ? ' 
 
 * He has left me heir to everything,' returned Annesley, 
 quietly. 
 
 ' Well, that is as it should be ; then why are you so 
 solemn ? ' 
 
102 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 The doctor looked anxiously at his friend as he put the 
 question. 
 
 ' I cannot help wishing that I had braved his anger, 
 and told him everything. I almost feel as though 1 had 
 come into a fortune by fraud.* 
 
 ' Nonsense, man,' cried the doctor, hotly. ' What is the 
 use of taking notice of old men's whims ? You are the 
 rightful heir ; that is beyond dispute, and had you told 
 him about the marriage, not a screed of it would ever 
 have been yours, so, as regards that there is nothing to 
 lament about, but * 
 
 The doctor fidgetted uneasily in his chair. 
 
 ' How is Miss Linwood,' interrupted his friend, a change 
 coming over his face as he spoke. 
 
 * Now it's coming,* thought tlie doctor, and he braced 
 himself up, and pulled his moustache viciously, as he re- 
 plied to this query : 
 
 * Not as well of late.' 
 
 * How ? What has gone wrong ? ' returned Annesley, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 * Trouble ; and she will not get well while she is trou- 
 bled.' 
 
 * What is she troubled about ? ' 
 
 * The Pearl.' 
 
 And the doctor felt a tightening about the chest and 
 throat as he spoke. 
 
 * Pearl ! * exclaimed Annesley, starting to his feet in 
 some excitement. ' What of Pearl ? * 
 
 ' James,' said Dr. Dashwood, in a tone of deep feeling, 
 rising and laying his hand gently on his friend's shoulder, 
 
X MYSTKUY. 
 
 103 
 
 t the 
 
 nger, 
 . had 
 
 is the 
 3 the 
 I told 
 ever 
 ng to 
 
 hange 
 
 braced 
 he re- 
 
 lesley, 
 trou- 
 
 and 
 
 pet in 
 
 leling, 
 ilder, 
 
 ' Jainos, we have l>een friends for years, and if we are to 
 part now, renicnil»er I acted as I thought for the l>est.' 
 
 ' In Heaven's name, Stephen, what do you mean ^ What 
 of tlie Pearl ? ' 
 
 ' She is lost,* cried the doctor in a husky voice. 
 
 ' Lost, Stephen, and I not know it,' and he shook otf 
 the doctor's hand roughly. 
 
 * I could not tell you. If I had you would have been 
 back by the first train, and that would have ruined all.' 
 
 ' Ruined all,' repeated Annesley in an awful voice. 
 ' Stephen, were you mad to think that any fortune could 
 recompense me for the loss of Leslie's child ? ' 
 
 * I did not think it. I did not think it, James,' rei- 
 terated the poor doctor, almost stunne<l by the just anger 
 of the f liend he had known and loVed from boyhood. 
 
 *I expect to find her. I have done everything mortal 
 could do in the time, and have not traced her yet, but I 
 will find her ; my inipression is that she has been stolen.' 
 
 ' Stolen ! ' exclaimed Annesley in astonishment. ' Who 
 should steal her ? * 
 
 '1 do not know, said the doctor in a troubled voice ; 
 * but evidence goes to prove that she was seen in a carriage 
 with a lady and gentleman driving down Maple street,' 
 and the doctor gave his friend adetail'^-^ account of all he 
 knew, and it was not much, concerning the Pearl, and all 
 he had done in the hope of tracing her, and concluded 
 with, 
 
 ' I have a vague suspicion of two strangers who have 
 lately come to Beeborough,* and he memtioned Madame 
 Roland! and her companion, at the same time speaking of 
 her approaching marriage with John Windermere. 
 
uU 
 
 ■ t--- 
 
 ('■ 
 
 104 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 ' I don't quite like this sudden infatuation of Winder- 
 mere's,' he added, * I wish we knew something more of the 
 lady.' 
 
 He said nothing of Kate's suspicions on the subject. 
 
 Annesley did not hear the last part of this speech ; he 
 caught the name, Rolandi's, and a lovely woman seen at a 
 German watering place — a woman of unenviable reputa- 
 tion— passed before his mental vision. 
 
 ' Is she — is Madame Rolandi here now ? ' he inquired. 
 
 ' Yes. I was telling you she is shortly to be married to 
 Windermere.' 
 
 * Can I see her anywhere without her seeing me ? ' 
 The doctor mused for a moment. 
 
 ' Do you know her ? ' 
 ' I think «R0.' 
 
 * Do you think she is concerned in the abduction of the 
 Pearl ? ' 
 
 ' It is possible.' 
 
 * Then you may sit behind the curtain in that window,' 
 pointing to one in an angle of the house, * at ten to-mor- 
 row morning, and you will see hei as she passes down, the 
 gravel path. She is coming to consult me at that hour. 
 She preferred coming here to having me call at her hotel' 
 
 * Whfit hotel does she stay at ? ' asked Annesley. 
 
 * The Royal.' 
 
 Annesley made a few notes in his pocket-book, and then 
 said, 
 
 * Now I will go and call on Miss Lindwood, and perhaps 
 I may glean something more to help me.' Here a small 
 boy came in and announced that tea was v/aiting. 
 
 * Better take a cup of tea first, James,' said the doctor, 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 105 
 
 ider- 
 f the 
 
 t. 
 
 \; he 
 1 at a 
 ■puta- 
 
 Ived. 
 •ied to 
 
 of the 
 
 lindow,' 
 io-mor- 
 
 ixthe 
 ,t hour. 
 
 hotel.' 
 
 id then 
 
 ^erhapH 
 small 
 
 Idoctor, 
 
 'and then I will walk up with you; it will be a more 
 .seasonable time, and I want to see Miss Kate.' 
 'Is she ill V inquired Annesley. 
 
 * No — not exactly ill. She is a puzzle to me. Lately I 
 have thouirht Helena fondest of the child, but there is no 
 comparison between the anxiety of the two concerning her 
 loss. Kate is getting more thin and hollow-eyed than I 
 like to see her.' 
 
 After tea the two walked up to the small house on 
 Maple street. 
 
 The family were assembled in the sitting-room, all save 
 the golden-haired, blue-eyed Pearl. 
 
 The greetings were kindly, but there was a gloom that 
 even Aunt Merryvale could not dispel, though her face 
 was as briglit, and her quaint sayings quaint as ever. 
 
 Helena was reclining in an easy chair. The pleasure of 
 seeinfj Dr. Annesley aLrain had brou^rht a Hush to her 
 cheek, and after a few moments general conversation, he 
 took a seat by her side, ([uestioned her about her health, 
 and talked with her about the Pearl, and as he saw the 
 tears come into her eyes, he whis[)ured in a fervent tone, 
 
 ' Heaven bless you for your sympathy.' 
 
 Helena blushed and scarcelv knew what to sav, when 
 their attention was drawn to Aunt Merryvale, whose 
 voice was raised as she replied to something Dr. Dash- 
 wood was saying. 
 
 * I've prayed that she may be brought back to us »afe 
 
 and sound. I tliink it a reasonable re(piest, and as long 
 
 as I pray for things reasonable, 1 have faith to believe 
 
 my prayers will be answered. I've done all I can to find 
 
 her, and now I intend to wait patiently until I find any- 
 (i 
 
106 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 thing more to do. I've fretted enough in my life, and I've 
 seen the folly of it ; it does nothing but make one old and 
 ugly before one's time. The child will turn up again all 
 right before long.' 
 
 Having finished this speech, Aunt Merryvale resumed 
 her knitting, her usual evening occupation, and as she 
 did so drew her lips together in a manner which said as 
 plainly as words coidd sj)eak : * So there's an end of the 
 matter,' while Dr. Dashwood turned to Kate, who sat 
 apart by the window and looked worn and haggard, and 
 for some time they conversed in a low tone ; at last An- 
 nesley, whoso ears were on the alert, caught the following : 
 
 ' I dreamed last night that I saw her carry away the 
 Pearl, and I feel it is true.' 
 
 * But, my dear Miss Kate, where is the motive ?' 
 She bent closer to the doctor and whispered : 
 
 * She is the mother of Pearl, and , oh, I cannot tell 
 
 you any more, doctor ; surely that is enough ? ' 
 
 The doctor opened his eyes wide with amazement, while 
 an exclamation passed his lips which sounded very much 
 like an oath. He took Kate's hand in his, and felt her 
 pulse carefully, and after a pause replied : 
 
 ' It is quite sufficient, and I shall act accordingly.' 
 Shortly after this the gentlemen took their leave, and 
 on their way home laid their plans for the recovery of he 
 Pearl. Whatever anger Dr. Annesley felt at being kept 
 in the dark melted away when he heard the efforts his 
 friend had made, and was still making, to discover the 
 missing child, and the two men were working together 
 like brothers to solve the mystery. 
 
 
 Ml 
 
 m 
 
I've 
 
 and 
 
 n all 
 
 imed 
 I she 
 i<l as 
 f the 
 lo sat 
 I, and 
 t An- 
 wing: 
 ly the 
 
 ot tell 
 
 while 
 much 
 
 lit her 
 
 and 
 
 I of He 
 kept 
 ^ts his 
 jr the 
 rether 
 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THK DETECTIVE — THE MEETING OF LESLIE AND KATE. 
 
 EXT morning, a little before ten, found Dr. Anncs- 
 ley at the window, where he got a full view of 
 the garden path. He had not waited long when 
 a carriage drove up to the gate and a lady alighted, and 
 passed the window where he sat watching. 
 
 * It is she,* he exclaimed under his breath, ' and as 
 beautiful as ever. I marvel that a creature so lovely can 
 be so wicked.' 
 
 As soon as the door of the doctor's office wjis closed he 
 seized his hat, and went to the telegraph office, and in ten 
 
 minutes the chief of police in C received a message 
 
 requesting that a man in plain clothes be sent to the 
 Royal Hotel, Beeborough, where he would receive his in- 
 structions. 
 
 The next day Thomas Dobson, ICsq., arrived at the 
 Royal Hotel, and later was called upon by Dr. Dash wood, 
 who claimed him as an old acquaintance, and took him 
 home to spend the evening, where, contrary to his usual 
 custom, the doctor entertained him with all the gossip of 
 
 m 
 
I.''^ 
 
 
 r 
 
 108 
 
 A MYSTKRY. 
 
 Beeborough, Dr. Annesley making a good listener and 
 dropping in a word occasionally. 
 
 At a late hour he returned to the hotel, and there we 
 shall leave him and transfer the reader to the evening be- 
 fore the day fixed for the marriage of John Windermere 
 with the beautiful Madame Rolandi. 
 
 Or) this evening a stranger arrived by the seven o'clock 
 train and drove to the Albion House, when having rested 
 a short time and taken some refreshment, he again sallied 
 forth, and inijuiring his way, shortly appeared before the 
 small house on Maple street. 
 
 He paused irresolute with his hands on the gate, when 
 just at that moment the street door opened, and the form 
 of Kate Lindwood appeared for a moment in full relief 
 against a back-ground of light ; the next, the door closed, 
 and she moved down the path towards the stranger who 
 leaned against the gate-post, watching her, with his soul 
 in his eyes and words of endearment trembling on his 
 lips, for Leslie Hargrave had not seen her for years, and 
 memories of the past were busy in his brain. 
 
 She was dressed in some dark material, and a light 
 gossamer scarf thrown over her head fell in loose folds 
 upon her shoulders. Her head was bent down and her 
 whole attitude bespoke extreme dejection. 
 
 As she neared the gate she came so close to Leslie that 
 he could have touched her ; then she retraced her steps, 
 and he was on the point of following her, and had passed 
 through the gate, when she turned again, and standing in 
 the shadow of a tree he waited her approach. Her head 
 was bent as before, and she did not see him, and as she 
 turned again he uttered her name in a low muffled tone, 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 109 
 
 [ight 
 
 folds 
 
 her 
 
 [that 
 feps, 
 Issed 
 
 Lead 
 
 she 
 
 lone, 
 
 too much overcome by the sight of this woman whom he 
 loved, and the bitter recollection of how he had lo^t her, 
 to be able to articulate plainly. 
 
 She started on hearing her name, and looked up. The 
 moonlight fell full upon her face, while his own was in 
 shadow. 
 
 That face with its wondrous purity of expression acted 
 upon him like a spell, and he seemed as though riveted to 
 the spot. 
 
 * Who calls me ?' she asked in a trembling tone, as she 
 advanced a step nearer. 
 
 ' I, Leslie.' 
 
 She moved hurriedly forward, and laying her hand on 
 his shoulder in a manner that bespoke the utmost conti- 
 dence a 'id affection, said in a tone of intense relief: 
 
 * Oh ! I'm so glad you've come.' 
 
 * Are you really glad to see me, Kate ?' He said with 
 a rising excitement in his tone as he took her hand. 
 
 * Oh I so glad,' she repeated, * so gi\d ; now all will be 
 well.' 
 
 * All will be well,' repeated Leslie, a gleam of wild joy 
 lighting up his face; 'for heaven's sake, Kate, tell me 
 what you mean ?' 
 
 In a moment the thouijht had flashed throufjh his brain 
 that Selina was dead, and he released from his bonds ; or 
 that Kate would consent to marry him if he obtained a 
 divorce, a question he had not dared to ask her, though 
 he had been often sorely tempted. 
 
 Kate alarmed by his excited manner, moved a step from 
 him and remained silent. 
 
 ' All what,' he repeated, a chill creeping over him. 
 
 
 ,^ 
 
110 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 
 *I have been so jnistTable the last few wneks. I Isave 
 not known what to do,' returned the ^drl in a troubled 
 tone. 
 
 * Leslie/ she continued, as she again laid her hand on 
 his ann, * I ain afraid I am going to pain you ; but I can- 
 not help it, I need your assistance.' 
 
 ' In what way ?' he questioned, a presentiment of evil 
 creeping over him. 
 
 * Leslie, your wife is in Beeborough.' 
 
 He recoiled as though he had received a blow, and 
 leant against the tree for su{)port, while Kate looked at 
 him with pitying eyes, as she continued — 
 
 * Selina is in Beeborough, and is going to be married to 
 John Windermere to-morrow.' 
 
 * She is nothing to me,' cried Leslie in a hoarse voice ; 
 'she may marry whom she will, I shall not' interfere. I 
 never want to see her face or hear her name. You will 
 oblige me by not speaking of her to me again.' 
 
 * I must, Leslie ; John Windermere cannot marry 
 her.' 
 
 * Why not, if he wishes to,' retorted Leslie, savagely ; 
 ' I have no desire to stand in the way of his happiness,' he 
 added with a bitter laugh. 
 
 * It would not be right for me to allow it when I know 
 she has a husband living.' 
 
 * She has no husband. I disown her forever.' 
 
 Kate's couratje began to rise as she found herself 
 thwarted in what she considered the cause of right. 
 
 ' Leslie/ she continued, * I have known John from child- 
 hood, and I cannot remain silent and ses his whole life 
 ruined.* 
 
A MYSTKllY. 
 
 Ill 
 
 * You take great interest in this John Windermere,' he 
 retorted bitterly. * What is he to you that you feel so 
 tender about him ? ' 
 
 Kate made no reply. She either could not or would 
 not speak, 
 
 * Is he a lover of yours ? Has she come in between you, 
 as she did once before ? ' 
 
 He grasped her arm, and, looking in her troubled face, 
 laughed a horrible laugh, that had in it all the bitterness 
 of jealousy and the agony of shame. * Let her alone,' he 
 continued, ' and she'll serve me a better turn than she 
 thinks. Who knows but I may live to bless her yet ? ' 
 
 He spoke wildly, recklessly. Jealousy, fierce and strong, 
 held dominion over him. 
 
 * Leslie,' said Kate, with all the firmness she could bring 
 to her aid, though her voice trembled, * it is useless now 
 to talk of the past ; this is a thing of the present, a choice 
 between right and wrong ; one of us two must take steps 
 to prevent this marriage, and now that 'you are here is it 
 well to leave it to me f ' • 
 
 Stung into greater bitterness by her quiet determina- 
 tion, which he thought sprang from love for John Winder- 
 mere, he exclaimed : 
 
 * You are right,* madam ! It is my part to interfere; 
 to claim as a wife a woman who has disgraced me, and 
 has been living an evil life for years, that you may 
 have your lover return to you; it is a just repara- 
 tion for the wrong I have done you. I will proclaim 
 from the street corners and the houseto|)s that this 
 degraded woman is my wife, if that will satisfy you, and 
 
112 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 
 I ?'W 
 
 never fear but your recreant lover will return to his alle- 
 giance, and you will marry him, and I wish you joy.' 
 
 He turned to depart, went a few steps, and came back 
 again, and stood looking at her with an expression of 
 passionate pain in his eyes. * I shall never see her again,' 
 he thought. He moved a step nearer. 
 
 ' Say good-bye, Kate, before I go.' 
 
 She did not seem to hear him ; her eyes were fixed on 
 some object afar ofi". 
 
 * Say good-bye, Kate,' he repeated ; ' and kiss me once ; 
 it will be the last time ; kiss me once before I go. It will 
 not harm you, and it will make me feel better.' 
 
 She made no reply ; she did not even turn her eyes upon 
 him. 
 
 Suddenly he stretched out his arms and gathered her 
 to his bosom. He turned her face to the moonlight, and 
 bent to imprint a kiss upon her lips, when he was struck 
 by the death-like pallor of her face, the closed eyes, and the 
 limp form that hung heavily on his arm. She had fainted. 
 A sudden revulsion of feeling came over him. He laid 
 her on a garden seat that was near by, and passed his 
 hand over the dew- wet grass, and moistened her forehead, 
 while he murmured words of endearment mingled with 
 self-upbraiding. , 
 
 * My darling, I would not harm you for the world. I 
 did not mean to frighten you ; but why did you raise this 
 devil of jealousy ? It is past now ; open your sweet eyes 
 and look at me again before I go. Waken, my darling ; I 
 will not attempt to kiss you now. Waken.' 
 
 The long, dark lashes quivered, and he moved a little 
 apart, while she regained complete consciousness. She 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 113 
 
 alle- 
 
 back 
 1 of 
 ;ain,' 
 
 d on 
 
 made an effort to rise, and he sprang forward to assist her, 
 while he hurriedly exclaimed — 
 
 * Pardon me, my darling, pardon me ! I did not kiss 
 you. I could not. I am unworthy even to look at you. 
 Good-night;* and before she could utter a word he had 
 gone ; he did not hear her faint cry : — 
 
 ' Leslie ! The Pearl ! the Pearl !' 
 
 / 
 
 once ; 
 t will 
 
 iupon 
 
 Id. I 
 this 
 eyes 
 
 1 little 
 She 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 \ 
 
 fi 
 
 
 MRS. BEEOH TELLS A TALE — KATR's SILENT ANGUISH — ' ON'LY A LIT- 
 TLE while' — A LIGHT COMES TO AUNT MBRRYVALE. 
 
 HE day succeeding the events mentioned in our last 
 11^ chapter, every gossip in Beeborough was talking 
 ^ over the strange scene that took place at the Royal 
 Hotel the evening before, which, in passing from mouth 
 to mouth, at length reached the ears of little Mrs. Beech, 
 who, tilled with news which she thought very funny, im- 
 mediately donned her walking attire, and proceeded on 
 her way to unburden herself to the three ladies who lived 
 on Maple street. 
 
 Aunt Merryvale and Kate were in the room when she 
 entered, and Hinging herself into a chair threw up her 
 hands and exclaimed, 
 
 ' Such a queer thing has happened ! Do guess.' 
 
 * I never could guess anything,' said Aunt Merryvale, 
 while Kate remained silent, and her face that was pale 
 before turned paler still. 
 
 * Well,' continued Mrs. Beech, excitedly, ' this is the 
 day that John Windermere was to have been married to 
 Madame Rohindi, the singer, and I went, with some friends 
 
A MYSTKHY. 
 
 in 
 
 of Inino, at ten this morning to witness the ceremony. 
 There was a great crowd outside the church, but the 
 doors were locked, and after waiting a long time the sex- 
 ton came and announced that there would be no wedding 
 to-day. Of course we were all very curious, and I did 
 not hear till a few minutes ago what had happened to 
 put it off.' 
 
 ' I am very glad it is put off,' said Aunt Merry vale. 
 John is tod young to know his own mind ; and matri- 
 mony is rather too serious a thing to rush into after only 
 a few weeks' acquaintance with a woman whom nobody 
 knows.' 
 
 * Ah, that's just where the trouble was,* continued Mrs. 
 Beech. No one did know. It appears that about nine 
 o'clock last evening a stranger arrived at the Royal Hotel 
 and enquired for Madame Rolandi. He was shown up to 
 the drawing-room where she was entertaining several 
 ladies and gentlemen, and among them John Windermere, 
 who was bcndinij over her and talkinof in a low tone. 
 Their conversation was cut short by the stranger advanc- 
 ing and claiming her as his wife before the assembled 
 company, and requesting her to prepare to leave Bee- 
 borough by the eleven o'clock train. Dreadful, wasn't it ? 
 I think how I should have felt if any one had come to 
 take me away from Joseph the evening before we were 
 married, and» what Joseph would have thought. It's 
 really too funny to think of. Those present say Madame 
 flew into an awful rage, and vowed she would not be 
 dictated to by him, and that her eyes glared like a 
 tigress, but he whispered something in her ear, and she 
 calmed down and left the room to prepare for the journey. 
 
116 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 I wonder what he could have said to her, and if he retilly 
 is her husband. They say John Windermere never said 
 a word ; he seemed bewildered, and a friend of his took 
 him home.' 
 
 ' What a miserable ending to John's love affair,' said 
 Aunt Merryvale. * I never believe in these dazzlements ; 
 they never come to any good. It is better to fall in love 
 in a quiet, respectable way, and marry in a reasonable 
 time, instead of bringing things to a climax in such a 
 hurry that it is enough to take one's breath away to think 
 
 of it; 
 
 ' Yes,' said Mrs. Beech, * Joseph and I were engaged a 
 whole year before we were married. I did not mind wait- 
 ing, only I was afraid I should be so old.' 
 
 * Indeed,' said Aunt Merryvale. 
 
 * Yes, my sister Sarah was married at sixteen.* 
 
 * You seem very much advanced in your ideas,* said 
 Aunt Merryvale, with a twinkle in her eye. * It is gene- 
 rally supposed that a girl is young up to twenty, then 
 she begins to feel old, and between twenty-five and thirty 
 is very old, particularly if single. After thirty she begins 
 to get young again.' 
 
 Mrs. Beech stared. 
 
 ' I assure you it is so. I feel quite young, and so will 
 you if you live long enough ; but we all have to go through 
 this old stage of feeling. It is not pleasant ; but there is 
 no help for it. We all do it, and we all wish when it is 
 over that there had not been any necessity for it. It 
 produces in many cases irritability, and brings crow's feet 
 and wrinkles before their time, and is all much ado about 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 117 
 
 retilly 
 er said 
 is took 
 
 r,' said 
 ments ; 
 in love 
 jonable 
 such a 
 think 
 
 orated a 
 id wait- 
 
 as, 
 
 said 
 
 is gene- 
 
 Ly, then 
 
 thirty 
 
 begins 
 
 so will 
 through 
 there is 
 jn it is 
 it. It 
 r's feet 
 about 
 
 nothing. What was the husband like ?* she enquired, re- 
 turning to the former subject of conversation. 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Mrs. Beech. ' Something dread- 
 ful, I believe. They say he looked as black as a thunder- 
 cloud. I suppose the poor little thing wanted to get away 
 from him, but of course it was very wicked if he really 
 was her husband ; and I suppose he must have been, or 
 she would not have gone away with him.' 
 
 ' They did go then V queried Aunt Merryvale. 
 
 * Yes. And that reminds me that I heard an accident 
 happened to the night train, and several people were kill- 
 ed, and many wounded.* , 
 
 All the time this conversation had been carried on be- 
 tween Mrs. Beech and Aunt Merryvale, Kate had been 
 working or pretending to work on a piece of embroidery 
 while listening attentively to all that was said. At men- 
 tion of the accident the work fell from her hands, and .she 
 stared at Mrs. Beech with such a look of horror on her 
 face that that lady exclaimed. — 
 
 * Why, goodness, Kate ! You look as though you had 
 lost every friend you had in the world. Railway acci- 
 dents are so common now, that we do not think anything 
 of them, unless someone we know gets hurt.' 
 
 * If we do not know the killed and wounded, there are 
 those who will,' said Aun^ Merryvale in a tone of rebuke. 
 
 * Quite true,' said Mrs. Beech. Then after a few mo- 
 ments silence, she added, 
 
 " Would'nt it be funny if that dreadful man was killed 
 and Madam Rolandi came back and manied John Win- 
 dermere, and they lived happy ever after ? Wouldn't it, 
 though ?' 
 
V 
 
 1I.S 
 
 A MVSTKllY. 
 
 I ; ■ 
 i! ' '. 
 
 ■r ■ 
 
 Kate could bear no more. She rose and left the room, 
 regardless of the sharp look which lier aunt directed to- 
 wards her as she did so. She sought her chamber, and 
 entering closed and locked the door, and throwing herself 
 on the bed stared up at the ceiling with wide opened tear- 
 less eyes, before which every conceivable horror passed 
 like scenes in a panorama. 
 
 The shock of the trains as they met, for thus she 
 pictured it, the cars in ruins, the track and vicinity 
 strewn with the killed and wounded ; and Leslie — her 
 Leslie — mangled, bleeding, dying, and Selina unhurt bend- 
 ing over him with the look of triumphant malice in her 
 face that Kate so well remembered. 
 
 All this and much more passed before the mind's eye of 
 the wretched girl, and a feeling akin to despair crept over 
 her. 
 
 There was a knock at the door, but slie did not heed it. 
 In imagination she was holding Leslie's head on her 
 bosom and smoothing the dark tangled locks from his 
 brow, as she told him there would be no more parting in 
 heaven, and that she would go to him soon, there to be 
 united forever. 
 
 Another knock, and another, and she mechanically rose, 
 and opening the door admitted Aunt Merry vale. 
 
 * Kate ?' began the old lady. 
 
 * Yes, aunt,' in a voice so changed that Mrs. Merry vale 
 started at the sound. 
 
 * Kate, look at me.' 
 
 The girl raised a pair of dull agonized eyes to her 
 aunt's face. 
 
 Never did Aunt Merry vale forget that look, so calm, so 
 dull, so despairing. 
 
A MYSTKUV. 
 
 no 
 
 room, 
 ,ed t(>- 
 r, anrl 
 herself 
 J tear- 
 passed 
 
 us slie 
 acinity 
 ie — her 
 :t beiid- 
 
 i in 
 
 her 
 
 's eye of 
 e\>t over 
 
 heed it. 
 on her 
 Irom his 
 ating in 
 re to he 
 
 ^lly rose, 
 jrryvale 
 
 to her 
 jalm, 30 
 
 ' Kate,' continued the old lady as she laid her hand 
 tenderly on her niece's shoulder, ' I haye known ever since 
 I caine here that you were not happy, that something had 
 gone wrong with your life. I do not seek to know wliat 
 it is, hut if there is anything I can do to lighten the 
 weiirlit, tell nie and I will help you. 
 
 ' Yes, aunt,' said Kate, answering at rau<h3ni in the 
 same dull tone as l)efore. 
 
 ' There are trials and sorrows in every life,' contiinied 
 Aunt Merry vale. ' We all suffer according to our strength. 
 The weak in a puling way, the strong as though the tor- 
 ture must rend soul from body in the intensity of mental 
 ;;nguish ; and all have a like consolation. This world is 
 but a school to fit the soul for the next. I have suffered 
 about all I could suffer and live, and please God 1 will 
 never fret again. One day I read from a paper these 
 lines; and they have been a comfort ever since,' and in 
 /I tone of deep feeling she repeated the following lines. — 
 
 " Only a little while, 
 
 'Till pas.sion and paiji are o'er ; 
 Only a few short years, 
 
 And we meet to part no more. 
 
 (i 
 
 Only a little while 
 
 'Till we meet in bliss supreme, 
 Only a little while 
 
 And the past will be a dream. 
 
 **Only a little time 
 
 For submission, patience, prayer. 
 Only a little more 
 For the tortured heart to bear. 
 
J s; 
 
 f: 
 
 
 Mil J' 
 
 'I !r 
 '"',■■ '■/< 
 
 
 1 ' 
 
 ?^i. 
 
 120 A MYSTERY. 
 
 "Only a little while 
 
 For the silent tears to fall ; 
 Only a little while 
 And the turf will cover all." 
 
 As the old lady concluded, she saw the glitter of tears 
 in Kate's eyes, and kissing her affectionately, silently left 
 the room, and going to that of Helena, tapped lightly on 
 the door and entered. 
 
 Helena had just awakened from her afternoon nap. 
 She had been dreaming of James Annesley, and a soft, 
 tremulous smile played on her lips, the reflex of a joy 
 within. 
 
 ' Only a six inch partition between happiness and mi- 
 sery,' mused Aunt Merry vale, as she thought of the face 
 she had just left, and contrasted it with the one before 
 her. 
 
 ' How changed is Helena since I came here to live. 
 What a bliss and a torture is love,' 
 
 ' Helena, my dear, will you please arrange your dress 
 and come into the sitting room and entertain any one 
 who may call. Kate has a bad headache and cannot be 
 disturbed, and I am going out.' 
 
 * Yes, aunt,' said Helena, languidly, not liking to be 
 roused from her pleasing re very. 
 
 Aunt Merryvale put on her bonnet and mantle, and 
 sallied forth, intent on gleaning all she could concerning 
 the accident. She began to see *as through a glass, 
 darkly' the secret grief of her favourite niece, and hoped 
 to pick up some crumbs of comfort by the way. 
 
 ' Who,' she asked herself, ' was Madame Rolandi, and 
 
 I 
 
 '^■r.: 
 
A MYSTKRY. 
 
 121 
 
 tears 
 ly left 
 \y on 
 
 1 nap. 
 a soft, 
 
 a joy 
 
 .nd mi- 
 he face 
 before 
 
 ■jO live. 
 
 ir dress 
 py one 
 mot be 
 
 who was hor husband, " that dreadful uuiii," as Mrs. 
 Beech called him, and what had they to do witii Kate ? ' 
 
 And she thought of Kate's visit to C , and tried to 
 
 recall what she had then heard of Kate's eng-ai^ement to 
 somebody, which she had treated as idle gossip. 
 
 ' Well, one thing is certain, be this man dreadful or 
 not, Kate loves him with a great love, and he has a wife 
 living. Merciful Heaven I ' thought the old lady, ' what is 
 to be done in a case like this ? I like to see people happy, 
 but where is the happiness to come from in this case. 
 I've kept my eyes open as I came through life, and I be- 
 lieve the single lite may be just as- happy as the married, if 
 people would only think so, but who could persuade a 
 young girl to believe it, whose only thought of happiness 
 is being always with him she loves. I doubt not it will 
 be best if he is killed, as Kate seems to forebode. It will 
 be one bio- wrench instead of a lite-Ion^ jjjnawino- at the 
 heart.' 
 
 Thus musing we leave Mrs. Merryvale on her w^ay to 
 the telegraph office, while we follow Leslie Hargrave and 
 his wife on their journey. .;,y 
 
 to be 
 
 [le, and 
 ierning 
 glass, 
 hoped 
 
 
 li, and 
 
P" 
 
 Ml 
 
 m 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 
 SELINA TRIES TO REGAIN HER INFLUENCE OVER LESLIE — THE DE- 
 TECTIVE AT WORK — DEATH OF THE WOMAN-FIEND. 
 
 ^^ ELIN A HARGRAVE, filial Rolandi, paced the long 
 room at the Beeborough station, waiting for the 
 train, which was half an hour late. She was 
 alone. The scene at the hotel had not subdued her, it 
 had only altered her plans. True, she was in Leslie Har- 
 grave's power, and she was afraid of him ; but already 
 she was scheming to extricate herself. How had he 
 learned that little business she had managed for Captain 
 Fitzgerald, when by a simple scratch of the pen they had 
 gained sufficient money to support them for some months 
 while on the Continent. Leslie had dared to call it for- 
 gery. People had died before now for uttering such words, 
 and 'What has '>een done can be done again,' thought 
 Selina. 
 
 ' By the way, that would be a suitable work for Celes- 
 tine. J. must look her up ; she took fright and left the 
 hotel as soon as she saw me in trouble. I dare say she 
 expects, now, to have the child speculation all to heiself ; 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 123 
 
 HE DE- 
 
 le long 
 or the 
 le was 
 her, it 
 Har- 
 Iready 
 ad he 
 ,ptain 
 !y had 
 [months 
 it foi- 
 ords, 
 bought 
 
 ICeles- 
 [it the 
 ty she 
 
 elf; 
 
 5li3 
 
 but she is mistaken. Poor fool, I must find her, she will 
 be useful to me.' 
 
 Here her meditations were cut short by the entrance of 
 Leslie. 
 
 ' I am going to get tickets, madame,' he said ; ' where 
 do you wish to go ?' 
 
 Her plans were laid on the instant. This woman, who 
 had never known the meaning of the word failure, where 
 conquest was concerned, at once made up her mind that 
 she would be taken back to her husband's bosom for the 
 present, and let circumstances decide the future ; arid sho 
 answered his query almost instantaneously by falling on 
 her knees and raising her fascinating eyes glittering with 
 tears to his face, begged to be forgiven and taken back. 
 
 ' Oh ! Leslie,' she entreated, ' I have been so wretched 
 since I left you. Take me back ! take me back !' and 
 she attempted to clasp his knees, but he recoiled as from 
 an evil thing. 
 
 * Don't touch me,' he cried in an awful voice, * or 1 shall 
 curse you.' 
 
 She knew not that,Kate was in Beeborough. Tiiat he 
 had held her to his heart but a few hours before, or she 
 might not have made this futile attempt to regain his 
 love. 
 
 She rose from her knees white with passion, and her 
 eyes glared as she said : 
 
 ' You shall repent this to the last day of your life.' 
 
 Leslie was too chivalrous to retort u[)on a woman, yet 
 he might have thought that it was she who had need of 
 repentance. 
 
124 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 * You forget yourself', madame,' he said calmly. It was 
 the calmness of despair. 
 
 ' Shall I take your ticket for C V 
 
 * Yes,' replied she, tartly. 
 
 This was not what Leslie wished, but he laid his own 
 plans accordingly. He should not return to C . 
 
 He left the waiting room and procured a ticket for 
 
 Selina for C , and another for himself for Lome, a 
 
 station about midway, where there was a branch line. He 
 had not yet decided where to go ; but anywhere where 
 she was not, and he could breathe freely. 
 
 The scream of the wiiistle sounded weird and wild as it 
 was borne to his ears upon the still night air ; and pre- 
 sently a long train drew up at the station, and he and his 
 companion entered the first car, and as they did so a 
 woman in a long dark ulster, who had been standing in 
 the shadow of the station, passed quickly by and entered 
 the last car ; and as the train moved from the platform 
 two men appeared from different directions and stepped 
 on as it slowly retreated. One of these, a tall, slight man 
 made his way to the last car, and seating himself behind 
 the woman in the ulster, appeared to settle himself for a 
 nap, while the other proceeded to the first car, where he 
 ascertained, as only detectives know how, that Madame 
 
 Rolandi had a ticket for C . He eyed Leslie, who sat 
 
 a few seats from her, curiously. 
 
 * Poor devil,' he thought. ' Well, a man can't have every- 
 thing. She is certainly a beauty to look at. Pretty 
 women are exposed to more temptations than plain ones ; 
 he ought to be merciful to her, and yet I fear she is a 
 thorough bad one.' The detective after gaining all the 
 
A MYSTP^RY. 
 
 125 
 
 , was 
 
 i own 
 
 Dt for 
 irne, a 
 le. He 
 where 
 
 Id as it 
 id pre- 
 tnd his 
 d so a 
 ding in 
 entered 
 atforin 
 tepped 
 Iht man 
 [behind 
 [f for a 
 ere he 
 adame 
 ho sat 
 
 every- 
 
 , Pretty 
 
 ones; 
 
 ^he is a 
 
 all the 
 
 information he required, proceeded to tlio end of the last 
 car but one, where he sat down and appeared to be rumi- 
 nating deeply. 
 
 During this time the train had stopped at three stations, 
 .and was approaching the fourth, when the tall man whom 
 we left in the last car, suddenly entered and grasping the 
 detective's arm exclaimed, 
 
 * It is as you say, her ticket is taken up and she gets 
 off at the next station ; come.' 
 
 * The two men left the car and stood upon the steps ; 
 they sprang off as the car drew up to the platform, and 
 watched the woman come off the train and proceed 
 directly up into the town, one following her closely, while 
 the other kept them in sight. 
 
 The train glided away from the station, winding round 
 a, curve like a fiery snake and carrying with it Leslie 
 Hargrave and the beautiful degraded creature, wlio, ac- 
 cording to law, was all that lie could claim as a wife ; and 
 the law now, if he appealed to it would release him, but 
 where would be the use. He knew Kate's views too well 
 to think she would marry a man who had been divorced 
 from his wife, and his disgrace was quite sufficiently 
 known without making it more public by a suit in court 
 by which nothing could be gained. She had left him and 
 he would never take her back. He loathed the si<xht of 
 her, yet he believed at this moment she thought he was 
 
 going with her to C . She had looked faded and 
 
 worn, and he had placed her wraps about her carefully 
 that she min'ht rest, an<l had then retreated to the last 
 car, to get as far from her as possiVde. 
 
 ' What is the use of staying with her,' he thought, ' a few 
 
IT 
 
 I ' 
 
 U¥' 
 
 12G 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 more stations, and I leave her, I trust, forever. She must 
 p;o lier way, and I mine, and may God have mercy on us 
 both.' 
 
 He had claimed her as his wife in obedience to Kate's 
 wish, and insisted on her leaving Beeborough at once, for 
 fear she should learn Kate's whereabouts of which he felt 
 sure she was ignorant ; though how in so small a place 
 she had remained so he could not tell, and the demon 
 jealousy again became rampant in his bosom as he thought. 
 
 * Kate must have been fond of John Windermere, and 
 he must have known it, hence his reticence in not speak- 
 ing of her to the woman he intended to marry, and what 
 so natural as that he should seek as a solace to his wound- 
 ed feelings, the society of another, whom he already knows 
 loves him,' thought Leslie, ' and I have paved the way for 
 his happiness by dispelling his infatuation for Selina.' 
 
 * Good God! ' he exclaimed. ' When shall I ever be able 
 to coolly contemplate the thought of Kate belonging to 
 another. Never, never, while I breathe the breath of life. 
 She is mine. Soul of my soul. I will never give her up. 
 I will ' 
 
 An awful crash cut the sentence short, and Leslie Har- 
 grave was hurled violently to the other side of the car, 
 where he lay insensible, while men and women clambered 
 over him, shrieking and groaning pitiously. 
 
 When he recovered consciousness, he was lying with a 
 number of others on the damp turf by the side of the track. 
 A woman, one of God's angels of mercy, was raising his 
 head to place something under it, that he might be more 
 comfortable, and seeing him open his eyes, she exclaimed, 
 
 ■l : >■ 
 
A MYSTRKY. 
 
 127 
 
 must 
 Dn us 
 
 date's 
 je, for 
 le felt 
 place 
 lemon 
 ought, 
 •e, and 
 speak- 
 i what 
 vound- 
 knows 
 wray for 
 la.' 
 
 be able 
 
 jring to 
 
 of life. 
 
 her up. 
 
 le Har- 
 
 ^he car, 
 
 ibered 
 
 with a 
 
 track. 
 
 ling his 
 
 more 
 
 [aimed, 
 
 ' * Doctor, he is not dead. Do look at him for a mo- 
 ment, and tell me what I can do for him.' 
 
 The soft heart of the country girl, who lived near by, 
 and had come to the wreck to do what she could to 
 alleviate suffering, was touched by the grand beauty of 
 Leslie's death-like face. The doctor turned and gave him 
 some brandy from a flask which he carried with him. 
 
 * Get something to cover him up with, if you can,' he 
 said, * and if he speaks ask him where he would like to 
 be taken to, and then come and help me ; there are others 
 worse off than he, who must be attended to first.' 
 
 As the doctor turned away, Leslie raised himself on 
 one elbow and looked round. His first thought was of 
 Kate, and would he live to see her again. His second of 
 Selina, and what had become of her. He did not wish 
 her dead. The thought of that delicate form crushed 
 and bleeding was horrible to him ; but he must know 
 what had become of her. 
 
 Dead or living, it seemed to him in his prostrate state, 
 it would be the same — she would always cotne between 
 him and Kate ; the very thought of her seemed a 
 barrier. 
 
 The girl bent to catch his words as he spoke low and 
 with effort, 
 
 ' Tell me about the accident.' 
 
 ' Dreadful/ replied the girl with a shudder ; ' a great 
 many killed.' 
 
 Leslie sfroaned. 
 
 ' Had you any friends with you ? ' she enquired. 
 
 ' No.' 
 

 
 128 
 
 A MYSTKRY. 
 
 I' 
 
 lie 
 
 There was a pause of some moments when he spoke 
 yet more faintly. 
 
 * Were all the cars thrown off the track ? ' 
 ' Yes, all/ 
 
 * Were any hurt in the first car ? * 
 
 * The first car was thrown off the track, and 1 think 
 not many injured. The second car was smashed to 
 atoms, and all, I believe, killed.' 
 
 * Stop,' said Leslie ; ' don't tell me any more.* 
 
 ' Poor Selina,' he thought, ' she may have escaped.' 
 
 * Help me to rise. No, it's no use, as he made an 
 ineffectual effort. ' There was a lady in the first car in a 
 broad brimmed hat with black feathers and a black 
 velvet jacket ; find her and ask her to come to me.' 
 
 The girl left him and commenced her search among the 
 living, some of whom were sitting in groups crying, some 
 trying to aid the wounded. Then she searched among 
 the wounded, and lastly the dead whose bodies had been 
 recovered from the wreck ; then she returned to her 
 charge. 
 
 * Will she not come ? ' he asked in a whisper, as she 
 returned alone. 
 
 * No,' said the girl gently. 
 
 * Go again and tell her it is I, Leslie, who wish to speak 
 to her.' 
 
 * She will not come,' said the girl in an awe-struck 
 voice ; ' she is dead.' 
 
 Leslie turned away his face, and breathed with 
 difficulty ; presently he asked — 
 
 * Was she crushed, mangled ? ' 
 
 ' No, she looked very lovely. I could see nothing but 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 120 
 
 poke 
 
 uhink 
 id to 
 
 tie an 
 
 ir in a 
 
 black 
 
 nsr the 
 
 r, some 
 
 among 
 
 I been 
 
 her 
 
 IS she 
 
 speak 
 struck 
 with 
 
 but 
 
 a little cut upon her temple ; she must have died 
 instantly.' 
 
 * Without a moment to prepare for the great change/ 
 thought Leslie. * Poor Selina.* 
 
 He seemed so near to death himself that he had no 
 room in his heart for anything but pity. The thought of 
 his own shortcomings was too present with him in that 
 hour of horror for him to think harshly of her. 
 
 * She has sinned deeply,' he thought, ' but who has not ? 
 All will be weighed in the balance and found wanting ; 
 and while I am found wanting, have I any right to pass 
 judgment on her, when in the sight of a just God I may 
 be equally sinful. She sinned in the beginning, in her 
 desire to be revenged on her fellow-woinan, and I fell 
 through a passion that was a foul dishonour to the God 
 who made me. I nev(.'r loved Selina ; there was but one 
 woman in the world for me, and I have lost her. I may 
 not live, and if I do, I can never seek her, my pure love, 
 I feel farther awav from her now than 'ever. I wonder 
 if I am going to die ; the sense of my sin haunts me more 
 than ever before, it clings to me like a leprosy that must 
 set me apart from her forever. If she knew where I am 
 now, my pitying love, she would come to me,' 
 
 He turned his face up to the silent stars and appeared 
 to be praying; and there we will leave hiin while we 
 return to Beeborough and Aunt Menyvale. 
 
 ^^ 
 
\t 
 
 
 ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SAYINGS AND noiNOS IN THE SMALL HOUSE ON MAPLE STREET — 
 KATE CONFIDES IN AUNT MERRYVALE — DR. DASHWOOD IS BE- 
 WILDERED—NEWS OF THE PEARL. 
 
 UNT MERRYVALE did not return home till late 
 in the evening, cand when she did so she brought 
 with her the Evening Chronicle. Tea was wait- 
 ing, and had been waiting for some time. Helena was 
 sitting by the fire feeling neglected and irritable. 
 
 * How long you have been, auntie,' she said. * It's so 
 lonely all by oneself. I thought you must have stayed 
 out to tea, and that we would not wait for you, and I 
 went to Kate to tell her so, and she was lying on her bed, 
 and I knew she was fretting about the Pearl ; I knew by 
 the sound of her voice.' 
 
 ' Probably she was,' said Aunt Merry vale, musingly. 
 She was not thinking of what her niece was saying. 
 
 * It'§ foolish for Kate to fret so about a child that was 
 nothing to her, though she was a sweet little thing ; and 
 after having her so long, I would not have parted with 
 her for any consideration,' and she put her handkerchief 
 to her eyes in which the tears glistened. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 131 
 
 ?REET — 
 » IS BE- 
 
 A\\ late 
 
 )rougbt 
 
 ,s wait- 
 
 a was 
 
 It's so 
 I stayed 
 and I 
 |er bed, 
 Lew by 
 
 [singly. 
 
 lat was 
 
 ; and 
 
 with 
 
 jrcbief 
 
 Aunt Merryvale munnured an Jisscnt ; she was glancing 
 over the paper. 
 
 ' I am sure,' Helena continued, * I was as fond of the 
 Pearl as Kate ; and yet I don't hide away and fret, as she 
 has been doing ever since the Pearl was missing, and re- 
 fuse to eat and make everyone miserable.' 
 
 ' True,' said Aunt Merryvale, * I don't feel very brilliant 
 myself to-night. What did you say about Kate ? ' 
 
 * That she is making me very miserable. She said just 
 now, when I went to her, that she couUl not come to tea, 
 and did not need any.' 
 
 * Kate is not well,' said Aunt Merryvale. ' You must 
 try and be patient with her. I trust the Pearl will 
 shortly be found, and all will come right.' 
 
 'Fretting will not bring her back,' said Helena. 
 
 * No, and fretting would not make you well when you 
 were ill,' said her Aunt, with some asperity, ' and yet 
 you fretted, and Kate bore with your complainings for 
 years. Cannot you bear with her for a little while ? She 
 is ill and must have rest and quiet. Now, brighten up,' 
 continued the old lady, ' or we will all be crying to- 
 gether, and that will never do. I feel as if I had 
 about all I can bear just now. We are all apt to think 
 our own troubles greater than other people's, and I 
 don't know why I should be an exception to the rule. I 
 find this household rather hard to manage in this par- 
 ticular crisis, and I wish you would say something to 
 soothe me instead of rasping on my nervous system with 
 childish complaints. There now, I'm not angry with you,' 
 as she saw the tears in Helena's eyes. * I'm only worried 
 and I'm not an angel, and I have to flash up occasion- 
 

 
 ;ii 
 
 P I 
 
 i^i 
 
 1.32 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 ally, or I should choke. Life is not all happiness, as I 
 know from having lived sixty years, and all we can do is 
 to bear our little soitows patiently, and be thankful for 
 the little bright beams of joy that drop in between. Now, 
 child, pour me out a cup of tea, and I will take it to 
 Kate.' 
 
 At this moment the door opened and Kate entered the 
 room. She had heard her aunt's voice, and could bear 
 the suspense no longer. She must know all about the 
 accident. Her figure wavered as she walked, as one who 
 is weak after a long illness. Her face was ghastly pale ; 
 two deep purple marks under her eyes only added to her 
 unearthly beauty. She was perfectly calm, and as she 
 looked at Aunt Merryvale her lip*^. inoved in the effort to 
 speak, but no sound came from them. Helena looked- 
 frightened and began to cry, and her aunt for a 
 moment was perfectly appalled ; she had never seen grief 
 take this form before. She recovered herself (juickly, 
 however, and taking Kate's hand led her back to her 
 room, and laying her on her bed, began to loosen her 
 clothes as she said, soothingly : 
 
 ' My dear girl, things are not as bad as you suppose. 
 Leslie is not killed, only a little hurt.' 
 
 The revulsion of feeling, accompanied by her aiuit's 
 caressing tone, was too much for the girl, whose nerves 
 were strung to the highest pitch of endurance. For a 
 few moments she gasped for breath, and her aunt thouglit 
 she was dying ; then a long, wailing cry escaped her lips, 
 which terminated in deep sobbing, and at last, to Aunt 
 Merry vale's intense relief, in what she called a good, 
 natural, womanly crying tit. 
 
A MYSTERY, 
 
 133 
 
 as I 
 . do is 
 Lil for 
 Now, 
 
 it to 
 
 ed the 
 
 1 bear 
 
 ut the 
 
 \e who 
 
 V' pale ; 
 to her 
 
 as she 
 
 tfort to 
 looked- 
 for a 
 1 grief 
 uickly, 
 to her 
 en her 
 
 appose. 
 
 aunt's 
 
 nerves 
 
 For a 
 
 Ihongbt 
 
 ler lips, 
 
 Aunt 
 
 1, 
 
 gooc 
 
 Aunt Mcnyvale did not know the name of Madame 
 Rolandi's liusband, but she reiiiend)ered that Kate had 
 raved about Leslie in her illness, and seeing the name 
 
 * Leslie Hargrave, Esq., of C ,' among the wounded, 
 
 felt sure he was the cause of Kate's look of horror when 
 told of tlie accident. 
 
 When Kate had somewhat recovered, her aunt read 
 aloud the account in the Kvenimj Chroiiicle, how there 
 had been a colHsion ; the hst of killed and wounded as 
 far as then known; among the wounded, 'Leslie Har- 
 grave, Esq., not fatally ' ; among the killed ' Madame Ro- 
 landi, the beautiful Italian singer.' 
 
 ' Poor Selina,' said Kate, her tears falling like rain. ' I 
 wonder if she had any warning of what was coming ; if she 
 had a moment for repentance, a moment to ask for mercy 
 from her God.' 
 
 ' Was it true that she had a husband living when she en- 
 gaged herself to marry John Windermere ? ' asked Aunt 
 Merryvale. 
 
 * Perfectly true,' said Kate, and she then t(dd her aunt 
 of her own engagement to Leslie, how he had been be- 
 guiled by the fascinations of Selina, and all the reader 
 already knows. 
 
 'Why did you not tell me this before? ' queried Aunt 
 Merryvale. 
 
 * I could not, auntie. You will be shocked when I tell 
 you that although he was married I loved him just as 
 much as ever. I loved him before, and I could not kill 
 my love ; though at first I thought it was dead, but it all 
 came back to me, and I thank my God at this moment. 
 
134 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 
 \{U' 
 'I 
 
 that I have never ceased to love him, never grown hard 
 and bitter. Are you dreadfully shocked ? ' 
 
 * No,' said Aunt Merryvale, in a low, soft voice. She 
 was thinking of the one love of ' life, the young hus- 
 band so early taken fiom her, i 1 to whom she hoped to 
 be reunited at no distant day. 
 
 * Helena would be dreadfully shocked ; she would think 
 me very wicked.' 
 
 * We will not tell her,' said Aunt Merryvale. 
 
 * But, auntie,' said Kate, with an imploring look in her 
 haggard eyes, * I must go to him ; he will need me. I 
 cannot rest here ; I must see him.' 
 
 * My dear, you who have borne so much, can you not 
 for his sake bear a little more ? ' 
 
 ' If I knew he was getting well, but I cannot think of 
 the possibility of his ])assing from this world to the next 
 without seeing him again. He was so unhappy yester- 
 day.' 
 
 ' Yesterday ! ' repeated Aunt Merryvale, ' did you see 
 him yesterday ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Kate, faintly. * Don't be shocked, auntie,' 
 as she thought she saw a change in her aunt's face. ' It 
 was only for a few minutes at the gate when he came just 
 in time to save John Windermere, and he left so hurried- 
 ly I did not tell him of tlie loss of the Pearl, though I 
 tried to.' 
 
 'What has he to do with the Pearl ? ' demanded Aunt 
 Merryvale, in a puzzled tone. 
 
 * She is his child,' cried Kate, excitedly, * and he sent 
 her to me, that she might not be reared by her wretched 
 mother.' 
 
 *j 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 135 
 
 hard 
 She 
 
 r huS- 
 
 ped to 
 . think 
 
 in her 
 me. I 
 
 ou not 
 
 link of 
 le next 
 yester- 
 
 -■ou see 
 
 Luntie,' 
 
 le. ' It 
 lejust 
 irried- 
 mgh I 
 
 Aunt 
 
 le sent 
 jtched 
 
 ' Ah ! ' ejaculated Aunt Merry vale, a lij]^ht breaking in 
 upon her ; ' and that was why you so much wished to keep 
 her.' 
 
 * Yes, auntie/ responded Kate meekly ; * and now she 
 is lost and he does not know it. What can I do ? ' 
 
 * Dr. Dashwood told me this evening that the police- 
 man was on her track, and there was every prospect of 
 her immediate recovery.' 
 
 * Oh, I hope so, I hope so,* cried Kate. * It would never 
 do to tell her father now. The anxiety might prevent 
 his recovery. Oh, auntie,' she pleaded, clasping her hands 
 together, as she lay on her bed, too weak to rise, ' how am 
 I to hear from him ? Help me.' 
 
 * I will,' said Aunt Merry vale. * Leave it to me ; and 
 now I will bring you a cup of tea, and something to eat ; 
 and you must eat or you will be ill, and that will only 
 make matters worse.' She left her niece and entering the 
 sitting-room found Dr. Dashwood waiting to see her. 
 
 * Good evening, Mrs. Merry vale,' said the doctor. 
 
 ' Miss Lindwood tells me Miss Kate is not well. Can 
 I do anything for her ? Will she see me ? ' 
 
 * Thank you, doctor; but I do not think Kate requires 
 medical attendance. She has had a nervous attack that 
 will pass away with rest.' 
 
 ' Helena, my dear, will you please take a cup of tea to 
 your sister, and a biscuit, and sit with her a little while ? 
 But don't excite her.' 
 
 Helena complied, and as soon as she left the room Aunt 
 Merryvale turned to the doctor and said : 
 
 ' Doctor, you have heard of the accident to last night's 
 train ? ' 
 
■I 
 
 i. 
 
 H 
 
 1 1 
 
 mt 
 
 
 » 1 
 
 J.. 
 
 
 
 136 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 ' I should think 1 have ! I've been all day trying to 
 find out if ray friend Annesley is killed ; and have not 
 yet heard anything of him ? ' 
 
 ' Did he leave town last night ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I thought I told you. He went in search of the 
 Pearl. Left on the train that was wrecked ; but whether 
 he was on it at the time of the accident or not, I cannot 
 tell; but I hope not. I think not, or I should have heard 
 of him ere this.' 
 
 *I trust he is all right,' said Aunt Merryvale. 'There is 
 trouble enough in this house as it is without having any- 
 thing happen to him.' 
 
 ' How ? What ? ' said the doctor, in a tone of alarm, 
 * anything more than the loss of the golden-haired fairy ? ' 
 
 * Yes,' bending closer to him and speaking in a confi- 
 dential tone. ' The Leslie whom Kate raved about in her 
 illness was on that train, is badly hurt, and I want you 
 to do me a kindness. Find out where he was taken to, 
 and what are the prospects of his recovery. Leslie Har- 
 grave, Esq., of CJ . You will easily trace him.' 
 
 ' Leslie Hargrave ! did you say ? ' cried the doctor in 
 amazement. ' Well, I believe I am getting bewildered.' 
 
 ' He is the Pearl's father,' said Aunt Merryvale.' 
 
 ' The Pearl's father!' repeated the doctor. ' Why, ma'am, 
 that is contrary to the laws of nature. There must be a 
 mistake somewhere ; however, I'll see about it,' and the 
 doctor took his leave, leaving Aunt Merryvale in doubt 
 of his sanity. 
 
 Ten o'clock tliat night a boy arrived with a note for 
 Mrs. Merryvale. It ran as follows : 
 
 
A MYSIEKV'. 
 
 137 
 
 Qg to 
 
 e not 
 
 3f the 
 
 letber 
 
 ;annot 
 
 heard 
 
 here is 
 g any- 
 
 alarm, 
 fairy ? ' 
 a confi- 
 m her 
 nt you 
 ken to, 
 le Har- 
 im.' 
 
 ctor in 
 ered,' 
 
 na'am, 
 
 1st be a 
 
 Lnd the 
 
 doubt 
 
 lote for 
 
 'Dear Madam, — L. H., Esq., is progreasing favourably. The 
 Pearl is found and is with him. Yours truly, 
 
 'Stephen Dashwood.' 
 
 Aunt Merry vale immediately went to Kate's room, and 
 finding her still awake, told her the news she had just re- 
 ceived, concluding with, * Now, my dear, go to sleep and 
 all will be well' 
 
 ' Oh, I'm so glad,* cried Kate ; * so glad the Pearl is 
 found, and is safe with her father. Surely she will be a 
 comfort to him now and always.' 
 
 Aunt Merryvale sat beside her till she fell into a 
 heavy sleep ; then she left her and sought her own couch, 
 muttering : 
 
 * A hard time this has been for a woman of my years ; 
 but it's fortunate I came here to live. A pretty pickle 
 they would have been in without me. And now I sup- 
 pose they'll both marry, and then what is to become of 
 the old aunt ? Well, it's only for a little while, and what 
 matters it how I live so that I do my best.' And Aunt 
 Merryvale fell asleep, the sweet sleep known only to 
 those who spend their lives in trying to make others 
 happy. 
 
 D 
 
I 
 
 ill;* 
 
 ■f 
 
 nift, 
 
 If a 
 
 iti; 
 11* 
 
 
 7r i 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 TH>: EVE OF ALL H.' ." «:,^^ iS— KATE LINDWOOD's REFLECTIONS— ' I'APA's 
 VEj'.t .. '—DR. A.. . cJiEY EXPLAINS — HELENA IS HAPPY. 
 
 liREE weeks passed since the account of the rail- 
 3^ way accident spread such horror throughout Bee- 
 borough. For days nothing was spoken of but 
 the sudden death of the beautiful singer, and there was 
 much marvelling how John Windermere bore the loss of 
 his intended bride and her untimely fate ; but John Win- 
 dermere had left Beeborough, and none could tell whither 
 he had gone ; and how strange it was that the child that 
 had been left two years ago at the Lind wood's, and was 
 lately stolen, or supposed to be stolen, had never been 
 heard of. 
 
 It was again the eve of All Hallows, and the family in 
 the small house on Maple street were gathered round the 
 fire, which blazed cheerfully, for it was a cold night, and 
 the rain splashed in fitful gusts against the window 
 panes. 
 
 Aunt Merryvale had fallen asleep in her chair. Helena 
 was buried in a book, as was usual with her at thiai^our ; 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 13D 
 
 -'PAPAS 
 Y. 
 
 :,he rail- 
 
 )ut Bee- 
 of but 
 
 Lere was 
 loss of 
 
 Un Win- 
 
 IwlutVier 
 ,ild that 
 md was 
 ler been 
 
 imily in 
 lund the 
 rht, and 
 rindow 
 
 Helena 
 i^our ; 
 
 and Kate sat before the fire gazing in the sliining coals, 
 as she had done this night two years before, but with 
 very different thoughts. 
 
 Two years before, this night, as she looked in the glow- 
 ing grate, its brightness seemed to mock her ; her life was 
 all in shadow ; her heart throbbing with a wild yearning 
 for the love and companionship that she felt could never 
 be hers. True, Leslie would always love her, that was 
 her consolation ; but she could never see him again. All 
 the longings of a woman for home and home affections, 
 the tripping of tiny feet, the clasping of little hands, the 
 cooing of soft voices, the kissing of baby lips, were 
 strangled in her heart day by day, as she thought : ' These 
 things are not for me. I must live out my life alone, 
 but in the hereafter Leslie and I will walk hand in hand, 
 for he is soul of my soul ; I am his and he is mine ; and 
 nothing can come between us there.' 
 
 Then the Pearl was sent to her, and she accepted it as 
 a gift direct from God to till her lonely life, and hoped 
 to bestow all the love with which her heart swelled for 
 her imaginary children on this one ; but Kate was only 
 human, and thoughts of the mother who had wronged 
 her — who had deliberately taken all the fresh young joy 
 out of her life — would come in between her and her love 
 for the child, and she fancied momently that she should 
 see the baleful light of the mother's eyes flash from the 
 deep blue limpid orbs that were Leslie's very own, till 
 she shrank from her at times with a feeling akin to aver- 
 sion, which, babe though she was, was felt by the little 
 one, who of late had shown a partiality for the society of 
 Helena. 
 
! 
 
 140 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 bi. >< 
 
 h' I > 
 
 *. 
 
 
 The consciousness of this feeling within her, which she 
 had striven so ineffectually to conquer, and was more the 
 result of a deranged nervous system than dislike for the 
 mother, caused Kate the more acute suflfering when the 
 child could not be found. 
 
 Kate had a tender conscience, and felt that had the 
 child left in her care, with the solemn request * that she 
 should be as a mother to her,' been as dear to her as she 
 should have been, she would have been watched more 
 carefully, and no harm could have come to her ; and the 
 thought of what Leslie would think of his trust betrayed, 
 had leen an ever present misery for the past few weeks. 
 Now, all was changed ; the Pearl was safe with her 
 father, and he was recovering slowly but surely from his 
 injuries. 
 
 In the first horror of the accident Kate had wished to 
 go to him ; but Mrs. Merry vale, with her strong common 
 sense, interfered, and made arrangements to hear from the 
 convalescent daily, and she was satisfied. And as she sat 
 looking into the coals, a feeling of intense thankfulness, a 
 great outpouring of the soul to the Giver of all good, for 
 the peace of the present hour, welled from her heart. She did 
 not dare to look into the future ; she never again would 
 in all her life to come. The present was blessed in being 
 relieved from the misery that had oppressed her, and she 
 was happy with the quiet happiness that is a part of 
 the calm when the storm has passed. 
 
 She was roused from her revery by the sound of feet 
 upon the steps and a knock at the door, and as she rose to 
 open it, she thought of the basket of autumn leaves two 
 years before, and wondered what was coming. As before, 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 141 
 
 she flung the door wide open, in hope of catching sight 
 of some retreating imp of darkness in the shape of the cus- 
 tomary small boy, and was somewhat astonished to see 
 Dr. Dash wood and his friend Annesley, and — joy of joys 
 — the Pearl perched on his shoulder, her little form en- 
 veloped in a white fur coat, her yellow locks escaping 
 from a blue velvet hood, her eyes dancing, her face lit up 
 with baby smiles, as he lowered her from her elevated 
 position into Kate's arms ; and as Kate clasped the child 
 to her bosom, the little arms crept round her neck, while 
 a childish voice cried : 
 
 ' Papa's Pearl, auntie.' Then, struggling out of her em- 
 brace, the infant toddled to Helena, who had risen to re- 
 ceive the visitors and again sat down, and stretching out 
 her little hands, repeated : 
 
 ' Papa's Pearl. Tate it up, Aunt Heena.' 
 
 And Helena took her on her knee, and they talked to- 
 gether as two who understood one anpther. Kate's face 
 fell, while Annesley looked on with a radiant smile. 
 
 Dr. Dash wood moved uneasily, as though he wished to 
 speak ; and Aunt M'^rryvale, roused suddenly from her 
 nap, looked round in a bewildered way, and her eye fall- 
 ing on the Pearl, she exclaimed : 
 
 ' I told you so ! Come back again sound as ever. Come 
 here, my " blossom," ' she continued, ' come here to your 
 old aunt ; she thinks more of you than any of them.' 
 
 The Pearl did not move; she seemed quite satisfied with 
 her present position. 
 
 ' Well, now, I call that ungrateful,' cried the old lady, 
 ' after all the punishments I have administered for her 
 benefit. What an amount of dignity and stand-oflishness 
 
142 
 
 A MYSTLRY. 
 
 she has acquired since shehas travelled and seen the world 
 Miss Hargrave,' she continued, ' will you shake hands 
 with me? That, at least, will not detract from your 
 
 dignity.' 
 
 The little hand was placed in hers, and she held u|) her 
 face to be kissed ; but she would not be removed from 
 Helena's knee. 
 
 'Mrs. Merry vale,' said Dr. Annesley, as the old lady 
 ceased speakinjgr, 'you are in error in calling the child 
 Miss Hargrave.' 
 
 ' How ? ' cried Aunt Meny vale. ' Is she not Leslie 
 Hargrave's child ? ' 
 
 * Certainly ; but her name is Annesley. Leslie Har- 
 grave was my lawfully wedded wife. I lost her when 
 Pearl was only four months old, and my friend here,' he 
 continued, turning to Dr. Dash wood, * who was with us 
 when she died, brought my Pearl home with him, and left 
 her on your step this night two years ago; left her in that 
 way because he did not wish to give any account of her ; 
 and I can only say I thank you all heartily for your care 
 of her.' He glanced at Helena as he spoke, and the colour 
 deepened on her cheeks. 
 
 ' Well, I must say, doctor, you were very sly,' said Mrs. 
 Merry vale, turning to Dr. Dashwood, ' particularly when 
 I told you she was the child of the Leslie Hargrave, who 
 was injured by the collision of the trains.' 
 
 * 1 must say you bewildered me that night,* said the 
 doctor ; ' but I could not say anything. It was Annesley's 
 business to explain.* 
 
 ' But the likeness,* said Kate, who had listened to the 
 foregoing explantion with mingled feelings of relief and 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 143 
 
 rorld 
 ands 
 your 
 
 ])her 
 from 
 
 lady 
 child 
 
 Leslie 
 
 Har- 
 
 when 
 sre,' he 
 ith us 
 Dd left 
 n. that 
 
 f her ; 
 
 r care 
 
 olour 
 
 Mrs. 
 
 I when 
 
 who 
 
 td the 
 [sley's 
 
 lo the 
 If and 
 
 loss. Relief that the golden-haired, blue-eyed fairy was 
 not Selina's child, and loss in that if she was not ' her 
 Leslie's child.* What claim had she to her ? She would 
 be all Helena's now, for it was evident to all that Dr. 
 Annesley loved her sister, and she was glad that it was 
 so ; still she felt the loss of Pearl, who, despite her mingled 
 feelings of love and fear, she had alwaj'^s looked upon as 
 her own, hers to train to a true and noble womanhood, 
 and she could not at once reconcile herself to the change. 
 
 ' I will explain the likeness,' said Annesley, but first 
 let me tell you how I recovered my treasure. 
 
 * I engaged a policeman as you know to watch Madame 
 Eolandi, thinking she had stolen my Pearl, but I was mis- 
 taken. The policeman heard words dropped which led 
 him to believe the abductor was her companion, though 
 madame was evidently aware of her proceedings. 
 
 ' The night that Hargrave claimed his runaway wife, to 
 save Windermere, the woman took fright and left madame, 
 but in the darkness got on the same train, the policeman 
 and myself following. She got off' four stations from 
 here at Elderslie, and we followed her, thus escaping the 
 collision. We- tracked her to the very house where she 
 had placed my child for safe keeping, saying it was her 
 own, that she was called away to see a sick friend and 
 would come for it in a few days. She owned she had 
 stolen the child because it was so beautiful, and she ex- 
 pected a large reward for finding it. In this she was 
 mistaken as I did not offer a reward. Still the woman 
 intended to keep her, for what reason I know not. The 
 policeman took charge of her, but as I shall not appear 
 against her when her trial comes on, she will be set free. 
 
144 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 and I trust the fright she has had will be a lesson to her. 
 I have got my jewel, and can afford to be lenient, though 
 I have misgivings as to the propriety of my course ; she 
 ought to be punished.' 
 
 * She ought, indeed/ said Aunt Merry vale. 
 
 ' That night, or rather morning, for it must have been 
 one o'clock, I spent with my child at the Russell House, 
 not daring to lose sight of her. Early in the morning I 
 heard of the accident, and that many of the wounded had 
 been brought to Elderslie, and were now lying in the hos- 
 pital, and there was a scarcity of medical attendants. I 
 immediately offered my services and as 1 dared not leave 
 my child I took her with me. 
 
 * The first patient I was called upon to attend was a 
 very handsome man with a face that was strangely 
 familiar to me. He was badly hurt, fever had set in, and 
 he was partially delirious. I placed Pearl on the bed be- 
 side him while J set his leg, that was broken near the 
 ankle, and raised some broken ribs that were pressing on 
 his lungs. After this he breathed easier, and looking at 
 Pearl, who was regarding my operations in a wondering 
 way, he questioned : *' Am I a boy again ? And is this my 
 little cousin Leslie ?" 
 
 ' Then T knew that the likeness that haunted me was a 
 likeness to the mother of Pearl.* 
 
 * I asked him his name and he replied, " Leslie Har- 
 grave." ' 
 
 * My wife had often spoken to me of the cousin Leslie, 
 who was her playmate in childhood, though some years 
 older than herself, and whom she had never seen since, as 
 their parents lived far apart. 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 145 
 
 ' I told him who I was and that Pearl was his little 
 cousiD, though not Leslie, and we shook hands and be- 
 came friends on the spot. He was too ill then, poor fel- 
 low, to fully understand, and would call Pearl Leslie, and 
 could not bear the child out of his sight. I have not left 
 him since until to-day. A few days ago, when he was 
 well enough to listen, I told him how I married Leslie 
 against my uncle's wish. How we kept our marriage a 
 secret, because I was his heir, and she was afraid he would 
 disinherit me if he knew it. How I lost her after the 
 birth of Pearl. How you, Miss Kate, took care of my 
 baby, and then — ' 
 
 He broke off suddenly with : 
 
 ' Oh, Hargrave is a noble fellow, but it will be some 
 time before he gets over the ..hock of the accident. That 
 and a painful past have made him morbid, br^t all will 
 come right in time.' 
 
 Kate understood him perfectly. Her heart ached for 
 the man who thought himself unworthy of her ; but r/he 
 made no sign. 
 
 'I have suggested travelling,' continued Annesley, 
 * when he is able to bear it. Until then I shall stay with 
 him, leaving my babe here in her old home, if you will 
 be good enough to be troubled with her.' 
 
 He spoke to Kate, but his eyes sought Helena's. 
 
 ' We will gladly have her, if you are not afraid to trust 
 us again,' said Kate, as she took the child in her arms, 
 while the little sleepy head fell upon her shoulder. No 
 more shrinking at thought of Selina ; and if she was not 
 Leslie's child, she was his cousin, and that was something, 
 
m 
 
 
 
 ;f ri 
 
 146 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 and Kate kissed the little face with a warmth of love she 
 had never felt before. 
 
 Meantime Annesley moved to Helena's side, and while 
 Dr. Dashwood and Mrs. Merryvale were having one of 
 their customary, sharp-witted discussions, hurriedly whis- 
 pered : 
 
 * Helena, you love my Pearl, will you care for her 
 always ? Will you let me write to you ?' and as nobody 
 appeared to be noticing them, he continued in a still lower 
 tone, ' You must know how I love you, will you be my 
 
 wife r 
 
 Helena seemed like one in a dream. She made no 
 verbal reply, but their hands met for a moment, and he 
 was satisfied. 
 
 hi' "';i 
 
 1'; " : •■ 
 
 |:.::i 
 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 UNITED AND REUNITED. 
 
 AMES ANNESLEY and Helena Lindwood were 
 married at Christmas. The wedding was a very 
 quiet one, the only guests being Dr. and Mrs* 
 Dash wood, and the banker and his wife, Aunt Merry vale 
 making it a special request that Mrs. Beech be invited 
 that she might see what a young and lovely bride Helena 
 made at tlie age of thirty-two. And Mrs. Beech was com- 
 pelled to acknowledge that she did look both young and 
 pretty, but privately told Mr. Beech that * she was won- 
 derfully got up to look so well at her age, poor thing." 
 The happy pair went to Florida for their wedding trij\ 
 where for tlie sake of Helena's health, they spent the 
 winter, leaving the Pearl with Kate and Aunt Merry vale, 
 who became more and more attached to her the longer she 
 was with them. 
 
 The following spring Annesley, with his wife, returned 
 to Canada, and took up his abode at Cedar Blutf, near a 
 small town on one of our great lakes. From thence he 
 wrote, begging Aunt Merryvale and Kate to shut up their 
 

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 U''. 
 
 hi r 
 
 148 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 house and bring the Pearl, and come and spend the sum- 
 mer with them. 
 
 Aunt Merry vale demurred, saying, she was * too old to 
 be dragging her boqes about from place to place,' but as 
 Kate would not leave her, she finally consented, and one 
 day in the early part of June the family were reunited. 
 
 Dr. Annesley's residence stood upon a high bluft", sur- 
 rounded by a luxurious growth of forest trees, through 
 which vistas has been cut mvinor some magnificent views 
 of the lake, and winding paths led to the pebbly beach. 
 
 Half way down there was a rustic seat sheltered from 
 the sun by a clump of fir trees, and here Kate loved to sit 
 and listen to the soothing murmur of the waves, as they 
 met the shore with what sounded to her like words of 
 endearment, or she would pace the stran(k in the raging 
 storm, her hair dishevelled, her garments wet with the 
 spray, exulting in the wild beauty of the scene, the war 
 of the elements so tuned to harmony with her own restless 
 spirit. 
 
 She could have borne the absence of Leslie anywhere 
 better than at the lake shore. The voice of the waters is 
 the voice of love and longing, and it speaks to the soul as 
 no other voice of nature has power to do. It plays upon 
 the heart-strings till they vibrate with intense pain ; the 
 soul thrills to the sound, as the whole being to the touch, 
 when our hand in the moment of parting clasps the hand 
 of one we love. Thus the yearning for the sound of his 
 voice, the touch of his hand grew stronger day by day. 
 In spirit he seemed so near her, that at times she thought 
 she could stretch out her hand and touch him, so it was, 
 that she was not at all startled, when one da}'^ as she sat 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 149 
 
 on her accustomed seat, she heard her narae spoken softly, 
 and looking down saw Leslie Hargrave leaning against a 
 tree, some fifteen feet below, looking at her with a wistful 
 expression in the deep blue eyes, through which Kate read 
 the trouble in his soul. 
 
 * Always so far above me that I can never reach you,' he 
 muttered. 
 
 'Not so, love, not so,' and Kate fluttered down and 
 taking his hand led him up the steep bluflf side. 
 
 They sat down and looked far out on the water, and 
 for a few moments neither spoke. At last in a tone of 
 deep feeling, he said, 
 
 * To what heights could I not attain with you by my 
 side.' 
 
 * I am by your side now. Where shall we climb ? ' 
 ' The upward way of life,' replied Leslie. 
 
 * Yes, onward and upward,' said Kate, rising as though 
 ready to climb again, 
 
 Leslie rose also. 
 
 ' Kate, will you put your hand in mine again, and for- 
 get I ever betrayed your trust ? ' 
 
 Kate placed her hand confidingly in his. 
 
 * Let us never speak of the past again, it has been very 
 bitter to us both. Why recall it ? ' 
 
 ' I thought you could never trust me again ? ' 
 ' I have always trusted you.' 
 
 ' What ! when I deserted you,' cried Leslie in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 * You never deserted me ; you could not. I always held 
 my place in your heart ; 'twas but a cloud that obscured 
 me for a moment, let us not speak of it.' 
 
150 
 
 A MYSTERY. 
 
 
 
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 'i/^i 
 
 
 i! 
 
 I- 
 
 ' God bless you, my own love,' murmured Leslie. Again 
 there was a pause while they looked dreamily upon the 
 blue waters, and listened to the soft murmur as the waves 
 kissed the shore, then slowly turning his glance uppn her, 
 he said wistfully, 
 
 * Kate, may I kiss you ? ' 
 
 She drew closer to him, and the kiss of pure true love 
 was given and returned, then twining her white arms 
 round his neck, she laid her cheek against his and said 
 dreamily, 
 
 * Leslie, I'm so happy, so happy ! ' 
 
 Long they sat looking out upon the waters, till the full 
 moon rose and flpoded the wave with a glory of light. 
 
 ' Looic, Leslie ! How beautiful !' cried Kate. ' Oh, I love 
 the moon, she has been our soul's trysting place for years ; 
 see how she smiles upon us. Oh, I'm so happy ! so happy ! ' 
 
 Leslie and Kate were married at the Episcopal church 
 
 in S three months afterwards. The little fairy 
 
 Pearl being the only bridesmaid. 
 
 Dr. Dash wood, who was invited by his friend, Annesley, 
 to attend the ceremony, gave away the bride, and as he 
 did so he muttered to himself — 
 
 * If I were not the husband of one wife and father of a 
 family, I should find this the hardest day of my life. I 
 never saw a woman on this blessed earth that I admired 
 like Miss Kate: God keep Mrs. Dash wood from ever 
 knowing it, though.* 
 
 On his return to Beeborough the doctor encountered 
 Mrs. Beech, and told her the object of his visit to Cedar 
 Blutf. 
 
 * Well, that is funny,' cried the little lady, excitedly ; ' I 
 always thought she was fond of John Windermere.' 
 
 
A MYSTERY. 
 
 151 
 
 4 My dear madam, no human being can see into the 
 heart of another ; ' and, thought he, * it is well in many 
 cases that it is so.' • * 
 
 John Windermere never married. He died before he 
 reached his thirtieth year, leaving a legacy to a brown" 
 haired hazel-eyed Leslie Hargrave, the image of her 
 mother and the pride of her father's heart. 
 
 Aunt Merry vale, at their earnest request, made her 
 
 home with the Hargraves at C , on condition that 
 
 she should never be asked to move again, as she said a 
 woman of her age would not bear continual trans- 
 planting. 
 
 Helena had no children, but she wrapped all her 
 motherly affection round the Pearl, who loved her step- 
 mother with the most devoted affection, and here we will 
 leave her to the delights of a happy childhood, a rarity 
 in this age, where childhood is almost unknown, and in 
 the future should any reader wish to know what became 
 of the Pearl, we may give a sequel to the Mystery of 
 Hallowe'en. 
 
 THE END.