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32X

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BLIND FATE

MRS. ALEXANDER,

AUTHOR OF

" A LIFE INTEREST," " A CROOKED PATH," " A FALSE
SCENT," " MONA'S CHOICE," ETC., ETC.

feir)<2'f

■ICE,

t West

TORONTO, i:

TORONTO :
THE NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY,

¥1

Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada m the OflRw
of the Minister of Agriculture by the National Publishing Company.
Toronto, iu the year one thousand eight hundred and ninety.

BLIND FATE.

By MRS. ALEXANDER.

AUTHOR OP ''THE WOOING O'T," "A LIFE INTEREST,'

"MONA'S CHOICE," " BY WOMAN's WIT," "A

FALSE SCENT," (fcc, &C.

the Office

ZJOMPAVT,

CHAPTER I.

BREAKING COVER.

The last notes of an air from the " Trovatore " were
dying out over the shining sea. The crowd which had
gathered on the pier to listen to the band began to move
and disperse, the music being over for that afternoon, a fine
glowing August afternoon, tempered by the fresh, soft air
breathing across the bay, crisping the water here and there
and bringing a delightful saltness from the rippling waters.

The scene is Fordsea, a flourishing South-coast bathing
place, not altogether dependant for its prosperity on sum-
mer nomads. Its attractions are of a more permanent
charac er. Being in the close neighborhood of the naval
and military station of Eastport, the officers of both ser-
vices are glad to establish their families in the villas, ter-
races, crescents which border the grassy common interven-
ing between them and the beach.

At the end of this pleasant common, furthest from the
old gray fortifications which encircle the town, a pretty
t wo-storied villa stood on an abrupt rising ground, from
which it commanded a view over the wide bay to the
towers guarding the entrance to the port, to the steeples
and the tall masts over-topping the gray walls. A veruu-

BLIND FATE.

dah, its supports overi^rowii with roses and honeysuckle,
ran along the side facing the sea, and a deep area, witli
sloping grassy sides, surrounded it, giving light and air to
the basement. This verandah was evidently used as a
morning-room, comfortable lounging chairs, a work-table
laden with books, bright-colored silks and wools, a doll and
a cup and ball la^ about.

The carefully-kept garden was rich in flowers for the
time of year, and opened by a rustic gate upon the com-
mon, here narrowed into a mere strip of green intervening
between it and the sea.

On the beach in front of this dainty mansion a young
lady was sitting on a ridge of shingle, bleached by sea and
sea- water to perfect cleanliness, which afforded a comfort-
able resting-place. The young lady seemed much at her
ease. Her skirt of blue serge was turned up over a second
skirt of white and blue, and caught up at the back in what
used to be called "fish-wife" fashion — the bodice fitting her
sight supple figure easily, perfectly; a little foot in a dark-
blue stocking, and an incomparable shoe peeped forth as
she supported an open book on one knee, and a wide-
brimmed sailor hat almost hid her face as she bent over the
page.

A big brown boat drawn up beside her made a shelter
from the level rays of the sinking sun. Altogether she pre-
sented a pretty picture of quiet enjoyment.

As the last strains of the band died away a gentleman in
boating attire strolled slowly across the grass, paused,
looked around as if searching for something, and then
came straight over the shingle towards lier.

She heard his step and looked at her book with renewed
attention, nor did she move till he stood beside her. Then
she raised her face, an interesting, rather ihan a pretty face,
somewhat brunette in complexion, and pale, with a warm
paleness — a small, oval face, with a delicate chin and avery
slight downward curve at the corners of the soft red mouth,
that gave a pathetic expression to her countenance when in
repose. Her eyes, too, which were her best feature — large
eyes, with long, dark lashes, had a wistful, far-away look,
more suited to a saint than to their piquante owner.

The man who paused beside her was tall and slender,
with a grace of movement not usual in an Englishman. He
was darker, too, than ordinary Anglo-Saxons, who rarely
possess such blue-black hair and flashing dark eyes as his.

BLIND FATE.

i',klp,
witli
,ir to
3ks a
table
L and

r the
com-
Bniii^

rounjjc
a and
nfort-
t her
lecond

what
ttg her

dark-
ctli as

wide-
^er the

3helter
he pre-

man in
)aused,
d then

mewed
Then

y face,
warm
a very

mouth,

rhen in
large

y look,

ilender,

an. He

rarely

as his.

His well-cut, refined, but determined mouth was unshaded
by moustaches, though a stronj.,- growth of black beard
showed through his clear olive brown skin. He smiled a
soft, caressing smile as he threw himself on the sand at her
feet, sayintf : " I thought you had gone on the pier with
Callander?"

"No ; he has gone to the station to meet Mr. Standish,
and Mabel has had the honor of a command from the
Grand Duchess to drive with her."

The saintly-pathetic expression entirely disappeared, as
she spoke with a swift, arch smile, and a flash of scorn
from her "holy eyes."

"Ah," iie reLurned, in an amused tone, "why did you not
go to meet your beloved guardian?"

" I never meant to go. I came out of the way to listen to
the band here. Music is so charming as it comes fitfully
on the breeze, and I enjoy it most alone."

" Well, it is over now, so I may vf.nture to stay?"

"Oh yes, if you like! But I am tired of sitting here. I
want to match some silks. Do you mind, Mr. Egerton?"

♦' Not at all. As Madame de Stael says, 'etre avec ceux
qu'on aime ' "

"It sounds just as well in English," she interrupted,
laughing. "-To be with those we love is all-sufficient,
etc., etc., etc' — yes, it is a pretty sentiment."

" You are not in an amiable mood to-day. Miss Wynn.
What book is tiiis? Let me carry it for you. Ah, 'The
Great Lone Land.' "

" Yes, it is charming — thank you," giving it to him.

" Don't you think it would be cruel to waste this lovely
evening matching silks in a stuffy shop? Let us go along
the common towards the pier. We may meet some of your
party returning."

" Yes, let us go along by the sea." She turned as sue
spoke and directed her steps to a low grassy embankment
which protected the common on the shore side.

They walked awhile in silence, Egerton's expression
hardening as though his thoughts were not pleasant.
Presently he began to speak on indifferent topics, and sud-
denly, after a pause. Miss Wynn asked : "Do you really
think Colonel Callandar seems bettor?"

" Yes, I do. I fancy the riunstroko which knocked him
down was not severe. Good as an excuse to come home
to his wife, perhaps, and here she is," he exclaimed, in-

nir

4 BLIND FATE.

terrupting himself as a smart victoria and pair came up at
a brisk pace and stopped beside them.

"I thought we might meet you," said the elder of the
t wo ladies who occupied the carriage, a stately-looking
woman of perhaps sixty or more, with iron-gray hair, a
thin-lipped, close-shut mouth, and eyes too light for her
complexion. Her companion was a beatiful young woman,
exquisitely fair, with soft blue eyes and light golden-
brown hair. Except on her lips she had scarce a trace of
c< lor, and her delicate face expressed pensive weariness ai?
she lay back in the carriage.

" I thought we should meet you," repeated the elder lady,
who was the Dowager Mrs. Callandar. ''Now Mabel can
walk home with you, for I must return to receive my
niece, Henrietta Oakley. You ought to have come with us,
Dorothy, but no doubt you were better engaged "

Egerton bowed, and raised his hat as if he had received
a high compliment. Dorothy smiled and gave a saucy
little toss of her head as her sister alighted from the
carriage.

" I hope you shall all dine with me to-morrow, to meet
Miss Oakley," continued the Dowager. " May I have the
pleasure of seeing you too, Mr. Egerton ? "

" Certainly ; I shall be delighted."

Mrs. Callandar opened and upreared a grand white,
much-beflounced parasol, bowed graciously, and was
whirled away to her hotel.

" You do not look much the better of your drive, Mabel!"
said her sister, looking earnestly at her.

'• I assure you Mrs. Callandar was unusually amiable. I
don't think she stabbed me more than once or twice." She
slipped her arm through Dorothy's and, turning towards
home, walked on slowly between her sister and Egerton.

Mabel and Dorothy Wynn were the daughters of a mil-
itary officer, who, in the days of purchase, never had money
enough to buy the next step beyond that of captain.

When both girls were babies, Captain Wynn lost his
wife, and then in consideration of his junior officers' wishes
expressed inL. S. D., retired. He did not long survive the
combined loss of wife and career. His daughters remained
at the school where he liad placed them, in order to acquire
the means of adding to their diminutive income.

They had apparently no relation save their guardiai»^

» up at

of the
joking
lair, a
or her
roman,
jolden-
•ace of
Less air!

ir lady,
lel can
ire my
ith us,

Bceived

saucy

>m the

to meet
BLve the

white,
d was

IVIabel!"

able. I
" She
towards
rton.

f a mil-
i money
1.

lost his
wishes
vive the
emained
> acquire

Liardiau

BLIND FATE. •

Paul Standish. He was a distant cousin of the late Cap-
tain Wynn, and his nearest friend — he was also executor to
his kinsman's will, as well as guardian to his children ;
and very faithfully did he fulfill the duties he had under-
taken. The young orphans soon learned to look upon him
as an elder brother, indeed to Dorothy, who was five years
younger than her sister, he seemed in their childish days
quite elderly.

One afternoon he brought a married sister to see them.
This lady invited the two girls to dine, and go to the
theatre. A supreme joy in itself, and productive of im-
portant consequences.

At dinner they met Colonel, then Major Callandar, a
grave, sedate man, who had rnn the gauntlet of many gar-
risons without any serious affairs of the heart ; and now,
in the most unexpected manner, he fell utterly and abso-
lutely fathoms deep in love with the defunct captain's lovely
daughter Mabel.

This he soon confessed to her guardian, who, though
pleased at the fair prospect opening before a girl eminently
unfitted to take care of herself, recommended caution in
carrying out so suddenly conceived a project, especially as
it met with the most furious opposition of Callendar's
mother.

Mrs. Callandar senior was a woman of large fortune, who
had chosen her husband from among various comj, Dtitors ;
first, because he pleased her fancy, and was of a yielding
nature ; secondly, because he was of an old county family.

Herbert Callander was her only child, and she adored
him with a narrow selfish love, more bent on its own
gratification than the happiness of its object. Her son,
however, provtd not to be of the stuff women can tie to
their apron strings. He had a distinct will of his own,
and having inherited a moderate independence from his
father, he went his own way immovably, though always
treating his mother with courtesy and affectionate respect,
for he was really fona of her.

When the purse-proud woman, who had all a parvenu's
avidity for rank and distinction, found that her son, her
only son, was going to throw himself away on a penniless
nobody, worse than nobody (for Mrs. Callander had fer-
reted out some painful ante-nuptial story, respecting the
late Mrs. Wynn), her rage aad mortification knew no
bounds.

BLIND FATE

Colonel Callander, however, carried out his project, and
Mabel, won by his quiet kindness, and pleased at the pros-
pect of a home which he assured her she should share with
her sister, when that wilful little personage was old enough
to leave school, consented with sweet frank readiness, and
in about six months after their first meeting, Mabel Wynn
became Mabel Callander, the object of her grave husband's
profound devotion, of her overbearing mother-in-law's
deepest dislike.

This event wrought a considerable change in the life of
Mabel's sister. The first grief of parting (which was keen
and deep) over, Dorothy found that many pleasures and ad-
vantages had come into her hitherto rather meagre exist-
ence. She had prettier frocks, more abundant bonnets, and
more frequent expeditions to concert and panorama with
those better-off elder girls whose superior lot she had hith-
erto envied.

The Christmas and Midsummer holidays, spent with
Major and Mrs. Callander wherever they happened to be
quartered, were glorious periods of fun and frolic, and
when, nearly two years after the fortunate marriage, a
little baby niece was presented to her, her joy and exulta-
tion knew no bounds. Towards her brother-in-law she felt
the warmest regard, not untinged with awe, and her high-
est reward, when she did resist her natural t^endency to
idleness, and attained any school distinction, was Callan-
der's grave approbation. This halcyon period came to a
close when the baby girl was a few months old, and the
regiment being ordered to India, the commanding officer
retired and Callander got his step.

But a warm climate did not suit his fair wife, who was
never very strong. After the birth of a boy she was or-
dered home.

Dorothy, now close on the serious age of 18, by Callan-
der's wish, left school to reside with her sister. The only
drawbacks to this blissful arrangement were the neighbor-
hood and supervision of Mrs. Callander, the delicacy and
depression of Mabel. This, howevor, seemed likely to pass
away, as, in a month or two, Dorothy gladly recognised an
improvement in health and spirits.

The winter was a pleasant one, for Paul Standish proved
himself the best "guide, philosopher, and friend" they
could have had.

The gaioty of their lives was considerably increased to-

BLIND FATE.

wards Christmas by the arrival in London of Egerton, who
had known Colonel and Mrs. Callander in India, whero he
had gone for sport and travel. He had left shortly before
she did, returning by the Persian Gulf and the Euphrates,
in order to visit tlie ruined cities on the old caravan route.

He loaded the sisters with flowers, stalls at the theatres,
small presents, endless attentions, managing at the same
time to stand well wnth the Dowager, who respected his
wealth and position.

In the spring Mabel cauglit a severe cold, and was rec-
commended to try the South Coast for change of air. Stand-
ish found and secured for her the pretty villa called " The
Knoll," at Fordsea, where, as in a quiet pool, the current of
this true tale at present seems scarcely to move.

Here their faithful squires came to and fro, and brought
them the echoes of the world.

Mrs. Callander, senior, did not leave them long undis-
turbed, for she followed before the season was over, and
established herself, her maidservants and her menservants,
her horses and her carriage, at the Pier Hotel. She was,
however, unusually indulgent to tho>e sinners, Mabel and
her sister, for it began to dawn upon her that Mr. Egerton
of Netherleigh, was absolutely paying attention to that
plain, insignificant Dorothy.

The peaceful tenor of this tranquil period was rudely
broken by the news of Colonel Callander's illness. He had
received a sunstroke while on some military expedition,
and though hi made a fairly quick recovery, he was order-
ed home, and had arrived about three weeks before the
opening of this history.

But this long digression has out-lasted the
march of the trio we left strolling towards the
the gate leading into the grounds on the land
found a group, consisting of Colonel Callander, another
gentleman, the nurse, and children. Callander was a man
about Egerton's height, and more massively built. He was
dark and sunburnt, with a plain strong face, and grave
earnest eyes. But his was the darkness of an Englishman;
Egerton's of a foreigner. He was holding his little girl's
doll, while that young person attempted to " climb up" the
leg of the other man, who was their expected visitor, Stand-
ish, a fair and exceedingly Saxon -looking individual, with
light reddisli-l)rown mustaches and well-uimnicd hair of
the same hue. He was shorter than either of the others.

homeward

Knoll. At

side they

BLIND FATE.

S^!

IS'

'I.

1.1

%'^

but well set up and distinguished-looking. Thongh by no
means handsome, he h"d a pleasant sensible face, with u
1 ather large jaw and well-shaped eyes of no particular eolor,
but brightand keen. The nurse stood by, holding Maatei'*
-Baby in her arms, while he struggled and kicked vigoc-
ously as soon as he saw his mother.

'Don't hold that boy, he is too heavy for you, exclaimedl
Standish, as soon as tliey had exchanged greetings, for Mrs:.
Callander had yielded to her son's loudly-expressed clainr.i
for notice — he tried to take him as he spoke.

"Give him to his nurse," said the Colonel quickly. "How
long you have been ? You must be tired."

"Well, D»:yrot!i3^ you are blooming as usual, but- the sun.
has been a trifle too loving, eh?" said Standish. '

"Oh, I know 1 am sunburnt, and so is little Doll, though;
we do our best to k*^ep her sun ha^ on. Just look," andi
lifting the child's sunny curls, she showed the difference
of the covered and uncovered portions of her brow.

"Fair little puss, slie is the imago of her mother," and
Standish lifted the child to kiss her affectionately.

"I think it is almost time to dress for dinner," remarked
Callander, who had been talking with Egerton while Ma
wife and Dorothy had Oe voted themselves to Standish,.

''It is indeed, and I have to go back to the hotel.?"
Raising his hat, Egerton walked briskly away towards the;
pier, while the others entered the house.

* * 4f * Jie jjc )|c I

Mre. Caliandfr's little dinner was a greater success in her-
own estimation than perhaps in that of her guests. She;
had what she connidoied a distinguished party, which in-
cluded an Honorable Major St. John, whose pretentions toi
exclusiveness and superiority were upheld by masterly
taciturnity, her niece, a much-travelled and experienced
young lady of good fortune, and beyond the twenties, to
whom the Dowager once thought of marrying her son, and.
who was nothing loth, an eloquent Low Church divine,,
the Rev. Septimus Cole, who was her spiritual director,,
Egerton, sundry nonentities, naval and military, of good
position, and her son \» ith liis wife, who looked provo-
kingly elegant. Dorothy had been unceremoniously put
off to make room for St, John, who was especially asked
for Miss Oakley's beneht, and as Egerton, who was, Mrs.
Callander thouglit, the greatest man there, was more
silent than usual, and looked ^lightly bored, she begaii^

BLIND FATE. ' t*

to fear before dinner was over that she liad made a mistake
in dispensing with that conceited, insignificent chit
Dorothy, for really Mr. Egerton seemed to miss something
and that something might be Dorothy.

The rest of the company, with the exception of Miss
Oakley, "made" conversation more or less stiffly. She
rattled away on all possible subjects to St. John and
Egerton, between whom she sat, being divided between
the desire to make an impression on the latter and animate
the former. Colonel and Mrs. Callander, remained to the
last, as he acted host, and when the family party were
left alone, Miss Oakley took a low ohair beside her cousin's
wife. "I have not had the chance of a word with you,"
she exclaimed, "and it must be more than two years since
we met. I protest you are prettier than ever, but paler
and graver."

"Thank you, Henrietta. Please remember I have two
babies to think of now."

"Horrid little brats ! 1 hate children."

"Heretic, they are sweet things, but certainly trouble-
some. How do you think Herbert looks ?

"Oh, very well. I would not trouble about him. Tell
me, how do you come to be such friends with Randal
Egerton? Ho is the most exclusive of men, and never
allows himself to be bored."

' 'Then 1 suppose we do not bore him. He was hurt
when out tiger-hunting, and carried into our bungalow,
where we nursed him. He fancied we saved his life.
Herbert is very fond of him."

"And Dorothy? I fancy shi* has grown pretty. May I
come to luncheon to-morrow? 1 promise not to murder the
children if you show them to me. And so Mr. Stand ish is
with you. Why in the world didn't my aunt ask him to
dinner ? He is so agreeable and so popular."

While Miss Oakley chatted on, Mrs. Callander was
pouring a few grievences into his son's ear.

"I am sorry Mabel was so bored at dinner to-day, but I
am quite aware of the reason.

"Indeed ! Well, I did not observe her being bored, nor
do I know why she should be."

"Oh, I am the offender, I did not ask Mr. Standish tu

join \\^. He is, I confess, a man I neither like or approve."

is no accounting for taste. He is a good fellow

BLIND FATE.

IV'y

"A mere worldling. 1 fear h s want of faith has had an
evil influence on Mabel and Dorothy."

"Oh, come! If there are no worse women in the world
than my wife and little Dorothy, it would not be a bad
place — Mabel, it will be late before we reach home."

The Dowager (as she liked to fee called, it somehow
smacked of ducal rank) bade them a glacial good-night,
but Henrietta ran down stairs to see them off. "You will
be at Mr. Egerton's pic-nic on Tuesday, will you not?
He has asked me and Aunt Callander. Just fancy her
yachting ! She will bore and be bored. Mind you are at
home to luncheon, Herbert, I am coming."

"Certainly, as to the pic-nic, nearly everyone is going,
ourselves among the number. Good-night."

"I think Herbert looks rather glum," said Miss Oakley,
when she returned to her aunt, who was sitting very
straight up, with a frown on her cold face.

"You observe it too? and 1 am not surprised. Mabel is
so greatly attached to her guardian that his word is law.
Heaven knows I am the last to think evil, but I cannot
forget that her mother married the late Captain Wynn
during the lifetime of her first husband."

" Why, auntie !" cried Miss Oakley in atone of delighted
excitement, ''you do not mean to say that she committed
bigamy ?"

" No, Henrietta, but what was as bad she left her hus-
band for ano*^her man."

" Well, perluips number one was a brute ; to be sure I am
not a strictly itligious high-toned woman. I should scent
out more wickedness if I were."

Meanwhile Colonel and Mrs. Callander drove home in
silence, and found that Dorothy had gone to bed, but the
lamp was still alight in the pretty drawing-room. Two or
tluee letters, which at come by the last post, lay upon the
tabie. Caliandar stood reading them beside the light.
Mable threw aside the white Indian shawl in which she
had been wrapped, and watched him while he read. He
had aged certainly — there was a heaviness about his brow
that used not to be there. Would he ever be quite thesame
as he was before that unfortunate sunstroke?

Presently he laid down his letters with a sigh.

' I'here is nothing unpleasant in them, dear? " asked his
wile, coming timidly to him, and, slipping her arm through
his, pressed her fair young head against his shoulder.

BLIND FATE.

" Nothing whatever, they are of no importance." He
stood quite still, and Mabel still pressing against him said :

"Does anything disturb or worry you, Herbert ? 1 can-
not help fancying " she stopped abruptly. He looked

down into the sweet face uplifted to his so gravely, that
she could not continue — and yet he made no movement to
return her caress.

" What is there to make me unhappy ? " he asked in a
cold, composed voice. " I am with those I love — and who,
I believe, love me. I have dear children, and a sweet
wife. Oh, how sweet and fair," he exclaimed, with a sud-
den change of tone, and clasping her in his arms, he gazed
into her eyes as if he would draw out the secrets of her
soul. ''Whom I love too well — too well ! " She felt the
strong beating of his heart as he strained her to him, and
his lips clung to hers in a long passionate kiss.

Suddenly he released her. "Are you cold, that you shiv-
ered so ?" he asked quickly.

" No, not at all — but — but you make me a little uneasy.
Do not thrust me away as if I were a naughty child, Her-
bert. You know I love you ! '* She took his arm and put it
round her.

" If I did not believe it, chaos would indeed be come
again," cried Callander, gathering her to him in a close
embrace. Do not mind my variability of mood, Mabel !
Whatever I may seem, never doubt that you are all the
world to me."

Paul Standish was a capital aide-de-camp in organising a
pic-nic, and Egerton benefitted by his assistance. Stand-
ish was a man of good family, very well known and pop-
ular in certain London circles. Though generally considered
a shrewd worldling, there was a kindly core to his heart,
and he deeply enjoyed his quiet visit to the Knoll. His
work (he was in the Foreign Office) had taken him much
abroad, and he liked the repose and refinement of Mabel's
home. Though no longer young, he had still all vigor and
elasticity of youth, and was not yet chilled by the effects
of a tolerably wide experience.

The day before that fixed for Egerton's yachting party,
not finding Dorothy in the house or garden, Standish start-
ed in search of her, and knowing-; her haunts, was not long
in discovering his ward. She was kneeling on the short,
partially-bleached herbage which covered a low rising

m 'i

BLIND FATE.

ground at some little distance eastward fvva. the Knoll;
behind it the sun had already sunk, leaving the waters of
I lie bay somewhat dull and mournful.

'* I looked for you in vain," began Standish, when
Dorothy, her hands full of the long grasses she had been
-Atliering, started to her feet with a low cry, a startled,
pathetic expression on her mobile face. I have frightened
you," said Standish smiling. "Why, where are your
thoughts, Dorothy ''?

"Not very far, Paul," beginning to tie her grasses to-
gether. " They are never very far from me at present."

' ' Hum ! That might be accounted for in two ways."

"How?"

" They may be occupied by Mabel. They may possibly
dwell on our fascinating friend, Egerton."

"Fascinating! Do you think him fascinating?"

" Well, I am scarcely a judge ; but he is a handsome,
accomplished fellow."

" Yes, he is, and you are right. I was thinking of him."
She uttered these words with the utmost composure.

Standish looked at her with steady scrutiny, but she did
not perceive it. " I am waiting for further confessions,**
he said at length.

" I have nothing to confess, Paul ; at least not at pre-
sent." She paused, and then went on, "Mrs. Egerton's
mother was a Spaniard, was she not?"

" Yes, I believe so. He looks like a Spaniard himself,"

'* He does, and I think he cculd be very revengeful. I
feel afraid of him sometimes."

" What, do you think he will plunge a stiletto in your
heart — because, oh, say because you walked with me."

A faint color rose in Dorothy's cheek, but she laughed
low and exclaimed: —

" That would be too illogical. You are my guardian,
and I have a sort of right to you."

'* A right I shall never question, Dorothy." His voice
grew soft as he spoke.

" Thank you," she said, gently. Then she made a sudden
movement, "Let us go back," she exclaimed, " that dreary-
looking sea makes me sad."

'*My dear Dorothy, you cannot be yourself, or you would
not have these sickly fancies. You have everything in the
world to make you happy, so pray call up your common
sense, of which you have plenty."

■■S

BLIND FATE.

Knoll ;
iters of

when

•d been

tartled,

htened

e your

ses to-

t."

s."

osaibly

idsome,

f him."

she did
isions,**

at pre-
jerton's

)lf,"
>ful. I

Q your

e."

bughed

Etrdian,

voice

sudden
Ireary-

would

in the

>mmon

" I will, Paul," said Dorothy, laughing. '*Come, let
walk back, and we shall be in time for tea."

An hour later Colonel Callander and his mother were
taking a final turn upon the pier.

Their conversation had not been pleasant or exhilarating.
Mrs. Callander looked more than usually severe, and her
mouth was rigidly closed save when she opened it to
speak.

Callander's face was white and set — there "W as a dull
burning glow in his eyes.

" You may turn a deaf ear to me if you will," said the
dowager — as they approached the gate which led to the
Esplanade, intending to return to the Hotel — "but I am
right, I know I am ! "

He made no answer — and they advanced slowly — till,
catching sight of a group on the Common below, Mrs. Cal-
lander ipaused and pointed to it. The group consisted of
Mabel, Standish, and little Dolly — as they looked Mabel
took her ex-guardian's arm, and slackening her pace, seemed
to be conversing with profound interest. " You see," said
Mrs. Callander, " they are never long apart. Be warned in
time, Herbert ! You know what blood she has in her veins
— you know her mother's history ! "

" Be silent !" he interrupted in a strange half-choked
yoice. " You do not know what you are saying ! My wife
is spotless — will be spotless so long as she lives! Never
dare to touch upon this topic again. Trust my honor to
myself, I know how to keep it clean."

To the imperious woman's surprise, he turned, a,\ weav-
ing her to make her way as she best could alone ^o her
temporary abode, walked rapidly forward to overtake his
wife.

The morning of the day which Egerton had fixed for his
party was bright and clear, with a little more breeze than
some of his guests approved. The object of the voyage
was to visit the remains of an old Norman castle, which
crowned some picturesque clifE><, about eight or nine miles
east of Fordsea — also to inspect a curious rocky islet not
far from it, on which a modern lighthouse replaced the bea-
con of a hermit, who in former days devoted himself to
keep it alive, and, according to the legend, built himself a
chapel without any human aid. The ruins of this remark-
able edifice were still visible from the sea.

, ^ *

BLIND FATE.

At breakfast a slight change of plans took place as Ma-
bel suggested that she feared she was too indifferent
a sailor to enjoy the excursion by sea, and with a pretty
coaxing air asked Callander to drive her to Bavenstone,
which vas nearer by land than by water. He consented
very readily, and Standish undertook to escort Dorothy.

The party was not very large, but bright and sociable,
though Mrs, Callander, senior, who honored it with her
presence, was somewhat snappish. '* It was so thought-
less of Mabel to expose her husband to the glare and sun on
that unsheltered road ! " she said, " and for a mere whim!"
Egerton, too, was rather silent, and cynical when he did
speak.

There was enough breeze to give life and motion, the
rippling waters glittered in the sun, and the music of a
band stationed amidships, made a delightful undercurrent
of harmony. Yet Dorothy looked thoughtful and pre-occu-
pied.

' 'Mrs. Callander has found it more convenient to go be-
low," said Standish, placing his camp-stool beside Dorothy
as she sat in the stern, watching the shadows of the swift
sailing clouds as they flitted over the water. "Miss Oak-
ley seems to consider it her duty to rouse St. John's dor-
mant mental energies, and the rest of the ladies are neglect-
ing their cavaliers, to amuse and interest our fascinating
host. So I beg you will devote yourself to me, Dorothy ! "

" With pleasure ! " she returned, smiling.

" Are you still in the dolefuls?" asked Standish, look-
ing keenly at her.

^' No — yet I am uneasy ! I was so glad Mabel decided to
drive with Herbert to Ravenstone, but I went into her
room just before I came away, and found Nurse giving her
sal-volatile — she had almost fainted ! She seems to me to
lose strength instead of gaining it."

" That must be your fancy, Dorothy ! "

" I do not believe it is ! 1 told her she ought to make
Herbert take her quite away from everyone for a few weeks
to Scotland or Switzerland, or Sweden and Norway. It
would do them both so much good ! "

"You are a wise little woman. I believe, too, it would
be a complete cure."

" Mabel seemed to like the idea, and said she would men-
tion "

"Standish!" said their host, interrupting her — "Miss

■'I'

BLIND FATE.

9 as Mh-

fferent a
i pretty
venstone,
consented
rothy.
sociable,
v^ith her
thought-
id sun on
whim!"
he did

ion, the
lie of a
Drcurrent
pre-occu-

go be-
Dorothy
he swift
ss Oak-
in's dor-
) neglect-
5cinating
>rothy ! "

b, look-

«ided to
into her
ving her
o me to

make
w weeks
^ay. It

1 would
lid men-
-" Miss

Oakley is asking for you ; she says you know the Legend
of the Island Hermit ! 1 think she is getting a little tired
of her benevolent effort ! "

Standish rose somewhat reluctantly, and Egerton took
his place, which he kept for some considerable time.

When the voyage was accomplished, and the yacht
glided into the small rock-enclosed creek at the foot of
which nestled a few fishermen's cabins, and the inevitable
tavern, they found Colonel Callander and Mabel waiting on
the rude little jetty — alongside which the yacht found
ample depth of water. It being luncheon time, Egerton
proposed having that meal served on deck, before they at-
tempted the steep ascent. His suggestion was adopted
unanimously, and a gay repast ensued.

Mrs. Callander sat on her host's right, apparently not
much the worse of her voyage, and supported on the other
side by the Rev. S. Cole, with whom she exchanged from
time to time a few words disapprovig the fun and laughter
going on around her. Ultimately she preferred a comfort-
able seat on deck, an early cup of tea, and the society of her
favorite divine to a long fatiguing walk to inspect relics of
the past which did not interest her.

The rest set forth to make iheir way upwards to the old
towers which frowned above at so formidable a height.

Egerton took charge of Dorothy so decidedly, that they
were pretty well left to themselves.

"What a strong place this was once," said the latter,
looking round when they reached the gi ass-grown space
which had once been the court yard. "Its owner must have
been a king in his way. After all, a Norman baron had
rather a good time of it, at least he was lord of those
around him, his word was law."

" Perhaps so ! but what a dreadfully bad time his peo-
ple — his dependants must have had! "

" I dare say they got quite as much good out of life as
the people do now ! They had fewer wants, and greater
respect for their rightful lord."

"And they were a trifle nearer the brute ! which of course
was of no consequence so long as it made matters easier
for their masters."

" What ! are you a raging democrat ? " exclaimed Eger-
ton with a smile. " I had no idea that Callander harbored,
uch a dangerous character."

BLIND FATE.

hi''!

"Of course yoxi think me an idiot ; perhaps I am, but J
can't help having some ideas about history."

"An idiot!" repeated Egertou, with a look full of ad-
miration. "I wish I dare tell you what I think ! "

" He is uncommonly handsome, and has a nice voice,''
thought Dorothy, but she only laughed and shook her head.

*' It is a terribly ruined ruin," remarked Egerton,
when they had finished their explorations, " come
let us make our way down. There is a pretty nook
I want to show you — you have, 1 know, an artist's eye for
beauty."

Dorothy found then that they had lingered to the last.
and that Mabel had taken her husband's arm, and was walk-
ing away between him and Standish.

Dorothy was a little vexed that her guardian had scarce-
ly spoken to her since Egerton had interrupted their con-
versation in the morning ; she was consequently more dis-
posed to be friendly with her host.

About half-way between the ruins and the pier, a faintly
marked footpath turned to the left, leading apparently
across the face of the cliff — '' Let me show you the way,"
said Egerton, passing her.

" Is there a footing ? " asked Dorothy.

"Trust me!" he returned, and following him she soon
found herself on a small projecting platform, in front of
which some gorse bushes and several moss-grown stones
formed a natural parapet, while a fragment of rock served
for a seat — the outlook over the sea, to the lighthouse and
chapel on the islet before mentioned made a delightfully
tranquil, picturesque scene.

" This is charming," cried Dorothy. "How sweet and
peaceful ! "

"Yes, it is sweet! do sit down for a few minutes, and
forgive me, if 1 am abrupt, but I seldom have a chance of
speaking to you alone. I cannot lose this precious mo-
ment. Will you listen to me? I want to tell you what I
think of you."

* ' Don't be too complimentary," said Dorothy, with a
little uneasy laugh.

" No, I shall speak the truth. Well, then, 1 think you
are the brightest, sauciest, most womanly girl that ever
charmed a man's heart — and the desire of mine is to call
you my wife, sweet Dorothy ! " He tried to take her hand;
she drew it hastily away, with a startled look.

I, but J
of ad-
voice,''
r head.
Igerton,
come
^ nook
Qye for

le last,
s walk-

scarce-
ir con-
)re dis-

faintly

arently

way,"

13 soon
'ont of
stones
served
ise and
htfully

iet and

s, and
mce of
us mo-
ivhat I

7ith.

k you
t ever
to call
' hand;

BLIND FATE.

"Will you not speak to mo? " he continued.

" I do not know how to spoak to you, Mr. Egerton," in a
distressed voice. " I do not — I do not seem able to believe
you! — to buliave that you love me, I mean, when I do not
love you, for, indeed, I do not."

" I know that only too well! But let me try to teach youV
If you love no one else, I may succeed. Do you love any-
one, Dorothy ? "

"No! indeed, I do not! but somehow, Mr. Egerton, I do
not think I should ever love you, nor do I feel that I am the
sort of i^irl you ought to marry '' She broke off ab-
ruptly.

" I am quite old enough to know my own mind," said
Egerton, abruptly. " If your heart is free, I will not accent
your present ' no' as tinal. I am desperately petsevering
when my heart is set on anything, as it is now, Dorothy."

'* Still, Mr. Ej^erton, do not think me unkind, but— but I
do not think 1 shall ever change."

" We shall see. Now you are looking uneasy. I do not
want to keep you here against your will. Remember,
though, I do not accept your refusal, give me a little grace."
He caught and kissed her hand, holding it for a minute in
his own.

"Do not keep me, Mr. Egerton," said Dorothy, who was
greatly distressed ; " I am more sorry that I can say
to vex you, and — and — I want to overtake Miss Oakley."

CHAPTEIi II.

" DUNCAN gray's COME HERB TO WOO."

Egerton's words took Doro hy so completely by surprise
tliat for some time fcho was vuiable to think clearly.

Even the next morning, when she opened her eyes, her
first feeling was painful confu^non.

She has been wonderfully still and silent all the way
back, nestling close to Paul Standish, who, after once ask-
ing, " Are you all right, Dorothy ?" had left her to herself.
Egerton showed her much quiet attention, and walked with
her to theKnoU, giving her hand a tender, signilicant pressure
at parting. After a little talk with Mabel, to which
Colonel Callander listened in his usual silent way, she
went to her room, and tired with the long day out of doors,
and the emotion of its latter half, she was soon heavily
asleep.

''%

BLIND FATE.

Egerton's avowal affected her curiously — there was an
odd element of fear in the mixed feeling which impelled
iier to reject him.

When he first appeared as a friend of her sister, she
liked and admired him, but gradually a sense of distrust
grew up in her heart — how and why she never dreamt of
analysing. The distrust, however, was very dim and in-
stinctive. He was still a pleasant companion. It was only
when he began to pay her marked attention, and seek op-
[jortunities of being alone with her, that it took anything
of a tangible form. For some occult reason she had taken
it into her iioad that he was amusing himself at her expense,
which roused her keen, sensitive pride, and kept her on the
qui vive to notice the fascinating Egerton's proceedings.
That he sljould have absolutely asked her to be his wife
left no doubt of his sincerity. Still her heart was in no
way softened to him — rather a subtle terror crept into it.
What was his motive? Could it be really true love, when
she felt so hard and distrustful towards him ? Surely she
wuold have loved him had he really loved her — would she
indeed ?

This question she did not answer save by a deep blush,
even though alone brushing out her long Imir before de-
scending to breakfast. She longed to heai what Mabel
thought of tlie v;ciiderful event — she must tell Mabel ; Mr.
Egerton would not mind that ; but to every one else she
would be mute — no one should know of Lis rejection.

But Egerton was by no means anxious to conceal the
fact that lie had offered himself — his old name, his fine es-
tate, his large investments — to this young, insignificant
girl — "a mere nobody " — as the dowager Mrs. Callarder
was wont to remark.

He did not present himself as early as usual at "The
Knoll " the next day, but meeting Standish, w^ho had been
strolling on tlie pier at an hour wlien it was chiefly in the
possession of ancient mariners, he passed his arm through
that of Standish with unusual familiarity, saying, " 1 was
on my way to have a little talk witli Callander. Will you
come with me ?"

" Yes, if you like ; you'll be rather clever if you get him
to talk."

He is ceitai'ily very taciturn, but he always was — more
or less. He liasn't quite thrown off his late attack, and
has had a touch of ague lately, which is very depressing.

B
n

a
i
o

s
fa

n
r

■t

BLIND FATK.

was ail
impelled

ter, she
distrust
•eamt of

and in-
v&s only

eek op-
aything
d taken

xpense,

on the
sedings.
lis wife
s in no

into it.
e, when
rely she
>uld she

blush,
fore de-
Mabel
el; Mr.
else she

3al the
fine es-
lificant
Harder

. "The
A been
in the
irouj>;h
' 1 was
ill you

Bt him

-more

f, and
)ssing.

But show him you want his iielp or advice, and he is at.
much alive, as soundly sensible as ever. I am just going
to ask his counsel in a matter which will interest you."
" Indeed !"

" Yes, 1 am sure it will. Look ! There goes the Ari-
adne," pointing to a smart little giinboat which was steam-
ing out of the harbor. " Fortesque did not think he'd be
o£E so soon. This afternoon, he said, would be their earliest
start. I suppose he found fresh orders awaitinjr liim when
he got on board last night." Talking on various topics,
with many a break — for Standish did not feel quite at ease
— they approached the Knoll, at the gate of which they
met Colonel Callandar. He greeted them with more ani-
mation than usual.

" Where are you off to V asked Egerton.

" I was going to have a swim. I have not felt up to
one before, but to-day I think I may venture; bathing is
a favorite pastime of mine."

"I don't think you are fit for it by any means," said
Standish, i' Take my advice ; give it up for this season."

" And I want your advice in a matter very vital to me.
Come down on the l)each, where wo are safe from listeners,
and I'll unburden my lieart," said Egerton, with a pleasant
smile.

" Very well. 1 don't fancy it is a matter of life and
death," returned Callander, looking at him kindly, and
they went leisurely across the strip of common and sat
down on one of the ridges of the shingle in front of the
villa.

*' Give me your ears," began Egerton, " and your best
help, for you can help me if you choose. I have just been
rejected by the girl 1 love! 1 want your inllueuc>e to in-
duce her to reconsider her decision, for my fate is in the
hands of Mis-i Dorothy Wynn."

" Dorothy !" repeated Callander, " I am not quite taken
by suprise. I see a good deal of what is going on about
me. Well, Egerton, you have my best wishes, but as to
influence, 1 do not think I have much." Standish was
silent."

" What do you say ?" added Egerton, turning to him. "I
trust you, as her guardian, will not also reject me."

" Gret her consent and you shall have mine," said Stan-
dish.

"Pray what reason did she allege for rejecting you'?"

1(1.

'■l ■

i!r

BLIND FATE.

asked Callander, with interest. " I should have thought
you rather an acceptable sort of fellow to a girl."

" She just simply said she did not like me, and she never
would. She put it rather more politely, you know, but that
was the gist of it, and awfully sweet she looked when she
said so."

'• Tnere is a certain degree of obstinancy in her," remarked
Colonel Callander, as he lit a cigar. " but she is an honest-
hearted little girl, and I should be very pleased to see her
married to you."

" I am afraid I was rather abrupt with her, but T have
been watching for an opportunity to speak to her for a long
time. I found it yesterday, and was not sufficiently cauti-
ous. A man cannot always be master of himself."

Standish muttered something the others did not catch.

" Eh ! what is it ?" asked Egerton.

'* Nothing, But Dorothy is rather young, don't you
think so, Callander ?"

Perhaps. Mabel was eighteen when we married, he re-
turned, with a queer far away look in his eyes. " But she
was softer, less individual than Dorothy ; she needed sup-
port and protection."

" If my ward accepts you," said Standish somewhat
coldly, "I could not possibly object to you either person-
ally or as regards your position. You are an excellent
match for any woman, however high born, but Dorothy
must have ample time ; she must not be pressed !"

" Heaven knows !" cried Egerton, with feeling, " I think
your charming ward a great deal too good for me. 1 am
quite willing to wait her pleasure, but 1 want you both —
one as her guardian, the other as lier nearest friend — to
understand my hopes — my intentions — to give me what
chances you can of being with her; of urging my suit upon
her, that is to say, if you approve it!"

" For my part I heartily wish you success," said Cal-
lander, warmly. "It is a marriage that would give me
pleasure. I feel my own health rather uncertain — and

" He paused abruptly, gazing away out to soa with

the far-away look in his eyes which touched and struck
Standish.

" My dear fellow, don't croak !" cried Egerton. " I hope
you will dance merrily at my wedding before many months
are over. And you, too, Standish."

" As for me!" said that gentlemen, " I can only repeat

BLIND PATE.

thought

she never
, but that
when she

remarked

u honest-

o see her

at I have
or a long

tly cauti-

catch.

ion't you

id, he re-
" But she
eded sup-

omewhat
>r person-
excellent
Dorothy

" I think
le. 1 am
Li both — •
•lend — to
ae what
5uit upon

aid Cal-
give me
ain — and
soa with
id struck

" I hope
'■ months

y repeat

that when you wjn Doi'othy's consent — mine is at your
service I"

" Thank you," returned Egerton.
1 " However, do not be too sure of her."

4 " I assure you I feel very properly uncertain."

" And you may rely on our silence respecting your hopes

and wishes until "

" I am by no means anxious that they should be kept
such a profound secret," replied Egerton. " I think my
taste does me credit."

" The only person to whom I feel inclined to confide so

important a piece of intelligence," said the colonel thought-

1 fully, " is to my mother. It is right she should know, es-

§ pecially as it is probable we shall leave Dorothy under her

f care when we go away."

( I

Go away ! Who is

goinfe

away ?" cried Egerton

sharply, with a keen glance like a stab.

" Don't suppose I am eoing to do anything desperate,"
said Callander, with a grave smile. " Mrs. Callander and
I are talking of going abroad for a month or two. I want
to have a look at the battle fields on the French frontier,
and to go on into Switzerland. Of course Dorothy will
stay here."

'• It will do you a great deal of good," sai 1 Standish,

" I am not quite sure of that," added Egerton hastily.
*' The cooking at these out-of-the-way places is execrable,
and may upset you. Nothing like the comforts of home
when you are in a convalescent state. I would not decide
on this journtiy rashly."

'* I shall be very careful, but I intend taking the trip.
Besides, Mrs. Callander seems to like the idea of it."

" Does she?" returned Egerton, with an indefinable touch
of surprise in his tone. "I trust you may both be the
better."

" You'll come in to luncheon, Egerton?"

" Thank you, no ! I fancy Miss Wynn would rather not
mtet me so soon. She has not yet perhaps forgiven my
abruptness. I'll keep out of sight to-day, but will you both
put in a word for me ? Assure her of my earnestness — my
desire to wait her time, and in no way press her."

" That is quite the line you ought to take," said Callan-
der. " Well, let us see you to-morrow, and you'll find Do-
rothy reasonable, I am sure. Both she and Mrs. Calhn let-
kept their rooms this morning. I have not seen them yt^t.

■ '-ny?^- "g )

iiiiiii!

II I" 'i

V-

BLIND FATE.

Now I am going to call on my mother," added the colonel,
rising, " for I don't think there is anything more to be said
or done as regards my sister-in-law at present."

" Let me come with you," said Egerton, throwing away
the end of his cigar. " I don't knov/ exactly what to do
with myself."

" Come then," was Callander's reply.

" And I am going to walk to the point," said Standish.

The trio dispersed, Standish proceeding along the beach
to a long, low spit which stretched far into the waters.

He moved slowly, with little of his usual firm alertness,
nor did his quick, observant eye roam as usual in search
of the curious or beautiful.

Egerton's proposal for his ward had disturbed him in no
common degree. Of course it was a sort of thing he must
expect as the guardian of an attractive girl, and there was
nothing to find fiiult with in Egerton's straightforward
honesty ; yet there was something cut and dried in his
tone — an absence of the glow and rapture, the eagerness
and self-doubt tl.at naturally betray themselves in a lover,
ardent enough to risk confessing failure, in order, if pos-
sible, to secure co-operation.

" It will be a splendid match," he said to himself, " and
I never heard anything against Egerton, yet I have a sort
of idea that his amusements have not been of the most in-
nocent description. I must try and find out more of his
history. What, in Heaven's name, has kept the child from
falling in love with him? He is quite a girl's ideal hero,
and of late he has evidently sought her. Does she love
someone else? That is the only shield I know for so young
and inexperienced a girl. I wish she would speak openly
to me. She is not as confidirg as she used to be. But
Mabel will tell me. Dorothy opens her heart to Mabel.
Miss Oakley will be delighted at this fulfilment of her
prophecies. She has always been declaring that Egerton is
in love with Dorothy. Well, I suppose he is."

Meanwhile Callander and Egerton walked slowly towards
the hotel where the Dowager had established herself. Here
Egerton left him.

There had been little intercourse between Mrs. Callandar
and her son, since she ventured to express her suspicions of
Standish so plainly; she had been secretly anxious to make
matters smooth once more, but it was not easy to approach
l\\m. He was so silent and self-contained tnat unless she

•^

BLIND FATE.

colonel,
3 be said

ng away
lat to do

mdish.
he beach
ters.
lertness,
H search

im in no
he must
lere was
;forward
in his
agerness
i a lover,
r, if pos-

ilf, " and
ve a sort
most in-
e of his
lild from
Bal hero,
she love
JO young
k: openly
be. But
) Mabel,
t of her
jerton is

towards
f- Here

illandar
cions of
to make
pproach
iless she

■rif

beg:an the subject, and that as she well knew by retracting
all that she had insinuated, there was small chance of get-
ting him beyond the merest commonplace. To retract wsrS
impossible to her. Towards her daughter-in-law she had a
quiet but immovable aversion. She was a living memento
of defeat, and Mrs. Callander was perpetually on the look-
out for faults which she felt certain existed. Herthecry
was, that Mabel's soft, tranquil manner masked an iron
will, profound dissimulation, aikd unscrupulous plotting.
Without the lares of a fascinating siren, her son would
never have been drawn from the allegiance due to a mother
— without an amount of designing self-control Mabel could
never have succeeded in avoiding a quarrel with her
mother-in-law. Mrs. Callander's dearest wisi was to have
some legitimate cause of complaint against her son's wife,
and finding it impossible to irritate her into incivility, she
established severe disapprobation of her affectionate fami-
liarity with her guardian instead.

Not that Mrs. Callander, in her heart, for a moment sus-
pected real evil - she merely seized the only peg available
on which to hang a grievance. Had her remonstrances
and insinuations roused her son's wrath and jealousy, she
would have been satisfied, but to see him unmoved roused
her to exaggeration both of thought and word. When at
last she succeeded in stirring him to speech, it was to
speech of a very different kind from what she desired. In
all this distortion of judgment and cruelty of heart, Sihe
never doubted her own righteousness — her own clearsight-
edness and sincere desire to do kindly and justly both \)y
her son and her daughter-in-law, nor abated by a breath
the ardor of her prayers and thanksgivings, especially foi
not being quite as other women are.

But though she firmly believal that her feelings towards
Mabel partook more of sorrow than of anger, she did not
hide from herself the unmitigated dislike — nay hatred —
with which she regarded Standibh.

He was poor, yet perfectly independent. Coming of an
ancient race and admitted into the best society, he yet had
no sounding title which might be flourished in the face of
tlie world, and for all Mrs. Callander's social circle knew,
he might be a stockbroker, or a retired draper, or anything
t^lse bourgeois and obscure, without that gilding of wealth
which makes any bread pill acceptable ; and this nobody,
« mere clerk in tne Foreign Office, had a sort of ineffable

* *

ll'li

BLIND FATE.

•luperiority that she could not away with. He was per-
'jctly polite and well-bred — in the simplest manner — yet
she felt herself — she, Mrs. Bruce Callander, with all her
wealth, and church influence, and admiring evangelical
friends, dwarfed into insignificance when face to face with
this easy-going, good-humored man, who seemed to say
everything that came uppermost, yet never made a mistake,
and in whose presence she felt hQj* own elaborate dignity
and careful speech, her heavy { oliteness and covert allu-
sions to her grand acquaintance, and her all-sufficing
wealth so much unmanagaable dead weight, more likely to
sink the vessel than to steady its progress.

Then the doctrines held by Standish on many points
were utterly damnable. In politics an advanced Liberal —
in religion a Freethinker — she even darkly doubted that he
ever went to church t Yet he dared to argue with the
Reverend Horace Babblington, a man whom Lord Beacons-
field came more than once to hear and invited to dinner,
and was not a bit convinced by that eminent divine's as-
sertions and inferences. In short he was a malignant of
the worst type — a malignant she was afraid to tackloi
Then the cool way in which he seemed to take Mabel's ex-
traordinary good fortune as regarded her marriage — such a
marriage fcr her — was a deadly offence. Indeed, as Mrs.
Callander observed to her much enduring companion, whose
lips were supposed to be hermetically sealed by the aristo-
cratic will of her mistress^ " it is impossible to trust a man
whose ideas are so strange, whose views are so extremely
vague ! Mr. Standish is a person of no fixed principle, and
perfectly without religion. It makes me shudder to think
of his roaming about my poor son's house, unchecked and
undetected. 1 earnestly pray that no serious harm may
come of it."

When Colonel Callander was ushered into his mother's
sitting-room he found her as usual richly and elaborately
dressed, and knitting a huge coverlet, while Miss Boothby
read aloud The Times.

She gave a cold, straight unresponsive hand to her son.

" I hope you are all right after your long day in the open
air ?" he said, as he drew a chair near her work-table.

" Thank you. I am as usual. I get little sleep. My mind
is too anxious to permit of repose !"

" That's bad," said Colonel Callander, vaguely

"You need not stay. Miss Boothby," said the dowager,

I
1

BLIND FATE.

was per-
iner — yet
all her
'angelical
face with
'. to say-
mistake,
e dignity
vert allu-
sufficing
likely to

ny points
Liberal —
d that he
with the
Beacons^

dinner,
vine's as-
ignant of

io tackloi
[abel's ex-
e — such a
1, as Mrs.
on, whose
he aristo-
ist a man
extremely
ciple, and
• to think
Bcked and
larm may

mother's
aborately

1 Boothby

o her son.
L the open
kbie.
My mind

dowager,

•f

" I wish to converse witli my sou." The meek companion
rose with a small smile and disa|)peared.

" I came to ask if you have any commands, as I think of
going up town to-morrow. I want to arrange one or two
matters before goin«^ north."

" North ! why, where are you going to now V" she asked,
querulously.

" Mabel and I think of taking a trip through the High-
lands, or to Switzerland. I think she wants a change as
much as I do."

" There I agree with you," observed Mrs. Callander, sig-
nificantly. " She has had a worn, distressed look ever since
— I mean, for a considerable time."

" You think so ?" said her son, with a quick, fiery,
wrathful flash from his dark eyes — a warning signal that
even his mother dar«d not disregard. " I trust she has
no cause for distress or anxiety — at all events she seems
to consider tlie panacea for her ills is a quiet journey
with ma"

" 1 am sincerely glad to hear it," with pointed emphasis
— " pray when do start ?"

** Early next week. May I ask what your plans are?"

'•If you are going away there is no particular object in
my remaining 1 don't suppose even when you return! shall
see much of you."

"There is no reason why we should not be as much together
as you like," returned the Colonel dryly. "However, if
you are comfortable here, and don't mind staying, I should
begladif you would, because," he stopped and seemed to
have lost the thread of his discourse — his eyes wandering
to the window, and evidently preoccUi.ied with some dis-
tant object visible to the inner sense.

" Well!" said his mother at last, looking up from her
knitting with some surprise, ''why do you wish me to

..tay?"

Her son looked at her with a bewildered aspect, and then
passing his hand over his brow, exclaimed, " I beg your
pardon ! I fotgot what I was saying ! I wished you to
stay. Oh! yes, I wished you to stay, because Mabel and I
intend to be away about six weeks or so, and Dorothy will
be here alone — that would be of no consequence, but Eger-
ton has just proposed to me for her. It seems that Dorothy
x'efused him, but he very wisely will not take a girl's first

rrsrr^

\W'

BLIND FATE.

no. So he begs to be allowed opportunities of pressing his
suit — and — "

" Refused him!" said Mrs. Callander in a high key.
" She must be out of her mind. He is a match for an Earl's
daughter. Why, it will be quite a distinguished connec-
tion. Of course she will accept him ! she must. Dorothy
has her tempers, and is altogether wanting in a knowledge
of what she owes to us, but I always thought there was
some moral worth in her."

" Ultimately she will do as she likes, but Egerton ought
to have a fair chance. Now if you are here he can see her
with you, under your chapronage, and Henrietta will pro-
bably also stay — otherwise " he paused.

" I never hesitate to sacrifice myself on the altar of
duty," said Mrs. Callander, in a lofty tone, " or for the
good of others, for I cannot say I owe any duty to your
sister-in-law, but if it be an accommodation to you, my
dear son, I will remain till you return."

"You see there are no relations or friends to whom we
can send Dorothy."

" I am quite aware of that," put in his mother, sharply.
Callander did not heed her.

" And," he continued, " even if Standish could stay on
here, he c ° uld not be the source of protection you can be."

" Nor do I suppose it likely he wili remain while you are
away." remarked Mrs. Callander, sweetly.

" Mother !" he cried, *' do you know how cruel you are ?
Do you know that my life is bound up in Mabel's ! in
Mabel's love and truth. Nothing you say touches my faith
in her — yet — yet — you torment mc. She is — she always
wili be spotless— in the eyes of all men."

He sprang up and paced to and fro rapidly, with occa-
sional fierce gestures.

" Spotless! my dear Herbert! I should hope so!" return-
ed Mrs. Callander, with the obtnseneys of a hard unsympa-
thetic woman. " Do you think i meant anything beyond
the necessity of attending to appearances '? When a man
like Mr. Standish — a man of the world in the worst sense
— is seen morning, noon and night with a young woman
whom some people consider handsome. Why "

" Be silent !" he exclaimed, harshly, turning to face her,
with such wrath in his eyes that even the unimaginative
old woman cowered for a moment. " Understand me ! un-
less you cease to insult me by harping on these hideous

3ssmg his

bigh key.
an Earl's
i connec-
Dorothy
nowledge
there was

ton ought
in see her
I will pro-

) altar of
or for the
;y to your
) you, my

whom we

, sharply.

i stay on
u can be."
e you are

you are ?
abel's ! in

my faith
le always

v^ith occa-

!" return -
unsympa-
ig beyond
n a man
or St sense
Lg woman

face her,
aginative
i me ! un-

hideous

BLIND FATE.

possibilities I will ifcever see your face again ! 1 should
have broken with you before, but tiiat I dreaded Mabel
should be outraged by the kuowlodge of the reason why I
dropped all intercourse with my mother. God ! could you
think that sweet simple soul could ever be drawn from her
children — from me? Is such a possibility comprenensible
to youV" There was keen pain as well as burning indigna-
tion in his tone.

" The wickedness of the unregenerate heart is unfathom-
able," said his mother severely, '* and I greatly fear Mabel
does not knovv^ where to look for strength. It's impossible
to say where unguarded beginnings may lead poor, weak
creatures, and your wife, though an amiable w(nnan, is no
doubt easily intlaenced, in short, not what you would call
a person of strong character."

" No— thank God, she is not! How should I have got
on with a woman of strong character ? I say, mother —
enough of this. I feel my kead dizzy. If we are to be
fr.ends "

" I will never speak to you on this subject again," said
his mother, with an injured and dignified air. " I have
done my duty, my conscience is clear. I have not left you
in ignorance! Now as regards Dorothy ?"

Callander was again pacing to and fro — his head bent
down, lips moving slightly — as it forming unuttered words.
Then, with an effort, he repeated as he paused opposite her
— " Dorothy ! — Ay ! We must not forget Dorothy. Will
you stay here and let Egerton come to and fro, and see her
under your auspices ?"

" I shall be happy to further an alliance calculated to re-
iiect credit on yo" and yours, Herbert."

" I don't want any reflected credit," he returned impa-
tiently. •♦ I am obliged to you, however, and I will bid you
good-bye for the present. I am going to ride with Egerton
this afternoon, and dine at mess with Tolhurst, of the
175th, this evening. So I shall not see you till I return
from town. Good-bye, and remember I" He took her hand
coldly enough for a moment, and left the room — almost
running against the Rev. Thomas Gilmore, who was com-
ing upstairs, as he often did about lunch hour.

But the recontre did not suggest his own luncheon to
Callander. He wandered away past the pier, to an old,
disused landing-place, a relic of times when Fordsea was
in a very primitive condition. Here he sat down, and witli

BLIND FATE.

I V

iil^

1 tr''

tixedeyes, which saw nothing round him, he reviewed tht;
past — or rather, the past came uncalled — and unrolled its
pictures — vivid pictures! — glowing in the warm light of
intense thought thrown back upon the past.

Those first exquisite days of marriedSlife — when he had
to win his young wife from the slight fear which
gratified even wuile it troubled liim. Her growing confi-
dence, her timidity — the sw 3t peace of their lives — thi--
tender anxiety for her, when the languor and depression of
delicate health grew upon her ; the occasional dread lest he
were not quite young and blithe enough for her ; the agony
of parting ; iiis mother's letters, full of hints and inuendoes
which he scarcely understood ; the delight of returning
after his illness ; the gnawing, undefined fear that a year's
absence had, in some degree, undone the work of the Past ;
that a filmy something — he knew not what — had come be-
tween them — that she turned with more confidence and
familiarity to her guardian than to himself ; that her old
timidity had come back to her ! If — if it were possible that
the smallest chill had breathed on her love — how was he
to endure it ! He dared not dwell on such a thought — he
trembled at the shadow of possible agony which fell on
him at the suggestion. No ! There were moments when
Mabel was her old self, even more frankly loving. And
this projected tour! — they would enjoy a heavenly
tete-a-tete. He would again be all and all to her — he
would try to resist these fits of irritation, which must
terrify so timid a soul, even though she herself was sacred
to him. His future complete recovery depended upon him-
self; and for the sake of those dear to him, he must regain
the self-mastery once so strong. " Grod only knows how
hard the struggle is, and will be," he muttered. " When
we are alone 1 will tell Mabel all— all the curious strain
and burning anger that beset me at times. She will be
touched with heavenly pity— she will help me. Love will
give her courage— for she loves me. Yes. I can believe
nothing, save that she loves me well.

CHAPTER IIL

"TAKING SWEET COUNSEL."

Colonel Callander had not looked so well since he re-
turned from India as the morning he started for London.

BLIND FATE.

viewed tht)
inroUed its
m light of

len. he had
ear which
iving confi-

lives — th^i
pression of
-ead lest he

the agouy
1 inuendoes
f returning
lat a year's
f the Past ;
id come be-
fidence and
hat her old
ossible that
low was he
lought — he
hich fell on
nents when
ving. And
heavenly
to her — he
bvhich must
was sacred
i upon him-
cnust regain
inows how
id. " When
:ious strain
She will be

Love will
can believe

ince he re-
lor London.

he undertook various commissions for his sister-in-law,
but his wife had said she wanted nothing.

*'I have everything I want, and more than I deserve,"
she added, as she kissed her husband tenderly at parting.

"I do not think so ! Now rest and gather strength to
enjoy our ramble together, for you look pale and feeble.
He was inclined to pour out words of passionate endear-
ment, but repressed them, as a first effort of the self-control
he felt it so important to regain.

Dorothy had begun to forget tho disturbing effect of
Egerton's avowal ; and as he did not appear for two whole
days, hoped he would not renew the subject.

Standish had gone to dine and sleep at a country house

at some distance to meet Lord R , his chief, so the

sisters had a very tranquil day, its only disturbance being
a visit from the Dowager, who came in unwonted good-
humor. In the evening, a little to Dorothy's dismay,
Miss Oakley walked in just before dinner, to have a little
talk, she said, accompanied by Egerton and Major St.
John, who was, Miss Oakley thought, immensely struck
with her, whereas St. John was equally sure he had made
a profound impression on Miss Oakley, and was, in con-
sideration of her endowments, disposed to encourage her
attentions.

The sisters were sitting together in sympathetic silence
at that most watching hour ' 'the gloaming."

Dorothy had of course told Mabel of the declaration with
which Egerton had startled her, and was somewhat sur-
prised at the manner in which Mabel had received her con-
fidence. She was not amazed, she murmured something
about his being nice and interesting and a good match,
then she added, ''are you quite sure you could not like him,
dear?"

"Yes, quite sure," was Dorothy's prompt reply. "I
used to like him ever so much better before. I cannot
think wluit put it into his head to imagine he wjnts to
marry me ?"

'4 don't think it is so extraordinary," said Mabel, and
dropped the subject.

' 'Dear me ! What a pair of forsaken ones !" cried Miss
Oakley, when she made out the two figures sitting in the
recess of the window. "To see you watching the waning
light without your accustomed attendants is quite effecting.

BLIND FATE.

"I knew Herbert went off this morning, bnt whftt has
become of Mr. Stand ish ?" Mabel explained.

"Well, 1 am surprised at his quitting his post in that
fashion," resumed Miss Oakley. "As your guardian, he
ought to stay when Herbert goes."

"Considering the state of civilisation in which we live,
we may possibly be able to take care of ourselves," said
Dorothy, dryly.

"Oh, it is odious not to have someone to take care of
\ ou, it makes one feel so selfish," exclaimed Miss Oakley
II a sentimental tone. "I don't like to be obliged to think
about myself."

' ' That is rather weak, is it not ?" said Major St. John.
" Self-preservation is the fir3t law of — of Nature.' '

" A law that is rarely broken," put in Egerton, carelessly ;
" but, Miss Oakley, you are forgetting your benevolent er-
rand."

' ' No, indeed I am not. Dorothy, I am going to get np a
concert in aid of the Sailor's Home, and the schools attach-
ed to it. We'll have it in the large reading-room, and per-
suade Colonel Trj^on to send us some of the bandsmen.
Now, Dorethy, I want you to sing a duet with me, and take
part in a trio. Mr. Standish has a good voice — a baritone,
hasn't he ?"

" Sing in a concert ! Oh, I don't think I am equal to
that ! "

" Yes you are ! You shall take the secon.' ! Your yoice
is contralto ! "

" Let me think about it."

" Think ! nonsense ! Come and practise with me to-mor-
row morning, at any rate ; it will help me in my part, even
if I have to find another second."

" I am quite willing to help you so far*"
" I knew you would be ! Then you play nicely — you
could accompany some of them; everyone must help. I
don't know what you can do ?" turning to St. John, and
contemplating him with a puzzled look.

" Beat the big drum," he retu.rned, with an ineffable air.

" That requires a certain amount of genius," said Dor-
othy.

" Sell programmes at the door at sixpence a-piece," sug-
gested E>.':erton.

"No, I'll be your special aid-de-camp. Miss Oakley, or
orderly iind do what I am bid."

**:

it whflit has

)Ost in that
uardian, he

lich we live,
;elves," said

take care of
Miss Oakley
ed to think

St. John.
e."

I, carelessly ;
levolent er-

' to get up a
cols attach-
nn, and per-
I baYidsmen.
ne, and take
-a baritone,

eqnal to

Your voice

me to-mor-
y part, even

icely — you
3t help. I
John, and

effable air.
said Dor-

lece," sug-

Oakley, or

BLIND FATE.

*'Hot a bad way to make yourself useful," she letuniol,
with aHmall, approving nod. "Now, Mabel, what can you
contribute ?"

"Some very humble work, Henrietta. 1 thiuk all I can
promise is to act secretary, or under-secretary."

" Very well ! do ring for lights and I will show you a
rough sketch of our manifesto."

While Miss Oakley held forth with animation, and Ma-
jor St. John put in a word at intervals, Egerton moved
across the room to where Dorothy was sitting, and said in
a low tone, "I ought not perhaps to trespass upon you, but
I want to ask pardon for my precipitancy. AVill you for-
get my ill-judged haste, and let me come ;.i,d ^o, on the old
terms? I will not offend ag.?in, not, at leaSt, till I fancy I
may do so with less chance oi rebuke. I may never reach
that happy conviction, but let me try."

" I have no right to interfere with you coming or going,'
said Dorothy, softly, "but I do not like to give you any an-
noyance, and 1 do not think 1 shall change."

Here both were called to share the consultatios, which
was rather noisy, and ended in an appointment for Dor-
othy to practise with Miss Oakley at noon the following
day. Then she declared she would be late for dinner, a
crime her aunt would never forgive-

" There is a very amusing article on the '-Esthetics of
Dress' in the ' Quarterly Review, " said Ej^erton. " I for-
get it, but if you will let me bring it over this evening, I'll
read it to you" — he stood with his back to Dorothy, speak-
ing to her sister.

" Oh! yes, certainly — thank you! " she returned, with a
little nervous catch in her voice — raising her eyes to his
and then dropping them quickly.

"Till we meet, then! " He bowed and followed Miss
Oakley.

" Oh ! Mabel dear ! Why did you let him come ?" cried
Dorothy, as soon as the door was closcid. " I should have
enjoyed a nice, quiet evening, and above all I don't want
him."

" How could I refuse ?" asked Mabel, pressing her hands
together. "He had asked Herbert and Paul to let him come
and try his chance, and Herbert told me."

"What? Did Paul agree to this?" cried Dorothy— a
kind of sharp cry—" I thought he knew me better!"

BLIND FATE.

ii!

" Well, dearest you know you are not obliged to marry

him."

"I am quite aware of that," said Dorothy with decision,
"but I object to be teased."

Mabel did not answer immediately, when she spoke it
was to say: "I thought Herbert looked more like himself
than usual this morning."

"Yes, he did, and you will both be all the better for
your tete-a-tete tour. I see your head is bad to-day."

"It is. I [ feel as if one of my old neuralgic headaches
were coming on a gain, but a cup of tea will do me good"

Egerton did not fail to keep his promise. He was more
than usually agreeable, keeping under the strain of
cynicism that often tinged his talk. He read aloud well,
and his comments on ihe paper when he had finished it
were amusing, the reminiscences it evoked of the various
fine ladies, mistresses of the art of dress, interesting ; fto
addressed most of his conversation to Mabel, who said
little, lying back among her sofa cushions as if weary,
while Dorothy worked diligently at a highly ornamental
pinafore for her little niece, whicli was a blessed occupa-
tion for her eyes. At length, after a short pause, Eger-
ton exclaimed in an altered voice :

' 'I am afraid I am boring you, Mrs. Callander. You are
looking awfully ill."

"It is that horrid neuralgia," cried Dorothy, laying
down her work and going to her sister. ''She has been
suffering all day. Would you like to go to bed Mabel ?"

"Let me try mesmerism," urged Egortou. "You re-
member the relief I was able to give last spring iri town.
Let me try."

"Would you like to try, Mabel?"

"I would rather go to my room," said Mabel, faintly.

"She'll have aa awfully bad night, Miys Wynu. I'll
make a fev passes. You'll see how soon the look of pain
•will leave her."

"I don't half like it," said Dorothy, doubtfully.

Egerton came and stood beside the sofa, his eyes fixed
on Mabel, who did not make the slightest resistance.
Slowly passing his hand over her face in the fashion usual
with i.iesmerisers, the tired eyes gradually closed, the
pained contracted expression passed from her face, and she
alept the peaceful sleep of an infant.

■a

'il

FATE.

i to marry

itli decision,

she spoke it
like himself

be better for
3-day."
ic headaches
do me good"
Se was more
e strain of
. aloud well,
d finished it
•f the various
fceresting ; fte
el, who said
as if weary,
Y ornamental
sed occupa-
Dause, Eger-

er. You are

othy, laying
She has been
Mabel?"
. "You re-
ng ill town.

faintly.

Wynn. I'll
ook of pain

iiy.

eyes fixed
resistance,
ishion usual
closed, the
ace, and she

•iS

"It is wonderful," whispered Dorothy, who felt an in-
describable impulse of pity and tenderness towards the
gentle loving sister, who seemed so mysteriously oppressed
— -the tears were in her eyes, and her voice faltered as she
added, '*I wish you could give me this power, that I might
enable her to rest ! She seems so helpless."

"She is," returned Egerton in a deep tone full of feeling.
"But unless you have the power I could not give it to
you. I did not know I possessed it till that strange,
mystic Bohemian Grafin I told you about, whom I knew
some years ago at Prague, assured me I had it and made
me experiment on some of her people. I am halt ashamed
of it. I would never use my power save to give physical
relief. There is a prejudice against it too. Perhiips it
would be as wtil not to inform Mrs. Callander, for instance
that I was able to give your sister some repose."

"Oh, certainly not," cried Dorothy. "The less said the
bettei, people are so ill-natured. I ho pe my dear sister
will not want your aid any more. I shall sit and watch
her till she wakes, and so I must say good-night now."

She held out her hand as she dismissed him.

" Yes ! it will be best to let her rest till she \*ises of her
own accord. I will call early to-morrow to inquire,'* and
in a cold absent way, as if scarcely conscious to whom she
was speaking, Egerton took her hand and went noiselessly
away.

Amid all hor anxiety about her sister Dorothy looked
after him in surprise. All trace of the lover had vanished
from look and manner.

" I wish I could understand him," she thought. " I won-
der what Paul really thinks. Is it possible he wishes me
to marry him for the sake of money and position? It is
true that he is a man of the world, but I though' he had a
heart too."

She drew a chair and sat looking at her sleeping sister,
her heart swelling with tender memories. How gentle and
forbearing she had been to Dorotliy's wayward childhood.
How untiring in }ier patient attempts to help her in hor
lessons, to muud and make for her and to keep her out of
scrapes, and yet she, Dorothy, in her forwardness, used to
despisu her a little for the .iwe she was m of Miss Birch,
tlieir rather rigid " Dumina." Dorothy could not under-
stand such dread of any mere human creature like herself.

Ill

BLIND FATS.

(

Her stronger spirit could not understand the reverent,
timid, self-sacrificing nature of her sister. But how deeply
she loved her ! How ardently she longed to be able to help
her. She was at once a mother to be respected, a sweet,
simple child to be guarded by her younger sister. '

The big tears rose in Dorothy's eyes as she thought, and
then flashes of summer lightning-like wrath struck through
her as she thought of that refrigerated, funereal dowager,
worrying and oppressing so delicate a soul, and she plan-
ned various retorts to be used when occasion offered.

Htir meditations were interrupted by the quiet entry of

Nurse.

" If you please 'm," she was beginning, when Dorothy's
" Hush " stopped her.

Pointing to her sleeping sister, she said in a T7hisper,
" Sh« is in such a nice sleep. I think it must do her good.
She was in terrible pain, but Mr. Egertou sent her to sleep
with mesmeric passes."

" I only wanted to ask about the sort of tucks the missis
w^uld like in Miss Dolly's new frock, an inch or inch and a
half, but it's no matter ! Dear, dear, she do sleep peace-
ful," advancing very softly to look at her. '* 1 hope she'll
be the better of it. Mark my words, Miss Dorothy, Mrs.
Callander wants a deal more doctoring than the Colonel,
she is weaker by a good bit tha,n when we first came home.
Many's the time I find her crying on the quiet in her own
room ! Now that's weakness, for a young lady like her has
nothing to cry for. Hasn't she all the world can give
her?''

She paused and lo( ked with kindly compassionate eyes
at the young creatuiw who lay all unconscious of her scru-
tiny

" She is sound," resumed Nurse in a whisper, " still, I
don't hold with this feort of thing- mesmerism as it's
called. It ain't natural, it's a sort of witchcraft, and for
all Mr. Egerton is kind and nice and a real gentleman and
makes her sleep like a baby, he never does her any good."

' 'Well, j''^^'' mvist remember he never tried but once before
and that in fun, when we defied him. Mabel's neuralgia
was not really bad then."

"Yes, Miss Dorothy, Mr. Egerton has put her to sleep
oftener, twice to my cer'^ain knowledge since the Colonel
come home, for lie called mo once to bring a pillow for her
head, and to stay by her till she woke, and another time

BLIND FATE.

li« reverent,
b how deeply
able to help
I, a sweet,
er.

hought, and
ruck through
3al dowager,
d she plan-
Sered.
Let entry of

5n Dorothy's

a whisper,
do her good,
her to sleep

jks the missis
or inch and a

sleep peace-
l hope she'll
•orothy, Mrs.

the Colonel,

t came home.

in her own

like her has

orld can give

^sionate eyes
of her scru-

" still, I
as it's

fper,
:ism

ift, and for
jntleman and
any good."

it once before
I's neuralgia

It her to sleep
te the Colonel
)illow for her
I another time

to fetch a shawl. 1 never said a word to nobody I didn't,
it's a queer sort ot thing to talk about. But, Miss Dorothy,
I don't think it does her any kind of good. You just ask
Mr. Egerton not to try that kind of cure any more, for if
you'll excuse rie saying it, Miss, from all I can make out,
he'll not refuse aaything you ask him."

"Yes, I shall certainly ask him, indeed forbid him,** said
Dorothy very low, while an extraordinary thrill of horror
shivered through her at the idea of her sister being thus
reduced to helplessness by anyone — even by her husband.
The idea that Egerton had exercised this power increased
her aversion — ht>r innatethough unacknowledged aversion
to him. "Go, dea^ nurse, bring me some wrap to throw
over her, she must sleep her sleep out, and I shall watch
by her, she shall never have another sleep of the same sort
if I can prevent it."

It was more than two hours before Mrs. Callander
awoke. How tLey passed Dorothy could not tell. A dull,
impalpable sense of fear, of danger, seemed to hedge her
lound and hide the future from her. The future which up
to the last few weeks had smiled so brightly upon her.
She longed to open her heart to someone wiser than her-
self. Yet what had she to tell ? That her sister suffered
from neuralgia, and that she was vexed and uneasy that
Egertou, who posed as her lover, had soothed the pain by
mesmeric influence ? No, she could not, and would not
speak of this to mortal, she felt instinctively that Colonel
Callander would bb irritated if he heard of it. Then she
reproached herself for being so fanciful, so ready to think,
not exactly evil but in the possibility of evil. And Paul !
could it be that Paul was ready and willing to give her
to this man ? Paul who had always seemed to understand
and sympathise with her ? He had been a hero in her
eyes for many a day, and when he returned from a long

absence when Lord 11 , his chief, had sent him on some

private diplomatic mission, how susprised she had been
to find him so young, so full of animation. She had always
tliought of him before as being ever so much older than
herself, now when she ran into the room ready to embrace
liim an indefinable something held her back, seeing which
Standish had laughed good-humouredly and said : "I see
you have developed into a full-fledged demoiselle, who
must be treated with proper respect," then he laughed
again and kissed her hand. Colonel Callander and Mabel

If!

t !

;

i '

i|J!

BLIND FATE.

had lau^•hed too at her sudded dignity. But it was not
di8;nity, it was— she could not tell what, some inner instinci
which even now brought the color to her cheeks. How
happy they all were then. From that day, however, Stan-
dish had never offered her a kiss in his old elder -brotherly
way, and she had to exercise a good deal of self-control to
keep up the cool, unembarrassed friendliness of manner
which any unexpected encounter with him always disturbed.
"But if Herbert and Mabel go away, Mr. Egerton can-
not come here, and I suppose Paul's holiday is nearly
over. How dull it will be. However life ought not to be
all pleasure and self-indulgence. I can find plenty to do,
and when we all meet again things will go on in their
old happy way. Mr. Egerton will be tired of his whim of
marrying me, and probably we shall see no more of him,"
were her final reflections. Then Mabel stirred, shivered,
and opened her eyes with a look of fear in them which
changed to one of relief as they fell on Dorothy. She
stretched out her hand to her, murmuring her name.
Dorothy stooped over and kissed her tenderly.

" Is he gone ? " whispered Mabel.

"Yes, dear, Mr. Egerton is gone. You are safe with me.
Are you better ? "

"Yes, much better," and she burst into a fit of hysterical
weeping which almost frightened Dorothy. With some
difficulty she pesuaded her to go to bed, and then called
nurse to arrange a sofa for her own accommodation, as she
determined not to leave her sister alone at night so long as
Colonel Callander was absent.

He )K >|( >K m 41 4e

Nrxt morning, however, the &an was shinittg. Mabel de-
clared herself better, but consented to breakfast in her own
room.

A pleasant letter from one of her former school-fellows,
inviting her to spent October in a large, pleasant country
house, where a goodly company was to be gathered for the
pheasant-shooting, awaited Dorothy at Dreakfast, and the
buoyancy of youth suggested that much of her melancholy
musing of the previous evening was attributable to nerv-
ousness and nightfall.

As Mabel seemed more cheerful, and promised to drive
with Paul Standish when he came as usual after breakfast,
Dorothy set off to keep her appointment with Miss Oakley,

BLIND FATE.

it it was uot
inner instinct
heeks. How
>wever, Stan-
ier -brotherly
elf -control to
s of manner
.ys disturbed.

Egerton can-
lay is nearly
ght not to be
plenty to do,
> on in their
his whim of
lore of him,"
red, shivered,
them which
•orothy. She
ng her name.

jafe with me.

of hysterical
With some
then called
ation, as she
ht so long as

Mabel de-
it in her own

hool-fellows,
sant country
hered for the
ast, and the
melancholy
,ble to nerv-

sed to drive
:er breakfast,
Miss Oakley,

>3'

and, their- diligent practice over, sevwal idlers dropped in
to lunch, among them Major St. John and Standish.

Lunch finished, Dorothy refused a pressing invitation to
drive with Miss Oakley.

" Well, if you will not come, pray take this programme
to your sister, and the advertisement. I have just put down
what I want to say. She must polish them up ; I have no
turn for grammar. There," straining her neck to look out
of the window (she had secured a suite of rooms on the
ground floor looking to the sea), " there goes Aunt Callan-
der in state. Lady-in-waiting, lapdog and all ! I know
she is going to inquire for Mabel, and inspect her proceed-
ings ! Where is Mr. Egerton to-day ? I have seen nothing
of him smce, oh ! since yesterday ! "

' *■ Well, you warned us all off the premises, as you want-
ed an uninterrupted morning. I was afraid to show my-
self, even at one o'clock, until Standish gave me a lead,"
returned St. John.

" Well, I must run away now ! I am going to drive over
to Beech Hall. I want to persuade Lady Geraldine to play
the violin at my concert, she would be a great catch. Will
you come with me ? Do — do — Dorothy !"

"I am very sorry, but I cannot, Miss Oakley. I must
go back and support Mabel,"

" What a formal little thing you are, Dorothy ! I think I
might be 'Henrietta' by this time. Shall you dine at home
to-day ?"

''Yes. That is we have dined. While Herbert is away
we dine witli the children."

** This indifference to the sacredness of the dinner hour
is a fatal flaw in female character. Women will never be
in it as they ougl l until they take a more personal interest
in food," said Standish.

"What a low-minded speech," cried Miss Oakley. *' I
was going to say, Dorothy, that I would come over this
evening and try that duet again, with Mabel as accompan-
ist, then Mr. Standish might look in and we could go over the
trio, too.

"We shall be delighted to see you."

"Very well, about 8.30. Are you going?"

' 'I will walk across the common with you," said Stan-
dish, following her into the hall.

"Yes, do please," she returned feeling a sense of strength
and comfort in his companionship, and longing to be

II '!

BLIND FATE.

able really to pour out her heart to him — if it were possible
to put her vague uneasiness into \/ords. Even if she were
— but Standish was speaking.

"You are quite right to hurry back to poor Mabel's res-
cue, She is by no means equal to encounter her mother-
in-law single handed."

"You are right. I don't think she is equal to anything,"
said Dorothy, sadly.

"What," he exclaimed, struck by her tone, "you are not
seriously uneasy about her V"

"There is no reason I should be, but — oh, I can't explain
my indefinable anxiety — I daresay you would laugh at
me if I could."

Here they were interrupted by a young lieutenant of St.
John's regiment, a warm, though silent, admirer of
Dorothy, who turned with them unasked under the plea
of imparting the project of a regimental ball, for which he
hoped Miss Wynn would hold herself disengaged.

They were almost at the gate of the Knoll before he left
them, and they did not resume the conversation.

"Is Mrs. Callander in?" asked Dorothy of the man who
answered the bell.

' 'No, Miss. Mrs. Callander — the Dowager Mrs. Callan-
der — called before she had finished luncheon — she and
Mr. Egerton — and they all went out in the carriage to-
gether."

"Did not my sister drive this morning."

'*No, Miss, The mistress went out with nurse and the
children. Mr. Egerton came back with her."

"It is probable she will not be back for some time," said
Standish. ' 'Let us go down on the beach, Dorothy, you
look as if you too wanted to be taken care of, and
the open air will do you more good than sitting in a
room."

"Very well," and she turned from the house to go
through the garden. "But I am quite well, only a little
worn out with my practice and two whole hours of Miss
Oakley's enthusiasm."

"1 can imagine it. High pressure — eh?"

"Yes, very high," They walked on silently till they
reached the water's edge, when Dorothy instinctively
turned her back on a more frequented part of the common
and exclaimed :

" Let us get as far from the madding crowd as possible."

"is

BLIND FATE.

ere possible
if she were

Mabel's res-
ier mother-

auy thing,"

you are not

tu't explain
d laugh at

euant of St.

admirer of

der the plea

Dr which he

jd.

)fore he left

he man who

^rs. Callan-
m — she and
carriage to-

irse and the

time," said
orothy, you
re of, and
sitting in a

house to go
only a little
lurs of Miss

ily till they
nstinctively
,he common

bs possible."

'By all means, especially as I want a little private talk
with you."

''Do you'?" in an alarmed tone, "I hope not a scolding."
"Do I ever scold you?" reproachfully.
"Well, no ! But just now I always anticipate evil."
"The terrors of an awakened conscience, I suppose ?"
•'i think I am more imperfect than wicked," said Dorothy
with a sigh.

Standish laughed.

" Conscience is hard at work, I see. No, I am not going
to scold — why should 1 ? You are a really good girl, so
far as I sep. I am going to cross-examine you."

" That is bad enough," and Dorothy bent her head, her
naturally i^athetic little face looking so sad that Standish
involuntarily drew closer to her."

" You don't imagine, my dear Dorothy that I would wil-
ingly distress you? I think you can trust me! Now," with
a change of tone — " tell me; are you aware that I have re-
ceived overtures for a matrimonial alliance with my charm-
ing ward from an exceptional parti ?"
" I am," very seriously.

" It seems you have refused Egerton. May I ask the why
and the wherefore ?"
" I don't like him."
"But why?" urged Standish.

" Curious fool, be still ! Is human love the growth of
human will?" quoted Dorothy, with a wonderfully sweet,
bright smile.

" What a pretty creature she is sometimes ! " thought
Standish, while he said, " Bad study, Byron, for young
ladies ! Come, Dorothy, you must have some method in
your madness, for ma.lness it would be considered by most
women to refuse such a man ! Handsome, fascinating,
clever — yes, I decidely think him clever, rich, young, with
the world before him where to choose, wisely picking out
this humble, sweet, obscure violet."

" Oh, nonsense, Paul ! I am not a bit humble, and I am
not a sweet violet. If I am anything in that line, I am a
rose with many thorns. Now go on and do no' laugh."

" I will be quite serious. I consider it my duLy as your
guardian to point out the advantages of sut-h a match."

"Match! I hate the word— it only applies to lucifers and
carriage horses."

'* Well, marriage, then. (.)f coia-se, Eyerton's wife would

BiTrinrmrrr- 1

■^f'

BLIND FATE.

have a capital position, and everything the female heart
can Mish, including a handsome husband. Moreover, he
is, I can see, rather a fascinating fellow, and as he has
evidently been devoted to you for some time, I am a little
puzzled how you have come to steel your heart against
him."

Silence on Dorothy's part, her large, dark grey eyes look-
ing out over the sea with a dreamy, soft expression.

" Yes, I confess myself puzzled," resumed Standish, watch-
ing her. " I don't want to force any confidence— but — is
the. fortress impregnable because a stronger than Egerton is
already in possession ?"

Dorothy started, tne warm color mantling in her cheek
but still she did not speak.

" I only suggest the notion, because your happiness is
very precious to me, and — and — I would promote it by all
means in my power. Come, my dearest Dorothy, be confi-
dential. Can you not tell me the secret of your proud, fiery
heart ?"

" Yes, most of them, but, Paul, would you like to give
me to this man ?"

"No — by heaven, no! " cried Standish, with unnecessary
energy. '' I would rather have you at hand to soothe my
declining vears, and give me my last cup of gruel, but I am
bound toplace the advantages of such a marriage before
you, and your indifierence to what would charm most
women half alarms me. Come, my dear ward, your rea-
sons?"

" I think," began Dorothy, thoughtfully and slowly,
" that Mr. Egerton might be charming — perhaps irresist-
ible, if he loved, but somehow or other I feel quite con-
vinced that he does not love me ! "

"My dear Dorothy, what an absurd impression. Why
should he ask you to marry him ? Why seek you at all,
were he not strongly attracted '? you have no particular ad-
vantages of rank or wealth — indeed, Egerton wants noth-
ing of that kind."

" Yes, it is all very curious, I know it seems absurd to
say so, but I feel quite sure he does not care a straw for
me."

" How do you know ? What is at the bottom of this
preposterous conviction ?"

" Nothing at all that any sensible person would consider
proof," returned Dorothy in a deliberate tone, dwelling on

p-'5 g "pr»^TT

BLIND FATE.

lale heart
•reover, he
>s he has
u a little
)rrt against

eyes look-

iOD.

sh, watch-
e— but — is
Egerton is

her cheek

Dpiness is

} it by ail

be confi-

jroud, fiery

B to give

I necessary

00 the my
I, but I am
Ebge before
arm most
your rea-

id slowly,
3 irresist-
ijuite con-
ion. Why
>u at all,
ticular ad-
mts noth-

ibsurd to
p straw for

1 of this

Id consider
reliing on

•f

her words, " but there is no love in his voice or his touch —
or— oh, no !" breaking off suddenly, " there is no love in him
for me, or I conld never be so indifferent to him! "

*'Do you mean to say," looking at her rather sternly
'* that you would love anyone whom you felt or fan-
cied loved you V "

**No, Paul; but if I felt that a man was really in love
with me, I should be sorry for him, and wish I could make
him happy and " she stopped,

' You feel none of these amiable emotions towards Eg-
erton ? "

"Not one! I do not like him. I used. I thought him
delightful when we were in London, but I did not feel the
least bit in love with him, you understand?"

" No, I do not — not half as well as you do. Why, how
have you acquired such an extraordinary amount of heart
lore?" And he looked very steadily at her with a slight
smile on his lip.

"By an exter-^^ive and profound study of novels, 1 sup-
pose, for I have seen very little of life."

"And instinct, my dear child ! Have you not tried your
'prentice hand or eyes on any of the charming young
fellows, red, blue and green, who abound here ? "

" Why, Paul, how could I? Since Herbert came home
we have never gone anywhere, nor inviced anyone."

" True; but before he came, and ever since? for many a
quiet game has been played, of which the lookers-on have
little idea."

" Do you think so ?" said Dorothy absently ; then return-
114 to the original current of her thought, she added gently,
' Well, my dear guardian, I have never tried them."

" I believe so," he returned heartily. '' I think you are
strong enough and proud enough to steer pretty straight
through the life that lies before you — all before, you happy
young thing ! " he added with a sigh. "But don't give
away your heart too readily ; the whole color of your life,
of the lives of such woman as you are, depend on that first
venture."

"Oil, I'll take care," said Dorothy, with an arch smile.
"Antl now you will promise not to trouble me any more
about Mr. Egerton— that is finished."

" I sui)pose so. I will not trouble you, Dorothy, but Eg
erton will ; and Callrn<lil, he is rather keen about tl.c

BLIND FATE.

;)

;!!i!l!]i.l

affair. For my part, I am a little disposed to be on yonr
side. Still, I think tlie fellow is in love with you."

"And I — though I cannot argue about it— feel sure he is
not."

There was a pause. Then Standish, as if to change the
subject definitelj% turned to face the water, and, stretching
out liis hand, said, " That's some foreign craft there you
see, with brown sails, tacking across the bay. She com-
pletes the picture, doesii't she ?"

' Yes. How do you know she is foreign ?"

" I can hardly tell you, but she doesn't look like a
Britisher."

"Ah ! you accept intuitions, too ! " cried Dorothy, a mis-
chievious smile changing her face completely.

'' I do not act upon them," he returned, laughing. After
watching the vessel for a few minutes they went back to
the villa in pleasant confidential conversation.

CHAPTER IV.

" MOTHER CAREY'S CHICKENS."

Colonel Callander prolonged his stay in town for a few
days, as he wished to consult Dr. B , the great special-
ist for nerves, and had to wait for an appointment. His
letters, however, were cheerful, and full of small details,
which showed that he was fast rei^aining his normal con-
dition of mind, and powers of enjoyment.

His wife wrote him every day. Long epistles which ex-
cited Dorothy's surprise. " What can she have to write

about ?" she said to herself. '• For though it is pleasant

our life here—one day is like another."

Since iier confession of doubt respecting Egerton to her
guardian, she had felt happier. She was, perhaps, a little
too ready to (luarrel with him, but she was always restless
till she made friends again.

Mabel did not rall^^ from her attack of neuralgia as
quickly or as completely as Dorothy hoped and expected.

In vain the younger sister urged her to join the Colonel

in town, and avail herself of Dr. B 's skill. She refused

with a degree of impatience thai astonished Dorothy.

Aleantlme, the praotisings and preparations for Miss
Oakley'.-, (concert went on with much vigor. The Dowager
called ovor^ day, and insisted that IMabel should take what

be on your
^ou."
lel sure he is

change the

1, stretching

t there you

She com-

ook like a
►thy, a mis-
ting. After
^ent back to

BLIND FAT 10.

n for a few
•eat special-
nent. His
all details,
lormal con-

which ex-
76 to write
pleasant —

irton to her
ips, a little
lys restless

uralgia as
expected,
he Colonel
be refused,
'othy.

for Miss
e Dowager
take what

she called an " airing" in her agreeable company, and poor
Mabel dared not refuse.

Egerton contrived to be a good deal with Dorothy, and
as lie always talked like a pleasant friend, and seemed to
have laid aside the lover, she had no excuse for quarrelling
with him, while she was somewhat irritated by the quiet
ingenuity with which he contrived to appropriate her, while
everyone else evidently made way for him, always except-
ing Frank Selby, the young rifleman aforementioned, who,
with a certain boyish fun and audacity, boldly tried to
gather all the crumbs that fell from Egerton's richer table.
It pleased and amused Dorothy to assist him as much as
possible.

At all this Standish looked with much interest, seeing
very clearly that Dorothy did not oven like Egerton as well
as she once did. Indeed, the young lady's moods and con-
duct puzzled him a good deal at this time, and he was
somehow less lenient in his judgment on her than for-
merly.

Miss Oakley, whose imagination never suggested a
picture of, repose as a thing to be enjoyed, was always
" making up parties," " organising picnics," or gathering
together somewhat noisy collections of young people to
dine or sup. She enjoyed to the full the liberty which
wealth, and wealth only, bestows on an unmarried woman.
Though willing to be thought much younger. Miss Oakley
supported her pretensions to originality by proclaiming
aloud that at thirty a girl (!) might venture to dispense
with chaperones. In many ways she was a thorn in her
austere aunt's side. Nevertheless slie could bear with much
from a girl whose innate purity and rectitude are guaran-
teed by the possession of four thousand f. year! And then,
Herbert had behaved so heartlessly to hei' ! In short, Mrs.
Callander, senior, could not shut her heart against a
creature so endowed.

"My dear Mabel," cried Miss Oakley, walking un-
ceremoniously into the drawing room of The Knoll one
cool, gray morning, as Dorothy was singing a German
sleeping song to her little niece, who stood beside her, try-
ing to join, while Mabel was playing with her boy on the
sofa; " my dear Mabel, what an idyllic scene I and lam
come to drag you away from your babies. 1 want you to
oome back with me to luncheon. Major St. John and Mr.
Standish are coming, and we will ask Mr. Egertou if we

'*ifl

III llt^Bi

M j I III

BLIND FATE.

meet him. Then they are to escort me to the port. Thoio
is a Spanish or Portuguese ship tliere, and they have a
wonderful parrot who speaks several languages. I want
to buy it. I shall teach it English, and complete its educa-
tion. 1 should like to get on board and see what sort of a
place the ship is. Now I want you and Dorothy to come,
too ; it will be an expedition. I believe there are some cu-
rious old streets about the port, too."

" They are shockingly dirty," said Mabel, " and I have
promised to go out with Mrs. Callander. Slie has deigned
to ask the children, and I think Herbert would be annoyed
if I refused. But Dorothy will go, 1 daresay."

" My dear Mabel," returned Miss Oakley, composing her
round, good-humored face and restless black eyes to a se-
rious asj ect, " what do you do with yourself all day ? You
never join in anything or go anywhere. Do you lie on the
sofa from morning till ni}4ht reading novels ? I do not
wonder at your looking pale aud wo begone ! Why, you
are making an old woman of yourself ! Isn't she Do-
rothy ?"

** I don't think she is very strong," said Dorothy, leaving
the piano and coming to sit beside her sister ; "at all events
she must not be scolded. 1 should like to see the foreign
ship, Henrietta. I will come with you. Let me go and
change my dress."

' ' That is a good girl ; don't be long."

" 1 hear you are as gay as the means of little Fordsea
permit," said Mabel, making room for her cousin on the
sofa beside her by gathering up her baby boy in her arms
aud hushing him gently to sleep.

" It isn't half a bad little place," returned Miss Oakley,
*' and there are so few people to give parties or keep the
ball rolling that they are grateful to anyone who will.
Everyone is very nice to me — indeed, I do very much what
I like. Why, that was Mr. Egerton who passed the win-
dow, wasn't it ?"

" I did not see ; but very likely it was."

** Of course he is here a good deal. How are matters
going on ?"

*♦ Oh ! 1 don't know," wearily,

♦' Nonsense, Mabel, you must know. Surely she will not
be such a goose as to refuse."

" Mr. Egerton," announced Collins, the Colonel's soldier
seryRnt.

BLIND FATE.

port. Thoi o
they have a
^es. I want
cte its educa-
rh&t sort of a
)thy to come,
are some cu-

" and I have
) has deigned

d be annoyed

imposing her
eyes to a se-
illday? You
ou lie on the
s ? I do not
Why, you
m't she Do-

othy, leaving
' at all events
e the foreign
)t me go and

ittle Fordsea

ousin on the

in her arms

iliss Oakley,
3 or keep the
le who will,
much what
3ed the win-

are matters

she will not
jnel's soldier

** Oh! we were just talking of you, Mr. Egerton. I want
you to come back to lunch with me. I have two or three
men guests and Dorothy. We are all going down to the
port after to see what curios we can pick up from the
Spanish sailors. They have a wonderful parrot on which
I have set my heart. I suppose one could hardly find a
real mantilla among these people ? The captain would not
have a wife on board who would be willing for a considera-
tion to part with her best ' go to meeting ' mantilla ?"

*»No, I think not," he said, turning from Mabel, with
whom he had exchanged greetings. " I have seen some of
these people, they are rather rough specimens, there are
only a sprinkling of Spaniards, some are from Valencia, my
mother's country."

" Ah ! yes, to be sure ! You must be our interpreter. I
wish Dorothy would come, I am burning to get luncheon
over and attack these people."

" I am sorry I cannot join you at lunch. I have a par-
ticular engagement with my old skipper. I have some
thoughts of buying the Gitana if the owner satisfies me on
one or two points."

" But you really must !"

'* I am infinitely distressed to be obliged to refuse you,"
said Egerton, airily ; " but I'll try to meet you at the dock.
I believe that Portuguese schooner is lying alongside. I'll
be very happy to translate for you, though my Spanish is
growing rusty. I used to speak it as much as I spoke Eng-
lish while my poor mother lived."

"Oh thanks! a thousand chanks," cried Miss Oakley.
'• Then I feel sure of the i)arrot. Ah ! here comes Dorothy.
How long you have been beautifying? You must scold
this obstinate man, he will not come to lunch, and Dorothy
wiU be obliged to depend on Mr. Selby for an escort."

" No ! Mr. Standish will be there, and I have a sort of
vested right to my guardian," said Dorothy, laughing.

" Come," repeated Miss Oakley, kissing her hand to
Mabel, " we'll bring you a fairing," and she walked briskly
out of the room, while Egerton holding the door open whis-
pered to Dorothy as she passed —

" Standish is a far more formidable rival than Selby I"

Dorothy gave him a startled glance and colored crimson,
saying coldly —

*" toannot understand you."

She hurried after Miss Oakley, her veins tingling with

BLIND FATE.

m h i

Vjxation and a sort of fear. V/as it possible that Egerton
perceived and dared to hi^t at ^%'hat she herself shrunk
from perceiving ? That hint tiirnad the scf le, and as she
walked on briskly beside Miss Oakley, hei^ring, without
listening to, her animated chatter, she made up her mind
that she both disliked and distrusted Egerton, that there
waa something cruel and relentless in his fine dark eyes,
that he tried in some way to dominate her. At the thought,
her spirit rose defiantly. He should find he had no fool to
deal with ! Why did he i>retend to pose as her lover when
he did not care a straw for her ? What was his object ?

The luncheon party was merry and noisy, they chaffed
each other, and talked all together, and told stories, more
or less credible ; but Miss Oakley cut them short and ex-
pressed her anxiety to start in search of the much desired
parrot.

" What's the matter Dorothy ?" asl^^d Standish, as they
sallied forth. ' ' You have neither eaten nor talked."

" Don'" mind, dear,'' cried Miss Oakky, wxio overheard
the remark. " He is to meet us presently, you know," and
with an insufferably knowing smile she fell back to allow
Major St. John joining her.

Standish laughed.

" That is what m.ay be called delicaio tact," he said ;
"I'm glad eyes cannot kiU or it would be all over with our
dear Henrietta '? T never thought you could develop into
such a fierce — what shall I say, warrior augel."

"Paul, you are unkind, and you do not care that I am
annoyed and worried."

" Why, Dorothy, what is there to worry you?" Ino one
can force you to do what you don't wish, and I must say
your annoyance does not suggest indifference."

♦♦ Indifference," she repeated in a low, earnest tone. " No !
indifference is mer^-^ed in dislike."

" I never knew you luireasonable — that is, decidedly un-
reasonable, before."

" I suppose, on the whole that is a compliment," said
Dorothy, drily. Further coaversation was prevented by
Mr. Selby, who attached himself to Dorothy. Slie was very
qniet and silent, but her young admirer was quite willing
to do aU the talking himself.

Standish was guide. He had rambled much about the
older parts of Eastport during those early hours when his
t'siuU companions were either in bed or at breakfast, and

BLIND FATE.

) that Egerton
)erself shrunk
le, and as she
ring, without
e up her mind
;on, that there
ne dark eyes,
Lt the thought,
had no fool to
ler lover when
his object ?
, they chafEed
stories, more
short and ex-
much desired

idish, as they
uaiked."
no overheard
>u know," and
back to allow

ct," he said ;
over with our
develop into
1."
are that I am

>u?" l\o one
id I must say

St tone. '' No !

decidedly un-

pliment," said
prevented by
Slie was very
quite willing

ich about the
>urs when his
ireakfast, and

he now led them through narrow street i of red-roofed, ir-
regular 1 ouses with many a projecting window and deep
porch th ckly studded with tavevns and public-houses
adorned by curious, quaint signi, past a very old red-brick,
owo-storied church, with dormer windows in the roof and
an ivy-grown square tower that boasted some fine bells,
altogether a remarkable mixture of the dwelling-house and
the sanctujj,ry, past an evil-smelling fish market, where
wonderful " old tars " male and female, for the fish wives
were scarcely womanly, and through groups of fishy sea-
faring men, down to a small dock, its walls much battered
and gray with age and weather, into which the sea ran at
high water, receding as the tide fell and leaving an abyss
of malodorous mud behind. This was the only harbor
for emit unconnected with the navy, and all the small fry
of vessels which brought foreign merchandise, and they
were not many, went into it.

" Look on this picture — and on this," said Standish,
with a slight nod in the direction of an ancient " purveyor
of fish," who invited them to hxiy, and whose coarse, tann-
ed upper garment was turned back, showing a much-
stained striped and ragged petticoat, anu then touching
Dorothy's dain'/ costume, "The force of idealising could
no further go,"

" Yet that poor old thing must have been pretty once,"
said Dorothy glancing kiudly at her. "How terrible the
oW. age of the poor must be. When tliey can no longer work
they become burdens, and I am afraid their relatives do not
disguise the fact."

" Yet there is a wonderful amount of kindness from the
poor to the poor, and granted the difference of habit and
manner between social grades, I don't suppose one class is
much })arder to its poor old dependants than another. It is
the absolute physical needs of itoverty-stricken old age that
are a»o sad. I don't think wo have half enough refuges for
the aged. Sug{;est this sort of occupation and excitement
to your friend, JVliss OakJey. A set of almshouses on the
hill behind the town tin re, would look picturesque — or
might look picturesque — and give comfort and rest to some
poor, worn-out toilers.'*

" Pray mention the plan yoiu'self ; you have a good deal
more intluence than 1 have,"

' Tber* ia tho dock mid there is the ship. It is the sc^me

L3^^

i«!i

Mi!

i I

iifflii ^

BLIND FATE.

we saw standing across the bay the other evening, you re-
member."

•' I do. How picturesque the old place looks, and the
masts and cordage against the soft grey sky, the general
leaden hue, and the bright red caps of those sailors who
are grouped round that gentleman. Why, it is Mr. Eger-
ton !"

" Yes, there is Mr. Egerton," cried Miss Oakley, coming
up with them as they paused. '* 1 was sure he would be
before us."

A few minutes more brought them to the spot where
Egerton stood talking with some of the swarthy crew.
" Well !" he exclaimed, coming forward to meet them ; " I
have been sounding some of my demi-semi compatriots,
and they are ready to sell you everything, their ship and
themselves into the bargain, but they are a little uncertain
about the parrot. It belongs to a Portuguese fellow called
Gruiseppe, who speaks a little English, so is gone into the
town to market. The crew are chiefly Poi Luguese, with a
sprinkling of Moors and Spaniards. I miut say my Span-
ish cousins are the only good-looking fellows among them.
I am rather proud that they understand me. There, that
tall sailor, who is so terribly in need of an outfit, he comes
from my mother's part of the country, and recognised some
of my expressions as Valencian." He signed to the man to
approach, wliich he did, with a graceful, haughty bow.

While Egerton spoke to him, Dorothy looked earnestly
at the strong, active form, the swarthy face of the sailor,
with its glittering darJs: eyes, massive cruel jaw, and some-
what overharigiug brow. The mouth was hidden by a thick
jet-black moustache, through winch the stroug white teeth
showed when he spoke and smiled.

"Yes he is good-looking — very handsome ''ndeed; but 1
should be afraid of him. He looks as it he would murder
anyone for sixpence."

*' Sixpence ! No, two-and-sixpence, perhaps," said Eger-
ton, laughing. *' But i assure you, Spanish peasants are
very fine fellows. I used to like tliem immensely when I
stayed in the country some years ago. I don't know much
of the seafaring population. I don't suppose they stick to
trities,^ — Miss Oakley," he continued, " 1 have asked the
men to bring any curiosities they may have out here. I
don't think the ship is exactly the most cleanly or agree-
able spot to drive a bargain in."

'''■m

' ' ;7fl^ "^ ■^■■'■™'-*"- *■

BLIND FATE.

ling, you re-

>ks, and the

the general

sailors who

s Mr. Eger-

sley, coming
le would be

spot where
arthy crew,
t them ; " I
compatriots,
eir ship and
le uncertain
ellow called
me into the
aeae, with a
ly my Span-
.mong them.

There, that
fit, he comes
gnised some
) the man to
ity bow.
ed earnestly
f the sailor,
7, andsome-
u by a thick

white teeth

ideed ; but 1
3uld murder

" said Eger-
)easaiits are
«ely when I
know much
hey stick to
3 asked the
>ut hei-e. I
ily or agree-

Here some eager talk and pointing of hands towards the
town among tho sailor« dr»w his attention to a short, broad
man coming toward tJaem, a net full of vegetables slung
over his shoulder, a broad, brawny, good-humored faced
man, with black ringles, and a smiling mouth never quite
closed over his brilliantly white teeth. Hastening his steps
at the general cry of "Guiseppe," he deposited his net in
their midst, took oft" his cap and bowed with much de-
ference.

" You ought to be more lenient to my friuad Diego," said
Egerton aside to Dorothy. ' ' He has asked me who the fair,
beautiful angel is ; if she is my— sister."

'' I am much obliged to him. Even his flattering appro-
bation does not change my opinion."

Meantime, Miss Oakley, finding that Guiseppe spoke
English, began negotiations with him at once."

The Portuguese was all that deferential politeness
could demand, but asked an exorbitant price for his parrot,
and stuck to it. His broken English amused Miss Oakley,
and she prolonged the bargaining to make him talk. Gui-
seppe vowed that the bird T;/as as dear to him as a brother;
that it had a most extraordinary history. " Once," said
its proud owner, " he had been wrecked, and contrived to
escape to an uninhabited island, when he suddenly found
himself addressed by this parrot — who was perched on a
tree — in Spanisii, too; rather curious Spanish — and the
bird had attached itself to him — had accompanied him
when be was rescued. They had never b( en parted since.
Stay, he would letch it to show the lady. It was a wonder-
ful bird. No money would pay him Tor it." He picked up
his net of vegetables and went on board the ship.

"He is goiuL^ to ask a big price," said Egerton to Miss
Oakley. "Don't give it."

"Butl siiouldlike to have the bird," she exclaimed. "It
is such a curious story. Why, it may be a hundred yeara
old. You know they live to an immense age."

"Indeed."

*'0h, you are horribly incredulous."

"It is «: pi ituresque group, said Standish, calmly scrutin-
ising the figures before him ; "th se dark desperadoes, the
accurately dressed Ej^lishman, Miss Oakley, and your-
self, and the backgronnc^ of grey sea and sky. You seem
to have fascinated Egerton's V^aleucian friend. He is
gazing in wonder and admiration at you."

"ir^

BLIND FATE.

■■ :
t

m '•

mmA

I \M

ill

"I think he is very like Mr. Egerton, or rather Mr.
Eoerton would be very like him in the same clothes."

Standish lau-^hed heartily. ''Fancy Egerton in those
rags! I cannot say I see the likeness."

"Well, I do," returned Dorothy with a shudder.

Standisli looked at her surprised.

"Have yon caught cold, Dorotliy," he asked, with more
earneflness than the occasion seemed to need.

"Yes— I suppose so — I feel chilled to the heart," said
Dorothy, as if the words escaped her involunLarily. Stan-
dish looked round.

"I wish there was some wrap here to put round you," he
exclaimed.

"Stand near me," murmured Dorothy. "I — you will think
me foolish — but 1 do not like these people."

"You are far more fanciful than you used to be, but if
you wish me near you, no one shall come between us," and
he drew closer to her. "See," he continued, "here comes
Guiseppe and his parrot. It is no great beauty to look at."

Then the chaffering began. Guiseppe vowing at last
that no money would tempt him to part with his dear tried
companion, but he could refuse the beautiful lady nothing,
so he would give it to her, and she should give him what
little token of acknowledgment she liked.

"What a nice, generous little man, she cried. "Well
then, will live pounds be enough."

With a gesture of resignation he said : "Whatever the
lady likes," and scratched his Poll's head with a senti-
mental air.

"Do iind out what will satisfy him," said Miss Oakley
to Egerton.

"If he is not satisfied he ought to be," he returned.

"Will you bring the parrot to me early to-morrow to
the Pier Hotel,"' she continued. "There is my card, you
and I will settle the matter between us. I will have a nice
new cage ready. You must tell me what the dear thing
eats and drinks ! Poor Poll, pretty Poll!" — she attempted
to stroke it, but the "pretty creature" made a fierce, de-
termined attempt to bite the caressing hand, and uttered a
volley of choice epithets which did credit to the resources
of the Spanish tongue.

The sailors laughed unrestrainedly, and even Egerton
smiled.

'» 'Tis because he is in my hand, signora," cried Guiseppe.

►r rather Mr.

othes."

m in those

der.

., with more

heart," said
larily. Stan-

ind you," he

>u will think

to be, but if

Jen us," and

"here comes

to look at."

ing at last
is dear tried
,dy nothing,
'■e him what

ied. "Weil

hatever the
ith a senti-

iiiss Oakley

irned.

i-morrow to
Y card, you
have a nice
dear thing
I attempted
a. fierce, de-
id uttered a
e resources

en Egerton

dGuiseppe.

BLIND FATE.

Ha will love you in a week, and 1 leave myself to your
generosity."

"It is all over with you, Miss Oakley, if you bargain
witih the devil single-handed."

'But don't you see there will be no bargaining. He
leaves everything to me."

Egerton shrugged his shoulders, and Guiseppe, with a
bow and an a^.r of humanity, stepped back to make way
for a gaunt, grivjzled, Jewish-looking man, who offered
an old dagger, with a curiously wrought silver hilt and
scabbard, frightfully in want ot plate brush and powder,
while another produced some bits of gold filagree. These
last Dorothy admired, and Standish bought immediately.
These were all the curios that could be found, and after
some further talk with the smiling, gesticulating Guiseppe
Miss Oakley and party moved ofE, while the foreign sailors
closed up and continued to talk and laugL loudly among
themselves.

Egerton took his place beside Dorothy, with the evident
intention of accompanying her home, and Standish, re-
minded by a glance of his promise to keep near her, held
#1 his position at her other side. After a friendly good-bye
from Miss Oakley, and an explanation that they could not
meet again that day, the party divided, and youn^^ Selby
went disconsolately away to solace himself with a game of
pool before dressing for dinner.

On reaching The Knoll Dorothy bid both her companions
good-bye.

" I am too tired to talk any more," she said, with a
pleasant, arch smile, that took all asperity from her words,
" and as Mabel appears to have gone out 1 will not ask you
to come in."

Standish shook his head. *' You must remember my
holiday is nearly over, I shall come to-morrow early.
Why, I haven't seen Mabel to-day."

" 1 dare not take such liberties," said Egerton, " but I
hope to have a glance of you both to-morrow."

'* Auf wiedersehn," cried Dorothy, waving her hand be-
fore disappearing into the house.

The two men walked away silently for a few paces.

They wore by no means as congenial as before. Standish

could not account for it. Egerton was always agreeable

,^ and obliging, but of late he had been less cordial — morere-

p served. Whenever he saw Standish installed in Mabel's

^•:*U'«<4gm#l«

BLIND FATE.

jilt

m\-

'Ml!

!.j

ai«^ xjag-room he seemed, with all his tact in masking his
feeliugs, to be too irritated to resist uttering stinging though
veiled allusions to the extraordinary conscientiousness
with which Standish performed his duties as guardian or
watch dog.

" Can it be that I create any jealous feeling in his mind?"
thought Standish. " Does he think that a bright, fastid-
ious, and rather romantic young creature like Dorothy
would give more than a friendly thought to a fellow old
enough, or nearly old enough, to be her father ? — who has
been pretty well battered in the struggle for life, a^id with
a host of not exhilarating memories behind him. God for-
bid that such an idea should ever be sui^^ested to her, to
tarnish the happy familiarity of our intercourse, or check
her frank confidence in me ! Yet iu some ways she is older
than Mabel, bolder, stronger, riper ; she has grown more
womanly of late too, very much more! Handsome, wealtiiy
well born as he is, I doubt if Egerton is worthy of her." He
glanced at his companion. His brows were knit, and his
mouth set with a hard expression. Catching Standish's
eyes he laughed a slight, good-humored laugh, his expres-
sion changing completely.

" You think i am the picture of a rejected lover," he said,
with an air of frank confidence. ' ' The fact is I am both
riled and disheartened. Your fascinating little ward is so
resolutely cold ! If I thought she had given her heart to
anyone else — of course I would not annoy her by pressing
my suit. But I don't think she hati. She amuses herself
with that boy Selby; it is the instinct of the cat-like fem-
inine nature to torment any mouse that lets itself be caught.
Why should she not fancy me? I have always got on very
well with women? it's some girlish whim, and I assure
you I am convinced that patience and perseverance are
levers which shall lift her resistance and shiver it to atoms,
especially as 1 am sure of your oor sent when I can win
hers! What a dainty, charming little witch it is ! Her
gravity — her apparent pensiveness is so piquant when you
know what a dash of the devil there is under it ! To inspire
such a creature as that with a real, downright passion
would be worth a good deal of trouble, don't you think so?"
turning sharply and looking full into his companian's
face.

Standish suddenly flushed under his tanned skin, and
met Egerton's eyes with a cold, grave look.

tasking his
ging though
lentiousness
uardian or

Q his mind?"
ght, fastid-
ke Dorothy

fellow old
? — who has
3, a^d with
Q. God for-

to her, to
e, or check
J she is older
jrown more
me, wealthy
r of her." He
it, and his
Standish's

his expres-

ver," he said,
I am both
e ward is so
er heart to
by pressing
uses herself
at-] ike fem-
ielf be caught.
3 got on very
id I assure
jverance are
r it to atoms,
I can win
it is ! Her
nt when you
it! To inspire
ight passion
ou think so?"
companian's

led skin, and

BLIND FATE. 53

" The love of such a woman is doubtless well worth the
trouble of wiuning,'* he said, seriously. " Win it if you
can."

" Do you know there's a tou/n of defiance in your tone ?"
returned Egerton, laughing. " I don't think vou are as
heartily on my side as Callander is."

" Why should I not be on yotr side ? You are what all
match-makers would call an unexceptional parlV

" Oh ! there is no knowing the depths of inscrutable
motive in so experienced an old fellow as you are !" Then,
drawing out his watch, he went on, "Five-thirty! I'll
have time to catch the six forty-tive express. I think I'll
run up to town for twenty-four hours. There are various
things to be attended to which I have neglected. You'll
excuse my leaving you so abruptly, but I have to dress and
give my man so mo directions. Good-bye till to-morrow.
Make my excuses at The Knoll.' He jumped into an open
iiy which was crawling near and which he had hailed, and,
ordering the man to " Beach House Hotel," drove rapidly
away.

Standish looked after him, a curious expression contrast-
ing his brow. " She is right," he said to himself, "he doce
not love her ; there was not a note of love or even passion
in his tones. What can his game be ? And what magic
has opened Dorothy's eyes to the truth ? It is all beyond
my comprehension."

Mrs. Callander came back from her walk looking, as
Dorothy thought, unusually well — with more than her or-
dinary color. " I met Mrs. Markham, and we took a stroll
on the beach together. She is very amusing and told me
some droll stories of the people she had known at Naples
and Palermo, when her husband was on the Mediterranean
station. Real life seems much more extraordinary than
the life of novels," said Mabel, as she sat with her sister at
their evening meal.

" I dare say it is. Henrietta Oakley and I had a glimpse
of the romantic — the roughly romantic — side of it to-day,"
and Dorothy proceeded to describe their visit to the old
dock and their interview with Guiseppe.

" What quantities of money Henrietta must spend," said
Mrs. Callander. " She is very generous and good-natured.
But I cannot believe Mr. Egerton could be like a common
sailor, Dorothy."

" He was, I assure you, but the man was not a common

iiuMfhiJ

If; Hi

BLIND FATE.

sailor. He was very handsome, though wicked-looking —
just like Mr. E^erton mi^ht have been if he had not been
educated and trained and taught his catechism and made
an English gentleman of."

•* He certainly is more an English gentleman than any-
thing else."

" Goodness knows," returned Dorothy.

The"e was a pause. Then, with some hesitation, Mabel
said, in a soft, caressing voice, "Are you sure, dear Dorothy,
that you ds not — cannot love Randal Egerton ?"

•' Yes ; (iuite sure," returned Dorothy, promptly, "Would
you wish me to marry him ?"

''I only wish for what woul<i make you happy — happy as
a dream, dear, dearest sister. Don't you know how I love
you ? Nearly as well as my children ; but, oh, I envy you,
Dorothy."

" Envy me ? Why i'" smiling, and stretching out her
hand to her sister.

•' Oh, because you are so much stronger than I am. If
you do not like or approve anything you can say no. You
cannot fancy how impossible it is to me to say no to a per-
son who asks me to say yes ! "

'* Well, fortunately you have not much trouble in that
way, Mabel, for you have all you want, and-^ "

" Oh, Dorothy ! I have my troubles too — just now, I
mean. I have been writing to say 'no' to Herbert this
morning."

" What about ? " asked Dorothy, startled and greatly
p mazed.

'*■ About this expedition to Switzerland, or wherever he
wanted to go. I really do not feel equal to it. I do not
feel as if I could go."

Her big blue eyes looked imploringly at her sister.
Dorothy grew very grave. " He Wiil be awfully veiled.
What has induced you to ^ive it up ? ■'

'* Just what I i)o\d you. I cannot go."

"Dear Mabel ! I wish you had talked to me first I wish
you had not done this. It will be such a blow to Herbert.
A quiet journey with you would havo done h'uj. so much
good. Have you ^^^osted the letter ? "

" Yes ; he will g;«>t it this evening."

"Ab, that is the worst time. I do wish you had not
written. Unless you are really unwell (and I have been

'U<

BLIN? FATE.

ced-looking —
had not been
sm and made

an than any-

kation, Mabel
dear Dorothy,

ptly. "Would

py— happy as
77 how I love
h, I envy you,

hing out her

lan I am. If
say no. You
,y no to a per-

ouble in that

j»

-just now, I
Herbert this

1 and greatly

c wherever he
it. I do not

,t her sister,
wfully ve:^ed,

? first. I wish

ow to Herbert.

h'uA so much

you had not

id I have been

very uneasy about you) you could surely manage to boar a
little travelling, and it would do you good, I am sure. You
have had such a strained, dazed look lately. I am sure
your neuralgia has been worse than you admit. This will
be a great blow to Herbert. I feel it will be. Do tele-
graph to say that you will be ready to start — that you are
better. Do, dear Mabel. You know in his state of health
it might "

"That is just it," interrupted Mabel, with tremulous
eagerness. " Suppose he were taken ill when I was alone
with him ? I should not know what to do, I should be
quite unnerved."

" Mabel, this is not like you. You ought not to have re-
fused. I am dreadfully distressed."

" Ah, Dorothy," cried Mabel, pressing her haiids tightly
together, " you must not desert me. You must keep on my
side. We have always loved each other, and you must
back me up about this horrid journey. Why need Herbert
go wandering about ? The tranquility of his own house is
better for him than noisy hotels and rapid journeys. I will
do all I can for him here, and then, you know him, if he
thinks I do not want to go he won't care about it. He
must be a great deal better from his report of what Dr. B.
says— that a few month's care and quiet will entirely re-
store him — and he was much more cheerful before he went
to town."

" That may all be true, still — oh, Mabel ! how had you
the heart to disappoint him ? "

Mabel's only answer was to rise, and, approaching her sis-
ter who was standing near the window, she threw her arms
round her, and laying her head on her shoulder pressed her
closely till Dorothy felt the strong beating of her heart, the
quick, sobbing breath. " You do not know. You cannot
understand."

" 1 cannot, indeed, unless you tell me. Why do you
keep anything from me dearest? I am not very wise, but
it is well to look at things sometimes through other peo-
ple's eyes. Oh, that I had some magic lo draw back that
letter before it reaches Herbert's hands. I wish you had
never written itl "

CHAPTER V.

"A CHANGE IN PLAN.'"

Dorothy was inclined to think that she had allowed her

lii

liiv

il ' :

ill,

BLIND FATE.

imagination to cheat her into unnecessary terrors, when
after two days of vague indescribable anxiety Colonel
Callander wrote in reply to his wife. He simply remarked
that as she was indisposed for the trip she had suggested,
it was better to give it up, but that he was sorry to do so.
"I shall return about the 5th," he added, "and as I have
a touch of fever and ague, both of which are worse at
night, you had better have my own room made ready for

»»

me.

"How thoughtful he is," cried Dorothy. "He is so afraid
of disturbing you."

"Yes! He is good — very good! I am glad hethouglit
of it, though ! I am feverish and restless enough myself.
I cannot breathe unless I have my window open all night."

"That is not safe, Mabel."

"Why, what could make it unsafe? With that wide
area around the house it is like being on the second
story."

"Oh. yes, safe enough in that way. I thought of the
night air, your chest is not too st^^ong."

"I am strong enough — physically,'' said Mabel with a
sigh.

Callander was better than his woid, and the day before
the date he had fixed for his return, he presented himself
at the hotel, when his mother was resting after her drive,
before retiring to her room to dress for dinner.

"Why Herbert ! I did not know you had returned," she
exclaimed, "yoa were not expected till to-morrow."

' 'I thought I had better break away, as I have had a
reminder from my old enemies fever and ague, and every
day something turned up to delay me."

"I thought you were feeling much better. I can't say yon
look it."

"I was greatly better, but the bad nights I get now
are against me. 1 found an empty house, so I came on
hera"

"Exactly, any port in a storm," said Mrs. Callander,
with a dry laugh. "Yes, the whole party are out in Mr.
Egerton's yacht. They are coming back to some sort of
supper at your house. They generally end their very Bohem-
ian excursions there."

"I suppose so," he returned. "Mabel ought not to send
her friends empty away."

"You are a most indulgent husband, my dear son, indeed

:^i£^^£%.'

BLIJND FATE.

terrors, when
xiety Colonel
ply remarked
tad suggested,
)rry to do so.
and as I have
are worse at
ade ready for

[e is so afraid

id he thought
lough myself,
en all night."

ith that wide
)n the second

lought of the

Vlabel with a

the day before
ented himself
if ter her drive,
er.

returned," she
>rrow."

I have had a
;ue, and every

I can't say you

ts I get now
so I came on

!rs. Callander ,
are out in Mr.
D some sort of
ir very Bohem-

o-ht not to send

lear son, indeed

Hahel ought to think herself the happiest of women, pro-
Dubly she does. We have seen somewhat more of each
other since you were away. I have frequently taken her
out to drives, and I think if she were away from that very
flippant sister of hers, she "

"I see no room for improvement in my wife," returned
Call a nder coldly. "Of course I should like her to be a
dau ghter to you." His mother sighed obtrusively.

"I am sure I am her truest friend if she would believe
it." Then Mrs. Callander wisely digressed to some other
topics connected with friends and acquaintances, and got
little more than monosyllabic replies to her questions.

"Mr. Egerton is still in close attendance on your sister-
in-law," she said presently. "It is time I think that —
that the engagement were announced, for while she is free
Dorothy thinks she has a right to amuse herself with
everyone and anyone. There is a young subaltern in
Major St. John's regiment whom she encourages in a way
I do not approve,"

"I suppose all women are pretty much alike where ad-
mirers and admiration are concerned."

"No, Herbert, not all women."

"Well, look at Henrietta Oakley, she is an unlimited
flirt."

"Henrietta Oakley," said Mrs. Callander, in a dig-
nified tone, "is in a very different position from Dorothy
Wynn."

"True, and considerably older into the bargain.''

"She is more impulsive than I like, but she is a righ
minded and reliable gentlewoman for all that."

There was a pause.

"Will you join meat dinner, Herbert?" asked his
mother. **Yoa will get nothing to eat till late at home.
I know the evening repast is generally ordered to be served
at eight or nine o'clock by Mr. Standish, who is master of
the house in your absence, and is, I must say, strangely
domineering."

"Of course, as my wife's former guardian, he is naturally
her referee and protector when I am avvay. He generally
gets on very well with women, why don't you like him?"
Callander who had kept his eyes on the carpet suddenly
raised them and looked full at his mother, who unimagin-
ative as she was, was startled by their expression.

"You need not be so angry, Herbert," she said. "I don't

'^-ii

'p. \

I'll : ;|.':i ,111

Sjli]||ulii

BUND l^'ATE.

like Mr. Standish because he thinks quite too much oi
himself, in the first place ; unci iu the second, j^uardian
though he is, he is still too young to be seen perpetually
with Mabel ; we know it is all right, but society will put
an evil con "

"Stop!" said Callander, putting up his hands as if boldly
to repel the idea. "This ia a subject on which I will not
hear you. You exaggerate; it is not for me to listen. Drop
this subject or we shall cease to bo friends. Now, I shall
leave you. The children at least will liave returned, and
I have brought thorn some presents which I should like to
give them myself."

''To-morrow, then, will you and Mabel dine with m©?''

' ' With pleasure, if she is disengaged."

The children were at tea when the Colonel reached the
Knoll, and received him with rapture. Little Dolly was
n\ade quite happy because " Father" sat down beside her,
and took some sips out of her cup. Then the new toys were
produced, and Callander seemed a very different man from
Mrs. Callander's tactiturn visitor of half an hour before.

When, after dusk, Mabel ana her guests reached home
Callander was most warmly greeted by the whole party
and much desultory conversation ensued, in which he took
his part. Then Miss Oakley took possession of him, de-
claring slie had some business matters to discuss, and they
or rather she, talked for a considerable time in a dim cor-
ner of the drawing-room, till Standish annoimced that he
was quite ready to escort Miss Oakley to her hotel. Cal-
lander seemed to have communicated his talent for s'lence
to his friend Egerton, for ho scarcely spoke.

Dorothy felt infinitely relieved when they were alone
As soon as she had made a few affectionate inquires as to
Callander's health, she bid them good-night, hoping that a
little private talk would clear away any shadow of misun-
derstanding between husband and wife.

Next day Callander produced some trinkets for each sis-
ter, and after looking at the papers, went off to join the
children on tlie beach. As soon as Dorothy was alone with
her bister she asked. " Is all right with Herbert ?"

"Yes, quite right. I told you he would not mind. We
will try and make him as comfortable as possible now."
" Yes, of course ! but, Mabel, he looks awfully bad.**

BLIND FATE.

too much 01
end, j^uardiaii
311 perpetually
)ciety will put

ds as if boldly
ioh I will not
listen. Drop
Now, I shall
returned, and
sh ould like to

le with me?''

reach ed the
e Dolly was
n beside her,
new toys were
int man from
hour before.

eached home

whole party

/^hich he took

of him, de-
uss, and they
in a dim cor-
nced that he

hotel. Cal-
ut for s'.lence

were alone,
nquires as to
hoping that a
dow of misun-

i for each sis-
: to join the
vas alone with
)ert ?"

)t mind. We
sible now."
ully bad."

" He does, poor dear fellow. It is this horrid ague.
When 1 bid him good-night he was trembling all over. It
is some time since he had such au attack. We must get
his old prescription made up. I will join him presently on
the beach. What are you going to do, Dorothy ?"

" Oh ! there is tlie everlasting practice with Henrietta."

" TJien I will tell Paul to go and take you away at one
o'clock. Herbert would like to see you at luncheon."

Dorothy sped away with a light heart. The clouds she
fancied so threatening were breaking, and behind them lay
clear, blue sky.

The holiday so much enjoyed by Paul Standish was
nearly over. Egerton tried to prevent anything like tete-
a-tete interviews between him and his ward during the last
few days, to Dorothy's great disgust. There was such a
thorough sense of companionship between the two, that
any third person spoiled their frank intercourse, and Eger-
ton's third was particularly unpleasant to Dorothy.

It was, then, a great relief to her mind when Paul pre-
sented himself, unaccompanied, in Miss Oakley's sitting-
room at the time appointed, and they walked leisurely back
to " The Knoll," talking pleasantly of many things.

" So Callander took his disappointment about his intend-
ed second edition of the ' Honeymoon' very calmly," said
Standish.

"Very kindly and calmly, though 1 think he was woe-
fully disappointed. Perhaps he is better at homo, as he has
had return of fever andagua He is a dear, I think Mabel
is so lucky to have found such a husband ! "

" I think she is. What shall I do when you marry too ?
My occupation will be o'er, without a wilful ward to man-

age.'

She has a
fancy you

" You can find some occupatit a in Dolly,
very pretty little will of her own! But don't
will get rid of me so soon."

" I suspect I shall. I don't think Egerton is a man to be
easily beaten, and I believe greatly in the effects of perse-
verence, especially here the object to be won has a warm
heart, a ^jrateful nature."

" Thanks for your good opinion," said Dorothy, coloring,
" but I don't find any especial gratitude in my nature to-
wards Mr. Egerton. You know what my belief is as re-
gards his professions. I do not think he cares for me. If
he did, some electric current of sympathy would make me

BLIND FATE.

)

considerate for him, instead of feeling as I do as hard as
flint."

"It is a most extraordinary impress!^ , and I cannot
share it," he returned, thoughtfully. "You will find out
your mistake some nne day, then there will be a revolution
in your mind. Keep me posted up in the interesting his-
tory, Dorothy. I shall look for your letters. If you hold
out against Egerton there is but one way of accounting for
it."

" You are wrong on all points," said Dorothy, hastily,
shaking her head ar.d smiling archly. " We'll discuss this
when we meet in town."

u Very well. When do you they of coming up? "

"Oh, if Herbert is well eu'^ngh, they are going to Gen-
eral Urquhart's for some shooting in November. I am to
remain here until they find a house in town, and then we
join forces."

•• WgU, I am obliged to go to Berlin to amuse myselt for
some little time rfext week. I shall be home again before
you come up to town."

These woras brought them to the house, and in the hall
they found nurse (Mrs. McHugh) looking for one of Miss
Dolly's gloves, which she had lost.

" Has Mrs. Caliander come in ? "

" No^ Miss ; she was going oat to meet the Colonel early,
butjastasshe was putting on her hat in the hall, two
outlandish men came to the front door — by good luck I
hadn't gone cut, so I waited with the missus, for I must
say they were ugly customers. Thuy belong to that foreign
ship there, and I say they oiii;ht not to be let rampage
about, frightening respectable i)eople. One was a great,
tall, wild-looking fellow with eyes like a tiger, in a manner
of speaking, the other, a fat little chap; with curls, both
nearly as dark as niggers; the little one spoke a queer soit
of English."

"What did they want, Nurse?" asked Standish.

"Well, sir, they came inside the door as bold as brass,
and the little fellow, he asked for 'the other young lady.'
So I up and says, * What young lady ? ' for I saw my
missTis was frigh' ?ned, and he says, 'The young lady as
came to the ship with the gentleman what speaks Spanish.'

' She's not at home,' says I. ' Then,' says he, ' maybe
this lady would look at what my comrade here has to show.'
With that the tali one pulled offhir rod cap and took a

wai
fori

rij«^p-vCT-;>v,;ff"prj;7.-tj«7;;/

as hard

at foreign
rampage
as a great,
n a manner
curls, both

queer soit

ih.

d as brass,
^ng lady.'
saw my
Iff lady as
i Spanish.'
, ' maybe
s to show.'
id took a

md I cannot
will find out

a revolution
:eresting his-

If you hold
icounting for

;hy, hastily,
discuss this

ip?"

>ing to Gen-
r. I am to
and then we

56 myselt for
again before

i in the hall
me of Miss

)lon6l early,
B hall, two
)od luck I
for I must
bh
)t

BLIND FATE.

little bag all sewn with gold and silver, but that dirty, and
took out a queer green stone all covered over with figures.
'This is a something,' I can't remember the word, ' a charm,'
says the little man, ' that belonged to the Moors.' Now I
knew that was a lie, for the Moores are an old Irish fam-
ily, my mother's people, and no such thing as that ever
came out of Ireland."

" What did my sister do ? " asked Dorothy.

" Oh, sho took it and looked at it, and asked if the young
lady wanted it. So the littlo .xian said the young lady
wanted curiosities, and they had none, for they had
forgotten this thing, which hung round one of their filthy
necks, it seems; anyhow Mrs. Callander was taken with it,
but when the little man asked two pounds for it, I first
told her it was throwing away good money. Po we bar-
gained a bit, and they agreed to let us have it for twenty-
five shillings. Then the missus says, ' Stay here, N ursy,
I'll go fetch my purse. Then, back she comes, and gives
the gold piece and five shillings, with a sweet smile, and
says she, so gentle and sweet, ' I hope it will bring me
good luck,' says she. ' How long are you going to be
here ? ' and the little man answers that they might sail
any day. All this time the black-looking sailor never took
his eyes off her. I saw him glance at her beautiful rings.
I can teli you I was right glad to see the back of them."

'' Poor men ! why should you make up your mind they
are thieves because they look shabby '? "

" Well, Miss Dorothy, they looked more than that, they
looked thorough cut-throats, "

"Don't say so, nurse," said Dorothy, smiling. " When I
spoke to these men — I am sure they are the same — I thought
the tallest very like Mr. Egerton."

" That ragamuffin," cried Nurse, indignantly. ' ' God
forgive you. Miss Dorothy, an elegant gentleman like him."

Egerton was Nurse's beau-iOeal of a high bred open-hand-
ed squire of high degree, " not a bit proud, ready to say a
kind word," &c., &c.

. " But there, I must be going ! that girl will be letting the
children turn the nursery upside down."

" Servants and dogs seem to have an instinctive objec-
tion to rags," said Standish, laughing, as Mrs. McHugh
walked away.

" Nurse is rather kindly and charitable
fancy it was Mabel's fright that annoyed

to beggars,
her. Mabel

BLIND FATE.

terribly nervous. I wish she had not paid such a higL
price for a tiling I daresay I shall not care to have,** said
Dorothy.

"If it is a real Moorish amulet it is a curiosity, and
worth having, even if all the Moores in Ireland repudiate
it," observed Staudish. "Mabel is late, it is half-past one."

" Here she is," cried Dorothy, as Mrs. Callander slowly
ascended the steps and crossed the threshold.

" Is Herbert not here ?" were her first words. " I missed
him, I suppose, by stopping to talk to those strange sailors,
and I cannot see him anywhere. We had better go to
luncheon, for I am so tired I can hardly stand. Herbert
will come in before we have finished. I wonder he did not
wait for me." But luncheon passed, and Callander did not
return.

" I must show you your amulet," said Mabel, when they
returned to the drawing-room, and she took it from the
drawer of her work-table. It was a dark green stone,
roughly shaped in the form of a beetle, and covered with
tiny hieroglyphics, and some square, priniltive-looking
charactej's. One end was perforated from side to side, as
if for a chain.

" It looks Egyptian; it is very curious," said Standish,
examining it. " You ought to wear it constantly, Dor-
othy. It may bring you untold good fortune."

"It ought, after costing such a price," said the young
lady.

" Never mind, dear ! Accept it as a present from me,"
cried Mabel.

After awhile Standish left them, to make some valedic-
tory visits, as ho was obliged to leave, he said, by the last
train to-morrow, to be ready for harness early next day.
" You will come to dinner, will you not ?" asked Mabel.
" Too gladly ! Wliere else v ould I spend the last evening
of my holiday- -a holiday you have made so delightful ?"

Neither of the sisters loft the house any more that day,
as the sky grew clouded, and a thick fine rain began to
fall.

* 'I- * >i« * * ,it

Colonel Callander did not reappear till close on dinner-
time, wiieii he confessed that lie had forgotten his appoint-
ment with his wife, and wandered he scarce knew where.

The " last day" smiled bouiguly on Standish. A bright
blue sky,ileeced wiih !l -eoy clouds, a flood of golden sun-

ich a higl.
lave,** said

osity, and
i repudiate
■-past one."
der slowly

"I missed
ige sailors,
ter go to
. Herbert
he did not
ier did not

when they
from the
3en stone,
ered with
ve-looking
side, as

Standish ,
itly, Dor-

16 young

rom me,"

valedic-
the last
xt day.
3d Mabel.
3t evening
ightf ul ?"
hat day,
began to

dinner-
appoint-
where.
A. bright
ieu sun-

BUNI) PATE.

shine, a clear, invigorating atmosphere, fresh with the first
crispness of autumn, made breathing a pleasure.

Dorothy readily assented to a long tete-a-tete walk,which
was more easily managed because, for some reason or other
Egerton did not make his appearance that morning.

Guardian and ward had a long, delightful ramble. They
discussed books and people, and future plans. Standish was
unusually sympathetic, and not the smallest catspaw of
difEerence rippled the smooth surface of their confidential
intercourse.

Standish parted with Dorothy at The Knolls gate, and
she entered the house with a profound sense of depression
weighing her down. To-morrow ! How loneJy and empty
to-morrow would be ! What months must come and go be-
fore she should enjoy another uninterrupted talk ! But she
was too silly and weak ! She must learn to be sufficient to
herself !

In an absent mood she went to her own room and laid
aside her hat and mantle, and hearing from Collins that
Mrs. Callander was out, she descended to the drawing-
room, determined to occupy her mind by an hour's diligent
practice.

As she approached the piano, which stood near one of the
windows leading into the verandah, the sound of voices,
speaking low, met her ear.

She thought she distinguished Egerton's, and paused to
make sure, intending to retreat if convinced that it was.
Then some words caught her ear, which seemed to turn her
to stone, and for thb moment deprived her of volition.

*' You know I love you," he was saying, in low, deep
tones full of passion. "But how intensely, how wildly,
your nature, perhaps, forbids you to comprehend."

Then Mabel's voice murmured something, and Egerton
replied, " No, Mabel ; I will not be fooled! You have let me
see that I am of importance to you. You have given ma
hope."

"I fear you, I do not think I love you," said Mabel more
distinctly, " and I cannot, dare not, cut myself ofE from
everyone, everything that makes life worth living. No, no,
1 cannot," her voice broke ofE into sobs, suppressed sobs.

" You will drive me mad ! Existence is torture I The
t bought of your husband makes me capable of any crime,
to think of you belonging to another sets my blood on fire !
You are miserable, too. He is cold and indifferent. Leave

:il

J ,1

BLIND FATE.

him .' Listen. Rather than sulfer disappointment — rather
than see you his, I would crush out your life, beloved as
you are ! " The tone of his voice was deadly.

Dorothy's senses came back to her with a wild thrill of
horror, of rage against the man who dared to insult and
threaten her sister. And Mabel listened to him — had list-
ened to him ! How strange it seemed that she now felt
\vhat the formless shadow was which had lain upon her.

What should she do ? She must not drive that fierce,
bad man to desperation. She must appeal to Mabel, and
strengthen her — save her. She stole softly away, and stood
for a moment by the stair-head window.

This sudden revelation of the abyss of treachery, of
baseness, of cruel sinful passion, yawning under the fair,
smooth surface of their innocent daily life, made her faint
and sick, as though a glimpse of somo hidden hell had been
forced upon her. Then iier spirit rose in righteous wrath,
and she felt brave enough to face the Evil One himaelf.
She burned to speak to her sister. It was not, it could not
be of her own free choice that Mabel had listened to him
No, he had exercised some devilish spell. It wanted two
hours to dinner-time. If only he would go, she might have
time to warn, to entreat, to insist. Oh ! she did not fear
the result—she would save Mabel !

Restless, fevered, she left her room, and wandered into
the day-nursery, which looked to the front, there she looked
round at the toys the pictures, the various nursery trea-
sures, and thinking of those sweet, unconscious children
of the generous, true-hearted father, the type of a straight-
forward English gentleman, she broke down, and wept
bitterly.

The sound of the outer gate closing loudly roused hdr,
and, starting to the window, she saw Egerton walk rapid-
ly away towards the town.

Dorothy did not delay a moment. Running down-stairs,
she tried to enter her sister's room. The door was locked.

"Let me in, Mabel. I want you. I am ill — oh, very ill."

In another moment Mabel opened it. Dorothy closed
and re-locked it, then stood an instant, gating at her sister,
whose eyes had a terrilied, strained look. Her face was
deadly white.

Then, clasping her closely, she|exclaimed brokenly, with
heaving bret;st, "Mabel, what are you going to do? Goiild

mxm) FATE.

lent — rather
beloved as

Id thrill of
insult and
— had list-
tie now felt
ipon her.
that fierce,
klabel, and
, and stood

eachery, of
Br the fair,
de her faint
)11 had been
>us wrath,
le himself,
t could not
led to him
wanted two
night have
d not fear

idered into
she looked
irsery trea-
children
a straight-
and wept

roused h«ir,
7alk rapid-

)wn-stairs,
vas locked.

very ill."
thy closed

her sister,
.' face was

enly, with
Ko? Coold

yvBi let that devil draw you to destruction ? I have heard
fekn just now — I wi»h I could have struck him dead."

"Heard — what — where," stammered Mabel, her eyes grow-
ing vacant as if too overdone to understand anything.

"There in the drawing-room, when you were in the bal-
cony."

"He said there was no one there," gasped Mabel, and
she trembled so violently that Dorothy hastily led her to a
chair lest she should fall.

"I came in and heard enough, Mabel ! What are you
going to do ?"

''I wish I were dead. I do not want to yield — I — oh,
Dorothy, can you bear to look at me — to tov h me?"

"I love you with all my heart and soul," cried Dorothy,"
kneeling down and clasping her waist, while she laid her
head against her bosom, "and before that vile wretch suc-
ceeds in his sorcery, I would kill him. You are not your-
self, Mabel, you arc under a spell. Throw it off, defy him!
What can he do? Would you forsake your own true hus-
band for a traitor like this ? Where are your senser ?
Forbid him to come near you. Let me be with you every
moment of the day, and I will exorcise this unholy spirit."

' *I am unfit to stay with my husband — my children,"
sobbed Mabel. "I ought not to have listened."

"You are fit — quite fit, I. tell you so. You are not acting
by your own wil), you are under the will of another."

"I do not want to go. Oh, Dorothy ! help me. Randal
Egerton alvrays interested me, and I can scarcely tell how
I came to like him. I fear him now. I wish I had [never
let him mesmerise me. But if I refuse him, what — what
will he do ? anything for revenge — even something des-
perate to Herbert.

"No, Mabel, he dare not. Never fear to do right. Tell
him to leave you ; that you have come to your senses. I
will give him the letter."

"I have written to him, yesterday, and he came, you see,
all the same. Oh, you do not know him! "

"If you are true to yourself, Mabel, you can shake him
off ," cried Dorothy, rising and stamping her foot. "How
dare he prosecute you ! How dare he practise his villainy
on you ! Write again, Mabel. I will give the letter into
his hand."

"Let me collect myself a little, and you shall help me to

1,;/

BLIND FATB.

write it. Now, if you stand by me, I shall have strengtn
to do right. But the idea of having so far lost myseli
will poison all my life.'*

"Mabel, dear, put your hand to the plough and neyer loolj

back."

"If —if only Herbert never suspects. I will devote my-
self to him. Oh, can I ever atone ?"

Some more energetic persuasion on Dorothy's part, a
few words here and there indicative of reviving hope and
courage on her sister's, and they started to find how late it

was.

"We must try to look as usual," said Dorothy. "If you
would like to keep quiet, and not see anyone, I will darken
the room and say you have a headache. I can face them
all for you, sweetest, dearest, Mabe!."

"Ah, yes, do, Dorothy."

"With the strength and firmness which true afEection
gives, Dorothy prepared herself to play the part of hostess
at dinner. She was infinitely helped by a message from
Egerton to the effect that ho could not join them.

Colonel Callander said he would not disturb his wife, as
she was trying to sleep. Dorothy wished he would. A
few tender words at this juncture might, she felt sure, pro-
duce a great eflect.

Dinner passed heavily. Then camethe moment of parting.
Colonel Callander excused himself with, what Dorothy
thought, cold politeness from accompanying Standish to
the station.

" Good-bye, my dear ward," he said, pressing her hand
in both his own. " it seems to me you have been a good
deal disturbed by something. There is a tragic look in
your eyes. Will you tell me when we meet again;:'"

" Perhaps so," said Dorothy, trying to smile. "Oh, lam
so sorry you are going ! " Standish bent down and kissed
the wavy braids into which her hair was divided above
her brow, kissed them lightly and tenderly, and was gone.

drc

chj
hii
ma4

Tet\

her I

fin

The next day Colonel Callander stayed indoors for the
greater part of the day, writing and arranging his papers.

This gave the sisters time to study what was best and
strongest to say in Mabel's note to j^gerton.

"You must get it from him as soon as he reads it," was
her final injuncion to Dorothy as she put it in her pocket.

have strengtn
ir lost myself

and never lool

ill devote my-

othy's part, a
7ing hope and
nd how late it

)thy. "If you
I will darken
can face them

true affection
)art of hostess
message from
lem.

rb his wife, as

be would. A

felt sure, pro-

3nt of parting,
hat Dorothy
Standish to

ng her hand
3een a good

a<^ic look in
ain?"

"Oh, Tarn

/■n and kissed
vided above

nd was gone.

Gors for the
g his papers.

i^as best and

ads it," was
ler pocket.

BMIfD FATE.

•*0h, Mabel; if you think this necessary, how could you
dream of deserting us all for him.

" I cannot tell. I — I was not myself. I fancied I saw a
change in Htibert. If he suspected me I could not face
him. Ever since we spoke of that tour, Randal was like a
madman."

'' Don't call him by his Christian name. Did he make you
refuse to go ? " Mabel bent her head, and then covering
her face cried quietly but bitterly.

" Do not despair, all will be well yet, Mabel, if you are
firm now."

" Can I ever regain my self-respect ? Oh, Dorothy, let
us t:"y never to name him again."

Bat Egerton did not present himself the next day, nor
the next until dinner time, when he and Miss Oakely joined
the party at The Knoll.

The presence and vivacity of Miss Oakley, seconded as
she was by Egerton, helped to cover not only the taciturn-
ity of the host and hostess, which was not unusual, but
Dorothy's remarkable absence of mind. At last Miss Oak-
ley had exhausted herself and her subjects, and departed.

" What a dark night," she said, as Egerton and Callan-
der assisted to put her into her carriage. " Yes, dark as a
wolf's mouth," said Egerton.

' ' The moon will be up later," said Callander

"Can I give you a lift, Mr. Egerton ? "

"A thousand thanks, no."

" Are you going ? " asked Callander.

"Yes, I want a smoke. Something stronger than a cig-
arette ; and, Callander, do you feel all right? You seem to
• me not quite yourself."

' ' I have rather a bad headache, but I am subject to
them since I came home. A good night's rest will be, I
hope, a cure."

'' Then 1 wish you a very good night. Make my excuses
to Mrs. Callander," and Egerton set out into the soft dark-
ness of a balmy September night, and not long after the
lights disappeared from the windows of The Knoll, from all
at least save that of the nursery, where the caretul Mrs.
McHugh kept a shaded lamp burning through the silent
night watches.

The next morning broke fair and bright. Colonel Callan-
der rose, as he generally did, at cock-crow, and wrapped
himself in his dressing gown, sat making entries in his

BLIND FATE.

journal, and adding a few pages to a work begun ^on^ nf^o
some military subject. Gradually the sounds of movement
below told him tlie household was astir. Presently the
Colonel's factotum brought him his early cup of tea.

Colonel Calla-^der lai ^ Qr-wnhis r-en and slowly drank it.
He rose and w.. nr . .; ^ awards the cuor, when it was
suddenl;y larsu : i" ii ■•^'^ Mr,s. McHugh, her eyes wide open
as though s^aioed v, *h horror, her outstretched hand
shaking, her whole v. spec; 'sordered.

" Oh ! my God, sir! Come, come! My dear mistress is
lying dead, murdered in her sweet sleep, and us lying deaf
and dull and useless all abotu her"

" Womam, you are mad ; " exclaimed Callander, in deep
hoarse tones.

" Come and see. Oh, would ;0 God I were iu her place!"
and turning, she went rapidly away, followed by her in-
credulous master.

CHAPTER VI.

" AFTER life's FITFUL FEVER."

When Callander reached his wife's room he made at once
for the bed, where she lay upon her left side, with one
white hand slightly clenched outside the clothes. He bent
over her and looked intently into her face.

*' She seems to sleep," he said hoarsely to Nurse, who had
followed him. " But," touching her hand, " she is quite
cold."

" Ah I cold enough. Look, sir. Don't move her. Come
round here, Look where the villain struck her !" With a
trembling hand she pointed to a deep wound in the back of
the neck, just below the skull, from which some blood had
flowed — not in any large quantity — upon her nightdress
and pillow.

Callander uttered an inarticulate exclamation, and,
kneeling beside the bed, gently ci;rned back the clothes and
felt her heart ; then, with a wail of despair, " Oh! dead !
dead ! dead !" he cried. " My beautiful darling ! my pearl !
No evil can touch you now ; none can hurt you !" He
pressed his brow against the bedclothes and muttered,
" None to save her, though in tlio midst of those who would
have given their lives for her." He stopped as if choked.

" Ah, sir, it's plain enough how the wretches got in.
The window is open, and we used to leave the middle bit of

th«
aiA
th

ar-
te
ot
be

BLIND FATE.

un ^onj: ago
)f movement
:esently the
f tea.

ly drank it.
''hen it was
IS wide open
itched hand

mistress is
; lying deaf

ler, in deep

her place ! "
by her in-

lade at once
le, with one
3. He bent

36, who had
he is quite

her. Come
!" With a
the back of
blood had
nightdress

bion, and ,
jIoth.es and
Oh ! dead !

my pearl !
you !" He

muttered,
who would
f choked,
hes got in.
iddJ© bit of

the c.ter shutters open, with the bar across inside — she
aiwa rs wanted air. See ! the bar is hanging loose, and
the- is th 3 ladder they got across by."

C .Jander rose and foUowel ner to the window — there,
across the area whi^'i surrounded the house, resting on the
top of the bank at one side, and the window-ledge at the
other, was a ladder — a ladder which Nurse recognised as
belonging to the place. Callander dropped into a chair,
and, covering his face with his hands, moaned piteoualy.
" They have made a clean sweep," she continued, looking
at the dressing table ; " she laid her rings and watch an'
chain and purse there last night, for I brushed her hair tc\
her, my poor, dear lamb, and they were there when I 1 c
her. Why, why did I ever leave that shutter open ?" •-' la
she wrung her hands. " What are we to do, sir ?" sir*-
Callander was past hcoding her. He rose, and again throw-
ij g himself upon his knees beside the bed, buried hi i^r
in the clothes, while deep sobs shook his frame.

By this time the whole household had crowded into the
room ahd stood with bated breath.

" Oh, don't stand there doing nothing," whispered Nurse,
iu great agitation, to Collins. " You run and tell the
police. Don't you see the poor master has lost his head ?
And no wonder !"

" I'll run, Mrs. McHugh, and fetch the doctor, too.
Here " — in a horrified voice—" Here's Miss Dorothy !"

" Ah, don't let her in, for God's sake !" but Dorothy was
in their midst while she spoke.

" What can be the matter ?" she asked, in her usual tone,
" every one seems running. " Oh, Mabel," interruping
herself, " Is Mabel ill ? Why, Herbert !" Callander never
moved. Before they could prevent her, Dorothy rushed for-
ward, and laid her head on her sister's brow ; then, draw-
ing back with a look of wild terror — " is she dead ? Nurse,
dear nurse, is she dead ?"

' * Ah, my dear, it has pleased God to take her to Him-
self," said nurse, breathlessly, striving to keep the horrible
fact of the murder from her. " It was awfully sudden, but
we have sent for the doctor, and don't you stay. If you'll
look after the children a bit. Miss Dorothy, for I'll want
Hannah to help me."

While nurse spoke, she pushed her to the door.

" Why do you try to send me away ?" cried Dorothy.
'*There is something you do not want me to know."

BLIND FATE.

,'/

Breaking from the agitated woman, Dorothy caught sight
of the blood on the pillow. With a scream, she darted to
the bed, and, clasping her hands above her head, cried,
" She has been murdered — basely, cruelly murdered ! Oh,
my sister ! my sister ! was there no one to save you V
Oh, come back to me. Oh, Herbert, is she quite, quite
dead ?" Still Callander remained in a kind of stupor.

" We can't rightly tell till the doctor comes, and this is
no place for you, my dear young lady. I'll tell you the
minute I know what the doctor says. You can do her no
good. My own head is going round, and — Mary ! Mary !
help me to hold her, will you ?"

The awful shock, the terrible sense that the dear, dead
woman might have been saved had any one of the house-
hold been near her, was too much even for Dorothy's strong
vitality. With a deep sigh she sank senseless into nurse's
arms, who was thankful to assist in taV.ing her back to
her own room, where she left her in cliargeof the children's
maid.

Then, the terrible silence broken, the women servants
burst into tears and exclamations. They called for justice
on the murderer, and bewailed the fate of their gentle mis-
tress.

But Colonel Callander rose from his knees, and at the
sight of his ghastly, horror-struck face, they retreated, dimly
conscious of being in the presence of a grief almost too
great for sympathy to touch.

The leaden minutes dropped slowly away in miserable
waiting. At last Collins drove up with the police inspector
and the doctor.

Dorothy came gradually to her senses, and as the dread-
ful knowledge of her sister's tragic death returned to her
she rose up and attempted to leave the room,

'•Oh, no, Miss Dorothy," cried the little maid, "Mrs.
McHugh said you were not to be let go down stairs. She
says you'll just be breaking your heart, miss, and you can
do no good. The police and the doctor are there now, and
Mrs. McHugh, she'll come up as soon as she has anything
to tell. Do, do lie down again."

" Ah, no; 1 can indeed do no good ! No one can do any
good," cried Dorothy, wringing her hands. " Who could
have hurt her ? She had not an enemy in the world. Was
it some wretch who wanted to rob her.''

'•1 heard Mrs. McHugh say that all her Jewels were gone."

ight sight
darted to
lead, cried,
Bred ! Oh,
save you ?
luite, quite
upor.

and this is
iell you the
do her no
■y ! Mary !

dear, dead
the house-
hy's strong
ito nurse's
ler back to
9 children's

9n servants

for justice

gentle mis-

and at the
ated, dimly
almost too

miserable
!e inspector

the dread-
led to her

id, ' ' Mrs.
airs. She
d you can
) now, and
anything

n do any

'^ho could
)rld. Was

f ere gone."

BLIND FATE. fl

Dorothy walked to and fro, remembering confusedly the
events of the last few days — the painful scenes between her
sister and herself.

That the sweet sister she so dearly loved should besnalch-
de by violence from the diificulties and dangers out of which
Dorothy had hoped to deliver her was too agonizing a fin-
ale to the drama of which they had both been the centre.
Then the picture of the bereaved husband, of the mother-
less little ones, grew distinct to her imagination, but her
torn heart found no relief; horror was too strong for tears;
she was too stunned by the cruel tragedy to think clearly.
Life seemed at a standstill. She threw herself into a chair,
and sat with wide-opened eyes gazing at the -deep wound
which seemed still before lier. At last Nurse softly opened
the door and approache I her, her own eyes streaming, her
face haggard. " My poor dear," she said, in low, hurried
tones, " the doctor thinks she must have been dead these
four or five hours. The blow, he says,must have killed her
at once. It somehow struck the spine, thougli it looks as if
it were on the back of the head. He doesn't think she felt
any pain or fright. She looks like a peaceful infant. The
master — God help him ! — would let no one touch her but
himself. His face is set like an iron mask."

" The coroner's come now, and Mr. Egerton. Ah ! he has
a feeling heart ! I thought he'd have dropped when he came
into the room, for all he is a tall, strong man, he was tremb-
ling like a leaf, and his eyes looked like to start out of his
head. Oh ! what a day of sorrow ! My dear beautiful an-
gel of a mistress! To think of them foreign devils stealing
in on her sweet sleep to take her innocent life! and it will
be hard to catch them ! They say the ship was away at
dawn this morning, and no one knows where."

Here nurse utterly broke down, and sinking into a seat
threw her apron over her face, and rocked herself to and
fro.

" "Where are these blessed children ? Go, Peggy, my girl,"
to the nursemaid, " go see to them, they'll be wanting some
bread and butter. Oh, here is Miss Oakley, thank God! "

It was indeed Henrietta, pale and tearful. Slie ran to
Dorothy, and kneeling down, clasped her arms round her.

" I have jUst heard. Dorothy, my dear Dorothy! Let
me stay with you. It is too — too cruel," and pressing the
silent, half-unconscious girl closely, she burst into hyster-
ical weeping — for once, Henrietta Oakley forgot her.-e i-

',<'.

BLIND FATE.

lier " part," her pretensions to orii^iiiality, everything, sav*?
the human anguish round her! Dorothy returned her em-
hrace mechanically,

*' Have they sent for Paul— Paul Standiah ?" she whis-
pered.

" I don't know, dear ; but Mr. Egerton is with Herbert,
and lie will do all he can." A convulsive shudder passed
through the slight form in Henrietta's arms, and Dorothy-
clung to her with a sudden movement.

" Oh, send for Paul ! Do not leave us defenseless here
without Paul Standish ! He will not have left London yet,'
and with feverish eagerness she pushed Henrietta froDL
her.

" Has any one telegraphed for Mr. Standish ?" she asked!
looking at nurse.

" I don't know, mis s," said the grief-stricken woman,,
" I'll go and ask."

"Telepraph for him at once." said Henrietta.

" Yes, Miss Collins knows his address," and nurse went
feebly from the room.

Alone with the dazed, terrified Dorothy, Henrietta was
alarmed at the wild distress of her tearless eyes — if she
could only bring her the solace of tears!

" Coma awa}^, dear, come to those poor little children^
they will be so miserable shut up all this morning. Let
us go and keep them company. The nursemaid will never
stay with them when all this excitement i;^ going on."

Dorothy, whose will and full consciousnesE seemed to be
temporarily in abeyence, rose obediently and followed her.

The usiuilly neat nursery was in some disorder, the re-
mains of the children's breakfast were scattered on the
table, the little girl was kneeling on the window seat be-
side Peggy looking at the people coming and going, the
crowd which had collected about the gate and the police-
man stationed beside it to prevent any unauthorised person
entering, on tiie floor lay the baby boy laughing, and kick-
ing in the joy of pure healthy existence, and battering a
rag doll against the carpet. At the sound of the opening
door, the little girl jumped down and ran to cling round her
aunt.

" Where is Mammj- ? she has never come this morning,"
cried the child, " and that naughty Peggy won't let us go
down stairs! I want to see dear jSlammy."

Hearing this demand, the boy began to repeat, ''Ma-maj"

BLIND FATE.

I'ng, save
|her em-

|e whis-

[Herbert,
passed
[I^orothy

5SS here
Ion yet,'
ia fromi

he asked

woman,,

*6 went

tta was
-if she

children,
S' Let
11 never

I."

id to be
'ed her.
ihe re-
on the
3at be-
^g, the
police-
person
kick-
• ing a
pening
md her

ning,"
us go

a-ma/'

most vigorously. Then the sweeter note of grief was
struck, and Dorothy clasping the motherless little girl to
l»er heart, burst into a flood of tears, her whole frame quiv-
ering with the violence of her sobs.

I" V •(■ 1» n* V

Many a page miglit be tilled with the sad details of such
a scene, the formidable police inspector unmoved by dis-
may and sorrow about him, made notes, and searching in-
quiries ; the doctor, who examined the fatal wound, the
coroner viewing "the body," the lingering crowd outsido
increasing every moment as the startling news spread, the
disorganised servants wandering about tearful and excited,
are they not all repetitions of what has been but too often
enacted before ? though to the immediate sufferers it all
seemed so harrowing and desecrating, this tearing away of
all that shields tlie sanctities of home from the rude eyes of
the outer world. To tiie policeman there is no holy of
holies into which he will not direct the vulgar glare of his
bull's-eye.

The extraordinary self-mastery of Colonel Callander
struck everyone. He let no hand save his own touch the
fair form he loved so well, wiien both doctor and coroner
made their examination. He seemed upheld by the mar-
vellous force and tenderness of love. He could not be per-
suaded to leave the presence of the dead. His stern com-
posure overawed the lookers on. Egerton was much more
unmanned.

He seemed scarcely able to support himself when he first
gazed at the sweet, calm marble face of the murdered
woman. He reeled like a drunken man to a seat, and ap-
peared to have almost lost consciousness. When he rallied
he was untiring in h attentions to the bereaVed husband,
in his thoughtful assi tance and suggestions to the police.
But it was evident what the effort to be of use cost him.

No one seemed to thinK of sending for Standish. Callan-
der's whole soul was centred in his wife, even the natural
desire for justice, that is vengeance, on her murderers
seemed merged in the tender care with which he paid the
last tribute of love and respect.

While Egerton went to and fro like a man but half re-
covered from a severe fall, Callander was rigidly composed,
and perfectly clear in his orders and directions.

As soon as a rumor of the fatal event reached Mrs. Cal-
lander, she was speedily on the scene of action.

BLIND FATE.

m\^

Dorothy was quite unable, and strange to say, her son
decidedly refused to see hor. This appeared to agitate her
greatly. Slio demanded an interview with Egerton, who
when he oame scarcely seemed to know what he was say-
ing.

It must be admitted that the hard husk of the worldly
old woman was pierced at last, and she showed more feel-
ing than the onlookers expected, though the idea of police
prowling about, of a coroner's inquest, of the details which
every newspaper would set forth with morbid elaboration,
WAS a source of bitter mortification.

After obtaining as much information as she could from
Mr,:'- McHugh, she drove back to her hotel, and spent the
rest of the day in the company of her reverend friends, who
were indefatigable in their efforts to comfort and console
lisr.

The emotion which this tragedy called forth in Henrietta
Oakley seemed to make a new creature of her ; the inner
depth of her nature, which had hitherto lain dormant under
tliemassof luxuries and frivolities with which it was
overlaid, was roused to activity, and for the moment her
dickering follies were quenched. Dorothy shrank from en-
countering her brother-in-law, ev3n tliough the shock and
horror of tiie morning, the recollectiou of his face and its
stony grief remained with her, and she feared to meet him
for both their sakes. She was so near and dear to his
niudered wife, how could he bear to look upon her?

But Henrietta had no such scruples, she went boldly to
him, and lie endured her presence, and answered her ques-
tions respecting the children. For nurse suggested their
being taken to their grandmother, as the house was not a
fit place for them.

Then she assisted (under Mrs. McHugh's directions) to
prepare them, and herself escorted the poor motherless
babies to Mrs. Callander, who willingly accepted the
charge.

it was a relief to Dorothy when they were gone. The
sound of their innocent laughter was too agonising when
she thought of the beloved mother lying in everlasting
silence -murdered — below.

The dreadful day dragj^ed through. Mrs. Callander
asked Dorothy to stay with her during tills ? id time, but
sbo refused, saying that so long as hor sister's lifeless form
was under thd roof she would not leave it.

til

Doi
gre^

COT

Mr.
of
gri
hai

set

^y, her son
[agitate her

ferton, who
[e was say.

je worldly
' niore {eel-
[a of police
tails which
paboration,

could from
spent the
• leads, who
iid console

I Henrietta
j the inner
[lant under
ich it was
loment her
k from en-
shock and
^ce and its
meet him
ar to his
r?

boldly to

her ques-
ted their
^as not a

Jtions) to
otherless
Jpted the

ne. The
ng when
erlasting

'allander
me, but
'ss form

BLIND l^ATE.

'*I do hope Herbert's brain will not give way under this
cruel blow," murmured Miss Oakley, as she sat holding
Dorothy's hand in the deserted nursery, while the evening
grew darker and night stole on them. "He is wonderfully
composed, though there is something awful in his face.
Mr. E^erton is far more overcome. I only caught a glimpse
of him, and he really did not look sane. It is the intense
grief in Herbert's expression that effects me so. I can
hardly keep back the tears when I look at him. Have you
seen Egerton ?"

"Oh, no — no," cried Dorothy with almost a scream of
pain. "How shall I ever stand to be questioned if I am to
be dragged before these dreadful people to-morrow ? If I
could throw any light on "

"Miss Dorothy!" interrupted Mrs. McHugh, opening the
door hastily. "Mr. Standish is below, and the master
won't me him ! I went and asked him myself (the others
don't care to go near him), but he refused ; he was quite
angry when I persisted. Will you come and speak to Mr.
Standish, miss. He looks terrible bad."

Oh, yes, nurse ! I will come," and she rose with alacrity,
then pausing, slie asked tremulously. "Where — where is
Mr. Egerton ?"

"Gone away to his own place for a bit. I'm sure he
looks that wore out. I don't know what the poor master
would have done without him."

Dorothy was out of the room before she ceased to speak.

"Where is the Colonel ?" asked Miss Oakeley.

"Always in the same place, beside her," returned nurse,
sadly.

When Dorothy opened the door and saw her guardian
standiiig in the window of the dimly-lighted dining-room,
she forgot in Jier great sorrow all the womanly conscious-
ness which used to hold her back, and darting to him she
threw her arms around his neck as in her old childish days.

** My poor child," said Standish, tenderly, " What is this,
liorror? I had Collin's telegram about three hours ago
and know nothing except that Mabel is dead — he says
murdered."

"Oh, Paul, thank God you are come! It is all too ter-
rible!" Siie brokenly recounted what had occurred — still
clinging to him.

" I cannot understand it. Burglars seldom murder, save

: v/

BLIND FATE.

in self-defence," he exclaimed, " and poor dear Mabel could
be no object of fear to anyone."

" I don't know what to think, Paul. Dreadful conjee-?
turos thrust themsel yes upon me. Oh, if 1 could only stop
tliinkinjv ! " and she hid her face against his shoulder.

Stand sh gently turned her to the lamp, and his face
grew very grave.

'' You must not add imaginary horrors to the reality of
this dreadful affair, my dear Dorothy. It is too much for
you. Latej. on you can open your heart to me. What
could be th e object of this hideous crime ? "

" Nurse says *.hat her purse and the jewels whch lay on
the dressing-table are all gone," said Dorothy. " They
might have taken those; but why put her to death ? " — she
withdrew her arms from him but still held his hands in
in both hers, as if unwilling to lose touch with one strong-
er than herself — " and she seemed as if lying in peaceful
sleep, no look of terror or disturbance."

" Sit down, Dorothy, you can hardly stand," and he led
her to a sofa. " Tell me more."

" I know so little: but what cats me to the soul is that
in the night, I don't know what hour — something woke me
— I heard a noise — a dim, faint noiso, a little like metal
falling. I was so cruelly dull and sleepy that I was not
frightened, I did not think of getting up ; and they were
murdering her then — my own dear sister ! You know I
have the room over hers. Oh, Paul, I might have saved
her ! "

" Or been murdered yourself ! " said Standish, drawing
her to him as one might a sorrowful child.

" Better me than her," returned Dorothy, with trembling
Lps. " Wlio can replace her with her children, her hus-
band? Oh, Paid ! must I tell all this to-morrow?"

"At the inquest? Yes, my dear Dorothy. You must
tell the whole truth— the least omission might lead to the
failure of justice— and Mrs. McHugh's theory is that one
or both of the foieigu sailors committed this foul deed."

" Yes, she tliinks so."

" It is not in)i>vobable! some of them look equal to any
villany. My (iod ! they miglit have spared her life," cried
Standish with deep emotion. " I should not wonder if
Callander lost his reason after such a critical blow. Eger-
tou of course has been with him. Have you seen him ? "

"Oh: no. no! Do not ask me. 1 cannot— I will not,"

she
him|
me,
half

StaJ

Bull

BLmD FATE.

|>el could

conjee,

^y stop
|er.

us face

ility of
^uch for
What

lay on
" They
"-she
nds in
'trong-
eaceful

he led

is that
okeme
metal
IS not
were
low I
saved

•wing

bling
hus-

tnuat

3 the

one

Jed."

any
ried
p if
?er-

she exclaimed, breathlessly, again hiding her face against
him. "You will stay with me, Paul. You will protect
me, you are my only friend, except poor Herbert, and I am
half afraid of him now." She trembled so violently that
Standish was almost alarmed.

" Poor little soul, the shock has been too much for her,"
he muttered to himself.

' ' I shall not always be a selfish coward," she whispered,
* ' I shall try and do what my hand finds to do diligently.
But to-day I am not myself."

" That's a brave heart," said Standish, softly. " I know
you are not a coward, Dorothy. You must think of the
children and their desolate father." There was silence for
a moment. Dorothy's small hands still clasped his arm
with more force than he thought they possessed. " I sup-
pose Callander will see me to-morrow," resumed Standish.
" I almost dread meeting him. I fancied he would be glad
to know I was here. But I suppose he is not at all him-
self. Poor fellow."

" I thought, too, he would be comforted in having you
near."

" Who have you to keep you company? "

" Henrietta Oakley. She is wonderfully kind. Oh, here,
she is."

In fact Mrs. McHugh had some difficulty in keeping her
from interrupting their interview long before.

Some further talk respecting the circumstances of the
tragedy which had befallen them. Then Standish said lie
would leave them. " I am going to see the doctor and hear
his account. Should Herbert express any wish to see me,
1 shall be at Egerton's hotel. I want to i ear what he has
to say."

When he named Egerton, Dorothy's hand closed on his
witli a convulsive pressure.

*' I trust in heaven she will get some sleep," he said,
looking at Henrietta.

* ' I asked the doctor to look in this evening, and prescribe
a composing draught," she returned. " I don't know what
will become of Dorothy unless she gets some sleep. Come
away, Dorothy."

" I cannot thank you enough for your kind care of the
poor child."

" You will come early to-morrow, Paul," said Dorothy,
letting him go with reluctance.

78 BLIND FATE.

" Trust me," was his reply as they left the room.

CHAPTFR VII.

♦* THE INQUEST."

Eastport had rarely, if ever, been so shocked and excited
as by the murder of the charming and admired Mrs. Her-
bert Callander. Though she liad not mixed much with the
local society, she was well known, and every one who
could liud standing room crowded to hear the evidence given
at the inquest.

The facts of the case, as succinctly recorded by the in-
spector, were first read over, and the doctor's evidence
taken ; then Mrs. McHugh was called. The deepest interest
was evinced as yhe advanced to the place vacated by the
doctor. Many persons recognised her, for her severely re-
spectable ligure and solid black silk gown was a familiar
object on pier and sands as she watched over her pretty,
well-dressed charges, accompanied by her humble satellite,
the nurse maid.

Not the most thrilling play ever mounted by Irving or
acted by Bernhardt can stir the pulses like a trial of this
description, where the question of guilt or innocence, the
materials for arrivmg at a conclusion, the hesitations,
fears, hopes, are actual realties. The m3^steryin the present
case was an additional fascination, for gossip was disposed
to reject the theory of robbery as too simple a solution.

Mrs. McHugh preserved a decent composure. She would
as soon have brushed her huir in public as shed tears and
dourished a pocket-handkerchief in the face of a jury.

She recounted very distinctly her having carried a cup
of tea to her mistress as usiial at 7 o'oiock, and was a little
surprised to see tlie blind unfastene'. It was Mrs. Cal-
lander's habit to leave one window op3n and also the centre
part of the outer sliutter. '£h? shutters were at once blinds
.md shutters ; ihey folded iv. two at either side and had an
.u( 11 '..ar which fastened within after they were closed.
Mxi. < 'r\llaLiu.er lay on her right side, and seemed just the
Fame a'* nsurl

As uei mJjti^^HS did uot stir, witness let down the tea,
^%\v. sijooping over her, observed that there waa more than
ti.t) prUluiesfc of sleep ii. her attitude. She touched her mis-
tress -xh' fc. 'ul -i^o was cold and dead.

h|
al
bi

room.

, and excited
M Mrs. Her-
Jch with the
Py one who
'ideace given

I by the in-
■'« evidence
^est interest
ted by the
severely re-
' a familiar
ber pretty,
'^e satellite,

i^ Irving or
^ial of this
ocence, the
lesitations,
tbe present
^« disposed
ution.
>he would
tears and
ury.

ied a cup
as a little
Vfi-s. Gal-
be centre
ce blinds
i bad an
'e closed,
just the

the tea,
>re than
ier rais-

KLIND FATfi. H

«♦ Did you go at once to Colonel Callander T* asked the

coroner.

" No, sir. I moved the clothes a little, intending to feel
her heart, when I saw blood on the pillow. Then I was
afraid to touch her. I went round to the other side of the
bed and perceived that her head was bent forward, and at
the top of the neck, just below the hair, there was a wound.
Colonel Callander was sitting at his writing-table when I
went in. He didn't seem to understand me rightly when I
told him ; but he went away sharp to the missis' room. It
was then I saw the ladder lying across the area, resting on
the top of the grass bank at one side and the windo vv-iedge
on the other."

One of the jury — " Was Colonel Callander's room next
his wife's ?"

" No, sir ; it was to the front of the house, and there
was a passage between the two rooms leading to a door
that opened on the stable-yard. Tliere is a gate leading
from it into the garden. Mrs. Callander's room was on the
left of the house, and one window looks out over the bay."
"Was the gate between the yard and garden kept locke'^ ?"
" I don't know, sir. I daresay it was not, as we had no
horses or carriage ; anyway it was wide open that morn-
ing. He forgot to shut it, 1 suppose."
" He ! Who V"

•' The murderer. He must have got the ladder from
the shed in the yard, where it was always kept."

*' I am told some sailors came to offer curiosities for
to your late mistress ?"

" They did, sir. I was with her while she spc
them."

•* Where were you when they camet"'
" In the hall."
" What passed ?"

" There were two of them, sir. One sp<A:e a li de Eng-
lish, the other, a tall, black-browed, wicked-looking man,
liad a bit of stone to sell. My mistress bought it. She
did not like to be left alone with them, so she went her-
self for her parse. She left her door open. The window is
right opposite, and a little table by it where her jewel case
stood. She took the purse and came back, leaving tledoor
wide open, J saw the black-looking fellow stare aioer her,
as if he'd draw the purse out of her hand and the rings oft
her lingers with his eyes."

the

ale

9 to

I ■;!'

in;

BLIND FATE.

" And you saw no more of those men ?"
" No, sir ; but Collins, the colonel's man, did.*'
Collins being called, said he remembered the day in
(luestion. He was in the pantry, which looked out on the
yard, and observed two men enter it from the garden —
queer-looking chaps. One, with a red cap, spoke broken
English. He (Collins) came out and asked them what they
wanted. The shorter of the two was very polite, and ex-
plained that they came through the garden by mistake, and
wanted to be shown the way out ; — thought it very strange
when he heard that they had been selling things to his
mistress in the hall, as the entrance to the lawn in front
was opposite the door.

Mrs. McHugh, recalled, said the last person who had
seen Mrs. Callander alive was the upper housemaid, Mary
Stokes. She usually attended to her mistress at night, as
she (Mrs. McHugh) did not leave the nursery after 9 o'clock.
Mary Stokes, who was tearful and confused, stated that
on the fatal night she nad, at her mistress' request, lit a
night-light. Mrs. Callander did not always have a night-
light, only when there was no moon, — she put it beside the
bed. The bed stood near the window, which was always
kept closed. Then Mrs. Callander bade her good-night.
'' And the dear, sweet lady never spoke again," exclaimed
the girl, with a burst of tears.

The coroner asked who occupied the room over Mrs.
Callander's.

" It is the day-nursery."

" The room next to that nearest Mrs. Cal'ander's ?"
"That's Miss Wynn's, the poor dear lady's sister."
Both Staiidish and Callander had done their best to spare
Dorothy the pain of being publicly questioned, but in vain.
The coroner said ho was bound to question all persons
who could throw the least light upon the terrible tragedy,
and possibly Miss Wynn had heard or noticed somc^thing
which might give a cluo. however faint, to guide the jury.
Trifles often led to strange discoveries.

It was a fearful trial to Dorothy. She heard the sup-
pressed murmur, the expecta^it rustle which ran through
the closely pai^ked room as she advanced, clinging to her
guardian's arm, and feeling scarcely able to support her-
self. Miss Oiikley accompanied her, but was not ailowed
to stand near.

Dorothy was deadly pale, the scared, grief stricken ex-

^!^<|-:

BLIND FATE.

»»

the day i,,
. out on the

[o garden

oke broken
what they
te, and ex-
f'stake, and
pry strange
>e:s to his
^ in front

who had
•-id, Mary
niglit, as

' 9 o'clock.

'ated that
est, lit a
a nig^ht-
eside the

■-s always

od-ni^ht.

exclaimed

i^er Mrs.

•

to spare
in Vitin.
persons
t-a^redy,

i^^^hing
^ jury.

> sup.
irou^h

her
her-

Jowed

1 eoc-

pression of her large, soft grey eyes, brought tears to those
that looked at them. Her voice was very low,and at times
seemed on the point of breaking; but she controlled her
emotion and answered clearly. In reply to a leading ques-
tion from the coroner, she said that on the night of the
murder she had retired to rest as usual, and, feeling tired,
soon fell asleep. After what seemed to her a long time she
awoke with a sort of confused idea that a sharp noise, as
if of some metal falling, had roused her. She had been
dreaming that her little niece was knocking the garden-
roller with a stone, for which she had had to correct her a
few days previously, and, thinking that — that it was all a
dream, she resisted her first startled impulse to call nurse.
" If I had done so we might have saved her," she added, in
a broken voice, with quivering iip.

'' You think the noise was real ?"

" I do. I believe it was the bar which secured the outer
blinds of — of my sister't.^ room."

" Have you any idea at what hour this occurerl '^"

♦*I have not. I had no light, and, after the fir i moment,
I felt so sure that it was only a dream which had startled

me, that 1 soon went to sleep again, little thinking "

she stopped abruptly, and pressed her hands tightly to-
gether.

" It is unusual for a burglar to commit violence in try-
ing to secure booty, but I presume there could be no pos-
sible motive but theft to account for the crime? — no spite-
ful, discharged servant urged by morbid feelings of revenge
to ■"

" Oh— no — no!" interrupted Dorothy, somewhat losing
her self-control ; "every one loved her, she was so kind —
so good ! and she had all the same servants who have been
with us since she came home from India last year."

" Then you believe that tliese foreign sailors or some
other robber commitued the crime ?"

"What else can I think?"

At last she was relet.sed, and Standish, who understood
the anguish and effort in her every tone, led her quickly
away to tlie carriage whicii was waiting.

Colonel CaUandei" was next questioned. He had little to
tell, but told that little with a kind of deadly, hopeless calm
which gave the hea ers a profound impression of the depths
out of which he spoke.

The cook was then interrogated, and even the *' boy "

BLlxVD 1<^ATE.

)3«'

llli'M'

"fl.

who came diunially to clean boots and knives was exam-
ined respect inj; the ladder.

" It was not very long, " he said, "not long enough to
reach from tlie liag-stones, which surrounded the house at
the boLtoiu of the area, to the windows af the drawing and
dining rooms. He had tried when they wanted cleaning.
He should have said it was not long enough to reach across
from the bank to the window, but it was not laid from the
top tliou^h, the end of the ladder was forced into the grass
and mould, and sloped to the lady's window.

''It must be difficult to approach the window in that
way '?"

'' Well, yes, rather — but not to a sailor; they can well
nigh dance on nothing."

The tloctor's deposition was clear and decided. He was
one of the best known practitioners in the place. He had
found, he said, a deep incision at the juncture of the spine
and skull, penetrating tiie substance termed medulla.

Deatn must have been inflicted while the victim slept,
fc r the sli^;htest resistance or movement on her part would
have frustrated the attempt to stab her in that particular
spot The cavity or opening at the top of the spine is well
defended by bone above and below ; it was probably more
accident tha'i knowledge that guided the murderer's knife
or dagger.

The instiuiu mt used must have been keen and narrow in
the blade, for the wound was small and clean cut. Very
little blood was drawii. — By the coroner: The deed was
probably done some four or five hours before its discovery
— that is about two or half-past two in the morning. Death
must have !)een instantaneous ; there was no sign of a
struggle. The room was undisturbed, the bedclothes
smooth and unruflled.

The wliolo of the evidence conveyed an idea of the peace,
kindliness, and harmony reigning in the fair home so cruelly
broken up.

Finally the coroner, having nothing further to elicit,
addressed a lew words to the jury, and they found the only
verdict possible was " Murder by some person "or persons
unknown."

It was a subject of some comment that Egerton liad not
appeared at the inquest. Of course the bereaved husband
had an older and closer friend to stand by him in his wife's
guardian, and it was rumored that Egerton, a very excit-

-'V:

BLIND FATP:.

was

exam-

enough to
® house at
awing and
cleaning.
3ach across
' ^i'om the
' the grass

^ in that
can well

He was
He had

he spine

la.

^^ slept,
rt would

a-rticular
le is well

^y more
's knife

irrow in
Very
ed was
scovery
• Death
n of a
clothes

peace,
cruelly

elicit,
> only
rsons

not
band
i^ife's
xcit-

able man, was too seriously afflicted by the blow that had
fallen on his friends to be al)le to bear the pain of listening
to the details drawn forth in the examination of witnesses.

All Eastport and Fordsea were dreadfully disappointed
and indignant at having to put up with a mere common-
place story of robbery with violence, instead of — well,
they did not know what. But tremendous revelations had
been expected, and when this "lame and impotent con-
clusion,"^ was arrived at every one felt him or herself shame-
fully cheated.

Many and various were the solutions suggested, and pro-
found were the theories respecting the Callander tragedy,
which supplied materials for many an interesting conver-
sation among visitors at Fordsea.

Standish was fortunately able to remain for a few days
with the sorrowful sister and husband, but the time when
he must leave was near at hand, and he could not make
up his mind to desert his young ward without finding
someone to protect and support her during his absence. It
was unfortunate that Egerton had raised the question of
their possible marriage, as it might make Dorothy re-
luctant to accept his assistance or derive comfort from
his society. It was strange that Egerton had absented
himself from the inquest. However, it would be well to
see him, and ascertain his readiness to aid his afflicted
friends.

Egerton was pacing his sitting-room when Standish
was shown in. His dark face was lividly pale, his large
black eyes looked sunken, his whole aspect that of a man
oppressed by horror as well as grief.

He seemed suri)rised, and not quite well pleased, when
Standish came in.

"As 1 did not see you yesterday, I have come to consult
you about our unhappy friends."

"Yes, yes ! In fact, I am so completely unmanned I could
not face the hideous vulgarities of the inquest," interrupted
Egerton. "Besides I could throw no light on the matter !
I only know the facts from hearsay, like yourself," inter-
rupted Egerton, not heeding the hand Standish held out.
*'In fact, the horror of the whole affair has almost shaken
my reason. To think of that angel —but I must not speak
of it. Tell me, what can I do ."'

•'You can help me in various ways. First, Callander is
so completely prostrate that I cannot consult with him as

BLIND FATE.

<if.

to what steps ought to be taken to trace these Spaniards,
for there is strong prcbability that they are the murder-

ers.

»»It is quite as likely to have been English as Spanish
sailors. There are scoundrels of all sorts in such a town
as Eastport."

''Granted, but these are the only men of whom we have
the slightest suspicion. Of course the absence of an ex-
tradition treaty with Spain would be an hindrance even
should we succeed in finding the men. Still, I know our
Foreign-Office people will do their best, and I know from
experience that the Spanish and Portuguese authorities
are by no means willing to screen a murderer. Now Mrs.
Callander— the mother, I mean," for Egerton started,
"wants to oifer a thousand pounds reward for any infor-
mation which may lead to the discovery of the murderer."

"Make it two," said Egerton, hoarsely, throwing him-
self into an arm-chair, and leaning his head on his hand
in an attitude of utter despondency. "I would gladly
give many thousands if we could punish — Oh, God, what
a fearful ending of so swset and holy a life."

Standish looked at him a good deal moved, and also sur-
prised. His incoherency, his extraordinary forgetfulness
of Dorothy, seemed as if he wore oil his balance.

"Yes," resumed Standish, after a moment's pause. "It
is too dreadful to bear thinking about. I am fearful o f
the effect the tragedy will have on Dorothy. It will be
long before she can shake off the impression."

This allusion to the girl he had frofessed such an ardent
wish to marry, did not seem to reach Egerton's sense, he
took no notice of it.

"I propose to send copies of this placard offering the
reward to our consuls in every port in Europe, the Levant,
and the Cape, with a description of the men wanted. Of
course, if the fellows can be taken anywhere, not in Spain
(in Hamburg for instance), we can bring them here, and
try them.

"What waste time and energy it all will be," exclaimed
Egerton. "We'll never find out the truth, and, if we did,
would it restore her V would it atone for our irreparable
loss?"

"Of course not ! Still, it is our boumlen duly to leave
nothing undone to bring the miscreants to justice. 1 shall
act for Callander almost without consulting him, and this

'^■^■^^,,,

•"*

se Spaniards,
the murder-

^-s Spanisli
such a town

horn we have
aco ofanex-
idrance even
» J know our
I know from
authorities
Now Mrs.
''ton started,
f any infor-
9 murderer."
■owing: him-
on his hand
ould gladJy

G^od, what

nd also sur~
orgetfulness

•»

pause. <«lt
I fearful of
It will be

'f an ardent
's sense, he

[Bering the
tie Levant,
^nted. Of

in Spain

^ere, and

exclaimed
f we did,
reparable

to leave

I shall

and this

BLIND FATE.

brings me to another point. 1 am seriously uneasy about
Callander. You know he has not been in too sound a
mental condition since his return, though immensely bettor
lately, and this frightful business may have a very fatal
effect. He sits for hours brooding in utter silence, he
hardly eats. He will not see the children, and hardly
notices Dorothy. His cousin, Miss Oakley, is the only
person wlio can do anything with him. His mother, who
is in great distress, is most anxious that he should be taken
away. Will you be so kind and self-sacrificing as to go
with him? he must not go alone."

"Why do you fix on me," cried Egerton, starting up, and
beginning to pace the room again. ''Why not go yourself
with him?"

"Because he has for some time shown anything but a
preference for my society ; now, he always liked you, and
enjoyed being with you. Then you are not connected with
his poor dear wife, or his first meeting with her as I am ;
so in every way you are the tittest companion for him,
especially as he was so ready to back you up with Dorothy."

'Dorothy — ay — Dorothy!" repeated Egerton, absently.
"You set me a dreadful task," he resumed, after a short
pause, "i should rather do anything else in the world.
Let me think. Oh ! if I must — I must, I suppose. It is
all awfully hard to bear ! When does Callander think of
starting V"

' ' We'll try and get him off as soon as we can, after the
funeral — you know it is fixed for to-morrow, I suppose ?"
Egerton bent his head, and, pausing in his troubled walk,
stood staring at Standish with vacani eyes, which were
evidently filled with some very different image.

*' Arranging for the funeral is the only thing that has
roused Callander. He ordered that the ^^^ave should be
prepared in a little old burial ground in which, it seems, they
passed the day they drove over to Rookstone, you remem-
ber ? I wish to heaven they lad carried out their plan of
a trip to the Highlands or anywhere. She would have been
with us now, had she gone."

" How do know that ?" cried Egerton, almost fiercely.
" If it were her destiny, how could she escape ? What
puppets we are in the grasp of fate."

" I think you want to get away yourself, Egerton,"
said Standish, a good deal surprised at his tone.

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

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«!•

BLIND FATE.

i. "»

ii'"

" Can you expect anything else ? Was ever a more
tragic ending to a fair young life ? I haven't your Saxon

phlegm "

'* I wish I had a little more," exclaimed Standish, in a
voice full of emotion. " Bo you suppose it has not cost me
an effort to keep my head clear, my mind composed, among
such scenes as I have gone through for the last few days V
But these poor souls haven't anyone to guide or assist
them, save myself and— you— if I may count on your
friendship. By heaven ! I am almost unnerved when I
look at Callander, bowed down by speechless sorrow J at
Dorothy, chilled by the touch of such a horror in her sunny
youth. She will outgrow it, however. My deepest sym-
pathy is for Callander. We must do all we can for him.''

Egerton sat for a moment without speaking, then he rose
and moved restlessly to and fro. " You are right," he said
at last, in a more collected tone than he had yet used. " I
ought to be ashamed of my unstrung nerves. It is woman-
ish to be overpowered as I am. I did not think I was such

a ;^ltroon. But the awfulness of " He stopped short

and shuddered. " Yes, I'll do what 1 can for Callander.
Only get him out of this as soon as you can. It is punish-
ment too much for the worst criminal (God ! I can think

of nothing but crime !) to stay here in this scene " he

stopped again — " the scene of our former happy life.
Settle what you like. I am at your disposal."

*' Thank you. I felt sure you would do your best for us.
Then we must get Dorothy away. It is pitiable to see her
sad, white face."

Egerton was too much absorbed in his thoughts to heed
what he said.

This indifference greatly surin-ised Standish. " Have

you seen her since ?" he was beginning, when Egerton

interrupted him — " No ; she absolutely refused to see m«,
refused most abruptly, and I shall not ask again. Did she
suppose that with the shadow of such a grief over us I
should have been in a mood to make love to her ?"

" If you loved her you would bear with her more pa-
tiently."

'' 1 shall never intrude on her again. I only want to
get away from this wretched place."

" I must leave you now," said Standish, rising. " We
shall met to-morrow, 1 suppose ?*'

" We must ; we must," returned Egerton, " I will be

'er a more
our Saxon

dish, in a
lot cost me
6d, among
few days ?
e or assist
on your
d when I
3rrow ; at
her sunny
pest sym-
for him.''

Bn he rose
, " he said
used. " I
s woman-
was such
ped short
Callander,
s punish-
5an think
— " he
>py life.

It for us.
) see her

to heed

" Have
Egerton
see m«,
I>id she
'^er us I

lore pa-

i^ant to

"We

will be

BLIKD FATE.

present." He compressed his lips as he spoke, and his brow
contracted with an expression of agony.

♦' I have forgotten to tell you," said Standish, looking at
him with some compassion, " that as soon as 1 got the
telegram summoning me to the sad scene, I went to find a
very clever detective who has done some remarkable
things. I was just in time to catch him before he under-
took any other job. He is making as close an examination
of the premises as he can. I am anxious to hear his report
and will let you know what he says."

" A detective ! What is the use of letting one of those
fellows ransack the belongings of a delicate woman ?"
cried Egerton. " He will not bring her back to us nor find
out anything fresh. Who could have had the heart to
hurt her but a brutal ruffian, whose greed was excited by
the sight of her jewels ? Why, a detective will want to
turn everything inside out !"

" There is no reason why he should. He will only^ook
through the premises, and glean what can be learned out
of doors. I agree with you thai there is small chance of

his tracking the murderer "

'* Don't speak of him," said Egerton, half closing his eyes.
" Come and dine with me. You are not fit company for
yourself."

" Nor for anyone else," he returned. " Thank you, no. I
shall be calmer to-morrow."

Standish walked slowly away to the printer who was to
strike off the first supply of hand-bills offering the reward
of which he had spoken. He was strongly impressed by
the strange co idition of mind in which he had found
Egerton.

Well versed in the world's ways, and having more than
once discovered what dark depths can lie hidden under the
fair seeming of innocent and honest lives, he was a good
deal disturbed by the ideas which Everton's grief and agi-
tation suggested.

The man was suffering horribly. But how was it that
no thought for the girl whom a week ago he had eagerly
sought seemed to occur to him ? Had Mabel not been al-
most childlike in her guileless innocence, he might have
suspected some ugly secret— but, no, that was out of the
question. He turned indignantly from the base thought.
Egerton was sensitive and impressionable, his blood was
mixed with a fiery, eager strain— too strong for the Eng-

BUND FATE.

lishman within him to control or resist. Still, he was glad
that the handsony, attractive master of Netherleigh had
failed so signally to fascinate Dorothy— poor, dear, broken-
hearted little Dorothy. Dorothy deserved a different kind
of a mate from this grand, golden eagle. The gold for
her should be rather in the heart than in the pocket.
Then his thoughts turned to some of the many matters
which claimed nis attention, and, quickening his pace, he
soon reached his destination.

|ii:i',('''i'i, ■

It was already dusk when Standish returned to the villa.
The burden of all that needed attention was upon him, and
he was eager to complete every arrangement, as the days for
which his chief had considerately spared him were slipping
away, and be ardently desired to see Dorotiiy and Callander
too removed from the scene of their cruel loss before he
himself left England.

Daylight, therefore, scarcely sufficed for all he had to do.
As he walked back from Eastport he thought over the ter-
rible event which had robbed Callander of his dearly be-
loved wife. How happy they had been together ! What a
simple, sinless life, full of kind thoughts for others, they
had led ! Then he looked back to a passage in his own
earlier days, when a beloved woman had been nearly all to
him that Mabel was to Callander, save that she ended by
marrying another. What would it have cost him had she
been wrenched from love and life as ruthlessly ? Could any
vengeance have satisfied him ? Yet poor Callander seemed
too unmanned by grief to be capable of seeking justice.
Weakened by illness, this blow had completely crushed
him. Then ^:he scenes of his own by-gone love story came
back to him freshly enough. Could he be the same being
who loved so passionately and suffered so acutely fifteen
or sixteen years ago '? Was it possible he had so complete-
ly outlived all the feelings of that remote period, which was
not so very remote after all ? Ah, it was a glorious time !
but the awakening had been bitter enough. However, that
intense early fever had secured him a fair share of immxin-
ity ever since, and now, though almost middle-aged as re-
garded years, he felt absurdly young — perhaps dangerously
young.

" Beg your pardon, sir," said a voice at his elbow. The
speaker was a slight and rather d©lioat*-dookii% wah ot

BLIND FATK

he was g;lacl
Brleigh had
iar, broken-
Eerent kind
le gold for
;he pocket,
>ny matters
is pace, he

the villa,
n him, and
tie days for
re slipping-
. Callander
s before he

had to do.
'er the ter-
dearly be-

Whata
tiers, they

his own
krly all to
ended by
n had she
Jould any
tf beemed

justice.

crushed
ory came
nae being
'ly fifteen
X}mplete-
'hich was
>us time !
ver, that
' immxm-
d as re-
igerously

verj uncertain age, pale and freckled, with sandy hair ;
his quiet, almost sleepy, steel grey eyes were shaded by
reddish lashes, and brows of the same color overhung them
heavily.

He wore a very high, narrow hat, still glossy from its
silver-paper covering, whilst his clothes, also new, and of
superfine cloth, had a clumsy, solid, provincial look as to
cut and fit. He was clean-shaved, and his wide, rather
shapeless mouth had a soft smiling expression, suggestive
of innocence and credulity.

*♦ Can I speak with you a bit ? " He said " spake," but
as Irish matters, Irish members, Irish diamonds, Irish
properties generally are at a discount and out of fashion,
these slight Hibernian peculiarities of accent shall be left
to the imagination of the reader.

" Yes, by all means, Dillon. Come on with me to the
house. I have not had a minute to speak to you. What
have you been doing ? "

** Not much, sir. I have been loitering about the old dock
inquiring if there is a decent public to be had at a fair
rent, and I have picked up a trifle or two not worth talking
about now — not, anyhow, till I can link them on to some-
thing more. The funeral's to be to-morrow ? "

" It is."

"After that, I can examine the room — every inch of it ? "

" Tou can."

" Then, Mr. Standish, sir, will you give strict orders that
no one is to touch it or clean it, inside or out, till I have it
to myself a whole day ? "

" Certainly, Dillon."

" I did make so bold as to talk to Mrs. McHugh, and she
promised that ne're a maid among them should lay a dust-
er, even on the outside of the door."

" You could not have chosen a better ally."

" She is a responsible sort of woman," said Dillon, re-
flectively, "and might be a help; but then, you see, the
ladies will talk, instead of letting people talk to them."

The two men walked on in silence. Then the detective
said :—

" The Colonel sent for me to-day, after you had gone out.
He asked me wliat steps I intended to take, and all to thar;
• — of course I couldn't tell him. I must make the steps be-
fore I take them. Then he ordered me to spare no expense,
and seemed too tired to speak any more. Ah ! lie's a broken

BLIND FATE.

m^.

man, though I've seen widowers with one foot in the grave,
and despair in their hearts, rally and come round in a won-
derful way. This a bad case though; I never knew a worse.
It isn't like these burglarious fellows to murder; they know
it just sets every man's hand against them ; and with u
timid, real lady like this one, why, they might have gagged
her, tied her to the bed post, muffled up her head, or any
little thing like that, and made off with the booty; but to
stab her in her sleep (if she did sleep through the unfasten-
ing and opening of them blinds) ! There's something in it
that sets me a-thinking. I wish I could track the blood-
thirsty dogs ! — begging the dogs' pardon, I ought to say
wolves. But I'm afraid it won't be easy, they having been
away on the high seas before anyone found it out. Pray,
sir, who is the gentleman Mrs. McHugh tells me knew the
men whom she suspects — who talks their lingo ? "

" Oh, Mr. Egerton. An intimate friend of poor Mrs.
Callander and her husband. He is frightfully cut up."

" Well, that's not to be wondered at. He might know
where these sailors come from. I'd like to have a word
with him and a look at him."

"Well, so you can. He will be at the funeral to-morrow."

"Thank you, sir. I am going to have a cup of tea with
Mrs. McHugh in the housekeeper's room, if you should want
to speak with me before I turn in for the night."

"All right," returned Standish, and he ascended the steps
of the entrance, while Dillon went round to the side door
before mentioned.

In the hall Dorothy awaited Standish. She was dressed
in the deepest black, which made her wan face look even
whiter than it really was.

" I saw you from the nursery window," she said, leaving
her hand in his. " Henrietta went out to Mrs. Callander's,
and I have been so awfully lonely. I get so terrified some-
times. It is weak and foolish. I m1^st resist this dread-
ful feeling."

" Yes, you must, my poor, dear little girl," saidStandish,
tenderly. *' You are trembling. You seem to be always
trembling."

" No, not always, but very often."

"Come into the drawing-room, and sit by the fire with
me, Dorothy. Tell me, how have you got through the day ?"
He drew a low chair to the tire for her, and, kneeling upon
the rug, put on some logs of wood.

BLIND FATE.

)t in the grave,

ound in a won-

knew a worse.

der; they know

; and with u

ht have gagged

head, or any

booty; but to

1 the unfasten-

omething in it

ick the blood.

ought to say

y having been

it out. Pray,

J me knew the

go?"

of poor Mrs.
y cut up."
3 might know
have a word

il to-morrow."
ip of tea with
u should want
t."

ided the steps
the side door

e was dressed
ice look even

said, leaving
. Callander's,
jrrified some-
t this dread-
aid Standish,
to be always

the fire with
gh the day?"
leeling upon

still kneeling beside

should
uncon-

ish

'St

•' I scarcely know. 1 havo been sevorai tiinos iv look at
her ! It comforts me to see her Icok so calm and l)oautif ul.
Paul, she could not have be3n hurt or frightened, or she
would not look like tkat."

" No, certainly not," he returned,
her chair.

" Death without fear or pa^ is not dreadful. I

not mind it! And after — Goals so good!" Half

sciously she stretched out her hand for Paul's, and clung

o it with both her own. ''Herbert spoke to me to-day,"

e resumed. " He was walking to and fro in the dining-
oom, oh ! for hours, and when he passed me, he stopped
suddenly, and said, ' Poor child, poor child ! You have
been robbed of your best friend! But if I live, I will do
my best for you, and you — you'll be good to the babies for
her sake.' " Sh^ paused, and the sweet, sad mouth quiv-
ered. " I shall be better and stronger to-morrow. Oh, I
dread to-morrow !"

'' So do others. I have been talking to Egerton to-day,
and he "

" Is he coming too ?** cried Dorothy, starting up, and
grasping the mantel-shelf, the tension of her slender lingers
showing how closely she gripped it. " Oh, can you not pre-
vent him ? I want to be with my darling Mabel to the
very last! — but to have him, too, beside her, is more than I
could bear! Dear, dear Paul, do not let him come !"

" it is impossible to preveut it, Dorothy. But I do not
think you need fear his troubling you in any way."

" He ! he will trouble me no more! But 1 do not want
to see him."

" I will endeavor to keep hini out of your sight, my dear.
But by and by, when time has soothed your grief, you must
tell me the secret of your aversion to Egerton."

For an answer, Dorothy, relaxing her grasp of the mantel-
shelf, sank back in her chair, covering her face with her
hands, a shudder passing through her as though she had
touched some noxious thing.

" You have sorrow enough, my dear child, without let-
ting fancies afflict you," said Paul,possessinj4 himself again
of her hand. " Try and think of the little ones to whom
you can be so much."

Dorothy did not sjjeak tor a few minutes. Then she
asked in an altered voice —

" Who was that man walking by you?"

BLIND FATE.

m -.■

■Mi if'i'

1^:.;:'

\§

" It was Dillon, the detective. If anyone can find a trail
and follow it like a sleuthhound, he is the man."

*» And what does he think i"'

"That it is a difficult case."

" Ah, yes, how difficult, he will never — never find out the
truth."

' ' Have you any reason, any purpose in what you say,"
Siandish was beginning? when Miss Oakley came in, and
the conversation turned on the children and their grand-
mother. *♦**♦*

The first act of this sad drama was closed next day by
the funeral of the fuir young victim.

It was loug since ^"'astpoit had such a sensation. Wreaths,
crosses, py • amids of flowers hid the coffin, everyone who
had an equipage and the slightest acquamtence with Col-
onel or Mrs. Callander sent their carriage to swell the long
procession. The bells tolled, and the streets through which
the cortege passed were crowded with onlookers.

It was a S'jf G grey day, as if Nature mourned tenderly
for the brief young life, so ruthlessly cut off for mere base
greed, in the midst of its bright morning.

The res tin -'.-place selected by Callander was the burying-
ground attached lo an old chapel on the hillside between
Fordsea and E-ookstone ; an ancient grey wall, breast-high,
and lichen grown, surrounded it ; great masses of gorse
breathed a perfume of their honey-sweet blossoms in spring
from the grassy slope above, while b«ioath spread out the
restless waters of the bay, with the towers and spires of
Eastport beside them. The fresh winds from sea and land
swept over it, and the blessed silence of the quiet country
seemed to keep all sounds hushed, lest they should trouble
the last sleep of those weary ones who found rest beneath
its grassy mounds. The spectators (and many had walked
or driven the dusty five miles from Fordsea) were greatly
moved by the scene, and deeply impressed by the dignified
self-control of Colonel Callander, by the deep despair of
his set face, as well as by the pallid grief of the friend who
stood beside him, whose unsteady step as he approached
the grave showed how hard was the struggle not to break
down.

Standish devoted himself to support Dorothy, but she
bore up better than he expected.

It was all over at last, and as Dorothy drove back, her
hand in Henri- tta Oakley's, she felt indeed alone— worse

^■^

■/?*

can find a trail

lan.

>»

JiLlND FATE.

ihan alone— burdened with a secret conviction which for
pjtent reasons she must not speak, witli a bitter sense of
wrong for which she must seek no sympathy.

Jver find out the

what you aay,'
jy came in, and
md their grand-
♦ *

led next day by

ation. Wreaths,
1, everyone who
ence with Col-
swell the long
through which
kers.

arned tenderly
for mere base

as the burying-
lillside between
ill, breast-high,
lasses of gorse
ssoms in spring
spread out the
8 and spires of
m sea and land
e quiet country
should trouble
tid rest beneath
ny had walked
i) were greatly
7 the dignified
3ep despair of
the friend who
he approached
:le not to break

othy, but she

rove back, her
i alone — wor.se

'»■-

^.f

PART II.
CHAPTER I.

DUST TO DUST.

Standish found the detective awaiting him on his return
from paying the last tribute of tender respect to the dead.

As soon as Colonel Callander, with a hastily expressed
desire to be left alone, had retired to his own room, the
two men, accompanied at Dillon's request by Mrs. M'Hugh,
began the examination which the former had been so
anxious to make.

" We have lost too much time," he said, in his peculiar
drawling nasal voice, with every here and. there strongly
Irish tones. " In cases of this kind, time is everything;.
It would have done the poor lady no har^i if I had rum-
maged about a bit while she lay there, she was past bein^
disturbed."

" It would have been offensive to her sister, and to Colo-
nel Callander," returned Standish.

"And a day or two more or less don't matter," put in
Mrs. M'Hugh, " wlien tliem cruel devils have got clean off !"

" We are not sure yet who is guilty," said Dillon,
dryly, and walking to the window, looked intently at the
bank opposite.

" Come here," he said to Nurse. How was the window-
fastened when your mistress went to bed that niglit '?"

" It was Mary, thj housemaid, waited on her— not me,"

" Call Mary."

Mrs. M'Hu^h went in search of her.

" The top of the bank is lower than this window," ob-
served Dillon, " and you see tne holes made by the ends of
the ladde- are a good bit lower still, the ladder sloped
enough „or a man to climb up easy."

•* I see that," returned Standish.

Here Mrs. M'Hugh returned with Mary looking very un-
comfortable.

♦' Now, my girl, come along, tell me all you can remem-
ber about your mistress when you last saw her ?"

■fi,t

BLIND FATE.

" Oh ! please sir, it puts me all in a tremble wheu I thinl;

of it."

" Never mind, tell me what time it was wnen tlie went

to bed?"

" It was close on eleven, sir, just after Mr. Egerton left,
1 had been shuttinjj; master's windows as look out to the
front, and t saw the light of Mr. Egerton's cigar when he
walked past."

" Which side did he pass?"
" Right, sir, by the Beach road!"
" Ha ! where did Mr. Egerton put up?" aaked I>illon.
" At the Beach Mansion Hotel," said Standish.
" Whereabout- is it?"

" At the end of Telford road, facing the sea."
" That's not to th e right ?"

" No, sir. I suppose he went for a turn while he smoked,
for when I went to put up the shutters to the side door (the
top part is glass), I saw the red of his cigar going down by
the sunk fence as if he were going round by the beach."
" Y(ju went to your mistress immediately after?"
^' Yes! she rang the bell just as I was turning back from
the door."

" Did she seem the same as usual ?"
" Well, yes. 1 think she had been crying. Her eyes
looki^d like crying now and again, lately. She was weak-
like and poorly."

'• Do you know of anything to vex her ?"
"Bless you, no, sir. Everyone loved her, poor, dear lady
Everyone tried to please her, from the Colonel down," cried
the girl, tears coming to her eyes.
" Well, how did you leave her?"

" She had put on her dressing-gown, and said she would
not have her hair brushed, because she was tired. She told
me to light the night-light."

' ' The night-light ? Where did you put it ? Could it be
seen from the outside?"

'' I don't know; I stood it here by the window," going
over to one which opened on the ea'^tside of the house. The
bed intervened between the place indicated and the window
by which the murderer had entered.

" If tiie light were visible from without, of course it
would have be.^n a guide. Put a similar light in the same
))lace after dark and I will test it. Well, your mistress

told

yo\i ;...' li..,Ji! this wat(;h-liy:ht ?"

BUND FATE.

le when I thinl;

when aha went

Ir. Bgerton left,
look out to the
oigar when he

isked Dillon,
idish.

sea."

rhile he smoked,
lie side door (the
p going down by
the beach."
|y after?"
rning back from

ying. Her eyes
She was weak-

poor, dear lady
nel down," cried

said she would
> tired. She told

it ? Could it be

window," going
I the house. The
and the window

it, of course it
ght in the same
, your mistress

" She says, 'Mary, I think I'll have a night-light, 1 feel
■o Mervous and feverish,' says she, ' and open a bit of the
Tolets' (that's what she called those shutter-blinds), 'as
irell as the windows,' says she, ' I don't feel able to
IbMaihe.*"

•* And you opened them ?"

" I did. Tou see the middle piece folds back, and I set it
li tiny way open, fastening the bar across the inside. You
iae it goes right across. I'll show you "

" Stop !" cried Dillon, grasping her arm as she made a
atep towards the dressing-table ; " don't touch thai. Has
it been touched or stirred since the murder ?"

" No, not that I know of," said the girl, a little frighten-
ed by his vehemence. Mrs. M'Hugh kept the key of the
room ever since the coroner came,and would never let none
of us come next or nigh it."

" I did that, sir," added Mrs. M'Hugh, " for Mr.
Standish warned me you wanted to see the place as it

was."

" Bight, ma'am, Ah !" gping carefully to the side of the
dressing-tabla " There is not much room for a man to
eome in here without moving this? How came the outer
blinds open if this," touching the table, " has not been
moved."

"I made Collins open them from the outside," said
Nurse.

• Dillon then looked carefully at the carpet, the portion of
the painted flooring left uncovered, along the side of the
bed where the murderer must have stood ; he even stooped
down and felt all the edge of the carpet which lay beside
it. Standish saw that one of his hands was closed as he
rose up.

" Have you found anything ?" he asked.

Dillon shook his head.

'♦Only a pin," he said. "I always remember that he
who sees a pin, and lets it lay, may live to want a pin an-
other day."

" "Well, that's true," said Nurse, emphatically.

For some minutes Dillon continued to search under
wardrobe and chests of drawers, in corners, and all dim
nooks— every possible spot where the smallest article could
have been dropped or forgotten by the murderer or murderers.

" Now, my girl, I'll not keep you nor Mrs. M'Hugh any
longer; you've been ver> helpful, and I'm obliged to you."

i'pl*

BLIND FATE.

, m

" I'm 8ure your welcome," they said in chorus and i>

tired.

Dillon followed them to the door, and, moving it back
wards and forwards, ohserved :

" It goes easily and silently!" then, stepping over ti
threshold, he seemed Jjto look most intently on the otht
side, He stood in the opening so that Standish could no

pass.

"Ay," he said, "it has not heen touched. It's jus
thick with dust," and drawing out his pocket-handkerchiei
he rubbed it with some force ; finally, re-entering the room
he closed the door, and stood a moment, his thick eyebrow
almost meeting with a frown of intense thought. Then
looking up as if some gleam of light had come to him, he
walked again to the window, and, pulling the table aside
closed the outer shutters and put up the bar, leaving the
centre portion slightly open.

" Will you stay here, while I get the ladder and see if I
can enter without noise?"

Standish nodded.

He felt curiously affected by the exhaustive search Dillon
was making. He almost shuddered at the possibility of
his discovering some unexpected depths of horror greater
even than what was patent*

At last Standish heard the scraping of the ladder as Dil-
lon fixed it against the window-ledge. Next the shutter
opened softly, then the bar was lifted cautiously, and as
cautiously let down, but not without a certain amount of
noise. Dillon appeared at the window, and, stepping in,
came against the dressing-table.

'* There," he said, restoring it to its place, " 1 defy any-
one to unfasten that bar and let it down without making
enough noise to waken a light sleeper. Tlien the dressing-
table would be another source of disturbance. As to get-
ting up here on the ladder, it was perfectly easy, but I am
amazed to think the fellows left it there,"

" They were so sure of getting awy-y early next morning.
I suppose they were reckless. Now, Mr. Dillon, what do
you think ?"

" Well, sir, I do not know what to think. It is quite
possible that a murderous thief might have got in that
way ; I wish to God the poor lady had had a bit of a noisy
pet terrier."

chorus and i>

aoving it back

3ping over th
on the otlk
dish could no

ched. It's jus
it-handkerchiet
ering the room
thick eyebrow
hought. Then
some to him, he
the table aside
3ar, leaving the

der and see if I

i^e search Dillon

e possibility of

horror greater

e ladder as Dil-
ext the shutter
itiously, and as
•tain amount of
id, stepping in,

e, "1 defy any-
'ithout making
m the dressing-
ce. As to get-
easy, but I am

7 next morning.
Dillon, what do

k. It is quite
ve got in that
a bit of a noisy

BMWB FATS. Wl

" Ah, I understand. Well, it so happens there is no dog
about the premises. What do you propose to do next ?"

Dillon stood silent, in deep meditation. Then, looking
up straight into his interrogator's eyes, he said:

" I've a bit of a plan forming in my mind, sir, but I don't
]Uke to talk about it yet. Will you trust me for a while,

d ask no questions ? Ay, and trust me with a goodish
it of money, for I may have to cross the Channel and dis-

ppear."

Yes, Dillon, I will."

Thank you sir. Might I speak to Miss Wynn — the
young lady as heard, or thought she heard, the bar fall?"
; '' Of course — only I should like to be present."
I " Just as you like, Mr. Standish, but you must remember
ithat nobody ever speaks out so confidential before two as
before one, and I want to get her to speak out her thoughts
and impressions quite easy. To do this I just want to come
on her unawares, like — not to ask to see her formally. If
you are there, well and good, but I don't want to lose an
opportunity waiting for you."

" What is he at ?" thought Standish ; " ht does not wan
me, that is evident. " Oh, very well," he said aloud, " only
remember that Miss Wynn is in a terribly low nervous
state. Be careful not to sliock or startle her."

'' Bless your iieart, sir, do you think I never spoke to a
lady before "? When I got up all the evidence for the Hon.
Mrs. Handcock, she always "

•'It is a veiy different case," interrupted Standish,
sternly.

" That's true," returned the detective, relapsing into his
usual collected taciturity. He was seized with occasional
outbreaks of talk, but, the least check restored his self-
mastery. Loquacity was his natural tendency, but the
strong necessities of his profession taught him that silence
was golden.

" Have you studied the room sufficiently, or would you
wish it to be kept still untouched ?" asked Standish.

"I have learned all it can tell. I have quite done
with it."

'' Then come with me to my hotel. Miss Wynn has gone
to see the children, and I hope Miss Oaivl^y will keep her
all night. This terrible affair has been too much for her
strength."

" That is likely enough. They walked on a few paces
a

BLIND FATB.

after they had seen Mrs. McHugh and given her the kfg of

the room.

At length Dillon said : " I have found the tavern those
foreign fellows used to frequent. It's a rough place. The
landlord has been a seafaring man, and looks up to cutting
a throat himself. He was, of course, full of the murder
and the suspicions against these men. He said their looks
was the worst of them, that they paid their way and spent
a goodish bit. They were all together— at least most of
them— the night before they sailed, at the Jolly Tar ; but
one, a tall fellow, very dark and glum, went away about
midnight, saying he had had enou h, A man they called
Guiseppe followed to keep him out of mischief, he said, but
they both went on board their ship, for another of the
crew came in soon after and said he had left them there."

' ' That rather confirms our suspicion. Did this landlord
know what port the ship was bound for?"

" He was not sure. They spoke of Nantes and Bordeaux;
but I am not done w i«h him yet. I noed not trouble you
any further, sir. When do you think of leaving ?"

^' In about a week."

" I am not sure how long I shall be here myself. But I
have your address in Town. Are you content to leave the
matter in my hands, Mr. Standish '?"

" After the proofs of ability and dexterity you have given,
I cannot hesitate to trust, but do not keep me in the dark
longer than you can help."

" I will not, sir."

'* Would you wish me to hold back the announcement of
the reward from the various consuls to whom we propose
to se^d them '?"

" No, by no means. It may save a deal of trouble. Good

eveni|ig, sir."

• ♦ ♦ * * * «

When Dorothy and the faithful Henrietta returned from
the funeral they drove to the hotel where the poor little
motherless children were staying, under their grandmother's
charge.

So long as her sister's inanimate form was in the house,
Dorothy could not bear to leave. But now she was deso-
lately free, and she pined to see little Dolly's face, to hear
the boy's joyous laugh. She longed, too, that the broken-
hearted father should be soothed, and won back to life by
their helplessness, their loving claims, their tender associa-

BLIND FATE.

bis landlord

)uble. Good

tioQS with the past. Terribly shaken and unnerved as she
was, the salt of consideration for others kept her mind
sound and healthy.

She would nevertheless, uladly have avoided Mrs. Cal-
lander. Her unvarying harshness to Mabel was not to be
forgiven, and in her own mind Dorothy prayed that her
brother-in-law would not give his children into her care.
It would only be natural that he did, but it would cut her
off from her only chance of consolation and comfort in
acting a mother's part to her sister's children.

The hard old woman received Dorothy with unusual cor-
diality, and the poor little orphans with cries of delight,
but they wrung her heart by their demands to be taken
back to " dear mammy."

"With many a tear she tried to explain to them that
mother had been taken away by the angels to a beautifivl
place in Heaven, where, if they were good, they should go
too, and other soothing fairy tales.

When at last they were taken away by their maid, Mrs.
Callander began to talk of her own deep grievances.

I suppose my poor, unhappy son is not yet quite him-
self ?" she said, in a high complaining key. ' ' His mind
cannot be in a sound state, or he would not refuse so per-
sistently to see his mother. I must say it is an rnneces-
sary aggravation of this terrible affliction. Has he said
anything to you about it, Dorothy?"

" No, Mrs. Callander. He rarely speaks to me. He says
more to Henrietta."

' ' Indeed !" returned Mrs. Callander, with a faint tinge
of complacency. "Well," she continued, "I shall make
another attempt to see him to-morrow, for I suppose he
will leave this dreadful place as soon as he can."

'• I know very little, but Paul Standish told me that Mr.
Egerton was going with him somewhere."

" Tiiat is or will bo the act of a true friend," said Mrs.
Callander, pressing her handkerchief to her eyes. " I am
quite willing to keep the poor dear children with me for
the present."

Dorothy's lips quivered but she did not speak.

" Oh, aunty! they will be quite too much for you !" cried
xMiss Oakley. " I shall take ctre of them, and of Dorothy,
if she will let me."

" Very well, my dear," returned Mrs. Callander with un-
wanted complaisance. In truth, across the gloom and thick

'if.

I ml'

I ;',«

100

BLIND FATE.

darknoRS of the last weok came the consoling idea that
after all, Henrietta, that poarlof great price, might replace
poor, paltry, insignificant Mabel, to the dowager's infinite
satisfaction,

" Yon liad better stay with me to-night, Dorothy," con-
tinued Miss Oakley. Tt would be well to be out of that
(In-adful iiouse."

" Thank you, dear Henrietta; but I do not like to leavp|
Herbert (juite alone. He might ask for me and find him-
self deserted, I am sure she would not like me to leave him,
and yon- you will stay with me?"

" Oh, of course! It is odd that Herbert cannot make u|j|
his mind to see Mr. Standish," said Miss Oakley.

" Can you wonder," retorted Mrs. Callander, quickly,
" when he declines to see his own mother?"

After some further conversation, Dorothy returned to
The Knoll, leaving Miss Oakley, who promised to follow
soon, still closeted with her aunt.

It was in truth a real comfort to be with Mrs. McHugh.
There was a degree of strength as well as tenderness in the
good old woman's nature that seemed to support the young
mourner in her hour of need more than anything else, al- \
ways excepting Paul Standish.

Even to him siie could not breath the horrible suspicions
which ate into her soul,

The moment when she stood paralysed in the pretty
bright drawing-room, and heard Egerton's voice as he
avowed his mad passion to his sister unchecked, was per-
petually present to her, and the question always demanding
an answer was, " DidEgerton strike the fatal blow ?" Mabel,
who knew him best, was unmistakably afjaid of him — ab-
jectly afraid. He had never taken any notice of the appeal
she said she had written to him a few days before. Had
he fulfilled his own confession that he would rather crush
out her life than see her living happily with her husband !
and she would have turned to her husband, all would have
been well had her sweet life been spared.

The daring outrage showed -to Dorothy's mind such
knowledge of the house, and the ways of the inhabitants,
that she marvelled no one perceived the improbability of
its being committed by a total stranger. Yet had not her
suspicion been roused by Egerton's own words, would she
not have believed wi'h the rest that it was a pure vulgar
robbery aggravated by murder V How ardently she wished

BUNDFATB

101

she had never overheard that revolting confession ! It
seemed to have withered the youth in her heart. This vile
secret must weigh upon her for ever ! For her own dear
weak sister's sake she must never reveal it — she must
never bring the hated Egerton to justice. It would be
treachery to Mabel to revenge her death at the cost of her
reputation, of her husband's belief in her, of the fair fame
of the children's mother !

But oh ! some day — when she was strong enough neither
to weep nor faint, when she had force enough to concen-
trate her passion of hatred and contempt for him in deadly,
scornful composure — she would meet Egerton face to face,
and hand him the letter she had never yet had the oppor-
tunity of giving him. She would tell him she knew he was
the murderer, that the consideration for his victim alone
kept her from crying aioud for justice, which, to her, meant
vengeance.

Sometimes she thought, Could he have bribed his wild
countryman to do the deed ? There was a strong associa-
tion in her mind between that fierce-looking sailor and the
soft-mannered, high-bred gentleman, the favorite of so-
ciety, the idol of manoeuvring mammas. Would he not be
more likely to employ the hand of another than to strike
witli his own the creature he professed to love so ardently,
ill her sweet, defenceless sleep ?

And she must never relieve her heart of this cruel load,
tUis mixture of rage and shame!

Thanks to the tender care of Standish, to the persistency

v'ith which Egerton had kept in the background, she did

not see him at the funeral, but the knowledge that he was

t here turned her grief to a fiery, galling,tumultuous agony,

•'Iraost too maddening to bear.

The conflict going on in her young heart seemed to have
' xtinguished the dawning passion which had begun to de-
velop itself in her heart for Standish, the delicate conscious-
ness tliafc made her shrink from his rare brotherly caress,
his kindly familiarity. Now, shattered- aching in every
fibre of her being with poignant grief and bitter knowledge,
hftreft of her life's dear companion, alone without any near
(ie--she was once more the helpless child, always ready to
rty to shelter to his arms, her only moments of relief were
those spent beside him, her hand clasped in his.

When she reached the house of mourning, into which the

■)i

ight, happy home of a week ago had been metamorphos-

^t^

If 'I'

i.f.r" ■

1(1 1;;'

1'^::^'

102

BLIND FATK

ed, Mrs. McHugh met her with the words, ** The master

has b^du asking for you, Miss Dorothy."

" Indeed! I will go to him at once !" and, without remov-
ing her bonnet and heavy veil, she opened the dining room
door, saying : " You wished to speak to me, Herbert?"

He was lying back in a large arm-chair, his eyes fixed
on the fire which had burned low, beside him were writing
materials which he had been using, for some of the paper
was covered with straggling characters wery unlike his
ordinary clear, firm hand.

He turned his head and looked vaguely at her. " No,'
he said in a low, hesitating tone, " I did not want you, but
as you are here, I will speak to you. I am going away, you
know. This place drives me mad ! You and Henrietta can
do what you choose, and take care of the children ; you
must keep them, if i die."

" Do not speak oi dying, dear Herbert, think of those
dear little ones who have no ono now but you ? You must
live Cor them ! 1 am not old enough or wise enough to
bring them up without your help. Your boy will need a
father's guidance ! I Know how you must feel, but for her
sake——"

She stopped to regain her self-control.

" You must know that I am — that I cannot be of use to
any one. I am sore stricken ! My head burns when i try
to think — but I will try to do my duty — I have always
tried according to my light ! Perhaps 1 may find relief
in movement ! I am going to London to-morrow — I shall
see my lawyers — you know them. I tried to write, but I
could not say what I wanted. Then they and Henrietta
and you will manage for the best."

** When do you go, Herbert ?" she asked, awed by his
strange, haggard look,

" To-morrow !"

" And will you not see your mother ? She feels deeply
for you, she will feel terribly hurt "

" No, I will not see her ? Hereafter, if I return ** He

paused, and then muttered something which Dorothy could
not mfke out.

♦' You will not go alone, Herbert ?"

He laughed. It made her flesh creep to hear him laugh.

♦♦ Your guardian is inclined to take care of me too. Eger-
ton is to be sent with me ; but they need not fear, I have
some work to do before 1 can afford to rer'" "

BUND FATE.

103

**Tliema8tei

without remov-
le dining room
Herbert?"
his eyes fixed
I were writing
e of the paper
)ry unlike his

it her. " No/
want you, but

ing away, you
Henrietta can
children; you

ihink of those
1 ? You must
se enough to
>y will need a
el, but for her

ot be of use to
;ns when i try
have always
ay find relief
rrow— I shall
write, but I
knd Henrietta

awed by his

le feels deeply

turn ** He

frothy oould

fcr him laugh,
me too. Eger-
' fear, I have

' " But you will not go without seeing the children ? They
are asking for you to-day, and they are so sweet !"

" Do you want to drive me mad ?" he cried, fiercely, anft
starting up began to pace the room.

" Do not try me too much, Dorothy ! Poor little Dorothy!
— how foud she was of you! That is why it makes my
heart ache to see you ! so go away now. I will write to
you when I can, but go now ! I can bear to speak to Hen-
rietta better."

Dorothy took his hand in both hers, pressing it tenderly.
' * God help you, Grod bless you," she murmured, and wen*^.
noiselessly away, to weep more gently and pitifully than
she had yet done.

CHAPTER IL

ON THE TRAIL.

Luke Dillon was a rare specimen of his race, a money -
loving Irishman. As a woman is the most incurable of
drunkards, so an Irish Celt, whose nature is so perverted
as to think of to-morrow and develop a greed for gold, is
the most abandoned miser. There is no limit to his pas-
sion for accumulating. Scotchmen and Englishmen can be
reasonably stingy (save in a few cases of almost diseased
minds), and to a love of money unite some regard for re-
putation, some recognition that too avert "doing" of their
fellow-creatures, defeats their object and diminishes their
gains. But a miserly Irishman is often too much blinded
Dy an intense desire to grasp every possible penny to see
his own real interests clearly.

It was a flaw in a very shrewd, far-seeing intellect, but
as yet indulgence had not developed it to that degree of
intensity which dulls perception in other directions. A
few tastes still remained to Dillon not quite dwarfed by
the master passion, among them a certain pleasure in his
own keenness and such creature comforts as good food and
drink.

The circumstances of Mrs. Callander's death exercised
him a good deal.

He would have been rather disgusted to think that his
ta^k offered no gr»nter difficulty than tracing a coinuic u
seaman, a meie vulgar thief. For his own credid suk.'

104

BLIND FATE.

lie hoped and expected to find a far deeper, subtler motivr
below the apparent simplicity of the crime.

As to the guarantee of spotless character and blameless
life against the possibilities of hidden shame, and cruel
revenge, he gave no heed to such feather weights. No in-
iquity was too great for the weakness of human nature,
according to his philosophy. Nor was any human being
proof against the force of temptation properly applied;
the difference between the purest and noblest woman and
the most degraded of her sex was a mere matter of accident
— of her surroundings.

If he could find the sailor, the supposed murderer, and
prove him guilty, well and good, he would get a thousand
pounds. If he could find a more highly-placed assassin,
so much the better — he should unearth some disgraceful
secret which it would be of the last importance to conceal,
even at the price of immunity to the murderer. This
would mean a heavy bribe to insure his own silence. Two
thousand instead of one — ay more — with the possibility
of retaining fees for many a year to come. With this idea
Dillon applied all the force of his keen and, in some ways,
imaginative mind, first to invent probabilities and then to
seek proof of them, for he had often discovered very un-
expected truth while following the scent of a false theory.
Given a beautiful young woman, separated by many a
league of land and sea from a husband considerably older
than herseli, what more likely than a lover ? And, given
a lover, the amount of guilt and cruelty, deceit and treach-
ery, depended on the strength of passion, the di£&culties
and provocations of the position. "There must be a con-
fidante somewhere," mused the detective, as he strolled
along the common the day after the funeral. **I wish I
could find her — if it is a 'her' — I wish I coukl get a word
with that Mr. Egerton. He is a good-looking chap, a
snufE-the-moon sort of fellow, thinks no 'small potatoes'
of himself. I could see that in spite of his grief -Grad, he
looked as if he had lost everyone belonging to him ; when
I saw him get into the carriage yesterday morning he could
hardly stand— yet he has a determined face, sort of boss,
that could do pretty well what he liked with a woman.
I must have a talk with the young sister. If she knows
anything I'll get it out of her. It seems this Egerton was
her sweetheart. Who was the other's ?"
At this point in his meditations Dillon

came upon a

BLIND FATE.

106

gentleman who was walking slowly along the beach, and
had crossed from the water's edge as if to mount some
steps that led to the low embankment.

Dillon recognised E;erton, and waited till^he was near.

"Beg your parcion, sir," he said, deferentially touching
his hat, "I want a word or two with you."

*'Who are you?" asked Egerton, haughtily.

"My name is Dillon, and I am in the employment of Mr.
Standish at present."

"Ah ! the detective," with a tinge of contempt in his
tone. "Are you sent from Scotland Yard ?"

"No, sir, 1 am not in any service except that of the
person who engages me temporarily. I am free to do as
my employer directs ; to press on to full discovery or to
hold my hand "

"What do you want with me ?"
I'd make bold to ask you a question or two, if I may,

( t

»>

sir.

"Go on, we can walk while I speak. What is it ?"

"They tell me you spoke to th se men, the sailors who
are suspecud ot tlie murder. Now, I'd like to know what
your opinion is."

"I have none. They may have done it, but there are
base scoundrels of every nation who'd stab their mothers
for gold and jewels."

"Maybe so, but not their sweethearts, sir."

"What do you mean?" cried Egerton, his eyes lighting
up angrily, while a deep flush passed over his face, so
deadly white before. "Do you think this tragedy a fit
subject for vulgar jests?"

"God forbid, sir," gravely. "But you see rough men
like mo are not accustomed to touch things gingerly as
gentlefclks do. You see it's rather hard to hunt up men
that may be innocent, and waste a lot of time and money
into the bargain, without looking round a bit for any other
possible party."

" I think it is all wasted time," said Egerton, passionate-
ly. " We'll never catch the real murderer, though I'd givo
all 1 possess to stand by and see him die inch by inch under
the grasp of a torturer ; but I don't want you, or any like
you, to handle and dissect the simple details of a life like

There" stopping himself, " I am tolerably sure some

blood-thirsty thief stole in and silenced her forever, sonic-
wretch who will assuredly meet his punishment soonei- <.'

'■'i;.

106 BLIND FATE.

later, who is perhaps . That i all I think about it. If

you want money to prosecute your search come to me—
there, tako that aud let me go, ] don't want to talk to you
again." He took out his purse and put five or six sov-
ereigns in Dillon's ready hand, then with a gesture of in-
finite abhorence turned from him and walked rapidly in
the direction of the pier.

' ' Oh, I'm too dirty to be touched am I ? " muttered the
detective, lookiiifj, after him with an unpleasant grin. "All
the fitter to take the ' filthy lucre.' Drawing a small
leather bag from his pocket, he put the sovereigns into it;
cureiuUy twisting the string round it he placed the bag in
his breast pocket, and, quickening his pace, directed his
steps to The Knoll.

" There is something wrong with you, my fine gentle-
man," he mused. " A man's not always so wild with grief
about ills friend's wife, unless — he's not the sort of man
tiiough to stick a knife in a woman — unless he was riled to
that extent. Faith, jealousy and revenge have brought
fiaer gentlemen than you into ugly places. Che must have
been a regular beauty. Now let's see what's to be done
with the other one ? "

The upper hou-eniaid was the first Dillon saw on open-
ing the side door, lie rarely used the chief entrance.

"Is Mr. Standish in?"

" I don't knov/, sir. He was here about an hour ago, but
I've not been upstairs since. Maybe he's in the drawing-
room. Sliall I go and see, sir?"

The servants were rather in awe of Dillon. They credited
him with tlie power to turn them 'inside out' as cook expressed
it, and clap them into prison if he doubled their truthful-
ness ; moreover, they hoped and believed that his unerring
skill could not fail to track the murderer and bring him to
justice as they devoutly wished.

" No, thank you, Mary, my dear, I'll just go and look
myself. Where is Mr. Collins?"

" He's gone out to do some errands. He and the Colonel
go to tovv'n to-night."

''Ay, be is better out of this," and Dillon went deliber-
ately towards the hall.

Dorothy iiad forced herself to sit down stairs in the
drawing room tliat morning to answer some of the many
letters wuicli had poured in upon her since the dreadful
Uouth of hor sister had been described by every newspaper

I about it. If
come to me—
to talk to you

or six sov-
gesture of in-
Kl rapidly in

muttered the
int grin, "All
^ing a small
3igus into it ;
ed the bag iu

directed his

' fine gentle.
Id with grief
sort of man

was riled to
ave brought
le must have

to be done

*w on open-
Etnce.

our ago, but
w drawing-

'hey credited
ok expressed
ir truthful-
is unerring
ring him to

> and look

the Colonel

3nt deliber-

tirs in the

the many

B dreadful

newspaper

BLIND FATE

107

in Biifland and some abroad — chiefly hoping to exchange a
few words with Standish as he came and went.

It seemed that long years had passed since she had writ-
ten letters in that room last ; was it not hideously soon to-
be clothed and in her right mind, and able to resume any-
thing like her ordinary ways. Was life to go on just the
same without Mabel ! How was Herbert to bear existence
unless he could shake off something of the awful, silent
grief which oppressed him? ""ie was hardly master of
himself. Then when Standish went away, how appalling
her loneliness would be!

As she thought this with her elbow on the table, her
cheek on her hand, a voice, a strange voice, said :

♦' Oh ! I beg your pardon. Miss."

She started, and, turning, recognised Dillon.

" I beg your pardon, Miss," he repeated. ** I thought
Mr. Standish was here."

" He was here half-an-hour ago, and will return soon,"
she sa'd, rising and looking earnestly at him ; something
in him repelled her, yet she had a curious wish to speak to
him.

" Thank you. Miss, I only wanted to ask him a question
or two, and maybe you could answer them as well."

"And they are ? " said Dorothy.

♦•Just this"— he paused to invent them, "How soon
does Mr. Standish leave— leave England 1 mean ? "

" I am not quite sure — in a week or ten day**-"

"Ah I then I have the information I hope \ et in that
tima I should like to have his address there— where is he
going ? "

" He will be sure to give it to you ! and Mr. Dillon, do
you hope to get any clue ? "

" Well, miss, I may and may not. There are many
points to be considered. It's all very well to offer rewards
and himt up those foreign chaps, but it's just possible
others may have a hand in it. Things look black enough,

I grant, against those men, still " he Stopped and looked

down, as if considering deeply.

" Still, in what other way can you possibly account for
the horrible crime ?" asked Dorothy.

" As to accounting for it— why, that's not to be thought
of yet. Then, you see, there's a heap of crimes done from
spite and jealousy and revenge, besides the desire to grab
booty."

106

BLIND FATE.

" There could be no such motives in this case," returned
Dorothy, trying? to speak calmly, while her heart beat with
most painful violence at the corroboration of her own hor-
rible suspicions. " Who could be jealous of or wish to
hurt my sister, who only lived among her own family and
iiad no intimacies outside them 'i^

'« Well, 1 suppose that's true, but you know, miss, 1 am a
stranger, and don't know nothin^i of how you and she lived.
Sometimes good, kind ladies manage lo offend spiteful
people, who don't stop at triiles ; if you could remember
now that she scorned anyone, or turned her back on anyone,
it might be a help, and, of coarse, you would like to bring
the villain to justice !" He kept his small, searching eyes
fixed on her while he spoke, noting how the swift blood
mounted almost to her brow, and then left her paler than
before ; how her eyes avoided his, and seemed to shrink
together.

" We have lived with true, kind friends, with faithful
servants, and I could think of nothing that could suggest
the evil thoughts or purposes you hint at."

" Well, I'm sure it's good to hear you say so. The world's
a cruel, bad place, and I have known queer things in it.
Now, a beautiful lady, if she's as good as an angel, can't
help bad people coming near her. Then, you know, the
better she is and the prouder she is, the more she's likely
to rouse the devil in some "

" How dare you suggest such fearful possibilities ?" in-
terrupted Dorothy, hardly able to retrain from screaming
aloud with terror. " You are thinking of wicked, uncivil-
ised people, not of English gentlemen and ladies ; these
vile motives do not exist here, and — and you ought not to
speak of them to anyone ! Don't you see what frightful
conclusions they point to ? What a cruel construction the
world we live in would put upon them. "You must not
speak in this way to anyone !"

" Trust me," he returned, with a hideously confidential
air— while he thought, ' ' She knows more than she chooses
to tell ; there's a tile off the roof here, somehow." " I have
kept many a curious story quiet before this I" he said
aloud. " If you t^st me, miss, and jusJi tell me every little
trifle, such as. of course, you wouldn't Speak out before a
low, vulgar policeman, who has neither discretion nor de-
licacy, I'll lay my hand on the miscreant, or," with strong
emphasis, " the real miscreant's tool."

liLlAD FATE.

109

Dorothy was overwhelmed. How was it that this stranger,
this common man, had evolved STinpioions so like her own?
What clue had he gained ? How did he dare — her head
swam. She dreaded to think what inculpatory morsel of
writing either to or from Egerton might have fallen into
his hands — papers, notes, letters were so easily mislaid, so
dreadfully dangerous. She made a gallant effort to pull
herself together, for she felt he was trying to read her
thoughts with his sly, mean eyes.

»* I am so unnerved," she said, with sudden composure,
" that everything frightens me. Of course a man of your
experience must know much that seems impossible to me.
I can but hope your skill will bring the real felon to justice.
T'^ me, of course, it is clear that robbery and the fear of
detection were the only motives for the crime that has
robbed us of one so dear." A sob choked her words,

Dillon stood respectfully silent.

" It was only foolish nervousness that made me speak as
I did," she continued. '' I am sure you know best what to
say as well as to do, and my dear sister's life was so simple
so kinaly, so innocent, that I have no fear whatever of any
construction being put upon it. You need not think of my
foolish words."

" She's a plucky one," thought the detective, while he
said aloud, •' No, of course not, miss ; but I'll be careful,
all the same, and you may be sure I'll do my best to find
out the real truth." He suddenly raised his eyes as he ut-
tered the last words. Dorothy could not resist a shiver ;
there was, to her ear, a threat in his tone. " Now,' he re-
sumed — when to Dorothy's delight the door opened to admit
Standish, who cama in quickly, saying —

" You here, Dillon ?"

He stopped beside Dorothy.

" Yes, sir, I just came in, thinking you were here, and
was about to ask her a question or two about that bar "

He stopped, looking at Dorothy, who made no reply.

" Well, ask them," returned Standish, somewhat im-
patiently. " Miss Wynn looks very much exhausted. The
sooner we can leave her to rest, the better." While he
spoke, Dorothy, as if unconsciously, slipped her arm through
his, and drew close to him, so that he felt the beating of
her heart, the tremor that occasionally ran through her
slight frame.

I'/

110

HLIND FATE.

'' Ail ri«ht, sir. On the ni^'lit of the 20th September,
tiien you woke np with a sound iiiie metal falling ?"

"Something woke me. I was dreaming, and am not
sure wiietlier my dream did not suggest the i.oise."

•' Or tlie noiae might have suggested tliu dream, missV
Well, it was a bold ruffian that dared to con^e in at that
window, not knowing but tliat lie'd find the Uolonel there,
with a revolver under his pillow."

»' It is extraordinary," said Standish, " but probably the
fellow did not know it was a bedroom." He felt Dorothy
cling closer to him as he spoke.

" Ay, that might be! and the light in the room might
have attracted him (I had it lit last evening, and it can be
been faintly outside). Well, miss, did the noise frighten

you?"

"It startled me ; but everything was so quiet after that
1 thought it could only be the impression of my dream."

" You haven't any idea of what o'clock it was ?"

" Not the least. If I had only gone down stairs "

She stopped with a sob.

" You would have been murdered too, very likely.'

" This is enough," said Standish, sternly. "Miss Wynn
has ' old all this before. You are distressing her unneces-
sarly» I do not see your drift. Go into the next room and
wait for me. I am quite willing to be cross-examined."

"Very well, sir ; I am sorry I disturbed the young lady."
With an abrupt bow and a satisfied smile he left the room,
thinking, " She couid tell a good bit if she chose. She was
in a proper fright when I hinted at jealousy. I suspect I
sailed pretty close to the wind. She does not want his
high mightiness there to know what I was driving at. She
spoke up pretty quick when I began about the bar. I fancy
I have a fine job in liand. She is an uncommonly pretty
piece of goods. I would not mind her cuddling me up as
she does that guardian. But, Lord! a big bag of sovs. is
worth all that moonshine."

Meantime Standish, looking kindly into Dorothy's eyes,
exclaimed, " I was afraid that fellow's questions would
only open your wounds. I wanted to be with you when he
came. You are looking so pale and worn, Dorothy. I must
get you away from this."

Doroihy withdrew her arm from his and sat down, be-
ginning to put her papers and letters together.
'' I shall be pleased, too. The sight of this rooBU, of every-

MJKDFATK

tkiii|{, tke rec<^ection of our happy days it insai^sort-
aUe.**

"I have hoen consulting with Miss Oakley. Mrs. Call-
ander wants you all to go to her house in London — at
least, till you can get settled in an abode of your own.
Miss Oakley proposes to take a house and reside with you,
for the winter, at least. What do you think of this? She
is kind and human."

" I should like to be with Henrietta, but not with Mrs.
Callander. You must save me from Mrs. Callander, Paul."

" I will as far as I can, my dear child. Do you know,
she has just gone in to pay her son an unexpected visit ?"

"Indeed!" cried Dorothy, dismayed. "I am sorry — it
will irritate him, and he may woimd her. His dislike to
the idea of seeing her almost alarms me. It is so unnat-
ural, it is so unlike him when he is himself."

'* I imagine that her unfriendly feeling to hig sweet wife
was a source of annoyance to him, and now she is gone
he resents it as he never would have done during her life
time."

Dorothy bent her head but did not reply.

"Then I have your permission to arrange so far your win-
ter abode, at least with Miss Oakley ?"

"Yes, dear Paul. Shall you be long away ?"

" As short a time as I can manage — a month, perhaps.
Indeed I must come back to look after you and the child-
ren, for poor Callander seems to shrink from me — from us
all. He told Egerton he would leave a power of attorney
with his solictors, and would lodge money for current ex-
penses in their hands, as he wanted to stay a long time
abroad. He will, no doubt, return sooner than he expects.
The first cruel keenness of his grief blunted, he will long to
see his poor children."

Here a sound of voices and "teps outside attracted their
attention. The door was partly open and Dorothy heard
Mrs. Callander's voice saying very distinctly, "No; I shall
leave at once. It is insupportable."

Dorothy looked interrogatively at Standish.

"I would not go if I were you,'' he said, answering the
glance. " She can come in here if she likes." In another
minute the noise as of a carriage driving away was heard,
and at the same time Miss Oakley came in looking rather
.cared.

"Isn't it unfortunate?'' she said, throwing herself into a.

112

BLIND FATE.

chair. " He would not allow her to stay or even to sit
down."

'' Who ? Jifibert ?" asked Dorothy.

"Yes. When lus mother went in (quite against my ad-
vice) he stood up looking perfectly awful, and said, "I did
not ask you to come hert.' "

" I know that!" she returned, quite subdued, "but I
could not keep away, 1 longed to see you, my dear son — to
see "

' ' I may see you hereafter," he said in such a strange
choked sort of voice. " But here, while all is fresh, I will
not. You were the one enemy she had on earth. You only
distrusted and disliked her, you made her shrink from you
and 1 will neither see, nor speak with you, till God has
given me grace to forgive."

"Poor Herbert," continued Miss Oakley, weeping and
w.ping her eyes; "he was always a religious man. I was
sorry for my aunt, too, poor old tiling, I wanted her to come
in here and sit down, but no, she was too hurt and offended ;
she has gone back, and! really think 1 must go after her."

"Do, dear Henrietta. She was cross and disagreeable,
but this is a terrible punishment — to be rejected by her own,
own son ! "

" Yes, and Mr. Egerton was with me this morning, and
says Herbert does not wish the children to be with her.
We must try and smooth him down."

" It is a relief to me that Egorton is going with Callander.
This dreadful blow seems almost more than his brain can
stand. Still, he was always just and reasonable, Change
of scene will no doubt restore his balance, and his extra-
ordinary antipathies will fade away," said Standibh,
thoughtfully.

" I wish, I do wish you were going with Herbert," said
Dorothy, wringing her hands in her earnestness. There was
a tone of anguish in her voice that struck Standish.

"My dear Dorothy," ne said, .seriously, --you have
always been a sensible girl, you must not let yourself brood
over imaginary trouble now, when you have so terrible a
grief to contend with ; you will fritter away your strength,
which has been sorely ti-ied. Egerton is an excellent com-
panion for Callandei-. 1 do not understand your piejudice
against him."

"Nor 1," added Miss Oakley. "I am sure he has been
like a brother to Herbert, only a great deal more brotherly

BLIND PATE.

113

sit

ad-
did

than a brother. Now, I must go to my aunt ;" and Hen-
rietta, who, though truly sympathetic, was in a way ex-
hilarated by having so much to do — real work, too — went
quickly away.

" I cannot bear to leave you, my dear girl," said Stan-
dish, leaning on the back of Dorothy's chair. *' I fear the
effect of all this on your health. Come, you must be
brave for all our sakes. You must be a mother to those
poor litile children, and you must not distract me, for if I
leave you in this hopelessly nervous state I shall have no
heart for my work, and you know my future depends on my
work and how I do it. If I am haunted by a picture of
Dorothy, encourao;ing imaginary terrors till she is hyster-
ical and useless, I shall be restless and miserable about
you."

"Ah, Paul, you do not understand," cried Dorothy. She
was, indeed, sorely tried. Paul's approbation was infinite-
ly precious to her, yet she knew how well founded were her
apprehensions, though she could not bring herself to betray
her dead sister's weakness to this high-minded gentleman —
not now, later, perhaps — and then she would show him
the letter of entreaty and remonstrance which poor Mabel
had left in her hands. Besides, God only knows what line
of conduct Standish might consider it his duty to pursue,
perhaps to trace home the crime to Egerton and punish
him,however cruel che exposure of the shameful episode she
was so an xious to hide. It was all like an exaggerated
story in a "penuy dreadful." Oh, at any cost, she would
preserve her sister's name and memory from the degrading
notoriety of a criminal investigation.

It was a tremendous ordeal for ?o young a creature, but
she nerved herself to meet i'. At present it must be her
task to divert suspicion rom Egerton. As it was, that
terrible, formidable detective was on the real scent — she
would do nothing to help him. These thoughts flashed
quickly through her brain ; then, trying to speak calmly,
she went on —

'*Imust seem weak and silly to you, but I will prove
that I am not. You shall tiud me not unworthy of youi-
goodness and friendship. 1 will try to be strong."

She rose and walked over to the window, through which
the fatal words had come to strike with deadly knowledge

114

BLIND FATE.

iiifr .
¥'■'■

the serenity of her youthful innocence. Then she returned,
and placed her hand on her guardian's shoulder.

" You shall see what a good girl I will be ; you know, I
always kept my promises to you long ago."

" Yes, Dorothy, I know your heart is in the right place.
Write to me often ; tell me everything, and when I come
back I shall find time, youth, and beneficient nature doing
their healing work. Life is too precious to be expended on
grief, though yours is a heart that will not soon forget.
Now, my sweet little ward, will you not say good-bye to
Egerton before he starts '? He asked if you would not see
i u. He deserves so much consideration from you."

As he spoke, he felt Dorothy's fingers close tightly on his
shoulder. She did not answer immediately ; then, speak-
ing in low tone, she said —

"I know it is, perhaps, unkind, but will you explain to
Mr. Egerton how painful it would be to us both to mt '^t ?
When the first bitterness is past I will see him — yes, and I
will speak to him then. I will always try to do what you
wish me, Paul."

*' Thank you; you are a capital girl," said Standish,
taking her hands in both his own. '' I will not ask you to
tax your strength too much. Gro and find Mrs. McHugh
and bring her to me. I want to know when she can pack
up and start for town, The sooner you are out of this the
better. I should like to escort you and Henrietta Oakley
back to town, and help you to find an abode. Mrs. McHugh
can bring the children after. There is no reason why we
should not go the day after to-morrow."

CHAPTER HI.

MRS. CALLANDER REBUFFED.

Mrs. Callander was deeply wounded and humilated by
her son's refusal to hold any communication with her.

To her such conduct savored of insanity. She could
not see anything in the past to justify such an insult to
so admirable and devoted a parent as she had been. She
had only warned Herbert, from motives of the highest
prudence and principle, to pat some restriction on the too
intimate intercourse between his wife and that Mr. SUn-
dish, of whose trustworthness she was doubtful, and
whose views were those ol a mere worldling, carel^ of

BLIND FATE.

115

all religion, as the Rev. Mi. triimore observed. She (Mrs.
Callander) had only done her duty in speaking plainly on
the subject ; and to think that it had rankled in her son's
heart! That this unfortunate wife should be a source of
disunion even in her premature grave!

Her first care was that no one should suspect the es-
trangement. For this object, under the advice of her clerical
counsellor, she resolved to winter abroad, somewhere on
the Riviera, where it might be supposed Colonel Callander
would join her.

She spoke frankly to Henrietta Oakley, but to no one
else. The sympathetic feeling for Dorothy, for her grand-
children, which seemed to soften and humanise her at first,
hardened into her usual imperious coldness. Why should
she distress herself about her sister and children of a
woman wiio had so turned her son against her that the
desperate grief of the mourning widower refused consol-
ation from his own mother ?

Miss Oakley found her aunt surrounded by her com-
panion, her maid, and her right-hand man, who always
travelled with her, and filled the double office of butler and
courier. Miss Boothby was administering "sal volatile,"
while Mrs. Callander was issuing her orders.

"You had better lose no time, Harris,'' she was saying
as her niece entered, "You may miss your train, and I
wish everything to be ready for my arrival about seven to-
morrow."

"Are you going, then, aunt ?" cried Henrietta.

"I am. There is nothing to keep me here. Go, Miss
Boothby, go, Mitchell ; you can be packing and arranging
with hotel people. There is plenty to do."

"I am so sorry," said her niece ; "but, indeed, aunt, you
ought not to mind poor Herbert. He is changed towards
every one. He will hardly notice Dorothy, or "

"I thank you for putting me on a level with his pert,
empty-headed chit of a sister-in-law ?" said Mrs. Callander
in deep wrath. "Considering all 1 have done, all I have
endured, for Herbert, 1 think I deserve different treatment.
I forgave his most unpardonable marriage, and bore with
his infatuation. I even hoped to influence that poor un-
fortunate young woman for good, and 1 should have done
so, for since Mr. Egerton somewhat corrected the over-
weening presence of the guardian (^a nice kind of guardian),
Mabel was much more ready to be my companion. But 1

116

hUSD FATE.

kii'jw the marriage would end badly, and yo\i see it has."

"But, auntie, you don't mean to n&y that this horrid
murder was the just and liaiuial punishment of what
you consider an irnxn-uuent marriage f " exclaimed Miss
Oakley.

"I am not going to measure my words to please you,
Herrietta,'' said Mrs. Caiiander. •'! iiOpe that no sub-
tleties on the part o, Miss Dorothy Wynn will turn you
against one who ha.s been your uest friend. I am always

willing to be on affiiCtionaty terms with you, but "' Siie

paused and presaed her handkerchief to her eyes.

••You and Miss Wynn had better mnke what arrange-
ments you can about the children. Of course, my son
would not wisli them to remain with such a mounter as he
fancies his own mother to be, and i have a good deal to do
— letters to write — I will not, therefore, detain you."

'•Good gracious, aunt! Do you intend to turn me out?"

"1 repeat that I am engaged," returned Mrs. Callander,
stiffly.

"1 declare it is all too iieart-breaking," cried Henrietta,
Ijursting into tears. "I am sure you will not be so angry
when you come to think."

"1 will try to act like a Ciiristian w^oman, but you mast
remember 1 iiave a good deal in my power," .said Mrs.
Callander, coldly. At this threatening speech poor Hen-
rietta was at her wit's ends, and thinking of nothing better
than to kiss her aunt rather violently, thereby disarranging
her cap, and leaving the room aln-uptly, returned to the
Knoll hoping to be in time to catch Staudish.

She arrived in time to see Colonel Callander set out with
his faithful follower, Collins. As Dorothy excused herself
from the pain of seeing Egerton. the travellers were to
meet at the station.

Callander bid both Henrietta and his sister-in-law fare-
well with more composure tiian they expected. He thanked
them briefly for their kindne.'ss, and prom.sed to write
from time to time.

When he was gone, the two weeping womv3n took counsol

with Slandish, Henrietta des<;ribiiig the dowager's un-
friendly aspect. It was then decided thai Dorothy should
take up her abode with the cliildien, as su^jn as Mrs. Cal-
lander had left the hotel, while Miss Oakley went up to
town, and, with the help of Staudish, should dnd a suitable
house for the winter, as Henrietta Oakley's la.st original

BLi.NJj f AlE U7

idea was to dtivote herself to " that dear Dorothy and
those sweet, motherless pets!" To'Standish she was quite
confidential, and remarked, with her usual amiable candor,
" Of course, London is the best place for us. If Herbert
comes back, he will, of course, comt- to London, and if I
want a little change, I can easily go to and fro. Then Mr.
Egerton, after the first wretchedness of this terrible affair
is past, will probably renew his attentions to Dorothy, who
had much better marry him ; and London is the best place
for a trousseau."

" You are looking very far ahead," returned Standish
almost amused at her practical view of things, in spite of
her sincere sorrow.

" It does not strike me that Egerton has much chance.
Dorothy never liked him much, and now this cruel grief
seems to have turned her in some inexplicable manner
against him."

" How very foolish and unrea-^onable."

"Yes.it seems so. Where are vou going to put up,
Miss Oakley ?"

^' Oh, in Dover street, for I shall not ask Aunt Callander
for hospitality, I assure you. I do want to get settled be-
fore you leave, Mr. Standi-h. I do not know what wesluJl

do without j'ou."

* ******

Ready money is the true Aladdin's Lamp. Before its
potent touch, mountains remove themselves, and difficulties
melt away.

In two days Miss Oakley had found a suitable furnished
house large enough for her needs, and somewhat old-fash-
ioned, in a street leading from Kensington Gore, near
enough to Kensington Gardens to ensure the children air
and exercise, and sufficiently removed from the noise of the
main roadway to be quiet.

All this movement was absolute enjoyment to Henrietta.
She fancied >!ie was developin. a first-rate business faculty.
and con-tantiy called on btandish to admire her skill in
arranging this, that or the other. Then she svould remem-
ber that sne was forgetting her grief, and treat him to an
outburst of surrow-

But Standish was a keen observer, and saw that her
little affecrations were uiL-re surface assumptions, but thai,
honestv was deep-rooted in lier somewhat whimsical nature.

Miss'Uakley was solacing her.seif with a cup of tea after

118

BLIND FATE.

a long day's shopping and transacting various business
connected with the house she had taken, when Standish,
who had been with her in the forenoon, was ushered into
her sitting-room.

" What has happened ?" was her question as soon as she
looked in his face.

" Callander has given them the slip. He is off by him-
self to Paris. I found a note from his man of business at
my rooms when I returned after leaving you at the house
agent's this morning, and, on :,^oing there,|heard that he
had started this morninii;, leaving very distinct directions
respecting money matters, letters, etc. He had spent many
hours with them the day before yesterday. He had a short
codicil put to his will, and regulated some affairs. Among
other things he directed that in what concerned Dorothy I
was to be consulted. Dobson, the head of the firm, quite
laughed at the idea of his not being able to take care of
himself. He said that, though terribly crushed and de-
pressed, he never saw a man in a more thoroughly sane con-
dition. Calland .r left an address in Paris, and will write
from thence. >ie sent off old Collins to Fordsea. Dorothy
will be horribly frightened when he arrives."
" And Mr. Egerton, what does he say ?"
*' Egerton seems in a bad way. I r^ent round to see him,
and found him veiy queer. Callander sent him a note say-
ing that he wanted no companionship. Egerton could
not, I think, have accompanied him. His man, a German,
says he caught a severe chill, at any rate he is in a high
fever, and more in want of control than poor Callander."

" How very dreadful !" cried Miss Oakley. " That poor
Mr. Egerton has really too much feeling. One would not
have expected it from him. Who is with him ? He ought
to have some one to take care of him."

" He has resolved to go into a hospital— into a private
room, of course. He says he will be guarded there against
prying relatives. He lias no very near relations, but he
seems nervously anxioas to be shielded from them."

" How very strange ! Surely he has bome old house-
keeper, some faithful old nurse, who could come to him."
" Probably, but not in London ; he has no town house,
you know."

" It is all so dreadful. Nothing but misfortune seems
to follow us. I am quite frightened at the idea of Herbert
^•oing off alone."

BLIND FATE.

119

" I am not sure after all that it may not be better for
him to depend on himself, to be away from all who are
associated with this terrible tragedy."

" I will get away as early as 1 can to-morrow, for I am
sure poor dear Dorothy will be dreadfully distress ^d when
Collins returns."

This was not, however, the effect produced on Dorothy's
mind by the sudden appearence of Callander's old servant ;
she was supremely thankful that, anyhow, Egerton was
prevented fron accompanying her brother-in-law.

With her suspicions, it seemed too painful an anomaly

that Egerton should be selected as the consoling friend of

the bereaved husband.

* ♦ « 4c « ♦ ♦

It was with a sense of relief that Dorothy at last found
herself back in London, away from the scene of death and
horror that had stamped itself so indelibly in her imagin-
ation.

The neighborhood selected by Miss Oakley was new to
her, as the house occupied by her sister duringthe previous
winter was at the other side of the park, near the ponder-
ous mansion of the dowager, in one of the Tyburnian
squares.

How strange, how heart-breaking it seemed, this settling-
down to life again without Mabel. The children, too, had
almost ceased to ask for "mammie;" this saved some pangs
yet how cruel it was that the sweet mother should be for-
gotten.

"When they are older I will talk to them about her -
and help to keep her memory green," thought Dorothy.

Miss Oakley was occupied with her new attempts at
housekeeping, and took much counsel with Mrs. McHa'^h.
She was also profoundly concerned about Egerton.

She called or sent every day to inquire at the hospital
where he had insisted on being taken. His illness was ac-
vereand prolonged, for a week there was little hope, and
Miss Oakley more than once reproached Dorothy with her
indifference to the clanger of a man who had loved her and
■^hown even greater sympathy in the family sorrow than
Standish.

" 1 don't think you care a straw about whether he live-
'.. dies," she concluded one day, about a week after Paul
had gone to Berlin.

120

BLIND FATE.

#-
w

"I am not indifferent. Henrietta," saidDorothy, in a low,
r.n'.mulous voice. ''God only knows all I feel,*' and she
hastily left the room, to commune with her own heart.

" Does she really care for him?" thought Miss Oakley,
looking after her in some surprise. "Is she concealing her
liking for some absurd romantic reason? If he recovers
and she loses him for a mere whim, how bitterly sorry
she will' be by-aud-by."

Dorothy was indeed deeply moved by the judgment
which seemed hanging over Egerton. Profoundly as she
dreaded and liated him. it was too painful to think of his
being hurried into erfirni'v vviLli this terrible unrepeuted
guilt upon his soul, if he had a soul! For how could any
remnant of the divine— the immortal — linger in a man
whose conscience would permit hira drst to use his psychic
force, his powers of attraction, to draw a simple guileless
creature like Mabel from the husband she really loved, and
then, failing in his diabolical treachery, to destroy the life
he could not pervert. Every particular of Egerton's con-
duct since her sister's cruel death pointed to his guilt.
Even the detective, without the key she held to the mys-
tery, had gathered enough information to suggest the idea
of jealousy as a motive, and havin^^ gained so much he
would surely come to the true conclusion. Yes ; for all
their sakes, especially for Mabel's sake, it would be better
that Egerton died. Yet she dared not wish it. She under-
stood why he insisted on «;oing into a liospital to benursed
by strangers! He feared betraying himself in the ravings
of delirium. What might he not say ? To what extent
might he not implicate Mabel?

Haunted by these tormentin'^ thoughts, Dorothy's soft,
dark-grey eyes grew feverishly restless for want of sleep,
her hands were dry and burning. Noticing these indica-
tions of mental distress. Miss Oakley changed her mind
and decided tliat far from bein^- liearrlessly indifferent to
Egerton, Dorothy was dyinii; of anxiety about him; she
therefore brought the daily report of him with much ina-
pressment to her young friend, and often tunded the con-
versation on him, his delightful qualities, his large fortime
hia good looks, his position, &c., till Dorothy was alnaost
compelled to cry aloud for mercy, while Miss Oakley set
her down as a silly sentimental ' .t quite ridict^uB with ber
unreasonable prick

BLIND FATE.

121

A few days after Paul Standish had left for Berlin, Dor-
othy' was busy writing to him (it was the on ; occupation
which gave her pleasure), when a card was brought to
her —

' ' Mr. L. Dillon," below which was written in pencil,
" Portland Hotel."

'' Show him in," said Dorothy, with an odd sensation of
sickness.

"I thought you had left England," she said, when he had
made his bow and stood silent before her.

" I found one or two little things to detain me," he re-
turned in a humbly polite tone, his eyes fixed on the ground
"and I made so bold as to call before starting for Paris."

" Can I do anything for you ?" asked Dorothy, civilly.
She felt such a coward before this man who might hold in
his hand the issue:; of life or death.

" Not much, miss. I only thought I'd make sure of Mr.
Standish before 1 went. Is he still in the same place?"
showing her his Berlin address in his note book. ■'! may
have to pass through, and I'd like to call if he is still
there."

'■ Yes, as long as he is in Berlin he will be in that hotel ;
but what can possibly take you to Berlin ? What can you
find there '?"

" Not much of your affair, miss, but I am working in
another matter with it, so I hope to make one thing help
the other."

" Is there, then, a connecting link between crime and
crime, however wide apart ?" asked Dorothy, sadly.

" I don't know for that, miss, but it is right down cur-
ious how often lookin^ for one thing you light on another.
I was sorry to hear Mr. Egerton was so bad," he went on,
with a change of tone, " he must be a real tender-hearted
gentleman."

" He is," said Dorothy, with a degree of steadiness that
surprised herself. " I suppose being upset and distressed,
the chill he got took greater effect on him."

♦» Oh, it was a chill, was it ? Well, they did not say so
when I called at the hospital to inquire."

" Did you see him ?" asked Dorothy, quickly.

" No— no ; they would not let me see him, though he is
a trifle better this morning. I suppose, with all the care
he has, he will recover ?"

^* It is hard to say."

122

BUND FATE.

If^^i

" Weil, I will not troub.e you, miss, any longer, aa you
think Mr. Standish won't go anywhere else till he come>
back, and wiicn rnay that ho V"

'• In a fortnight or three weeks."

*' Then I'll wish you good-morning — but stay — maybe
you'd tell rne if you ever saw anything like this before ?'*

He took from his pocket a very small parcel in brown
[taper ; within was sornetning foldeu in silver-paper, and
when that was op»'ned, the detective placed upon the palm
of his hand a fiH;/niynt of chase I silver ; it was like half a
.scallop hhtjll, very- thin and blackish, and in the centre was
part of the hole, through which it had been rivetted to
something.

Dorothy looked at it intently ; she had a dim recollection
of having seen sou^ething like it somewhere. It was cer-
tainly not strange to her, but she would not give this
dreadful man a clue.

" No." she said, steadily ; " I have never seen it before.
Where did you find it V"

" Well, miss ; for the present you must excuse my
answering that que«tion. It mayn't be of any value ; if
you had rwognised it, why, it might have been a link. It's
foreign workmanship, this, hut I don't know exactly where
it comes from. It might be the ornament of a dagger ; a
thing they stick on the scabbard to make it look pretty."

" Pretty !" echoed Dorothy, with a shudder ; and then,
looking straight at him, she said, quietly, " I really know
nothing about it."

" Then you can say nothing. Sorry I troubled you, miss."

" Do not apologise. Of course I am anxious to give you
what help I can," said Dorothy, civilly.

" Are you now ?" he returned. Suddenly uplifting his
oyes, he sent a glance of such intense searching inquiry into
hers, that she felt as if a shaft of strongest light had
pierced into the innermost recesses of her heart, and re-
vealed all her miserable doubts and suspicions, and terror,
lest her darling sister's weak tampering with evil, and its
terrible outcome of crime and death, should be dragged
forth before the pitiless gaze of the law and all lookers-on.
With a degree of strength that surprised herself, she
answered, calmly :

•' Can you doubt it ?"

" Well, uo J i suppose not," he said, with some deliber-

liLlND FATK.

';23

at ion, as he folded up the morsel of silver, and put it carti-
fullj' in his large note-book.

" I hope Mrs. McHugh and the children are well, miss ?
Beautiful little creatures ; it's enough to make even a hard-
ened man like myself ready to break his heart to look at
ihera."

•• Thank you ; the children are quite well. Mrs. McHugh
is a good deal shaken, as, indeed, we all are"

'• Small blame to ye," said Dillon, heartily, and he took
his hat from the chair where he had placed it. '• You may
trust me, miss. I'll not leave a stone unturned, not one !
to Mnd the villain — the real villain, I mean — that took the
dear lady's life."

Another long, sea ching look, and he left the loom.

Tlit're was more of threat than assurance in his tone,
Dorothy thought, as she sat down again to her writ.ng-
table. Resting her elbows on it, she covered her face with
her hands, and thought— thought with all her mind viiere
she had seen that morsel of silver ornament before.

It must have been some time ago since she had seen it.
Was it among a variety of daggers, pistols, yataghans,
arms of various kinds and countries, that E.'erton had
shown them — one happy afternoon she had gone with Mnbel
and Standish to tea at Egerton's chambers iu the Aibriny ?
Yes ; it must have been there she had seen som'^ curious
daggers with ornaments on their scabbard- both in brass
and silver ; was it there she had seen someri^iing like the
fragment presented by Dillon ? She hoped, pa.^sionately
hoped she had said nothing, admitted norliintc, that men
could twist into evidence against Ei^erton. Had Ej^erton
been her nearest and dearest, sue could not more ardently
have desired to shield him.

Why was this man Dillon going away abroad when
Egerton, whom he evidently suspected, was in Loudon,
and likely to remain there? Prouabiy other business
called him away, and he wished to mix up matters, hO that
ne might appear to be occupied about thnjCaih-nder ':ragedy
as Weil as others. Would the day ever coine wh.-n she
could look back with a simple, tender grief, unmixed with
terror lest the shameful secret, known only to herself,
shotild leak out.

After thinking in profound stillness for many minutes
she pulled herself together, and taking her pen added som»i
lines to her letter : —

w:-'

p«

'■ i ■

124

BJ IND FATK

i ■

I i' '

"I have just had a visit from Dillon, the detective. He
wanted to know if 3'ou would stay in Berlin all the time
you were away. He thinks he may be going there. I
cannot say how much I dislike and distrust this man. I
wish this sad affair were in other hands, but you know
best. Henrietta tells me that Mr. E^erton is a shade
better to-day. We liave not had a line from Paris since
Herbert went there. I must say I am horribly uneasy
about him. The children are very well, poor little dears.
When are you coming back? I feel unutterably lonely
when you are way, though H(3urietta is kinder than 1
can say — quite wonderfully good. I daresay this is a
stupid letter, but I am very miserable, and misery is
selfish.— Always your afieotionate ward,

"Dorothy Wynn.

"P.S. — Do take care of Dillon. 1 somehow feel sure
that if any one offered him money enough he would, and'
perhaps could, prove you or me or any one guilty."

This signed, sealed, and posted, Dorothy felt a little more
at ease, and responded favorably to Henrietta's request
that she should come out and drive.

"So you have had that clever detective here to-day?"
said Miss Oakley, as they crossed the park intending to
inquire ftr the dowager Mrs. Callander. "I wish I had
seen him. They say he is extraordinary — can absolutely
read your thoughts."

"1 wish I could read his," returned Dorothy. "He is
quite inscrutable."

"For my own part I do not believe that one man is so
much cleverer than others," said Miss Oakley. "Why
should he be so ? I fancy it all depends on the circulation
of the blood."

Mrs. Callander was at home, and graciously pleased to
admit her niece and Dorothy. She was in a state of pre-
paration for an early .start next day, and was very, very
cold, collected, and taciturn.

She did not ask if Dorothy or Henrietta had any news
of her son, which showed that he had not communicated
with her.

She said she was going to Nice, and hoped later to be
joiuftd by the Rev. Thomas Gilmore, whose overtaxed
frame and mind needed rest and relaxation.

"It is in moments of mental anguish one can appre.

BLIND FATE

126

ciate the good counsels of a truly Christian friend," she
added, with that indescribable •'l-am-better-than-you'*
tone peculiar to the exclusively relij^ious world.

'*I can only wish you both knew where to look for peace
and comfort," was her concluding sentence, spoken severely,
with a stern look at both her visitors.

"I am sure, aunty, I am not a bad sort of a young
woman," returned Miss Oakley, with something of her
former flippancy (of late her speech had been more soft
and low), "and as to comfort, can't I read my Bible as
well as you ?"

"Is that a becoming answer to a woman so sorely tried
as I am?" returned Mrs. Callander, with dignity.

"No, it is not," cried her niece, penitently. "I am so
stupid and hasty."

"Try and rule your tongue, Henrietta ! Dorothy Wynn,
I trust you will prove worthy the ciiarge my son preferred
•ntrusting to you rather than to me. Do not let any
youthful volatility divert you from the duty you owe to
your sister's motherless children.

"Ah ! Mrs. Callander, do you think I can ever feel young
again ?"

"I do not know you well enough to judge."

After bidding them an icy farewell, Mrs. Callander dis-
missed her visitors, who were very glad to return home.

Here they found a letter awaiting them from Colonel
Callander. It was brief, but clear, and fairly well written.

He was leaving Paris next day, he said ; though late in
the season he thought of travelling in Norway and Sweden.
They should hear from him again, and lie would send an
address where letters might reach him. He hoped to have
good news of the children, he desired his love to Dorothy.
He had nothing to report of himself. He was the same
as when they parted, and would be always.

The letter was addressed to Miss Oakley,
Dorothy wept over it. There was an echo
in it infinitely touching.

Both she and
of desolation

CHAPTER IV.

ANOTHER STRAND IN THE ROPE.

Egerton did not succumb to tiie fever which brought him
near to the gate of death. He paused before its fatal thres-
hold, and slowly, certainly, remounted the ascending steps

126

BLI^D FATE.

to light and life. His German valet wept tears of deligl)te<l
surprise when the dccLor declared he had taken an unex-
j»ected turn for tho better.

'' The Eiij^lish must have ♦"rp.nries and brains of iroji," 1m>.
said, "afier sucli wild raving, such mad self-accusauons,
such pliysicai sufferinji, such desperate remedies— to re-
cover both health and sense, it was bej^ond belief! His
master liad been a little off his head before he left Fordsea,"
he told liie 'lootor who was most closely in attendance.

" The day before we came away," added the valet, " my
master went out in an open sailing-boat, alone, it came on
to blow witii sudden heavy showers, and he was drenched
thiough. T;ien, instci d of coming in and changing his wet
clothes, he walked away -a long way somewhere. He took
a chill tben, for he was feverish ever after. The doctor
must warn the Heir bis master to be prudent, no health or
strength could withstand another such illness."

The man was really attached to Egerton, who was by no
means bad to serve. Masterful and impatient, he was
generous and kindly to his dependents ; obey him and you
were sure of consideration; moreover he had the true in-
stinct of a gentleman, which made him courteous to those
he en oloyed, except when greatly exasperated, then he
flamed Oi-^t and let everyone know his innate conviction
that ihey \> "ve created for his convenience.

Once out of danger he recovered rapidly, and, after a
week or ten days in his chambers, he gathered strength
enouifh vo travel nortli to Netherleigh.

Here, 'o the siuprise of everyone, he invited a shooting-
party, id engaged a distant cousin — a well-known, but
somewi it impecunious sportsman — to act host, while he
himself only joined his friends in the evening.

The tttain and suffering he had endured had told upon
hiiii, men thid. When neither talking or laughing there
was intense gloom in his face, and a wild, distressed ex-
pression in his deep dark eyes. But he talked and laughed
a good deal. People seemed to understand, however, in
some occult way, that the Fordsea murder was not to be
spoken of, an«i, in spite of tirstrate s})ort, cooking accom-
modation -every vhing — the party was neither lively nor
jovial.

Egerton himself generally roused up at night and talked
a good deal. He had a positive objection to go to bed, and
did his best to in<luce sujiio iiiaii to sit up with him. The

BLIND FATE.

127

guests wondered how he could stand these vigils when he
had so lately thrown off a severe illness.

" You don*t give yourself a chance, my good fellow, "
said his locum tenens, Captain Irving. "Yoamaysay
what you like about having a snooze while we are out, but
there's no sleep like night sleep, and you'll kill youri^elf,
turning night into day in this fashion. I don't want to
step into your shoes yet awhile, I assure you."

" You will, though, one of these days," returned Eger-
ton, thoughtfully. They were sitting over the library fire
one wet Sunday afternoon. " I mean you'll have all trie
land, but I'm not going to leave you more of my funded and
other cash than may serve to prove my good- will. I have
another destination for tnat."

" Pooh ! You'll probaby be married before this time two
years. Perhaps i shall be assisting at the rejoicings on
the birth of a son and heir by that time, and probably will
be presiding over tne coming-of-age dinner when roy parish
is ' burying me dacent,' as old O'Shaughnessy used to say.
Did you know O'Shaughnessy ? Lord ! what a cross-coT.a-
try man he was ! Such pluck, such judgment ' I bel leve
that sort of Irishman is dyin„ out."

" I never heard of judgment being associated with an
Irishman before," said E-erton, languidly. " I don't think
you have much yourself, Tom,"

" No, I don't suppose I have," said Tom, complacently.

" What are you gomg to do with yourself this winter?"

" Do ? Well I don't know. It has been a very bad sea-
son with me, and I'm rather down on my luck."

" I shall be very glad if you will stay on here," said
Egerton, indifferently. " I propose remaining— how long
I don't know — but the house is at your service as long as
you like to stay. There are horses in the stable and birds
in the coverts."

" All right. I'm your man. Most of the fellows will bo
off by the end of the week. Are you going to ask any
others?"

" Yes, later on. I want to look after the estate a little,
^vith the agent and bailiff, first.''

" Well, Randal, take my advice, and go to bed at a rea-
sonable time. These late habits &.re positively insane after
such an illness as you have had. Nothing is so necessary
;is rest foi a disturbed brain."

"My brain is quiet enough now," returned Egerton.

1e-

128

BLIND FATE.

Then he grew silent and abstracted, and his kinsniai
Feeing he was not disposed to follow the conversation, le[i|
the room.

'' Not bad quarters," he thought, "for a fellow so neaiiyl
cleaned out as I am; but Randal ain't exactly a lively coni'
])anion. He's all wrong since that infernal fever. I wonder
if he would lend me a few hundreds? I'll try before 1 qui;
But I'll get the first part of my stay over first."

Egerton continued to gazo at the fire, his brows contract,
ed, an occasional quiver passing over his mouth. His sight
his thoughts, far away. What visions did he see? Wha;
pangs rent his heart? Was Conscience stretching hirao^
the terrible rack she prepares for those who disregard her
warnings — who outrr-ge her laws? Was he living ove;
again those moments of delight when the sweet excitemeatl
of a new passion — stronger, deeper, l^eavenlier far than auy
he had ever known before, perhaps because more hedged Id]
with difficulties, more utterly forbidden than any he had
ever felt, gave fresh salt to life, more energy, more vitality
to his soul ''' Was he tracing|the course of that rising tide ol
overwhelming tenderness and desire which finally swep
him from all considerations of honor or loyalty, or true n
fc:ard for the happiness of its object? The triumph audd
light which swelled his heart when he found he could do.
minate her will, and hold her helpless i.i his mental grasp
Yet this did not suffice. He was never quite sure of he:
affection. She had, with almost childish simplicity, played
with the fire of his admiration, and showed an interest iii
all he said and did, but when he drew nearer still ! Why
did he not stop in time, why did he yi3ld to that terrible.
murderous jealousy of her husoand? It was so maddening
so blinding? If he could have persuaded her to leave thai
sullen, moody tyrant, all might htive been well. He would
have made her life like a fairy tale of love and happiness
Now all had ended with a hiedious crime, of which he onlj staying
knc*v th.3 secret- the Idack, damning secret! If only hf
had met her when she was free and unshackled, how fair,
and sweet, and gooc tViAiv lives would have been! " Am
to blame for what Fate has forced upon me?" he muttered

I cannot even look on her sweet face for the last horribli
memory that comes between me and it." He drew out
small portrait, which resembled tL: original closely, tool
one hasty glance, then, having kissed it passionately, li'
tore it from its case, and thrust it in the ^e.

a I mi

♦Herat
Br eye
must
me ou

nd— ah

onday

ouse sa

"I wi

letters t(

If we wt

" No,

ihere, an

ilear ski

he oth(

ell-dir«

In spi
able to c
[guests ■w
eigh boi
shoot wi
gladly a''
dog-cart
of fainti

Thevi
that Eg
vaiiized
again."
business
two tog
ser^^ed I:

In fac
in the w

knew he
young V

Major
posed to
incredib
man. I
garrisor
formed
never w

BLIND FATE.

129

nd Ills kinsniaJ
onversatioii, lefj

fellow so nearly!
rly a lively com"
fever. I woinler
ry before I nui;
irst."

brows contract,
auth. His sight
he see ? Wha;
retching himoi
10 disregard her
he living ove:
weet excitement
ier far than any
more hedged ii
lan any he had
jT, more vitality
at rising tide ol
ih finally swept
Eilty, or true it-
riumph and Je
id he could do.
s mental gras
ite sure of he
iplicity, playeiij
an interest i
er still ! Why

that terrible,
so madden in
)r to leave tha
ell. He woul
uid happiness

whicli he onl;
t ! If only hi
kled, how fair
jeec ! " Am
' he muttered
e last horribli
He drew out !

1 closely, tooi
assionately, tii

«« I must forget, or I cannot kve, ' he said, half aloud.
' Here there are no memories of her, but she haunts me.
ier eyes, sweet, holy eyes, are always looking into mine.
must live it all down, For her &ake the truth must never
me out — never ! I will occupy myself, and never be alone,
nd— ah ! Darner, I heard you did not intend to get up till
onday morning ?" This as one of the men .staying in the
ouse sauntered into the room.

1 wish I could have fulfilled the intention, but I have

etters to write. The glass is at rain, and it looks to me as

|lf we were going to have beastly weather."

" No, I don't think so. There's a haze on that hill over
here, and the keepers will tell you tliat tliore are always
clear skies and sunshine when old North fell wears his cap.*'
The other drew his chair to the fire, and Egerton, by some
well-directed queries, set him talking.

In spite of his ghastly looks Egerton declared himself
able to carry a gun next day, and accompany those of his
guests who preferred the moors to the " meet.'* For Nether-
leigh boasted both moorland and preserves, but he did not
shoot with his usual skill, and before the day was over
gladly availed himself of his ccjsin's suggestion that the
dog-cart should be sent for, as he felt himself on the verge
of fainting from exhaustion.

The visitors told each other in corners out of earshot
that Egerton was *♦ devilish queer." " Looks likb a gal-
vanized corpse, bj' Jove!" " Would never be the ^ameman
again." •' If the chill hadn't come on the top of tha*^^ awful
business at Fordsea, he would have been all right, but the
two together were more than most men could bear," ob-
served Irving.

In fact Colonel and Mrs. Callander were so little known
in the world of gaiety and fashion, the latter led so home-
staying a life that few, if any. of Egorton's companions
knew how much time he had spent in the society of the fair
young wife and her piquante sister.

Major St. John, indeed, was aware that Ep;erton had pro-
posed to Dorothy, and suspected that he had been refused,
incrodible as it seemed; but he was not much of a club
man. Fortune forbade his visiting London fredjuently, and
garrison gossip was not very familiar to tlie men who
formed Egerton's society. Later the fact oozed out, but
never was fully believed.

130

BLIND FATE.

i''

>/i:

ife

Indeed, the Fordsea tragedy ran its usual nine days'
course, a little prolonged perhaps, by the reports which
cropped up at iutervais of attempts to find the foreign
sailojs who were supposed to have committed the outrage;
but a month, six weeks, two months passed, and they were
still undiscovered.

Gradually Egerton grew more like his old self, yet not
quite the same. He took more interest in the details of his
estate, and showed a greater regard for money. His tem-
per, too, was more irritable than formerly. If startled by
being suddenly addressed, Jie would turn with fury on the
intruder. His valet told Captain Irving that his delirium
was terribly violent and exhausting, though his ravings
were, on the whole, unintellii^ible -the impression of the
murder was evidently uppermost in his mind, so much so
that the poor gentleman repeatedly declared Jhimself
guilty of it.

In reply to this, Irving observed that if Egerton had
been an unfortunate beggar without a sixpence, he would
very likely have been taken up aiid tried on the strength of
his own wandering words.

Letters from Standish reached him occasionally, and af-
forded him much interest. Paul recounted the steps taken
and the communications made to the English consuls in all
ports, directing them to seek for two sailors belonging to
the Spanish brig Veloz, and announcing the large reward
offered should their arrest lead to the discovery of Mrs.
Callander's murderer. He a'so mentioned what stray items
of intelligence were occasinally received o! the Colonel's
movements, but Standish never mentioned Dorothy.

♦♦ No doubt he hears from her often," mused Egerton, as
he folded up the last letter he had received > " She never
liked me. i wonder why. She did not know she ha«l any
reason to dislike me, poor little girl! How steadily she
refused to see me since. God knows, she i^ no t more averse
to meeting mo than I am to eucounter her. What does she
think? She cannot suspect ! I will face her some day, and
then her eyes will tell me the truth. She has wonderful

eyes— not like Mabel's though. Mabel ■" these thoughts

came clearly enough till he came to that name, and then
all was an agony of confusion, He locked away his let-
ter and, whistling to his dogs, walked away to the Rec-
tory, where he rejoiced the heart of the worthy Bectoress

BLIND FATE.

131

t ) he var/ous benevolent

by munificent contributions
schemes patronised by her.

*******

Standish was reluctantly oblif^ed to prolong his absence
beyond the time he had honed to return. Though the mis-
sion on which he had been sent was both difficult and deli-
cate, he managed to accomplish it satisfactorily, in spite of
the many wandering thoughts he bestowed on his ward.
However busy, he always contrived to answer her frequent
letters. They had become of the deepest interest to him.
She evidently poured out all her heart, all her mind, in
them, and he noticed with pleasure that care and affection
for her nephew and niece were giving something of color
and warmth to her life. The sayings and doings of the
children always filled a portion of the letter. " Little
Dolly was learning the alphabet, and sliowed great intelli-
gence. The boy was beginning to speak, which was much
sooner, Mrs. McHugh said than the generality of boys."

"Sue has a motherly heart," thought Standish. " She
will be an awful loss to those poor babies when she mar-
ries, as I suppose she will. Not too soon, 1 hope. It is
much better for girls not to marry till they are four or five
and twenty — that is, let me see, not for six years hence. I
wonder if Egerton will ever return to the charge. I hope
not, for he might win her ; perseverance does so much with
women, and somehow 1 do not fancy Egerton for my ^dear
little Dorothy." Then he smiled at himself. '' My Doro-
thy sounds rather absurd. I do not, certainly, feel like a
lather, and in no other but a filial sense will she ever be
my Dorothy. 1 alv'ays took to her most, but what a sweet
creature Mabel was ! i don't woiider that poor Callander
is nearly out of his mind at losing her so suddenly, so
cruelly--in the room uex( am, absolutely within his reach.
It is the most wonder tul case I ever knew. Thank God I
can get away n"xt week, i long to see my sorrowful ward,
and that good soul, Henrietta Oakley."

In the meantime Henrietta Oakley was trying the soul of
his ward by her restlessness and ennui.

While anything,- was to be done Miss Oakley was the most
considerate and sympathetic of frie ds, but to sit down
and " weep tear for tear," or share th ■ ([uiet oi^cupations,
the tranquil monotony, wliich was gradually calming Do-
rotliy's spirit, and helpiu-- lier to be resi-ned, was quite
impossible to her. So long as thei*^ was loud wailing, pro-

h '

\iv\

132 BLIND FATE.

found indignation, active efforts for discovery or revenj
to ue done, Miss Oakley was ready to be foremost and
filing. But tills active phase over she must supply tkj
vacuum with some fresh activity.

Dorothy had perceived a change in her, an anxiety to inl
duce Jier depressed companion to go here and there just ioJ
a little variety, she said — that she was less interested iJ
the children tliau at lirst, though always kind to them. I|
was therefore no very great surprise to her wh^n A
Oakley camo in after an afternoon spent among shops cJ
Regent and Bond streets, one deary drizzling day early jJ
February, and after kissing her effusively, and describin)!
a lovely doll's house she had bought for Dolly, while sli|
took off her furs, she exclaimed quickly :

'^ I have been and gone and done something which wil
not vex you 1 hope, dear."

" What is it, Henrietta?"

" Weil, you see, I met Lady Brinkworth at Howell i
James', she is only in town for a few days, and as she was!
always so kind and attentive to me in Home, I could not|
possibly avoid asking her to dinner."

" No, of course, you have a riglit to ask who you like,l
need not dine with you. There is no reason why you should
not ask your friends to dine with you."

" But you must appear, Dorothy. I insist on it, it wilil
do you good. You are moping yourself to death, and yoiij
know it is quite six months since— since "

" Not six months, Henrietta. Oh, do not be vexed witli|
me or think me unkind, but I cannot meet strangers yet,
should be like tlie skeleton at the feast. It is quite natural
you should wish to see your friends, and I would not pre-l
vent you, for you have been so kind and good ; what shouldj
I have done without you V But do not ask me to sit dowul
with strangers so soon — so soon."

*' Butv I>orothy, this is all so morbid and unwise ; youl
are absolutely killing yourself ! You do not know howl
ghastly you look. Mr. Standish will think I have not takeol
any care of you when he comes, and he will be here soonJ
from what he says in his last letter. I hear that Major ^\
Joim is ih town, and I shall ask him. Then old Major
Tredenis called the other day ; he knows the Brinkworthi,!
so that - ill make a nice little ^.arty of six. I really feel
must sue some one 1 In this quiet, friendly, impromptuj
wa|r there can be no diaorespect."

icovery or reveii

foremost and

' must supply t^

BLIND FATEj

133

an anxiety to in
md there just foi

less interested
kind to them. Iij
her wh?n Misj

among shops.
ling day early i.

, and describifl)

Dolly, while sh

Not the least, dear Henrietta, from you. From me it
Irould be quite different. Do not mind me at all, I can have
Ba with the children and a tough book after they have

[one to bed ; nothing draws me out of myself like a really
)ujih book."

How extraordinary ! When I am miserable nothing
jmforts me like a thrilling novel — with lots of love in it
-a delightful dangerous desperado of a hero, ready to kill

kff everyone who stands between him and the object

hi "

' Oh, hush, Henrietta I" whispered Dorothy, raising her

ands before her eyes, as if to shut out some dreadful sight.

" What a stupid, heedless wretch I am to mention such

thing which willB-l^i^SS ^° y*^"» ™^y P<^^^ d®*^ • ^^ forgive me ! It mugt
eem so heartless!" embracing her. •' You shall do what
ou like about the dinner ; only I shall be miserable with-
ut you. Now I must look out for a sixth, and there is
carcely a soul in town."
ome, I could noil " ^^^ wi^l ^^^ somebody, no doubt."

" I must try. Oh ! I had a letter from Mrs. Callander
just now. She writes rather graciously. Some friends of
hers met Mr. Standish in Berlin. He was facing to leave
almost immediately. She asked if we have any news of
Herbert. I really do not think he is acting properly to-
wards his mother."

" No, he is not ; but one is inclined to forgive him any-
I thing. I am quite sorry for Mrs. Callander."

Though Dorothy was too just to feel angry wuh Miss
Oakley wishing to entertain her friends while the shadow
of a tragic crime still lay upon herself and her immediate
relatives, the idea was shocking to her.

It seemed to her that she, herself could never again be as
she had been, that the weight could never be lifted off her
heart, the nervous horror from her spirit. The idea that:
had she roused herself when the clang of metal, real or un-
real, penetrated through her sleep, she might have sa\ ed
her sister never left her. This, and the horrible belief that
she knew the murderer— that she must not denouncfi him
though doubly dyed in guilt, haunted her night and day.
Her sleep was broken by distressing dreams. If her resn
was tolerably calm, she lived over again her childish days
of loving dependence on Mabel, and awoke, only to weep
freshly bitter tears over her cruel bereavement.

th at Howell.

, and as she was

who you like,

I why you shoull

3ist on it, it will

3 death, and yoj

» '

>t be vexed witj
Jtrangers yet,
is quite natiira
[ would not pre-j
'd ; what shouHl
me to sit dowiil

i unwise; youl
not know hoivf
have not takeJ

II be here soonj
' that Major tit,
hen old Major
3 Brinkwortti,!

I really feel
Uy, impromptu I

ill'

134 BLIND FATK

As in the day time she was quiet and uncomplaining.
Henrietta Oakley — the keen edge already worn off her sin
cere sorrow— fancied she was recovering her composure,
and that soon she would be able to resume her former ways
of life.

The day that Miss Oakley was to receive her friends.
Dorothy went out with Nurse and the cliildren, keepin^^
away until it was almost dusk. Then to their great de
light she shared their nursery tea, and assisted to put them
to bed. Finally, she established herself in a small room on
the ground floor dignilied by the uamu of the -' library," a
pretty comfortable apartment, with soft easy chairs, and
lit by a moonlight- looking lamp, she drew a seat to the
fire, and took a volume of Essays, but could not fix her at-
tention upon it.

The footsteps of the servants as they came to and fro
serving tiie dinner ; the idea that life, even the life that
touched her own, was returning to its old channels, that
the waves of the world were closing over the memory of
the sister she loved so well, and soon that dear, gentle being
whose every act showed kindness and consideration for
others would be forgotten by all save herself, that to the
children she would cease to be anything save a dream, and
not even that to her son.

How long she sat there thinking in deepest melancholy
she could not tell ; suddenly the door was opened by Col-
lins, who, with a brighter look than he had worn for many
a day, exclaimed :

" Here is Mr. Standish, Miss Dorothy."

Whereupon her guardian entered looking more embrown-
ed than usual. He was in evening dress, which became him
as it does well-made men, and besides his air of high breed-
ing he bad that indescribable alertness and decision of
moverient wnich is the outward and visible sign of inward
strength of character. Tiiere was a look of pleasure in his
eyes which lent them light and depth of color, and he seem-
ed to Dorothy an embodiment of vital power sent to draw
her from the gloomy depths of sorrow in which she was
sunk.

** Oh, Paul; dear Paul!" she cried, starting up and
Stretching out her arms to him. " i thought you would

never come.

1 came as soon as I could, mv dear child," he returned,

BUND FATK

135

omplaining,

off Jier sin

composure,

ormer ways

ler friends.
en, keepin^f
r great de
to put them
all room on

library," a
liairs, and
eat to the

fix her at-

to and fro
e life that
nuels, that
memory of
entle beinj^
>ration for
that to the
Iream, and

melancholy
led by Col-
1 for many

! embrown-
ecame him
'gh breed-
ecision of
of inward
ure in his
i he see lu-
t to draw
she was

? up and

'ou would

returned,

arawing her to him and gently kissing her cheek. ** Let
me look at you. Why, Dorothy, you are but a ghost of
yourself! My dear, you look tenfold worse than when i
left you. Your very hands are thin, and your poor eyes are
worn with weeping. This will never do."

He laid his hands on the braids of her glossy, wavy hair,
and pressed back her head while he looked into her eyes
with grave, compassionate tenderness.

" Oh, Paul! I cannot help it; I am so wretched," she
said, but even as she said it a soft glow seemed to revive
her heart, a sweet warmth caught from his eyes, and some
faint color came again to her cheek.

" You must not let your life ebb from you, Dorothy," he
continued, pressing her hand in both his own. " We want
you, my dear little girl, your guardian most of all. What
would life be to me without a wilful ward to take care of ?"

" It is a sort of haimting fear as well as sorrow that
takes all life and energy from me, Paul. In the day I can
bear it, but at night " — she shivered — " I wake constantly'
and listen for the sound of that falling bar. i dread that
the children may be hurt, or — or you," and she drew closer
to him as they still st<"Dd together in the full light of the
lamp. " I scarcely know what I fear, but — shall I ever feel
safe again, Paul? '

" Yes, Dorothy; you must. Time will soothe these ter-
rors," he said, pressing her hand unconsciously a;j;ainst his
heart. (How strongly it beat, she thought.) " You have
someone with you at night, have you not ? You ought not
to be alone."

' ♦ Oh, no ! I could not be alone. Henrietta is so kind
as to sleep in my room ; but she sleeps so soundly. It is no
use to speak to her; indeeJ, it would be cruel to rouse
her."

Standish did not speak for a moment, then he said,
" Now tell me all your news," and led her back to her seat
by the fire, drawing his own chair close. He had loo much
sense to attempt arguing about the folly ot her fears ; the
best remedy for them was to change the current of her
thoughts.

" I wrote so much to you, Paul, that I do noc think there

is anything left to tell. There has been but litthi variety."

" Yes, you were a good girl. I looked for your letters, I

assure you. It was most annoying my havini^- been sent

i:*)

hi AS I) FATE.

Mr'

l#.

on to Vienna, but had 1 ^>^5en able to return 60oae. I couM
have done norhm^ for yoii.'

" YftH ; you could nave talked come."

" Htandihh smiled.

•' And you have no further tidings of Callander?"

Dorothy .shook he head. • We on!y know ue is alive,
hwauHe Henrietta calle'i at hi.s lawyers' ana tind.-* that his
ohoqueH of quite re^;ent dates have been cash-i in different
j)lacoH. He wan at Munich last — about a foruii^ht a^o."

" PerhapH he is noiuir to join Mrs. Callander at Nice, He
ha.s never addressed a line to ine ; but I have heard from
K(^erton, who has burif;d hiiiiSfclf in iiis own place."'

Dorothy turne^l her fa^'^e sligj tly from him and looked at
the fire while he said this. - Htj seems disposed to stay
there, and wants me to run down and see him."'

" Shall you j^o ?" she a-ked, aimo.st in a whist:»er.

" No, certainly not for a considerable time. So Henrietta
Oakley is t^ivinj^ a dinner V"

"■ Hardly that. Sfie has two or three intimate friend.-^
who happen to \>e passing through town."

" Even that is rather soon."

" Oil, Paul, it seems dr(;a Ifui to me. But 1 know Henri-
etta. »She cannot live without company or excitement. It
is not that she is unfeeling, but nothing- no emotion last.-^
long with her. She is, I believe, very true to Jier friend-
ships, but she could not grieve long. Then she did not
know and love Mabel as 1 did." She stopped suddenly, her
lij[>H quivering.

" Jt IS wise and generous to think in this way, Dorothy,"
remarked Srandish. -'Now — would you not like to hear
what I have been doing?"

" Yes, indeed i should,"' and he began to describe someuf
his ex{)eriences, which interested Dorothy and drew her
from her ordinary groove of thought.

She was glad to feel at ease with him once more, as of
old, that his rare, gentle, brotherly caresses did not move
her to draw back and tremble as they used. She was always
ashamed of the strange, uneasy feeling which had begun
to develop in her heart, her pulses, towards this kind friend,
so superior to herself, who treated her as a petted child,
and who would no doubt have been surprised at the un-
worthy emotion he had unconsciously called forth.

Now tlie storm of .-,(jrrow and terror which had " beat
vebermentiy " uix>u hur had i»wept ail that disturbing fever,

BLIND FATE.

137

and Paul was once more her dear, good friend and guardian,
to whom she could tell everything, and under whose tender
protection she could feel safe and at rest.

The moments flew while Paul spoke. Then suddenly
Henrietta flew in. '• They are all gone, thank goodness !
Collins never told me you were here till this moment, Mr.
Standish. I am so delighted to see you. When did you
arrive T'

CHAPTER y.

" ON THE BRIKK."

The presence of Standish in London made a considerable
difference in the lives of both Henrietta and Dorothy.

He devoted himself to them, especially the latter. He
spent nearly every evening with them, and whenever he
could spare an afternoon from his work, insisted on taking
her to Witlk or drive.

Doiothy was amazed to find how great a change this con-
stant in:ercGurse witii a mind stronger and broader, but not
less \^ armly sympathetic than her own, created in her
views and feelings. Life seemed possible to her once more,
and she began to see that she might even enjoy it, while
with joy or grief, action or repose, the loving thought of
her dead sist-r laight be intertwined. Her whole existence
mi.'ht be •• ,^acied to the memory " of the beloved one, and
yet its dutie.- might be cheerfully fulfilled, its troubles
bravely bornr?. its rewards gratefully accepted. Besides
sLe must live to be a mother to Mabel's dear children.

The one source of bitter, implacable distress was Eger-
ton. The idea that he should go unpunished, threw her,
when she thought of it, into a paroxysm of fury and de-
spair.

No: even to Standish must she confide a syllable that
would lower her sister in his estiraation.

Tq is suppression on one subject gave a somewhat puzz-
ling variation to her moods and mani.er, which both exer-
Cise«l and interested ^t^indish. There were -jome depths in
this young creature, wnom he had -.een grow up, which de-
fies! his penetration. There was mixed with her delightful
frankness, a dainty reserve, like the cool sprinkling of a
silver fountain over the half open blossoms of a fair gar-
den. The contrast ot;:-,vecu Ler iranjiueaa and Henrietta's

1^1

138

BLIND FATR

outspokon expanMiveness, two extemes of the same quality,
would have amused Srandish, had not the atmosphere of
{borrow which enwrapped his sweet ward forbidden such a
tenciericy.

Miss Oakley never hesitated to say everything. Utterly
indulged from her youth up, slie would have been unendur-
able had not beniticient Nature endowed her with a sound,
kind heart. The sentence on <?ood Qiieen Bess might have
been reversed in its application to Henrietta, for the
instincts of her heart went far to correct the follies of her
liead.

Tlie cold bleak days of March were now upon them, and
Dillon had made no sign for several weeks.

His communications had been few and far between, and
•Standish felt a good deal in the dark as to his proceedings.

Dillon had avowed that he intended to work in another
search with the hunt for Mrs Callander's murderers. What
it was he of course kept to liimself. Standish was inclined
to think that he was spinning out the job, with a view to
tilling his pocket; he meMiioned this to Miss Oakley, who
was always eagerly on the looivout for some surprising-
discovery. Indeed. Standish avoided the past and its tragic
memories as much as possible when with Dorothy. He
was careful to kee;* her thoughts in smoother channels as
much as possible.

About til is time, however, a communication from the
English Consul iit Palermo reached Standisli.

The Spanish ship Veloz, answering to the description in
the bill or manifesto offering the reward beforo mentioned,
had put into that port, aud the Consul had interviewed the
captain, who seemed a res, (-ctable man, and bore a good
character with the firm whi ;h occasionally employed him
to ply between Palermo and Cadiz. He very willingly gave
what iniormation he could respecting the two men who
had been among his crew when they lay at Eastport — one.
the cook' Guiseppe, had left liim to go on board an Ameri-
can steamer at ISjrdiaux, and he knew no more of him.
The other must have been, he thought from the description,
a man from the South, called Pedro, ho did not know his
other name. Ho was a tierce, quarrelsome fellow, and had
left at tlie end of his voyage to go into the country and
see his people.

The caiitain was not inclined to think Guiseppe the sort
of man to commit a murder. He was quiet, steady, givi-Q

BLIND FATE.

119

to making money, »ncl to keep clear of scrapes. H" : infor-
mant, the Consul added, did not know the name of the
steamer to which the cook transferred his services.

This information, scanty as it was, Stand ish thought
right to tell Dorothy. She received it with an apatliy that
amazed him.

" 1 must say," he observed, •' that 1 should like to bring
the scoundrel, whoever he was, to justice. It is infamous
that the perpretator of such an outrage should escape."

"Yet he will," said Dorothy, looking fixedly at the fire.
"Why are you so sure about it, Dorothy?" asked Miss
Oakley.

" I cannot tell, but I feel he will."

"These instinctive convictions are not to be trusted.
This certainty of yours, Dorothy, really arises from your
impatience for justice, or rather revenge — which is wild
justice," said Standish.

" Can you wonder ?" she returned. " Yet when I think
that no discovery, or justice, or revenge can bring her back
it sometimes seems not to matter "

" It is of the last consequence that he should be brought
to justice, and he shall be! I am in correspondence with
our Consul at Valencia, from which province, I daresay
you may remember, Egerton said this fellow came. I have
written to Egerton to stir up some relatives he holds inter-
course with occasionally ; they might give us important
assistance, but he is slow in answering." Standish spoke
with sharpness and decision.

Dorothy looked up at him with a curious expression, a
sort of compassionating desiondency, as though she knew
his efforts would be all in vain.

This conversation took place as they sat round the fire
one stormy night in Miss Oakley's pleasant drawing room,
to which her ornaments, books, pictures, and plenty of
ferns, broad-leaved eastern plants, and hot-house flowers,
had given a home-like aspect, very unlike the ordinary
" furnished house" look.

Standish had come in after dining at his club, as he
often did, to tell the latest talk, political and literary, the
whispers of changes at home and abroad — anything to
draw Dorothy from her thoughts— to interest her in the
world without her.

Henrietta went out occasionally to intimate friends, and

140

BLIND FATfi.

Jig

ri'r

[I •

in a very quiet way, not thereby interfering in any
with Dorothy, aid Standish often found his ward aloi
when their talk took a graver, deeper tone than when Hi]
Oakley shared it. Dorothy could then speak unreservei
of her increasing anxiety about Callander. It seemed
her unnatural, his prolonged absence, his indifference i
his children; but Standish always said he thought taati
terrible a shock as he had sustained, when weakenec'
had been by previous bad health, was sufficient to aceou
for any eccentricity.

On the present occasion a short silence had follows
Paul's last remark, and then Miss Oakley said, as if omj
her thoughts : " Perhaps Mr. Egerton is coming to to\

" He has said nothing to me about it," returned Standii

" He mentioned something about being in town aftj
Christmas," she replied. ''He has written tome twoi
three times, chiefly to ask for Dorothy, but as she doosni
seem to care about hearing of him, I have said nothin
When he does come I shall be very happy to see him.''

" No one could have snown greater feeling in our mistoj
tune than Egerton," said Standish thoughtfully. "Isii
cbrely wish he had gone with Callander. Consentiig to|
his companion was a real act of friendship."

'' Why did he not follow him then ? " cried Dorothy, i
though she could not keep back the wr.rds.

'*When Callander literally ran av^ay, Egerton con
hardly follow him," returned Standish, looking at Dorotlj
as if surprised at her enmity to h )r admirei.

'* Well, foi" my part I lik*» Mr. Egerton — I always dil
He has shown himself to be full cf good feeling ani refin|
ment. He sees that he is not acceptable to Dorothy, so 1
keeps out of the way," said Miss Oakley. " Now, I thin
Dorothy is a goose ; what she wants I can*t imagine.
Egerton is quite fit to be the hero of a novel — and so wel
off i If he ever comes forward again, I shall be very vexej
if you do not accept him. I nm sure you'd be angry will
her too, Mr. Standish ? "

" I," exclaimed Standish, smiling ; I should not dare
intertere. You do not know whbt a small volcaiu) l^oij
othy is."

Sue did not speak. Her pale cheek flushed, than gre^
whiter than before.

'' I am very tiied,** »h«said ; **my eyes ache. I must 9*J

ering in any.,
d his ward alo]
ne than when Hj
3T;eak unreserve!
3r. It seemed ,
lis indifference,
ao thought taati
en weakenec' „,,
ifficient to accoui

nee had follow,,
'■ said, as if outi
; coming to toi
returned Standij
ing in town afo
ten to me two
ut as she doss &j
ive said nothii
f to see him.'"

ing in our misfo
ghtfully. " 1 9)1
ConsentiLg toi
p."

>ried Dorothy,

, Egerton cou
oking at I)orotli|
ei.

— I always dil
Jeling ani refin)
o Dorothy, so
" Now, I thin
*t imagine,
rel — and so wel
ill be very vexij
d be angry will

>uld not dare
1 volcaiu) Porj

hed, than gre^

le. I must 9*4

BLIND FATE

14]
sleepy it

.night. If I can only go to sleep while I

be delightful.''

lerose, and left the room without further farewell.

IWhat a curious, implacabh little thing she is," said
Oakley, looking after her. " I do wonder what h^r

jtion to Mr. Egerton can be ! Is she in love with any-

else?"

|How can I tell? " exclaimed Sandish impatiently. "You

mure likely to know than I am! — at least she is more

ly to confide in you than in me. I suppose it does not

ritably follow that, because a man happens to be good-

cing, smooth-tongued, rich, that he must be irresistible

11 women."

Perhaps not to every woman, but to a large majority.

not think you like Bandal Egerton somehow, your-

Mr. Standish."

'I certainly do not dislike or like Kim, Miss Oakley, and

ive been a good deal struck by the kind feeling he has
^wn poor Callander. But I have met fellows that are
Ire companionable to me."

r There is no accounting for taste," returned Miss Oak-
[, in a philosophic tone; " now, i confess that if Mr. Eg-

)n were to make love to me, I don't think I should be
hard-hearted to him."

Shall I tell him so? " asked S^andish, laughing at her
idor. " It is a pity he should lose a chance."
['Oh, nonsense," said she, good-humoredly. '*Mr. Egerton

' never lose a chance he cares to seize. I am not his
He. Now, he is, or was, really fond of little Dorothy.

rould be such an excellent settlement for her. Her poor

Iter's death has broken up her home. I don't fancy

pert will settle anywhere. He will go back to India.

lay marry. She hates Mrs. Callander, who wouldn't

|ve her at any price. You are not old enough to set up

isekeeping with her, and ii you marry, your wife would

I sure to hate Dorothy, so ^"

I" What a string of impossibilities," interrupted Stan-
Jh,with a rather forced laugh. "According to you there
jno refuge for Dorothy but marriage with Egerton."
"Not a bad alternative," cried Henrietta.
I" As to myself," continued Standish, "As soon as I cai.

a few weeks' leave, I shall go to Spain myself. I can-
K sit down quietly wiiile the blood-thirsty villian that
bbed us of Mabel is ut liberty. I don't allow mysell to

142

BUXD F^TE.

speak of him or of th errible catastrophe before Dorothy
bat notViin^ in my whole life has cut me up as this hrj
She was an angel, the sweetest soul that ever breathed ! i
wonder poor Callander can know a moment's rest till he ha;
had the murderer hung. Ki.^ extraordinary apathy proves
he is not in a normal conlition. After him, I am his wife's
nearest friend, and I feel that the duty of tracking tue mur-
derous devil devolves upon me."

« ♦ ♦ 41 * * «

The first lengthening days of spring have a saddening;
effect OTi those who have suffered. To Dorothy, and. indeed
to her affectionate friend. Henrietta, it was a melanchoiy
period. The little ones iiad ceased to ask for '-Papa,'" or
"Mamma," and her t^uardian's visits were the only bits of
sunshine in Dorothy's life. She watched with almost
motherly interest the growth of the baby-boy, the ir...
folding of the little girl's intelligence. But the supremv
solace was the warm, thoughtful sympath}^ of Standish
Their (VDiiversations were always a source of tranquil pleas-
ure, but when he did not come for two or three days, Ler
b8n.se of desolation was almost insupportable.

Meanwhile, Standish found his position improved, his
prospects brightening, since his successful conduct c ' the
business contided to him in Berlin and Vienna, also the
amount of work he had to attend to was greatly increased,
80 the time he could place at his ward's disposal was less
than formerly.

Hastening, one dim afternoon, up Pall Mall, and look-
ing out for an empty hansom, he came face to face with
Egerton.

He knew the figure and bearing, but was almost uncer-
tain as to the identity of the face, so changed was it in
many ways.

The large eyes were sunken, and had a pained, haunted
exfjTossion. The cheeks looked hollow, the clear olive tint
had become a dusky pallor, a large mustache hid his mouth
and altered him still more.
"Why, figerton !"

"SLaudish ! I was on my way to leave my card at your
lodgings to let you know I was in town."

'I am very glad to see you. When did you come up?"

"Yesterday. I am put^.iQg up at Long's. 1 have given

up my rooms in thH Albany, lam thinking of tryiutr »

BLIND FATE.

143

[all, and look-
3 to face with

Du come up!

little alephant-shooting in Africa if Callander does not
want me. I had a letter from him a couple of days ago.
"Which way are you going ? I will come with you."

'Dorothy had a few lines from him, too, last week,"
said Standishf as they walked on. '-He has been to see
his mother at Nice, and spoke of returning to England."
"So he does to me. He iy, for the first time, anxious to
know what success has attended our efforts. I trust he
will return quite himself."

There was an ind'.-scribable melancholy in Egerton'a
voice that struck Stiindish, and he felt some surj^rise as
well as increased interest in his companion.

"How is Miss Wynn?" continued Egerton. "I have
heard of her now and then from Miss Oakiey, and 1 should
greatly like to see her before I leavo England, if she will
see me."

Thia ^as said in a constrained voice, with pauses and
breaks, as though he forced himself to utter thy words
mechanically.

. "Just now I am sure that Dorothy will not see you or
any one. The boy is <:atLer seriou.-,ly ill with bronch.ti.->,
rather a bad business for so small a chap. Hi aunt never
leaves him. It would he aD awful shock to Cailnnder to
arrive and find nc ::on. It is all very havd on such a mere
girl as Dorothy. But she has more of a backbone than

her sweet, pretty sister had "

''Yes, yes," interrupted Egerton, hastily. "Tell me how
is it that flighty Mists Oakley has stuck so steadi.y to her
role of comforter ?"

"Her heart is better than her head." returned Standish.
••Henrietta Oakley has proved her.-^eif a capital woman ;
I have grown ^uite fond of her. Sne would make an
admirable wife to any man who knew how to manai,'e her.
••Oh, indeed," with a languid smile. ••Tell me more
about the report of that Consul of wiiich yo a wrote to me.
1 don't understand why they have not raad'i more diligent
search for that 'ellow you all susf^ect — P^.-dro."

••We suspect? Don't you? Com: ar 1 iiae with me
at the club to-nig .t. and we will discuss it all, now I
must go on to Miss Oakley's. I have not heard how the

boy is to-day " . ^ ,

"Let me come with vo; , I must nee them a^^ain. -it
seemed to Standi;sh fron the tone of hii* voice that th-
necessity wa** not an a^^r^ieabie one-

144

BLIND FATE.

"Come by all means," he returned. They were soon
1 iQwling along towards Kensington.

Miss Oakley was not at home when they reached hhe
house. But Collins, who remained as the factotum, pro-
tector, and semi-dictator of the joint household, said that
>he would ftoou be in.

The gentlemen were therefore shown up to the drawing-
room, where a tea-table was set ready for the absent mis-
tress.

''I will go and see Dorothy, if you don't mind, Eger-
Lou," said Standish, after moving somewhat restlessly to
and fro, looking at the i^apers and periodicals that lay
about. "She generally mounts guard about this time
when the nurse — you remember, Mrs. McHugh," Eger-
ton nodding his head ^vith a slightly impatient movement
— "goes to tea."

"l)on't mount me," returned the other.

Standish had hardly left the room, when Miss Oakley
entered it ; she was richly dressed, with abundance of
black fur on her cloak and round her throat, and looked
very handsome.

"Oh ! dear me, Mr. Egerton, I am so ^lad to see you. I
could hardly believe my ears when Collins said you were
here. But do you know you are looking frightfully ill ?
You don't mind my saying so, do you? You ought to go
away to some warm, cheerful jlace. Really the gloomi-
ness of winter in England is quite suicidal, don't you think
so?"

*' I cannot return the compliment, Miss Oakley! You
arelookiug remarkably well! It is an age since we met.
I am sorry I cannot see Miss Wynn, and for the cause —
the little boy, Standish tells me, is seriously ill?"

" He is, i-ideed, but he is a jhade better, to-day. Dorothy

has been so Uiihappy about him. It would have been ter-
rible if Herbert had returned to find no baby-boy, and aunt
Callander would have been sure to say he died from ne-
glect I ann very fond of Aunt Callander, she has many
good points, but she does fancy such queer things ! I am
dying to see Herbert again! Of course, it has been an aw-
ful blow, but men don't grieve for over. He is really a
young man, and ought to throw himself into his career.
And he is such a good fellow ! You know my deep iuterewt
in him is of old dale; won't you take a cup of tea?"

BLilTD FATE.

145

Int
ie-

>»t

" No— no thank you," and Egerton, who had started up
and gone to the fire-place while she spoke, now sat down
and kept very still while Henrietta insisted on gi, ing him
some tea, and cross-examined him as to his health, his life
at his country seat, and a dozen other topics, while he
answered in monosyllables and looked as if he were on the
rack.

Meantime, Standish mounted the stair to the day nursery
where he had generally si)oken to Dorothy during the boy's
illness. The little fellow had taken a severe cold, which
turned to bronchiits.

*' Oh, Paul, he is tetter! " exclaimed Dorothy, from the
inner room, as soon ac sha heard his knock at the door.

" That's right, I thought the little fellow would pull
through, he is a regular Trojan."

"He was in great .anger yesterday, but the night was
better, and now he breathes much more freely."

"And now, 1 hope you will take some care of yourself,
Dorothy ! You look as if you had not slept for a week."

" Not so long as that, but I should like a nice, quiet sleep
without dreams," and she sighed.

"Are you still so frightened at ni„ht?" asked Standish,
looking down into her eyes with a glance so wistfully com-
passionate that Dorothy felt the delightful sense of his af-
fectionate sympathy send a thrill of pleasure shivering
through her.

"No, I am less frightened, but I dream continuously.

" I have left a visitor with Miss Oakley," resumed Stand-
ish, placing a chair for Dorothy, while he stood by the
high fender. "A visitor who wishes to see you."

Dorothy looked up with a startled expression. ** Who
is it?"

" Egerton ! I met him just now by accident, and he
came on here with me."

Dorothy rose, and came beside Standish before she replied
then she said in a low rapid tone, "I cannot see him, Paul,
you will not ask me, it is quite — quite impossible."

" I shall not ask you to do anything you don't like, Dor-
othy, but later on you must really get over this prejudice.
You must see Egerton some day."

" I will try," she said, with a kind of slight shiver, "but
you must give me time."

" You will tell me your reasons, for it is quite unintell-
igible this reluctanoe of yours to meet him."

143

BLIND FATE.

"You see," she continued, looking down and drawinu
her handkerchief nervously through her fingers, " he would
remind me so of everything, and 1 never did like him, not,
at least, after just the first "

"He was very fascinating' at first, certainly," said Stand-
ish, with a faint smile. "I remember your comparing him
to various heroes — let me see — Don John of Austria, Sir
Philip Sidney, and "

"Oh, do not talk of that time, Paul, it was too— too
happy,"

" Forgive me, dear Dorothy," taking her hand, " I will
not tease you to do any tiling you do not like; promise to
come for a long walk with me to-morrow, if the boy con-
tinues to hold his ground. You must not play trickft with
your health, you are not exactly a giant, my dear ward."

Dorothy made no reply, she stood very still, her hand in
that of Standish, while he looked with grave, thoughtful
consideration at the slight girlish figure, the half-averted
pathetic face, the sweet quivering mouth. It was sad to
see the traces of sorrow on so young a creature, especially
as there was some element in her sorrow which he could
not quite make out. Standish sighed a short deep sigh, at
which Dorothy started from her thoughts, and withdrew
her hand.

" I suppose I must go," said Standish. "If it is fine to-
morrow, you will be ready for me at two ? We will have
a ramble round thn gardens."

" Very well, thank you. You are very good to me, Paul.
Can I ever show you how grateful I amV"

" Don't talk of gratitude. There can be no question of
such a thing between us."

" Q-ood-bye, for the present, Paul — till to-morrow."

Dinner passed heavily enough. Whatever subject Stand-
ish started Egertou let drop, though occasionally he seemed
to spur himself to talk. It appeared to Standish the long-
est meal of which he had ever partaken. The waiter had
placed the dessert before|them when a Lelegram was handed
to Standish, who, glancing over the lines, of which there
were several, exclaimed with some excitement, "By Heaven!
we may get a clue at last! It is from Eastport. 'Some im-
portant evidence offered by a newly-arrived sailor. Come
if possible.' "

BLliSlD FATE.

147

r&S too — too

luestion of

CHAPTER VI.

** A VOICE FROM THE SEA."

When Standish finished, Egerton did not speak for a
moment or two. He stared at his companion in an odd,
bewildered way, and crumbled the bread which lay beside
him, as if unconscious of what he was about.

" I wonder what this fellow can have to tell ?" he ex-
claimed, at last. "I suppose he is some pal of the suspected
Spaniard, turning King's evidence." Egerton poured out
a glass of wine, and drank it off as soon as he had spoken.
" I should like to hear what he has to say, and judge for
myself. I shall r^m down to Eastport to-morrow."

'* So shall 1," returned Standish. "There's a crain at
eight-thirty. It will land us at Eastport Dy eleven to-
morrow morning. I'll telegraph to Briggs to have the man
at his office to meet us."

'•' If you cannot get away easily, I'll do the best I can
and report to you," said Egerton, glancing sharply at him,
and dropping his eyes again.

** I think I can manage it. I shall look in at Lady R's

to-night, and say a word to my chlei:. I shall seo Sydney,

too, a man who sometimes takes my work. Lord R is

greatly interested in this business, and there is nothing
very special going on. I can be very well spared."

" If it is necessary, then, for both to go "

"I think it is decidedly necessary," interrupted Standish.
" In Callander's absence I am the nearest friend to the
murdered woman." Egerton did not reply for some min-
utes, during which Standish called Tor and filled in a tele-
gram form. " Send it at once. It will be delivered at
cock-crow to-morrow if it be too late to-night. Mew, Eger-
ton, I must write a few letters, and excuse myself to Do-
rothy Wynn, with whom I promised to walk to-morrow.
The poor little soul is fretting her life out. I shall not
give her the least clue to the real reason why I am obliged
to leave town to-morrow. 1 must say i am fiercely anx-
ious to ascertain what this man's revelations may lead up
to. I wonder what has become of Dillon. 1 wish we could
■-lip him at the new witness."

148

BLIND FATE.

-p .ii,

" He was in town a day or t wo ago. He called at my
looms, but I had not come to town. Bauer, my man, was
there, (I sent him on first, to have things ready), so he
ii;.id liim a visit, and seems to have inspected t lie premises,
for Bauer was much displeased ; he said he liad no business
to pry and ask questions about a .i.;entleman like me. But
! t,old him it was only tin? force of habit."

" 1 think 1 will send him a line ""O h:s uddress. I should
like him to be with us tomorrow. He is an amazingly
shrewd fellow, but .» hf.^'e an unpleasant feeling that an
o;)i)Osite party, if thei'e were an opposite party, could gen-
erally induce him to see what they wisli( d, by th"} applica-
iion of a golden yalve to the palm of his liand-"

" You think so V" asked Eyjcrton, gravely,

" Yes ; 1 may do him injustice, but that is my im-
pression."

Egerton thought for an instant, and then said, " I will
leave you to youi letters, Staii.lish. 1 want to write some
myself before 1 go to bod. We'll meet, then, at the Water-
' .0 to-mc.row morning. But, should anything occur to
prevent you, I shall go on alone."

" Oil ! I'il be there."

" By the way," resumed Egerton, " as 1 have Dillon's ad-
dress, why should 1 not look him up ? I can explain mat-
tors, and arrange for him to accompany us."

'• You might try," said Standish, " but 1 fancy it is not
easy to find him in, nor do 1 think he likes following the
trail in company."

Egerton took the card, and put it in his note-book, then,
nodding gowd-uight to his host, went awuy with a r^pid
step.

" 1 am sorry to disajipoint Dorothy," thought Standish,
us he placed i)ai.or and ink before him on the library-table.
" Life would bo very dull to me without her and Henrietta
Oakley. What an improvement a touch of real ft^eling has
been to Honrierta— -even phisicaiiy. She looks uncommonly
handsome sometimes," and he applied himself to his letters.

M * ♦ * * ,|t

The next morning wis wild and gloomy, with bursts of
wind and lashes of suddcMi, heavy rain. Egerton did not
fail to join Siaiidish ai W,:.t<'vloo, and they accoraidished
tlie journey almost '.n silence, alter the latter had informed
him tha.t he hud faded to du I H.llon. The portei at the
hotel faformed him that DiUou had beeu there th.-u morn-

BLIND FATE

149

ing, and would probably call the next, but l.»is corairiL; and
going were extremely urioerLain. Egerton had therefore
left a note for him.

When they reached Eastport, the well-known common
was half hidden by thick sheets of rain sweejiing before a
wild southeaster, while the heavy, leaden-colored, threaten-
ing waves thunderec? along the ])each.

Neither uttered the thoughts which the sight of the
familiar place conjured up in both. Once a sigh so deep
as to be almost a moan, broke from Egerton, and he said in
a hoarse tone, " what an ending to it all."

After a short halt at the hotel, they drove to the office of
the lawyer who had been instructed to act for Colonel Cal-
lander, should his offer of a reward i)roduce any result.

Mr. Briggs was a short, dumpy man, with whiskers
meeting under his chin, and a round, jovial face. He rolled
somewhat in his walk — indeed, gave strangers the impres-
sion of being a " sea-going solicitor."

He was a little exalted in his own estf^em by being mixed
up with such swells as Standish and Egerton, and by the
sort of halo the whole business had cast around him. He
received Lhem cordially.

" Very glad to see you, gentleman. The man —Tom Rit=
sen -about whom I wrote, has not come yet, but he wi''
be here presently. 1 doi't know that wiiat lie has to te'
of much importance. Step into ruy private ofHce."

As he threw an inner door open, a sailor of ord'najy
type preset! Led himself at the entrance of the office.

'' Oh, there you are, Ritson ! Come along."

They all went into thr; private oilice, where Standish at
once took a chair. Egerion remained standing, and the
lawyer retreated to his usual fortress, the arm chair behind
the knee-hole taljle.

The sailor, holding his cap in both hands somewhat
nervously, but with an air of some importance, kept rather
near the door.

" Come, Ritson," said the lawyer, "tell these gentlemou
your story."

Ritson shifted from one foot to the other. " Well, ^sir,"
he began. " this was the way of it. You see, I'm an East-
port man, and I shipped aboard the Miic. Ionia, ono of the
Commercial Steam Navigation Cumiiany's ship:, in Lmdon
'lock on Septemljer iast. We put in her»! for a day and a
night, and 1 had leave to go .aid hee HOiwi of my frimds as

150

BLIXD FATE.

live out Westdene way, but I was to be at my post at seven
m-x.1 rxioruiiig as we were to sail witii the tide."'

Kgerton muttered a lialf-inarticulate exclamation of im-
patience, and Bngf^s said aioud, '• Come, get on, my man."
- '* 1 mubt teii it you all from beginning to end," he said,
"or 1 can't do it no way."

"Give him his head," murmured Standish, in a low tone.

" .So," continued liitson. aa my aunt's husband was a
jovial, hospitable ciiap, I thoagiit I'd not stay there all
night, for mayue I'd drink a drop too much, and oversleep
myself. We sat talkin' and chattin' till past midnight.
Tnen 1 says goodbye, and started to walk into Eastport. I
had a drop, but only a drop. I knew what I was
about. It was dark when I set out, but by an' by the
moon rose, and by the time 1 struck the top of the common
there was plenty of light, though every now and then a big
cloud would coiue sailing across the moon. When 1 got
alongside a pretty bit of a house, the first you come to after
crossing the sand-hills from Westdene, 1 thought how quiet
and comfortable everything looked, aud thought there was
a faint glimmer of light in one of the lov/er windows nigh
the near end of the house. While I was looking and think
ing, a figure comes out of a gate at the side of the house,
carrying a siiort ladder on his shoulder. He put it down
and stood with one arm vound it, through the rungs, as if
thinking what he'd do next. There was something so
quiet and steadfast in his way that it never struck me he
could be after any mischief, tliough it did seem a bit queer
his being there with a ladder at that hour. Just then the
East port clocks chimed out three-quarters — 1 guessed it
must 1)6 quarter to two, and that I had best make for the
town as la^t as I could. When I got a few paces off, I
turned and looked back, but not a sign of the man or the
ladder could 1 see. 1 got into the old Mermaid Tavern, and
to bed. Next morning we sailed."

" Do you remember the date of this occurrence ? " asked
Briggs.

'' 1 do, sir. It was the twenty-second of September, and
the birthday of my aunt's youngest boy, so we drank an
extra glass of grog to his health. Of course I thought no
more about it. We had an uncommon rough passage across
the bay, and were obliged to put into Gibraltar to retit.
Then we went on to Constantinople, from that to Port
Said, and back, and I was left behind in hospital. Alto-

BLIND FATE.

151

at seven

-tether I have been over six months out of England, for I
came home as third officer of a small sailing ship, and it
was terriblf slow tub."

•* When did you land here? " asked Standish.

" Four days ago, sir. Then I hear of the murder, and the
reward, so 1 came along here to tell what I had seen that
ui-ht. and you can take it for what it is worth."

" What was the man like — the man you saw with the
ladder?" continued Standish.

"A tall, straight kind of a chap, aDout " Ho paused,

and gazed hard at Egerton — "about this gentleman's height
and build."

Egerton drew himself up to his full stature, and looked
straight at the speaker, with a stern, set expression, as if
nerving himself to face some imminent danger.

" Look well," he said. '• Much may depend on the appar-
ent height and size of tlie figure you saw."

''Yes." returned R'tsoii. -lowly. '-He was about your
height, but a tr'lie broader it seems to me now."

"How was h'3 dressed?" asked Standish.

•'In a longish jacket— something like a seaman's jacket ;
but what I noticed most was that h'i liad neither hat nor
cap on. Ciotlies and head and all looked dark. Of course
i could not see very clear — the light was shifty, and there
was the garden and strip of common between me and him.

■• Did he look like a seafaring man ? '" ask d Briggs.

•• Well, sir. he warn't uulise one. You .see I didn't take
'ime to look much, for, as I said before, it didn't strike me
as he hadn': a right to be tn-re — he moved deliberate like."

'•It sounds rather corroborative of our suspicions," said
>?:andish to Egerton. •• You are certainly like trial Sj^anish
-aiior in hei^iit and fi^rure. He would not have worn his
red ca:> on such an errand, either."

Egerton b-n: his head in acquiescence, but did not speak.

•' I h-ard te.l of ••hat Spanish chap," resumed Ritson.
• and I well remember passing a foreif^n-lookifig craft a
'JO'-iple o' hours after we weighed] anchor, Soe was on
much 'he same tacK as we were, but the r^^jeze had failed
■'■ti\ and we soon showed her our heels. I read hhc name
■I? we passe'i. Veloz."

•rm afra d we can't get much help out of this," said
Jtig^'s. as h^ made a not*-- or two on the paj,.';r before him.
• Xo: a: present, but i: may -ome in usefully liereafto;,*
j:^scrved S aud:sh. •• I snouid like thiu goo<i feiiow'.i.

152

BLIND FATE.

I'll''

evidence taken down and duly sworn to, that it raavl
available in liis absence."

•' That is quite ri^ht, Mr. Staiidish. I'll see to it.'

" Can you remember anything else that migliL pcfesil]
lead to the identitication of this man ?"

" 1 don't think i can, sir. 1 did fancy, when he
turned half towards me, that there was something redilij
under his jacket or facing the jacket."

Egerton compressed his lips, and made a slight movema
as if going to step towards the speakers, but checked
self, and continued profoundly still.

" Ha !" cried Briggs, " 1 remember those vagabod
generally wore red bands or sashes under their jackets. |
think this thickens the case against the Spaniard."

" Yes, it looks like it," said Scaudish, thoughtfully, "jl
I hope and trust is that the poor girl never CHUgkl
glimpse of her murderer — that she never woke. God ! it|
too terrible to think of !" he added, with sudden,
emotion.

Egerton grasped the back of a huge high-backed ck
near him, saying, in a low, fierce tone, " And he
lives !" He drew out his purse, and put some money |
Ritson's hand. " That's for your trouble," he add
" Standish, there is no more to learn. You will find mel
the hotel," and hastily left the room.

" He's been pretty bad," said Mr. Briggs, looking a!l
him. '' 1 heard he had fever. He hasn't picked up mo|
since."

" No ; the winter is against him," said Standish.
arranging with Briggs to have Ritson's deposition prop
taken and attested ; also that he should inform the la\
what vessel he joined, and her destination, invited Biid
to luncheon, which he was reluctantly obliged to declJ
so Standish departed, glad to be free to return to town tij
evening.

First, however, wrapping himself in his ulster, he f*
the rain and storm to walk round the pretty villa, where]
had spent such tranquil, happy hours. With a heal
heart he contrasted that picture and this. What weigW
most upon his mind was a strong conviction that soij
thing sadder was yet to come. He feared the effects of
terrible strain on Callander's nervous system. His loil
lonely wanderings would increase his natural depressij
The best chance for healing his wounds was in the re

to, that it mav

BLIND FATE.

153

rided by nature in the love and care due to his children.
iiiaish thought with infinite compassion of the bereaved
iband. He seeuiei to realise with extraordinary force
It the loss of a sweet, beloved wife must be. It would
jkimost impossible to bear up under such a trial. After
an old bachelor's life is almost unavoidably poverty-

Icken. Then he wondered vaguely what crotchet had

led Callander from the friendly, hearty contidence he

always shown to his wife's guardian, co tiie silent es-

igemenc of the last few months. On this puzzle he had

Bu meditated, and had as often been obliged to give it

I as inexplicable,
^hen lie reached the hotel he found Egerton impatiently

laitiug him. He was walking up and down the room,

|ere luncheon was laid, and on the table stood a carafe of
idy, more than half empty. The sight of it reminded

bdish that he thought Egerton had drunk an unusual

lount of wine the night before.

I' We shall scarcely catch the train," said Egerton, as

^y sat down to a hasty meal, of which he hardly ate any-
ig.
le was very silent during the hour which ensued, and

freely seemed to hear i;he comments Standish made on

tson's story, his assertion that there was but one man

)ut the premises. He only remarked abruptly, '* No ; I

m- thought tiiere was more than one in it, and 1 iear —

eel sure he will not soon be caught."

The hrst part of the return journey was passed in nearly

^plete silence. Then Egerton, who had been looking at

Joiitineiital Bradshaw, exclaimed :

I' Standish, I will go to Spain, and hunt up this Pedro

)self."

' Indeed ! Wha has "

1 have frequently thought of doing it," interrupted
lerton. " The fact is, 1 have not felt strong enough lo
Idertake the journey hitherto. But 1 am the right man
llook for him ; i speak the language ; and he is probably
ping in my mother's country. 1 knew most of the in-
itial families in Valencia when i was there not many
irs ago. They will not have quite forgotten me. Yes ;
luik i can get off the day after to-morrow. Too much
"lehas been lost already."
% dear fellow,'" cried Standish, " do not be rash,
ttsult your medical adviser. Even your success will not

154

BLIND i'ATK

bring poor Mabel back to life, will not restore the charm of

his existence to Callander, nor "

" Give back the color and savor to mine," ''^terrupted
Egerton, impulsively.

i assure you, Standish, that in
my present mood I see lictle or no charm in life. If Icoulu
bring this There, I cannot talk about it.

You do not

dream of tlie extraordinary mixture of feelings which dis-
tract me." Ho stopped abruptly, and then .went on in a
forced tone, '• 1 am not quite an Englishman, you see. 1
feel more acutely, none of you consider me an out-and-out
Englishman See how Dorothy Wynn refused me ; she
couldn't hear me.''

" The vv^him of a very young girl," urged Standish.

Egerton shook hio head.

There is wonderful ripeness and decision about Miss
Wynn," he said. •' She is more like twenty -nine than
nineteen. She disliked me with her intellect as well as her
heart. However, I shall never offend again in the same
way. Yes, I'll go to Spain. It has no associations with
the immediate past, and 1 shall go alone."

" You had better go with Dillon, i fancy he is free jusc
now." Egerton made no reply, nor d'd Standish press the
question.

They discussed Egerton's plans till they neared the
Metropolis, and Standish remarked how clear and defned
they were. They had 3vidently not b<^en thought out on
the spur of the moment. When they spoke of Callander's
probable return, Standish fancied he could trace a certain
loluctance on his companion's part to meet hi^ friend.

"He shrinks from the pain of seeing him," thought
Standish. ''It is natural enough, especially as he is
evidently weakened and depressed."

At Waterloo they parted, each going their own way.
Standish found various letters, invitations, and notes
awaiting him, amont,st them one from Miss Oakley.

"Do come and ;>ee us as soon as you can. We have
heard that you went down to Eastport, and are dying to
know the reason why. Have you found out anything?

"Imagine! Mrs. Callander is to arrive the day after to-
morrow. 1 had a letter horn Miss Boothby. The poor old
thiUi^- seems quite worn-out, lor riy aunt has been very
unwell, luid you may imagine what that meaas to her
attendants.

BLIND FATE.

155

) charm of

•" *:errupted
li, that in
If Icouiu
l^ou do not
\fhich dib-
nt on in a
/o\x see. 1
Lit-and-out
d me ; she

iish.

kbout Miss
-nine than
well as her
I the same
itions with

is free jusii
1 press ciie

leared the
ud def ned
jht out on
Jallander's
a certain
riend.

thought
as he is

own way.
and notes

We have

dying to

anything r

y after to-
e poor old
)een very
018 to her

»>

"If Mr. Egerton is with you, pray bring him. He is
more interesting than ever. -'Yours truly,

"Henrietta Oakley."

"I hope to Heaven Miss Oakley has not commuuicated
her knowledge or suspicions to Dorothy," said Standish to
himself, when he finished this epistle. "I do not want her
to be disturbed with any fresh information, she is in a
pitiable state of nervous depression as it is, I wish Hen-
rietta Oakley would take her and the children abroad, to
some place quite unconnected with the past. I must talk to
her about this."

Looking at his watch he found it would not be too late
to pieseut himself after dinner.

He felt somewhat uneasy until he had seen Dorothy, and
was certain the first glance at her face would tell him how
much she knew.

•'The ladies had left the dinner-table and were in the
drawing-room,'' Collins informed the late, but welcome
visitor, when ho opened the door.

Miss Oakley was at the piano when Standish was shown
ill, and Dorothy sitting on a low chair by the fire ; the
dancing light played upon the red golden brown of her
hair, the pale oval of her delicate pensive face ; she was
more dressed than he had yet seen her, that is, her black
dress was opened in a long V, an inner edging of white
crape almost filling up the space, her elbow sleeves showed
her slight white arms. Standish was almost frightened
to see how fragile, how fairy-like she looked, slie ought
now to be looking more like her own bright self. The
recuperative powers of youth ought to assert themselves
by this time.

At the firse syllable of his name, she started up and ran
to meet him.

"How good of you to come at once,
would."

"Mr, Standish ! This is delightful !
what took you away to that wretched
Oakley, coming over to shake hands with him.

"Yes, Paul, tell us everything," echoed Dorothy, "bui
first for my piece of good news. 1 had quite a nice letter
from the (volonel. He will be home in a week or two."

"Ha! that is i,ood, indeed! Now 1 have a little, a very
little to tell you. it leads, well really to nothing, and it is
painful— do you still wish to hear it V"

Paul ! I knew you

I am dying to hear
place," cried Miss

166

BLIND FATE.

life'

lit'

[1-:

»I do," said Dorothy in a stifled voice.

'Yes, of course we do," cried Henrietta, drawing a low
easy chair by the fire. Dorothy nestled into the corner of
a sofa whioli was partially in shadow, while Standi«h
placed himself on an ottoman at Miss Oakley's left.

He described the meeting with Ritson and gave a brief
summary of his communication. He could not well make
out what effect the narrative had upon Dorothy, as her
face was almost hidden from him, but when he came to
that part of the story where Ritson said the man he liad
seen with the ladder was about the same height and size
as Egerton, she uttered an inarticulate exclamation and
leaned forward as if startled.

"How extraordinary," cried Henrietta Oakley. "I call
this very important, it proves to me, that the deed must
have been done by that dreadful horrid sailor. He cer-
tainly was very like Mr. Egerton. It seems such a shame.
How dreadfully ill and worn he looks, poor fellow ! I feel
quite sorry to see liim. Do you know, 1 f^el so convinced
it was one of those blood-thirsty monsters who committed
the murder, that 1 have told Collins to take that wretched
parrot and sell it for what lie likes. Don't you remember,
Dorothy, how I exclaimed at the strange likeness to Mr.
Egerton? Dorothy, what is the matter, Dorothy? Oh, Mr.
Standish, what "

But Standish was already beside her. Her head had
fallen back among the cushions, her hands, cold and death-
like, lay helplessly at either side.

gone! She has fainted!" cried Standish, in
tones. "For God's sake, call nurse ! I don't
know what to do for her," and ho began to chafe her hand
gently.

Henrietta rushed first to the bell, which she rang furi-
ously, and then to the door, where she called loudly for
every servant in the house, till the room was half full.

••Just stand back every one of you, and leave the room
this minute," cried Mrs. McHugh, authoritatively, "all she
wants is air — and quiet."

•'She is
desj)aring

CHAPTER VII.

DOROIUY SPEAKS.

Dorothy's faintness soon passed away, an open window
and nurse's steady gentle fanning brought her to herself.

BLIND FATB

167

"I wish to heaven you had uot. ^aid anything aboui our
going to Fordsea, 1 did iiut moaa to tell her, she cannot
stand any allusion to the dreadful shock she sustained
there ! Who told you we had gone ? " said Standish im-
patiently aside to Miss Oakioy.

" Collins did, he heard it from Mr. Egerton's man. Why?
Do you think it was that made her faint ? 1 believe it was
over-fatigue."

' ' Hush ! " said Mrs. McHugh. The next moment Do-
rothy opened her eyes and asked feebly :

" What is the matter! Oh, nurse ! " — she stopped, puz-
zled to find her there.

" You have given us such a fright, Dorothy," exclaimed
Miss Oakley. " Mr. Standish was just telling us every-
thing and you "

A ferocious shake of the head from Mrs.McHugh arrested
her wcrds.

" Oh, yes, I remember it all now'" said Dorothy, a look
of fear and pain mixed passing over her faca

" I am weak and foolish. I am very sorry to give all
this trouble," — sne sighed, and passing her hand over her
brow, made a feeble attempt to put back her long thick
wavy hair, which had got into some disorder.

"Never mind it now Miss Dorothy, my dear. I'll put it
right, you come away to your bed — that will be best for
you — m sit by you till Miss Oakley comes up. A good
sleep will make you all right."

" You can't walk upstairs, Dorothy. Let me carry you,"
said Standisa. " You know I've carried you many a time."

"Long ago, Paul!" she returned, a color coming into her
cheek. " I can walk quite well, and nurse wiil be with me,"
rising and steadying herself with one hand on the end of
the sofa."

** I will try and come up to-morrow afteiuoou. Good-
night, dear, good-night." D^rotiiy half turned to him, but
seemed so unsteady on her feet, that 8Landish, without
more word3, put his arm round her and supported her up-
stairs — followed by Mrs. McHugh. " fcJond me word how
she is to-morrow, nurse," he said kindly. " I siiall be very
anxious till 1 have your report."

"Never fear, sir," said Nurse, then b.s he went down the
stairs again, she looked after liiiu and added, as if to her-
self : "Athen! if there wore more like you in it, this world

158

BLIND FATE.

would be a better place. Come, now, get to your bed as
([uick as you cau, Miss Dorotliy."

HeririetLa was dosing the piano when Standish returned
to the room.

" 1 really don't know what we should do without nurse,"
she began immediately she had a listener. " She is a tower
of refuge in every emergency, but she is a bit of a tyrant
into the bs.rgain."

" These attacks are very alarming," said Standish, who
liad taken his iiosition on the hearth, and did not even seem
to see the lady of the house.

"Attacks ! she never fainted before, except indeed the
morning she touud herself face to face with her poor dead
sister, and that would have made even me faint," cried
Henrietta.

" Still, allowing for all the terrible shock, there is some-
thing not quite natural in her grief, considering her age.
She always seems oppressed with some dread and fear of
what is coming."

And Standish tried to calm the perturbation of his spirit
by walking to and fro.

" Not more than you might expect after all she has gone
througli. I think she has been terribly anxious too about
Herbert. Wiu^n he retains she will probably be more at
rest. Poor Herbert ! 1 am sure we are both ready to de-
vote ourselves to him ; but no doubt we shall find him
greatly recovered and in due time he will look out for
another wife. Men have so little constancy — Heigho! "

'' She was always a fanciful, imaginative creature," re-
sumed Staudirih, continuing his walk. ''As a child she was
much more distressed about visionary wrongs than her

sister, though she "

" Dear me, Mr. Standish, I wish you would sit down. It
worries me to see anyone 'walking the quarter deck' in a
room."

" I beg your pardon," he returned, smiling, and sitting
down on the sofa beside her.

" 1 protest you are as anxious and watchful of Dorothy
as if she were the sole daughter of your house and heart,"
coniimied Miss Oakley, with just a touch of peevishness in
her tone.

Standish lurned to her with .something of surprise in his
look.

'Do 1 seem such an old fogey to you, Miss Oakley i*" he

BLIND FATE.

159

bed as

returned

t nurse,"

a tower

a tyrant

ish, who
»venseem

deed the
)oor dead
It," cried

I is some-
; her age.
1 fear of

tiis spirit

has gone
00 about

more at
,dy to de-
tind him

out for

ho!"

»>

ture," re-
d she was
than her

Lown. It
eok' in a

d sitting

Dorothy

\d heart,''
shness in

ise in his

iley?" he

asked. " It is a just rebuff to my conceit ! I Battered my-
self that I was not quite obselete in your estimation."

" Oh, I am not going to reveal what my opinion of you
is," she replied, holding up her fan and peeping over the
top of it, for Henrietta was ready for flirtation on the
shortest notice and under the greatest difficulty.

" Then I shall continue to flatter myself that I stand on
the iiighest pinnacle of your favor, and trouble you with
even more numerous visits then I have yet inflicted on
you, though I am now reluctantly obliged to say good-night.
I am tjure Dorothy will be looking for you. I can never
forget all you have been to my poor little ward."

" I am sure I am as fond of her as possible, sb^^ is a dear
thing. Must you go, Mr. Standish ? Will you come to
dinner to-morrow ? And oh, here ! here is Herbert's letter,
I know Dorothy intended to give it to you. G-ood-night.

"Till to-morrow, good-bye," said Standish.

" Really." mused Miss Oakley, as the door closed upon
him, " I think Mr. Standish is developing quite a fancy for
me. I am sure 1 have no objection, there is something very
attractive about him, he is so self-possessed and decidv^d."

Dorothy shook off her indisposition completely, indeed
she seemed to enjoy a walk with her guardian on the two
days succeeding her aitack of faintness. He had intended
making an attempt to draw from her the secret reason, if
any, of the kind of nervous dread from uhich she seemed
to suffer, but she baffled him by speaking more cheerfully
than usual on abstract subjects, the only personal matter on
which she dwelt was E<,^ertou's intention of goinj^; to Spain,
which seemed to give her a certain satisfaction. On the
third afternoon a few lines from Standish told her that his
engagements would not allow of his seeing her till late the
following day, so Dorothy went for a brisk walk with the
children in Kensington Grardens.

On her return, Collins told her that Miss Oakley was not
at home, so Dorothy went to take of her out-door garment
before entering the di awing-room. On her way sha met
Miss Oakley's maid, who said lier mistress had gone out
again on foot to take some books to the Miss Blackburns',
some young ladies in the near ueighbourhood.

With a comfortable sense of fatigue Dorothy settled her-
self to read, but found her own thoughts more interesting
than the pages before her.

v^ S

160

BLIND FATE.

Braced by the air and exercise she had enjoyed, she made
a strong and wi.se effort to r> ason herself out of the cruel
morbidness which had laid its chili gras^i upon her

Should she not be more faithful to her sister by striving
to fulfil the duties from wnich she had been torn, than by
letting herself brood over her sickening sense of Egerton's
treachery and murderous revenge, the maddening desire to
punish him, abortive as it was to dream of so doing, save
at the price of her beloved sister's reputation? Then when
the bereaved husband returned should she not have a fresli
and absorbing object in trj'ing to comfort him and make
his life endurable — and those poor dear children ! The}-
need all the care a sound healthy mini could bestow, and
how was hers to remain either sound or healthy if it were
to be always haunted by the thought that she herself
was compromised by her silence regarding her conv.ction
as to the murderer. "Vengeance is mine, I will repay.''
Yes! in the hands of the All Wise she would leave the mat-
ter; it was not for her to interfere, nor permit herself to
dwindle into a useless hysterical mourner, refusing to be
comforted.

Then ^he thought of the dear children. How thankful
she was that the boy had rfkllied and wa» rapidly recover-
ing his healthy look again. Once Herbert was among them
he would surely be drawn back to life by the faces, the lov-
ing ways of his children. '' He will lose that awful look of
hopless indifference that used to chill my heart. It is
nearly four months since 1 saw him. How has he lived
through the terrible desolation of those months ? He would
have been better with us. I wonder if Doily's strong like-
ness to her mother will please or shock him ? Oh ! I hope
he will leave Dolly with me always, she is such a dar-
ling!"

Then she thought of Callander's curious aversion to Stand-
ish. He had never mentioned his name in any of the few
letters he had addressed to her or to Henrietta, not even in
the last, which was the fullest, the most hopeful of any.

It would be too dreadful if he took some unreasonable
dislike to Standish and forbade him the house. Then it came
to her, like a swift piercing painful ray of light, how intol-
erable the days would be without Standish. Slie used to
think of him formerly a good deal, but quite differently,
she used to be impatient and offended if he neglected her,
aud fluttered if he showed a decided preference to her so-

BLIND FATB.

101

ciety, blushing and disturbed when he occasionally man-
CBuvred to have her all to himself. Now all these fantasies
were chased away by the dark solemn shadow tLat had
fallen on them.

All the tremulous <Usturbance was stilled into utter un-
resisting dependance on him. His voice soothed her, his
touch gave her strenj^th. He was so patient, so consider-
ate! She looked for -is coming as the one bit of color in
her existence. If she could only have him always beside
her, no ill would be quite unendurable, but of course she
could not expect that. So clever and experienced and infi-
nately well-informed a man would require a far different
companion from herself, so one day he would no doubt
marry a very superior woman.

A t-uperior woman! How awful it sounded! It made
Dorothy quite long to be rwenty-one, though it seemed very
old, rather than be under the wing of such a guardianess.

How long the afternoon would be ; for Henrietta would
be sure to stay to tea with the Miss Blackburns.

As she thought thus the door opened and she heard Col-
lins say : —

" If you'll sit down a moment, sir, I will tell Miss Oak-
ley.'"

Dorothy was lost to sight in the depths of a large arm-
chair, and did not perceive who had come in ; but, starting
up w ith her usual dread of meeting any stranger, she
found herself face to face with Egerton.

Both stood quite still, their eyes iixed on each other — a
determined, sullen look gradually hardening Egerton's face
while Dorothy's arge, thoughtful eyes flamed out with
such fire as none had ever seen in them before.

Egerton was the first to speak.

•' Had I known you were here. Miss Wynn, I should not
have intruded, as you seem, from some unaccountable
reason, to dislike meeting me."

• No/' said Dorothy, advancing very slowly a step or
two nearer, all her resolutions of a moment before thrown
to the winds, her whole soul burning with the fiercest
hatred against the foe before her, her veins throbbing with
a tempest of anger. " No, I am glad to meet you, glad to
speak to you, so long as there is no one else to hear me.
She spoke deliberately, her eyes holding his.

Egerton's countenance changed.

•' 1 am most ready to listen."

192

BLIND FATE.

ui.

\t"-H

" YeH," she returned. gra?^;.ing the top of a high-backf 1
chair near her as if to steady herself, •• you must and sha .
hsten. Do you rernernoer," she continued, •• one day, not a
we*jk ^yefore she was -murdered, you were talking with
Mabel in the verandaii, when you ur^ed her to leave her
husband, and swore you wouid rather crush out her life
'.han see her live ha .»ily ^\th him. I was near the open
winaow ,ind ' if d j'. \
She paused.

" Then," exclaimed E>*ri'Con K a strange, stifled voice.
" if you have a human heart >o.* must have some pity for
the most miserable of men. Nothing out tne dread of the
world's inferences, the world's talk, the reverence I have
for her memory, has kept me from ending anoxiatence that
in a curse to me I"

'' Better you did than pay the fo/feit due to justice," re-
turned Dorothy, with indescribabio menace. '• Knowing all
I do, what has kept me from denouncing you save my love
for her — consideration for my dariini^^'s fame? Here, face
to face, 1 accuse you of destroying her happiness for
the gratification ol the poisonous venom you called love,

and hi-r life, either by "

" For God's sake, be merciful ! You do not know what
tortures my own conscience inflicts. I know how guilty 1
am — 1 know how base ; but," with a despairing gesture,
" you cannot dream what the madness of a love like mine
was !" He be^an to pace the room in profound agitation.
" If she would liave listened to me, and left that insensible
tyrant, ner husl^and, it would have been but a nine days'
wonder, and think of the bliss that awaited us both! I
could have mado her life one long, bright dream of joy, a
palace of enchantment."

•' Founded on a brave, true man's broken art and the
contempt of her own children," added Dorothy. " How
dare you speak such words to meV Has wickedness so
darkened your understanding; that \ i cannot see the vile
s.Uishnass, the unholy degradation ^f such a scheme ?
Listen ! Slio would never have gone from him to you !
She did not love you — she feared you ; you had, by your
base, unmanly tricks, obtained a terrible mastery over her
gentle, innocent heart. 1 have a letter from her, implorincj
you bo set her fr-e, to leave her to her true affection and
duty -but 1 found no opnortuiiity to give it to you."

BUND FATE.

16.

» C e it to me ncv! It w^is writt: u at your su--e^t.oii,"
cried - '>erton; turnin , ou !ier fiercely.

' Then, seeing' she was ahou: to e=c .pe from your toils."
conti:j aed Dorothy, with deadly com;;.o> irc'. -vou cairy out
your ^a•eac, and murder her— if not by your own hand,
hy »

" Great God ;■' exclaimed Egerton. with a groan, ''do
you believe this '?"

He sank into a chair, and covered his face with his
hands.

" I do, as firmly as if saw the knife in your hands, or
saw you put it into the hands of another."

'• "What do you mean? Not that 1 would touch a creature
dearer to me than my own life a thousand times, to destro,
her?"

He grew ghastly white as he spoke ; his dark eyes, di-
lated with horror, were lixed upon the siight figure of I ".
dau tless accuser.

" I mean," she said, with pitiless deliberation, "that,
either by your own hand or that of another, you— mur-
dered— her 1"

There was silence for a moment.

" Do not fear," resumed -Doro^hj'. with bitter contempt.
'• 1 shall not publish my convection : the forfeit of your
miserable life would but poorly pay for any discredit
thrown upon the memory, the character of the beloved
dead."

'• My God !" exclaimed Egerton, •• do yoa not s^e your-
self ttie injustice of your a'jcu.sation ? .Such an act is im-
possible to me I Do.x't let your indignation and hatre i
carry you to such insane lengths. Dont you see my ha ds
are tied V I cannot take any steps to prove my innocence."'

•' That I quite believe, as I be.ieve the searcn you have
undertaken for the supposed murderer will not be success-
ful."

'- With so bitter a prejudice, so extraordinary an accusa-
tion, it is impossible to deal," said Egerton. rfsamiiig his
troubled walk. I deserve almost all you say, but no: this I
You always hated me. and I confess you had reason. If
you knew more of life— of men's lives, you would nottaink
lue so unparalleled a rutfian ! With this nxed.d.-ii you
will never be able to keep silence. You win gradually ie-
out your suspicions '

'• My conviction," interposed Dorothy.

HSerffflR?

164

BLIND FATE.

" Bo-
tha

'* Your conviction, then, and 1 shall be blackened witl
tlie blight of indelinabl«) calumny."

" My motives for keeping silence are too strong—
rothy was beginning, when Collins suddenly threw
door open, exclaiming joyously —

"Here's the colonel himself coming up with Miss Oakley.'

"For Heaven's sake, be composed," whispered Dorothy
in a quick, emphatic whisper. The next moment Hen-
rietta, radiant, exultant, entered, followed by a gentleman,
slightly bent, with gray hair and moustache and beard of a
darker tinge, all wild and untrimmed, a pair of dark, dull
eyes, very quiet and dreamy, his clothes thrown on un-
brushed, and a general air of negligence about his appear-
ance. Could this be the well set up, carefully attired,
soldierly Callander ? Dorothy, already dazed by the fierce
emotion of her scene with Egerton, felt dizzy and almost
unable to speak. She was overwhelmed at tiie sight of
such havoc as a few short months had wrought.

"There! " cried Miss Oakley. "I was driving down Picca-
dilly when I saw Herbert turning out of De VJr street, so J
pounced upon him at once, and here he is 1 I think he needs
a little home care. Hasn't he grown gray ?"

This seemed, indeed, to Dorothy an exemplification of
the assertion that fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
The tenderness, the awe, which tilled her heart as she
gazed at the wreck of what her brother-in-law had been,
were unfelt by Henrietta, her slighter and more surface
nature just saw that her cousin Callander looked older and
grayer, and thought a little petting and feeding up would
remedy all that.

Dorothy, still quivering with the cruel shock which had
shaken her nerves flew to embrace Callander as she used
in her school-days.

"Dorothy! How do you do, my dear," said Callander
kindly, but by no means moved. "It seems a long time
since we met. Ah, Egerton ; I did not know you were in
town" — he held out his hand. How horrible it seemed to
Dorothy that Callander should touch him."

"Sit down by me, Dorothy," he continued, "I am pleased
to see you again, and Henrietta "

"And we have longed for you to return," said Dorothy,
bravely clioking down her tears. "You will want to see
the children, Herbert. They have looked for you, they are
hjuoh dears."

BLIND FATE

166

"Yes," he said, with a heavy sigh, '*! must see them.
My little Dolly, my poor boy "

"1 will bring them," cried Dorothy, hastening to the
door, but passing Egerton, who looked stunned, and, it
seemed to her, guilty, she looked into his eyes — a look at
once warning and defiant. She ran to her room and seized
the moment to bathe her burning eyes, which were tearless
but felt like balls of fire. Tiien she summoned Mrs.
McHugh to bring the boy, while she, herself, led Dolly.
"I do hope they will not be frightened — that they will
know him," almost prayed Dorothy, while nurse kept up a
running fire of * 'if s." "If she had only known the poor
dear master would ask for the children all of a sudden
she would have put on their other frocks." "If that stupid
fellow, Collins, had sent her even the wind of a word she
might have curled Master Bertie's top-knot."

But the sense of lier words did not reach Dorothy's
understanding. She trembled for the effect of this meeting
with his children, on Callander's nerves. She had hoped
so much for his return, and to have the terrible presence
of the man she loathed and dreaded to desecrate this sad,
solemn reunion 1

Trembling in every limb, she nerved herself to prepare
the little girl.

"Dear father has come at last," she said, holding the
child's tiny hand. "You will run and kis.-, him, and tell
him you will be his good little girl."

'•Yes, auntie. Will he cany me up to bed, as he used ?"

"He will, dear." They were at the do r. Dorothy
pushed it open. To her infinite relief Egerton was gone.

"Go, darling ; run to father," she said, loosing the little
iiand. But Dolly hesitated. To her, the gray-haired
j^entleman was a total stranger. She looked at Callander,
and Callander at her. Then he said, low and soft :

"Dolly ; my little Dolly," and held out his hand.

The child went up to him, but slowly, with an awestruck
expression in her big, blue eyes.

Callander lifted her on his knee, then slowly, gently,
pressed her head to him, one hand covering her soft cheek,
while he bent down his own till his gri/zled beard mingled
with her golden locks. As he sai thus, his dark eyes woke
up Irom their dull apathy, and looked wildly away, as if
at some distant, dreadful, object, with a strained, agonised
expression, infinitely distressing. Dorothy gazed at father

166

BLIND FATE.

Mr-

m- ■

i (ir '

and child with an achiug heart, while Henrietta burst out
(trying, and the boy — too young to remember, to fear, to
mourn— called out noisuy, "Pa — pa, papa ! "

Then Callander, routed from his vision, clasping his
little girl tightly to his heart, kissed her passionately over
md over again, till the child looked half-frightened to
lier aunt for protection. Then the boy, thinking his sister
was having more than her share of notice, struggled from
nurse to his father, who, laying his hand on the child's
head, looked intently at him, and kissed his brow.

Then setting Dolly down, he stretched forth his hands,
palms out, in token tliat he wished lo be alone.

"It is altogether the most heartrending sight ! " sobbed
Henrietta, as they left the room. "How awfully aged he

IS!

I »

CHAPTER VII.

'' BEATING ABOUT THE BUSH."

Egerton found that he could not leave London as soon as
lie intended, and Colonel Callander's return further delayed
him.

Callander constantly sought him, as constantly as he
avoided Standish. The latter soon perceived this, and re-
linquished his visits to Prince's place, Kensington,
although Callander continued to live at the hotel in Dover
street, where he went on his arrival. Henrietta loudly
complained of Paul's enforced absence, and even remon-
strated with her cousin both for feeling anil showing such
an unreasonable dislike. He replied so sternly, not ad-
mitting or refuting her accusation, but asserting his own
liberty of action, that Henrietta was startled, and ran to
consult Dorothy.

Dorothy thought that at present it would be useless and
imprudent to contradict him. "We must induce him to
come here as much as possible," she said. " His only
chance of comfort is in taking an interest in the children,
now they give him as much pain as pleasure. He almost
siinnksfrom being with them, I can see that. If he could
only get accustomed to them, they would draw him
from him.self."

*' You are right, I suppose you are right, but it is a great
nuisance to lose Mr. Standisli. He is so pleasant, able to
tell one t.verything, and do everything one wants."

BUND FATE.

167

Meanwhile, Mrs. Callander was by no means an agree
able addition to their society. Her son could not be in-
duced to stay in her house or pay her rnoru tiiau tliu br>jfost
visits. This kept her in a state of chronic irritation, which
Henrietta's obstinacy, in setting' up house with Dorothy,
helped to increase.

If Henrietta openly avowed her annoyance at being cut
ofiE from the society of Standish, Dorothy felt its loss far
more deeply

Her affection for him had grown calm and sisterly, she
thought, yet his absence seemed to take away more than
half her life. It frightened her to perceive how blank and
desolate the world seemed without him. Must she learn to
live alone, without the constant soul-satisfying help and
care of Paul Standish ?

If so, she could not begin the cruel lesson too soon.

Egerton, meantime, betrayed to Paul's keen eyes a re-
markable degree of impatience to get away. He was ob-
liged to wait for one or two introductions to the local
authorities in that part of Spain where he intended to pur-
sue his researches, but so soon hs he obtained these he
would start. He was evidently reluctant to be with Gal-
lander, Standish thought, and counted the days until he
could turn his back on London.

The day before he was to start, he was dressed to go out,
and was giving some directions to his German valet Bauer
when the door- bell rang.

" It is the detecti ve Dillon, sir," said Bauer, returning.
" I have asked him to sit down while I enquired whether
you oould see him."

"I do not want to see the fellow," exclaimed Egerton,
" but I don't care to refuse, he's a d — d dangerous sneak.
I'll not stay long, * ven if I am obliged to leave him in your
hands. If I do, mi. 1 you don't let him turn you inside
out, or pump you about what I said in my ravings."

"He turn me insidi out! Ah, well, that is not just very
likely," returned the Uerman, with a superior smile, as he
left the room, and the next moment ushered, in Mr. Dillon.

"Ah, Mr. Dillon ! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing
you? " said Egerton, stiffly, and still standing. " I am
sorry I am obi ig;d to go out, but 1 am somewat pressed
for time."

" So I suppose, sir. I heard you were going to do a bit
of detective work in Spain and thought I'd just have ;i

188

BLIND FATE.

word or two with you before you started."

'• All rij,'ht, iMr. Dillon, pray speak."

"First and foremost, do you think you have much
chance of tracking the chap you— that is we— suspect? "

*' I cannot say; I can but do my be.st," returned Egerton,
walking to the fireplace, where he stood with his back to
the ligiit, as if he were uneasy under the keen steady glance
of Dillon's ferrit-like eyes.

" Well, you speak the lanj^uage, sir, which is an advan-
tage, but 1 have been over the ground, and I don't
think you'll find out what 1 couldn't."

"Do yoLi speak the language?"

" No sir, but 1 have a sworn interpreter with mo."

"Every additional inquirer lessons your chance of dis-
covery," returned Egerton. "I, at least, need no interpreter,
moreover, 1 know the place and the people."

"True, for you, .sir ; I wish you iiad been able to come
with me, together we might have done something."

" Come with me now," cried Egerton, " I'll stand all ex-
penses."

Dillon looked down meditatively, a slight subtle smile
pli*ying round his lips, and after a moment's pause, said:
" No, thank you, sir; I have a tr He of scent I'm hunting
up here, and I'll do more good by staying where I am."

"Ah ! " said Egerton — rather a quick "ah !" — "something
connected with that fellow who saw the man with a lad-
der?"

Dillon nodded.

"I don't see that that can lead to much," remarked Eg-
erton.

"It may, or it may not," said Dillon, oracularly. "Mr.
Standish sent for me and told me to sea tliis seaman, i
went over the ground with him, but what he has to say
counts for very little— no, 1 fancy 1 have hold of another
thread, a very slight one."

" Did you come to tell me about it ?"

" Well, no, sir — not yet."

" Then 1 am afra d I Ciuinot wait. 1 have a lot of ihings
to do, and -you'll excuse me?"

^ " Of course, sir,only if you don't mind I'll go outside and
sit down a bit, I've turned giddy and faiut-liko in the last
few miuuies, fact is, 1 didp't get my usual bieakfast this
morning. There was some kind of bobbery in tho houso
where 1 ].ive, and 1 hadn't time to wait,"

BLIND FATE.

idd

much

ect?

ad van -
don't

" Oh, sit down by all means, and my man shall give you
a bisoait and a glass of wine. But I must bid you good
morning. Here, Bauer," with a haughty bend of his bead,
Egerton passed out into the small entrance or passage of
hi apartment.

" Give him wine and biscuits," he said to his valet, '*and
be prudent. I do not quite know what he is up to."

" Ach ! you look very bad, my friend," exclaimed Bauer,
coming back to Dillon after he had closed the door on hia
master. "I will give you something to do you good. What
shall it be, sherry, cognac, moselle V"

"You are most obliging! I'll just take a j- lass of water
with a sketch of cognac in it."

" Very well." The valet went across to where a richly
ornamented liqueur casestood onthe sideboard, and produced
the beverage chosen, leaving it to Dillon to compound his
own mixture, ob^^erving ''that schnap won't hurt you. Now
jis it'p not civil to let a mau drink alone, I will accompany
you, and he added a very strong " sketch" to his own glass
of cold water.

" AU ! that quite sets me up," said Dillon, putting down
his tumbler, and smacking his lips. " Ain't you going
with him'?" pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the
tlirection of the door.

"No; not this turn."

'* How will he get on without you?"

"Anyhow, he thinks he can, and, truth to tell, he isn't
what one might call very helpless for a gentleman like
him. I'm not sorry, for I believe Spain isan ill-piovided,
uncomfortable country, ain't it?"

Diiion stared at him without speaking for half a minute,
and then ejaculated : "The divil's own hole of a place. But
I suppose Mr. Egerton understands it and the people ?"

" Ach ! that he does. He knows most things and places.
He is always going about; looking for queer things and
collecting. The money he throws away is enough to feed
a town."

"Just so. Miiy 1 have a weed?"

"Bless your soul, yes! I'll give you a prime one." Silence
ensued while they lit up.

\ All them queer4ooking daggers and swords and things
hanging along there must have cost a power of money," ob-
served JJillon, puffing dili"»-"

I'-"'

170

BLIND FATE.

" Timy have. I've been with Mr.Egerton when he bouglit

inOHl of tllfiMl."

"JuHt so ! Now 1 have rather a taste for those kind of
i.Jiifi^jH iiiysoJf. Tliis HWims a beauty," rising and going
ov'jj' 'o toucji a Jon}^, slender knife with an elaborately-
c.lia.sed eborjy an<l silver handle, and silver ornaments on its
black leatlier slicath. " May I look at it?"

" Y<js, to be sure," returned this accommodating valet.
Dillon drew out, the long, tine, keen, blue blade and felt the
\to\nL " it/s ii, murderous weapon, 'or all its delicate
lines. Where did he get this now V"

" W(!ll, 1 wasn't with him when he got that, but I have
hoard him t.oll he bought it at Damascus."

'' ! never saw anything (juite like it," said Dillon, care-
fully exjimining the ornaments.

" 1 dare ,say not. Mr. Egerton had another almost ex-
actly the same when he engaged me in Bombay, but he
gave one of them away. He is a very free-handed gen-
tlennin."

"■ Is ho now V Well, that makes things pleasant. To
think of his giving away a beauty like this to a friend ! I
nelievc* Attonborough would have given a small fortune
fov it. It must, h.ivo been some one he was uncommonly
fond of. Do you kuow what friend he gave it to ?"

" Wnll, IK) ! I can't say 1 do. it was either while we
woio in India oi soon after we came back ; for I remember
wiuMi we were putting this place to rights, just before he
was taken ill, and 1 asked liim where the other eastern
knife WHS (^h.e calls it by some outlandish name), and he
Naiil, * I).. n't you reuKMnhcr 1 gave it away ?' But i could
not remcuibor. Anyhow, wo hung that short, broad dagger
in its hhice to corresporid."

" \\'«'ll, I'm sure diey are arranged elegantly — never saw
any I hing bt ttei-. No, not a drop! Many thanks, all the
same !" as l>auta- nuido a movement as if to till his glass,
and hi lion slowly thrust back the long, cruel-looking knife
into its sheath, and, with a lingering glance, hung it in its
i*lace.

" And you can't think what became of the other ?" he
said, in n slow, roth>ctive voioe.

" No ; I I'unnoi. Why, Mr. I'jgoiton was always giving
things away to pcopU^ who showed him att ntion, and that
means nearly every ont^ he knows. When we were in London
1 »st wintn, there was scurcelv a dav 1 was not carrvi/icr

BUND FATK 17

flowers and fruit and books and letters to tliepoor lady tliat
was murdered and her sister, when tiiey were living in
quite a poor, insigniti.',ant house in Uoniiau^lit, square."

" Oh, indeed !" ejaculated Dillon. The men's eyes met
significantly.

" It was all perfectly right," resumed the German, with
great gravity. " All in the way of honorable frindship.
Nicer and more gracious ladies never lived. Tiiey do say
Mr. Egerton wanted to marry Miss Wynn. Well, he migla
or he might not ; I was never quite sure. If he liad been
in real earnest, why, from what 1 have seen and known of
him, she would have been Mrs. Egerton by now. '

" Maybe she wouldn't say yes," suggested Dillon.

The valet smiled incredulously. " He is not the sort of
man women say ' no' to, 1 can tell you."

"Ay! that's true onougli, 1 daresay; anyiiow, your
master and the ladies were regular chums y"

'' They were that. It was a nice, peaceful time, regular
as clockwork. Early to bed, breakfast at nine, no racketty
suppers. 1 got a stone heavier in those mouths. We wjire
not quite so steady when they were away at the seaside.
You see, they went before the season was half over, and
Mr. Egerton could not refuse all the invitations ; besides,
he did not seem able to keep quiet. Then there was racing
to and fro. I was glad when we went down to stay. 1 am
a peace-loving man, and 1 also love the beauty ol the sea
and sky, and "

*' Faith ! you area philosopher spoilt," interrupted JJil-
Ion. " It's making poetry and talking metaphysics yon
ought to be, instead of laying out coals and folding up
trou.sers." There was a touch of contempt in his tone.

" Excuse me," returned tiie valet, with dignity ; '•' how-
ever humble one's work in life, one may cultivate the inner-
soul and dignify existence by "

'* Ah ! just so; by lining your po»^kets. Ye see, 1 am
spending too much time here. It's always my way; I can't
tear myself away from i.leasant coiupaiiy. 1 l(;e] a new
man sinceyou gave me that sketch of s|)irits. if you have
time to come as far as Dale street, Pimlioo, any evenin.-
about nine, .f have a tidy lodging enough, and I'll b<i proud
to smoke a cigarette with you ; but I must bo olT now
Remember, 11 A. Dale street, not ten minutes walk from
the Metropolitan station." •

"You are very obliging. 1 shall be most happy ■"

172 BLIND FATE.

Dillon nodded. "Good day and good luck to you," lie
said, and iiad almost passed through the door when he
paused, t iiniod, and said: "If you should happen to remem-
ber or find out what became of that Damascus dagger,
you'll let mo know ? 1 have a client that will give a long
j)rice for it."

The German said something in reply, but Dillon did not
listen. He closed the door noisily, and walked, with quick,
firm steps out of V'go street.

"I wonder what became of that knife," he thought, his
eyes glittering with a mixture of eagerness and cunning.
"Ay ! go to Spain if you like. The secret lies nearer home,
Mr. Egerton. i believe I have nearly enough evidence to
hang you, my fine gentleman. It would pay better to havt^
disguised your contempt of tlie detective you are obliged to
use, instead of letting eyes and mouth speak as they have
done. Now, which line shall 1 take? which will profit me
most V" * * )ie * * * *

Though Standish was quite willing to humor Colonel
Callander'.s whim concerning himself tea certain length,
he felt he must in justice to himself seek some explanation
of the strange dislike Callander evinced. He would not
submit to be banished from his v^ard.

He had called several times at the hotel where the
Colonel had established himself, but he was never at home.
He therefore resumed his visits to Prince's place, and one
day he succeeded in finding Callander alone in the dining-
room, when all the rest were out.

The Colonel received him coldly, perhaps, but calmly,
looking at him with a curious, interrogative stare.

"1 am glad to meet you at last, Callander," he said,
in his usual frank, pleasant ton^^s, "and alone — for I want
you to tell me what 1 have done to deserve j'^our displeas-
ure — we used to be such chums, and aow you avoid me y
If I havevmconsciously done anythin,; to annoy or offend
you, tell me, J am sure 1 car trnlainit — for "

'»! ( aiiiot tell you— not now," returned Callander. "There
is t iMasoj.. and one day you shall fully understand it."
Theso last words were spoken with the most deliberate
«>vapuas!s', fl i if he wish ,d to drive them into his hearer's
IB ad. •'] «m i.nweli, :uid unequal to talk — to explain any-
Uiiiitj -you must uot aak me." Something in the dull,
dv t oi I'li^ vo»c€ of the broken mau before him moved
P'Mil'^ irTvnite i.ity."

( '

BLIND FATK

173

"Do as you will, Callander," he said, kindly, ' 'I can
afford to wait your time, for I know I have always been
straight with you, and a quiet conscience "

"Conscience ! " repeated Callander, a sudden glare flaming
out in his eyes, and then he laughed a wild, harsh laugh.
"Oh, yes, your conscience is quite tranquil 1 daresay, but
it will wake up by and by— Oh, yes— I will waken it up.
I will explain with such force that you will not be able to
resist convictior."

"The poor fellow is off his head," thought Standish,
"grief and horror have been too much for him! Well, I
will wait your time, Callander," he said aloud, very
gravely. "I have faith in you, if you have not in me! —
when you are in your right mind, and you will hear
me "

"Ha ! You want to make m'^ out a lunatic, you and my
mother," cried Callander furiously.

"You misinterpret me, Callander. I meant when I used
the expression 'right mind,' your unprejudiced mind. 1
will not force myself upon you any longer. I must, how-
ever, say that it is awkward and iiicouvenient to be
separated, in consequence of your peculiar frame of mind
towards me, from Dorothy, v/ho has really no friend or
guardian save myself."

' 'I do not want to separate you — you can come here and
see her. "What is it all to me! " he said with pitiable in-
difference.

"Very well, Callander, I will intrude no longer." With-
out another word Standish left the house.

It was a dry, gi ey day, and pleasant for exercise. He
Celt the necessity for think aig out the problem of Callan
iler's dislike and its consequence; so he crossed to Ken-
sington Gardens, and entering; by the small gate near th«<
[lalace, walked leisurely under the leafless treos towa
the round pond.

As to the cause of his friend's sudden preposses !0u
against him, that did not trouble him long. His conscience
i)eing perfectly clear, he did not hesitate to attrilnite it to
i- certain loss of mental balance. The (iffect of his illue-s
in India had scarcely worn off before this sudden blow fell
upon him, then came several months' Jonely wanderings,
ufficient to account for much eccentricity ; still there v/cs
nothing in his condition to forbid hope of cumj.leto rest.ji •
Mion. But in the meantime, while under the influence of

174

BLIND FATE.

'ii:.

these hallucinations, he might do incalculable mischief.
Who had a right to restrain him? Might lieuoL beaserious
utflction to Dorothy ? — that delicate, sensitive, nervous
creature wiio uad not yet recovered the frighti'ul siiock of
her sister's awiui death. How bright and strong slie used
to be! — even through her natural terrors she had preserved
a degree of self-control wJaich argued a brave spirit. If
Callander eventually required restraint, and his children
fell into their grandmother's keeping, Dorothy would bd in
a very desolate position. '' For, of course," mused Stan-
dish, "Henrietta Oakley will marry —may marry any day-
then Dorothy will be homeless, and her means are too
small to make her comfortable anywhere by mere paying !
1 wish I could get a sound professional opinion on Callan-
der's mental and physical condition. But that I cannot do.
The less he sees ot me the better in his present state, i will
ask Henrietta to do what she can with him. 1 wish they
would go and spend a few months abroad — the children,
Callander, all of them ! Dorothy surely wants a change of
scene. I wish tlie ridiculous world would permit me to
take the poor little girl under my own wing, it makes
my heart ache to see how sad and drooping sho looks. 1
wonder how long that fellow Dillon intends to keep up the
farce of looking for the murderer ? We have small chance
of finding him ! 1 fancy Mr. Dillon is making a good thing
out of us; I cannot say 1 see any indication of his wonder-
ful cleverness. There is something mysterious about him.
By George! there's something mysterious about the whole
business — an odd sort of uneasy doubt that the affair is
not as simple as it seems at first sight grows upon me.
Callander's objection to me can only be caused by temjio-
rary insanity, but Dorothy's profound, immovable dislike
to Egerton is inexplicable. She has something on her mind,
too. I wish she would speak out to me."

Here he was roused from his reflections by a child's
hoop, which was bowled with some force against his legs,
and, looking down he recognised a little golden-haired
creature in a black pelisse and hat.

" Ha, Dollie! " heexcla.med, " where is auntie V"
"Auntie is coming! " As she spoke Dorothy came round
a clump of evergreens. The cold, dry air had given l.er
color, and she looked a little like her former self.

" This is a lucky rencontre, Dorothy !" cried Standish,

aserioub

BLIND FATE. Hi

taking the hand she held ouu "I was thinking of you,
and wishing to talk to you."

" Thaaks ! I am very glad, too ! " She looked up in his
face with one of her old, quick, sweet glances. " Let us
Vv^alk round by the Buyswitter side to the ride and the mon-
ument. The days ;^ie lengthening so fast we shall have
light enough, and Mrs.McHugh will take the children back."

To this Dolly objected, and the boy, who was now begin-
ning to walk quite well, backed his sister vigorously.
Standish and Dorothy lingered with them awhile, until
Mrs. McHugh i esolutely set lier face towards home, when
they turned down a side path and escaped.

" i had an interview with Callander just now," began
Standish, when they had walked a few paces in silence.

"Indeed ! " exclaimed Dorothy, turning to him with eager
interest. " What did he say ? How did he seem? "

"Most moody and unfriendly. He made mysterious
allusions to my conscience, &c., but I stayed a very short
time, for I saw my presence only irritated liim, wbiie rea-
soning was out of the question. He is under hcaxk. hal-
lucination."

" He is, indeed!" said Dorothy, with a sigh. "Paul, I
am terribly uneasy about Herbert. He is so changed — he
is so variable! Sometimes lie will have the children with
him and almost shedte rs over them. Sometimes he scarcely
notices them, but sits sileni and half asleep in his chair for
hours. He rarely talks to any one but Henrietta. What
do you think of his state V"

"He is not right in any way ! I wish you could get him
to see some specialist for brain disease. 1 do not think he
has been quite right since — since the terribie blow fell on
him."

" Nor I. We quite dread Mrs. Callander's coming when
he is in the house. Tlie sight of her seems to annoy him
beyond everything. And how well he was going om before
dear Mabel's death!"

" Time may bring him round. He would be better any
where than here. 1 wish he would talcc you all abroad to
Pau or Biarritz for the lest of the cold weather. "

" Would that do him good ? i would rather not go so far
away from you, Paul! "

" My dear girl, you woidd be all right with Henrietta
Oakley,. She is really a capital woiuan. The more t see
of her the more i see her value. Her dightiuesB is a iftere

176

BLIND FATE.

surface coating ; there ia sound stuff below. Aud do you
observe how serious interests aud an uaseitLsh care for
others improves her very appoarenct V She is looking hand-
some. tSJie has so much more expression! " cried Siandish,
enthusiastioally.

*'She was always rather handsome," returned Dorothy,
with great composure, "and I am sure she has been infinitely
kind to me; but i imagiue she will get tired of her life
witii us sooner or later."

"Wiiy, you don't suppose she is going to sacrifice her
whole existence to Callander and his children?"

" No, Paul, that would be too much to expect, though i
shall only be too thankiul to do so, if he will let me."

" My dear Dorothy," said Standish, coming closer, and
drawing her hand through his arm, "you must not let
yourself think that, because you have been robbed of the
one you loved best under circumstances of peculiar horror,
life is therefore over for you at 19! Without any disloy-
al, y to your d«.'ar sister's memory, you will, I trust, have
many happy days, aud I shall yet relinquish my duties,
contentedly though reluctantly, when I give you to some
good fellow who has been lucky in softening that hard
heart of your'=. You will not be always as obdurate as you
were to poor ^ii>jerton'?"

Dorothy withdrew i:er arm quickly. ''We need not speak
of him," she said, in a low voice.

" Very well."

They walked on for a minute or two in silence, then
Standish looked down into her face, drawing her eyes to
him, as iiis always did, and thinking what a wonderful
depth of expression there was in thoso dark-grey, wistful,
holy eyes of hers, asked gravely, "You have some profound
aversion to Egertou, tlie reason of which you do not choose
to tell me, Dorothy ?"

Still looking straight at him aud growing a little pale,
she said steadily, "Yes, Paul."

"And will you never tell me?"

" 1 am not sure. Periuips, one day- by-and-bye, one
day in ihe coming years 1 may. 1 should like to tell you,
hut there are considerations which hold me back."

"Then you mu.'st take your own time. But, Dorothy, 1
think you might trust me."

" Trust you !" she cried, her eyes filling with tears of
earnestness " I would trust you with my life I"

BLIKD FATE.

177

"With your life! My proiiious little ward that is a hig
thiui;!" Something in hia tone, his smile, brought hack
the color to Dorothy's cheeks, but she made no reply, and
Standisli changing the subject, they spoke on other topics
for theremaindar of the way.

End of Vol. IL

PART IIL
CHAPTER L

A TANGLED SKEIN.

This was a very trying time to Standish. He had an
uneasy sense of being surrounded and played upon by forces
he did not understand and could not control.

Unless Callander was absolutely insane, there must be
some color of reason under his sudden and extraordinary
enmity against himself, and, seek as he might in all the
holes and corners of his memory, Standish could not find
the faintest shadow of a cause, even for fancied offence.
Then, although not a little ashamed of giving heed to the
whims of a youug creat;ure like Dorothy, he could not quite
fateel his mind against the effect of her profound dislike and
distrust of Egerton. What could have caused it ? It was
provoking of her not to confess all her reasons, if she had
any, to him.

Finally, that somewhat tricky fellow, Dillon, was playing
" fast and loose " with him in an audacious manner.

At any rate, he would bring him to book at once.

It was well, perhaps, that Standish was greatly occupied
at the time, as, in addition to his work as precis writer to

Lord R , he had been promoted, which threw more upon

his hands than he had to do before.

This did not allow too much time for brooding over unsat-
isfactory puzzles, which seemed to grow more involved the
longer he looked at them.

A line to Dillon brought that wily personage to Paul's
lodgings in St. James' place one evening, soon after the
conversation last recorded.

Standish had returned from diiiin^^ at his club in as bad
a temper as his strong self-control would allow to take pos-
session of him. He had an irritatijig notion that Dillon

1**1

178

BLIND FATE.

was the worst man he could have employed, that he had not
taken any Interest in tfio case, and had let any thread which
might have led to detection slip through his fingers.

He had hardly taken off his coat and begun to look at an
evening paper when Dillon was ushered in.

"Well," began Standish, rather impatiently, "I suppose
that, as usual, you have no news for me '?"

" No sir— not yet," returned Dillon, giving him a quick,
searching glance.

" Come now — do you think there is any use in going on
with the game ? It has cost a good deal, and I see no
chance of any result."

" Don't you, sir '?"

" No— do you ?"

" Yes ! If I didn't do you think I would go on taking
your money, or Colonel Callander's money ? That's not
my usual course — no play, no pay, is my maxim."

" Then, have you any traces ?"

'' Traces ! Ah, the scent is breast-high. Even if Mr.
Egerton had not gone to Spain, I "

" Then you think he'll catch the fellow ?" interrupted
Standish, eagerly.

'' Well, he may find the man he has j>one in search of, or
he may not. I've the threads in my hand. When I get
just the one link that's wanting, I'll lay the whole evidence
before you, Mr. Standish ; but until 1 have it, not one word
will I speak."

" You are a cautious fellow," returned Standish, looking
hard at him, and thinking what a shrewd but low type of
face he had. " If you can do this, I'll believe you are the
cunning dog you are repovied to be."

" Ay, I'll have the big reward yet, sir, and it won't be
too big."

" Tell me — have you tracked this scoundrel, Pedro,
through his wanderings ?"

" Yes ; I have tracked the murderer, and I can put my
finger on him ; but there is no use in doing that till ray
evidence is complete."

" Then, why did you let Egerton undertake this wild-
goose chase to Spain ?"

" Why shouldn't I ?" witli a sneering smile. " It's just
a play for a rich, idle man like him. What he'il find out
is neither here nor there. He'll not find Pediro, and he
knows it."

BLIND lAiE.

17d

*' Knows it ?" echoed Standish. ' ' What do you mean?"

'' That Mr. Egerton was glad to get away from the talk
and the bother of this wretched busiuesis, just to be quit of
it all, and so he has shown you a clean pair of heels."

" I think you wrong him. No one could have shown
more feeling and deeper interest than he has."

" Oh, I'll go bail, he is interested enough. Isn't he going
to give a thousand himself when we catch the murderer ?
Maybe it's a trifle more he'll be adding."

" By heaven !" cried Standish, struck by the man's
malignant smile, " you seem to suspect E<^erton himself.
What confounded rubbish you are talking.''

"Suspect? Suspect an elegant, high bred honorable
gentleman, too proud almost to spoak to the mere common-
ality ? Oh, no, I'm not quite so foolish; but you see, sir,
it's my duty to suspect every living man, woman or child
in or about the place on the night of the murder, and I
have looked after every one of them."

"Myself included ?" added Standish, with •. slight deri-
sive smile.

"You were in London," replied the detective coolly. "Of
course you might have bribed the Spanish fellow, but
things don't look like it. You don't suppose I'd ever find
out much if I didn't think all men from tiie saintliest
parson up to the most noble dukes and earls, from the
ploughman to the archbishop, capable of murdering any
one belonging to them if they had a strong enough motive.
The very man you'd never suspect is, nine times out of
ten the real criminal. Human nature is a queer thing."

"What a ghastly doctrine," said Stan ish, slowly pull-
ing his moustache.

"It's that sir. But these kind of searches and specu,
lations are uncommon interesting, if I wore to write down
all I have seen and known, everyone would a-y out, 'What
lies he is telling.' "

"You ought to write your memoirs, Dillon. It would be
a valuable volume. Bentley Ox Longman would give you
a long price for it."

"They will have to give it to my executors, then, for
whatever I have jotted down, it shan't see the light till L
am under the sod.

"A prudent resolve no doubt. Well, then, Dillon, I am
still to leave matters in your hands, unquestioned, un'ul
you are pleased to reveal all yuu know ?''

9^ '^^^^N^

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33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

180

Bl iND FATK

IL ^bSl

*Just SO, sir. It won't be long, but I cannot fix a time.
I may get at what I want to know to-morrow or next day,
I may not hit it off for three weeks or a month ; but, sooner
or later, I'll have the whole story clear."

"Do you expect us to be greatly surprised ?**

"Well, I would rather not say, sir."

"Have you seen Colonel Callander since his return ?"

"Yes, just once.''

"He is terribly broken."

"Ay, that he is," and something like a gleam of com-
passion shot across his hard face. "He will never be the
same man again."

"I fear not ! He is thinking of going to Fordsea, I
find."

**Is he?" with snarp, suddenly roused attention. **That's
a trip won't do him much good. Do you know when he
goes down ?"

"I am not sure, he may take the whim any day."

Dillon thought for a moment in silence, and Standish
said, "You did not think the evidence of tliat sailor. Hit-
son, of any consequence ?"

"Not much," replied Dillon, rousing himself from his
medications. "He only told us what we knew before. We
certainly got at the size and look of the man who laid the
ladder across, but if it was the Spanish chap, why, you
all say he was like Mr. E^erton in size and build,'*

"True," and Standish did not speak again for a few
seconds, then he exclaimed, "I have detained you long
enough, and I ought to dress and go out."

"All right, Mr. Standish, it's me that is keeping you."
He rose as he spoke from the <jhair where he had been
sitting at what mi^ht be termed a civil distance from
Standish. "By the bye," he resumed, pausing, "How is
the young lady ?"

"Which young lady."

"The little brown-haired lady with the eyes that tell
you everything without her opening her lips," he ended,
with a low peculiar laugh.

Standish frowned. "You mean Miss Wynn, pray, is she
among your suspected ?"

"Not now. She is an uncommon shrewd young lady
she is," continued the detective. "Ah ! she took it all des-
perate hard, and she doesn't like me a bit too well. She

BLIND FATE

181

fix a time.
' next da^ ,
>ut| sooner

um?»'

a of oom-
ver be the

rordsea, J

I. "That's
V when he

r."

Standish
.ilor, ■ Rit-

from his
ifore. We
LO laid the
why, you

for a few
you long

Lug you."

had been

ince from

"How is

that tell
le ended,

iy, is she

mg lady
; all des-

Bll. She

looks at me, half afraid, like a startled fawn. One might
think she was frightened for what I might find out."

"That is an imaginative flight on your part, Mr. Dillon.
I must wish you good evening."

'•Good evening, sir, I'll let you know the minute I have
anything clear and satisfactory to telL"

* 'Satisfactory," repeaced jStandish, when he was alone.
"He has a curious idea of what is satisfactory. He is like
a ghoul, revelling among the ghastly skeletons of his
ungodly secrets ! I wonder what he is at ? It is absurd,
but I am half inclined to share the fright he attributes to
Dorothy. But what can he find out, except the miserable
scoundrel who cut o£E Mabel's fair life for the sake of her
few jewels."

Instead of dressing to go out, Standish donned a smoking
jacket, and sat down to think.

His interview with Dillon had disturbed him out of all
proportion to anything that had transpired during it, and
at last, growing feverish, he turned from the subject by a
strong effort of will, and applied himself to write an ab-
stract of some papers for his chief. It was a serious de-
privation to him to be cut ofE from his almost daily visits
to Prince's place. But so long as there was any risk of
encoimtering Callander, he thought it right to abstain from
going there. It was astonishing what a blank this created
in his life. He had been quite comfortable and contented
for years, and now a strange restlessnes and dissatisfaction
had fastened upon him. He must get rid of these morbid
feelings. The painful death of his young ward had un-
hinged him. He must not yield to this sort of womanish
weakness.

It was the day after this interview that Mrs. Callander
honored her niece with a visit. Henrietta was dressed to
go out when the Dowager's carriage drove up. With a
little grimace expressive of resignation she took off her fur
lined cloak and laid it over a chair as Mrs. Callander was
announced, and that lady entered attired in the richest and
blackest mourning that could be invented.

" My dear Aunt! I am delighted to see you— so glad I
had not gone out, do sit down by the lire."

"Not too near, thank you! 1 never have accustomed
myself to indulgence ! I intended to have called upon you
sooner, Henrietta. I wished to see how you were placed.
You are well aware I never approved of this scheme of

Prii

182

BLIND FATE.

yours of living by yourself with so insignificant a compan-
ion as Dorothy Wynn."

"Well, I don't see what else 1 could have done. Those
jiOor children wanted a home — and "

" Yoii could have joined me with them," interrupted Mrs.
Callander.

" And left poor Dorothy alone ? No — that would never
have done! You foi get that Herbert wished her to be with
them."

'^H.r
He St
atioTi
ere ■
tres

bcrt'p infatuation issomething I cannot understand!
iii:^ i,o think that mere girl more deserving consider-
!.an his mother. Every one is thought of in pref-
to me ! " and her voice rose to a shrill tone of dis-

's very curious," returned Henrietta, sympathetically,

b ' ' iibiceivmg all her exclamation admitted.

suppobfc that is the reason my grandchildren are never
bOi." to sbti me," continued the old lady, querously.

' i'oor old thing! how grey and miserable she looks!"

oc^^ht her niece. " But they went to Somerset square
last week," she said aloud.

" Last week, Henrietta ! Am I to be put off with a stated
weekly visit ? Do you think that my son's children are
not always welcome to me, though their mother was the
last person I should have wished him to marry ?"

" Poor dear Mabel ! Well, aunt, she will never offend you
more."

" I know what you mean, Henrietta ! that I was hard
and unkind to her. But 1 was only just and honest. lam
terribly shaken by her awful end, though I am sure if we
could get at the truth, you would find it was greatly her
own fault ! Her careless, reckless way of leaving lier jewels
and valuables about for wandering vagabonds to see ! In
fact, she was not accustomed to such things, and did not
know how to take care of them."

" How can you talk in that way, aunt ? Hush ! here is
Dorothy."

Mrs. Callander drew herself up as Dorojbhy came in. Her
pale face, sad earnest eyes, and slight fragile figure might
have touched Mrs. Callander's not very impressionable
heart, but for the idea of the preference shown by her sou
for his sister-in-law, this made her adamantine to Dorothy
and almost to her favorite niece.

'*Ho\v do you, Mrs. Callander," said Dorothy, advancing

BLIND FATE.

1€3

h ! here is

to her, her eyes full of kindly feeling, for she deeply sym-
pathised with the proud old woman in the mortification her
son's avoidance must inflict.

" I am not quite well, 1 thank you. Indeed I doubt if I
shall ever be myself again. Few mothers have been more
sorely tried," and she pressed her black-bordered handker-
chief to her eyes.

*' I am so sorry," Dorothy was beginning, when Hen-
rietta broke in. "My aunt is vexed because the children do
not go often enough to see her."

" Oh, Mrs. Callander, they shall go as often as ever you
like. I thought they might give you more trouble than
pleasure or they should have gone every other day ! "

"I see no rea«ion for your concluding that I was indiffer-
ent to my son's children," testily. " Indeed the more proper
and natural arrangement would be to have given the poor
children into my care! You must feel yourself that you are
too young."

"Ah ! Mrs. Callander, I feel old enough for anything,"
exclaimed Dorothy, "and my dear lost sister would have
chosen me before anyone else to take her place with bea-
little ones, but I know that you have a claim too — only
don't try to take them from me! They are all I have left,"
and her big eyes filled with tears.

"Take her place," repeated Mrs. Callander to herself.
' Tiiaiik God that horrid, blasphemous, revolting 'deceased
wife's sister's bill* will never pass, or heaven only knows
what would happen," She only said : " You are very
good, 1 am sure, to admit I have any 'claim' as you call it,
whatever."

Dorothy sighed. She could not answer this cruelly dis-
appointing, unjust, exacting woman sharply— she felt too
much for her.

" I am sorry the children are out, but they shall go to
you to-morrow. Would you like them before or after
luncheon ? ''

" Send them before luncheon and I will bring them back,
or Miss Boothby will," returned the dowager, a little
softened.

" Now, Henrietta, 1 must say you have a very indifferent
iiouse. Tiie entrance is decidedly mean and the stair is
dark."

"Well, Aunt Callander, it costs quite enough, and you

184

BUND FATE.

know I had to think of Herbert's pocket as well as my own,
still 1 Hatter myself the drawing room is pretty."

"It is full of twopenny-halfpenny decorations I grant;
now you ought to have reception rooms adorned with few
but massive and valuable onraments, not frippery like
this."

*' Well, I don't like that kind of funeral chamber. Do-
rothy and I have been miserable enough to value brightness
even in such humble ^uise as a sixpenny fan or two."

Mrs. Callander elevated her chin contemptuously.

* ^ I should like to see the children's apartments," she said
haughtily.

'^ Oh, yes, Henrietta, will you take Mrs. Callander to the
nursery V " said Dorothy, hesitating whether she should go
or stay, and deciding that it would be more agreeable to
the dowager if her niece only accompanied her.

She drew near the fire, p>nd leaning her head against the
mantelpiece, she thought how terrible it would be if Her-
bert were ever persuaded to give the children into Mrs.
Callander's care. What would become of her ? for to live
with them in the dowager's house would be impossible.
And she could not trust poor Herbert in his present con-
dition. If he took such an amazing unaccountable dislike
to Paul Standish, why she herself might be the next object
of his aversion. How uncertain her own future seemed !
If — if oulv she could keep with the children, she might
settle into resignation and content. As to Mrs. Callander,
odious and disagreeable as she made herself, she oould not
help compassionating her, for it must be a great trial to
see a son, a beloved sou, turn from you with scarcely veiled
coldness — nay, more, with positive repulsion. Surely she
was punished for any unkindnees she had shown to Mabel.
♦ ' They are decidedly poky, stuffy rooms," observed Mrs.
Ci-Uander, returning, followed by Henrietta. " Now, in
my house they might have a whole floor — light, airy, dry,
' suitable iu every way. It is useless, however to say any-
thing. My son— ah, there he is!" Seizing a photograph
which stood on Henrietta's table, she sat down and gazed
at it for A moment, then she exclaimed in trembling tones :
"Ah I it is too — too hard to think of the way he has treated
me through all this time of his sorrow — as if I were un-
worthy to share it!" and threw the photograph from hei ,
with difficulty restraining her tears.

"You ought to consider how changed he is," said Do-

BLIND FATE.

rothy, softly. » I am sure that his late illness and over-
whelming grief have changed him a great deal. He is not
like himself. See how he has turned against Mr. Standish,
who used to be such a favorite with him, and is always—"

"I do not consider that a mark of insanity," interrupted
Mrs. Callander ; I never thought Mr. Standish a good com-
panion nor a good influence for Herbert. He is a cold,
selfish, atheistical worldling, ready to scoff at everyone and
everything superior to himself. I always deplored his in-
timacy and familiarity in Herbert's house, a man of whose
principles I am more than doubtful, and "

"Mrs. Callanaer," said Dorothy, gravely, " you must not
speak againet my guardian before me! He is the best and
only friend I have, and I cannot listen to anything against
him. He has been a father to Mabel and to me. A truer
gentleman in every sense does not exist. I never could un-
derstand why you disliked him."

" Perhaps it is better at your age that you should not,"
returned Mrs. Callander, significantly.

Dorothy gazed at her, puzzled and amazed.

"Indeed, aunt, Paul Standfsh is a capital fellow. I
think you are very unjust to him," cried Henrietta.

" I repeat that my opinion is fixed and well-founded, but
if neither of you like the expression of it, 1 need not tres-
pass any longer on you. Your obstinacy and incredulity
passes the ordinary folly of young people."

"I should be sorry to fail in the respect due to you, Mrs.
Callander," said Dorothy, firmly though her heart beat
fast, "but I will never listen to a word against Mr. Stan-
dish."

"Your respect or disrespect is of small moment," return-
ed the Dowager, rising. "Your insignificance is — is such
that I do not care to answer you." She rose, and turning
to her niece, said shortly, ' 'I wish to see the children about
eleven to-morrow morning, and without further speech she
left the room.

"What a cantankerous old soul she is to be sure, " cried
Miss Oakley, looking out of the window to see the Dowa-
ger's equipage drive off.

"Yes, but how ill and broken she looks," said Dorothy.
"Why does she despise me so much ?"

"0^, it is only her cross-grained way of talking, you
should not mind her."

*«1 do not, indeed. My self-esteem is strong enough to

186

XUND FATK

I' : 4 -

■^1

h I

withstand such attacks, bublier dislike to Paul is quite in
explicable. What did she mean >y saying I had bette, not
understand ?"

"Heaven knows ! But, Dorotliy, you arw a. Uyal plucky
little soul. I was del ip:h ted with you for standing up to
her highness so gallantly in defence of Mr. Standish," and
Henrietta put her arm round Dorothy's neck.

"Yes, of course. What else could I do ?"

Henrietta did not answer immediately, she began to play
with the ends of her black sash, and removed her arm from
Dorothy's neck. They were standing on the hearthrug,
Dorothy having her back to the light. Henrietta seemed
in deep thought, and was look in 2^ down, with a slight,
peculiar smile playing round her mouth. Something in
her expression made Dorothy wonder what she was think-
ing of.

"Tell me," exclaimed Henrietta so suddenly that Dorothy
started ; "have you observed any change in Mr. Standish
of late."

"A change ? How do you mean ?

"I mean in his manner, his style his looks generally."

"No, Henrietta; I do not think i have. Why?"

"Well I suppose you would be the last to perceive it. I
suppose he seems quite old to you ; and always looking on
him as a sort of father, it would never occur to you that
he could fall in love ?"

"No, certainly it never did occur to me, but, of course,
there is no reason why he should not."

"Exactly. Now who do you think he has fallen in love
with ?"

"How can I tell? 1 never see him in society."

"Why, Dorothy, what a little goose you are ! I have
seen for some time that he is rather smitten with myself !
Now do you see?"

"Well no, Henrietta, not exactly To be sure I have not
had such pleasant thoughts in my mind as love and
lovers ! "

"For some weeks," resumed Henrietta, "I have noticed a
great change in his way of speaking and looking, and—
Sit down by me here on the sofa, and 1 will tell you every-
thing. I have the greatest confidene in your good sense,
young as you are, Dorothy. It was about a week ago,
after Mr. Standish had tried to get an explanation from

BLIND I'AiE.

18V

quite in-

)ette/ no I

a,l plucky
ng up to
.ish.'* and

an to play
arm from
learthrug,
,ta seemed
1 a slight,
lething in
vas think-

it Dorothy
'. Standiiih

generally'"

;eive it. I
ooking on
you that

, of course,

en in love

! I have
th myself !

I have not
love and

noticed a
[ing, and —
rou every-
cood sense,
[week ago,
ition from

Herbert, and he was standing there with his elbow on the
mantel-piece, looking glum and soh>ran (you were out
shopping with nurse), so 1 saiu, 'What are you thinking
of Mr. Standish ?' He turned to me with such a look ! He
hasn't what are called iiandsom" eyes, but they can speak,
and said he : 'You must know very well what I am think-
ing of, Miss Oakley. How utterly miserable this whim
of Callander's makes me ! I had grown so used to come in
here and feel at home, that I seem lost without this de-
lightful asylum,' — or words to that effect. Then I began
to understand other words and looks of his that had puzzled
me a good deal. I only said that we missed him dread-
fully, and that he ought not to mind Callander. At this
he went on to talk of the influence I had over poor Her-
bert in a sort of half jealous strain. Wasn't that remark-
able ?»»

"I think it is natural enough," said Dorothy, seeing she
paused for a reply.

"You dear little soul! You think too much of me,"
kissing her. "Well, be that as it may, I have noticed
many little things since that quite convince me \w is
rapidly falling in love with me. It is a way men have.
You would be surprised how many people have projioseo
to me, or, let me see, they would like to piopobe. On I
know how ill-natured people say it is because 1 have
tolerable fortune, but, candidly speaking, I really do no;
think it is. I am no beauty, 1 know ihat quite well, bui 1
can't help feeling that there is a certain charm about mo.
Now, as to Paul Standish, I am sure he is perfectly dis-
interested, and after hesitating over eudless suitors, 1 don i
think 1 could do better than take him. He is quite charm-
ing, and old Sir Mark Pounceford told me the otii^r da^-
that he is a very rising man. Now you can't do nmch or
rise high without money, and my fortune will bo of the
greatest use to him. I should enjoy being an ambass-
adress one of these days ; so you see, it would be a very
suitable marriage."

" Yes," said Dorothy, rather mechanically, and, vevmiv
baring Paul's eulogium on her friend in their lasi^co)i
fidential walk, she added, - I believe he does love you.

" Then even you see it !" cried Henrietta, joyfully. '' 1
thought I knew the symptoms too well to be deceived.
Youll see, Dorothy, what a nice, kind, pleasant guardiai.

• i

v-Wl

rpn

188

BUND FATE,

(that's a good word) I will be to you. I dare say it seem
very strauge that I should take a fancy to Paul Standish.
he must seem quite elderly to you ; but I really have. Yon
see he is very distingue, and he seems so nice and devoted
that I feel quite fluttered when he comes into the room. Ol
course, I am much nearer his age than you are. I don't
mind confessing to you that I am a little past thirty.
Imagine ! I was more than ten years old when you were
horn. Yes, indeed ! Let me see. Who was my governess,
then ? Oh, Mademoiselle Delaporte ! She was rather nice.
Oh, I have had such a string of governesses. I fancy i
«ave them all a great deal of trouble. One thing we are
all alike in, Dorothy. We never knew what it was to havt
a mother. We were just shunted about from one deputy
parent to another — at least, I was."

" Oh ! how delightful it must be to have a mother — even
to remember a mother," said Dorothy, in a low, dreamy
tone, " I felt that whenever I saw sweet, dear Mabel with
the babies. The very way she touched them and looked at
them was so different from Mrs. McHugh and Peggy, kind
and good as they are. Can I ever till her place to her
children ?"

" To be sure you can ! You are the tenderest-hearted
girl I ever met, except, indeed, to poor Mr. Egerton," cried
Henrietta, lightly. " Never mind, dear, Paul Standisii
and I will find you an ideal husband, rich and handsome
and debr anaire, and all that Dorothy's spouse ought to be.
Now, I have stayed talking mucii too late. I promised the
Black burns to be with them about four. Grood-bye for the
present. Mind, all I have said is under the rose — oh ! a
dozen roses."

Dorothy remained sitting where Henrietta left her for
some minutes, with one arm outstretched and resting on
the end of the sot a, the hand drooping, the other hand
pressed against her cheek. For some moments her thoughts
were all in painful confusion. Gradually the full sense of
all Henrietta had been saying dawned upon her. Yes, it
was all quite true. They were well suited in age, position
and circumstances.

Henrietta's fortune would be a great help to
Paul, and Paul was evidently fond of her. She had
been much struck by the heartiness of his praise the last
time they had spoken of her — and Henrietta was good, and

'**<„

BLIND FATE

189

generous, and kind. Oh ! yes ; but how— how would Paul
bear her endless, thoughtless chatter about herself, her
•loings, her dress, her careless, inconsequent flights from
subject?— all this would distract him. Yet Henrietta
must know what she was talking about. Oh ! how could
she talk so when everything was yet uncertain ? If they
married, how earnestly Dorothy hoped they would be
happy. But for herself, what an awfnl sense of desolation
fell upon her. Henceforth, she would be quite alone, a
mere secondary object to everyone, even the children might
be taken from her, and Paul, her dear, kind guardian,
would no longer have the same thought or tenderness to
bestow upon her. He would be kind and true always, but
the full feast of his confidence, his care, his unstinted sym-
pathy, could be hers no longer. She must accept as thank-
fully as she could what crumbs might fall from Henrietta's
amply furnished table. She rose noiselessly, and, creeping
away to her own room, wept long and bitterly, till shame
at her own prostration lent her strength to compose herself.

CHAPTER n.

"IN THE DEPTHS."

Since Colonel Callander returned to London, Collins, his
soldier servant, contrived, with more or less success, to
serve two masters, or rather a master and a mistress.

He generally addressed Miss Oakley at breakfast two or
three times a week, with " if you please ma*am, I'm going
over ' to do' for the Colonel this morning," or '* if you have
any message, ma'am, I'U be at the hotol between eleven and
twelve." He never pretended to ask leave. The Colonel's
service was, in his mind, a supreme duty which swallowed
up all others.

Collins would have laid down his life for his master. He
thought him the truest of men, the finest of gentlemen.
Nor was Collins alone in his opinion. The unhappy man,
who at this period of his history was overweighted with a
broken heart and diminished brain power, had always been
best loved by those who knew him longest, and no one,
perhaps, save his faithful attendant, perceived how pro-
found was the change which sorrow and suffering had
wrought in his revered master.

He fully shared the dread with which Dorothy contem-
plated her brother-in-law's intended visit to Fordsea, and,

^11^

190

BLIND FATB.

impelled by a dim anticipation of possible danger, had yen-
tured to ask permission to accompany him. This was im-
mediately refused, so Collins was fain to satisfy himself
by packing his master's valise, and re-arranging his be-
longings, as Miss Oakley had persuaded Callander to es-
tablish himself in an hotel much nearer to her abode than
Dover street. He resolutely rojected both her own and his
mother's offers of hospitality.

Collins therefore betook himself earlier than usual on the
morning of the day Callander was to leave town, and bad
been in time to take a few instructions from his master
and hand him his hat and gloves.

" Ah ! he'll never be like himself again," thought Collins,
when he closed the door after him and began to empty the
contents of a wardrobe and a large box on the bed and a
table at its foot. " He treats me like a stranger, he some-
times dosn't seem to know who he is speaking to —Ay !
those devils took more than a few rings and bracelets, they
stole a brave fellow's heart and smashed it up the night
they murdered my poor dear lady ! I'd like to half hang
'em, cut 'em down, and hang 'em over again, i would !" He
was proceeding to " sort " his master's things as he thought
thus — and, had the Spanish sailor who had committed the
crime suddenly appeared, his shift wou^d have been a short
one.

'* Come in I" shouted Collins almost angrily, still under
the influence of these thoughts, as a tap on tiiedoor caught
his ear. It opened, and Dillon, the detective, presented
himself.

His appearance at that moment was most welcome to
Collins, who, laying down the coat he was folding, greeted
him warmly.

" The Colonel has just gone out, Mr. Dillon. I wonder
you didn't run up against him."

" The porter was not quite sure whether he had gone out
or no, so J just stepped up to see. 1 am sorry I missed him.
I'll call again in ihe evening."

" Then you'll not see him, Mr. Dillon, for he's o£E by the
six train for Fordsea!"

u For Fordsea!" echoed the detective, and he seemed to
think very seriously. " Are you going with him ?"

'' No, worse luck. I think he'd be the better of a careful
man beside him! May 1 make so bold as to ask if yoa
have any news to tell?"

Br, had yen-

lis was im-
){y himself
ng his be-
biider to 68-
abode thau
>wn and his

asual on the

^n, and bad

his master

ight Collins,
X) empty the
le bed aod a
jer, he some-
ing to— Ay!
racelets, they
up the night
to half hang
: would !" He
%3 he thought
smmitted the
) been a short

still under

fe door caught

e, presented

_ welcome to
fding, greeted

I wonder

had gone out
missed him>

[e's oS by the

I he seemed to

^im r

|r of a careful

ask if yo«

BUND FATK.

191

" Well, not much," taking a chair and eyeirm the varied
collection of clothes, books, imptdimentsof u lkinds,spread
out before him, keenly, " and that, much or little, 1 can
only tell by.ai.d-')ye. It is perfectly amazing how mere
whispers ooze out."

" That's true— you'll not mind me going on with my work.
I want to finish up and pay up before one o'clock to get
back tor my young lady's lunch."

" Oh, don't mind me, Mr. Collins. I'm sure it's pleasant
to see how fine and orderly you settle them all. What a
lot of fine things I Does your boss always carry an arsenal
like that about with him? I suppose they are curiosi-
ties?"

" Not the pistols, they are in prime working order —some
of these are things he has bought abroad, 1 daresay," point-
ing to one or two small scimitars, etc., which he was about
to put in the bottom of a large trunk.

'• You see," continued Collins, " the gentry must be doing
something, and when they are travelling, between the jour-
neys and going through the churches, and eating at the
table d'hote, they have nothing to fill up the time with,
but going into dusty, fusty shops, and buying everything
they can lay their hands on."

" That's true! It's easy to see you have not gone about
with your eyes shut. Didn't some of these come from
India ?'»

"Ay, the pistols did, and that 'ere crooked sword, the
others he brought back ifrom Germany just now. I never
saw them before.*'

" The Germans mostly put a mark on them," said the
detective, taking one up and carrying it to the window,
where he examined it for a minute or two and returned it
carelessly to Collins. " Yes, it's German make, and very
old," he said,

" I suppose you have seen most things," observed Col-
lins, admiringly. " Have you found out many murders,
may I make so bold as to ask ?"

" Ay, a goodish few ! I could write a curious book about
them."

" That you could, I'll go bail. It would be fine readin-.

" Yes, it might if the subject were treated philosophical ?
There's a great deal of character in the way people set
about a murder ! I think I could tell pretty nearly from a

1^ t

J ,

198

BUND FATE.

..*

i..

/man's face and knild how he would set about his mur-
' dersr

" Would you now ?" said Collins, pausing in the act of
wrapping up a pair of boot trees, and listening with awe.
" Yes, there is yourself," looking sharply at him. "It
would be a * draw and defend yourself ' sort of business
with you. Then you'd fight fierce enough, till one or the
other was done for."

'' Well, Mr. Dillon, I wouldn't call that murder! Would
you?"

** Out West we'd call it — not murder — certainly, but in
England they would be apt to hang you for it ! Then there' -.
a class of men who stick you in the back, others make be-
lieye their victims kill themsel/es, that's what you might
call the intelligont class of murder, it takes just a pile of
planning and thinking out. I have had some very interest-
ing cases of that kind through my hands ! Women go in
largely for poisoning. Lord ! how long and carefully and
ddicately they'll contrive — ay, for months and months—
before they finish their business ' You see nature has given
some of 'em cunning and invention to make up for want of
strength."

** Bless my heart ! it makes me feel creepy to hear you
talk ! Well, the man that struck our poor lady must have
been a cowardly yillain. How he could hurt her in her
sleep!"

"Probably she began to stir, and he thought she would
wake and scream, and he would be caught ! so he silenced
her for ever. Burglars seldom take life if they can help
it, but this fellow was a stranger probably, and did not
know the ways of the place."

Here the door again opened — this time to admit Mrs.
McHugh, who had a parcel in her hands and a displeased
look on her face.

•' Oh ! good morning, Mr. Dillon !" then turning sharply
on Collins she went on. " Sure you were in an extra hurry
this morning to go o£E and never remember to come up to
me for the master's shirts, there wasn't a button left on
them by that limb of a laundress. Now I have had to come
the whole way myself. For I was not sure what time he

would set out, and as to trusting that girl I " Only

a pudden pause could express the depths of h er deficiences

'* Well, ma'am, it's an ill wind that blows nobody good,"

said the deteoiiye, gallantly. '' If you hadn' t been oblige^i

BLIND FATB.

193

ut his mur-

der! 'Would

to come around I should not have had the pleasure of see-
ing you."

" You're very polite, I am sure!" returned Mrs. McHugh
witL on audible snifE, " and I am glad to have an opportu-
inity of asking you if you have done anything or if you in-
tend to do anything? I am sure, from all Mr. Scandish
said of you to Miss Dorothy and me, I thought you'd catch
the cunningest thief of a murderer that ever burrowed
under the earth or dived under the sea ! and here, near six
months have passed and you haven't laid your finger on
him yet ! Considering we know, in a manner of speaking
who the cruel scoundrel is — it isn't such a tremendous task
to find him."

Mrs. McHugh, from extreme awe of,and faith in, Dillon's
untried powers, had passed to the opposite extreme of doubt,
deepening into utter distrust and contempt.

" I'm sorry to see you have such a yoor opinion of me,
ma'am," said Dillon, with mock humility, which enraged
his interlocutor, who was too shrewd not to perceive his
real indifference to her opinion. " However, I'm not quite
done with the business."

" No, I don't suppose you will be till Mr. Egerton finds
the wretch in Spain."

*• Well, ma'am, you'll admit that Mr. Ej;erton has a few
advantages over me. Yet, somehow, I don't think he'il
have any better success. Come, now, what'll you bet that
I land the fish first ?»»

" B^'ttin;^ is not in my line, and I think too highly of a
kind, j.<?od, i,^onerous gentleman like Mr. Egerton, to make
a bet about him."

• Ay, just HO ! he is all that. Il>*-markably open-handed,
and highly moral, a man you'd trust your life to, hey ?"

*' Yes, I would," said Mrs. McHugh, looking at him
sternly. '* and I'm sure I don't know what you mean by
talking in a sneering way of such a gentlomun, a gentle-
man whose money you know the touch of, I'll go bail !

To her mortification the detective burst out laughing.

*'No, ma'am, not yet! but 1 dare say I may have the
handling of some of it before the year is much older. Now,
I am afraid I must tear myself away from pleasant com-
pany. Ain't I unlucky, Mr. Collins, to miss the Colonel?
However, I can wait a bit to see him. (iood -aorning Mrs.
McHugh ! I hope I'll recover my place in your opinion be-

i '

1 ' 1

BLIND FATE.

fore I die. Oood morning Mr. Collins." With a nod and
a curious triumphant chuckle, Dillon loft the room.

" Well, he is unlucky," said Collins, opening the parcel
Mrs. McHugh had brought. " He has been six or seven
times if he has been once to see the Colonel, but he is
never in."

" Then mark my words, Collins. He don't want to find
him."

" I think your wrong, Mrs. McHugh, and you'll excuse
my mentioning it, but I would not speak so sharp to him
if I was you. He's a wonderful man, that Dillon. He
knows what's inside your head a'most before you do your-
self. He'd tell you the sort of murder you'd commit by
looking in your face. He "

" He would turn you inside out, I daresay" said Mrs.
McHugh, loftily "but I'd like to hear him tell me the sort
of murder I'd commit 1 Set him up! It's pretty plain the
sort of company he is used to. I'm surprised at a clever
man like Mr. Standish believing in him. He is just hang-
ing on, spending the master's money, eating and drinking
of the best, and pretending he's that deep that no one can
fathom him. If anyone ever catches that bloodthirsty vil-
lain, it will be Mr. Egerton, and Dillon knows it ; that's
why he is so spiteful against h>m. To be waiting full six
months for justice on the wretch that robbed those precious
children of their sweet mother! Don't tell me that a de-
tective that is so long settling a job is worth his salt, I'll
never know a peaceful hour till I see that monster hung.
Yes, I'd go to see him swing!"

» Well, I don't blame you, Mrs. McHugh. Still, I think
Dillon knows a good bit. It's my belief he's playing a
deep game, and he'll surprise you some day, no — no— he is
wide awake. Look at his eyes "

•* I'd rather not. They are like ferret's. Well, there are
the shirts, a dozen, and not a button wanting to one of
them. Ah, Collins ! It makes my heart ache to look at
the poor dear master ! Ho is tliat loving to the childrin
one minute, and can't beai the sight of them the next ! It
was too happy we were. To see the poor mistiess and Miss
Dorothy, just like angels, and the Colonel and Mr. Standish
like brothers ; sure, the cruel, envious, evil spirits must
have got the uu, er hand for :,u unlucky hour, to bliuht it

BLIND FAl'K

196

ith a nod and
room.

ing the parcel
I six or seven
ael, but he is

t want to find

you'll excuse
> sharp to him
It Dillon. H(i
e you do your-
>u'd commit by

3say" said Mrs.

tell me the sort

)retty plain the

sed at a clever

[e is just hang-

g and drinking

Ihat no one can

oodthirsty vil-

ows it ; that's

aiting full six

those precious

me that a de-

his salt, I'll

monster hung.

Still, I think

Ihe"? playing a

no — no — he is

''ell, there are
Lting to one of
Lche to look at
|to the children
the next ! It
Iti-ess and Miss
Id Mr. Standish
|l spirits must
ir, to bliuht it

aQ with their davilish spite. 1 luus ^et back for the
children's dinner. I suppose you won't be long."

" Well, it will be a good half-hour, but I'll cornea s soon
as I can."

* « % « « * 4e

Standish naturally took advantage of Colonel Callander's
absence to renew his visits to Prince's Place. He was far
too sensible to take offence at tlie whims of a man so evi-
dently out of mental harmony, and he was anxious to see
as much as he could of his interesting ward whose mood
puzzled and distressed him. In all her griefjand depression,
she had always spoken to him with the utmost confidence,
with a degree of unreserve which showed how glad she
w&s to open her heart to him. But for the last week she
had grown silent, reserved, hesitating — she seemed to
think before speaking to him.

This change worried him more that he confessed even to
himself. It set him thinking of the time, before their
great sorrow, when she had peremptorily refused Egerton,
and revived the question which had then frequently pre-
sented itself : " Has Dorothy any girlish fancy for anyone,
who perhaps does not return it, or who has amused himself
and passed by *?" He had in some occult way always felt
Dorothy to be more companionable, more mature than her
elder sister. He often found unexpected depths in her
quickly developing mind, and felt sure that, though proud
and maidenly enough, she was sufficiently individual to
form a decided liking apart from that waiting " to be
chosen'' which is the conventional type of womauly feeling,
but she was sufficiently strong also to hide it, though not to
trample it down without suffering, and he loved his lonely
little ward too well to contemplate such a possibility with-
out keen distress.

Yet he knew her simple life so well, that he wondered lie
could not fix upon the man who had attracted her. Could
it have been that pleasant young sailor who waw of their
party to Rookstone? She saw so very little oi him, she
could hardly have much feeling about him. Should he ask
iier? Standish knew human nature well enough to be
aware that confidence is rarely given in reply to a point
blank question. No, he must try and win it. "H th'o
are ai%- difficulties between her and the man she may pos-
sibly love, I will do what 1 can to smooth them. 1 trust

feLIND FATE.

ia Cl-od she hasn't given her heart to a scamp! It is quite
^K>Bsib]e. Love is an avv . uiiy dangerous game for so youn^
a, creature. Why Dorothy will not be twenty till the eud
of July, and it seenir; but yesterday that she came with
pride to show me her first long frock. If I had made a
boyish marriajje, which, thank G-od, I did not, she might
have been iiiy daughter.

So pondering, Standish reached Prince's Place, and was
shown upstairs to the drawing room, where he found Miss
Oakley.

Still further upstairs Dorothy was amusing her little
nephew and niece, as the chill February afternoon was too
showery and east-windy to allow of their going out. Mis.
McHugh sat at her needle- work, while '* auntie "• built up
card houses for ' ' Boy " to knock do ^vn.

" Isn't he silly?" cried Doily, as the riotous little fellow
held his chubby hands ready to level the structure before
the second storey was finished. " Be quiet, you naughty
boy ; let us see if auntie can make it much — much
higher."

" Naughty ! Dolly naughty !" he exclaimed, rising on
the footboard of his chajr to slap his sister with right
good will.

" For shame, Master Herbert! to strike your sister.
That's not like a gentleman."

" Let me build one quite high house, darling, and you
shall knock down the rest," and the process went on for a
few minutes.

And is there no news at all of Mr. Egerton?" asked
Nurse, breaking a tolerably long silence, while she threaded
her needle.

" Mr. Standish had one letter from him, soon after he
had reached Valencia, before he had time to do anything,
but he has not written since, though he promised to
do so !"

" Well, to my mind, he is the likeliest man to do any
good. Why that wonderful detective has just been making
fools of us !"

" Mr. Egerton promised to write again soon, when he
had anything to tell. Mr. Standish may have a letter any
iay."

" Perhaps he has, to-day. I fancy he has come, too, for I
ieard the door-bell a fev/ moments ago."

I'W^

BLIND FATE

197

)me, too, for I

" Miss Oakl^ is in the drawing room," said Dorothy,
without stirrii g.

" I wish the Colonel was back, Miss Dorothv. He'll be
wandering about over the old places and to that lonely
little churchyard, breaking his heart, if that can be done
twice over. That's where he used to go every time he
went out, before he went away with Mr. Egerton. Many
a time I've heard the front door open softly, and got up to
watch him steal out in the grey of the morning."

•' How do you know he went there. Nurse ?"

" Because he always took the Rookstone road, and youll
remember a bit of a boy that used to bring us new-laid
eggs sometimes ? Well, he told me how he had been herd-
ing sheep on the hillside behind the little chapel, and saw
the poor gentleman in the early morning once gathering
the heather there and laying himself down on the ground in
his grief."

" Ah, what he must have suffered, and how wonderfully
he controls himself in our sight !"

" True for you, Miss Dorothy."

'' You never mentioned this before, Nurse."

' • No ; why should I ? Hadn't you enough to distract
you? But I wish that decent, sensible man, Collins, had
gone with him. He'll be terrible lonesome. Come now,
my dears, I must clear that table, and get tea. Let Miss
Dorothy go ; she is wanted downstairs."

•* And when you have finished tea, you shall come down
too," said Dorothy, escaping with some difficulty.

Descending slowly, Dorothy found the drawing room
door ajar, and, entering softly, saw Henrietta and Stan-
dish in the recess formed by a bay window ; their backs
were to her. He held Henrietta's hand, and, as Doiothy
passed, uncertain as to her next movement, Stand ish ex-
claimed, warmly, '* My dear Henrietta, how can I ever
thank you enough ?" and kissed the hand he held.

Dorothy slipped away as noiselessly as she had entered,
and went down to a small study, where siie st^lected a
book ; then, feeling strangely tremulous, she sat down and
tried to clear her thoughts from the painful haze which
seemed to dim them. Soon, very soon it seemed to her,
Collins came in and said, " Miss Oakley desired me to say
that tea is ready, miss."

" Very well ; I will come."

198

BUND FATE.

h 'i'^ h

Iff.

The cosy tea-table was set close by the fire; Henrietta

held the teapot, and Sbandish stood on the rug.

" Where have you been, Dorothy ?" cried the tea-maker,
" I have sent np and down to find you. Mr. Standish has a
letter from Mr. Egertcn, he wanted to show you.'*

" There is very little in it," said Standish. He had
shaken hands with his ward, looking kindly and anxiously
into her face, and then drawn over a chair for her.

" I never exoected much from him," returned Dorothy.

" He certainly is not sparing himself," returned Stan-
dish. '* Here is his letter." Dorothy took it and laid it on
the table.

Standish watched her with some curiosity, and Henri-
etta, who seemed in higli spirits, launched into a descrip-
tion of her Aunt Callander's unreasonableness about his
children, about the trouble they gave when they did go to
see her, and the terribly bad system on which they were
brought up.

Then, looking at her watch, she exclaimed, '^ Oh ! I must
go out. I promised my aunt to see her to-day. She has a
bad cold. Indeed, I do not think she is at all well. I am
quite sorry about her, poor old thing ! You can tell Do-
rothy what we have been talking about, Mr. Standish.
Ring the bell, please, and tell Collins to get me a cab. Good-
bye," she added to Standish, " I suppose you will be gone
by the time I come back."

As soon as they were alone, Standish, after looking very
earnestly at Dorothy, sat down on the sofa behind her.

'* Don't you care to read tne letter ?" he asked.

" I should prefer hearing its contents from you." Her
voice sounded dull and despondent.

" Well then," taking it up, " Egerton, after much search-
ing, has found an old muleteer whose nephew Pedro is a
sailor, and was, the old man thinks, on board a vessel that
traded between Cadiz and the Levant, and sometimes went
further. The muleteer does not know where he is now, but
he appeared last December at Alicant, and seemed very
flush of cash. Since then he has gone to sea again, and
his return is problematical."

*' Yes, I suppose it is— very," returned Dorothy, quietly.

" My dear Dorothy, something is working in your mind
which you hide from me. It is tormenting and distress-
ing you. Don't you think you had better open your heart
to me?"

; Henrietta

tea-maker,
idish has a

•

u He had
I anxiously
er.

Dorothy,
rned Stan-
d laid it on

and Henri-
) a descrip-

about his
y did go to

they were

)h! I must

She has a
ell. I am
an tell Do-

Standish.

ab. Good-
ill be gone

>king very
d her.

3U.

>»

Her

ch search-
Pedro is a
vessel that
imes went
now, but
imed very
kgain, and

jr, quietly.

rour mind
. distress-
our heart

BLIND FAT&

As he spoke, Collins came in to clear away the tea-things,
and until he was gone neither of them spoke.

Then Standish repeated : " Don't you think so, Dorothy ?''
" No, Paul. It would be of no use. In fact I have ceased

to look back ; all 1 care for now is to win poor Herbert

back to something like his old self."

" Well, Dorothy, I cannot force you to speak if you do
not choose to do so. But what have 1 done that you shut
up your heart from me ? You have shrunk from all our
old confidential communications. Have 1 slipped out of
my farmer place in your esteem '? Eh, Dorothy ?"

Her heart swelled with an intense longing to throw her
arms around his neck, as she used when in former years
she flew to him with any childish complaint against her
teachers ; but, with a remarkable effort of self-control, she
smiled sweetly, in his face, and said, a little unsteadily —

'* Dear Paul ! as if I could ever change to you, my best
friend ! I shall have heaps of confidences to pour into your
sympathetic ear from time to time, if you have patience to
hear them ?"

She held out her hand in her old frank way. Standish
held it for a moment between his own, looking very grave.

" I am always ready to listen to you, dear Dorothy, and
wish you would trust me for your own sake,"

" What is it Henrietta toid you to tell me?"

'* We have been arranging a scheme for Callander and
all of you. We propose that when the time for which you
took this house is up— that is in about a fortnight, I think
—you should set up your headquarters in Brussels. There
are picture, and churches, and the field of Waterloo foi-
Callander to meditate upon, and you are en route for every-
where. Henrietta, I mean Miss Oakley, thinks that if you
persuade Callander that you cannot travel without him, li*
will consent to live with you, and then the children and
yourselves being constantly with him, will draw him
gradually out of himself. He has sent in his papers and
given up the army, 1 am sorry to say, though i (jiiite ex-

Yes! Oh, he could hardly go back to the regiment, 1
think the idea of getting him away to a totally different
life is very good. If he will only agree to that plan I I do
wish he was all right with you! It will be trying tu
Henrietta if you cannot go aud come as you used.

200

BLIND FATE.

If*-

" To Henrietta ! Yes, and to me, too ; and. pray, don'r.
you can; to see me any more ?"

The question was i)Ut playfully, but, strive as she would,
Dorothy could not respond in the same tone.

♦* Not wish to see you V" she repeated, with quivering lips,
while her eyes filled with sudden tears ; " What should I
do without you?"

" My dear little Dorothy," exclaimed Standish, sitting
down by her on the sofa ; and, putting his arm around her,
he tried to draw her close to him.

But Dorothy struggled to free herself with an impetu-
osity which amazed him, and he immediately let hfer go.

*' I beg you a thousand pardons for forgetting you are a
grand, grown-up young lady," he said with a novel senso
of awkwardness. *'You see, I used to be so accustomed to
kiss away your tears, that I was on the point of repeating
the panacea. If you but knew iiow it pains me to see your
pale sad face, you would not be vexed with the lapse of my
good manners."

" Vexed ! oh, no ; not vexed !" murmured Dorothy, con-
fusedly. TL.n, in a tone of relief : " Here are the
children !"

Dolly and " Boy " were warmly welcomed.

Standish gave the Litter endless rides on his foot, and let
Dolly clamber about him, take out his watch, rearrange his
chain, and generally do what she liked.

In the intervals of these amusements, he contrived to
ask Dorothy what she had been reading, to recommend
her some books, and offer to send them to her ; to ask her
if she had summoned courage to touch the piano once more,
and to beg her to make the effort to resume her old way of
life. But there was an indefinable chan-;e in his tone. Ho
seemed suddenly to have gone a long way off.

At last he was obliged to leave. He had barely left him-
self time to dress for dinner.

"Then you like and approve of our Brussels scheme?" he
said.

" Yes, I think it is the best thing to be done."

" Then you can discuss it with Henrietta this evening
and I sliall see you to-morrow, when I hope there wil be
some tidings of Callander. Good evening, my dear ward."

A noisy farewell from the children, and ho was gone.

" Why did he kiss Henrietta's hand V and what was it
he thanked her for so enthusisatically ?"

BLIND FATE.

201

She went to sleep with this unanswered question preying
on her heart.

CHAPTER m.

"THE LETTER."

They— that is, Mrs. Callander, Henrietta, and Dorothy—
waited in vain for a letter from tlio Colonel.

A week had passed, and he made no sign. Dorothy was
very uneasy, much more so than Henrietta or his motiiei,
neither of whom shared her profound forboiing of evil.
To them, his abstraction, his indifference to all that form-
erly interested him, the distressed expression of his eyes,
sometimes so dull, sometimes so wild and restless, were
only marks of natural but unusually deep grief. To Do-
rothy they were indications of mental anguish too strong
for the control of reason.

She had written more than one letter to the hotel at
Fordsea, where she believed Callander had put up, but he
took no notice of them.

It was, therefore, with a sense of infinite relief she heard
Collins tap at the door, as she was changing her warm out-
door dress for one of lighter material, and say, in a brisk,
cheerful tone —

*' If you please, Miss, the Colonel has come. He is in the
drawing room, and I am going to bring Miss Dolly and
Master Bertie."

"Yes, do, Collins. I will come directl3^ Oli, thank
God ! " she ejaculated to herself, and hastened to finish
dressing.

Callander was sitting by the fire in a large arm chair,
his hand on Dolly's head. Both children were standing by
him most demurely, gazing with wondering awed eyes at
their now half-forgotten father. All seemed silent.

■' Dear Herbert, I am so delighted to see you ! " cried Do-
rothy, running to greet and embrace him. He smiled ab-
sently, and stretched out his hand to her. " Why did you
not write ? 1 felt so anxious about you."

'I was quite well. I had nothing to write about. Where
is Henrietta ? "

yiiehasi gone to spend the afternoon and dine with some
friends who are passing through ou their way to Algeria.
But you will dine with me, will you not ? "

" Yes. I came here for my dinner."

202

BLIND FATB.

h' ^M

"Don't you find the children looking well? Boy has

quite recovered his looks} and strength."

Callender looked earnestly at little Dolly, and suddenly
lifting her, hugged her close to his breast and smothered
lier with kisses, till the child, half-frightened, struggled to
get down.

♦* Me too- -me too ! " cried the boy, eager, as usual, to be
noticed. Callander took him up more soberly, and kissed
him.

' How old is the little fellow ? " he asked, in a dreamy
voica

»' Nearly two years. Is he not a big boy ? *• Callender did
not reply. He let the child tug at his chain.

But Dolly, with some vague instinct of pity, nestled close
to her father, and taking his hand, which hung listlessly
down, put it round her neck.

" My little darling ! " he said, softly, in a tone more like
his old natural voice than Dorothy had heard for some
time. The next moment he said to her, almost in a whis-
per —

Send them away, Dorothy — do send them awaj'^ ! "

The children were not particularly reluctant to retire
when Mrs. McHugh appeared, and said good-night de-
murely.

The tete-a-tete which ensued was very trying. Callan-
der sat quite still, answering the observations she forced
iicrseif to make from time to time with monosyllables, or
the briefest possible sentences. She thought dinner would
never be announced. When, at length, they were at table
she was surprised at her brother-in-law's voracious ap-
petite. Collins waited on him with evident delight, no
doubt thinking that nothing can be far wrong when a man
can take his meals heartily. It increased Dorothy's un-
easiness to observe how utterly oblivious Callander was of
all the little attentions he used to pay his convives with
such kindly politeness. He was absorbed in what he was
eating, and drank eagerly the elaret-and-water supplied
him by his watchful attendant.

How Dorothy longed for Standish. She was growing
nervous — foolishly nervous.

When they returned to the drawing room Callander again
took the large easy chair. Dorothy began some needlework
and sat opposite him, in token of her readiness to con verse,

HLIND FATK

203

if he WAS so inelined. He kept silent so long tliat Dorothy
thought he was asleep.

Suddenly he sat upright and exclaimed, " You are not
like her, and yet you are. You haven't her beauty ! "

" I know that well, Herbert," she returned, hoping he
would relieve his mind by talking of the dear dead.

*^ Still, she looks out of your eyes at me sometimes, Dor-
othy, and then I don't know whether I hate or love you.
You used to he like a daughter to me, and you are a good
kind girl. You must always take care of those poor chil-
dren."

'^ Yes, I will, to the hest of my ability," said Dorothy,
with difficufty keeping back her tears.

" You must never let my mother get hold of them, mind
that."

" I hope you will stay with them and order what is to be
done for them. As to Mrs. Callander, why are you so un-
kind to her? She is very unhappy.

" Because 1 cannot forget how unkind she was to my lost
darling," he returned, sternly. "And you should not for-
get it either. I can never forgive her. And she wants to
make out that I am weak — weak in brain! She sent that
fellow Dillon, to dog my steps down at Fordsea."

" Indeed, 1 am sure she did not. He often goes down to

Eastport in his endless search for traces of— of " she

hesitated.

" Of the murderer," added Callander, with composure.
''Ah, he may search, but I — I alone must punish, 1 tell
you. I may wait, but 1 will have my revenge— by my own
hand."

Dorothy felt uneasy, but she wisely avoided contradict-
ing him, and so kept silence. Callander, now fully roused,
stood up and began to pace the room. ^^

"What has Egwton being doinj; ? Has he written?'

u Yes — he thinks he has found some traces."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Callander— rather a terrible
laugh. "He will never find the murderer away there. —
never! " and he paused opposite her.

"At all events he said in his letter to Paul Standiali

»»

" Standish ! " repeated Callander, with a deadly, bitter
tone, that made the word sound like a curae. "Why do you
speak his name to me ? I wonder you dare! " And he re-

204

BUND FATE.

■*!..

1*^

tuned hJH restless walk. This seemed to Dorothy an O] •
por unity for asking an explanation of his mysterioua dis-
lik 3 to her guardian.

'' I do not know why I should not name him, Herbert.
Tell me why you dislike him- It might relieve your
mind."

"Tell you?" he repeated, "tell you? I have sometimes
wished to tell you, that you might know what a subtle
devil " He broke off, and muttered something to him-
self. "There," he resumed, "you loved her well. You
would shield her memory well."

*'l would do any tiling for her sake — anything to com-
fort you ! " cried poor Dorothy, unable to restrain her tears.

Callander paced the room in silence for another minute,
then he suddenly sat down by her on the sofa, which was
her usual seat, and, taking both her hands, which he held
tightly, he said, low and quick : " I will tell you all — all !
I found it out before — just before — we lost her. It was my
mother who ^ ointed it jut ! But before that, before I left
India — there was a change, a faint change, in her letters.
You would not have seen it — no one would have seen it but
a lover such as I was ! I felt and knew that something
had come between us." Dorothy sat listening, motionless,
with curdling blood. Had he indeed discovered the truth ?

*' My motlier wrote that Standish almost lived with her
and you, but 1 would not notice her insinuations. Then I
came home, and I knew there was a change. Still, she had
some love for me, buc he was always at her ear! He would
not let her come away with me alone! That would have
made all right. So I determined to have his life ; but she

— she " His voice failed him, and he paused, pant-

i, w, big drops standing on his brow.

"Paul Standish I " cried Dorothy, wrenching her hands
from^him, all her force and courage returning, "Paul Stand-
ish is as innocent as 1 am. What — who put this horrible
idea into your head ? You did not believe your mother,
who told you this horrible lie?"

"It is no lie! " he said, with a moan like that of a crea-
ture in pain. " I saw it in her own writing."

" She never wrote anything to Paul Standish which the
whole world might noi see. Who has imposed upon you ?"

" Ah ! you do not know. Neither she nor he would
speak of such evil things to you. But, Dorothy, I will
have patience, subtlety as profound as his, and patience. I

BLiHD Jj'ATE 206

will punish him yet, cruelly, unrelentingly. God ! I feel
my hand on his throat now !" and he clenched both of hit
own, looking awfully wild, the fine, strong face she knew
so well distorted by passion to a demon-like expression.

Dorothy felt as if Paul's doom was fixed, that nothing
could save him. She— she only could undeceive the
wretched man before iier.

*' You are wrong, Herbert !" she said, bravely and stead-
ily. " I can prove that you are wrong ; 1 can prove that
Mabel always loved you, that you do Paul Standish the
greatest injustice. Will you wait hero for a few minutes,
and will you read what 1 bring you V"

Callander, checked and astonished by her words and im-
pressive manner, stopped, silent and still. "What do yon
mean ?" he stammered.

" You shall see," she cried, and flew away upstairs to
where, in the secret drawer of her old drossing-ciase, enclosed
in a blank envelope, lay the letter she had never been able to
deliver into Eger ton's hands. All fear, all hesitation was
gone. What matter any danger to herself from the fury of
the excited man she had left behind V Wnat matt<;r the des-
perate retribution she might briug down on the real ofTendery
Everything was secondary to the proving that Mahel wa.s
really true to her husband, that Standish was innocent of
the hideous treachery attributed to him —all consefiuence.i
were swallowed up in this overpowering motive.

Almost breathless she returned to the drawing-room.
Callander was standin^- exactly where she had left him.

He stretched out his hand eagerly.

" One moment, Herbert. There are one or two things to
lell first." Rapidly, yet with a prudence which was almost
inspiration, she told of the curious mesmeric power which
Egf;rton had gained over her si.«>ter, of her dread that Cal-
lander might be suspicious, of Mabel's confession of her un-
happiness and fear of Egerton's violence .-.houl 1 she show
affection to her husband. "Then she determ.ned to end
this wretched, contemptible state of things, and wrote this,
which I was to give to him, but I never had a chantMj, for
.-^he died dreadfully a few days after." She took the note
nom i'-s outer cover and gave it to Callander. He took it,
ctnd looked c iriousiy at tJ-ie address with dJlateU, horror-
• truck eyes. His hands trembled while he tor« it open,
•"^he watched him eagerly as he read the Gon:ent.s, every
.'. ord of which was engraven on her memory— all fear,

all

:oQ

BLIND FATE.

I*'

ersonal feeling lost in the intense desire to clear the two
p ople she loved best from the terrible accusation in which
Callander believed.

" I cannot bear my life," so ran the letter, " if you con-
tinue to exercise the extraordinary power I have let you
yain over me. I told you this before in the last lines I
wrote. Now I will break my fetters, and dare to act as my
heart and conscience dictate. My husband loves me ; in
spite of all you say I beiieve he loves me, and I really love
him. I only fear you, Randal, and 1 cannot understand
how you gained the power over me which you have. I am
determined to resist it. If you ever cared for me, if you
have any principle, any sense of honor, leave me to regain
peace and happiness. You can never persuade me leave my
dear, good husband. I shudder to think i ever listened to
you for a moment. Show that you have some real regard
for me by going far away, and earn the gratitude of

" M. C."
Callander's chest heaved. He drew his breath in gasps.
When he came to the end he looked up with wild, angry
eyes, and, crushing the paper in his hand, said, in fierce,
quick tones —

' ' Egerton was your lover — he wanted to marry you !"
" He pretented it."

' ' Oh, my God !" exclaimed Callander, in a tone of
anguish that thrilled Dorothy's heart, and he dropped into
a chair as if shot, sitting upright, motionless, like a crea-
ture turned to stone.

Dorothy was terrified at the effect ol her confession.
What should she do i*

" Oh, Herbert ! speak to me."

He stared at her as if not understanding what she
said, and covered his face with his hands, leaning forward
until his brow almost touched his knees. Then he stood
up, began smoothing out the letter, and kissed it. " She
loved me," he said, brokenly — *' she loved me still. I can-
not speak to you, my poor child. 1 must go. 1 dare not
speak. To-morrow — to-morrow !" He staggered towards
the door.

"Oh, Herbert ! Let me call Collins to go with you, you
are not fit to be alone, dear Herbert." He made a motioj
of refusal with his hand.

"At least you sie that Paul Sti»ndi3h is not to blame."

BUKB PATB. S97

♦«I hATe wronged him, bat I will writ«. Let me go, for
God's sake let me go." He t ushed from the room.

Dorothy rang violently, and theu rau downsUirs.

"Oh, Collins, get your hat and follow him, there is
something dreadful in his face," and Collins flew to obev
her. ^

"Have I done right or wrong," asked Dorothy of her-
self, while she wrung her hands in despair. ''What shall
I do? Where can I turn ? Oh, I must tell Paul every-
thing. What will Herbert say or do when he has time
to think, and connects this letter with the awful result ?
I did so hope to keep all a secret for my poor darling's
sake. Will he attack Randal Egerton legally, and blazon
out the whole dreadful story. I must see Paul, and he
will be out now. It is nearly nine o'clock. He will be
away, goodness knows where. Still, Henrietta is safe
away, it will be eleven or more before she returns. Per-
haps Paul may be at his rooms. I will go to him. i
don't want to tell Henrietta more than 1 can help, but 1
must tell someone. Nurse will not say a word if I ask
her," and she mounted rapidly to the peaceful nursery,
where Mrs. McHugh, spectacles on nose, was reading a
newspaper with a stern aspect, as if sitting in judgment
on the world. "Dear Nurse, the Colonel has just rushed
out of the house in such a state of t3xcitement that I am
frightened to death."

♦•What's put him out?" asked Mrs. McHiigh, rising.

"We were talking of — of the past, and he spoke of
Mabel, almost for the hrst time since we lost he; , and got
into a state of despair ! I have sent Coiiins to try and

Oh!

nurse,

find him. Now I want to see Mr. Stand ish.

must see him at once, 1 am going to him. Will you get

a cab for me? I must go."

"Stay a bit. Miss Dorothy, it's just a chance if he be at
home. You stay here, I'll go," beginning lo taiie off iier
cap as she spoke. "I'll bring him back it he is to be found.
You write a line for me to leave."

"But nurse, I don't want Mis^ Oakley to know."

"All right Miss Dorothy, more rea.-^on 1 should go. No
one will tell on me, but Brown" (tiie lady's maid) "would
be sure to say you had gone out by yourself— go write, my
dear young lady."

"I will, and 1 will watch the ohiidren. You need not
send Peggy up."

208

BLIND FATE.

A short appeal to Standish to come to her early next
day, at eight if he liked, was quickly penned, and then
there was nothing for it but to wait,

"Nothing but to wait." What a terrible task, to be still
and helpless while others were casting the shuttle of your
life through the threads of inexorable circumstance. To
count the leaden moments and wear out tliought, striving
to forecast the turn of the tide in your affairs — to divine
the "trifles light as air," which may influence the decision
of some all potent friend or patron for or against the aim
of your existance, the desire of your heart — to wait while
another pleads your cause, while the "yes" or "no " whicli
will make or mar you depends on no efEort of your own.
This is perhaps the most severe test to which human
courage and endurance can be put. The pluck of ordinary
men can carry them gallantly through the excitemtiJit of a
dashing charge — when motion gives fire to the blcod and
action disguises the individual's danger — but to those
who can stand still and firm to bear the shock of the onset
they see coming against them, tiiese are the true heroes.

True, Dorothy was quite certain that Standish would
come to her as soon as he possibly could, but what would
he say to the tale she liad to tell ? Had she done right in
giving that letter to Callander? Yes. The more she re-
flected, the more satisfied she became that it was right lo
undeceive him.

How jlowly the minutes went by ! She sat watching
the hands of the clock on the mantel-piece. Did time ever
drive so slowly. She took up the newspaper Mrs. McHugii
had thrown down, it was a weekly paper, brim-full of
horrors, murders, maimings of wives by their husbands,
vitriol-throwing by wives over iiusbands and rivals,
fights, suicides — this last was a terribly suggestive item.
When? When would Collins come back? She laid down
the paper and glanced again at the clock. Even that
very temporary occupation had helped her over many
minutes.

At last steps approached, the door opened and Mrs.
McHugh appeared, a little breathless.

" Well, I've been pretty quick, liaven't I? But 1 am vexed
he was out. He iiad gone down with Lord R to somis

place down the Great Northern line, and won't be liomo
till to-morrow evening."

BLIND FATE.

next
then

20'

Dorothy uttered a faint cry, and sank into a chair.

" Don't take on so, my dear ! I just got his address and
Beat on your note."

"Thank you, nurse 1 but he wild not get it till mid-day
la the country. I must telegraph the first thing in the
morning, that is all I can do."

"I suppose so I Write the telegram then, Miss Dorothy.
I'll see it goes as soon as tlie office is open. Hasn't Collina
come back?"

Dorothy shook her head.

" Dear, dear, that's bad."

" Yes, very bad, I fear."

"I'l] go down and watch for hira, nnd send Peggy up.
It's time she went to bed."

" I think I'll go and wait for him in the drawing room,"
said Dorothy, faintly. ''I do hope he will come in before
Henrietta."

This seemed a little strange to Nurse, but she made no re-
mark upon it.

Dorothy went to get a telegraph form, and wrote an en-
treaty to Standish to return at once.

"Don't go to bed till I come and tell you what news Col-
lins brings," she said to Mrs. McHugh.
"You may be sure I will nor."
Then she went away to " wait " again.

This time she was not long left alone — a little before
eleyen Miss Oakley returned.

' ' Why, where in the world is Collins ?" were her first
words, " and good Heavens, Dorothy, what is the matter
with you ? you look ghastly !"

Dorothy gave the same explanation she had offered to
nurse.

" What a dreadful business! My dear child, he is as
likely to throw himself into the river as to go to his hotel !
What in the world did you say to iiim to drive him into
such a state?"

"Oh! it was ialking and thinking of the past that up-
set him. Henrietta, you terr'.fy me."

" I am afraid you were not very prudent, but don't trem-
ble so, I did not mean to fright n you. You had better go
to bed, you iioor little soul."

" Ah, no, Henrietta, not till I see Collins."

f^^^iS:^

210

BLIND FATE

*' I will go and put on my dressing-gown — I wonder
when that man will come back ! "

Dorothy sat with her head on her hand, her lips moving
in silent prayer, she had stirred and risen up to seek Hen-
rietta, unable to endure the solitude, when to her relief
Collins presented himself.

A glance at his face showed her that he had no eyil tid-
ings.

" s've had a rare hunt, Miss Dorothy," were his first
words. ' ' When I got out of the door "

"Oh, good gracious, Collins ! is he safe ?" cried Miss Oak-
ley, coming in as he spoke.

" Tes'm, he's all right. I was a sayin', as I got out of
the door 1 felt I was too late. I could'nt see a sign of him.
Maybe he's gone to Kensington Gardens, thinks I, so I
went there as fast as my legs could carry me, but as I saw
nothing on the wa^^ a bit like him, I thought there'd be no
end of looking for him under those dark trees, so I returned
the other way towards town and got to the hotel ! No sign
of him ! So I went back and up and down, and to and fro,
all to no good. At last I went to the hotel once more, and
there he was all right, just come in, and the waiter was
going to take him a brandy and soda — so I made bold to
go up, and asked if he had any commands for me to-mor-
row. He was lying back, dead beat like, in his chair, and
as the man picked up his boots to take them away, I saw
there was some mold and grass sticking to the soles. He
didn't take much notice of me, but presently he rose up and
bid me givi^ him liis dressing-gown, and as I helped him
off with his coat I saw that the back and one side was all
marked with grass and mould, as if he had lain on ground
yet he didn't look as if he had had a fit."

"A fit! AVhat a notion, Collins !" cried Miss Oakley.
• ' Did he say he would go to bed ?"

'*He didn't say nothing, ma,am, except, when I asked,
he said 1 might come round in the morning, and I'm going
early — and if you please, 1 met Mr Dillon coming out, and
he has been down to Fordsea. He heard something as
took him there, and ho saw the Colonel once or twice. He
says. Miss, as the Colonel would kill himself if he were let
go on the way he did. He used to go out bathing in this
sharp, cold weather — out in a boat, so far as 1 can make
out, with the old boatman as used to row Mrs. McHugh

BLIND FA IE.

2il

and the children last summer— sometimes he went with
him, and sometimes without ; but he was always saying
it was hot, and how it set him up to have a dip."

*'How extraordinary," cried Dorothy.

"How dreadfully imprudent," said Henrietta.

"Any ways, Mr. Dillon had been talking with the old
boatman — and he said as how the Colonel was as nice and
liberal a gentleman as ever, but that quiet and silent —
may be, the salt water didn't do him no good. Mr. Dillon
wanted to know when Mr. Standish would be back. He'd
been to his rooms, and he was out of town."

**That is very provoking," said Henrietta. "How I
wish the Colonel would make up with him." Dorothy
frowned at her slightly as a warning to be prudent, and
said : "You must be tired, Collins — you had better have
some supper, and go to bed."

**Thank you, Miss ! I will — and if you don't mind my
waiting at breakfast, I'll go around early to the Colonel"

"Oh, yes, pray do," exclaimed Miss Oakley.

"Thank God, he seems all right," she continued when
they were alone. "Brandy and soda sounds like sanity."

'*Will he ever be himself again?" asked Dorothy with a
deep sigh.

*»Yes, 1 tkink he will," returned Henrietta thoughtfully.
"Men always recover. Now that we know he is safe, let
us go to bed, I am most dreadfully tired. How I wish
Paul Standish was not away !"

"So do I. In fact he must come back, I shall teleRrai)h
for him the first thing to-morrow morning," said Dorothy
decidedly.

"I am sure you are right ! 1 shall be glad to «ee him.J'

'*But Henrietta ! " began Dorothy, hesitatingly, ana
nerving herself to secure a tete-a-tete withStandish, which
she felt to be indispensable, "I hope you will not think m'i
unfriendly or unkind, but I must see Paul alone."

"Good gracious ! Why V"

"Because I must tell him some things— Oh, some things
that Herbert said to mo about Paul in confidence, which i
hope will make them friends again ! "

"And do you suppose tlioy would both tell me as soon
as tli"\' would you V"

"Oh, very likely -only foi the present i want to say my

212

BLIND FATK

say to Paul Standish alone. You know I have been accus-
tomed to tell him everything from a child."

"Oh, very well — but of courae he will pass it all on to
me. I suppose he cannot be here much before two ! I'll
go over and lunch with my aunt, who does not seem to get
over her cold ; and no doubt when I return you will tell me
everything."

"Perhaps so," said Dorothy, anxious to escape from tli(i
subject ; but above all, desirous to securea private interview
with Standish.

Still quivering with the strain and terror of the last
three hours, the question which last occupied her thoughts,
above eY&n her deep anxiety about her unhappy brother-in-
law, was : "Can Paul Standish really confide every thought
of his heart to Henrietta ? Kind and true as she is there
is a crude realism about her that makes her take such
matter-of-fact views about everything ! "

Fatigued by emotion, she at last dropped asleep, with
this query unanswered.

CHAPTER IV.

" THE PLOT THICKENS."

What a long morning i ^ was !

Henrietta kept her promise, and went away to Mrs. Cal-
lander, having waited for a report of the Colonel from Col-
lins. He seemed as usual, but said he had a cold, and
would not leave the house. He had made Collins put out
his writing materials, and said he had much to do.

"I think I shall go and see him," were Henrietta's last
words. " I will talk to my aunt about it."

Dorothy went through the form of luncheon, but could
hardly swallow ; and then retreated into the study — the
room she considered the most safe from intrusion. It was
nearly three oclock, surely he might have come by this time?
She had just turned from putting some fresh coal on the
fire when the door was hastily opened, and Standish came
in unannounced.

She flew to him with outstretclied hands.

**0h! thank God you are come."

"Dear Dorothy! what is the trouble?" He drew her to
him, and pressed her hands against his heart.

" I have a Ion 4, long story to tell ! I almost dread to hear
your judgf-ment, Paul; 1 acted on impulse, but ''

BLIND FATK 213

" For God's sake, what is it ? Have you promised to
marry some one, and want my consent ?*'

" Marry ? I marry ? No ! "

"Then let us sit down and talk."

"Don't you want somethinjr to eat, Paul?**

' 'No ! I ate something at a detestable junction, where I
was compelled to waste half an hour! Now, my own little
Dorothy, you are my own ward, you know. Tell me -^ ;©ry-
thing — keep back nothing ! "

He wheeled round an arm chair for her and took his
stand on the hearth-rug.

" First of all, I have found out the reason of Herbert's
dislike to you, and removed it."

All her nervous terrors seemed to evaporate in his reas-
suring presence. The light of his kind grave eyes seemed
to calm her.

" Ha! this is something ! Go on ! "

Then Dorothy began at the beginning, and described the
conversation she had overheard between her sister and Eg-
erton, her remonstrance with Mabel, the letter the latter had
written, and left with Dorothy to deliver, how she had
never found an opportunity to do so, how Mabel's cruel
death seemed to have closed the account ; that some in-
stinct had kept her from destroying the letter, some vague
idea of punishing Egertou had held her hand.

Then she described Callander's outburst the evening be-
fore, his extraordinary belief in Paul's treachery.

" I conid not bear that," continued Dorothy. ♦ ' If he had
killed me I should have told him the truth ; so I dew to
get the letter I had kept, and gave it to him. He read it
tlirough — oH, Paul! how his poor hands trembled— and
then he kissed it. The idea that shejloved him through all
seemed to please him. How he has suffered ! Surely death
is scarce a grief, compared to the agony of losing the love
of any one you love ?" In the restlessness of strong emo-
tion, Dorothy rose to her feet, she was irembling,and could
liardly steady her voica

Standish put his arm round her and pressed her to his

breast.

" This has been a cruel experience for you, Dorothy, too
.sore a trial for your young strengiti! But I scarcely know
what to say to your desperate expedient of showing Ual-
lander that letter. In bis frame of mind it is almost death
to Egerton. Think of all that entaihj."

214

BLIND FATE.

^' 1 do think. I have thought, Puui," she »aid, raising
her eyes to his with a resolute look. " I do not regret what
I have done^ I have saved you. He would have killed
yoa, then I should have lost both you and Herbert. I could
never see him again if he had hurt you. What is Egerton's

life to me? He deserves to die. But you, my best "

A blinding gusii of tears choked her utterance, and she hid
iier face against his shoulder.

Standish pressed her closely to him, and murmured some
half articulate words of comfort. She felt his heart beat-
ing strongly against her own, and was conscious that she
could stay in those dear arms for ever, half because of the
weary child's desire to be comforted; half from the pa'^
sionate woman's love for the man who had been everything
10 her from childhood,

!■<■ Do you blame me, Paul?" she murmured, at length re-
gaining her voice.

" Blame you !" — he paused, looking • down on the small
brown head leaning agr>inst him, and stroking back the
wavy hair from her brew — " how could I blame you, dear ?
After all, it was only just to our poor Mabel to let her hus-
band see the truth of her heart."

Dorothy made a slight efEort to release herself, but Paul's
close, gentle hold did not relax. " What an infernal villian
Egerton has been ! " he continued. " I shonld like to shoot
him myself! and yet we must not attack him! I must do
my best to keep Callander quiet ; the scandal of such a fra-
cas would be too hideous to incur ; even you can see the
cruel construction the world would put on it."

" I do, Paul," she returned, extricating herself from him,
and leaning against the back of her chair. " For poor
Mabel's sake we must let her murderer go free."

" Her murderer ? " he repeated. " What do you mean ? "

" Do you not see that he was her murderer, either with
his own hand or that of his emissary, the Spaniard ? "

" My God, Dorothy ! How do you come to suspect him
of being such a monster ? " exclaimed Standish, gazing at
her amazed.

" Did I not tell you I heard him threaten to crush out
her life if she preferred her husband to him, only a few days
before her murder? and she never saw him alone after."

" But you forget, he had not seen the letter avowing her
intention of breaking with him."

BLIND FATK.

2l£

hid

couductf his extraordinary
the guiit he had incurred,
I had a stormy interview

" She had written before to the same effect, and he had
taken no notice."

'• Still, I never for a moment can believe that he, an Eng-
lish gentleman, would do so foul a deed ! "

" I believe it. Look at his
grief, his avoidance of us all."

•• Conscience, remorse for
might account."

" No, Paul. He is guilty,
with him just before he went to Spain, when I accused him,
wildly and incoherently enougli ; and, though he denied it,
he did so in a half-hearted way. Remember his blood is not
all English. That unpleasant detective suspects him, too.
I understand his hints about the peculiar diiEculties of the
case. Oh, it all too like a hideous nightmare. It has
almost driven me wild to be obliged to see the cruel destroy-
er of my sweet sister."

"There is something queer about that feUow Dillon's
mode of dealing with the case. Still, I cannot for a mo-
ment accept your theory. 1 wish you had not adopted it ;
it must have added considerably to the horrors you have so
bravely endured in silence. Dorothy, you are a true-hearted
loal woman to have locked all this in your heart. I would
trust my life with you. 1 shall never call you child or
little Dorothy again. You have attained a mental stature
that forbids either, only my dear Dorothy you will always
be. He took and kissed her hand, holding it a while.
" B-ight or wrong, guilty or not," he resumed, " I must
keep Callander from encountering Egerton. Shall 1 go to
see him i* It will be an infinite relief to feel that he is
all right with me again, shall 1 go V "

" I almost think you had better not; he sent word by
Collins this morning that he has a great deal of writing to
get through, and as he told me he was ;j;oing to write to
you, you had better wait for his letter. I feel it very hard,
Paul, to meet Mrs. Callander ; she has embittered all our

lives*"

'*She is a mischief-making, implacable she-devill" cried

Standish, with energy,
ever spoak to her again !
should tax her with her

"Do not mind me. I
cept tor Henrietta's sake.

" By heaven, I don't think 1 shall
Were it not for you, Dorothy, 1
infamous slander of myself."
do not oare to hoid with her, ex-
And, oh, Paul! Henrietta wants

2ie

BUND FATE.

lo know so much what 1 had to talk to you about. 1 would
rather not tell her all " — hesitatingly.

"No; certainly not," promptly. " 1 will tell her that it
was poorCailaader's confession of his mother's insinuations
against me tliat you wished to explain. Leave it to me —
and, Dorothy, 1 shall write to Egerton. I shall let him
know that we fully understand the dastardly part he ha^
played, and shnil warn him that he has to reckon with Cal-
laader."

'« Oh, leave him alone, Paul. He might murder you.
Such a man is capable of anything."

" He is a villian undoubtedly, but, my dear Dorothy, 1
absolve him from the crime ot murder. That seems quite
impossible. He is bad enough, but, good God ! to kill a
defenc 3less woman in her sleep ! Besides it would have
punished himself "

" Paul, I feel certain Mr. Dillon suspects him."

"There is something curious in Dillon's mode of proceed-
ing, 1 grant; still this conviction of yours is really only the
result of excited nerves. I am surprised. You have too
heavy*a burden to bear, dear Dorothy. I wish I were sure
of a reconciliation with Callander, 1 could then be of some
use in reassuring your mind in one direction at least I
wish I could take you away somewhere. A complete change
of scene might restore the tone of your mind."

" I feel better already since I opened my heart to you, and
if I know Herbert is with you and confides in you, I shall
be mucli more at rest. But, oh, keep him and yourself from
Egerton. He is capable of anything."

"Did you really tax him with this atrocious crime ?
asked Paul, with some curiosity.

"I did, and he seemed startled and confused."

•'He might be that, though innocent. Tell me, Dorothy,
was it some instiuci that he was playing a part which in-
duced you to refuse him. "

"I think so, Paul."

"I confess that your rejection of so very attractive a
person made me suspect that some luckier fellow had fore-
stalled him."

""Why did you think so," asked Dorothy, a sudden vivid
blush dyeing her pale cheeks.

"Oh, I don't know. It was a surmise," returned
Standish, slowly, while his eyes dwelt searchingly on her.

BLIND FATE.

you.

to Henrietta's

Dorothy before

She h«»T«d a deep sigh, amd the color faded from her
oheeka.

"I think I heard Henrietta come in. Will you see her
alone, Paul. I do not think I could bear to talk any more
to any one."

'^Go and lie down and rest then. I will see Henrietta
and explain matters, as I said I would. Try and compose
yourself. Remember 1 am always at your service. I
wish I could do more for you, my sweet ward."

''Thank you. Good- by o for the present."

"I shall see you thiseveniiiy;, probably. 1 am not sure
that I shall not go and see Callander. It mi<j;lit be some
comfort to him, poor fellow."

* ♦ « Xe * if itf

Standlsh explaineii matters so much
satisfaetion that she camo to talk with
dkmer.

**You poor dear. Is your head any better V Well, you
see Paul Standlsh was not long in telling me all about it.
"What an awful fury he is in witii Aunt Callander.
Indeed, I am not surprised at it. 1 somehow got used to
her dislike and insinuations. She couldn't bear Paul, and
was not too foud of poor dear Mabel ; but I n^ver thouj^ht
the nonsense she talked would make such an impression
on Herbert. It wiil be delightful if he make;; friends
with iUr. Standlsh again, and a great help. Oh, who do
you think I saw to-day in Bond street ? Major St. John !
He stopped the carriage, and we had a talk. He is coming
to see me to-morrow. He was looking so well — quite hand-
some, and seemed rather brighter than usual. He wouid
really be quite creditable at the foot of one's table. To be
sure, he is not one half so agreeable as Paul Standlsh, but
then, again, Paul is rather contradictory and overbearing."

"Have they bad a lover's quarrel ?" thought Dorothy.
"He has always been good to me," she said aloud.

"Oh, yes, I daresay ; but then, of course, he looks on you
as a daughter. Now I find him rather changeable. I am
very steady, myself, and I hate changeable whimsicu:
people.**

"Yc'ir temper is always steadily good Henrietta," said
Dorothy. ' 'I will get up and do my hair now.**

Standish came in the evening, and reported that he had
called on Colonel Callander, but he had gone out. On
inquisyf the hotel porter said he would not return to dinner

218 BUND FATi:

and that he had ordered the driver of the cal> culleJ fo. him
to drive to some number in Lincoln's inn Fields.

"That is Brierl.y's offioe — his solicitor, you know- -a
vary good fellow. If he daies with him we could not desir'>
anything better. Brierly is a baclielor and has capital
rooms in Victoria street."

"Yes, that would be more like his old self," said Hen-
rietta, "only I wonder he did not look you up. He will
be quite glad, 1 am sure, to be all right with you again."

"I hope so. i daresay I shall have a line from him to-
morrow. He might like to write a preliminary explan
ation before meeting me."

For the rest of his stay Standish talked cheerfully to
Henrietta, and only atpartini; asked, with an air of deep
interest, if Dorothy's head was free from [)ain now.

"I am afraid 1 shall not be able to see you to-morrow,"

he said. "It will be a busy day. I dine with Lord B ,

too, and go with him to tlie House ot Commons."

"Pray, when are we to hail you as ambassador extra-
ordinary," asked Henrietta. "That always seems to me
such a delicious sort of title."

"Not for many a day — if I ever reach so high a position,
said Btandish, smiling, and he wished them good-night."

The following day was altogether restful to Dorothy.
She felt safe after having confided all the perilous stufiE
that had lain heavy at her heart to Standish. His warm
sympathy was infinitely consoling. With his help she did
not despair of seeing her brother-in-law restored to re
signation and composure. She, too , would try to compose
her nerves, and try to fulfil tiiose duties from which her
dearly-loved sister had been snatched.

Somehow or other she did not care to be with Hearietta,
good and kind as she was. Dorothy felt that she jarred
upon her in a way she used not to do.

She therefore went out to walk with the children, and
read a tough book in her own room, leaving Henrietta to
entertain Major St. John by herselt.

Collins, on his return from his morning visit to his master,
reported him to be just as usual, but said the colonel did
not intend calling on the ladies till late.

" He will try and see Paul Standish first," they said to
each other, when Collins left the room.

Now Standish had been a good deal exercised that morn-
ing by the receipt of a letter from Egerton,

BUND iWTK.

I I

pose
her

and
}a to

.ster,
did

The sight of the man's haiulwi itinjjj' roused a degree of
fury and indignation which quite upset his self-control for
a few minutes.

Apart from the knowledge so lately imparted by Do-
rothy, Paul would have thou.;fit tho letter a j^ood one and
full of kind sympathy as it was, he real, between the
lines, craft and hypocrisy. Perhaps, indeed, E^enou mij^ht
feel the sorrow he affected, for it was scarce possible that
any conscience could be so seared as to be unmoved by the
recollection of the devilish part he had played.

The letter was dated from Madrid, and st? ted that the
writer had given up all hopes of tracing the man Pedro.
Indeed, there was a report in Valencia that a sailor answer-
ing to his description had been washed overboard a vessel
plying to Tunis — in a storm off Cape Bon. ♦^♦if this be the
case one is naturally indignant that such a criminal should
have slipped through the tiugers of justice. But now it
, has got abroad that he is wanted, there is no doubt he will
keep out of the way. I really think that Dillon mismana^^ed
Imatters- -so far as his searcli out here went — and I have
'grave doubts that he ever came here at all. I cantiua no
trace of him, indeed, his conduct all the way through has
been suspicious. He is working some line of which wf know
nothing. 1 shall stay here about a week, and then j,^o straij^lit
back to London, where X hope to hud ail brij; titer than when
I left them."

Standish threw the letter from him in disgust, then he
picked it up, and put it away carefully. Ttiere was no time
to answer it, and it might, perhaps, be wiser not to express
himself in writing on such compromising topics as would
form the subject matter of a letter.

He was so infinitely revolted that he even tliought, "Could
Dorothy's woman-instinct be right wht n siio laid the crown-
ing charge of murder against the refined, accomplished gen-
tleman, who made so little of nis duties, ot friendship— of the
obligations of a man of honor — what was there to hold him
back from any felony which his evil, uncontrolled passion':.
prompted?

While Standish, putting his private affairs out of hi ^
mind for the present, threw himself heartily into his work or
discussed with his chiet the poiical question ou which the
latter was to speak that evening, Henrietta Uakiey had
spent on the whole a satisfactory day- ►She had bough;
several bargains (lUite " dirt cheap,'" and she had roused

220

BLIND FATE.

up the Hon. Major to some unusually strong expressions of
admiration.

She was sitting with Dorothy in the drawing-room be-
fore dinner, and had just been expatiating on the dreariness
of the first long days, and the evening lig.it which is so
cold at first, when Collins presented himself, and announced
that JVlrs. Callander's butler wished to speak to Miss Oakley.
" Tell him to come up to me here," she exclaimed. "What
is the matter now ? What is it, Ransom ?"
As the stately functionary came in and closed the door:

" 1 1 you please, 'm " he said with a load " hem !"

" Miss Boothby sent me round to see if you would be so
good i»s to come to Mrs. Callander, she is taken in rather a
strange way. The colonel, he paid her a visit this after-
noon, and stayed a good while, 'm. He went away be-
tween four ana five, 1 think. I didn't let him out, for Mrs.
Callander didn't ring the bell, but a while after. Miss
Boothby went into the drawing-room, and found the missis'
sitting stiff-like in her chair, and the first thing she says
was, ' Get me some brandy and water,' which is what she
nevei tastes ; ftnd then she ordered Miss Boothby to write
for Mr. Greenwood, the lawyer, then she had the note torn
up ; next she ordered that everything should be got ready
for Paris ; after that she went into a fit of hysterics, and
kepi calling out ' My son, my son !" and she forbids us to
send for the doctor, and so Miss Boothby would be ever so
much o'^Uged if you would come to her, miss."

*' Very veil, Ransom. Call a cab, and I will go with
you. Good gracious !" she exclaimed, " she has had a
tremendous row with Herbert. He has been reproaching
her, and, tiiough she richly deserves it, 1 can't help being
sorry '"c her ! 1 declare 1 don't think we siiall ever hav«
a yeaoef V 1 hour agam. I am getting sick of it all."

Whei Henrietta reached Somerset square an evident de-
gree of > sorganisation had replaced the clock-work regu-
larity 0+ that patent, particular household. The cook
opened, tho door, and the page might be perceived carrying
a hot bottle upstairs.

'• I'm sure ma'am. Miss Boothby will be that thankful to
see you."

•' Where is she ?"

" Upstairs, packing, 'm. Mrs. Callander has had th^ big
trunks dusted and taken down, siie says her feet are cold
and lier head burning."

BLIND FATI<:

221

Henrietta began to ascend the stair ; half way up she

met Miss Bootkby with a distressed, bewildered expression.

" Oh, dear me ! I am glad to see you, Miss Oakley. 1

don't know what has come to Mrs. Cailauder. She doesn't

know I sent for you."

*' Very well. Let her think I came oy accident."
She found Mrs. Callander walking to and fro in her bed-
room, with a scent bottle in her trembling hand, her usually
cold, grey face much flushed, and a strange, frightened look
in her eyes.

*' Why, my dear aunt ! What has happened ? Where are
you going ?"

'* Oh, Henrietta !" in a high, nervous key. **I am tired
of the constant cold and headaches from which I have suf-
fered. Really, the climate of London is horrible, so 1 am
just going off to Paris. There is no reason why I should
not go where I like. I had j'ather a curious dizzy turn to-
day, but I will not have the doctor, mind ! I will not see
him if you send for him."

" Well, 1 am sure you ought, aunt You seem to be very
unwell."

" You know nothing about it. Go, Evans— go, Miss
Bocthby — I wish to speak to my niece."

She sank into a chair as she spoke, and trembled visibly
all over.

" Now, then, aunt, what is it V" askod Henrietta, per-
emptorily, when she had closed the door.

'* I had a long and painful interview with my son," be-
gan Mrs. Callander, speaking in distressful gasps. " He
beha :«^ in an extraordinary manner, accused me of slan-
dering his unfortunate wife, aad said he would never soo
my face again. And I have only lived for him."

" Men are generally ungrateful," said Miss Oakley, easily.
" But I thought better of Herbert. Still, he has been very
sorely tried ; but you must have patience, and keep friends
with him."

" It doen not depend on me," returned Mrs. Callander, and
she shuddered visibly. "• Have you seen my son since he
was here this morning ?" ,^

" No ; but he comes to us, I believe, this evenint^. '
'• This evening ! Oh, my heart ! it beats so fast, and
then stands still ! Go awiy, Henrietta— you can do me no
good. 1 only want to get away."

•' But, aunt, you are not tit to travoi. Do send for Dv.

i 'v'

222

BLIND VA!£E.

Birch. He will gi^e you some soothing medicine. Tou

are quite in a fever. Do send for him."

" Don't teli me what I am to do. I do not -want you^
Henrietta. I shall go to Meurice's, and don't tell anyone I
am going away — I don't want people to talk about me."

'' Well, aunt, I am quite uneasy about you."

"You need not trouble. I a»n most unfortunate. I "

She burst into a violent fit of weeping, in the midst of
which her maid announced tliat the Bev. Mr. Gilmore was
downstairs, and wisned to see her. Mrs. Callander paused
in her weeping.

'^ I can't sej him. I don't wish to see him," she ex-
claimed, angrily. "I will not be intruded on, or pried
into. He may go away. I am particularly engaged,"

Henrietta was infinitely amazed. She could hardly be-
lieve her ears when she heard her aunt refuse to admit one
of her favorite preachers. Was the sky going to fall ?

Then the greatly disturbed woman rose from her seat,
and exclaiming, " I want to be alone — I want no one's
help !" tottered into the bed-room adjoining her dressing-
room, and emphatically closed the door.

" What can be the matter with her. Miss Boothby "
asked Henrietta, j^reatly perplexed.

" I am sure Miss Oakley, I can foam no idea, except that
she had some words with Colonel Callander. Iteally, there
seems no filial affection left in the world."

'' I never saw her in such an extraordinary state before.
There is no use in my staying here. You will let me know
if she asks for me ? I don't suppose for a moment that
she will carry out her whim of going to Paris."

" It is impossible to say — but I'll let you knoWf Miss
Oakley. Nothing couid well be more irconvenient than to
start off to the continent just now. 1 thought we were safe
to remain here to ihe end of the season."

" I don't think she will go. Pray don't leave her alone.
I feel most uneasy about her.''

Herriettt- was not sorry to get out of the house.

" My dear Dorothy," she exclaimed, as soon as she found
herself safe in lier own drawing-room, " Herbert has been
driving his motlier fairly ou" ^f Iter wits. I never thought
anything in the world would put her into such a state."

" I wonder if he will say anything to us this evening, if
he comes '?" returned D jrothy.

BLIND FATE.

223

But the hours sped on ; bed-time came, and no Callander
appeared.

afore.

know

that

Miss
lan to
re safe

alone.

I found
been
Loui;ht
Le.

»»

tng, if

CHAPTER V.

" THE DBTKCTIVE'S STORY."

The day described in the last cliapter was a very busy
one to Stand ish, but in the late afternoon he managed to
call on Callander.

Standish was a good deal annoyed to hear that he had
gone out of town for a couple of days — where the waiter
did not know. Neither porter nor clerk could give him
any information; oiAy Boots knew that the direction given
to the driver of the caj which called for him was to Vic-
toria.

Standish mused over Callander's possible reasons for
choosing that route. He did not know of any which reco-
mended it, for it was not likely he would visit either of the
friends who resided near the lines converging at that sta-
tion — true, Eastport and Fordsea could be reached by the
South Coast Line; but why should he not travel as usual
by the South Eastern from Waterloo '? "

Arriving at his chambers only in time to dress for din-
ner, Standish was a good deal disturbed by a letter which
awaited him from Dillon.

"Sir," it ran; "I should feel much obliged by your fixing
some time most c<>nvenient to yourself, when you can give
me an uninterrupted interview, i have now completed the
search you have commissioned me to make, p.nd 1 am anx-
ious to lay the results before you. You can then judge
what claim I have to the reward offered by the relatives
of the late Mrs. Callandei for the discovery of her assassin.
May I ask you to keep this commauication strictly private
for the present ?

" I am, yours respectfully,

"Luke Dillon"

After a few minutes' thought, Standish wrote a few lines
appointing the following evening at eight o'clock.

The dinner to which he was engaged proved very agree-
able in every way. It was a small gatheriuj^ of men occu-
pied in politics, and the conversation was interestinj^ es-
pecially to Standish, to wliom everything relating to Eng-
land's foreign relations was of the highest importance. But
across the intellectual excitement of interchanging views

» .

•- J

224

BLIND FATE.

and ideas with men of thought and information came at in-
tervals the stinging question: '^What is Dillon going to
reveal ? Can it be possible that he will verify Dorothy's
wild conjecture, or rather her conviction ? No, the idea is
too outrageous."

It was a wild, stormy evening when Standish, having
despatched a solitary meal at his club, returned to his own
abode to await the appearence of Dillon.

He had not called at Princes Place, for he had an unac-
countable reluctance to tell Dorothy of his expected inter-
view, and he knew that Henrietta would worry him to
stay to dinntar.

He had had a note from her in the morning, describing
her aunt's nervous seizure, and asking if he knew that Col-
onel Callander had gone out of town again. This, he an-
swered, promising to visit her the next day.

" Not at home to any one except Mr. Dillon," was Paul's
order to his servant as he exchanged his frock coat for a
smoking- jacket, and, lighting a cigar, took up an evening
paper, to which he could not force himself to pay any at-
tenti<Mi. He had not long to wait. A few minutes after
eight Dillon was shown in.

** Good evening, sir," he said, in a grave, important tone.

Standish fancied there was a triumphant gleam in his
light-grey eyes.

"Good evening, Dillon. I am looking forward with
curiosity to your communication. Sit down."

♦* Hope you'll be satisfied, sir," said Dillon, drawing a
chair and taking out a small note-book, which he laid be-
fore him on the table. '* 1 have done my best, but it has
beon a difficult job, and I did not feel at liberty to speak
imtil I had my chain of evidence complete. If yon'll allow
me I'll begin at the beginning." He uttered a loui "Hem !*'
and looking at the book before him for a moment, proceed-
ed, "When you applied to me last September — the 20th,
see," (Standish nodded)— "and I went down to Fordsea, I
found the usual sentimental difficulties. I could get over
these, you see, if I were a regular police detective, but as it
was I was in your service, and must not go to view the
poor lady till everything was interfered with. But 1 per-
suaded the old nurse (who had more brains than the rest)
to let me have a very private view. I saw how the body
lay, the head a good deal bent forward as if slipping off the

RUND FATS.

285

pillow, tbe face so calm and peacefnl that she coum have
had no glimpse of whoever was going to deal her her death
blow. I took a good look round ; but I could not stay long,
because Mrs. McHugh was horribly afraid the Colonel
would find her out, and he had given strict orders that no
one but the women who attended to her should be let in
after the jury had viewed the body."

He paused, but Standish sat silently gazing at him.

I got a good deal of information talking to the servants
till I knew the life of the family, which seemed peaceful
and happy enough," he resumed, "and at the funeral I had
a long look at Mr. Egerton. He struck me very particu-
larly. He's as handsome a man as you'll see in a day's
march. But there was a devil of some kind in his eyes,
and if ever a man was in mortal agony of grief he was.
The husband was quiet and resigned compared to him.
Mr. Egerton looked to my mind like a man conscience-
stricken. Of course I had lieard a good deal about him —
how he was wanting to marry the young lady, Mrs. Callan-
der's sister, and all that. But it seemed odd to me that he
never came near her nor Miss Oakley. Then you gave me
full right to examine the room, to put the ladder across
the window, and to talk to Miss Wynn. You remember
she thought she had heard the bar of the window fall.
"Well, sir, I saw clear enoui;h that she thought there was
more in it then a mere vulgar murder
that she was particularly auxious not
in short, that there was something in
want me to fiud out, and I began to smell a rat. I began
to think ' Has the handsome fine gentleman, that has been
like a brother in a manner of speaking, any thing to do
with it ?' Jealousy has been at the bottom of such a pile
of crime."

Standish moved uneasily , and uttered a half -articulate

exclamation. "You were saying ?" suggested Dillon.

"Nothing. Did you then discard the theory of the sailor's
guilt in the matter r"'

"Yes, sir ; pretty soon. I'm coming to that. Then, sir.
1 thought of you. You are a good-looking chap, and easy
in manners, almost like a Aniurikan, and the widower's
reluctance to see you was rather remarkable, but I didn't
hold to that very long. I never could get to speak to the
young lady often enough. She knew a thing or two, but,

with robbery, and
to give me a clue ;
it that she did noc

221

BLIND FATE.

1^
1

she was as close as wax. I gave up the idea of the Span-
ish sailors for a good many reasons. First, how the deuce
could these men know that Colonel Callander was not
sleeping in his wife's room V They couldn't gossip with
the servants, for they didn't speak their lingo ; next, how
could they know where the ladder was kept ? Of course,
they might have overhauled the premises some other night,
hut it's not likely. Then, I defy any stranger to have
lifted up that bar and stepped in right against that dress-
ing-table without making noise enough to disturb a timid
woman, unless she knew who was making it, and that is
not a pleasant nor a probable idea."

"My God, no! " cried Standish.

"Now you see, from the way the poor thing was lying,
her face was to the window, a stranger coming in by it
and pushing the dressing-table must have roused her. She
would have seen him, screamed, and, even if killed, her
face, her position, would have been totally different."

' 'To what conclusion does this lead you ?" asked Stan-
dish, eagerly.

"That the murderer entered by the door of Tier room,
that his step, his presence, was so familiar that he could
approach almost to touching her without creating distur-
bance or alarm, and then as she lay, still and unresisting,
he struck her dead with one blow in the vital spot left un-
defended by her position."

Standish was a man of great nerve and self-control, but
he changed color at the horrible and degradin- suspicion
so ruthlessly presented to him by the unmoved detective.

"No, sir," he resumed, "no stranger struck that blow!
In addition to these conclusions, which any man of com-
mon-sense might have arrived at, I observed on the out-
side of the door, a little splash, a mere spark of blood, low
down near the floor, and a speck near the handle, which
those dunderheads, the police, had not detected.

You see, they were all so taken up with the notion that the
murderer came in from outside,that they never looked beyond
the interior of the room itself, except to search the poor
servants' boxes, I believe ! Besides these, I picked up,
half under the b -i, where no doubt, it had been pushed by
some of the feet that trod there, this bit of a silver orna-
ment." He drew it from an inner pockec, and laid it before
Standish, who stared at it with distressed eyes.

3lpan-
deuce
is not

with
, how
ourse,
night,
3 have
dress -

timid
hat is

lying,
a. by it
r. She
ed, her

d Stan-

: room,
e could
distur-
iisting.
Left un-

'ol, but

Jspicion
Itective.

blow!

»f com-

Ihe out-

>d, low

which

Ihat the

Ibeyond

le poor

led up,

Ihed by

orna-

before

BLIND FATB:.

227

**1?*« d<m*% happen to have seen it before, Mr. Stan-
dish ?"

"No, certainly not." replied Standish, sharply, while he
thought with dismay of Dorothy's description of the broken
silver sheH with the half-holes at one side.

"Well, sir, I thought you might have seen it. I showed
it once to Miss Wynn, and she said she had never seen it
before, though hei eyes didn't back her up ! That little bit
of silver has given me a heap of troubla I have hunted
to and fro to find the other bit of it, but I did at last."

"For God's sake get on ! " cried Standish. *'What have
you discovered? Who do you suspect?"

"Hear me out," replied Dillon, sitting upright, and
assuming a more earnest look. "I made up my mind when
I washed away them sparks of blood, that someone in the
house did the deed, someone to whom the poor woman was
accustomed, whose presence did not disturb her, or frighten
her, who could come in and out, and knew the ways of
the place, where the ladder was kept and how long it
would be before anyone would come to find her stiff and
stark ! Those strange sailors would never have dared to
come into a house with a master and two men sleeping
in it. No, sir, the hand that struck the blow was her
husband's."

"You are raving," exclaimed Standish.

"No, I am not, sir. Listen. From many a trifling in-
dication I got out of Collins, and the old nurse, I believe
the unfortunate man was eaten up with jealously. The
more I watched him— and I have shadowed him for months
— the more convinced I grew, that, in some mad lit he put
an end to her, and then tried to mislead us all by laying
that ladder on the window-ledge."

"It is impossible" ejaculated Standish.

"No, it ain't 1 Jealousy is the underminingest thing
out. It works like rats through a wall, gnawing and
gnawing for many a long day unheard, till all at once its
ugly head gets out to the light to kill and to destroy. Ah,
Mr. Standish, the biggest lot of cruel deeds I have traced
home took me straight to jealousy."

Standish stared at him with blank, bewildered eyes.

"Well, though 1 was pretty sure it was he as did the
deed, it was very hard to get proof. 1 followed him pretty
close, wherever he went I was by him in some disguise
or another, and an awful time he has had of it Fro?* all

228

BLIND FATK

J can seo, I'd say hanging is a trifle to what he has gone
through. Still, 1 could never g^t a glimpse of any knife
that had ornaments on the sheath answering to this.
Another thing puzzled me — he always kept in with Eger-
t jn. I got to see Egerton more than once, but he was un-
common haughty and snuff -the-moon in his ways. I
wasn't good enough to touch with a pair of tongs — Oh,
dear no ! I'd have rather proved him guilty as the other
poor fellow. Latterly I've begun to think he suspects the
truth. Anyhow, after waiting and watching, I got what I
wanted at last.

"When Colonel CuUander came back from the Continent
the other day, 1 began to hang about and pay a visit now
and again to that respectable, civil-sp ken man, Mr.
Collins, and one morning I found him packing up the
Colonel's duds, so I sat down and discoursed him a bit,
watching him sorting the things. Presently he came to
pistols, and a queer, long, narrow, forei<^n-looking knife,
with an inlaid handle, and shell-like bits of silver stuck
on to the sheath. It was uncommon like the queer sort
of weapons hung up in Mr. Egerton's rooms, but the orna-
ments were different. I took it to the light to examine it,
with my back to Mr. Collins, and tried this bit where one
of the ornaments was jagged and broken. It fitted perfect-
ly, thoroughly ! "

"Still " urged Standish, starting up, and moving

restlessly to the fireplace.

"One moment," said Dillon, raising his hand. *' The man
who had seen the figure carrying the ladder, I ought to men-
tion, in ';onvexj'Tig with me, said it was a broader, larger
man than Egerton, though about his height. Last of all,"
he contined, speaking morequickly, " I followed the Colonel
to Fordsea, were he wandered about on land and sea. He
was always going off in a boat with that old tar — youknow
him — or else he'd be off, striding so fast that there was no
keeping up with him, to the little churchyard by the hill-
side, with a basket of flowers for the grave. At last I hired
a dog cart, and used to drive past as if quite on my own
business. He never noticed! Twice I saw him outside
groping under some gorse bushes that grew above the low
stone wall. You know the wide view there is all around.
Not a soul was to be seen stirring. I drove past, and wait-
ed under a piece of broken bank a little further on. I told
the boy I had with me to hold the reins, as I wanted to

BLIND FATE

229

gather some of tho ferns about there, and I gradually got my
head over th ; bank and saw the colon^ coming slowiy down
the road. I watched till he disappeared on his way back,
then 1 vent on picking 'specimens' here and there till I
came pretty nigh where I had watched him stooping down.
Not a soul was to be seen. When I was there in the
autumn time there used to be bits of boys herding sheep
and goats, but there were none now. When I got about
the part where I had noticed the colonel I looked weil
around under the bushes, and at last I came upon a spot
where the grass looked a bit disturbed and mixed with
mould, as if someone had been digging for roots. I took
the bearings of it, and went away back to Fordsea with
enough ferns and Lwigs to set up a botanist. Very early
next morning I found the colonel was going off to London,
so I bought a trowel, and then I watched him start off in
the train. As soon as I saw him safe I trudged away to
the place I had marked. I would take no one with me.
It was easy to dig, for the soil had been lately stirred, and
scarce a foot below tho surface I came to a gold chain and
locket, then a bracc-iet, then I picked out three or four
rings, then a gola bangle, all messed with mould. There
are more there, but these are enough for me."

Ho took a brown paper from his pocket, and opening it
carefully, displayed the trinkets, soiled and bent.

Standi ish took up and examined each. Ho was stunned,
yet did not let himself go. Dillon was not the man to whom
one should make an unguarded admission.

"Your extraordinary ingenuity has unearthed an extra-
ordinary story," he said at length. " The circumstantial
ovidf noe against Colonel Callander is of course very strong,
but it is not conclusive."

" Perhaps not," returned Dillon carelessly ; " still 1 think
1 lieie is enough to justify me in applying to the Eastport
magistrates for the reward and detailing my reasons for
asking it."

" No doubt," rejoined Standish, coolly, seeing Dillon's
drift, while the revolting consequences ot publicity rushed
into nis mind.

The arrest of Colonel Callander, the terrible stain on
Mabel's character which his fatal jealousy, however unjust-
I liable, would leave, and backed by Mrs. Callander's evil
tongue it would be indellible — and Dorothy! Whatever it

2ao

BLIND FATE.

I i

cost, Dorothy must be saved from lurther shocks, deeper
pain even than any she had gone through.

*'I do not suppose Colonel Callander's family woidd wish
to rob you of a reward which you have so justly earned by
your zeal and perse verence, though certainly i little antici-
pated the direction your inquires have taken. Your own
experience must have shown you how misleading circum-
stantial evidence very often is. Further search might show
a different side to the story. Suppose I promise you another
thousand if, by your trained skill and natural acuteness,
you discover any other t,oiution to the mystery ? ''

" There is uo other to be found. Still tnere is no reason
why the true facts might not be kept dark, and all notor-
iety, and bcandal, and sensational paragraphs avoided. It's
worth paying a second thousand for that aione. Eh ? Just
think of it all. The assertions about the colonel's discov-
eries, the contradictions and counter-assertions. Why it
would be months and months before that nice young lady
would be able to take up a paper."

*' Very probably,!" returned Standish, still calmly. '' It
is natural lo dread such publicity ; still, it may be more
just to Colonel Callander to pursue your researches and see
if some key cannot be found to the extraordinary riddle
your discoveries present."

"Look here, Mr. Standish," said the detective impatient-
ly, " you are a little too exacting. Why should I work any
harder for that second thousand than I have done'? " The
more we seek che worse the case will be against your friend.
The best piece of service you can do him and all the family
is to keep it all dark. I don't believe the poor fellow is
quite right in the upper story. Take a day to think over
it, and if you don't zeal my lips with a second thousand,
why I'll make sure of the first through the magistrates of
Eastport."

"You are "began Standish, quickly, then paused

half a second, and added : "a remarkably shrewd fellow ! "

'*Ah, that is better ! " returned Dillon with an unpleasant
laugh. Anyhow, I suppose you have seen these things be-
fore '? " pointing to the jewels.

"Some of them, certainly," replied Standish.

" I thought so." He began to roll them up carefully.
" 1 need not trespass any longer. I'll call to-morrow about
this time for your answer. I'm pretty sure what it will be,
I think you are only wasting time."

BUND FATE.

231

rev
Id,
of

sed

»>

int

kut

He put his book and the packet of jewel's in his breast
pocket, and, with a keen, lingering look into the eyes oi his
companion, said abruptly :

" G-ood evening to you, Mr. Standish."
Paul had rarely felt so stunned and helpless as when the
door closed on Dillon, and the strong grasp he had kept
upon himself relaxing, he let his thoughts dwell freely on
the extraordinary summary which the detective h:id just
laid before him. What a liideous climax to the tragedy of
poor Mabel's death! And Callander, that kindly, upright,
chivalrous fellow, what a mental wreck he must have be-
come, how maddened by disease and his mother's insin-
uations, before he could have laid a destroying hand on his
adored wife !

Paul's heart thrilled with painful pity, when he thought
of what the man's terrible sufferings must have been. But
was Dillon right in his conclusion V Was there not a loop-
hole of escape somewhere from the ghastly conviction that
Callander was the murderer ? and that he should have sus-
pected him— Paul — of having been so base as to tamper
with his own ward's fidelity to lier husband !

'* Thank God ! Dorothy had the pluck to clear me from
so vile an imputation," he thought. " I wish Callander
would fulfil his promise of writing to me. No ; I will not
believe it yet, in spite of that man's wonderful chain of
evidence. Yet, it is amazingly complete, and somehow Cal-
lander's extraordinary indifference as to the capture of the
assassin had always struck me as unnatural. What is
best to be done ? If a whisper gets out of the true story
(if it is true), the scandalmongers and gossips won't leave
that poor girl a shred of character ! The worst of it is,
there is just enough folly and weakness at the bot om of
this disastrous story to make it a little difficult to deal
with frankly — I am afraid we must silence Dillon. 1 will
only do so under color of extenaed search for information.
1 will never admit that I believe his inferences, his admis-
sion ! It was to the brute's devilish interest to prove poor
Callander guilty !— and Dorothy ! What shall I do as re-
gards Dorothy — how shall I ever break the terrible fact
that her brother-in-law, the man she loved and respected so
heartily, was Mabel's murderer ? Need she ever know it "?
I am afraid in justice to that scoundrel Egerton I must tell
her some day, but not yet. This frightful trial has toM
upon her. There's a bra^ e heart and a cleai- brain sheatheil

232

BLIND FATE.

if ': :

f "> ■

in her slight, delicate frame. Poor little Dorothy, how-
tender she is in spite of the Hashes of fiery spirit that light
Tip her eyes — such a loving nature. Hor frank affection
for me is touching. I wish I were older for her sake, I
might be of more use to her, but as that cannot be, I
wonder if I married Henrietta Oakley whetiier we might
make a happy home for her ? They are very fond of each
other, and Henrietta is rather handsome, a good match in
many ways. Kow can I branch off to merely selfish con-
siderations with this dreadful history fresh before me ?
What egotists we are — I am ! 1 will run down to Fordsea
if i possibly can to-raorrow, and see Callander. Meantime,
is it too late to see Dorothy and Henrietta to-night ? Yes,
it is past ten. I'll catch them at breakfast to-morrow
morning, and say I am going to join Callander and get him
to come back with me, that will keep them quiet, and after
— well, God knows. It is impossible to form any plan.
Heaven grant me some good inspiration ! everything looks
woefully dark.

* ♦ 1|C ♦ ♦ ♦ *

Dorothy had not yet come downstairs when Standish
presented himself at Miss Oakley's breakfast-table next
morning.

'' Why Paul — I mean, Mr. Standish — what in the world
brings you here at this unearthly hour ?" cried Henrietta,
who was standing on the hearth-rug before a bright coal
and wood fire, teaching a beautiful, fluffy, Yorkshire terrier
high principle, in the guise of resisting sugar when offered
for a " Gladstone dog."

" I ought to make a thousand apologies," returned Stan-
dish. " I am going down to Fordsea, just to see what
Callander is about, and, as I cannot get away till the af-
ternoon, I thought I would venture to look in on you first."

" I am delighted to see you, and very pleased that you
are going to look for that poor man. Do try and induce
him to come abroad and to keep with us. The way he
wanders about is quite alarming. Dorothy has not made
her appearance yet. She is generally late, poor thing ! She
is always so mournful. It is really rather trying. I think
she would feel more comfortable if we could find the
wretched murderer and hang him !"

" Hush !" said Standish, quick and low. "Here she is."
Henrietta's heedless words sent a cold thrill of pain through
him.

V-. .

BLIND FATE.

233

"WTiftn Dorothy found herself faro to face with Standish,
her large, serious eyes lit up, and a welcoming smile glad-
dened her sad mouth. " How earlj- you aro, Paul ! Has
anything happened ?" the smile dying away. " You look
as if yoa had not slept all night— so ill and worn !" gazing
anxiously in his face.

" I am all rig!it, Dorothy ; only, as i have been explain-
ing to Miss Oakley, I intend to run down to Fordsea, if I
can manage it, this afternoon, and I wanted to see you
first."

" You are going to find Herbert ? Oh, thank you, dear
Paul."

" Sit down and have some breakfast, both of you. Col-
lins, lift the covers, cried Miss Oakley.

" It is curious, your coming this moruing," said Dorothy,
unfolding her table napkin. " I think some fairy must
have whispered that I had a letter for you."

" For me ? Who from ?" asked Standisb surprised.

" Oh, I did not read it, but it was enclosed in one from
Miss Boothby, who said she did not know your address."

" From Miss Boothby ?" exclaimed Standish. " This is
most astonishing." He opened it, and had a little difficulty
in keeping his face quite steady and unchanged when he
read —

" Dear sir, — I am directed by Mrs. Callander to beg you
will not hesitate to draw upon her, even to a large amount,
should j'ou require funds for the use of Colonel Callander,
in connection with the late distressing event.

" I am, sir, yours, faithfully,

" C. Boothby."

" The unhaj^py old woman knows the truth," was Paul's
mental comment.

" What does she say ? Don't be mysterious, Mr. Stan-
dish," cried Henrietta Oakley.

Dorothy did not speak, but she fixed such questioning,
tender, sympathising eyes on her guardian that he longed
to open his heart to her.

" There is very little in it. There, read it, Dorothy."
She took it from his hand, and read it aloud.

" Well, really my aunt is more of a trump than I be-
lieved," said Henrietta, exidi iugly.

" There is something rather strange about this letter,"
said Dorothy, thoughtfully.

234

BLIND FATE.

" Let us believe, witli Miss Oakley, that her aunt is a
trump," he ireturued, and applied himself to his breakfast.

CHAPTER VIL

COLONEL CALLANDER'S LBTTBE.

Witli all his diligence Standi sh found, when he reached
bis rooms that afternoon, he had so little time left that ii
would be almost an impossibility to catch the 5.80 train to
Eastjort. He wis, however, ready to make the attempt,
wiien, among the notes and letters which had come since
he started that morning, was an unusually thick envelope,
directed in Callander's handwriting.

Thlo ?^ ail -red his plans. It would be foolish to start be-
fore reading what Callander had to say, and doing so would
compel him to lose the train.

He opened the letter, glanced at It, and ringing for the
rian who waited on him, hastily directed that no visitor
should be admitted. Then, drawing his chair near the
wiialov.', he began, with interest which deepened at every
word, to read the long epistle addressed to him.

" I have been going to write to you, Stand ish, ever since
Dorothy proved to me how greatly 1 have wrongei you in
my mind. 1 hs.ve begun once or twice, but, somei-ow, my
brain would nor. keep clear or steady. There is such a
cloud troubUny and confusing me; bat last ni^^ht, as i li'.y
awako, battling with my thoughts as usual, some thing
seemed to b^eak away in heart or head, and light came to
ma

^' I don't think I am mad but I am not what I used to be,
and there fs a strange spirit — not my own — urging me at
times, with a force 1 cannot resist, to do many things.
Ever since Dorothy showed me the truth I havo wanted to
tell you every thing, for you loved her, not as I thought,
but as a true elder brother, ana you will understand me —
perhaps you will help me.

'♦When she left; me in India it was a rueful day. Then
I was ill ; after, I recovered. Her letters were not the ajame ;
they were cold, constrained. How mad I grew, v,rith an
agonized longing to see her again, to hold her in my arms !
My motiier wrote often. Slie did not like you; I do not
iaiow why, but she did not. Siie was always repeating

.c -

BLIND FATE.

^.3h

j
t

how my darling and Dorothy preferred being with you to
any one else, even to Egerton, who was so superior, It -"/ as
a long time before she roused the devil w'thin ydj, but she
did at last. Then I lame home. The voyage was a long
warfare between the . eaven of anticipated r^mnion and the
hell of doubt. I rsed to be so secure of her, of myself, of
everything. Now, sleeping or waking, I was always strug-
ling on the verge of precipices over which it was destruc-
tion to fall.

" Wiien she met me in London, s^e was so sweet and
kind that I thought all was well, that she was the same be-
loved Mabel I had left, that I was all to her I had been.
Whether my joy at meeting was too fierce, too intense, I
cannot tell; but in a few — a very few — days, I thought I
felt a change; a faint, gentle chill, like the tirst breath of
the night-wind ; but I put the idea from me. 1 fought
with it for dayt> and wee^is ; sometimes I had gleams of
happiness and security too delicious for earth. Then my
mother would suggest hellish doubts ; I do not suppose she
thought I would brood over them as 1 did, but— God for-
give her ! All this time I saw that Egerton was seeking
Dorothy to be his wife. So far as anything could interest
or please me, T was pleased. At last I proposed to Mabel,
who seemed to me unwell and ill at ease, that we should
take a journey together soma where, away from Dorothy,
from the children, from every one. I made lier acceptance
or rejection of thi!/ scheme the test of her feeling for me. I
quivered with terror as I suggested it. Well, she accepted.
During that drive to Rookstone, which was the last gleam
of heaven on my path, and for a while I had a little peace
— not for long — she grew pale, and cold, and nervous. 1
wei*t to London ; there she wrote to me in a curious, con-
strained tone. She said she was not strong enough to bear
such a journey as I proposed ! That decided me to kill her
and you. I thought it, mind, not with fury, but with u
calm, judicial sense of executing a judgment. The only
mode oy which I could keep myself in hand was by pre-
serving silence. Wife, children, friends, fair fortune, every
good had become cruellest evil torturing me with poisoned
darts. I used to sit silent and deadly in your midi*«- hold-
ing back the madman's rage to kill as best 1 might.

"• At last, one evening, just before you left ua, L came into
thf^ drawing-^-oom, n,nd found Dorothy putting dowers in a
basket The tea table was set. I asiked her where Mabel

236

BLIND FATE.

was. She said, 'out driving with your mother.* 'Ami
where is Standish ? ' • He will be here soon, Mabel expects
him.' I fetood with my arm on the mantelpiece, gazing
into the glass, yet seeing nothing, and thinking — thinking.
Suddenly I 3aw the reflection of Mabel, coming through the
ouen window She mast have come from the dining room
into the verandah, and so in by the window nearest me.
She did not seem to see there was anyone in the room, but
went to the round table, which was always covered with
books — you know the oval mirror that leaned forward over
it? Well, in that I saw her slip a folded paper into a book
— the lowermost of a small pile — a green one with gold
edges lay on the top. I kept my eyes on it, but as her back
was to me, I sat down noiselessly in a chair. Presently
she turned and perceived me. Then she uttered a little cry,
came across the room to me and kissed me more tenderly
than she had done for many a day. Tiien I knew I could
kill her ! I pressed my finger and thumb round her soft,
white throat— she little knew how near death was to her for a
moment ! She said, ' you hurt me, dear,' smiling in my
face. I let her go, though I thought my heart would burst.
Soon you came in, and Egerton, and Henrietta ; while you
spoke together I went to the table and took away the book.
She was at the tea table and never noticed. I hid the book,
and afterwards found in it a folded sheet of paper, on
which, in her writing, were these words : " I cannot resist
your influence ; it was always too strong ! For God's sake
do not urge me to leave all for you — you ought to have
mere;/ on such weakness ! I fear him more every day —
for he suspects, I know he does — and that idea overwhelms
me. Go ! keep far away ! Whatever happens my heart
will break ! I do beseech you to go ! ' There was neither
address nor signature ; but the expression ' your influence,
it was always too strong,' pointed to you — it seemed con-
firmation strong as Holy Writ. I have destroyed the paper
lest blame should ever touch her."

Here the unfortunate man had evidently stopped, and re-
sumed after a pause of some hours, perhaps days.

" It is a long, weary tale ; it seems to me that I am
writing of another, and I pity him profoundly, as I should
never pity myself. My hatred of you grew deep and
cunning ; there was no base, cowardly act I would not have
done, could I have tortured you without bringing disgrac*'
on wiy O'vu name. Bat all through my curious, agonising

BLIND FATE

237

mental struggles, I remembered that my name b«longed to
my children ! You w eat away the day after, or the day
but one.

"That seemed in obediance to her request. My mother
said it was an immense relief to her mind that you were
safe out of the way. 1 sileuced her fiercely ; but even above
my burning desire for revenge on you, was my resolution
to save my darling from her cruel comments, her bitter
judgment. Brooding over this, haunted by a hideous vision
of being compelled for my honor's sake to put awa , my
wife, to drag her through the mire aud filth of legal pro-
ceedings, of the oppropium of society, of moral annihila-
tion ; something whispered to me, ' Have the courage to
save her from all this — let the icy band of Death send htr
unsullied to a better world, where the All-seeing alone can
judge her.' The idea would not, did not leave me. It had
an extraordinary fascination for me ; even now, though I
know my suspicions were wrong, I believe I did my best
for her under the circumstances.

" It was not murder, no — it was the act of the tenderest
love. I wanted no revenge on her — I only wanted to save
her from sharaij and the bitterest grief. As a Christian, I
believe in the happiness of the hereafter, and her sin was
but slight now, only a womanish weakness which laid her
at the mercy oi a stronger will— a will backed by the force
of her habitual obedience to it. If I hesitated, she might
— almost surely would — break the social laws we are bound
to uphold, and become an outcast. Had she not in her
veins the blood of a mother who had outraged them? So
t resolved to send my beautiful Mabol to Heaven, even
while I affronted Hell for her sake. My logic is sound,
Standish, is it not ? She would have gone hence blameless !
From me an inexorable judge would have demanded the
price of blood, and for her sake I am content to pay it !"

Here came dome discontented, passionate sentences about
the freedom of choice, the happiness of Heaven, the in-
justice of Fate, the boundless love of God, the possibility
of the Persian belief in the final purification of the guilt-
iest by fire proving to be true, and Callander resumed his
aarrative more calmly

''This idea fascinated me. I b>>d, trom the fear of doing
my dearest one harm insome ungovernable fit of despair, re-
fuained in my own room on the plea of indifferent health,
iind there I i>hought out my plan. One night, just after

238

BLIND FATE.

you had gone, I had put on my smoking jacket, and sat
down to think, but I could not smoke, my mind was a sort
of fiery mist, all the past unrolled itself, the happy hours,
the sweetness and purity of my darling, should I allow
shame to touch her ? A voice said to me, *The hour has
come ; let it not pass.' I rose up, and took a long, keen
knife, which Egerton had given me as a curiosity. It was
fine and sharp. I went softly but boldly to her room. I
did not fear to meet any one, I was not overstepping my
right. Her door opened without noise, she was not asleep,
she said drowsily, ' Is it you, Herbert ? '

"Yes, I said, I cannoc sleep. I think the sleeping medi-
cine is here."

•'It is perhaps on the mantel-piece. I went to look, and
stood there long, listening, till her calm, regular breathing
told me she slept, then I took the candle and stole behind
her. Her head had fallen forward, her pretty hair was
gathered into a thick knot, and I saw the place where old
Bowden, our surgeon, once told us (myself and one or two
of 'ours') where a thrust might cause instantaneous
death. With a siJent prayer that I might not fail, or
cause her a moment's pain. I struck deep and true with a
steady hand. There was a slight sigh, the fair head fell a
little further forward, and she was free — quite free ; now
she knows my motives she forgives me ! I turned to gc
round, and looked into her angel face, when I trod on the
sheath, which had fallen on the carpet, and knocked against
the bed. This shocked me more than I can tell you, for
there './as something terribly, sublimely sacred in that
silent, motionless figure. To stir it rudely seemed sacri-
lege. I know not why, bat I could not stay after that. I
wiped tht knife with my handkerchief. There was very
little blood upon it. I wiped what I could from the roots
of her beautiful golden liair. Then I left her lying there.
I was not quite so steady w hen I closed the door behind me
as when I opened it ; for when I reached my room I found
I had dropped the handkerchief. I went back and found it
against the door.

"I felt a sort of relief as I sat down and thought of what
I had done. She was safe. I had taken her sweet life, but
I had kept her from evil tongues, from a terrible fate, and
embalmed her in the loving memory of those who could
never reproach her. But now came the reflection that
were I suspected the truth would ooze out, and the judg-

BLIND FATE.

id
Id

ment vptm her would be more iinmereifn! than e^^. I
had acted on impulsa Now it was my bounden duty to
conceal my crime(as it would have been called), for her
sake first, for my children's, for the completion of my
revenge on you. There was no time to lose. I lit the fire
which was always laid ready in my room, and thrust in
the handkercuief that it might leave no trace. I hung up
the knife in its accustomed place, I went softly to the side
door. I often wandered out of a night unknown to any-
body, and the hinges ware well oiled, then I took the
L\dder from the shed, and pl«3ed it as it was found. I
crossed it, and lifted the bar which secured the shutters
inside, letting it fall with what seemed to me a terrible
noise, and entered the room again. By the dim night-
light I kissed my darling, and put back the dressing-
table which I had slightly moved. Then I gathered up
the watch, the locket, rings, bracelets that lay on the table,
and stole away once more to my own room. I rolled up
the jewels in three parcels, and locked them away. Then
I put on my dressing-gown, and sat down as if to write —
so I waited, waited for the discovery. I think I must
have become insensible or slept. I felt awfully exhausted
At last Collins came with my tea. I drank it, and still
sat wondering what would happen next. Then Mrs. Mc-
Hugh burst in — you know the rest. I seemed but half
alive after, and it was amazing how things lent themselves
to my rude plan of concealment.

" Now, I have nearly told you everything, Standish. My
brain is growing dull and dreamy. I have always won-
dered why Egerton shrank from me. Dorothy has explained
why. She has restored my faith in you. When I knew
the truth, it made me pitiless. The irreparable evil wrought
by my mother infuriated me. I rushed to her, and told her
that, thanks to her cruel tongue, her son was what she
would call a murderer. I wonder it did not kill her. My
sufferings have been great, though I have had long spells
of torpidity. Since I came down to Fordsea 1 have been
conscious of an awful, irresistible weariness of life. Like
the unhappy Moor, whose story is so like my own, ' My
occupation's o'er * — no, not yet ! 1 must settle my account
with Egerton. I cannot rest till that is finished ; does h<
know this, that he keeps out of the way ? Well, 1 ck
find him. If he lives as I do, I would not seek to cut short
his career. I went a few days ago to her grave ; I go often^

240

BLIND FATE.

bnt this time I accomplished what I long desired. I dug
up the jewels I hai buried on the hillside, to get that
bangle she always wore ; I have longed for it. I seem to
see her white arm and the glittering gold ring upon its
snow. Do not touch the rest, Standish, let them lie where
I laid them. Take care of my poor children, you and Do-
rothy must take care of them. I am so desperately tired.
When shall I find rest ? Your friend, as of old,

** Herbert Callander."

Standish was very white, and his teeth were set when
he laid down the last sheet of this long, sad, startling? letter.

It was too true, then, Dillon's clever disentangling of
the puzzle ! What a terrible tragedy this destruction of
two lives ! His generous heart ached for the ruin, the in-
justice wrought by a spiteful tongue, by the selfish reckless •
ness of a man too absorbed in a guilty passion to hesitate
at the sacrifice of friendship, honor, loyalty, or even the
happiness of the woman he professed to love.

> It was brutal, insensate, but Standish had no time to
think of Egerton now. Callander's case was a serious one.
He must not be suspected ; the terrible truth must not
leak out. For the unfortunate criminal himself, Standish
felt the most profound pity. He could not look on him as
responsible. Disease was gaining fast upon him, but a
jury would probably take a very different view of his con-
dition. Come what might, he must be shielded from the
consequences of his desperate deed. It must be kept pro-
foundly secret, Dillon must be silenced. No breath of the
dreadful truth must reach Dorothy's ears ; it was enough
to kill her with horror. He (Standish) must get him out
of the country. But how ? Could he send the unhappy,
half, if not wholly insane man to wander alone, and put
the climax to the dreadful story by murdering Egerton, or
himself, or both, and so display the disgraceful facts to
the world, covering the memory of poor, timid Mabel with
obloquy ?

Nor, if Callander went, as Henrietta Oakley proposed,
with her and Dorothy to make a temporary home abroad,
would he ever know a moment's peace! The fatal brai'i
disease from which he believed Callander was suffer! i:
was certain to increase, and God only knew what delusi
might urge him to attack Dorothy. Standish shudder^ 1
and started to his feet as the idea flashed across him. F^i

BLIND FATE.

241

Some moments he was stunned and ince >able of forming
any plan. But, by an effort, a strong exerton of self-con-
trol, he pulled himself together. He would go to Eastport
that night. There was one more train. Hs could, at
least, go and speak with Callander, and see how far he
was capable of reason. He liad been such a fine, high-
minded, unselfish, chivalrous fellow ; sarely some sparks o..
the old light must linger in his poor, distraught brain. He
might feel the necessity of a friend's sheltering guidance.
How could he, even in the profoundest aijerration, lay a
destroying hand upon his sweet, gentle wife ? Had he been
himself, and fit to guide her, a few, wise, loving words
would have put all right between them, and freed her from
the unholy mesh in which Egerton had entangled her. But,
looking at the past by the light of the pr<;sent, Standish
felt convinced of what he formerly dimly guessed at ; that
for some reason Mabel had of late grown to fear her hus-
band.

" I waste time pondering here when I ought to act," he
exclaimed, and, taking Callander's long confession, li^* (mi-
closed it in a f resh, strong envelope, sealed 't, and, writing
on it his own name, he added, "to be destroyed in caye ot
my death."

Then, with a heavy heart, he put a change of raiment
into his bag, and, having snatched a hasty meal, drove to
Waterloo station. He was rather too soon for the eight-
thirty train to Eastport, so h« sat in the corner of the wait-
ing-room, his legs stretched out, hiy hands deep in his
pockets, and his travelling cap over his oyes.

There were few people about, and Standish, wrapped in
his own troubled tlioughts, was not conscious of their pre-
sence. He was, therefore, startled when a tall, well-dressed
man suddenly accosted him.

"Halloa, Standish! Where are you bound for?"
»*Ah, St. John! 1 — I didn't know you wire in town."
'* I have been up for ten days," returned St. John, *'and
1 am going down to Aldershot to see my sister, Lady Dash-
wood. Her husband is quartered down there. I'm due at
headquarters the day after to-moi row. 1 was dining with
your hiuidsome cousin, Miss Oakley, and missed ray train.
Little Miss Wynu, Mis. Blackett, her son, and old Colonel
Conway, made up the party. They said you had gone
down to Fordsea to look after poor Callander."

242

BLIND FATE.

"Missed my train, too," returned Slandish, abruptly.

" Both in the same predicameur, eh? Your ward, Miss
Wynn, is looking as if she had cried her eyes out. 'Pon my
soul ! its too bad to see such a pretty creature fretting her-
self to fiddle-strings."

" Can't wonder at it?" growled Standish. "When you
think of the awful blow she has had. I am glad she ap-
peared ; she is inclined to shut herself up."

" That's foolish—ain't it? "

"It's one of those thjnp:s that can't be reasoned about."

"Have yoasejn Egerton?" pursued St. JoLn.

"Egeiton ? Ho; he is not in England."

" Oh, yes, he is. I saw him m a hansom just now, com-
iii;' across the bridge."

■ .... •£ you sure? "

' ' As sure as I am tl. ^t I a&i you ! *"'

* I did net know he was coming back so soon i " ex-
claimed Standish, and fell into deep thoug,jit. it would be
hr . d to meet Egerton and refrain from shooting him ; he
A\ as such an utter scoundrel. Yet he must keep him from
encountering Callander. If this happened, some frightful
sc3ne would ensue which would expose the whole truth to
puoiic gaze. His une" pected returrk would complicate mat-
ters consideraoiy.

" Soj I suppose they will marry now, and then he'll dry
her tears tor her," Sl. John was saying when Standish
again listened,"

" Who — what ? " he asked, rather impatiently.

'* Why your ward's. I suppose when the mourning: is
over he'll marry her — Egerton will, eh ? They are en-
gaged?**

' ' No, they are not. They never were. She never wanted
him."

"Do you mean to say she would refuse such an offer?
Why, there must be seme other fellow in th? field. Your-
self, eh ? Always heard you were a fascinating sort of
chap. But the little girl has no tin, 1 fancy.

" Good night ! " exclaimed Standish, starting up, " I must
get my ticket," and he rushed olf abruptly.

"What a blatant idiot that St. John is," thought Stan-
dish, as he settled himself in a corner of his compartment ;
•' and it's uncommonly lucky that Dorothy had the dis-
crimination to see through Egerton's epurious love-making!
Nine girls out of every ten would b.Ave been carried away

Bl.liND FATE.

fcyit! What preservftd my lit:ie Dorothy? Profouua
penetration ? No, that's too big a thing. True instinct ?
— more likely. Love for another V— most likely of all ; but
who ? She is an uncommon little puss — and — I'm not sure
I should quite enjoy seeing her fondly in love and going to
be married ! Yet it would be best for iier. This dreadful
business will affect her future - affect it rather disastrous-
ly if any trial and 'esclandre takes place. If Henrietta
marries, what is to become of Dorothy V— even if she does
not — they have only drifted together temporarily ! What
a womanly little creature Dorothy always has been! Why,
I don't think she has given me a kiss since she was twelve
years old ! Well, she must be taken care of whatever hap-
pens!" Then, half ashamed of dwelling so long on Do-
rothy's possible love affairs when such grave and tra';ic
matters lay before him, Standish turned his thoughts to
the problem of Callander's future.

Though feeling that the unfortunate man was scarcely
responsible, he was conscious of a distinct repugnance to
the idea of meeting and probably touching hands with the
murderer of his gentle lovable war i.

" The mind must have been liopoiessly impaired," mused
Standish, "before a man like Callander, a chivalrous gen-
tleman, would deliberately strike a woman in her sleep, and
that woman his own beautiful wife! What may he not
attempt in the future? But without displaying the very
seamy side of the story, how can i appeal for legal author-
ity to put him under restraint? It's all infernally puzz-
ling. Much will depend on the condition in which I find
him. I almost hope he may never quite regain his original
mental condition, or remorse for tlie fatal crime hehas com-
raitted will bo more than I can bear. As to letting Dorothy
live With him -that is not to be thought of."

*******

It was past eleven wlien Standish reached the well-known
Pier Hotel at Fordsea.

Colonel Callander, the waiter said, had jj:one to his room
some time before. So Standish would not iiear of disturb-
ing; him.

" I can see him to-morrow morning," he said. ** At what
time does Colonel Callander breakfast?"

" Nine sharp, sir. He goes out to boat or bathe very
early, and com^s in about eight-thirty- -to-night he ordered

244

BLIND FATK

fish and kidneys for breakfast, as he seemed to expect you
might come, sir."

"Oh, very well! Give me some brandy and soda and I
will go to bed too."

This apparent hope of seeing himself seemed a good sign
to Standish. If Callander was only capable of taking a
rational view of his own position it would simplify mat-
ters; but Standish dreaded the final stages of that most
terrible disease — softening of the brain — which reduces
the most gifted to the level of the "beasts that perish."

It was sometime before Standish could sleep -^ when he
did he slept heavily.

The emotions of the day had fatigued as much as physi-
cal exertion would have done.

When he woke the sun was high in the heavens and
sparkling brightly on the rippling waters of the bay. All
things seemed smiling with the infantile joyousness which
the sea in its gently playful moods often expresses.

It struck Standish with indescribable sadness. Heshrank
from the approaching interview with profound repugnance,
and a depressing sense of not being equal to the task he had
undertaken.

When dressed and ready — it was nearly half-past eir;ht
— and taking his hat he sallied forth, thinking it might be
less oppressive to meet Callander first in the open air.

As he strolled slowly towards the hut where Old Jack,
the boatman, sheltered himself among his boats drawn up
beside it — every siep recalled the happy hours he had spent
on the beach with Mabel and Dorothy the previous aut-
umn ; chiefly with Dorothy, for, as he reviewed that happy
holiday time, he remembered how often the partie carree
broke into a tete-a-tete division — that Egerton rarely left
Mabol till Callander arrived, while Dorothy and himself
found so much to occupy and interest them that they rarely
missed the others.

And what an ending to such fair, tranquil, seemingly in-
nocent days ! To what a tragic conclusion they were
blindly drifting !

Standish found Old J ack seated in the stern of one of his
boats, smoking a very black pipe, and looking out so earn-
estly towards the east, headland that he did not hear the
approaching step.

" Good mor^iing, Jack."

BLIND FATE

246

"Ehy Air. istandish! Mornin', sir— haven't seen you
down hare this many a day, sir."

"No, I've been too busy to take a holiday."

" Not much of a holiday for you to come down here, air/*
said the rugged old salt with feeling-

"That's true." There was a pause— then Standish asked,
" Has the Colonel ijoue oul to bathe to-day V"

" Yes, sir. He goes a fishing or bathing every morning
when he is down. Sometimes I go with him; but bless
your 'art, sir, he never catclies nothing! Forgets he's hold-
ing the lines most of the time! He ought to be coming in
about now," putting a battered glass to bis eye. " I see no
sign of him yet. When he gets the oars in his hands he
rows sharp enough. You sit down a bit, sir— he'll not be
long— he went away tow'st the Head, where the ladies
used to like to row, in the mornings — last autumn! Ah !
well I — the ways of Providence are past our knowledge ! "

With a sigh, and a wise shake of the head. Old Jack re-
sumed his pipe.

CHAPTER Vn.

** THB SEA aiVBS UP ITS DEAD."

Standish accepted the old man's invitation, and, light-
ing a cigar, took bis seat beside him. A long spell of si-
lence ensued.

There is no more taciturn creature in the world than
your regular old salt. With his weather eye (whatever
that may be) perpetually on the look out for squalls, or the
shifting of the wind, and his mind on the alert to meet the
treacherous forces of the sea and storm, with all that hu-
man foresight and resolution can do to circumvent and
conquer them, he does not care to weaken his mental
powers with idle words, but out of the stores of accumu-
lated wisdom he lets fall pearls and diamonds of tersely
expressed opinion, the essence of his crystalised ex-
perience.

So Standish and his weather-beaten host (for, had he not
offered him the hospitality of his stranded boat?) sat si-
lently side by side, their eyes directed watchfully toward
the " Head," as the promontory east of the bay was fa-
luiliarly called, the thoughts of both centred on the same
object

246

BUND FATE.

Ill

Time went very slowly, and Standisli was quite sur-
prised when half-past nine chimed from the clock of the
old town church. *' I thought it must be ten at least," ex-
laimed Standish, impatiently.

** It's past his usual time," said Jack, putting up his
battered glass again. ^' He went only for a dip," he said.
" If it's your will, sir, I'll just pull out to look for him if
we see no sign of him in ten minutes."

*' Do," said Standish, eagerly, " and I'll come with you.
You may have a long pull."

*' The tide will be flowing for quarter of an hour longer,"
said the boatman, '■'■ and with the tide he ought to come
pretty quick, but we'll find it stiff work."

He got over the side of the boat as he spoke and began
very deliberately to put a couple of oars in a lighter one.

" It's the finest morning we have had this month," he
said, slowly. " He may be tempted to swim about a bit.
Still, it might be better to go and louk for him."

^' Much better," said Standish, assisting the old man to
push the light boat over the shingle to the water. As they
took their places, three-quarters chimed out, a sou'-west
wind carrying the sound over the waters.

Standish had been accustomed to row in his Oxford
days, and from time to time since; and now unknov/n to
himself, his unspoken fears found expression in his ener-
getic strokes, till at last his old mate exclaimed, " Gently,
by your leave, sir. If you pull so hard you'll pull me
round. There's no use in hurrying. It's getting a little
fresher, and there's a pretty tidy swell on. We might
miss the chase in the trough of the waves. Keep her head
to the wind and I'll give him a hail."

Standing up, old Jack Goold shouted long and loud the
name of the boat taken out by Colonel Callander that morn-
ing, " Lively P» ggy. ahoy !"

In vain; there was not even an echo to reply.

Then he returned to his oar, saying simply, ' ' Let's make
straight for the Head."

So they rowed on and on, and round and about but no
trace of the Lively Peggy nor her oarsman was to be seen.

Never did Standish lose the profound impression of that
weary row, the sickening fear that grew upon him, the
hopelessness and sinking of heart.

At last Jack Goold said, sullenly and hoarsely, " We'd
better get back, sir. 1 don't see how we can do any good.

RUND FATE.

the
lorn-

Lakfi

no
teen,
that

the

re'd
)od.

We'd best »peak to this tug 1 see coming along on our tack.
If you promise something of a reward, they'll keep a look-
out. There's no knowing where the boat's drifted ?"

" The boat, man !" cried Standish, in much agitation.
" You don't mean to say you do not think Colonel Callan-
der is in her ?"

" I don't mean nothing, Mr. Standish; only it looks bad-
dish seeing no sign of her."

The old man presently hailed the tug, which ran down
to them. Standish clambered on board, but the old boat-
man thought it better to return to his station, in case they
had by any accident, missed the object of their search,
hoping to hnd his boat and its occupant, alike beached and
safe.

It would take much time and space to describe the grow-
ing fears with which Standish paced the tug's dirty deck,
or stood eagerly scanning the face of the waters, as they
steamed slowly to and fro.

At length the skipper remarked that if they stayed there-
abouts till night they would find nothing; adding,not with-
out feeling, that he would not give much for the gentleman's
chance if some craft had not picked iiim up before this.

Standish agreed with him, and the master bringing his
vessel to as near the Head as he could safely go, sent his
passenger ashore in one of the tug's boats.

The spot he landed on was a small rocky projection not
far from a stretch of fine sand which filled a slight inden-
tation of the shore, where Standish had often found
Dorothy, with Nurse and th • children hunting for shells
and seawead. A long walk, however, was before him, and
his mind was too profoundly disturbed to allow of tender
memories. He pressed on at a good pace, thinking hard
what was best to hi done if Callander had disappeared, or
if he had returned alive. Both contingencies had their dil-
flculties.

It was a long, painful progress. Nearing the common
he diverged from his direct road to pass Jack Goold's hut.
The old man was on the look-out, and, perceiving his ap-
proach, came rapidly to meet him.

" What news ?" shoute.? Standish before they were with-
in speaking distance.

Jack shook his head, and as soon as they stood face to
face, said, in a low voice, ' ' Bad — couldn't be worse. A
chap has just come down to tell me that my boat has been

248

BLIND FATE.

picked up by the fishing smack Mary Jane, with tlio
Colonel's clothes, iMS watch and chain and purse. The poor
gentleman is lost, that's plain enough. Likely got cramp
and went down, for he was a strong swimmer."

Standish stood s^ill and silent. Was this the end of the
story — the last act of a pitiful tragedy to 'vhich two inno
cent sufferers had been driven by blind fate ?

' * I suppose it is folly to hope ?" he forced himself to say
at last.

" Ay ! no good at all, sir. I r^on't see a.s there is a spark
of hope, nohow ! He was a grand ggntleman," continued
the old boatman, beginning to fill his pipe with an unsteady
hand. " That kind and thoughtful for them as worked
with him ; but one you wouldn't care to say ' no' to. I don't
think he was quite right, sir, since them Spanish swabs
murdered his poor lady ! By Gad, sir," with sudden fire,
' ' I'd like to string 'em up to the yard-arm with my own
hand.

'* It is an apprUing finale." muttered Standish to him-
self.

" It is so, sir ; but the Lord, he only knows the heart !"

An utterance which showed Standish the drift of the old
man's thoughts.

" Where can I find these fishing people and the boat ?^'

Jack Goold immediately offered to guide him, and, tired
as he was with five or six hours' mental and physical
strain, Standish had no thought but for the task still be-
fore him, and proceeded at once to the weli-remembered old
dock, where the fishing smack lay.

The clothes, etc. had been already handed over to the
police. These Standish had no difficulty in reco2:nising.
He was assured that all attempts to search for the body
would be useless- Some of the currents that existed out-
side the bay might have swept it out to sea, or the tide
might cast it out.

As thare was no more to be done 9,*; present, Standish,
though greatly shaken, was obliged io think of his own
duties, public and private. His temporary leave was near-
ly expired, and his chief had siiown him so much consider-
ation, taat he was anxious not to out-stay it. Then none
save himself must break the sad news to Dorothy. How
would she bear this last blow V

He, th^reforo, telegraphed to Colonel Callander's solicitor
to come down himself, or send some capable employ ?>e to be

1
1
c

BLIND FATE.

249

DOr

•a the spot, should act-ion of any kind prove necessary,
adding that he would wait his arrival.

A reply wire soon reached him to the effect that Mr.
Brierly himself v/ould come down by the three-ten train.

Standish was thus enabled to confer with the greatly
distrassed lawver (who was a personal friend of Callander's)
before he started for town,

It was nearly nine o'clock when he reached his rooms,
and he debated with himself whether he should attempt
to see Dorothy that night or not. " No," was his conclu-
sion; •' she shall have this night at least, undisturbed."
Indeed after the tremendous strain of tnat tryin- day, he
felt quite unable to meet her.

" Mr. Egerton is below, sir," his servant announced.
" Shall I show him up V"

•' Yes; show him up," sard Standish, sudden vigor and
fire replacing his exhaustion at the sound of his name.

He remained standing, and the next moment Egerton
en .ered.

»' Very glad to find you at last," he cried, in his usual
genial, pleasant voice, as he advanced, with outstretcht d
hand ; " I am longing to know "

He stopped, silenced and astonished by the aspect of
Standish, his stern face, and the sight of his hand closed
and resting on the table, quite irresponsive to Egerton's
friendly gesture.

" What is the matter, Standish ?"

" I will explain. You must hear me without interrup-
tion, for what I am going to say is sufficient strain on my
self-control. 1 have heard the whole truth which under-
lay the tragedy in which we have both played a part. I
know the brutal villainy of your conduct towards your
friend's wife. 1 know that the suspicion which should
have fallen on you were directed to me, and I have it from
Callander himself that he, too, had learned the truth, that
he was aware of the debt he owed you. and was resolved
to pay it in full; therefore you are untit to touch the hand
of a gentleman, to sit in the room with a decent woman !
You took the heart, the will, of a weak, innocent child by
false stratagem into your iron, pitiless bauds, and for the
gratification of a base passion, destroyed her soul's life, as
certainly as her r-iui derer struck her dead !"

'* Whiie he spoke Egerton's large, dark eyes grew larger,

250

BLIND FATE.

Wf\

fiercer, and fixed themselves unflinchingly on those of Stan-
iish.

" Yes !" he returned in a harsh voice. " This is how, I
fuppose, a moral, blameless man like yourself looks upon
me, and this is how I look upon myself : — I found one of
the sweetest, fairest creatures my eyes ever rested on,
whose indefinable charm fascinated my heart, and thrilled
my senses as no other woman amon 4 the numbers I have
known ever did before. 1 found her tied to a cold, half-
indifEerent man, whose age, whose dull nature checked and
repressed hers. She feared him, she wanted the companion-
ship of a younger, a more sympathetic man? She was
formed for me, and all that was needed to secure such hap-
piness as men and women rarely taste was that she should
take courage and burst her bonds. It would have been but
a nine day's wonder, soon forgotten, and I could have given
her everything. But she dared not ! God never created an
angel purer or more self-denying than Mabel ! Whether
right or wrong, I have but one regret, that I did not suc-
ceed in carrying her away from the oppression of her home
to the heaven my love could have created — from the cruel
madman who destroyed her sweet life, to the shelter of my
arms. My love for her gave me superior rights ! I shall
never repent or regret my share in the past !"

" You too, are insane," exclaimed Standish, amazed at
his self-deception, and struck by his allusion to Callander.
" You must have lost your balance or been born without
moral sense !"

"Moral sense? What is moral sense? the cumbrous
lacquer with which the needs of society compel us to over'
lay our nature ! There are circumstances which excuse
our casting off this outer husk. But 1 understand what
preachers such as you will think. To the moral sense of
year ward Dorothy, her sister owes her death. Had she
11 Jt interfered Mabel would now be living, recovered from
♦ lie shock of following the dictates of her own heart, and
glowing with the joy she gave and received.

" And Callander?" asked Standish, sternly.

" Dead, or in a lunatic asylum — what is that to me ?"

" Your recklessues is revolting."

" Is it? Remember, I have conquered myself for her
sake ! Feeling convinced from some strange innate con-
viction Lha Callander murdered his wife I forced myself
to endure his company rather than give cruel tongues any

BLIND FATE.

261

)d at
ider.
tout

Irous

(ver-

louse

hat

ie of

she

rom

and

her
jon-

jself
jauy

«hance of touching the truth. 1 bore the bitter reproaches
ot her sister. I will bear in silence — no broath from me
jh»l\ ever tarnish the pure name of my beloved dead ! Do
you think that all the suffering has been on the husband's
and sister's side. You little know the absolute physical
agony I have endured ! For her sake I listen to your abuse
without seeking the satisfaction I should otherwise gladly
demand ! But no! 1 do not care enough for your opinion
— for yourself or for anything else in life — to enjoy shoot-
ing you ! You are of your kind—honorable, phlegmatic,
high-principled — not with living fire in your veins as I
have! We cannot help our natures 1 But you and I have
the honor of Callander's name, the safety of his life in our
hands, and though we shall keep far apart in future, we
must guard it well."

" His honor, yes ; for the rest— no earthly judge can
toueh him now."

'♦ My God !" cried Egertoa, with a sudden revulsion of
feeling. " Is he dead ?"

" I have reason to believe so," and Standish told the oc-
currences of the day as rapidly as he could.

"Then that chapter iz finished!" exclaimed Egerton.
" We can never meet again as friends ; but for tiie sake of
the dead we must not seem enemies. Dorothy may rest
satisfied wkh her work," he added, with a sneer.

" She has reason to be satisfied," returned Standish,
gravely. " Better mourn over her sister's early grave, than
blush for a faithless wife, a dishouored motner."

Egerton stood a moment in silence. Than he said, more
to himself than to St aidish, " I shall leave England to-
morrow." With one steady, defiant look into the face of
his accuser he left the room and the house. This last in-
terview completed the exhaustion of the day. Standish
forced himself to take some lood, and then stupified witu
fatigue slept heavily till mornintr. Ho felt that there was
yet a severe trial before him in breaking the news to Do-
rothy. He profoundly feared the results of such repeated
shocks on her sensitive, sympathetic nature. He must guard
her from the knowledge that Callander's hand had robbed
her of her sister.

♦ •♦♦♦♦♦

When Standish reached Prince's place next morning ho
found Dorothy alone at the breakfast table; she was look-

252

BLIND FATE.

ing a little brighter than usual, and rose to receive him.
with a welcoming smile.

" I am so glad you have <Jome, dear Paul ! I am dying
to hear how you and Herbei't met. If he is friends with
you and trusts to you, he may recover something' of his
old irame of mind."

*' Yes, Dorothy, I will tell you everything," returned
Standish, holding her hand half unconsciously in both his
own. " But come into the study, we shall be undisturbed :
Have you finished your breakfast?"

" Oh ! yes, quite— Heuiietta has a headache, so she did
not come down ; but she wants to see you before you go/'

While Dorothy spoko she led the way into the study ; a
small fire was burning, and the window was open upon a.
neat little garden, where the sunshine of an early spring;
morning seemed to promise a future crop of grass and
flowers.

" It is cold still," said Dorothy, closing the window and
turning to Standish, who stood still and silent ; something;
in his face, in his compassionate eyes, struck her heart.

" Paul-— dear Paul— how dreaaf ully ill you look ! some-
thing has happened ! something to Herbert ! Tell me at
once."

" Yes ! my dearest Dorothy ! We greatly fear-~that an

accident — bathing — sudden cramp, perhaps " Standish

could hardly form his words.

" Oh Paul ! say it at once. Is he dead ?"

" Sit down, my child," drawing her to the sofa, and
holding her hands in his. " We cannot say certainly that
he is ! but I fear that we shall never see him again— I will
tell you all "

Dorothy listened with wide open dry eyes.

" Might he not have been taken up by some other ship,
Paul ?" she exclaimed in a tremulous voice. " Oh ! I want-
e<\ him to have a few peaceful days with you and me and
the poor children, he has been so miserable ! and you two
never met again ! It is all too cruel !" She trembled vio-
lently but could not weep. '' And Mr. Fortescue— you know
him-'-he came with us that day so long ago, in the yacht
to B 'okstone. Well, he was at luncheon yesterday, and
said he had seen Herbert at Fordsea, and thought him
looking better than he expected ; he spoke so nicely, so
synipathetici»!.ily, that X felt che^^red. And now all is over

BUND FAR

2^4

— the children are ^uite orphans ? Oii ! 1 feel that ka is
indeed dead ?"

" I rather think he must be! Bat if he tl ied without
much suffering, don't you think it better for him to be at
peace — perhaps united to Mabel —as Christians are per-
mitted to believe such things possible? Have you no tears,
Dorothy ? It frightens me, dear, to see your poor eyes so
dry — to feel how you tremble."

" I tell you what terrifies me, Paul ! Do you — do you
think he did it himself ?" and she clung shuddering to him.

" No, certainly not !" returned Scandish, promptly,
" Why — he ordered breakfast for himbelf and f'^c me (for
he seemed to have expected me), and in his letter he spoke
of objects to live for! No Dorothy — put that thought out
of your he<\d."

" He wrote to you, then?"

" Yes, Y&cy kindly and frankly, just like his old selt"

" Ah ! how good lie was, how kind he was — how gentle,
how true — why, why has one bad man been allowed to de-
stroy our happi'^'^ss? My head feels oii fire ''

" Think of these poor little children, so unconscious of
their desolation," began Stan dish, at his wits' end to draw
tears to the poor strained eyes, when the door burst open
and Henrietta, her eyes reJ with weeping and a handker-
chief in her hand, came in.

" Oh ! Have you told her ? Isn't it too dreadful? Oh,
poor, dear, Dorothy, how I feel for you ! Yet what can your
grief be to mine ? I loved him all my life, quite all my
life," and sitting down, she covered her fac. ; and sobbed
aloud.

" How did you know ?" asked Standish. '' I did not say
anything in my note, to save murdering sleep for one
night ?"

" It was this morning. Collins read it in the papers and
told Celestine, and she rau, of course, to me. I kept out of
the way \i\ my room, for 1 knew 1 should talk to Dorothy,
and I to] (i Lliom to keep ail the [)apers below. Now you
mustteli mu the whole Jioadful ^iory."

Standish complied- - noticing tiie constant fits of trembl-
ing that shook Dorothy's slight frame.

"Now," sail H';nriett;i. rising, '^ I hope you will not
mind being left alone Dorothy, but 1 am going off
iltnost ininuid lately to catch the mid-day Calais boat. 1
mcI 1 ouglii to lutjik !lii:. dreadlul news to my aunt In

254

BLIND FATK

losing hf^r son she loses everything, and nobody seems to
think of her."

"lojitainiy do!" said Standish, grimly. " Had it not
been for her " he stopped.

'^ Ob ! yes, I know, she growled and grumbled and made
herself disagreeable, but then she meant well ! At any
rate, I>orothy, I feel I ought to go to Aunt Callander."

" Yes, Henrietta. I don't mind staying with Nurse, I
am so fond of her, and Paul will come and see me. I think
I will go and lie down, my head and eyes ache dread-
fully."

" Well, do, dear. I shall see you settled before I go."

" Good-bye, Paul. How good and kind you always are
to me f At last the gracious tears came, and Dorothy
hurried from the room.

'^ Thank God she can weep at last !" cried Standish to
Henrietta. ^' For Heaven's sake come back as soon as you
can. I feel certain she is going to be ill ! But I daresay
Mrs. McHugh will take good care of her."

" I declare you don't seem to have a thought for anyone
but Dorothy," said Henrietta, impatiently.

" Not many," he returned tersely.

Henrietta stared at him.

" You will be sure to telegraph to me to Meurice's if you
have any news or in any case. If this day passes over
without his return, we have seen the last of poor Herbert!"
She again burst into tears, and shaking hands v/itii him,
followed Dorothy upstairs.

Standish returned to his chambers on his way to the
Foreign Office, and found a telegram from Brierly: —

" Body cast up by tide on western spit. Shall do all
that is needful. Come as soon as you can."

Despatching this by a messenger to Miss Oakley, Stan^
dish perforce continued on his way, that he might clear off
some work, and make what arrangements he could to at-
tend the funeral of his unfortunate friend.

CHAPTER VIIL

FINIS.

It was all over. The mortal remains of poor Callander

were hud to re&t beside those of the wife ne loved too well.

The only members of his family who followed him to the

t^rave were a couple of distant cousins. Mrs. Callander

BLDID FAT&

was fai a Birange state of nervous depression. Henrietta
in Paris. Dorothy laid up with a severe attack of low
fever. Egerton — no one knew where. Of all the pleasant
party that used to assemble at The Knoll, Standish was
the sole representative.

Those officers who had any acquaintance with Callander,
begged to be allowed to testify their respect by attending
his funeral.

Then Standish felt that be oould do more, and the curtain
fell upon the last act of the sad drama.

He was profoundly anxious about Dorothy, and greatly
feared her strength would not be equal to the strain upon it.

A few days after he had ouce more settled to the ordinary
routine of his life, he paid a visit to the lawyer at his re-
quest, for Colonei Callander, a few days before his unex-
pected deiith, had, by a codicil, revoked his appointment
of Egerton as executor, and named Standish in his place,
requesting that so long as Dorothy was unmarried she
should remain with his children.

Together Mr. Brierly and Standish went carefully through
the will, which was simple and reasonable enough. He had
little more than a competence to leave his children, but
that was judiciously disposed. The will had been made
just before he went to India, and the only changes in it
were since the death of Mabel. Then the wish for Dorothy's
superintendence of the children was put in ; and Egerton's
name substituted for that of Standish. This was again
altered as described, and a further appointment of Standish,
as guardian of the children, added.

" There is no sign of unsoundness of intellect in this,"
said the lawyer, folding up the document as he spoka
" Yet I must confess there was much in our poor friend's
manner and conduct latterly which showed that he had
somewhat lost his mental balanca His poor young wife's
strange and dreadful end supervening on the impaired con-
dition of his health, would account for much. As we are
speaking conlideiuially, and are equally interested in my
client, may i venture to ask you if it has ever occurred to
you that his death was voluntary V"

I " Yes, it has occurred to me ; but, on reflection, I have
rejected the idea. The only letter I had from him for some
time was just before his deatli, and in it ho spoke of ulte-
rior objects, forwliichhewished to live. He seemed to have
fully intended returning to breakfast that morning. No ;

256

BLIND FATE.

1 do not think we
;,uilty of suicide."

" 1 am glad to hear you say

are at all justified ia supposiu^^ him

so," returned the lawyer ;

but i.e had certainly been for some time in a remarkable
state of elespondency."

" Ho was, indeed." There was silence for some moments.

Then iJrierly resumed : — " It has been an extraordinary
affair altogether. I don't suppose we'll ver ^■. t) a mur-
derer V"

" No ; I don't suppose we shall. Thort ,ievev "^as much
chance of it."

"I am very glad Colonel Callander put your namj in as
executor and guardian. Mr. Ej»erton was too much a man
of fashion and of pleasure for the office, thouy;h a very
sincere friend — quite devoted."

"Yes, remarkably so."

After a little further conversation, Staudish left Lim,
and walked towards his own lodgings in somewhat deep
thought.

He was uneasy about Dorothy, who had not left her room
since the day he had broken the news of Callander's dis-
appearance to her. She was very weak, Mrs. McHugh re-
ported, and apparently quite content to lie still, without a
desire for anything.

Certainly the doctor assured him there was no need for
alarm. It was a case of nervous prostration. As soon as
the weather was a little warmer, they must get her away
if fresli scenes, new interests, could be presented, this
would, no doubt, effectually restore tone and vitality.

"I wonder if she has any girlish fancy for that young
Fortescue? He is a nice young fellow, and in the midsb
of her urief about Callander, she thought of the pleasure
his company' had ^iveu her. Bat ho is a mere boy ; by no
means a fit mate for a girl whose mind is as mature as
Dorothy's, and quite incapable of appreciating her. What
an age it is since I have seen her, and nurse says she will
not be downstairs again for three or four days." Then his
thoughts wandered to Dillon. His silence and non-appear-
ance puzzled Standish. He certainly was not likely to
renounce the claim he had made for hush money. He
must know well that Colonel Callander's family would
shield the reputation of the dead as carefully as they
would have guarded the safety of the living. He was up
to some mischief. '*I should like to see him," mused Stan-

fOAKD FATE.

257

hall not seek biiri. JTe will be sure to pre-

ie has been well paid so far, but I should

A liis silence. The awful truth must never

s humilat.ng to think that \/e are at f.he

h & scamp as Dillon. Rut he must be

Standish, reading
shall be at home

disli ; "Imfc I

sent himself,
like to be sure
come out. It
mercy of sc;
silerced."

.'4 vndlsh liere hailed a ha .aom and drove to his own
abode. As sometimes happens, he found his thoughts had
been prophetic The servant of the house, hearing his
latch-key in the lock, came out of the front parlor. "If
you please, sir," presenting a card, "the gentleman said he
would call again.**

**If he does, show him up," returned
the inscription, "Luke C. Dillon." "I
most of the afternoon."

"The decisive moment has come a little sooner than I ex-
pected," said Standish, as he sat down to his writing-table.
"How shall I deal with the fellow V he is really master of
the situatioi.. I don't want to hold any communication
with Mrs. Callander. In spite of all the mischief she has
done, I am rather sorry for her. Her son's confession
must have been a deadly blow- a blow that must have
shattered her pride and ambition, and made the only
affection she was capable of a source of torture."

He began a letter to Henrietta, for he was anxious that
she should return to her temporary home and to Dorothy

His lubrications were cut short by the announcement of
" Mr. Dillon," and the detective entered, fresh, cool, self-
satisfied, and red as ever.

'* Q-ood morning!" said Standish, rising.

" G-ood afternoon!" returned Dillon, and both sat down
opposite each other, with civil faces and watchful eyes.

" Thought I'd look you up," began the detective. "You'll
have been wondering what has become of me V"

"Well, no! You see there is nothing more to do, as
— — " Standish paused.

" Just so I Nothing more to do— and ' pretty tidy job I
made of it, eh, Mr. Standish ?"

" I readily acknowledge your remarkable ability," re-
turned Standish, cautiously.

Dillon laughed a short laugh, as if ho did not value the
compliment.

'' Well, sir, the poor gentleman made away with himself
soouw than I expected."

263

BLIND FATE.

How do yow know that he made away with himself?"

" Why, Mr. Srandish, you and I who kuow the whole
truth, need not beat about the bush when we are face to
face, and no witnesses by, 1 daresay there's doubt euou^ii
as to intention to entitle you to deny it was suicide, but
what you think is another pair of shoes. Between you
and me, it's the best thing the poor fellow could have done!
His life was over — any life worth living — so he was right
to get siiUt of it."

'■^ We need not discuss the question," returned Standish,
haughtily. *' We are not likely to agree on abstract ques-
tions."

" Like enough I" with careless superiority. " Now the
veason 1 have called is to show you that I have a good
deal of what 1 believe you top-sawyers call delicate con-
sideration mixed with a due regard for my own interest.**
He paused.

" Pray continue; I am much interested."

" You'll be more so presently. When last you and I had
a talk, Mr. Standish, we differed about one or two trifles.
One was the amount due to me for information which
would certainly lead to the discovery of the murderer, and
also for an undertaking to hold by tongue as to the same.
Now on reflection I decided not to trouble you. You were
not of the family, you could not be exactly a judge of how
far their feelings would urge them; so 1 just crossed over
to Paris and asked the old lady, Mrs. Callander, to grant
me the honor of an interview."

" You did !" cried Standish. " This is exactly what I
should wished to liave spared her !"

" I daresay, but 1 suspect the old lady would rather do
business with me. Anyway, she saw me pretty quick.
Lord, what a taking she was in — shaking like an aspen !
She is just fifteen years older than when I last saw her.
She's dying by inches, of fright. She soon let out that her
son had confessed his crime, and that she was ready to pay
me any amount if she could. only ensure my silence. But I
am a man of principle, Mr. Standish, always was ; so I
kept down the figure, and told her that two thousand was
heavy enough to sink the business deep down out of sight
for ever. She was quite amenable to reason, not to say in
a hurry to draw me a cheque, and wished to add a trifle
for travelling expenses. However I directed her how the
matter was to be done; not all iu a lump to create suspi-

BLINB PATE.

2^0

ktl

cion. That's neither here nor there — ai^ way, I have bag-
ged the cash. Fortunately I got the matter settled before
the news of the Coloners death reached her." Dillon
paused, but Stand ish did not apeak. Had he op^ied his
lips he felt sure his words would not have been compii-
mentary. After waiting with expectant eyes, Dillon re-
sumed once more.

" I thought it right to tell you this, and as I am just
going to start for Australia on a curious lay to let you
know that all's square. I needn't tell you, as I am a man
of honor, that you may make your minds easy, the family
secret is safe with me."

" Unless," replied Standish, yielding to an irresistible
impulse, *' some one offers you three thousand for it."

Dillon smiled, not an amiable smile '' No, Mr. Standish,
my character for secrecy and reliability is worth more
than that!" He rose and so did Standish. '^ Now, I've
finished with you, and so I'll bid you good-bye ; but I'll
not be so uncivil as to put you to the necessity of refusing
my hand ; though its a curious contradiction that you dis-
dain the man whose work is so necessary to you in your
straits."

" It would be less a problem to you, Mr. Dillon, if you
cared to remember that there are more methods than one of
doing the work ; a grain or two of more disinterestedness
alters the aspect of things wonderfully."

^' Faith, may be so. Good morning, sir, and if ever an

enemy wants yon for any little delinquency, pray Ood he

may not put me on your track ! With a defiant nod Dillon

leftthe room, and by an instinctive action, Standish threw

. open the window as if to breathe purer air.

4c * * * ♦ 4r •

" The day drags on, though storms keep out the sun,"
and spring was now far enough advanced to make Standish
think it was time that Henrietta Oakley took Dorothy to
Switzerland or North Italy. She had been full of the
scheme at first, but for the last week or two seemed dis-
posed to postpone their departure, till Standish determined
to go and settle the date at which they should start for
Brussels, a town Dorothy wished to visit.

It was a fine, bright Saturday in mid-April, when
Standish drove up to the well known house in Prince's
Place.

266

BUND FATE.

" Miss Oakley was not at home," said the mournful Col-
lins, " butMihs VVyun is in the drawinj/ room."

The room looked delitjhtf ully home-like ; the bright sun-
shine tempered by outside blinds, the atmosphere rendolent
of violets. Dorothy was at the piano when Standish came
in, and rose with a quiet smile to shake hands with him.
She looked less delicately pale than formerly ; there was a
pale, shell-like pinky tinge in her cheeks, but her great,
dark-grey eyes were more pathetic than ever.

" I am glad to see you at the piano once more,Dorothy,"
said Standish. *♦ You are a good girl to try and get over
your morbid feelings."

" Yes, I must conquer my dread of hearing music," she
said, with a slight sigh, " though I don't like to think it
is morbid. But if I do not resist, it will take too strong a
hold on me. it will not do to be melancholy with those
poor dear children.

*' No, certainly not. You are looking better mj dear
ward," still holding her hand.

" I am gaining strength," she returned, gently withdraw-
ing it. ' This is the occupation that cheers and soothes
me most. I must have the soul of a seamstress," and open-
ing a work-basket, she drew out a little white embroidered
frock, half made. " This is for Dolly. I am taking lessons
from dear old Nurse, who is a past mistress of needlework."
She displayed it with a smile, then seated herself on a low
basket-chair, and began to ply the needl&

Standish leaned on the end of the sofa, and looked at her
with tender regret for the young days which sorrow had
so deeuly shaded.

" It is time you were away in some sunny new place.
Where is Henrietta ? 1 am determined to put matters en
train to-day, and we can do nothing decided without
her."

" I am afraid you will not see Henrietta to-day, nor to-
morrow either ; she has just gone down to stay with Lady
Kilruddery t Twickenham, till Monday."

''Lady Kilruddery? I did not know she was a friend
of Henrietta's !"

" She is going to be more than a friend," said Dorothy,
with a gleam of her former fun in her eyes.

*■ ' She told me a wonderful tale this morning. She has
Accepted Major St. John.

Is it pussibl

o ?" cr

d Stiinil.

BLIND FATK

d61

»>

to-

idy

3nd

" Yes; that was whai, i said, ati'l you know Henrietta's
frank, out-spoken way. ' I i^ally ihinU it is the best thiii^
J can do,' she said. ' He is nice lookiuj^, and quite fond of
me. Then, his eldest brother, the invalid, you know, died
about six weeks ago, so Major St. John will be Lord Kil-
ruddery ; indeed, he said he would not have had the face to
ask mu but for this. It sounds horrid,' she added, ' but
there is really no harm in it.' So she has gone down to
stay with her future mother-in-law. She says she is get-
ting sick of living by herself, and as eyery thing has been
miserable of late, she wants a fresh interest ; then she is
told that Irishmen make rather pleasant husbands, and
she will take care he does not squander her money."

" This is, indeed, a piece of news! I hope she will be
happy; she is a good soul, though a little ilighty,'' said
Standish,

'• Yes; very good. How kind she has been to me! 1
like htr so much that 1 am in a way vexed and disajipoint-
ed that she should treat such an awful serious affair as
marriage so lightly and carelessly. Just think of being
tied for life to Major St John !"

" There are worse fellows. He will let Henrietta do as
she likes, and I think he admires her."

"Ah. well!" Dorothy slightly shrugged her shoulders,
and put her head on one side with an air of disapproba-
tion.

" 1 should like to know more of your ideas on this im-
portant subject, Dorothy," said Standish smiling. "You
have withdrawn youi confidence Irom me of late."

" Oh, no," carelessly. ' Whenever i fall desperately in
love, I shall come and teii you, of course."

Standish did not reply, and Dorothy looked up.

" Why Paul, how ill and worn \ ou look I" she exclaim-
ed in q.iite a different tone. " Are ^, ou ill V"

" Physically, 1 am quite well ; mt-ntally, ill at ease," in;
returned, and, walking to the lire\Jaoe, he stood leaning
against the side of the iiiauteli).'eG«.

" I've got promoviou at last, Dorothy. 1 am to be Secre-
tary of Legation at C ."

'i At C y And how long are you to stay there?"

" That I am not sure— three years, at least."

Dorothy did not speak. She began to fold up her work
with unsteady hands, and grew very whitt-, even to her
lips.

268

liLlNL FATE.

" Three years, Paul V

That is a lifetime. Henrietta
What — what is to become of

married wid you away!

me?*

" We must arrange something for you, Dorothy," he
said in an odd, absent manner. ^' I shali not go for a month
or six weeks." He paused ; Dorothy rose, and went to the
window, as if to escape his eyes.

" Though you will not co*iiide in me, Dorothy," he re-
sumed in a low, earnest tone, " do you care to hear a con-
fession of — well, 1 fear I must call it weakness — from
me?"

'' Of course I do," she s&id, while an awful thought
dashed across her. " Is he going to say he is in love with
Henrietta? She belie /ed he was."

'* To you I dare say it will seem folly in a man who has
left youth behind him," continued Standish, grasping the
top of a chair near him with a nervous grip, " but I have
fallen, no, rather grown into love, deeper and more intense,
perhaps, than many a younger fellow could feel, with a
girl almost young enough to be my daughter. I don't know
that everyone would think her a beauty; to me no otlier face
or form was ever so — so fascinating. To sit and watch
the endless change* of the one, the grace of the other, is
happiness *^o me. She has her faults ; she is a little hasty,
a little self-willed ; but so true, so generous, so unseltish,
so kind to me, whom she has known all her life. I see her
sweet, sad eyes brighten when 1 come near, but dare I hope
it is anything beyond the almost filial affection which
might be her natural feeliug for me, .hat speaks in them?
Shall I ask her to be my wife ? Is it not possibl(3 that for
kindness, gratitude, pity's sake, she might say Y-js, when
nature might dictate No? Can I trust her to be true to
herself as well as to me ?"

" Let me confess, too, before I answer," returned Doro-
thy, clasping and twisting her lingers nervously, while her
heart beat so fast it stin»;ed the folds of her black dress.
" I, too, ha\e been foolis'n, for I have let myself fall in love
with a man older, wiser, better -oh, a thousand times bet-
ter — than myself, and I have been very unhappy, because
I am ashamed of loving one who could only think of me as
a half. formed, incomplete creature, to whom, however good
he might be, I could only be an object of charity in the way

of affection or regi»,rd. To know he loved me -" Breath

and utterance failed tier.

'ietta
^e of

" he
lonth
)0 the

he re-
ap con-
-from

ought
> with

lo has

Qg the
I have
itense,
ivlth a
: know
ler face
watch
her, Is
hasty,
seltish,
see her
I hope
which
them?
hat for
when
true to

Doro-

lile her
dress,
lin love
les bet-
|)ecause
me as
)r good
le way
iBieath

BLIND FATK

263

'* And his name?" cried Standish, imperiously seizing
her cold, trembling hands.

" Is Paul," whispered Dorothy, as she gave her soft
mouth to his and leant unresistingly against his breast,
locked in a tender, loving embraco.

It is well that in this brief, troubled life of ours, mo-
ments of pure and unalloyed delight are given once or
twice in its chequred course. They may be but short, yet
they remain a blessed memory, in heart and mind, like a
strain of heavenly music.

•* Lonia:, long be our hearts with suoh memories fll'od.
Like a vase in which roses have once been distilled,

You mav break— you may ruin the vase if you will,
But the scent of the rosea will cling round it stilL"

After a delightful interval spent in a rather disconnect-
ed and interjectional review of past experiences, doubts,
fears, and mistakes, the lovers came partly down to earth,
The influence of their old free happy companionship en-
abled them to speak with complete frankness.

To think of being always with you, never to be alonu
and adrift any more ! It is wonderful !*' murmured Do-
rothy.

" Wonderful and heavenly, Dorothy ! Then, my darling,
you will come with me at once ? In this deep mourning;-
our wedding needs no parade, no preparation, and we know
each other so well."

" Yes ; that is best of all. I will do whatever you think
best. But Paul, dear Paul — what about the poor dear
children ? I must not part with them."

' ' Why should you ? We will take them with us. C

may be very cold, but the climate is dry and healthy.
We will take all possible care of them, and they will de-
velop into energetic, vigorous young Scandinavians."

•' Ah, h .d our dear IVLabel and Herbert lived ! How glad
they would have been to see us united. 11 that cruel, dread
— Randal Egerton "

" Hush, dear Dorothy; do not think of him to-day. Put
him out of J onr mind altogethe^^/ There is a Judge who
knows the measure of his guilt, and can mete out punish'
mentmore just, more subtle, than any wo couid devise."

[THE END.]

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13 The Devil's Die. By Grant Allen 3Gc.

14 Old F.lazer's Hero. By David

CHR1'<TIK Ml RRAY 30c.

15 Breezie Langton. By Capt.

II.WVLKV Smakt 30c.

16 The Heir of Linne. By Robert

BlOlIANAN 30O.

17 By Mi.Siilventure. By Frank

JUrkktt 30c.

18 A Dead Past. By Mrs. II. Lovbtt

Camkhov 80c.

10 BeautifulJim, By JohnStranok

WlNTKK 30c.

20 Beyond Compare. By Cha's

jiIBBON . ,

21 The Honorable Mrs. Vereker.

liy TnK DrciiD.sa 30c.

22 The Mystery of a Turkish

B.lth. Ji.V KiTA 26c.

23 Bootle's Children. By John

STRANGK WlNTIH 26c.

24 The Pride of the Paddock.

r.yC'.Ai'T. 1!a\vi,ky Sm.vrt 26c.

26 In All Shades. I'.y Grant Ai-i.kn .'JOc.

26 Killed in the Open. By Sinfi.

KliW. IvKNNAlii) 30c.

27 The Girl in the Brown Habit.

BV MrH. Kpw. !vKNNAKl> 'dOc.

28 The Death Tihip. By W. Clark «,;^,

HiMSi.ij, 30c.

29 A Crack County. My Mrs. Edw.

K; \s \Rii 30c.

30 Logic Town. By Sarah Tyti.kr.. 30c.

31 Straight as a juig. Ry Mrs.

Enw. Kkn'narh 30c.

32 The Beckoning Hand. By

;ill AXT Al,l,l',V 3tio.

33 The Roguo. liy W. Bl, Norris ... 80o.

30c.

34 A Flight to France. By Julhb

1 ERNK SOO.

35 A Witch of the Hills. By Flor-

ENCK Warden 30o.

36 The Maddoxes. By Jran Mid-

DLIM AS 300.

37 A Crown of Shame. By Flor-

ence M ARRYAT 30c.

38 The Ladies' Gallery. By Jus-

tin McCarthy and Mrs. Campbell
Praki) 40o.

39 The Man Hunter. By Jick

I'ONOVAN 30c.

40 Long Odds. By Capt. Hawlky

S.MART 300.

41 The Match of the Season. By

Mrs. Alexandkr Frahkr 30a

42 Englishman of the Rue Cain.

By the Ai thor of Passciujcr
from Scotldiid Yard 30a

43 In Exchange for a Soul. i'>y

Mary Linmull 30c.

44 Dolly. I'v .ItSTiN McCarthy 25o.

45 St. Cutlibert's Tower. By

Florence Warden 30a.

46 A False Scent. By Mrs, Alex-

ander 25o

47 John Herring. By Rkv. S.

BaRINO (iOULD 40O.

48 Landing a Prize. By Mr«.

EhiV. Kennard ;iOo.

49 The Girl from Malta. By tiic

AiTiioR Of Ti.c Myittry of ..<
H'tnsdDi Cab liOo.

50 Mehnlah. By S. Baring Goild. . . loc.

51 Lightly Lost. By Hawi.kv SmuiT 30c.

52 TIio Pretty Sister of Jose, r.y

I'liANCKM HOI'GSON BURNETT... .. 25a

53 The Fog Princes. By Florence

Wari'EN 30o.

64 Under a Strange Mask. By

l.iKiT. Frank Barrett 30o.

56 Harvest, Jiy .John Strangb Win-

ter 30o.

66 Lord and Lady Piccadilly.

I'.,\ '! Ill: IsARi, OK Dkkart 30o.

57 The Last Coup. By Hawlky

S,n;ai: r 30a

58 A Trora'Aesome Girl. By Tm

DrcilKs.-; 25o.

69 A Little Fool, By John Strange

V/iNTi::: 25a

60 Under Which Lord. By Mrs

E. LVN LlNToN 30a

61 Seventy T'mos Seven. B.\

AliKM.Ni; .^EROEANT .'iOa.

62 Mr. Strringor's Sealed Paket.

H\ Hiiiii NrCdLL 30o.

63 The Duchess of Rosemary

Lane. By y. L. Tk».%»»h 30o.

FOH .S,U AT ALL BQOKSTOIf S, OH MAILED fRi^l: OF POIAflt: Uk'ON REOSIFT ijf PRICt BY

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nie Best in the World. 8 Yean Guarantee.
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