IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 ^O 
 ^A^ 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 11.25 
 
 
 ISik 
 
 M 
 1.8 
 
 U IIIIII.6 
 
 
 Hiotographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) 873-4503 
 
CIHM/ICMH 
 
 Microfiche 
 
 Series. 
 
 CIHM/ICMH 
 Collection de 
 microfiches. 
 
 Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques 
 
 ^ 
 
Technical and Bibliographic Notes/Notes techniques et bibliographiques 
 
 The Institute has attempted to obtain the best 
 original copy available for filming. Features of this 
 copy which may be bibliographically unique, 
 which may alter any of the images in the 
 reproduction, or which may significantly change 
 the usual method of filming, are checked below. 
 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 D 
 
 D 
 
 Coloured covers/ 
 Couverture de couleur 
 
 Covers damaged/ 
 Couverture endommag^e 
 
 Covers restored and/or laminated/ 
 Couverture restaurde et/ou pellicul6e 
 
 Cover title missing/ 
 
 Le titre de couverture manque 
 
 I I Coloured maps/ 
 
 D 
 
 Cartes gdographiques en couleur 
 
 Coloured ink (i.e. other than blue or black)/ 
 Encre de couleur (i.e. autre que bleue ou noire) 
 
 Coloured plates and/or illustrations/ 
 Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur 
 
 Bound with other material/ 
 Reli6 avec d'autres documents 
 
 Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion 
 along interior margin/ 
 
 La re Mure serr^e peut causer de I'ombre ou de la 
 distortion le long de la marge int6rieure 
 
 Blank leaves added during restoration may 
 appear within the text. Whenever possible, these 
 have been omitted from filming/ 
 11 se peut que certaines pages blanches ajoutdes 
 lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte, 
 mais, lorsque cela dtait possible, ces pages n'ont 
 pas 6t6 filmdes. 
 
 Additional comments:/ 
 Commentaires suppl^mentaires: 
 
 L'Institut a microfilm^ le meilleur exemplaire 
 qu'il lui a 6t6 possible de se procurer. Les details 
 de cet exemplaire qui sont peut-dtre uniques du 
 point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier 
 une image reproduite, ou qui peuvent exiger une 
 modification dans la mdthode normale de filmage 
 sont indiquds ci-dessous. 
 
 □ Coloured pages/ 
 Pages de couleur 
 
 □ Pages damaged/ 
 Pages endommagdes 
 
 I I Pages restored and/or laminated/ 
 
 Pages restaur^es et/ou pelliculdes 
 
 Pages discoloured, stained or foxec 
 Pages d6color6es, tachetdes ou piqudes 
 
 Pages detached/ 
 Pages ddtachdes 
 
 Showthrough/ 
 Transparence 
 
 Quality of prir 
 
 Quality indgale de I'impression 
 
 Includes supplementary materii 
 Comprend du materiel supplementaire 
 
 I ~V Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/ 
 
 I I Pages detached/ 
 
 I I Showthrough/ 
 
 rrV' Quality of print varies/ 
 
 I I Includes supplementary material/ 
 
 n 
 
 Only edition available/ 
 Seule Edition disponible 
 
 Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata 
 slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to 
 ensure the best possible image/ 
 Les pages totalement ou partiellement 
 obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure, 
 etc., ont 6t6 filmdes d nouveau de fagon d 
 obtenir la meilleure image possible. 
 
 This item is filmed at the reduction ratio ch'^cked below/ 
 
 Ce document est filmd au taux de reduction indiqud ci-dessous. 
 
 10X 14X 18X 22X 
 
 2ftX 
 
 30X 
 
 • 
 
 12X 
 
 16X 
 
 20X 
 
 24X 
 
 28X 
 
 32X 
 
tails 
 
 du 
 Ddifier 
 
 une 
 mage 
 
 The copy filmed here has been reproduced thanks 
 to the generosity of: 
 
 Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, 
 University of Toronto Library 
 
 The images appearing here are the best quality 
 possible considering the condition and legibility 
 of the original copy and in keeping with the 
 filming contract specifications. 
 
 Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed 
 beginning with the front cover and ending on 
 the last page with a printed or illustrated impres- 
 sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All 
 other original copies are filmed beginning on the 
 first page with a printed or illustrated impres- 
 sion, and ending on the last page with a printed 
 or illustrated impression. 
 
 L'exemplaire film6 fut reproduit grace i la 
 gAn6rosit6 de; 
 
 Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library, 
 University of Toronto Library 
 
 Les images suivantes ont 6t6 reproduites avec le 
 plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condition et 
 de la netteti de Texempiaire film6, et en 
 conformity avec les conditions du contrat de 
 filmage. 
 
 Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en 
 papier est imprimde sent fiim^s en commencant 
 par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la 
 dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'impression ou d'illustration, soit par le second 
 plat, selon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires 
 originaux sont filmis en commenpant par la 
 premiere page qui comporte une empreinte 
 d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par 
 la dernidre page qui comporte une telle 
 empreinte. 
 
 □ 
 
 32X 
 
 The last recorded frame on each microfiche 
 shall contain the symbol '-^ (meaning "CON- 
 TINUED "), or the symbol V (meaning "END '), 
 whichever applies. 
 
 Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at 
 different reduction ratios. Those too large to be 
 entirely included in one exposure are filmed 
 beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to 
 right and top to bottom, as many frames as 
 required. The following diagrams illustrafsr the 
 method: 
 
 Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la 
 dernidre image de chaque microfiche, selon le 
 cas: le symbole -^^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le 
 symbole V signifie "FIN". 
 
 Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent etre 
 film6s d des taux de reduction diff^rents. 
 Lorsque le document est trop grand pour etre 
 reproduit en un seul clich6, il est film6 d partir 
 de Tangle supdrieur gauche, de gauche d droite, 
 et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre 
 d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants 
 illustrent la m^thode. 
 
 irrata 
 to 
 
 pelure, 
 nd 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 3 
 
 1 
 
I 
 
 
 T 
 
 ^ 
 
THE BARONET'S BRIDE; 
 
 OR. 
 
 A WOMAN'S VENGEANCE. 
 
 
 BT 
 
 MA V A GNES FLEMING. 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 M. A. DONOHUE & Co. 
 
i 
 
 PS 
 
 DAVIS & ELVEESON, 
 3»«*. tWU^e or tfte Clerfc o/ ».c District Court of the United State,. in<mdjm, 
 th» Eastern District of Penimlvwnia. 
 
 fi 
 
 
 If FtB9 «'<- ^^, 
 
^ 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 in onAfw 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 '* And there is danger of death — for mother and child?'* 
 
 ** Well, no. Sir Jasper —no, sir; no certain danger, you 
 know; but in these protracted cases" — Dr. Parker God- 
 ifoy paused, and coughed behind his hand — *' it can do no 
 itiarm, Sir Jasper, for the clergyman to be here. He may 
 loot be needed — let us hope he will not be — but your good 
 ilady is very weak — very weak, I am sorry to say. Sir Jas- 
 iper Kingsland." 
 
 " 1 will send for the clergyman," Sir Jasper Kingsland 
 said, not looking at the grave little London doctor. '* Do 
 your best, as I know you will. Doctor Godroy, and for 
 God's sake let me know the worst or best as soon as may 
 V)e. This torture of suspense is horrible." 
 
 His voice was sharp and harsh with inward pain. Dr. 
 X'arker Godroy looked sympathetically at him through his 
 gold-bowed spectacles. 
 
 " 1 will do my best. Sir Jasper," he said, gravely. 
 ** The result is in the hands of the Great Dispenser of life 
 and death. Send for the clergyman, and wait and hope." 
 
 He quitted the library as he spoke. Sir Jasper Kings- 
 land seized the bell and rang a shrill peal. 
 
 '* Ride to the village — ride for your life!" he said, im- 
 peratively, to the servant who answered, ** and fetch the 
 Keverend Gyrus Green here at once." 
 
 The man bowed and departed, and Sir Jasper Kings- 
 land, Baronet, of Kingsland Court, was alone — alone in 
 the gloomy grandeur of the vast library; alone with las 
 thoughts and the wailing midnight storm. 
 
 For it was midnight. A clock high up in an ancient 
 turret pealed noisily forth the weird hour when " chorch- 
 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 il 
 
 I] 
 
 yards yawn and graves give up their dead/' and an army 
 of rroks, disturbed in their "bounty sleep'' by thedis- 
 cordant noise, cawed harshly in reply. A little toy time- 
 piece of biiiil on the stone iiiantej chimed mnsically its 
 story of the hour, and Sir Jasper Kingsland lifted his 
 gloomy eyes for a moment at the sound, lie was leaning 
 against the old, quaintly carved chimney-piece, looking at 
 tJie smoldering fire, his dark face full of unutterable trouble 
 and pain. A tall, spare, middle-aged man, handsome 
 once— handsome still, some people said — with iron-gray 
 hair and a proud, patrician face. 
 
 " Twelve," his dry lips whispered to themselves — " mid- 
 night, and for three hours I have endured this maddening 
 agony of suspense! Another day is given to the world, 
 find before its close all I love best may be cold and stark 
 in death! Oh, my God! have mercy, and spare her!" 
 
 He lifted his clasped hands in passionate appeal. There 
 ^as a picture opposite — a gem of Raphael's — the Man of 
 Sorrows fainting under the weight of the cross, and the 
 fire's shine playing upon it seemed to light the pallid feat- 
 ures with a derisive smile. 
 
 " The mercy you showed to others, the same shall be 
 {shown to you. Tiger heart, you were merciless in the days 
 g;one by. Let your black, bad heart break, as you have 
 broken others!" 
 
 No voice had sounded, yet he was answered. Conscience 
 Had spoken in trumpet-tones, and with a hollow groan the 
 i)aronet turned away and began pacing up and down. 
 
 It was a large and spacious apartment, this library of 
 Kingsland Court, dimly lighted now by the flickering 
 wood-fire and the mellow glow of a branch of wax-lights. 
 Huge book-cases filled to overflowing lined the four walls, 
 and pictures precious as their weight in rubies looked 
 duskily down from their heavy frames. Busts and bronzes 
 stood on brackets and surmounted doors; a thick, rich car- 
 pet of moss-green, sprinkled with oak leaves and acorns, 
 muffled the tread; voluminous draperies of dark green 
 shrouded the tall, narrow windows. The massive chairs 
 and tables, fifty years old at least, were spindle-legged and 
 rich in carving, upholstered in green velvet and quaintly 
 embroidered by hands moldered to dust long ago, Every- 
 -thing was old and grand, and full of storied interest And 
 there, on the wall, was ^he crest of the house — the uplifted 
 
THE baronet's BKIDE. 
 
 hand grasping a dagger — and the motto, in old Norman 
 French, " Strike once, and strike well.*' 
 
 Sir Jasper Kingsland, the lust of a long lino that traced 
 their ancestry far back beyond the days of the baronet- 
 making king, James the First, stood alone to-night, and 
 took note of all these things, with a dreary sort of wonder 
 that they could afford him no help and no comfort in his 
 hour of sui^remest need. 
 
 It is a very line thing to be a baronet — a Kiiigsland of 
 Kingsland, with fifteen thousand a year, and the tinest old 
 house in the county; but if Death will stalk grimly over 
 your threshold and snatch away the life you love iiior« 
 than your own, then oven that glory is not omniscient. 
 For this wintery midnight, while Sir Jasper Kingslanc^ 
 walks moodily up and down — uj) and down — Lady King* 
 land, in the chamber above, lies ill unto death. 
 
 An hour passes — the clock in the turret and the buhl, 
 toy on the stone mantel toll solemnly one. The embers 
 drop monotonously through the grate — a dog bays deeply 
 somewhere in the quadrangle below — the wailing wind o* 
 coming morning sighs lamentingly through the tossing 
 copper-beeches, and the roar of the surf afar off come«» 
 ever and anon like distant thunder. The house is silen*. 
 as the tomb — so horribly silent that the cold drops star*', 
 out on the face of the tortured man. Who knows? Death 
 has been on the threshold of that upper chamber all nights 
 waiting for his prey. This awful hush may be the paean 
 that proclaim,, that he is master! 
 
 A tap at the door. The baronet paused in his stride ami 
 turned his blood-shot eyes that way. His very voice was 
 hollow and unnatural as he said: 
 
 ** Come in." 
 
 A servant entered — the same who had gone his errand. 
 
 *' The Reverend Cyrus Green is here, sir. Shall 1 shoj^^ 
 him up?" 
 
 " Yes — no — I can not see him. Show him into thft 
 drawing-room until he is needed." 
 
 " He will not be needed," said a voice at his elbow, and 
 Doctor Parker Godroy came briskly forward. " My dea" 
 Sir Jasper, allow me to congratulate you! All is well, 
 thank Heaven, and — it is a son!" 
 
 Sir Jasper Kingsland sunk into a seat^ thrilling horn 
 
 
8 
 
 THE BAllONKl'S DUIDE. 
 
 head to foot, turning sick and faint in the suddon rovulsiou 
 from despair to hope. 
 
 " Saved ?" he said, in a gasping whisper. *' Both?" 
 
 *' Both, my dear Sir Jasper!" the doctor responded, 
 cordially. " Your good lady is very much prostrated — ex- 
 hausted—but that was to be looked for, you know; and 
 the baby— ah! the finest boy 1 have had the pleasure of 
 presenting to an admiring world within ten years. Come 
 and see them!" 
 
 *' May 1?" the baronet cried, starting to his feet. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear Sir Jasper — most certainly. There 
 is nothing in the world to hinder — only be a little cautious, 
 you know. Our good lady mustn't be excited the least in 
 life. She must be kept composed and quiet, and left to 
 sleep; and you will just take one peep and go. We won't 
 need the Reverend Cyrus this bout." 
 
 He led the way from the library, rubbing his hands a« 
 your brisk little physicians do, up a grand stair-way where 
 you might have driven a coach and four, and into a lofty 
 and most magnificently furnished bed-chamber. 
 
 The sick lady lay in a bed in the center of the room — a 
 lofty, four-posted affair, carved and quaint and old as the 
 hills, and covered and draped with white. But whiter than 
 the draperies — whiter than the winter snow — her face 
 looked up from the pillows, awfully corpse-like in its 
 deathly pallor. The eyes were closed; the small, bloodless 
 hands lay loose on the counterpane. In her shroud and 
 winding-sheet she would never look more ghastly than 
 that. 
 
 *' Quiet, now — quiet," the doctor whispered, warningiy. 
 '* Excite her, and I won^t be answerable for the result." 
 
 Sir Jasper Kingsland replied with a rapid gesture, and 
 walked forward to the bed. His own face was perfectly 
 colorless, and his lips were twitching with intense sup- 
 pressed feeling. He bent above the still form. 
 
 " Olivia," he said, " my darling, my darling!" 
 
 The heavy eyelids fluttered and lifted, and a pair of 
 haggard, dark eyes gazed up at him. A wan smile parted 
 those pallid lips. 
 
 " Dear Jasper! I knew you would come. Have yoi* 
 seen the baby? It is a boy. " 
 
 *' My own, I have thought only of you. My poor, pala 
 wife, how awfully death-like you lookl" 
 
THE BARONET'S BRTDl. 
 
 •• But I am not going to die— Doctor Godroy aays so,** 
 wniling gontly. '* Anil now you must go, for I can not 
 
 fi 
 
 tttlk. Only kiss me first, and look at the baby.' 
 
 Her voice was the merest whisper, lie pressed his Idpa 
 passionately to the white face and rose up. Nurse and 
 baby sat in state by the fire, and a slender gi^l of fifteen 
 years knelt beside them, and gazed in a sort oi rapture at 
 the infant prodigy. 
 
 '• Look, papa — look! The loveliest little thing, and 
 nurse says the very picture of you!" 
 
 The young girl — Miss Mildred Kingsland, and until to- 
 night the baronet's only child — pulled away a profusion of 
 Jlannel and displayed triumphantly a little red, wrinkled 
 face. Not very lovely, certainly; but Sir Jasper Kings- 
 land's eyes lighted with pride and joy as he looked, tor 
 was it not a boy? Had he not at last, after weary, weary 
 waiting, the desire of his heart — a son to inherit the estate 
 and perpetuate the ancient name? 
 
 *' It IS so sweet, papa!*' Miss Mildred whispered, her 
 finiall, rather sickly face quite radiant; ** and its eyes are 
 the image of yours. He's asleep now, you know, and you 
 can't see them. And look at the dear, darling little hands 
 and fingers and feet, and the speck of a nose and the dot 
 of a mouth! Oh, papa! isn't it splendid to have a baby 
 in the house?" 
 
 " Very splendid," said papa, relaxing into a smile. ** A 
 fine little lellow, nurse! There, cover him up again and 
 let him sleep. We must take extra care oi the heir of 
 Kingsland Court. And, Mildred, child, you should be in 
 bed. One o'clock is no hour for little girls to be out of 
 their nests." 
 
 *' Oh, papa!" reproachfully; "as if I could sleep and 
 not see the baby!" 
 
 " Well, you have seen it, and now run away to your 
 room. Mamma and baby both want to sleep, and norae 
 doesn't need you, I am sure. " 
 
 *' That I don't," said nurse, " nor the doctor, either. 
 So run away. Miss Milly, and go to sleep yourself. The 
 baby will be here, all safe for you, in the morning." 
 
 The little girl — a flaxen-haired, pretty-featur^ child-^ 
 kissed the baby, kissed papa, and dutifully departed. Sir 
 Jasper followed her out of the room, down the stairs, and 
 ^ttck into the library, with the face of a man who has jost 
 
\0 
 
 THE baronet's TiniDE. 
 
 l\ 
 
 \j 
 
 t,een reprioved from sndtlon death. As he ro-ontered tho 
 library, lio piiused and .sturtod a stop ba(!k, f,ardnf? lixodly 
 at one of tlio windows. Tho heavy curtain had been 
 partially drawn back, and a wlilto, Hpoctral face was glued 
 to the ^dasa, glarin'j; in. 
 
 '* Who have we hero?" said tho baronet to himsolf; 
 " tliat face can belong to no one in the house." 
 
 Ho walkt'd straight to the window — the face novor 
 moved. Ho could see tho snow falling noiselessly, rapidly 
 — the ground covered, the spectral face set in a wintcsry 
 frame of white ilakes. A hand was raised and tapped on 
 the glass. A voice outside spoko: 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, open and lot mo in, before I per- 
 ish in this bitter storm. ^' 
 
 Sir .Jasper Kingsland opened tho window and Hung it 
 wide. A rush of bitter wind, a shower of snow whirled in 
 his face. 
 
 " Enter! whoever you are," ho said. " No one shall 
 ask in vain at Kingsland, this happy nij^ht.*' 
 
 He stepped back, and, all covered with snow, the mid- 
 night intruder entered and stood before him. And Sir 
 Ja9[)er Kingsland saw tho strangest-looking creature he 
 had ever beheld in the whole course of his life. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ACHMET THE ASTROLOGER. 
 
 An old man, yet tall and upright, wearing a trailing 
 fjfoak of dull black, long gray hair flowing ovor the shoul- 
 ders, and tight to the scalp a skull-cap of black velvet. 
 A patriarchal beard, abundant and silver-white, streamed 
 down his breast, and out of a dull, white face, seamed and 
 wrinkled, looked a pair of eyes piercing and black. 
 
 Sir Jasper took a step backward, and regarded this 
 singular apparition in undisguised wonder. Tho old man 
 folded his arms across his bosom and made him a profound 
 Oriental salaam. 
 
 *' The Lord of Kingsland gazes in amaze at the u)i in- 
 vited midnight stranger. And yet I think destiny has 
 gent me hither." 
 
 " Who are you?" the baronet demanded. " What 
 jugglery is this? Are you dressed for an Eastern dervish 
 m a melodrama, and have you come here to play a prac- 
 
 n 
 
c* 
 
 THE BATIONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 u 
 
 ti(.'al joko? I am afraid T can not appreciate tho humo*? 
 of tliu iniiHfiuorailo. Wlio am yoii?" HLonily. 
 
 Tlio old man folded Ids arms aguiii, and onco more boat 
 sorvihdy lev;. 
 
 *' Ml'U call mo Achmot tho Astrolofj^or.'* 
 
 (( 
 
 An 
 
 urftroiogor.'' 
 
 Jfiirnpli! your bhick 
 
 art, it seoniB, 
 " rotor ted 
 
 could not j)r()tLH!t you from a .January storm, 
 Sir Jasper, with a cynical snoor. " Jitit como m — coma 
 in. Astrologer or demon, or whatever you are, you look 
 too old a nnm to bo abroad such a night, wlien wo would 
 not turn an enemy's dog from tho house. The doors oii 
 Kingaland are never closed to tho tired wayfarer, and oJ: 
 all nights in tho ^ear they should not bo closed to-night/" 
 
 '* When an heir is born to an ancient name and a prince-* 
 ]y inheritance, you spoak rightly, iny Lord of Kingsland.'' 
 
 Sir Jasper was closing the window; but at the gentl** 
 murmured words ho facsed sharply round. 
 
 *' How say you? What do you know of the events ofc 
 this night. Sir Astrologer?'* 
 
 •' Much, Sir Jasper Kingsland, and for the very reasort 
 you deride — because 1 am an astrologer. I read the stars* 
 and I lift tho veil of the future, and, lol I behold your lif*^ 
 years before you have lived it!" 
 
 Sir Jasper Kingsland laughed a cynical, unbelieving 
 laugh. 
 
 " You jeer at mo, you scoff at my words," murmured th« 
 old man, in soft, steady tones, *' and yet there was no one 
 to toll me on my way here that a sou and heir had been 
 born to tho house of Kingsland within the past hour. " 
 
 Ho lifted his arm and pointed to the clock, his full, 
 dark eyes fixed in a powerful gaze upon the baronet's 
 changing face. There was majesty in his mien, a lofty 
 grace in tho gesture, a thrilling sweetness in his voice, that 
 indescribably fascinated the listener. 
 
 " You deride the power 1 profess, yet every day yon 
 quote your English poet, and believe him when he says: 
 * There are more things in heaven and earth than aro 
 dreamed of in your philosophy.' But I am accustomed to 
 derision, and it does not offend me. Let me prove my 
 power, so that even the most resolute skeptic dare doub^ 
 no longer. Judge of my skill to read the future by mf 
 ability in reading the past. I have come here — 1 hav« 
 taken a long journey to look into the future of your new 
 
 II 
 
 'I 
 
18 
 
 THE BARONET S BRIDE. 
 
 born son. Before I begin, let me look into the past of hia 
 father. Sir Jasper Kincjsland, let n»e read your palm." 
 
 But Sir Jasper drew back, his pale, patrician face eold 
 ond set in proud surprise. 
 
 " You hare taken a long journey to look into the future 
 ©f my son? Pray, my good astrologer, what is my son to 
 you?" 
 
 ** That is my secret. Sir Jasper, and my secrets 1 keep. 
 Come, hold forth your hand, and test my skill." 
 
 '* Why should I? Even if you can bring before me my 
 past life, of what use will it be, since I must know all bet- 
 ter than you?" 
 
 *' My power to read the past may prove my power ,0 
 read the future." 
 
 " Nay, you may easily know the past, without magic»> 
 skill. Many thanks, my venerable friend, but I will no* 
 put your necromancy to the test. " 
 
 The astrologer folded his arms, and looked the haughty 
 baronet straight in the eyes until he quailed. 
 
 "Is Sir Jasper Kingsland afraid?" he said, slowly 
 *' Surely not, for verily he comes of a daring race. And 
 yel it seems like it." 
 
 The baronet made a stride forward, with eyes that blazed 
 suddenly like flames. 
 
 "By Heaven! if a younger man had spoken thoso 
 words I would have hurled him by the throat from yonder 
 window. Be careful of your words, old man, else even 
 your hoary hairs may fail to save you." 
 
 Once more the astrologer bent servilely. 
 
 " 1 cry your mercy, my haughty Lord of Kingsland. 
 It shall be as you say. I will depart as I came. 1 will 
 not serve you nor your new-born son, since you refuse to 
 be served. I will depart at once. I fear no earthly storm. 
 Good-night, Sir Jasper Kingsland. Look to the heir of 
 your house yourself. "When ' angels unaware ' visit you 
 again, treat them better than you have treated me. " 
 
 With a gesture indescribably grand and kingly, the sil- 
 ver-haired old man turned to go, folding his long cloak 
 about him. But the voice of the baronet called him bacL 
 
 " Stay," he said. " You speak of serving my son^ 
 What danger threatens hi's infant life that you can avert?*' 
 
 " I know of none. I have not cast the horoscope yet.'* 
 Then you wish to d© so?'" 
 
 1 
 
 " rin 
 
 V> 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 IJ^ 
 
 ** With your good permission. I have taken a long and 
 toilsome journey for that very purpose. Sir Jasper Kings- 
 land.^' 
 
 " Then you shall," the baronet cried, yielding to a swift 
 impulse — '* you shall cast his horoscope. If it can avert 
 no evil, it can, at least, cause none. But, first, there is 
 no action without its ruling motive. What are me or 
 mine to you, to make you take a long and toilsome jour* 
 ney on our account?^' 
 
 The old man paused, drawn up to his fullest height, im" 
 posing as a new King Lear, his deep, dark eyes glowing 
 with inward fire. 
 
 ** 1 will tell you," he said, in a deep voice. " Yeari* 
 ago. Sir Jasper, when you were a young man, you did as- 
 honor and a service to one 1 dearly love; that I have nevei' 
 forgotten and never will forget! You have ceased to re 
 member it years ago, no doubt; but ] never have, nor eve>' 
 will until my dying day." 
 
 The baronet stared. 
 
 *'A service! an honor! What could it have been? X 
 recollect nothing of it." 
 
 *' I expected as much; but my memory is a good one 
 It is stamped on my heart forever. Great men like Si/* 
 Jasper Kingsland, grandees of the land, forget these littlf 
 things rendered to the scum and offal, but the scum ancfi 
 offal cherish them eternally. I owe you a long debt. Sir* 
 Jasper, and I will pay it to the uttermost farthing, so helt- 
 me God!" 
 
 His black eyes blazed, his low voice rose, his arm up 
 lifted fiercely for an instant in dire meuace. Then, quick 
 as lightning flashes, all was transformed. The eyes were 
 bent upon the carpet, the arms folded, the voice sunk, 
 •of I and servile. 
 
 *' Forgive me!" he murmured. "In my gratitude I 
 forget myself. But you have my motive in coming here 
 — the desire to repay you; to look into the future of your 
 son; to see the evils that may threaten his youth and man- 
 hood, and to place you on your guard against them. 
 * Forewarned is forearmed,' you know. Do not doubt mj 
 power. In far-off Oriental land?, under the golden star? 
 of Syria, I learned the lore of the wise men of the East. J 
 learned to read the stars as you Englishmen read youi 
 
14 
 
 THE BARONET S BRIDE. 
 
 I! 
 
 printed books. Believe and trust, and let me cast tbo 
 horoscope of your sou.'' 
 
 '* First let me test your vaunted power. Show me my 
 past before you show me ..ij son's future.'* 
 
 He held forth his hand with a cynical smile. The old 
 man took it gravely. 
 
 " As you will. Past and future are alike to me — savi 
 that the past is easier to read. Ah! a palm seamed au-i 
 crossed and marked with troubled lines. Forty years havo 
 
 not gone and left no trace behind — " 
 " Forty years!" interrupted Sir Js 
 
 asper, with sneering 
 emphasis!^ "" Pray do not bungle in the very beginning. 
 
 " 1 bungle not," answered Achmet, sternly. " Forty 
 years ago, on the third of next month, you, Jasper South- 
 down Kingsland, were born beneath this very roof, " 
 
 The baronet looked considerably surprised at this verv 
 minute statement. 
 
 '* Right!" he said. " You know my age. But go on.'' 
 
 *' Your boyhood you passed here — quiet, eventless year« 
 — with a commonplace mother and a dull, proud father 
 At ten, your mother went to her grave. At twelve, th** 
 late Sir Noel followed her. At thirteen, you, a lonelv 
 orphan, were removed from this house to London in the 
 charge of a guardian that you hated. Am 1 not right?" 
 
 " You are. Pray go on." 
 
 *' At fourteen, you went to Rugby to school. From tha^""- 
 time until you attained your majority your life pussed in 
 public schools and universities, harmlessly and monotonous 
 ly enough. At twenty-one, you left Cambridge, anf* 
 started to make the grand tour. Your life just then gav* 
 the promise of bright and brilliant thiiigs. You wer« 
 tolerably clever; you were young and handsome, and heir 
 to a noble inheritance. Your life was to be the life of a 
 great and good man — a benefactor of the human race. 
 Your memory was to be a magnificent memento for a whole 
 world to honor. Your dreams wore wild and vague, and 
 sublimely impracticable, and ended in — nothing." 
 
 Sir Jcisper K" .gsland listened and stared like a man in 
 a dream, his skepticism fading away like mist before sun 
 rise. Achmet the Astrologer continued to read the palpi 
 with a fixed, stony face. 
 
 " And now the lines are crossed, and the trouble begins. 
 
 (( 
 
THE BARON^ET's BRIDE. 
 
 1ft 
 
 A.8 usual, a woman is at the bottom of it Sir Jasper 
 Kingslaiid is in love." 
 
 There was a pause. The baronet winced a little, and 
 the astrologer bent lower over the palra. 
 
 *' It is in Spain/* he continued, in the dreamy, far-ofiE 
 tone of a man who sees a vision— " glowing, gorgeous 
 Spain — and she is one of its loveliest children. The 
 oranges and pomogranates scent the burning air, the vine' 
 yards glow in the tropic sun, and golden summer forever 
 reigns. l>ut the glowing southern sun is not more brill- 
 iant than the Spanish gypsy's hashing black eyes, nor the 
 pomegranate blossoms half so ripe and red as her cheeks. 
 Her step is light us the step of an antelope, her voice sweet 
 MS the harps of heaven. She is Zenith, the Zingara, and 
 you love her!" 
 
 *' In the fiend's name!** Sir Jasper Kingsland cried, 
 •• what jugglery is this?'* 
 
 He was ashen white, and his steady voice shook. Calmly 
 the astrologer repossessed himself of the baronet*s hand. 
 
 *' One moment more, my Lord of Kingsland,** ho said, 
 "' and I have done. Let me see how your love-dream ends. 
 Ah! the old, old story. Surely 1 might have known. She 
 »s beautiful as the angels above, and as innocent, and she 
 loves you with a mad abandon that is worse than idolatry — 
 *isonly women ever love. And you? You are grand and 
 uoble, a milor Inglesc, and you take her love — her crazy 
 vvorship — as a demi-god might, with uplifted grace, as 
 four birthright; and she is your pretty toy of an hour. 
 And then, careless and happy, you are gone. Sunny 
 Spain, with its olives and its vineyards, its pomegranates 
 and its Zenith the Gitana, is left far behind, and you are 
 roaming, happy ar "! free, through La Belie F»'ance. And 
 lo! Zenith the forsaken lies prone on the ground, and 
 tears out her hair by the handful, and goes stark mad for 
 the day-god she has lost. There, Sir Jasper Kingsland! 
 the record is a black one. I wish to read no more.** 
 
 lie flung the baronet's hand away, and once more his 
 eyes glowed like the orbs of a demon. But Sir Jasper 
 Kingsland, pale as a dead man, saw it not. 
 
 " Are you man or devil?'* he said, in an awe-struck 
 tone. " No living mortal knoTVs what yon have told me 
 this night, *' 
 
'% 
 
 id 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 Hi 
 
 Achmet the Astrologer smiled — a dire, dark smile. His 
 ,<jyes shone upon the speaker full of deadliest menace. 
 
 '* Man, in league with " — he pointed downward — " the 
 dark potentate you have named, if you like. Whatever 1 
 I have truthfully told you the past, as I will truth- 
 
 am 
 
 >f 
 
 fully tell your son's future. ■ 
 
 '* By palmistry?" 
 
 " No, by the stars. And behold!" cried the astrologer, 
 drawing aside the curtain, " yonder they shine!" 
 
 Surely, the storm had cleared away, leaving the world 
 wrapped in a windin'^-sheet of dead white, and up in 
 heaven the silver stars swung crystal - clear, sparkling 
 bright. 
 
 " Take me to an upper room," the astrologer exclaimed, 
 in an inspired tone, " and leave me. Destiny is propitious. 
 The fate that ruled your son's birth has set forth 'he shin- 
 ing stars for Achmet to read. Lead on!" 
 
 Like a man in a dreamy swoon. Sir Jasper Kingsland 
 obeyed. He led the astrologer up the grand sweeping 
 staircases — up and up, to the very top of the house — to the 
 lof'-y, lonely battlements. Cloudless spread the wide night 
 sky; countless and brilliant shone the stars; peaceful and 
 majestic slept the purple sea; spotless white gleamed the 
 snowy earth. A weird, witching scene. 
 
 "Leave me," said the astrologer, "and watch and 
 wait. When the first little pink cloud of sunrise blushes 
 in the sky, come to me. My task will have ended. " 
 
 He waved him away with a regal motion. He stood 
 there gazing at the stars, as a king looking upon his sub- 
 jects. And the haughty baronet, without a word, turned 
 and left him. 
 
 The endless hours wore on — two, three, and four — and 
 Btill the baronet watched and waited, and looked for the 
 coming of dawn. Faintly the silver light broke in the 
 Orient, rosy flushed the first red ray. Sir Jasper mounted 
 to the battlements, still like a man in a dazed dream. 
 
 Achmet the Astrologer turned slowly round. The pale, 
 frosty sunrise had blanched his ever- white face with a livid 
 hue of death. In one hand ho held a folded paper, in the 
 other a pencil. He had been writing. 
 
 " Have you done?" the baronet asked. 
 
 •' 1 am done. Your son's fate is here." 
 
 He touched the paper; he spoke in a voice of awful sol- 
 
 
THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 17 
 
 4 
 
 •mniiy; his eyes had a wild, dilated look, from which Sir 
 Jasper shrunk, they looked so horribly like the eyes of a 
 man who has been face to face with disembodied spirits. 
 
 " Is that for me?" he asked, shrinking palpably from it 
 even while he spoke. 
 
 "This is for you." The astrologer handed him the 
 paper as he spoke. "It is for you to read — to do with 
 after as you see fit. 1 have but one word to say: not I, 
 but a mightier power traced the words you will read — 
 your son's irrevocable fate. Don't hope to shirk it. Fate 
 is fate; doom is doom. My task is ended, and 1 go. Fare- 
 well!" 
 
 No, no," the baronet cried; "not so! Remain and 
 
 >) 
 
 breakfast here. The morning is but just breaking.' 
 
 " And before yonder sun is above the horizon I will be 
 far away. No, Sir Jasper Kingsland, 1 break no bread 
 under your roof. I have done my work, and depart for- 
 ever. Look to your son!" 
 
 He spoke the last words slowly, with a tigerish glare of 
 hate leaping out of his eyes, with deadly menace in eveiy 
 eyllable. Then he was gone down the winding stair- way 
 like a black ghost, and so out and away. 
 
 Sir Jasper Kingsland took the folded paper and sought 
 Tiis room. There in the pale day-dawn he tore it open. 
 One side was covered with cabalistic characters. Eastern 
 symbols, curious marks, and hieroglyphics. The other 
 kjide was written in French, in long, clear, legible char- 
 acters. There was a heading: " Horoscope of the Heir of 
 Kingsland. " Sir Jasper sat down eagerly, and began to 
 read. 
 
 Nearly an hour after, a servant, entering to replenish 
 the faded fire, fled out of the room and startled the house- 
 hold with his shrieks. Two or three domestics rushed in. 
 There lay Sir Jasper Kingsland prone on his face on the 
 floor, stiff and stark as a dead man. A paper, unintelli- 
 gible to all, was clutched tightly as a death grip in his 
 hand. Beading that crumpled paper, the strong man had 
 fallen there flat on the floor in a dead swoon. 
 
i 
 
 %S THE baronet's bride. 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 THE HUT ON THE HEATH. 
 
 Far away from the lofty, battlemented ancestral home 
 of Sir Jasper Kingsland — miles away where the ceaseless 
 sea sparkled the long day through as if sown with stars— 
 where the foamy swells rolled in dull thunder up the white 
 sands— straight to the seashore wont Achmet the Astrolo- 
 ger. A long strip of bleak marshland spreading down the 
 hill-side and sloping to the slu, arid and dry in the burn- 
 ing summer-time— sloppy and sodden now — that was his 
 destination. It was called Ilunsden's Heath — a forlorn 
 and desolate spot, dotted over with cottages of the most 
 wretched kind, inhabited by the most miserable of the 
 miserable poor. To one of these wretched hovels, stand- 
 ing nearest the sea and far removed from the rest, Ach- 
 met swiftly made his way. 
 
 The sun was high in the heavens; the sea lay all a-glit- 
 ter beneath it. The astrologer had got over the ground at 
 a swift, swinging stride, and he had walked five miles at 
 least; but he paused now, with little sign of fatigue in his 
 strange white face. Folding his arms over his breast, he 
 surveyed the shining sky, the glittering sea, with a slow, 
 dreamy smile. 
 
 " The sun shines and the sea sparkles on the natal day 
 uf the heir of Kingsland, 'Mie said to himself ; *' but for 
 all that it is a fatal day to him. * The sins of the father 
 shall be visited a the children even to the third and fourth 
 generation,' saith the Book Christians believe in. Chris- 
 tians!" he laughed a harsh, strident laugh. " Sir Jasper 
 Kingsland is a Christian! The religion that produces such 
 men must be a glorious one. He was a Christian when he 
 perjured himself and broke her heart. 'Tis well. As a 
 Christian he can not object to the vengeance Christianity 
 teaches. " 
 
 He turned away, approached the lonely hut, and tapped 
 thrice— sharp, staccato knocks — at the door. The third 
 one was answered. The door swung back, and a dark 
 damsel looked out. 
 
 " Is it thee, Piecro?" 
 
 "ItisI, Zara.^ 
 
 >f 
 
THE BAUOKET S BllTDE. 
 
 It 
 
 tral home 
 
 ) ceaseless 
 th stars— 
 the white 
 B Astrolo- 
 dowii the 
 the b lim- 
 it was his 
 •a forlorn 
 the most 
 lie of the 
 3ls, stand- 
 rest, Ach- 
 
 all a-glit- 
 ^ round at 
 Q miles at 
 gue in his 
 breast, he 
 th a slow, 
 
 natal day 
 *' but for 
 he father 
 nd fourth 
 Chris- 
 5ir Jasper 
 uces such 
 L when he 
 i\\. As a 
 iristianity 
 
 id tapped 
 Che third 
 d a dark 
 
 He stepped in as ho apol.o, closed the door, took her 
 face between Lit. hands, and kissed both brown cheek*- 
 The girl's durk i'av.e — a hamisoiiK) fiice, wilh somber shin 
 ing eyes and dark tresties — Jigiil fd up into ihe sjdendoi ot 
 ivbsolute beauty as ylie re'. urmd his earess. 
 
 " And how is it v. ilh tiiee, ni} Ziua,' ' thy a^-trologer said, 
 "and ilry- litLlo one:^" 
 
 '' It io well. Anil tliy^.Uf, I'ijtro?'' 
 
 " Very well. And the moihor?** 
 
 " Ah, tho mother! Poo;- molhcr! She lies as you saw 
 ber lafci. — aij you will always see her in this lower worlds- 
 uiead in life! Auil lie. " — tii'3 girl Zara's eyes lighted fierce- 
 ly up—" didst {.ee iiini, Pietro?" 
 
 " I have seen liini, spoken to him, told him the paslv 
 and terrified him for tho futuje. There is a son, Zara — a 
 acw-born son." 
 
 " Dog antl son of a dog I" Zara cried, furiously. " Ma» 
 eiMses light upon him in liic hour of his birth, and uytor* 
 all wlio bear his hated namel Say, Pietro, why didst tho" 
 not strangle the liitie viper as you would any other poison- 
 ous reptile?'' 
 
 The man laughed softly. 
 
 " My Zara, I did not even see him. He lies cradled in 
 rose leave.-i, no doubt, ami (he singing of the west wind i»» 
 not sweet enough for his lullaby. No profane eye musfc 
 re«t on this sacred treasure h\:i':\i from the hands of th''' 
 gods! Is he not the hoir of Kingsland? Jiut, sweet, * 
 have read the stars for them. Achmtt the Aslrologer has 
 cast his horo^eope, and Aehmet, and Zara, his v^ife, will see 
 that the starry do;?Liiiy is fuJiJiled. Shall sve not;'" 
 
 If I onlv had him hero," Zara cried, clawinc" the 
 
 [II « 
 
 with her two handi^ her black eyes blazimr, '* I woula 
 throttle the baby Knako, and liing him dead in his father' 
 
 fact 
 
 And tlhit father! Oh, biuninir alive would be far 
 
 too mereiftd for him!" 
 
 Aohmet smiled, and drew her long black braids caress- 
 ingly thiougli his lingers. 
 
 " You know liow to hate, and you will teach our little 
 one. Yes, the fate I have foretolu <ihail eome to pass, and 
 the son of Sir Jasper will live to curse the day of his birth- 
 And now I will remove my dioguise, and wash and break 
 fast, for I feel the calls oi' hunger. Then I will see the 
 mother." 
 
20 
 
 THE HARONET's HIilDE. 
 
 II 
 
 clothing 
 
 " Slio lias been waiting for your coming," Zara 8ai#« 
 " 8I10 counts the moments when you are away." 
 
 ►She led the way into the room. There was but the one 
 room and a loft above. The lower apartment of the liut 
 on the heath was the very picture of abject poverty ami 
 dreary desolation. The earthen iloor was broken and 
 rough; the sunlight came sifting through the chinivs in 
 the broken walls. A smoky fire of wet driftwood sulked 
 and smoldered, black and forbidding, under a pot on the 
 crook. There was neither table nor chairs. A straw pal- 
 let with a wretched coverlet lay in one corner; a few broken 
 stools were scattered around; a few articles of " 
 hung on the wall. That was all. 
 
 " The little one sleeps," the man said, casting a swif* 
 glance over at the pallet. " Our pretty baby, Zara. Ab* 
 if Sir Jasper Kingsland loves his first-born son as we lov** 
 our child, or half so well, we are almost avenged already!' 
 
 " He had need to love it better than his first-born daugh 
 terl'' Zara said, fiercely. "The lion loves its whelp, th** 
 tiger its cub; but he, less human than the brutes, casts ot^ 
 his offspring in the hour of its birth!" 
 
 " Meaning yourself, my Zara?" the man said, with hi« 
 slow, soft smile. " What would you have, degrade(* 
 daughter of a degraded mother — his toy of an hour? Anc^ 
 there is another daughter — a fair-haired, insipid nonentity* 
 of a dozen years, no more like our beautiful one here than 
 a farthing rush-light is like the stars of heaven. " 
 
 He drew down the tattered quilt, and gazed with shin 
 ing eyes of love and admiration at the sleeping face of **■ 
 child, a baby girl of scarce two years; the cherub face rosv 
 with sleep, smiling in her dreams; the long, silky black 
 lashes sweeping the Hushed cheek; the abundant, feathery . 
 jet-black curls floating loosely about — an exquisite pictur<3 
 of blooming, healthful, beautiful childhood. 
 
 Zara came to where the man knelt gazing with adoring 
 face, her wide black eyes glistening. 
 
 *' My beautiful one! my rosebud!" she murmurefl. 
 " Pietro, the sun shines on nothing half so lovely in this 
 lower world!" 
 
 The man glanced up with his lazy smile. 
 
 '* And yet the black, bad blood of the Gitana flows iir 
 her veins, too. She is a Spanish gypsy,, as her mother and 
 
THE baronet's UiaDE. 
 
 2A 
 
 the 
 
 grandmother boforo Iilm*. Nay, not hor inoLhor, since th« 
 bh»o blood of jiU tlio Kin,L^sl:inds Hows in her veins." 
 
 "Never!" cried Z:ii-. "her eyes ablaze. "If 1 thought 
 one drop of that man's bitter blood throbbed in my heart, 
 the first knife I met sliould let it forth. Look at me!" 
 she wildly cried, tossing back her raven hair; " look o-t 
 me, Pietro— Zara, your wife! Have I one look of him or 
 his abhorred English race?'' 
 
 " My Zara, no! You are Sir Jasper Kingsland's daugh- 
 ter, but there is no look of the great Sir Jasper in your 
 gypsy face, nor in the face of our darling, either. She ia 
 all our own!" 
 
 " I would strangle her in her cradle, dearly as I love her-. 
 else!" the woman said, her passionate face aflame 
 " Pietro, my blood is like liquid tire when 1 think of liiniv 
 and my mother's wrongs." 
 
 " Wait, Zara — wait. The wheel will turn and our tim*^ 
 come. And now for breakfast! Dost know, wife, Sr* 
 Jasper Kingsland asked me to break his bread and drink 
 of his cup?" 
 
 "The villain! the traitor! the dastard! I only wonder 
 the very air of his house did not stifle you! Haste, Pietro,, 
 and remove this disguise. Your morning meal is ready.' 
 
 She whipped oft the pot, removed the lid, and a savory 
 gush of steam filled the room. The man Pietro laughed. 
 
 " Our poached hare smells appetizing. Keep tho 
 choicest morsel for the mother, Zara, and tell her I wiU 
 be with her presently. There! Achmet the Astrologer liea 
 in a heap." 
 
 He had deftly taken off his flowing cloak, his long, sil- 
 very beard and hair, and flung them together in a corner;) 
 and now he stood in the center of the room, a stalwart 
 young fellow of thirty or thereabouts, with great Spanish 
 eyes and profuse curling hair of an inky blackness. 
 ' " Let me but wash this white enamel off my face," he 
 said, giving himself a shake, " and Pietro is himself again. 
 Sir Jasper would hardly recognize Achmet, I fancy, if he 
 saw him now." 
 
 He walked to a shelf on which was placed a wash-bowl 
 and towel, and plunged his face and head into the cold 
 water. Five minutes' vigorous splashing and rubbing* 
 and he emerged, his pallid face brown as a berry, his black 
 hair in a snarl of crisp qurls. 
 
 iifl 
 
1! 
 
 ii 
 
 33 
 
 THE BARON KTS nJUI).;. 
 
 n 
 
 
 It 
 
 *' And now to satisfy I bo iimor nian,'* ho saifl, walkings 
 over to the ])ot. seizing a woDdcn spoon, auil (li-awiii;^ up ''• 
 oriokct. "My trump ol! last ui'^^lil untl tliid mornifig lijw 
 mado nie famously hungry, Zara." 
 
 " And tho liaro soup is good,"' salil Zara. '* While you 
 breakfast, Piutro, 1 will go to niotlier. Come up wheG 
 you linii^h. *' 
 
 A stee[) stair-way that was liko a hulder led £o the loft. 
 Zartt asconded tliis with agilo lieetucrfrf, mid the lato as- 
 trologor was left alouo at liij very unmagieian-liko work of 
 scraping the pot with a wooden sjjoon. Once or twiee, a^ 
 the fancy crossed him of the contrast between Achmet th*i 
 Astrologer reading Iho stars, and Pietro the tramp scrap- 
 ing tho bonos of tho stolen hare, he laughed grimly t^ 
 himself. 
 
 " And the world is made np of Just such contrasts," hf- 
 thought, " and Pietro at his hi^mely breakfast is more t^-'- 
 bo dreaded tlian Achmet casting the horoscope. Ah! Si- 
 Jasper Kingshuid, it is a ve-.-y fine thing to be a barone*" 
 with fifteen thousand ^^ounds a year, a noble ancestral seal- 
 a wife you love, and a son you adore. And yet Pietro, th^-- 
 vagabond tramp — tho sunburned gyp^-sy, witli stolen harow 
 to eat, and rags to wear, and a hut Lo lodge in — would no*- 
 exchange places with you this bright March day. Wo hav*'- 
 sworn vendetta to you and all of your blood, and by — ^ 
 he uplifted his arm and swore a fearful oath — " we wiU 
 keep our vow!"' 
 
 His swarthy face darkened with passionate vindictive- 
 iiess as he arose, a devil gleaming in either fierce blaoK 
 eye. 
 
 " ' As a man sows so shall he reap,* " he muttered be- 
 tween his clinched teeth, setting his face toward Kingsland 
 Court. " You, my Lord of Kingsland, have sown the 
 wind. You shall learn what it is to reap the whirlwind!" 
 
 *' Pietro! Pietro!'' crowed a little voice, gleefully. 
 ** Papa Pietro! take Sunbeam!" 
 
 The little sleeper in tho bed had sat up, her bright, dark 
 face sparkling, i;wo little dimpled arms outstretched. 
 
 The man turned, his vindictive face growing radiant. 
 
 *' Papa Pietro's darling! his life! his angel! And ho\» 
 does the little Sunbeam?" 
 
 He caught her up, covering her cherub face with impa»- 
 stoned kisses. 
 
tjn: lUiioNF/ra urtiDE. 
 
 29 
 
 ■'Mylovol my lifol my durliiiLr! Whuii Pietro is doiul, 
 niul ZiU'U is old iiiul fueblu, and ZlmuLIi dust and ashes, you 
 \vill livo, my ruiliiiiit aiigcl, my blauk-oyed beauty, to por- 
 petimto the malediction. When hia son ia u man, you will 
 bo a svoman, with all a woman's subtle [)Ower and more 
 tlian a woruiui'rf bi.'iiuty, and you will be his curse, and his 
 bane, and his blijilit, as his father has been oura! Will 
 you not, my little Sunbeam?'^ 
 
 *' Yes, papa — }es, pupa!'' lis[)C'd the little one, patting 
 his brown cheeks and kirfsiiig thorn lovingly. " Sunbeam 
 iS jnipa'u own girl, aivd will do what pa])a says." 
 
 ** i'ietro!" called the voice of his wife above, *' if you 
 5tiave done breakfast, come up. Mother is awake and 
 U'ould see you." 
 
 " Coming, carissuna!'' 
 
 IIo kissed the biiby girl, placed her ou the pallet, and 
 sprung lightly up the steep stair. 
 
 The loft was just a f-hude less wretched than the apart- 
 ment below. There was a bed on the iloor, more decently 
 'oovered, two broken chairs, a table with some medicine- 
 iyottles and cups, and a white curtain on the one poor win- 
 ••iow. By this ivindow Zara stood, gazing out over the 
 bunlit sea. 
 
 On the bed lay a woman, over whom Pietro bent rever- 
 ently the moment he entered the room. It was the wreck 
 ji a woman who, in the days gone by, must have been 
 gloriously beautiful; who was beautiful still, despite the 
 ravages years, and sickness, and j)overty, and despair liad 
 wrought. 
 
 The eyes that blaznd brilliant and black were the eyes of 
 Kara — the cyeso? the buby Sunbeam below — and this wom- 
 an was the mother of one, the grandmother of the other. 
 
 Pietro knelt by the pallet aiid tenderly kissed one trans- 
 parent hand. The gn at black eyes turned upon him wikl 
 and wide. 
 
 " Thou hast seen him, Pietro?" in a breathless sort of 
 Way. '' Zara says so." 
 
 " 1 have seen him, my mother; I have spoken to him. 
 i spent hours with Sir Jasper Kiiigshind last night." 
 
 " Thou didst?" Her woids came i)antijigly, while pas- 
 liiou throbbed in every line of her face. *' And there is c. 
 Bon — an heir?" 
 
 "There is.'* 
 
 !•: a 
 
 m 
 
 !>i 
 
 m 
 
f 
 
 M 
 
 IHE UAllONETS BRIDE. 
 
 She snatched hor hand away and throw up hor withorod 
 iirms witli a vindictivo shriek. 
 
 " And 1 lio horo, a helpless log, and ho trium])hs! I, 
 2enitli, tho Queon of tho Tribe — 1, once beautiful and pow- 
 erful, hapi)y and free! I lie hero, a withered liiflk, what 
 he has made mo! And a son and heir is born to him!" 
 
 As if the thought had goaded hor to a f ron/y of nuulno«s, 
 sho leajyjd up in bed, tossing her gaunt arms and shrieking 
 madly: 
 
 '* Take mo to him — take me to him! Zara! l^ietro! 
 Take mo to him, if yo are children of mine, that J may 
 hurl my burning curse upon him and his son before I diol 
 Take mo to him, I say, or I will curse yo!" 
 
 Sho fell back with an impotent scream, and tho man 
 fiefcro caught her in his arms. Quivering and convulsed, 
 x'oaming at the mouth and black in tho face, sho writhed 
 \n an epileptic fit. 
 
 " She will kill herself yet,'* Piotro said. " Hand mo 
 the drops, Zara." 
 
 Zara poured something out of a bottle into a cup, and 
 iPietro held it to the sick woman's livid lips. 
 
 She choked and swallowed, and, as if by magic, lay still 
 in his arms. Very tenderly ho laid her back on the bed. 
 
 " She will sleep now, Zura," he said. " Lot us go." 
 
 They descended the stairs. Down below, the man laid 
 "tiis hands on his wife's shoulders and looked solemnly into 
 llier face. 
 
 *' Watch her, Zara," he said, " for sho is mad, and tho 
 very first opportunity sho will make her escape and seek 
 out Sir Jasper Kingsland; and that is the very last thing 
 1 want. So watoh your mother well." 
 
 <li 
 
 V 
 
 I I! 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 AN UNINVITED GUEST. 
 
 Sir Jasper Kingsland stood moodily alone. He was 
 in the library, standing by the window — that very window 
 through which, one stormy night scarcely a month be- 
 .fore, he had admitted Achmet the Astrologer. He stood 
 ibhere with a face of such dark gloom that all the bright- 
 ness of the sunlit April day could not cast one enlivening 
 gleam. 
 

 THE HAROXET'S BRIDE. SI 
 
 ' Ami ycit the prosj)0(3t on wliluh ho givzod miglit hav« 
 mudo luminous tho fnco of tiny ooninion nuui, although 
 not 80 blcssoil as to bo its ownor. ISvvelling nieailowH all 
 his own; volvoty hiwns sloping away to sunlit torracoa. 
 where gauily poacouks strutted; long, leafy areadoa 
 through whioh tho golden sunlight sifted in amber rain; 
 waving trees and dark ])hintations. Over all the (doudlesa 
 Ai)ril sky, and far beyond the si)arkling, sunny sea. 
 
 JJut not all the glory of earth and sky could lighten that 
 settled cloud of blaekcs-t gloom on tho wealthy baronet's 
 face. IIo stood tiiere soowling darkly upon it all, so lost 
 in his own son'ber thoughts that ho did not hear the library 
 door open, nor the soft rustlo of a woman's dress as slio 
 lialted on tho threshold. 
 
 A fair and stately lady, with a proud, colorless fac^ 
 lighted up with j^ale-bluo eyes, and with bands of pal« 
 ilaxen hair pushed away under a dainty lace cap — a 'ady 
 who looked scarce thirty, although almost ten years olaer 
 unmistakably handsome, unmistakably j^^'f^n^l' -^t W;v« 
 Olivia, Lady Kingsland. 
 
 " Alone, Sir Jasper!" a musical voice said. " May i 
 come in, or do you i)refer solitude and your own thoughts?* ' 
 
 The sweet voice — soft and low, as a lady's voice should 
 be — broke tho somber spell that bound him. He wheeled 
 round, his dark, moody face lighting up at sight of her, an 
 all tho glorious morning sunshine never could have lighter* 
 it. That one radiant look would have told you how liu 
 loved his wife. 
 
 '* You, Olivia?" ho cried, advancing. " Surely this k 
 a surprise! My dearest, is it quite prudent in you to leavo 
 your room?" 
 
 He took the slender, white-robed figure in his arms, anrl 
 kissed her as tenderly as a bridegroom of a week inighn 
 have done. Lady Kingsland laughed a soft, tinkling lit- 
 tle iaugh. 
 
 ** A month is quite long enough to be a prisoner, .Tasper, 
 even although a prisoner of state. And on my boy's 
 christening fete — the son and heir 1 have desired so long 
 — ah, surely a weaker mother than 1 might essay to quil 
 her room. " 
 
 The moody darkness, like a palpable frown, swept over 
 the baronet's face again at her words. 
 
 *' Is he dressed?'* he asked. 
 
26 
 
 THE baronet's bride. 
 
 ii 
 
 t 
 
 '* He is dressed and asleep, and Lady Helen and Mr« 
 Oiirlyon, his godmother and godfiithor, are hovering over 
 the crib hke twin guardian aDgels. And Mildred sits e9€ 
 (jrandfi tenuo on her cricket, in a speechless trance of de- 
 light, and nurse rustles about in her new silk gown and 
 white laoe cap with an air oi importance and self-comi)la-- 
 eency almost indescribable. The domestic picture only wants 
 pai)a and mamma to make it complete." 
 
 felie lauglied m slie spoke, a little sarcastically; but Sir 
 Jasper's attempt even to smile was a ghastly failure. 
 
 Lady Kingsland folded both her h.inds on his shoulder, 
 and looked up in his face with anxious, bearching eyes. 
 
 " What is it?" she asked. 
 
 The baronet laughed uneasily. 
 
 " What is what?" 
 
 " This gloom, this depression, this dark, mysterious 
 moodiness. Jasper, wliat has changed you of late?'* 
 
 " Mysterious moodines:iI changed me of late! Nonsense. 
 Olivia! 1 don't know what you mean." 
 
 Again he strovi; to laugh, and again it was a wretched, 
 failure. 
 
 Lady Kingsland's light-blue ej'es never left his face. 
 
 " I think you do, Jasi)er. Since the night of our boy'a 
 birth you have been another man. What is it?" 
 
 A si)asm crossed the baronet's face; his li2)s twitched 
 convulsively; liis face slowly changed to a gray, ashen pal 
 lor. 
 
 " What is it?"' tlie lady slowly reiterated. " Surely m,V 
 husband, after all tlieso years, has no secrets from me?" 
 
 The tender reproach of her tone, of her eyes, stung the 
 husband, who loved her, to tlie quick. 
 
 " For God's sake, ()livia, don't a.:;k me!" ho cried, pas- 
 sionately. ''It would bo shecresit nonsonsL* in your eyes, 
 I know. You would but laugh at what half drives me 
 mail!" 
 
 "Jasper!" 
 
 " Don't look at me with that reproachful face, Olivia! 
 It is true. You would look upon it as sheerest folly, I 
 tell you, and laugh at mo for a credulous fool." 
 
 " No," said Lady Kingslaiul, quietly, and a little coldly, 
 *' You know me better. 1 could never laugh at what give* 
 ftiy husband pain." 
 
 "Pain! 1 have liTed in torment ever since, and yet^ 
 
 II! Ill 
 
THE ■RAEOXET'S -RRTDE. 
 
 2? 
 
 »Tho knows? — it may be absurrlost jngcrlery. But he told 
 me ^le past so truly — niv very thoughts! And no one 
 3on!(l know what hiijincncd in ^pv'm so many years ago! 
 Oh, 1 must btslievi^ it — I can not h^lp it — and that belief 
 <\'ill drive me mad!'" 
 • The outburst '.vas more to himself than to her. He even 
 forgot ?he was there. 
 
 Lady KingHlaml stood looking and listening, in pale 
 A'onder. 
 
 *' I don't understand a word of this/* she said, slowly. 
 '' Will you tell me, Sir Ja-per, or am I to understand 
 you h;ive secrets your wife may not share?'* 
 
 Jlo turned to her, took boih her hands, and gazed into 
 her pale, patrician fai o ./ilh a look of pas.:iouate pain. 
 
 "My own dear wii'o," ho said— "my best beloved — 
 tleaveii knows, if I have one secret from you, I keep it 
 v.hat 1 mjy save you sorrow. X't one cloud should ever 
 <iarken the sunshine of your sky, if I had my way. You 
 «ire right — 1 have a. secret — a secret of horror, and dread, 
 >»nd dismay — a te'-rible secret that sears my brain and burns 
 tny heart! Olivj.i, my darliiig, its very horror prevents 
 .'uy telling it to you!" 
 
 '* Does it concern our boy?'* she asked, quickly. 
 
 "Yes!'* with a groan. " IS'ow you can understand its 
 rull terror. It meiuices the S(m I love more than life. 1 
 ^bought to keep it from you; I tried to aj^pear unchanged; 
 but it seems I havo failed miserably. '* 
 
 " And you will not tell me what this secret is?** 
 
 " I dare not! 1 would not have you suffer as 1 sutTer. ** 
 
 " A momnut ago,*' said his wife, impatiently, " you said 
 *i would laugh at it and you. Your terra • a:e inconsistent, 
 fciir Jasper." 
 
 " Spare me, Olivia! — I Hcarco know what J say — and do 
 Brot be angrv. '* 
 
 She drew her hands coldiv and haucrhfilv away from his 
 grasp. She was a thoroughly prouil vromaii, and his secrecy 
 stung her. 
 
 " I am not angry, Sir Jasper. Kee{) your secret, if you 
 M'ill. ^. was foolisdi cnoucdi to fancv 1 had ii;{ht to know 
 '.A any I'anger that menaces my baby, })ut it a]>pt ars 1 was 
 ♦nistakcn. In half an hour the carriages will start for the 
 »;hureh. You will find us all in !he nursery.'* 
 
98 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 ,'F 
 
 i; 
 
 Slie was sweeping proudly away in silent anger, but the 
 T)aronet strode after her and caught her arm. 
 
 " You will know this!" he said, huskily. *' Olivia, 
 Olivia! you are cruel to yourself and to me, but you shall 
 hear — part, at least. I warn you, however, you will be no 
 happier for knowing," 
 
 " Go on," she said, steadily. 
 
 He turned from her, walked to the window, and kept 
 liis back to her while he spoke. 
 
 "You have no faith in fortune-tellers, clairvoyants, 
 astrologers, and the like, have you, Olivia?" 
 
 " Most certainly not!" 
 
 " Then what I have to say will scarcely trouble you as it 
 troubles me — for I believe; and the prediction of an astrolo- 
 ger has ruined my peace for the past month. " 
 
 Lady Kingsland lifted her blonde eyebrows and laughed. 
 
 " Is that all? The mountain in labor has brought forth 
 H mouse. My dear Sir Jasper, how can you be so simply 
 uredulous?" 
 
 "I knew you would laugh," said Sir Jasper, moodily; 
 ••' 1 said so. But laugh if you can. I believe!" 
 
 "Was the prediction very terrible, then?" asked his 
 wife, with a smile. " Pray tell me all about it." 
 
 " It was terrible," her husband replied, sternly. " The 
 living horror it has cast over me might have told you that. 
 Jjisten, Olivia! On that night of our baby boy's birth, 
 wfter I left you and came here, I stood by this window and 
 fciaw a spectral face gleaming through the glass. It was 
 the face of a man — a belated wayfarer — who adjured me, 
 in the Saviour's name, to let him in." 
 
 "Well," said Lady Kingsland, composedly, "you let 
 him in, I suppose?" 
 
 " 1 let him in — a strange-looking object, Olivia, like no 
 creature 1 ever saw before, with flowing beard and hair 
 silver-white — " 
 
 "False, no doubt." 
 
 " He wore a long, disguising cloak and a skull-cap," 
 went on Sir Jasper, heedless of the interruption, " and his 
 tace was blanched to a dull dead white, lie would have 
 looked like a resuscitated corpse, only for a pair of burn- 
 ing black eyes." 
 
 Lady Kingsland shrugged her pretty shoulders. 
 
 " Quite a startling appar'^j'on! Melodramatic in the ex- 
 
 1 
 
I 
 
 THE BARONET'S BKIDE. 
 
 29 
 
 ff 
 
 ,T 
 
 And this singular being- 
 - -> 
 
 an Eastern 
 
 treme 
 
 j,nt, astrologer, what?" 
 
 what was he? Clairvoy- 
 Achmet 
 
 *' Astrologer — an Eastern astrologer — Achmet by 
 name." 
 
 '* And who, probably, never was further than London 
 in his life-time. A well-got-up charlatan, no doubt." 
 
 " Charlatan he may have been; Enj^lishmau he was not. 
 His face, his speech, convinced me of that. And, Olivia, 
 charlatan or no, he told me my past life as truly as 1 
 knew it myself." 
 
 Lady Kingsland listened with a quiet smile. 
 
 " No doubt he has been talking to the good people of 
 the village and to the servants in the house." 
 
 *' Neither the people of the village nor the servants of 
 the house know aught of what he told me. lie lifted the 
 veil of the past, and showed me what transj'ired twenty 
 years ago." 
 
 " Twenty years ago?" 
 
 " Yes, when I was fresh from Cambridge, and making 
 niy first tour. Events that occurred in Spain — that no 
 i,ne under heaven save myself can know of — he told me. 
 He revealed to me my ver}' thoughts in that by-gone time." 
 
 Lady Kingsland knit her solemn brows. 
 
 " That was strange!" 
 
 " Olivia, it was astounding — incomprehensible! 1 should 
 uever have credited one word he said but for that. He 
 iiOld me the i)ast as 1 know it myself. Events that trans- 
 pired in a far foreign land a score of years ago, known, as 
 v thought, to no creature under heaven, he told me of as 
 vf they had transpired yesterday. The very thoughts that 
 1 thought in that by-gone time he revealed as if my heart 
 lay open before him. How, then, could I doubt? If he 
 could lift the veil of the irrevocable past, why not be able 
 to lift (.tie veil of the mysterious future? He took the hour 
 of our child's birth and ascended to the battlements, and 
 there, alone with the stars of heaven, he cast his horoscope. 
 Olivia, men in all ages have believed in this supernatural 
 power of astrology, and I believe as firmly as 1 believe in 
 Heaven." 
 
 Lady Kingsland listened, and that quiet smile of half 
 umusement, half contempt never h.ft her lips. 
 
 " And the horoscope proved a horror^jcope, no doubt. 
 
 }) 
 
50 
 
 THE BAKONET'S KUIDB. 
 
 
 whe snid, the smilo deepening. " You p-xid your astrologer 
 
 haudsoiiiely, I juvsuuie, JSir Jasper?" 
 
 " I gave liiiu nothing. lie would talvo nothing — not 
 even a cup of wutei*. Of his own free will ho cast the 
 Horoscope, and, without reward of any kind, went his 
 way when he had done." 
 
 '' Wliat did you say the name was?" 
 
 " x\chniet tlie Astrologer. •** 
 
 "Melodramatic sgainl And now, Sir Jasper, what 
 Hwful fate hetii-ics ou.* bjy?" the asked, wiih that derisive 
 bmile on her face, and her husband turned moodily away. 
 
 '' Content you, Olivia! Ask me not! You do not he- 
 lieve. You woidd not if I told you, and it is better so. 
 What the astrologer foretold I shall tell no one." 
 
 "■ The carrliigo waits, my ludy," a servant said, enter- 
 ing. '" Lady Helen bade me remind you, my lady, it is 
 time to start for (hui(;h. " 
 
 Lady Kingsland hastily glanced at her watch. 
 
 " Why, so it is! 1 had nearly forgotten. Come, Sir 
 t/asper, and forget your gloom and su2)er3titious feai'S on 
 Uiis happy day." 
 
 She led him from the room. Baby, in its christening- 
 x-obes, slept in nurse's arms, and Lady Helen and Mr. Oarl- 
 you stood impatiently v^'uiting. 
 
 "We will certainly be late'!'* Lady Helen, who was 
 f^odmanima, said, fussily. "Had we not better depart at 
 t.nce. Sir Jasper?" 
 
 " I am quite at your ladyship's service. Wo will not 
 (lelay an instant longer. Proceed, nurse." 
 
 Nurse, witli her precious burden, went before. Sir Jas- 
 ^>er drew Ludy Helen's arm within his own, and Mr. Carl- 
 yon followed with li.tle Mildred Kingsland. 
 
 Lady Kingsland watched the carriage out of faight, and 
 then went slowly and thoughtfidly back to her room. 
 
 " How extremely foolish and weak of Sir Jasper," she 
 was thinldng, " to pay the slightest attention to the cant- 
 iiig nonsense of these fortune-telling impostors! If I had 
 been in his place 1 would have had him horsewhipped from 
 my gates for his pains. I mast Ihul out what this terrible 
 prediction was and laugh it out of my silly husband's 
 liiiind." 
 
 Meantime the carriage rolled down the long avenue. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
ii 
 
 tn 
 
 THE BARONET S BRIDE. 
 
 3t 
 
 
 !i 
 
 under the majestic coppor-bcochcs, thvonpjh tlio lofty gutosi 
 and ulon;!; the bright Kunlit rruul hauling to tho village;. 
 
 Ill stole and surplice, wilhiii the vill.'ige ciuirth, the Rev- 
 erend Cyi'iis GretMi, IiGctor of 8r<;n(. haven, stood by the 
 baptismal f<.'Ut, waiting to biiptizu the heir of all llie King.'*- 
 Iauu8. 
 
 A few loiterers stood around (he entrance; a few wore 
 scattered amo ig the pews, siaring with wide-open eyes as 
 the christening procession passeil in. 
 
 Stately and uplifted, Sir Jasper Kingsland strode up (he 
 aisle, with Lady I[elen upon his arm. Xo trace of the 
 trouble within showed in his pale, set face as ho stood 
 little aloof and heard his son baptized Everard Jaspo' 
 Carew Kingsland. 
 
 The ceremony was over. Xurse took the infant baronet 
 again; Lady Helen adjusted her mantle, sh'ghLly awry fr(»rr 
 holding baby, and the lieverund Cyrus Green wa^; bhimlly 
 olfering his congratulations to the greatest man in th^^i 
 parish, when a sudden commotion at the door starthd all 
 Some one striving to enter, and some other one refusing, 
 admission. 
 
 " Let me in, 1 tell j'ou!" cried a shrill, piercing voioe— ' 
 the voice of an angry woman. " Stand aside, woman! 1 
 will see Sir Ja«}).r Ki'tgbluud!'^ 
 
 With the last ringing words the intruder burst past thfv 
 pew-opener, and rushed wildly into the church. A weirrt 
 and unearthly figure — like one of Macbetli's witches — with 
 streaming black hair floating ovor a long, red cloalc, anci 
 two black eyes of llame. All recoiled as the spectral iJg- 
 ure rushed up like a mad thing and confronted Sir Jasper 
 Kingsland. 
 
 " At last!" she shrilly cried, in a voice that pierctd even 
 to the gaping listeners without — "at last, Sir Jasper 
 Kingsland! At last sve meet again!'* 
 
 There was a horrible cry as the baronet started back., 
 putting up both bands, udth a look of unutterable horror. 
 
 "Good God! Zenith;*' 
 
 "Yes, Zenith!" shrieked (he woman; " Zenitli, the 
 beautiful, once! Zenith, the hag, the crone, the mad worn-' 
 an, now! Look at me well, Sir Jasper Kingsland — for th'" 
 ruin is your own handiwork!" 
 
 He stood like a man paralyzed — speechless, stunued-' 
 his face the livid hue ol death. 
 
 ,1 
 
3» 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 
 The wretched woman stood before him with streaming 
 hair, blazing eyes, and uplifted arm, a very incarnate f m'y, 
 
 " Look at me well!*' she fiercely shrieked, tossing her 
 iocks of eld off her fiery face. " Am I like the Zenith of 
 twenty years ago — young and beautiful, and bright enough 
 eren for the fastidious Englishman to love? Look at ma 
 now — ugly and old, wrinkled and wretched, deserted and 
 despised — and tell me if I have not greater reason to hato 
 you than ever woman had to hate man?*' 
 
 She tossed her arms aloft with a madwoman's shriek — 
 crying out her words in a long, wild scream. 
 
 "I hate you— 1 hate youT Villain! dastard! perjured 
 wretch! I hate you, and I curse you, here in the church 
 you call holy! 1 curse you with a ruined woman's curse^ 
 and hot and scathing may it burn on your head and on thfl 
 heads of your children's children!" 
 
 The last horrible scream, the last horrible words, aroused 
 the listeners from their petrified trance. The Reverend 
 Cyrus Green lifted up his voice in a ringing tone of com- 
 mand: 
 
 " This woman is mad ! She is a furious lunatic! Daw- 
 son! Humphreys! come here and secure her!" 
 
 But before the jvords were spoken, the madwoman's eyew 
 had fallen upon the nurse and baby. 
 
 "The child! the child!" she cried, with a screech of 
 demoniac delight; "the spawn of the viper is within my 
 grasp!" 
 
 One plunge forward and the infant heir was in her arms, 
 lield high aloft. One second later, and its blood and brains 
 would have bespattered the stone floor, but Mr. Carlyon 
 sprung forward and wrenched it from her grasp. 
 
 The two men summoned by the clergyman closed upon 
 her and held her fast. It took all their united strength 
 for a few moments; she struggled with a madwoman's 
 might; her frantic shrieks rang to the roof. Then, sud- 
 denly, all ceased, and, foaming and livid, she fell between 
 them in an epileptic fit — a dreadful sight to see. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 zenith's malediction. 
 A DEAD pause of blank consternation; the faces around 
 a sight to see; horror and wonder in every eountenanct*- 
 
 (^ 
 
 
^ 
 
 i 
 
 } 
 
 THE IJAKONET'S BRIDB. 31 
 
 — most of all in the couutenance of Sir .Jasper Kiugsland. 
 Deal], and in his cottin, the baronet would never look 
 more horribly livid than he did now. 
 
 The clergyman was the first to recover presence of mind 
 —the first to speak. 
 
 '* The woman is stark mad," he said. " We must see 
 about this. 8uch violent lunatics must not be allowed to 
 go at large. Here, Humphreys, do you and Dawson lift 
 hor up and carry her to my house. It is the nearest, and 
 she can bo properly attended to there." 
 
 " You know her, Sir Jasjier, do you not?" asked Ladj 
 Helen, with (juick womanly intuition, looking with keen, 
 suspicious '^vcs into the baronet's ghastly face. 
 
 " Know her?" Sir Jasper replied, in a stunned sort of 
 way — " know Zenith? Great Heaven! I thought she was 
 dead." 
 
 The Keverend Cyrus Green and Lftdy Helen exchanged 
 glances. Mr. Carlyon looked in sharp surprise at the 
 8])eaker. 
 
 " Then she is not mad, after all! I thought she mistook 
 you for some one else. If you know her, you have the best 
 right to deal with her. Shall these men take her to Kings- 
 land Court?" 
 
 " iSlot for ten thousand worlds!" Sir Jasper cried, im- 
 petuously. " The woman is nothing — less than nothing — 
 to me. I knew her once, years ago. 1 thought her dead 
 and buried; hence the shock her sudden entrance gave 
 me. A lunatic asylum is the j^roper place for such as she. 
 Let Mr. Green send her there, and the sooner the better." 
 
 He turned away from the sight upon the floor; but 
 though he strove to speak carelessly, his face was bloodless 
 as the face of a corpse. 
 
 The Keverend Cyrus Green looked with grave, suspicious 
 eyes for a moment at the leaden face of the speaker. 
 
 " There is wrong and mystery about this," he thought 
 — " a dark mystery of guilt. This woman is mad, but her 
 wrongs have driven her mad, and you. Sir Jasper Kings- 
 land, are her wronger. " 
 
 " It shall be as you say. Sir Jasper," he said, alond; 
 *' that is, if I find this poor creature has no friends. Are 
 you aware whether she has any?" 
 
 " I tell you I know nothing of her!" the baronet cried, 
 a 
 
 it 
 
 ■i 
 
 lii 
 
3^ 
 
 THE BARONET*S BRIDE. 
 
 with fierce impatieuco. " Wliut should I know of such a 
 wretcii as that?" 
 
 " More tliau you dare tell, Sir Jasper Kingsland!'* cried 
 a hli:h, ringing voice, us a young woiiuiii ruthed impetu- 
 ously iiilo the churciiantl up the aisle. " Coward and liar! 
 False, perjured \vrtt(!h! \ou are too white-livered a hound 
 oven to tell the truth! "What should you know of such a 
 wretch as that, forsooth! Double-dyed traitor and dastard! 
 Look uie in the face, if you dare, and tell me you dou'l 
 know her I'' 
 
 Everyone shrunk in terror and dismtiy; Sir Jasper stood 
 as a man might stand suddenly struck by lightning. And 
 if looks were lightning, the blazing eyes of the young 
 woman might havo blasted him v/here he stood. A tail 
 and handsome young woman, with black eyes of fire, 
 streaming, raven haii, and a brown gypsy face. 
 
 " Who are you, in mercy's name?'' cried the Reverend 
 Cyrus Green. 
 
 The great black eyes turned with Hashing quickness 
 upon him. 
 
 " I am the daughter of this wretch, as your baronet 
 yonder is 2>leascd to call my mad mother. Yes, 3Ir. Green, 
 she is my molher. If you want to know vrho my father is, 
 you had better ask Sir Jasper Kingslaud!" 
 
 " It is false!" the baronet cried, the dead ./hite of in- 
 tense terror changing suddenly to rushing crimson. " I 
 know nothing of you or your father. I never set eyes on 
 you befo'-e." 
 
 " "Wait, wait, wait!" the Reverend Cyrus Green cried, 
 imploringly. " For Heaven's sake, young woman, don't 
 make a scene before all these gapiiig listeners. We will 
 have your mother conveyed into the vestry until she re- 
 covers; and if she ever recovers, no time is to be lost in at- 
 tending to her. Sir Jasper, 1 think the child had better 
 be sent home immediately. My lady will wonder at the 
 delay.'' 
 
 A faint wail from the infant lying in the nurse's arms 
 seconded the suggcstioji. That feeble crv and the mention 
 of his wife acted as a magic spell upon the baronet. 
 
 " Your mad intruders have startled us into forgetting 
 everything else. Proceed, nurse. Lady Helen, take my 
 arm. Mr. Carlyon, see to Mildred. The child looks- 
 frightened to death, and little wonder I" 
 
 J 
 
 I 
 
THE BARONETS BRIDE. 
 
 ,) 
 
 I ft 
 
 ■t 
 
 *:i 
 
 " LilLk", iruleed!** sigUed Ludy IIoloii. '* 1 slmll not 
 recover from the shock for i\ uioiith. It was like u scene 
 in rt nii'Ioilrania — like a chapttr of a nonsation novel. And 
 you kno.v that dreadful ortaLuic, Sh* .Jasper?" 
 
 " 1 usod to know her,'' the baronet .said, with emphasis, 
 " -JO many years ago that 1 had almost forgotten she ever 
 exisud. She was always more or less mad, I fancy, and it 
 seems lu-reditary. Her daiigliter — if daughter she be — 
 aeenui as distraught as her mother." 
 
 " And her name, Sir Jasper? You called her by some 
 name, 1 think." 
 
 " Zenith, I suppose. To tell the truth. Lady Helen," 
 irying to laugh carelessly, " the woman is neither more nor 
 less than a gypsy fortune-teller crazed by a villainous life 
 and villainous liquor. But, for the sake of the days gone 
 by, when she was young and pretty and told my fortune, 
 I think I will go back and see what Mr. Green intends do- 
 ing with her. 8iich crazy vagrants should not be allowed 
 to go at large.'" 
 
 The light tone was a ghastly failure, and the smile but 
 a deaih's-head grin, lie placed Lady Helen in the car- 
 riage — Mr. Carlyon aKsisted the nurse and little Mildred. 
 Then Hir Jasper gave the order, *' Home," and the 
 stately carriiioo of the Kingslands, with its emblazoned 
 crest, whirled away in a cloud of dust. For an instant he 
 stood looking after it. The smile faded, and his face black- 
 ened with a bitter, vindictive scowl. 
 
 " Curses on it!" he muttered between set teeth. " After 
 all these years, are those dead doings to be flung in my 
 face? I thought her deaci and gone; and lo! in the hour 
 -of my triumph she rises as if from the grave to confound 
 me. Her daughter, too! I never knew she had a child! 
 Gooil heavei-ss! how these wild oats we sow in youth flour- 
 ish and multiply with their bitter, bad fruit! I sowed 
 mine broadcast, and a sweet harvest home 1 am likely to 
 have!" 
 
 He turned and strode into the vestry. On the floor the 
 miserable woman lay, her eyes closed, her jaw fallen — the 
 upturned face awfully corpse-like in the garish sunshine. 
 By her side, supporting her head, the younger woman knelt, 
 holding a glass of water to her lips. The Keverend Cyrus 
 Grreen stood gravely looking on. 
 
 i 
 
 \ 
 
so 
 
 THE IlAllONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 i 
 
 •' Js slic deiwl?" Sir Jasper askod, in a hard, strident 
 voice. 
 
 It wa^ 1.0 tliu clcr^'ynian lio Hpokc, but the girl looked 
 florwly up, her bJack eyes gilLteriug, her tones like a scr- 
 
 " ^ot (lead. Sir .Jasjtcr Kiiip;sland! No thanks to you 
 for iti Murderer — as luuch a luurdciror as if you hud cut 
 her tliroat — look oii her, and be proud of the ruin you have 
 wrought!" 
 
 " Silence, woman!" Mr. (Jreen ordered, imperiously. 
 *' We will have none of your matl recrimiiuitious here. She 
 is not dead, Sir Jasper, but she is dying, I thirds. 1'liis 
 young woman wishes to remove her — whither, 1 know not 
 —but it is simply impossible. That unfortunate creature 
 will not be alive when to-morrow dawns.'' 
 
 'What do you propose doing with her?" the baronet 
 asked, steadily. 
 
 " We will convey her to the sexton's house — it is very 
 near. I have sent Dawson for a stretcher; he and Humph- 
 reys will carry her. This young woman declines to give 
 her name, or tell who she is, or where she lives." 
 
 " Where I live is no altairof yours, if I can not take my 
 mother there," the young woman answered, sullenly. 
 " Who 1 am, you know. 1 told you 1 am this woman's 
 daughter. " 
 
 " And a gypsy, I take it?" said Mr. Green. 
 
 *' You guess well, sir, but only half the truth. Half 
 gypsy I am, and half gentlewoman. A mongrel, I sup- 
 pose, that makes; and yet it is well to have good blood in 
 one's veins, even on the father's side." 
 
 There was a sneering euiphasis in her words, and the 
 glittering, snaky black eyes gleamed like daggers on the 
 baronet's face. 
 
 But that proud face was set and rigid as stone now. He 
 returixcd her look with a haughty stare. 
 
 " It is a pity the whipping-post has been abolished," he 
 said, harshly. " Your impertinence makes you a fit subject 
 for it, mistress! Take care wo don't commit you to prison 
 as a public vagrant, and teach that tongue of yours a lit- 
 tb civility when addressing your betters. " 
 
 " My betters!" the girl hissed, in a fierce, sibilant whis- 
 per. " Why, yes, I suppose a daughter should look upon 
 a father in that light. As to the whipping-post and prison. 
 
 I 
 
 
THE BARONETS BUTDF. 
 
 37 
 
 He 
 
 Mie 
 
 try It at your peril! Try it, if you dare, Sir Jnsper Kings- 
 
 She rose up nn<l eonfroutod liiin uutii he quailoil. 
 
 Jiefore lie eould speak the door ojionod, and J)a\vsoii en- 
 tered witli the stretcher. 
 
 *' Lay her upon it and remove her at once,'* the rector 
 said, very ghul of tiio interruption. " Here, llumphreya, 
 tiiis side. Gently, my men — gently. ]]o very careful on 
 the way.'* 
 
 The two men placed the seemingly lifeless form of Zenith 
 on the stretcher and bore her carefully away. 
 
 The daughter Zara followed, her eyes never quitting 
 that rigid face. 
 
 " She will not live until to-morrow morning,'' the rec- 
 tor said; " and it is better so, i)Oor soul! She is evidently 
 hopelessly insane." 
 
 *• And the daughter appears but little better. By the 
 Hvay, Mr. Green, Lady Kiogsland desires me to fetch you 
 back to dinner.'* 
 
 The rector bowed. 
 
 *' Her ladyship is very good. Has your carriage gone? 
 X will order out the pony-phaeton, if you like." 
 
 Ten minutes later the two gentlemen were bowling along 
 the pleasant country road leading to the Court. It was a 
 very silent drive, for the baronet sat moodily staring at 
 vacancy, his hat pulled over his brow, his mouth set iu 
 hard, wordless pain. 
 
 " They will tell Olivia," he was thinking, gloomily. 
 ** What will she say to all this?" 
 
 But his fears seemed groundless. Lady Kingsland 
 treated the matter with cool indiU'erence. To be sure, she 
 had not heard quite all. A madwoman had burst into the 
 church, had terrified Lady Helen pretty nearly to death 
 with her crazy language, and had tried to tear away the 
 baby. That was the discreet story my lady heard, and 
 •vhich she was disposed to treat with calm surprise. Baby 
 was safe, and it had ended in nothing; the madwoman 
 was being properly cared for. Lady Kingsland quietly dis- 
 missed the little incident altogether before the end of din- 
 ner. 
 
 The hours of the evening wore on — very long hours to 
 the lord of Kingsland Court, seated at the head of his 
 
 l 
 
 ni 
 
 
1 
 
 1 ■• 
 
 j 
 
 
 1 
 1 
 
 ■ 
 
 1 ■ 
 
 88 
 
 tuv. i?a]{ok"et r tirtde. 
 
 table, (lispt'ii.'ilii;.^ liis lioHjiitiilitioM aiul trying' to listen to 
 till) loii;,' sl.oi'ii'S of Mr. ('iirlyoii suul tho rector. 
 
 ft u';is \vor.^o in the drawin/^-rooni, with the li^'lils mid 
 thu mu-i'', Jind liia atnlely wii'i' ut the iiiiv?io, and Laily 
 Heli'ii at iiid side, prattling' with little Nfildred over a piio 
 ol' on^'iavlnijs. All Ihe time, in a iialC-distracJted sort of 
 way, his thoiighls were wandering to (ho si-xfon'« <!ottngo 
 and t,lie w^mian dving therein — tho vvdnum he had thought 
 ileail years ago — dying there in desolation and misery — and 
 liero tho Ijoih'B sjumed strung on roses. And onee he iiad 
 loved Zonilh. 
 
 It wd^ all over at last. Tho guests wore gone, tho baby 
 baronrt sle[)t in his crib, and Lady Kingsland had gone to 
 iier (;hand)er. Uufc >Sir Jaspor lingered still — waiuhiring 
 up and down the lotig drawing-room like a restless ghost. 
 
 A su'eet-voieeil clock oji the mantel chimed twelve. Mre 
 its last cliinKi had sounded a sleepy valet stood in tho door- 
 way. 
 
 " A me^'senger for you, Sir rJas])er- ''^iitby tho Tievcrond 
 Mr. (Jre(ui. Here — come in." 
 
 'riius invoked, Mr. Dawson entered, pulling his forelook. 
 
 "■ Pairion, he sent me, vau: Sho be a-doying, she be." 
 
 Ho knew instantly who the man meant<. Ho had ex- 
 pecti d and waited for this. 
 
 '' And she wi^dies to see me?'* 
 
 " 81u! calls for you all the time, zur. Sho be a-doying 
 uneonimon hard. Parson bid me come and toll *eo. " 
 
 " Very well, my man," tho baronet said. '" That will 
 do. r vv'ill go at once. Thoniiis, order my horse, and 
 I'eteh my liding-uloak and gloves." 
 
 Th'j valet stared in astonishment, but went to obey. Ifc 
 was snmeilung altogether without precedent, this qiioor 
 proceeding on the part of his master, and, taken in con- 
 neoLiari vvith that other odd event in church, looked re- 
 markably su-spii-ious. 
 
 The idght was dark and starlesa, and the wind blew iraw 
 and bleak as tho baronet tlashed down the avenue and out 
 into tho high-road. ITe ahuiK-t wondered at him self for 
 complying with the dying woman'^ desire, but. same in- 
 ward impulse quite beyond his control seemed driving him 
 on. 
 
 Ho rode rapidly, and a quarliOr of an hour brought him 
 to the sexton's oottago. A feeble light glimmored from ^.he 
 
THK IJARONKTS IIIUDr. 
 
 39 
 
 vviml')".v out into tlie [)itc'li bliiukiuvs.s of tlio ni^'lit. A mo- 
 moiiL hitur and ho hLooiI witliin, in tlii! prosuiiot.« of tlio djr- 
 
 III 
 
 /^' 
 
 'riitt liovcrond Cynia (freon t^iit by tho tublo, a JVihIo in 
 iii.i hiiiiil. Kuei^liiig by the bistlsidc, hur face i^fJiuKLly whito, 
 hur biiniiiiij; bbuik ovivs dry aivd liurlcss, wiis tbo yoimj.j 
 vvutiKUi. And liko u d'Jiid wujiiuii ulvo;iiiy, BtroLciied on tiio 
 boil, luy Zijuitii. 
 
 lUit sill) was not dcail. At tho sound of tlio opcMiing 
 iloor, ;it tbo souuil of his out niiiu'c, sho opened lu'i oyorf, 
 dulliii:^' fast in doaih, uiul lixud tiicin with u hungry ghiro 
 on ISn* .)asj)ur. 
 
 *' I Ivnovv you would como," sho said, in a liusky wliis- 
 pur. " You lUire not Htay away I Tlio spirit of tho dying 
 Zmiitli dr'>vo you iitn-i; in i-'j)iLo of yourself, ('onio ntaror 
 — ni-aror! Wir .his[)or Ivingsiand, don't hover aloof. Onco 
 you could novor bo ni*ar enough. Ah, I waa young and 
 fair then! I'm old and ugly now. (Jomo iiuarcr, for I 
 can not spuak aloud, and listen. Do you know why 1 have 
 sont for you?" 
 
 Ill) had apjiroached tho bedside. Sho caught hi;^ lumd 
 and htdd it iu a viae-like oluteh, her lieree eyes burning 
 npou his faoe. 
 
 •' No," ho said, recoiling. 
 
 " To givo you my dying malediction — to curse you with 
 my latest breath! I hate you, Sir Jasper Kingsland, falsest 
 of all mankind! and if tlie dead can return and torment 
 the living, then do you beware of mel'' 
 
 She spoke in panting gasps, the death-rattle sounding in 
 her skinny throat. Shocked and scandalized, the rector 
 interposed: 
 
 *' My good woman, don't — for pity's sake, don't say such 
 horribit) things!" 
 
 But she nevia* heeded him. The glazing eyes glared 
 with tigerish hate upon the man beside her, even through 
 the tilms of death. 
 
 " 1 hate you!" she said, with a last effort. " 1 die hat- 
 ing yoi., and I curse you with a dying woman's cnr.;e! May 
 your life be a life of torment and misery and remorse! 
 May your son's life bo blighted and ruined! May he be- 
 come au outcast among men! May sin and shame follow 
 him forever, and all of hi-, i-bhorred rate!" 
 
 Her voice died away, lihe glared helplessly up from the 
 
 II 
 
40 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 pillow, unable to speak. A deep, stern, terrible *' Amen!" 
 came from her daughter's lips; then, with a spasm, she 
 half leaped from the bed, and fell back with a gurgling 
 cry — dead ! 
 
 n C 
 
 he is gone!" said the rector, with a shudder. 
 '* Heaven have mercy on her sinful soul!'* 
 
 The baronet staggered back from the bed, his face ut-- 
 terly livid. 
 
 " I never saw a more horrible aight!" continued the 
 Reverend Cyrus. *' 1 never heard such horrible words! 
 No wonder it has unmanned you. Sir Jasper. Pray sit 
 down and drink this." 
 
 He held out a glass of water. Sir Jasper seized and 
 drank it, his brain reeling, for a moment or two quite un- 
 able to stand. 
 
 With stoical calm, Zara had arisen and closed the dead 
 woman's eyes, folded the hands, straightened the stiffening 
 limbs, and composed the humble covering. She had no 
 tears, she uttered no cry — her face was stern as stone. 
 
 *' Better stay in this ghastly place no longer, Sir Jasper," 
 the rector suggested. " You look completely overcome. 
 I will see that everything is properly done. We will bury 
 her to-morrow." 
 
 As a man walks in a dreadful dream. Sir Jasper arose, 
 quitted the room, mounted his horse, and rode away. 
 
 One dark, menacing glance Zara shot after him ; then 
 she sat stonily down by her dead. All that night, all next 
 day, Zara kept her post, neither eating, nor drinking, nor 
 sleeping. Dry and tearless, the burning blac!: eyes fixed 
 themselves on the dead face, and never left it. 
 
 When they put the dead woman in the rude board coffin, 
 she offered no resistance. Calmly she watched them screw 
 the lid down — calmly she saw them raise it on their shoul- 
 ders and bear it away. Without a word or tear she arose, 
 folded her cloak about her, and followed them to the 
 church -yard. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the interment was over 
 — a bleak and gusty afternoon. A sky of lead hung low 
 over a black earth, and the chill blast shuddered ghostly 
 through the trees. 
 
 One by one the stragglers departed, and Zara was left 
 alone by the new-made grave. No, not quite alone, for 
 through the bleak twilight fluttered the tall, dark figure of 
 
 I > 
 
THE PARONET's r.RTDE. 
 
 41 
 
 
 T; man toward lier. Slie lifted her gloomy eyes and recog- 
 nized liim. 
 
 "You come, Sir Jasper Kingsland," she said, slowly, 
 *• to see the last of your work. You come to gloat over 
 your dead victlr?i, and exult that she is out of your way. 
 But I tell you to beware! Zenith in her grave will be a 
 thousand times more terrible to you than Zenith ever was 
 alive!" 
 
 The baronet looked at her with a darkly troubled face. 
 
 " Why do you hate me so?'' he said. " "Whatever wrong 
 1 did her, I never wronged you.'' 
 
 ' ' You have done me deadly wrong ! My mother's wrongs 
 are mine, and here, by her grave, I vow vengeance on you 
 and yours! Her dying legacy to me was her hatred of you, 
 and I will pay the old debt with double interest, my noble, 
 haughty, titled father!" 
 
 She turned with the last words and sped away like an 
 evil spirit, vanishing in the gloom among the graves. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TWO DYING BEQUESTS. 
 
 The midsummer night was sultry and still. The dark- 
 ness was like the darkness of Egypt, lighted every now and 
 then by a vivid flash of lightning, from what quarter of 
 the heavens no man knew. The inky sky was invisible — 
 no breath of air stirred the terrible calm. The midsum- 
 mer night was full of dark and deadly menace. 
 
 Hours ago a fierce and wrathful sunset had burned itself 
 out on a brassy sky. The sun, a h;rid ball of fire, had 
 sunk in billows of blood-red cloud, and pitch blackness 
 had fallen upon earth and sky and sea. Everything above 
 and below breathea of speedy and awful tempest, but the 
 midnight was drawing near, and the storm had not yet 
 burst. 
 
 And on this black June night Sir Jasper Kingsland lay 
 on his stately bed, dying. 
 
 The lofty chamber was but dimly lighted. It was a 
 grand, vast room, paneled in black oak, hung with somber 
 draperies, and carpeted in rich dark Brussels. 
 
 Three wax candles made white spots of light in the sol' 
 emn gloom: a wood-lire burned, or rather smoldered, in 
 the wide hearth, for the vast rooiws were chilly even iu 
 
 i 1 
 
i 3 
 
 43 
 
 THE BAP.O'N'ET'S BUTDE. 
 
 midsnmmftr; but neitlier fire-light nor candle-light, could 
 iJlumino the ghostly depths of the chamber. Shadows 
 L'roH(!hcd like evil things in the diinky corners, and round 
 the bed, only darker shadows among the rest, knelt the 
 dying man's family — wife and daughter and son. And 
 hovering aloof, with pale, anxious faces, stood the rector, 
 the lieverend Cyrus Green, and Dr. Parker Godroy, of the 
 village. 
 
 TJiu last hope was over, the last prayer had been said, 
 the last faint breaths fluttered between the dying lips. 
 "With the tide going out on the shore below, the baronet's 
 life was ebbing. 
 
 " Olivia!" 
 
 Lady Kingsland, kLeeling in tearless grief by her hus- 
 band's side, bent over him to catch the faint whisper. 
 
 " My dearest, I am here. What is it?" 
 
 " Where is Everard?" 
 
 Everard Kingsland, a fair-haired, blue-eyed, handsome 
 boy, lifted his head from the o])posite side. It was a liand- 
 aome, high-bred face — the ancestral face of all the Kings- 
 lands — that of this twelve-year-old boy. 
 
 " Here, papa!" 
 
 The weak head turned slowly: the eyes, dulling in death, 
 fixed themselves on that fail-, youthful face in a gaze of 
 deathless love. 
 
 " My boy! my boy! whom I have loved so well — whc»m 
 I have shielded so tenderly. My precious, oidy son, 1 must 
 leave you at last!" 
 
 The hoy stilled a sob as he bent and kissed the ice-cold 
 (ace. Young as lie u'as, he had the gravity and self-re- 
 prc3>ion of manhood already. 
 
 " I have loved you better than my own life," the faint, 
 whispering voice went on. " J would have died to save 
 you an hour of pain. 1 have kept the one secret of my 
 life well — a secret that has blighteil it berore its time — but 
 1 can not face the dread unknown and bear my secret with 
 me. On my death-bed 1 must tdl all, and n)y darling boy 
 must bear the blow." 
 
 Everard Kiigsland listened to his father's huskily mur- 
 mured words in boyish wonderment. What secret was he 
 talking of? He glanced across at his mother, and to his 
 increased surprise saw her palo cheeks suddenly Hushed 
 and her calm eyes kindling. 
 
THE BAR( net's rRTDK 
 
 ** No living soul Ims orer heard from me what 1 must 
 tell you to-night, my Everard — not even your mother. 
 Do not leave me, Olivia. You, ioo, must knou' all, tluxt 
 you may guard your aon — 'jiat you may pity und forgive 
 me. Perhaps I have err? J in ke.^ping any seen t I'rom 
 3'ou, but the truth was too horrib.e to tell. 'Ihore havn 
 been times when the i. bought of it noarlv drove me mad. 
 How, then, could I tell the v.ife I loved — the son I idolize! 
 — this cruel and ehamefid thing .^'' 
 
 The glazing eyes rolled in piteous appeal from one to 
 the other. The youthful Everard looked eimply bcwih 
 dered — Lady Kingsland excited, expeotant, flush:''.!. 
 
 She gently wiped the clammy brow and held a reviving 
 cordial to the livid lips. 
 
 " My dearest, do not agitate yourself," she raid. " V/n 
 will listen to all you have to say, and love you nojie thn 
 less, let it be what it will.*' 
 
 " My own dear vdfe! half the Eccrct you know alrcad}. 
 You remember the astrologer — the prediction?'* 
 
 '* Surelv. You have never been the ^amc man since 
 that fatal night. It is of the prediciioti you wcuM speak:"" 
 
 " It is. i must tell my son. I must warn him ot the 
 unutterable horror to come. Oh, my boy I my boy: what 
 will become of you when you h'arn your hon-ible Joonir" 
 
 " Papa,** the lad said, softly, but growing very white, 
 " I don*t understand — wliat horror? »^ hat di >m? Tell 
 me, and see how I will bear it. 1 am u Kingsland, you 
 know, and the son of a daring race.** 
 
 "That is my brave boy I Send them out of the room, 
 Olivia — priest, doctor, Mildred, and all — tUen come close 
 to mo, close, close, for my voice is failing — and listen.'* 
 
 Lady Kingsland arose — fair and statei;*' still as twelve 
 years before, and eminently self-sustained in this trying 
 hour. In half a minute she had lurncd out rector, i)hy- 
 sician, and daughter, and kn«jlt again by that bed of deati). 
 The lightning glittered athwart the gloom; the warniug 
 moan of the coming storm, heard in the mighty voice of 
 the sea, sounded terribly distinct, in that eilent room, and, 
 grimly waiting, Death stood in the'r midst. 
 
 "The first part of my story, Olivia,** began the dying 
 man, " belongs to you. Years before I knew you, when 1 
 was a young, hot-headed, ra.-Jily impulsive boy, traveling 
 Ml S^jain, 1 fell in with a gang of wandering gypsies. I 
 
44 
 
 THE BAROKET'S bride. 
 
 it > 
 
 r 
 
 11: 
 
 ! 
 
 Imd been robbed and wounded by mountain briganda; 
 tliese gypsies found me, took me to their tents, cared for 
 me, cured mo. But long after I was well I lingered with 
 thein, for the fairest thing the sun shone on was my black- 
 eyed nurse. Zenith. We were both so young and so fiery- 
 blooded, so — Ah! what need to go over the old, old 
 grounds? 1'liere was one hour of mad, brief bliss, parting 
 and forgetf ulness. I forgot. Life was a long, idle sum- 
 mer holiday to m^e. But she never forgot — never forgave! 
 You remember the woman, Olivia, who burst into the 
 church on the day of our boy^s christening — the woman 
 who died in the sexton's house? That woman was Zenith 
 — old and withered, and maddened by her wrongs — that 
 woman who died cursing me and mine. A girl, dark and 
 fierce, and terrible as herself, stood by her to the last, 
 lingered at her grave to vow deathless revenge — her daugh- 
 ter and mine!" 
 
 The faint voice ceased an instant. Lady Kingsland had 
 drawn back into the shadow of the curtains, and her face 
 could not be seen. The fluttering spirit rallied, and re- 
 sumed : 
 
 " 1 have reason to know that daughter was married. I 
 have reason to know she had a child — whether boy or girl 
 I can not tell. To that child the inheritance of hatred 
 and revenge will fall; that child, some inward prescience 
 tells me, will wreak deep and awful vengeance for the 
 past. Beware of the grandchild of Zenith, the gypsy — be- 
 ware, Olivia, for yourself and your son!" 
 
 There was a pause; then — 
 
 " Is this allr ' Olivia said, in a constrained, hard voice. 
 
 " All I have to say to you — the rest is for Everard. My 
 son, on the night of your birth an Eastern astrologer came 
 to this house and cast your horoscope, lie gave that 
 horoscope to me at day-dawn and departed, and from that 
 hour to this I have neither seen nor heard of him. Before 
 reading your future in the stars he looked into my palm 
 and told me the past — told me the story of Zenith and her 
 wrongs — told n)o what no one under heaven but myself 
 knew. My boy, the revelation of that night has blighted 
 my life — broken my heart! The unutterable horror of 
 your f utiu-e has brought my gray hairs in sorrow to the 
 grave. Oh, my son! what will become of you when I am 
 gone?" 
 
 
 1 
 
'c< 
 
 THE BAKONET S BRIDE. 
 
 45 
 
 M^he boy looked in blank consternation at the ghastly, 
 oo.uvulsod face. The dying voice was ahnost inaudible 
 now. The breath came in panting gasps. The clock was 
 near the stroke of midnight. The tide was all but at its 
 lowest ebb. 
 
 " What was it, papa?" the lad asked. " What has the 
 future in store for me?" 
 
 A convulsive spasm distorted the livid face; tho eye- 
 balls rolled, the death-rattle sounded. With a smothered 
 cry of terror Lady Kingsland lifted the agonized head i-n 
 her arms. 
 
 " Quick, Jasper — the horoscope! Where?" 
 
 " My safe — study — secret spring — at back! Oh, God, 
 have mercy — " 
 
 The clock struck sharply — twelve. A vivid blaze of 
 lambent lightning lighted the room; the awful death-rat- 
 tle sounded once more. 
 
 " Beware of Zenith's grandchild!" 
 
 He spoke the words aloud, clear and distinct, and never 
 spoke again. With that warning on his lips, his head fell 
 heavily back; he turned his glazed eyes on the son he 
 loved, and so — died. 
 
 * ^j ^# ^^ ^A ^A ^A 
 
 »^ »j% 9jm ^p ^^ ^^ 
 
 Many miles away from Kingsland Court that same 
 sultry, oppressive midsummer night a little third-rate 
 theater on the Surrey side of London was crowded to over- 
 llowing. There was a grand spectacular drama, full of 
 transformation scenes, fairies, demons, spirits of air, fire, 
 and water; a brazen orchestra blowing forth, and steam, 
 and orange-peel, and suffocation generally. 
 
 Foremost among all the fairies and nymphs, noted for 
 the shortness of her filmy skirts, the supple beauty of her 
 shapely limbs, her incomparable dancing, and her dark, 
 bright beauty, flashed La Sylphine before the foot-lights. 
 
 The best dmii^cuse in the kingdom, and the prettiest, 
 and invested with a magic halo of romance. La Sylphine 
 shone like a meteor among lesser stars, and brought down 
 thunders of applause every time she appeared. 
 
 The little feet twinkled and Hashed; the long, dark 
 waves of hair floated in a shining banner behind her to the 
 tiny waist; the pale, upraised face — the eyes ablaze like 
 bhick stars! Oh, surely La Sylphine was the loveliest 
 thing, that hot June night, the gas-light shone on! 
 
^ 
 
 4G 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 The fuiry spectacle was over — the green drop-cui'taia 
 I'ell. La feylpliuio Ijad smiled and dipi)ed an'l kissed 
 hands to thundering bravos fur the last time that night, 
 and now,, behind the scenes, was rapidly exchanging tins 
 &pangle3 and gossamer df fairydoin for the shabby and 
 faded merino shawl and dingy straw hat ol; every-day lif'3. 
 
 "You danced better than over to-night. Miss Monti,'' 
 a tiill demon in tail and horns said, sauntering up to her. 
 "Them there jiretty feet of; your'u will make your fort- 
 une yet, and beat Fanny j'^llsler!" 
 
 " .Nut to mention her pretty face," said a brother liend, 
 removing his horrible mask. " Her fortune's made 
 already, if she's a mind to take it. There's a gay young 
 city swell a-waiting at the wings to see you home. Miss 
 Monti." 
 
 La Hylphine laughed. 
 
 " Ls it Mayiuird, the banker's son?" she asked. 
 
 The second demon nodded. 
 
 " Then 1 must escape by the side entrance. When he 
 gets tired waiting, Mr. Smithers, give him La Sylphine's 
 compliments, and let him go." 
 
 She laughed again, soft and silvery, glided past the 
 demons down a dark and winding staircase, and out into 
 the noisy, lighted street. 
 
 The girl paused an instant under a street-lamp — she- 
 was only a girl — fifteen or sixteen at most, though very 
 tall, with a Siright, fearless, precocious look — then draw- 
 ing her shawl closely round her slender figure, she tUtted 
 rapidly awa}^ 
 
 The innumerable city clocks tolled heavily — eleven. 
 The night was pitch-dark; the sheet-lightning blazed across 
 the blackness, and now and then a big drop felL Still the 
 girl sped on, swiftly, surely, looking neither to the right 
 nor left, until she reached her destination. 
 
 It was the poorest and vilest quarter of the great city — 
 among resking smells, and horrible sounds, and disgusting 
 sights. The house she entered v/as tottering to decay — a 
 dreawlul den by day and by night, thronged with the very 
 scum and olTal of the London streets. Up and up a long 
 stair-way she fiew, psuu^ed at a door on the third landing, 
 opened it, and went in. 
 
 It was a miserable room — all one could have expected 
 from the street and the house. There was a black grate. 
 
till) 
 
 1 
 
 THE BAEONET'S BPtTDE. 
 
 47 
 
 one or two broken clmirs, a btUterctl table, and a wretched 
 bed in the corner. On the b'^d a \v(»man — the ;.^h:i.'tly 
 skeleton of a woman — hiy dyiiitj. A ikutering tuliow cau- 
 dle, iluruing wildly, lighted the miserable scene. 
 
 The opening of the door and the entrance of La Sylphine 
 aroused the woman from the stn])or into which 5;he had 
 fallen — the stupor that precedes death. She opened her 
 spectral eyes and looked ca^•erly around. 
 
 "My Suibeam! is it th-ni?" 
 
 "It is 1, mother — at la.^t. I could come no sooner. 
 The ballet was very long to-night.*' 
 
 The weird eyes of the sick woman lighted up w'ltii a 
 sudden flame. 
 
 " And my Sunbeam was bravocd, and encored, and 
 crowned with flowers, and admired beyond all, was ^he 
 not?'' 
 
 " Yes, mother; but never mind that. How are you to- 
 night?" 
 
 " Dying, my own." 
 
 The dansi'um fell on her knees with a shrill, sharj) cry. 
 
 " No, mother — no, no! Not dying! Very ill, very 
 weak, very low, but not dying. Oh, not dying!"' 
 
 " l)ying, my daughter!" the sick woman said, solemn- 
 ly. "I count my life by minutes now; I heard the city 
 cloclvs strike eleven; 1 counted the strokes, for, my Sun- 
 beam, it is the last hour poor Zara, thy mother, will ever 
 hear on earth." 
 
 Tlie ballot-dancer covered her face, with a low, despair- 
 ing cry. The dying mother, wil.h a painful eiiort, lifted 
 her own skeleton hand and removed those of the girl. 
 
 " Weep not, but listen, carisi^imii. 1 have much to say 
 
 to thee before I go; 1 feared to die before you came; and 
 
 icven in my grave I could not rest 'vith the wonls 1 must 
 
 /say unsaid. I have a legacy to leave thee, my daughter." 
 
 " A legacy?" 
 
 The girl oj)ened her great black eyes in wide suri»rise. 
 
 " Even so. Not of lands, or h^,u^^es, cr gold, or honors, 
 but something a thousand-fold greater — an inheritance of 
 hatred and revenge!" 
 
 '*My mother!" 
 
 " Listen to me, my daughter, and my dying malediction 
 be upon thee if thou fultlUest not the trust. Thou hast 
 heard the name of Kingslaud?"' 
 
 ^f> 
 
: 
 
 >h 
 
 \ n 
 
 m 
 
 46 
 
 THE baronet's BRTD-E. 
 
 La Sylpliine's ico darkoncd vindictively. 
 
 " Ay, iiiy jjiotlior — often; from my father ere he died — 
 from thee, since. Was it not his hist couimund to me — 
 this liutred of their evil race? Did I not ])romise him on 
 his death-bod, four years ago? J)oe3 my mother thiuii I 
 forget?" 
 
 ** That is my brave daughter. You know the cruel 
 story of treachery and wrong done thy grandmother. 
 Zenith — you know the prediction your father made to my 
 father. Sir Jasper Kingsland, on the niglit of his son's 
 birth. Bo it thine, my brave daughter, to see that pre- 
 diction fulfilled. '' 
 
 A slight shiver shook her slender frame; her dark face 
 blanched. 
 
 " You ask a terrible thing, my mother,'* she said, slow- 
 ly; " but 1 can refuse you nothing, and 1 abhor them all. 
 I promise — the prediction shall be fulfilled!" 
 
 " My own! my own! That son is a boy of twelve now 
 — be it yours to find him, and work the retribution of the 
 gods. Your grandmother, your father, your mother, look 
 to you from their graves for vengeance. Woe to you if 
 you fail!" 
 
 " I shall not fail!" the girl said, solemnly. *' I can die, 
 but I can not break a promise. Vengeance shall fall, 
 fierce and terrible, upon the heir ol Kingsland, and mine 
 shall be the hand to inflict it. 1 swear it by your death- 
 bed, mother, and I will keep my oath!" 
 
 The mother pressed her hand ; she was too far gone for 
 words. The film of death was in her eyes, its gray shadow 
 on her face. 8he strove to speak — only a husky rattle 
 came; there was a quick, dreadful convwlsion from head 
 to foot, then an awful calm. 
 
 Within the same hour, with miles between them, Sir 
 Jasper Kingsland and Zara, his outcast daughter, died. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 The dawn of another day crept silently over the Devon 
 liill-tops as Lady Kingsland arose from her husband's 
 death-bed — a sullen day of wet and gloom; a leaden sky, 
 a drenched earth; no sound to be heard save the ceaseless 
 drip, drip of the melancholy rain. 
 
 White, and stark, and rigid, the late lord of Kingsland 
 Court lay in the awful majlesty of death. 
 
THE BAUONfJT'S BlJlDE. 
 
 49 
 
 I 
 
 y 
 
 \ 
 
 t 
 
 Tho doctor, the rector, the nurso, sat, pulo and sonilicr 
 watchers, in the death-room. More than an hour before 
 the youthful baronet had been sent to his room, worn out 
 with liis night's watching. 
 
 It was the IJeverend Cyrus Green who urged my lady 
 now to follow him. 
 
 " You look utterly exhausted, my dear Lady Kings- 
 land,'' he said. " Pray retire and endeavor to sleep. You 
 are not able to endure such fatigue. '' 
 
 Tho lady rose wearily, very, very pale, but tearLss. 
 
 *' 1 am worn out," she said. " I believe I will lie down, 
 but 1 feel as though I should never sleep again." 
 
 She quitted the room, but not to seek her own. Outside 
 the death-chamber she paused an instant, and her haggai'd 
 face lighted suddenly u^i, as a vase might with a light 
 within. 
 
 " Now is my time," she said, under her breath. " A 
 few hours more and it may be too late. His safe, he said 
 — the secret spring!" 
 
 She flitted away, pallid and guilty looking, into Sir Jas- 
 jier's study. It was deserted, of course, and there in tho 
 corner stood the grim iron safe. Lady Kiugsland locked 
 the door, drew a bunch of keys from her pocket, and aj)- 
 proached it. 
 
 "It is well I took the keys from under the pillow be- 
 fore those curious gapers came in. Now for the secrets of 
 tlie dead! No fortune-telling jugglery shall blight my 
 darling boy's life while I can help it. He is as super- 
 stitious as his father. ' 
 
 With considerable difficulty she opened the safe, pulled 
 forth drawer after drawer, until the grim iron back was 
 exposed. 
 
 " The secret spring is here," she muttered. " Surely, 
 surely, I can find it. " 
 
 P^or many minutes she searched in vain; then her glance 
 fell on a tiny steel knob inserted in a corner. She pressed 
 this with all her might, confident of success. 
 
 Kor was she deceived; the knob moved, the iron slid 
 slowly back, disclosing a tiny hidden drawer in what ap- 
 peared the solid frame. 
 
 Lady Kingsland barely repressed a cry as she saw the 
 paper, and by its side something wrapped in silver tissue. 
 Greedily she snatched Jwth out, pressed back the knob^ 
 
50 
 
 Tnii hakonkt's bride. 
 
 Jockcfl Ihe aafu, stole out of the study and uj) to her own 
 
 lOnni. 
 
 ranting with hor haste, my Judy sunk into a seat, with 
 her trcusurca eagerly clutched. A moment recovered her; 
 then .she took up the little 2):ircel wrapped in the silver 
 })Up(.'r. 
 
 " lie said notliing of this," she thought. " What oan 
 itlK'?'-' 
 
 She tore oil' the wrapping. As it fell to the tloor, a 
 long tross of .silky black liair fell with it, and whe hold in 
 hur liaiid a miniatiue painted on ivory. A girliih I'ace of. 
 exquisite buauty, unsky as the face of an Indian ciucen, 
 looked up at her, fresh and bright as thirty years bofore. 
 No need to looii; at the words on tho reverse — " My ])eer- 
 less Zenith *' — to know who it was; the wiJ!e*s jealousy told 
 her at tlie lirst glance. 
 
 " And all thiv-e years lie has kept this/' she said, be- 
 tween liLM- set tooth, '* while he protended ho loved only 
 inel ' My })Lcrless Zenith!" Yes, she is bcuutiiful as the 
 fablod houris of the Mu-sulman's 2)aradise. Well, I will 
 keep it in my turn. Who knows what end it may serve 
 
 yet?'^ 
 
 Who, indeed? 8ha picked \\]} tho tress of blue-black 
 hair, and enveloped all in the silver paper once more. 
 Then sho lifted the folded document, and looked, darkly at 
 the superscription: 
 
 " Horoscope of the Ileir of Kingslaud. '* 
 
 " Wliich the heir of Kingsland shall never see," she 
 said, grimly unfolding it. " Now for this mighty secret.'^ 
 
 {She just glanced at; the mystic symbols, the cabalistic 
 signs aud figures, and turned to the other side. There, 
 beautifully written, in long, clear letters, she saw her sou's 
 fate. 
 
 The morning wore on — noon came; the house was as 
 still as a tomb. Jiosine, my lady's maid, with a cuji of tea, 
 venturad to tap at her ladyship's door. There was no 
 respon:^e. 
 
 " She sleeps," thought Rosine, and turned the handle. 
 
 But at the thre.shoid she 2)aused in wild alarm. No, 
 my lady did not ileep. She sat in her chair, uj^right and 
 ghastly as a galvanized eorpae, a written paper closely 
 
 ' 
 
THK iJAICUNETW liltlDE. 
 
 dl 
 
 cliitt'hod in her hand, uud a Juuk oX white horroi frozou oa 
 her face. 
 
 }} 
 
 CHAl'TEU VJI. 
 
 AFTER T i: K \ E A R S . 
 
 " I HAVE said it, uiul 1 mean it; tlioy ought to know me 
 well eiiouicli by Uii.s linju, (iotlfioe. I'd trans])ort ovory 
 it»;ui of them, Uiu poaching'; si-oiiiidrcls, if 1 could! 'J'oll 
 that villain Dick Oafkly that tho iiryt timo 1 catch him at 
 his old triclvH ho shall follow tho brother ho makea such a 
 howling' tdxnit, anil share hU futo. '' 
 
 Sir .riverard Kin;^-.sl;UKl was tiio speaker. Ito stood with 
 ono hand, whito and shapely as a lady's, resting on the 
 glossy neck of hir^ bay lioroe, his fair, handsome face. 
 flushed with aiiyer, turned upon his gamekeeper. 
 
 There was an impei-ious ring in his voice, an imporioua 
 fksh in his steel-blue eyes, that showed how accustomed 
 he was to command — how unaccustomed to any power save 
 his own. 
 
 Potcr (jodsoe, the sturdy gamekeeper, standing before 
 his young nuister, hat in hand, looked up deprecatingly. 
 
 " He takes it very hard. Sir Everard, that you sent his 
 brother to Worrel Jail. His missis was sick, and two of 
 the children had tho measles, and Will Darkly he'd boeo 
 out o' work, and they was poor as poor. So ho turns tc 
 and snares the rabbits, and—-*' 
 
 " Godsoe, are you trying to excuse this couvic>€d 
 poacher? Is that what you stop^^ed me here to say**'' 
 asked the baronet, angrily. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Sir Everard; I only wanted to 
 warn you — to put you on your gunrd — " 
 
 He stopped confusedly, as the fair Saxon face of iiis 
 master grew darker and darker. 
 
 " To warn me — to put me on my guard? What do you 
 mean, fellow? Has that villainous poacher dared to 
 threaten me?'' 
 
 ' Not in my hearing, sir; but others say so. And he's 
 a dark, vindictive brute; and ho swore a solemn oath, they 
 say, when his brother went to Worrel Jail, to be revenged 
 upon you. And so. Sir Everard, begging your pardon for 
 the freedom, I thought as how you was likely to be out 
 
 J 
 
■'; i 
 
 52 
 
 TriK dakonkt's lUiH)!:. 
 
 late to-ni^ht, coming liomi) from my lorcrs, and as Brith, 
 low Wood is lonosomo and diirk — " 
 
 " That will do, fJodtsoe!" Uio young baronot interrupt, 
 cd, haughtily. " You moan wolj, J daro «uy, and 1 ovor- 
 look your ])resumption this tinio; but nover prolTur advico 
 to me again. As for J)arkly, he had bettor keej) out of 
 my way. I'll horsewliip him within an inch of his life 
 the first time 1 see him, and send him to make acquaint- 
 ance with the liorse-pond afterward." 
 
 lie vaulted lightly into the saddle as ho s})oke. Tall 
 and slender, and somewhat ell'eminato in his liandsomo 
 youth, he yet looked a gallant cavalier enough aatrklo hi» 
 bay thorough-bred. 
 
 The brawny gamekeeper stood gazing after him as h» 
 ambled down the leafy avenue, a grim smile on his suu- 
 burned face. 
 
 '* His father's son," ho said; " the proudest gentleman 
 in Devonshire, and the most headstrong. You'll horse- 
 whip Dick Darkly, Sir Everard! Why, he could take you 
 with one hand by the waist-band, antl lay you low in the 
 kennel any day he liked! And he'll do it, too!" muttered 
 Godsoe, shaking his head and turning slowly away. " You 
 won't be warned, and you won't take precaution, and you 
 won't condescend to be afeard, and you'll como to grid 
 afore you know it." 
 
 The gamekeeper disappeared in the plantation, and tho 
 youthful baronet rode out through liis own lofty entrance 
 gates into the pleasant high-road beyond. 
 
 The misty autumn twilight lay like a veil of silver blue 
 over the peaceful English landscape; a cool breeze swej)t 
 up from the sea over the golden downs and distant hills, 
 and as Sir Everard rode along through the village, the 
 cloud left his face, and a tender, dreamy look came in its 
 place. 
 
 " She will be present, of course," he thought. " I won- 
 der if I shall find her as I left her last? She is not the 
 kind that play fast and loose, my stately, uplifted Lady 
 Louise. How queenly she looked at the reception last 
 night in those velvet robes and the Carteret diamonds! — 
 'queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls.' She is my 
 elder by three round years at least, but she is stately as a 
 princess, and at twenty-five preserves tho ri2)e bloom of 
 eighteen. She is all that is gracious when we meet, and 
 
THT: nAKONETS imiDE. 
 
 08 
 
 my niotlior Ims sot lior liom-t uj)on tlio mutch. I liQve half 
 u mind to ])i'(HK)ao thiH very night. " 
 
 Thoro wuH no rupturo in tho yomifj man's mind ut the 
 thoiiglit. Ilia blootl Howod coolly und his pulses boat 
 calmly whilo ho turned tho tender subject over in hid 
 mind; anil he was only tvvo-and-twenty. 
 
 She was an earl's daughter, this stately Lady Louise, 
 but so very impovei-ished an earl that the young Devon- 
 shire baronet, with liis ancient name and his long rent-roll, 
 was a most desirably brilliant match. 
 
 She was down on a visit to her brother. Lord Carteret» 
 and had made :i dead sot at Sir Kvcrard Kingsland from 
 the hour she had met him first. He was on his way to 
 Lord Carteret's now. There was a dinner-party, and he 
 was an honored guest; and Lady Louise was brilliant, iu 
 the family diamonds and old point lace, once more. 
 
 She was in the drawing-room when he entered — hei* 
 stately head regally uplifted in the midst of a group ot 
 less magnificent demoiselles — a statuesque blonde, with 
 abundant ringlets of flaxen lightn^iss, eyes of turquoiw 
 blue, and a determined mouth and chin. 
 
 Sir Everard paid his respects to his host and hostess, an<3 
 sought her side at once. 
 
 " Almost late," she said, with a brilliant, welcoming 
 smile, giving him her dainty little hand; " and Ceorgo 
 Grosvenor has been looking this way, and pulling his mus- 
 tache and blushing redder than the carnations in his but- 
 ton-hole. Ho wants to take me in to dinner, poor fellow, 
 and he hasn't the courage to do it." 
 
 *' With your kind ])ermission. Lady Louise, I will savo 
 him the trouble," answered Sir Everard Kingsland. 
 " (jrosvonor is not singular in his wish, but 1 never gave 
 him credit for so much good taste before." 
 
 Lady Louise laughed good-naturedly. Those pearly 
 teeth lighted up her face wonderfully, and she was very 
 fond of showing them. 
 
 " Mr. Grosvenor is more at home in the hunting-field 
 than the drawing-room, 1 fancy. Apropos, Sir Everard, 
 1 ride to the meet to-morrow. Of course you will bo pres- 
 ent on your ' bonny bay ' to display your prowess?" 
 
 " Of couse — a fox-hunt is to me a foretaste of celestial 
 bliss. With a first-rate horse, a crack pack of hounds, a 
 * good sceut,' and a fine morning, a man is tempted to 
 
54 
 
 THE HAEOKTIT'F! T^RTDE. 
 
 wish life could last forcvor. And you arc only going to 
 ride to the meet, then. Lad}' Louise?" 
 
 " Yes; 1 never followed the hounds. I don't know iho 
 eountry, and 1 eau't rido to i^oints. Besides, I am not 
 rciilly Amazonian enough to fancy a scamper across the 
 eountry, flying" fences and risking my precious neck. It's 
 mucli nicer ambling qtucitly homo when the hounds start, 
 and indulging in a novel and a post-meridian cup of toa." 
 
 " And much more w, nnmly. 1 shouldn't have liked to 
 say so before, but 1 must own that, to me, a hiuy never 
 loukh less attractive than in a h.mting-fjeld, among yelping 
 hounds,, and shouts, and cheers, and cords and tops, and 
 scarlet coats. ** 
 
 " That comes of being a poet and an artist; and Sir 
 Everard Kin^-'Sland is accused of being both. You want 
 to fancy us ail anj^els, and vou can not rccouciio an angelic 
 being with a tide-saddle and a hard gallop. Now, I don't 
 own to benig anything in ilio Di Vernon lino myself, and 
 I don't wish to be; but 1 do admire a spirited lady rider, 
 and I do thirdv a ])rctty gj''l never looks half so pnitty ak 
 when well mounted. You ehould have seen Ilarrie Hinis- 
 den, as I naw her the other day, and you would surely 
 recant your heresy about ladies and horse-llesh. " 
 
 " Is llarrie JIuiisden a lady?" 
 
 " Certainly. Don't you know her? Ahl I forgot you 
 have been abroad all Ihese years, and that J. know more of 
 our neij.dd)ors than you do, who ave ' to the maiior born. ' 
 She is Ca])tain Jlunsden's only daughter — JIunsden, of 
 Ilunsdcn Hall, over yonder, one of your oldest Devon 
 families. You'll jind them duly chronicled in .Hurke and 
 Debrett. But Capiain llun^dcn has been abroad so much 
 that I am'not surprised at your want of information. Miss 
 Hunsden is scarcely eighteen, but she has been over the 
 world from Dan to Pjcersheba — from Quebec to Oibialtar 
 — fi'om JIalil'ax to Calcutta. Two years of her life she 
 passed at a New Y'ork boarding-school, of which city, it 
 appears, her mother was a native." 
 
 "Indeed!" Sir Everatd said, just lifting his ej'cbrows. 
 " And Miss Iluusden rides well?" 
 
 " Like Di Vernon's self. And I repeat, I don't affect 
 the Di Verno?! style." 
 
 " Is your Miss llunsden pretty? and sliall wo soc hor at 
 the meet to-moriow?" 
 
 ; 
 
 i 
 
 u 
 
 fi 
 
 I * 
 
 i 
 
THE l'.AU02ir;T's BRIDE. 
 
 65 
 
 I -; 
 
 " Yes, to both questions; and more tlum tit tlie niee^., I 
 fanoy. She luul her ihurough-bivJ, Whirlwind, will ktu'l 
 you all. llor .soariet habit and ' red roan steed ' are as 
 well known in the country as the duke's liounds, and her 
 bright eyes and dashing style have taken by etorni the sus- 
 cu])uble hearts of half the fox-hunting squires oi Devon- 
 shire," 
 
 She langhed a little maliciously, this vivacious Lady 
 Louise. Truth to tell, not being quite sure that her game 
 v/as safely wired, and dreading this Amazonian Miss liun,5- 
 den as a prospective rival, she was iictliing loath to preju- 
 dice the fastidious young baronet beforehand, even vvhilfc 
 seeming to praise her. 
 
 " 1 am surprised that you have not heard of her,'' she 
 said, in her soft accents. " Sir Harcourt Helford and Mr. 
 Cholmondeley actually fought a duel about her, and it 
 ended in her telling tliim to their faces they were a pair of 
 idiots, and flatly refusing both. * The Hunsden ' is the 
 toast of the couuLry.'" 
 
 Sir Everard shuddered. 
 
 " From all such the gods deliver us! You honor Miss 
 Hunsden with j'our deepest interest, I think, Lady 
 Louise?'' 
 
 " Yes, she is such an jddity. Her wandering lifc; I 
 presume, accounts for it; but she is altogether unlike any 
 girl I ever knew. 1 am certain," wiih a little maliciinis 
 glance, " she will be your st\le. Sir Everard." 
 
 " And as 1 don't in the least know what my btyle is," 
 responded Sir Everard, with intinilo culm, " pirhaps you 
 may be right." 
 
 Lady Louise bli, her lip — it was a rebulT, she fancietl, f<tr 
 her detraction. And then LaJy CarU-rct gave that my.-- 
 terious signal, and the ladies rose and swrpt i lu tiing away 
 in billows of silk to the drawing-ro im, ;uiii the gcnlU men 
 hui; the talk to thcm;;;elves " across the walnuts and the 
 wine. " 
 
 'IV) one gentleman present the inti-rim before lejninii'g 
 the ladies was an nnnii'igat'.ally dull one, even thougli I In; 
 talk ran on two of Jiis favorite topics — horse-lleidi inid 
 hunting. lie was in love, he tiiought complacently, aiid 
 Lady Louioe's eyes had sparkled to-day, and her sj))il< .-; 
 had Hashed their bi'^vihioring brightness upon him more 
 radiantly than ever beXure. 
 
i 
 
 56 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 "How pleased my mother will be I'' 
 thought, holding his wine up to the light. 
 
 Sir 
 
 Everawl 
 I will asic 
 
 Lady Louise this very evening. An earPs daughter — even 
 though a bauivrupt — is a fitting mate for a Kiugsland. '* 
 
 Lady Louise sat at the piano — a piano whose notes were 
 as the music of the spheres — the soft light falling full on 
 her pale, statuesque face, and making an aureole around 
 her fair, shapely Iioad. Her white dress of heavy, luster- 
 less silk fell in classical folds around her stately figure, and 
 the hands floating over the keys flashed with diamonds that 
 dead-and-gone earls' daughters had worn a hundred years 
 before. 
 
 Sir Everard Kingsland crossed over and stood besido 
 her, and Lord and Lady Carteret exchanged significant 
 glances, and smiled. 
 
 It was a very desirable thing , indeed ; they had broughu 
 Louise down for no other earthly reason; and Louise was 
 playing her cards, and playing them vvell. 
 
 If Sir Everard had one taste stronger than another it 
 was his taste for music, and Lady Louise held him spell- 
 bound now. She played, and her fingers seemed inspired; 
 she sung, and few non-professionals sung like that. 
 
 The chain of brittle glass that bound the captive beside 
 her grew stronger. A wife who could bewitch the hours 
 away with such music as this would be no undesirable pos- 
 session for a lldfc man. He stooped over her as she arose 
 from the piano at last. 
 
 '* Come out on the balcony," he said. *' The night is 
 lovely, and the good people yonder are altogether engrossed 
 in their cards and tiieir small -talk.'' 
 
 Her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes lighted up. She knew 
 intuitively what was coming. Without a word she stepped 
 with him from the ojjen French wiuu jw out into the star- 
 lit night. 
 
 What is it that Eyron hays about solitude, and moon- 
 light, and youth? A dangerous combination, truly; and 
 so Sir Everard Kingsland found, standing side by side with 
 this pale daughter of a hundred earls, under the swinging 
 stars. iJut the irrevocable words were not destined to bo 
 spoken, for just then George (Irosvenor, goaded to jealous 
 desi)eration, stalked out through the open casement and. 
 joined them. 
 
 The big midnight moon was sailiufij slowly up to the 
 
THi: baronet's bride. 
 
 67 
 
 i 
 
 aenitli as Sir Everard rode home. His road was a lonely 
 one at all times — doubl}' lonely through Brithlow Wood, 
 which shortened his journey by over a mile; but his 
 thoughts were pleasant ones, and he hummed, as lie rode, 
 the songs Lady Louise had sung. 
 
 " Confound that muff, Grosvenorl" he thought. '* If 
 it had not been for his impertinent intrusion, the matter 
 would have been safely settled by this time — and settled 
 pleasantly too, I take it; for, without being a conceited 
 noodle, I really think Lady Louise will -«ay yes. Ah! 
 what's this?" 
 
 For out of the starlit darkness, from among the trees, 
 started up a giant black figure, and his horse was grasped 
 by the bridle and hurled back upon his haunches. He 
 was in the midst of the wood, midnight solitude and gloom 
 around. 
 
 " You villain,** the young man danntlessly cried, " let 
 go my bridle-rein I Who are you? What do you want?" 
 
 " I'm Dick Darkly," answered a deej), gruff voice, '* and 
 1 wfint your heart's blood I" 
 
 " You poaching scoundrell" exclaimed Sir Everard, 
 quick as lightning raising his riding-whip and slashing the 
 aggressor a(5ros8 the face. *' Let go my horse's head!" 
 
 With a cry thut was like the roar of a wild beast the man 
 sprung back. The next instant, with a horrible oath, he 
 had seized the young man in the grasp of a giant, and torn 
 him out of the saddle. 
 
 " ril tear you limb from limb for that blow, by heav- 
 ens!" Dick Darkly shouted. ** If I hadn't meant to kill 
 you before, I would kill you for that cut of your whip. 
 I've waited for you. Sir Everard Kingsland! I swore re- 
 venge, and revenge I'll have! I'll kill you this night, if 
 they hang me for it to-morrow!" 
 
 He had the strength of a dozen such men as the slender 
 young baronet. He towered up in the weird night like a 
 grim, black monster, with murder in his face, and a devil 
 gleaming in cither eye. He held his victim in a grip of 
 iron, from which he struggled madly to get free, while 
 the horse, with a shrill neigh of terror, started off rider- 
 less. 
 
 '* I swore Vd kill you, Sir Everard Kingsland," Dick 
 Darkly growled, " when you put my poor brother in Wor- 
 rel Jail for buaring the miserable rabbits t# keep his sick 
 
:.■ i; 
 
 I < 
 
 
 ! ] 
 
 68 
 
 THE T1ATI0NET S BRIDE. 
 
 wife jvnd children from starving. 1 swore it, and I'll l-oep 
 my ofith. You told your gamokeoper this very day you 
 would lush mo like a dog, and duck me after. Aha, Sir 
 I^]verard! Where's the horsc-whi]) and the horsc-j^'Ond 
 now?" 
 
 "Here!" shouted the young baronet; and with a mighty 
 effort ho freed his arm'?, and raising the whip, slashed I)ick 
 J)arkly for the second time across the face. " You mur- 
 dering villain, you hhall swing for tliis!" 
 
 Witii a blind roar of jiain a!id rage, the murderer closed 
 with his victim. "J^hey grappled, jiud rolled over and over 
 in each other's arms. Kow the baronet was up])ermosfc, 
 now his assailant, in a silent, deadly struggle. 
 
 The moonlight, sifting down through the trees, saw the 
 grim, white faces, the starting eye-balis, the blood-staiueil 
 grass. Panting and speechless, the death-struggle went 
 on; but Sir Everard was no match for the biiriy giant. 
 His sight was failing him, his breath coming in choking 
 gasps, his hands jiowerlessly relaxing their hold. With a 
 savage cry, the huge poacher thrust his hand into his belt, 
 and a long, blue-bladed kniio gleamed murderously in the 
 moon's rays. 
 
 "At last!" he panted, his face distorted with llenilish 
 fury. " I'll have your heart's blood, as I sworo I'd have 
 it!'"' 
 
 He lifted the murderous knife. Sir Everard Knigsland 
 tried to gasp one last brief prayer in that supreme mo- 
 ment. In another he knew that deadly blade would be up 
 to the hilt in his heart. 
 
 "Help!" he cried, with a last wild struggle — "help! 
 help! murder!" 
 
 There was a rustling in the trees and some one sprung 
 out. The last word was lost in the sharp report of a pia- 
 tol, and with an unearthly scream of agony, Dick Darkly 
 dropped his knife and fell backward on the grass. 
 
 CHArTEU yiii. 
 
 A MYSTERIOUS YOUNG MAN"« 
 
 TnE baronet leaped to his feet, and stood face to face 
 with his preserver. The giant trees, towering up uutil 
 tbey seemed to pierce the sky, half shut out the mooa- 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE, 
 
 59 
 
 »9P 
 
 tho 
 
 light, but yet Sir Everavd could see that it was a slender 
 stripling who stood beforo him, a slouched hat pulled far 
 over his eyes. 
 
 " I owe you my life/' he cried, grasping the youth's 
 hand. *' An instant later, and 1 would have been in eter- 
 nity. How shall I ever thank you?" 
 
 '' Don't make the attempt,'* replied the lad, coolly. 
 *' It was the merest chance-work in the world that sent me 
 bti-e to-night." 
 
 *' Donb call it chance, my boy. It was Providence sent 
 you to save a life." 
 
 The youth laughed — a soft and silvery laugh enough, 
 but with an unpleasant latent mockery. 
 
 " Providence? I'm afraid that great guiding Power has 
 very little to do with my actions. However, you may be 
 right. Proviilence may have wished to save your life, and 
 was not partioulai* as to the means. Let us look to this 
 fellow. 1 hope my stray shot has not killed him out- 
 right. " 
 
 They both stooped over the fallen giant. Dick Darkly 
 lay on his face, groaning dismally, the blood pumping 
 from his chest with every breath. 
 
 " It's an ugly-looking hole," said Sir Everard. *' Two 
 inches lower, and it would have gone straight through his 
 heart. As it is, it will pat a stop to his assassinating pro- 
 clivities for awhile, I fanc}'. Lie still, you matchless 
 scoundrel, wiiile I try and stop this flow of blood." 
 
 He knelt beside the groaning man and endeavored to 
 stanch the n d giu-hing with his handkerchief. The youth 
 stood bv, gazing calmly ou. 
 
 '' What do you i?iean to do with him?" he asked. 
 
 *' Send some of my people to take him to his home, and 
 as soon as he is suljieieutly recovered to stand his trial for 
 attempted murder — " 
 
 "For God's sake. Sir EverardI" faintly moaned the 
 wounded man. 
 
 *' Ah, you audacious villain, ynu can supplicate now! If 
 I let you oil* this time, my life would not be worth an 
 hour's purchase. Once you were able to stand again ou 
 your rascally legs, I should be shot at like a dog from be- 
 hind a Iiedge." 
 
 " What (lid ho call you?" asked the boy, with sudden, 
 sharp anxiety iu his tone. '* Whose life have I savedl''" 
 

 1 :■ 
 
 ! 
 I 
 
 i i 
 
 I 
 
 ' 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 " I am Sir Everard Kingsland, of Kingsland Court," 
 the baronet answorod. " And you are — who?'' 
 
 The light there in that dusky woodland path was too 
 dim for Sir Everard to see the change that passed over the 
 youth's face at these words. It turned to a dull, leaden 
 white. His right hand involuntarily clutched the dis- 
 charged pistol and his eyes glowed like live coals. 
 
 " Sir Everard Kingsland!" he slowly repeated, and his 
 very voice had altered. " And I have saved your life!" 
 
 " For which Heaven be praised! It is a very i)leasant 
 world, this, and I have no desire just yet to leave it. Pray 
 tell me the name of my preserver!" 
 
 He had stanched the flow of blood and now stood before 
 the youth, trying to see his hidden face. But the boyish 
 head drooped. 
 
 " Never mind my name; it is of no consequence who 1 
 am. I have a long journey before me; 1 am very weary 
 and footsore, and it is time I was on my way." 
 
 *' Weary and footsore?" repeated the baronet. " Nay 
 — then all the more need we should not part. Come homo 
 with me and rest — to-night, at least. 1 owe you a heavy 
 debt, and I should like to jmy a little of it." 
 
 " You owe me nothing!" His eyes gleamed under his 
 tat and his teeth clinched, as he spoke. " Nothing, Sir 
 Everard Kingsland! Let us say good-bye. 1 must reach 
 Worrel by sunrise. " 
 
 *' And so you shall. The fleetest steed in my stables 
 vshall carry you. But come to Kingsland and rest for the 
 night. If you will not accept my thanks, accept at least 
 the shelter of my roof." 
 
 The boy seemed to hesitate. 
 
 The baronet took advantage of that momentary hesita- 
 tion and drew his arm through his own. There was not a 
 prouder man in wide England, but this unknown lad had 
 saved his life, and Sir Everard was only two-and-tvventy, 
 and full of generous impulses. 
 
 *' Come," he said, '* don't be obstinate. You own to 
 being footsore and weary. Kingsland is very near, and a 
 night's rest will do you good," 
 
 The hidden face flushed, the hidden eyes glowed, but 
 the voice that answered was calm. 
 
 " Thanks! I accept your kind hospitality. Sir Everard, 
 on two conditions." 
 
 \ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ' I 
 
THE baronet's bride. 
 
 m. 
 
 ** On any conditions you choose, mo7i ami. "What aro 
 they?'' 
 
 " That BO one shall know it but yourself, and that I 
 may depart before day-dawn." 
 
 *' I dislike that last condition very much; but it must bo 
 as you say. Sleep in safety, most mysterious youth; no 
 oae shall know you are under my roof, an'] I will come 
 and wake you myself at the first peep of day. Will that 
 do?" 
 
 '* Admirably. You are very kind to take all this trouble 
 for a nameless tramp. Sir Everard. " 
 
 " Am 1? Even when the nameless tramp saved my 
 life?" — yet Sir Everard winced a little while saying it. 
 *' And that reminds me, we must hasten, if yonder fallen 
 villain is to recover from his wound- Ilis condition is not 
 an enviable one at this moment." 
 
 *' How did it happen?" the boy asked. 
 
 And the young baronet repeated the story of Dick 
 Darkly's provocation and vow of revenge. 
 
 As he concluded they passed through the stately gates, 
 up the majestic sweep of drive, to the imposing old man- 
 sion. 
 
 " Home!" Sir Everard said, gayly. "■ Solitude and 
 darkness reign, you see. The family have long since re- 
 tired, and we can pass to our respective dormitories un- 
 seen and unheard." 
 
 The boy looked up with his brilliant, glowing eyes. 
 There was more than mere curiosity in that look — the 
 bright, fierce eyes actually seemed to glare in the moon- 
 light. But he did not speak. In silence he followed Sir 
 Everard in, up the noble marble stair-way, along richly 
 carpeted, softly lighted corridors, and into a stately cham- 
 ber. 
 
 " You will sleep here," Sir Everard said. ** My room 
 is near, and I am a light sleeper. To-morrow morning at 
 five I will rouse you. Until then adieu, and pleasant 
 dreams." 
 
 He swung out and closed the door, and not once had lie 
 neen the face of his guest. "JUiat guest stoo«l in tlw center 
 of the handsome chamber, and gazed around with glitter- 
 jng eyes. 
 
 *' At last!" he hissos between his set white teeth — *' at 
 
!f 
 
 i tj 
 I 
 
 !• i 
 
 n 
 
 62 
 
 THE UARONKT'S BUIDK. 
 
 last, after two ycurs' we;uy Wiiitiiig! At Jast, obi my 
 molher, iho timo luu-^ corne for me to kee]) luy vo\r!" 
 
 ilc raised one urn \ ilii ii trajj^ic gesture, removed the 
 slouched hat, and stood uncovered in the tranquil half 
 li^ht. 
 
 Th) f;ice was woudorfuMy handsome, of gypsy darkness, 
 ami the eyes shone like black stai's; but a .scarlet hand- 
 kerchief was bound ti^;hi,ly arou'id his head, anil concealed 
 every vestige of hair. With a t.iow smilu creeping round 
 his niMuth, the boy took his handkerchief olr*. 
 
 " To-ui'-vrow he will com.; and call me, but to-morrow 
 I shall not leave Kingsland Court. Ko, my dear young 
 baronet, I have not saved your life for nothing! I shall 
 have the honor of remaining your guest for some time." 
 
 AH dressed as he wiis, he ilung himself on the bed, mid 
 in ten minutes n'as fast asleep. 
 
 CHAPTEll IX. 
 
 MISS SYISILLA SILVER. 
 
 Meantime 8ir Everard had aroused his valet and a 
 brace of tall footmen, and dispatched them to the aid of 
 the wounded man in the wood. And then he sought his 
 own chamber, and, after an hour or two of aimless tossing, 
 dropped into an uueasy biyjvp. 
 
 And sleeping, Sir h'vovard had a singular dream. Ho 
 was walking tlu'ough Brithlow Wood with Lady Louise on 
 his arm, the moonlight sifting through the tall trees as ho 
 had seen it last. >Sii idenly, with a rustle and ahis>, ahuge 
 green serpent gl'ded out, reanw.l itself up, ai J glared at 
 them with eves of Ueiidlv m.'mi(-e x\nd somehow, though 
 he lial nut yet seen the lad's faoe, he kiiew the hissing sor- 
 p-nt and the pre.:!yrver of h's iile were one and the bame. 
 With horrible hisses the monster encircled him. lis fetid 
 bre^'h was in his face, ils di'adiv fangs reudv to strike his 
 deaii-bltw, and, with a suli'ocating cry, Sir Everard awoko 
 from his nlghttuiire and t-Uai'tcd up in b'jd. 
 
 The cold persoiiation i^toud on his brow, and the ftrwt 
 little pink cloud of da.vn was rosy in the ea<t. 
 
 *' Good heaven-I such a night oi' horrors, waking and 
 sleeping! A laost u;igi'aU;ial dream, trtdyl It is tifiaei 
 awoke my unknown presoi ver. " 
 
 i 
 
 'ijii 
 
 ■i 
 
THE BARONRT S nr.TDE. 
 
 f?3 
 
 TTe sprung out of 1>; d, tlrc-ssed hastily, nnd made his waM 
 to thft clianibor of hi:; giioat Jie rj'.ppod at tlio door — 
 onoc, t\vi/t', thri'>i, loiilrr vivh tinio, but ntill no answer. 
 TluMi h ; turned tho han'lfe and W'.-nt in. But on tho vory 
 throdiohl ho recoiled a<? if ho had been struck. 
 
 Tlie rii3'.steriju3 youth lay fast asleep upon the bed, 
 dress.'d as ho h'ld left him, with the exception of the 
 slouched hat and the red cotton handkerchief. They lay 
 on tho carp'^t; and oves* the jmIIows, and over the coarse 
 rolvc'tcen j;icket streamed such a wealth of blue-black hair 
 as tiie biironet in all his life never before beheld. It 
 rcjv'hod to the sleeper's waist in its rich, luxurious abun- 
 dance. 
 
 " Powers above!'* Sir Everard gasped, in his iittor 
 amaze, " what can tliis mean?'* 
 
 lie ad/aiijod with bated breath, bent over and gazod at 
 tiie sleeper's face. One look, and his Hashing first suspi- 
 cion was a certainty. This dark, youthful, faultlessly 
 beautifid face was a woman's face; that llowiiig cloud of 
 blue-black hair was a womaii's hah*. A girl in velveteen 
 shootin'j-jacket and pantaloons, handsome as some dusky 
 Indian princess, lay a.sleop before him. 
 
 Sir Everanl King^land, in the last stage of bewilderment 
 and amaze, retr'ated precipitately atid shut the door. 
 
 "And to think," he said to himiclf in tho passage, 
 when he could catch his breath, " that my mysterious 
 young man of BrithI«)W Wood should turn out to bo a mys- 
 terious young woman! x\nd a dead shot at that, by Jove!" 
 
 The insta.'it the cha/nber door closed the mysterious 
 young nnxn raixid himself on his (;lbow, very wide awake, 
 his handsome face lighted with a triumphant smile. 
 
 " So," he said, " step the sucond has been taken, and 
 Sir Everard has diseo»(;red the sex of hit preserver. As 
 ho is tco deiit-ate to disturb a slnnibering lady in disguise^ 
 tho slumbering lady must disturb him!" 
 
 He— or rather she — leaped lightly oif the bed, picked up 
 the scarlet ban ianna, twisted scipntitically tho abundant 
 black hair, bound it up with the handkerchief, and crushed 
 down over all theslouoiied hat. Then, with the handsome 
 face overshadowed, and all expression screwed out of it, 
 she opened the door, and saw, as she expected, the young 
 btu'onot ill the passage. 
 
 He stopped at once «t sight of her. He had been walk* 
 
64 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 I ! 1 
 
 : I 
 
 r I i 'i 
 
 ing up and down, with an exceedingly surprised and per- 
 j)lexeil face; and now he stood with his great, Saxon-Dltw» 
 eyes piercingly fixed ujion the young person in velveteen, 
 whose jacket and trousers told one story, and whoso 
 streaming dark hair told quite another. 
 
 " It is past sunrise. Sir Everard," his preserver began, 
 with a reproachful glance, " and you have broken your 
 ])rorni8e. You said you would awake me/' 
 
 " I beg your i)ardon," retorted Sir Evorard, quietly; *' 1 
 have broken no promise. I came to your room tea- min- 
 utes ago to arouse you, as 1 said 1 would. I knocked 
 thrice, and received no reply. Then 1 entered. You 
 must excuse me for doing so. How was 1 to know I was 
 entertaining angels unaware?" 
 
 With a low cry of consternation his hearer's hands flew 
 up and covered his face, to hide the blushes that were not 
 there. 
 
 '• Your red handkerchief and hat do you good service in 
 your masquerade, mademoiselle. I confess I should never 
 suspect a lady in that suit of velveteen." 
 
 With a sudden theatrical abandon the '* lady in velvet- 
 een " flung herself on her knees at his feet. 
 
 " Forgive me!" she cried, holding up her clasped hands. 
 " Have pity on me! Don't reveal my secret, for Heaven's 
 sake." 
 
 '* Forgive you!" repeated Sir Everard, hastily, endeav- 
 oring to raise her. He had a true masculine hatred of 
 scenes, and the present seemed a little overdone. *' What 
 have 1 to forgive? Pray get up; there is no reason you 
 should kneel and supplicate pity from me. You are wel- 
 come to don inexpressibles to the last day of your life, as 
 far as 1 am concerned." 
 
 He raised her imperatively. Her head dropped in wom- 
 anly confusion, and, hiding her face, she sobbed. 
 
 *' What must you think? How dreadful it must look! 
 But, oh. Sir Everard! if you only knew — if you only 
 knew!" 
 
 " I should like to know, I confess. Come here in this 
 window recess and tell mo, won't you? The servants will 
 be about presently, and will disturb us. Come, look up, 
 and don't cry so. Tell me who you are. " 
 
 ** I am Sybilla Silver, and I have run away from bomfiir 
 and I will die sooner than ever go back!" 
 
 i 
 
 i ■ 
 
THE BARONErS BRIDl. 
 
 65 
 
 Slie looked up with a puH8ionu!;e outbreak, and Sir Evor- 
 ard, for tlio first time, saw the luminous splendor of a 
 
 pair of flashing Spanish eyes. 
 
 Why did 
 
 *' 1 ahail not send you back, depend upon it. 
 you run away. Miss Silver?" 
 
 He smiled a little as he said it, the feminine appellation 
 flound*3d so incongruous addressed to this slender lad in vel- 
 veteen. Again the flashing brightness of the sivlondid 
 Spanish eyes dazzled him. 
 
 " Do you really wish to know?" she asked, earnestly. 
 " Oh, Sir Evcrard Kingsland, will you indeed be my 
 friend?" 
 
 " Your true and faithful friend, my poor girl!" he an- 
 swered, moved by the piteous appeal. " Surely I could 
 hardly be less to one who so bravely saved my life." 
 
 "Ah! that w.'^s notliing. I lay no claim on that. Serve 
 mo as you would c'^rv, any friendless girl in distress; and 
 jrou are brave and generous and noble, 1 know." 
 
 The young baronet smiled. 
 
 " You ' do me proud,* mademoiselle. Suppose you cease 
 complimenting, and begin at the beginning. Who are your 
 friends, and why did you leave them, and where have you 
 Tun away from?" 
 
 " From Yorkshire, Sir Everard — yes, all the way from 
 Yorkshire in this disguise. Ah! it seems very bold and 
 unwomanly, does it not? But my uncle was such a tyrant, 
 and I had no appeal. I am an orphan. Sir Everard. My 
 father and mother have been dead since my earliest recol- 
 !!ection, and this uncle, my sole earthly relative, has been 
 my guardian and tormentor. I can not tell you how 
 cruelly he has treated me. 1 have been immured in a des- 
 olate old country-house, without friends or companions of 
 my own age or sex, and left to drag on a useless and aim- 
 less life. My poor father left me a scant inheritance; but, 
 Buch as it is, my uncle set his greedy heart upon adding it 
 to his own. To do this, he determined upon marrying mo 
 to his only son. My cousin William was his father over 
 again — meaner, more cruel and crafty and cold-blooded, 
 if possible — and utterly abhorred by me. I would sooner 
 have died ten thouGand deaths than marry such a sordid, 
 hateful wretch ? l^ut marry him I surely must have done, 
 if I remained in their power. So 1 fled. With inconceiv- 
 able trouble and maneuyering, I obtained this suit of 
 
1 f 
 
 
 i 
 
 1' 
 
 J 
 
 
 M THK UAltONKT*R BUTT>r* 
 
 olothos. If T flc'fl uji(li!^<4iiisoil, J kiiuw I would certainly be 
 pursued, ovtu'tukon, uud l)rou;>lil. b;iL!k. In tho dt'ud of 
 iii^lit I oponed my cluvnibor window and niiulo my cstHpo. 
 r took a loaded i)istol ol' iny ujiclo's with mo; I know how 
 to U80 it, utul I I'olt sjil'o with suoh a pvoti'ctor. My old 
 uuFhO lived in riyniouLli with her diin^^ditur, iuul to lior I 
 meant to go. I hud a littlo money with mo, anil made 
 <;ood my eycape. i\iy disiguido waved me I'rom busjueion 
 ami inault. Last night, on my way to Worrel, T lieard 
 your cry for hei|), and my ])ijstol «tood mo in gooil stead, 
 for tlio fh\st time. 1'lioro, Sir KvevarJ, you know all. 1 
 hato and deapise my.self for tho diesa J wear, but aurely 
 there is souio exeuso to be madu for mo." 
 
 Tho Spanish eyes, swimming in tears, were raised iu)- 
 ploringly to his, and Sir Everard was two-and-twonty, and 
 very susceptible to a beautiful wonuin's tears. 
 
 " Very much excuse, my l>oor girl!'* ho said, warndy. 
 " 1 am the last on earth to blamo you for Hying from a 
 detested marriiigc. But there is uo need to wear this dis- 
 guise longer, surely?" 
 
 *'No; no need. But I have liad no opportunity of 
 changing it; and if I do not tuciceed in linding my nnrcO 
 at Plymouth, J don't know wlnit will become of me." 
 
 " ilave you not her address?" 
 
 "No; neither have 1 hoard from her in a long, long 
 time. She lived in Plymouth years ago with luu- marrieil 
 daughter, but wo never corri'Sj)onded; and whether she is 
 there now, or whether indeed she is living at all, 1 do not 
 know. I caught at tho hope as the drowidng (iateh at 
 straws." 
 
 Sir Everard paused thoughtfully a moment. She had 
 removed the ugly hat and handkerchief while talking, and 
 the luxuriant hair streamed in a glossy mass of curls anfl 
 Tipples over her shoulders. 
 
 He looked at her in that thoughtful pause. How bcaati- 
 ful she was in her dark, glowing girlhood — how friendless, 
 how desolate iu the world. 
 
 All that was chivalric, and generous, and romantic, and 
 impulsivoly youthful in the handsome barouet awoke. 
 
 " It would, be the wildest of wild-goose chases, theo," 
 he said, " knowing as little of your nurse's wheroaboata. aB 
 yo« do, to seek her iu Plymouth now. Write first, w ad- 
 
THE HAU0NKT8 IJUIDE. 
 
 Of 
 
 >J 
 
 vort)80 in tlio loiuil jourruils. If s\u) is still ro«idont there, 
 tlmt will IVtch hor." 
 
 '* Wriul udvortiso!'' Sybillu Silver rojR'utt'il, uiLb un- 
 flpujikiiblc iMuiiniliiliit's^: *" from wlioiico, Sir Kvcranl?" 
 
 *' From horo/'unrtWcrwl tho Imntnut, ilccidiHlly. '* You 
 uluUl not lujivc horo until you liiul your friciuLs. And you 
 shall not woar this odiou.s disguise un hour longer, (io 
 back to your chamber and wait." 
 
 lie rose abruptly a'.id loft hor; and Miss Sybiliii Silver, 
 with a steely glitter in her handsome black eyes anil a dis- 
 agreeably derisive smile about her pretty mouth, got up 
 and went slowly back to her room. 
 
 '* What an egregious mull he isl" she said to herself, 
 contemptuously. " 'j'here is no cleverness in fouling such 
 an imbecile as that. 1 am going on velvet for so far; I 
 only hojw my lady may be us easily dealt with as my latly'a 
 only son." 
 
 iiy lady's only son went straight to a door down tho 
 corridor, quite at tho other cxtriuiity, and opened it. 
 
 As he expected at that early hour, he found it deserted. 
 It was a lady*s dressing-room evidently, and a miracle of 
 
 E late-glass, and gilding, and cedai' closets, and prettiness. 
 laid out, all ready for wear, was a lady's morning toilet 
 complete, and without more lulo Sir ]*>erard conliscatod 
 the whole concern. At the white cashmere robe alone ho 
 caviled. 
 
 ** This is too gay; I must find a more sober garment. 
 All the maid-servants in tho house would recognize this 
 immediately. " 
 
 He went to one of the closets, searched there, and pres- 
 ently reappeared with a black silk dress, liolling all up 
 in a heap, he started at once with his prize, laughing in- 
 wardly at the figure he cut. 
 
 " If Lady Louise saw mo now, or my lady mother, either, 
 for that macter! What will Mildred and her maid say, I 
 wonder, when they find burglars have been at work, and 
 her matutinal toilet stolen?" 
 
 He bore the bundle straight to the chamber of his pretty 
 runaway, and tapped at tho door. It was discreetly opened 
 dD inch or two. 
 
 " Here are some clothes. When you are dressed, come 
 out. I will wait in the passage. " 
 
 Thank you," Miss Silver's soft voice said — she Lad 
 
 *( n 
 
68 
 
 Tllii; r.AUONET 8 BKIDE. 
 
 a peculiarly soft, swcot voice — dwd tlieii ilio door closed aud 
 Sir Everarcl was left to wait. 
 
 The yomiir person wlioso adventures were so lii^ldy sen- 
 sational ilofTed her velveteens and donned the dainty j;ar- 
 ments oi' Miss Mildred Kingsland. Shu exaudned the line, 
 snow-white \hw\i with a curious smile. 
 
 Ail tlie tilings were beautifully made and embroidered, 
 njHikcd witli tlie initials '' M. K.," and adorned with the 
 Kiuf^shmd crest. And, strange to say, all, the blacii silk 
 robe included, fitted her wonderfully. The dress was 
 rather tight, but she managed to fasten it. 
 
 " Miss Mildred Kingsland must bo tall and slender, since 
 her dress fits me so well. Ah, what a change even a black 
 silk dress makes in one's ai)i)earanc(!! He admired me — 1 
 saw he did, in jacket and pantaloons — what will he do, then, 
 in this? Will ho fall in love with me. I womler?'* 
 
 She laughed softly to herself at the thought. She was 
 busy brushing out the lux'iriant tresses aud twisting the 
 long, glossy curls around hei taper fingers. 
 
 One parting peep in the glass, and she opened the door 
 and stei)ped out before Sir Everard Kingsland, a dazzling 
 vision of beauty. 
 
 He stood and gazed. Could he believe his eyes? "Was 
 this superb-looking woman with the llowing curls, the 
 dark, bright beauty and imperial mien, Hie lad in velveteen 
 who had shot the poacher last night? Why, Cleopatra 
 might have looked like that, in the height of her regJil 
 splendor, or Queen Semiramis, in the glorious days that 
 
 were gone. 
 
 " This is indeed a transformation," he said, (doming for- 
 ward. " Vour disguise was perfect. 1 should never have 
 known you for the youth 1 parted from ten ndnutes ago." 
 
 " 1 can never thank you sutliciently. Sir Kverard. Ah, 
 if you knew how I abhorred myself in that hateful dis- 
 Nothing earthly will ever induce me to 2>ut it on 
 
 guise; 
 again.' 
 
 "1 trust not," he said, gravely; "let us hope it may 
 never be necessary. You are safe here, Miss Silver, from 
 the tyraiuiy of your uncle and cousin. The friendless and 
 unprotected shall never be turned from Kingsland Court." 
 
 She took his hand and lifted it to her lips, and once more 
 the luminous eyes were awimming in tears. 
 
 i 
 
 
THE 75AROXKT S P. RIDE. 
 
 09 
 
 1 
 
 Tho aot.ion was tliejitricjvlly graceful, but to Sir Everard 
 very real, and his fair face reddened like a girl's. 
 
 " 1 vould thank yoii if I could, 8ir Everard,'* the sweet 
 voice inurmiued; "" but you overpower me! Your good- 
 uess is beyond thanks/' 
 
 A footste]) on tlji* marble stair maile itself unpleasantly 
 auilible at this interesting crisis. Miss Silver dropped the 
 baronet's hand with a wild instinct of ilight in her great 
 bhiek eyes. 
 
 *' lictiirt) to your room," Sir Everard whispered. 
 " Lock tiio door, and remain there until 1 apprise my 
 mother of your preseiuio hero and prepare her to receive 
 yoii. Quick! 1 don't want tlu=se prying prigs of servants 
 to 11 nd you here. " 
 
 She \ranish(Ml like a Hash. 
 
 Sir Everard walked down-stairs, and passed his own valet 
 sleepily ascending. 
 
 " 1 beg your ])arding. Sir llevorard," said the valet, in 
 a tone of respectful reproach; " but \ve was all very anx- 
 ious about you. Sir (Jalahad came galloping home rider- 
 less, and — " 
 
 " That will do, Edward, loii did not disturb Lady 
 Kingsland?'' 
 
 "No, Sir Jleverard." 
 
 Sir Everard passed abruptly on and sought the stables 
 at once. Sir Galahad was there, undergoing hic5 morning 
 toilet, and greeted his master with a loud neigh of delight. 
 
 The young baronet dawdled away the lagging morning 
 hours, smoking endless cigars under tho waving trees, and 
 waiting for the time when my lady should be visible. She 
 rarely rose before noon, but to-day was one of the rare oc- 
 casions, and she deign'^d to get up at nine. Sir Everard 
 jHung away his Jast cigar, and went bounding up the grand 
 stairs three at a time. 
 
 Lady Kingsland sat breakfasting in her boudoir with her 
 daughter — a charming little bijou of a room, all filigree 
 work, and fluted walls, delicious little Greuze paintingi, 
 and rtowcrs and perfume — and J^ady Kingsland, in an ex- 
 r|ui.sit('Iy becoming robe de matin, at live-and -fifty looked 
 f lii- a: id handsome, and scarce middle-aged yet. Time, 
 I hat deal.! so gallantly with these blonde beauties, had just 
 thinned the fair hair v.X the parting, and planted dajnty 
 
1^ 
 
 70 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 crow's-feet about the patrician mouth, but loft the white 
 skin unwrinklai and no thread of silver under the pretty 
 Parisian lace cap. 
 
 Mildred Kingsland, opposite her mother, scarcely bore 
 her thirty years so gracefully. She looked jialo and 
 passce, worn and faded, and seemed likely to remain Miss 
 Kiiigsland to the end of her days now. She had had her 
 little romance, poor girl, and it had been incontinently 
 nipped in the bud by imperious mamma, and slie had duti- 
 fully yielded, with the pain sharp in her heart all the same. 
 But he was poor, and Mildred was weak, and so good-bye 
 had been said forever, and Lady Kingsland's only daugh- 
 ter glided uncomplainingly into old-maidenhood. 
 
 My lady glanced over her shoulder, and greeted her son 
 with a bright, loving smile. He was her darling and her 
 pride — her earthly idol — the last of the Kingslands. What 
 was a pale-faced, insipid girl like Mildred beside this 
 " curled darling of the godsr"" 
 
 " Good-morning, Everard! 1 thought you would have 
 done Mildred and myself the honor of breakfasting with 
 us. Perhaps it is not too late yet. May I oiler you a cup 
 of chocolate?** 
 
 " Not at all too late, mother mine. I accept your offer 
 and your chocolate on the spot. Milly, good-morning! 
 You are white as your dress! 
 
 " 'Oh, fair, pnlo ^Marjiarotl 
 Oh, rare, pale Margaret!' 
 
 what is the matter?" 
 
 *' Mildred is fading away to a shadow of late," his motU 
 er said. " 1 must take her to the sea-shore for cliungo." 
 
 " When?" asked Sir Everard. 
 
 " Let mo see. Ah! when you are married, I think. 
 What time did you come home last night, and how is Laitly 
 Louise?" 
 
 '* Lady Louise is very well. My good mother " — half 
 laughing — '* are you very anxious for a daughter-in-law at 
 Kingslaiid to quarrel with?" 
 
 *' I shall not quarrel with Laoly Louise." 
 
 " Then, willy-nilly, it must be JiOrd Carteret's daughter, 
 and no other?' 
 
 " Everard," his mother said, earnestly, " you know 1 
 iiave set my heart on seeing Lady Louise your wife; and 
 
 
 
THE BARONETS BRIDE. 
 
 71 
 
 she loves you, 1 know. And you, my darling Everard — 
 yott will not disiippoint me?" 
 
 " 1 should be an ungrateful wretch if I did! Rest easy, 
 via mere — Lady Louise shall become Lady Kingsland, or 
 the fault shall not be mine. 1 believed I should have 
 asked the momentous little question last night but for that 
 interloper, (leorge Grosvenor!" 
 
 "Ahl jealous, of course. lie is always de //•o/>, that 
 great, 8tu])id (Jcorge," my lady said, complticontly. '* And 
 was the dinner-party agreeable; and what time did you get 
 home?" 
 
 '* T'^e dinner-party wag delightful, and I came home 
 siiortly after midnight. What time Sir (Jalahad arrived I 
 can't say — half an hour before 1 did, at least." 
 
 Lady Kingsland looked inrjuiringly. 
 
 " Did you not ride Sir (Jalahad?" 
 
 " Yes, until I was torn from the saddle! My dear 
 mother, I met with an adventure last night, and you had 
 like never to see your precious son again. 
 
 "Everard!'' 
 
 " Quite true. But for the direct interposition of Provi- 
 dence, in the shajie of a handsome lad in velveteen, who 
 shot my assailant, 1 would be lying now in Brithlow Wood 
 yonder, as dead as any Kingsland in the family vault." 
 
 And then, while Lady King.-land, very, very pale in her 
 alarm, gazed at him breathlessly. Sir Everard related his 
 thrilling midnight adventure and its cause. 
 
 " Good heavens!" my lady cried, starting from her seat 
 and clasping him convulsively in her arms. " Oh, to think 
 what might have hapjwned! My boy — my boy!" 
 
 Tile young man laughed and kissed her. 
 
 *' Very true, mother; but a miss is as good as a mile, 
 you know. Poetical justice befell my assailant; and here 
 I am safe and sound, sipping chocolaie. Another cu]), if 
 you ])lease, Milly." 
 
 " And the preserver of your life, Everard — whore is he?" 
 
 '* Upstairs, waiting, like patience on a monument; and, 
 by t})e same token, f ousting all this time! But it isn't a 
 he, m(( mere ; it's a she." 
 
 " Wiiat?" 
 
 Sir Everard laughe<l. 
 
 *' Such a mystilied face, mother! Oh^ it's highly seusa- 
 
72 
 
 TllK J5AU0NET.S I5K1UK. 
 
 It 
 
 •i 
 
 I I: I 
 
 
 I' 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 il 
 
 •i !■■ 
 
 -f 
 
 t- ■ 
 t 
 
 tional a!Kl raolodranitttic, I promise you! Sit down and 
 hoar tlio sequel.'^ 
 
 And then, eloquently and ])ersuasivcly, Sir Everard re- 
 ])cateil Miss Sybilla's Silver's extraordinary story, and Lady 
 Kingsland was properly shocked. 
 
 " JJisguised herself in men's clothes! My dear Everard, 
 what a dreadful creature she must bo!'' 
 
 " Not at all dreadful, motlun-. She is as sensitive ami 
 womanly a young lady as ever 1 saw in my life. And," 
 pursued the baronet, moderately, " she's a very pretty 
 girl, too." 
 
 Lady Kingsland looked suspiciously at her son. She 
 highly disapproved of pretty girls whore he was concerned; 
 but the handsome face was frank and «"'"^n as the day, 
 rather laughing at her than Oiihcrwisc. 
 
 " Now don't be suspicious. Lady Kingsland. I'm not go- 
 ing to fall in love with Miss Sybilla Silver, I give you my 
 word and honor. She saved my life, remember. May 1 
 not fetch her here?" 
 
 *' What! in men's clothes, and before your sister? Ever- 
 ard, how dare you?" 
 
 Sir Everard broke into a peal of boyish laughter that 
 made the room ring. 
 
 " I don't believe she's in men's clothes!" exclaimed Mil- 
 dred, suddenly. " llonorinc told me robbers must have 
 been in my dressing-room last night— half my things wero 
 stolen. I understand it now — Everaril was the robber. " 
 
 The young man got up and walked toward the door. 
 
 " I am going for her, mother, liemember she is friend- 
 less, and that she saved your son's life." 
 
 He quitted the room with the last word. That claim, 
 he knew, was one his devoted mother, with all her imperi- 
 ous pride, would never repudiate. 
 
 " Oh!" she said, lying back in her chair pale and faint, 
 '* to think what might have ha])[)cne(l!" 
 
 As she spoke her son re-entered the room, and by his 
 side a young lady — so stately, so majestic in her dark 
 beauty, that involuntarily the mother and daugliter arose. 
 
 " My mother, this young lady saved my life. Try and 
 thank her for me. Lady Kin^rsland, Mi;-..;, Silver." 
 some siibi' 
 
 rely 
 
 I' 
 
 dark daughter of the tarih. 'J'ht; iitjiiid (i;ii k «vis lifted 
 themselves iu mute apjtLal to the gual. ludy'd lui.c, and 
 
 I 
 
 f 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 78 
 
 then the proudest woman in England opened her arms 
 with a sudden impulse and took the outcast to her bosom. 
 
 " 1 can never thank you," she murmured. " The serv- 
 ice you have rendered me is beyond all words.'* 
 
 An hour later Sybilla went slowly back to her room. She 
 had breakfasted tctc-a-tctc wi^h my lady and her daugh- 
 ter, while Sir Everard, in scarlet coat and cord and tops, 
 had mounted his bonny bay and ridden of! to Lady Louise 
 and the fox-hunt, and to his fate, though he knew it not. 
 And in that hour the subtle fascination had wrought its 
 spell. 
 
 " Pically, Mildred," my lady said, " a most delightful 
 youni^' person, truly. Do you know, if she does not suc- 
 ceed in finding her friends I should like to retain her as 
 a companion?" 
 
 Li her own room Sybilla Silver stood before the glass, 
 and she smiled buck at her own image. An evil, sardonic 
 smile it was, that Lucifer himself might have worn. 
 
 " So, my lady," she said, " you walk into the trap with 
 your eyes open, too — you who are old enough to know bet- 
 ter? My handsome face and black eyes and smooth tongue 
 stand me in their usual good stead. And I saved Sir Ever- 
 ard Kiugland's life! Poor fools! A thousnd times bet- 
 ter for you all if I had let that midnight assassin shoot him 
 down hke a dog!" 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SHAFT FROM CUPID* S QUIVER. 
 
 It was fully ten o'clock, and the hunting-party were 
 ready to start, when Sir Everard Kingsland joined them, 
 looking handsome and happy as a young prince in his very 
 becoming hunting costume. 
 
 The meet was at Brithlow Brake, and half a dozen gen- 
 tlemen, who had dropped in on their way to cover, were 
 grouped picturesquely around the ladies. 
 
 Of course the young baronet's first look was for Lady 
 Louise — he scarcely glanced at the rest. She was just being 
 assisted into the saddle by the di'voted (Jeorge (Irosvenoi-, 
 but she turned to Sir Everard with the sweet smile he had 
 learned to know so well, and graciously held out her gauut- 
 leted hand. 
 
 "Once more,'' she tuid, "almost late. Laggard! I 
 
f I 
 
 [< > 
 
 nil 
 
 
 74 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 shall quarrel with you one of these days if you do not learn 
 to be more punctual/' 
 
 " You will never have to reproach mo again,*' he said, 
 gallantly. " Had 1 known you would have honored my 
 absence by a thought, you should not have had to reproach 
 juo now." 
 
 " Very pretty, indeed. Sir Everard. But don't waste 
 your time paying complimentH this morning. Thanks, Mr. 
 (frosvenor; that will do. For whom are you looking, Sir 
 Everard? Lady Carteret? Oh, she is going to see as 
 much of the fun as she can from the carriage, with some 
 other ladies. Miss llimsden and myself are the only ones 
 who intend to ride. JJy the way, 1 hope Sir Oalahad will 
 uphold his master's reputation to-day. He must do his 
 very bust, or AVliirlwind will boat him." 
 
 At that instant a red-coated yoinig gentleman j<)ined 
 them, in an evident state of excitement. 
 
 " I say, Kingsland, who's that girl on the splendid roan? 
 She sits superbly, and is stunningly handsome besides. I 
 be^ your pardon, Lady Louise — perhaps you know." 
 
 Lady Louise laughed — h<3r soft., malicious laugh. 
 
 " fjord Ernest Strathmore is excited on the subject. 
 That young lady is Miss Harriet Hunsden. Don't lose 
 yoiu' head, my lord. One gentleman possesses that heart, 
 and all the rest of you may sigh in vain." 
 
 " Indeed! And who is the fortunate possessor?" 
 
 " ('aptaiu Hunsden, her father. There he is by her side 
 now." 
 
 At the first mention of her name Sir Everard Kingsland 
 had turned sharply around and beheld — his fate. Uut ho 
 did not know it. Who was to toll him that that tall, im- 
 perial-looking girl with the gold-brown hair, the creamy 
 skin, the great gray eyes, and slender shape, was to over- 
 turn tlio whole scheme of the universe for Jiitn — to drive 
 him blind and mad with the frenzv men call love? He 
 only saw a handsome, spirited-looking girl, sitting a mag- 
 nificent roan horse as easily as if it hail been an arm-chair, 
 and talking aninuitedly to a stalwart soldierly man with 
 white hair and mustache. 
 
 As he glanced away from his prolonged stare he met the 
 piercing gaze of Lady Jjouise's tur(HU)is-blu(i eyes. 
 
 *' ViV fu, linifc?" she cried, gayly. "Oh, my pro- 
 phetic soul! Did 1 not warn you, Sir Everard? Did I not 
 
 ^ i 
 
 I' 
 
 (3 
 
^ i 
 
 THE BAROKET'S bride. 
 
 75 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 forptell thftt the clashing damsel in the scarlet habit would 
 j)lay the mischief with your fox-hunting hearts? No, nol 
 never deny the soft impeachment I ]>ut I tell j'on, as I 
 told Lord Ernest, it is of no use. She is but seventeen, 
 and ' ower young to marry yet. ' " 
 
 Before Sir J^verard could retort, the «;ry of " Hero they 
 come!'* proclaimed the arrival of the hounds, and as the 
 huntsmtm j)asHed ho cast rather surly glances at the two 
 mounted ladies with pleasant inward visions of their head- 
 ing the fox and being in the way. 
 
 The hounds were put into the gorse, and the red-coats 
 beiran to move out of the field into the lane. Sir Everard 
 and Lady Louise with them. 
 
 A loud " ll;Uloo!" rang through the air; the hounds 
 «ame with a ru«hi?ig roar over a fernte. 
 
 " There he i.s!" cried a chorus of voices, as the fox flew 
 over the groinid. 
 
 And at. the same instant Whirlwind tore by like its name- 
 sake, with the handsome girl in the sjwldle upright as a 
 dart. Away wcnit Sir (ialahad belter skelter, side by side 
 with the roan. Tiady Louise and her sedate nag were left 
 hopelessly behind. 
 
 On and on and on like the wind Whirlwind flew the 
 fences, a»ul Miss Jlinisden sat in her saddle like a queen on 
 her throne, never swerving. 
 
 The young baronet, even in the fierce heat of the hunt, 
 oonlil see the beautiful glowing face, the flashing gray eyes, 
 and the hiimes of light flickering in the gold-brown hair. 
 Side by side Sir (Ialahad and Whirlwind darted to the eud 
 of the fourth inclosure. 
 
 Then (uinio a change — a wall of black, heavy thorn rose 
 ahead, which no one was mad enough to face. A horrible 
 wide ditch was on the near side, and Heaven knows what 
 on the other. 
 
 The baronet pulled his bay violently to the right and 
 looked to see the dashing huntress follow. But, no; the 
 blood of Miss Hunsden and the " red-roan steetl " was up, 
 and straight they went at that awful pace, scorning to 
 swerve an inch. 
 
 "For (>od*s sake. Miss Hunsden I" cried the voice of 
 Lwd Ernest Strathmoro, "don't try that!** 
 
 Hut he might as well have spoken to the cataract of 
 Niagara. With a tremendous iusl? Whirlwind charged the 
 
 
i 
 
 ft"* } ' ; 
 f ) >■ 
 
 1-i t 
 
 
 ! ■ * ■ 
 
 .! fe.. 
 
 njj 
 
 81 
 
 '«! 
 
 1 
 
 H 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 7e 
 
 THF baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 a \( rrible Tash— «nothor— and a plunge 
 :d sick with horror; but tlie magnifi- 
 
 downward. 
 
 Sir E orai 
 cent Whirhvinu sotti ; into his stride, and tlio girl recov- 
 ered her balance in the very instant, and away again like 
 the wind. 
 
 "Splendidly done, by Jove!" cried Lord Ernest, his 
 eyes ablaze. " I never saw a lady ride before like that ki 
 all my life." 
 
 Sir Everard dashed on. His horse was on his mettle; 
 but, do what ho would, the slender, girlish figure, and 
 superb roan kept ahead. Whirlwind took hedges and 
 ditches before him, disdaining to turn to the right or left, 
 and after a sharp run of an hour. Miss Hunsden had the 
 glory and happiness of I'^mg one of the successful few up 
 at tlie finish in time to .- jc the fox, quite deatl, held over 
 the huntsman's head, with the hounds hanging expectant 
 around. 
 
 Every eye turned upon the heroine of the hour, and loud 
 were the canticles chanted in her honor. The master of 
 the hounds himself rode up, all aglow with admiration. 
 
 " Miss llunsden," he said, " I never in all my life saw 
 a lady ride as you rode to-day. There are not half a dozen 
 men in Devonshire who would have faced those fences as 
 you did. I sincerely hope you will frequently honor our 
 field by your presence and matchless riding." 
 
 Miss Hunsden bowed easily and smiled, showing a row 
 of dazzling teeth. 
 
 And then her father came up, his soldierly old facjc 
 aglow. 
 
 " Harrie, my dear, I am proud of you! You led us all 
 to-day. I wouldn't have taken that nasty place myself, 
 and I didn't believe even Whirlwind could do it." 
 
 Then George Grosvenor and Lord Ernest and the rest of 
 the men crowded around, and compliments poured in in a 
 deluge. 
 
 Sir Everard held himself aloof — disgusted, nauseated — 
 or so he told himself. 
 
 " Such an unwomanly exhibition! Such a daring, mas- 
 culine leap! And see how she sits ard smiles on those 
 empty-heiwied fox-hunters, like an Amazonian queen in her 
 court! How diiTorent from Lady Louise! And yet! good 
 heavens! how royally beautiful she is!" 
 
 I 
 
TH E r A J;ON KT S B K I DK. 
 
 77 
 
 *' Alone, Kin^slaiid?' exclaiiiicd a voice at his elbow; 
 iind glHiieing around lie .saw Lord Carteret. '* What do 
 you think of our pretty J>i Vernon? You don't often see 
 a lady ride like tiiat. Why don't you pay your respeotisi' 
 Don't know her, eh? ('oiue alone; I'll preK ' .. 'ou. 
 
 (Sir Everard's heart jiave a sudden plun^i;^, (, to unac- 
 countably. Without a word he rode up to heii 'le gray- 
 eyeil enchantress held her nia^'ic circle. 
 
 " liarrie, my dear," said the elderly norjlc*'.n, " 1 bring 
 a worshiper who hovers aloof and ^azet' in tipeeohless ad- 
 miration. Jjct me present my young ' ntV, Sir Everard 
 Kingsland, Miss Ilimsden." 
 
 Sir Kverard took olf his hat, and bent to his saddle-bow. 
 The clear gray eyes and sparkling, smile-lit face turned 
 their entrancing brightness u])on him, and again his heart 
 went in tumultuous plunges against his ribs. 
 
 "Sir Everard Kingsland I" cried Captain llunsdcn, 
 cordially. " Son of my old friend. Sir Jasper, I'll bo 
 sworn I My dear boy, how are you? I knew your father 
 well. We were at Kugby together, and sworn com2)anion8. 
 Ilarric, this is the son of my oldest friend." 
 
 ** Papa's friends are all minel" 
 
 The voice was clear and sweet as the beaming eyes. She 
 held out her hand with a frank grace, and Sir Everard took 
 it, its light touch thrilling to the core of his heart. She 
 was only a miulcaj), a hoideu — a youthful Amazon who 
 took hideous leaps and rode after hounds — but, for all tha^., 
 she was beautiful as a CJreek goddess, and — his time had 
 come. 
 
 Sir Everard Kingsland rode back to Carteret Park be- 
 side the Indian orticer and his daughter as a man might 
 ride in a trance. Surely within an hour the whohs world 
 had been changed! lie rode on air instead of solid soil, 
 and the sunshine of heaven was not half so brilliant as 
 Harriet liunsden's smile. 
 
 " Confess now. Sir Everard," she said, laughingly cut- 
 ting short the compliments he tried to utter, " you were 
 shocked and scandalized. I saw it in vour face. Oh, 
 don t deny it, and don't tell polite liljs! 1 always shock 
 people, and rather enjoy it than olliorwise." 
 
 " llarriitl" her father said, ri'iirovingly. " She is a 
 spoiled mailcap. Sir Everard, and I am afraid the fault is 
 mine. She has been cverywheic with me in her acventeen 
 
 \ f 
 
78 
 
 THE BAUONET's IHUDE. 
 
 > ! 
 
 ! ; 
 
 
 yt'jirs of lifo — freeziu;,' amid tliu stunvs of CaiuuJu ujiO giiiJ- 
 ing alivo under the broiling sun of India. And tliu result 
 is — what you see." 
 
 " Tho result is — perfection!" 
 
 " Vi\\yi\," Alisa liunsdoii said, tin'nin<j; her sparkling fai-e 
 to her father, " for Sir J'lverard's sake, ])ray change Li»u 
 subject. If you talk of nie, he will feel iti duty Ijoiind lo 
 pay coiujjliments; and really, after such a fast run, it is Li i> 
 much to ex])cct of any man. 'I'here! 1 see Lady JjoiiiiL>c 
 across tho brook yonder. J will leave you gentlemck to 
 cultivate one another. Allons, mcssicnrx !" 
 
 One ileetiug, backward glance of the bewitching face, a 
 saucy smile and a wave of the hand, ami Whirlwind kad 
 leajK'd across the brook and ambled on beside the sober 
 charger of Lady Louise. 
 
 " Kvery one has been talking of your riding, Miss IIonj^- 
 don," Lady Louise said. " I *"u nearly beside mys(4i' 
 with envy. Jjord J^irnest Stratnmore says you are fehe 
 aiost graceful equestrienne he ever saw.'' 
 
 *' Ills lordshij) is very good. 1 wish 1 eoidd return Uie 
 eompliment, but his chestnut balked shamefully, aatl 
 came home dead beat I" 
 
 Lord Ernest was within hearing distance of the cicar; 
 girlish voice, but he only laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "As you are strong, be merciful. Miss lEunsden. Wo 
 can't all perform miracles on horseback, you know. J 
 came an awful cropj)er at that ugly hedge, to be sure, aiid 
 your red horse went over me like a blaze of lightiun^'I 
 You owe me some atonement, and — of course you are go- 
 Mig to the ball to-night?" 
 
 " Of course! I hke balls even better than hunting." 
 
 " And she dances better than she rides," j)ut in her fa- 
 ther, coming up. 
 
 " She is perfection in everything she undertakes, I a*u 
 certain," Lord Ernest said, salaaming profoundly; " and 
 for that atonement I speak of. Miss ilunsden, 1 claim tko 
 first waltz." 
 
 They rode together to Carteret Park. Sir Evorard kin\ 
 the privilege of assisting her to dismount. 
 
 "You must be fatigued. Miss Ilunsden," ho sui«l. 
 " Witk a ball in prospective, after your hard gallop*, 1 
 should recommend a long rest." 
 
 Miss Huusdon laughed gayly. 
 
THK PARONKT'S IJRIDE. 
 
 n 
 
 p\ 
 
 ■^ 
 
 ** Sir Evomni, 1 tlon't know Iho moftning of thfti word 
 *fati{]jue. ' I ncvor wais linul in my life, and J um riMidy 
 lor tho bill! to-night, and a steL']>lo-(!lmso to-morrow, if you 
 like." 
 
 She tripped o(T hh kIio Rjwko, witli a niiscliiovons glujice. 
 (She wanted to sliock him, and alio suceeeiled. 
 
 " I\)or girl I" lu! thought, with a littlo shudder, as ho 
 siowly turned homeward, " she is really drewdftd. Sho 
 never had a mother, I HU])])ose, and wandering over the 
 world with her father has mado lier a perfe<;t savage. 
 Ifow refreshing is Jiady Louise's repose of manner in eom- 
 l)ariaon! IShe is truly to bo jutied — so oxeeedingly beauti- 
 Inl as sho is, too!" 
 
 .Sir J^lverard eertairdy was very sorry for that hoidenisk 
 Miss Ilunsden. J To thought of Iut wlulo dressing for din- 
 ner, to the utter exelusioii of everything else, and he talked 
 of her all through that meal " more in sorrow than in 
 auger." 
 
 S3'billa Silver, quite like one of the family already, made 
 the fourth at the table, and listened with greedy ears and 
 eager blacjk eyes. 
 
 " You ought to eall, mother," the baronet said, " yon 
 and Mildred. Common politeness requires it. ('ajitain 
 ]Tunsden was my father's most intinuito friend, and this 
 wild girl stands sadly in need of some matronly adviser." 
 
 " ] remember (*aptain Hunsdon," Lady Kingsland said, 
 thoughtfully; "and I remember tliis girl, too, when sho 
 was a ehild of three or four years. !lTe was a very hand- 
 some man, I reeollect, and ho married away in Canada or 
 the United States. There was some mystery about that 
 marriage — sonu^thing vague and unpleasant — no one knew 
 what. She ouirht to be pretty, this daughter. " 
 
 "Pretty!" Sir Kverard exclaimed; "sho is beaidifid as 
 an angel! I never saw such eyes or such a smile in the 
 whole course of my life. " 
 
 "Indeed!" his mother said, coldly — "indeed! Not 
 even excepting Lady Louise's?" 
 
 Sir Everard blushed like a school-boy. 
 
 " Oh, liady Louise is altogether ditterent! I didn't mean 
 anj comparison. Ihit you will see her to-night at liady 
 Carteret's ball, and can judge for yourself. Slie is a mere 
 child — sixteen or soventoeii, 1 believe." 
 
80 
 
 TIIK I;AI{0XKTS nilTDE. 
 
 " AjhI Jjii'ly TiOiiiso is (lv«'-jm(l-l.\V(Mity," aaifl Mildrod, 
 with jiwfiil ucciiriKiy. 
 
 *' Slid (iocs not look Uv'onLyl" oxc^liiirinnl my liwly, 
 sharply. " I'liuro iiro taw yoiin^' UuVnjs nowadays Jiulf so 
 (!!i';jjaiiL and ^nufoful as liudy Louise" 
 
 Miss Silvtir's hir<5o black cyus j,didod from ono to tho 
 oLhor witli a KJnisUir smilo in Llioir slii?iing depths, llor 
 Hol't voi(!o broke in al tiiis jiirrin}; jiinetiire and sweetly 
 turned the disturbed eiirrent of eonvorsation, and Sir 
 KvtMMrd understood, and <:;ave her a j^'rateful j^Iancio. 
 
 Tlie yoinig baroiKft Jiad ^'ono to nianv balls in his life- 
 tinu!, but never hail he been so painfully parti(!ular before. 
 He drove Mdward, his valet, (o the verge of nuidness with 
 his whims, and left olT at last in sheer dosiu-ration and al- 
 to<^(^ther tlissatislied with the result. 
 
 •* f look like a guy, 1 know," ho muttered, angrily, 
 '* and that ])ert little I funsden is just the sort of girl to 
 make satirical eomments on a num if his neek-tio is awry or 
 his hair unbecoming. Not that I viwo what sho says; but 
 ono hates to feel he is a hiughing-stock. '^ 
 
 Tho ball-room was brilliant with lights, and music;, and 
 llowcrs, and diamonds, ami beautiful I'actts, and magnilieeut 
 trtilets when the Kingsland ])arty entiircd. 
 
 Lady (iarteret, in velvet robes, stood reeoiving her 
 guests. Lady Louise, with wliite a/aleas in her hair and 
 dress, stootl stately' a,nd graceful, looking from tip to too 
 what she was — the desoenihmt of a raeo of '" highly- wed, 
 highly-fed, highly-bred " aristocrats. 
 
 J hit at neither of them Sir Kdward glanced twice. TTis 
 eyes wandered around and lighted at last on a divinity in 
 a (doud of misty white, crowned with dark-green ivy leaves 
 aglitter with diamond drops. 
 
 There she stood, her white shoulders rising exr|nisitoly 
 out of the foamy lace, leaning in a careless, graceful way 
 against a marble column, holding her bou<piet, and looking 
 Kke some lovely fairy (jueen. You could not imagine her 
 the dashing huntress of the morning. 
 
 While he gazed, Lord Ernest Strathmore came up, said 
 something, atul whirled her oil' in the waltz. Away they 
 Hew. fiord Ernest waltzed to perfection, and she — a 
 French woman or a fairy only could float like that. 
 
 A fierce, jealous pang jp'ipt'd his heart; e second, and 
 
THE BAUOKKT'.S ItUIDIJ. 81 
 
 thoy wore out of Hi;;hl. Sir lOvoninl nuiHod liiiiiaulf fr«in 
 
 kill iiv«jii*i<i> m-j yi\Ji»i I ii*i I y I xiii^-^i(»ii«i Kkii^iiiii^i UIH 
 
 iu;irn:ioius Htill — " tako ouru of your son. I'm afruid ho'a 
 gouig to full in love. '* 
 
 CTIAPTKU XI. 
 
 •' Foil I.OVK WILL HTll^L ItK L(>KI) OP ALL." 
 
 My Lmly Cjirtorot'H ball was a brilliant suuocsa, and, 
 fairest where all wore fair, llarrie llunsden shono down all 
 oonipotitors. As alio iloatod down the ioiijij ball-room on 
 the arm of Lord Ernest, lij^Iit as a Hwininiini^'-tprite, a 
 hunilreil admirin-i; male eyes followed, and a hundred fair 
 patriciian bosoms throbbed with bitterest envy. 
 
 '* The little llunsden is in full feather to-ni<,dit," lisped 
 (feor<:;e Grosvenor, coming up with his adored jjady Loiuso 
 on his arm. " There is nothin«^ half so beautiful in the 
 room, with ono exception," a sidelong bow to his fair com- 
 panion. "And only look at Kingsland! Oh, he's done 
 for, to a dead certainty!'* 
 
 Sir Everard started u\) rather confusedly, llo had been 
 leaning against a pillar, gazing after the divinity in the ivy 
 Of twn, with his heart in iiis eyes, and Lady Louise was the 
 liift person in the universe he had been thinking of. With 
 a guilty feeling of shame he turned and met the icily 
 form.d bow of Karl Carteret's daughter. 
 
 " Wy aro losing our waltz, Mr. (rrosvenor,'* slie :;i!,id, 
 frigidly, *' and we are disturbing Sir Everard Knt-'xlunJ. 
 The ' Ciuards' Waltz * is u great deal too dol'^htful to bo 
 missed.*' 
 
 " I fancied the first waltz was to be mine, I<u«'y Louise/' 
 Sir Everaril said, with an awful sense of guilt. 
 
 Jjady Louise's blue eyes Hashed lire. Had looks been 
 lightning, that glance would have slain him. 
 
 " With Miss llunsden, perhaps — certainly not with me. 
 Come, Mr. Grosvenor." 
 
 It was the first spiteful shaft Lady Louise had ever con- 
 descended to launch, and she bit her lip angrily an instant 
 uftor, as Georgo whirled her away. 
 
 " idiot that I am," she thought, " to sho\v'him I can 
 
 4( 
 
k' 
 
 I 
 
 HI 
 
 I, 
 
 I 
 
 :'i f 
 
 ^ 'J 
 
 1 'I 
 
 83 
 
 THE BAUONET*S IJKIDE. 
 
 stoop to be piqued — to show him I can be jealous — to show 
 fciiii 1 caro for lilm like thisi lie will got to fancy J lov(; 
 him next, and he — ho has had ncillior eyes nor ears for 
 any one else since he saw llarrie lliinsden Ihis morning." 
 
 A sliar)), quick pain pierced the j)roud breast of the 
 earl's daughter, for she did love him, and she know it — as 
 much as it was in her lymphatic nature to lovo at all. 
 Anil, with the knowledge, her woman's anger rose. 
 
 " I will never forgive hi)n — never!" her white teetL 
 clincheil. " The dastard — the traitor — to play the de- 
 voted to me, and then desert me at the lirst sight of a 
 madcap on horseback. I will never stoop to say one civil 
 word to him again." 
 
 Lady Louise kept her vow. Sir Everard, penitent and 
 rrmorseful, strove to make Ids })(!ace in vain. 
 
 fjord Carteret's daughter listened icily, sent barbed 
 shafts tipped with poison from her tongue in I'cply, danced 
 frigidly with him once, and steadily refuseil tc danc«} 
 again. 
 
 She let George (Jrosveror — jm-r raothl — Jlutter into th<j 
 flame and singe his wings worse than ever. With him she 
 went to supper, and one of the white azaleas shone tri- 
 imipliant in his black ,:(»at, as a reward of merit. 
 
 Sir Kverard gave it u]) at last and went in search of 
 Miss Ilunsden, and was accei)ted by that young lad) on 
 the spot for a rodowa. 
 
 "I thought you would have asked me ages ago, " said 
 Harrio, with delicious frankness. " I saw you wore a good 
 dancer, and that is more than 1 can say for any other gen- 
 tleman present, except Lord I^rnest. Ah, Lord J'lrnest 
 can waltz! It is the hoigbt of ball-room bliss to be his 
 partner. Jiut you stayed away to quarrel with Lady 
 Louise, 1 suppose?" 
 
 " I have not been quarreling with Lady TiOuise," rojdied 
 Sir Everanl, feeling guiltily conscioiw, though, all the 
 Bume. 
 
 "No? It looked like it, then. She snubs you in the 
 most merciless nuinner, and you — oh, what a penitent face 
 you wore the last time you approac-hed her! J thought she 
 was a great deal too uplifted for llirting, but what do you 
 call that with (leorgo (Jrosvenor?" 
 
 " (leorge (Irosvenor is a very old friend. Here is our 
 i^owa. Mm llunsdcu. ]^ever mind Lady Louise. " 
 
 4 
 
 
THE TlAKONF/rs rUtfDE. 
 
 88 
 
 ' said 
 good 
 
 IS our 
 
 His arm encircled her wuiit, ami away they ilevi^. Sir 
 Evcrurd could dajice as well as Lord Eriiost, and quite as 
 njauy ail miring eyes followed him and tho bright little 
 btllo of the ball. ^U\ (Jrosvenor pulled his lawny mus- 
 tacii(5 with inward (hlight. 
 
 " Ilandaomo couple, eh, Carteret?" he said to his host; 
 "it is an evldi-nt ease of sp ions tiieru. Well, tho boy is 
 only two-and-tWL'uty, and at that age we all lost our heads 
 easily. " 
 
 Two angry led S[)ots, (luito foreign to her usual com- 
 pL'xion, biirned on Lady Louise's fair cheeks. She turned 
 abruptly away ai'.ii left llie gentlemen. 
 
 '* LiUl'j llarr.e is prettv enough to excuse an older ma« 
 losing his head,'* L.jrd Carteret ansivered, looking aftor 
 his sister a littio uneasily; " but it would not suit Lady 
 Kingsland's book at all. Tho Ilunsden is poorer than a 
 church-mouse, u»id though of one of our best old-country 
 familie;!, tho pedigree bears no pripoiiion to my lady > 
 ptide. A duk;''s daughter, in her estimation, would bt 
 noiie too good for her darling S'ju. See, she is frowinng 
 ominously in tho distance now I" 
 
 Mv. '^ro.svenor ymiled ratirically. 
 
 " Slio is a wonderful woman — my lady — but I fancy she 
 IS matched at last. If King.?land sets his heart on this 
 latest fancy, all the powers of earth and Iladej) will not 
 move him, for verily ho ( ome ; nf a d'»ggL\l and determined 
 race. l)o you recollect that little aiiair of Miss Kingsland 
 and poor i)ouglas of tho — th? My lady l)ut a stop to 
 that, and ho was shot, poor fellow, before IJalaklava. liut 
 tho son and lu ir is qtnte auolhcr sior}'. Apropos, I must 
 at>ii linle Mildiiil to dunce, .la'io, Carteret!'* 
 
 " Uow noKcle s i;.IIs the foot of time 
 TliiU: only treat is on llowers!" 
 
 The ball whirled on— the hours went by like bright, 
 Bwift Hashes, and, from the moment of the redowa, to Sir 
 Everard Kingslard it was one brief, intoxicating dream of 
 delirium. My Lady Kingsland 's matdnal frowns, my 
 Lady Lonif-o's imperial so irn — jdl wtro forL'otten. She 
 ;^as a madcap and a h liden — :i wil/l, hare-brained, fox- 
 hunting Ama/i)n — all that was bhocking and unwomanly, 
 but, at the same time, all that waj bright, beautiful, en- 
 tranoing, irresistible. liis golden -haired ideal, with tho 
 
,! 
 
 ft as 
 
 
 i] 
 
 SI 
 
 THK r.AUONLT.S IMIIDE. 
 
 a/.iire oycs and serupliio piiiilc, soft of voiir, Miniil of nusii- 
 ner, a cnxss between an aiiL'el ai:>l 'roiiiivrfoii's " JMautI,*' 
 was forgotten, and this gray-cved oiu^luintress, robud in 
 white, crowned with ivy, danuini,' desperately the wiiole 
 night long, set brain and heart reeling in the mad taran- 
 tella of love. 
 
 It was over at last. 'JMic gray and dismal dawn of the 
 November morning stole chilly throuj^h the cnrtaincd 
 casements. A half-l)]own rose from Miss Ilunsden's bon- 
 quet bloomed in Sir Everard's button-hole, and it was Sir 
 Everurd's blissful 2)rivi!ege to fold Miss Jliinsden's furred 
 mantle around those pi-arly slioulders. 
 
 Other beauties might droo}) and pale in the ghostly 
 morning light, but, after eight hoiu's' consecutive danciiig. 
 Miss llunsden*s roses were unwilLed. The bleak morning 
 bree/o blew her perfumed hair across his eyes, as she leaned 
 on his arm and he handed her into the (carriage. 
 
 " Wo shall expect to see you at llunsden Hall," the In- 
 dian ottlcer said, heartily. " Your fatht;r's son. Sir Ever- 
 ard, will ever bo a most welcome guest." 
 
 "Yes,'* said llarrie, leaning forward co(|uettislily, 
 " come by and by and in(iuire how my health is after 
 dancing all night. Etiijuette demands that much, and 
 I'm a great stickler for eti<piette. " 
 
 " Sir ]'iVerard would never have iliscovered it, J am cer- 
 tain, my dear, if you had not told him." 
 
 Sir Everard's blue eyes looked elo<|uently into tho spark- 
 ling gray ones; his handsome, ha[>py face was all aglow. 
 
 " A thousand thaidvsl I shall only be too delighted to 
 avail myself of both invitations. Miss IFunsdcn, rimini- 
 ber — yon said by and by, and by and by J shall come.'' 
 
 Sir Everard went home to Kingsland (Jourt as he never 
 had gone homo before. The whole world was coin'rur dc, 
 rof'e — the bleak November morning and the desolate high- 
 road — sweeter, brighter than the Elysian J^'ields. 
 
 llow beautifid she wasi how the starry eyes had Hashed! 
 how the rosy lips had smile;ll Half the men at the ball 
 were madly in love with her, he knew; ami rJic — she had 
 danced twice with him, all night, for once with any one 
 else. 
 
 It was a very silent drive. Lady Kingsland sat back 
 among her wra))s in displeased sileiuic; Mildred never 
 talked much« and the young baronet wa8 lodt in bliiuilul 
 
THE r.AROXET'R BRTDK. 
 
 85 
 
 'e» 
 
 1,0 high- 
 
 ecatesy a p^reat deal too iliiep for words, lie could not 
 even ma^ liis mother was angry — he never gave one poor 
 thought to Laily Louise. Jmmersod in the .suhiinio ego- 
 tism of youth and love, the wliole world was bounded by 
 Harriet Ilunstlen. 
 
 Sybilla Silver was up and waiting in Lady Kingsland's 
 dressing-room. A bright fire, and a cheery cup of tea, 
 and a smiling face greeted her fagged ladyshii> with pleas- 
 ant 8ur])rise. 
 
 " lieally, Miss Silver,'* she said, languiillv, *' this ia 
 very thoughtful of yoiu AVhere is my maid?" 
 
 "Asleep, my huly. I 'ray let nu; fullill her duties this 
 once. I hojK} you enjoyed the ball?'* 
 
 "I never enjoye<l a ball ley^ in my life," my lady re- 
 plied, sharply. ** l*ray make haste — I am iri no mood for 
 talking." 
 
 Sybilla's swift, deft fingers disrobed the moody lady, 
 looser.ed the elal>orato structure of hair, brushed it out, 
 arid pre])are<l my lady for bed; and ail the while she sat 
 frowning angrily at the fire. 
 
 " There wasay<«ung lady at the ball — a ^Fiss Jfiinsden,'* 
 she said, at last, breaking out in 8[Mte of hcrodl — " anil 
 the exhibition she rajule was ]>erfectly disgraeefid. Hold, 
 odious little minx! Miss Silver, if you see my son before 
 1 get uj) to-day, tell him J wish ])articularly for his com- 
 pany at break fasL " 
 
 " Ves, my lady,'* Miss Silver said, docilely; and my lady 
 dki not see the smile that llickered and faded with the 
 words. 
 
 She understood it all perfectl}'. Sir Rverard had broken 
 from the maternal apron-string, had deserted tin? standard 
 of Lady Jjouise, and gone over to this '* bold, odious " 
 Miss Ilunsden. 
 
 Sybilla dutifully delivered the message the first time she 
 met the baronet. A groom was lioidiiig Sir (lalahad, 
 and his master was just vaulting into the saldle. lie 
 turned away imjmtiently from the dar!. fnce and sweit 
 voice. 
 
 " It is imrjoasible this morning," ho said, sharply. 
 ** Tell Lady King^sland 1 ahall have the ])k'asure of meet- 
 ing her at dinner." 
 
 He rotle away a«» he sjMike, \siLh the sudden conseious- 
 ucss that it was the tifit time he tmd that devoted mother 
 
' 
 
 , 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 I 
 1 
 
 1} 
 
 i, 
 
 fi ^ 
 
 I'' 5 1-1 
 
 i- 
 
 in K 
 
 
 I 
 
 ill ! 
 
 u 
 
 M 
 
 THK lUUONEX'S lUUDE. 
 
 Thinking of licv, ho thought-, of h»r 
 
 kad oyer clashed, 
 favorite. 
 
 " She wants to read nie a firadn. T siip^ioso, about her 
 pet, Latly Jj()iiis(i," ho snid to hiuifii^lf, nUhiT sullcudy. 
 " Thijy would batljj:er xiie uiLo ni a fry lug her ii' they couid. 
 J novcr cari'd two straws for the daiPihlur of J'larl Carteret; 
 she is frightfully /'f^«••^'(V, and ehe'j three years older thaa 
 1 am. 1 aru glad I did not commit mysell' irrevocably to 
 
 i)lease my mother — a man bhuuid marry only to please 
 limsolf. " 
 
 8ir Everard readied llunsdon Hall in time for Iniuiheoa. 
 The old ])laco looked deserted and ruined. The half-pay 
 Indian ollieer's poverty was visible everywhere — in the 
 time-worn I'luuiture, the neglected grounds, the empty 
 stabJe^, and the meager stal! of old-time servants. J Jut 
 the wealtiiy baronet surveyed tha imi)overisliod scene with 
 a look of almost exultation. 
 
 " Captain lliuisden is so poor that he will be ghwi to 
 marry his daughter to the lirst rich man who asks her. 
 The llunsden estate is strictly entailed to the next male 
 lieir; he has only his pay, and she will be left literally a 
 beggar at his death." 
 
 llis eyes Hashed triumphantly at the thought. ITarrie 
 ilunsden stood in the Hun.shine on the lawn, with half a 
 eoore of dogs, big and little, boun(';ing around her, more 
 lovely, it seemed to the infatuated young baronet, in hoi 
 simple home-dress, than ever. Xo trace of yesterday's 
 fatiguing hunt, or last night's fatiguing dancing, was visi- 
 ble in that radiant face. 
 
 Ihit just at that instant Captain Ilunsden advanced to 
 me"*, him, with JiOrd Krnest Strathmore by his side. 
 
 ■' What brings that idiot here?"' Sir Everard thought. 
 Lis f;\co ilarkenii^g. " ilow absurdly early he must have 
 ridden over!" 
 
 iUi turned to Miss Ilunsden and uttered the polite com- 
 litonplnce pr(;5 er for the occasion, feeling more at a loss 
 ill woi'h llian ever before in his life. 
 
 " I t'jid you I never was fatigued,'* the young lady said, 
 playirg with her dogs, and sublimely at her ease. " I am 
 ready for a second hunt to-day, and a ball to-night, and a 
 picnic the day after. I shoulil have been a boy. It's per- 
 leotl/ absurd, my being a ndioulous ^irl, when I feel as it 
 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
THH BAUONKT 8 BRIDE. 
 
 87 
 
 1 Qould had a forlorn hope, or, like Alexaudor, conquer a 
 world. Comt' to liiiiolieon. '* 
 
 " CoiKjuor u worlil — como to luuohoon? A pretty brace 
 •f siibjoctsi" siiid lior rather. 
 
 "31i8B iruriHileii is fjiiito ciipable of conquering a world 
 withimb li;i\iiig becii buni unyibiiig so horrid as a boy/* 
 Haid Lv)rd JOriiest-. '* Thcie iirc bloodless conquests, whero- 
 io the conquerors of the world are coiKjuered theniselvea." 
 
 The baronet scowled. Miss Hinisden retorted saucily. 
 She and Lord Ernest ke])t u[) a brilliant wordy war. 
 
 lie sat like a silunt fool— like an imbecile, ho said to 
 himself, <;lowering malignantly. Hi^ was madly in love, 
 and he was furiously jealous. Vi hat business had thin 
 gingor-whiskercd young lordling interloping here? And 
 how disgusLingly self-assured and at home he was! lie 
 tried to talk to the ca[)tain, but it was a miserable failure, 
 ke knew, with his ears strained listeniiig to them. 
 
 It was a relief when a servant entered with the mail- 
 bag. 
 
 " The mail reaches us late,*' Captain llunsden said, as 
 he openeil it. " 1 like my letters with my breakfast.'* 
 
 " Any for me, papa?** Harriot asked, ' 3aking off in 
 her llirtation. 
 
 " One — from your governess in Par 
 half a dozen for me.'* 
 
 He glanced carelessly at the supersci 
 them dowji. IJut as he took the last he 
 his face turnetl livid; he stared at it --= 
 into a death's-head in his hand. 
 
 I'he two young men looked at him aghast. W.b daugh- 
 ter rose up, vcrv pale. 
 
 "Oh, papa-" 
 
 8he stopped in a sort of breathless affright. 
 
 Captain llunsden rose up. He made no apology. Ho 
 walked to a window and tore open his 1( 'ter with passion- 
 ate haste. 
 
 His daughter still stood — pale, breathless. 
 
 Suddejily, with a hoitrso, dreadful cry, he flung the let- 
 ter from him, staggtred blindly, and full down in a fit. 
 
 A girl'H shrill scream })ierced the air. ^She sprung for- 
 ivard, ilirust the leUer into her bosom, kn^^dt besido he? 
 lather, and lifted hiis huud. His face was dark purple, 
 
 1 think — and 
 
 ions as he laid 
 
 tored a low cry; 
 
 1 it had turned 
 
 M 
 
 [■* 
 
Hi 
 
 ' 
 
 N^ 
 
 88 
 
 TiiK i;.\i:()NIi;t s i'.kidk. 
 
 tho blood oozod in trickling stroanis from Ills moulh and 
 nosfcrils. 
 
 All was confusion. They bore him to liis room; a serv- 
 ant was dii^nutched in mad hasto for a doctor. Jfarriot 
 bent over him, white as death. Tho two young men 
 waited, i)iile, alarmed, confounded. 
 
 It was an hour ix'fore tho doctor came — another beforo 
 he loft the sick man's room. As he dcparteil, Harriot 
 U unsden gliiled into the apartment where the young men 
 waited, white aj a spirit. 
 
 " Jle is out of danger; ho is asleej). Pray leave us now. 
 To-ijiorrow ho will be hiniiself a;.''ain. " 
 
 Jt was (juite evident that she was used to these attacks. 
 The young men bowed respectfully and departed; saluted 
 each oth' - coldly, as rivals do salute, and rode oil in oppo- 
 site directions. 
 
 Sir Evnard was in little humor, as ho went slowly and 
 moodily homeward, for his mother's lecture, lie was 
 insanely jealous of Lord Ernest, and ho was amazed and 
 confounded \v tho mystery of the letter. 
 
 " There is some secret in Captain II unsden 's life," ho 
 thought, " and his daughter shares it. Some secret, per- 
 haps, of shame and disgrace — some bar siidster in their 
 shield; anu, good heavensi I am mad enough to love her 
 — 1, a Kingsland, of Kiiigsland, whoso name and escutcheon 
 are without a blot! What do I know of her antecedents 
 or his? My mother spoke of some mystery in his ])a8t 
 life; and there is a look of settled gloom in his fiice that 
 nothing seems able to remove. Lord Ernest Strathmorc, 
 too — he must come to complicate matters. And he is in- 
 iatuated with the girl — any one can see that. She is tho 
 most glorious creature the sun shines on; and if I don't 
 ask her to be my wife, she will bo my Lady Strathmore 
 before the moon wanes!" 
 
 CHAPTER XH. 
 
 MISS nUNSDEN SAYS 
 
 <( 
 
 NO. 
 
 j> 
 
 Sir Evrrahd found his motlun* primed and loaded; but 
 she nursed her wrath throughout dirmor, and it was not 
 until they were in the drawing-room uloiie that she \vi;nt 
 oil'. He was so moodily didraU all tlij-ough tho meal that 
 
THE J'.AIiONF.T'S I5RIDE. 
 
 89 
 
 he never saw the volcano smoldering, and the Vesuvian 
 eruption tooic him altogether by surprise. Sybilla Silver 
 saw the coming storm, and pricked up her ears in delight- 
 ful expectation of a rousing scene; and quiet Mildred saw 
 it, and shrunk sensitively. lUit both were spared the 
 *• tempest in a tea-pot.'* The hail-storm of angry words 
 clattered about the baronet's ears alone. 
 
 " Your conduct has been disgraceful!" Laily Kingsland 
 piissionately cried — " unworthy of a man of honorl You 
 ])jiy Ludy Louise every attention; you make love to her in 
 the most proiumcc manner, and at the eleventh hour you 
 desert her for this forward little barbarian." 
 
 (Sir Evorard opened his large, blr^-, Saxon eyes in cool 
 surprise. 
 
 " NFy dear mother, you mistake," he sasd, with jjerfect 
 Suva froid. " Lady Louise made love to me I" 
 
 '' kverard!" 
 
 Her voice absolutely choked with rage. 
 
 " It sounds conceited and fop])ish, I know,'* pursued 
 the young gentleman; '* but you force me to it in self-de- 
 fense. I never made love to Lady Louise, as Lady Louise 
 can tell you, if you choose to ask. ** 
 
 " You never asked her in so many words, perhaps, to 
 be your wife. Short of that, you have left nothing un- 
 done.** 
 
 Sir Everard thought of the dinner-party, of the moonlit 
 balcony, of (reorge Grosvenor, and was guiltily silent. 
 
 '* Providence must have sent him,** he thought, " to 
 save me in the last supremo moment. Pledged to Lady 
 Louise, and madly in love with Harriet Hunsden, 1 should 
 blow out my brains before sunset!" 
 
 " You are silent," pursued his mother. " Your guilty 
 conscience will not let you answer. You told me yourself, 
 only two days ago, that but for George Grosvenor you 
 would have asked her to be your wife.'* 
 
 " Quile true," responded hrr son; "but who knows 
 what a day may bring forth? Two days ago I was willing 
 to luarry Lady Louise — to ask her, at least. Now, not all 
 the wealth of the Indies, not the crown of the world, coidd 
 teni|)t me." 
 
 " (iood heavens!*' cried my lady, goade<l to the end of 
 her i):itioiic(^; " only hear him! Do you mean to ti-ll me, 
 you absiu'd, mad-headed boy, that in one day you have 
 
 
 1 1 
 
 
 '• I 
 
THE nARONET\S BRIDE. 
 
 ! •'. 
 
 It. 
 
 I. ' il 
 
 fallen hopelofsly in love with this hare-braiimi, nastiHine 
 Harriet Jiunsdon?" 
 
 Sir J']vorar(l's fair faco niishcd angry red. 
 
 '* I tell you notliing of tho sort, niadamo; the iiifurenoo 
 iR your own. Uut thid I will say — I would rather marry 
 Harriet Jlunsden than any other woman under hcavonl 
 She may bo wild, as you say — hani-braiiied, pi'rhajis (what- 
 OTor that means) — but then 3'ou will reeolleut that she is 
 but seventeen. When «ho is livo-and-twenty, she may be 
 tiH sedate even as your model and favorite. If 1 prefer a 
 girl of seventeen to a matur(* wonuin of twi-ntv-dve, eTon 
 vou can hardlv blame me. Tiot Liidv Jjoiuse take (Jeorge 
 Grosvenor. He is in love with liiw, which 1 nuver was; 
 and he has an carl's coronet in piospectivo, which 1 have 
 not. As for me, I have doiio with tin's subject at once and 
 forever. Even to you, my mother, J can not delegate my 
 choice of a wife.'* 
 
 "I will never receive Harriet Hunsdon!" Lady Kings- 
 land passionately cried. 
 
 " Perhaps you will never have the opportunity. She 
 may prefer to became mistress of Strath uiore Castle. 
 Jjord Ernest is her mo:-'t devoted adorer. 1 have not asked 
 her yet. The chances are a thousand to one she will re- 
 fase when I do." 
 
 His mother laughed scornfully, but her eyes were abliis«. 
 
 "You mean to ask her, then?" 
 
 " Most assin-edly." 
 
 She laughed again — a bitter, mirthless laugh. 
 
 " We go fast, my friend I Aiul you have hardly knowu 
 this divinity four-and-twenty hours.'* 
 
 " Love is not a plant of slow growtli. liike Jonah's 
 gourtl, it springs uj), fully nuitured, in an hour." 
 
 '■' Does it? My sou is better versed in amatory floricult- 
 ure than 1 am. But before you ask Miss Huusden to be- 
 come Lady Kingslaiid, had you not better incjuirc who her 
 mother was?" 
 
 The baronet thought of tho letter, and turned very pale. 
 
 " Her mother? do not understand. What of her 
 mother?" 
 
 " Only this" — ^ Kingsland arose as she spoke, lier 
 face de. J ' ' whit' . . pale eyes glittering — " the mother 
 wamyi: .tnd a mystery. Keport says Captain ilunsden 
 vfas mar ied in America — uc> one knows where — viod 
 
THE BAItONET'8 BlUDK. 
 
 91 
 
 America is a wMe jiluce. No ono ever saw the wifo; no 
 one over lioaril ^rist- Ilimsleii ppiak of her niothor; no one 
 evor hcaril of that niothiT's dcatli. I k'avi {Sir Kvorartl 
 Kingslund to draw liitj own inftroiuu's.'* 
 
 Slie swept from the room with u nii^lil.y i nstlo of silk. 
 A dark ligure croucliin«i on tlu' mir, wilii it<: ear to the 
 kcy-holo, ImrvU had tinio to whisk bihind a tall Indian 
 cabinet as thi' door o])i iied. 
 
 It was Miss Sybilhi Silver, who was ah'eady asserting her 
 prontj^alive as aaialeur lady's-inaid. 
 
 iMy hidy shut herself u[) in her own rooni for tlie ro- 
 niaiiider of the evening, too anjj^ry and mortiJicd for wonln 
 to tell. Jt was the lirst (jiiariel hlu! a?id her idolized Hon 
 ever iiud, and thetlisup})ointmenL of all jor ambitious liopes 
 left her miserable enoijpii. 
 
 J»nt scarcely so miserable as Sir l-iVeiaiil. To be hoj)e- 
 lessly in love on sneh thort notice was bad eiioii;.di; to have 
 the dread of a rejte'ion htitiLdoij over hiiu was worse; lujt 
 to have this dark myo'.cry k)o:nini; horriljly iii the horizon 
 wan worst of all. 
 
 ITis mother's insinuations alone would not. have dislurb- 
 ed him; but those in.-inuatious, taken in uui>o!i with Cap- 
 tain Ihuisden's mysterious illness of the morniiig, drove 
 him nearly wild. 
 
 "And I dare not even nhk," ho thought, " or set my 
 doubts at rest. Any inf(M:ry from nu', b; fore })n)pnsin<^% 
 would be im}»ertinent; aud after proposin;,^ they woulil be 
 too late. Ihit one thinir I am certain of- -if 1 lose llarrio 
 llunsden, I shall go mall'* 
 
 Of course thia angry ruflling of love's current at the 
 very outset only strengthenod the stream. Oppitsition left 
 the young man tenfold more d(>ggedly in love than ever, 
 and he strode uj> and down the drawing-room like a nielo' 
 <lramalic hero, grinding his teeth and glaring at vacancy, 
 and longing with a fi'-ree impntcn(.-y to run away wilh 
 llarrio Jluns'icn to-nurrow, and never aak a question 
 about her mother, and never see his own again. 
 
 While he tore up and down like a caged tiger, the door 
 softly opened and his siiter lot.ked in. 
 
 "Alone, Kverard?" she said, timidly. "I thought 
 mamma was with you. '* 
 
 ** Mamma has just gon« to her rocm in a blessed tcui 
 
ti 
 
 
 ) * 
 
 ■ 
 
 93 
 
 THE nARONKT S BR TDK. 
 
 per," answcM'od lior IsroMuM', s;ivjij[j(!ly. " Como in, MiHy, 
 iiiiil \\v\\) riio in this l)f)i."il»l(! scni|H<, iC you can." 
 
 " Js it Honu'tiiiii;^' sil)!)nt — Miss Ifiinstle!i?" liesitaLingly. 
 " I tlionglit Jiiamiuii looked disjileastul at iliimer. " 
 
 " l)is))li'as((ll" exclaimed tlio y'»iMi<^ man, with a short 
 liiii<>li; •* that isJ a iiiihl way of jmttiiijf it. Manirua i.s in- 
 oliiii'd to phvy tlio (Jrand Mo;4ul in my case us slie did witli 
 voii and poor Froil Doughis. " 
 ' " Oh, bi-'.thor!" 
 
 Mildred Kingsland put out both hands and shrunk as if 
 liu had struck hur. 
 
 " Forgivo mo, Milly. I'm a brute and you^ro an angol, 
 if there ever was one on oarLJiI Jiut I'vo been hectored 
 and lectured, and badgered and bothered until I'm fairly 
 beside mysidf. She wants me to marry Ijady Jiouisc, and 
 J won't marry Lady Louise if she was the last woman 
 lilive. Milly, who was ]\Iiss Hunsiiun's mother?" 
 
 The murder was out. JIo stood still, glaring liorco iu- 
 terrogation at his sister. 
 
 " Jfer mother!"' I'm sure I don't know. T was (piito a 
 little girl wluiu ('jij)tai;i ilunsden was hero before, and 
 Ilarrie was a j)retty little curly-haired fniry of three years. 
 I remember her so well. Captain Iluiisden dined liero 
 ont.e or twice, and I recollect perfectly how gloomy and 
 iriorose his nuuiner was. I was quite frightened at him. 
 You wore at Kton then, you know." 
 
 " 1 knowl" impatient!}'. " I wish to Heaven 1 had not 
 been. ]5oy as 1 was, I should luive learned something. 
 J)id you never hear the cause of the captain's abnormal 
 gloonj?'^ 
 
 " No; papa and mamma knew nothing, and C'aptaia 
 llunsden ke])t his own secrets. They had hoard of his 
 marriage some foiu' or live years before — a low marriage, 
 it was rumored — an actress, or something etpially objec- 
 tionable. Little Ilarrie knew nothing — at three years ic 
 was hardly likely; but she never prattled of her mother as 
 child 1 en of that ago usually do. There is some mystery 
 tibotit Captain llunsden 's wife, Everaril, and — pardon mo 
 -—if you like Miss Ilunsdeu, you ought to have it cleared 
 
 Kverard laughed —a liarsli, strident laugli. 
 " If I like Miss ilunxlen, my dear little non-committal 
 Milly. Am 1 to go to llunsden Hull and say to iia mas- 
 
Tin: HAIiONKl's ItUIDK. 
 
 U3 
 
 not 
 
 tor, * Tiook lu'i'o, (.'jiptuiii UtinhdiMi, j;mvo nio proofs o' y<»nr 
 maniu^L' — l''ll inu all about your luyj'U'rioM.s wife You 
 Imvo a vni'y liaiiiLsKino, hi^Mi-spiritcil diiiij^htcr, but brforo 
 I <!ominiL inyrit'lf by fiillin-.j iu Jovo wiih Imr, I want to 
 mako 8uro thiTO was no tarni-sb o!i fbo bitu Mrs. Huiih- 
 (Uh'h \vi'tMiii;^'-ring. ' Caj'laiu IlaroKl lluiisdcii is a prouil 
 man. How do you tbiiik bo will like Lbo htylu of llialj"' 
 
 Mildred «lut»d sih^il,, b/okiii^j; ilisl-resaed. 
 
 " 1 wisii I liad nianiod Lady Jiouiso u month n^o, and 
 ir(»no out of ibu countryl" l)o burt^t out, vcbonusnt.lv. " 1 
 sv'ish J bail noviM- soon tbis girl. Slu; is nviirylbing tliat is 
 objriilionabk' — a balf-civilized nuid(:a[) — shrouded in niys- 
 titcy and poverty — daniu;d over tho world in a bajrgJiK^!- 
 Wii^'on. I bavu <|uarri'k'd with my molher for tiiu Jirst 
 tiuif (*n lur aiH.'oMiil.. Jhit I lovu her — I lovo bur witb all 
 my lu a.'t — and T shall go mad or shout myself if 1 don't 
 make lu'i- my wiftfl" 
 
 lie llunu bimvidf impetuously, Taeo downward, on tbo 
 sofa. Mildreil stood pallid and seared in the miiklle (»f the 
 lloDr, in tbe extnsmity of helpless distress. Oneu he lifted 
 bis lunid and looked at her. 
 
 " (io away, Milly!" ho auid, hoarsely. " I'm a savfti^u 
 t(^ fri,i;;bten you so! Leave me; I shall be better alone." 
 
 And iMiMrcd, not knowing in the lea^t what else to do, 
 went. 
 
 iNext. morning, liours before Lady Kingsland was out of 
 bed, iiady King-land's sou was galloping over the bree/y 
 iiills and golden downs. An hour's bard run, and ho 
 made straight for ilimsden Hall. The hand ol fate drove 
 him impetuously on, and he was powerless to resist. 
 
 Miss Jfunsden was taking a constitutional up and down 
 the terrace overlooking tho sea, witb thn-e big dugs. She 
 turned round at Sir Everard's approaeh and greeted him 
 cpiito eordially. She was rather pale, but perfeetly com- 
 I)Osed. 
 
 " Pa])a is SO much better this morning," she said, 
 '* that lie is coming down to breakfast;, lie is subject to 
 these attacks, ajid they never last long. Any exciting 
 news overthrows him altogetber.' ' 
 
 " That letter contained exciting news, then?" Sir Ever- 
 ard eoidd not help saying. 
 
 " 1 presume so — I diil not ^::iv] it. lli>w placid tbe sea 
 looks this morning, aglitter m the sunligbi. And yet 1 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 
 D 
 
 f"- -.V 4 
 
 
 -^ 
 
 s 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 11.25 
 
 lii|2£ 12.5 
 
 ■ 50 ^^^ Huh 
 
 1^ 1^ HI' 
 M 12.0 
 
 12.2 
 
 1.8 
 
 U lllll 1.6 
 
 6" 
 
 ^. 
 
 <^ 
 
 .^w 
 
 ^K 
 
 ^3 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 &.. 
 
 /^ 
 
 '^ 
 
 '/ 
 
 HiotDgraphic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WEST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716)872-4503 
 
 s. 
 
 
 <^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 o^ 
 

 4 
 
 r 
 
 !► 
 
 
i 
 
 :! I ■ 
 
 it if 
 
 i 
 
 94 
 
 THE BAllOKET S BRIDE. 
 
 have been in the middle of the Atlantic when the waves 
 ia,n mountains high. " 
 
 But the moody young baronet was not going to talk ot 
 the sea. 
 
 " You are quite a heroine, Miss Ilunsden, and a won- 
 derful traveler for a seventeen-year-old young lady. You 
 see, 1 know your age; but at ^Jeveiiteen a young lady does 
 not mind, I believe. How long have you been in England 
 this time?" 
 
 lie spoke with careless adroitness; Miss Ilunsden an- 
 swered, frankly enough: 
 
 " Five months. You were abroad, I think, at the 
 time.'' 
 
 " Yes. And now you have come for good, I hope — as 
 if Miss Hunsdcn could come for anything else.'' 
 
 "It all depends on papa's health," replied Harriet, 
 quietly ignoring the compliment. " I should like to stay, 
 I confess. I ain very, very fond of England." 
 
 "Of course — as you should be of your native place." 
 He was firing nearer the target. 
 
 " England is not my native place," said Harriet, calm- 
 ly. " I was born ai; Gibraltar." 
 
 " At Gibraltar! You surprise me. Of course your 
 mother was not a native of Gibraltar?" 
 
 His heart throbbed fast. Was he treading on forbidden 
 ground? Would the great gray eves lla^li forked lightning 
 as he knew they could Hash? No; Miss Hunsden heard 
 the adroit question and made no sign. 
 
 " Of course not. My mother was an American — born 
 and bred and married in New York." 
 
 Here was an explicit statement. His pulses stood still a 
 moment, and then went on fast and furious. 
 
 " 1 suppose you scarcely remember her?" 
 
 " Scarcely," the young lady repeated, dryly; " sinoe I 
 never saw her." 
 
 "Indeed! She died then— " 
 
 "At my birth— yes. And now. Sir Everard " — the 
 brijrht, clear eyes Hashed suddenly full upon him — " is the 
 catechism almost at an end?" 
 
 He absolutely recoiled. If ever guilt was written on a 
 human face, it was readily written on his. 
 
 " Ah!" Miss Hunsilen said, scornfully, " you thought I 
 couldn't find you out—you thought I couldn't see your 
 
G waves 
 
 talk ot 
 
 a won- 
 . You 
 ,dy does 
 i^Dglaud 
 
 len an- 
 
 at the 
 
 ope — as 
 
 Harriet, 
 to stay, 
 
 place. " 
 
 t, calm- 
 
 se your 
 
 )rbiddeii 
 glitning 
 n heard 
 
 a — born 
 
 )d still a 
 
 ' sinoe I 
 
 I "—the 
 -" is the 
 
 en on a 
 
 liought 1 
 see yout 
 
 THE BAKONET^S BRIDE. 
 
 05 
 
 drift. Have a better opiuion of my fyowers of penetration 
 next time, Sir Everard. My poor ftiilier, impoverished in 
 purse, broken in health, sensitive iji spirit, cliooses to hide 
 his wounds — chooses not to wear his hetirt on liis sleeve for 
 the Devonshire daws to peck at — chooses never to speuk of 
 his lost wife — and, lo! all the gossips of the country are 
 agape for the news. She was an actress, was she not, Sir 
 Everard? And when I ride across the country, at the heels 
 of the hounds, it is only tlie spangles, and glitter, and the- 
 ater glare breaking out again. 1 could despise it in others, 
 but I did think better things of the son of my father's 
 oldest friend! Good-morning, Sir Everard." 
 
 She turned proudly away. In that instant, as she tow- 
 ered above him, superb in her beauty and her pride, all 
 other earthly considerations were swept away like cobwebs. 
 If the world had been his, he would have laid it at her 
 regal feet. 
 
 " Stay, Harriet — Miss Hunsden! Stop — for pity's sake, 
 stop and hear me! I have been presuming — impertinent. 
 I have deserved your rebuke." 
 
 " You have," she said, haughtily. 
 
 " But 1 asked those questions because the nameless in- 
 sinuations I heard drove me mad — because 1 love you, I 
 worship you, with all my heart and soul. " 
 
 Like an impetuous torrent the words burst out. He 
 actually flung himself on his knees before her, in the boy- 
 ish abandon of his love and delirium. 
 
 " My beautiful, queenly, glorious Harriet! I love you 
 as man never loved woman before!" 
 
 Miss Hunsden stood aghast, staring, absolutely con- 
 founded. The passionate words rained down upon her in 
 a stunning shower. 
 
 For one instant she stood thus; then all was forgotten in 
 her sense of the ludicrous. She leaned agamat a tree, and 
 set up a shout of laughter long and clear. 
 
 *' Oh, good gracious!" cried Miss Hunsden, as soon as 
 she was able to speak; " who ever head the like of this? 
 Sir Everard Kingsland, get up. I forgiv^e you everything 
 for this superhuman joke. I haven't had such a laugh 
 for a month. Eor go -duess' sake get up, and don't be a 
 goose!" 
 
 The young baronet sprung to his feet, furious with 
 mortification and rage. 
 
 I 
 

 I 
 
 !;!, 
 
 1.'! f 
 
 I . 
 
 t ■ ; 
 
 i I 
 
 ? I 
 
 
 96 THE hakonet'r brtde. 
 
 *' Miss Hunsden— *' 
 
 "Oh, don't!" cried Harriet, in a second paroxysm. 
 " Don't maice me ruj)ture an artery. Love me? — worship 
 me? Why, yon ridiculous thing! you haven't known me 
 two days altogether!" 
 
 He turned away without speaking a word. A choking 
 sensation rose up in his throat, for, poor fellow! he had 
 been terribly in earnest. 
 
 " And then you're engaged to Lady Louise! Every one 
 says so, and I am sure it looks like it." 
 
 " I am not engaged to Lady Louise." 
 
 Ke said those words huskily, and he could say no more. 
 
 Miss Hunsden tried to look grave, but her mouth 
 twitched. The sense of the ludicrous overcame her sense 
 of decorum, and again she laughed until the tears stood in 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Oh, I shall die!" in a faint whisper. " My sides 
 ache. I beg your pardon. Sir Everard; but inde(}(l 1 can 
 not help it. It is so funny!" 
 
 " So I perceive. Good-morning, Miss Hunsden." 
 
 '* And now you are angry. Why, Sir Everard!" catch- 
 ing for the first time a glimpse of his deathly white face, 
 "1 didn't think you felt like this. Oh! 1 beg your par- 
 don with all my heart for laughing. I believe I should 
 laugh on the scaffold. It's dreadfully vulgar, but it was 
 born with me, I'm afraid. Did I gallop right into your 
 heart's best aifections at the fox-hunt? Why, I thought 1 
 shocked you dreadfully. I know 1 tried to. Won't you 
 shake hands. Sir Everard, and part friends?" 
 
 " Miss Hunsden will always find mo her friend if she 
 ever needs one. Farewell!" 
 
 Again he was turning awa}^ He would not touch the 
 proffered palm. He was so deathly white, and his voice 
 shook so, that the hot tears rushed into the impetuous 
 Harrie's eyes. 
 
 *' I am so sorry," she said, with the simple humility of 
 a little child. " Please forgive me. Sir Everard. 1 know 
 it was horrid of me to laugh; but you don't really care for 
 me, you know. You only think you do; and I — oh! I'm 
 only a flighty little girl of seventeen, and I don't love any- 
 body in the world but papa, and 1 never mean to bo mar- 
 I'ied— at least, not for ages and ages to come, 
 me. '" 
 
 1)6 forgive 
 
THE baronet's BKIDE. 
 
 97 
 
 lie bowed low, but he would neither answer nor take 
 her hand. He was far too deeply hurt. 
 
 Before she could speak a^'ahi he was gone. A moment, 
 and he had vaultetl into the saddle and was out of sight. 
 
 "And he's as mad as a hatter!" said Harrie, ruefully. 
 *' Oh, dsar, dear! what torments men are, and what u bore 
 falling in love is! And 1 liked him, too, better than any 
 of them, and thought we were going to be brothers in 
 arms — Damon and — what's his name? — and all that sort 
 of thing! It's of no use my ever hoping for a friend. 1 
 shall never have one in this lower world, for just so sure 
 as I get to like u person, that person must go and fall hi 
 love with me, and then we quarrel and part. It's hard." 
 
 And Miss Hunsden sighed deeply, and went into the 
 house. 
 
 And Sir Everard rode home as if the fiend was after liim 
 — like a man gone mad — flung the reins of the foaming 
 horse to the astounded groom, rushed up to his room and 
 looked himself in, and declined his luncheon and his din- 
 ner, and would have blown his brains out if there had been 
 a loaded pistol within the four walls. 
 
 And the result of it all was /"^"^at when he came down to 
 breakfast next morning, with a white, wild face, and livid 
 rings round his eyes, he electrified the family by his abrupt 
 announcement: 
 
 " I start for Constantinople to-morrow. From thence I 
 shall make a tour of the East. I will not return to Eng- 
 land for the next three years." 
 
 jt 
 
 CHAPTER XHI. 
 
 LYING IN EKITHLOW WOOD. 
 
 A THUNDERBOLT falling at your feet from a cloudless 
 8'ummer sky must be rather astounding in its unexpected- 
 ness, but no thunderbolt ever created half the consterna- 
 tion Sir Everard's fierce announcement did. They looked 
 at him and at each other with blank faces — his was set, 
 rigid, ghastly. 
 
 "Going away!" his mother murmured — "going to 
 Constantinople. My dear Evorurd, you don't mean it?" 
 
 " Don't I?" he said, fiercely, "Don't 1 look as if T. 
 meant it?" 
 

 il8 
 
 THE BAltONET 8 IIRIDE. 
 
 1 ' 
 
 ', ! 
 
 I ! 
 
 " But what has hapi)ened? Oh, Everard, what does ^l 
 this mean?" 
 
 " It means, mother, that I am a mad, desperate and 
 reokless man; that I don't care whether I ever return to 
 England again or not/' 
 
 Lady Kingshuurs own angry temper and imperious 
 spirit began to rise. Her cheeks Hushed and her eyes 
 ilaslied. 
 
 " It means you arc a headstrong, selfisli, cruel boyi 
 You don't care an iota what pain you inilict on others, if 
 you are thwarted ever so dightly yourself. 1 have in- 
 dulged you from your childhood. You have never known 
 one unsatisfied wi^-h it was in my power to gratify, and 
 this is my reward!'* 
 
 Ho sat in sullen silence. He felt the reproach keenly m 
 its sim2ile trutli; but his heart was too sore, tlie pain too 
 bitter, to let him yield. 
 
 '* You promise me obedience in the dearest wish of my 
 heart,'* her ladyship wont on, ])assionately, heedless, now 
 that her fiery spirit was fairly up, of the presence of Mil- 
 dred and Sybilla, " and you break thtit promise at the firsc 
 sight of a wild young hoidon in a hunting-field. It is o© 
 her account you frighten me to death in this heartleee 
 manner, because 1 refuse my consent to your consummat- 
 ing your own disgrace." 
 
 " My disgrace?" His blue eyes fairly blazed. ** Take 
 care, mother!" 
 
 "Do you dare speak in that tone to me?" She roat 
 up from the table, livid with jxission. " 1 repeat it. Sir 
 Everard Kingsland — your disgrace! Mystery shrouds this 
 girl's birth and her father's marriage — if he ever was mar- 
 ried—and where there is mystery there is guilt." 
 
 "A sweeping assertion!" the baronet said, with god- 
 oentrated scorn; "but in the present instance, my good 
 mother, a little out of place. Tlie mystery is of your own 
 making. The late Mrs. Harold Hunsden was a native of 
 New Yovli. There she was married — there she died at her 
 daughter's birth. Ca})tain Hunsden cherishes her memory 
 all too deeply to make it the town talk, hence all tlio 
 county is up agape inventing slander. 1 hope yon son 
 satisfied?" 
 
 Lady Kingsland stood still, gazing at him in her 
 prise. 
 
THE BAMONET's bride. 
 
 99 
 
 a 
 
 Take 
 
 Who told you all this?" slie asktad. 
 
 " yiio who had the beat right to kuovv — the slandered 
 womaii'H daughter/' 
 
 'Miuluud— indeed!'' slowly and soarchingly. "You 
 have been talking to her, tliun? And your whole heart is 
 re;Uly sot on this matter, Everard?" 
 
 iSlie came a step nearer; her voice softened; she laid one 
 sleiulor h:ind, with inlinite tenderness, on his shoulder — 
 this inipotuous only son was so unspeakably dear to her. 
 
 " What doe^ it matter?" he retorted, impatiently toss- 
 ing back his bright, fair hair, his voice full of sharp in- 
 ward pain. " For Heaven's sake, let me alone, mother!" 
 
 " My boy " — a little tremor in my lady's steady voice — 
 *' if you really love this wild girl so much, if your whole 
 heart is set on her, I must withdraw my objections. I 
 can refuse my dtirling nothing. Woo Harriet Uunsden, 
 wed her, and bring her here. I will try and receive her 
 kindly for your sake." 
 
 Sir Everard Kingsland shook off the fair, white, caress- 
 ing hand, and rose to his feet, with a harsh, strident laugh. 
 ^* You are very iiood, niy mother, but it is a little too late. 
 Miss lluiisilun did me the honor to refuse me yesterday." 
 ' Kefuse you?" 
 
 ^he recoiled as if he had struck her. 
 
 " Even so — incredible as it sounds! You see this little 
 barbarian is not so keenly alive to the magnificent honor 
 of an alliance with the house of Kingsland as some others 
 are, and she said No plumply when I asked her to be my 
 wife. Not only that, but laughed in my face for my pre- 
 sumption." 
 
 Again that harsh, jarring laugh rang out, and with the 
 last word he strode from the room, olosing the door with 
 an emphatic bang. 
 
 Lady Kingsland sunk down in the nearest chair, per- 
 fectly overcome, and looked at her daughter. Sybilla Sil- 
 ver, with a strong inclination to laugh in their faces, raised 
 her tea- cup, and hid a malicious smile there. 
 
 " Refused him!** my lady murmured, helplessly. 
 " Mildred, did you hear what he said?" 
 
 '* Yes, mamma," Mildred replied, in distress. " She is 
 a very proud girl — Harriet Hunsden. " 
 
 *' Proud! Good heavens!" My lady sprung to her feet, 
 goaded by the word. " The wretched little pauper! the 
 
 I 
 
'h 
 
 VI 
 
 » 
 
 100 
 
 THE HAJiONKTB JJIilDE. 
 
 lined ticrtied, uiKUviliziul, horriblo little wretolil What 
 biisines.-j Ikis she with ])ri(lo — with nothing undur tiio sun 
 to bu proud ol:' Uufiiso my .son! Oh, bIio ninst be mad, 
 or H fool, or bollil I will novor forj^ivo hor as lonj; as I 
 live; nor liini, citlu'r, for asking hur!" 
 
 With which my lady Hung oiii; of tho apartment in u 
 towering rage, and went up to her room and fell into 
 hysterics and tho arms of her nnud on tho S[)ot. 
 
 It was a day of ili.strefs at Kiiigsland Court — gloom antl 
 despair reigned. Lady Kiiigsland, shut np in her own 
 apartments, would not be comforted — and Sir Everard, 
 busied with his preparations, was doggedly determined to 
 carry out his designs. Sybilla was the only one who en- 
 joyed the situation, and she did enjoy the prevailing dis- 
 may with a keen enjoyment that seemed quite incredible. 
 
 As she stood in tho front portico, early in the afternoon, 
 humming jauntily an opera tune, a servant wearing tho 
 Hunsdcn livery rode up to her and delivered a twisted 
 note. 
 
 " For Sir Everard," said tho man, and rodo away. 
 
 Miss Silver took it, looked at it with one of her curious 
 little smiles, thought a moment, turned, and carried it 
 straight to my lady. My lady examined it with angry eyes. 
 
 " From Miss Hunsdcn,'^ she said, contcmi)tuou8ly. 
 " She rej)ents her hasty decision, no doubt, and sends to 
 tell him so. Rold, designing creature! Find Sir Ever- 
 ard 's valet. Miss Silver, and give it to him." 
 
 Miss Silver did as rec] nested. Sir Everard was in his 
 dressing-room arraying for dinner, and his j)ale face 
 flushed deep red as he received the note. Did she repent 
 — did she recall her refusali* Ho tore it open and literally 
 devoured the contents. 
 
 " Dear Sir Everard, — Please, jilease, please forgive 
 me! Oh, I am so sorry I laughed and made you angry! 
 But indeed I thought you only meant it as a joke. Two 
 days is such a little while to bo acquainted before propos- 
 ing, you know. Won't you come to see us again? Papa 
 has asked for you several times. Pray j^ardon me. You 
 would if you knew how penitent I am. 
 
 ' ' Yours remorsefully, 
 
 "JIarrie Hunsden. 
 
 "Hunsden Hal), Nov. 15th, 16-." 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 101 
 
 Two 
 
 lie read tho pitooiis, child isli little lettor over and over 
 again until his face glowed. Jt takes but a morueiit to 
 lift tliese impetuous, iuipul.sivo iiooplo from the dej)ths of 
 despair to the apex of bli.ss. Jloim planted her siiining 
 foot onee more on the baronet's heart. 
 
 " I will go at once," he said, hiding away tho little 
 ])iid<;- tinted, violet-perfumed note very near Ins heart. 
 " Common courtesy requires me to say farewell before I 
 start for Constantinople. And the captain likofj mo, and 
 ids inlhience is all-i)owerful with her, added the young 
 man, somewhat inconseqnently, " and who knows — " 
 
 lie did not finish the mental sentence. He rapidly com- 
 pleted his toilet, hid his dimier-costumo under a loose rid. 
 ing-Goat, ordered his horse, and set otl' hot foot. 
 
 Of course, all the short cuts came in requisition. The 
 path through lirithlow Wood was the path he took, going 
 at full gallop. Lost in a deliciously hopeful reverie, he 
 was half way through, when a hollow groan from the way- 
 side smote his ear. 
 
 " For God's sake," a faint voice called, " help a dying 
 man!" 
 
 The baronet stared around aghast. Right before him, 
 under the trees, lay the jirostrate figure of a fallen man. 
 I'o leap off his horse, to bend over him, was but the work 
 of an instant. Judge of his dismay when he beheld the 
 livid, discolored face of Captain liunsden. 
 
 " Croat Heaven! Captain Hunsden! What horrible ac- 
 cideiit is this?" 
 
 The dulled eyes of the Indian officer sought his face. 
 
 " Sir Everard,*' he murmured, in a thick, choking tone, 
 " go — tell Ilarrie — poor Harrie — " 
 
 His voice died away. 
 
 ** Were you thrown from your horse? Were you way- 
 laid?" asked the young man, thinking of his own recent 
 adventure. 
 
 " One of those apoplectic attacks. I was thrown. Tell 
 Harrie — " 
 
 Again the thick, guttural accents failed. 
 
 Sir Everard raised his head, and knelt for a moment be- 
 wildered. How should he leave him here alone while he 
 went in search of a conveyance? 
 
 Just then, as if sent directly by Providence, the Rever- 
 
11 
 
 ■J , 
 
 lit, 
 
 il 
 
 LM 
 
 103 
 
 TUT. BATJONF.T S TITITDK 
 
 end Cyrna Orooii, in ]ii« lij;lit clmiso, drovo into tho vrood- 
 Itmd ])iith. 
 
 *' ][i'jivon 1)0 praised I" cried tlio ])!ironot,. " I was won- 
 doriiig vvhiit I .should do. A droiidl'id a(X!idonfc hua faiip- 
 j)()n(!(l, Mr. (ireen. C'ii])tiiin Jfnnwlon lias had a Tall, and 
 is vory ill.'* 
 
 'I'lio rL'(!tor got out, in consternation, and bent abovo tho 
 prostrate man. Tho captain's fa(!o had turned a dull, 
 livid huo, his eyes had closed, his breathing canie hoarse 
 and thick. 
 
 "Very ill, indeed," said tho clergyman, gravely — "so 
 ill that I fear he will never be better. liCt us phuio him 
 in the chaise, Sir Everard. J will drive slowly, and do you 
 ride on to Hnnsden llall to prepare his daughter for the 
 shook. ' ' 
 
 Tho Indian oHicor was a stalwart, powerful num. It 
 was tho utmost their united strength could do to lift hiiu 
 into the chaise. He lay awfully corpse-like among the 
 eushions, rigid and stark. 
 
 " liide — ride for your life!'* the rector said, " and dis- 
 patch a serv.'int for the family doctor. 1 fear the result 
 of this fall will be fatal.'* 
 
 He needed no second bidding; he was off like the wind. 
 8ir (lalahad sprung over the ground, and reached Hvins- 
 den in an incredibly short time. A Hying iigure, in wifd 
 ularm, came down the avenue to meet him. 
 
 " Oh, Sir Everard!'' Harrie panted, in alTright, " where 
 »s papa? He left to go to Kingsland Court, and Starlight 
 has come galloping back riderless. Something awful has 
 happened, l know!" 
 
 He looked down upon her with eyes full of passionate 
 love. How beautiful she looked, with her pale, upraised 
 face, her wild, alTrighted eyes, her streaming hair, her 
 clasped hands. 
 
 His num's heart burned within him. He wanted to 
 catch her in his arms, to hold her there forever — to shield 
 her from all the world and all worldly sorrow. 
 
 Something of what he felt must have shone in his ardent 
 eyes. Hers dropped, and a bright, virginal blush dyed for 
 the first time cheek and brow. Jle vaulted oil' his horse 
 and stood uncovered before her. 
 
 " Dear Miss Hunsden,'* he said, gently, " there has 
 
THE baronet's BKFDi:. 
 
 108 
 
 Jt 
 
 eeon an accident. I am sorry to bo the buaror of ill nowa, 
 but don't bo alarmed — all may yet bo wuU/' 
 
 " I'apa!" alio barely gas])e(l. 
 
 *' lie has niut with an acuidoiit — a sooond apoploiitic lit. 
 1 Unind liini lyiti"- in Britlilow Wood. Ho liad failrn I'roru 
 iiis liortio. Mr. dreon is i'elcliiiiy liini horo in his cliaiso. 
 Tlioy will arrive presently. You liail butter have his rooia 
 prepared, and I — will J ride for your ])liysioian myself?" 
 
 ►She leaned against a tree, sick and taint. Jlejuadea 
 stop toward her, but she rallied and motioned him (»ir. 
 
 " No," she said, " lot mo be! J)on't ^o. Sir Kverard — 
 remain hero. I will send a servant for the doetor. (Jh, I 
 dreaded. this! I warned iiim when ho left this artcrnooBij 
 but he wanted to sec you so mueh.'^ 
 
 She left him and liurried into the house, dispatched a 
 man on horseback for the doctor, and j)repared her fa- 
 therms room. 
 
 In tiiteen minutes the doctor's pony-chaise drove up. 
 lie and the baronet and the butler assisted the strickoH. 
 and insensible man up to his room, and laid him upon tho 
 bed from which ho was never more to rise. 
 
 CHAPTEU XIV. 
 
 THE captain's LAST NKiHT. 
 
 The twilight was falling, ghostly and gray. A. long, 
 lamentable blast worried the strip})ed trees and drove tho 
 dead leaves before it in whirling drifts. 
 
 A pale young crescent moon rose watery in the bleak, 
 starless sky; down on tlio shore tho Hood tide boat its 
 hoarse refrain, and in his chamber Harold Godfrey Huns- 
 den lay dying. 
 
 They knew it — the silent watchers in that somber room 
 — his danghter, and all. She knelt by the bedside, her 
 face hidden — not weeping; still, tearless, stunned. Sir 
 Everard, the doctor, the rector, silent and sad, stood 
 around. 
 
 The dying man had been aroused to full coasciousness 
 at last. One hand feebly rested on his daughter's stricken 
 young head, the other lay motionless on the counterpane. 
 His dulled eyes went aimlessly wandering. 
 
 " Doctor!" 
 
 The old physician b.nt over him* 
 
 m 
 
1 
 
 i' 
 
 111 
 
 104 
 
 THK PAIiONKTS r.UIDE. 
 
 up 
 
 " Itow loii^?" lio j>iiuseil — *' how lon^ am 1 luat?" 
 
 *' My (lojir /rloiKl — " 
 
 "How loiif^'i"" tlio Iiuliiin oUicor imputiontly saicU 
 ''Quiolv! tho truth! how hmg?" 
 
 *' Until to-morrow." 
 
 '♦Ah!" 
 
 Tho hiwid lying on llarric's chirk curls luy more hcivvily 
 perhaps — that waa all. 
 
 " Is there anything you wish? anything you want done? 
 any person you woulil like to see?*' 
 
 " Yes/* the (lying man answered, life suddenly leaping 
 
 I in his gla/.ing uyes — '* yes, Sir Everard Kingsland. 
 
 " Sir Kverartl Kingsland is here.*' 
 
 lie motioned tho baronet to ai)proach, retreating him- 
 self. 
 
 Sir Everard bent over him. 
 
 "Send them away," said tho sick man. "Both. 1 
 want to s])eak to you alone." 
 
 " Even in that Bui)rcmo moment — in the awful presence 
 of death — the lover's heart bounded at the wordo tho dying 
 man might say. 
 
 lie delivered tho message, and tho rector and doctor 
 went into tho passage to wait. 
 
 " Come closer," the captain said, and the young baronet 
 knelt by the bedside, opposite Ilarrie, " and tell the truth 
 to a dying man. ilarrie, my darling, are you listening?" 
 
 " Ves, papa." 
 
 She lifted her jiale young face, rigid in tearless despair. 
 
 " My own dear girl, 1 am going to leave a little soonei 
 than I thought. I knew my death would be soon and sud- 
 den, but I did not expect it so soon, so awfully sudden as 
 this!" llis li2)S twitched spasmodically, and there was a 
 brief pause. " 1 had ho2)ed not to leave you alone and 
 friendless in tho world, i3enniless and unprotected. I 
 hoped to live to see you the wife of some good man, but it 
 is not to be. God wills for the best, my darling, and to 
 Him I leave you." 
 
 A dry, choking sob was the girl's answer. Ilor eyes 
 were burning and bright. The captain turned to the im- 
 patient, expectant young baronet. 
 
 *' Sir Everard Kingsland," he said, with a painful effort, 
 "you are the son of my old and much-valueil friend; 
 therefore 1 speak. My near approach to eternity lifts me 
 
 ■'tLi 
 
THF 1^AIJ(»N"KT M HUIDR. 
 
 10ft 
 
 ftbovo the minor ooiisiilctrations of time. Yostonliw morn- 
 i?i<,S from y()iHl(M' wiiidovv, 1 huw you oii tho torruco with 
 my (iiiii;.'hU!r. " 
 
 'J'ho barom^t ^n'usped liis luiiid, liia faco lliishotl, ]iia 03'03 
 aglow. Oh, Hiircly, tiiK iiour of liis revviiid liiul (uimo! 
 
 " ^'^011 made lior an olTor of your hiind and iieart?" 
 
 *' \Viii(!li sho ntl'u.sod," llio younj"; mail said, with a 
 f^lanco of uuiittorabli! ru2)roa(!h. " Yob, sir; and I lovo her 
 with my wholo lioart!" 
 
 JmpotuoUvS two-and-twonty! TTo for<,n)t tlio doath-bed; 
 he forjrot ovorythiiii,' earthly, Imt tlial lii.s bliss or despair 
 /or lifo was sliil'ting in the Ijalaiicu. lie looked aerosa with 
 giuvviiii^ eyes. 
 
 '* I thought so," very faintly. " Why did you refuae, 
 Hiirrie?" 
 
 " Oh, pupal" Shi) covorcul her face with her hands, in 
 maidenly ^hame, from l;pr lover's radiant eyes. " Why 
 ant we talUinir of this now?" 
 
 " J)i!oause 1 am going to leave vou, my daughter. Be- 
 cause I would not leave vou aloiu'. Why did you refuse 
 yirKverard:-"' 
 
 " Papa, 1 — I. only knew him such a little while." 
 
 " And that is all.^ You don't dislike him, do you, my 
 pet?" 
 
 She Hushed all over. They eoidd see " beauty's bright, 
 transient glow " through the hiding hands. 
 No-o, papa.'' 
 
 And you don't like any one elbo better?" 
 Papa, you know 1 don't." 
 
 My own spotless darling! And you will let Sir Ever- 
 ard love you, and be your true and tender husband?" 
 
 " Oh, papa, don't!" 
 
 She Hung herself down with a vehement cry. But Sir 
 Everard turned his radiant, hopeful, impassioned face 
 upon the Indian othcer. 
 
 " For God's sake, plead my cause, sir! She will listen 
 to you. I love her with all my heart and soul. I will be 
 miserable for life without her." 
 
 " Y"ou hear, Ilarrie? 'This vehement young wooer — 
 make him ha[)py. Make me ha[)py by saying ' Yes.' '' 
 
 She looked up with the wild glance of a stag nt bay. 
 For one moment her frantic idea was llight. 
 
 "My love— my life!" Sir j*>,'erard caught both her 
 
 
 I 
 
 :.lh< 
 
 I 
 ml 
 
 .1 ■ 
 
:,' 
 
 i^ 
 
 ^1 
 
 I « 
 
 106 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 hands across the bed, and his voice was hoarse with, its 
 concentrated emotion. " You don't know how I love you. 
 If you refuse I sliall go mad. I will be the truest, the 
 tenderest husband ever man was to woman. '' 
 
 The great gray eyes flashed from one to the other. She 
 looked like a creature out of herself. 
 
 '* I am dying, Ilarrie," her father said, sadly, '* and 
 you will be all alone in this big, bad world. But if your 
 heart says * No,' my own best beloved, to my old friend's 
 son, then never hesitate to refuse. In all my life 1 never 
 thwarted you. On my death-bed I will not begin." 
 
 " What shall 1 do?" she cried. " What shall 1 do?" 
 
 " Comment!" her lover whispered, deathly j^ale with his 
 supreme suspense. 
 
 '* Consent!" Her father's anxious eyes spoke the woi*d 
 eloquently. 
 
 »he looked from one to the other — the dying father, the 
 handsome, hopeful, impetuous young lover. Some faint 
 thrill in her heart answered his. Girls like daring lovers. 
 
 She drew her hands out of his clasp, hesitated a mo- 
 ment, while that lovely, sensitive blush came and went, 
 then gave them suddenly bacii of her own accord. 
 
 He grasped them tight, with an inarticulate ery of 
 ecstasy. For worlds he could not have spoken. The 
 clying face looked unutterably relieved. 
 
 " That means * Yes,' Harrie?" 
 
 ** Yes, papa." 
 
 "ThpnkGod!" 
 
 He joined their hands, looking earnestly at the young 
 man. 
 
 " She is yours, Kingsland. May God deal with you as 
 you deal with my orphan child!" 
 
 *'Amen!" 
 
 Solemnly Sir Everard Kingsland pronounced his own 
 eoudeninotion with the word. Awfully came back the 
 memory of that adjuration in the terrible days to come. 
 
 " She is very young," said Captain Hunsden, after a 
 pause — " too young to marry, ^'oti must wait a year. " 
 
 "A year!" 
 
 Sir Everard repeated the word in consternation, as if it 
 liad been a century. 
 
 *' Yes," said the captain, firmly. ** A year is not too 
 long, and she will onlj be eighteen then. Let her retsrn 
 
 i I 
 
 ■ .i 
 
TTTE baronet's TIRTDE. 
 
 107 
 
 to her old penftion in Paris. Slio sadly needs the help of 
 a finishing school, my poor littie girl! My will is made. 
 The little 1 leave will suflici^ for her wants. Mr. (Jroen is 
 her guardian — he understands my wishes. Oh, my lad!" 
 with an elociuent, fatherly cry, " you will be very good t© 
 my friendless little llarrie! She will have but you in dfio 
 w*de world." 
 
 ** I swear it. Captain Hunaden! It will be my blisvS a»d 
 my honor to make her my happy wife.'' 
 
 '" I believe you. And now go — go both, and leave me 
 alone, for I am very tired. '* 
 
 Sir Kverard arose, but Harrie grasped her father's cold 
 hand in terror. 
 
 " K^o, no, papa! 1 will not leave you. Let me stay. I 
 wfll be very quiet — I shall not disturb j'ou. '* 
 
 " As you like, my dear. She will call you, Kingslan«l, 
 by and by. " 
 
 The young man left the room. Then Harriet lifted a 
 pale, reproachful face to her father. 
 
 ** Pupa, how could you?" 
 
 *' My dear, you are not sorry? You will love this yoimg 
 maa very dearly, and he loves you." 
 
 " But his mother. Lady Kingsland, detests me." And, 
 wiA a sudden npreariug of the proud little head, a sudden 
 fia^ of the imperious gray eyes, " I want to enter bo 
 man's house unwelcome.'' 
 
 ** My dear, don't be hasty. How do you know Lady 
 Kingsland detests you? That is impossible, I think. She 
 wili be a kind mother to my little motherless girl. Ab, 
 piufnl Heaven! that agony is to come yet!" 
 
 A spasm of jiain convulsed his features, his brows knit, 
 his eyes gleamed. 
 
 " Harne," he said, hoarsely, grasping her hands, ** I 
 have a secret to tell you — a horrible secret of guilt and dis- 
 grace! It has blighted my life, blasted every hope, turned 
 the whole world into a black and festering mass of cor- 
 ruption! And, oh! worst of all, you must })ear it — yo«r 
 life must be darkened, too. But not until the grave has 
 closed over me. My child, look hero." 
 
 He drew out, with a painful effort, something from be- 
 neath his pillow and handed it to her. It was a letter, ad- 
 dressed to herself, and tightly sealed. 
 
 '* M? secret is there." hie whispered — ** the secret it 
 
 m 
 
 -'a 
 Ml 
 
1 1 
 
 108 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 ri 
 
 ll 
 
 -;i 
 
 J.' 
 
 would blister my lips to tell you. "When yoii are safe with 
 Madame Beaufort, in Paris, ojjeu and read this — not be- 
 fore. You promise, Harrie?" 
 
 " \nything, pajja — everything!" She hid it away in 
 her Dosom. " And now try to sleep; you are talking a 
 great deal too much. " 
 
 " Sing for me, then." 
 
 She obeyed the strange request — he had always loved to 
 hear her sing. She commenced a plaintive little song, and 
 before it was finished he was asleep. 
 
 All night long she watched by his bedside. Kow he 
 slept, now he woke up fitfully, now he fell into a lethargic 
 repose. The doctor and Sir Everard kept watch in an ad- 
 joining chamber, within sight of that droo])ing, girlish 
 form. 
 
 Once, in the small hours, the sick man looked at her 
 clearly, and spoke aloud: 
 
 ' Wake me at day-dawn, Harrie. " 
 
 *' Yes, jxipa." 
 
 And then he slept again. The slow hours dragged away 
 — morning was near. She walked to the window, drew the 
 curtain and looked out. Dimly the pearly light was creej)- 
 ing over the sky, lighting the purple, sleeping soa, bright- 
 ening and brightening with every passing second. 
 
 She would not disobey him. She left the window and 
 bent over the bed. How still he lay! 
 
 "Papa," she said, kissing him softly, *'day is dawn- 
 
 f> 
 
 mg. 
 
 But the cajjtain never moved nor spoke. And then 
 Harriet Hunsden knew the everlasting day had dawned 
 for him. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE DEAD MAN'S SECRET. 
 
 It was a very stately ceremonial that which passed 
 through the gates of Hunsden Hall, to lay Harold Godfrey 
 Hunsden's ashes with those of many scores of Hunsdens 
 who had rcnc before. 
 
 K.I 
 
 The hoir at law — an imi)Overishcd London swell — was 
 there in sables and sweeping hat-band, exulting inwardly 
 that the old chap had gono at last, and " the king had got 
 his own again." 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 109 
 
 m 
 
 he 
 
 Sir Everard Kingsland was there, conspicuous and in- 
 teresting in his new cai)acity of betrothed to the dead man's 
 daughter. 
 
 And the dead man's daughter herself, in trailing crape 
 and sables, deathly pale and still, was likewise there, cold 
 and rigid almost as the corpse itself. 
 
 For she had never shed a tear since thnt awful moment 
 when, with a wild, wailing cry of orphanage, she lial Hung 
 herself down on the dead breast as the new day dawned. 
 
 Pale, tearless, rigid, she sat beside that ghastly clay, 
 st'mned, benumbed, with all the keen after-agony of lone- 
 liness and sorrow to come. She had loved her soldier- 
 father with an entire and intense love, and he had gone 
 from her so awfully, so suddenly that she sat dazed under 
 the blow. 
 
 The day of the funeral was one of ghostly gloom. The 
 November wind swept icily over the sea with a dreary wail 
 of winter; the cold rain beat its melancholy drip, drip; sky 
 and earth and sea were all blurred and blotched in a clammy 
 mist. 
 
 White and wild, Harriet Ilunsden hung on her lover's 
 arm while the lieverend Cyrus Green solemnly read the 
 touching burial service, and Ilaiold Ilunsden was laid to 
 sleep the everlasting sleep. 
 
 And then, through wailing wind and driving rain, she 
 was going back to the desolate old home — oh, so horribly 
 desolate now! She looked at his empty chamber, at his 
 vacant chair, at his forsaken bed. Her face worked; with 
 a long, anguished cry she Jlung herself on her lover's 
 breast and wept the rushing, passionate tears of seventeen 
 — wept wildly and long the impetuous, blessed tears that 
 keep youthful hearts from breaking. 
 
 He held her there as reverently, as tenderly as that dead 
 father might have done, letting her cry her fill, smoothing 
 the glossy hair, kissing the slender hands, calling her by 
 names never to be forgotten while one pulse of life should 
 beat. 
 
 " My darling — my darling! my bride — my wife!'* 
 
 She lifted her face at last and looked at him as she never 
 had looked at mortal man bcfoi'e. In that moment he had 
 his infinite reward. She loved him as only these strong- 
 hearted, passionate women can love — once and forever. 
 
 V 
 
 % 
 
 i":' 
 
 
f 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 
 li: 
 
 110 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 " Lovo me, Everiird," she whispered, holding him close, 
 " I have uo one in the world now but you." 
 
 * -IJ -i: * .-(s 5l« * 
 
 That night Ilarrie Iluusden left the old home forever. 
 The Kevorend Cyrus drove her to the rectory in the rainy 
 twilight, tind still her lover sat by her side, as it was his 
 blisrif ul privilege to sit. She clung to him now, in her new 
 desolation, as she might never have learned to cling iu 
 happier times. 
 
 The rector's wife received the young girl with opea 
 arms, and embraced her with motherly heartiness. 
 
 •■'My poor, pale darling!" she said, kissing the ^tMA 
 eheeks. '* You must stay with us until your lost roBow 
 eome blooming back. " 
 
 Bat Ilarrie shook her head. 
 
 " 1 will go to France at once, please," she said, mo»K»- 
 fuily. " Madame Beaufort was always good to me, audit 
 was his last wish. " 
 
 Her voice choked. She turned away her head. 
 
 " It shall bo as you say, my dear. But who is to take 
 
 you 
 
 V' 
 
 " Mrs. Ililliard, and — I think— Sir Everard Kingsland;'* 
 
 Mrs. Hilliard had been housekeeper at Hunsden HaiH, 
 and was a distant relative of the family. Under the nejwr 
 dynasty she was leaving, and had proffered her services £0 
 escort her young mistress to Paris. 
 
 The IJeverend Cyrus, who hated crossing the chanjwA, 
 had closed with the offer at once, and Sir Everard was to 
 play protector. 
 
 One week Miss Hunsden remained at the rectory, fortu- 
 Mately so busied by her preparations for departure that »o 
 time was left for brooding over her bereavement. 
 
 And then, in spite of that great trouble, there wae a 
 sweet, new-born bliss flooding her heart 
 
 How good ho was to her — her handsome young lover — 
 how solicitous, how tender, how devoted! She could Isd^ 
 her hand shyly on his shoulder, in these calm twilights, 
 and nestle down in his arms, and feel that life held some- 
 thing unutterably sweet and blissful for her still. 
 
 As for Everard, lie absolutely lived at the rectory. He 
 rode homo every night, and he mostly breakfasted at tSie 
 Court; but to all intents and purposes he dwelt at the par- 
 sonage. 
 
THE baronet's BHIDE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 fM 
 
 •' Where the treasure is, thei-o will the heart be also;" 
 ancl my lady, now that things wore settled, and the jour- 
 ney to Constantinople postponed indellnitely, had sunk into 
 a state of sulky displeasure, and was satirical, and scorn- 
 ful, and contemptuous, and stately, and altogether exquis- 
 itely disagreeable. 
 
 Lady ijouise had left Devonshire, and gone back to shiae 
 brilliantly in London society once more. 
 
 Miss liunsden went to France with the portly old house- 
 keeper and the devoted younc baronet. Mnie. Beaufort 
 received her ex-pupil with very French effusion. 
 
 " Ah, my angel! so pale, so sad, so beautiful! I am 
 distracteil at the apjKjarance! But we will restore yow. 
 Tiio change, the associations — all will bo well in time.'* 
 
 The lonely young creature clung to her lover with ])as- 
 aionate abandon. It was their first separation since her 
 father's death. 
 
 "Don't go back just yet, Everard," she implored. 
 '' Let me get used to being alone. When you are with 
 me I am content, but when you go, and I am all alone 
 among these strangers — " 
 
 Her falling tears, her clinging arms pleaded for her 
 more eloquently than words. 
 
 lint he needed no pleading — he loved her entirely, de- 
 votedly, lie promised anything — everything! He would 
 remain in Paris the whole year of probation, if she wished, 
 that he might see her at least every week. 
 
 8ho let him go at last, and stole away in the dusky 
 gloaming to her allotted little room. 8he locked the door, 
 sat down by the table, laid her face on her folded arms, 
 and wet them with her raining ^^ears. 
 
 *' I loved him so!'' she thought — " my precious father! 
 J Oh, it was hard to let him go! '* 
 
 ^ She cried until she could licerally cry no longer. Then 
 slio arose. It was quite dark now, and she lighted her 
 lamp. 
 
 " I will read his letter," she said to herself — " the letter 
 he left for me. I will learn this terrible secret that 
 blighted his life." ^ 
 
 There was her writing-case on the table. She opened it 
 with a little bright key attached to her watch-guard, and 
 took out the letter. She looked sadly at the superscription 
 a moment, then reverently opened it and began to read. 
 
 i 
 
f 
 
 ! 
 
 ' 
 
 • 
 
 
 : 
 
 '' 
 
 i ' 
 
 iiiii 
 
 112 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 *' It will bo like his voice speaking to me from the 
 grave/' siie thought. " My own tie voted father!" 
 
 J [all an hour passed. The letter was long and closely 
 wi-itton, and the girl read it slowly from beginning to end. 
 
 With the first page every trace of color had slowly faded 
 from her face; her eyes dilated, hor form grew rigid as she 
 sat. JUit she steadily read on. She finished it at last. 
 
 it dropped in her lap. She sat there, staring straight 
 bofore hor, with an awful, fixed, vacant stare. Then she 
 arose slowly, mechanically placed it in the writing-case, 
 relocked it, put her hand, to her head confusedly, and 
 turned witli a bewildered look. 
 
 llcr face Hushed dark red; the room was reeling, the 
 walls rocking dizzily. She made a step forward with both 
 hands blindly outstretched, and fell headlong to the fioor. 
 
 Next morning Sir Everard Kingsland, descending to his 
 hotel breakfast, found a sealed note beside his plate. lie 
 oprjied it, and saw it was from the directress of the Fen- 
 sionnat ties Demoiselles. 
 
 " Monsieur, — It is with regret I inform you Mademoi- 
 selle Hunsden is very ill. When you left her last evening 
 she ascended to her room at once. An hour after, sitting 
 in an apartment underneath, I heard a heavy fall. I ran 
 up at once. Mademoiselle lay on the fioor in a dead swoon. 
 1 rang the bell; I raised her; 1 sent for the doctor. It 
 was a very long swoon — it was very difficult to restore her. 
 Mademoiselle was very ill all night — out of herself — deliri- 
 ous. The doctor fears for the brain. M\, mo7i Diim! it 
 is very sad — it is deplorable! We all weeji for the poor 
 Mademoiselle Hunsden. I am, monsieur, with profound- 
 est sentiments of sorrow and pity, 
 
 "Marie Justine Celi;ste Beaufort." 
 
 The young baronet waited for no breakfast. He seized 
 his hat, tore out of the hotel, sprung into a fiacre, and was 
 whirled at once to the pension, 
 
 Madame came to him to the jDarlor, her lace handker- 
 chief to her eyes. Mademoiselle was very ill. Monsieur 
 could not see her, of course, but he must not despair. 
 
 Doctor Pillule had hopes. She was so young, so strong; 
 but the shock of her f jither's death must jiave been preying 
 on her mijid. Madame's sympathy was inexpressible. 
 
 Harriet lay ill for many days — delirious often, murmur- 
 
 ] i 
 
 
" 
 
 
 i 
 
 THE IJAUONET's lUUDE. 
 
 lU 
 
 ing things })ltijibly small, calling on hor father, on her 
 lover — sometimes on her horses and dogs. Madame and 
 iier satellites tended hor with unremitting care. Tho 
 physician was skillful, and life won the battle. JJut it was 
 a weary time before thoy let her descend to the i)arlor to 
 see that imi)atient lover of hers, who, half mad with sus- 
 pense and anxiety, haunted tho house like a ghost. 
 
 It was very near Christnuis, and there was snow on the 
 ground, when she came slowly down one evening to see 
 him. Uii sat alone in the prime salon, whore the porcelain 
 stove stood, with its handful of fire, looking gloomily out 
 at the feathery Hakes whirling through the leaden twilight. 
 He turned round as she glided in, so unlike herself, so like 
 a spirit, that his heart stood still. 
 
 '* My love! my love!" 
 
 It was all he could say. lie took her in his arms, so 
 worn, so wasted, so sad; wan as the lluttering snow with- 
 out. All his man's heart overllowed with iniinite love and 
 pity as he held that frail form in his strong clasp. 
 
 " Dear Everard, 1 have been so ill and so lonely; 1 
 wanted you so much!" 
 
 And then she sighed wearily, heavily, and laid her head 
 on his shoulder, and was very still, lie drew her to him 
 as if he would never let her go again. 
 
 " If I could only be with you always, my darling. It is 
 cruel to keep us apart for a year." 
 
 " It was poor i)apa's wish, Everard. Ah, poor, poor 
 papa!" 
 
 The unutterable compassion, tho despairing sorrow of 
 that cry — he could not understand it. He was inclined to 
 be a little jealous of that deathless love — he wanted that 
 heart to hold no image but his own. 
 
 Presently madnmc came in, and there were lights, and 
 bustle, and separation. Mile. Ilunsden must not renuiin 
 too long, must not excite herself. Monsieur must go away, 
 and come again to-morrow. 
 
 *' I will let her see you every day, poor homesick child, 
 until she is well enough to go into the dassc and commence 
 her studies. Then, not so often. But monsieur will be 
 gone long before that!" 
 
 " No," Sir Everard said, distinctly. *' I remain in 
 Paris for the winter. 1 trust to madame's kind heart to 
 permit me to see Miss Hunsden often." 
 
f 
 
 
 1 
 
 If 
 
 f 
 
 'f 
 
 : 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 •' i'l 
 
 I 
 I: 
 
 /if 
 
 lU 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 *' Often! Ah, vtou fJieuf liow you Eugllsh ure impctu- 
 onti! so — how do you call him? — unreusoiiublo! Monaieur 
 mity seo iiiudomoiseilo in thu suloii every Saturday ai'te*'- 
 noon — not ot'touor. '' 
 
 Mouaiour pleudod. Mutlanie was inexorable. It was tlie 
 rule of the school, and as unalterable as tho laws of Ih'aoo. 
 Harrie herself indorsed it. 
 
 •'It is better so, Kvorard. 1 want to study — Heaven 
 knows I need it! and your frequent visits would distraut 
 me. Let once a week sutlico.*' 
 
 felir Everard 3'^ielded to the inevitable with Jho best gi'aco 
 possible. He took his leave, raising Harriet's hand to liis 
 %)s, and looking reproachfully at madame for standiiag 
 by. But nuidanie was a very dragon of j)ropriety whe^'e 
 mm' pupils were concerned. 
 
 Harrie lingered by the window lor a moment, looking 
 wstf ully after the slender tigure,- and slow, graceful walk. 
 
 " If ho only knew!" she murmured. " If he only know 
 l^e terrible secret that struck mo down that night! Bnt 
 i dare not tell — I dare not, even if that voice from the doa«l 
 Jdad not forbidden me. ] love him so dearly — so dearly! 
 Ak, i)itiful Lord! let him never know! If I lost him, too, 
 :F^hould die!" 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 Tup: winter months wore by. Spring came, and tJiiM. 
 that most devoted of lovers. Sir Eveiard Kingsland, ]«4- 
 gered in Paris, near his gray-eyed divinity. His life was 
 no dull one in the gayest ca])ital of Europe. He had hosts 
 of friends, the purse of Fortunatus, tho youth and beauty 
 '. «sf a denu-god. Brilliant Parisian belles, flashing in an- 
 < costral diamonds, with the blue blood of the old rcfjlme m 
 their delicate veins, showered their brightest smiles, theii- 
 most entrancing glances, upon the handsome young E«i- 
 glishman in vain. His loyal heart never swerved in its al- 
 legiance to his gray -eyed (^ueen — the love-light that lighted 
 her dear face, the warm, welcoming kiss of her cherry lijis, 
 were worth a hundred Pa;'isian belies with their ducal coats 
 of arms. " Faithful and true " was the motto on his seal; 
 faithful and true in every word and thought — true as the 
 needle to the North Star — was he to the ludy of his love. 
 
TH K B A WO N KT iS P. I ! I Di;. 
 
 lift 
 
 I 
 
 Tlio weeks went, swiftly and jjlcusaiitly enough; but his 
 red-letter duy was the Saturday afternoon that brought him 
 to his darling. And she, buried among her dry-aa-dast 
 sohool-books and classic lore — how siie look'ed forward to 
 the weekly day of grace no words of mine can tell. 
 
 But with the tirst bright days of April canio a change. 
 He was going back to Englantl, he told her, one Saturday 
 afternoon, as they sat, lover-liice, side by side, in the i)riiii 
 fculon. She gave a low cry at the words, and looked nt 
 him with wild, wide eyes. 
 
 " Going to England! Going to leave mo!" 
 
 " My dearest, it is for your sake I go, and I will bo goo© 
 but a little while. The end of next October our long year 
 of waiting ends, and before the Christmas snow ilies, my 
 darling must be all my own. It is to j)iepare for onr mar- 
 riage 1 go." 
 
 She hid her glowing face on his shoulder. 
 
 *' I would make Kingsland Court a very Paradise, if I 
 could, for my bright little queen. As I can not make it 
 quite Paradise, I will do what I can." 
 
 " Any place is my Paradise so that you are there, Ever- 
 ard!" 
 
 And then there was an eloquent silence — the silence that 
 always reigns where the joy is too intense for words or 
 amiles. 
 
 *' Landscape gardeners and upholsterers shall wave their 
 magic wands and work their nineteenth century miracles," 
 he said, ; presently, reverting to his project. " My dear 
 girPs future home shall be a very bower of delights. And, 
 besides," hesitating a little, " 1 want to see my mother. 
 She feels herself a little slighted, 1 am afraid, after this 
 winter's absence." 
 
 ** Ah, your mother!" with a little sigh. "Will she 
 ever like me, do you think, Everard? ller letter was so 
 cr)a, so formal, so chilling!" 
 
 For this high-stepping young lady who had ridden at the 
 fox-hunt with reckless daring, who was so regally ujilifted 
 and imperious, had grown very humble in her new love. 
 Not that there is anything .strange in that, for the haughti- 
 est Cleopatra that ever set her royal heels on the neck of 
 men becomes the veriest slave the moment she is subju- 
 gated by the grand passion. 
 
 Harrie had writtwi to my lady an humble, girlish, ap- 
 
 
 :ii 
 
f 
 
 t i 
 
 
 \\ 
 
 /IG 
 
 THE I5Aia)NKTo I.IMDK. 
 
 pealing' littlt; lottur, and luiil rcuuivod ilio colilest of polite 
 rcplios, buiUiLil'iilly writtoii, with tliu " bloody liiitid jwul 
 lIio KiiigsliKid CTOist cuiblazoiiLHl proudly, and Lho motio of 
 iho house \\\ good old iSorman I'runch, " {Strikx' ouco, and 
 strike well/' 
 
 Sinue then there had been no corrosi)ondenco. Misa 
 llunstlon was too proud to sue loi- lier favor, had hIio been 
 her queen as well as her mother-in-Iaw-eleet, and Sir Iwer- 
 ard loved her too sensitively to ex2)ose her to a possible 
 rebiilL 
 
 My lady was unutterably offended by her son's desertion 
 of a whole winter. She was nothing to him now — slie who 
 had loved him so long and so dearly, who hail boon his all 
 for two-and -twenty years. This bold, masculine girl with 
 the horrible boy's name was his all in all now. 
 
 Sir Evcrard Kingsland met with a very cold reception 
 from his lady mother upon his return to JJevonshire. She 
 listened in still disdain to his glowing accounts of the mar- 
 vels the summer would work in tlie grand old place. 
 
 *' And all this for the penniless daughter of a luilf-j)ay 
 captain," she thought^ scornfully; " and Lady Louise 
 might have been his wife. '^ 
 
 Sir Everard, in the sublime egotism of youth and happy 
 love, ran heediossly on. 
 
 *' You and Milly shall retain your old rooms, of course,^' 
 he said, "and have them altered or not, just as you 
 choose. Harriets room shall be in the south wing — she 
 likes a sunny, southern prospect — and the winter and sum- 
 mer drawing-rooms must be completely refurnished: and 
 the conservatory has been sadly neglected of late, and the 
 oak paneling in the dining-room wants touching up. 
 Hadn't you better give all the orders for your own apart- 
 ments yourself? The others I will attend to." 
 
 *' My orders are already given," Lady Kingsland said, 
 with frigid hauteur. " My jointure house is to be fitted 
 up. Before you return from your honey-moon I will have 
 quitted Kingsland Court with my daughter. Permit Mil- 
 dred and me to retain our present apartments unaltered 
 until that time; then the future Lady Kingsland can have 
 the old rooms disfigured with as much gilding and stucco 
 and ormolu as she pleases." 
 
 The young man's fair face blackened with an angry 
 
Till'] I!AR0NKT*S lUJTDK. 
 
 olite 
 
 iind 
 
 to of 
 
 und 
 
 )) 
 
 ii: 
 
 ]Jut 
 
 Boowl as lio listojiod to tlio tauntinpf, apitofiil spciecli. 
 lie rostraiiicd himself. 
 
 " 'riioro is lu) necessity for your witliilrawul from your 
 old home. 11' you leave, it will bo against my ©xpre.sM 
 wish. Neitiier my wito uor I could ever desire such u 
 sLe[)." 
 
 *' Your wife!'' llcsr j)roud lips trembled and her dark 
 eyes Hashed. " J)ocs she take state u[)on herself alreaily? 
 To you and your wife. Sir Kverard Kingsiand, 1 return my 
 humble thanks, but even Kingslaud (Jourt is not largo 
 enough for two mistresses. 1 will never stand aside and 
 see the pauper daughter of the half-i)ay captain rule where 
 I ruled once." 
 
 She swept majestically out of the room as she launched 
 lier last smarting shaft, leaving her son, with Hashing eyes 
 and face of suppressed rage, to recover his temper as best 
 he might. 
 
 " Jle will never ask me again," she thought. *' I know 
 his nature too well.'* 
 
 And ho did not. lie went about his work with stern de- 
 termination, never consulting her, never asking advice, or 
 informing her of any project — always deferential, always 
 stridiously polite. IJut the "half-pay captain's pauper 
 daughter," from that hour, was as a wall of brass between 
 the haughty mother and the proud son. 
 
 There was one person, however, at the Court who made 
 lip, by the warmth of her greeting and the fervor of her 
 sympathy, for any lack on his mother's part. It was Miss 
 Sybilla Silver, of course, who somehow had grown to be as 
 mach a fixture there as the marble and bronze statues in 
 the domed hall. 
 
 iShe had written to find her friends in Plymouth, or she 
 said so, and failed, and she had managed to make herself 
 so useful to my lady that my lady was very glad to keep 
 her. She could make caps like a Parisian milliner; she 
 could dress her exquisitely; she could read for hours in the 
 sweetest and clearest of voices, without one yawn, the dull- 
 est of dull High Church novels. She could answer notes 
 aod sing like a siren, and she could embroider prie-ch'eu 
 chairs and table-covers, and slippers and handkerchiefs, 
 sad darn point lace like Fairy Fingers herself. 
 
 She was a treasure, this ex-lad in velveteen, and my lady 
 Cduotod it a lucky day that brought lier to Kingsland. 
 
 'f^ 
 
 
 II! 
 
 
•fi ' 
 
 .118 
 
 TTTTi rxnONKT 8 T^RTDE. 
 
 IJiit MiH8 Sybilliv buloni^cil to my ludy'sson, and not to my 
 l;i;.iy. To Uio young lord of Kiii^jHluiul her jiUogijinco wag 
 lino, and at liis bi(Ulin<; Kho wus roiuly, at a moniont'ti 
 nolico, to (loscrt tliu fcuiiUo Htandard. 
 
 Mir EvoranI, who took a kintily interest in tlio dashing 
 damsel with the coal-bhick hair and eves, wlio had sliot tho 
 jwaelier, put the (|iu'HLioii plump one day: 
 
 " My mother ami yistei leave before tho eadol the year, 
 Sybilla. Will you desert me, too?" 
 
 " Novor, Sir Evorard!*' The black eyes dropi)ed, and a 
 high color rose in tho dusky cheeks. " I will never desert, 
 you while you wish mo to stay.'' 
 
 " I should like it, I confess. It will bo horribly dreary 
 for my briilo to come home to a house where there is n<* 
 one to welcome her but the servants. If my mother caii 
 spare you, Sybilla, I wish you would stay.*' 
 
 As she had done once before, and ere ho could provottt 
 her, she lifted his hand to her li])s. 
 
 " Sybilla belongs to you. Sir EverardI Command, anC 
 she will obey." 
 
 lie laughed, but ho also reddened as ho drew his haaC 
 hastily away. 
 
 " Oh, pooh! don't bo melodramatic! There is no ques- 
 tion of commanding and obeying about it. You are frae 
 to do as you please. If you choose to remain, give Lady 
 Kingsland ))roper notice. If you prefer to go, why, 1 
 must look out for some one to take your place. Don't be 
 in a hurry — there's plenty of time to decide." 
 
 rie swung o(! and left her. He was coolly indifferent t« 
 her shining beauty, her velvet black eyes, her glossy, ravea 
 ringlets, the tropical luxuriance of her Creole charms. 
 
 She looked after him with a snaky gleam in those weird 
 black eyes. 
 
 " Plenty of time to decide," she repeated, with a sloif^ 
 evil smile curling her thin lips. " My good Sir Everard, 1 
 decided long ago! Marry your fox-hunting bride — bring 
 her home. Sybilla Silver will be here to welcome her, 
 never fear!" 
 
 The baronet stayed three weeks in England — then re- 
 turned impatiently to Paris. Of course the rapture of the 
 meeting more than repaid the pain of parting. 
 
 She was growing more beautiful every day, tho infatuated 
 young man thought, over her books; and the sun itf 
 
THK RAKONETH HRIDF. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Wrnucii uhouo on noiliiii-j; Iiulf m lovely ti-t Uiiai U\L nlctulur 
 litiuisul, in her gray seiiuol iiuiionu urid [>rini, biuek silk 
 apron. 
 
 'J'lio Riunnier wont. Sir Evorurd was buck unci fortU 
 aorusi} tliu Cluwinal, like un insunu luiniun pendulum, unci 
 tlio work ivent bravely on! King-slanil wu.s bein^' truna- 
 Wnied — the huulsiiapu giirden(M'.s and the Jionduii npliol- 
 aton.Td had r('r/v liUincliv, and iL wad the story of Alaudin'rf 
 Palace over a<,'ain. Sir Everanl rubbed hi.s golden lauii>, 
 attd, lo! mighty genii rose uj) and worked wondera. 
 
 September came — the niira(jle8 ceased. Even money 
 und men could do no more. October came. 
 
 Sir Everard's year of probation wad expired. The lijv- 
 «reiid Cyrus Green overcame heroically his horror of aea- 
 aicknoss and steamers, and went to Paris in person for his 
 ward. As plain Miss Ilunsilen, without a shilling to bless 
 lierself with, the lioverend Cyrus would not by any means 
 liave thought this extreme step necessary; but fur the future 
 JLady Kingsland to travel aione was not for an instant to 
 De thought of. So he went, and the first week of Is'ovem- 
 toer he brouglit her home. 
 
 Miss lluusden — taller, more stately, more beautiful thuii 
 «Yer — was very still and sad, this first anniversary of her 
 ifttther's (leath. Lady Kingsland, when she and Mildred 
 laalled — for they did, of course — was rather impressed by 
 the stately girl in mourning, whoso fair, jn'oud face and 
 ttttlm, gray eyes met hers so unflinchingly. It was " Creek 
 meets Greek '* hero; neither would yield an inch. Cer- 
 tainly Miss Ilunsden was to blame, but Miss Hunsden was 
 as proud a girl as ever traced back her genealogy to the 
 Conquest, and had met with one decided rebuil' already. 
 
 The wedding was to take place early in December — Sir 
 Everard would not wait, and Harrie seemed to have no 
 will left but his. Once she had feebly uttered some re- 
 monstrances, but he had imperatively cut her short. 
 
 " I have waited a year already; I will not wait one hour 
 longer than 1 can possibly help, now." 
 
 So this high-handed young tyrant had everything his 
 own way. I'ho preparations were hurried on with aniaz- 
 mg haste; the day was named, the bride-maids and guests 
 bidden. 
 
 Miss HuQsdea's young lady friends were few and far be^ 
 
 ! 
 
 ' : 
 
 .1 ! 
 
120 
 
 THE r.AKONET S HKIDK. 
 
 ,'c 
 
 if: !: 
 
 twecn, and Mildred Kingsland and the rector's sister and 
 twelve-year-old daughter were to comprise the whole list. 
 
 The wedding-day dawned — a sullen, overcast, threaten- 
 ing December day. A watery sun looked out of a lower- 
 ing sky, and then retreated altogether, and a leaden dull- 
 ness overspread the whole lirnianeut. An icy wind curdled 
 vour blood and tweaked your nose, and feuthery snow- 
 llakes whirled drearily through the opaque gloom. 
 
 The charity children, who strewed the road with tlower.s, 
 had their tender visages mottled and purple with cold, 
 and the rector and his assistant shivered in their surplices. 
 
 The church was full, and silks rustled and bright eyes 
 flashed inquisitively, and people wondered who that tail, 
 foreign- looking person beside my lady might bo. 
 
 It was Sybilla Silver, gorgeous in golden silk, with her 
 black eyes lighted with cruel, inward exultation, and who 
 glared almost iierccly upon the beautiful bride. 
 
 My lady, magnificent in her superb disdain of all these 
 childish proceedings, stood by and acknowledged in her 
 heart of hearts that if beauty and grace be any excuse for 
 folly, her son had those excuses. 
 
 Lovely as a vision, with her pure, pale, passionless face, 
 her clear, sweet eyes, Harriet Hunsden swept up the aisle 
 in her rich bridal robes, her lloating lace, and virginal 
 orange-blossoms. 
 
 The bridegroom's eyes kindled with unutterable admira- 
 tion and pride and love as he took his place by her side, 
 he himself looking as noble and gallant a gentleman as 
 wide England could boast. 
 
 It was over — she was his wife! They had registered 
 their names, they drove back to the rectory, the congratu- 
 lations oU'ered, the breakfast eaten, the toast drunk. She 
 was upstairs dressing for her journey; the carriage and the 
 bridegroom were waiting impatiently below. 
 
 Mrs Green hovered about her with tearful eyes and nui- 
 tronly solicitude, and at the last moment Harriet Hung her- 
 self impetuously upon her neck and broke cat into hys 
 tcrical crying. 
 
 " Forgive me!" she sobbed. " Oh, Mrs. Green, I never 
 had a mother!" 
 
 Then she drew down her veil and ran out of the room 
 before the good woman could bpeak. Sir Everard was 
 waiting in the hall, llo drew her hand under his arm and 
 
 ■ .1!' ' 
 
 I' 
 
TUE r.ARONET'S RJITDF. 
 
 131 
 
 )Yii, 
 
 hiirried her away. Mrs. Green got clown- stairs ouly ia 
 time to see her in the carriage. She leaned forward to 
 wave her gloved hand. 
 
 ** Good-bye I" she said — "good-bye, my good, kind 
 friend!" 
 
 Then the bridegroom sprung lightly in beside her, the 
 carriage door closed, the horses started, and the happy pair 
 wei-e oiJ for the month ot banishment civilized society im- 
 peratively requires. 
 
 *** * * * * * 
 
 Sybilla Silver went back to the Court alone. My lady, 
 in sullen dignity, took her daughter and went strtiight to 
 ber jointure house at the other extremity of the village. 
 
 She stood in the center of a lengthy suite of a])artments 
 — the new Lady Kingsland's — opening one into the other 
 in a long vista of splendor. She took a portrait out of her 
 breast and gazed at it with brightly glittering eyes. 
 
 ** A whole year has passed, my mother," she said, slowly, 
 " and nothing has been done. But Sybilla will keep her 
 oath. Sir Jasper Kingsland's only son shall meet his doom. 
 It is through //('/• 1 will strike; that blow will be doubly 
 bitter. Before this day twelvemonth dawns these two, so 
 loving, so hopeful, so happy now, shall part more horribly 
 and minaturally than man and wife ever parted before!" 
 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ^»o 
 
 MR. PARMALEE'S LITTLE MYSTERY. 
 
 KiXGSLAND Court had from time immemorial been 
 one of the show-places of the county, Thursday being 
 always set y.^^art as the visitors' day. 
 
 The portfy old housekeeper used to play cicerone, but 
 the portly old housekeeper, growijig portlier and older 
 everyday, got in time quite unable to waddle up and d«ftwn 
 and pant out gasping explanations to the st'-angers. 
 
 So Miss Sybilla Silver, with her usual good nature, came 
 to the rescue, got the history of the old house, and the old 
 pictures, and cabinets, and curiositipt:, ? /id suits of armor 
 and things by heart, and took Mrs. Comlit's place. 
 
 Visitors, as a general thing, stood rather in awe of the 
 tall and stately young lady, in her sweeping black silk 
 robes, her great black eyes, and Assyrian style generally. 
 
 ■W 
 

 
 I 
 
 
 lit' !' 
 
 C^llJ 
 
 
 I I 
 
 133 
 
 THE BARONETS BRTDE. 
 
 and were apt to mistake her at first for the lady of the 
 manor. 
 
 And in spite of Miss Silver's ceaseless smiles, and per- 
 fect willingness to oblige and bo usofulj it was a remarka- 
 ble fact that every servant in the house hated Jier like 
 poison, excepting two tall footmen and a stable-boy, wh® 
 were madiy in love with her. 
 
 The firist Thursday after the marriage of Sir Everard 
 there c<;me sauntering up to the Court, in the course of 
 the afternoon, a tall young gentleman, eiuoking a cigar, 
 and with his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets. 
 
 lie was not only tall, but uncommonly tall, uncommoa- 
 \y lanky and loose-boned, and his clothes had the general 
 air of being thrown on with a pitchfork. 
 
 lie wore a redundance of jewelry, in the shape of a 
 eonple of yards of watcli-chuin, a huge seal ring on eadi 
 littio finger, and a Ihuiiig diamond breastpin of doubtful 
 quality. 
 
 His clothes were light, his hair was light, his ej-'es were 
 light. He v/as utterly devoid of hirsute a[)pendages, and 
 withal he was tolerably good-looking and unmistakably 
 wido awake. 
 
 He threw away his cigar as he reached the house, and 
 astonished the understrapper who admitted him by pre- 
 senting his card with a nourishing bow. 
 
 " Jest give that to the boss, my man,^' said this pei'- 
 sonage, coolly. ** 1 understand you allow strangers to ex- 
 plore this old castle of your'n, and I've come quite a pieoe 
 for ihat express purpose."* 
 
 The footman gazed at him, then at the card, in sheer 
 bewilderment a moment, and then went and sought o«t 
 Miss Silver. 
 
 " Blessed if it isn't that "Morican that's stopping at th« 
 ^ine, and that asked so many questions about Sir Ever° 
 =i.rd and my lady, of Dawson, last night," he said. 
 
 Sybilla took the card curiously. It was a hond-fide pieco 
 ^f pasteboard, printed all over in little, stumpy capitalsy; 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON PARMALEE, 
 
 Photographic Artist, 
 
 Ko. 1060 Broadway, 
 
 Upstairs. 
 
the 
 
 )er- 
 ka- 
 ike 
 
 THE BARONETS BRIDE, 
 
 1133 
 
 Misa Silver laughed. 
 
 *' The gentleman wants tc see the house, does he? Of 
 course ho must see it, then, Iliggins. And he was ask- 
 ing questions of Diuvson hii;t night at the inn?'^ 
 
 ' Eaps of questions., Mi.'s fSilver, as bold as brass, all 
 about Sir Evcrurd aiul my lady — our young lady, you 
 know. Shall 1 fetch hiin up?" 
 
 *' Certainly." 
 
 There chanced to be no other visitor at the Court, and 
 Sybilla received Mr. Parnialee with infinite smiles and con- 
 descension. The tall American looked rather impressed 
 by the majestic young lady with the great black eyes and 
 superbly handsome face, but not in the least embarrassed. 
 
 '■'' Beg your pardon, miss/^ ho said, politely; '* sorry to 
 put you to so much trouble, but I calculated on seeing this 
 old pile before I left these parts, and as they told mo down 
 at the tavern this was the day — " 
 
 " It is not tlu! :^ lightest trouble, 1 assure you,*' Miss Sil- 
 ver interposed, graciously. " 1 am only too happy to have 
 a stranger come and break the quiet monotony of our life 
 here. And, besides, it allords me double pleasure to make 
 the acquaintance of an American — a })eople I intensely ad- 
 mire. You are the first I ever had the ha2)pines8 of meet- 
 ing." 
 
 This was doing the gracious to an u!ilieard-of extent; 
 but the gentleman addressed did not appear in the least 
 overcome. 
 
 " Want to know!" said Mr. Parmalee, in a tone be- 
 tokening no earthly emotion whatever. " It's odd, too. 
 Plenty folks round our section come across; but I sup- 
 pose they didn't happen along down here. Splendid place 
 this; fine growing land all round; but 1 see most of it is 
 let run wild. If all that there timber was cut down and 
 the stumps burned out and the ground turned into past- 
 ure, you hain't no idea what an Improvement it would be. 
 But you Britishers don't go in for progress and that sort 
 of thing. This old castle, now — it's two hundred years 
 old, I'll be bound!" 
 
 "More than that — twice as old. Will you come and 
 look at the pictures now? Being an artist, of course you 
 will like to see the pictures first. The collection is su- 
 ^rb!" 
 
 Mr. Parmalee followed the young lady to the long plot- 
 
 m 
 
 
Hi 
 
 lu 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 ure-gallery, his hands still in his pockets, whistling softly 
 to himself, and eying everything with his keen, shrewd, 
 light-blue eyes. 
 
 " Must have cost a sight of money, all these fixings," h« 
 remarked, thoughtfully. " I know how them statues and 
 busts reckons up. This here baronet must be a powerful 
 rich man?" 
 
 " He is," said Miss Silver, quietly. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee fell into thought — came out of it — looked 
 at Sybilla curiously. 
 
 " Beg your pardon, miss, but air you one of the 
 family?" 
 
 *' No, sir," flushing a little. " I am Lady Kingsland's 
 companion. " 
 
 " Oh, a domestic!" said Mr. Parmalee, as if to himself. 
 " Who'd a' thought it: Lady Kingsland's companion? 
 Which of 'em? There's two, ain't there?" 
 
 " Sir Everard's mother has left Kingsland Court. 1 
 am companion to Sir Everard's wife." 
 
 "Ah! jest so! Got married lately, didn't he! Might 
 1 ask your name, miss?" 
 
 "1 am Sybilla Silver." 
 
 " Thauky," said Mr, Parmalee, with a satisfied nod. 
 ** So much easier getting along when you know a person's 
 name. Married a Miss Hunsden, didn't he — the bar- 
 onet?" 
 
 " Yes. Miss Harriet Hunsden. " 
 
 *' That's her. Lived with her pa, an old oflBcer in the 
 army, didn't she? Used to be over there in America?" 
 
 "Yes." Sybilla caught her breath suddenly. "Did 
 you know her?" 
 
 " Wa-al, no," replied Mr. Parmalee, with a drawl, and 
 a queer sidelong look at the lady; " 1 can't say I did. 
 They told me down to the tavern all about it. Handsome 
 young lady, wasn't she? One of your tall-stepping, high- 
 mettled sort?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And her pa's dead, and he left her nothing? Was 
 poor as a church-mouse, that old officer, wasn't he?" 
 
 " Cajitain Hunsden had only his pay," answered Miss 
 Silver, wondering where this catechism was to end. 
 
 " And they've gone off on a bridal tower? Now when 
 do you expect them back?''' 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 135 
 
 •' In a month. Are you particularly desirous of seeing 
 Sir Everard or Lady Kingsland?" asked Sybilla, sudden- 
 ly and sharply. 
 
 Again the tall American eyed her askance. 
 
 "Well, yes/' he said, slowly, " I am. I*m collecting 
 photographic views of all your principal buildings over 
 here, and I'm going to ask 8ir Everard to let mo take this 
 )i)lace, inside and out. These rooms are tiie most scrump- 
 tious concerns I've seen lately, and the Fifth Avenue 
 Hotel is some pumpkins, too. Oh, these are t^--: pictures, 
 are they? What a jolly lot!" 
 
 Mr. Parmalee became immediately absorbed by the hosts 
 of dead-and-gone Kingslands looking down from the oak- 
 paneled waHs. Miss Silver fluently gave him names, and 
 dates, and histories. 
 
 " Seems to me," said Mr. l^armalee, " those old fellows 
 didn't die in their beds— many of 'em. What with bat- 
 tles, and duels, and high treason, and sich, they all came 
 to unpleasant ends. Where's the present Kingsland's?" 
 
 " Sir Everard 's portrait is in the library." 
 
 " And her ladyship — his wife?" 
 
 " We have no picture of Lady Kingsland as yet." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee's inscrutable face told nothing — whether 
 he was disappointed or not. He followed Miss Silver all 
 over the house, saw everything worth seeing, and took the 
 " hull concern," as he expressed it, as a matter of course. 
 The short winter afternoon was done before the sights 
 were. 
 
 " Should like to come again," said Mr. Parmalee. " A 
 fellow couldn't see all that's worth seeing round here in 
 less than a month. Might 1 step up again to-morrow. 
 Miss Silver?" 
 
 Miss Silver shook her head. 
 
 " I'm afraid not. Thursday is visitors' day, and I dare 
 not infringe the rules. You may come every Thursday 
 while you stay, and meantime the gardeners will show you 
 over the grounds whenever you desire. How long do you 
 remain, Mr. Parmalee?" 
 
 " That's oncertain," replied the photographic artist, 
 eautiously. " Perhaps not long, perhaps longer. I'm 
 much obliged to you, miss, for all the bother I've made 
 you." 
 
 
 !■ hi 
 
 I" 
 
 
lu 
 
 THE BAKONliT'S IJHTDE. 
 
 " Not at all,'* said Sybilla, politely. " I shall be ka»py 
 at any time to give you any information iu laiy power. 
 
 " Thanky. Good -evening.'* 
 
 The tall American swung off with long strides. The 
 young lady watched him out of sight. 
 
 " There is more in this than meets the eye/' she thought. 
 " That man knows something of Harriet — Lady Kiugslaud. 
 I'll cultivate him for my lady's sake." 
 
 After that Mr. Farnuile3 and Miss Silver met frequent- 
 ly. In her walks to the village it got to be the regular 
 thing for the American to become her escort, and almost 
 every day found him meandering aimlessly about the 
 grounds. 
 
 He was rather clever at pencil-drawing, and made 
 numerous sketches of the house, and took the likenesses of 
 all the servants. He even set up a temporary photo- 
 graphic place down in the village, and announced himself 
 ready to " take " the whole po2)ulation at " half a dollar " 
 Q head. 
 
 '* There's nothing like making hny while the sun shines," 
 temarked Mr. Parmalee to himsell'. " 1 may as well do a 
 little stroke of business, to keep my hand in, while I wait 
 lor my lady. There ain't no telling how this little specu- 
 iation of mine may turn out, after all." 
 
 So the weeks went by, and every Thursday found the 
 American exploring the house. He was a curious study 
 to Sybilla as he went along, his hands invariably in his 
 pockets, his hat pushed to the back of his head, whistling 
 iSoftly and meditatively. 
 
 Every day she became more convinced he knew some- 
 thing of Harrie Hunsden's American antecedents, and 
 ever day she grew more gracious. But if Mr. Parmalee 
 had his secrets, he knew how to keep them. While fully 
 appreciating the handsome young lady's showering smiles, 
 and evidently considerably iu love, he yet never dropped 
 the faintest clew. 
 
 " Can ho ever have been a lover of hers in Now York?" 
 Sybilla asked herself. " I know she was there two years 
 at school. " 
 
 But it seemed improbable. Harrie could not have been 
 over thirteen or fom iocn at the time. She could discover 
 ftothing. Mr. Parnnilye k:'pt his own counsel like wax. 
 
 The honey-moon month passed — the January day that 
 
THE BAIIONET.S BRfDE. 
 
 127 
 
 The 
 
 )f 
 
 was to bring the happy pair liome arrivcil. In the golden 
 sunset of a gloriou?; wiiiiir (li),y Iho carriap;e rollod up the 
 avenue, and Sir Everard liumlud Luily Kingaland out. 
 
 Tho long lino of servants were drawn up in the hall, 
 with Mrs. Comlifc and Miss Silver at their head. High 
 and happy as a yaung prince, Sir Everard strode in among 
 thorn, vvitii his bride on liis jirni. And she — Sybilla Silver 
 — set her teelh as she looked at her, so gloriously radiant 
 in her wedded bliss. Slie seemed to have received a new 
 baptism of beauty. She looiced a brilliant young queen 
 by royal right of that radiant loveliness. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee, lounging among the trees, caught one 
 glimpse of that exquisite face as it flashed by. 
 
 " 13y George! ain't she a stunner? Xot a bit lilvc t'other 
 one, with her black eyes and tarry hair. I've seen quad- 
 roon girls, down South, whiter than Miss Silver. And, 
 what's more, she isn't a bit like — like the lady in Loudon, 
 that she'd ought to look like." 
 
 Sybilla saw very little of Sir Everard or his bride that 
 evening. They dined fefe-a-tcfc, and, after their journey, 
 retired early. But the next morning, at breakfast, she 
 broached the subject of Mr. Parmaleo. 
 
 " Wants to take photographic views of the place, does 
 he?" said Sir Everard, carelessly. " Is he too timid to 
 speak for himself, Sybilla? His countrymen, as a rule, 
 are not addicted to bashfulness." 
 
 " Mr. Parmaiee is not in tho least bashful. He merely 
 labors under the delusion that a petition j)roffered by me 
 can not fail." 
 
 "Oh, the fellow is welcome!" the baronet said, in- 
 differently. " Let him amuse himself, by all means. H 
 the views are good, 1 will have some myself. " 
 
 Mr. Parmaiee presented himself in the course of the 
 day. It was hopelessly wet and wintery; but, with placid 
 contempt for the elements, the American, shielded by a 
 huge cotton umbrella, stalked up to the Court. 
 
 Sir Everard received him politely in the library. 
 
 '* Most assuredly, Mr. — oh, Parmaiee. Take the views, 
 of course. I am glad you admire Kingsland. You have 
 been making some sketches already. Miss Silver tells me." 
 
 Miss Silver herself had ushered the gentleman in, and 
 now stood liugeringly by the door-way. My lady sav 
 
 ! ; 
 
 I ; 
 
 I uf 
 
 /^ 
 
'iin 
 
 m 
 
 ■1 * 
 
 'U 
 
 
 t: 
 
 128 
 
 THE BAKONET S P.TirDE. 
 
 watch injr the ceaseless niiii with iriilolent eyes, holilmg a 
 novel in lier iii\), and looking very serene and handsome. 
 
 '* Well, yes," Mi-. Parmuleo admitted, glancing modest- 
 ly at the plethoric portfolio he carried under his arm. 
 " Would your lordship mind taking a look at them? I've 
 got some uncommon neat viess of our American scenery, 
 too — Mammoth Cave, Niagry Falls, White Mountains, 
 and so on. Might help to pass a rainy afternoon. " 
 
 Sir Everard laughed good-naturedly. Ilo was so su- 
 premely blessed himself that he quite forgot to be proud, 
 and the afternoon was hopelessly wet. 
 
 " Very true, Mr. Parmalee; it might. Let us see your 
 American views, then. Taken by yourself, I presume?" 
 
 " Yes, sir!" responded the artist, with emiDhasis. 
 " Every one of 'em; and done justice to. Look a-here!" 
 
 lie opened his portfolio and spread his " views '* out. 
 
 Lady Kingsland arose with languid grace and crossed 
 over. Her husband seated her beside him with a loving 
 smile. Her back was partly turned to the American, 
 whom she had met without the faintest shade of recogni- 
 tion. 
 
 Sybilla Silver, eager and expectant of she knew not 
 what, lingered and looked likewise. 
 
 The " views " weia really very good, and there was an 
 abundance of them — White Mountain and Hudson River 
 Gcenory, Niagara, Nahant, Southern and Western scenes. 
 Then he produced photographic portraits of all the Ameri- 
 can celebrities — presidents, statesmen, authors, actors, and 
 artists. 
 
 Lady Kingsland looked at these latter with considerable 
 hiterest. Some of the actors she had seen; many of the 
 authors she had read. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee watched her from under intent brows as 
 she took them daintily up in her slender, jeweled fingers 
 one by one. 
 
 1 have a few portraits here," he said, after a pause, 
 
 painted on ivory, of American ladies remarkable for 
 their beauty. Here they are. " 
 
 He took out five, presenting them one by one to Sir 
 Everard. He had not presumed to address Lady Kings- 
 land directly. The first was a little Southern quadroon; 
 the second a bright-looking young squaw. 
 
 i( 
 
 'V 
 
 Tiie baronet laughed. 
 
THE baronet's I'.RIDE. 
 
 t39 
 
 *' These are your American ladies, are they? Pretty 
 enough to bo ladies, certainly. Look, Ilarrio! Isn't that 
 Indian face exquisite?" 
 
 Ho passed them to his wife. The third was an actress, 
 the fourth a dansciisc. All were beautiful. With the 
 last in his hand, Mr. Parmalee paused, and the first change 
 Sybilla had ever seen cross his face crossed it then. 
 
 " This one 1 prize most of all,'* he said, speaking slowly 
 and distinctly, and looking furtively at my lady. '* This 
 lady's story was the saddest story I ever heard.'- 
 
 Sybilla looked eagerly across the baronet's shoulder for 
 a second. It was a lovely face, pure and child-like, with 
 great, innocent blue eyes and wavy brown hair — the face 
 of a girl of sixteen. 
 
 " It is very pretty," the baronet said, carelessly, and 
 passed it to his wife. 
 
 Lady Kingsland took it quite carelessly. The next in- 
 stant she had turned sharply around and looked Mr. 
 Parmalee full in the face. 
 
 The American had evidently expected it, for he had 
 glanced away abruptly, and begun hustling his pictures 
 back into his portfolio. Sybilla could see he was flushed 
 dark red. She turned to my lady. She was deathly j)ale. 
 
 " Did you paint those portraits, too?" she aslvcd, speak- 
 ing for the first time. 
 
 " No, marm — my lady, I mean. 1 collected these as 
 curiosities. One of 'em — the one you're looking at — was 
 given me by the original herself." 
 
 The picture dropped from my lady's hand as if it had 
 been red-hot. Mr. Parmalee bounded forward and picked 
 it up with imperturbable sang froid. 
 
 " 1 value this most of all my collection. I knew the 
 lady well. I wouldn't lose it for any amount of money." 
 
 My lady arose abruptly and walked to the window, and 
 the hue of her face was the hue of death. Sybilla Siirer's 
 glittering eyes went from face to face. 
 
 " 1 reckon I'll be going now," Mr. Parmalee remarked. 
 " The rain seems to hold up a little. I'll be along to- 
 morrow. Sir Everard, to take those views. Much obliged 
 to you for your kindness. Good-day." 
 
 He glanced furtively at the stately woman by the win- 
 dow, standing still as if turning to stone. But she neithol 
 looked nor moved nor spoke. 
 
 5 
 
 (f 
 
 ■'I 
 
 ill 
 
180 
 
 'i'lll'] JiAUOiSKT li DUIDIi. 
 
 |5 J '; 
 
 I I 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 IN THE PICTUKE-GALLERY. 
 
 Mr. Pakmalee, true to his ])romiso, presented himself 
 at the carJiest udmidsible hour next day with all the aj)- 
 paratus of his art. 
 
 So early was it, indeed, that Sybilla was just pouring 
 out the baronet's first cup of tea, while ho leisurely opened 
 the letters the moruiug mail had brought. 
 
 Lady Kiugsland complained of a bad headache, her hus- 
 band said, and would not leave her room until dinner. 
 
 Sir Everai'd made this announcement, quietly opening 
 his letters. Sybilla looked at him with furtive, gleaming 
 eyes. The tiaie had come for her to begin to lay her 
 train. 
 
 My lady had ascended to her room immediately upon the 
 departure of the American, the preceding day, and had 
 been invisible ever since. That convenient feminine ex- 
 ouse, headache, had accounted for it; but Sybilla Silver 
 knew better. She had expected her to breakfast this 
 morning, and she began to think Mr. Parmalee's little 
 mystery was more of a mystory than even she had 
 dreamed. The announcement of the man's arrival gave 
 ker her cue. 
 
 " Our American friend is a devotee of art, it seems," 
 ahe said, with a light laugh. *' He lets no grass grow un- 
 der his feet. 1 had no easy task to restrain his artistic 
 ardor within due limits during your absence. I neyer 
 knew such an inquisitive person, either; he did nothing 
 but ask questions." 
 
 " A national trait," Sir Everard responded, with a 
 shrug. '* Americans are all inquisitive, which accounts 
 for their go-aheadativeness, 1 dare say. " 
 
 '* Mr. Parmalee's questions, however, took a very nar- 
 row range; they only comprised one subject — you aa4 my 
 lady." 
 
 The young baronet looked up in haughty amaze. 
 
 " His curiosity on this subject was insatiable; your moat 
 minute biography would not have satisfied him. About 
 Lady Kingslaud particularly— in point of fact, I thought 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE, 
 
 ISl 
 
 ho must have known hor in New York, his (juebtions w»ce 
 80 pointed, und I asked liiiii so directly." 
 
 Tlie stare of haughty siirjiriso gave place to one of as- 
 tonished anger, a.s tlie baronet bent his brows and looked 
 sternly across the table. 
 
 " And what did he say?" 
 
 "Oh, ho said no,'* replied Sybilla, lightly, "but in 
 6uch 51. manner as led me to infer yes. However, it wm 
 evident, yesterday, that my laily had never set eyes on 
 him before; but I did I'ancy, for an instant, she somehow 
 recognized that picture." 
 
 " What picture?" asked the baronet, sharply, his brows 
 knit in an angry frown. 
 
 " '^J'hat last portrait he showed her," Miss Silver au- 
 Bwcred, still in the same light tone. " Yet that may have 
 be(5n only fancy, too." 
 
 The angry frown deepened and darkened. The blue 
 blood of the Kingslands was prone to heat easily. 
 
 *' Then, Miss Silver, have the goodness to indulge 
 in no more such fancies. 1 don't care to hear your sus- 
 picions and surmises, and I don't choose to have my wife 
 so minutely watched. As for this too inquisitive Yankee, 
 he had better cease his questions, if he wishes to quit Eng- 
 land with sound bones!" 
 
 Ho arose angrily from the table, swept his letters to- 
 gether, and left the room. But his face wore a deep-red 
 flush, and his bent brows never relaxed. The first poison- 
 ous suspicion had entered his mind, and the calm of per- 
 fect trust would never reign there again. 
 
 Sybilla gazed after him with her dark, evil smile. 
 
 " Caesar's wife must be above reproach, of course. 
 Fume and fret as you please, my dear Sir Everard, but 
 this is only sowing the first seed. I shall watch your wife, 
 and I will tell you my suspicions and my fancies, and you 
 will listen in spite of your uplifted sublimity now. Jeal- 
 ousy is ingrained in your nature, though you do not know 
 it, and a very little breath will fan the tiny coal into iOL 
 inextinguishable flame. " 
 
 She arose, rang the bell for the servant to clear the 
 table, shook out her black silk robe, and went, with a 
 smile on her handsome face, to do the fascinating to Mr, 
 Parmalee. 
 
 She found that oaatious gentleman, busily arranging hie 
 
 m 
 
 
n 
 
 '! , 
 
 
 |i:' 
 
 
 till - 
 
 "'9 ^ 
 
 |H; 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 132 
 
 THE lUHtNKi s I'.Kibr;. 
 
 iniplomonts in tho ])icture-jjfiill(jiy, |»i'(.')»;iiii!<try Id liikinf; 
 Huutlry views of the noblo room. IId jioildt-il {.'liively to 
 tho youug hilly, and went steudlastly on wilh Ih'h work. 
 
 *' You certainly lose no time, Mr. J*armalee," MIhh Sil- 
 ver said. " 1 was remarking to Sir Mverard ut breakfast 
 that you wore a perfect devotee of art." 
 
 Mr. Parnudeo nodded again, in acknowledgment of tho 
 compliment. 
 
 '• How dooa tho baronet find himself this morning?'' ho 
 asked. 
 
 " As usual — well." 
 
 '* And lier ladyship?" very carelessly. 
 
 ** Her ladyship is not well. I'm afraid your pretty 
 pictures disagreed with her, Mr. I'arnnilee." 
 
 " Hey?" said tho artist, with a sharp, suspicious ataro. 
 
 Miss Silver laughed. 
 
 " She was j)erfectly well until you showed them to her. 
 She has been ill over since. One must draw one's own 
 iufereueo.'' 
 
 Mr. ] ujmaloe busied himself some five minutes in pro- 
 found silence. Then — 
 
 *' Whore is she to-day? Ain't she about?" 
 
 ** No. I told you she was ill. She complained of head- 
 ache after you left yesterday, and went u]) to her own 
 room. 1 have not seen her since." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee began to whistle a negro melody, and still 
 went industriously on with his work. 
 
 *' I don't think nothing of that," ho remarked, after a 
 prolonged pause. *' Fine ladies all have headaches. 
 Knowed heaps of 'em to home — all had it. You have 
 yourself sometimes, I guess." 
 
 *' No," said Sybilla; " I'm not a fine lady. I have no 
 time to sham headaches, and 1 have no secrets to let 
 loose. I am only a fine lady's companion, and all the 
 world is free to know my history." 
 
 And then Miss Silver looiced at Mr. rarmalee, and Mr. 
 Parmalee looked at Miss Silver, with the air of two ac- 
 complished duelists waiting for the word. 
 
 *' He's as sharp as a razor," thought the h'dy, " and as 
 shy as a partridge. Half measures won't do with him. 1 
 must fight him on his own ground." 
 
 " By jingo! she's as keen as a catamount!" thought 
 the gentleman, in a burst ol admiration. " She'll be a 
 
 i 
 
TFK I!AI!0NI:T*R IlRIDF. 
 
 133 
 
 vcly U) 
 )rlv. 
 
 riHs Sil- 
 't'iikfuut 
 
 oC (ho 
 
 i;'^" he 
 
 pretty 
 
 I staro. 
 
 to her. 
 e's own 
 
 ; iu pro- 
 of head- 
 ier own 
 
 and still 
 
 , after a 
 vlaohos. 
 3U have 
 
 liave no 
 
 s to let 
 
 all the 
 
 and Mr. 
 two ac- 
 
 ' and as 
 him. 1 
 
 thought 
 •'II be a 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 credit to the man tliat nijirric^ \un: AVhat a pity she 
 don't heloii*,' down to ^fainu. She's a wigliL too tiuto for u 
 born Uritisher.'* 
 
 'riiero was a louix ]muse. Mi.ss Silver and IMr. rannaleo 
 looked eaeh oi,lu'r I'liil in tlio eye without winking. All at 
 ouf'o tin; gentlcnmn burst out laughing. 
 
 (iet out!" said Mr. rarmalt'o. 
 
 (!o 'lonj: — dol 
 
 -you are, by gosh ! Miss 
 ^'aukee, Mr. Parmaleo, 
 
 You're too smart for tin's world- 
 Sybilla Silver." 
 
 " Almost smart enough for a 
 and wonderfully good at guessiii;;-. 
 
 '' Yes!"' And what have you guessed this time?" 
 
 " That yon have Fiady Kingsland's secret; that that 
 ])ortrait — the last of the live — is the elew. That you hold 
 the baronet's briile in the lioUow of your hand!" 
 
 She 8})oko the last words close to his ear, in a fierce, 
 sibilant whis])er. The Anuu'iiian u' ually recoiled. 
 
 "(«'() 'long!" re})eated j^fr. J'arn' lee. "Don't you go 
 whistling in a fellow's ear like tl it. Miss S.; it tickles, 
 (rot ajiy more to say?" 
 
 "Only this: that you had bettor make a friend of me, 
 Mr. Parmaleo." 
 
 There was a glittering menace in her black eyes — a 
 hard, threatening under-tone in her voice. liut the 
 American lost not an atom of his imperturbable ficmg 
 J'roid. 
 
 " And if I don't, Miss S.? If I prefer to do as wo do 
 in euchre, ' go it alone ' — what then?" 
 
 " Then!" cried Sybilla, with a blaze of her black eyes, 
 " I'll take the game out of your hands. I'll foil you with 
 your own weapons. I never failed yet. I'll not fail now. 
 I'm a match for a dozen such as you!" 
 
 " I believe, in my soul, you are!" exclaimed the artist, 
 in a burst of admiring enthusiasm. " You're the real 
 grit, and no mistake. I do admire spunky girls — I do, 
 by jingo! I always thought if I married and fetched a 
 Mrs. George Washington Parmalee down to Maine, she'd 
 have to be something more than common. And you're 
 not common. Miss S. — not by a long chalk! 1 never met 
 your match in my life." 
 
 " iSlo?" said Sybilla, smiling, and rather surprised by 
 this outburst; " not even ' down to Maine?' " 
 
 " No, by George! and we rai.se the smartest kind of girls 
 
 I 
 \ III 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 1:1 
 
 1 
 
 ! I 
 
134 
 
 THE baronet's bride. 
 
 ■' 
 
 '■ ! 
 
 there. Now, Miss Silver, supposing, we go partners hi 
 this here concern, would you be willing to go partners 
 with a fellow for life? I never thought to marry an En- 
 glish woman, but I'll marry you to-morrow, if you'll have 
 mo. What d*ye say? Is it a go?" 
 
 It was rarely, indeed. Miss Silver lost her admirable 
 presence of mind, but for a moment she lost it entirely 
 now. She fairly gasped for breath in he" complete amaze- 
 ment. Only for a moment, though, x'hen as the utter ] 
 absurdity of the affair struck her she went off into an in- 
 extinguishable fit of laughter. 
 
 " You don't mean it, Mr. Parmalee?" as soon as she 
 oould speak. 
 
 " I do!" said Mr. Parmalee, with emphasis. " Laugh, 
 if you like. It's kind of sudden, I supiDose, but I've had 
 a hankering after you this some time. Your a right 
 smart kind of girl, and jest my style, and I like you tip- 
 top. The way you c a roll up them black 03^03 of yours at 
 a lellow is a caution rattlesnakes. Say, is it a go?'* 
 
 Sybilla turned a 'ay. Her dark cheeks reddened. 
 There was a momer t's hesitation, then she turned back 
 and extended her hand. 
 
 " You are not very romantic, Mr. Parmalee. You don't 
 ask me for my love, or any of that sentimental nonsense," 
 with a laugh. " And you really mean it — you really mean 
 to make Lady Kingsland's poor companion your wife?" 
 
 " Never meant anything more in my life. It is a go, 
 then?" 
 
 " I will marry you, Mr. Parmalee, if you desire it." 
 
 " And you won't go back on a fellow?" asked Mr. 
 Parmalee, suspiciously. " You're not fooling mo just to 
 get at this secret, are you?" 
 
 Sybilla drew away her hand with an offended air, 
 
 '* Think better of me, Mr. Parmalee! I may be shrewd 
 enough to guess at your secret without being base enough 
 to tell i\ deliberate lie to know it. I could find it oat by 
 easier means." 
 
 " 1 don't know pbout that," said the artist, cooiiy. "It 
 ain't likely Lady Kingsland would tell you, and you 
 couldn't get it out of me, you know, if you wjis twice as 
 clever, unless I chose. But I want you to help me. A 
 man always gets along better in these little underhand 
 matters when he's got a woman going partners with bun. 
 
 
THE baronet's BUIDE. 
 
 13§ 
 
 she 
 
 I want to see my lady. I want to send her a note all un- 
 beknown to the baronet." 
 
 ** I'll deliver it," said Sybilla, promptly; *' and if sbe 
 chooses to see you, I will raauag'^ that 8ir Everard will not 
 intrnde. " 
 
 '• JShe*Il see me fast enough. I thought she'd want to 
 see me herself before this, but it appears she's inclined to 
 hold out: so I'll drop her a hint in writing. If the 
 mountain won't come to what's-his-name — you know what 
 I mean. Miss Silver. I suppose I may call you Sybilla 
 now.-' 
 
 ** Oh, undoubtedly, Mr. Parmalee! But for the pres- 
 ent don't you think — just to keep people's tongues quiet, 
 you know — had we not better keep this little jirivato com- 
 pact to ourselves? I don't want the gossiping servants of 
 the house to gossip in the kitchen conclave about you and 
 me. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee gave one of his sapient nods. 
 
 '* Just as you please. I don't care a darn for their gos- 
 siping, though. And now about that little note. I want 
 to see my lady before I explain things to you, you know." 
 
 '* And why}* You don't intend to tell her I am to be 
 taken into your confidence, I suppose?" 
 
 "Not much!" said Mr. Parmalee, emphatically. 
 ** Never you mind, Sybilla. Before you become Mrs. P., 
 you'll know it all safe enough. I'll write it at once." 
 
 He took a Btum2)y lead-pencil from his pocket, tore a 
 leaf out of his pocket-book, and wrote these words: 
 
 l^'li 
 
 > ■ 
 
 ! ■>»1 
 
 m 
 
 
 '* My Lady,— You knew the picture, and I know your 
 secret, Shoiilu iiku to see you, if convenient, soon. Tb»t 
 person is in London waiting to hear from me. 
 
 " Your most obedient, 
 
 " G. W. Parmalee." 
 
 The photographer handed the scrawl to Sybilla. 
 
 "Read it." 
 
 ** Well?" she said, taking it all in at a glance. 
 
 " Give her this. She'll see me before 1 leave this house, 
 or I'm much mistaken. She's a very handsome and a 
 very proud lady, this baronet's bride; but for all that 
 she'll obey G. W. Parmalee's orders, or he'll know the 
 leaaoQ why." 
 
136 
 
 THE JixVllOKET 3 BUIDE. 
 
 P '' 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MISS SILVER PLAYS HER FIRST CARD. 
 
 It was all very well for Sir Everard Kinf^sland to rido 
 his high horse in the j^rcsence of Miss Sybilla Silver, and 
 superbly rebuke her suspicions of his wife, but her words 
 had planted their sting, nevertheless. 
 
 He was one of those unhappy men who are " inclined to 
 be jealous " — men in whose breast suspicion, once planted, 
 flourishes forever. His face was very dark as he paced 
 up and down the library, revolving over and over the few 
 light words his protegee had dropped. 
 
 He loved his beautiful, imperious, gray-eyed wife with so 
 absorbing and intense a love that the faintest doubt of her 
 was torture inexpressible. 
 
 *' I remember it all now,'' he said to himself, setting his 
 teeth; " she was agitated at sight of that picture. She 
 turned, with the strangest look in her face I ever saw 
 there, to the American, and rose abruptly from the table 
 immediately after. She hap not been herself since; she 
 has not once left her room. Is she afraid of meeting that 
 man? Is there any secret in her life that he shares? 
 What do I know of her past life, save that she has been 
 over the world with her father? Good Heaven! if she and 
 this strange man should have a secret between them, after 
 all!" 
 
 The cold drops actually stood on his brow at the thought. 
 The fie^-ia, indomitable pride of his haughty race and the 
 man's own inward jealousy made the bare susi)icion agony. 
 But a moment after, and with a sudden impulse of gener- 
 ous love, he recoiled from his own thoughts. 
 
 "lam a wretch," ho thought, "a traitor to the best 
 and most beautiful of brides, to harbor such an unworthy 
 idea! What! shall I doubt my darling girl becau:^e Sybilla 
 Silver thinks she recognized that portrait, or beciiuse an 
 inquisitive stranger chooses to ask questions? No! 1 could 
 stake my life on her perfect truth and purity — my own 
 dear wife.'' 
 
 Impulsively I.t turned to go; at onco ho must seek her, 
 and set every doubt at rest. He ascujulcd rapidly to her 
 room and softly tapi)ed at the door. There was uo an- 
 
 il I . 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 13/ 
 
 Bwer. Ho knocked again; still no response. He turned 
 the handle and went in. 
 
 She was asleep. Lying on a sofa, among a heap of pil- 
 lows, arrayed in a white dressing-gown, her profuse dark 
 hair all lojse and disordered. Lady Kingsland lay, so pro- 
 foundly sleeping that her husbaud's knocking had not dis- 
 turbed he I'. Her fac3 was as white as her robe, and her 
 eyelashes were wet, as though she had cried herself to sleep 
 like a child. 
 
 8he had not closed an eye the livelong night before, and 
 here, in the quiet of the early morning, she had dropped 
 off into the profound slumber that no trouble can long 
 keep from the young and the healthy. 
 
 The handsome face of Everard Kingsland softened and 
 grew luminous with unutterable love. 
 
 '* My love! my darling!" He knelt beside her and 
 kissed her passionately. '* And to think that for one sec- 
 ond I was base enough to doubt you! My beautiful, inno- 
 cent darling, slumbering here, like a very child! No 
 earthly power shall ever sunder you and me!" 
 
 A pair of deriding black eyes flashed upon him through 
 the partly open door — a pair of greedy ears drank in the 
 softly murmured words. Sybilla Silver, hastening along 
 with the artist's little note, had caught sight of the baronet 
 entering his wife's room. She tapped discreetly at the 
 door, with the twisted note held conspicuously in her hand. 
 
 Sir Everard arose and opened it, and Miss Silver's sud- 
 den recoil was the perfection of confusion and surprise. 
 
 " 1 beg your pardon. Sir Everaid. My lady is — is she 
 not here?" 
 
 *' Lady Kingsland is asleep. Do you wish to deliver 
 that note?" 
 
 With a second gesture of seeming confusion, Sybilla hid 
 the hand which held it in the folds of her dress. 
 
 " Yes — no — it doesn't matter. It can wait, I dare say. 
 He didn't mention being in a hurry." 
 
 *' He! Of whom are you speaking, Sybilla?" 
 
 *' I — I chanced to pass through tlio picture-gallery five 
 minutes ago. Sir Everard, and Mr. Parmrlee asked me to 
 do him the favor of handing this note to my lady." 
 
 Sir Everard Kingsland's face was the face of a man ut- 
 terly confounded. 
 
 '* Mr. Parmalee asked you to deliver that note to Lady 
 
 ^f 
 
 J 
 
 tj 
 
v 
 
 f '.', 
 
 136 
 
 THE BAROKET^S BETDE. 
 
 Kingsland?** he slowly repoated. '* What under kfift?eft 
 can he have to write to my lady about?" 
 
 '* 1 really don't know. Sir Everard,'* rejoined Sybilla, 
 her characteristic composure seeming all at ouce to return. 
 •' I only know he asked me to deliver it. Ho had been 
 looking for my lady's maid, 1 fancy, in vain. It is prob- 
 ably something about his tiresome pictures. Will you 
 please to take it. Sir Everard, or shall I wait until my lady 
 awakes?" 
 
 " You may leave it." 
 
 He spoke the words mechanically, quite stunned by the 
 overwhelming fact that this audacious photographic })erson 
 dared to write to his wife. Miss Silver passed him, placed 
 the twisted paper on one of the inlaid tables, and left the 
 room with a triumphant light in her deriding black eyes. 
 
 " I have trumped my hrst trick," Sybilla thought, as 
 she walked away, *' and I fancy the game will be all my 
 own hnortly. Sir Everard will open and read Mr. Parma- 
 lee's little biUct'doux the instant he is alone." 
 
 But just here Sybilla was mistaken. Sir Everard did 
 not open the tempting twisted note. He glanced at it once 
 with a darkly lowering brow as it lay on the table., but ho 
 made no attempt to take it. 
 
 " She will show it to me when she awakes," he said, 
 with compressed lips, " and then I will have this imperti- 
 nent Yankee kicked from the house." 
 
 He sat beside her, watching hei' while she slept, witli a 
 face quite colorless between conflicting love and torturing 
 doubt. His wife held some secret with this strange man. 
 That one thought in itself was enough to drive him wild. 
 
 Nearly an hour passed before Harriet awoke. The great 
 dark eyes opened in wide surprise at sight of that pale, in- 
 tense face bending so devotedly over her. 
 
 " You here, Everard?" she said, sitting up and pushing 
 away the tangled mass of waving hair. " How long have 
 I been asleep? How long have you been here?" 
 
 " Over an hour, Harrie. " 
 
 " So long? 1 had no idea of going asleep when 1 lay 
 diown; but my head ached with a dull, hopeless pain, and — 
 What is that?" 
 
 She broke off in wiiat she was saying to ask the question 
 abruptly. She had caught sight of the note lying on the 
 table, 
 
lll- 
 
 / 
 
 THE baronet's bride. 
 
 180 
 
 Her husbaml fixed his eyes keenly on her face, ami an- 
 swered, with measured slowness: 
 
 " You will scarcely believe it, but that stranger — that 
 American artist — has had the impertinence to adtlress that 
 note to you. Sybilla Silver brought it here. Shall I ring 
 for your maid and send it back unopened, and order him 
 out of the house for his pains?" 
 
 *' No!'* said Harriet, impetuously. " I must read it — 
 1 must see what he says.*' 
 
 She snatched it up. She tore it open, and, walking over 
 to the window, read the scrawl. So long she stood there 
 that she might have read over two dozen such. 
 
 " Harriet!'* 
 
 She turned slowly round at her name spoken by her hus- 
 band as that adoring husband had never spoken it before, 
 and faced him, white to the very lips. 
 
 " Give me that note.'* 
 
 He held out his hand. She crushed it firmly in her own, 
 looking him straight in the eyes. 
 
 *' 1 can not.** 
 
 " You can not?'* he repeated, slowly, deathly pale. 
 " Do 1 understand you aright, Harriet? Tiemember, 1 left 
 that note untouched while you slept, waiting for you to 
 show it to me. No man has a right a address a note to 
 my wife that I may not see. Show me that papei Har- 
 riet." 
 
 *' It is nothing *' — she caught her breath in a quick, 
 gasping, affrighted way as she said it — "it is nothing, 
 E ver ard ! Don 't ask me ! " 
 
 " If it is nothing, I may surely see it. Harriet, I com- 
 mand you! Show me that note!" 
 
 The eyes of Captain Hunsden's daughter inflamed up 
 fierce and bright at sound of that imperious word com- 
 mand. She drew her slender figure with sudden, imperial 
 grace to its fullest height. 
 
 *' And I don't choose to be commanded — not if you were 
 my king as well as my husband. You shall never 5?ee it 
 now!" 
 
 There was a wood-fire leaping up on the marble hearth. 
 She flung the note impetuously as she spoke into the midst 
 of the flames. One bright jet of flame, and it was gone. 
 
 Husband and wife stood facing each other, }o deathly 
 
 1 i;i. 
 
 ^i! 
 
 
 u 
 
 m 
 
 iU 
 
140 
 
 THE IIARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 i 
 
 ! 
 
 white, she flushed and defiant. lie was the first to speak 
 — the first to turn away. 
 
 " And this is tlie woman I loved — the wife I trusted — 
 my bride of one shori moulh. " 
 
 He had turned to quit the room, but two impetuous 
 arms were around his neck, two impulsive lips covering 
 his face with penitent, imploring kisses. 
 
 *' Forgive rae — forgive me! Harriet cried. *' My 
 dear, my true, my cherished husband! Oh, what a wicked, 
 ungrateful creature I am! What a wretch you must think 
 me! And 1 can not — I can not — I can not tell you." 
 
 She broke out suddenly into a storm of hysterical crying, 
 clinging to his neck. 
 
 He took hor in his arms, '* more in sorrow than in 
 angor," sat down with her on the sofa, and let her sob 
 herself still. His face was stern and set as stone. 
 
 " And now, JIarriet," he said, when the hysterical sobs 
 were hushed, " who is this man, and what is he to you?" 
 
 She answered him at once, to his surprise, passionately, 
 almost fiercely: 
 
 " He is nothing to wf — less than nothing! I hate him!" 
 
 *' Where did you know him before?" 
 
 '* Know him before?" She sat up and looked him half 
 angrily in the face. " I never knew him before! I never 
 set eyes on him until I saw him here. " 
 
 Sir Everard drew a long breath of intense relief. No 
 one could doubt her perfect truth, and his worst suspicion 
 was at rest. 
 
 *' Then what is this secret between you two? For there 
 is a secret, Harriet." 
 *' There is." 
 
 He drew his hands away from her with a sudden motion. 
 *' What is it, Harriet?" 
 *' I can not tell you." 
 ** Harriet!" 
 
 *' I can not." She turned deathly white as she said it, 
 but her eyes met his unflinchingly. " Never, Everard! 
 There is a secret, but a secret I can never reveal, even to 
 you. ])on't ask mo — don't! 
 and trust me now!" 
 
 There was a blank pausiB. 
 he held her sternly olT. 
 
 If you ever loved me, try 
 She tried to clasp him. but 
 
THE I!AKON£T*S Rlill)i:. 
 
 141 
 
 lak 
 
 mg 
 
 *'Oiic r| uestion more: You knew this secret before you 
 married me?" 
 
 "Idid." 
 
 Her head drooped for the first time, and a scarlet suffu- 
 sion dyed face and neck. 
 
 " For how long?" 
 
 "For a year." 
 
 *' And that picture the American showed you is a pict« 
 ure you know. 
 
 She looked up at him, a wild startled light in her great 
 gray eyes. 
 
 " How do you know that?" 
 
 '* I am answered," ho said. *' 1 see 1 am right. Onco 
 more. Lady Kingsland," his voice cold and clear, "you 
 refuse to tell mo?" 
 
 " I must. Oh, Everard, for pity's sake, trust me! 1 
 can not tell you — I dare not!" 
 
 " Enough, madamo! Your accomplice shall!" 
 
 lie turned to go. She made a step between him and the 
 door. 
 
 " What are you going to do? Tell me, for 1 will know!" 
 
 " 1 am going to the man who shares your guilty secret, 
 madamo; and, by the Heaven above us, I'll have the truth 
 out of him if I have to tear it from his throat! Out of 
 my way, before I forget you are a woman and strike you 
 down at my feet!" 
 
 She staggered back, with a low cry, as if he had struck 
 her indeed. He strode past, his step ringing, his eyes 
 Hashing, his face livid with jealous rage, straight to tho 
 picture-gallery. 
 
 A door at the opposite side of the corridor stood ajar. 
 Sybilhi Silver's listening ears heard the last fierce words, 
 Sybilla Silver's glittering black eyes saw that last passion- 
 ate gesture of repulsion. She saw Harriet, Lady Kings- 
 land — tho bride of a month — sink down on the oaken floor, 
 quivering in mortal anguish from head to foot; and her 
 tall form seemed to tower and dilate with diabolical de- 
 light. 
 
 *' Not one year," she cried to her exultant heart—'* not 
 one month will I have to wait for my revenge! Lie there, 
 poor fool!" with a backward glance of passionate scorn at 
 the prostrate figure, " and suffer and die, for what 1 care, 
 while I go and prevent your madly jcalouD husband from 
 
 m 
 
142 
 
 THE UAIIONET S BRIDE. 
 
 i 
 
 If 
 
 ; i ! 
 
 ft * 
 
 J s 
 
 s; 
 
 ' I 
 
 , 1 i 
 
 brjiiiiing my precious liancu. There is to be blood on 
 the hands and the brand of Cain on the brow of the last ot 
 the Kingslands, or my oath will not be kept; but it must 
 not be the ignoble blood of CJeorge Washington Parmalee!" 
 She glided away as she spoke, with the swift, serpentine 
 grace peculiar to her, to make a third actor in u stormy 
 scene. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MR. PARMALEE SWEARS VENGEANCE. 
 
 Sir Everari) strode straight to the picture-gallery, his 
 face pale, his eyes Hashing, his hands clinched. 
 
 His step rang like steel along the polished oaken floor, 
 and there was an ominous compression of his thin lips that 
 might have warned Mr. Parmalce of the storm to come. 
 But Mr. Parmalee was squinting through his a2)])aratus at 
 a grim, old warrior on the wall, and only just glanced up 
 to nod recognition. 
 
 " Morning, Sir EverardI" said the artist, pursuing his 
 work. " Fine day for our business — uncommon spring- 
 like. You've got a gay old lot of ancestors here, and an- 
 cestresses; and stunningly handsome some of 'em is, too, 
 and no mistuke!" 
 
 '* Spare your compliments, sir," said the baronet, in 
 tones of suppressed rage, " and spare me your presence 
 here for the future altogether! The sooner you pack your 
 traps and leave this, the surer you will be of finding your- 
 self with a sound skin.*' 
 
 *' Hey?" cried Mr. Parmalee, astounded. " What iu 
 thunder do you mean?" 
 
 " I mean that I order you out of my house this instant, 
 and that I'll break every bone in your villainous carcass if 
 ever I catch you inside my gates again!" 
 ' The artist dropped his tools and stood blankly staring. 
 
 *' 13y ginger! Why, Sir Everard Kingsland, I don'l; un- 
 derstand this here! You told me yourself I might come 
 here and take the pictures. 1 call this dooscd unhand- 
 some treatment — I do, by Ceorgu! going back on a feller 
 like this!" 
 
 " You audacious scoundrel!" roared the enraged young 
 lord of Kingsland, *' how dare you presume to answer me? 
 How dare you stand there rnd look me in the face? If 
 
THE rAiJONET's BRIDE. 
 
 143 
 
 i called my servants and made thorn lash you outside the 
 gates, I would only serve you right! You low-bred, im- 
 pertinent ruffian, how dare you write to my wife?" 
 
 It all burst upon Mr. Parmalee like a thunder-clap— 
 the baronet had seen his note. 
 
 "Whew!" he whistled, long and shrill, "that's it, is 
 it? The cat's out of the bug; the fat's in the fire, and all 
 »-8izzin* ! Look here. Sir Everard, don't you get so tearin* 
 mad all for notliing. I 'lidn't write no disrespect to her 
 ladyship — I didn't, by Jupiter! Miss Silver can tell you 
 so, if you've a mind to ask her, or my lady herself, for that 
 matter. I jest had a little request to make, and if I could 
 have seen her ladyship I wouldn't have writ at all, but she 
 kept out of my way, and — " 
 
 " You scoundrel!" cried the i>assionate young baronet, 
 wWte with fury, " do you mean to say my wife kept out of 
 your way — was afraid of you?" 
 
 "Exactly so, squire," replied the imperturbable for- 
 eigner. '• She must 'a' known I had something to say to 
 her yesterday when 1 — Well, she knowed it, and she 
 kept out of my way — 1 say it again." 
 
 The baronet's face was perfectly livid with suppressed 
 rage. 
 
 " And you dare tell me there is a secret between my 
 wife and you? Are you not afraid 1 will throw you out of 
 yonder window?" 
 
 Mr. Parmalee drew himself stiffly up. 
 
 ' Not if I know myself! That is a game two can play 
 at. As for the secret," with a sudden sneer, " I ain*t no 
 desire to keep it a secret if your wife ain't. Ask her. Sir 
 Everard, and if she's willing to tell you, I'm sartin I am. 
 But 1 don't think she will, by gosh!" 
 
 The sneering mockery of the last taunt was too much 
 for the fier}' young prince of Kingsland. With the yell of 
 an enraged tiger he sprung upon Mr. Parmalee, hurled 
 him to the ground in a twinkling, and twisted his left 
 hand into Mr. Parmalee 's blue cotton neckerchief, show- 
 ering blows with his right fast and furious. 
 
 The attack was so swift and savage that Mr. Parmalee 
 lay perfectly stunned and helpless, turning unpleaiantly 
 black in the face, his eyes staring, the blood gushing. 
 
 Kneeling on his fallen foe, with fiery face and distended 
 eyes, Sir Everard looked for the moment an incarnate 
 
 
 
4 
 
 Hi 
 
 I;- 
 
 ' * i 
 
 144 
 
 TTTE TAHONRT S r.UIDR. 
 
 yoiiug demon. It flashed upon liim, swift as lightning, in 
 iii.^ sudden madness, \vhat he was about. 
 
 "Til murder him if 1 slay here," lie thought; and as 
 the thought crossed his mind, with a shriek and a swish of 
 ailk, in rushed Miss Silver and ihmg herself between them. 
 
 " Good Heaven! Sir Everard, have you gone mad? lu 
 mercy's name, stop before you have (pjite murdered him!" 
 
 Sir Kverard sprung to his feet, ghastly still, wiLli furious, 
 llaming eyes and ijiood-bes])uttered face. 
 
 " Dog — cur!" he cried, spurning the sprawling artist 
 with his boot. "" Get n\) and ([uit my ho".:>o, or, by the 
 living light above us, I'll blow your bra'ds out as I would 
 a mad hound's!" 
 
 He swung round and strode out of the i)ic.ture-gallery, 
 and slowly, slowly aro^o the ]>r()stnite her(», with bloody 
 face and blacskened eyes. With an utterly bhink and j)ite- 
 ous expression of face, Mr. I'armahiesat ajid gazed around, 
 and, in spite of the tragic nature of the occurrence, it was 
 all Sybilla could do to keep from laughing. 
 
 " Get lip, Mr. Parmalee," she said, " and go away at 
 once. The woman at the lodge will give you soap and 
 water and a towel, and you can make yourself decent be- 
 fore entering th« village. If you don't hurry you'll need 
 a guide. Your eyes are as large as bishop pii)pins, and 
 closing fast now." 
 
 She nearly laughed again, this tender fianct'e, as she as- 
 sisted her slaughtered betrothed to his feet. Mr. Parmalee 
 wiped the blood out of his eyes and looked dizzily about 
 him. 
 
 " Where is he?" he gasped. 
 
 "Sir Everard? He has gone, after belaboring you 
 soundly. I believe he would have killed you outright oidy 
 1 came in and tore him off. What on earth did you say 
 to infuriate him so?" 
 
 " 1 say?" exclaimed the artist, fiercely. " I said noth- 
 ing, and you know it. It was you, you confounded De- 
 lilah, you mischief-making deceiver, who showed hiui that 
 air note!" 
 
 " I protest I did nothing of the sort!" cried Sybilla, in- 
 dignantly. " He was in my lady's room when 1 entered, 
 and he saw the note in my hand. She was asleep, and I 
 tried to escape and take the note with nie, but he ordered 
 me to leave it and go. Of course ! h-ul to obey, if he 
 
THE I'.AKONKT's IWIIDE. 
 
 145 
 
 in 
 
 road it, it was no fault of mine; but I don't buliovo ho did. 
 You have no right to blauiu mo, JVIr. I'anuaioo.'' 
 
 Mr. Parmaloo ground out u buvjigo oiitli botwoon his 
 clinchod tooth. 
 
 " ril bo even with him for tliiw, tlin insulting young 
 aristocrat! I'll not spuro him nowl J '11 sprcud llu; nows 
 far and wido; the very birds in the troos shiill sing it, tho 
 story of his wifo's shame! I'll lower that cunscil jwide of 
 his boforo another month is over his head, and I'll ha\o 
 his handsome wife on her knees to me, as stu'o as my names 
 I'armaleo! llo knocked mo down, and ho beat me to a 
 jolly, did he? and ho ordered mo out of Jiis houae; and 
 he'll shoot mo like a mail dog, will he? Hut I'll be even 
 with him; I'll tlx him oil'! I'll make him repent tho day 
 ho over lifted his hand to (■. W. Parmalee!" 
 
 Miss Silver listened to his eloquent outburst of fooling 
 with greedy, glistening blauk eyes, and patted her lover 
 soothingly on tho shoulder. 
 
 "So you shall. I like to hear you tiilk like that. 
 You're a glorious follow, (Jeorge, and Sybilla will help 
 you; for, listen " — she came close and hissed the words in 
 a venomous whisper—" I hate Sir Everard Kingsland and 
 ull his race, and I hate his upstart wife, with her high 
 and mighty airs, and I would see them both deail at my 
 feet with all the pleasure in life!" 
 
 " You got out!" rejoined Mr. Parmalee, recoiling and 
 c'iippiug his hand to his oar. " I told you before, Sybilla, 
 not to whist/ 3 in a fellow's car like that. It goes through 
 a chap like cold stool. As to your hating them, 1 believe 
 in my soul you hate most people; and women like you, 
 with big, flashing black eyes, are apt to be uticommon good 
 haters, too. But what have they done to you? 1 always 
 took 'em to be good friends to you, my girl. " 
 
 Sybilla Silver laughed — a hard laugh and mirthless, and 
 most unpleasant to hear. 
 
 " You have read the fable, Mr. Parmalee, of the man 
 who found the frozen adder, and who warmed and cher- 
 ished it in his bosom, until ho restored it to life? Well, 
 Sir Everard found me, homeless, friendless, penniless, and 
 he took me with him, and fed me, clothed me, protected 
 me, and treated me like a sister. Tho adder in the fablo 
 stung its preserver to death, 1, Mr. I'armalee, if you over 
 
 ■i 
 
116 
 
 THE BAllONKTH niirPF. 
 
 At'l iiiclijied to poison Sir Evortird, will mix tho pofciou and 
 lioM til') bowl, and watoli his doiilli-tliroos!'^ 
 
 Mr. Pariujiloe looked ;it tho bonnlifiil KiKnikor in iwton- 
 iHlimunt not unmixod with dis^'ust. IFfr eyos whono liko 
 midiii<^diL dturs, und a li^dit such uh nii;j:lit fitly illuminatu 
 King Liirifor's irrndiiited her dusky lu-iuity. 
 
 " (fO along with yon!" «;ud tho Anierican, bogirniing to 
 foUuot his traps. " Yon'ro a bad one, you are, if ever 
 there was a bail one yet! I don't like su(ih lingo — I don't, 
 by (jeorgel 1 never took yon for an angel, but J vow I 
 didn't think you were the cantaidvorous little toad you are! 
 J don't .set u[) to be a saitit myself, and if a nnin knoeks mo 
 down and pummels my innards out for nothin', I caleulato 
 to lix liis ilint, if J ean; but you— shool you're a little devil 
 on airth, and that's my opinion of you." 
 
 Sybilla's eyes Hashed, lialf in amusement, half in anger. 
 
 " With such a complimentary opinion of me, then, Mr. 
 Parmalee, I preaumo oiu' late [lat tnership is dissolved?" 
 
 '* Nothing of the sort! I like grit, and if you've got 
 rayther more than your share, why, when you're Mrs. 
 Parmalee it will be amusing to take it out of you. And 
 now I'm olf, and by all that's great and glorious, there'll 
 bo howling and gnashing of teeth in this hero old shop 
 before I return." 
 
 " You go without seeing my laily, then?" said Sybilla. 
 
 " My lady's got to come to mo!" retorted tlie artist, 
 sullenly. " Jt's her turn to eat hmnblo pie now, and 
 she'll finish tho dish, by George, before I've done with hor! 
 I'm going back to the tavern, down the village, and so you 
 can toll her; and if she wants me, she can i>ut her pride 
 in her pocket and come there and find me." 
 
 '* And 1, too?" said Sybilla, anxiously, keeping by his 
 side as Mr. Parmalee stalked in sulky displeasure along. 
 " Kemomeber your promise to reveal all to me, George. 
 Am 1 to seek yon out at tho inn, too, and await your sov- 
 ereign pleasure?" 
 
 Sho laid her hands on his shoulders and looked up in his 
 face with eyes few men could resist. They were quite 
 alone in the vast hall — no prying eyes to see that tender 
 caress. Mr. . Parmalee was a good deal of a stoic and a 
 little of a cynic; but he was llesh and blood, as even stoics 
 '-nd cynics are when you come down to tbe. fime thiitg, luoid 
 
«.. i WJ'i 
 
 Tlii; liAUONKT tJ l;ini)E. 
 
 147 
 
 in his 
 
 quite 
 
 tender 
 
 1 and a 
 
 1 stoics 
 
 . aod 
 
 thu iriuii iiiulur bixty wuh not. born who roiihi have rutiidted 
 tliat dark, bcnviUihin^s \vhi!udling, hcauLii'nl face. 
 
 Tho Anirrican arU.st took \un' in his h>ng aiinti with a 
 vigorous huj^, and favorud Irt with a sounding' kint). 
 
 '* I'll tt'll you, Sybilla. Ifangnd if J don't biiliove you 
 oaii twiiit nil! round your little lin^^u- if you oiiooso! You're 
 a^ j)ri'tty aa a j)iiJturo — you an;, I Kwoar, and I lovo you 
 liku all (MTation; and 1'!! niarrv you jusjt as soon an this 
 littlo businr^s is t^rLllcd, and I'il tako you to Maino, and 
 kuoj) you in Lho tallest soiL of olovor. 1 ncvor calk'lati'il on 
 liavin^f a Uriiish <r il for a wife; but you're handdonio enough 
 and sptniky enou.:;h for a ])residc'nt s laily, and I don't earo 
 a tlarn what tlu) folks roinid our section way about it. I'll 
 tell you, Sybilla; but you mustn't s})lit to a livinj^ uoul, or 
 my caku*« dtiugli. 'L'hey say a woman can't keep a secret; 
 but you must try, if you should burst for it. 1 reckon my 
 laily will (!ome down lianilsomely before I've done with 
 her, anil you and me, Sybilla, can go to housekoe])ing 
 across the three thousand miles of everlasting wet in tip- 
 top style. Come to-night; you've got to come to me now. 
 Jt s as much nc a fellow's life is worth to set foot here any 
 more; and, by gracious! I ain't going to get thrashed by 
 the llunkies for all the baronets and their brides this side 
 of kingdom come!" 
 
 " No," Sybilla said, thoughtfully; " of course not. Ant 
 1 must go with you no fia-thor, lest we should be seen to- 
 gether and our intimacy suspected. I sup])08e 1 will liud 
 you at the inn?" 
 
 " I sui)poseso. 'Tain't likely," said Mr. Parmalee, with 
 a sulky sense of injury, " you'll lind mo prancing up 'ind 
 down the vilhige with Lhis here face. I'll get the old woman 
 to do it up in brown paper and vinegar when I go home, 
 and I'll stay abed and smoke until dark. You won't come 
 afore dark, will you?" 
 
 " No; 1 don't want to be recognized; and you must be 
 jirepared to come out with me when 1 do. I'll disguise 
 myself. Ah! suppose I disguise myself in men's clothes? 
 You won't mind, will you?" 
 
 "]>ygosli! no, if you don't. Men's clothes! What a 
 rum one you are. Miss Silvei-? Dooseil good-looking little 
 feller you'll niak«. But why are you so skeery about it?" 
 
 " Why? Need you ask? Would Sir Everard permit me 
 to remain in his house one hour if he suspected I was his 
 
 I n 
 
 ! Ill 
 
 j;ti 
 
f ■ 
 
 ■J ■ 
 
 |: 
 
 
 if 
 
 
 m 
 
 ' 1 
 
 Ih 
 
 i 
 
 W'' 
 
 , 1 ! 
 
 II : 
 
 ^1 
 
 148 
 
 THE BARONET 'y JJKIDE. 
 
 tmemy's friend? Have you any message to deliver to my 
 lady before we part?" 
 
 " No. She'll send a me«sage to me during the day, or 
 I'm mistaken. If she don't, why, 1*11 send one back witli 
 you to-night. By-bye, Mrs. Parmalce that is to bo. Take 
 'jare of yourself until to-night." 
 
 The gentleman walked down the stair- way alone toward 
 a side entrance. The lady stood on the landing above, 
 looking after him with a bitter, sneeri ^ smile. 
 
 '•Mrs. Parma'ee, indeed! You besotted idiot — you 
 blind, conceited lool! Twist you round my little finger, 
 can I? Yes, you great, hulking simpleton, and ten times 
 better men! Let me worm your secret out of you — let mo 
 squeeze my sponge dry, and then see how 1*11 flirg you into 
 your native gutter!'* 
 
 Mr. Parmalee, on his way out, stopped at the pretty 
 rustic lodge and bathed his swollen and discolored visage. 
 The lodge-keeper's wife was all sympathy and questions. 
 How on earth did it happen? 
 
 " Run up against the 'Icctric telegraph, ma'am,** re- 
 plied Mr. Parmalee, sulkily; "and there was a message 
 coming full speed, and it knocked me over. Morning. 
 Much obliged.*' 
 
 He walked away. Outside the gates he paused and 
 shook his clinched fist menacingly at the noble old house. 
 
 " I'll pay you out, my fine feller, if ever I get a chance! 
 You're a very great man, and a very proud man. Sir Ever- 
 ard Kingsland, and you own a fine fortune and a haughty, 
 handsome wife, and G. W. Parmalee's no more than the 
 mud under your feet. Very well — we'll see! ' Every dog 
 has bis day,' and ' the longest lane has its turning,' and 
 you're near about the end of your tether, and George 
 Parmalee has you and your fine lady under his thumb — 
 under his thumb — and he'll crush you, sir — yes, by Heaven, 
 he'il crush you, and strike you back blow for blow!" 
 
 Shaking the dust of Kingsland off his feet, Mr. Par- 
 malee stalked like a sulky lion back to the Blue Bell Inn, 
 and electrified everybody there by the transformation he 
 had so suddenly undergone. 
 
 True to his word, he ordered unlimited supplies of brown 
 paper and vinegar, rum and water, pipes and tobacco, 
 swore at his questioners, and adjourned to his bedroom la 
 await the coming of nightfall and Sybilla Silver. 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 14ft 
 
 my 
 
 or 
 
 re- 
 
 Vhe short winter ilay wore on. A good conscience, a 
 sound digestion, rum and smoke ad libitum, enabled our 
 wounded artist to sleep comfortably through it, and he was 
 still snoring vociferously when Mrs. Wedge, the landlady, 
 cjime to his bedside with a llaring tallov\r candle, and woke 
 luni up. 
 
 " Which I've been a-knockin' and a-knockin'," Mrs. 
 Wedge crietl, slirilly, *' fit to knock the skin off my blessed 
 knuckles, Mr. Parmalee, and couldn't wake you no 
 more'n the dead. And he's a-waitin' down-stairs, which 
 he won't come up, but says it's most particular, and must 
 see you at once." 
 
 '* Hold your noisel" growled the artist, tumbling out of 
 bed. *' What's o'clock? Leave th:it candle and clear out, 
 and tell the young feller I'll be down in a brace of shakes. 
 It is a young fellow, isn't it?" 
 
 '* I couldn't see him," replied Mrs. Wedge, " which he's 
 that muffled up in a long cloak and a cap drawed down 
 that his own mother herself couldn't tell him hout there 
 in the dark. Was you a-expectin' of him, sir?" 
 
 ** That's no business of yours, Mrs. Wedge," the Amer- 
 ican answered, grimly. "You can go." 
 
 Mrs. Wedg3 departed in displeasure, and tried again to 
 see the muffled stranger. But h'j was looking out into the 
 starlit darkness, and the good landlady vas completely 
 baffled. 
 
 She saw her lodger join him; she saw the hero of the 
 cloak take his arm, and both walk briskly away. 
 
 " By George! this is a disguise!" exolaimed Mr. Parma- 
 lee. "' 1 wouldn't recognize you at noonday, Sybilla, in 
 this trim. Do you know who 1 took you for until you 
 spoke?" 
 
 " Whom?" 
 
 ** Sir Everard himself. You're as like him as two peas 
 in that rig, only not so tall." 
 
 *' The cloak and cap are his," Miss Silver c^nswered, 
 " which perhaps accounts — " 
 
 But Mr. Parmalee, watching her curiously, shook his 
 head. 
 
 ** No," be said, ** there's more than that, i might put 
 on that cap and cloak, but I wouldn't look like the bar- 
 onet. Your Toioes sound alike, and there's a general air 
 
 !L 
 
 !■ 
 
I' 
 
 150 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 i I 
 
 — 1 can't describe it, but you kuow what I mean. You're 
 no relation of his, are you, Sybilla?" 
 
 gybilla laughed — the strangest laugh. 
 
 " A relation of the Prince of Kiugsland — poor little 
 Sybilla Silver! My good Mr. Parmalee, what an absurd 
 idea! You do me proud even to hint that the blue blood 
 of all the Kingslands could by any chance flow in these 
 plebeian veins! Oh, no, indeed! I am only an upper serv- 
 ant in that great house, and '.vould lose my place within 
 the hour if its lordly master dreamed 1 was here talking to 
 the man he hates. How is your poor face, Mr. Parmalee?" 
 
 Miss Silver's voice faltered a little as she put the ques- 
 tion, perhaps with inward puin, perhaps with inward 
 laughter — her companion couldn't tell, in that dim star- 
 light. They had left the village behind them, and were 
 out on the breezy common. 
 
 '* And my lady," the arti«t asked — " any news from 
 ker?" 
 
 ,*' Not a word. She came down to dinner beautifully 
 dressed, but white as the snow lying yonder. She and Sir 
 Bverard dined Ute-a-tHe. I take my meals with the 
 housekeeper, now," smiling bitterly. " My Lady Harriet 
 doesn't like me. The butler told me they did not speak 
 six words during the whole time of dinner." 
 
 " Both in the sulks," said Mr. Parmalee. '* Well, it's 
 natural. He's dying to know, and she'll be torn to pieces 
 afore she breathes a word. She's that sort. But this 
 shyin' and holding off won't do with mo. I'm getting tired 
 of waiting, and — and so's another party up to London. 
 Tell her so, Sybilla, with G. W. P.'s compliments, and 
 aay that I give her just two more days, and if she doesn't 
 come to book before the e. d of that time, I'll sell her 
 secret to the highest bidder." 
 
 '*Ye8!" Sybilla said, breathlessly; "and now for that 
 secret, George!" 
 
 " You won't tell?" cried Mr. Parmalee, a little alarmed 
 at this precipitation. " Say you won't — never — so help 
 
 Now go on!" 
 
 you! 
 
 " Never — I swear it. 
 
 An hour later, Sybilla Silver, in her impenetrable dia- 
 guiso, re-entered Kiugsland Court, No one had seen her 
 
THE BAIIOJSET'S BlilDE. 
 
 151 
 
 go — no one saw her return. She gained her own room 
 and took oft her disguise unobserved. 
 
 Once only on her way to it she had paused — before my 
 Jady's door— and the dark, beautiful face, wreathed with 
 a deadly smile of hate and exultation, was horribly trans- 
 formed to the face of a malignant, merciless, all-powerf ui 
 demon. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A STORM BREWING. 
 
 The fever of love, the fever of jealousy, like other chills 
 and fevers, have their hot spells and their cold ones. 
 
 Sir Everard Kingslaud was blazing in the very hottest 
 of the flame when he tore himself forcibly away from the 
 artist and buried himself in his study. The unutterablo 
 degradation of it all, the horrible humiliation that this 
 man and his wife — his — were bound together bv some 
 mysterious secret, nearly drove him mad. 
 
 " Where there is mystery there must be guilt!" he 
 fiercely thought. " Nothing under heaven can make it 
 right for a wife to have a secret from her husband. And 
 she knew it, and concealed it before she married me, and 
 means to deceive me until the end. In a week her name 
 and that of this low-bred ruffian will be bandied together 
 throughout the country. Good heavens, the thought is 
 enough to drive me mad!" 
 
 And then, like a man mad indeed, he tore up and down 
 the apartment, his hands clinched, his face ghastly, his 
 eyes bloodshot. And then — oh, strange and incompre- 
 hensible insanity of passion ! — all doubts and fears were 
 swept away, and love rushed back in an impetuous torrent, 
 and he knew that to lose her were ten thousand times 
 worse than death. 
 
 " My beautiful! my own! my darling! May Heaven pity 
 us both! for be your secret what it may, I can not lose you 
 — I can not! Life without you were tenfold worse than the 
 bitterest death! My own poor girl! 1 know she suffers, 
 too, for this miserable secret, this sin of others — for such 
 it must be. She looked up in my face with truthful, inno- 
 cent eyes, and told nie .she never saw this man until she 
 met him that day in the library, and I know she spoke the 
 truth I My love, my wife! You asked me to trust you. 
 
 I ; 
 
 
 n 
 
 
 ) ;'i 
 
 W'l 
 
 W 
 
 
 i- 
 
\ 
 
 ld2 
 
 THE BAKONFr S BIllDE. 
 
 !; 
 
 IfiH 
 
 nN 
 
 and I thrust you aside! I spoke and acted like a bruto! L 
 will trust you! 1 will wait! 1 will never doubt you again, 
 my own beloved bride!" 
 
 And then, in a paroxysm of love and remorse, the young 
 husband strode out of the library and upstairs to his wife's 
 room. Uo found her alone, sitting by the window, in her 
 loose white morning-robe, a book lying idly on her knee, 
 herself whiter than the dress she wore. She was not read- 
 ing — the book lay listless, the dark eyes looked straight be- 
 fore them with an unutterable pathos that it wrung his 
 heart to see. 
 
 " My love! my life!" He had her in his strong arms, 
 strainoil to his breast as if he never meant to let her go. 
 " My own dear Harrie! Can you ever forgive me for the 
 brutal words I used — for the brutal way 1 acted?" 
 
 She gave a low cry of joy, and sunk down on his breast 
 with a look of such infinite love and thankfulness that it 
 haunted liim to his dying day. 
 
 "My Everard! my beloved husband! My darling! my 
 darling! You are not — you will not be angry with your 
 poor little Harrie?" 
 
 " I could not, my life! What is the world worth to us 
 if wo can not love and trust? I do love you, God alone 
 knows how well! I will trust you, though all the world 
 should rise up against you! " 
 
 Again that cry of joy — again that clinging, straining 
 clasp. 
 
 "Thank Heaven! thank Heaven! Everard, dearest, I 
 can not tell you — I can not — how miserable 1 have been! 
 If I lost your love 1 should die! Trust me, my husband 
 — trust me! Love me! I have no one left in the wide 
 world but you!" 
 
 She broke down in a wild storm of womanly weeping. 
 He held her in silence — the hysterics did her good. He 
 only knew that he loved her with a passionate, consuming 
 love, and not ten million secrets could keep them apart. 
 
 Presently she raised her head and looked at him, very 
 pale, and with wild, wide eyes of fear. 
 
 " Everard, have you — have you seen that man?" 
 
 His hoart contracted with a sudden sharp pang, but he 
 strove to restrain himself and bo culm. 
 
 " Parmalee? Yes, Harrie; I loft him not an hour ago." 
 
 *' And he— Everard. for God's sake—" 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 153 
 
 Her white lips refused to finisli the sentence. 
 
 " He told me nothing, Ilarrie,'* and the bitterness of his 
 heart tinged his voice in spite of himself. " You and he 
 keep your secrets well, lie told me nothing, and he is 
 gone. He will never come back here more." 
 
 He looked at her keenly, suspiciously, as he said it. 
 AlasI the intermittent fever was taking its hot fit again. 
 But she dropped her face on his shoulder and hid it. 
 
 " Has lie left the villasre, Everard?" very faintly. 
 
 " I nan not say. I only know I have forbid^len him this 
 place," he replied, in a hard, wrung voice. " Harrie, 
 Harrie, my little wife! You are very merciless! You are 
 torturing me, and 1 — I would die to save you an instant's 
 pain!" 
 
 At that eloquent cry she slipped out of his arms and fell 
 on her knees before him, her clasped hands hiding her face. 
 
 " May God grant me a short life!" was her frenzied cry, 
 "' for I never can tell you — never, Everard, not on my dy- 
 ing bed — the secret I have sworn to keep!" 
 
 " Sworn to keep!" It flashed upon him like a revela- 
 tion. " Sworn to whom? to your father, Harrie?" 
 
 " Do not ask me! I can tell you nothing — I dare not! 
 I am bound by an awful vow! And, oh, I think I am the 
 most wretched creature in the wide world !' ' 
 
 He raised her up; he kissed the white, despairing face 
 again and again — a rain of rapturous kisses. A ton weight 
 seemed suddenly lifted otf his heart. 
 
 '* I see it all," he cried — '* 1 see it all now! Fool that I 
 was not to understand sooner. There was some mystery, 
 some guilt, perhaps, in Captain Hunsden's life, and he 
 revealed it to you on his death-bed, and made you swear to 
 keep his secret. Am I not right?" 
 
 She did not look up. He could feel her shivering from 
 head to foot. 
 
 "Yes, Everard." 
 
 *' And this man — this American — has in some way found 
 it out, and wishes to trade upon it, to extort money from 
 you? I have often heard of such things. Am I right 
 again?" 
 
 '* Yes, Everard," very faint and sad. 
 
 '* Then, my own dearest, leave me to deal with him; see 
 him and fear him no more. 1 will seek him out. I will 
 
 nii 
 
 '^1 
 
 U! 
 
1S4 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 il 
 
 not ask to know it. 1 will pay him his price and iecd 
 him about his bnsiness." 
 
 He rose impetuously as he spoke, eager to rid himself of 
 his incubus on the spot. But Harriet clung to him with 
 a strange, white face. 
 
 *' No, no, no!" she cried. " It would not do. You 
 could not satisfy him. You donH know — " She stopped 
 distractedly. '* Oh, Everard, I can^t explain. You are 
 all kindness, all generosity, ail goodness; but I must set- 
 tle with this man myself. Don't go near him — don't ask 
 to see him. It could do no good. ' 
 
 He withdrew himself from her, freezing to marble at 
 once. 
 
 " I am not right, then, after all. The secret is yours, 
 not your father's?" 
 
 " Do not ask me! If the sin is not mine, the atonement 
 — the bitter atonement — is, at least. Everard, look at me 
 — see! I love you with all my heart. I would not tell 
 you a lie. I never committed a deed, I never indulgea a 
 thought of my own, you are not free to know. I never 
 saw this man until that day in the library. Oh, believe 
 this and trust me, and don't ask me to break my oath!"' 
 
 " 1 will not!" He bent over her with unutterable love, 
 and kissed the beautiful, pleading face. " I believe you; 
 I trust you. 1 ask no more. Get rid of this man, and be 
 happy once again. We will not even talk of it longer; and 
 — will you come with me to my mother's, Harrie? I dine 
 there, you know, to-day." 
 
 "My head aches. Not to-day, I think. What time 
 will you return?" 
 
 " Before ten." He pulled out his watch. " And, as I 
 have a little magisterial business to transact down in the 
 village, it is time I was off. Adieu, my own love! Forget 
 the harsh words, and be my own happy, radiant, beautiful 
 bride once more.^' 
 
 She lifted her face and smiled — a smile as wan and fleet- 
 ing as moonlight on snow. 
 
 Sir Everard hastened to his room to dress, striving with 
 all his might to drive every suspicion out of his mind. 
 
 He must trust and hope, for his own sake as well as for 
 hers, for 
 
 " To be wroth with one wo love 
 Doth work like madness on the brain." 
 
THE BATlONET'n BRIDE. 
 
 I6t 
 
 And she — she flun^ hoj'self on the sofa, face downward, 
 afid lay there as if she novor cared to rise again. 
 
 " Papa, papa!" hIio Mailed, " what have you done — 
 what have yon done?'* 
 
 All that day Lady Kingsland kept her room. Tier maid 
 brought her what she wanted. Sir Everard returned at 
 the appointed hour, looking gloon^y and downcast. 
 
 His evening at his ni )ther's had not been a pleasant one 
 — that was evident, lerhaps some vague hint of the dark- 
 ening mystery had already reached The Grange. 
 
 " My mother feels rather hurt, Ilarrio,^^ he said, some- 
 what coldly, " that you did not accompany me. She is 
 unable to call on you, owing to a severe cold. Mildred is 
 absorbed in waiting upon her, and desires to see you ex- 
 ceedingly. I promised them we would both dine there to- 
 morrow and spend the evening. " 
 
 His tone admitted of no refusal. But Harris was too 
 spiritless and worn to offer any. 
 
 " As you please, Everard" she said, wearily. " It is all 
 tho same to me. " 
 
 She descended to breakfast nexl morning carefully dressed 
 to meet the fastidious eye of her husband. But she eat 
 nothing. A gloomy presentiment of impending evil 
 weighed down her heart like lead. Her husband made lit- 
 tle effort to rouse her — the contagious gloom affected him, 
 too. 
 
 " It is the weather, I dare say," he remarked, looking 
 out at the bleak, wintery day, the leaden sky, the wailing 
 wind. " This February gloom is enough to give a man the 
 megrims. I must face it, too, for to-day I ' meet the cap- 
 tains at the citadel ' — thak is to say, I promised to ride 
 over to Major Warden's about noon. You will be ready, 
 Harrie, when I return to accompany me to The Grange?" 
 
 She promised, and he departed ; and then, with a slow 
 and weary step. Lady Kingsland ascended to her own 
 apartment. 
 
 While she stood there, gazing blankly out at the gray 
 desolation of the February morning, there was a soft tap 
 at the door. 
 
 " Come in!" she said, thinking it her maid; and thedoor 
 opened, and Sybilla Silver, shod with the shoes of silence, 
 entered. 
 
 Lady Kingsland faced round and looked a*" her. How 
 
 ili 
 
 i: 
 
156 
 
 THE BAYONET'S TRTDE. 
 
 ! !* 
 
 m' 1 
 
 
 handsome slie was! That was her first involuntary thonghfc. 
 Her sweeping bHcK robes leli around her tall, I'ogal figure 
 with queenly graoe, the blade eyes sparkled with living 
 lUiht, a more vivid scarlet than usual lighted up each 
 dusky cheek. She looked gloriously beautiful standing 
 there. Mr. Parmalee would surely have been dazzled had 
 he seen her. 
 
 There was [i moment's pause. The two women eyed 
 each other, us accomplished swordsmen may on the eve of 
 a di\<J. Very pnle, very proud, looked my lady. Hlie dis- 
 liked and distrusted this brilliant, black-e3'ed Miss hjilvcr, 
 and Miss Silver knew it well. 
 
 "You wish to speak with me, Miss Silver?" my lady 
 said, in her most superb manner. 
 
 *' Yes, my lady — most particularly, and (juite alone. ] 
 beg your pardon, but your maid is not within liearlng, f 
 crust ?*' 
 
 " We are quite alone," very coldly. " Speak out; no 
 one can overhear you.'* 
 
 " I do not care for myself," Sybilla said, her glittering 
 black eyes meeting the proud gray cues. " It is for your 
 sake, my lady." 
 
 " For my sake!" in haughty omaze. "You can have 
 nothing to say to me. Miss Silver, the whole world may not 
 overhear. If yo'^. intend to he impertinent. I shall order 
 you out of the room. " 
 
 " One moment, my lady: you go to fast. The whole 
 world may not overhear the message Mr. Parmalee sends 
 you by me." 
 
 " Ah!"— my lady recoiled as though ai^ adder had stung 
 her — "always that m^n! Speak ou^ then" — turning; 
 swiftly upon her husbmd's protegee — " what is the mes- 
 sage this man sends me by you?" 
 
 " That if you do jot meet him within two days, he will 
 sell your secret to the highest bidder." 
 
 Sybilla delivered, word for word, the words of the Amer- 
 ican — cruelly, slowly, sigmiicantly — looking her still 
 straight in the eyes. Those clear gray eyes flashed with a 
 tierce, defiant light, 
 
 " You know all?" she cried. 
 
 Sybilla Silver bowed her head. 
 
 " 1 know all," she answered. 
 
 Dead silence fell. White as a dead woman, Lady Kings- 
 
THE ]JAII<)N1:T.S JMtlUE. 
 
 167 
 
 ch 
 
 land stood, liur eyes abla/c; vvifli fioroe, coiKsuniiii:; firu. 
 Sybillii liitulo a stcf) forward, sunk down buforo Iiur, and 
 lifted liur liaiid to lur Jips. 
 
 " Ho told ni(i all, my dear lady; but your secrot is safo 
 with me. fSybiMa will bo your true and faitbftd, though 
 hunddo, irieiid, if you will let her. J)tar Lady Kingsland, 
 don't look at nio with that stony, angry face. J luive n'l 
 wish but to servo you/' 
 
 TJic gracious speeeh met with but an ungracious return. 
 My hidy snatched hv,v hand away, as though from a snake, 
 and gazed' at her with iiashing eyes of scorji and distrust. 
 
 " What are you to this man. Miss Silver?" she asked. 
 '* Why should he tell you?" 
 
 " I am his plighted wife," replied Sybilla, trying to call 
 up a conscious blush. 
 
 " Ah, I see!" my lady said, scornfully. '* Permit mo 
 to coi:gr.'itulate you on tiic excellent execution your bltick 
 eyes have wrought. You are a very clever girl. Miss Sil- 
 ver, and I think I understand you thoroughly, i am oidy 
 surprised you did not carry your discovery straight to ►Sir 
 Everard Kingsluiid. " 
 
 '* Your ladyship is most unjust," Sybilla Hiiid, turning 
 away, '' unkind and cruel. I have delivered my message, 
 and I will go." 
 
 " Wait one moment," my hidv said, in her clear sweet 
 voice, luM* proud faoo gleaming with a (tynical smile. " To- 
 Hiorrow evening it will be impossible for me to see Mr. 
 Parmalee — there is to be a dinner-jjurty at the house — 
 during the day still more imi)08sible. Since he commands 
 me to see him, I will do so to-night, and throw over my 
 other engagements. At eight this evening I will be in the 
 IJeech Walk, and alone. Let Mr. Parmalee come to me 
 there." 
 
 A gleam of diabolical triumph lighted up the great black 
 cjcs of rSybilla, but the profound bow she made concealed 
 it. 
 
 ** 1 will tell him, my lady," she said, " and he will be 
 there without lail." 
 
 She (|U)*,ted the room, closed the door, and looked back 
 at it as Satan may have looked back at Kdcn after van- 
 quishing Eve. 
 
 " My triumph begins," she said to herself. "■ I have 
 
 !'(! 
 
 !^ 
 
I 
 
 .'i 
 
 'M 
 
 
 i 
 
 158 
 
 THE riAIlONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 caught you nicely this time, my lady. You and Mr. Par- 
 muleo will not bo alniio in tlie IJeooh Walk to-night.'* 
 
 Left to herself, Harriet stood for a moment motionless. 
 With all her pride and her strength gone, she sunk down 
 into her laeat, hor hands clasped over her heart. 
 
 " She too,'* she murmured, " my arch-enemy! Oh, my 
 God, help mo to bear it— help me to keep tlio horrible 
 truth from the husband 1 love! She will not tell him. 
 She knows he would never endure hor from the hour she 
 would make the revelation; and that thought alone re- 
 strains her. It will kill me — this agonizing fear and hor- 
 ror 1 And better so — better to die now, while ho loves me, 
 than live to be hated and loathed when he discovers the 
 truth!" 
 
 Sir Everard Kingsland, riding home in the yellow, win- 
 tery sunset, found my lady lying on a lounge in her boudoir, 
 her maid beside her, bathing her forehead with eau-de- 
 Oolognc. His brow contracted with a little spasm of dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 " Headache again, Harrie?" he said. " You are grow- 
 ing a complete martyr to tliat feminine malady of late. I 
 had hoped to find you dressed and ready to accompany me 
 to The Grange.*' 
 
 " I »m sorry, Everard, but this evening it is impossible. 
 Make my excuses to her ladyship, and tell her 1 hope to 
 see her soon." 
 
 She did not look up as she said it, and her husband, 
 stooping, imprinted a kiss on the colorless cheek. 
 
 " My poor, pale girl! 1 will send Edwards with an 
 apology to The Grange, and remain at home with you." 
 
 " No!" Harriet cried, hastily; " not on any account. 
 You must not disappoint your mother, Everard; you must 
 go. There, good-bye! It is time you were dressing. Don't 
 mind me; I will be better when you return." 
 
 But he lingered still, with a strangely yearning, troubled 
 face. 
 
 *' I feel as though 1 ought not to leave you to-night," he 
 said. " It seems heartless, and you ill. 1 had better send 
 Edwards and the apology." 
 
 '* You foolish boy!" She looked up at him and smiled, 
 with eyes full of tears. " I will bo better alone and quiet. 
 Sleep and solitude will quite restore me. Go! goJ You 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 16J 
 
 will be late as it is, and my latly dislikes being kept wait- 
 ing. " 
 
 He kissed her and went, casting one long, lingering back- 
 ward look at tho wife ho loved. And with a pang bitterer 
 than death camo tho rcmoinbranco afterward of how she 
 had urged him to leave lier tliat night. 
 
 Thus they parted — to look into each other's eyes no more 
 in love and trust for a dark and tragic time. 
 
 Sybilla Silver, standing at the houje door, was gazing 
 out at the yellow February sun sinking pale and watery 
 into the livid horizon line, as the baronet ran down-staira, 
 drawing on his gloves. Ho paused, with his usual court* 
 osy, to speak to his dependent as he went by. 
 
 •' Th'3 sky yonder looks ominous," ho said, *' and thia 
 wailing, icy blast is the very desolation of desolation. 
 There is a stor?,i brewing." 
 
 Miss Silver's black eyes gleamed, and her white teeth 
 showed in a sinister smile. 
 
 *' A storm?" she repeated. " Yes, I think there is, and 
 yon will be caught m it. Sir Everard, if you stay late. 
 The storm will break very soon I" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 AT NIGHT IN THE BEECH WALK. 
 
 The instant Sir Everard was out of sight Sybilla ran up 
 to her chamber, and presently reappeared, dressed for a 
 ival't. 
 
 Even the long, shrouding mantle she wore could not 
 disguise the exquisite symmetry of her graceful form, and 
 tho thick brown veil could not dim the luster of her tlash- 
 ing Assyrian eyes. She smiled back, before flitting away, 
 >\t the dark, bright, sparkling face her mirror showed her. 
 
 " Youjiaro a very pretty person, my dear Miss Silver," 
 she said — " prettier even than my lady herself, though 1 
 fiay it. Worlds have been lost for leas handsome faces than 
 this in the glorious days gone by, ami Mr. Parmaleo will 
 have every reason to be proud of his wife — when he geta 
 her." 
 
 She ran lightly down-stairs, a saroastio smile still on h«p 
 Jiips«. In the lower hall stood Mr. Edwards, the valet, dis- 
 consolately gazing at the threatening prospect. He turoed 
 
 M 1 
 
 Lil 
 
 1 1' 
 
160 
 
 THE TIATIOTTFT'S BRTDF. 
 
 around, and hiadull oyoK liglitod up at sight of thifl dark- 
 ling viwion of beauty — for Mr. I'armaleo was by no means 
 tlut only gontloman with the {^ood tasto to adniiro hand- 
 some Sybilla. 
 
 '* (loing hout, Miss Hilvor!" Mr. Edwards asked, in 
 languid surprise. " lluncommon urgent your business 
 must bo to take you from 'omo suoli a Iievening as this. 
 'Ow'n my lady?" 
 
 " My iady is not at all well, Mr. Edwards/' answered 
 Rybilla. " Sir Everard was obliged to go alone to his 
 mother's, my lady's headache is so intense. (Uaudino is 
 with her, I believe. We are going to have a storm, are wo 
 not? I shall be obliged to hurry back." 
 
 She flitted away as she spoke, drawing down her veil, 
 and disappearing while yet Mr. Edwards was trying to 
 make a languid proffer of his services as escort, llo 
 lounged easily up against the window, gazing with calm 
 admiration after her. 
 
 '* An huncommon 'andsomo and lady-looking young 
 pusson that," rollected Sir Everard's gentleman. "I 
 shouldn't mind basking her to be my missus one of these 
 days. That face of hers and them dashing ways would 
 take helegantly behind the bar of a public. " 
 
 Unconscious of the admiration she was eliciting in the 
 bosom of Mr. Edwards, Sybilla sped on her way down the 
 village to the Blue Bell. Just before she reached the inn 
 she encountered Mr. Parmalee himself, taking a constitu- 
 tional, a cigar in his mouth, and his hands deep in his 
 trousers pockets. Ho met and greeted his fair betrothed 
 with natural phlegm. 
 
 " How do, Sybilla?" nodding and smoking steadily on. 
 " 1 kind of thought you'd be after me, and so 1 stejiped 
 out. You've been and delivered that there little message 
 of mine, I suppose?" 
 
 *' Yes," said Sybilla; *' and she will meet you to-night 
 in the Beech Walk, and hear what you have got to say." 
 
 *'The deuce she will!" said the artist; "and have her 
 fire-eating husband catch us and set the flunkies at me. 
 Not if 1 know myself. If my lady wants to hear what 
 I've got to say, lot my lady come to me." 
 
 " She never will," responded Sybilla. " You don't 
 know her. Don't be an idiot, George — do as she requestSo 
 Meet her to-night in the Beech Walk," 
 
THE baronet's hHitm, 
 
 161 
 
 •k- 
 
 -'' And Imvo tho baronot como u])on usliko a roaring lion 
 m tho middio of our confab! Look horo, Sybilla, I ain't a 
 cowardly foUcr, you know, in tho main; but, by (ioorgo! 
 it ain't ])loa8ant to bo hor8uwhim)od by an outragooua 
 young baronet or kicked from tuo gatos by his under- 
 Htram)or8." 
 
 " Tliore 18 no danger. Sir Evorard is not at homo, and 
 will not 1)0 before ton o'clock at least, lie ia gone to dine 
 at The (i range with his mother; and my lady was to have 
 gone too. but your message frightenotl her, and she told 
 him little white lies, and insisted on his going by himself. 
 And, you silly old 8tuj)id, if you had two ideas in your 
 head, you would see that this o})portunity of braving his 
 express command, and entering the lion's den to meet his 
 wife by night and by stealth, ia the most gloriouj* o])por- 
 tunity of revenge you could have. Sir Evorard is nearly 
 mud with jealousy and suspicion already. What will he be 
 when he finds his wife of a month has lied to him to ■ '.eet 
 you alone and in secret at the Beech Walk? 1 tell you, 
 Mr. Parmalee, you will be gloriously revenged !" 
 
 ** 13y thunder!'' cried tho artist, '* 1 never thought of 
 that. I'll do it, Sybilla— I'll do it, so help me! Tell my 
 lady I'll bo there right on the minute; and do you take 
 care that confounded conceited baronet finds it out. I 
 said I'd pay him off for every blow, and I'll do it, by the 
 Eternal !^^ 
 
 " And strike through her!" hissed Sybilla, with glitter- 
 ing black eyes, " and every blow will go straight through 
 the core of his proud heart. We'll torture him, (leorgo 
 Parmalee, t»o man never was tortured before." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee looked at her, rather taken aback, as he 
 always was when she burst out with the deadly inward firo 
 that tilled her. 
 
 *' What a little devil you are, Sybilla!" he said, with 
 lover-like candor. '* I've hoard tell that you wimmin 
 knock us men into a cocked hat in the way of hating, and 
 I now begin to think it ia true. What has this 'ere bar- 
 onet done to you, I should admire to know? You don't 
 liate him like the old sarpent for nothing." 
 
 " What has he done to me?" rei)eated Sybilla, with a 
 strange, slow smile. ** That is easily told. He gave me 
 a home when I was homeless; ho was my friend when I 
 wai friendless. I have broken liii:! bread and drunk of his 
 
 I 1 
 
 V I I 
 
 iii 
 
162 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 lit I 
 11 
 
 f 
 
 I h 
 
 cup, and slept under his roof, and — I hato him, I hate 
 him, I hate film!" 
 
 Her hands and teeth clinched in a deadly spasm of sup- 
 pressed fury; her two eyes blazed like lurid l^ames. Mr. 
 Farmaleo tooii out his cigar and stared at her in horror. 
 
 *' 1 tell you what it is, Miss Silver," he said, after an 
 aghast pause, " I don't like this sort of thing — I don't, by 
 George! I ain't surjirised at a person hating a pe»3on, be- 
 caui?o 1 hate him myself; but for a young woman that is 
 going to be my wife to cut up like this here, and eweftr 
 everlasting vengeance — well, I don't like it You see, 
 wild cats ain't the most comfortable sort of pets a man 
 can have in his house, and how do I know but it may ba 
 my turn next?" 
 
 Miss Silver laughed, and her face cleared instantly. She 
 laid her hand on his arm and looked up in his face with 
 shining, bewitching eyes. 
 
 *' You precious old stupid! As if I could hate you, if I 
 tried. No, no, George; you may truot Sybilla. The wild 
 cat will sheathe her cla^v^s in triple folds of velvet for you." 
 
 "Humph!" said Mr. Paiuialoe; "but the claws will 
 still be there. However, 1 ain't a-going to quarrel with 
 you about it. I like a spunky woman, and I hate him. 
 I'll meet my lady to-night, ahd you see that my lady's 
 husband finds it out." 
 
 " Until then," responded Sybilla, folding her mantle 
 closer about her, " remember the hour — eight sharp — and 
 don't keep her waiting. Before he sleeps to-night the 
 
 fn'oudest baronet in the realm shall know why his wife de- 
 iberately deceived him to meet a strange man by night and 
 by stealth in the park, where her husband had ordered 
 him never to set foot again." 
 
 She fluttered away in the chill spring twilight with the 
 last words, leaving her fiance gazing after her with an ex- 
 pression that was not altogether unmixed admiration. 
 
 " I'll be darned if I ever met the like of you. Miss Sil- 
 ver, in all my travels. You might be own sister to Luci- 
 fer himself for wickedness and reveagefulness. Ill find 
 out what's at the bottom of all this cantankerous spite be- 
 fore I make you Mrs. G. W". Parmaleo, or I'll know the 
 reason why. It's all very fine to have a handsome wiie, 
 with big Dlaek eyes and a spunky spirit, but a leUaw 
 
THE BAEOli^rr's BRIDE. 
 
 163 
 
 »> 
 
 doMn't want a wife that will bury the carving-kuife in 
 him the fli-ot time he contrailicts her." 
 
 Sybilla was a good walker; ;he last yellow lino of the 
 r/ater, February sariset had hardly faded as she tripped up 
 the lor-g drive under the gaunt, tossing trees. Mr. Ed- 
 wards still lounged in elegant leisure in the hall, convers- 
 ing with a gigantic young footman, and his fishy eyes 
 kindled for the second time as Sybilla appeared, ilushed 
 and bright and s{)iirkling, after her windy, twilight walk. 
 
 " I have outstiip|)ed the storm after all, ycu see," sho 
 remarked, with a gay little laugh, as she went by. "I 
 don't believe we shall have it before midnight. Oh, Clau- 
 dine! is my lady in her room? I have been on an errand 
 for her down the village." 
 
 She had encountered the jaunty little Fi*ench girl on the 
 upper landing, and paused to put the question. 
 
 '* Yes," Claudint- sjiid. '* Madame's headache was 
 easier. She is nading in her dressing-room." 
 
 Sybilla tapj)ed at the dressing-room door, then turned 
 the hancUe and entereil. It was an exquisite little bijou 
 of a chamber, with fluted walls of rose silk, and delicious 
 plump beautifi! willi bare shoulders and melting eyes, by 
 Greuze. A wi;ck1 tire nickered on the marble hearth, and 
 was Hashed bat.k fn.ni lofty mirrors as fcall as the room. 
 
 This llickeriiig blaze, and the ghostly twilight creeping 
 grayly in between the roi?y silken curtains, left the room 
 in a fantastic mixture of light and shadow. 
 
 Lying back in an arm-chair, her book fallen aimlessly 
 on her lap, her dark, deep eyes looking straight before her 
 into the evening gloaming. My lady sat alone. 
 
 The melancholy wash of the waves on the shore, the 
 mournful sighing of the evening wind among the groan- 
 ing trees, the monotonous ticking of a dainty buld clock, 
 and the light fall of the cinders sounded abnormally loud 
 in the deail silence of the apartment 
 
 Lady Kingsland turned round at the opening of the 
 door, and her face hardened into that fixedly cold, proud 
 look it ai\fays wore at sight of her husbard's brilliant 
 protegee. 
 
 In her trailing blaci robes Miss Silver stood before hir 
 in the mysterious half-light like some tall, dark ghost. 
 
 *'I have been to the village, my lady," Sybilla said. 
 
 <li 
 
 
:s4 
 
 XtllU 
 
 baronet's bride. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 l! 1= 
 
 "I liavo seen Mr. Pjirrnaloo. He will be in the Beech 
 Wiilk [)r<'(.'is<'ly !i(. eight. '' 
 
 iM y iiicly bent hur huail in cold acknowledgment. Sybilla 
 |)tiiKsi.!il ail iiidiatit, detorniinod to make her speak. 
 
 " (Juii f be of service to you in any way in this matter, 
 iny liiily?'' yiie iuslvod, 
 
 "Yon?" in jiroiid surprise. "Certainly not. I wish 
 to be alone. Miss Silvui Bo ,c;cod enou;,di to ij;o." 
 
 8ybilla's little brown fiot clinched itself furiously, onco 
 on the lauding outside. 
 
 " 1 can't humble herJ" she tliought. *' I can't make 
 her fear me. 1 can't triumph over her, do what I will. 
 1 have her secret and 1 hold her in my i)Ower, but she is 
 prouder than Lucifer himself, and she would let me stand 
 forth and tell all, and if one pleading word would stop me, 
 she would not say it. ' The brave may die, but can not 
 yield I' She should have been a man." 
 
 She went to the window and drew out her watch; it 
 wanted a quarter of eight. The pretty little enameled 
 trinket had been a recent gift of the princely young bar- 
 onet — her initials glittered on the case — but, preparing to 
 stab him to the heart, she looked at it without one com- 
 punctious twinge. 
 
 " In fifteen minutes my lady goes; in fifteen more 1 
 shall follow her, and not alone. 1 am afraid Sir Ever- 
 ard's slumbors will be rather disturbed to-night." 
 
 The last yellow gleam of the dying day Wiis gone, and a 
 sickly, pallid moon glimmered dully among drifts of Hciid- 
 ding black clouds. An icy blast wailed up from the sea, 
 and the roeknig trees were like dryad specters in writh- 
 ing agony. The distant Ikech Walk looked black and 
 grim and ghostly in the weird light. 
 
 A great clock high up in a windy turret struck eight. 
 A moment after the door of my lady's dressing-room 
 opened. A dark, shrouded figure emerged, flitted swiftly 
 down the long gallery, dc^n the sweeping stair-way, ani 
 vanished. 
 
 Sybilla Silver stood like an efligy in stone, listening with 
 a smile on her lips — and her smile was the smile of a 
 demon. 
 
 Ten minutes later Edwards, yawning forlornly, still in 
 the entrance hall, beheld Miss Silver coming toward him 
 with an anxious face, a large shawl thrown over hmr head. 
 
THE baronet's eride. 
 
 165 
 
 onco 
 
 aud 
 
 " Goir'» out agaiu?" tho valot exclaimed. '* And suoh 
 a nasty night, too. You are fond of walking, Miss S., 
 and no mistake." 
 
 " I'm not going for a walk," said Sybilla. " 1 am go- 
 ing to look for a locket 1 lost this afternoon. I was out in 
 tiie park, in the direction of the Beech Walk, and there I 
 must have dropped it." 
 
 " Better wait until to-morrow," suggested Edwards. 
 *' The wind's 'owling through the trees, and it's colder 
 than the Ilarctic regions. Better ivait. " 
 
 *' 1 can not. The locket was a present, and 1 value it 
 exceedingly, I thought of asking you to accompany me, 
 Mr. Edwards, but as it is so cold perhaps you hjid bettor 
 not.'; 
 
 *' Oh, I'll go with pleasure!" said Mr. Edwards. *' If 
 you can stand the cold, I can, I dessay. "Wait till 1 get 
 my 'at and hovercoat — 1 won't be a minute. " 
 
 Miss {Silver waited. Mr. Edwards reappeared in a 
 twinkling. 
 
 *' 'Ad n't I better fetch a lantern?" he suggested. " It 
 will be himpossible to see it, heven if it should be there." 
 
 " No," said Sybilla. " The moon is shining, and the 
 Jocket will glimmer on the snow. Come!" 
 
 She took his arm, and they started at a brisk pace for 
 tiie Beech Walk. Tho ground, baked hard as iron, rang 
 under their tread, aud whether it was the bitter blast or 
 not, Mr. Edwards could not tell, but his companion's face 
 was flushed with a more brilliant glow, in the ghostly 
 moonlight, than he had ever before seen there. 
 
 Tiioy reached the long grove of magnificent copper- 
 beeches, and just without its entrance Miss Silver began 
 8(iarching foi her lost locket. The white snow was baked 
 and glittering, but no shining wheel of gold sparkled od 
 its radiant surface. 
 
 " It is not here," said Sybilla. *' Let us go further 
 down — " 
 
 She paused abruptly at a sudden gesture of her com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Uush!' he said. ** There is somo one talking in tho 
 Beech Walk." 
 
 Both ))ansed and stood stock still. Borne unmistakably 
 m the night wind, voices came to them — the soft voice of 
 .h woman, the dtoi/er iou^a of a mau. 
 
 ii 
 
 ': I 
 
 i» 
 

 't 
 
 i:'' 
 
 \ 
 
 ,'. t 
 
 166 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE 
 
 " Ono of the maids, I dare say," Sybilla said, eareiess- 
 ly, " holding tryst with her lover." 
 
 " No," said the valet; *' not one of the maids wovM set 
 foot hinside this walk hafter nightfall for a kingdom! 
 They say it's 'aunted. Come forward a little, and lot's 
 see if we can't 'ave a look at the talkers. /Vhoevor it is, 
 he's hup to no good, I'll be bound!" 
 
 Very softly, stealing on tiptoe, the twain approached the 
 entrance of the avenue. The watery moonlight, breaking 
 through a rift in the clouds, shono out for an instant 
 above the trees, and showed them ii man and a woman, 
 standing face to face, earnestly talking. The man stood 
 leaning against a tree, his hat pulled over his face; the 
 woman stood before him, the dim light full upon her. 
 Mr. Edwards barely repressed a cry of consternation. 
 
 " Good Lord!" he gasped; *' it's my lady!" 
 
 " Hush!" cried Sybilla, in a fierce whisper. ** Who is 
 the man?" 
 
 As if some inward prescience told him they were there, 
 the man lifted his hat at that very instant, and plainly 
 showed his face. 
 
 " The Ilamorican, by Jove!" again gasped the horrified 
 valet, and then stood staring speechlessly. 
 
 Sybilla Silver's eyes blazed like coals of fire, and the 
 demoniac smile, that made her brilliant beauty hideous, 
 gleamed on her lips. 
 
 She grasped the man's arm with slender fingers of iron, 
 and stood gloating over the scene. 
 
 Not one word could they hear — the distance was too 
 great — but they could see my lady's passionate gestures; 
 thoy could see the white hands clasp and cover her face; 
 they could see her wildly excited, even in that dim light. 
 And once they saw her take from her pocket her purse, 
 and pour a handful of shining sovereigns into Mr. Parma- 
 lee's extended hand. 
 
 There was a speechless gasp from Mr. Edwards at this 
 awful revelation — he was too far gone for words. 
 
 They stood there while the moments wont, unheeding 
 the icy wind that arose and blew more fiercely each instant 
 — unheeding the few fiutterlug snow flakes beginning Uf 
 fall. 
 
 Nearly an hour they had stood, jnetrified gazers, when 
 t>hey were aroused aa by a thunder- clap. A hone oame 
 
THB baronet's BBIDB. 
 
 U7 
 
 ot 
 
 i! 
 
 galloping furiously up the avenue, sis only one rider ever 
 scalloped there. SybiUa Silver just repressed a scream of 
 exultufcion — no more. 
 
 "It is Sir Everard Kingslandl" she cried, in a whisper 
 of fiorco delight, *' in time to catch his siok wife in the 
 Beoch Walk with the man he hates!" 
 
 ho 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 M Y LADY 'S SECRET. 
 
 It was quite dark before prudent Mr. Parmalee, not" 
 witlistanding Sybilla's assurance that the baronet was away 
 from home, ventured within the great entrance gates of 
 the park. He was not, as he said himself, a coward alto- 
 gether; but he had a lively recollection of the pummeling 
 he had already received, and a wholesome dread of the 
 scientific hitting of this strong-fisted young aristocrat. 
 When he did venture, his coat-collar was so pulled up 
 that in the sickly moon-rays recognition, even had they 
 met, was next to impossible. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee, smoking a cigar, made his way to the 
 Beech Walk, and leaning against a giant tree, stared at 
 the watery moon, and waited. The loud-voiced turret 
 clock struck eight a moment after he had taken his posi- 
 tion. 
 
 *' Time is up," thought the photographer. ** My lady 
 ought to be here now. I'll give her another quarter. If 
 she isn't with mo in that time, then good-bye to Lady 
 Kingsland and my keeping her secret." 
 
 Ten minutes passed. As he replaced his watch a light 
 step sounded on the frozen snow, a shadow darkened the 
 entrance, and Lady Kingsland's pale, proud faoo looked 
 fixedly at him in the moonlight. There was a queenliness 
 in her manner that impressed even the unimpressionable 
 American. He took off his hat and threw away his half- 
 smoked cigar. 
 
 *• My Lady Kingsland!" 
 
 She bowed haughtily, hovering aloof. 
 
 " You wished to see me, Mr. Parmalee — that is youi 
 name, I believe. What is it you have to say to mo?" 
 
 Her proud tone restored all the artist's constitutional 
 phlegm. He put on Im hut, and returned her haughty 
 gaze coolly. 
 
 
 (I. 
 
 «<1 
 
 im 
 
168 
 
 THE 15AU0NET S BUIDE. 
 
 1 
 
 u 
 
 h 
 
 *' 1 don't think you really need to ask that question^ my 
 iauy. You know as well aa 1 do, or Fm mistaken/" 
 
 *' Who are you?'' she demanded, impatiently, impetu- 
 ously. " How do you come to know my secret? llow do 
 you come to bo possessed of that picture?" 
 
 " I told you before. She gave it to me herself." 
 
 My lady's great gray eyes dilated. She came a stej, 
 nearer. 
 
 *' For God's sake, tell me the truth! Don't deceive 
 me! Do you really mean it? Have you really seen my — " 
 
 She stopped, shuddering in some horrible inward repul- 
 sion from head to foot. 
 
 *' I really have," rejoined Mr. Parmalce. " I know the 
 — the party in question like a book. She told me her 
 story; she gave me her picture herself, of her own free 
 will, and she told mo where to find you. She is in Lon- 
 don now, all safe, and waiting — a little out of patience, 
 though, by this time, 1 dare say." 
 
 "Waiting!" Lady Kingsland gasped the word in white 
 terror. " Waiting for what?" 
 
 " To see you, my lady." 
 
 There was a blank pause. My lady covered her face 
 with both hands, and again that convulsive shudder shook 
 her from head to fooii. 
 
 " She is very penitent, my lady," Mr. Parmalee said, in 
 a softer tone. " She is very poor, and ill and heart- 
 broken. Even you, my lady, might pity and forgive her 
 if you saw her now. " 
 
 She made a wild, frantic gesture for him to stop, lu 
 the moonlight her face was utterly ghastly. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, hush! 1 don't want to hear. Tell 
 me how you met her first. I never heard your name un- 
 til that day in the library." 
 
 " Ko more you didn't," said the artist. " You see, my 
 lady, it was pure chance-work from first to last. I was 
 coming over hero on a little speculation of my own in tho 
 photographic line, and, being low in pocket and j)retty 
 well used to rough it, 1 was tiomi ng in the steerage. 1'hero 
 was a pretty hard crowd of us — Dutch and Irish and all 
 sorts mixed up there — an' among 'em one that looked as 
 much out of her element us a fish out of water. Any one 
 could tell with half an eye she'd been a lady, in spite of 
 her shabby duds and starved, haggard face. She was 
 
THE BARONKT'S HRir>E. 
 
 1C9 
 
 lu 
 
 
 alone. Not a aoul knew her, not a soul cared for her, and 
 ialf-way across she fell sick and had like to died." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee paused. My lady stood before him, 
 ashen white to the lips, listening with wild, wide eyes. 
 
 " Go on," she said, almost in a whisper. 
 
 " Well, my lady,-" Mr. I'arnuilee resumed, modestly, 
 ** I'm a pretty rough sort of a fellow, as you may see, anu 
 I hain't never experienced religion or that, and don't lay 
 claim to no sort of goodness; but for all that I've s\n old 
 mother over to home, and for her sake i ooukln^t stand by 
 and see a poor, sufferin' feller-critter of the female jxh-- 
 suasion and not lend a heliting hand. I nussed that there? 
 sick ])arfcy by night iv,\d by (lay, and if it hadn't been for 
 that nussin'and the little things 1 bought her to eat, she'd 
 have been under the A 1 tan tic now, though I do say it. 
 They used to laugh at me on board, but I stuck to her, 
 sir, until she got well." 
 
 My lady held out her hand — her slender white hand 
 aglitter with rich rings. 
 
 " You are a better man than 1 took you for," she said, 
 softly. *' I thank you with all my heart." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee took the dainty hand, rather confusedly, 
 in his tinger-tipa, held it a seciond, and dropped it. 
 
 " It was one night, when she thought herself dying, 
 that she told me her story — toid me everything, my lady 
 — who she had been, who she was, and what she was com- 
 ing across for. My lady, nobody could be sorrier than she 
 was then. I pitied her, by George, more than 1 ever pitied 
 any one before in my life. She had been unhappy and re- 
 morseful for a long time, but she was in despiiir. It was 
 too late for repentance, she thought. There was nothing 
 for it but to go on to the dreadful end. Sometimes, when 
 dhe was almost mad, she — well, she took to drink, you 
 know^ and he wasn't in any way a good or kind protector 
 to her — Thorndyke wasn't." 
 
 My lady Hung up both arms with a shrill, irre])ressiblo 
 scream. 
 
 " Kot that name," she cried—" not that accursed name, 
 if you would not drive me mad!" 
 
 "I bog your pardon!" said Mr. Parmnlee; " I won't. 
 Well, she heard of your father's death — Jte told Iku-, you 
 see — and that completed her despair. She took to drink 
 worse and worse; she got out of ail bounds — sort of fran- 
 
 i 'i 
 
 ( ; 
 
L 
 
 : 
 
 { 
 
 
 170 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 tm, jon so. Twice sho cried to kill horsolf — ooee by 
 poison,^ ;e by drowning; and both times he — you know 
 who I mo-^ —caught her and stopped her. He badn^t 
 even mercy ou ugh on her, sho says, to let her die!" 
 
 *' For God's sake, don't tell me of those horrors!" my 
 lady cried. In a voice of agony. *' I feel as though I were 
 going mad." 
 
 *' It is hard," said the artist, compassionately; " but I 
 can't help it — it's true, all the same. Sho heard of your 
 marriage to Sir Everard Kingsland next. It was the last 
 thing he ever taunted her with; for, crazed with his jeers 
 and insults, she fled from him that night, sold all she pos- 
 sessed but the clothes on her back, and took passage for 
 England." 
 
 " To see me! " asked Harriet, hoarsely. 
 
 *' To see you, my lady, but all unkmwn. She had no 
 wish to force herself upon you; she only felt that she was 
 dying, and that if she could look on your face once before 
 she went out of life, and see you well, and beautiful, and 
 beloved, and happy, she could lie down in the dust at your 
 gates and die content." 
 
 There was a rude pathos in the speaker's voice that 
 showed even he was touched. My lady hid her face once 
 more, and the tears fell like rain. 
 
 *' She made me write you a line or two that night," 
 continued Mr. Parmalee — " that night which she thought 
 her last — and she begged me to find you and give it to you, 
 with her picture. I have it yet; here they are, both." 
 
 Ho drew from his pocket the picture and a note, and 
 gave them into my lady's hand. 
 
 ** She didn't die," ho resumed; ** she got better, «md I 
 took lior to London, loft her there, and came down here. 
 Now, my hidy, I don't make no pretense of being better 
 than I am; 1 took this matter up in the way of specula- 
 tion, in the view to make money out of it, and nothing 
 else. 1 said to myself: * Here's this young lady, the bride 
 of a rich baronet; it ain't likely she's been and told him all 
 this, and it ain't likely her pa has died and loft her ignorant 
 of it. Now, what't to hinder my making a few honest 
 pounds out of it, at the samu time I do a good turn for 
 this poor, snfferin', sinful critter here?' That's wkat 1 
 said, my lady, and that's what I am here for. I'm » jjocr 
 man, and I live by my wits, aoA a stroke of bosinecwlB n 
 
by 
 
 low 
 [n't 
 
 jmy 
 
 rero 
 
 it I 
 
 lour 
 last 
 iexB 
 )oa- 
 for 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 171 
 
 stroke of businesn, no matter how far it'a out of tho ordi- 
 nary run. Your husband don't know this here story; you 
 don't want him to know it, and you come down hand- 
 somely and ril keep your secret'* 
 
 *' You have rather spoiled your iP"rketablo commodity, 
 then, Mr. Parmalee. It would ha p i you better not 
 to have shared your secret with Sy'ilka ver." 
 
 ** She's told you, has she?" e^i^ th*. ^.rtist, rather sur- 
 prised. " Now that's what I ce' .le "3. You don't think 
 she'll peach to Sir Everard, do j'cu. '" 
 
 " 1 think it extremely like! *hat she will. She hates 
 me, Mr. Parmalee, and Miss fc n' would do a good deal 
 for a person she hates. You should have waited until she 
 became Mrs. Parmalee before making her the repository 
 of your valuable secrets." 
 
 " It's no good talking about it now, however," said Mr. 
 Parmalee, rather doggedly. ** I've told her, and it can't 
 be helped. And now, my lady, I don't want to be caught 
 here, and it's getting late, and what are you going to give 
 a fellow for all his trouble?" 
 
 " What will hardly repay you, I fear," said my lady, 
 with cool contempt; " for I have very little of my own, as 
 you doubtless have informed yourself ere this?. What 1 
 have you have earned and shall receive. At the most it 
 will not exceed three hundred i)0und8. Of my husband's 
 money not one farthing shall any one ever receive from 
 me for keeping a secret of mine." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee's face fell visibly. Three hundred pounds 
 was evidently not one fourth of what he had expected to 
 receive for his valuable secret. 
 
 " I must have more than that," ho said, resolutely. 
 
 Three hundred pounds is nothing to a lady like you. 
 have diamonds and jewels worth five times tho 
 t amount. I must have more than tiireu hundred pounds." 
 
 '* It is all I have — all 1 can give you, and to give you 
 that I must sell the trinkets my dear dead father gave me. 
 But it is for his sake I do it— to preserve his secret. My 
 jewels, my diamonds, my husband's gifts 1 will not touch, 
 nor one farthing of liis money will you over receive. You 
 entirely mistake me, Mr. Parmalee. My secret I will 
 keep from him while I can ; 1 8Wf)re a solemn oatli by my 
 father's death-bed to do so. But t< pay you with his 
 
 4( 
 
 i You 
 
 : 
 
 : !■ 
 
172 
 
 THE baronet's BRTDT?. 
 
 i 
 
 money — to bribe yon to docoivo him with liis gold — T nerer 
 will. I would die first.*' 
 
 She stood before him erect, defiant, queenly. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee frowned darkly. 
 
 *• Suppose 1 go to liim then, my lady — suppose I pour 
 this nice little story into his ear — what then? 
 
 " Then,*' she exclaimed, in tones of ringing scorn, ** you 
 will receive nothing. His servants will thrust you from 
 his gates. No, Mr. Parmalee, if money be your object 
 you will make a better bargain with me than with him. 
 What is mine you shall have — every farthing I own, every 
 trinket I possess — on condition that you dejiart and never 
 trouble me more. That is all I can do — all I will do. 
 Decide which you prefer. " 
 
 " There is no choice," replied the American, sullenly; 
 " half a loaf is better than nothing. I'll take the three 
 hundred pounds; but it's a poorer spec than I took it for. 
 And now, my lady, what do you mean to do about her? 
 She wants to see you." 
 
 '* See me!" An expression of horror, fear, disgust 
 swept over my lady's face. *' Not for ten thousand 
 worlds!" 
 
 *' Well, now, 1 call that hard," said Mr. Parmalee. ** I 
 don't care what she's done or what she's been, it's hard! 
 She's sorry now, and no one can be more than that. I 
 take an interest in that unfortunate party, my lady; and 
 if you knew how she hankers after a sight of you — how 
 
 Eoor and ill and heart-broken she is — how she longs to 
 ear you say once, ' I forgive you,' before she dies — well, 
 you wouldn't, proud as vou are— you wouldn't be so 
 hard." 
 
 *• Stop — stop!" Lady Kingsland exclaimed, in a chok- 
 ing voice. 
 
 She turned away, leaning against a tree, her hands 
 pressed over her heart, her face more ghastly than the face 
 of a dead woman. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee watched her. He could see the fierce 
 struggle that shook her from head to foot. 
 
 *' JJon'fc bo hard on her!" ho pleaded. " She's very 
 humble now, and fallen very low. She won't live long, 
 lud y^nu'lJ be hajipier on your own death-bed, my lady, for 
 orgiviug her, poor soul!'' 
 
THE BAUONET's UUIDE. 
 
 173 
 
 Sho put out hor hand blindly and took liis. Tier touch 
 was icy cold, hor fuco ghastly. 
 
 ** I will 8oe hor," sno said, iioarsuly. *' May (I ml for- 
 give hor and pity mo! Fetch her down hero, Mr. I'arma- 
 lee, and I will soo her." 
 
 *' Yes, my lady; but as I'm rather short of funds, per- 
 haps — " 
 
 She drew out her purse and poured its glittering con- 
 tents into his palm. 
 
 *' It is all I have now; when you return I will have tho 
 three hundred pounds. You must take hor back to New 
 York. Sho and I must never meet again — for my hus- 
 band's sake." 
 
 " I understand, my lady," tho man said, moved by tho 
 agony of hor voice. " I'll do what 1 can. I'll take her 
 back, and I'll trouble you no more." 
 
 His last words were drowned in the gallop of Sir Gala- 
 had up the avenue. 
 
 *' It is my husband!" my lady exclaimed. "1 must 
 leave you. When will you—ana sho — return?" 
 
 *' In t';vo days wo will be here. I'll give out she's a sis- 
 ter of mine at the inn — no one knows her here — and I'll 
 
 Until then, my 
 
 send you word and arrange a 
 lady, 1 wish you good-bye. 
 
 meeting. 
 
 Mr. I'armaleo drew down his hat and strode uncere- 
 moniously away. Weak, trembling, my lady leaned for a 
 few moments against a tree, trying to recover herself, 
 then turned slowly and walked back to the house to meet 
 her husband. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MISS SILVER IJllEAKS THE NEWS. 
 
 The Grange, tho jointure house of the Dowager Lady 
 Kingsland, stood, like all such places, isolated and alone, 
 at tho furthest extremity of tho village. It was a dreary 
 old building enough, weather-beaten and brown, \ th 
 primly laid-out grounds, and row upon row of stiff poplars 
 waving in tho wintery wind. A lonely, forlorn old i)Iaco — 
 a vivid contrast to tho beauty and brightness of Kingsland 
 Court; and from the first day of hur«ntrance, LadyKings- 
 la?id, senior, hated her daughter-in-law with double hatred 
 and rancor. 
 
 ^'1 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
■ I 
 
 1 
 
 i I 
 
 il 
 
 174 
 
 THE BAUONKT'S BBIDE. 
 
 " For the pnuper half- pay ofTicor's bold-faced daiiuhtor 
 wo laiKst dm;^' out our livuB in this liorriblo plaoo!' ghe 
 burst out, bitterly. " Whilo Harriot llunstlen roigns eu 
 prinrcssc amid the splondora of our anccBtral home, wo 
 ninst vcgotato in this uuubling, dingy old barn. I'll novor 
 forgive your brother, Mildred— I'll never forgive him as 
 Jong as I live for marrying that (feature!'* 
 
 *' Dear mamma," the gentle voice of Milly pleadeii, 
 ** you must not blamo Kvorard. He loves lior, and she is 
 as beautiful as an angol. It would have been all the same 
 if he had married Lady Louise, you know. We would still 
 have had to quit Kingsland Court." 
 
 *' Kin^sland Court would have had an earl's daughter 
 for its mistress in that case. I could have loft it without 
 repining, then. But to think that this odious, fox-hunt- 
 ing, steeple-chaso-riding, baggago-cart-following JJflc du 
 rotjiment should rule there, whdc we — Oh, it sets mo 
 wild only to think of it!*' 
 
 " Don't think of it, then, mamma," coaxed Mildred. 
 *' We will make this wilderness * blossom as the rose ' next 
 summer. As for Harrie, you don't know her yet — you 
 will like her bettor when you do!" 
 
 *' I shall never like her!" Lady Kingsland replied, with 
 rancorous bitterness. " I don't want to like her! She is 
 a proud, imperious upstart, and 1 sincerely hope she may 
 make Everard see his headstrong folly in throwing himself 
 away before the honey-moon is ended." 
 
 It was quite useless for Mildred to try to combat her 
 mother's tierce resentment. J)ay after day she wandered 
 through the desolate, draughty rooms, bewailing her hard 
 lot, regretting the lost glories of Kingsland, and nursing 
 her resentment toward her odious daughter-in-law; and 
 when the bridal pair returned, and Milly timidly suggested 
 the propriety of calling, my lady flatly refused. 
 
 "I never will!" she said, spitefully. ** I'll never call 
 on Captain Hunsden's daughter, let people say what they 
 please. I never countenanced the match before he made 
 it. I shall not countenance it now when she has usurped 
 my place. She should never have been received in society 
 — a person whose mother was no better than she ought 
 to be. " 
 
 *' But, mamma — " 
 Hold your tonguO| Milly I You always were a llttio 
 
 (( 
 
THE BARONKT'S imiDE. 
 
 175 
 
 m 
 wo 
 for 
 
 U8 
 
 iiu 
 
 Aioll 1 tell you I will not cull on my son's wife, and no 
 inoro sliall you. Let her oomo hero. It will liiimblo iier 
 prido a little, perha])s, and his, too. They both nteil it," 
 
 My lady adherotl to her resolution with iron force, and 
 received ncr Hon, when the day after his roturn ho rode 
 over, with freezing formality. Ihit with all that, slie was 
 none the Icea deo])Iy disploasod when ho called ami canio to 
 dinner and left his brido at homo. 
 
 *• My humble house is not worthy my lady's imiiorial 
 presence, 1 dare say,*' she romarkod, with IJaHhiiij^- eyes. 
 ** After the magnificenco of barraok life and tho splondor 
 of llunsdon Hall, 1 scarcely wondor eho (;an not hloo]) to 
 your mother's jointure house. A lady in her position must 
 draw the lino somewhere. '* 
 
 " You are unjust, mother," her son said, striving to 
 speak calmly. " You always were unjust to Harriot. If 
 you will 2)ermit us, we will both do ourselves tho pleasure 
 of dining with you to-morrow." 
 
 My lady bowed ironically. 
 
 *' It shall be precisely as the Prince and Princess of 
 Kingsland please. My poor board will bo only too much 
 honored. " 
 
 Sir Everard's face Hushed angrily, but ho forebore to re- 
 tort. 
 
 ** It is natural, I sup])ose," he thought, riding home- 
 ward. ** The contrast between Kingsland Court and Tho 
 Grange is striking. She is jealous and angry and hurt — 
 poor motherl Harrie must come with mo to-morrow, and 
 try to please her." 
 
 But when to-morrow came Harrio had a headache, and 
 the baronet was obliged to go alone. 
 
 There was an ominous light in his K.-olhcr^j eyes, a 
 warning compression of tho mouth, and « look of trot«!)led 
 I mquiry in Mildred's face that told hm a revolaticii vas 
 coining. 
 
 His mother's powerful eyes transfixed him the iustunt ho 
 i^ppeared. 
 
 I thought your wife was coming?" was her lirst re- 
 mark. 
 
 *' Harriet had a shocking bad headaclie. She lias been 
 ill fkll day," he replied, hastily. " It was rjuito impossiblu 
 lor her to leave her room. She regrets — " 
 
 That will do, ^verai-dl" His mother rose a3 she 
 
 '; 1 
 
 ti 
 
i 
 
 l' 
 
 til 
 
 I 
 
 ' 
 
 ' 
 
 176 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 spoke, with a short laugh. " 1 understantl it all. Don't 
 troiiblo yourself to explain. Let us go to the dining-rooii? 
 — (liruior waits." 
 
 " iUit, my dear mother, it is really as I say. Harrie is 
 III." 
 
 Slio looked at him with a glance of infinite scorn and 
 con 1 0111 pt. 
 
 " 711? Yes, ill of a guilty conscience, perhaps! Such a 
 moUior — such a daughtor! I always knew how this mad 
 /y/r.s7////Yr//r6' would end. 1 don't know that I am surprisetl. 
 1 don't know that I regret it. I am only sorry that my 
 son's wife should be the first to disgrace the name of 
 Kingshind!" 
 
 Sir Everard started as ii an adder had stung him, turn- 
 ing dark red. 
 
 " Disgrace? Take care, mother! That is an ugly 
 word." 
 
 "It is. But, however uglj, it is always best to call 
 these things by their right names." 
 
 " These things! What under heaven doj'ou you moan?" 
 " Do you really need to ask?" she said, with cold con- 
 tempt. " Are you indrjd so blind and besotted where 
 this woman is concerned? Wliy, my son's wife is the talk 
 of the town, and my son sits hero and asflis mo what 1 
 moan?" 
 
 The red finsh of anger faded from the young husband's 
 face, and gave place to the ghastly hue of ashes. 
 
 "Mi.mni;'! mamma!" Mildred said, imploringly. 
 ** Pray don't! You are cruel! Don't say such dreadful 
 things!" 
 
 Her brother turned to her, hi.^ face white, bis lips trem- 
 bling with suppressed rage and wounded feeling. 
 
 " Your mother is cruel, and unjust, and unnatural!" 
 he said, in a hard, hoarse voice. *' Do you tell me what 
 slie means, Mildred." 
 
 '* Don't ask me, Everard!" Mildred said, in distress. 
 " We have heard cruel, wicked stories — false, I know — 
 about llarrie and — and a stranger — an American gentle- 
 man — who is stopping at the Dlue Bell Inn." 
 
 " Yes, Everard," his mother said, jiity for liim, hatred 
 of his wife, strangely mingled in look and tone, " your 
 bride of a month is the talk of tlio place. The names of 
 
THE UAKONET'S BlilDE. 
 
 177 
 
 Laily Kingslaiul and tliis unknown mun go wliisperud to- 
 getlier from ]i]» to lip." 
 
 " Wh;it ilo they say?" 
 
 Ho aske»l the r^uestion in a hard, nnnatural voice, the 
 deathly pallor of his face unchanging. 
 
 *' Notliing!" Mildred exclaimed, indignantly — ** noth- 
 ing but their own base suspicions! She nearly fainted at 
 tiriic sight of him. He showred her a picture, aiid she ran 
 out of the room and fell into hysterics. Since then he has 
 written to her, and mysterious personages — females in dis- 
 g!iise — visit him at the Blue liell. That is what they whis|)er, 
 Evurard: nothing more." 
 
 " Nothing more!** echoed her mother. ** Qi:ite enough, 
 1 think. What would you have. Miss Kingsland? Evor- 
 ard, who is this mauj''* 
 
 He looked at her, with a strident laugh. 
 
 *' You appear to know more than I do, mother. He is 
 an American — a traveling photograph artist — and my wife 
 never laid eyes on him until she saw him, the day after our 
 arrival, in the librar}'. As to the fainting: and the hyster- 
 ics, I chanced to be in the library all through that tirst in- 
 terview, and I saw neither one nor the other. I am sorry 
 to spoil the i>retty romance in which you take such evi- 
 dent delight, my gootl, kind, charitable mother; but truth 
 obliges me to tell you it is a fabrication from beginning to 
 end. And now, if you will be good enough to tell me tlio 
 name of the originator of this report, you will confer upon 
 mo the liist favor I shall ever ask of you. My wife's honor 
 is mine; and neither she nor 1 will ever set foot in a house 
 whei-e such stories are credited — not only credited, but ex- 
 ulted in. Tell me the name of your tale-maker. Lady 
 Kingsland, and jK^rmit me to wish you goml-evening. " 
 
 " Evenird!'* his sister cried, in agony. 
 
 lint he cut Iier short with an inii)atient wave of his hand. 
 
 *' Hush, Mi!dn>i; let my mother s{)eak. " 
 
 "1 have nothing to say." She stood haughiil before 
 him, and they looktx] eacli other full in the face, mother 
 anil son. *' My tale-maker is the whole town. You can 
 not punish them all. Sir Everard. There is truth in this 
 story, or it never would have originated; and he has w it- 
 ten to her — that is beyond a doubt. He has told it him- 
 self, and shown her reply.'* 
 
 ** It is as false as hell!" His eyes blazed like coals of 
 
 Un 
 
 
 n 
 
i \ 
 
 \t'i 
 
 m 
 
 1*1 ? 
 
 ; 
 
 U 
 
 i! 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 ! i 
 
 ! » 
 
 178 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 fire> " My wife is ae pure as the angels, and any one who 
 (hvres doubt that parity, even though it be the mother who 
 boro me, ig my enemy to the death!" 
 
 lie dashed out of the room, out of the house, mounted 
 Sir Gahdiad, and rode away as if Satan and his hosts were 
 after him. 
 
 " Mamma! mamma!" Mildi-ed cried, in unutterable re- 
 proach, '* what have you done?" 
 
 *"l'old him the truth, child." Her face was deathly 
 
 Eale, her hands and lips trembling convulsively. " It ia 
 etter he should know it, although that kuowleilgo parts 
 us forever.** 
 
 Like a man gone mad the young baronet galloped homo. 
 The sickly glimmer of the fitful moon shone on a face that 
 would never be more ghastly in his cotiin — on strained eyes 
 and com})ressed lips. It seemed to him but an instant 
 from the time he quitted The (J range until he dashed up 
 the avenue at Kiiigsland, leaped ot! his foaming bay, and 
 strode into the house. Straight to his wife's room he 
 went, tierce, invincible determination in every line of his 
 rigid face. 
 
 ** She shall tell mo ail — she shall, by Heaven!" he cried, 
 between hit- clinched teeth. 
 
 lie entered her dressing-room — she was not there; her 
 boudoir — she was not there; her bedroom — it too was 
 om})ty. He seized the bell and nearly tore it down. 
 Oluuilino, the maid, looked in with a startled face. 
 
 *' Whore is your mistress?" 
 
 The girl gazed round with a bewildered air. 
 
 '* is my lady not here, sir? She sent me away over an 
 hour ago. She was lying down in her dressing-room; she 
 said she was ill. " 
 
 He looked at her for a moment — it was evident she was 
 telling the simple truth. 
 
 " Send Miss Silver hero." 
 
 *' I am not sure that Miss Silver is in the house. Sir 
 Kverard. I saw her go out with Edwards some time ago 
 but 1 will go and see." 
 
 Claudine departed. Five minutes passed — ton; he stood 
 rigid as stone. ^JMien came steps — hurried, agitated — the 
 footsteps of a man and a woman. 
 
 He strode out and confronted them — Edwards, his valet, 
 
THE baronet's I5RIDH. 
 
 179 
 
 re- 
 
 am! iSybilla Silver. Both were dressed as from a reoent 
 walk; both wore strangely pale and agitated faces. 
 
 Etlwaitls barely repressed a cry at sight of his mastor, 
 with that fixed, awful face. 
 
 " What is it?" Sir Everard asked. 
 
 A dull presentiment of some horrible calamity had taken 
 possession of him, body and soul. 
 
 The valet looked at tSybillu in blank terror. Miss Silver 
 covered her face with both hands and turned away. 
 
 " What is it?" the baronet repeated, in a dull, thick 
 voice. *' AVhere is my wife?" 
 
 *' Sir Everard, I — I don't know how- 
 in the house. " 
 
 '* Where is she?" 
 
 ** She is- 
 
 ** Where?" 
 
 "In the Beech Walk." 
 
 -she — she is not 
 
 -in the grounds.*' 
 
 ti 
 
 With whom! 
 
 He knew befoi*e he put the question. He had left her 
 ill — unable to quit her chamber, as she siiid — and this was 
 how he found tier, oomiug home sooner thau was antici- 
 pated. 
 
 *' With whom?" 
 
 "With Mr. Parmaloe." 
 
 There was a dead pause. Sybilla clasped Ler hands and 
 looked imploringly up in his face. 
 
 "Don't be angry with us, Sir Everard; we could not 
 help seeing them. I lost a locket, and Edwards came to 
 help me look for it. It was by the merest chance we o«mo 
 upon them in the Beech Walk." 
 
 " I am not angry," still in that dull, thick voioe. 
 *' Bid they see you?" 
 
 "No, Sir Everai-d." 
 
 " Did you hear what they said?" 
 
 "No, Sir Everard; we would not have listened. They 
 were talking; my lady seemed dreadfully agitated, apiKjal- 
 ing to him, as it api)eared, while ho was cool and indiiler- 
 ent. Just before we came away we saw her give him all 
 the money in her purse. Ah! here she is now! For pity's 
 sftke, do not betray us, Sir Everard!" 
 
 She llitted away like a swift, noii^uloss ghost, closely fol- 
 lowed by the valet. And tin instant later Lady Kingsland, 
 wild and pale, and shroutJed iu a long mautie. turned to 
 
 V 1 
 
 
 i) . 
 
180 
 
 THE JJAKONKT'8 BKIDE. 
 
 enter herdreasing-room, auil found hericlf face to face with 
 her wronged husband. 
 
 m 'I 
 
 CnAPTEU XXV. 
 
 THE BREAKING OF THE KTOKM. 
 
 She looked at him and recoiled with a cry of dismay. 
 lie stooil before her so ghastly, so awful, that with a blind, 
 unthinking motion of intense terror she 2)ut out both 
 hands as if to keep him off. 
 
 "You have reason to fear me!" he said, in a hoarse, 
 unnatural voice. " Wives have been murdered for less 
 than this!'' 
 
 Sybilla and Edwards heard the ominous words, and 
 looketl blankly in each other's faces. I'hoy liuard no more. 
 The baronet caught his wife's wrist in a grasp of iron, 
 drew her into the dressing-room, and closed tlie door, lie 
 stood with his back to it, gazing at her, his blue eyes filled 
 with lurid rage. 
 
 " Where have you been?" 
 
 lie asked the question in a voice more terrible from its 
 menacing calm than any wild outburst of fury. 
 
 llis wife's eyes met his, full and clear and i)ioud. She 
 was deathly ])a]e; but she came of a haughty and fearless 
 race, and in this hour of her extremity she did not blench. 
 
 " in the Beech Walk," she answered, i)romi)tly. 
 
 *' With whom!'"' 
 
 "With Mr. rarmaloo." 
 
 ller glance never fell. She looked at him proudly, un- 
 quailingly, full in the face. The look in hi.) lluming eyes, 
 the tone of his ominous voice, wore bitterly insulting, and 
 with insult her imi)erious s])irit rose. 
 
 " And you dare stand before me — you dare look mo in 
 the face," he said, between his clinched teeth, " and tell 
 mo this?" 
 
 " I dare!" she said, proudly. " Vou hiive yet to learn 
 what J dare do. Sir Everard Kingsljiudl" 
 
 Sb' drew herself up in her bi;;iiily and her p'-ide, v,vv.v,t 
 and defiant. Her long liuir fell louse and uii'jound, licr 
 .fai;c was colorless as jiuirble; but her dark eyes were llasli- 
 jng with anger and woundnl pridi,!, jiiid at licr brightest 
 she had never looked mon^ beautirul than sh«! did now. 
 In spitu of himself he soileuod a little at the sight. 
 
 
 , 
 
with 
 
 THE BAKONET'S bride. 
 
 181 
 
 arse, 
 lusu 
 
 ** So beautiful and so lost!" ho said, bitterly. ** So ut- 
 terly deceitful and depraved! Surely what they tell of her 
 mother must be true. The taint of dishonor is in the 
 blood!" 
 
 The change was instantaneous. The pallor of her face 
 turned to a burning red. She clasped her hands with a 
 sudden spasm over her heart. 
 
 " My mother!" she gasped. " What do you say of 
 her?" 
 
 '* What they say of you — that she was a false and wicked 
 wife. Deny it if you can. " 
 
 Again that change. The crimson flush died out, and 
 left her white, and rigid, and cold, with eyes that literally 
 blazed. 
 
 '* No," she said, with an imperial gesture of scorn, " 1 
 deny nothing. If my IiuhI tind can believe such a vile 
 slander of his wife of a month, let it be. 1 scorn to deny 
 what he credits so easily." 
 
 Sir Everard broke into a bitter laugh. 
 
 *' I am afraid it would tax oven your invention, my lady, 
 to deny these vt3ry plain facts. I leave you in your room, 
 too ill to leave it, too ill by far to ride with me to my 
 mother's, but not too ill to get up and meet your lo\ ta- — 
 shall I say it, madanie? — clandestinely in the lieoch ^Vuifc 
 as soon as 1 am gone! You should bo a little moie care- 
 ful, madanui, and make sure bcf« you hold tho.'o coiili- 
 dential icfc-a-fr/ci^, that the servji . are not listening ind 
 looking on. Lady Kingshwid ai Mr. Parnuilee are tlie 
 talk of the county already. To Tight's meeting will be a 
 last honiic bouche added to the s) y dish of scandal." 
 
 *' Have you done?" she said. iter than ashes. '* Have 
 you any more insults to olTer? 
 
 *' Insults!" the baronet rei»ejitcd, hoarse with passloti. 
 " You do well, madame, to talk of insults — lost, fallen 
 creature that you are! You liaA ti dishonored an honorable 
 name; betrayed a husband who loved and trusted you with 
 all his heart; blighted and ruined his life; covered him 
 with disgrace! And you sUuul there and talk of insult! I 
 have loved you as man never lo- 1 wonuui before, but (Joti 
 help you, Harriet Kingsland, ii i had a jMstol now!" 
 
 She fell down on her knee.s before him, and held u]) her 
 clasped hands. 
 
 " Kill me!" sho cried. " I am licrc at your feet- have 
 
 I 
 
 i'l 1 
 
 r 1 
 
 'If 
 
 I ■ .; 
 
 iH! 
 
 'f 
 
If 
 
 I ' 
 
 382 
 
 THE BAROKET'a BRIDE. 
 
 Dioroy and stab nic to tho heart, l>ut do not drive me mad 
 witli your Jiorriblo roproaohoa! May (Jod forgive mo if I 
 liiivo brought dishonor ii})on yon, for 1 never meant it! 
 Never — never — so help nio Heaven!" 
 
 " liiBC, madanio!" J lis voiee hhook with his inward 
 agony. " Kneel to Him who will judge you for your baso- 
 nosa; it is too late to kneel to me! Oh, great CJod!" — ho 
 turneil away and covered his fac«» with his Ijands — " to 
 think how I liave loved this woman, and how bitterly sho 
 has deceived me!'* 
 
 The unutterable agony of his tone — that wild, fierce cry 
 of anguish — to her dying day ITarriet Kingsland might 
 never forget it. Jlia words burst from him, every one bit- 
 ter, as if tinged with his Jieart's blood. 
 
 " I loved her and T trusted her! I would have died 
 to saye lier one hour of pain, and this is my reward! Dis- 
 honored — disgraced — my life blighted — my liearfc broken 
 — dticoived from Ih'st to last!" 
 
 " No, no, no!" sho shrieked aloud, and ehmg to his 
 knees. " I swear it to you, Everard! I am guiltless! By 
 all my liopos of heaven., I am your true, your faithful, your 
 loving wife!" 
 
 ile turned and looked up at i or in white amaze. 
 Truth, that no living being could doubt, was stamped in 
 agony ()n that upturned, beautiful face. lie looked at hor 
 in mute anguish words can never paint, for he loved her — 
 ho loved her with a su})reme love. 
 
 "Hear mo, Everard !** sho cried — "my own beloved 
 husband! I met this man to-night because he holds a se- 
 cret I am sworn to keep, and that places me in his power. 
 But, by all that is high and holy, I have told you the aim- 
 ido truth about him! I never saw him in all my life until 
 1 saw him that day in tho library. I have never set 
 \ eyes on him since, except for an hour to-night. Oh, be- 
 lieve me, Everard, or I shall die hero at your feet!'* 
 
 " And you never wrote to him?" he asked. 
 
 " Never — never!" 
 
 " Nor ho to you?" 
 
 " Once— the scrawl you saw Syljdla Silver fetch me. I 
 never wrote — I never sent him even a message." 
 
 *' No?" His powerful eyes transfixed her. '* How, 
 then, came you two to moot to-night?" 
 
 ** Ho wished to see me — to extort money from me for 
 
THE IJAUONKTS UKIDK. 
 
 183 
 
 tbo koopiiig; of this Hccrot — ami liu sent word by Hjfbillu 
 SiiVMi'. My au.ssv'cr was, ' I will b(! in Llie ikjoiib Walk at 
 oiiflit to-ni^bt. If bo wiubud to seu nic let bini come to 
 mu thoro.' " 
 
 " 'i'bon you own to bavo doliberatoly doceivod me? Tbo 
 proterulud beadacbe was — a lie?" 
 
 "No; it was true.*' JSbo j)ut boi band distractedly to 
 ber tbrobbing forebead. " Itacbes still, until 1 am almost 
 blind witb tbe pain. Ob, Evorard^ be merciful! Have a lit- 
 tle j)ity for me, for I love you, and I am tbe most wretcbed 
 creature alive I*' 
 
 Ho drew back from ber outstretcbed armswitb a gesture 
 of liorce repulsion. 
 
 '* You sbowyour love in a singular way, my Lady Kings- 
 land. It is not by keeping guilty secrets from your bus- 
 band — by meeting otber men by nigbt and by stealtb in tbo 
 grounds — that you are to cc \ce me of your love. Tell 
 mo wbat tbis mystery means. J command you, by your 
 wifely obedience, tell me tbis secret at onoe!*' 
 
 " r can not!" 
 
 " You mean you will not. " 
 
 "I can not." 
 
 Ilia blue eyes gleamed, but be restrained bimself. 
 
 *' It is a secret of guilt and of sbame? Tell me tbe 
 trutb?'' 
 
 " It is; but tbe guilt is not mine. Tbe sbame — tbe bit- 
 ter sbame — and tbe burning expiation, (rod help me, are!" 
 
 " Anil you refuse to tell me?" 
 
 " Everard, I bave sworn!" sbe cried out, wildly. 
 " Woulil you bave mo break a deatb-bed oatb?" 
 
 " 1 would bave ycu break ten tbousund sucb oatbs," be 
 exclaimed, passionately, " wben tboy stand between you 
 and your busbaud! llarriet llunsden, your dead fatber 
 was a villain!" 
 
 ISbe sprung to ber feet — sbe btul been kneeling all tbis 
 time — and confronted bim like a Saxon pytboness. lier 
 great gray eyes actually llasbed lire. 
 
 " (Jo!'' sbe cried. " Jjeave me this instant! Wore you 
 ten times my busbaiid, you should never insult the mem- 
 ory of tbe best, tbe noblest, tbo most devoted of fathers! 
 I will never forgive you the words you bave spokau until 
 my dying day!" 
 
 '* You forgive!" Uo r«turted, witb sueeriug scorn, »tuug 
 
 ■r 
 
 * 
 
 • I 
 
 m 
 
 t\ 
 
 I 
 
I! 
 
 184 
 
 THE IJAliONKTS IIKIDE. 
 
 out of all gonorosity. " Forgiveness is no word for such 
 li]>s us yours, Lady Kingslamll Keep your guilty seorot, 
 or your fatiior's or your mother's, whosoever it may be; 
 but not as my wife! ^'o, miidame! when the world begins 
 to point the Hngor of scorn, through her own evil-doing, at 
 the woman I have married, then from that hour she is no 
 longer my wife. The woman who meets by night, ami by 
 stealth, the sharer of her hidden secrets, is no longer 
 worthy to bear an honorable name. Tlie law of divorce 
 shall free you and your secrets together; but until Liiat 
 freedom comes, I command you — do you hear, mistress? — 
 1 command you to meet this man no more! On your })eril 
 you write to him, or speaic to him, or meet him again. If 
 you do, by the living Jjord, 1 will murder you botTi!" 
 
 He dashed out of the room lilie a num gone mad, leav- 
 ing her standing petrified in the middle of the iloor. 
 
 One instant she stood, tlio room lieaving, the walls rock- 
 ing around her; then, with a low, moaning <'ry, siio tot- 
 tered blindly forward and fell like a stone to the iloor. 
 
 The storm burst at midnight. A gale surged through 
 the trees with a noise like thunder; the rain fell in tor- 
 rents. And while rain and wind beat tempestuously over 
 the earth and the roaring sea, the husband paced up and 
 down the library, with clinched teeth and hicked hands 
 and death-like face — for the time utterly mad — and the 
 wife lay alone in her luxur'HTit room, deaf and blind to 
 the tempest, in a deep swoon. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "the PEItSON IN LONDON." 
 
 The February day was closing in London in a thick, 
 clammy, yellow fog. No keen frost, no sparkling stars 
 brightened the chill spring twilight; the sky, where it 
 could be seen, was of a uniform leaden tint, the damp 
 mist wet you to the bone, and a long, lamentable blast 
 whistled around the corners and jjierced chillingly through 
 the thickest wraps — a bleak and ghostly gloaming — and 
 passengers strode through the greasy black muil with surly 
 faces and ittoned-up great-coats and the inevitable Lon- 
 don umb fu 
 
 At the dow of a dull and dirty little lodging u wom- 
 
THE BARONKT'S IMUOE. 
 
 185 
 
 an sat, in tliis durk j^Iouniing, f,'ft>ing out at the jiat^scra- 
 by. It was a stulTy, naisty littlo buck street, and tboro 
 wore vory fow i)aasor8-by this bluc^k, bad February even- 
 ing. The liouso hud a perpetual odor of onions and cab- 
 bage and dinner, as it is ni the nature of sncli houses to 
 luive, and the room, " first Jloor front,'* was in the hist 
 stage of lodging-house shabbinjss and discomfort. 
 
 The woman was quite alonj — a still, dark ligure sitting 
 motionless by the grimy window. She might have betiu 
 carved in stone, so still she sat — so still she had sat for 
 more than two hours. Her worn hand lay idly in her laj), 
 lier dark eyes looked straight before her with a lixed, dull 
 despair dreadful to see. 
 
 iter dress was black, of the i)0orest sort, frayiid and 
 worn, and she shivered under a threadbare shawl drawn 
 close arountl her shoulders. Yet, in spite of poverty aiid 
 sickness, and despair and middle age, the wonuvn was 
 beautiful still, with a dark and haggard and wild sort of 
 beauty tlat would have haunted one to one's dying day. 
 
 In her youth, and her first freshness and innocence, she 
 must have been lovely as a dream; but that loveliness was 
 all gone now — fierce sin and burning shame and bitter deg- 
 radation were all Rtj»mi)ed indelibly on that dark, desjmir- 
 ing face. 
 
 The listless hinds lay itill, the great, glittering dark 
 eyes stared blankly at the dingy houses opposite, at the 
 straggling jiedestrians, at the thickening gloom. '^Fhe 
 short February day was almost night now, the street-lamps 
 ilared yellow and dull athwart the clammy fog. 
 
 " Another day," the woman murmured, slowly — " an- 
 other endless day of sick despair gone. Alone and dying 
 — the most miserable creature on the wide earth. Oh, 
 great God, who didst forgive Magdalene, have a little i)ity 
 
 on me 
 
 !'» 
 
 A spasm of fierce anguish crossed her face for an instant, 
 fading away, and leaving the hopeless despair more hope- 
 less than before. 
 
 " I am mad, worse than mad, to hojjc as I do. She will 
 never look upon my guilty face — she so puro, so stainless, 
 so sweet — how dare 1 ask it? Oh, what happy women 
 there are in the world I Wives who love and are beloved, 
 and are faithful to the end I And 1 — think how I drag on 
 living with all that makes life worth liaving gone fore' ur. 
 
 M 
 
 
186 
 
 TiTK baronet's rniDE. 
 
 whilo thoBO happy onoH, whoae lives uro one blissful dream, 
 nro t«'iri by dcjitli from ull wlu) lovo thoih. To think that 
 ] onco hml i\ liuHbund, ti (;hil(l, a home; to think what I 
 aim now — to think of it, and not to go mad I" 
 
 Sho laid hor lucc againnt tho coltl glass with a misernblo 
 groan. " Ilavo pity on mo, oh. Lord!" was hur despair- 
 ing wail, " and let mc die!'' 
 
 There was a rush of carriago-whcels without, a hansom 
 cab whirled up to tho door, and a tall young man leaped 
 out. Two mniutes more and the tall young man bural 
 impetuously into the dark room. 
 
 *' AH alono, Mrs. Donover," called a cheery voice, " and 
 all in the dark? J)ari\ne88 isn't wholesome — too conducive 
 to low B})irit8 and the blue devils. Halloo! Jane Anne, 
 idol of niy young ad'ections, bring up the gas." 
 
 lie leaned over tho greasy bahister, shouting into tho in- 
 visible regions below, and was answered jjromptly enough 
 by a grimy maid-servant with a llickering (li])-candle. 
 
 " 'Tain't my fault, nor yet missis's, ' said this grimy 
 maid, in an aggrieved tone. " Mrs. Denover will ait in 
 the dark, which I've — " 
 
 "That will do, .lano Anno," taking the dij) and \m- 
 coromoniously cutting her short. " Vamose! evaj)orate! 
 When J want you I'll sing out." 
 
 He re-entered tho room and placed tho candle on tho 
 table. Tho woman hail risen, and stood with both hands 
 clasped over her heart, a wihl, gleaming, eager light in 
 her black eyes, liut she strove to restrain herself. 
 
 " I am glad to see you back, Mr. Parnuvlee," she said, 
 falteringly. " 1 have been expecting you for the last two 
 days." 
 
 " And wearing yourself to skin and bone, as I know you 
 would, with your fidgets. What's the good of taking on 
 so!'' I told you I'd come back as quick as I could, and I've 
 done 80. It ain't my fault that the time's been so long — 
 it's Lady Kingsland's. " 
 
 The wild look grew wilder; she came a step nearer. 
 
 " You have seen her?'* 
 
 "That I have. And very well worth seeing sho is, I 
 toll you. She's as handsome as a picture, though not so 
 han«l«orae as you must have been at her age, either, Mrs. 
 Denover. And she says she'll see you." 
 
 " Oh, thank God!" 
 
 i 
 
sss^cma 
 
 THE rAPONRT's BRTDl, 
 
 187 
 
 lir- 
 
 i 
 
 Tko woman tottorc<l back and sunk into a chair, ntterly 
 Hnnblc l.o Htund. 
 
 " Tlmt'H ri<,'lit," mud Mr. rarnmloe; '* take a seat, and 
 let MS talk iL all o\or at our eiisi>. ** 
 
 He took ono liluist'lf, not in tho ordinary hunidruni 
 fanhion, but witli hia fac;o to tho ba(^k, his arms (irosscd 
 over it, and his long Icgn twistud 8(!ii'ntilioalIy round tho 
 bottom. 
 
 " I'vo soon him, and I've soon her/* said tho j)hotog- 
 raplior, " and a iiner-looking <'ouj)i(5 ain't from licro to 
 anyw'horo. And as tho Lord mado 'em. Ho matched 'em, 
 for an all-lircd jn'ouder pair you couldn't meet in a sum- 
 mer-day's walk." 
 
 *' Siio comes of a proud race," tho woman murmured, 
 feebly. ** The ITunsilens are of the best and <ddest stock 
 in England." 
 
 *' And she's a thorougli-hred, if over there was a tlior- 
 ough-bred one yet, and blood will show in a wonum as well 
 m a horse. Yes, she's ]m-()U(1, and she's handsome and 
 high-8tep])ing, and dreadful cut up, I can tell you, at tho 
 news 1 brought her." 
 
 The woman covered her faco with her hands with a low 
 moan. Mr. Parnuiloo com])()setlly went on: 
 
 " She knew your picture tho minute she cla])ped eyes on 
 it. I was afraid she might holler, as you wimmin do, at 
 tho sight, and her husband and anotlier young woman 
 were present; but she's got grit, that girl, the real sort. 
 Sho turns round, by d'eorge! and gives me such a look — 
 went through me like a carving-knife — and gets up with- 
 ont a word and walks away. And she never sent for mo 
 nor asked a (juestion about it, although I mentioned you 
 gave it to me yourself, until 1 foroed her to it, and after 
 that no one need talk to nie about tho curiosity of the fair 
 
 jOvJL* 
 
 )) 
 
 '* Does her husband know?" 
 
 " Tso; and he's as jealous as a Turk. I wrote her a note 
 — just a line — and sent it by that other young woman I 
 spoke of, and what docs ho do but come to me like a roar- 
 ing lion, and like to pummel my innards out! 1 owe him 
 one for that, and I'll i)ay him olT, too. I had to send 
 again to my lady before she would condescend to see me, 
 but when she did, 1 must say she behaved like a trump. 
 SJio gave me thirty sovereigns plump down, promised me 
 
 I, 
 
 '\ 
 
,.^.. 
 
 
 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 1.1 
 
 128 
 
 ■ 50 
 
 
 12.2 
 
 I ■;£ 12.0 
 
 MUl- 
 
 I: 
 I 
 
 IL25 11.4 
 
 1.6 
 
 Photographic 
 
 Sciences 
 Corporation 
 
 23 WfST MAIN STREET 
 
 WEBSTER, N.Y. U580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
 
i^4 
 
i.^ 
 
 :.K^<!**..;f»«,,.^»,^+^i-„ 
 
 188 
 
 THE BARONET S BRIDB. 
 
 three hundred pounds, and told mo to fetch you along. 
 It ain't as much as I expected to make in this speculation; 
 but, on the whole, I consider it a pretty tolerable fair 
 stroke of business." 
 
 " Thank God!" the woman whispered, her face still 
 hidden — "thank God! thank God! 1 shall see my lost 
 darling once before I die!" 
 
 " Now don't you go and take on, Mrs. Denover," ob- 
 served Mr. Parmalee, " or you'll use yourself up, you 
 know, and then you won't be able to travel to-morrow. 
 And after to-morrow, and after you see your — Well, my 
 lady, there's the other little trip back to Uncle Sam's do- 
 mains you've got to make; for, of course, you ain't a-go- 
 iug to stay in England and pester that poor young lady's 
 life out?" 
 
 " No," said Mrs. Denover, mournfully — " no, I will 
 never trouble her again. Only let me see her once more, 
 and I will go back to my native land and wait until the 
 merciful God sends me death. " 
 
 " Oh, pooh!" said the artist; " don't you talk like that 
 — it kind of makes my flesh creep, and there ain't no sense 
 in it. There's Aunt Deborah, down to our section — you 
 remind me of her — she was always going on so, wishing 
 she was in heaven, or something horrid, the whole time. 
 It's want of victuals more than anything else. You 
 haven't had any dinner, I'll be bound!" 
 
 *' No; I could not eat." 
 
 ** Nor supper?" 
 
 *' No; I never thought of it." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee got up, and was out of the room and 
 hanging o\er the baluster in a twinkling. 
 
 " Here you, Jane Anne!" 
 
 Jane Anne appeared. 
 
 *' Fetch up supper, and look sharp — supper for two. 
 Go 'round the corner and get us some oysters and a pint 
 of port, and fetch up some baked potatoes and hot mut- 
 ton chops — and quick about it." 
 
 "Now, then," said Mr. Parmnlee, reappearing, "I've 
 been and dispatched the slavey for provisions, and you've 
 got to eat, marm, when they come. I won't have people 
 living on one meal a day, and wishing they were in heaven, 
 when I'm around. You've got to eat and drink, or you 
 won't go a step with me to-morroir. '* 
 
 if 
 

 r>AXl^£/« 
 
 •tQQ 
 
 ion; 
 fair 
 
 Tbc threat was effective. The woman looked at him 
 with wistful, yearning dark eyes. 
 
 " 1 will do whatever you think best, Mr. Parmalee," 
 she said, humbly. " You have been very good to me.^' 
 
 a 
 
 I know it," said Mr. Parmalee, with a nod. 
 
 it 
 
 always do the polite thing witli your sex. My mother was 
 a woman. She's down in Maine now, and can churn and 
 milk eight cows, and do chores, and make squash pie. 
 Oh! them squash pies of my old lady's require to be eat to 
 be believed in; and, for her sake, I always take to elderly 
 female parties in distress. Here's the forage. Come in, 
 Jane Anne, beloved of my soul, and dump 'cm down and 
 
 go." 
 
 Jane Anne did. Mr. Parmalee whif>ped off the covers, 
 and a most savory odor arose. 
 
 " Now, Mrs. Denover, you sit right up and fall to. 
 Here's oysters, and here's mutton chops, raging hot, and 
 baked potatoes — delicious to look at. And here's a glass 
 of port wine, and you've got to drink it without a whim- 
 per. Mind what 1 told you; you don't budge a step to- 
 morrow unless you eat a hearty supper to-night. I've said 
 it, and what I say is like the laws of the Swedes and — 
 what's their names?" 
 
 " You are very good to me," Mrs. Denover repeated, 
 humbly and gratefully. *' What would have become of 
 me but for you?" 
 
 She strove to eat and drink to please him and to sustain 
 her feeble strength, but every morsel seemed to choke her. 
 She pushed away her plate at last and looked at him im- 
 ploringly. 
 
 " J can not eat another mouthful. Indeed I would if I 
 could. I have no appetite at all of late." 
 
 '* That's plain to be seen. Well, if you can't, you 
 can't, of course. And now, as it's past nine, the best 
 thing you can do is to go to bed at once, and get a good 
 sleep before starting on your journey." 
 
 With the same humility she had evinced throughout, 
 the woman obeyed at once. Mr. Parmalee, left alone, 
 sat over his oysters and his port, luxuriating in the thirty 
 sovereigns in the present and the three hundred pounds in 
 the prospective. 
 
 " It's been an uncommon good investment," he reflect- 
 ed '* and knocks th« photograph business into a cocked 
 
 I 
 11 
 
 i i !l 
 
 ;•' ^ 
 
r?: 
 
 XQO 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 hat. Then there's Sybilla — she goes with the oargMa, 
 too. Three hundred pounds and a handsome, black-eyed 
 wife. I wish she hadn't such a devil of a temper; but it's 
 in the grain of your black-eyed gals. I'll take her home 
 to the farm, and if mother doesn't break her in she'll bo 
 the first she ever failed with." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee retired betimes, slept soundly, and was 
 up, brisk and breezy, somewhere in the gray and dismal 
 day-dawn. Breakfast, piping hot, smoked on the table 
 when Mrs. Denover appeared — a wan, worn specter in the 
 hollow morning light. 
 
 " Eat, drink and be merry," said Mr. Parmalee. 
 " Here's the feast of reason and the How of soul. Go in 
 and win, Mrs. Denover. Try that under-done steak, and 
 don't look quite so much like the ghost of Hamlet's fa- 
 ther, if you can help it." 
 
 The woman tried with touching humility to please him, 
 and did her best, but that best was a miserable failure. 
 
 A cab came for them in half an hour, and whirled them 
 off on the first stage of their journey. 
 
 In the golden light of the sunny spring afternoon Mr. 
 Parmalee made his appearance again at the Blue Bell Inn, 
 with a mysterious veiled lady, all in black, hanging on his 
 arm. 
 
 *' This here lady is my maiden aunt, come over from 
 the State of Maine to see your British institutions," Mr. 
 Parmalee said, in fluent fiction, to the obsequious land- 
 lady. ** She's writing a book, and she'll mention the 
 Blue Bell favorably in it. Her name is Miss Hcpzekiah 
 Parmalee. Let her have your best bedroom and all the 
 luxuries this here hotel affords, and I " — with a superb 
 wave of the hand — " will foot the bill.'* 
 
 He lighted a cigar and sallied forth, leaving his pale, 
 ishrinking companion in charge of the curious landlady. 
 
 *'Miss Hepzokiah Parmalee " dined alone in her own 
 room; then sat by the window, with white face and 
 strained eyes, waiting for Mr. Parmalee's return. 
 
 It was almost dark when he came. He entered hurded- 
 ly, flushed and excited. 
 
 '* Fortune favors us this bout, Mrs. Denover," he said. 
 ** I've met an old cliurn down on the wharf yonder — a 
 countryman — and I'd as soon have expected to find the 
 President of the United States iu this little one-horse town. 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 191 
 
 Mie name's Davis— Ciiptain Davis, of the schooner * An- 
 gelina uobbs '—-anti, he's going to sail for Southampton 
 this very nigl.it, if the wind holds. There's a streak of 
 iucif, marm. A free passage for you and for me up to 
 Southampton to-night." 
 
 '* But my— Lady Kingsland?" she faltered. 
 
 " I've made that all right, too. 1 met one of the 
 flunkies — an undor-gardenor — and sent word to Sybilla — a 
 young lady that lives in the house — that we were here, and 
 that she'd better see us at once. I expect an answer 
 every — Ah, by George I speak of the — here she is!" 
 
 It was Miss Sybilla Silver, saihng gracefully down the 
 street. Mr. Parmalee darted out and met her — superbly 
 handsome, her dark cheeks flushed with some inward ex- 
 citement, her black eyes gleaming with strange fire. The 
 stoical artist was fairly dazzled. 
 
 " Is she here?" she breathlessly asked. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee nodded toward the window. It was not a 
 very lover-like greeting. They did not even shake hands; 
 but then curious eyes were watching them. 
 
 Sybilla gazed up a moment at the pale, haggarct face 
 with her gleaming eyes. 
 
 " They are alike," she said, under her breath — '* moth- 
 er and daughter — and that face is scarcely more haggard 
 than the other now. We have had a dreadful quari«l, 
 Mr. Parmalee, since you left, up at the Court" 
 
 " Want to know about me?" 
 
 " Partly. About the secret — about that meeting in the 
 Beech Walk. He absolutely threatened her life." 
 
 " Should like to have been there to hear him," said Mr. 
 Parmalee. " It would be paying off old scores a little. 
 How did she take it?" 
 
 *' She fainted. Her maid found her in a dead swoon 
 next morning. She did not tell Sir Everard, by my 
 advice; he would have been for making it up directly. 
 They have not met since — my doing, too. He thinks she 
 is sulking in her room. He is half mad to be reconciled 
 — to make a fool of himself, asking pardon, and all that 
 ^-but I have taken good care he shall not He thinks she 
 is obstinate and sullen; she thinks he is full of nothing 
 but rage and revenge. It is laughable to manage them." 
 
 " i'un to you, but death to them/' observed the artist 
 "* Yeu are flinty, Sybilla, and no snistake. I'm pr©tt,v 
 
 H: 
 
 •t 
 
 I ' 
 
 1 
 
 rf*^ 
 
 m 
 
 i 
 
192 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 * 
 
 
 hard myself, but I couldn't torment folks like that in eolft 
 blood. lt*s none of my business, however, and 1 don't 
 care how high you pile the agony on him. Did you tell 
 her the elderly party was here?" 
 
 *' Yes. She has not left her room for three days. She 
 IS the shadow of her former self, and she was dreadfully 
 digitated upon hearing it; but she answered, firmly, * 1 will 
 .ice her, and at once. 1 will meet her to-night. ' 1 asked 
 whore, and then, for the first time, she was at a loss." 
 
 " The Beech Walk," suggested the artist. 
 
 " The Beech Walk is watched. Sir Everard's spies are 
 on the lookout. No — I know a better place. The young 
 plantation slopes down to the very water's edge; the 
 shrubbery is thick and dense, the spot gloomy; no one 
 ever goes there. You can come by water and fetch her in 
 the boat. Land on the shore under the stone terrace, 
 about midnight. All will have retired, and my lady will 
 meet you there." 
 
 "And you, Sybilla? The old lady and me, we sail at 
 the turn of the tide for Southampton — from there to take 
 passage for America. I suppose you hain't forgotten your 
 promise to marry me?" 
 
 She laughed softly — a sweet, derisive laugh. 
 
 "Is it likely, George? I will follow you to America 
 and we will be married there. It is impossible for me to 
 go with you now. You can wait a couple of mouths, caii 
 you not?" 
 ' But—" 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm softly and looked up in 
 his face with luminous eyes of dusky splendor. 
 
 " You must wait, George. 1 love you, and I will follow 
 you and be your true and devoted wife. But you must 
 wait a little. Say you agree, and let us part until we 
 meet again — where? In New York?" 
 
 " I suppose so," Mr. Parmalee responded, gruffly. 
 " You're boss in this business, it seems, and I've got to 
 do as you say. But it's hard on a fellow; 1 calk'lated on 
 taking you over with me." 
 
 " Would you have me go to you penniless? If you wait 
 1 will come to you with a fortune. Don't ask questions, 
 and don't stand staring. Believe me, and trust me, and 
 wait. You will bo on the stone terrace at twelve to-night?" 
 She will," said the Annirican. "I'll wait in the 
 
 (< 
 
THE r.ARONET S BRIDB. 
 
 "a 
 
 199 
 
 boat. ^Tain't likely thoy want me to bo present at tlieir 
 interview. Just remind my lady to fetch along the throe 
 hundred pounds, and don't let her fail to come. I want 
 to sail in the * Angelina Dobbs ' to-night. " 
 
 *' She will not fail. She will come." 
 
 Her eyes blazed up with a lurid fire as sne said it. A 
 strange, unearthly light illumined her dark face for an in- 
 stant, and was gone. 
 
 *' She will be there,'' she said, '* and she shall fetch the 
 three hundred pounds. Do you not fail!" 
 
 " I will not. Will you be there, too, Sybilla?" 
 
 ** I? Of course not. There is no need of mo." 
 
 " Then we say good-bye here?" 
 
 *^Yes. Good-bye, George, until we meet in Now 
 York." 
 
 She laughed up in his face — a laugh of pure derision; 
 but he did not know it. 
 
 *' I will write to you from there," he said, wringing her 
 hand. " Good-bye, Sybilla! I will be at the trysting- 
 place to-night, lie sure the other party is, too. " 
 
 *' Without fail. Adieu, and — forever!" 
 
 She waved her hand and flitted away, uttering the last 
 word under her breath. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee watched her out of sight, heaved a heavy 
 sigh, and went back to the house. 
 
 Swiftly Sybilla Silver fluttered along in the chill even- 
 ing wind, her face to the sunset sky. But not the pale 
 yellow luster of that February sunset lighted her dark face 
 with that lurid, unnatural light — the flame burned within. 
 Two fierce red spots blazed on either ciieek; her cyea 
 glowed like living coals; her hands were clinched under 
 ner shawl. 
 
 " She will be there," she whispered, under her brcatk 
 — '* she will be there, but she never will return. By the 
 wrongs of the dead, by the vengeance I have sworn, this 
 night shall be her last on earth. And he shall pay tha 
 penalty — my oath will be kept, the astrologer's prediction 
 iHl^Ued, and 2enith the gypsy avenged I" 
 
 :^i 
 
 :i'i. 
 
194 
 
 THE BAROKET'S BKIDE. 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 CHAPTEK XXVil. 
 
 •' HAVE YOU PRAYED TO-NTGllT, DKSDEMOl^A?" 
 
 I'lfE Sim went down — a fiurco and vvratlifiil sunset. 
 Bluck and brazen yellow ilanied in the western sky; the sea 
 hiy glassy and broathietis; the wind came in fitful gusts 
 until the sun went down, and then died out in dead and 
 ominous calm. The trees hi the ^Dark shivered and 
 moaned — their prescience of coming storm; inky clouds 
 scudded over the wrathful sky; night fell an hour befor« 
 its time. 
 
 My lady sat by her chamber window, looking out af 
 black sea and blacker sky. Exquisite pictures, wonderful 
 bric-a-brac treasures, inlaid tables and cabinets, richest 
 carpets and curtains, and chairs that were like ivory 
 touched up with gold, made the room a miracle of beauty. 
 
 Books and flowers — all of the brightest and best — fuU- 
 length mirrors, a bijou of a Swiss clock that played lovely 
 kittle tunes-- everything love and money combined coald 
 procure was there to brishton my lady's bower. 
 
 But my lady herself, sitting alone amid the rose-colored 
 curtains, looking blankly out at the menacing sky, wore a 
 face as dark as that sky itself. She had wasted to a ahad- 
 ow; dark circles under her hollow eyes told of sleepless 
 nights and wretched days; her cheeks were haggard, her 
 lips bloodless. 
 
 The white morning-dress she still wore clung loosely 
 around hei wasted figure; all the bright hair was pasted 
 impatiently off her face and confined in a net. 
 
 What did it matter what she wore, since she never left- 
 the room — since his eyes never fell on her? 
 
 No one who had seen Harrie llunsden, radiant as 
 Hebe, blooming as Venus, daring as Diana, at the mem- 
 orable fox-hunt of a little more than a year ago, wooid 
 ever have recognized this haggard, pallid, wretched-kok- 
 iug Lady Kingsland as the same. 
 
 She sat still and alone, gazing out at the dreary desola- 
 tion of earth and heaven. The great house was stili as a 
 tomb; the bustle of the servants' regions was far removed, 
 the gnawing of a mouse behind the black paneling, the 
 ioft ticking of th@ toy clock soujidod unnaturally loud. 
 
THE BAUONET*B BRIDE, 
 
 19a 
 
 The pale, fixed fuoe, the duck, despairing eyes were 
 stran;,'oly like that otlnu- woru i'aue that had gazed from 
 the shabby London loilging-hi)U80 but two evenings before. 
 
 " Darkening,'*' Harriot thouglit, looking at the leaden 
 twilight — "darkening, like my life. Not two months a 
 wi^i, and his love and trust gone forever. May Heaven 
 piOy me, for there is none on earth!" 
 
 There was a tap at the door. Lady Kingsland had 
 learned to knovv that soft, light tap — ^he had heard it 
 often of late. A shiver ran over her, her pale lips com- 
 pressed, her face set cold and rigid as marble. 
 
 "■ Come in,'' she said; and Sybilla entered. 
 
 She did not pause at the closed door as usual; she glided 
 noiselessly across the room and stood beside her. So like 
 a ghost she camo, her dead-black garments making no 
 rustle, her footfall making no sound, her white face awfully 
 corpse-like in the spectral light, her black eyes glowing 
 like a cat's in the dark; my lady shrunk in absolute 
 affright. 
 
 " Don't come any nearer!'' she cried, putting out her 
 hands. " What do you want?" 
 
 " I have seen Mr. Parnialee, my lady." 
 
 Her tones were the same as usual — soft, and melodious, 
 and respectful. But the gentle voice did not reassure 
 Lady Kingsland. 
 
 '* Well?" she said, coldly. 
 
 "He will be there, my lady. At half past eleven to- 
 night you will find — your mother "—slowly and distinctly 
 — " waiting for you on the terrace down by the shore." 
 
 " Half past eleven. Why so very late?" 
 
 " My lady, it will not be safe for you to venture out be- 
 fore. You are watched!" 
 
 She sunk her voice to a thrilling whisper. My lady'g 
 pale face flushed vivid red in an instant. 
 
 "Watched!" she repeated, haughtily. " Do you mean, 
 Sybilla Silver—" 
 
 "I mean, my lady," Miss Silver said, firmly, "Sir 
 Everard has set spies. The Beech Walk is watched by 
 night and by day. Claudine is little better than a tool in 
 the hands of Edwards, the valet, with whom she is in love. 
 She tells everything to Edwards, and Edwards repeats to 
 his master. A quarter past eleven all will be still — the 
 household will ImQ retired—you may venture lortb in 
 
 ; 1 
 
 
-^. -M'^ w ^ 'Hf'. 
 
 19G 
 
 THE 15AK0NI:T s huidk. 
 
 ! >: 
 
 safety. Tlic iii^lit will bo chirk, ilio way lonely ;iiul (Ii'k- 
 mal; but you know it every iucli. On the sLouu terruco, 
 at half i)ast eleven, you will Ihul — your mother awaiting 
 you. You can talk to her in perfect safety, and for an 
 long as you choose. '* 
 
 The dark-rod glow — abin-ningflrcof shanio — yet lighted 
 my lady's faeo. 
 
 *' Have you aeon her?" she asked. 
 
 ** At the window of the Blue Jiell Inn — yes, my lady. It 
 is very rash for her to expose herself, too, for hers is u 
 face to strike attention at once, if only for the wreck of its 
 beauty, and for its unutterable look of despair. But as 
 she leaves again so soon, I dare say nothing will come of 
 it." 
 
 '* When do they leave?" 
 
 •' To-night. It appears a friend of Mr. Parmalec is 
 captain of a little vessel down in the harbor, and ho sails 
 for Southampton at the turn of the tide — somewhere past 
 midnight. It is a very convenient arrangement for all 
 parties. By the bye, Mr. Parmalocj told me to remind 
 you, my lady, of the three hundred pounds." 
 
 *' Mr. Parmalee is impertinent. I need no reminder. 
 Have you anything more to say, Miss Silver?" 
 
 "Only this, my lady: the servants' entrance on the 
 south side of the house will be the safest way for you to 
 take, and the nearest. If you dread the long, dark walk, 
 my lady, I will be only too happy to accompany you." 
 
 A stare, haughty and angry, was all Miss Silver's reward 
 for this. 
 
 *'You are very good. I don't in the least dread it. 
 When I wish you to accompany me anywhere I will say 
 
 so. 
 
 }> 
 
 Sybilla bowed, rebuked, and the darkness hid a sinister 
 smile. She had known what the reply would be before- 
 hand. 
 
 '* You have no orders for me, then, my lady?" 
 
 " None. Yes, you had better see Claudine, and say I 
 shall not require her services to-night. Inform me when 
 the servants have all retired, and " — a momentary hesita- 
 tion, but still speaking proudly — *' does Sir Everard dine 
 at hoDie this evening?" 
 
 " Sir Everard just rode off as I came in, my lady. He 
 dmes with Major Morrell and the officers, and will not re- 
 
THE HARONET'H BUIDE. 
 
 1»7 
 
 11 or im 
 Ightcd 
 
 fly. Jt 
 is ji 
 
 turn iiniil pust niidniglil;, very likely. lie is always late 
 aL tiioso military diiiiiorH." 
 
 " That will do; yoii may go." 
 
 *' {Shall I not liglit tho lamp, my lady?" 
 
 " No; be good enough to leave mo. 
 
 Sybilla quitted tho room, her white tectii set together 
 in a viperish clinch. 
 
 " llow she hates me, and how resolved she is to show iti 
 Very well, my lady. You don't hate me one thousandth 
 narli as much as 1 hate you; and yet my hatred of you is 
 but a drop in the ocean C()mi)ared to my deadly vengeance 
 against your husband. (Jo, my haughty Lady Kingsland 
 —go to your trvst — go to your doathP* 
 
 Liil't alone, Ilai'riot sat in the deepening darkness for 
 over three hours, never moving — still and motionless as if 
 turned to stone. 
 
 The very " blackness of darkness " reigned without. 
 8ky and earth and sea were one inky pall of gloom. The 
 wind was rising again in wailing gusts, sobbing through 
 tho trees like a hunum thing in misery; the dull wash of 
 the booming waves, far down on the shore, sounded like 
 distant thunder. 
 
 And still my lady sat, her eyes fixed on the rayless 
 blackness, her hands locked together in her lap — the gloom 
 of the ghastly February night not half so deep, not half so 
 deadly as the gloom of her heart. 
 
 The pretty Swiss clock played a waltz preparatory to 
 striking eleven. She sat and listened until the last musical 
 chime died away; then she rose, groped her way to the 
 low, marble chimney-piece, struck a lucifer, and lighted a 
 large lamp. 
 
 The brilliant light flooded the room. Sybilla's rap came 
 that same instant softly upon the door. 
 
 "My lady." 
 
 " I hear," my lady said, not opening it. " What is it?'* 
 
 "All have retired; the house is as still as the grave. 
 The south door is unfastened; the coast is clear." 
 
 ** It is well. Good-night.^ 
 
 »f 
 
 "Good-night." 
 
 She stood a moment listening to the soft rustle of Misa 
 Silver's skirts in the passage, then, slowly and mechanic- 
 ally, she began to prepare for her night's work. 
 
 She took a long, shrouding mantle, wrapped it around 
 
 li 
 
 
 Hi 
 
 ! ■ M 
 
 Kir 
 ■i 
 
 '• 
 
 ' 
 
 
198 
 
 THE BAHONFT'fl BUTDE. 
 
 hi 
 
 ( '. 
 
 h ! 
 
 her, drew tho hood over her lioml, and oxdiangod her 
 Hlippors for stout vvtvlkiujjj-Hhoes. 'I'licTi slio unlockod hor 
 writinjj-case and drew forth a roll of bank-notes, thrust 
 them into her hosoin, and stood ready. 
 
 ]>ut hIio paused an instant yet. Siio stood before one of 
 tho full-length mirrors, looking at lier spectral faee, so hol- 
 low, so liaggard, out of which all the youth and beauty 
 seemed gone. 1 
 
 " And this is what one short month ago he called bright 
 and beautiful — this wasteil^ sunken-eyed vision. Youth 
 and beauty, love and trust and happiness, homo and hus- 
 band, all lost Oh, my father, what have you done?'* 
 
 8he gave one dry, tearless sob. Tho clock struck tho 
 quarter past. The sound aroused her. 
 
 " My mother," she said — " let me think I go to meet 
 my mother. Sinful, degraded, an outcast, but still my 
 mother. Let me think of that, and be brave.*' 
 
 She opened her door; the stillness of death reigned. Sho 
 glided down the corridor, down the sweeping stair-way, tho 
 soft carpeting muffling every tread — tho dim night-lamps, 
 burning the night through in those spacious passages, 
 lighting her on her way. 
 
 No human sound startled her. All in the house wore 
 peacefully asleep — all save that flying figure, and one 
 other wicked watcher. She gained the door in safety. It 
 yielded to her touch. She opened it, and was out alone in 
 the black, gusty night. 
 
 The path leading to the stone terrace through the plan- 
 tation was as familiar to Lady Kingsland as path could bo 
 — a gloomy path even at midday, lost in shadows, deserted 
 and lonely as the heart of some primeval forest. But at 
 this ghostly hour, under yonder black sky, with the wind 
 roaring in unearthly shrieks through the rocking trees, it 
 required no ordinary courage to face its dismal horrors. 
 
 But Harriet Kingsland's brave heart quailed only for a 
 moment; then she plunged resolutely forward into the 
 gloom. Shipping, stumbling, falling, rising again, the 
 wind beating in her face, the branches catching like angry 
 hands at her garments — still she hurried on. Her heart 
 seemed to have ceased its throbbings, the white dew of un- 
 utterable horror stood on her brow, but with hands out- 
 spread before her, with wild eyes straining the darkness, 
 she went bravely on. It was a long, long, tortuous path, 
 
 .M-i 
 
TflE ItAUOl-iKX's bUIDI. 
 
 190 
 
 but it came to un end. The roar of tho soa soiindod 
 uwfuUy loud as it rose in sullon iniijosty, tlio Hags of tho 
 stono torraco rang under hur feet. J'ariting, breaUilcss, 
 cold as death, ahe leaned against the iron railing, her handa 
 pressed hard over her tumultuous heart. 
 
 It was light hero. A fitful midnight moon, palo and 
 feeble, was breaking through a rift in tho cloudn, and 
 shedding its sickly glimmer over tho black earth and rag- 
 ing sea. To her eyes, accustomed to the dense darkness, 
 every object was jdaiidy visible. fShe strained her guzo 
 over the waves to catch tho coming boat she know was to 
 bear those she had come to meet; she listened breathlessly 
 to every sound. liut for a weary while she listened, anfii 
 watched, and waited in vain. AVhat was that? A foot- 
 step crashing through tho under-wood uear at hand. Sho 
 turned with a wordless cry of terror. A tall, dark liguro 
 emerged from the trees and strode straight toward her. 
 An awful voice spoko: 
 
 " 1 swore by tho Lord who made me I would murder 
 you if you ever came again to meet that man. False wife, 
 accursed traitoress, meet your do(»mI" 
 
 Sho uttered a long, low cry. She recognized the voice 
 — it was the voice of her husband; she recognized the 
 form — her husband's — towering over her, with a long, 
 gleaming dagger in his hand. 
 
 H 
 
 I 'I 
 
 CHAPTER XXVm. 
 
 ON THE STONE TERRACE. 
 
 When Sybilla Silver parted from Lady Kingsland out- 
 side the chamber door, she went straight to her own room, 
 and began her preparations for that night's work. 
 
 The tlaming red spots, all foreign to her usual complex- 
 ion, blazed on either cheek-bone; her black eyes shone like 
 the eyes of a tigress crouched in a jungle. 
 
 But she never faltered — she never wavered in her deadly 
 purpose. The aim of her whole life was to be fulfilled this 
 night — the ma7ics of her dead kinsfolk to be appeased. 
 
 Her first act was to sit down and write a note. It was 
 very brief, illy spelled, vilely written, on a sheet of coarsest 
 paper, and sealed with a big blotch of red wax and. thj 
 Impress o£ a grimj^ thumb. Thia is what Miss Silver wrote: 
 
 ' . ill 
 
200 
 
 THK BAHONET'S lUHDE. 
 
 *' SUR nKVEKAHD KjNGSLAND: 
 
 *' IIoNUHED Sill, — This is to 
 
 tm i 
 
 il i U i 
 
 ! 
 
 f 1 
 
 IS to Say chrtt my Lady k 
 Promised the hameriusm Gent, for to meet him this Night 
 at Midnight on the Stone Terrace, Which honoured Sir you 
 ought to Know, which is why 1 write. 
 
 " Yours too Command, A Fjuend/* 
 
 The young lady smi'ed over this composition tho smile 
 of a beautiful devil. 
 
 " This will do it, I think. Sir Everard will visit the 
 stone terrace to-night before he sleeps. It will be f uJ^y 
 eleven, probably half past, before he comes home. Ho 
 will find this anonymous communication awaiting him. 
 lie will fume and stamp and spurn it, but he will go, all 
 the same. And then!" 
 
 She sealed the note, directed it in the same atrocious fist 
 to the baronet, and then, rising, proceeded deliberately to 
 undress. 
 
 But not to go to bed. A large bundle lay on a chair; she 
 opened it, drew forth a full suit of man's attire — an even- 
 ing suit that the young baronet had worn but a few times, 
 and the very counterpart of that which he wore to-night. 
 
 Miss Silver stood before the glass and arrayed herself in 
 these. She was so tall that they fitted her very well, and 
 when her long hair was scientifically twisted up, and a hat 
 oE Sir Everard's crushed down upon it, she was as hand- 
 some a young fellow as you could see in a long day's search. 
 
 That vague and shadowy resemblance to the baronet, 
 which Mr. Parmalee had once noticed, was very palpable 
 and really striking when she threw over all a long riding- 
 cloak which Sir Everard often wore. 
 
 "You will do, I think," she said, to her transformed 
 image in the glass. " Even my lady might mistake yoo 
 for her husband in the uncertain moonlight." 
 
 She left the mirror, crossed the room, unlocked a trunk 
 with a key she took out of her bosom, and drew forth a 
 morocco scabbard case. The crest of the Kingslands and 
 tho monogram " E. K.,'' fancifully wrought, decorated 
 the leather. 
 
 Opening this, she drew forth a long, glittering Spanish 
 stiletto, not much tliicker Lhiui a cnarte' noodle, but strong 
 and glittering and deadly kooii. On fhc bliining blade tho 
 monogram " E. K" was again wrui!j.^Jil. 
 
il 
 
 THE BARONET S BRIDE. 
 
 201 
 
 i3 
 
 sho 
 
 " Sir Evcrard has not missed his pretty toy yet," she 
 muttered. "If he had only dreamed, when lie saw it 
 first, not a fortnight ago, of the deed it would do this 
 night!" 
 
 Sho closed the trunk, thrust the dagger into its scab- 
 bard, the scabbard into her bosom, blew out the lamp, and 
 softly opened the door. Sho paused a second to listen. 
 All was still as the grave. 
 
 Sho locked her door securely, put the key in her pocket, 
 and stole toward Sir Everard*s rooms. Her kid slippers 
 fell light as snow-flakes on the carpet. She opened the 
 baronet's dressing-room door. It had been his sleeping- 
 room, too, of late. His bed stood ready prepared; a lamp 
 burned diuily on the dressing-table. Beside the lamp Miss 
 Silver placed her anonymous letter, then retreated as 
 noiselessly as she had entered, shut the door, and glided 
 stealthily down the corridor, down the stairs, along the 
 passages, and out of the same door which my lady had 
 l)a3sed not ten minutes previously. 
 
 Swift as a snake, and more deadly of purpose, Sybilla 
 glided along the gloomy avenues of the wood toward the 
 sea-side terrace. Every nerve seemed strung like steel, 
 every fiber of her body quivered to its utmost tension. Her 
 eyes blazed in the dark like the eyes of a wild cat; she 
 looked like a creature possessed of a devil. 
 
 She reached the extremity of the woodland path almost 
 as soon as her victim. A moment she paused, glaring upon 
 her with eyes of fiercest hate as sho stood there alone and 
 defenseless. The next, she drew out the flashing stiletto, 
 ilung away the scabbard, and advanced with it in her hand 
 and horrible words upon her lips. 
 
 '* I swore by the Lord who made me I would murder 
 you if you ever came again to meet that man! False wife, 
 accursed traitoress, meet your doom!" 
 
 There was a wild shriek. In that fitful light she never 
 doubted for a moment but that it was her husband, and 
 the voice — Sybilla's stage practice and talent for mimicry 
 stood her in good stead here — the voice was surely his. 
 
 " Have mercy!" sho cried- " 1 am innocent, EverardI 
 Oh, for God's sake, do not murder me!" 
 
 " Wretch— traitoress — diel You are not fit to pollute the 
 earth longer! Go to your grav with my hate and my 
 curse I" 
 
 ' ti 
 
 \ \ 
 
 W 
 
 i: 
 
202 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 i ! 
 
 (ill 
 
 With a Rudden paroxysm of mad fury the dagger was 
 lifted — one fierce hand gripped Harriet's throat. A choking 
 shriek — the dagger fell — a gurg.ing cry drowned in her 
 throat— a fierce spurt of hot blood — a reel backward and a 
 heavy fall over the low iron railing — down, down on the 
 black shore beneath — and the jiallid moonlight gleaming 
 above shone on one figure standing on the stone terrace, 
 alone, with a dagger dripping blood in its hand. 
 
 She did not fly; it had all been too premeditated for that. 
 She leaned over the rail. Down below— far down — she 
 could see a slender figure, with long hair blowing in the 
 blast, lying awfully still on the sands. Not five feet of! 
 the great waves washed, rising, steadily rising. In five 
 minutes more they would wash the feet of the terrace — that 
 slender figure would lie there no more. 
 
 " The fall alone would have killed her," the female 
 fiend thought, glancing along the height. " Before I am 
 half-way back to the house those white-capped waves will 
 be her shroud/' 
 
 She wrapped her cloak around her and fled away — back, 
 swift as the wind, into the house, up the stairs. Safe in her 
 own room, she tore ofE her disguise. The cloak and the 
 trousers were horribly spotted with blood. She made all 
 into one compact package, rolled up the dagger in the 
 bundle, stole back to the baronet's dressing-room and list- 
 ened, and peeped through the key-hole. He was not 
 there; the room was empty. She went in, thrust the 
 bundle out of sight in the remotest corner of the wardrobe, 
 and hastened back to her chamber. Her letter still lay 
 where she had left it. The baronet had not yet returned. 
 
 In her own room Miss Silver secured the door upon the 
 inside, according to custom, donned her night-dress, and 
 went to bed— went to bed, but not to sleep — to watch and 
 \7ait. 
 
 4^ 4^ 9 n^ ^ Sp ^ 
 
 The mess dinner was a very tedious affair to one guest 
 *^t least. Major Morrell and the officers told good stories 
 and sung doubtful wOngs, and passed the wine and grew 
 hilarious; but Sir Everard Kingsland chafed horribly ander 
 it all, and longed for the hour of his release. 
 
 A dull, aching torture lay at his heart; a chill prcsenti- 
 saent of evil had been with him all day; the tortures of love 
 and rage and jealousy had lashed him nearly into madaees. 
 
THE bak* 'Set's bride. 
 
 203 
 
 er 
 
 a 
 
 he 
 
 Sfwnetimes love carried all before him, and he would 
 start lip to rush to the side of the wife he loved, to clasp 
 aer to his heart, and defy earth and Hades to part thetn. 
 ►Sometimes an<Ter held the day, and he would puce up and 
 dc^vn like a madman, raging at her, at himself, at Parma- 
 ice. at ail the world. Sometimes it was the wild beast, 
 jealousy, and he would fling himself face downward on the 
 sofa, writhing in the unutterable torture of that mental 
 agony. 
 
 He was haggard and worn and wild, and his friends 
 stared at him and shrugged their shoulders, and smiled sig- 
 nificantly at this outward evidence of post-nuptial bliss. 
 
 It was almost midnight when the young baronet mounted 
 Sk' Galahad and rode home. The trees tossed in the stormy 
 moonlight, jagged clouds rent their way through the low- 
 ering sky, the night wind pierced to the bone. Kiugsland 
 Court lay dark and still under the frowning night sky. 
 He glanced up at the window of his wife's chamber. A 
 light burned there. A longing, wistful look filled Ikis 
 blue eyes, his arms stretched out involuntarily, his heart 
 gave a great plunge, as though it would break away and 
 fly to its idol. 
 
 *' My darling!" he murmured, passionately — '* my dat- 
 ing, my life, my love, my wife! Oh, my God to think I 
 should love her, wildly, madly still, believing her— know^ 
 ing her to be false!" 
 
 He went up to his dressing-room, his heart full to b«rat- 
 ing. A mad, insane longing to go to her, to foiu aer to 
 his breast, to forgive her all, to take her, guilty or inno- 
 cent, and let p-;de and honor go to the winds, was upoa 
 him. He ]ovk . her so intensely, so passionately, that life 
 without her, apart from her, was hourly increasing torture. 
 . The sight of a folded note lying on the table alone ar- 
 fieated liis excited steps. He took it up, looked at the 
 strange superscription, tore it open, ran over its diabolical 
 contents, and reeled as if struck a blow, 
 
 '* Great Heaven! it is not true! it can not be true! it is 
 a vile, accursed slander! My wife meet this man alone, 
 and at midnight, in that forsaken spot! Oh, it is impos- 
 sible! May curses light upon the slanderous coward wko 
 dared to write this infernal lie!" 
 
 He flung it, in a paroxysm of mad fury, into the fire. 
 
 !. 
 
' I 
 
 ■ II 
 
 204 
 
 THE baronet's BRTDE. 
 
 A flash of flame, and Sybilla Silver's artfully writteD note 
 was forever gone. He started up in white fury. 
 
 *' I will go to her room; I will see for myself! I will 
 find her safely asleep, I know!'^ 
 
 But a horrible misgiving filled him, even while he ut- 
 tered the brave words. He dashed out of his room and 
 into his wife's. It was deserted. He entered the bed- 
 room. She was not there; the bed had not been slept in. 
 He passed to her boudoir; that, too, was vacant. 
 
 Sir Everard seized the bull-rope and rang a jieal that 
 resounded with unearthly echoes through the sloeping 
 house. Five minutes of mad impatience — ten; then 
 Claudine, scared and shivering, appeared, en sac de nuit 
 and in her bare feet. 
 
 " Where is your mistress?" 
 
 The unexpected sight of her master — his white, wild 
 face and hoarse question — made Claudine recoil with a 
 shriek. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! how should I know? Is not my lady in 
 bed?" 
 
 *' No; her bed has not been slept in to-night. She is in 
 none of her rooms. When did you see her last?" 
 
 " About ten o'clock. Sho dismissed me for the night; 
 she said she would undress herself. " 
 
 " Where is Miss Silver?" 
 
 *' In bed, I think, monsieur." 
 
 " Go to her — tell her 1 want to see her at once. Lose 
 no time. " 
 
 Claudine disappeared. Miss Silver was so very soundly 
 asleep that it required five minutes rapping to rouse her. 
 Once aroused, however, she threw on a dressing-gown, 
 thrust her feet into slippers, and appeared before the bar- 
 onet, with a pale, anxious, inquiring face. 
 
 ** Where is my wife? Where is Lady Kingsland?" 
 
 ** Good Heaven I is she not here?" 
 
 ** No. You know where she is! Tell me, I commanu 
 you!" 
 
 Sybilla Silver covered her face with both hands, and 
 cowered before him with every sign of guilt. 
 
 " Spare me!" she cried, faintly. "I dare not tell you!" 
 
 lie made one stride forward, caught her by the arm, his 
 eyes glaring like the eyes of a tiger. Neither of them 
 heeded the wondering'; Claudine, 
 
Tin; IlAUONKT^S r.I.'IDK. 
 
 206 
 
 lote 
 rill 
 
 lut- 
 md 
 
 ktl- 
 in. 
 
 " Speak!" lie tbuDdiM-od; " or by ilin llcavon above us, 
 I'll tear it from your throat! Is she with hiiiii"* 
 
 *' She is," cowering, ahriiiiiing, trembiiug. 
 
 There was an awful pause. 
 
 " Where?" 
 
 '* On the stone terrace." 
 
 *' llow do you know?" 
 
 " llo returneil this afternoon; he sent for mo; ho toM 
 nic to tell lier to moot him there to-night, about miduigh'. 
 She did not think yon would return before two or three — 
 Oh, for pity's sake — " 
 
 lie thrust her from liini with a force tliar, sent her reel- 
 ing against the wall. 
 
 " I'll have thBir hearts' blood!" he thundered, with an 
 awful oath. 
 
 The horrible voice, tlie horrible oath, was like nofhifig 
 earthly. The two women cowered down, too intensoly 
 frightened even to scream. One other listener recoiled in 
 wordless horror. It was El wards, the v.det. 
 
 The madman, goaded to insane fury, had rushed out of 
 the hall — out of the hons"!. The trio looked at each other 
 with bloodless faces and dilattid eyes of terror. 
 
 Edwards was the lirst to tind liis paralyzed tongue: 
 
 " May the Lord have mercy upon us! There'll be mur« 
 dor dont; this night!" 
 
 Tlic two women never ypoke. Huddled together, they 
 clung to Edwards, as women do cling to men in their bout 
 of fear. 
 
 Half an hour passed; they never moved nor stirred. 
 They crouched and waited. 
 
 Ten minutes more, and Sir Everard dashed in among 
 thf'm as he had dashed out. 
 
 " It is false!" he shouted — " a false, devilish slandc!-! 
 Bho is not there!" 
 
 A shriek from Claudinc — a wild, wild shriek. Win 
 bloodless cheek and starting eyes, she was pointing to tiic 
 baronet's hands. 
 
 All looked and echoed that horror-struck cry. They 
 were literally dripping blood! 
 
206 
 
 THE r.AIlONKT .S r.T'JDr. 
 
 CIIAPTEJi XXIX. 
 
 f >} 
 
 ^.l{A^'DKD. 
 
 A BLAXK, divtidi'ul 2>">i^9 I'ollowtd. They looked at 
 liim, V* on^ iiuother, in white, frozen horror, and then re- 
 Goileil. 
 
 The wurnnet lifted his litinds to the light, and guzed ut 
 their criaisou hue witli will, diluted o,es uiid ghiis'ly face. 
 
 "Blood!" he t^ail, i:i an awful whi^pjf — "blood — 
 Goi d God, it is iierts! She is nniideM 1!" 
 
 The three listeners rocr'ile 1 still further, Triralvzcd at the 
 sight, at the words, at the a-.vful thought that a murderer, 
 reii-hanrlt'd, ctood bofore them. 
 
 The V'ung husband heeled them not. In the Hash of 
 an eye lie was galvanized inlio new life. 
 
 " A horrible deed his be^n done tin's nightl" ho cried, 
 in a voice that rang down tho long hall like a bugle blast. 
 '* A murder has been ennimiltedl House the li«/use, fotdi 
 lights, and fulK>\v mel" 
 
 Edwiirds rose up, tvembling in every limb. 
 
 " Quiekl" his masLet thundered. " Is this a time to 
 stand ag.'ipe? k5yi)illa, sound the alarm! Let all rise and 
 join in the search." 
 
 In a m >ment all was confusion. Claudine, o£ a higMf 
 excitable temi)erament, no sooner recovered from her 
 stupor of disniay, thee with a piercing shriek, she fainted 
 and tumbled over in a he.ip. 
 
 But no one heeded her. Bella rang, lights flashed, serv- 
 ants, white and wild, rushed to and fro, and over all the 
 voice of tlie muster rang, giving his orders. 
 
 In this supreme mtment ho was himself again, his faci! 
 like the face of a dead man, but his voice clear and ring- 
 ing in stern command. 
 
 " Lights, lights!" he shouted. " Men, why do you 
 linger and stare? Lights! and follow me to the stone ter- 
 race." 
 
 He led the way. There was a general rush from the 
 house. The men bore lanterns; the women clung to the 
 men, terror and curiosity struggling, but curiosity getting 
 the better of it. In dead silence all made tiieir way to the 
 Btone terrace — all but one. 
 
 , 
 
THE BAROKET'S bride. 
 
 M 
 
 Sybilla Silver saw thorn depart, stood a moment, irreso- 
 fule, then turned and sped away to Sir Everard's dressing- 
 room. She drew the compact bundle of C3lothe8 from thttir 
 corner, removed the dagger, tied up the bundle again with 
 the weight inside, and hurriedly left the house. 
 
 ** These bloOLJ-stained garments are not needed to fix the 
 guilt upon him," she said to herself; '* that is done already. 
 The appearance of those would only create confusion and 
 perplexity — perhaps help his cause. I'll destroy these and 
 fling away the dagger in the wood. They'll be sure to find 
 it in a day or two. They will make such a search that if a 
 needle were lost it would be found." 
 
 There was an old sunken well, half filled with slimy, 
 green water, mud, and filth, in a remote end of the plan- 
 tation. Thither, unobserved, Sybilla made her way in the 
 ghostly moonlight and flung her blood-stained bundle into 
 its vile, poisonous depths. 
 
 " Lie there!" she muttered. ** You have done your 
 work, and I fling you away, as 1 fling away all my tools 
 at my pleasure. There, in the green muck and slimy filth, 
 you will tell no tales." 
 
 She hurried away and struck into a path leading to the 
 stone terrace. She could see the lanterns in the diatanoe 
 flashing like fire-fly sparks; she could hear the clear voice 
 of Sir Everard Kiugsland commanding. All at once the 
 twinkling lights were still; there was a deep exclamation in 
 the baronet's voice, a wild chorus of feminine screams, 
 then blank silence. 
 
 Sybilla Silver threw the dagger, with a quick, fierce gest- 
 ure, into the wood, and sprung in among them with glis- 
 tening, greedy black eyes. They stood in a semicircle, iu 
 horror-struck silence, on the terrace. The light of half a 
 doaen lanterns streamed redly on the stone flooring, but 
 redder than that lurid light, a great pool of blood lay gory 
 before them. The iron railing, painted creamy white, was 
 all clotted with jets of blood, and, clinging to a projecting 
 knob, something fluttered in the bleak blast, but they did 
 not see it. All eyes were riveted on the awful sight before 
 them — every tongue was paralyzed. Over all the strug- 
 gling moon tore through ragged black clouds, and the spnay 
 ol the angry waves leaped up in their ver> faces. Ed- 
 wards, the valet, was the first to break the dreadful silenoe. 
 My master r* he epied, shrilly; " he will falU" 
 
 1 
 
 I ! 
 
 (4 
 
208 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 ■, L 
 
 .1 
 
 t i' 
 
 r I 
 
 I ]': 
 
 He dropped his lantern and sprung forward just in time 
 and no more. The young baronet reeled and fell heavily 
 backward. The sight of that blood— the life-blood of his 
 bride — seemed to freeze the very heart in his body. With 
 a low moan he lay in his servant's arms like a dead man. 
 
 " lie has fainted," said the voice of Sybilla Silver. 
 *' Lift him up and carry him to the house.'' 
 
 " Wait!" cried some one. " What is this?" 
 
 lie tore the fluttering garment off the projection and 
 held it up to the light. 
 
 " My lady's Injy scarf!" 
 
 No one knew who spoke — all recognized it. It was a 
 little Cashmere shawl Lady Kingsl and often wore. An- 
 other thrilling silence followed; then — 
 
 " The Lord be merciful!" gasped a house-maid. *' She's 
 been murdered, and we in our beds!" 
 
 Sybilla Silver, leaning lightly against the railing, turned 
 authoritatively to Edwards: 
 
 " Take your master to his room, Edwards. It is no use 
 of lingering here now; wo must wait until morning. Some 
 awful deed has been done, but it may not bo my lady mur- 
 dered." 
 
 " How comes her shawl there, then?" asked the old 
 butler. *' Why can't she be found in the house?" 
 
 " 1 don't know. It is frightfully mysterious, but noth- 
 ing more can be done to-night." 
 
 " Can't there?" said the butler, who didn't like the young 
 lady with the black eyes. '* Jackson and Fletcher will go 
 to the village and get the police and search every inch of 
 the park before daylight. The murderer can't be far 
 away." 
 
 Miss Silver bent a little over the rail to hide a sinister 
 smile of derision. The spray dashed in her face — the 
 waves beat half-way up the stone breast-work. 
 
 " Probably not, Mr. Norris. Do as you please about 
 the police, only if you ever wish your master to recover 
 from that death-like swoon, you will carry him at once to 
 the house and apply restoratives. " 
 
 She turned away with her loftiest air of hauteur, and 
 Miss Silver had always been haughty to the servants. 
 More than one dark glance followed her now. 
 
 " You're a hard one, yon are, if there ever was a hard 
 
THE baronet's HKIDE. 
 
 ;^09 
 
 one!" said the butler. *' There's bceu no luck in the house 
 «ince you first set foot in it." 
 
 *' She always hutecl my lady," chimed in a fcnutle. 
 *' It's my ojiinion she'll I more ghul than sorry if she is 
 made away with. She wanted Sir Hvorard for herself.'* 
 
 '* Hold your tongue, Susan!" angrily cried Edwards. 
 "You daren't call your soul your own if Mias Silver was 
 listening. Bear a hand here, you fellers, and helj) mo 
 fetch Sir Heverard to the house.'" 
 
 They bore the insensible man to the house, to his room, 
 where Edwards applied himself to his recovery. Sybilla 
 aided him silently, skillfully. Meantime, the two gigantic 
 footmen were galloping like mad to the village to rouse 
 the stagnant authorities with their awful news. And the 
 servants remained huddled together, whispering in affright; 
 then, in a body, proceeded to search the house from attic 
 to cellar. 
 
 " My lady may be somewhere in the house," somebody 
 had suggested. " Who knows? Let us try." 
 
 So they tried, and utterly failed, of course. 
 
 Morning came at last. To the household at Kingsland 
 that night of horror seemed a century long. Dull and 
 dreary it came, drenched in rain, the wind wailing deso- 
 lately over the dark, complaining sea. All was confusion, 
 not only at the Court, but throughout the whole villa!^e. 
 The terrible news had flown like wild-fire, electrifying all. 
 People stood and stared at each other in mute horror. 
 My lady was murdered! Who had done the deed? 
 
 Very early in the wet and dismal morning. Miss Silver, 
 braving the elements, wended her way to the Blue Bell Inn. 
 
 Where was Mr. Parmalee? Gone, the landlady said, 
 and gone for good, nobody knew where. 
 
 Sybilla stood and stared at her incredulously. Gone, 
 and without a word to her — gone without seeing the mur- 
 dered woman! What did it mean? 
 
 *' Are you sure he has really gone?" she asked. ** And 
 how did he go?" 
 
 " Sure as sure!" was the landlady's response; ** which 
 he paid his bill to the last farthing, like a gentleman. And 
 as lor how he went, I am sure I can't say, not being took 
 in his confidence; but the elderly party, she went with him, 
 and it was late last evening. ' ' 
 
 Miss Silver was non^used, perplexed^ bewildered, and 
 
210 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 IVH5 
 
 •1 i 11 
 
 i! i 
 
 verj anxious. Whatdid Mr. Purmuloomeuu'' Where bad 
 lie gone? Ho might spoil all yut. Siio liud corno to boo 
 him, and accuso him of the murder — to frighten him, and 
 maiio him lly tiio village. CirciimatanceK were strongly 
 against him — his knowledge of her secret; his noeturnai 
 appointment; her disappearance. Sybilhi did not doubt 
 but that he would consider discretion the better part of 
 Talor, and lly. 
 
 {She went back to the house, intensely perj)lexed. There 
 the confusion was at its height. The scubbard had boo* 
 found near the terrace, with the baronet's initials thereon. 
 
 Men looked into each other's blank faces, afraid to speak 
 H»o frightful thoughts that filled their minds. 
 
 And in his room Sir Everard lay in a deo]) stupor — it 
 was not sleep. Sybilla, upon the the lirst faint signs of 
 •onsciousness, had administered a powerful opiate. 
 
 '* He must sleep," she said, resolutely, to Edwards. 
 ** It may save his life and his reason. He is utterly wora 
 ©ut, and every nerve in his body is strung to its utmost 
 tension. Let him sleep, poor fellow!" 
 
 Did one pang of human pity, of womanly compassioa, 
 pierce that llinty heart for an instant as she gazed upon 
 Jier work? 
 
 He lay before her so death-like, so ghastly, so haggard, 
 that the stoniest enemy might have relented — the pallid 
 ■hadow of the handsome, happy bridegroom of two short 
 months ago. 
 
 " I have kept my oath," she thought. '* I have wreaked 
 the vengeance I have sworn. If 1 left him forever now, 
 the manes of Zenith the gypsy might rest appeased. But 
 the astrologer's prediction — ah! the work must goon to 
 the appalling end." 
 
 She hardened her heart resolutely, and went away to 
 mingle with the agitated household, and assist in the 
 search. 
 
 Early in the afternoon arrived Lady Kingsland and Mil- 
 dred, in a frighiiul state of excitement and horror. Har- 
 riet murdered! The tragic story had been whispered 
 through The Grange until it reached their ears, thrillkig 
 them to the core of their hearts with terror. 
 
 Miss Silver met them — calm, grave, inscrutable. 
 I am afraid it is true," she said, " awfully incrediiaio 
 
 t( 
 
Tin: i'akonkt's intTnn, 
 
 211 
 
 OM H scorns. Sir JOverunl fuiiitoil stono-iltuwl, my lady, at 
 ai<^l»t of tho blood upon tho torauo." 
 
 Sim ahiiildt'ivd n-i yho 8p ko, uml Liuly Kingalmul cov- 
 ered luM" face in liorror. 
 
 *' (h'o.it huiivenyl it id honiblcl 'iMiat unt'oi'tiuiuto ii'irl. 
 Auil my soil, Svbillii, wlioro h I113?" 
 
 *' Adlecp in his rt'Oin, my l.idv. I udinijiistorcd nw 
 opiiitc. His \oyv life, I think, d;'jK'm1od f.n it. Ho mII! 
 not jiwuk'j i')i- aouic l» 'ury. Do nrt di.stiiib him. Will 
 you como up to your oM rooma uiul removu your thingti?" 
 
 Thi\y r'>llowod her. 'Vhoy luul conio to .stay until tiiu uii- 
 emiurablo Eurfponso was eudcd — to tako caro of tho son and 
 brot hvA'. 
 
 Lady Kiiiij^dliind wruiifr lior IuituIb in a paroxysm of moi- 
 tal anpjui.sh in I ho Holiuulo of her own room. 
 
 *' Oh, my (hull" sho ciiod, "hivo nuTcy and sparel 
 My son, my son, my son! Would (J.id I might diu to sava 
 you from tho wort'ij h '.iTuis to come!" 
 
 All that dar, all tho noxt, and the next, and the next, 
 the fruiilosa search for the murdered bride was made. All 
 in vain; not tho faintest trace win* to he obtained. 
 
 Sir Everani, rousing himself from his Ktupor of despair, 
 threw hiniKolf body and soul into the search, with a lierco 
 cnorgv that i)erliap3 eavod him from going mad with hor- 
 ror and miserv and remorse. 
 
 Mr. Patmaleu was searched for high and low. Immenso 
 rewards were oU'ered for tho slightest trace of him — im- 
 mense rowanls were (llered for the body of the murdered 
 woman. In vain, ir vain! 
 
 Had the earth opened ard swallowed them up, Mr. 
 Parmaleo and the baronet's lost biido could not more com- 
 pletely have vanish* d. 
 
 And, meanv.'hile, d.irk, ominous whispers rose and cir- 
 culated from mouth to mouth, by whom originated no one 
 knew. Sir Everard's franiu; jealousy of Mr. Earmalee, his 
 onslaught in tho pictuie-giillery, tho threats he had used 
 again and again, overheard by so mmy, the oath he had 
 sworn to tako her life if she ever met the American artisfc 
 again, his ominrur, conduct that nigh!, Iw's rushing like a 
 madman to th(^ place of tr} st, his returning covered with 
 blood — white, wild, like one insane. Then the finding of 
 the scabbard, marked with his inilitds, and his own words: 
 
 '* Blood! Good (v i/d! i'. is hers; She is murdered!" 
 
 1.1 
 
)i2 
 
 Tin: I!.\i;<»m;t s iii;ii)i:. 
 
 mil 
 
 km 
 
 Thn wlii.JpriH roKo ami f;rrw IoikIim- iiii"! Iniitlor; men 
 loiikod in (liiik 8H.s]>ici(»M u[>"ii llin V'Mim;;" lord ol' Kiii^'s- 
 Iiunl, jiiid sliriiiik l'r(>iu liiiii pulpubly. Uiil us yt'l. no oiiu 
 wiM found to ()[vjnly ucc^uso liini. 
 
 '.rowiird tlio (!lf)8i) of tlio s(M.'.f)nd wcnk, a body wuh w.wliod 
 aalioro, saino miles down tlio cousl, and the uutlioriLiiiH 
 tli(Mo siL,Miili(Hl lo \\w uuthoritius ol* Worrel tliut tho corpw 
 iniiJ^hL 1)1! tho tnisHiiij; ludy. 
 
 Sir i'lviTiird, his inr»lhcr, and Mii-'s Silver wont at once. 
 Jhit the 8if;;ht WJia too honiblo to ])o twico looked at. I'lvory 
 giirniont had bi-on washed away, and tho J'aoo and head 
 were BO mid:ilatcd that identiilcuticii by iuean>s of tho 
 I'oaturoa wa3 impossible. 
 
 lint tho height correspnnded, and ho did the lont,^ wavca 
 of llowing hair, and Sybilla Silver, tlio oidyono with norvo 
 enou;i;h to glance again, })r(>noimecd it emphatically to bo 
 the body of Jlarriet, Lady Kingsland. 
 
 Thoro was to boa verdict, and tho trio remained; and 
 bivto.ie it commenced, tho celcbra.t,cd deled ive from Scot- 
 land Yard, emplo3'ed from iho llr«t by Sir Everaid, a]»- 
 peared upon the scene with crushing new.-'. ]Io held up a 
 bh'od-atained dagger, of curious make and workmanshij), 
 before the eye of the baronet. 
 
 " Do you know this little weapon, Sir Mverard?'' 
 
 Sir Everard looked at it juid recgnized it at once. 
 
 '' It is mine," he replied. " I iturchased it last year in 
 Paris. My initials arc u])on it." 
 
 " So 1 t^ee," was the dry response. 
 
 ** llow comes it hero? Where did you find it?" 
 
 The detective eyed him narrowly, almosit amazed at hU 
 coolness, 
 
 " I found it in a very (|ucer place. Sir J^vorard — lodgr-d 
 in the branches of an elm-tree, not far frtm the stone ti'i- 
 race. It's a miracle it was ever f "und. I think this lilLl.i 
 weapon did the deed. I'Jl go and have a look at the body.^' 
 
 lie went. Yes, there in the region of tlie heart was a 
 gaping wound. Jjut the sea had op(3ned it, and tho ilesli 
 was so gnawed ii.way that it seemed impossible to tell 
 whether the death-blow had been given by that slender 
 knife. 
 
 The inquest came on; tho facts came out — mysteriously 
 wliispered before, spoken aloud now. And for the first 
 
Tin: r.Ai;()Ni;Ts i.i:ii»t:. 
 
 213 
 
 .t:I ii.nl 
 
 tiino llif IriilJi (Liwiud <iii tlio sliiimcd Iwiroiiet — lio was 
 aii.spocU'il of llio imiitliT of tlio \\\Ui liu lovod! 
 
 'IMio rovoUiiii^f atrtM^il.y, llio iiiitmUinil liDiTor of tli(i 
 cliar'^^o, Tinrvcul him iu\ notliiii^ elso coiilil liavo tloiie. lli.s 
 ]talo, proud I'auo f^'row rigid as stom;; his hliii; vyva llat-hud 
 Ht-oiuriil do(i;i.ii(;o; hi.s head n;ared itsoU' hauifiitilv ah'ft. 
 \\i>\v d.'im (lioy a(!«!ii;-ii liiiii of sd iiK-nytroiiH a criiiio*:' 
 
 l»ut tho ciicimiHtanlial ovidi-Mco was crushing. S}hilia 
 i'SiIv( r's evidcuico uh>iai wonki liavo dmiiiu'd him. 
 
 Sho gavo it wiUi ovidoiiL rt'liiclancr; huL givu it slm did 
 M'lth frightful for»!e, and tlio hoioaved y.^uiig liush;iiiil stood 
 sluiinc'd at the tnrrihio strength of the ca-i; sho m:ide ouf. 
 
 I'lvorythlng tohl against him. Jlis vi'ry cagcrnivsH to limi 
 tho murderer seemed hut throwing du;t in Ihtjireyts. IS'ot 
 a doid)t lingered in the minds of the coronru- or his jiny, 
 and hefore simset tliiit day Sir Mverard Kingshuid was en 
 Ids way to Worr(d .fail to s(and id.i trial at the (Ktmiiig 
 assizes for tho willful murder of Harriet, his wife. 
 
 CIIArTEU A'XX. 
 
 MIRR SIJ.VKli ON OATir. 
 
 The day of trial came. Tjr>ng, miscrahlo weeks cf wait 
 ing — weeks of anguish ajid remorse and despair had gnnc. 
 heforo, and Sir Everaril Kingsland emerged from his cell 
 to take Ids jilace in tho criminal dock and ho tried for his 
 life for the greatest crime man can commit. 
 
 What he had endured in those weeks of anguish (lod and 
 himself only knew. Outwardly those who saw him heheld 
 a rigid, death-like face, with lines plowed deep, that half a 
 century of happiness could never remove. 
 
 I>ut he came of a proud and daring race, and hia harid- 
 somo head reared itself aloft, and his great. Hashing hluo 
 r'M's looked straight into the eyes of his fellow-uieu, as 
 ■_juilt never looked in this world. 
 
 The court-house was crowded to suiTooatiun — there was 
 not even standing room. The long gidlery was one living 
 semicircle of eyes; ladies, in gleaniing silks and lluttering 
 plumes, thronged as to the 0[)era, and slender throats were 
 craned, and bright eyes glanced eagerly to catch one fleet- 
 ing glimpse of tlio pale prisoner — a haronet who had mur- 
 dered his bride before tin.' honey-moon was well over. 
 
i 
 
 ■ 
 
 r. 
 
 |i|'- 
 
 »; 
 
 ii I 
 
 1 1 
 
 '^ii 
 
 THE BARONET S BRIDB. 
 
 And away in Kingsland Court two ghastly white women 
 kadt in agonised supplication for the son and brother 
 fekey loved. 
 
 The case was opened in a long and eloquent speech by 
 the counsel for the crown, setting forth the enormity of 
 the crime, citing a hundred incidents of the horrible and 
 unnatural deeds jealousy had made men commit, from the 
 days of the first murderer. 
 
 His address was listened to in profoundest silence. The 
 (Aiarge he made out was a terribly strong one, and when 
 he sat down and the first witness was called the hearts of 
 Sir Everard Kingsland 's friends sunk like lead. 
 
 He pleaded *' Not guilty!** with an eye that flashed and 
 a voice which rang, and a look in his pale, proud face that 
 no murderer's face ever wore on this earth, and with thos« 
 two words he had carried conviction to many a doubter. 
 
 But men wavered like reeds. His word was poor and 
 weak against the thrilling eloquence of one of the first 
 wriminal lawyers in the realm. 
 
 •' Call Sybilla Silver." 
 
 All in black — in trailing crape and sables, tall, stately, 
 and dignified as a young duchess — Sybilla Silver obeyed 
 the call. 
 
 She was deeply veiled at first, and when she threw back 
 the heavy black veil, and the dark, bright, beautiful face 
 looked full at judge and jury, a low murmur thrilled 
 through the throng. 
 
 Those who saw her for the first time stared in wonder 
 aad admiration at the tall young woman in black, with the 
 face and air of an Indian queen, and those to whom she 
 was known thought that Miss Silver had never, since they 
 saw her first, looked half as handsome as she did this day. 
 
 Her brilliant bloom of color was gone; she was interest- 
 singly pale, and her great black eyes were unnaturally deep 
 and mournful. 
 
 ** Your name is Sybilla Silver, and you reside at Kings- 
 land Court. May we ask in what character — as friend or 
 domestic?** 
 
 ** As both. Sir Everard Kingsland has been my friend 
 atd benefactor from the first. 1 have been treated as a 
 confidential friend both by him and his mother." 
 
 •* By the deceased Lady Kingsland also, I conclude?*' 
 
 " I was m. the late Ladv Kin^»iaiid*s coufideuoe— yes.'^' 
 
THE BAROKEl'8 BKIDB. 
 
 au 
 
 ** Yon were the last who saw her alive on the night of 
 Ifaroh tenth — the night of the murder?'* 
 
 **Iwas.'' 
 
 *' Where did you part from her?" 
 
 ** At her own chamber door. We bade eadi other good- 
 night, and I retired to rest immediately." 
 
 " What hour was that?" 
 
 ** About ten minutes before eleven." 
 
 " What communication were you making to Lady Kingi- 
 land at that hour?" 
 
 *' I came to tell her the household had all retired — that 
 she could quit iihe house unobserved whenever she chose. " 
 
 ** You knew, then, that she had an assignation for that 
 night?" 
 
 *' 1 did. It was I who brought her the message, ^e 
 was to meet Mr. Parmalee at midnight, on the stone ter- 
 
 yf 
 
 ^' 
 
 race. 
 
 " Who was this Mr. Parmalee?" 
 
 ** An American gentleman — a traveling photogr&pUo 
 artist, between whom and my lady a secret existed.'* 
 
 ** A secret unknown to her husband?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ** And this secret was the cause of their mysterious mid- 
 nigh^- meeting?" 
 
 ** It was. Mr. Parmalee dare not come to the house. 
 Sir Everard had driven him forth with blows and abuse, 
 and forbidden him to enter the grounds. My lady kne^ 
 this, and was forced to meet him by stealth." 
 
 ** Where was Sir Everard on this night?" 
 
 *' At a military dinner given by Major Morrell, here in 
 Worrel." 
 
 ** What time did he return to Kingsland Court?" 
 
 •* At half past eleven, as nearly a" I can judge. 1 did 
 i>iot see him for some ten or fifteen minutes after; then 
 Claudine, my lady's maid, came and aroused me — said Sir 
 Everard was in my lady's dressing-room and wished to see 
 me at once." 
 
 ** You went?" 
 
 ** I went immediately. I found Sir Everard in a state 
 of passionate fury no words can describe. By some means 
 he Lad learned of the assignation; through an anonymous 
 note left upon his dressing-table, he said. 
 
 ** Did you see this nofce?^ 
 
' 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 iM I; 
 
 ■;i 
 
 1 1 
 
 216 
 
 THE BAKONETS BKIDE. 
 
 " I did not. 
 
 He had none in his hand, nor have 1 seen 
 any smoe. '* 
 
 ** What did the prisoner say to you?" 
 
 *' He asked me where was his wife — ho insisted that 1 
 knew. He demanded an answer in such a way I dared not 
 disobey. " 
 
 " You told him?" 
 
 ** I did. ' Is she with him !' he said, grasping my arm, 
 and I answered, * Yes. * " 
 
 "And then?" 
 
 " He asked me, ' Where?' and I told him; and he flung 
 me from him, like a madman, and rushed out of the house, 
 swearing, in an awful voice, ' I'll have their hearts' 
 bloodl' " 
 
 *' Was it the first time you ever heard him threaten liis 
 wife's life?" 
 
 " No; the second. Once before 1 heard him siiy to her, 
 at the close of a dreadful quarrel, ' If ever you meet that 
 man again, I'll murder you, by the living Lord!' " 
 
 " What was the cause of the quarrel?" 
 
 *' She had met Mr. Parmalee, by night and by stealth, 
 m Sir Everard's absence, in tlie IBeech Walk. " 
 
 '* And he discovered it?" 
 
 ** He did. Edwards, his valet, had gone out with mo 
 to look for some article I had lost, and by chance wc came 
 upon them. We saw her give him money; we saw her 
 dreadfully frightened; and when Edwards met his master 
 again his face betrayed him — we had to tell him all." 
 
 *' Did any one hear the prisoner use those words, * I'll 
 have their hearts' blood!' on the night of the murder, but 
 yourself?" 
 
 " Yes; Edwards, his valet, and Claudihe, the lady's- 
 maid. We crouched together in the hall, frightened 
 almost to death. " 
 
 " When did the prisoner reappear?" 
 
 *' In little over half an hour. He rushed in in the same 
 wild way he had rushed out — like a man gone mad." 
 
 " What did he say?" 
 
 ** He shouted, ' It is false — a false, devilish slander! 
 (She is not there!' " 
 
 '' Well-and then?" 
 
 *' And then Claudine shrieked aloud and pointed to hie 
 hands. They were dripping wif-li hloodl" 
 
THE baronet's bride. 
 
 217 
 
 i»» 
 
 ** Did he attempt any exi>lanation?' 
 
 ** Not then. His first words were, as if he spoke in 
 
 spite of himself: * Blood! blood! Good God, it is hers! 
 
 Did he after- 
 
 She is murdered!' " 
 
 ** You say he offered no explanation then. 
 ward?" 
 
 ** 1 believe so. Not to me, but to others. He said hi» 
 foot slipped on the stone terrace, and his hand splashed in 
 a 230ol of something — his wife's blood.''' 
 
 " Can you relate what followed?" 
 
 ** There was the wildest confusion. Claudiue fainted. 
 Sir Everard shouted for lights and men. ' There lias been 
 a horrible murder done,' he said. ' Fetch lights and fol- 
 low me!' and then we all rushed to the stone terrace." 
 
 " And there you saw — what?" 
 
 *' Nothing but blood. It was stained and clotted with 
 blood everywhere; and so was tlie railing, as though a 
 bleeding body hiid been cast over into tiio p u. On a ])ro- 
 jecting spike, as thougli torn off in the fall, we found my 
 lady's India scarf." 
 
 '* You think, then, he cast the body over after the deed 
 was done?" 
 
 *' I am morally certain he did. There was no other way 
 of disjjosing of H. The tide was at flood, the current 
 strong, and it was swept away at once." 
 
 " What was the prisoner's conduct on the terrace?'-' 
 
 ** He fainted stone-dead before he was there five min- 
 utes. They had to carry him lifeless to the house." 
 
 ** Was it not on that occasion the scabbard marked with 
 his initials was discovered?" 
 
 " It was. One of the men picked it up. The dagger 
 hidden in the elm-tree was found by the detective later." 
 
 '* You recognized them both? You had seen them be- 
 fore in the possession of the prisoner?" 
 
 *' Often. He brought the dagger from Paris. It used 
 to lie on his dressing-table." 
 
 *' Where he said he found the anonymous note?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 *' Now, Miss Silver," said the prosecuting attorney, 
 ** from what you said at the inquest and from what you 
 have let drop to-day, I infer that my lady's secret was no 
 secret to you. Am I nu:[\t?'* 
 
 ' it 
 
 \ 
 
 1 
 
i : ( 
 i 
 
 M 
 
 
 If: ' 
 
 u 
 
 'It 
 
 f.\ 
 
 I ' 
 '' 
 
 218 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 There was a momentary hesitation — a rising flush, n 
 drooping of the brilliant eyes, then Miss Silver replied s 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How did yon learn it?" 
 
 *' Mr. Parmalee himself told me." 
 
 " You were Mr. Parmalee 's intimate friend, then, Jl ap- 
 pears?'* 
 
 "Y^-e-a" 
 
 " Was he only a friend? He was a young man, and an 
 unmarried one, as I am given to understand, and you, 
 Miss Silver, are — pardon my boldness — a very handsome 
 young lady." 
 
 Miss Silver's handsome face drooped lower. She made 
 no reply. 
 
 " Answer, if you please," blandly insinuated the law- 
 yer. " You have given your evidence hitherto with most 
 wnfeminine and admirable straightforwardness. Don't let 
 us have a hitch now. Was this Mr. Parmalee a sukor «f 
 yours?" 
 
 "He was." 
 
 " An accepted one, I take it?" 
 
 "Y-e-e-s." 
 
 *' And you know nothing now of his whereabouts? That 
 is strange. " 
 
 "It is strange, but no less true than strange. I have 
 never seen or heard of Mr. Parmalee since the af ternoen 
 preceding that fatal night." 
 
 " flov/ did you see him then?" 
 
 " Ho had been up to London for a couple of days oa. 
 business connected with my lady; he had returned that 
 afternoon with another person; he sent for mo to inform 
 my lady. I met and spoke to him on the street, just be- 
 yond the Blue Bell Jnn." 
 
 " What had he to say to you?" 
 
 " Very little. He told mc to tell my lady to meet him 
 precisely at midnight, on the sii>ne terrace. Before mid- 
 night the murder was done. What became of him, why 
 he did not keep his appointment, 1 do not know. Ho lof*. 
 the inn very late, paid his score, and has never been Been 
 or heard of since. 
 
 " Had he any interest in Lady Kingsland's death?" 
 
 " On the contrary, all his interest lay in her rerajtfDiiig 
 alive. While she lived, he held a secret which she inteodocl 
 
'i^' 
 
 THE r,AEONET R TIRIDK. 
 
 21? 
 
 ap- 
 
 w pay him well to kcop. Her death blights all his pGciiEk- 
 nry pro3i)octs, and Mr. Parrnaleo loved money/' 
 
 " Miss Silver, who was the fomaio who accompanied Mr, 
 Parmaloo from London, and who rpiitted the iUue Bell Inn 
 with him late on the night of tlie tenth?" 
 
 Again Sybilla hesitatedj looked down, and seemed oon- 
 fused. 
 
 " It is not necessary, is it?'* said she, ploadinri^ly. ** I 
 had rather not tell. It—it is connected with tiie secret, 
 atid I am bound by a promise — " 
 
 " Which I think we must persuade you to bi-eak,** in- 
 terrupted the debonair attorney. " I tliink this secret will 
 throw a light on tlie matter, and wo must have it. Ex> 
 treme cases require extreme measures, my dear yoimg 
 lady. Throw aside your honorable scruples, break your 
 promise, and tell us tiiis secret whicli has caused a mur- 
 der." 
 
 Sybilla Silver looked from judge to Jury, from counael 
 to counsel, and clasped her hands. 
 
 ** Bon't ask mel she cried — " oh, pray, don't ask mo 
 to tell this!" 
 
 " But we must — it is essential- 
 Silver. Come, take courage. It 
 you know—the poor lady is dead, 
 into the heart of it at once — tell 
 terious lady with Mr. Parmaleo?" 
 
 The hour of Sybilla's tri!imph had come. She lifted her 
 black eyes, glittering with livid flame, and shot a quick, 
 sidelong glance at the prisoner. Awfully white, awfully 
 calm, he sat like a man of stone, awaiting to hear what 
 would cost him his life. 
 
 " Who was she?" the lawyer repeated. 
 
 Sybilla turned toward him and answered, in a voice 
 plainly audible the length and breadth of the long room: 
 
 '" She called herself Mrs. Denover. Mr. Parmalee called 
 her his sister. Both were false. She was Captain Harold 
 Hunsden's divorced wifcj, Lady Kingsland'o mother, and a 
 lofifc, degraded outca?*'!" 
 
 -we must have it. Miss 
 can do no harm now. 
 And first—to plunge 
 us who was the mys- 
 
 m 
 
 ■f ' 
 
)d30 
 
 THE baronet's imiDB, 
 
 ! I 
 
 I! i 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 FOUND GUILTY. 
 
 There was the silence of death. Men looked blankly 
 in each other's faces, then at the prisoner. With an 
 awfully corpse-like face, and wild, dilated eyes, ho sat 
 staring at the witness — struck dumb. 
 
 The silence was broken by the lawyer. Even he, for an 
 instant, had sat petrified. 
 
 " This is a very extraordinary statement, Miss Silver,'' 
 he said. " Are you quite certain of its truth? It is an 
 understood thing that the late Caj)tain Hunsden was a 
 widower. ' ' 
 
 " He was nothing of the sort. It suited his purpose to 
 be thought so. Captain Hunsden was a very proud man. 
 It is scarcely likely he would announce his bitter shame to 
 the world." 
 
 " And his daughter was cognizant of these facts?" 
 
 '* Only from the night of her father's death. On that 
 njght he revealed to her the truth, under a solemn oath of 
 secrecy. Previous to that she had believed her mother 
 dead. That death-bed oath was the cause of all the trouble 
 between Sir Everard and his wife. Lady Kingsland would 
 have died rather than break it. " 
 
 She glanced again — swift, keen, sidelong, a glance of 
 diabolical triumph — at the prisoner. But he did not see it 
 — he might have been stone-blind — he only heard the 
 words — the words that seemed burning to the core of his 
 heart. 
 
 This, then, was the secret, and the wife he had loved and 
 doubted and scorned had been true to him as truth itself; 
 and now he knew her worth and purity and high honor 
 when it was too late. 
 
 " How came Mr. Parmalee to be possessed of the secret? 
 Was he a relative?" 
 
 "No. He learned the story by the merest accident. 
 He left New York for England in his professional capacity 
 as photographic artist, on speculation. On board the 
 steamer was a woman — a steerage passenger — poor, ill, 
 friendless, and alo?ie. Tie had a kindly heart, it appears, 
 under his passioji for money-making, and when this worn- 
 
THE BAllOA^KT'S DJUDri:. 
 
 321 
 
 iklv 
 an 
 
 sat 
 
 )y 
 
 an --this Mrs. Dciiovcr- roll ill, ho nnrKctl "fidr n,s jv son 
 might Ono iiij,'ht, vviien she thouglifc horsclt' dyiiif;, sh« 
 caliod hi:>\ to hiiv bcd.jjdo and told him hor story/' 
 
 rji 
 
 Tho duad silence of tho crowded court-room seemed to 
 deepen. Yon miglit have heard a pin drop. 
 
 Clear and sweet Sybilla Silver^s voice rang fi'om end to 
 end, each word cutting mercilessly through tho unhap})y 
 prisoner's very soul. 
 
 " llor maiden name had been Maria Denover, and she 
 was a native of. ISfew York City. At the ago of eighto<'r. 
 an Engli.sh ollicer met her while on a visit to Niagara, felt 
 desperately in love with hor, and married her out of jiand. 
 
 " Even at that early ago she Wiis utterly lost and aban- 
 doned; and she only married Captain Hunsden in a tit of 
 ?j)i'.(l desperation and rage because John Thorndyke, her 
 lovor, scornfidly refused to make her his wife. 
 
 " (Japbain liunsden took her witli him to Gibraltar, 
 where his regiment was stationed, serenely unconscious of 
 his terrible disgrace. One year after a daughter was born, 
 but neither husband nor child could win this woman from 
 the jnan ;'he passionately loved, and who had wronged her 
 beyond reparation. 
 
 " She urged her husband to take her back to New York 
 to see her friends; she jileaded with a vehemence he could 
 not resist, and in an evil hour he obeyed. 
 
 " Again she met her lover. Three weeks after tho 
 wronged husband and all the world knew the revolting 
 story of her degradation. She had fled with Thorndyke.'' 
 
 Sybilla paused to let her words tuko effect. Then she 
 Glowly went on: 
 
 " There was a divorce, of cours'j; tho matter was hushed 
 np as much as possible, for the abandoned woman's friends 
 were wealthy. Captain Hunsden went back to his regi- 
 ment a disgraced and broken-hearted man. 
 
 " Two years after he sailed for England, but not to re- 
 main. How he wandered over the world, his daughter ac- 
 companying him, from that time until, ucjjrly two years 
 ago, he returned to Hunsden Hall, every ono knows. But 
 during all that time he never heard one word of or from 
 his lost wife. 
 
 " She remained with Thorndyke — half starved, brutally 
 beaten, horribly ill-used — tauntid from the first by him, 
 and hated at the last. But she clung to him through all^ 
 
 : 
 
222 
 
 THE IJAIlOiSKIB LIUDE. 
 
 as women do cliug; sho liail ftivou up Iho uliulo world for 
 [lis sako; alio must bear Im ubuso to the end. And she 
 did, heroically. 
 
 "He died — etabbod in a drunken brawl — died with her 
 kneeling by his side, and his IuhL word an oath. JIo died 
 and was buried, and she was alouj in the world— heart- 
 broken, health-broken — as miserable a woman as tiie W'.Jo 
 earth ever held. 
 
 "One wish alone lived and v as stioiig within her — to 
 look again upon her child before ^i.e died. She had no 
 wish to speak to her, to reveal hersilf, only to look once 
 more upon her face, then lie down by the road-side and 
 iie. 
 
 " She knew sho was mari'itd and livii;;.', luuv; 1'horndyke 
 liftd maliciously kept her an t'al^ oi' h.r liiir^biui;! and child. 
 Sho sold all she possessed but (he rii>;s upon hir back, and 
 took a steerage ])assage for England. 
 
 " That was the story she told Mr. Parmulee. ' You 
 will go to Devonshire,' she said to liini; ' you will see my 
 child. Tell her I died hiinibly praying iiri- forgiveness. 
 She is rich; she will reward you.' 
 
 ** Mr. Parmalee immediately made up his mind that this 
 sick woman, who had a daughter ilie wii'o of a wealthy 
 baroj<iet, was a great deal too valu-dde, in a pecuniary 
 lighoj to be allowed ' to go olf the hooks,' as lie exjn'essed 
 it, tlkus easily. 
 
 " ile pooh-poohod tho notion of licr dyitig, cheered her 
 np, narsed her assiduously, and iinally brought iier around. 
 He loft her in London, jiostcd down lure, and remained 
 here until the return of Sir J.<]vera.rd and my lady from 
 their honey-moon trip. The dny after he [utit-ented him- 
 self to them — displayed his piciurey, and among others 
 showed my lady her mother's portrait, taken at the time 
 of her marriage. She recognized it at on';e — her father 
 had left her its counterpart on the night he died. He 
 knew her secret, and she had to meet him if he chose. Ho 
 threatened to tell Sir Everard clhc, and the thought of her 
 husband ever discovering her mother's liliame was agony 
 to her. She knew how [)ioud he was, how proud his moth- 
 er was, and she would hfive died to save him pair. And 
 that is why she met Mr. rarmaleo by night and by stealth 
 — why she gave liim money — why all thti horrors that have 
 followed oucurredo'^ 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 233 
 
 Onoe more the cruol, clear, uiifrtlteriup; voice paused. A 
 £;roan broke tlio eilouco — u groan of such unutterable an- 
 guish and despair from the tortured husband tiiat ovary 
 heart thrilled to hear it. 
 
 With that agonized groan, his face dropped in his hands, 
 and ho never raised it again, lie heard no more--he sat 
 bowed, paralyzed, criisheil witli misery and remorse. His 
 wife — his lost wife — had been as pure and stainless n^:. the 
 angels, and ho— oh, pitiful God! how merciless ho had 
 been! 
 
 Sybilla Silver was dismissed ; other witnesses were ciilled. 
 Edwards and Claudine were the only ones examined that 
 day, Sybilla had occupied the court so long. They cor- 
 roborated all she had said. The prisoner was remanded, 
 and the court adjourned. 
 
 The night of agony which followed to the wretched pris- 
 oner no words can ever tell. All he had sulTored hitherto 
 seemed as nothing. Men recoiled in horror at the ^iglit of 
 him next day; it was as if a galvanized corpse had entered 
 the court-room. 
 
 He sat in dumb misery, neither heeding nor hearing. 
 The talk of witnesses and lawyers was as the empty babble 
 of a brook. Only once was his attention dimly aroused to 
 a sort of wondering bewilderment. It was at the evidence 
 ot a boy — a ragged youth of some fifteen years, who gave 
 his name as Bob Dawson, and his evidence with a very 
 white and scared face. 
 
 *' He had been out lat3on that 'ere night;" he admitted 
 the fact with grimy tears. *' Yes, if his wurship must 
 know, a-wirin' of rabbits, which he didn't catch none, so 
 he 'oped, their ludships wouldn't send him hup for it. It 
 was between ten and eleven — couldn't be 'spected to tell 
 to a second — that ho was a-dodgin' round near the stone 
 terrace. Then he sees a lady a-waitin*, which the moon 
 was shining on her face, and he knowed my lady herself. 
 He dodged more than hever at the sight, and pecked round 
 a tree. Just then came along a tall gent in a cloak, like 
 Sir Everard wears, and my lady screeches out at sight of 
 him. Sir Everard, he spoke in a deep, 'orrid voice, and 
 the words were so hawful, he — Bob Dawson — remembered 
 them from that day to this. 
 
 1 sv/ore by the Lord v/ho made me 1 would murda' 
 
 *( i 
 
•i'H 
 
 324 
 
 TIIH HARONF,T'f« lUtlDE. 
 
 yon if yon over met tlnit man a^^jiin. False wife, accurfled 
 ti'iiit-orcs.s, uv'vt yonr doom!* 
 
 " And iJion my huly scroochos out again unci says to him 
 — hIk! KiiVH: 
 
 *''IIavu in(;r(3y! 1 am innocent, Iloverard! Oh, for 
 (Joil'.s .siikc, do not mnrdor mo!' 
 
 " And Sir ilovorard, ho says, fierce and 'orrid: 
 
 " ' Wiotiih, die! You are not lit to poHute the hearth! 
 do to your grave with my 'ate and my cussi' 
 
 " And then/' cried JJob Dawson, trembling all over as 
 ho told it, " I see him lift that there knife, gentlemen, 
 and atal) her with all his might, and she fell back with a 
 sort of groan, and he lifts her up anil jtitches of her over 
 liln'^o the soa. And then ho cuts, lie does, and 1 — I was 
 friglitened most hawful, and 1 cut, too.'' 
 
 A murmur of horror ran through the court. No ono 
 doubted longer. 
 
 " Why did you not tell this before?" the judge asked, 
 sternly. 
 
 " 'Cos I was scared — I was," Bob replied, in tears. " I 
 didn't knovv but that they might took and hang me for 
 seeing it. 1 told mammy the other night, and mammy 
 she came and told the gent there," pointing ono stubby 
 index finger at the learned counsel for the crown, " and 
 he said I must come and tell it here; and that's all I've 
 got to tell, and I'm werry sorry as hover I seed it, and it's 
 all true, s'help me!" 
 
 The lad was rigidly cross-examined, but he stnck to his 
 statement with many tears and protestations. 
 
 Sybilla Silver's eyes fairly blazed with triumphant fire. 
 Iler master, the arch-fiend, seemed visibly coming to her 
 aid; And the most miserable baronet pressed his hand to 
 his throbbing head. 
 
 " Am 1 going mad?" he thought. '* Did 1 really mur- 
 der my wife?" 
 
 There was the summing up of the evidence — one damn- 
 ing mass against the prisoner. There was the judge's 
 charge to the jury. Sir Everard heard no words — saw 
 nothing. He fell into a stunned stupor that was indeed 
 like madness. 
 
 The jury retired — vaguely he saw them go. They re- 
 turned. Was it minutes or hours they had been gone? 
 11 is dulled eyes 'ooked at them expressionless. 
 
^cursed 
 to him 
 )h, for 
 
 hearth! 
 
 over as 
 
 lemen, 
 
 with ii 
 
 lier over 
 
 — 1 was 
 
 No one 
 
 ; askei], 
 
 rs. "I 
 me for 
 iiiiimmy 
 ) stubby 
 I, " ami 
 all I've 
 ami it's 
 
 ik to his 
 
 ant fire. 
 f to her 
 haml to 
 
 lly mur- 
 
 G damn- 
 judge's 
 ds — saw 
 ,s indeed 
 
 riiey ro- 
 n gone? 
 
 THE HAIIOJSKT S UKIDl'), 
 
 225 
 
 ** How say you, goiitlemon of the jury— guilty or not 
 guilty?" 
 
 Guilty!" 
 Amid (lead silence 
 
 the word fell. Every heart thrilled 
 
 with awe but one. The condemned man sat staring at 
 them with an awful, dull, glazed stare. 
 
 The juilge arose and put on liis black cap, his face 
 white, his li])3 trembling. ]Ie had known Sir Everard 
 Kingsland from boyhood — a little curly-haired, blue-eyeil, 
 Jiandsome boy. liut those blue eyes looked at him now, 
 seejug, yet sightless — the dulled ears not taking in tho 
 «ensu of a syllable. 
 
 Otdy the last words seemed to strike him — to crash into 
 his v/hirling brain with a noise like thunder. The long, 
 pitying achlross was lost, but he hoard those last words: 
 
 " And that there you be hanged by tho neck until dead, 
 and may the Lord have mercy upon your soul!" 
 
 He sat down. Tho awful silence was something indc- 
 S(3ribable. One or two women in the gallery fainteil, then 
 the hush was broken in a blood-curdling manner. 
 
 With the shriek of a madman, Sir Evorard Kingsland 
 threw up both arms and fell face forward. They raised 
 him up. Agonized nature had given way — ho was writh- 
 ing in the horrors of an epileptic fit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXH. 
 
 S Y B I L L A ' S T 11 I U »[ P H . 
 
 It was the night before the execution. In his feebly 
 lighted cell tho condemned man sat alone, trying to read 
 by the palely glimmering lamp. Tho Kew Testament lay 
 open before him, and on this, the last night of his life, he 
 was reading the mournful story of Gethsemane and Cal- 
 vary. On his pale, high-brod face sat a look of unutter- 
 able calm, of unearthly peace. Earth and the things of 
 the earth — love, ambition, splendor, and all the glories of 
 the lower world— had rolled away, and eternity, mighty 
 and inconceivable, was opening before him. On this last 
 night heart and soul were at rest, and an infinite calm, that 
 seemed not of this world, ilJumimid every feature. 
 
 Weeks had i)assi'il since tho diiy when sentence of death 
 had been pronounced upon him, and the condemned man 
 
 8 
 
 X 
 
2ie6 
 
 TUK IIAIIONKT'S lUlIDK 
 
 [I .if 
 
 lili 
 
 
 imd Iain touHJn^ and burning' in tlic wild doliriuni of brairi 
 lovur. J)ay8 and weulvs lio luid luin hovorinf^ botweon lifo 
 and (lejitli. nursuii witli .sluojtloss caro, lus iondurly nour- 
 iwht'd as if a lotj;^' iil'o lay boforo him. 
 
 Sybilla Silvor had been his most sleepless, his most de- 
 voted attendant. Her evidence had wrung his heart — had 
 eondenuiL'il him to the most shameful death man can die; 
 but .she had only told the truth, and truth is mighty and 
 will j»revail. So she came and nursed him noiv', for^ettin^ 
 to eat or slee}) iu her zeul and devotioi>, and finally wooed 
 him back to life and reason, while those who loved him best 
 ])rayeil (lod, by night and by day, that he might die. 
 Slowly but surely life returned, and he rose from his bed 
 at last, the pallid shadow of liis former self, to endure the 
 extreme penalty of tlie law. 
 
 Ihit, while hovering in tlio " Valley of the Shadow/' 
 death had lost all its terror for him — he rose a changed 
 man. A zealous clergyman had sat daily by his bedside, 
 and the light of this world waxed ^'ery dim as seen by the 
 light of heaven. 
 
 " And she is there,'* lie said, with his eyes fixed dream- 
 ily on the one j^ateh of blue May sky ho could see between 
 his prison bars — " my wronged, my murdered, my beloved 
 wife I Ah, yes, death is the highest boon the judges of 
 this world can give me now!'* 
 
 And so the last night came. He sat alone. Tho jailor 
 who was to share his cell on this last, awful vigil had been 
 bribed to leave him by himself until the latest moment. 
 
 '* Come in before midnight/' ho said, smiling slightly, 
 *' and guard me while I sleep, if you wish. Until then, 
 I should like to be left quite alone. *' 
 
 And tho man obeyed, awed unutterably by the sublimo 
 look of that marble face. 
 
 " lie never did it," he said to his wife. " No murderor 
 ever looked with such clear eyes and such a sweet smiie as 
 that. Sir Everard Kingsland is as hinnocent as a hangel, 
 and there'll be a legal murder done to-morrow. I wish 
 it was that she-devil that swore his life away instead. I'd 
 turn her off myself with the greatest pleasure." 
 
 As if his thoughts had evoked her, a tall dark fignro 
 stood before him — Miss Sybilla Silver herself. 
 
 "Good Lord!" cried the jailer, aghast; '* wWd «- 
 thomght it? What do you want?'^ 
 
THE baronet's DUIPK. 
 
 2t7 
 
 brain 
 
 on lifo 
 
 nour- 
 
 oat do- 
 t— hull 
 an tlio; 
 ity and 
 
 wooed 
 im best 
 ht die. 
 his bed 
 .uro the 
 
 adow/' 
 changed 
 bedside, 
 1 by the 
 
 L dream- 
 between 
 beloved 
 iidges of 
 
 ho jailer 
 bad been 
 niont. 
 slightly, 
 itil then, 
 
 ) subUmo 
 
 murderor 
 t smile as 
 a hangel, 
 r. I wish 
 «ad. rd 
 
 irk figaro 
 
 "To BOO the prifloner," responded the swroot voice ot 
 Sybil la. 
 
 " Voii can't see hirn, then,'* said the jailor, gnittty, 
 '* JIi' ain't going to see anyhoily Miis iant night, ma'am." 
 
 " Mr. Markhani " — sho cmu) over and laid her velvet 
 \)i\,\v on ills arm, and niugneli/ed him wilii her big black 
 r-yes — " think better of it. It is his last night, llis mother 
 lies on tiu* ]toiiit of death. I come hero with a last sacred 
 messitge from a dying mother to a dying son. Yoii have 
 ail aged mother yourself, Mr. Markham. Ah! think 
 agjiin, and don't bo hard upon ns." 
 
 A sovereign slipped into his j)alm. Whether it was tho 
 delicious thrill of the gold, or tho magic of that honeyed 
 voicic, oi the mesmerism of those velvet-black eyes, or tho 
 siren spell of that beautiful face, who can toll? 13ut the 
 stern warden knocked under at once. 
 
 " For only half an hour, then," ho said; '* mind that 
 Como along!" 
 
 Tho key clanked; tho door swung back. The pale 
 prisoner lifted his sorono eyos^ tho tall, dark figure stepped 
 m. 
 
 "Sybilla!" 
 
 *' Yes, Sir Kverard." 
 
 The ^rcit (k»or closed with a bang. 
 
 " Half an hour, mind," reiterated the jailer. 
 
 Tho Key turned; they were alone together within those 
 massive walls. 
 
 " 1 thought wo parted yesterday for the last time in 
 this lower world," said the oaronet, calmly. 
 
 " Did you? You were mistaken, then. We meet again 
 and part again forever to-night, for the last time in this 
 lower world, or that upper one either, in which you be - 
 lievo, and which I know to be a very pretty little fable, 
 made for priests to fool credulous cowards." 
 
 She laughed a low, derisive laugh, and came up close to 
 him. He shut his book, and looked at her in wonder. 
 Was this tho Sybilla Silver he had known for two years— 
 the mild and submissive Sybilla? 
 
 Her black eyes were literally blazing, her swarthy cheeks 
 were burning red, her whole dusky face irradiated with a 
 glow that might have been borrowed from the infernal re- 
 gions. But he sat and looked at her unmoved — only won- 
 derkig. 
 
 I 
 
r>!i{8 
 
 THK baronet's imiDE. 
 
 ■i . I 
 
 il;, .')f V 
 
 " WIml, <lo vou mean? Wliy have you oomii hither to- 
 night-' Why iU) you look like tliut? What is it all?'' 
 "It is this!" Siic iliinjr up licr unns with a strange, 
 
 wild iii.^sture. 
 
 Thiit tlio mask worn two 
 
 long 
 
 years is 
 
 jib'^iit to be torn oIL It moans tliat you are to liear the 
 truth; it means that the ]Hirpoao of my lii'e is fullilled; it 
 means tiiat the hour of my triumph has come." 
 
 lie sat and looked at her, lost in wonder. 
 
 *' You do not speak — you sit and stare as though you 
 could not believe your eyea or ears. It is hard to believe, 
 I know — the humble, the meek Sybilla metamorphosed 
 thus. But the Sybilla Silver you knew vras a mockery and 
 a delusion. Behold the real one, for the first time in your 
 life!" 
 
 " Woman, who arc you? What arc you?" 
 
 *' I am the granddaughter of Zenith the gypsy, the 
 woman your father wronged to the death, and your bitter- 
 est enemy. Sir Everard Kingsland!" 
 
 He gazed at her, speechless — struck dumb. 
 
 " The granddaughter of Zenith tlie gypsy?" he re- 
 peated, in bewilderment. " Then Sybilla Silver is not 
 your name?" 
 
 *' The name is as false as the cliaracter in which she 
 showetl lierself — that of vour friend." 
 
 *' And yet," the young man said, in a tone infinitely ten- 
 der, " the first time we met you saved my life." 
 
 *' No thanks for that. I did not know yoii^ tfiough if I 
 had 1 would have saved it, all the same. That was not 
 the death you were to die. ] saved you for the gallows. " 
 
 '' Sybilla, Sybilla!" 
 
 *' I saved you for the gallows!" she fiercely repeated. 
 '* I come here to-night to tell you the truth, and you shall 
 hear it. Did I not swear your life away? Did I not nurse 
 you back from the very jaws of death? All for what? 
 That the astrologer's prediction might be fulfilled — that 
 the heir of Kingsland Court might die a felon's death on 
 the scaffold!" 
 
 " The astrologer's pretlicticn?" he cried, catching some 
 of her excitement. " What do yor. know about that?" 
 
 *' Everything — everything!" she exclaimed, exultingly. 
 ** Far more than you do, for you only know such a thing 
 exists — you know nothing of its contents. Oh, no! mamma 
 guarded her darlhig boy too caretully for that, notwith' 
 
IHE BAKONET'S bride. 
 
 239 
 
 ther to- 
 
 years is 
 liL'ar tliu 
 iilled; it 
 
 iigh you 
 believe, 
 or[>hose(l 
 kcry Hiid 
 in your 
 
 ypsy, tho 
 ur bittor- 
 
 " he re- 
 er is not 
 
 wliich she 
 
 initely ten- 
 
 ■houpjh if I 
 it was not 
 
 l^allows. 
 
 )) 
 
 r repeated. 
 1 you shall 
 [ not nurnc 
 for what? 
 1 lied— that 
 's death on 
 
 ching some 
 ; that?" 
 exultingly. 
 ch a thing 
 o! mamma 
 kt, notwith- 
 
 standing your dying father's command. But in spite of 
 her it has come true — thanks to your protegee, Sybilla 
 Silver." 
 
 " What was the astrologer's prediction — that terrible 
 prediction that shortened my father's life?" 
 
 " It was this — that his only son and heir, born on that 
 night, would die by the hand of the common hangman, a 
 murderer's death on the scaffold. Enough to blight any 
 father's life who believed in it, was it not?" 
 
 " It was devilish. My poor father! Tell mo the name 
 of the fiend incarnate who could do so diabolical a deed, 
 for you know?" 
 
 " I do. That man was my father/' 
 
 *' Your father?" 
 
 " Ay, Aohmet the Astrologer. Ila! ha! As much an 
 astrologer as you or I. It was his part of our vengeance — 
 my part was to see it carried out. I swore, by my dying 
 mother's bedside, to devote my life to that purpose. Have 
 I no* kept my oath?" 
 
 She folded her arms and looked at him with a face of 
 such devilish malignity that words are poor and weak to 
 describe it. He recoiled from her as from a visible demon. 
 
 " For God's sake, go! You bring a breath of hell into 
 this prison. Go — go! You have done your master's work. 
 Leave me!" 
 
 " Not yet; you have heard but half the truth. Oh, po- 
 tent Prince of Kingsland, hear me out! You will be 
 hanged to-morrow morning for murdering your wife! You 
 didn't mu/der her, did you? Who do you suppose did it?" 
 
 He rose to his feet, staggered back iigainst the wall, his 
 eyes starting from their sockets. 
 
 "Great God!" 
 
 He could say no more, Tiie awful truth burst upon 
 him and struck him speochless. 
 
 '* Ah, you anticipate, I see. Yes, my lord of Kings- 
 land, 1 muidered your pretty little wife! Keep off! I 
 have a pistol here, a;id I'll blow your brains out if you 
 come one step nearer — if you utter a word! I don't want 
 to cheat Jack Ketch, if I can. And it is no use your cry- 
 ing for holij— tluire is no one to hear, and these stone walls 
 are thick. Stand tlKsre,, my rich, my noble, my princely 
 brother, and listen to the iruth. ' 
 
S30 
 
 THE EARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 H'. li. 
 
 He stood, holding by the wall, paralyzed, frozen with 
 horror, lie knew all, as surely as if he had seen the hor- 
 rid tragedy. 
 
 " Yes, I murdered her I" Sybilla reiterated, with sneer- 
 ing triumph. " Disf^uised in 3'our clothes, using your 
 dagger; and she died, bolieving it to be you. All 1 told, 
 and all ilie boy Dawson told at th* trial was true as the 
 Heaven you believe in. Your wife was true as truth, 
 pure as the angels. She loved only you — she loved you 
 with her whole heart and soul. Her vow by the l>edside 
 of her dying father chained her tongue. To save yoa the 
 shame, the humiliation of learning the truth about her de- 
 graded mother, she m^t in secret this Mr. Parmalee. On 
 that night she went to the stone terrace to see her mother, 
 for the lirst, the last, the only time. I arranged it all — I 
 lured her there — I stabbed her, and flung her over into the 
 sea! I hated her for your sake — 1 hated her for her own. 
 And to-morrow, for my crime, you will die!'* 
 
 And still he gazed, paralyzed, stunned, motionless, 
 speechless. Before him the woman stood, drawn np to 
 her full height, looking at him with blazing eyes, a fitting- 
 mate for the prince of devils himself. 
 
 " Poor fool!'* she said, with unutterable scorn — *' poor, 
 blind, besotted fool! and this is the end of all! "Youpg, 
 handsome, rich, high-born, surrounded by friends, the 
 wealthy and the great, one woman's work brings yon to 
 this! I have said my say, and now I leave you; here we 
 part. Sir Everard Kingsland. Call the jailer; tell him 
 what I have told you — tell it through the length and 
 breadth of the land, if you choose. Not one will believe you. 
 It is an utterly mad and impossible tale. I have only to 
 calmly and scornf ull;/ deny it. And to-morrow, when the 
 glorious sun rises — tlie sun you will never see — I will be far 
 away. In Spain, the land of my mother and my grand- 
 mother, I go to join our race — to become a dweller in tents 
 —a gypsy, free as the wind that blows. The gold your 
 lavish hand has given me will make me and my tribe rich 
 for life. I go to be their queen. Farewell, Sir Everard 
 Kingsland. My half hour has expired; the jailer comes 
 to let me out. Bul first I go straight from here to 
 Kingsland Court, to tell your mother what I have just 
 told you — to tell her her idolized son dies for my crime, 
 and to kill her, if I can, with the nows. Once more, fare- 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 331 
 
 well, and bon voyage to you, my haughty young baronet, 
 the last of an accursed race!*' 
 
 Tho door swung open — Miss Silver flitted out. It broke 
 the si)ell. The prisoner started forward, tried hoarsely, 
 vainly to speak. Enfeebled by lojig illness, by repeated 
 shocks, he staggered a pace or two and fell face forward 
 at the jailer's feet like: a log. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 And while Sir Everard Kiugsland lay in his felon's qqH, 
 doomed to die, where was she for whose murder he was to 
 give his life? Really murdered? Is there any one above 
 the artless and unsuspecting age of six, who reads this 
 story, does not know beffer? 
 
 Harriet — Lady Kingsland — was not dead. Hundreds of 
 miles of sea and land rolled between her and Kingsland 
 Court, and in a stately New York mansion she looked out 
 at the sparkling April sunshine, with life and health beat- 
 ing strong in her breast. 
 
 Mr. George Washington Parmalee had saved her life. 
 On that tragic night of March tenth, he had c uitted the 
 Blue Bell with Mrs. Denover, and descended at oice to the 
 shore, where a boat from the "Angelina Dobbs " was 
 awaiting them. 
 
 The " Angelina " herself lay at anchor a mile or two 
 away, ready to sail as soon as her two passengers came 
 aboard. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee took the oars and rowed away in the direc- 
 tion of the park. The sickly glimmer of the moon showed 
 him the stone terrace and the solitary figure standing wait- 
 ing there. But the noise of the wash on the beach and the 
 sighing of the trees prevented Harriet from hearing the dip 
 of the sculls. On the sea the night was so dark that the 
 boat glided along unseen. 
 
 He had neared the spot and rowed softly along under the 
 deep shadow of overhanging trees, whose long arms trailed 
 in the waves, when he espied a second figure, muffted in a 
 cloak, emerge and confront the lady. He recognized, or 
 thought he recognized, the baronet, and came to a dead- 
 lock, with a stilled impieeulion. 
 
 h 
 
 n 
 
232 
 
 THE ];aronet's bkide. 
 
 :ii :i- 
 
 til 
 
 " It's nil up with tlicm three liumlrccl pouiicls fchis 
 bout/' he thought; " confound the hick!" 
 
 lie could not hear the words — the distance was too groat 
 — but he could see them plainly. The wild shriek of Lady 
 Kingsland would have been echoed by her terrified mother 
 had not the artist clapped his hand firmly over her mouths 
 
 *' Darnation! Dry up, can't you? Oh, good God!" 
 
 He started up in horror, nearly upsetting the boat. Ho 
 had seen the fatal blow given, he saw the boily hurled over 
 the railing, and he saw the face of the murderer! 
 
 A flash of moonlight shone full upon it bending down, 
 and he recognized, in men's clothes, the woman who was 
 to be his wife. 
 
 A deadly sickness came over him. He sat down in the 
 boat, feeling as though he were going to faint. As for 
 Mrs. Denover, she was numb with utter horror. 
 
 The assassin fled. As she vanished G. W. Parmalee 
 looked up with a hollow groan, remained irresolute for an 
 instant, shook himself, and took up the oars. 
 
 " We must pick uj) the body," he said, in an unearthly 
 voice. '* The waves will wash it away in five minutes." 
 
 He rowed ashore, lifted the lifeless form, carried it into 
 ".he boat, and laid it across the mother's knee. 
 
 " We'll put for the * Angelina,' " he observed. " If 
 there's any life left, we'll fetch her to there." 
 
 " Her heart beats," said Mrs. Henover, raining tears and 
 kisses on the cold face. " Oh, my child, my child! it is 
 your wretched mother who has done this!" 
 
 They reached the " Angelina Dobbs," where they were 
 im])atiently waited for, and captain and crew stared aghast 
 at sight of the supposed corpse. 
 
 *' Do you take the ' Angelina Dobbs ' for a cemeteryj 
 Mr. Parmalee?" demanded Captain Dobbs, with asperity. 
 *' Who's that air corpse?" 
 
 " Come into the cabin and I'll tell you," responded Mr. 
 Parmalee, leading the way and bearing his burden. 
 
 The captain lingered a moment to issue his orders, and 
 followed the photographic artist to the tiny cabin. 
 
 There he heard, in wonder and j^ity and dismay, the 
 story of the stabbed lady. 
 
 '* Poor creeter! Pretty as a picter, too! Who did the 
 deed?" 
 
THE T^ARONET's bride. 
 
 233 
 
 ihis 
 
 cat 
 ady 
 lier 
 ith. 
 
 mn, 
 was 
 
 " It looked like her liiisbaiul/' replied Mr. Parmaloe. 
 '* Ho was as jealous as a Turk, anyway." 
 
 *■ Hhe is not dead!" exckvimod Mrs. Denover; "her 
 jioart flutters. Oh! pray leave me alone with her; 1 think 
 1 know what to do.'* 
 
 The men quitted the cabin. Mrs. Denover removed her 
 daughter's clothing and examined the wound. It was 
 deep and dangerous looking, but not necessarily fatal — she 
 knew that, and she had had considerable experience dur- 
 ing her rough life with John Thorndyke. She stanched 
 the How of blood, bathed and dressed the wound, and finally 
 th(! dark eyes opened and looked vaguely in her face. 
 
 " Who are you? Whv.iO am 1?" very feebly. 
 
 Tiie woman trembled from head to foot and sunk down 
 on her knees by the bedside. 
 
 " I am your nurse,'' she said, tremulously, *' and you 
 are with friends who Jove you.'* 
 
 The deep, dark eyes still gazed at her — memory was 
 slowly coming back. 
 
 " Ah! I remember." A look of intense anguish crossed 
 her face. " You are my mother!" 
 
 " Your most wretched mother! Oh, my darling, I am 
 not worthy to look in your face!" 
 
 *' You are all that is left to me now — ah. Heaven pity 
 me! — since he thinks me guilty. 1 remember all. He 
 tried to murder me; he called me a name 1 will never for- 
 get. Mother, how came 1 here? Is this a ship?" 
 
 Very gently, softly, soothingly the mother told how Mr. 
 Parmalee had saved her life. 
 
 " And where are we going now?" 
 
 " To Southampton, 1 think. But we will return if you 
 wish it." 
 
 '* To the man who tried to take my life? Ah, no, 
 mother! Never again in this world to him! Call Mr. 
 Parmalee. " 
 
 "My dear, you must not talk so much; you are not 
 able. " 
 
 "Call Mr. Parmalee." 
 
 Mrs. Denover obeyed. 
 
 The artist presented himself promptly, quite overjoyed. 
 
 " Why, now," said Mr. Parmalee, " I'd rather see this 
 than have a thousand dollars down. Why, you look as 
 spry almost as ever. How do you feel?" 
 
834 
 
 THE BARONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 Sho reached out her hand to him with a M'nn smile. 
 
 " You have been very good to me and my mother. Be 
 good until the end. If 1 die, bury me where he will never 
 hear oE my death nor look upon myjifrave. If I live, take 
 me back to Now York— I have friends there — and don't 
 let him know whether I am living or dead.*' 
 
 Mr. Parmalco squeezed her slender hand. 
 
 " I'll do it! It's a go! I owe him one for that kick- 
 ing, and, by Jove! here's a chance to pay him. Jest you 
 keep up heart and get well, and we'll take you to New 
 York in the * Angelina Dobbs,' and nobody bo the wiser." 
 
 Mr. Parmaloe kept his word. They lay aboard the ves- 
 sel while loading at Southampton, and a surgeon was in 
 daily attendance upon the sick girl. 
 
 " You fetch her round," said Mr. Parmalee. " She's 
 the skipper's only daughter — this 'ere craft, the ' Angelina 
 Dobbs,' is named after her — and he'll foot the bill like a 
 lud. There ain't a lord in all this little island of yours, 
 ior that matter, equal to the Dobbs, of Dobbsville." 
 
 The surgeon did his best, and was liberally i)aid out of 
 the three hundred pounds which Mrs. Denover liad found 
 in the bosom of Harriet's dress. But for days and weeks 
 she lay very ill — ill unto death — delirious, senseless. Then 
 the fever yielded, and death-like weakness ensued. 
 
 This, too, passed; and by the time the "Angelina'' 
 reached New York, the poor girl was able, wan and 
 feeble, to saunter up and down the deck, and drink in the 
 life-giving sea air. 
 
 Thus, while fruitless search was boing made for G. "W. 
 Parmalee throughout London — while detectives examined 
 every passenger who sailed in the emigrant ships — he was 
 safely skimming the Atlantic in Captain Dobbs's cockle- 
 shell. 
 
 To do him justice, he never thought — and no more did 
 Harriet — of what might follow ber disappearance. The 
 baronet would leave the country, they both imagined, and 
 her fate ^ould remain forever a mystery. 
 
 So oiie supposed dead bride reached New York in safety, 
 and that body washed ashore and identified by Sybilla Sil- 
 ver, to suit her own ends, was some nameless unforfcanate. 
 
 On the pier in New York Mr. Parmalee and Lady 
 Kingsland parted. 
 
 ** I am going to my uncle's house," she mi', ** my 
 
THE BATIONET S PRIDE. 
 
 285 
 
 Be 
 
 lever 
 take 
 
 kick- 
 
 yoii 
 
 New 
 
 my 
 
 mottier's brother. Hugh Denovflr is a rich merchant, 
 and will receive us, I know. Keep my story secret, and 
 come and see me next time yon visit New York, llvre is 
 my uncle's address; give me yours, and if ever it is in my 
 power, I will not forget how nobly you have acted aid 
 how inadequately you have been repaid. *' 
 They shook hands and parted. 
 
 Mr. Parmalce went " down East," not at all satisfied 
 with his little English speculation. He had lost a hand- 
 some reward and a handsomer wife. He dared hardly 
 Ijhink to himself that Sybilla had done the horrid deed, 
 and he had never breathed a word of his suspicion to Har- 
 riet. 
 
 '* Let her think it's the baronet, if she's a mind to," he 
 said to himself. *' I ain't a-going to do him a good tu«i. 
 Bnt I know better." 
 
 Harriet and her mother sought out Mr. Denover. Me 
 lived in a stately up-town mansion, with his wife and one 
 SOB, and received both poor waifs with open arms. TEs 
 lost sister had been his boyhood's pet; he had nothing for 
 feea* now but pity and forgiveness, when she looked at him 
 witJi death in her face. 
 
 "My poor Maria, ^' he said, with tears in his eyes, 
 " don't talk of the wretched past. I love my only sister 
 ia spite of all, and neither she nor her child shall want a 
 home while 1 have one." 
 
 Harriet told her story very brieily. Her father had bewi 
 dead for two years. She had married; she had not li\'ed 
 happily with her husband, and they had parted. She had 
 come to Uncle Hugh; she knew he would give his sister's 
 daughter a home. 
 
 She told her story with dry eyes and unfaltering voice; 
 but Mr. Denover, looking in that pale, rigid young faoe, 
 • read more of her despair than she dreamed. 
 
 " Her husband has been some English grandee, like 
 Captain Hunsden, I dare say," ho thought, " proud as 
 Lucifer, and when he discovered that about her raothi'^r, 
 despised and ill-treated her. No common trouble would 
 make any human face look as hers does, poor child!" 
 
 The penitent wife of Captain Hunsderi did not long sur- 
 vive to enjoy her new home. Two weeks after their arriral 
 she lay upon her death-bed. Nothiup- could save her. Siio 
 
236 
 
 THE baronet's BRIT)E. 
 
 ii 
 
 Jiail been doomctl t. months— life gave way when the ex- 
 cifcoment that had buoyed her up was gone. 
 
 l^y night and day Ilarriet watched by her bedside, and 
 the repentant Magdalen's last hours were the most blessed 
 she had ever known. 
 
 " I do not deserve to die like this/' she often said. 
 '* Oh, my darling, your love makes my death-bed very 
 sweet!" 
 
 They laid her in Greenwood, and once more Harriet's 
 desolation seemed renewed. 
 
 *' I am doomed to lose all I love," she thought, despair- 
 ingly — " father, husband, mother — all!" 
 
 Hiie drooped day by day, despite the tenderest care. No 
 smile over lighted her pale face, no happy light over Kihono 
 from tlie mournful dark eyes. 
 
 " Jler heart is broken," said Uncle Hugh; *' she will 
 die by inches before our very eyes!" 
 
 And Undo Hugh's prediction might have been ftdfllled 
 had not a new excitement arisen to stimulate her to re- 
 newed life and send her back to England. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 MR. PARMALEE TURNS UP TRUMPS. 
 
 Mr. G. W. Parmalee went down to Dobbsville, Maine, 
 and reposed again in the bosom of his family, lie went 
 to work on the paternal acres for awhile, gave that up in 
 disgust, set up once more a picture-gallery, and took the 
 portraits of the ladies and gentlemen of Dobbsville at fifty 
 cents a head. 
 
 But Mr. Parmalee found life very slow. He was en- 
 nuyed nearly to death, and neither man nor woman de- 
 lighted him. Ha looked upon the bouncing damsels, 
 bursting out of their hooks and eyes, with cheeks like the 
 reddest side of a scarlet apple and eyes like azure moons, 
 and compared them, in scornful bitterness of spirit, with 
 Miss Sybilla Silver, the fair, the false. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee was fast becoming a misanthrope. His 
 speculation hatl failed, his love was lost; nothing lay before 
 him but a long and dreary existence spent in immortalizing 
 in tin-types the belles and beaus of Dobbsville. 
 
 Sometimes a lit of penitence overtook him when his 
 
|e ex- 
 
 and 
 
 lessed 
 
 'said, 
 very 
 
 TllH IJAKONI.T s i;i;il)K. 
 
 23; 
 
 thouglits rovoried to tho desolate you.in" ercatiire, worse 
 than widowed, dray<;iiig out Jifo in !Nuw "^'ork. 
 
 " I'd ought to tell her," Mr. Tarmalee tiiought. " It 
 ain't right to let her keep on thinking that her husband 
 murdered her. But then it goes awfully against a foller'a 
 grain to poach on the girl he meant to murry. Still — '' 
 
 Tho remorseful reflection haunted him, do what he 
 would, lie took to dreaming of the young baronet, too. 
 Night after night, pale and reproachful, he stood beforo 
 him in his sleep, haunting him like an uneasy j^liost. 
 Once ho saw him in his shroud, lying deail on the stono 
 terrace, and at sight of him the corpse had risen up, 
 ghastly in its grave clothes, and, pointing one quivering 
 linger at him, said, in an awful voice: 
 
 " CJ. W. Parmalee, it is you who have done this!" 
 
 And Mr. Parmalee had started uj) in bed, the cold sweat 
 standing on his brow like a shower of pease. 
 
 "I won't stand this, by thunder!" thought the artist 
 next morning, in a lit of desperation. " I'll write up to 
 New York this very day and tell her all, so help me Bob!" 
 
 But " riunmnc propose '* — you know tho proverb. Squire 
 Brown, who lived half a mile oir, and had never heard of 
 Harriet in his life, elTectually altered Mr. Parmalee's 
 jdans. 
 
 The worthy squire. Jogging along in his cart from 
 market, came upon tho artist, sitting on the top rail of 
 the gate, whittling, and locking gloomily dejected. 
 
 "Hi! (leorge, my buy!" varied out the lusty squire, 
 " what's gone v/ron?-? You look as dismal as a grave- 
 yard!" 
 
 " W-a-a-1!" drawled the artist, who wasn't going to tell 
 his troubles on the house-tops, " there ain't nothin' much 
 to speak of. It's the all-fired dullness of this pesky, one- 
 horse village, where there ain't nothin' stirrin', 'cept Hies 
 in fly-time, from one year's end to t'other." 
 
 " See what comes of traveling," said Squire Brown. 
 ' ' If you had stayed at home, instead of flying round Eng- 
 land, you'd have been as right as a trivet. My 'pinion is, 
 you've boon and left a gal behind. Here's a London pa- 
 per tor you. My missus gets 'em every mjiil. l*erhai)S 
 you'll see your gal's name in the list of marriages." 
 
 Mr. Parmalee took the pauer chucked at him with lan- 
 guid indifference. 
 
m 
 
 u 
 
 23S 
 
 TUB BAKONBT'S bride. 
 
 " Any news?" ho asked. 
 
 " Lots — just suitod to your complaint. A coal mine in 
 Cornwairs been and caved in and buried alive tifteeu 
 workmen; there's been a horrid riot in Leeds; and a baf- 
 oiiot in Devonshire is sentenced to bo hung for murdering 
 hia wife." 
 
 Mr. Paimaloe gave one yell — one horrid yell, like a 
 Comanche war-whoo^) — and leaped off the fence. 
 
 " What did you say?*' he roaretl. " A baronet in 
 Devonsliire for murdering his wife?** 
 
 " Thunder!*' ejaculated Squire Brown. *' You didn't 
 know him, did you? Maybe you took his picture when ia 
 England? Yes, a baronet, and hia name it's Sir Everard 
 Kingsland." 
 
 \V ith an unearthly groan, Mr. Parmalee tore open ike 
 paper. 
 
 *' They haven't hanged him yet, have they?" he gaspe^^ 
 ghtistly white. " Oh, good Lord above! what have 1 
 done?" 
 
 Sqmre Brown sat and stared, a spectacle of densest be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 " You didn't do the murder, 1 hope?" he asked. 
 
 But Mr. Parmalee was immersed fathoms deep in tke 
 paper, and would not have heard a thunder-bolt crashing 
 beside him. 
 
 The squire rode away, and Mr. Parmalee sat for a good 
 kour, half stupefied over the account. The paper con- 
 teined a resume of the trial, from first to last — dwelling 
 particularly on Miss Silver's evidence, and ending with the 
 sentence of the court. 
 
 The paper dropped from the artist's paralyzed hand. 
 He covered his face and sat in a trance of horror and re- 
 morse. His mother came to call him to dinner, and as be 
 Jookod up in answer to her call, she started back with a 
 scream at sight of his unearthly face. 
 
 '* Lor' a-massy, George Washington! what ever kas 
 «omo to you?" 
 
 Mr. Parmalee got up and strode fiercely past her into 
 the house. 
 
 " Pack up my clean socks and shirts, mother," he said. 
 *' I'm going back to England by the first steamer." 
 
 Late next evening Mr. Parmalee reached New Yoikc 
 
THE BAKONET's bride. 
 
 889 
 
 no in 
 
 ifteeu 
 
 bar- 
 
 eriog 
 
 Kiriy the followiiig morning ho strode up to tho brown- 
 stone mansion of Mr. iJanovor uiul sharply rang tho bell. 
 
 " la Lftcly — 1 mean, is Mr. Denovor's niece to homo!"* 
 
 The servant stared, bat utihored him into the drawiug- 
 Mom. 
 
 ♦'Who shall I say?" 
 
 Mr. Parmalee handed her hia card. 
 
 •' flive her that. TeU her it's a matter of life and 
 death.-' 
 
 The servant stared harder than over, but took the paste- 
 board and vanished. Ten minutes after, and Harriot, in a 
 white morning robe, paJe and terriiied, hurried in. 
 
 " Mr. Parmalee, has anything— have you heard — Ofa, 
 wJaat is it?" 
 
 '* It is this. Lady Kingsland: your husband has beea 
 arrested and tried for your murderl" 
 
 She clasped her hands together and sunk into a seat, 
 {^e did not cry out or exclaim. She sat aghast 
 
 •' He has been tried and condemned, and — ** 
 
 He could not finiak the sentence, out of pity for tkat 
 death -like face. 
 
 But she understood him, and a scream rang through tko 
 house which those who heard it might never forget. 
 
 " Oh, my God I he is condemned to be hanged!" 
 
 ** He is," said Mr. Parmalee; "but we'll stop 'em. 
 If ow, don't you go and excite yourself, my lady, because 
 yoa'U need all your strength a.ud presence of mind in this 
 kere emergency. There's a steamer for Liverpool to-mor- 
 row. I secured our passage before I ever came here." 
 
 She pressed her hands oonvulaively over her throbbing 
 heart. 
 
 " May the great God grant we be in time! Oh, my 
 love! my darling! my husband! 1 never thought of this. 
 Let me but save you, and I am ready to die!" 
 
 *' Only hear her!" cried the electrified artist, who didn't 
 iKiderstand this feminine sort of ethics; *' talking like that 
 s>boui the man she thinks stabbed her. 1 do believe she 
 loves him yet" 
 
 She lifted her face and looked at him. 
 
 ** With my whole heart I would die this instant to 
 save him. I love him as dearly as when I stood beside 
 lakm. at the altar a blessed bride. And he — ah^ bo\T dearly 
 
:840 
 
 TTTK r.AUONKTS HUTDE. 
 
 ho lovod mo oiico. It i'h something oven to romomltor 
 that." 
 
 " Well, I'll bo aarneil/' burst out Mr. IWiuiilco, " if 
 this <lon't bojit all (jreatioii! You winimin uro tlio most 
 curious orittors that cvor wore invcnited. Now, th(4i, what 
 would you give to know it was not >Sir Evururd whostabbtul 
 you tliat night?" 
 
 Sho lookod at him with wild, wide eyes. 
 
 " Not Sir Evcrard? lUit I saw liini; T hoard him 
 S])(<ak. lie did it in a moment of nuidiie.^H, Mr. Parnudno, 
 and Heaven only knows what anguish aad remorse he has 
 fiuffered since." 
 
 " 1 hojio so," said Mr. Parnudee. " T hojio lie's gone 
 through piles of agony, for I don't like a bone in his body, 
 if it comes to that. But, I repeat, it was not your li its- 
 band who stabbed you on the stone terrace tiiat dismal 
 night. It was " — Mr. Parnudee gulped — " it was {Sybilla 
 Silver!" 
 
 " What?" 
 
 *' Yes, ma'am — sounds incredible, but it's a fact. She 
 rigged out in a suit of Sir Everard's clothes, mimicked his 
 voice, and did the deed. 1 saw her face when she jiitihed 
 you over the rail as plain as I see your'n this nunute, and 
 I'm ready to swear to it through all the courts in Christen- 
 dom. She hated you like pisen, and the l)aronet, too, and 
 she thinks she's put an end to you both; but if wo don't 
 give her an eye-opener pretty soon, my name ain't I'arnui- 
 lee." 
 
 She sunk on her knees and held up her clasped hands. 
 
 " Thank God! thank God! thank (!od!" 
 
 And then, woman-like, the sudden ecstasy was too 
 much, and the hysterics came on. She laughed, and 
 kissed Mr. Parmalee^s hand, and dropjjcd it, and broke out 
 into a perfect passion of tempestuous sobs; and Mr. 
 Parmalee, scared pretty nearly out of his wits, rang the 
 bell and quitted the house precipitately, leaving word that 
 he would call again in the evening and arrange matters, 
 when '* Mr. Denover's niece had come to." 
 
 Next day they sailed for England. The passage was all 
 that could be desired, even by the mad ini))atience of Har- 
 riet. People stared at tlie pale, beautiful girl with liie 
 high-bred face and the wild, strained eyes who seemed to 
 know no one save the tall Yankee gentleman, who ad 
 
TUV. HAUONKT A i;icii»i:. 
 
 ^'41 
 
 % "if 
 
 most; 
 
 , wlml. 
 
 ,ubbc!(l 
 
 hint 
 niiihu;, 
 ho hiis 
 
 lirossol licr hh " my liuly. " It was very cmM, and thoy 
 aakcd Mr. I'ariiialoo (juestions, and Mr. Tarjualuo v\i»[ 
 ilujiu asUaiux!, and informed them ahv was a youn;^ (lM<;h- 
 ctiS travoliniif inrof/. under his i)rotu(;tion; had tlojic tlio 
 criiat United Status, and was ^oin^ to bring it out in a 
 booli. Hut Harriot liorsolf addressed no on o. Heart and 
 soul were absorbed in the ono thouglit — the one liopo — to 
 roach Knghmd in time. 
 
 Tliuy arrived in Liverpool. Mr. Parnudee and liis eom- 
 puTUon ])0Htcd full speed down to JJuvonshire. I»i the 
 luminous dusk of the soft May evening they reached Wor- 
 rell, Harriet's thiol veil hiding her from every eye. 
 
 " We'll go to iMr. lUyson's lirst," said Parmaloe, Hry- 
 son being Hn* Evorard's lawyer. " We're in the very niok 
 of time; to-morrow morning at day-dawn is lixod for — " 
 
 " Oh, hush!" in a voioe of agony; " not that I'oarfid 
 word! Oh, Mr. I'armalee, if we should bo too late, after 
 all!" 
 
 ""Wo can't," said the artist; "they ain't a-going to 
 hang liim for tho murder of awonuin theysoo alive. VVe'll 
 sto]) 'em, if tho ropo is round his neuk. You keep u\) a 
 good heart — you're all right, at last." 
 
 They reached tho house of Mr. ]>ryson. Ho sat over hi.s 
 eight-o'clock cup of tea, with a very gloomy face. The 
 tragedy to tako place in tho gray and dismal dawn to-moi- 
 row had cast an awful shadow over tho whole place, lie 
 had known Sir Everard all his life — ho had known his 
 beautiful bride, so passionately beloved. He had bidden 
 tho doomed young baronet a last farewell that afternoon. 
 
 " He never did it," said he to himself. " There is a 
 horrible mystery somewhere. Ho never did it — I could 
 stake my life on his innocence — and he is to die to-mor>. 
 row, poor fellow! That missing man, Parmalee, did it, 
 and that lierce young woman with the big black eyes and 
 deceitful tongue was his aider and abettor. If I could 
 only find that man!" 
 
 A servant entered with a card, " G. W. Parmalee." 
 The lawyer rose with a cry. 
 
 " Good Heaven above! It can't be! It's too good to 
 bo true! He never would rush into the lion's den in this 
 way. John Thomas, who gave you this?" 
 
 " "Which the gentleman is in the droring-room, sir," re- 
 sponded John Thomas, " as likewise the lady." 
 
I 
 
 ii 
 
 h 
 
 243 
 
 THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 Mr. JRryson rushed for the drawing-room^ flung wi'ie 
 the door, aud confronted Mr. Parmalee. The sight struck 
 him specculess. 
 
 " Good-evening, squire/* said the Amorican. 
 
 '• You here I" gasi>ed the lawyer — " the man for whom 
 we have been scouring the kingdom!" 
 
 " You'd oughtur scoured the Atlantic," replied the 
 artist, with infinite calm. "l'\8 been home to see my 
 folks. I suppose you wanted me to throw a little light on 
 that 'ere horrid murdc r? Ah, dreadful thing that was^ 
 Pound the body yet?" 
 
 '* } suspect you know mcc of that murder than any 
 other man alive I" said the lawyer. 
 
 " Do tell! Well, now, I ain't a-going to deny it — I do 
 know all about it, squire." 
 
 " What?" 
 
 " Precisely! Don't holier out vso! What do you thiak 
 s fellow 's narves are made of? Yes, sir, I saw the deed 
 done.'' 
 
 " You did? Good heavens!" 
 
 ** Don'c sv/ear, squire; it's an immoral practice. Yes, 
 I saw tho stab given with that 'ere long knife; and it 
 wasn't the baronet did it, either, though you're going to 
 kang him for it to-morrow." 
 
 *' In Heaven's name, man, speak out! Who did ifke 
 €l«ed?" 
 
 '* Sybilla Siker!" 
 
 The lawyer clasped his hands with a wild gesture. 
 
 ** 1 knew it — 1 thought it — I mid it! The she-devJH 
 Poor, poor Lady Kingsland!" 
 
 "Ma'am," said the American, turning blandly to his 
 veiled companion, " perhaps it will relievo Mr. Bryson's 
 gushing bosom to behold your face. Jest lift that 'ere 
 reil." 
 
 The veiled female rose, flung back her veil, and co«- 
 Ironted the lawyer. With an awful cry Mr. Bryson stag- 
 gered back against the wall. 
 
 " All- merciful Heaven I the dead alive! Lady KingS" 
 land!" 
 
truck 
 
 tnE LAUONET's UlilttE, 
 
 im 
 
 3e my 
 lit on 
 was! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 HIGHLY SENSATIONAL. 
 
 Sybilla 
 
 SiLVEfi went stmight from the prison cell oi 
 Su- Everard to the sick-room of hia mother. It was almost 
 elovon whon slie roachecl the Court, but they watched tlie 
 iiight throusjh in that house of mourning. 
 
 Leaving the lly before the front entrance, Sybilla stole 
 round, in tbe placid May moonlight, to that side door she 
 luul used tho memorable night of March tenth. She had a 
 latch-key to lit it, and it was never bolted, as she knew. 
 She admitted herself without diiiicnlty, and prooeedei 
 at once to Lady Kingsland's sick-room. 
 
 IShe tapped lightly at the door. It was opened instantly, 
 and the pale face of Mild red looked out. At sight of h»r 
 visitor she recoiled with a look of undisguised horror. 
 
 '* You here! How dare you, you cruel, wicked, mwoi- 
 less woman!" she indignantly cried. 
 
 *' Hard words, Miss Kingsland. Let me in, if you pleaae 
 — 1 wish to see your mother." 
 
 " You shall not come in I I will rouse the house! The 
 sight of you will kill her! I will die before 1 let you cross 
 tkts threshold! Was it not enough to swear p.way tho life 
 •f her only son? Do you want to blast hor dying hours 
 mth the sight of your base, treacherous face?" 
 
 She broke out into a passionate paroxysm of weeping. 
 
 With a look of scornful contempt, Sybilia took her by 
 tke shoulder and drew her out of the room. 
 
 *' Don't be ar idiot, Mildred Kingsland! 1 gave my evi- 
 dence — how could 1 help it? It wasn't my fault that yo»r 
 brother murdered his wife. Hold your tongue and listea 
 to me. I must see your mother for ten minutes. 1 have 
 been to the prison. I bring a last message from her son. " 
 
 Mildred looked up in consternation. 
 
 "You have been to prison!" she cried. ** You dare 
 look my brother in the face!" 
 
 *' Just as easily as 1 clo kis sister. Luckily, he has more 
 sense than she has, and bears me no grudge for what !'. 
 ee«Id not help. Am I to soo Lady Kingsland, or shall '. 
 go as I came, with Sir Everard 's mesBage undelivered?" 
 
 ^' Tbe sight of you will kill her*" 
 
 M 
 
 tf 
 
t 
 
 1! 
 
 
 
 m: 
 
 THE 3AliONEX S LKIDE. 
 
 "Wc must risk that." 
 
 She passed into tho room as she spoke, with a parting 
 word for Mildred. 
 
 " Wait here/' she said. *' I must see her quite alone, 
 dut it will only be for a few minutes." 
 
 She closed the door and stood alone the sick lady's room. 
 The night-lamp burned dim; she turned it u]) and a}»- 
 2)roached the bed. 
 
 " Is it you, Mildred?" a weak voice asked. " The light 
 
 is too strong." 
 
 " It is not Mildred, my lady. 
 *'Sybilla Silver!" 
 
 It is I." 
 
 No words can describe the look of agony, of terror, of 
 repulsion, that crossed my lady's face. She held up both 
 hands with a gesture of loathing and horror. 
 
 *' Keep off!" she cried. " You murderess!" 
 
 Involuntarily the fiendish woman quailed at that word. 
 But only for an instant. 
 
 *' Yes," she cried, her black eyes flaming up, ** that is 
 the word — murderess! — for I murdered your daughter-in- 
 law. You never liked her, you know. Lady Kiiigsland. 
 Surely, then, when I stabbed her and throw her into the 
 sea, I did you a good turn. Don't cry out, please; there 
 is no one to hear but Mildred, and she was always a j)oor, 
 weak fool. Lie still, and listen to me. 1 have a long story 
 to tell you, beginning with the astrologer's prediction." 
 
 These last two words, as Sybilla well knew, riveted the 
 attention of the sick woman at once. 
 
 With fiendish composure Sybilla repeated the story 
 she had told Sir Everard, while Lady Kingsland lay para- 
 lyzed and listened. 
 
 The atrocious revelation ended, sh: looked at her pros- 
 trate foe with a diabolical smile. 
 
 *' My oath is kept; the prediction is fulfilled. In a few 
 hours the last of the Kingslands dies by the hand of tho 
 common hangman. I have told you all, and I dare you to 
 injure one hair of my head. Within the hour my journey 
 from England commences. Search for last year's snow, 
 for last September's partridges, and when you find them 
 you may hope to find Sybilla Silver. Burn the prediclion, 
 destroy my grandmother's portrait and lock of hair, so 
 carefully hidden away for many years. Their work i» 
 
 ' 1 
 
THE baronet's BRIDE. 
 
 245 
 
 mil. 
 aj.- 
 
 ight 
 
 done, and my vengeance is complete. Lady Kingsland, 
 farewell!" 
 
 '* Murderess!" spoke a deep and awful voice — " mur- 
 deress! murderess!** 
 
 *^Ah.h-h-h-h!" 
 
 With a shriek of wordless affright, Sybilla Silver leaped 
 back, and stood cowering against the wall. For the dead 
 had risen and stood before her. The phantom t lowly ail- 
 vanced. 
 
 " Murderess, confess your guilt!*' 
 
 ** Mercy, mercy! mercy!** shrieked Sybilla Silver. 
 " Spare me! Touch me not! Oh, God! what is this?'* 
 
 *' Confess!'* 
 
 Hollow and terrible sounded that voice. 
 
 •' 1 confess — I murdered you — 1 stabbed you! Sir Ever- 
 ard is innocent! Keep off! Mercy! mercy!** 
 
 With an unearthly scream, the horrified woman threw 
 up both arms to keep off the awful vision, and fell for- 
 ward in strong convulsions. 
 
 " Very well done,** said Mr. Bryson, entering briskly. 
 " 1 don*t think we need any further proof of this lady's 
 guilt. You have played ghost to some purpose, my dear 
 Lady Kingsland. Who says, now, my melodramatic idea 
 was not a good one? She would have denied every word 
 black, and tortures would not have wrung a confession out 
 of her. Come in, gentlemen. We'll have no trouble car- 
 rying off our prize. 1 hope she hasn't done too much mis- 
 chief already." 
 
 He paused, and stepped back with a blanched face, for 
 Lady Kingsland lay writhing in the last agony. 
 
 With a wild cry, Mildred threw herself on her knees by 
 her mother's side. 
 
 *' Mamma — dear mamma — don't look like that! Har- 
 riet is not dead. She is here alive. It was that dreadful 
 woman who tried to kill her. Everard is innocent, as we 
 knew he was. He will be here with us in a day or two. " 
 
 The dying woman was conscious. Her eyes turned and 
 fixed on Harriet The white disguise had been thrown off. 
 She came over to the bedside, pale and beautiful. 
 
 ** Mother,** she said, sweetly, ** it is indeed L Dear 
 mother, bless me once. *' 
 
 ** May God bless you and forgive me! Tell Everani — '* 
 
 She never finished tho sentence. The death-rattle 
 
246 
 
 THE BABONET'S BRIDE. 
 
 sounded, her kead fell baok, her eyes turned. With ih» 
 name of the son she idolized upon her lips. Lady Kingsland 
 was dead. 
 
 The three men — Mr. Bryson, Mr. Parmalee, and the 
 head constable of Worrel — stood looking at one another, 
 awed and stunned by the suddenness of the shock. 
 
 But Harriet's presence of mind did not forsake her. 
 Reverently she kissed the dead face, closed the dead eyes, 
 and rose. 
 
 ** The dead are free from suffering. Our first duty is to 
 the living. Take me to my husband!" 
 
 She held out her arms imploringly. The men assented 
 iiaanimously. The constable lifted Sybilla unceremoni- 
 OBsly. The servants gathered outside the door gave way, 
 a/skd he placed her in the carriage which had conveyed them 
 to the house. 
 
 Mr. Parmalee went with him, and Lady Kingsland and 
 the lawyer took possession of the fly that stood waiting f»f 
 Miss Silver. 
 
 A minute later and they were flying, swift as la^ and 
 ^e«t oould urge them, toward Worrel Jail. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 "after storm, the sunshine." 
 
 HiRLiER in the evening, when Harriet had told her 
 s^ory to Mr. Bryson, that gentleman had proceeded at once 
 to the prison to inform the prisoner and the officials thut 
 ike murdered lady was alive. 
 
 Full of his good news, he hastened rapidly forward, and 
 was admitted at once to the condemned cell. 
 
 There he found the warden of the prison and the clergy- 
 man, listening with very perplexed faces to a story ilie 
 prisoner was narrating. 
 
 Sir Everard lay upon the bed, pallid and exhausted, but 
 thoroughly calm and self-possessed. 
 
 '* This IS a most extraordinary revelation," the clergy- 
 man was saying, with a bewildered face. " I really doa't 
 know what to think. " 
 
 " What is it?" asked Mr. Bryson. 
 
 *' A story which, wildly incredible as it seems, is yet true 
 m Holy Writ," answered the prigoner. *' The real mur- 
 
THE BAIiONfiT^S BRIDE. 
 
 247 
 
 derer ie found. Sho has been hero, and admitted hor 
 guilt." 
 
 " What!" exclaimed the lawyer. " Sybilla Silver?" 
 
 There was an exclamation from his listeners. 
 
 " Why!" cried the warden, in wonder, " you, too?" 
 
 *' Exactly," said Mr. Bryson, with a nod. " I know all 
 about it. A most important witness has turned up — a® 
 other than the missing man, Mr. Parmalee. lie saw the 
 deed done — saw Sybilla Silver, dressed in Sir Everard's 
 clothes, do it, and has come all the way from America to 
 testify against her. Sir Ererard, my dear friend, from 
 the bottom of my soul I congratulate yo« ou. your most 
 blessed escape!" 
 
 The tears were in hia eyes as he wrung the youmg man's 
 hand; but Sir Evorard took it very quietly. He seemed to 
 have passed beyond all earthly emotion. 
 
 " Thank you!" be said. If my life is spared, it is for 
 some good end, no doubt. Thank God! A felon's death 
 would have been yery bitter, and for my mother's sake I 
 rejoice." 
 
 " Not for your own?" 
 
 He shaded his face and tarned away. 
 
 '"'' I have lost all that made life sweet. My wJfe is in 
 heaven. For me earth holds nothing btit peuitence and 
 remorse. " 
 
 *' I am not so sure about that. I have better news for 
 yo* even than the news 1 have told. My dear friend, caa 
 yom bear a great shock — a shock of joy.'" 
 
 He sprung up in bed, electrified. 
 
 " Speak!" he gasped. " Oh, for God's SijJie— " 
 
 " Your wife [& alive!" 
 
 There was a simultaneous cry. The tJu'ee meu hardly 
 dared look at the baronet. 
 
 Mr. Bryson hurried on rapidly: 
 
 " Sybilla Silver stabbed her, and threw her over upon tiie 
 shore. Mr. Parmalee picked her up — not dead, but badly 
 wounded — took her on board a vessel — took her ilnally to 
 America. Sybilla Silver deceived your poor wife as she de- 
 ceived us all. Lndy Kingsland thought it was you. Sir 
 Everard. But she is alive and well, and in Worrel at tliis 
 very moment. Sir Everard, my dear friend, bear this like 
 a man! You have endured the highest earthly misfortune 
 like a hero. Do uot mtik 2U)W under yuur new-found joy. 
 
248 
 
 TIIK BARON KT's nKlDE. 
 
 r iS 
 
 God is good, you see, to thoso who trust in Iliin. Our 
 lirst business is to cage our bird before she flics. Can you 
 aid us any. Sir Everard? Where are we most hkeJy to 
 find her?'' 
 
 " At the Court," the baronet answered. " She left 
 hero to go there — to kill my mother with her horrible news, 
 if she could.*' 
 
 He was scarcely able to reply. Ilia heart was full to 
 bursting. His wife alive — in Worrel? Oh, it was too 
 good to be true! 
 
 *' We will leave you now," Mr. Bryson said, rising. 
 *' Come, gentlemen; Sir Everard wants to be alone. J am 
 off to secure my prisoner; and really I never did secure a 
 prisoner before with half so much delight." 
 
 It was on his way back to his own house that Mr. Bryson 
 lighted on his ghostly plan for frightening Sybilla. How 
 well it succeeded you know. 
 
 She was still insensible when they reached the prison, 
 and was handed over to the proper authorities. Harriet 
 turned her imploring face toward the lawyer. 
 
 *' Let me go to my hubsand! Oh, dear Mr. Bryson, let 
 mo go at once!" 
 
 They led her to the door. The jailer admitted her and 
 closed it again. She was in her husband's prison cell. 
 Beside the bed, in the dim lamp-light, he knelt — very, 
 very worn, very, very pale. She gave a sob at the sight. 
 Her arms were arouud his neck, her tears, her kisses rain- 
 ing on his face. 
 
 " Oh, my darling, my darling! my life, my love, my 
 husband!" 
 
 " Harriet!" 
 
 With a great cry ho rose and hold her to his heart — held 
 her as though never 0!i this earth to let her go again. 
 
 " My wife, my wife!" 
 
 And then, weak with long illness and repeated shocks — 
 this last, greatest shock of all — he sat down, faint unto 
 death. 
 
 *' Oil, my love, my wife! to think that I should hold you 
 once more in my arms, look onou more into your living 
 face! My wife, my wife! How cruel, how merciless I have 
 Deen to you! May God forgive me! 1 will forgive myself 
 — never!" 
 
THK baronet's P.TtTDE. 
 
 249 
 
 my 
 
 Her white liaiiu oovorcil liis lips — lier own sealed ihoin 
 with passioinito kisses. 
 
 *' jQot one word I Bt.'tvveon lis there can be no such thing 
 as forgiveness. We could neither of us have acted other 
 thr»n iis we did. My oatli bound me — your honor was at 
 stake. We have both sufTered — Heaven only knows how 
 dcei)ly. But it is 2^Hst now. Nothing in this lower world 
 shall ever come between us again, my beloved!" 
 
 " Not even death," he said, folding hex close to his 
 heart. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 One month after and Sir Everard Kingsland, his wife, 
 and sister quitted England for the Continent, not to make 
 the grand tour and return, but to reside for years. 
 England was too full of painful memories; under the sun- 
 lit skies of beautiful Italy they wer(^ going to forget. 
 
 Sybilla Silver was dead. All her plans had failed — her 
 oath of vengeance was broken. Sir Everard and his bride 
 were triumphant. She had failed — miserably failed; she 
 thought of it until she went mad — stark, staring mad. 
 Her piercing shrieks rang through the stony prison all day 
 and all night long, freezing the blood of the listeners, un- 
 til one night, in a paroxysm of frenzy, she had dashed her 
 head against the wall and bespattered the floor with her 
 blood and brains. They found her, in the morning, stone 
 dead. 
 
 * 
 
 Out into the lazy June sunshine the steamer glided, 
 feaving the chalky cliffs of old England behind. With his 
 handsome wife on his arm, the fair-haired young b*tronet 
 stood looking his last at his native land, his face infinitely 
 happy. 
 
 *' For years,'' he said, with a smile — '* for life, perhaps, 
 Harriet. I feel as if I never wished to return. " 
 
 *' But we shall," she said. " England is home. A few 
 happy years in fair foreign lands, and then, Everard, back 
 to the old land. But first, 1 confess, I should like again 
 to see America, and Uncle Denover, and " — with a little 
 lai^h — " George Washington Parmaloe." 
 
 For Mr. Parmalee had gone back to Dobbsville, a rich 
 and happy man, at peace with all the world. Sir E\rerard 
 Kingsland included. 
 
 ** You're a brick, baronet," his parting speech had bee!i. 
 
n I 
 
 I; 
 
 260 
 
 THE BARONET'S RRTDE. 
 
 as IiG wrung that young nuin's hand; "you ah*, 1 swiua! 
 And your vvife*B another! Long may you wave!'* 
 
 8ir Evorard laughed aloud now at the recollection. 
 
 " Money can nevor npuy our obligation to that worthy 
 artist. Mt*y his shadow never be less! We shall go over 
 to Dc^bbRvilia and see him., and have our pictures taken, 
 next year. Look, Harriett! how the chalky cliffs are 
 melting into the blue above! One parting peep at Eng- 
 land, and so a long good-bye to the old land!'* he said, 
 taking off his hat, and standing, radiant and happy, with. 
 Hm June sunlir^ht on his }iundE;cme head. 
 
 ! h 
 
 s 
 
 
 THE BNDo 
 
 r 
 
Bvmn: 
 
 kvorthy 
 o over 
 taken, 
 ffs aro 
 Eng- 
 
 yy 
 
 with 
 
 ADELFIIS 
 
 
 BRARY 
 
 OF POPUI.AR WORKS OF B ICTION 
 
 A unique, thoroughly up-to-dat« scrlzs of conks by 
 the most popttlir authors. Uiuioiibtcdly the most 
 starlling, aliractwc scries of 12»k'5, mcr made to 
 sell at a popular price. Bound in green English 
 vellum cloth, stamped with a beautiful cover design, 
 having la^ge urtisiic green side and back title let- 
 terings, makicf' altogether a highly arttstic decorative 
 cover, buund Rat back, prlrtea from large clear type 
 on a good quality of laid paper, each book io 
 wrapper. 
 
 JSS iDtiUs, 'Price SO center. 
 
 1 Ardiith 
 
 2 Arundel Motto 
 
 3 li;iliir.s Maid 
 
 4 liannod and Blessed 
 
 5 Baronet 'h Bride. 
 
 6 iie;iii Tuncrede 
 
 7 Bcuiah 
 
 8 Black i',eauty 
 
 9 Black Rock 
 
 10 Bondman, The 
 
 11 Camillo 
 
 12 Chaplain's Daughter 
 
 13 ('hildren of the Abbey 
 11 Cloister and th(3 Hearth 
 1.5 Corsica n Jkothens 
 
 16 Count of Monte Cristo 
 
 17 Deemster, The 
 
 18 Donovan 
 
 19 Dora Thome 
 
 20 Duke's Secret, The 
 
 21 Earl's Heir, The 
 
 22 East liynne 
 
 23 Edmund Dantes 
 
 24 Elsie Venner 
 
 25 Esttlla's Husband 
 20 Foli.v Holt 
 
 27 File Number 113 
 
 28 I'irst Violin, The 
 
 29 Fou). Play 
 
 i^O Ccrtrude's Marriat'e 
 
 31 Cold Elsie 
 
 32 Golden Butterfly, The 
 
 33 Handy Andy 
 
 34 Hardy Norseman, A 
 
 35 Heiress of Glendowcr 
 
 36 Her Ransom 
 
 37 His Guardian Angel, 
 
 38 Inez 
 
 39 In Golden Days 
 
 40 In the Schillin'gscourt 
 
 41 Ivanhoe 
 
 42 Jane J'^yre 
 
 43 Jeanne 
 
 44 John Halifax 
 
 45 Kfnihvorth 
 
 46 ]\night Errant 
 
 47 Lady Evelyn 
 
 48 Lady of the Rubies 
 
 49 Lamplighter, The 
 
 50 Last Day> of Pompeii 
 
 51 Last of the Mohicans 
 
 62 Leola IXale's Fortune 
 
 63 l>eslie's Loyalty 
 
 64 Little jlinister, The 
 
 55 Lorrie 
 
 56 Lover or Friend 
 
 57 Love's Dilonfima 
 
 68 Lucille; or, the Lady of 
 Darracourt 
 
 , 
 
^^TiBLTHI Lt'B'RA.'Ry-Coniinued, 
 
 Ri i > 
 
 I i 
 
 50 
 (10 
 01 
 (12 
 o:i 
 (•4 
 
 (;;> 
 (;ii 
 
 (17 
 
 os: 
 
 (IS) 
 70 
 71 
 72 
 7". 
 74 
 V.'i 
 70 
 "(7 
 < 1 
 
 79 
 JO 
 ijl 
 S2 
 K\ 
 84 
 85 
 86 
 87 
 8S 
 8!) 
 90 
 01 
 92 
 9:i 
 94 
 
 96 
 97 
 
 M.'ij^d.ilon's Vow 
 
 MMrl)!(! Fail!), Tlio 
 
 Mur'iuis, 'I ho 
 
 Martyred IjOVO, A 
 
 Mary St. John 
 
 Miciia Clarkf; 
 
 Kol Like Utl.iT r.irlM 
 
 iSiirso Kovcl's Mistake 
 
 (>l'l MnMi'scll'M Sccrot 
 
 OKI Myddlcion's Money 
 
 ().Uv('r Twist 
 
 (Mivia 
 
 Only .1 (iirl's Love 
 
 Only tlio (iovorness 
 
 (>iily Olio liOve 
 
 Our Mutual l-'riond 
 
 Owl's Nest, The 
 
 rastor's l)au^';iiter 
 
 i j-iiicc f)f Iho liouso of 
 
 I'avid 
 I'riiicofis of llio Moor 
 I'ut Yoiirsoll in Hisl'lacri 
 (♦ut'on of ti'o iule, 'Jho 
 (^iio V'aclis 
 Quwnie's Whim 
 ]{ol)ins()n Crusoo 
 l^omanco of Two Worlds 
 Itussian Oypsy, The 
 .Saniantlia at kSaratop;a 
 Scarlet Letter, 'lh(i 
 Scottish Cliiefs 
 Second AMfe, 'J'he 
 She Loved Him 
 Sifjn of the Four, The 
 Silas Marner 
 Sketch Jtook 
 So Fair, So False 
 So Nearly Lost 
 Son of .^Ionte Cristo 
 
 98 Staunch of Heart 
 
 9!) Stella's I'ortuno 
 
 100 St Cuthbcrt's Tower 
 
 101 Stepping Heavenward 
 
 102 Storyof a^Vcdding llinj; 
 10;i Study in Scarlet 
 
 104 Kuii.-.hino and Loses 
 
 105 Tide of Two Cities 
 100 Ten N i^'h ts in a 1 'a r 1 1 oom 
 
 107 TdTihle Temptation 
 
 108 'Ihaddeu.s of Warsaw 
 
 109 'Ihehna 
 
 110 Ti\orns and Orango 
 
 Blossoms 
 
 111 Three Guardsmen, Tlio 
 
 112 Thrcnc of David 
 
 113 Th».se Wester ton Vx'wU 
 
 114 '■J'i-i'UKun; L-Tuid 
 
 115 Twin Lieutenants, The 
 IKi Two Orph:ins 
 
 117 I'lK-le 'Join's Cal);ii 
 
 118 1 nder Two l''lags 
 
 119 Unseen j'aidegrotjm 
 
 120 Usurper The" 
 
 121 Vendetta 
 
 122 Very Hard Casli 
 12:5 Vicar of AVakefield 
 
 124 Wasted Love, A 
 
 125 We Two 
 12() Wee Wifie 
 
 127 White Company, The 
 
 128 Wife of Monte Cristo 
 
 129 Who Wins 
 
 1150 Woman Against Woman 
 
 llil Woman's Soul, A 
 
 i;i2 Won by Wailing 
 
 ln;j Wormwood 
 
 l:i4 Wounded Heart, A 
 
 135 Wooed and Married 
 
 Any of the above tuks sent postpaid on receipt of 50c 
 Dt f'vtf for $2.0C, 
 
 X^l. A. DONOHUE £^ CO. 
 
 407-129 Dearborn St. CHICAGO 
 
r 
 
 M. A. DONOnUE & COMPANY»S 
 
 ::^^^^BOOK3 FOR GIRLS^^^ 
 
 A Gill in Ten Thousand, by Mrs. L. T. ?,Ica<lc. 
 121110, cloth. lllusLratctl. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Girls of St. Wodes, by Mrs. I.. T. .Mcadc. irmo, 
 cloth. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Gold Elsie, by E. Marlitt. 121110, cloth. Illustrated. 
 Price 50 cents. 
 
 Grandmother Dear, by Mrs. Molcsworth. i2nio, 
 cloth, illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 The House That Grew, by Mrs. ]\Iolcs\vorth. imu), 
 cloth. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Leona, by Mrs. Moleswcrth. 121110, cloth, llluilrat'." !. 
 IVice 50 cents. 
 
 The Late Miss Hollingford, by R^sa Mulho'laud. 
 121110, cloth. Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Little Lame Prince, l>y Miss ^lulock. 121110, cloth. 
 Illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Little Mother to the Others, by Mrs. L. T. .Meade. 
 i:?ino, cloth, illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Little Susie Stories, l.^y Mrs. Prentiss. 1211:0, clotli. 
 illustrated. Price 50 cents. 
 
 A Man Without a Country, l.)V' Edward Evcnat 
 liale. i2mo, ciotii. illustrated. i*rice 50 cents. 
 
 rjlerle*s Crusade, by Posa I\. Cany. i2mo, cloth. 
 iihistrated. iVicc 50 cents. 
 
 Miss Toosey's Mission and Laddie, 12'r.o, cloth, 
 illustrated. I'rice 50 cents. 
 
 Tor sale by all RookscHcrs or nnit 5>f)stpaitl cvu loccipt of 
 
 ptice l»y the i^iblishcrs. 
 
 M, A. DONOHUE & CO. 
 41S Dearborn St. - ClI^GACiO 
 
OWING to increaiing demand for works of this 
 author wc arc pU-ascd to oftcr an cditicm nt a 
 popular price givinj^^ complete works in the sots listed. 
 Books arc attractively bound in art shades of English vel- 
 lum cloth, three designs stamped in three colors. Printed 
 from large typ~ on an extra quality of clean flexible paper. 
 Each book in gla/.ed paper wrapper. i2nio cloth. 
 
 LIST PRICE, FIFFY CENTS 
 
 1 All Abonrd; or, lafo on the T/ikp. 
 
 2 ]')niv(' Old Salt: or, Lifn on tho (Quarter nock. 
 
 3 Jioiit (,"lnl), 'Vh'; or, The riaiikcus of Ikippicton. 
 
 4 FiKhtin;^ .loe; or, The ['"or tunes of ri tStulT Olliccr. 
 
 5 lliislciiud \Viis(r\;or,']'ho Youno; I ilotof 1-ake ('1i;imi|iI;uu. 
 
 6 Hope !>.n(l Have; or, Fautiy <-.iar)t Anioii/j; llio Indiai'..'.. 
 
 7 In School atul Oul ; or, Tlu; ("oii';U( st, of ll(li;inl (Iranfc. 
 
 8 LiLtlt3 l)y Little; or, 'The Ouisi- of the l"'ly;i,\vay. 
 
 9 Now or Never; or. The Advcnl.ines of Pohhy i)iig1\l. 
 
 10 Outward Bound; o', "i (»un'.:c Ainciivan Allu.it. 
 
 11 Poor ari'l I'.oud; or, The I'o' tuiiC;-; of ivatv! liclburii. 
 
 12 liieh and Humble; or, Tlio Mission of Bihtha (Lant.. 
 
 10 Sailor Hoy, TIk'; or, Jnek Somos in the N;ivy. 
 
 11 Soldier Boy, 'I'ho; oi, Tom Somk rs in (Ik; Army. 
 
 15 Thiee Millions; c, Thp Way of the World. 
 
 16 Try Again; or,^ The Tiial.-' an'd T; iumphs of 1 Ian y West. 
 
 17 Watch and Wait; or, Tin- '^'oun^r I'ugi; ivj.s. 
 
 IS Work and Win; or, Noddy Ne\.-m;in on a CJruise. 
 
 15) The Yankee Middy: or,Th(' Ad vcntni! sofa Nav.donicjr. 
 
 20 The Young Lieutenant; or, Adventuicsuf an AiDiy Ollicer. 
 
 Any of the above titles will be sent prepaid upon 
 receipt of 35c, or three copies for $1,00 
 
 M. A. DONOHU 
 
 407-429 Dearborn St„ 
 
 P. 
 
 f» 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
TliE 
 
 Sweet Glover Stories 
 
 FOR GIRLS 
 
 BY MRS. CARRIE L. MAY 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 Brownie Sanford 
 
 Nellie Milton's Housekeeping 
 
 Sylvia's Burden 
 
 Ruth Lovell 
 
 12iTio. Illustrated. Attrnctively bound in vellum do luxe 
 
 cloth and stamped in three colors. Sent postpaid 
 
 on receipt of 50 cents per volume, or §1.75 
 
 for the complete set. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 
 
 415 Dearborn St. - Chicago 
 
I' 
 
 ll, 
 
 SELECTED TITLE5 FROM M. A. DONOHUE & CO.'S 
 
 Princess Series 
 
 ==BOOKS FOR GIRLS= 
 
 Adventures of a Brownie, 
 
 by iMulock. 121110, cloth. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, 
 
 by Lewis Carroll. i2mo, cloth. Illustrated. Price 
 50 cents. 
 
 Brownie of Sanford, 
 
 by Carrie L. May. 121110, cloth. Price 50 cents. 
 
 A Bunch of Cherries, 
 
 by Mrs. L. T. Meudc. 121110, cloth. Price 50 
 cents. 
 
 Daddy's Girl, 
 
 by Mrs. L. T. Meade. i2mu, cloth. Price 50 
 cents. 
 
 Esther, 
 
 by Rosa N. Carey. i2mo, cloth. Price 50 cents. 
 
 Faith Gartney's Girlhood, 
 
 by Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. i2mo, cloth. Price 50 
 cents. 
 
 Frances Kane's Fortune, 
 
 by Mrs. L. T. Meade. i2nio, cloth. Price 50 
 cents. 
 
 A Girl of the People, 
 
 by Mrs. L. T. Meade. i2mo, cloth. Price 50 
 cents. 
 
 ■i- 
 
 -■ 
 
 li 
 
 '-* 
 
 
 
 V 
 
 
 
 
 X 
 
 <X 
 
 ( . 
 
 
 S 
 
 V i 
 
 i 
 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 V 
 
 
 i 
 
 ' 
 
 
 i 
 
 i^ 
 
 
 'i 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 '; 
 
 For sale by all Booksollcis or sent Postpaid on receipt of 
 
 price by tbe Publishers. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 
 dlS Dearborn St. - CIIICAGO 
 
c CO.'S 
 
 Price 
 
 ?cnts. 
 'rice 50 
 
 'rice 50 
 
 conts. 
 Price 50 
 
 J'rice 50 
 
 Price 50 
 
 eceipt of 
 
 [two great! 
 
 . ■ BOOKS ' 
 
 By the ^o-author of **The Lightning Con- 
 ductor" and **My Friend the Chauffeur*' 
 
 Romantic, entertaining and interesting books by this most 
 popular and universally admired author. 
 
 My Lady Cinderella 
 
 By Mrs. C« 2^. Williamson 
 
 A unique, o::citing and interesting romance, C2n pages, 
 large, clear type, printed en a very superjor '.jMiil'ty cf 
 paper, bound in besi quality of biuciers' cloih with uniotic 
 stamping on front and back from specially made Jtiuguj. 
 
 THE liOUSS M THE LOCI 
 
 By Mrs. C. N. Williamson 
 
 Co-author of "The Lightning Conductor," "My Friend the 
 Chauffeur," etc., a clever and excitinfi romance of i itrigue 
 and love and one well worthy of the roputatiou of this 
 popular author. 313 pages of large, clear type, printed on 
 a superior quality of book paper, bound in binders' best 
 finished cloth and embellished with an ornamental and 
 unique design in colors on the front and back. 
 
 Either of the above bookr. sent postpaid to any acldr' , in the U. St 
 Canada or Mexico upon icceipt of $l.bu. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 
 
 407-429 Dearborn Street CHICAGO ILL. 
 
 
 [CAGO 
 
Mr^. Li. T. Meade 
 Serie4: 
 
 \ 
 
 AN EXCELLENT edition of the works of this very 
 
 popular author of books for girls. Printed from hir^e 
 
 type on an extra quality of paper, cover design st-.impou ir» 
 
 three colors, large side title letterings, each book in glu£t;di 
 
 paper printed >vrapper. 
 
 Bad Little Hannah 
 
 A Bunch of Cherries 
 Children's Pilgrimage 
 Daddy's Girl 
 
 Deb and the Duchess 
 
 Frances Kane's Fortune 
 A Girl of the People 
 Good Luck A Girl in Ten Thousand 
 
 The Honorable Miss Girls of St. Wodes 
 
 Light of the Morning 
 
 Little Mother to the Others 
 The Medicine Lady 
 
 Merry Girls of Enf:?Iand 
 Palace Beautiful A Modern '^1 omboy 
 
 Polly— A New Fashioned Girl Out of FashiOQ 
 
 School Favorite 
 
 Sweet Girl Graduate 
 Time of Roses 
 
 A Very Naughtj* Girl 
 Wild Kitty 
 
 World of Girls 
 
 Youu2 Mutineef 
 
 ANY OF ABOVE TMLliS S£N T POST- 
 PAID UPON RF.f:E!PT OF FIITV CEN'l S 
 
 M. A. TDonohae iWL Co* 
 
 ^07-^29 Dearborn Street 
 
 CHMCjACO 
 
this ^ery 
 [ram liujio 
 h;mped iti 
 
 in gliucd 
 
 le 
 
 Ihousand 
 t. Wodes 
 
 rs 
 
 nf:^land 
 lomboy 
 t 1 ashioa 
 
 -1 • 
 
 1 
 
 : Mutineef 
 
 s 
 
 ^ Co, 
 
 iCACO