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Lorsque le document est trop grand pour 6tre reproduit en un seul cliche, ii est fiim6 A partir de I'angle supArieur gp;jche. de gauche d droite. et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nicessaire. Les diagrammes suivants iUustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 SUNDEKED HEAET8. 'Very soberly Gertrude, wiilked liy tlic familiar field juiths. '— Pngrc lo. f SUNDEEED HEABTS wr -ANNTK S. SWAN, AyXMuM Uif 'Al^^vi/Jt,' •CAHl.u^Vui^' 4TC. ilrbi EDitioiu TORONTO, CANADA WILLIAM BRIGGS KDINJ{UK(;H and LONDON OLIPHANT, AXDKKsox & FKURIER 1889 : i^4w S- st< 20jr, Entcrcfl acrorfllnpr to Art of (ho Parliamont of Canada, in the yrar ono thoiiHand oiglit hundred and eiKhty-nino, hy William liKi({(4S, Jlook Steward of I he Methodist liook and Publishing lluuse, Toronto, at the Department of AKriculturc. f; CONTENTS. in the yrar I AM HKI(i(48, ling lluusc. PART i. CHAP. PAOB I. THE FRANK MX MA Y.N ES, . , 7 II. A FT I'll NOON TKA, . . , . H III. THE COUNTY IJAI.I,, . 23 IV'. M<>U.\I.V(! ( AI.I.S, .... . 32 V. THE STUATIIKAkNS— F.VniKU AND SON > < . 39 VI. FOKTl'.NK SMILKS, . 47 VII LOVE, . 55 VHI. THE .SHADOW FALLS, . . . . . 64 IX. THE \VI.sU«).M (»K IHK WORLD, . 70 X. TOO LATE, ...... 78 XI HIS I'KO.MISEI) WIFT,, . . . . 86 XII. LUNDIE HnUSE, I'RCADILLV, 93 XIII. THE MAUUIAGE, PART II. 100 I. HUsnAXD AND WIFE, n. CASILE LUXDIE, HI, THK PATH (»F DUTY, 109 117 125 CONTENTS. IV. DTRCORT), ... * V. UNAHKKD, UNSOUnilT, VI. VISIT0118 FOR CANTLK LUNIMR. VII. BBAUINO TUB CU08H, VIII. FIRM, .... IX. LKTIERS, .... X. FRIKNDS FOR LIFK, . . XI. JOHN BTRATIIKAKN, M.P., XII. A IHVIDKD lloU.sR, . XIII. TilK HHADOW OF TUB PAST, XIV. FAREWELL, XV. WON, .... XVI. BROTH KR AND SISTER, . XVII. BEYOND RKCALL, . . XVIII. AT LAST CONCLUSION, • • PAnN 133 142 151 160 167 173 181 189 195 202 208 216 2"J5 232 239 247 "1%^ SUADEREl) HEARTS. -o- P A U T I. niArTKU r. THE FUAN K LI N-M A YN' KS. !■ 8 SCNDF.RED HEARTS. \ the tnuist iiiHtinctH of luirnan iiatun!, (J(!rtruil«' Mayno hiul yet prcHorved her pure iiiul ^uil(!leHrt lieurt, and kept herself unspotted from the world. The lady whom she addressed aa mother — Mrs. Fraidvlin- Mayno of Meauowflats — had l»een a Ixjauty in her youth, l)Ut a long period of feohlo health, coupled with the hard sclnni- ing and vain striving to keep up the appearance she th(»u;^'ht becoming to hor station, had stolen the hlooni from her cheek, the lustre from her eye, atlded a wrinkle here and a cruel line there, making her old bef(»re her time. She was that sad spectacle of a woman who is ashamed to grow old — her morning dress adorned with ribbons and laces, her dainty little cap perched jauntily on her grey hair, her earrings, and necklets, and linger-rings, only served to make the faded beauty more pitiful to see. Had she been attired in a gown of sober hue, and a comfortable matronly shawl and cap, she would have been a charming and motherly-looking woman, but Mra Franklin-Mayne had a horror of anything matronly or ag(!d. She rose from the table where the remains of the late breakfast still stood, and, drawing her low basket chair close to the hearth, she placed her slippered feet on the fender, and folded her hands in graceful ease upon her knee. Mrs. Mayne was nothing if not graceful. * Something must be got to wear ; what would you suggest, Caroline ? ' she said, looking towards her elder daughter, who was deep in the pages of the new issue of Vanity Fair. She tossed the paper aside, and rose with a languid yawn. ' That is not a question which is to be answered in a moment, mamma,' she said, in a sweet, cool, well-modulated voice. A handsome and distinguished-looking woman was Caroline Mayne. I say woman^ for she had passed her twenty- fifth year, and was six years older than her sister Gertrude. But, though undeniably handsome, she was not attractive. Though her face was in the strict sense of the word beautiful, it lacked the wiusomeness of her sister's. It was the beauty of a statue, — cold, impassive, — which pleases the eye, but cannot touch the heart. " Seeing this is our first ai>pearance among Rumford county society, it is imperative that we should make a good im- pression,* said Mrs. Mayne decidedly. ' First impressions are eve prn Wll d:v wli; bail we Cieri iw f ' 'R Fh'A Xh'l. /N AM YXES. L herself 'ranldin- nth, hut 1 Sclltlll- thou^'lit 'om her ri! and w Sho was w old — r dainty n^'s, and 10 faded a gown cap, she woman, natronly 3 of the ;ot chair on the er knee. suggest, er, who r. She nomcnt, ce. Caroline twenty- sister was not of the ler's. It pleases county ood im- ious are fVfTythinu'. ^^' havo so little time at our disposal. Scotcli j |ile j^'ive such hiirlmrdusly Mlimi invitati(»n>, that I fear it will he useless to ask Mailaine 1 )uniares(pie for three Jiew dmsses. Suppose we drive tlown to Ktiiiiford to-tlay and see what Mr. Macniillan can show us. Mrs. Kills »)f Urierly- haiik assjires ine he keeps a lirst class mnillstr.* 'Has Mr. Macniillan heeii jiaid tor all the hotisehcld stuff we g«Tt wIh'Ii we lirst came to Meadowllat.s, niollmr f ' asked Uc'rtrude tpiickly. Something approaching to a frown darkened the hrow of Mrs. Mayne. *(jertrude, my love, when you can sujjpre.s.s yotir propensity for saying disagreeahle things you will have actpiired a great acconiplislunc'nt,' sho said sharply. 'Come, Caroline, tell mo what ijoii think of wearing. I am diviiled between a pink witin, with a black lace over-dress, and an entire costume of terra-cotta silk.' ' Katlier ycmthful, is it not, mamma?' asked Caroline, with gooddiumoured .sarcasm. She could sound the tlet^pest (h'pths of her UKJther's shallow heart, wher(!as (Jertrude could only wt)nder, and yet still love when she couhl not understand. '/can wear what most women at my ago wou'd look guys in,' replied Mrs. Mayno, with conscious pride. ' I think you ought to have ruby velvet. A heavy, rich material always suits you.* 'I intend to have an amber silk, mamma, if anything. r>ut really, is it worth one's while to dre.ss up si)ccially for u thing of this kindl What is a county ball?' ' My dear, it is the place where all tho county people meet once a year to stare at and critici.se each other, anil also to till the souls of the lesser lights with envy, for 1 am led to under- fitand that at the county ball ther- is given to the parrrnu an opportunity to copy the upper ten. It will 1)? peculiarly so in Kumford, I believe, on account of its manufacturing wealth,' said Mrs. Mayne. 'In that case we could wear anything,' said Caroline indiderently. 'Now, there you are wrong, my love,' said Mrs. Mayne suavely. 'The county families in shire are not to be despised. Consider, there will be Lord and Lady Hamilton, 10 SUN D EKED HEARTS. ' I tho Earl P.nrl Countoss of Dovniili.i, Colonel and ^frs. Oraliam, and man} otlicrs. Uesides, if r(.'|M»rt sjicaks truly, our iKiigld^uiir, Sir William Luiidie, may ^M-acu the assembly with his j)resenee. I hear that he is on his way home from India, and th;it there are extensive preparations being made at Castle Lundie for his return.' 'How on earth do you find out everythin;:^, mamma?* asked Caroliiit;, with a smile. ' I mi^'ht live twenty years in Meaduwliats, and never know who or what the coun'iy people are.' ' ^ly dear, when you have lived so long as I, you will learn what is expedile entreat- w oue. It liled. She Lrer, never IS exhuUist- rooni, and ^e in these the ponies ay an houi id walked fault, and art. poor, ould prove fever was She stole out into the hall, took a wrap and a pardon hat from the stnnd, and went out into the clear, hraciiiL,' conincsa of the winter morning. It was such a day as would sweep all cohwehs of sadness or gloom from the heart, a day in which the hlood flows quicker in the veins, and the pulse heats in tune with the invigorating pulse of nature. So (i'.'rtrude felt the moment she set foot on the terrace. The peacocks, lu-aring her step, flew to meet her, for every living thing ahout Meadowfiats knev/ and loved her. She spoke caressingly to the beautiful birds, and, having given them th(!ir morning portion of bread, turned her steps in the dirc^ction of the stables. She wa.s in search of her father, to whom she ever turnea instinctively when she felt out of tune with the atmosphere indoors. Of late there had come to Gertrude Mayne a painful sense of humiliation every time the nature of their li^e came home to her. Only a year a.uo she had ccmio home from a Yorkshire school, an innoccnit, light-hearted girl, glad to escape the restraints of school life, eagin- to make the acquaintance of the new home which her father had but lately inherited. To her it seemed to be Paradise to be done ■with London lodgings and hotels, where she had been ac- customed to spend her holidays, and to have a real home of one's own to feel interested in and to love. It was the old story. Gilbert Franklin- Mayne, the younger son of an impoverished family, had been brought up to the idle life oi a gentleman without the means to su])port it, had con- tracted an early and imprudent marriage with an extravagant though penniless beauty, removed to London, and then end i' red years of miserable, loveless poverty, hanging upon the skirts of society, eking out slender means by the work of a literary hack. Such had been the life to which Gertrude Mayne had been born, such the home in which she had l.een reared. Then, when the best years of his life were past, the d(!ath of his elder brother made him ])ossessor of Meadowfiats, a small but beautifully situated estate in one of the Borvler counties. It was desirable chiefly as a residence, for the lands jicM-taining to it were neither extensive nor did they command a large rental, but it was a home, and very thankfully ditl (rilbert Mayne turn his back upon the f:'Te it wilderness of London, which had been a hard task-mist rois to him, and bring his la SUNDERED HEARTS, fli wife and daugliters to the land and place of his birth. To Mrs. Mayne the change was not altogether pleasant. She had a certain position, it is true, above the raanulacturers and retired tradespeople, but she was still among the smaller county gentry whom the magnates only recognised from afiir. To a woman of her character such a position was galling in the extreme, and her days were spent in scheming how vshe could better her position and force her way into the front rank of society. Her hope centred in her daughters, or, properly rpeaking, in her elder daughter, for it had not as yet occurred to her that it might be Gertrude — whom she regarded as a plain-looking, uninteresting school-girl — who would elevate the dignity of the house of Mayne. By slow degrees certain truths had been revealed to Gertrude, and to her sensitive heart they seemed fraught with humiliation and pain. She was thinking of these things as she slowly walked through the shrubbery and up the stone courts to the stables. Her father, however, was not tuere, and his horse was gone from its stall. * Can you tell me v.'Lere father has gone, Carmichael ? ' she asked the groom. ' Yes, miss ; down to Rumford to see about a new bit for Jerry ; and then I heard him say he was going to Colonel Graham's,' replied Carmiohael, with ready courtesy. All the dejiendents at Meadowflats loved their master's second daughter, and neither Mrs. Mayne nor Caroline knew how very often Gertrude's gentle word or entreating look had taken the sting from their haughty and overbearing manners, and maae peace when a storm was brewing in the house. Somewhat disappointed, Gertrude turned away., and, unfas- tening the chain which bound the big watch-dog to its kennel, went away across the park, the huge animal bonnding gleefully by her side. When she reached the further side of the park, she stood still beside the low hedge which separated it from the road, and looked for a few minutes upon the surrounding scene. It was a picture of v^hich the eye never tired, and yet taere was nothing grand or imposing, only a peaceful and pleasant country landscape, a breadth of flat green meadow land, then the silver windings of a stream, and b'^yond that the clustering roof-trens of the town, from whonre numy tall smoke-begrimed chimney -.xtnlks reared their heads to the ^ h?l THE FF: AN KLIN- MA YNES. «3 birth. To She liad :urers and le smallur from aftir. galling in J how she front rank r, properly it occurred irded as a Id elevate ;es certain r sensitive lain. She irough the ler father, 1 its stall. Kiel ? ' she Q\v bit for ^o Colonel All the daughter, '^ery often the sting laae peace I wintry sky. There were patches of woodland here and there, sheltering some cosy homestead ; and upon one gentle etnincnco, lookiir- down upon the town, the towers and turrets of a lordly pile, which pertained to the Lundies, of high degree and old renown. Far beyond its wide-spreading lands there was a ridge of high hills, capped with snow, and which looked like the limits of the world. Such was the picture across which Gertrude's eyes travelled somewhat wistfully that winter day. Her heart was stirred by vague yearnings of unrest, her soul rieemed weighted down by a burden of coming trouble. She could not understand why she should feel as if her girlhood, her careless, hai)py, light-liearted girlhood, had gone away in a moment from her for ever. A gleam of sunlight broke through the grey sky just then, and touched the meandering stream, until it looked like a thread of gold. It made many lovely lights and shadows play upon woodland and meadow, and touched witn lingering tenderness the girl's sweet face. She saw its beauty through blurring shadows. The mastif! sympathetically rubbed his head against her dress and pushed his cold nose into her hand. She turned and let her hand fall caressingly on his noble head. 'Come, Lion, I am out of sorts to-day. What can it be, I wonder % — unless the sadness which often comes with the end of the year. You would explain it oU away, my doggie, with these wise eyes of yours. Come, you and I will have a scamper together down to the Running Burn, and then we will go home.' nd, unfas- ts kennel, \ gleefully the park, ed it from rrounding 1, and yet ceful and 1 meadow yond that n\any tall ! to the "^^^^ Ill 1! II !i CHAPTER TI AFTERNOON TEA. ;UNCHEON was on the taHe at Meadowflats punctually at half-past one. It had been ordered half an hour earlier to allow the ladies amjjle time to drive to and from Rumford before the early darkness fell. Mr. Mayne was not home in time, and the mother and daughters partook of it alone. ' Are you coming with us, Gertrude 1 * asked Mrs. !Mayne. 'I think not, mamma; but I will walk across the fields to Rumford, as I want to see Margaret Dunsyre ; and, if you could tell me when your business would be concluded at Macmillan's, I could meet you there and drive home with you,' replied Gertrude. Caroline shrugged her shoulders. ' I can't understand what you see to charm you in that ]n'im, old-maidish sister of Doctor Dunsyre's,' she said slightingly. *It is most unaccountable tlie penchant Gertrude has for that kind of people,' said Mrs, Mayne. * Doctor Dunsyre is a gentleman and a skilful physician, but his sister' — An expressive griiiiace concluded Mrs. Mayne's speech. ' Well, child, if that is your plan, you can just sit with Miss Dunsyre till we call for you ; but don't, I implore you, say anything about us coming, as she will drag us in to afternoon tea, which I particularly hate, except in ddtshabillS in my own dressing-room.' poor shoul AfTERNOOX TEA, «S iaclow flats n onlored ii])lo time the early and the Mayne. fields to [, if you uded at k^ith you,' lat ])rim, tini^'ly. has for ins V re is '— An ith Miss you, say iternoon my owu I '"Why do you speak of Margaret Dunsyre as that kind of people, mother V asked (iertrude a little (inicldy. ' lli^r mother was a Carter of Craigcrouk, and they are as ohl a family as ours.' 'My dear, her mother marrieil a manufacturer, and thus lost her own i)ositiun for ever. There is nothing worse for a woman than to marry beneath her; it is a social sin. You will see that from lience the Dunsyres will degenerate, until possibly they may bo reduced to the level (tf mechanics. I have seen it over and over again. It is one of Nature's relent- less laws.' ^Irs. >rayne delivered her speech with great dignity, but to poor (Iertrude her logic tlid not seem very clear. And yet she should be learning her lesson now, for it was repeated in her ears many times a-day. She held her peace, and went away (piietly to dress for her walk, pondering certain things in lur mind. She was unworldly enough still to prize a true friend wluiresoever she found that j)ri(.-eless jewel, and her heart wjis knit to Margaret Dunsyre in the bonds of a true and all'ec- tionate love. She was her confidante, her counsellor, lier comforter \ into that faithful ear were i)oured all her dillicullies and doubts, all her soreness of heart and bitter regrets over the false and miserable life they led at Meadowllats. She breathed shamefacedly to Margaret about tradespeople coming to demand their dues, and how some liad refused to supply goods unless the lady of Meadowllats could come to them with her numey in her hand. And faithful Margaret sympathized and tried to console, and did not say that she knew all about it already, for the poverty and the debt of Meadowllats was the town talk of Rumford. Very sol)er]y Gertrude walked by the familiar field paths to the town, jjausing for a moment, as was her wont, to watch the rai)id ilow of the Running Burn, and to wonder why, when it turned the wheels of so many great factories, it yet kei)t its depths as clear as crystal, and as untroubled as the silent waters of a lake. That was the secret of the Running Ihiin. Twenty minutes brought lier to the entrance to the town. The road took many a winding turn, crossed thf burn twice, auil entered the town by the 'high end,' as it was called, so that Clertrude was in the High Street before the ponies crossed the second bridge. W 16 SUNDERED HEARTS. ill *ii; It was, like other principal streets in a country town, lon^* and stra^'^'ling, goodly dwelling-houses and poorer tenements standing side by side, plenty of shops of the strictly provincial type, the town hall and public buildings, the bank, and tho three churches, all within sight of each other. The mills were lower down, nearer the banks of the Running Burn. Tho high end of Rumford was the well-to-do portion of the town, and here dwelt those who, from lack of means or inclination, had not built themselves new and glittering mansions at a respectable distance from the town. Doctor Dunsyre's hous(! was a plain, two-storey, unpretending-looking building next door to the bank. Many wondered that he did not follow the example of the wealthier manufacturers and retire to the outskirts of the town, but David Dunsyre held that the iiouse which for five-and-twenty years had been good enough for his father and mother was good enough for him. It was endeared to him and to his sister by many memories which never linger in the halls and corridors of a r.cw house. They were old-fashioned people, thoroughly conservative in their home life and sur- roimdings, and so Number 21 High Street continued to be known as the Doctor's house. The younger Miss Mayne was often there. She was, with one exception, the most frequent visitor to the Dunsyres. * Is Miss Dunsyre at home, Sarah ? * she inquired pleasantly, when the housemaid answered her knock. ' Yes, miss ; in the drawing - room, miss,* replied Sarah, knowing she did not require to escort Miss Mayne there and formally announce her name. Tl)e Doctor kept two servants, sober, middle-aged women, who had served in the house since their girlhood, and who were friends as well as servants. But Margaret Dunsyre was the pattern of mistresses, and the wheels of her domestic machinery moved without a jar or a stoppage from one year's end to the other. Miss Mayne ran lightly up the oak stair- case, and, with a quick tap at the door, entered the room. A pleasant place to look at, or to sit down in, was the Doctor's drawing-room that winter day. It was an old-fashioned room, with an exquisitely-carved oak ceiling and panels round the walls. The space above the panelling was painted a neutral shade of green, agaiust which the few choice water-colours ^ AFTERNOON TEA. 17 jT town, loTif^ ir tenements ly provincial nk, and thn le mills were Burn. Tho of the town, inclination, ansions at a [layre's house injr next door r the example outskirts of ise which for is father and jared to him linger in the old-fashioned life and sur- tinued to be s Mayne was Qost frequent id pleasantly, [plied Sarah, ne there and iged women, |od, and who ►unsyre was ler domestic one year's le oak stair- le room. A I the Doctor's liioned room. Is round the led a neutral rater-colours showed to the best advanta.c,'e. I could not doscrihe itn furnish iii;^'s. The chains ami tables were quaint, and of variniis (l»!.siL;ns. Tlie prim housewift^ who likes everything to matcli would liave Ix-en iKU'rilied at the incongruous gatherin.; of mill nicknacks; yet the wlujle was pleasing to the eye, and in the ruddy glow of the tircliglit looked a very ideal "f comfort and quiet luxury. ^largaret Dunsyre rose from tlio window, where k1i'> was trying to do some delicate fancy-work by the fatiin.L; light. When she saw who her visitor was she put it all down, and, advancing to Gertrude, took both Ikt hands in her warm, kindly clasp. They did not kiss ea»;ii other. Mar;^Mr('t hunsyrewas not one who could caress, and fondle, and L-ipeak endearing words to all her feminine ac- qiiaint.anct's. She liad the reputation of being still", and proud, and rcscivcd, whi'reas she had only a litile more common sense and s«'lf-r('s|»e(;t than many others. ' M,v dear, 1 was thinking of you. Come away,' vshe said, in her clear, pleasant tones. 'Take off your hat and gloves. I 4 believe Sarah will have the kettle boiling now. l)o you know I it is a week since you were here?' |. ' is that all ? I thought it a much longer time,' siiid I Gertrude, and tos.sed oil" her gloves. Standing together in the || suhdued lilendingof lirelightand daylight, these two i)resented ^- an (kM contrast to each other. Marvn, and, leaning his ann on the mantel, pijiped it leisurely, looking keenly and critically at the face of (u'ltrudo Mayne. He had seen her before, but hitherto he ha«l had no opportunity of studying her face. And it was worth studying, chiefly because of its promise for the future. ' I was trying to induce David to give a course of lectures on sanitary reform in the Town Hall, Margaret,' he said presently, just as if that had been occupying his thoughts. 'Our Rumford Town Council require a little light on that subject gently infused into their minds.' ♦ And what did David say to that i ' asked Margaret. *He advised John to enter the Council himself, and set the sanitary affairs of the burgh to rights,' said the Doctor drily. * It is not a lecture which will cause the light to break upou their rather — ahem — obtuse minds.' 'I should not like to begin my public life in Rumford Council Chamber,' said John as drily. ♦ You have aspirations, sir. " Shun ambition ; by that sin fell the angels ! " ' quoted Margaret, with a smile. ♦ You would rather have me try humility, young ambition's ladder — eh?' said John. 'But I could not stand the vulgar and i)etty squabbles of a Town Council. What made me plead for the sanitary lectures was a pilgrimage 1 had to the Watergate to-day in search of one of our sick hands, and, unless I had seen it, I could not have believed that such wretched and disgraceful hovels shelter some of our inhabit- ants. Even in the clear, cold air to-day there was a feeling of plague in the atmosphere which almost sickened me. It is time something was done, or the summer will witness the outbreak of some pestilential epidemic' AFTERNOON TEA, tt nty which hecaiiH! a M'lit to tho I of black vaya ecems I been in 4:one home, ind, taking •ude. he nmntel, the face of litherto he md it was le future, of lectures t/ he said 3 thoughts, ht on that iret. uid set the octor drily. 3reak mdou 1 Rumford )y that sin ambition's the vulgar e me plead ad to the lands, and, that such ur inhabit- s a feeling 3d me. It vitness the •Oh, I know! I have seen it, Mr. Stratlioam ! ' pxrlaimnl Gertrude, with Hushing cheek and kindling eye. *I go soine- tinies to see some poor people in tlio Watergate, and I ' avo oft«!n had a sure heart over it. Do you think anything could be done to give them better houses to live in, j)urer air to breatlio ? ' * It could be done, Miss Mayne, if any could bo found sufliciently interested in their fellow-creatures to b(>gin tlie gootl work, and urge others to lend a helping hand,' said Jly. ' That is Mr. Stratheam of Redlands, mother. I met him to-day in Margaret's,' answered Gertrude. 'Indeed?' said Mrs. Mayne carelessly, 'He looks wonder- fully well, and would almost pass for a gentleman.' 4 4 I [I the Water- is own, bniit i carried the fnrct, and of ;nian loft the It.' omehow her He Beems ly. 'I hear ur kindncHs, niumma and you down. i they shook tood on the I before her, was some- 1 place there St. She did ever allowed Ily given to Ox' blessing the day was me home to p the High V. As thoy 1 horseback, asked Mrs. I met him Dks wonder- i CHAPTER III. TUB COUNTY BALL. [HE night of the county ball was always ono of interest and unusual stir in Ruinff)rd. T]v\ »^;,, dwellers in the High Street were early on the ^^'^^ look-out from their windows to count and try to recognise the dillercnt carriages as they rolled up to the doors of tlie Assembly Kooms. At the entrance itself there was a barricade erected, and a strip of crimson carpet stretched across the pavement to the kerb-stone. "Without the bnrri- (•!i(les was gathered the usual motley throng of loungers from the lower parts of the town, lured thither by the brilliant lights and the chance of seeing the gay dresses and si)arkliiig jewels of the ladies. Their remarks thereon were varied an(l characteristic ; some of them not very fitted for ears j)olite. Dancing was announced to commence at nine o'clock, but for an hour after that carriages continued to set down their fair burdens at the Rooms. Many of the county people were, late, and it was twenty minutes past ten when a hired carriage whirled rapidly up the High Street, and stopped at the brilliantly-lighted entrance. From it alighted Mr. and Mrs. Franklin-Mayne of Meadow- flats and their two daughter. Mrs Mayne had a meaning for this late arrival ; she had learned by experience that to enter with the throng means obscurity and oblivion for a part of the evening, anil she knew that both she and her daughters 23 ■H^il iii ! I ; I I 24 SUNDERED HEARTS, would attract attention now. She was right. She arrived most opj)()rt,unely, just after tlie conchision of a valse, fr-un which the ladies liad gladly sought rest and breatliiug spaco on tlic v<3lvet-covered seats which lined the walls. ^l^s. Mayne's sharp eyes travelled round the room until they reached the charnicfl circle which closed about the Countess of Devanha, Lady Hamilton, the lion. Mrs. Morcikm, and other titled and aristocratic dames. Then she sailed up the long room, followed by her daughters, and intruded herself with the sweetest smiles upon them. 01)livious of cold looks and expressive shrugs, she elbowed her way to the Countess's side, elfusively shook hands, an*' introduced her daughters. Lady Devanha, whose dark southern beauty was enhanced by her splendid attire, looked critically at Caroline Mayne's exquisite loveliness, and with a cold word of greeting turned her back upon the throe. She was eclipsed by the fair daughter of Meadowflats, and henceforth there would be war between them. The Hon. Mrs. JNIoredun — a kindly, garrulous old lady, who had not yet outlived her passion for gaiety — took pity on the somewhat chagrined Mrs. Mayne, and made room for her at her side. ' You did well to come late, Mrs. Mayne,' she whispered ap])rovingiy. * Your daughters will be the undoubted belles of the evening. I hardly know which to admire most.' Mrs. Mayns beamed all over. ' So good of you to say so, dear Mrs. Moredun,' she, said pensively. ' Of course I am proud of my girls — any mother would.' ' You ought to educate the elder one to show a little more animation, dear. That statuesque manner will kill her as a success in society. Gentlemen cannot bear it. Some pretty dresses here to-night. What could be lovelier than that blue gown of Miss Dunsyre's? Until your daughter came admira- tion was divided between the Countess and the Doctor's sister,' ' She looks well at her side % ' ' That is young Strathearn of Redlands and of the E.irn Mills — a fine fellow. I like him immensely. They say they Who is that distinguished-looking man THE COUWrV BALL. 25 5he arrived valse, from thing sjiaco ills. ^Irs. until tiu'y le Countess rcduTi, unci ilud uj) the (led herself he elhoAvcd hands, an*' 18 enhanced le ISIayne's iing turned )y the fair >uld l)e war ^, garrulous or gai(3ty— ^ and made whispered bted belles ost.' ,' she, said my mother 1 little more her as a ome pretty 1 that blue lie adniira- Doctor's oking man the Earn y bay they afp to make a match of it — a handsome, well-matched pair, eh V ' Y(!s. AVhere is the Earl to-night ? ' 'Clone out in the dumps because Sophia refused to dance with him. He is very jealous, poor man, and his pretty wife tries him sorely.' * Ah, there he is I and — can I believe my eyes? — Sir William Lundieof Castle Lundie with him ! — an unexpected acquisition to the assembly. They are coming this way.' With intense interest Mrs. Mayne's eyes rested upon the face and figure of Sir William Lundie. He was tall, and of spare and slender build. His face was sharply featured, and sallow in hue, his eyes black as sloes, and somewhat restless in their expression. Ilis long, thin mouth was partially hidden by a heavy moustache, iron-grey like the heavy hair which was brushed back from a high, narrow forehead, licfore he was half-way up the room, Mrs. Mayne had taken in all these details, and decided to make Caroline lady Lundie. Mrs. Moredun rose at Sir William's approach, and greeted him very kimlly, for she had been one of his early friends. ' You went away a lad, William,' she said somewhat sadly, ' and you have come back a middle-aged man, which makes me very old indeed.' ' Mrs. Moredun will never grow old,' said Sir William, with bland yet indolent flattery. She drew back slightly, and shook her head. 'Don't speak like that to me, William,' she said. 'Romendx'r I was your mother's friend. Now allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Franklin- Mayne of Meadowflats.' Sir William bowed first to the mother and then to the beautiful daughter. ' Although 1 have not the privilege of being an old friend, allow me to bid you welcome home,' said Mrs, Mayne, in Imt sweetest tones. 'Believe me, we have often looked across to Castle Lundie, and longed for our neighbour's return.' 'You are very good,' said Sir William, with all that languid and cynical indiflerence which so frequently characterizes the Anglo-Indian. Then he looked somewhat ex])ectantly at the younger ladies at Mrs. Muyne's side. She hastened to iiitro- ill ¥ 4i' 26 SUNDERED HEARTS. I ! I i ;i I 'ill* ii 1' ■! I 1 1 . duce her daughters, but if the vision of Carciine's heauty made any impression on Sir William he hid it well Strangely enough, his second glance was bestowed on the sweet, girlish face of Gertrude, and when the strains of a dreamy waltz sounded through the room, he turned to her with a low bow. 'May I have the pleasure, Miss Gertrude T he said, in suave, well-modulated tones. ' Thank you, Sir William, but I do not care for waltzing,* answered Gertrude hesitatingly, and with slightly flushing face. * Nonsense, my love,' said Mrs. Mayne a trifle sharply ; * you ought to be flattered that Sir William should choose yoii as a partner in his first dance at home.' Sir William smiled sHghtly, and his lips, hidden by the drooping moustache, curved in amused scorn. Hi? Indian lif-^. had made him very familiar with Mrs. Mayne's type of womanhood. He still held his arm towards Gertrude, and with face still more painfully flushed she laid her finger-tips lightly upon it, and they joined the dancers. A proud and happy woman was Mrs. Mayne as she saw the glances of astonishment and admiration which followed the pair. She saw the Countess bite her lips, and knew the sight was not pleasant to lier. Though astonished that the Baronet should have passed Caroline by, she could not but admit that never had Gertrude looked so well. The lissom figure in itS flowing white, the dainty throat and arms, hidden yet revealed by the delicate lace about them, the grave, sweet face, the earnest, truthful eyes, and, above all, the girlish innocence and grace which encompassed her, made Gertrude Mayne a pleasant sight to see. ' Is this your first ball. Miss Gertrude % ' asked Sir William as they joined the dance. ' My fi^st in Scotland. I have been to dancing parties in London, but never before to a public ball,' Gertrude answered. ' And what impression has it made upon you \ ' ' I do not know ; we had just come when you entered. But I have never cared for dancing.' • Strange I One so young and lovely ought to enjoy the THE COUNTY BALL. 27 ine'a heanty lid it well wed on the strains of a irned to her he said, in or waltzing,' itly flushing ifle sharply ; d choose yoii iden by the Hi? Indian rne's type of rertrude, and ler finger-tips } she saw the followed the lew the sight the Baronet it admit that figure in itS yet revealed eet face, the h innocence ide Mayne a Sir WiUiam icing parties tl,' Gertrude ^ou entered, to enjoy the ,1 music and the brilliance of a scene like this,' said Sir William gallantly, and looking down with undisguised admiration in the sweet face so near his shoulder. It flushed deeply under that gaze, and she slightly drew herself up. 'Kindly do not speak to me in that strain, Sir William. I do not like it,* she said simply and clearly. ' Forgive me. I have been taught by experience to believe that all women like pretty speeches. I shall not ofl'end again, only I spoke the simple truth,' said he, with earnestness. 'Thank you. Will you kindly take me to mamma now. Sir William? I am not much used to waltzing, and I am giddy already.' * I hope I have not tired you. In my enjoyment I forgot to think of your comfort,' he said kindly. * You dance perfectly.' ' Do you think sol I always fancied myself very awkward,' answered Gertrude, without the slightest afi'ectation, and presently she was again at her mother's side. Sir William stationed himself beside her, until the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her fan. ' Has Sir William Lundie not a word for his nld friend Sophia Lestrange \ ' she said, in her silver - sweet tones. * Have old Calcutta days faded altogether from your memory ? ' 'There are some things it may be wise to forget. Lady Devanha,' he answered banteringly. 'Will you honour me?' ' Willingly, " for auld langsyne," ' she said, with a bewitch- ing smile, and laid her dainty hand on his arm. ' Really, I am amazed at William Lundie,' said Mrs. Moredun. ' He has grown quite a man of the world, and I can gather that there has been something more than friend- ship between our Lady Sophia and him out in India. Just look at the Earl, my dear, over yonder, beside young Strathearn. He looks as black as thunder.' 'Lady Devanha has been in India, then?' said Mrs. Mayne. ' Yes, she was brought up there. Her brother-in-law, don't you know, held an influential post under Government, and 38 SUNDERED HEARTS. \ she went out to her sister when her father died. She was only a girl of sixteen then, and that is nearly a quarter of a century ago.' ' Slie can't be so young as she looks,' said Mrs. Mayne. ' No ; she must be five-and-thirty, I should say. It is a year on Christmas Day since she was married to the Earl at Calcutta, He met her there when he went to India to sj)end some of his patrimony, and they were married after six weeks' courtship.' ' Dear me, how interesting ! Ah, Doctor Dunsyre, good evening. I have not seen you dancing this evening.' ' Good evening, ladies. I crossed the room to advise you professionally to sit out of this draught, else I shall have my hands full tD-morrow,' said David Dunsyre, in his easy, gentle- manly way, and while he spoke his keen eyes dwelt upon the lovely, impassive face of Caroline Mayne. ' Miss Gertrude, will you allow me to take you to my sister? She is most anxious to see you.' ' May I, mamma '\ ' asked Gertrude. * Certainly, my dear,' said ^Irs. Mayne graciously ; ' only do not remain away from my side all the e\ ening. Who is your sister's chaperon to-night, Doctor?' ' "My aunt, Mrs. Carter of Craigcrook,' answered he, and offered Gertrude his arm. ' How lovely Margaret looks to-night, and how good of you to bring me to her ! ' said Gertrude, and both voice and manner were very dififerent from what Sir William Lundic had heard and seen, for Gertrude felt at home with Duvid Dunsyre. ' I thought you looked wearied. What do you think of your neighbour of Castle Lundie?' ' I do not like to dance with him,' was all that Gertrude said, and then they were at Margaret's side. ' I was afraid Mrs. Mayne would not let you conn , and I was equally afraid to come to you, dear,' said ^Iiirgan;t, as she took the white hand warmly in hers. ' This is my aunt, Mrs. Carter, and there is a seat for you ; now we can have a cosy cliat. Why, David is off already ! ' Doctor Dui yre was indeed already half across the room, and presently they saw him bending low over Caroline. She rose, Duns\ 'W bain' 'I ( answc MV Don't ;' even in room ? i 'Hi I lhishe( f with V njMUi I daiicin 4 ' Nc ; once ' ., gentle] ?C()U^siI > J(th I turn (id 4 ]\Iavne "'■ watclit I hour a I last. I 'Ha 'i he ask I a look 1 did noi THE COUNTY BALL. 29 1. She was quarter of a Mayne. ly. It is a the Earl at ;o India to ied after six nsyre, good • advise you lall have my easy, gentle- Ai upon the is Gertrude, She is most usly ; * only ig. Who is 'ed he, and good of you voice and iam Lundie with David 5U think of at Gertrude !onii , and I ;iii'i;t, as she s my aunt, can have a s the room, oline. She rose, and they took their places in a quadrille. So Doctor Dunsvre was the first to ask Miss Mayne to dance. * Well, Gertrudo, what do you think of the Kumford county ' hall?' asked Margaret, with a smile. ' I don't like halls, Margaret. They are very stupid things/ answered Gertrude decidedly. 'Why, my dear, you ought to be very proud to-night! Don't you know that your first partner is the lion of the ^evening, and that you were envied by all the women in the room % ' said Margaret teasingly. ' Hush, Margaret,' said Gertruile quickly, and her face '? flushed again; for though 8ir William Lundie was dancing twith and talking to Laily Devanha, his eyes were oftenest s Upon the face of Gertruvle Mayne. '1 have not seen you f daiM'ing much yet, Margaret,' she said presently. I ' Nt) ; 1 have only been up twice — once with David and once with Mr. Strathearn. I never dance with strange Igeiitli'men,' said Margaret quietly. ' Here comes John with f Cousin Ellen ; the quadrille is ended.' I John Strathearn resigned his partner to her mother, and Iturned with a look of unmistakeable jdeasure to greet Gertrude : ^layue. Although she had been unconscious of it, he had watched her every movement since she entered the room an i liour ago. The opportunity he had longed for had come at last. ' Have you a space for my name on your card. Miss Mayne?' he asked, bending his noble head towards her, and tlicie was I a look in his eyes which it was as well Margaret Dunsyie idid not see. M)h yes! it is not nearly full. See, I have only promised Sir William Lundie a mazurka,* she answered sinqjy. * Tiiey aie striking up another w^altz. If you are not too |tired will you honour me?' said John a little eagerly. Gertrude smiled her assent, put her wrap on the seat beside Margaret, and laid her hand on John Strathearn's arm. Tliat gentle touch thrilled him through and through. Could it he [that this fair, sweet, simple school-girl had won the heart of |8ensil)le John Strathearn in an hour's time, and was he, so )ng impervious to feminine charms, conquered at last? ' Do you like dancing ? ' he asked rather inanely. :il in ill il-! 30 SUNDERED HEARTS. ill % I I W :itl.l r! I * Sometimes,' she answered. ' I like this waltz. What lovely music, and how well you dance ! ' •May 1 return the coiDpliraent?' he avsked, with a smile. ' It is not a compliment, only truth,' she answered quite gravely. * May I ask what has made you look so grave all the evening 1 Several times I almost fancied you looked sad.' * Did you ? Shall I tell you what I have been thinking all the evening, Mr. Strathearn ? ' * If you please,' said John earnestly. * I have been thinking that there is twenty times more money in this room than would rebuild the Watergate and every other wretched place in Rumford.* * You mean the value of the dresses and jewels ?* * Yes ; I have strange thoughts about these things, Mr. Strathearn. I could not bear to spend so much upon myself, knowing how many of my fellow-creatures are starving.' ' If there were more like you, Miss Mayne, this would be a less miserable world,' said Johvi impulsively. * Do you think the world is miserable ? I am glad that I am not alone in thinking that. I have often even wondered why I was born' — * Surely that is a very sad thing for one like you to think,' said John, and longed to say a great deal more. * You do not know what troubles weigh upon my heart sometimes. I wish it were possible to remain always a child. It seems to me that when one grows older a new care comes every day ' — John was silent, simply because he had no words wherewith to answer her. She misunderstood his silence, and, when she spoke again, her voice was hurried and trembling. ' What have I been saying ? I forgot you were a stranger. Pray forget it ; I am only a school-girl still, Mr. Strathearn, who has not yet learned what my mother calls the ways of society.' ' I pray you never may. Miss Gertrude,' said John, looking down upon the sweet face with eyes dangerously eloquent. * I was silent simply because I feared to say too much. May I hope that some day soon you will awake to find the world the bright and beautiful place it should be for such as you % ' I Vi T^E COUNTY BALL. 3» iltz. What b a smile, iwered quite pave all the ked sad.' thinking all times more itergate and V things, Mr. ipon myself, 'ving.' 5 would be a glad that I m wondered 11 to think,' Q my heart '^ays a child. ^ care comes I wherewith i, when she a stranger. Strathearn, he ways of •hn, looking y eloquent, luch. May i the world as you % ' •Thank you; you are very good,' she said, and uplifted her truthful eyes to his face with a glance which he never forgot. ' Are you tired ? ' he said gently. * Shall I take you to your mother, or back to Miss Dunsyre, or will you come with me to the conservatory ? It is deliciously cool there.' ' I should like that,' she said readily, and again she laid her hand lightly on his arm. What strength, and comfort, and rest seemed to come to her in the presence of this man ! what new, strange happiness it was to feel the touch of his arm, to listen to the tones of his manly voice, only those in whose hearts young love is wakening can know ! Just as John's hand was upon the swiiying curtain which separated the conservatory from the ball-room, Sir William Lundie came to Gertrude's side. ' Mrs. Mayne has commissioned me to take you to her side, Miss Mayne,' he said, with a courtly bow. ' She talks of going very shortly. Pray allow me.' John Stratheam's face flushed darkly red. He was as proud as Lucifer, and his hot temper sprang up at the Earonet's calm ignoring of his presence. Gertrude, trained to implicit obedience, would have slipped her hand from his arm, but he only held it the closer, and, turning his back upon Sir William, led her to her mother's side. * I have to ask your pardon, Mrs. Mayne, if I have un- wittingly displeased you by keeping your daughter too long from your side,' he said, with a courtly grace which equalled Sir William Lundie's. ' ^liss Mayne, good evening.' As he .ecrossed the room he encountered Sir William, who favoured him with a scowl which made his sallow face not a pleasant one to see. And so was forged the first link in the chain of rivalry and bitterness between the lord of Castle Lundie and the owner of the Earn Mills. i(. •*: /I 'i I Pi P^^i^-^^^^ \i\ I I CHAPTER IV. MORNING CALLS. jX tlio spacious moriiing-room at Castle Lnndie, Sir AVilliam Lundie and liis sister sat at breakfast tlie morninjif after the county ball. She was her brother's junior by only five years, and she carried her age well. Even a keen observer, looking closcdy at tluj tall, commanding liguro and clear-cut, haughty face, would scarcely guess that she had ])assevl her thirty-fourth year. Elizal)eth Landie was not a ])eauty ; there was nothing to attract in that sallow, somewhat harshly-featured face ; nothing to win the heart in the expivssion of the cold grey eyes, nor in the curves of the tirni, resolute mouth. She was a woman to be feared rather than loved, a woman who looked as if she never for a moment forgot her name and lineage, and who from her stately height seemed to look round upon all the world with indilference ami scorn. Although rich and well- born, no suitor had ever sought the elder daughter of the house of Lundie. The younger one, sweet, winsome, sunny hearted Eleanor, the idol of the ik)rder county where she had been born and reared, had in her first season married an English earl, and would one day be Duchess of St. Koque. Elizabeth Lundie was practically without a home. During her brother's protracted absence in India she had dwelt chielly with her sister, but, upon receiving notice of his intention to return, she had come down to Castle Lundie, and for the 32 m MORNING CALLS. n mdie, Sir ikfast the was lier le caiTic'd ly at th(i !e, would i"tli year, jthiiig to ; nothinj^ eyes, nor a woman as if she and who 1 all the md well- sr of the e, sunny she had irried an ;. Koque. During' ilt chielly intion to L for the prosont it was agreed tliat she should remain witli him. The brother and sister had never heen great fri«'nds ; in their younger days there had been many a bitter (juarrel between tliem ; but they were man and woman of the world now, too well-bred to quarrel even when their opinions differed. A slight indisposition had kept her at home from the county l)all, and she was naturally anxicms to hear mon; about it than what was given in the columns of the Rumfonl Gazette. 'When jdid you come home, William] I did not hear you,' she said, as she poured out his cotfee. 'Between one and two, I think. When did the thing break up ? ' he said carelessly, as he gathered his letters together and laid them aside. ' Nearly five o'clock according to the Gazette^ but everybody would be away long before that.' ' The best people were moving when I came off. I wish you had been there, Elizabeth.' 'Do you] Was it so enjoyable?' ' It was new to me, and so 1 enjoyed it thoroughly.' ' You must have made friends, then 1 ' said Miss Lundie a trifle drily. 'Not I. Only I renewed my acquaintance with several old ones — Devanha and his lovely wife were there. I believe she was the belle of the evening.' ' You must have met her in Calcutta, William ? She lived there for some years previous to her marriage.' ' Yes, I knew her very well. A good thing it was for Sophia Lestrange that Devanha's wanderings led him to India.' ' Why, had she no prospects there 1 ' 'None. She was too well known as a coquette. I say, Elizabeth, do you know anything about the Strathearns, manufacturers in Rumford 1 ' ' I know who they are — father and son, immensely wealthy. They live at Redlands, that place between us and Meadow flats. I know the young man by sight. He is very hamlsome.' 'And en audacious pupi)y as well,' said Sir William, with darkening brow. ' That is one of the drawbacks of an atiair like last night's, one has to meet all sorts and conditions of men on equal ground.* C SUNDERED HEARTS. Ill ' Not necessarily. I sliould ininf,'ino it would not 1)p (liOloult to draw a distinct enou^'h line,' »aid Miss Lundie indilleiuntly. *Do you think Lao rose with a graeefui bow. ' I feel that I must apologize, dear Miss Luiidio, for this early call; but as I heard from my fricuid the Hon. Mrs, Moieihin, lasi in'ght, that you were indisjxjsed, I thought it would 1)C })Ut neighbourly to make in(|uiries this morning. This is my elilesr daughter. Caroline, Miss Lundie is in the room.' The tall and graceful figure in the window turned, and tlieii Elizab(!th Lundie saw the marvellous beauty of her face. But her expression did not change ; she included mother and daughter in one distant bow, and stood with one slender hand laid lightly on the table, and an expectant look on \u'Y haughty face, as if waiting to hear what more Mrs. Franklin-Mayne had to say. 'It must be so dull for you in this great houstj alone,' said Mrs. Mayne, resuming her seat, ai»i)arently unabashed by her cool reception. 'And we are such near neighbours that it will be charming for us to visit each other often.' Looking at the haughty wonder on Miss Lundie'^ face, Caroline Mayne smiled slightly, and turned her head towards the window. ' You are most kind, ^Irs. Mayne, but I do not visit much,' rcjilicd Elizabeth Lundie frigidly. '\VilI you be so good as to excuse me this morning? As nnstress of my brotlier'a house, my time is not entirely my own.' ' Certainly, my dear Miss Lundie. Pray make no apologies,' said Mrs. Mayne ellusively ; nevertheless she bit her lip in her excessive chagrin. ' Caroline, my love, if you are quite ready we will go.' Caroline turned at once. Iler serene and proud composure equalled that of Aliss Lundie ; the humiliation which would have made many another vv(jman ready to sink with shame could not make her wince. That was only the outward cloak, however; the slim hands resting in the dainty muff were clenched togetlier, and her soul was a tumult of indignation. Iseveitheless, she returned Miss Lundie's bow M'ith one as distant as her own, and followed her mother down-stairs. SUXDE/^ED HEARTS. II ft U I, M- * Tliat ia a ]»r(m(l and liiuijj^lity tlamo, and no mi'stako,* said Mrs. Miiyno, when tln!y entiucd tlit; (-iirriaj;*!. Then kIk! vented her chagi'in by wliij)i)iii^ tlie «:li('Htnut8 unnierrifully. *I told you what it would bo, nianinia,' said Carolino "bittorly. 'You would dra*,' me to this i>luco to Iju iuHulted by that woman. It is the first and last time' ' My d(!ar, just wait a little ; we will pay licr out,' said Mrs. Mayne, with energy. * She is no lady. Jl(;r treatment of us was tlio height of rudeness. If you ever reign at Castle Lundie, I hope you will not forg(!t this.' * I should like to bo mistress of Castle Lundie for one day, mamma, to make her smart for this,' said Caroline, with Hush- ing face. 'Here is Doctor Dunsyre's dogcart coming.' 'Good morning, ladies,' said the Doctor, in his cheery, happy way, and inwardly wondered what had been their errand to Castle Lundie. ' Good morning. Doctor Dunsyre,* responded Mrs. Mayne graciously. ' AVe have just been impiiring for Miss Lundie ; I felt so anxious about her. Ah, Miss Dunsyre, how are youl But needless to ask, you look so well.* ' I am well, thank you, Mrs. Mayne,' said Margaret a little stifily, for she most thoroughly resented the patronizing graciousness of Mrs. Mayne's manner. 'Won't, you turn with us and have a bit of lunch at Meadowflats % ' said Mrs. Mayne. Then Doctor Dunsyre looked stra^'gut down into Caroline's eyes before ho made answer, but they were following the soaring of a bird upon the wing. But there was a cliange upon her face, a wondrous softening, a grave, unspeakable tenderness, which added uncommonly to its beauty. ' Thanks. "We would have been pleased, but we are on our way to lunch at Redlands,' responded Doctor Dunsyre. ' You would not see Sir William at the Castle. We met him riding through Rumford as wo came up. The county ball was a great success, wasn't it ? I hope j\Iiss Gertrude is none the worse for it. I need not exj)ress any anxieties about you. You do not even look fatigued.' * Not in the least. I feed it hard to realize that I am grow- ing old, I feel so young physically and mentally,' said Mrs. K'9 ii! M0k\\7NG CALLS. [iko,' said i-licstmits Cantliuo miltod by said Mrs. iMit of us at CuBtle one (lay, vritli tlush- I* ia cheery, )een Uieir rs. Mayno s Luiidie ; kv are you 1 •et a little )atrouizing lunch at Caroline's owing the a chiiuf^'o uspeakuble are on our . 'You lim ridiiig )all was ii none the bout you. am grow- suid Mrs. Miiyne coquettishly. * Well, good morning. Como soon to Mcjiiiowllats, and bring your sister, (ioud iiKtriiiiig.' ' Wliiit a still, uiii>l«'asiint-looking creature M.ngaret l)iinsyro ia ! ' she .said to Caroline the moment they jmrted. 'Tliat peiilskin coat she wears would mtt be got under a hundred guineas. Where these people get it ia a mystery.' Caroline made no reply. lier e'yes were f.till following the bird's uj)wanl flight, but where were her thoughts? Sir William Lundio returned home from Kumford in time for luneluMm at two. His sister joined him in the dining- room, and there was an amused smile playing about her lips as sli(! took li-T seat at the table. When the servant left the room she looked at her brother, the smile deej)ening. ' I have had some visitors this morning, Willi, im.* ' Not Lady Devanha, so early after an evening out ? ' he eaid, without much interest. ' No ; make another guess.' ' Mrs. Moredun, the Grahams, Lady Hamilton — any or all of these ? ' 'None. Our nearest neighbours did me the honour this morning,' said Miss Lundie, with curling lij). ' Not the ladies from Meadowllats?' said Sir William, with sudilen interest. 'Viu'ily; she is a frightful old woman that. I have often hoard about her, but the reality surpassed my most vivid iniMgi nation.' 'Who was with her?' *IIer eldest daughter, a handsome young woman, apparently possessed of more sense than her foolish mother.' ' 1 hope you were civil to them, Elizabeth,' said Sir William a tiilie sternly. ' I was not. I showed them as plainly as possible my opinion of their presumption,' said IMiss Lundie serenely. ' I regjet that you so far forgot yourself. It is my desire that you be kind and courteous in future to the ladies belong- ing to the liousehold of my old friend Franklin-Mayuj.' Miss Lunilie dropped her dessert-spoon, and looked at her brother. Her face as she did so was indeed a study. But tlie truth dawned upon her in a moment. 'In times gone there were not uumy comings and goings ur — ii' 1 r ji 1 •1 iljjfl i H I'll ■(jMb^ 1 ^^^i Hiilli' ^K^B\^,- i-i hi 1 i ■ 38 SUNDERFD HEARTS. bfitwcen Castle Lundie and Meadowflats,' she said slowly. *Tliore is a meaning for it now. I must know it before I obey you.* * You are absurd, Elizabeth,' said the Baronet sharply. 'Tliere is no reason, except tliat, wliatever his means or family history, Franklin-Mayne is a scliolar and a gentleman. I am sorry for him, and I intend to cultivate his friend.shi]) here.' * And is it necessary that I should cultivate the friendship of his wife and daughters because you arc sorry for hiruV asked Miss Lundie. Sir William rose. Of late years he had not been accustomed to have his will thwarted, and it annoyed hi in now. ' Look here, Elizabeth ; if there is to be peace between us, — if, in short, you are to remain at Castle Lundie, — it nmst be understood between us that my friends, whoever they may be, are to be made welcome to my house. And if I say there are to be comings and goings now between Castle Lundie and Meadowflats, I expect to be o'neyed.' Elizabeth Lundie's face flushed darkly red. She bit her lip to keep back the storm of angry words burning for utterance. ' In the exercise of your despotic power, I would only ask you to remember that something is due to me and to the honour of Casile Lundie,' she said, rising from her chair. 'I foresee that I shall not be required here very long.' So saying, Miss Lundie swept from the room. She fanc'ed she knew the truth, and it was her settled con- viction that she had seen that day the woman who was to 8U])plant her, — that Caroline Mayne was the future lady of Castle Lundie. ■' (. CHAPTER V. THE STRATnEARNS — FATHER ANT) SON. '^? AM glad you arc not going clown to tlio mill this "^ morning, Jolin. It is always a treat to mo when you are at home of a morning.' 'Is it, father? In these busy times it is not easy to spare a day ; but the Xew Year will be U})on us before we know where we are, and then I'll be days with you,' replied John cheerily. 'Sui)pose we go down the avenue a bit and see if Dunsyre is coming. He promised to be punctual, and it is ten minutes to one now.' 'Very well, my lad, anywhere with you.' They left the dining-room together, and John helped his f ither on with his greatcoat, and took care to wrap his mulfler close about his throat. The old man was all of his own upon •■arth, and it behoved him to love and cherish him, for ho rould n(^ hope to ^nive him very long. Then they emerged together into the clear, bracing coolness of the bright Novemb(;r • lay, making unconsciously tiiat most beautiful jjicture, tlie "li'piJndence of age upon the strong and willing irm of youth. Tliey were very like each otlier, only the ^:\11 figure of J(jhn Strathcarn the elder was bent now from its manly height, and lie walked feebly as if his limbs had hjst their old-time vigour. Little wonder if they had, for the old man was in his eighty- seventh year. 'Did you say Margaret was coming with David to-day, ay SUNDERED HEARTS. ! *ii; H Jolm ? ' he asked, as John gently guided his steps round the sweeping curve of the avenue. ' Yes ; she has been talking for a long time of coming to see your fern-house,' answered John a little absently, for another face tiian that of Margaret Dunsyre was at that moment before his mental vision. ' I am glad she is coming. She is a good girl, and V(;ry kintl to the old man,' said his father, with that simplicity to wiiich we sometimes return in our age. Sometimes, 1 say, for there is a grasping and unlovely age as well, which has none of Uie winning attributes of childhood. ' Are you glad she is coming, John ? ' ' Glad ? Of course I am. Haven't I loved Margaret X>unsyre since we played togeiner in pinafores 1' said John, with a Inngh. ' That is good. John, I want to say something to you, my Vioy. 1 have wanted to say it for a long time,' said the old man then, with a kind of trembling eagerness. ' Say away, then, father ; I am listening,' said John cheeiily. * It is this. You say you have loved Margaret since you •nere children. If — if you want to marry her, and I am sure you must, since you have loved her so long,' said the old man wistfully, ' don't let me stand in the way. I — I want to see you happy, my lad. Bring your wife home to Redlaiids, and, *f you or she thought I wcjuld be in the way, I could go d(jvvn ^o Wells Green to live, and Marjorie would go with me ; or I would stay, if you and she wished. Anything to see you happy, my dear, dear lad. You have loved and served me faithfully so long, and you are old enough now. Don't let me stand in your way.' John did not speak. His eyes were full of tears, and his firm under-lip quivered; for the moment emotion had the mastery. 'What has put such a thing into your head, dad?' he said *t length, using the old childish name not yet wholly laid aside or forgotten. ' It was (piite natural that I should think of it, John, since you have arrived at the age when most men begin to think of building up a home for tluMnselvcs,' said the old man a little deprecatingly, for he fancied his son spoke very gravely. THE STRATHEAKNS— FATHER AND SON. 41 round the ing to see r another moment and v(;ry plicity to I say, for IS none of Margaret iid Jolin, you, my I'the old cheeiily. since you am sure old man lit to see lids, and, go d(jvvn ne ; or I see you rved mo 3on't let find his had the he said oily laid III), smco tliink of a lilth) gravely. I ' Don't he vexed with me, lad, and think it over ; and Margaret would make a good mistress of Redlands.' 'She would,' said John. 'But I have never thought of her in any light other than as a sister. I have known her too long and intimately to feel tliai kind of love for her. Poor old dad ! and you have been worrying yourself over my wife- lt!ss state, and never said a word about it ? ' he added teasingly. ' When did I begin to show signs of being in love, eh ? ' ' Never ; only I thought you might be wishing to marry, and keeping back because of me. But I am very glad that'— ' Glad what % * asked John, with a slight smile, ' Glad that it is not Margaret Dunsyre.' 'You are the most contrary of mortals, dad. Didn't you eay a minute ago that she would make a good mistress of Kedlandsr ' So I did, and so she would, but I didn't say she would make the best of wives to you, John,' said the old man Blirewdly. ' She is a trifle too proud and independent, too pclf-assertive and strong-minded for you, Joan. I don't think you would agree.' John laughed outright. ' You are taking to character-study in your old age, father/ he said, in i.n amused voice. 'There, 1 hear the rattle of David's wheels, and, upon my word, I feel quite guilty.' He did not look at all guilty, however, when presently the dogcart swept round the bend, and Doctor Dunsyre drew up his horse to walking pace. ' Good morning ; late as usual,' said the Doctor gaily. ' Mr. Stratheam, I am glad to see you able to be out of dours in November. Isn't this a fine bracing morning for youl John, you have the easiest of lives. I have been on the move since half-past four this morning.' 'You have the satisfaction of knowing yourself a benefactor of your kind,' said John. ' Shall I help you to alight, j\liirgar('t ? You look as if you were tired of your seat.' ' So 1 am. AVe loft shortly after ten, and David .solemnly assured me he had only two houses to visit, but the morning air seemed to refresh his memory, for I counted seven calls. Tliauk you.' 4» SUNDERED HEARTS, 11 :l: I ill She laid her hand in his and lightly sprang to the ground. 81ui looked fair indeed with the roseleaf bloom on her cheek, and the blight light of youth and health in her eyes. Her attire became her rarely w(;ll ; it was exjicnsivc, and in the best of taste, for Margaret Uunsyre was a connoisseur in drtiss. She turned at once to Mr. Strathearn the eider, slipped her linnd within his arm, and led him a little in advance of the others. 'And how are you, my dear? You look very well — (piito like a rose in June,' said the old man, smiling and patting her hand. ' (Jh, I am well ; I am always well,' she answered gaily. ' How pleiisant it is to come to Kedlamls again ! 1 havealv\ays loved it, 1 think, since the old childish days.' 'Ay, ay, we cling to the past,' said the old man musingly. * So you have come to see my fernery, John tells me. It is the old man's latest whim. When we grow old, my dear, we are made up of whims and fancies and memories. The actual {)resent has very little part in our lives then.' ' 1 suj)pose so,' sai (jii;irr«ij c^juites Urea of (|c)0 S(>lli(!Wji t^'Xjiressi to liis SI uitii an •l)..ai ^■\Ai 1 c '1 Wif liis iiaiid my dear, ('ortru tluj.se str til cut. 'Life silence, ^lot to sti ^I()r(5 tender ho * I sup not sufficj 1 have m Ji'liculfcy,! Words ini) tJioiifrJiL ^ur Mi a 6 J I'^UfjH'n. luiicli sin ' J^ear . Gertrude, FORTUNE SAf/l.ES. 49 if we s wife iiford,' Really Ami to tge the their jrtrude, iswercd in hei and left into the I couM nd theio ir father ver thesjo jndon in specially 3W things )ierc. I nor plan ep nearer wretched ler voice. so often ^f that in justice or us soon,' [umford, 1 (o exacting Inote, and t;i1rivo eaiis li« >ted that iicled by woiulor. rve. mil I g'> t gai«'t> )t worry live your hem. I liat is to [e sparcil ivilouf^ly. ip for me icr father f iiKiuini;\ line. All, lupon my I go to Ise at the ntmlly approfirhiiif,' ridors, flod iiitoth'" hnnsn. Tlu' annnmiro- 111. 'lit of such distiri,L,Miish('d visitors lillcd th<' vain hciirt of Mrs. Mayiui witli a Ihittcr of cxcilrmcut. ' Kortunn is <,'oiji^' to favour us, my licar; it is always the darkest liour Ixd'oro tho dawn, us 8om(!hody says,* sho said to CaroliiiQ us tli(!y nipairinl to tho drawin^'-rooiii to h(j in rt'ailiix'HS to wiilitotiKi tlio guests. * Yt!s, (JertriKh', love, yoii call stay out of tho room if you liko. I can 8a3' you aro (•ii-a;^'e(I. ]5ut prohahly Sir William and Miss Lundi(5 will iiuL reiiieinhor to ask f(jr you,' sho added sorcnoly, in rojily to (lertrud(;'8 re([Uost to bo allowed to ahsiMit h(!rsolf. Mueli rolioved, Gortrudi; ran lightly .p-stairs to hor own room. Sho was shy hy naturo, and sho nover recalled Sir William Lundic's manner towards hor on the night of tho hail without uorvimsness. Ai.parenlly Mrs. Mayne hral forgotten or forgiven the insult sho and Caroline had roreived at Castle Lundio, for when tho drawing-room door opened she came forward all Eiiiiles and hows to groot Sir William and his sister. l»ut Caroline neither forgot nor forgave so readily. She stood in the window, a fair and beauiiful jiicturo in her neat and becoming morning gown, and only haughtily inclined her head towards Miss Lundio. * So goous, mingled somewhat with good-natured scorn. He had not been many times in the society of Gertrude Mayne before he learned that she was a being of another order than the giddy butterflies he had known. She appealed to the bett(;r side of the man's nature, and made him review his past life Avitb regret. It was not free from stain ; nay, there were many sullied pages, many actions neither honourable nor gentlemanly, which now he could wish undone. He began to wish, for her sake, that he was a better man ; in the secret recesses of his soul there sprang up strange, vague yearnings for a nobler life, a higher aim than the mere enjoyment of the present hour. These things could have but one meaning, one result ; love, deep, passionate, all-absorbing, for the gentle girl who had thus, as it were, brought him face to face with self. This was no light thing for VVilliam Lundie. He was past the giddy time of youth, when every new face can charm. During the past twenty years he had had many such fancies, had made many promises, only to break them ; but this was the love of his life, all the stronger and deeper and more absorbing, that it came to him so late. And so he came to iMeadowflats day after day, never for a moment dreaming that his presence was anything but acc«,ptable to the maiden of his choice. Perhaps that was natural also, for in all the forty years of his life he had never brooked the slightest contradic- tion of his will. Nothing had ever been allowed to stand in the way of his pleasure ; he had never experienced the bitter- ness of having the desire of his heart nipped in the bud. So he came day after day, as I said, and the gossips talked, and ]\rrs. Mayne rejoiced, and Gertrude remained unconscious that she was the object for which he came. She had been so Ioul,' accustomed to regard Caroline as far above her, that the idea LOVE. 57 of herself being preferred never occurred. She no lon^ror felt the same uneasiness and dread ov(!rwhelm her in the presence oi the master of Castle Lundie. His attentions were delicate, and not too pointed to alarm. Indeed, so little distinction did he make between the sisters, that it would have needed a penetrating eye indeed to discern which he favoured most. Mrs. ^layne was at a loss, and if Caroline knew the truth she kept her secret. During the early weeks of the new year Gertrude saw much of David and Margaret Dunsyre, and often she would meet John Strathearn in Margaret's drawing-room, for of late he seemed to have imbibed a deeper love for Margaret's di'liciously flavoured Indian tea. Sometimes Margaret f(!lt mi.seral)ly jealous; at other times, reassured Vjy the careless indiflerenco of John's manner, she blamed herself for being so foolish. Of course he loved her, otherwise why was he so kind and thoughtful always for her comfort, why did he urge luir to come oftener to Retllands? The shrewd eyes of David Dunsyre had read John's secret long ago, but he was too loyal to say anything even to ^largaret. And Gertrude? Ah, why did she find these quiet tea-drinkings so sweet ? "Why did Margaret's drawing-room seem so empty on the tlays when John did not come ? Ah, why indeed ? Very soon these questions must be all faithfully asked and as faithfully answered. In the first week of March the county people took flight to London, and the great houses, Castle Lundie among the rest, were shut up or left in the care of servants. Then it was that ]\Irs. Mayne did her utmost to follow their example, but for once in his life Fianklin-Mayne was firm as a rock with his wife. * It would simply ruin us, Henrietta,' he said decidedly, 'and Heaven knows we are near enough ruin already.' * But think, Gilbert, what a chance we may be throwing away. Just when Sir William was on the point of declaring himself, that horrible sister of his had to hurry him away. If we go to London now we may secure him, and Caroline's engagement will be the event of the season,' said ]Mrs. ^layne eagerly. ' I tell you, Henrietta, you are mistaken. If either of the girls interested Sir William, it was Gertrude, but I fancy he 58 SUNDERED HEARTS. li "'■■■I'lii;! 1^ only oamc here to amuse himself,' said Franklin-Mayne. *lii any case we are not [,'oiiig to London at pr(!s(;nt. 11' the man is in love, he will l)u back ere long ; if not, we are better nd of him.' Mrs. Mayne was not only annoyed now, she was angry, and the colour came and went uj)on her cheeks. ' R(;ally, Gill)ert Mayne, you are insufferable ! After all my toiling and scheming, tliat I should be baulked just when triumph is within my reach ! ' ' Iluish, Henrietta ! ' said Gilbert Mayne a little sadl- . * You force me to tell the truth. Haven't you seen for your- self that I am failing in health ? Dunsyre told me not many days ago my days were numbered. The excitement of such a change would kill me.' *0h, nonsense, Gilbert! you are fanciful, uhe result of this tame existence. You have always been accustomed to excite- ment, and I believe a change to London is the very thing for you,' said Mrs. Mayne. 'And then you would see Dr. Charteris. I believe Dunsyre doesn't understand your con- stitution. It is not to be expected that he should.' * I am quite satisfied with Dunsyre's skill, and with his verdict,' said Franklin-Mayne quietly. ' Try and satisfy yourself at home, Henrietta ; and, believe me, to go to London just now would hinder the very thing you want to further. It would look too much like following up the chase.' * Very well, Gilbert ; I suppose you must have youi way,' said Mrs. INlayne resignedly; 'only it will be insufferably dull for us when everybody is away.' The subject was dropped then, but ^Irs. Mayne had by no means abandoned all hope of a two months' sojourn iii London. On the afternoon of that same day, Gertrude, with faithfiu Lion as her guardian, walked across the fields to visit some of her poor people in the ^Vatergate of Rumford. Except in rare instances she took nothing in her hand, and it was evidence of how true a hold she had upon their hearts, that for her own sake she was as welcome in their homes as th'' beams of the summer sun. She walked slowly, for the air was very pleasant that March afternoon. The day wu; redolent with the breath of spring ; there were green buds on hedge green iiptiir be re! gl;i(hi( haj.py rip])le in its f^pring and j)i enjoyn glad V doubly a vast standiii • juic'kei from tl] within I A na directly the tov teneniei nn'lls. chieily unstead ways, at the town, u a disgrac air and selves to when th for certa ''iithusii fruit. ^ Waterga number upper en ' -Eh, a in the \ 111 3 LOVE, 59 'In 5 man er nd yr, and ior all I when sadly, r yovir- b many such a. of this excito- dng for 5ee I>r. lur cou- ^ith his satisfy London further. IT way,' [itlcrably id by no lourn in faithful some of Lcept in it was Irts, that Js as thi! the air lay wu- I buds ou hodgc and tree, the grass in the lea fields was talcing on a greener, fresher tinge, and the rich brown furrows, newly upturned by the plough, smelt frtish and sweet, as if glad to Iji' released from the ice-king's thrall. There were notes of gla(hiess, too, in the soft, mild air ; the twittering of the liappy, hopeful birds mingled harmoniously with the rush ami rii>ple of the Running Burn, which leapt freely and joyously in its pebbly bed, as if it, too, loved the gentle breatli of sj)ring. All these things Gertrude Mayne loved with a keen ami passionate love, and her walk was to her the purest enjoyment. Perhaps her heart was beating in time with the glad voice of Nature ; of late the world had seemed to her doubly fair. Her way led her directly past the Earn Mills, a vast pile of solid masonry, with four tall chimney-stalks standing out against the calm, bright sky. Her heart beat (piicker as she passed the offices, which stood a little apart from the other buildings, for might not the master himself be within 1 A narrow and somewhat dingy lane led up from the mills directly into the Watergate, which was the oldest portion of the town — a narrow, dirty, unwholesome street, with tall tenements on either side, blackened by the smoke from the mills. In the Watergate dwelt a thriftless, shiftless lot, cliieily factory workers, male and female, who were either unsteady in their habits, or extravagant and wasteful in their ways. The more respectable class of mill hands now dwelt at the Uppergate, a little township at the east end of the town, upon the Redlamls road. The Watergate was indeed a disgrace to a county town, where there was no lack of fresh air and pure water, if the inhabitants would but bestir them- selves to take advantage thereof. But the time was coming when the Watergate of Rumford would be a thing of the j)ast, for certain earnest words which had fallen in a moment of enthusiasm from a girl's lips were about to bear their goodly fruit. When Gertrude Mayne entered the lower end of the Watergate that afternoon, she was greatly surprised to see a number of men ])usily engaged demolishing a house at the upper end. ' Ehj Miss Mayne, my woman, there's to be unco cheengcs in the Watergate,' said a voice from the other side of the 6o SUNDERED HEARTS. il m street, and a slatternly woman appeared at a low doorway, and set her amis akimbo, prepared to impart all her news. Gertrude had no liking for the individual who addressed her, as she was a hopeless case of drunkenness and thriftless- ness, but she was so anxious to hear particulars of the impend- ing ' cheenges,' that she stepped across to the narrow, uneven pavement and asked the woman to further enlighten her. * Ay, mem, unco cheenges,* said Peggy Duncan, delighted to find herself of some consequence. 'They say ^Maister John, o' the Earn Mills, — young Mr. Strathearn, ye ken, — has boclit up the hale Watergate, and a bonny penny it wad cost him, cor man says, auld rickle o' stane an' lime though it be, the way property's selling the noo ; an' he's gaun to pu'd a' doon, an' build braw new hooses like the Uppergate, and the renta is to be nae higher. That's what I ca' daein' the thing wise- like.' * And where are you all to live while these alterations are going on, Mrs. Duncan \ ' inquired Gertrude, and her voice had taken a softer, sweeter tone, only Peggy was not sufficiently j)enetrating to discover it. ' That's the best o't a', Miss Mayne ; the young maister's gotten the auld Earn Mills (ye ken them, farther up the burn) made into hooses, an' it'll baud the folk on thon side till the new anes be ready. Maister John for invention, as oor man says. He'll no' tak' the better o' puir folk.' 'It will be an immense improvement in the town,' said !R[iss Mayne quietly. 'Well, good afternoon, Mrs. Duncan; I am going to see Katie Ruthven.' 'Ay, mem, 1 jaloused as niuckle. Katie sets a hantle by ye comin' — sae kind, an' sae does her mither,' said Peggy. * If there were mair o' your kind among the gentry, puir fulk wad be better afF.' Gertrude smiled, and passed on. The misfortunes and grievances of ' puir folk ' was a pet subject with Peggy. Miss Mayne walked a few yards farther, and then enterod a low arched doorway, which gave admittance to all the dwellers in a large tenement. It v.'as dark and gloomy within, but Gertrude's feet, familiar with the curious turns and bends of the staircase, found their way easily to the top. There was some light there, admitted by a skylight in the roof, j to a ger little n with 01 Jilace wj cr.ifklin walls an Tliere round tn wli(!reon pal(!, anc intelligei A gi(nv etoj)pc'd ] 'Oh, I as she cLi *I am tln'rig an< get this s] * Ye wii Katie, an thoclit I this.' Gertruc She did n mojiicnt. * Ve wa ^^fi.^s Gert li'^ird wha "Wjitcrgatc! 'Vcs, Js down on ti ' My, M saw ye Ls 1 A tremu * A great ^^'Jiy I lool Jiow you ar 'I nm „ ^^ieii I get and isscd lend- leven l^litcd John, boclit , him, »e, the doou, ; renta y wise- )n3 are ice had iciently laister's e burn) Itill the or man said Juneau ; Intle hy Peg<:y. iir kes folk and entorod all the I gloomy Is turns [he top. in the LOVE. 6i roof. She tappod H,£,'htly at one cf tlin doors, and, in an«w<'r to a gf^ntly spoken 'Como in,' entered witli soft f()otst('[)s. A little narrow lobby terminated in a -wide, low-ceiled room, witii one tiny window looking,' down upon tlie street. TIk; place was niea<^rely furni.slied, but it was clean, and tlu^ chetjry cracklin;^' ot the fire gave au air of comfort even to the bare walls and floor. There was a bed in one corner, and in tne other, drawn round towards the window, a comfortable chintz-covered couch, whereon lay the figure of a young girl. Her face was deadly pal(!, and thin and worn to a degree, but it was sweet and intelligent, and wore an expression of contentment and peace. A glow of [)leasure oversprwid it when Gertrude Mayne Btejjped lightly across the floor to her side. 'Oh, INliss Gertrude, but I was wearying for ye,* she said as she clasped the olFered hand in both her own. '1 am sorry I have been so long this time, Katie, but one thing and another has hindered me. Why, where did you got this splendid sofa? ' 'Ye wadna ask whaur I got a' the rest, Miss Gertrude/ said Katie, and her eyes filled. ' Mr. John was hero ae «lay, an' ho thocht 1 wad get tired lyiu' i' my bed, and so he sent up this.' Gertrude turned aside and laid her gloves on the table. She did not care that even Katie should see her eyes at that moment. ' Ye wad see them beginnin' to pu' doon the auld booses, Miss Gertnnler said Katie eagerly. 'An' likely ye'll hae heard wha's daein't, an' what great cheenges are to be in the Watergate; % ' ' Yes, Katie, I have heard,' said Gertrude, and, sitting down on the couch, she looked with radiant eyes into Katie's. ' My, Miss Gertrude, how weel ye look the day ! I never saw ye ls bonnie,' said Katie impulsively. A tremulous smile touched for a moment Gertrude's lips. 'A great joy has come to me to-day, Katie ; that is perhaps why I look 80 well,' she said simply. 'But come, tell me how you are. I think you look better.' ' I am better, I think, an' I'll get a' better, I'm thinkin', wlieu I get oot o' this waesome Watergate. Had I been able, 6t SUNDERED HEARTS, '■' i'i* i r ■I 1 1; ^r.'iistor John wad hmj Imon us oot lonj^' fiffo, but it'll be maun rise ^vhen tho Iiookc is to be jm'ed aboot oor cars.' * I have always thou;,'ht you would <^v.t bottor if you were in Bonic little cottage away from this murky, un[)k;asant air,' said Gcrtiudo. ' That's what Maister John says. Eh, Miss Gertrude, he has b(!(',n a guid frcM-n' to mother an' me, an' a' bocause faithcr wrocht sax months in the Earn Mills afore he deu'd. It was an unco handfu' motlu^r was left wi', mind, me no' able to dae a haund's turn for mysel', an' aye need in'. I've whiles •wondered what way God didna mak' me strong like ither folk. ]-5ut Maister John showed me the richt side o' that ae day when I was grumblin' till him.' * Ay, Katie, w4 THE SHADOW /'ALLS. I^im. Linn, tupf,'iii<,' at Iwr skirts, nnd tlm ^'Icam of li<.^)itH in the wiiiddws of her father's house, warned her she was linger- in.,' too l(tn^'. She had watcheil, yt^t witlioiit conipreliendinj;, tlie i)l(>uj,'hmoii witli tiieir ttniins leavin;^' tho furrowiul tields, their lahuur ended for the day. H}»e had counted tlio strokes (if six as tliey came peaUn^' from tlie town dock tlirou^di the still and (juiiit air. A nii-t had come down ujion the earth, ohscurin^' the lij^ht of (hiy, and tin; (hisk fell before its time. 'Lion, my pet! yijur mistress is day-dreaminj,', do;^'^Me, anH she is so liai)i)y,' she said, when she roused herself to obey her cttmi>anion's summons home. ' Lut what will tlu^y say to mo at home, 1 wonder? I think my dogf^'ie will make my excuses to them, for he knows all about it.' Lion wa^'^'ed his tail furiously, ^'ave a sharp bark of deli;4ht, uiid bounded on towards the stile, his mistress following' now with hastening' feet. As she walked quietly thrr.up^h the shrubbery she heard the sharp click of hoofs dying away in the distance. Some rider lifid evidently just left the house. She entenid by the folding library window, which looked out upon the shrubbery, and was but seldom locked. From tln^nce she stole up to her own ro(»ni, to make a hasty toilet, for seven o'clock was the dinner- hour at Meadowttats. While she was brushing out her hair her mother entered the room. She was already dressed, and (lertrude, turning round, fearing her displeasure, beheld her face radiant and satisfied. ' My child, where have you been so late ? ' she asked, with suave kindness of manner. ' 1 was visiting Katie Ruthven, a poor girl in the Watergate, luanima. No, I have not been at Margaret's to-day,' replied Gertrude. ' But I stayed too long on the way home. It was so mild and sweet, and everything was so pleasant. I am very sorry if you are vexed.' ' I am not vexed, my dear ; only it will not do to wander alone over the countryside at nights now. See ' — Mrs. Mayne suddenly checked herself, but Gertrude did not observe anything peculiar. ' This is likely to be a great day in your destiny, Gertrude,' Baid Mrs. Mayne, fanning herself gracefully, while she watched Gertrude's white hands deftly braiding her soft hair. *Sir ! I 66 SUNDER' ED HEARTS. \ ,0 "William Lundie has boon boro — camo all tho way from London expressly for the purpose of comii)<^ her(i ; — hut then— I i)romise(l yc/ur father not t say anything about it. Come away down, my dear ; I think dinner waits.' 'But he is away a,qain, mamma,' said Gertrude, with ]>aling lips. ' He will not dine with us to-night % ' 'No, no, dear; don't flatter yourself. He has just gone, and will not be back until to-morrow. But there, if I stay I mud tell you, so I'll run away, my dear, sweet, fortunate child,' said Mrs. Mayne, and with a sudden rush of aifection she bent forward and kissed Gertrude's cheek. Then she went away, and Gertrude made haste to complete her toilet, but her fingers trembled so tliat they could scarcely fasten the silver necklet round her throat. That something unusual had hai)pened she was forced to believe, but she could only dread what that something was, fearing lest it should very nearly concern her. V^hen she entered the dining-room she found her father and mother already seated. Caroline had gone to spend the day at the neiglil)ouring town of Blairshiels, and was not expected home until the late train. Franklin-Mayne rose to place a chair for Gertrude, and when she looked up to thank him she saw that his face bore traces of deep emotion ; also the hand grasping the chair seemed to tremble. It was from her father Gertrude had inherited that sensitive nervousness, that highly-strung and excitable temperament, which to its possessor is fraught at times with keenest pain. ' I fancied Sir William looking so well,' said Mrs. Mayne, whose mind seemed concentrated on one theme. ' I told him he looked years younger — didn't you think so, dear ] ' she added to her husband. ' Indeed I did not, Henrietta. I have always thought Lundie looked his age to the full,' replied Franklin-Mayiu!. * Well, my love,' he said to Gertrude, with a strange, yearning tenderness of look and tone, 'had you a pleasant walk hito town to-day % ' * Very, papa,' answered Gertrude, toying listlessly with the food on her plate. *Do you know the Watergate is to be pulled down and rebuilt?' 'Ay, I heard something about it from Dunsyre some little fim t,ik( iiien thei thin ' .Mrl 'Stral Very I mI^ ■ I THE sff nnni' falls. 67 rni lue i«g mo, iiy I nate ;tion she oilet, II ilu; 1 hiul dread learly fathcT id tlio as not pose to thank I ; also from usness, to its Mayne, )ldhim ]' she ^hon^ht [Mayne. learning ilk into rith the le pulh'il -6 little time ncjo,' replied Fraiiklin-Mnyno. 'Yonncj Strnthcarn has taken the tliinj,' in hand, so it will be Wfill (Unie. He lias hoth means and common sense at liis command.' 'It is natural tliat these mill people should delight to s])eud their money where they have made it, and a right and proper thing as well/ said Mrs. Mayne, with an air of superiority. 'Mrs. Moredun was saying to me the other day that young Strathearn and Margaret Dunsyre are to make a match of it. Very suitable for both parties. Has she never spoken of it to you, Gertiiide ? ' 'Never, mamma. These things are not discussed between ^largaret and me,' Gertrude forced herself to reply. ' \Vhat models of propriety you must be ! ' laiighed Mrs. Mayne. ' Well, dear, if you are quite done, we will have dessert in. Gertrude, you have eaten positively nothing. Had you anything in Rumford V ' No, mamma ; but I am quite satisfied.' ' This will never do. If you grow thin and pale I shall be taken to task,' she said, with the same coquettish air of mystery so painful and exasperating to an uninitiated listener. Again that strange dread swejit over Gertrude. She looked almost appealingly into her father's face. ' Be quiet, Henrietta, and don't talk so foolishly,' he said to his wife, in rather irritable tones. On ordinary occasions Mrs. Mayne would have answered back as irritably, but she only smiled sweetly and nodded approvingly. Surely she possessed some secret which could take the sting from every disagreeable word or loc»k. Franklin-Mayne did not linger at the table. At the earli(\st possible moment he rose, and saying to Gertrude he would like to speak with her for a little, he left the room. Gertrude did not long remain behind. When she entcucd the library she found her father standing leaning against the mantel with a worried and careworn look on his face. Of late that look had been seldom lacking, and it was mingled sometimes with another expression, which seemed to tell of physical pain borne without a murmur. ' Papa, dear, what is it ? What has happened ? What does mamma mean when she speaks like that ? ' she asked apj)calingly UK : . ' ■ I I . 1 i: I fci I ^ I i % 68 ^ UNO EKED HE A R TS. Franklin-Mayne drow his daughter to his side, fondly kissed her blow, and [)laced her in a cliair. ' My darling, a momentous thing for you hapj)ened to-day. I have had the honour and satisfaction to receive an oH'er for y