\ ~ \\ YN \\ ro \ ae aN So S CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM A.W. Sievers Cornell University Library PS 1542.D7D8 “Tibia 3 1924 021 985 886 as DUNLEATH ABBEY OR, THE FATAL INHERITANCE. BY HANSON PENN DILTZ, AUTHOR OF ‘THE DUCHESS UNDINE,” ETC, NEW YORK: COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY G. W. Dillingham, Publisher, Successor To G. W. Car.teton & Co. MDCCCLXXXIX. All Rights Reserved, Trow's PRINTING AND Boox-Binpre Co., N.Y. CONTENTS. , x OHAP, » , ‘ PAGE TL—Tie Pisony Dugonp a, vice cisenapens esereinsiienccses B Il.—Tue THert or THE Diamonps.... Whee e eee eeeeeee pores 18 TIL.—Wo Was THE THIEF? 0.0... 0. cece p cece ecee tess s 20 IV.—Ow tHe Eve or 4 GRAND WEDDING....* P seiieseeeacs 29 VIII.—How tHE Weppine-pay ENDED........... 00 cece ccc nene 54 IX.—In toe Appey Liprary....... a Yetaictayeraitesvalcveccastanniosusevecs 58 X.—A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION......c.ceeseeeeeee sieietonis ais ... 68 XI.—Tae Finpinea oF THE DIAMONDS..........0. ccc ecaccee 69 XII.—Twe Scene tHat Foutowep..... Coneeeawast 84s Hale Macae, GO XIII.—Prince Napor’s REVELATION........06 RY casderziorsniy/statatoeatess 85 EV Farin! AND. SON» severe sieved erarnton sa giowrs sGag atime eubie 90 XV.—Hazew’s STRANGE VISITOR......... sss ane siastee wi steaeis 98 XVIL—GUARDIAN AND WARD. ..... 0 ccc cece cece cece cece renee 105 XVII.—TuHeE Story or a Lost Ipentiry..... sees OSE RA Sie dieees 110 XVIII.—Tue Ciose or Victor’s STORY..........eseeeeceeee -». 119 KIX.—THE NEXT MORNING......0. 0c cece cece enc enceecenetes 127 XX.—FACE TO FACE....... 0000 eiujsratsiahinve Semieeuees sieraiecaakar ei 182 XXI.—TaE Mystery DeEPENS... 1. ce. cc cee cence een eens oo l4t XXII—TaHE SHADOW OF THE DARK ANGEL.......0.eeeseeeeee ol AY XXITIL—THE CHoIce THAT WAS LEFT. ...... ccc cc cece eee eens 158 XXIV.—THE CONSPIRATORS. ......0 cee c cece eens cstv ceneee «...160 XXV.—TuE Last Day or THE OLD LIFE... 1... cece eee e cece ee 164 XXVI.—THe Brat MORNING. ...... 0... cee cece ccc e eens eeccee 170 XXVII.—Tuet Progress oF THE CONSPIRACY. .....ecceeeeeceeee 177 XXVITI.—HUuUSBAND AND WIFE... 2.0... cc cece cece eee ce eeeeeees 182 XXIX.—APPOINTING HER WEDDING-DAY.......ceseceecnreccsene 189 XXX.—Lorp VERNER READS THE STOLEN LETTERS............ 198 XXXI—TaE Ciose oF MAHAL’S CAREER...... 0c cece eceeeeeoeee 196 XXXII.—A Curistmas TRAGEDY..............- ssenhebtewew es ee 204 XXXIIl.—Tue Deatu-Bep REVELATION....... Siekoienedonae ee ae 208 XAXXI eee Se oeeseccncen ol? iv CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XXXV.—ToRN ASUNDER... 2. e cece ecceeeee iorbs Seaeslayatensieee arsine 225 XXXVI—THE FORSAKEN WIFE.....:.eccceeee aise aivietatetenerars aa 233 XXXVIIL—On AnotHEeR Bripat Eve ..... wis was Si beara eeedens 238 XXXVITIL—Excrvine ScENES........0..0006 iga-Gyalchacecoesaiansrayeee 00 246 XXXIX.—UnDER THE BAW OF FATE... ccc cece cece eee c eee c cece 252 XL.—In THE BASEMENT PASSAGE. ....0..ccnesccsccsceen es sQ00 XLI1.—Tue True Story OF THE PAST....... cece eect ee eeee 263 XLII.—Tut Messeneer’s RETURN..... dope io eh ere Se eiaatEDKees eieiore 273 XLITIL—A FatHer’s WoOk......0.-..005 sidexieieveate me anaterauaicieyy 281 XLIV.—A SrorMy INTERVIEW. ...... ccc cee sce e cece cece evens 289 XLV.—‘‘ JE NE CHERCHE QU’UN”.......- iGRle save soe cheeaieme 300 XLVI.—THE Meerine at ELMWOOD.........ccceceeeee cewenee sOUT XLVII.—TsE DEPARTURE FROM ELMWOOD............+ aeudeatvstee 313 XLVIII.—Twe Tate ToLp AT MIDNIGHT... 2.2... ccc eee e cee eres 316 XLIX.—Vicror APPEARS UPON THE SCENE....... Saenacuteeuedey L.—THE SEARCH AT AN END.......0cceccesscseccecececees 333 Ja} —RBUNITED 6 ai aos o's sires aie eei sian riers e bees wale eres eee 340 LIL—Ow THe Way To THE END..... cc. ecc cece ce seaeeceees 847 LITILL—THE WELCOME HOME....... ccc cece ce cece ee eeceene 359 LIV.—Txe TraGepy IN THE Bots pE BouLoane...........0: 864 LV.—RIGHTING A WRONG... .... 0c cece cece cc cnssceeseeece 372 LVI.—A Fatser Founp anp Lost............0cceeeee a2-- B79 LVII.—TuE SEcRET oF THE DiamonD ROBBERY...........--- 383 LVIII.—How tHe THEFT Was COMMITTED.........0.ccceeeeees 387 LIX.—TuHe ORDEAL AS BY FIRE....... cece ecw eee ene ences 392 DUNLEATH ABBEY. CHAPTER I. THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. THE sun had been shining with summer heat over the Sus- sex hills all day, but as the soft shadows of twilight began to fall it sunk from sight, and the moon arose, looking out from fleecy banks of clouds upon the landscape surrounding Dun- leath Abbey, which, with its lofty towers and frowning bat- tlements, formed the central object of the picturesque scene, amid which this life history opens. The Abbey was a grand and stately old building, sombre in outward appearance, but magnificent within, each chamber being in itself a museum of priceless treasures and rich gems of art; and from generation to generation it had been en- larged and embellished, until now it was one of the most splendid country seats to be found in the United Kingdom. ti historical associations the Abbey was likewise famous, hav- ing been the monastic home of a fraternity of Benedictine monks in other centuries, ere it was sacked by the soldiers of ‘bluff King Hal,’ and conferred by that monarch upon Baron Warnock, first Earl of Dunleath, and head of the an- cient Anglo-Norman family that had reigned there ever since. And yet, grand though it be, the Abbey was but a type of that unlimited wealth and almost sovereign power that were said to belong to its present owner, Victor, Lord Warnock, ' six- teenth Earl of Dunleath, a nobleman in whom were blent in a remarkable degree every grace of person and of mind calcu- lated to charm. The summer day was nearing its close. From a neighbor- ing convent tower the vesper bells were chiming, and the last gleam of the sun’s golden light was dying across the sea, 6 THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. while twilight was already deepening into night upon the heights above the Abbey. The moon was up, bathing the world in its silver radiance, and the silence brooding every- where was unbroken, until suddenly the great clock in the stable tower tolled with iron tongue the hour of seven. At the same time lights began to glimmer in the halls and corri- dors that traversed the Abbey in every direction, shedding their brightness over a scene of splendor and magnificence that was like a vision of old Xanadu. In the silence that ensued, no one was visible except the servant in livery who passed to and fro in the empty draw- ing-rooms, lighting the wax candles, which shed their mellow glow over the antique ivory furniture, Gobelin tapestries, and costly dizarrerie of the apartments; until a gentleman of aristocratic appearance was seen descending the grand circu- lar stairway of the main entrance hall alone. Pausing a moment at the front door, where two bronze soldiers armed cap-a-pie stood guard, he looked with a kindling eye out upon the lovely scene that had been familiar to him since boyhood. Then, with a sigh, he passed into the drawing-rooms and on until he had reached the farthest one of the suite, in a distant corner of which, near an open window, that admitted the fragrant air, the casing of a grand piano gleamed, at which oo himself, and ran his fingers over the ivory key- oard. As‘he did so, he caught the reflection of his own figure of perfect grace and features of perfect manly beauty from the mirrors lining the walls; and he smiled, but there was a sad- ness in it deeper than tears. “*T am ungrateful,’’? he murmured, striving to banish the feeling of gloom that oppressed him. ‘‘ In twenty-four hours more one of the queenliest women in all England will become my bride, and yet—ah, well, it is too late for regrets!’’ He sighed, and, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders, ran his fingers a second time over the key-board. Then he began. to play, all unconscious of the fact that he had an audi- tor in the person of a young girl who had entered the room before him, and who now lay concealed from view upon a divan, behind a screen painted by Pettitét, where she listened like one in a trance to music so sweet and soothing that it seemed almost divine, as the exquisite rain of notes fell one upon another. Having finished the prelude, he sang the simple old love song, ‘‘ Kathleen Mavourneen,’’ in low, clear tones, but with such pathos in his voice as had power to stir THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. v4 her soul to its very depths, for as she listened she wept bit- terly, yet softly, as if fearful of being heard; at thought of which she sprang up like a startled fawn. “Tf he should find me here! ’”’ she whispered, her lovely young face flushing, her voice quivering. ‘Ah, Heaven pity me, and help me to tear from my heart this idolatrous fovea for a man who cares nothing for me! Oh, Victor, how could you thus lay desolate my whole life? I thought you loved me, when it was another-—”’ There was a mournfulness unspeakable in the words on lips so young, and as the song that had stirred her so painfully. abruptly stopped, she turned and fled from the room through a window opening behind her on to a marble terrace, for her. uick ear had caught the sound of another voice besides the singer’s—the low trainante voice of a woman, and that woman the bride-elect of the man she loved. “« May Heaven bless and make him happy,”’ she prayed, as she sped along the terrace, through the moonlight, in which everything about her, with which she had been familiar from earliest childhood, now appeared strange and unreal. The cedar boughs cast ghostly shadows across the marble pavement, and the broad leaves of the palm trees and the cacti seemed to assume fantastic shapes'in the clear white light. ‘‘ Oh, how can I bear it, and I love him so!’ she sobbed pausing at last to rest near a fountain that cast its cooling sprays upon her. A marble copy of the Greek Faun, amid the flowers before her, seemed to laugh at her beneath the moon, as if in mockery of her prayer, as she threw her- self upon the earth, in all the agonized abandonment of a first great grief. In the meantime, at the same moment that she had disap- eared from the drawing-room, a lady of resplendent beauty fad entered the apartment, advancing slowly until she stood. at the musician’s side. Then she paused. “You wished to see me, Victor? ”’ she asked, in cold, proud tones. “* Yes, Stella, I have been waiting to see you,”’ he replied, springing to his feet. ‘‘ I have something here to show you, that will make your eyes sparkle. Can you guess what it is?” . They were bride and bridegroom-elect, and as he asked this question, they stood face to face. Twenty-four hours more, and they would be husband and wife, for weal or woe, “ until death should them part.’? As they confronted each other thus, the light shone full upon them both; he so tall and 8 THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. strong and handsome, she the personification of all that is lovely in matured womanhood. In expression Lord Warnock’s face was cold and proud, though his features were singularly fair save where the cheeks and brow had been bronzed by exposure to tropic suns, and his profile was perfect as if carved from marble. His eyes were black, but to their wondrous brilliancy a dreamy softness was given by the length of the dark lashes shading them, and the hair that lay in rich masses about his temples was also jet-black, as were the long silken moustaches that drooped over his finely-shaped mouth. In figure he was tall and slender, and his supple limbs were moulded likea Roman gladiator’s, and possessed a Samson’s strength, a Bayard’s grace. In his face there lay an irresistible fascination, that had, without any effort on his part, marred many a woman’s life; that charm that lures despite reason and prudence was his in an eminent degree. Such was Victor, Earl of Dun- leath, at thirty years of age, a noble gifted by nature with rare personal attractions and brilliancy of intellect, and one who was still single, though his lofty lineage, which was almost royal, might have allied him with royalty itself had he chosen. But he had repeatedly declared that he should never marry, unless for love; and now on the morrow he was to enter upon that new and untried life of matrimony, which, to one of his warm, affectionate nature, would be either heaven or hell. And she ?—what words can describe the magnificent beauty of that daughter of old Spain ? For Stella Langstroth was of that wondrous Morisco type found only in the South. Her complexion was dark as the aloe, but pure and soft as the leaf of alily. Her eyes were black, as was also the shining hair that fell almost to the floor when unconfined, and on her features was that pensive dreamy expression one sees on Mu- rillo’s Signorinas. Her father had’ been the only brother of the late earl, who, upon his Spanish marriage, had assumed his wife’s family name, theréby inheriting great wealth; but it had melted away in his profligate hands, and when, at his death, the home of her English relatives was opened to Stella and her mother, ad gladly availed themselves of the kind invitation; and at the stately old Abbey she had lived ever since her earliest recollection, petted and spoilt by the entire household. There had she grown to womanhood, the idol of an adoring mother, the dearest wish of whose heart had been THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. 9 to some day see her child the wife of this modern Cresus,— a wish that was at last to be gratified. : Now, as Lord Warnock and his stately bride-elect stood face to face, there in that scene of luxurious splendor, the haze of golden light surrounding them seemed in perfect har- mony with love and lovers; yet, as he bent his handsome head to kiss the hand that lay in his, a vague sense of long- ing and disappointment that he could not define suddenly came over him, and his eyes wore a clouded expression, as of pain, that did not escape his companion. ‘* What is the matter, Victor ?”’ she asked. ‘‘ Are you not well? You look troubled——”’ “Tt is nothing. What trouble could a man have who was so fortunate as to possess your sympathy ? ’’ he replied, gal- lantly, and with something of his old cheerfulness. In society he had the reputation, justly or unjustly, of being one of the most consummate of flirts, and there were those who had predicted, ever since the announcement of his betrothal to his cousin, that the marriage would never take place. But little did any one dream of the strange events that were to happen upon that brilliant bridal eve to which the élite of English society were looking forward with such eager expectation, for arrangements had been made for one of the most magnificent nuptial ceremonies that had been celebrated in England in years. ““Tt is not of myself I desire to speak; for I have some- thing here that I know will please you,’’ continued the young earl, smiling, as he led his happy bride-elect forward to where several old-fashioned ivory and gold jewel-caskets lay side by side upon a table of Florentine mosaic, beneath a cluster of wax-lights. “‘Oh, Victor !’’ she cried, clasping her hands, and the expression of rapture that lit up her beautiful face told how surely she had guessed the contents of the quaint old Vene- tian cases. ‘‘ Oh, Victor, was there ever any one else as noble and good as you? And I will try to make you happy, indeed I will! Surely, you believe me ?”’ She spoke with such earnestness, in tones so unlike any that she had ever used toward him before, that Victor paused in surprise, and gazed upon her. *‘Of course I believe you, Stella,’’ he replied, vaguely troubled, he knew not why, at her changed manner. Was there something she wished to say to him, but dared not ? He was on the eve of again speaking, to ask her what it was, 10 THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. when she herself broke the silence by murmuring: ‘‘I have been so—so nervous, and unhappy, dear Victor, afraid that something awful would yet happen, and I lose you.”’ ‘And do you really care so much for me, Stella?’’ he asked, with a strange skeptical smile. ‘‘ Then rest assured that nothing but death can ever part us now. And so you have guessed what is in these? ’’ he continued, unlocking the jewel-caskets. : ‘Yes, Victor, another proof of your noble generosity,” she replied. ‘‘ He is distrai¢ and low-spirited to-night,” she thought. Then, a murmur of admiration escaped her lips as the earl quickly threw back the lids of solid gold, dis- closing to her enraptured vision one of the most superb sets of family diamonds to be seen in all Europe—diamonds that in other ages had been bitterly envied the ladies of Dunleath by queens and empresses, who would have given a duchy in exchange for them. But even that would not have purchased them from Lord Victor, in whose eyes they were an heirloom as sacred as the dust of his ancestors. As he opened the cases, there, on a background of crimson satin, each article gleamed. and glittered, diadem, necklace, bracelets, and the many smaller pieces, and Stella knew that some of the stones were costly enough in themselves to have ransomed aking. She had heard of the Dunleath diamonds ever since she could re- member, and as a child she had sworn to some day wear them ; but it was the first time she had ever seen them. For co they had lain in the vault of a great London banker, ut had now been brought forth to grace the Spanish beauty of the proud young earl’s fiancée. ‘** For generations it has been a custom for the brides of Duleath to be married in these family jewels,”? explained Lord Warnock. ‘‘ Therefore I was determined to have them here for you, and so went to London after them myself. And then there is an old family legend that prophesies sor- ee and short life to her who fails to wear them on her bridal ay. ay And was your mother married in them ?’’ asked Stella, gently, with tears in her eyes, for there was something pa- thetic in the early death of the late countess, whose sad fate touched even the most callous heart. ‘* No, she was not,” replied Lord Victor, looking up with startled eyes, and she could see his lips quiver. ‘‘ No, of course not, since my father married her in India, where she lived and died. Her married life was short and sad, also, as THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. ll if to verify that weird prediction of the old legend. But our talk is too gloomy for our bridal eve, Stella. See, how queenly you will look in these jewels yourself,’’ he cried, sud- denly lifting the diadem from its casket and setting it on her raven hair. As he did so she shrank, as if he were crowning her with fire, and a sharp cry of pain burst from her pale lips. ‘Do not put any more of them on me, Victor,”’ she said, clasp- ing her hands to her face. ‘‘It isasign of bad luck, and that I shall never wear them as a bride.”’ But he only smiled at what sounded to him like folly, as he went on removing the superb necklace from its case; and heedless of her remonstrances he clasped it around her throat, where it literally gleamed like a circlet of fire. ‘* Pray what bad luck can come to you when once you have given me a husband’s right to protect you?’’ he gently asked. But to astranger it would have been observable that his man- ner was that of a brother rather than a happy suitor. **T don’t know why it is, but I feel as though something would yet happen to prevent or delay our marriage, Victor,” she dreamily murmured, yielding for the moment to the melancholy that oppressed her. Then, as she caught the reflection of herself in the mirrors lining the walls, her woman’s nature overcame every other emotion, and she proudly stood out in the centre of the apart- ment, in full view of her lover. ‘‘ Thus will be fulfilled the brightest dream of my life; I shall be Countess of Dunleath, and the world will bow down at my feet,’’ she thought, her heart swelling with glad exultation. Standing there in the full blaze of light, her bosom and brow aglow with the priceless Dunleath diamonds, she made an imposing patrician picture, so tall and dark and slender, her queenly figure draped in the trailing black lace and scar- let velvet that so well became her Spanish beauty. Suddenly the sound of gay laughter broke in upon the silence that had held her and her companion spell-bound, and as they turned toward the door, a bevy of ladies and gentle- men entered the chamber. The Abbey was full of guests, friends of Lord Victor and Stella, who had come down from London to be present at the ceremony. Among them was one gentleman, who, as the others pressed eagerly forward, stole swiftly away, and rushed out on to the terrace, as if maddened at the sight he had beheld and the 12 THE FAMILY DIAMONDS. exclamations of admiration and praise that had greeted the stately bride-elect. “My God, I could lay her dead at his feet, when I think of her becoming his wife!’’ cried Geraldine Chevasney, speak- ing aloud in his unconsciousness and despair, and as he rushed onward a look of intolerable anguish stole across his dark cynical face. ‘“‘ Yes, it is his titles and those diamonds that have outbid me and purcliased her! Ah, God ! and I, who would give up everything on earth for her were it mine, am poor, so poor that I must work or live upon charity—and that fis! Am I indeed fallen so low ?”’ Muttering thus in the bitterness of his soul, he passed slowly on down the marble terrace, an Eden of loveliness blooming around him, buta hell of fury and hatred burning in his heart. Geraldine Chevasney, at thirty years of age, was a gentle- man of distinguished presence, with dark features, and keen black eyes, which at times lit up with a sparkle not pleasant to see. The lower portion of his face was covered with beard of luxuriant growth, but the moustaches shading his mouth did not conceal the cold, cruel smile that now and then crossed his lips. Strangers rarely trusted him, children never; yet Lord Warnock had found in him a true friend, and for years he had come and gone at the Abbey, ever wel- come as a brother. In their youth he had once saved Lord Victor’s life at the peril of his own, and the brave deed had cemented their friendship forever. And-now, as he walked in those moonlit gardens that were so familiar to him, their Eden-like beauty had no power to assuage the anguish of his soul. Looking up at the great feudal-like pile of the Abbey, that seemed to tower to the very heavens, his glance was one of burning hatred and aversion, for in it he saw the emblem of those mighty possessions that had robbed him of the woman he loved, and by whom he believed he was loved in return. “But I will be patient, and fate will some day give me re- venge,”’ he muttered, clinching his teeth with an Indian’s ferocity. ‘‘I love her, yet at times I hate her with a passion that would be pitiless.’’ Near him, but hidden from his view by the oleander branches that sheltered her, stood the young girl who had fled unseen from the drawing-rooms upon the entrance of Miss Langstroth. She had been weeping violently, but when sud- denly aroused to a consciousness of Chevasney’s presence so THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS. 13 near her, timidity and surprise alike awed and held her silent, fearful lest he should discover her retreat. “JT will say nothing, but I will give Mr. Chevasney no chance to harm Victor,”’ she softly murmured, her sweet girlish face glowing with a holy love, as she at last stole quietly away. ‘‘ Dear, noble Victor, I will'be your good genius, and save you from the wiles of this traitor, who is a bad, false man.’’ Which would conquer in the conflict upon which they were entering, and which would fail? It was the weak against the strong,—a pure young girl, armed with unselfish love, against one who had the cunning of a Mephistopheles, the power and genius of an Hssex; but her heart was brave within her. CHAPTER II. THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS. In brightness and beauty rose the morning of Lord War- nock’s bridal day. With midsummer brilliance the sun shone over the wide green lawns and gorgeous flower-gardens and rose-terraces of the stately old Abbey, that loomed like some enchanted palace from out the depths of forest foliage cloth- ing the hills that shut it in on every side except in front, which faced the ocean, that thundered far below and broke on the glittering sands of the beach. It was a rare golden morning in July, when all nature was in repose, yet at an early hour there was an unusual stir and bustle going on within the lower portion of the Abbey, though most of the preparations were completed for the magnificent wedding feast that was to be spread at midnight in that grand old banquet-hall, where kings had been toasted. But on the more retired upper floors, reserved for guests, silence reigned. Of that gay and brilliant crowd that had filled the drawing-rooms with mirth and music less than twelve hours before, all were still enjoying that sweet repose that comes to beau monde when the plebeian world has gone to its toil. And yet, if others were slumbering on while the sun was rising over the sea, there was one who was already astir,—the hand- some bridegroom-elect, who was pacing restlessly to and fro 14 THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS. in his own private apartments, pausing now and then to look out from his open lattice upon the beautiful panorama below —the smooth green lawns, where the gaudy peacocks swept over the grass, the gardens of tropic scent and bloom, which were like a vast scarlet and gold mosaic, cut up into fantastic sr by the marble pavements leading out into the forests and parks. . ‘* All this is mine. I am one of the richest men in England, and to-night the world will hail me as one of the most fa- vored of Heaven, and yet I am not happy,” he muttered, sighing as he turned away from that scene that was like a vision of Elysium. ‘‘ What it is that my life needs to render it‘complete, I know not, yet there is something lacking. I feel as if I had been led on by the hand of fate in the step I am about to take; I could not in honor have done otherwise. Still, I do not feel that rapture and contentment that should be mine on this, my bridal morn.” Then, dressing himself without the aid of his valet, whom he had not called to his assistance, he glided quietly from the room, and making his way through the innumerable corri- dors and halls leading into the most ancient portions of the Abbey, he did not pause until he stood at the bronze doors opening into the beautiful apartment known as the Saxon Chapel, that took its name from its peculiar adornment of the eriod prior to the Conquest, and that had been used for re- igious services and ceremonies ever since. He was going to pray at his mother’s grave on his bridal morning, and to ask eaven’s blessing on the step he was about to take. Pushing the door ajar he looked in, but the light was so dim as it stole through the ivied windows that in it every- thing was indistinct and but faintly outlined. As his eyes, however, became more accustomed to the twilight veiling the lofty dome and the altar of precious wood, he noiselessly ad- vanced over the marble pavement. It was here, where his ancestors had knelt in prayer through countless generations, and where his mother’s spirit seemed hovering over him, that Lord Victor came to implore God’s blessing on his future. But as he neared the altar, he was suddenly startled by hearing sobs, and pausing he listened, wondering who could be there at that early hour, when only servants were astir. “Tt is Stella,’ was his first thought, seeing a woman on her knees at the silver rail, and his face flushed with happiness. “Dear, noble girl, she loves me better than I supposed!”? Then, as he heard the voice of the supplicant, he stood per- THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS. 15 fectly still, and his heart began beating violently. It was not his stately bride-elect, But his young ward, Hazel Arslan, and it was his name she was breathing, it was for his happiness she was beseeching Heaven. “Dear Lord, remember him, if only for his goodness to me, and render his noble life one of sunshine,’”’ he heard her murmur, softly; sobbing piteously as she went on: “‘ Ah, kind Saviour, help me to bear this pain, which is sweet, be- cause it comes from his hand, though he did not mean to in- flict it; I am_ sure he never meant to win my simple heart. Yet how could I help loving him, he is so noble and true? But never will I complain, if I may only see him happy. Dear Lord, give me the shadows and sorrows that are to be his, and oh, make her worthy of him !”’ Sobbing unrestrainedly she broke down, and distressed be- yond measure, and conscious that he was doing that which was dishonorable in remaining there and hearing words that he knew were intended for Heaven only, Lord Victor turned away from the chancel in which he stood, and stole swiftly from the Chapel, in fear and trembling lest his ward should be made aware of his presence. And there was also another emotion in his throbbing heart as he retraced his steps, a feeling of rapture at the knowledge that this beautiful young creature loved him. “* Oh, Heaven, how cruel it is! God forgive me for being glad !’’ he cried, in his bewilderment, as he passed out into the sunlight of the newly risen day. His soul seemed full of joy, his face glowed with a tell-tale light that he dared not let any one see, and yet through if all there was a sense of desolation upon him, for he knew that, while he loved this sweet maiden of sixteen and was in return loved by her, it was his fate to be- come the husband of another. As he looked back upon the past and recalled the many instances that should have be- trayed Hazel’s secret to him, he wondered how it was that he had never suspected the truth; but he had been blind, ah, doubly so, for never until now had he realized how stron and intense was his own love for her. Heretofore he h tried to make himself believe that his affection for her was only a brotherly regard. But now all pretense was at an end, and he groaned aloud as he thought of the lifetime of anguish and regret that lay before him. ‘Oh God! what a wreck they have made of my future! ’’ he bitterly cried, walking onward bareheaded through the warm sunlight. ‘‘ How cruel it was to bind me as a boy in 16 THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS. bonds no honorable man could break! Why was I given no voice in the settlement of my own destiny? And why was my father so anxious that I should marry my Spanish cousin ? Ah, if it was only dear, darling little Hazel! And yet it is her suffering that unmans me. But why should it? She may after all only care for me as a brother. Heaven grant it is so.”’ He sighed as he murmured this wish, and all the light that was its chief beauty faded from his face, leaving it pale and care-worn. He turned, and retracing his steps, entered the Abbey, and hurried back to his own rooms. Randolph, his valet, an Englishman, of his own age, who had been with him ever since they were boys, was awaiting him there, ready to finish his toilet, for guests would soon be stirring, and he would have to meet them. But Randolph had scarcely finished his accustomed morn- ing duties, when they were both startled by a sudden knock- ing at the outer door of the suite. At asign from his master, Randolph hastened to answer it. “Miss Langstroth is in great distress, and wishes to see the earl as soon as possible,’’ said the woman who confronted Lord Victor’s valet on the threshold when he had opened the door. She was a Spaniard, named Sangarre, and had accom- panied Stella from Spain. She had been Miss Langstroth’s nurse in infancy, and her maid ever since. ‘‘ Will you speak to your master ?”’ she stiffly continued; ‘‘ and tell him my lady is alarmed about her diamonds, which are either mis- placed or gone.”’ “‘The diamonds gone? What do you mean?” cried the earl, excitedly, as he hastened forward to where Randolph and Sangarre stood confronting each other, pale with fear. ‘‘And where is your mistress ?”” ‘* In her own room, my lord, with her mother,”’ answered the woman, watching Lord Victor with a strange significance in her glance that was lost upon him at the time, but which came vividly back to him long afterward. “* Say to her that I will be with her in a moment,”’ mur- mured the earl, re-entering his rooms, followed by his valet. “Here, Randolph, clasp my cuff-buttons, and let me go. This is surely the most extraordinary thing I ever heard of, if true.”” He was very pale, and his voice sounded hoarse and un- natural, as he hurried away in pursuit of the Spanish maid. He had not far to go to reach the magnificent suite of cham- THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS, 1? bers occupied by his bride-elect, in the sitting-room of which a scene, singularly impressive at that early hour, presented itself to his view. It was a large, elegantly furnished apartment, and near an open window, where the sunlight shone upon her, stood Stella, with her mother and several of her most intimate lady friends, whom she had summoned to her side upon the dis- covery of her loss, gathered around her. She had ona purple satin morning-wrapper, with a rose in the lace on her breast ; her hair was hanging unconfined, bound with a band of gold. She looked like a queen, standing there on the polished oaken floor, with the sunlight casting its golden beams about her exquisite figure and on her pale features. In her dark eyes there was a troubled and perplexed look, as also in her com- panions’, and when Lord Victor appeared in the doorway, she hastened toward him, and, in a voice quivering with emo- tion, said..: ‘* Victor, my diamonds are all gone. You remember plac- ing them here yourself last evening ere leaving me; see, they are gone.”? And with an hysterical sob she pointed to the open drawers of a quaint old Indian cabinet, a souvenir of Asiatic warfare, looted from the palace of some Hindoostan prince in other years. There indeed, where all could see, were the drawers, empty, in which only a few hours before, in presence of that gay company filling the Abbey, he had himself placed the three Venetian jewel-caskets containing the famous Dunleath diamonds. “Oh, Victor, are they gone, or have you removed them to try me? ”’ cried Stella, with a wild gleam of hope in her eyes ‘that pained him. Was she indeed marrying him for rank and wealth? he asked himself, in that skeptical unbelief that ever causes millionaires and sovereigns to doubt that they are loved for themselves and not for that which they can confer. “*T missed them only a few minutes ago, when I came to look at them and be sure they were safe,”” Stella had continued. ‘‘ Finding them gone, I was too bewildered at first to know what to think. Then, remembering that I had not locked the door leading into the hall, a sudden hope came to me that perhaps you had returned and removed them for some reason.”” “No, I have not laid eyes upon them since I left this room last night,’’ replied Lord Victor, earnestly ; and as he spoke the Spanish woman Sangarre watched him with a strange ex- pression of blended amazement and cunning; and once she 18 THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS. stepped forward, as if to speak, and then shrank away. No one seemed to take any notice of her singular conduct, as the earl continued: ‘‘It may be that some one has taken them as a joke, Stella, to scare you.” ‘« If that was their motive, they have certainly succeeded,”’ cried Stella, with a fresh burst of tears. ‘‘ But no, they are gone for good—stolen !”’ “Stolen !? echoed all those present, staring blankly into each other’s faces. “‘ Stolen !’’ repeated Lord Victor, and his voice sounded husky and constrained in the dead silence that had fallen upon everybody. ‘Stolen! it cannot be. I would wager my life that no thief slept beneath this roof last night. And then—the daring, the unheard-of effrontery of such a thing. It is impossible ! ”’ ‘‘ Well, they are gone, Victor. There is no disputing that,’’ said Lady Langstroth, who had vainly been endeavor- ing to soothe and comfort her distressed daughter. “Yes, you say truly, they are gone,’’ responded the earl, mechanically, gazing in a dazed sort of way into the speak- er’s face. His uncle’s widow had evidently been a woman of great beauty, after the Spanish type, in her youth, but time and trouble had left their imprint upon her person. Her once luxuriant raven hair was now streaked with gray, and there were lines upon her face that care had graven there, for her husband had been wild and dissipated, and had succeeded in squandering ere his death the whole of the large fortune that he received through his wife. Therefore, when all un- expectedly she found herself left a widow and in poverty, after only four years of married life, she gratefully accepted for herself and child the home offered them at the Abbey, and ever afterward the one dream of her life had been to see her daughter mistress there some day ; and to that end she had schemed unceasingly. **T shall never be happy again,”’ Stella was saying. ‘‘I had set my heart upon those superb jewels, which even a queen might have envied me, and now She broke down, unable to go any further; and taking her hands in his, Lord Victor murmured: ‘‘ How much worse it might have been. I can get you more diamonds, but if you or I had been taken——”’ “Don’t try to console me in that way. I wish I had been taken, for what is life to me now, without what I love best? ”’ cried Stella, turning abruptly from Lord Victor, whose eyes THE THEFT OF THE DIAMONDS. 19 flashed with sudden passion as they rested upon his be- trothed. “Great heavens! she will ruin everything, if they are not separated,”’ thought her mother, in wildest alarm. Aloud, she said: ‘‘Do not heed my poor darling, Victor ; this mysterious robbery, and the disappointment and excitement growing out of it, have been too much for her nerves.’? And she gazed appealingly up into his face. ‘What you say is very true,”’ responded the earl, coldly. His cousin’s words had cut to his heart, but he was too proud to show how deeply he was wounded. “‘T leave her with you, Aunt Isabella, while I go and see what can be done toward recovering the missing jewels,’’ he continued, turning to leave the apartment. ‘‘ The thief can- not have gone far, and it may be that he has not escaped from the Abbey yet; as it must have been very difficult, if not im- possible, to have passed the guards. Still, I will not believe that one of my servants did the shameful deed—no, no! They are all too trusty and true; so do not be disheartened, Stella, I am confident that we shall recover your treasures,” he whispered his affianced, as he withdrew. Yet he had but little faith in his own words. ‘My God, who can have taken them ?”’ he asked himself, as he passed down the hall. He could not bring himself to use the word steal. It was intolerable to think that either an honored guest or a trusted servant had done him this in- dignity. He would gladly have given thrice the value of the diamonds to have had restored to him, not the jewels, but the faith in her who was to be his wife that their disappear- ance had destroyed. ‘‘ Surely, there never was such a mys- terious case of robbery before,’’ he said to himself. ‘“‘ The daring of it! But it shall be investigated, thoroughly, no matter who the guilty party may be, even though it takes all the detective force of Scotland Yard to bring the truth to light.” “hn yet, little did he dream upon whom the shadow of that terrible crime was destined fo fall, or he would have shrunk in horror from the revelations that were to be made. 20 WHO WAS THE THIEF? CHAPTER III. WHO WAS THE THIEF? Passtne down the hall, Lord Warnock did not pause until he reached the library, a large apartment, with windows open- ing out to a flower-garden, which was bright with sunshine and the glitter of fountains; and a heavy frown came to his brow as he rang the bell to summon a servant to his presence. “‘Tell Humbert and Carter that I wish to see them here at once,’’? was the order he gave, when his call had been an- swered. Humbert was the old house steward and chief of servants, and Carter the butler at Dunleath, and both were honestly attached to their young master and his interests, having never known any other home than the Abbey. They came promptly and without any feeling of surprise, not having yet heard of the disappearance of the family jewels—a theme that was convulsing with amazement that coterie of ladies up- stairs to whom it had so recently been imparted. Motioning to the trusty old servants to advance, as they entered his presence, the earl arose and stood before them, very pale and grave, and with an expression of deep pain in his eyes, as they afterward . remembered, and in as few words as possible explained to them all there was to tell in regard to the diamond robbery. *“*T am at aloss what to think,’ he said, in conclusion. ‘*T was never in my life so thoroughly puzzled and mystified. That any one beneath this roof could have been guilty of such a gross Violation of confidence, I will not believe. My sery- ants, most of whom you have known from childhood, are all honest and trustworthy, and I wish you to tell them that I do not suspect one of them. Of course it would be an insult to every guest in the Abbey to harbor a doubt that one of their number could be the thief. And yet, who was it? Could any one have entered from without ?’’ As he spoke he glanced anxiously at old Humbert, whose duty it was to see that every door and window was locked after the household retired at night ; but the aged retainer could only shake his head in a confused way, as his master went on: ‘* Well, I wanted you to know the state of affairs, and also to send a messenger to Brighton at once, to the Chief of Police. The case will be given into the hands of whatever officers that gentleman may send here; and in the meantime WHO WAS THE THIEF? al let no one leave the premises. It is only a form, and I trust the necessity for it will soon be removed. ‘There is nothing more I wish to say.” **In my own name and that of every servant in the Abbey, I thank you, my lord, for your confidence in us, which, I am sure, events will justify,’’ replied old Humbert, who would himself have died to serve his adored young master. ‘*We do indeed feel your kindness,’”’ faltered Carter. ** And I speak for all my fellow-servants when I assure you, my lord, that we are ready and willing to do anything in our power to aid in this investigation.’”’ Then, at a sign from the earl, they bowed and withdrew, staring at each other in hopeless bewilderment, but too loyal to the house they had ever loved and served to utter a word, lest it should sound like censure. Ten minutes later a horseman was seen galloping down the avenue of magnificent elms and through the great bronze gates of the park, going to bring the police authorities. Then, in a short while, the theft of those diamonds, that were fit crown jewels for an empress, would be heralded through all England. But it was announced that the robbery would in nowise conflict with, or cause to be postponed, the marriage that was to be celebrated with such éclat in the Abbey draw- ing-rooms in the evening. All needful preparations for that event were going bravely on, but underneath the assumed mirth that reigned everywhere there was a feeling of uneasi- ness, while a sense of impending ruin or misfortune to some member of their party seemed to weigh upon every individual beneath the Abbey roof. Meanwhile, having dismissed old Humbert to dispatch a messenger to the Brighton police headquarters, the earl had assed out into the open air, where he was presently joined y Chevasney, who looked moody, and ill at ease in the pres- ence of the friend he was about to betray. They walked on in silence for several minutes, when Victor abruptly paused and said: ‘‘ Our programme, as you know, has been to leave here to- morrow for the Continent, to be absent until October, when you and Lady Langstroth were to join us in London. Now, that this mysterious robbery has happened——”’ He paused. It hurt him to speak of that which had shown him how little he was loved for himself by the woman he would wed, but ere he had mastered his emotions sufficiently to go on, Chevasney answered: “‘I know what you mean, 22 WHO WAS THE THIEF? Victor, and I wish you to understand that I am at your serv- ice. If I can represent you here——”’ He, too, in his turn paused. ‘‘ If I could rob you of your bride, I would do so,”’ he was thinking, in his heart. ‘* Ah, God! that I should be so base, yet I am! and even now I would desolate his life if I could, for what else is mine ? ”’ “To represent me here is just what I was going to ask of you,”’ the earl was saying, as they moved on. ‘‘ You willdo me an inestimable favor, if you will stay here in my stead, and co-operate with the police in bringing to light the mys- tery of this jewel robbery, and to justice the guilty party.” Jhevasney consented, and soon after the friends separated, the earl going in-doors, where a new trial awaited him. Among the many servants at the Abbey there was a Spaniard, . named Jura, who had come to England with Lady Langstroth and daughter, to whom he was devoted, and through whose influence he had been appointed to a position as footman. He was about thirty-two years of age, and was a kind of Don Juan in his own class; but Victor had never liked the fellow,— why, he could not have explained. And in the earlier part of the present day he had several times caught Jura gazing at him with a persistency that had all the insolence of familiarity in it. Had it been any other than his wedding-day, Victor would instantly have punished the fellow, and dismissed him ; as it was, he thought it best to let the matter pass, though it hurt him to do so. But the man’s effrontery reached a point that it could no longer be ignored, soon after the earl parted from Chevasney. He had just entered the drawing-rooms, which were empty, when his attention was attracted by hearing a noise behind him; and turning suddenly, with anger and astonishment, he beheld Jura standing at the door. “‘ Pardon me, my lord, for thus addressing you,”’ said the Spaniard, in a voice of blended humility and triumph, as he advanced. ‘‘ I know Iam unwelcome, but I feel that I should tell you that I saw you last night.” He paused. Even a stouter heart than his would have quailed beneath the fiery gleam of those dark eyes bent with such haughty amaze upon him. “You saw me last night? ’’ repeated Lord Victor. ‘‘ What do you mean, you impudent rascal ? Why have you pre- he to dog my footsteps and watch me as you have to- y ? WHO WAS THE THIEF? 23 In spite of his bravado, Jura was pale and trembling as he confronted his outraged master. ‘I mean+—I saw you last night, but I will keep silent——”’ Again the Spaniard paused, the blood rushing hotly into his dark cheeks, and ere he could regain his composure suffi- ciently to continue, the earl had taken him by the arm, as he would have taken a child, and had thrust him through the door, sternly saying: “‘ If you are drunk, I will forgive your insolence this time, but never come into my presence again! Go; never again let me see your face.”’ ‘* Look here, master, you are playing some mighty bold game, but you don’t scare me,’’ hissed Jura, gazizig upon his enraged master with sinister, bloodshot eyes. ‘“‘ You may drive me off—you have the power; but think well before you do so. I will keep your secret, and will be true to you, I swear; though why you should——”’ “One word more, and I will horsewhip you like a hound,”’ muttered the earl, pale with anger. ‘‘ But the wretch is either drunk or mad,’’ he said to himself, as hé flung him into the hall with loathing and scorn. Then he motioned him away. ‘Gogo; I will not listen to you.”? He was pale with suppressed emotion as he spoke. ‘‘ But, my lord,’’ cried Jura, “‘ you will regret it, if you do not listen. I will publish it to the world.”’ ‘Madman! shut up and be off with you, and remember, if I see or hear from you again, I will turn you over to the po- lice,”’ replied Lord Victor, as he shut the drawing-room door in the fellow’s face. ‘‘I hope I have now seen the last of him.”’ “Does he think I am going to leave here until I have gotten even with him, now that I hold the key to this won- derful secret ?’? Jura sullenly asked himself, as he stole silently away from the scene of contest. “‘ He need not have carried things with such a high hand, mighty lord though he be. But I will say nothing, and keep out of his way, and to- morrow, when he is gone, I can resume my duties. Never was I so puzzled what to think, and I have seen a good deal of the world. And he threatened to horsewhip me—curse him !—but I will bide my time and have revenge.” Left standing alone in the drawing-room, Lord Warnock had been trying to dismiss every thought of his late visitor from his mind, but in vain. The more he strove to banish the remembrance of the fellow’s singular manner, words, and glances, the more impression they made upon him, and he 24, WHO WAS THE THIEF ? regretted that he had not listened to his explanation. ‘What could he have seen last night that I would shrink from having the world know?” Victor asked himself over and over. Then, he suddenly felt an intense thrill of excite- ment sweep through him. Could Jura have seen the thief in the act of stealing the diamonds? But no, that was impos- sible; and if true, how could it explain the Spaniard’s extra- ordinary conduct in having come to him in the manner he had? Just at that moment Randolph entered, to inform his mas- ter that Captain Sands, of the Brighton‘police force, had arrived, and was waiting to speak with him. ; “Show him into the library at once; I will meet him there,”’ said Lord Victor. ‘‘ They have seen to it, I suppose, that everything has been left just as it was found in Miss Langstroth’s apartments ? ”” Ves, my lord ; not a thing has been moved,’’ replied Ran- dolph, retiring. Entering the library shortly afterward, the earl was greeted by a slender, middle-aged Englishman, whom he recognized as Captain Sands, one of the most famous detectives of his day, and one who was never known to fail in the unraveling of any mystery intrusted to him. He was clad in the “‘ nobby ”’ uniform of his order, and a gold-embroidered cap set on his glossy raven curls, but it was promptly removed as he entered and stood before the earl. One could see at a glance that he was a business man all over. Their conversation was brief and to the point. They seemed at once to come to a mutual understanding, and in answer to Lord Victor’s exclamations of surprise, the captain assured him that he had worked up cases more perplexing than this before, though none more singular, or that had required greater skill and care in man- agement. They then visited the scene of the robbery, and found everything just as it had been left. There was the old ivory cabinet, standing between the win- dows, with the imperial crown of some dead and forgotten Indian race graven on its panels. Its doors were open, and the drawer in which the caskets of diamonds had been placed was empty. Having carefully examined these things, Detect- ive Sands next visited the different parts of the Abbey at which any one could have entered or gone out from the build- ing during the night; but an interrogation of the servants whose duty it was to lock up after the household had retired, WHO WAS THE THIEF ? 25 proved to him that every avenue of escape had been effectu- ally closed and guarded. “‘T have discovered two facts, about which, to my mind, there can be no doubt,”’ he said, in slow, impressive tones, at the close of this examination. ‘‘ One of them is, that the dia- monds were stolen by some one within the Abbey; the other is, that they are still within these walls.” No words can depict the astonishment created by this an- nouncement as it fell from the lips of that cold, impassive official. It was made in the presence of the assembled guests, whom curiosity had drawn from their rooms, and all were ee startled, from the earl down to the lowest scullion, and the excitement was intense, for every one instinctively felt that he or she was resting under a cloud of suspicion, which would only be lifted when this dread mystery should be solved. Who was the thief? That was the question none could answer. The house-guards stated that they had been on duty all night, and that not a living soul had left the Abbey after eleven o’clock, which was an hour prior to the diamonds hav- ing been placed in the cabinet by Lord Warnock in the pres- ence of Stella and her friends. “< And I will stake my reputation as a detective upon the assertion that those diamonds are still within these walls,” said the captain, firmly, as he looked round upon that circle of mighty lords and titled beauties who had gathered about him, and who gazed into each other’s faces too amazed to speak, while in every mind rung the one ominous, all-engross- ing question: Who is the thief ? ef suppose there are many places in the Abbey where these caskets could be hidden, with little chance of ever being found ?” continued the detective, addressing old Humbert, who replied: ‘‘ Yes, sir, there are cavities in the walls, and beneath us are cells and dungeons in the earth that no human has entered in centuries.” ‘Tt would take six men a month perhaps to thoroughly search the Abbey, sir,’’ chimed in Carter, the butler. ‘‘And there are places that would then remain undiscovered, unless used the great chart of the Abbey, which is kept in the ibrary.” , ah, let us have that,” cried Sands, at once interested. “¢ And in the meantime, my lord, no person or baggage must 26 WHO WAS THE THIEF ? be allowed to leave the Abbey until that person or baggage shall have been searched.” . “That I can never permit—it is impossible!” cried Lord Victor, flushing crimson with indignation, as his burning eyes ran over his circle of friends. ‘‘ What! do you imagine that I will subject my guests to such an unpardonable insult ?” : : ‘‘Then, if your lordship will excuse me for saying so, it will be quite useless to attempt to find the diamonds,” replied the detective, calmly. ‘‘ Far be it from me to suspect any one; most certainly these honorable gentlemen—or beautiful ladies,” bowing to them. ‘‘ But if I am to succeed in this investigation, I must lay down certain rules, and this is one of them.” ‘He is right, Victor,” chimed in the earl’s friends, gath- ering around him. ‘‘ We shall not look upon it as an affront, but rather as a vindication, both of ourselves and our serv- ants. And when we leave our trunks shall be examined.” “* Never, I tell you! ” cried Lord Victor, changing color, and his manner was so strange and excited that all present looked at him in surprise. ‘‘ I will not have it, Sands.”’ “You will not ?”’ repeated the astonished detective. ‘No, I will not,” reiterated the earl. *< Then, there is no more to be said on the subject,’’ mut- tered the captain. ‘‘ Of course, in a case of this kind, we must act upon the supposition that if one box leaves the Ab- Pe eee the diamonds may be in it,”’ he explained. ut his lordship was inexorable. ‘‘ You may search the premises,”’? he said. ‘‘ But neither my friends nor my serv- ants shall be subjected to such indignity.”’ “Very well, my lord; I shall do the best I can, but the chances are against us—as any one can see,”’ replied Sands, as he retired. ‘‘I have one of our most experienced men here with me, Robert Ellis, and he will remain, and at once begin his work. I shall return to-morrow, and I trust your lord- ship will then give your consent to let all the baggage be ex- amined ere it leaves the Abbey.”’ Among those who had stood silently by during this conversa- tion were Chevasney and the Spanish footman, Jura, of all that crowd the only two who had any feelings except of kindness for Lord Warnock, who had been so true a friend to the one and so generous a master to the other. Chevasney had, for reasons of his own, been stationed so that he could watch the footman’s countenance, which wore an expression diabol- WHO WAS THE THIEF? 20 ical, as that individual, from his place of concealment behind a marble pillar, never once let his gaze wander from the earl, who was unconscious of his presence, else, as the fellow well knew, he would speedily have been ejected from the Abbey. When, however, those gathered there by curiosity, began at last to retire, the eyes of these two men met, and both col- ored, for there was a dangerous glitter in the glance Chevas- ney bent upon the trembling Spaniard as they quit the room. ‘“You hate my Lord Victor as bitterly as I do,”’ he thought; *‘and you shall be an instrument in my hands to work him ruin. He has robbed me of the woman I love, and I have sworn to have my revenge, and have it I will.” Then, as they passed down the hall, he gave Jura a wink, and, by a motion of his head, indicated that he desired to speak to him privately and at once. **Great heavens! can he too have seen what I did last night ?’’ thought the Spaniard, in an agony of terror, as he followed this man, in whom he felt that he-had met his mas- ter, to the chamber of the latter, which was situated at the farthest end of the Guests’ Gallery. ‘‘ If not—what can he want with me ?”’ But on that point he was not to be kept in ignorance long. “Tf I am to win, I must be stern and seem to know more than I do,”’ thought Chevasney, all that was cruel and hard in his nature asserting itself. He was a coward, with alla coward’s love of oppressing the weak. ‘‘ We must be free from interruption, nor will we waste a moment in unneces- sary parley,’’ he said, closing and locking the door behind them, to secure them against interruption; his voice was stern, and there was a recklessness in his manner that im- pressed Jura with the idea that he had been drinking to ex- cess. “*You know something detrimental to your master—oh, ou need not start and look so uneasy,’’ he continued, pour- ing out and gulping down a glass of raw spirits. ‘‘ You know something, Jura, and it isin connection with this diamond robbery.”’ ‘* Indeed, sir, you are mistaken,’’ replied the Spaniard, in faltering tones. ‘‘ I—I don’t understand——” ‘Do you dare speak falsely to me ?”’ demanded Chevas- ney, fiercely, and striding nearer to Jura, who was quivering from head to foot. Then, with a haughty demeanor, that could not fail to impress the man before him, he continued: “Do you know that I was in the drawing-room this morn- 28 WHO ‘WAS THE THIEF ? ing, and heard every word that passed between you and Lord Warnock ?”’ . Jura started, as if he had been shot. ‘‘ Oh, sir, I cannot, I dare not speak, it is too horrible ! ’’ he cried, staring about him wildly, and then covering his face with his hands, as if to shut out some vision that haunted him. “¢ Great heavens! what does he mean? ”’ queried Chevasney. “Well, I wild know, if I have to wring it out of him. Lis- ten, Jura,”’ he said, aloud, striving to restrain his burning impatience. ‘‘ You must do as I tell you, or it will fare worse with you, for I am to be master here after to-morrow, and can give you a better position than you even now hold. Then, we both hate this elegant, lordly aristocrat——”’ “You ?”’ cried the footman, amazed. ‘‘ You hate Lord Victor ?”’ : Yes, even I,’? answered Chevasney, with a bitter laugh, so harsh that it made Jura shudder. ‘‘I hate him because his title and his money have stolen from me the woman I love, and who loves me in the depths of her heart, and you hate him for the insult he has heaped upon you. And to- gether we may work him evil. I will protect you from his wrath, if you dread it. And now will you speak ? ’’ ‘* Yes, I will, come what may,’’ muttered the Spaniard, his eyes gleaming with an evil light. Then, going up close to Chevasney, he whispered something into his ear, which caused that gentleman to start violently and gaze at the speaker in a stupor of surprise. “* He—he!’’ It was all the blanched lips could utter, as Chevasney listened to the revelation of his companion, and his face was a blank. Then a look of horror came upon it, which in its turn gave place to incredulity and unbelief. ** You are telling me the truth? ’’ he sternly cried, a gleam of diabolical joy in his eyes, as he thought: ‘‘ Ah, my proud lord, now I can bring your bright head low ! ”’ “*I swear it by my cross,’”’ the Spaniard answered, and Chevasney no longer doubted. Then, like one in a dream, he stood and listened, as the fellow’s low, cruel voice went on with its repetition of the tale told before : ‘‘ Yes, sir, with my own eyes I saw Lord Victor Warnock take the caskets of diamonds from the cabi- net. It igen! midnight, when everything was in re- eee with them he at once returned to his own apart- ments. ON THE EVE OF A GRAND WEDDING. 29 CHAPTER IV. ON THE EVE OF A GRAND WEDDING. THE day was almost spent—that day of such strange and wondrous events—and the shadows of evening were beginning to fall long and slanting across the green swards and flaming gardens surrounding Dunleath Abbey, and the oppressive silence that had hung like a pall over the place since early morning remained unbroken. The man left in charge of the investigation set on foot by Detective Sands was vigorously ushing the work confided to him, in a quiet but none the » ess effective manner; and the splendid preparations for the marriage ceremony to be performed in the evening were complete. At sunset the heavens were aglow with wondrous radiance, and soon after the moon swung like a globe of fire above the waves which it burnished with its golden light. There was a hush in the very atmosphere, that hush that precedes a storm. , All day long guests bidden from afar had been arriving, and had been taken to their rooms to rest. The bishop who was to officiate was there; the great Sir Jasper Cardross, a kinsman of the earl, was there, and would give the bride away ; and a duke and duchess of blood royal were in the crim- oy and gold state apartments, where crowned heads had lain efore. Lights began to gleam everywhere as the twilight deepened, illuminating the lofty halls and the long vistas of rooms that had been thrown into one. In the vault of the great conser- vatory—the finest in England—electric lights hung, shedding their brilliance upon a scene rich in Oriental color, and lines of Chinese lanterns were suspended amid the dense foliage far as the eye could see. ‘ Servants, in the scarlet and cream livery of the house, flitted noiselessly to and fro, making sure that everything was in place, and now and then a guest in full evening dress, blazing with jewels, was seen moving amid this scene of en- chantment. Far up in the dome of the great entrance hall lights twinkled like stars, and the ball-room, with its marvel- ous frescoes and waxed floor, was already lit. In the ban- quet chamber, where Baron Warnock had marshaled his legions, plates were laid for five hundred guests, and the ‘ 30 ON THE EVE OF A GRAND WEDDING. ee glittered with silver and gold old as the house of Dun- eath. At that same twilight hour, in the bright, luxurious suite of rooms set apart for her use, the bride-elect was reclining in a low, cushioned chair, drawn close to a window, from which the ocean was visible. She was alone, and as she looked out to where the moonbeams were silvering the waves, there were shadows in her eyes, that seemed strangely out of place, since she was this evening to wed the suitor of her choice. “Yet I am not happy, nor is he,’’ she murmured, her lips quivering. ‘‘Iam selling myself, and eer I half regret it. There has been coercion used with him, J am sure, else Hazel Arslan, and not Stella Langstroth, would have been Countess of Dunleath. Well, were it not for the title and wealth, I should have been willing. Victor is very nice, and handsome as Apollo, but he is too sensitive, and could become terribly jealous of a wife he truly loved. Iam glad he cares no more for me than he does. If it were only Geraldine, poor, dear Geraldine, how different my life would be ! ” She paused, blushing painfully; and drawing a small pic- ture from her bosom, gazed at it tenderly through blinding tears for several minutes. She then suddenly tore it to pieces and cast it out the window, sobbing passionately, as she did so: ‘* Farewell, Geraldine, my darling! I pray Heaven save you from suffering asI do! Oh, if I only could tear your image from my heart and cast it from me as I have that slip of paper! But come what will, I now turn my back on the old life, the life that is sweet with thoughts of him I love. And yet—I would not give up the rank and riches I covet for his sake if I could—no, no !” : ; Still sobbing convulsively, she turned abruptly away from the window—the festive scene below was hateful to her—and approached a table, on which lay an open jewel-casket con- taining rubies and emeralds fit for a Sultana; but the sight of them brought no smile to her pale lips. No, for the theft of those old family diamonds had been a cruel blow to her, since in her heart she cared a thousand times more for them than for him who had given them to her. ‘* Why should I marry him, when some day I may grow to hate him ?’’ she asked herself, as tears of disappointment welled into her eyes. ‘‘ But it is too late to recede, and I would not if I could. Poor Geraldine! he will some day for- get me, and wed an heiress. I would have been one but for ON THE EVE OF A GRAND WEDDING. 31 my father’s reckless extravagance,’’ she added, with bitter. emphasis, as her mother and several other ladies filed into the room, followed by her maid. They had come to array her for the altar. At that same time, in his own apartments in a remote por- tion of the Abbey, the man of whom she had been thinking, sat musing over the approaching ceremony, while waiting for Jura, who was to meet him there in secret, for the purpose of deciding what to do in regard to Lord Warnock. “Curse him! I have hated him almost ever since that day I saved his life,’? Chevasney was muttering, his face dark and scowling. ‘I hate him for his power of fascination among women, and because everybody worships him, and because of his titles and riches, which have robbed me of the woman I love. Yes, I am base enough to hate the friend who trusted, me and loaded me with favors! ”’ There was a flush of insolent triumph upon Chevasney’s face, that actually startled his fellow conspirator, who just then entered the room and stood before him. “ Ah, Jura, glad you’re here, but we must be careful, for the devil’ll be to pay if you should be found here,”’ he continued, his eyes oe with a diabolical light. ‘‘ Only be discreet, and I tell you I will bring my Lord Victor to his knees.”’ “‘ But do you propose letting him leave here without say- ing a word to him about this—this matter ?”’ inquired Jura. “Tf you do—”’ “‘ But I do not,’? answered Chevasney, sullenly. ‘‘ And have not you, who hate him as deeply from one cause as I from another, sworn to stand by me to the end ?” “« T will indeed stand by you, sir,”’ said Jura. “‘ I would like to see him suffer for his crime the same as I would. But what astonishes me is his motive for the act. Only think of an English nobleman stealing his bride-elect’s jewels on the night before their marriage ! It is inexplicable!” ‘ Rest assured he had a motive, Jura, and I have a present- iment that we shall know what it is, perhaps soon ; and for the very reason that we are in ignorance of his intentions, we must act prom and yet with caution. Now, my plan is this,”? continued Chevasney, dropping his voice to a whisper. “T love Stella better than all the world besides, and she loves me; but, woman-like, she has let Warnock’s titles and riches blind her eyes to everything else. But she shall never rest an hour in his arms as his wife,’’ he cried, in hoarse, bitter tones. ‘I will kill him first, I tell you! I am poor, of 32 ON THE EVE OF A GRAND WEDDING. course, and so is she. Thus, through our poverty I lost her, and Victor won. And for this I hate him, as only those of Indian blood can hate. And now for my revenge. Once she is his wife she will be a rich woman, even if:she leaves him in the same hour. Her marriage settlements will make her that. Well, as soon as they are married I intend telling him that he was seen taking the diamonds, and that they are con- cealed in his private rooms; but that the matter will be hushed up if he will come down handsomely. Of course he will be struck dumb with terror at the idea of his guilt being made public, and once having admitted the deed, he will for- ever be in our power. Then I will tell Stella she has married a thief; and if I know her, she will refuse to live with him, but will get divorced, and finally wed me. And our knowl- edge of his guilt will keep Warnock silent, seeing how easily we could ruin him! ” ‘“Your scheme is indeed grand!” echoed the Spaniard. ** But if he should be obstinate and deny everything ?” “Then we will expose him before all the people assembled here to-night,” cried Chevasney, with a smile of diabolical cunning. ‘Ah, my Lord of Dunleath, how I long to meas- ure strength with you! And you swear to me, Jura, that everything is just as you say ?” “Yes, sir, I do,” answered the Spaniard. ‘‘ Sangarre saw him take them, and I saw him enter his own rooms with them. There is no doubt about it.” ‘And you and Sangarre are old sweethearts, and after years of waiting hope to make enough out of this to be inde- pendent the rest of your lives ?” “Yes, sir, we feel sure that what we know is worth a handsome sum to somebody,” replied Jura, coolly. ‘‘ Your plan is splendid, and cannot fail. And you may be sure he will submit to any terms rather than endure the humiliation of exposure. He will then explain his motive in stealing the diamonds.” Thus the two evil-doers schemed and plotted, and then they parted, each to arrange for the carrying out of the plot by which they were to ruin the man who had been a tried friend to the one and a kind master to the other. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 33 CHAPTER V. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. HURSTMOYNE was a small, picturesque village upon the Brighton and Lewes railroad, and at the time of the famous Dunleath diamond robbery was the nearest station to the Ab- bey, which could be reached by a short drive through the beautiful forests and flowering meadows stretching southward to the shores of the English Channel. It was late in the afternoon of Lord Warnock’s bridal day, and ever since morning exaggerated reports of the daring and mysterious robbery of the past night had been circulating in the streets, though there were but few among the villagers, the earl’s tenants, who gave credence to the rumors afloat. They were too unheard-of! Nevertheless they were the theme of all conversation—at Hurstmoyne as well as at the Abbey; and in the doorway of the ‘‘ White Swan,” the only inn the place could boast of, the landlady in person stood, in dispute with several neighbors, who had dropped in for a friendly chat. While they were still in the midst of their lively discussion the six o’clock passenger train from Brighton came steaming into the sta- tion, which was not far from the inn, and as several couples, whose elegance indicated their rank in society, descended from the cars to the platform, Mrs. Grant, the landlady, cried: ‘See! the grandees bound to the wedding at the Abbey this evening. Didn’t I tell you so?” she went on, triumphantly, as a string of carriages, bearing on their panels the Dunleath arms, came dashing into sight, and were drawn up in a line along the pavement running from the depot to the town. ‘‘'What beautiful ladies!” sighed a widow, in the little crowd at the inn door, as she watched the travelers disappear into the carriages, which then drove off at a rapid pace and were soon lost to sight. ‘‘ What a happy life——” “Tut, tut, my dear, there may be Dearie hearts beneath their lace and diamonds than under our linen,” answered Mrs. Grant, sharply. ‘‘ But there is a gentleman left,” she added abruptly, glancing toward the depot platform, on which one solitary figure was still to be seen. ‘‘ Yet it may be only some transient visitor for the ‘Swan ’—but no, there ig some one with him—his valet, no doubt.” Even while she was speaking, the gentleman in question 34 THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. might have been seen advancing along the pavement in the direction of the door at which the coterie of gossips was sta- tioned. As he drew nearer he paused and looked about him, seemingly unconscious of the admiring eyes bent upon him. What they saw was the figure of a tall, magnificently formed man, with features zope and handsome, the mouth well- shaped, the eyes dark, while his moustache and peaked beard, a rich brown like his hair, were heavily streaked with gray. He was clad in a suit of linen, which was soiled and travel-stained, and a soft felt hat shaded his face, which wore an anxious, troubled expression, as he now gazed about him. ‘* The years that have passed since last I looked upon these scenes, and how little they are changed !” he sighed, and the gloom upon his countenance deepened. ‘‘Oh, God, what I have suffered since I left my native shores, a light-hearted boy, with him who was my Judas. Ah, well, he has long slept in his grave, having lived but a little while to enjoy the fruits of his treachery. And I—I have gone through all that a human being can and not go mad! Ah, God, how familiar it all seems after my long, cruel exile!” Murmur- ing thus, he had advanced until he now stood face to face with Mrs. Grant and her companions. ** This, I believe, is the village inn?” he said, bowing with the air of a king. ‘* Yes, sir; and I am the landlady,” promptly responded Mrs. Grant, regarding him with a puzzled expression as she courtesied. ‘‘ And you are a relative of the earl’s——” ‘“T am a stranger, who desires the best accommodations your house affords,” he replied, quickly, turning pale. ‘‘ My man will follow us with my baggage,” he continued, entering the hall. ‘‘So I shall be glad to be shown to my room at once.” * Certainly, sir, if you will step this way,” smiled Mrs. Grant, mounting the. stairs, followed by her guest, about whom there was an air of mystery that both interested and uzzled her. ‘‘ Who can he be? Surely he resembles the arnocks,” she assured herself, with growing wonderment, as she watched the tall soldatesque figure enter the doorway of the chamber alloted to him. “Thank Heaven that ordeal is over!” he cried, when the door had closed behind him, and he was alone. ‘‘My presence in England is a secret, except to a few, and I desire it to remain so a little while longer. Yet whocould guess my identity, when they believe me in the grave? —who, but that villain up THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 35 yonder at Dunleath, reigning all these years in the hall of my fathers ?” He stood lost in painful recollections of the past, until his servant entered, bearing a leather portmanteau, his only piece of baggage. ‘‘ The first thing r wish you to do, Djalma, is to order my supper,” he said. ‘‘ Then, go out and gather any news that you can without attracting atten-. tion. Be careful of that, for he may have his spies abroad.” “* Very well, my lord,” replied the man, a tall, heavily-built Englishman, some forty years of age, who bore in his dark features traces of Indian blood. *“No more of that now, Djalma,” cried his master, start- ing. ‘‘ Remember, I am only Colonel Chandos at present.” ** Excuse me, I forgot myself, and it came so natural, see- ing you here,” responded the Anglo-Indian ; and he went be- low to order his master’s supper. He found their landlady in a pleasant state of excitement over the presence of her distinguished guest. ‘‘I will see to his supper myself,” she said ; ‘‘and I suppose he will want it in time to go to the Abbey this evening. Oh, I knew the moment I looked into your master’s face that he was some re- lation to the earl,” she continued, by way of explanation, ob- serving the surprise with which the valet had listened to her previous remark. ‘‘ And since you are going to Dunleath, you will likely want our old chaise, which is about the only vehicle for hire in the place. Well, it will be ready.” Without either accepting or declining the kind offer, Djal- ma passed on out into the street, and leisurely down it. Thirty minutes later he might have been seen retracing his steps, flushed and heated, and trembling with excitement. n the meantime Mrs. Grant had again ascended to her guest’s apartment, followed by a maid bearing a waiter of most savory-smelling supper. She had just arranged this upon the lamp-lit table spread to receive it, and was in the act of retiring, when they were suddenly startled by the abrupt entrance of the Anglo-Indian valet, who came rushing in like one demented. ““My lord, my lord, I must speak to you privately at once,” he cried, striding forward, unconscious of the presence of their horrified landlady. ‘‘It may even now be too late——” ‘Mrs. Grant, will you please retire, and also forget the title by which you have heard my valet address me ?” inquired Colonel Chandos, turning pale, as he arose. Then, when he and the Anglo-Indian were left alone; he angrily demanded: 36 _ THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. “ How often have I warned you against such indiscretion as this, Djalma? It will be my undoing. Did I not tell you I had assumed a name not my own as a matter of policy, as well as for my safety ? The man who calls himself Karl of Dunleath has long ere this received my letter, and if he is in the least like his villainous father, he would not hesitate to set his spies upon me and put me out of his way. So you must see my life would be in danger if my disguise should be penetrated ——” “‘-You must forgive me this once more, my master,” mur- mured the offender. ** There is nothing that I would not forgive you, Djalma, my good fellow,” answered Chandos, more gently. ‘‘ And now it can make but little difference, any way, we are so near the end of the chase. So go on with what you were saying, as it may be something that I should know.” **T am sure that it is—it is the most astounding thing I ever heard of,” continued the valet. ‘‘ But let me tell you first, begging your pardon, that you have made a very serious mistake. Tou came down here—did you not—under the im- pression that the—the earl was to be married to his cousin, Miss Langstroth, to-morrow evening ?”’ “* Certainly I did, but—what do you mean ?”’ cried Chan- dos, his face ghastly pale. ‘‘ My God! surely I am not too late to save her from the horror of a union with him !”’ **T hope not, but it ate be,” replied Djalma, hurriedly. “* The marriage comes off this evening, and the young couple leave for the Continent in the morning.’’ “Great heavens! is that true? What time is it, Djalma?’’ asked his master, starting up. ‘‘ We must reach the Abbey in time to stop the ceremony and save that unsuspecting woman from such a fate as would be hers as—as the wife of that young scoundrel.’’ ‘* But listen, my lord ; the most wonderful part of my story is yet to come,”’ continued the valet. ‘‘ Only last night the famous Dunleath diamonds were stolen——”’ “*Stolen, you say ?”’ almost shrieked Chandos, and the light that shone on his face revealed its pallor. ‘‘ Great heavens ! the son is as vile as the father! He is the thief, but he shall be unmasked—aye, and that, too, before the very people he would dupe!” Muttering thus, he walked rapidly to and fro, chafing like a caged lion; then, abruptly confronting Djalma, he said: “Tt is only three miles from here to Dunleath, and if you THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. 37 can get a horse we will be able to make it ere the hour ap- pointed for the ceremony. I tell you, I must reach there in time to stop that marriage! ”’ **T will go at once and have the old chaise hooked up,’’ replied the valet, retiring. ‘‘I will be ready, sir, by the time you are. So you can come on down.”’ “* How wily and like his father he has been, this thief and son of a thief, who calls himself a gentleman,” murmured Chandos, when left alone, and opening a package of papers that he had taken from his portmanteau, he placed part of them in his breast pocket. ‘‘ From the very hour in which he received my letter this fellow’s scheme has been to obtain possession of these diamonds, the most valuable and ancient of all the Dunleath heirlooms, to hold as a pledge of lenient treatment on our part. And he thinks that, with Stella Langstroth his wife, we will, for her sake, spare him—the coward! to shelter himself behind a woman! Well, I guess I have all the documents I shall want to-night. It is well that there are duplicates of them in the hands of my London lawyers, for I am venturing into a hostile camp, and almost putting myself in the power of an unscrupulous enemy, whose dearest interest would be advanced by my death. Yet every one speaks well of the present Earl of Dunleath,—of course they do—he is rich! And now I am ready, and I pray Heaven I may be in time.”’ Regardless of the comments he knew his singular conduct would call forth, Colonel Chandos hurried down-stairs, leav- ing his supper untouched, and sprang into the vehicle that stood ready at the door. His servant followed him, gathered up the lines, and a moment later they were rattling over the stony street. It was dark by now, but the moon had risen, and was flood- ing with its mellow light the romantic defiles through which they had to pass when they had left Hurstmoyne behind them. ‘Oh, God, how familiar it all seems,”’ sighed, Chandos, as they drove rapidly on over the forest road, that was bringing him nearer and nearer to his destination. It was so familiar, although he had not traversed it since when a boy; and there was something so sweet and dreamy in the night, that touched his home-sick soul with a sadness, a longing that was full of pain. “* God forgive me, if I am too late to stop this cruel mar- riage !”? he suddenly cried, remembering the self-imposed 38 THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER. task he had taken upon himself, of saving a woman he had never seen from the hands of a designing villain. Just then his words were rudely cut short in a most unex- pected manner, and at a glance he knew that they had met with an accident that would render it utterly impossible for him to go on to the Abbey that night, unless he did so on foot. In crossing a rivulet at a point where the shadows lay dark and deep, a spring in the body of the chaise suddenly broke, caused by a wheel striking against a rock; and had not the colonel, with wonderful presence of mind, reined in the horse, they would have teen thrown out in the water or otherwise injured. * Merciful heavens, what terrible luck! ”* he cried, spring- ing from the chaise, and his voice was full of despair. ‘There is an evil fate pursuing us, and yet, I will save that irl if possible. I will go on on foot—there is nothing else eft for me. You will have to fasten the horse to a tree ere you follow me, Djalma.’’ ** You have two miles yet to go, sir, and it seems to me you will be too late to stop the ceremony, for it is now almost nine o’clock,’’ replied Djalma. ‘‘ Please wait for me, I shall be ready to accompany you ina moment. These forests are awful dark and lonely, and Victor Warnock may have his emissaries hidden some place in them to murder you, know- ing you will have to pass through them to reach the Abbey. Pity you did not keep Brown along with you.”’ “Well, I am armed to the teeth, as it is, and will sell my life dearly,’’ responded Chandos. ‘‘So let us push ahead. Whatever fate may have in store for me, I will bravely meet it. But I cannot believe that the hand that has shielded and brought me thus far will now let me perish through an as- sassin’s steel.”’ Djalma made no answer, as they silently pressed on, the moonlight streaming on them through the dense foliage over- head; but they had gone only a short distance and had just entered a lonesome defile, suggestive of crime, when they were suddenly startled by the sharp report of a rifle shot, fired near them, and evidently at Chandos, since the ball grazed his throat, drawing blood. Naturally brave and fear- less, it was an instinct with the colonel to face rather than flee from danger, and as he drew from his breast the pistol he had placed there ere leaving his room at the inn, he turned in the direction whence the firing came. THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. 39 *“Qh, my lord, save yourself, and leave me to deal with these murderers,—see, they outnumber us,” whispered Djal- ma, imploringly, springing forward and shielding his master with his own body. ‘* Oh, for the love of Heaven, go!——” But it was too late, for shots were being poured upon them by their assailants; and even as the faithful valet spoke, and ere Chandos could discharge his own weapon, they were sur- rounded by the murderous crew, who covered them with their rifles, and whose eyes shone cruelly through the crape masks they wore. CHAPTER VI. ‘THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. In one of the brightest and most luxurious chambers of Dunleath Abbey, as the soft twilight of that bridal evening fell, a young girl, who could not have been more than sixteen years of age, was standing alone in the door opening on to an iron balcony, from which the fairy-like scene below and moon-lit ocean beyond were plainly visible. Her attitude as she leaned against the marble flower-vase was one that showed the exquisite symmetry of her person, and its perfect grace, all the more perfect from her utter unconsciousness of it, and because of an indescribable air of languor and sadness that had stolen upon her. The room was in semi-darkness behind her, lit only by.the gas-jets burning dimly on either side of the dressing-case, where a casket of jewels glittered; and as she stood there in the gloaming, with the light from the ruby skies upon her delicately poised head, she looked like a prin- cess, and it seemed, as if to make the picture she formed com- lete, some lover must appear from out the shadows around er, wearing her glove beneath the plume of his hat, and her colors on his breast, to bow down at her feet and swear eternal fealty. Hazel Arslan was beautiful, both in face and in figure, but she possessed that superb patrician grace that is more potent than mere beanty, and that showed beyond all doubt that she was of noble parentage. She was of medium height, and slender, with features as delicate as if cut from cameo, and was remarkably fair in complexion. Her eyes were of velvety: 40 THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. softness, in color hazel, and her hair was the brightest hue of chestnut, of that rare chatain doré tint that artists rave about but never portray; and hung in rich curling masses around her temples, from which every now and then it was pushed back by a hand of perfect mold. Added to her other charms, Hazel was an heiress in her own right; she was also the heroine of a story that was full of romance, and to which was attached a mystery, which had saddened her young life and cast a kind of gloom over her otherwise cheerful spirit. She was only in her sixteenth year, yet she seemed older, having matured early, as do the daughters of Southern climes; and it was an open secret among her friends and those of Lord Warnock that he had long felt for her a more tender regard than guardians gener- ally feel for their wards. And as it had been supposed that he himself would seek her in marriage as soon as she should have attained a suitable age, there had been a flutter of sur- prise among the circles of fe beaw monde when his engagement to his cousin Stella was announced. But there was a secret history connected with that engage- ment, of which the world knew nothing, else it would have ceased to marvel. As to the gentlemen who had been guests at Dunleath, they gave it no further concern than to rejoice — that Hazel was free to bestow her affections upon whom she aoe ia, and as a natural consequence there were many suitors or her favor. Fourteen years prior to the time of which we write, Lord Victor, then a gay youth of sixteen, was traveling in the East; when, during his stay at Constantinople, an English- man, upon his death-bed, had sent for him, and had confided to his guardianship a little girl, who was beautiful as an houri. The gentleman had given her name as Arslan, which, being so thoroughly un-English, had aroused Victor’s suspi- cions, and he hesitated all day ere assuming the trust so strangely thrust upon him. But he loved children, and from the moment they met, little Hazel, as she was called, had clung to him, and won her way to his heart, there to reign forever. So what could he do but take her home to England with him? Still, he was troubled over what the world would ‘say. Only that he was so young, he would have feared dis- agreeable surmises as to her parentage, but being of a warm, impulsive temperament, he yielded, when to his surprise a fortune of one hundred thousand pounds was intrusted to him for his protégée. At the same time the stranger had THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. 41 promised to tell the earl who she was, intimating that she waa of the bluest blood and most ancient lineage in Europe— an assertion that her refined manners and personal beauty only tended to confirm. But he had died shortly after this of a hemorrhage, his secret safe, the story of little Hazel’s parentage untold, and from that hour to this it had remained a mystery, and might continue so unto the end. From in- quiries Victor had found out that the stranger had been wounded in a duel fought several days before on the Asiatic side of the Dardanelles with a Russian prince, who had sailed immediately for the Crimea. All efforts to trace either party failed, so nothing remained for the young earl but to return to England with Hazel and her nurse, an American named Rachel, who was devoted to her charge. He had questioned this woman repeatedly, but to no purpose; if she knew any- thing, she was determined not to reveal it. Thus did Dun- leath Abbey become the home of the beautiful baby-princess, as Hazel’s guardian delighted to call her. To his friends Warnock gave no explanation of his conduct in this matter—his extreme youth was his shield from mis- conception—and the public gradually settled down to the con- clusion that Hazel was the child of some dead friend—a con- clusion the earl never sought to controvert. And thus had the years passed on, during which Hazel grew in stature and in beauty, while her guardian learnt to care for her as he never had for any of the queenly women who would gladly have intrusted their future to his keeping; but he had been careful to speak no words of affection to her, and she had ever treated him as an elder brother. But God pity them both—the awakening came! Her virgin heart was at last startled from its slumbers, and his aroused to the rapture and pain of a first and only love. But fate was stronger than he, and though it was known only to Lady Langstroth and him- self, the request, nay, the command of his dead father bound him in all honor to wed his Spanish cousin, and to have vol- untarily done otherwise than heed that last wish of the dead would have seemed like sacrilege to Victor. Yet Lady Lang- stroth had seen for many years that in Hazel she would have her most dangerous rival in her scheme to make Stella Count- ess of Dunleath. Rachel, quick to see anything that affected her charge, had long known that both mother and daughter hated Hazel, and she had watched them with untiring vigi- lance—a watch that my lady was quite conscious of. She also knew that Hazel loved her guardian, and it was with anger 42 THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. against the earl that she had witnessed her darling’s awaken- ing from her sweet dreams when informed of his engagement to his cousin. : Those most intimately associated with Hazel had noticed the change that had came over her of late, the nervous restless- ness that had taken possession of her ever since the betrothal of the earl had been announced; but no one except Rachel understood the cause of it. She would remain in her own chamber for hours at a time, and would only resume her for- mer cheerfulness when either Lord Victor or Stella was present. She secluded herself as much as possible from the company of the gay visitors filling the Abbey, although she was a great favorite with them. What would have been her emotions, poor child, could she have known that among her guardian’s brilliant circle of friends, both in London and at Paris, wagers had been freely laid at the clubs as to which would ultimately win the Dun- leath Derby—she or Miss Langstroth? ‘‘If love is umpire, it will be the little Arslan,’? was the unanimous verdict of masculine London, to which Lord Warnock was known as a brave, generous, kind-hearted fellow. Consequently, his en- gagement to his cousin caused a flutter of surprise in the fashionable world. There were times, as at present, when Hazel would lock herself in from every one, even her dear Rachel, and with the seriousness natural to her, muse over the past, the sweet, happy past, when he who would so soon belong to another had been all the world to her. ‘‘ And I have thought he cared for me,’’ she murmured, piteously, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Oh, Victor, Victor, never will you know how truly I have loved you, almost to idolatry. Oh, I know it was wrong !——” Sobbing passionately, she broke down, and sank into the chair nearest to her, covering her face with her hands; when the sudden utterance of her name by him of whom she was thinking caused her to start to her feet, the warm color deep- ening over throat and brow, as she confronted her guardian. “* Hazel, my darling,’’? he murmured, in accents of tender- ness, and as he stood there before her in the twilight gloom, his face wore an expression that made her heart throb with a rapture it had never felt before. ‘‘ Forgive me that I heard you, my love,’’ he continued, drawing her gently into the shelter of his arms, and raining kisses upon her face—warm, despairing kisses, such as one gives their dead. ‘* My dar- THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. 43 ling, my life, Heaven alone knows how precious you are to me!’ : She gazed upward into his eyes as she listened, her own full of agony and devotion, but she made no effort to speak. She felt as if all her soul was going out to Heaven in a wild prayer to let her die there on his breast, with his lips pressed to hers, rather than live to see those caresses that she craved lavished upon another. “Oh, Victor, you will let me stay with you, for away from you the world is all a wilderness to me,”’ she murmured at last, cleaving to him, beautiful in her grief. ‘‘ Oh, to be even your servant, so as to be near you——”’ ‘The world, my sweet child, would never consent,’ he answered, holding her to his heart, while his eyes feasted upon her rare loveliness of person—a loveliness that he had never craved with such longing as now when he knew it could never be his. ‘‘ And yet she would give up everything for me, and glory in what society would call her dishonor,” he thought, tears pouring down his cheeks as he felt the caress- ing touch of her little palms about his neck. But there was no temptation to him in the knowledge that her future destiny. lay at his mercy, for he could sooner have blown out his brains there in her presence than have breathed one impure word into her ear. She was sacred to him, and his conscience smote him with a sense of wrong-doing in having even approached her as he now had, and added to her sorrow by wringing from her the confession of her love. *¢ Had I left her alone, in time she would have forgotten me and given her heart to some man worthy of her,” he thought, with a pang, his face darkening with jealous hatred of whoever might displace him in her affections. And yet, though he knew it was a meanness beneath him, it filled his whole being with rapture to feel that she loved him. ““My darling, I have never doubted your love, not for a moment,” he continued, aloud. ‘‘ But my situation was a cruel one—Heaven pardon my father, he meant it for the best. It was his desire that 1 should wed my cousin Stella. He never said anything to me upon the subject, since he hoped that such would be my voluntary choice. But he left a letter with my aunt for me, in which he prayed, nay, com- manded me to make Stella my wife. From the hour in which that letter was given me my fate was sealed. I would fulfill my dying father’s equa but I would put off the evil hour as long as possible; in that I was left free. I know I have been 44 THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. culpably neglectful, darling,’’ he murmured, in tones of pite- ous entreaty, as if praying for pardon. ‘I should have told you, so that you would have grown "p> caring for me only as your guardian, but I could not. was hoping against hope, and I tell you now, my Hazel, that you may see what a coward I have been, and scorn instead of love me.”’ “‘T have loved you always, Victor, and shall love you on,”’ whispered Hazel, but so faintly that her guardian had to bend to catch the words. get pray Heaven rather that you may forget me and’ be happy,”’ he said, straining her to his heart with sudden pas- sion, and then putting her gently from him. “TY shall never forget you,” she replied, glancing at him shyly from under her drooping eyelids, and a smile that hurt him as a reproach for the wrong he had done her parted her lips. ‘‘ The memory of your love will ever be my sweetest joy, Victor, and wherever you may be, for we must not meet again for a long time, until it can be as brother and sister, think of me as a better and happier woman because I have known you.”’ Then silence fell over them, fit companion for such gloomy thoughts as filled each of their breasts now. The ticking of a clock in the room fell with painful beat upon the air. A subdued murmur of voices came to them from the lawns and terraces below, where wedding guests were already beginning to gather. Suddenly, the great clock in the stable towers, booming through the twilight, admonished them of the flight of time. It was striking eight. Almost at the same moment the voice of Rachel was heard calling to Hazel to unlock the door. ““Oh, must we part ?’’ sobbed Hazel, gazing up into her lover’s face through a mist of tears. ves, Rachel, I will let you in presently,’’ she said in response to her nurse, who from without had impatiently repeated her summons. ‘* My darling, my love, my life! ’? murmured Victor, strain- ing her to his heart, and kissing her forehead, her throat and hair, with lips that were white with anguish—the anguish of the separation that was so near. * Farewell, my Victor,’’ was all she could say, for she felt as if she were choking. She had even lost the power of cling- ing to him, and lay in his arms so lifeless that she would have | fallen had he not held her up. And he, too, was almost past speaking, for it seemed to him as though he was giving up the best part of his life as he THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. 45 put her from him, nevermore to shed the sunshine and joy of her presence upon him. A sigh of bitterness burst from oe lips, as his eyes burnt with love unutterable down into ers. A moment more and she knew he was gone, having passed out, as he had entered, through the door on to the balcony, which was corinected with the veranda of a small cabinet near by, which was little used, and into which the earl had strayed, anxious to be alone. Attracted by the beauty of the night, he had strolled from the cabinet out on to the veranda, when he suddenly found himself near Hazel, of whom he was think- ing. Respecting her loneliness, he was about to retire, when he was startled by hearing her murmur his name. Forget- ful of all else but his love for her, he flung prudence to the wind, and springing forward, took her in his arms. Following this were those few minutes of joy and anguish, —and now all was over between them, and their lives would henceforth drift farther and farther apart, like two boats that meet on a stream and are then lost to each other forever. Forgetful of her faithful Rachel, waiting patiently at the door to be admitted, forgetful of everything save the misery and wretchedness of her overflowing heart, Hazel sat crouched down in the chair in which Victor had placed her. Would she always feel as she now did ? she asked herself. Could it be that all the sunshine had indeed gone out of her life forever, and she only sixteen, and dowered with beauty unrivaled and riches beyond compute ? ** No, no, it cannot be; it is bus some hideous dream I have dreamt here alone in the twilight,’’ she murmured, sitting erect, still bewildered; then, hearing Rachel’s voice calling her again, she arose, knowing it was all reality, and tottering across the room, opened the door to admit her nurse. “Oh, my dearie, what is it?’’ exclaimed the faithful crea- ture, in tones of genuine distress, as she glanced suspiciously at her protégée’s swollen eyelids and tear-stained cheeks. Then, as the truth began to dawn upon her mind—she had seen the figure of Lord Warnock emerge from the doorway of the adjoining cabinet a moment before—she checked her- self. ‘‘ Why could he not leave her in peace? ’’ she muttered in wrath. ‘‘It was both cruel and selfish to do as he has done} My lamb, I know it is hard, but it is too late,’”’ she said aloud. ‘‘ Ob, how gladly I would suffer for you! ” ‘*T know you would, nurse,” replied Hazel, sobbing afresh. ** But I am sick at heart. And I cannot go down-stairs just. 46 THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. yet, to laugh and be gay, and see him wed—I cannot, so don’t ask me to ; it would drive me mad! ” ‘“ Of course it would, my precious,’’ said Rachel, sooth- ingly. ‘‘I know how you feel, darling, and I blame him for speaking at this late hour; it was cruel——”’ “* Hush, Rachel, oh hush, or you kill me,’’ cried Hazel, piteously. ‘‘ He could not help it; he is not to blame, poor fellow—he has been a martyr to a sense of duty all the time.” And in as few words as possible she told her companion the story of the letter, with which the late earl had forced his son into the loveless union that would so soon be consummated, but from which for years he had been shrinking. ** Poor fellow, he is indeed to be pitied,’’ whispered Rachel, with tears in her eyes, as she listened. Could she by the sur- render of her own life have given peace and happiness to these ill-starred lovers, thus doomed to misery and separation, she would willingly have made the sacrifice. In the meantime, Warnock, upon leaving her presence, had hastened back to his own chambers, where he found Ran- dolph engaged in laying out his wedding clothes, unconscious of his movements. ‘‘Is it time I should begin dressing ?”’ he calmly asked ; but there was a look of desperation in his eyes that made his valet wonder. Whatdidit mean? ‘‘ Oh, od! help me to bear my fate,’’ he inwardly cried. ‘‘ Yet I care not for my own sufferings—it is that my little love must suffer also, when I would shield her with my life! Was there ever so sad a fate as ours ?”’ With thoughts such as these passing through his brain, he stood silently while his valet dressed him. He had grown very pale, and those who were with him noticed that the color never came back into his face. In dead silence his toilet was made, and in the same dead silence his companions found him at the hour appointed for the ceremony, when they en- tered his room. The Vicomte de Chambertin, a French noble of Victor’s own age, was to be his groomsman. They had traveled to- gether in the East, and at the time the vicomte consented to serve his friend his heart had beat high with the hope that his partner on this happy occasion would be Miss Arslan, with whom he was madly in love. But the bride-elect had decreed otherwise, and Lady Caroline Clyde, a lovely blonde and a duke’s daughter, was chosen to be his associate. Just as Warnock and his friend were leaving their room, a servant came with a message from Lady Langstroth, saying an THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. 4? unforeseen accident would cause a delay of some twenty minutes in the performance of the ceremony. Lord Victor drew a sigh of relief, but little did he or any of those gathered there dream of how strangely this incident, seemingly trivial in itself, was to affect the lives and change the destinies of so many who were then beneath that roof! ‘What can have happened to Victor ? I never saw him looking so desperate in my life,” mused De Chambertin. ““Qan it be he regrets Hazel? For if a man ever loved a wo- man, he loved her. Or could she have refused him because of some more fortunate suitor ?’’ His pike beat faster, his heart grew warm with hope, as this thought came to him. Might not he be that lucky person—he who adored the very ground his lady-love trod ? He would hesitate no longer, but plead his cause and know his fate at once. And surely Hazel would be merciful. A murmuring sound, like the surging of the sea, came up from the rooms below, where were gathered the élite of Eng- lish society, to witness a ceremony that for weeks past had been the absorbing theme of conversation in every London drawing-room. The twenty minutes seemed interminable, to Warnock as well as De Chambertin. He was nervous, and it was with a feeling of relief that he at last received and obeyéd the summons to the presence of his bride-elect. And when he stood before her he could not suppress the cry of admiration that escaped his lips. Never had he beheld her looking so queenly. She was arrayed in white satin, one of Worth’s most exquisite bridal robes, with court train and overskirt of white lace, looped up with sprays of orange-blos- soms and diamond-studded arrows. A girdle of jewels blazed like a circle of fire around her waist, and her arms ‘and bosom were covered with gems of rare size and lustre. Yet her heart was full of anger because of those missing diamonds, in which for centuries the brides of Dunleath had been led to the altar. In her hand she carried a bouquet of orange-blos- soms. 5 Lady Caroline, her bridesmaid, also wore white, and her blonde beauty was in: striking contrast with Stella’s dark Spanish features, which looked darker even than usual be- neath the shadow of her flowing veil. The drawing-rooms were a sea of light, and in them were assembled the créme de la créme of the English aristocracy, -with whom Lord Warnock had ever been a favorite. Yet it all seemed unreal as a dream to him as he slowly passed down 48 THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. the wide staircase and through the hall, with the woman at his side who would so soon be his wife, while every pulse of his heart was throbbing with love for her whose sweet tear- stained face had so lately felt the touch of his warm, despair- ing kisses on it. But whatever he might feel, it was now too late to draw back; and so, raising his head proudly, almost defiantly, he moved forward, and took his appointed place before the Bishop, who proceeded with the marriage service. Like one in a dream he saw Stella, and heard the minister’s voice; and once, raising his eyes, they chanced to meet those of Chevasney, who, from a distance, was watching him with an expression so sinister that he involuntarily shuddered. _ Looking up again, he again encountered that same steady, burning, mesmeric gaze, which never wavered nor dropped as it met his, and he wondered what it could mean. e had asked Chovasney to act as his groomsman, and though the answer had been a refusal, it had never entered his head that jealousy could be the cause. The Bishop, with his open prayer-book in his hand, had meanwhile continued the service; but just at the moment when the earl was to make his response, a sudden commotion in the hall was heard, followed by voices raised in angry dis- pute. Coming as the strange sounds did upon the intense silence pervading every part of that vast throng, each word uttered could be distinctly heard, though their meaning could be scarcely distinguished amid the uproar. **T am here to stop this marriage, which is an infamous imposition on an innocent woman! ” some one cried in tones that rang clear above the din of voices. “No, no, you are mad!’’ replied old Humbert, struggling to keep back the intruder. Then the voice of the first speaker was again heard: “‘ Let me go, or, by Heavens! a Amazement was depicted upon every countenance in the rooms by this time, and the Bishop, unable to proceed, paused, glancing helplessly at Warnock, who, having recoy- ered from his first shock of surprise, now raised his head with a haughty gesture, his eyes flashing, his cheeks crimson with anger. He could feel Stella shrinking from his side, as if seeking protection elsewhere, which stung his pride; and as the noise had become so boisterous that it could no longer be ignored, he sternly cried: ** Where are the police, that such drunken ruffians are al- THE INTERRUPTED CEREMONY. 49 lowed to enter here, and insult everybody ?”? But his words were lost in the tumult. Then, in the momentary lull that ensued, the same clear ringing voice that had spoken before, was again heard: ** I forbid this ceremony to go on——”’ ’ At the same instant, the speaker, a tall, splendid looking man, with blood trickling from a wound in his throat, stag- gered forward, panting for breath, his eyes gleaming like coals, and confronted Lord Warnock. The light shining upon him revealed the features of the stranger who had given his name as “‘ Chandos ”’ at the inn of the ‘‘ White Swan,” and as he now gazed at the proud noble before him, a look of hor- ror darkened his face, and he muttered something to himself. It was a singular scene—the shrinking bride, the bewildered churchman, the outraged bridegroom, the handsome stranger —the sea of awe-stricken faces surging closer and closer around them. Quivering with excitement, Chevasney had el- bowed his way through the crowd, eager, as everybody sup- posed, to reach the side of his insulted friend, who stood too amazed to give vent to his feelings. It had all transpired in far less time than it has taken to tell it; im fact, it seemed only an instant from the arrival of the stranger until he thus suddenly found himself face to face with the earl. Then, in a voice impressive, because in it was the ring of truth, he again spoke, his eyes flashing over all that breath- less assembly, while his finger was sternly pointed at Lord Victor, who quailed as he never before had beneath the scorn of any human glance. “Tam here to denounce as a scoundrel, a thief, and an assassin, this man, and I can prove all I assert !”” he cried. “Bven now he was hastening his marriage with this lady, hoping thus to shield himself from the punishment his crimes merit? .I am the Earl of Dunleath, of which I have ample oe and he is but an impostor, whose sins have at last found im out! 50 AT BAY. CHAPTER VI. AT BAY. Lorp Warnock was too dumbfounded and surprised by the startling accusations made against him to at once frame a reply ; but feeling that every eye in the room was upon him, and some of them with a gleam of suspicion that stung him as no words could have done, he stood facing those gath- ered nearest around him, and, in tones clear and distinct, said: ‘‘I should deem it unnecessary to refute this madman’s charges to you who are my friends, and who have known me from childhood, were it not that my silence might be mis- construed; and I further appeal to you to trust and believe me, at least until Iam proven unworthy of your trust, rather than one who has not even the manners of a gentleman to rec- ommend him.’’ He looked splendid as he towered in his outraged man- hood, his nostrils dilat‘ns, with wrath, his eyes shedding gleams of fire; and as he *c3sed speaking, a murmur of ap- proval ran through the room. “This air of bravado will not avail you now, my young man; it is too late for that,’’ replied the stranger, who had given his name as Chandos, speaking with a dignity that im- pressed those who heard him with the belief that he was at least sincere in what he said. At the same time he pressed a broidered handkerchief he carried to his throat, to stanch the blood that was still flowing from his wound, and from loss of which he was deadly pale. But he firmly rejected all offers of medical aid. ‘* Tt is no more than a scratch,’’ he said, impatiently. ‘‘ My Lord Warnock should certainly have secured for his assassins better shots——”’ ‘¢ By Heaven, this is intolerable ! ’’ cried Warnock, flush- ing crimson at the insult offered him. But Chandos paid no attention to his words. He had turned to a man who just then entered the room and was elbowing his way toward him. “You are here at last, Brown,’’ he exclaimed. Then, pointing to the earl, he sternly said: ‘‘ Officer, do your duty —place this impostor under arrest pa ‘What! do you dare come here into my own halls, and at such a time as this, and Mae to perpetrate this outrage upon me ?’’ demanded Warnock, his face livid with wrath. AT BAY. 51 His eyes flashed stormily over those crowding closest around him; then, as the officer whom Chandos had addressed as Brown, advanced toward him, as if, indeed, to place him under arrest, his feelings burst all bounds, and forgetful of the shrinking figure at his side, forgetful of everything but the insult offered him, he shouted: ‘“‘ You villains, you scoundrels! by the heavens above us, I will kick you out of here myself, if there is no one else who will! ”’ And he would speedily have put his threat into execution, had he not suddenly felt a pair of strong arms clasped tightly around him, and heard the soft voice of Chevasney whisper-. ing: ‘‘ Be quiet, Victor, I am here; and surely you know that I and all your other friends believe in your innocence, and will stand by you and defend you to the last.”? Inwardly the Judas was thinking: ‘‘ This is almost too good to be true, and my revelation coming on top of it will ruin him! I must feign friendship for our fallen lord, since in that réle I can do him most injury, and also work myself into favor with this rising magnate.” At the same moment that Chevasney advanced, Chandos turned so that he saw for the first time the face of Warnock’s false friend,-and as his eyes fell upon it he started back. “* My God, what a strange resemblance! ’’ he muttered, as his fascinated glance remained riveted upon Chevasney. ‘‘I feel as if I had suddenly confronted the dead—he is the living image of Cuthbert, the Cuthbert I loved in youth.”’ “We have been interrupted in our duty in a most remark- able manner,’’ the Bishop was saying, with uplifted hands. ** Consequently we deem it best to postpone the conclusion of this ceremony until our young friend here shall have cleared his name of these grave charges brought against him, as we have no doubt but he will.”’ Warnock, who had grown quiet under Chevasney’s influ- ence, as he now Txtonad to the prelate’s cruel decision, turned his eyes with a look of entreaty upon Stella, praying her to let the ceremony go on; but her face was cold, and the glance she gave him one of offended pride. It was then that the offi- cer, stepping forward, laid his hand on Warnock’s shoulder. “Tt is my painful duty, sir, to arrest you,’’ he began, but paused; for Victor had raised his arm in a threatening atti- tude, when Stella, her cheeks crimson with passion, flung herself before him, and turning to Chandos, cried: ‘It is false, I tell you it is false! Hes Harl of Dunleath! Oh, speak to them, Victor, and drive them away.” 52 AT BAY. Her emotion seemed to deeply move the earl, and speak- ing more calmly than he yet had, he replied: ‘‘ Do not be so distressed, Stella. This man who brings these ridiculous charges against me is some madman or knave, as can be easily proven,’”’ Then, glancing up into Chevasney’s face, he smiled his old confiding smile, though there was a sadness in it now that had never been there before. He could not understand or forget his friend’s behavior, nor the cold looks cast upon him, yet he had freely forgiven both. He was about to speak again, but ere he could do so, he was confronted by Chandos, who sternly said: ‘*The charges I bring against you are all such as can be substantiated, as you well know. Ah, you change color! One of the assassins you set upon me to-night is even now lying in his fetters beneath this Abbey roof, waiting to be ee to face with you ; it was for that I spared his ife—— “* Kiven admitting your tale to be true, sir, which I am far from doing, this seems to me a most illy chosen time in which to assert your claims,’’ said Sir Jasper Cardross, a stately, middle-aged baronet, stepping forward and interfering in behalf of his young relative. “‘ This lady loves and has con- sented to become my cousin’s wife. Therefore, I must say I think it no more than is due her to at least give her the chance to show her confidence in him, by allowing this cere- mony to proceed.”’ “No, no!” cried Stella, shrinking from Warnock’s side ; then, cruelly embarrassed, she paused, in doubt as to what course she should pursue. Would it not be madness to let the ceremony go on that would bind her to the man she had loved as an earl, and a millionaire, but who might be poor as any pauper in the streets on the morrow? ‘‘ Oh, was any woman ever before placed in such a cruel dilemma?’ she sobbed, her fiery Spanish temper flaming into sudden passion. Then a wild hope sprung up in her selfish heart, whispering that she might not have to settle the question herself; but in vain, for the next moment Victor, whose pride she had wounded, appealed to her so forcibly that, stung to despera- tion, she turned upon him, and mistaking the alter of suffer- ing on his face for the fear of detection, angrily cried: ‘‘ No, I will not wed you, Victor Warnock, and it is cowardly and unmanly in you to thus force me to say so! How dare you treat me as you have? It was ungenerous, ungentlemanly ! ’’ AT BAY. 53 Listening, he shrank before her as if she had dealt him a blow, and yet, beyond all the shame and humiliation of his position, a sense of relief that his life would not have to be spent at her side, stole upon him. Even poverty no longer had the same terror for him as had this loveless union, and he shuddered to think how narrow had been his escape from its bonds. ‘‘ Now I am free to love Hazel, my little darling,” he whispered, with a thrill of rapture, that changed to a groan of anguish, as he thought of his ward’s riches, and. began to realize how strong a barrier they would prove to di- vide his future life from hers, if this madman’s wretched tale should be true and he be an outcast among men. Anxious to terminate a scene so disgraceful, Sir Jasper had been pleading with Chandos to retire. “ You have accom- plished what you propose you came here to do to-night— srres this marriage,” he argued; but Chandos stood his ground. The policeman Brown shifted his position, evidently ill at ease, for there was something in the build of the young earl that warned the man from Scotland Yard that to attempt his arrest would be a dangerous move. Chevasney, watching first one and then another, his gaze sharpened by anxiety, felt that he could have knelt at Chan- dos’ feet and kissed them out of pure gratitude, could he have been convinced that he had spoken the truth. As it was, he was glad he had kept the secret of the diamond rob- bery, to be used as he would, and there was a meaning smile on his face as he glided away from the crowd, going in search of the would-be assassin whom Chandos had brought to the Abbey, for the purpose of wringing a confession from him. At the same time that these things were transpiring amid the principal actors in this strange life-drama, the throng filling the drawing-rooms and halls had been dispersing and retiring, notwithstanding the morbid curiosity that reigned in every breast. As those who had come from the great houses in the neighborhood, and who were to return in open carriages that night, quitted the Abbey, Chevasney might have been seen moving among them, instilling his insidious poison against Lord Victor into the ears of one and all, but in such a subtle manner as would lead no one to believe he was playing a false part. If Lord Warnock was indeed not the nobleman he professed to be, of course society had been grossly outraged, and should know it; then, if this stately, soldierly Chandos was an impostor, surely his blackmailing 54 HOW THE WEDDING-DAY ENDED. scheme was one of the most daring insults ever offered society. At last all were gone except those who were to remain at the Abbey as guests, taking with them the cruel doubt that their polished, courtly host was not just what he seemed to be. oe leaven of Chevasney’s treachery was beginning to work. They were gone, leaving those halls, in which the sounds of mirth and revelry had so lately been rife, hushed as if by the presence of death. And with many of those who had sat at his board Lord Victor was destined to never more clasp hands in the warm bond of friendship. CHAPTER VIII. HOW THE WEDDING-DAY ENDED. THERE came a lull after the last carriage had rolled from the door, and those who were to spend the night at the Ab- bey, conscious that their presence in the drawing-room only added to the earl’s embarrassment, retired to their own apart- ments, there to discuss the wonderful events of the past twenty-four hours. “‘There would have been bloodshed but for the Bishop being present,’? murmured the handsome Colonel of English Hussars, Bertie De Vigne, as he wandered out from the gaslit halls into the fragrant summer night, his tall figure in its splendid uniform followed by the admiring gaze of more than one belle dame. Bertie was dark as a Spaniard, with lumi- nous black eyes and jetty hair and beard, and was a hero of the Lara type among women; his great personal beauty, his genius and winning manners all combined to render him popular with the sex, yet his affections had remained free until twelve months before, when, meeting Lord Warnock’s young ward, he had fallen madly in love with her. It was the first and only passion his life had ever known, and it was of Hazel he was now thinking as he left the Abbey behind him. What effect would these strange events have upon her future? he asked himself. HOW THE WEDDING-DAY ENDED. 5d In the meantime, hot words were passing between those assembled in the drawing-room, who had met as deadly enemies, in a contest that meant war to the bitter end. “‘T am willing to consent to anything in reason,’’ Chan- dos was saying. ‘‘ But that he ’’—indicating Warnock— “* shall have a chance to escape me—anever !”’ ‘Surely, this fellow’s insolence passes all bounds,”’ re- plied Lord Victor. ‘‘ And I insist that he shall at once re- tire from the house into which he has brought so much misery and confusion.’’ Then, addressing Stella, who was still sobbing in her mother’s arms, he said: “‘ My cousin, if you wish it, I will forget the words you have uttered in the heat of passion. Let us at least be friends——”’ ‘“No, I do not wish you to forget what I have said,’ she cried, goaded on to an open rupture by the consciousness that her conduct had already broken every tie that bound them, and that the Abbey could never again be her home if it con- tinned to be his. ‘‘ No, the deception you have practiced on me cancels every claim you may have had to my friendship.” ‘* Stella, my child, you are too excited to know what you say,’’ interposed her mother, who had no faith in Chandos’ story, and desired to compromise matters. But Warnock was determined to force his bride-elect to a decision, so he said: “‘ Stella, do you utterly refuse to believe that I speak the truth, when I tell you that I have never for a moment de- ceived you ?”’ “‘But you have deceived me, and even now sought to co- erce me into marrying you,”’ replied Stella, defiantly. ‘‘ How dare you accuse me of such baseness ?”? demanded Warnock, advancing a step nearer to her. “‘ You cannot mean it 17? “Come, my lord, this is not manly,’’ interposed Chevas- ney, drawing near with a great show of indignation, which was intended to impress Stella with the belief that he was her sole defender ; and the look she gave him made his heart thrill with the consciousness that she approved-of his interference in her behalf. hoa ‘“‘ My friends, let me beg of you that you do nothing in haste,” said the Bishop, in the mild tone of authority that characterized him. ‘‘ Rather wait to settle your differences on the morrow, when your passions will have had time to cool.”’ “ Most assuredly, I am willing to bow to your superior wis- 56 HOW THE WEDDING-DAY ENDED. dom,”’ replied Warnock. ‘‘ But I must beg that these parties who have intruded here first retire.” ‘Which I shall not do until I am assured that this indi- vidual’’—turning to Lord Victor—‘‘is secured against escape,” declared Chandos. ‘‘I am thankful that I was in time to save Miss Langstroth from a union that could only have ended in misery. My other business can wait until morning, when Hamlin Belle, my attorney, will be down here from London. Then the documents necessary to prove my right to the earldom of Dunleath will be produced, and even he who has usurped my place will be forced to admit the justice of my claims.” “He will drive me mad with his insolence,”’ cried War- nock, with a passionate gesture, and he clinched his hands imvoluntarily. “Let me beg of you, Victor, that you restrain yourself,’” said Sir Jasper, soothingly. “‘ Of course none of us put cre- dence in this stranger’s story; yet it is evident that he has eee to tell, and I think that it cannot hurt us to hear im. “Most assuredly not, if you deem it best,” replied Lord Victor. ‘‘ And am I to consider myself a prisoner until this farce is played out?’ he bitterly added. “Tt can do you no harm to humor him,” whispered the baronet. Burning with anger and an impotent sense of humiliation, Stella had remained standing at her mother’s side during the above altercation, surrounded by sympathetic friends. She felt as though she would gladly hide herself anywhere, so that it was beyond the pale of society—the society in which she had so long and so gloriously reigned, and from the women she had triumphed over and who would now laugh at her in her abasement. “Gracious Heavens, what a narrow escape I have made !’’ she thought, shuddering. ‘A few minutes more, and I would have been his wife—the wife, not of an earl, but of a—~—”’ She paused, shivering with cold, though the night was warm, and seeing her suffering so, her mother drew her gently away, whispering: ‘‘ My child, this has been a terrible ordeal to you. Come, you will be sick if not put to bed.’’ She was saying to herself that, Stella safe in her own room, she would return and assure Victor that his cousin was fever- ish and not conscious of her unkindness to him. But ere they could reach the door he was at their side. HOW THE WEDDING-DAY ENDED. 57 “Stella, have you no kind word for me?”’ he murmured, clasping his cousin’s hand, and raising it to his lips. “ Think of what I, too, suffer, and forgive me.”’ ‘“‘ How could you be so cruel?” she replied, with unreason- ing anger, drawing away from him. “‘ ‘Think of how ridicu- lous you have made me appear. I shall be the laughing-stock of every woman,” she went on. In disposition she was singu- larly unforgiving, and looked upon this whole affair as a per- sonal injury done her alone. “Tg that all you have to say to me? ”’ asked Victor, vexed at himself that her selfishness should hurt him as it did. “Surely, Stella, you must know that I am no more to blame for what has happened than you are.”’ ‘“‘How dare you lay the blame on me?” she cried, with most flagrant injustice, willfully misconstruing his words. “She is so mortified, Victor, and in so much suffering, that she is not conscious of what she says,’’ explained Lady Lang- stroth, determined to be kind and sympathetic with her nephew, as a matter of policy; thus might she be able to smooth things over, and yet see her daughter Countess of Dunleath, should the story told by Chandos be proven false. ‘“‘ Certainly, madam, I make every allowance for her,’’ re-. lied Warnock, bowing stiffly, as mother and daughter passed im. ‘I understand,” he muttered, ‘‘ you are trying to be both for and against me, my lady, and I forgive you. But never again, no matter what comes, shall our homes be under the same roof. And never again can Stella Langstroth be more to me than a stranger.” “T think it will be decidedly better to postpone all further discussion until to-morrow, when those interested can meet in the library,” said Sir Jasper, when Warnock had again joined those grouped around the Bishop. The ladies had all retired, and the few servants visible seemed in deep distress and full of grief for their beloved master. “That is the wisest thing that can be done, as it is now late,”’ replied the Bishop. The earl bowed in token of acquiescence, while Chandos hastened to say: ‘“‘If I consent to leave matters as they are until morning, I shall insist upon Brown’s remaining here with authority to prevent any one’s departure from the Abbey.”’ ‘here can certainly be no objection to what you _s0 ear- nestly desire—certainly not from me—since you are the only person who could have any motive in wishing to leave the 58 IN THE ABBEY LIBRARY. Abbey ere morning,”’ replied Warnock, in haughty accents, and turning away, he quitted the room. In the upper hall he met Rachel, who looked so troubled that he stopped her to inquire what was the matter. ‘“‘It is my young lady,’’ responded the faithful nurse. ‘‘ Oh, surely, my lord, no one knows better than you what this day has been to her. But she bore up bravely until—until I told her what was happening down-stairs. Then she fainted, and remained unconscious so long I was alarmed. But she is easier now.’’ ‘* My poor little Hazel, must she suffer through me? ’’ was the agonized cry of his heart, and he reeled like one stricken, as he passed on, only pausing when he had entered his own room and closed the door behind him. “What does it all mean, anyhow? What foul conspiracy is this against my honor, my personal integrity?”’ he mur- mured, his cheeks blanched to the pallor of death. ‘‘ Surely it is a hideous dream, from which I shall presently awaken. For never in my life before was I so bewildered as I am to- night. Have they who accuse me gone mad, or have I? ”” CHAPTER IX. IN THE ABBEY LIBRARY. Prompt .y at the hour appointed on the following morning, those who were to listen to the story that Colonel Chandos was there to tell, gathered in the Abbey library, a large apart- ment, with emblazoned ceiling, the walls of which were lined with cases of rare and valuable books. The windows were open to the soft sweet sea-breeze that came in at them, and the sunshine lay in patches on the polished floor. The piazza on to which the windows opened was filled with brilliant tropic plants, and from it marble steps led down to the ter- race and flower garden beyond. The doors connecting this piazza with the library were also open, and near one of them, buried in deep thought, sat the prelate, Bishop Dudley, who, at Warnock’s request, had re- mained over so as to be present at the coming interview, upon which so much depended. At a table to his right, opposite IN THE ABBEY LIBRARY. 59 a window, through which the magnificent park, the glory of the Abbey, was plainly visible, were seated Colonel Chandos, his solicitor, Hamlin Belle, who had just arrived from Lon- don, and another gentleman, a stranger of foreign appear- ance, who was known as Prince Nador. “And this is my home, my happy childhood’s home,”’ mused Chandos, as, with swelling heart, he gazed out upon the beautiful scene. ‘‘ Oh, God! how often in my dreams have I beheld it all as it looks now, so like an Eden on earth.’’ Then, as his eyes chanced to rest upon Warnock, they grew stern and cold. ‘‘ Why it is I know not, but it hurts me to drive him out from the home he has for so many years usurped,”’ he continued. ‘‘ Yet, for the sake of the dead, I will give him a handsome allowance if he will yield without . further trouble or disturbance.”’ At a table to the Bishop’s left sat Sir Jasper Cardross, who seemed nervous and excited, and Chevasney, whose gaze was bent upon the floor. Near to these, at an open window, the figure of Lord War- nock might be seen, resting in an attitude so dejected that it could not fail to touch the heart of any one who saw him. His face, usually so handsome and free from care, now wore a troubled expression, and his eyes were hollow, while dark circles beneath them told of a sleepless, miserable night, and such indeed it had been. Upon retiring to his own room after his interview with Rachel, he had dismissed his valet, and walking to and fro in the pale moonlight, had striven to grow more tranquil, but in vain. His mind was in a chaos of thought, and at times he felt asif he would go mad. At one moment an insane de- sire would sweep over him to seek out and slay, as he would a dog, the man who was working him this evil. Then he would laugh Chandos’ pretensions to scorn, as beneath his notice. That the fellow was crazy, he did not for an instant doubt. But through all his suffering there was the sweet consolation that, let the worst happen that could, Hazel loved him and would be true to him—darling little Hazel, with whom life would be Paradise, no matter if spent in a desert. Then the agonizing question would force itself upon him—would it be right to drag her down to his level, should he indeed be driven out from this Eden, an exile on the earth, wearing the brand of dishonor ? And thus had the dawn found him. Pacing distractedly u and down the floor, his hair disheveled, his eyes wild and hol- 60 IN THE ABBEY, LIBRARY. low, his cheeks pale, he had given no heed to the flight of time, until Randolph came to make his toilet. The faithful fellow was in sore distress at finding his beloved master in such a state, and his hands trembled violently as he silently discharged the duties of his position. ; ‘“ You may go now, I would be alone,”’ the earl had said, when he was dressed. He wore a suit of gray cassimere, and in his shirt bosom a solitaire of great brilliancy gleamed. Going down to the late breakfast in the dining-room, where the guests filling the Abbey had gathered, was an ordeal from which he shrank ; but feeling that it could not be avoided, ere leaving his chamber he knelt and poured out his soul to God in fervent prayer for guidance amid the trials that were be- fore him. Strengthened by the performance of that simple but long neglected duty, he arose from his knees and went below, where a gloom, strangely out of harmony with the loveliness of the day, hung over everything. The guests still at the Abbey had spent the early morning hours in their own rooms, and when they met at breakfast they looked as if they were in a house of mourning. Several of the gentlemen had made their excuses, and left for London, feeling that their presence was only an additional embarrassment to their host. But there were others who lingered, fascinated by the strange scenes they had witnessed, and the more remarkable drama they believed was yet to be enacted within those ancient halls. There were women also who would not spare him, because they had loved him with a hopeless passion; still, in every breast there throbbed a feeling of intense pity that such a sad fate should come to one who was the noblest and truest— “‘Who ever among ladies sat in hall.” Chevasney alone seemed in good spirits, for his plans for his patron’s further humiliation had prospered beyond his most sanguine expectations—and the mine he had prepared was now ready to be sprung at a moment’s notice. He had directed Jura to keep watch over Lord Victor’s apartments, so that the diamonds could not be removed from them, and thus ruin his cunningly devised scheme of exposure; and only afew minutes before going in to breakfast the Spaniard had informed him that nothing had been taken from the earl’s rooms. Jura knew that all he had to do was to keep out of Warnock’s sight for the present, and that he would likely be forgotten in the press of more important matters. Thus, it might be that he would never have to leave the Abbey. IN THE ABBEY LIBRARY. 61 Ere going to the library, Lord Victor had summoned to his presence the Detective Ellis, who was still at Dunleath, ee pursuing the investigation set on foot by his chief, aptain Sands. A man from Scotland Yard had come down the past night, but they had made no discovery, and had noth- ing new to impart. Who had taken the jewels was still a mys- tery. The thief had chosen well his time, and had so adroitly covered his tracks as to baffle and confound two of the keenest and most successful detectives in England. Still, they were narrowing matters down, and believed they would yet obtain a clew that would lead to discovery. In her own room, which she had not left since taken there by her mother the previous night, Stella remained while the interview upon which so much depended was being held in the library; she lay back in a luxurious chair, with eyes red from weeping, bemoaning her fate, and her mother was with her, though nervous with anxiety to know what was transpir- ing in the chamber below. So much that would affect both herself and her daughter was at stake, it was no wonder she was nervous. If it should be true that Victor was only an usurper, a thief clothed in stolen greatness, she was sure she could play her cards so as to win from this stranger, who would hereafter be Earl of Dunleath, an invitation to continue to make the Abbey her home. “‘Was there ever anything so strange and romantic?” murmured the royal duchess, in hushed tones, to her escort, as they wandered through the magnificent conservatory bright with sunshine. ‘‘ And did you notice what a striking resemblance there is between Lord Victor and this party who claims his title? It was positively startling at times.”’ “Surely, it is sad,’ sighed the ladies still at Dunleath, among whom there was more than one courted and titled queen of society who would have renounced the world to have gone with him into poverty and exile, had he asked it of them, and deemed it no sacrifice. But there were two watchers who, unseen themselves, were observant of everything passing around them. Knowing that any information would be gladly received by her mistress, Sangarre, who was on watch, hidden behind a treillage of flowers, heard them summon old Humbert, who entered the library, and came out again some ten minutes later, with tears coursing down his furrowed cheeks. ‘‘ My master, oh, my dear old master, that you should return to us thus,’ she could hear him sob. 62 IN THE ABBEY LIBRARY. Jura, who was also on the qui vive, crouching like a forest beast lying in wait for its prey, hissed as he saw the old stew- ard pass: ‘“My Lord Victor swore that I should leave here in dis- grace, bat we shall see who goes.”’ The hours wore on, and the sun shone down in its noonday warmth upon the majestic piles of the Abbey, and those as- sembled in the library still remained shut up in mysterious consultation. Without all nature lay in repose, but within those walls a bitter struggle was being waged for one of the roudest names and loftiest stations in the British realm. hen, at last, just as the clock in the stable towers struck two, the library door suddenly and violently opened, and Victor Warnock came staggering out, and went reeling down the hall, his hands stretched out before him, like a blind per- son groping his way. All the glorious light of youth had faded from his face, gone to shine upon it never more, and in its place was a dull blank hopelessness—a misery so intense that it seemed to have absorbed every other emotion. A sense of burning shame, that rivers of blood could not wash away, was upon him, wounding his pride and corroding his life until no consciousness was left to him beyond the knowledge that he could never again go out into the world of men and hold up his head among his fellow creatures as he had here- tofore done. His eyes had the heavy, glazed look of one who is walking in his sleep; all the fire that had made them glow with the magnetic beauty that stirred the souls of women to love was quenched in them, it would seem forever. His lips were stiff and white as the lips of the dead, and his cheeks colorless. His hands involuntarily opened and shut, as if nervous to grapple and close with lion strength on those who had cast this mantle of shame over him. “Oh, God, that I might only thrust their words down their throats as lies! ’’ he moaned, as with outstretched hands he ascended the stairs and sought his own chamber. Shutting himself in, he gazed around him with eyes that seemed to rest upon objects without seeing them, and, like one speaking in a dream, he muttered: ‘‘ From here, the home of my love, I go out into the world, friendless, nameless, homeless, ah, the son of—but the word would blister my lips! Oh, God ! in what have I deserved this curse ?”’ And he felt that the brand of his shame was stamped on his brow, as that of murder was on Cain’s. ‘‘ Yet the sin of my father ’’—he shuddered as the name passed his lips, and gazed A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION. 63 wildly about him—‘“‘ was darker than Cain’s. A gentleman never steals, though he may commit murder. I could curse—— But he paused, his heart throbbing with anguish, his face dark with’ self-loathing, for he knew that in cursing those who had worked him this evil he would curse his father, a parent long laid in dust, whose sole inheritance to him was a tarnished name. He was alone, and to secure himself against intrusion, he locked his doors, and there, where he had spent so many happy hours, he would wait until night-fall, when, under cover of the friendly darkness, he would go out from the home in which he had been a trespasser and usurper into a world that would be but a sorry step-mother to him. It was like going out from Eden into the wilderness, and hardest of all—he must go alone, forsaken by the woman who was to have been his wife and by the friends who had shared his prosperity. Already they had looked coldly upon him. More than any- thing else it was this that hurt him, and humbled his pride, that pride that was as strong within his breast as it had been when fortune smiled upon him. ““My God, I am forsaken! ’’ he suddenly cried, starting up, his eyes blinded by the glare of sunlight shining full across his face. His heart seemed to beat like a hammer against his breast, while a sound as of rushing waters smote dully on his ear. He staggered a few steps, groping blindly to reach a chair, and then, for the first time in all the years of his life, he fell down senseless, and lay stretched at full length on the floor. CHAPTER X. A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION. WHEN Lord Victor regained consciousness he was lying upon a divan in his own room, near the spot where he had fainted; and as he gazed about him his face flushed, and he trembled with uncontrollable emotion. Was he still asleep and dreaming, or was what he beheld reality ? he asked him- self in bewil ent; for kneeling at his side was Hazel, her 64 A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION. hands clasping his, and her tears falling like rain on his fore- head, while her eyes looked into his with a devotion that thrilled his heart to its very core. At a short distance from them stood Randolph, his face grave with anxiety, and the form of Hazel’s nurse, Rachel, was visible near one of the open windows. The day was almost done. Far away on the horizon the sun was setting, while through the casements the summer air stole in, faint with the sweetest of perfumes. As Victor’s eyes unclosed and he saw the graceful girlish figure kneeling there at his side, an expression of surprise flitted across his face, which had never looked more handsome than now, when the pallor of suffering was so plainly stamped upon it. ee Am I indeed dreaming ?’’ he repeated a second time ; and was about to speak, when the events of the day suddenly rushing over him, he closed his eyes and moaned “Oh, my love, my love, we thought at first you were dead!’’ whispered Hazel, lavishing a thousand terms of en- dearment upon him and covering the hands that lay in hers with tender caresses. She did not seem aware of the presence of others; the anguish and joy filling her soul made her deaf to everything except that one adored being; and when he did not speak to her, a sudden terror that she could not define smote dully at her heart. Seeing her alarm, he hastened to reassure her; then, letting his hand rest affectionately on her bowed head, he turned to his valet for an explanation as to what had happened. ‘* Having seen you enter here alone, my lord,’’ the fellow began, a look of entreaty in his eyes, ‘‘I came to your door several times, fearing you were not well, and called to you. But receiving no answer, I grew uneasy, and took the liberty of using a key I have to your bath-room, and so entered. At the same time Mrs. Rachel was passing, and seeing that some- thing was wrong, followed me in. As I had suspected, we found you stretched on the floor, unconscious; and, lifting you to this divan, we applied restoratives. She then went to the housekeeper for something, and when she returned Miss Arslan was with her, and has been here ever since.”’ “I could not keep her back when she learned what had happened,”’ said Rachel, advancing. ‘‘I begged and en-' treated her, but she would come! Oh, my lord, remember her. youth, and pardon her. She was feverish the whole of last night, and is almost sick from continual weeping. I A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION. 65 have been trying all day to keep her quiet, and not let any news as to what has been going on reach her. But she sus- pected something was wrong, and so, while I was out this afternoon, she questioned a house-maid, who repeated to her the many rumors afloat in the Abbey ———” Rachel paused, uncertain what to say; then, her eyes rest- ing on the crouching form of her protégée, she continued: ‘*So when I went back to Hazel’s room, I found her up and dressed, and going on like one bereft of reason. And her talk was all of you, my lord. She begged to see you until it made my heart ache to hear her, and so there was nothing left me but to let her come.” Silence followed the conclusion of the nurse’s story, and as Victor’s thoughts dwelt upon it, his gaze rested lovingly on the figure kneeling at his side. Hazel had robed herself in a white silk wrapper, unconscious that the profusion of lace . adorning it tended to enhance her exquisite beauty, which had never seemed so irresistible to her guardian as now, when he felt that it only helped to render it so hard for him to do what he knew was his duty. Pushing the soft shining hair back from her brow, he touched it with his lips, murmuring: ‘* My little darling, you are all that it will hurt me to part re and in giving you up I surrender the best half of my e. “ Part ? Oh, Victor, do not say that! I am yours, and to follow you, be with you, is all I crave,”? murmured Hazel, lifting to his face her beautiful eyes, startled by his words as a fawn is startled, and she clung to him, her fingers interlac- ing themselves into his. ‘‘AmInot yours? Did you not care for me when I was alone in the world ? Oh, do you think I am. base enough ingrate to forget all you have been to me?” “IT know you are sweet and true, my darling, but do not dream that I would accept the sacrifice you would make of your bright young life,” replied Victor gently, but with a sadness in his voice that caused her tears to flow afresh. “Nay, do not think I love you less, my Hazel, for I shall treasure the memory of your kindness in my heart while I live, and it will be my solace in hours of deepest gloom.” “* But you cannot mean to leave the Abbey ?” she inquired, in broken tones. “‘ Yes, darling ; Dunleath can never again be my home,”’ he replied, and as the words of renunciation passed his lips it was only by a mighty effort that for her sake he restrained 66 A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION. himself. Never had he known how dear the grand old place was to him until now, when he must leave it forever. Hazel made no response to his last remark. So implicit was her confidence in him, that she shrunk from the very thought of forcing an explanation from him until he was ready to make it. She could only cling to his hands and weep, and seeing her so overcome, he stooped and raised her, and seated her in a chair standing near. All further conversation was interrupted pe then by a footman appearing, bearing a note, sealed with the late earl’s arms, which he gave to Randolph for his master. Victor started ; in the painful excitement of the moment he had lost sight of his valet’s presence; but he said nothing as he reached out his hand and took the note, coloring when his eyes fell upon the Dunleath coronet. Breaking the seal, with paling cheeks, he read: ‘‘ My Dzar Sir: Insomuch as it is your father’s sin rather than your own that you must suffer for, and he was once my friend, I wish you to understand that I desire to make any arrangement that may meet with your approval for paying to you a sufficient sum to enable you to live as comfortably in the future as you have in the past. I also wish to say that, whatever may be my feelings toward you in this dénowement of your own and your father’s schemes, no legal steps shall ever be taken against you. So you may consider yourself free from all molestation on my part, and I no less than you de- sire that as little publicity as possible be given to the affair. Mr. Hamlin Belle, my attorney, will receive you or your rep- resentative at his London office at any time, and agree to whatever terms you may suggest.” This was the letter written by the man his father had wronged, signed ‘‘ Cecil Warnock,”’ and as he read, Victor’s face grew darker and darker. Then, he sprung to his feet whee he had finished it, with a muttered oath upon his ips. me Do they dare insult me thus?’ he cried. ‘‘ This is the basest blow of all, the unkindest cut. Does he dream for a moment that I would live upon his money ?” He paused as he thought of the pitiful tale to which he had listened that day, and the anger that had burnt in his heart against this stranger who had ruined all his prospects in life died from it, leaving only sorrow. Glancing down, he saw A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION. 67 that Hazel was watching him with tearful eyes, and he has- tened to say: ‘My darling, words cannot express how precious your sympathy is tome; but now you must retire to your room and rest, or you will be sick. This excitement is too much for you.” And he smiled fondly upon her. “But, Victor, you will not go away and leave me here ?” she inquired. ‘‘I shall die if you do. You have made me love you, and now you speak of deserting me.”’ “‘Deserting you? My child, I could never do that,” answered Victor, with grave tenderness. ‘‘ You are mine in the sight of Heaven, and I shall ever regard your love as my most precious treasure. I pray that some day I may be worthy to make you my wife. Do you not see, my Hazel ? You are such a child the world would censure me, and say that I had taken advantage of your youth and the fact that you are my ward.” “The world? Oh, Victor, what is the world to us, that we should let it part us ?”’ she cried, her arms clinging about his neck. Who could have resisted such pleading ? What man, loy- ing as madly as Victor loved Hazel, could have gained his own consent to leave her, knowing that his going would make tet her life? He groaned aloud in the anguish of his soul. ‘* Your words are more than flesh can bear,” he answered at last, almost unmanned at sight of her grief. ‘‘I am not calm enough just now to decide for you, my Hazel, but I will poo you this. To-night I will tell you the tale to which listened to-day; then, if you still desire it, you shall be mine.” “Oh, Victor! ’’ It was all she could say, as she lay sobbing in his arms, but he knew that her resolve was taken to unite ‘her destiny with his. And he, too, was agitated, as he thought of all to which his words pledged him. ‘‘ But I will bear her away to a land where this miserable story has never been heard,’”’ he assured himself, and had turned to place her in Rachel’s arms, to be removed to her own chamber, when the sound of voices raised in angry dispute at the hall door attracted his attention, and he saw the detectives, Brown and Ellis, forcing their way into the room, in spite of Randolph’s remonstrances. ‘“* What does this intrusion mean ?” he demanded, con- fronting them. ‘Can I not be left to suffer alone? If my 68 A TERRIBLE ACCUSATION. papers here is so unwelcome, say to those who sent you, that shall leave Dunleath Abbey ere morning.” ** You will pardon us, sir, when we assure you that we are here in the performance of a duty from which, as officers, we cannot shrink,”’ replied Ellis, with a nervousness that attested to his desire to be through with the work before him. “*T do not understand you,” said Victor, frowning. ‘‘ Ex- plain yourself.” ‘* We would spare you pain if we could,’’ muttered Brown. There was a confused look upon the face of both detectives as they confronted Victor, as if they were conscious of the embarrassing nature of the duty they were about to perform. As they hesitatingly came forward, Victor was still further surprised by the sudden appearance of Chevasney, whose eyes glittered with hatred as they rested on the friend he had be- trayed. “What is it you would do, my good fellow ?”’ repeated Victor, anxious to have this painful scene over. ‘‘ What! silent still? ”’ ** Speak out, men—do your duty! ” cried Chevasney, strid- ing forward, but he paused when Victor’s gaze, full of wonder and rebuke, fell upon him, and he flushed crimson with shame, and anger that he should feel shame. “You!” It was the only word that Victor uttered as he looked at his Judas, but that single word and glance were more withering than any curse he could have spoken. “Yes, I! ”’ shouted Chevasney, his long pent-up feelings bursting forth. And turning to the officers, he roughly bade them do their duty. Thus pressed, Hillis said, ‘‘ We are here, sir, to arrest you for the theft of the Dunleath diamonds, which so mysteriously disappeared.”’ “And if you are wise you will give us no trouble,” added Brown, placing his hand upon Victor’s arm. His voice was full of genuine sympathy. “* What does it mean ?”’ muttered Victor, and then paused. His gaze never once left Chevasney’s face. ‘‘ There is some terrible mistake here,’”? he slowly went on in tones un- naturally calm, while he stood like one in a trance. “It is false, I tell you it is false ! ” cried Hazel, starting up and throwing herself between her lover and his accusers. She was beautiful in her wrath, and the hearts of all who saw her smote them, all except Chevasney; his beat with wicked triumph. ‘‘ Oh, Victor, drive these horrid men THE FINDING OF THE DIAMONDS. ~ 69 away !’’ she continued, sobbing. And she cast herself into her guardian’s arms. ‘‘ Only say it is not true, Victor.” ‘It is a mistake, that can easily be rectified, my darling,’’ ’ he answered, striving to speak cheerfully for her sake, though his heart was heavy with forebodings of coming evil, which the next words uttered only tended to confirm. “We regret to tell you it is but too true,’’ he heard the voice of Ellis saying. Then, after a moment’s silence, Brown spoke: ‘‘ There are two witnesses in the Abbey now, who with their own eyes saw this gentleman, heretofore known as the Earl of Dunleath, take the caskets of diamonds and with them enter this room; and here we believe they are hidden.” CHAPTER XI. THH FINDING OF THE DIAMONDS. ‘¢- Your whole story is utterly false, but if what you say about it be true—then, since you claim that the diamonds were hidden here, a search of these rooms will settle the question, and prove my innocence or guilt,’’ responded Vic- tor, when he had calmed down enough to trust himself to speak ; but the angry color came and went in his face. Then, motioning to Rachel to follow him, he led Hazel to the door, and opening it for her to pass through, said: ‘‘I will see zon again as soon as this unpleasant business is over, my dar- ing, and will give you the explanation I promised. Go, now, to your room, and rest.” “‘Oh, Victor, 1 do not seek any explanation,” said Hazel, looking up trustingly into his face. ‘‘ Nothing could shake my confidence in you. Remember that.’’ ““T do remember it, and thank you from my soul,” replied her guardian, brokenly. A moment more and he was gone, and her courage then gave way, as she cast herself into her nurse’s arms. ‘‘I will be true to him, Rachel,” she cried. “No matter what stories they may tell to ruin him, never will I believe a word of them. Nor will I forsake him, let the world say what it will.” Having placed his ward in her nurse’s care, Victor had 10 THE FINDING OF THE DIAMONDS. hastened back to where he had left the detectives standing, and ignoring the presence of Chevasney, who was furious over the scene he had just witnessed, he said: ‘‘ If it is indeed your duty to add this crowning insult to the other wrongs that have been done me to-day, I cannot ask you to fail in the dis- charge of that duty. But you are making a great error.” ‘“* Believe me, sir, it was only when the facts were made so plain before us that we could no longer decline to do so, that we consented to enter your room upon the errand that has brought us here, and we have done so as quietly as possible,”’ replied Brown, in tones of genuine regret. Victor bowed; he knew it was useless to quarrel with the law. ‘This is the work of some dastard, some sneaking enemy,”’ he thought. Aloud he said : “* And who, may I ask, is my accuser? ”’ The detectives paused ere answering, and gazed into each other’s face, in evident embarrassment. “Tam your accuser |!’ cried Chevasney, coming forward, emboldened to insolence by Victor’s enforced calm. ‘* And the witnesses who saw you steal the diamonds and bring them to this room are your footman Jura and Miss Langstroth’s maid, Sangarre.”’ ; “ Tt is false, and you are an infamous liar! ’’ replied Victor, his face crimson, his eyes lurid with the passion that could no longer be restrained. To the insult that had been offered him there could be but one response; and on the spur of the moment he stepped up to Chevasney, and struck him a sharp blow full on the cheek. It was all over so quickly that no one had a chance to in- terfere, even had they been so disposed. ‘‘ The traitor de- serves it,’? was the thought that flashed across the mind of Ellis, as he witnessed the deed. Randolph looked on like one fascinated. Brown was bewildered, and too amazed for either thought or speech. With a howl of rage, Chevasney raised his hand as Victor stepped back after dealing the blow, but it was only to press it to his burning face, which rapidly changed color, while his eyes gleamed with the murderous light of a wounded ani- mal’s. ‘‘ By Heaven, you shall pay for this! ” he hissed. ‘As you please,” responded Victor, coolly, with a sneer on his lips. ‘‘ But for this hour at least this room is mine, © and I wish you to leave it.”’ “Yes; but rest assured I will get even with you yet, and have my revenge,’’ muttered Chevasney, in a hoarse whisper, THE FINDING OF THE DIAMONDS. 71 as he slowly retired from the apartment, his cheek that had a ie the blow: still fiery red with the print of Victor’s ngers. a Now, gentlemen, if you really desire to search my cham- bers, I shall not interfere,’’ said Victor, as calmly as though nothing had happened. ‘*We must do so, sir, but we trust that it may be only a form, that will prove your innocence,”’ said Brown, earnestly, and he meant it, every word. “Then go to work at once, so that you may get through as soon as possible,”’ replied Victor. ‘‘ My valet here will as- sist you in any way he can,”’ he continued, turning to Ran- dolph. It was his desire to treat those detectives, who were there for the purpose of exposing him, as courteously as though they had been his friends; he was too just to blame them for discharging their duties faithfully. And they in their turn felt a great admiration for him, and looked with pitying eyes after him, as he crossed wearily over to the door opening out on to the balcony, in which he sat down, to await the result of their investigation. The shadows of evening were beginning to steal over the earth, and the moon was shining with a dreamy beauty upon the scene spread out before him, which made his heart ache with all the unutterable longing of a homesick child. As he sat thus, gazing out over the silent world, memories of his early years came vividly back to him—memories that tended to confirm the strange story to which he had listened that day. Later on a servant lit the lamps within, and he could at times catch the hum of voices as the detectives pursued their search, : He was in his mind troubled over this grave charge that had been brought against him more than he had let any one see, for he felt sure that there was some villainy at the bottom of it, so deeply laid as to baffle all his efforts to counteract its workings, perhaps. What did it all mean, anyhow? What secret enemy did he have, scheming with such fatal success to ruin and degrade him in the eyes of the world ? Chevasney? Who else, and why he? Suddenly a cry of amazed horror, coming from the room in which the detectives were at work, aroused him from his reverie, and he never afterward forgot the sickening sensa- tion, the deadly fear that for an instant overpowered him as it fell on his ear. It was acry that could only have been 92 THE FINDING OF THE DIAMONDS. caused by some startling discovery, and he could think of but one—the missing diamonds. Staggering to his feet, he stood where he was a moment, as if to summon up all his manhood and courage to meet what- ever fate-might have in store for him. Then he entered the chamber, and as he walked across it to where the detectives were standing in front of an opening in the wall, he saw at a glance what had caused the commotion. A large picture—a superb Correggio—that filled the space between two windows had been removed, and there, in the wall behind it, was a cavity eighteen inches deep and three feet square, that was concealed by means of a panel so like the wall in color, that no one would ever have detected it had they not previously been told of its existence. There were many such mysterious cavities, souvenirs of the feudal ages, in the thick Abbey walls, known to but few individuals. Randolph had discov- ered the location of this one by coming suddenly upon his master years before, when it was open; and had now betrayed its existence to the policemen, never dreaming that it con- tained any secrets. Had he paused to think, he would have known that what he did was a violation of confidence, having discovered it in the manner he had; but no such ideas were in his mind when he removed the Correggio and revealed the secret of the panel, in response to Brown’s stern inquiry as to whether or not he knew of any hidden recesses in the walls of his master’s chambers. But a realization of what he had done rushed over the poor fellow, as the panel-like door swung back on its tiny golden hinges, and his dilated eyes rested upon the things concealed in the cavity—the jewel caskets, the one containing the coronet standing wide open, the diamonds flaming like a bed of living coals as the light shone on them. ‘* Oh, my master, my master, God forgive me, I did not mean it!” he exclaimed, conscience-stricken, as he gazed from the jewels toward Victor, who had by this time advanced far enough into the room to be seen. Then, as he noticed the pallor—was it of detected guilt or outraged innocence?—that mantled that beloved master’s brow, the. valet cast himself upon his knees, and sobbed aloud. “*T have betrayed you, my lord,’’ was all he could say. It was a scene that burnt itself indelibly upon the memory of those who participated in it, never to be forgotten. The tet flooding the chamber—the intense silence—and there where the Correggio had hung a great hollow in the wall con- THE FINDING OF THE DIAMONDS. 73 fronted those gathered before it, while in it, a terrible witness against Victor, were the old Venetian caskets, one of them open and glittering with diamonds. In front of this stood the two detectives, in silent amaze, and near them the weeping and contrite valet knelt at the feet of his master, whose gaze seemed fascinated by the strange scene that was to exercise such a ruling influence over his life. In the gilded mirror vis-a-vis, in which the entire drama was reflected, there might also have been caught the reflection of a wild face that peered into the chamber through a door ajar—a face marred by evil passions, and on one cheek of ae was still plainly visible the scarlet print of a man’s and. Then, as the detectives became conscious of Victor’s pres- ence in the room, they turned, but with downcast eyes, for they shrunk from letting him see that they needed no further evidence of his guilt. There were the diamonds, and who but he could have placed them there? Still, as they thought of the spotless name he had so long borne, they almost groaned aloud to know that it had come to this—that he must here- after be regarded by the world as no better than a common thief. Surely, it was a terrible fate. “Do not kneel to me,’’ they heard him say to the valet, breaking the silence that had grown so oppressive. ‘‘ Why should I blame you for what has happened ? You are but an instrument in the hands of some higher power. I did not dream that you knew there was such a place in existence.” And Victor glanced toward the recess in the wall, shivering as with cold, though the room was warm. “*T saw you open it once, years ago,” replied Randolph. “But I tried to forget all about it, knowing it was your secret, and had almost succeeded, when the first thing I knew just now I was opening it.” : “IT would advise you to say no more about it,”? muttered Brown, whose face had grown uncommonly grave. ‘ But who can blame him, poor man?” thought the detective, glancing at Victor. ‘‘ What else could one expect, with the blood that flows in his veins ?’? Speaking aloud, he then con- tinued: ‘It is our painful duty, sir, to at once inform Lord Warnock of the recovery of the diamonds, and of the circum- stances under which they were found.”’ Victor started. It hurt him as nothing else had to hear another called by that grand old title that he had worn for so long. But he only bowed as he said : 74 THE FINDING OF THE DIAMONDS, “Certainly, you are quite right, he is the person to be told. And I would see him—for there isa mystery here. I solemnly swear——”’ “What! you still deny it ?” cried Ellis, amazed. “*T do!’’ replied Victor. ‘‘ Though appearances are so terribly against me.”’ : “You understand how complete the chain of evidence is ?”’ inquired Brown. *Tdo,’’ repeated Victor, with a grave dignity that touched his auditors. ‘‘ I know appearances are dead against me; yet I am innocent.”’ ‘‘ That you may be, yet you will find it hard to make any one believe you,”’ said Ellis, bluntly. ‘‘ But be that as it may, we must now send for the earl, since the whole matter rests with him.” ‘ Randolph can go for him at once,”’ said Victor, and turn- ing, to his valet, he continued: ‘‘ You will seek Lord War- nock, and let him know that these gentlemen desire to see him here; but say nothing about what has happened to any one else.”” A painful silence followed the departure of the valet upon his errand. / / ; “* Am I dreaming, or is this horrible accusation a reality?’’ mused Victor, as he impatiently walked to and fro. ‘“‘ Yet Ellis is right! The evidence against me is incontrovertible, it is damning. Oh, God, must I henceforth stand before the world as a felon, a would-be assassin, branded with crimes of which I am guiltless ?’”’ ; He had reached the doorway opening on to the balcony, and there was something sublime in his attitude as he stood there, - with his noble head thrown back until the moonlight shone on his face, that was pale with despair, and into his dark eyes, so full of questioning grief. Seeing him thus, Chevasney swore to ruin his future, and as he peered in from the hall he ‘hissed: ‘‘ I might have let him go, had he not struck me that blow upon the cheek. But I would be a dastard, deserving of it, were I to let it pass unrevenged. No, I will have my vengeance, and it will be sweet.’? THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. 75 CHAPTER XII. THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. ** THERE is one thing that will forever cast its shadow over my life, if it is never brought to light—that is, the fate of my child, of which there is but little probability at this late day. He is now, if living, thirty years of age.’’ The speaker was Lord Cecil Warnock, the new Earl of Dunleath, who had only a few hours since entered into pos- session of the titles, wealth, and other rights, of which he had for so many years been defrauded. The quiet dignity with which he wore his honors, as though they had been laid down only yesterday, spoke volumes in his favor, and attested to the old patrician blood in his veins, inherited from a long line of stainless ancestry. He was sitting in the Abbey library, as the day was near its close, talking over family matters with his London lawyer, Hamlin Belle, a grave, middle-aged English- man, who had amassed a considerable fortune through his cleverness in conducting delicate negotiations to a successful issue for his numerous noble clients. The sunlight was shining about them where they gat, and as Lord Warnock looked up, his companion could see that his face was careworn and full of trouble. It was a grave, hand- some face, with lines about the mouth that the neatly-trimmed Vandyke beard could not conceal, and there were shadows in the eyes. Ever since Victor had gone out from his preserice, that afternoon, a crushed and ruined man, the anguish and suffering he had seen on that young face had haunted his imagination, and was now before him. ‘‘ My boy, were he living, would be about the same age,’’ had been his thought as he looked upon his dead enemy’s son. Then, when Victor had passed from his sight, a strange feeling of loneliness had come over him. ‘‘ Let him be what he will,’’ he said to him- self, ‘“‘his noble shame and honest indignation over his father’s misdeeds were genuine, and have disarmed me. I came here burning with anger against him, and now—I can- not believe evil of him! I would that I could, for my better judgment telle me that he is an oily-tongued villain. But there is a look of his eye, as he gazed into mine, that thrilled my ae and recalled her who was the angel of my long lost youth, 4 ve You are certain your son was alive when last heard of in %6 THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. Asia, my lord ?’’ inquired Belle, after several minutes of: silence, his voice rousing the earl from his reverie. “As to that there can be no doubt,”’ replied Lord Cecil, starting up, his eyes full of tears. ‘‘ He was a healthy child. My little darling, ah, what may have been his fate? Flung into life, to fight its battle alone,’ he continued, walking ex- citedly to and fro. Then when he had Heed calmer, he again spoke: ‘‘I may tell you that Brown, the detective, has taken the matter in hand, and has set inquiries afoot. I wish you to consult with him, and you are to spare neither trouble nor expense in your endeavors to find my son or to learn his fate. If ine is alive, never, oh God! will I rest until I see him face to face! ”’ As he gazed toward heaven his features glowed as with in- spiration ; yet little did he dream in what strange manner his prayer was to be answered. ** All that human agency can do, my lord, shall be done to restore your lost heir to you,’’ murmured the lawyer, gently, his heart throbbing with sympathy for his client, who, amid all his wealth and splendor, was utterly alone. “*T do not doubt your desire to serve me, Belle,’’ answered the earl, wearily. ‘‘ But I feel like I shall never see my son. God knows. In the meantime you will remain here——” “Yes, my lord, just as long as I can be of service to you. There are many papers to be gone through, and your prisoner to be seen to. Mr. Chevasney———’’ “Who is this fellow, Chevasney, anyhow ?”’ inquired the earl, abruptly. ‘‘ I don’t like him.” “* Nobody seems to know much about him except Mr. Victor Mortimer, as I presume the late earl will hereafter be called. Was not his father’s name Mortimer? ”’ “Yes; and this young man’s real name is Victor Mor- timer.”’ “Well, when he was traveling in the East years ago,’’ con- tinued the lawyer, “‘ he met Geraldine Chevasney, and brought him home to Dunleath with him. It seems he had saved Victor’s life at the risk of his own while in a vessel on the Black Sea; and he told some wonderful tale about having the royal blood of India in his veins.’’ “He is dark enough for one to readily believe he is of Eastern origin,”’ replied the earl, ‘‘ and I don’t suppose he has an iota of principle, or he would not have been the first to turn his back on his friend in trouble. Moreover, he is vain and selfish.’” THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. 0? Turning suddenly in his passage up and down the library, Lord Cecil was surprised at finding himself face to face with the subject of his remarks. ‘‘ What are you doing here? ’’ he demanded, with a frown. He had taken up a most violent and unaccountable dislike to Chevasney,. who had not been slow to perceive and return it. He knew that his day at the Abbey was over, yet he had made up his mind to remain, whether he was invited or not, until the drama now going on within its walls should close. If he had heard and under- stood the earl’s remark in regard to himself, he gave no evi- dence of it, as he replied : “Tam here, my lord, to inform you that the diamond thief has been run to earth.” “You do not mean to tell us that the jewels are found? ”’ cried Belle, springing to his feet. “‘T mean to tell you that two witnesses have come forward, who are ready to swear that they beheld the thief in the very act of taking the diamonds,” replied Chevasney, his face flushed with an exultant light. ‘‘ The footman Jura and Miss Langstroth’s waiting-maid Sangarre have both been to Brown and made their statements. Sangarre saw the thief take the caskets from the cabinet, and both she and Jura saw him enter his own rooms with them! The thief is——’’ There was a moment of dead silence in the library. Lord Cecil had turned ghastly pale, but he said nothing. And at last Chevasney almost shouted the name that had been on his lips so long: ‘‘ The thief is my Lord Victor!” “Impossible! it cannot be,’’ muttered ‘the earl. “‘ He surely is not so degraded yet——” ' ©The truth or faslity of the accusation can be easily” proven, my lord,’’ said Chevasney, eagerly. ‘‘ Let Victor’s rooms be searched. If innocent, he cannot object to that. The detective, Brown, is in the hall now, awaiting your orders. ”” ‘* Why are you so anxious to prove the man who befriended ‘you a thief ?’? demanded the earl, sternly; and Chevasney colored painfully as he replied: ‘‘ Because, if he is a fraud the world should know it; and surely you will be glad to re- cover your stolen diamonds.”’ : “But not in that way—not in that way,’ they heard Lord Cecil mutter. Then, after a pause, he continued: “‘ Yes, the search must be made, but remember,—I forbid any one to ever repeat a word of what passes here outside of the Abbey. You understand, sir? ’? Chevasney understood, as he cowered "8: THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED, beneath the wrath of the speaker’s eyes, and hastened to sum- mon Brown, who returned to the library with him. Lord Cecil then “issued his orders as to how the search should be con- ducted. He wished it all done as quietly as possible, and nothing unkind was to be said to the suspected party. The detective who had been sent from Scotland Yard to assist Ellis was to be dismissed at once, in ignorance of the dis- covery just made. ‘‘ And you will notify me as soon as your search is over,’’ he said in conclusion. ‘‘I will not believe . it,”’ he repeated, when they were gone, and he was left alone with Belle once more. And yet—he shuddered as he remem- bered the terrible chain of circumstances that went to confirm Victor’s guilt. ‘He continued to walk up and down the room. A servant entered with lights, and Belle grew interested in a book he was reading. A deep silence reigned throughout the Abbey, broken at last by the voice of Randolph, saying: ‘‘ My lord, they want you at once in my master’s room, if you please.” Lord Cecil started as he looked into the valet’s face, for there he read the truth. The poor fellow’s eyes were red, as if from weeping, and he paused in the shadow of the door. = ; ie will go with you,”’ said his lordship, kindly. ‘‘ Come, elle. And together they passed out from the library, and along the hall in the direction of the rooms occupied by Victor, who, as they entered, advanced to meet them, saying : ‘‘ My lord, they have sent for you, to inform you that the missing diamonds have been found, here in my room——”’ ‘ia he raised his hand, and pointed to the opening in the wall. The earl did not speak, amazement held him dumb, but the glance he bent oe Victor was full of sorrow and. re- proach. “My God! I would not have believed it, had I not seen it with my own eyes,’’ he burst forth at last. ‘‘ It is too horrible!——” “* But Iam not guilty,’’ said Victor, simply; then, seeing Lord Warnock, as that gentleman must hereafter be called, flush angrily, he continued : , an Nay, hear me, my lord, and then condemn me if you will.”” “What! can anything you may have to say alter the facts as they are?” ; “I understand you, Lord Warnock,’’ replied Victor, with a touch of bitterness in his voice. ‘‘I know I am a ruined THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. 49. man in the eyes of the world, and yet, ere I go forth from these halls, never again to enter them, I most solemnly protest against this wrong done me. Time will vindicate me, and to God I appeal for justice! ”’ “Tf ever guilt wore the guise of innocence, this man wears it,” thought the earl, as he looked upon the son of the false friend, who had betrayed him into years of wretchedness. And as he looked he let his heart harden toward Victor. “‘ He is handsome as Apollo, yet rotten with deceit. ”’ ‘‘Mr. Mortimer,” said Belle, and he could see Victor start and flush painfully as he heard himself addressed for the first time by the name that was rightfully his, “‘is it not your intention to hereafter wear your father’s family name? ”’ In response, Victor could only bow. He felt as if he was suffocating. Speech was impossible. Seeing his condition, the lawyer calmly went on: ‘‘ Only think for a moment, Mr. Mortimer, of the strong chain of evidence that goes to prove our guilt in this matter, and you will pardon me for recalling it now. In the first place, you must have known all these ae that you were an usurper, as was your father before you, e having told you the truth, to put you on your guard.” - “J have said I knew nothing about it until last evening, and inasmuch as there is no evidence to prove to the contrary, a have no right to make any such assertion, sir,’’ cried ictor, haughtily, his cheeks crimson with anger. “Upon that point we will say no more then,”’ replied Belle, Towing: ‘ But to proceed. In the second place, upon the earl’s arrival in London a week ago he wrote you a letter, stating who he was, and pore you to marry Miss Lang- stroth until she should be told the truth. e also asked ou to meet him, for the purpose of explanation, but you sent im no answer. Several days later a false announcement of your marriage appeared in the Times, stating that the cere- mony would be performed on the evening of the sixteenth, a day later than the real date. Now what can one think of this, except that you wished to mislead Lord Warnock, and keep him quietly waiting in London until you were married and off to the Continent ? Added to this—the testimony of the would-be assassin whom his lordship wounded last night after a desperate conflict, that almost cost him his life. This fellow, whose name is Ronald, swears that he and. his two comrades were employed by you to watch the road between here and the station, and kill a certain stranger, whom they easily identified as. their man at the inn. What also more 80 THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. natural than that you should have removed the diamonds, and hidden them here where no human being except yourself, as you thought, would ever dream of looking for them? They could easily be cut from their settings, smuggled from England, and would have constituted a fortune, a la Monte- Cristo, in themselves, and one that would never have betrayed you. Thus, the husband of the real earl’s niece, and a man of wealth, what more natural than that Lord Warnock would have spared you all he could ?”’ ; As the lawyer unfolded, word by word, the terrible chain of evidence that had been forged around him, Victor stood pale and mute with anguish, his eyes upturned to Lord War- nock, in dumb agony of appeal from the cruel verdict that the whole world would bring in against him, while his heart beat to suffocation, and the color came and went in his face, ebb- ing at last and leaving him deadly pale. ** Oh God! is there any one who can believe such infamy of me ?”’ he cried out, his voice hoarse, and his lips stiff as the words issued from them. He had not dreamed that the evi- dence was so strong against him, and now he seemed suddenly to realize how hopeless was his cause, as in silence they all turned from him, unable to bear the despair graven upon his face. Lord Cecil was the first to speak. “IT wish to have the place in which these jewels have been found kept a secret from the public. A plausible story can be told. Addressing the detectives: ‘‘ Say the thief evidently became alarmed, and left them in one of the rooms. I shall spare you all I can,”’ he continued, turning to Victor. ‘‘ And if at any future time there is any further explanation you may desire to make to me, you will always find me willing to listen to whatever you may have to say.”’ With this, he turned to quit the room, but ere he reached the door, Victor was at his side. ‘‘ If you were indeed my father’s friend,’’ he cried, his words stifled by emotion, ‘‘ be merciful, even though he did betray you. i ask not wealth at your hands, my lord, but that you believe me when I de- clare to you my innocence.”’ “*T know not what to believe,’ replied the earl, ‘‘ torn as I am by conflicting emotions. I wish to believe you, but how can I in the face of the evidence to which I have listened ? ”’ In the deep hush that fell upon all, Lord Warnock then left the apartment, followed by the lawyer, who carried in his arms the caskets containing the diamonds. THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. 81. Anxious to escape from the presence of his betrayed friend, Chevasney also retired, muttering angrily to the detectives that he thought it was a very foolish thing in the earl to try and keep the truth in regard to the diamond robbery a secret from the public. He was very sure himself that it would all eventually become known. ‘That is none of our affair, sir,”” replied Ellis. ‘If his lordship declines to prosecute Mr. Mortimer, there is nothing left for us but to drop the matter and return to our duties elsewhere.”’ “But it is madness on the earl’s part,’’ persisted Chevas- ney. ‘‘ The idea that, after suffering all he has at the father’s hand, he should now take it on himself to shield the son! As to me, I am under no obligation to keep silent——” J should think you, who were the unfortunate man’s friend, would be under more than any one else,” said Ellis, dryly, and with a significance that Chevasney could not fail to understand, though he made no reply. : Meanwhile, left alone in the solitude of his chamber, Vic- tor remained standing in the same dejected attitude in which Lord Warnock had last seen him, his head bowed upon his breast, like one in a troubled dream. He was young, yet he felt that life was over for him—he was innocent, yet he must stand forever a guilty wretch in the eyes of man—he had for years been one of the world’s idols, henceforth he would be one of its outcasts—he had been a favored darling of women, by whom he would in the future be shunned as a social pariah. Surely it was bitter, more bitter than death, and his proud spirit shrunk from it, as one shrinks from the touch of red- hot iron. But all other thoughts were lost sight of in the whirlwind of emotion that swept over him, as the memory of Hazel stirred in his bosom. “My little love, my little love,” he murmured, and the shadow that had darkened his face vanished from it as if by magic, as he breathed the name that was with him a talisman against evil. ‘‘ Though all others forsake me, she will cleave only the closer ; yet I must not accept her sacrifice and link her destiny to a felon’s. It would be doing her a cruel wrong, for which she might some day blame me. And yet——” He was thinking of the promise he had given her—the promise that, if she still so desired, when she had heard the strange story of the past, he would make her his wife. ‘* God knows it will test her love as woman’s love was never 82 THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. tested before,’’ he assured himself, but he did not for a mo- ment doubt her constancy. He knew only too well that there were those who would rob him of her affection and confidence if they could; and others who would have parted them, had they possessed the power. But the lawyers were agreed that he, in his individual capacity, was her guardian. ‘‘ Of course it would free her from his-guardianship were they to try him for certain crimes he is charged with, and find him guilty,’’ explained Belle. “* But that his lordship declines todo. Or Moncines could resign his guardianship.”’ “* Well, she is old enough to decide the matter for herself,” Sir Jasper Cardross had said apropos to the subject, in the library that morning. “Yes, she will be at liberty to do as she pee replied the earl. ‘‘ Yet I shall offer her a home at Dunleath, where she will have the benefit of Lady Langstroth’s protection, so lorfg as she may need it.” 5 “* My little darling shall not remain under the influence of Lady Langstroth and her daughter an hour longer than I can help it,”’ Hazel’ lover declared to himself. ‘‘I shall hire a furnished cottage near London, and she can live in security there with Rachel and Miss Harbeson for companions, until —something definite is settled upon.” The Miss Harbeson he referred to was a lady of good family, who, through loss of fortune, had been forced out into the world to earn her own living, and also to assist in supporting an invalid father. She had come highly recom- mended to the Abbey several years before, since which time she had been intrusted with the superintendence of Hazel’s education. She was now absent from Dunleath, spending the summer months with her father in London, as was her custom. ‘Colonel De Vigne is in the hall, and wishes to see you, my lord,”’ said Randolph, appearing at the door, and his words aroused Victor from the reverie into which he had fallen. The valet had retired several minutes before, but only to encounter the dashing Hussar, who. made known his desire for an interview with his master. ‘‘I shall not detain him long,” the colonel had declared. “Never address me by that title again, Randolph,”’ said Victor. ‘‘ You must know I have no right to it. Iam simply Victor Mortimer. I must henceforth wear a name that is a synonym for shame and dishonor,”’ he was thinking. . THE SCENE THAT FOLLOWED. 83 . A beg your pardon, and will remember,” replied Ran- olph. Pr is well; and now you may show Colonel De Vigne in,” said Victor, wearily. ‘‘ Oh, God, will my trials never end ? Must I be tortured forever? ”’ His face looked haggard in the gaslight, and he remained standing while the Colonel of Hussars entered and advanced toward him. ‘‘ Need I tell you, my dear fellow, that I have remained here in part to see you, and assure you of my friend- ship? I don’t believe a word of these infamous tales,”’ cried De Vigne, his face wearing an expression of genuine sym- pathy. ‘‘It is all a conspiracy to ruin you.” * Touched by the kindness in the speaker’s voice, Victor raised his head, and had stretched out his hand to clasp that of the man confronting him,when he saw something that he had never seen before in the Hussar’s face—a tender light that told its own tale. He involuntarily paused an instant, bewildered; then, as the truth flashed upon him, that De Vigne loved his ward, the words of gratitude died on his lips, and a gleam of suspicion, dark and wrathful, lighted his eyes. ‘‘T thank you for your kindness, De Vigne,’’ he coldly re- pee his heart afire with jealous doubts. ‘‘ Must they take er from me too?” he thought, in bitterness of spirit. ‘* Must I be robbed of her, who is more precious to me than all else besides? ” “ But is there no way in which I can be of service to you? ”’ continued De Vigne, attributing Victor’s singularity of man- ner. to his grief over the loss of the Dunleath earldom. fs hing in the world that I can do for you——” ‘‘T thank you, there is nothing,” replied Victor. ‘‘ He is in love with Hazel, and would bribe me to give her up,’’ was the one thought ringing in his brain. ‘“‘T am sorry to hear you say that,’’ responded De Vigne, ‘ CHAPTER XV. HAZEL’S STRANGE VISITOR. THE thread of the narrative now returns to Hazel Arslan, who, after parting from her guardian, sought her own cham- ber, where she sat weeping alone, while events were transpir- ing in other portions of the Abbey that were destined to ex- ercise such a ruling influence over her life. It was not until Victor had left her that she began to real- ize how embarrassing a position before the world it would place him in, were he to wed her while under the cloud of suspicion that now overshadowed him. That the earl would refuse to expose and denounce her lover for the crimes he believed him guilty of was a view of the case that did not present itself to her. She was young, but she understood human nature suf- ficiently to know that men seldom spare those who have wronged them, however innocently. ‘‘ Oh, what shall I do?” she cried in despair. ‘‘ If I refuse to become his wife, I will have to send him from me, cast down and broken-hearted, and the world will then lie and say that I would not trust him—when I trust him as woman never trusted man before. And if Ido marry him—” her face grew warm and flushed like a wild rose at the sweet thought—‘‘ if I do marry him HAZEL’S STRANGE VISITOR. 99 people will say he deceived me and took advantage of his au- thority over me, which will be false and cruel. Dear noble Victor! I will leave it to him to decide for me, for am I not his? Why should I care for what the world, in its malice, says of me, so long as I am blameless in his sight and my own? I know I can trust to whatever advice he gives me.” She was still debating this perplexing question, when Rachel entered the room, followed by a servant bringing in the lamps. ‘‘If you please, my pet,’’ said the nurse, softly, “old Rannie is in the hall, and is so terribly anxious to see you to-night that I could not induce her to wait until morn- ing. She seems very mysterious. Shall I bring her in ?” “Oh, yes, Rachel, of course I will see her,” replied Hazel, hastily drying away her tears, and looking up, interested. She had always made it a rule to never refuse assistance or sympathy to any of the host of servants and tenants who lived at the Abbey or upon the extensive Dunleath estates, no mat- ter how exorbitant or unreasonable the demand might be, and the result was that she was adored by the poor and consulted in their times of trouble. ‘‘ The rich are God’s almoners,”’ she would say. Old Rannie, in particular, had felt and shown a singularly warm affection for the bright little lady, who had been the light and sunshine of the old Abbey ever since she first entered its splendid portals fourteen years before. Having received Hazel’s permission to admit her waiting visitor, Rachel silently retired from the room, but returned in a few minutes, ushering in a very old woman, whose bent figure and withered skin indicated that she was at least ninety years of age, while her bronze complexion and bead-like eyes gave evidence of the Indian blood in her veins. Her hair was gray, she was of low stature, and the heavy black gar- ments in which she was clad gave her an eldritch and wraith- like appearance that was in keeping with her reputation at Dunleath, where she was looked upon as a witch, or, as some said, a worshiper of evil spirits. She was the oldest servant at the Abbey, and was treated with greater respect than was accorded others of her class, from the fact that she had volun- tarily quitted her native land to make her future home in #ngland, rather than be separated from her foster-child, Lord Victor. That had been almost thirty years ago, when he was a helpless, motherless infant in her arms, beautiful as one of Guido’s baby-angels, but the love that old Rannie then bore him had only waxed the stronger with the passing years, until he had finally absorbed her every other interest in 100 HAZEL’S STRANGE VISITOR. life. To say she would have died for him sounds trite, but is none the less true, and the tender deference he had ever shown toward her had served to weave her affection so closely around him that she had long since grown to love Hazel also, because her instinct assured her that his happiness would some day rest in his young ward’s hands. **No good will ever come of it,’’ she had muttered, when informed of her foster-child’s betrothal to his Spanish cousin. ““Tté will be a loveless union, accursed of Heaven, if it ever takes place, which I doubt—for the day he brought little Hazel to Dunleath I told her fortune, which decked her fair brow with the diadem of a countess.”’ “Tt is destiny,’’ she had said, when Lord Victor’s marriage had been stopped at the very altar; and she bowed her gray head to the dust. Now, as the old Hindoo entered the room, tapping the floor as she advanced with the long staff she always carried, Hazel arose and kindly greeted her. Strangers coming upon her unawares would shrink from her in absolute terror, so awe- inspiring was her appearance, but Hazel had never felt the least fear of her. On the contrary, as a child she had sat by the hour alone with old Rannie in her cabin, listening as only an interested child can listen, to the tales she told of her native land. “You wished to see me, madre ?’’ inquired Hazel, giving her venerable visitor the title with which she had early been taught to address her, but at the same time she shrank away from her with a sudden nervous dread. It only added to her alarm when, instead of sitting down, Rannie expressed a de- sire to speak to her alone. “‘That is quite unnecessary, madre,’’ she faltered. ‘‘ In- deed, I have no secrets from Rachel.”’ “T understand that,’’ old Rannie hastened to explain, her eyes gleaming suspiciously as they turned upon Rachel, who, seeing the look, resented it angrily. , “« Do you suppose I would betray my sweet child’s secret ? ”” she demanded. “*No, no, she does not mean that! ’’ cried Hazel, eager to restore peace. ‘But leave us, Rachel, since Rannie wishes to see me alone.”’ **Very well, my love, if you desire it,’? muttered Rachel in her protégée’s ear. ‘‘ But don’t let her bind you to keep any secrets you may have your doubts and fears about.”’ Hazel only replied with a smile that she meant to be reas- HAZEL’S STRANGE VISITOR. 101 suring; still, when she found herself alone with her strange visitor, she almost regretted having sent Rachel from her. Not that she felt any real fear. Yet she had never seen old Rannie so alive with a subdued excitement as she was to- night ; and she herself was too worn out after all she had gone through to bear very much more without breaking down. ‘