Stella's Fortune OR LOVE THE CONQUEROR BY CHARLES GARVICE Author of "So Nearly Lost," "Lorrie," "Claire," "Her Roosea* , ot "Elaine," "A Wasted Love," "A Woman's Soul," etc. M. A. D6NOHUE & CO, CHICAGO STELLA'S FORTUNE CHAPTER L RUINED. Then I saw, as in a vision, The whole world stretching with eager hands Towards a mystic figure, holly-crowned and rubicund, "Which, from its torch, scattered on all the earth The fires of love and plenty. It was the Spirit of Christmas! Christmas was approaching. You knew it from a thousand signs and tokens beside the remarkably distinct intimation of the calendar with its "twenty-fifth of De- cember" in red letters and its "Christmas Day" in Old English type. Old men knew it, for they shook their heads and grumbled at the cold and the weather. Young men knew it, and they smiled at forthcoming evening parties and friendly suppers. Young women knew it, and joined the young men in anticipation of balls and other opportunities of love- making; and the schoolboys knew it, and smacked their lips as dreams of plum-pudding, pantomimes and Christ- mas boxes disturbed the last few remaining days of their school term. Others knew it, to whom the approaching time of mer- rymaking 1 , of peace on earth and good will toward men brought no visions of happiness and joy to come. The poor shivered at the approach of the jolly king and re- membered that for them there Were no plum-puddings, very little peace and but the mockery of good will. 2135S33 ' 9 Stella's Fortune. Some others, high up in the social scale, were as little pleased at the proximity of the season of rejoicing. For instance, let us avail ourselves of the novelist's precious privilege, and, taking you, kind reader, with us, enter unseen the library of a grand mansion in Belgravia, Though we had entered in the orthodox and ordinary way, we should have scarcely been heard, for wealth had spurred luxury to its utmost, and the feet of the happy mortals who pass the threshold of Sir Richard Wild- fang's town house, if they do not tread on roses, Persian fashion, make as little noise traversing the thickly car- peted hall and still more luxuriously covered staircase. Footmen, as silent as the statuary which flank the painted walls, hover to and fro, ready to do Sir Rich- ard's will. Grooms and coachmen linger with hands in their pockets, all on the alert to saddle or harness for him Sir Richard Wildfang's high-bred cattle. The very air seems forced into this special service, for it is perfumed by the faintest effluvia of a Persian scented lamp, which burns day and night its small flame shut from view in the upper corridor. From this and a hundred other signs forced upon the notice of the least observant it might be presumed that the owner of all this wealth was a modern Sybarite, a voluptuary, and a lotus eater of the latest approved fashion. Let us look at him. We find that Sir Richard is young, handsome stay, is there much of the beautiful in his compact head, dark, thick hair and expressive eyes? Is not the beard a trifle too sleek, the hair a little too dark and the eyes somewhat more restless and evading than those features should be to reach the standard of beauty ? It is a mooted question. Some of his friends said that Sir Richard was handsome, others declared that his face lacked frankness, and his eyes especially, that bold, open look which Englishmen and English women prize. Sir Richard himself thought ah ! there again, was there any man living who knew exactly what Sir Richard thought on any subject? On many he said a great deal. Indeed, Sir Richard, for a young man, was wonderfully fluent and wordy, had Stellafs Fortune. f fine phrases and a veneered eloquence ready on the shortest notice; but perhaps those cynics were not far wrong who declared that all Sir Richard's words were but decoy-ducks or nest-sharers, used either to learn other people's thoughts or conceal his own. Sir Richard came of an old family Wildfang, the Merciless, came over with William, the Robber and Sir Richard had added to his lineage a large amount of wealth at least, so report says, and everybody knows that report never prevaricates. He was the owner of great merchantmen, the promoter of gigantic monetary schemes, the proprietor of several snug things, each, so it was believed, worth a fortune in itself. His name was well known and respected on 'Change, and his mercantile honor irreproachable. Of the honor which characterized his private life and pleasure people never troubled them- selves to inquire. Sir Richard was a young man, and wealthy, and that was enough for the Belgravia mammas and thur mar- riageable daughters also. Had they inquired into Sir Richard's life ten chances to one they would have found it blameless rumor seldom settles, raven of ill luck as it is, on the head of the prosperous man. "Sir Richard was an eminently liberal, benevolent, right-thinking gentleman," said the world; and who. upon examining his banker's book, would have said otherwise ? "Man has two characters,** says Talleyrand, "the one he shows to his friends and the other which he reserves for himself." Let tis see Sir Richard in both. In the library, or Sir Richard's own room, as it was called, he himself was always writing and reading. There was a goodly supply of books ; there were maps on elab- orate stands ; there were screens to shut out the draught and to shade the light. A fire burned brightly in the ormulu grate; in case its heat should scorch the delicate ofive complexion of Sir Richard a glass screen of pressed ferns and seaweeds was placed before it. The lamps there were more than one were exquisite specimens of modern ornamental art One near him was shaded with a cool, green-glass cover, which threw, notwithstanding 6 Stella's Fortune. its coolness, a rather disagreeable tint upon Sir Richard's face. But it did not matter. No ladies ever eritered that, his business apartment, and few men for whose opinions as to his personal attractions Sir Richard cared. On the table, an inlaid one with numberless secret drawers and snug hiding places, were piles of letters, heaps of account books, and two formidable-looking ledgers. One of the latter lay open before him, and his white hand, upon which scintillated two diamond rings of value, traced the figures down the column or copied them into a smaller book beneath his other hand. Has the reader realized the luxury and comfort with which Sir Richard softened even the hard matters of business ? A gentle knock at the door evoked a sharp: "Come in." A servant entered. "Mr. Dewlap, sir." "He may enter." The servant stood aside and allowed a stout, thickset man, with a pale, careworn face, rendered restless and acute by a pair of keen eyes, to enter. This was Mr. Dewlap, Sir Richard's confidential man of business, if the title is not a misnomer, Sir Richard reposing confidence in no one. There was snow on Mr. Dewlap's overcoat, and he paused on the threshold of the superlatively comfortable room to divest himself of the garment. "A cold night, Sir Richard." "Is it?" answered his master. "Ah, it snows, I sup- pose." "Yes, every prospect of a hard winter," replied Mr. Dewlap, in a suppressed, still sort of voice, which changed to a grave tone when he next spoke, which was after the servant had left the room and in answer to Sir Richard. "You are late ; I have been expecting you this last half hour," he said, in a cold, imperious way, that was pain- fully acute in its feigned calm. "I am sorry, Sir Richard, but I was kept waiting at Lloyd's." Stella's Fortune. 7 "Ah! you have been there; well?" "I am sorry," said Mr. Dewlap, taking the chair to- ward which Sir Richard had waved his white hand, "I am sorry to bring bad news, sir, but the Arethusa has come to grief; the fearful storm in the Baltic has sent her to port with nine hands lost." ''Nine hands!" retorted Sir Richard, sharply. "Never mind the hands the cargo, man, the cargo!" "The cargo, Sir Richard, is entirely ruined." Sir Richard leaned back and raised his hand to his face. It grew pale; or did the sickly green shade pro- duce that unpleasant hue? "All spoiled," he repeated. "Dearly bought and only half insured. Bad news indeed." "I regret, Sir Richard, I deeply regret," said Mr. Dew- lap, in still graver tones and with visible reluctance, "to say that there is still worse. I looked in upon Brooks, the stockbroker, as I passed, seeing a light and hearing voices, and heard that Vincent, of Manchester, had Great Heaven! Sir Richard!" The man arose and leaned forward in alarm. Sir Richard had fallen back in his chair with his face deadly white it was not the lamp this time and his teeth clinched as if he were near death. As Mr. Dewlap approached him he waved him back with his hand, raised himself as if with an effort, and brave to the last with that courage which bad men share with heroes, looked his man full in the face. "I beg your pardon ; a sudden faintness. I have been writing too long, and overlooked my dinner hour. Don't be alarmed; it has passed. You were saying that Vin- cent, of Manchester " Mr. Dewlap, used as he was to his master's coolness, was too astonished for the moment to continue. "I hope, Sir Richard, I was not too sudden, I " "You forget," said Sir Richard, with a wan smile, "yOw have told me nothing yet. Has anything happened to Vincent, of Manchester?" "They have failed, Sir Richard." "Failed!" Sir Richard repeated, with a shrug of his 8 Stella's Fortune. eyebrows. "That is bad for us, Dewlap. Have the goodness to hand me that daybook, No. 3." Mr. Dewlap fetched the book from a shelf, and Sir Richard opened it and examined a page ; his hand was so raised while he did it that his face was hidden from IMS confidential clerk. There were great drops of cold perspiration upon his white forehead, and one bead fell upon the open book. He shut it quietly, calmly, and handed it back. "Very bad, but not so bad as I thought. Anything else?" "No, Sir Richard. Here's the day's account and the passbook. Are there any letters?" "Only these; nothing of importance.** "Then I may go, Sir Richard?" "Yes; good-night." Mr. Dewlap returned the salutation with all respect aod reached the door. Sir Richard called him back. 'Dewlap." "Yes, Sir Richard.*" **I forgot to caution you not a word of the Arethusa or Vincent." Mr. Dewlap looked offended. "It is not likely, Sir Richard." "Just so; the caution was not needed. By the way, did you obtain that copy of Daniel Newton's will ?" He put the question carelessly and turned to the ledger as he spoke, but there was a restless impatience in his averted eyes that belied his indifference. "Yes, Sir Richard, you will find the draft among the papers. The whole of the money is left to Stella Newton ttnconditionally." "Ah, I shall find it here. Thank you. Good-night" The door closed, Mr. Dewlap had gone, and Sir Rich- ard was alone. Then the mask fell. The chair was pushed back, and the man, in that character which he reserves for himself, stood upright. Look at the face now and you will not call it hand- some. It has dark lines of rage and despair ; cruel curves around the mouth, and a catlike gleam in the eye. Stella? s Fortune. 9 With his white hands clasping each other behind his back he strode to and fro. "The Arethusa cargo spoiled, Vincent gone, and the bank near its last gasp! In the name of the fiend, I ana rained! Oh, if I could live these last six months over again, how differently would I use them? Rash idiot not to be content. I might have guessed that luck would turn upon me and desert me. Heavens! I cannot real- ize it! I Sir Richard Wildfang ruined! No!" And his hands clinched each other like wild animals. "No! I will not realize it ! All is not lost while there is a plank to hold together. Fifty thousand pounds would save me. I could hold for another month, for two or three per- haps if I were sure of the lump at the end. And, by heavens, I will be! Where is the will? 'Unconditionally,' he said. Where is the will ?" He turned to the table, and with impatient fingers and darkly overcast face scattered the papers in search of tbe copy which Mr. Dewlap had spoken of. A knock at the door. He turned with the aspect of a moll "Come in." "Lord Marrmon." In an instant the lines had gone, and the face was smiling, pleasant, careless and almost handsome. He tarned with outstretched hand and grasped that of his visitor. "My dear Marmion, delighted. Come in. Surely yo jf d not walk ; how hard it must be snowing to catch you so in a minute." All this while the footman was removing the visitor's ceat, and, at last free of it, he entered the room. Lord Marmion was a contrast to Sir Richard. He was short, fair, genial and frank as a boy of fifteen. He seated himself in a chair, and eyed the room with a pleasant, approving smile. "So this is your business den, is it, Wildfang? I shouldn't mind working myself if I were allowed to do k in such comfortable quarters. Why, it's a bachelor's paradise. Ah, ah ! no wonder you don't let fellows come up here; they'd always want to come, and so interfere With business. Well, how are you ?" io StellJs Fortune. "Capital. I am always well," replied Sir Richard, fall- ing into an easy-chair opposite that one of his guest, and looking at him with an easy, genial smile. "And you are too, to judge from your appearance?" "Oh, I'm always well. But I dare say you wonder what brought me here ?" "Curiosity, perhaps ; an impulse of friendship, I hope," said Sir Richard, rising and walking to a cabinet. "A glass of sherry Amontillado, I shipped it myself," and with a nod of emphasis he poured some into two glasses. "Thanks," said his lordship, sipping the wine ; "but, I say, you haven't answered my question, and as I don't suppose you .can I'll tell you. I've come on business." "Really," responded Sir Richard, with a polite aston- ishment, "then you had the right of admission after all. And pray wlhat is the business ?" "Well," said the young lord, looking around and then at his companion with a frank and amused smile, "you know old Newton pretty Stella Newton's father?" "I've heard of pretty Stella Newton, as you call her." "Ah, yes; every one has," said his lordship. "She is the only beautiful girl I know, and that's a fact." "Rather hard upon the rest of her sex. But go on." "Well, it's a rum thing, you know, but I'm Miss New- ton's guardian trustee. What do you call it?" "Call it what you please, but go on, and I shall under- stand you." "Well," continued Lord Marmion, "her father, old Daniel, was my governor's head man a sort of b'usiness adviser, and that sort of thing and my governor was very fond of him. Now, old Daniel I call him so be- cause that was the name he used to go by when I was in the nursery old Daniel made a lot of money specu- lating, and when he died he left me executor. Of course he asked my consent, or my father's, I don't know which, but anyhow I'm the executor and Stella Newton's trustee." Sir Richard refilled his glass, raised it to his lips, and, looking over it with a curious expression, nodded. "I understand," he said; "an onerous post, if Miss Newton has much money." Stella's Fortune. II "That's it, you've just hit it," said the young lord, slapping his leg. "Now this money has been in my hands for some time, and I've taken no trouble about it, but they tell me I ought to invest it. I don't know what they mean, and 1 hate going to the lawyers about it, because they are such old women, and worry my life out into the bargain. Well, I thought the matter over, and remem- bered you. Of course you are the very man to help me. You are the best business man in the world every one says so and you'll know what to do with the money." Sir Richard Wildfang's heart throbbed as if it were a wild beast caged in his bosom. Was it possible that the fiend had flown to his aid and sent this boy to play into his hands? He raised the glass again and smiled. "Passing your compliment, m)' dear Marmion, with a simple 'Thank you,' let me go on to say that you are reposing great trust in me." "Of course; why shouldn't I?" said Lord Marmion. "You must trust somebody, and I'd trust you against all the world. Come, don't let's bore ourselves to death over the affair. Take the money and invest it. You know how to do that well enough. Will you do it?" "I would do anything to oblige you, my dear Mar- mion," said Sir Richard, warmly. "I will." "Well, business is over, and now I must be off." The door closed upon the trusting youth, and Sir Rich- ard fell into his chair, trembling. "Luck!" he breathed, "never let me blame you again! Richard Wildfang's luck never deserts him. Ruined! Who says so? Not I, while Stella Newton's fortune is in my grasp and she is alive to make it my own. Every- body knows her, do they ? The most beautiful woman in London ! Richard, your work is cut out for you. Stella Newton and her fortune must be yours." Another knock. His face composed itself into its business calm again. "Come in." It was a letter. Sir Richard took it delicately. The envelope was 12 Stefa's Fortune. crumpled and dirty; the address was badly written in a staking, uncertain hand. Sir Richard looked at it questioaiagty and slowly pened it. Once more, for the second time this evening, he has aknost shown his emotion. He arose with a muttered imprecation as the letter dropped in his hand. It was short, simple, and, to a heart not entirely stone, teaching. "DEAR, DEAR RICHARD: I have found you at last. Oh, how could you leave me so cruelly when I loved you 90 fondly, so truly? Richard, I am ill unto death, and starving. If you ever loved me, have pity on me now jwd save me. LUCY." His thin lips compressed themselves tightly, and fee turned with an amazed gravity to the servant. u Who brought this this begging letter ? If the per- son should come again have her removed from the door. I know nothing of her." And as the servant, bowing low, retired, he flung the tetter with a cruel laugh into the glowing fire. Lucy, whoever thou art, better for to trust in the :y of the snow and the rain; Richard Wildfang rs none! A BOLD DECLARATIOJI. Marriage is a lottery in which The rich would buy the prize And leave the poor the blanks; But Chance, aping Justice, sometimes spurns, Ail filthy lucre. AusTSBr. "My dear Stella, circumstances alter cases!" Hie speaker was Mrs. Newton; the person addressed was her daughter Stella, upon whose beauty Lord Mar- raion had passed so decided an encomium, and the scene was the small drawing-room of Mrs. Newton's villa at Hyde Park Corner. As a slight pause followed the lady's enunciation of a well-known axiom, we will fill it by remarking that Mrs. Newton was a thin, pompous lady, good at heart, but of lofty ambition, whose sole aim and object in life was to see her daughter Stella well married. Mrs. Newton came of a trading stock; her husband, whom Lord Marmion had spoken of as old Daniel, was of trade also ; he had made money, and Mrs. Newton was endeavoring to impress upon her daughter the necessity of a solemn watchfulness of the main matrimonial chance. Stella Newton justified Lord Marmion's laudation. She was stay! call to your mind, reader, that superb portrait of the Spanish orange girl which Murillo has left us ; add to it, as the cookery book says, a dash of Sir Peter Lely's picture of a countess, and you have a fan- idea of Stella Newton's outward appearance. Her inner portrait she shall herself in her own words and actions reveaL At the moment of her introduction she was seated in aa attitude of easy, negligent grace upon a blue satin /- teml; m her hand was a half-closed book; in her lap was curled a Moravian pug. ft 14 Stella's Fortune. She smiled thoughtfully, almost daringly, and glanced at her image as it was reflected in one of the numerous mirrors with which the room was studded. "Mamma, I have heard that before so often that I be- gin to doubt it. Say that feelings alter cases, and I will respond readily enough. Tell me plainly, mamma, why I should think of marrying Lord Marmion before he has himself ever said a word on the subject?" Mrs. Newton shook her tatting and her head at the same moment. "Stella, you are really incorrigible! Lord Marmion is too well bred a nobleman to speak out like a common er er " "Sweep," suggested Stella, with arch sweetness. ''Gentleman," continued Mrs. Newton. "You must judge from the actions, from such apparent trifles as his manner when he meets you, or says good-by, or hands you a fan, or in fact, does any one of the usual polite- nesses for you. Does he blush when he shakes hands with you?" "Never/' emphatically replied the beautiful girl, with a merry twinkle of the deep, lustrous eyes. "Well, then, that is a sign that he thinks more deeply than most men," retorted the worldly minded woman, with quick promptness. "Does he lower his voice when he talks?" "No, mamma," said the girl, stung into irony. "He neither whispers nor shouts in particular, but talks as a sensible young gentleman should. He does not put his hat in the umbrella stand and his umbrella on his head, or stumble over the door mat when he comes. He doesn't flush or turn green when I ask him how the countess is, and in fact he shows as plainly as a man can do that Stella Newton is no more to him than the daugh- ter of the man in the moon." She threw the unfortunate pug with a suddenness highly detrimental to his health on the wolf-skin hearth tug, and arose to her full height. Very beautiful she looked as she stood, half fronting her match-making mamma, a faint flsh on her clear olive cheek, a sparkle of defiance and satire in her full eyes. Stella's Fortune. 15 "Then, my dear, it behooves you to be extremely care- ful. If Lord Marmion is not already in love with you, it's time he was." "Why ?" asked the girl, turning to confront the mother with distended nostrils and a ring in the voice that de- noted the possession of pride and courage as well as beauty. "Why ? I am not in love with him." "My dear Stella!" exclaimed Mrs. Newton, much shocked. "How extremely abrupt and rude that sounds ! Not in love with Lord Marmion? My dear girl, you should not speak so loud. Lord Marmion has thirty thousand a year, and his peerage dates back with the Leonhardts." "Is that any reason why I should love him or become the future Countess of Marmion ?" asked the girl, straight and resolute as a dart. "Mamma, you trouble me more than I can say by the constant reference to the subject. Lord Marmion has never said one word more than or- dinary friendship would warrant. If Lord Marmion's title is dated as far back %$ Adam's to tenancy of Eden, and possessed the Golconda mines, 1 would not marry him ! No, though he is young, handsome and honorable, I would rather than s;>< nus.a to the highest bidder marry the first passer-by ay, even that man on the other side of the road." In her energy she raised her long, slender hand, and to emphasize her declaration, pointed to an individual who was passing at that moment, as she said, on the other side of the way. As it was no doubt decreed, the individual so plainly indicated happened to raise his eyes, and in doing so caught the sense of the outstretched finger, pulled up in his long-striding walk and stared at the exquisite picture which the girl made, painted, as it were, on the satin- curtained window. She saw him stop, and she looked more intently. Their eyes met, and on the heart of each was impressed the memory of a face which death alone could efface. What the man saw was a girl in the exquisite fresh- ness of her wondrous beauty, standing in the attitude which the righteous indignation had inspired, and which 16 Stetots Fortune. a painter might have gloried in. What she saw was the stalwart figure of a man also in the bloom of youth, but with something of its freshness gone. She saw a fao satiric yet delicate, two soft, dark, yet searching eyes, a brow chiseled faintly with the lines of thought or intel- lect, and a mouth as delicately and softly molded as an Italian's. She took all this in at a glance even more, noticed that the figure was carelessly dressed in a loose, well- worn black velvet jacket, and that it was crowned by a soft, foreign-looking hat, There was no time for more ; the minute had passed, the stranger had discovered that the pointed forefinger was not intended as a signal for him and, with a droop of the handsome head, had gone on his way. Infinitely wonderful is the human heart. At that mo- ment flashed through the soul of the beautiful girl one distinct, softly fleeting regret; she might never see that face again! She knew the fire had died out of her eyes, her body was lithe and languid, and she listened to a wordy re- monstrance of her mother's in almost abstracted silence. At last Mrs. Newton concluded: "Tell me, Stella, how many offers of marriage have you had?" "I do not know," replied the girl, wearily. Two, tferee, five, six I do not remember. Does it matter? I lad your commands to refuse all of them." "Exactly," said the astute mamma. "And like an obe- dient girl you followed your mother's advice. Wait pa- tiently, my dear Stella : the hour of triumph will come. 1 know Lord Marmion has paid you some extraordinary attentions and that he is serious in them. The time will come, and I shall see 5*ou Countess of DovewellJ" Stella arose, wearied, disgusted with the subject "Must I not dress now?" she asked. "Have we not a dlmier party to-night" "Of course. Have you forgotten it?" said Mrs. New- ton. "How forgetful you are, my dear Stella. Lord Marmion dines with us to-nierht and brings that clever Sir Richard Wildfang with bim." "Does he?" said the jfiri, indifferently, us, with stow. Fortune. 17 graceful step, she left the room. "And who may Sir Richard Wildfang be?" "One of the richest and most influential men in Loa- don. I am surprised, my dear, that you have never heard of him. He is a most particular friend of his lord- ship, and I hope, my dearest Stella, you will not be so, absent-minded as you sometimes are, but will en- deavor to amuse him." The proud girl smiled, alas, almost bitterly. " Amuse him," she repeated to her rebellious heart, "amuse him ! As if I were an actor paid to kill time and raise a laugh upon their cynical faces. Oh, my mother 1 my mother! if you were but a little less worldly and a little more proud !" It was evening. The lamplighters were running from lamp to lamp, knocking from their feet the snow that lay like a white cloth in the road and footway. The dining-room of Mrs, Newton's house in Hyde Park Corner was filled with the soft light of a hundred wax candles ; the fire streamed a rosy tint upon the glit- tering mirrors, the tapestried walls, the varied ornaments of bronze, marble and gold. All was luxury, wealth and splendor. The butler, ecclesiastical in appearance and magisterial in dignity, stood looking at the artistically laid table with feelings of supreme self-satisfaction. Scintillating glass, bright, shining plate, snowy linen. It was all perfect, delightful to the eye, anticipatory to &e palate. It was a quarter to eight. The guests were due, In the drawing-room, as magnificent an apartment as the dining-room, was seated the mistress. Pride of the wrong sort was on her face, proclaimed itself in the carriage of her thin, acute face, displayed itself in the very folds of her ostentatious dress. She glanced at the clock with a frown of annoyance. Stella had not made her appearance yet. Lord Mar- mion and his friend might arrive at any moment, and the beautiful daughter would not be there to receive them. The rattle of a carriage, muffled by the snow, a knock; flbe guests had arrived. i8 Stellcts Fortune. Lord Marmion entered first, bluff, frank, smiling and boyish. "My dear Mrs. Newton, how do you do? May I in- troduce Sir Richard Wildfang?" The match-making mother courtesicd low and with compressement to the richest and most influential man in London. Talking as they went they took up their position by the fire. Lord Marmion's tongue rattled on. Sir Richard Wildfang joined in a manner delightfully soft and pleasing. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the ex- travagance of the decorations, the magnificence of the furniture. He glanced at the worldly mother, and, so to speak, smiled in his sleeve. The game was really too easy, the prey too feeble. He saw his road to success plain and facile before him ; he saw The door opened, and some one glided in. It was Stella. She paused. Sir Richard turned and met her eyes. Why did his shrink with an expression almost of fear? Why did hers fix themselves for an instant on his dark, masterful face, then lower themselves to conceal a siidden dislike and dread? Pace onward, Time, and let forthcoming events re- veal how true was woman's instinct, how dastardly was the cowardice of dishonesty. CHAPTER III. THE SCULPTOR'S DEN. Oh love ia painted as a boy, With wicked bow and arrow, And whoso feels that pretty toy, Sure, his escape's most narrow! The lamplighters flitting from Hyde Park Corner carried their ministrations to humbler streets and poorer abodes. One of them lighted a dingy lamp, in a street near Soho Square, and so threw a garish gleam into the window of a first-floor room, which overlooked not the pleasant freshness of the park but a row of other rooms in houses dingy and ugly as its own. Let us ascend the narrow, ill-lighted stairs, and enter that room. A strange room to one entering as a stranger, an astonishing one. The four walls are painted black, and devoid of or- nament. The floor is bare, and, in place of carpet, is covered here and there with the thick powder of marble and stone. A few articles of furniture, all plain and well worn, are crowded to one corner to make room for some other articles which evidently to the owner of the apartment are of greater importance. These are life-sized statues, busts, and wood carv- ings in all stages of progress from rough hewn to ex- quisite finish. One, a beautiful nymph, rising from a crested wave, stands on a raised dais in the center of the room, and so arranged that the light falls full upon that portion of the marble where the face will be when its creator shall cut it. 20 Stella's Fortune. Before the unfinished statue stands a youth whose form might have caught its grace from the lifetess figures around it. The face is turned from the light, the hands long, thin, and womanly white ones are hard at work ; tfiTe sculptor is lost in his dreamland. Suddenly the chisel faltered in the practiced hand, the mallet was poised with indecision and doubt. The next instant the tools dropped from the mas- ter's hands, and he turned, revealing the same face which had turned inquiringly to the gaze of beautiful Stella Newton. He pushed his soft, silky hair from his forehead, and looked up at his unfinished work. "No use, I can do no more to-night, fair nymph ; your face must wait, must wait until my disordered and truant fancy can return to thee. What has hap- pened to me to-day? I, Louis Felton, am usually as calm and impassable as my own cold marbles ; in fact, I am not well fed enough to have hot blood and a feverish pulse, but to-night I can feel the life's fluid tearing through my veins at race-horse speed, making my hand unsteady and my fancy but a fickle jade that jigs to the pipe of my imagination ! And where- fore? Oh, fie upon me for an erratic idiot! All for a passing glimpse of a girl's beautiful face. Tell me, ye gods of my own creation, have I not seen many? Dq I not live in the atmosphere of grace and beauty?" And he turned with mock homage to his statues, who seemed possessed of life's reason and appeared to listen with calm interest. "Ah, but what beauty it was! Not like yours, im- perial Juno, though methinks there was a touch of your pride's fire in her eyes; not yours, either, wood nymph, Phyllis, though the freshness of forest violet hovered on her cheek ; nor yours, oh, Galatea, sea mai- den, through the mystic brine of nature's freedom rus- tled the tresses of her hair and shadowed the glory of her sweet, soft brow! "Oh, Louis! shame on thee for an idiot to rave in the presence of yon dead ideals of one living girl, beautiful though she be. What is she to thee? A vision only, in a Fortune. at fashionable window of a fashionable house; a note f angelic harmony resounding amid the clink of gold ; a gena set in its fitting of precious silver; a rich young lady, doubtless the daughter of rich parents, who would shudder in their shoes if they knew that their idol's ckarms were being extolled, even to dead, deaf marble, by the homeless, hungry, out-at-elbows sculptor Louis Feltonl" He took up his chisel again, but left the hammer where it was. He could not work; fancy was truant still, and as he stood looking at his nymph, with its uncarved face, he rambled on: "Penniless? Scarcely that. I have an estate! Ha! hat" And he laughed a musical, ironical laugh. "An estate of phantom acres, with an old house that would tumble about my ears, so they tell me, if I called my name aloud in it The sole remnant of a great house and an old name. By Heaven ! I am not penniless. I am Louis Felton, Esq., of Heavithorne, squire of half a county which knows nothing of him and cares less. Oh, I am a great man if I but knew it though I earn my living by carving from pitiless marble such poor mockeries of my daydreams that they but yield me eaough of bread and water to sustain this thin and unsubstantial body on." He struck himself on the chest as he spoke and laughed again, and though it was a trifle sad it was a pleasant laugh to hear. Listening to it one would say: "That comes from a true, a kind, and an honest heart," and this one would declare without seeing the face with its deep, tender, mocking eyes and its soft, kindly mouth. "That being so," he continued, "what right had yoo, base Louis Felton, to glow into ecstasy over the good gifts of a wealthy heiress we'll say she's an heiress, just for argument's sake, and to make my crime the greater what right? Why, every right, tfee right that pointed forefinger gives me; she was pointing at me, I'll be sworn. What was she saying? 'Look at that poor man, how tired, how seedy and bow disreputable he looks,' and that pitifully? "No ; when I saw her face there were fire, righteoos 22 Stella's Fortune. indignation, passionate dignity in it no pity! Why did she point? Bah! Let me to work. Now, nymph, fancy has returned, and is ready to carve thee a nose, a mouth and a pair of eyes ; but of what sort ?" "By Heaven!" he exclaimed, flashing a bright red and snatching up his mallet, "thou shalt have the face of my beautiful lady. Thou shalt have her eyes, her small lips, her proud brow, and when thou art done, I, Louis Felton, master of tumble-down Heavithorne, miserable sculptor, half starving solitaire, will point at thee, oh, nymph ! as thy original pointed at me ! Come, my powerful mallet, now for her hair!" CHAPTER IV. A QUEEN OF SOCIETY. When you do dance I wish you A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do Nothing but that. /SHAKESPEARE. As Christmas draws nearer, the joyousness of its pres- ence stretches out before it, and the society which still honors London by its presence and yet intends keeping Christmas down at its courtly mansions makes a pre- liminary spurt and issues tickets for balls and eight- o'clock dinners. On this night, three weeks before Christmas, there was a ball at the Countess of Dovewell's, Lord Marmion's mother, and a brilliant throng was crowding the elegant drawing-rooms and spacious salons. The countess herself was a grand specimen of the haute noblesse, tall, slightly but wonderfully gracefully built, with clear-cut features and quick blue eyes. Lord Marmion, the darling of her heart, resembled her. He had the same blue eyes, with an extra touch of frank- ness in them, the same clearly cut nose, but not quite so resolute a chin. He was standing beside his mother, helping her in her duties. Most of the guests had arrived one not initiated in the mysteries of ballroom space would say that there was room for no more but, crowded as the salon was, all the guests had not yet fulfilled their promises, and the countess, as a waltz was started, said to her son: "Ernest, I do not see your favorite, Miss Newton." "Nor I. I do not know what makes them so late," he returned. "Mrs. Newton is generally punctual. Wild- fang is not here either, and he, being a business man, ought to be punctual. Ah ! here is some one," he added, as the servants were seen clearing away from the door, 93 24 Stella's Fortune. and the next instant the proud face of Mrs. Newton ap- peared above the heads of the crowd, and in another the beautiful one of sweet Stella. The countess went forward to meet them, and wel- comed them most cordially. She did not like Mrs. Newton she read her character too clearly but her son, her darling son, had taken one of his odd fancies and she must humor it. If she did not like the mother, she was attracted by the daughter and no wonder, for Stella was looking 1 more beautiful than ever that night, and, as she raised her eyes, which had a lingering, pensive light in their great depths, the countess pressed her hand more than cordially. "I am so glad you have come. My son told me that you would be here an hour ago/* "And we should have been," said Mrs. Newton, **bt my daughter had a troublesome headache." "I am sorry," said the countess. "Is it better?" "Oh, yes," said Stella, hurriedly, and with a faint flash, "It has quite gone. It was nothing to speak of/' "I'm glad of that," said Lord Marmion; and as Stella raised her eyes and looked at him with a frank, friendly smile the countess felt relieved. She need not fear for her son. There was nothing but friendship between him and the beautiful girl, and lier ladyship knew that there never would be anything more, for love for such women as Stella Newton comes at fist sight or never. "Have you saved me a dance?" said Lord Marmioa, examining Miss Newton's tablets with eagerness, as he passed her half an hour later, and during the pause. "Yes, there is one more," she replied "two." "Then grant me the happiness of sharing them wfch his lordship," said a low, soft voice behind her. She started, turned almost pale, and as she looked around edged slightly away. She knew the voice. It was that of Sir Richard Wildfang. "Oh, Sir Richard, here at last," said Lord Marmton. "Have you seen my mother? She was at the end of the room a moment ago." Stella's Fortune. 25 "Yes," said Sir Richard, "and I came from her with a message for you. You are to dance with Lady Pauline Marcelles." Lord Marmion went off like an obedient son, and Sir Richard offered his arm to Miss Newton. Stella had not spoken yet, for she had given him her hand to shake in silence. + In silence she generally greeted Sir Richard, for Stella, usually so self-possessed with every one. was always strangely moved when the great Sir Richard approached her. He had so quiet, so self-assured a way of presenting himself when least expected or thought of; he was so ealm, so self-reliant and seemingly so sure of his wel- come, that the girl, moved by that unreasonable an- tipathy, was always embarrassed. She hoped he did not notice it, and to hide it she gen- erally spoke quickly and cordially as she did now. "You are late, Sir Richard, are you not?" she said, without looking At him. "Yes," he said, glancing down at her and then around the room with an air of proprietorship which she was con- scions of and yet could not openly resent. "Pleasure must wa^t on business for me, Miss Newton. I am but half a butterfly in these halls of delight. There is always the grub behind the wings." He smiled. She smiled in return. His voice was very pleasant and musical, yet she hated it : ay, hated it, though she had heard it so few times and told herself daily that it was wicked and unreasonable to do so. "But I am glad I came when I did, or that other dance, the last on your list, would have gone and the pleasantest part of the evening would have been lost to me." "I thought business men never paid compliments," she retorted, trying to be at her ease with him. "Only very seldom ; when they do, be assured the com- pliment is something graver than is usual. But what is the dance?" he said, taking the tablet from her unresist- ing hand. "A quadrille and a waltz. I may have the waltz?" 26 Stella's Fortune. She looked up with a faint flush of eagerness, then looked down quickly, evading his eyes, for she was about to tell a falsehood. "I I promised the waltz to Lord Marmion." He raised his eyebrows regretfully. "Then I must be satisfied with the quadrille. Shall we walk to a less crowded part of the room ?" She inclined her head, and they joined the ring of promenaders. "This is, I suppose, the countess' last ball before Christmas ?" "Yes," replied Stella. "The last, I believe. They are going to Dove Hall to spend Christmas." "And wisely ; the country is the place for holiday fes- tivities. Do you leave London?" "Yes," she said, and she could not suppress a st^h of relief. "Mamma has made up her mind to spend Christ- mas at the Vale." "Indeed?" said Sir Richard, with a smile of pleasure and satisfaction, as if he had heard it for the first time. "This is fortunate for me." "Why?" she asked, with a dim foreboding. "Miss Newton," said a voice at her elbow, "I have been looking everywhere for you. This dance is mine, I think," and her partner for the Lancers carried her off, and with a low bow to Sir Richard before he could reply. Sir Richard was not a dancing- mm. Tonight he had made up his mind to dance once only, and then with Miss Newton. He had seated himself comfortably on one of the seats in a cool recess and watched. In all the heat, the glare of the candelabra, the rippling, floating strains of the grand music, Stella Newton felt that he was watching. With the prattle of her talkative partner in her ear, she still heard Sir Richard's soft "I am fortunate." The Lancers came to an end, as all things must, and the crowd divided off into different directions, and a buzz of conversation and laughter took the place of the music. A small ring of admirers pressed, courtier-like, around beautiful Stella, all anxious to outvie each other and win a smile or, more precious still, a laugh. Stella's Fortune. 27 The gayety of the scene, the spirit of the hour, dispelled her strange gloom. The cloud lifted from her brow, and her lovely face was soon all smiles. A wit was at her elbow, retailing the latest bon mots and on dits. He was telling her of the ludicrous blunders of a new belle, the wealthy heiress of a retired army clothier. Miss Newton enjoyed it, and smiled. The wit was in the seventh heaven, and surpassed himself. Suddenly the laughter died out from her lips, the smile from her eyes. Her little band of courtiers were puzzled, the wit chagrined. What was the cause? Sir Richard had risen from his seat and came with self-possessed and graceful gait to claim her for the quadrille. She rebelled. "Is it so soon?" she exclaimed, glancing at her pro- gramme. "How long a list it is. I am so hot, too. Will you excuse me this?" "Certainly; it is warm, and the Lancers are hard work," replied Sir Richard, with the highest-bred cour- tesy. "Let me conduct you to a cooler place?" He had won after all. She could not avoid him. With something approaching a frown, she placed the tips of her lingers upon his arm and Sir Richard led her away. The courtiers looked after him with envy, the wit with something fiercer. "A case that," he remarked, with amazement. "What a cool hand he is. Did you ever see one take posses- sion as he does? Money everything goes down before him ! I shouldn't wonder if she married him !" and with another shrug the pleasant gossip went off to find his partner, and console himself for his interrupted triumph with a quadrille. Sir Richard, meanwhile, skillfully steered Stella New- ton through the crowd, and led her to a quiet little fernery, while it commanded a view of the glittering ball- room, was calm, quiet and restful. "Oh, beautiful !" she exclaimed, bending over a forest tangle flag. "Yes, a great contrast is this little spot; it is like an jQ Steins Fortune. aasis of quiet in a desert of noise. Will you not be seated?" "No, thank you," she said, almost coldly. She did not intend to remain tete-b-tete with him, and was already trying to invent a means of escape. "I like the flowers too well," and she walked around, looking admiringly at the tinkling fountain, the fresh, graceful ferns, and the glassy pools of water that lay like mirrors between the beds of rock. Sir Richard leaned against a rustic table and watched ker. "She is very beautiful tonight," he smiled. "Without the money she would be 3 prize worth having, with th<; money she is a prize that must not at all events be lost." As his eye fell on her with admiring speculation shr turned suddenly and shrunk almost visibly at its ex pression. "I think I will go back," she said, scarcely knowing what she did say. "I have not seen mamma since we came in.' "Will you not rest while I find Mrs. Newton ?' said Sir Richard, drawing a chair toward the fountain. "No, thank you yes, I will then, if you please," die answered and sank into the chair. Sir Richard murmured something about the draught, arranged the soft China crepe around her white shoul- ders, and mingled with the throng. Stella waited until he was lost in the vortex, and arose quickly. She would escape him once for all ! A curtain was draped before an entrance in one corner of the recess. It might lead her to the ballroom and to a distant part of it! Ay, she would venture it rather than wait for Str Richard's return, and she arose and walked quickly to the ewtain, drew it aside and passed through the opening. The apartment she had entered was dimly lighted, and was too small, even for an anteroom. Disappointed, she ws about to return, when some- thing white and gleaming at the farther end caught be* Stella's Fortune. Of attention, and she dropped the curtain, entered the room aad crossed it The patch of white was a statue of such surpassing beauty that in her maze of admiration she forgot every- thing, and stood gazing as if rooted to the spot. Suddenly she uttered a half-suppressed exclamation of astonishment, and with a heightened color drew nearer. Surely she must be mistaken. The dimness of the light, her too vivid imagination must be misleading her! A small lamp stood on an ormolu bracket. She took it hi her hand, and holding it above her head gazed long and eagerly at the face of the statue. It was a sea nymph rising from a crested wave. The waving locks were of marvelous grace, the face was sweet, passionate beauty. But it was not the beauty which so deeply attracted her ; it was the weird strange- ness of the fact that the face resembled hers! Resem- bled? Nay, it was an exact reflection in all save color. She turned to a mirror, then stared at the marble face again. Yes ! She was not the sport of fancy. The face was hers! Then the lamp quivered in her hand. A mysterious, half-awful and delicious sense of the supernatural fell on her. Her face went from red to white, her lips were trem- ulous. She turned and found Sir Richard Wildfang standing beside the curtained entrance watching her. With a quick, impetuous movement she set the lamp oo the bracket and confronted him. She forgot everything save the indignation which filled her at his spy-like presence. "Sir Richard," she commenced, and there was the same ring of resolute woman courage in her voice that rang in it when she was stung into retorting upon Mrs. Newton, "Sir Richard " "Ah! Here you are; why, where have you been?" exclaimed Lord Marmion, who entered with Mrs. Newton on his arm. *We have been admiring your latest acquisition, my d^ar fellow," said Sir Richard, waving his hand toward the statue as he offered the other to Miss Newton. go Stella's Fortune. "It is very beautiful. Miss Newton was quite struck with it." "Were you ? Well, I don't wonder at it," said Lord Marmion. "It's an excellent bit of sculpture, but do you know I bought it for another reason than its in- trinsic worth? Can't you guess?" "No; really I can't," said Sir Richard. "Can you?" said Lord Marmion, turning with a laugh to Stella. "No," she replied, faintly, dropping Sir Richard's arm and going over to her mother. "No? Well, that's strange. Surely it can't be mv fancy. But do you know I thought when I saw it that it was like you," and he smiled at Stella. "Don't you think it is?" "I I don't know," she replied, still faintly. "It is a little, perhaps," remarked Sir Richard. "It is difficult to say. Who is the sculptor ?" "Oh, a new man, a young fellow named Felton Louis Felton. Quite a character in his way. Comes of a very old family, you know, but very poor. Proud into the bargain." "Louis Felton," murmured Stella, unconsciously. "I beg your pardon," said Lord Marmion. "I did not speak," she replied, looking up at him. He saw she was pale, and held back the curtain for her to pass out, saying as he did so : "The next is my waltz, Miss Newton. Don't hide away anywhere. It is the last waltz." But she would not dance any more that night. Her headachd had returned and she would go. Stella was resolute sometimes, and when she was, Mahomet's mountain was not more immovable. So the Newton carriage was brought around, and at- tended by a train of despairing courtiers beautiful Stella departs with that name ringing in her ears and the strange mystery of the sea nymph to haunt her dreams. Louis Felton 1 CHAPTER V. A REMEMBERED FACE. She is pretty to walk with, And witty to talk with, And pleasant, too, to think on. SUCKLING. The Vale is a country residence worthy of such wealthy and fashionable people as the Newtons. It is a large, modern house, furnished with every convenience and surrounded by well-laid-out grounds, with all their proper stablings, outhouses, farmyards and paddocks. A park just large enough to be pleas- ant and small enough to be devoid of the trouble which clings to larger tracts of forest land, stretches at the back of houses away to the pleasant little river Don. At the end of the park, and hidden from view by the trees, stands an old house nearly in ruins. No romance attaches to it, and no mysterious phan- tom parades it at midnight. It is a pretty, tumble-down place, empty, tenantless s and all but useless, for the owner has not been seen for years, his very name is not known, it has passed out of the remembrance of the village folk. Old Daniel Newton, Stella's father, wished very much to buy the old place and the land upon which it stood, but the matter was found to be entangled in so many lawyers' webs that Mr. Newton abandoned all thought of adding it to his other estate in despair, and the Hut, as the people familiarly called it, was left to its natural cobwebs and dusty ruin. The Vale was rather solitary, there being no near neighbors of its own class, but it was always well filled with visitors and country cousins, and did not feel dull. The nearest house of any importance was a shooting- box, three miles distant. Stella's Fortune. It was let on short terms to shooting 1 and fishing men, but was generally empty at Christmas, there being little or no hunting in its neighborhood to tempt kard-riding gentlemen into becoming tenants. It was to let now, and Mrs. Newton, sitting in her open carriage, regrets it. "There are no neighbors ; really it is quite a desert of a place," she said, half in complaint, half in a tone of satisfaction, for she remembered that no neighbors are better than bad ones, bad ones in her definition meaning ineiigibles in the shape of poor second sons, who might run away with her daughter's heart and spoil her chance of marrying a lord or a duke. "It is rather dull," said Stella, glancing around the country, "but it is very beautiful, mamma. I have aever seen any place I like better than the Vale." "They tell me Dovewell is a magnificent place," said Mrs. Newton, softly. Stella flushed. "It may be, and yet I might not like it so well. The Vale is so snug and comfortable. I hope we shall always spend Christmas here." The ladies had been for a ride, the day being beau- tifully fine, the roads hard and frosty, and the air bracing, and the carriage entered the Vale gates as Stella made the remark. "Yes," said Mrs. Newton, "I suppose our visitors will arrive to-morrow. How many will there be?" Stella counted upon her fingers. "There's Margaret, one ; Charlie Venner, two ; Uncle Adolphus, three ; the poor little Cummings, seven ; and old Mrs. Dockett, eight. Quite a family party." "Yes," said Mrs. Newton, with rather a dissatisfied fiigh. "It was your father's wish that they should alt dine here on Christmas Day, and I suppose they must." "I am glad to see them, for my part," said Stella, cordially. "I think it is only right that a family should gather together once a year; it is so nice to see the same faces, to hear the same good wishes, and to listen to the same dear old songs. Mamma, I like Christ- mas; I think people are all the kinder and better for ft, and if it were not for the cold and the snow, and Stella's Fortune. 33 tfce poor people who feel them so bitterly, I should say that it was the happiest time of the year." The carriage ascended the road which winds around the park and leads to the house. "Yes," said Mrs. Newton, with a stifled yawn she was not interested in family parties, or the condition of the poor. At this point of the drive a glimpse a very faint one only could be obtained of the hut. Stella caught it, and said, thoughtfully: "I wonder no one comes to claim that pretty old place it is just the sort of house I should like for my own. Fancy a fire gleaming through the windows, bright faces and happy voices laughing around the ivy and the laurels. Have they never found out to whom it belongs ?" "Never, that I know of," answered Mrs. Newton. "It is in chancery, or some legal difficulty, I think, but I know nothing about it, or any one else. I wish we could have bought it; it is a great nuisance stuck there at the end of the park, and in such a disgraceful state of ill re- pair. I should have thought dear Lord Heavithorne could have ordered it to be pulled down. It is on his manor." "Oh, not for the worlds," said Stella, with a smile. "It is the foundation for all my castles in the air ; do you know, mamma, I love the old place, and can't help think- ing, notwithstanding is has so little romance, that there is some strange interest attaching to it. I would not have it pulled down for worlds!" "You are a strange girl, Stella," said Mrs. Newton, peevishly. "I don't know where you get your whims and fancies from not from me, I'm sure, for I was always a sensible woman. I'm glad we are home again, for I'm frozen." And with a little ill-tempered shiver the wealthy Mrs. Newton descended by the help of the footman and climbed the stone steps haughtily. Stella leaped from the carriage, and followed hei with a spring that was almost a leap. 34 Stellcts Fortune. Today she felt, now that she was miles away from Richard Wild fang, free, buoyant and happy. She entered the drawing-room, singing as blithely as a bird escaped from its cage. Her mother could not understand her, and after star- ing at her a minute went off haughtily to her own room. It was a beautiful day ; she felt full of energy and high spirits. Why should she not go for a walk ? Luncheon was on the table, it was true, and that, like all other meals over which Mrs. Newton presided, must be gone through with all proper formality and solemnity. For once Mrs. Newton sent word down by her maid that Miss Stella need not wait, and the happy girl, still singing, cut herself a crust of bread and cheese and ate them with the appetite of a schoolboy. Verily, the beautiful Miss Newton of London notoriety, was a different person to Stella Newton alone and unsur- rounded by beaus at the Vale. A glass of water there were three varieties of wine upon the table accompanied the frugal repast, and she arose again ready for her walk. Slipping on her hat and sealskin, she took up her muff and trotted off. Alas ! the fates nearly prevented that momentous w*alk. "My dear Stella," said Mrs. Newton's querulous voic Stead's Fortune. ard. Poor man ! I dare say he is extremely grateful.*' "Extremely," said Sir Richard, with another of his peculiar smiles. Stella arose to get an album. Mr. Felton, who was near the table, bent over and almost whispered. "Have you known Sir Richard Wildfang long, Miss Newton ?" "No," answered Stella, with so evident a dislike to the very name in her tone that the questioner was justified in asking her: "Do you not like him?" "I do not," said Stella, glancing at the dark, sleek face of the influential baronet. Then, in a low whisper, and with strange earnest- ness, she added: "Mr. Felton, you should be a judge of faces and the minds they index. Tell me honestly, do you think that face a good one one to be trusted?'* "No," replied the sculptor, glancing up. "A bad one, then?" breathed Stella, "and not to be trusted ?" "A very bad one, and to be feared," replied Louis Felton, in a tone as earnest as her own. "When did Mr. Felton arrive?" asked Sir Richard, in a low whisper of Mrs. Newton by the fire. "Yesterday only," replied the wily lady, anxious for some information. Sir Richard elevated his eyebrows. "Yesterday only. Hem! Do you know anythirf* of him, may I ask?" "N o," hesitated Mrs. Newton. "He must be ot good family, you know, Sir Richard he owns Heavi- thorne." Sir Richard smiled, as if pitying her simplicity. "Not necessarily. Remember that the property is in Chancery. This may be one of the distant branches. My dear Mrs. Newton, may I venture as a man of business and of the world to warn you? This young fellow has a plausible tongue and an interesting face- see, he has managed to interest your u^ tighter with it. My dear madam, it behooves you to be careful. There Stella's Fortune. 6l are so many impostors, and they all have nice, well- bred ways and taking faces." Mrs. Newton was in a tremor of horror, and she felt inclined to rise, drag the valuable Stella from contact with the stranger and turn Mr. Felton himself out of doors. But Sir Richard restrained her. "Perhaps it may be all right, my dear Mrs. Newton. But, at the best, the young man must be very ahem ! poor. Consider the state of the property. Yes, very poor!" So the skillful man of the world had already com- menced to undermine beneath Mr. Louis Felton's feet, and it behooved Don Cupid to buckle on his armor if he would hope to cope with craft, subtlety and cun- ning. CHAPTER IX. ONE MORE UNFORTUNATE. Ah, what a sight was there) A strong man driven to despair. So much for Christmas at the Vale. There is still the same Christmas Day to chronicle in another place. Christmas Eve is not yet disposed of. Let us return to the police-station, which the mourn- ful procession reached in a few minutes. The policemen deposited their still burden in a room set apart for such sad purposes. Poor Lucy was laid out upon a plain table, the inspector made an entry of the time at which it had been found, the numbers and initials of the constable, then turned and catechised the old man, who had been patiently wait- ing, with the child buttoned inside his coat, which, having originally been made for a man thrice his size, was plenty large enough to cover them both. "What s your name?" "Samuel Growls," replied the hunchback, gruffly. "Residence?" "I lives at No. 2 Paradise Alley, St. Giles'." "Trade ?" asked the inspector, pausing with pen read , for a fresh entry. "Bootmaker. Repairs neatly executed," promptly an swered the queer old man, evidently quoting from sonu inscription. "And you offer to take this ; " the inspector broke off to., glance at the child to ascertain its sex, and continued "boy ; and you will come up before the board when re- quired, to give an account of him?" "I'm willinV said the hunchback, "though I don't know what the board is. Oh, yes, I'll come up to give an account of him, certainly, when required. Is there anything to pay?" "To pay?" repeated the inspector, with a smile. Stella's Fortune. 63 "Yes; dooty, or government tax? There generally is when one o' your chaps asks kewestions, and writes them down in a book." ''No, there is nothing to pay," replied the inspector. "Take care of the child." The old man rammed his battered hat tightly upon his forehead, and, picking up the child again who had ceased crying to stare with ecstatic and enchanted admiration at the policeman's buttons and fierce whiskers left the station. Five minutes after he was gone with his little burden of adoption, a man rushed in, and with clinched hands and white face confronted the inspector. The man was dressed like a respectable mechanic, was young, rather good looking, and quite sober. He paused for a moment, as if to gain breath, then, in a voice which sounded harsh and unnatural, as if sub- dued by a great effort, said: "Where is she?" "Who?" asked the inspector, eying the intruder with official coolness. "The the woman, the dead woman!" said the man, his voice broken and spasmodic. The inspector jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "In the dead room, my man. Do you want to see her?" The man motioned with his hand. '' Jones," said the inspector, "Jones, where are you? Here, I'll go myself," and taking a key from a peg he led the way to the dead room. A small gas jet threw a sickly light upon a plain table with its still and ghostly burden. The man pushed the inspector aside with trembling hand, moved the cloth from the quiet, peaceful face, and gazed, with a face that was scarcely less white and set, down upon it. A silence fell, so intense that the clock in the front office could be heard ticking like a human voice ; then, with terrific suddenness the man's passion burst forth. He grasped the inspector's arm, and, glancing wildly t him, pointed to the dead woman. "Look! that is murder! You hear me? That is mur- 64 Stella's Fortune. der! Look how she lies so quiet and calm, as if she'd died in her sleep! But she didn't; she was murdered! Confound him for a wolf and fiend, whoever he is. He's killed her ! killed the gentlest, sweetest-hearted girl that ever drew breath. Oh Heaven pursue him, wherever he is, for a brute and a murderer, and bring him to the gal- lows! Lucy! Lucy! Don't die! don't die, or I shall go mad ! Don't die till you tell me who did it or I shall kill myse lf " He threw himself down beside the plain table, and clutched the overhanging sheet in a paroxysm of despair and rage. The inspector laid his hand upon his shoulder. "Come, come, my good man ; don't take on so. She's dead, you can see that. Don't get into such a state about it. Did you know her?" "Know her?" retorted the man, turning his wild eyes upon the inspector. "Know her, man? I loved her! Loved her better than mother, father, or anything in the world beside. Know her? I'd given my life fifty times over to 'a' saved her from a moment's pa^n. Oh, Lucy, Lucy!" and, overcome by grief, he bowed his face again and groaned aloud. "Your sweetheart?" said the inspector. He made a gesture with his bent head in token of assent The inspector coughed behind his hand. He knew the story at once. Tis the old, old one; a fiend in angel's shape, and frail humanity's fall. "What was her name ?" he asked. The man rose suddenly, calmed and nerved by the ques- tion. "What's that to you?" he asked, with a low. angry voice. "Ask her; if she can't tell you, I won't. D'ye think she hid her shame all these years for me to bellow it to the world now? No! she's dead, and past saving, but her name's good yet. We poor folks think a good deal o' that, and she shall keep it. Don't ask me no ques- tions ; I sha'n't answer them." He picked up his cap from the fleer, and, holding it- pressed to his panting breast, took a step toward the door, his white face still turned to the dead woman. Stella's Fortune. 6$ The inspector remained silent for a moment, then as he covered the still face again, he said, quietly: "There'll be an inquest, young man ; you'll have to at- tend as a witness, if you know anything of the deceased or how she came to her death; it'll be 'exposure to cold and insufficient nourishment/ I'm thinking, for all your murder." The man had reached the door, but turned again his flashing eyes, his hand with the cap in it extended toward heaven. "Call it what you like," he said, "it's murder all the same; you can kill without JK ? <:on, or pistol, or a knife; you can kill by shame and misery an' neglect, an' that's how he killed her. He led her to her ruin with false speeches and wicked falsehoods, and he left her to die o' hunger and cold in the street ! You call it exposure you brings in a verdict to suit your feelings ; I call ft murder, an' Heaven calls it murder, too !" Then he thrust the cap upon his head and staggered out. The inspector, used to the exhibition of passion and grief, gravely lowered the gas, relocked the door, and seated himself in the front office ready for the next charge or report. The man stumbled into the dark, cold street and rushed onward, his hands clinched at his side, his white lips mut- tering incoherent threats and lamentations, in which the name of Lucy was alone intelligible. Passion of all kinds is exhausting ; his, so wild, so deep and so terrible in its utter abandon, wearied him out be- fore he had walked a mile. He stopped, staggered, and caught at a lamppost, against which he leaned his burning forehead and gave way to a burst of tears. A policeman, who had been eying him for some few minutes, tramped up with voice and hand of authority : "Come, my man, move on!" The man paid no heed; the words had fallen on his ears unmeaningly. "Come," repeated the policeman, "I can't have drunken men obstructing the thoroughfare; you must move on." 56 Stellcfs Fortune. Unwisely he laid his hand roughly upon the presumedly drunken man's shoulder. Had he confined himself to words he might have re- mained, haranguing and remonstrating all night, but any- thing in the shape of a blow was the spark of fire upon the barrel of gunpowder; the excited man turned with a mad light in his eyes and felled the policeman to the ground. "Keep off!" he cried, shaking his head wildly. "It's murder, I tell you, downright murder! You killed her, you fiend, and you shall pay for it!" The policeman, astounded by the suddenness of the at- tack and the address, shouted for help and struggled to his feet. In a few minutes the crowd, which always seems to be ready at a moment's notice, was on the spot asking ques- tions, shouting, pushing forward in excited confusion. In the midst stood the policeman, firmly grasping the man, who stared around him with a dazed, bewildered air as perfectly unconscious of the cause of the excite- ment as many of the spectators. "Come, are you drunk or what ?" asked the policeman, too conversant with his duty to resent the blow he h? ' re- ceived. "What's the matter with you? Perhaps I'd bet- ter run you in. I don't like to do it, for you're certain of six months, you know, but if I leave yer you'll be doing some damage to somebody. Here, you'd better come along, I think." And he proceeded to clear a passage through the crowd in the direction of the police station. At that moment a gentleman, who had been standing on the outskirts of the crowd, quietly and composedly watching the two center figures, stepped up. "What is the matter?" he asked. "Intoxicated?" There was a tone of command and an air of power in the speaker's voice and manner which went straight to the officer's respect. "I don't exactlv know, sir. I found him a leaning agin the lamppost, and happened to tell him to move on, when he turns and knocks me down. It's assault on the police if it ain't drunk and incapable, but I don't want to be hard upon him" Stella's Fortune. 67 "No," said the gentleman, who had been watching the white, bewildered face and wild eyes attentively during the explanation. "He looks respectable. It would be a pity to ruin him. Where did you find him, you say? Ah, well, if you like to trust him to me I'll see that he goes home or somewhere where he cannot do any harm." "It's very good o' you, sir," said the policeman, "and he ought to consider himself lucky. Here, will you go with the gentleman?" "Go where?" asked the man, roused from his half-un- conscious state by the rough shake, and staring at the policeman with changing color. "N not to prison ; I'm a respectable man. What have I been doing? Nothing that you can lock me up for? Oh, Heaven, I haven't dis- graced myself?" "Very nearly, my fine fellow," said the clear, cold voice of the gentleman, as the policeman dispersed the crowd and himself moved on. "An assault on the police will ruin a very good character if it be followed by six months' hard labor.'* "Go to prison like a common thief !" exclaimed the poor fellow, trembling like a leaf, and wiping the cold beads of perspiration from his fevered forehead. "Oh, no, no; I was mad, stark, staring mad. Sir, you've saved me ; how can I thank you ? But I do thank you ; I'm a poor man, bat my character is something to me and six months' hard labor like a common thief!" He shuddered. The gentleman smiled behind his well-gloved hand and gianced at his watch. "What are you doing here? What is your name? The man suddenly froze into a sullen mood, though his gratitude struggled for expression. "Stephen Hargraves," he replied. "Where do you live?" "Anywhere," was the answer. "You are out of work?" The man nodded sullenly again. The gentleman eyed him, and thought rapidly: "A strong, stout fellow, driven to degeneration by something, for I saw the whole scene and know the signs. He's grateful for my little piece of benevolence, will be more 68 Stella's Fortune. grateful still when he comes to think it over calmly. A man worth having 1 about one ; by the look of his face un- scrupulous, honest to his benefactor, daring. A tool ready to my hand; I'll secure it." These were the thoughts, and he acted upon them. "You are out of work, you say. Would you like to enter my service ? I don't want a man of your sort par- ticularly, but it seems a pity that a fine, strong fellow like you should go to the bad for a little weakness for the bottle " "I haven't been drinking," the man said, looking up suddenly. The gentleman smiled. "Never mind. What do you say? Will you enter my service yes or no?" . "Yes, thank you, sir," said the man. "I'm skeered a bit to-night, but I understands what you've done for me, and what you've saved me from. If it hadn't a been for your kind word I should a been lying in prison, dis- graced for life. I'll serve you with all my heart, ay, and faithfully unto death." "That's right," said the gentleman. "Come to me in half an hour. Can you read?" The man nodded. "Take that card then. Remember half an hour." The man took the card, still with a confused air, and the gentleman, with a faint smile, walked slowly away. Stephen Hargraves carried the card to the lamppost and, rubbing his eyes with an impatient, trembling hand, stared at it. "Sir Richard Wildfang, Bart., Grosvenor Square. Half an hour," he muttered. "Oh, Lucy, if my hand an* heart wasn't so full o' you I could feel grateful to the kind gentleman as saved me with a word from prison and disgrace, but I can't think o' nothing. I'm anigh mad when I mind you a lying so quiet and cold dead ! dead !" Muttering thus he turned toward Grosvenor Square, his head drooping upon his breast, his heart full of the woman who was lost to him and herself. To Grosvenor Square Lucy's lover went to enter the service of Lucy's betrayer. Truly Fate had cast her dies with a reckless hand. CHAPTER X. A PiCTURE DF POVERTY. Love may choose for its temple A pile of rough-hewn stone, And, by its presence, make The rude habitation noble. No. 2 Paradise Alley did not in appearance or real comfort correspond with its somewhat alluring title. Paradise Alley was narrow, dingy and dirty. The houses were squalid, its windows were small and opaque with dust, its doors rickety and finger-worn, and there was an air of poverty and ceaseless, joyless toil and suf- fering clinging to every one. Number two was no exception to the doleful rule, although it bore by way of advertisement and orna- ment a brilliantly painted signboard on its ground floor window, which announced to all who cared to know that Samuel Growls resided there, and did re- pairs neatly and quickly. In addition to the signboard there were curtains, dingy and threadbare 'tis true, but still curtains, to the window, and a small bird, naturally of a yellow cast of countenance, but rendered dingy and gray by the influences of his paradisiacal surroundings, twit' tered in a cage suspended from the curtain pole. There was the glimmer of a fire penetrating the curtains, and altogether number two, though -miserable enough in all conscience, looked the cleanest and most habitable of all the houses. The spirit of Christmas had penetrated even Para- dise Alley, and Old Sam as he trotted beneath its en- trance with his burden under his coat, chuckled as he saw a muffin man and a boy with flags enticing the dwellers to purchse. Coming up the alley with his disengaged arm swing- ing beside his short body, Old Sam ran up the steps, TO Stella's Fortune. pulled a string that projected through a hole in tke door of number two, and entered the room where were the curtain and the canary. Then, out of breath, be unbuttoned his coat and peeped within it. "Bless his heart, he's asleep," he chuckled. "How like a hangel he be ! He only wants gilt paper wings and a piece o' elastic glued to his back to be a hangel right through. Now I wonder what he'll do when he wakes? I don't feel quite easy in my mind, 'cas I'm not used to children, and I might make some mis- take. Perhaps he'd like a muffin or some flags. Here, I'll chance it ; it won't do no harm anyway," and soft- ly setting the child down upon a rickety old sofa, and covering him up with the tablecloth, which he snatched from the table for the purpose, the hunch- back ran out of the room and down into the alley, and returned in a few minutes with a pile of muffins, three pig's trotters (warm), and three gayly colored flags. "There," he exclaimed, with an air of satisfaction, "there's a supper fit for a prince, leave alone a han- gel! What can be nicer than trotter an' muffins for a child? Nothing at least I should think not," he hesitated, gazing at the comestibles. "They're soft and sticky, an' what you might call nourishin' no bones in the muffins to choke him, bless his heart, and none in the trotters if I takes 'em out carefully. Now where shall I stick these flags, eh?" He looked around with his head on one side, very much like a jackdaw, again, and trotted up and down the room with his flags in his hand. At last he decided to stick one in a cracked vase on the mantelshelf, another in the bread, and the last he reserved for the pile of muffins and trotters. Chuckling to himself and glancing at the sleeping child occasionally, going about on tiptoe all the while and expressing his delight in a wonderful, strange and grotesque pantomime, he laid a white cloth on the table, set the kettle boiling, toasted the muffins, set three candles alight in various parts of the room, and then set himself beside the couch to wait for the awakening of his lord and master, the young orphan boy. Stelltfs Fortune. 71 Presently the child awoke with flushed cheeks, spark- ling eyes and a happy forgetfulness of his bereave- ment. His large eyes rested on the grim, wrinkled, homely face of the old man beside him, then twinkled merrily, and the urchin smiled and held out his hand?. Old Sam picked him up and pressed him to his breast in an ecstasy of gratitude. "Now that's what I call kind o' ye, now. You might a woke humpy and disagreeable, and no wonder neith- er, but this here is what I call behavin' handsome, and I'm much obliged to you." He chuckled a little nervously and set the child on the chair. He was a fine, healthy little fellow, with a chubby round face and a little rosebud mouth. Old Sam thought he never saw such beauty, no, not even in the picture shops, and he stood before the child, making funny faces for him for full five minutes, tmtil the little one perforce laughed outright. Then the old man joined in, and the spirit of Christ- mas echoed it unheard somewhere about their heads. "An' now what is it going to be to start on, my hangel? Is it muffins or trotters? I'm sorry it ain't no better, nothing in the seed Cake and raspberry tart line. But you see," and his voice shook a little, "you was so unexpected but there, never mind that. You're happy, ain't you? Are you better?" The child laughed as if he understood every word but clambered off the chair and clung to the old man's knee. "Law! if he don't want to eat his tea on my knee," exclaimed Sam, in a delightful whisper."! never heard tell of such an intelligent little chap." Hte lifted him up and with unpracticed fingers manipulated a trotter, made it up with a muffin, and presented a small portion of it on a fork. "Here, try that. Make yourself at home. I ain't put no mustard because I don't know if you likes it, an' mustard is rather a nasty, deceivin' thing if you ain't up to it. What, you like the trotter, do you? 72 Stelltfs Fortune. That's hearty, too. Ah ! this is what I call enjoyment ! Have a cup of tea?" But the boy would not drink out of a cup of his own and preferred to sip now and then from Sam's ; he also declared in favor of muffins without the addi- tion of trotters, and, having made a good tea for one of his tender years, raised his intelligent eyes and pro- ceeded to take a mental inventory of the room. Sam watched the direction of his eyes anxiously. "P'raps now he sees it's a strange place he'll cut up rough," he muttered, anxiously. But no, the little fellow was determined to be pleased, and as he pointed to the bird found his voice. "What's tat?" "That!" answered Sam, delighted; "that's a bird, a kinairy." Then, as the child looked puzzled, he repeated the answer and went so far as to spell it. "K-i-n-a-i-r-y. A yellow bird. He sings at least, he did ought, but he's a hen I'm afraid. Never mind, don't take it to heart, we'll get one to-morrow as 'ull sing like one o'clock. To-morrow, that reminds me! Why, what's to-morrow? Christmas Day! Christ- mas Day, and we ain't got no plum-puddin'! Why, what are we a' thinkin' of? Never mind, don't be afeerd; we'll go a marketin' d'rectly and get such a fine sight o' things as 'ull take us all day to eat 'em! Why shouldn't old Sam Growls have a Christmas as well as other people, now he's got a family? Plum- puddin'! Dash me, he shall have two!" Then he took the child upon his bent shoulder and capered around the room with him, stopping at the various articles of interest to explain their various uses and good points, and starting off again with a jerk and a shout, until the little fellow was in a flush of happiness and the room was filled with childhood's happy laughter. Then he grew tired. The laughter ceased, and the old man knew it was bedtime. There was a mysterious piece of furniture in one corner of the room which had the appearance of a wardrobe with the front falling out. Stelltfs Fortune. 73 Old Sam pulled this out and let down a bed. In the middle of this he laid his little charge, and cov- ered him up warmly and snugly. Then he stood at a little distance away and considered. Could he leave him safely while the ingredients for the pudding and the Christmas feast were procured? He decided to risk it, and, taking the precaution to blockade the little bed with all the available chairs, he buttoned the threadbare coat around his crooked form, rammed a battered hat upon his gnarled, grizzled head, and sallied out into the streets, where all the children shrank from his ferocious appearance and even grown-up folks drew aside to let him pass as if he were something to be feared as well as pitied. In a short time he returned laden, and, chuckling like a goblin, threw his packages of purchases upon the table. "Asleep still, bless his heart ; well, all the better, though, mind you, I was foolish enough to hope as he'd been up, laughin' an' playin'; but there'll be all the more time to make the puddin'. I ain't quite sure and certain how to set about it, for I ain't what you might cal a hexperienced cook ; he ! he ! but if I follows the direction of the chap in the shop most like I shall turn out a first-rate 'un. Now, let's see. Chop this 'ere lump of suet. Well, I knows that, as of course you couldn't put it in whole, or else some unfortunate indiwidual 'ud have all suet and no plums. Cl^ip the suet ; stone them 'ere plums that's the worst job o' all ; put in this 'ere flour and the currants an' the lemon peel, an' stir 'em up with a trifle o' treacle; then bile in a clean pocket handkercher for six hours! He ! he ! I ain't forgot. And now there's a nice hevenin's work before me." Whistling softly, and going about on tiptoe, he set about his task with a gravity and importance which were the sublimity of the absurd. He talked all the while to himself, and glanced at the bed at intervals with anxious solicitude. "What should I do if he was to wake, bless his heart?" he muttered, suddenly, with a look of dismay. "I couldn't pick him up with my hands all over suet an' plums an* stuff. What a beauty he is I never see such a boy, an' 94 StelMs Fortune. hi his ways there ain't another like him. Hello, I'm ji thinking as I don't know his name, and it ain't likely he will condescend to tell me. I suppose it's marked in his pretty little things. I'll look when I've got this 'ere stuff off my hands." The child's clothes lay on the sofa, where they had fallen when they were taken off, and Sam picked them up tenderly and examined them. "No. No name on 'em. Nothing to hidentify him as they says in the p'lice reports. Hello ! what's this ?" and he turned the frock inside out. "A bundle o' papers tied in the lining. Letters old letters and a ring. Well, whatever they are they belong to him, and I shan't read 'em or interfere with 'em. Here, let's put 'em away some- where safe and sound," and with a hurried nervousness he stowed them away in a corner of an old cupboard. There must have been some reason for his determination not to read the papers? There was. In the old man's heart had risen the fear that he might find some clew to the child's parentage and belonging nay, more, perhaps the name of some person to whom he would be in duty bound to deliver the child. The bare idea of losing what had become so precious to him was so terrible that he sighed with absolute relief as he shut the cupboard door and returned to the table, mut- tering: "Mind, I didn't read 'em. I don't know who he belongs to ! I had him give to me by the proper authorities, and I've got a right to keep him!" At last his love's labor was accomplished, the pudding was made! In the morning the child awoke, curious, autocratic. But Sam was ready for him, and had his breakfast waiting. Every mouthful the child ate the old man chuckled over, every word he said and the little fellow spoke, and in his lisping way he had a great deal to say the old man repeated with delight. He would not lose a word not a syllable. Once the boy, out of sheer excitement, began to whim- per. Then Old Sam was overwhelmed with despair, and Stella's Fortune. 75 in the utterest misery and concern nearly killed himself in the way of grimaces and acrobatic feats in dispelling the slight cloud. After breakfast he took him, wrapped inside his coat; for a walk in the park, and, heedless of the laughter and pitying smiles of the crowd, pointed out to the child everything worthy of note even to the stone Achilles. Trotting, jumping, running, hopping, he proceeded in every possible attitude to win smiles and laughter from his precious burden. Then they returned to dinner. With what delight the old man set out the piece of beef which he had brought brown and smoking from the baker's ; how he welcomed every sign of pleasure on the childish face, and to what a pinnacle of ecstasy did his joy and exultation rise when the pudding was uncovered, and the child actually clapped its hands and shouted with delight ! Oh, spirit of Christmas, linger long in that little room, and pour down upon the gentle heart which beats within the deformed and dwarfed body of the little shoemaker, that joy and peace which only thou canst give! CHAPTER XL THE ELIGIBLE BARONET. A bold stroke for a fortune! Faint heart never won fair lady, Or grasped the golden gains. On the morning following Christmas Day the Vale was stirring betimes. Stella was not a late sleeper at any time; this morning she felt particularly wakeful. As a matter of fact, she had slept but little all night There was something in the idea of the mysterious and handsome Mr. Felton being in the next room, which might have kept her awake if she had not the disquieting knowledge of Sir Richard's propinquity also to dispel her weariness. In the latter fact she could scarcely find excuse tangible enough to her own satisfaction to account for the uneasi- ness which assailed her whenever Sir Richard was near her. She knew that she started and shuddered at his en- trance last night as much as she had blushed and thrilled with pleasure at the appearance of Mr. Felton. Had she been candid with herself she could have ex- plained it by confessing that she hated the one and already loved the other; 'out young ladies are not inclined to be candid on such topics, even to themselves, and Stella rose and entered the breakfast-room, as unreasoning in her dislike of Sir Richard as ever. The breakfast-room was empty. "No one up yet?" she asked of the butler. "No one, miss, except Mr. Felton," he replied. "And where is he?" asked Stella. "I don't know, miss. He was here not many minutes ago, inquiring after Sir Richard's man." "The man who hurt his leg?" said Stella. "Yes, miss," said Mr. Proudley. "And a very strange 76 Stella's Fortune. 77 man he is ; there is no making anything out of him at all." Stella's look encouraged him to proceed; she did not know how it was, but truly anything concerning Sir Richard had a strange, unpleasant interest for her. "He's the most disagreeable man I ever met, miss. You can't get a civil word out of him ; and as close as a jew- eler's safe." Stella smiled. "You should not bother him with questions, Proudley," she said. "I, miss ? I'd scorn to do so," retorted the butler. "But when a man turns like a wild beast on you for simply asking him by what name he'd like to be called }'ou can't help noticing it. Will you have the breakfast, miss ?" "No," said Stella. "Not until mamma comes down. Is it thawing?" "No, miss ; quite a frost." "Then I will go out for a little. Tell them, please, that I am in the garden." Then, wrapping herself up in a thick Red Riding Hood cloak, and drawing the hood over her beautiful head, she opened the French window and ran lightly down the steps. At the moment a man came limping out of the lower hall and stood aside to let her pass. It was Sir Richard's servant. Made curious by Proudley's account of him, she Stopped and accosted him. "How is your foot this morning?" "Better," said the man, in a sullen tone, just glancing up at her from under his thick eyebrows, without relaxing 1 a muscle of his constrained, trouble-lined face. "I am glad of that," said Stella. "You must have suf- fered much pain. I hope they made you comfortable." The man nodded. "Comfortable enough, I thank you." Stella looked at him with her gentle, pitying 1 eyes and went on. At the turn of the walk she nearly ran into the arms of Mr. Felton, who was looking in the opposite direction. Fortune. They pulled tip with a mutual laugh of amusement; Stella held out her hand. "I beg- your pardon. I thought I was in sole posses- sion of the garden at this time in the morning." "And I pray for forgiveness on the same score,*' he returned, laughing and looking at her with something more than admiration for the fresh, beautiful face, crowned with its sweet blush rose. "I have been having a trot around -a preliminary canter, as they say in racing circles." "And I am getting one," said Stella. "May I be allowed to prolong mine and join you?" he asked. And they set off, walking slowly now. "Mrs. Newton is not up yet, I suppose?" he said, breaking off suddenly in the middle of a frank and humor- ous description of some artistic experience. "No," said Stella. "I am sorry for that, as I fear I shall not see her be- fore I go." "Go where?" she asked, with disappointment 2n her face and voice. "Home," he answered, with a smile. "Miss Newton," he added, turning to her with a sweet, reverential grav- ity, "if I dare to speak to you with that candor which society condemns and avoids, will you forgive me?" Stella turned pale and dropped her eyes. "I it is a strange question," she faltered, "but I will answer yes." "I thank you," he said, in the same soft, grave tone. "Then I may say that I know my presence will not be welcome any longer at the Vale." Stella started and turned with a flush. "By what course of reasoning have you deduced that result?" she said. "Do not be angry with me," he pleaded, "but remember that eyes speak more freely and plainly than lips. Your mother's eyes told me last night that my welcome had expired." "Since when?" asked Stella. He hesitated a m^wient, then answered, in a low voice : Stella's Fortune. 79 "Since Sir Richard Wildfang ventured to remind her that I was poor and perhaps an adventurer." Stella turned to him, proud and wounded. "You you did not hear him say that? He could not be so base?" "I did not hear him) say it in so many words, but I heard enough of the broken sentence to be able to supply the wanting part. No, Miss Newton, the last few hours have been short and happy ones, but I dare not prolong them. My own honor would not allow me to remain beneath the roof of one who eyes me with suspicion." Stella's eye filled with tears and she turned her face from him. Oh, how bitter in her eyes was the worldlmess which even a stranger could detect and resent. Louis Felton glanced at her with a look of ineffable tenderness and devotion, which changed to one of simple respect as he said: "I had intended writing a short note to say that busi- ness had called me away at a moment's notice, but I am glad of an opportunity to avoid falsehood. Dare I ask you to plead my excuse ?" Stella inclined her head. "Is this your only reason for leaving us so suddenly ?" she asked, in a low voice, her eyes still seeking the ground. "Not the only one," be said. "There is one other." "And what is that?" she asked. "A cunning one," he replied, with a sad, tender smiic. "I am afraid that if I remain I may lose you forever. I mean," he added, as she crimsoned and stared with sur* prise, '''that commands may be laid upon you to hold no converse with the adventurer of the Hut. For, under- stand, Miss Newton, we may meet dare I hope so? < and may be friends. May I take that hope with me? You would not rob me of it ?" "No," said Stella, turning to him with a smile. "It is too poor a thing to rob you of. We will be friends, let worldly wisdom say what it will." She held out her hand as she spoke, and, uncovering his head, he bent over it so low that she fancied she felt the silken mustache brush it 8o Stella's Fortune. "Good-by," he said, looking- up at her. "Good-by," she returned, "if you will go.** "Nay, I must. Necessity knows no law." He bowed as he spoke with a heightened color and a slow shake of the head, and Stella was left alone to pon- der over and wonder at the strange words and ways of this handsome stranger, whom she seemed to have known for years instead of hours. Then she re-entered the breakfast-room, where the cousins, Mrs. Newton and Sir Richard were awaiting her. "My dear, where have you been? Really, you carry your love for exercise and fresh air to too great an ex- treme. Don't you think so, Sir Richard?" Sir Richard smiled as he shook hands and mur- mured that youth is reckless and fearless. The cousins then crowded around and dragged her to the fire, and the message she had been commis- sioned to bear was put off. But only for a few minutes. "Dear me," said Mrs. Newton, haughtily, "I am surprised Mr. Felton does not come. We are all wait- ing." "Mr. Felton will not be here, mamma," said Stella, looking around. "He is called away by urgent busi- ness." As she spoke she felt that Sir Richard's eyes were fixed upon her, and she grew restless under their searching gaze. "Extraordinary," said Mrs. Newton, "and pray who told you that?" "He himself. I met him in the garden," replied Stella. "Well, J'm sure, he might have said good-by, I think," pouted the schoolgirl. "After being so friend- ly last night, too." "I think he might have had the politeness to wait and see me," said Mrs. Newton, frigidly, "at least." Stella made no further explanation, and the break- fast commenced. Sir Richard made himself perfectly at home, retailed all the news and paid great attention to the girls, but somehow he was not popular, and directly the break- Stelltfs Fortune. Si fast was over the young ones scampered away, drag- ging Stella with them, and Sir Richard and Mrs. Newton were left alone. Then the wily man of the world commenced the game which he felt so sure of winning. "Madam," he said, "my note and my appearance, which followed so soon afterward, must have some- what surprised you." "No not at all," simpered Mrs. Newton; "at least we were delighted to see you. So kind to make such friends of us ; and I am so glad you came. It would have been unbearably miserable in the shooting box all alone." Sir Richard bowed gratefully. "It would indeed," he said. "You will be surprised perhaps then to hear that I had a distinct purpose in attending upon you last night," he continued, in his soft, seductive voice. Mrs. Newton smiled as amicably as she could, and looked curious. "Indeed, Sir Richard?" "Yes," he went on, "an object very near my heart My dear Mrs. Newton, I have fallen in love with youi daughter." The worldly mother started, and looked embarrassed. It was a great honor truly, for Sir Richard was a baronet, and wealthy oh, no one knew how wealthy! But then there was Lord Marmion ! Sir Richard smiled inwardly. He knew the very thoughts that were flitting through her calculating brain, and he was quite prepared for them. "I loved her from the first moment I saw her," he continued. "And who could help doing so? She is beautiful and amiable. Ah, madam, I am no boy to whom the world and womankind are fairyland of im- possibilities! I am a man of the world, and I have learned by experience to recognize and value so great a treasure as your daughter. For years I have been seeking for the woman whom I could with confidence make my wife. I have admired many, respected a few, but I never met the one I could love and respect At the same time until I saw Miss Newton. Can you 8a Stella's Fortune. be surprised, madam, that I, a man of the world, should feel doubtful of the passion with which she in- spired me? I am determined to test it. Hitherto, I told myself, you have but seen her at her best, ajt balls and in public; go unexpectedly and see her at her home, in the position which you \vould have her fill for you. I came down unexpectedly, and I find her good, true, happy as a child in the midst of a happy circle of children, and, need I say, madam, that I love her more passionately than ever? "Now," he continued, "a rash boy would let his pas- sion run away with him, and disregarding the respect due to you, my dear Mrs. Newton, would present him- self to Miss Newton and declare his love. I come to you before I take that step, for two reasons: first, be- cause 1 think it is your due ; secondly, because, though I would at once without loss of time place you in pos- session of my intention and hope, I am disinclined to declare myself to Miss Newton. You will see my rea- sons at a glance. You will see why I am unwilling to risk my all at so short an acquaintance; we have known each other so little; I have scarcely had time to convince her of my devotion. I come to you, my dear madam, to ask you for your daughter's hand at once, and" here he spoke more slowly and eyed the worldly face with keen attention "I should have done so before, but I thought, I feared, that another had a prior claim to your consideration." Mrs. Newton started and turned to him with a wily look. "I mean Lord Marmion," continued Sir Richard. "On Christmas Eve only I learned that I had erred Lord Marmion is engaged to marry his cousin, the Lady Pauline; an engagement which has existed in form for years. Directly I knew that I determined to lay my cause before you, and here I do so, wait- ing most anxiously for your answer." Mrs. Newton's face was a study. Disappointment, chagrin and a gleam of consolation struggled for the predominance. At last she thought that half a loaf was better than none; better a baronet than no title at all, and, with Steiltfs Fortune. 83 a very good counterfeit of maternal emotion, she said, holding oui her hand: "My dear Sir Richard, you have my very best wishes for your success. My dear girl is all the world to me, and I am naturally anxious about her future, but if it lies in your hands I can feel quite secure." Sir Richard took the thin hand and raised it to his lips with a reverential respect, which belied the sar- donic grin glittering in his eyes. And so Stella was promised, and Sir Richard, perfect confidence, only bided his time. CHAPTER XII. A SERVANT'S IMPUDENCE. Methinka there's too much seeming la the play. Behind the mask There yawns a greedy face. Christmas is past, but Christmas weather still re* mains; the woods of Heavithorne are still hard and crisp, the ponds covered with their silvery mantle, and the whole of nature under the rule and sovereignty of King Frost. AH the visitors have left the Vale, the schoolgirl has returned to her Markham's England and Bonnechose's France, the old cousin has quietly gone back to his domi- cile in town, little Tottie has returned nolens volens, to the nursery, and Mrs. Newton and Stella are alone. Of the two other guests not yet disposed of, Sir Rich- ard they see frequently, for he is still staying at the Box, and often drives or rides over, sometimes to dinner, some- times for a morning call only. Mrs. Newton always welcomes him with effusion, and never fails to dilate for an hour after his departure on his good qualities and immense wealth to her daughter. Stella listens as indifferently as if her mother were praising the virtues of the goddess Vishnu; sometimes makes no remark, and oftentimes rises and leaves the room to be rid of the subject, which to her is most un- pleasant When Sir Richard comes he is always the same, cool and bland, self-composed and self-assured, like a man who knows that he has but to play a waiting game to win, and has therefore made up his mind to wait. When he speaks to Stella it is always in the low, defer- ential tone and with the soft smile of a polished man of the world. Yet he hovers about her, appearing at her elbow when least expected, and suggests remarks and comments so opportunely and persistently that Stella M Stellas Fortune. 85 beautiful Stella, whom a certain artist thought lovely enough to be reproduced in marble feels that she hates him more and more each day, and that as her hate grows so does his power. She feels that she is within the circle of a net which is. gradually being tightened around her. As for Louis Felton, she has seen very little of him. Sometimes she has seen the smoke of the Hut rising above the trees, and has taken it as a signal of his pres- ence ; at others the blue, thin, vapory cloud has not hoisted its beacon, and she has known that he was in town or elsewhere. The villagers her pensioners can tell her nothing about him, for he has brought a manservant a favorite model so they say to serve as henchman, and has re- quested no other assistance. A cartload of luggage of some description has arrived, and there are curtains up at the windows through which a ruby stain is thrown at night time upon the snowy lawn. At all events, if the master of the Hut is mysterious, the Hut itself looks cheerful enough. Once Stella, when passing on her trusty little cob, fan- cied that she heard his cheerful voice singing in an upper room, but it might have been the model's voices are de- ceptive. One day Mrs. Newton, knowing nothing of her daugh- ter's feelings toward either gentleman, said: "Stella, my dear, have you heard what became of that peculiar creature who came here on Christmas night?'* "Sir Richard, do you mean?" asked Stella, with the most demure face. "Sir Richard!" exclaimed Mrs. Newton, with angry surprise. "Do you think I should call Sir Richard a pe- culiar creature? My dear Stella, what can you be think- ing about?" "Whom do you mean, then, mamma?" "Why, that strange man, Mr. Felton, of the Hut.** "I have heard nothing of him," replied Stella. "Nor I," continued Mrs. Newton, querulously, "and I've asked every one, too. A most strange young man; 86 Stella's Fortune. flighty and unreliable, too ; and I should think very poor miserably poor. Sir Richard said something- about his being an artist of some kind a sculptor, I think. Very strange, I'm sure. I wonder at his staying on Christmas night as he did." "So do I ; so did he the next morning evidently, for he went, you see, mamma, very rapidly." "And shows his good sense," said the widow, tossing his head. "But, Stella, now I think of it, just remind me that I promised to go over and see Sir Richard at the Box, which he tells me he has so altered that it is quite a charming place. I think mind, I am not sure but I think he intends buying it." "Indeed," said Stella, indifferently, "and when do you wish me to remind you of your promise, mamma?" "To-morrow. We will go to-morrow." Stella looked up with a pretty little frown. "So soon?" she said, quietly. "Yes; and why not?" said Mrs. Newton. "The weather is beautiful, I'm sure ; you can't have any objec- tion to calling on Sir Richard." "I have no particular wish either way," said Stella, quietly ; "we will go to-morrow if you wish it." Just then a footman knocked. "Come in," said Mrs. Newton. "A man wishes to see you madam ; I have told him that he must send in his message, but he will not do so." "Dear me ! Indeed !" said Mrs. Newton. "Then send him away immediately." "But he won't go," said the footman. "How annoying and stupid you are. Send him in here then and I will soon send him about his business." And she drew herself up into her most disagreeable at- titude. The footman retreated, and presently ushered in the grim fellow Stephen Hargrave, Sir Richard Wildfang's servant. "Dear me," said Mrs. Newton, "is it you, my good man? Why didn't you say it was Sir Richard's servant?" "Because I'm not Sir Richard's servant," replied the man, in his usual gruff and sullen fashion. SleUcts Fortune. 99 *Not then you have left his service, been misbehaving yourself, I suppose." "No, I haven't ; I haven't misconducted myself, and he can't say I have." Mrs. Newton gave a little sniff of misbelief. "I'm sure Sir Richard is too kind-hearted a master to discharge one of his men for anything short of mis- conduct." "Well, he's discharged me," said the man, "and for nothing as I know of ; he's tired of me most likely ; per- haps I'm not civil enough." "Well," interrupted Mrs. Newton, "what do you want with me?" "I come, mum, to ask if you'd take me in, seeing as Sir Richard hasn't anything against me " Mrs. Newton rose with virtuous indignation. "You bad man, I am astonished. Leave the room and the house immediately. To suppose that I would take for a. servant a man whom Sir Richard has discharged ! He must have some good reason for it, I am sure, and I shall hear the truth from him. But leave the room, sir; I am surprised at your impertinence !" The man turned slowly and looked back at the mother and daughter. Stella, keener of eye than her mother, perceived that there was a look of suppressed amusement in the man's face and was puzzled by it. His manner, too, set her thinking ; it seemed so cool and self-possessed and so me- chanical that he seemed like one repeating a lesson and going through an excellent piece of make-believe. She said nothing, however, and Mrs. Newton, after dilating upon the impudence of the creature, dropped the subject. The morrow was as beautiful as a January morning could be, as, completely enveloped in furs, Mrs. Newton and Stella started for the Box. When they arrived Sir Richard was standing at the door ready to assist them in alighting. "I am overwhelmed by the honor," he murmured. "Never were a bachelor's quarters so graced," and, with 88 Stelltfs Fortune. sundry other compliments, he led them into the drawing- room. "How beautiful," exclaimed Mrs. Newton, looking around upon the blue satin hangings and Louis Quatorze furniture. "I had no idea you could make so splendid a little palace of such an old-fashioned little place." "Oh, a mere nothing," said Sir Richard, carelessly. "A mere nothing? What must your mansion in War- wickshire be like then?" exclaimed the wily widow, glancing at Stella. "Oh, that is properly furnished, my dear madam," said Sir Richard. "But let us to luncheon. I am sure you must be cold and hungry. Allow me, my dear Mrs. New- ton!" and, with polished gallantry, he escorted them to the miniature little dining-room, which in elegance and taste quite matched the apartment Mrs. Newton had so much admired. A superb little luncheon was laid, and Mrs. Newton en- joyed it immensely. Stella ate but little and talked less, for Sir Richard devoted himself entirely to the mother, and only occa- sionally addressed himself to the daughter, but on these few occasions his manner was delicatly deferential and winning, and Stella, much as she disliked him, could not but admit that Sir Richard Wildfang was the pink of courtesy. When the carriage came around and the ladies arose to go, Mrs. Newton said: "By the way, Sir Richard, that strange, odd-looking 1 manservant of yours came to me yesterday and \vanted me to engage him. Did you ever hear of such imper- tinence, after you had discharged him? So absurd to come to me of all persons in the world." Sir Richard shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "An impudent rogue and an ungrateful fellow, my dear madam. I packed him off at a minute's notice for an act of disobedience. There was no doing anything with the rascal. His heart was like stone, and kindness only hardened it." "Dear me, it's shocking! And you were so good to him rescued him from the street!" Stelltfs Fortune. 89 "Something like it, madam. Saved him from prison, I may say. But I am afraid it was a foolish charity, for if I am not mistaken the fellow is bound for that goal sooner or later. He has a disposition toward violence, and only keeps his ferocity under by a strong effort, I feel assured." Mrs Newton quite shuddered. "What a dreadful ruffian ! I am so glad, Sir Richard, that you got rid of him." Sir Richard smiled again, and followed them, bare- headed, into the cold air, in which he insisted upon re- maining until the carriage had started. Then, when his guests' backs had fairly turned upon him, Sir Richard allowed his face to relax into something approaching an actual grin. "If it were not for the girl's beauty and her money one could not endure the thought of such a mother-in-law. Cunning as a crab and vain as a peacock. No matter, so that her cunning and her vanity serve my purpose !" All the way home Mrs. Newton was loud in Sir Rich- ard's praise. He was so courteous, so polished, so deli- cately kind, and, ah ! so wealthy. What a happy woman Sir Richard's wife would be! To all this Stella said nothing, but smiled wearily and sadly, and when they arrived home she retreated to her room, and was seen no more that day. CHAPTER XIII. THE MYSTERY OF LOVE. But taketh time and pains to learn. Love comes With neither. SHERIDAN KNOWLBS. The follow. Vig morning- Stella came down looking little the worse foi the headache which had been the alleged cause of her retirement of yesterday. Indeed, she looked as bright and fresh as the robins which came to peck up the crumbs which, according to her daily custom, she threw them from the window. "Mamma,' r she said, after the breakfast, which was usually rather a harassing meal, in consequence of Mrs. Newton fixing upon it as a good opportunity to grumble at the servants, or anything else that came uppermost. "Mamma, I shall go for a ride this morning " "Nonsense!" interrupted Mrs. Newton. "It is too cold; you will be frozen!" "Indeed I shall not," urged Stella, in that tone which her mother knew meant no surrender. "It will be the best exercise for this weather, and Bessie wants a gallop as badly as I do. Let me go, mamma?" "Well, if you've made up your mind to go, I think you might spare me the pain of asking my permission," said Mrs. Newton, ungraciously, and Stella ran up to don her habit. Bessie, the mare, had certainly been in the stable for some days, and was as certainly a little fresh, as Stella found when the powerful little animal bounded off the lawn like a kitten, nearly unseating her mistress. "We'll try the park, 'shall we, Bessie?" said Stella, caressing the animal's velvet-tipped ear with her thickly gloved hands. "We'll have a scamper under the trees, and a leap across the brook, shall we? Away with you, then !" And the spirited little animal, needing no further , galloped off in the best of spirits. 90 Stella's Fortune. 91 Then they came to the brook. Stella pulled up for a moment to decide which way to take, but Bessie saved her the trouble by striking off in the direction of the right, and Stella, laughing at the ani- mal's impatience, let her go. Presently they came near the outer fence of the Hut grounds, and as Miss Bessie had been in the habit of leap- ing it for some years past, she naturally imagined that cus- tom was to be maintained, and rising at the fence leaped over as cleverly as a bird, but alighted with something more than a bird's weight on something that cracked and smashed with a terrific noise. "Oh, dear !" exclaimed Stella, in alarm. "What have you done?" ''Broken my miniature greenhouse," said a cheerful and amused voice beside her, and Stella, looking around, saw the graceful form of Louis Felton standing beside the wreck of a fern case and looking up at her with a mischievous smile. "Good-morning," said Stella, blushing beautifully but looking fearfully embarrassed. "I am so sorry! It was all my horse's fault, though; indeed it was. She is used to clearing this piece of fencing and making a short cut, and she did it this morning as a matter of course. In- deed, I am sorry. What have I done?" And she looked down regretfully at the broken glass and shattered framework. "In the first place, committed violent trespass, done damage to an excellent fern case which has taken me four hours to furbish up, and lastly broken your bridle. See?" And he had his hand upon the broken leather and held it up. "Never was so much mischief done in so short a time,'* lamented Stella. "Pray, Mr. Felton, will you prosecute me? v "Most decidedly," he retorted, smiling, "and have yoa cast in heavy damages. But seriously, I am afraid for your own sake, Miss Newton, that you must dismount, and I am glad for mine that a snowstorm is approaching, which will give me an opportunity to display my hos- pitality and compel you to accept it" 92 Stella's Fortune. Stella looked up at the sky as he spoke, and flushed again. A snowstorm was evidently threatening. "Will there not be time for me to reach home?" she asked. "Yes, and get wet through into the bargain," he re- plied, readily. "Come, Miss Newton, necessity knows no laws." She dropped the bridle reluctantly, and taking his hand dismounted. Then he led the horse around the drive with Stella walking beside. "What an alteration you have made," she said, looking around. "And yet it looks quite as romantic as ever. This shrubbery is surely the prettiest in England." "Do you think so?" he said, with a gratified smile upon his face, which was handsome in its classical regularity and spirited in its expression of genius and culture. "Then I may hope you will approve of my reverence, which has not dared to destroy the antique air of the in- terior. Will you honor me by an inspection of my studio ?" And as he stood upon the first of the flight of broad stone steps he held out his hand. Stella hesitated. What would Mrs. Newton say? What Sir Richard? what all the proprieties put together? "My my horse," she said. "I cannot leave her." "No," he said. "I will have her taken care of and the bridle mended. Stephen! Stephen!'' he called. Stella started and turned around and saw the man Stephen Hargrave approach and take the horse, touching his hat to Stella as he did so with a keen, watchful expression on his set face. Stella waited until he had led the horse away, then she said: "Do you know that that man was a discharged servant of Sir Richard Wildfang, Mr. Felton ?" "Yes," he replied, with a quiet, musical laugh. "I know it ; if you remember, the poor fellow came to grief on Christmas night at this door." Stella's Fortune. Q3 "I do remember," said Stella, and then added, mentally : "I shall never forget that Christmas night." "Well, rough and surly as he is, I took a fancy to him then, and was quite sorry to hear that he was Sir Rich- ard's permanent servant. The other night he came here, and, vowing that he was starving, asked me to engage him. Of course, he told me that he had been discharged for no fault ; they never are ; and equally, of course, I did not engage him until I had written Sir Richard." Stella looked surprised. "You wrote to him? He said nothing of it, and we lunched with him yesterday." Louis Felton smiled significantly. "Sir Richard is a man of business and the world," he said, concisely. "But see, there is the first flake of my prophesied shower. Will you enter?" He held her hand to assist her up the steps, and, with the air of a Knight Templar, ushered her into the hall. "Well," she said, "please go on; I am curious to know how you came to engage him after all." "Sir Richard courteously and speedily replied to my note by sending per special messenger an answer to the effect that the man, Stephen Hargrave, had left his service for no particular fault; that he had been disobedient and was too unpolished for a gentleman's servant, so as I thought his roughness would not offend my unrefined ears and sensibilities, and, as I did not dread disobedience so much as Sir Richard evidently does, I engaged him." "And he has behaved " asked Stella. "Admirably," replied Louis Felton. "He is not a count in disguise, but he is civil and obeys like a Newfoundland dog. In fact, I congratulate myself upon having that rare acquisition, a good and faithful servant." "You don't think," hesitated Stella, "that he has a bad face?" "No," he replied. "I think he has seen some trou- ble or horror which he cannot rid himself of, and I think he fancies himself under some strain or mental slavery, to whom I know not. But let us leave Mr. 94 Stettes Fortune. Hargrave to time and circumstances. Will you not come to the fire? Fuel is not so scarce an article as it was on Christmas Day." "Thank you," said Stella, gazing around the little hall with unfeigned interest. "But may I look a lit- tle longer? This might be the hall of one of King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table. It is beautiful. Why, there is not a piece of oak furniture or armor in it younger than three hundred years." "No," said Louis Felton. "I do not suppose there is." Then he drew aside a curtain which had hidden a small oriel window, and Stella uttered an exclama- tion of admiration. "How beautiful! And did you restore that stained window with your own hands?" "Yes," he said, "and not so difficult an undertaking as it may seem. But will you walk into my studio?" he said, opening a door leading from the hall. Stella, as curious as Bluebeard's wife, entered a large, lofty room, which was hung with black velvet and faded tapestry and through which a stream of rose- colored light, pouring from a stained window, fell upon a multitude of marble figures and statuary which were arranged around the room. A block of marble stood in the corner, and hi the center of the room was a slab upon which a group of figures was dimly discernible. "How beautiful!" said Stella, under her breath. "And did you carve all these?" "All of them," he replied. "There are not many, and they are all very poor, or be assured they would not be here." "Why not?" she said. "Where would they be?" "Sold with the rest," he replied, laughing. "I must go around and look at them," said Stella. "What's that?" "Adriadne," he replied, and he went around with her, listening with delight he did not care to conceal to her softly expressed admiration and wonder. "And that you are doing now?" she said, looking toward the slab on the raised dais. Stella's Fortune. gg "Yes," he said. "But I am at a standstill for one figure. I want to perform an impossibility and cut a true portrait without a model." "Cannot you get one?" said Stella. "Not this one," he replied, looking down at her intetested face with a strange, wistful smile. "And is it impossible to convey a good portrait to marble without a model?" she asked. "Nearly. Not always though," he added, very quietly. "I accomplished it once." "You did?" she said. "Is the statue here?" and she looked around eagerly. "No," he said. "I'sold it. It was the best I had done." "What a pity to sell it!" she said. "Why did you do so?" "I sold it for two reasons. I wanted money, and I could not work while it was in the room. Have you never heard of the diamond cutters in Amsterdam, Miss Newton? Sometimes a man will get enamored of a stone if it be fine and pure, and the overseer has to take it from him and set him to work on smaller and less fascinating gems. It was so with me. While the statue remained in the shadow I could not tear myself from it, but, like Pygmalion, spent all my days in vain longing that the cold marble might become endued with life and return me love for love." His voice had grown dangerously soft and thrilling", and Stella, looking up at him, flushed beneath the wistful tenderness of his gaze. "To to whom did you sell it?" she asked. "To Lord Marmion," he answered. Stella started, turned pale, and bent her eyes to the ground. He saw her embarrassment. "You know him ?" he asked, with some surprise and a slightly heightened color. "Yes," she replied. "And you have seen my statue?" "Yes," she answered again, more faintly. "Then the secret is out," he said, with a hurried, 96 Stellcts Fortiwe. tremulous music in his voice. "Miss Newton Stella! can you forgive me ?" "I do not ask me, please!" she returned, growing crimson and pale by turns. "I I cannot say. I do not know. Let us talk of something else. May I look at that slab?" and with a nervous haste she turned her face from him and approached the dais. He followed her, his eyes fixed upon her face, his lips slightly apart, and his whole attitude expressive of devotion. Stella bent forward and looked at the unfinished marble. "You see what it is," he said, in a low voice. "It is a group a family group of happy girls and an old man. They are gathered around a Christmas fire listening to a Christmas story which is. being told by the best and most beautiful of them all. She is not cut out yet there on that plain spot she is to stand and when she is there, with her beautiful face and loving smile resting like sunlight upon the faces of the rest, the group will be finished." Stella turned her face to him for a moment, with a strong effort at calm indifference, but the effort broke down and her eyes sought the ground. "Do you know the originals of the group? Do you recognize them and the missing face and figure? How shall I insert that? Look in the mirror yonder and cease to wonder that I hesitate and feel my skill pow- erless and my chisel profane when it appoaches the portraiture of such beauty. Miss Newton, do not be angered nay, rather than anger you should feel pity for the unfortunate creature who loves and yet cannot allow himself to hope!" Stella turned toward him and opened her lips. She should have remained motionless, for her movement gave him courage. "Stella," he breathed, leaning over her and taking her hand, "would you tell me that I am wrong in withholding the last atom of perfection to the whole? Would you tell me that to your loveliness and purity you add a tender heart and a noble courage? Were you going to tell me that I, the poor sculptor, might hope? Oh! if you were, Stella's Fortune. 97 'i pray you to speak on that you may know the ineffable delight of making one heart in the world perfectly happy. Stella, you do not speak; you do not bid me be silent; you let me say I love you. Oh ! my darling, my goddess, crown me with joy, and tell me that I not only love but am loved.'* Stella stood near the raised dais, Louis Felton's knee dropped on it, and he drew the white, warm hand, which he still held, down to his lips. Stella tried to take it away, "Don't take it away from me, Stella," he pleaded. "Let it remain; let it, at least, whisper to me that you love me if your lips will not say so." Stella hesitated for a second, and let it remain. He sprang up and very audaciously caught her in his arms. "My own, my very, only beautifuJ one' MV statue has turned to life and love !" Stella's eyes filled with tears. "Stop," she said, dropping her head on to his breast and looking up at him with tearful but wondrously loving eyes. "I am not your own, for they will not let me be! Do you know the story I was telling on Christmas night that blessed Christmas night when I first saw you?" "No," he murmured, "you saw me before then, and 1 you." "Do you know," she went on, "I was telling them of the princess who was not allowed to wed where she loved, and I thought will you think me rude, unwomanly and forward ? that, perchance, I might be that princess, and that you don't stop me, I must say it that you would have to leave me forever." "Never," he vowed, drawing her to him, "Come what will, I will never leave you unless you with your ov/n lips should bid me. Then " "Then well?" she murmured. "Then I should break all my foolish statues and go anywhere out of your reach to hide the heart that would be as shattered as my poor marbles !" "You will never leave me until I send you away?" "Never," be said. gB Stella's Fortune. "Then you will stay with me forever," murmured Stetta, with a delicious blush, "for I shall never say the wosd that would part us." "Never come what will, we will never part, darling." At that moment a shadow fell across the room and a voice, Stephen Hargrave's, said, roughly: *The bridle's mended, and the storm's over." Stella clung for a moment, with a slight shudder to her lover, then with a beautiful blush glided away with him. Together, all in a trance that delicious trance which falls to a man's lot once in his lifetime they traversed the antique hall, and still in tranceland he held her stirrup and guided the little foot which she confided to his hand, All in a trance still she heard him murmur: "Remember! Never. This is our secret!" And she by a motion of the lips signified that their lave should for the present be a secret one. (CHAPTER XIV. AN OFFER OF A HEART. I learnt dissembling at an early age. And woman's looks were all my page. Bessie sped fast after her rest, and Stella was soon at home again. Any woman well versed in love tokens would have been able to read the girl's secret in her happy eyes and blushing face, but Mrs. Newton, so wrapped up in her own plots and schemes, merely thought the blush a vulgar flush produced by unladylike exercise, and said so. Luncheon over, Stella was about to run away to her room for, a little delicious reflection and meditation- she was dying to be alone to think and realize ; but her mother requested her to remain and help her wind some silk, and Stella, without a murmur, took up her position in the orthodox fashion and endured what was to her an hour of mental- torture. When the silk was wound in a huge ball she arose and was about to make her escape, when a gentleman rode up the drive, and Mrs. Newton, in a tone of exul- tation, exclaimed: "My dear, here is Sir Richard." "I will go and dress," said Stella. "No," said Mrs. Newton, in an absolute tone of com- mand. "The idea of running away the moment Sir Richard arrives ; stay here." Stella went back to her chair with a dim foreboding of coming evil, and the next minute the footman an- nounced Sir Richard Wildfang. He entered, smilingly, calm, and self-possessed as usual, and Stella, as she shook hands, noticed that he was better dressed than ever. His collar fitted around his rather short neck with Stella? s Fortune. scrupulous exactness, his cravat was tied to the quar- ter of an inch, and his gloves fitted like a second skin. All this was noticed, and she fancied that she noticed also a look, and a half glance only, of comprehension pass between her mother and him. Sir Richard inquired after their health with the greatest earnestness, and soon, after a few remarks on the weather, drew aside with Mrs. Newton, with whom he seemed to have some business conversation. Stella heard something about trust money and in- vestments, and fancied that she heard her own name mentioned, but she was indifferent, and so soon lost in thought that when Sir Richard came up to where she had seated herself she started. When she looked around she saw that her mother had left the room. Sir Richard stood over her, very much as an eagle or a hawk might poise at some distance over the bird he had doomed to be his prey, and regarded her in silence for a few minutes, then he said in his most measured and evenly polished voice so different to that loved voice which was still ringing in her ears and echoing in her heart: "Miss Newton, I have ridden over this afternoon on a most important matter so important to me that I can liken it only to a matter of life and death." Stella turned pale, and looked up at him with eyes that wore almost a look of terror. "So important that I hesitate even now, on the brink of disclosing it to you. Miss Newton Stella, if you will allow me to call you by that endeared name I love you! Do not start, I beseech you! Pardon me, I have declared the state of my heart and feelings too abruptly. When a man so inured to the ways of the world, so apt in the ways of men 'loses his heart so com- pletely as I have done to you he feels that he cannot de- pend upon his old caution and self-possession. His pas- sion, like a torrent, washes them away, and he is left to float upon its bosom like the veriest boy who has deserved life by proving himself able to love ! My dear Miss New- ton Stella, as I implore you to allow me to call you my love is of that character; it carries all self before it. I Stellcts Fortune. IOI t offer you my whole heart, for I have never loved an- other" He stopped abruptly and started. At that moment a voice in the hall had called on some one by the name of Lucy! "I I I pardon me, but did I hear any one calling?'* "No; not for me," said Stella, too petrified, too astounded, too horrified even to take advantage of the ex- cuse which he had unwittingly given her to beat a retreat. "I I thought I heard some one call a woman's name?" "Yes," said Stella, "some one called Lucy, one of the servants." "Oh," said Sir Richard, "I feared we were going to be interrupted. Miss Newton, to resume, I offer you my love, whole and complete, I lay myself and all I possess at your feet. The world, as you may be aware, calls me a rich man ; I may not be without influence ; I may be able to place the woman who becomes my wife in a position good enough to fill half the fashionable world with envy. Miss Newton, all this I offer you ;will you say yes? You will not refuse me?" Stella arose and turned her white, cold face toward him. "Yes, Sir Richard I I must refuse." "Refuse !" he echoed, staring at her with the shadow of a frown on his brow. "Surely you have not con- sidered " "I have considered everything," said Stella, faintly. "But but if you do not love me you may do so." "I never can love you, Sir Richard," she said distinctly. Sir Richard's shadow of a frown deepened and became a frown indeed. But only for a moment, the next it cleared from his face and the eyelids drooped with a splendid assumption of sorrow. "Miss Newton, you would strike a deathblow to my heart if I did not even yet allow myself to hope. I can hope to prove to you by constant and untiring devotion how deeply I love you, and to win your love in return if I am assured that your affections are not placed else- where !" He raised his small dark eyes and fixed them with a KJS Stella's Fortune. covert scrutiny on her face while he waited for her answer. "That," said Stella, with a touch of her old pride, "is a question you have no right to ask, and one that I shall re- fuse to answer." Sir Richard sighed. **Ah," he said, "your coldness cuts me to the heart. I have no right to ask, and I will not. One thing only may I dare to do, and that is to warn. Mv love for you com- pels me to fulfill that duty. Miss Newton, beware!" "Of what, Sir Richard!" asked Stella, eying him proudly. "Of deceit. Beware that you are not already deceived, and that the fruits shall be seen hereafter. He whom you love I mention not his name may prove himself false not only to you but to honor "Stop, Sir Richard !" said Stella her face set and pas- sionate, her eyes all ablaze, her whole lithe, graceful body strained to its full height. "Spare your malice; such warnings are by me unheeded. If he whom I have chosen be he whosoever he may should prove false to honor I say not to me, but to honor I will " Sir Richard broke in before she could continue: "Will thank me for what I have said and give me hope !" "Yes," said Stella, with a scornful smile, "I dare risk even so much, Sir Richard, on the faith I hold in the hoaor of the individual you so malign." Then, as he bowed down before her with a silent gesture of humble devotion, she swept from the room. Reach a woman's heart and she is a lamb, touch her pride and she is a lioness. CHAPTER XV. THE DWARF'S BURDEN. He who loves not children Is possessed of half a heart, And that not over soft. Children are the flowers of humanity. A lover of the ordinary type would have owned him- self vanished and accepted the defeat which Miss New- ton's refusal signified, but Sir Richard Wildfang was the opposite to a lover of the ordinary type, and mounted his horse with the calmest of calm hearts and rode away with the most assured and contented smile. Quite placid and unmoved was his face, but within his heart there was a secret spring of malice and hatred which only his marvelous power of repression kept from bubbling over. At one time he had fallen almost in love with the proud, beautiful girl almost only, for such men as Sir Richard are incapable of feeling true love in all its ful- ness and significance ; he had admired her beauty, her grace, her fresh, unsullied nature, and he had congrat- ulated himself mentally upon acquiring something more than the money, a sort of makeweight also, when he should make Stella Newton Lady Wildfang. But now the girl's scorn, her plainly expressed contempt for him, her display of her knowledge of his real char- acter, maddened and galled him. The feeling which Sir Richard had dignified by the name of love was turned to unadulterated hate, and as he rode along he thought within his calculating brain: "Wait till you are my wife, my proud, insolent lady, and I will teach you that it is unwise to show contempt to one who is able to resent and punish it." With the same smile he rode the next morning through the park. Suddenly, however, his keem eyes 108 IO4 Stella's fortune. discerned a slight, graceful figure which was ascending the hill and which revealed itself as Mr. Felton's. Coming up with a lithe, easy spring, his hands thrust into the pockets of his pea-jacket, he looked up, with a smile, frank, genial and friendly, and nodded. Sir Richard raised his hat and smiled also, with a very fair imitation of the other's frankness. "Good-morning," he said. "Seasonable weather." "Very," said Mr. Felton, stopping and eying the horse with artistic criticism ; "your horse seems to en- joy it." Sir Richard smiled. "Yes ; he has the best of it to-day. Are you bound for a long walk?" "I am going to London," replied Louis, frankly. "Ah," said Sir Richard, "your lawsuit consumes a great deal of your time and attention, I dare say." Louis Felton looked up at him with a smile of sur- prise. "You know of it?" he said. "Who does not?" replied Sir Richard. "It is a great case and if you win you will be a rich man, Mr. Felton." "And if I lose," said the other, good-humoredly. "I shall scarcely be poorer than I am." "You will still be master of Heavithorne," said Sir Richard with a courteous bow. "A grand position," laughed Louis Felton. *'I shall be myself, which is of more consequence." "Exactly," said Sir Richard, with charming readiness. "By the way, how does my old servant suit you ?" "Very well," replied the other. "He is a good servant, I think, though rough, as you warned me he would be." "Yes," said Sir Richard. "An honest fellow, no doubt, but a perfect bear." "Perfect bears are not always unbearable," remarked Louis, with a laugh. And Sir Richard, laughing also, in the very pleasantest manner, exchanged audieus and rode off. "Going to London," he muttered. "Poor idiot! He looks as happy as a child, and, like a child, thinks that all the world lies before him. My unsophisticated friend, there is a mine beneath your feet, and I hold the match Stella's Fortune. 105 which, applied to the train, shall be the means of blowing your airy expectations to the high heavens!" With a malignant smile he touched the horse with his spurs and galloped on. At the bottom of the hill another figure attracted his attention. It was that of Stephen Hargrave, plodding along with bent head and sullen gait. Sir Richard pulled his horse up into a walk, and when he had got up beside the man, said, in a low, clear voice, and looking straight ahead of him : "Don't turn, but listen. I have just parted from him. He is going up to London, and will be out of the way. Come up to the Box tonight, and I will let you in by the side entrance. You understand?" "Ay," said the man, gruffly, and Sir Richard trotted on again. Louis Felton walked quickly along in the opposite di- rection. His smile was no hollow one ; all the world seemed light and happy to him. Life as it appeared to him this morn- ing was a delicious poem. The air seemed full of love, the birds warbled it in the leafless trees, the sun poured it out upon the crisp land- scape, and the skies proclaimed it in cerulean tints and clear, fleecy clouds. As he walked along he went over the scene of yester- day, went over the delicious, half-whispered words and sweet looks, and glowed with hope and ecstasy. Never did a journey seem so short, so enjoyable. Even London, itself, once so unpoetic and repulsive to the artistic sense, was transformed into something different and better. Every one he met wore a pleasanter aspect; familiar faces seemed to have grown younger and handsomer. He was in love, hopefully in love, and he saw every- thing through the rose-colored spectacles which the sly Cupid had slipped over his eyes. As Sir Richard had intimated, law business had taken him to town, and there were lawyers to see and legal form and data to be gone into. lo6 Stella's Fortune. To his artistic nature the whole business was weari- some and distasteful in the extreme, and when the inter- views were over he ran from the lawyer's chambers with a sigh of relief, and felt inclined to throw up his hat for very joy. Little matter how his lawsuit went, whether he were to be rich or poor! Stella, his beautiful darling-, was his, and he felt able to take the world by siege and conquer all its difficulties. "Now, how soon can I get back?" he thought. "I must get back! Every minute seems an age while I am away from the neighborhood of my darling." He found that he could not return till late at night, so, with the same glamour upon him, he buttoned his coat around him and set off for a ramble whithersoever his feet and mood might take him. No matter whither ! He could think of his love in the park or in the city in West-End square or East-End alley. Wandering thus, he reached St. Giles', his happy face smiling upon the children as they ran across his path, and his hands often dragged from his pocket to put them with a kindly laugh out of his way. Like all true-hearted men, the sculptor was fond of children, and the children knew it. Not one of the little ones but smiled up at him, and many crowed or obstinately refused to move as his hands touched them. St. Giles' is full of children, and they, necessarily, kept him there. At last, as he was thinking that he might as well ob- tain something more substantial by way of refreshment than his love's dream, and was about to turn out into one of the larger thoroughfares, he was attracted by a strange sight. A little, misshapen old man, with a battered hat and a long coat, made for a figure thrice the wearer's size, came hobbling 1 around the corner, with something bulky but- toned up in his breast. The figure with the old hat, and the long 1 arm that swung by the man's side, was so noticeable that the artist Stella's Fortune. was attracted by it in a remarkable degree, and even stopped short in his easy walk to observe it. The old man, having his head bent, apparently in the act of talking to the something he carried in his coat, did not observe the halt, and ran up against the younger man as the latter made an ineffective movement to get out of his way. The collision was so violent and so unexpected that the dwarf staggered, his battered hat fell off his head, and the something nearly tumbled out of his coat. However, by a sudden alarmed clutch with his long arm, he prevented that mishap, and stood glaring up at Louis Felton with an angry countenance, as gnarled and lined as an old wood carving. "I am so sorry," said the young man, stooping and picking up his hat. "It was very clumsy and awkward of me." The dwarf uttered something, and snatched the hat oat of the young man's hand. As he did so he revealed the something to be a beauti- ful little boy, whose curly head peeked out from beneath the thick fold of the old coat like a gem from an old jewel case. "What a beautiful child !" exclaimed Louis, his artistic eye attracted and chained. "Oh, I hope I have not hurt him !" "No, no," said the old man impatiently. "Just put my hat on, will yer? We ain't neither of us hurt, though we might 'a' been. We ain't used to human lampposts stuck in the middle of the pavement. When you goes to strike a attitude again, young man, just do so on the curb or in the middle of the road. Hosses ain't got no children to be banged about." Louis put the hat on as gently as he could too gently, indeed, for the old man gave it a ram with angry empha- sis and was about to pass on, but the child, who had been gazing up at him with a pair of exquisite blue eyes, chuckled and insisted upon stopping to get a better view. "Old Father Sam, me want to see." The old man, who was just trotting on, pulled up and jealously pulled the coat a little farther open. io8 Stella's Fortune. "There," he said, in a very much softer voice, "there. Take a good look at him, and let's run on, my angel. He's an orkard, clumsy chap, ain't he?" "No, he isn't," said the child, thrusting out his tiny hand toward Louis and smiling up at him. Louis stopped and touched the little hand with tender sympathy. "Come," he said, "he's forgiven me, you see. What a beautiful child ! He's a model !" The dwarf covered up the little arm jealously, and, with a gruff "good day," trotted off. Louis Felton looked after them with curious interest. "A grandfather and grandson," he murmured. "How he treasures the little fellow ! Who says there is no love among the poor?" He turned to walk on, and saw a little crimson shoe lying upon the pavement. He picked it up and smiled. "We are bound to make acquaintance," he said to him- self. "Now, I hope the old fellow isn't out of sight, for one lost shoe is as good as a pair, and perhaps he can't well afford to get another. So here goes," and, with the shoe in his hand, he walked quickly in the direction which the dwarf and child had taken. But the short legs of the old man were nimble, though they were crooked, and, after going the length of the street without seeing the old man, Louis stopped per- plexed, and at last asked a policeman if he had seen them. "Dwarf carryin' a bundle ? Lost anything, sir ?" "No," laughed the sculptor. "Found instead. Which way did they go?" "Up Paradise Alley, sir. It's old Growls and his boy." "A well-known character?" said the sculptor, inter- ruptingly. "I should think so," smiled the policeman. "Old Sam and his boy are known all through St. Giles*. A reg'lar rum old chap, rough as a nutmeg grater, but as fond o* the child as a hen is of her chickens. He's afraid to let the air blow upon it, and as to anybody touchin' it, why, it's more than their life's worth. No. 2 Paradise Alley ; first turning on your left" Stella's Fortune. 109 Thanking the communicative constable, Louis retraced his steps once more, and entered Paradise Alley, sought out No. 2, and knocked at the door. It was opened almost instantly, and the dwarf ap- peared. "What d'ye mean a'knockin' like a postman and awak- ing children as if you was paid by the guvment a' pur- pose? What is it?" "I am very sorry. I did not mean to knock loudly," said Louis, good-humoredly. "I found this little shoe on the pavement near the spot where you were standing, and I brought it to you. It would have been a pity for the little fellow to lose such a pretty little boot." "Oh," said the old man, with a mollified air. "I'm much obliged we're much obliged, I should say, seein' as the shoes is his ; and I'll say as we should a' been sorry to lose it, seein' as how I made it o' purpose for him, and them's his favorites." "You are quite welcome," said Louis, "and I hope I have not disturbed him." "No, not as I knows on I don't hear him," said the old man, putting his head on one side like a jackdaw. "He's a beautiful boy, ain't he?" "The finest I ever saw," said Louis, honestly. "I should beg another look at him if I dared." The old man hesitated, and eyed him keenly. "Well, you've been kind," he said, reluctantly. "You can come in and look at him if you like." Louis waited for no warmer invitation, but, following his host's example, trod on tiptoe and entered the little parlor with the red curtains and the smoke-dried canary. The dwarf noiselessly trotted around the room, and cautiously lifted the counterpane from a little cot, neatly constructed from an egg box, and, with a loving smile of admiration, pointed at its occupant. Nestling in its little bed the child formed a picture sufficiently beautiful to delight an artist's eyes. The sculptor was simply enthralled. "Exquisite !" he exclaimed. "What a head ! Leonardo de Vinci alone could do it justice!" "I don't know who Lean Lardy Deaf Incey is," said no Stella's Fortune. the old man, in a gruff whisper, "but whoever says there's a more beautiful child than my boy departs from the truth." "He is your boy?" said Louis. "Mine?" said old Growls, sharply, and with a sus- picious glance at the young man's face, still bent toward the child. "Of course he is ; whose else should he be ?" "I heard him call you father," mused Louis. "Old Father Sam," corrected the old man. "You see what name he was to call me did perplex me considerable. I've knowed boys as was afeerd of their fathers, and I didn't want this 'ere precious to be that o' me. so I thought Father Sam 'ud sound more pleasant an' familiar like, more as we was the best o' friends, allus. Then, when I see my grizzled old mug in that glass, I says, 'Go along with you, you impedent old vagabon', you're too old by a hundred years to be his father !' And yet I didn't like to drop it, neither, cos you see it sounded so pretty, comin* from his cherry lips, so I taught him to call me Old Father Sam, which, though it do sound like a comic song, is a pleasant, friendly sort o' name." "And what is his name?" asked Louis. "Snowdrop Christmas," said the old man. Louis expressed his surprise. "A pretty name, but a strange one. Was he chris- tened so?" "No, he warn't," said the man, sharply. "But that ain't neither here nor there. He's my boy, ain't he, and I've got the risrht to call him what I like, so as he don't object, ain't I?" "Certainly, certainly," agreed Louis, promptly. "And I hope he will grow up to be as great a joy and happiness to you as the day itself is to the whole world." "Amen," said the old man. "There ain't no fear o' that. Angels don't grow up nothink else. He's a angel, ain't he?" "He is," said Louis. "I am almost inclined, made bold by your kindness, to prefer a request. I am a sculptor ; will you let me take him " "None o' that !" exclaimed the old man, edging m be- Stella's Fortune. in tween the cot and Louis, and pushing him back with an air of mingled anger and alarm. "What right have you to take him ? Who are you ? He's mine I I'm his his father!" "Oh, you mistake me," said Louis, eagerly. "I did not mean to deprive you of him, dear little fellow! I only want to take a sketch of him to reproduce it in marble." "Oh," said the old man. "What 1 draw his picter for a tombstone? Not if I knows it!" Louis repressed a smile. "Not for a tombstone, but for a grand house; for a beautiful garden, perhaps, in the country. You would not mind seeing a portrait of him standing amid beautiful flowers, and within sound of a tinkling fountain?" "No," said the old man, his eyes glistening. "That's where it ought to be. If that's all, you can take a sketch of him and carve him out. I thought as you meant to make one of them cherubs of him as you see poking out o' tombstones, with nothing to set on, and blowin' penny trumpets. I shouldn't a liked that." Louis laughed, and took out his sketchbook. "No, I give you a guarantee that he shall not figure on a tombstone. What a head it is ! If marble were gold it could not represent that delicate tint in his hair. A dear little fellow!" So saying, he rapidly drew a sketch, sufficiently graph- ic to enable him to cut it in marble, and held it out for the old man's inspection. Old Father Sam was in ecstasies. "Why, it's his very blessed self!" he exclaimed. "And this 'ere's going to be done in marble!" he added, wist- fully. "Where is it going to be stowed? I'd I'd like to see it!" "So you shall," said Louis, and, tearing a leaf from his sketchbook, he wrote his name and the address of the Hut, in Heavithorne. "There," he said, "come down in a week, and you shall see him. You know where it is- it is not far, and bring the little fellow with you. You won't forget?" "No," said the old man, "if so be Christmas don't ob- 113 Stelltfs Fortune. ject and, mind you, he has his likes and dislikes like a hemperor why, hell come." Louis shook hands, and after another glance at the child, left the room, placing on the table as he passed around it on tiptoe, a five-pound note. CHAPTER XVI, Oly * pictnre! only a touch! Of dead fingers on live heart ehordsl Only a remembrance of the past wbieh l"he present unendurable. Sir Richard was not an idle man, even in his holiday moments. He had set apart a room in the Box for his study, library, counting-house, or whatever he liked to call it, and was at work there, writing and calculating with his usual smooth placidity, when Stephen Har- grave's signal gave him notice of the man's proximity. Sir Richard pushed his writing on one side, and softly opened a small door, which served as a means of com- munication with the small garden at the back. "Are you there?" he asked. "Yes," said a man's voice. And the next moment Stephen Hargrave entered. Sir Richard quietly closed the door, and, pointing to a chair near the fire, resumed his own seat and his work as if such a being as Stephen Hargrave never existed. The man sat in grim silence, staring at the fire for a time with a gloomy, absorbed air. At last he raised his head, and eyed the calm face of his master The glance was a curious one ; its elements were made up of a rough sort of gratitude, a grim, ignorant kind of fear, and a slight suspicion of dislike. Sir Richard, raising his own eyes, met the glance, and, seemingly recalled to a sense of the man's presence, said : "Well, he has not returned ?" "No," replied Stephen Hargrave, "not vet He comes by the last train." Sir Richard consulted his watch. Ufl 114 Stellaf* Fortune. "Then there is no great time to waste. You arc sare he has no suspicion?" "I'm as sure as a man can be, master," was the grun reply. "None saw you enter the garden?" Stephen Hargrave shook his head. "No one." "That's well," said Sir Richard, with quiet approval "You cannot be too cautious; remember. Should we rouse his suspicions, we fail in the object I have in view. Remember that, and when I send for you, take all precau- tions to reach me unobserved." The man nodded. "Has has Miss Newton spoken with him since the time you told me of?" "No," said his spy. "He went off by the train this morning 1 , as you know. They have not met since yester- day, when " "Yes, yes ; I know, you told me," interrupted Sir Rich- ard, with a frown. "Mind they do not meet without your knowing- it ; you must watch them as keenly as a weasel does a pair of rabbits. When or where they meet yon must be near enough to hear what they say. I must- understand me I must know all their plans." The man nodded. "Have you brought the paper?" asked Sir Richard, al- ter a pause, during- which Stephen Hargrave stared at the fire with the same settled look of stolid gloom. Sir Richard had to repeat the question again before h awakened any response, and then it was with a certain dreamy absence of mind that the spy unbuttoned his coat, took a sheet of paper from his pocket, and handed it to his principal. Sir Richard took it, and spreading it out upon the table before him, examined it with leisurely scrutiny. "Are you certain this is his handwriting?" he asked. "I saw him write it ; I cut it out of the book with my own hands. It is his writing, master." "Good," said Sir Richard. "Now you had better go. Remember, you cannot be too cautious. If you pass me in the road, do not touch your hat, as yon did a few dav Stella's Fortune. 115 ; it may arouse suspicion. Better, if you can cto ^ fiaturally, say a few ill-natured things about me in tfi* village. You can say what you like, so that you do not unwittingly tell the truth you understand ?" "I'll say you are a hard master," said the man, raising his dark, morose eyes to his master's face. Sir Richard smiled. "Certainly ; anything of that sort to throw dust in their eyes." The man rose. "Stay," said Sir Richard. "You will find a decanter of spirits and a glass on that bureau. Help yourself." But the man shook his head, and put the offer aside, as it were, with a jerk of his rough hand. "Good night, master," he said. "Good night, my good Stephen," said Sir Richard. And the man went silently into the night again. Sir Richard returned to his desk and took up the sheet of paper. "A strange fellow," he muttered. "But I can rely upon him. I know that expression so well ; it was fear. When a man serves me from gratitude, I am not sure of him- gratitude is so unnatural ; but when he fears, then I feel safe. Now let me see. A good hand, and easy to imitate notes on art. Bah ! He will have something else to think of before I am done with him ! Yes, the writing is easy to forge, and the name let me try." So saying he pulled a sheet of paper from his stand, and carefully imitated the signature, "Louis Felton," which was carelessly scrawled at the bottom of the sheet before him. "Easy enough after a little practice," he muttered, ex- amining his handiwork critically. "I wonder there are not more forgeries, even than there are ; it is so easy so easy!" A bright fire was burning in the old dining-room of the Hut. A small and particularly plain supper was set out upon the table, and Stephen Hargrave stood look- ing down into the flames, waiting for his master. Ii6 Stella's Fortune. That he bore his master no hate might have been de- duced by the care with which he had made ready for his appearance. The fire was a welcome ; the chair drawn close up to it was a welcome, and Stephen Hargrave's attitude, as he stood listening, was a welcome in its gloomy, abstracted way. Presently there was a ring at the bell., the door was opened by the lad who served as Stephen Hargrave's as- sistant, and Louis entered. Snow was on his coat, and his face was flushed with the exercise and the night cold. "Well, Stephen, my man!" he exclaimed, cheerily, shading his eyes from the light of the lamp and fire. "Here I am back at last ! What a cheerful room ! Why, man, you have all the neatness of a woman. What a glorious fire ! Ah, put the coat to dry somewhere, it's sat- urated with snow. A wild night, but a grand one." And he sank into the comfortable chair and rubbed his hands over the fire. Stephen left the room silently, and as speechlessly re- entered, with a dish of steaming mutton chops. "Splendid!" exclaimed the hungry Louis, as he drew his chair up to the table. "Cooked to perfection, too; Stephen, you are an artist!" Then, with all a hungry man's zest, he finished the chops, drank two cups of coffee, and subsided into the easy-chair again, with a contented, happy look on his face which seemed to set the fire laughing with sympathy. "Well, and how have things gone? Anything hap- pened?" "No; what should?" replied Stephen Hargrave, roughly. "Nothing, while you were here to keep charge, my faithful bear," replied Louis laughing good-naturedly, "I can't think why your late master parted with you, Stephen. He must have cared more for veneer than good, stout oak. But," he added, more gently, and with a kindly anxiety in his frank, open eyes, "you look more glum than usual tonight, Stephen; what is the matter? My good fellow, would that I could persuade yen mat Stella's Fortune. 117 sorrow shared is decreased one-half. Tell me what lies on your mind, Stephen ; I'll help you to be rid of it if I can." He even in his kind-hearted sympathy, laid his hand upon the man's sleeve as he bent to arrange the fire. Stephen Hargrave shrank from, his touch and averted his face. "Nothing ails me," he said, in his usual sullen way, "What should? Can't a man keep a silent tongue if he likes? You didn't engage me to chatter like a parrot, master." "No, nor to play perpetual mute, Stephen," replied Louis, gently. "But there, I'll say no more if my ques- tions pain you. I meant them kindly, my man, believe that ; and tonight I feel so happy that a sad" face jars upon me. Ah, Stephen, lad, if you'd seen what I have seen to- day you'd lose something of your misanthropy! an old man and a child ! That is all, and yet what a love ! Angels might sing its praises and be guilty of no profanity. I saw them, Stephen, in a gloomy, miserable little room in a dirty, miserable alley, but the room was a heaven to the old man while his boy his golden-haired darling was within it. A deep, tender, true love, and yet some- what strange. That reminds me ; Stephen, fetch my coat, will you?" Stephen Hargrave finished his work at the fireplace, then, without a word, left the room and brought the coat on his arm ; in his hand he carried a tray with some whis- key and hot water. "Now, now !" said Louis, as he saw the nature of his burden. "What did I tell you? I am not an old man, and don't require cosseting, and, as for spirits, I've enough of my own. There, don't look so glum, man. I'll drink a glass of it to drive the gloom from your honest face. Mix me a glass weak, mind." Stephen, with slow movements, poured out the spirit and added the water. While he did so, Louis rose with the coat, took the sketch from his pocket, and, carrying it to an easel, took up some crayons and colored it with a quick, practiced hand, the hair, the eyes, and the cheek. Ii8 Stella's Fortune. The color gave expression and character to the face, and the young man, with a laugh of admiration, carried k to the table. "There, Stephen, is not that a fine boy?" he said, hold- ing it up for him to see. Stephen Hargrave was on his way to the fire with the small kettle in his hand. Before he set it on the hob he turned his head in obe- dience to his master's "There !" and looked at the picture. Suddenly the kettle fell with a dull crash to the ground, an exclamation of anguish and astonishment rang through the room, and Louis, turning his head, saw has man, Stephen Hargrave, standing, with outstretched hands and a pale face, staring at the picture as if it were a ghost or the face of one long since dead. "Stephen!" he exclaimed, dropping the sketch. "What ails you, man? Are you ill? are you " "I've dropped the kettle and scalded myself,'* said Ste- phen Hargrave, hoarsely. "Couldn't ye wait with your pictures and rubbish till I'd done?" "I'm very sorry," said Louis, disregarding the imperti- nence of the speech. "My good man, you seem fated to ill fortune. Here, let me ring for David ; he shall go for the doctor. Where did the water fall ?" "Nowhere," was the sullen reply; "nowhere to hurt. I don't want no doctor. I know what to do. Good- night!" "Stop!" said Louis. "You must " But Stephen Hargrave had taken up the kettle and left the room, his face turned from his young master and the picture lying face upwards on the table. CHAPTER XVII. "MINE IN SPITE OF ALL." Lore is enough; though the world be a-waning, And the woods have no voice but the voice of complaining, Though the sky be too dark for dim eyes to discover, Tie gold cups and daisies fair blooming thereunder, Though the hills be held shadows, and the sea a dark wondef, MOBBIS. The next morning Louis rose early, and with laudable industry prepared his block of marble for the statue f the child. During- breakfast, however, an idea struck him which rendered his hour's toil useless. The child would be beautiful in itself, but he thought he could give it an extra interest, and add a little dra- matic effect. He would carve the child lying in a cradle. He drew a sketch and threw it aside. He tried several others, and grew dissatisfied with them all in turn. At last a happy idea struck him. He would cut out two figures the child and the mother! He drew the paper toward him and sketched out the figure of a woman holding up the child at arm's length. "Capital !" he exclaimed. "Now let me put a look of supplication and tenderness in the woman's face and an expression of pitiful innocence in the child's, and I shall be able to make an effective group." So pleased was he with his idea that he left his break- fast half finished and hastened, sketch in hand, ft> his studio. On his way he passed his grim servant, Stephen Har- grave. "Well, Stephen," he said, "how is the scaldr "All right, thank ye/' said Stephen. M 120 Stelltfs Fortune. "That's all right," said Louis, "and I'm glad of it. You must be more careful. I can't spare my cook, valet and stud-groom all at the same time." And with a kindly word he hurried on. With a warm enthusiasm he wheeled a block of marble on to the dais and there and then set to work. He was full of his idea, and hotly eager to see it em- bodied. The minutes, the hours flew by, and in all prob- ability he would have worked on until too tired to hold the chisel had not an interruption presented itself in a most delightful form. Stephen Hargrave, with a knock which was half a push, opened the door. "There's Miss Newton riding across the park," he said, roughly. Louis dropped his chisel as if it had suddenly grown red-hot and sprang into the hall. He caught up his cap, and hurried down the steps in time to see Stella pull up at the little wicket. Bareheaded, and with the light o/'love flashing in his eyes, he stood beside her. her hand lightly clasped in his, his face upturned to hers with a passionate welcome writ- ten in it. "Do you wish to kill me with sudden joy?" he mur- mured. "My darling, my thoughts have been with you all the morning, but they did not dare to picture you near me." Stella, whose face had flushed with a delicious blush, smiled down upon him with a sadness which he was quick to note. "Ah ! r> he said, "something has happened ! I can read your face already, more easily than I can read a book. You will dismount! Nay, you must!" "No, no," said Stella, but with an audacity which he himself wondered at afterward, he stretched out his long, strong arms and fairly lifted her from the saddle. Stella flushed hotly. "Forgive me !" he said. "I couldn't help it. The fear that you would ride away again was unendurable, so I hastened to extinguish it. You cannot go now." He bent over her as he spoke, his voice dropped to a Stella's Fortune. 12 1 low, musical, caressing whisper, his hand seemed to speak love as it held hers. Stella sighed with mingled happiness and anxiety. "I can forgive you," she said, "but I shall never for- give myself. Yet I felt impelled to come. I I have something to tell you." He inclined his head and led her to the steps. "No," she murmured, hastily. "I will not go in. Let us walk here." She turned away as she spoke, and, obedient to her slightest wish, he turned with her. "Something has happened," he said. "But do not let it make you unhappy darling! See I ask you not to be unhappy, even before you tell what has occurred. Your love has made me feel valiant. I am strong enough to protect you from all the cruelty and tyranny of the world, with your love to nerve me." Stella looked at his handsome face, with its slight flush of quiet enthusiasm, and burst into tears quiet, silent ones, which are worse, ten thousand times, than the hysterical. "My darling, my darling!" he pleaded, drawing her to him and kissing her. "It unmans me to see you weep! You who should be all smiles and joy if there is mirth for angels. Tell me tell me, Stella, my Stella, what has happened!" Stella dried her eyes and smiled. "Am I not a weak, foolish girl ?" she murmured, gently trying to disengage herself from his clasp. "But but I am so alone no, I don't mean that!" she added, hur- riedly, as he looked at her reproachfully. "I mean so helpless against them all. Mr. Felton " Louis stopped her with a look of unutterable pain. "Louis!" she said, with a blush and an humble pres- sure of his hand. "Louis! it seems strange to call you so and yet " She paused. "Go on, darling," he said. "I always think and and dream of you as Louis." He thanked her for that confession with a most elo- quent look, and pressed his lips to her hand. 122 Stella's Fortune. "I ought not to have come to you," she continued. "But I feel that you ought to know, that it would be un- just to conceal it from you that that oh, why should I try to deceive you? Louis, I could not stop away, knowing all I knew, and if you had not been in London yesterday I should have come yesterday bold, forward girl that I am." "And how did you know it?" he asked. "I I saw you go," faltered Stella. "I watched you Don't don't please," for he had kissed the tiny warm hand again that nestled in his like a happy bird. "I saw you go, and I determined to come today. So I am here, at all risks ! And they are not to be despised, for if they knew it they would kill me, perhaps. Lock me up safe and sound for certain." "Then I should have to turn burglar," he said. "I could make my way through the Bastille if you were in- side, my darling. But now that your dear face has cleared, tell me what has troubled you." Stella sighed. "You remember Sir Richard Wildfang?" "I do," said Louis, significantly. "He he," said Stella, looking away, "has asked me to marry him." Louis' grasp upon her hand tightened so suddenly that ft gave her pain. But she did not wince, and in her heart of hearts felt a strange, mysterious delight in it. Pain from him was better than pleasure from another. "So!" he said, "he has shown his hand so soon. My (darling, I expected this, but not so soon. He asked you to marry him? What did you say?" "I said," replied Stella, then hesitated and looked at him, shyly. "What ought I to say?" That you would rather go down to your grave," said Louis, solemnly. Stella started, and looked at him earnestly. "Do you think he is so very bad a man, then?** she aid, in a whisper. "If I know anything of the human face and the story it tells, I am certain that Sir Richard Wildfang's heart is as black as his eyes. But remember I am his successful Stelltfs Fortune. 123 rival, and therefore not impartial. Tell me, what did you say?" "I said no," replied Stella, gently. "My own, brave girl," murmured Louis. "No, plainly, straightforwardly, unconditionally ?" Stella flushed and turned pale, and half started with vague alarm. "N o," she hesitated; then, in a low, hurried voice, she added, turning to him and touching his arm with a gentle, imploring appeal for him to make all allowance : "No, I did not. Do not look so grave ! Remember hovr clever, how acute, how wily he is. Louis, he is a man of the world, versed in chicanery and all the arts which conquer the weak ; and I well, I am only a weak girl when I am away from you. He talked as Mephistopheles might have talked ; so quietly, so saintly, so dangerously softly, that I felt like a bird under the spell of a snake. I fought hard and long, but I gained only half a victory." Louis turned and caught her arm. "What !" he said, his face turning pale with passionate alarm. "You you did not tell him you might marry him?" "Yes, on a condition which can never occur. Louis, I promised to marry him if if oh, I cannot say it" "Tell me quickly, my darling, you are torturing me," exclaimed Louis, hoarsely. "If you proved false or or dishonorable !" faltered Stella. "My own brave, clever girl!" he exclaimed, taking both her hands and breathing a profound sigh of relief. "I see to get rid of him you promised to perform an im- possibility, for it is impossible for you to marry him, if an- other impossibility for it is an impossibility for me to prove false came to pass ! Clever, beautiful Stella. Oh, foolish, wicked Sir Richard, why did he not get you to make some other condition ? Say when the night changed to day, the moon became green cheese, or the Thames caught fire. All these might happen before that one event upon which his hope hinges can come to pass. False tn you, Stella, my star, my angel ! Not in life or death." He bent over her hands and kissed them till they 124 Stellcts Fortune. tingled, Stella looking down upon him with a happy smfle which shone through living tears. "You forgive me then?" she said. "Forgive you? I know not how to express my awe at your genius. I knew you were beautiful, I knew you were an angel at heart as well as in face, but I did not think you were a diplomat ! Poor Sir Richard ! Dislike him as I do, I feel inclined to pity him! For it is a dread- ful thing to have lost you, and if his hope of gaining you rests upon my infidelity, then he has sold himself to de- spair ! Dry your eyes my darling. Sir Richard has out- witted himself, and love has conquered." "Yes," said Stella, with a happier smile. "But how did he come to to know that you " "Loved you? Why, all the world might see it if it only looked," he responded. "But there is no occasion for alarm. Sir Richard will keep his own counsel, be as- sured. He will not disclose our secret to Mrs. Newton for a very good reason. Any definite action on her part might compel us to action on ours." Stella looked alarmed. "What do you mean?" she asked. "I mean," he replied, "that not all the world shall part us, and that you are mine in spite of everything." It was a lover's speech, and meant nothing sinister, but Stella was reminded of it afterward, and reading it in the distorted light of twisted circumstances, judged him by it. "But," he resumed, quickly, anxious to change the sub- ject, which he saw distressed her, "I must relate my ex- periences. You do not ask me why I went to town, sweetest?'* "Because you pleased; that is sufficient reason for a man," replied Stella with a naive smile. "No, I did not please," he said. "I went because I was compelled. I went on business." "Business?" said Stella, with all a mistress' interest in her lover's concerns. "Yes ; you must know that I am a party in a celebrated lawsuit, which is to determine nothing less than a large sum of money oh, an enormous sum if the lawyers Stella's Fortune. 125 have left anything of the original amount. In fact, to cut a long story short, it will soon be decided whether I am to be only master of Heavithorne in name only, and a poor sculptor in reality, or the owner of great wealth, which has been locked up in the jaws of that great, greedy monster called Chancery." Stella pressed his hand. "I do hope you will get it." "Say 'we'," he said tenderly. "All that is mine is yours, remember." "Yes," she said. "But," with a sigh of relief, "it does not matter much if they let you remain poor. I am rich, so they tell me, and all mine is yours, is it not?" Louis frowned. "No," he said. "I wish you had not a penny. Your wealth is the only thing about you with which I am not in love. Could you not manage to lose it, dearest?'* "You wicked man !" laughed Stella, happily. "Do you know, I despised it as much as you do until until the day before yesterday. Then, when I remembered that it might be of service to you, I almost loved it" Louis' brow contracted. "If," he said, then stopped. "If what?" she asked. "If you were poor I should feel more secure of you than if you had money. Gold grows into a high wall of parting sometimes; but there, I will not think of it! I cannot lose you and live, Stella ; so if you would not have my murder on your soul do not let anything part us. But I must tell you what I saw yesterday. The most beauti- ful face I ever dreamed of!" "Oh!' said Stella, turning away her face, "a wo- man's ?" "No," he laughed, "a child's." "Oh !" said Stella, with evident relief, and turning her smiling face toward him. "Such a dear little fellow, in the keeping of the strangest, most original old man you can imagine. I found them in the street, and followed them home, with some difficulty, for the old man was dreadfully jealous 136 Stellcfs Fortune. of his treasures. I took a sketch of the little fellow, and I am going to work him out in marble. Will you come in and see the sketch? "No," said Stella. "Bring it to me here." He drew her to a rustic seat, and ran up for the sketch. No sooner had he gone than Stephen Hargrave came slowly past her. "Well, Stephen," she said kindly, "are you quite well?'* The man touched his hat sullenly. "I'm quite well, Miss. I'm glad to see you well." Stella smiled. "And are you quite happy?" she said, thinking that U was an absurd question, for could one living in the same kouse with her lover be otherwise ? "Yes, I'm happy," he said, with a sigh. "It was a change for the better, miss. Sir Richard was a hard Blaster, and a cruel-hearted one." "You should not speak ill of him," said Stella, gently. "Did he not do you a great kindness?" "Ay," said Stephen, with a grunt. "All the same, I'll peak my mind ; and, what's more, I'd have you have a care o' him." "What do you mean?" said Stella, turning pale. She distrusted Sir Richard so much that a warning, even when coming from so prejudiced a source, gave her an uneasy feeling. "What I say," retorted Stephen. "Mind your ways with Sir Richard, or he'll work ye some ill." Stella would have asked him for something more def- inite, and would have finished the conversation by ad- ministering a reproof; but Stephen, having said his say, walked off in his obstinate, self-willed way, and the next moment Louis was by her side again with the two sketches. "You see," he said, "I am going to carve up a group of two the mother holding up her child. Mother and child I shall call it, and I shall keep it." "Yes," said Stella, "keep it and set it up in your gar- den. Just where we stand would make a good place." 'Here, then, it shall be," he responded, eagerly. Then they walked side by side, talking in a low under- Stella's Fortune. tone, until, with an abrupt suddenness, Stephen came to "Sir Richard's coming across the park 1" Stella started. "Coming here ? Let me go at once !" she exclaimed. "No," said Louis. "Why should you fear him so?" But to all his entreaties she remained firm in her in- tention of flying. Stephen brought around the horse. Louis lifted her into the saddle, and she galloped off, leaving the fence over which she had trespassed, and just escaping Sir Richard by two minutes. Sir Richard, though he bore straight for the little wicket, did not pull up, but, with a calm smile and nod to Louis, who raised his smoking-cap, rode in the direction of Heavithorne. Louis, turning suddenly around, found Stephen at his elbow, like him watching the departing baronet and with that strange commingling of expression upon his face which it had worn in Sir Richard's room at the Box. CHAPTER XVIIL KEPT APART. Caution IF a brave man's attribute. Were there no fools the world would soon Be rid of all its knaves, for they Musi prey on one another. That same evening Stephen walked over in the dark- ness to the Box, and Sir Richard Wildfang was in pos- session of a full report of the meeting and conversation of the lovers. Stephen, as before, was warned to be careful and dis- missed \vith the injunction to be all eyes and ears. The next day Sir Richard rode over to the Vale, said nothing of the intimacy between Stella and Louis Felton, but simply professed his willingness to writ until Miss Newton's feelings warmed toward him, and, with a cor- dial pressure of the hand, added to the anxious and worldly mamma: "Time, my dear madam, works wonders. Your daugh- ter has not had time enough yet to understand the worth of such love as mine. I am quite willing to wait until she learns to look upon my suit with favor?" Then he pressed her hand again and departed, saying, as he left the room: "I am going up to town to-morrow, and I may be com- pelled to remain some few days. When I come back I hope to find fortune more favorable toward me P Mrs. Newton hoped so too with all her heart, and Stella coming in a few minutes after had to endure another panegyric on Sir Richard. She sat silent, however, and endured it with a good grace. She felt, now that she had Louis* love to strengthen her, able to endure anything. So Sir Richard went to town and was once more shut up in his luxurious private counting-house, and Mr. Dew- lap once more came to make his report iw Stelltfs Fortune. 129 Alas ! it was not a brighter one than that which had so affected Sir Richard before Christmas. Luck, which had so long stood in Sir Richard Wild- fang's favor, had taken a turn, and now presented her scornful, immovable back. Mr. Dewlap sat and poured out his tale with sorrowful, broken sentences. Two of the large houses upon which Sir Richard relied were tottering, and must inevitably fall within a month. Stocks to which he had clung with ill-fated tenacity had depreciated at the moment when they had to be sold to raise the money. One by one the supports of his commercial existence were being withdrawn from under him; and Mr. Dew- lap wound up his dolorous statement by declaring that if something in the shape of a miracle did not occur in their favor ruin would once for all level the great commercial house of Wildfang & Co. to the ground. Sir Richard dismissed his confidential manager and set his teeth firm. "No time to lose," he muttered. "The girl's money alone can save me. It is a question even if that can!" Then he took a piece of paper and worked out a com- plicated calculation, and, staring at the result, arose from his chair pale with determination. "It must be done !" he muttered, "all must go but that. What can I do with it? Where shall I put it?" He walked up and down for a few minutes, then smiled. "I have it! No place could be safer or less open to suspicion." Then he put on his hat and walked down to a club of which he and Lord Marmion were members. He found the simple-hearted young nobleman in the smoking-room. "My dear Marmion, how do you do?** he said, with his pleasantest smile. "I thought you were down at Dove- well." "No/' said Lord Marmion, wringing his hand. "No, I can't stand the country long. I must have my dub and 130 Stella's Fortune. the town amusements. But you have been down vege- tating at Heavithorne, haven't you ?" "Yes," said Sir Richard. "I have taken a shooting-box near there, and very happy I shall be to see you. There are some pheasants still to be had." "I'll come and shoot 'em," said his lordship. "I am very glad to see you tonight," he resumed, as Sir Rich- ard lit a cigar and threw himself down upon the settee. "You remember my mentioning that money of Miss Newton's ?" Sir Richard nodded with a careless air. "Well, I have been looking into the matter, and I should like you to take it as soon as you can. When will you have it?" "Tomorrow, if you like," said Sir Richard. "How much is it?" "Forty thousand pounds odd," said his lordship. "But you will have to invest it, and it will give you a great deal of trouble." "No," said Sir Richard, "I'll tell you what I will do if you like. I will take it on my own responsibility, and give you five per cent, on it. Mind, I do not want it partic- ularly, but we can always find a use for money." "Of course," said Lord Marmion. "What a wonderful head you must have! I really envy you business men your brains. By the way, perhaps you can do the same with some cash of mine ? I have five or ten thousand I don't know what to do with." Sir Richard's heart beat fast. Five or ten thousand would help feather his nest beau- tifully, and the silly young lord wouldn't miss it, with his thirty thousand a year. "Yes, I will take it," he said, "if you can let me have it at once." "I'll send you a check for the two," said Lord Marmioa. Sir Richard nodded, sipped his claret, and changed the conversation. He stayed late that night, and when he unlocked the door of his dressing-room his face was flushed and his eyes sparkled. Sir Richard was in that state of excitement which all Stelltfs Fortune. 131 men, be they bold as they may, feel on the verge of a great crime. For him there was no bed that night. The morning saw him still bending over his desk, mak- ing calculations from his ledgers and daybooks. Once only he had given way to the fatigue which had settled on him, and then he woke from an uneasy slum- ber, starting like a man under the influence of nightmare, and muttering "Lucy ! Lucy !" While Sir Richard was at work, darkly, mysteriously, in London, Louis was laboring little less arduously at Heavithorne. The statue was gaining form and grace each day, and he worked with a restless impatience, which sprang from one other cause besides his artistic enthusiasm. He had seen nothing of Stella since the day Sir Rich- ard had frightened her away. Several times he had taken a walk through the park in the hope of seeing her, and once, driven to rashness by his lover-like impatience, he had called at the Vale. But Miss Newton was denied to him, and there was nothing for it but to return home and try to lose himself and his longing in his work. Four days passed, and still no Stella! On the fourth day he called at the Vale again, and was again refused. Then he grew alarmed, and sent Stephen to watch the house, on the chances of delivering a message to Stella if he should see her, or at least of hearing that all was well. Stephen watched until the sixth day, and saw neither Stella nor Mrs. Newton, and Louis was almost in despair. On the seventh day Louis, while climbing the hill from the Vale, saw the Vale carriage coming down toward him. His heart beat fast, and he stood still. But the carriage rolled on, and in response to his raised hat there was only a frosty little bow from Mrs. Newton, who did not choose to stop for Mr. Felton, the sculptor. From Stella he got a smile that was full of a tender meaning, and which seemed to say: "Be patient; I am true!" With this he was obliged to be satisfied, and returned 132 Stella's Fortune. to his studio, determined to work harder than ever, and wait with greater trust. No sooner had he reached home than Stephen came to him and held out a tiny piece of folded paper. "What is that?" said Louis, with weary irritation. "A note/' said Stephen, sullenly. "Where from?" asked Louis. "From Miss Newton," said Stephen. Louis snatched it from him. "Where how did you come by it?" he asked, his cheeks flushed with delight. "I was standing in the road looking at the carriage, and saw the young lady drop it out. She looked as if she meant me to pick it up, and I did." "Good, clever Stephen!" said Louis, and directly the man had gone he pressed the little scrap of paper to his lips. Then he opened it. The note was a very short one, but it confirmed his fears. It ran thus: "DteAR MR. FELTON" (This was marked out, and "Louis" put in its place) : "I know you are anxious about me, because I have seen you in the park and Stephen watching the house. Do not be alarmed or uneasy, al- though, as I fear, I shall not be able to see you. Mamma has had her suspicions aroused, and keeps me almost a prisoner. Do not mind for me; I am happy, though I cannot see or hear you, for I remember always that you have said you love me. If you can get a note conveyed to me, dear Louis but my love is teaching me to be bold and forward. Will you forgive me, and remember that the love is for you? "Yours ever, STELLA/' Never was a note more incoherent or more precious ! Louis kissed it a hundred times, then stuck it up on his easel and stared at it a dozen minutes together, and at last hid it carefully away within his bosom. Then he wrote a long letter full of his passionate love and longing, and sealing it called Stephen. "Stephen," he said, "I can trust you. Yours is not the face of a traitor. You know whom I want this note Stella's Fortune. 33 to reach. You let her have it from your own hands. Mind! no third person! Watch until you see her at a window, then place the note in some part of the garden. She will understand!" Stephen took the letter, eyed Louis in silence, and without speaking a word left the room. CHAPTER XIX. DARK WORK. Comes this from my love? Then should the lines be writ With liquid gold, for to my heart They are more precious. As soon as dinner had been removed Stephen Hargrave, as was his custom, disappeared. Louis did not want him, and never asked for hjm, in- deed had he done so he would not have been angry at his absence, for he had taken a liking to the grim, silent fel- low and was too easy natured to resent anything he did in the way of neglect or roughness of manner. So Stephen Hargrave crept along through the dark- ness, his head bent upon his breast, his hands thrust into his pockets and his face grim and set, revealing nothing of the feeling which worked like hot lava under the vol- canic crater in his bosom. Arrived at the Box he gave the usual signal, and Sir Richard, who had returned two days previously, softly opened the door for him. "Well," he said, as the silent man passed in and stood with his rough cap in his hand. "You have something to tell me?" Stephen nodded. "News," he said. "Sit down," said Sir Richard, pointing to a chair. Stephen sat down and fixed his dark, brooding eyes on the fire. Sir Richard looked at him with his keen, hawk-like eyes as if he would read his soul. "You have brought something?" he said. The man started and looked up half fearfully. "How do you know that?" he growled, beneath his breath. "I have." "A letter?" said Sir Richard. Stephen nodded. m Stella's Fortune. 135 "Give it me," said Sir Richard, holding out his hand. Stephen gave him the letter, and with a calm smile he took it from the envelope and read it. "Good, very good. Poetry in its way !" he murmured, with a sneer. "But it is an answer. Where is her let- ter?' "Could I snatch that from his breast, master?" said Stephen. "Not unless I murdered him first, and you haven't ordered me to do that yet." "No, but if I did you would do it?" said Sir Richard, facing him with a calm, stern regard. "Yes, I suppose so," said Stephen, with a long sigh that was almost a smile. "Be thankful then that I do not bid you walk to the gallows 1" said Sir Richard. "What was her letter? you read it?" And in monotonous tones he repeated the contents of Stella's note. "Good," said Sir Richard again. "Now there is work for you to do. First I want you to take a letter from him, but not this. This goes where all such trash should go," and with a smile he flung it on the fire. Then he arose and filled a liqueur glass ^with brandy and handed it to his slave. "Drink it," he said. Stephen took the glass and eyed Sir Richard over it with a look that said plainly, "Now comes the dark work for which you saved and reserved me!" Sir Richard returned to his desk, and taking a sheet of paper wrote a short note, pausing twice or thrice, and at last making a satisfactory copy, threw the drafts on the fire, placed the copy in an envelope and directed it to "Miss Newton, The Vale." "Here is the note," he said, at last. "Deliver it to her in the place of the one you received from Louis Felton. When you have delivered it come and tell me. That is all for the present. Afterward there will be some work for you to do. I depend upon your doing it; am I de- ceived ?" "I'll do it/* said Stephen, gruffly. "You are my mas- ter." 136 Stella? s Fortune. "I am glad to find you so grateful," said Sir Richard. "But for me as no doubt you remember you would be in prison now, your character gone, your self-respect for- ever branded as a vagabond and a jail-bird !" The man's face paled, his lips quivered, and he struck his cap with his fist "You're right," he said ; "you saved me ; I can't forget it!" Then Sir Richard, having made the desired impression, opened the door and motioned to him to depart. The next morning Stella saw from the dressing-room, the windows of which looked out at the side of the house on to a small shrubbery, a man sulking in the shadow of the laurels. She had seen him once or twice before that week, and she recognized him immediately. Her heart beat fast and the color crimsoned her beautiful face. "He has brought a letter for me/" she murmured. "I know it, I know it ! Oh, my love, my love, every minute will seem an hour until it lies upon my heart. But how am I to get it?" As if in answer to her mental question, Stephen made a gesture as if demanding attention. She made a movement with her hand to signify that she saw him, and then, after looking carefully over the house and around about him, Stephen tilted up the vase which stood on a pedestal and placing the letter under it dropped it into its place again ! "Clever, faithful Stephen 1" she murmured. And hurriedly dressing herself she found an oppor- tunity of getting on to the lawn. With greatest care she strolled into the shrubbery and secured her precious letter. Oh, Louis, if you had seen mat vile forgery, and you could but know it as such, what would you not have en- dured ? At last she broke the seal, and with blushing cheeks and beating heart devoured her first love letter. It ran thus: "My OWN : No words could tell you what I have suf- fered during these last days. I have scarcely slept or eaten. Your sweet face haunts me day and night I Stellas Fortune. 137 know now by these few days without sight of you what I should suffer if you were lost to me forever. Stella, my darling, you were right in your estimate of Sir Rich- ard's character. He is base, vile, teacherous. Some- thing has occurred to convince me that my happiness is in danger, and that unless steps are taken to frustrate the plans I shall be ruined and our two hearts torn asunder. Stella, you alone can frustrate the vile scheme ; you alone can save me ! Will you do it ? It will need a sacrifice many perhaps. I cannot tell you more now or by these means; but if you love me, meet me at nine o'clock to- morrow night, here in the garden, at the wicket gate. As we are watched closely it would be better should you see me before to take no notice. To-morrow I look for you at nine o'clock. I know how great a thing I am asking of you, but I know that your love will count it little for your own Louis." CHAPTER XX. MASTER AND SLAVE. Begone, dull care, nor fright my soul With sickly apprehension. Begone, or in the flowing bowl We'll drown thee and dissension. Stephen Hargrave waited in ambush until he had as- certained that Stella had put herself in possession of the letter, then with downcast face and stolid mien, went about his duties of the day as silently and grimly as ever. Once or twice he glanced with a peculiar expression at his young master, who worked at his statue all day with enthusiastic ardor, as if his life depended upon his get- ting it done by a certain time, but whenever Louis spoke to him he answered as curtly as usual, and Sir Richard's secret was safe. In the evening Louis left his studio and sank into his easy-chair in the dining-room, quite tired out; but there was satisfaction shining through all the weariness upon his face. "Well, Stephen," he said, as the man put the dinner on, "is there any news ?" There was no occasion to specify the description re- quired ; Stephen knew as well as his master. "No," he answered, gruffly. Louis sighed. "Have you not seen her?" "No." "Have you watched?" "I have." "Well," said Louis, with another wistful sigh, "I knew you would watch well for me, Stephen, and that I can trust you ! I would give all the world for a word from her tonight. You are sure the carriage has not left the park?" "Yes, I am," said Stephen, moodily. "Hadn't you bet- 138 Stella's Fortune. 139 ter eat your dinner? You've been working like a horse and the things are getting cold." Louis was more tired and disappointed than hungry, but he drew up to the table and toyed with the plain but well-cooked viands. Then he took up his letters long blue ones, from the lawyers, and sighed over them, and at last, without a word told Stephen to get his coat and hat. "I can't stop in the house tonight," he murmured. ', "Something seems to weigh upon my spirits. If I were { inclined to believe in such things or give way to them, I should say that I had a strong presentiment of coming ill. I want a walk, fresh air, and above all to see your sweet face, my beautiful Stella. Well, if I cannot see thee the next best thing is to be near thee." Stephen helped him on with his coat and handed him his hat. "You're going out ?" he said. "It looks like it, Stephen," said Louis, good-humoredly. "To wander about the park and catch your death of cold?" "That's as may be," retorted Louis, a little more coldly. "But you need not stay at home or wait up for me, if you want to go out or to bed." "I'll go out, if it's all the same," said Stephen. "Very well," said Louis, and buttoning his coat around him he walked briskly through the hall into the night, his face turned toward the Vale, as most assuredly his heart and thoughts were also. Stephen Hargrave waited until Louis had had time to get clear of the immediate neighborhood of the Hut, then wrapped himself up with something approaching a dis- y guise, and in his usual roundabout, careful way, reached .the Box. I He gave the usual signal, but there came no response. Again he whistled, and without eliciting any answer. Twice or thrice more the suppressed owl's shriek which he had been ordered to imitate left his lips, then, impatient to reach the Hut again before Louis, he stole up to tfaf window and tapped at it I4O Stellcts Fortune. Against the blind he could see the shadow of Sir Rich- ard's head thrown in a bent position, as if he were asleep. Very quietly and gently he tapped the window with his finger nails, but the shadow did not move. Then at last, fearful of the delay and danger it engendered, he crept up to the door, and quietly opened it and entered the room. At a glance he saw that Sir Richard had fallen asleep over his desk, and for a few moments he stood with the door in his hand, watching him. Then he closed the door, and went up to his usual chair, seated himself, and fell to his staring at the fire moodily, prepared to wait until his master should please to wake. Suddenly Sir Richard started in his sleep and muttered some incoherent words. Stephen paid not the slightest regard, did not appear to have heard them even, but, with a startling distinct- ness, Sir Richard, still in his sleep, exclaimed : "Lucy! Lucy! Give me the boy!" and threw out one hand with an expression halting midway between re- pulsion and entreaty. Stephen Hargrave started and sprang up from his chair, his face working horribly, his eyes filled with a horrified and threatening glare upon Sir Richard's face. The noise of his sudden uprising woke the sleeper. Sir Richard started, clinched his two hands, and rising, stared around him. So they stood, the two men, confronting each other, each looking as if he had been dreaming some fearful dream or seeing some agitating vision. Sir Richard was the first to speak. "You! How did you get in?" At the sound of his voice Stephen Hargrave*s face re- sumed its old expression of dogged subjection, and with a dull sigh he sank into the chair again. "Through the door/' he replied. "I whistled and waited until I dared wait no longer, then stopped at the window. You didn't hear me, you were asleep. I came in. You didn't want any of the servants to find me hanging about, did you ?" "Quite right," said Sir Richard, passing his hand over Stellcts Fortune. 141 his face, which was still rather white and haggard. 'Quite right Well, did you deliver the letter?" "Yes," said Stephen, "I saw her take it with her own hand." "Good again/* said Sir Richard. "Now, listen," and in clear, distinct tones, which seemed to fix the lesson upon the listener's brain as a chisel cut an inscription on steel, Sir Richard revealed his plot and set forth the work he intended his slave to perform. Stephen Hargrave listened attentively until Sir Rich- ard had finished, then he took his cap and rose. "Is that all?" "That is all," said Sir Richard, with a cold smile. "Not a great deal, nor a very difficult undertaking, but it must be done well. No over-acting the part or struggling at the last moment. You understand me?" "I do," said the man, "and I'll do it. Afterward, after this job is done I can go my way, I suppose. You will have no further need of me?" "That's as may be," said Sir Richard, coldly. "If there is more to be done you will have to do it." Then he filled the glass of brandy as usual. Stephen drank it, and, with a grim "good-night" took his depart- ure. Louis meanwhile had reached the park, and, with the recklessness of youth, scaled the wood empalings and trespassed upon the grounds of the Vale. It was a beautiful night, the moon nearly at the full, and he could see the outlines of the house and every win- dow and door in it as clearly as if the sun had shone upon it. There was a light in the drawing-room, and toward this Louis was drawn, as a moth is fascinated by a candle. He fancied that he could distinguish his darling's shadow upon the blinds, and he watched motionless in the cold, waiting to catch the sound of her voice. At last his patience was rewarded more fully and sweetly than he could have expected. The shadow disappeared from the window, and a min- ute or so afterward he heard some chords struck upon the piano. 142 Stella's Fortune. He drew near the window, his heart beating wildly, his cheek flushed, with expectant delight, which nearly burst forth in passionate words of love, as Stella's sweet, clear voice commenced singing. It was a mournful, sadly bewitching air, and the words every one of which Louis could hear harmonizing in their wistful lamentation with the music. Low sets the sun across the sands, The heavy clouds are red with haze, The sunlight reddens both your hands And casts a glow upon your face. In coming years this night, my love, Will stand out clearly from the past. Its memory, bitter sweet, shall prove Our love found voice to speak at last. A year ago we met no more! The twelve months seem so long, so short! "What worth was life to me before The glamor of your eyes I caught? And now! ah, well, the tide comes in; To-morrow again the tide goes out; And love, like pleasure, pain and sin, Must take its turn and turn about. No, keep the flowers, one and all! Quch helps to memory need I not. Love's pride must surely have its fall, And futile hoping be forgot. Stella's voice quivered on the last line and prolonged it until the full sense of it set Louis' heart aching. "A mournful song," he murmured. "But, thank Heaven, your sadness shall be confined to love ditties if fate will permit me to watch over your future. 'Futile hoping be forgot !' Heaven forbid that your hoping, my darling, should be futile! Nay, the course of true love may not run smoothly, but so that it finds its way to the river of happiness at last, who of us dare complain of the rocks and weeds in our way? Oh, my darling, what would I give to stand beside you now and dispel the silence of your sadness with some more cheerful strain "* Strange there must be sympathy between us I, with Stella's Fortune. 143 my presentiment of coming ill heavy upon my soul, and Stella pouring out her heart's sadness in a mournful song. Bah! I do not deserve my happiness by hunting up trouble in this way ; let me wait until it comes, and when it does let me meet it like a man and overcome it." Then, with a fervent good-night, which Stella, alas! could not hear, he went away moodily, scaled the park railings and returned to the Hut. It was fearfully cold, the lights save those in his own room 'Were extinguished, the whole place was intensely silent. He went to bed, but not to sleep, the presentiment took larger form in the darkness and haunted him like a ghost, and whenever he woke, with a start, some voice from within him frvhich seemed rather to come out of the darkness around him wailed in harmony with the wind: "Love's pride must surely have its fall, And futile hoping be forgot." The first love letter generally brings sweet delight Stella's first love letter, j< ; ''i!!y as she had welcomed it, brought her an indescribable pain. There was a void in her heart before. She had received it, and it made that void seem greater, instead of filling it as it should have done. There was something almost unsatisfying; al- though its professions of devotion were passionate and frequent enough, they seemed hollow and artificial. Louis did not talk so, it was utterly unlike him, and it fretted her to find his first letter so unlike what she expected it would be. Then again it spoke of danger, of a palpable dread of some scheme of Sir Richard's and contained that request which would entail danger to her fair fame and name if she granted it. Meet him at night in the dark ! Her cheek paled and her heart sank at the idea. In the first place, how could she leave the house un- detected ? In the next place, some of the servants or vil- lagers might see her and recognize her well-known figure disguise and muffle as she might, while she was on her way; and, lastly, how could she hope to re-enter thf house unnoticed 144 Stella's Fortitne. But love laughs at locksmiths, and Stella, once more kissing the letter, hid it in her bosom and determined to obey her lover's wish, cost her what it might. And from the moment she had so determined a presentiment, near akin to that which had fallen upon Louis, settled upon her, and sleeping or waking she dreamed of nothing but ill. Under the influence of that threatening mood she had sung the song Louis had heard and sighed at ; under the same heaviness she waited feverishly for the hour which the letter had appointed. It came, and chance, which brings about so much good and evil, upon whose touch weak minds tremble, stood her friend or enemy. Mrs. Newton, complaining of bad headache, which she had brought on by worrying herself over the steward's books in a fit of parsimony, retired to her room, thinking Stella was safe f$r the night, and determined that she would take her to town on the morrow. Stella stole up to her room and slipped into furs. Very beautiful was the picture which the mirror presented to her gaze when she stood before it, till with inflexible prudence she threw a large waterproof over the whole, drew the hood over her head and still pretty, despite the inartistic wrap quietly stole downstairs again, taking the key in her pocket. She was compelled to wait behind a statue of a sleeping satyr upon the stairs until a footman, who was removing the last service of the dinner from the hall, had finished his task, and even then narrowly es- caping detection, for the man came back for a forgotten epergne just as the door closed after her. CHAPTER XXI. THE STRUGGLE AND THE RESCUE. 4 The dove's nature was made To satisfy the fowler's net; let doves beware When they see nets, and go not there. As the letter had prophesied, it was a magnificent night. The moonlight lit up every tree and hedge of the snow- covered landscape. Stella could have found her way from the Vale to the Hut in the dark, but tonight the scene was as light as day, almost too light for her safety, and she kept under the shadow of the hedges and the old wall, while she was on the Vale road, and preferred walking deep in the snow when she entered the park to be under the shelter of the tree rather than tread the hard, clean, frozen path in the full light of the calm, peaceful moon. And now, as she neared the place of tryst, her heart beat fast and excitedly. Soon, in a few minutes, she would be with Louis ; five minutes more and she would be nestling against his strong, blithe heart as the robins press against the strong, sturdy oaks in the park. Then, at the bend of the path, she caught the first sight of the red curtains of the Hut, and her heart throbbed more quickly, and from her half-parted, smiling lips came the low tender words of love : "My Louis." She reached the wicket, and expected to find his arm around her and his words of welcome and devotion in her ears, but the whole place was silent and motionless in the calm stillness of the moonlight. Not a breath of wind stirred, not a twig of the snow- laden branches but seemed carved in ebony and ivory im- possible of motion. Amid all her passionate eagerness Stella's heart gave a leap of fear and alarm, but she shook it off with a rally- ing sigh, and placing her hand on the small wicket, MS 146 Stetttfs Fortune. waited, her face turned toward the entrance of the Hut Suddenly, as if it had sprung from the ground, the figure of a man stood beside her. She turned and the cry of alarm which she was about to utter died on her lips frozen with fear. The man was wrapped up to the point of disguise; nothing but a pair of dark, brooding eyes were discerni- ble, and as he laid his hand on her arm Stella had not the slightest suspicion of his identity. "Don't be frightened, miss," he said, in a voice of feigned thickness. "You're Miss Newton, ain't you?" "If I am," breathed Stella, "what do you want with me?" "I've come from you know who." "Speak out plainly," said Stella, pressing her hand upon her bosom and summoning up all her courage. "From Mr. Felton, if you must have it," growled the man, evidently annoyed by her unexpected interruption. "I've come to tell you as he can't meet you here, but that you're to come with me to the carriage entrance around at the side." "Cannot come here!" faltered Stella. "Why not?" "He's afraid of being watched; one as is his enemy you don't want his name, do you? has got some sus- picion of this meeting and might Stella caught the man's arm and looked around with genuine alarm. "Sir Richard!" she exclaimed. "Near here! Come! I will go with you at once!" The man smiled with dark meaning and tramped off, Stella followed with beating heart and anxious face. They made the curve of the fence and came upon what was called the carriage entrance, from the fact of the road broadening at the place and allowing of a vehicle to turn, which it could not do at any other part of the drive. As they turned the corner Stella started. "What is that?" she said, raising her hand and point- ing to something black and square which stood close against the rough, uneven hedge. "That's a carriage ; it's all right," replied the man. "Mr. Felton is waiting inside." Stella's Fortune. "147 Stella drew back and eyed her guide with a keen, piercing doubtfulness. "A carriage !" she said. "Mr. Felton inside ! I do not believe it ! I will go no farther," and she drew back with a gesture of determination. "Hush, Miss! Don't speak so loud," exclaimed the man, sliding up to her with a sinister scowl. "Do you want to alarm the neighborhood and call it up to find ye here? Come, you must come now you've got thus far, it's more than I dare do to go back ! Mr. Fel- ton 'ud pay me pretty severely for such a mistake." 'No," said Stella, "I will not go! Go to Mr. Felton and tell him that I have gone back and and that I can- not no, I cannot obey him !" She turned as she spoke and gathered her wrap around her, preparatory to making good her escape, but the man, evidently divining her intention, sprang noiselessly upon her, and, taking her up in his strong arms, carried and half dragged her to the carriage skillfully twisting her cloak around her face as he did so, so that it was impos- sible for her to shriek or call for assistance. But Stella was strong for a woman, stronger than her captor had given her credit for being, and she struggled so fiercely that by the time he had carried her within arm's length of the carriage she had succeeded in uncovering her mouth, and, raising her voice to its utmost, sent forth a piercing scream. Before its echo had died away a figure darted from out of the hedge and dashing at her captor, hurled him to the ground, Stella being dragged down in his fall. Before the prostrate man could regain his feet the stranger flung himself upon his breast and held him down to the ground. Stella, trembling in every limb, and white as the snow, sprang to her feet, and, leaning against the carriage door, struggled with a deathly faintness which rapidly threat- ened to overcome her. A voice the voice of the person who had so oppor- tunely arrived to rescue her thased her swoon away. At the sound of the voice, Stella sprang forward. "Sir Richard Wildfang!" she exclaimed. I4& Stella's Fortune. "Miss Newton!" was the astonished retort "Can I believe my senses? How came you in this ruffian's power?" As he spoke he raised his hand and struck the prostrate man with his fist. Stella pressed both her hands upon her aching brow and swayed like a reed shaken in the wind. "Don't ask me ; I implore you humbly, do not ask me !" Sir Richard arose, still keeping his hand upon the arm of the ruffian, now captured in his turn, and looked at her with a fine expression of mingled pain and regret. Then he bowed silently and turned to the man. "At least we will unmask this ruffian ; you will permit me to do that?" Stella made a gesture of assent with her hand. Sir Richard struck the cap off the man's head and tore away the comforter which covered the lower part of his face and revealed the features of Stephen Hargrove. Stella uttered a cry of despair. Sir Richard fell back, with a look of indignant horror. "Stephen Hargrave," he said. "Mr. Louis Felton's servant !" Stella shrank closer to the carriage and covered her face with her hands. Both the men knew that she was weeping. Sir Richard grasped the man by the arm and dragged him into the full moonlight. "No," he exclaimed, his voice thick with indignant rage, "you shall not escape your punishment, though this lady, whom you have so insulted, pleads for you. An- swer me, you ruffian !" And he shook him as he would have done a dog, Ste- phen Hargrave submitting indeed with a dogged moodi- ness. "Who is the instigator the chief of this outrage? You are only a tool, I feel assured. Speak, or I'll choke you, ruffian!" Stephen Hargrave hung his head and glanced sideways at Stella. Sir Richard was also looking that way from the cor- ners of his eyes. Stella's Fortune. 149 Stephen Hargrave waited until he saw that she was listening, with strained intent, and fearful face, then said sullenly : "That will do, Sir Richard. You don't want to choke me, and let my betters go free. I'm only a servant ; I've got my living to get, and don't wish the young lady no harm. If I'm ordered to do anything, and well paid for doing it, ain't I obliged to do it?" "Quick!" sair Sir Richard, sternly. "Who ordered you to commit this crime? What scoundrel could dare so base a thing? Quick, or I'll " "Who should order me but my master Mr. Felton?" sullenly retorted Stephen. Stella uttered a faint, despairing cry. Sir Richard shook his man roughly. "That's false, it must be," he said in a broken voice. "False, why? What 'ud be the good of trying to de- ceive you?" said Stephen. "Besides, do I want Miss Newton? Should I've got a carriage to run away with her in?" "True," muttered Sir Richard. "But I cannot believe it realize it." Then he turned to Stella. "Can you supply the clew? I beseech you for your own safety and honor to answer me. Did Mr. Felton make this appointment ask you to meet him here?" Stella inclined her head and covered her face with her hands. Sir Richard sighed. "Base, vile scoundrel, to take advantage of your trust- ing! Vile indeed must be the man who would suffer you to be thus insulted ; to hire a ruffian like this to to >f And, as if overwhelmed with rage and indignation, Sir Richard turned away his head and groaned. Then Stella, as if stung into doubt by the enormity of the crime which was imputed to her lover, sprang for- ward, and laying her hand upon Stephen's arm, cried in piteous accepts: "No, no! there must be some dreadful mistake. It is -it must be false ! Confess that this wickedness sprang 150 Stellcfs Fortune. unbidden from your own bad heart. Confess that Mr. Felton knows nothing of it! Oh! say it is false and and I will forgive you and let you go unpunished!" "I'll say what you like," said Stephen, sullenly. "But the truth is the truth, and that is that I'm only d'oing my master's bidding." Stella's wild eyes fixed themselves upon his face with soul-searching scrutiny for a moment. Then with a sob, she threw up her face. "I do not I will not believe it He is incapable of such baseness." CHAPTER XXII. "FOREVER/' Mark me, Antonio, when a bad man smiles Be sure some honest heart must weep, For there is that within his triumph Which sets a field of pain. As if in mockery of her pure trust in him, Louis voice at that moment broke the silence, for as his well-known form leaped the old gate and came into the moonlight, he cried : "Stephen, where are you ? Are you ready ?" Sir Richard glanced at Stella as one who should say: "You see it is only too true. He thinks you safe within his clutches." Then, as Louis came upon the group, and stopped to stare with incredulous astonishment, Sir Richard ad- vanced toward him with clinched hands and compressed lips. Louis stared at him, then adranced to Stella. "Miss Newton Stella, what is all this ? Why are you here? Sir Richard Wildfang, too! What does it all mean ?" Sir Richard, with an anxiety not disinterested, inter- rupted him hastily. "It means, sir, that your villainy is unmasked; that Miss Newton knows you now for what you really are a base, criminal adventurer." "Stop!" said a voice, that was Stella's, yet so unlike, so dreadfully, quietly calm that it might have belonged to an automaton. And she, with an expressive gesture, mo- tioned Sir Richard aside, and, advancing, confronted Louis with white, drawn face, and dark, accusing eyes. "It means, sir," she said, in regular, metallic tones, Mi 152 Stella's Fortune. "that one you had succeeded in deceiving is now unde- ceived ; that one whom you taught to love you has now learned to hate you ; that one who would have given her life to have purchased you an hour's happiness would now give her life to secure your punishment. It means that from a trusting girl you have transformed me by your baseness to an insulted woman. All this it means, and this much more, that, having escaped your mercenary clutches, the woman you attempted to deceive has learned the bitter lesson of a wasted love and a wasted life. Go, sir, from my path forevermore. Should you cross it again beware! I shall find some means of resenting the insult of your presence." Then she let the hand fall which she had raised in de- nunciation, and turned. Louis stood for a moment, white and statuesque with astonishment, then he passed his hand across his forehead, looked up at the clear sky to assure himself that it was not a dream, and held out both his hands imploringly. "Stella! Tell me what it all means! How have I wronged you how deceived?" Stella turned again, her face lit up with passionate scorn. "Would you have me recite the story of your vile plot?" she asked, huskily. "Look within your own heart and read in its baseness the reason for my accusation!" "This is madness," he said. "Vile plot baseness ! of what do you accuse me?" "Of the vilest dishonor !" said Stella, confronting him. "Do you ask for proofs ? Seek them in the confession of your tool and accomplice, who has sought safety in flight ; seek them in the evidence that remains that car- riage!" "Accomplice carriage !" repeated Louis. "Stella, that carriage oh! listen, I beseech you!" For Stella had taken the arm which Sir Richard had in stern silence offered her, and, though stung through all his soul by the sight, Louis still spoke calmly and humbly. "I have heard too much of your honied words; they can deceive me no longer!" said Stella, coldly, over her shoulder. Stella's Fortune. 153 "This much you shall tell me !" exclaimed Louis, spring- ing forward, his face white with passion, his teeth clinched, and his eyes blazing. "And I ask it from your false lips, Sir Richard Wildfang." And as he spoke he grasped Sir Richard's arm. "How came you here both she and you?" "Ask your own conscience," said Stella, faltering for the first time. "Did you not write me a letter?" "I did/' said Louis. "Enough!" exclaimed Sir 1 Richard. "He confesses his baseness. Leave us, sir, if you have the slightest vestige of honor remaining !" Louis drew himself up, and, casting a look of scornful contempt upon the all-anxious face of Sir Richard, ap- pealed to Stella. "Miss Newton, do you also say 'go'?" "I do!" said Stella. "You cast me off forever?" "Forever," said Stella. He said not another word, but, crossing his arms, stepped from their path, and watched them with set, stone-like face, until they were lost to him around the curve of the road. He waited even after that for the space of five minutes, then he turned and walked with slow, measured pace up his own carriage entrance. He slowly climbed the broad stone steps up which he had, so short a time since, and so proudly led his beau- tiful Stella, and, with the same indescribable expression of concentrated, deadly calm, pushed open the door and entered the antique dining-room. He stood before the fire musing for a few moments, thinking of all he had lost and the mysterious, inex- plicable manner in which he had lost it, then without a sigh his sorrow had not really that distinctness yet he walked into his studio. A light was burning there, and the marbles seemed to grin and mock at his misery and loneliness, as with folded arms and absent air he walked around the room and locked at them. "Here in this room," he murmured, "I held her against 154 Stella's Fortune. my heart. Here her lips so false ! so cruel ! told me that she loved me ! Here the sweetest happiness my life has ever known fell to me. Blessed be the room for- evermore. Those blind eyes," and he swept his hand before the sightless marble faces, "shall see no misery, no other love scene here! I swore to break them, one and all, if we were parted. We are parted, and I will keep my vow." As he spoke he took up the heaviest mallet, and with a passion utterly indescribable struck first at one beautiful face and then at another, until the room was filled with the noise of falling marble, and the fragments themselves, as they dropped and rolled about his feet. With the mallet in his hand he went into the garden, made his way to the shrubbery, Where they had talked so long and joyously, and raised his destroying mallet be- fore the face of a statue which he and Stephen had only that day set up there. It was the statue of the mother and child which he had worked at so enthusiastically, and which he had placed on the very spot in accordance with Stella's expressed wish. But as his mallet was swung back a twinge of regret and remorse struck across his soul, and with a sigh he let the mallet fall to his side, gazed up at the plaintive face of the mother, and murmured : "No, it is sorrow and despair itself. It shall stand !" Then he flung the mallet from him, and, with drooping head, re-entered the house. With the same calm self-possession, which had settled upon him as the snow does upon the mountain, he as- cended the stairs, and entering the room slowly and methodically, put on his overcoat and heavy walking boots. Then he descended again, went through every room, locked every door, and, flinging the keys into the farther- most corner of the studio, left the house as desolate and silent as he had found it on that Christmas eve upon which he had met Stella his beautiful, cruel and only love at the little wicket. When he got clear of the grounds he stood, for a mo- ment, and looked back at the Vale, which was all alight Stella's Fortune. 155 in the clear night, and at a steady, swinging pace started off on the London road. For some few minutes Stella and her companion and protector remained profoundly silent. Every now and then Sir Richard's dark eyes took stealthy glances at her face, but its expression was not encouraging. Stella was still as white as the snow and as hard as the frost. Her eyes were bent upon the ground, her lips com- pressed. The hand which held her wrap around her was clinched hard and fast as marble upon her bosom. Altogether she was as statuesque as Louis, whom she had left watching her retreating form. But as they neared the Vale the little frost of despair, broken love, and disappointment wavered and began to thaw. Her lips trembled, her hand unclasped and clasped again spasmodically, her eyelids quivered, and Sir Rich- ard, glancing stealthily again, saw a tear slip from under the lowered lids and fall upon her pale cheek. Then he thought it was time to speak, and, having learned his part most thoroughly, he commenced to take it up at the point at which he had been compelled to drop it for a while. "Miss Newton IStella," he murmured, in the softest, most dulcet tone of sympathy, "do not let your gentle heart distress itself. The cause is not worth a tear! Think how mercifully you have been permitted to escape a great misfortune. Remember what a vile plotter you have been rescued from, and look more hopefully, and dare I say? thankfully upon the future." Stella turned her pale face to him. "Sir Richard," she said, in a very low, flattering voice, "I am grateful to you, though I cannot show it. I know from what you have rescued me. From a life of misery, chained to one who would have snared me for the worth- less dross which has clung to me like a curse ! Oh, that I had been the poorest peasant on earth rather than my wealth should have tempted him to such baseness !" Her tears fell fast and she turned her head aside. 156 Stella's Fortune. "Do not think any more of him ; he is not worth a thought," pleaded Sir Richard. "He will never cross your path again. You must forget him." "Forget him !" said Stella, with a bitter smile. "I shall not be permitted to do that. You forget that I have to meet a mother's just reproaches. I am justly punished for deceiving her. But, alas! that punishment will be severe." "You fear, Miss Newton," said Sir Richard, more softly than ever. "Why should you give her unnecessary pain and anxiety? Let me enjoy the happiness of taking the responsibility of this night's events." "You?" said Stella, half shrinking from him. "Yes, I," said Sir Richard. "Do you remember the promise you gave? Though it was a solemn promise, I would not have reminded you of it but that by so doing I may be able to spare you pain." He paused for a moment. Stella turned colder even than she grew in the moment of her belief in Louis' treachery. "Remember how I loved you, how patiently I pleaded, how patiently I waited. Had that scoundrel proved all you could have wished him, all he ought to have proved with such an incentive to virtue as your love, I would never have spoken of my love to you again. But now dare I hope that you will pardon me if I remind you of your promise? He has proved himself to be unworthy of your love dishonorable, mercenary, base, vile. Will you keep your promise?" He bent over as he breathed the words in his softest, most musical tones and gently but firmly took her cold hand. She let it remain in his, passive and icy. "Your promise," he breathed. "You will keep it?" Stella looked up at the sky and around at the snow- clothed park, with a wild, helpless, despairing gaze. What mattered her fate now that her heart was broken ? As well marry Sir Richard, whom she disliked, as an- other. All men were one to her now she dreaded, dis- trusted every son of Adam now that the prince of them Stellcts Fortune. 157 all had turned out to be but a fiend in the disguise of an angel ! "I will keep my promise," she said, in a faint, low voice. Sir Richard bent over her hand, and pressed his lips upon it. "Heaven bless you!" he murmured. "I cannot thank you; my heart is brimming o'er with happiness." Like a wise man he said no more. They reached the Vale, and Stella entered the hall. Mrs. Newton came from the drawing-room, white with anger and anxiety. "Stella, you wicked, wicked girl, where have you been? I have " Then she stopped suddenly as she caught sight of Sir Rickard, and stared from one to the other. "You are alarmed, no doubt, my dear Mrs. Newton," he said, coming forward, in his quiet, self-possessed way, and with his calmest, most placid smile. "Miss Stella has been taking a moonlight stroll in the park, when I had the happiness of meeting her." Mrs. Newton turned to Stella, who smiled a dreadful, ghastly smile, and slowly ascending the stairs. Then Sir Richard gently led Mrs. Newton into the dining-room, and with a smile of triumph that was not all feigned, said, in his silkiest whisper : "My dear madam, congratulate me ! Miss Newton has promised to make me the happiest man in the world !" CHAPTER XXIII. IN BUDDING SPRINGTIME. He buys an empty casket, from which The jewels are rifled, who takes A woman's hand without her heart. The snow had gone. Winter had given place to spring. In place of hoar frost and east winds, soft dews spangled the fields with diamonds and gentle breezes waved the buds and blossoms. Down at Heavithorne both the Hut and the Vale were shut up and silent, and the deer rambled fearlessly around each, and couched upon the paths which Louis Felton and his love Stella, who had driven him from her pres- ence, had walked side by side and heart to heart. That same Stella the same, and yet not the same if internal change counts for anything was in London, again the belle of society, and again pledged to marrv the wealthy and powerful Sir Richard Wildfang ! Changed indeed was Stella! Those who had in the previous season deemed her proud now declared that her hauteur was unbearable, and Mrs. Newton, the wily mother who had succeeded in sell- ing her daughter to the best advantage, was not excepted from the quiet, unexpressed scorn with which the beauti- ful girl seemed to regard men and women alike. With scrupulous consistency Stella went through her round of duty, neglecting nothing and pleading no weariness. Balls, concerts, picture galleries, she was present at all, always under the guardianship and in the possession of Sir Richard Wildfang. So little was her face the index of her feelings that Sir Richard himself, as acute a reader of faces as any on the habitable globe, was puzzled and perplexed by it. 158 Stella's Fortune. 159 Had she forgotten that moonlight night when he had thwarted the foolish idiot of a sculptor? for so Sir Rich- ard always designated Louis Felton in his thoughts or did she still remember and cherish a secret regret and remorse ? If Sir Richard could not decipher the calm, self-pos- sessed face of his bride-elect, all the rest of the world must of necessity fail. As for Sir Richard himself, he was calmer, more placidly self-satisfied than ever. Around him, in the commercial world, well-known firms and houses once of high repute tottered and fell, but the house of Wildfang & Co. stood unshaken, look- ing down like a colossus or a sphinx at the crumbling 1 ruins of fair fame and high names which were strewn at its feet. The world looked on and bowed down to his wisdom and sagacity with more admiring suppleness than ever, and new companies toiled, schemed and diplomatized to obtain his name upon their prospectuses. Perhaps Mr. Dewlap, the confidential manager, could have undeceived the world, and stripped the feathers from the golden owl, but Mr. Dewlap was the discreetest of his class and looked on with closed lips and meditative eyes, while he watched the world fall down at the feet of his master and worship. There were some keen-sighted men who said that the immense weight of business which Sir Richard's shoul- ders supported was telling upon him ; that his face had at times a slightly weary and over-watchful expression, and that the smile, which, ever as of old, sat upon his face was as a sunbeam upon ice on a cold January morning, was a trifle, a trifle only, overstrained. "But what wonder if it should be so ?" they exclaimed in chorus, and the little signs of thought only added to his popularity. No man is a hero to his valet, and perhaps Sir Rich- ard's could, like Dewlap, have played the part of icono- clast. He might have told of sleepless nights, of measured pacings across the luxurious bedchamber, of startings 160 Stella's Fortune. of the violent groans with which his master half asleep greeted his appearance one morning, and the wild words : "Take the child away !" But the valet was as discreet as Mr. Dewlap, took his wages, dressed his master to perfection, and most valu- able service of all held his tongue. And Louis Felton where was he? Ask it of the wilds of Corsica, the plains of Nevada, of any of the out of the way places of the uncivilized globe, and they could answer better than the fashionable world of London, which knew him not when he was in its midst, and knew not whither he had gone now that he had de- parted. The man Stephen Hargrave had also disappeared. There was a report in Heavithorne that a face and form like his had been seen passing through the village on a cold, sleety, night ; but the report was only partially cred- ited, and the majority of the good, simple folks firmly be- lieved that he had delivered himself up to the malignant power to whom, in pursuance of a long-standing treaty, he was due ; and they would have let him slip from their memory even more quickly had his name not been useful In scaring disobedient children. To tell the willful child in Heavithorne that Stephen Hargrave was coming to eat him if he did not reform; produced a marked improvement in his behavior. So the spring wore on to summer, and one morning Mrs. Newton, entering the breakfast-room, which was flooded with the June sunlight, sighed mentally, and, glancing at Stella, who sat toying with a scrap of toast too small to satisfy the hunger of a London sparrow, said : "The heat is unendurable, already; what will it be in another month's time ? I really think we'd better go down to the Vale." Stella looked up, and across her face there flashed a sharp spasm of pain, just such a fleeting look as touches the face of a man who has endured a blow upon an tin- healed wound. "To the Vale?" she said, listlessly relapsing into her old attitude of meditation. Stella's Fortune. 161 "Yes; have you any objections to urge? You gen- erally have; or, if you haven't you look as if you had." "I have no objection. I do not wish to go, but that is not an objection tangible enough to prevent us," said Stella, in calmly measured tones of the most profound indifference. "Exactly," retorted Mrs. Newton, with greater irrita- tion, and an infusion of complaint in her tone. "That is what I complain of. You appear to care for nothing. You go here and you go there as if you had no life in you, no choice in the matter. When Richard " Mrs. Newton always spoke of Sir Richard as "Rich- ard," familiarly and proudly. Stella scarcely ever mentioned his name, but if she did she always gave him his title. "When Sir Richard proposed that we should go to Nor- mandy, and actually promised to join us for a little while if he could, you appeared as insensible of his kindness as if he had not suggested the movement." "I am very sorry," said Stella. "I did not object to go to Normandy." "No, but you looked so indifferent that Richard imme- diately recommended us to remain in town. I am sure you might show some interest in in matters when he is so extremely so ridiculously kind." "Sir Richard is very kind," said Stella, coldly, "and I am always ready to accede to any request of his or yours, mamma. If you wish me to go down to the Vale I will go willingly." "And cheerfully!" added Mrs. Newton, with an iron- ical toss of her head. "Stella, I do not know what has come to you. I think it is wicked when one has been so fortunate -so wonderfully fortunate, I may say as you have been, to go about as if you were repining at your lot. You have been fortunate, too! It is my great con- solation to think that I have so managed to secure your happiness, and you ought to be grateful. It was all my management." "Not altogether," said Stella, with a smile at once strange and bitter. "Well, I don't know how much you conduced to the 162 Stella's Fortune. result," said Mrs. Newton. "If it had not been for me, a sensible, affectionate parent you might" and she shud- dered with ineffable contempt and horror "have been married or engaged to some poverty-stricken young man, or one of these new men that one meets in society, ar- tists and authors and that sort of people, dreadfully ill bred and fearfully poor. Why, look at that sculptor man that Louis Felton " It was the first time Louis' name had been mentioned in Stella's hearing since that never-to-be-forgotten night. She arose, calm still, but fearfully pale, and moved to- ward the door, saying, without looking around: "I will get ready to go with you to Madam Cerise, mamma." And so left the room before the cruel, contemptuous sentence could be finished. As she re-entered, dressed for the drive, a footman an- nounced Sir Richard. Mrs. Newton advanced, all smiles and gushing wel- come. "My dear Richard!" she exclaimed, extending her hand with empressement, "how good of you to look in upon us so early, and you so busy too ! Stella will be de- lighted; she has gone upstairs to get ready for a drive. Oh, here she is !" she continued, as Stella, looking any- thing but "so delighted," came forward. Sir Richard bent over her extended hand, and pressed his lips to it the warmest caress he had ever dared to bestow. "I shall not keep you," he said. "You are quite right in getting out early before the heat of noon. I came to ask you if I could do anything for you at Heavithorne." "Are you going clown there?" asked Mrs. Newton. Stella had not spoken. "Yes," he said. "I am going down to the Box tomor- row for some papers I left there, and shall remain all night ; so that if I can be of any service " "N o, thank you, dear Richard," said Mrs. Newton. "I don't think there is anything you can do for us, is there Stella?" "Nothing for me," said Stella, quietly. Stelltfs Fortune. 163 She had taken her seat at a little distance, and was sit- ting, looking out of the window, lost in thought. "Then I will go," said Sir Richard. And he went toward the window with his hand out- stretched. Mrs. Newton turned to go out of the room, not to be in the way, as she would have expressed it, but their parting was no more affectionate than their meeting; indeed, it was not their last word, for Sir Richard, as he shook hands with Mrs. Newton, said, suddenly, and as if he had barely remembered it: "By the way, I have come like a tax collector for a short call on business. I want your signature to a small document, my dear madam." Mrs. Newton smiled to express her willingness to sign anything in obedience to Sir Richard's mandate. "What is it, my dear Richard ?" "A memorandum >a mere form authorizes Lord Marmion to make a transfer of money to me a matter of business dear Stella's. I am afraid you would not understand it if I endeavored to explain it. I may say, though, that Stella's income will be increased some eight hundred a year by it." And he smiled benevolently and affectionately over at Stella, who had relapsed into her cold impassibility. "How very kind of you !" exclaimed Mrs. Newton. "Dear Richard, you are always so thoughtful. Stella, do you hear what Richard has done for you?" "No," said Stella, rising, and advancing to the table. Sir Richard explained if the broken statement could be called an explanation over again, and Stella smiled wearily. She hated the money, every doit of it. Had it not tempted a once noble heart for she could not believe it to have been always vile to dishonor? "Indeed," she said, "it is very kind of you, but I am afraid you have taken more trouble than the results will repay. I have more money than I want. I do not see the use of eight hundred a year more." Sir Richard smiled, as much as to say: "Noble, high- minded girl !" But smiled at Mrs. Newton more wisely. "Eight hundred is worth having, though, and I shall save this to you by taking charge of the money. I have 164 Stellcts Fortune. so many ways of investing it. But I must not keep you, I am quite anxious for you to get into the air; so will you sign ?" And he spread out a paper on the table. Mrs. Newton took up the pen, and, absolutely without glancing 1 at the matter under which she was about to put her name, was commencing to write when Sir Richard stopped her. "My dear madam," he said, shaking his head with a grave, reproachful smile: "Never sign a paper without knowing what you attest ! Read it, please." Mrs. Newton pouted. "How ridiculous as if it mattered. Well, I have read h, and I am none the wiser. There !" and she wrote her name. Sir Richard carefully blotted the line, folded the paper and replaced it in his pocketbook, then, as the ladies were quite ready and the carriage waiting, he placed them in their seats, and waited on the pavement with his hat raised until they had been driven off. Then he turned and made, with his quick, firm step, for his own house. Though it was very hot outside, it was deliciously cool in Sir Richard's private counting house, with its green jalousies and improved patent ventilators, and it was with quite a feeling of relief that the great man seated himself at his table. It was with an expression which signified a more intense satisfaction that he took the paper Mrs. Newton had signed from his pocket and spread it out before him ; and the expression lasted some minutes, indeed, until a knock at the door announced a visitor. It was Mr. Dewlap, grave, sedate, and as respectfully solemn as ever. Without a word beyond the respectful "Good-morn- ing, Sir Richard," he laid a paper upon the table. Sir Richard took it up, considered with calm regard for a few minutes, and looked up, with a smile, which Mr. Dewlap so little expected that he started. "It is as bad as that, Dewlap, is it?" he said. "Well, we have done our best, have we not? You have, I am sure, and so have I. It is a great pity, a great pity ! We Stelltfs Fortune. 165 snail drag a great many down with us, for we have won confidence during the panic, and a lot of money is in our hands. A great pity! But it is inevitable, and a mere question of time. How long shall we say?" "A month, two it all depends, Sir Richard," replied the managing man, with resigned sorrow. "It all depends, as you say," said Sir Richard, with a strange smile. "Well, I can depend upon you ; you will keep quiet?" "As the grave," said Mr. Dewlap. "Thank you," said Sir Richard, and wonderful con- descension ! he held out his fine, white hand. Mr. Dewlap, justly sensible of such amiability, grasped it respectfully, and, as Sir Richard gave him a friendly but perfectly calm "good-morning," took his de- parture. Scarcely had he gone than a servant announced Lord Marmion. "My dear fellow! how do you do?" exclaimed the young man. "Here I am again, on business too, but for the last time, I hope. I have come to wind up the mat- ter, and have brought the cash. You wanted it in good metal and paper, you know !" And he laughed a trusting, light-hearted laugh in which Sir Richard joined with open-hearted mirth. "Here is the paper," he said, taking up the memoran- dum which Mrs. Newton had signed. "It was scarcely necessary, but still with such a large amount every form should be used." "All right," said Lord Marmion. "My man is outside shall I call him?" And without waiting for an an- swer he called to some one who was waiting outside the door. A clerk either a banker's or a lawyer's entered and placed a bag upon the table. Sir Richard offered him a glass, which he drank with great respect, and then was ushered out. "There's the money," said Lord Marmion; "a great sum, Wildfang!" "It is, and a great trust !" "Yes, but not too great for a future husband, you know," said his lordship, laughing. 366 Stella's Fortune. And again Sir Richard joined in. Then he seated himself at a table and wrote out an ac- knowledgment. "Another form," he said, handing it to Lord Marmion. "Take care of it." "I will," said his lordship, "I feel quite like a business man. Now give me a glass of wine, and I'll trot off. I'm going to Richmond will you come? A little water party." "No, thanks," replied Sir Richard, toying as he spoke with the paper which Mr. Dewlap had left. "I am going down to Heavithorne tomorrow, and I must be busy to- night." "Oh, you business men! You are wonderful people," said his lordship, as he drank his sherry. "Well, good- by. How much do you think Stella will get a year by this transaction?" "About eight hundred pounds more or less," said Sir Richard, as he shook hands. Then, with another genial, hearty good-by, the young lord also departed, and Sir Richard was left alone. He locked the door, and returning to the table, looked down at the bag with a smile deep and profound. Then he took up the bag, and opening it turned out a mass of bank notes and coin. With the same smile he set to work and counted out the whole to the last sovereign then replaced it in the bag and walked with it to a safe at the end of the room. He unlocked the safe, carefully deposited the bag in & remote corner, and looked at it with the same smile of satisfaction. "A nest egg !" he said at last. Then he closed the safe slowly, and as slowly locked it The nest egg was Stella's fortune! CHAPTER XXIV. AT THE WICKET GATE. My one ewe lamb, my son! Oh, that the angels did not need thee In the celestial sky, but for another reason yet Would let thee shine on earthl The summer which glorified Grosvenor Square and Park had brightened in some degree the squalor of Para- dise Alley. Number two, in especial, looked all the better for it, and the canary did his best to prove his masculine gender by chirping recklessly whenever a struggling sunbeam shone across the bars of his dingy brass cage. The months which had brought growth to the year had also done something in the way of enlargement for Sam Growl's Christmas Snowdrop ; and as Sam was wont to declare to any one or no one if he happened to be alone the little fellow promised, if fate were kind to him, to be a man. If Fate proved kind! Something in the shape of improvement had fallen upon Sam himself in the six months which had elapsed since that merry Christmas Eve, and the cause was pal- pable. There was less of ruggedness in his grim, wrinkled face and less of dirt upon his hands. The hunchback's voice, which a neighbor had once likened to a hurdy-gurdy out of tune, was softened and toned down to a kindly growl, which at times rose to a chuckling falsetto, and about the whole of the distorted, misshapen figure had grown a something at variance with the old, reckless untidiness and a marked sign of change of an object in life. There was not much poetry in Paradise Alley. It was 161 168 Stella's Fortune. not a locality favorable to the full development of the finer sensibilities ; but few of the dwellers in the dark, dirty, squalid corner but felt a touch of something like sympathy when they saw old Sam trudge out with his precious child in his bosom or hanging on to his hand, and throughout the alley from end to end there was not one who would have dared to look surly at the mite while his hunchback guardian was near to see. And they saw him only when he was out. Had they seen him at home, lighting up the little room as he lit up the old man's heart playing about the grotesque fig- ure as it bent over its work; had they heard his prattle, and the lively falsetto which it provoked from Sam, the Paradise Alleyites might have been all the better for it, and perhaps who knows ? for example is more effective than precept have loved their own little ones more heartily. Yes, Sam had an object in life, a something to live for, but it made his life not only sweet to him, but awful ! Often, as the old man sat looking at the child as it played beside him, or sat at his knee with its golden head resting peacefully against the hard, labor-stained waist- coat, he would think : "If I was to die ! Ah ! what would become of him?" And he would snatch the precious blessing to his heart and wipe away well, a speck of leather dust which had flown in his eye. They were all the world to each other. And it had occurred to Sam that his Snowdrop might feel the want of childish companionship, and his heart smote him so fully that it nerved him to speak. "Snow," he said, falteringly, in that strange, half mature and half infantile, in which he always addressed the child, and which the mite seemed to fully understand, "Snow, it occurs to me, quite promiscuous, that maybe you'd like a playmate or two. If so be as I'm right, I takes it unkind of you not to mention it!" and he shook his head solemnly. The little fellow climbed up to his knee and fixed a pair of bright blue eyes thoughtfully upon the old man's small ones. Stelltfs Fortune. 169 "If so be as you should," growled the old man, "why, we'll get a few. You shall have as many as you likes ; 1 knows there's plenty of 'em in the alley ! We'll pick out the cleanest and have a nice spin. Puss in boots, hop- scotch, Tom Tiddler's ground, and and all them sort of games. What do you say, Snow ?" "E'es," chirped the little fellow, with a rather doubt- ful nod, and Sam, smothering a wistful sigh, took him the next morning into the middle of the alley and quietly introduced him in child fashion to a group of mites. Then he retreated to the window and watched with all his heart in his eyes. The child played at first shyly, but still with infantile glee, until, in a burst of crowing, he happened to glance at the window and saw old Father Sam's lonely, sorrow- ful face before the old man could hide it behind the curtain. In an instant he threw down the ball, and, quitting his companions, toddled painfully up the steps, hammered at the door with his tiny fist, and, on Sam's opening it, held out his arms to be taken up. The next morning Sam silently took him out again, but the child's gentle heart had read and fully understood the meaning of the lonely old face at the window, and he hurried to Sam as soon as the hunchback had put him down, and, in his childish treble, said : "No, p'ay with old Father Sam." So Sam bore him back, and, mad with delight which he hid over the old boot he was mending was the child's only playmate once more. Then came the summer, and that heat that Mrs. Newton had declared was unbearable in her cool draw- ing rooms and boudoirs. In Paradise Alley she would have found a difficulty in discovering some word by which to describe it. The pavement was hot, the air was stifling, the canary languished in his cage and gave up all hope of ever proving his sex, and the child little Snowdrop? Like the snowdrop it began to fade and droop in the heat, and the old man grew terrified when, on one of the hottest days, the little one lay in his arms white and still, with I7O Stella's Fortune. a peaceful, listless smile in the eyes turned lovingly to his. Tremblingly he pressed the boy to him, calling him by his name in tones that struggled vainly for calm. "Snowdrop, my little Snowdrop! what's the matter? You you are not in any pain ? Open your eyes and look at old Father Sam ! Just one look !" '"' 'Nodrop very tired, old father !" he lisped, with a preternaturally grave shake of the head. "Tired of course you are," said old Sam, glancing helplessly at the window, through which the sun was beat- ing upon the curtains. "Every decent person, leave alone a angel child, is tired in such weather. It's only old chaps like myself as keeps up, owdacious villains as we are!" and, hating his own strength, he shut his teeth hard. "My precious darling will go into the park " "No, not the park me tired of the park," said the child, in a whisper. "Me stay here and go to sleep." And nestling closer to the pitiful breast, he closed his eyes. Old Sam was in mortal terror. What was he to do if the child fell ill? There had been several deaths of fever in the alley. Perhaps his Snowdrop ! the thought was too horrible, too appalling, to be endured quietly. The old man, without his hat, and with his leathern apron "till around him, hurried carefully into the street to the nearest doctor's, and, trembling like a leaf, rang the bell. It was some time before the gentlemanly assistant would admit him, but Sam threatened to admit himself and force his way if he were not allowed to enter quietly, and so obtain an audience. The doctor an old man, far too used to such sights to feel more than professional sympathy looked at the child, and back at the old man. "What is it?" asked Sam, hoarsely, almost fiercely. "Can't you speak? What's the use of a doctor if he can't do nothing more'n look at him? I can do that, and I'm an ignorant, cobbling old idiot ! Do something for him give him something ! I can pay for it I'm strong look at me! and I can work for him. Give him something! Heaven, give him something!" Stella's Fortune. 171 The doctor laid his hand upon the shaking, misshapen shoulder. "Hush, my good fellow!" he said. "Do not distress yourself! The child is very ill, but not dying. Medi- cine physic is no use. The medicine he wants is fresh air. The country new milk buttercups and daisies. You understand?" Old Sam nodded eagerly, his eyes sparkling with hope. *T know! I'll take him! I'll cross the sea with him go anywhere to serve him! Doctor, I can't I can't let him die!" And his whisper sank so low that the words were rather breathed than spoken. "No, no," said the doctor, "don't be afraid, my good man. Take him into the country at once. He's a fine little fellow, but delicate. Not your child, eh? Your daughter's? She was delicate, wasn't she? Exposed to the air, eh?" The old man nodded, with a fearful bitterness. "Yes," he said, between his shut teeth, "she was deli- cate ! She was exposed to the air." And laying half a sovereign down upon the table he covered the child up in his coat and left the room. "Take him into the country !" he murmured, as he hur- ried home. "Yes, yes; new milk, flowers! He shall have 'em he shall have 'em! Old Sam shall get 'em for him! The country where is the country?" And he stopped short and looked helplessly around him. Reader, there are hundreds of the poor who could put the same question with perfect seriousness. Then there flashed upon him the memory of the visit of the gentleman who had spoken so kindly to him and admired the boy. He had spoken of the country had asked him to bring his Snowdrop down to see his picture had left the ad- dress. With fast beating heart the old man laid the child upon its little bed and searched for the paper. When he had found it he spelt out the address letter by letter, carefully folded the paper, and stuck it in his waistcoat pocket, and, with trembling, eager fingers, did 172 Stellcts Fortune. up his necessaries for the journey in a red pocket hand- kerchief. Then lie wrapped up the child tightly, and carefully, and, locking the door of the room after him, sallied out into the street, To the first policeman he met he showed the slip of pa- per, and hungrily listened to his direction how to reach the place named in it, then, walking with the utmost care of the child's comfort, reached the station, and, all trem- bling with love's fear, started for Heavithorne. It was night when the lodge keeper who told the story in the evening in the village ale house for the re- mainder of his life locking up the park gate, saw a bent, misshapen figure with something bulging out of the breast of his coat, hurrying down the path, and looking from one side to the other with wistful, eager eyes. It was Sam, with his precious burden, and he stopped at the gate, and, looking at the keeper with eager eyes, produced the piece of paper, now thumb-marked and battered. "Can you tell me where that place is? Quick 1" "Yes," said the man, "you're just in time to save me a trot out o' the lodge again. That's the house down yonder. But who'e do you want? 5 * "That's my business," retorted the old man, with jeal- ous fierceness. Then, with a hurried "Thank ye" and a glance at his burden, he hurried on, the moon lighting his path and shining on his gnarled, wrinkled face as he went "Close there now," he murmured, with his head bent down to his breast. "Close there now, Snow ! Keep up your heart, my precious! We'll soon be with the kind gentleman. He'll take care o' you ! Speak to me, only a word Snow only a word 1" "Father Sam !" murmured the little fellow. The old man choked down a sob and hurried on faster than ever. A turn of the path and he was at the wicket gate. Another minute and he was through it, and standing like a stone but for the heavy moan of disappointment and despair which burst from the bottom of his heart as Stelkts Fortune. 173 his eyes rested upon the lifeless house and the deserted garden. "Empty 1" he moaned. "Gone ! Oh, Snow ! Snow !" In his helplessness his head sank upon his breast and he walked on toward the house as if in a dream. The child put out his little hand and made a peephole for itself. "Pretty! pretty!" he murmured, looking up at the house, upon which the moon was shining brightly. "Oh, father, stop here with Snow !" Old Sam looked down at him with a trembling lip. The night was warm, the child well wrapped up. There was no near shelter that he knew of; he might wander all night and find no place for him. He looked around, undecided still, until his eyes fell upon a little summerhouse in the corner of the shrub- bery, and then he decided. Limping up to it for he was footsore and lamed by the hot roads he crawled in, uncovered the child, while he gave it a draught of milk from a bottle, and then, cov- ering it up again, sat silent and motionless with its warm, fragile form pressed to him. While he sat, looking up at the moon with an inaudible prayer for the child ever forming itself on his lips, he heard a noise near him, and, looking out, saw a figure closely muffled stealing through the neglected garden. CHAPTER XXV, A HAUNTED MAN. Guilt ever at hia footsteps paced And kept his conscience horrible, A shadow moved him to the soul And fear claimed him for its own. Sir Richard, as he had informed Lord Marmion that he should be, was very busy with ledger and daybook that evening, and worked at a strange kind of work late into the night. Sir Richard, in all his deeds, whether of good or bad- he did some good ones for a far-sighted purpose, occa- sionally was always calm and gentlemanly. To-night he was making up false accounts and state- ments to defraud and mislead clever men ; but though the task required the acumen and astuteness of an artful brain, and was of a nature deeply criminal, Sir Richard's face was placidly smooth and the parting of his hair un- ruffled. Had he been going to commit a murder, he would have set about it with a complete avoidance of excitement, and would have slain his victim in a quiet, graceful, and gentlemanly manner. In the morning he sallied into the park and chatted with charming affability for so great and wealthy a man with thoughtless young ladies and empty-headed young men, some of whose money he had that night before been cleverly disposing of in his false account books; and in the afternoon he started for the Box alone, and carrying a leather bag. It was a small bag, and did not look par- ticularly heavy as he carried it. But it was heavy, notwithstanding that he swung it occasionally with a careless "There's nothing in it" sort of air, and never put it out of his hand for a minute, though obsequious porters and servants requested per- M* Stella? s Fortune. 175 rfiission to relieve him of it. He still clung to it while he sat in the study in the Box and waited, smoking a cigar and sipping claret until the night had quite fallen. And when he stole out by the doorway through which Stephen Hargrave had so often entered, closely muffled, he still had the bag in his hand. Even when he caught up a spade which was leaning just outside against the step, and hid it under his coat, he still held the bag, and with the bag in his hand he stole along waiting for intervals of darkness when the clouds obscured the moon along the unfrequented ways to the Hut. Arrived there, he crossed the garden and entered the shrubbery. There he stood for a while, listening intently and look- ing round him with keen and still unexcited eyes. At last, fully assured that no listener nor spy was near, he drew out his spade, which was sharpened like a turf- cutter's, and neatly cut a square of turf under the laurels. This he laid carefully aside, and proceeded to dig, working quietly and deftly, like one acquainted with the use of the spade, though in all probability it was the first time he had ever had the tool in his hand. He worked steadily, pausing occasionally to listen, un- til a deep hole lay beneath him. Then he took up the precious bag, lowered it gently and tenderly into its grave, and proceeded to fill in the mold. When that part of his task was finished he replaced the turf, flattened it with the spade, straightened his back and smiled down at his work accomplished smiled down as if he could see through the earth the bright sovereigns and the crisp notes of Stella's fortune. In that moment of his rest a slight noise caused him to swerve on -one side as if a bullet had struck him. It was the feeble cry of a child. He looked around and listened with a scared look upon his face, such as it had worn when he had heard a servant at the Vale call "Lucy," such as it wore when he woke at nights from his dreams. Then he smiled, shook his head with a contemptuous frown at his own foolish fancy ; but nevertheless set down 176 Stella's Fortune. his spade, and advanced cautiously farther into the shrub- bery. At his first step the moon was obscured, the shrubbery was dark. A minute after, by the time he had got into the middle of the little plantation, the moon broke forth again, and poured down before him. He raised his eyes as some- thing white seemed to have sprung into his path, and fell back with a guttural cry of horror. Before him risen from the grave were the ghosts of the woman and child who had stood before him that cold, bitter Christmas Eve, when he had spurned them from him with a cruel denial and a crueler mockery of charity. Yes, horrible to see, there they stood! In the same attitude. The ghost of the woman was holding out to him the ghost of the child. His face went livid, his eyes seemed to start from their sockets. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth ; and that fear which hurls reason from its throne had taken possession of his bad, unscrupulous soul. For a moment the earth spun around him in the moon- light, then, with a mighty effort, he turned and fled. With the speed of a man pursued by the demons of a guilty conscience, he bore to the wicket gate, opened it and dashed against something! something in the shape of a man, deformed enough to add to his terror some- thing that went down before his guilty flight like a feather. He stopped for a moment, but the next a child's wail broke the stillness, and once more he fled livid with feat and almost mad. CHAPTER XXVL "TO LUCY." Some thirty minutes after Sir Richard's guilty flight from the garden of the Hut a man was striding moodily across the park. His head was bent upon his breast, his hands thrust into a loose and well-nigh ragged cloak, his whole appear- ance unprepossessing and dejected. For the most part he walked on, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but when he came opposite the Hut he stopped and looked up at it with a face of gloomy reverie, half bitter, half remorseful. But the pause was only one of a few minutes, and he turned away to the left, traversing a large field with the same purposeless, restless gait and the same preoccupied, morose bearing. Presently, however, he came toward an outhouse and was about to turn in under its low doorway, perhaps for rest and shelter, when a voice from within brought him to a halt, and, with a stealthy gesture, he drew away from the door to the side, removed his hat, and peered through one of the numerous crevices in the old woodwork. Within the shed was an old man and a child ; the latter was lying on a heap of straw, looking up into the face of the old man bending over him, and the unseen watcher saw by the light of the moonlight, which streamed through the doorway upon both figures, that the angel of death was waiting to bear the little one away to his eternal home. The voice he had heard was the child's, and in a weak little baby tone it spoke again. "Father Sam, when shall we turn to the country and see all the horses and the trees and the birds? 'Tismas w very tired and s'eepy." 178 Stella's Fortune, "Very soon, now, my pretty one," muttered the old tnan, turning his head away and setting his face as if to force the tears back; "very soon now, Christmas, very soon." "Very soon are you sure, Father Sam ?" muttered the child. "I'm so glad, so glad. Don't you feel sleepy, Father Sam ? You look tired so very tired, When we get to the pretty country you will go to sleep, won't you ? You won't leave me, Father Sam, will you?" "No, I won't leave you, my Snowdrop," muttered the old man, brokenly. "Try and go to sleep, Christmas; lean your head upon my arm and shut your eyes. Do you feel very tired?" "Oh, very, very tired, Father Sam," lisped the little one. "Me won't go to sleep, though, if you won't promise to wake me when we come to the country. I want to see the birds and the flowers you told me about. I want to see them when you do, Father Sam, You'll wake me, won't you?" "Yes, I'll wake you, Christmas," said the old man, rock- ing to and fro. "How twiet it is," lisped the boy. "Father Sam, I wish the canary was here, it seems so lonely. Speak to Tis- mas, Father Sam. Tell him about the country, about the birds and the trees we are going to see. I don't like it to be so twiet. Speak to me, Father Sam 1" The old man cleared his throat. "Want to hear about the country, Christy?" he said, hoarsely. "We're in the country now. Look, there's some trees, and to-morrow we shall see the birds." "To-morrow !" broke in the boy, faintly. "Let me see them now. P'raps I shan't wake in the morning, Father Sam. Let me see the birdies now." "The birds are all gone to sleep, Christy all asleep," said the old man. "But look at the trees; there's trees and grass, Christy; that's country, you know! Look at 'em and go to sleep." The child shook his head. "Me 'fraid to go to sleep ; me 'fraid the bad man comes and knock us down. Father Sam, me 'fraid to go to s'eep. Tismas want to go home.'* Stella's Fortune. 1791 The old man groaned, and hushed the child to him with piteous, helpless anguish. "We can't go home, Christy ; we are too far away." "No," said the boy. "Not too far. Tismas not too far. Father Sam take him home to his little bed. 'Tis- mas say his prayers and go to s'eep he never hear the birdies sing." "Never ! Oh, yes, you will, my lamb, to-morrow," said the old man, huskily. "Go to sleep, my angel." The child sighed. "Yes, 'Tismas go to sleep now, Father Sam, and if 'Tismas doesn't wake up to see the trees and the birdies, Father Sam will tarry him home to his little bed, won't he?" "Yes, yes," burst forth the old man, "Father Sam will never leave his Snowdrop, and Snowdrop must never leave his old father never, never!" "Never, never!" lisped the child, and, putting out his hand, touched the old man's face with a smile of childish love. " 'Tismas never leave Father Sam. 'Tismas loves Father Sam. 'Tismas go to s'eep now, and when he wake up he hear the birdies sing the birdies sing." The last words died away on his little pale lips, and his bright golden head sank lower on the old man's breast. Silence, deep and profound, fell upon the two. The man outside frowned deeply, choked a sigh with a morose cough, and advanced to the doorway. The old man looked up and held up a warning finger. "Hush! he's asleep," he said, with no surprise in his voice at the unexpected appearance, only a loving, deeply anxious solicitude for quiet. The man nodded, stepped slowly and softly into the shed, and, dropping down upon a broken milking stool, leaned his head upon his hands and gazed at the two figures, old man and child, with dreamy abstraction. Half an hour passed, then the old man looked up with a wan smile. "How sound he sleeps!" he murmured. "He hasn't moved not a hinch, Heaven bless him! Hell be better when he wakes better when he wakes." Then the man spoke for the first time. i8o Steltfs Fortune. "Yes," he said, in a deep, mournful, bitter voice. "He*K be better when he wakes." Something' in the tone attracted the old man's atten- tion, and he glanced with half-fearful suspicion at the stranger for a moment, then returned to his slight rocking of the child. Another half hour passed, then the stranger rose and placed a hand upon the old man's shoulder. "The child sleeps soundly," he said, speaking slowly, and not unkindly, though with the same bitter, mournful tone, "very soundly perhaps too soundly ; look at him." "No, no !" replied the old man ; "no, don't disturb him. He'll be better when he wakes." The man looked at him hard. "You won't disturb him," he said. "Nothing will dis- turb the child again, old man. Look at him. He's awake and better already." The old man fell to trembling-, and stared first at the child, then at the grim, hard face above him. At last the man, gently for one with so rough an ap- pearance, drew the big coat aside and turned the child's head. "Look," he said, "he's better, much better, now ; better than you an' me ever will be, old man." Old Sam looked, then rose with a wild cry of horror and grief. "No, no!" he cried, in a shrill, broken voice, "not dead! not dead ! He's too young to die ! Look at me I'm old, he's young, a mere babe! Christmas! Christmas! wake; we're in the country! Wake, my darling! Look up at Father Sam ! We're in the country, with the trees, the birds the birds! He won't wake! The child's tired tired out. He he " Then he paused suddenly, and, bending his white lips to the child's, shuddered and shook. "You see," said the man, "he's dead. Come, don't take it so much to heart. He's better off, old man; they al- ways are. I've seen the best loved of 'em dead ; and I've learned to be glad of it. Come, bear up. Give me the child." But the old man pressed the boy to his heart and drew the coat jealously, fiercely, over him. "Well, I'll not part you," said the man. "Carry him. Stella's Fortune. 181 if ye must, and follow me into the village. You can't stop here." "No home, home!" said the old man, hoarsely. "I promised to take him home." "Where is it?" asked the man, eyeing him with bent brows. But old Sam was demented ; his great love had numbed his reason, and "Home, home! I promised to take him home," was all the answer the questioner could get. At last, despairing of obtaining the information from the bereaved old man, he turned to the bundle, and with slow movements commenced untying it, in the hope of finding some clew to the old man's destination. As his eyes rested on the bread and meat and bottle of milk which seemed to be the only contents of the bun- dle, he was about to retie it, when the corner of an en- velope lying at the bottom attracted his attention, and, turning the handkerchief upside down he drew from it a small pile of letters and a ring tied to one of them. Grimly he carried them to the doorway. The moon was obscured at the moment, but he struck a match and read the address. As he did so, he sprang to his feet, clutched the letter held straight out before him, and gazed at it with blanched face and staring eyes. "Lucy's name!" he muttered, huskily. "Lucy's name!" Then he drew himself together, shook himself as if he had strained his nerves to go through a direful task, and, with a jerk, opened the letter Striking match after match, he read, first one letter, then another, his face growing whiter and more hardened, his lips quivering with some fearful and suppressed pas- sion. Then he came to the ring and examined it, turned it over twice, and was about to drop it with the heap of letters at his feet, when his eyes caught some inscription running inside, and he lit another match and read : "To Lucy, from Richard Wildfang." With a terrible imprecation, he stared at the ring, at the old man, at the child, then covered his face with his hands and shook like a leaf tossed by the wind. i82 Stella's Fortune. The old man who had hitherto regarded him with apathetic eyes that scarcely seemed to see him, now limped forward and touched him on the shoulder. "Give me the letters," he said huskily, and in a hollow voice. "They're no business of yours. We're going home." The man started, and, grasping his arm, led him to the door. "Let me look at the child," he whispered, hoarsely. The old man, slowly and reluctantly, uncovered the peaceful little face. The man looked for a moment, then turned away his face and groaned. ' Tis Lucy's child! 'Tis Lucy's child!" he moaned. "Lucy's Lucy's," said the old man. "You know him?" "Ay," said the man, with curt bitterness. "I know him, old man. I knew his mother. You shall go home, and I'll go with ye. Then I've work to do work to do. I'll go with ye for it's Lucy's child." Then the two men the old one still pressing the child to his breast went out into the park, silently, taking little Christmas home. When they came to the Hut the old man's grief for the first time broke forth freely. Wild words poured from his lonely, miserable heart, and wild accusations. "He killed him ! He killed him ! He struck him out of my hand ! He killed him." For a time the man listened silently, his hard face bent eastwards and fearful in its expression of concentrated ferocity and bitterness ; but when the old man's words be- came more coherent and earnest he stopped and listened more eagerly, and when at last he had ekcited an account of all that the old man had seen in the deserted garden a gleam of savage joy and vindicative triumph lit up his face, and he threw up his hands as if they grasped a sure and terrible revenge. "He killed him," he said, hoarsely. "He killed her, and he killed the child. Blood for blood ! Blood for blood !" And as if the cry had cleared the air, and penetrated Stella's Fortune. 183 the luxurious bedchamber of the wealthy and influential Sir Richard Wildfang, Sir Richard himself stood gazing in the glass at the reflection of his white, shrinking face and quivering lips. CHAPTER XXVII. NEWS FROM ENGLAND. And now it became rumored that the great doctors of the land had told Sir Richard Wildfang that he must rest for a while from his gig-antic labors rest body and mind, for, said they, he had been working with too tight a pressure in the conduct of some of the tremendous monetary projects with which he had blessed the com- mercial world. Sir Richard, smilingly acquiescent, went to Stella, and, placing himself, as it were, in her hands, asked her in his softest and most musical voice, to name the day. Miss Newton received his request at first with a fear and dread, which displayed itself in visible trembling, but when Mrs. Newton vehemently showed her that it was her duty to put Sir Richard out of suspense, and reward him as his great merit and undoubted devotion deserved, Stella regained her wonted calm and promised to become Lady Wildfang three months hence. So the fashionable world buzzed it through ballroom and salon, boudoir and conservatory, and the milliners were set to work. Not only the milliners, but the build- ers, architects, upholsterers and cabinet makers, for Sir Richard declared his intention of thoroughly renovating and redecorating his already palatial mansion in War- wickshire. The papers caught up the news and inserted gossip- ing little paragraphs relating how Sir Richard intended taking his charming bride the regular Swiss round, how he had just paid four hundred pounds for a pair of car- riage grays, how he had said, done or thought this and the other. And amid it all amid the fussing of the trades- people, the chattering of fashionable acquaintances for Stella had no friends in the proper significance of the word and, above all, with her mother's perpetual hymn 18* Stella's Fortune. 185 of self-satisfaction ever humming in her ears, the bride- elect remained calm, cool, unmoved, as if she were not the most important actor in the coming pageant, and the whole affair concerned her only in a secondary sense. What she felt when the shades of night hid her, as they did Sir Richard, from curious eyes, none knew. If she was pale in the morning, Mrs. Newton put her pallor down to the recurrence of one of the headaches which perpetually tormented her otherwise peculiarly fortunate daughter; she little guessed that the pallor was produced by tears and writhings of impotent longing which kept Stella's eyes wide open in the darkness and her heart bleeding. The papers confined the news, and they spread it abroad even to the wastes of the Rocky Mountains, for in the hut of a fur trader, a trapper, clad in beaver skins, sat in that month of July idly turning over the English paper which some friendiy hand had flung into the hut. The hut was a lone one, by the side of a brawling stream, and the trapper looked a lone man, with his rifle beside him, his bowie knife lying upon the table and his eyes glancing dreamily upon the paper. The face was delicate vhrough all the lines which a great sorrow or a heavy illness had graven there, and there was a wistful, careless sadness in the eyes that spoke little of the daring, rough-visaged, rough-minded ordi- nary trapper. Through all the rough clothing and amidst the discomfort of the trapper's hut there spoke the air and the habitation of a gentleman. "All! news from England!" he muttered. "I scarcely know whether it is worth while reading it. I have left the old country for good. Why should I keep up a con- nection, even in thought? A man does not carry about with him a picture of the grave in which he has buried his heart and hopes. No, let the news go, since I can have no part in it." But, nevertheless, though he pushed the paper aside for a moment, and played with his bowie knife thoughtfully, 186 Stellcts Fortune. his stoicism lasted only a few moments, and presently he took up the paper and began to read it. "Fashionable gossip !" he muttered, coming to the col- umn. "That, least of all, concerns me " But before the words were clear of his lips his face had changed, his hands tightened spasmodically upon the paper, at which he stared with fixed and sorrowful re- gard. Then he laid it down, having assuredly read enough for that day. "To be married in September, to him, the scheming scoundrel, who played upon her and betrayed me! Oh, Stella, Stella! I would rather stand beside your grave than beside you on your wedding day. September, Sep- tember! It is soon, too soon! Can she have forgotten tne already, or have they succeeded in forcing her to marry him? No matter; she believes me false, will do so until the hour of her death. Then, of a surety, will her eyes be opened, or there is no justice under Heaven. September, September! Oh, Stella, Stella!" While the words were on his lips, and his eyes were covered by his hands, a footstep rang out on the oaken threshold of the hut, and, looking up, the trapper saw a tall, dark figure standing with its back to the light, re- garding him. "Your business, friend?" he said, wearily. The man turned his face slightly, the trapper started, then sprang at him very much as the wolves sprang at himself some nights when he lay beside the stream watching for the beaver grasped him by the throat and pinned him against the wooden wall of the hut. "Stephen Hargrave! met at last!" "Master Louis," said the man, with a deep, hoarse voice, "we've met at last, because I've been seeking ye, following in your tracks all these months. Take your hand from my throat, master, till I've told all I've got to tell, then ye can put your bowie knife there instead " Louis Felton's hand relaxed, and he pointed to the stool. "Sit there, and say what you've got to say. Tell me Stelltfs Fortune. 187 one word that is false one word that I know to be un- true and I'll shoot you as I would a dog!" So they stood and sat, the grim Stephen Hargrave tell- ing the story of villainy to the victim of it, standing with his hand upon his gun. The preparations for the wedding hurried on. The middle of September, which seemed so happily far off to Stella when she named the day which was to prove the consummation of Sir Richard's good fortune, drew near with fearful, with hideous haste. Night after night she woke from terrible, agonizing dreams, in which she saw her old lover lying dead at her feet, in which she felt herself locked in the cold arms of a statue in the shape and guise of Sir Richard Wildfang; dreams that threw their dark shadows over her waking hours, and made her cheek paler and her eyes more listless than ever. The doctors the same wise creatures who had de- clared Sir Richard needed rest opined that Miss Newton would be benefited by the wedding trip through Switzer- land, and with wise nods and shakes of the head said that the sooner she was married the better. So the time flew by, and the day before the wedding fell upon her with a suddenness which all the month of preparation had not rendered less appalling. Great was the confusion, and in the midst of it the lawyers arrived to see the settlement duly signed and executed. Lord Marmion, the young peer, was to give his beauti- ful ward away, and lie was there with the lawyers, all smilingly affectionate, but not a little uneasy and anxious at the pallor and indifference of the bride. So uneasy and anxious, indeed, that when he came into the drawing- room, after the grand dinner which had been given as a preparation to the festivities which were to follow on the happy pair's return, he sought Stella as she sat alone and in silence by that window through which she had first seen Louis Felton, and, with a sudden bluntness which sent the blood to her pale face, said : i88 Stella's Fortune. "Stella, you won't mind me. I'm your guardian, you know, though I am such a youngster for that post. Now. tell me the truth." "Certainly, Lord Marmion," said Stella, languidly mov- ing her face, but smiling as she looked up at him with a smile that was pitiful in its wanness. "Stella, tell me, would you like this this wedding put off?" A flush and an eager light lit up her face and eyes, and for the moment she seemed almost to pour out her heart to him, but at that moment her mother's voice, harsh, triumphant and strident, smote her ear, and with 'all her old coldness and apathy, she said : "No ; I have no reason for postponing it." The young lord sighed, looked at her hesitatingly, then rose, for the lawyers were announced. There were three of them, and they came with their soft smiles and ceremonious bows to each other, yet eagerly ready to seize any advantage one from the other, just for seizing's sake. Mrs. Newton welcomed them with stately pomposity. Lights were placed on a table cleared of its books and bric-a-brac for the occasion, and the lawyers fell to chat- ting on the deeds and parchments, waiting for the arrival of Sir Richard. "Sir Richard is a little late, my dear Stella," smiled Mrs. Newton, as she glanced at the clock. "Ah, here he is," said Lord Marmion, "and I'll wager your clock is fast, Mrs. Newton. Wildfang is always punctual." The door was opened and Sir Richard entered. Very calm, placid and self-assured he looked, and al- most handsome. The soft, delicate light fell upon his clean-cut face and smoothly brushed hair, and showed up the darkness and depth of his small, defiant eyes. He stood for a second looking on the scene, the law- yers at their table, Stella at her place by the window, Lord Marmion beside her, Mrs. Newton coming sailing across the room to press his hand. Then he advanced, with his soft, set smile. Stella's Fortune. 189 "My dear Mrs. Newton, I am not late, I hope? No, your clock is fast ; there strikes the hour." Then he glided up to Stella and bent over her respect- fully, devotedly. Then he shook hands with Lord Marmion, and after chatting a few minutes, sauntered to the lawyers, who were all smiling and ceremonious, inwardly worshiping the wealthy and influential man who was about to put the coping stone to the edifice by marrying a young and beautiful heiress. The parchments were spread out ; Lord Marmion, with the puzzled look upon his fair, young face which always settled there when business was in the wind, leaned over the table, while the contents of the various deeds were explained over and over again to him, and soon Mrs. Newton joined the gentlemen at the table, and Stella sat alone, gazing at the fire, paying no heed. The conference, or conversation, went on in a pleasant hum, the lawyers' dry voices above the rest, and she still sat indifferent and listless. Suddenly, however, one word smote her ear and aroused her from her lethargy. "In the matter of the purchase of the Hut, as it is called, at Heavithorne," Sir Richard's lawyer was saying with dry slowness, to Lord Marmion, "you are aware that Sir Richard intended and still intends purchas- ing it?" "No," said Lord Marmion, quite aloud, and entirely missing the frown of warning which Sir Richard bent upon his solicitor, who, for his own part, was so wrapped in his explanations and definitions that he him- self, usually keen-sighted enough, did not observe the frown, and went on with slow distinctness. "Yes, Sir Richard, was desirous of obtaining the house and land pertaining, with the ultimate object of adding the land to the Vale estate, as a slight token ahem of respect and esteem for Mrs. Newton. So runs this mem- orandum, which is a clause in the deed, and which goes on further to state that the house shall be pulled down and " A slight movement from that part of the room where Stella had been sitting caused him to turn his head. Stella's Fortune. Stella had risen, and with a dreadful pallor was gaz- ing" at the group around the table. Mrs. Newton, with mingled alarm and surprise, went to her. "Are you faint, my dear Stella?" "No," she said, in a low voice. "The room is hot, I think." Then, as Sir Richard quietly opened the door, she ad- vanced slowly to the table. "What was that I heard about Heavithorne ?" '' The solicitor took up the deed, and with a deferential smile, commenced: "I was explaining to Lord Marmion the proposed deed of gift of the Hut, at Heavithorne, which Sir Richard is desirous of purchasing. The house is to be pulled down, and the land added to the Vale, thereby greatly im- proving the estate. So runs the deed, which we could now properly execute but for one great hindrance the house and land are not yet ours, though Sir Richard has made every effort to get them into his possession. "You see, my dear Miss Newton," he went on, glanc- ing at the deed, and entirely unconscious of the expres- sion of Stella's face and the fixed regard of her eyes. "You see, there is some difficulty in finding the owner, a young man by the name of Felton Louis Felton who seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth; or, at least, to speak more correctly, has eluded the most minute inquiries of our agents. It is possible indeed, it is very possible that he is dead " Sir Richard stepped forward and almost snatched the deed from the lawyer's hand. "Excuse me," he said, "you are wearying Miss New- ton. The deed is of little or no consequence; be good enough to lay it aside." Then, as the astonished and mortified lawyer bowed in compliance, Sir Richard led Stella away. She went passively, like some one lost to all uses of world or life itself, and sank into her old seat and her old attitude. Here she was, to be married tomorrow, in all pomp and state, and he he "was in all probability dead!" Stella's Fortune. igj Then Sir Richard went back to the table with a de- cided air which sat upon his face when business was paramount, and made a sign to the lawyers. "My lord," said one of them to Lord Marmion, "I think we are all ready; there are only the signatures wanting now." "Eh? Oh, very good," said Lord Marmion. "Who signs first?" And he looked around helplessly at Mrs. Newton. "Sir Richard will sign first," said the lawyer, spread- ing out the deed. "Now, Sir Richard, if you please." Sir Richard took up the pen, steadied the parchment with the fingers of his small, white hand, and signed his influential name, with its well-known flourish. Then Lord Marmion with three lawyers to show him the exact spot nervously scrawled his name. Mrs. Newton came smiling up, and wrote her name with a self-satisfied laugh. It was Stella's turn and the lawyers looked patiently at her as she rose and came slowly toward the table, on Lord Mansion's arm. "You sign here," whispered the lawyer, "just along this pencil line. Your full name, if you please." She seated herself, took the pen which Lord Marmion handed her, and bent her head to write. Then her hand trembled, and she paused as if about to refuse. But the next moment she set the pen to the paper, and the words which would have bound her to life would have started up upon the parchment had not a voice, which seemed to thrill the room like the deep, clear clang of a midnight bell, started the pen from her hand. "Stella! Stop! I am here!" She turned with a wild, mad cry, half of fear, half of joy, and rose with outstretched hands. All eyes were turned likewise, and every one, lawyers. Lord Marmion, Mrs. Newton, Sir Richard himself, seemed terrified into inaction. There in the doorway- stood two men; a young gen tleman in rough traveling dress; a man, grim and fero- cious behind him. Sir Richard's stupefaction lasted only for a minute. 192 Stella's Fortune. Then he strode forward, and, laying his hand upu= Stella's ami, confronted the stranger. "Mr. Felton, this intrusion is an insult which I shall know well how to punish." Louis struck his arm from his grasp, and, taking Stella on his own, led her to the table. "Gentlemen my lord I am Louis Felton. the master of Heavithorne, and this lady's affianced husband! Silence!" he added, suddenly, as Sir Richard moved to- ward him, and, white with fear or passion, seemed about to speak. "Silence! Interrupt me at your peril! Gentlemen, I demand to see those deeds !" Lord Marmion, all courage now that there was some tangible work in hand, came forward, stern and proud. "You demand ! By what right, Mr. Felton ?" "By the right of this lady's plighted troth. Is it no* so?" he murmured in Stella's ear. She could not speak, but her eyes said, plainly . "It is true ; let him see the deeds." Th* 1 lawyers glanced at Sir Richard, but, without wait- ing for their permission, Louis took up the deed, glanced at it, then, turning to Lord Marmion, said, in distinct tones: "As I suspected. My lord, you have narrowly escaped a fraud. The deed is a fraud from beginning to end. There are no such moneys, no such estates, as are here set forth. Sir Richard Wildfang is a bankrupt, a rogue, a swindler, and will soon, if justice be not balked, be a felon !" Sir Richard strode forward, but the other figure ad- vanced. "Stephen Hargrave?" breathed Sir Richard. The man did not smile in triumph, but kept his hun- gry eyes fixed in hatred opon the smooth face and nod- ded sullenly. "You doubt my word ?" said Louis. 1 prove it Mr, Dewlap, -ie good enough to produce Sir Richard'* books'* TV 4inr opened; Mr. Dewlap entered aki Sir Richard Stella's Fortune. 193 "Silence!" said Louis. "He was compelled. The law is stronger than even you, Sir Richard Wildfang." "Explain those entries," said Louis. Mr. Dewlap stepped forward and faltered out some words. "Stop!" said Sir Richard, with a malignant smile. "I will save you that trouble. It is quite true, Lord Mar- mion. I am a broken man. I fail tomorrow." Lord Marmion turned pale and caught him by the arm. "Scoundrel! Where is Stella's fortune?" he breathed, in an agitated whisper. "Gone!" retorted Sir Richard, "every penny." And he glanced defiantly at Louis. "Then you are guilty of embezzlement, Sir Richard!" broke out Lord Marmion's lawyer. "And forgery!" exclaimed another, tapping a docu- ment excitedly. Mrs. Newton screamed and rushed to Lord Marmion. "Lord Marmion, who are these dreadful people? What does it all mean?" "It means, madam," said Louis, "that the mask is stripped from the face of a plausible villain. I am Louis Felton, whom you know as the master of ruined Heavi- thorne, whom you may remember as the suitor for your daughter's hand. That man is Sir Richard's accomplice, dupe and tool. He it was who worked out the vile plan which branded me with dishonor. He it was who lured me by a false 'ale to hire a carriage and appear on the scene at the moment at which my presence was required to carry out the scheme which that villain had planned. This man can tell you the story at some future time. If you seek confirmation of my words, look on that face and find it," and he pointed to Sir Richard Wildfang, who stood with white face, biting his lip and struggling for calm. "So you have betrayed me, have you?" he hissed at Stephen Hargrave. /"Traitor! let those believe you who are idiots enough. As for me, I shall seek justice where I am more at liberty to obtain it than here," and he glared at Lord Marmion. 194 Stella's Fortune. Stephen Hargrave stretched out his hand and with main force hurled him back. "Not yet," he breathed, hoarsely; "not yet!" Louis held up his hand to restrain him, and, address- ing Lord Marmion, said : "This assertion can be proved; you see, my lord, the culprit confesses so much of his crime. He is bankrupt, penniless, he says; therefore Miss Newton's fortune is'* "Lost, lost ! oh, Heaven !" shrieked Mrs. Newton. "Not lost!'* said Louis quietly. All the lawyers rose, breathless. "It is here," said Louis, taking a bag from Stephen Hargrave, and placing it on the table. "The schemer wove scheme within scheme, and the webs of all are broken. These books have been falsified to suit his purpose. The money which is here set forth' as expended he buried under the shrubbery of the Hut ! Look at his face ! Ask him how we have discovered that, and if he can't tell you, I can. An old man and a child were taking shelter within a dozen yards of him. They saw him bury the money 1 They saw him, maddened by his guilty fear, fly for escape from them. Alas! far worse ! They were in his path, and, as was his wont, he swept them from it. The old man and his child fell. The child died, murdered by the hand of its father!" Sir Richard started, and turned his white face toward the group. "Father !" he said, with a hollow laugh, "It was Lucy's child, then; Lucy's child!" "It was," said Louis, sternly. "Your bad deeds, your cruelty, have returned upon your own head. Have you no remorse?" Sir Richard made no reply, but his lips moved. "It was them, then," he murmured, "it was their ghost! I saw it ! I knew it !" He covered his face for a moment with his hands and all were silent. Then, suddenly, he sprang at Stephen Hargrave, and, clutching his coat, glared at him. "All this is your doing! You have betrayed me, have found him and brought him here! Why did you do it? Stella's Fortune. 195 Did I ever do you any harm? Had you any spite to sat- isfy, any jealousy, and hatred? I paid you I bought you. Why did you play traitor?" "Do you ask me? Do you want to know?" said Stephen Hargrave, in a hoarse whisper. "You cur, I do!" snarled Sir Richard. "Look back, then!" said Stephen Hargrave. "Look back to the night you stole an innocent girl from her home and the man who loved her! Lucy was that girl! I am the man you stole her from !" "You," said Sir Richard, "Lucy's lover!" "Ay, Lucy's lover, and Lucy's avenger!'* retorted Stephen Hargrave. Sir Richard looked around helplessly, then moved to- ward the door. One of the lawyers rose as if to stop him, but Lord Marmion held up his hand. "Let him go," he said. Sir Richard, with a meaningless smile, slowly passed out at the door. The moment his hated presence had left the room Stella's strong spirit gave way. With a cry of relief and joy she fell back in her lover's arms. Mrs. Newton rushed toward her, the lawyers crowded around, folding up their parchments as they did so. Lord Marmion rang the bell for water, and a mes- senger to send for a doctor. All was in confusion. For some minutes the swoon lasted, then Stella opened her eyes. "He has gone!" she murmured, looking up at Louis' face with deep, loving trustfulness. "Forever!" he said. "And you are here," she said, with a soft sigh. "Forever," he breathed again. Then all at once, and at the same moment, they missed Stephen Hargrave. Louis' face turned grave, and, placing Stella beside her mother, he beckoned Lord Marmion aside. "Let some one go after and secure him, my lord, 01 there will be mischief 1" he whispered. 196 Stella's Fortune. Lord Marmion hurried from the room, and the search and pursuit commenced. But Stephen Hargrave had got the start, and used it fatally. The detectives found the dead body of Sir Richard Wildfang, lying shot through the head in his private room, but Stephen Hargrave was never more seen by any whom this story concerns. ***** * It is Christmas Eve once again. Christmas at the Hut, which is now resplendent with all the glories a great upholsterer can produce. In the hall blazes a large fire, whose ruddy light falls upon a happy group. There are the cousins, the schoolgirl, Trottie, and all. There is the old cousin, sitting smiling in his corner, and Mrs. Newton opposite, smiling really smiling, too. Above their heads hangs a picture of an old man, hunch- backed and misshapen, with a child's face peeping from his coat. Both the old man and child are sleeping to- gether in the little churchyard in the Vale, waiting till they awaken in the country of eternal summer, but the firelight seems to endue their faces with life, and they look down smiling, too. "Eight o'clock," lisped Trottie, her voice breaking in through the laughter and chatter. "Eight o'clock, and Cousin Telia and Louis will be here soon." An eager, "yes," goes around, and clocks and watches are consulted. They are all waiting. The fire blazes higher, the ex- citement of suspense and expectation rises with the fire. Suddenly Trottie's sharp ears catch the rattle of car- riage wheels. There are sounds outside, men cheering, boys hurrahing. Instantly the cousins, Mrs. Newton, the old man himself, all rush out into the hall; a carriage dashes up, the hall door is thrown open, and there enter Stella and Louis, the bride and bridegroom, just returned from their wedding tour; returned to spend their Christ- mas at home! With all three cousins clinging to Stella, happy, blush- teg Stella is dragged into the firelight Stella's Fortune. ^ 197 All the voices seem to talk and laugh at the same time. There is such kissing and handshaking, such wishing of Merry Christmases and Happy New Years as never were before, and no one can speak distinctly nor intelligently until the happy welcome has been got through, and Louis returns to the room with his beautiful Stella upon his arm. Then they crowd around them again, and it is not until the question has been put for the fifth time that the old cousin can croon forth: "And what about the lawsuit, Mr. Felton ?" "Oh, the lawsuit !" laughs Louis, drawing his wife to- ward him. "We've won it, Cousin John! We've won it, and everything else. We are rich now in money, in friends, and in love. Listen ! There are the bells ! Girls, children, all, a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!" "Yes, it is Christmas Day," murmurs Stella, an hour later, when they stood locked heart to heart in the now silent room, "Do you remember our last Christmas Louis?" "Shall I ever forget, my own?" he breathes. "How we feared alas, too truly!" "Yet how we loved !" he breaks in, stopping her with a kiss. "Christmas has been a happy season for us, my darling this is the happiest of all, for it is Love's Christmas 1" THE EOT* "Now, Florence, listen to me for one moment, $ promise to love you truly, and you alone ; I will devote my whole life to your happiness. Tell me, in return, will you be my wife ? " The speaker was a tall well-built young man of twenty years, with a dark and somewhat haughty expression of face, regular features, and large lustrous eyes ; his head was covered with black wavy hair. Walter Bohun was indeed a fine specimen of an Englishman. His companion was fair, with calm dove-like eyes and a wonderfully sweet expressive face. No one ever called Florence Hamilton beautiful; yet all who knew her loved her for her charm of manner, her sweet disposition, her noble character. Hers was the highest order of loveliness the beauty that comes from a noble mind and heart. As she stood amongst the trees, the sheen of the golden sunlight falling upon her, she looked a fair and lovable woman one whom a man might be proud to woo and win, and make his own. She listened to her lover's ardent words with quiet happiness that shone in her love-lit eyes. When he had finished speaking, she placed her hand in his and said gently " Yes, I will be your wife, Walter ; and I will be true and faithful until death I" The words were few, but they meant more coming from Florence Hamilton than would a whole volume from more careless lips; they meant that through weal and woe, through good and ill, in sunshine and in shade, she would be true and loyal to him. They said no more ; there were no wild raptures over this solemn betrothal ; both felt too deeply for words. Walter kissed the white little hand that lay so confidingly in his own, and then they walked home slowly through the verdant sunny fields. The Bohuns of Carlshill were an ancient family. Carls hill Manor, situated in the most beautiful and picturesque part of Devonshire, had been the home of the Bohuns for many generations. The present Baronet, Sir Thornton Bohun, was a man of morose and unamiable character. Quite early in life he had quarrelled with his only brother, Clarence, the father of Walter ; and, though the younger brother had tried to bring about a reconciliation, the Baronet declined it ; and, when poor Clarence, on his death-bed, sent to implore hip haughty brother to forget the past and take charge of his young wife and their little son, Sir Thornton paid not the ^lightest heed to his message. The cause of their quarrel was never known. It was aid that both had loved the same girl, and that the younger brother, having been the more fortunate wooer, bad thus incurred the deadly hatred of the elder. When Clarence died, his widow, with her only child, retired to the little village of Oulston. She could no longer afford to dwell in a large town, for Mr. Bohun had been unable to make any -provisions for his wife ; and she had nothing but a small allowance which she received from the Baronet. The Carlshill estates were however tntaiied, and the harsh and moody Sir Thornton had never married ; "Walter was consequently the heir. His prospects were indeed bright for the income of the reigning Bohun was above ten thousand per annum but his present position was one of comparative privation. Sir Thornton Bohun never took the least notice of his young heir and nephew, though he did once express a hope that the boy would be educated as a gentleman, and not as a charity-school child. This amiable speech having reached the ears of Mrs. Bohun, that lady made every effort to secure for her son the best education it was possible to get. With her limited means she could not of c< irse send him to college ; but she did all that lay in her power to remedy that deficiency. In the little secluded village to which she had retired resided a very learned clergyman. The boy was placed under his tuition, and, being a sharp intelligent lad, he made rapid progress in his studies. Thanks to his mother's care, Walter excelled in lighter accomplishments as well as in those that were more solid ; he painted with no little skill, he could play well and sing charmingly; and to these advantages were added a sound constitution, a mind cultivated and refined, a quick vivid fancy, and a passionate love of the beautiful. Sir Thornton would have given much for .the power to disinherit the son of the brother he had never forgiven ; but, as this could not be, he revenged himself by utterly ignoring the existence of his young heir. Oulston was a quaint little village standing on the out- skirts of the forest of Charnley, in. Leicestershire. Among the inhabitants were some families of good position ; so that Mrs. Bohun did not find- Oulston absolutely destitute of " society." The rector, Doctor Marsh, was a man of great learning, and since the death of his wife had employed his leisure 9 HIS BROKEN PROMISE. time in the education of several youths who had been committed to his care. Then there was the honorable Mrs. Thorpe, a little old woman with a sharp cracked yoice ; and there was Mrs. Hamilton, the mother of Florence. Mrs. Hamilton belonged to a good old family, but a very impoverished one. She was a lady of graceful presence, dignified yet gentle, accomplished and amiable. In the earlier years of her widowed life she had retired to Oulston, and devoted herself entirely to the care and education of her daughter; and Florence had amply repaid her mother's anxious devotion. The disposition of the girl was as amiable as her intellect was cultivated. But beneath the gentle graceful manner there was a depth of passionate love, a capability of suffering, that one would hardly have expected in so delicate a girl. There were steadfast faith, constancy, and heroic endurance; there was too a world of tenderness that Walter Bohun's love had called into life. Mrs. Hamilton saw with pleasure the affection that was gradually springing up between her daughter and the heir of the Bohuns. She liked and esteemed the young man for his intellectual powers and his many sterling qualities. For these alone she would gladly have given him her daughter; but the prospective advantages of wealth and position had weight with her also. There was a sense of satisfaction in the thought that her child would move in a sphere of life that was her own. Flor- ence was in every way fitted for the position that awaited her, and the mother rejoiced that her child's fair face, her accomplishments, and her sweet character would not always be hidden in that obscure little village. Mrs. Hamilton was not worldly ; but she was proud o( her daughter, and perhaps somewhat ambitious for her BIS BROKEN PROMIS8, 7 future. She did not value Walter's love for fhe worldly advantages his affection would bring ; but those advantages were a pleasing addition to what she felt to be his natural worth. When therefore Walter brought Florence home on that summer evening, and, with many blushes and much confusion, asked her consent to his one day making the young girl his wife, Mrs. Hamilton gave it gladly, rejoicing in the fair prospect that opened before her beloved child. At that time Walter was motherless. Mrs, Bohun had lived to see her son all that she could wish. She died however before the wealth that was one day to be his fell to him. At her death Sir Thornton, for once obliged to take some little notice of his heir, wrote to Doctor Marsh and asked him to act as guardian to Walter, refusing even then, when the young fellow seemed alone in the world, to assist him beyond continuing the allowance which Mrs. Bohun had received. So, at the time when Walter asked Florence to be his wife, he was an inmate of the Rectory. It was perhaps not strange that young Bohun had fallen in love with Florence Hamilton. He was so lonely and she so kind and gentle. She sympathised with his sorrows and helped him to endure a monotonous life of which he was well-nigh tired. Glowing with pride at his success, Walter told the Rector what he had done, and was pleased to hear that worthy man's entire approval. He had acted wisely, the Rector said, for Florence Hamilton would adorn any station ; but he strongly advised him to keep the engage- ment a profound secret for the present, feeling sure, from his knowledge of the Baronet's peculiar character, that any mention of the matter would entail most disagreeable consequences on Mrs. Haiuiijt&u and her daughter. And so it was arranged that the solemn betrothal should not be made public. The lovers were inexpressibly happy with a quiet deep happiness, and as the calm Bummer days passed their love gained in intensity. Walter continued his studies under Doctor Marsh, being anxious to fit himself for the position that would one day be his; and, when the day's work was ended, the evening was devoted to Florence. In the summer- time they wandered among the fields and lanes ; in the winter they sang and read together in Mrs. Hamilton's cosy drawing-room. Walter intended remaining one year longer at Oulston ; and then, if his uncle still refused to acknowledge him, he had determined to try to make a position for himself. He felt that he could not endure his present quiet calm existence much longer. He decided that he would wait no longer for what another man had to leave him, but would strike out boldly for himself ; and many a pleasant hour he spent with Flor- ence arranging the future that smiled BO brightly before them. Between the village of Oulston and thfi wood at some little distance from it there stood on the brow of a steep hill the residence for many miles around Burgh Hall, the seat of the De Burghs. There had been a pitiful tragedy there. Hubert de Burgh, the present Baronet, had spent the greater part of his youth in travelling. In wandering through Spain he met with a beautiful Andalusian gipsy- girl. So bewitchingly lovely was she that Sir Hubert put aside all consideration of his poistion and married her. It was a strange union, yet they appeared to be exceed- ingly happy. Within one year after their marriage they returned to Burgh Hall, the gipsy-girl transformed into a fcately lady not unworthy in face and figure to form one HIS BROKEN PROMISE, 9 of the long line of Ladies De Burgh. A little child, a girl inheriting her mother's Spanish loveliness of face had increased their happiness. Sir Hubert had named her Inez, after his wife. Lady De Burgh, before she met with her husband, had been for three years betrothed to the son of the head cf her tribe, an Andalusian, who loved passionately the beautiful gipsy-girl. Her treachery half maddened him, and he swore to be revenged if it cost him his life. One bright summer day Lady De Burgh was found lying dead in the little fir wood behind the Hall ; and, although every effort was made to discover the murderer, the search proved fruitless. From that time his English home was unendurable to Sir Hubert. He left the place, taking with him a few old servants and his little daughter ; and from that hour the home of the De Burghs began gradually to go to ruin. Grass grew in the court-yard ; the gardens, once the admiration of all the county, were overrun with weeds and brambles ; deer ran wild in the undulating park that was bounded by Charnley Forest. The Hall itself looked even more desolate than the grounds. The windows that once gleamed with lights were now closed and boarded up ; a weird desolation seemed to brood over the whole place. It was twenty years since Sir Hubert had fled from the scene of his sorrow, and the ponderous doors of the Hall had never been opened since. All recollection of the Baronet had nearly died away, for those whom he left young were now on the shady side of life, while the children he had known had become men and women. The fir wood behind the Hall was a favorite walk with Florence and Walter. A little brook ran murmuring through it and the fairest wild-flowers grew there; a 10 HI* BROKEN PROMISE. white stone marked the spot where years before the rmfortnnate Lady De Burgh had met with her death. # * # * # * " Wonders will never cease ! " said the Hector to Walter one mormrcjr. " What do you think this letter tells me?" "I could never guess," answered the young man. "* Perhaps my uucta is married, and writes good-naturedly fo say that he has a son and heir. " It is even more wonderful than that. The De Burghs ire coming home at last Sir Hubert is tired of wander- ing. An upholsterer is coming down from London, and the Hall is to be thoroughly renovated. We shall have *ome stir in the county now, rely upon it, Walter. A friend of mine who met Sir Hubert and his daughter in ttaly two years since told me that Miss De Burgh was Qhe most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She will not be very rich though, I should imagine, for the estate is entailed and goes to a distant cousin." " I am heartily glad to hear the news," said Walter ; u it was really painful to see such a fine old place going V) ruin. When are they expected ? " " In a few weeks, I believe," replied the Rector. " It Kill make a great difference to Oulston." For a month after this conversation the villagers amused f hem selves by watching the constant arrival of goods for the Hall. Costly modern furniture came from London, pictures and statues from Italy. Horses, carriages, and servants all arrived in due course ; but as yet no time was mentioned for the advent of Sir Hubert and Miss De 3urgh. One thing the villagers noted with feelings of relief the fir wood was partially destroyed. The tallest tree* H18 BROKEN PROMISE. 11 were cut down, and the place so altered tliat it would hardly have been recognized. Florence alone grieved over the alteration ; she had loved the spot, for it was there that Waiter had asked her to be his wife. One beautiful evening, when the air was full of the balmy breath of spring, Florence asked Walter to go with her to say good-bye to the little brook. " You know," she said, " Sir Hubert is coming home next week, and then of course we cannot trespass as we have hitherto done; let us go by the lane and through ihepark into what was the fir wood. I am so sorry it has been destroyed. "But, Florence dear, only think how could Sir Hubert endure the sight of a place where the wife he loved so well had met with her death ? I never knew the poor lady, of course; but sometimes, when I hav'e been sitting in the wood, I have almost fancied I heard her voice when the wind sigh^, caong the trees', and if I, an indifferent stranger, couiu imagine such things, what would those who loved her as Sir Hubert did naffer on seeing the spot again ? " " Yes that is quite right. But I was not thinking of the De Burghs ; I loved the place because " Florence hesitated, while a vivid flush overspread her face. " Because," said Walter, with a smile, " it was there that I made a certain confession to you is that the reason ? " " I suppose so," replied Florence shyly. She was not much given to talking of her love it was too deep, too eacred a subject for ordinary discussion ; it lived in the depths of her heart, and its brightness made the light of her life. So they wandejjed through the green lane where the 1JJ HIS BROKEN PROMISE. hawthorn-hedges were all in bloom, where the violets ano primeroses were growing in rich profusion, through the smiling fields, and then through the park, where the chestn4it-trees were already beginning to show their tufted flowers, and so into the grove that led to the brook. The fir-trees were almost all gone ; only few remained, but they were far from the white stone. A willow-tree drooped its branches over the brook and just touched the surface of the clear murmuring water. They sat down to rest beneath it. "Our last visit to this dear old spot," said Florence regretfully " I shall never forget it." A dreamy silence fell upon them. They were too happy for many words. "Walter was looking with loving eyes on the fair scene before him, the blue sky, the green fields, and the rippling brooklet. Florence was sunning herself in the light and warmth of the love that filled her heart. The young man was aroused from his day-dreams by seeing his fiancee shiver. " What is the matter, Florence ? " he asked. "Are you cold?" " No," she answered, with a faint smile. " You will think me foolish, Walter ; but you know how fond I am of listening to the murmur of the brook I always fancy it is singing a song of joy. I was listening to it just then, and the water seemed to fall with a wailing sound that made me shudder to hear. "You fanciful little darling!" said Walter, with a bright laugh. " The breeze has freshened, and the brook runs more quickly that is all." But Florence looked pale. She tried to laugh away the miserable depressing feeling which had suddenly seized her : but she could not HIS BROKEN PROMISE. 13 * If I believed in forebodings, Walter," she responded, " I should say I have one now." " It must be one of happiness to come then, Florence, for, while I live and can shield you, no sorrow or care shall come near you." " Can you tell me if the gate that leads from here to the plantation is kept locked?" interrupted a musical voice with a slight foreign accent ; and looking up, they saw before them a beautiful vision that was never to be effaced from their memory a vision of a young girl with a dark glowing face of bewitching beauty, with rich crimson lips that, half smiling, revealed white teeth gleaming like pearls, a pair of shining lustrous eyes full of veiled tenderness and of deep passion and liquid light, a ripple of black hair waving from a haughty brow and half hiding neck as white and perfect as though sculp- tured in marble. All this they noted in the first astonished glance. A little Spanish hat of black velvet with a white drooping plume, a mantilla of soft velvet that seemed to hold a different light in each fold, a gossamer-looking dress that, just raised, revealed two pretty little feet, completed the costume. The strange visitor looked piquant and ravishing. She had to repeat the question before her astonished listeners recovered themselves ; then Walter rose, and, with a low bow, replied that the gate was close at hand, and hf would see whether it was locked. The lady smiled and turned to Florence, saying S rn te -,, 28 Eudora I 4 Changed Brides ( , _ 29 Fatal Secret, A f 5 Cruel as the Grave 1 6 Tried for Her Life 30 Fortune Seeker f 7 Fair Play 31 Gypsy's Prophecy t 8 How He Won Her 32 Haunted Homestead f 9 Family Doom 33 India; or, The Pearl of 1 10 Maiden Widow Pearl River f 11 Hidden Hand, The 34 Lady of the Isle, The Capitola's Peril 35 Lost Heiress, The fjf I 81 !? 1 !? 6 ! 36 Love's Labor Won (. 14 Self Raised , _. , ,_ . . . , T . .... 37 Missing Bride, The f 15 Lost Heir of Lmhthgow x . U6 Noble Lord, A 38 Mother-m-Law f 17 Unknown 39 Prince of Darkness, aad 1 18 Mystery of Raven Rocks Artist s Love 19 Bridal Eve, The 40 Retribution 20 Bride's Dowry, The 41 Three Beauties, Th 21 Bride of Llewellyn, The 42 Three Sisters, The 22 Broken Engagement, The 43 Two Sisters, The 23 Christmas Guest, The ^ Vivian 24 Curse of Clifton 45 Widow's Son 25 Deserted Wife, The 46 Wife's Victory AH of the above books may be had at the store where this book was bought, or will be sent postpaid at 50 cents each by the publishers M. A. DONOHUE & CO. 701-727 Dearborn Street CHICAGO LOVE LETTERS With Directions How To Write Them By INGOLDSBT NORTH. This is a branch of correspondence which folly demands a volume alone to provide for the various phases incident to Love, Courtship and Marriage. Few persons, however otherwise fluent with the pen, are able to express in words the promptings of the first dawn of love, and even the ice once broken how to follow up a correspondence with the dearest one in the whole world and how to smooth tha way with those who need to be consulted in the matter. The numerous letters and answers in this book so far to overcome the difficulties and embarrassment inse- parable from letters on this all-absorbing topic in all stages from beginning: to end of a successful courtship, aided in many instances by the author's sensible comments on the specimen letters, and his valuable hints under adverse contingencies. It also contains the Art of Secret Writing, the Language of Love portrayed and rules in grammar. Paper Covers. 28 Cents. Cloth. 50 Cent*. : THE COMPLETE LETTER. WRITER, ! Betoz the onty Comprehensive and Practical Golds add Assistant to Letter Writing Published. Edited by CHARLES WALTER BROWN. A. 18. There are few books that contain such a fund of valuable information on the everyday affairs of life. In addition to every conceivable form of business and social correspondence, there are letters of Con- dolence, Introduction, Congratulation, Felicitation, Advice and Favor; Letters accompanying presents: Notes on Love t Courtship and Marriage ; Forms of Wedding Anniversaries, Socials, Parties, Notes, Wills, Deeds, Mortgages; Tables, Abbreviations, Classical Terms, Common Errors, Selections for Autograph Albums; Information concerning Rates on Foreign and Domestic Postage, together with a dictionary of nearly 10.000 Synonyms and other valuable information which space will not admit of mention. The book is printed from new plates, on a su- perior quality of paper and bound in substantial and durable manner, 12mo, Paper Covers, 2*c. Cloth, 50e. Cloth. 320 Pages. Price $1.00 For sale by all book and newsdealers, or sent to any address in the Uo 8., Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid on roceipt of price In currency, money order or stamps. I. A. DONOHUE ft GO, 407-429 DEARBOH ST. CHiCAAQ ALWAYS ASK FOR THE DONOHUE Complete Editions and you will get the best for the least money THERE IS MONEY IN POULTRY AMERICAN STANDARD PERFECTION POULTRY BOOK, By L K. FELCH. ET many old-fashion farm- ers are inclined to discredit the statement. Why? Be- cause they are not up to the new and improved ideas in poultry management. A little trial of the rules laid down in these books will soon dispel all misgiv- ings in this direction and tend to convince the most skeptical that there is money in poultry-keeping. It contains a complete description of all the varieties of fowls, includ- ing turkeys, ducks and geese. This book contains double the number of illustrations *ound in any similar work. It is the best and cheapest poultry book jn er/i_ the market Paper covers, 25c. Cloth, prepaid, OUC POULTRY CULTURE By I. K. FELCH How to raise, manage, mate and judge thoroughbred fowls, by I. K. Felch, the acknowl- edged authority on poultry matters. Thorough, compre- hensive and complete treatise on all kinds of poultry. Cloth, 438 pages, large 12mo, and over 70 full-page and other il- lustrations. Printed from clear type on good paper, stamped on side and back from ornate, appropriate designs. A* gA Price, prepaid, pl.5U For sale by all book and newsdeal- ers, or will send to any address in the United States, Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid, on receipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps. n/r A nnxmurn? a* rr\ 701-727 s. DEARBORN M. A. UUiNUrlUlir oc dU. STREET : CHICAGO ALWAYS*** ^R THE DONOHUE COMPLETE EDITION* THE BEST FOR LEAST MONEY Mrs. L.T. Meade SERIES N excellent edition of the works of this very popular author of books for girls. Printed from large type on an extra quality of paper, cover design stamped in three colors, large side title letterings, each book in glazed paper printed wrapper. Each book with a oeautiful colored frontis- piece. Printed wrapper, 12 mo. cloth. 1 Bad Little Hannah 18 Lit tie Mother to 2 Bunch of Cherries, A Others 4 Children's Pilgrimage 20 Merry Girls of 5 Daddy's Girl England 6 Deb and the Duchess 21 Miss Nonentity 7 Francis Kane's 22 Modern Tomboy, A Fortune 23 Out of Fashion 8 Gay Charmer, A 24 Palace Beautiful 9 Girl of the People, A 25 Polly, A New-Fash- lOGirl in Ten ioned Girl Thousand, A 26 Rebels of the School 1 1 Girls of St. Wodes, 27 School Favorite The 28 Sweet Girl Graduate, 12 Girls of the True A Blue 29 Time of Roses, The 1 3 Good Luck 30 Very Naughty Girl, A 14 Heart of Gold, The 31 Wild Kitty 1 5 Honorable Miss, The 32 World of Girls 1 7 Light of the Morning 33 Young Mutineer, The All of the above books may be had at the store where this book was bought, or will be sent postage prepaid to any address at 50c each, by the publishers M. A. Donohue & Co., 701-727 South Dearborn St., CHICAGO TWO GREAT BOOKS By the co-author of "The Lightning Con- ductor" and "My Friend the Chauffeur" Romantic, entertaining and interesting books by this most popular and universally admired author. My Lady Cinderella By Mrs. C. N. 'Williamson A unique, exciting and interesting romance, 320 pages, large, clear type, printed on a very superior quality of paper, bound in best quality of binders' cloth with unique stamping on front and back from specially made designs. THE HOUSE BY THE LOCK By Mrs. C. N. 'Williamson Co-author of " ihe Lightning Conductor," "My Friend the Chauffeur," etc., a clever and exciting romance of intrigue and love ana one well worthy of the reputation of this popular author. 313 pages of large, clear type, printed on a superior quality of book paper, bound in binders' best finished cloth and embellished with an ornamental and unique design in colors on the front and back. Either of the above books sent postpaid to any address in the U. S* Canada or Mexico upon receipt of $1.00. M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 407-429 Dearbora Street CHICAGO, ILL. limit I