T^^^^I^SJHBBBHBS HE PkMiti* V> - J|L 'y^%&jTs tf u '"oxi ^ ^ r^ ; ? "vs?^ &iP:2iM^ ;i^g|?a ^-^w^S "-V. 5^C A\ ' jc^O i ^7t~ v^ , fiSIP^^^S ^'^M^Mf ' : ^^^^^^Si?lFft^ - ^ ^ ( ^^^T^a^^rx MF^ (OSr-^l si^^lS'S^SSs AND SO, MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND, " MIK MAKES YOU SICK?'"(^. 69). THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S ETC. UY BRET HARTE WITH 39 ILLUSTRATIONS BY DUDLEY HARDY, G. D. ARMOUR, A.S.BOYD, PERCY REYNOLDS, &c. CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 1894 CONTENTS THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S . i JOHNNYBOY . . . . . . .66 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY . . . . 89 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU . . . .131 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE . . . . 172 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES . . 212 'Gnu CHU !' . . 231 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE ' AND SO, MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND, " MIK MAKES YOU SICK ? " ' . . . . . Frontispiece VIGNETTE ....... I THE MCGEES . . . . . 3 ' I JUMPED IN ' . . . . . . .8 ' I'LL GO THE WAY i CAME' . . . . 13 'IT AIN'T YOUR PRAYING TIME?' . . . -15 MCGEE AND MADISON SHOOK HANDS . . . . 19 HELD THE CANDLE BEFORE HIS BROTHER'S FACE . . 24 CLASPING THE BACK WITH BOTH HANDS . . 27 VIGNETTE ..... .29 ' I'LL JUST MEANDER OVER TO THE CLAIM ' . 34 LEAPED TO A SITTING POSTURE ON THE TABLE . . . 35 BURIED HIS FACE IN HIS HANDS . . . -39 ' i WASN'T THERE AT ALL LAST NIGHT' . . 47 HE TOOK DELIBERATE AIM . . . -57 THE BODY OF WAYNE WAS PICKED UP TWO DAYS LATER . 59 ' SEND THESE MEN AWAY ' . . . .62 ' YOU FOLLOW ME YOU UNDERSTAND ? ' . . . . 64 ' AND YOU'LL BE TOOKT TO BED,' HE SAID, SADLY . . 72 ALONGSIDE OF THE RUNAWAY . 78 ' FORCED THEM TO FLEE' . ... 83 viii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS I'AGE HE WAS PLEASED TO REMEMBER ME . 87 DIRECTING THE MOVEMENTS OF THE CROWD . . 132 HE WAS LEANING OVER HIS OPEN TRUNK . .142 IT WAS ALL OVER IN A MOMENT . . . -153 IT BECAME STEEPER . . . . . l6l HE LAY DOWN . . . AND FELL ASLEEP . . . 1 68 ' YE'LL BE COIN' TO GLENBOGIE HOUSE, I'M THINKIN' ? ' . 174 THERE WERE SOUNDS OF LIGHT LAUGHTER AND SUBDUED VOICES . . . . . . . 179 ' WON'T YOU COME IN ?' SUGGESTED THE CONSUL . .186 TAKING IT TO THE CANDLE HE READ 'AT HALF-PAST ONE' .... ... 198 'PIPES' . . . . . . . .199 'YE SEE, CAPTAIN,' HE SAID, WITH JAUNTY EASINESS, ' HOSSES IS LIKE WIMMEN ' .... 235 CONSUELO . . . . - . . . . 251 IN THE CENTRE OF A GREENISH POOL STOOD CHU CHU . 259 < I WILL GIF HER AWAY,' SAID ENRIQUEZ, CONFIDENTLY . 268 BEFORE I COULD REGAIN MY HORSE . . . CHU CHU WAS ALREADY A QUARTER OF A MILE ON THE HOMEWARD STRETCH . . . . . . .270 CHU CHU RETURNS TO THE WILD HORSES . . . 272 FINIS ........ 274 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELS CHAPTER I HERE the North Fork of the Stanislaus River begins to lose its youthful grace, vigour, and agility, and broadens more ma- turely into the plain, there is a little promontory which at certain high stages of water sets like a small island in the stream. To the strongly-marked heroics of Sierran landscape it contrasts a singular, pastoral calm. White and grey mosses from the over- hanging rocks and feathery alders trail their fila- ments in its slow current, and between the wood- land openings there are glimpses of vivid velvet sward, even at times when the wild oats and ' wire-grasses' of the plains are already yellowing. The placid river, unstained at this point by mining sluices or mill drift, runs clear under its contem- plative shadows. Originally the camping-ground of a Digger chief, it passed from his tenancy with B 1 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S the American rifle-bullet that terminated his career. The pioneer who thus succeeded to its attractive calm gave way in turn to a well-directed shot from the revolver of a quartz prospector, equally impressed with the charm of its restful tranquillity. How long he might have enjoyed its riparian seclusion is not known. A sudden rise of the river one March night quietly removed him, together with the overhanging post oak beneath which he was profoundly but uncon- sciously meditating. The demijohn of whisky was picked up farther down. But no other sug- gestion of these successive evictions was ever visible in the reposeful serenity of the spot. It was later occupied, and a cabin built upon the spot, by one Alexander McGee, better known as ' the Bell-ringer of Angel's.' This euphonious title, which might have suggested a consistently peaceful occupation, however, referred to his accuracy of aim at a mechanical target, where the piercing of the bull's-eye was celebrated by the stroke of a bell. It is probable that this singular proficiency kept his investment of that gentle seclusion unchallenged. At all events it was uninvaded. He shared it only with the birds. Perhaps some suggestion of nest-building may have been in his mind, for one pleasant spring morning he brought hither a wife. It was his THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS own ; and in this way he may be said to have introduced that morality which is supposed to be the accompaniment and reflection of pastoral life. Mrs. McGee's red petticoat was sometimes seen through the trees a cheerful bit of colour. Mrs. McGee's red cheeks, plump little figure, beribboned hat and brown, still-girlish braids were often seen at sunset on the river bank, in company with her husband, who seemed to be pleased with the discreet and distant admira- tion that followed them. Strolling under the bland shadows of the cot- ton woods, by the fading gold of the river, he doubtless felt that peace which the mere world cannot give, and which fades not away before the clear, accurate eye of the perfect marksman. Their nearest neighbours were the two bro- thers Wayne, who took up a claim, and built them THE MCGEES. B 2 4 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S selves a cabin on the river bank near the promon- tory. Quiet, simple men, suspected somewhat of psalm-singing, and undue retirement on Sundays, they attracted but little attention. But when, through some original conception or painstaking deliberation they turned the current of the river so as to restrict the overflow between the promon- tory and the river bank, disclosing an auriferous * bar ' of inconceivable richness, and establishing their theory that it was really the former channel of the river, choked and diverted through ages of alluvial drift, they may be said to have changed, also, the fortunes of the little settlement. Popu- lar feeling and the new prosperity which dawned upon the miners recognised the two brothers by giving the name of Wayne's Bar to the infant settlement and its post-office. The peaceful pro- montory, although made easier of access, still preserved its calm seclusion, and pretty Mrs. McGee could contemplate through the leaves of her bower the work going on at its base, herself unseen. Nevertheless, this Arcadian retreat was being slowly and surely invested ; more than that, the character of its surroundings was altered, and the complexion of the river had changed. The Wayne engines on the point above had turned the drift and debris into the current that now thickened and ran yellow around the wooded THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 5 shore. The fringes of this Eden were already tainted with the colour of gold. It is doubtful, however, if Mrs. McGee was much affected by this sentimental reflection, and her husband, in a manner, lent himself to the desecration of his exclusive domain by accepting a claim along the shore tendered by the con- scientious Waynes in compensation for restricting the approach to the promontory and thus parti- cipated in the fortunes of the Bar. Mrs. McGee amused herself by watching from her eyrie, with a presumably childish interest, the operations of the red-shirted brothers on the Bar ; her husband, however, always accompanying her when she crossed the Bar to the bank. Some two or three other women wives of miners had joined the camp, but it was evident that McGee was as little inclined to entrust his wife to their companionship as to that of their husbands. An opinion obtained that McGee, being an old resident, with alleged high connections in Angel's, was inclined to be aristocratic and exclusive. Meantime, the two brothers who had founded the fortunes of the Bar were accorded an equally high position with an equal amount of reserve. Their ways were decidedly not those of the other miners, and were as efficacious in keeping them from familiar advances as the reputation of Mr. 6 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S McGee was in isolating his wife. Madison Wayne, the elder, was tall, well-knit and spare, reticent in speech and slow in deduction ; his brother Arthur was of rounder outline, but smaller and of a more delicate, and perhaps a more impressible, nature. It was believed by some that it was within the range of possibility that Arthur would yet be seen ' taking his cock- tail like a white man/ or ' dropping his scads ' at draw poker. At present, however, they seemed content to spend their evenings in their own cabin, and their Sundays at a grim Presbyterian taber- nacle in the next town, to which they walked ten miles, where it was currently believed * hell fire was ladled out free,' and ' infants damned for nothing.' When they did not go to meeting it was also believed that the minister came to them, until it was ascertained that the sounds of sacred recitation overheard in their cabin was simply Madison Wayne reading the Bible to his younger brother. McGee is said to have stopped on one of these occasions unaccompanied by his wife before their cabin, moving away afterwards with more than his usual placid contentment. It was about eleven o'clock one morning, and Madison Wayne was at work alone on the Bar. Clad in a dark grey jersey and white duck trousers rolled up over high india-rubber boots, he looked THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELS j not unlike a peaceful fisherman digging stakes for his nets, as he laboured in the ooze and gravel of the still half- reclaimed river bed. He was far out on the Bar, within a stone's-throw of the promon- tory. Suddenly his quick ear caught an unfami- liar cry and splash. Looking up hastily, he saw Mrs. McGee's red petticoat in the water under the singularly agitated boughs of an overhanging tree. Madison Wayne ran to the bank, threw off his heavy boots, and sprang into the stream. A few strokes brought him to Mrs. McGee's petti- coat, which, as he had wisely surmised, contained Mrs. McGee, who was still clinging to a branch of the tree. Grasping her waist with one hand and the branch with the other, he obtained a foot- hold on the bank, and dragged her ashore. A moment later they both stood erect and dripping at the foot of the tree. ' Well?' said the lady. Wayne glanced around their seclusion with his habitual caution, slightly knit his brows per- plexedly, and said : ' You fell in ?' ' I didn't do nothin' of the sort. I jumped in.' Wayne again looked around him, as if expect- ing her companion, and squeezed the water out of his thick hair. ' Jumped in ? ' he repeated, slowly. 1 What for ? ' ' To make you come over here, Mad Wayne/ THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL '5 she said, with a quick laugh, putting her arms akimbo. They stood looking at each other, dripping like two river gods. Like them, also, Wayne had ap- parently ignored the fact that his trousers were roi- led up above his 'I JUMPED IN.' bare knees, and Mrs. McGee that her red petti- coat clung closely to her rather pretty figure. But he quickly recovered himself. * You had better go in and change your clothes,' THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S g he said, with grave concern. ' You'll take cold.' She only shook herself disdainfully. ' I'm all right,' she said ; ' but you, Mad Wayne, what do you mean by not speaking to me not knowing me? You can't say that I've changed like that.' She passed her hand down her long, dripping braids as if to press the water from them, and yet with a half-coquettish suggestion in the act. Something struggled up into the man's face which was not there before. There was a new light in his grave eyes. * You look the same,' he said, slowly ; ' but you are married you have a husband.' ' You think that changes a girl ? ' she said, with a laugh. * That's where all you men slip up ! You're afraid of his rifle that s the change that bothers you, Mad.' ' You know I care little for carnal weapons,' he said, quietly. She did know it ; but it is the privilege of the sex- to invent its facts and then to graciously abandon them as if they were only arguments. ' Then why do you keep off from me ? Why do you look the other way when I pass ? ' she said, quickly. ' Because you are married,' he said, slowly. She again shook the water from her like a Newfoundland dog. ' That's it. You're mad io THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S because I got married. You're mad because I wouldn't marry you and your church over on the Cross Roads, and sing hymns with you, and be- come Sister Wayne. You wanted me to give up dancing and buggy ridin' Sundays and you're just mad because I didn't. Yes, mad just mean, baby mad, Mr. Maddy Wayne, for all your Christian resignation ! That's what's the matter with you.' Yet she looked very pretty and piquant in her small spitefulness, which was still so general and superficial that she seemed to shake it out of her wet petticoats in a vicious flap that disclosed her neat ankles. ' You preferred McGee to me,' he said, grimly. ' I didn't blame you.' ' Who said I preferred him ? ' she retorted, quickly. ' Much you know ! ' Then, with swift feminine abandonment of her position, she added, with a little laugh, ' It's all the same whether you're guarded with a rifle or a Church Presby- tery, only ' Only what ? ' said Madison, earnestly. ' There's men who'd risk being shot for a girl that couldn't stand psalm-singin' palaver.' The quick expression of pain that passed over his hard, dark face seemed only to heighten her pretty mischievousness. But he simply glanced again around the solitude, passed his hand THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 11 over his wet sleeve, and said, * I must go now ; your husband wouldn't like me being here.' ' He's workin' in the claim ; the claim you gave him,' said Mrs. McGee, with cheerful malice. ' Wonder what he'd say if he knew it was given to him by the man who used to spark his wife only two years ago ! How does that suit your Christian conscience, Mad ? ' ' I should have told him, had I not believed that everything was over between us, or that it was possible that you and me should ever meet again,' he returned, in a tone so measured that the girl seemed to hear the ring of the conventicle in it. ' Should you, Brother Wayne ? ' she said, imitating him. ' Well, let me tell you that you are the one man on the Bar that Sandy has taken a fancy to.' Madison's sallow cheek coloured a little, but he did not speak. ' Well ! ' continued Mrs. McGee, impatiently. ' I don't believe he'd object to your comin' here to see me if you cared.' ' But I wouldn't care to come, unless he first knew that I had been once engaged to you,' said Madison, gravely. * Perhaps he might not think as much of that as you do,' retorted the woman, pertly. ' Every 12 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S one isn't as straitlaced as you, and every girl has had one or two engagements. But do as you like stay at home if you want to, and sing psalms and read the Scriptures to that younger brother of yours ! All the same, I'm thinkin' he'd rather be out with the boys.' ' My brother is God-fearing and conscientious,' said Madison, quickly. * You do not know him. You have never seen him.' 1 No,' said Mrs. McGee, shortly. She then gave a little shiver (that was, however, half simu- lated) in her wet garments, and added : * One saint was enough for me ; I couldn't stand the whole church, Mad.' ' You are catching cold,' he said, quickly, his whole face brightening with a sudden tenderness that seemed to transfigure the dark features. ' I am keeping you here when you should be chang- ing your clothes. Go, I beg you, at once.' She stood still provokingly, with an affectation of wiping her arms and shoulders and sopping her wet dress with clusters of moss. * Go, please do Safy, please ! ' 1 Ah ! ' she drew a quick, triumphant breath. ' Then you'll come again to see me, Mad ? ' ' Yes,' he said, slowly, and even more gravely than before. ' But you must let me show you the way out THE BELL-RINGER OE ANGELAS round under those trees where no one can see you come.' She held out her hand. * I'll go the way I came/ he said, quietly swinging himself silently from the nearest bough into the stream. I'LL GO THE WAY I CAME. And before she could utter a protest he was striking out as silently, hand over hand, across the current 14 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S CHAPTER II A WEEK later Madison Wayne was seated alone in his cabin. His supper-table had just been cleared by his Chinese coolie, as it was getting late, and the setting sun, which for half an hour had been persistently making a vivid beacon of his windows for the benefit of wayfarers along the river bank, had at last sunk behind the cotton woods. His head was resting on his hand ; the book he had been reading when the light faded was lying open on the table before him. In this attitude he became aware of a hesitating step on the gravel outside his open door. He had been so absorbed that the approach of any figure along the only highway the river bank had escaped his observation. Looking up, he dis- covered that Mr. Alexander McGee was standing in the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the jamb. A sudden colour suffused Wayne's cheek ; his hand reached for his book, which he drew towards him hurriedly, yet half automatically, as he might have grasped some defensive weapon. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 15 The Bell-ringer of Angel's noticed the act, but not the blush, and nodded approvingly. ' Don't let me disturb ye. I was only meanderin' by, and reckoned I'd say " How do ?" in passin'. IT AIN'T YOUR PRAYIN' TIME?' He leaned gently back against the cloor-post, to do which comfortably he was first obliged to shift the revolver on his hip. The sight of the weapon brought a slight contraction to the brows of 1 6 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S Wayne, but he gravely said : ' Won't you come in? ' It ain't your prayin' time ?' said McGee, politely. 'No.' ' Nor you ain't gettin' up lessons outer the Book ? ' he continued, thoughtfully. 'No.' ''Cos it don't seem, so to speak, you see, the square thing to be botherin' a man when he might be doin' suthin' else, don't you see. You understand what I mean ? ' It was his known peculiarity that he always seemed to be suffering from an inability to lucid expression, and the fear of being misunderstood in regard to the most patent or equally the most unimportant details of his speech. All of which, however, was in very remarkable contrast to his perfectly clear and penetrating eyes. Wayne gravely assured him that he was not interrupting him in any way. ' I often thought that is, I had an idea you understand what I mean of stoppin' in passing. You and me, you see, are sorter alike, we don't seem to jibe in with the gin'ral gait o' the camp. You understand what I mean ? We ain't in the game, eh ? You see what I'm after ? ' Madison Wayne glanced half-mechanically at THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 17 McGee's revolver. McGee's clear eyes at once took in the glance. ' That's it ! You understand ? You with them books of yours, and me with my shootin' iron we're sort o' different from the rest, and ought to be kinder like partners. You understand what I mean ? We keep this camp in check. We hold a full hand, and don't stand no bluffing.' ' If you mean there is some effect in Christian example and the life of a God-fearing man- began Madison, gravely. ' That's it ! God-fearin' or revolver fearin', it amounts to the same when you come down to the hard pan and bed-rock,' interrupted McGee. ' I ain't expectin' you to think much of my style, but I go a heap on yours, even if I can't play your game. And I sez to my wife, " Safie"- her that trots around with me sometimes I sez, " Safie, I oughter know that man, and shall. And I want you to know him." Hoi' on,' he added, quickly, as Madison rose with a flushed face and a perturbed gesture. * Ye don't understand. I see wot's in your mind don't you see ? When I married my wife and brought her down here, knowin' this yer camp, I sez : " No flirtin', no foolin', no philanderin' here, my dear! You're young, and don't know the ways o' men. The first man I see you talking with, I shoot. You c r8 THE BELL-RJNGER OF ANGEL'S needn't fear, my dear, for accidents. I kin shoot all round you, under your arm, across your shoul- ders, over your head, and between your fingers, my dear, and never start skin or fringe or ruffle. But I don't miss him. You sorter understand what I mean," sez I, "so don't!" Ye noticed how my wife is respected, Mr. Wayne ? Queen Victoria sittin' on her throne ain't in it with my Safie. But when I see you not herdin' with that cattle, never liftin' your eyes to me or Safie as we pass, never hangin' round the saloons and jokin' nor winkin,' nor slingin' muddy stories about women, but prayin' and readin' Scripter stories here along with your brother, I sez to myself, I sez, "Sandy, ye kin take off your revolver and hang up your shot-gun when he s around. For 'twixt him and your wife ain't no revolver, but the fear of God and hell and damnation and the world to come ! " You understand what I mean, don't ye ? Ye sorter follow my lead, eh ? Ye can see what I'm shootin' round, don't ye? So I want you to come up neighbourly like, and drop in to see my wife.' Madison Wayne's face became set and hard again, but he advanced towards McGee with the book against his breast, and his finger be- tween the leaves. ' I already know your wife, Mr. McGee ! I saw her before you ever met her. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 19 I was engaged to her ; I loved her, and as far as man may love the wife of another and keep the commands of this book I love her still ! ' To his surprise, McGee, whose calm eyes had MCGEE AND MADISON SHOOK HANDS. never dimmed or blenched, after regarding him curiously, took the volume from him, laid it on the table, opened it, turned its leaves critically, said earnestly : ' That's the law here, is it ? ' and then held out his hand. 1 Shake ! ' C 2 20 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S Madison Wayne hesitated and then grasped his hand. * Ef I had known this,' continued McGee, ' I reckon I wouldn't have been so hard on Safie and so partikler. She's better than I took her for havin' had you for a beau ! You understand what I mean ? You follow me don't ye ? I allus kinder wondered why she took me, but sens you've told me that you used to spark her, in your God-fearin' way, I reckon it kinder prepared her for me. You understand ? Now you come up, won't ye ? ' ' I will call some evening with my brother,' said Wayne, embarrassedly. ' With which ? ' demanded McGee. * My brother Arthur. We usually spend the evenings together.' McGee paused, leaned against the doorpost, and. fixing his clear eyes on Wayne, said : ' Ef it's all the same to you, I'd rather you did not bring him. You understand what I mean ? You follow me ; no other man but you and me. I ain't sayin' anything agin' your brother, but you see how it is, don't you ? Just me and you.' ' Very well, I will come,' said Wayne, gloom- ily. But as McGee backed out of the door, he followed him, hesitatingly. Then, with an effort, he seemed to recover himself, and said almost THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 21 harshly : * I ought to tell you another thing that I have seen and spoken to Mrs. McGee since she came to the Bar. She fell into the water last week, and I swam out and dragged her ashore. We talked, and spoke of the past.' ' She fell in,' echoed McGee. Wayne hesitated ; then a murky blush came into his face as he slowly repeated, ' SheyW/ in.' McGee's eyes only brightened. ' I have been too hard on her. She might have drownded ef you hadn't took risks. You see ? You under- stand what I mean ? And she 'never let out anything about it and never boasted o' you helpin' her out. All right you'll come along and see her agin'.' He turned and walked cheer- fully away. Wayne re-entered the cabin. He sat for a long time by the window until the stars came out above the river, and another star, with which he had been long familiar, took its place apparently in the heart of the wooden crest of the little promontory. Then the fringing woods on the opposite shore became a dark level line across the landscape, and the colour seemed to fade out of the moist shining gravel before his cabin. Pre- sently the silhouette of his dark face disappeared from the window, and Mr. McGee might have been gratified to know that he had slipped to his 22 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S knees before the chair whereon he had been sit- ting, and that his head was bowed before it on his clasped hands. In a little while he rose again, and dragging a battered old portmanteau from the corner, took out a number of letters tied up in a package, with which, from time to time, he slowly fed the flame that flickered on his hearth. In this way the windows of the cabin at times sprang into light, making a somewhat confusing beacon for the somewhat confused Arthur Wayne, who was returning from a visit to Angel's, and who had fallen into that slightly morose and irritated state which follows excessive hilarity, and is also apt to indicate moral misgivings. But the last letter was burnt and the cabin quite dark when he entered. His brother was sitting by the slowly dying fire, and he trusted that in that uncertain light any observation of his expression or manner of which he himself was uneasily conscious would pass unheeded. * You are late,' said Madison, gravely. At which his brother rashly assumed the aggressive. He was no later than the others, and if the Rogers boys were good enough to walk with him for company, he couldn't run ahead of them just because his brother was waiting ! He didn't want any supper, he had something at the Cross Roads with the others. Yes ! THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 23 whisky, if he wanted to know. People couldn't keep coffee and temperance drinks just to please him and his brother, and he wasn't goin' to insult the others by standing aloof. Anyhow, he had never taken the pledge, and as long as he hadn't he couldn't see why he should refuse a single glass. As it was, everybody said he was a milk- sop, and a tender-foot, and he was just sick of it. Madison rose and lit a candle and held it up before his brother's face. It was a handsome, youthful face that looked into his, flushed with the excitement of novel experiences and perhaps a more material stimulation. The little silken moustache was ostentatiously curled, the brown' curls were redolent of bear's grease. Yet there was a certain boyish timidity and nervousness in the defiance of his blue eyes, that momentarily touched the elder brother. ' I've been too hard with him,' he said to himself, half consciously re- calling what McGee had said of Safie. He put the candle down, laid his hand gently on Arthur's shoulder, and said, with a certain cautious tender- ness, ' Come, Arty, sit down and tell me. all about it.' Whereupon the mercurial Arthur, not only relieved of his nervousness but of his previous ethical doubts and remorse, became gay and voluble. He had finished his purchases at Angel's, 24 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S and the storekeeper had introduced him to Colonel Starbottle, of Kentucky, as one of ' the Waynes who had made Wayne's Bar famous.' Colonel Starbottle had said in his pompous HELD THE CANDLE BEFORE HIS BROTHER'S FACE. fashion yet he was not such a bad fellow, after all that the Waynes ought to be represented in the Councils of the State, and that he, Starbottle, would be proud to nominate Madison for the next THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 25 Legislature, and run him, too. * And you know, really, Mad, if you mixed a little more with folks, and they weren't well, sorter afraid of you you could do it. Why, I've made a heap o' friends over there, just by goin' round a little, and one of old Selvedge's girls the storekeeper, you know said from what she'd heard of us, she always thought I was about fifty, and turned up the whites of my eyes instead of the ends of my moustache ! She's mighty smart ! Then the Postmaster has got his wife and three daughters out from the States, and they've asked me to come over to their church festival next week. It isn't our church, of course, but I suppose it's all right.' This and much more with the volubility of relieved feelings. When he stopped, out of breath, Madison said, ' I have had a visitor since you left Mr. McGee.' ' And his wife ? ' asked Arthur, quickly. Madison flushed slightly. ' No ; but he asked me to go and see her.' * That's her doin', then,' returned Arthur, with a laugh. ' She's always lookin' round the corners of her eyes at me when she passes. Why, John Rogers was joking me about her only yesterday, and said McGee would blow a hole through me some of these days if I didn't look out ! Of 26 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S course,' he added, affectedly curling his moustache, ' that's nonsense ! But you know how they talk, and she's too pretty for that fellow McGee.' * She has found a careful helpmeet in her hus- band,' said Madison, sternly, ' and it's neither seemly nor Christian in you, Arthur, to repeat the idle, profane gossip of the Bar. I knew her before her marriage, and if she was not a profess- ing Christian, she was, and is, a pure, good woman ! Let us have no more of this.' Whether impressed by the tone of his brother's voice, or only affected by his own mercurial nature, Arthur changed the subject to further voluble reminiscences of his trip to Angel's. Yet he did not seem embarrassed nor discon- certed when his brother, in the midst of his speech, placed the candle and the Bible on the table, with two chairs before it. He listened to Madison's monotonous reading of the evening exercise with equally monotonous respect. Then they both arose, without looking at each other, but with equally set and stolid faces, and knelt down before their respective chairs, clasping the back with both hands, and occasionally drawing the hard, wooden frames against their breasts convulsively, as if it were a penitential act. It was the elder brother who that night prayed aloud. It was his voice that rose higher by degrees above THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 27 the low roof and encompassing walls, the level river camp lights that trembled through the win- dow, the dark belt of riverside trees, and the light on the promontory's crest up to the tranquil, passionless stars themselves. CLASPING THE BACK WITH BOTH HANDS. With those confidences to his Maker this chronicle does not lie obtrusive and ostentatious though they were in tone and attitude. Enough that they were a general arraignment of humanity, 28 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS the Bar, himself, and his brother, and indeed much that the same Maker had created and per- mitted. That through this hopeless denunciation still lingered some human feeling and tenderness might have been shown by the fact that at its close his hands trembled and his face was be- dewed by tears. And his brother was so deeply affected that he resolved hereafter to avoid all evening prayers. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 29 CHAPTER III T was a week later that Madison Wayne and Mr. McGee were seen, to the astonishment of the Bar, leisurely walking together in the direction of the promontory. Here they disappeared, entering a damp fringe of willows and laurels that seemed to mark its limits, and gradually ascending some thickly wooded trail, until they reached its crest, which, to Madison's surprise, was cleared and open, and showed an acre or two of rude cultivation. Here, too, stood the McGees' conjugal home a small, four-roomed house, but so peculiar and foreign in aspect that it at once challenged even Madison's abstracted attention. It was a tiny Swiss chalet, built in sections, and originally packed in cases one of the early importations from Europe to California after the gold discovery, when the country was 30 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS supposed to be a woodless wilderness. Mr. McGee explained, with his usual laborious care, how he had bought it at Marysville, not only for its picturesqueness, but because in its unsugges- tive packing-cases it offered no indication to the curious miners, and could be put up by himself and a single uncommunicative Chinaman, without anyone else being aware of its existence. There was, indeed, something quaint in this fragment of Old World handicraft, with its smooth-jointed panelling, in two colours, its little lozenge fret- work, its lapped roof, overhanging eaves, and miniature gallery. Inartistic as Madison was like most men of rigidly rectangular mind and principle and accustomed to the bleak and economic sufficiency of the Californian miner's cabin, he was touched strangely by its novel grace and freshness. It reminded him of her ; he had a new respect for this rough, sinful man who had thus idealised his wife in her dwelling. Already a few Madrono vines and a Cherokee rose clam- bered up the gallery. And here Mrs. McGee was sitting. In the face that she turned upon the two men Madison could see that she was not expecting them, and even in the slight curiosity with which she glanced at her husband, that evidently he had said nothing of his previous visit or invitation. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 31 And this conviction became certainty at Mr. McGee's first words. ' I've brought you an ole friend, Safie. He used to spark ye once at Angel's afore my time he told me so ; he. picked ye outer the water here he told me that, too. Ye mind that I said afore that he was the only man I wanted ter know ; I reckon now it seems the square thing that he should be the one man you wanted ter know, too. You understand what I mean - you follow me, don't you ? ' Whether or not Mrs. McGee did follow him, she exhibited neither concern, solicitude, nor the least embarrassment. An experienced lover might have augured ill from this total absence of self-con- sciousness. But Madison was not an experi- enced lover. He accepted her amused smile as a recognition of his feelings, trembled at the touch of her cool hands, as if it had been a warm pressure, and scarcely dared to meet her mali- ciously laughing eyes. When he had followed Mr. McGee to the little gallery, the previous oc- cupation of Mrs. McGee when they arrived was explained. From that slight elevation there was a perfect view over the whole landscape and river below ; the Bar stretched out as a map at her feet ; in that clear, transparent air he could see every movement and gesture of Wayne's brother, all 32 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS unconscious of that surveillance, at work on the Bar. For an instant Madison's sallow cheek reddened, he knew not why ; a remorseful feeling that he ought to be there with Arthur came over him. Mrs. McGee's voice seemed to answer his thought. * You can see everything that's going on down there without being seen yourself. It's good fun for me sometimes. The other day I saw that young Carpenter hanging round Mrs. Rogers's cabin in the bush when old Rogers was away. And I saw her creep out and join him, never thinking anyone could see her ! ' She laughed, seeking Madison's averted eyes, yet scarcely noticing his suddenly contracted brows. Mr. McGee alone responded. ' That'swhy,' he said, explanatorily, to Madison, ' I don't allow to have my Sane go round with those women. Not as I ever see anything o' that sort goin' on, or keer to look, but on gin'ral principles. You understand what I mean.' * That's your brother over there, isn't it ? ' said Mrs. McGee, turning to Madison and calmly ignoring her husband's explanation, as she indi- cated the distant Arthur. ' Why didn't you bring him along with you ? ' Madison hesitated, and looked at McGee. ' He wasn't asked,' said that gentleman, cheer- fully. ' One's company, two's none ! You don't THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 33 know him, my dear ; and this yer ain't a gin'ral invitation to the Bar. You follow me ? ' To this Mrs. McGee made no comment, but proceeded to show Madison over the little cottage. Yet in a narrow passage she managed to touch his hand, lingered to let her husband precede them from one room to another, and once or twice looked meaningly into his eyes over McGee's shoulder. Disconcerted and embarrassed, he tried to utter a few common-places, but so con- strainedly that even McGee presently noticed it. And the result was still more embarrassing. ' Look yer,' he said, suddenly turning to them both ; ' I reckon as how you two wanter talk over old times, and I'll just meander over to the claim, and do a spell o' work. Don't m'mdjtte. And if he ' indicating Madison with his finger ' gets on ter religion, don't you mind him. It won't hurt you, Safie no more nor my revolver but it's pow'ful persuadin', and you understand me? You follow me ? Well, so long ! ' He turned away quickly, and was presently lost among the trees. For an instant the em- barrassed Madison thought of following him ; but he w r as confronted by Mrs. McGee's wicked eyes and smiling face between him and the door. Composing herself, however, with a simulation of perfect gravity she pointed to a chair. D 34 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS ' Sit down, Brother Wayne. If you're going to convert me, it may take some time, you know, and you might as well make yourself comfortable. As for me, I'll take the anxious bench.' She 'I'LL JUST MEANDER OVER TO THE CLAIM.' laughed with a certain girlishness, which he well remembered, and leaped to a sitting posture on the table with her hands on her knees, swinging her smart shoes backwards and forwards below it. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 35 Madison looked at her in hopeless silence, with a pale, disturbed face and shining eyes. ' Or, if you want to talk as we used to talk, Mad, when we sat on the front steps at Angel's, and pa and ma went inside to give us a show, ye LEAPED TO A SITTING POSTURE ON THE TABLE. can hop up alongside o' me.' She made a feint of gathering her skirts beside her. ' Sane ! ' broke out the unfortunate man, in a tone that seemed to increase in formal solemnity with his manifest agitation, ' this is impossible. D 2 36 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS The laws of God that have joined you and this man ' Oh ! it's the prayer-meeting, is it ? ' said Safie, settling her skirts again, with affected resignation. ' Go on.' 1 Listen, Safie,' said Madison, turning despair- ingly towards her. * Let us for His sake, let us for the sake of our dear blessed past, talk to- gether earnestly and prayerfully. Let us take this time to root out of our feeble hearts all yearnings that are not prompted by Him yearn- ings that your union with this man makes impos- sible and sinful. Let us for the sake of the past take counsel of each other, even as brother and sister.' ' Sister McGee ! ' she interrupted, mockingly. ' It wasn't as brother and sister you made love to me at Angel's.' * No ! I loved you then, and would have made you my wife.' ' And you don't love me any more,' she said, audaciously darting a wicked look into his eyes, ' only because I didn't marry you ? And you think that Christian ? ' ' You know I love you as I have loved you always,' he said, passionately. 4 Hush ! ' she said, mockingly ; ' suppose he should hear you.' THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 37 'He knows it!' said Madison, bitterly. '/ told him all ! ' She stared at him fixedly. ' You have told him that you still love me ? ' she repeated, slowly. ' Yes, or I wouldn't be here now. It was due to him to my own conscience.' ' And what did he say ? ' ' He insisted upon my coming, and, as God is my judge and witness he seemed satisfied and content.' She drew her pretty lips together with a long whistle, and then leaped from the table. Her face was hard and her eyes were bright as she went to the window and looked out. He folio wed her timidly. ' Don't touch me,' she said, sharply striking away his proffered hand. He turned with a flushed cheek and walked slowly towards the door. Her laugh stopped him. ' Come ! I reckon that squeezin' hands ain't no part of your contract with Sandy ? ' she said, glancing down at her own. * Well, so you're goin ? ' ' I only wished to talk seriously and prayer- fully with you for a few moments, Safie, and then to see you no more.' ' And how would that suit him,' she said, 38 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS drily, * if he wants your company here ? Then, just because you can't convert me and bring me to your ways of thinkin' in one visit, I suppose you think it is Christian-like to run away like this ! Or do you suppose that, if you turn tail now, he won't believe that your Christian strength and Christian resignation is all humbug ? ' Madison dropped into the chair, put his elbows on the table, and buried his face in his hands. She came a little nearer, and laid her hand lightly on his arm. He made a movement as if to take it, but she withdrew it impatiently. ' Come,' she said, brusquely ; ' now you're in for it you must play the game out. He trusts you ; if he sees you can't trust yourself, he'll shoot you on sight. That don't frighten you ? Well, perhaps this will, then ! He'll say your religion is a sham and you a hypocrite and everybody will believe him. How do you like that, Brother Wayne ? How will that help the Church ? Come ! You're a pair of cranks together ; but he's got the whip-hand of you this time. All you can do is to keep up to his idea of you. Put a bold face on it, and come here as often as you can the oftener the better ; the sooner you'll both get sick of each other and of me. That's what you're both after, ain't it ? THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 39 Well ! I can tell you now, you needn't either of you be the least afraid of me.' She walked away to the window again, not angrily, but smoothing down the folds of her BURIED HIS FACE IN HIS HANDS. bright print dress as if she were wiping her hands of her husband and his guest. Something like a very material and man-like sense of shame struggled up through his crust of religion. 40 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S He stammered, ' You don't understand me, Sane.' * Then talk of something I do understand,' she said, pertly. * Tell me some news of Angel's. Your brother was over there the other day. He made himself quite popular with the young ladies so I hear from Mrs. Selvedge. You can tell me as we walk along the bank towards Sandy's claim. It's just as well that you should move on now, as it's youryfr^/ call, and next time you can stop longer.' She went to the corner of the room, removed her smart slippers, and put on a pair of walking-shoes, tying them, with her foot on a chair, in a quiet disregard of her visitor's presence ; took a brown holland sun-bonnet from the wall, clapped it over her browner hair and hanging braids, and tied it under her chin with apparently no sense of coquetry in the act- becoming though it was and without glancing at him. Alas for Madison's ethics ! The torment of her worldly speech and youthful contempt was nothing to this tacit ignoring of the manhood of her lover this silent acceptance of him as some- thing even lower than her husband. He followed her with a burning cheek and a curious revolting of his whole nature that it is to be feared were scarcely Christian. The willows opened to let them pass, and closed again behind them. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 41 An hour later Mrs. McGee returned to her leafy bower alone. She took off her sun-bonnet, hung it on its nail on the wall, shook down her braids, took off her shoes, stained with the mud of her husband's claim, and put on her slippers. Then she ascended to her eyrie in the little gallery, and gazed smilingly across the sunlit Bar. The two gaunt shadows of her husband and lover, linked like twins, were slowly passing along the river bank on their way to the eclips- ing obscurity of the cotton woods. Below her almost at her very feet the unconscious Arthur Wayne was pushing his work on the river bed, far out to the promontory. The sunlight fell upon his vivid scarlet shirt, his bared throat, and head clustering with perspiring curls. The same sunlight fell upon Mrs. McGee's brown head, too, and apparently put a wicked fancy in- side it. She ran to her bedroom, and returned with a mirror from its wall, and, after some trials in getting the right angle, sent a searching reflection upon the spot where Arthur was at work. For an instant a diamond flash played around him. Then he lifted his head and turned it curiously towards the crest above him. But the next moment he clapped his hands over his dazzled but now smiling eyes, as Mrs. McGee, 42 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S secure in her leafy obscurity, fell back and laughed to herself, like a very schoolgirl. It was three weeks later, and Madison Wayne was again sitting alone in his cabin. This solitude had bacome of more frequent occurrence lately, since Arthur had revolted and openly absented himself from his religious devotions for lighter diversions of the Bar. Keenly as Madison felt his defection, he was too much preoccupied with other things to lay much stress upon it, and the sting of Arthur's relapse to worldliness and folly lay in his own consciousness that it was partly his fault. He could not chide his brother when he felt that his own heart was absorbed in his neighbour's wife ; and although he had rigidly adhered to his own crude ideas of self-effacement and loyalty to McGee, he had been again and again a visitor at his house. It was true that Mrs. McGee had made this easier by tacitly accepting his conditions of their acquaintanceship, by seeming more natural, by exhibiting a gaiety, and at times even a certain gentleness and thoughtfulness of conduct that delighted her hus- band and astonished her lover. Whether this wonderful change had really been effected by the latter's gloomy theology and still more hopeless ethics, he could not say. She certainly showed no disposition to imitate their formalities, nor THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 43 seemed to be impressed by them on the rare occasions when he now offered them. Yet she appeared to link the two men together even physically as on these occasions when, taking an arm of each, she walked affectionately between them along the river-bank promenade, to the great marvelling and admiration of the Bar. It was said, however, that Mr. Jack Hamlin, a gambler, at that moment professionally visiting Wayne's Bar, and a great connoisseur of feminine charms and weaknesses, had glanced at them under his handsome lashes, and asked a single question, evidently so amusing to the younger members of the Bar that Madison Wayne knit his brow and Arthur Wayne blushed. Mr. Hamlin took no heed of the elder brother's frown, but paid some slight attention to the colour of the younger brother, and even more to a slightly coquettish glance from the pretty Mrs. McGee. Whether or not as has been ingeniously alleged by some moralists the light and trifling of either sex are prone to recognise each other by some mysterious instinct is not a necessary considera- tion of this chronicle ; enough that the fact is recorded. And yet Madison Wayne should have been satisfied with his work. His sacrifice was ac- cepted ; his happy issue from a dangerous situa- 44 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S tion, and his happy triumph over a more danger- ous temptation, was complete and perfect, and even achieved according to his own gloomy theories of redemption and regeneration. Yet he was not happy. The human heart is at times strangely unappeasable. And as he sat that evening in the gathering shadows, the Book which should have yielded him balm and comfort lay unopened in his lap. A step upon the gravel outside had become too familiar to startle him. It was Mr. McGee lounging into the cabin like a gaunt shadow. It must be admitted that the friendship of these strangely contrasted men, however sincere and sympathetic, was not cheerful. A belief in the thorough wickedness of humanity, kept under only through fear of extreme penalty and punish- ment, material and spiritual, was not conducive to light and amusing conversation. Their talk was mainly a gloomy chronicle of life at the Bar, which was in itself half an indictment. To- night Mr. McGee spoke of the advent of Mr. Jack Hamlin, and together they deplored the diversion of the hard-earned gains and valuable time of the Bar through the efforts of that inge- nious gentleman. ' Not,' added McGee, cauti- ously, ' but what he can shoot straight enough, and I've heard tell that he don't lie. That mout THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 45 and it moutn't be good for your brother, who goes around with him considerable, there's different ways of lookin' at that ; you understand what I mean ? You follow me ? ' For all that, the con- versation seemed to languish this evening, partly through some abstraction on the part of Wayne, and partly through some hesitation in McGee, who appeared to have a greater fear than usual of not expressing himself plainly. It was quite dark in the cabin when at last, detaching himself from his usual lounging-place, the doorpost, he walked to the window and leaned, more shadowy than ever, over Wayne's chair. ' I want to tell you suthin',' he said, slowly, ' that I don't want you to misun- derstand you follow me ? and that ain't noways carpin' or criticism' nor reflectin' on you you understand what I mean ? Ever sens you and me had that talk here about you and Safie, and ever sens I got the hang of your ways and your style o' thinkin', I've been as sure of you and her as if I'd been myself trottin' round with you and a revolver. And I'm as sure of you now you sabe what I mean ? you understand ? You've done me and her a heap o' good ; she's almost another woman sens you took hold of her, and ef you ever want me to stand up and "testify," as you call it, in church, Sandy McGee is ready. What I'm tryin' to say to ye is this. Tho' I 46 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS understand you and your work and your ways- there' s other folks ez moutn't you follow ? You understand what I mean ? And it's just that I'm coming to. Now las' night, when you and Safie was meanderin' along the lower path by the water, and I kem across you ' But,' interrupted Madison, quickly, ' you're mistaken. I wasn't * Hoi' on,' said McGee, quietly ; ' I know you got out o' the way without you seein' me or me you, because you didn't know it was me, don't you see ? don't you follow ? and that's just it ! It mout have bin someone from the Bar as seed you instead o' me. See ? That's why you let out before I could recognise you, and that's why poor Safie was so mighty flustered at first, and was for runnin' away until she kem to herself agin. When, of course, she laughed, and agreed you must have mistook me.' ' But,' gasped Madison, quickly, ' / wasrit there at all last night' ' What?' The two men had risen simultaneously and were facing each other. McGee, with a good- natured, half-critical expression, laid his hand on Wayne's shoulder and slightly turned him towards the window, that he might see his face. It seemed to him white and dazed. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 47 'You wasn't there last night?' he re- peated, with a slow tolerance. Scarcely a moment elapsed, but the agony of 'i WASN'T THERE AT ALL LAST NIGHT.' an hour may have thrilled through Wayne's con- sciousness before he spoke. Then all the blood of his body rushed to his face with his first lie as 48 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S he stammered, ' No ! Yes ! Of course. I have made a mistake it was I.' * I see you thought I was riled?' said McGee, quietly. 1 No ; I was thinking it was night before last ! Of course, it was last night. I must be getting silly.' He essayed a laugh rare at any time with him and so forced now that it affected McGee more than his embarrassment. He looked at Wayne thoughtfully, and then said, slowly : ' I reckon I did come upon you a little too s*udden last night, but, you see, I was thinkin' of suthin' else and disremembered you might be there. But I wasn't mad no ! no ! and I only spoke about it now that you might be more keerful before folks. You follow me ? You understand what I mean ? ' He turned and walked to the door, when he halted. ' You follow me, don't you ? It ain't no cussedness o' mine, or want o' trustin', don't you see ? Mebbee I oughtened have spoken. I oughter remembered that 'times this sot o' thing must be rather rough on you and her. You follow me ? You understand what I mean ? Good night.' He walked slowly down the path towards the river. Had Madison Wayne been watching him, THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 49 he would have noticed that his head was bent and his step less free. But Madison Wayne was at that moment sitting rigidly in his chair, nursing, with all the gloomy concentration of a monastic nature, a single terrible suspicion. So THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S CHAPTER IV HOWBEIT the sun shone cheerfully over the Bar the next morning and the next ; the breath of life and activity was in the air ; the settlement never had been more prosperous, and the yield from the opened placers on the drained river-bed that week was enormous. The Brothers Wayne were said to be 'rolling in gold/ It was thought to be con- sistent with Madison Wayne's nature that there was no trace of good fortune in his face or manner rather that he had become more nervous, restless, and gloomy. This was attributed to the joylessness of avarice, as contrasted with the spendthrift gaiety of the more liberal Arthur, and he was feared and respected as a miser. His long, solitary walks around the promontory, his incessant watchfulness, his reticence when ques- tioned were all recognised as the indications of a man whose soul was absorbed in money- getting. The reverence they failed to yield to his religious isolation they were willing to freely accord to his financial abstraction. But Mr. THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 51 McGee was not so deceived. Overtaking him one day under the fringe of willows, he charac- teristically chided him with absenting himself from Mrs. McGee and her house since their last interview. * I reckon you did not harbour malice in your Christianity,' he said ; ' but it looks mighty like ez if ye was throwing off on Safie and me on account of what I said.' In vain Madison gloomily and almost sternly protested. McGee looked him all over with his clear measuring eye, and for some minutes was singu- larly silent. At last he said slowly : 'I've been thinkin' suthin' o' goin' down to 'Frisco, and I'd be a heap easier in my mind ef you'd promise to look arter Safie now and then.' ' You surely are not going to leave her here alone ? ' said Wayne, roughly. ' Why not ? ' For an instant Wayne hesitated. Then he burst out. ' For a hundred reasons ! If she ever wanted your protection before, she surely does now. Do you suppose the Bar is any less heathen or more regenerated than it was when you thought it necessary to guard her with your revolver ? Man ! it is a hundred times worse than then ! The new claims have filled it with E 2 52 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS spying adventurers with wolves like Hamlin and his friends. Idolaters who would set up Baal and Ashtaroth here and fill your tents with the curses of Sodom ! ' Perhaps it was .owing to the Scriptural phras- ing, perhaps it was from some unusual authority of the man's manner, but a look of approving relief and admiration came into McGee's clear eyes. ' And you re just the man to tackle 'em,' he said, clapping his hand on Wayne's shoulder. ' That's your gait keep it up ! But,' he added, in a lower voice, ' me and my revolver are played out.' There was a strangeness in the tone that arrested Wayne's attention. ' Yes,' continued McGee, stroking his beard slowly, * men like me has their day, and revolvers has theirs ; the world turns round and the Bar fills up, and this yer river changes its course and it's all in the day's work. You understand what I mean you follow me ? And if anything should happen to me not that it's like to ; but it's in the way o' men I want you to look arter Safie. It ain't every woman ez has two men, ez like and unlike, to guard her. You follow me you understand what I mean, don't you ?' With these words he parted somewhat abruptly from Wayne, turning into the. steep path to the promontory crest, and THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 53 leaving his companion lost in gloomy abstraction. The next day Alexander McGee had departed on a business trip to San Francisco. In his present frame of mind, with his new responsibility and the carrying out of a plan which he had vaguely conceived might remove the terrible idea that had taken possession of him, Madison Wayne was even relieved when his brother also announced his intention of going to Angel's for a few days. For since his memorable interview with McGee he had been convinced that Safie had been clandestinely visited by someone. Whether it was the thoughtless and momentary indiscre- tion of a wilful woman, or the sequel to some deliberately planned intrigue, did not concern him so much as the falsity of his own position, and the conniving lie by which he had saved her and her lover. That at this crucial moment he had failed to ' testify ' to guilt and wickedness ; that he firmly believed such is the inordinate vanity of the religious zealot that he had denied Him in his effort to shield her \ and that he had broken faith with the husband who had entrusted to him the custody of his w r ife's honour, seemed to him more terrible than her faithlessness. In his first horror he had dreaded to see her, lest her very 54 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S confession he knew her reckless frankness to- wards himself should reveal to him the extent of his complicity. But since then, and during her husband's absence, he had convinced himself that it was his duty to wrestle and strive with her weak spirit, to implore her to reveal her new intrigue to her husband, and then he would help her to sue for his forgiveness. It was a part of the inconsistency of his religious convictions ; in his human passion he was perfectly unselfish, and had already forgiven her the offence against himself. He would see her at once ! But it happened to be a quiet, intense night, with the tremulous opulence of a full moon that threw quivering shafts of light like summer light- ning over the blue river, and laid a wonderful carpet of intricate lace along the path that wound through the willows to the crest. There was the dry, stimulating dust and spice of heated pines from below ; the languorous odours of syringa ; the faint, feminine smell of southernwood, and the infinite mystery of silence. This silence was at times softly broken with the tender, inarticulate whisper of falling leaves, broken sighs from the tree-tops, and the languid stretching of wakened and unclasping boughs. Madison Wayne had not, alas ! taken into account this subtle conspiracy of Night and Nature, and as he climbed higher his THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 55 steps began to falter with new and strange sensa- tions. The rigidity of purpose which had guided the hard religious convictions that always sustained him began to relax. A tender sympathy stole over him ; a loving mercy to himself as well as others stole into his heart. He thought of her as she had nestled at his side, hand in hand, upon the moonlit verandah of her father's house, before his hard convictions had chilled and affrighted her. He thought of her fresh simplicity, and what had seemed to him her wonderful girlish beauty, and lo ! in a quick turn of the path he stood breathless and tremulous before the house. The moonbeams lay tenderly upon the peaceful eaves, the long blossoms of the Madrono vine seemed sleeping also. The pink flush of the Cherokee rose in the unreal light had become chastely white. But he was evidently too late for an interview r . The windows were blank in the white light ; only one her bedroom showed a light behind the lowered muslin blind. Her draped shadow once or twice passed across it. He was turning away with soft steps and even bated breath when sud- denly he stopped. The exaggerated but unmis- takable shadow of a man stood beside her on the blind. With a fierce leap, as of a maniac, he was 56 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S at the door, pounding, rattling, and uttering hoarse and furious outcries. Even through his fury he heard quickened footsteps her light, reckless, half-hysterical laugh a bound upon the staircase the hurried unbolting and opening of distant doors, as the lighter one with which he was struggling at last yielded to his blind rage, and threw him crashing into the sitting-room. The back-door was wide open. He could hear the rustling and crackling of twigs and branches in different directions down the hillside, where the fugitives had separated as they escaped. And yet he stood there for an instant, dazed and wondering, ' What next ? ' His eyes fell upon McGee's rifle standing up- right in the corner. It was a clean, beautiful, pre- cise weapon, even to the unprofessional eye, its long, laminated hexagonal barrel taking a tenderer blue in the moonlight. He snatched it up. It was capped and loaded. Without a pause he dashed down the hill. Only one thought was in his mind now the crudest, simplest duty. He was there in McGee's place ; he should do what McGee would do. Gocl had abandoned him, but McGee's rifle remained. In a few minutes' downward plunging he had reached the river bank. The tranquil silver sur- ace quivered and glittered before him. He saw THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 37 what he knew he would see, the black target of a man's head above it, making for the Bar. He took deliberate aim and fired. There was no echo to that sharp detonation ; a distant dog barked, there was a slight whisper in the trees beside him, HE TOOK DELIBERATE AIM. that was all ! But the head of the man was no longer visible, and the liquid silver filmed over again, without a speck or stain. He shouldered the rifle, and with the automatic action of men in great crises returned slowly and deliberately to the house and carefully replaced 58 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS the rifle in its old position. He had no concern for the miserable woman who had fled ; had she appeared before him at the moment, he would not have noticed her. Yet a strange instinct it seemed to him the vaguest curiosity made him ascend the stairs and enter her chamber. The candle was still burning on the table with that awful unconsciousness and simplicity of detail which makes the scene of real tragedy so terrible. Beside it lay a belt and leather pouch. Madison Wayne suddenly dashed forward and seized it, with a wild, inarticulate cry ; staggered, fell over the chair, rose to his feet, blindly groped his way down the staircase, burst into the road, and, hug- ging the pouch to his bosom, fled like a madman clown the hill. The body of Arthur Wayne was picked up two days later a dozen miles down the river. Nothing could be more evident and prosaic than the manner in which he had met his fate. His body was only partly clothed, and the money-pouch and belt, which had been securely locked next his skin, after the fashion of all miners, was gone. He was known to have left the Bar with a con- siderable sum of money ; he was undoubtedly dogged, robbed, and murdered during his journey on the river bank by the desperadoes who were THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S 59 beginning to infest the vicinity. The grief and agony of his only brother, sole survivor of that fraternal and religious partnership so well known to the camp, although shown only by a grim and THE BODY OF WAYNE WAS PICKED UP TWO DAYS LATER. speechless melancholy broken by unintelligible outbursts of religious raving was so real that it affected even the callous camp. But scarcely had it regained its feverish distraction before it was thrilled by another sensation. Alexander 60 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS McGee had fallen from the deck of a Sacramento steamboat in the Straits of Carquinez, and his body had been swept out to sea. The news had apparently been first to reach the ears of his devoted wife, for when the camp at this lapse of the old prohibition climbed to her bower with their rude consolations, the house was found locked and deserted. The fateful influence of the promontory had again prevailed, the grim record of its seclusion was once more unbroken. For with it, too, drooped and faded the fortunes of the Bar. Madison Wayne sold out his claim, endowed the church at the Cross Roads with the proceeds, and the pulpit with his grim, hopeless, denunciatory presence. The first rains brought a freshet to the Bar the river leaped the light barriers that had taken the place of Wayne's peaceful engines, and regained the old channel. The curse that the Reverend Madison Wayne had launched on this riverside Sodom seemed to have been fulfilled. But even this brought no satisfac- tion to the gloomy prophet, for it was presently known that he had abandoned his terror-stricken flock to take the circuit as Revivalist preacher and camp-meeting exhorter, in the rudest and most lawless of gatherings. Desperate ruffians writhed at his feet in impotent terror or more impotent rage ; murderers and thieves listened to him with THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEVS 61 blanched faces and set teeth, restrained only by a more awful fear. Over and over again he took his life, with his Bible, into his own hands when he rose above the excited multitude ; he was shot at, he was rail-ridden, he was deported, but never silenced. And so, sweeping over the country, carrying fear and frenzy with him, scouting life and mercy, and crushing alike the guilty and inno- cent, he came one Sabbath to a rocky crest of the Sierras the last tattered and frayed and soiled fringe of civilisation on the opened tract of a great highway. And here he was to * testify,' as was his wont. But not as he expected. For as he stood up on a boulder above the thirty or forty men sitting or lying upon other rocks and boulders around him on the craggy mountain shelf where they had gathered, a man also rose, elbowed past them, and with a hurried impulse tried to descend the declivity. But a cry was suddenly heard from others, quick and clamouring, which called the whole assembly to its feet, and it was seen that the fugitive had in some blundering way fallen from the precipice. He was brought up cruelly maimed and mangled, his ribs crushed, and one lung per- forated, but still breathing and conscious. He had asked to see the preacher. Death impending, 62 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL and even then struggling with his breath, made this request imperative. Madison Wayne stopped the service, and stalked grimly and inflexibly to where the dying man lay. But there he started. ' McGee ! ' he said, breathlessly. 'SEND THESE MEN AWAY.' ' Send these men away,' said McGee, faintly. ' I've got suthin' to tell you.' The men drew back without a word. ' You thought I was dead,' said McGee, with eyes still undimmed and marvellously clear. 4 I orter bin, THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 63 but it don't need no doctor to say it ain't far off now. I left the Bar to get killed ; I tried to in a row, but the fellows were skeert to close with me, thinkin' I'd shoot. My reputation was agin me, there ! You follow me you understand what I mean ? ' Kneeling beside him now, and grasping both his hands, the changed and horror-stricken Wayne gasped, ' But * Hold on ! I jumped off the Sacramento boat I was goin' down the third time they thought on the boat I was gone they think so now ! But a passin' fisherman dived for me. I grappled him he was clear grit and would have gone down with me, but I couldn't let him die too havin', so to speak, no cause. You follow me you understand me ? I let him save me. But it was all the same, for when I got to 'Frisco I read as how I was drowned. And then I reckoned it was all right, and I wandered here, where I wasn't known until I saw you.' 'But why should you want to die?' said Wayne, almost fiercely. ' What right have you to die while others, double-dyed and blood- stained, are condemned to live, "testify," and suffer ? ' The dying man feebly waved a deprecation with his maimed hand, and even smiled faintly. 6 4 THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 'I knew you'd say that. I knew what you'd think about it ; but it's all the same now. I did it for you and Safie ! I knew I was in the way ; I knew you was the man she orter had ; I knew 'YOU FOLLOW ME YOU UNDERSTAND?' you was the man who had dragged her outer the mire and clay where I was leavin' her, as you did when she fell in the water. I knew that every day I lived I was makin' you suffer and breakin' THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGELAS 65 her heart for all she tried to be gentle and ' Great God in heaven ! Will you stop ! ' said Wayne, springing to his feet in agony. A fright- ened look the first that anyone had ever seen in the clear eyes of the Bell-ringer of Angel's passed over them, and he murmured tremulously : ' All right I'm stoppin' ! ' So, too, was his heart, for the wonderful eyes were now slowly glazing. Yet he rallied once more coming up again the third time as it seemed to Wayne and his lips moved slowly. The preacher threw himself despairingly on the ground beside him. ' Speak, brother ! For God's sake, speak ! ' It was his last whisper so faint it might have been the first of his freed soul. But he only said : ' You're followin' me ? You understand what I mean ? ' 66 JOHNNYBOY THE vast dining-room of the Crustacean Hotel at Greyport, U.S., was empty and desolate. It was so early in the morning that there was a bedroom deshabille in the tucked-up skirts and bare legs of the little oval breakfast-tables as they had just been left by the dusting servants. The most stir- ring of travellers was yet abed, the most enterpris- ing of first-train catchers had not yet come down ; there was a breath of midsummer sleep still in the air ; through the half-opened windows that seemed to be yawning, the pinkish blue Atlantic beyond heaved gently and slumberously, and drowsy early bathers crept under its white edges as to bed. Yet as I entered the room I saw that one of the little tables in the corner was in reality occupied by a very small and very extraordinary child. Seated in a high chair, attended by a dreamily abstracted nurse on one side, an utterly perfunctory negro waiter on the other, and an incongruous assortment of disregarded viands before him, he was taking or, rather, declining JOHNNYBOY 67 his solitary breakfast. He appeared to be a pale, frail, but rather pretty boy, with a singularly pathetic combination of infant delicacy of out- line and maturity of expression. His heavily fringed eyes expressed an already weary and discontented intelligence, and his wilful, reso- lute little mouth was, I fancied, marked with lines of pain at either corner. He struck me as not only being physically dyspeptic, but as morally loathing his attendants and surround- ings. My entrance did not disturb the waiter, with whom I had no financial relations ; he simply concealed an exaggerated yawn professionally behind his napkin until my own servitor should appear. The nurse slightly awoke from her abstraction, shoved the child mechanically as if starting up some clogged machinery said, * eat your breakfast, Johnnyboy,' and subsided into her dream. I think the child had at first some faint hope of me, and when my waiter appeared with my breakfast he betrayed some interest in my selection, with a view of possible later appropria- tion ; but, as my repast was simple, that hope died out of his infant mind. Then there was a silence, broken at last by the languid voice of the nurse : 4 Try some milk, then nice milk.' F 2 68 JOHNNYBOY 'No! no mik ! Mik makes me sick -mik does ! ' In spite of the hurried infantine accent the protest was so emphatic, and, above all, fraught with such pent-up reproach and disgust, that I turned about sympathetically. But Johnnyboy had already thrown down his spoon, slipped from his high chair, and was marching out of the room as fast as his little sandals would carry him, with indignation bristling in every line of the crisp bows of his sash. I, however, gathered from Mr. Johnson, my waiter, that the unfortunate child owned a fashion- able father and mother L one or two blocks of houses in New York, and a villa at Greyport, which he consistently and intelligently despised. That he had imperiously brought his parents here on account of his health, and had demanded that he should breakfast alone in the big dining-room. That, however, he was not happy. ' Nuffin peahs to agree wid him, Sah, but he doan' cry, and he speaks his mind, Sah ; he speaks his mind.' Unfortunately, I did not keep Johnnyboy 's secret, but related the scene I had witnessed to some of the lighter-hearted Crustaceans of either sex, with the result that his alliterative protest became a sort of catchword among them, and JOHNNYBOY 69 that for the next few mornings he had a large audience of early breakfasters, who fondly hoped for a repetition of his performance. I think that Johnnyboy for the time enjoyed this companion- ship, yet without the least affectation or self- consciousness so long as it was unobtrusive. It so chanced, however, that the Rev. Mr. Belcher, a gentleman with bovine lightness of touch and a singular misunderstanding of childhood, chose to presume upon his paternal functions. Ap- proaching the high chair in which Johnnyboy was dyspeptically reflecting, with a ponderous wink at the other guests, and a fat thumb and forefinger on Johnnyboy's table, he leaned over him, and with slow, elephantine playfulness said : ' And so, my dear young friend, I understand that " mik makes you sick mik does." Anything approaching to the absolute unlike- ness of this imitation of Johnnyboy's accents it is impossible to conceive. Possibly Johnnyboy felt it. But he simply lifted his lovely lashes, and said, with great distinctness : ' Mik don't you devil ! ' After this, closely as it had knitted us to- gether, Johnnyboy's morning presence was mysteriously withdrawn. It was later pointed out to us by Mr. Belcher, upon the verandah, 70 JOHNNYBO Y that, although Wealth had its privileges, it was held in trust for the welfare of Mankind, and that the children of the Rich could not too early learn the advantages of Self-restraint and the vanity of a mere gratification of the Senses. Early and frequent morning ablutions, brisk morning towelling, half of a Graham biscuit in a teacup of milk, exercise with the dumb-bells, and a little rough-and-tumble play in a straw-hat, check apron, and overalls would eventually im- prove that stamina necessary for his future Position, and repress a dangerous cerebral activity and tendency to give way to He suddenly stopped, coughed, and absolutely looked embarrassed. Johnnyboy, a moving cloud of white piqu^ silk, and embroidery, had just turned the corner of the verandah. He did not speak, but as he passed raised his blue-veined lids to the orator. The look of ineffable scorn and supe- riority in those beautiful eyes surpassed anything I had ever seen. At the next verandah column he paused, and, with his baby thumbs inserted in his silk sash, again regarded him under his half- dropped lashes as if he were some curious animal, and then passed on. But Belcher was silenced for the second time. I think I have said enough to show that Johnnyboy was hopelessly worshipped by an im- JOHNNYBOY 71 pressible and illogical sex. I say hopelessly, for he slipped equally from the proudest silken lap and the humblest one of calico, and carried his eyelashes and small aches elsewhere. I think that a secret fear of his alarming frankness, and his steady rejection of the various tempting cates they offered him, had much to do with their passion. ' It won't hurt you, dear,' said Miss Circe, ' and it's so awfully nice. See ! ' she con- tinued, putting one of the delicacies in her own pretty mouth with every assumption of delight. ' It's so good ! ' Johnnyboy rested his elbows on her knees, and watched her with a grieved and commiserating superiority. ' Bimeby you'll have pains in youse tommick, and you'll be tookt to bed,' he said, sadly, 'and then you'll have to dit up and -' ; but as it was found necessary here to repress further details, he escaped other temp- tation. Two hours later, as Miss Circe was seated in the drawing-room with her usual circle of enthusi- astic admirers around her, Johnnyboy who was issued from his room for circulation, two or three times a day, as a genteel advertisement of his parents floated into the apartment in a new dress and a serious demeanour. Sidling up to Miss Circe he laid a phial evidently his own pet medicine on her lap, said, ' for youse tommikake 72 JOHNNYBOY to-night,' and vanished. Yet I have reason to believe that this slight evidence of unusual re- membrance on Johnnyboy's part more than com- pensated for its publicity, and for a few days Miss Circe was quite ' set up ' by it. 'AND YOU'LL BE TOOKT TO BED,' HE SAID, SADLY. It was through some sympathy of this kind that I first gained Johnnyboy's good graces. I had been presented with a small pocket case of homoeopathic medicines, and one day on the beach I took out one of the tiny phials and, dropping two or three of the still tinier pellets in my hand, JOHNNYBOY 73 swallowed them. To my embarrassment, a small hand presently grasped my trouser-leg. I looked down ; it was Johnnyboy, in a new and ravishing smuggler suit, with his questioning eyes fixed on mine. ' Howjer do dat ? ' 'Eh?' ' Wajer do dat for ? ' ' That ? oh, that's medicine. I'm got a headache.' He searched the inmost depths of my soul with his wonderful eyes. Then, after a peiuse, he held out his baby palm. ' You kin give Johnnie some.' ' But you haven't got headache have you ? ' * Me alluz has.' 'Not a I ways.' He nodded his head rapidly. Then added slowly, and with great elaboration, ' Et mo'nins, et affernoons, et nights, 'nd mo'nins adain. 'N et becker' (i.e., breakfast). There was no doubt it was the truth. Those eyes did not seem to be in the habit of lying. After all, the medicine could not hurt him. His nurse was at a little distance, gazing absently at the sea. I sat down on a bench, and dropped a few of the pellets into his palm. He ate them seriously, and then turned around and backed 74 JOHNNYBOY after the well-known appealing fashion of child- hood against my "knees. I understood the move- ment although it was unlike my idea of Johnny- boy. However, I raised him to my lap with the sensation of lifting a dozen lace-edged hand- kerchiefs, and with very little more effort where he sat silently for a moment, with his sandals crossed pensively before him. ' Wouldn't you like to go and play with those children ? ' I asked, pointing to a group of noisy sand-levellers not far away. ' No ! ' After a pause, ' You wouldn't neither.' ' Why ? ' ' Hediks.' 'But,' I said, ' perhaps if you went and played with them and ran up and down as they do you wouldn't have headache.' Johnnyboy did not answer for a moment ; then there was a perceptible gentle movement of his small frame. I confess I felt brutally like Belcher. He was getting down. Once down he faced me, lifted his frank eyes, said, * Do way and play den,' smoothed down his smuggler frock, and rejoined his nurse. But although Johnnyboy afterwards forgave my moral defection, he did not seem to have for- gotten my practical medical ministration, and our brief interview had a surprising result. From that JOHNNYBOY 75 moment he confounded his parents and doctors by resolutely and positively refusing to take any more of their pills, tonics, or drops. Whether from a sense of loyalty to me, or whether he was not yet convinced of the efficacy of homoeopathy, he did not suggest a substitute, declare his prefer- ences, or even give his reasons, but firmly and peremptorily declined his present treatment. And, to everybody's astonishment, he did not seem a bit the worse for it. Still he was not strong, and his continual aver- sion to childish sports and youthful exercise pro- voked the easy criticism of that large part of humanity who are ready to confound cause and effect, and such brief moments as the Sluysdaels could spare him from their fashionable duties were made miserable to them by gratuitous sug- gestions and plans for their child's improvement. It was noticeable, however, that few of them were ever offered to Johnny boy personally. He had a singularly direct way of dealing with them, and a precision of statement that was embarrass- ing. One afternoon Jack Bracy drove up to the verandah of the Crustacean with a smart buggy and spirited thoroughbred for Miss Circe's especial driving, and his own saddle-horse, on which he was to accompany her. Jack had dismounted, a 76 JOHNNYBOY groom held his saddle-horse until the young lady should appear, and he himself stood at the head of the thoroughbred. As Johnnyboy, leaning against the railing, was regarding the turnout with ill-concealed disdain, Jack, in the pride of his triumph over his rivals, goocl-humoureclly offered to put him in the buggy, and allow him to take the reins. Johnnyboy did not reply. ' Come along ! ' continued Jack, ' it will do you a heap of good ! It's better than lazing there like a girl ! Rouse up, old man ! ' ' Me don't like that geegee,' said Johnnyboy, calmly. ' He's a silly fool.' 'You're afraid,' said Jack. Johnnyboy lifted his proud lashes, and toddled to the steps. Jack received him in his arms, swung him into the seat, and placed the slim yel- low reins in his baby hands. ' Now you feel like a man, and not like a girl ! ' said Jack. ' Eh, what ? Oh, I beg your pardon.' For Miss Circe had appeared had absolutely been obliged to wait a whole half-minute unob- served and now stood there a dazzling but pout- ing apparition. In eagerly turning to receive her Jack's foot slipped on the step, and he fell. The thoroughbred started, gave a sickening plunge forward, and was off! But so, too, was Jack, the JOHNNYBOY 77 next moment, on his own horse, and before Miss Circe's screams had died away. For two blocks on Ocean Avenue passers-by that afternoon saw a strange vision. A galloping horse careering before a light buggy, in which a small child, seated upright, was grasping the tight- ened reins. But so erect and composed was the little face and figure albeit as white as its own frock that for an instant they did not grasp its awful significance. Those farther along, however, read the whole awful story in the drawn face and blazing eyes of Jack Bracy as he, at last, swung into the Avenue. For Jack had the brains as well as the nerve of your true hero, and, knowing the dangerous stimulus of a stern chase to a fright- ened horse, had kept a side road until it branched into the Avenue. So furious had been his pace, and so correct his calculation, that he ranged alongside of the runaway even as it passed, grasped the reins, and, in half a block, pulled up on even wheels. ' I never saw such pluck in a mite like that,' he whispered afterwards to his anxious auditory. ' He never dropped those ribbons, by G , until I got alongside, and then he just hopped down and said, as short and cool as you please, " Dank you ! " ' Me didn't,' uttered a small voice, reproachfully. JOHNNYBOY 1 Didn't you, dear? What did you say, then, darling ? ' exclaimed a sympathising chorus. ' Me said, " Damn you ! " Me don't like silly fool geegees. Silly fool geegees make me sick- silly fool geegees do ! ' Nevertheless, in spite of this incident, the attempts at Johnnyboy's physical reforma- tion still went on. More than ALONGSIDE OF THE RUNAWAY. that, it was argued by some complacent casuists that the pluck displayed by the child was the actual result of this somewhat heroic method of taking exercise, and not an inherent manliness distinct from his physical tastes. So he was made to run when he didn't want to to dance when he JOHNNYBOY 79 frankly loathed his partners to play at games that he despised. His books and pictures were taken away ; he was hurried past hoardings and theatrical posters that engaged his fancy ; the public was warned against telling him fairy-tales, except those constructed on strictly hygienic prin- ciples. His fastidious cleanliness was rebuked, and his best frocks taken away albeit at a terrible sacrifice of his parents' vanity to suit the theo- ries of his critics. How long this might have continued is not known for the theory and practice were suddenly arrested by another sen- sation. One morning a children's picnic party was given on a rocky point only accessible at certain states of the tide, whither they were taken in a small boat under the charge of a few hotel servants ; and, possibly as part of his heroic treat- ment, Johnnyboy, who was included in the party, was not allowed to be attended by his regular nurse. Whether this circumstance added to his general disgust of the whole affair, and his unwil- lingness to go, I cannot say, but it is to be regretted, since the omission deprived Johnnyboy of any impartial witness to what subsequently occurred. That he was somewhat roughly handled by seve- ral of the larger children appeared to be beyond doubt, although there was conflicting evidence as 8o JOHNNYBOY to the sequel. Enough that at noon screams were heard in the direction of certain detached rocks on the point, and the whole party proceed- ing thither found three of the larger boys on the rocks, alone and cut off by the tide, having been left there, as they alleged, by Johnnyboy, who had rim away with the boat. They subsequently admitted that they had first taken the boat and brought Johnnyboy with them, 'just to frighten him,' but they adhered to the rest. And certainly Johnnyboy and the boat were nowhere to be found. The shore was communicated with, the alarm was given, the telegraph, up and down the coast, trilled with excitement, other boats were manned consternation prevailed. But that afternoon the captain of the ' Saucy Jane,' mackerel fisher, lying off the point, per- ceived a derelict ' Whitehall ' boat drifting lazily towards the Gulf Stream. On boarding it he was chagrined to find the expected flotsam already in the possession of a very small child, who received him with a scornful reticence as regarded himself and his intentions, and some objurgation of a person or persons unknown. It was Johnny- boy. But whether he had attempted the destruc- tion of the three other boys by ' marooning ' them upon the rocks as their parents firmly believed or whether he had himself withdrawn from JOHNNYBOY 81 their company simply because he did not like them, was never known. Any further attempt to improve his education by the roughing gregarious process was, however, abandoned. The very critics who had counselled it now clamoured for restraint and perfect isolation. It was ably pointed out by the Rev. Mr. Belcher that the autocratic habits begotten by wealth and pamper- ing should be restricted, and all intercourse with their possessor promptly withheld. But the season presently passed with much of this and other criticism, and the Sluysdaels passed too, carrying Johnnyboy and his small aches and long eyelashes beyond these Crustacean voices, where it was to be hoped there was peace. I did not hear of him again for five years, and then, oddly enough, from the lips of Mr. Belcher on the deck of a Transatlantic steamer, as he was being wafted to Europe for his recreation by the prayers and purses of a grateful and enduring ilock. 1 Master John Jacob Astor Sluysdael,' said Mr. Belcher, speaking slowly, with great precision of retrospect, ' was taken from his private governess I may say by my advice and sent to an admir- able school in New York, fashioned upon the English system of Eton and Harrow, and con- ducted by English masters from Oxford and Cambridge. Here I may also say at my sug- o 82 JOHNNYBOY gestion he was subjected to the wholesome discipline equally of his schoolmates and his masters ; in fact, sir, as you are probably aware, the most perfect democracy that we have yet known, in which the mere accidents of wealth, position, luxury, effeminacy, physical degenera- tion, and over-civilised stimulation are not recog- nised. He was put into compulsory cricket, foot- ball, and rounders. As an undersized boy he was subjected to that ingenious preparation for future mastership by the pupillary state of servi- tude known, I think, as "fagging." His physical inertia was stimulated and quickened, and his intellectual precocity repressed from time to time by the exuberant playfulness of his fellow-students, which occasionally took the form of forced ablu- tions and corporal discomfort, and was called, I am told, " hazing." It is but fair to state that our young friend had some singular mental en- dowments, which, however, were promptly checked to repress the vanity and presumption that would follow.' The Reverend Mr. Belcher paused, closed his eyes resignedly, and added, ' Of course you know the rest.' ' Indeed I do not,' I said, anxiously. 'A most deplorable affair indeed, a most shocking incident ! It was hushed up, I believe, on account of the position of his parents.' He JOHNNYBOY glanced furtively around, and in a lower and more impressive voice said, * I am not myself a believer in heredity, and I am not personally aware that there was a murderer among the Sluysdael an- cestry, but it seems that this monstrous child, in some clandestine way, possessed himself of a huge bowie-knife, sir, and on one of those 'FORCED THEM TO FLEE.' occasions actually rushed furiously at the larger boys his innocent playfellows and absolutely forced them to flee in fear of their lives. More than that, sir, a loaded revolver was found in his desk, and he boldly and shamelessly avowed his G 2 84 JOHNNYBOY intention to eviscerate, or to use his own revolt- ing language " to cut the heart out " of the first one who again " laid a finger on him." He paused again, and joining his two hands together with the fingers pointing to the deck, breathed hard and said, ' His instantaneous withdrawal from the school was a matter of public necessity. He was afterwards taken, in the charge of a private tutor, to Europe, where, I trust, we shall not meet.' I could not resist saying cheerfully that, at least, Johnnyboy had for a short time made it lively for the big boys. The Rev. Mr. Belcher rose slowly, but pain- fully, said with a deeply grieved expression, ' I don't think that I entirely follow you,' and moved gently away. The changes of youth are apt to be more bewildering than those of age, and a decade scarcely perceptible in an old civilisation often means utter revolution to the new. It did not seem strange to me, therefore, on meeting Jack Bracy twelve years after, to find that he had forgotten Miss Circe, or that s/iehad married, and was living unhappily with a middle-aged adventurer by the name of Jason, who was reputed to have had domestic relations elsewhere. But although sub- jugated and exorcised, she at least was reminis- JOHNNYBOY 85 cent. To my inquiries about the Sluysdaels, she answered with a slight return of her old vivacity : ' Ah, yes, dear fellow, he was one of my greatest admirers.' ' He was about four years old when you knew him, wasn't he ? ' suggested Jason, meanly. ' Yes, they usually were young, but so kind of you to recollect them. Young Sluysdael,' he continued, turning to me, ' is but of course you know that disgraceful story.' I felt that I could stand this no longer. ' Yes,' I said, indignantly, ' I know all about the school, and I don't call his conduct disgraceful o either.' Jason stared. ' I don't know what you mean about the school,' he returned. ' I am speaking of his stepfather.' ' His stepfather /' ' Yes ; his father, Van Buren Sluysdael, died, you know, a year after they left Greyport. The widow was left all the money in trust for Johnnie, except about twenty-five hundred a year which he was in receipt of as a separate income, even as a boy. Well, a glib-tongued parson, a fellow by the name of Belcher, got round the widow she was a desperate fool and, by Jove ! made her marry him. He made ducks and drakes of not only her money, but Johnnie's too, and had to 86 JOHNNYBO Y skip to Spain to avoid the trustees. And Johnnie for the Sluysdaels are all fools or lunatics made over his whole separate income to that wretched, fashionable fool of a mother, and went into a stockbroker's office as a clerk.' * And walks to business before eight every morning, and they say even takes down the shutters and sweeps out,' broke in Circe, impul- sively. * Works like a slave all day, wears out his old clothes, has given up his clubs and amuse- ments, and shuns society.' ' But how about his health ?' I asked. ' Is he better and stronger ? ' ' I don't know,' said Circe, ' but he looks as beautiful as Endymion.' At his bank in Wall Street, Bracy that after- noon confirmed all that Jason had told me of young Sluysdael. ' But his temper ? ' I asked. ' You remember his temper surely.' ' He's as sweet as a lamb never quarrels, never whines, never alludes to his lost fortune, and is never put out. For a youngster, he's the most popular man in the street. Shall we nip round and see him ? ' * By all means.' * Come. It isn't far.' A few steps down the crowded street we JOHNNYBOY 87 dived into a den of plate-glass windows, of scraps of paper, of rattling, ticking machines, more voluble and excited than the careworn, abstracted men who leaned over them. But 'Johnnyboy' I started at the familiar name again was not there. He was at luncheon. HE WAS PLEASED TO REMEMBER ME. ' Let us join him,' I said, as we gained the street again and turned mechanically into Del- monico's. ' Not there,' said Bracy, with a laugh. ' You forget. That's not Johnnyboy's gait just now. Come here.' He was descending a few steps 88 JOHNNYBOY that led to a humble cake-shop. As we entered I noticed a young fellow standing before the plain wooden counter with a cake of gingerbread in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. His profile was before me ; I at once recognised the long lashes. But the happy, boyish, careless laugh that greeted Bracy as he presented me was a revelation. Yet he was pleased to remember me. And then it may have been embarrassment that led me to such tactlessness, but as I glanced at him and the glass of milk he was holding, I could not help reminding him of the first words I had ever heard him utter. He tossed off the glass, coloured slightly as I thought, and said, with a light laugh : ' I suppose I have changed a good deal since then, sir.' I looked at his demure and resolute mouth, and wondered if he had. YOUNG ROBIN GRAY CHAPTER I THE good American barque Skyscraper was swinging at her moorings in the Clyde off Bannock, ready for sea. But that good American barque although owned in Baltimore had not a plank of American timber in her hulk, nor a native American in her crew, and even her nautical ' goodness ' had been called into serious question by divers of thai crew during her voyage, and answered more or less inconclusively with belaying pins, marlin-spikes, and ropes' ends at the hands of an Irish-American captain and a Dutch and Danish mate. So much so, that the mysterious powers of the American consul at St. Kentigern had been evoked to punish mutiny on the one hand, and battery and starva- tion on the other ; both equally attested by manifestly false witness and subornation on each side. In the exercise of his functions the consul had opened and shut some jail doors, and other- 90 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY wise effected the usual sullen and deceitful com- promise, and his flag was now flying, on a final visit, from the stern sheets of a smart boat along- side. It was with a feeling of relief at the end of the interview that he at last lifted his head above an atmosphere of perjury and bilge- water and came on deck. The sun and wind were ruffling and glinting on the broadening river beyond the ' measured mile ' ; a few gulls were wavering and dipping near the lee scuppers, and the sound of Sabbath bells, mellowed by a distance that secured immunity of conscience, came peacefully to his ear. 1 Now that job's over ye'll be takin' a partin' dhrink,' suggested the captain. The consul thought not. Certain incidents of ' the job ' were fresh in his memory, and he proposed to limit himself to his strict duty. * You have some passengers, I see,' he said, pointing to a group of two men and a young girl, who had apparently just come aboard. ' Only wan : an engineer going out to Rio. Them's just his friends seein' him off, I'm thinkin',' returned the captain, surveying them somewhat contemptuously. The consul was a little disturbed. He wondered if the passenger knew anything of the quality and reputation of the ship to which he YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 91 was entrusting his fortunes. But he was only a passenger, and the consul's functions like those of the aloft- sitting cherub of nautical song were restricted exclusively to looking after' Poor Jack.' However, he asked a few further questions, elicit- ing the fact that the stranger had already visited the ship with letters from the eminently respect- able consignees at St. Kentigern, and contented himself with lingering near them. The young girl was accompanied by her father, a respectably rigid-looking, middle-class tradesman, who, how- ever, seemed to be more interested in the novelty of his surroundings than in the movements of his daughter and their departing friend. So it chanced that the consul re-entered the cabin ostensibly in search of a missing glove, but really with the intention of seeing how the passenger was bestowed just behind them. But to his great embarrassment he at once perceived that, owing to the obscurity of the apartment, they had not noticed him, and before he could withdraw the man had passed his arm around the young girl's half-stiffened, yet half-yielding figure. ' Only one, Ailsa,' he pleaded, in a slow, serious voice, pathetic from the very absence of any youthful passion in it ; 'just one now. It'll be gey lang before we meet again. Ye'll not refuse me now ? ' 92 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY The young girl's lips seemed to murmur some protest, that however was lost in the beginning of a long and silent kiss. The consul slipped out softly. His smile had died away. That unlocked for touch of human weakness seemed to purify the stuffy and evil- reeking cabin, and the recollection of its brutal past, to drop with a deck-load of iniquity behind him to the bottom of the Clyde. It is to be feared that in his unofficial moments he was inclined to be sentimental, and it seemed to him that the good ship Skyscraper henceforward carried an innocent freight not mentioned in her manifest, and that a gentle, ever-smiling figure, not entered on her books, had invisibly taken a place at her wheel. But he was recalled to himself by a slight altercation on deck. The young girl and the passenger had just returned from the cabin. The consul, after a discreetly careless pause, had lifted his eyes to the young girl's face, and saw that it was singularly pretty in colour and outline, but perfectly self-composed and serenely unconscious. And he was a little troubled to observe that the passenger was a middle-aged man, whose hard features were already considerably worn with trial and experience. But he and the girl were listening with sympa- YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 93 thising but cautious interest to her father's con- tention with the boatman who had brought them from shore, and who was now inclined to demand an extra fee for returning with them. The boat- man alleged that he had been detained beyond * kirk time,' and that this imperilling of his salva- tion could only be compensated by another shilling. To the consul's surprise, this extraordinary argu- ment was recognised by the father, who, however, contented himself by simply contending that it had not been stipulated in the bargain. The issue was, therefore, limited, and the discussion pro- gressed slowly and deliberately, with a certain calm dignity and argumentative satisfaction on both sides that exalted the subject, though it irritated the captain. ' If ye accept the premisses that I've just laid down, that it's a contract '- - began the boatman. 1 Dry up ! and haul off,' said the captain. ' One moment,' interposed the consul, with a rapid glance at the slight trouble in the young girl's face. Turning to the father, he went on : ' Will you allow me to offer you and your daughter a seat in my boat ?' It was an unlooked-for and tempting proposal. The boatman was lazily lying on his oars, secure in self-righteousness and the conscious possession of the only available boat to shore ; on the other 94 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY hand, the smart gig of the consul, with its four oars, was not only a providential escape from a difficulty, but even to some extent a quasi-official endorsement of his contention. Yet he hesitated. ( It'll be costin' ye no more ? ' he said interro- gatively, glancing at the consul's boat's crew, ' or ye'll be asking me a fair proportion.' ' It will be the gentleman's own boat,' said the girl, with a certain shy assurance, ' and he'll be paying his boatmen by the day.' The consul hastened to explain that their pas- sage would involve no additional expense to any- body, and added, tactfully, that he was glad to enable them to oppose extortion. ' Ay, but it's a preencipel,' said the father, proudly, ' and I'm pleased, sir, to see ye recognise it.' He proceeded to help his daughter into the boat without any further leave-taking of the pas- senger, to the consul's great surprise, and with only a parting nod from the young girl. It was as if this momentous incident were a sufficient reason for the absence of any further trivial sentiment. Unfortunately the father chose to acid an exordium for the benefit of the astonished boat- man, still lying on his oars. ' Let this be a lesson to ye, ma frein, when YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 95 ye're ower sure ! Ye'll ne'er say a herrin is dry until it be reestit an' reckit' Ay,' said the boatman, with a lazy significant glance at the consul, ' it wull be a lesson to me not to trust to a lassie's gangiri jo, when thair's anither yin cominV ' Give way,' said the consul, sharply. Yet his was the only irritated face in the boat as the men bent over their oars. The young girl and her father looked placidly at the receding ship, and waved their hands to the grave, resigned face over the taffrail. The consul examined them more attentively. The father's face showed intelligence and a certain probity in its otherwise commonplace features. The young girl had more distinction, with, perhaps, more delicacy of outline than of texture. Her hair was dark, with a burnished copper tint at its roots, and eyes that had the same burnished metallic lustre in their brown pupils. Both sat respectfully erect, as if anxious to record the fact that the boat was not their own to take their ease in ; and both were silently reserved, answering briefly to the consul's remarks, as if to indicate the formality of their presence there. But a distant railway whistle startled them into emotion. ' We've lost the train, father ! ' said the young girl. 96 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY The consul followed the direction of her anxious eyes ; the train was just quitting the station at Bannock. ' If ye had not lingered below with Jamie we'd have been away in time, ay, and in our own boat,' said the father, with marked severity. The consul glanced quickly at the girl. But her face betrayed no consciousness, except of their present disappointment. ' There's an excursion boat coming round the Point,' he said, pointing to the black smoke-trail of a steamer at the entrance of a loch, ' and it will be returning to St. Kentigern shortly. If you like, we'll pull over and put you aboard.' 1 Eh ! but it's the Sabbath-breaker ! ' said the old man, harshly. The consul suddenly remembered that that was the name which the righteous St. Kenti- gerners had given to the solitary bold, Lad pleasure-boat that defied their Sabbatical observances. ' Perhaps you won't find very pleasant com- pany on board,' said the consul, smiling ; ' but, then, you're not seeking that. And as you would be only using the boat to get back to your home, and not for Sunday recreation, I don't think your conscience should trouble you.' 4 Ay, that's a fine argument, Mr. Consul, but YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 97 I'm thinking it's none the less sopheestry for a* that,' said the father, grimly. * No ; if ye'll just land us yonder at Bannock pier, we'll be aye thankin' ye the same.' ' But what will you do there ? There's no other train to-day.' 'Aye, we'll walk on a bit.' The consul was silent. After a pause the young girl lifted her clear eyes, and with a half pathetic, half childish politeness, said : ' We'll be doing very well my father and me. You're far too kind.' Nothing further was said as they began to thread their way between a few large ships and an ocean steamer at anchor, from whose decks a few Sunday-clothed mariners gazed down admiringly on the smart gig and the pretty girl in a Tarn o' Shanter in its stern sheets. But here a new idea struck the consul. A cable's length ahead lay a yacht, owned by an American friend, and at her stern a steam launch swung to its painter. Without intimating his intention to his passengers he steered for it. * Bow ! way enough,' he called out as the boat glided under the yacht's counter, and, grasping the companion-ladder ropes, he leaped aboard. In a few hurried words he explained the situation to Mr. Robert Gray, her owner, and suggested that he should send the H 98 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY belated passengers to St. Kentigern by the launch. Gray assented with the easy good-nature of youth, wealth, and indolence, and lounged from his cabin to the side. The consul followed. Looking down upon the boat he could not help observing that his fair young passenger, sitting in her demure stillness at her father's side, made a very pretty picture. It was possible that ' Bob Gray ' had made the same observation, for he presently swung himself over the gangway into the gig, hat in hand. The launch could easily take them ; in fact, he added unblushingly, it was even then getting up steam to go to St. Kentigern. Would they kindly come on board until it was ready ? At an added word or two of explanation from the consul, the father accepted, preserving the same formal pride and stiffness, and the transfer was made. The consul, looking back as his gig swept round again towards Bannock pier, received their parting salutations, and the first smile he had seen on the face of his grave little passenger. He thought it very sweet and sad. He did not return to the Consulate at St. Kentigern until the next day. But he was some- what surprised to find Mr. Robert Gray awaiting him, and upon some business which the young millionaire could have easily deputed to his cap- tain or steward. As he still lingered, the consul YOUNG ROBIN GRA Y 99 pleasantly referred to his generosity on the pre- vious day, and hoped the passengers had given him no trouble. 1 No,' said Gray, with a slight simulation of carelessness. ' In fact, I came up with them my- self. I had nothing to do ; it was Sunday, you know.' The consul lifted his eyebrows slightly. * Yes, I saw them home,' continued Gray, lightly. * In one of those by-streets not far from here ; neat-looking house outside ; inside, cork- screw stone staircase, like a lighthouse ; fourth floor, no lift, but she circled up like a swallow. Flat sitting-room, two bedrooms, and a kitchen mighty snug and shipshape and pretty as a pink. They ozun it, too ; fancy owning 1 part of a house ! Seems to be a way they have here in St. Kentigern.' He paused, and then added : ' Stayed there to a kind of high tea ! ' ' Indeed ! ' said the consul. ' Why not ? The old man wanted to return my "hospitality" and square the account! He wasn't going to lie under any obligation to a stranger, and, by Jove! he made it a special point of honour ! A Spanish grandee couldn't have been more punctilious. And with an accent Jerusalem! like a north-easter off the banks! But the feed was in good taste, and he only a H 2 loo YOUNG ROBIN GRAY mathematical instrument maker, on about twelve hundred dollars a year! ' ' You seem to know all about him,' said the consul, smilingly. * Not so much as he does about me,' returned Gray, with a half-perplexed face ; * for he saw enough to admonish me about my extravagance, and even to intimate that that rascal Saunderson, my steward, was imposing on me. She took me to task, too, for not laying the yacht up on Sunday that the men could go "to kirk," and for swearing at a bargeman who ran across our bows. It's their perfect simplicity and sincerity in all this that gets me ! You'd have thought that the old man was my guardian, and the daughter my aunt.' After a pause he uttered a reminiscent laugh. ' She thought we ate and drank too much on the yacht, and wondered what we could find to do all day. All this, you know, in the gentlest, caress- ing sort of voice, as if she were really concerned, like one's own sister. Well, not exactly like mine' he interrupted himself, grimly 'but, hang it all ! you know what I mean. You know that our girls over there haven't got that trick of voice. Too much self-assertion, I reckon ; things made too easy for them by us men. Habit of race, I dare say.' He laughed a little. * Why, I mis- laid my glove when I was coming away, and it was YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 101 as good as a play to hear her commiserating and sympathising, and hunting for it as if it were a lost baby.' ' But you've seen Scotch girls before this,' said the consul. ' There were Lady Claim's daughters, whom you took on a cruise.' ' Yes, but the swell Scotch all imitate the English, as everybody else does, for the matter of that, our girls included ; and they're all alike. Society makes 'em fit in together like tongued and grooved planks that will take any amount of holy-stoning and polish. It's like dropping into a dead calm, with every rope and spar that you know already reflected back from the smootl water upon you. It's mighty pretty, but it isn't getting on, you know.' After a pause he added : ' I asked them to take a little holiday cruise with me.' ' And they declined,' interrupted the consul. Gray glanced at him quickly. ' Well, yes ; that's all right enough. They don't know me, you see, but they do know you ; and the fact is, I was thinking that as you're our consul here, don't you see, and sort of responsible for me, you might say that it was all right, you know. Quite the customary thing with us over there. And you might say, generally, who I am.' 6 I see,' said the consul, deliberately. ' Tell 102 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY them you're Bob Gray, with more money and time than you know what to do with ; that you have a fine taste for yachting and shooting and racing, and amusing yourself generally ; that you find that they amuse you, and you would like your luxury and your dollars to stand as an equivalent to their independence and originality ; that, being a good Republican yourself, and recognising no distinction of class, you don't care what this may mean to them who are brought up differently ; that after their cruise with you you don't care what life, what friends, or what jealousies they return to ; that you know no ties, no responsibili- ties beyond the present, and that you are not a marrying man.' ' Look here, I say, aren't you making a little too much of this ?' said Gray, stiffly. The consul laughed. ' I should be glad to know that I am.' Gray rose. ' We'll be dropping down the river to-morrow,' he said, with a return of his usual lightness, 'and I reckon I'll be toddling down to the wharf. Good-bye, if I don't see you again.' He passed out. As the consul glanced from the window he observed, however, that Mr. Gray was ' toddling ' in quite another direction than the wharf. For an instant he half regretted that he had not suggested, in some discreet way, the con- YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 103 elusion he had arrived at after witnessing the girl's parting with the middle-aged passenger the day before. But he reflected that this was some- thing he had only accidentally overseen, and was the girl's own secret. 104 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY CHAPTER II WHEN the summer had so waxed in its fulness that the smoke of factory chimneys drifted high, permitting glimpses of fairly blue sky ; when the grass in St. Kentigern's proudest park took on a less sober green in the comfortable sun, and even in the thickest shade there was no chilliness, the good St. Kentigerners recognised that the season had arrived to go ' down the river,' and that it was time for them to betake themselves, with rugs, macintoshes, and umbrellas, to the breezy lochs and misty hillsides for which the neighbourhood of St. Kentigern is justly famous. So when it came to pass that the blinds were down in the highest places, and the most exclusive pavements of St. Kentigern were echoless and desolate, the consul heroically tore himself from the weak delight of basking in the sunshine, and followed the others. He soon found himself settled at the farthest end of a long narrow loch, made longer and nar- rower by the steep hillside of rock and heather which flanked its chilly surface on either side, and YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 105 whose inequalities were lost in the firs and larches that filled ravine and chasm. The fragrant road which ran sinuously through their shadowy depths was invisible from the loch ; no protuberance broke the seemingly sheer declivity ; the even sky-line was indented in two places one where it was cracked into a fanciful resemblance to a human profile, the other where it was curved like a bowl. Need it be said that one was distinctly recognised as the silhouette of a prehistoric giant, and that the other was his drinking-cup ; need it be added that neither lent the slightest human suggestion to the solitude ? A toylike pier extending into the loch, midway from the barren shore, only heightened the desolation. And when the little steamboat that occasionally entered the loch took away a solitary passenger from the pierhead, the simplest parting was invested with a dreary loneliness that might have brought tears to the most hardened eye. Still, when the shadow of either hillside was not reaching across the loch, the meridian sun, chancing upon this coy mirror, made the most of it. Then it was that, seen from above, it flashed like a falchion lying between the hills ; then its reflected glory, striking up, transfigured the two acclivities, tipped the cold heather with fire, gladdened the funereal pines, and warmed the ascetic rocks. And it was in one of those rare, io6 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY passionate intervals that the consul, riding along the wooded track and turning his eyes from their splendours, came upon a little house. It had once been a sturdy cottage, with a grim endurance and inflexibility, which even some later and lighter additions had softened rather than changed. On either side of the door, against the bleak whitewashed wall, two tall fuchsias relieved the rigid blankness with a show of colour. The windows were prettily draped with curtains, caught up with gay ribbons. In a stony pound- like enclosure there was some attempt at floral cultivation, but all quite recent. So, too, were a wicker garden seat, a bright Japanese umbrella, and a tropical hammock suspended between two Arctic-looking bushes, which the rude and rigid forefathers of the hamlet would have probably resented. He had just passed the house when a charm- ing figure slipped across the road before him. To his surprise it was the young girl he had met a few months before on the Skyscraper. But the Tarn o' Shanter was replaced by a little straw hat ; and a light dress, summery in colour and texture, but more in keeping with her rustic surroundings, seemed as grateful and rare as the sunshine. Without knowing why, he had an impression that it was of her own making a gentle plagiarism of YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 107 the style of her more fortunate sisters, but with a demure restraint all her own. As she recognised him a faint colour came to her cheek, partly from surprise, partly from some association. To his delighted greeting she responded by informing him that her father had taken the cottage he had just passed, where they were spending a three weeks' vacation from his business. It was not so far from St. Kentigern but that he could run up for a day to look after the shop. Did the consul not think it was wise ? Quite ready to assent to any sagacity in those clear brown eyes, the consul thought it was. But was it not, like wisdom, sometimes lonely ? Ah ! no. There was the loch and the hills and the heather ; there were her flowers ; did he not think they were growing well ? and at the head of the loch there was the old tomb of the McHulishes, and some of the coffins were still to be seen. Perhaps emboldened by the consul's smile, she added, with a more serious precision, which was, however, lost in the sympathising caress of her voice, ' And would you not be getting off and coming in and resting a wee bit before you go farther? It would be so good of you, and fither would think it so kind. And he will be there now, if you're looking.' io8 YOUNG ROBIN GRA Y The consul looked. The old man was stand- ing in the doorway of the cottage, as respectably uncompromising as ever, with the slight conces- sion to his rural surroundings of wearing a Tarn o' Shanter and easy slippers. The consul dis- mounted and entered. The interior w^as simply but tastefully furnished. It struck him that the Scotch prudence and economy, which practically excluded display and meretricious glitter, had reached the simplicity of the truest art and the most refined wealth. He felt he could under- stand Gray's enthusiasm, and by an odd associa- tion of ideas he found himself thinking of the re- signed face of the lonely passenger on the Sky- scraper. 1 Have you heard any news of your friend who went to Rio ? ' he asked pleasantly, but with- out addressing himself particularly to either. There was a perceptible pause ; doubtless of deference to her father on the part of the young girl, and of the usual native conscientious caution on the part of the father ; but neither betrayed any embarrassment or emotion. ' No ; he would not be writing yet,' she at length said, simply ; * he would be waiting until he was settled to his busi- ness. Jamie would be waiting until he could say how he was doing, father ? ' she appealed inter- rogatively to the old man. YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 109 ' Ay, James Gow would not fash himself to write compliments and gossip till he knew his position and work,' corroborated the old man. ' He'll not be going two thousand miles to send us what we can read in the St. Kentigern Herald. But,' he added, suddenly, with a recall of cau- tiousness, ' perhaps you will be hearing of the ship?' ' The consul will not be remembering what he hears of all the ships,' interposed the young girl, with the same gentle affectation of superior worldly knowledge which had before amused him. * We'll be wearying him, father,' and the subject dropped. The consul glancing around the room again, but always returning to the sweet and patient seriousness of the young girl's face and the grave decorum of her father, would have liked to ask another question, but it was presently anticipated ; for when he had exhausted the current topics, in which both father and daughter displayed a quiet sagacity, and he had gathered a sufficient know- ledge of their character to seem to justify Gray's enthusiasm, and was rising to take his leave, the young girl said, timidly : * Would ye not let Bessie take your horse to the grass field over yonder, and yourself stay with us to dinner? It would be most kind, and you i io YOUNG ROBIN GRAY would meet a great friend of yours who will be here.' ' Mr. Gray ?' suggested the consul audaciously. Yet he was greatly surprised when the young girl said, quietly, ' Ay.' ' He'll be coming in the loch with his yacht,' said the old man. ' It's not so expensive lying here as at Bannock, I'm thinking ; and the men cannot gang ashore for drink. Eh, but it's an awful waste o' pounds, shillings, and pence keep- ing these gowks in idleness with no feeshin' nor carrying of passengers.' ' Ay, but it's better Mr. Gray should pay them for being decent and well-behaved on board his ship, than that they should be out of work and noting in taverns and lodging-houses. And you yourself, father, remember the herrin' fishers that come ashore at Ardie, and the deck hands of the excursion boat, and the language they'll be using.' ' Have you had a cruise in the yacht ? ' asked the consul, quickly. 1 Ay,' said the father, ' we have been up and down the loch, and around the far point, but not for boardin' or lodgin' the night, nor otherwise conteenuing or parteecipating. I have explained to Mr. Gray that we must return to our own home and our own porridge at evening, and he has YOUNG ROBIN GRAY in agreed, and even come with us. He's a decent enough lad, and not above instructing but extraordinar' extravagant.' ' Ye know, father,' interposed the young girl, ' he talks of fitting up the yacht for the fishing, and taking some of his most decent men on shares. He says he was very fond of fishing oft the Massachusetts coast, in America. It will be, I'm thinking,' she said, suddenly turning to the consul with an almost pathetic appeal in her voice, 4 a great occupation for the rich young men over there.' The consul, desperately struggling with a fanciful picture of Mr. Robert Gray as a herring fisher, thought gravely that it ' might be.' But he thought still more gravely, though silently, of this singular companionship, and was somewhat anxious to confront his friend with his new acquaintances. He had not long to wait. The sun was just dipping behind the hill when the yacht glided into the lonely loch. A boat was put off, and in a few moments Robert Gray was climbing the little path from the loch. Had the consul expected any embarrassment or lover-like consciousness on the face of Mr. Gray at their unexpected meeting, he would have been disappointed. Nor was the young man's ii2 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY greeting of father and daughter, whom he ad- dressed as Mr. and Miss Callender, marked by any tenderness or hesitation. On the contrary, a certain seriousness and quiet reticence, unlike Gray, which might have been borrowed from his new friends, characterised his speech and de- meanour. Beyond this freemasonry of sad repression there was no significance of look or word passed between these two young people. The girl's voice retained its even pathos. Gray's grave politeness was equally divided between her and her father. He corroborated what Callender had said of his previous visits without affectation or demonstration ; he spoke of the possibilities of his fitting up the yacht for the fishing season with a practical detail and economy that left the consul's raillery ineffective. Even when, after dinner, the consul purposely walked out in the garden with the father, Gray and Ailsa presently followed them without lingering or undue precipi- tation, and with no change of voice or manner. The consul was perplexed. Had the girl already told Gray of her lover across the sea, and was this singular restraint their joint acceptance of their fate ; or was he mistaken in supposing that their relations were anything more than the simple friendship of patron and protegee ? Gray was rich enough to indulge in such a fancy, and YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 113 the father and daughter were too proud to ever allow it to influence their own independence. In any event the consul's right to divulge the secret he was accidentally possessed of seemed more questionable than ever. Nor did there appear to be any opportunity for a confidential talk with Gray, since it was proposed that the whole party should return to the yacht for supper, after which the consul should be dropped at the pierhead, distant only a few minutes from his hotel, and his horse sent to him the next day. A faint moon was shimmering along the surface of Loch Dour in icy little ripples when they pulled out from the shadows of the hillside. By the accident of position, Gray, who was steering, sat beside Ailsa in the stern, while the consul and Mr. Callender were farther forward, although within hearing. The faces of the young people were turned towards each other, yet in the cold moonlight the consul fancied they looked as impassive and unemotional as statues. The few distant, far-spaced lights that trembled on the fading shore, the lonely glitter of the water, the blackness of the pine-clad ravines seemed to be a part of this repression, until the vast melancholy of the lake appeared to meet and overflow them like an advancing tide. Added to this, there I ii 4 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY came from time to time the faint sound and smell of the distant, desolate sea. The consul, struggling manfully to keep up a spasmodic discussion on Scotch diminutives in names, found himself mechanically saying : ' And James you call Jamie ? ' ' Ay ; but ye would say, to be pure Scotch, " Hamish," said Mr. Callender, precisely. The girl, however, had not spoken ; but Gray turned to her with something of his old gaiety. 'And I suppose you would call me " Rob- bie " ? ' ' Ah, no ! ' 'What, then?' ' " Robin." ' Her voice was low yet distinct, but she had thrown into the two syllables such infinite tender- ness, that the consul was for an instant struck with an embarrassment akin to that he had felt in the cabin of the Skyscraper, and half expected the father to utter a shocked protest. And to save what he thought would be an appalling silence, he said with a quiet laugh : 'That's the fellow who "made the assembly shine " in the song, isn't it ?' 'That was Robin Adair,' said Gray, quietly ; ' unfortunately, I would only be " Robin Gray," and that's quite another song.' YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 115 ' Auld Robin Gray, sir, deestinctly " auld " in the song,' interrupted Mr. Callender, with stern precision ; * and I'm thinking he was not so very unfortunate either.' The discussion of Scotch diminutives halting here, the boat sped on silently to the yacht. But although Robert Gray, as host, recovered some of his usual light-heartedness, the consul failed to discover anything in his manner to indicate the lover, nor did Miss Ailsa, after her single lapse of tender accent, exhibit the least consciousness. It was true that their occasional frank allusions to previous conversations seemed to show that their opportunities had not been restricted, but nothing more. He began again to think he was mistaken. As he wished to return early, and yet not hasten the Callenders, he prevailed upon Gray to send him to the pierhead first, and not disturb the party. As he stepped into the boat, some- thing in the appearance of the coxswain awoke an old association in his mind. The man at first seemed to avoid his scrutiny, but when they were well away from the yacht, he said, hesi- tatingly : ' I see you remember me, sir. But if it's all the same to you, I've got a good berth here, and would like to keep it.' I 2 ii6 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY The consul had a flash of memory. It was the boatswain of the Skyscraper, one of the least objectionable of the crew. ' But what are you doing here ? you shipped for the voyage,' he said, sharply. ' Yes, but I got away at Key West when I knew what was coming. I wasn't on her when she was abandoned.' ' Abandoned ! ' repeated the consul. ' What the d 1 ! Do you mean to say she was wrecked ? ' 4 Well, yes. You know what I mean, sir. It was an understood thing. She was over-in- sured, and scuttled in the Bahamas. It was a put-up job, and I reckoned I was well out of it.' * But there was a passenger ! What of him ? ' demanded the consul, anxiously. ' Dunno ! But I reckon he got away. There wasn't any of the crew lost that I know of. Let's see, he was an engineer, wasn't he? I reckon he had to take a hand at the pumps, and his chances with the rest.' 'Does Mr. Gray know of this?' asked the consul, after a pause. The man stared. * Not from me, sir. You see, it was nothin' to him, and I didn't care talking much about the YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 117 Skyscraper. It was hushed up in the papers. You won't go back on me, sir?' ' You don't know what became of the pas- senger ? ' ' No. But he was a Scotchman, and they're bound to fall on their feet somehow ! ' u8 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY CHAPTER III THE December fog that overhung St. Kenti- gern had thinned sufficiently to permit the pas- sage of a few large snowflakes, soiled in their descent, until in colour and consistency they spotted the steps of the Consulate and the um- brellas of the passers-by like sprinklings of grey mortar. Nevertheless, the consul thought the streets preferable to the persistent gloom of his office, and sallied out. Youthful mercantile St. Kentigern strode sturdily past him in the lightest coverc coats ; collegiate St. Kentigern fluttered by in the scantiest of red gowns, shaming the furs that defended his more exotic blood ; and the bare red feet of a few factory girls, albeit their head and shoulders were draped and hooded in thick shawls, filled him with a keen sense of his effeminacy. Everything of earth^ air and sky, and even the faces of those he looked upon, seemed to be set in the hard, patient endurance of the race. Everywhere on that dismal day he fancied he could see this energy without restless- YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 119 ness, this earnestness without geniality, all grimly set against the hard environment of circumstance and weather. The consul turned into one of the main arteries of St. Kentigern, a wide street that, however, began and ended inconsequently, and with half a dozen social phases in as many blocks. Here the snow ceased, the fog thickened suddenly with the waning day, and the consul found himself isolated and cut off on a block which he did not remember, with the clatter of an invisible tram- way in his ears. It was a block of small houses with smaller shop-fronts. The one immediately before him seemed to be an optician's, but the dimly lighted windows also displayed the pathetic reinforcement of a few watches, cheap jewellery on cards, and several cairngorm brooches and pins set in silver. It occurred to him that he wanted a new watch crystal, and that he would procure it here and inquire his way. Opening the door, he perceived that there was no one in the shop, but from behind the counter another open door, dis- closed a neat sitting-room, so close to the street that it gave the casual customer the sensation of having intruded upon domestic privacy. The consul's entrance tinkled a small bell which brought a figure to the door. It was Ailsa Callender. The consul was startled. He had not seen 120 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY her since he had brought to their cottage the news of the shipwreck with a precaution and delicacy that their calm self-control and patient resignation, however, seemed to make almost an impertinence. But this was no longer the handsome shop in the chief thoroughfare with its two shopmen which he previously knew as ' Calender's.' And Ailsa here! What mis- fortune had befallen them ? Whatever it was, there was no shadow of it in her clear eyes and frank yet timid recognition of him. Falling in with her stoical and reticent acceptance of it, he nevertheless gathered that the Callenders had lost money in some invention which James Gow had taken with him to Rio, but which was sunk in the ship. With this revelation of a business interest in what he had believed was only a sentimental relation, the consul ven- tured to continue his inquiries. Mr. Gow had escaped with his life and had reached Honduras, where he expected to try his fortunes anew. It might be a year or two longer before there were any results. Did the consul know anything of Honduras ? There was coffee there so she and her father understood. All this with little hopefulness, no irritation, but a divine patience in her eyes. The consul, who found that his watch required extensive repairing, and had YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 121 suddenly developed an inordinate passion for cairngorms, watched her as she opened the show- case with no affectation of unfamiliarity with her occupation, but with all her old serious concern. Surely she would have made as thorough a shop- girl as she would His half- formulated thought took the shape of a question. ' Have you seen Mr. Gray since his return from the Mediterranean?' Ah ! one of the brooches had slipped from her fingers to the bottom of the case. There was an interval or two of pathetic murmuring, with her fair head under the glass, before she could find it ; then she lifted her eyes to the consul. They were still slightly suffused with her sympathetic concern. The stone, w r hich was set in a thistle the national emblem did he not know it ? had dropped out. But she could put it in. It was pretty and not expensive. It was marked twelve shillings on the card, but he could have it for ten shillings. No, she had not seen Mr. Gray since they had lost their fortune. (It struck the consul as none the less pathetic that she seemed really to believe in their former opulence.) They could not be seeing him there in a small shop, and they could not see him elsewhere. It was far better as it was. Yet she paused a moment when she had wrapped up the brooch. ' You'd be 122 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY seeing him yourself sometimes ? ' she added, gently. ' Perhaps.' ' Then you'll not mind saying how my father and myself are sometimes thinking of his goodness and kindness,' she went on, in a voice whose tenderness seemed to increase with the formal precision of her speech. ' Certainly.' ' And you'll say we're not forgetting him.' ' I promise.' As she handed him the parcel her lips softly parted in what might have been equally a smile or a sigh. He was able to keep his promise sooner than he had imagined. It was only a few weeks later that, arriving in London, he found Gray's hatbox and bag in the vestibule of his club, and that gentleman himself in the smoking-room. He looked tanned and older. ' I only came from Southampton an hour ago, where I left the yacht. And,' shaking the consul's hand cordially, ' how's everything and everybody up at old St. Kentigern ? ' The consul thought fit to include his news of the Callenders in reference to that query, and with his eyes fixed on Gray dwelt at some length on their change of fortune. Gray took his cigar YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 123 from his mouth, but did not lift his eyes from the fire. Presently he said, l I suppose that's why Callender declined to take the shares I offered him in the fishing scheme. You know I meant it, and would have done it.' ' Perhaps he had other reasons.' * What do you mean ?' said Gray, facing the consul suddenly. ' Look here, Gray,' said the consul ; * did Miss Callender or her father ever tell you she was engaged ? ' ' Yes ; but what's that to do with it ? ' * A good deal. Engagements, you know, are sometimes forced, unsuitable, or unequal, and are broken by circumstances. Callender is proud.' Gray turned upon the consul the same look of gravity that he had worn on the yacht the same look that the consul even fancied he had seen in Ailsa's eyes. ' That's exactly where you're mistaken in her,' he said, slowly. l A girl like that gives her word and keeps it. She waits, hopes, accepts what may come breaks her heart, if you will, but not her word. Come, let's talk of some- thing else. How did he that man Gow lose Callender's money ? ' The consul did not see the Callenders again on his return, and perhaps did not think it neces- sary to report the meeting. But one morning he 124 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY was delighted to find an official document from New York upon his desk, asking him to commu- nicate with David Callender, of St. Kentigern, and on proof of his identity giving him authority to draw the sum of five thousand dollars, damages awarded for the loss of certain property on the Skyscraper, at the request of James Gow. Yet it was with mixed sensations that the consul sought the little shop of the optician with this convincing proof of Gow's faithfulness and the in- dissolubility of Ailsa's engagement. That there was some sad understanding between the girl and Gray he did not doubt, and perhaps it was not strange that he felt a slight partisanship for his friend, whose nature had so strangely changed. Miss Ailsa was not there. Her father explained that her health had required a change, and she was visiting some friends on the river. ' I'm thinkin' that the atmosphere is not so pure here. It is deficient in ozone. I noticed it myself in the early morning. No ! it was not the confinement of the shop, for she never cared to go out.' He received the announcement of his good fortune with unshaken calm and great practical consideration of detail. He would guarantee his identity to the consul. As for James Gow, it was no more than fair, and what he had expected of YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 125 him. As to its being an equivalent of his loss, he could not tell until the facts were before him. ' Miss Ailsa,' suggested the consul, ventur- ously, ' will be pleased to hear again from her old friend, and know that he is succeeding.' ' I'm not so sure that ye could call it " suc- ceeding," ' returned the old man, carefully wiping the glasses of a pair of spectacles that he held critically to the light, * when ye consider that, say- ing nothing of the waste of valuable time, it only puts James Gow back where he was when he went away.' ' But any man who has had the pleasure of knowing Mr. and Miss Callender would be glad to be on that footing,' said the consul, with polite significance. I'm not agreeing with you there,' said Mr. Callender, quietly ; ' and I'm observing in ye of late a tendency to combine business wi' com- pleement. But it was kind of ye to call ; and I'll be sending ye the authorisation.' Which he did. But the consul, passing through the locality a few weeks later, was some- what concerned to find the shop closed, with others on the same block, behind a hoarding that indicated rebuilding and improvement. Further inquiry elicited the fact that the small leases had been bought up by some capitalist, and that Mr. 126 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY Callender, with the others, had benefited thereby. But there was no trace nor clue to his present locality. He and his daughter seemed to have again vanished with this second change in their fortunes. It was a late March morning when the streets were dumb with snow, and the air was filled with flying granulations that tinkled against the windows of the Consulate like fairy sleigh-bells, when there was the stamping of snow-clogged feet in the outer hall, and the door was opened to Mr. and Miss Callender. For an instant the consul was startled. The old man appeared as usual- erect, and as frigidly respectable as one of the icicles that fringed the window but Miss Ailsa was, to his astonishment, brilliant with a new- found colour, and sparkling with health and only half-repressed animation. The snowflakes, scarcely melting on the brown head of this true daughter of the North, still crowned her hood ; and, as she threw back her brown cloak and dis- closed a plump little scarlet jacket and brown skirt, the consul coulcl not resist her suggested likeness to some bright-eyed robin redbreast, to whom the inclement weather had given a charming audacity. And shy and demure as she still was, it was evident that some change had been wrought YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 127 in her other than that evoked by the stimulus of her native sky and air. To his eager questioning the old man replied briefly that he had bought the old cottage at Loch Dour, where they were living, and where he had erected a small manufactory and laboratory for the making of his inventions, which had become profitable. The consul reiterated his delight at meeting him again. ' I'm not so sure of that, sir, when you know the business on which I come,' said Mr. Callender, dropping rigidly into a chair, and clasping his hands over the crutch of a shepherd-like staff. ' Ye mind, ] erhaps, that ye conveyed to me, ostensibly at the request of James Gow, a certain sum of money, for which I gave ye a good and suf- ficient guarantee. I thought at the time that it was a most feckless and unbusiness-like proceed- ing on the part of James, as it was without corrobo- ration or advice by letter ; but I took the money.' * Do you mean to say that he made no allusion to it in his other letters ?' interrupted the consul, glancing at Ailsa. ' There were no other letters at the time,' said Callender, drily. ' But about a month afterwards we did receive a letter from him, enclosing a draft and a full return of the profits of the invention, which he had sold in Honduras. Ye'll observe 128 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY the deescrepancy ! I then wrote to the bank on which I had drawn as you authorised me, and I found that they knew nothing of any damages awarded, but that the sum I had drawn had been placed to my credit by Mr. Robert Gray.' In a flash the consul recalled the one or two questions that Gray had asked him, and saw it all. For an instant he felt the whole bitterness of Gray's misplaced generosity its exposure and defeat. He glanced again hopelessly at Ailsa. In the eye of that fresh, glowing, yet demure young goddess, unhallowed as the thought might be, there was certainly a distinctly tremulous wink. The consul took heart. ' I believe I need not say, Mr. Callender,' he began, with some stiffness, ' that this is as great a surprise to me as to you. I had no reason to believe the transaction other than bond fide, and acted accordingly. If my friend, deeply sympathising with your previous misfortune, has hit upon a delicate, but un- business-like way of assisting you temporarily I say temporarily, because it must have been as patent to him as to you that you would eventually find out his generous deceit you surely can for- give him for the sake of his kind intention. Nay more ; may I point out to you that you have no right to assume that this benefaction was intended YOUNG ROBIN GRAY 129 exclusively for you ? if Mr. Gray, in his broader sympathy with you and your daughter, has in this way chosen to assist and strengthen the position of a gentleman so closely connected with you, but still struggling with hard fortune ' 1 I'd have ye know, sir,' interrupted the old man, rising to his feet, * that ma frien', Mr. James Gow, is as independent of yours as he is of me and mine. He has married, sir, a Mrs. Hernan- dez, the rich widow of a coffee-planter, and now is the owner of the whole estate, minus the encum- brance of three children. And now, sir, you'll take this ' he drew from his pocket an envelope. 4 It's a draft for five thousand dollars, with the ruling rate of interest computed from the day I received it till this day, and ye'll give it to your frien' when ye see him. And ye'll just say to him from me ' But Miss Ailsa, with a spirit and independence that challenged her father's, here suddenly fluttered between them with sparkling eyes and out- stretched hands. 6 And ye'll say to him from me, that a more honourable, noble, and generous man, and a kinder, truer, and better friend than he, cannot be found anywhere ! And that the foolishest and most extravagant thing he ever did is better than the wisest and most prudent thing that anybody K 130 YOUNG ROBIN GRAY else ever did, could, or would do ! And if he was a bit overproud, it was only because those about him were overproud and foolish. And you'll tell him that we're wearying for him. And when you give him that daft letter from father you'll give him this bit line from me/ she went on rapidly, as she laid a tiny note in his hand. ' And,' with wicked, dancing eyes that seemed to snap the last bond of repression, ' ye'll give him that, too, and say I sent it ! ' There was a stir in the official apartment ! The portraits of Lincoln and Washington rattled uneasily in their frames ; but it was no doubt only a discreet blast of the north wind that drowned the echo of a kiss. ' Ailsa ! ' gasped the shocked Mr. Callender. ' Ah ! but, father, if it had not been for him we would not have know r n Robin.' It was the last that the consul saw of Ailsa Callender ; for the next summer when he called at Loch Dour she was Mrs. Gray. THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU PART I ON the 1 5th of August, 1854, what seemed to be the entire population of Wynyards Bar was collected upon a little bluff which overlooked the rude waggon road that was the only approach to the settlement. In general appearance the men differed but little from ordinary miners, although the foreign element, shown in certain Spanish peculiarities of dress and colour, pre- dominated, and some of the men were further distinguished by the delicacy of education and sedentary pursuits. Yet Wynyards Bar was a city of refuge ; comprised among its inhabitants a number who were ' wanted ' by the State autho- rities, and its actual attitude at that moment was one of open rebellion against the legal power, and of particular resistance to the apprehension by K 2 132 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU warrant of one of its prominent members. This gentleman, Major Overstone, then astride of a grey mustang, and directing the movements of DIRECTING THE MOVEMENTS OF THE CROWD. the crowd, had, a few days before, killed the Sheriff of Siskyou County, who had attempted to arrest him for the double offence of misappropri- ating certain corporate funds of the State and THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU 133 the shooting of the editor who had imprudently exposed him. The lesser crime of homicide might have been overlooked by the authorities, but its repetition upon the body of their own over- zealous and misguided official could not pass un- challenged if they expected to arrest Overstone for the more serious offence against property. So it was known that a new sheriff had been appointed, and was coming to Wynyards Bar with an armed posse. But it was also understood that this inva- sion would be resisted by the Bar to its last man. All eyes were turned upon a fringe of laurel and butternut that encroached upon the road half a mile away, where it seemed that such of the in- habitants who were missing from the bluff were hidden to give warning or retard the approach of the posse. A grey haze, slowly rising between the fringe and the distant hillside, was recognised as the dust of a cavalcade passing along the in- visible highway. In the hush of expectancy that followed the irregular clatter of hoofs, the sharp crack of a rifle, and a sudden halt were faintly audible. The men, scattered in groups on the bluff, exchanged a smile of grim satis- faction. Not so their leader ! A quick start and an oath attracted attention to him. To their surprise 134 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU he was looking in another direction ; but as they looked, too, they saw and understood the cause. A file of horsemen, hitherto undetected, were slowly passing along the little ridge on their right. Their compact accoutrements and the yellow braid on their blue jackets, distinctly seen at that distance, showed them to be a detachment of United States cavalry. Before the assemblage could realise this new invasion a nearer clatter of hoofs was heard along the high-road, and one of the ambuscading party dashed up from the fringe of woods below. His face was flushed, but triumphant. ' A reg'lar skunk by the living hokey ! ' he panted, pointing to the faint haze that was again slowly rising above the invisible road. ' They backed down as soon as they saw our hand, and got a hole through their new Sheriff's hat. But what are you lookin' at ? What's up ? ' The leader impatiently pointed, with a darken- ing face, to the distant file. ' Reg'lars, by Gum ! ' ejaculated the other. ' But Uncle Sam ain't in this game. Wot right have they 4 Dry up ! ' said the leader. The detachment was now moving at right angles with the camp, but suddenly halted, almost doubling upon itself in some evident commo- THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU 135 tion. A dismounted figure was seen momentarily flying down the hillside, dodging from bush to bush until lost in the underbrush. A dozen shots were fired over his head, and then the whole detachment wheeled and came clattering down the trail in the direction of the camp. A single riderless horse, evidently that of the fugi- tive, followed. * Spread yourselves along the ridge, every man of you, and cover them as they enter the gulch ! ' shouted the leader. ' But not a shot until I give the word. Scatter ! ' The assemblage dispersed like a startled village of prairie dogs, squatting behind every available bush and rock along the line of bluff. The leader alone trotted quietly to the head of the gulch. The nine cavalrymen came smartly up in twos, a young officer leading. The single figure of Major Overstone opposed them with a command to halt. Looking up, the young officer drew rein, said a word to his file leader, and the four files closed in a compact square motionless on the road. The young officer's unsworded hand hung quietly at his thigh, the men's unslung car- bines rested easily on their saddles. Yet at that moment every man of them knew that they were covered by a hundred rifles and shot-guns levelled j 3 6 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU from every bush, and that they were caught hope- lessly in a trap. ' Since when,' said Major Overstone, with an affectation of tone and manner different from that in which he had addressed his previous com- panions, ' have the Ninth United States Cavalry helped to serve a State Court's pettifogging process ? ' ' We are hunting a deserter a half-breed agent, who has just escaped us,' returned the officer. His voice was boyish so, too, was his figure in its slim, cadet-like smartness of belted tunic but very quiet and level, although his face was still flushed with the shock and shame of his surprise. The relaxation of relief went through the wrought and waiting camp. The soldiers were not seeking them. Ready as these desperate men had been to do their leader's bidding, they were well aware that a momentary victory over the troopers would not pass unpunished, and meant the ultimate dispersion of the camp. And quiet as these innocent invaders seemed to be, they would no doubt sell their lives dearly. The embattled desperadoes glanced anxiously at their leader ; the soldiers, on the contrary, looked straight before them. ' Process or no process,' said Major Over- THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 137 stone, with a sneer, ' you've come to the last place to recover your deserter. We don't give up men in Wynyards Bar. And they didn't teach you at the Academy, sir, to stop to take prisoners when you were outflanked and outnumbered.' ' Bedad ! they didn't teach you, Captain Overstone, to engage a battery at Cerro Gordo with a half-company, but you did it ; more shame to you now, sorr, commandin' the thayves and ruffians you do.' * Silence ! ' said the young officer. The sleeve of the sergeant who had spoken with the chevrons of long service upon it went up to a salute, and dropped again over his carbine as he stared stolidly before'him. But his shot had told. A flush of mingled pride and shame passed over Overstone,s face. ' Oh, it's you, Murphy ! ' he said, with an affected laugh, ' and you haven't improved with your stripes.' The young officer turned his head slightly. ' Attention ! ' ' One moment more,' said Overstone, coming forward. ' I have told you that we don't give up any man who seeks our protection. But,' he added, with a half careless, half contemptuous wave of his hand, and a significant glance at his followers, * we don't prevent you from seeking 138 THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU him. The road is clear ; the camp is before you.' The young officer continued, without looking at him : ' Forward in two files open order. Ma-arch ! ' The little troop moved forward, passed Major Overstone at the head of the gully, and spread out on the hillside. The assembled camp, still armed, lounging out of ambush here and there, ironically made way for them to pass. A few moments of this farcical quest, and a glance at the impenetrably wooded heights around, apparently satisfied the young officer, and he turned his files again into the gully. Major Overstone was still lingering there. ' I hope you are satisfied,' he said, grimly. He then paused, and in a changed and more hesitating voice added : ' I am an older soldier than you, sir, but I am always glad to make the acquaintance of West Point.' He paused and held out his hand. West Point, still red and rigid, glanced at him with bright clear eyes under light lashes and the peak of a smartly cocked cap, looked coolly at the proffered hand, raised his own to a stiff salute, said ' Good afternoon, sir,' and rode away. Major Overstone wheeled angrily, but in doing THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 139 so came sharply upon his coadjutor the leader of the ambushed party. * Well, Dawson,' he said, impatiently. ' Who was it ? ' ' Only one of them d d half-breed Injin agents. He's just over there in the brush with Simpson, lying low till the soldiers clear out.' ' Did you talk to him ? ' ' Not much,' returned Dawson, scornfully. ' He ain't my style.' * Fetch him up to my cabin ; he may be of some use to us.' Dawson looked sceptical. ' I reckon he ain't no more gain here than he was over there,' he said, and turned away. ii THE cabin of Major Overstone differed out- wardly but little from those of his companions. It was the usual structure of logs laid lengthwise, and rudely plastered at each point of contact with adobe, the material from which the chimney, which entirely occupied one gable, was built. It was pierced with two windows and a cloor, roofed with smaller logs, and thatched with long half- cylinders of spruce bark. But the interior gave 140 THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU certain indications of the distinction as well as the peculiar experiences of its occupant. In place of the usual bunk or berth built against the wall stood a small folding camp bedstead, and upon a rude -deal table that held a tin wash-basin and pail lay two ivory-handled brushes" combs, and other elegant toilet articles, evidently the contents of the Major's dressing-bag. A handsome leather trunk occupied one corner with a richly capari- soned silver-mounted Mexican saddle, a mahogany case of duelling pistols, a leather hatbox, locked and strapped, and a gorgeous gold and quartz handled ebony * presentation ' walking-stick. There was a certain dramatic suggestion in this revelation of the sudden and hurried transition from a life of ostentatious luxury to one of hidden toil and privation, and a further significance in the slow and gradual distribution and degradation of these elegant souvenirs. A pair of silver boot-hooks had been used for raking the hearth and lifting the coffee-kettle ; the ivory of the brushes was stained with coffee ; the cut-glass bottles had lost their stoppers, and had been uti- lised for vinegar and salt ; a silver-framed hand mirror hung against the blackened wall. For the Major's occupancy was the sequel of a hurried flight from his luxurious hotel at Sacramento a transfer that he believed was only temporary until THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU 141 the affair blew over, and he could return in safety to browbeat his accusers, as was his wont. But this had not been so easy as he had imagined ; his prosecutors were bitter, and his enforced seclusion had been prolonged week by week until the fracas which ended in the shooting of the sheriff had apparently closed the door upon his return to civilisation for ever. Only here were his life and person secure. For Wynyards Bar had quickly succumbed to the domination of his reckless courage, and the eminence of his double crime had made him respected among spend- thrifts, gamblers, and gentlemen whose perform- ances had never risen above a stage-coach robbery or a single assassination. Even criticism of his faded luxuries had been delicately withheld. He was leaning over his open trunk which the camp popularly supposed to contain State bonds and securities of fabulous amount and had taken some letters from it, when a figure darkened the doorway. He looked up, laying his papers carelessly aside. Within Wynyards Bar property was sacred. It was the late fugitive. Although some hours had already elapsed since his arrival in camp, and he had presumably refreshed himself inwardly, his outward appearance was still dishevelled and dusty. Briar and milkweed clung to his frayed 142 THE SHERIFF OF SJSKYOU blouse and trousers. What could be seen of the skin of his face and hands under its stains and begriming was of a dull yellow. His light eyes had all the brightness without the restlessness of the mongrel race. They leisurely took HE WAS LEANING OVER HIS OPEN TRUNK. THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 143 in the whole cabin, the still open trunk before the Major, and then rested deliberately on the Major himself. ' Well,' said Major Overstone, abruptly, ' what brought you here ? ' ' Same as brought you, I reckon,' responded the man, almost as abruptly. The Major knew something of the half-breed temper, and neither the retort nor its tone affected him. 'You didn't come here just because you deserted,' said the Major, coolly. ' You've been up to something else/ ( I have,' said the man, with equal cool- ness. * I thought so. Now, you understand you can't try anything of that kind here. If you do, up you go on the first tree that's Rule i.' ' I see you ain't pertickler about waiting for the Sheriff here, you fellers.' The Major glanced at him quickly. He seemed to be quite unconscious of any irony in his remark, and continued, grimly, ' And what's Rule 2?' ' I reckon you needn't trouble yourself beyond No. i,' returned the Major, with dry significance. Nevertheless, he opened a rude cupboard in the corner and brought out a rich silver- mounted cut- 144 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU glass drinking-flask, which he handed to the stranger. ' I say,' said the half-breed, admiringly ' yours ? ' ' Certainly.' ' Certainly now, but before eh ? ' Rule No. 2 may have indicated that references to the past held no dishonour. The Major, although accustomed to these pleasantries, laughed a little harshly. ' Mine always,' he said. ' But you don't drink ? ' The half-breed's face darkened under its grime. ' Wot you're givin' us ? I've been filled chock up by Simpson over thar. I reckon I know when I've got a load on.' ' Were you ever in Sacramento ? ' 'Yes.' ' ' When ? ' ' Last week.' ' Did you hear anything about me ? ' The half-breed glanced through his tangled hair at the Major in some wonder, not only at the question, but at the almost childish eagerness with which it was asked. ' I didn't hear much of anything else,' he answered, grimly. THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 145 ' And what did they say f ' ' Said you'd got to be took anyhow ! They allowed the new Sheriff would do it, too.' The Major laughed. ' Well, you heard how the new Sheriff did it skunked away with his whole posse before one-eighth of my men! You saw how the rest of this camp held up your nine troopers, and that sap-headed cub of lieutenant didn't you ? You wouldn't have been standing here if you hadn't. No there isn't the civil process nor the civil power in all California that can take me out of this camp.' But neither his previous curiosity nor present bravado seemed to impress the ragged stranger with much favour. He glanced sulkily around the cabin and began to shuffle towards the door. ' Stop ! Where are you going to ? Sit down. I want to talk to you.' The fugitive hesitated for a moment, and then dropped ungraciously on the edge of a camp-stool near the door. The Major looked at him. ' I may have to remind you that / run this camp, and the boys hereabouts do pretty much as / say. What's your name ? ' 'Tom.' , * Tom ! Well, look here, Tom ! D n it all ! can't you see that when a man is stuck here L 146 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU alone, as I am, he wants to know what's going on outside, and hear a little fresh talk ? ' The singular weakness of this blended com- mand and appeal apparently struck the fugitive curiously. He fixed his lowering eyes on the Major, as if in gloomy doubt if he were really the reckless desperado he had been represented. That this man twice an assassin, and the ruler of out- laws as reckless as himself should approach him in this half-confidential way evidently puzzled him. 4 Wot you wanter know ? ' he asked, gruffly. ' Well, what's my party saying or doing about me ? ' said the Major, impatiently. ' What's the Express saying about me ? ' ' I reckon they're throwing off on you all round ; they allow you never represented the party, but worked for yourself,' said the man, shortly. Here the Major lashed out. A set of traitors and hirelings ! He had bought and paid for them all! He had sunk two thousand dollars in the Express, and saved the editor from being horse- whipped and jailed for libel ! Half the cursed bonds that they were making such a blanked fuss about were handled by these hypocrites blank them ! They were a low-lived crew of thieves and deserters ! It is presumed that the Major had THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 147 forgotten himself in this infelicitous selection of epithets, but the stranger's face only relaxed into a grim smile. More than that, the Major had apparently forgotten his desire to hear his guest talk, for he himself at once launched into an elaborate exposition of his own affairs and a specious and equally elaborate defence and justifi- cation of himself and denunciation of his accusers. For nearly half an hour he reviewed step by step and detail by detail the charges against him with plausible explanation and sophistical argument, but always with a singular prolixity and reiteration that spoke of incessant consciousness and self-abstraction. Of that dashing self- sufficiency which had dazzled his friends and awed his enemies there was no trace ! At last even the set smile of the degraded recipient of these confidences darkened with a dull, bewildered disgust. Then, to his relief, a step was heard without. The Major's manner instantly changed. ' Well ! ' he demanded, impatiently, as Dawson entered; 1 I came to know what you want done with him] said Dawson, indicating the fugitive with a contemptuous finger. ' Take him to your cabin ! ' ' My cabin ! him ? ' ejaculated Dawson, turning sharply on his chief. L 2 M8 THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU The Major's light eyes contracted and his thin lips became a straight line. ' I don't think you understand me, Dawson, and another time you'd better wait until I'm done. I want you to take him to your cabin and then clear out of it yourself . You understand ? I want him near me and alone \ ' THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU 149 PART II DAWSON was not astonished the next morning to see Major Overstone and the half-breed walking together down the gully road, for he had already come to the conclusion that the Major was plan- ning some extraordinary reprisals against the invaders that would ensure the perpetual security of the camp. That he should use so insignificant and unimportant a tool now appeared to him to be quite natural, particularly as the service was probably one in which the man would be sacri- ficed. 'The Major/ he suggested to his compan- ions, ' ain't going to risk a white man's skin when he can get an Injun's hide handy.' The reluctant, hesitating step of the half-breed as they walked along seemed to give some colour to this hypothesis. He listened sullenly to the Major as he pointed out the strategic position of the Bar. ' That waggon road is the only approach to Wynyards, and a dozen men along the rocks could hold it against a hundred. The trail that you came by, over the riclge, drops ISO THE SHERIFF OF STSKYOU straight into this gully, and you saw what that would mean to any blanked fools who might try it. Of course we could be shelled from that ridge if the Sheriff had a howitzer, or the men who knew how to work one, but even then we could occupy the ridge before them.' He paused a moment, and then added : ' I used to be in the army, Tom ; I saw service in Mexico before that cub you got away from had his first trousers. I was brought up as a gentleman blank it all and here I am ! ' The man slouched on by his side, casting his surly, furtive glances from left to right, as if seek- ing to escape from these confidences. Neverthe- less, the Major kept on through the gully, until reaching the waggon road they crossed it, and began to ascend the opposite slope half hidden by the underbrush and larches. Here the Major paused again and faced about. The cabins of the settlement were already behind the bluff; the little stream which indicated the ' bar ' on which some perfunctory mining was still continued now and then rang out quite clearly at their feet, although the bar itself had disappeared. The sounds of occupation and labour had at last died away in the distance. They were quite alone. The Major sat down on a boulder, and pointed to another. The man, however, remained sullenly THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 151 standing where he was, as if to accent as strongly as possible the enforced companionship. Either the Major was too self-absorbed to notice it, or accepted it as a satisfactory characteristic of the half-breed's race. He continued confidently : ' Now look here, Tom. I want to leave this cursed hole, and get clear out of the State. Anywhere ; over the Oregon line into British Columbia, or to the coast, where I can get a coasting vessel down to Mexico. It will cost money, but I've got it. It will cost a lot of risks, but I'll take them. I want somebody to help me, someone to share risks with me, and someone to share my luck if I succeed. Help to put me on the other side of -the border line, by sea or land, and I'll give you a thousand dollars down before we start, and a thousand dollars when I'm safe. 1 The half-breed had changed his slouching atti- tude. It seemed more indolent on account of the loosely- hanging strap that had once held his haversack, which was still worn in a slovenly fashion over his shoulder as a kind of lazy sling for his shiftless hand. * Well, Tom, is it a go ? You can trust me, for you'll have the thousand in your pocket before you start. I can trust you, for I'll kill you quicker than lightning if you say a word of this to 152 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU anyone before I go, or play a single trick on me afterwards.' Suddenly the two men were rolling over and over in the underbrush. The half-breed had thrown himself upon the Major, bearing him down to the ground. The haversack strap for an instant whirled like the loop of a lasso in the air, and descended over the Major's shoulders, pinioning his arms to his side. Then the half- breed, tearing open his ragged blouse, stripped off his waist-belt, and as dexterously slipped it over the ankles of the struggling man. It was all over in a moment. Neither had spoken a word. Only their rapid panting broke the profound silence. Each probably knew that no outcry would be overheard. For the first time the half-breed sat down. But there was no trace of triumph or satisfaction in his face, which wore the same lowering look of disgust, as he gazed upon the prostrate man. * I want to tell you first,' he said, slowly, wiping his face, * that I didn't kalkilate upon doin' this in this yer kind o' way. I expected more of a stan' up fight from you more risk in gettin' you out o' that hole and a different kind of a man to tackle. I never expected you to play into my hand like this and it goes against me to hev to take ad vantage of it.' THE SHERIFF OE SISKYOU 153 ' Who are you ? ' said the Major, panting. ' I'm the new Sheriff of Siskyou ! ' He drew from beneath his begrimed shirt a paper wrapping, from which he gingerly extracted lull /f IT WAS ALL OVER IN A MOMENT. with the ends of his dirty fingers a clean legal- looking, folded paper. ' That's my warrant ! I've kept it fresh for you. I reckon you don't care to read it you've 154 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU seen it afore. It's just the same as t'other Sheriff had what you shot.' ' Then this was a plant of yours, and that whelp's troopers ? ' saicl the Major. ' Neither him nor the sojers knows any more about it than you,' returned the Sheriff, slowly. ' I enlisted as Injin guide or scout ten days ago. I deserted just as reg'lar and nat'ral like when we passed that ridge yesterday. I could be took to- morrow by the sojers if they caught sight o' me and court-martiallecl it's as reglar as that ; but I timed to have my posse, under a deputy, draw you off by an attack just as the escort reached the bridge. And here I am.' And you're no half-breed ? ' ' There's nothin' Injin about me that water won't wash off. I kalkilated you wouldn't suspect anything so insignificant as an Injin when I fixed myself up. You saw Dawson didn't hanker after me much. But I didn't reckon on your tumbling to me so quick. That's what gets me. You must hev been pretty low down for kempany when you took a man like me inter your confidence. I don't see it yet.' He looked inquiringly at his captive with the same wondering surliness. Nor could he understand another thing which was evident. After the first shock of resistance the Major had THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 155 exhibited none of the indignation of a betrayed man, but actually seemed to accept the situation with a calmness that his captor lacked. His voice was quite unemotional as he said : ' And how are you going to get me away from here ? ' ' That's my look-out, and needn't trouble you, Major ; but, seein' as how confidential you've been to me, I don't mind tellin' you. Last night fasti, posse of mine that you " skunked," you know, halted at the cross-roads till them sojers went by. They has only to see them to know that / had got away. They'll hang round the cross-roads till they see my signal on top of the ridge, and then they'll make another show against that pass. Your men will have their hands full, I reckon, without hunting for you, or noticin' the three men o' mine that will come along this ridge where the sojers come yesterday to help me get you down in the same way. You see, Major, your little trap in that gully ain't in this fight were the other side of it. I ain't much of a sojer, but I reckon I've got you there ! And it's all owing to you. I ain't,' he added, gloomily, ' takin' much pride in it myself. ' ' I shouldn't think you would,' said the Major ; ' and, look here ! I'll double that offer I made you just now. Set me down just as I am on the deck 156 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU of some coasting vessel, and I'll pay you four thousand dollars. You may have all the glory of having captured me, here, and of making your word good before your posse. But you can arrange afterwards on the way to let me give you the slip somewhere near Sacramento.' The Sheriff's face actually brightened. ' Thanks for that, Major. I was gettin' a little sick of my share in this job, but, by God ! you've put some sand in me. Well, then, there ain't gold enough in all Californy to make me let you go. You hear me ; so drop that. I've took you, and took ye'll remain until I land you in Sacra- mento jail. I don't want to kill you, though your life's forfeit a dozen times over, and I reckon you don't care for it either way, but if you try any tricks on me I may have to maim ye to make you come along comf'able and easy. I ain't hankerin' arter that either, but come you shall ! ' ' Give your signal and have an end of this,' said the Major, curtly. The Sheriff looked at him again curiously. * I never had my hands in another man's pockets before, Major, but I reckon I'll have to take your deringers from yours.' He slipped his hand into the Major's waistcoat and secured the weapons. ' I'll have to trouble you for your sash, too,' he said, unwinding the knitted silken girdle from the THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 157 captive's waist. ' You won't want it, for you ain't walking, and it'll come in handy to me just now.' He bent over, and, passing it across the Major's breast with more gentleness and solicitude than he had yet shown, secured him in an easy sitting posture against the tree. Then, after care- fully trying the knots and straps that held his prisoner, he turned and lightly bounded up the hill. He was absent scarcely ten minutes, yet when he returned the Major's eyes were half closed. But not his lips. ' If you expect to hold me until jour posse comes you had better take me to some less exposed position,' he said, drily. 'There's a man just crossed the gully, coming into the brush below in the wood.' * None of your tricks, Major ! ' ' Look for yourself.' The Sheriff glanced quickly below him. A man with an axe on his shoulder could be seen plainly making his way through the underbrush not a hundred yards away. The Sheriff instantly clapped his hand upon his captive's mouth, but at a look from his eyes took it away again. * I see,' he said, grimly, * you don't want to lure that man within reach of my revolver by calling to him.' 158 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU ' I could have called him while you were away, returned the Major, quietly. The Sheriff with a darkened face loosened the sash that bound his prisoner to the tree, and then, lifting him in his arms, began to ascend the hill cautiously, dipping into the heavier shadows. But the ascent was difficult, the load a heavy one, and the Sheriff was agile rather than muscular. After a few minutes' climbing he was forced to pause and rest his burden at the foot of a tree. But the valley and the man in the underbrush were no longer in view. ' Come,' said the Major, quietly, ' unstrap my ankles and I'll walk up. We'll never get there at this rate.' The Sheriff paused, wiped his grimy face with his grimier blouse, and stood looking at his prisoner. Then he said, slowly : ' Look yer ! Wot's your little game ? Blessed if I can follow suit.' For the first time the Major burst into a rage. 'Blast it all! Don't you see that if I'm dis- covered here, in this way, there's not a man on the Bar who would believe that I walked into your trap not a man, by God ! who wouldn't think it was a trick of yours and mine to- gether ? ' 4 Or,' interrupted the Sheriff, slowly, fixing THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 159 his eyes on his prisoner, * not a man who would ever trust Major Overstone for a leader again ? ' ' Perhaps,' said the Major, unmovedly, again ; ' I don't think either of us would ever get a chance of being trusted again by anyone.' The Sheriff still kept his eyes fixed on his prisoner, his gloomy face growing darker under its grime. ' That ain't the reason, Major. Life and death don't mean much more to you than they do to me in this yer game. / know that you'd kill me quicker nor lightning if you got the chance ; you know that I'm takin' you to the gallows.' ' The reason is that I want to leave Wynyards Bar,' said the Major, coolly ; ' and even this way out of it will suit me.' The Sheriff took his revolver from his pocket and deliberately cocked it. Then, lean- ing down, he unbuckled the strap from the Major's ankles. A wild hope that his incom- prehensible captive might seize that moment to develop his real intent that he might fly, fight, or in some way act up to his reckless reputation sustained him for a moment, but in the next proved futile. The Major only said, ' Thank you, Tom,' and stretched his cramped legs. i6o THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 'Get up and go on,' said the Sheriff, roughly. The Major began to slowly ascend the hill, the Sheriff close on his heels, alert, tingling, and watchful of every movement. For a few moments this strain upon his faculties seemed to invigo- rate him, and his gloom relaxed ; but presently it became too evident that the prisoner's pinioned arms made it impossible for him to balance or help himself on that steep trail, and once or twice he stumbled and reeled dangerously to one side. With an oath the Sheriff caught him, and tore from his arms the only remaining bonds that fettered him. ' There ! ' he said, savagely ; ' go on ; we're equal ! ' Without replying, the Major continued his ascent ; it became steeper as they neared the crest, and at last they were both obliged to drag themselves up by clutching the vines and underbrush. Suddenly the Major stopped with a listening gesture. A strange roaring as of wind or water was distinctly audible. ' How did you signal ? ' asked the Major, abruptly. 1 Made a smoke,' said the Sheriff as abruptly. ' I thought so well, you've set the woods on fire.' They both plunged upwards again, now quite THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 161 abreast, vieing with each other to reach the summit, as if with the one thought only. Already the sting and smart of acrid fumes were in their eyes and nostrils. When they at last stood on level ground again, it was hidden by a thin film of greyish blue haze that seemed to be creeping along it. But above was the clear sky, seen through the interlacing boughs, and to their surprise they who had , | just come from the breathless, tagnant hillside a fierce wind was blowing ! But the roaring was louder than , before. 'Unless your three men ; are already t .-- here, your game is up,' said the Major, calmly. aft * The wind H^Pj M 1 62 THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU blows dead along the ridge where they should come, and they can't get through the smoke and fire.' It was indeed true! In the scarce twenty minutes that had elapsed since the Sheriff's return the dry and brittle underbrush for half a mile on either side had been converted into a sheet of flame, which at times rose to a furnace-blast through the tall chimney-like conductors of tree-shafts, from whose shrivelled sides bark was crackling, and lighted dead limbs falling in all directions. The whole valley, the gully, the Bar, the very hill- side they had just left, were blotted out by a creeping, stifling smoke-fog that scarcely rose breast high, but was beaten down or cut oft cleanly by the violent wind that swept the higher level of the forest. At times this gale became a sirocco in temperature, concentrating its heat in withering blasts which they could not face, or focussing its intensity upon some mass of foliage that seemed to shrink at its touch and open a scathed and quivering aisle to its approach. The enormous skeleton of a dead and rotten redwood not a hundred yards to their right broke suddenly like a gigantic firework into sparks and flame. The Sheriff had grasped the full meaning ot their situation. In spite of his first error the THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 163 very carelessness of familiarity his knowledge of woodcraft was greater than his companion's, and he saw their danger. ' Come,' he said, quickly, ' we must make for an opening or we shall be caught.' The Major smiled in misapprehension. ' Who could catch us here ? ' The Sheriff pointed to the blazing tree. * That,' he said. ' In five minutes it will have a posse will that wipe us both out.' He caught the Major by the arm and rushed him into the smoke, apparently in the direction of the greatest mass of flame. The heat was suffocat- ing, ' but it struck the Major that the more they approached the actual scene of conflagration the heat and smoke became less, until he saw that the fire was retreating before them and the following wind. In a few moments their haven of safety the expanse already burnt over came in sight. Here and there, seen dimly through the drifting smoke, the scattered embers that still strewed the forest floor glowed in weird nebulous spots like will-o'-the-wisps. For an instant the Major hesitated ; the Sheriff cast a significant glance behind them. ' Go on ; it's our only chance,' he said, impera- tively. They darted on, skimming the blackened or M 2 164 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU smouldering surface, which at times struck out sparks and flame from their heavier footprints as they passed. Their boots crackled and scorched beneath them ; their shreds of clothing were on fire ; their breathing became more difficult, until, providentially, they fell upon an abrupt, fissure-like depression of the soil, which the fire had leaped, and into which they blindly plunged and rolled together. A moment of relief and coolness fol- lowed, as they crept along the fissure, filled with damp and rotting leaves. ' Why not stay here ? ' said the exhausted prisoner. ' And be roasted like sweet potatoes when these trees catch ? ' returned the Sheriff, grimly. No.' Even as he spoke a dropping rain of fire spattered through the leaves from a splintered redwood, before overlooked, that was now blazing fiercely in the upper wind. A vague and indefin- able terror was in the air. The conflagration no longer seemed to obey any rule of direction. The incendiary torch had passed invisibly everywhere. They scrambled out of the hollow, and again dashed desperately forward. Beaten, bruised, blackened and smoke-grimed looking less human than the animals who had long since deserted the crest they at last limped into a ' wind opening ' in the woods that the fire THE SHERIFF OF SIS K YOU 165 had skirted. The Major sank exhaustedly to the ground ; the Sheriff threw himself beside him. Their strange relations to each other seemed to have been forgotten ; they looked and acted as if they no longer thought of anything beyond the present. And when the Sheriff finally arose and, disappearing for several minutes, brought his hat full of water for his prisoner from a distant spring that they had passed in their flight, he found him where he had left him unchanged and unmoved. He took the water gratefully, and after a pause fixed his eyes earnestly upon his captor. ' I want you to do a favour to me,' he said, slowly. * I'm not going to offer you a bribe to do it either, nor ask you anything that isn't in a line with your duty. I think I understand 'you now, if I didn't before. Do you know Briggs's restaurant in Sacramento ? ' The Sheriff nodded. ' Well ! over the restaurant are my private rooms, the finest in Sacramento. Nobody knows it but Briggs, and he has never told. They've been locked ever since I left ; I've got the key still in my pocket. Now, when we get to Sacra- mento, instead of taking me straight to jail, I want you to hold me there as your prisoner for a day and a night. I don't want to get away ; you can take what precautions you like surround the 1 66 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU house with policemen, and sleep yourself in the ante-room. I don't want to destroy any papers or evidence ; you can go through the rooms and ex- amine everything before and after ; I only want to stay there a day and a night ; I want to be in my old rooms, have my meals from the restaurant as I used to, and sleep in my own bed once more. I want to live for one day like a gentleman, as I used to live before I came here. That's all! It isn't much, Tom. You can do it, and say you require to do it to get evidence against me, or that you want to search the rooms.' The expression of wonder which had come into the Sheriff's face at the beginning of this speech deepened into his old look of surly dis- satisfaction. ' And that's all ye want,' he said, gloomily. * Ye don't want no friends no lawyer ? For I tell you straight out, Major, there ain't no hope for ye when the law once gets hold of ye in Sacramento.' ' That's all. Will you do it ? ' The Sheriff's face grew still darker. After a pause he said : ' I don't say " no," and I don't say "yes." But,' he added grimly, 'it strikes me we'd better wait till we get clear o' these woods afore you think o' your Sacramento lodgings.' The Major did not reply. The day had worn on, but the fire, now completely encircling them, THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 167 opposed any passage in or out of that fateful barrier. The smoke of the burning underbrush hung low around them in a bank equally impene- trable to vision. They were as alone as ship- wrecked sailors on an island, girded by a horizon of clouds. ' I'm going to try to sleep,' said the Major ; ' if your men come you can waken me.' 4 And if your men come?' said the Sheriff, drily. ' Shoot me.' He lay down, closed his eyes, and to the Sheriff's astonishment presently fell asleep. The Sheriff, with his chin in his grimy hands, sat and watched him as the day slowly darkened around them and the distant fires came out in more lurid intensity. The face of the captive and outlawed murderer was singularly peaceful ; that of the captor and man of duty was haggard, wild, and perplexed. But even this changed soon. The sleeping man stirred restlessly and uneasily ; his face began to work, his lips to move. * Tom,' he gasped, suddenly, * Tom ! ' The Sheriff bent over him eagerly. The sleeping man's eyes were still closed ; beads of sweat stood upon his forehead. He was dreaming. ' Tom,' he whispered, ' take me out of this place take me out from these dogs and pimps 168 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU and beggars ! Listen, Tom ! they're Sydney Ducks, ticket-of-leave men, short card sharps, and sneak thieves ! There isn't a gentleman among 'em ! There isn't one I don't loathe and hate and would grind under my heel elsewhere. I'm a gentleman, Tom yes, by God ! an officer and a gentleman. I've served my country in the 9th Cavalry. That cub of West Point knows it, and despises me, seeing me here in such company. That sergeant HE LAY DOWN . . . AND FELL A SLEEP. knows it I recommended him for his first stripes, for all he taunts me d n him ! ' ' Come, wake up ! ' said the Sheriff, harshly. The prisoner did not heed him ; the Sheriff shook him roughly, so roughly that the Major's waistcoat and shirt dragged open, disclosing his THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 169 fine silk undershirt, delicately worked and em- broidered with golden thread. At the sight of this abased and faded magnificence the Sheriff's hand was stayed ; his eyes wandered over the sleeping form before him. Yes, the hair was dyed too ; near the roots it was quite white and grizzled ; the pomatum was coming off the pointed moustache and imperial ; the face in the light was very haggard ; the lines from the angle of the nostril and mouth were like deep, half-healed gashes. The Major was, without doubt, pre- maturely worn and played out. The Sheriff's persistent eyes, however, seemed to effect what his ruder hand could not. The sleeping man stirred, awoke to full consciousness, and sat up. ' Are they here ? I'm ready/ he said, calmly. ' No,' said the Sheriff, deliberately ; ' I only woke ye to say that I've been thinkin' over what ye asked me, and if we get to Sacramento all right, why, I'll do it, and give ye that day and night at your old lodgings.' ' Thank you.' The Major reached out his hand ; the Sheriff hesitated, and then extended his own. The hands of the two men clasped for the first, and, it would seem, the last time. 1 70 THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU For the ' cub of West Point ' was, like most cubs, irritable when thwarted, and having been baulked of his prey, the deserter, and possibly chaffed by his comrades for his profitless invasion of Wynyards Bar, he had persuaded his com- manding officer to give him permission to effect a recapture. Thus it came about that at dawn, filing along the ridge, on the outskirts of the fire, his heart was gladdened by the sight of the half- breed with his hanging haversack belt and tat- tered army tunic evidently still a fugitive, not a hundred yards away on the other side of the belt of fire, running down the hill with another ragged figure at his side. The command to ' halt ' was enforced by a single rifle-shot over the fugitives' heads but they still kept on their flight. Then the boy-officer snatched a carbine from one of his men, a volley rang out from the little troop the shots of the privates mercifully high, those of the officer and sergeant levelled with wounded pride and full of deliberate purpose. The half-breed fell ; so did his companion ; and rolling over to- gether, both lay still. But between the hunters and their fallen quarry reared a cheval de frise of flame and fallen timber impossible to cross. The young officer hesitated, shrugged his shoulders, wheeled his THE SHERIFF OF SISKYOU 171 men about, and left the fire to correct any irregu- larity in his action. It did not, however, change contemporaneous history, for, a week later, when Wynyards Bar discovered Major Overstone lying beside the man now recognised by them as the disguised Sheriff of Siskyou, they rejoiced at this unfailing evidence of their lost leader's unequalled prowess. That he had again killed a sheriff and fought a whole posse, yielding only with his life, was never once doubted, and kept his memory green in Sierran chronicles long after Wynyards Bar had itself become a memory. 172 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE THE American consul at St. Kentigern stepped gloomily from the train at Whistlecrankie Station. For the last twenty minutes his spirits had been slowly sinking before the drifting procession past the carriage windows of dull grey and brown hills mammiform in shape, but so cold and sterile in expression that the swathes of yellow mist which lay in their hollows, like soiled guipure, seemed a gratuitous affectation of modesty. And when the train moved away, mingling its escaping steam with the slower mists of the mountain, he found himself alone on the platform, the only passenger, and apparently the sole occupant of the station. He was gazing disconsolately at his trunk, which had taken upon itself a human loneliness in the emptiness of the place, when a railway porter stepped out of the solitary signal-box, where he had evidently been performing a double function, and lounged with exasperating deliberation towards him. He was a hard-featured man, with a thin fringe of yellow-grey whiskers that met A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 173 under his chin like dirty strings to tie his cap on with. 4 Yell be goin' to Glenbogie House, I'm thinkin' ? ' he said, moodily. The consul said that he was. ' I kenned it. Ye'll no be gettin' any machine to tak' ye there. They'll be sending a carriage for ye if ye re expected' He glanced half doubtfully at the consul, as if he was not quite so sure of it. But the consul believed he was expected, and felt relieved at the certain prospect of a convey- ance. The porter meanwhile surveyed him moodily. ' Ye'll be seein' Mistress MacSpadden there ! ' The consul was surprised into a little over- consciousness. Mrs. MacSpadden was a vivacious acquaintance at St. Kentigern, whom he certainly and not without some satisfaction expected to meet at Glenbogie House. He raised his eyes inquiringly to the porter's. ' Ye'll no be rememberin' me. I had a machine in St. Kentigern, and drove ye to Mac- Spadden's ferry often. Far, far too often ! She's a strange flagrantitious creature ; her husband's but a puir fule, I'm thinkin', and ye did yersel' nae guid gaunin' there.' It was a besetting weakness of the consul's 'YE'LL BE COIN' TO GLENBOGIE HOUSE, I'M THINKIN'? A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 175 that his sense of the ludicrous was too often reached before his more serious perceptions. The absurd combination of the bleak, inhospitable desolation before him, and the sepulchral compla- cency of his self-elected monitor, quite upset his gravity. ' Ay, ye'll be laughin' the noo' returned the porter, with gloomy significance. The consul wiped his eyes. * Still,' he said, demurely, ' I trust you won't object to my giving you sixpence to carry my box to the carriage when it comes, and let the morality of this transaction devolve entirely upon me. Unless,' he continued, even more gravely, as a spick and span brougham drawn by two thoroughbreds dashed out of the mist up to the platform, ' unless you prefer to state the case to those two gentlemen ' pointing to the smart coachman and footman on the box ' and take their opinion as to the propriety of my proceeding any further. It seems to me that their consciences ought to be consulted as well as yours. I'm only a stranger here, and am willing to do anything to conform to the local custom.' ' It's a saxpence ye'll be payin' anyway,' said the porter, grimly shouldering the trunk, ' but I'll be no takin' any other mon's opinion on matters of my ain dooty and conscience.' 1 76 A ROSE OF GLEN BOG IE 1 Ah ! ' said the consul, gravely, * then you'll perhaps be allowing me the same privilege.' The porter's face relaxed, and a gleam of approval purely intellectual, however came into his eyes. ' Ye were always a smooth deevel wi' your tongue, Mr. Consul,' he said, shouldering the box and walking off to the carriage. Nevertheless, as soon as he was fairly seated and rattling away from the station, the consul had a flashing conviction that he had not only been grievously insulted, but also that he had allowed the wife of an acquaintance to be spoken of dis- respectfully in his presence. And he had done nothing ! Yes it was like him ! he had laughed at the absurdity of the impertinence without resenting it ! Another man would have slapped the porter's face ! For an instant he hung out of the carriage window, intent upon ordering the coachman to drive back to the station ; but the reflection again a ludicrous one that he would now be only bringing witnesses to a scene which might provoke a scandal more invidious to his acquaintance, ^checked him in time. But his spirits, momentarily diverted by the porter's effron- tery, sank to a lower ebb than before. The clattering of his horses' hoofs echoed back from the rocky walls that occasionally A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE 177 hemmed in the road was not enlivening, but it was less depressing than the recurring monotony of the open. The scenery did not suggest wildness to his alien eyes so much as it affected him with a vague sense of scorbutic impoverish- ment. It was not the loneliness of unfrequented Nature, for there was a well-kept carriage road traversing its dreariness ; and even when the hill- side was clothed with scanty verdure, there were ' outcrops ' of smooth, glistening, weather-worn rocks showing like bare brown knees under the all too imperfectly-kilted slopes. And at a little distance, lifting above a black drift of firs, were the square, rigid sky-lines of Glenbogie House, stand- ing starkly against the cold, lingering Northern twilight. As the vehicle turned, and rolled between two square stone gateposts, the long avenue before him, though as well kept as the road, was but a slight improvement upon the outer sterility, and the dark iron-grey rectangular mansion beyond, guiltless of external decoration, even to the outlines of its small lustreless windows, opposed the grim inhospitable prospect with an equally grim inhospitable front. There were a few moments more of rapid driving, a swift swishing over soft gravel, the opening of a heavy door into a narrow vestibule, and then a sudden sense of exquisitely diffused light and warmth from an N i ;8 A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE arched and galleried central hall ; the sounds of light laughter and subdued voices half-lost in the airy space between the lofty pictured walls ; the luxury of colour in trophies, armour, and hangings ; one or two careless groups before the recessed hearth or at the centre table, and the halted figure of a pretty woman on the broad stone staircase. The contrast was sharp, ironical, and bewildering. So much so that the consul, when he had followed the servant to his room, was impelled to draw aside the heavy window-curtains and look ~out again upon the bleak prospect it had half obliterated. The wing in which he was placed overhung a dark ravine or gully choked with shrubs and brambles that grew in a new luxuri- ance. As he gazed a large black bird floated upwards slowly from its depths, circled around the house with a few quick strokes of its wings, and then sped away a black bolt in one straight undeviating line towards the paling north. He still gazed into the abyss half expecting another, even fancying he heard the occasional stir and flutter of obscure life below and the melancholy call of night- fowl. A long- forgotten fragment of old-English verse began to haunt him Hark ! the raven flaps hys wing In the briered dell belowe. Hark ! the dethe owl loude doth synge To the night maers as thaie goe. THERE WERE SOUNDS OF LIGHT LAUGHTER AND SUBDUED VOICES. N 2 iSo A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 1 Now, what put that stuff in my head ? ' he said, as he turned impatiently from the window. ' And why does this house, with all its interior luxury, hypocritically oppose such a forbidding front to its neighbours ? ' Then it occurred to him that perhaps the architect instinctively felt that a more opulent and elaborate exterior would only bring the poverty of surrounding Nature into greater relief. But he was not in the habit of troubling himself with abstruse problems. A nearer recollection, of the pretty frock he had seen on the staircase in whose wearer he had just re- cognised his vivacious friend turned his thoughts to her. He remembered how at their first meeting he had been interested in her bright audacity, unconventionally, and high spirits, which did not, however, amuse him as greatly as his later sus- picion that she was playing a self-elected role, often with difficulty, opposition, and feverishness, rather than spontaneity. He remembered how he had watched her in the obtrusive assumption of a new fashion, in some reckless departure from an old one, or in some ostentatious disregard of certain hard and set rules of St. Kentigern ; but that it never seemed to him that she was the happier for it. He even fancied that her mirth at such times had an undue nervousness ; that her pluck which was undoubted had something of A ROSE -OF GLEN BOGIE 181 the defiance of despair, and that her persistence often had the grimness of duty rather than the thoughtlessness of pure amusement. What was she trying to do ? what was she trying to undo or forget ? Her married life was apparently happy and even congenial. Her young husband was clever, complaisant, yet honestly devoted to her, even to the extension of a certain camaraderie to her admirers and a chivalrous protection by half-participation in her maddest freaks. Nor could he honestly say that her attitude towards his own sex although marked by a freedom that often reached the verge of indiscretion conveyed the least suggestion of passion or sentiment. The consul, more perceptive than analytical, found her a puzzle who was, perhaps, the least mystifying to others who were content to sum up her eccentricities under the single vague epithet, ' fast.' Most women disliked her : she had a few associates among them, but no confidante ; and even these were so unlike her, again, as to puzzle him still more. And yet he believed himself strictly impartial. He walked to the window again, and looked down upon the ravine, from which the darkness now seemed to be slowly welling up and obliterating the landscape, and then, taking a book from his valise, settled himself in the easy- 1 82 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE chair by the fire. He was in no hurry to join the party below, whom he had duly recognised and greeted as he passed through. They or their prototypes were familiar friends. There was the recently created baronet, whose ' bloody hand ' had apparently wiped out the stains of his earlier Radicalism, and whose former provincial self- righteousness had been supplanted by an equally provincial scepticism ; there was his wife, who through all the difficulties of her changed position had kept the stalwart virtues of the Scotch bourgeoisie ) and was ' decent ' ; there were the two native lairds that reminded him of ' parts of speech,' one being distinctly alluded to as a definite article, and the other being ' of something, and apparently governed always by that possessive case. There were two or three ' workers,' men of power and ability in their several vocations ; indeed, there was the general over-proportion of intellect characteristic of such Scotch gatherings, and often in excess of minor social qualities. There was the usual foreigner, with Latin quick- ness, eagerness, and misapprehending adaptability. And there was the solitary Englishman perhaps less generously equipped than the others whom everybody differed from, ridiculed, and then looked up to and imitated. There were the half-dozen smartly frocked women, who, far from being the A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE 183 females of the foregoing species, were quite indistinctive, with the single exception of an American w r ife, who was infinitely more Scotch than her Scotch husband. Suddenly he became aware of a faint rustling at his door, and what seemed to be a slight tap on the panel. He rose and opened it the long passage was dark and apparently empty, but he fancied he could detect the quick swish of a skirt in the distance. As he re-entered his room, his eye fell for the first time on a rose whose stalk was thrust through the keyhole of his door. The consul smiled at this amiable solution of a mystery. It was undoubtedly the playful mischievousness of the vivacious MacSpadden. He placed it in water intending to wear it in his coat at dinner as a gentle recognition of the fair donor's courtesy. Night had thickened suddenly as from a passing cloud. He lit the two candles on his dressing- table, gave a glance into the now scarcely dis- tinguishable abyss below his window, as he drew the curtains, and by the more diffused light for the first time surveyed his room critically. It was a larger apartment than that usually set aside for bachelors ; the heavy four-poster had a conjugal reserve about it, and a tall cheval glass and certain minor details of the furniture suggested that it had 1 84 A ROSE OF GLEN BOG IE been used for a married couple. He knew that the guest-rooms in country-houses, as in hotels, carried no suggestion or flavour of the last tenant, and therefore lacked colour and originality, and he was consequently surprised to find himself impressed with some distinctly novel atmosphere. He was puzzling himself to discover what it might be, when he again became aware of cautious foot- steps apparently halting outside his door. This time he was prepared. With a half-smile he stepped softly to the door and opened it suddenly. To his intense surprise, he was face to face with a man. But his discomfiture was as nothing compared to that of the stranger whom he at once recog- nised as one of his fellow-guests the youthful Laird of Whistlecrankie. The young fellow's healthy colour at once paled, then flushed a deep crimson, and a forced smile stiffened his mouth. ' I beg your par-r-don,' he said, with a nervous brusqueness that brought out his accent. 1 I couldna find ma room. It'll be changed, and I- ' Perhaps I have got it,' interrupted the consul, smilingly. ' I've only just come, and they've put me in here.' ' Nae ! Nae ! ' said the young man, hurriedly, ' it's no' thiss. That is, it's no' mine noo.' A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 185 ' Won't you come in ? ' suggested the consul, politely, holding open the door. The young man entered the room with the quick strides but the mechanical purposelessness of embarrassment. Then he stiffened and stood erect. Yet in spite of all this he was strikingly picturesque and unconventional in his Highland dress, worn with the freedom of long custom and a certain lithe, barbaric grace. As the consul continued to gaze at him encouragingly, the quick resentful pride of a shy man suddenly mantled his high cheek-bones, and with an abrupt ' I'll not disturb ye longer,' he strode out of the room. The consul watched the easy swing of his figure down the passage and then closed the door. 'Delightful creature/ he said, musingly, 'and not so very unlike an Apache chief either ! But what was he doing outside my door ? And was it he who left that rose not as a delicate Highland attention to an utter stranger, but' the consul's mouth suddenly expanded ' to some fair previous occupant ? Or was it really his room he looked as if he were lying and ' here the consul's mouth expanded even more wickedly ' and Mrs. MacSpadden had put the flower there for him.' This implied snub to his vanity was, how- ever, more than compensated by his wicked anti- cipation of the pretty perplexity of his fair friend 'WON'T YOU COME IN?' SUGGESTED THE CONSUL. A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 187 when he should appear at dinner with the flower in his own buttonhole. It would serve her right, the arrant flirt ! But here he was interrupted by the entrance of a tall housemaid with his hot water. ' I am afraid I've dispossessed Mr. Mr. Kilcraithie rather prematurely/ said the consul, lightly. To his infinite surprise the girl answered, with grim decision, ' Nane too soon.' The consul stared. ' I mean,' he explained, ' that I found him hesitating here in the passage, looking for his room.' 1 Ay, he's always hoavering and glowerin' in ^the passages but it's no' for his room \ And it's a deesgrace to decent Christian folk hiscarryin' on wi' married weemen mebbee they're nae better than he ! ' * That will do,' said the consul, curtly. He had no desire to encourage a repetition of the railway porter's freedom. ' Ye'll no fash yoursel' about him] continued the girl, without heeding the rebuff. ' It's no' the meestress' wish that he's keepit here in the wing reserved for married folk, and she's no' sorry for the excuse to pit ye in his place. Ye'll be married yoursel', I'm hearin'. But I ken ye's nae mair to be lippenecl tae for that' 1 88 A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE This was too much for the consul's gravity. ' I'm afraid/ he said, with diplomatic gaiety, 'that although I am married, as I haven't my wife with me, I've no right to this superior accommodation and comfort. But you can assure your mistress that I'll try to deserve them.' ' Aye,' said the girl, but with no great confi- dence in her voice as she grimly quitted the room. ' When our foot's upon our native heath, whether our name's Macgregor or Kilcraithie, it would seem that we must tread warily,' mused the consul, as he began to dress. ' But I'm glad she didn't see that rose, or my reputation would have been ruined.' Here another knock at the door arrested him. He opened it impatiently to a tall gillie, who instantly strode into the room. There was such another suggestion of Kilcraithie in the man and his manner that the consul instantly divined that he was Kilcraithie's servant. ' I'll be takin' some bit things that yon Whistlecrankie left,' said the gillie, gravely, with a stolid glance around the room. 'Certainly,' said the consul; 'help yourself.' He continued his dressing as the man began to rummage in the empty drawers. The consul had his back towards him, but, looking in the glass of the dressing-table, he saw that the gillie A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE 189 was stealthily watching him. Suddenly he passed before the mantelpiece and quickly slipped the rose from its glass into his hand. * I'll trouble you to put that back,' said the consul, quietly, without turning round. The gillie slid a quick glance towards the door, but the consul w^as before him. * I don't think that was left by your master,' he said, in an ostentatiously calm voice, for he was conscious of an absurd and inexplicable tumult in his blood, * and perhaps you'd better put it back/ The man looked at the flower with an atten- tion that might have been merely ostentatious, and replaced it in the glass. 'A' thocht it was hiss.' ' And I think it isn't,' said the consul, opening the door. Yet, when the man had passed out he was by no means certain that the flower was not Kil- craithie's. He was even conscious that if the young laird had approached him with a reason- able explanation or appeal he would have yielded it up. Yet here he was, looking angrily pale in the glass, his eyes darker than they should be, and with an unmistakable instinct to do battle for this idiotic gage ! Was there some morbid dis- turbance in the air that was affecting him as it 190 A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE had Kilcraithie ? He tried to laugh, but catching sight of its sardonic reflection in the glass became grave again. He wondered if the gillie had been really looking for anything his master had left- he had certainly taken nothing. He opened one or two of the drawers, and found only a woman's tortoiseshell hairpin overlooked by the footman when he had emptied them for the consul's clothes. It had been probably forgotten by some fair and previous tenant to Kilcraithie, The consul looked at his watch it was time to go down. He grimly pinned the fateful flower in his buttonhole, and half-defiantly descended to the drawing-room. Here, however, he was inclined to relax when, from a group of pretty women, the bright grey eyes of Mrs. MacSpadden caught his, were suddenly diverted to the lapel of his coat, and then leaped up to his again with a sparkle of mischief. But the guests were already pairing off in dinner couples, and as they passed out of the room, he saw that she was on the arm of Kilcraithie Yet, as she passed him, she auda- ciously turned her head, and in a mischievous affectation of jealous reproach, murmured 1 So soon ! ' At dinner she was too far removed for any conversation with him, although from his seat by A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE 191 his hostess he could plainly see her saucy profile midway up the table. But, to his surprise, her companion, Kilcraithie, did not seem to be responding to her gaiety. By turns abstracted and feverish, his glances occasionally wandered towards the end of the table where the consul was sitting. For a few moments he believed that the affair of the flower, combined, perhaps, with the over- hearing of Mrs. MacSpadden's mischievous sen- tence, rankled in the laird's barbaric soul. But he became presently aware that Kilcraithie's eyes eventually rested upon a quiet-looking blonde near the hostess. Yet the lady not only did not seem to be aware of it, but her face was more often turned towards the consul, and their eyes had once or twice met. He had been struck by the fact that they were half-veiled but singu- larly unimpassioned eyes, with a certain expres- sion of cold wonderment and criticism quite inconsistent with their veiling. Nor was he surprised when, after a preliminary whispering over the plates, his hostess presented him. The lady was the young wife of the middle-aged dignitary who, seated farther down the table, opposite Mrs. MacSpadden, was apparently enjoying that lady's wildest levities. The consul bowed, the lady leaned a little forward. 192 A ROSE OF GLEN BOG IE ' We were saying what a lovely rose you had.' The consul's inward response was, ' Hang that flower!' His outward expression was the modest query : ' Is it so peculiar ? ' 4 No ; but it's very pretty. Would you allow me to see it ? ' Disengaging the flower from his buttonhole he handed it to her. Oddly enough, it seemed to him that half the table was watching and listen- ing to them. Suddenly the lady uttered a little cry. ' Dear me ! it's full of thorns ; of course you picked and arranged it yourself, for any lady would have wrapped something around the stalk ! ' But here there was a burlesque outcry and a good-humoured protest from the gentlemen around her against this manifestly leading question. * It's no' fair ! Ye'll not answer her for the dignity of our sex.' Yet in the midst of it, it suddenly occurred to the consul that there had been a slip of paper wrapped around it, which had come off, and remained in the keyhole. The blue eyes of the lady were meanwhile sounding his, but he only smiled, and said : * Then it seems it is peculiar.' When the conversation became more general A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 19 j he had time to observe other features of the lady than her placid eyes. Her light hair was very long, and grew low down the base of her neck. Her mouth was firm, the upper lip slightly compressed in a thin red line, but the lower one, although equally precise at the corners, became fuller in the centre and turned over like a scarlet leaf, or, as it struck him, suddenly, like the tell-tale drop of blood on the mouth of a vampire. Yet she was very composed, practical, and decorous, and as the talk grew more animated and in the vicinity of Mrs. MacSpadden, more audacious she kept a smil- ing reserve of expression, which did not, however, prevent her from following that lively lady, whom she evidently knew, with a kind of encouraging attention. ' Kate is in full fling to-night,' she said to the hostess. Lady Macquoich smiled ambiguously so ambiguously that the consul thought it neces- sary to interfere for his friend. ' She seems to say what most of us think, but I am afraid very few of us could voice as innocently,' he smilingly suggested. ' She is a great friend of yours,' returned the lady, looking at him through her half-veiled lids. ' She has made us quite envy her.' ' And I am afraid made it impossible for me to either sufficiently thank her or justify her 194 A ROSE OF GLEN BOG IE taste,' he said, quietly. Yet he was vexed at an unaccountable resentment which had taken pos- session of him who but a few hours before had only laughed at the porter's criticism. After the ladies had risen, the consul, with an instinct of sympathy, was moving up towards ' Jock ' MacSpadden, who sat nearer the host, when he was stopped midway of the table by the dignitary who had sat opposite to Mrs. Mac- Spadden. ' Your fren' is maist amusing wi' her audacious tongue aye, and her audacious ways,' he said, with large official patronage ; ' and we've enjoyed her here immensely, but I hae mae doots if mae Leddy Macquoich taks as kindly to them. You and I men of the wurrld, I may say we understand them for a' their worth ; aye ! ma wife too, with whom I observed ye speak in' is maist tolerant of her, but, man ! it's extraorclinar' ' he lowered his voice slightly ' that yon hus- band of hers doesna' check her freedoms with Kilcraithie. I wadna say anythin' was wrong, ye ken, but is he no' over-confident and conceited aboot his wife ? ' ' I see you don't know him,' said the consul, smilingly, 'and I'd be delighted to make you acquainted. Jock,' he continued, raising his voice as he turned towards MacSpadden, ' let me introduce you to Sir Alan Deeside, who doesn't A ROSE OF GLEN BOG IE 195 know you, although he's a great admirer of your wife ; ' and unheeding the embarrassed protestations of Sir Alan and the laughing assertions of Jock that they were already acquainted, he moved on beside his host. That hospitable knight, who had been airing his knowledge of London smart society to his English guest with a singular mixture of assertion and obsequiousness, here stopped short. ' Aye, sit down, laddie ; it was so guid of ye to come, but I'm thinkin' at your end of the table ye lost the bit fun of Mistress MacSpadden. Eh, but she was unco' lively to-night. 'Twas all Kilcraithie could do to keep her from proposin' your health with Hieland honours, and offerin' to lead off with her ain foot on the table ! Aye, and she'd ha' done it. And that's a braw rose she's been givin' ye and ye got out of it claverly wi' Lady Deeside.' When he left the table with the others to join the ladies, the same unaccountable feeling of mingled shyness and nervous irascibility still kept possession of him. He felt that in his present mood he could not listen to any further criticisms of his friend without betraying some un- wonted heat, and as his companions filed into the drawing-room he slipped aside, in the hope of recovering his equanimity by a few moments' reflection in his own room. He glided quickly up the staircase and entered the corridor. The O 2 196 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE passage that led to his apartment was quite dark, especially before his door, which was in a bay that really ended the passage. He was con- sequently surprised and somewhat alarmed at seeing a shadowy female figure hovering before it. He instinctively halted ; the figure became more distinct from some luminous halo that seemed to encompass it. It struck him that this was only the light of his fire thrown through his open door, and that the figure was probably that of a servant before it, who had been arranging his room. He started forward again, but at the sound of his advancing footsteps the figure and the luminous glow vanished, and he arrived blankly face to face with his own closed door. He looked around the dim bay ; it was absolutely vacant. It was equally impossible for anyone to have escaped without passing him. There was only his room left. A half-nervous, half-superstitious thrill crept over him as he suddenly grasped the handle of the door and threw it open. The leaping light of his fire revealed its emptiness : no one was there ! He lit the candle, and peered behind the curtains and furniture and under the bed : the room was as vacant and undisturbed as when he left it. Had it been a trick of his senses or a bond-fide apparition ? He had never heard of a ghost at Glenbogie the house dated back some fifty A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 197 years : Sir John Macquoich's tardy knighthood carried no such impedimenta. He looked down wonderingly on the flower in his buttonhole. Was there something uncanny in that innocent blossom ? But here he was struck by another recollection, and examined the keyhole of his door. With the aid of the tortoiseshell hairpin he dis- lodged the paper he had forgotten. It was only a thin spiral strip, apparently the white outer edge of some newspaper, and it certainly seemed to be of little service as a protection against the thorns of the rose-stalk. He was holding it over the fire, about to drop it into the blaze, when the flame revealed some pencil-marks upon it. Taking it to the candle he read, deeply bitten into the paper by a hard pencil-point : ' At half- past one.' There was nothing else no signature ; but the handwriting was not Mrs. MacSpaclden's ! Then whose? Was it that of the mysterious figure whom he had just seen ? Had he been selected as the medium of some spiritual com- munication, and, perhaps, a ghostly visitation later on ? Or was he the victim of some clever trick ? He had once witnessed such dubious attempts to relieve the monotony of a country-house. He again examined the room carefully, but without avail. Well ! the mystery or trick would be revealed at half-past one. It was a somewhat [ 9 8 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE inconvenient hour, certainly. He looked down at the baleful gift in his buttonhole, and fora moment TAKING IT TO THE CANDLE HE READ ' AT HALF-PAST ONE. A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 199 felt inclined to toss it in the fire. But this was quickly followed by his former revulsion of resent- ment and d e fi a n c e. No ! he would wear it, no matter what hap- pened, until its material or spiritual owner came for it. He closed the door and re- turned to the drawing- room. Midway of the stair- case he heard the dron- ing of pipes. There was dancing in the drawing - room to the music of the gorgeous piper who had mar- shalled them to dinner. He was not sorry, as he had no inclination to talk, and the one confi- dence he had anticipated with Mrs. MacSpadden PIPES' 200 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE was out of the question now. He had no right to reveal his later discovery. He lingered a few moments in the hall. The buzzing of the piper's drones gave him that impression of confused and blindly aggressive intoxication which he had often before noticed in this barbaric instrument, and had always seemed to him as the origin of its martial inspiration. From this he was startled by voices and steps in the gallery he had just quitted, but which came from the opposite direc- tion to his room. It was Kilcraithie and Mrs. MacSpadclen. As she caught sight of him, he fancied she turned slightly and aggressively pale, with a certain hardening of her mischievous eyes. Nevertheless she descended the staircase more deliberately than her companion, who brushed past him with an embarrassed self-con- sciousness quite in advance of her. She lingered for an instant. ' You are not dancing ? ' she said. ' No.' ' Perhaps you are more agreeably employed ? ' 'At this exact moment, certainly.' She cast a disdainful glance at him, crossed the hall, and followed Kilcraithie. ' Hang me if I understand it all! ' mused the consul, by no means good-humouredly. ' Does she think I have been spying upon her and her A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 201 noble chieftain ? But it's just as well that I didn't tell her anything.' He turned to follow them. In the vestibule he came upon a figure which had halted before a large pier-glass. He recognised M. Delfosse, the French visitor, complacently twisting the peak of his Henri Ouatre beard. He would have passed without speaking, but the Frenchman glanced smilingly at the consul and his button- hole. Again the flower ! ' Monsieur is dccord] he said, gallantly. The consul assented, but added, not so gallantly, that though they were not in France, he might still be unworthy of it. The baleful flower had not improved his temper. Nor did the fact that, as he entered the room, he thought the people stared at him until he saw that their attention was directed to Lady Deeside, who had entered almost behind him. From his hostess, who had offered him a seat beside her, he gathered that M. Delfosse and Kilcraithie had each temporarily occupied his room, but that they had been transferred to the other wing, apart from the married couples and young ladies, because when they came upstairs from the billiard and card room late, they sometimes disturbed the fair occupants. No! there were no ghosts at Glenbogie. Mysterious footsteps had sometimes been heard 202 A ROSE OF GLEN BOGIE in the ladies' corridor, but with peculiar signifi- cance she was afraid they could be easily accounted for. Sir Alan, whose room was next to the MacSpaddens', had been disturbed by them. He was glad when it was time to escape to the billiard-room and tobacco. For a while he forgot the evening's adventure, but eventually found himself listening to a discussion carried on over steaming tumblers of toddy in regard to certain predispositions of the always debatable sex. ' Ye'll not always judge by appearances,' said Sir Alan. ' Ye'll mind the story o' the meenester's wife of Aiblinnoch. It was thocht that she was ower free wi' one o' the parishioners ay ! it was the claish o' the whole kirk, while none dare tell the meenester hisself bein' a bookish, simple, un- suspectin' creeter. At last one o' the elders bethocht him of a bit plan of bringing it home to the wife, through the gospel lips of her ain hus- band ! So he intimated to the meenester his suspicions of grievous laxity amang the female flock, and of the necessity of a special sermon on the Seventh Command. The puir man consented although he didna ken why and wherefore and preached a gran' sermon ! Ay, man ! it was crammed wi' denunciation and an' emtyin' o' the vials o' wrath ! The congregation sat dumb as A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 203 huddled sheep when they were no' starin 5 and gowpin' at the meenester's wife settin' bolt upright in her place. And then, when the air was blue wi' sulphur frae tae pit, the meenester's wife up- rises ! Man! Ivry eye was spearin' her ivry lug was prickt towards her ! And she goes out in the aisle facin' the meenester, and Sir Alan paused. ' And what ? ' demanded the eager auditory. ' She pickit up the elder's wife, sobbin' and tearin' her hair in strong hysterics.' At the end of a relieved pause Sir Alan slowly concluded : ' It was said that the elder removed frae Aiblinnoch wi' his wife, but no' till he had effected a change of meenesters.' It was already past midnight, and the party had dropped off one by one, with the exception of Deeside, Macquoich, the young Englishman, and a Scotch laird, who were playing poker an amusement which he understood they frequently protracted until three in the morning. It was nearly time for him to expect his mysterious visitant. Before he went upstairs he thought he would take a breath of the outer evening air, and throwing a mackintosh over his shoulders, passed out of the garden door of the billiard-room. To his surprise it gave immediately upon the fringe of laurel that hung over the chasm. 204 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE It was quite dark ; the few far-spread stars gave scarcely any light, and the slight auroral glow towards the north was all that outlined the fringe of the abyss, which might have proved dangerous to any unfamiliar wanderer. A damp breath of sodden leaves came from its depths. Beside him stretched the long dark facade of the wing he inhabited, his own window the only one that showed a faint light. A few paces beyond a singular structure of rustic wood and glass, com- bining the peculiarities of a sentry-box, a summer- house, and a shelter, was built against the blank wall of the wing. He imagined the monotonous prospect from its windows of the tufted chasm, the coldly profiled northern hillsbeyond and shivered. A little farther on, sunk in the wall like a postern, was a small cloor that evidently gave egress to seekers of this stern retreat. In the still air a faint grating sound like the passage of a foot across gravel came to him as from the distance. He paused, thinking he had been followed by one of the card-players, but saw no one, and the sound was not repeated. It was past one. He re-entered the billiard- room, passed the unchanged group of card-players, and taking a candlestick from the hall, ascended the dark and silent staircase into the corridor. The light of his candle cast a flickering halo A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 205 around him but did not penetrate the gloomy distance. He at last halted before his door, gave a scrutinising glance around the embayed recess, and opened the door half expectantly. But the room was as empty as he had left it. It was a quarter-past one. He threw himself on the bed without undressing, and fixed his eyes alternately on the door and his watch. Perhaps the unwonted seriousness of his attitude struck him, but a sudden sense of the preposterousness of the whole situation of his solemnly ridiculous acceptance of a series of mere coincidences as a foregone conclusion, overcame him, and he laughed. But in the same breath he stopped. There were footsteps approaching cautious footsteps but not at his cloor! They were in the room no ! in the wall just behind him ! They were descending some staircase at the back of his bed he could hear the regular tap of a light slipper from step to step and the rustle of a skirt seemingly in his very ear. They were becoming less and less distinct they were gone ! He sprang to his feet, but almost at the same instant he was conscious of a sudden chill that seemed to him as physical as it was mental. The room was slowly suffused with a cool sodden breath and the clank odour of rotten leaves. He looked at the candle its flame was actually cle- 206 A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE fleeting in this mysterious blast. It seemed to come from a recess for hanging clothes topped by a heavy cornice and curtain. He had examined it before, but he drew the curtain once more aside. The cold current certainly seemed to be more perceptible there. He felt the red-clothed backing of the interior, and his hand suddenly grasped a door-knob. It turned, and the whole structure cornice and curtains swung inwards towards him with the door on which it was hung\ Behind it was a dark staircase leading from the floor above to some outer door below, whose opening had given ingress to the chill humid cur- rent from the ravine. This was the staircase where he had just heard the footsteps and this was, no doubt, the door through which the mysterious figure had vanished from his room a few hours before ! Taking his candle, he cautiously ascended the stairs until he found himself on the landing of the suites of the married couples, and directly opposite to the rooms of the MacSpaddens and Dee.sides. He was about to descend again when he heard a far-off shout, a scuffling sound on the outer gravel, and the frenzied shaking of the handle of the lower door. He had hardly time to blow out his candle and flatten himself against the wall, when the door was flung open and a A ROSE OF GLENBOG1E 207 woman frantically flew up the staircase. His own door was still open ; from within its depths the light of his fire projected a flickering beam across the steps. As she rushed past it the light revealed her face ; it needed not the peculiar perfume of her garments as she swept by his concealed figure to make him recognise Lady Deeside ! Amazed and confounded, he was about to descend, when he heard the lower door again open. But here a sudden instinct made him pause, turn, and reascend to the upper landing. There he calmly relit his candle, and made his way down to the corridor that overlooked the central hall. The sound of suppressed voices- speaking with the exhausted pauses that come from spent excitement made him cautious again, and he halted. It was the card party slowly passing from the billiard-room to the hall. ' Ye owe it to yoursel' to your wife not to pit up with it a day longer,' said the subdued voice of Sir Alan. ' Man ! ye war in an ace o' having a braw scandal.' ' Could ye no' get your wife to speak till her,' responded Macquoich, ' to gie her a hint that she's better awa' out of this ; Lady Deeside has some influence wi' her.' The consul ostentatiously dropped the ex- tinguisher from his candlestick. The party 2o8 A ROSE OF GLENBOG1E looked up quickly. Their faces were still flushed and agitated, but a new restraint seemed to come upon them on seeing him. ' I thought I heard a row outside,' said the consul, explanatorily. They each looked at their host without speaking. ' Oh, ay,' said Macquoich, with simulated heartiness, ' a bit fuss between the Kilcraithie and yon Frenchman ; but they're baith going in the morn in'.' ' I thought I heard MacSpadclen's voice,' said the consul, quietly. There was a dead silence. Then Macquoich said hurriedly : ' Is he no' in his room in bed asleep man ? ' ' I really don't know ; I didn't inquire,' said the consul, with a slight yawn. ' Good night ! ' He turned, not without hearing them eagerly whispering again, and entered the passage leading to his own room. As he opened the door he was startled to find the subject of his inquiry Jock MacSpadden quietly seated in his armchair by his fire. 'Jock!' * Don't be alarmed, old man ; I came up by that staircase and saw the door open, and guessed A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 209 you'd be returning soon. But it seemed you went round by the corridor] he said, glancing curiously at the consul's face. ' Did you meet the crowd ? ' ' Yes, Jock. What does it all mean ? ' MacSpadden laughed. ' It means that I was just in time to keep Kilcraithie from chucking Delfosse down that ravine ; but they both scooted when they saw me. By Jove ! I don't know which was the most frightened.' ' But,' said the consul, slowly, * what was it all about, Jock ? ' * Some gallantry of that d cl Frenchman, who's trying to do some woman-stalking up here, and jealousy of Kilcraithie's, who's just got enough of his forebears' blood in him to think nothing of sticking three inches of his dirk in the wame of the man that crosses him. But I say,' continued Jock, leaning easily back in his chair, 'you ought to know something of all this This room, old man, was used as a sort of rendezvous, having two outlets, don't you see, when they couldn't get at the summer-house below. By Jove! they both had it in turns Kilcraithie and the Frenchman until Lady Macquoich got wind of something, swept them out, and put you in it.' The consul rose and approached his friend p 2io A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE with a grave face. ' Jock, I do know something about it more about it than anyone thinks. You and I are old friends. Shall I tell you what I know ?'. Jock's handsome face became a trifle paler, but his frank, clear eyes rested steadily on the consul's. ' Go on ! ' he said. ' I know that this flower which I am wearing was the signal for the rendezvous this evening,' said the consul slowly, ' and this paper,' taking it from his pocket, ' contained the time of the meeting, written in the lady's own hand. I know who she was, for I saw her face as plainly as I see yours now, by the light of the same fire ; it was as pale, but not as frank as yours, old man. That is what I know. But I know also what people think they know, and for that reason I put that paper in your hand. It is yours your vindica- tionyour revenge, if you choose. Do with it what you like.' Jock, with unchanged features and undimmed eyes, took the paper from the consul's hand with- out looking at it. ' I may do with it what I like ? ' he repeated. ' Yes.' He was about to drop it into the fire, but the consul stayed his hand. A ROSE OF GLENBOGIE 211 ' Are you not going to look at the handwriting first ? ' There was a moment of silence. Jock raised his eyes with a sudden flash of pride in them, and said ' No ! ' The friends stood side by side grasping each other's hands as the burning paper leaped up the chimney in a vanishing flame. 4 Do you think you have done quite right, Jock, in view of any scandal you may hear ? ' ' Quite ! You see, old man, I know my wife but I don't think that Deeside knoivs 212 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES FOR many minutes there had been no sound but the monotonous drumming of the rain on the roof of the coach, the swishing of wheels through the gravelly mud, and the momentary clatter of hoofs upon some rocky outcrop in the road. Conversa- tion had ceased ; the light-hearted young editor in the front seat, more than suspected of danger- ous levity, had relapsed into silence since the heavy man in the middle seat had taken to regarding the ceiling with ostentatious resigna- tion, and the thin female beside him had averted her respectable bonnet. An occasional lurch of the coach brought down a fringe of raindrops from its eaves that filmed the windows and shut out the sodden prospect already darkening into night. There had been a momentary relief in their hurried dash through Summit Springs, and the spectacle of certain newly arrived County Delegates crowding the verandah of its one hotel, THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 213 but that was now three miles behind. The young editor's sole resource was to occasionally steal a glance at the face of the one passenger who seemed to be in sympathy with him, but who was too far away for easy conversation. It was the half-amused, half-perplexed face of a young man who had been for some time regarding him from a remote corner of the coach with an odd mingling of admiring yet cogitating interest, which, how- ever, had never extended to any further encour- agement than a faint sad smile. Even this at last faded out in the growing darkness ; the powerful coach lamps on either side that flashed on the wayside objects gave no light to the interior. Everybody was slowly falling asleep. Suddenly everybody woke up, to find that the coach was apparently standing still ! When it had stopped no one knew ! The young editor lowered his window. The coach lamp on that side was missing, but nothing was to be seen. In the distance there appeared to be a faint splashing. ' Well,' called out an impatient voice from the box above. 'What do you make it?' It was the authoritative accents of Yuba Bill, the driver, and everybody listened eagerly for the reply. It came faintly from the distance and the splashing. ' Almost four feet here, and deepening as you go.' 214 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 1 Dead water ? ' ' No back water from the Fork.' There was a general movement towards the doors and windows. The splashing came nearer. Then a light flashed on the trees, the windows, and two feet of yellow water peacefully flowing beneath them ! The thin female gave a slight scream. ' There's no danger,' said the expressman, now wading towards them with the coach lamp in his hand. ' But we'll have to pull round out of it and go back to the Springs. There's no getting past this break to-night.' ' Why didn't you let us know this before ? ' said the heavy man, indignantly, from the window. ' Jim,' said the driver, with that slow delibera- tion which instantly enforces complete attention. ' Yes, Bill.' ' Have you got a spare copy of that reg'lar bulletin that the Stage Kempany issoos every ten minutes to each passenger to tell 'em where we are, how far it is to the next place, and wot's the state o' the weather gin'rally ? ' ' No ! ' said the expressman, grimly, as he climbed to the box ; 'there's not one left. Why?' ''Cos the Emperor of Chiny's inside wantin' one ! Hoop ! Keep your seats clown there ! G'lang ; ' the whip cracked, there was a desperate THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 215 splashing, a backward and forward jolting of the coach, the glistening wet flanks and tossing heads of the leaders seen for a moment opposite the windows, a sickening swirl of the whole body of the vehicle as if parting from its axles, a long, straight, dragging pull, and presently the wel- come sound of hoofs once more beating the firmer ground. ' Hi! Hold up driver!' It was the editor's quiet friend who was lean- ing from the window. ' Isn't Wilkes' Ranch just off here ? ' ' Yes, half a mile along the ridge, I reckon,' returned the driver, shortly. ' Well, if you're not going on to-night, I'd get off and stop there.' ' I reckon your head's level, stranger,' said Bill, approvingly ; ' for they're about chock full at the Springs House.' To descend the passenger was obliged to pass out by the middle seat and before the young editor. As he did so he cast a shy look on him, and leaning over said hesitatingly in a lower voice : ' I don't think you will be able to get in at the Springs Hotel. If if you care to come with me to to the Ranch, I can take care of you.' The young editor a man of action paused for an instant only. Then, seizing his bag, he 2T6 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES said promptly, ' Thank you,' and followed his newly found friend to the ground. The whip cracked, the coach rolled away. ' You know Wilkes ? ' he said. ( Ye ee-s. He's my father.' ' Ah,' said the editor, cheerfully, ' then you're going home ? ' ' Yes.' It was quite light in the open, and the stranger, after a moment's survey of the prospect a survey that, however, seemed to be charac- terised by his previous hesitation, said : ' This way,' crossed the road, and began to follow a quite plain but long-disused waggon track along the slope. His manner was still so embarrassed that the young editor after gaily repeating his thanks for his companion's thoughtful courtesy followed him in silence. At the end of ten minutes they had reached some cultivated fields and orchards ; the stranger brightened, although still with a preoccupied air, quickened his pace, and then suddenly stopped. When the editor reached his side he was gazing with apparently still greater perplexity upon the level, half oblite- rated and blackened foundations of what had been a larcre farmhouse. o ' Why, it's been burnt down ! ' he said, thought fully. THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 217 The editor stared at him. Burnt down it certainly had been, but by no means recently. Grasses were already springing up from the charred beams in the cellar, vines were trailing over the fallen chimneys, excavations, already old, had been made among the ruins. k When were you here last ? ' the editor asked, abruptly. ' Five years ago,' said the stranger, abstract- edly. i Five years ! and you knew nothing of thisT ' No. I was in Tahiti, Australia, Japan, and China all the time.' ' And you never heard from home ? ' ' No. You see, I quo'llecl with the old man, and ran away.' ' And you didn't write to tell them you were coming ? ' ' No.' He hesitated, and then added : ' Never thought o' coming till I saw you.' 1 Me ! ' 'Yes, you and the high water.' ' Do you mean to say,' said the young editor, sharply, ' that you brought me an utter stranger to you out of that coach to claim the hospitality of a father you had quarrelled with hadn't seen for five years, and didn't know if he would receive you ? ' ' Yes, you see that's just why I did it. Yo 1 218 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM W1LKES see, I reckoned my chances would be better to see him along with a cheerful, chipper fellow like you. I didn't, of course, kalkilate on this,' he added, pointing dejectedly to the ruins. The editor gasped ; then a sudden conception of the unrivalled absurdity of the situation flashed upon him ; of his passively following the amiable idiot at his side in order to contemplate by the falling rain and lonely night a heap of sodden ruins, while the coach was speeding to Summit Springs and shelter and, above all, the reason why he was invited until, putting clown his bag, he leaned upon his stick, and laughed until the tears came to his eyes. At which his companion visibly brightened. ' I told you so,' he said, cheerfully ; ' I knew you'd be able to take it and the old man in that way, and that would have fetched him round.' 'For Heaven's sake! don't talk any more,' said the editor, wiping his eyes, ' but try to remember if you ever had any neighbours about here where we can stay to-night. We can't walk to Summit Springs, and we can't camp out on these ruins.' ' There didn't use to be anybody nearer than the Springs.' * But that was five years ago, you say,' said the editor, impatiently ; * and although your father THE HOME-COMING OF JIM W1LKES 219 probably moved away after the house burned down, the country's been thickly settled since then. That field has been lately planted. There must be another house beyond. Let's follow the trail a little farther.' They tramped along in silence, this time the editor leading. Presently he stopped. * There's a house in there among the trees,' he said, pointing. ' Whose is it ? ' The stranger shook his head dubiously. Although apparently unaffected by any senti- mental consideration of his father's misfortune, the spectacle of the blackened ruins of the home- stead had evidently shaken his preconceived plans. ' It wasn't there in my time,' he said, musingly. 1 But it is there in our time ' responded the editor, briskly, ' and I propose to go there. From what you have told me of your father even if his house were still standing our chances of getting supper and a bed from him would be doubtful. I suppose,' he continued, as they moved on together, ' you left him in anger five years ago ? ' ' Ye-es.' ' Did he say anything as you left ? ' ' I don't remember anything particular that he said.' ' Well, what did he do ? ' 220 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES ' Shot at me from the window ! ' ' Ah ! ' said the young editor, softly. Never- theless they walked on for some time in silence. Gradually a white picket fence came into view at right angles with the trail, and a man appeared, walking leisurely along what seemed to be the regularly travelled road beside it. The editor, who had taken matters in his own hands, without speaking to his companion, ran quickly forward and accosted the stranger, briefly stating that he had left the stage coach with a companion because it was stopped by high water, and asked, without entering into further details, to be directed to some place where they could pass the night. The man quite as briefly directed him to the house among the trees, which he said was his own, and then leisurely pursued his way along the road. The young editor ran back to his companion, who had halted in the dripping shadow of a sycamore, and recounted his good fortune. ' I didn't,' he added, 'say anything about your father. You can make inquiries yourself later.' ' I reckon there won't be much need of that, returned his companion. ' You didn't take much note o' that man, did you ? ' ' Not much,' said the editor. * Well, thafs my father, and I reckon that new house must be his.' THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 221 11 THE young editor was a little startled. The man he had just quitted certainly was not dangerous looking, and yet, remembering what his son had said, there were homicidal possibilities. ' Look here,' he said, quickly, 4 he's not there now. Why don't you seize the opportunity to slip into the house, make peace with your mother and sisters, and get them to intercede with your father when he returns ? ' 1 Thar ain't any mother ; she died afore I left. My sister Almiry's a little girl though that's five years ago and maybe she's growed. My brothers and me didn't pull together much. But I was thinkin' that maybe you might go in thar for me first, and see how the land lays ; then sorter tell 'em 'bout me in your takin,' chipper, easy way ; make 'em laugh, and when you've squared 'em I'll be hangin' round outside you kin call me in. Don't you see ? ' The young editor did see. Ridiculous as the proposal would have seemed to him an hour ago, 222 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES it now appeared practical, and even commended itself to his taste. His name was well known in the County, and his mediation might be effective. Perhaps his vanity was slightly flattered by his companion's faith in him ; perhaps he was not free from a certain human curiosity to know the rest ; perhaps he was more interested than he cared to confess in the helpless homeseeker beside -him. ' But you must tell me something more of yourself, and your fortune and prospects. They'll be sure to ask questions.' ' Mebbee they won't. But you can say I've done well made my pile over in Australia, and aint comin' on them. Remember say I aint comin' on them ! ' The editor nodded, and then, as if fearful of letting his present impulse cool, ran off towards the house. It was large and respectable looking, and augured well for the present fortunes of the Wilkes's. The editor had determined to attack the citadel on its weaker, feminine side, and when the front door was opened to his knock asked to see Miss Almira Wilkes. The Irish servant showed him into a comfortable-looking sitting- room, and in another moment, with a quick rustle of skirts in the passage, a very pretty girl impul- THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 223 sively entered. From the first flash of her keen blue eyes the editor a fair student of the sex conceived the idea that she had expected some- body else ; from the second, that she was an arrant flirt, and did not intend to be disappointed. This much was in his favour. Spurred by her provoking eyes and the novel situation, he stated his business with an airy lightness and humour that seemed to justify his late companion's estimate of his powers. But even in his cynical attitude he was unprepared for the girl's reception of his news. He had expected some indignation or even harshness towards this man whom he was beginning to consider as a kind of detrimental outcast or prodigal, but he was astounded at the complete and utter indifference the frank and heartless unconcern with which she heard of his return. When she had followed the narrator rather than his story to the end, she languidly called her brothers from the adjoining room. ' This gentle- man, Mr. Grey, of the Argus , has come across Jim and Jim is calculating to come here and see father.' The two brothers stared at Grey, slightly shrugged their shoulders with the same utter absence of fraternal sympathy or concern which the girl had shown, and said nothing. 224 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES ' One moment,' said Grey, a little warmly ; * I have no desire to penetrate family secrets, but would you mind telling me if there is any grave reason why he should not come ? Was there any scandalous conduct, unpardonable offence let us even say, any criminal act on his part which makes his return to this roof impossible ? ' The three looked at each other with a dull surprise that ended in a vacant, wondering smile. 1 No, no,' they said in one voice. 'No, only ' Only what ? ' asked Grey, impatiently. 4 Dad just hates him ! ' ' Like pizon,' smiled Almira. The young editor rose with a slight increase of colour. ' Look here,' said the girl, whose dimples had deepened as she keenly surveyed him, as if detecting some amorous artifice under his show of interest for her brother. ' Dad's gone down to the sheepfold and won't be back for an hour. Yo' might bring y 6 friend in.' ' He aint wantin' anything ? Aint dead broke ? nor nothin', eh ? ' suggested one of the brothers, dubiously. Grey hastened to assure them of Jim's absolute solvency, and even enlarged consider- ably on his Australian fortune. They looked relieved but not interested. THE HOME-COMING OF JIM W1LKES 225 'Go and fetch him ! ' said the witch, archly, hovering near Grey with dancing eyes, * and mind yd come back, too ! ' Grey hesitated a moment and then passed out into the dark porch. A dripping figure emerged from the trees opposite. It was Jim. ' Your sister and brothers will see you,' said Grey, hastily, to avoid embarrassing details. ' He won't be here for an hour. But I'd advise you to make the most of your time, and get the goodwill of your sister.' He would have drawn back to let the prodigal pass in alone, but the man appeal- mgly seized his arm, and Grey was obliged to re- enter with him. He noticed, however, that he breathed hard. They turned slightly towards their relative, but did not offer to shake hands with him, nor did he with them. He sat down sideways on an unoffered chair. 'The old house got burnt!' he said, wiping his lips, and then drying his wet hair with his handkerchief. As the remark was addressed to no one in particular it was some seconds before the elder brother replied : ' Yes.' ' Almira's growed.' Again no one felt called upon to answer, and Almira glanced archly at the young editor, as if he might have added ; ' and improved.' Q 226 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES ' You've done well ? ' returned one of the brothers, tentatively. ' Yes, I'm all right,' said Jim. There was another speechless interval. Even the conversational Grey felt under some un- hallowed spell of silence that he could not break. * I see the old well is there yet,' said Jim, wiping his lips again. ' Where Dad was once going to chuck you down for givin' him back talk,' said the younger brother, casually. To Mr. Grey's relief, and yet astonishment, Jim burst into a loud laugh and rubbed his legs. ' That's so how old times do come back ! ' ' And,' said the bright-eyed Almira, ' there's that old butternut-tree that you shinned up one day when we set the hounds on you. Goodness ! how you scooted ! ' Again Jim laughed loudly and nodded. ' Yes, the same old butternut. How you do remember, Almira ! ' This admiringly. 'And don't you remember Delia Short ? ' con- tinued Almira, pleased at the admiration, and perhaps a little exalted at the singular attention which the young editor was giving to those cheerful reminiscences. ' She, you know, you was reg'larly sick after, so that we always allowed she kinder turned yo' brain afore you went away ! THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 227 Well, all the while you were courtin' her it appears she was secretly married to Jo yo' friend Jo Stacy. Lord ! there was a talk about that ! and about yo' all along thinkin' yo' had chances ! Yo' friend here ' with an arch glance at Grey, ' who's allus puttin' folks in the newspapers, orter get a hold on that ! ' o Jim again laughed louder than the others, and rubbed his lips. Grey, however, offered only the tribute of a peculiar smile and walked to the window. ' You say your father will return in an hour ? ' he said, turning to the elder brother. ' Yes, unless he kept on to Watson's.' ' Where ? ' said Jim, suddenly. It struck Grey that his voice had changed or rather that he was now speaking for the first time in his natural tone. ' Watson's, just over the bridge,' explained his brother. ' If he went there he won't be back till ten.' Jim picked up his incliarubber cape and hat, said, ' I reckon I'll just take a turn outside until he gets back,' and walked towards the door. None of his relatives moved nor seemed to offer any opposition. Grey followed him quickly. ' I'll go with you,' he said. ' No,' returned Jim, with singular earnestness. ' You stay here and keep 'em up cheerful like Q 2 228 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES this. They're doing all this for you, you know. Almiry's just this chipper only on your account.' Seeing the young man was inflexible, Grey returned grimly to the room, but not until he had noticed, with some surprise, that Jim, immediately on leaving the house, darted off at a quick run through the rain and darkness. Preoccupied with this, and perhaps still influenced by the tone of the previous conversation, he did not respond readily to the fair Almira's conversational advances, and was speedily left to a seat by the fire alone. At the end of ten minutes he regretted he had ever come ; when half an hour had passed he wondered if he had not better try to reach the Summit alone. With the lapse of an hour he began to feel uneasy at Jim's prolonged absence, in spite of the cold indifference of the household. Suddenly he heard stamping in the porch, a muttered' exclamation, and the voices of the two brothers in the hall. 'Why, Dad! what's up? Yo' look half-drowned ! ' The door opened upon the sodden, steaming figure of the old man whom he had met on the o road, followed by the two sons. But he was evidently more occupied and possessed by some mental passion than by his physical discomfort. Yet, strong and dominant over both, he threw off his wet coat and waistcoat as he entered, and THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES 229 marched directly to the fire. Utterly ignoring the presence of a stranger, he suddenly turned and faced his family : ' Half-drowned Yes ! and I might have been hull drowned for that matter. The back water of the Fork is all over Watson's, and the bridge is gone. I stumbled on to this end of it in the dark, and went off head first into twenty feet of water. Tried to fight my way out, but the current was agin me. I'd bin down twice, and was going down for the third time, when somebody grabbed me by the scruff o' the neck and under the arm so ! and swam me to the bank ! When I scram- bled up, I sez : "I can't see your face," sez I, " I don't know who you are," sez I, "but I reckon you're a \vhite man and clear grit," sez I, "and there's my hand on it ! " And he grabs it and sez, "we're quits," and scooted out o' my sight. And,' continued the old man, staring at their faces and raising his voice almost to a scream ' who do you think it was ? Why, that sneakin hound of a brother of yours, Jim! Jim ! the scallawag, that I booted outer the Ranch five years ago, crawlin', writhin' back again after all these years to insult his old father's grey hairs ! And some of you by God ! once thought that / was hard on him ! ' 230 THE HOME-COMING OF JIM WILKES The sun was shining brightly the next morn- ing as the young editor halted the up coach in the now dried hollow. As he was clambering to a seat beside the driver, his elbow was jogged at the window. Looking down he saw the face of Jim. ' We had a gay talk last night, remembering old times didn't we ? ' said the prodigal, cheerfully. ' Yes, but where are you going now ? ' ' Back to Australia, I reckon ! But it was mighty good to drop in on the old homestead once more ! ' ' Rather,' said the editor, clinging on the window and lingering in mid-air, to the manifest impatience of Yuba Bill, ' but I say look here ! were you quite satisfied ? ' Jim's hand tightened a moment around the young editor's as he answered cheerfully: 'Yes.' But his face was turned away from the window. CHU CHUr I DO not believe that the most enthusiastic lover of that ' useful and noble animal,' the horse, will claim for him the charm of geniality, humour, or expansive confidence. Any creature who will not look you squarely in the eye ; whose only oblique glances are inspired by fear, distrust, or a view to attack ; who has no way of returning caresses, and whose favourite expression is one of head- lifting disdain, may be * noble' or 'useful,' but can be hardly said to add to the gaiety of nations. Indeed, it may be broadly stated that, with the single exception of gold-fish, of all animals kept for the recreation of mankind the horse is alone capable of exciting a passion that shall be abso- lutely hopeless. I deem these general remarks necessary to prove that my unreciprocated affection for ' Chu Chu' was not purely individual or singu- lar. And I may add that to these general charac- teristics she brought the waywardness of her capricious sex. She came to me out of the rolling dust of an 232 1 CHU CHU!] emigrant-waggon, behind whose tail-board she was gravely trotting. She was a half-broken filly in which character she had at different times unseated everybody in the train and, although covered with dust, she had a beautiful coat, and the most lambent gazelle-like eyes I had ever seen. I think she kept these latter organs purely for orna- ment apparently looking at things with her nose, her sensitive ears, and, sometimes, even a slight lifting of her slim near fore-leg. On our first interview I thought she favoured me with a coy glance, but as it was accompanied by an irrelevant ' Look out ! ' from her owner, the teamster, I was not certain. I only know that after some conver- sation, a good deal of mental reservation, and the disbursement of considerable coin, I found myself standing in the dust of the departing emigrant- waggon with one end of a forty-foot riata in my hand, and Chu Chu at the other. I pulled invitingly at my own end, and even advanced a step or two towards her. She then broke into a long disdainful pace, and began to circle round me at the extreme limit of her tether* I stood admiring her free action for some moments not always turning with her, which was tiring until I found that she was gradually winding her- self up on me\ Her frantic astonishment when she suddenly found herself thus brought up against CHU!> 233 me was one of the most remarkable things I ever saw, and nearly took me off my legs. Then, when she had pulled against the riata until her narrow head and prettily arched neck were on a perfectly straight line with it, she as suddenly slackened the tension and condescended to follow me, at an angle of her own choosing. Sometimes it was on one side of me, sometimes on the other. Even then the sense of my dreadful contiguity apparently would come upon her like a fresh discovery, and she would become hysterical. But I do not think that she really saw me. She looked at the riata and sniffed it disparagingly ; she pawed some peb- bles that were near me tentatively with her small hoof ; she started back with a Robinson Crusoe- like horror of my footprints in the wet gully, but my actual personal presence she ignored. She would sometimes pause, with her head thoughtfully between her fore-legs, and apparently say : ' There is some extraordinary presence here : animal, vegetable, or mineral I can't make out which but it's not good to eat, and I loathe and de- test it.' When I reached my house in the suburbs, before entering the ' fifty vara ' lot enclosure, I deemed it prudent to leave her outside while I in- formed the household of my purchase ; and with this object I tethered her by the long riata to a 234 solitary sycamore which stood in the centre of the road, the crossing of two frequented thoroughfares. It was not long, however, before I was interrupted by shouts and screams from that vicinity, and on returning thither I found that Chu Chu, with the assistance of her riata, had securely wound up two of my neighbours to the tree, where they presented the appearance of early Christian martyrs. When I released them it appeared that they had been attracted by Chu Chu's graces, and had offered her overtures of affection, to which she had characteristically rotated, with this miserable re- sult. I led her, with some difficulty, warily keep- ing clear of the riata, to the enclosure from whose fence I had previously removed several bars. Although the space was wide enough to have admitted a troop of cavalry she affected not to notice it, and managed to kick away part of another section on entering. She resisted the stable for some time, but after carefully examining it with her hoofs, and an affectedly meek outstretching of her nose, she consented to recognise some oats in the feed-box without looking at them and was formally installed. All this while she had reso- lutely ignored my presence. As I stood watching her she suddenly stopped eating ; the same reflec- tive look came over hen ' Surely I am not mis- taken, but that same obnoxious creature is some- 'YE SEE, CAPTAIN,' HE SAID, WITH JAUNTY EASINESS, 'HOSSES IS LIKE WIMMEN.' 236 l CfIU where about here,' she seemed to say, and shivered at the possibility. It was probably this which made me confide my unreciprocated affection to one of my neigh- bours a man supposed to be an authority on horses, and particularly of that wild species to which Chu Chu belonged. It was he who, lean- ing over the edge of the stall where she was com- placently and, as usual, obliviously munching, ab- solutely dared to toy with a pet lock of hair which she wore over the pretty star on her forehead. ' Ye see, Captain,' he said, with jaunty easiness, ' hosses is like wimmen ; ye don't want ter use any standoffishness or shyness with them ; a stiddy but keerless sort o' familiarity, a kind o' free but firm hancllin', jess like this, to let her see who's master We never clearly knew how it happened ; but when I picked up my neighbour from the doorway, amid the broken splinters of the stall rail, and a quantity of oats that mysteriously filled his hair and pockets, Chu Chu was found to have faced around the other way, and was contemplating her fore-legs, with her hind ones in the other stall. My neighbour spoke of damages while he was in the stall, and of physical coercion when he was out of it again. But here Chu Chu, in some mar- vellous way, righted herself, and my neighbour 1 CHU CHU!' 237 departed hurriedly with a brimless hat and an un- finished sentence. My next intermediary was Enriquez Saltello a youth of my own age, and the brother of Consuelo Saltello, whom I adored. As a Spanish Californian he was presumed, on account of Chu Chu's half-Spanish origin, to have superior know- ledge of her character, and I even vaguely believed that his language and accent would fall familiarly on her ear. There was the drawback, however, that he always preferred to talk in a marvellous English, combining Castilian precision with what he fondly believed to be California!! slang. ' To confer then as to thees horse, which is not observe me a Mexican plug ! Ah, no ! you can your boots bet on that. She is of Castilian stock believe me, and strike me dead ! I will myself at different times overlook and affront her in the stable, examine her as to the assault, and why she should do thees thing. When she is of the exercise I will also accost and restrain her. Remain tranquil, my friend ! When a few days shall pass much shall be changed, and she will be as another. Trust your oncle to do thees thing ! Comprehend me ? Everything shall be lovely, and the goose hang high ! ' Conformably with this he * overlooked ' her the next day, with a cigarette between his yellow- 238 253 delighted. But I was the more astonished that the usually sensitive horse not only submitted to these caresses, but actually responded to the extent of affecting to nip my mistress's little right ear. This was enough for the impulsive Consuelo. She ran hastily into the house, and in a few moments reappeared in a bewitching riding-skirt gathered round her jimp waist. In vain Enriquez and myself joined in earnest entreaty ; the horse was hardly broken for even a man's riding yet ; the saints alone could tell what the nervous creature might do with a woman's skirt flapping at her side ! We begged for delay, for reflection, for at least time to change the saddle but with no avail ! Consuelo was determined, indignant, distressingly reproachful ! Ah, well ! if Don Pancho (an in- genious diminutive of my Christian name) valued his horse so highly if he were jealous of the evident devotion of the animal to herself, he would- - But here I succumbed! And then I had the felicity of holding that little foot for one brief moment in the hollow of my hand, of readjusting the skirt as she threw her knee over the saddle- horn, of clasping her tightly only half in fear- as I surrendered the reins to her grasp. And to tell the truth, as Enriquez and I fell back, although I had insisted upon still keeping hold of the end 254 1 CHU CHU! of the riata, it was a picture to admire. The petite figure of the young girl, and the graceful folds of her skirt, admirably harmonised with Chu Chu's lithe contour, and as the mare arched her slim neck and raised her slender head under the pressure of the reins, it was so like the lifted velvet-capped toreador crest of Consuelo herself, that they seemed of one race. * I would not that you should hold the riata! said Consuelo, petulantly. I hesitated Chu Chu looked, certainly, very amiable I let go. She began to amble towards the gate, not mincingly as before, but with a freer and fuller stride. In spite of the incongruous saddle the young girl's seat was admirable. As they neared the gate she cast a single mischievous glance at me, jerked at the rein, and Chu Chu sprang into the road at a rapid canter. I watched them fearfully and breathlessly, until at the end of the lane I saw Consuelo rein in slightly, wheel easily, and come flying back. There was no doubt about it ; the horse was under perfect control. Her second subjugation was complete and final ! Overjoyed and bewildered, I overwhelmed them with congratulations ; Enriquez alone re- taining the usual brotherly attitude of criticism and a superior toleration of a lover's enthusiasm. 255 I ventured to hint to Consuelo (in what I believed was a safe whisper) that Chu Chu only showed my own feelings towards her. k Without doubt,' responded Enriquez, gravely. ' She have ot herself assist you to climb to the tree to pull to yourself the berry for my sister.' But I felt Consuelo's little hand return my pressure, and I forgave and even pitied him. From that day forward Chu Chu and Consuelo were not only firm friends but daily companions. In my devotion I would have presented the horse to the young girl, but with flattering delicacy she preferred to call it mine. ' I shall erride it for you, Pancho,' she said ; ' I shall feel,' she continued, with exalted although somewhat vague poetry, 4 that it is of you \ You lofe the beast it is therefore of a necessity you, my Pancho ! It is your soul I shall erride like the wings of the wind your lofe in this beast shall be my only cavalier for ever.' I would have preferred something whose vicarious qualities were less uncertain than I still felt Chu Chu's to be, but I kissed the girl's hand submissively. It was only when I attempted to accompany her in the flesh, on another horse, that I felt the full truth of my instinctive fears. Chu Chu would not permit anyone to approach her mistress's side. My mounted presence re- vived in her all her old blind astonishment and 256 < CHU CHUr disbelief in my existence ; she would start sud- denly, face about, and back away from me in utter amazement, as if I had been only recently created, or with an affected modesty as if I had been just guilty of some grave indecorum towards her sex which she really could not stand. The frequency of these exhibitions in the public highway were not only distressing to me as a simple escort, but as it had the effect on the casual spectators of making Consuelo seem to participate in Chu Chu's objections, I felt that, as a lover, it could not be borne. Any attempt to coerce Chu Chu ended in her running away. And my frantic pursuit of her was open to equal misconstruction. ' Go it, Miss, the little dude is gainin' on you ! ' shouted by a drunken teamster to the frightened Consuelo once checked me in mid career. Even the dear girl herself saw the uselessness of my real presence, and after a while was content to ride with * my soul.' Notwithstanding this, I am not ashamed to say that it was my custom, whenever she rode out, to keep a slinking and distant surveillance of Chu Chu on another horse, until she had fairly settled down to her pace. A little nocl of Consuelo's round black-and-red toreador hat, or a kiss tossed from her riding- whip, was reward enough ! I remember a pleasant afternoon when I was 1 CHU CHUf 257 thus awaiting her in the outskirts of the village. The eternal smile of the California!! summer had begun to waver and grow less fixed ; dust lay thick on leaf and blade ; the dry hills were clothed in russet leather ; the trade winds were shifting to the south with an ominous warm humidity : a few days longer and the rains would be here. It so chanced that this afternoon my seclusion on the roadside was accidentally invaded by a village belle a Western young lady somewhat older than myself, and of a flirtatious reputation. As she persistently and as I now have reason to believe mischievously lingered, I had only a passing glimpse of Consuelo riding past at an unaccustomed speed which surprised me at the moment. But as I reasoned later that she was only trying to avoid a merely formal meeting, I thought no more about it. It was not until I called at the house to fetch Chu Chu at the usual hour, and found that Consuelo had not yet re- turned, that a recollection of Chu Chu's furious pace again troubled me. An hour passed it was getting towards sunset, but there were no signs of Chu Chu nor her mistress. I became seriously alarmed. I diet not care to reveal my fears to the family, for I felt myself responsible for Chu Chu. At last I desperately saddled my horse, and gal- loped off in the direction she had taken. It was s 258 1 CHU CHUf the road to Rosario and the hacienda of one of her relations, where she sometimes halted. The road was a very unfrequented one, twisting like a mountain river ; indeed, it was the bed of an old watercourse, between brown hills of wild oats, and debouching at last into a broad blue lake-like expanse of alfalfa meadows. In vain I strained my eyes over the monotonous level ; nothing appeared to rise above or move across it. In the faint hope that she might have lingered at the hacienda, I was spurring on again, when I heard a slight splashing on my left. I looked around. A broad patch of fresher-coloured herb- age and a cluster of dwarfed alders indicated a hidden spring. I cautiously approached its quaggy edges, when I was shocked by what appeared to be a sudden vision ! Mid-leg deep in the centre of a greenish pool stood Chu Chu ! But without a strap or buckle of harness upon her as naked as when she was foaled. For a moment I could only stare at her in bewildered terror. Far from recognising me, she seemed to be absorbed in a nymph like contem- plation of her own graces in the pool. Then I called ' Consuelo ! ' and galloped frantically around the spring. But there was no response, nor was there anything to be seen but the all-unconscious Chu Chu. The pool, thank Heaven ! was not IN THE CENTRE OF A GREENISH POOL STOOD CHU CHU. S 2 260 265 to me) ' as to thees horse thees Chu Chu, which I have just pass why is she undress ? Surely you would not make an exposition of her to the traveller to suspect ! And if not, why so?' I tried to explain, looking at Consuelo, that Chu Chu had run away, that Consuelo had met with a terrible accident, had been thrown, and I feared had suffered serious internal injury. But to my embarrassment Consuelo maintained a half scornful silence, and an inconsistent freshness of healthful indifference, as Enriquez approached her with an engaging smile. ' Ah, yes, she have the headache and the molligrubs. She will sit on the damp stone when the gentle dew is falling. I comprehend. Meet me in the lane when the clock strike nine ! But,' in a lower voice, * of thees undress horse I comprehend nothing ! Look you it is sad and strange.' He went off to fetch Chu Chu, leaving me and Consuelo alone. I do not think I ever felt so utterly abject and bewildered before in my life. Without knowing why, I was miserably conscious of having in some way offended the girl forw r hom I believed I would have given my life, and I had made her and myself ridiculous in the eyes of her brother. I had again failed in my slower Western nature to understand her high romantic Spanish 266 271 at certain points of the road to dismount and walk beside Chu Chu (who did not seem to recognise me on foot), holding Consuelo's hand in my own, with the discreet Enriquez leading my horse in the distant field. I retain a very vivid picture of that walk the ascent of a gentle slope towards a prospect as yet unknown, but full of glorious possibilities ; the tender dropping light of an autumn sky, slightly filmed with the promise of the future rains, like foreshadowed tears, and the half-frightened, half-serious talk into which Consuelo and I had insensibly fallen. And then, I don't know how it happened, but as we reached the summit Chu Chu suddenly reared, wheeled, and the next moment was flying" back along the road we "had just travelled, at the top of her speed ! It might have been that, after her abstracted fashion, she only at that moment detected my presence, but so sudden and complete was her evolution that before I could regain my horse from the astonished Enriquez she was already a quarter of a mile on the homeward stretch, with the frantic Consuelo pulling hopelessly at the bridle. We started in pursuit. But a horrible despair seized us. To attempt to overtake her, to even follow at the same rate of speed, would not only excite Chu Chu, but endanger Consuelo's life. There was absolutely no help for it, nothing CHU CHU RETURNS TO THE WILD HORSES. 'CHU CHU!> 273 could be done ; the mare had taken her deter- mined, long, continuous stride, the road was a straight, steady descent all the way back to the village, Chu Chu had the bit between her teeth, and there was no prospect of swerving her. We could only follow hopelessly, idiotically, furiously, until Chu Chu dashed triumphantly into the Saltellos' courtyard, carrying the half-fainting Consuelo back to the arms of her assembled and astonished family. It was our last ride together. It was the last I ever saw of Consuelo before her transfer to the safe seclusion of a convent in Southern California. It was the last I ever saw of Chu Chu, who in the confusion of that rencontre was overlooked in her half-loosed harness, and allowed to escape through the back gate to the fields. Months afterwards it was said that she had been identified among a band of wild horses in the Coast Range, as a strange and beautiful creature who had escaped the brand of the rodeo and had become a myth. There was another legend that she had been seen, sleek, fat, and gorgeously caparisoned, issuing from the gateway of the Rosario /#//0, before a lumbering Spanish cabriold in which a short, stout matron was seated but I will have none of it. For there are days when she still lives, and I can see her plainly still climbing the gentle slope 274 'CHU CHUf towards the summit, with Consuelo on her back, and myself at her side, pressing eagerly forward towards the illimitable prospect that opens in 'the distance. Sfiottisicoode d- Co. Printers, New-street Square, London [Sept. 1894. 3ltst of SSooits CHATTO & WINDUS _ 214, Piccadilly, London, W. _ ABOUT. THE FELLAH: An Egyptian Novel. By EDMOND ABOUT. Translated by Sir RANDAL ROBERTS. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 5is. ADAMS~(WrDA VENPORT), WORKS BY. A DICTIONARY OP THE DRAMA : The Plays, Playwrights, Players, and Playhouses of the United Kingdom and America. Cr. 8vo, half-bound, 12s. till. [Preparing. _ QUIPS AND QUIDDJTIES. Selected by W. D. ADAMS. Post 8vo, cloth limp, i>. 6tl. AGONY COLUMN (THE) OF "THE TIMES," from 1800 to 1870. Edited, with an Introduction, by ALICE_CLAY. Post 8vo, cloth limp, ga. 6i. __ CARR OFJARRLYN , iltasrted boards, 2s. each. CONFIDENCES. ALBERT. BROOKE FINCHLEY'S DAUGHTER. By MARY ALBERT. Post 8vo, picture boards, tls. ;_cloth limp, tja. Od. ALMN7 A"LOST"SOUL7^By wriTALDEN. Fcap. 8vo, cl. bds., is. 6d. ALEXANDER (MRS.), NOVELS BY." Pst 8to, illustrated boards, 54s. each] MAID, JWIFE, OR WIDOW ? | VALERIE'S FATE. ALLEN (F. MO". GREEN AS GRASS. By F. M. ALLEN, Author of "Through Green Glasses." Frontispiece by ]. SMYTH. Cr. 8vo, cloth ex., 3*. l. ARNOLD CEDWIN LESTER), WORKS~lYT~ THE WONDERFUL ADVENTURES OF PHRA THE PHCENICIAN. With 12 Illusts by H. M. PAGET. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, J{s. !. AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS, WITH THE DATES: Being the Appendices to ' The Reader's Handbook," separately printed. Crown Svo, cloth limp, 2*. A DICTIONARY OF MIRACLES. Crown _8vo 1 clgth^gM;a L ya.j>d. _________ __ BREWSTER (SIR DAVID), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cl. ex., 4s. oi. each. MORE WORLDS THAN ONE: Creed of Philosopher and Hope of Christian. Plates. THE MARTYRS OF SCIENCE: GALILEO,TYCHO BRAKE, and KEPLER. With Portraits. LETTERS ON NATURAL MAGIC. With numerg_us_Illustrations. _ T^OT^ A FINE ART. By BRILLAT- SAVARIN, Translated by R. E. ANDERSON, M.A. Post Svo, half-bound, 2s. BOOKS PUBLISHED BY BRET HARTE, WORKS BY. LIBRARY EDITION. In Seven Volumes, crown 8vo, cloth extra, Os. each. BRET HARTE'S COLLECTED WORKS. Arranged and Revised by the Author. Vol. I. COMPLETE POETICAL AND DRAMATIC WORKS. With Steel Portrait. Vol. II. LUCK OF ROARING CAMP BOHEMIAN PAPERS AMERICAN LEGENDS. Vol. III. TALES OF THE ARGONAUTS EASTERN SKETCHES. Vol. IV. GABRIEL CONROY. | Vol. V. STORIES CONDENSED NOVELS, &c. Vol. VI. TALES OK THE PACIFIC SLOPE. Vol. VII. TALES OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE II. With Portrait by JOHN PETTIE, R.A, Vol. VIII. TALES OF THE PINE ANDJTHE CYPRESS. THE SELECT WORKS OF BRET HARTE, inTrose and Poetry With Introductory Essay by ]. M. HELLEW, Portrait of Author, and 50 Illusts. Cr 8vo cl ex 7s. Od. BRET HARTE'S POETICAL WORKS. Hand-made paper & buckram. Cr.8vo,4s.Od. THE QUEEN OF THE PIRATE ISLE. With 28 original Drawings by KATK GREENAWAY, reproduced in Colours by EDMUND EVANS. Small 4to, cloth, 5s. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, tfs. Od. each. A WAIF OF THE PLAINS. With 60 Illustrations by STANLEY L. WOOD. A WARD OF THE GOLDEN GATE. With 59 Illustrations by STANLEY L WOOD. A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS, &c. With Two Illustrations by HUME NISBET. COLONEL STARBOTTLE'S CLIENT, AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE. With a Frontispiece by FRED. BARNARD. SUSY: A Novel. With Frontispiece and Vignette by ]. A. CHRISTIE. BALLY DOWS, &c. With 47 Illustrations by W, D. ALMOND, &c. A PROTEGEE OF JACK HAMLIN'S. With 26 Illustrations by W SMALL &c THE BELL-RINGER OF ANGEL'S, &c. 39 Illusts. by DUDLEY HARDY, &c. [Shortly. Post bvo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. GABRIEL CONROY. I THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP, &c. AN HEIRESS OF RED DOG, &c. | CALIFORNIAN STORIES. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. Od. each. FLIP. | MARUJA. | A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS. Fcap. 8vo, picture cover, Is. each. SNOW-BOUND AT EA_GLE'S.__ _J JEFF BRIGGS'S LOYE STORY. BRYDGES.- UNCLE SAM AT HOME. By HAROLD IBRYDQES. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ; cloth limp, 2s. Od. MClffifAN T S~(ROBERT) r~WORKS7"c7own 8vo, cloth extra, Os. eachT~ SELECTED POEMS OF ROBERT BUCHANAN. With Frontispiece by T. DALZIEL. THE EARTHQUAKE; or, Six Days and a Sabbath. THE CITY OF DREAM: An Epic Poem. With Two Illustrations by P. MACNAB. THE WANDERING JEW ; A Christmas Carol. Second Edition. THE OUTCAST : A Rhyme for the "Time. With 15 Illustrations by RUDOLF BLIND, PF.TER MACNAB, and HUME NISBET. Small demy Hvo, cloth extra, Ss. ROBERT BUCHANAN'S COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. With Steel-plate Por- trait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Od. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, J5s. 6d. each ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. A CHILD OF NATURE. Frontispiece. GOD AND THE MAN. With n Illus- trations by FRED. BARNARD. THE MARTYRDOM OF MADELINE. With Frontispiece by A. W. COOPER. LOVE ME FOR EVER. ANNAN WATER. | FOXGLOVE MANOR. THE NEW ABELARD. MATT : A Story of a Caravan. Front. THE MASTER OF THE MINE. Front. THE HEIR OF LINNE. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3*. Od. each. WOMAN AND THE MAN. _ ! RED AND WHITE HEATHER. RACHEL DENE. Two Vols.. crown Hvo^loth^lOs.jiet. _ [Stirrf'y. BURTON (CAPTAIN). -THE~BpOK OF f HE~SWORD. By RICHARD F. BURTON. With over 400 Illustrations. Demy 4to, cloth ext'-a. 152s. BURT6ITTROBERT). THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Od. MELANCHOLY ANATOMISED. Abridgment of BURTON'S ANAT. Post 8vo. 2s. Od. PAINE (f . HALL), NOVELS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Od. each; post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each ; cloth limp, 2s. Od. each. SHADOW OF A CRIME. | A SON OF HAGAR. |^HEJ)EEMSTJER. CAMERON (COMMANDER). THE CRUISE OF THE~" BLACK PRINCE" PRIVATEER. By V. LOVETT CAMERON, R^N^ Post bvo.J>oards, 2s. CAMERON (MRS. H.LOVETT), NOVELS BY. Post8v ,iir us t.bd S ;;2 S .each. JULIET'S GUARDIAN. 1 DECEIVERS EVER. CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. CARLYLE (THOMAS) ON THE CHOICE OF BOOKS. With Life by R. H. SHEPHERD, and Three Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth extra, Is. Od. CORRESPONDENCE OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND R. W. EMERSON, 1834 to 1872. Edited by C. E. NORTON. With Portraits. Two Vols., crown 8vo. cloth, 24s. CARLYLE (JME^ELSH)rLrFE~6F. By Mrs. ALEXANDER IRELAND^ With Portrait and Facsimile Letter. Small demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7 ft. ttd. CHAPMAN'S (GEORGfETWORKS^Voi;T7Plays. Vol. IlTTPoems and Minor Translations, with Essay by A. C. SWINBURNE. Vol. III., Translations of the Iliad and Odyssey. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth, 6s. each. CHATTO AND ^^^JACKSON.^^ TRETTISE ^ By W^A. CHATTO and J. JACKSON. With 450 fine Illusts. Large 4to. hf.-bd., 28s. CHAUCER "FOR~CHrLD]R r ENTA~Golden Key. By Mrs. H. R. HAWEIS. With 8 Coloured Plates and 30 Woodcuts. Small 4to, cloth extra, 3s. d. each. _^THEJRED SULTAN. | THE BURDEN OF ISABEL. {Shortly. COLEMAtRJOHN), WORKS BY. PLAYERS AND PLAYWRIGHTS I HAVE KNOWN. Two Vols., 8vo, cloth, 24s. __C_y RLY; An Actor's Story. With 21 Illusts. by J. C. DOLLMAN. Cr. Svo, cl., Is. 6d. COLERIDGE. THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS. By M7^~ COLERIDGE. Fcap. Svo, cloth, Is. Od. SINISTER. Post 8vo, 2s~ COLLINS (MORTIMER AND FRANCES), NOVELS BY. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 3s. <>!. each ; post Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. FROM MIDNIGHT TO MIDNIGHT. | BLACKSMITH AND SCHOLAR. TRANSMIGRATION. | YOU PLAY ME FALSE. | A VILLAGE COMEDY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. SWEET ANNE PAGE. | FIGHT WITH FORT UNE. | SWEET & TWENTY. | FRANCES. COLLINS (WILKIE), NOVELS BY. Cr. Svo, cl. ex., 3s. tl. each ; post Svo, illust. bds., 2s. each ; cl. limp, 2s. Otl. each. ANTONINA. With a Frontispiece by Sir JOHN GILBERT, R.A. BASIL. Illustrated by Sir JOHN GILBERT, R.A., and J. MAHONEY. HIDE AND SEEK. Illustrated by Sir JOHN GILBERT, R.A. , and J. MAHONHY. AFTER DARK. Illustrations by A. B. HOUGHTON. | THE TWO DESTINIES. THE DEAD SECRET. With a Frontispiece by Sir JOHN GILBERT, R.A. QUEEN OF HEARTS. With a Frontispiece by Sir JOHN GILBERT, R.A. THE WOMAN IN WHITE. With Illusts. by Sir J. GILBERT, R. A., and F. A. FRASER. NO NAME. With Illustrations by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, R.A., and A. W. COOPER. MY MISCELLANIES. With a Steel-plate Portrait of WILKIE COLLINS. ARMADALE. With Illustrations by G. H. THOMAS. THE MOONSTONE. With Illustrations by G. Du MAURIER and F. A. FRASER. MAN AND WIFE. With Illustrations by WILLIAM SMALL. POOR MISS FINCH. Illustrated by G. Du MAURIER and EDWARD HUGHES. MISS OR MRS.? With Illusts. by S. L. FILDES, R.A., and HENRY WOODS, A.R.A. THE NEW MAGDALEN. Illustrated by G. Du MAURIER and C. S. REINHARDT. THE FROZEN DEEP. Illustrated by G. Du MAURIER and J. MAHONEY. THE LAW AND THE LADY. Illusts. by S. L. FILDES, R.A., and SYDNEY HALL. THE HAUNTED HOTEL. Illustrated bv ARTHUR HOPKINS. THE FALLEN LEAVES. JEZEBEL'S DAUGHTER. THE BLACK ROBE. HEART AND SCIENCE. SAY NO.' A ROGUE'S LIFE. THE EVIL GENIUS. LITTLE NOVELS. THE LEGACY OF CAIN. BLIND LOVE. With Preface by WALTER BKSANT, and Illusts. by A. FORESTIER. _ THE WOMAN INJWHITE. "Popular KditTon7~M^Hum 8vo, 61. ; doth. COLLINS (JOHN CHURTON, JO:),~BOOKS BY. ILLUSTRATIONS OF TENNYSON. Crown Svo, cloth extra, (is. JONATHAN SWIFT : A Biographical and Critical Study. r,own8vo, cloth extra, BOOKS PUBLISHED BY COLMAN'S (GEORGE) HUMOROUS WORKS: "Broad Grins," "My _ Nightgown and Slippers," &c. With Life and Fronds. Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 7s. Oil. COLQUHOUN.-EVERY INCH A SOLDIER : A Novel. By M. J. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 5s. CONVALESCENT COOKERY: A Family Handbook. By CATHERINE RYAN. Crown 8vo, Is.; cloth limp, Is. (id. CON WAY (MONCURE D.), WORKS BY. DEMONOLOGY AND DEVIL-LORE. 65 Illustrations. Two Vols., 8vo, cloth, 2Ss. GEORGE WASHINGTON'S RULES OF CIVILITY. Fcap. 8vo, Jap, vellum, 3s. (id. COOK (DUTTON), NOVELS BY. PAUL FOSTER'S DAUGHTER. Cr. 8vo, cl. ex., 3s. 6d.; post Svo.illust. boards, 2s. LEO. Post 8vo. illustrated boards, 3s. _ COOPER (EDWARD H.) GEOFFORY HAMILTON. Cr. 8vo, 3sT6d. CORNWALL. POPULAR ROMANCES^CfF THE WEST OF ENG- LAND ; or, The Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions of Old Cornwall. Collected by ROBERT HUNT, F.R.S. Two^Steel-plates by GEO.CRUIKSHANK. Cr.Svo, cl.,7s. (id. COTES. TWO GIRLS ON A BARGE. By V. CECIL Co~ris7~Wth 44 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. Post 8vo, cloth> 3s. (il. _ CRADDOCK (C. EGBERT), STORIES BT7~ PROPHET of the GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAINS. Post 8vo,illust.bds.,2s.; cl., ga.tid. HIS VANISHED STAR. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. (id. _ [Shortly. CRELLIN (H. N.), BOOKS BY. ROMANCES of the OLD SERAGLIO. 28 Illusts. by S. L. WOOD. Cr. 8vo, cl., 3s. 6d. THE NAZARENES : A Drama. Crown 8vo, Is. CRIMT^ADVENTURES OF A FAIR REBEL. By MATT CRIM. With a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. (id. ; )%ost Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. CROKE^TBJil.), NOVELS BY\ Crown Svo.cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; post Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. (id. each. PRETTY MISS NEVILLE. I DIANA HARRINGTON. A BIRD OF PASSAGE. PROPER PRIDE. A FAMILY LIKENESS. | "TO LET." MR.FERYIS. Three Vols., crown Svo, cloth, l&s. nett. _ COMIC ALMANACK. Complete in Two SERIES : The FIRST from 1835 to 1843; the SECOND from 1844 to 1853. A Gathering of the BEST HWMOUR of THACKERAY, HOOD, MAYHEW, ALBERT SMITH, A'BECKETT, ROBERT BROUGH, &c. With numerous Steel Engravings and Woodcuts by CRUIK- SHANK, HINE, LANDELLS, &c. Two Vols., crown 8vp, cloth gilt, 7s. (id. each THE LIFE OF GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. By BLANCHARD JERROLD. With 84 Illustrations and a Bibliography. Crown Svo, cloth extra, (is. _ CUMMING (C. F. GORDON), WORKS BY. Demy 8vo, cl. ex., Ss. Cd. each. IN THE HEBRIDES. With Autotype Facsimite and 23 Illustrations. IN THE HIMALAYAS AND ON THE INDIAN PLAINS. With 42 Illustrations. TWO HAPPY YEARS IN CEYLON. With 28 Illustrations. VIA CORNWALL TO EGYPT. With Photogravure Frontis. Demy Svo. cl., 7s. (id. CUSSANS. A HANDBOOK OFTlERALDRY'; with Instructions"^ Tracing Pedigrees and Deciphering Ancient MSS., &c. By JOHN E. CUSSA-NS. With 408 Woodcuts and 2 Coloured Plates. Fourth edition, revised, crown Svo, cloth, (ia. CYPLES(W.) HEARTS of GOLD. Cr.Svo, d.^s.Gd.; post8vo,bds.,2s. TVANIEL. MERRIE f NGLAND IN THE OLDEN TIME. By GEORGE DANIEL. With Illustrations by ROBKRT CRUIKSHANK. Crown Svo. cloth extra. :$M. d. ; pbst 8v0, i|lustrated boards, 3s. DTVlWON^^RT~SAl)T^^ B)mFGirc^Ii^TN DAVIDSON. With a Frontispiece. Crown Svo, cloth extra, JJs. (id. ETTORR ONE THOUSAND MEDICAL MAXIMS AND SURGICAL HINTS. NURSERY HINTS: A Mother's Guide in Health and Disease. FOODS FOR THE FAT: A Treatise on Corpulency, and a Dietary for its Cure. AIDS TO LON& LIFE. Crova) bvo, .'is, ; cTotiTlimp, 2s. (id. CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. DA VIES' (SIR JOHN) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS, for the first time Collected and Edited, with Memorial-Introduction and Notes, by the Rev. A. B. GROSART, D.D. Two Vols.. crown 8vo. cloth boards, 12s. DAWSON. THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH. By ERASMUS DAWSON, M.B. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, I5. Gd. ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. DE GUERIN.-THET6URNAL"^F MAURICE DE GUERIN. Edited by G. S. TREBUTIEN. With a Memoir by SAINTE-BEUVE. Translated from the 2oth French Edition by JESSIE P. FROTHINGHAM. Fcap, 8vo, half-bound, 2s. Gd. DE MAISTRE.-^A JOURNEY ROUND MY ROOM. By XAVIER DE MAISTRE. Translated by HENRY ATTWELL. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. Gd. DE MILLE. ATCASTLE IN SPAIN. By JAMES DE MILLE. With a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Ss. Gd.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. D^l^^^y^T^E"^LUE RIBBON OF THE TURF. With Brief Accounts of THE OAKS. By Louis HENRY CURZON. Cr. 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. Gd. DERWENT (LEITH), NOVELS BY. Cr.8vo,ci., :j*.Gd. ea . ; post 8vo,bds.,a.ea. OUR LADY OF TEARS. | CIRCE'S LOVERS. DEWAR. A RAMBLE ROUND THE GLOBE. By T. R. DEWAR. With 220 Illustrations by W. L. WYLLIE, A.R.A., SYDNEY COWELL, A. S. FORREST, S. L. WOOD, JAMES GREIG, &c. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. [Shortly. DICKENS (CHARLES), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo. illustrated boards, 3s. each~ SKETCHES BY BOZ. I NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. THE PICKWICK PAPERS. | OLIVE RJT WIST. THE SPEECHES OF CHARLES DICKENS, 1841-1870. With a New Bibliography. Edited by RICHARD HERNE SHEPHERD. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. Gs. ABOUT ENGLAND WITH DICKENS. By ALFRED RIMMER. With 57 Illustrations by C. A. VANDERHOOF, ALFRED RIMMER, and others. Sq. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. DICTIONARIES. A DICTIONARY OP MIRACLES: Imitative, Realistic, and Dogmatic. By the Rev. E. C. BREWER, LL.D. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 7s. Gd. THE READER'S HANDBOOK OF ALLUSIONS, REFERENCES, PLOTS, AND STORIES. By the Rev. E. C. BREWER, LL.D. With an ENGLISH BIBLIOGRAPHY. Fifteenth Thousand. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. AUTHORS AND THEIR WORKS, WITH THE DATES. Cr. 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. FAMILIAR SHORT SAYINGS OF GREAT MEN. With Historical and Explana- tory Notes. By SAMUEL A. BENT, A.M. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 7s. Gil. SLANG DICTIONARY : Etymological, Historical, and Anecdotal. Cr. 8vo, cl., 6s. Gd. WOMEN OF THE DAY: A Biographical Dictionary. By F. HAYS. Cr. 8vo, cl., 5s. WORDS, FACTS, AND PHRAM5ES: A Dictionary of Curious, Quaint, and Out-ot- the- Way Matters. By ELIEZER EDWARDS. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. DIDEROT. THE PARADOX OF ACTING. Translated, with Annota- tions, from Diderot's " Le Paradoxe sur leComedien," by WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK. With a Preface by HENRY IRVING. Crown 8vo, parchment, 4s. Gtl. DOBSON (AUSTIN), WORKS BY. THOMAS BEWICK & HIS PUPILS. With 95 Illustrations. Square 8vo, cloth. Gs. FOUR FRENCHWOMEN. With 4 Portraits. Crown bvo, buckram, gilt top, Gs. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY VIGNETTES. Two SERIES. Cr. 8vo, buckram, Gs. each. DOBSON (W. T.)-POETICAL INGENUITIES AND ECCENTRICI- TIES. Post bvo, cloth limp, 2s. Gd. DONOVAN (DICK), DETECTIVE STORIES BY. Post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2s. each; cloth limp, 2s. Gd. each. THE MAN-HUNTER. | WANTED! CAUGHT AT LAST! TRACKED AND TAKEN. WHO POISONED HETTY DUNCAN? A DETECTIVE'S TRIUMPHS. IN THE GRIP OF THE LAW. FROM INFORMATION RECEIVED. LINK BY LINK. SUSPICION AROUSED. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. Gd. each ; post 8vo, boards, 2s. each ; cloth, 2s. Gd. each. THE MAN FROM MANCHESTER. With 23 Illustrations. TRACKED TO DOOM. With 6 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. DOYLE (CONAN).-THE FIRM OF GIRDLESTONK By A. CONAN DOYLE, Author of " Micah Clarke." Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. Gd. BOOKS PUBLISHED BY DRAMATISTS, THE OLD. With Vignette Portraits. Cr.8vo.cl. ex., fis. per Vol. BEN JONSON'S WORKS. With Notes Critical and Explanatory, and a Bio- graphical Memoir by WM. GIFFORD. Edited by Col. CUNNINGHAM. Three Vols. CHAPMAN'S WORKS. Complete in Three Vols. Vol. I. contains the Plays complete; Vol. II., Poems and Minor Translations, with an Introductory Essay by A. C. SWINBURNE ; Vol. III., Translations of the Iliad and Odyssey. MARLOWE'S WORKS. Edited, with Notes, by Col. CUNNINGHAM. One Vol. MASSINGER'S PLAYS. From GiFFORp'sText. Edit by COI.CUNNINGHAM. OneVol. IHJNMNlOSAiO~Er^ Cr. 8vo, cl., 7s. ttd. each. A SOCIAL DEPARTURE: How Orthodocia and I Went round the World by Our- selves. With in Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. AN AMERICAN GIRL IN LONDON. With 80 Illustrations by F. H. TOWNSEND. THE SIMPLE ADVENTURES OF A MEMSAHIB. Illustrated by F. H. TOWNSEND. A DAUGHTER OF TO-DAY. Two Vols., crown 8vo, JOs. net. YERNON'S AUNT. With 4? Illustr.by HAL HURST. Cr.8vo,cl. ex., 3.6d. [Shortly. DYER. THE FOLK-LORE OF PLANTS. By Rev. T. F. THISELTON DYER, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Os. J7ARLY ENGLISH POETS. Edited, with Introductions and Annota- tions, by Rev. A. B.GROSART, D.D. Crown 8vo, cloth boards, tts. per Volume. FLETCHER'S (GILES) COMPLETE POEMS. One Vol. DAYIES' (SIR JOHN) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Two Vols. HERRICK'S (ROBERT) COMPLETE COLLECTED POEMS. Three Vols. SIDNEY'S (SIR PHILIP) COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Three Vols. EDGCUMBE.ZEPHYRUSrA Holiday in "Brazifand on the River Plate. By E. R. PKARCE KDGCUMBE. With 41 Illustrations. Crown 8vo,_cloth extra, 5s. EDISON, TH~ELlFE& INVENTIONS "OF ' TH^OMAS^A7^y^vTK.T^nd A. DICKSON. 250 Illusts. by R. F. OUTCALT, &c. Demy 4to, linen gilt> ISs. [Shortly. EDWARDES (MRS. ANNIE), NOVELS BY : A POINT OF HONOUR. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ARCHIE LOVELL. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 8s. 6i:j_post Svp^ Illust. boards, 2s._ EDWARDS (ELIEZER). WORDS, FACTS, AND PHRASES: A Dictionary of Quaint Matters. By ELIEZER EDWARDS. Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. Gl. EDWARDSlMrBETHAM^ NOVELOTT" KITTY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, Us. ; cloth limp, iis. Gel. FELICIA. Post 8vo. illustrated boards, gg. EGERTON. SU SSEOOLK & SUSSEX WAYS. By Rev. J . C. EGERTON. With Introduction by Rev. Dr. H. WAGE, and 4 Illustrations. Cr. 8vo, cloth ex., 5s. EGGLESTOlT(EDWARD). ROXY : A NovelTPost 8vo, illustTbds. , 2s~. ENGLISHMAN'S HOUSE, THE: A Practical Guide to all interested in Selecting or Building a House ; with Estimates of Cost, Quantities, &c. By C. I. RICHARDSON. With Coloured Frontispiece and 600 Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth, 7s. tttl. EWALiTCALEXTCHARLES, F.S.A.), WORKS~BYT~ THE LIFE AND TIMES OF PRINCE CHARLES STUART, Count of Albany (THE YOUNG PRETENDER). With a Portrait. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. ! . FARADAY (MICHAEL), WORKS BY. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 4. d. each. THE CHEMICAL HISTORY OF A CANDLE: Lectures delivered before a Juvenile Audience. Edited bv WILLIAM CROOKES. F.C.S. With numerous Illustrations ON THE VARIOUS FORCES OF NATURE, AND THEIR RELATIONS TO EACH OTHER. Edited by WILLIAM CROOKES. F.C.S. With Illustrations. FARRER (J. ANSON), WORKS BY. MILITARY MANNERS AND CUSTOMS. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. WAR t Three Essays, reprinted from " Military Manners." Cr. 8vo, Is. ; cl.. Is. 6d. NN (G. MANVILLE), NOVELS BY. THE NEW MISTRESS. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, .'{s. Cl. each. WITNESS TO THE DEED. 1 THE TIGER LILY. I THE WHITE VIRGIN. IShortlv. CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. g FIN-BEG. THE CUPBOARD PAPERS : Observations on the ArTof Living and Dining. By FIN-BEC. Post 8vo. cloth limp, 2s. 6d. FIREWORKS, THE COMPLETE ART OF MAKING ; or, The Pyro- technist's Treasury. By THOMAS KENTISH. With 267 Illustration*. Cr. 8vo. cl.. 5. FIRST BOOK, MY. By WALTER BESANT, J. K. JEROME, R. L,. STEVEN- SON, and others. With a Prefatory Story by JEROME K. JEROME, and nearly 200 Illustrations. Small demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. <>!. FITZGERALDlPERCY, M.A., F7S.A.), WORKS BY. THE WORLD BEHIND THE SCENES. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 61. LITTLE ESSAYS: Passages from Letters of CHARLES LAMB. Post 8vo, cl., 2s. 6d. A DAY'S TOUR: Tourney through France and Belgium. With Sketches. Cr. 410, Is. FATAL ZERO. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6i. ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. Post 8vo7illustr?ted boarrfsT2s. each. BELLA DONNA. I LADY OP BRANTOME. I THE SECOND MRS. TIJT.LOTSON. POLLY. I NEVER FORGOTTEN, j SEVENTY-FIVE BROOKE STREET. LIFE OF JAMES BOSWELL (of Auchinleck/r With an Account of his Sayings, Domes, and Writings; and Four Portraits. Two Vols., demy 8vo, cloth, 24s. THE SAVOY OPERA. With 60 Illustrations and Portraits. Cr. 8vo, cloth, 3s. <>!. FLAMMARION (CAMILlE), WORKS BY. POPULAR ASTRONOMY: A General Description of the Heavens. Trans, by J. E. GORE, F.R.A.S. With 3 Plates and 2b8 Illusts. Medium 8vo, cloth, 16*. [Shortly. URANIA : A Romance. With 87 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. FLETCHER'S (GIIJIS, p.D.) COMPLETE POEMS : Christ's Victoria in Heaven, Christ's Victorie on Earth, Christ's Triumph over Death, and Minor Poems. With Notes by Rev. A. B. GROSART, D.D. Crown 8vo, cloth boards, Os. FONBL~ANQUE(ArBANY^FlLTHYLUCRE. PostSvo.illust. bd"s72sT FRANCILLON (R. E.), NOVELS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. tid. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards. 2s. each. ONE BY ONE. | QUEEN COPHETUA. | A REAL QUEEN. | KING OR KNAVE? Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. fid. each. ROPES OF SAND. Illustrated. I JACK DOYLE'S DAUGHTER. [Shortly. A DOG AND HIS SHADOW._ OLYMPIA. PostSvo.illust. bds., 2s. | ESTHER'S GLOVE. Fcap. 8vo, pict. cover, Is. _ ROMANCES OF THE LAW. Post 8vo. illustrated boards. 2s. __ __ FREDERIC (HAROLD), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo, iilust. bds., 2s. each. SETH'S BROTHER'S WIFE. | TH ^ A ]^0^ GIRL. FRENCH LITERATURE, A HISTORY OF. By HENRY "VAN LAUN. Three Vols., demy 8vo, cloth boards, 7s. ttl. each. _ ~^ _ face by Sir BARTLK P'RERK. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. <>d. each. CIRCUS LIFE AND CIRCUS CELEBRITIES. I LIVES OF THE CONJURERS. THE OLD SHOWMEN AND THE OLD LONDON FAIRS. FRY'S (HERBERT) ROYAL GUIDE TO THE LONDON CHARITIES. Edited by JOHN LANE. Published Annually. Crown 8vo, cloth, Is. Od. HARDENING BOOKS7 Posr87o7lsre7cT^"doth')impri . . GARRETT. THE CAPEL GIRLS: A Novel. By EDWARD GARRETT. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. <>d.; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. GAUO)T. THE RED SHIRTS : A Story of the Revolution. By PAUL GAULOT. Translated by J. A. J. DE VILLIERS. Crown 8vo. cloth. 3s. 6d. GENTLEMAN'S M AGAZINE, THE. Is. Monthly. Artic!es~upon Litefa"- ture, Science and Art, and "TABLE TALK" by SYI.VANUS URBAN, appear monthly. Hmind Volumes for recent years kept in ^tock, Ss. t'ul. each. Cases for binding, 2x. Apnual l7"~" io BOOKS PUBLISHED BY GERMAN POPULAR STORIES. Collected by the Brothers GRIMM and Translateclby EDGAR TAYLOR. With Introduction by JOHN RUSKIN, and 22 Steel Plates after GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. Square 8vo, cloth, . 2. Gd. LEYS (JOHN). THE LINDSAYS : A Romance. Post 8vo,iiiust.bds~2s. LlNTON (E. LYNN), WORKS BY. Post 8 VO , cloth limp, 2s. Gd. each. WITCH STORIES. _ | OURSELVES; ESSAYS ON WOMEN. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, J?s. Gd. each; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. PATRICIA KEMBALL. | IONE. I UNDER WHICH LORD? ATONEMENT OF LEAM DUNDAS. "MY LOYE!" | SOWING THE WIND. THE WORLD WELL LOST. __ _ L^STON CAREW, Millionaire & Miser. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. THE REBEL OF THE FAMILY. I WITH A SILKEN THREAD. THE ONE TOO MANY. Crown Svo, cloth, 3s. Gd. {Shortly. __ FREESHOOTING; Extracts fron: w orks of Mrs. LINTON. Post 8vo, cloth, 2s. Gd. LONGFELLO'W'S POETTCAlTWORKS. With numerous Illustrations on Steel and Wood. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. _ LUCY. GIDEON FLEYClT: A Novel. By HENRY W. LUCY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, JJs. Gil. ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. _ MACALPmE rX^2R^~NOVELS BY. X!X TERESA ITASCA. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Is. BROKEN WINGS. With 6 Illusts. by W. ]. HENNESSY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 6s. MACCOLL (HUGH), NOVELS BY. MR. STRANGER'S SEALED PACKET. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. EDNOR WHITLOCK. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, Gs. MACDONELL.-QUAKER COUSINS : A Novel. By AGNES MACDONELL. Crown 8vo. clo^h extra. :{s. Gd. ; post Svo, illustrated boards. 2s*. MACGREGOR. PA^TIMES~AND~PLAYERS : Notes on Popular Games. By ROBERT MACGREGOR. Post 8vn cloth limp, 2. Gd. _ ; or, Music at Twilight. Bv CHARLES MACKAY, LL. I). Crown Svo, cloth extra, G*. MAGIC LANTERN, THE, and its Managemen: including full Practical Directions. By T, C. HEPWORTH, 10 Illustrations. Cr. Svo, Is. ; cloth, ls Gdt CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 15 MCCARTHY (JUSTIN, M.P.), WORKS BY. A HISTORY OF OUR OWN TIMES, from the Accession of Queen Victoria to the General Election of iSao. Four Vols. demy 8vo, cloth extra, 12s. each. Also a POPULAR EDITION, in Four Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6*. each. And a JUBILEE EDITION, with an Appendix of Events to the end of 1886, in Two Vols., ar?e crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. fid. each. A SHORT HISTORY OP OUR OWN TIMES. One Vol., crown 8vo, cloth extra, s. FleCARTHY"(JUSTIN~H.), WORKS BY. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Four Vols., 8vp, 12a. each, [Vols. I. & II. readv. AN OUTLINE OF THE HISTORY OF IRELAND. Crown 8vo, Is. ; cloth, Is. !. IRELAND SINCE THE UNION; Irish History. 1798-1886. Crown 8vo, cloth, fis. HAFIZ IN LONDON : Poems. Small 8vo,nold cloth, 3s. fid. HARLEQUINADE: Poems. _Small 410, Japanese vellum, Ss. OUR SENSATION NOYEL. Crown 8voTpicture cover, 1. ; cloth limp, Is. fid. DOOM ! An Atlantic Episode. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is. DOLLY: A Sketch. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is.; cloth limp, Is. Od. LILY LASS: A Romance. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is. ; cloth limp, Is. fid. THE THOUSAND AND ONE DAYS: Persian Tales. With 2 Photogravures by STANLEY L. WOOD. Two Vols., crown 8vo, half-bound, 12s. MACDONALD (GEORGE, LL.D.), WORKS BY. WORKS OF FANCY AND IMAGINATION. Ten Vols., cl. extra, gilt edges, in cloth case, 21s. Or the Vols. may be had separately, in grolier cl., at 2s. fid. each. Vol. I. WITHIN AND WITHOUT. THE HIDDEN LIFE. ,, II. THE DISCIPLE. THE GOSPEL WOMEN. BOOK OF SONNETS. ORGAN SONGS. III. VIOLIN SONGS. SONGS OF THE DAYS AND NIGHTS. A BOOK OF DREAMS. ROADSIDE POEMS. POEMS FOR CHILDREN. IV. PARABLES. BALLADS. SCOTCH SONGS. ,,V. & VI. PHANTASTES: A Faerie Romance. | Vol. VII. THE PORTENT. ,,VIII. THE LIGHT PRINCESS. THE GIANT'S HEART. SHADOWS. IX. CROSS PURPOSES. THE GOLDEN KEY. THE CARASOYN. LITTLE DAYLIGHT X. THE CRUEL PAINTER. THE Wow o' RIVVEN. THE CASTLE. THE BROKEN SWORDS. THE GRAY WOLF. UNCLE CORNELIUS. POETICAL WORKS OF GEORGETMACDONALD. Collected and arranged by the Author. 2 vols., crown 8vo, buckram, 12s. A THREEFOLD CORD. Edited by GEORGE MACDONALD. Post 8vo, cloth, 5s. HEATHER AND SNOW: A Novel. Crown 87o, cloth extra, 3s. fid. PHANTASTES: A Faerie Romance. A New Edition. With 25 Illustrations by J. BELL. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. fid. [Shortly. MACLISE PORTRAIT GALLERY (THE) OF ILLUSTRIOUS LITER- ARY CHARACTERS: 83 PORTRAITS; with Memoirs Biographical, Critical. Bibliographical, and Anecdotal illustrative of the Literature of the former half of the Present Century, by WILLIAM BATES, B.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Cd. MACQUOILMMRST), WORKS BY. Square 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. fid. each. IN THE ARDENNES. With 50 Illustrations by THOMAS R. MACQUOID. PICTURES AND LEGENDS FROM NORMANDY AND BRITTANY. 34 Illustrations. THROUGH NORMANDY. With 92 Illustrations byT. R. MACQUOID, and a Map. THROUGH BRITTANY. With 35 Illustrations by T. R. MACQUOID, and a Map. ABOUT YORKSHIRE. Witu 07 illustrations by T. R. MACQUOID, Square 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. THE EVIL EYE, and other .Stories. | LOST ROSE. MAGICIAN'S OWN BOOK, THE : Performances with Eggs, Hats, &c. Edited by W. H. CREMER. 20 o Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 16 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY MAGNA CHARTA: An Exact Facsimile of the Original in the British Museum, 3 feet by 2 feet, with Arras and Seals emblazoned in Gold and Colours, 5i. MALLOCK (W. H.), WORKS BY. THE NEW REPUBLIC. Post 8vo, picture cover, 2s.; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. THE NEW PAUL & VIRGINIA: Positivism on an Island. Post 8vo, cloth, s. 61. POEMS. Small 4to, parchment, 8s. IS LIFE WORTH LIVING? Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. A ROMANCE OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. Crown 8vo, cloth, 6s.; post 8\o, illustrated boards, 3s. LIALLORY'S (SIR THOMAS) MORT D' ARTHUR : The Stories of King Arthur and of the Knights of the Round Table. (A Selection.) Edited by B. MONTGOMERIE RANKING. Post 8VO, cloth limp, %S. MARKfTWATN, WORKS B~Y~~Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. Gd. each. THE CHOICE WORKS OF MARK TWAIN. Revised and Corrected throughout by the Author. With Life, Portrait, and numerous Illustrations. ROUGHING IT, and INNOCENTS AT HOME. With 2, Illusts. by F. A. FRASEI. MARK TWAIN'S LIBRARY OFJKUMOUR. With 197 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra (illustrated), 7i*T6d. each; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each. THE INNOCENTS ABROAD; or New Pilgrim's Progress. With 234 Illustrations, (The Two-bhilling Edition is entitled MARK TWAIN'S PLEASURE TRIP.) THE GILDED AGE. By MARK TWAIN and C. D. WARNER. With 212 Illustrations, THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER. With in Illustrations. A TRAMP ABROAD. With 314 Illustrations. THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER. With 190 Illustrations. LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI. With 300 Illustrations. ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN. With 174 Illusts. by E. W. KEMBLE. A YANKEE AT THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR With 220 Illusts. by BEARD. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 3s. each. THE STOLEN WHITE ELEPHANT. | MARK TWAIN'S SKETCHES. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. THE AMERICAN CLAIMANT. With 81 Illustrations by HAL HURST, &c. THE 1,000,000 BANK-NOTE, and other New Stories. TOM SAWYER ABROAD. Illustrated by DAN BEARD. PUDD'NHEAD WILSON. MARKS (H. S., R.A.), PEN AND PENCIL SKETCHES BY. With 4 Photogravures and 126 Illustrations. Two Vols., demy 8vo, cloth, 3s. [Shortly. MARLOWE'S WORKS. Including his Translations. Edited, with Notes and Introductions, by Col. CUNNINGHAM. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. MARRYAT (FLORENCE)TNOVELS~B Y. Post 8vo, must, boards, Ss.eacb, A HARVEST OF WILD OATS. I FIGHTING THE AIR. OPEN! SESAME! _ | WRITTEN IN FIRE. _ MASSINGER'S PLAYS. From the Text of WILLIAM" GIFFORD. Edited by Col. CUNNINGHAM. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. MASTERMAN.-HALF r A-DOZEN DAUGHTERSm^veL B)Tj; MASTERMAN. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. _ _ MATTHEWS. A SECRETDF THE SEA, &c. By BRAIDER MATTHEWS. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 52s. ; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. CHARACTERS AND THE HUMOROUS SIDE OF LONDON LIFE. By HENRY MAYHEW. With Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth. 3. 6d. MEADE (L. T7), NOVELS BY. A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3m. 61. {Shortly. IH AN IRON GRIP. Two Vols., crown 8vo, cloth, IPs, net. _ [Shoitly. MERRICK.-THE MAN WHO WAS GOOD. By LEONARD MERR^K, _ Author of "Violet Moses," &c. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. _ MEXICAN MUSTANG (ON A), through Texas to the Rio Grande. By A. E. SWKKT and I. ARMOY KNOX. With 265 Illusts. Cr. 8vo. cloth extra. 7rGd. MiDDLEMASS UEAN), NOVELS BY. Post svo.iiiust. boards, a. each. TOUCH AND GO. __ I MR. DORILLION. MILLER.-PHYSIOLOGY FOR THE YOUNG; or, The House of Life, By Mrs, F. FENWICP MILLER, With Illustrations. Pd. each. THE OLD MAID'S SWEETHEART. _[ MODEST LITTLE SARA. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. (id. each. TO HIS OWN MASTER. LJJLTHE FACE ^ SALA (G. A.).-GASLIGHT AND DAYLIGHT. Post _ SANSON.-SEVEN GENERATIONS OF EXECUTIONERS : Memoirs of the Sanson Family (1688 to 1847). Crown 8vo, cloth e^ra. 3*. tfd. SAUNDERSn^raffTNa^LS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s, tid. each ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. GUY WATERMAN. | THE LION IN THE PATH. | THE TWO DREAMERS. BOUND TO THE WHEEL. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. SAUNDfiRS (KATHARINE), NOVELS BY. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3. MARGARET AND ELIZABETH. I HEART SALVAGE. .f> THE HIGH MILLS. IjSEBASTIAN. " JOAN MERRYWEATHER. Post 8vo, iflustrated boards, 2s. GIDEON'S ROCK. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. lid. __ _ CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 21 SCOTLAND YARD, Past and Present : Experiences of 37 Years. By Ex-Chief-Inspector CAVANAGH. Post 8yp, illustrated boards, 2s. ; cloth, 2s. 6d. "~~ One Thousand^Tricks with Cards; with Enter- taining Experiments in Drawing-room or " White Magic." By W. H. CREMER. With 300 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. ttd. _ SEGUIN7LTG.), WORKS BY. THE COUNTRY OF THE PASSION PLAY (OBERAMMERGAU) and the Highlands of Bavaria. With Map and 37 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. (id. _ WALKS IN ALGIERS. With 2 Maps and 16 Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. SENIOR (WM.). BY STREAM AND SEA. Post 8vo, cloth. 2s. 6d. SERGEANT (A.). DR. ENDICOTT'S EXPERIMENT. 2 vols., 10s. net. SHAKESPEARE FOR CHILDREN: LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKE- SPEARE. With Illusts., coloured and plain, by J. MOYR SMITH. Cr. 4to. 3s. 6d. SHARK-CHILDREN OF TO-MORROW: A Novel. By WILLIAM SHARP. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, (is. SHELLEY^-THE'COMPLETE "WORKS IN VERSE AND PROSETOF PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. Edited, Prefaced, and Annotated by R. HERNE SHEPHERD. Five Vols., crown 8vo, cloth boards, 3s. 6d. each. POETICAL WORKS, in Three Vols. : Vol. I. Introduction by the Editor; Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson; Shelley's Corre- spondence with Stockdale; The Wandering Jew; Queen Mab, with the Notes; Alastor, and other Poems ; Rosalind and Helen : Prometheus Unbound ; Adonais, &c. Vol. II. Laon and Cythna ; The Cenci ; Julian and Maddalo ; Swellfoot the Tyrant; The Witch of Atlas; lipipsychidion: Hellas. Vol. III. Posthumous Poems; The Masque of Anarchy ; and other Pieces. PROSE WORKS, in Two Vols. : Vol. I. The Two Romances of Zastrozzi and St. Irvyne ; the Dublin and Mnrlow Pamphlets ; A Refuta- tion of Deism ;. Letters to Lcigfh Hunt, and some Minor Writings and Fragments. Vol. II. The Essays ; Letters from Abroad ; Translations and Fragments, Edited by Mrs. SHELLEY. _ With a Bibliography of Shelley, and an Index of the Prose Works. _ SHERARD (R. H.). ROGUES : A Novel, crown 8vo. is. ; cloth, is. 6d. SHERIDAN (GENERAL). PERSONAL Mffl^RS~OT~GENERAL P.H.SHERIDAN. With Portraits and Facsimiles. Two Vols., demy 8vo, cloth, 24s. SHERIDAN'S (RICHARD BRINSLEY) COMPLETE~WORKS. With Life and Anecdotes. Including his Dramatic Writings, his Works in Prose and Poetry. Translations, Speeches and Jokes. 10 Illusts. Cr.Svo, hf.-bound, 7s. 6d. THE RIVALS, THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL, and other Plays. Post 8vo, printed on laid paper and half-bound. 2s. SHERIDAN'S COMEDIES: THE RIVALS and THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. Edited, with an Introduction and Notes to each Play, and a Biographical Sketch, by BRANDER MATTHEWS. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo, half-parchment, 12s. (id. SIDNEY'S (SIRIllpCOMPEE POETICAL ing all those in "Arcadia." With Portrait, Memorial-Introduction, Notes, &c. by the Rev._A. B. GROSART, P.P. Three Vols.. crown 8vo. cloth boards, 18s. SIGNBOARDS : Their History. With Anecdotes of Famous Taverns and Remarkable Characters. By JACOB LARWOOD and JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN _ With Coloured Frontispiece and 94 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 7s. (id. SIMS (GEO. R.), WORKS BY. Post 8vo. illust. bds.. 2s. ea.: cl. limp, 2s. 6d. ea. ROGUES AND VAGABONDS. THE RING 0' BELLS. MARY JANE'S MEMOIRS. MARY JANE MARRIED. TALES OF TO DAY. DRAMAS OF LIFE. With 60 Illustrations. TINKLETOP'S CRIME. With a Frontispiece by MAURICE GREIFFENHAGEN. ZEPH: A Circus Story, &c. I MY TWO WIVES. MEMOIRS OF A LANDLADY. | SCENES FROM THE SHOW. [Shortly. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is. each ; cloth, Is. <><(. each. HOW THE POOR LIVE ; and HORRIBLE LONDON. THE DAGONET RECITER AND READER: being Readings and Recitations in Prose and Verse, selected from his own Works by GEORGE R. SIMS. THE CASE OF GEORGE CANDLEMAS. | DAGONET DITTIES. SISTER DORA : A Biography. By MARGARET LONSDALE. With Four Illustrations. Demy 8vo. picture cover. 4d.; cloth, (id. ^ETCHLEY^ATm^^ By ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2*, 22 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY SLANG DICTIONARY (THE): Etymological, Historical, and dotal. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 6d. ' SMITH (J. MOYR), WORKS BY. THE PRINCE OF ARGOLIS. With 130 Illusts. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. _ THE WOOING OF TH d WATER WITCH. Illustrated. Post Svo, cloth, 6s. SOCIETY IN LONDON. Crown 8vo, Is. ; cloth, Is. 6d. SOCIETY IN PARIS I The Upper Ten Thousand. A Series of Letters from Count PAUL VASILI to a Young French Diplomat. Crown 8vo. cloth, 6s. SOMERSET. SONGS OF ADIEU. By Lord HENRY SOMERSET. Small 4to, Japanese vellum, 6s. . SPALDING. ELIZABETHAN DEMONOLOGY : An Essay on the Belief in the Existence of Devils. ByT. A. SPALDING, LL.B. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. SPEIGHT (T. W.), NOVELS BY. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. THE MYSTERIES OF HERON DYKE. BY DEVIOUS WAYS, &c. HOODWINKED; and THE SANDY- CROFT MYSTERY. THE GOLDEN HOOP. BACK TO LIFE. THE LOUDWATER TRAGEDY. BURGO'S ROMANCE. Post 8vo, cloth limp, Is. 6d. each. A BARREN TITLE. | WIFE OR NO WIFE? THE SANDYCROFT MYSTERY. Crown 8vo, picture cover, Is. A SECRET OF THE SEA. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. SPENSER FOR CH7O)REN\ By M. H. TOWRY. With Illustrations by WALTER J. MORGAN. Crown 4to, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. STARRY HEAVENS (THE): A POETICAL BIRTHDAY BOOK. Royal i6mo, cloth extra, 2s. 6d. ' STAUNTON. THE LAWS AND PRACTICE OF CHESS. With an Analysis of the Openings. By HOWARD STAUNTON. Edited by ROBERT B. WORMALD. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. STEDMAN (E. C.), WORKS BY. Crown Svo. cloth extra, 9s. each. VICTORIAN POETS. I THE POETS OF AMERICA. STERNDALE. THE AFGHAN KNIFE : A Novel. By ROBERT ARMITAGE STERNDALE. Cr. Svo, cloth extra. 3s. 6d. ; post S'vo, illust. boards, 2s. STEVENSON (R. LOUIS), WORKS"! Y. Post8vo,cl.limp,2s.6d.each; TRAVELS WITH A DONKEY. Seventh Edit. With a Frontis. by WALTER CRANE. AN INLAND VOYAGE. Fourth Edition. With a Frontispiece by WALTER CRANE. Crown 8vo, buckram, s;ilt too, 6s. each. FAMILIAR STUDIES OF MEN AND BOOKS. 'Sixth Edition. THE MERRY MEN. Third Edition. | UNDERWOODS: Poems. Fifth Editian. MEMORIES AND PORTRAITS. Third Edition. VIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE, and other Papers. Seventh Edition. | BALLADS. ACROSS THE PLAINS, with other Memories and Essays. NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS. Eleventh Edition. Crown Svo, buckram, gilt top, 6s.; post Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. THE SUICIDE CLUB; and THE RAJAH'S DIAMOND. (From NEW ARABIAN NIGHTS.) With 8 Illustrations by W. J. HENNESSY. Crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. PRINCE OTTO. Sixth Edition. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, ga. FATHER DAMIEN: An Open Letter to the Rev. Dr. Hyde. Second Edition. Crown 8vo, hand-made and brown paper. Is. THE EDINBURGH EDITION OF THE WORKS OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVEN- SON. 20 Vols., demy 8vo, price 1% lOs. net. Prospectuses and Specimens of this Edition (which is limited to r,ooo copies) maybe had from any Bookseller. The Vols. will appear at the rate of one a month, beginning with Oct. 1894. STODDARD. SUMMER CRUISING IN THE SOUTH~SEAST~^y C. WARREN STODDARD. Illustrated by WALLIS MACKAY. Cr. Svo, cl. extra, 3s. 6<1. STORIES FROM FOREIGN NOVELISTS. With Notices by HELEN and ALICE ZIMMERN. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. STRANGE MANUSCRIPT~(ArFOUND~IN~A~COPPER CYLINDER. Cr. Svo, cloth extra, with 19 Illusts. by GILBERT GAUL, 5s. ; post Svo, illust. bds., as. STRANGE SECRETS. Told by CONAN DOYLE, PERCY FITZGERALD, FLO- ENCE MARRYAT, &c. Post Svo, illustrated boards, s. CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY. 23 STRUTT'S SPORTS AND PASTIMES OF THE PEOPLE OF ENGLAND; including the Rural and Domestic Recreations, May Games, Mum- meries, Shows, &c., from the Earliest Period to the Present Time. Edited by WILLIAM HONE. With 140 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. SWIFTS (DEAN) CHOICEWORKS, in Prose and VerseT With Memoir, Portrait, and Facsimiles of the Maps in " Gulliver's Travels." Cr. 8vo, cl., 7s. 61. GULLIVER'S TRAVELS, and A TALE OF A TUB. Post 8vo, half-bound, 2s. JONATHAN SWIFT; A Study. By J'. CHURTOJJ COLLINS. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 8s. SWINBURNE (ALGERNON C.), WORKS BY. SELECTIONS FROM POETICAL WORKS OF A. C. A NOTE ON CHARLOTTE BRONTE. Cr. 8vo, 6s. SONGS OF THE SPRINGTIDES. Crown 8vo, 6s. SWINBURNE. Fcap. 3 ap. 3vo, 6s. ATALANTA IN CALYDON. Crown Svo, 6s. CHASTELARD : A Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 7s. POEMS AND BALLADS. FIRST SERIES. Crown Svo or fcap. Svo, 9s. POEMS AND BALLADS. SECOND Crown Svo or fcap. Svo, 9s. SERIES. STUDIES IN SONG. Crown 8vo, 7s. MARY/ STUART: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 8s. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE. Crown Svo, 9s. A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS. Small 4 to, 8s. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY. Crown 8vo, 7s. MARINO FALIERO : A Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 6s. A STUDY OF VICTOR HUGO. Crown Svo, 6s. MISCELLANIES, crown 8vo, i2s. . Crown Svo, 6s. Svo, 7s. crown Svo or tcap. Svo, as. POEMS & BALLADS. THIRD SERIES. Cr. Svo, 7s. SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE. Crown Svo, 10s. 6d. BOTHWELL : A Tragedy. Crown Svo, 12s. 6d. SONGS OF TWO NATIONS. Civm-n Svo, 6s. GEORGE CHAPMAN. (VV9' The Seamy 8id. fleet. BOOKS PUBLISHED BY TWO-SHILLING- NOVELS continued. I5y AMBROSE RIERCR. In the Midst of Life. By FREDERICK BOYLE. Camp Notes. I Chronicles of No-man's Savage Life. | Land. By BRET HAUTE. An Heiress of Red Dog. Flip. Maruja. A Phyllis of the Sierras. Californian Stories. Gabriel Conroy. The Luck of Hearing Camp. By HAROLD BRYDGES. Uncle Sam at Home. By ROBERT BITCH AN AN. Shadow of the Sword. A Child of Nature. God and the Man. Love Me for Ever. Foxglove Manor. The Master or the Mine The Martyrdom of Ma- deline. Annan Water. The New Abelard. Matt. The Heir of Linne. By HALL CAINE. The Shadow of a Crime. I The Deemster. A Son of Hagar. By Commander CAMERON. The Cruise of the " Black Prince." By Mrs. LOVETT CAMERON. Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian. By AUSTIN CLARE. For the Love of a Lass. By Mrs. ARCHER CLIVE. Paul Ferroll. Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife. By MACLAREN COBBAN. The Cure of Souls. By C. ALLSTON COLLINS. The Bar Sinister. MORT. & FRANCES COr.BL.INS. Sweet and Twenty. The Village Comedy. You Play me False. Blacksmith and Scholar Frances. Sweet Anne Page. Transmigration. From Midnight to Mid- night. A Fight with Fortune. By WILKIE COLLINS. Armadale. After Dark. My Miscellanies. The Woman in White. No Name. The Moonstone. Antonina. Man and Wife. Basil. Poor Miss Finch. Hide and Seek. The Fallen Leaves. The Dead Secret. Jezebel's Daughter. Queen of Hearts. The Black Robe. Miss or Mrs. ? Heart and Science. The New Magdalen. " I Say No 1 " The Frozen Deep. The Evil Genius. The Law and the Lady. Little Novels. The Two Destinies. Legacy of Cam. The Haunted Hotel. Blind Love. A Eogue's Life. By M. J. COLQUHOUN. Every Inch a Soldier. By DUTTON COOK. Leo. 1 Paul Foster's Daughter. By C. EGBERT CRADDOCJK. The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains. By MATT CRIM. Adventures of a Fair Rebel. By B. M. CROKER. Pretty Miss'Nevill. I Bird of Passage. Diana Barrington. Proper Pride. "To Let." | A Family Likeness. By W. CYPLES. Hearts of Gold. By ALPHONSE DAUDET. The Evangelist ; or, Pott Salvation. By ERASMUS DAWSON. The Fountain of Youth. TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. By JTA1TIES DE MILLE. A Castle in Spain. By J. LE1TH DERWENT. Our Lady of Tears. \ Circe's Lovers. By CHARLES DICKENS. Sketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist. Pickwick Papers. | Nicholas Nickleby. By DICK DONOVAN. The Man-Hunter. Tracked and Taken. Caught at Last 1 Wanted ! Who Poisoned Hetty Duncan ? Man from Manchester. A Detective's Triuirphs In the Grip of the Law. From Information S.e- ceived. Tracked to Doom. Link by Link Suspicion Aroused. By Mrs. ANNIE EDWARWES. A Point of Honour. | Archie Lovell. By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. Felicia. | Kitty. By EDW. EGGLESTON. Roxy. By G. MANVILLE FENN. The New Mistress. By PERCY FITZGERALD Bella Douna. Never Forgotten. Polly. Fatal Zero. Second Mrs. TilJotson. Seventy - five Brooks Street. The Lady of Brantome. By I. FITZGERALD and others. Strange Secrets. ALBANY DE FONBLANQ.UE. Filthy Lucre. By R. E. FRANCILLON. Olympia. Queen Cophetua. One by One. King or Knave ? A Real Queen. Romances of the Law. By HAROLD FREDERICK. Seth's Brother s Wife. | The Lawton Girl. Pref. by Sir BARTLE FRERE. Pandurang Hari. By HAIN FRISWELL. One of Two. By EDWARD GARRETT. The Capel Girls. By GILBERT GAUL. A Strange Manuscript. By CHARLES GIBBON. In Hanour Bound. Flower of the Forest. The Braes of Yarrow. The Golden Shaft. Of High JUegree. By Mead and Stream. Loving a Dream. A Hard Knot. Heart's Delight. Blood-Money. Robin Gray. Fancy Free. For Lack of Gold. What will the World Say? In Love and War. For the King. In Pastures Green. Queen of the Meadow. A Heart's Problem. The Dead Heart. By WILLIAM GILBERT. Dr. Austin's Guests. I The Wizard of th James Duke. | Mountain. ^ " By ERNEST GLANVfLLE. The Lost Heiress. | The Fossicker. By HENRY GREVILLE. A Noble Woman. | Nikanor. By CECIL GRIFFITH. Corinthia Marazion. By JOHN HABBERTON. Brueton's Bayou. | Country Luck. By ANDREW HALLIDAY. Every-day Papers. By Lady DUFFUS HARDY. Paul Wyater's Sacrifice. CHATTO & W1NDUS, 1214, PICCADILLY. TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. By THOMAS HARDY. Under the Greenwood Tree. By J. BERWICK. IIARWOOD. The Tenth Earl. By JULIAN MAWTIIORIVE. Garth. Ellice Quentin. Fortune's Fool. Miss Cadogna. Sebastian Stromc. Dust. Beatrix Randolph. Love or a Name. David Poindextsr's Dis- appearance. The Spectre of Camera. tlie By Sir ARTHUR HELPS. Ivan de Biron. By HENRY HERMAN. A Leading Lady. By IIEADON HILL. Zambra the Detective. By JOHN HILL. Treason Felony. By Mrs. CASHED HOE IT. The Lover's Creed. By Mrs. GEORGE HOOPER. The House of Raby. ByTIGHE HOPKINS. Twixt Love and Duty. By Mrs. IIUNGERFORD. A Maiden all Forlorn, i A Mental Struggle. In Durance Vile. A Modern Circe. Marvel. By Mrs. ALFRED HUNT. Thornicroft's Model. I Self Condemned. That Other Person. | The Leaden Casket. By JEAN INGELOW. Fated to be Free. By WM. JAMESON. My Dead Self. By HARRIETT JAY. The Dark Colleen. | Queen of Connaught. By HI ARK KERSUAW. Colonial Facts and Fictions. By II. ASIIE KINO. A Drawn Game. Passion's Slave. " The Wearing of the Bell Barry. Green." By JOHN LEYS. The Lindsays. By 12. LYNN LINTON. One Traveller Returns. Paul Jones's Alias. By D. CHRIS1 A Model Father. Joseph's Coat. Coals of Fire. Val Strange. Old Blazer's Hero. Hearts. The Way of the World. By HENRY A Game of Bluff. The Bishops' Bible. PIE MURRAY. Cynic Fortune. A Life's Atonement. By the Gate of the Sea. A Bit of Human Nature. First Person Singular. Bob Martin's LiUle Girl. MURRAY. A Song of Sixpence. Patricia Kemball. The World Well Lost. Under which Lord ? Paston Carew. " My Love I " lone. By HENRY W. LUCY. Gideon Fieyce. By JUSTIN MCCARTHY. The Atonement of Learn Dundas. With a Silken Thread. The Rebel of the Family. Sowing the Wind. A Fair Saxon. Linley Rochford. Miss Misanthrope. Donna Quixote. Maid of Athens. Camiola. Dear Lady Disdain. Waterdale Neighbours My Enemy's Daughter. The Comet of a Season. By HUG SI MACCOLL. Mr. Stranger's Sealed Packet. By AGNES MACDONELL. Quaker Cousins. KATHARINE S. MACffcUOID. The Evil Eye. | Lost Rose. By W. II. MALLOCK. Republic ' TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. By FLORENCE MABRYAT. Open ! Sesame ! I A Harvest of Wild Oats. Fighting the Air. | Written in Fire. By J. MASTERMAN. Half-a-dozen Daughters. By BJRANDER MATTHEWS. A Secret of the Sea. By LEONARD MERR1CK. The Man who was Good. By JEAN MIDDLE MASS. Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorillion. By Mrs. MOLESWORTII. Hathercourt Rectory. By J. E. MUDDOCK. Stories Weird and Won- 1 From the Bosoin of the derful. Deep. The Dead Man's Secret. | By MURRAY and HERMAN. By HUME NISBET. " Bail Up 1 " | Dr.Bernard St. Vincent. By ALICE O'HANLON. The Unforeseen. | Chance ? or Fate ? By GEORGES OIINET. Dr. Rameau. I A Weird Gift. A Last Love. | By Mrs. OLIPHANT. Whiteladies. I The Greatest Heiress in The Primrose Path. | England. By Mrs. ROBERT O'REILLY. Phoebe's Fortunes. By OUIA. Held in Bondage. Strathmore. Chandos. Idalia. Under Two Flags. Cecil Castlemaine sGage Wooden Two Little Shoes. Moths. Bimbi. Pipistrello. A Village Commune. Tricotrin. Wanda. Puck. Othmar. Folle Farine. Frescoes. A Dog of Flanders. In Maremma. Pascarel. Guilderoy. Signa. Ruffino. Princess Napraxine. Syrlin. In a Winter City. Santa Barbara. Ariadne. Ouida's Wisdom, V/it Friendship. and Pathos. MARGARET AGNES PA U2,. Gentle and Simple. By C. L. PIKKIS. Lady Lovelace. By EDGAR A. POE. The Mystery of Marie Roget. By Mr*. CAMPBELL PRAEI). The Romance of a Station. The Soul of Countess Adrian. By E. C. PRICE. Valentina. I Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. The Foreigners. | Gerald. 15y KICHAK1* PRYCE. Miss Maxwell's Affections. l 32 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATfO fc W1N0US TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. TWO-SHILLING NOVELS continued. By JAMES PAYN. By ARTHUR SKETCH LEY. Bentlnck's Tutor. Talk of the Town. A Match in the Dark. Murphy's Master. A County Family. At Her Mercy. Holiday Tasks. A Perfect Treasure. What He Cost Her. By IIAWLEY SMART. Without Love or Licence. Cecil's Tryst. The Clyffards of Olyffe. The Foster Brothers. Found Dead. The Best of Husbands. Walter's Word. A Confidential Agent. Glow-worm Tales. The Burnt Million. Sunny Stories. Lost Sir Massmgberd. A Woman's Vengeance. By T. W. g The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. The Golden Hoop. Hoodwinked. v SPEIGHT. By Devious Ways. Back to Life. The LoudwaterTragedy Burgo's Romance. Halves. Fallen Fortunes. Humorous Stories. The Family Scapegrace. Gwendoline's Harvest. Like Father, Like Son. By R. A. STERNI>ALE. The Afghan Knife. 200/Reward. Married Beneath Him. By R. LOUIS STEVENSON. A Marine Residence. Not Wooed, but Won. New Arabian Nights. Prince Otto. Mirk Abbey. By Proxy. Under One Roof. Less Black than We're Painted. Some Private Views. By BERTHA THOMAS. Cressida. 1 The Violin-Player. High Spirits. A Grape from a Thorn. Proud Maisie. Carlyon's Year. From Exile. For Cash Only. the Mystery of Mir- bridge. The Word and the Will. By WALTER THORNBURY. Tales for the Marines. | Old Stories Retold. Kit. The Canon's Ward. A Prince of the Blood. T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. Diamond Cut Diamond. By CHARLES RHADH. By F. ELEANOR. TISOl.l . - ; ^i^Mw^-i ll| jjyj> - ^S' - ?: . --: y^. ^t&X^' ^dSwf /,'j^fe I - :' ^r'Hh^^fe'/T-- P^M^^i Mtrv $'l ^ ^% IMf ' f) ^ JosT