V
 
 OF 'CALIF. LIBRABY, LOS AHGELES
 
 DAUNAY'S TOWER 
 
 a 
 
 BT 
 
 ADELINE SERGEANT 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 *A LIFE SENTENCE," "A KISK IN THE WORLD," ETC. ETC. 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 9 AND II EAST SIXTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK 
 
 LONDON: F. V. WHITE & COMPANY 
 
 1901
 
 Copyright, 1900, by 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 
 Vtuntfs Tiwtr
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. AT THE TOWER 7 
 
 II. THE DOCTOR'S VISIT 16 
 
 III. FRIENDS OR FOES ? 26 
 
 IV. ANNABEL 36 
 
 V. A DISTANT RELATION 45 
 
 VI. FATHER AND DAUGHTER 54 
 
 VII. JOHN DAUNAY'S PLAN 63 
 
 VIII. ANNABEL'S DECISION 73 
 
 IX. DR. LECHMERE'S MEDITATIONS 83 
 
 X. A Bio BRIBE 93 
 
 XI. THE GREAT RENUNCIATION 103 
 
 XII. "Jos" 112 
 
 XIII. IN THE CONSERVATORY 121 
 
 XIV. ONTHE HILLS 133 
 
 XV. MRS. WYCHERLY'S PLANS 144 
 
 XVI. RETROSPECTIVE 153 
 
 XVII. MR. CLISSOLD'S OPINION 165 
 
 XVIII. AT THE DAUNAY ARMS 175 
 
 XIX. JOCELYN'S DEFEAT 185 
 
 XX. A FRIENDLY SUIT 195 
 
 XXI. THE VIEWS OF YOUNG AND OLD 206 
 
 5
 
 6 Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XXII. LENORE 217 
 
 XXIII. " A COUSIN AND A FRIEND " 226 
 
 XXIV. RIVALS 236 
 
 XXV. NEAR RELATIONS 246 
 
 XXVI. BETHA'S WORK-BOX 255 
 
 XXVII. A TEMPTRESS 264 
 
 XXVIII. Two CONSPIRATORS 275 
 
 XXIX. MRS. WYCHERLY'S EXPEDITION 287 
 
 XXX. ST. ANDREW'S-ON-THE-HILL: 297 
 
 XXXI. THE ENTRY IN THE BOOK 306 
 
 XXXII. IN THE HOUR OF NEED 316 
 
 XXXIII. THE DOUBTS OF JOCELYN DAUNAY 325 
 
 XXXIV. IN WHICH JOCELYN DEFEATS HIS OWN ENDS. . . 337 
 XXXV. NURSE LYNCH 349 
 
 XXXVI. DANGER AHEAD 358 
 
 XXXVII. THE TREACHERY OF LENORE 367 
 
 XXXVIII. VENGEANCE 376 
 
 XXXIX. FOR FAREWELL 385 
 
 XL. THE END CROWNS ALL. . . 395
 
 DAUNAY'S TOWER. 
 
 CHAPTER I. i 
 
 AT THE TOWER. 
 
 "Ix's a wild neet, missis," called a laboring man to 
 a figure that passed him on his way. A woman's figure he 
 made it out to be, but the darkness wrapped her round aj 
 with a garment, and he could not see her face. He was 
 toiling up the hill, and she was coming down, and the 
 wind was raging furiously round every corner, and hurl- 
 ing the branches of the sparsely planted trees back- 
 wards and forwards until they seemed ready to snap in 
 twain, while every now and then a dash of rain accom- 
 panied the fitful but violent gusts. It was difficult to 
 find the way, but a row of white stones emphasized the 
 path ; and the man who mounted and the woman who 
 descended the bare hillside were alike accustomed to 
 pick their steps in difficult places of this kind. 
 
 "A wild night indeed," she answered back ; and at 
 the sound of her voice the man turned round, and tried 
 in vain to penetrate the depths of darkness with his 
 eyes. Then he shook his head, and went heavily on 
 his way. 
 
 " Why, 'twere Jane Arnold," he murmured, as he 
 bent his shoulders again to the ascent " Jane Arnold, 
 as keeps herself allus to herself, an* niver has a word 
 
 7
 
 8 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 for nobody. Jane Arnold, on' her way to the valley, 
 an', for aught I know, to Daunay's Tower, at dead o' 
 night. What in the world's the meaning o' that, I'd 
 like to know ? " 
 
 But there was no one to answer him, and he went on- 
 ward to his wife and his own fireside ; while Jane Arnold 
 toiled down to the valley and to the house of which he 
 had spoken as Daunay's Tower. 
 
 It was the popular name which the natives of that 
 wild Cumberland dale had given to a building raised, 
 chiefly in the last generation, by a man who would fain 
 have ennobled his family and reared a dwelling-place 
 worthy of a race of kings. 
 
 He was a wealthy man, this Stephen Daunay, and he 
 called his house Bellavista, or some such foreign and 
 new-fangled name, which was an offense to the inhab- 
 itants of High Rigg Dale. In spite of the threats and 
 persuasions of the builder and owner, the dales-folk took 
 and kept their own appellation, and the house was always 
 Daunay's Tower, and sometimes Daunay's Folly, when 
 they wanted to be severe. There was a certain propriety in 
 calling it Dannay's Tower, for the nucleus of the build- 
 ing was an ancient keep, which now stood at a corner of 
 the modern house. It was a square stone tower, with an 
 old flight of steps outside, leading to a small upper room 
 not often used. The lower part of the tower likewise con- 
 tained a single room, .which could be entered by a nar- 
 row door of a singularly massive and prison-like ap- 
 pearance. The country folk declared that this tower 
 had formerly been used for prisoners, and there were 
 gruesome stories of the cruelties that had once been 
 practised within those grim walls by the lords of High 
 Rigg Dale.
 
 At the Tower. 9 
 
 The architect had made some effort to approximate 
 the style of the new house to that of the tower ; but the 
 Daunay of that day had not approved of his attempt, and 
 had insisted on the carrying out of his own vagaries. The 
 consequence was that Bellavista, as he called it, was as 
 fantastic a pile of stone as could be seen on English soil. 
 It was a jumble of styles. A Moorish gallery, a Turkish 
 minaret, an Italian veranda, with a^ mixture of Nor- 
 man, Renaissance, and pseudo-Gothic details, made the 
 place a specimen of barbarism as oddly picturesque 
 by accident as it was bizarre. 
 
 On a dark and stormy night, however, the great 
 building could be seen only as a dark mass standing up 
 against the gloomy sky. The newer part of the house 
 was entirely unillumined by gleam of lamp or fire ; but 
 in the top room of the tower a faint light seemed to be 
 burning, and another beam came from a small lamp 
 that hung from an iron rod over the narrow door. 
 
 Jane Arnold, who had business with the master of 
 Daunay's Tower, looked up and down the solid mass of 
 masonry with a half-puzzled, half-indignant air. She 
 had come all the way from her house on Cross Fell, at 
 half-past ten o'clock on a stormy night, and now it 
 seemed as though the place were deserted, as though 
 she might wait and wait in vain for the commission with 
 which, as she understood, she was to be charged. 
 
 It was Mr. Lechmere, the doctor, who had brought 
 her John Daunay's message. She did not like Mr. 
 Lechmere. He was a sharp-faced, sallow, keen-eyed 
 young man, with a bitter, almost savage tongue, and an 
 irritable disposition. He was clever, no doubt, but he 
 could be rough and profane in speech sometimes ; and 
 Jane Arnold was a respectable person, of a sober and
 
 io Daunay's Tower. 
 
 religious turn, and she disliked profanity. There were 
 rumors about Mr. Lechmere, too, which were not to 
 his credit. People said that he had committed some 
 crime, some dishonorable act, which had exiled him 
 from the world. It was whispered that he had been in 
 prison. No one knew what his medical qualifications 
 were, or whether he had any qualifications at all ; he 
 had simply appeared in the neighborhood, set a red 
 lamp at the door of the little house he rented, bought 
 a horse and gig, and announced himself as a doctor 
 " Quite ready to kill or cure, according to your own 
 preference and the money you pay," he had remarked, 
 in cynical fashion, when he was sent for in an emer- 
 gency to his first patient. The good folk on the fells 
 were shocked by this reckless manner of speech, and for 
 some time the young man had an up-hill battle to fight, 
 and it was reported that he " well-nigh clemmed" one 
 winter. But of late things had gone better with him. 
 Mr. Dannay had called him in two or three times during 
 his rather rare visits to the Tower. Some of the county 
 people had condescended to employ him. There seemed 
 no reason why he should not work up a practise and 
 earn a decent living among the Cumberland hills. 
 
 " If I hadn't had a notion that John Dannay wanted 
 me, I'd noan ha* come out to-night," said Jane Arnold. 
 She had a touch of dialect in her speech, but it had 
 been modified by the circumstances of her life, and was 
 often scarcely noticeable. " That young Lechmere 
 wouldn't dare to make free with his name and bring me 
 all this way for a joke, though I hear he isn't particular 
 what he does when the fit's on him. And I was not to 
 knock, said he ; I was to bide by the stone steps until 
 Dauny or he came out to speak to me. Well, I'm here,
 
 At the Tower. n 
 
 and the rain's coming on and the wind blowing : what's 
 agate, I wonder ? " 
 
 At that moment the narrow door opened, and a tall 
 spare figure stood revealed in the aperture, against a 
 background of the lighted lower room. " Is that you, 
 Jane Arnold ? " Mr. Daunay said. 
 
 " Yes, sir, it's me," said Jane. " The doctor told me 
 you wanted me, and I've come down fell-side in the wind 
 and rain to do your bidding." 
 
 "You were always faithful, Jane, like your forbears 
 to mine. There's been an Arnold and a Daunay side 
 by side for three generations at the least." 
 
 "I'm the last of the Arnolds," said Jane, rather 
 stolidly. 
 
 " And you think I am the last of the Daunays, do 
 you ? " said the man, with a dry laugh. " But it doesn't 
 follow in my case, Jane, as it does in yours." 
 
 " Well, John Daunay, I didn't come here at half-past 
 ten o' night to talk about our two families at the door," 
 said Jane Arnold, in strong, sensible tones. " I should 
 like to get inside and warm myself at the stove if it's all 
 the same to you. My feet are as wet as wet, and I can 
 hear what you say inside as well as out." 
 
 "You've a right to speak, Jane," said the master 
 of Dauuay's Tower, with a little irony in his tone. 
 " You've to some extent a right to enter ; but all the 
 same I mean to keep you out. Stand where you are ; 
 you are protected from rain and wind by that overhang- 
 ing ledge, and a touch of cold won't hurt a woman of 
 the fells." 
 
 " I don't suppose it will. But you are usually a bit 
 more hospitable to me." 
 
 She pulled her cloak closely round her, and waited
 
 12 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 to hear what he had to say. Mr. Dan nay came ont of 
 the room and closed the door behind him, standing bare- 
 headed in the cold night air, with the light of the lamp 
 thrown full on his ashen face. Jane noticed the death- 
 like pallor, and wondered what had brought it there. 
 But she was too proud to ask. The reticence of the 
 North Country was strong within her. She would know 
 only what she was told. 
 
 As she waited, however, a sound that came to her ears 
 startled her in spite of herself. It was the long-drawn 
 wailing of a little child. She remembered an old story 
 that she had often heard the story of a mother and child 
 who had died in this same tower, many centuries ago, 
 from slow starvation : the tyrant-husband having locked 
 her into that upper room in punishment of some supposed 
 unfaithfulness, and then ridden away and been killed 
 in a brawl, so that his victims were never liberated until 
 Death turned the key. The baby's crying was still sup- 
 posed to be heard round about the Tower on stormy 
 nights, and the sound boded no good to those who 
 heard it. 
 
 " The ghost-child," said Jane, below her breath. If 
 she had been a Catholic she would certainly have crossed 
 herself. " What does that mean ?" 
 
 " Aye, what indeed ? " said Mr. Daunay. " Never 
 mind the ghost, Jane. I want you to listen to me." 
 
 She glanced up at him shrewdly, this homely country 
 woman, with her bright brown eyes and apple cheeks. 
 He was a tall man, with a square frame and the lean, 
 hard look of one who has known how to labor and to 
 endure. He had gained a fortune by speculation, and 
 was reputed to be growing richer every year ; but Jane 
 Arnold cared little or nothing for that. She had a
 
 At the Tower. 13 
 
 kindness for the man himself, and his gaunt frame and 
 grim plain face, with the beetling eyebrows and habitual 
 frown, were dearer to her in her quiet way than any 
 others in the world. 
 
 He put out one big hand and clutched her by the 
 arm. " You were my foster-sister, weren't you, Jane ? 
 We were like brother and sister for a good many years, 
 eh ?" 
 
 " That's a true word," said Jane, briefly. 
 
 " Your parents were trusted by my parents, as one 
 might say, to the death. I can trust you in the same 
 way and to the same degree, can't I, Jane ? " 
 
 " As you say, to the death, Mr. John." 
 
 " Call me John ; I like it better than your 'misters.' 
 There's a tie between us that you don't know of, Jane, 
 and that God Himself cannot break. I sent for you here 
 to tell you of that." 
 
 She listened quietly, but her eyes kindled. " I like 
 plain words," she said briefly, after a moment's pause. 
 
 " You shall have them. You had a step-sister, Jane, 
 a beautiful girl, whom you loved dearly." 
 
 " Yes, I loved her." 
 
 " She left your home, and you don't know what be- 
 came of her ? " 
 
 "Aye." 
 
 " Would it surprise you if I told you that it was I who 
 took her away ? " 
 
 " You you ! No, God is my witness that I never 
 thought of you." Then, with surprising fierceness and 
 sharpness, " You married her ? You made her your 
 wife ? Don't tell me she was not your wife ? " 
 
 " She is my wife," said Daunay, impassively. 
 
 " She is 9 Then she is living ? She is here ? Oh,
 
 14 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 John John Dannay, I'll forgive you all the agony you 
 caused me when you took her away, if only you'll tell 
 me that she is alive and well." 
 
 " She is alive, and I want you to do a favor to her 
 and to me." 
 
 " Let her ask me herself." 
 
 " She is not well enough to ask you herself. I want 
 you to promise that you will do what she asks." 
 
 " Oh, my Betha ! As if I could say her nay ! " 
 
 " I have your promise ?" said Daunay, in a curiously 
 emphatic way. " Swear you'll do what she asks of you 
 when the moment comes." 
 
 Jane paused for a moment ; her face was convulsed 
 by strong feeling, but she was too calm and sensible a 
 woman by nature to give a promise lightly. 
 
 " I'll not swear," she said presently ; " but if it's 
 within my power, and nothing wrong, I'll do anything 
 that Betha asks of me." 
 
 " Very well. That's all. I knew you could be de- 
 pended on, Jane. Now, will you wait five minutes 
 longer, and then you shall know what Betha asks of 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, take me to see her ! She is here, is she not ? 
 For the love of Heaven, John Daunay 
 
 " Here ? Don't be a fool, Jane. Why should I 
 bring her here, to this lonely spot, of all places in the 
 world ? She spends her winters in warm sunny places, 
 by the Mediterranean or on the Nile. But you shall 
 have a message from her by and by. Let me pass ; I .am 
 going into the house. I know you'll do Betha's com- 
 mission faithfully." 
 
 He put her aside as easily as if she had been a little 
 child, opened the narrow door, and went quickly into
 
 At the Tower. 15 
 
 the house. Jane, left alone, leaned against the wall, 
 her arms hanging at her sides, the tears dropping down 
 her sensible, fresh-colored face. News at last from 
 Betha, whom she had long regarded as lost forever 
 from her world, tended to unnerve her to a quite un- 
 wonted degree. For some minutes she could not con- 
 trol her tears ; but at last they were checked as she 
 realized the fact that a dead silence seemed to prevail 
 within the house, and that she could not go away until 
 she had received the message, the commission, what- 
 ever it might be, that Betha had for her. 
 
 Suddenly a sound was heard. The outer door of the 
 upper room, at the head of the steps, was opened. The 
 sky had lightened a little, and a glint of moonlight 
 made it obvious to Jane Arnold that a man's figure was 
 descending the stairway, but slowly and carefully, as if 
 he carried something of importance. It was not John 
 Daunay this time ; it was the slighter, shorter figure 
 of the young doctor, Eugene Lechmere. Jane felt a 
 shiver of dread, almost of abhorrence, pass through 
 her as he paused at the foot of the steps. There was 
 an oddly shaped bundle in his arms. After a moment's 
 hesitation, she advanced, instinct telling her that 
 Betha's message was to come through him. 
 
 His cynical dark eyes seemed to shine with bitter 
 mirth as he looked at her. 
 
 " I have brought you something that it's to be hoped 
 yon will like," he said. " And you'd better get home 
 with it quickly, if you want it to live, Miss Arnold. I 
 was to tell you from Mr. Daunay that Betha sent you 
 tltix" and he placed the bundle in her half-unwill- 
 ing arms; "for this," he added slowly, "is Betha's 
 child."
 
 1 6 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 THE DOCTOR'S VISIT. 
 
 IT all seemed to Jane Arnold like a dream as she 
 looked back. She could hardly believe that any part 
 of it was true, even when she found herself toiling up 
 the fell-side, with the wind hustling her and the moon 
 shining fitfully upon the uneven path. Fortunately, 
 the baby in her arms was very still so still that once 
 Jane stopped to feel its little face and hands and to be 
 certain that it lived. But the hands were warm, and 
 the little face had a tinge of life, so that the woman 
 who carried it was reassured, and hastened on her way. 
 
 She had cried out with her remonstrances when she 
 was first asked to take the child to her own home up in 
 the hills ; and Mr. Lechmere had stood and laughed at 
 her laughed tempestuously, almost hysterically, as if at 
 any moment his laughter might be turned into the sobs of 
 sheer nervous exhaustion. But Jane Arnold was not 
 accustomed to weakness of any kind ; feverish laughter 
 from a man's lips was as alien to her as tears from his 
 eyes. She turned from him indignantly, and tried to 
 pass him on the steps, to knock at the closed door ; but 
 these attempts of hers sobered him and brought out 
 his savage side. He cursed her for a fool, and bade 
 her go home as fast as her feet would carry her. 
 
 " If you hang about here, the child will probably get 
 a chill, and its death will be at your door," he said
 
 The Doctor's Visit. 17 
 
 grimly. "Didn't you promise to do what you were 
 asked ? Take the baby home, and keep it warm ; I'll 
 look in to-morrow to see how it gets on. You'll be 
 paid for your trouble, if that's what yon are thinking 
 about." 
 
 Jane's glance would have annihilated him on the 
 spot, if glances could kill. 
 
 " I should like to see the man who would try to pay 
 me for tending my sister's child," she said. "Not 
 John Dauuay, I know. And as for you, doctor, I'd 
 sooner pay you to keep away from my door than have 
 you casting your evil eyes upon me and mine." 
 
 Lechmere laughed again, bending himself almost 
 double with apparent enjoyment. 
 
 " You think I can lay a spell on the baby, do you ? " 
 he said. " You think I shall blast it by some malig- 
 nant power that Satan's given me ? Ton my honor, 
 you are vastly complimentary. But you won't get rid 
 of me for all that, ma'am. I shall have to report on 
 the child's state to-morrow morning ; and you had bet- 
 ter get her home as quickly as you can.*' 
 
 Then it was that Jane finally turned from him and 
 began her journey up the fell-side, with the wind blow- 
 ing furiously in her face, and her eyes dimmed by tears, 
 as well as by the fitful dashes of rain which took her 
 every now and then by surprise. At intervals the 
 moon shown out brightly, and then she stepped briskly 
 ahead ; for the child's weight was nothing to a strong 
 country woman like herself, and she knew the shortest 
 cut across the hill to her homestead in the fells. 
 
 She was the daughter of a tenant farmer, who, as 
 Daunay said, had ever been faithful and friendly to his 
 landlord at Daunay's Tower ; and the; connection be- 
 
 2
 
 1 8 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 tween the two families had remained unchanged from 
 previous generations until this day. For, long before 
 the modern part of Daunay's Tower had been built, a 
 Daunay had owned a good deal of barren land in the 
 district ; and his name had been well known in all the 
 country-side. But all the Daunays had been poor ; it 
 was reserved for John Daunay to make a fortune and 
 endeavor to restore the lost glories of the family. 
 Hitherto, however, it seemed as though he had failed. 
 
 He was the last of the family in the direct line ; but 
 there were cousins of the same name, who had never 
 been seen in Cumberland. Possibly John Daunay knew 
 them, but the people of the fells did not. 
 
 Jane Arnold reached her house between twelve and 
 one o'clock, and it had taken swift walking to bring her 
 home so soon. Her house was the old farmstead which 
 had been tenanted for many years by her forefathers, 
 and no Daunay would have had the heart to turn her 
 out of it. But the farming had passed chiefly into the 
 hands of a neighbor, by private arrangement, and Jane 
 Arnold contented herself with the management of the 
 dairy and the care of poultry. There, in that little 
 whitewashed house among the hills, with its flagged 
 passages and draughty rooms, its garden gay with asters 
 and dahlias, and its beautiful dairy, set with pans of 
 cream and rolls of butter, fresh from Jane's cool, skilful 
 hands, she had lived as peaceful and happy a life as it 
 was possible for the heart of a woman to conceive. 
 
 Except for Betha. Betha was the thorn in her side, 
 the crook in her lot, and at the same time the apple of 
 her eye. Betha, the child of her father's second wife, 
 was fair as a beautiful lily, with the golden hair and 
 rose-bloom which many a London lady would have given
 
 Tne Doctor's Visit. 19 
 
 a fortune to secure. Betha, sweet and smiling, had 
 been as the sunshine of life to Jane Arnold, until a 
 time came when the girl drooped, the light went out 
 of her eyes, the color from her cheek ; and nobody 
 could tell the reason why. 
 
 Jane Arnold, in her quiet way, was as one possessed. 
 She tried to keep her anxiety to herself when Betha 
 was present, for it was bad for Betha to see how much 
 the elder woman took her languor to heart ; but she 
 besieged the doctor with inquiries, she read all the 
 medical books that she could lay her hands on, she 
 hunted up old receipts of her grandmother, all to com- 
 bat the disease which she feared for her sister, and to 
 combat it in vain. 
 
 For the disease was not consumption, as Jane had 
 fancied ; it was love. 
 
 She could not imagine when this fact dawned upon 
 her whom Betha could have found to love. It was 
 certainly not the curate, whom she had ridiculed in un- 
 measured terms. It was not one of the young farmers 
 in the neighborhood : Betha had fastidious tastes. It 
 was no stranger, she was sure of that ; for there had not 
 been so much as a sketching artist in the place for the 
 last five years. As for Mr. Daunay of Daunay's Tower, 
 Jane Arnold never thought of him. It would have 
 been treachery if he had stolen Betha's heart ; and be- 
 sides, he was too much above her in position to make a 
 happy marriage possible. Jane might treat Mr. Dau- 
 nay very cavalierly when she chose, but she fully rec- 
 ognized the difference of station between her family 
 and his. 
 
 So it never occurred to her that John Daunay had 
 fallen in love with Betha ; and when the girl suddenly
 
 2o Daunay's Tower. 
 
 disappeared, leaving a vague little letter to say that she 
 had left England with the man she loved, Jane almost 
 broke her heart with grieving, but never suspected that 
 the man who had tempted her sister away from the 
 farm was Daunay of Daunay's Tower. And now that 
 he had owned the fact, she could not find it in her heart 
 to hate the man. For, although he had wronged her, 
 he had married her sister, and he had sent her Betha's 
 child. To-morrow, she would hear from Betha herself, 
 perhaps ; to-morrow she might even be told that Betha 
 was at Dannay's Tower. For Jane Arnold had no con- 
 fidence in John Dannay's word, and she thought that 
 Betha might be in Cumberland, in spite of all that her 
 husband said to the contrary. 
 
 The couple of maid-servants that she kept had gone 
 to bed, but the fire, seldom if ever extinguished, burned 
 red beneath the ashes in the wide open grate. Jane 
 laid the baby on a cushion before it, and raked the em- 
 bers together first of all. The little creature was 
 curiously quiet and still. But when the fire was burn- 
 ing and Jane warmed food for the child and took it on 
 her lap, it seemed to come to life a little and to stretch 
 out its limbs blindly to the reviving blaze. It was a 
 very young child, a few days old at most, Jane thought ; 
 but it was the prettiest little baby that she had ever 
 seen. It was a girl-baby, white, and well-formed, with 
 big blue eyes, and a soft down of golden hair ; and it 
 was evidently healthy and good-tempered, for even the 
 exposure to wind and rain and the cold air of night 
 had not apparently done it any harm. Jane held it 
 close to her, and felt the touch of the baby hands go 
 through her like a draught of wine ; she had not known 
 what it would be to handle a child of her own flesh and
 
 The Doctor's Visit. 21 
 
 blood. She loved the baby from that hour, even more 
 passionately than she had loved Betha, the girl whom 
 John Da u nay had decoyed from her side. 
 
 The morning came, and she had to account to her 
 household for the presence of a child. The open-eyed 
 wonder of Hester and Priscilla was too much for her. 
 But she said as little as she could. 
 
 "This is a relation's child ; she has got to bide with 
 me for a while," she said, in as commonplace a tone as 
 possible. " She'll make a bit of work in the house, I 
 reckon ; but you won't mind that, Hester and Prissy ? 
 She may be only a few days here, for aught I know ; 
 her kith and kin will call for her in a week or two." 
 
 But her eyes fell as she spoke ; she did not believe 
 the things she said. From the way in which the baby 
 had been made over to her, she fancied that she was to 
 be, for the present at least, both mother and guardian 
 to Betha's child. Perhaps Betha did not want the 
 trouble of rearing her Betha had never been fond of 
 children, she remembered perhaps John Daunay was 
 vexed that the baby was a girl. At any rate, the child 
 had been made over to her placed in her arms, com- 
 mitted to her care ; and Jane Arnold was resolved to 
 do her duty to this child of misfortune, as she could 
 not help but call her, although she was Betha's child. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when she saw the doctor's gig in 
 the winding white road that led to the Moorside Farm. 
 A gleam of anger came into her eyes, and she drew her 
 breath sharply. 
 
 " I'll not see him," she said at first. " He's no good. 
 He laughs at all that's honest and virtuous, like the 
 devil himself in human form. I've always said that I 
 would never have him within my house."
 
 22 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 But it was easier to protest in word than in deed. 
 When the doctor stood at the door, and asked quietly 
 td see Miss Arnold, she did not feel it possible to turn 
 him away. She came out of the kitchen, and stood in 
 the narrow passage, blocking up the way, so that he 
 could not pass her against her will. 
 
 As for Doctor Lechmere, he looked at her with 
 laughing yet intelligent eyes. He knew perfectly well 
 the source of her aversion to him. He respected her 
 for her prejudices ; but, at the same time, he knew 
 that they must not interfere with the work he had got 
 to do. He was a man who liked his own way, and gen- 
 erally got it when he chose to exert himself. 
 
 " Good morning, Miss Arnold/' he said, lifting his 
 hat for a moment from his chestnut-brown head, and 
 showing a row of white teeth in an exceedingly friendly 
 smile. " I've come by Mr. Daunay's orders he takes 
 an interest in the baby, you know and I've business 
 to transact with you about his affairs. Aren't you going 
 to let me in? It's a pity that I should have to talk 
 confidentially to yon in the passage, you know." 
 
 " I've nothing confidential to say to you, Dr. Lech- 
 mere," said Jane Arnold, in a dry tone. 
 
 "But I've something confidential to say to you 
 something important, too ; and I won't say it here." 
 
 "Come in, then," said the woman, suddenly yielding 
 the point " Say what you have to say, and go." 
 
 She opened the door into a little sitting-room a stiff 
 little parlor, agonizingly gay with mats and samplers 
 and antimacassars of the baser sort ; the kind of par- 
 lor which belongs to the lower middle class, and of 
 which the lower middle class is almost always superla- 
 tively proud. Jane Arnold was not superior to her
 
 The Doctor's Visit. 23 
 
 class, and secretly admired her own parlor very much 
 indeed. Even to John Daunay, with his rudimentary 
 ideas of art, the place would not have seemed amiss ; 
 but there was something in Eugene Lechmere's eyes 
 as he glanced over its ornaments which annoyed Miss 
 Arnold exceedingly. It seemed to say that he had 
 known a very different order of things ; that he could 
 appraise the value of every article in the room, and 
 that he was almost amused at the poorness of it, the 
 vulgarity, the absurdity. Jane Arnold felt his opinion, 
 although she could not have put it into words ; and for 
 a moment she, too, hated the green rep and stiff white 
 curtains at the windows, the red Bohemian glass and 
 lusters on the mantelpiece, the wax-flowers under glass 
 shades on the center-table, flanked by red, blue, and 
 green, gilt-edged editions of the poets which the mis- 
 tress of the house had received as prizes when she went 
 to school. 
 
 But the gleam of amusement in Dr. Lechmere's eyes 
 vanished as suddenly as it had come. He sat down 
 deliberately, and drew off his riding-gloves, his face 
 hardening as he looked at the plain, bright-eyed woman 
 who stood with her hands on the center table, listening 
 for what he had to say. 
 
 " I have come from Mr. Dannay," he began. It was 
 noticeable that his voice was that of a cultivated man 
 when he chose, although of late he had adopted a rough 
 mode of speech which seemed to approximate his sta- 
 tion to that of his patients. " He wishes me to tell 
 you that he is going back to London to-morrow, and 
 he hopes that the child may remain with you. He'll 
 pay all expenses, of course." 
 
 " If the child is my Betha's child, why should I take
 
 24 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 money for her from any one ? " said Jane Arnold, 
 stiffly. 
 
 " I don't think you have a prior right to that of her 
 father," returned Lechmere, in his lightest tone ; "but, 
 no doubt, you know best. If the girl is to be brought 
 up as John Daunay's heiress, it seems to me only fail- 
 that he should stand the charges." 
 
 " John Daunay's heiress ! There is no other child, 
 then ? " . 
 
 " How should I know ? Do you think Daunay would 
 take me into his confidence ? " 
 
 " Not likely," said Jane, eying him so coldly 
 and keenly that for a moment the red color crept 
 into the young man's cheek ; but he only laughed 
 aloud. 
 
 " A fair hit a palpable hit ! " he exclaimed. " You 
 know how to hold your own, Miss Arnold. Well, look 
 here, Daunay sends you a hundred pounds in bank- 
 notes ; you will have the same amount half-yearly, and 
 more, if you don't find it enough. Here is a written 
 receipt which you are to sign." He tossed a large en- 
 velope and a half-sheet of paper on the table. 
 
 "I had better count the notes," said Jane. Her 
 manner of saying the words was in itself almost an 
 insult. 
 
 " Certainly. I might have made away with some of 
 them, might I not ? Count and sign, if you please ; 
 I'm in a hurry this morning." 
 
 He waited while she very slowly went through the 
 notes and fixed her name to the receipt. 
 
 " I am to keep the child for some time, then, I sup- 
 pose ? Until Betha that is, Mrs. Daunay sends for 
 her ? "
 
 The Doctor's Visit. 25 
 
 Dr. Lechmere was striding towards the door when 
 she asked the question. He paused, with his back to- 
 wards her, and threw an answer over his left shoulder. 
 
 " Oh, didn't I tell you ? " he said, with a jaunty ease 
 which amounted almost to brutality. " Betha's dead."
 
 26 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FRIENDS OR FOES ? 
 
 THE news so suddenly flung into Jane Arnold's face 
 did not stagger her so much as it would have done 
 many other women. She was not in the habit of in- 
 ^ dulging her emotions in any way ; and she had had her 
 suspicions from the first. She understood Mr. Daunay's 
 manner too well not to know when he was telling a 
 deliberate falsehood ; and she had not believed him 
 when he talked of Betha's sojourn in some southern 
 land. Besides, if Betha were far away, how could so 
 young a babe have been given into Jane Arnold's care ? 
 No ; Betha had died when the child was born, or 
 shortly afterwards, and probably her cold body lay in 
 the Tower, and Daunay himself kept watch and ward 
 over it. But what were they going to do ? Where 
 would they bury her ? And why was she not sum- 
 moned to look her last upon her poor young sister's 
 face ? Money was not what she wanted, she had enough 
 for her own wants and for those of the child ; but the 
 tie of kinship was strong within her, and she not only 
 mourned for her sister, but bitterly resented the way 
 in which they had been kept apart. 
 
 Later in the day she took the decided step of going 
 herself to Daunay's Tower and asking to speak to the 
 master. But no answer came to her repeated knocks 
 at the narrow door. She went round the house to the
 
 Friends or Foes ? 27 
 
 front entrance, and pealed at the cold majestic portal 
 with equal unsuccess. Then she made her way to the 
 kitchen entrance, and here for the first time she saw 
 some sign of life. A man whom she recognized as Mr. 
 Daunay's confidential servant stood in the doorway. He 
 was in his shirt-sleeves, and was smoking a short pipe, 
 from which two signs Jane guessed the answer to her 
 question before it was out of her mouth. 
 
 "No, Mr. Daunay was not at home, and there was 
 no saying when he would be back." 
 
 " I saw him yesterday," said Jane, boldly. 
 
 " Oh yes, he was down for a day or two ; but he has 
 gone away again." 
 
 " He is coming back soon, I suppose, or you would 
 not be here ? " 
 
 She had no special dislike to this man, who was civil- 
 spoken and tolerably honest, but servitude was abhor- 
 rent to her, and she scorned him for his servile airs to 
 his master. Harvey was, in fact, an excellent servant, 
 and looked down upon Jane Arnold almost as much as 
 she looked down on him. 
 
 " You're a good guesser, miss," he said familiarly, 
 " but it isn't for me to say whether or no." 
 
 " Can I come in ? " she asked, taking a step towards 
 the door. 
 
 In a trice he was beforehand with her, and closed the 
 door in her face, remaining outside it, however, with 
 his hand upon the key. 
 
 " Nobody's allowed in while Mr. Daunay is away, ex- 
 cept on business," he said. "It would be as much as 
 my place was worth to let you in, Miss Arnold." 
 
 " That's not a standing rule," said Jane. " I've 
 often been in before."
 
 28 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Well, it's master's orders now, at any rate, and I'm 
 not one to go against them," said Harvey. 
 
 Jane hesitated ; she had a question which she was 
 longing to put, but it went against the grain with her 
 to obtain information in any surreptitious way. She 
 turned away at last, with her question still unasked. 
 
 All through the day and night, however, the baby 
 was a comfort to her. She felt a new warmth of love 
 and pity whenever she looked at the helpless little 
 thing. By the morning of the second day she had 
 grown into such passionate fondness of it that she felt 
 as if it would break her heart were the child taken 
 away. 
 
 About ten o'clock she saw, with positive anger, that 
 the doctor's gig was again drawn up at the gate, and 
 that Dr. Lechmere's slight, agile, upright figure was 
 advancing towards the door. Jane had the child in 
 her arms, but she laid it down in its cradle with a look 
 of stern determination upon her face. "He shan't 
 look at you, my blessed one ! He shan't handle you as 
 long as you have your Auntie Jane, he shan't ! " And 
 then she went into the passage and herself opened the 
 front door. 
 
 " There's no one ill," she said in a dry monotonous 
 voice. " We don't have the doctor in this part of the 
 world when we're not ill." 
 
 " Oh, I come as a friend," said Lechmere, airily. 
 " You'll have to submit to see me very often. I've 
 Mr. Daunay's orders to inspect his daughter twice a 
 week." 
 
 " If John Daunay can't trust me to bring up a child, 
 I think I'd better not take the responsibility," said Miss 
 Arnold.
 
 Friends or Foes ? 29 
 
 " "Well, perhaps you had better not," said the young 
 doctor, glibly. " If it's too much for you, I dare say 
 Mr. Daunay could find another home for her. But 
 wherever the baby goes he will have her under medical 
 inspection ; he told me so. You will either have to let 
 me see the child, Miss Arnold, or give her up to some 
 one else." 
 
 She blanched and whitened a little under the tan of 
 her healthy skin. The doctor's practised eye noted 
 the sign of care and grief upon her face ; her eyelids 
 were swollen, her complexion was rather blotched. 
 Even her lip quivered for a moment as she considered 
 the situation. Then she made a swift turn towards the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Come and see her, then, if you must. She's per- 
 fectly well and healthy ; she doesn't need doctoring, 
 but I suppose John Daunay will have his way." 
 
 " He does generally," said Lechmere, in a careless 
 tone. Then, as he followed his unwilling hostess into 
 the kitchen, his face lighted up and his voice took on a 
 ring of decided interest. " Come, this is something 
 like," he said. ' ' This is a fine old room. Why, this is 
 magnificent ! " 
 
 His eye ran rapidly over the details of the picture 
 before him. The great rafters of the roof, the enor- 
 mous inglenook, with the great logs of wood burning 
 in the old-fashioned grate ; the finely carved oak settle 
 and linen chests and chairs ; the wide, low windows, 
 with their cushioned seats ; these were objects which 
 for a moment brought a kind of enthusiasm to his face. 
 One of the peculiarities about Eugene Lechmere which 
 gave offense sometimes to his neighbors, was his inter- 
 est in what they called unimportant things, such as the
 
 3o Daunay's Tower. 
 
 shape of a piece of furniture, the exact shade of color in 
 a flower. He had artistic tastes which were decidedly 
 incongruous in his position. He was known to make 
 sketches, even in his hours of leisure, and to play 
 frivolous tunes upon a violin. As he looked at the 
 old north-country kitchen, it was evident that he had 
 the eye of a connoisseur. 
 
 Miss Arnold was somewhat mollified, in spite of her- 
 self. If there was a place that she loved, it was the 
 kitchen of Moorside Farm. She was half vexed, half 
 proud to see that Dr. Lechmere had entirely for- 
 gotten for a moment the errand on which he had come, 
 and that he was staring intently at the date cut in the 
 mantelpiece rather than at the child in the cradle. 
 
 " It's only a kitchen," she said dryly. " And there's 
 not been a bit of new furniture in it for the last two 
 hundred year or so, but I doubt it will last my time/' 
 
 " Of course it will last your time, and that of genera- 
 tions after you," said Lechmere, turning round with 
 almost a gay light in his deep-set dark eyes. "It is 
 charming ; it is delightful ! London itself would envy 
 you this carved oak and these mullioned windows ! " 
 
 "It is very little to me what they think in London," 
 said Jane Arnold. 
 
 His face clouded instantly. " Nor to me, either," 
 he said, with a subdued groan in his voice. " God 
 knows London and its opinions are nothing to me now. 
 Well," with a sharp change of tone " where's the 
 child ? " 
 
 Jane silently indicated the cradle. 
 
 " Ah, looks well a healthy child, well formed and 
 good-tempered, I should say. The name, by the bye, is 
 Annabel Annabel Daunay. I was to tell you that."
 
 Friends or Foes ? 31 
 
 " Has she been baptized ? " 
 
 " Yes, the nurse christened her on the night she was 
 born. A fancy of hers. They had an idea that she 
 would not live ; bat she seems all right." 
 
 " You are sure she was baptized ? " said Jane Arnold, 
 who was a staunch Churchwoman. 
 
 " Perfectly sure ; but I suppose you'll have her re- 
 ceived into the Church, or whatever you call it. You 
 must speak to the parson about that, if you think it 
 matters. Annabel, that's her name." 
 
 " Why was she not called after her mother ? " 
 
 Lechmere shrugged his shoulders. " Heaven knows ! 
 Her father wants her to stay here and be brought up 
 as her mother was before her, but he did not want her 
 called by the same name." 
 
 Jane Arnold's brow gathered. She looked at the 
 rosy baby in its snowy coverings, but did not say a word. 
 
 " And now," said Dr. Lechmere, with sudden energy, 
 "I have a word to say to you, Miss Arnold. You 
 came down to the Tower yesterday, and tried to get 
 inside." 
 
 "Yes, I did." 
 
 " For what object, I should like to know ? " 
 
 " Dr. Lechmere, I don't suppose you know any- 
 thing about the love of one woman for another. 
 Betha was my stepsister, but she was dearer than life 
 to me, and I can't help believing that she is there dead, 
 with nobody to put a flower on her breast or smooth 
 her pretty curls " 
 
 She stopped suddenly. Her eyes had filled with 
 tears, her voice had begun to choke. 
 
 " "What difference does it make ?" said the doctor, 
 harshly.
 
 32 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " All the difference to those who loved her," said 
 Jane Arnold, vehemently. " Is the poor lass to be 
 buried like a dog, without a sign of affection from 
 those who loved her ? Is nobody to kiss her dead face 
 or say a prayer at her bedside ? " 
 
 "Popery rank popery, Miss Arnold. Would you 
 pray for the dead ? " 
 
 " Better to pray for the dead than for some of the 
 living, I think," said the woman, sharply ; and from 
 the way in which she faced him he knew that she was 
 thinking of himself. 
 
 " So you consider me past praying for ? " he said, 
 with a laugh. " Why do you hate me so, Miss Arnold ? 
 After all, I'm not a hardened ruffian, though I may 
 choose to appear so from time to time. And I may 
 mend, you know. I'm not seven and twenty yet, 
 though I look more than my age." 
 
 He spoke scoffingly, but there was some little sug- 
 gestion of emotion, almost of pathos, behind the scoff. 
 Perhaps Miss Arnold saw and was touched by it, for 
 she answered more gently than was her wont. 
 
 " I've heard it said that it was never too late to 
 mend. But a man that takes in his mouth the lan- 
 guage that you take, and drink, as folk say you drink, 
 doctor, had need to think on his ways before he ex- 
 pects decent women to be civil to him." 
 
 She looked for an outburst of anger, for Dr. Lech- 
 mere was not reputed to be of an easy temper, but was 
 resolved to keep her ground in spite of it. To her sur- 
 prise, Eugene Lechmere was silent, and looked at the 
 ground as if a little ashamed of himself. He turned 
 perceptibly paler, and it seemed to her that he bit his 
 lips beneath his dark mustache.
 
 Friends or Foes ? 33 
 
 "I dare say you're right," he said, in an altered 
 voice ; " bat you don't know what it's like to know 
 that your whole life's blasted and ruined before you're 
 thirty. And I was a weak fool/' 
 
 " You forget that you are a doctor," said Jane 
 Arnold, dryly. "You've got plenty of power in your 
 hands still. When you've saved a few lives which 
 you won't do if you drink yourself to death and 
 soothed a little pain, and had a mother's thanks, may- 
 be, for bringing her bairns back from the grave, 
 then you won't feel as if your life were blasted, 
 after all." 
 
 The young man fixed a startled eye upon her ; it 
 was plain that the thought was new to him. He had 
 been fond of his profession could he get any comfort 
 from it still ? 
 
 There was an odd pause. Jane Arnold turned away 
 and rocked the baby 'a cradle. Lech mere picked up 
 his hat and walked mechanically to the door, as if he 
 felt himself dismissed. But before he left the room 
 he spoke once more, in the curiously changed tone 
 which Jane had already noted. 
 
 " If you would like to come down to the Tower this 
 afternoon, 1 will take you in to see your sister, Miss 
 Arnold. There will be plenty of time." 
 
 She started, and could hardly find voice for reply. 
 
 "You can let me in ?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Daunay will not be back before night. 
 The funeral is to take place at twelve." 
 
 " Twelve to-morrow ? " 
 
 " At midnight. It is his wish. At the little church 
 on the hill St. Andrew's, isn't it called ? You need 
 not tell any one, nor betray me," said Dr. Lechinere, 
 3
 
 34 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 with a forced smile ; " Daunay wants nobody to 
 know." 
 
 " I shall be there," said Jane, with solemnity. She 
 followed Lechmere to the door, and added a last fer- 
 vent word which made him wince beneath his assumed 
 indifference : " God bless you, doctor ! God reward 
 you for what you have done this day ! " 
 
 He seemed to have lost his power of repartee. He 
 mounted to the high seat of his dog-cart, and set off, 
 driving furiously, after his accustomed fashion, without 
 a word of farewell. But Jane Arnold's heart went out 
 to him with a throb of gratitude. 
 
 " He's better than I took him for ; I've been a bit 
 hard on him/' she said, as she went back to Baby 
 Annabel. 
 
 And so it came about that she stood beside Betha's 
 lifeless figure and gazed into the beautiful dead face 
 that afternoon, by Dr. Lechmere's permission and 
 favor, although John Daunay had ordered that neither 
 she nor any other person should be admitted to that 
 upper room in the Tower where his dead wife lay. He 
 did not want it known that Betha had been his wife, 
 or that she had died and left a child. He had never 
 told his friends in town that he was married ; there 
 was no use in publishing the fact now. 
 
 Money would do almost everything ; it could even 
 purchase silence where silence was desired. Parson, 
 doctor, sexton he had bought them all ; or so he 
 thought. And it was at dead of night, therefore, that 
 a carriage was driven to the little lonely gray stone 
 church generally known as St. Andrew's-on-the-Hill ; 
 and the stars shone dimly in the green churchyard 
 where Betha was laid to rest.
 
 Friends or Foes ? 35 
 
 Mr. Daunay and Eugene Lechmere were the mourn- 
 ers ; but there was another mourner who kept herself 
 in the shadows and passed almost unseen a mourner 
 who waited till all the rest of the party were gone, and 
 then came forward to lay a poor little posy of autumn 
 flowers upon her sister's grave.
 
 36 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 ANNABEL. 
 
 IT was one of the best days of the year. There was 
 scarcely a cloud to fleck the dazzling blue of the sum- 
 mer sky, and the sunshine poured itself in a broad, 
 golden flood over the green woods and pastures of the 
 valley and the purple hills which swept upward, curve 
 after curve, until the sterner angles of the granite 
 crags came into view and glittered in the light. It 
 was a day when everything glittered ; when the barren 
 northern land seemed as full of color and light as 
 Italy itself. The fell-side was rich in the warm reds 
 and browns and purples of the blossoming heather; 
 and the gorse made golden patches, which were as 
 beautiful as any of the garden blossoms grown in 
 sunnier climes. 
 
 So, at least, Annabel thought. She could not be- 
 lieve, in her heart, that there were any lovelier places 
 in the world than her own Cumberland home, where 
 she had spent the eighteen years of her young life. 
 " Cumberland in summer, perhaps," a friend once said 
 to her, rather doubtfully. But she had answered with 
 pretty vehemence, " In summer, in spring, autumn, 
 and winter, it is the dearest place in the whole wide 
 world." " And you know so much of the whole wide 
 world," her friend had mocked ; at which Annabel 
 turned away, half offended, because she did not quite
 
 Annabel. 37 
 
 like to be reminded that she had never been farther 
 than Carlisle. 
 
 Since the day when Dr. Lechmere placed her in Jane 
 Arnold's arms she had lived at the Moorside Farm. 
 The square, whitewashed house, not in the least pre- 
 tentious, with its air of solid respectability, was the 
 only home she knew. She had never been to school, 
 nor on a visit to any one ; she knew very few people, 
 and had no very great wish to know more. She was 
 that finest thing in the world a thoroughly healthy, 
 happy, and contented English girl. 
 
 She stood at the garden gate in the blaze of sunlight, 
 as if there were no such thing as danger from sun- 
 stroke or even the milder evils of freckles and tan. 
 She had forgotten her hat ; but it did not very much 
 matter ; her hair, thick and long, and twined round 
 her head in magnificent golden brown waves, protected 
 her from the sun ; and her skin was of the creamy tone 
 which never knows a blemish. In spite of her country 
 life and the hard winters and bitter winds that she had 
 known, her face had never browned or reddened ; it 
 wore a perfectly healthy tint, but, except when she was 
 under the influence of some excitement, was generally 
 rather pale. Her eyes were gray, but varied like her 
 country's skies ; for sometimes they were almost black, 
 sometimes blue, sometimes and especially when lumi- 
 nous with feeling they had the soft violet of the eve- 
 ning shadows among the hills. 
 
 But Annabel's charm for she had a charm which 
 was all her own did not lie in her lovely coloring so 
 much as in an impression of freshness and grace which 
 she conveyed to the beholder. There was a radiance 
 about her like that of a happy child ; and at the same
 
 38 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 time she was far removed from anything like shallow- 
 ness or levity. She was one of the people who make 
 life interesting for others. There was always an ele- 
 ment of the unexpected about her a touch of original- 
 ity for which no one could be prepared. At present 
 very few persons had discovered this fact ; but it was 
 not likely to remain hidden forever. She was eight- 
 een, and, although she did not know it, a change was 
 to come into her life from that very day. 
 
 She was watching at the gate for some one whom she 
 expected, and she wondered idly whether he would see 
 the spot of color that her blue cotton dress made 
 against the white of the gate and the lime-white road. 
 
 " He has such frightfully sharp eyes," she said to 
 herself with a little laugh; "I believe he can see 
 through a stone wall. Ah, there's the cart. How 
 smart it is with its bright red wheels, and how the har- 
 ness glitters ! He will have an accident some day if he 
 drives so recklessly. Auntie has told him so a thou- 
 sand times, but he only laughs at her." 
 
 Of course it was Dr. Lechmere of whom she spoke. 
 It was his dog-cart with the red wheels for which she 
 watched, as it sped along the white road at lightning 
 pace ; and is was his keen dark eye that smiled at her 
 as he drew up at the gate and raised his hat. He 
 never omitted that little sign of deference, but other- 
 wise his manner was as brusque as ever. 
 
 " What business have you to stand there without a 
 hat ? Do you want a sunstroke, or have you any am- 
 bition to rival me in complexion ? " 
 
 " That would scarcely be easy," said Annabel, giving 
 him her hand, and glancing rather mischievously at his 
 somewhat weatherbeaten countenance,
 
 Annabel. 39 
 
 To her fancy he always looked the same ; she could 
 not remember any change in him ; but, as a matter of 
 fuct, he was exceedingly different in many ways from 
 the man who had come to Carfax Dale some twenty 
 years ago. He had then been peculiarly pale and 'sal- 
 low, with something of an air of ill-health about him, 
 but the bracing Cumberland air had evidently given 
 him new life and strength. He was no stouter if 
 anything, he had perhaps grown sparer and leaner than 
 ever but his keen face was browned and burnt by the 
 effects of sun and wind, and many a storm of rain and 
 snow, and his hazel eyes had the clear, keen glance of 
 one who is accustomed to an open-air life in a place 
 where long distances have to be traversed and weather- 
 signs observed. The spareness and lightness of his 
 figure the greyhound look, as Annabel had once hap- 
 pily termed it gave him an appearance of youth which 
 he did not possess. No one would have taken him for 
 a man of nearly five and forty ; it was a surprise to new 
 acquaintances to hear that he was more than thirty-two 
 or thirty-three. His thick chestnut-brown hair and 
 slightly reddish mustache showed no threads of gray, 
 and his manner was that of a young man crisp, a little 
 satirical, and extremely self-assured. 
 
 There had been other and greater changes in Eugene 
 Lechmere than those in his appearance. Nobody knew 
 exactly when or how they had taken place ; but they 
 were manifest enough to any one who compared him 
 with the reckless young fellow who had first made him- 
 self known to the Cumberland folk. The tales of his 
 mad frolics, his drunken bouts, his fits of profanity, 
 had long ago died away. There was not a soberer or 
 more strictly living man in the neighborhood than Dr.
 
 4O Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Lechmere of High Rigg. He worked too hard to 
 have time for frolics, if he had wanted them. Time 
 had not worked wonders with his temper he could 
 still be extremely bad-tempered and irritable, for his 
 nerves were too highly strung for mere placidity but it 
 was seldom that his language outran discretion in these 
 latter days. He had taken himself under control, and 
 thrown those restless energies of his into the pursuit of 
 his profession. But no one knew that the agencies by 
 which this change had been effected were a few strong 
 words spoken to him by Jane Arnold in her kitchen, 
 and frequent contact with a little child. 
 
 Mr. Daunay had paid him, through Annabel's child- 
 hood, to come twice a week in order to watch over her 
 health and well-being. He was at first rather con- 
 temptuous of his own errand. But before long he grew 
 interested, and in a year or two little Annabel had him 
 under her baby-thumb. His subjugation was complete 
 when he had pulled her through a childish illness in 
 which she very nearly died. After that, it became the 
 supreme pleasure of his life to see her as often as he 
 could manage to pass that way. And Jane Arnold had 
 given him her trust and friendship too, so that he had 
 grown to be very much at home in the whitewashed 
 house on the hillside, and was a very important factor 
 in Annabel's development and education. It may, in- 
 deed, be roughly said that all the intellectual education 
 she ever received came from him. Jane Arnold taught 
 her to read, write, and sew ; and probably would never 
 have thought of teaching her anything else. She once 
 had a great quarrel with Dr. Lechmere on this account. 
 He argued that as Annabel was John Daunay's daugh- 
 ter, and might some day be mistress of Daunay's Tower,
 
 Annabel. 41 
 
 > 
 
 she ought to be sent to school. Jane retorted angrily 
 that school would make a fine lady of her, and that there 
 was not the least reason to suppose that Mr. Daunay 
 meant to leave her his money. He had not even al- 
 lowed the girl to know that her father was living. He 
 said that he should tell her of the relationship when 
 he chose, and not before. 
 
 Lechmere wrote to him on the subject of the girl's 
 schooling, and did himself little good thereby, although 
 he benefited Annabel in the long run. Mr. Daunay 
 refused to send her to school, told the doctor that his 
 medical services were no longer required, but sent 
 money to Jane Arnold for masters and mistresses from 
 Carlisle. Annabel was taught music and dancing, 
 French and Italian, for five years of her life. Mean- 
 while Eugene Lechmere lost two hundred a year for 
 his interference. But he told himself, with a little 
 shrug of the shoulders, that he cared nothing for 
 that. 
 
 He, at least, guided her tastes, talked to her about 
 Dante, taught her the violin. Perhaps it was chiefly 
 for her sake that he made his life clean and orderly ; 
 she influenced him almost as much as he dominated 
 her. But she never guessed at this side of their friend- 
 ship ; she always had something ' of a schoolgirl's air 
 when he stood before her. sharp and critical, reading 
 her through and through with his keen eyes. 
 
 "Yon think you are beyond harm, do you?" he 
 asked, after regarding her fair face for a moment or 
 two. " You are invulnerable ?" 
 
 " What a hard word !" she exclaimed. 
 
 " You know its meaning well enough. Allow me to 
 remind you that you are human, after all, and that you
 
 42 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 will get into mischief some day if you don't look after 
 yourself." 
 
 Annabel arched her eyebrows. " Is the lecture done? " 
 
 " The lecture is done, temporarily. I should have 
 thought that by this time you would have discovered 
 that my lectures go on, like the stream, forever ; and 
 are of about as much use, I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, but you must not say that," said the girl, her 
 eyes suddenly melting. " You know I always attend, 
 really, to anything that you wish. I have practised all 
 the scales that you told me to practise, and I have 
 studied that Latin grammar until I was tired. I can 
 say all the declensions, if you like ; and all because 
 you talked so seriously to me when you were here a 
 week ago." 
 
 " Good child ! " said Lechmere, letting his eyes rest 
 upon her kindly. " You work hard, I know. I only 
 wish you played hard, too." 
 
 "What should I play at ?" she asked, in wonder. 
 
 '*' Oh, there are plenty of things to play at," said the 
 doctor, resuming the sardonic tone which he usually 
 employed. "As a rule, young women don't need 
 teaching the rules of the game. There is the game of 
 dressing yourself beautifully, you know, and taking the 
 shine out of every other woman that you happen to 
 come across. There is the game of making men love 
 you, and breaking their hearts by scores ; that is a very 
 favorite game of beautiful women. There is the game 
 of falling in love and out again ; and the best game of 
 all, that of getting married in a white satin gown to a 
 man who has thirty thousand a year, and whom you 
 love, therefore, although he may be old as Methuselah, 
 wicked as Satan, and ugly as sin."
 
 Annabel. 43 
 
 " And yon think that these are games that I should 
 care to play at ? " said Annabel, regarding him stead- 
 fastly. 
 
 " You are a woman," he said, his hazel eyes trav- 
 eling beyond her to a world of which she knew 
 nothing, and which he himself sometimes forgot. " Do 
 not women do these things ? " 
 
 For a moment she did not answer ; then she turned 
 her face away, and looked at the lovely valley deep 
 down below her, where the river shone like a thread of 
 silver in the sun. 
 
 " Surely," she said at last, " you have told me of 
 women higher and nobler than these ? The woman 
 that Dante worshiped, the lady for whom Sir Kudol 
 broke his heart, the queen who sucked the poison from 
 her husband's wounds " 
 
 "Tut ! these were in the Middle Ages," he said, 
 " and we live in the nineteenth century now. We 
 would, one and all of us, sell our souls for gold. Your 
 queens and minstrels and poets have passed away with 
 the age that begot them. As Candide remarks, we 
 must cultivate our garden." 
 
 " I do not like you when you say these things," she 
 answered him ; and his keen eye noted a faint flush 
 spreading over her face as she spoke. You frighten 
 me. I cannot think that what you say is true. If the 
 world is like that, then let me stay here forever, and 
 live the life that you say belongs to the Middle Ages, 
 when men were brave and gentle, and women good and 
 true." 
 
 For a minute or two there was silence ; and then 
 Eugene Lech mere spoke with gentleness that was un- 
 usual from his lips.
 
 44 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Forgive me, Annabel. You speak as all true 
 women have spoken, in all the ages of the world. There 
 are many left to agree with yon. You must not mind 
 what an old cynic like myself says about these things." 
 
 "Why should you be a cynic, I wonder ?" said An- 
 nabel, with frank wonder in her eyes. " It seems so 
 unnatural ! " 
 
 "Long may it seem so," the doctor responded laugh- 
 ingly. " But I must not stay talking to you any 
 longer ; I have some business with your aunt. Shall I 
 find her indoors ? " 
 
 "Let me find her for you," said Annabel. 
 
 But Dr. Lechmere waved her back. " I know where 
 she is likely to be ; don't take the trouble ; " and he 
 strode off in his quick, agile way to the house, where, as 
 it happened, he met Miss Arnold almost at the door. 
 
 Her homely face brightened at the sight of him, then 
 fell a little, for she read something in his eyes which 
 startled her. 
 
 " Bad news ?" she asked briefly. 
 
 He walked into the little parlor and closed the door 
 before he answered her. 
 
 "Unexpected news, at any rate," he said. "But it 
 is the unexpected that always happens, is it not ? Mr. 
 Daunay is at the Tower, and is coming to see you this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " I shall send Annabel out." 
 
 "I am afraid you must not do that, as he particu- 
 larly wishes to make the acquaintance of his daughter." 
 
 Then the man and woman, to whom. Annabel was 
 dearer than any other living creature in the world, 
 stood and looked at each other in silence, as if they felt 
 the approach of danger.
 
 A Distant Relation. 45 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A DISTANT RELATION. 
 
 THE doctor was the first to speak. ' There's no 
 need for alarm," he said, though it was plain that he 
 was trying to reassure himself as well as Jane Arnold ; 
 " I don't suppose he wants to take her away. A man 
 may be pardoned for wishing to see his daughter." 
 
 " She has spent eighteen years here, and he has not 
 cared to see her," said Jane, rather hoarsely. She sat 
 down suddenly, as if the strength had gone out of her 
 limbs. "Did he send you to tell me ?" 
 
 " No ; but possibly he intended me to mention it. 
 And, as I was passing, I thought I would let you know, 
 so that you would be prepared." 
 
 He observed her keenly as he spoke. Her face had 
 turned pale, and there was a slightly violet tint about 
 her lips which he did not like to see. He knew that 
 her heart was weak, and that it was not good for her 
 to be startled. 
 
 " You must take things quietly, Miss Arnold. 
 Surely you would expect Mr. Daunay to turn up some 
 day?" 
 
 "I had given up expecting him." 
 
 " Well, he has come at last, you see, and we must 
 make the best of it." 
 
 " You have seen him, doctor ?" 
 
 "Yes; he sent for me last night. He was afraid of
 
 46 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 an attack of gout, but it seemed to have passed off this 
 morning." 
 
 "Is he much altered ?" said Jane ; and her hands 
 moved nervously in her lap. 
 
 "Eighteen years leave traces on most of us, I'm 
 afraid. Even you and I, Miss Arnold, are not as young 
 as we once were. Mr. Daunay is a man of sixty by 
 this time." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the woman, with a quick catching of 
 her breath, " I know what you mean by that. John 
 Daunay's old and gray, I suppose, as I am myself. He 
 was like a brother to me, was John Daunay, at one 
 time, and there was nothing I wouldn't have done for 
 him. He knew that, perhaps, when he trusted me 
 with Annabel. But eighteen years ! To have kept 
 away from her eighteen years ! I can't forgive him for 
 those eighteen years, doctor. And if he takes her 
 
 away " She stopped short, and pressed her hand 
 
 to her side. The violet tint deepened on her lips. 
 
 " You want some brandy. Where do you keep it ? " 
 said Dr. Lechmere, suddenly. " Ah, I know. Keep 
 still." And coolly taking a bunch of keys which she 
 had laid on the table, he selected one, with which he 
 opened a sideboard, whence he extracted a decanter 
 and a glass. " You've given me good things out of 
 this sideboard so often, Miss Arnold, that I know where 
 they are all kept. Now, drink this, and be quiet for a 
 minute or two. Don't you remember what 1 have so 
 often told you that you ought never to excite your- 
 self ?" 
 
 "I'm afraid you can't control the course of nature," 
 said Jane Arnold, rather grimly, when she had swal- 
 ]owed the cordial and remained silent for a few minutes.
 
 A Distant Relation. 47 
 
 " One might as well be a cabbage if there were nothing 
 in the world to excite one's self about, as you call it." 
 
 "Well, be a cabbage," said the doctor, curtly. 
 " You had better be a cabbage than a dead woman." 
 
 " Do you mean that, doctor ? " 
 
 " That statement ? Certainly I mean it. A living 
 dog is better than a dead lion, as I have been told." 
 
 " Do you mean that I have a mortal disease ?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I'm not sure that I should tell 
 you if you had. But I only accuse you at present of 
 a weak heart, Miss Arnold, and it is for Annabel's sake 
 as well as your own that I ask you to be careful." 
 
 " I will do my best. God knows I don't want to 
 leave her, nor her to leave me." 
 
 " No, we don't want that. But you won't think it a 
 liberty for me to say one word ? " 
 
 " Say what you like, Dr. Lechmere. You've been 
 a good friend to Annabel and me, although there was 
 a day when I said you should never lay a finger upon 
 Betha's child." 
 
 " I've not hurt her, I believe," said the man, with a 
 sudden softening of the brilliant hazel eyes, which 
 sometimes looked so hard and critical. " I have given 
 her of my best, such as it is. And for her sake, let me 
 just say this one thing ; our interest in her, our our 
 love, as we may call it, for her, need not make us sel- 
 fish, I suppose. If John Daunay wants to take her 
 away and make her his heiress, you, Miss Arnold, will 
 be doing her a wrong if you stand in the way. That's 
 all. I was bound to say it, whether you were offended 
 or not." 
 
 "I'm not offended. I like plain speaking," said 
 Jane Arnold, who now looked more like herself, with
 
 48 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 a healthy color in her cheeks and a resolute expres- 
 sion in her eyes. " And I'm obliged to you, doctor, 
 for giving me warning beforehand. It would have 
 been a bit of a shock to me if John Daunay had 
 walked in and taken me by surprise. I shall be pre- 
 pared for him now." 
 
 " That's right," said Dr. Lechmere, easily. " Now 
 I must go on my round, I suppose. I hope Mr. Daunay 
 will make himself agreeable. It's an unprofessional 
 thing to say, but he never struck me as an agreeable 
 man." 
 
 Jane's mouth relaxed into a smile. " We aren't all 
 agreeable, down in Cumberland, doctor." 
 
 "Did I ever say you were ? " said the doctor. " I'm 
 not an agreeable man myself." 
 
 " You'll look in to-morrow, won't you ? " said Miss 
 Arnold, a trifle anxiously. " I should like to tell you 
 what he says." 
 
 A gleam of satisfaction shone from Dr. Lechmere's 
 eyes. " Ah, thank you. It will be interesting to hear 
 his views of Annabel." He had been hankering after 
 the invitation, but had been too delicate to anticipate 
 it. He shook hands with his hostess and took a swift 
 departure, looking round for Annabel, however, as he 
 trod the garden path. But Annabel had vanished, and 
 Dr. Lechmere touched up his brown cob with a little 
 disappointment at his heart. 
 
 But the disappointment was premature. At a turn- 
 ing in the road he came upon the girl, standing in a space 
 at the side, where the rough stone wall had been par- 
 tially broken down. She waved her hand smilingly, 
 and Dr. Lechmere drew up so suddenly that he brought 
 the cob almost upon its haunches.
 
 A Distant Relation. 49 
 
 " Well, have you seen Aunt Jane ? " she cried. 
 
 " You spring out of nothingness like a sprite or a 
 fairy," he answered. " Go home and take care of her. 
 She is not over strong." 
 
 "She is not ill ? " said Annabel, quickly. 
 
 " Not at all. But she would be better if she rested 
 more. What are you doing now ? " 
 
 She had gone to the horse's head, and was stroking 
 his brown nose and feeding him with sugar. 
 
 "Your Brownie is a dear thing," she said. 
 
 " Brownie would miss you if you went away." 
 
 She gave him a quick, surprised glance. " But I 
 am not going away. What makes you say that, Dr. 
 Lechmere ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing. I was speculating on possibilities, 
 that was all. Now, if the sugar is all done " 
 
 " Good-by," she said, with a merry sparkle in her 
 eyes. " I know you want to get rid of me." 
 
 He raised his hat and drove on, the somewhat in- 
 scrutable smile on his face suggesting that he did not 
 mean to natter her by a contradiction. But Annabel 
 knew him too well to think that her presence was any- 
 thing but welcome. 
 
 She found her aunt setting things in order in the 
 best parlor, in a somewhat nervous fashion, sin- 
 gularly unlike herself. Annabel took the duster and 
 feather brush out of Miss Arnold's hands, and piloted 
 her gently but firmly to the most comfortable arm- 
 chair. 
 
 " Dr. Lechmere says you are not to work too hard. 
 What do you mean by doing my dusting all over 
 again ? Don't I dust this room every morning, 
 auntie ? " 
 4
 
 5o Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " We are to have a visitor this afternoon," said Jane 
 Arnold, " and I thought I would just do a little extra 
 to the room. But it doesn't need it, I know, my 
 dear." 
 
 " A visitor ! "We have very few visitors, auntie. Is 
 it old Miss Maberly, or Mr. Crisp ? " 
 
 "It is Mr. Daunay, Annabel, from the Tower." 
 
 Annabel turned round quickly. " Mr. Daunay of 
 Daunay's Tower ? Your landlord, isn't he, Aunt Jane ? 
 Oh, we must certainly have everything in apple-pie 
 order, so that he may be contented with his tenants." 
 
 " Not only that," said Miss Arnold, indefinitely 
 " not only that, Annabel." Then, as her niece gazed 
 at her in some perplexity, she added hastily, " I have 
 never told you before, child, but I must tell you now 
 that he is a relation of yours. I have always let you 
 know that I could never have afforded the things you 
 have had dresses and music-lessons and books ; it was 
 he who bought them for you, and you ought to know 
 it before you see him." 
 
 Annabel changed color. " Auntie, I think I ought 
 to have known this before/' But she said it very 
 gently and sweetly. " Why, I have never even 
 thanked my benefactor. For he was a benefactor, was 
 he not?" 
 
 " I never thought of him in that light," said Miss 
 Arnold, dully. 
 
 " Why, auntie ! When he was so kind ? But I wish 
 I had known, for I have never had a chance of being 
 grateful ; besides, if I had imagined that an unknown 
 distant relative was giving me things, I might perhaps 
 have valued them more not have taken them as if they 
 were what I had a right to expect."
 
 A Distant Relation. 51 
 
 " You never did take them in that way, Annabel." 
 
 " I don't know. I feel as if I must have been un- 
 gruteful. And now how am I to thank him ? " 
 
 " lie will not wish to be thanked. He did not wish 
 you to know that there was a relationship." 
 
 " How very odd ! " said Annabel, with genuine sur- 
 prise. " And what relation is he, Aunt Jane ? " 
 
 " I've told you enougli just now, my dear," said her 
 aunt, rising and beginning to pull some dead leaves off 
 the geranium plants with which a stand in the window 
 was filled. " I think he would rather tell you himself. 
 And if he says nothing about it, you'd best not ask. I 
 used to know him well, and I know that in old days 
 there was one thing he couldn't bear, and that was to 
 be questioned." 
 
 " He must be rather peculiar," said Annabel, 
 lightly. "However, I will be very quiet and well be- 
 haved. I won't speak till I'm spoken to, like a good 
 little girl. And am I to make myself look nice for 
 him ? " 
 
 "You always look nice in my eyes, my pretty," said 
 Jane, fondly. " But you can put on one of your 
 white frocks ; I think you look, perhaps, best in 
 white." 
 
 "So Dr. Eugene says," remarked Annabel, who 
 sometimes varied the doctor's title in this way. " And 
 if two people say it, it must be true." 
 
 She went away singing, and Jane Arnold looked 
 after her with a sense of uncomprehending amaze. 
 How lightly she had taken a communication which 
 would have filled the hearts of some girls with actual 
 alarm ! For did she not see that it was important for 
 her to produce a pleasing impression on the mind of
 
 52 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 their " distant relation," as she had dubbed him, 
 who had been so kind to her ? Jane forgot how 
 little Annabel knew, and how natural it seemed to her 
 that people should be kind. There was no morbid 
 self-consciousness or self-depreciation about the girl ; 
 she was simply honestly grateful to people who were 
 good to her, and never afraid of saying so. Her aunt 
 wondered what John Daunay would think of her, and 
 whether she would remind him painfully of Betha ; for 
 Annabel was like her mother, but with more grace and 
 more brilliance than Betha ever had. 
 
 It was, perhaps, the half -concealed weakness of Jane's 
 health that made her so nervous that morning. An- 
 nabel thought her strangely unlike herself ; but in a 
 little while she had mastered her emotion, and was 
 once more the grave, calm, capable woman whom the 
 girl had always known. At four o'clock in the after- 
 noon she was sitting in the parlor with her sewing 
 in her hands. She had smoothed her gray hair under 
 her best lace cap the one that Annabel made for her, 
 with its gay little bow of pink ribbon and she had 
 donned her black silk dress, also to please Annabel, for 
 she herself would sooner have received her old friend 
 and brother-in-law in her working garb. But Annabel 
 was shocked at the idea, so, to please her, Miss Arnold 
 made herself, as she called it, " fine." 
 
 As for Annabel herself, nothing looked " fine " on 
 her, yet nothing was unbecoming. Her soft white 
 muslin frock set off the exquisite refinement of her 
 beauty as even a Court dress with satin train might 
 have failed to do. She had tied a blue sash round her 
 waist, and pinned a cluster of roses in her bosom, and 
 she looked, as she always did, the embodiment of cheer-
 
 A Distant Relation. 53 
 
 ful youth, health, and innocence. She was gay as a 
 kitten, untroubled as a child. Yet, at that very mo- 
 ment her aunt's heart was sore at the thought of the 
 girl's wrongs ; and her friend, the doctor, driving furi- 
 ously along the country roads, was in a black rage at 
 the very idea of her being dragged away from her na- 
 tive county to queen it in her father's house in Lon- 
 don. And the father himself was full of a strange 
 hard resentment against her, and a dark suspicionsness 
 of her motives, and a determination not to be bam- 
 boozled or beguiled, which would have surprised and 
 grieved his daughter beyond measure could she have 
 seen into his heart and soul. 
 
 At fifteen minutes past four a tall, heavy man with 
 gray hair, stooping shoulders, and a rather grim cast 
 of countenance, walked up the garden path and knocked 
 at Miss Arnold's door. And she, dropping her work 
 and casting a quick glance at Annabel, said hur- 
 riedly 
 
 " That is Mr. Daunay, my dear." 
 
 Next moment Jonn Daunay walked into the room.
 
 54 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 JANE ARNOLD had risen from her chair, and, with 
 one hand on the center table, was regarding her old 
 acquaintance with much distrust. He was very much 
 altered, she told herself. Probably he was saying the 
 same thing about her. Annabel looked on, with a sort 
 of disinterested curiosity. She did not quite see why 
 these two old people should be agitated at meeting 
 after eighteen years, but she recognized that this was 
 the fact, and that she was an outsider for the moment. 
 John Daunay came forward with a heavy lurch, and 
 held out his hand, into which Jane Arnold, after 
 a moment's perceptible hesitation, placed her own. 
 Then she motioned him to a chair, a solid wooden 
 chair, which he drew up to the window with an air of 
 satisfaction, and sank into her own cushioned seat as 
 if the opening ceremony of a great occasion were over. 
 She had not looked at Annabel, nor had Mr. Daunay 
 shown any consciousness of the girl's presence, so that 
 Annabel stood amazed. She had not been used to 
 being made of so little importance. 
 
 But her slight figure, erect in the corner, suddenly 
 struck on Jane's sensibilities. 
 
 " This is Annabel," she said, beckoning the girl 
 forward, and putting one hand upon her wrist.
 
 Father and Daughter. 55 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Daunay. There was a certain thick- 
 ness in his way of speaking. He looked like a man 
 who might have an apoplectic seizure at any moment. 
 " Annabel, is it ? A well-grown girl. Come and shake 
 hands with me, my dear." 
 
 Annabel laid her slender fingers within his great red 
 paw, and looked at him meditatively. 
 
 " I hope you are a good girl," he said to her, in a 
 benevolent and condescending manner, " and do not 
 give any trouble to your aunt." 
 
 " I try to be good," said Annabel, with a literal air ; 
 "but it's rather difficult sometimes, is it not ?" 
 
 He stared at her helplessly. She was evidently not 
 the sort of girl that he had expected to find. He 
 looked from her to Jane, and back again to Annabel. 
 
 " Well, Jane," he said at last, "you've had eighteen 
 years of her, and what is she likely to turn out ? What 
 is she fit for ? You've the best right to say." 
 
 Annabel stepped backward a pace or two. " Shall I 
 go ? " she said to her aunt, with some abruptness of 
 tone. "If you would like to give Mr. Daunay your 
 opinion of rny character, I think I had better depart." 
 
 " No, no," said Miss Arnold, deprecatingly, while 
 John Daunay said, " Stay where you are," in a voice 
 which would have done credit to the proverbial bull of 
 Bashan. Annabel stayed, but her face grew red as 
 fire. 
 
 " I do not know that I can describe Annabel," said 
 Miss Arnold, rather stiffly. " She is a good girl ; that 
 is perhaps the highest praise I can give to any young 
 woman." 
 
 " It may be enough in your Cumberland fells ; it 
 isn't enough for London," said Mr. Daunay.
 
 56 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Your Cumberland fells, John I" said Jane Arnold, 
 with a sudden keen glance which made the man wince 
 in spite of himself. 
 
 " Well, my fells, if you like," he answered, in rather 
 a surly tone. " I was born and bred here, it is true, 
 and I own an old house and some acres of barren land ; 
 but I have not been here for eighteen years, and I feel 
 as if London were more my home. But the old place 
 well, it's a place one does not altogether forget, after 
 all." 
 
 Jane sighed and was silent, but Annabel was not 
 in the habit of being silent when her feelings were 
 aroused. 
 
 "I cannot imagine how anybody can forget this 
 place," she said. " The dear, beautiful hills, the pure 
 air, the lovely valley ! One ought to be proud of be- 
 longing to it rather than to a smoky, grimy place like 
 London, I am sure." 
 
 John Daunay slightly lowered his head it seemed to 
 flatten itself a little like the head of a snake as he 
 listened to her. The pure accent, the charming timbre 
 of voice, were not perhaps what he had expected to 
 hear. He glanced at her in a furtive kind of way, from 
 under his heavy lowered eyelids. 
 
 " You have an opinion of your own, it seems/' he 
 said, with ponderous sarcasm. 
 
 " Of course I have," said Annabel. 
 
 " And no hesitation in expressing it ? " 
 
 " Not when I know I am right. And naturally I am 
 right in preferring Cumberland to London. I am sure 
 Mr. Ruskin would say so." 
 
 " Who is Mr. Buskin ? and who told you anything 
 about London ? "
 
 Father and Daughter. 57 
 
 "Ruskin ? but you know his writings, don't you ? " 
 said Annabel, looking up with glowing eyes. 
 
 " An author, is he ? Never mind him, then ; he 
 will keep. Who has been talking to you about 
 London ?" 
 
 For once Annabel hesitated. "I suppose I have 
 gathered my ideas of London from various sources," 
 she said at last. " And some things Dr. Lechmere has 
 said have lingered in my mind." 
 
 '* Lechmere ! I knew it," cried the old man, bring- 
 ing his hand down with violence on his knee. " Lech- 
 mere, the jail-bird, the rogue ! the drunken, evil- 
 spoken, ill-living fool " 
 
 "That is not true ! Not a word of what you say is 
 true," cried Annabel, with vehemence. "I call upon 
 Aunt Jane to tell you that you have a very wrong 
 opinion of Dr. Lechmere. Speak, Aunt Jane, and tell 
 Mr. Daunay what sort of a man our Dr. Lechmere is." 
 
 "Upon my word ! " John Daunay ejaculated feebly. 
 " Well, this young lady can speak up for her favor- 
 ites, it seems ! " 
 
 " She's perfectly right," said Jane Arnold, lifting 
 her head. " Dr. Lechmere was a wild young fellow 
 when he came here first, but he has sobered down. He 
 is very much respected in the neighborhood, and he 
 has been a very good friend to us." 
 
 " Much more than that," said Annabel, rapidly. 
 " If a kind deed is waiting to be done, it is Dr. Lech- 
 mere who does it. If any one is ill, and there is no- 
 body to sit up, it is Dr. Lechmere who sacrifices his 
 night's rest for his patient. He is always ready to 
 attend the sick whenever and wherever he is called, 
 night and day. And if he has to choose between a rich
 
 58 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 patient and a poor one, it is the rich one that he gives 
 up." 
 
 " More fool he," said Mr. Daunay. 
 
 " There is no one more loved or looked up to about 
 here," continued Annabel, hotly. " He goes to the 
 best houses as well as the worst, if you think that is 
 any credit to him. The marchioness herself sent for 
 him the other day. And I heard it said that if he 
 chose to go to London he could make a fortune in no 
 time." 
 
 "As a quack," said the old man, sourly. "His 
 brother practitioners wouldn't recognize him in Lon- 
 don, I can tell you. He has been kicked out of his 
 profession as far as they are concerned. That is why 
 he has buried himself in this obscure part of the world, 
 where he hopes that nobody knows his story." 
 
 " What is his story ? " said Annabel, point-blank, 
 and scornfully. Then she caught herself up, and 
 spoke with extraordinary decision. " No, I don't 
 want to hear it. Please don't tell me. I would rather 
 not know." 
 
 "You prefer to think your paragon perfect in every 
 way ? " said Mr. Daunay, with a sneer. 
 
 " I don't think him perfect in the least. But if he 
 wanted me to know his past history, he would have 
 told us himself." 
 
 " So likely, is it not, that a man will tell what is to 
 his own disadvantage ? Well, I am not going to tell 
 you all I know. I did not come here to discuss Eugene 
 Lechmere, but to make acquaintance with you." 
 
 " That was very good of you," said Annabel, gravely. 
 " And 1 think I ought to say that I am very much 
 obliged to you for your kindness to me in the past.
 
 Father and Daughter. 59 
 
 Aunt Jane has told mo that I owe my education and 
 many other things to you." 
 
 Mr. Dauuay eyed her suspiciously. He thought at 
 first that he divined a gibe in her words, but the sin- 
 cerity of her candid eyes reassured him. He had seen 
 enough of the world to recognize truth and candor 
 when they came in his way. 
 
 "I hope," he said dryly, "that you have had the 
 wits to profit by your education. What can yon do ?" 
 
 Annabel's eyes danced. "lean make butter," she 
 said, " and I can cook and sew. I am told that those 
 are the things that men like best for women to do." 
 
 " But I didn't send money to pay for cooking and 
 sewing," said Mr. Daunay. 
 
 " Annabel has had a great many lessons from the 
 best masters and mistresses in Carlisle," said Miss 
 Arnold, with a reproachful glance at the girl. "She 
 can play the piano and the violin, and she makes very 
 pretty pictures too." 
 
 " Can you sing ? " said the old man, abruptly. 
 
 " I will sing to you now if you like," said Annabel, 
 with perfect ease and pleasantness. " Then you can 
 see whether you like my voice. Have you any favorite 
 song that you would like ? " 
 
 "I don't know enough about music to have any 
 favorite songs. But, for God's sake, sing English; 
 none of your foreign trumpery." 
 
 The girl laughed. " I like English songs too," she 
 said, " so we are alike on that point." 
 
 Jane Arnold, aghast at her niece's audacity, stole a 
 quick look at John Daunay, and discerned that the no- 
 tion of a likeness between him and his daughter had 
 given him a thrill. There was a grateful look on
 
 60 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 his face, almost the dawn of a smile. Jane drew a 
 breath of relief. Annabel's manner, although perfectly 
 simple and courteous, was very unlike the manners 
 which had been inculcated on young ladies when 
 Jane was young. She had feared lest John Daunay 
 should be shocked by it. But possibly Mr. Daunay 
 was not without experience of the modern woman. 
 
 Annabel's fingers, gliding over the yellow keyboard 
 in one of Purcell's charmingly naive melodies, drew a 
 good deal of music out of the old piano. Her voice, a 
 very sweet and flexible soprano, of no great strength, 
 but with the sympathetic quality which adds a double 
 charm, was precisely suited to the little runs and trills 
 of the song that she had chosen. Dr. Lechmere always 
 said that she sang like a bird, with a natural ease and 
 sweetness which owed nothing to art at all. At any 
 rate, she succeeded in pleasing John Daunay. 
 
 " Good, good : I like that," he said approvingly, at 
 the end of the song. " Sensible girl to choose songs 
 of that sort. And you have the music at your fingers' 
 ends too, I see." 
 
 " Annabel plays the violin, "said Jane, suggestively. 
 
 " Shall I fetch it ? " Annabel asked placidly. " You 
 want to see and hear what I can do, I think, do you 
 not, sir ? It is like an examination ; only " with a 
 regretful air " if I had known you were coming, I 
 would have practised up something on purpose. You 
 have given me no opportunity of showing off ! " 
 
 Mr. Daunay actually laughed. The girl pleased him 
 almost against his will. She was a little like poor 
 Betha ; but Betha had been pretty and nothing else. 
 Annabel had Betha's good looks and his keen wits, and 
 a sense of humor which seemed all her own.
 
 Father and Daughter. 61 
 
 " Get your fiddle," he said good-naturedly, " and 
 let us hear how you make it squeak. Play us a rousing 
 tune." 
 
 With a little smile, Annabel did as she was told. 
 She played some dance music, and wild Highland airs 
 which Eugene Lechmere had taught her. The mirth 
 of the dances, the pathos of the pibrochs with their 
 long-drawn wailing notes, were not lost upon John 
 Daunay, rough and almost brutal as he looked. 
 
 " You don't play badly," he said at last. " Who 
 taught you ? " 
 
 " Dr. Lechmere," said Annabel. 
 
 " Oh da confound Dr. Lechmere ! What business 
 had he to become your music-master ? " 
 
 " He has taught me very well don't you think so ?" 
 said Annabel, with clear composed eyes. He taught 
 me Italian, too. He is a very accomplished man." 
 
 " Italian ! " 
 
 " Yes ; and about Dante and Italian art, and all sorts 
 of lovely things ! I think I should die of joy if ever I 
 went to Italy. I long to see the world ! " 
 
 " Why, Annabel," said Miss Arnold, in a plaintive 
 tone, " it was only the other day that I heard you say 
 you were sure that Cumberland was the most beautiful 
 place in the whole wide world." 
 
 " So it is," said Annabel briskly. " But I want to 
 see the ugly places too. Not that Italy can be ugly." 
 
 "I don't care much for Italy myself," said John 
 Dannay. " A poor country people very much over- 
 taxed, and buildings in sad disrepair. Paris, now 
 Paris is a place where you can enjoy yourself. Do you 
 know French, my dear ?" 
 
 " A little," said Annabel, modestly. " I can read
 
 62 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 it, and talk it not very correctly ; but Madame Pel- 
 lotier said that my accent was good, and that I should 
 pick it up directly if I went to France. But I am not 
 very likely to go to France, am I ? " 
 
 " There's no reason why you should not, if you have 
 the fancy for it," said Mr. Dannay. 
 
 Annabel looked at him with large attentive eyes. 
 " I should have thought there was every reason/' she 
 said. " I have no money, to begin with ; and I have 
 nobody to go with." 
 
 " You could go with me, eh ? " said John Daunay, 
 laughing awkwardly. 
 
 " With you ? " Annabel was politely surprised. 
 
 " With me, young lady ; and I don't know who would 
 have a better right. Your aunt doesn't seem to have 
 told you of the relationship between us." 
 
 " No. She said that you were a distant relation." 
 
 " Ho, ho ! Distant, indeed ! The nearest you have, 
 my dear, and about the nearest you could have, any 
 way. I had my reasons for not telling you before ; 
 but there's no reason why you should not know now, 
 nor why you should not be glad of the information. 
 I'm your father, Annabel, and you are my only child."
 
 John Daunay's Plan. 63 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 DAUNAY'S PLAN. 
 
 ANNABEL turned pale. It was almost the first time 
 in her life that any piece of news had had that effect 
 upon her, and Jane Arnold rose to her feet in alarm, 
 with her hand pressed to her side. But a glance from 
 the girl's serious eyes reassured her. Annabel was not 
 weak, but she was certainly startled, and had to adjust 
 herself to her new relationship before she could speak 
 rationally and to the point. Accordingly she kept 
 silence for a minute or two, looking from her aunt to 
 her newly-found father with a curious sort of question 
 in her eye. 
 
 " You are my father ? " she said, at length. " Aunt 
 Jane you have known this all along, Aunt Jane ? 
 You know that it is true ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is quite true, my dearie," sighed Aunt Jane. 
 
 "And my name is Annabel Daunay, not Arnold, 
 like yours ? " 
 
 " Annabel Daunay it is/' said her father, decisively. 
 "Annabella, to give all the syllables, like the lady 
 who was your great-grandmother, and whose portrait 
 hangs in the long corridor at Daunay's Tower." 
 
 "That may be," said Annabel; "but I have never 
 set foot in Daunay's Tower, so long as I have lived." 
 
 "You were born there, nevertheless," said Mr. 
 Daunay, restlessly.
 
 64 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " I was born there ? Where is my mother then ? " 
 
 " She lies in the churchyard of St. Andrew's-on-the- 
 Hill, dear," interposed Jane Arnold, soothingly. " I 
 stood beside the grave with your father and Dr. 
 Lechmere when she was laid to rest, and I have cared 
 for you ever since." 
 
 "Yes, dear, and you have my heart's best love/' said 
 the girl, almost passionately ; " and why should any 
 man come and tell me that he is my father now 9 " 
 
 She drew near to her aunt, and laid her hand upon 
 Jane Arnold's shoulder. She was drawn to her full 
 height, and her eyes darkened ominously as they met 
 her father's gloomy gaze ; her face was still pale, 
 and her lips were set in a thin straight line. Evident- 
 ly she was not prepared to accept her new relationship 
 without a struggle. 
 
 " I am your father," John Daunay said, ' ' and I 
 have given you all that yon prize throughout your life- 
 time. I have a claim on you ; but I'm quite prepared 
 to waive that claim. I only want to know whether 
 there are no ways in which I can help you ways in 
 which I can carry out any of your plans." 
 
 Annabel's face softened, involuntarily. " That is 
 kind of you," she said. " But why did you not let me 
 know before ? Why did you not let me know that you 
 were my father ? I should have felt so differently now." 
 
 Thus brought to book, John Daunay did not know 
 how to reply, nor how to meet the candid gaze of his 
 daughter's eyes. 
 
 " I thought it better for you to be with your aunt 
 than with me," he said at length, rather huskily. " I 
 was wandering about ; I had no settled home ; I 
 could not have made you happy."
 
 John Daunay's Plan. 65 
 
 " I can quite see that," said Annabel ; " but I don't 
 gee why I could not have known that I had a father 
 living. I should not have felt so lonely then." 
 
 " Annabel ! " 
 
 The exclamation came from Jane Arnold ; and it 
 expressed so much pain, that the girl felt a pang of 
 genuine remorse. She turned and put her arm round 
 her aunt's neck. 
 
 "Dearest auntie !" she said; "you know I don't 
 mean that you ever let me feel lonely. But I did wish 
 sometimes that I had a father and a mother of my 
 own. And it seems I had one all the time ; and he he 
 cared so little for me that he never let me know whether 
 he was alive or dead." 
 
 "I don't understand girls," said her father, rather 
 sullenly. " I did not know that yon would care one 
 way or another. I acted for the best." 
 
 Annabel stood and looked at him. " You were 
 generous, certainly, "she said. " But girls you don't 
 understand them, as you say. The least little bit of 
 personal interest is more to a girl than all the money 
 you spend upon them, don't you see ? " 
 
 John Daunay shook his head. " I'm a miserable old 
 man," he said brokenly. " These things come upon 
 me too late I don't understand. I should like to 
 be friendly with you now ; you are Betha's child, 
 but " 
 
 Then Miss Arnold stirred in her chair, and took 
 Annabel by the hand. 
 
 " Go to him, my dear," she said, " and tell him you 
 will be a good daughter to him if he likes. It is your 
 duty, Annabel." ' 
 
 Annabel looked at her uncertainly. 
 5
 
 66 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " It is your duty, my dear. e Honor thy father '- 
 that is what the Bible says. Honor your father 
 now. " 
 
 The girl wavered visibly. Her color came and went ; 
 her hands began to tremble. Finally, she left her 
 aunt's side, and approached the armchair in which her 
 father sat, with his forehead bowed upon his hand. 
 " Father ! " she said, and sank involuntarily upon her 
 knees. 
 
 The action seemed melodramatic ; it was, in reality, 
 perfectly natural. She craved affection ; she longed 
 for her father's blessing. A word of real affection 
 from her father would have bound her to him forever. 
 Unfortunately, John Daunay was not the sort of man 
 who could respond easily to any demand upon his emo- 
 tions. He was worried and distressed by Annabel's 
 attitude ; and the only way to escape from the situa- 
 tion was to speak querulously. 
 
 " My dear girl/' he said ; "for goodness' sake, don't 
 let us have any heroics. You are my daughter, and I 
 mean to do what is right by you, just as you mean, I 
 am sure, to do what is right by me. Get up ; don't 
 kneel on the floor, but listen to me and do what I tell 
 you." 
 
 " Won't you kiss me once even, father ? " Annabel 
 said piteously. 
 
 "Oh yes, yes, of course." And Mr. Daunay de- 
 posited a careless salute on the top of his daughter's 
 head. " Kissing's not much in my line, Annabel. 
 But I suppose you feel you have a right to it, as I have 
 not seen you since you were a baby. But I can give 
 you more substantial benefits than kisses." 
 
 Annabel rose to her feet. " Let me know what they
 
 John Daunay's Plan. 67 
 
 are before I bargain to accept them," she said ; and 
 her voice was as dry as that of John Daunay himself. 
 
 It was then that Jane Arnold left her seat and turned 
 to the door. 
 
 " I'll leave you to have your talk out/' she said 
 quietly. " I've some things to attend to, and I'll bring 
 in the tea presently. Two's company and three's 
 none ; I know that well enough." 
 
 She went out, although Annabel's instinct was to 
 detain her. And John Daunay looked after her un- 
 easily. 
 
 " She's altered," he murmured to himself. " Poor 
 old Jane ! We're not so young as we were we've had 
 our day. It's the young people we have to think of 
 now." 
 
 He was evidently in a milder mood, and his daughter 
 looked at him with softening interest. "What was he 
 going to propose to do ? 
 
 " Well, Annabel," he said, looking up as if he were 
 awakening from a dream, " you're a woman now, and 
 I suppose you want a woman's privileges. Surely by 
 this time you want to see a little of the world ? " 
 
 The girl thought of what Dr. Lechmere had been 
 saying to her that very morning, and her answer was 
 given with hesitation. 
 
 " There are some things that I should like to see 
 very much," she said at last. 
 
 " I should think anything would do. You've seen 
 nothing yet. Some things, indeed ! I suppose, like 
 other girls, you'd enjoy dancing-parties, play-going, 
 drives in your own carriage, rides on your own horse ? 
 Wouldn't you like to go to Court, and be presented to 
 the Queen ? Eh ? Wouldn't you like some pretty
 
 68 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 new dresses and diamonds, and all that sort of thing ? 
 Come, speak the truth and shame the devil ! A pretty 
 girl like you would soon have the ball at your feet." 
 
 " Yes," said Annabel, slowly, but with a little smile 
 flickering at the corners of her mouth, " I am sure I 
 should enjoy all that very much indeed. And I should 
 like to know a great deal more than I do now. I 
 should like some more lessons, if you would be so 
 kind " 
 
 " Oh, lessons ! You won't have much time for 
 lessons," said Mr. Daunay, in a voice of contempt. 
 "Your balls and your dresses will take up most of 
 your time, never fear. I've got a house near the Park 
 pleasant little place, though confoundedly dear 
 and you can have ^s much of a fling as you please." 
 
 "You are rich, then, father ?" 
 
 " Of course I am rich up to a certain point," said 
 her father, suspiciously. " You don't suppose I could 
 live as I mean to do on nothing a year, I presume ? 
 I'm a good deal better off than I was twenty years ago : 
 I got hold of a good thing or two in South Africa, 
 and money makes money. I suppose if you want 
 to know I'm worth thirty thousand a year at the very 
 least. What do you say to that ? " 
 
 " And we all thought you were a poor man ! " said 
 Annabel, innocently. 
 
 " Eh ? What made people think that ? " 
 
 " Because of the Tower, father." The word came 
 out shyly, but she thought that she ought to use it now 
 and then. "It looks so dilapidated and miserable. 
 I have often wondered why you did not live there." 
 
 " Live in that barn of a place ? " 
 
 "I dare say it might be made beautiful. Dr. Lech-
 
 John Daunay's Plan. 69 
 
 mere says it is very barbarous, and that the architec- 
 ture is all wrong, but that it has great capabilities." 
 
 " Ha ! He's speculating on the chance of it, is he ?" 
 muttered Daunay with a frown ; but fortunately Anna- 
 bel did not understand. 
 
 "People have wondered why you did not let it," 
 she went on frankly ; "but I never wondered at that. 
 It must be awful to have strangers in your own house, 
 taking possession of the rooms where you used to sit 
 you and those you loved. Father ! " drawing a little 
 nearer to him and speaking softly " may I go to the 
 Tower some day and look at at my mother's room ? " 
 
 " You may do what you like, if you're a good girl," 
 said her father, almost complacently ; for it was pleas- 
 ant to see this beautiful young woman compelled to 
 ask favors from him and to render him obedience. 
 "And, as you say, I'm not one for putting lodgers into 
 my own house. It's not a bad old place for a couple of 
 months in the year. I might send workmen in and have 
 it thoroughly well done up, invite a lot of people down 
 and make the roof ring eh, Annabel ? " 
 
 " How delightful that would be ! " said the girl, smil- 
 ing on him. In her inexperience she had not the slight- 
 est notion of the difficulties which would beset her path 
 if she were installed as mistress of her father's house. 
 The plan sounded charming all the more charming 
 because it did not involve her leaving the neighbor- 
 hood of her dear old home. 
 
 " But in the meantime," said Mr. Daunay, " we 
 should have to make other arrangements. You see it's 
 high summer now, and the season's over in town : the 
 London house is shut up for the present, and Fm living 
 at my club. By and by I think of joining a party of
 
 70 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 friends in Scotland, and I've an invitation for you to 
 go there as well. You'd have to come up to town and 
 see about your frocks and all that sort of thing. But 
 Edith Daunay would look to that." 
 
 " Edith Daunay ? " Annabel repeated, in a kind of 
 stupefaction. " Is that the name of a a relation of 
 ours ? " 
 
 " A cousin a far-away cousin. I had some trouble 
 in hunting them up. But I knew there must be some 
 cousins, if only one could get at them, and I had my 
 reasons for wishing to see what they were like." 
 
 " And are they nice ?" said Annabel, breathlessly. 
 
 " Nice ? H'm. I don't know what you call nice. 
 Fine, well set-up young people, both of 'em. Father 
 and mother dead ; it was the father that was my second 
 cousin, you see. These two are the son and daughter 
 of my cousin Alfred Daunay. He was only a poor 
 curate or something of the kind, but he did well for 
 himself in one way ; he married a lady of title Lady 
 Mary Somebody and she's left 'em her good looks. 
 Miss Edith oh, she's what you'd call elegant ; but 
 the boy's the chap for me ! Just three and twenty 
 left college the other day wants to go tiger-hunting. 
 Fine, manly fellow, without a bit of vice in him. 
 You'll find him ready to run in harness as soon as ever 
 you like." 
 
 "Why should he run in harness ?"said Annabel, a 
 little puzzled, but she was too much pleased and excited 
 by the vision of new relations to pay much attention to 
 her father's phrase. " Oh, how I long to see them ! 
 Perhaps my cousin Edith will be like a sister to me. 
 I have always longed for a sister." 
 
 " She'll be quite ready," said Daunay, with a chuck-
 
 John Daunay's Plan. 71 
 
 ling laugh. " She'll look on you as one very soon, I 
 believe." 
 
 " And a brother ! I have always thought it would be 
 heavenly to have a brother." 
 
 " You'll hardly expect Jos to look on matters in that 
 light," said her father, laughing still more loudly, and 
 striking his big knee with his hand. "A brother! 
 What next ? " 
 
 " Won't he be kind, then ? Does he dislike girls ? " 
 said Annabel, wonderingly. Then, in a thoughtful 
 voice, she added, " Jos ! Jos ! What an ugly name ! 
 It is like Amelia's brother in ' Vanity Fair ' Jos 
 Sedley. I hope he won't be fat and stupid, like Jos 
 Sedley." 
 
 " No, he isn't fat, and he isn't stupid," said Mr. 
 Daunay, in a more serious tone. " He's very popular 
 as a rule with ladies. I liked him myself from the 
 moment I first saw him ; and, to tell you the plain truth, 
 Annabel, I hesitated for some time about the disposi- 
 tion of my money and the estate here before I could come 
 to any proper conclusion. When you were born I was 
 disappointed because you were not a boy, and I thought 
 at times of marrying for the sake of having one : per- 
 haps I should have done so, even at my time of life, if 
 I had not come across Alfred Daunay's children. You 
 see, I don't want the Daunays to die out." 
 
 " Of course not," said Annabel, with her eyes on the 
 floor. 
 
 " I might make Jos my heir," her father continued, 
 " but in that case I should have to cut you out altogether, 
 and of course I don't want to do that exactly. So I've 
 made a better plan. You had better marry Jos 
 Daunay, and the whole thing will settle itself. He's
 
 72 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 quite willing at least, he will be. "We'll have the 
 wedding before Christmas, and then you'll be ready 
 for all the Christmas festivities here before you have 
 your first season in town. You understand now what 
 you have to do, and of course I expect you to do it."
 
 Annabel's Decision. 73 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ANNABEL'S DECISION. 
 
 " FATHER ! " 
 
 The word escaped indignantly from Annabel's lips, 
 then she thought better of it and laughed. aloud. 
 
 Of course he was not in earnest. It was his way of 
 being humorous a heavy way ; but he seemed to be a 
 heavy, grim sort of man, and no doubt he "joked wi' 
 difficulty." Still, it was not the kind of joke she 
 liked. She hoped that he had not talked in this fash- 
 ion to the unknown cousins whom she was yet to see. 
 
 Mr. Daunay looked up when he heard her laugh, 
 with a faint expression of surprise. 
 
 " Girls laugh at anything, I suppose," he said rather 
 gruffly. " I thought you would have been a trifle 
 surprised. However, you seem more sensible than the 
 generality of young people, and if you have sense we 
 shall all get on very well." 
 
 " But you are joking, father ; are you not ?" 
 
 '' Joking! I joking? I never joke, "said Daunay, 
 breathing rather heavily and turning purple in the face. 
 " I mean what I say. I have arranged for you to 
 marry young Jos Daunay, and you must fall in with 
 my plan. Why, good Heavens ! don't you see what a 
 capital plan it is ? We shall unite the two branches 
 of the family, and your children will have Daunay's 
 Tower, as our forefathers had it before us. Otherwise
 
 74 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 it will go to strangers, and the estate will pass out of 
 our hands altogether." 
 
 " If Mr. Jos Daunay had it all, it would still be in 
 the Daunay family/' said Annabel. " I do not mind." 
 
 " You talk foolishly/' growled her father. " I 
 mind, if you do not. I want the Tower to go to my 
 direct descendants. It has gone in the direct line 
 ever since it was built, centuries ago. It is the old 
 Tower I care about ; not the silly new building of last 
 century. The old Tower belongs to us as a family, and 
 I don't want it to go to collaterals. Now, do you 
 understand ?" 
 
 " But surely," said Annabel, beginning to tremble, 
 *' but surely you don't understand. You can't wish to 
 make me marry a man whether I care for him or not, 
 just because you want to keep Daunay's Tower in your 
 family." 
 
 " Can't I? And why not ? " said Mr. Daunay, fixing 
 a glassy eye upon her, with evident and complete non- 
 apprehension of any reason to the contrary. 
 
 Annabel flushed crimson. She had never before 
 come across a person who regarded her merely as a 
 pawn in the game that he was playing, instead of a 
 distinct individuality. It seemed almost an impossi- 
 bility that she should not be more important in her 
 father's eyes. She made an effort to assert herself. 
 
 " It is not a thing I could be expected to do," she 
 said. " If ever I am married, I must at least know 
 and respect and love the man that I marry." 
 
 "And what will hinder you from loving Jos Dau- 
 nay ?" 
 
 ' ' Oh, I dare say he is very nice ; but I have not seen 
 him ; and don't yon understand, father, that it does
 
 Annabel's Decision. 75 
 
 not matter whether he is nice or not ? I can't be 
 hawked about like a bundle of goods." 
 
 There was a little spice of anger in the last few words. 
 Mr. Daunay looked at her in silence for a minute or 
 two, and his face grew hard. He was a hard man by 
 nature and by inheritance ; for, although he came of a 
 long line of ancestors, he had not the instincts of 
 gentle blood. The Daunays had always been a merci- 
 less, grasping, and somewhat coarse-fibered race of men, 
 living narrow lives and bent chiefly on amassing money 
 and adding field to field ; in John Daunay it sometimes 
 seemed as though all the worst characteristics of the 
 family concentrated themselves. Annabel was startled 
 to see the harsh lines into which his face could set 
 startled, but not alarmed ; for, after all, she was of 
 his own blood, and possessed what her father would have 
 called " plenty of grit." She waited quietly, there- 
 fore, until he chose to express his views. 
 
 " You can and you can't ! You will and you won't ! " 
 he said dryly and deliberately, after an appallingly long 
 pause. " Is that the way you're going to talk to me ? 
 Who do you take yourself for ? You're a mere no- 
 body, a penniless, helpless lass, who should take what 
 she can get and be thankful for it. Do you know 
 that ? What business have you with a will of your 
 own ? You'll do your father's bidding and marry the 
 man he chooses, or else I'll never own you as a child of 
 mine. Not one penny of mine shall you ever see un- 
 less you obey my orders." 
 
 " I am quite ready to obey you in everything in 
 everything right, that is," said Annabel; "but of 
 course, father, I can't possibly promise to marry a man 
 whom I have never seen."
 
 76 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " You'll do what I tell you," said Daunay, raising 
 his voice. 
 
 Annabel was silent. 
 
 "Do you hear me ? I'll have no disobedient, rebel- 
 lious girl in my house ! It's no use your thinking of 
 coming to London if you can't make up your mind to 
 carry out my plans. Do you understand ? " 
 
 " Do you mean/' said Annabel, with a flash in her 
 clear eyes .which made them look like burnished steel, 
 " that your offer of a home is conditional on my marry- 
 ing this man this Mr. Jos Daunay ? " 
 
 " Why, of course it is," he answered roughly. " Con- 
 ditional ? I should think so. Do you suppose I'm 
 going to supply you with clothes and jewels and horses 
 and carriages for nothing ? You're bound to fulfil my 
 purposes or I shall do no more for you than I'm obliged. 
 A paltry pittance of a hundred a year I may leave 
 you that, but not a penny more, I tell you ; not a half 
 penny more. What do you think I came here for ? 
 Didn't I mean to make use of yon ? Why the devil 
 should I have traveled all this way and promised you 
 all you wanted if I was going to get nothing out of 
 it?" 
 
 Annabel had turned very pale. 
 
 " If that is what you mean, I think you had better 
 let me stay here," she said quickly. " I am quite 
 happy with Aunt Jane ; I do not even want the hun- 
 dred pounds a year you speak of. I can work for my- 
 self." 
 
 " Can you, indeed, hoity-toity ? So that is the kind 
 of air you put on/' said Mr. Daunay, rising from his 
 seat and fussing about the room. " This isn't what I 
 expected, I can tell you, and I won't have any more of
 
 Annabel's Decision. 77 
 
 it. You'll give me your word that you'll do as you're 
 told, before you come to London, and that's the long 
 and short of it." 
 
 " I will do as I am told in all reasonable things, but I 
 will not promise to marry Mr. Jos Daunay," said An- 
 nabel. 
 
 " You won't ? " 
 
 He strode up to her almost as though he wanted to 
 strike her to the ground. But Annabel was not daunt- 
 ed in the least. 
 
 " No ; indeed I will not," she said. 
 
 " Then stay where you are, and where your mother 
 was before you!" he shouted furiously. "Live and 
 die in the gutter, and don't ask me to save you from 
 starvation ! " 
 
 " I would sooner die," said the girl, passionately. 
 
 It was her first experience of unkindness, of disillu- 
 sion, and it came as a shock to her. Jane Arnold, en- 
 tering at that moment, was startled at her white face 
 and blazing eyes, as well as at John Daunay's violent 
 gestures and loud, angry tones. 
 
 " So that is what you have made of her ! " he said, 
 pointing to his daughter as Jane came into the room ; 
 " an undutif ul, disobedient hussy, who absolutely re- 
 fuses to do the one thing that I have required of her I 
 She shall do it, I say, or suffer for it. What were you 
 thinking of, Jane Arnold, not to break her in well 
 when she was a child, so that she should know how to 
 obey her father in later years ? " 
 
 " What is it ? Oh, John, don't be angry with her. 
 She has always been a very good girl to me ! " 
 
 " She has had her own way in everything, I suppose. 
 She's a damned ungrateful little minx, Jane, and I'll
 
 78 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 have nothing more to do with her unless she begs my 
 pardon and says she'll do what she is told." 
 
 " Annabel, Annabel ! " 
 
 "This will never do," said Annabel, briskly. She 
 came forward and placed her aunt in an armchair. 
 Miss Arnold's lips were quivering, her face was pale, 
 and her eyes were filling with tears. The signs of 
 agitation were enough to put the girl upon her guard. 
 " Father," she said, " you forget that Aunt Jane is 
 not very strong. Perhaps you did not know it. She 
 can't bear to be excited or upset. You and I must 
 settle this business without reference to her." 
 
 Mr. Daunay paused, and looked at her with something 
 not unlike admiration breaking through his anger. It 
 was strange to him to see her so cool, so businesslike, 
 so entirely mistress of herself. If she would but do 
 what he wanted, how splendidly she would organize a 
 household and administer a fortune ! But she must 
 be obedient to him ; he could have nothing to do with 
 a rebel under his own roof. Surely, if he were firm, 
 she would ultimately yield ; it was a case where firmness 
 was required. 
 
 " We can only settle it in one way," he said gruffly, 
 but with more self-control than she had anticipated. 
 "Make up your mind that you owe me obedience, at 
 least, and I'll make your life easy enough for you 
 afterwards." 
 
 " I will not marry a man simply because you tell me 
 to," said Annabel, with as keen an appreciation of the 
 situation as he himself could show. 
 
 " Then you may go to the devil ! " he said ; and flung 
 out of the house at once, unmindful of Jane Arnold's 
 entreaties that he would at least stay to tea, or of a
 
 Annabel's Decision. 79 
 
 certain white look in Annabel's face which reminded 
 him all too painfully of the last hours of Betha's life. 
 
 He tramped down the garden path, looking neither 
 to the right nor to the left, and took the long white 
 road that led to the village of High Rigg. 
 
 Then Jane, still trembling, broke into a cry of pain. 
 " Oh, Annabel, child, what have you done ? " 
 
 "It seems as though I had quarreled with my 
 father at our first interview, doesn't it ? " said the 
 girl ; and, to her aunt's surprise, she laughed as she 
 said the words, but it was a strained and mirthless 
 little laugh. 
 
 "Oh, Annabel, don't, my dear ! Run after him and 
 tell him you are sorry. It would have been hard to me 
 if he had taken yon away from us all, but that would 
 have been better than division and strife between you 
 both." 
 
 "I am not so sure of that," said Annabel. "If I 
 had gone with him,^ I think the division would have 
 been wider, the strife sorer. I should never have 
 pleased him long. Oh, auntie, if only I could have 
 loved him ! if only he would have been kind ! " 
 
 And the strain of unnatural self-restraint giving way, 
 she sank down beside Miss Arnold's chair and burst 
 into tears, while the elder woman, though still un- 
 nerved and tremulous, caressed her fondly, and forgot 
 her own agitation in trying to calm that of Annabel. 
 
 But it was not for long that Annabel would give 
 way. She wept so seldom that she was rather ashamed 
 of tears. The sobs soon ceased, and were succeeded 
 by a little pause of silence, and then she lifted her 
 head and kissed her aunt's cheek lovingly. 
 
 " How silly I am ! " she exclaimed, although there
 
 8o Datmay's Tower. 
 
 was still a suspicion of huskiness in her voice, and her 
 eyelashes were wet. "I don't often cry, do I, Aunt 
 Jane ? I don't quite know why I have been crying 
 now." 
 
 " It was natural, dear. You've not often heard 
 angry words, 'have you ? and your own father, too ! 
 and the disappointment." 
 
 " You don't suppose that I mind about the pleasures 
 and amusements he began promising me, do you, auntie? 
 I don't suppose that one of them would have made up 
 to me for the dear old hills, fo* my own old home, and 
 for you / I shall be quite content to live and die among 
 theriggs and fells." 
 
 " But that would not be right for you, dearie," said 
 Jane Arnold, anxiously. " After all, you are John Dau- 
 nay's daughter his only child and you ought to live in 
 the style that becomes you. He says he is a rich man, 
 doesn't he ? " 
 
 " He says he has thirty thousand a year." 
 
 " To think of it ! It seems almost wicked to have 
 so much, doesn't it, when there are so many starving 
 folk about ? Well, if he is so rich, you ought to have 
 your share." 
 
 "Perhaps I ought," said Annabel. "But, you see, 
 he offers it to me only on one condition." 
 
 " That you marry some one he chooses for you, my 
 dear ? " 
 
 " That he has already chosen," said the girl, im- 
 petuously. " Some one of our own name that is the 
 attraction. Thr> son of a cousin, Alfred Daunay, he 
 said. Did you know him, auntie ? " 
 
 " Alfred Daunay ? I saw him once or twice, many 
 years ago. He never kept up much acquaintance with
 
 Annabel's Decision. 81 
 
 the Daunays at the Tower. He mixed with more 
 learned people, and was not overfond of Cumberland. 
 But he is not living, surely ? " 
 
 " Oh no. Father has traced the son and daughter, 
 and is half inclined to leave the estate and his money 
 to the son. I dare say he will do it now. His reason 
 for coming here, Aunt Jane, was to propose that I 
 should marry this young man, whom I have never 
 seen, and thus provide for me without any division of 
 the property." 
 
 " Well, my dear, it is not altogether unreasonable 
 that he should wish it," said Jane. "If he'd talked 
 to me first I should have told him he'd best not say a 
 word about it, but just take you to London and let 
 you see whether you couldn't like the lad of your own 
 accord ; and supposing he was a nice lad and handsome, 
 as I remember Mr. Alfred years ago, why, he might 
 have had his way without any quarrelling at all." 
 
 " I did not think you would take his side, auntie." 
 
 "Not against you, my lamb. But it would have 
 been a good thing for all concerned." 
 
 "He couldn't possibly be nice," said Annabel, 
 piteously, " or he would not have made the bargain to 
 marry me without consulting my wishes. No gentle- 
 man would have agreed to such a thing !" 
 
 " Perhaps your father has taken the agreement for 
 granted," said her aunt, shrewdly. " I've known 
 more unlikely things than that ! " 
 
 " He spoke very positively. Fancy my own fath- 
 er " And there Annabel stopped short, her lip 
 
 quivering again. Certainly she had been put into a 
 position which was hard to bear. Then she tried to 
 laugh. " Fancy my ever liking a man whose name was 
 6
 
 82 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Jos ! Jos Josiah, I suppose, or Joshua, or Joseph, 
 possibly." 
 
 Miss Arnold shook her head at this frivolity. "As 
 if a name mattered ! " she said. " Don't think me 
 unkind, my dear, if I ask you whether it wouldn't be 
 well for me to go down to the Tower this afternoon 
 and tell your father that you spoke in haste, and that 
 you would, at any rate, make the gentleman's ac- 
 quaintance, and see for yourself whether you could 
 accept him or not." 
 
 " Not for the world ! " cried Annabel, springing to 
 her feet. ' ' I do not want to see the young man, and 
 I am quite sure that nothing on earth would make me 
 marry him. Besides, my father would not be satisfied 
 with anything less than a promise." 
 
 " Perhaps he will take back what he has said, and beg 
 you to come away with him, after all." 
 
 "I don't think he will," said Annabel. "You will 
 have to make up your mind to be saddled with me, 
 auntie, for the rest of your natural life ! I am a fix- 
 ture. My poor father ! He evidently thought I was 
 a fixture in another sense to go with the property ! " 
 
 And, in spite of herself, she laughed.
 
 Doctor Lechmere's Meditations. 83 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 DR. LECHMERE'S MEDITATIONS. 
 
 DR. LECHMERE came in from his rounds in anything 
 but a good temper. His patients had found him curter 
 and sharper in speech and manner than was usual with 
 him ; for, as a rule, although he was abrupt in ordinary 
 life, he softened his tone directly he entered a sick- 
 room. But on this particular day he seemed to have 
 little sympathy to spare for any one. His deeds were 
 kindly enough, but his words were distinctly sharp. 
 
 He drove at his ordinary break-neck pace down the 
 white road past the Moorside Farm, but did not halt 
 on the way, He gave one long, keen glance at the 
 house, with its open door and windows, but he could 
 see no one : neither Miss Arnold nor Annabel was visi- 
 ble, and there was perhaps the faintest possible touch 
 of disappointment in his expression as he turned his 
 attention once more to his fleet brown horse. He said 
 a short, sharp word to himself, too, when he was well 
 past the house. He had mended his manners and his 
 language of late years, but in moments of excitement a 
 remnant of medical-student profanity was still natural 
 to him. Annabel Daunay would have been a little 
 shocked sometimes if she had overheard the unstudied 
 richness of his vocabulary. But he was carefully reti- 
 cent whenever she was in the way. 
 
 He drew up at his own little house in the main street
 
 84 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 of the village dominated by Daunay's Tower. This 
 village, High Eigg as it was called, in opposition to 
 Low Rigg, which nestled in a valley some two miles 
 away, stood on either side of the swift little stream 
 that flowed down from the heights of the fells and riggs 
 which make the barren glory of Cumberland, a stream 
 spanned by a fine old stone bridge of which the inhab- 
 itants were justly proud. The houses were built of 
 grayish white stone, with slate roofs ; they were all 
 somewhat colorless and cold, but they generally pos- 
 sessed a little garden which glowed with color from 
 April to November. Dr. Lechmere's house was unlike 
 others in that respect : it had no flowers in its enclosure 
 of garden ground, only a few straggling currant-bushes 
 and a bed of parsley, which might have been useful for 
 garnishing the dishes prepared for him by his cook and 
 housekeeper if that good lady had ever taken the trou- 
 ble to garnish anything that he consumed. But Mrs. 
 Beccles had too much respect for herself to take any 
 pains for a man who cared so little about his food as 
 the parish doctor. He never knew what he ate, she 
 always declared. It was quite possible that Dr. Lech- 
 mere knew, yet did not desire to make remarks upon 
 the subject. He had dined at the houses of local mag- 
 nates, where it had been remarked that he was some- 
 thing of a connoisseur in cookery and in wine. But 
 Mrs. Beccles would have sniffed contemptuously if it 
 had been suggested to her that her master possessed 
 any critical knowledge of the dishes with which she 
 provided him. 
 
 She was a good soul in her own way, nevertheless, 
 and Dr. Lcchmere valtied her accordingly. She wa& 
 scrupulously honest, and she kept the house immacu-
 
 Doctor Lechmere's Meditations. 85 
 
 lately clean. Behind a somewhat stern and hard de- 
 meanor he knew that her heart was kind, for he made 
 occasional demands upon her kindness which sufficient- 
 ly tested the fact of its reality. He would sometimes 
 take a patient into the spare room ol his own house, 
 for instance, and expect her to wait upon him; he would 
 share his own meals with a tramp a thing to try the 
 metal of any housekeeper, or send her to a poor 
 woman's house with milk and soup at any hour of the 
 day or night when he thought it might be needed. 
 Mrs. Beccles grumbled sometimes, but she always did 
 his bidding. " You never think of me" she used to 
 say, when he suggested some unusually displeasing 
 thing to her, and he would generally burst out laugh- 
 ing in her face, " like a schoolboy," as she said, and 
 ask her why on earth he should. " I am sure you don't 
 need me to look after you, Mrs. Beccles," he would 
 say, with the twinkle in his brilliant hazel eyes which 
 added so much to his popularity. 
 
 Not that Eugene Lechmere was given in any way to 
 extravagant fits of generosity and self-denial. He often 
 marred the effect of a kind act by some bitter little 
 speech which rankled in the memory of a recipient 
 when the gift was forgotten. He was fierce in his 
 hatreds, persistent in his dislikes, and there was always 
 a shadow of mistrust in the aspect of the village-mind 
 towards him, because he never spoke of his past nor of 
 his people, seemed to have no relations and no friends, 
 and was, to their thinking, something of an enigma, 
 with strange tastes, strange pursuits, and a way of ex- 
 pressing himself which was not to the village taste at 
 all. 
 
 It was seven o'clock when he came home, and, after
 
 86 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 issuing a curt order or two to his man, he walked rap* 
 idly into the house. " Dinner, if you please, Mrs. 
 Beccles," he called down the passage imperiously. 
 Then he entered his study, his private den, which was 
 also his dining and drawing-room, for the only other 
 " parlor " had been converted into a surgery, and the 
 back part of the house consisted of the kitchen and 
 scullery occupied by Mrs. Beccles. There were three 
 bedrooms up-stairs, and that was all. The house was a 
 mere cottage, and extremely bare and unpretentious- 
 looking, as if its owner had no time for the graces and 
 amenities of life. 
 
 But the study showed signs of refinement and culture 
 which accorded little with the rest of the house. The 
 furniture was dark and heavy, certainly, but it was 
 mostly of oak, which Lechmere had been able to pick up 
 for small sums in outlying cottages or at country sales, 
 and the massive table, the big chairs, the bookcases 
 and the settle not unlike the settle in Jane Arnold's 
 kitchen were not only useful but pleasant to the eye. 
 The walls were color- washed with grayish green, 
 which the doctor had himself laid on, and the floor, 
 though bare except for one old rug near the fireplace, 
 had been beeswaxed and turpentined and polished by 
 Mrs. Beccles until it shone. He had swept away all 
 Mrs. Beccles's cherished ornaments from mantelpiece 
 and table, all her precious colored prints from the 
 walls ; but in their place he had hung an engraving 
 (framed in dark greenwood) of Eossetti's "Dream of 
 Dante," of Burne-Jones's " Annunciation," of Watts's 
 " Love and Death." Lately, too, he had added a 
 photograh of Botticelli's "Fortitude." Clearly he was 
 a man of artistic perception, and there was a harmony
 
 Doctor Lechmere's Meditations. 87 
 
 and fitness of form and coloring in his room which 
 showed that he had cultivated a naturally refined taste. 
 
 He had a fairly good, though of course not large, 
 collection of books, and some expensive scientific ap- 
 paratus which he had brought with him when he first 
 came to the place a magnificent microscope, amongst 
 other things, occupying an honorable position on a 
 table by itself. If the room were the room of a man of 
 taste, it was also that of a man of science, and it con- 
 tained a large assortment of the newest medical works 
 and scientific journals. Evidently, Eugene Lechmere 
 liked to keep himself abreast of the times, although he 
 had buried himself in Cumberland. 
 
 A large black cat rose from the rug as he came in, 
 and stretched himself conversationally. Dr. Lechmere 
 must have been unusually absorbed in thought, for he 
 simply looked down at him as if he did not see him a 
 line of conduct to which Timothy was so unused that 
 he immediately tried to sharpen his claws on his master's 
 trousers. 
 
 "Ah, Tim," said the doctor, absently; "you there, 
 old man ? Yes, that'll do ; I'm quite aware of your 
 existence." 
 
 And he stooped to stroke the creature, whereupon, 
 by a sudden spring, Master Tim attained the dignity of 
 a perch on his master's shoulder, where he purred 
 loudly and rubbed his black head against Eugene's 
 cheek. 
 
 The doctor was evidently well accustomed to this 
 procedure, for he moved to the mantelpiece without 
 taking any further notice of the animal, and proceeded 
 to examine some notes and printed papers which lay 
 there. Presently a shuffling step sounded in the pas-
 
 88 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 sage, and Mrs. Beccles, in close cap, white apron, little 
 checked shawl and mittens, appeared at the door. 
 
 " You won't need your dinner, so I haven't cooked 
 any," she said calmly. " You're to eat your dinner at 
 Daunay's again." 
 
 " Eh ? " said the doctor sharply. 
 
 " That man of his has been here with a message. 
 Mr. Daunay wants you to come up at half-past seven." 
 
 " And why must you take upon yourself to decide 
 whether I would go or not ? " said Lechmere, with a 
 sort of snap in his voice. 
 
 " You're not a fool, sir," returned the old woman, 
 composedly ; " and it's a fool yon would be to eat cold 
 mutton at home when you can get good meat and wine 
 up at Daunay's Tower for nothing." 
 
 The doctor paused, looking into the distance with his 
 bright hazel eyes. 
 
 "I dined with Mr. Daunay last night ; I've no fancy 
 for dining with him to-night," he said. " Bring in 
 the cold mutton." 
 
 "I've cut it up and peppered it for to-morrow's 
 hash," said Mrs. Beccles. " You'd best go and eat 
 Mr. Daunay's dinner." 
 
 "You can bring me some bread and cheese," said 
 Lechmere. " And wait another time before you make 
 away with the cold meat." 
 
 Mrs. Beccles stared at him dumbly, then went back 
 to her kitchen, and was heard to make a great clatter 
 amongst her knives and dishes. Eugene Lechmere 
 threw himself into his chair, dislodged the cat from 
 his shoulder, and began to make notes of his day's work. 
 "I'll be at no man's beck and call," he murmured 
 pnce to himself, thinking of Mr. Daunay's invitation,
 
 Doctor Lechmere's Meditations. 89 
 
 Presently the old woman came back and laid a tray 
 on a table which she cleared of books and papers for 
 that purpose. 
 
 " That's what there is," she said, when she had 
 finished her manipulations. "You'd have done better 
 up at Daunay's. That man of his said his master was 
 in a fine taking about something or other." 
 
 Dr. Lechmere took his seat at the dinner-table, with 
 a fine show of carelessness, glanced at the highly- 
 seasoned chunks of cold meat which his housekeeper 
 had placed before him, in company with some cold 
 potatoes and butter, cut himself a slice of bread, and 
 poured out a glass of water. 
 
 " Do you mean that Mr. Daunay is ill ? " he asked, 
 as he attacked the cold mutton. 
 
 " Not that I know of. Only in a raging passion with 
 something or somebody. Harvey wondered what ailed 
 him." 
 
 " As long as Mr. Daunay is not ill, I cannot say that 
 it is any business of mine," said Lechmere. 
 
 The snub was so distinct and so evidently intentional 
 that Mrs. Beccles withdrew in absolute silence. As 
 soon as she was gone, the doctor pushed away his plate, 
 and leaned his chin on his hands. Timothy, pressing 
 his knee with one decorous paw, was surprised to find 
 his claims unnoticed. 
 
 "These gossiping servants" so ran the train oL 
 Eugene Lechmere's thoughts " what do they know ? 
 How can they tell what a man's mood is ? Yet if we 
 try to hide it, they are certain to put their finger in- 
 fallibly on the weak place. Daunay is in a raging pas- 
 sion with somebody ? With his daughter, or Jane 
 Arnold, no doubt. Have they offended him ? With
 
 9o Daunay's Tower. 
 
 his temperament, an offense is never forgiven. If 
 Annabel has failed to satisfy him, that will be the end 
 to her chance of a fortune. Am I sorry ? Am I glad ? 
 My God, I don't know. All I know is that I shall not 
 be able to listen to the old man if he says a word against 
 Annabel. I am glad I did not go there to dinner, 
 though I only refused because I would not be sent for 
 like a lackey ! But to hear Annabel grumbled at, run 
 down, or abused ! That would be a novel experience 
 indeed ! I should like to thrash any man that said a 
 word against her ! 
 
 " But it isn't likely. He could not see her and not 
 be charmed Avith her ! She is growing more beautiful 
 every day ; she will make a sensation in the world be- 
 fore long. It's impossible that he should have been 
 disappointed in Annabel. I must remember to call 
 her Miss Daunay, by the way she is not a child any 
 longer, although she studies her Latin grammar to 
 please me, and submits to my criticism when she plays 
 her violin. Sweet Annabel ! If there was only some 
 place where the world would never change, where 
 
 " ' I was a child, and she was a child, 
 In a kingdom by the sea ! ' 
 
 Then indeed the angels might look down on us from 
 heaven ; ' envying her and me/ no, not envying her, 
 poor child, for she would have a sad time of it if I were 
 all she had to rely on, I'm afraid. It drives me mad 
 to think of it ! 
 
 " "Well, we won't think of it, will we, Timothy ? 
 Yon shall eat my dinner, old man, and Mrs. Beccles 
 will notice my healthy appetite. I'm like a nervous
 
 Doctor Lechmere's Meditations. 91 
 
 woman to-night ; I feel as though food would choke me 
 until I know whether we are to lose the child from our 
 quiet valley whether her fate has been decided for her, 
 and whether she is content with it or not. Eugene 
 Lechmere, you are a fool ! As if it mattered to you, 
 one way or another. Yes, Timothy, your master's a 
 fool, a damned fool, and he doesn't much care who 
 knows it." 
 
 He rang the bell for Mrs. Beccles when Timothy had 
 consumed the contents of his plate, and allowed her to 
 set the cheese before him. He took up a knife and 
 looked this way and that, with the air of a gourmet, 
 who wishes to select the ripest morsel and the best, but 
 he did not actually cut it, and Mrs. Beccles looked at 
 him suspiciously. 
 
 " You needn't think to deceive me," she said at last, 
 in a sepulchral voice. " I know as well as you do that 
 Timothy has eaten the cold mutton, and if it wasn't 
 that he doesn't like cheese, I've no doubt but what he 
 would have the cheese as well. If you're off your food, 
 sir, I don't know why you should make believe to order 
 dinner at all." 
 
 " Nor I, Mrs. Beccles," said Lechmere, pushing away 
 the dish. "It was weak of me, I acknowledge. I'm 
 not hungry to-night under the weather a bit, perhaps 
 and I needn't have troubled you. But I don't think 
 I knew that I had no appetite until I saw the food be- 
 fore me." 
 
 " It's a bad lookout when a man can't eat his victuals 
 after a hard day's work. I doubt but what you're sick- 
 ening for an illness," said Mrs. Beccles, portentously. 
 " Would you like a little gruel, sir, or a linseed poultice 
 anywhere ? "
 
 92 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Dr. Lechmere exploded in laughter of a rather dreary 
 kind. 
 
 " Thank you very much. When Fm ill I'll let you 
 know. I dare say I shall have a glass of wine or a cup 
 of coffee up at the Tower. I'm off there now. You 
 can go to bed at your usual time there's no knowing 
 how long I shall be. You'd better give Timothy some 
 milk ; he didn't half like the pepper on your cold 
 mutton." 
 
 And, with another laugh, he set off for Daunay's 
 Tower.
 
 A Big Bribe. 93 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A BIG BRIBE. 
 
 " WHY didn't you come before ? " were the words 
 with which Mr. Daunay greeted his visitor. 
 
 " A doctor has his duties," said Lechmere lightly ; 
 " and your summons was of the suddenest." 
 
 Mr. Daunay had met him in the hall a great central 
 hall, of baronial proportions, with a great fireplace, a 
 balcony and broad flight of stairs, a tesselated floor, and 
 many suits of gleaming armor on the wall. Eugene 
 Lechmere always said that it had a theatriccal look, 
 but John Daunay privately thought it very fine. The 
 master of the Tower had come out of the dining-room, 
 flourishing a serviette in his hand, his brows dark, his 
 face flushed with meat and wine. He was in evening 
 dress, with a great display of shirt front and diamond 
 studs : the doctor conjectured that some element of 
 passionate ostentation was at work in his mind. He 
 could not help a disparaging glance at Lechmere's morn- 
 ing clothes, and said rather gruffly 
 
 " You're busy, I suppose." 
 
 " If you mean ' do I not dress for dinner ? ' " said 
 Lechmere, following his host negligently into the dining- 
 room, " I may say at once that I do not. I have only 
 one dress-suit, and as it will probably have to last me 
 the rest of my life, I don't wear it every night. I'm 
 of an economical disposition."
 
 94 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 He seated himself sideways at the dinner-table, where 
 wine and dessert were laid, and took a walnut from the 
 nearest dish, cracking it with his fingers and extract- 
 ing the kernel with a strength and deftness which ex- 
 cited John Daunay's admiration. 
 
 " By Jove," he said, "you do that well. I shouldn't 
 have thought your hand was strong enough to crack 
 that shell." 
 
 Lechmere raised his eyebrows and stretched out his 
 hand as if to examine it. A long-fingered, flexible hand, 
 the true surgeon's hand, where strength and delicacy 
 were combined ; a hand to be proud of, perhaps, but 
 which its owner contemplated with a rather cynical 
 look. 
 
 "Strong enough," he said, quietly, "to have done 
 some mischief in its day." 
 
 Mr. Daunay had taken up a position on the hearth- 
 rug. Although there was no fire in the grate, he stood 
 with his hands behind him, as though he were warming 
 himself. He had an indescribably truculent air. 
 
 " So I suppose," he replied. " But I did not know 
 that you cared to mention it." 
 
 Dr. Lechmere looked up sharply. A dark red flush 
 tinged his face ; he moved in his chair. 
 
 " I was thinking of the glove fights we used to have 
 when I was a medical student," he said, after a mo- 
 ment's pause. " We used to box and fence a good bit ; 
 and once or twice we had a row with some roughs, and 
 rather enjoyed knocking them about. I left my mark 
 on one or two of them, I remember." 
 
 " Ah ! But that was not what I meant," said Daunay, 
 significantly. " I was thinking of something rather 
 different when your hand was not quite so steady "
 
 A Big Bribe. 95 
 
 Lechmere was on his feet. " Thanks," he said, in 
 his abrupt way ; " that's enough, Mr. Dannay. I'll 
 wish yon good evening." 
 
 He was at the door before the words were out of his 
 mouth, but his host followed him hastily, with a sud- 
 den change of manner and of tone. 
 
 " No, no, Lechmere," he said. " No, no ! I apolo- 
 gize. Upon my word, I didn't mean to say it I didn't 
 wish to hurt you " 
 
 "To insult me, rather," said Eugene Lechmere, in 
 a suppressed voice. His face was ashen gray. 
 
 " Well, well, I didn't mean it. And I didn't know it 
 was such a sore subject, either. Thought you didn't 
 care a hang what was said, you know, Lechmere. Beg 
 your pardon, I'm sure." 
 
 The man stood irresolute. There was a fierce red 
 light in his hazel eyes which took Mr. Daunay by sur- 
 prise, and his face showed tense lines that made him 
 look even more than his age for a moment or two. 
 Then the expression changed. The hard lines relaxed, 
 the eyes smiled mockingly once more. 
 
 " You were quite right," he said composedly. " I 
 never did care what people said about me. It sounded 
 as if you were trying to give offense, that was all ; 
 though why you should deliberately try to pick a 
 quarrel with me, God knows." 
 
 "I didn't, I didn't. I was out of temper, that was 
 all. Come back and have a glass of wine. I want to 
 talk to you about that girl up at the farm." 
 
 Dr. Lechmere walked back to the table, with his 
 head bent a little, as though he were reflecting. 
 
 " The girl at the farm. Who's that ? " 
 
 "Why, Annabel, man. You know as well as I do."
 
 96 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Daunay." 
 
 The accent of cool reproof was unmistakable. Dr. 
 Lechmere did not take the trouble to conceal the fact 
 that he disapproved of John Daunay's mode of speech. 
 But he was scarcely prepared for the answer that he 
 elicited. 
 
 " Let her call herself Daunay if she likes. It's all 
 she will get from me the little hussy ! An ungrate- 
 ful, impertinent minx ! I'll have nothing more to do 
 with her." 
 
 Lechmere smiled, a pleased, surprised smile. The 
 warm red came back to his face again; hitherto it had 
 remained a trifle pale. He took another walnut from 
 the dish. 
 
 " She does not satisfy you?" he asked with interest. 
 "I think you must be hard to please." 
 
 " Oh, she's a pretty piece enough," said Mr. Daunay, 
 with brutal carelessness. " But what's beauty, after all ? 
 You can see a pretty girl any day. I want a girl that 
 will do as she is told. And I've been turning things 
 over what she said to-day, and what I said, and so on ; 
 and as she thinks so highly of your opinion, I think I'll 
 get you to talk to her and see if you can bring her 
 round I'll give her that one more chance. And if she 
 doesn't take it, I'll be hanged if I ever see her again." 
 
 He had taken his seat at the table, and now brought 
 down his fist upon it so smartly that he made the 
 glasses ring. Dr. Lechmere leaned forward a little, 
 and fixed his penetrating eyes upon the elder man's 
 grim, gray face. He had quite recovered his own self- 
 possession, and there was a keen acuteness in the atten- 
 tion with which he was now favoring his host. 
 
 " If there is anything for Miss Daunay's benefit in
 
 A Big Bribe. 97 
 
 which I can assist you," he said blandly, "I am quite 
 at yonr service." 
 
 " Well, I'm willing to make it worth your while, you 
 know," said Mr. Daunay bluntly. "I knocked off 
 that two hundred a year some time ago, because I 
 thought you were so confoundedly interfering, but you 
 seem to be a friend of hers, in a sort of way, and if 
 you can influence her in the right direction, I don't 
 mind putting it on again or even three hundred, on 
 condition that you look after Jane Arnold a little, do 
 you see ? " 
 
 " I see. It must be an important matter, since your 
 bribe is such a big one," said Lechmere, in his lightest 
 tone. He poured for himself a glass of claret, and 
 sipped it leisurely. But his eyes were very keen in- 
 deed. "I am, as you say, a friend of hers, 'in a sort 
 of way,' and I shall be pleased to do what I can for 
 her." 
 
 " Oh, yes, she thinks a lot of you, I can tell you. 
 Stood up for you gallantly," said Mr. Daunay, with a 
 chuckle. " I offered to tell her that little story of the 
 past, you know, but she wouldn't hear it. Said you 
 would tell her yourself if you wanted her to know." 
 
 To all appearance, Eugene Lech mere's face did not 
 change. He had schooled himself to self-control, and 
 not one of the sensitive lines wavered in the very least. 
 A close observer would have seen that his eyes darkened, 
 as brilliant hazel eyes sometimes do darkened until 
 they had a curiously somber and dangerous look. And 
 the hand that rested on the stem of the wine-glass trem- 
 bled a little. But that was all. 
 
 " Exactly," he said. " I could tell her, myself, if I 
 wanted her to know." 
 7
 
 98 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " She has a great idea of you, and therefore I was 
 thiuking that your opinion might have weight. She 
 put me into such a tantrum, the little vixen, that I 
 don't know what I said, but she was all up in arms, as 
 you can imagine ! I know I made it plain that if she 
 wanted to be my heiress she must do what I told her." 
 
 (i Quite a fair bargain. And you wanted her to do 
 something she didn't like?" 
 
 " That's it; that's it. As if every chit of a girl 
 didn't want to get married ! " 
 
 Lechmere made an inarticulate sound; the stem of 
 the wineglass snapped and the red wine stained the 
 damask tablecloth. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Daunay; clumsy of me, 
 was it not ? Thanks, yes, another glass you were 
 saying " 
 
 " Annabel," said John Daunay, impatiently. " Don't 
 worry about that glass ; I want you to listen to me for 
 a moment if yon can. I've found a husband for her 
 a nice, brisk young fellow, who is next heir, you know 
 my cousin's son. Now I always wanted to see one 
 of my own name at the Tower. I'm sure that's natural 
 enough, and I expect Annabel to help me. What's 
 the good of a girl if she can't marry for the sake of 
 her family? I want her to marry Jos Daunay ; and the 
 little fool says she'll do nothing of the kind." 
 
 Dr. Lechmere was silent for a minute or two. " She 
 was probably taken by surprise," he said. " You should 
 have led up to it gently, or let her see the man for her- 
 self before making the proposition. Is he is he 
 likely to suit her? Is he worthy of her? " 
 
 "Worthy?" said John Daunay, with great scorn. 
 " He's worth a dozen of her. A fine, handsome young
 
 A Big Bribe. 99 
 
 fellow, two or three and twenty, whom she ought to be 
 proud to get for a husband ! " 
 
 Eugene leaned back in his chair, with a cynical smile 
 on his face. 
 
 " Oh, come, Mr. Daunay," he said deliberately, 
 you underrate your daughter's attractions. Miss Dau- 
 n;iy is beautiful and clever ; she might have half Lon- 
 don at her feet by-and-by ; and it is not likely that she 
 can all at once approve of the idea of being handed 
 over to the first man who offers to marry her espe- 
 cially a young man who seems to be a mere fortune- 
 hunter." 
 
 " No such thing ; no such thing ! He's as honest 
 as the day." 
 
 "But why has he consented to become her suitor ? 
 He knows her only by reputation, I suppose." 
 
 " Well, he has the sense to see what an excellent 
 plan it would be," said Mr. Daunay ; and from the way 
 in which he lowered his eyes, Lechmere divined that 
 the young man's consent had, perhaps, been taken for 
 granted rather than actually given. " But the girl 
 won't hear of it. Flew into a fury and said she would 
 rather die, and so on. Now if you went and persuaded 
 her " 
 
 " I don't think I can persuade her," said Lechmere. 
 " I should rather like to talk it over with her ; I'll do 
 that, if you like." 
 
 " But from my point of view ? You won't strengthen 
 her in these ridiculous views of hers ? " 
 
 " Couldn't possibly promise until I find out what 
 her views are." 
 
 Mr. Daunay looked at him with suspicious eyes. 
 Xow, what does that mean ? " he said slowly. " Are
 
 ioo Daunay's Tower. 
 
 you sweet on her yourself, that you hesitate to per- 
 suade her for her own good ?" 
 
 Eugene Lechmere went white to the lips. " That's 
 the second time you have insulted me this evening, 
 Mr. Daunay," he said hotly. 
 
 " Insulted you ? Nothing of the sort. If she is so 
 beautiful and so clever, as you say, why shouldn't you 
 have fallen in love with her? I only want to know." 
 
 " Well, if I had been such a fool," said Lechmere, 
 very slowly, and with his eyes on the tablecloth, " do 
 you think I should have the audacity the the the 
 damned cheek, I should call it to tell her so ? " 
 
 "You never seemed to me to be wanting in cheek, 
 my good fellow. You didn't know I was going to do 
 anything for her ; she seemed a mere country girl to 
 you ; why shouldn't you have made love to her ? " 
 
 "I never did ; that's sufficient answer, surely." 
 
 " Perhaps you don't like to confess it ; perhaps you 
 went a little too far and don't know how to face the 
 consequences, eh ? I see from your face that there's 
 something between you, Lechmere." 
 
 " You are wrong, then. There is nothing between 
 us. Do you think I would say a word to her about 
 love that young, fair creature, when I consider what 
 I am, and what my life has been ? Though you do not 
 seem to know it, Mr. Daunay, I hope I have some sense 
 of honor left ! " 
 
 " Don't excite yourself. All I say is this if there 
 had been anything between you if she were in love 
 with you, and refused Jos Daunay for love of you ; I 
 won't say but what I would make things easy for yon 
 both. It's Jos Daunay that I want for my heir, and I 
 should like my daughter to be his wife ; but if she
 
 A Big Bribe. 101 
 
 refuses to marry him, why she may marry the biggest 
 scoundrel iii the world for aught I care. I don't mean 
 you, you know. I'd have no objection to you." 
 
 " I'm much obliged to you," said the doctor, rising 
 to his feet in a white heat of rage, " and I've no doubt 
 you are capable of the most cold-blooded cruelty that 
 ever a man could practise towards an innocent girl, 
 whether it happened to be disinheriting her, or marry- 
 ing her to a scoundrel, or selling her to a man who 
 wanted her only for her money. But as for me, I'd 
 shoot myself before I asked her to marry me even if 
 I loved her with all my soul ! " 
 
 " H'm ! And if she asked you to marry her ? " 
 
 " Then," said Lechmere, facing his host with blazing 
 eyes, "then I should tell her my own story." 
 
 " If you are so sure that there's been nothing between 
 you," said Mr. Daunay, with a sneer, " why don't you 
 persuade her to marry the man I've chosen for her ? " 
 
 "Because she ought to choose for herself. I'll say 
 good evening, Mr. Daunay. I think it would be just 
 as well that we did not meet again." 
 
 " I did not know you were so hot-headed, Lechmere. 
 Think it over quietly. If you can persuade Annabel 
 to marry Jos Daunay, it will be for your own advan- 
 tage." " 
 
 " I'm hanged if I will," said Eugene, obstinately. 
 
 " Hadn't you better marry her yourself then ? " 
 
 Dr. Lechmere considered, on reflection, that he dis- 
 graced himself by his reply. The old, bad habit of 
 strong language, of profane language, came back to 
 him at times of unusual excitement, although of late 
 years he had learnt to curb his tongue. And yet there 
 was an element of fierce and even tragic seriousness in
 
 IO2 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 the phrase that fell from his lips as he turned a white 
 face towards Mr. Dannay from the open door, and said 
 deliberately 
 
 " I'll be damned first." 
 
 " You're an obstinate fool," said John Daunay, 
 closing the door.
 
 The Great Renunciation. 103 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE GREAT RENUNCIATION". 
 
 ANNABEL was in the garden next day when the 
 doctor's cart came up the road. She had been looking 
 out for him all day, and she did not mind telling him 
 so, with the girlish frankness that set the greatest barrier 
 between them. Dr. Lechmere smiled at her benignly 
 as he held her hand in his for a moment and listened to 
 her welcoming words. He looked very trim and spruce, 
 very professional and superior, she thought, with that 
 air of calm assurance which sometimes awed and some- 
 times irritated her. She would hardly have recognized 
 him in the haggard man who had spoken with such 
 violence to her father the night before ; in fact, she 
 wonld have been inexpressibly shocked if she had heard 
 a rough word or profane expression fall from his lips, 
 although she had heard it hinted that he had a reserve 
 store of objurgatory language that sometimes made the 
 hair of respectable listeners stand erect on their heads. 
 Jane Arnold always comforted her by saying that if ever 
 Dr. Lechmere had been betrayed into the use of bad 
 language, she was sure that it was a very long time ago ; 
 and that when men were young and hot-tempered, they 
 were not always so particular as they should be about the 
 terms they employed. Good old Jane Arnold ! She 
 certainly remembered Eugene Lechmere in his wild and
 
 io4 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 reckless days, but she believed him to be next door to 
 perfection now. 
 
 All these things rushed tumnltuously through Lech- 
 mere's mind as he stood, trim and cool, in Annabel's 
 garden, holding her slim fingers between his own. She, 
 too, as she laughed into his face, was not without self- 
 consciousness. She could not but remember the wave 
 of passionate anger, the hot tears of pain and mortifica- 
 tion that had come like a storm into her quiet life. Her 
 eyes could never again be so serene and childlike as be- 
 fore her father's visit. And Eugene Lechmere was very 
 quick to remark the change. 
 
 " Mr. Daunay came to see you, I believe ? " he said, 
 introducing the subject as if it were of quite light and 
 trivial interest. 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 She withdrew her hand, and looked grave at once. 
 " Have you seen him ? Did he tell you ' 
 
 " He sent for me last night. He told me something 
 of what had passed between you. You seem to have 
 had a little disagreement ? " he said, smiling ironically. 
 
 Who could have believed that he had paced his room 
 half the night through, and had lain upon his bed for 
 the rest of the time with wide-open, anguish-stricken 
 eyes, wrestling with his own heart, lest it should break 
 the iron bonds that he had put upon it for twenty 
 years or more ? Even to those who knew him best 
 the intensity of that struggle would have seemed 
 unreal. 
 
 " A little disagreement ! " repeated Annabel, with 
 some hurt feeling in her voice. " Oh, if you call it by 
 that name ! " 
 
 " What name shall I call it by ? I hope fk is not a
 
 The Great Renunciation. 105 
 
 complete breach between you and your father. That 
 would be a pity." 
 
 " A pity, indeed ! " 
 
 " Well, why should you repeat my words so often ? 
 They are words of wisdom, of course, but they hardly 
 deserve that honor." 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I know I am very rude," said 
 Annabel, contritely. She wondered why his eyebrows 
 contracted a little as she made her apology, not knowing 
 that it filled him with an agonized yearning to humble 
 himself before her, to fall at her feet and kiss the hem 
 of her gown, to do anything, in short, that would have 
 seemed ridiculous and uncharacteristic of himself. For 
 John Daunay's eyes had read the truth with marvelous 
 accuracy, and his rough words had revealed to Eugene 
 Lechmere something which he had never realized be- 
 fore. He could never look at Annabel with the same 
 eyes again. She was so sweet, so innocent, so uncon- 
 scious ; and he a man disgraced in the eyes of the world 
 had dared to love her. She would think his love an 
 insult, perhaps, if she knew all. 
 
 " What is the matter ? Are you vexed with me ? " she 
 said. 
 
 " No, certainly not. But have you been very wise, 
 Annabel ?" 
 
 He lingered a little on the name. He must begin to 
 call her Miss Daunay by and by. It was all very well to 
 use her Christian name when she was a child, but he 
 could not go on doing so forever. She noted the slightly 
 unfamiliar tone, and put it down to displeasure ; she 
 began to excuse herself to him with eagerness. 
 
 " Indeed I tried to do what was right. It was a great 
 shock to me, you know, Dr. Eugene. You had never
 
 io6 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 told me that he was my father, and I hardly knew how 
 to behave. But Aunt Jane can tell you. I called him 
 1 father,' and I asked him to kiss me ; and then I played 
 and sang to him, and tried so hard to please him." 
 
 The tears were in her eyes. 
 
 " He must have been hard to please, if you could not 
 please him," said Lechmere, looking out to the shining 
 valley with a curious wistfulness in his eyes. 
 
 " How nice of you to say so ! and you are not at all 
 easily pleased," said Annabel, with coaxing sweetness. 
 "I did my best, and I promised to leave Cumberland 
 and go away with him, and be a good daughter ; and 
 all went quite well until until " 
 
 " Until you found that he wanted something from you 
 in return ?" 
 
 " That is not putting it fairly, is it ? Think of what 
 he wanted. He asked me to promise he told you what, 
 did he not ? " 
 
 " To make a very desirable alliance, such as any man 
 might wish to secure for his daughter," said Dr. Lech- 
 mere, dryly. He was resolved to do his duty, and let 
 her see the claims of worldly wisdom and common 
 sense. 
 
 " To marry a man whom I had never seen !" 
 
 " But you might have seen him, and considered the 
 matter." 
 
 " He did not leave it sufficiently open for that," said 
 the girl, with deepening color. " He insisted that I 
 must promise to do it whether I liked the man or not. 
 My wishes were not to be consulted. Do you think it 
 possible that I could place myself in that position for the 
 sake of a fortune, Dr. Lechmere ? " 
 
 The doctor hesitated a little. " 2fot for the sake of
 
 The Great Renunciation. 107 
 
 a fortune ; but for the sake, perhaps, of your father's 
 wishes, and for the object that he had at heart " 
 
 Annabel was wounded, and showed it. " I am of such 
 slight consideration, then, that no one need mind 
 whether I am happy or miserable ? I know that sounds 
 selfish, but surely a girl a woman has some rights of 
 her own, has she not ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, Annabel ; but you know that you were 
 asked to do what many a girl does without hesitation. 
 As I said before, you do not know the world. It is not 
 considered, in the world, a very awful or extraordinary 
 thing that a girl should marry a man because he is 
 wealthy. In fact, she is generally told that it is her duty 
 to accept him." 
 
 " And do you think it her duty ? " said Annabel, in 
 a voice of scorn. 
 
 " You had better not ask me ; I am not a good in- 
 structor of youth." 
 
 " I have scarcely had any other," said Annabel, turn- 
 ing upon him suddenly. " Nearly all my ideas have 
 come from yon. I was thinking so last night, when my 
 father seemed angry and said hard things I was think- 
 ing of you, how much I owed you ; that you had always 
 told me what books to read, what I ought to admire and 
 love. You have corrected my faults when nobody else 
 would have done so, and helped me and taught me in 
 so many ways ' ? 
 
 " Stop ! " he said hoarsely. " Stop, Annabel ! You 
 don't know how you are hurting me. For God's sake, 
 stop !" 
 
 She looked at him with wide eyes. Of the pain in 
 his face there could be no doubt. The perspiration 
 stood in beads upon his brow. His face was pale and
 
 io8 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 drawn, his hand was clenched ; she saw it tremble as 
 he turned away. For a moment she was mute. What 
 had she done ? 
 
 "But, Dr. Eugene," she said, with piteous entreaty 
 in her voice, " it is all true. Why should it pain you 
 to be told of it ? " 
 
 He did not turn his face to her, but spoke shortly 
 and abruptly over his shoulder as he stood. 
 
 " Because I am not the man you take me for, Anna- 
 bel. I am not a good man. The world would laugh 
 at you if you said you respected my opinion. There- 
 fore it hurts me when you say I have influenced you. 
 I can only hope I have done you no harm. I don't 
 think 1 have." 
 
 " You have done me good ; never any harm never ! 
 and I respect you from the bottom of my heart." 
 
 " Don't say so, child. You don't know me. Do you 
 know I have been in prison ? " 
 
 She shrank a very little. He had his back to her but 
 he felt that she shrank only for a moment, but it 
 seemed to him that, in that one moment he experienced 
 the torments of hell. 
 
 " Many a man has been in prison and been innocent," 
 she said. 
 
 "I was not innocent ; I was guilty." 
 
 " Don't tell me any more," she pleaded, " unless you 
 wish. I am quite sure, whatever the world may say, 
 that there was some mistake, or that there were things to 
 be said in your favor the things that only God knows." 
 
 " Do you want to fill the cup of my humiliation to 
 the brim ? " he said. " I tell you I was guilty. There 
 was no excuse except that I was drunk." 
 
 Then indeed she shrank. The harsh crudity of the
 
 The Great Renunciation. 109 
 
 statement made it bite into her mind, as a searing-iron 
 would have burnt into her flesh. With a sort of super- 
 natural acuteness he felt what she felt, and suffered as 
 keenly as it was possible for him to suffer. He knew that 
 she had put him upon a pedestal; well, he had hurled him- 
 self from it of his own accord, to prevent her from 
 making him into some sort of spurious idol for a time. 
 Would he not afterwards repent what he had done ? 
 
 But there was a fineness of feeling in Annabel Daunay 
 which made her say and do the only thing that could 
 have comforted him in the very least. He was a proud 
 man, a self-assertive man, and she knew the terrible 
 humiliation that it must be to him thus to abase him- 
 self in her sight. By the way he kept his face turned 
 from her, she understood the shame the almost un- 
 bearable humiliation that he felt. 
 
 She touched him softly upon the arm. "So, since 
 then," she said, "you have given yourself to the 
 service of the sick and needy ; you have been their 
 helper, working night and day, I have often heard, 
 with an enthusiasm, a self-abnegation which can 
 scarcely be equaled. Oh, I have heard people talk 
 about you, and now I know what it has all meant. I 
 don't know what you did that was wrong I don't want 
 to know but I am quite sure that it has been atoned 
 for during all these years. Just to think of it ! All 
 my life you have lived here toiling among the poor, 
 while you might have won distinction and honor in the 
 great world." 
 
 " No," he said, still keeping his face averted from 
 her ; " I lost all chance of distinction, though I gained 
 plenty of notoriety, when I was tried for murder." 
 
 "You were acquitted."
 
 no Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Of murder, yes. It was brought in manslaughter. 
 I served my two years for it. But I vowed that I 
 would not give up my profession, for all that." 
 
 "I think you did very nobly," she said. " But who 
 am I to pass opinion upon what you did ? I am an 
 ignorant child. Dear Dr. Eugene, anything that is 
 good in me is owing to you. How can I think ill of 
 
 you?" 
 
 " God bless you, Annabel ! " he said brokenly ; and 
 his hand went out to seek hers, and held it in a clasp 
 which she never forgot. 
 
 If she had had any love for him, it would then have 
 come to full fruition. She could not, even out of 
 maidenly modesty, have refrained from comforting him 
 with it then. But, as he well knew bitterly knew, in 
 his heart of hearts the love was not there, for his com- 
 fort, his relief, his deep regret. 
 
 " Dear Doctor Eugene, "she said, " do look at me again. 
 I want to tell you how much we love and honor you ; 
 and I want you to say, from your real true inner self, 
 whether you don't think that I was quite right to re- 
 fuse to sell myself for a fortune, and that I am better 
 leading a quiet, peaceful, country life than dancing 
 and flirting in that great wicked London of yours ! " 
 
 " Annabel, yon can't care for my opinion now/' he 
 said, turning round at last, with eyes that were curi- 
 ously soft, and a lip that quivered as he spoke. 
 
 " I care for it more than ever. But be true to your 
 convictions, dear Dr. Eugene," she said, with a little 
 wistful laugh which moved him to his inmost self. 
 
 " I'll try to be," he said almost passionately. " Oh, 
 my dear, you are right always right. Your instincts 
 are always for what is good and true ; and God planted
 
 The Great Renunciation. in 
 
 them within you, you may be sure of that. You are 
 quite right. You have no business to promise to marry 
 a man whom you have never seen, and your father has 
 no right to ask you to make such a sacrifice. Better, a 
 thousand times, this life of obscurity that you are lead- 
 ing, than wealth and high position at such a price. 
 The man that is to be your husband, Annabel, must be 
 the man you love." 
 
 " Thank you, dear Dr. Eugene. I am quite happy 
 now," said Annabel ; and she gave him her hand, with 
 a look of trust and affection which rent poor Eugene 
 Lechmere's heart. 
 
 He would not leave her all at once, for fear she 
 should be surprised and grieved by his abrupt de- 
 parture, but at last he managed to effect his escape. 
 An escape indeed it was, from pain if not from danger, 
 for she had tortured him more than she knew. 
 
 There had been a moment when he might have won 
 her heart. He knew it, and he had deliberately put 
 the chance away from him had sacrificed it forever. 
 He could not have borne to see Annabel shrink from 
 him again.
 
 ii2 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " JOS." 
 
 THE scene shifts. From the wild moorland stretches, 
 the fells and straths of Cumberland, we fly to the nar- 
 row London streets and squares, where the sunshine 
 falls but sparsely, and even in high summer the skies 
 are gray rather than purple overhead. 
 
 In the West End of London there are flats innumer- 
 able, for all sorts and condition of folk. Not far from 
 Hyde Park there is a set of flats built originally for 
 people of small means perhaps, even, for working 
 people but rented mostly by gentlefolk who want to 
 economize in the matter of rent and service. At the 
 very top of one of these buildings is the cheapest flat 
 of all, one which is scorned by those who object to 
 mounting five flights of stairs in order to reach their 
 home, but beloved by those who inhabit it on account 
 of its airiness, its quietness, its openness to sun and 
 stars. And on the plate which gives the names of the 
 residents, the occupants of this flat were labeled " Mr. 
 and Miss Daunay." 
 
 It was a hot July evening when Miss Daunay won- 
 dered a little what was keeping her younger brother 
 out so late. She had expected him to take her to a 
 theater, and she had seen an evening meal set out and 
 prepared for his benefit and her own at six o'clock ; 
 and now it was eight, and he came not. There was no
 
 "Jos." 113 
 
 sacrifice of tickets involved, for they were going to the 
 pit they were not rich people, and they were young 
 enough to enjoy a crowd but Miss Daunay felt a cer- 
 tain amount of disappointment at missing the last per- 
 formance of a play in which she had taken an interest ; 
 and when the clock struck half-past eight she began 
 also to experience a certain amount of anxiety. Jocelyn 
 was not given to missing his appointments, even with 
 an elder sister, whom most men think it harmless to 
 neglect ; and Edith had scarcely ever known him to 
 break his word over any engagement with her. She was 
 beginning to show her anxiety in the one way that was 
 natural to her by pacing up and down the corridor of 
 the flat, with the noiseless gliding movement that char- 
 acterized her walk when she heard a latch-key put in 
 the lock, and turning, found herself face to face with 
 her brother Jocelyn. 
 
 She was twenty-seven years of age, tall, slight, very 
 graceful, with a peaceful serenity of manner which made 
 her seem older than she was. Her small, smooth dark 
 head was by no means fashionable in contour ; her long 
 neck and sweeping garments were rather distinguished 
 than " smart" ; but there was something finely aristo- 
 cratic and yet gentle in her manner and appearance 
 which made her more remarked upon and more admired 
 when she went out into society, than many a well-known 
 belle. Edith Daunay did not go into society very 
 often, for she was poor, and could not afford the neces- 
 sary carriages, gloves, flowers, and slippers, to say 
 nothing of evening gowns ; but her mother's family was 
 so well known that she could have had quite as much 
 gaiety as she chose to accept. 
 
 Jocelyn was, perhaps, more popular than his -sister. 
 8
 
 H4 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 He was a fair, handsome, sweet-uatured lad, younger 
 than his years, as she was older than hers ; a kindly, 
 wholesome young fellow, with a good deal of manliness 
 underlying the surface fun and youthful jollity of his 
 demeanor. He came in headlong, falling upon his 
 sister and whirling her round in an impromptu waltz 
 before he said a word of explanation. 
 
 " There, there ! " said Edith at last, in a breathless 
 gasp. "Do stop and tell me where you have been, 
 Jocelyn dear. I have been quite anxious about you." 
 
 " Did you think I was dead ? " said Jocelyn. " Well, 
 I have been nearly so, for I have almost died of laugh- 
 ing. That new-found relation of ours is the most 
 awful joke I ever knew." 
 
 " What, Mr. John Daunay ? " 
 
 " Mr. John Daunay, of Daunay Tower, otherwise 
 Bellavista, High Rigg, Cumberland. Ye powers, 
 what an address ! If ever I am master of the 
 place " 
 
 "You, Jocelyn?" 
 
 " Me, ma'am. Don't you know he wants to make 
 me his heir? I say, what have you got for supper? I 
 am awfully hungry ; as I said, I have laughed till I 
 nearly died." 
 
 "I ordered dinner-tea," said Edith, rather ruefully. 
 " I will make the tea now. There is cold lamb and 
 mint sauce, salad, stewed raspberries and cream, and 
 some savory eggs." 
 
 " Lovely! I'm as hungry as a hunter. Look here, 
 Edie, I am very sorry about the theater, but I couldn't 
 help myself. Cousin John Daunay, which he wants us 
 to call him ' uncle/ pounced on me and carried me off 
 to his house, and talked so seriously, and withal so
 
 "Jos." 115 
 
 comically, that I could not tear myself away. I escaped 
 at length by the skin of my teeth ; but we must go to 
 the Comedy another night." 
 
 " You seem to have suffered," said Edith, as they 
 seated themselves at the dainty little table where the 
 evening meal was set out. The maid-servant, engaged 
 for the day, had gone home ; Edith Daunay herself 
 would clear the table after supper. She was used to 
 the little domestic duties which comparative poverty 
 made necessary, and she never grumbled at them. 
 Jocelyn, whose nature and tastes were very simple, was 
 under the impression that they lived in luxury. Edith 
 knew better, but did not say so. 
 
 " Well," said Jocelyn, when he was expediting the 
 disappearance of the cold lamb very much like mut- 
 ton and the salad which Edith herself had made, 
 " our new-found relative " 
 
 " Poor old man, don't make fun of him, Jocelyn ! 
 He seems disposed to be very kind." 
 
 " I should love him better if he did not call me 
 Jos. It suggests Jos Sedley. Nobody else ever called 
 me Jos. Our dear uncle John, as he would like to be 
 called, having already ' looked me up ' several times at 
 the office, fell upon me just as I was leaving this 
 afternoon, and bore me off to his house in Park 
 Lane a house which it seems he has taken for the 
 season." 
 
 " He must really be rich," said Edith, meditatively. 
 
 " Rich beyond the dreams of avarice. About thirty 
 thousand a year, I believe." 
 
 There was a little pause. The eyes of the brother 
 and sister met for a moment, then fell away from each 
 other. It was Edith who spoke first.
 
 1 1 6 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " For myself, I do not care whether I am rich or 
 poor/' she said. " But there is that debt of dear 
 father's to Uncle Vavasour. I should like to be able to 
 pay that back." 
 
 " If any one does it, it must be I," said Jocelyn reso- 
 lutely. " It was for my college life, you know. If 
 only I had been told at the time, I would rather have 
 swept a crossing than let the dear old man burden him- 
 self in that way. Five hundred pounds would not be a 
 large sum to many men, but I believe the debt killed 
 our poor father." 
 
 "It broke his heart. Uncle Vavasour reproached 
 him with borrowing what he could not pay," said Edith, 
 in a hushed voice. 
 
 " Well, we're going to pay it at least, I am in 
 course of time," said Jocelyn, in a tone of dogged de- 
 termination. " And if Mr. Daunay can put me in the 
 way of doing so I shall be very glad. " 
 
 " Jocelyn ! What has he said to you ? " 
 
 " Nothing very definite. But, you see, Edie, he has 
 no son, and I'm his nearest male relative. My father 
 and he were first cousins. It seems that he has a great 
 wish that the Cumberland place, Daunay Tower, which 
 belongs to him, should go with the male line, but it's 
 not entailed, and he can dispose of it just as he 
 pleases." 
 
 " But he has a daughter, has he not ? He men- 
 tioned her to me when he came here, but he did not 
 seem to know much about the poor child." 
 
 " Poor child ! " exclaimed Jocelyn, rather resentfully. 
 " She's a young woman of eighteen or twenty years 
 old, and the queer old buffer's got it into his head that 
 I had better marry her."
 
 "Jos." 117 
 
 " You, Jocelyn ! How absurd ! " said hia sister, who, 
 of course, regarded him as a mere boy. 
 
 " Well, why not ? If she's a pretty girl ' 
 
 "But, Jocelyn " 
 
 " Well ?" not looking up, and flushing a little, as 
 if slightly embarrassed. " Well, Edie ? " 
 
 " I thought, dear, that yon and Mrs. Wycherly of 
 course, she is too old for you, but I fancied that you 
 cared for her a good deal, and that there was some sort 
 of understanding " 
 
 Jocelyn laughed, but blushed as well, and did not 
 seem to know exactly how to reply. 
 
 "Mrs. Wycherly," he said at last. "Oh, she's 
 awfully kind to me, you know. But there's nothing 
 settled. She's very pretty, isn't she, Edith ? I think 
 she has the loveliest eyes I ever saw." 
 
 "She has very beautiful eyes," said Edith, with a 
 sigh. There was a flavor of dissatisfaction in her 
 tone. " But if you are likely to be engaged to her, 
 Jocelyn, it is no use to let Mr. Daunay think that you 
 will marry his daughter." 
 
 " Why, of course," said Jocelyn, passing up his 
 plate for a second supply of cream. " But he made 
 me laugh so to-night that I couldn't answer properly. 
 The girl is called Annabella, or some such old-fashioned 
 name. He hasn't seen her since she was a baby, old 
 brute ! He left her at a farmhouse in Cumberland, and 
 she's never been away from it. Fancy what she will be 
 like after eighteen or twenty years of a life like that, 
 milking the cows and feeding poultry, he said. ' A 
 very healthy life, Jos,' he said ' very fitted to make her 
 the mother of strong, healthy children.' I said, ' Cer- 
 tainly, sir,' and then I'm afraid I roared."
 
 n8 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Jocelyn, you are incorrigible." 
 
 " Well, it was too fnnny. He proposes now to take 
 his dairy-maid out of the farmhouse and marry her, 
 willy-nilly, to me before Christmas. Did you ever hear 
 of such lunacy ? I suggested that he should briug her 
 up to London, and that you should take her about and 
 get her some clothes." 
 
 " Jocelyn, my dear ! " 
 
 ' ' It will be rather a lark, won't it ? She'll talk broad 
 Cumberland, of course, and if she's like him she'll be 
 very heavy in hand. He says her mother was pretty." 
 
 " I have heard of her mother," said Edith, gravely. 
 "She was a farmer's daughter; very pretty, but un- 
 educated." 
 
 "Well, Miss Annabella may be pretty too, but she 
 will also be uneducated," said Jocelyn, in a tone of 
 great amusement, " and I have answered for it that you 
 will help to educate her." 
 
 " But how am I to do that ? " 
 
 " He's going down to Cumberland to fetch her to 
 London. I suggested it. Why shouldn't the poor lit- 
 tle girl see something of the world? He has got an in- 
 vitation or two for her already. He thinks of taking 
 her abroad in the autumn, when ive go, you know." 
 
 " But is not all this on the supposition that you are 
 going to marry her?" said Edith, with a smile. 
 
 " Oh, I hope not. I gave him no encouragement," 
 said Jocelyn, laughing boyishly. " But I was too much 
 amused to answer very seriously. When he brings her 
 back to London we shall see whether we can make any- 
 thing of her. You'll be kind to her, at any rate, 
 won't you, Edie ? It seems to me that she's been put 
 upon."
 
 "Jos." 119 
 
 " Yes, dear, certainly. I will do all I can for her. 
 But if the idea of your marrying her is all a joke, what 
 is he likely to do for you ? " 
 
 " I thought he might get me a post abroad," ex- 
 plained the young man, rather naively . " Or he might 
 have some scheme for dividing the property. If the 
 girl and I could divide it, or if even I had a share of it 
 for the sake of my name for you know we belong to 
 the old place, although we have never seen it why, 
 then, we could pay back that five hundred pounds, 
 at any rate." 
 
 " But not till the poor old man was dead," said Edith 
 in a low voice. " And I never like the idea of waiting 
 for dead men's shoes." 
 
 " Nor I," said Jocelyn, more gravely. " But I was 
 thinking that I might perhaps lay the circumstances 
 before him, and ask him to help us. Would you 
 mind ? " 
 
 " I would rather earn the money," said Edith. 
 
 " I am afraid that is impossible under twenty years 
 or thereabouts." 
 
 " Debt is a dreadful burden ; let us never get into 
 debt," said his sister, with a little shiver of repulsion. 
 
 "You are right. We will never owe a penny that 
 we cannot pay," said Jocelyn, and for a moment his 
 handsome, fair face looked quite severe as he said the 
 words. 
 
 There was a short silence. Then Edith moved to the 
 window and looked out at the twilit sky. 
 
 " What are you going to do to-night anything ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 "I was just going to dress," said Jocelyn, with a 
 touch of embarrassment in his voice. " I promised to
 
 I2O Daunay's Tower. 
 
 look in at the Branksomes. Won't you come ? You 
 were asked too." 
 
 " I am too tired. I shall go to bed early. Is is 
 Mrs. Wycherly to be there? " 
 
 " Why, of course," said her brother, gaily. " Isn't 
 she always at the Branksomes? She told me to be sure 
 to come. Why don't you like her, Edith ? " 
 
 " It is not that I don't like her she is very fascinat- 
 ing ; but she is so much older than you, Jocelyn, dear, 
 and sometimes I think that she is not altogether to be 
 trusted." 
 
 " It is unlike you to be suspicious," said Jocelyn, re- 
 proachfully. " I never met any one so warm-hearted 
 as Lenore ; and she is always saying that she would 
 like to be friends with you, only that you keep her so 
 much at a distance." 
 
 "I am very sorry," Edith murmured ; but when he 
 was gone she raised her head and repeated the name 
 that he had used in rather a startled tone. " Lenore ! 
 Does he call her Lenore already?" 
 
 Perhaps, under the circumstances, Annabel Daunay 
 need not have quarreled with her father on Jocelyn's 
 account.
 
 In the Conservatory. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN THE CONSERVATORY. 
 
 LADY BRANKSOME Avas rather noted for her parties ; 
 they were of a mixed kind, but not so mixed as to be 
 merely commonplace. She had always a number of 
 celebrities at her soirees, and plenty of dancing men 
 whenever she gave a ball. 
 
 Jocelyn Daunay was not so averse to dancing as the 
 generality of men ; he had good spirits and agile limbs, 
 and had not yet attained the stage of looking down upon 
 his partners. But upon the present occasion, when he 
 left Edith alone in the little flat near Hyde Park, his 
 mind was not at all upon the dancing, but rather upon 
 the one fair face which he went to see. 
 
 People talked a good deal about pretty Mrs. Wycherly. 
 She was of good family ; she had married a man old 
 enough to be her father, who had unfortunately lost 
 nearly all his money in South Africa, and had then been 
 so considerate as to leave her a widow at a compara- 
 tively early age. She could not be called fast indeed, 
 she was always scrupulously well-behaved but she had 
 a way of going everywhere, and knowing everybody, and 
 getting all the best things of life to an extent which 
 made some people raise their eyebrows and utter cen- 
 sorious remarks. Where did she get her lovely frocks? 
 Who paid the rent of that very expensive house of hers 
 in Mayfair ? Certainly not her father, who was an im-
 
 122 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 pecunious baronet in the wilds of Somersetshire. No- 
 body implied that she was anything but rigidly correct ; 
 it was only hinted by careful mothers to their daughters 
 that she was " not quite nice." And there was mention 
 of high play in her luxurious little rooms, and of valu- 
 able presents made to her by men who had quite enough 
 to do to pay their own debts and to make their way in 
 the world. 
 
 Why she flirted, as she plainly did, with Jocelyn Dau- 
 nay, nobody had been able to ascertain. Jocelyn was a 
 mere clerk in the Foreign Office well connected, no 
 doubt, but with no money to speak of, and, as far as 
 the world knew, without any prospects at all. Mrs. 
 Wycherly did not usually spend her time over such in- 
 eligible young men. One or two persons whispered 
 darkly that she had fallen in love with him, but the 
 suggestion, when made, was usually received with deri- 
 sion. Everybody knew that Lenore "Wycherly had no 
 heart ; she would play with a dozen men, one after the 
 other, or together, as the case might be, and throw them 
 over at a moment's notice with the practised ease of 
 a born coquette. No ; the world said Mrs. Wycherly 
 meant to marry again, and when she married she would 
 certainly choose a rich man. She had no taste for 
 poverty ; and love in a cottage was simply abhorrent to 
 her soul. 
 
 Perhaps, after all, Jocelyn was beginning to find this 
 out. His infatuation was just a little on the wane ; 
 there had been some stories told of her which had 
 shocked him, although he knew his own world and hers 
 pretty well. But in some ways Jocelyn had old-fashioned 
 tastes. He had been brought up in a country vicarage, 
 his mother and his sister had been essentially refined
 
 In the Conservatory. 123 
 
 gentlewomen, and he had never grown aecastmed to 
 the cigarette between Lenore Wycherly's pretty lips in 
 the seclusion of her own boudoir ; to her habit of mak- 
 ing bets and of winning them, too, or to her excite- 
 ment over some gambling game when the stakes were so 
 high that they gave Jocelyn a qualm which he did not 
 like to show. But, on the other hand, he was very 
 much afraid of being laughed at for his obsolete notions 
 of what was due to womanhood. And then Lenore was 
 really very pretty. She had a pathetic trick with her 
 eyes ; they looked up at you from under their sweeping 
 lashes with a gaze which seemed to entreat pity and pro- 
 tection, and her low, caressing voice had a charm which 
 very few men could resist. 
 
 Jocelyn found her, as usual, surrounded by a little 
 group of admirers, and hovered for some time on the 
 verge of the circle without being able to make his way 
 to her side. He thought at tirst that she even avoided 
 his eye, as if she were not anxious for his society ; but 
 by and by his moment came. She sent him a long, 
 smiling look, full of invitation, and at the same time 
 a word or a wave of her fan Jocelyn scarcely knew how 
 she managed it dispersed the little circle of her 
 admirers, so that presently the young man found him- 
 self almost alone with her. A wave of the old admira- 
 tion welled up in him as he looked at her. She was a 
 dainty little woman, perfectly proportioned, but pecu- 
 liarly slight and slender ; the dusky masses of her wavy 
 hair looked almost too heavy for the small head round 
 which they were coiled, and her beautiful dark eyes were 
 full of a certain sort of dreamy languor, more usually seen 
 in a southern woman than in the natives of our own land. 
 Lenore's mother had been a lovely Mexican whom her
 
 124 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 father had met in some of his wanderings abroad, and 
 it was supposed that many of Lenore's characteristics 
 were inherited from her. 
 
 But her complexion was not of the olive tint which 
 we associate with her mother's nationality. She had 
 the peachlike bloom of an Englishwoman, along with 
 a certain velvety softness and dewy freshness of skin 
 and color which were almost infantile in their exquisite 
 perfection. She was wearing a yellow dress, which be- 
 came her admirably, and the diamonds in her dark hair 
 and upon her slender neck sparkled and danced the 
 simile is old enough like stars in the gloom of evening 
 or dewdrops on the petal of a rose. Jocelyn wished 
 that he was clever enough to tell her so, but he had dif- 
 ficulty in finding suitable words. His eyes spoke for 
 him if he had but known it, and Mrs. Wycherly was 
 quite content with the homage which they conveyed. 
 
 " Come and sit down by me/' she said, indicating a 
 vacant seat at her side. "Do you know, I have been 
 keeping this chair for you ever so long ! I knew you 
 would come." 
 
 "I am late," said Jocelyn; "but not too late to 
 claim a dance with you, I trust." 
 
 " I am not dancing to-night," she said languidly. 
 " The room is crowded, and it is not worth while ; but 
 you may sit out with me, if you like. I have even gone 
 so far as to write your initials once or twice on my card 
 without consulting you a very audacious proceeding ! 
 How do I know that you are not already engaged to 
 dance with some one else ? " 
 
 " Do you think I should be likely to ask any one be- 
 fore you ? " said Jocelyn, possessing himself of her card 
 and making his initials as big and black as he possibly
 
 In the Conservatory. 125 
 
 could with the futile little pencil which dangled from 
 it. "I only came to see you, as yon very well 
 know. I don't usually go to dances." But he said 
 this rather by way of assuming the air of a man of the 
 world ; for, as a matter of fact, he danced as often as 
 he could. 
 
 "Then you are very foolish," said Mrs. Wycherly, 
 with a little coldness in her tone. " You are quite 
 young enough to enjoy yourself at a dance. It is I who 
 should say that I do not care for balls. Of all sorts of 
 amusements, dancing is the most wearisome." 
 
 " Oh, do not say that ! " said Jocelyn, softly, and 
 there was a good deal of ardor in his honest blue eyes 
 with which he regarded her " when you know that it 
 makes me so happy to see you here/' he added, with 
 more warmth than he had ever yet dared to put into 
 his voice ; but it was easier to put it into his voice when 
 he did not feel it as much as he had done earlier in the 
 season. 
 
 " You are improving," said Mrs. Wycherly, with 
 an amused laugh ; "you will soon know how to say 
 things quite prettily. Take me into the conservatory. 
 There are some orchids that you ought to see ; and we 
 can find a quiet corner where you can tell me how it is 
 that you are so late." 
 
 Jocelyn burst into one of his happy laughs a laugh 
 so infectious by reason of its genuine mirth that even 
 Lenore envied him its zest. 
 
 " The funniest thing in the world ! " he exclaimed as 
 he piloted her steps to the secluded little lounge, just 
 large enough for two, which Lady Branksome had 
 thoughtfully provided at the extreme end of her softly 
 lighted bower of ferns and blossoms. " We have un-
 
 126 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 earthed a new relation, or at least an old one, and he 
 seems inclined to make our fortunes if we will let him." 
 
 Lenore waved her fan slowly to and fro, and smiled 
 the prettily innocent little smile of a person quite above 
 the pomps and vanities of this wicked world. Never- 
 theless, there was a gleam of a lurking curiosity in the 
 velvety brown eyes which she slowly turned upon him. 
 
 " How delightful !" she murmured. " And who is 
 your generous benefactor ? " 
 
 " His name is the same as our own," said Jocelyn. 
 " Daunay John Dannay, of a place that they call 
 Daunay's Tower, somewhere in the Cumberland Fells." 
 
 " I have heard of him," said Mrs. Wycherly, rather 
 eagerly. " He has been a good deal talked about, be- 
 cause he made a fortune in some remarkable way at the 
 Cape. He was quite a poor man to begin with, I 
 believe." 
 
 "Well, comparatively," said Jocelyn. ''He had 
 this Cumberland estate a few barren acres, I fancy, 
 and a queer old rambling house. But there was not 
 much money attached. I suppose we are cousins of 
 his. My father and he were first cousins, so we are 
 his first cousins once removed ; at least he says so, 
 and he ought to know." 
 
 "Very interesting, I am sure," said Mrs. Wycherly, 
 with her eyes half closed. " And has he declared his 
 intention of adopting yon and making you his heir ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jocelyn, with an ingenuous laugh and 
 something of a blush. " He has made some such pro- 
 position. He has an affection for the old place in 
 Cumberland, and wants it to pass into the hands of 
 another Daunay like himself, and I am the next of kin, 
 it seems, after his daughter."
 
 In the Conservatory. 127 
 
 " Oh, there is a daughter, is there ? A.nd what does 
 he mean to do with her ? " 
 
 " That is the funny part of it," said Jocelyn, begin- 
 ning to laugh again. Then he suddenly grew grave, 
 and spoke with seriousness. " It puts me into an 
 awkward position, rather, for, of course, I don't want 
 to dispossess the girl ; only the extraordinary thing is 
 that the old man has not seen her since she was a baby, 
 and does not seem to care about her at all. He says 
 that it is folly to leave a fortune or an estate to a 
 woman." 
 
 " I should think, myself," said Mrs. Wycherly, (< that 
 it was the very best use he could put it to. Men can 
 work for themselves, and make their way in the world, 
 but we poor women what is there for us if we are not 
 provided for ? We are so weak we need some one to 
 lean upon ; we cannot act for ourselves." 
 
 "Well," said Jocelyn, possessing himself of her 
 dainty fan, and waving it slowly to and fro before her 
 face the movement gave him such an excellent op- 
 portunity of studying the contour of her features and 
 the curves taken by the loose tendrils of hair "the 
 fact is that Mr. Daunay is rather of your opinion ; 
 but draws a different conclusion from it. Just because 
 women are so helpless, and need to lean on some one 
 stronger than themselves, he says that they had better 
 not have the responsibility of a fortune ; he thinks it 
 should be left to some one who can watch over them 
 and relieve them from all care and anxiety." 
 
 " And does he want you to undertake the responsi- 
 bility of his daughter as well as of his fortune ?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Wycherly, with a flavor of irony in her tone. 
 
 Jocelyn hesitated a little. It was one thing to tell
 
 128 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 the whole story to Edith, and another to pour it into 
 the ears of Mrs. Wycherly, beautiful and bewitching 
 as she might be. He had lately had his suspicions 
 of Mrs. Wycherly's capacity for keeping a secret to 
 put it in charitable words. 
 
 " I think," he began slowly, ee that Mr. Daunay 
 must have had some idea of the sort in his mind ; 
 but, of course, as the young lady in question has never 
 seen me, and I have never seen her, it does not seem 
 at all likely that any such consummation should be 
 achieved. Besides " with a half laughing look into 
 her eyes " my heart's bespoken, you know." 
 
 " Already ? " she said, glancing up at him with her 
 most winning smile. " But you are too young to know 
 your own mind yet. In a few years you will be wiser 
 than you are now." 
 
 " I think I show my wisdom," said Jocelyn, a little 
 ambiguously ; and his lips were so perilously near her 
 hand as he spoke that if Lenore had not slowly with- 
 drawn it he would certainly have bestowed the kiss 
 which its dainty outline and tinting seemed to pro- 
 voke. She had taken off her glove, and her hand and 
 arm were particularly beautiful : people were in the 
 habit of saying that that was why she showed them so 
 much. Mrs. Wycherly's hand was certainly one of 
 her strong points. 
 
 Jocelyn drew back a little. After all, he was rather 
 glad that he had not saluted that pretty little hand. 
 It was easy to go too far. He admired Lenore 
 Wycherly more than any woman he had ever met, and he 
 had noticed that she did not seem to dislike any ap- 
 proach that he had hitherto made to love-making ; but 
 then he had also noticed that he was not the only man
 
 In the Conservatory. 129 
 
 whom she allowed to make love to her, and he had a 
 fancy for a monopoly. There was a little change in his 
 voice when he spoke again. 
 
 " Mr. Daunay has gone down to Cumberland, and in- 
 tends, I believe, to bring his daughter up to town." 
 
 " So that you may inspect her, I suppose ? " said Mrs. 
 Wycherly, with malice in her laugh. " What a very 
 interesting situation ! Don't you feel like a sultan 
 about to throw the handkerchief ? " 
 
 " You don't suppose," said Jocelyn, rather indig- 
 nantly, " that I mean to let myself be guided either by 
 Mr. Daunay or anybody else in so important a matter 
 as the choice of a wife ? " 
 
 " You might do worse," said Lenore, looking at him 
 with eyes that laughed, and yet were wistful at the 
 same time. " You ought to marry a rich wife, Jocelyn. 
 You will not get on in the world without money. Oh, 
 what slaves we are to convention ! If only we lived in 
 some delightful Arcadia where no one cared whether 
 one were rich or poor ! " 
 
 "Why should we care ?" said Jocelyn, heedlessly. 
 Then a look came over his face which Mrs. Wycherly 
 had never seen before. The features grew stern and set 
 for a moment. The memory of something which now 
 and then shadowed his young life and damped his 
 spirits recurred to him with overwhelming force. " I 
 atn wrong," he said, almost abruptly. " It is right with- 
 in certain limits, to want money. I suppose one cannot 
 very well be thoroughly honest without it." 
 
 " Tell me," said Lenore, in her softest and most 
 caressing voice, " does this Mr. Dan nay make it a con- 
 dition that you should marry his daughter before he 
 provides for you or leaves you his fortune ? " 
 9
 
 130 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " I conld not say/' replied Jocelyn, doubtfully ; " and, 
 after all, I don't quite like to speculate about it. 
 There is no reason why he should give me anything un- 
 less he chooses, and it would be quite impossible for 
 me to supplant his daughter. One could not take the 
 money at her expense/' 
 
 "No, of course not/' said Mrs. Wycherly, faintly. 
 But she did not seem quite certain of her own opinion. 
 She looked down at her hands, and began playing with 
 the rings upon her wedding finger. " I can foresee the 
 end," she said, a little sadly. " You will argue and 
 protest and quarrel, perhaps, with the old man for a 
 time, and then you will finally yield and marry the 
 heiress ; and you will be rich and courted, and invited 
 everywhere, and will forget all about your old friends 
 who were fond of you for your own sake when you had 
 no money at all." 
 
 She raised her eyes for a moment to his face with 
 one of her most bewildering, pathetic glances, and Joce- 
 lyn was conscious of a sudden rush of blood to his 
 face ; of a sudden impulse to say something tender and 
 reassuring that would show her he was not so heart- 
 less as she evidently considered him to be. He spoke 
 in quite a moved and shaken voice; Mrs. Wycherly 
 almost fancied that there were tears in those handsome, 
 though absurdly boyish, blue eyes. 
 
 "I shall never forget never!" he said. "Those 
 who are my friends now will be my friends for a life- 
 time." 
 
 "But when you are married," she said, slowly, " you 
 will have to do what your wife wishes, especially if you 
 marry your cousin." 
 
 < f You forget," said Jocelyn, recovering himself a
 
 In the Conservatory. 131 
 
 little, " that most probably my cousin will not marry 
 me." 
 
 "Oh ! " Mrs. Wycherly drew a long breath. She 
 almost looked as if some perfectly new idea had occurred 
 to her. "In that case," she said, "do tell me what 
 her father would do ? Would he not be rather an- 
 noyed if he has set his heart upon this little plan ? " 
 
 " I suppose he would," said Jocelyn. " But, you 
 see, I don't know him well enough to be able to tell 
 you how a refusal would strike him. I think he has 
 been pretty well accustomed to have his own way." 
 
 " Then, as he is so anxious to see his estate in the 
 hands of some one of his own name, would he not be 
 rather likely to leave it to you and disinherit her ?" 
 
 " If he did, I should never touch a penny of it/' 
 said Jocelyn, hotly. 
 
 "That would be foolish," she murmured, with a 
 faint, fleeting smile. " You see, you could make it up 
 to her afterwards in some other way. I think myself 
 it would be the best plan of all." 
 
 "I am not likely to be tried," said Jocelyn. " But 
 in the mean time I am rather anxious to see the un- 
 known cousin when she comes up to town." 
 
 "Yes, it will be amusing," said Mrs. "Wycherly. 
 " She will be quite a hoyden, no doubt, or a shy little 
 thing with nothing to say for herself. What a pity it 
 is to bring up girls in the country ! I know the dis- 
 advantages of it myself. Until I was eighteen I had been 
 nowhere and seen nobody. The consequence was that I 
 was quite ready to do what I was told, without asking any 
 questions ; and I suffered afterwards for my inexpe- 
 rience." 
 
 She drew a long sigh, and looked pensive, while
 
 132 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Jocelyn hastily recalled to his mind various stories he 
 had heard of the late Mr. Wycherly, and pitied the 
 woman who had been Mr. Wycherly's wife. 
 
 But Lenore thought that she observed a suspicion of 
 boredom in his manner, and she made haste to change 
 the subject. 
 
 "Surely," she Baid, "we have talked about sordid 
 subjects long enough, and we have not even glanced at 
 the flowers. Take me to see them, and tell me when 
 dear Edith is coming to have a chat with me. She is 
 so sweet ; and I so seldom see her in the whirl of a 
 London season. " 
 
 " We shall meet in the autumn, I hope," said Jocelyn, 
 quickly. " We are going to Scotland to the same 
 house, are we not ? I hope you won't be tired of meet- 
 ing us ! " 
 
 " How could I be tired ? " said Mrs. Wycherly. 
 " Does one ever tire of people whom one loves ? " 
 Her voice sank almost to a whisper as she said the last 
 word. 
 
 Jocelyn, raised to a state of mingled expectancy and 
 bewilderment, would possibly have said something by 
 which the course of his whole career might have been 
 decided had not interruption occurred in the shape of 
 one of Mrs. Wycherly's admirers, who stepped forward 
 and claimed her for the dance which he had bespoken. 
 
 Jocelyn watched them disappear down one of the 
 long corridors in search of a secluded nook, where they 
 could sit out together as she had already sat out with 
 him ; and he felt a thrill of unreasonable anger and dis- 
 gust as he realized for once that Mrs. Wycherly was in 
 the habit of having more than one string to her bow.
 
 On the Hills. 133 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON THE HILLS. 
 
 IT was not in human nature that Dr. Lechmere 
 should not afterwards repent the revelation that he had 
 made to Annabel. His conscience had forced him to con- 
 fess to her the very thing which, of all others, he desired 
 not to make known. Yet, under the circumstances, 
 there had seemed to him no other way by which he 
 could save both himself and her ; but when the 
 heroic moment was over he was tortured by the belief 
 that he had irremediably lowered himself in her eyes, 
 and that the relations between them could never be 
 what they had been before, and in this respect he was 
 right. An interview such as that which had passed be- 
 tween himself and the girl could not be without its 
 effect upon Annabel's heart and mind. From her 
 veriest babyhood she had looked up to him as her men- 
 tor and guide. Jane Arnold had carefully sheltered 
 her from contact with the rougher world about them, 
 and she had scarcely heard the many comments and 
 conjectures in which the neighborhood had indulged 
 with respect to Eugene's history. In a less secluded 
 part of the world his story would probaby have been 
 well known, or at least it would more easily have leaked 
 out, through the medium of some well-informed person 
 who remembered the events of the past twenty years and 
 possessed a file of old newspapers. The incidents to
 
 134 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 which he alluded had been common talk at one time, and 
 when he first came to the neighborhood of High Rigg 
 it had been in order to hide himself in some spot where 
 he imagined that things of the outer world did not 
 penetrate. So far he had been right. Old John Dau- 
 nay might know his story ; even in Carlisle he fancied 
 that men sometimes looked at him shrewdly and closely, 
 as if they suspected his connection with the scandal of 
 bygone days ; in some of the big country houses to 
 which his skill had caused him to be summoned he had 
 seen people eye him with covert dislike ; but if he had 
 secretly winced nobody had noticed it, for it was the 
 aim of his whole life to keep a bold front towards the 
 world. He was not only bold, he was defiant. He had 
 been told that he ought never to pursue his profession 
 again ; there was not a doctor in England who would 
 meet him in consultation or hold out a friendly hand to 
 him if his story had been known. He had disgraced 
 himself irretrievably in the eyes of all medical men ; 
 yet he had said to himself when he came out of the pris- 
 on where he had spent two awful years, that, in spite 
 of all, he would not be beaten : if he could not practise 
 in London or a large town, he would practise in the 
 country ; he would not be defrauded of his right to work 
 at the profession which still seemed to him the best and 
 noblest in the world. 
 
 For the man was not a bad man, although he had 
 faults and even vices. Although he had committed 
 what the law called a crime, in his own heart, perhaps, 
 he knew how little, on the whole, he had been worthy 
 of blame. He had suffered a terrible penalty for a very 
 common weakness, and he knew that the "world's 
 coarse thumb and finger failed to plumb " the real na-
 
 On the Hills. 135 
 
 ture of his offense, which had been accident more than 
 crime. But an accident which leads to a man's death 
 sometimes counts as murder : this had been the case 
 with Eugene Lechmere ; and although he blamed him- 
 self bitterly for the causes which had led to that acci- 
 dent, for the reckless dissipation and intemperance 
 which had been the determining forces that marred his 
 life, he knew himself no worse than many a man who 
 had escaped exposure and gained for himself in later 
 life a fair renown. 
 
 At the same time he was very bitter there was no 
 doubt about it. He had been unfairly treated, and by 
 those who might have known him better. He did not 
 blame judge or jury or medical witnesses, or the gov- 
 ernor and warders of the jail in which he had been 
 lodged ; they only did their duty, and walked by the 
 light of evidence. But he did blame the friends who 
 had selfishly refused to have a word to say to him, the 
 family who had cast him off with a pittance only suf- 
 ficient to keep him from starvation, indignantly and 
 even insolently refused by him. There had even been 
 a dearer interest in his life which he had sacrificed, a 
 woman whose help and sympathy might have preserved 
 him from the down-hill road which he then began to 
 tread. But she, like all the rest, had thrown him over at 
 the first breath of disgrace, and he had been left, as he 
 said to himself very bitterly, to go to the devil his own 
 way. That he did not go to the devil resulted in part 
 from the passionate love of his profession, which had 
 become a portion of his being he had chosen to pur- 
 sue it with dogged determination among the wild Cum- 
 berland hills, where, at least, nobody could reproach 
 him with his past in part it came from the fact that
 
 136 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Jane Arnold had given him her friendship in return 
 for one impulsive act of kindness when her sister died. 
 That friendship had brought with it the care of 
 Annabel Daunay, who had made the brightness if 
 there were any brightness of all the rest of Dr. Lech- 
 mere's life. To make his bi-weekly inspection of An- 
 nabel, to teach her, to play with her, to form her 
 growing mind as far as he was able, had been the 
 greatest interest of all his days. He had never con- 
 templated the sequence of events which had now oc- 
 curred ; it seemed unlikely to him that after all these 
 years John Daunay should come back to the fells and 
 claim his daughter and wish to take her away from him. 
 It had been a much more likely thing that he should 
 leave her in her obscurity, the unloved child of a for- 
 gotten mother, to live and die among the Cumberland 
 hills. He had vaguely fancied to himself sometimes 
 how things should turn out, how Annabel might meet 
 in Carlisle, or at the house of one of her very few ac- 
 quaintances, some man who would be worthy of her 
 love, who would marry her and take her to a home of 
 her own, where she would live in peace and happiness, 
 not troubled by any knowledge of the stern and irasci- 
 ble old father who had despised her from her birth. That 
 he, Eugene Lechmere, with all the burden of his past 
 upon him, with his five and forty years, his poverty and 
 his growing unsociability and moroseness (or so he told 
 himself), should prove so utterly weak as to fall in love 
 with a girl whom he had known since babyhood, and to 
 whom he had been simply a kind, good friend this in- 
 deed would have seemed to his mind a folly greater 
 than any that he had committed in the days of his 
 youth ; and perhaps not only a folly but a crime.
 
 On the Hills. 137 
 
 As he drove about the country roads in his usual 
 furious fashion, trim, alert, bright-eyed, a little fierce 
 sometimes in manner and speech, nobody would ever 
 have imagined that he was eating his heart out with 
 remorse as bitter as it was unavailing for that past 
 which had rendered him an outcast from the homes of 
 honest men ; and for that mad love of his for Annabel, 
 of which he knew that he could never divest himself 
 on this side of the grave. 
 
 Fortunately, she did not return it ; fortunately, she 
 did not even guess that he had any feeling for her but 
 that of a friend. He had taken care of that. He bit 
 his lip when he thought of the words that he had been 
 obliged to say ; he hated to feel that he had lowered 
 himself in her eyes, yet how else could he have escaped 
 the burden of her innocent trust of the respect and 
 affection which might any time have ripened into 
 love ? He put the thought of it away from him as if it 
 had been an accursed thing. Sooner, as he had told 
 Mr. Daunay, would he die than ask Annabel to be his 
 wife ; he would be doing her a wrong ; she must marry 
 a man whom she could reverence as well as love. 
 
 But it was difficult to look Annabel in the face. It 
 was difficult to remember that she knew only half the 
 story that he had deliberately told her the part that 
 soniided worst that had the ring of greatest degrada- 
 tion in the telling. What thing soever it was that he 
 had done call it murder, manslaughter, an accidental 
 injury to another man had been done when he was 
 drunk. His counsel at the trial had made the most of 
 that fact by way of defense. It had never seemed to 
 Lechmere any defense at all ; nor had it seemed so to 
 his old father, who sat with gray head bowed during
 
 138 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 those sad hours to listen to the story of his son's dis- 
 solute habits of life. His vices, his extravagances, his 
 reckless revels with boon companions, were all dragged 
 to the light of day. There were leading articles in 
 newspapers about " the worthless profligate " whose 
 unsteady hand and drink-dimmed eye had caused a 
 young man's death. Eugene Lechmere got off lightly 
 with his sentence of two years' imprisonment for man- 
 slaughter ; and few persons cared to ask what became 
 of him when he came out of prison and laughed in the 
 faces of those who tried to ship him off to Australia, 
 flung their money back to them, and said that he had 
 been born a doctor, and a doctor he would be, in spite 
 of them all. 
 
 Well, he had kept his word ; and he had had his 
 hours of happiness. His healing craft had kept his 
 mental faculties as well as his heart alive. The long 
 drives or rides in the open air, the fine breezes on the 
 hillside, the silence of the fells, had been of service to 
 him. His nature had clarified itself ; the latent re- 
 finement of his tastes, cultivated in a beautiful English 
 home when he was a boy, had made a prominent place 
 for themselves in his daily life. He could be reckless 
 and bitter still ; but not as he had been when he first 
 came to the sober Cumberland folk. And now was all 
 this hard-won peace to be overturned because a girl's 
 sweet eyes had smiled at him ? 
 
 He kept away from Annabel. He vowed that he 
 would try to forget her. And then there came a note 
 in which she asked him to visit her aunt, who was ailing, 
 and reproached him for his absence. So, wibh a curi- 
 ously dogged setting of his features, he went to the 
 Moorside Farm.
 
 On the Hills. 139 
 
 Annabel was quick to notice the change in him. He 
 talked freely, even gaily ; he rallied Jane Arnold on her 
 imaginary ailments, as he called them ; he discussed the 
 news of the day, and inveighed vehemently against his 
 political opponents ; but he would not look at Annabel, 
 even when he spoke to her, and he would not stay to 
 tea. 
 
 " "Why not ? " she asked, when he had left Miss Ar- 
 nold's room, and was going rapidly down-stairs. She 
 was following him, and saw that he paused for a mo- 
 ment with his hand on the rail, as if her question made 
 him start. 
 
 " Why not stay to tea ? Because I have a round of 
 visits to make before dark, and don't want to break 
 my neck on the road. Not that it would particularly 
 matter," he added, in a sharp undertone which had, to 
 the listener's ear, a note of sheer misery behind it. 
 
 " Doctor Eugene, you should not talk in that way. 
 What would become of us if you broke your neck on 
 the road, I wonder ?" 
 
 " Oh, you would get a new doctor a nice, respect- 
 able young man, fresh from the hospitals, full of science 
 and without a single fleck on his character. I think 
 you'd gain by the exchange, Miss Daunay." 
 
 " Miss Daunay ! " 
 
 "Why not? as you said just now." The doctor 
 wheeled round to the door : his usually erect shoulders 
 were a little bowed : there was a hang-dog look about 
 him that made Annabel shudder. "There's a great 
 gulf between yon and me, and now that I have opened 
 your eyes to it, there is no use in pretending you don't 
 see it. You are a young lady, and I well, you know 
 what I am."
 
 140 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Annabel sprang forward and laid her hand on his 
 shoulder just before he turned the handle of the door. 
 " Doctor Eugene," she said imperiously, "look at me !" 
 
 "Look at you ?" he said, trying to appear amused, 
 " why should I look at you ? I have looked " he paused 
 for a moment " often enough." 
 
 " Look at me," the girl insisted ; "dear, good Doctor 
 Eugene, look at me just once." 
 
 He was obliged to raise his eyes to hers, but he com- 
 plied so slowly that his reluctance was obvious. At 
 last, however, he looked at her fairly and squarely, and 
 the look told Annabel what she wanted to know. The 
 brilliant eyes were dimmed for once ; they were as sick 
 and weary as the eyes of a beaten dog. 
 
 " What have I done," said Annabel, " that you should 
 treat me in this way ? " 
 
 " I ? How have I treated you ? I have kept away : 
 I thought it best. That was all." 
 
 " But that was not kind. Oh, don't think me intru- 
 sive and impertinent ; but I see I know you are not 
 like yourself : it makes you unhappy to think that you 
 told me what you did." 
 
 " Yes," said Lechmere, after a little silence, during 
 which he turned away his eyes again, and rested one 
 hand against the passage wall. " That is perhaps what's 
 wrong with me. I'd never given myself away before in 
 all these years, and it goes hard with me now." He 
 laughed at the boyishness of his own tone, but the 
 laugh brought tears to Annabel's eyes. 
 
 " How little you trust me ! " she exclaimed. " Doctor 
 Eugene, you should think better of me than to suppose 
 I don't honor you for what you have made of your life 
 in the last twenty years."
 
 On the Hills. 141 
 
 " There are some things that cannot be wiped out, 
 even in twenty years," he said grimly. 
 
 " And you are sorry you told me ? Oh, you are not 
 generous, Dr. Lechmere." 
 
 He drew himself erect and sighed a deep, long sigh, 
 which sounded as if it came from the very bottom of 
 his heart. 
 
 " Can you expect me to be very generous ? " 
 
 " I expect everything that is good from you good 
 and great." 
 
 "Still ?" he said ; but there was a little more spirit 
 in his tone. 
 
 "More than ever." 
 
 Again she noticed his silence so unlike him, for he 
 usually had a word to say. 
 
 " Have I seen so little of you all these years that you 
 don't think I care to understand you ? You were too 
 high-minded to let me be ignorant of the past a past 
 that matters so little because you were afraid I thought 
 too well of you. Dear Doctor Eugene, how can you be 
 so morbid and so so ridiculous ?" 
 
 " You flatter me, Annabel." 
 
 Ah, that was more like him. The little touch of 
 irony, the use of her Christian name ! She had won 
 the day, and she would not lose her friend. 
 
 " I won't let you off," she said, putting her hand 
 through his arm. " Come in to tea, and I will play for 
 you by and by. Your patients can wait : they were 
 only an excuse, Dr. Eugene !" 
 
 The pleading voice had its effect. He raised his head 
 and smiled at her, with something of the old gleam in 
 his eyes. But she felt that he was not yet quite him- 
 self.
 
 142 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "You are very good to me, child," he said gently. 
 " I've no words with which to thank you. I have been 
 foolishly ashamed during these last few days ; but if 
 you have not lost all yonr affection for your old tutor, 
 as I still call myself why, I'll try to respect myself 
 again. It's cold out on the fells without any vanity to 
 keep one warm." 
 
 He gave his shoulders a little shrug, and drew in 
 his breath as if some painful memory had recurred to 
 him. But the beaten look was gone ; he had gathered 
 up again the courage that so seldom failed him, and 
 was ready to continue the long battle of life. 
 
 " No, I won't stay this afternoon : I really have too 
 much to do, but I'll come to-morrow, if you will let me. 
 There's a new book about Dante's Inferno that I want 
 to bring you. Have you heard from Mr. Daunay 
 again ?" 
 
 " Not since he left the Tower. I think he has done 
 with me!" 
 
 " You made your choice," said Lechmere, with 
 a dry smile on his lips. " Yon don't regret it ? " 
 
 "No, indeed. Come early to-morrow, Doctor 
 Eugene. I will give you the very nicest tea you ever 
 had, and you shall hear me sing all your favorite 
 songs. " 
 
 " I will come. You may depend on that." 
 
 He shook hands with her strongly and warmly : his 
 face, if a little troubled still, had resumed the expres- 
 sion of kindly interest and alertness by which she knew 
 it best. But one or two of his acquaintances who met 
 him on the road wondered why the doctor looked so 
 sad. 
 
 The days resumed their usual course for Annabel.
 
 On the Hills. 143 
 
 Jane Arnold grew stronger and moved about the house ; 
 Dr. Lechmere came and went ; Annabel had little 
 duties to perform, little visits to pay or to receive ; but 
 not a word came from Mr. Daunay, either to the 
 Tower or to the Moorside Farm. He seemed to have 
 dropped out of existence altogether. Miss Arnold 
 wrote to him once, seeking to soften him on behalf 
 of Annabel ; but he did not reply. And as the days 
 passed on Jane was driven to conclude, as Annabel had 
 done, that John Daunay had cast his daughter off 
 forever. 
 
 But one morning Dr. Lechmere strode up the garden 
 path with a look of excitement in his keen, brawn 
 face. 
 
 " I have news for you, Annabel," he said. ' ' Prepare 
 yourself. You did not love him, I know ; but it is 
 always something of a shock to hear of death." 
 
 " My father ? " she said trembling. 
 
 " Yes, your father. It is in this morning's paper, 
 but there has been no intimation as yet at the "house. 
 Here it is John Daunay, of Daunay's Tower there 
 can be no mistake." 
 
 As he said, Annabel had not learned to love her 
 father, but the tears rose to her eyes when she heard 
 that he was dead.
 
 144 Daunay's Tower, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MRS. WYCHERLY'S PLANS. 
 
 JOCELYN" DAUNAY would have been somewhat sur- 
 prised if he could have seen into the heart of the woman 
 he admired, as she sat in her prettily shaded bou- 
 doir on the day after Lady Branksome's ball. Mrs. 
 Wycherly was tired, and had resolved to deny herself 
 to visitors ; perhaps that was the reason why she felt 
 so depressed. Now and then she pressed a filmy hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes or took up her vinaigrette, and 
 when her maid brought her a cup of tea she scolded her 
 for some trifling fault until the girl retired in tears. 
 Then she tried to read a novel, but between her eyes 
 and its pages came constantly the vision of a lengthy 
 paper, closely written in rows of items with prices at- 
 tached the very prosaic reality of her dressmaker's 
 bill, which had reached her that morning with an ur- 
 gent request for immediate payment. It was this 
 document which had upset Mrs. Wycherly's nerves, 
 although she had told her maid to say that she was 
 prostrate with fatigue after last night's ball. 
 
 ' ' It is too dreadful of Juliette/' she said to herself, 
 " just when I wanted something new and extremely 
 chic for Scotland. Of course she will refuse to make 
 me anything until I have sent her a cheque. And 
 where on earth am I to get a cheque in the presnet 
 condition of affairs ? I've been awfully unlucky at 
 roulette, I shall liavo to give it up and take to whist
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Plans. 145 
 
 and sixpenny points in my old age. I wonder whether 
 papa could give me anything ? But he has done it 
 rather often, poor dear, and I doubt whether he has 
 anything to spare. There is Reynold, of course ; but 
 Reynold has been stingy lately, and even talks of marry- 
 ing ! Ay di mi, what is a poor little lorn woman to do 
 with herself in these degenerate days ? " 
 
 She picked up a mirror and inspected her face 
 with especial reference to the texture of her skin. 
 " I'm not blotchy or red ; I'm quite smooth and clear," 
 she said to herself. " I can't believe that I am going 
 off very much, in spite of my three and thirty years. 
 Who would believe that I was that age, I wonder ? 
 Certainly not Jocelyn Daunay dear boy that he is ! 
 I told him the other day that I was six and twenty I 
 dared not go 'any higher and he absolutely believed 
 me." 
 
 "Jocelyn Daunay ! So old John Dannay is a re- 
 lation of his ! Reynold has told me a good deal about 
 the old man's affairs. If he means to make Jocelyn 
 his heir there would be nothing imprudent in my 
 encouraging him. How charming it would be to 
 encourage a dear, simple-minded fool like Jocelyn 
 Daunay ! I should grow very fond of him if I tried. 
 He is very lovable, very easily beguiled. At least I 
 think so. I have sometimes surprised a rather critical 
 look in those candid blue eyes of his. I fancy that 
 they could be as hard and cold as steel if his mood in- 
 clined that way. In the mean time, I must keep him 
 well in hand ; and if I find that old John Daunay really 
 means to do anything for him, I will hold out a sisterly 
 hand and tell him to confide in me all about hia 
 affairs." 
 10
 
 146 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 There was rather a cynical look upon her face, a 
 look which went ill with the languishing eyes and soft 
 curved lips. She was careful to banish any such ex- 
 pression when she knew herself to he observed. But 
 alone in her own boudoir, she could look exactly as she 
 pleased. 
 
 There was a tap at the door. She frowned, for she 
 wanted nobody to enter. Nevertheless, a man's hand 
 pushed the door open, and a man's foot crossed the 
 floor. 
 
 " Eeynold ! " she cried, and in spite of herself a faint 
 flush mantled on her cheek. " Eeynold, is it really 
 
 you?" 
 
 Keynold Harding was a tall, strong-looking man, 
 with a very handsome, regular-featured face and fine 
 dark eyes. He was her cousin some said her lover 
 and he was a very popular man in his section of the 
 world. There were only a few, here and there, who 
 whispered that his means of existence were not alto- 
 gether reputable ; that he lived by the tables, and that 
 he liked the chance of plucking a pigeon now and then. 
 It was certain that he had plenty of money to spare, 
 and was lavish with it when he chose. Mrs. Wycherly 
 had long reaped the benefit of his prosperity and liberal 
 impulses. For many years he had continued to make 
 her large gifts of money and of jewels ; it was but 
 lately that he had discontinued them. And she was 
 anxious to know the reason why. She did not love 
 Reynold, but she liked his gifts. 
 
 " You don't look quite yourself," said Mr. Harding, 
 seating himself and staring at her. " What is the mat- 
 ter ? " 
 
 " Nothing."
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Plans. 147 
 
 "Nonsense. You don't have those dark shadows 
 round your eyes for nothing. Is it a bill or a lover ?" 
 
 " A bill, I suppose. I am awfully worried. Juliette 
 declares that she won't wait a day longer, and I want 
 such a lot of things." 
 
 " Have you the bill here ? Hand it over." 
 
 " It's too much, Reynold, "said Mrs. Wycherly, depre- 
 catingly. " I must send it to papa." 
 
 " Papa won't do much towards paying it," said Rey- 
 nold, laughing. " You'd much better leave it to me." 
 
 " Oh, Reynold if you would " 
 
 " I don't mind for once. But, Lenore, I want you to 
 make a bargain with me. It's time I married ; help me 
 to find a wife." 
 
 " A wife ? " she echoed blankly. It seemed to her 
 the last thing that she wanted for Reynold, who 
 had always been so good to her. " Have you seen any 
 one " 
 
 " Oh, not yet," he answered indifferently. " But I 
 may do so any day, and I want you to help me, not to set 
 yourself against me, whenever it happens. Do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 " I think I do," she said. But her heart failed with- 
 in her. What should she do in the days to come, when 
 her need would probably be quite as great as it was now, 
 if Reynold were married and unable to assist her ? But 
 his next words turned the current of her thoughts. 
 
 " Have you heard of young Daunay's luck ? " 
 
 " How do you mean ? In what way ? " 
 
 " Well, it seems that a relation of his has turned up 
 means to leave him all his money, and that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 "That is luck, certainly."
 
 148 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " They were talking of it down at the club," said Rey- 
 nold, carelessly. " The old man is just back from Cum- 
 berland, where he went, it seems, to interview some 
 other claimant to the family estate a girl. He foams 
 at the mouth when he mentions her. And it's a curious 
 thing, but I hear that he talks about a local doctor who 
 is mixed up with his affairs a certain Lechmere, and 
 it strikes me that we have heard of him before." 
 
 " Not Eugene ? Oh, Reynold ! " 
 
 "Eugene, I fancy. We always heard that he buried 
 himself in some queer northern place after he came to 
 grief. It would be just like him if he were advocating 
 the claims of some little adventuress hoping to get 
 what he could out of it." 
 
 " I don't know," said Mrs. Wycherly. "There was 
 a good deal of quixotism about poor Eugene." 
 
 " Poor Eugene, indeed ! Just let your father hear you 
 call him ' poor Eugene ! " 
 
 " Papa was unjust to him ! " said Lenore, in a small, 
 shaken voice. " Don't talk to me, Reynold ; Eugene 
 was always dear to me, whatever he did ! And I never 
 could see that it was anything very bad." 
 
 "Women have 110 conscience," said Reynold, easily. 
 " Give me your bill, and I'll settle it for you. But I'm 
 afraid it must be for the last time, Lenore." 
 
 She thought of Jocelyu, and said nothing. It oc- 
 cured to her that if Jocelyn were Mr. Daunay's heir, 
 she would not ask Reynold to pay her dressmaker's bills. 
 She would talk to Juliette. 
 
 She fully expected Jocelyn to call on her. But day 
 after day passed by, and still he did not come. The fact 
 was that he had other things to think of, and was some- 
 what oblivious of herself.
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Plans. 149 
 
 He had seen a good deal of Mr. Dan nay during those 
 last hot days of July, before all London fled from the 
 dusty town-to cool itself on Scottish moors and snowy 
 Alpine heights. And Mr. Daunay had taken him ab- 
 solutely by surprise. The old man had gone to Cum- 
 berland, and had returned ; and when he sent for 
 Jocelyn soon afterwards, the young man was struck by 
 something new in his face and rnien something somber, 
 sinister, almost tragic in its gloom. 
 
 "I hope there is nothing wrong, sir," he said, im- 
 pulsively. 
 
 " What should be wrong ? " asked Mr. Daunay. 
 Then he walked to the window and looked out. Joce- 
 lyn noticed that he wore a band of crape upon his arm. 
 " Yes, there is something wrong," he said, after a lit- 
 tle pause. " I spoke to you of my daughter the 
 daughter whom I went to see." 
 
 " Yes, sir ? " 
 
 "She is dead," said Mr. Daunay, with almost a sul- 
 len air, which Jocelyn put down to affliction. 
 
 "Dead?" 
 
 It gave him a shock to hear the word spoken of the 
 cousin whom he had never seen. But no doubt of Mr. 
 Daumiy's good faith crossed his mind. He was sin- 
 cerely grieved. 
 
 " I am very sorry. Surely it was sudden ? " 
 
 "Yes, it was sudden. We need not talk about it. 
 Remember you are my sole heir now, and I won't for- 
 get your sister, either." 
 
 " Please don't talk of that," said Jocelyn, rather 
 shocked and startled by the introduction of this sub- 
 ject at such a time. But Mr. Daunay only stared at 
 him with shrewd, twinkling eyes, as if he did not
 
 150 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 believe in the young man's indisposition to speak of 
 money. 
 
 " You'll have Daunay's Tower after all," he said, 
 jingling some loose money in his pocket, and beginning 
 to walk up and down the room. " You'll go there 
 sometimes, I hope, and keep the place up. I've never 
 done much for the village ; perhaps you'll do more." 
 
 "You have plenty of time to do what you like for it 
 now, sir. You spoke of going there this autumn, and 
 for many a year." 
 
 "No, no." Mr. Daunay spoke with increasing 
 gloom and surliness. " I shall never set foot in 
 Dauuay's Tower again." 
 
 Jocelyn tried to laugh him out of his conviction, but 
 without result, and found it best in time to drop the 
 subject. He felt rather uneasy about the old man, yet 
 there seemed nothing definite the matter with him ; it 
 was only that he was depressed, irritable, and alto- 
 gether out of sorts. But he spoke constantly of High 
 Eigg and Daunay's Tower, leaving the impression upon 
 Jocelyn's mind that these places were seldom out of his 
 thoughts. 
 
 One morning, early in August, Mr. Daunay's man 
 came round to Jocelyn's flat in great perturbation. 
 His master had had a fit, he said ; at least he had found 
 him lying insensible on the floor of his bedroom, and 
 did not know what else it could be. He had sent for 
 the doctor and begged Mr. Jocelyn to come at once. 
 
 Jocelyn hastened to the smart little house which Mr. 
 Dan nay had rented the place where he had once in- 
 tended to install his daughter Annabel. He saw the 
 doctor, and sat for some time at the old man's bedside. 
 But there was nothing to be done. All the resources of
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Plans. 151 
 
 medical science were at hand, but were utterly un- 
 availing. 
 
 " There may be a partial recovery of consciousness," 
 the doctor said, " but it will be but the nicker in the 
 socket. It would be well, however, if some one whom 
 he knew could be with him at the last. Has he any 
 relations ? " 
 
 " As far as I know, only myself and my sister. TVe 
 will stay with him one or other of us to the end/' 
 
 " That is well. If he has any last instructions to 
 gi ve any testamentary dispositions to make " 
 
 "As far as I know," said Jocelyn, again, " he has 
 settled all these matters." 
 
 The doctor bowed. He knew what the world had 
 lately been saying of Mr. Daunay and Jocelyn. 
 
 So it came about that Edith and her brother watched 
 night and day beside John Daunay's dying bed. 
 
 Jocelyn was alone with him when that last nicker of 
 expiring life made itself visible. It was the hour of 
 dawn, and a pale gray gleam of light stole into the 
 room, making the watchers' faces almost as ghastly as 
 that of the dying man, when Mr. Daunay opened his 
 eyes and tried to speak. His utterance was feeble and 
 rather thick, but he made himself understood. 
 
 < Jocelyn ? " 
 
 " I am here, sir. Do you want anything ? " 
 
 The dying man nodded at him. " Youll sec that 
 everything's right ? " he said with glazing eyes. 
 
 " Yes, sir, everything." 
 
 " Daunay's Tower " 
 
 " Yes ; I will do all you wished, Uncle John." Mr. 
 Daunay had told him that it was in this way he wished 
 to be addressed.
 
 1 52 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " And and Annabel " 
 
 His tongue failed him; he could say no more. 
 "Annabel/' he murmured indistinctly, "Annabel" 
 and that was all. There seemed to be an entreaty in 
 his eyes which Jocelyn could not understand. 
 
 " Yes, sir, Annabel," he said soothingly, not know- 
 ing in the least what the old man meant. 
 
 And then John Dauuay died.
 
 Retrospective. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 RETROSPECTIVE. 
 
 " WELL, what does the lawyer say ? " asked Dr. 
 Lechmere, as he walked into the little room where Jane 
 Arnold reclined in an easy-chair with an appearance of 
 weakness and weariness which sat strangely upon her 
 usually energetic personality. She had been ailing for 
 some time, and Dr. Lechmere thought less hopefully of 
 her than he liked Annabel to know ; the disease of the 
 heart which had troubled her for so long had lately de- 
 veloped with alarming rapidity, and the doctor foresaw 
 a period when Annabel would most likely, and at no 
 distant day, be forced to face the world alone. 
 
 This fact, together with his real regard for the 
 woman who had shown him kindliness when he was in a 
 peculiarly lonely position, caused him to attend her with 
 the greatest care and regularity. He usually visited 
 Moorside Farm once every day, and always impressed 
 upon Annabel that she was to send for him if her aunt 
 seemed worse. 
 
 "You know I don't mind distances," he said, with a 
 smile, when Annabel looked a little alarmed at this re- 
 mark, " and I would rather come up to Cross Rigg 
 than know that your aunt was suffering pain that I 
 might perhaps alleviate." 
 
 So Annabel promised to have no hesitation in sending 
 for him if necessary at any hour of the day or night,
 
 154 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 but at present there seemed no need for her to do so, 
 as the doctor was unremitting in his attentions. He 
 had other reasons for wishing to see Miss Arnold as 
 often as possible, for there had arisen a curious diffi- 
 culty with respect to Annabel's position after Mr. 
 Daunay's death. As no intimation of his decease had 
 been sent to Moorside Farm, Miss Arnold had, at 
 Lechmere's advice, written to Mr. Daunay's solicitors, 
 whose name and address the doctor himself had been 
 careful to ascertain. Some days elapsed before the re- 
 ply came, and Dr. Lechmere was naturally interested 
 to know what its tone would be. 
 
 " I heard this morning," Miss Arnold said, " but how 
 did you know ? " 
 
 "I met Annabel," said the doctor, easily. He had 
 begun not to be able to pronounce her name very 
 steadily, but he tried not to flinch when Jane Arnold's 
 observant eyes were upon him. " She was walking down 
 to High Rigg. You did not tell her what was in the 
 letter, she said." 
 
 " No," said Miss Arnold, deliberately. " I thought 
 I would like to speak to yourself first, doctor. I have 
 been all in a tremble ever since I read the letter. I 
 never thought that John Daunay would have acted so 
 by Betha's child." 
 
 "I should have thought he was capable of anything," 
 said Dr. Lechmere, remembering his last interview with 
 the old man. 
 
 " I should not have thought it," said Jane Arnold, 
 her lip trembling. " You know, he was like a brother 
 to me when we were young ; I was his foster-sister, and 
 many's the time we've played together about the farm, 
 or in the garden down at Daunay's Tower. Even when
 
 Retrospective. 155 
 
 he ran off with Betha and me never suspecting whom 
 she'd gone with for years and years I thought he 
 meant to deal well with her, but now there's no know- 
 ing what to say/' 
 
 "What's the matter?" said the doctor, briefly, his 
 grasp tightening on the arm of the wooden armchair as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " You can see the letter," said Jane. She handed 
 him the official-looking communication from the firm 
 of Messrs. Clissold, Glover & Co., in which it was stated 
 in a clerkly hand that the firm were not aware that Mr. 
 Daunay had ever contracted a legal marriage, and that 
 there was no legitimate offspring ; the estate and per- 
 sonal property of their late client would therefore pass 
 to the next of kin, Mr. Jocelyn Daunay. 
 
 Dr. Lechrnere threw down the letter with an exclama- 
 tion of mingled surprise and disgust. 
 
 " So that's his revenge," he said quietly. 
 
 Jane Arnold looked at him with a bewildered expres- 
 sion. " Revenge, doctor ? " she said. " Why should 
 he want to revenge himself on Annabel, poor lamb ? 
 She's never done him any harm." 
 
 " She has thwarted his plans," said the doctor, " which 
 is the greatest harm any one can do to a man of his stamp. 
 Well, we shall have to prove the marriage, that is all. 
 Where did it take place ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Miss Arnold, helplessly. 
 
 The doctor's mobile eyebrows went up almost to his 
 hair. 
 
 " You don't know ? " he repeated. 
 
 " How should I know ? " said Jane, with something 
 like passion in her tone. "We've not spoken of this 
 matter, Dr. Lechmere, for years and years ; but I should
 
 156 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 like to tell you now, or to remind you if you know al- 
 ready, how things really stood." 
 
 " I should be glad to hear ; the whole story was always 
 a mystery to me. Mr. Daunay invariably spoke of your 
 sister as his wife." 
 
 " She was his wife," said Jane, lifting her hands and 
 letting them fall again in a gesture naturally expressive 
 of her agitated feelings. " She told me she was, poor 
 soul, and Daunay himself repeated it. There has never 
 been a single doubt in my mind that Betha was his 
 wife. She was a good, sweet girl, and knew right from 
 wrong, Dr. Lechmere, and she would never have gone 
 away with him if he had not married her/' 
 
 Eugene Lechmere nodded. " Betha might have 
 been a good woman," he reflected, " and yet be shame- 
 fully deceived ; there was no knowing exactly what 
 John Daunay might not have done." 
 
 " Betha was years younger than me," Jane Arnold 
 went on, in a monotonous narrative tone, " and I was 
 like a mother to her. I brought her up, as you may 
 say, after our mother died. Father was living then, 
 and farmed the land, but he was always busy, and didn't 
 trouble himself over much about Betha or me. It 
 seemed quite natural then that John Daunay should be 
 in and out a good bit. He was a heavy, loutish sort of 
 young fellow, that wouldn't go to college or take his 
 proper place among the gentry of the neighborhood. 
 He was all for grooms and dog-fanciers, and people of 
 that sort ; he used to say he wished he had been born 
 a working-man." 
 
 " I could well imagine that/' said Lechmere, sar- 
 donically. 
 
 " It was natural," said Jane, at once ; and Dr. Lech-
 
 Retrospective. 157 
 
 mere noticed that she was ready to take up the cudgels 
 in defense, as far as possible, of her foster-brother. 
 " Old Mr. Daunay, John's father, I mean, was a queer, 
 eccentric sort of man, who wouldn't be bothered to 
 spend money on his son's education : so different from 
 that other branch of the family that you may have 
 heard of, sir Alfred Daunay, who married Lady Mary 
 Jocelyn, and was all for books and pictures, and things 
 of that kind." 
 
 "The father and mother of this Jocelyn Daunay, I 
 suppose the man whom Mr. Daunay wanted Annabel 
 to marry ?" 
 
 " Yes, that's it : as different as light from darkness 
 or chalk from cheese, as the saying is ; and Mr. Daunay 
 was always jibing at his brother and his brother's son, 
 and saying that he would never come to any good, and 
 that his boy was to be brought up out of doors and know 
 all about sport and things that befitted an English 
 gentleman." 
 
 " Fine specimen of an English country gentleman ! " 
 ejaculated Dr. Lechmere, with an angry flash of his 
 hazel eyes. 
 
 " Well," said Jane, patiently, " Mr. John turned out 
 differently. He took to making money, that was the 
 queer thing, instead of books or sport. He used to say 
 that Daunay's Tower was all very well, but he was not 
 going to spend his whole life in a hole and corner when 
 there was so much to be got out of the world. * I shall 
 come back rich some day,' he used to say to me ; ' and 
 then you will see what sort of a place I'll make of 
 Daunay's Tower/* 
 
 " I almost wonder he ever came back," said the 
 doctor, impatiently : "probably his marriage and your
 
 158 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 sister's death had something to do with keeping him 
 away." 
 
 " I had no idea that he was thinking of Betha," said 
 Jane. " She was a beautiful girl, you know, doctor ; 
 though I sometimes think that Annabel is even prettier. 
 But Betha was rosier than Annabel, and had more of a 
 lively way with her. She was not so stand-offish as 
 Annabel is sometimes. She would laugh and talk with 
 any one ; so I never thought anything of it that she 
 should laugh and talk with young Mr. Daunay as much 
 as anybody else/' 
 
 " A romping, red-cheeked milkmaid, I should fancy," 
 said the doctor to himself, but he was careful not to put 
 his reflections into words. " Well," he said curtly, 
 " get on with your story, Miss Arnold. Annabel will 
 be back before long, and I should like to hear the whole 
 of it before I go." 
 
 " I'm keeping you, I doubt," said Jane with a sigh, 
 " but I should like to tell you about it, if you don't 
 mind, for I have sometimes thought it a pity that no- 
 body knew the ins and outs of the story but myself. 
 Well, as I was saying, Betha was very much admired 
 and courted by all the young men in the neighborhood, 
 and I am sure I never knew which she really preferred. 
 It is five and twenty years ago this very summer that 
 she made up her mind, but I dare say he made her 
 promise not to tell me he had won her heart after all. 
 I came down early one morning to find a letter lying 
 on the table in this very room, and Betha gone." 
 
 " She had run away with John Daunay, I suppose ?" 
 
 ee That's what she'd done, doctor ; but I did not 
 know it at the time, and I never suspected him. He 
 was about my own age, or a little younger, and I was
 
 Retrospective. 159 
 
 getting on for forty. Betha was eighteen years yonnger 
 than myself, so you see she was free to do what she 
 chose ; there was no reason that 1 could see, why she 
 could not have walked out of the house and been mar- 
 ried in the parish church before the eyes of the world ; 
 there was nobody to interfere with her ; old Mr. Dau- 
 nay was dead, and so was my father by that time, and 
 there was only me to make any objection." 
 
 "That looks bad," said Dr. Lechmere. "He must 
 have had a reason for not wanting the marriage cere- 
 mony to be publicly performed/' 
 
 "Perhaps so," said Jane Arnold. "I have some- 
 times thought that, as he was getting on in the world 
 just then for he had already begun to make money, 
 as I'd heard, with mines and shares and things of that 
 kind he didn't care to let it be known that he had 
 married one of his old tenant's daughters ; he meant to 
 take her away with him somewhere and bring her back, 
 dressed up and educated so that nobody should know 
 where she came from and throw her family in her face." 
 
 " That's possible," said the doctor. " But what did 
 she say in her letter ? " 
 
 " Very little. Only that she was going away to be 
 married to the man she loved, and that I should never 
 be able to guess who it was, but she would write and 
 let me know in course of time : and then I heard DO 
 more of her for five long years, until you summoned me 
 to Dannay's Tower, eighteen years ago, doctor, and put 
 Betha's child into my arms. And I never saw her 
 until I looked at her dead face three days later in the 
 coffin where they had laid her at Daunay's Tower. Why 
 Daunay brought her home to die, and why he 
 kept her death such a mystery and buried her, as you
 
 i5o Daunay's Tower. 
 
 know, at midnight in that little churchyard on the hill, 
 is more than ever I have been able to understand. 
 
 " You may know more than I do, for you were with 
 her when she died : it was only then I learned the name 
 of the man who had taken her away from me, and I'll 
 do John Daunay the justice to say that he spoke of her 
 as his wife." 
 
 "And that is all you know ?" said the doctor. "To 
 tell the truth, I never thought of doubting that you 
 knew all about the marriage and were completely in 
 Mr. Daunay's confidence. He seemed to have a respect 
 for you which he did not show to many people." 
 
 " We had always been friends when we were young," 
 said Jane Arnold, dreamily. And Dr. Lechmere found 
 himself wondering whether she had at one time a softer 
 feeling towards John Daunay than she now acknowl- 
 edged even to herself. " But he treated us badly one 
 and all ; he wronged me by keeping my sister from me 
 Betha was only my stepsister, but I loved her as 
 truly as if she had been all my own ; and he wronged 
 Annabel by the way that he neglected her and left her 
 in poverty ; and now it seems as if the lawyers want to 
 prove that he wronged Betha most of all." 
 
 " It's a complete tangle," said the doctor in a dis- 
 mayed tone ; " and I assure you that I know far less 
 than yourself. I have often wanted to tell you the 
 depth of my ignorance, but I have not liked to open 
 the subject." 
 
 He paused and bit his lip, recalling with shame the 
 brutalit}' which he knew he had shown in those bygone 
 reckless days when he announced to Jane Arnold the 
 fact of her sister's death. He had not been in the mood 
 then to believe in anybody's affection or anybody's
 
 Retrospective. 161 
 
 purity. It had seemed to him a matter of little conse- 
 quence whether Betha was John Daunay's wife or not 
 certainly not of importance to the hard-featured 
 homely woman to whom he had been instructed to 
 carry Betha's child, whether her sister were alive or 
 dead. 
 
 " Betha, oh, Betha's dead," he had said to her ; and 
 the memory of his own worst mood had always sealed 
 his lips with regard to that unfortunate moment in the 
 better days which had come to him ; he could only hope 
 most fervently that Jane Arnold had forgotten what he 
 said. 
 
 She had at any rate never reminded him of it ; she 
 had several times expressed her gratitude to him for the 
 kindly mood in which he had made it possible for her 
 to look once more on her dead sister's face. She had 
 attached a disproportionate value, he said, to the serv- 
 ice that he had done her : it had made her his friend, 
 and her friendship had very often filled his heart with 
 remorse. 
 
 She looked up at him anxiously. " I used to say," 
 she said in a troubled voice, " that it was useless to 
 waste words, and that the least said was soonest 
 mended ; but I begin to think that maybe we have held 
 our tongues too long: if we had been less silent it 
 would have been easier to arrange the child's affairs 
 now. I have taken it for granted all these years that 
 you could tell me a good deal if you chose to speak." 
 
 " As it happens," said the doctor, " I can tell you 
 uncommonly little. I do not even know the day when 
 Mr. and Mrs. Daunay arrived at the Tower. I was not 
 called in until as I was told the baby was three 
 days old ; they had had a doctor from Carlisle." 
 ii
 
 1 62 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Jane's face expressed utter astonishment. " I 
 thought you were there from the beginning," she 
 faltered. 
 
 " Not I. Mr. Daunay must have had some reason for 
 wishing to keep a local practitioner out of the way. 
 Evidently he did not want any one in the neighborhood 
 to know that his wife was there, or that the child had 
 been born at Daunay's Tower. He told me that they 
 were on their way to Scotland from Wales, and had 
 not intended to stay more than one night at his old 
 home. She was probably taken ill unexpectedly, and 
 he chose to send for a nurse and a doctor from the 
 nearest big town. He certainly did not spare pains and 
 expense on the occasion. The doctor from Carlisle 
 stayed in the house for three clays and nights, and then, 
 as everything seemed to be going well, returned to his 
 own home after handing over the case to me. I only 
 saw your sister once alive ; she died of collapse ashort 
 time after the Carlisle man had left the house. John 
 Daunay bound me down to secrecy about the whole 
 matter as far as the immediate neighborhood was con- 
 cerned. He said that he did not want his affairs talked 
 about." 
 
 Dr. Lechmere did not add that he had then firmly 
 believed that Betha was not John Daunay's wife at all, 
 and had thought it quite natural for the owner of 
 Daunay's Tower to desire silence on the subject of her 
 life and death. It was only when he had grown to 
 know Jane Arnold and John Daunay better that he had 
 come to a very different conclusion, and he was bitterly 
 ashamed of the fact that he had accepted a large sum 
 of money from John Daunay, which had been called a 
 fee, but which he knew very well had been simply a
 
 Retrospective. 163 
 
 bribe to induce him to hold his tongue. The matter 
 seemed clear enough now ; but at the time it had all 
 been wrapped in a veil of obscurity which was difficult, 
 indeed, to penetrate. 
 
 " Mr. Daunay did not take me into his confidence in 
 any way," he said; "or, at least, not more than he 
 could possibly help. He sent me, as you know, to tell 
 you to come to the Tower, and it was then that I placed 
 your sister's child in your arms ; but I knew very little 
 of the true state of affairs." 
 
 " It was a wild night," Jane Arnold murmured, " and 
 I had no idea what I was coming for. I remember how 
 I toiled back through that wind and rain with the baby 
 in my arms, wondering whether it was indeed my 
 Betha's child, and when they would send for it to take 
 it away." 
 
 " It is a long time since then," said Eugene Lechmere, 
 with something between a smile and a sigh. 
 
 " A long time indeed. I never thought to have An- 
 nabel with me for eighteen years. Things have turned 
 out a bit different from what we expected/' 
 
 " Things always do," replied the doctor, brusquely. 
 " All I can say is, Miss Arnold, that the affair has taken 
 a very extraordinary turn. Mr. Daunay invariably 
 spoke of your sister as his wife, and of Annabel as his 
 legitimate daughter. I should think that in time the 
 solicitors will find papers relating to his marriage 
 amongst Mr. Daunay's effects ; and if these matters 
 should be cleared up (unless there is a will to the con- 
 trary), Annabel will inherit the estate, or such part of 
 it as comes by law to a daughter when a man dies in- 
 testate. But it seems to me a very odd thing if Mr. 
 Duu nay died without making a will."
 
 164 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "If he had made one lately," said Jane, "he would 
 have left everything to this Jocelyn Daunay, and noth- 
 ing to Annabel at all." 
 
 " We shall know all about that in time," said the 
 doctor, rising and taking up his hat. " Shall I write 
 to the firm for you ? Now that I know the facts, I 
 could tell them to look for the marriage certificate, and 
 assure them that I have heard Mr. Daunay speak before 
 witnesses of his daughter and his wife." 
 
 " Yes, do, doctor," said Jane eagerly. " They will 
 pay more attention to you than they would to me." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said Eugene, knowing 
 very well that Messrs. Clissold, Glover & Co. would not 
 fail to recognize his name. 
 
 "And then there is the doctor in Carlisle," Jane 
 contended. " He might know something about the 
 matter." 
 
 " Too late," said Dr. Lechmere. " He died ten 
 years ago." 
 
 " And the nurse ?" 
 
 " I know nothing of her. I asked about her once, 
 for she was a capital nurse. But they told me she had 
 completely disappeared. We must do our best, but it 
 seems to me more than likely that John Daunay has 
 deliberately destroyed all proof of his marriage in order 
 to get rid of the claims of Annabel."
 
 Mr. Clissold's Opinion. 165 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 MR. CLISSOLD'S OPINION. 
 
 " THE claimant to the estate ? " said Jocelyn, incred- 
 ulously. " But there can't be one, you know. I 
 know all the ins and outs of the family ; Mr. Daunay 
 himself impressed that upon me, and I am quite sure 
 there is no other relation but my sister and myself in 
 the world." 
 
 " They say there is a daughter/' said Mr. Clissold, 
 wrinkling his brows over a letter which lay on the desk 
 before him. 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know all about that," said Jocelyn; 
 "there was a daughter, you mean. She lived in 
 Cumberland at Daunay's Tower, I suppose " a little 
 doubtfully. It occurred to him that he had never in- 
 quired where Mr. Daunay's daughter lived. 
 
 " No, excuse me, she didn't," said the solicitor. He 
 was a dry-looking little man, with sparse gray hair, and 
 innumerable small wrinkles upon his little face, which 
 gave him the appearance of immeasurable age. He 
 was not so very old, after all, but he was the head of 
 the firm, and had known all the business affairs of 
 his clients for the last fifty years. His memory was as 
 good as ever, and his wits were extremely keen. More- 
 over he was a man of known probity, and Jocelyn had 
 been instructed by Mr. Daunay that his affairs would be 
 perfectly safe in Mr. Clissold's hands. He was im- 
 maculately dressed in black, and wore his most pro-
 
 1 66 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 fessional air. " I am well acquainted/' the lawyer 
 went on slowly, " with all the arrangements of 
 Daunay's Tower. The late Mr. Daunay placed me in 
 communication with the person who acts as its care- 
 taker, and I can assure you that the house has not 
 been inhabited for very nearly five and twenty years. 
 Mr. Daunay has, no doubt, paid one or two visits of a 
 day or a couple of days at a time " Mr. Clissold was 
 in complete ignorance of the fact that John Daunay 
 had spent at least a week at the Tower some eighteen 
 years before the date of his death " but at no time 
 has he made it a place of permanent abode for himself 
 or any member of his family. Naturally, I need hardly 
 say, if there had been a daughter residing at the old 
 family mansion, I should have been made aware of her 
 existence. " 
 
 Mr. Clissold smiled as he spoke, and rapped his pen- 
 cil lightly on the table. He did not quite understand 
 why Jocelyn should seem so flurried and perplexed. 
 
 "I suppose," said the young man, "that you are 
 right. Of course, yon must be right " (observing the 
 expression of extreme astonishment upon Mr. Clissold's 
 face). " But you don't think there could have been a 
 daughter in the care of this housekeeper, or whatever 
 she was, at Daunay's Tower without your knowing that 
 she was there ? " 
 
 " Have I not just said that it would be quite impos- 
 sible ? " said the lawyer, with some asperity. " You 
 forget, my dear sir, that all disbursements of money 
 for the house and estate, for repairs, for the mainte- 
 nance even of the housekeeper, have been in my hands 
 for the last twenty years. It is not to be conceived as 
 possible that there could be any one at Daunay's Tower
 
 Mr. Clissold's Opinion. 167 
 
 of whose existence I should not be aware ; and, by the 
 \v;iy." chuckling softly to himself " your theory could 
 scarcely hold water, because the caretaker happens to 
 be a man. Not a very likely person to have the care 
 of a young lady, eh ? " 
 
 " I thought," said Jocelyn, " that there might be 
 an old family servant, an old housekeeper, who had 
 been entrusted with the care of the child." 
 
 " No such thing, no such thing," said the lawyer. 
 " Mr. Daunay left the place simply to the care of old 
 Morrison James Morrison who has been in the family 
 since he was a boy. And James Morrison has been 
 allowed to have everything very much his own way. It 
 is my belief, Mr. Jocelyn, that yon will find the place 
 going to pieces, and that a very large sum of money 
 will have to be spent if you wish to put it into thorough 
 repair." 
 
 "I am very curious to see it," said Jocelyn. " My 
 uncle, Mr. Daunay, spoke about it a good deal. It was 
 curious that he visited it so little, seeing that he evi- 
 dently had a great attachment to it." 
 
 "Oh yes," said Mr. Clissold ; "but these old attach- 
 ments get eliminated in real life. One has not always 
 time to look up the homes of one's ancestors. You 
 know, poor John Daunay was ageing ageing very fast ; 
 and age inclines us, as you will know in the course of 
 time, to think of one's childhood and one's home. 
 Perhaps Mr. Daunay intended to spend the last years 
 of his life in Cumberland." 
 
 " Not entirely," said Jocelyn. " He talked of going 
 there for two or three months every summer. But I 
 must tell you, Mr. Clissold, that he spoke to me re- 
 peatedly of his daughter."
 
 1 68 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Indeed ? " said the old lawyer, with an air of sur- 
 prise. " Well, well, it's strange how things turn out. 
 Of course, as he spoke to you I need not maintain 
 silence on the point, as I can now feel that I am not 
 breaking any confidence reposed in me. Not that old 
 Mr. Daunay was given to making confidences. Oh 
 dear, no ; he was a very reticent man. Reticence is a 
 great virtue in some cases, but it may be carried too 
 far. In this case I have sometimes wished that Mr. 
 Daunay would have spoken to me a little more frankly 
 on certain points/' 
 
 " Then you knew all along that there was a daugh- 
 ter ?" said Jocelyn, suddenly facing him. 
 
 "A daughter? Yes," said the little lawyer, softly, 
 " but not a claimant to the estate not a legitimate 
 daughter, you will understand. Mr. Daunay was never 
 married. But he has mentioned this child to me ; he 
 took a very practical interest in her welfare, and I have 
 had to forward rather large sums on her account to the 
 people who have charge of her." 
 
 "Had," Jocelyn corrected him, somewhat abruptly. 
 " Mr. Daunay told me that she was dead." 
 
 The lawyer elevated his eyebrows and shook his head. 
 "I know nothing about that. I have had no formal 
 notice of her death. He told you so in so many words 
 told you that the girl had died ? " 
 
 " Certainly he did/' said Jocelyn. " The fact was" 
 the young man's face flushed hotly as he spoke " he 
 had some idea that I might marry his daughter, and 
 that by doing so she would not be kept out of her share 
 of the estate." 
 
 " Her share of the estate ? " repeated the lawyer, 
 wonderingly. "What an odd expression, under the
 
 Mr. Clissold's Opinion. 169 
 
 circumstances, Mr. Jocelyn ! He spoke as if this girl 
 had a right to inherit the property that she was his 
 lawful daughter by a valid marriage ? " 
 
 " Certainly he did," said Jocelyn. 
 
 The lawyer drew a long breath. " It is the first I 
 have heard of it," he said, startled out of his profes- 
 sional caution. Then, in a blander tone : " In that 
 case it is fortunate that things have so far adjusted 
 themselves. If the young lady in question is dead, as 
 my late client informed you, there is no question as to 
 your right to the property." 
 
 "I see," said Jocelyn, rather confusedly. "But 
 then this claimant you speak of ? Is there some one 
 else?" 
 
 "That is the odd part of it," said Mr. Clissold. " I 
 have had two letters lately, one from the person who 
 had charge of the girl we were mentioning the sister, 
 I believe, of the child's mother, who died some years 
 ago. This letter runs with considerable simplicity, 
 possibly assumed for the occasion, setting forth that 
 Mr. Daunay had, as you were saying, a daughter who 
 claims to be his next of kin claims, that is to say, to 
 be his legitimate daughter and heiress. If that were 
 true it would, of course, make a great difference to 
 you." 
 
 " But you say it is not true," said Jocelyn ; " besides, 
 what about her death ?" 
 
 "Ah, that is a curious complication. Either Mr. 
 Daunay was misinformed, or it is just possible," said 
 the lawyer, cautiously, " that he might have his reasons 
 for wishing to hide the truth, or that the girl in ques- 
 tion is still alive. I have now received another letter 
 on the subject from a doctor who has been a resident at
 
 170 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 High Eigg for many years, and claims to know all the 
 circumstances. According to him the girl is very much 
 in existence indeed, and claims to be John Daunay's 
 daughter and the rightful mistress of Daunay's Tower. 
 He does not enclose any proofs," said the old lawyer, 
 with a touch of whimsical humor in his tone, " but no 
 doubt he has got them ready to hand up his sleeve, so 
 to speak. I know the man." 
 
 " You know the man ? Who is he, then ? " 
 
 "A scamp," said Mr. Clissold. "A good-for- 
 nothing scrapegrace who was cast off by his family a 
 good many years ago on account of a very disagreeable 
 episode in his life which landed him in prison for the 
 space of two years. I happen to know that his family 
 tried to send him out to Australia, but the fellow re- 
 fused to go, and chose to practise as a doctor (which he 
 had not the slightest right to do) in the district round 
 about High Rigg. It was there, probably, that Mr. 
 Daunay first became acquainted with him, and, per- 
 haps found him useful. In fact, he must have em- 
 ployed him a good deal " (thinking of certain sums 
 which he had been in the habit of paying to Eugene 
 Lechmere's account), " but he is not in the least the 
 sort of man that one could trust." And he mentioned 
 the doctor's name. 
 
 "It seems to me," said Jocelyn, knitting his brows, 
 "as if there might be some kind of plot going on. 
 This doctor may be leagued with the relations of the 
 girl in an endeavor to get money out of me, even if 
 they cannot make good her claim to the estate/' 
 
 "You state the case with great perspicacity, my 
 dear sir," said Mr. Clissold. "I have an idea of the 
 same kind myself ; and the more one looks into the
 
 Mr. Clissold's Opinion. 171 
 
 matter the more one is inclined to think that every- 
 thing is not as it should be. Perhaps it would be as 
 well to send some one down to make personal inquiries 
 at High Rigg. I have a very discreet young man in 
 my employ whom we can trust perfectly." 
 
 " No," said Jocelyu, suddenly getting up from his 
 chair and walking about the office in a restless manner 
 which Mr. Clissold found very disturbing to his nerves. 
 " I had rather go myself." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Jocelyn ! My dear sir ! Quite im- 
 possible ! " 
 
 " Why ? " said Jocelyn, looking anxious. " What 
 difference would it make to anybody ? " 
 
 " It would be very incorrect. I could not possibly 
 approve of such a proceeding," said Mr. Clissold, with 
 severity. "It might compromise matters to a remark- 
 able degree." 
 
 " Really ? " said Jocelyn. " I'm not versed in these 
 things, you see, Mr. Clissold. But if you sent your 
 clerk down, what could he do ? " 
 
 "He would inquire into the characters of the persons 
 concerned, for one thing. He could ascertain the truth 
 respecting the putative daughter of the late Mr. 
 Daunay. No doubt local gossip would put him in 
 possession of most of the facts." 
 
 " I see. Then all I will ask, Mr. Clissold," said 
 Jocelyn, with unexpected decision, "is that you should 
 delay your clerk's departure for a day or two. I have 
 some inquiries of my own to make first." 
 
 He took his leave thereupon with such abruptness 
 that Mr. Clissold had no time to ask questions or proffer 
 warnings of any kind. In fact Jocelyn felt that he was 
 making an escape. The idea that had suddenly leaped
 
 172 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 into his mind seemed to him so good that he de- 
 termined to put it into execution immediately, without 
 taking Mr. Clissold into his confidence at all. 
 
 " Clissold wants me under his thumb, I fancy," he 
 said to himself, with a little laugh of amusement. " I 
 think I must have my fling first." 
 
 He had made up his mind to go down to High Rigg 
 and investigate matters for himself. But he would not 
 go under his own name exactly. He would be Mr. 
 Jocelyn that was fair enough, for the use of his 
 mother's maiden name would be quite sufficient warn- 
 ing to people on "the other side." No doubt these 
 people would know all about his family ; they would 
 need all the information that they could acquire. As 
 for himself he suddenly recollected he knew next 
 to nothing. He did not even know the name of the 
 persons who had charge of Mr. Daunay's daughter. 
 Well, it was too late to inquire ; if he went back to Mr. 
 Clissold with the question, Mr. Clissold would ask him 
 what he meant to do. He would chance it ; there was 
 sure to be some way of ascertaining facts when he 
 was in the neighborhood of Daunay's Tower. There 
 was this scoundrel of a doctor : Jocelyn made up his 
 mind to be on his guard against him. What a pity that 
 a man of this kind should be let loose in a country vil- 
 lage to work his devilries among the simple village folk ! 
 Jocelyn made up his mind that when he was master of 
 Daunay's Tower he would manage to expel this ruffianly 
 medical man from the place. 
 
 He had not yet finally thrown up his position in the 
 Foreign Office, but he had leave of absence, and Mr. Clis- 
 sold had supplied him plentifully with money. A little 
 time would have to elapse, of course, before Mr. Dau-
 
 Mr. Clissold's Opinion. 173 
 
 nay's will could be proved. For there was a will, though 
 of a very unsatisfactory kind. It had been executed 
 shortly after the date of John Daunay's elopement with 
 Betha (although Jocelyn did not know that), and de- 
 vised all his property in the simplest possible manner to 
 his next-of-kin. Now a daughter was nearer than a 
 first cousin once removed ; therefore, if the girl of whom 
 Jocelyn had heard was John Daunay's lawful child, 
 everything would go to her and Jocelyn could claim 
 nothing at all. He whistled as he thought of this view 
 of the case, and then turned a little cold. 
 
 It would be a trifle hard to go back to his work in the 
 office, to see Edith slaving to make ends meet in the little 
 flat, to be unable to pay those debts of his father's which 
 were always upon his mind. He had had a prospect of 
 pleasautcr things, and they would all have to be given 
 up. It was natural that he should wish, bitterly enough, 
 for a minute or two, that John Daunay had had no 
 daughter, or that he had not raised hopes which his sud- 
 den death had rendered worse than vain. 
 
 But ho recovered himself after a time, and looked once 
 more at the bright side of things. Surely Mr. Daunay 
 knew what he was talking about when he said that his 
 daughter was dead ! Yet there had been a strange appeal 
 in his eyes when he uttered that last faltering cry upon 
 her name. " Annabel ! " he had said, three times. 
 " Annabel ! Annabel ! " And Jocelyn remembered, 
 with almost a superstitious thrill, that he had promised 
 to do all that Mr. Daunay wished, all that he could, to 
 put things straight. Had he committed himself, he 
 wondered, to something far beyond his knowledge and 
 his power ? 
 
 At any rate, he would go down to Cumberland, and
 
 174 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 see things for himself. He was young enough to feel his 
 heart lighter at the prospect of a change. And if he 
 went he would avoid Mrs. Wycherly : he could make 
 business affairs an excuse for not joining her at the 
 country-house where she was going to stay. He had 
 grown a little afraid of Mrs. Wycherly. She seemed 
 always to want more of him than he could give. 
 
 He packed his portmanteau and set out that very eve- 
 ning, not even telling his sister whither he was bound.
 
 At The Daunay Arms. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 AT THE DAUNAY ARMS. 
 
 THERE was only one inn at High Rigg, and it was 
 called The Daunay Arms. It was a whitewashed 
 building abutting on the street, with a highly-colored 
 sign swinging in the wind. Jocelyn looked at it curi- 
 ously, contrasting it in his own mind with the more 
 conventional and sophisticated restaurants and hotels 
 where he had usually spent his holidays, but liking it 
 none the worse for the difference. After all he was a 
 Cumberland man a Daunay although he had never 
 been conscious of the race-instinct ; but something 
 that he had never known before awoke in him at the 
 sight of the peaks and fells and brawling streams of 
 the north country to which he belonged. He had 
 lived a good part of his life in London, and it astonished 
 him to find how familiar the fell-scenery seemed to 
 him. There was an extraordinary sense of satisfaction 
 in gazing at the purple sweep of moor and crag ; at 
 the rapid little river, with its plain stone bridge ; at 
 the cobbled streets even of the little whitewashed town. 
 
 " Mr. Jocelyn : " thus did he give his name, and 
 fancied that there was a look of recognition in the eye 
 of the burly landlord as the syllables passed his lips. 
 But he was quite mistaken ; David Grier had never 
 heard of a Jocelyn in all his life. He was not a Cumber- 
 land man at all, and knew nothing of the High Rigg 
 and Cross Fell traditions. Jocelyn tried to draw him
 
 176 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 into conversation in the traditional way ; that is to say, 
 he ordered port wine and asked the landlord to drink 
 with him ; but his efforts were all in vain. He sup- 
 posed that he was too new to the sort of work to be 
 able to draw any information out of Mr. Grier ; but in 
 reality Mr. Grier had very little information to give. 
 The landlady was more acute than her husband. She 
 was a buxom, smiling country-woman, who looked at 
 Jocelyn's handsome face with an admiring eye, and 
 halted before long at his side and spoke. 
 
 "I heard you asking my man about Daunay's 
 Tower ," she said. " He don't know much about the 
 place ; he were a Yorkshire chap. But I know most 
 that there is to know in a silly bit of a village like 
 High Kigg." 
 
 " You've seen the world, I suppose ? " said Jocelyn, 
 bent on flattery. 
 
 "A bit of it," said Mrs. Grier, indifferently. 
 " Mind, there's worse places than High Rigg. We've 
 got a capital parson and a first-rate doctor, which is 
 saying something ; but we haven't got a squire that's 
 any good to us, and that's a loss to a place." 
 
 " Where is your squire, then ? " 
 
 " It's to be hoped he's in heaven," said Mrs. Grier. 
 " But I doubt it," she added, after a pause. "Not if 
 heaven's gained by good works, anyway." 
 
 " Ah ! You didn't like him ?" said Jocelyn. 
 
 "No, I didn't," said Mrs. Grier decisively. " And 
 I don't know who did." 
 
 " Why, the Arnolds did, missis," said her husband, 
 significantly. "They liked him well enough. And 
 to their own undoing, as one may say." 
 
 "People will always talk," said Mrs. Grier; "but
 
 At The Daunay Arms. 177 
 
 some say one thing and some another ; and although 
 Jane Arnold was not much to my taste, yet she kept 
 herself respectable, which Betha didn't, if all tales be 
 true. However, the gentleman doesn't care to hear 
 about High Rigg folk, whether they were Arnolds or 
 Daunays ; and there's very nearly an end to both of the 
 families now." 
 
 " You're forgetting, dame, there's a young gentle- 
 man come into Mr. Daunay's property, so I hear ; and 
 although Jane Arnold's getting weakly, there's the 
 girl that lives with her another Arnold, by all ac- 
 counts, though I don't know where she comes from 
 exactly/' 
 
 " Nor anybody else," said Mrs. Grier, shutting her 
 mouth tightly. " There's no living relation of Jane 
 Arnold's that would have a girl that age, father ; but 
 if there's any one she takes after it's poor Betha, who 
 ran away from home four-and-twenty years ago." 
 
 Jocelyn did not see that this sort of conversation 
 was of any interest or advantage to him : he had not 
 grasped the fact that Arnold was the name of the per- 
 son who had written to Mr. Clissold about the suppos- 
 ititious Annabel Daunay. He paid no further atten- 
 tion to the talk of the landlord and his wife, but took 
 up a local paper and glanced over it carelessly. He 
 was sitting in the bar-parlor, the resort of the better 
 class of guests, and was not sorry to see the door 
 pushed open and another visitor enter the room. 
 
 " Fallen dead lame, Grier," said the newcomer, in 
 a peculiarly brisk, pleasant voice ; " I can't use her 
 again to-night. You must let me have your bay mare, 
 for I'm due at Halness in three quarters of an hour." 
 
 The landlord stood in the doorway, rubbing his 
 
 12
 
 178 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 hands. " You'll drive her careful, won't you, sir ? 
 You do get work out of your cattle, to be sure ; but 
 my Beauty ain't used to it." 
 
 " I never heard my driving complained of before," 
 said the gentleman, with a laugh. Then he came up 
 to the fireplace, and spread out his hands to the blaze, 
 which was welcome on a somewhat chilly September 
 evening among the Cumberland hills. "Make haste, 
 Grier, there's a good fellow ; I'll bring your mare back 
 safe and sound before midnight." 
 
 Who was he ? Jocelyu wondered. There was some- 
 thing attractive in the man's personality in the slight, 
 active figure, the keen face, the brilliant hazel eyes. 
 Jocelyn was conscious of being scrutinized in a passing 
 glance, and he felt vaguely nattered when the stranger 
 addressed him with reassuring ease. 
 
 " It's a cold evening for this time of year," he said. 
 
 It was a perfectly banal remark, but it served as an 
 opening for conversation. 
 
 " It certainly seems cold to me," said Jocelyn ; 
 *' but then I come from London." 
 
 He would never have made a good detective. Of 
 course, his first duty was not to let it be known Avhence 
 he came ; but he forgot all about that, especially when 
 this singularly fascinating stranger looked him in the 
 eyes. What was there about him which at once re- 
 minded Jocelyn of some other person ? He could not 
 explain the odd, fleeting likeness to somebody else 
 which now and then crossed the brown face of this 
 slender, bright-eyed man, with that indescribably for- 
 eign look which seemed so curiously out of place in a 
 village inn. He felt as if he must have met him be- 
 fore ; yet he could not remember where or when.
 
 At The Daunay Arms. 179 
 
 " You come from London ? Ah, it is a long while 
 since 1 was there. This is a quiet place, but one grows 
 used to anything." 
 
 " You live here ?" said Jocelyn, more and more sur- 
 prised. 
 
 " Oh yes ; I've lived here for more than twenty 
 years. " 
 
 "Can you tell me, then," said Jocelyn, eagerly, 
 "anything about a doctor who lives here a man of 
 the name of Eugene Lechmere, whom I have heard of 
 in London ? " 
 
 The man's face changed a little. Naturally a mo- 
 bile face, it became as impassive as a mask. He looked 
 full at Jocelyn as he replied. 
 
 " Xaturally," he said, " I could tell you a good deal 
 about him if I chose. 1 am Eugene Lechmere my- 
 self." 
 
 " You ! " said Jocelyn. Then, almost inaudibly, 
 " AVhat an ass I am !" 
 
 " You thought I had horns and a cloven hoof, per- 
 haps/' said Lechmere, composedly. " But, on the 
 whole, I am very much like other men. Did you wish 
 to make my acquaintance, Mr. Jocelyn Daunay ? " 
 
 " You know my name ? " said the young man start- 
 ing. 
 
 Eugene laughed outright. " What an excellent 
 conspirator you would make ! " he said, but there was 
 nothing ill-natured in his tone. "I guessed; that 
 was all. Grier spoke of you to me as Mr. Jocelyn ; 
 the family name of the lady whom Mr. Alfred Daunay 
 married was Jocelyn ; and you ask for Eugene Lech- 
 mere who wrote quite recently to your solicitor. It 
 did not take much intelligence to roll vour name."
 
 180 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Jocelyn had turned very red. " I mnst tell you," 
 he said, "that this visit is a mere freak of my own. 
 Mr. Clissold does not know of it. I have not corne 
 with any ill intent, and if you think that I am acting 
 unfairly, I'll go home again to-morrow morning." 
 
 Dr. Lechmere looked at him intently. ''By no 
 means," he said at length. " Stay and enjoy your visit. 
 I almost think I would abandon your incognito if I were 
 you ; it's a little meaningless, as you have ' no ill intent,' 
 is it not ? But keep it if you like ; I will not betray 
 you without warning you beforehand, at any rate." 
 
 " I would rather keep it for the present," said Jocelyn, 
 looking down. 
 
 " Certainly." Dr. Lechmere's manner was evidently 
 that of a superior ; he had the careless lightness of a 
 man of the world to a mere boy, and yet Jocelyn did 
 not dislike it. He was fascinated, in spite of himself. 
 He felt an irresistible impulse to see more of the man 
 against whom he had been so strongly warned. 
 
 ' ' May I come and see you ? " he said. When he was 
 not acting a part, not trying to seem old and experienced, 
 Jocelyn was almost boyishly simple and direct. " I 
 should like to have a talk with you on business." 
 
 " I conclude you know that we are on different sides," 
 said the doctor, coolly. 
 
 " I suppose so. We might compromise the matter, 
 perhaps ? '*' 
 
 " We ? what, you and I ? You think I'm playing 
 for my own hand, do you ? " 
 
 ' ( I don't know what to think," said Jocelyn. " I only 
 know that I'm very anxious not to do anything unfair, 
 and if you can help me to a real knowledge of the facts 
 I shall be very much obliged."
 
 At The Daunay Arms. 181 
 
 " Upon my word ! " said Lechmere. He looked the 
 young man up and down with so frank an expression of 
 surprise and amusement that Jocelyn was half inclined 
 to take offense, until the doctor burst into one of his 
 rare laughs a laugh so full of enjoyment that the 
 younger man was forced to join in it too. " Upon my 
 word," Eugene said again, " that caps all, as they say 
 about here. You Avalk straight up to the enemy and 
 ask for information as coolly as if we were playing a 
 child's game ! It means more than that to Miss Annabel 
 Daunay, I can tell you, and we intend to fight you tooth 
 and nail." 
 
 " But what have you to do with Miss Annabel Dau- 
 nay's affairs ? " said Jocelyn, with admirable simplicity. 
 
 The laughter died out of Lechmere's face. His hazel 
 eyes began to flame, his dark brows to lower. 
 
 " Miss Daunay's relations have not been so helpful to 
 her that she can dispense with the services of even so 
 poor a friend as I am/' he said. Then he turned sharply 
 to the fire, with his shoulder towards Jocelyn, as if 
 desirous to close the conversation. 
 
 Jocelyn did not know how to proceed. He felt that 
 he was making a poor figure in the interview, and he 
 Imd no idea that Lechmere was struggling against a very 
 favorable impression of his sincerity and frankness. The 
 silence was broken by the entrance of Mrs. Grier, with 
 a tray which she set down upon the table. There were 
 two bottles on the tray, as well as hot water, some 
 tumblers, and a couple of liqueur-glasses. 
 
 "Now, doctor," she said coaxingly, "I want you to 
 taste my cherry-brandy before you go out into the cold 
 night air. It'll do you good, if you have to get to 
 Halness to see her ladyship such a long drive at this
 
 1 82 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 time of night. I've brought the whisky too, but I know 
 you won't touch it you never will." 
 
 " Ah, Mrs. Grier, you are quite a temptress," said 
 Lechmere turning round gaily. "Don't you know that 
 if I drink whisky I shall infallibly let Beauty down and 
 break her knees ? A thimble-full of your cherry cordial 
 I won't refuse ; I know it's uncommonly good." 
 
 " And the doctor's an excellent judge, sir," said Mrs. 
 Grier to Jocelyn, who looked on with interest and some 
 surprise. " You'll let me pour you out a drop just a 
 drop?" 
 
 Jocelyn consented, and found the cherry-brandy ex- 
 cellent. 
 
 " Admirable," said Dr. Lechmere, setting down his 
 liqueur-glass only half emptied, "but far too strong for 
 a man who is going to drive over Cross Fell to-night. 
 I wish you would send a little of it up to Miss Arnold, 
 Mrs. Grier ; it would do her a lot of good." 
 
 Mrs. Grier looked cross for a moment, then melted 
 into a smile. 
 
 " Well, if you wish it, doctor, I'll see whether I can 
 spare a bottle. Miss Arnold's no better, I'm afraid ? 
 And how's Miss Annabel ? " 
 
 "Oh, very well, I think," said the doctor, noting a 
 sudden flash of expression in Jocelyn's face. "Very 
 busy with her garden and her books, as usual." 
 
 " Ah, she ought to goto London," said Mrs. Grier, in 
 a tone of deep commiseration. " London's the place 
 for a pretty, clever girl like her. It's a pity to keep 
 her mewed up forever at Moorside Farm." 
 
 " She won't be mewed up there forever, Mrs. Grier," 
 said the doctor, looking at Jocelyn with somewhat 
 malicious intensity. " She has friends in London who
 
 At The Daunay Arms. 183 
 
 want to see her very badly. We must communicate 
 with them, and give them the chance of inviting her." 
 
 "That would do her a lot of good," said Mrs. Grier. 
 " Now, do finish what's in your glass, Dr. Lechmere. 
 It won't hurt you one hit, and it will keep the cold out. 
 And yon, sir, will you take another glass ? " 
 
 " No more, thank you," said Jocelyn, rather moodily. 
 How deferential the woman was towards this scoundrel 
 of a doctor ! Was he a scoundrel, or only a very 
 agreeable and unlucky man ? And where was this un- 
 known Annabel Daunay to be found ? 
 
 For a moment the two men were again alone, for Mrs. 
 Grier stepped to the door to speak to a servant. Dr. 
 Lechmere turned to Jocelyn, and spoke with sudden 
 and ominous dryness. 
 
 " If you wish to make your cousin's acquaintance," he 
 said, "she is under the care of Miss Arnold at the 
 Moorside Farm. Anybody will tell you where that is. 
 Only, you must not ask for her as Miss Daunay." 
 
 " Perhaps I should not be likely to do so," said 
 Jocelyn, his face darkening. 
 
 " She is known as Annabel Arnold for the present. 
 Before long she must assert herself, and take her legal 
 name,, which is Daunay ; but that is not generally 
 known." 
 
 Jocelyn hesitated. " I spoke ungenerously," he said. 
 " If it is her legal name, I should be the last person to 
 oppose her using it. I am simply forced to ask her 
 or you to prove her claim." 
 
 " We shall prove it," said Dr. Lechmere, smiling. 
 Then he raised the liqueur-glass again to his lips. " To 
 our next merry meeting, Mr. Daunay, wherever it may 
 be!"
 
 184 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " I shall come and see you," said Jocelyn, with a 
 sudden impulse of friendship. " I should like to talk 
 over the matter with you, if you don't mind." 
 
 " Come to-morrow evening/' said the doctor, curtly. 
 " But it must be ' without prejudice,' as the lawyers 
 say. Our talk must be strictly impersonal." 
 
 " Oh, of course." 
 
 " Good night, then," said Lechmere, in a more cor- 
 dial tone ; and he nodded his farewell with almost a 
 friendly smile. 
 
 " Rather a nice lad," he said to himself as Beauty 
 sped forth into the night. "Unassuming and sweet- 
 tempered, and oh, damnably good-looking ! I wonder 
 what Annabel will say to him ? " 
 
 He was jealous already.
 
 Jocelyn's Defeat. 185 
 
 CHAPTER XIX, 
 
 JOCELYN'S DEFEAT. 
 
 THE autumn lights were almost more beautiful than 
 those of summer, as they lingered in their golden 
 glory on the sun-bathed hills. So Annabel thought, 
 as she walked about her garden, gathering some of the 
 sweeter and more delicate blossoms for her aunt's 
 room, and musing a little over one or two events which 
 had lately perplexed her. She did not let her mind 
 dwell very much on these perplexities ; she preferred 
 to look at the sunshine and breathe the. perfume of 
 the late autumn roses, but she could not be ignorant 
 that there was trouble in the air. 
 
 As yet she had been told very little concerning her 
 claims to the Daunay estate. She did not know 
 enough of the world to be curious about it. She had 
 at once concluded, when she heard of her father's 
 death, that he had left all his possessions to the young 
 man of whom he had spoken to her, and troubled her- 
 self no more about it. Why her aunt cried sometimes 
 for no apparent reason, why Dr. Lechmere looked 
 sometimes so melancholy and sometimes so extremely 
 stern, was all a mystery to her ; and the happy in- 
 souciance of her disposition prevented her from dwell- 
 ing upon it particularly. " Oh, what does it matter ? " 
 she said once, when her aunt dropped a word in her 
 hearing about her future prospects. "Why should I 
 ever be rich ? All the nicest people in the world are
 
 1 86 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 poor." And then Miss Arnold had exchanged a ques- 
 tioning glance with Dr. Lechmere, and his quiet shake 
 of the head had warned her to say nothing more. 
 
 Xeither of them could bear to distress her with the 
 doubt that had been cast upon her right to use her 
 father's name. As yet she had always signed herself 
 " Annabel Arnold," as a name more familiar and more 
 convenient while she lived at the Moorside Farm. 
 
 She spoke once, somewhat uncertainly, of calling 
 herself Annabel Daunay for the future, but was rather 
 pleased than otherwise when her aunt told her she had 
 better make no change. So there was very little 
 trouble upon her serene brow when Jocelyn Daunay 
 came up the road that bright September day, and saw 
 her for the first time in her garden, with a cluster of 
 monthly roses in her hand. 
 
 He stopped short, with his heart in his mouth, when he 
 caught sight of her. The lovely creature, all in white, 
 with the pink roses in her delicate hand who could she 
 be ? Some beautiful girl from a distance, no doubt, 
 who was staying in the neighborhood ; perhaps she had 
 been sent to the fells for her health ? But no, the girl 
 before him bore no sign of weakness in her straight 
 form, her supple limbs, her smoothly tinted cheek. 
 Who was she ? That she could be the girl of whom 
 he had heard, the false Annabel Daunay, who was*try- 
 ing to oust him from his inheritance, never crossed his 
 mind. He walked slowly towards the gate, wondering 
 how he could contrive to speak to her. 
 
 She heard his step, and turned a moment to glance 
 at him ; then, seeing that he was a perfect stranger, 
 occupied herself once more with her roses. But what 
 was the stranger doing ? Taking off his hat and speak-
 
 Jocelyn's Defeat. 187 
 
 ing to her ? "I beg your pardon," he had apolo- 
 getically begun. 
 
 Annabel went calmly to the gate. She was quite 
 accustomed to being spoken to by strangers tourists 
 who had lost their way, tramps who begged coppers 
 or a glass of milk, passers-by who simply wanted to 
 look at her she was well acquainted with them 
 all. 
 
 "Can I do anything for you?" she asked, with 
 gracious coldness. This young man, she reflected, 
 was not an ordinary tourist or commerical traveler ; 
 his clothes fitted him, and he was really rather hand- 
 some ! And she perceived, almost immediately, that 
 he was a gentleman. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," Jocelyn said. " I am a 
 stranger here, and I am looking for a house called, I 
 think, Moorside Farm The Moorside Farm." 
 
 " Yes ? This is Moorside Farm," she said. " Did 
 you want to see my aunt ? " 
 
 "It was Miss Arnold I thought of seeing," said the 
 young man, in some confusion. 
 
 " Yes, that is my aunt. I am Miss Arnold's niece. 
 But she is not well ; she is in her room, and cannot 
 see anybody to-day. If you will tell me your business, 
 I will take a message to her." 
 
 How alarmingly direct and straightforward she was ! 
 Jocelyn felt obliged to temporize. " Dr. Lechmere 
 gave me your address," he began, and was puzzled by 
 an instant change in her fair face. 
 
 She was a little piqned by Dr. Lechmere's treatment 
 of her that morning, and she could not help showing 
 her voxation in her face when his name was mentioned. 
 He had called, as usual, on Miss Arnold, and she, An-
 
 1 88 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 nabel, had been ordered out of the room like a child. 
 And when she wanted to ask him about her Aunt Jane, 
 he had told her rather coldly and carelessly, she 
 thought, that he had no time to talk, and had sprung 
 into his cart and driven off as if he were glad to get 
 away. Annabel had not recovered from it since. 
 
 " Oh," she said coldly. " Then, I suppose, it is you 
 who have come about the clocks ? Dr. Lechmere 
 promised to send to Carlisle for some one." 
 
 Jocelyn did not know whether to laugh or to be 
 vexed. That he should be taken for a repairer of time- 
 pieces was absurd enough, but for a moment he was 
 almost inclined to proclaim himself a clockmaker for 
 the sake of conversing a little longer with Miss Arnold's 
 niece. It flashed across him that he had put himself 
 into a very ambiguous position. He wished he had 
 taken Mr. Clissold's advice, and allowed him to send 
 the very trustworthy young man from the office. 
 
 But why should he not be the trustworthy young 
 man himself ? All was fair in love and war ; and this 
 was war, for Dr. Lechmere had declared that Annabel 
 Daunay meant to fight him tooth and nail. So lie bent 
 himself to a novel impersonation of Mr. Clissold's con- 
 fidential clerk, and he did it with a will. 
 
 "I have come from London," he said. "I come 
 from Mr. Clissold on business." 
 
 " Who is Mr. Clissold ? " said Annabel. She really 
 did not know. Miss Arnold had never mentioned the 
 lawyer's name to her. 
 
 Jocelyn was mystified. " He is a solicitor. He acts 
 for for the late Mr. Daunay's family." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," she said, with a fine air of uncon- 
 cern. " Then that will have nothing to do with me. Are
 
 Jocelyn's Defeat. 189 
 
 you staying at High Rigg ? Because I dare say my 
 auut will be better in a day or two, and able to see you 
 if your business is important." 
 
 " It is rather important," said Jocelyn. "But if 
 she is ill I must communicate with my employer. It 
 may be that he will want me to return to London at 
 once. " 
 
 "I see," said Annabel. "That is unlucky, is it 
 not ? " She paused as if considering the matter. 
 " Do you know Dr. Lechmere ? " she asked at length, 
 with apparent abruptness. 
 
 " A little. I met him last night that was all." 
 
 " Because," said the girl, in a businesslike way, 
 "if you could get hold of him, you might ask him how 
 soon Aunt Jane could receive you, and whether she 
 was well enough to be troubled with business matters. 
 I don't think that she is ; but the doctor will, no 
 doubt, know better than I." 
 
 Jocelyn was not sufficiently well acquainted with her 
 to discern the spice of irony in her tone. 
 
 " I shall see Dr. Lechmere this evening. I am go- 
 ing to call upon him," he remarked. 
 
 " Oh yes, you will enjoy it," said Annabel, a little 
 more warmly. . " He is a very interesting man." 
 
 Here was an opening. Jocelyn thought that he 
 might turn it to advantage. 
 
 " You know Dr. Lechmere ? " 
 
 " I have known him all my life." 
 
 " Really ? But I thought I heard him say that he 
 had not left this part of the world for years." 
 
 " Is there anything surprising in that ? " mocked 
 Annabel. She was quite at ease with him now, 
 considering him a friend of her dear Doctor Eugene
 
 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 of whom she was very fond, in spite of her transient 
 fits of naughtiness. " I have never left this part of 
 the world either. T was born here, and I have never 
 been farther than Carlisle." 
 
 " Is it possible ? " 
 
 " I suppose," said the girl, rather scornfully, "that 
 you are a London man, and think that there is nothing 
 worth living for out of London ? " 
 
 "No," said Jocelyn, hastily, " I could certainly not 
 think that. I was brought up in the country. My 
 father was a clergyman." 
 
 " How nice ! " she said simply. " You don't know 
 how idyllic that sounds to me to be a clergyman's 
 son or daughter, to live in a lovely vicarage, all over 
 roses, and to teach in a Sunday school " 
 
 " I assure you I never taught in a Sunday school," 
 said Jocelyn. 
 
 " Didn't you ? Then you are weighed in the balance 
 and found wanting. I have always thought that I 
 should love to teach in a Sunday school." 
 
 " Then why don't you ? " 
 
 She smiled, and indicated the hills and vales around 
 her by a graceful motion of her hand. 
 
 " Don't you see that we live miles away from every- 
 where ? These roads are almost impassable when it 
 rains. I often tell Dr. Eugene " 
 
 " Dr. who ? " 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Lechmere ; I call him Dr. Eugene as a 
 sort of pet name, I think. You see, he has nobody in 
 all the world to call him by his Christian name he 
 told me so. And that seems very sad to me, somehow. 
 But, as I was saying, Dr. Eugene and I often quarrel 
 about the roads. I say that they are a disgrace to a
 
 Jocelyn's Defeat. 191 
 
 Christian nation, that they are not kept well enough 
 to allow us to go to church in winter, and he says that 
 if our Christianity depends upon the weather, it caii- 
 not count for much." 
 
 She looked with laughing eyes into Jocelyn's face, 
 and he laughed back from sympathy. 
 
 " I have not seen much of Dr. Lechmere, but from 
 what I have seen I should think that that was just 
 like him." 
 
 " Yes ; isn't he delightful ? " said Annabel. " And 
 such a good man, too ! " 
 
 Jocelyn suffered a distinct shock. " A good man ?" 
 he queried doubtfully. 
 
 " Very good," she said, looking at him. " Hero, 
 saint, martyr, anything you like. With his bad points 
 too ; a little irascibility, a good deal of obstinacy, and 
 a faculty which many a saint might envy, of always 
 putting himself in the lowest place." 
 
 Her voice sank to a tenderness which startled Jocelyn 
 and moved him too. What did it mean ? She did 
 not surely love this man of whom she spoke so lov- 
 ingly ? And did she speak indeed of the man that 
 Mr. Clissold had crudely designated a scoundrel and 
 a scamp ? 
 
 She looked up, and saw some doubt, some astonish- 
 ment, in his eyes. 
 
 " I know what you are thinking," she said, blush- 
 ing a little, but trying hard to be courageous on Eu- 
 gene Lechmere's account. "You have heard him evil 
 spoken of, and you don't know whether I or his de- 
 tractor can be right." 
 
 " I suppose that is it. But, of course, you must be 
 right," said Jocelyn.
 
 1 92 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "Now, that is illogical," she said, gravely regarding 
 him. " There is no reason why I should be right, 
 more than anybody else. I know that people speak 
 against Dr. Lechmere. I know that there was a time 
 in his life when he was wild and reckless, and did 
 things that he afterwards repented. But every one 
 who lives a trne life does things that have to be re- 
 pented afterwards." 
 
 " Men not women." 
 
 "Oh, nonsense!" said Annabel. "Women are 
 human beings too ; they have not a monopoly of good- 
 ness. Indeed, I am inclined to think that a man's 
 goodness, when he is good, transcends a woman's good- 
 ness as wine transcends water ; that he is heroic where 
 she is simply maudlin ; that, in fact, when he chooses, 
 a man's goodness 'caps all,' as they say in Cumber- 
 land." 
 
 It was Lechmere's own expression. Jocelyn did not 
 know why he felt a throb of pain at hearing it from 
 her lips. 
 
 "You make one wish to be good, when you speak 
 of a man's goodness in that way," he said, in a graver 
 tone than he had yet adopted. " The goodness you 
 admire would never be insipid, at any rate." 
 
 Her laughter rippled out upon the air like the music 
 of a brook. 
 
 "Dr. Eugene's goodness is not insipid, you may be 
 sure of that," she said. " It consists in simply laying 
 down his life for the poor. There is no insipidity in 
 that, is there ? " 
 
 "Certainly not. But every one can't do it ; it isn't 
 the vocation of every man." 
 
 " No. I am sorry for the other men."
 
 Jocelyn's Defeat. 193 
 
 A silence fell between them. Annabel, with the 
 roses in her hand, stood, looking dreamily out into the 
 distance ; Jocelyn leaned on the gate with his eyea 
 upon her face. Surely, here was the realization of all 
 his dreams ; the woman who was his ideal stood before 
 him in the flesh. He thought of Lenore Wycherly, 
 and shivered. " Here," he might well have said, " is 
 the one maid for me." He was as certain of Annabel's 
 nobility of character as of her manifest beauty ; no 
 doubt was possible on either point. 
 
 Who was she 9 That was the question that troubled 
 him. He could not go away until it was resolved. 
 
 "I suppose," he said, reluctantly, at last, " that I 
 must go back to High Bigg." 
 
 " Yes, if yon mean to see Dr. Lechmere, you must," 
 said Annabel. 
 
 " I may tell him that you counseled me to ask him ? " 
 
 ' Oh, of course." 
 
 "That you said he would know whether I might 
 speak to Miss Arnold, and whether it would do her any 
 harm ? " 
 
 "Exactly. Dr. Lechmere is very arbitrary; he 
 will say what he means, at any cost." 
 
 " And excuse me who shall I say has given me the 
 advice to consult him on the subject ? " 
 
 " Why, Miss Arnold's niece, of course." There was 
 a naughty sparkle in Annabel's violet eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Arnold has more than one niece ? " 
 
 " No, only one. You can tell Dr. Lechmere that 
 you talked to Annabel ? " 
 
 " Annabel ! " said Jocelyn, helplessly. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Arnold's niece, Annabel. Or, if you 
 want my full name, Annabel Daunay," said the girl,
 
 194 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 with extreme distinctness and an unmistakable hauteur 
 in her voice. 
 
 Jocelyn turned and fled, he could not help it ; he had 
 made, as he reflected on his headlong rush along the 
 road to the village of High Rigg, such a donkey, such 
 an egregious ass, such a ridiculous fool of himself ! 
 
 For, at first sight, had he not fallen head over heels 
 in love with Annabel Daunay, the girl who was prepared 
 to " fight him, tooth and nail " ?
 
 A Friendly Suit. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A FRIENDLY SUIT. 
 
 " GOOD evening," said Dr. Lechmere, in a somewhat 
 frosty manner. " I hope that you have had a pleasant 
 day." 
 
 " Yes ; very pleasant," replied Jocelyn, stupidly. 
 
 The doctor thought that, in spite of his good looks, 
 he had a very foolish air. As a matter of fact, the 
 young man was suffering intensely from the conviction 
 of his own insensate folly. But Dr. Lechmere could 
 not be expected to know that. 
 
 " These young fellows," reflected the doctor, " think 
 that they can get through the world without brains, 
 whereas, neither wealth, position, nor advantages of 
 any kind can make up for the want of them. Without 
 brains," he added, cynically, " I suppose I should have 
 gone under long ago." 
 
 " Sit down," he said to his guest. "I don't often 
 have visitors, and I must beg to remind yon that this 
 visit is of your own seeking not mine." 
 
 " You mean you would rather not have me/' said 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 "Personally I have no objection," said Dr. Lech- 
 mere, with a laugh in his eyes. " But there are two 
 things against it : first of all, the world might call us 
 conspirators, for you are on one side and I am on the 
 other, and who knows whether we are not engaged in 
 trying to defeat the ends of justice ? Secondly, Mr.
 
 196 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Clissold has probably warned you that I am an un- 
 scrupulous person, of extremely bad character : there- 
 fore " with a quick look at Jocelyn's rather shamed- 
 faced countenance " I am rather surprised that you 
 sought me out at all." 
 
 " You have an uncanny knack of guessing the inner- 
 most thoughts of one's heart," said Jocelyn ; "but I 
 don't say that you always guess rightly. I don't think 
 Clissold knows you at all." 
 
 " But I know Clissold," said the doctor, significantly. 
 " It is a good many years since I met him, but we had 
 some dealings when I was about your age centuries 
 ago. Now, what will you take ? " 
 
 They were in the doctor's study, and he produced 
 from a sideboard a bottle of whisky and some soda- 
 water. " I cannot offer yon anything so good as Mrs. 
 Grier's cherry-brandy," he said ; " but such as I have 
 you are welcome to." 
 
 ' ' I suppose you smoke," said Jocelyn, producing his 
 own cigar-case. 
 
 " I don't smoke much," said the doctor, " and when 
 I do, I really prefer a pipe. But I approve of tobacco 
 from a medical point of view : it soothes the nerves 
 after a hard day's work." 
 
 "You have a large practise here, I suppose," said 
 Jocelyn, leaning back in the only comfortable chair in 
 the room, while Dr. Lechmere routed out his pipe on 
 the mantelpiece and made rather a business of find- 
 ing matches and tobacco. It struck Jocelyn that he 
 was not quite at ease, in spite of his indifferent man- 
 ner : he was more restless and less self-assured than he 
 had been on the previous evening. 
 
 "A good many people send for me ; yes," said Dr,
 
 A Friendly Suit. 197 
 
 Lechinere, " but I am not on the register, you know. 
 I got knocked off a good many years ago, so I suppose 
 some people would say I had no business to practise. 
 It doesn't seem to make much difference in this part of 
 the world." He seemed rather bent on making the 
 worst of himself, and Jocelyn wondered why. He felt 
 that all this conversation was mere preliminary fenc- 
 ing, and that the real subject near their hearts would 
 have to be tackled in good earnest by and by. It was 
 not, however, until Dr. Lechmere had finally lighted 
 his pipe and was settled near his desk in a high-backed 
 oak chair, with his legs crossed and his head thrown 
 back in apparent enjoyment of the firelight and to- 
 bacco, that he said in his usual abrupt voice, " What 
 do you want with me ? " 
 
 "I want your "help," said Jocelyn. 
 
 " My help ; powers above us ! What possible help 
 do you suppose I can be to you ? As I have before 
 remarked, I am on the other side." 
 
 " I have seen Miss Dan nay," said Jocelyn, in an ap- 
 parently irrelevant manner. 
 
 Eugene Lechmere's eye glinted at the name given to 
 Annabel, but he only sat still, without moving a muscle 
 of his face. 
 
 "Well ?" 
 
 "And I think," said Jocelyn, "that it is very ao- 
 surd that there should be any difficulty between us." 
 
 " You have got on rather fast," said Dr. Lechmere. 
 " I am afraid I don't quite follow you." 
 
 " What I mean is this/' said Jocelyn. "It is only 
 necessary to see her to be sure that she is not what I 
 thought her nor what Mr. Clissold represented her to 
 be "
 
 198 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "'Not an impostor, you mean ? " said the doctor. 
 
 " Exactly ! One sees that she is all that is good and 
 beautiful," said the young man, looking into the fire ; 
 " and one is not inclined to resist any just claim made 
 on her behalf." 
 
 " You are laying down your arms very soon," said 
 Dr. Lechmere, quietly. " It is a good thing Mr. 
 Clissold is not here to listen to your speech. You must 
 remember that nobody wants you to give up everything 
 that is rightfully yours out of chivalry because the 
 young lady happens to be charming. I did not know 
 that our opponent would prove such a knight-errant." 
 
 "I am not a fool," said Jocelyn, hastily. " I don't 
 want to surrender what is mine, in justice as well as 
 in law, but you know very well that there is a good deal 
 of difference between law and justice : and I know 
 nothing as yet of the facts of the case, and of the proofs 
 that you may hold of Miss Daunay's identity ; but I 
 came here with the impression that you were all leagued 
 together in some sort of plot to obtain Mr. Daunay's 
 money, and I have relinquished that idea that is 
 all " 
 
 " And why have you relinquished that idea ? " said 
 Dr. Lechmere, giving him one of his keenest looks. 
 " Because you have talked for a few minutes to a girl, 
 who happens to be pretty, but about whose character 
 yon know absolutely nothing ! " 
 
 " I have the testimony of my own eyes and ears. I 
 am perfectly sure that she is as innocent of any plot or 
 scheme for gaining money by dishonest means as a baby 
 or an angel from heaven. If you like me to speak 
 more plainly, I say I would stake my life upon her 
 truth and integrity. I would thrash any man who said
 
 A Friendly Suit. 199 
 
 a word against her/' said Jocelyn, rising from his 
 chair in bis excitement, and drawing himself to his full 
 height, while a boyish flush mantled his cheek. 
 
 '' Well, so would I for the matter of that," said the 
 doctor quietly. " But that is not to the purpose ; she 
 may be perfectly innocent, yet simply the tool of de- 
 signing people around her who wish to lay their hands 
 upon old John Daunay's money. Here am I, you see, a 
 needy practitioner, with Heaven knows what sort of a 
 record behind me, pining, no doubt, for money to spend 
 on my own gratification, and thinking it a capital spec- 
 ulation to put forward this young orphan girl as a 
 claimant to the Daunay property. Why, Mr. Clissold 
 would say that my motive was evident." His face was 
 as hard as stone, and his eye glittered strangely, but 
 the veiled irony of his tone roused Jocelyn's indignation. 
 
 " I don't know much about you, of course," he said, 
 seating himself again and looking calmly at Dr. Lech- 
 mere's impassive face ; " but I know this, that if you 
 are as great a rogue as you make yourself out to be, you 
 would never have imposed on Miss Daunay so far as to 
 make her call you a good man." 
 
 " A good man," repeated Lechmere, meditatively. 
 " That's a two-edged kind of compliment suggests a 
 rather mawkish kind of person sometimes ; and Miss 
 Daunay, as you very rightly call her, may be making a 
 mistake." 
 
 " She said she had known you all her life," said 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 The rigidity of the doctor's face suddenly broke up ; 
 he laughed a little, and changed his position to an 
 easier one. 
 
 " So you are going to take me on Miss Annabel's rec-
 
 2oo Daunay's Tower. 
 
 ommendation, are you?" he said. "You do it at 
 your own risk, you know ; and you will excuse me for 
 saying, you seem to be of a remarkably confiding dis- 
 position. " 
 
 " I don't mean that I do not want you to produce 
 proofs just as much as I did before, but I wish to sug- 
 gest that there surely need be no long, expensive law- 
 suit, and that there is no necessity that we should fight 
 it out, tooth and nail, as you kindly expressed it last 
 night." 
 
 " An amicable suit eh ?" said the doctor musingly. 
 ' ' Well, of course, that would be a more sensible way, 
 and I don't think I can be wrong in telling you a few 
 details of which I myself am absolutely certain." And 
 laying down his pipe, he proceeded in a clear and busi- 
 nesslike manner to recount the main points of the story 
 which he and Jane Arnold had discussed before he wrote 
 his letter to Mr. Clissold, up to the point when Mr. 
 Daunay paid his last visit to the Tower and interviewed 
 Annabel at the Moorside Farm. 
 
 " There/' he said, when he had finished, " I can 
 swear to all that, and so can Jane Arnold. There is 
 not the faintest doubt that it was this girl who was 
 born at Daunay's Tower and brought up by her mother's 
 stepsister. Old John Daunay recognized her as his 
 daughter in Miss Arnold's presence, and you yourself 
 know that he spoke of her in the same way." 
 
 "Then why did he tell me that she was dead ?" 
 cried Jocelyn. 
 
 Dr. Lechmere shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Sheer malice, I believe. She had displeased him, 
 and he had plainly told her that he intended to cut her 
 off."
 
 A Friendly Suit. 201 
 
 "What for ?" demanded Jocelyn. 
 
 " You had better ask Miss Daunay that when you 
 know her a little better," said Dr. Lechmere, with a 
 provoking smile. " She was not so subservient as he 
 wished ; that was the main point of disagreement. In 
 my opinion, she was perfectly right." 
 
 " There seems no doubt," said Jocelyn, slowly, " that 
 she was Mr. Daunay's daughter ?" 
 
 ' Xot the least in the world, I should say. Do you 
 want me to put my finger on the weak point for you ? 
 Mr. Clissold will have indicated it already." 
 
 "The question of her mother's marriage?" said 
 Jocelyn, in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes, that's the point ; and I may as well tell you 
 frankly, that we have not yet succeeded in finding any 
 record of the marriage. Of course, Mr. Clissold may 
 find it amongst John Daunay's papers, or we may obtain 
 it by advertising for a copy. There must be plenty of 
 parish clerks who would be willing to earn a guinea or 
 two by searching the registers ; besides, if money is no 
 object, you could depute some one to search every 
 register in the kingdom, as well as the books at Somer- 
 set House." 
 
 " Of course," said Jocelyn ; "and I have no doubt 
 of its being ultimately found." 
 
 There was silence for a moment or two. Dr.Lechmere 
 looked at his companion quizzically for a minute or two, 
 and then spoke in a slow, meditative voice 
 
 "You are a very curious specimen, you know, Mr. 
 Jocelyn Daunay ! I don't know whether you'll feel 
 flattered if I say that I am not sure that I ever came 
 across any one with so little self-interest. You really 
 give me the impression that you might be rather pleased
 
 2O2 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 than otherwise if that marriage certificate were 
 found." 
 
 " Well, naturally," said Jocelyn. " Why should I 
 want that poor girl to suffer any injury ?" 
 
 " By the terms of the will," said the doctor, " every 
 penny goes to Annabel if she is the legitimate daughter 
 of John Daunay . " 
 
 " So it should," said Jocelyn, stoutly ; " and I shall 
 be no worse off than I was before. I have a clerkship 
 in the Foreign Office," he explained simply. "It is 
 lucky for me that I did not throw it up ; I shall just 
 go back to my work again." 
 
 " Yon seem to be made of the right sort of stuff," 
 said Dr. Lechmere. " But, on the other hand " he 
 stood erect and observed the young man closely " on 
 the other hand, supposing no certificate can be found, 
 and the law declares Annabel's claim to be null and 
 void, and you yourself are to continue in possession of 
 the estate, may I ask what you intend to do then ? " 
 
 "I have scarcely thought," said Jocelyn. "But I 
 think there may be ways of managing the matter. For 
 instance, she might perhaps consent to divide the 
 property with me ; being Mr. Daunay's daughter, she 
 certainly has a greater claim to it than I have. Or, in- 
 deed, if she would take the whole of it I should prefer it. 
 I don't like the idea of robbing a girl of her fortune." 
 
 " Bravo ! " said Lechmere, somewhat satirically. 
 " But I doubt whether she would take it." 
 
 " Well, there is another way. I know it's great pre- 
 sumption for me to speak of it, and I shall ask you to 
 respect my confidence for the present ; but would not 
 the easiest way out of the difficulty be for Annabel to 
 marry me ? "
 
 A Friendly Suit. 203 
 
 He asked the question with so delightfully naive a 
 mixture of shyness and self-assurance that Eugene 
 threw himself back in his chair and laughed aloud. 
 "You go very far and very fast, my dear fellow," 
 he said at length. " I suppose yon are not aware that 
 Miss Annabel has refused you already ? " 
 
 " Eh ? " said Jocelyn, opening his eyes. 
 
 " Surely," said Dr. Lechmere, laughing in spite of 
 himself, " the old man told you that that was his pet 
 project ? " 
 
 " Yes, he said something about it to me," admitted 
 Jocelyn, reluctantly ; " but I was never quite sure how 
 far he was in earnest, and, of course, when he told me 
 she was dead I believed him ; in fact, I thought myself 
 well out of the difficulty. You see, I'd not seen her 
 then." 
 
 "That makes all the difference," said Lechmere, 
 rather cynically. " Well, if you want to know what 
 the quarrel was about, it was all on your account. Old 
 John Daunay was the most arbitrary of men ; he came 
 here offering Annabel a home in London, jewels, dresses, 
 amusements, everything the heart of woman is sup- 
 posed to desire, but with one condition attached, and 
 that Avas she should marry the man he chose for her. 
 And that man happened to be yourself." 
 
 ft And she refused me ? " said Jocelyn, looking so 
 comically taken aback that the doctor laughed again. 
 
 " Yes, refused you," said the doctor, with evident 
 relish ; " would have nothing to do with you ; chose 
 rather to live in a farmhouse with an old and ailing 
 woman, and no prospect but that of turning out into 
 the world and earning her own living when Jane 
 Arnold dies. She chose that very dreary and rather
 
 2O4 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 unattractive life rather than marry Mr. Jocelyn Daunay. 
 How does that strike you ? Rather a blow to one's in-' 
 nocent vanity, is it not ? " said Dr. Lechmere, with a 
 zest which seemed to Jocelyn rather inhuman. 
 
 " I shall try to make her change her mind," said 
 Jocelyn, starting up with a resolute air. 
 
 " It will not be so easy," said the doctor. " What 
 business have you to say that you can win her ? She is 
 not a woman who will sell herself to you for your 
 wealth." 
 
 " Oh, confound the wealth ! " said Jocelyn, sitting 
 down again. "I wish old Daunay's money was at the 
 bottom of the sea." 
 
 " In which case," said the doctor, " you would 
 probably never have realized the existence of Annabel 
 Daunay at all." 
 
 " If I had but met her in a casual way, without any 
 of these ridiculous questions between us," groaned the 
 young man, ' ( I should have had a much better chance. 
 Look here, it's no good hiding the fact, I never in my 
 life met anybody so lovely and so lovable as she seems 
 to be. I know it must seem very sudden, but I had not 
 seen her five minutes before I said to myself, This is 
 the girl that I should like to make my wife." 
 
 "Sudden, indeed," said the doctor, turning aside a 
 little. He looked grave enough now and a little pale, 
 as though Jocelyn's words had forced his thoughts into 
 a painful channel. " So sudden," he went on slowly, 
 " that one scarcely knows as yet whether to attach 
 much value to your declaration, young man. I have 
 known Annabel all her life ; I have helped, in my 
 small way, to teach her, and to form her mind and her 
 tastes, and I can honestly say that I don't think that
 
 A Friendly Suit. 205 
 
 there is a girl in the world better worth the winning, 
 l^ut if you want her yon will have to gain her heart 
 first. You may be as rich as Croasus, but she would 
 have nothing to do with you unless she had given you 
 her love." 
 
 " Why, that's the only kind of girl worth winning/' 
 cried Jocelyn. 
 
 And Eugene Lechmere gave him a kindlier look 
 than his critical eyes had as yet bestowed upon the 
 young man who so rashly avowed himself, on half an 
 hour's acquaintance, a suitor for Annabel's hand.
 
 206 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE VIEWS OF YOUNG AND OLD. 
 
 JOCELYN returned to town next day by Dr. Lech- 
 mere's advice. It was an odd sort of friendship which 
 had arisen between them; for, as the doctor dryly 
 pointed out, by all the rules of the game they ought to 
 have been bitter enemies. 
 
 "You came here," he said, " with the avowed object 
 of proving a superior claim to the property which I 
 thought that my young friend ought to enjoy. I, be- 
 ing interested in her, and not at all in you, am natu- 
 rally entirely on her side, and intend to fight you, if 
 necessary, by all means in my power fair or foul. 
 You came here to spy out the land, with the conviction 
 that we were all a set of rank impostors, and with the 
 worst possible opinion of myself, and then you have the 
 audacity to inform me that you wish to marry your 
 cousin if she is your cousin and thus make an ar- 
 rangement which will, no doubt, be very convenient to 
 yourself, but, in all probability, highly damaging to 
 me." 
 
 "Why damaging to you?" said Jocelyn, with a 
 laugh. The doctor's dry humor was attractive. 
 
 " Because you will inevitably quarrel with me in the 
 long run," said Eugene Lechmere. " You will say 
 that I stood in your way, and Annabel will reproach me 
 for keeping her in the dark as much as I have done.
 
 The Views of Young And Old. 207 
 
 And whether you end by being happy or miserable, I 
 shall have to go to the wall." 
 
 Jocelyn glanced up at him quickly. Lechmere's 
 tone was as light as ever, and there was the suggestion of 
 a smile, although of a jeering kind, in his brilliant eyes. 
 But something in the lines of his face, or the dropping 
 of his voice at the end of his sentence, gave Jocelyn 
 the impression that a little pain lurked under that in- 
 tense vivacity. Jocelyn at once proceeded to take the 
 bull by the horns. 
 
 " Look here," he said, " you're awfully clever and I 
 don't pretend always to understand you, but I think 
 it's awful rot that we shall quarrel with you just be- 
 cause you are doing all you can to help Annabel. From 
 what she said yesterday, I am sure she would have been 
 very badly off without you. And as for what old 
 Clissold said to me, why, we all know that there are 
 very few men whose lives can bear close inspection in 
 every respect. At any rate, however bad a scandal he 
 was alluding to, it was a long time ago, and I don't 
 know in the least what it is. And I think we might 
 start fair." He held out his hand, but it was with 
 a rather doubtful, enigmatic look that Dr. Lechmere 
 placed his own within it. 
 
 " As I have said before, it is at your own risk," he 
 remarked. " I don't pretend to be any better than I 
 am. As for Annabel's ideas of me, you know how trust- 
 ful and unsuspicious a young girl can be. And, natur- 
 ally, one turns the best side of one's self towards her." 
 
 "When one has a best side to turn," said Jocelyn. 
 " And if you have been a friend to Annabel, I hope you 
 will be one to me." 
 
 "That will depend on Annabel rather than on your-
 
 208 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 self/' said the doctor. " I am her bond-slave, as a 
 good many of us are in this part of the world." 
 
 " And as I am already," said Jocelyn heartily. 
 " Don't you think I might run up to the farm and see 
 her once again ? " 
 
 "Decidedly not," said the doctor. "Go back to 
 London and see whether you can find that certificate. 
 That's the best thing you can do. If she learns that 
 you are here under an assumed name, will she like you 
 any the better, do you think ? In my opinion, you 
 had better clear out as fast as you can, and not come 
 back until you are prepared to come in your own 
 name." 
 
 "How can I do that?" said Jocelyn. "She will 
 hate me as I am unless I can, first of all, do something 
 to prove I am not the cad she evidently takes me for." 
 
 " Prove it, prove it, then," said the doctor. " Easy 
 enough to do that, is it not ? And, by the way, as you 
 are in legal possession of Daunay's Tower for the 
 present, I wish you would send some workmen in before 
 the whole place tumbles down entirely." 
 
 " Mr. Clissold suggested that I should send down a 
 capable man to make an estimate of what is required," 
 said Jocelyn eagerly. " But am I justified in doing 
 that before this affair is settled ? " 
 
 " Well, I think something will have to be clone or the 
 roof will come tumbling about your ears," said the 
 doctor. " Clissold has plenty of authority to do it on 
 his own account if you don't like to take the responsi- 
 bility. But if you are really in earnest, if you mean 
 that you want to prove Annabel's right to her father's 
 name why don't you institute a search at Daunay's 
 Tower for the missing papers ? Annabel's mother died
 
 The Views of Young And Old. 209 
 
 there. It is quite possible that she left boxes or pack- 
 ages, in one of which we might find the lost certificate," 
 
 "That's a good idea," said Jocclyn, his face lighten- 
 ing. " Do you think she would mind it very much if I 
 came down in my own name, I mean, and with my sister, 
 for a few days, or would it look too much like taking 
 possession ? " 
 
 11 Shall I ask her ? " said the doctor. 
 
 " Yes, ask her ; ask her, by all means. Let her 
 know we wish to be friendly," said the young man pit- 
 eously ; " that we do not want to harm her, or keep 
 her out of what ought to be hers. However the matter 
 turns out, she can still consider us her kinsfolk and her 
 friends." 
 
 " All very well. But Annabel may not take the same 
 view of it," said the doctor to himself, when he had 
 parted from Jocelyn and was taking his accustomed 
 drive to the farm. He was very anxious to know what 
 Annabel thought of her visitor of the day before. 
 
 She met him, as ususal, in the garden ; but it was 
 not a sunny day, and the wind was blowing the leaves 
 from the trees and scattering the petals of the roses. 
 Was it for this reason that he thought she looked a lit- 
 tle pale, a little wistful, as if she had discovered that 
 there was something wanting in her joyless life ? She 
 gave him her hand almost in silence, and he held it a 
 moment longer than he need have done while he 
 looked into her face " Why, Annabel/' he said kindly, 
 for it was only too evident that the tears were very 
 near her eyes. 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Eugene," she said, a little brokenly, 
 " Aunt Jane has been talking to me. She has told me 
 everything."
 
 2io Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "I am afraid there is not very much to tell, my 
 dear," said the doctor. He very seldom used a caress- 
 ing word to her. He dared not do it. But on this 
 occasion it seemed only natural and right. She had so 
 few to care for her, so few to give her a kindly word. 
 
 "I always knew you had done a good deal for me/' 
 she said, a little shyly, " but I never realized till now 
 how much trouble you have taken about me at different 
 times and how much annoyance you must have had to 
 put up with." 
 
 " Annoyance ? " he said, with some surprise. " But 
 I never had any annoyance. You brought a good deal 
 of sunshine into my life." 
 
 " From what Aunt Jane says," the girl went on, 
 " I think my father must have been very unkind and 
 disagreeable to you sometimes. I did not know before 
 that you wrote to him about the masters I had from 
 Carlisle. Oh, there are a great many things Aunt Jane 
 has been telling me that I never dreamed of before. 
 And you saw my poor mother before she died." 
 
 " Your aunt has been telling you a great deal," said 
 Dr. Lech mere gravely. " How did that come about ?" 
 
 " Oh, through the visit of that young man whom you 
 sent up yesterday. He came from London from the 
 lawyers, on business, he said. Is he coming again ? 
 I told him he had better ask your permission before he 
 saw Aunt Jane." 
 
 " He has gone back to London," said the doctor. 
 " I don't think your aunt is well enough to be troubled 
 with matters of business ; they can all be settled just 
 as well by correspondence. Did this young man leave 
 his name ? " 
 
 " No, I forgot to ask his name," said Annabel. '' It
 
 The Views of Young And Old. 211 
 
 was curious that he did not give it. We had quite a 
 long chat in the garden before he went away." 
 
 " H'm ! What sort of a fellow was he ? " 
 
 " Very nice, I think," Annabel answered. And, a 
 little to Dr. Lechmere's surprise, a faint tinge of color 
 crept into her cheek. " He was one of those people 
 who make you feel at once as if you had known them a 
 very long time. I had quite to pull myself up and re- 
 mind myself that he was not an old friend." She 
 wondered why Dr. Lechmere sighed. 
 
 " Ah, well," he said, ' ' he was young, you see, and 
 you are young, and there is always a bond of .union. 
 You have lived so much with older people that you 
 hardly know the pleasure of having friends of your own 
 age." 
 
 " Perhaps that was it," said Annabel. " But I have 
 seen some young people whom I don't like at all, espe- 
 cially some young men. I thought he was really rather 
 nice. Didn't you like him, yourself, Dr. Lechmere ? " 
 
 " Oh, he was all very well for a lawyer's clerk," said 
 Dr. Lechmere. "But I have something else to ask 
 you, Annabel. In fact,- it was one of the things which 
 he was deputed to speak about, only, as he could not see 
 your aunt, he confided the nature of his business tome. 
 It concerns you chiefly, so, perhaps, he scarcely liked 
 to introduce the subject." He wondered at the clever- 
 ness with which he was interweaving fiction and truth, 
 and sincerely hoped that Annabel would not be very 
 much shocked when she ultimately learnt the facts of 
 the case. He continued in a dry, businesslike tone : 
 " Now that Miss Arnold has told you all about your 
 position, you will see that there are a good many diffi- 
 culties before you. Young Mr. Daunay, who is in pos-
 
 212 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 session, as far as the law will allow him, of your father's 
 property, does not seem disinclined to be friendly." 
 
 " Friendly," cried Annabel, while the hot color 
 mounted to her cheek, Awhile the first thing he does is 
 to try and throw discredit on my own mother's character. " 
 
 "Well, you cannot say that he is doing that per- 
 sonally," in a dispassionate tone. u He is in the hands 
 of his lawyers, and Mr. Clissold is a very shrewd man of 
 business. Of course he thinks it his duty to defend his 
 client to the best of his ability. But Mr. Jocelyn Dau-, 
 nay " 
 
 " Jocelyn ? " murmured Annabel. " My father used 
 to speak of him as ' Jos,' and I wondered whether he 
 was called Joseph or Josiah ? " 
 
 Dr. Lechmere smiled, and then went on gravely : 
 " This Mr. Jocelyn Daunay does not in the least wish 
 to inconvenience or distress you. He hopes that you 
 will agree to what he calls 'a friendly suit.' That is, 
 an investigation of the facts simply for the satisfaction 
 of establishing your position and making it easier for 
 him to hand the property to you. He has not the 
 slightest desire to retain it unless it is lawfully proved 
 to be his, and even in that case he says that he can't 
 possibly rob you of what is your due." 
 
 " I suppose you would call that rather generous of 
 him," Annabel remarked, doubtfully. "But I much 
 prefer justice to generosity. If my father wished to 
 leave his money to Mr. Jocelyn Daunay I would a great 
 deal rather not touch a farthing of it, even though you 
 proved a hundred times over that it legally belonged to 
 me." 
 
 " We are all very disinterested when we are young," 
 said the doctor. " But when we get old we know the
 
 The Views of Young And Old. 213 
 
 value of money, and are not quite so ready to fling it 
 away. I think it would be well if you could make up 
 your mind to treat Mr. Jocelyn Daunay's advances in a 
 friendly spirit. He is very anxious to make some search 
 among the papers at Daunay's Tower, and he wishes to 
 know whether it would be disagreeable to you if he 
 came down there to stay for a few days, possibly with 
 his sister." 
 
 " Why should it be disagreeable to me ? I have 
 never been inside the house myself since I was a baby," 
 said Annabel, rather haughtily. "It is his property, I 
 suppose. He is quite at liberty to make any use he 
 pleases of it." 
 
 " Very well, I will write and tell him so " pretending 
 not to notice the unfriendliness of her tone "and if 
 he comes yon must not stand upon your dignity too 
 much, but remember, as somebody once said, that ' he 
 also is a vertebrate animal.' ' 
 
 "You think I am likely to forget my manners, "said 
 Annabel, with a laugh. 
 
 But Dr. Lechmere could see that his shaft went 
 home. 
 
 He might be ironical with Jocelyn, tender with Anna- 
 bel, but his heart was sore within him as he went upon 
 his way. Had the moment come so soon the moment 
 when the girl's heart would go out from her old friends, 
 and fix its affections upon a stranger ? He had looked 
 for it, he had known that it would come ; yet, now that 
 the time seemed to be drawing near, he was conscious 
 that it would bring him such pain as he had never yet 
 endured. 
 
 " It is a pity one has to live, when one gets so little 
 out of life," he said to himself, as he went in and out
 
 214 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 among his patients that day, noting with morbid in- 
 tensity every sign of secret suffering, of suppressed 
 jealousy, of outraged love. He could not prescribe for 
 these, and yet they seemed to him much more worthy 
 of pity than the bodily diseases which he was called on 
 to cure. " Why do all these poor folk go on enduring 
 their miserable lives ? Why do I do it myself ? I sup- 
 pose because there is generally some one in the world 
 to whom one's death would mean disaster or perhaps 
 only regret ; and one grows to have a soft-hearted re- 
 luctance to inflict unnecessary pain. If it had not been 
 for Annabel, should I have gone on living for the last 
 few years, I wonder ? I fancy not. Well, the longest 
 day comes to an end at last." 
 
 Then he thought of Jocelyn. " I like the lad," he 
 said to himself with a little smile. " He's astonishingly 
 naif and simple, but there's something amiable about 
 him too. I don't know whether he has enough brain 
 and soul to satisfy all Annabel's needs ; but, if she 
 marries him, she will at least have a manly and honest 
 sort of man for a husband, and no woman should de- 
 sire more." 
 
 The young man of whom he spoke was meanwhile 
 traveling to London by express train, and feeling as if 
 all his world needed to be reconstructed. It would be 
 difficult, he reflected, to explain to Mr. Clissold that 
 his views had completely changed during the last two 
 or three days, and that he was as firmly convinced of 
 Annabel's claim to the property as he had formerly 
 been the reverse. " Of course, I have no proofs to 
 offer, and it sounds as though I were an awful fool, and 
 had been talked over by the enemy," he said to himself 
 plaintively ; " but I can't help it. Since I saw An-
 
 The Views of Young And Old. 215 
 
 nabel and talked to Dr. Lechmere, everything seems 
 changed." 
 
 On further reflection, he decided that he would not 
 give Mr. Clissold a full account of his doings. He 
 simply called upon the old lawyer, and told him that 
 he and his sister thought of spending a few days at 
 Dan nay's Tower, partly in order to see how much 
 restoration was needed, and partly to look through the 
 papers which might happen to be there. 
 
 " What papers ? " Mr. Clissold asked sharply. 
 
 "I thought there might be some record of Mr. 
 Daunay's doings diary or letters of some kind. I sup- 
 pose I am justified in examining them ? " 
 
 The lawyer spread out his hands. "My dear sir, 
 the place is yours by law and equity ; you can do what 
 you please with it, or with whatever you find in it. 
 Possession is nine points of the law. I am now engaged 
 in the investigation of the claim that has been made on 
 behalf of a young woman who calls herself Annabel 
 Daunay, and I am quite convinced that nothing will 
 come of it." 
 
 "She is John Daunay's danghter ; I am sure of 
 that," said Jocelyn, rather hotly. 
 
 " Indeed ? And may I ask how you come to be sure 
 of it ? " 
 
 " I have already been down to the place," Jocelyn 
 replied. He had not meant to tell his story, but Mr. 
 Clissold's depreciatory reference to Annabel had con- 
 vinced him that frankness would be best. " I have 
 seen Dr. Lechmere, and I have seen my cousin." 
 
 "Your cousin ? Do you mean to give the case 
 away, Mr. Daunay ? " 
 
 " I mean this," said Jocelyn, firmly, " that I see no
 
 2i6 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 reason to doubt that the young lady whom I saw is the 
 daughter of the late Mr. John Daunay, and if that can 
 be proved I should wish to give her at least a share of 
 the property, if not the whole. If you can work the 
 matter on those lines, Mr. Clissold, I shall be glad ; 
 if not, I must ask somebody else to work for me." 
 
 " You mean to say that if she is John Daunay's 
 child whether lawfully or not you wish to provide 
 for her ? " said Mr. Clissold, staring at him. 
 
 " Most certainly I do." 
 
 The little lawyer for once surprised his client. He 
 rose and bowed to him with superannuated politeness, 
 and extended his withered white hand. 
 
 "Allow me to shake hands with you, Mr. Daunay," 
 he said. " Your intentions may not be worldly wise, 
 but they are those of a man of honor. The young ludy 
 may consider herself fortunate to have found such a 
 champion." 
 
 "I might as well mention," said Jocelyn, flushing to 
 the roots of his hair, " that I mean to ask her to be my 
 wife as soon as I can find a suitable opportunity." 
 
 " Well, well, well ! " ejaculated Mr. Clissold. " This 
 is a little sudden, is it not ? But you are, after all, 
 securing yourself against every contingency, Mr. Dau- 
 nay. If you marry her, you see, it won't much matter 
 whether she is old John Daunay's legitimate daughter 
 or not." 
 
 And he chuckled a little to himself as he resumed 
 his chair.
 
 Lenore. 217 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 LENORE. 
 
 EDITH was ready enough to join her brother in his 
 expedition to Daunay's Tower. She appreciated his 
 eagerness to look over the old man's papers, and offered 
 to assist him in the search. 
 
 " One must not be prosperous at that poor girl's ex- 
 pense," she said. " If she is the heiress we must resign 
 ourselves to poverty again." For Jocelyn had not yet 
 confessed to her that he had fallen in love at first sight 
 with Annabel. 
 
 Indeed, as the days went by before his return to 
 Cumberland, he could not, after all, be quite certain 
 whether he had fallen in love with her or not ; and this, 
 not because of any inherent fickleness in himself, but 
 because he felt the unlikeliness and the romance of the 
 thing, and was a little ashamed to find himself capable 
 of such a proceeding. Then memory refused to paint 
 Annabel's outlines exactly on the air ; he was not sure 
 of the color of her eyes ; he did not know whether she 
 was as pretty as he had thought her ; he wondered ner- 
 vously if the fine air and the sunshine had not intoxi- 
 cated him a little, and made him more enthusiastic 
 than was reasonable or right. And again, some turn 
 of her head, some movement of her hand would come 
 back to his mind, and fill him with pleasure ; or he 
 would recall word by word the things that she had said,
 
 218 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 and wonder at their wisdom and their beauty. He really 
 did not know how very deeply he was in love ! He only 
 knew that in the whole wide world he was quite sure there 
 was not one girl so wonderful as Annabel. And during 
 the few days that elapsed before he could get ready to 
 go to Daunay's Tower he grew so restless and so irri- 
 table that Edith regarded him with amaze, and won- 
 dered in her own mind whether he was fretting about 
 the inheritance which he might be called upon to re- 
 sign. 
 
 The brother and sister did not go to Scotland, as they 
 had intended to do, and Mrs. Wycherly was very much 
 aggrieved by their defection. As soon as she realized 
 that Jocelyn was the heir to old Mr. Daunay's property, 
 she set her whole heart upon whistling him back, for she 
 was well aware that she had let her kestrel fly too far, 
 and that he had forgotten the resting-place which she 
 had once allowed him to occupy. But then, it had 
 seemed so very unlikely that he should ever be a wealthy 
 man ! She had been kind to him because she liked his 
 good looks and pleasant boyish ways ; she had never 
 seriously contemplated marrying him. Things were in- 
 deed different now. 
 
 She had nearly corne to the end of her Scottish visit. 
 It was the beginning of September, and she hardly knew 
 what to do with herself. She had had a very dull time 
 in a fine old Highland house where the men were out 
 all day and the women were badly dressed and ex- 
 ceedingly well-behaved. If Keynold Harding had not 
 been there she would not have enjoyed herself at all ; 
 but she could always let Eeynold make love to her 
 that was one comfort: he had done it all his life, and 
 she looked on it as part of her daily bread.
 
 Lenore. 219 
 
 " I say, Lenore " 
 
 He came hurriedly into the big dark library, into 
 which a sulky fit had taken her one afternoon between 
 tea and dressing-time ; there were some very comfort- 
 able chairs near the fire, and no draught at all, and it 
 was not a room which many people frequented. When 
 she wanted a quiet little slumber, Lenore generally 
 found her way to the library. 
 
 " How you startled me, Keynold ! What is it ? " 
 There was a note of pettishness in her voice. 
 
 " Did you know that Cheverton was gone ? " 
 
 " Lord Cheverton ? Yes. At least, I knew that he 
 was going." 
 
 "Why did he go?" 
 
 "Well, if you want to know, because I refused 
 him." 
 
 " You refused him ! And what, in the name of 
 wonder, made you do that ? He would have made an 
 admirable husband, and he's not at all badly off." 
 
 Harding settled his broad back against the mantel- 
 piece, and looked down with vexed but affectionate 
 contempt on the graceful little woman in the armchair. 
 He was fond of Lenore in his way, but he sometimes 
 wished that she could find a husband who would take 
 her off his hands. He had paid her debts so often that 
 he was beginning to be tired of it. 
 
 " I want thirty thousand a year, at the very least,"' 
 murmured Mrs.Wycherly. 
 
 " Where will you get it ? " 
 
 " Oh, a great many people have as much as that. I 
 hear that old Mr. Daunay has left Jocelyn quite that 
 income, if not a larger one." 
 
 "I see," said Keynold Harding; and then a little
 
 22O Daunay's Tower. 
 
 silence fell between them while he considered the 
 situation. 
 
 " Jocelyn Daunay's not a bad fellow very simple in 
 some ways, but no fool for all that. Isn't he rather 
 young for you, Lenore ? " 
 
 " Don't be rough and rude, Keynold. A woman is 
 as old as she looks." 
 
 " I will do you the justice to say you don't look five 
 and twenty. But what has become of him ? You 
 snubbed him in town, I remember. Hasn't he escaped 
 your snares this time ? " 
 
 "Really, Eeynold, you are a little coarse." 
 
 " Am I ? Well, I can't beat about the bush. Why 
 isn't he here ? I know he was asked." 
 
 " There was so much business connected with the 
 estate," said Mrs. Wycherly, in a dreamy voice, " that 
 he thought it better to stay in London for a few weeks, 
 and take his holiday later. I have been writing to 
 Edith ; I know their movements pretty accurately." 
 
 " Where are they now, then ? " 
 
 "They are just going to Cumberlaud. You know 
 Cumberland pretty well, don't you, Eeynold ?" 
 
 "Some part of it." 
 
 " Don't you think that, as we go South in a few days, 
 we might break our journey at Carlisle ? " 
 
 " I was intending to go to Gourlay's. He's got a big 
 shoot on, and I wanted to be there. Can't you play 
 your little game without me ? " 
 
 " Not very well, Reynold. Surely you could go to 
 Mr. Gourlay's another time ? You see, I can't so 
 easily run over to the barbarous place where Daunay's 
 Tower is situated as you can ; and if you go, you can 
 easily make Jocelyn feel that he ought to ask me too."
 
 Lenore. 221 
 
 " But could he put ns up ? There'll be no cook/' 
 said Harding feelingly, " and perhaps no beds." 
 
 "We might go for the day only/' said Lenore. "I 
 would manage the rest." 
 
 " Well, as you please. Such a pretty woman as you 
 are, Lenore, ought to marry a duke at the very least. 
 If I had thirty thousand a year> I should ask you to 
 marry me myself. But you would be a deucedly ex- 
 pensive wife ! " 
 
 " 1 certainly can't get on without money," said Mrs. 
 Wycherly, sighing. " What a bore it is ! You will be 
 ready to leave on Tuesday, then, Reynold ? " 
 
 " Just as you like," said Reynold, in no very amiable 
 tone. He felt that he was making a great sacrifice for 
 his cousin ; and, although he was fond of her, and 
 liked to forward her little schemes, he thought that she 
 should be grateful to him for his help. At present she 
 had not said a word of gratitude, and had called him 
 rough and coarse. But Lenore knew how to salve the 
 wounds she made. 
 
 " Dear Reynold, how kind yon are ! " she said softly. 
 "I often feel as if you were my brother; only, you 
 make a much better brother than the one I lost." 
 
 " He is not dead, is he ? " 
 
 ' ' I suppose not : we have not heard from him for 
 years. I always dread to take up a paper lest I should 
 see his name in some disgraceful connection." 
 
 " Oh, you need not be afraid of that now, I should 
 think. It is twenty years or so since he came to grief ; 
 a capital fellow he was, too ; I don't know anybody who 
 was better company than Eugene." 
 
 " But you did not get on very well ? " 
 
 "Oh no ; we never hit it off exactly," said Reynold,
 
 222 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 in a contemptuous tone. " He was too rowdy and ex- 
 travagant for my taste, and he had the very devil of a 
 temper." 
 
 Lenore shuddered a little. " Indeed he had ! It 
 must be terrible not to know how to control one's self. 
 I remember some frightful scenes ! However, he is not 
 very likely to come back to us. Dear papa would never 
 admit him to the house again." 
 
 She pressed a lace handkerchief to her eyes, as if the 
 memory of her scapegrace brother had overcome her ; 
 and then, with a parting sigh and smile, she left Rey- 
 nold in the library and went up-stairs to dress for dinner. 
 
 Then it happened that just when Jocelyn and his 
 sister arrived at High Rigg, Mrs. Wycherly and Mr. 
 Harding were at Carlisle. 
 
 " Here's an awful bore," Jocelyn said to Edith on the 
 evening of their arrival at Daunay's Tower. " Mrs. 
 Wycherly and her cousin Harding are in Carlisle, and 
 want to know if they can come to see us. What shall 
 we do with them ? " 
 
 " They don't wish to stop, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Only for the day. We must give them some lunch 
 and send them back in the evening. What a horrid 
 nuisance ! " 
 
 "Why, Jocelyn, I thought that you were so devoted 
 to Mrs. Wycherly ! " 
 
 11 She's very nice and she's very pretty, of course ; 
 but one sees enough of her in town. We could do with- 
 out her here, I think," said Jocelyn rather savagely. 
 
 Edith was delighted. She had always feared Lenore 
 Wycherly's influence, and thought that her brother was 
 mistaken in his estimate of the woman. She was so 
 pleased by the view that he took of her, that she was
 
 Lenore. 223 
 
 not at all on her guard when Mrs. Wycherly actually 
 arrived ; and was very much taken back to find that 
 Lenore was "much too tired" to go back to Carlisle 
 that night and that a bedroom must be found for her 
 at the Tower. Eeynold took a room at the Daunay 
 Arms, in spite of the polite persuasions of his host and 
 hostess to remain with them. He had had his private 
 instructions, and, although he laughed in his sleeve at 
 them, he thought it better to obey. 
 
 Naturally, the Daunays expected that their visitors 
 would next day go back to Carlisle. But Lenore was 
 too clever for that. She had caught a chill, she said, 
 and must remain where she was for a day or two did 
 Edith mind ? Edith resigned herself to the inevitable, 
 and only suggested that the doctor should be sent for. 
 But Mrs. Wycherly did not want the doctor. A day 
 or two in the quiet of the country, she said, would re- 
 store her perfectly. Edith must not mind her ; she 
 would amuse herself. And Edith took her rather at 
 her word. 
 
 Jocelyn also was vexed at Mrs. Wycherly's presence. 
 He knew fairly well what she expected him to do. 
 She wanted him to continue the love-making which he 
 had begun in London, and this he was by no means 
 willing to do. Her visit and that of Reynold Hard- 
 ing, who, although nominally staying at the inn, was 
 entirely dependent upon the Daunays for entertainment 
 and amusement, sufficed to delay him for a day or two 
 in making further acquaintance with Annabel. But 
 as soon as he could get free from them he set out for 
 Moorside Farm. 
 
 It behooved him to go as soon as he possibly could. 
 Mrs. Grier and her husband had already been aston-
 
 224 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 ished and offended to find in their Squire the young 
 stranger who had spent a night or two at the inn and 
 gave his name as Mr. Jocelyn. The rumor of his 
 former visit spread far and wide. Even Dr. Lech- 
 mere, upon whom Jocnlyn called very soon after his 
 arrival, looked at him with a satirical smile and asked 
 if he had yet seen Annabel. 
 
 " I should go as soon as you are able, if yon don't 
 want to get yourself into trouble with her," he had 
 said. And Jocelyn, in great perturbation, had ac- 
 cepted the hint. 
 
 The golden autumn weather had not yet passed away. 
 The hills were deeply purple and the little white farm- 
 house stood out like a patch of snow against their 
 wonderfully rich coloring. The garden was still ablaze 
 with crysanthemums and asters, bright in color if want- 
 ing in perfume. But there was no Annabel in the 
 garden ; and after a brief survey of its glowing flower- 
 beds, Jocelyn went boldly to the door. 
 
 " Is Miss Arnold at home ? " he asked of the rosy- 
 cheeked maiden who answered his summons. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Come in, sir, please." 
 
 And, without delay, he was ushered into a small and 
 gaudily-furnished parlor, where a fire was burning al- 
 though the day was warm, and a pale, plain-faced 
 elderly woman sat in an invaild's chair. Jocelyn 
 guessed at once that he saw Jane Arnold, whose name 
 was already very well known to him. She looked at 
 him with solemn, questioning eyes ; and he stood for 
 a moment silent and motionless, not knowing how to 
 introduce himself. Then Annabel rose from a little 
 seat in the most shadowy corner of the room, and came 
 to the rescue.
 
 self
 
 led 
 .im ; 
 
 ess it 
 were
 
 "A Cousin And a Friend." 227 
 
 " I have been told that my eyes were like my mother's," 
 said Jocelyn. " But I think I am as much like the 
 Daunays as as Annabel is, at any rate." He could 
 not help hesitating before mentioning her name ; it 
 seemed a little audacious of him to call her by it at 
 all. 
 
 " Annabel is like her mother, too," said Jane Arnold, 
 her voice softening more and more. " And what I 
 should like to know is if you are friendly with her, 
 and disposed to let her have her own rights, why have 
 you let your lawyer make all this fuss about the ques- 
 tion of her mother's marriage ? There was no need to 
 bring it up at all, that I can see. We all know that 
 Betha was married ; and that was enough for us with- 
 out any looking up certificates." 
 
 " I am afraid that is not enough for the lawyers," 
 said Jocelyn, with an embarrassed air. " You see, 
 they thought it their duty to inquire into every detail, 
 because they had never known that Mr. Daunay was 
 married at all, and it's a little awkward, you see " 
 with an apologetic air " that there is no record to be 
 found at Somerset House." 
 
 Miss Arnold had never heard of Somerset House in 
 her life, and did not in the least know what this state- 
 ment portended. 
 
 "That's nothing to me," she said, obstinately. 
 " Somerset House or not, my Betha was married to 
 John Daunay, and he told me so with his own mouth, 
 and of his own free will ; and I think shame of any 
 one who would insult her memory by saying that she 
 would go away with a man to whom she was not mar- 
 ried or going to be married immediately." 
 
 ' That's true," said Jocelyn, heartily. "I am sure
 
 228 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 that Annabel's mother was everything that was good ; 
 why, one cannot look at Annabel and think ill of her 
 parents not but what Mr. Daunay was somewhat 
 eccentric in his ways," he added, with a faint twinkle 
 in his eye. " But what I have come for to-day is to 
 assure you that when the question was first raised, I 
 knew nothing about the circumstances or the way in 
 which Mr. Clissold answered your letter, for I was cer- 
 tainly under the impression that Mr. Daunay had a 
 daughter,, who was entitled to his property, until he 
 himself informed me that she was dead." 
 
 " He told yon that ? Mr. Daunay told you that 
 Annabel was dead ? " cried Miss Arnold, her voice ris- 
 ing in excitement. " I should not have thought him 
 capable of doing that, angry although he was with her 
 for refusing to do his bidding. But there, you know 
 nothing of all that, I suppose ; nor what it was that 
 made him cast her off." 
 
 " I am afraid I do," said Jocelyn, hanging his head. 
 " Dr. Lechmere told me ; it seems to have been my 
 fault, in a sense, although I had not the slightest desire 
 that my cousin should do anything distasteful to her." 
 
 " If she had seen you first maybe," said Jane, re- 
 garding him shrewdly, " there might have been a 
 difference ; but, of course, when she knew that she 
 had been offered to you as a bargain, along with the 
 property, it put up her back ; and no wonder ! " 
 
 " It is very unfortunate," said Jocelyn, with great 
 sincerity in his eye and voice. "I'd give the world to 
 be friends with my cousin, now that I have seen her. 
 But I came here to-day hoping to persuade her and you 
 to forgive me for the trouble I have caused her, and to 
 ask her whether she cannot look upon me as a friend."
 
 "A Cousin And a Friend." 229 
 
 " You'll have to settle that with her," said Miss 
 Arnold, shaking her head. " I have no authority to 
 interfere with Annabel's likes and dislikes, and she 
 must judge for herself." 
 
 "You mean that she actually dislikes me?" said 
 Jocelyn, in a distressed voice. 
 
 " I would not go as far as that. She is angry with 
 you ; that's certain. And what did you mean by com- 
 ing masquerading the other day as a lawyer's clerk ? 
 Was that the way to make Annabel friends with you ? 
 Don't you know the last thing a girl can get over is the 
 feeling that she has been tricked and taken in ? " 
 
 " I am awfully sorry," said Jocelyn ; " I only did it 
 for fun, and out of curiosity, you know. Don't you 
 think she will forgive me in the course of time ? You 
 might speak to her and persuade her ? " 
 
 "You'll do that better yourself than I can," said 
 Jane Arnold, with a pitying smile. " You have a deal 
 to learn, young man, if you think that a woman can 
 persuade where a man has failed. Don't you ever 
 ask a woman to do for you what you can do for your- 
 self." 
 
 " I'll ask her myself, then," said Jocelyn, springing 
 involuntarily to his feet. "Where can I find her ? I 
 must make my apologies as soon as I can." 
 
 " There is no hurry," said Jane Arnold, watching 
 him with a curious attentiveness. " What does the 
 good word of a girl matter, or whether she is friendly 
 with you or not ? " 
 
 " It matters very much to the man who wants to 
 make her his wife," said Jocelyn, wheeling round and 
 facing Miss Arnold with a new light in her eyes. 
 
 Jane shook her head. " There is a countryside say-
 
 230 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 ing that I doubt you'll not have heard, Mr. Jocelyn. 
 ' Soon kindled, soon dead.' I fancy you're a bit over- 
 quick about it ; to-day's the second time you have seen 
 Annabel, and that's all." 
 
 " If I had seen her a hundred times I could not make 
 up my mind more than I have done already/' said Joce- 
 lyn. " But I don't want to precipitate matters ; I won't 
 tell her yet what I want. I'll be content if she will 
 only let me be her friend. What I want is simply that 
 you should know how I feel about her, and promise to 
 put no obstacles in my way. After all, Mr. Daunay's 
 plan was a good one, if Annabel would but consent to 
 carry it out." 
 
 Miss Arnold had an evident struggle with herself. It 
 was difficult to disbelieve this young man, who looked 
 so handsome and spoke so winningly, but she was 
 resolved to be cautious, and, if possible, severe ; still, 
 she had too much of the country women in her to be 
 diplomatic, and therefore came to the point at once. 
 
 " You're quite sure that you are not seeking her for 
 her money ? " 
 
 "Quite sure," laughed Jocelyn. "I wish she had 
 not a penny." 
 
 "And you would take her just the same if there was 
 that slur upon her birth ?" 
 
 " Just the same," said Jocelyn, manfully. " It 
 would not alter her." 
 
 " And if you married her, you would not cast it in 
 her teeth that her mother was only a farmer's daughter 
 and that her father had cast her adrift ? " 
 
 " What do you take me for ? " said Jocelyn, unable 
 to help laughing, but a little indignant. " I faith- 
 fully promise that I would not do any of these
 
 "A Cousin And a Friend." 231 
 
 things. Why, Miss Arnold, do you think I am a brnte 
 and a cad ? " 
 
 "I think you are a gentleman," said Jane Arnold. 
 And then she held out her hand, which Jocelyn 
 grasped cordially. 
 
 " Now," he said, " we have made a compact, have 
 we not ? You are not to tell Annabel what I feel 
 about her, you know ; but you are to help me as much 
 as you can. You will do that, won't you ? " 
 
 "Will you promise me," said the woman, "to make 
 Annabel happy and to love her all your life through ? " 
 
 "I promise, I swear it." 
 
 " No, don't swear, laddie ; oaths are vain things at 
 the best, and they say that there is no guilt in the 
 breaking of lovers' vows. But I am a dying woman, 
 Jocelyn Daunay, and I tell you that the curse of a dy- 
 ing woman will be upon you if you make my Annabel 
 unhappy, or do her the least bit of wrong." 
 
 " You may depend upon me," said Jocelyn, with a 
 new gravity. ' ' If I win her I will take her as a sol- 
 emn charge from you as well as the one love of my 
 life. But you are not ill, I hope," he added hastily. 
 " There are surely many years of life before you 
 
 yet.-" 
 
 Jane Arnold shook her head. " I am doomed," she 
 said quietly. " Annabel does not know it, but the 
 doctor knows. You can ask him if you like." 
 
 Jocelyn was shocked ; but as he observed the pale, 
 puffy cheeks, the purple lips, and the frails limbs of 
 the woman before him, he felt that she was probably 
 speaking the truth. Her breathing had for some time 
 past been growing more irregular, and presently she 
 said in a faint voice
 
 232 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " I must not talk any longer. Go and find Annabel, 
 if you like. I want to rest." 
 
 " Shall I send her to you ? " 
 
 " No, no. Leave me alone a little and put that glass 
 beside me, if you like. I shall be all right when I have 
 had a little sleep. I cannot bear very much excite- 
 ment now. If you are all that you seem, Jocelyn 
 Daunay, you will have made my last hours very easy." 
 
 Jocelyn pressed her hand and went away, solemnized 
 by the consciousness that Death was not far from the 
 house. He wondered whether Annabel knew it, and 
 whether, when the bereavement came, she would allow 
 him to comfort her. At present it did not look like it. 
 She was standing in the walled enclosure or courtyard 
 on the shadier side of the house, feeding a flock of 
 favorite tame pigeons. She stood with her back to the 
 door, as though she did not intend to see him when 
 he passed, but he paused ; he did not feel at all inclined 
 to go away without a word. It was a pretty sight, for 
 the birds were as familiar and as greedy as pigeons 
 could possibly be ; and Jocelyn, who had watched them 
 outside the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, was at once 
 reminded of a scene which he had witnessed there, 
 when a girl was almost hidden from view by the white 
 wings of the bird-crowd that fell upon her. 
 
 There was a flock of them at Annabel's feet : they 
 had alighted on her shoulders and on her arms ; they 
 pressed upon one another in their endeavors to eat 
 out of her hand ; they swooped down upon the yellow 
 Indian corn which she sportively placed between her 
 lips ; they entangled their pink feet in her pretty hair, 
 although this was partly protected by a straw hat 
 which she had thrown on in haste. Jocelyn i'ancied
 
 "A Cousin And a Friend." 233 
 
 that she lengthened out the proceedings in order that 
 she might avoid having to speak to him. 
 
 But she could not go on feeding pigeons forever. 
 Her stock of food came to an end ; the birds quitted 
 her, one by one, hovering round her head for a little 
 while and settling at her feet to pick up the last grains of 
 corn, and she was obliged to move away, so that she 
 came face to face with Jocelyn, who had watched the 
 little scene with undisguised pleasure and admiration. 
 
 She gave him a rather haughty look ; but if she had 
 expected to cow him, either into silence or into an 
 apology, she was mistaken : he had made up his mind 
 to be simply cordial and friendly. 
 
 " You have some very pretty birds there," he said. 
 " They remind me of the Florentine pigeons. You 
 have never been to Florence, I suppose ? " 
 
 " I have been nowhere," she said, caressing with her 
 hand one snow-white pigeon which had fluttered down 
 upon her shoulder. 
 
 " When you go, you will compare those birds with 
 your own. You won't find much difference between 
 them. I am afraid they are all greedy." 
 
 " You don't believe in affection, I suppose," said 
 Annabel, a little scornfully. The bird was cooing on 
 her shoulder, and she pressed it softly to her cheek as 
 she spoke. 
 
 " Don't I ?" said Jocelyn, a little blankly. He did 
 not quite see why she should make such an unwarranted 
 attack upon him. 
 
 " I mean that you are like most persons," said Anna- 
 bel. " You probably think that all creatures love the 
 hand that feeds them : we are loved for what we can 
 give, not for what we are,"
 
 234 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Jocelyn began to understand she was making a 
 veiled allusion to her own position ; but the allusion 
 was certainly remote, and he did not feel himself called 
 upon to reply to it, but it seemed to give him permis- 
 sion to apologize for what he took to be the cause of 
 offense. 
 
 "I hope you will pardon me," he said, "for simply 
 saying the other day that I came from Mr. Clissold, 
 instead of mentioning my own name. Of course, I had 
 come from Mr. Clissold in a sense, and Dr. Lechmere, 
 who knew who I was, had given me permission to come 
 and see you." 
 
 " Dr. Lechmere knew you ? " she asked, turning her 
 face toward him quickly. 
 
 " I didn't mean to tell him my name, but he guessed 
 it. I dare say he did not imagine I should make a 
 mystery of it when I saw you." 
 
 " There are too many mysteries," said Annabel, in 
 a rather queenly manner. " I do not like them." 
 
 " Nor I," said Jocelyn. 
 
 Her retort was speedy and to the point " Well, you 
 practise them ! " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, I am trying to clear up all the 
 mysteries I know of. I think it is always better for 
 the truth to be known." 
 
 " But you withheld your name," said Annabel in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Surely that was a very small concealment," said 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 She looked at him for a moment and her color rose. 
 
 " Yes," she said, with a certain aloofness in her tone. 
 " It is not one of much consequence." 
 
 " Then may I hope that you will forgive it? "
 
 "A Cousin And a Friend." 235 
 
 " Ah, that is quite a different matter," she said. 
 " One does not care to be deceived even in a trifle/' 
 
 " It is not quite a trifle to me that you should be in 
 ignorance of my name," said Jocelyn. " In fact, I 
 consider it a matter of some importance. I hoped that 
 I might some day have the honor of your acquaintance, 
 possibly even of your friendship." 
 
 " That was why you called yourself Mr. Clissold's 
 clerk," said Annabel, with a touch of irony in her tone 
 which somehow reminded him of Dr. Lechmere. 
 
 " If I came for the first time out of curiosity, I come 
 the second out of cousinly regard," said Jocelyn. 
 " Believe me, I do want to be your friend." 
 
 " Do you think you have behaved in a friendly way 
 towards me ? " said Annabel. 
 
 " I would cut off my right hand rather than do any- 
 thing else," he said fervently. But this was going a 
 step beyond her, and she looked at him in surprise as 
 if he had used an unknown tongue.
 
 236 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 RIVALS. 
 
 THEY had moved a little while they were talking, so 
 that by this time their steps had taken them round the 
 house and into the flower garden. Jocelyn felt that 
 there was not much more for him to do but to take his 
 leave : he only wanted to know when he might come 
 again. " My sister is with me at the Tower," he said. 
 " She is very anxious to make your acquaintance ; 
 you will let her call, I hope." 
 
 " I shall be very pleased to see her," she said me- 
 chanically, "if she cares to come." 
 
 " And perhaps," said Jocelyn, "you will come to 
 the Tower some day." 
 
 " Oh no," she said, very decidedly, with a little 
 blaze of angry color in her cheeks; " most certainly 
 I shall not." 
 
 " But why not ? " he persisted. " It was your 
 father's house, and we do not want to keep you away." 
 
 " Indeed ? " she said. " I was under the impression 
 that you wished to keep me away altogether. I have 
 never been inside Daunay's Tower in my life, and you 
 will please understand, Mr. Dauiiay. that unless I come 
 there as its mistress I do not come at all." 
 
 " Come there as its mistress, by all means," said 
 Jocelyn, with a sudden lighting up of his whole face, 
 which Annabel did not understand. "I can guar- 
 antee," he went on, "as far as I am concerned, you
 
 Rivals. 237 
 
 need never come there as anything else but its mis- 
 tress." But he spoke from a point of view which An- 
 nabel had not yet learned to realize. 
 
 As she paused for a moment, in some perplexity, her 
 eye was caught by the approach of a vehicle on the 
 long winding road from the village of High Rigg. It 
 was not the doctor's dog-cart this time, with its jin- 
 gling harness and bright red wheels. It seemed more 
 like a little pony carriage containing one person only 
 beside the driver, and Jocelyn could not repress a start 
 the lady in the carriage was Mrs. TVycherly, who, he 
 remembered, had that very morning been asking him 
 whether she could obtain a carriage of any sort at the 
 inn, as she thought that a little fresh air would do 
 her good. Jocelyn knew very well that this was a hint 
 for him to offer to drive her about the country, but he 
 was not in the least disposed to take the hint, and had 
 therefore handed her over to the care of his sister and 
 sent a message down to the Daunay Arms for the best 
 open vehicle that Mr. Grier possessed. It seemed as if 
 Edith had also deserted her guest, for Lenore was alone, 
 and her lovely face looked remarkably picturesque be- 
 neath a broad black hat with ostrich feathers, and a be- 
 wildering mixture of lace and fur round her neck to 
 enhance the peach-like bloom of her velvety skin. 
 
 Annabel's eyes had never before rested on such a 
 vision of beauty and elegance, and they grew larger 
 with wonder as the carriage passed. But, although 
 she knew it not, she was in her own way quite as fair a 
 vision as the more modish woman of the world. She 
 wore only a cotton frock, very simply made, and faintly 
 blue in color. The straw hat on her head had been 
 browned by the suns of many seasons ; but these dra\v-
 
 238 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 backs were, as Jocelyn considered, insignificant in com- 
 parison with her wild-rose complexion and her wonder- 
 fully beautiful eyes. The white bird on her shoulder 
 seemed to emphasize the serenity and innocence of her 
 appearance ; and it was almost with a sigh of envy 
 that Lenore sank back in the carriage after having 
 bowed to Jocelyn with an astonished lift of her eye- 
 brows and a smile which seemed to show that she sus- 
 pected him possibly of making love to some unsophis- 
 ticated peasant girl. 
 
 " Do you know that lady ? How beautiful she is ! " 
 said Annabel when the carriage had passed. 
 
 " Yes, I know her," Jocelyn answered. " She is stay- 
 ing for a few days at the Tower. She is a friend of my 
 sister's." He hoped that he might be pardoned for 
 this perversion of the truth. 
 
 "She is quite lovely," said Annabel, frankly. "I 
 wonder if people like that are as good as they are 
 beautiful ? " 
 
 11 It would hardly be possible, would it ? " said 
 Jocelyn, a little cynically. 
 
 " If I were that lady," said Annabel, laughing, " I 
 think I should like to try. She reminds me of some- 
 body. I wonder who it is ? " She paused for a moment 
 with her finger laid reflectively on her lips. " I know," 
 she said, at length. "It is Dr. Eugene." 
 
 "Dr. who ?" 
 
 " Dr. Lechmere. I have known him all my life, you 
 know, and I often call him Dr. Eugene as a sort of pet 
 name. It is curious ; he is not exactly handsome, and 
 yet he is like that lady." 
 
 "Now you mention it," said Jocelyn, " I was troubled, 
 the first time I studied Dr. Lechmere's face by a faint
 
 Rivals. 239 
 
 resemblance to some one I knew. You are right ; 
 there is a sort of resemblance between him and Mrs. 
 Wycherly." 
 
 " Surely," said Annabel, reflectively, "he cannot be 
 related to anybody like that ? " 
 
 " Why not like that ? " said Jocelyn. 
 
 She laughed out frankly. "Dr. Lechmere does not 
 seem that sort of person, does he ? He is so very frank 
 and unconventional ; so very abrupt in his ways. That 
 beautiful lady does not look as if she could be brusque, 
 if she tried." 
 
 "No, I don't think she could be. To be with her is 
 like breathing the atmosphere of a hothouse. It is all 
 perfume and warmth and color. I prefer the clear 
 mountain air and the flowers of the hillside." There 
 was unmistakable significance in his voice and his eyes. 
 It brought the color to Annabel's cheek, and she was 
 vexed to feel that it did so. To cover her blush, she 
 made a laughing remark. " The world likes the hot- 
 house flowers best," she said, " and pays for them most 
 dearly." 
 
 " The hothouse flowers are never loved like the wild 
 blossoms," said Jocelyn. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the girl, with some reserve. " I 
 do not know very much about hothouses ; nor about 
 the world, you see." 
 
 " No, you are the mountain blossom," said Jocelyn ; 
 and he managed to look the compliment which his lips 
 did not dare to say. 
 
 " I must go to my aunt," said the girl. " Good 
 morning, Mr. Daunay. If you turn to the right you 
 will probably meet your friend, and can drive home 
 with her."
 
 240 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "Many thanks," said Jocelyn. "I think I prefer 
 to walk/' He did not know whether she meant to 
 shake hands with him or not ; but, as he raised his 
 hat, she held out her hand with a faint, amused little 
 smile. 
 
 " Good-by," she said. " I shall be glad to see your 
 sister, if she will call." This was a great concession 
 on her part, and came from the remembrance of the 
 words that Dr. Lechmere had used to her, reminding 
 her that Jocelyn was also to be considered " a verte- 
 brate animal/' He would not have been very much flat- 
 tered if he had known the origin of her smile. He had 
 no fancy to meet Mrs. Wycherly, and therefore swung 
 down the road in the direction of High Rigg at a good 
 pace. But he had not allowed for a cross cut which it 
 seemed that the driver had taken on his way home. 
 For, before he entered the village, the pony-carriage 
 had overtaken him and drew up in the middle of the 
 road. 
 
 " Do let me drive you home," said Lenore, with her 
 sweetest smile. " Dear Edith was busy this morning, 
 but as yon so kindly ordered the carriage for me I 
 thought that I would take a little drive." 
 
 " If I had known that you would be alone I should 
 have been most happy to escort you. Where is Eeynold 
 this morning ?" 
 
 " Oh, he has gone to see some friends, who have a 
 place in this neigh borhood," said Lenore. " He knows 
 Cumberland pretty well, and has friends in every direc- 
 tion. What a lovely creature you were talking to just 
 now ! Who can she be ? " 
 
 " She is the niece of one of old Mr. Daunay's ten- 
 ants," said Jocelyn, calmly, " One of my tenants,
 
 Rivals. 241 
 
 perhaps I ought to say. But I suppose you know that 
 there is some little difficulty about my title to the 
 estate ? " 
 
 His lips curled rather maliciously as he asked the 
 question. 
 
 Lenore turned her soft brown eyes upon him. " In- 
 deed, I didn't know," with an accent of genuine hor- 
 ror. " But, of course, it is all nonsense, and you will 
 keep possession of the place." 
 
 "I am not sure," said Jocelyn, lightly. He was 
 amused at the situation, for he knew how much im- 
 portance Mrs. Wycherly attached to wealth and posi- 
 tion, and now that his infatuation for her was over, he 
 was disposed to play with her predilections as a cat 
 plays with a mouse. " I think it is highly probable 
 that the place will pass out of my hands altogether, 
 and then I shall be worse off than ever, for I may be 
 called upon to pay up certain sums which have been 
 made over to me from the estate. So, for all that I 
 know, beggary and ruin lie before me." 
 
 " You take it very cheerfully," said Mrs. Wycherly. 
 
 " Don't you remember, I always told you that I 
 didn't much value wealth," he said. And there was a 
 carelessness in his voice which made Lenore look at 
 him curiously. He was older, she noticed, more of a 
 man than when she first knew him. He seemed quite 
 independent of her opinion now. 
 
 " Is there another claimant, then, to the estate ? " 
 she asked, a little jealously. " I remember you spoke 
 to me of a daughter. But did she not die ? " 
 
 " That is just it. She did not die," said Jocelyn, 
 " although Mr. Daunay, in a fit of passion, represented, 
 for his own ends, that she was dead. But she is alive 
 16
 
 242 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 and well, and I myself am quite convinced that old 
 Mr. Daunay's property ought to belong to her." 
 
 " But, my dear Jocelyn," Lenore said, incredulously, 
 " are you quite sure ? Didn't Mr. Daunay leave you the 
 estate by will ? " 
 
 " He left it to his next of kin," said Jocelyn, with 
 a laugh ; " and a daughter is presumably nearer of kin 
 than a first cousin once removed. When the facts are 
 all established I shall not have a leg to stand on, and I 
 don't suppose the matter will pass through a court at 
 all. We shall just settle it amicably, Miss Daunay 
 and I." 
 
 "Is she young ?" 
 
 " Quite young," said Jocelyn, with laudable gravity. 
 
 " You told me of old Mr. Daunay's plan. Was she 
 the girl whom he wanted you to marry ? " 
 
 " Exactly. And, with the greatest possible wisdom, 
 Miss Daunay refused to do so." 
 
 " My poor Jocelyn " she laid her hand upon his 
 arm with a pretty, caressing movement "how badly 
 you have been treated ! I have never heard of a more 
 distressing case. And what a harpy the girl must be. 
 Why does she not offer at least to divide the property 
 with you ? " 
 
 " If she did I don't think I should like to take it. 
 No ; she is quite welcome to the estate Daunay's 
 Tower and all, as far as I am concerned. I have dif- 
 ferent views for myself." 
 
 Lenore took the remark as referring to herself. 
 "Ah, Jocelyn," she said, with a plaintive sigh, "we 
 can't all be quite happy in our emotions, much as we 
 should like it. You will have to marry an heiress. 
 You might even marry Miss Daunay herself."
 
 Rivals. 243 
 
 " I tell you she has refused me already," said Joce- 
 lyn quickly. 
 
 " Possibly she had not seen you then. That makes 
 such a difference sometimes," with her head on one 
 side. " Unfortunately, heiresses are almost always 
 ugly, poor things. Perhaps she is deformed, or sickly, 
 or betrays her origin in some way. Her mother was 
 quite a peasant woman, I have heard." 
 
 "Don't go on, please," said Jocelyn coldly. "I 
 may as well tell you that the young lady whom you 
 admired so much just now is my cousin Annabel Dau- 
 nay ; and I have every intention, by and by, of asking 
 her to become my wife." 
 
 He had been driven into making this announcement, 
 and regretted it immediately afterwards. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherly laughed aloud. " What a laudable 
 determination I " she said ; and Jocelyn wished that 
 he had bitten out his tongue before he spoke the 
 words. 
 
 After this little skirmish, conversation languished 
 for a time. Jocelyn was vexed with himself for having 
 said so much. Mrs. Wycherly was pensively inclined. 
 But when the village was reached, Jocelyn bethought 
 himself of his duties as a host, and began to point out 
 the few objects of interest that High Rigg contained. 
 There was the little white church, the schoolhouse, 
 the old-fashioned inn, the cobble-stones with which the 
 road was paved, and the queer old bridge across the 
 stream. Lenore shrugged her shoulders. "The 
 scenery is beautiful !" she said, " but your architecture 
 does not appeal to me. And I suppose you are the 
 only gentlefolk in the place ? " 
 
 ''The Marchants are our nearest neighbors, and
 
 244 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 they are three miles away. But there is a very nice 
 old clergyman, and a clever doctor." 
 
 "So Edith said." 
 
 " Yes ; he has quite a reputation about here. I 
 have heard that Lord Kershaw says he would not trust 
 many a big London man so much as he would trust 
 Dr. Lechmere." 
 
 "Dr. who?" 
 
 " Lechmere. Eugene Lechmere. Do you know the 
 name ? " said Jocelyn, suddenly conscious of her pale- 
 ness and of the startled look upon her face. 
 
 "Why, it was my own maiden name," she said re- 
 covering herself with a laugh. "It quite startled me 
 when you mentioned it. I wonder if he is a relation 
 of mine." 
 
 " We might ask him to dinner and then we should 
 see ! " 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble to do that ; I scarcely feel equal 
 to seeing strangers," said Lenore, with her most be- 
 witching smile, " though I feel that this exquisite air 
 is doing me a great deal of good. But I shall have to 
 call him in professionally if I have another attack of 
 neuralgia, and ask him for something to brace me up 
 for that long, wearisome journey to London, which I 
 dread so much." 
 
 " Don't go until you feel equal to it," said Jocelyn, 
 kindly. " The house is at your disposal as long as ever 
 you like. The accommodation is too poor for you ; that 
 is the only thing which prevents me from pressing you 
 to stay." 
 
 " On the contrary. I am most comfortable," said 
 Mrs. Wycherly. "If I do not inconvenience you, I 
 feel sure that a few days' rest and quiet would do me
 
 Rivals. 245 
 
 all the good in the world. Are you sure Edith will not 
 mind if I stay just a little while ?" 
 
 "If it does you good she will be delighted," said 
 Jocelyn, with emphasis. " Of course you understand 
 that my own tenure of the place is somewhat precari- 
 ous ; 1 should never have set foot within it myself with- 
 out Miss Annabel Daunay's permission, and we might 
 have to turn out at any moment. But as long as we 
 are here, we are most pleased to have you for a guest." 
 
 "How changed he is!" thought Mrs. Wycherly to 
 herself. " He was a boy before ; he is a man now ! " 
 And she liked him better than she had ever done in his 
 boyish days. But aloud she only answered sweetly 
 
 " It is indeed very kind of you. And I will see your 
 clever doctor to-morrow, if you will be so good as to 
 let him know." 
 
 " He is there," said Jocelyn, suddenly descrying 
 Lechmere's alert figure emerging from one of the 
 houses in the village street. " Excuse me, I'll speak 
 to him. Stop, driver ! " 
 
 And as the carriage stopped, Eugene Lechmere 
 stopped also, and stared at the woman at Jocelyn's side 
 as if she had been a ghost.
 
 246 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXV. 
 
 NEAR RELATIONS. 
 
 " DR. LECHMERE to see you, ma'am." 
 
 "Very well ; let him come up," said Mrs. "Wycherly, 
 languidly. It was the afternoon of the same day, and 
 she had declared herself too tired to go down to tea. 
 Her own bedroom was a very comfortable one, and she 
 told her maid that she would remain there until the 
 doctor had been. " He has the same surname as my 
 own before I was married, Abbott," said Mrs. Wycherly, 
 in her innocent way ; " and I want so much to find 
 out whether he is a connection of my family. So you 
 can bring him up-stairs when he comes ; one can talk 
 much more comfortably here than in a sitting-room." 
 
 Abbott was usually somewhat suspicious of her mis- 
 tress's arrangements ; she had generally found that 
 when Mrs. Wycherly said one thing she meant another. 
 On this occasion there really did not seem to be any 
 reason for thinking that she had any hidden intentions. 
 Nevertheless, there had seldom been a moment in 
 Lenore's life when she more anxiously desired to con- 
 ceal the real reason for her actions. 
 
 She had looked into Dr. Lechmere's eyes that morn- 
 ing and said nothing ; she had had the advantage of at 
 least a moment's preparation, and she availed herself of 
 it to the uttermost. But he, rigid, colorless, utterly 
 shocked and horrified, how had he managed to explain
 
 Near Relations. 247 
 
 the situation to Jocelyn's satisfaction ? Fortunately 
 Jocelyn was a trifle obtuse, so she thought ; she might 
 have added that he was an honorable and high-minded 
 man, who did not attempt to pry into things that were 
 no concern of his, and who thought no evil without 
 due cause. At any rate, after a momentary pause and 
 a request that the doctor would visit Mrs. Wycherly in 
 the course of the afternoon, Jocelyn had told the driver 
 to go on to Dannay's Tower, and Lenore had breathed 
 freely once again. 
 
 She heard his tread on the oaken boards as Abbott 
 marshaled him to her room ; although she had not 
 heard it for many years, she told herself that she would 
 have known it anywhere. The door opened, and he 
 stood before her, giving her the conventional greeting 
 that a doctor accords to his patient, this time evidently 
 quite composed. The maid left them alone together, 
 and Dr. Lechmere, standing beside the high carved 
 mantelpiece, said very quietly 
 
 " Do you wish me to prescribe for you ?" 
 " Good heavens, no ! At least, you may if you like ; 
 but of course I only wanted to see you for yourself for 
 
 your own sake " 
 
 " To satisfy your curiosity about me, in fact, and to 
 request me not to let it be known that I am a relation 
 of yours." 
 
 '' Oh, Eugene, how cruelly you express yourself \" 
 " I always did, you know," he said, looking at her 
 coldly. " It used to be one of the points constantly re- 
 ferred to at home/' He said the last two words in a 
 lower tone, as if he felt some reluctance in pronouncing 
 them. "And I suppose we don't change much in 
 character after we are twenty-five."
 
 248 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " You have changed a great deal," said Lenore 
 hurriedly. " I never saw you look so well so hand- 
 some, Eugene. You you were an ugly little wretch," 
 she laughed as she spoke " when you were younger, 
 you know." 
 
 "And you have changed very little." 
 
 " Have I not ? Well, I suppose not ; nobody would 
 ever guess that 1 was nearly forty. Most people take 
 me for seven-and-twenty at most. It is twenty years 
 since we saw each other, yet I recognized you imme- 
 diately." 
 
 " Yes. May I trouble you to come to the point at 
 once, Lenore or should I say Mrs. Wycherly ? I am a 
 very busy man ; and I conclude that you did not send 
 for me merely to comment on my personal appearance, 
 or to hear me compliment you on yours." 
 
 Lenore shrugged her shoulders. " You were always 
 brutal, Eugene." 
 
 " Always," Eugene agreed. " And I shall probably 
 remain brutal until the day of my death. Anything 
 else ? " 
 
 " Of course it may sound unkind but you will 
 not tell Jocelyn Daunay that you are rny brother, will 
 you ? " 
 
 "Cela depend. I was not intending to do so imme- 
 diately ; but I should rather like to know what reason 
 you have to the contrary." 
 
 " I should think there were reasons enough," cried 
 Lenore, indignantly. " I must say I think it is a little 
 too bad of you to have kept your name. For dear papa's 
 sake, at least, you might have changed it when when 
 you came out of prison." 
 
 Engene Lechmere bit his mustache viciously. "It
 
 Near Relations. 249 
 
 would have been rather late then, would it not ? The 
 mischief was done, you see. And is he is he alive ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, he is alive," said Lenore, with an im- 
 patient twitch of her hand. "Of course we thought 
 he would die, when all that horrible business occurred ; 
 he was quite heartbroken, because, you know, he was 
 awfully fond of you, Eugene, although he came down 
 upon you now and then." She glanced doubtfully at 
 her brother's face : it was hard and cold as stone. 
 " And he was very ill, but he got over it at last, and he 
 is quite hale and strong now, although he is nearly 
 eighty years of age." 
 
 "And the rest of the family ? if I may ask." 
 
 " They are all very well : mostly married and pros- 
 perous. I'm the most unlucky person in the family. 
 I married under the impression that Mr. Wycherly was 
 a rich man, and he left me almost penniless. I am 
 always getting into money difficulties." 
 
 " I remember you could never make ends meet with 
 your dress allowance," said her brother, gravely stating 
 the fact. 
 
 " Because I never had enough ! All the others have 
 done extremely well for themselves, and Willy is in 
 Parliament." 
 
 " Yes, I often see Will's name." 
 
 " And Robert married a very rich woman, and Isabel 
 is Lady Kerr. Susan was only a child when you left 
 us, but you will remember her : she married a mil- 
 lionaire." 
 
 " It seems, then, that my painful experience did not 
 greatly affect the fortunes of the family," said Eugene, 
 with a rather bitter smile. 
 
 " I hope there is such a thing as living down un-
 
 250 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 merited misfortune," said Mrs. Wycherly. " Certainly 
 it would be very unfair if we had had to suffer all our 
 lives from the effects of your wrong-doing, Eugene." 
 
 "It seems I have not that to reproach myself with/' 
 
 " I doubt whether you reproach yourself with any- 
 thing/' said Lenore, in a tone that might almost be 
 called acrid. "If there was one thing in the world 
 that dear papa wanted, it was that you should leave the 
 country. In America or Australia, you would have 
 been far happier, and we should have felt safe. Really, 
 now that I know you are still in England, I shall never 
 take up a newspaper with comfort again." 
 
 " For fear I should have poisoned my patients ? " said 
 the doctor, ironically. 
 
 "Well, one does not know what might come out 
 next. And what I particularly wished to impress upon 
 you was that it would be most awkward for me, if I 
 came to live in this neighborhood, to have you here at 
 my very door, attending my friends, going to the same 
 houses " 
 
 "Excuse me. I only visit professionally. I do not 
 attend social gatherings." 
 
 " But even then I should have to meet you ; and if 
 it came out and of course lots of people know your 
 story do think how disagreeable it would be for me ! 
 Could you not go somewhere else ? Surely this place 
 is not so very attractive that you need live in it all your 
 life ? I would speak to Reynold Harding or even to 
 papa about you, and they would furnish you with 
 funds to go abroad anywhere, so that you left this place 
 at once." 
 
 " Left this place ! Lenore, have you any notion of 
 what vou are suggesting that I should do ? "
 
 Near Relations. 251 
 
 Lenore opened her lovely eyes at him. " What is 
 there remarkable about it ? Yon would be dreadfully 
 in my way here. And surely you owe something to 
 your family." 
 
 " I came here twenty years ago," said Dr. Lechmere 
 composedly. " I had nobody to back me up. I was a 
 disgraced and ruined man. I was told that I had no 
 right to practise medicine at all. I chose out this place 
 because the doctor had just died, and there seemed to 
 be an opening ; and I have stuck to it ever since, almost 
 starving sometimes, looked on with suspicion and dis- 
 like, but steady to my resolve never to be beaten, never 
 to yield an inch to the enemy to the devil of despair, 
 I mean, that seemed sometimes to have me by the 
 throat ! I've succeeded to some extent ; at any rate, I 
 have a big though a poor practise. I am known in 
 the neighborhood, and I have a friend here and there ; 
 and you come here, with your airs and pretenses " his 
 voice grew rough with anger " you, who have never 
 sent me a kind message, nor held out a helping hand to 
 me for twenty years ! and ask me to throw it all up, 
 to seek another home, to give up all I have gained ! to 
 'go away, forsooth, because you would find it disagree- 
 able to have me at your door ! No ; before God, I 
 won't ! I shall stay here as long as I choose, and do 
 my duty by my patients, as I have done for twenty 
 years ! " 
 
 "You were always so violent, Eugene." The tears 
 stood in Lenore's soft eyes. " I wish you would speak 
 gently and I see you have not lost your old, wicked 
 habit of using profane expressions when you are angry ! 
 I am sure I should not like to be a patient of yours. I 
 think people ought to know the fate of one of your
 
 252 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 patients at any rate. I once heard Eeynold say that if 
 he found you were practising again, he should think it 
 his duty to expose you '' 
 
 "Let him expose me, by all means," said Dr. Lech- 
 mere, looking very black and grim as he stood erect on 
 the hearthrug, with his hands behind him and his eyes 
 extremely bright. " I have never denied the facts or 
 refused to answer a question about them during the last 
 twenty years. You and Eeynold Harding are quite at 
 liberty to say what you please. Only, I thought you 
 were afraid that the consequences would recoil on your 
 own head ! I certainly don't think they would hurt 
 mine." 
 
 " You are perhaps a little too confident. I should 
 never hesitate to speak where my duty was concerned." 
 
 " Oh, very well," said Eugene, with a gleam of hu- 
 mor striking across the gloom of his face. " I know 
 that I can safely leave you to follow your conscience. 
 And, in the meantime, allow me to ask where you think 
 of establishing yourself ? What good man in the neigh- 
 borhood are you going to make happy ? " 
 
 " You are so sarcastic, Eugene ; one never could 
 speak freely to you. But if I tell you, I suppose I may 
 rely on you not to repeat what I say ? " 
 
 The doctor bowed. 
 
 "As far as you can rely on me for anything. But 
 you scarcely call me a trustworthy person ; do you ? " 
 
 "Well, if you betray my confidence, I can always 
 tell your story," said Mrs. Wycherly, with a spitef ulness 
 which seemed to overcloud all her beauty in Dr. Lech- 
 mere's eyes. " I hold your character in the hollow of 
 my hand." 
 
 "So you think."
 
 Near Relations. 253 
 
 " Yon know I do. I am going to marry Jocelyn 
 Daunay." 
 
 Eugene faced her suddenly. " What do you say ?" 
 
 " Yon hear," she said defiantly. " I am going to 
 marry Jocelyn Daunay of Dau nay's Tower." 
 
 "You are not engaged to him ?" The doctor's eye 
 was suddenly watchful and alert. 
 
 " Well, not exactly ; but he has said a great deal, 
 hinted a great deal more. Oh, he has been my faith- 
 ful admirer for the last twelve months or eighteen 
 months, in fact. And now I have decided that I will 
 marry him." 
 
 " But you know that he is not the owner of Daunay's 
 Tower ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't believe that story." 
 
 " Don't you ? Really. But I am afraid it happens 
 to be true." 
 
 She looked at him doubtfully. " I thought it was 
 merely an excuse " 
 
 " To save him from marrying you ? " 
 
 " Yon are detestable, Eugene. I really want to 
 know the whole story, if you can tell it me. He has a 
 sort of tendresse for this little cousin of his at present ; 
 but I think I can make sure of him." 
 
 " He has made love to you ? " said Eugene, knitting 
 his brows. 
 
 " Why, of course he has ; a hundred times. He is a 
 dear boy, and I am quite fond of him. Don't you think 
 you could help me ?" 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " I will tell you by and by. If you will help me, I 
 will withdraw my oppsition to yonr living in this neigh- 
 borhood, Eugene "
 
 254 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear." 
 
 " And I will tell everybody that you are a connec- 
 tion of mine, and that you are most respectable, only 
 a little eccentric ; that will rehabilitate your character, 
 you know ! And then we can be good friends after all. 
 Only, you will have to keep out of the way if papa conies 
 to visit me." 
 
 A momentary contraction was visible on Eugene 
 Lechmere's brow the outward sign of that inward 
 throb of agony which no one could awake in him so 
 keenly as one of his own name and race. He kept si- 
 lence for a moment, his native keenness of instinct com- 
 ing to his aid. What scheme was Lenore hatching now ! 
 It did not seem to be one that was likely to conduce to 
 the happiness of Jocelyn or of Annabel. "Would it not 
 be well for him to appear to throw in his lot with that 
 of his sister, and then obtain possession of the plot which 
 she seemed inclined to weave ? He hesitated for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " I will do what I can," he said, " but I cannot stay 
 any longer now. I will pay you another professional 
 visit to-morrow, then we can have a little more conversa- 
 tion." 
 
 " Very well. But you had better order me some- 
 thing. And say that the air of these hills is so good 
 for me that I had better not go south just yet." 
 
 Dr. Lechmere wrote a prescription with his most 
 cynical smile.
 
 Betha's Work-Box. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 BETHA'S WORK-BOX. 
 
 MRS. WYCHERLY'S visit to Daunay's Tower did not 
 prevent Edith and Jocelyn from giving a good deal of 
 time to the examination of John Daunay's papers. 
 Mr. Clissold offered to send down a clerk to assist 
 them, but Jocelyn considered that he and his sister 
 could do the work sufficiently well. After all, there 
 was not a very large quantity of manuscript to be in- 
 spected. Mr. Daunay had not been a letter-writer ; he 
 had never kept a diary ; and the piles of bills in the 
 housekeeper's room, the copies of business epistles in 
 the study, did not promise much of interest or value. 
 
 It was with a feeling of respect, almost of awe, that 
 Jocelyn first penetrated to that older portion of the build- 
 ing which had been the original " Daunay's Tower." 
 Here Annabel had first seen the light, here Betha Dau- 
 nay had drawn her latest breath. How strangely mat- 
 ters had entangled themselves since that day ! Jocelyn 
 stood on the threshold of that upper room as if he 
 scarcely dared to enter ; it seemed to him that Betha's 
 spirit might still linger there. 
 
 The old tower contained only two rooms, one above 
 the other, and a steep staircase by which the upper 
 chamber could be reached. They were both square in 
 shape, and dimly lighted by narrow windows which 
 showed the extreme thickness of the walls. The lower
 
 256 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 room had been intended, apparently, for a man's sitting- 
 room ; there were fishing-rods and guns on the walls, 
 a large bureau stood between the windows, and a nar- 
 row camp bedstead had been stretched beside the fire- 
 place. A chair or two and a small table completed the 
 furniture, and there was some crockery in a cupboard 
 near the door. In the upper room the arrangements 
 were far more extensive. The bed was big and curtained 
 with damask, and there were faded damask hangings 
 before the windows and a carpet on the floor, as well 
 as pictures on the walls, and a rather elaborate toilet 
 service before the oval mirror. A smaller bedstead 
 might have been used, Jocelyn conjectured, by the 
 nurse ; and there was a great chintz armchair, in which 
 Annabel perhaps had been hushed to sleep when she was 
 a baby-girl. There were some personal signs of occupa- 
 tion, also, which went to Jocelyn's heart. There was 
 an old inlaid work-box, lined with pink silk, and half 
 filled with reels and mother-of-pearl silk winders, which 
 he glanced at almost timidly. Was it his duty to open 
 this sacred thing, where the name " Betha," scratched 
 on the wood, showed that it had belonged to Annabel's 
 mother, and ought of right to belong now to Annabel ? 
 He half raised the lid ; a dainty bit of embroidery, the 
 needle hanging in it still, first met his eye. Involun- 
 tarily he shut the lid down, and put the box aside. 
 Annabel should be the first to see the work that her 
 mother had left incomplete. It was probably something 
 for the baby that was coming something which poor 
 Betha had not finished when she lay down to die. 
 
 Jocelyn found nothing else of interest in the room. 
 But he conveyed the old work-box to his own apartment 
 and wrapped it carefully in white paper, and then in
 
 Betha's Work-Box. 257 
 
 brown, and secured it with strong string, before he 
 made up his mind to carry it to Moorside Farm, and 
 give it himself to Annabel. 
 
 The fine weather of early autumn had been suc- 
 ceeded by cold winds and heavy showers. The day was 
 not wet, but very gusty, when Jocelyn walked up the 
 hillside with the work-box under his arm. It was a 
 contrast to the day of his last visit, when Annabel in 
 her blue dress had stood at the gate with him, caressing 
 the white pigeon on her shoulder, and reflecting all 
 heaven in her eyes. On this occasion he found her in 
 the parlor, warmly clad in the soberest of browns, a 
 color which seemed to bring out the gold in her hair 
 and the crystal clearness of her eyes ; she was sitting at 
 the table in a very businesslike way, with several ac- 
 count-books before her, and a look of intense concen- 
 tration and anxiety upon her brow. She rose when 
 Jocelyn entered, and gave him her hand, then remained 
 standing, as if she expected him to name his business 
 and go away. 
 
 " My aunt is in bed. She was wondering if you had 
 any news for us." 
 
 " I am afraid I have not. I cannot find any papers 
 of value at the Tower. But I have brought you some- 
 thing which ought to belong to you." 
 
 "Ought to belong to me? That is impossible. 
 There was never anything that belonged to me at 
 Dannay's Tower." 
 
 "Never? What belonged to your mother ought 
 surely to belong to you." 
 
 She flushed deeply, and her eyes softened. She 
 seemed to reflect for a minute or two, then she said 
 more gently "Sit down, Mr. Daunay please. It is
 
 258 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 very kind of you. I was wrong. I had forgotten for 
 the moment that my mother's things might be there. 
 I have scarcely anything of hers." 
 
 " I think it is her work-box," said Jocelyn, placing 
 the square brown parcel on the table. "It bears her 
 name, and therefore I thought it ought to belong to 
 you. I will leave it with you ; you will perhaps find 
 relics of her which you would like to examine by yourself. 
 I only lifted the lid for a moment ; I have not touched 
 anything. " 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Daunay, you are very kind," said Annabel, 
 gratefully. " So few people would have thought of 
 that. But I don't suppose there is anything left here 
 that would be interesting; unless did you think there 
 might be letters or papers ?" she added, anxiously. 
 
 " I did not think of them. I only thought there might 
 be little personal things that you would care to keep." 
 
 "' But that is not right," said Annabel, recovering 
 her somewhat imperious tone at once. " What do you 
 know may be inside this box ? The very papers that 
 we are looking for ! I will not open it unless you are 
 here to see." 
 
 " Oh, please, do not put me in that position. Don't 
 you suppose I can trust you to tell me if there is any- 
 thing important in that box ? " 
 
 " You may trust me, but Mr. Clissold would not. 
 Think of what Mr. Clissold would say. I am sure Dr. 
 Lechmere too would tell you that you were doing a 
 very unwise thing in my interest as well as in your 
 own, Mr. Daunay. For who is to say what I put into 
 this box, even if I take nothing important out ! " 
 
 " Your argument is unanswerable, just because it is 
 without reason," said Jocelyn, very gravely. " There-
 
 Betha's Work-Box. 259 
 
 fore, if you like, I will be present while yon open the 
 box. But you are doing away with the pleasure I hoped 
 to give you and also to receive." 
 
 She put out her slim hand to him, and he saw with 
 surprise that her eyes had filled with tears. " I am so 
 sorry," she said. " I know I seem most ungracious, 
 most unfeeling ; but indeed that is not what I really 
 am. It is only that I have been made so so sore, so 
 unhappy, by what these lawyers have said of me ! I 
 know you don't suspect me ; and yet, for the sake of 
 my own reputation, I think I must ask you to behave 
 as if you did." 
 
 " I don't think anything of you but what is gracious 
 and womanly ; I quite understand. Now, will you 
 open the box ? Take it over to the table by the window ; 
 you will have more light there." 
 
 She saw that he made this suggestion so that she 
 might turn her back to him and hide her face if she 
 chose while she opened the box ; she thanked him with 
 her eyes, but shook her head. " I will open it here," 
 she answered quietly. 
 
 He did not offer to cut the string or to remove the 
 wrappings from the box ; he knew very well that she 
 would much prefer to do all these things for herself. 
 The brown paper and the white lay presently on the 
 little sofa ; the old-fashioned box of inlaid woods, with 
 a pearly center-pattern upon the lid, and lock of the 
 same material, stood before the girl whose fingers 
 trembled as she handled her mother's treasure. She 
 opened it, and looked reverently at the spools and peai-1 
 winders ; there were still some skeins of yellow and 
 white silk laid in one of the compartments of the upper 
 tray. Annabel took the embroidered muslin and looked
 
 260 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 at it ; she saw the place where the needle had been last 
 thrust into the flimsy stuff. " It is a little sleeve a 
 baby's sleeve," she said more to herself than to Jocelyn. 
 And then "Oh, mother, mother!" she cried, and, 
 bending down her face, she burst into passionate tears. 
 
 " What a fool I was to bring it ! " Jocelyn groaned to 
 himself. But he did not know that she came nearer 
 to loving him for that gift of his than for anything she 
 had yet seen in his character or behavior. And when 
 presently she grew calmer, she felt grateful to him for 
 not having made any remark nor even tried to comfort 
 her ; and she made a great effort to conquer herself, 
 because she had always been told that men hate to see 
 a woman's tears. So she lifted up her face and dried 
 her eyes and made some little feminine excuse for her- 
 self. 
 
 " It took me by surprise I am so sorry," she said. 
 
 She laid the little sleeve away by itself and lifted the 
 tray bodily from its resting-place. The lower part of 
 the box was almost entirely filled with letters ; and 
 Jocelyn knew, almost without glancing at them, that 
 they were in John Daunay 's hand. His love-letters, 
 perhaps, written to Betha before she left her home, and 
 treasured by her in this faintly perfumed box among 
 the dainty implements of her woman's work. 
 
 " Are they my father's, do you think ? " Annabel 
 said, almost in a whisper. " Ought we to read them ? " 
 
 "You may read them ; you must/' said Jocelyn. 
 
 " And here is a little book with writing in it faint, 
 delicate writing ; it must be hers. I think it is a sort 
 of diary see, it was written quite twenty-five years 
 ago." 
 
 " Twenty-five years ago ? "
 
 Betha's Work-Box. 261 
 
 "That is the date of my mother's marriage, is it 
 not ?" said Annabel, turning a little pale. 
 
 "Yes, yes. Open the book, for Heaven's sake, and 
 see." 
 
 She looked almost surprised at his impatience, but 
 began at once to read the first page and to turn over 
 the yellow leaves. Some paper at the beginning of the 
 book had evidently been torn out, and the diary, such 
 as it was, began in the middle of a sentence. 
 
 " . . . Never so happy in my life. I hope poor 
 Jane will not be very angry. I wanted to write to her, 
 but J. would not let me. He is very kind, but he must 
 have his own way. I know Jane will be so anxious to 
 hear about our marriage, and I asked John to let me 
 tell her where and when it took place " 
 
 " Look," said Annabel, holding the book towards 
 Jocelyn as she read. And he read it also over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " But he would not hear of it, and said there would 
 be time enough when we got back to England. It 
 seemed very odd to be married at what they call the 
 Embassy instead of in church, but John says it is quite 
 right, and he has taken every care that the ceremony 
 was properly performed. When we leave Paris " 
 
 " Annabel," said Jocelyn, " shall I go over to Paris ? 
 It seems the best way of finding out the truth ? " 
 
 " You ? But it is too much for you to do you 
 should send one of Mr. Clissold's clerks," said Anna- 
 bel, with the tears running down her cheeks, although 
 there was a touch of almost hysterical laughter in her 
 voice. 
 
 "Won't you trust me, Annabel ?" 
 
 " Oh, do you think it is all right ?"
 
 262 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Yes, indeed I do. This is the missing clue. 
 They were married abroad ; that is what has misled us 
 all the time." 
 
 " You know it's not for the sake of the money that 
 I care," said Annabel, with an irrepressible sob. 
 
 " Of course I know that." 
 
 "It is for my mother. You would feel just as I do 
 if it were your mother." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I should. I am very glad, Annabel." 
 
 " Oh, you can't be," said Annabel, with a little re- 
 turn of the whimsical spirit which so often possessed 
 her. " It must be a great blow to you." 
 
 "Not in the least. I would far rather you had it 
 than I. We can be friends now, can we not ? " 
 
 " Of course, if you don't mind my having been so 
 disagreeable in the past. I must think of some way of 
 making up to you for it 
 
 " There's a very easy way," said Jocelyn. 
 
 " What is that ?" 
 
 " Care for me a little, Annabel," said the young man, 
 almost in a whisper. But she drew back, at once, 
 looking a little grave. 
 
 "I must know people very well before I care for 
 them. But I am very grateful to you, Cousin 
 Jocelyn." 
 
 "I don't want gratitude." 
 
 " It is all I can give at present/' said Annabel, with 
 a subtle smile; "so you must be content. And now 
 shall I go upstairs and tell Aunt Jane ? " 
 
 Jocelyn consented to wait ; but before long, he too was 
 summoned to Miss Arnold's room, and a sort of family 
 council was convened. He was deputed to go to Dr. 
 Lechmere and tell him what had been found ; for,
 
 Betha's Work-Box. 263 
 
 after all, it was possible, as Jane Arnold wisely said, 
 that there was not so much real information in Betha's 
 hastily jotted notes as had been at first believed. 
 They did not absolutely say, for instance, whether the 
 marriage had been performed at the Embassy in Paris 
 or elsewhere. But it seemed, at any rate, likely that 
 they were on the right path and would speedily be able 
 to demonstrate to all objectors (including Mr. Clissold) 
 that John Daunay and Betha Arnold had indeed been 
 man and wife.
 
 264 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVII. 
 
 A TEMPTEESS. 
 
 So Jocelyn went off to Paris the next day, having 
 told Edith the whole story, bnt leaving Lenore under 
 dire apprehensions of what would happen to her next, 
 for Madame Juliette was waxing furious under the 
 many delays of her customer to pay even a portion of 
 her account, and Mrs. Wycherly simply dared not go 
 back to London until she had the wherewithal to 
 stave off the demands of her creditor. She had had, 
 she considered, two strings to her bow when she came 
 north : there was Reynold Harding, who was wealthy 
 enough to pay her debts a hundred times over without 
 any inconvenience, and there was Jocelyn Daunay, 
 whom she had felt quite certain of being able to bring 
 to her feet again. Bu t Reynold had given her to under- 
 stand that he was rather tired of paying her debts, 
 and Jocelyn had calmly told her that he was in love 
 with some one else. To ask either of them for money 
 after that would be extremely humiliating ; and al- 
 though she did not mind humiliation, when there was 
 anything to be got by it, she desired, of course, to avoid 
 it if there were other ways open to her. 
 
 Under the circumstances she resolved to stay at 
 Daunay's Tower until she was absolutely turned out, 
 and she turned greedy eyes upon the earnings of her 
 brother. She did not know much about doctors, but
 
 A Temptress. 265 
 
 she had heard it said that Eugene had a very large 
 practise, and she did not consider the fact that the 
 people were mostly poor and paid extremely small fees. 
 She heard vaguely that Lord This and Lady That 
 and other of the county magnates had sent for Dr. 
 Lechmere on an emergency and had praised him to 
 the skies ; and she supposed that they paid him at 
 the rate which they would pay to a London doctor. 
 She thought of the men whom she knew in Harley 
 Street and "Wimpole Street drawing in thousands a 
 year and faring sumptuously every day. If Eugene 
 chose to live in a little whitewashed house in a village 
 street it was probably that he might save himself ex- 
 pense. No doubt he was putting by ; surely he had 
 money at his command with which to help a sister in 
 the hour of need. Lenore reckoned him as a third 
 string to her bow. 
 
 She imposed upon Edith rather skillfuly. She 
 knew that Edith always distrusted her a little, and 
 therefore she was on her guard. The two women were 
 alone together at Daunay's Tower, and it was necessary 
 to say something, so Lenore let it trickle out with ap- 
 parent reluctance that she had lately lost a great deal 
 of money and was in debt to her dressmaker. " Not 
 much you know, dear Edith, for I never run up long 
 bills ; but it distresses me so much that I feel as if I 
 could not bear to go back to London until my remit- 
 tances come in from papa at the end of September. 
 I shall be able to pay poor Madame Juliette then, and 
 I shirk going back to town until I have the money in 
 hand. Will it be too long if I stay here until papa's 
 cheque arrives ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. "We shall be delighted to keep you
 
 266 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 with us," said Edith, really commiserating her ; for 
 the burden of debt was one with which she could 
 sympathize, as she had seen her parents bearing the 
 weight of it all through the early years of her life. 
 " Stay as long as we stay, if you like ; but, you 
 know, that if John Daunay's marriage is proved his 
 daughter will take everything under his will, and we 
 shall just have to go back to our little flat in London, 
 while she reigns at Daunay's Tower." 
 
 "Yes, the little minx! I wish I could strangle 
 her," said Lenore but to herself only, for she knew 
 that such sentiments would be entirely out of place in 
 dealing with Edith Daunay. She uttered a little moan 
 of sympathy and dismay. " What a pity it is that 
 there is a daughter ; it would have been so much nicer 
 if poor dear Jocelyn had come in for everything. But 
 don't you think it very probable that no record of the 
 marriage will be found ? " 
 
 " Then if there is not," said Edith, gravely, ' ' I don't 
 think that Jocelyn's conscience would allow him to 
 keep the property ; he would therefore hand it back 
 entirely to Miss Daunay, or, if she refused to take it 
 from him in that way, he might agree to a compromise." 
 
 Lenore threw a questioning glance at her ; did Edith 
 know nothing of her brother's infatuation for Annabel ? 
 If she did, she was evidently resolved not to betray 
 him. 
 
 " If you have to go back to Londoii," said Lenore, 
 resignedly, " I think I shall take a room at the Daunay 
 Arms for a week or two. It cannot be expensive, and 
 I want to economize ; besides, it looks deliciously clean. 
 Then I should have the advantage of being under Dr. 
 Lechmere for a time, for really, although he is only a
 
 A Temptress. 267 
 
 local doctor, I have never found anybody who under- 
 stands my constitution so well." 
 
 " Dr. Lechmere is very clever, I believe," said 
 Edith, with a touch of reserve in her voice. She had 
 never been able quite to understand the fascination 
 which Eugene Lechmere exercised over her brother. 
 There was something a little unsympathetic in her 
 attitude towards him, and now she added with a 
 sudden change of tone, "I am going up to pay my re- 
 spects to Miss Arnold and Miss Daunay at the Moor- 
 side Farm. Jocelyn asked me to do so before he left. 
 "Will you come with me, or can you amuse yourself ? 
 It is rather a long walk/' 
 
 "Much too long for me," said Lenore, plaintively. 
 " How strong yon must be to go such a distance, and 
 all by yourself too ! I should never have the courage ; 
 besides, I am expecting the doctor this afternoon. He 
 said that he should like to see me again, and perhaps 
 to examine me, as he does not think my heart is very 
 strong. I shall have Abbott with me, if you are out." 
 
 "Yes, do just as you please, dear/' said Edith, who 
 had no practical interest in Lenore's ailments, and 
 thought it a good thing if she could amuse herself 
 with Dr. Lechmere or anybody else. But Mrs. Wy- 
 cherly was by no means as fragile as she represented 
 herself to be. She had already been energetic enough 
 in apprising herself of Eugene Lechmere's plans for the 
 day, and probable movements, and as soon as Edith 
 was well out of sight on her way to Moorside Farm, 
 Lenore calmly put on her hat and cloak and went out 
 in the direction of High Rigg, and speedily found her- 
 self at Dr. Lechmere's door. 
 
 " It is rather convenient that you are a doctor," she
 
 268 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 said, when Mrs. Beccles had ushered her into the doc- 
 tor's study, and he had given her the conventional 
 greeting that the housekeeper's presence allowed. It 
 seemed to Lenore that Mrs. Beccles was rather long in 
 taking her departure. The old woman bustled about 
 the room for a minute or two on pretense of making 
 up the fire, until the doctor had to give her a word of 
 dismissal. Visitors of Mrs. Wycherly's type were cer- 
 tainly infrequent at Dr. Lechmere's house. " If it 
 were not supposed that I came to you for a consulta- 
 tion, of course it would not be proper for me to come 
 at all ; and that would be awkward, when we have so 
 much to say to each other." 
 
 " Have we much to say to each other. Dear me, I 
 didn't know," said Eugene, with his accustomed dry- 
 ness. 
 
 " Well, I've a good deal to say to you at any rate," 
 said Lenore, drawing up her chair to the fire and 
 settling herself comfortably. " How cold it is in these 
 regions ; I am nearly driven mad with neuralgia. If I 
 had not my own reasons for staying I would go back to 
 London to-morrow. I hate these chilly places." 
 
 " I thought you wished me to recommend you to 
 stay." 
 
 " Oh, that was only for appearance' sake. One 
 must render a reason for the things one does, and I 
 wish to remain at the Tower until Jocelvn comes 
 back." 
 
 " So you 're still bent on subjugating that poor young 
 man ! " 
 
 " Why not ? He would be much happier with me 
 than with Annabel Daunay." 
 
 The angry red came into Dr. Lechmere's face, but
 
 A Temptress. 269 
 
 he answered with his customary lightness of tone, 
 " That is, I suppose, a matter of opinion." 
 
 "It comes to this," said Lenore, unwinding the furs 
 from her neck and looking at him steadily, " that I 
 must do something definite for myself in one way or 
 another. As I told you before, I have a very small in- 
 come, and I am head over ears in debt. I want to 
 marry a rich man, and if Jocelyn Da u nay is rich I will 
 marry him, in spite of all the Annabels in the world." 
 
 " You seem very sure about it ; but what if Daunay 
 turns out to be a poor man and Annabel is the heiress ? " 
 
 "That would complicate matters certainly." She 
 looked into the fire and sat for a moment silent. " It 
 would be so easy to manage the whole affair if you would 
 really make up your mind to stand in with me," she 
 said at last. 
 
 "What do you mean to ask ?" with real anxiety in 
 his tone. 
 
 " You don't set up for being scrupulous, do you, 
 Eugene ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear no," said Lechmere readily, his lips tight- 
 ening a little. " A man in my position has no right to 
 be scrupulous." 
 
 " That's what I thought. What good can it do 
 you ?" said Lenore, with easy cynicism. "It is not 
 as though you had had a very reputable career, you 
 know, or as if you had not done once for the sake of 
 money what you might do again." 
 
 Eugene looked at her speechlessly for a minute or 
 two. " So yon have believed the worst of me all along," 
 he said, in a smothered voice. 
 
 " I am not a child," said Lenore, contemptuously. 
 " Although you got off at the time with a verdict of
 
 270 Daunay's -Tower. 
 
 manslaughter, you must know that everybody believed 
 there was no accident in the matter. You owed the 
 man money which you could not pay and, as it hap- 
 pened, chance threw him into your hands at a critical 
 moment. Of course your counsel was very clever with 
 the plea of intoxication that you didn't know what 
 you were doing, and all that sort of thing ; but I have 
 heard people say that a very clever surgeon can gener- 
 ally do his work as well when he is drunk as when he 
 is sober if he chooses to do it at all." 
 
 If she had looked at her brother's face while she was 
 speaking, she would have seen a curious change in it. 
 At first there was some astonishment ; then bitter anger 
 and disgust, which made the veins swell on his forehead 
 and gave a lurid gleam to his hazel eyes ; then the look 
 of passion was succeeded by one of intense self-repres- 
 sion and deliberate endurance, which left him extremely 
 pale. He had been leaning with his elbow on the 
 mantelpiece, but he now stood erect, with his hands 
 thrust into his pockets, his shoulders slightly thrown 
 back, every muscle tense and alert, like one preparing 
 to receive an assault or, if necessary, to attack in re- 
 turn. 
 
 But at the end of Lenore's remarks, and after a dead 
 silence of a moment or two, the tension seemed to re- 
 lax ; he dropped down into the nearest chair, squared 
 his elbows on its wooden arms and joined the tips of 
 his fingers thoughtfully together, after the approved pro- 
 fessional fashion ; then he said very quietly, " Well ?" 
 
 " Surely you don't need me to put it into words ? " 
 said Lenore. " You are a doctor ; you know how to 
 manage a matter of this kind in a thousand ways. 
 Why don't you do it and set Jocelyn free ? "
 
 A Temptress. 271 
 
 He scrutinized her as if she were an animal of a new 
 species which he had never seen before. 
 
 " I should rather like to hear in plain words what 
 you want me to do/' he said, suavely. " One is so apt 
 to make mistakes in a matter of this sort." 
 
 " You are not likely to make any mistake," said Mrs. 
 "Wycherly. " I dare say you are cleverer than you were 
 twenty years ago ; and what does one girl's life matter 
 more or less ? " 
 
 But that was a little too much for Eugene's equa- 
 nimity. He started from his seat and walked across 
 the room and back again. 
 
 ' ' Good God ! " he muttered, looking down afc his 
 sister with an expression of utter loathing and almost 
 indeed of dread. "Is it possible that you you, a wo- 
 man wish me to murder a girl of eighteen for the sake 
 of a little money ? Are you mad or only wicked, 
 Lenore ? " 
 
 She quailed a little beneath the terrible passion in his 
 voice ; but she knew how to make a retreat. " I did 
 not say anything of the kind," she answered pettishly. 
 " Though, if I did, I don't know that it would be so 
 very terrible. I have often heard people say how desir- 
 able it would be if there were some way of safely re- 
 moving persons whose lives were not valuable to the 
 community." 
 
 " And you think Annabel Daunay's life is not vain- 
 ale to the community ? " said Eugene, still studying 
 her face. His excitement had died down, but his voice 
 was very stern. 
 
 " Valuable ? It is a distinct injury to at least three 
 persons," said Lenore, with indignation. " It injures 
 Jocelyn, because she will probably take possession of
 
 272 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 the money that ought to be his ; consequently, it in- 
 jures me, because I cannot marry Jocelyn if he is a 
 poor man ; it injures you, because it would be much 
 more to your advantage that Jocelyn Daunay should 
 marry your sister than that he should marry Annabel." 
 
 "I don't quite see that/' said the doctor, ironically. 
 " Your calculations are a little wide of the mark. As 
 I have known Annabel Daunay all her life, and she 
 happens to have some sort of affection for me which 
 you have not it would probably be more to my advan- 
 tage that she should be mistress of Daunay's Tower than 
 you." 
 
 "Perhaps you want to marry her yourself," said 
 Lenore, looking at him critically. 
 
 " God forbid ! " he said, turning away his face ; but 
 the significance of that ejaculation was entirely lost 
 upon Lenore. 
 
 "Then," she said, almost in a whisper, "why don't 
 you come over to my side ? I would make it well worth 
 your while, Eugene. But I don't mean anything 
 dreadful such as you yourself suggested. Now, mind, 
 I never said the word, but why couldn't you do some- 
 thing or other with your drugs ? I remember reading 
 something of the sort in a novel only the other day, 
 where a doctor destroyed a girl's good looks or made an 
 idiot of her, or something of that kind you could do 
 that quite easily, I should think. You doctors know 
 so many wonderful things." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Lechmere, quietly. " I could do 
 that quite easily, no doubt." 
 
 She scarcely detected the note of satire in his tone. 
 
 "Nobody would ever suspect yon," she said eagerly. 
 " You are in and out of that house every day of the
 
 A Temptress. 273 
 
 week, and I hear that both aunt and niece are your 
 patients. No young man would continue to go after a 
 girl whose skin was disfigured, for instance, or who had 
 lost the use of her senses ; at any rate, he would not 
 want to marry her." 
 
 " Do you know that you are talking like a fiend ? " 
 said the doctor ; "with the face of an angel too." 
 
 " That's a very pretty compliment," she laughed. 
 " Why, Eugene, you must know that in southern coun- 
 tries it is a very usual thing for a woman to get rid of a 
 rival in that way. The lower classes throw vitriol at 
 each other, do they not ? 1 should not like that, but 
 there are other ways of bringing about the same result." 
 
 " But even if you succeeded in your object," said Dr. 
 Lechmere, in a biting tone, " even supposing you had 
 destroyed Annabel's beauty and intellect and all that 
 makes life worth living, how would you be the better 
 for that ? except, of course, as a matter of personal sat- 
 isfaction. Don't you see that even as a lunatic, if she 
 were one, she would continue to be the owner of Dau- 
 nay's Tower and the property ? " 
 
 "Oh, well, yes for a time/' said Lenore, in her 
 softest and silkiest voice. "Of course, when she got 
 to that stage, it would be a sheer act of mercy to ter- 
 minate her existence." 
 
 " Yes/' said the doctor, cynically, " no doubt it 
 would." 
 
 " "Well," she said, looking up at him in a friendly 
 manner, " what do yon say ? Will you agree? Oh, 
 you need not committ yourself, you know. There is 
 never any need for one to say anything incriminating ; 
 but really it is an idea worth considering ; and if you 
 would but think it over and just tell me in a day or 
 18
 
 274 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 two that you were on my side, I should understand and 
 would simply watch for results. There will be no need 
 for either of us to mention it again." 
 
 " And what would be my share for this precious 
 business ? " ask the doctor, in a voice of steel. 
 
 Lenore hesitated. " Of course we could never tell 
 Jocelyn," she murmured. " But I shall have plenty of 
 money at my command, and you could call upon me 
 for it whenever you chose." 
 
 " Do you think the bribe is big enough ? " said 
 Eugene, looking at her with an odd, sour smile. " On 
 the whole, Lenore, I think you are the worst woman I 
 ever knew, and that is saying a good deal." 
 
 "What does that matter, if yon agree to my terms ?" 
 she said, standing up to go. 
 
 " Not the least. But I have not agreed to them yet. 
 Remember you said I had better take a day or two to 
 think them over," and, still calmly smiling, Dr. Lech- 
 mere put her cloak round her graceful shoulders and 
 helped her to wind her fur boa round her neck. He 
 was not without a curious thought of the ease with 
 which he could have strangled her while he held the 
 long fur in his hands.
 
 Two Conspirators. 275 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 TWO CONSPIRATORS. 
 
 LENORE remained in an unsatisfied state for several 
 days. Dr. Lechmere had not come near her, although 
 she twice wrote to him to demand his attendance. He 
 sent back word that he was quite too busy to see her, 
 and recommended her sending for a specialist to Car- 
 lisle. Mrs. Wycherly was astonished and a little of- 
 fended when she received this communication. Did it 
 mean that Eugene was refusing to lend himself to her 
 project ? But surely he would let her know in some 
 unmistakable manner when he had made up his mind. 
 
 The real fact was that Eugene was suffering from 
 what might be described as complete moral nausea. He 
 could not bear to go near the woman who had suggest- 
 ed such an unspeakable horror to his mind. He was 
 by nature a sensitive man, although he had enclosed 
 himself in a husk of outward roughness and apparent 
 ill-humor, and he felt this revelation of his sister's dis- 
 position with every fiber of his being. She was, at 
 heart, what the world credited him with having been 
 one who would not refuse even the task of murder for 
 the sake of gain. The accusation had always seemed to 
 him perfectly monstrous. That he might kill a man 
 through accident, through carelessness, even through 
 passion was possible, but never from a deliberate pur- 
 pose of greed.
 
 276 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 He was obliged to wait until he could to some extent 
 conquer the natural repulsion which he felt towards 
 her ; for, as he had seen almost from the beginning, it 
 was no use to expend his energies in verbal reprobation 
 of her schemes. He knew her well enough for that. 
 She would simply stare and laugh at him if he suggest- 
 ed that her proposition had been wicked and unwoman- 
 ly. She would have thrown the history of his own 
 crime, as she would have called it, in his teeth ; and it 
 was one of the worst results of that episode in his his- 
 tory, he reflected, that it seemed to deprive him of any 
 moral standpoint when speaking to his kind. " Who 
 are you/' he seemed to hear a voice asking him, " that 
 you should lecture other people on the enormity of their 
 offense, when you yourself very nearly escaped hang- 
 ing ? and are you to preach kindliness, gentleness, hon- 
 esty, and sobriety when you yourself outraged all the 
 rules of righteousness in your early youth ? True, it 
 is twenty years ago, and you have changed your manner 
 of living since then, but you cannot get away from the 
 knowledge that you once did these things ; and there 
 are stains which can never be wiped out." And, hear- 
 ing this voice in his own heart, Eugene Lechmere had 
 always found it difficult to reprove or exhort any other 
 man. 
 
 It would certainly be of no use to exhort or reprove 
 his sister. She would laugh him to scorn and, worst 
 of all, would not be led to abandon her evil schemes 
 against Annabel. It might be better subtly to thwart 
 her designs than to set himself in open opposition to 
 her. It would be a difficult task to bear with her in 
 the interviews to which he must lend himself. He did 
 not even feel sure that he could carry the thing through,
 
 Two Conspirators. 277 
 
 so strong was the feeling of indignation and disgust 
 whenever he recalled the promptings of her speech. 
 But it might be the best way of protecting Annabel, 
 and for her sake Eugene thought that he might, for 
 once, dissemble. 
 
 Dissimulation was not easy to him. He could be 
 reticent enough, but he scorned pretenses of any kind ; 
 still there was not much that he could now do for An- 
 nabel for he counted his long friendship for her and 
 the innumerable cares that he had showered upon her 
 as simply nothing; and to be of use to Annabel was a 
 thing to live for, and to be glad of life. 
 
 It was during this period of waiting that Lenore had 
 a curious little conversation with Reynold .Harding. 
 Reynold had, of course, soon tired of his sojourn in the 
 village inn, and, when Jocelyn went to Paris, Mr. Hard- 
 ing thought it as well to take up his abode at the house 
 of a bachelor friend in the neighborhood. There was 
 some rather good shooting to be had, and the weather 
 was pleasant. It was no use going back to London at 
 that time, and, as he had no special engagements, he 
 thought he might as well stay where he was, especially 
 as he wanted to keep an eye upon Lenore, in whose plans 
 he was interested. He hoped she would marry Daunay, 
 or if not, some one else. She was so clever that he was 
 always afraid lest she might end in wishing to marry 
 him. Reynold had been Mrs. Wycherly's lover at one 
 time in his life, but he had no desire to marry her now, 
 and felt that it would be a relief to him when she was 
 settled and provided for. 
 
 He came to Dannay's Tower one day, therefore, in 
 order to see how things were going on. He found 
 Lenore alone in the drawing-room a great bare, white
 
 278 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 and gold place, quite unsuitable to the character of the 
 building. It was very desolate-looking, in spite of all 
 ifs grandeur. Lenore had made a kind of encampment 
 for herself near a roaring fire ; she had an armchair, a 
 footstool, a screen, and she had wrapped a fur cloak 
 around her fragile form. 
 
 Reynold sat down on a gilt chair, which creaked be- 
 neath his weight. " You look horridly cold. I can- 
 not think why you stay in a house like this." 
 
 " Oh, we shall have it done up some day," said 
 Lenore, with a smile of perfect confidence. 
 
 " We ! Have you settled it with Jocelyn Daunay, 
 then ? " 
 
 " "Well, very nearly," said Lenore, sweetly. " There 
 are one or two details to arrange, but they will soon be 
 got over." 
 
 " What about the claimant to the estate ? " said 
 Reynold. 
 
 " Oh, I think she is an impostor," said Lenore, with 
 the greatest calm. " I don't think we need trouble our- 
 selves at all about her." 
 
 " That's a good thing. I say, Lenore, do you know 
 who they have got as a doctor here in the village ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. But nobody dreams that he has 
 any connection with me, so please don't say anything 
 about it." 
 
 " Doesn't Daunay know ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I wouldn't have him know for the 
 world not yet, at any rate ; for when we are married, 
 of course " with a little sigh " of course I shall have 
 no secrets from my husband." 
 
 " Oh, won't you ? " said Re} r nold, with a sudden roar 
 of laughter. Then he became grave again, and slowly
 
 Two Conspirators. 279 
 
 shook his head. " If I were you I would be careful 
 how you try to deceive Daunay. He is one of those 
 stupidly honest fellows who think a woman a regular 
 fiend if she has anything to conceal." 
 
 "What have I to conceal?" said Lenore, opening 
 her lovely languorous eyes at him. " I assure you that 
 my husband will have nothing to complain of me in 
 that respect." 
 
 " Oh, all right," said Reynold ; " though it strikes 
 me that he will be rather astonished if you tell him 
 everything that I know about yon, Lenore. And as for 
 Eugene, you'll have your work out out for you there. 
 He won't much like to be brother-in-law to a celebrated 
 criminal." 
 
 " As it happens, he is extremely friendly with Eu- 
 gene," said Mrs. Wycherly. " I don't know how it is, 
 but Eugene always had that sort of attraction for some 
 people. I never could see it myself. I think he has 
 grown singularly disagreeable." 
 
 " I never was so flabergasted in my life," said Rey- 
 nold, shaking himself like a great dog, "as I said just 
 now when I walked down the street and met him in 
 that smart little turn-out of his, driving a rattling good 
 horse too, at a break-neck pace, just as he used to do in 
 Somersetshire. Do you remember, your father always 
 said he would break his neck some day or ' other ; he 
 was such a reckless fellow in those days." 
 
 " He has turned quite respectable now," said Lenore, 
 indifferently. It might be to her interest by and by, to 
 represent Dr. Lechmere as a reformed character. " Who 
 is it that says you attain respectability when you drive 
 a gig ? Well, Eugene drives a gig and is happy." 
 
 Reynold laughed again. " Poor devil ! " he said,
 
 280 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " he deserves a little good luck now to make up for that 
 fiasco in his youth. I simply stood in the road and 
 stared at him. I think I roared out his name ; I am 
 not sure. He glared at me in that furious way of his 
 which I so well remember. He did not make the faint- 
 est sign of recognition ; he might have been cut out of 
 stone for any response he made. I watched him up the 
 hill for some time and, of course, asked who he was. 
 I wonder I did not come across him before, during those 
 three or four days that I spent at the inn." 
 
 "He goes such long rounds, " said Lenore. "And I 
 fancy he was away for a day or two." 
 
 " I saw him stop," said Harding, reflectively, " at 
 that farm on the side of the hill. Have you ever been 
 there ? Have yon noticed what an uncommonly pretty 
 girl there is at that house ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Leuore, faintly. She wished that men 
 would not admire Annabel Daunay quite so much. 
 
 "Never saw any one prettier," remarked her cousin. 
 " Complexion marvelous, and such an air with her ; 
 such grace and a kind of distinction which one does not 
 usually see in a farmer's daughter ; speaks well too." 
 
 " Did you speak to her then ? " in astonishment. 
 
 " Of course I did. Told her I had lost my way, 
 wanted a drink of water or something of that kind ; in 
 fact, I was so overpowered by fatigue that she was 
 obliged to ask me into the kitchen, where she was per- 
 forming culinary operations of sorts. She gave me 
 bread and cheese and a mug of beer." 
 
 " You must have felt like the traditional policeman 
 with the conventional cook," said Lenore. 
 
 "I don't know what I felt like ; I only know that I 
 never saw a prettier pair of eyes in my life. I couldn't
 
 Two Conspirators. 281 
 
 get her name out of her, although I all but asked. She 
 lives with an old aunt ; the aunt's name is Arnold." 
 
 " Well, you will be gratified to hear," said Lenore, 
 with deliberate emphasis, " that is the young person 
 who claims to be John Dan nay's daughter and wants 
 to turn Jocelyn out of the estate." 
 
 " By Jove, you don't say so ! " exclaimed Harding. 
 " That's uncommonly interesting. Why, she may be 
 an heiress, a lady in her own right. I shall look her up 
 again." 
 
 " But what is the use ? " said Mrs. "Wycherly, a little 
 startled by this avowal. 
 
 " The use ? What does one go to see a pretty girl 
 for ? Gad, I'll have a kiss from her before all's said 
 and done." 
 
 "Don't be so coarse, Reynold. You will get your- 
 self into trouble if you are not careful. Supposing she 
 should turn out to be the heiress " 
 
 " I thought you said she was not ! " 
 
 " I believe her to be an impostor, certainly ; but she 
 is the sort of girl that would impose on any one." 
 
 " She won't impose upon me," said Harding, with 
 his great laugh. " I shall get a rise out of her before 
 I've done. If she turns out to be the heiress, why 
 shouldn't I marry her ? " 
 
 It was a new idea .to Lenore, and she was not sure 
 whether she liked it or not. She wondered how far 
 matters had advanced between Jocelyn and Annabel, 
 and whether Annabel was the sort of girl who would be 
 easily won. If Reynold married her she would be out 
 of Jocelyn's reach that would be one good thing. 
 On the other hand, Annabel would be almost certain 
 to dislike her, and Reynold, influenced by his wife,
 
 282 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 would cease to be generous. Still, if she Lenore 
 married Jocelyn, she could afford to dispense with 
 Reynold's assistance. And also she need not trouble 
 Eugene any further to put Annabel "out of the run- 
 ning " ; that would be a good thing, because Eugene had 
 a trick of saying nasty things. On the whole, she 
 thought that she would throw her influence into the 
 scale of Reynold's courtship. 
 
 " That would be quite delightful, "she said, after a 
 pause. ' ' Why, Reynold, what a very good idea ! A 
 beautiful girl like that and a woman of property, 
 too. You would indeed be fortunate ! But what a 
 pity you are not a little younger ! " 
 
 "Think so?" he said, pulling at his mustache, 
 and looking down at his own mighty limbs. " I don't 
 know ; I fancy a young girl rather likes a rniddle-aged 
 man. It flatters her to think that he cares for her." 
 
 "Well, you had better be careful. You have a rival 
 in the field." 
 
 " Eh ? Who's that ? " 
 
 She hesitated. " Jocelyn has been flirting with her 
 a little," she said at length. " I would make the run- 
 ning, as I suppose you call it, while he is away." 
 
 " Thanks for the tip," said Reynold, nonchalantly. 
 " It's worth something, is that, Lenore. " You're a 
 nice little woman when you like ; it's a pity that you 
 don't meet with some rich fellow who would make you 
 happy and comfortable. It'll soon be too late." 
 
 Lenore's lip quivered. There was enough truth in 
 what Reynold said to make his words singularly gall- 
 ing. 
 
 " You are not kind, Reynold, although I am doing 
 my best to help you," she said, pressing her handker-
 
 Two Conspirators. 283 
 
 chief to her eyes. " If you only knew how worried I 
 am, how hard pressed, you would not reproach me for 
 my failure." 
 
 "Poor little woman !" said the big man, pityingly. 
 "I didn't mean to vex you, Lenore. I will show you 
 that I'm your friend still, see if I don't." 
 
 He took his leave immediately afterwards, almost in 
 silence, and Mrs. Wycherly knew better than to press 
 him to explain himself ; but she was by no means sur- 
 prised when the next post brought her a big crested 
 envelope which contained simply a few words written 
 on a piece of paper and a cheque ! 
 
 "For a good little cousin, from the old brute." 
 That was the inscription on the paper. And the 
 cheque, payable on demand to Lenore Wycherly, was for 
 two hundred and fifty pounds. It was Reynold's way to 
 throw his money about like this, and Lenore almost 
 forgot to be grateful to him in considering what a lavish 
 fool he must be. Notwithstanding her penchant for 
 Jocelyn, she would have married Eeynold Harding on 
 the morrow, if only he would have been so kind as to 
 ask her. But, as he sometimes said to himself with a 
 laugh, " Anything but that ! " 
 
 She did not see him again for some days, but she 
 noted with satisfaction that Edith Daunay had begun 
 to ask questions about Mr. Harding with what seemed 
 to be a perturbed air. He was Lenore's cousin, she 
 knew ; but was she well acquainted with him ? Was 
 he a man of good character ? He seemed to be stay- 
 ing at the shooting-box of young Mr. Robson, who was 
 noted for his "fastness" and wild behavior generally. 
 Did Mr. Harding approve of the revelries which were 
 supposed to go on at this house ?
 
 284 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " I'm sure I can't tell you, my dear Edith," said Le- 
 nore, with some tartness. " It seems to me that you 
 have been listening to gossip, if I may be so bold as to 
 say so." 
 
 And then Edith collapsed. She had received a visit 
 from Mrs. Crisp, the wife of a clergyman in the neigh- 
 borhood, who professed to be very fond of the people 
 at Moorside Farm and anxious on Annabel's account. 
 Mr. Harding had taken to visiting the farm, and evi- 
 dently saw a good deal of the girl. He was sending 
 fruit and flowers to Miss Arnold every day ; Mrs. Crisp 
 was not sure that he did not send even more valuable 
 things to Annabel. It was open and undisguised court- 
 ship ; and Mrs. Crisp did not think it could come to 
 any good. For why should a rich, middle-aged man 
 like Mr. Eeynold Harding pay such attentions to a girl 
 like Annabel, about whose origin there was always a 
 little shade of mystery ? He could not mean well by 
 her; and it would be a dreadful thing for poor Miss 
 Arnold if the girl ran away, exactly as Betha had done 
 many years ago ! 
 
 ' ' I should say it was all spiteful gossip/' said Edith 
 with a touch of anxiety in her voice, "if it were not 
 that when I called at the farm yesterday I saw the most 
 beautiful hothouse flowers on the table, and some mag- 
 nificent grapes in Miss Arnold's room. Of course she 
 cannot afford them ! But who sends them, if he does 
 not ? I don't think it is quite right. And Annabel 
 colored in the most guilty way when I alluded to them." 
 
 "I should think it is Reynold, certainly," said 
 Lenore. "He has such a lordly way of doing things. 
 You have no idea of the presents he has made me at dif- 
 ferent times ! "
 
 Two Conspirators. 285 
 
 Which Edith certainly had not. 
 
 " You are a relation of his," said Edith, somewhat 
 repressively ; " poor Annabel is not. And she is in 
 such a peculiar position that she ought to be extremely 
 careful. If it were not that Mr. Harding is so rich, 
 one would almost imagine that he was thinking of her 
 fortune ; for I suppose there is little use in doubting 
 that she is the rightful owner of the property." 
 
 "Why does not Jocelyn marry her?" said Lenore, 
 with an odd little curve of the lips. " Then everybody 
 would be satisfied/' 
 
 "Unfortunately people do not fall in love to order/' 
 Edith replied. " Besides, I am sure he would not care 
 to marry a rich woman unless he had a better position 
 of his own." 
 
 Lenore laughed in her sleeve. Edith was a little 
 prim and particular there was no denying it but it 
 would not do to laugh at her openly. She only said 
 that when she saw Eeynold Harding she would ask him 
 to be more on his guard. 
 
 What could she do next ? Why did Eugene not 
 come ? Surely he could not have begun the work that 
 she had suggested to him without saying a word to 
 her ? It would be awkward if he had already done 
 anything to defeat Reynold's plans. 
 
 She thought that she would go up to the Moorside 
 Farm and make acquaintance with Annabel for herself. 
 She would like to see what sort of stuff the girl was 
 made of underneath that dainty exterior. She could 
 easily make her acquaintance with Jocelyn Daunay an 
 excuse ; for it was necessary for the success of her en- 
 terprise to go alone. 
 
 And one must do something ! Life was very dull
 
 286 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 now, with Jocelyn in Paris, Eeynold making love to 
 Annabel, Eugene silent as the dead. She must try to 
 impart some zest to her existence by making for her- 
 self an incursion in the unknown.
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Expedition. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 MBS. WYCHERLY'S EXPEDITION. 
 * 
 
 THE Daunays were under the impression that Mrs. 
 Wycherly could not walk at all, and they would have 
 been much surprised if they had known of how much 
 exertion she was capable. She did a great deal more 
 walking in London than anybody supposed, because 
 she was afraid of getting fat ; and it was only when 
 she stayed in her friends' houses that she posed as the 
 languid, fragile creature who was afraid to tread the 
 country roads. She resolved, therefore, to walk up to 
 the Moorside Farm on the first opportunity ; but she 
 had to wait for a fine day, and also for an afternoon 
 when Edith was elsewhere engaged. She had not long 
 to wait. Miss Daunay had been asked to a picnic (for 
 the neighboring county families had not been long in 
 making her acquaintance, and were bent on showing 
 themselves friendly), and Lenore had insisted most 
 strenuously upon her accepting the invitation. 
 
 "I shall be quite, quite happy at home, "she said. 
 " I have my books and my work, and in the afternoon 
 I will go for a little gentle stroll. You may be quite 
 easy in your mind concerning me." 
 
 And Edith went to her party, rightly deciding that 
 she was not bound to make Mrs. Wycherly her first 
 consideration. 
 
 Leuore scanned the day. The sky was covered with
 
 288 Daunay's Tower. J 
 
 clouds, but the air was very still. The hills looked 
 lividly purple in the distance. " I wonder if it is going 
 to pour with rain," she said to herself. If she had a 
 dislike in the world, it was getting wet. 
 
 She summoned her maid and spoke deliberately. 
 " Abbott," she said, " I am going to take a little stroll 
 up the road ; you know the road I mean : it leads 
 across the fell, as they call it past the Moorside Farm. 
 If I am not home in an hour, go down to the Daunay 
 Arms and tell them to follow me with the pony-car- 
 riage, for it will mean that I am tired or have been de- 
 tained or something. Do you understand ? " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, I understand," said Abbott, knowing 
 that she was not meant to understand anything at 
 all. 
 
 " If Miss Daunay comes back before I have re- 
 turned," said Lenore, " you can tell her what I have 
 said to you, and that I am probably waiting for the 
 pony-carriage to pick me up. There is a green silk 
 dress in my wardrobe that I don't require any longer ; 
 would it be of any use to you, Abbott ?" 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am, it certainly would," said 
 Abbott, demurely. 
 
 " Take it then. I don't want any one coming to 
 meet me, or anything of that sort, you know." 
 
 " I understand, ma'am," said Abbott. 
 
 " I suppose she's meeting somebody on the sly," said 
 Abbott, who had no great opinion of Mrs. "Wycherly's 
 virtues. " She's up to all sorts of little games, site is. 
 I wish she'd marry somebody with money. There'll be 
 a smash-up before long, I know that, and we shan't 
 get paid ; but, law, who would be fool enough to 
 marry her ? " And Abbott shrugged her shoulders
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Expedition. 289 
 
 with an expression of a contempt which would greatly 
 have astonished Mrs. Wycherly if she had ever realized 
 that it could exist. 
 
 She walked slowly until she was out of the village, 
 then breasted the rising ground with vigor. Her 
 elegant languor disappeared when she had a motive for 
 exertion. She met scarcely any one upon the lonely 
 road, but it certainly seemed long to her, and she was 
 glad when the farmhouse came into sight. " It was 
 perhaps foolish of me not to drive all the way," she 
 said to herself. " But then my visit to the farm 
 would be gossiped about, and I want it to seem almost 
 accidental. I wonder if I shall find Reynold there ? " 
 
 But the farmhouse, set in its garden and courtyard, 
 looked, even to her eyes, singularly desolate. She did 
 not know that the farming work was carried on from 
 a different center, and that the Moorside Farm was 
 simply the old name of the house. She looked round 
 for signs of life, for cattle, for poultry, for servants, 
 and was a little amazed to find that none of these 
 things existed. Even the dairy had now passed out of 
 Jane Arnold's hands, and she did not trouble herself 
 about the fowls, which had once been her greatest 
 glory. 
 
 "Is Miss Arnold at home ? " Lenore asked boldly, 
 when she found an open door. It Avas the kitchen-door 
 that in her ignorance she had attacked ; and the rosy 
 maid-servant who answered her summons looked at her 
 with evident surprise. 
 
 " Miss Arnold is ill, ma'am. And Miss Annabel is 
 out." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! And I am so very tired. Do you think 
 Miss Arnold is too ill to see me ? I am a relation of 
 19
 
 2QQ Daunay's Tower. 
 
 some one she knows ; and I am staying at Daunay's 
 Tower." 
 
 The maid's face lightened with intelligence. She 
 knew a good deal about Daunay's Tower, and about 
 Mrs. Wycherly herself. It was a revelation to her to 
 contemplate Mrs. Wycherly's attire : the great black 
 hat with drooping feathers, the sable boa, the delicate 
 lace, the knot of autumn violets at the throat. 
 
 " Will you step in, ma'am ? I am sure Miss Arnold 
 would not like you to go without a rest/' 
 
 It was just what she wanted. She was shown into 
 the horrid little sitting-room, where she sat and shud- 
 dered at the glaring colors, the crude attempts at deco- 
 ration, the absence in everything which she looked upon 
 of art or beauty. The only thing that redeemed the 
 room from utter ugliness was the presence of the love- 
 liest flowers : roses, with subtle perfume and all shades 
 of color, lilies of varying hues, everything in the way 
 of a blossom that could give pleasure or delight at that 
 season of the year. " They must have cost a fortune," 
 said Lenore, burying her face in a bowl of maiden-hair 
 fern and odonto-glossum. " Oh, Reynold, what an 
 extravagant boy you are ! " 
 
 Presently Keziah brought her a cup of fragrant tea, 
 and a request not altogether unexpected would the 
 lady mind stepping up to Miss Arnold's room ? 
 
 It was the very thing that Mrs. Wycherly desired, 
 and she accepted the invitation with alacrity. But she 
 half repented of her ready consent when she entered 
 Jane Arnold's room the room with its air of prepara- 
 tion for sickness, even for death, she thought with 
 the white hangings and the mountain of pillows against 
 which the invalid was propped, and the scent, again,
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Expedition. 291 
 
 of hot-house flowers and eau-de-Cologne, which has for 
 some people almost a repellant significance. Mrs. 
 Wycherly remembered her husband's death-chamber, 
 and shuddered. She did not like the vicinity of death. 
 
 1 ( You asked for me, I think ? " Jane Arnold said, 
 turning her sunken eyes and waxen face towards her 
 visitor. 
 
 A person of more spiritual perception than Mrs. 
 Wycherly would have noticed the benevolence of Jane 
 Arnold's eyes, the serenity and sweetness of her brow, 
 Her face had grown tenfold more refined through 
 suffering ; and therefore tenfold more interesting. Dr. 
 Lechmere, in speaking to Annabel lately, had pleased 
 her by terming it a beautiful face. But it was a beauty 
 which Mrs. Wycherly could not understand. 
 
 "I I beg your pardon," she faltered. "I did not 
 know that you were so ill. I have heard of you so often 
 from friends, that I ventured to come and make your 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " From friends ? " said Jane Arnold, inquiringly. 
 She took things literally, and wondered what friends 
 she and this frivolous-looking woman could have in 
 common. 
 
 " Miss Daunay and Mr. Daunay," Lenore answered 
 nervously, " and Mr. Harding, of course. Mr. Hard- 
 ing is my cousin." 
 
 " Mr. Harding has been very kind to us," said the 
 wan woman from her pillows. And Lenore hastened 
 to respond. 
 
 " Yes, he has sent you these lovely flowers, has he 
 not ?" 
 
 Miss Arnold made an unexpected reply. " No, these 
 flowers do not come from Mr. Harding. We should
 
 292 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 not accept them from a stranger. They have been sent 
 in by a friend." 
 
 " What friend ? " queried Lenore, in her own mind. 
 But she could not put her question into words ; she 
 could only beat about the bush. " They are wonder- 
 fully fresh, considering that they must have come 
 from such a distance. " 
 
 "I believe they came from Carlisle," said Jane 
 Arnold, indifferently. " There are beautiful nursery- 
 gardens at Carlisle." 
 
 " Indeed ? They looked to me as if they came from 
 abroad." 
 
 " You mean from Paris ? " said the invalid, with 
 what seemed to Mrs. Wycherly wonderful intuition. 
 " Oh no, they do not come from Paris. You are 
 thinking of Mr. Daunay, 110 doubt. I do not think it 
 would ever occur to him to send us flowers. Young 
 men are not so thoughtful in these matters. They 
 came from much nearer home." 
 
 Lenore was irritated. She saw what Jane Arnold 
 meant or so she thought. 
 
 "I hope you do not attach too much importance to 
 these attentions," she said. " To a rich man it is very 
 easy to give a florist a general order for bouquets. I 
 know, because I used to have so many myself." 
 
 "Ah, I dare say. But we attach importance to 
 these flowers just because it is not a rich man who 
 sends them," said Miss Arnold, unflinchingly. " Very 
 far from rich ; indeed, I have no doubt that he pinches 
 himself for every blossom in this room. And that is 
 why we value them, Mrs. Wycherly, because they rep- 
 resent a friendship of many years' standing, such as 
 perhaps you would not appreciate."
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Expedition. 293 
 
 There was a little silence ; then Lenore rose to her 
 feet. " I see that I have been mistaken," she said. 
 " I thought my cousin was responsible for these gifts. 
 If he is not, it is, of course, no concern of mine. I am 
 sorry that I have intruded." 
 
 " I don't feel it an intrusion," said the sick woman. 
 " I think you meant it kindly, did you not ? You 
 were afraid that Annabel was being misled by some- 
 body who did not care for her ? She is safe enough ; 
 I wish with all my heart you were as safe." 
 
 " What do you mean ? I am quite safe," said Lenore, 
 shrinking back ; " I am in no danger." 
 
 "Dying folk see clearer than most," was Jane 
 Arnold's strange reply. " I think you are in danger, 
 though you know it not. Did you never hear that the 
 greatest danger of all was the danger of deadly sin, lest 
 through that you should lose your soul ?" 
 
 She had held out her hand, into which Lenore had 
 mechanically placed her own ; but now Lenore tore it 
 away with violence, and cowered almost as though she 
 had been struck. 
 
 "I do not know why you should talk to me like 
 this," she cried. "I am quite a good woman, a re- 
 spectable woman ; I have never done anybody any 
 harm." 
 
 " Try not to do any one any harm, then," said Jane 
 Arnold, with one of her strange, penetrating glances. 
 " The Lord gives poWer to the dying ; they can read 
 the souls of those who are left behind. It is borne in 
 on me that you would do deadly harm to some other 
 person if the power were given you. God grant that 
 you never have the power, or that your mind be 
 changed ! "
 
 294 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " You are a mad woman/' said Mrs. Wycherly, sud- 
 denly recovering herself. " You do not know what you 
 say/' And, not daring to look again at the pale ac- 
 cusing face upon the pillows, she escaped from the 
 sick-room, and, after a moment's pause for breath at 
 the head of the staircase, found her way downstairs. 
 
 " Yonr mistress does not seem well," she remarked 
 to the waiting Keziah. 
 
 "No, ma'am ; the doctor says she's very ill indeed." 
 
 " Ought she not to have some one with her ? Where 
 is her niece ? " 
 
 " Miss Annabel's gone over to St. Andrew's-on-the- 
 Hill, ma'am. She always goes there one day towards 
 the end of September, and takes flowers to put on her 
 mother's grave. It was her mother's birthday, as I've 
 heard." 
 
 " Oh, and where is St. Andrew's-on-the-Hill ?" 
 
 Keziah led the way to the front door. " I'll show 
 you, ma'am. You can see it from here quite well. 
 It's reet away up theer with a square tower and a 
 bell." 
 
 She pointed to a gray building of ecclesiastical char- 
 acter situated on a height at some little distance. 
 
 " Is it far away ?" said Mrs. Wycherly. 
 
 "Not so far as it looks. A matter of two mile or 
 thereabouts. You've nobbut to follow the road," said 
 Keziah, bluntly. 
 
 " Shall I follow the road ? " Lenore asked herself. 
 " What barbarous people ! and what an extraordinary 
 undertaking ! but I should like to speak to the girl, 
 and no doubt I shall meet her coming back." 
 
 She toiled rather slowly in the direction that Keziah 
 had indicated, but she met absolutely no one on the
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Expedition. 295 
 
 way. It seemed a long time to her before she turned 
 the last corner of the winding road, and saw the low 
 gray tower, the wind-swept churchyard, of St. An- 
 drew's-on-the-Hill. The church had long been almost 
 deserted ; few services were said within its walls, and 
 burials never took place within its precincts ; it had a 
 desolate and dreary 'look. 
 
 " What a funereal kind of expedition I am on ! " 
 said Lenore to herself, as she approached the church- 
 yard gate. " A dying woman, a churchyard, funeral 
 wreaths ! What very depressing subjects ! Dear me, 
 whose cart is that outside the gate ? Not Eugene's, 
 surely ! " 
 
 But it was Eugene's. She could not be mistaken in 
 the scarlet wheels and smart-looking harness, or in the 
 fine brown horse which fidgeted continually to be off. 
 Where, then, was Eugene ? 
 
 The answer came quickly, and gave Mrs. Wycherly 
 something of a shock. He was in the churchyard with 
 Annabel ; and they had come together to lay flowers 
 upon her mother's grave. Here, indeed, was a matter 
 for reflection. Did it not seem as if Eugene took more 
 than a friendly interest in the girl whom Lenore had 
 begged him to sweep out of existence ? She was 
 naturally suspicious, and she wondered whether she 
 had not been a fool to confide in him so utterly. Had 
 he told Annabel ? Had he told that ghastly woman, 
 who had warned her to beware of sin ? Her heart was 
 faint within her at the very thought. 
 
 But no, she was his sister ; he would never betray 
 her to that extent. Still, she would one day tax him 
 with having deceived her, with never having let her 
 know that he was on friendly terms with Annabel.
 
 296 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 She could see them from the gate ; they stood side by 
 side, looking down at a grave which was loosely strewn 
 with flowers. But she did not want them to see her. 
 They might turn round at any moment ; and then 
 what should she do ?
 
 Mrs. Wycherly's Expedition. 297 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ST. ANDREW'S-ON-THE-HILL. 
 
 A LITTLE side path led from the gate to the west 
 entrance of the church. Mrs. Wycherly glanced at it, 
 and decided on taking refuge in the porch or perhaps in 
 the church itself. She skimmed lightly across the turf 
 beside the pathway, and was glad to find that they did not 
 look round. The porch was gained quite easily, and, to 
 her delight, she found that the old oak door into the 
 church was ajar. She passed in and looked about her. 
 There was little sign of care and reverence about the 
 place. The architecture was good, and the chancel, 
 though small, was really fine, but the pews were broken 
 down and worm-eaten, the red cushions and curtains 
 were discolored and devoured by moths. There was a 
 whirring sound overhead now and then, which convinced 
 Lenore that a colony of either owls or bats inhabited 
 the roof, and that, although it was still daylight out- 
 of-doors, in the shadows of the old building they were 
 awake and stirring. She had a horror of bats, and in- 
 voluntarily put her hands up to her head as if to pro- 
 tect herself. She dared not leave the church, however, 
 until she was sure that Annabel and Eugene were 
 gone. 
 
 On the north side of the chancel she found a musty 
 little vestry, with a small window, through which she 
 could see the two figures standing by Betha Daunay's 
 grave. She discovered also that the vestry door was 
 not locked, which gave her a feeling of relief, for she
 
 298 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 had now two ways of evading her brother should he 
 turn his steps towards the church. She certainly did 
 not want him to find her there. He would think that 
 she was spying out his movements, whereas it was only 
 Annabel whom she had wished to find. 
 
 As she watched the two, it struck her that Dr. 
 Lechmere's attitude was curiously protective almost 
 tender. Annabel stood almost motionless, looking 
 quietly at the grave ; but the doctor looked at her, 
 with that expressive bend of the whole figure towards 
 her which always betrays the inclination of the heart. 
 People who love each other never sit perfectly erect 
 when they are side by side. The shoulder of each in- 
 clines towards the other, with perfect unconsciousness 
 on their part. Lenore had never heard this statement 
 in words, but she recognized the fact as soon as she 
 saw it. " Why, he stands as if he loved her ! " she 
 said to herself, with a vivid realization of all that his 
 love for Annabel Daunay might mean. 
 
 But it was impossible. Who was this raw girl of 
 eighteen that she could win the hearts of three men, 
 one after the other, of utterly different types ? Eugene 
 was the cleverest of the three, as Lenore was aware ; 
 but he had lived so long in seclusion that he had per- 
 haps forgotten what beautiful women were like. Rey- 
 nold Harding he had seen the world, and knew what 
 to admire ; though, after all, Lenore rated his passion 
 at its true value. It would blaze fiercely, and burn it- 
 self out in time ; of that she was very sure. It was 
 Jocelyn's love which gave her most food for vexation ; 
 for Jocelyn ought to have known better than to leave 
 her, Lenore, for a little country girl. Only in his 
 case, there was the money question to be considered ;
 
 St. Andrew's-On-the-Hill. 299 
 
 and Annabel might turn out the greatest heiress of the 
 country-side. 
 
 Yes, it was easy to find a good reason why each of 
 these men should be drawn by the cords of Annabel's 
 young beauty, like captives in her train ; but it was 
 none the less disastrous for Mrs. Wycherly. It was 
 with a deadly hatred that she hated Annabel at that 
 moment. She would have given the world to do her 
 some bodily harm with her own hand. And, if it were 
 true that Eugene had fallen in love with her, had she 
 not foolishly deprived herself of all power of injury by 
 asking Eugene to help her ? Oh, what a fool she had 
 been ! For Eugene would suspect her now, if anything 
 untoward happened to Annabel. 
 
 But perhaps she was mistaken. The girl was 
 eighteen, and Eugene was forty-five old enough to 
 be her father. Perhaps he had only a paternal affec- 
 tion for her ; perhaps it was only the sense of guardian- 
 ship that made him assume that curiously tell-tale 
 attitude, that gave the expression of tender gravity 
 which even at this distance Lenore could distinguish 
 to the sharply-drawn lineaments of his face. Were 
 they going to stand silent and motionless for ever ? 
 Xo, Annabel was speaking, and he listened with a 
 grave yet pleasant smile ; then with a look towards 
 the sky, as if he had made some reference to the weather, 
 he took her hand in his own, and led her gently away. 
 Lenore saw that they walked hand in hand to the gate, 
 and of course did not know that this was an old familiar 
 custom which had begun when Annabel was a tiny 
 child, and had been brought, at Jane Arnold's wish, to 
 see her mother's grave. Then she had held her aunt's 
 hand on one side, and the doctor's on the other ; but
 
 3oo Daunay's Tower. 
 
 of late years she and Eugene had come alone. But he 
 always took her hand very quietly at the close of her 
 visit, and led her back to the churchyard gate. It was 
 the one way in which he could show some sympathy for 
 the girl's loneliness, and it meant nothing more. 
 
 But Mrs. Wycherly did not know this, and raged in- 
 wardly. She saw them mount to their places in the 
 high-wheeled light cart and drive away Eugene driv- 
 ing much more cautiously than when he was alone. 
 Lenore resolved to let them get well on the way before 
 she left the church. 
 
 What was that ? A splash on the stones, another 
 and yet another ; thick and fast the raindrops began to 
 fall. The sky had been dark all the afternoon, but 
 she had hoped to get back to the Tower before a storm 
 should break ; and behold, she was miles away from 
 the village, alone, in this ruinous old building, and 
 with neither waterproof, cloak, or umbrella. She 
 thought of the pony-carriage which had been bidden to 
 follow her, but she was not quite sure that the driver 
 would think of going further than the farm ; he might 
 not even come so far. 
 
 Well, at any rate, she was under cover, and perhaps 
 the rain would not last very long. She must wait for 
 a time, and see. Was there anything in the vestry or 
 the church with which she could interest or amuse her- 
 self for half an hour or an hour ? 
 
 She tried the crazy old harmonium, but could not 
 bear the discords that she made. She wandered into 
 the belfry, where a long dangling rope hung from the 
 bell in the tower. She felt very much inclined to pull 
 it, but was a little afraid of rousing the neighborhood. 
 Farm-laborers, shepherds, cottagers might come from
 
 St. Andrew's-On-the-Hill. 301 
 
 far and near if they heard the sound, doubtless long 
 silent, of St. Andrew's bell. 
 
 There was nothing in the vestry cupboard but a 
 moldy biscuit and a torn surplice that had probably 
 been forgotten. But there was a great oak chest, at 
 which Lenore looked with admiration, for it had been 
 finely carved, and if rescued from dust and decay might 
 still form an ornamental article of furniture. She 
 wondered whether she would be allowed to buy it for 
 a trifle, if she made an offer in the proper quarter. 
 Then she tried the lid ; it was not locked, and she 
 turned it up against the wall. It was empty save for 
 two quaint old volumes in brown calf, which bore in 
 faded gilt lettering the words, Parish Register : St. 
 A ndrew's-on-the-Hill. 
 
 " They are rather dusty and dirty," said Mrs. 
 Wycherly, contemplating them with some disgust. 
 " But I wonder if they contain anything interesting 
 births, marriages, deaths of the parish. I wonder how 
 large the parish is, or whether there is any parish at 
 all. Let me see this is the place where that girl's 
 mother lies buried. Has any one looked at the register 
 to see what entry was made ? " 
 
 It was a new thought. She stood looking down at 
 the books with anew interest. She did not very much 
 want to touch them ; they looked dusty indeed, and 
 she was wearing rather nice French gloves. But finally 
 she took the old surplice ddwn and dusted the cover of 
 the topmost book, and then lifted it up with the sur- 
 plice folded round it so as to save her gloves. It was 
 heavy, and she was glad to lay it on the wooden table, 
 where she could more conveniently examine its con- 
 tents.
 
 302 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 How it rained ! She took a glance at the outside 
 world before she opened the register. The rain was 
 coming down in long, slanting sheets, and the road 
 that she had come by was all but invisible. If the 
 pony-carriage had been sent to meet her, it was cer- 
 tainly not yet in sight. There was not any living being 
 within sight or reach. She went back to her books 
 with a feeling of guilty relief. It was no harm, she 
 told herself ; still, it would ]ook odd if anybody found 
 her examining the parish registers. 
 
 " She died when the girl was born, eighteen years 
 ago. Yes, this register covers that period. How 
 frightfully careless of people to leave the parish records 
 open to the public in this way," said Mrs. Wycherly, 
 with virtuous surprise. " If they hadn't I should not 
 be able to examine them there is that to be said. 
 Come, where is this year ? I suppose every death is 
 entered, although the church is in such a disgraceful 
 state. I don't know what month it was. I should 
 think it would be about this time of the year ; or why 
 should Miss Annabel bring floral offerings ? I will 
 look at September and October. Ah ! here it is." 
 
 Her eye was caught by the name she had been seek- 
 ing. She looked at the record with a smile upon her 
 lips a smile that was speedily succeeded by an expres- 
 sion of the greatest astonishment. Evidently she had 
 found something that she did not expect to find. 
 
 " Can I believe my eyes ? " she said. " I am not 
 dreaming, am I ? Why, here is the conclusion of the 
 whole case in a nutshell. How idiotic they have all 
 been, not to examine the register before ! I should dis- 
 miss old Clissold for incompetency, if I were Jocelyn. 
 Why, there need not have been any doubt at all ! He
 
 St. Andrew's-On-the-Hill. 303 
 
 need not have gone to Paris. We have the whole plot 
 laid bare, as clear as daylight. " 
 
 She searched in her pocket for the little ivory tablets 
 and silver pencil which she carried about with her, 
 and carefully copied from the register the entry that 
 she had found. Then she closed the book and looked 
 out at the rain with a smile. 
 
 " So this is their little game," she said. " They 
 don't seem very clever at it, I must say. I suppose 
 Eugene knows. If I had been in his place I should 
 have burnt these books before anybody came to examine 
 them. I wonder what his interest is in the affair. Is 
 the girl his daughter by any chance, or is the saintly 
 Jane Arnold her mamma ? A nice little mystery, and 
 a beautiful little plot ; but I have got the whip-hand 
 of you now, Miss Arnold. I wonder what Joceyln will 
 say ! " 
 
 She replaced the book in the chest, shut down the 
 lid and stood meditatively by the table for a little 
 while. 
 
 " I wish I could be sure whether Eugene was on her 
 side or on mine," she said. " It would be such a help, 
 if only I knew. I am not quite sure what I had bet- 
 ter do next. Oh, thank goodness, the rain is leaving 
 off and there is a gleam of sunshine through the clouds. 
 The roads will be in a fearful state, but I had better 
 get back as soon as I can, or Edith Daunay will raise 
 the neighborhood." 
 
 She went out into the porch, and watched the gleam- 
 ing landscape with amused, abstracted eyes. " What 
 an extraordinary thing that I should have come here 
 to-day," she said, almost piously. " Really, it makes 
 one believe in a Providence that shapes our ends, as
 
 304 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Shakespeare says and there, by good luck, is my 
 pony-carriage ! Fortune is on my side to-day." 
 
 The driver was drenched and sulky ; the patient 
 pony was much depressed, but Lenore cared for noth- 
 ing but the possibility of getting back dry-shod. She 
 seated herself cheerfully in the rather ramshackle 
 vehicle, covered herself up with a rug which the driver 
 produced from under the cushion, and finally arrived 
 at Daunay's Tower in better spirits than she had been 
 for many a long day. 
 
 She wrote to Mr. Clissold that very night, enclosing 
 a copy of the entry, and suggesting that he should 
 send some one to verify it as soon as possible. She 
 marked the letter "Private," and begged that her 
 name should not be mentioned to Mr. Daunay in con- 
 nection with the incident, as she had made the dis- 
 covery of this record purely by chance and did not wish 
 to seem to interfere. In this way she thought she 
 should guard herself against any offense or vexation 
 on Jocelyn's part. Then she sent a little note to Eu- 
 gene, asking him to come to the Tower at once. 
 
 This time he came. There had been a new tone in 
 her letter, short though it was ; a touch of exultation 
 which had startled him a little. What had Lenore got 
 to be exultant about ? 
 
 He was shown up into her room that evening after 
 dinner. She said she had taken a chill and must see 
 the doctor at once if he came. So that he found her 
 quite prepared for him, in the most bewitching of tea- 
 gowns. 
 
 She saw at once that he was not in the most amiable 
 of moods. He came in slouching, as she called it, 
 with a slight forward stoop of the shoulders which
 
 St. Andrew's-On-the-Hill. 305 
 
 always meant either depression or irritability. She re- 
 membered his old ways well enough to know that. Then 
 his eyebrows were knitted over eyes which were de- 
 cidedly angry, and his chestnut mustache had somehow 
 attained that marvelous twist which made his enemies 
 declare that he reminded them of an infuriated cat. 
 It was the upward and outward twist of that big mus- 
 tache of his which brought upon him this imputation, 
 which was certainly not a very flattering one. But 
 there were few people who showed ill-humor more 
 unblushingly when he chose than Dr. Eugene Lech- 
 mere. It was, perhaps, his way of being equal with 
 the world. 
 
 "So you have come," she said, with the prettiest 
 smile in the world. " Xo, of course I am not ill ; but 
 I wanted to see you all the same. For one thing, you 
 have given me no answer as yet about the proposal I 
 made to you. For another, I wish to tell you that I 
 have discovered your secret, and wish you joy of your 
 mock Annabel. I suppose you know that the real one 
 lies buried in the churchyard of St. Andrew's-on-the- 
 
 Hill ?" 
 20
 
 306 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXI. 
 
 THE ENTBY IN" THE BOOK. 
 
 " I HAVE not the slightest notion what you mean," 
 said Dr. Lechmere. " What do you know about St. 
 Andrew's-on-the-Hill ? " 
 
 " I was there this afternoon.'' 
 
 " I know where else you were," he said, with a sud- 
 den blaze of anger. " You were up at the Moorside 
 Farm, exciting and irritating one of my patients. I 
 found her very ill when I visited her later in the after- 
 noon. You should not go to see invalids unless you 
 have something pleasant to say." 
 
 " It was she that said unpleasant things," said 
 Lenore, shrugging her shoulders. " She told me of 
 my sins and warned me to repent. I call her a most 
 objectionable person. I wanted to warn her that Eey- 
 nold Harding was rather a wolf in sheep's clothing, 
 and that she had better not take presents from 
 him " 
 
 " Presents from Eeynold Harding ! Who supposed 
 that she ever did anything of the kind ? " 
 
 " Popular report has it so. Mrs. Crisp has been 
 conferring with Edith Daunay on the subject. You 
 know Reynold is very much smitten. Surely those 
 flowers testify to the fact." 
 
 For a minute Eugene looked as though he were going 
 to treat his sister to one of those furious outbursts of 
 denunciation by which he had made his name famous
 
 The Entry In the Book. 307 
 
 all about High Rigg. If a man had beaten his wife iii 
 a drunken fit, or a boy had been found torturing a 
 dumb animal, it was well known that you had only "to 
 set the doctor on," and the offender would speedily be 
 reduced to limp and trembling repentance. Or if he 
 were hardened and still held out, Dr. Lechmere was 
 quite willing and able to exchange moral suasion for 
 physical, and could " argue with a big stick " as well 
 as with his tongue. 
 
 But neither of these modes of inducing persons to 
 behave decently could very well be practised upon Mrs. 
 Wycherly. Eugene controlled himself, but his brow 
 was as black as night, and he spoke with what his sister 
 called a snarl. 
 
 " I am able to assure you that Mr. Harding has not 
 sent any flowers, nor has Miss Arnold accepted any 
 from him. Those that you saw were sent by quite a 
 different person." 
 
 " By you, perhaps ? " 
 
 " Yes, by me, if you wish to know," said Eugene, 
 almost violently ; then, in a gentler tone, " Miss 
 Arnold is an old and valued friend of mine, and I like 
 to give her a little pleasure when I can." 
 
 Lenore raised her eyebrows. " Why, Eugene, you 
 must be rolling in money. Flowers like those in any 
 quantity would cost pounds ! " 
 
 " If I choose to spend pounds in that way, what is it 
 to you, may I ask ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing. I am glad you are so prosperous. I 
 wonder whether you would really be so prospering if 
 everybody knew your story." 
 
 The shaft fell short. Eugene only smiled grimly. 
 " Tell everybody, then we shall see, he said. "
 
 308 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Now, dear Eugene, I did not ask you here to 
 quarrel with you. I want to join forces with you, as 
 you know ; but how can I do it, if you will keep se- 
 crets from me ? How have you managed to conceal 
 that little entry in the register at St. Andrew's for so 
 long ? " 
 
 He turned on her as if thoroughly startled. 
 
 "What entry ?" he said. 
 
 " Oh, don't tell me that you are ignorant of it. 
 That would be too foolish for a man of your intelligence. 
 You can't possibly mean to tell me that you never went 
 up to St. Andrew's and looked at the register of 
 deaths ? " 
 
 " It may sound unintelligent, but I can assure you 
 that I never did." 
 
 " I suppose it was unnecessary ; you knew the facts 
 too well," said Lenore, in a disagreeably significant 
 tone. 
 
 " If you like to tell me what you think you have 
 found out, you may," said the doctor, dryly ; " but if 
 you are simply bent on dropping hints, I think we may 
 as well say no more about it. Yon wanted me to tell 
 you what I thought of your proposals the other night. 
 I really have nothing particular to say about them. I 
 don't mean to stain my hands with murder, if you want 
 me to speak plainly " 
 
 "I don't," said Lenore, sharply; "I should much 
 prefer you to keep silence. Murder ! What an idea ! 
 But if we could get her out of our way in some harm- 
 less manner that would conduce to her own happiness, 
 you would not object, I suppose ?" 
 
 "If it were indeed her happiness that you were con- 
 sidering, I might not stand aloof, certainly."
 
 The Entry In the Book. 309 
 
 " You are very devoted to her," said Lenore, scoff- 
 ingly. " What is the tie ? Is she a relation ? She 
 is not a Daunay, evidently. Perhaps you know what 
 her origin is ? " 
 
 Dr. Lechmere seemed to listen with a slightly puzzled 
 air. " If she is not a Daunay, I don't know anything 
 about her origin," he said. "But to the best of my 
 belief " 
 
 " Your belief does not count for much," Lenore in- 
 terrupted him. " Go and look at the register. The 
 real Annabel lies in that churchyard." 
 
 " I don't believe it." 
 
 ' ' Go, as I said before, and look. I wonder whether 
 Reynold Harding will still talk of marrying her when 
 he finds out the truth." 
 
 " Does he talk of marrying her ? Do you mean that, 
 Lenore ? " 
 
 " Yes, certainly. But of course he was counting 
 upon her being a Daunay and coming into the property. 
 He may change his views now." 
 
 " Change his views ? Leave her alone, do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 "Ts'o, I don't mean leave her alone. Did you ever 
 know Reynold leave any woman alone that he had a 
 fancy for ? 
 
 Eugene changed color. He was silent fora moment, 
 with a curiously arrested look. 
 
 " I did not think that he was in earnest," he said at 
 last. 
 
 "Oh, in his way he is very much in earnest. He 
 has already begun to make hot love to her, and it 
 would not take very much to bring him up to boiling- 
 point. If Reynold were to run away with her, there
 
 3io Daunay's Tower. 
 
 would be an end of anything between her and Joce- 
 lyn." 
 
 "Yes," said Eugene. 
 
 He was looking at the floor now, and biting his 
 mustache, but the black frown had left his forehead, 
 and it struck Lenore that he was a little pale. "It is 
 worth thinking of," he said presently, in a suffocated 
 kind of voice. 
 
 "Isn't it ? I think it is rather clever of me to evolve 
 the idea. You see, Keynold will never think of marry- 
 ing her if she is of unknown origin : he would never 
 do such a thing. But if she were even compromised 
 with him a little ; Jocelyn would never put np with 
 that, and I should get my chance. I am so glad that 
 you see what an excellent idea it is, Eugene. I was 
 afraid you were, as usual, going to make objec- 
 tions." 
 
 "You are so fertile in ideas that you sometimes take 
 one's breath away, you see," said Eugene. " Well, I 
 must be going. But I shall see you again soon ; and 
 then you can tell me how Keynold receives your 
 suggestion." 
 
 Something peculiar in his tone excited Lenore's 
 suspicions. 
 
 " One moment, Eugene," she said. "Do reassure 
 me. You are not backing this girl up, are you ? It is 
 not you who have devised the scheme for passing her 
 off as John Daunay's daughter ? " 
 
 " I ? Most certainly not. What do you take me 
 for ? " 
 
 " Oh, well," said Lenore, with a suggestive drawl ; 
 te you shouldn't ask that, you know with your reputa- 
 tion. I thought you might have had your own * little
 
 The Entry In the Book. 313 
 
 been fooled all along ? " he cried. " Did you know of 
 this?" 
 
 The doctor's eye grew keen and cold. " Did I know 
 of what ?" he said. " You must explain yourself ?" 
 
 " You knew of the entry in this book ? " 
 
 " I have never seen any entry in that book." 
 
 " Look at it now then." And Jocelyn pointed with 
 a shaky finger to the lines that Mrs. Wycherly had 
 read. They set forth in the usual official manner the 
 death of Betha, wife of John Daunay, and also of 
 Annabel, her child. 
 
 " I thought you were with her when she died," said 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 "I was. I saw a living child then, not a dead one," 
 said Dr. Lechmere, in a troubled tone. 
 
 " The child must have died afterwards, and another 
 been substituted for it. Then who is the Annabel that 
 I know ? " 
 
 His face was white and drawn : it seemed to Eugene 
 that he was unduly agitated by the discovery that had 
 been made. 
 
 "It seems a mystery," said the doctor gravely, 
 " but no doubt it will be made clear in time. Perhaps 
 Miss Arnold can throw some light upon the subject." 
 
 He had entirely dropped the curtness of speech, the 
 irony of tone, which usually distinguished him ; he 
 was serious, thoughtful, deliberate, as if the gravity of 
 the situation weighed him down. But Jocelyn's ex- 
 citement seemed to increase rather than diminish. 
 
 "Tell me, "he said and his face was so haggard 
 that Eugene forgave him the offensive words as soon 
 as they were out of his mouth "tell me that it isn't 
 your doing ? I liked you, I believed in you from the
 
 314 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 first ; but but if it is true that you once did a man a 
 deadly wrong for the sake of his money, as she says you 
 did " 
 
 " That is quite enough," said Lechmere, quietly, 
 and without any appearance of anger. " She has told 
 you the story as the world tells it, but you need not 
 repeat it to my face. For Annabel's sake, I will give 
 you an answer. I would not do it for any one else in 
 the world. I did once take a man's life, and I suf- 
 fered for it. I was tried for manslaughter and im- 
 prisoned. I did it by pure accident, or perhaps I 
 should say through wicked carelessness ; but it was not 
 by design, and certainly not in order to make gain for 
 myself through his death. I have done many a bad 
 thing in my life, Jocelyn Daunay, but I have not yet 
 dishonored myself for the sake of money." 
 
 " I I beg your pardon," faltered Jocelyn, turning 
 away. " I don't know what to think. I am confused, 
 bewildered. To think of this entry being here all this 
 time ; to think that we never looked for it ! I have 
 got the proofs of the marriage safely enough ; but 
 what is the use of them, if Annabel is somebody else's 
 child ? " 
 
 He walked out of the church as if he did not know 
 what he was about ; and Dr. Lechmere, following him 
 silently down to the churchyard gate, saw him throw 
 himself on his horse and ride off at a pace which 
 seemed as if he were bent upon his own destruction. 
 
 " She has poisoned his mind," said Eugene, watch- 
 ing the retreating figure. " She is a clever woman ; 
 and she will end in having her way. He does not 
 know what or whom to believe, but he will believe 
 her. Poor Annabel ! I think I must go to the farm
 
 The Entry In the Book. 315 
 
 and have a chat with Miss Arnold. She may be able 
 to throw some light upon the matter." 
 
 But neither then nor afterwards could Jane Arnold 
 tell him more than he knew already. An impenetrable 
 veil of mystery seemed to hang over the true story of 
 Annabel's birth.
 
 316 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXII. ( 
 
 IN THE HOUR OP NEED. 
 
 FOE the next few days doubt and confusion reigned 
 in the minds of all who were interested in the destina- 
 tion of the Daunay property. Mr. Clissold himself 
 appeared upon the scene, and declared that, in face of 
 that entry in the register and the absence of any proof 
 that Annabel was John Daunay's daughter, she had not 
 the shadow of a case. The old lawyer interviewed 
 every one in turn, including Dr. Lechmere, with whom 
 he had a very stormy colloquy. 
 
 " It seems to me, sir, that you are responsible for 
 the whole story," said Mr. Clissold, holding himself 
 very erect, and trying to look as judicial as he could. 
 " It was you, apparently, who made the first statement 
 to Miss Jane Arnold that the child you conveyed to her 
 was Mr. Daunay's own offspring." 
 
 " Precisely so," said Dr. Lechmere. " Mr. Daunay 
 himself gave me the information." 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Daunay is not here to answer for him- 
 self." 
 
 " He made payments, as you know very well, for her 
 education and maintenance. He recognized her as his 
 own daughter most assuredly." 
 
 " There is nothing to show that she was Mr. Dau- 
 nay's child." 
 
 " Except his own statement."
 
 In the Hour of Need. 317 
 
 " He never made that statement to me," said Mr. 
 Clissold. 
 
 Eugene shrugged his shoulders. " He made it to 
 me, at any rate. As to the entry in the book, I can't 
 understand it. The clergyman who buried Mrs. 
 Daunay is dead. I don't know of any responsible per- 
 son who was acquainted with the circumstances." 
 
 " Ah, that is unfortunate," said Mr. Clissold, dryly, 
 " I suppose, Mr. Lechmere " he refrained throughout 
 from addressing him as "doctor" "you do not know 
 the laws respecting conspiracy conspiracy to de- 
 fraud ? 
 
 " Afraid I don't," said Eugene, lightly. " I have 
 never had any occasion to consider them. But the 
 suggestion closes our conversation, I believe." 
 
 " Perhaps it would be better allow me to say, Mr. 
 Lechmere, that it is well to be careful in matters of 
 this kind. The laws of inheritance must not be 
 tampered with, must not be ignored " 
 
 " I have several patients waiting for me," said 
 Lechmere, " so I'll bid you good morning, Mr. Clis- 
 sold." 
 
 And he walked out of the room, ejaculating, "Pom- 
 pous old fool ! " as he went, without being very careful 
 to close the door first. 
 
 " I'll drive up to the farm," he said, putting on his 
 driving-gloves, and inspecting his horse critically to 
 all appearance, but in reality seeing nothing very 
 clearly because of the rush of anger which had nearly 
 stifled him. " It's a waste of time, no doubt, but I 
 must just look at her again and convince myself that 
 she's not fretting over that cad of a young Daunay ! 
 What does it matter to him whether she is his cousin
 
 318 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 or not ? Can't he see that she is good, beautiful, 
 gentle, refined ? If he were in any way worthy of her, 
 he would be a paragon. I wish I could thrash him for 
 bringing a single shadow to her face, a tear to her 
 sweet eyes." 
 
 He set his teeth hard and flourished his whip as he 
 set forth, with an earnest desire that he could lay it 
 round Jocelyn's shoulders. But he was unjust in his 
 judgment of Jocelyn. The young man had by no means 
 given up his love for Annabel ; but he had been terribly 
 perplexed and troubled by the calumnies thrown out 
 by Lenore, and now by Mr. Clissold's reprobation of 
 Dr. Lechmere. He could not in his heart believe that 
 there had been anything of the nature of a conspiracy 
 between Miss Arnold and the doctor ; least of all did 
 he think that Annabel could have deceived him as to 
 her parentage probably she knew and thought less 
 about it than anybody else ; but his mind was clouded 
 by fleeting and aimless suspicions which, although he 
 did not know it, had all been suggested to him by Mrs. 
 Wycherly, who was particularly skilful in the art of 
 insinuation. And Eugene, who understood Lenore so 
 much better than Jocelyn could possibly do, chafed at 
 the influence which she had acquired over the young 
 man, and thought him quite unworthy of Annabel if 
 he listened even for a moment to Lenore. 
 
 He walked from the garden gate of the Moorside 
 Farm to the kitchen-door, and there he paused for a 
 moment. A voice which he knew was speaking could 
 it be Reynold Harding's voice, and was he speaking to 
 one of the maids, or was it indeed to Annabel ? 
 Eugene's blood stood still in his veins for a moment 
 and then raced madly as he listened. Harding spoke
 
 In the Hour of Need. 319 
 
 in a bantering tone, which seemed to the listener in- 
 describably insulting. 
 
 '* Now, then, my pretty one, just give me that kiss 
 before I go away. I have waited far too long for it, 
 and I'm not going to wait any longer." 
 
 " If you come a step nearer, Mr. Harding, you will 
 regret it/' said Annabel's voice, clear and cool and 
 steady, as if she were completely mistress of herself. 
 
 " Come, now ; what right have you to be so par- 
 ticular ? You are nobody, you know ; not old Daunay's 
 daughter, nor the mistress of the Tower, to give your- 
 self such queenly airs. Not but what they are very 
 pretty, but you must keep them for the right people, 
 you know ; for Jocelyn, if you like, and Eugene Lech- 
 mere, but not for me." 
 
 " You hound ! " Eugene shouted, with a sudden 
 leap forward. But he had no need to defend Annabel. 
 She had suddenly thrown the contents of a jug of hot 
 milk over the unhappy Eeynold ; and although the 
 milk was not boiling, it was hot enough to make him 
 very uncomfortable, and the white stream did not add 
 to the beauty of his appearance. 
 
 " You little vixen ! " he gasped ; but it was difficult 
 for him to speak, as the hot liquid had been dashed 
 full in his face and was half blinding him. His height 
 and bulk, which would ordinarily have made him a 
 formidable antagonist to Eugene, now availed him 
 nothing ; and the doctor thoroughly enjoyed the oppor- 
 tunity of turning his gigantic cousin ignominiously 
 out of doors. He did not even resist the gratification 
 of speeding Mr. Harding's exit by a timely kick. 
 
 " Get out of this, you unutterable cad ! " he cried ; 
 and he was not at all disturbed when Reynold half
 
 320 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 turned back to pour out a string of curses and threats 
 of vengeance upon him and upon Annabel also. His 
 aspect was so unheroic while he stormed and threat- 
 ened that Dr. Lechmere relieved his feelings by burst- 
 ing into a derisive laugh and bidding him take his 
 figure off elsewhere. Whereat Reynold slunk away 
 there was no other word for his mode of retreat and 
 Eugene went back to Annabel. 
 
 He found her crying, and immediately patted her on 
 the shoulder and began to praise her. 
 
 " That was splendid," he said. " You did it very 
 well, Annabel, and he thoroughly deserved it. I hope 
 the milk was hot enough to scald him a little." 
 
 " Don't laugh about it, Dr. Eugene," she implored 
 him. "It is dreadful to have to do such things. I 
 feel as if I had lost all my self-respect. But I could 
 not could not let him come any nearer. If he had 
 touched me, I should have killed him almost." 
 
 "He has had a lesson," said Eugene. " I hope you 
 will not see any more of him. I am afraid he has been 
 troubling you for some time ? " 
 
 " It has been worse lately ever since that register 
 was found. He seemed to think that it did not matter 
 what he said or did to me now if I were not Mr. Dau- 
 nay's daughter I had no importance in the world at 
 all." 
 
 " My dear girl, you must not mind what is said by 
 men of his stamp." 
 
 " Xo, but it is not altogether that, Dr. Eugene ; " 
 and he felt her tremble as she spoke. " Other men 
 not of his stamp seem to take the same view." 
 
 " Not your doctor, for instance ? " he asked, trying 
 to make her smile.
 
 In the Hour of Need. 321 
 
 " No, not my doctor ! not my own dear, good Dr. 
 Eugene ! Oh, what I should have done without you 
 all these years what I should do without you now I 
 do not know." 
 
 " Who is it, then, my dear, that is not kind to you ? " 
 said Dr. Lechmere, steadily. He had adopted the 
 gravest and most fatherly tone. 
 
 " Oh, no one is unkind. It is only Mr. Daunay," 
 she said somewhat unsteadily, "Jocelyn Daunay, I 
 mean, who said that he wanted to be my our friend. 
 Do you know he has not been here once since he re- 
 turned from Paris ? He just sent a note to Aunt Jane, 
 enclosing the copies of the certificate and other papers ; 
 and that was all. It does not look very friendly, does 
 it, Dr. Eugene ? " 
 
 " Xot very. But I think he is busy, and perhaps 
 a little worried," said the doctor, driven to make ex- 
 cuses for the young man whom at that moment he 
 hated, because he saw the trouble in Annabel's eye. 
 " The very fact that his lawyer thinks that he has a 
 right to the estate might prevent him from coming 
 here, if he has a delicate and generous mind. He may 
 be very much puzzled what course to adopt, you see." 
 
 " There is no course for him to adopt but to take 
 possession of the estate and let me alone," said Anna- 
 bel. " But he might have come to see us just to let 
 us know that he did not think ill of Aunt Jane and 
 
 me- 
 
 She turned her face aside for a moment, and Dr. 
 Lechmere stood silent, with the dark, frowning look 
 upon his face, which, as a rule, he did not like Anna- 
 bel to see. But he was too much absorbed by his own 
 thoughts just then to care how he looked. 
 21
 
 322 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Annabel," he said, at length. " Annabel." 
 
 "Yes, Dr. Eugene." 
 
 " You know what is likely to happen before very 
 long ? You know that you will soon be alone in the 
 world?" 
 
 She caught her breath a little. " I suppose I know. 
 1 have not dared to say it to myself." 
 
 " But you must face it. It is only a question of days 
 now." 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Eugene." 
 
 The name fell from her lips like a wail of grief. Eu- 
 gene looked at her quickly there was all the sympathy 
 of which his sensitive nature was capable in his beauti- 
 ful hazel eyes and held out his hand. She put her 
 own into it, and he held it while he spoke with incom- 
 parable gentleness. 
 
 " Annabel, in the days that are coming, it may 
 chance that you find yourself very lonely, very much 
 troubled, very much wronged, as it may seem to you, 
 by the world. Will you remember then, my dear, that 
 there is one heart always open to you, one house where, 
 if you will you may always be at home ? It may be a 
 comfort to you to think of this when yon feel that the 
 clouds are gathering round you, and you are wander- 
 ing in the desert alone." 
 
 She was looking into his face with eyes that won- 
 dered, but which, as he felt, trusted too. 
 
 "I shall always remember," she said, softly. 
 
 " You are young and beautiful," the doctor said, 
 "but youth and beauty do not always save us from 
 trouble in this life, Annabel. And I am old and ugly 
 and have a bad reputation and a bad temper, which is 
 almost a worse burden ; and I once vowed that I would
 
 In 1 
 
 die sooner than s 
 But I am saying i 
 There is nothing I 
 possible that I coul 
 you, Annabel, I wo 
 will ever care for yc 
 Eugene." 
 
 " I am glad " came 
 tinctly, but she was awe 
 tone, and could not speak. 
 
 " Therefore, my dear, as 
 only to call upon me and I , 
 help you. If you are in want, in pa 
 must turn to me. My home is yours 
 my name even if you care for it 
 you understand ? " 
 
 " I think so. You are too good to n 
 
 " How can that be ? Xo human so. 
 be too good to another. Look you, / 
 had trouble in my time ; I know wha 
 the loss of all earthly affection, all ties t. 
 to this earth. It is a hell of loneliness L 
 gladly spare every one whom I care for. Ch 
 go lonely, do not go in pain, if I am alive to h 
 helping hand to you." 
 
 "I will not. I will turn to you always, 
 will turn to you." 
 
 " But not if others want you. Do you think I have 
 not learned in all these years to stand aside ? I am 
 used to seeing myself forgotten, Annabel. It is only 
 if you have no one else that I will offer myself to fill, 
 as far as I can, the emptiness that others may have 
 left."
 
 r. 
 
 Aether understand. 
 .Id dawn when she 
 aen she would know 
 .reamed of, had been 
 
 of her, as yet. 
 .t- were, into the events 
 hmbre went up-stuirs to 
 j was growing almost too 
 at in the affairs of ordinary 
 jdndly, promised to look after 
 was gone, and finally took his leave, 
 ig gaze into Annabel's clear eyes, 
 3 color to her somewhat pale and sad-
 
 The Doubts of Jocelyn Daunay. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE DOUBTS OF JOCELYN DAUNAY. 
 
 MR. CLISSOLD took his departure with a feeling of 
 extreme satisfaction at the new development of affairs. 
 He also was a good deal alarmed at what he considered 
 the very unsatisfactory state of Jocelyn's mind ; he 
 could not make the young man out at all. When 
 they had previously met in London, Jocelyn had 
 seemed so confident and clear as to what he wanted, 
 and the lawyer, who liked definiteness above all things, 
 had quite warmed to him. But now that everything 
 was going on well, he had become moody, irritable, 
 and utterly unlike himself. Mr. Clissold was disposed 
 to refer this condition of things to the influence of 
 those two most undesirable people, Mrs. Wycherly and 
 Dr. Lechmere. Of course, he knew all about their re- 
 lationship, just as he knew Eugene's past and Lenore's 
 reputation in society ; but he had not yielded to his 
 first angry impulse and betrayed his knowledge. After 
 all, he owed Mrs. Wycherly something for having put 
 him on the track of that remarkable entry in the regis- 
 ter of St. Andrew's-on-the-Hill ; and when she pointed 
 out to him, as she did at a convenient time very soon 
 after his arrival, that her family had entirely cast off 
 Eugene, and that she particularly wished not to be in 
 any way associated with him, Mr. Clissold shrugged 
 his shoulders and held his tongue. 
 
 He did not like Leuore any more than he liked
 
 326 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Eugene, but he had a great respect for their father, 
 whom he had known many years ago, and who was as 
 straightforward, upright, and honorable a gentleman 
 as could be found in the kingdom. Mr. Clissold kne\v 
 that it was not advisable to make mischief ; at the same 
 time he told himself that if there was any likelihood of 
 Jocelyn's proposing to marry Mrs. Wycherly, it would 
 be an exceedingly great pleasure to himself to inform 
 the young man of Lenore's relationship to Dr. Lech- 
 mere ; also of her age, and various other details of 
 which the lawyer conceived that Jocelyn must neces- 
 sarily be ignorant. 
 
 Mrs. Wycherly saw him go with a sigh of relief. 
 His cool and critical eye made her sometimes a little 
 nervous ; she was afraid of his asking awkward ques- 
 tions or making unlucky remarks. She told herself 
 pettishly that she had never stayed in a house with a 
 person who thought so badly of her ; she knew that 
 she might, of course, be mistaken, and it was only that 
 Mr. Clissold did not see fit to mask his sentiments 
 quite so closely as some people ; indeed, Jocelyn was 
 a little astonished at the abruptness of his manner to- 
 wards Mrs. "Wycherly, and would have resented it had 
 he been in his usual state of mind. But, it must be 
 confessed, Jocelyn was a little off his balance ; the 
 fatigue and anxiety of his hurried journey to Paris and 
 back, the shock of the discovery which awaited him on 
 his return, the softly suggested doubt not only of Jan-- 
 Arnold and Dr. Lechmere, but even of Annabel, had 
 thoroughly upset him for the time being, and insti-ad 
 of his sunny-natured self, he was transformed into an 
 exceedingly morose young man, upon whose amiability 
 no one could for a moment rely.
 
 The Doubts of Jocelyn Daunay. 327 
 
 Mr. Clissold took it upon himself to give him a word 
 of advice when the young man saw him off at the 
 nearest station, which was three miles from the village 
 of High Rigg. 
 
 " You must have had a good deal of worry and 
 bother connected with this business, Mr. Daunay," he 
 remarked ; " and, if I were you, I would just leave it 
 all now in the hands of the lawyers, and not trouble 
 your head any more about it. You can do no more, 
 and it would be as well for you to leave it to us." 
 
 " That is very easy to say," said Jocelyn, rather 
 irritably ; " but it is impossible for me not to be anx- 
 ious, and I like to be on the spot." 
 
 " And it is the worst possible thing in the world for 
 yon to be on the spot," said Mr. Clissold, energetically. 
 " It is no use shilly-shallying, there have been so many 
 ups and downs in the business that the matter must be 
 brought before the Courts. Personally I have no doubt 
 as to your being Mr. Daunay's heir ; but if the other 
 side wants to fight well, we can fight too." 
 
 "I never heard that the other side did want to 
 fight," said Jocelyn, remembering that the "other 
 side " meant Annabel. 
 
 " If one goes by what that fine gentleman, Eugene 
 Lechmere, says about it, I should say that he meant to 
 fight you tooth and nail," said Mr. Clissold. 
 
 Jocelyn reflected that this had been Dr. Lechmere's 
 own expression when they first made acquaintance. 
 How manly and straightforward Eugene Lechmere had 
 seemed to him then ! He had almost to repress a sigh 
 as he answered 
 
 " It would be the height of folly for them to fight it 
 in face of that entry in the register, I should say."
 
 328 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Possibly he may have a card in reserve. I should 
 keep a good lookout while you are here, Mr. Daunny ; 
 but I still advise you to leave the neighborhood for 
 the winter. Suppose you went to the Riviera now, or 
 even as far as Egypt and Palestine ? That would be u 
 good distraction for your mind." 
 
 " And throw up my work in the Foreign Office ? " 
 said Jocelyn, scornfully. " You forget that if the case 
 went against me if, as you say, the other side have a 
 trump card in reserve I should be thrown on the 
 world with no visible means of support, as the news- 
 papers say. And what should I do then ? " 
 
 " I thought you spoke of an amicable compromise ? " 
 suggested Mr. Clissold. 
 
 " Ah, yes ! But that was if I won the day," said 
 Jocelyn, with unconscious humor, at which Mr. Clis- 
 sold secretly laughed. 
 
 " I see," he said. " You don't object to letting the 
 young lady owe you something, but you object to owe 
 her anything at all. I suppose you have changed your 
 views with regard to that little project of marriage of 
 which you spoke to me ? " 
 
 "No, Pve not changed my mind/' said Jocelyn. 
 moodily ; " but I doubt whether she will have me, 
 and the whole thing's in a tangle, and I don't know 
 what to do." 
 
 Mr. Clissold wisely forbore to make any further re- 
 mark ; but he said to himself that it was evident that 
 Mr. Daunay had found out the true nature of the girl, 
 and did not like to own that he had made a mistake. 
 
 Jocelyn returned home in a more distressed and per- 
 turbed state of mind even than before. He wished 
 that he had the courage to go and see Annabel, but
 
 The Doubts of Jocelyn Daunay. 329 
 
 somehow he felt it terrible to face her with that un- 
 spoken question in his mind. Had she not known all 
 the time, or, at least, had not Miss Arnold known ? It 
 was a perfectly maddening suspicion, and he had not 
 yet realized that it had been dropped into his mind 
 from without. 
 
 There was not very much of a garden round about 
 Daunay 's Tower, for it had been suffered to fall into a 
 wilderness-like state for want of proper attention ; but 
 there was one walk which was reputed to have been 
 made in the last century to please the invalid wife of 
 the Daunay who flourished at that time. It was shel- 
 tered on one side by a high bank, overgrown with 
 bracken and shaded by tall beech trees ; on the other 
 side the ground sloped away to the base of the valley, 
 where the little river made a pleasant sound as it rushed 
 over its pebbly bed, sheltered from the north, and open 
 to all the sunshine that was obtainable. 
 
 " The Ladies' Walk," as it was usually called, was 
 pleasant even in winter, and during the fine days which 
 occur sometimes in the month of October, it made as 
 pleasant a resort as one could find in a much more 
 southern clime. For the most part it was concealed 
 from the eyes of a casual observer, but one turning in 
 it was visible from some of the windows of Daunay's 
 Tower ; and it was from one of these windows that 
 Mrs. Wycherly saw Jocelyn pacing to and fro in the 
 sunshine, with his head bent and an air of melancholy 
 most uncharacteristic of him. 
 
 " Poor boy," she said, her eyes softening as they 
 dwelt upon him, " how he takes it to heart ! But, 
 upon my word, he is something of an enigma, after all. 
 I don't quite know wbf ho is eating his heart out in
 
 330 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 this fashion. Is it because he thinks Annabel a con- 
 scious impostor, as I certainly tried to make him be- 
 lieve, or has he heard of the attentions Reynold bestows 
 upon her ? I think I must try to find out." 
 
 So she threw her most becoming wrap round her 
 shoulders, and made her way quietly to the Ladies' 
 Walk, where she was, of course, immensely surprised 
 to meet Jocelyn, who she thought was miles away, 
 seeing Mr. Clissold off by train. 
 
 " I have been to the station and come back," Jocelyn 
 replied. " This is a pleasant walk, is it not ?" 
 
 " Oh, very," said Lenore, who had not come out to 
 talk about the walk. " But do tell me Mr. Clissold's 
 latest opinion. I suppose he thinks that you have 
 absolutely nothing to fear ? " 
 
 "To fear?" repeated Jocelyn, rather uncivilly. 
 " I don't quite understand what you mean by fear." 
 
 " But he thinks your case secure, doesn't he ? " said 
 Lenore, as if in surprise. 
 
 " He thinks that I am John Daunay's heir, if that 
 is what you wish to know," said Jocelyn. 
 
 "And you're not pleased ?" said Lenore, softly. 
 
 He made a movement of irritation, and then was 
 silent for a moment, as if trying to restrain himself. 
 
 " I must seem very bad-tempered," he said presently, 
 with a forced laugh. " But the fact is that I'm not 
 pleased at all ; we have all got ourselves into such false 
 positions over this business. If the other side would 
 only withdraw any claim it might all be plain sailing ; 
 but Dr. Lechmere, who seems to represent Annabel, 
 has given no sign at all of withdrawing the claim, and 
 in the present state of affairs that seems to meabs'urd." 
 
 " It is more than, absurd, it is dishonest." said
 
 The Doubts of Jocelyn Daunay. 331 
 
 Lcnore, with a great show of indignation. "What is 
 the use of their harassing you with a claim which they 
 know they -cannot prove ? I should have thought that 
 they would have withdrawn and apologized that was 
 the only thing'left for them to do." 
 
 " It is an awkward position for her, as well as for 
 me/' said Jocelyn, allowing himself to speak more 
 frankly. " But I think she might have sent me a 
 word ; she might have said that she was convinced that 
 it had all been a mistake, or something of that kind. 
 It looks it almost looks as if she wanted to fight the 
 matter out, in spite of everything." 
 
 **It is very bad taste, to say the least of it," said 
 Lenore. " I hope," she added, rather hesitatingly, 
 ' ( the course she is adopting has shown you what I 
 have known all along that she is not worthy of the 
 admiration which I know you gave her at one time." 
 
 "Admiration!" exclaimed Jocelyn. "I gave her 
 my love." He waited for a moment, and then added 
 in a deeper tone, " And she has it still." 
 
 " You're tremendously chivalrous," said Lenore. 
 " That is just what one respects in you ; you are so 
 unlike the young men of the present day, and it makes 
 one all the more sorry to see you tricked and deluded." 
 
 "But I am not tucked and deluded," he cried. "I 
 may be vexed I &m vexed and a little puzzled by 
 the present turn of events, but I don't see any reason 
 to think that I have been wilfully deceived." 
 
 " Well, it is very nice of you to say so, and really I 
 don't blame the poor girl herself, for I suppose she 
 was only the tool in the hands of some designing per- 
 son. They would scarcely take her into their con- 
 fidence, I should think."
 
 332 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 "No, that is not likely." 
 
 " But what I cannot believe is that Miss Arnold and 
 Dr. Lechmere are innocent in this matter. They 
 must have known that old Mr. Daunay's daughter died 
 when her mother did." 
 
 " One would think so," said Jocelyu with a groan. 
 "And yet I believed in them both utterly I might 
 say I believe in them still." 
 
 "You are so unsophisticated,'' she said, knowing 
 full well that this statement would sting him a little 
 " so ignorant of this wicked world. I am older than 
 you are, and perhaps have seen more of its wickedness 
 than you, and I am bound to say that I think Miss 
 Arnold quite capable of managing things ' for the best,' 
 as she would call it, for the sake of the girl .vliom she 
 seems to love so dearly. Has it not occurred to you 
 that she is probably herself Annabel's mother, and 
 that Dr. Lechmere has known it all the time ?" 
 
 Jocelyn stared at her in a sort of horror. " I may 
 be ignorant of the world," he said, "for certainly I 
 never thought of that." He walked on for a little, 
 then spoke again. "Xo, I don't believe it; Miss 
 Arnold is a good woman in her way." 
 
 " Although," interrupted Lenore, " you thought her 
 capable of misrepresenting facts for Annabel's advan- 
 tage." 
 
 "Upon my word," said Jocelyn, slowly, "I don't 
 know what to think." He stopped, and looked down 
 at the valley, with the rushing stresim, spanned by its 
 stone bridge, and the little white houses on either side ; 
 then his eye wandered further up the hill, to where, 
 in a distant nook, a tiny patch of white showed, to his 
 accustomed eye, the walls of the Moorside Farm. "I
 
 The Doubts of Jocelyn Daunay. 333 
 
 only know this," he said, " and I mean to cling to it, 
 that I love Annabel as much as ever I did, and that if 
 she will let me take her out of all this confusion and 
 doubt and difficulty, I will make her my wife at once." 
 
 Lenore uttered a shrill little laugh. " I cannot help 
 laughing," she said, as, with an angry look, Jocelyn 
 faced her for a moment. " But, you know, you are so 
 delightfully credulous ! The faith you put in that 
 girl is, to me, most remarkable. I really cannot under- 
 stand how you can be so blind." 
 
 " Blind ? " said Jocelyn. 
 
 " It is so very evident," said Lenore, "that she is 
 watching for the highest bidder. At first, you see, she 
 thought that she herself might get the whole estate, 
 then you became a second string to her bow. I don't 
 in the least suppose, my dear Jocelyn, that she will 
 continue her claim to the property so long as you per- 
 sist in your intention to marry her ; but don't you see 
 she is waiting for you to declare your intentions more 
 clearly before she withdraws her claim ? If you were 
 to break with her, she would find a good many ways 
 of harassing you still ; but if you let her know that you 
 are still constant, I dare say you will hear no more 
 about her being John Daunay's daughter, and I should 
 not wonder, even, if she sent Reynold Harding to the 
 right-about." 
 
 " What has Reynold Harding got to do with it ? " 
 said Jocelyn, bending his brows. 
 
 "Oh, that has been going on chiefly while you were 
 in Paris. You know what an impulsive fellow Reynold 
 is ! I am really sorry to s:iy that he has fallen head 
 over ears in love with this girl, and has been constantly 
 at the farm for the last few days, paying all sorts of
 
 334 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 attention to her. I must say Miss Annabel plays her 
 cards very well," said Lenore, with a laugh. " She 
 makes quite a harvest out of her lovers, and Miss 
 Arnold reaps the benefit. The house is simply 
 crammed with costly flowers and fruits and gifts of 
 all kinds." 
 
 " What ? Does Annabel accept these things from 
 Mr. Harding ? " 
 
 " Go and see for yourself," said Mrs. Wycherly, airily. 
 "Or ask your sister. Some neighboring clergyman's 
 wife called upon her the other day and introduced the 
 subject. She seemed perfectly scandalized, and in 
 your interests, my dear Jocelyn, I went up there my- 
 self, and certainly, although I didn't see Eeynold, I 
 saw the flowers." 
 
 " Flowers ? Oh, flowers are not much. They 
 might have been sent to Miss Arnold because she is 
 ill." 
 
 " You foolish boy ! In the wilds of Cumberland one 
 cannot get the most magnificent roses, lilies-of-the- 
 valley, violets, and stephanotis for nothing. I should 
 say they came from London ; they were perfectly 
 superb." 
 
 Jocelyn's face grew white. " Do you mean to tell 
 me," he said, " that Annabel is encouraging this 
 man ? " 
 
 "I can tell you nothing," said Mrs. Wycherly, "but 
 what I hear by common report. Everybody says that 
 he is there at every hour, and that he sends these 
 wonderful gifts ; whether that is true or not, of 
 course, I am not in a position to assure you, but I 
 know that he told me the other day that he had com- 
 pletely lost his heart to her and his head too, I
 
 The Doubts of Jocelyn Daunay. 335 
 
 should think and that he meant to make her his 
 wife." 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Jocelyn, angrily. " There 
 must be some mistake." 
 
 " But why should there be any mistake ? " said Mrs. 
 Wycherly. " Keynold is a very handsome man, and 
 you must remember that he is rich. Annabel was not 
 engaged to you, was she ? " 
 
 " No, I had not asked her." 
 
 "Well, you see, she was quite free. You should 
 have made sure of her before you went to Paris if you 
 wanted to fix her wandering affections on yourself." 
 Then, noting his downcast look, she dropped her tone 
 of raillery, and said in a softer voice, "It is always the 
 unattainable that we want ; the people who really care 
 for you are those upon whom you never cast a single 
 thought." 
 
 " I hope I am not so ungrateful/' said Jocelyn, while 
 his dry lips moved with difficulty ; but he could not 
 bring himself to smile. 
 
 "Xo, you are not ungrateful ; but you are sometimes 
 blind. Believe me, the true friend may sometimes be 
 of more value and of more comfort than the first love 
 of one's earlier days. You must not despair, even if 
 Annabel does prefer some one else to you ; you will 
 learn in time that she was not worthy of your regard, 
 and you may, perhaps" Lenore turned her head 
 aside, and spoke tremulously " remember those who 
 have been faithful to you in the hours of darkness as 
 well as in the hours of light." 
 
 " You have been a good friend to me, Lenore," said 
 Jocelyn, evidently accepting the hint: but. as Lenore 
 felt, not in the least giving it its true significance. He
 
 336 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 spoke heavily, and did not even raise his eyes to her 
 face ; but he held out his hand and grasped hers for a 
 moment, and although the grasp was a little painful, 
 she felt that the time might come when he would find 
 comfort in the things that she had said.
 
 Jocelyn Defeats His Own Ends. 337 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IN WHICH JOCELYN DEFEATS HIS OWN ENDS. 
 
 His hesitations were over ; he must at all risks see 
 Annabel himself, and put to her the plain question 
 which he had kept so long in his heart. It was not 
 really very long, but it seemed to him that a century 
 had elapsed since he stood with her in the little sitting- 
 room at the Moorside Farm, and watched her open the 
 box which had belonged to her mother long ago. Had 
 it been her mother, after all ? That was the worst of 
 it not to be sure whether one ought to laugh or cry 
 at the sentiment which had then seemed so natural 
 and pathetic. All the beauty of the scene had, for 
 Jocelyn. dissolved into thin air ; everybody had been 
 tricked and deceived all round. Possibly, then, Mr. 
 Daunay himself, who had always acknowledged Anna- 
 bel as his child there came back suddenly to Jocelyn's 
 mind, however, the remembrance of the day on which 
 John Daunay had said to him, ft Annabel is dead" 
 perhaps he had known it at the time ; known that his 
 own daughter lay in the churchyard of St. Andrew's- 
 on-the-IIill, but had chosen, for some reason of his own, 
 to pretend that Annabel was she. 
 
 It was a bewildering situation for every one non- 
 cerned, and, Jocelyn was beginning to see, the only 
 way out of the difficulty was to renounce finally and 
 forever any desire to Ascertain Annabel's true history, 
 
 22
 
 338 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 and to accept her, as it were, on her own merits, a girl 
 about whom nothing seemed to be known ; her beauty 
 and her goodness must make up for the want of ances- 
 try. In his own eyes this was easy enough, but he 
 knew very well that there would be a struggle with the 
 world, which does not like mysteries. Still, Jocelyn 
 thought that if Annabel would consent to marry him, 
 they might go abroad for a time, live in places where 
 they were not known until the story and the scandal 
 had blown by, and then take their proper places as 
 master and mistress of Daunay's Tower. 
 
 But there was this question of Keynold Harding. 
 Was it possible that she had any liking for him ? It 
 was certainly not possible that, as Lenore had sug- 
 gested, she should choose Harding because he was the 
 richer of the two men who aspired to her hand. 
 Jocelyn could not for one moment bring himself to 
 believe that of her ; but it was quite possible that 
 Reynold with his handsome face and Herculean pro- 
 portions, had attracted her he was known to be at- 
 tractive to women generally, and to be extremely 
 generous where they were concerned. Jocelyn was 
 obliged to own that Harding had a good many advan- 
 tages on his side. 
 
 The worst of being young and very much in earnest 
 is that one conducts one's own affairs with lamentable 
 want of tact and prudence. 
 
 Joceleyn, arriving in haste at the Moorside Farm at 
 a rather inconvenient time, with a hot, flurried, ;uid 
 distinctly uncomfortable manner, was not at all the 
 person whom Annabel desired to see. It was in the 
 middle of the day, for Jocelyn had hurried thither 
 immediately after his interview with Lenore in the
 
 Jocelyn Defeats His Own Ends. 339 
 
 garden, and he had arrived between the hours of 
 twelve and one, when, as anybody might have known, 
 preparations for the midday meal were going on, and 
 Miss Arnold's tray had to be carried up-stairs. With 
 all her dainty appearance and her love of books, 
 Annabel was by no means unproficient in the art of 
 cookery, and she generally made a point of preparing 
 her aunt's meals with her own hands. 
 
 Xo one else could suit the invalid's taste so well, or 
 flavor the delicate soups and jellies and milk puddings 
 exactly as she liked them. So, when Annabel came 
 into the sitting-room to receive Mr. Daunay, she was 
 not only disturbed by considerations respecting love 
 and life and the inheritance of a fortune, but by trouble 
 as to whether Keziah would not let the milk boil or 
 break the mold of jelly when she turned it out. It 
 was a very prosaic mood to be in, and not one which 
 augured well for Jocelyn's cause ; but the young man 
 was too much preoccupied with his own anxiety to 
 vouchsafe a thought to sublunary matters of this kind. 
 
 " I have come back, Annabel," he began at once, 
 quite unconscious that his high-strung mood was not 
 at all in accordance with her own. " And you know 
 the news that I had thought was good turned out to 
 be of no use at all." 
 
 " I am sorry you had all that trouble, "said Annabel, 
 rather coldly, "seeing that I am afraid yon took it on 
 my account. The discovery made by your friend Mrs. 
 Wycherly was much more important to you." 
 
 " Mrs. Wycherly," said Jocelyn, " did not make it. 
 It was she, certainly, who suggested to me that I 
 ought to examine that old register ; but she did not 
 know that it contained anything important."
 
 340 Dau nay's Tower. 
 
 " She has not told you. then," said Annabel, " that 
 it was she who found it first of all, and sent Dr. Lech- 
 mere to look at it, and then wrote to the lawyers ? 
 You ought to be very much obliged to her. This i.s 
 something like carrying the war into the i-nemy's 
 camp." 
 
 Jocelyn looked at her almost in reproach. "Mrs. 
 Wycherly is my guest, and I suppose she takes some 
 little interest in my concerns." 
 
 " But this was my concern, I think/' said Annabel, 
 with spirit. " Of course, I need not say that I owe 
 her no grudge for having helped to discover the truth, 
 but I did not know that she had made a secret of it. 
 Possibly her delicacy of feeling made her hide her 
 good deeds." 
 
 "I don't think it matters very much what Mrs. 
 Wycherly did or did not do," said Jocelyn, assuming a 
 more masterful tone. " Some one would surely at one 
 time or another have thought of those old registers ; 
 I wonder no one examined them before. It did not 
 occur to any one, I suppose to Miss Arnold or Dr. 
 Lechmere " 
 
 There was a flash in Annabel's eyes. " Certainly 
 not," she said, " or the entry would have been placed 
 in your hands long before." 
 
 " Of course, of course," said Jocelyn, hastily. " I 
 don't mean to throw any aspersion on their charac- 
 ters." 
 
 " Really I should hope not," said Annabel. " You 
 will please not do it in my presence, at any rate." 
 
 The young man was beginning to exasperate her. 
 She knew in her heart that he meant well, but, like 
 most of the young men of her acquaintance, he was so
 
 Jocelyn Defeats His Own Ends. 341 
 
 slow. There was nobody like her dear Dr. Eugene for 
 seeing the point at once, and not being misled by minor 
 considerations. 
 
 How could Jocelyn be so stupid as to say a thing like 
 that, when he must know that the merest hint of it 
 would be offensive to her ? She wished very heartily 
 that he would go away. 
 
 "I am afraid/' he said the young man did not 
 know what havoc he was playing with his own dearest 
 hopes " that if what I have heard is true, you do not 
 regard me in the same light as when I went away." 
 
 " In what light did I regard you ? " said Annabel, 
 with some defiance in her tone. " I suppose that I 
 thought you were my cousin only second cousin, by 
 the way not very much of a relationship, after all. 
 It seems that I am not your cousin, Mr. Daunay, or, 
 at least, I cannot prove it ; therefore, as you say, I 
 don't regard you quite in the same light." 
 
 "It was more than that, and you know it," cried 
 Jocelyn, impetuously. " You promised to like me for 
 myself not because I was a cousin. I don't care 
 whether I am a cousin or not. It is you that I care 
 for you for your own self, and I wish the question 
 of relationship had never been mooted at all." 
 
 " Or, in other words, you wish that we had never 
 met," said Annabel ; which was a deliberate and rather 
 malicious deflection from the meaning of Jocelyn's 
 words. 
 
 " If you think that, there is nothing else to be said," 
 remarked Jocelyn, full of wounded feeling. " I sup- 
 pose it is not to be wondered at that you cannot care 
 for me when another man that you like better comes 
 on the scene. "
 
 342 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Annabel recoiled a step. " Another man ? What 
 do you mean ?" she asked. 
 
 "Oh, you know very well," said Jocelyn, putting 
 his luvnds into his pockets and walking away to the 
 other side of the room and buck again. "And, of 
 course, I know that I have no chance against him a 
 fellow that sends you flowers, and comes to see you 
 every day, and does all sorts of things for your aunt 
 and yourself that I never have the chance to do. I 
 suppose it is natural that you should prefer him." 
 
 Annabel did not very often blush, but when she did 
 the transparency of her complexion allowed the blush 
 to become painfully evident. A rush of crimson color 
 to the very roots of her hair confirmed Jocelyn in his 
 belief that Reynold Harding had entire possession of 
 her heart. 
 
 "I might have known it," he said ruefully. " But 
 don't you think he is too old for you, Annabel ? Don't 
 you think that by and by you would care more for some 
 one more your own age, who would sympathize in your 
 pursuits and be a friend and confidant as well as a 
 husband ?" 
 
 " I can't say that I have thought of him in that 
 light at all," said Annabel, with great stateliness. 
 " But as for being a friend and confidant, there is no- 
 body that I could esteem so highly or who would be 
 more capable of sharing all my pursuits." 
 
 "Good Heavens!" said Jocelyn, "has it come to 
 this ? Why, he cares for nothing but horse-racing and 
 higli play. I should have thought he was the last man 
 whom you would have found congenial. Of course, 1 
 know he is a rich man, and that makes up for a good 
 deal."
 
 Jocelyn Defeats His Own Ends. 343 
 
 "Oh," said Annabel, with a sort of slow amusement 
 creeping into her face, " perhaps we are not speaking 
 of the same num." 
 
 " I didn't know there were two persons to speak 
 about," said Jocelyn, with gathering warmth. '' It 
 seems that you have plenty of admirers at your beck 
 and call. I refer to Mr. Keynold Harding, who makes 
 no secret of the fact that he intends you to be his 
 wife." 
 
 " Don't you think that my consent might be required 
 as well as his ? " she asked with a faint smile, in which 
 her exasperation was beginning to show itself. Really, 
 this young man was very foolish. What did he expect 
 her to do ? 
 
 " Oh," said Jocelyn, quickly, " if you are not inclined 
 to let me take any interest in what concerns you, I 
 may as well go altogether." 
 
 "I am very much obliged to you for your interest," 
 Annabel responded, " but, of course, I must manage 
 my own affairs." 
 
 "Then you send me away?" said Jocelyn. He 
 turned very pale as he said it, and looked at her with 
 a piteously disappointed air, which all but softened 
 Annabel's heart towards him. 
 
 " I have nothing to do with it, Mr. Daunay. I 
 can only thank you for your kindness, and especially 
 for your going to Paris though, naturally, that was 
 your affair as well as mine and say good-by." 
 
 " But, Annabel 
 
 " I don't see any reason why you should call me 
 Annabel. I shall retain aunt's name I shall be Miss 
 Arnold henceforward, Mr. Daunay. Will you please 
 remember ?"
 
 344 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Is there no hope for me, then ? " said Jocelyn. 
 " I have no right to claim anything from you, but you 
 did once say that yon would try to like me, and that 
 we would be friends." 
 
 "I thought you were my cousin then." 
 "I may be your friend without being a cousin." 
 
 "If being a friend," said Annabel, with decision, 
 "authorizes you to come and repeat to me all the 
 gossip that you have heard about Mr. Harding, for 
 instance I think I had rather we were enemies." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said poor Jocelyn. " I 
 only wanted to know the truth. If he sends you 
 flowers " 
 
 "He does not send me flowers." 
 
 " There is some one else then ?" 
 
 Jocelyn's quick, jealous accent moved Annabel to 
 scornful laughter. " Yes, there is some one else," 
 she said. " Now guess who it is and go." 
 
 She sprang to the door and opened it, pointing to 
 the passage with an air of supreme contempt. The 
 smell of burning, wafted to her from the kitchen pre- 
 cincts, was enough to make any young housekeeper 
 impatient. And she was not in a tragic mood. " Oh, 
 do go," she said, in a different tone. " Aunt Jane's 
 dinner will be quite spoiled, and all through you. " 
 
 Jocelyn withdrew, with a good deal of offended 
 dignity. But when he reached the garden-gate he 
 hesitated. It was hard to part from her in this way. 
 Yet if he went now, he felt that he should never come 
 back again. 
 
 Perhaps she had some such feeling herself, at the 
 bottom of her heart. For as he paused by the gate, 
 with his heart sore and something not unlike moisture
 
 Jocelyn Defeats His Own Ends. 345 
 
 in his eyes, Miss Annabel glanced at him through the 
 window, and relented a little bit. Jocelyn could 
 hardly believe in his good luck when her voice once 
 more fell upon his ear. 
 
 "I was rude to you, Mr. Daunay. I beg your par- 
 don. I did not mean to be uncivil, but one is irri- 
 table sometimes," said the penitent. 
 
 "Don't think of it," said Jocelyn eagerly, with 
 such a sudden lighting up of all his face that Anna- 
 bel drew back half afraid. "Will you forgive me my 
 impertinence ? " 
 
 " I will not call it by that name. But you must not 
 believe all you hear. Ask ask Dr. Lech mere." 
 
 " Dr. Lechmere ? " A shadow came over Jocelyn 's 
 face as he heard the name. "Why do you make such 
 an authority of him ? Why are yon so fond of him ? " 
 
 " Because he is one of the best and nicest men I 
 know," she answered readily. "He has been kind to 
 me all my life ; and I have had very few people to be 
 kind to me." 
 
 " You should never say that again if you would but 
 listen to me. I would surround you with love and 
 care ; I would set you amongst troops of friends ; I 
 would be to you the very best friend you ever had." 
 
 " Would you ? " she said, with a little smile. " But 
 you have one great drawback : you have not known 
 me since I was a baby, as Dr. Lechmere has. And 
 you have never taught me Latin or the violin." 
 
 "I might teach you something else," said Jocelyu, 
 looking down at her and trying to take her hand ; but 
 Annabel drew it resolutely away. 
 
 "No," she said, "you need not do that, Mr. 
 Daunay. And I don't think I could ever let any one
 
 346 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 teach me anything, unless I were absolutely convinced 
 that my teacher trusted me in all relations of life, and 
 did not think I was capable of doing a mean or dis- 
 honorable thing." 
 
 " Annabel ! You do not accuse me of that ! " 
 
 "You may not have meant me to see it," she said ; 
 "but you certainly came here to-day to question inc. 
 to make sure whether I was not accepting presents of 
 flowers and other things from that hateful Mr. Hard- 
 ing. I am sure you would never have thought of these 
 things for yourself ; they were put into your head by 
 Mrs. Wycherly, who is no friend of mine. But the man 
 that I trust must trust me all in all, or I would rather 
 not see his face again." 
 
 " You have my whole trust, Annabel. I only feared 
 that you were learning to like some one to love some 
 one else. If so, by my own love, I had a right to know." 
 
 " Do you think so ? It seems to me that you claim 
 too much, Mr. Daunay. Do you know those lines of 
 Blake's ? 
 
 " ' Love seeketh not itself to please, 
 
 Nor for itself hath any care, 
 But for another gives its ease, 
 
 And builds a heaven in hell's despair.' 
 
 This is the kind of love I believe in, and the one that 
 I have some reason to understand. I am not sure 
 that yours comes under the same category." 
 
 "You are cruel," said Jocelyn, who was very down- 
 cast, " and I think you are unjust. Will you give me 
 a little time before you cast me off ? Will you let me 
 show you that my love is truer than you think ?" 
 
 He looked for an answer, but none came. She had 
 scarcely heard the last few words. Her eyes were
 
 Jocelyn Defeats His Own Ends. 347 
 
 fixed upon a distant object in the road. Jocelyn, 
 turning, caught the flash of harness and glimpse of 
 scarlet wheels. "Ah ! " said Annabel, with a long 
 inspiration, and clasping her hands together as she 
 stood, " there is Dr. Eugene \" 
 
 It was chiefly for her aunt's sake at that moment 
 that she was so delighted to see the doctor's cart upon 
 the road. But it was Jocelyn's fate that day to mis- 
 understand. He looked at the approaching vehicle 
 and back at her brightening eyes, and his face 
 clouded. 
 
 "If such an old friend is coming," he said, "of 
 course you do not want me any longer." 
 
 And to Annabel's infinite surprise, he raised his hat 
 formally, said good-morning, and turned to walk down 
 the road. This time she made no effort to detain 
 him. After the first moment of astonishment, she 
 raised her eyebrows quizzically, and smiled. 
 
 " lie is only a boy," she said, with wondering scorn. 
 " A schoolboy, who takes offense when he thinks 
 somebody is preferred before him. As if Dr. Eugene 
 were not worth twenty Jocelyn Daunays. Xot but 
 what Jocelyn is a nice boy in his way," she added, 
 with all the superiority of her sex and age. 
 
 " I met young Daunay coming down the road, "said 
 Dr. Eugene, greeting her with his bright, observant 
 smile. " What have you been doing or saying to him 
 to make him look so miserable ? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing at all," said Annabel. " He is only 
 silly. I think most men are silly except you." 
 
 " I fear I am no exception," said the doctor, dryly. 
 
 "Yes ; the exception that proves the rule, because 
 you are different from the rest."
 
 348 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " How is my patient ? You are beginning to look 
 pale, Annabel. Were you sitting up last night ? " 
 
 "A little while. Not all night. Aunt Jane had 
 one of her attacks of breathlessuess." 
 
 " You will break down if you nurse her by day and 
 night as well. I think you must consent to have a 
 trained nurse from Carlisle." 
 
 " Oh no, Dr. Eugene. Let me do everything for 
 her while I can." 
 
 " While you are able yes. But I think you will 
 want more help by and by. You will not be kept out 
 of her room, you know ; but you will have somebody 
 to share your duties. I will see Miss Arnold, and if 
 she does not object, you must be reasonable, my dear 
 child, and submit." 
 
 "It will be very hard," said Annabel, with the 
 sound of a choked-back sob in her throat ; but at 
 the same time she knew that if Dr. Lechmere ordered 
 she must obey.
 
 Nurse Lynch. 349 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 NURSE LYNCH. 
 
 Miss ARNOLD assented, quite readily, to Dr. Lech- 
 mere's proposal of a nurse. " No, Annabel must not 
 wear herself out," she said; "she must have some one 
 to help her, and to be with her by and by ! " She 
 looked meaningly at the doctor as she said these words. 
 " Get a responsible, middle-aged body, if you can, 
 doctor ; not a flighty young thing such as I've seen in 
 Carlisle streets sometimes, with curls on her forehead, 
 all fly-away streamers and bows ; an elderly woman, who 
 will be useful to Annabel when the end comes." 
 
 The doctor considered. Her request was not alto- 
 gether easy to be complied with. The majority of the 
 nurses in the institution to which he was about to 
 send, were young ; and he knew well enough that curls 
 and streamers did not prevent them from being exceed- 
 ingly efficient. However, he went home and wrote, 
 instead of telegraphing, to Carlisle. There was no 
 immediate hurry, and he could make his wants known 
 by letter more fully than a telegram. He had a tele- 
 gram in return on the following day : " Am sending 
 Nurse Lynch. Says she knows you and neighborhood, 
 and will go straight to Moorside Farm." 
 
 It was signed by the Lady Superintendent of the 
 Home to which he had written ; and as Dr. Lechmere 
 had often obtained nurses from the same place, he sup-
 
 35o Daunay's Tower. 
 
 posed that this particular nurse was one whom he had 
 already employed. He could not remember her name, 
 however. There was no " Nurse Lynch " mentioned 
 in his note-book or medical diary ; he turned them up 
 to see. But he had great faith in the lady at the head 
 of the Nursing Home, and he felt some satisfaction in 
 knowing that Annabel would have a helper and a 
 companion. She needed a protector, too ; and if Nurse 
 Lynch were a nice woman, it would be a great comfort 
 to the girl that she should have an elderly woman with 
 her when Jane Arnold's race was run. For the doctor 
 knew very well that his patient's life was drawing very 
 surely to an end. 
 
 He was too busy to do more than send a note to 
 Annabel, telling her of the nurse's probable arrival that 
 day, and saying that he would call in the afternoon. 
 So that both Miss Arnold and Annabel were prepared 
 when a fly from the station drew up to the garden-gate, 
 and from it descended a woman of more than middle- 
 age elderly, certainly, with plainly banded gray hair 
 under her close bonnet, and a healthful, rosy color on 
 her cheeks. She looked an intensely sensible person, 
 though one of the old school rather than the new a 
 fact which had probably caused her to be sent to the 
 case described by Dr. Lechmere. She was of the old 
 family-servant type, and looked like a superior and very 
 motherly housekeeper, or even the matron of a benevo- 
 lent institution a post which, as Annabel found, she 
 had really occupied for some years of her life. 
 
 " Ye'll be expecting me, my dear," she s;ii<l. when 
 Annabel received her there was a touch of the kindly 
 Scots tongue in her voice "and well I know that it's 
 ill wanting a nurse when there's sickness in the house ;
 
 Nurse Lynch. 
 
 but I came as quick as I conld, aiid I hope I'll be of 
 use to you." 
 
 " I am sure you will," said Annabel. This comfort- 
 able, sonsy-looking body would be more acceptable to 
 her aunt than the smart young hospital nurse whom she 
 head feared. 
 
 " You will have some dinner before you go np-stairs, 
 will you not ? and I will show you your room." 
 
 "* I'll just have whatever you yourself may be tak- 
 ing," said the nurse, cheerfully. " And when I've got 
 my bonnet off, you can let me see my patient, unless 
 you'd rather I waited for Dr. Lechmere." 
 
 " You know Dr. Lechmere, do you not ? " 
 
 A smile came to the nurse's lips. " I knew him a 
 little, my dear, a good many years ago. A wild-like 
 young gentleman, with the freest tongue I ever heard, 
 but clever I'd uphold him as clever to all the 
 world, and kind at heart for all his cantankerous 
 ways. " 
 
 "Oh!" said Annabel, rather distantly. "Is that 
 the way you speak of Dr. Lechmere ? It must have 
 been many years since you saw him, or you would know 
 that there's not a cleverer nor a kinder doctor in the 
 whole country-side." 
 
 " I always said he was clever," said Nurse Lynch, 
 comfortably. " Yes ; they speak very well of Dr. 
 Lechmere in Carlisle. But he wasyoung when I knew 
 him, ye ken, and fond of his little joke.'"' 
 
 " I can understand that," said Annabel, reassured. 
 " And did you nurse a case for him in Carlisle ? " 
 
 " No, my dear, it was in this part of the world, but 
 many years ago. Is the doctor likely to be here soon ? " 
 she asked, rather Annabel was quick to notice as if
 
 352 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 she did not want to discuss the case which she had 
 mentioned. " And won't you tell me about your auntie ? 
 for it's your auntie, isn't it, that's ill ? Has it been 
 long, my dear ? " 
 
 Annabel could not resist the invitation to pour the 
 whole story of Miss Arnold's long invalidism and ill- 
 ness into the nurse's ear, and was pleased by the sym- 
 pathy and attention which Nurse Lynch bestowed on 
 it. Her remarks, too, were all singularly apposite and 
 sensible, so that Annabel began to feel a great trust in 
 her judgment even before she took her up-stairs to see 
 Miss Arnold for the first time. 
 
 Here, too, she was gratified to observe that her aunt 
 at once seemed to like the nurse. Annabel knew Miss 
 Arnold's face so well that its remotest change of expres- 
 sion was intelligible to her, and she would have known 
 in a moment if the presence of Nurse Lynch had been 
 unacceptable in any way. But the sick woman seemed 
 interested by the new arrival, and encouraged her to 
 talk when her afternoon rest was over, and Annabel had 
 brought her aunt a cup of tea. 
 
 "Yes, I've seen a good bit of the world," Nurse 
 Lynch was saying, in her easy way, "and I think nurs- 
 ing's as good a thing as you can lay your hand to ; for 
 nothing comforts one in trouble like helping to bind tip 
 the hurts of other people." 
 
 "That's true," said Jane Arnold, with her hollow 
 eyes fixed thoughtfully on the speaker's face. 
 
 " I've had my troubles, though I seem to have over- 
 lived them now," the nurse went on. "I've been 
 wedded and widowed, and I buried three dear children 
 of my own ; but I always say that nobody can help 
 those in trouble except they know what trouble is."
 
 Nurse Lynch. 353 
 
 " Was it your losses that made you take to nursing ? " 
 Miss Arnold asked. 
 
 " Not to begin with, ma'am. I took to it natural 
 and out of sympathy before I married, and it was while 
 I was single that I met with Dr. Lechmere before ; but 
 soon after nursing that case for him, I married and left 
 off working for myself till after my husband and chil- 
 dren died. Then I was the matron of an orphanage for 
 a wee while, but, bless you, there wasn't enough there 
 for me to do, so back I came to Carlisle and went to 
 Miss Blair at the Nursing Home; and I said, 'If I'm 
 not too old, Miss Blair, I'd be glad to do a little more 
 nursing/' and that's how I come to be here. I've worked 
 for two years under Miss Blair, going out to cases where 
 she recommended me ; and when your doctor wrote to 
 her for a nurse, she came to me and said, * This is a 
 case I'm sure you'd like, Nurse Lynch,' and I said, 
 'Especially as I'd nursed for Dr. Lechmere before." 1 
 
 " Did you come into this neighborhood to nurse for 
 him, then ? " said Jane. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am I did ; but it was a private case that 
 I was warned not to talk about. "We do see strange 
 things, we nurses, in the houses we go to. But I should 
 say I've talked enough to tire you now, and I'd better 
 say no more, for I can see that you want a rest." 
 
 " Here is the doctor," said Annabel, looking out of 
 the window. " I will run down and bring him up." 
 
 " She's a pretty creature," the nurse remarked, look- 
 ing after her, " and as good as she's pretty, I'll be 
 bound. She reminds me of some one that I've nursed, 
 but I can't just now remember who." 
 
 Meanwhile Annabel met the doctor with a beaming 
 smile. 
 23
 
 354 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Oh, she's a dear old thing, Doctor Eugene ! So 
 kind and gossipy and cheerful ! Aunt Jane likes her 
 immensely, and so do I. Where did she nurse for you 
 before ? " 
 
 " Can't say in the least," Dr. Lechmere replied. 
 " It must be some years ago. Perhaps she will be able 
 to remind me." 
 
 He entered the sick-room, with Annabel behind him. 
 The nurse had her back to the window, so that at first 
 he did not see her face. 
 
 " Well, Miss Arnold," he began, addressing the in- 
 valid, " how are you getting on ? This is Nurse 
 Lynch, I suppose ? " he added, turning to the stout, 
 motherly woman in her close white cap. 
 
 " I remember you very well, doctor," said the nurse, 
 in her pleasant, homely voice, " though it's eighteen 
 years or more since we met." 
 
 Eugene Lechmere gave a violent start. A strange 
 look came into his eyes, a look of intense surprise, 
 amounting to stupefaction. "You !" he stammered. 
 " Yon, nurse ! But you were not Nurse Lynch when 
 I saw you ? " 
 
 " No, sir, my name was Paterson." 
 
 " Ah, that is why I could never find yon again. I 
 wanted you for another case. But we will attend to 
 Miss Arnold at present. Afterwards I should like a 
 word with you in the sitting-room down-stairs." 
 
 He had recovered his self-possession, and gave all his 
 attention to Miss Arnold ; but Annabel, who had 
 observed him closely, was quite sure that he was a 
 shade paler than usual, and that his hands were dis- 
 posed to shake. This was so extraordinary a sign of 
 agitation in Dr. Lechmere that she felt almost alarmed
 
 Nurse Lynch. 355 
 
 by it ; but before he left the room she was reassured, 
 for he glanced at her and smiled. She thought she 
 never had seen him look at her so brightly, so encour- 
 agingly perhaps, also, so tenderly. It gave her some- 
 thing to think of while he and Nurse Lynch talked 
 together in the sitting-room, doubtless about Miss 
 Arnold's case. 
 
 Presently she heard the doctor's foot upon the stairs. 
 She was surprised ; he was coming back, then, even 
 after bidding her aunt good night. Was it possible 
 that he did not consider Nurse Lynch satisfactory, and 
 was returning to tell Miss Arnold that she must be ex- 
 changed for a more conventional young person from 
 the hospital ? Annabel hoped not ; she had not often 
 seen her aunt show so much liking on a first acquaint- 
 ance as she had done to Nurse Lynch. The doctor 
 came in alone ; his face was flushed, and there was an 
 odd smile at the corners of his mouth. 
 
 " My dear Miss Arnold," he said, " I think I had 
 better tell you beforehand under what circumstances I 
 first met the nurse who is in attendance upon you. 
 Don't let it agitate you. It was she who nursed your 
 sister during that last illness of hers at Daunay's 
 Tower." 
 
 Jane Arnold pressed her hands together, and smiled ; 
 the news did not excite her in the very least. 
 
 " I'm glad to think that Betha had such a nice, 
 motherly person to look after her," she said. 
 
 " Yes, I always thought very highly of Nurse Pater- 
 son. I tried to find her for another case or two not 
 long afterwards, but I could not trace her. She 
 had married, she tells me, and gone to live iu Scot- 
 land."
 
 356 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " She remembers Betha ? She was with her all the 
 time that she was ill ? " 
 
 " Yes, she remembers her very well." 
 
 Suddenly Annabel was struck by the suppressed ex- 
 citement in Dr. Lechmere's tone. She looked up at 
 him inquiringly. He made a slight movement with his 
 head, as though to caution her to be very quiet, then, 
 stooping over the bed, he took Jane Arnold by the 
 hand. 
 
 " Does it not strike you, also," he said gently, " that 
 this nurse may be able to clear up the mystery which 
 has been troubling us all for so long ? Don't you 
 suppose she can tell us whether Betha's little daughter 
 lived or died, and who was the child that siie gave to 
 me to lay in your arms ? " 
 
 " If she can tell us that," said Jane Arnold, solemnly, 
 " God knows that I shall die in peace." 
 
 " Dr. Eugene ! Oh, is it true ? Can she tell 
 us " 
 
 " Hush, my dear ! She has told me something, cer- 
 tainly something of which, fool as I was, I never 
 dreamed. She shall say for herself what she knows. 
 Come in, nurse. Will you kindly tell Miss Arnold and 
 Miss Daunay what you know concerning the child that 
 you gave me eighteen years ago to carry to its aunt, 
 who was awaiting it outside Daunay's Tower ? " 
 
 Annabel caught her breath. He had called her " Mis.s 
 Daunay," and yet John Daunay's child, according to 
 the parish register, lay buried with its mother in the 
 green churchyard of St. Andrew's-on-the-IIill ! 
 
 Miss Arnold sat erect, a red spot of excitement on her 
 cheek, her eyes gleaming with an eager light. The 
 doctor laid his finger quietly on her pulse, and signed
 
 Nurse Lynch. 357 
 
 to Annabel to place a cordial ready to his hand. Then 
 the old nurse came hurriedly back into the room. 
 
 " Dear me ! " she said. " To think that this sweet 
 young lady is the baby that I took from Mrs. Daunay's 
 breast when the poor thing lay dying ! Yes, indeed, 
 missy, it was Mrs. Dannay's little girl that I wrapped 
 up and gave to the doctor when he came and told me 
 that her aunt had come for her ; though I did think 
 it was a dreadful thing that she should be carried out 
 into the night air when she was but a few days old ! But 
 it was Mr. Daunay's orders, and it had to be done ; and 
 well I know, Miss, that the baby given over to Miss 
 Arnold this lady here was Mrs. Daunay's child, for 
 I was there when she was born, and I remember a little 
 mark that she has still a freckle or a little mole, my 
 dear, on the right shoulder for I said to the doctor at 
 the time, ' Why, I should know that baby anywhere, 
 because of the mark it's got." 
 
 " Yes/' said Annabel, blushing. She had often been 
 vexed at that tiny speck upon the whiteness of her 
 skin. 
 
 " Then how was it ? how did it happen," said Jane 
 Arnold, " that there should have been a child buried 
 with Betha at St. Andrew's-on-the-Hill ?" 
 
 " Bless you, ma'am/' said Nurse Lynch, with much 
 composure, " and did you none of you never think of 
 twins f "
 
 358 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 DANGEB AHEAD ! 
 
 " TWINS yon were/' said Nurse Lynch, addressing 
 herself to Annabel, " and as pretty a pair of little girls 
 as ever I saw in my life, although your papa did growl 
 and grumble at neither of you being a boy. But, as I 
 told him, he might live to be thankful for a girl." 
 
 " It was my little sister, then, who was buried at St. 
 Audrew's-on-the-Hill ? " 
 
 " Yes, dearie, it was, and Annabel, like yourself, she 
 was called ; for, when he saw that she was going, which 
 she did in less than an hour after her birth, the doctor 
 baptized her himself all in a hurry the doctor from 
 Carlisle. And Mr, Daunay standing by, when asked 
 what she should be called, said ' Annabel/ and Anna- 
 bel was her name. " 
 
 " It would have saved some trouble if you had told 
 me that there were twins, nurse," said Dr. Lechmere. 
 
 " Well, sir, how was I to know that Mr. Daunay 
 hadn't told you ? You see, miss, poor Mrs. Daunay 
 died suddenly, of collapse, and Dr. Lechmere hud only 
 seen her once living, and nothing was said about the 
 poor children until Mr. Daunay sent for his wife's 
 sister which was yourself, was it not, ma'am ? And 
 Dr. Lechmere, being young, and only called in acci- 
 dentally, so to speak, I suppose Mr. Daunay did not 
 think of mentioning to him that there was a child who 
 had died as well as one that had lived."
 
 Danger Ah< 
 
 " They were buried togethe 1 
 baby, either," said Miss Arnol< 
 doctor, to look at ray sister's 
 
 " The baby had been al 
 mother died," said Nurse 
 were buried in the same gra" 
 to Carlisle before the funera. 
 that much. He said to me 
 about his marriage, and he 
 about, and he would pay me . 
 but I said to him, ' Sir, I'll ti 
 you please, and nothing more. 
 And he went off, looking rather gn. 
 sent me the right money, through tht 
 lisle, and I never saw his face again." 
 
 " To-morrow," said Lechmere, quietly, 
 ask you to repeat this story to Annabel 'srelativ-. 
 may have trouble yet, but I think now that we 
 win the day.'' 
 
 The half-suppressed exultation in his eye and voice 
 made Annabel tremble, she knew not why. And when 
 the doctor had gone, the old nurse looked after him 
 with rather a strange expression, and said 
 
 " It seems to me as if the doctor vverena just himself, 
 Miss Annabel. If I knew him a gey bit better I should 
 say that he was /<?#." 
 
 " Fey ! What is that ? " said Annabel, although in 
 her heart she knew. 
 
 " It's when folks are too gay, too triumphant, too 
 lifted above themselves ! See the light in his een, and 
 the blitheness of his face " as the doctor waved them 
 a farewell from the gate ; " it's no canny when folk are 
 so awful pleased with themselves."
 
 ay's Tower. 
 
 * pleased with himself ; he is 
 ^overy," said Annabel, 
 is he, lassie ? Miss Dauuay, 
 t's a relation, as the English 
 ;rs ? " 
 
 has been a guardian to me, 
 
 ell, through all these years." 
 
 id the old woman, thought- 
 
 rst this afternoon, I thought 
 
 1 careworn ; but since I told 
 
 like a young lad with that 
 
 / they used to glint with anger 
 
 O nteen years ago !" 
 
 with anger at your father, if the truth 
 . Your father did not care for girl chil- 
 . told you, and he would not look at you when 
 ore born." 
 
 Hush ! " said Annabel, in a low voice. " It dis- 
 tresses my aunt. It will be better if we do not talk 
 just now. I will go down-stairs for a little while, and 
 come back by and by." 
 
 She slipped away, not sorry, for her own sake, to be 
 alone ; and after a time she came up to her aunt's room 
 and sat by the bedside, while Nurse Lynch went down- 
 stairs. Miss Arnold lay very still, but presently she put 
 out her hand, and Annabel took it gently in her own. 
 "Annabel, my niece." 
 " Yes, auntie dear." 
 
 " So you are my niece my Betha's daughter, after 
 all, thank God." 
 
 " Yes, auntie, thank God. I am so glad that I be- 
 long to you."
 
 Danger Ahead ! 361 
 
 " I always felt that you did, my dear ; I never be- 
 lieved that you could be anything but my own kith and 
 kin. I am very thankful to know the truth before I 
 die." 
 
 ' 'Yes, auntie/' 
 
 "Annabel, you will be a rich woman now." 
 
 The girl's hand tightened on that of her aunt. She 
 could not speak. 
 
 'Aye," Jane Arnold continued ; "you will have to 
 turn that lad out of the house which he thinks is his 
 own. It may be hard for him, but you've got to do it, 
 Annabel. It won't be justice to your dead father un- 
 less you do, and he'll have a sin to answer for which 
 you will have caused him to commit." 
 
 " I'll try to do my duty, Aunt Jane." 
 
 " But you will be able to be generous. You'll be 
 generous and kind to that poor lad that loves you, An- 
 nabel." 
 
 " Does he love me, auntie ?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, he does ; and although he's but a 
 boy now, and has his ups and downs, yet he's a gallant 
 gentleman at heart, and he'll make you a good husband 
 by and by. Promise me that you will be good to him, 
 Annabel." 
 
 " I will be good to him, but I will not promise to 
 marry him, Aunt Jane. Not yet at least." 
 
 Her voice faltered a little. It told its own tale to 
 the woman who was so near the other world that she 
 could see clear in this. 
 
 " You love him, dear ; yes, you love him, though 
 maybe you hardly know it yet. By and by, you will 
 find it out. And then may God bless you, and make 
 you a happy wife and mother happier than I have ever
 
 362 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 been, Annabel, or than even your mother was in her 
 married days. I used to think John Daunay had a kind 
 heart when you could get to it ; but it was sore over- 
 laid." 
 
 Annabel kept silence. She almost fancied that her 
 aunt's mind wandered when she talked much, and there 
 was a touch of wilduess just then in Jane Arnold's tone. 
 She knew the way to quiet her, however. " Shall 1 say 
 our prayer, auntie ? " she asked ; and then, without 
 another word, she began the Lord's Prayer. She had 
 said it every night with her aunt since the days of her 
 babyhood. 
 
 Miss Arnold lay in silence, with her eyes closed. 
 Only at one point did she join the petitions. When 
 Annabel came to the clause, " Forgive us our tres- 
 passes, as we forgive those who trespass against us," 
 Jane Arnold repeated the words in a peculiarly loud 
 and distinct voice. Then she relapsed into silence, 
 perhaps into sleep ; but the sleep was soon merged in 
 an insensibility from which she never woke again. For 
 a day or two she lay in this state of stupor. Annabel 
 and the nurse never left her side ; the doctor came as 
 often as his duties would permit him, but he could do 
 nothing for her. They could but wait for the inevi- 
 table end. 
 
 It came at last, much as they had expected it to come. 
 They did not know exactly when life was extinct. She 
 died quietly, peacefully ; and Annabel felt herself in- 
 deed alone in the world. 
 
 It added to her trouble of heart that even in those 
 sad moments she was not left altogether free from 
 lawyers' letters and other reminders of the strange posi- 
 tion in which she stood. But, by Eugene Lechmere's
 
 Danger Ahead ! 363 
 
 advice, the new piece of information which they had 
 acquired was conveyed to Mr. Clissold under promise 
 of secrecy. Until Miss Arnold's funeral was over it was 
 decreed that no one else should hear of Nurse Lynch's 
 existence ; and she was indeed particularly anxious that 
 Jocelyn should not know. " Do let him come to my 
 aunt's funeral before you tell him," Annabel had said, 
 rather piteously. " I should like him to stand beside 
 me at her grave." 
 
 He stood beside her when the moment came, with 
 Eugene Lechmere on her other hand. She was vaguely 
 comforted by their presence, although she could not 
 have said how or why. And then she went back to the 
 old farmhouse, which seemed to have become so deso- 
 late all at once ; although Miss Daunay begged her 
 most sincerely and earnestly to sleep at the Tower in- 
 stead of returning to the Moorside Farm. 
 
 " It is not right for you to be there all alone," she 
 said. 
 
 " My aunt was not much of a protection, but I have 
 been with her there for years," said Annabel. " Be- 
 sides, I have Nurse Lynch with me. She is going to 
 stay several days longer, until I can make arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 Edith glanced at the motherly-looking nurse who 
 hovered in the background, and decided that perhaps 
 Annabel would be more comfortable with this homely 
 person than with themselves. She had by no means 
 brought herself to realize that this friendless, penniless 
 girl, as she considered her, was destined by Jocelyn to 
 be her sister-in-law. 
 
 " Take care of her, nurse," said Dr. Lechmere, before 
 he left the house, for he came back with Annabel to
 
 364 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 the farm before returning home. " She does not look 
 very well to-night ; she had better rest as much as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " Yes, sir, so she had. I shall just put her to bed 
 with a good hot milk-posset ; that is the best thing for 
 her. And you'll be round to-morrow, sir, to look at 
 her again ? " 
 
 " I will. To-morrow, nurse, I think you will be- 
 called upon to tell your story to Mr. Daunay, and to 
 Mr. Clissold, who is coming from London purposely to 
 hear it." 
 
 "Very well, doctor ; they'll find me ready," said 
 Nurse Lynch, with the cheerfulness of a person who is 
 prepared to fight for the truth. " I'll let 'em know." 
 
 She went back to Annabel and tried to induce her 
 to lie down ; but Annabel was curiously restless. It 
 seemed as though she could not keep still. She went 
 from room to room, up and down-stairs and through the 
 passages, until she made Nurse Lynch quite nervous, 
 although that experienced person had often seen the 
 restlessness of grief. And even when night came on 
 Annabel refused to go to bed, or to let the house be 
 shut up. " Not yet," she said. " It is so fine, so tran- 
 quil, nurse. I like to look at the sky and think of my 
 mother and my aunt. Do you suppose they have met 
 and are looking at me now praying for me, perhsips ? " 
 
 " Bless you, Miss Annabel dear, don't talk like that 
 of the dead. Whether they can see us or not we have 
 never been told ; we only know that God takes care of 
 His own elect." 
 
 And there was a doctrinal flavor about Nurse 
 Lynch's reply which had the effect of silencing Annabel. 
 
 " I'm just going across the yard," said the girl, after
 
 Danger Ahead ! 365 
 
 a time, " to speak to Caesar." Caesar was the great 
 house-dog, which had been chained np all day. " Do 
 you hear him howling ? I don't like to hear him howl 
 and bark like that. I will go and speak to him and let 
 him loose. It is safer to let him loose at night." 
 
 "But you won't go out into the yard at this time of 
 night, my dear ! You'll catch your death of cold." 
 
 " Oh, no. I always go out last thing and let Caesar 
 loose," said Annabel. " It's the thing we have always 
 done, just before we shut up the house. And we are 
 early to-night." 
 
 The servants had already gone to bed. Annabel and 
 the nurse had been sitting for company in the fine old 
 rafted kitchen which Eugene had once admired and 
 called so picturesque. With the play of the flames re- 
 flected on the black oak of the furniture and the shin- 
 ing dish-covers upon the walls, the room looked more 
 picturesque than ever. Annabel looked back for a mo- 
 ment at the buxom figure of Nurse Lynch, half slum- 
 bering on the settle, and felt that the very beauty of 
 the old place gave her a pang. For she would have to 
 leave it all too soon, and make her entry on a new and 
 fur less beautiful world. 
 
 She had left the outer door slightly ajar, and the 
 candle on the center table flickered in the draught. 
 Nurse Lynch, tired with the exertions of the last few 
 days, dozed lightly at first, and then fell into a deeper 
 slumber. If there was any sound outside, she did not 
 hear it ; her sleep was of the heaviest when she resigned 
 herself to it at all. And she had a vague impression 
 that Annabel was coming back to wake her presently ; 
 so she could sleep quite peacefully until the girl re- 
 turned. The draught blew the door a little wider open,
 
 366 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 and the candle flickered more than ever, and flickered 
 at last into nothing, so that, as the fire went down, the 
 room was almost dark, and the nurse could sleep 
 almost as profoundly as if she had been in her comfort- 
 able bed. But Annabel did not come back. 
 
 And the first thing Nurse Lynch knew was that the 
 was awaking all in a fright, from some dreadful dream, 
 and that there was a great light in the room, and that 
 Dr. Lechmere stood before her, crying out 
 
 " Where is Annabel ? Wake up, nurse, and tell me, 
 for God's sake, what are yon doing here at this hour, 
 and where is Annabel ? " 
 
 Nurse Lynch staggered to her feet, and gazed round 
 her in dismay. " Isn't she back ? She went to let the 
 dog loose at nine o'clock " 
 
 "And now it is midnight," said Eugene. "Caesar 
 lies dead in the outhouse, and I have reason to think 
 that some terrible harm has come to Annabel."
 
 The Treachery of Lenore. 367 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE TREACHERY OF LENORE. 
 
 DR. LECHMERE paid a few professional visits when 
 he had left Annabel at the Moorside Farm with Nurse 
 Lynch, and then went quietly home to his house, and 
 consumed the plain and rather ill-cooked dinner which 
 Mrs. Beccles set before him. The keen air and the ex- 
 ertions of the day had, however, given him a healthy 
 appetite. He had seen Jane Arnold laid to rest, and 
 he had sympathized very keenly with Annabel in her 
 grief ; nevertheless, man must eat to live, and Timothy 
 was disappointed to find that a smaller portion than 
 usual fell to his share. 
 
 " Never mind, old chap, you shall have a special 
 slice," said his master, observing the angry jerk of 
 Timothy's stumpy tail. "I won't be so greedy as to 
 eat it all and give you none." And Timothy's anger, 
 together with his appetite, was appeased. 
 
 " I wonder how that poor child is getting on," was 
 the doctor's reflection, as he turned his chair round to 
 the fire. "I hope Lynch will make her go to bed 
 early; but, comfortable old soul, I don't think she has 
 much moral firmness. The trained hospital nurse 
 whom poor Jane Arnold used to dread, would have been 
 a much more useful companion for Annabel though 
 not so soothing, probably. I will go up there in good 
 time to-morrow, and see how she is getting on,"
 
 368 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 He tried to settle down to his books, but a restless- 
 ness was upon him which matched if he had known 
 it that of Annabel. He began to walk up and down 
 the floor of his study, much to Timothy's annoyance; 
 he went out into the garden behind the house and 
 looked up at the hill, trying to make out the glimmer 
 of light which he had sometimes identified as belonging 
 to the old farmhouse. But he could see nothing ; 
 everything was dark and still. He came through the 
 house again, and opened the front-door. The street 
 also was very still, nearly every one belonging to High 
 Bigg had gone to bed by this time ; the only thing he 
 could hear was the rushing sound of the little river, 
 swollen between its banks by the recent rains. 
 
 Yet, surely there was a footstep. Some one was 
 coming down the street ; two persons, in fact. He 
 waited to see them go by. It might be that they had 
 come to summon him to some sick-bed. He would just 
 stay and see. And then the light of a lamp fell full 
 upon the face of one of the two women, and he uttered 
 a startled exclamation underneath his breath, for he 
 saw the face of his sister Lenore. The woman with 
 her was her maid. They had both seen the doctor ; it 
 was too late for Eugene to draw back. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Lech mere ! " said Lenore. Even at that 
 moment he could not but admire her power of resource. 
 She had not wanted, she had not in the least expected, 
 to see him ; but she never lost her self-possession for 
 very long. She had at once a story ready ; but he did 
 not believe that it was true. " I am glad to see you, I 
 was hesitating as to whether I would knock you up. 
 I have been to see an old friend of mine at the Dan nay 
 Arms ; Abbott is with me, you see, to take care of me.
 
 The Treachery of Lenore. 369 
 
 My friend is ill, and I have been trying so hard to in- 
 duce him to send for you." 
 
 " Who was your friend, may I ask ?" said Lechmere, 
 coldly. 
 
 " Well, as he will not see yon, it is useless for me to 
 give his name." said Lenore, with a little laugh. " But 
 I should like to step in just for a moment, to tell you 
 about the case." 
 
 Eugene understood she really wanted to see him 
 alone, and he stood aside to let her pass. 
 
 "'Abbott can wait in /he hall," she began ; but he 
 interrupted her 
 
 " Abbott can go back to the Tower ; I will walk 
 home with Mrs. Wycherly myself." 
 
 Lenore looked startled, Abbott, unwilling ; but 
 after a moment's hesitation, the mistress glanced at 
 the maid arid said sweetly 
 
 " That will be delightful. Run on, Abbott. It is 
 not dark, and surely you are old enough to take care 
 of yourself." 
 
 The maid tossed her head, but said, " Very well, 
 ma'am," in a tone of sulky submission, and moved 
 away. 
 
 " Thank Heaven I have got rid of her ! " said Le- 
 nore, devoutly. " She would have been listening at 
 the keyhole half the time. It is as much as I can do 
 to preserve my character at all when she is about." 
 
 "What are you doing out of doors at this time of 
 night ? " said Eugene. 
 
 "Come into your den, and I will tell you, if you are 
 good," said his sister. "Your woman has gone to bed, 
 J suppose ? We are quite safe here ?" 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 24
 
 37 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " What a good fire you keep, you luxurious man ! 
 And what a nice cat, too ! " as she stroked Timothy's 
 gray head. "A regular old bachelor, are you not ? 
 I have been calling on another bachelor too my friend 
 at the Daunay Arms." 
 
 " Who was it ? " 
 
 " Reynold, of course. A cousin, almost a brother 
 no worse than coming to see you, is it ?" 
 
 " Lenore," said her brother, with sudden gravity, 
 " are you aware what sort of man Reynold Harding 
 is?" 
 
 "I have known him a good many years," she an- 
 swered, laughing, but not allowing him to meet her 
 eyes. 
 
 " You spoke to me one day of his affection for Anna- 
 bel Annabel Daunay, as I may safely and rightfully 
 call her now. Do you know how he tried to insult her 
 a little while ago ? Do you call it love when a man 
 acts in that way ? Yet you said to me that he wanted 
 to make her his wife ! " 
 
 " Oh, he will not think of making her his wife now," 
 said Mrs. Wycherly. "That was all very well when 
 we thought that she was a Daunay, with a right to the 
 property. It is different now." 
 
 " Yon mean that he thinks he may make love to 
 her in a perfectly irresponsible manner, without being 
 called to account for it ?" 
 
 "Well, who is there to call him to account ?" said 
 Mrs. Wycherly, in a mocking tone. " There is your- 
 self, of course ; but you are no match for Reynold in 
 physical strength, yon know ; you couldn't thrash him 
 if you tried, and he would probably kill you before he 
 had done with you."
 
 The Treachery of Lenore. 371 
 
 " There are other ways of punishing a man besides 
 thrashing him," said Eugene, frowning. 
 
 " There is Jocelyn, of course/' Lenore went on, as 
 if she had not heard. " He is more of a match for 
 Reynold than you are. But even he has not Reynold's 
 strength, or Reynold's nerve. No ; it really isn't any 
 use to bluster, Eugene. Of course it is very easy to see 
 that you are more than half in love with the girl, but 
 you would be wise to refrain from quarreling with 
 Reynold about her." 
 
 f< I have done that already, as perhaps you know." 
 
 " Yes, I heard. It was very foolish of you, and 
 quite absurd on the girl's part. Why should she ob- 
 ject to Reynold's kissing her ? Many girls of that 
 station would be flattered." 
 
 " Of what station ? "What station do you mean ? 
 Annabel has been proved without doubt to be Anna- 
 bel Daunay, the old man's daughter and heiress. Mr. 
 Clissold is coming from London to-morrow morning 
 to explain the matter to Jocelyn." 
 
 " Mr. Clissold believes it ? " said Lenore, staring. 
 
 " He certainly believes it, or he would not come all 
 the way from London to say so." 
 
 ' ' But, Eugene " there was a frightened tone now 
 in Mrs. Wycherly's voice " you can't be in earnest ! 
 There have been so many ups and downs in this 
 wretched Daunay business. You don't mean that she 
 will have all the property, and Jocelyn nothing ? " 
 
 " I do." 
 
 "She will be a person of some importance ?" 
 
 <( Of course. They will probably make her a ward 
 in Chancery, or something of that kind, as she is under
 
 372 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " And if anybody ran away with her, or did any- 
 thing to her against her will, I suppose there would be 
 a frightful row ? " said Mrs. Wycherly. 
 
 Eugene looked at her steadily for a moment. Then 
 he went to the door and quietly turned the key in the 
 lock. 
 
 " You knmv something,'' he said. " Tell me what 
 it is." 
 
 " Eugene, how can you be so foolish ? Why have 
 you locked the door ? I want to go. Let me out this 
 moment, Eugene." 
 
 " The key of the door is in my pocket," he said, 
 " and I am not going to let you out of this room until 
 yon tell me what was in your mind when you asked 
 these questions." 
 
 " Nothing was in my mind nothing definite. 
 Eugene, do let me go ! I have something special to 
 do a message to send. You don't know what harm 
 may come of it if you don't let me go." 
 
 " What harm may come of it ? What message do 
 you wish to send, and to whom ? " 
 
 " Give me the key." 
 
 She fell upon him, and struggled madly for a minute 
 or two to % get at the pocket which contained the key. 
 But he was easily able to master her. When he held 
 her firmly by the wrists she ceased to struggle, and 
 stood before him panting, with tears of rage in her 
 eyes. Timothy, aghast at this unseemly contest, had 
 sought refuge on the highest bookshelf within his reach, 
 and sat there, spitting defiance at his master's enemy. 
 
 " Lenore," said her brother, quietly, " I know your 
 face quite well enough to be certain that there is some- 
 thing of which you are ashamed. You may well be
 
 The Treachery of Lenore. 373 
 
 afraid, too, if it is anything that concerns Annabel 
 Dan nay's safety, for she will be avenged if any wrong 
 is done to her." 
 
 " Nobody will do her any wrong," she said. " There 
 is nothing to make a fuss about. Let me go, Eugene. 
 You are hurting me. I shall be black and blue to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " I shall not let you go until you have told me the 
 truth." 
 
 " You were always cruel you always loved to tor- 
 ment me ! Indeed, it is nothing to tell." 
 
 In his impatience, Eugene gave her hands a little 
 shake. " Tell me at once," he said impatiently. 
 " What is Reynold Harding proposing to do with re- 
 spect to Annabel ? " 
 
 She began to tremble all over, and turned so white 
 that he knew he had hit upon the truth. 
 
 " What is it ? " he said sternly. 
 
 " It is only to give her a fright just to revenge 
 himself on her for the way she treated him. Nothing 
 else." 
 
 " How does he propose to frighten her ? " 
 
 " He knows she is alone almost alone in the 
 house. He has inquired about her habits, and he 
 knows exactly what she does, and where she goes " 
 
 " Well ? " 
 
 His face was terrible to her, and although he now re- 
 leased her hands, she buried her face in them to shut 
 out the vision of those flaming eyes. 
 
 " Go on, Lenore." 
 
 " It is only for a joke, I assure you, Eugene " 
 
 " Go on." 
 
 " She goes out every night to unchain the dog
 
 374 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 across the yard, you know," said Lenore, hurriedly. 
 " Well, when she goes, she will see your cart at the 
 gate it is a conspicuous object, } r ou know, with its red 
 wheels, so the joke is against you as well as against her 
 and she will think you are there, and will come out 
 to speak to you." 
 
 "And then ?" 
 
 " Then Reynold and his man mean to catch her up 
 and drive her off to Greystanes." 
 
 " Greystanes where Reynold and that crew have 
 been staying ? " 
 
 " They are gone now. Reynold is there alone, 
 believe he thinks he will be able to make her marry 
 him, if he compromises her in this way. Everybody 
 will think she has gone off with him willingly. But it 
 is only a kind of joke." 
 
 " Damn all such jokes ! " said Lechmere, furiously. 
 " And when was this scheme to come off ? " 
 
 " To-night." 
 
 " To-night ! " 
 
 His blood froze in his veins. What would happen if 
 Annabel were carried off in this way against her will ? 
 He knew her indomitable spirit. She was capable of 
 plunging a knife into Reynold's heart if he came one 
 step nearer to her than she chose. 
 
 " There will be murder done," he said hoarsely. 
 " And yon you base and wicked woman, you have 
 connived at this plot ! If Reynold is killed to-night, 
 his blood will be upon your head ! Tell me, he has 
 taken my horse my cart ? " 
 
 She bowed her head. 
 
 " How did he get them ? " 
 
 " Through me. I left a message that you required
 
 The Treachery of Lenore. 375 
 
 them, and he met me at the Daunay Arms, aiid drove 
 off to fetch you back from a house where somebody 
 was ill. There was no difficulty in tricking the people 
 at the inn. They think ' the gentry ' can do no 
 wrong." 
 
 " Then he has gone ? " 
 
 " It must be half an hour ago." 
 
 Eugene sprang to the door, unlocked it, threw it 
 wide open. 
 
 " If you want to repair any part of the wrong you 
 have done," he said, " go as quickly as you can to 
 Jocelyn Daunay and tell him to follow me on horse- 
 back if he can, up to the Moorside Farm. Tell him 
 from me that Annabel is in danger." 
 
 " Oh, Eugene, I can't, I can't ! " she cried. 
 
 " You must. I will expose you if you don't. I will 
 tell the world the whole story. Do what I tell you, 
 and then never let me see your face again." 
 
 She shrank from him, cowering away, as if afraid 
 that lie would strike her with his clenched fist ; and 
 he, without a moment's hesitation, sped like a madman 
 towards the stables of the inn.
 
 376 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 VKNGEANCE. 
 
 IT was the work of a moment or two with Eugene to 
 waken a sleepy groom, to saddle a horse, and leave 
 orders that the groom should follow with another, 
 while a third was to be left for Jocelyn Daunay's use. 
 To whom the animals belonged, lie neither knew nor 
 cared. Mr. Grier always had two or three good horses 
 in reserve, and there were others that belonged to per- 
 sons now staying at the inn. Eugene simply took the 
 best. 
 
 Away he went, up the hard high road, the horse's 
 hoofs ringing out sharply in the silence of the night. 
 There was a great horror of darkness in his soul. The 
 woman that he loved in danger, in terrible alarm, in 
 need of help, and he far from her, unable to afford her 
 any help. ! And she who had tried to bring this injury 
 upon Annabel was his sister his sister whom he had 
 once loved, with whom he had played when she was a 
 child ! Was there any justice for the guilty, any mercy 
 for the innocent, in all the wide world below ? 
 
 He did not altogether dare to face the possibilities of 
 that night. It was, of course, possible that Ileynold 
 Harding would be too careful of his own fair fame to 
 do more than frighten Annabel. But Eugene knew 
 him to be a man of violent passions, with a strongly
 
 Vengeance. 377 
 
 vindictive disposition ; and he might go great lengths 
 in his attempt to be revenged on the girl who had 
 wounded his vanity. Lenore's suggestion that he would 
 attempt to force her to marry him was regarded by 
 Lechmere merely with scorn. If Harding had known 
 that Annabel was the heiress of Dannay's Tower, he 
 might perhaps have gone that length ; but he would 
 never take so much trouble with an obscure little peas- 
 ant girl. And Annabel with her pride and her pu- 
 rity ! If Reynold kissed her against her will, Eugene 
 believed that she was quite capable, in a moment of wild 
 exaltation, of killing him in return. He had a vision 
 of some terrible tragedy, which would involve her, and 
 all connected with her, in ruin. He Eugene Lech- 
 mere had himself felt the waters of shame close over 
 him, and thought that he should never raise his head 
 again ; but he was a man, and could make a second 
 start. Imagine Annabel in prison garb, working out a 
 sentence for manslaughter ! Involuntarily he laughed 
 at the idea, but the laugh was choked by something 
 not unlike a sob. 
 
 After a time he was almost certain that he heard the 
 tramp of horse's feet behind him on the road. He 
 dared not draw rein ; he had no time to spare, but he 
 listened with all his ears. Surely Jocelyn was behind 
 him ; Lenore had given the message, and he was com- 
 ing as fast as he could to rescue Annabel. Eugene 
 spurred on his horse. He was not far from the farm- 
 house now ; he had passed the garden-gate ; he had 
 thrown himself from the saddle, and was prepared to 
 batter at the door, when his eye was caught by a thin 
 streak of light, creeping out, as it seemed, from the 
 house across the yard. It came from the back door.
 
 378 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 Eugene went towards it, found it open, and came full 
 upon Nurse Lynch, fast asleep on the settle beside the 
 dying fire. And just then the clock struck twelve. 
 
 " So this is the way you fulfil your trust ? " he said. 
 " Where is Annabel ?" 
 
 But it was no use questioning the woman. She dis- 
 solved into tears, and stood shaking and sobbing, a 
 monument of woe. And Eugene went out again into 
 the road, and while he hesitated whether to search the 
 premises further or to proceed, Jocelyn's horse was 
 alongside his own, and Jocelyn's voice asked him, in 
 startled accents, to explain the danger that threatened 
 Annabel. 
 
 "Lenore Mrs. Wycherly told me to follow you," 
 he said. " And I came post haste. Tell me what is 
 wrong. " 
 
 "I will tell you all I know," said Eugene. And in 
 as few words as possible he explained the situation. 
 
 " Lenore said they had driven to Greystanes. We 
 must go to Greystanes too." 
 
 " Are you armed ? " said Dr. Lechmere. 
 
 " No. I never thought " 
 
 " I have a revolver. Of course, I shall not use it un- 
 less I am obliged. But if I am obliged, I shall use it 
 without scruple, Jocelyn. There are some brutes 
 whom it would be well to kill." 
 
 They rode on in silence after these words. There 
 was no time for speech. Greystanes was three miles 
 away, and Dr. Lechmere's good horse had had an 
 hour's start. 
 
 At last Dr. Lechmere began to ride more slowly. 
 " We are coming near the house," he said. " We may 
 have to dismount presently."
 
 Vengeance. 379 
 
 " Wait," said Jocelyn, sharply. " What do you see 
 in front of you ? Are those carriage-lamps ? They 
 are not moving : there has been an accident." 
 
 Eugene spurred forward. As Jocelyn had said, two 
 lamps shone like eyes in the distance. As they ap- 
 proached, they saw that there had evidently been a dis- 
 aster of some kind. The cart lay overturned against a 
 bank which rose beside the road ; the horse had fallen, 
 and was struggling helplessly between the shafts. 
 Mr. Reynold Harding seemed to be engaged chiefly in 
 cursing his groom, but the man lay as helpless as the 
 horse, and it was afterwards found that he had broken 
 a leg. And Annabel ? 
 
 The two men flung themselves down, and advanced 
 boldly to the rescue. At first it was difficult to discern 
 anything clearly ; but before long Eugene's keen eye 
 caught sight of something light-colored at .the side of 
 the bunk. It was Annabel, in a dead faint, with the 
 blood flowing from a cut on the forehead. He was hor- 
 rified to find that she had been gagged, so that the 
 danger of death by suffocation in the accident had been 
 great. 
 
 " You can tackle my cousin/' he said sharply to Joc- 
 elyn. " I must look after Annabel." 
 
 " You scoundrel ! " said Jocelyn, rushing upon Rey- 
 nold. " What are you doing to her? You brute!" 
 And he struck him in the face. 
 
 To his surprise, Reynold only stared at him and burst 
 into loud and insulting laughter. 
 
 "Oh, it is you, is it, my good boy? And who 
 brought you on the scene, you and your precious doc- 
 tor ? Did Lenore betray us ? Just the sort of thing a 
 woman is apt to do."
 
 380 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " I'll horsewhip you within an inch of your life," 
 said Jocelyn, who was almost beside himself with 
 anger. 
 
 " Oh no, you won't, because you can't, my good fel- 
 low. I'm twice as strong as you are, and I don't mind 
 knocking you down at once if you treat me to any more 
 of your insolence. You'd better exert yourself in get- 
 ting that poor beast out of the shafts, and finding out 
 whether that rascal of mine has hurt himself or not. 
 And how's the lady ? " 
 
 " If you happen to have any brandy with you," said 
 Eugene, coolly, " you had better hand it over. It's a 
 great wonder that Miss Daunay is alive at all." 
 
 " Miss Daunay ?" said Harding, recoiling a little. 
 Then he recovered himself, and with a shrug of his 
 broad shoulders, produced a silver spirit-flask, and 
 handed it to Eugene, who touched Annabel's temples 
 with its contents, and managed to pour a few drops 
 down her throat. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Daunay," said Eugene, grimly, with 
 his eyes still fixed upon Annabel's face, where a very 
 little color and slight flutter of the eyelids told of re- 
 viving animation. " You would have got yourself into 
 a good deal of trouble if you had accomplished your 
 fine purpose. You may thank your stars that the cart 
 broke down. You had better take yourself oft* while 
 you can ; for if Daunay and I tackle you between us, 
 I don't know that you would have much chance." 
 
 "I shall not go one moment sooner than I choose," 
 said Reynold, insolently. " What are you, to order 
 me about, Eugene Lechmere ? I like your impudence. 
 A convicted criminal, a man who has served his time 
 for manslaughter you are a nice person to come for-
 
 Vengeance. 381 
 
 ward as a rescner of young ladies ! I shall have to 
 teach you a lesson." 
 
 " It is more likely that we should teach you one," 
 said Dr. Lechmere, savagely. The red light was begin- 
 ning to burn in his hazel eyes. " Here, Jocelyn, come 
 on. Stand by me, and let us make this fellow smart 
 for what he has done." 
 
 Annabel had now raised herself to a sitting posi^ 
 tion, and, although too faint to speak, could yet be 
 left with safety. Reynold laughed at the doctor's 
 words, but was somewhat taken by surprise when both 
 Jocelyn and Lechmere sprang at him and seized him 
 by the arms, rendering him for the moment almost 
 helpless. 
 
 " One at a time. This isn't fair fighting," he called 
 out. 
 
 " We are not fighting," said Dr. Lechmere. " It's 
 not a fight it's not a fight ; it's an execution." 
 
 There was a moment's struggle. Reynold struck 
 out right and left, but, although Lenore had spoken 
 contemptuously of her brother's strength compared 
 with that of Reynold's, Eugene was almost a match for 
 him, and with Jocelyu's assistance soon rendered him 
 perfectly helpless. Harding was almost gigantic in 
 proportions, but he was heavy, and not in very good 
 condition, while Eugene and Jocelyn were both wiry, 
 alert, and in excellent training. They tied his hands 
 and feet together, and laid him on his face in the road. 
 
 " Shall we leave him here ? " said Eugene, looking 
 at Jocelyn. 
 
 "Oh, give him something to remember, first," said 
 Jocelyn, with a contemptuous laugh. " Here's the 
 gig-whip."
 
 382 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 And it was with right good- will that Lechmere be- 
 stowed some very vigorous lashes on Harding's quivering 
 shoulders, while the big man struggled in the dust, 
 shouting, swearing, finally groaning a little, and ac- 
 tually begging for mercy before Eugene considered 
 that he had had half enough. 
 
 It was Annabel that stopped the punishment. "Oh, 
 Dr. Eugene, please don't strike him any more ! 
 Please let him go ! " 
 
 " He deserves it, Annabel." But he lowered his 
 hand, and gave the prostrate body of his foe something 
 like a contemptuous kick. " There, you ruffian ! " he 
 said. " You have not had half as much as you deserve, 
 but, as Miss Daunay intercedes for you, I will let you 
 off the rest. Here, some of you fellows " for a little 
 company of grooms and hangers-on at the Daunay 
 Arms had now clattered up to the rescue " you can 
 undo this man's hands and feet, and let him go, do you 
 hear ? And remember this, Reynold Harding, that if 
 ever you come near High Rigg again, or molest Miss 
 Daunay in any possible way, you shall have as warm 
 a greeting as you have had to-day." 
 
 He walked away from the humiliated Harding, who 
 had now struggled to his feet. Neither Eugene nor 
 Jocelyn took any further notice of him. Jocelyn de- 
 voted himself to Annabel, while Eugene, with some 
 self-reproach for his delay, attended to the hurts of 
 the groom. Harding, after sitting for a little while on 
 the bank, with his head resting on his hand, got up 
 and walked away into the darkness. It was believed 
 that he had gone to Greystanes. But when he had 
 walked a little distance he took a swift circuit across 
 the grassy hills, and came up with the people who
 
 Vengeance. 383 
 
 were making their way back to the Moorside Farm. 
 They were walking three abreast, Eugene supporting 
 Annabel on one side, Jocelyn on the other ; and they 
 were followed by other persons, carrying the groom 
 with the broken leg, to whom Annabel had compas- 
 sionately offered a room in the farmhouse. Harding 
 walked close to them, treading on the soft grass. 
 Once he came so near that Eugene almost saw him, 
 and looked fiercely round. 
 
 " Who is there ? " he said. 
 
 " Did you see any one ? " 
 
 " I thought I saw a dark figure on the grass." 
 
 " I can't see anything moving," said Jocelyn. And 
 no wonder, for at the first hint of danger Harding had 
 thrown himself down on the grass, and was thus per- 
 fectly invisible. 
 
 When they had passed on he rose to his feet, and 
 fell to tracking them again, but this time with more 
 care. The stars were shining faintly, and when their 
 light fell upon his face, it looked like a distorted mask, 
 so full was it of hatred and cruelty and bitterness. 
 His lips were drawn back from the strong white teeth ; 
 his eyes glittered as the starlight caught them now and 
 then. 
 
 Something else glittered too. It was something in 
 his hand something small but bright. He held it 
 out of sight as much as possible, for fear some passing 
 gleam might betray his presence and the weapon that 
 he carried in his hand. His moment was yet to come. 
 
 " If you are strong enough to walk down to the vil- 
 lage, we will take you to the Tower or to the inn," 
 Jocelyn was saying. 
 
 " Oh no, no. I shall be quite safe here."
 
 384 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " You must never stay a night here again, Anna- 
 bel," said Dr. Lechmere. "To-night you will be well 
 guarded. We will not leave you ; but you must not 
 spend another night beneath this roof." 
 
 They had reached the house by this time, and as 
 Annabel passed within the door Harding saw her turn 
 to Eugene and smile as she gave him her hand. 
 " Dear Dr. Eugene, how can I thank you ? " she said ; 
 and it was that smile, that look of gratitude, which 
 sealed the doctor's fate. 
 
 For as he turned from the door to look after the men 
 who were bringing the groom to the house, Harding 
 raised his glittering little revolver to the level of his 
 shoulder and fired. He was a good shot at any time, 
 and he was near enough to take correct aim. Tlie re- 
 port rang out like thunder on the silence of the night, 
 raising the echoes of the hills ; and Eugene fell with- 
 out a word, and lay with his face turned up to the 
 starry sky, while the red blood soaked slowly through 
 his clothes into the cold earth on which he lay. Then 
 Harding threw himself down on the grass again, and 
 crept swiftly and noiselessly across the hillside until he 
 could gain shelter for at least the remainder of the 
 night. After that he was tolerably safe, for pursuit 
 had already passed him by. 
 
 And presently Eugene was found by his friends, and 
 lifted up and carried to the very room of the woman 
 for whom he would have counted it a glory and an 
 honor to die.
 
 For Farewell. 385 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 FOR FAREWELL. 
 
 HE struggled back to consciousness one afternoon, 
 to find Annabel sitting beside him, and the western 
 sunshine flooding all the room with light. He could 
 not have desired anything better, he said to himself, 
 with a strange feeling of satisfaction ; and when she 
 turned to look at him she almost wept to see his hazel 
 eyes, their brilliant light departed, fixed dreamily upon 
 her face with a new sweetness in their depths. 
 
 "So they brought me here ?" he said, with surprise 
 in his voice. " I am glad of that." 
 
 " Oh, my dear Dr. Eugene, you know me at last ? " 
 she cried, falling on her knees beside his bed. 
 
 " I should think I did," he answered ; and, in spite 
 of his weakness, the crisp intonation made her smile. 
 " I must have been pretty bad if I did not know you, 
 Annabel." 
 
 "You did not know anybody for some days, dear 
 Dr. Eugene." 
 
 " And have you been my nurse, Annabel ? Am I 
 responsible for those pale cheeks of yours ? " 
 
 "No, we have had a professional nurse. Poor Nurse 
 Lynch was too much upset to be any good, and besides, 
 I don't think she had had training enough. We got 
 one from the hospital at Carlisle." 
 
 " Ah, that's right. Then I shall be attended to 
 2;
 
 386 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 in workmanlike manner. Doctors are the worst pa- 
 tients in the world, you know. What doctor have you 
 had?" 
 
 Annabel mentioned his name with some hesitation. 
 It was the name of one of the best surgeons in England, 
 summoned from London to give his opinion on the 
 case. There was, of course, a local doctor also in at- 
 tendance. 
 
 "Oh," said Lechmere, thoughtfully, "that means 
 I've been pretty bad, I suppose ? And pray, who sum- 
 moned this magnificent person on my account ? " 
 
 " It is one of the few good points of my new position 
 that I was able to do so myself/' said Annabel. " Now, 
 you mustn't talk any longer. Go to sleep, and forget 
 all about it, or the nurse will scold me dreadfully." 1 
 
 He smiled, and closed his eyes. She was glad to see 
 that he slept almost immediately ; his weakness was so 
 great that he could not be kept too quiet, if he were 
 to survive the injury at all. 
 
 Annabel had hopes passionate hopes for him. 
 She thought of trying to atone to him for all that 
 he had suffered, of making the later years of his 
 life brighter than those of most men. so as to make 
 up for the lurid darkness of those early years. It 
 seemed to her, as she sometimes said, " only fair " that 
 he should have a chance of happiness. And for the 
 sake of the great service that he had done her, for the 
 sake, also, of years of love and care and teaching, she 
 wanted to make her whole life a sacrifice to him, to 
 give him all the new wealth and property that she was 
 to enjoy, and to renounce for his sake all the ordinary 
 joys of life. There was a sublime pleasure in the pros- 
 pect. And yet she sometimes had a vision of Jocelyn's
 
 For Farewell. 387 
 
 pale, reproachful face following her with piteous eyes, 
 and asking if he were quite forgotten, if he too, were 
 to be sacrificed. 
 
 But Eugene did not seem to get better, after all. 
 He rallied a little, and then sank back again. At first 
 he did not realize the gravity of his case ; but after 
 a little conversation with the doctor one day he spoke 
 to Annabel in a somewhat different strain. 
 
 " I have been talking to old Melville," he said, " and 
 he has told me the exact nature of the injury. Why, 
 it's ten to one on my dying of it, Annabel. I did not 
 know that it was so serious a thing/' 
 
 " Many people get better of far worse injuries than 
 that." 
 
 " Do they, wise little woman ? Well, I know some- 
 thing of surgery, you see. I've an impression I shan't 
 get better, and I'm not altogether sorry." 
 
 "Oh, Dr. Eugene ! " 
 
 " Couldn't you drop the 'doctor' while I'm ill, you 
 know, Annabel ? Call me Eugene tout court, as the 
 French say. It would be rather pleasant to hear the 
 old name from friendly lips again." 
 
 "Eugene, then. You must get better, Eugene." 
 
 " Oh no," he said, with a wistful look. " I think I'd 
 rather not, dear. It's about time I ended up. I'm a 
 bad failure, you know. And nobody in the world cares 
 for me to live unless it's you." 
 
 " I care," said Annabel, the tears welling up in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Do you ? That's really funny. A dear little girl 
 like yon caring fora brute like me ! You should send 
 it to Punch, dear; call it 'Beauty and the Beast.'' 
 
 " Oh, dear Dr. Eugene, dear Eugene, don't talk in
 
 388 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 that way ! Don't you know that I see the beauty of 
 your life, and honor yon for it, and that we shall all 
 be the poorer if you die ? " 
 
 He was silent for a minute or two, with a musing 
 expression on his face. 
 
 "If that were at all true," he said, "I should not 
 be so very sorry that I had lived. Annabel, did you 
 never want to hear the whole story of my ruin and 
 disgrace ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " My dear, you are too good to live. I want to tell 
 it you." 
 
 " I know quite enough." 
 
 "Not quite. Besides " He made a long stop, 
 
 and then resumed, in a much lower voice. "There's 
 an old man in Somersetshire, Annabel, who almost 
 broke his heart over an unworthy son of his. lie heard 
 always the worst of this son, I think ; I have reason to 
 believe that a certain cousin of his Reynold Harding, 
 by name used to malign this young man to his 
 father." 
 
 " So I should expect ; so I should think," said 
 Annabel. " But I did not know that Mr. Harding was 
 any relative of yours." 
 
 " Or that Mrs. Wycherly was my sister ? Well, never 
 mind those details ; they will be clear enough to you 
 later on. You see, this son never had quite a fair 
 chance with his father, and yet he loved his father 
 mind that, Annabel ! he loved his father dearly all 
 the time, although he did the very things his father 
 hated and despised." 
 
 " Yes, I understand." 
 
 " He was rather maddened sometimes by the misun-
 
 For Farewell. 389 
 
 derstanding that lie met with from his own family. It 
 wasn't so plain then as it seems to him now that Reynold 
 Harding did his best to alienate father and son. So he 
 went up to London, and made up his mind to be a doc- 
 tor. And for a time he did well ; he passed examina- 
 tions mid won medals, and got all that sort of distinc- 
 tion, you know. I might have been as big a man as 
 your Sir "William if I had kept straight, Annabel. 
 AVilly Duchesne and I were at the same lectures, and I 
 used to beat him easily." 
 
 " You are cleverer than any man I know," said 
 Annabel. 
 
 " Ah, well, your acquaintance with men is limited, 
 isn't it, dear ? Our young friend got into bad company. 
 He mixed with men who were richer than he, who 
 gambled and betted and spent money on trifles in a 
 way that he was fool enough to emulate. The conse- 
 quence was that in course of time I had given I.O.U/s 
 for several hundreds to one man a certain James 
 Gildersleeve, as evil a man as ever I knew. That was 
 the man, Annabel, that I killed, and they said I did it 
 that I might not have to pay my debts of honor." 
 
 " That was absurd." 
 
 " Very absurd, wasn't it ? But the whole thing was 
 absurd. Gildersleeve and 1 had joined a party of 
 friends who were going up the river. We got involved 
 in a boat accident in a lock on the Thames. Gilder- 
 sleeve's leg was injured, and he became insensible. We 
 got him to an inn, and there I I, being then absolutely 
 drunk and incapable, for I will not mince my words, 
 put him under chloroform, amputated his foot, and 
 then let him absolutely bleed to death for want of 
 proper bandaging and attention. The amputation
 
 39 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 was said afterwards to have been necessary, but the rest 
 was sheer madness." 
 
 " But that was not intentional ? " 
 
 " His friends said that it was. The operation had 
 been performed so neatly that nobody could believe I 
 was drunk when I did it. The money I owed him 
 formed a motive I was tried for manslaughter, and it 
 was by the nearest shave that they did not find it mur- 
 der. I was sentenced to two years' imprisonment, with 
 hard labor." 
 
 "My poor Eugene ! " 
 
 "Oh, that was not the worst part ; I was rather glad 
 to have the punishment to bear, for I had been horribly 
 to blame. If I had not been drunk ah well, I need 
 not go into it. I sometimes wonder what (iildt-rsleeve 
 will say to me when we meet on the other side of the 
 grave. God knows that if there was anything I could 
 do for him or bear for him, I would be glad to take it 
 upon me now." 
 
 " I don't suppose God has let him suffer through 
 vour fault," said Annabel, softly. " It would not be 
 fair." 
 
 " No, it wouldn't. But things don't always seem, 
 fair in this life. My family cast me off, you know, 
 after that sentence. Poor old Sir John that's my 
 father he was dreadfully cut up about it. He would 
 have paid anything if only I would have gone to the 
 Colonies ; but you know what an obstinate fellow I havr 
 always been. I absolutely refused to go. I would live 
 in England. I said, and I would practise medicine in 
 England, let all the Medical Societies say what they 
 would. And I've done it, in spite of them all." 
 
 "And done well, too."
 
 For Farewell. 391 
 
 " Have I done well, Annabel ? That's what I don't 
 know. But I should like, if you didn't mind, when I 
 am dead, if you would write to the old man and tell 
 him that I did earn an honest living, after all, and that 
 I don't think anybody's been the worse for me for the 
 last twenty years or so." 
 
 " And that one person, at least, owes you everything 
 that she values in this life ! " said Annabel, with her 
 face buried in the bedclothes, and her tears overflowing 
 upon the thin hand which she had kissed when he held 
 it out for her. 
 
 " You'll tell him all that, will you, Annabel ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed I will. Shall I send for him now, dear 
 Eugene ? " 
 
 A wistful look came into the sick man's eyes. " No, 
 I don't think so, dear. He might not like it, and you 
 can explain to him so much better afterwards. You'll 
 give him my love ? " 
 
 " Oh, but, Eugene, you are going to get better by 
 and by ! And then you will go and see him, and I shall 
 tell him everything I know all about your noble, self- 
 sacrificing life here, and the way in which you are 
 honored and respected and he will be proud of you, 
 after all, and you will be happy once again." 
 
 Eugene shook his head. " I don't seem to see it, 
 somehow. Xo, my dear. There would be endless 
 difficulties, and I am awfully tired. You must do your 
 best with Sir John, and the rest of them, and I shall 
 rest very quietly in the old green churchyard among 
 the hills." 
 
 " Xo, no," she cried ; but in her heart she knew that 
 he must die, and he knew it too, in spite of her pro- 
 testation and her tears.
 
 392 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Tell me, Annabel," he said. " I am much older 
 thau you, and very careworn, and much stained with 
 the sins of my early life, but do you think, if I had 
 lived, that it would have been possible for you to have 
 cared for me a little, to have loved me as a woman does 
 a man ? " 
 
 " I think so, Eugene." 
 
 " Then I die happy," he said, and, closing his eyes, 
 said no more. 
 
 Others came and went. Lenore tried hard to gain 
 admittance to his bedside ; and for one moment he saw 
 her and submitted to receive her frightened kiss and 
 plea for forgiveness. Of Reynold Harding nothing had 
 been heard. Sir William Duchesne, the great surgeon, 
 traveled down on purpose and without charge to see 
 his old friend, of whom he had lost sight for so many 
 years, and watched a whole night by his side. 
 
 " It is kind of yon, Willy," said Eugene, with his 
 pleasant smile. 
 
 " If I had only known you were here, Eugene, I'd 
 have done my best for you before now ! " 
 
 " It doesn't much matter. Perhaps I have done the 
 best for myself," said Lechmere, with his wide, tired 
 gaze. " And I'm rather glad it's all done with, Willy, 
 for you know, as the parrot said in the story, I've had 
 a hell of a time." 
 
 The great surgeon was rather shocked. But it was 
 to his credit that he always spoke affectionately of his 
 old friend, and followed him ultimately to his grave, 
 which was where Eugene had hoped that it would be 
 through special permission in the almost disused 
 graveyard of St. Andrew's-on-the-Hill. 
 
 He seemed more like a man bent on a journey to a
 
 For Farewell. 393 
 
 distant land than one to whom time should be no more. 
 It was not long before he died that he bent a penetrat- 
 ing gaze on Annabel, and asked her 
 
 " "What are you going to do with your life when I am 
 dead?" 
 
 " I don't know," she answered helplessly. 
 
 " You are not going to forget Jocelyn ? " 
 
 " Oh, what is Jocelyn to me," she said with passion, 
 " while you are lying here ? " 
 
 " Nevertheless, Jocelyn is your mate. Your love 
 and mine, Annabel I may speak of it now is some- 
 thing quite removed from the ordinary love of husband 
 and wife. You must not Igt it stand in the way of 
 your affection for Jocelyn. ' Love seeketh not itself 
 to please/ you remember that I taught you those 
 lines ? " 
 
 "Yes," she said with a sigh, remembering also that 
 she had quoted them one day to Jocelyn. 
 I " Well, you must practise love in that sense.- You 
 do not love for your own pleasure. And it will be in- 
 finitely for Jocelyn's good." 
 
 " How can any one be to me what you have been ? " 
 cried Annabel, turning her eyes to the wasted face 
 which had become so inexpressibly dear. 
 
 " No one can be," he answered, with something of 
 his old brilliant smile. " We are, in one sense, vowed 
 to each other ; we belong to each other, you and I. 
 But you must love Jocelyn all the same." 
 
 There might still have been something unfulfilled, 
 something imperfect and "scrappy " in Annabel's life, 
 if Eugene had not turned to her early one morning with 
 the murmured demand 
 
 "Kiss me, Annabel."
 
 394 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 For the first and only time, she kissed him on the 
 lips, in token of farewell. And, before the sun was 
 high in the heavens, Eugene Lechmere had breathed 
 out his soul to God.
 
 The End Crowns All. 395 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 THE END CROWNS ALL. 
 
 So the tragedy of Eugene Lechmere'slife was played 
 out, and the atonement, so far as he could make it, 
 was made. In the very midst of her sorrow Annabel 
 had a strong conviction that it was the better thing for 
 him to go, than to lead for many years the some- 
 what dreary life amongst the Cumberland Fells, which 
 seemed all that remained to him ; but even she was 
 astonished, when it came to the last moment, to find 
 how much he had been beloved, and to soma extent 
 honored, among the dalesfolk for miles around. He 
 had never seemed to her a very popular man in his life- 
 time ; his brusque ways and curt manner of speaking 
 tended to hold off any manifestation of sympathy or 
 affection that others might have felt for him. But that 
 he was honored in his death there could be no doubt. 
 From far and near men and women flocked to his 
 funeral. And not only were the poor, for whom he 
 had done so much, present, but the greater magnates 
 of the neighborhood chose to show by their attendance 
 the respect which his death, if not his life, had evoked. 
 
 And among the mourners there was a white-haired, 
 hale old man who walked behind the coffin with Anna- 
 bel as chief mourner. And it was remarked that this 
 was some strange great gentleman whom people called 
 Sir John, who had come from a far distance to be 
 present when his son, so long disgraced and disavowed, 
 was laid to iv--t. And there was a goodly concourse of
 
 396 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 doctors, also, who laid aside their animosity to the 
 irregular practitioner among them, when they heard 
 the true story of his life and death, which Annabel was 
 not slow, by means of her friends, to make known ; and 
 the great surgeon himself, who had been Eugene's 
 fellow-stiulent at Guy's, and who had felt just a little 
 shocked at his very unconventional way of expressing 
 himself so shortly before his death, came from London 
 to stand beside his old friend's grave. 
 
 So that there was a strange sort of satisfaction to 
 Annabel in seeing the man who had been her friend 
 and benefactor borne to his last resting-place with such 
 tokens of good-will. The loss to herself, she knew, 
 could never be made up, not even though she married 
 Jocelyn, as Eugene had told her she would do ; not 
 even although in the years to come she might be the 
 center of a large circle of friends and kinsfolk, with 
 children of her own, perhaps, growing up to call her 
 blessed. Never in all her life could she lose the mem- 
 ory of that dark, keen, vivid face, with the lips that 
 were so ready for a mocking word, and the brilliant 
 hazel eyes that smiled above them, and which softened 
 into such intensity of tenderness whenever there was 
 weakness to cheer or suffering to relieve. 
 
 But for the moment, and for some weeks afterwards, 
 Annabel was dazed, and incapable of thinking very 
 coherently, either about the present or the past. As 
 her old home was broken up, there was some difficulty 
 in knowing how to provide for her not, of course, as 
 regarded money, she was wealthy enough but as 
 regarded personal comfort and companionship. The 
 person who at last came forward to relieve Mr. Clissold 
 of what he felt to be a great responsibility was no other
 
 The End Crowns All. 397 
 
 than Edith Daunay. She had no fixed occupation in 
 the world, and Annabel was her cousin ; there could 
 be no reason for supposing that she and Jocelyn felt 
 any grudge against Annabel for depriving them of what 
 they once thought to be their due. Jocelyn was back 
 at the Foreign Office, working harder, perhaps, than 
 he had ever worked before, and was only too anxious 
 that his sister should be of use to Annabel. So the 
 two women went abroad together, and lived for months 
 in sunny places, where they heard very little of what 
 went on in the English world that they had known and 
 loved, and where every beautiful scene or noble city 
 was doubly endeared to Annabel by the associations of 
 literature and art which Eugene Lechmere had placed 
 within her reach, before she was old enough or wise 
 enough to know the value of the things in which he so 
 patiently instructed her. 
 
 Sir John Lechmere did not live long after Eugene's 
 death. He was an old man, certainly, but he had been 
 hale and hearty until that day when he learned for the 
 first time the story of his son's heroic struggle with ad- 
 verse circumstances, and something, also, of the base- 
 ness of which his daughter had been guilty. He had 
 been, moreover, rather fond of Keynold Harding, and 
 had chosen to believe him far superior to Eugene, and 
 the story of that terrible night, when out of the dark- 
 ness he had aimed at Eugene the cowardly shot which 
 ultimately cost the doctor his life, proved too much for 
 the old man's spirit, and perhaps for his heart. He 
 was never the same man again, his friends remarked. 
 He was succeeded by his eldest son, a man of great re- 
 spectability, but with none of poor Eugene's brilliance, 
 and possessed of a wife who so cordially disliked Lenore
 
 398 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 that there was very little chance of that lady's frequent 
 appearance in the home of her forefathers. But this 
 gave Lenore no cause for regret ; she had never been 
 fond of the broad green pasture-lands of Somerset, ami 
 she had no desire to stay in a house where every one 
 regarded her with haughty and critical eyes. She was 
 extremely sorry that Keynold Harding had so com- 
 pletely disappeared ; but, of course, as there was a 
 warrant out for his apprehension, there was nothing 
 for him to do but to hide himself. It was a pity, for 
 he had been generous with his money, and had plenty 
 of it, and really she did not see that he was so much to 
 blame for having killed poor Eugene. She had always 
 told Eugene that if he would mix himself up in quar- 
 rels with Keynold, he might expect to get the worst of 
 it. It had always been so ever since they were boys 
 together. Eugene was the cleverer of the two and the 
 most fiery, and sometimes by sheer impetuosity would 
 score a victory against his cousin ; but Keynold always 
 got the better of him in time. He had certainly got 
 the better of him now. 
 
 Nobody who knew Lenore was very much surprised 
 to hear the report which went the round of London 
 society a year or two later, that she also had disap- 
 peared from England, and was living as Keynold Hard- 
 ing's wife in some dimly gorgeous palace in a South 
 American city, where Harding was fast becoming a 
 millionaire. He was careful to avoid places where any 
 extradition treaty was enforced, and having lately 
 mixed himself up with politics to a surprisingly suc- 
 cessful extent, it is expected that he will end as Presi- 
 dent of some queer little South American Republic, 
 where nobody will think one penny the worse of him
 
 The End Crowns All. 399 
 
 for shooting a man who had come between him and the 
 girl whom he had wanted to make his wife. 
 
 It was not until Annabel was more than one and 
 twenty that she said anything to Edith Daunay about 
 returning to England. Edith herself would have been 
 rather glad to go to London now and then, for it was 
 long since she had seen her brother ; and from the re- 
 ports sent her by her friends she fancied that he must 
 be working himself to death, for every one assured her 
 that he was looking worried and ill. But from the 
 very beginning of their wanderings in Italy and Egypt, 
 Annabel had tabooed the mention of Jocelyn's name. 
 Her girlish fancy for him. seemed to have been overlaid 
 by the burdens which she had had to bear since Jane 
 Arnold's death. Jocelyn was too inextricably mixed np 
 with all that had been most painful in her life for her 
 to wish even to think of him. Yet perhaps, after all, 
 Miss Arnold and Dr. Lechmere had both been right 
 when they had declared that they could see within her 
 heart a germ of love for him, which_ might, if undis- 
 turbed, take root and nourish, till, like the mustard 
 seed in the parable, it became a tree so large that the 
 birds could sit and sing in the branches thereof, and 
 men find rest and solace beneath its shade. 
 
 Well, the seed had lain dormant all this time, and 
 now, three years later, it began to stir and move in 
 Annabel's heart as if something new she hardly could 
 tell what were pushing itself up to the light. She 
 did not even like to examine the new feeling too 
 closely ; it was a revival of interest, she told herself, a 
 little growth of a joy in life which had long seemed 
 dead within her. Perhaps, after all, she had hucj
 
 4OO Dau nay's Tower. 
 
 enough of wandering about the world. Her duty lay 
 in England, where she had lands and houses and ten- 
 ants people dependent upon her, and whom she had 
 never thought about. It came to her one day with a 
 sudden shock that Eugene would have told her she 
 was neglecting her duty to her people. She seemed 
 to hear his voice calling to her from the little grave 
 in the churchyard, " Come back, Annabel ; come back 
 to the hills and the dales where you spent your child- 
 hood, and which you know so well ; come back to the 
 people whom you will learn to love and serve ; come 
 back to the little Cumberland village where I lived out 
 my weary, but not useless, life, where your eyes will 
 again rest upon the roads that you watched so -often 
 for my coming, where day and night I myself went up 
 and down, and in and out of the houses of the poor, 
 seeking in my own rough way to do a little good 
 amongst those who toiled, and to relieve the pain of 
 those who were suffering ; come back and see for your- 
 self whether there is not more work to be done." 
 
 Thus it seemed to her that Eugene's voice spoke from 
 the silence of his resting-place ; and it was as if drawn 
 by that mysterious voice that one day she traveled 
 northward, and came, after many hours of journeying, 
 to the house which henceforth was to be her home. 
 It had never seemed very homelike to her, but when 
 she entered it as its mistress she smiled rather sadly 
 to herself as she remembered that she had once de- 
 clared she would never enter it except as its mistn 
 she felt a little thrill of affection for the old pl;u 
 which had of late fallen into such unkindly hands. 
 
 Edith was not with her, for Annabel had preferred 
 to come alone, and she wandered from room to room,
 
 The End Crowns All. 401 
 
 looking with interest at the faded splendors which were 
 slowly decaying from neglect. There was not a room 
 which could fairly be called habitable, so Annabel went 
 to the village inn, where Mr. and Mrs. Grier were- 
 proud indeed to give her of their best. 
 
 She slept in their best-room, where the sheets smelt 
 of lavender and a magnificent fire went roaring up the 
 chimney, but did not keep out the sound of the little 
 river as it bubbled over the stones and under the little 
 gray bridge on its way towards the sea. It was Sep- 
 tember, and the day was perfect. When Annabel 
 awoke she wondered that she had not remembered how 
 golden and mellow the sunshine of these northern lati- 
 tudes could be. She sprang up early, and dressed her- 
 self for a walk ; she wanted to see all her old haunts, 
 to visit the farmhouse and the churchyard and the 
 quaint old church of St. Andrew's-on-the-Hill. 
 
 A new glow of life and spirits came to her in the 
 clear, crisp, bracing air. As she ate her breakfast she 
 inquired of Mrs. Grier concerning all her old friends, 
 including even Mrs. Beccles and the cat Timothy, who 
 were established for life in the little whitewashed house 
 which Dr. Lechrnere had called his own. She heard a 
 great deal of good-natured gossip from the landlady, 
 and she was told that the Moorside Farm was let to 
 some capable young people, who were making it pay as 
 it had never paid before. 
 
 " I suppose they won't mind if I ask to see the 
 house ? " said Annabel, a little doubtfully. 
 
 " Bless you, ma'am, they will be proud and honored," 
 said Mrs. Grier ; but there was a slight smile on her 
 face as she stepped back to the kitchen and said a word 
 in her husband's ear. 
 26
 
 
 
 4Q2 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 " Now, if Miss Daunay comes out and begins talk- 
 ing to you about the farm where she used to live, don't 
 you be a fool and let out that there is a lodger at the 
 house ; she mightn't like it or she might there is no 
 telling, and we have no call to meddle with business 
 which doesn't concern us." And Grier, being a wise 
 man who generally did what his wife told him, nodded 
 and held his tongue. 
 
 So Annabel went up the white road once more ; but 
 she did not go first to the Moorside Farm, she paid a 
 visit to a place which was even dearer and more sacred 
 to her than the farm. She went to the churchyard, 
 which she had so often visited with Eugene Lechniere 
 and Jane Arnold in days gone by. r They were all there 
 once again, though two were laid beneath the wind- 
 swept grass, and one only stood and looked at the 
 green grass and the blue sky. The place was full of 
 tender memories for Annabel. Here lay her mother and 
 the baby sister, of whom she had but lately heard, and 
 beside Betha there was Jane Arnold, her faithful spirit 
 now at rest ; and at their feet where he hud entreated 
 to be laid was the body of Eugene Lechmere, and 
 the white cross that rose above it was an emblem to 
 Annabel of the life that he had lived, as well as 
 the faith which he had kept in his heart to the very 
 last. 
 
 She turned at last, and for the first time a feeling of 
 loneliness oppressed her ; hitherto it had seemed to 
 her as if the whole place were pervaded with the spirits 
 of those who had passed beyond this life, yet lingered 
 round about their old abodes. She had felt as if they 
 were with her all the time, and now quite suddenly she 
 knew that their presences were no longer near, and that
 
 The End Crowns All. 403 
 
 she must face the world alone, without their loving 
 eyes and hands to guide her. 
 
 The tears came to her eyes as she thought of these 
 things, and as she halted for a moment at the church- 
 yard gate she lost the glory of the sunshine around her 
 in a mist of tears. 
 
 But how was this ? She was no longer alone. She had 
 not noticed a stranger on the road ; it seemed as if some- 
 body had been beforehand with her in visiting the old 
 churchyard in the dewy freshness of the September 
 morning. She turned aside, hastily brushing the tears 
 from her eyes, and then, as her vision cleared, she saw 
 a familiar face looking wistfully into her own. Her 
 heart gave a great bound, her pulses seemed to thrill 
 with a new sensation, and yet it was only Jocelyn 
 Daunay, looking a little older and paler than of yore, 
 waiting for her to speak to him or to hold out her 
 hand with a sort of humiliation which put Annabel to 
 shame. 
 
 She held 'out her hands to him, without exactly 
 knowing what she did. 
 
 " Oh, I have been so lonely ! " she said. " I am so 
 glad to see you here ! " 
 
 "You know that I would have come at any time, if 
 I had been able to fancy that you wanted me," said 
 Jocelyn. 
 
 His eyes had lost their old look of glad contentment, and 
 out of his manner the old self-assurance and something 
 of boyish gaiety had been withdrawn, but Annabel felt 
 instinctively that these very losses made him more of a 
 human being, more able to sympathize, to understand, 
 perhaps to love. "I am not sure that I wanted you 
 until now," paid Annabel, slowly looking up at him
 
 404 Daunay's Tower. 
 
 with eyes that almost took his breath away, they were 
 so beautiful and so very sweet. 
 
 ' But you want me a little now," he said, holding 
 her hand more tightly, and drawing her a little closer 
 to him. 
 
 "Yes," she said simply, "I do want you now." 
 And she held up her face to be kissed with the simplic- 
 ity of a child ; and they went down the long white 
 road to the village hand in hand. 
 
 " I told you so," said Mrs. Grier, triumphantly, for 
 although the lovers' hands had parted company before 
 they actually reached the village, there was something 
 in the air and gait of the young couple which told its 
 own tale to Mrs. Grier's experienced eye. " Didn't I 
 say to you," she remarked to her husband, " that it 
 would be best to let well alone ? If we had mentioned 
 to Miss Annabel that Mr. Daunay was staying up at the 
 Moorside Farm she would most likely never have gone 
 near the place ; and see, now they have met by accident 
 like, they are as happy as two children with all the 
 world before them." 
 
 " Well, it's a real proper, comfortable marriage, that's 
 what I call it. And each of the Daunays will have a 
 share in the old place, as is but natural and right, and 
 we shall have one of the old stock for master as well as 
 mistress, and that's a blessing. Who but a Daunay can 
 understand the ways of this wild place ? " 
 
 " There was one who did," said her husband, stolidly, 
 "and understood them better than any Daunay, al- 
 though he was a West-conntryman. But there we 
 shall never see his like again." 
 
 And that was, perhaps, the thought which recurred
 
 The End Crowns All. 405 
 
 even to Annabel sometimes, that she would never again 
 see a man who was such a guide, friend, and teacher as 
 Ku;ii'iM> Lechmere had been to her. 
 
 But, after all, Love has a different aspect from even 
 the most ideal friendship, and in the days that were 
 yet to come there was no happier woman living than 
 Annabel Daunay of Daunay's Tower. 
 
 THE END.
 
 Comrades True 
 
 By ANNIE THOMAS 
 
 354 P a S es t s i ze 7% x 5i Cloth, ink and gold, $1.25. 
 This novel is nothing if not up to date, and if its publica- 
 tion had only been delayed a month the fall of Tientsin 
 would in all probability have figured largely in the closing 
 pages. The name is all right as far as a certain portion of 
 the characters go, but the rest of them are about as untrue 
 to each other as one could possibly imagine, and the readers 
 will make a great mistake if they imagine those who are en- 
 gaged to be married in the early part of the book have any 
 real intention of actually marrying. For those who like to 
 have their fiction people live, move, and have their being 
 amid the toil and trouble of everyday life, this story will, 
 without doubt, appeal strongly. The English well, that 
 does not matter so much in books of this class, and 
 the action is so rapid and vividly realistic that one un- 
 consciously overlooks any little mistakes which the author 
 may have committed in her desire to get the book complete 
 before the war in Africa was finished. Phila. Telegraph. 
 
 " Comrades True'' is a wide-reaching romance. The list 
 includes impecunious comrades not well-mated comrades 
 divorced and wanted-to-be-divorced comrades, and their in- 
 felicities are heard all the way from London to South Africa 
 on sea and land. The reader will ever find it difficult with- 
 out tabbing to keep an account of the divorce mill. The 
 parties in each contest are remarkably serene, and behind 
 each some other man or woman appears in sight to enable 
 " Comrades True " to bear a separation with equanimity. 
 The London Literary World, in noticing the book, says : It 
 cannot be complained that 'Comrades True" is not up to 
 date. The Boers, the imperial volunteers, wounds, and 
 nurses play a large part in it, and the author delivers herself 
 of plenty of such correct, if rash Saxon sentiments as 'I'd 
 like to face a hundred Boers single-handed this minute, and 
 show them what an Englishman can do when his blood is up 
 at insults offered to our Queen and country." The story has 
 life and movement, and seems to be in line, and does not 
 comprehend the connubial infelicities which are threatening 
 the happy home life of the world., Chicago Inter-Ocean, 
 
 At all booksellers or will be sent, 
 prepaid, upon receipt of price by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 9-11 East i6th Street, New York
 
 A Rise in the World 
 
 By ADELINE SERGEANT 
 377 pages, size 7^^5, Cloth, ink and gold, $1.25. 
 
 Miss Sergeant's new novel has not "Adam Grigson's" right 
 to consideration, though it is not without a certain interest 
 for the reader who has just laid down the latter book. The 
 heroine of "A Rise in the World" is a little household 
 drudge, kind hearted, good and unselfish, but untaught and 
 illiterate as any other London "slavey." We do not say 
 that it would be impossible for this girl to reach a high place 
 in English society within an absurdly short time, but it must 
 be admitted that the transition as described by Miss Sergeant 
 is not convincing. A man's a man fora* that, but training, or 
 the lack of it, and the human being's evironment must count, 
 so that it is not easy to accept as a probable personage the 
 cockney servant who becomes a beautiful peeress and charm- 
 ing woman of the world with such startling rapidity. N. Y. 
 Tribune. 
 
 In "A Rise in the World" (Buckles) Adeline Sergeant 
 outdoes Laura Jean Libbey in her efforts to bring her heroine 
 from the lowliest walks of life to the height of the social 
 world. She makes the poor girl, who is a nursery maid, 
 awkr^rd, stupid, stubborn, and untidy, only granting her 
 the graces of a kind heart and a sensible name, Elizabeth. 
 Of course, the hand of every man is against Elizabeth as she 
 struggles to make herself worthy of the position to which 
 marriage with a gentleman has raised her ; but in time, by 
 the tender guidance of the rash young man's unworldly 
 mother, the girl becomes a marvel of feminine attractive- 
 ness. One by one her enemies are laid low and she forgives 
 them all. The story is not quite so melodramatic as those 
 of its kind usually are. The noteworthy thing about it is 
 the ease with which the author removes immovable obstacles. 
 Chicago Tribune 
 
 Readers of this interesting picture of London society will 
 perhaps be impressed by the unevenness of its literary merit. 
 Some of the scenes are capitally done ; others seem hurriedly 
 sketched, but the author's style is always femininely incisive. 
 Despite a few seeming improbabilities in plot, the story as a 
 whole is one which has in it an inevitable attractiveness, as 
 do all accounts of real rises and progresses in the world. 
 The Outlook. 
 
 At all booksellers or will be sent, 
 postpaid, upon receipt of price bv 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 o-ff East 1 6th Street, New York
 
 A Ward of the King 
 
 (An Historical Romance} 
 
 By KATHARINE S. MAC^UOID 
 
 328 pages, size 7^x5, Cloth, Ink and Gold, $i.2'j 
 
 This is a story of the times of the great Constable < 
 Bourbon. Jeanne d'Acigne" is married when a child to ihe 
 Cotnte de Laval. Adventures and the clash of steel are 
 things masculine, and the woman cannot put enough muscle 
 iato her hard knocks. But perhaps for this very reason it 
 may be commended to those gentler souls who shrink from 
 blood and wounds ; and it may be also commended to those 
 who are charmed by a singularly refined and feminine style 
 for its own gracious sake. London Literary World. 
 
 " A Ward of the King" is a romance of the time of the 
 B nirbon kings. The heroine is the only child of the Count 
 d'Acigne', dead when the story opens ; tha heroes, the Count 
 of Laval, whom she marries at thirteen at the command of 
 the King and her friend and unknown lover, Roland, the 
 heir of the Vicomte d'Orbec both noble men in truth. 
 The cousin of the Count of Laval, Etiennede Retz, conceived 
 a passion for the Countess Laval on her wedding day. This 
 leads to the intrigue about which the story, full of life and 
 fire, centers. The Outlook. 
 
 Miss Katharine S . Macquoid in her new book, "A Ward 
 of ths King," has departed somewhat from the usual rule of 
 romance writers. She has taken for the centre figure of the 
 story a woman instead of a swaggering man. This notion, 
 however, must be commended by the excellent manner in 
 which the authoress has transcribed it. Boston Courier. 
 
 With the present widespread popularity of, and interest 
 in the historical romance, Katharine Macquoid's " A Ward 
 of the King" is sure of a hearing. The tale is worthy of the 
 encomiums which are being bestowed upon it. The story is 
 of the Great Constable of Bourbon ; its scenes and its times 
 readily lend themselves to the play of the romantic incident 
 and the weaving of skilful plots. The story is marked by a 
 style of singular refinement. American, Nov. 16. 
 
 At all bookiellert or tuill be sent, 
 postpaid, upon receipt of price by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES fc? COMPANY 
 
 p-fj East i6tb Street, New York
 
 In London s Heart 
 
 By GEORGE R. SIMS 
 435 P a S e5 > size 7% x 5> Cloth, Ink and Gold, 
 George R. Sim's name is associated with melodrama, and in his latest 
 novel, " In London's Heart," the melodramatic element is decidedly to 
 the fore, though lovers of exciting fiction of stories where struggling 
 human nature and bad, bad villains produce hairbreadth scenes will find 
 it made up of absorbing materials. The hero is Stephen Alison, a ticket- 
 of-leave-man, etc., etc., whose sentence was scarcely the result of his own 
 crime, and who is anxious, like so many of his own class from poor Bob 
 Brierly downwards, to lead a new life. The desire to sever himself from 
 his old associates is not so easy to accomplish, and gradually he falls into 
 bad company again. Having no money, he agrees with some old con- 
 federates to accompany a dissipated young nobleman abroad, with the inten- 
 tion of killing him and then claiming the insurance money which the 
 sharpers have already got the victim to assign to them. But before this 
 delightful little scheme can be set actually working, the nobleman is mur- 
 dered at his house in Grosvenor place, and suspicion falls on Stephen. The 
 rest of the book is a triumphant effort to clear Stephen, and everybody is 
 finally punished or rewarded in due measure. Albany Argus. 
 
 "In London's Heart," by George R. Sims, is the story of an English 
 " ticket-of-leave " convict, who was desirous of living a new life, but 
 found it difficult to get away from his old associates. He returns to his old 
 ways, but by an astonishing incident becomes a millionaire. From that 
 time on the sto:r becomes highly sensational, and the reader who want* 
 " thrilling exciteinjnt ' ' gets it in liberal measure. Cleveland Platndcaler. 
 "In London * Heart," by George R. Sims, is another proof of this 
 author's power to write a good melodramatic story. It is full of trouble 
 and struggle, plotting and mystery, critical situations and stirring incidents. 
 Moreover, it is coherent and readable and will prove popular with readers of 
 adventurous fiction. Rochester Democrat and Chronicle. 
 
 To begin with a gentlemen who is also a ticket-of-leave man and end 
 up *vith the same gentleman in his brother's place as a millionaire after a 
 scries of the most alarming and sensational adventures is George R. Sims' 
 way of :elling "In London's Heart." The story is a rattler. It isn': 
 exactly a detective or mystery story ; but it is the good old melodrama of 
 an earlier day brought into the present age for its entertainment, if not its 
 edification. There is a detective, of course, but he is friendly to the 
 gentleman-criminal, instead of being a mere sleuth, and the book contains 
 other novel features which are enough to delight a varied and youthful 
 audience. Chicago Evening Post. 
 
 At all booksellers or will be sent, postpaid, vpon receipt of prict by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 East i6th Street, New York
 
 A Rational Marriage 
 
 By FLORENCE MARRYAT 
 
 296 Pages, Size 7% x 5, Cloth, Ink and Gold, $1-25. 
 
 A Rational Marriage is the title of the book, which is Florence 
 Marryat's latest contribution to her circle of readers. It belongs to 
 that class of light literature which is enjoyed by those who read only 
 for the pleasure of the hour, and will, doubtless, meet with approval 
 from the novel reading public. 
 
 The story is of a young woman of rather Bohemian proclivities who 
 lives in a flat and acts as secretary to an elderly nobleman. She has 
 " expectations" from her grandfather, but only in the event of her re- 
 maining single, as the old gentleman has decided dislike for matrimony. 
 
 How it all turned out mav be gathered from the book which comes 
 from the publishing house of F. M. Buckles & Co., New York. 
 
 Toledo Blade, Feb. 8. 
 
 The late Florence Marryat had a fine appreciation of a humorous 
 situation, and she used it to good purpose in this story, which is based 
 on a clandestine marriage. When rooms are reserved at a certain place 
 for "Mr. and Mrs. Smith, 1 ' and two couples answering to that name 
 make their simultaneous appearance, there is apt to be some explain- 
 ing necessary. The embarassments resulting from hasty marriages, 
 in which there is an object in preserving secrecy has been the theme 
 of both novelist and playwright, but the lamented author of this vol- 
 ume has succeeded in extracting about all the humor and aggravation 
 that can be found in the situation. Fancy a man having to play a 
 game of freeze-out with his own wife as the attraction, and yet not 
 daring to acknowledge the relationship ! And the fact that the man is 
 a journalist makes it all the more enjoyable. 
 
 The volume is a handsome one, the cover design being particularly 
 attractive. Rochester Herald, Feb. 9. 
 
 "A Rational MP nage," by the late Florence Marryat, daughter 
 of the famous Captain Marryat, is not a strong story, but it was written 
 with a praiseworthy purpose that shines forth from every page. The 
 purpose is to show the magic power of love. A clever, independent 
 young women, who has formed her own conclusions regarding matri- 
 mony, and a bright young newspaper man enter into a marriage 
 agreement with the understanding that everything is to go on exactly 
 as before the ceremonv. The young man agrees because it is the only 
 ^ray to secure her, and they are united by a magistrate. Then follow 
 complications ; uneasy days and sleepless nights, and all the woes pos- 
 sible to those who, reckoning, without love, enter the matrimonial state 
 After a judicious amount of trial and tribulations the clouds break 
 away for a bright and satisfactory ending. A few contrasting ex- 
 amples of conjugal bliss and single unhappiness are thrown in quite 
 effectively. Chicago Tribune. 
 
 At all booktellcrt or mill be sent, 
 fast paid, upon receipt of priee by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 
 East l6tb Street, New York
 
 Hagar of the Pawn-Shop 
 
 By FERGUS HUME, 
 
 2<)6 /><*"> "* e 7)4 X S> Cloth, J stampings, $Z.OO. 
 
 Those who like detective stories will get much enjoy- 
 ment out of the ten in this book, which have connection 
 enough to give them a certain continuity. Hagar, a gypsy 
 girl, has a wonderful personality, great shrewdness, penetra- 
 tion, aud judgment, beside being very handsome, dignified 
 and self-respecting. There are ten different customers, each 
 of whom brings some peculiar article to pawn, and the article 
 has a story of its own, or a very strange mystery. She 
 unravels the mystery, brings criminals to their punishment, 
 and restores fortunes. It is all cleverly done, and Hagar's 
 sagacity is something to be admired. The author is Fergus 
 Hume. Literary World, Nov. 25. 
 
 Hagar Stanley, a gypsy, and niece of the dead wife of a 
 miserly old London pawnbroker, is driven by the unwelcome 
 attentions of a gypsy half-breed suitor to flee from her tribe 
 in the New Forest. She takes refuge with old Jacob Dix, 
 the pawnbroker, who, before his death, is trapped by a cheap 
 lawyer into trying unsuccessfully to disinherit his son in favor 
 of Hagar, who defeats the plot, only to discover that th6 
 son is the man who drove her from the gypsy tribe. The 
 adventures of the two form the material for Mr. Hume's new 
 story. The Mail and Express, Oct. 26. 
 
 This is a volume of detective stories by Fergus Hume, 
 whose "Mystery of a Hansom Cab" w'll be recalled as a 
 clever bit of writing. Between "The Coming of Hagar" 
 and ' ' The Passing of Hagar ' ' are grouped ten stories, each 
 bearing a separate interest, but each linked together so that 
 they follow in natural order. Hagar is an interesting young 
 Gypsy who comes into charge of a pawn-shop of very doubt- 
 ful character in a somewhat unusual way. Her adventures 
 and those of her customers are entertaining and lively and 
 the tales are of a stirring character. When Conan Doyle, 
 with Sherlock Holmes, lifted detective stories to a higher 
 plane than they had occupied since the days of Edgar Allen 
 Poe, he opened the way for other writers to explore the field. 
 Fergus Hume has done so with much success ; and the present 
 volume is sure of a numerous clientage among those who 
 like the bizarre in fiction. American. 
 
 At all booksellers or -will be sent, 
 postpaid, upon receipt of price by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY 
 y-ll East i6tb Street, New York
 
 A Splendid Sin 
 
 By GRANT ALLEN 
 
 ?73 P&g es * s * ze 7}& X 5* Cloth* Three Stampings, $r.oo 
 
 The title of this book implies audacity, and in this it is 
 true to its teachings. Mr. Allen's independent line of thought 
 was never more clearly defined, and the "splendor" of the 
 sin really takes our breath away. Mr. Allen >vas always 
 perfectly frank about pot boiling, and therefore took some 
 /round from his critic, but he never lost his power to tell an 
 Mtertaining story, no matter how startling or improbable it 
 was, nor with what rapidity he dashed it off. " The Woman 
 Who Did" was a difficult heroine to accept, but even she is 
 mild compared to Mrs. Egremont's achievements in the line 
 of independent action in "A Splendid Sin." It would be a 
 pity to take the zest from the reader by outlining the plot, 
 whose chief charm lies in its surprises. Sufficient to say that 
 here is a problem novel with a vengeance, and the spectacle 
 of an illegitimate son ordering his mother's lawful husband 
 out of her house in righteous indignation at his existence is 
 an example of advanced thought rarely met with in every- 
 day life. The Commercial Advertiser^ Nov. 18, 1899. 
 
 " A Splendid Sin," by Grant Allen, has just been pub- 
 lished by F. M. Buckles & Co. It is one of the latest works 
 written by the noted author, of whose untimely death we 
 have just learned. It will be treasured as one of his best 
 novels by the large number of readers who peruse with inter- 
 est all productions from his pen. It is a study of an act 
 which is universally condemned as a sin. Not in itself as a 
 saving power, but its disclosure comes to an illegitimate son 
 as a blessing, making a happy marriage possible, and savh g 
 all concerned from disgrace and misery. Even the sin itself 
 is made to appear lovely and proper in comparison with that 
 other sin which the world readily excuses, namely, the forc- 
 ing of a marriage where there is no true love or mutual re- 
 spect. It is a story to please by its plot and action and char- 
 acter drawing, and also to set one thinking upon some of the 
 serious problems of life. 
 
 Evening Telegram , N. Y. t Nov. 9, 
 
 At all booksellers or -will be tent t 
 postpaid, upon receipt of price by 
 
 F. M. BUCKLES & COM PA NT 
 
 Q-II East i6tb Street, New York