\r- 
 
 A 
 
 RTHUR 
 
 Merton 
 
 A Romance 
 
 BY 
 
 ADMIRAL DAVID D. PORTER, U.S.N. 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK 
 

 
 
 
 Copyright, 1889, 
 By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 
 
 9 
 

 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It is a trite remark that truth is stranger than fiction, and 
 if many of the events of every-day life were presented in 
 narrative form they would be much more interesting reading 
 than the novels with which the market is flooded. The 
 scenes of our story are laid in places with which the reader 
 may not be familiar, but the story will be none the less in- 
 teresting on that account, as it refers to a country with 
 which we have the closest sympathies and with which we 
 are bound by the strongest ties — a country that has done 
 more for civilization than any other, on whose flag the sun 
 never sets, and whose drum-beat is heard continually on the 
 great circle which passes through her dominions. 
 
 The British Isles abound in lovely scenery. A thousand 
 years of civilization have been spent in beautifying almost 
 every part of England, and it is in one of its most enchant- 
 ing districts that our tale commences. Every one must 
 know something of the county of Kent, which has no supe- 
 rior in all that goes to make mankind happy, if there is such 
 a thing as happiness to be found on this globe. Kent is 
 bounded on the north by the river Thames, and to the east 
 there is formed a peninsula by the river Med way, which has 
 a wide opening as far as Chatham and Rochester. The 
 banks of these beautiful streams are fringed with estates 
 owned by wealthy UEODjietois^ some of whom can boast of 
 
4 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 their descent from ancestors who gave aid to the cause 
 of Charles I in the great civil war. It is on the penin- 
 sula, some twenty miles east of Rochester, that our story 
 begins. 
 
 On an estate of some nine hundred acres lived Squire 
 Pentland in a manor-house built in the time of William III. 
 It had undergone many changes in the interim through the 
 different fancies of the numerous proprietors, who always 
 seemed to have money enough to indulge themselves in what- 
 ever would improve the beautiful place, and never had to 
 resort to cutting down the timber to supply means to carry 
 on the necessary improvements. The result was that thou- 
 sands of mighty oaks, with branches twisted and gnarled, 
 covered the land; and the squire would have as soon thought 
 of cutting off a limb as of felling one of these grand old 
 trees. 
 
 A carefully kept lawn extended with a gentle declivity 
 to the river Medway, which offered an unceasing supply of 
 amusement, owing to the numbers of small craft that were 
 continually passing before the house, while ships in tow of 
 steamers could frequently be seen wending their way up the 
 river from long voyages. 
 
 The estate was called Moorland, from the picturesque 
 moors in the vicinty, where the pheasant, the black ccck, 
 the partridge, and the quail were found in abundance ; while 
 the fallow deer reclined at ease beneath oaks renowned 
 beyond all others in that neighborhood for their size and 
 beauty. 
 
 Squire Pentland, the eighth proprietor of Moorland of 
 his family, was fifty-five years of age, six feet in height, well 
 proportioned, and the picture of health — in fact, he had never 
 known a day's illness in his life ; his eye was bright and 
 keen, his complexion ruddy ; he rode with the hounds and 
 was incessantly in the field in the hunting season. He was 
 truly a type of the fine old English country gentleman of 
 whom we read, who has done so much to form the charac- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 5 
 
 ter of Englishmen and so much for the honor and glory of 
 Great Britain. 
 
 The squire was much beloved by all the people of the 
 neighborhood. He kept open house and was celebrated for 
 his urbanity and liberality, while his handsome wife, some 
 six years his junior, threw a charm over Moorland which it 
 would not have possessed but for her presence. 
 
 The owner of Moorland had one son, the joy and pride 
 of his parents. He had the strength and sturdiness of his 
 father with the grace and beauty of his mother. Though 
 but twelve years of age he could follow the hounds in their 
 chase of fox or hare, and with his light " Joe Manton " could 
 bring down the swiftest pheasant, while rabbits and hares 
 stood no chance before his unerring aim. Even at this early 
 age he was trained in every sport that would tend to make 
 a man of him. He was an amiable boy, full of energy when 
 occasion called for it, and a general favorite with all who 
 knew him. How could it be otherwise with such parents ? 
 Every one was struck at the first sight of him with his bright 
 face and manly figure. Roland Pentland was a particular 
 favorite with young girls, even those older than himself, for 
 he could easily have passed for fourteen. His manners were 
 extremely good and he showed great deference to the fair 
 sex in acts and words. In short, Roland Pentland was the 
 pet of the parish. 
 
 About the time of which we write a strange gentleman 
 made his appearance in the neighborhood and took up his 
 abode in a neat cottage owned by a Mrs. Grant, a kindly 
 old lady who was famed for keeping the best lodging-house 
 in the little village of Elk, two miles from Moorland. Tak- 
 ing a parlor and bedroom, the stranger proceeded to make 
 himself comfortable, and Mrs. Grant left nothing undone to 
 minister to his wants. He made his stay so long that the 
 people of the parish began to wonder who he was and what 
 he wanted, for it was not often that a stranger visited the 
 village for more than a day or two. This gentleman was of 
 
6 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 early habits, and half-past six every morning found him 
 rambling over the country. 
 
 One morning the stranger called at the office of Mr. 
 Grub, a real-estate agent, and finding that gentleman at 
 home, entered and was received with the greatest civility. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Mr. Merton," said the agent ; " I 
 have been expecting yoa for some days. Take a seat, sir. 
 I have several places for you to examine, and one in par- 
 ticular with which I am sure you will be well pleased." 
 
 " I think I have seen it," said Mr. Merton, " or at least 
 have seen one that suits me, a place called Woodlawn, and 
 I wish to know the price." 
 
 " We had better go and examine it thoroughly," said the 
 agent, " for I want you to be perfectly satisfied with the 
 place before you take it." 
 
 With that they walked together in the direction of Moor- 
 land until they came to a wood which they entered through 
 a gate supported by massive stone pillars. 
 
 "Ah," said Mr. Grub, "this is one of the handsomest 
 estates in the county, almost equal to Moorland, which it 
 joins. It will cost you a mint of money." 
 
 " That is my affair," said Mr. Merton, stiffly. " The best 
 place for a man's money is in land, where it can not fly 
 away." 
 
 " That is the trouble with the present owner of Wood- 
 lawn," said the agent ; " his father built the house, while he 
 added the wings to it. The mortgage on the estate is the 
 only thing that keeps it from flying away." 
 
 "Umph!" replied Mr. Merton; "it will not fly away 
 from me when I once own it." 
 
 By this time they had reached the house, a fine brick 
 edifice with no signs of age about it beyond some patches 
 of ivy that covered the east wing. The mansion, which was 
 in the Georgian style, was built about the year 1810, and was 
 in excellent order. The grounds were beautifully laid out 
 and well cared for. A closely cut lawn extended from the 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 7 
 
 house to the banks of the Medway, and a large number of 
 grand old oaks shaded the grounds, like those at Moorland 
 — in fact, the lawn at Woodlawn was almost a counterpart of 
 that of the former, containing a number of deer and a quan- 
 tity of game. Squire Pentland's keeper sometimes com- 
 plained that, owing to the owner of Woodlawn being no 
 sportsman and allowing no shooting on the place, the game 
 from the surrounding country would retire there as a place 
 of safety. Animals have the instinct of self preservation in 
 such matters, in which they resemble human beings. 
 
 Walking up the broad steps which led to the veranda 
 surrounding the house, Mr. Merton seated himself in a 
 carved arm-chair, and after surveying the scene for a few 
 moments, remarked : " This is what I am seeking for— 
 where I can find quiet repose after a weary life. What is 
 it worth as it stands— land, stock, and agricultural imple- 
 ments ? " 
 
 " It is the most elegant establishment of the kind in this 
 part of the county," replied the agent, " and you will have 
 the best society. It is worth while living here just to know 
 Squire Pentland and his charming wife." 
 
 "I didn't ask you about the society or Squire Pent- 
 land ! " exclaimed Mr. Merton, gruffly. " I generally choose 
 my own society, and am not inclined to play second fiddle 
 to county squires. I asked you about the house, farm, and 
 stock. If the price suits me, I will take it ; if not, I will go 
 elsewhere. So don't lose time in talking about anything 
 but the matter in hand." 
 
 The astonished Mr. Grub saw that he had a very differ- 
 ent man to deal with from Squire Pentland, but he could 
 not resist saying : "Why, Mr. Merton, the first thing a pur- 
 chaser asks in these parts is, 'What kind of society have 
 you ? ' " 
 
 " Sir, you are as garrulous as a barber," answered Mr. 
 Merton, " and if I can not conduct this matter in a strictly 
 business-like manner and in accordance with my own ideas, I 
 
8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 will try to obtain an interview with the proprietor in person, 
 and make a bargain with him. Excuse me, Mr. Grub, but 
 I am a man of business. I want no one to pry into my 
 affairs or anticipate my wishes. I choose my own company 
 and intrude on no one. It is not likely that Squire Pent- 
 land and I will ever become acquainted." 
 
 Mr. Grub looked at the man in amazement and said to 
 himself, '' I don't think Squire Pentland will want to know 
 more of you after one interview." But he could not con- 
 trol his natural habit, and inquired, " Have you a family, 
 Mr. Merton } " 
 
 "That's my affair," said Mr. Merton, " but I don't mind 
 telling you that I have a bull-dog, and he bites inquisitive 
 people." 
 
 This was the feather that broke the camel's back, and 
 Mr. Grub subsided. 
 
 " Now," said Mr. Merton, "give me a list of the stock, 
 first and foremost, and then I will look at it." 
 
 "This is the list," said Mr. Grub, and he proceeded to 
 read : 
 
 "Four blooded coach-horses, two hunters, two gentle- 
 man's riding-horses, one lady's riding-horse, one cob, two 
 ponies, eight farm-horses, two dray-horses, one bull, twelve 
 cows, two donkeys, twenty hogs, sixty sheep, twelve beef 
 steers, fifty turkeys, three hundred chickens, fifty geese, 
 sixty ducks, and some goats." 
 
 " Quite stock enough," remarked Mr. Merton. 
 
 " But not quite equal to the squire," said the irrepressible 
 Grub. 
 
 " The devil take the squire ! " roared Mr. Merton ; " I 
 can buy him out." 
 
 Grub subsided again. This was downright heresy. No 
 one dared to speak in this way regarding the squire in that 
 neighborhood, but he continued reading the catalogue: 
 " One road coach, one landau, one double phaeton, one T- 
 cart, one dog-cart, four farm-wagons, two hay-wagons, five 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 9 
 
 carts, six plows, four harrows," and then followed a list of 
 farming-tools too numerous to mention. 
 
 " How many acres of land are there ? " asked Mr. Mer- 
 ton. 
 
 " Five hundred acres," responded the other ; but incau- 
 tiously added, " the squire has nine hundred." 
 
 " D n the squire ! " exclaimed Mr. Merton, in a rage ; 
 
 " I don't care what he owns. I do not intend that he or 
 any one else shall trespass on my land." 
 
 Mr. Grub almost sunk to the ground and thought to 
 himself, " This is the meanest wretch I ever fell in with," 
 but he was anxious to sell the place, and restrained his wrath. 
 
 Then they walked about and examined everything of 
 interest until the day was far spent, and Mr. Merton pro- 
 posed returning to the mansion. This was furnished com- 
 pletely, from attic to cellar, in the most luxurious style. 
 Everything was ready for a housekeeper to begin work- 
 nothing was lacking. 
 
 " There is a great abundance of everything here," said 
 Mr. Merton ; " the owner must have had princely tastes and 
 habits. But, pray, what is all this stuff worth ? " 
 
 "The furniture of this house cost eight thousand 
 pounds," said Mr. Grub. " The house cost sixteen thou- 
 sand pounds. Of the land, three hundred acres are arable, 
 but half of it is now in grass ; there are one hundred acres 
 in timber, and about one hundred in meadow. The land 
 is valued at forty-six thousand pounds. There is the finest 
 hunting in the county here. The whole amount asked for 
 the estate is seventy thousand pounds." 
 
 "And quite enough, too," said Mr. Merton, "but I v/ill 
 take it." 
 
 " One half cash," interrupted Mr. Grub, "and the rest 
 
 to remain on mortgage, if the purchaser wishes. There is 
 
 already a mortgage of f,. enty-four thousand pounds on it 
 
 that has nearly expired. Six months* notice has been given." 
 
 " I will take the place and close up the mortgage. I 
 
lO ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 want the property free. None but a fool would have a mort- 
 gage on his estate." 
 
 Mr. Grub smiled blandly. ''Why, that is uncommon 
 to find here," he said; " even Squire Pentland has a mort- 
 gage on his fine estate." 
 
 "Confound Squire Pentland and his estate !" said the 
 other. " What do I care ? Keep to the matter before you. 
 Make out the papers, and I will put them in the hands of my 
 lawyer. When he says everything is right, I will pay the 
 money. I want to move in in ten days." 
 
 " All you have to do is to pay down one thousand pounds, 
 and you can move in when you please," said Mr. Grub. And 
 so the matter was settled, the one thousand pounds paid, and 
 Mr. Merton, taking formal possession, engaged a manager 
 for the farm, and left the town, no one knew whither. 
 
 In about ten days he returned with his wife and son — the 
 latter twelve years of age — a large amount of luggage, and the 
 fierce bull-dog of which he had spoken to Mr. Grub. Mr. 
 Merton brought no servants, except a housekeeper, a butler, 
 and a lady's maid. A corps of servants had been engaged 
 by the real-estate agent, consisting of a cook, a laundress, 
 two house-maids, two footmen, a coachman, and two stable- 
 men. The manager supplied all the men for the farm. 
 
 The landau met the party at the station on their arrival. 
 It was drawn by four fine horses. A footman opened the 
 carriage door, and the family entered. " To Woodlawn," 
 said Mr. Merton, simply — the horses started, and in half an 
 hour reached the gates, passed through the avenue of oaks, 
 drew up at the door, and the party alighted. 
 
 Up to this time not a word had been spoken by the fam- 
 ily party, and it was evident that it was not the habit of the 
 Mertons to interchange their thoughts in words. Though 
 the house and grounds were beautiful no one expressed 
 any pleasure. The lady sat with her face hidden by her 
 veil, and the boy sittmg in front of his mother kept an anx- 
 ious eye fixed upon her to see if he could detect any symp- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. II 
 
 torn of pleasure, but he could see nothing through the thick 
 veil. His mother looked neither to the right nor left, while 
 his father uttered no word to either of them. So they rode 
 on, and people seeing them might have supposed them to be 
 a party of mutes. 
 
 When they had ascended the steps and stood upon the 
 porch, Mr. Merton turned to his wife, and said : " You do 
 not seem to be pleased with this purchase. There is a view 
 that might raise a dead woman, and yet it does not seem to 
 meet your approbation." 
 
 She answered in a plaintive voice : ** I am so unaccus- 
 tomed, Mr. Merton, to express an opinion without your espe- 
 cial request that I have not thought of doing so this time, 
 but since you ask, I must say this is more beautiful than any- 
 thing I ever imagined ; perhaps I may be happy here." 
 
 " Umph ! " he said, and walked in the house where the 
 housekeeper, courtesying low, stood ready to receive him 
 and the mistress of the mansion. Paying no more attention 
 to the housekeeper than if she had been the cat, Mr. Mer- 
 ton walked into the library, deposited his hat, cane, and 
 gloves on a table, and, lighting a cigar, sat down to take his 
 ease, leaving his wife and son to take care of themselves. 
 
 In the mean time Mrs. Merton and her son remained on 
 the porch. The boy went up to his mother, put aside her 
 veil, and, looking affectionately at her, said : " Mother, dear, 
 this will make us happy. Was there ever anything more 
 beautiful } Here we can forget the dreadful life we have led 
 for the past ten years at ' Cross-Bones,' as the natives called 
 it ; and if father will only give me a boat, we shall have many 
 nice excursions on that beautiful Medway. We will be hap- 
 py, mother ; we will be happy at last." 
 
 " Ah, Arthur, my darling," she feebly replied, " there is 
 no happiness beyond you in this life for me. I have shed 
 so many tears that I might have had a river of my own. 
 There will be no happiness here for me, though I shall enjoy 
 what gives you pleasure. I can see at a glance that there is 
 
12 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 everything here which can give a boy of your age all he 
 could desire, and perhaps the beauty of the place may effect 
 a change in your father." 
 
 " God grant it, dear mother," said Arthur, and he took 
 her to the end of the porch to examine more closely the 
 landscape before them. Mr. Merton had never given his 
 family any account of the estate he had purchased, merely 
 saying he had bought a home in Kent, but as to the particu- 
 lar locality, or the character of the home, they were left to 
 their own conjectures. 
 
 In a short time the butler and lady's maid arrived with 
 the luggage from the station, and Mr. Merton told the house- 
 keeper to take charge and to continue everything as if they 
 had not changed locations. This was a simple affair, for the 
 mansion was so completely supplied with every requisite for 
 housekeeping that she found no difficulty in carrying out 
 her master's orders. 
 
 Mrs. Merton and her son, after surveying the grounds to 
 their hearts' content, followed the maid up-stairs, where their 
 wonder was aroused anew at the fine rooms and furniture. 
 It seemed as if some generous fairy had stripped the belong- 
 ings from some of the handsomest houses in London to place 
 them in the mansion at Woodlawn. 
 
 " What does all this mean, dear Arthur ? " said Mrs. Mer- 
 ton, with tears in her eyes. " After the doleful life we have 
 led in such a place as Lyneham, in Wiltshire, I can not con- 
 ceive what could have brought your father here, though I 
 thank God for our removal." 
 
 '' You forget, dear mother," said Arthur, " that the doctor 
 recommended a change for you where you could obtain a 
 mild sea air, and this is sufficiently near the sea to give you 
 what you need. Besides this you required an entire change 
 of scene, and, mother, dear, there was never anything more 
 beautiful than this place. In a month we shall see the color 
 coming back to that pale face of yours." He put his arms 
 around his mother's neck and kissed her fondly, a caress 
 
ARTHUR ME R TON. 1 3 
 
 which she returned. " And, now," he said, " I must go and 
 look for my room, and find what wonders are in store for me, 
 as all this seems like a dream, and I am afraid every moment 
 I shall wake up and see everything flown away. Cheer up, 
 mother, darling, happiness is in store for us." 
 
 " God grant it, my darling boy," and putting away the 
 clustering hair from his forehead she again kissed Arthur, 
 and bade him go and do as he suggested. 
 
 Arthur was delighted with his room. It was large, and 
 seemed to him to have been fitted up especially for some 
 young prince, who might come in at any time and request him 
 to vacate it, but his portmanteau was standing near a win- 
 dow, and he thought he bade fair to stay. "At any rate," 
 he said, *' possession is nine points of the law." 
 
 The apartment was all that a boy could desire ; the fur- 
 niture was upholstered in blue satin trimmed with gold, the 
 walls were frescoed a light blue and gold, a case filled with 
 elegantly bound books stood in one corner, the wood-work 
 of the furniture was carved oak, and the tables and mantels 
 were adorned with a quantity of bric-a-brac, which could 
 not help but delight the eye of a more critical person than 
 Arthur. In a corner was a handsome brass-mounted ma- 
 hogany box, which Arthur found to contain a double bar- 
 reled gun of the latest pattern, with all the appurtenances. 
 Arthur had never yet fired a gun, much less owned one, and 
 in his heart he thanked his father for his forethought in 
 looking after his future pleasure. But the gun was not 
 due to Mr. Merton's forethought — it was left by the late 
 proprietor, who had to part with everything he owned to 
 make good his losses through extravagance and reckless 
 speculations. 
 
 Arthur should have known that a fondness for sporting 
 and the possession of a gun, with a knowledge of its use, 
 would depreciate him in his father's eyes, but he went down- 
 stairs, after dressing, determined to express his gratitude to 
 his father at the first opportunity. 
 
14 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 At two o'clock luncheon was announced, and the family 
 assembled in the great dining-room for the meal. The but- 
 ler was in his place to superintend operations, while two 
 footmen in green and gold livery stood ready to serve the 
 luncheon. 
 
 The reader has only been introduced to Mrs. Merton in 
 her traveling dress, her features covered with a thick black 
 veil, and an opinion could scarcely be formed whether she 
 was twenty or fifty years of age; but as she entered the room, 
 with her son's arm around her waist, she appeared to be a 
 delicate woman of thirty-two. She was pale, and her feat- 
 ures seemed to have been carved out of Parian marble. 
 Her hair was black and wavy ; her eyes were beautiful, but 
 very sad; and her dainty mouth, which seemed to have been 
 intended to smile always, held two rows of pearly teeth, was 
 drawn at the corners and wore a look of pain. Her figure, 
 formerly plump and beautiful, had become attenuated, and 
 her lovely hands, once covered with dimples, were now 
 transparent. She had been an invalid for years from some 
 insidious disease which had baffled the skill of the best phy- 
 sicians, until one wiser than the rest discovered that it was 
 useless to try to *' minister to a mind diseased," and had 
 accordingly recommended an entire change. As Mr. Mer- 
 ton's wishes coincided with this advice, he purchased Wood- 
 lawn, without even hinting to his wife that he was going to 
 do so. Fortunately the purchase pleased her and her son 
 very much. 
 
 The meal passed quietly enough, there being no conver- 
 sation at the table. The butler and footmen moved about 
 like automatons, and not a sound was heard except a slight 
 rattling of glasses and plates, which could not be avoided. 
 The only words spoken at the table were by Mr. Merton, 
 who, as he rose from his chair, said, in a stern voice, to the 
 housekeeper : *' Give notice to the cook, and get another as 
 soon as possible. This woman's cooking will not agree 
 with Mrs. Merton." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 5 
 
 *' Please, Mr. Merton," the latter said, " do not discharge 
 the woman on my account. I have not enjoyed a meal so 
 much in a long time. She will improve, no doubt, in a short 
 time, and seems to be a fair cook." 
 
 This was the first time in years that she had undertaken 
 to differ with her husband in opinion, and he looked at her 
 in surprise. "Ah ! " he said, "but you do not understand 
 that it is the salt -air that gives you an appetite, and you 
 must have the best cook to keep up that appetite, and she 
 must be able to prepare tempting dishes. Carry out my 
 orders, Nelson, and have a change as soon as possible." 
 So saying, Mr. Merton took a cigar from a Sevres vase, and 
 walked off to the library for a solitary smoke. This had 
 been his habit for years, and, as he never paid any attention 
 to the wishes of others, it was not at all likely that he would 
 change it now. 
 
 Accustomed to depend on the society of each other, Mrs. 
 Merton and Arthur walked out on the porch, where, sitting 
 hand in hand, they passed an hour in silent thought and 
 lost in admiration at the beautiful scenery before them. 
 There was the Medway at their feet dotted with sails and 
 small steamers. On the left v/as the estate of Moorland, 
 with its manor-house covered with ivy over two centuries 
 old, its lawn covered with oaks still older, with a thick 
 wood farther to the left of the lawn where hundreds of deer 
 were reclining in the shade to escape the heat of July, 
 
 The prospect was entrancing, and for the first time in 
 many years the sweet lady of Woodlawn felt like smiling. 
 But what kind of a man could that be who, after bringing 
 his lovely wife and brave-looking boy to such an abode, 
 failed to welcome them by w^ord or sign to this haven of 
 rest ? He felt himself that it was so superior to the place 
 they had left that he wondered he had wasted so many years 
 of his life there. He remained in his library smoking, while 
 he, for the first time in many years, wished that he could 
 form an excuse for joining them in that communion of feel- 
 
1 6 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 ing which seemed to make them so happy together, but he 
 could not make up his mind to move, so he sat still and 
 smoked on till the twilight had begun to throw its shadows 
 over land and water. 
 
 The lowing of the cattle, as they came into the farm- 
 yard for the night, and the song of the laborers returning 
 from their work fell pleasantly on the ear and warned Mrs. 
 Merton that it was time for her to retire into the house. 
 The servants began to light up the hall, dining-room, and 
 parlor, and the beautiful day was practically ended for her. 
 She would have to appear at dinner, and then retire up-stairs 
 to her boudoir with Arthur, where she might try to forget 
 the sorrows that had dimmed her eyes and almost broken 
 her heart. 
 
 This had been an eventful day for all the household, 
 and the mother and son closed their eyes in sleep more 
 sweet than had visited them for a long time. 
 
 We have in as few words as possible located the two fam- 
 ilies about whom center the events of this story. Moorland 
 was the home of love, happiness, and mutual trust ; Wood- 
 lawn, a home where only two hearts beat in unison, and it 
 was yet uncertain whether they were to find happiness or 
 sorrow amid the beautiful scenes with which they were sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Tell me of a man's acts and I can imagine his looks. I 
 should say then that Mr, Merton was a tall, thin person, 
 with close-cropped iron -gray hair, long nose, and a mouth 
 full of large white teeth that snapped together like a steel 
 trap, reminding one of the wolf that devoured little Red 
 Riding Hood and her grandmother. His small gray eyes 
 looking out through his bushy eyebrows resembled those of 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 7 
 
 a ferret. Mr. Merton's only good quality was that he dressed 
 like a gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Merton had appeared at Lyneham, in Wiltshire, some 
 twenty years before the time at which our story opened, 
 and bought up a large tract of land bordering on the river 
 Avon. He seemed to have plenty of money, canceled the 
 incumbrances resting on the land, and in the course of a 
 month succeeded in obtaining the title deeds, and was pro- 
 claimed the owner. The people of the neighborhood won- 
 dered who he could be and for what purpose he had pur- 
 chased the land, but he gave them no information by which 
 their curiosity could be gratified. 
 
 In three months he returned to Lyneham with architects, 
 builders, and innumerable plans. After long discussion, a 
 site was selected upon the banks of the Avon suitable for 
 using the water-power, and Mr. Merton commenced erecting 
 large buildings, the character of which was soon apparent. 
 He erected a manufactory for making screws of all sizes, a 
 wire manufactory, one for making farming implements, and 
 another for making mechanical tools. In two years the fac- 
 tories were in running order, fully equipped with the neces- 
 sary machinery, and were supplying the country and for- 
 eigners with many necessary implements. Mr. Merton also 
 built himself a fair-sized house, such as he deemed fit for a 
 bachelor to occupy, which was situated near the factories so 
 that he could supervise the work going on and have every- 
 thing under his own eye. 
 
 He was a hard master who would not hesitate to grind the 
 very bones of his employes, if by so doing he could increase 
 his gains. He not only wanted to fill his coffers, but he 
 wished to do it rapidly, and to effect this it seemed to him 
 necessary to squeeze the life out of his workmen. He accord- 
 ingly made his hours of labor longer than those of any other 
 employer, and boasted that he paid less than they did ; had 
 he heard of any who paid still less, he would have further 
 reduced his scale of wages. There are many such employ- 
 2 
 
1 8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ers as Mr. Merton in England and in America, who never 
 consider those whom they employ and are anxious only to 
 build up enormous fortunes, caring nothing for the interests 
 of the men v/ho give the sweat of their brows so that their 
 masters may live in luxury. Their employes too often can 
 not clothe or feed their families properly, yet do not seek for 
 work elsewhere, preferring rather to suffer from the ills they 
 have than fly to others that they wot not of. 
 
 It is wonderful how that little island of Great Britain 
 can accomphsh so much in a year with her machinery ! Her 
 operatives do the work of a thousand million of people, 
 which is more than one half of the population of the earth. 
 This great labor power benefits the whole world and is the 
 ground-work of England's success, for her commerce min- 
 isters to the wants and luxuries of mankind far more than 
 that of any other nation. Her merchants, like those of an- 
 cient Tyre, are clothed in purple ; her master manufactur- 
 ers dwell in palaces ; while from the farthest corners of the 
 earth, every nation, great and small, pours into her lap their 
 gold, silver, precious stones, and luxuries. 
 
 But at what a sacrifice is all this done ! Task-masters 
 exist in England's factories who are as cruel and oppress- 
 ive as Mr. Merton, one of the many tyrants who hold the 
 lives of millions in their hands. Houses they must build 
 to display their opulence ; their rent-rolls must be kept up, 
 though the people fill the land with the cry for bread. The 
 manufacturers know that there are thousands more who 
 stand in such need that they will willingly occupy the places 
 made vacant by starvation and death, caused by this drain 
 upon the working classes who receive no fair equivalent for 
 the wealth which they have had so great a part in making. 
 It would be equally just to take this wealth from the poor 
 at the point of the bayonet as to wring it from them by the 
 methods of many British manufacturers. 
 
 In his " Inferno," Dante found a place for all kinds of 
 people with whom he was contemporary, but there is yet to 
 
ARTHUR MRRTON. I9 
 
 be discovered a suitable inferno for those who have risen to 
 opulence upon the shoulders of the poor operatives, who are 
 sacrificed to injustice, and while unable to help themselves 
 are dominated by the stormiest passions of the mind, which 
 will one day change the destinies of nations. Hades will be 
 well peopled in time by the sordid oppressors of their race, 
 and every piece of gold that they have wrung from their 
 fellow-beings will be molten fire to torment them. 
 
 We trust the reader will pardon this digression, but think- 
 ing over the wrongs this man Merton committed, we could 
 not help a reference to the people of his class who have 
 accumulated their fortunes so unworthily. His persecution 
 of his tenants and employes was notorious. He built a large 
 number of tenement houses for his operatives, for which he 
 charged exorbitant monthly rents, and woe to the poor fel- 
 low who was in arrears. He was turned out neck and heels, 
 his furniture distrained, and if he could not give " security 
 for good behavior," as Merton called it, his name was strick- 
 en from the roll of employes, no matter what family he 
 happened to have, or what their condition at the time. Is 
 there any wonder that Merton's countenance resembled that 
 of a wolf } 
 
 A clergyman of the Established Church in Lyneham had 
 lost his wife about the time Mr. Merton came to that vicin- 
 ity, and was left with three daughters who were being edu- 
 cated under their father's eye. Mr. I^ester was what might 
 be called a rollicking parson. He had married a beautiful 
 girl of Italian extraction, and though until her death he had 
 led a quiet life, after this time he gave himself up to what 
 many would call evil ways. Making acquaintance with the 
 sporting gentlemen of the county, he rode with the hounds, 
 joined shooting-parties, and spent many convivial hours 
 with them at suppers. Some of his graver friends, indeed, 
 remonstrated with him about his too worldly proceedings, 
 but otherwise he was so popular and preached such good ser- 
 mons that most persons overlooked his backsliding. 
 
20 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 One day Mr. Lester called upon Mr. Merton, who re- 
 ceived him cordially, much to the surprise of the clergyman, 
 who had heard that Merton never treated any one politely. 
 He was very glad to find the manufacturer in an amiable 
 mood, as he had a favor to ask which he feared would be 
 refused. After spending half an hour together very pleas- 
 antly, in which time Mr. Merton exhibited no impatience, Mr. 
 Lester rose to go. Mr. Merton cordially extended his hand, 
 and wishing him good-day, said : " I am happy to have 
 made your acquaintance, and shall be glad if I can be of 
 service to you," 
 
 " Well, sir," replied the rector, " you can be of service to 
 me, and I am going to ask a favor. I should have done so 
 before, but feared to trespass upon your kindness." 
 
 '' You are welcome, Mr. Lester — say the word, and any 
 favor that you may ask will be granted," was Merton's 
 reply. 
 
 Mr. Lester was amazed. This was not the kind of per- 
 son he had expected to meet, Mr. Merton having been 
 painted as the most disagreeable man in the county. " You 
 are too kind, Mr. Merton," he said. " This is indeed unex- 
 pected. I was going to ask you to allow me to shoot in your 
 preserves, understanding that you do not shoot yourself." 
 
 "Why, certainly," said Mr. Merton, "by all means. 
 Shoot whenever you choose, and take any friend with you, 
 for shooting alone must be stupid business. I am no 
 sportsman, but I set great store by my game preserves, and 
 do not allow everybody to shoot over them. To show you 
 the care I take of my game, I will tell you that I have in- 
 closed my preserves with a heavy paling seven feet high. A 
 rabbit can not get out nor a poacher get in. Besides, I have 
 three game-keepers who ride around day and night. I have 
 never caught but one poacher, and I had him transported." 
 
 The rector winced a little at the idea of so severe a pun- 
 ishment for so small an offense, but said nothing for fear 
 Mr. Merton would revoke his permission. He bade Mr. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 21 
 
 Merton good-day and took his departure, assured by Mer- 
 ton that the visit would soon be returned. 
 
 Mr. Lester's eldest daughter was a beautiful girl, just 
 eighteen, and the image of her mother at that age. She had 
 just " come out," if it could be called coming out where the 
 life of a young girl was so little changed, but she could at- 
 tend parties and receive the attention of young gentlemen. 
 
 Julia Lester was the belle of Lyneham, and when she 
 appeared at an entertainment was sure to be surrounded 
 with beaux claiming her hand for a dance, for though her 
 father was a clergyman, he denied her no pleasure. He 
 was too gay himself to deny gayety to others. At the end 
 of six months half the young gentlemen in her set had fallen 
 deeply in love with Julia. 
 
 Among the number was a handsome youth named Eustis 
 Ferris, who followed her like a shadow, and at last, overcome 
 with love, proposed and was accepted. When spoken to by 
 Ferris, Mr. Lester acquiesced in the engagement on condi- 
 tion that the young man should engage in business, and if 
 at the end of two years he was in a position to support a 
 wife, he would consent to the marriage. This was joy 
 enough to the young lovers who wished for nothing more 
 than to see each other every day and walk at eve along the 
 banks of the beautiful Avon. 
 
 The father of young Ferris lived three miles from Lyne- 
 ham, being in comfortable circumstances, owning a good 
 house and one hundred acres of land. He was of literary 
 tastes and quiet habits, mixing but little with the county gen- 
 tlemen, but he was devoted to his son and gave him all the 
 pleasures his means would allow. Eustis had received a 
 fair education, and had been carefully instructed in keeping 
 accounts, "for," said his father, "a young man who thor- 
 oughly understands book-keeping need never starve." 
 
 When informed of the engagement by his son, Mr. Fer- 
 ris looked solemn, but Eustis put his arms around him, 
 and said: " Dear father, do not throw a cloud over my 
 
22 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 fondest hopes, for there are too many clouds around us 
 already. We are not to be married for two years yet, and 
 I have to gain means that will enable me to support a wife." 
 On these terms his father consented, and promised to assist 
 him in obtaining a position, agreeing also that the young 
 couple might live with him, where they would be provided 
 for. All this made the lovers very happy, but where was 
 the position to come from ? Eustis did not want to go far 
 from Lyneham, while his father thought of placing him in 
 the counting-house of a friend in London. At last it was 
 determined to try and obtain an appointment in the Merton 
 mills. 
 
 Accordingly Mr. Ferris called at the manufacturer's 
 house, near the factories, to consult him on the subject. Mr. 
 Merton had so far received few visits from the gentlemen of 
 the county. They did not fancy his appearance, and what 
 they heard of him was not in his favor. It had been re- 
 ported that he had said, " None of the county snobs shall 
 ever shoot over my grounds." But after living so long with 
 very few callers he was rather glad to find a visitor in Mr. 
 Ferris. The latter had provided himself with letters from 
 responsible people in favor of his son, among them a very 
 strong one from the Reverend Mr. Lester. 
 
 Mr. Ferris sent up his card, and was shown into Mr. 
 Merton's sitting-room, where the latter was examining some 
 ledgers, for he scrutinized every account himself. Mr. Mer- 
 ton rose when his visitor entered the apartment, and scanned 
 him closely from under his spectacles, then seeing that Mr. 
 Ferris was a gentleman he advanced to meet him, and after 
 a preliminary conversation asked to what he was indebted 
 for the honor of his visit. 
 
 Mr, Ferris handed his host the letters of recommendation 
 for Eustis, saying, "These will explain all." 
 
 Mr. Merton read the letters, and when he came to that 
 of Mr. Lester looked at it carefully. "Ah," he said, "that 
 will do. I will take great pleasure in serving your son. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 23 
 
 My second accountant leaves me next week, and I will give 
 him the place. The salary is sufficient for a young man 
 with simple habits. It is two hundred and forty pounds a 
 year, with a prospect of promotion, and an opportunity open 
 to him, if he suits, of becoming travehng agent at three hun- 
 dred and sixty pounds a year and his expenses." 
 
 Delighted with the offer, Mr. Ferris grasped Mr. Merton's 
 hand and thanked him again and again for his kindness, but 
 he did not notice the wolfish expression that spread over 
 Merton's face the while— who had his reasons for being so 
 generous. 
 
 Mr. Ferris hastened home to impart the good news to 
 his son, who, when he heard it, seemed to be floating in Ely- 
 simn. He hurried to his betrothed to tell her of his good 
 fortune, saying : " It will not be my fault, darling, if in less 
 than two years we shall be united to part no more in this 
 life." Never was there a happier pair since the advent of 
 Adam and Eve in paradise. 
 
 At the appointed time Eustis Ferris assumed the duties 
 of second accountant in Mr. Merton's mills. The work was 
 laborious, for he was doing the duty of two men, but he 
 cared nothing for that— the prospects before him looked so 
 bright that he would have undertaken twice the amount of 
 labor if required to do so. 
 
 One day Mr. Merton called at the rectory. When he 
 was shown into the parlor Julia was seated at the piano play- 
 ing a waltz, but rose gracefully to receive the visitor. Mer- 
 ton was dazzled with her beauty though he had previously 
 seen her on the street, and also on her father's hunter, which 
 she rode like an expert, showing her figure to great advan- 
 tage, but he was not prepared for the vision of loveliness 
 which greeted him. For the first time his heart was touched, 
 and he said to himself, " I'll marry that girl if it costs me 
 half my fortune," while she thought to herself, '' What a dis- 
 agreeable looking man ! " 
 
 Shortly after this interview Mr. Merton heard of the 
 
24 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 engagement of Julia and Eustis, and it was after he had 
 obtained this knowledge that Mr. Ferris sought the appoint- 
 ment for his son. Merton's heart leaped for joy, for he saw 
 a chance to carry out his newly formed plans. 
 
 A year had nearly gone by since the engagement of Julia 
 and Eustis, and they seemed wrapped up in each other. Life 
 was all coideur de rose, and there was not a cloud visible in 
 their sky ; the stars shone brighter for them than for others, 
 and through the long vista of years they saw only unalloyed 
 happiness, but the storm was gathering and would soon 
 burst upon their unsuspecting heads. 
 
 Nine months after Eustis Ferris entered Mr. Merton's 
 employ, the manufacturer sent for him to come to his count- 
 ing-room. He wondered what his employer wanted, but an- 
 ticipated no fault-finding, as Mr. Merton had always treated 
 him with kindness, and on several occasions had overlooked 
 his mistakes. 
 
 When Eustis entered the office he found Mr. Merton 
 sitting, his head leaning on his hand and with a pained ex- 
 pression on his face. When Eustis stood by his chair, he 
 looked him steadily in the eye, and said : " Mr. Ferris, I 
 sent for you to say that I do not require your services, 
 and that after to-day you will be no longer in my employ- 
 ment." 
 
 At this curt dismissal Eustis's face burned with indigna- 
 tion, and his eyes flashed. " What has happened, Mr. Mer- 
 ton," he said, *^ to cause this abrupt dismissal — which will dis- 
 grace me in the eyes of the world unless you assign reasons 
 that will not reflect on my honor ? " and tears sprung to his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Unfortunately," answered Mr. Merton, '' I can not do 
 that. If your heart does not tell you what crime you have 
 committed, I shall not attempt to do so. I am much disap- 
 pointed in you, and you must leave my employ. I am sorry 
 to say that I can not recommend you to any one, but I shall 
 say nothing against you, and if any one should inquire why 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 2$ 
 
 you left me, I shall only say you had good reasons of your 
 own." 
 
 ''Crime! did you say, ^Ir. Merton ? " exclaimed the young 
 man, growing pale. " Connect my name with crime ! Who 
 dares do that ? I am incapable of crime, and I demand to 
 know my accuser ! My God ! this will kill my father. Tell 
 me, sir, who is my accuser ? " 
 
 "It would be well, Mr. Ferris," replied Merton, "if chil- 
 dren would oftener think what effect their ill conduct will 
 have on their parents. It might prevent them from commit- 
 ting misdeeds to mar their lives. Your hopes of success in 
 this part of the world are over. I could not conscientiously 
 allow you to receive employment in the establishment of 
 some trusting person, and should be obliged to inform him 
 that you were unworthy of confidence, but if you choose to 
 depart hence and seek employment abroad, I shall never 
 open my lips about you." 
 
 ''Who is my accuser? " demanded Eustis. 
 
 "/am," said Mr. Merton, "the only one who knows of 
 your crime, and if you are wise you will take my advice. 
 Leave the country and mark out for yourself a new life in 
 some place where you are not known." 
 
 " But," said Eustis, flashing up, " I am not going to sub- 
 mit to this treatment. You say you know of a crime I have 
 committed. I will not rest under such a charge from any 
 man, and I demand that you prove your charge, or my father 
 will bring suit against you for defamation of character. It 
 is not in my nature to commit a crime. I belong to an hon- 
 orable family whose record is as pure as snow." 
 
 Mr. Merton rose up in wrath, his jaws snapping, his short, 
 wiry hair bristling, and his eyes shining with a fierce light. 
 "Look here, young man," he exclaimed, "do not push me 
 too far, or you will rue it. I offer you a chance to escape 
 punishment by going away and commencing a new life, and 
 you defy me. Now, mark my words. I can send you to 
 prison and hard labor, if I like. I do not want to do this 
 
26 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 as you are young and may reform, but, so help me God, 
 if you defy me again I will expose you as a thief and a 
 forger ! " 
 
 Eustis turned deadly pale, staggered to a seat, and burst 
 into tears. "Oh, heavens!" he cried, *'am I to be con- 
 demned unheard ? What have I done to deserve such a 
 charge ? — a charge that will utterly ruin me unless I can 
 prove my innocence." He brushed the tears from his eyes, 
 and said : " Before Heaven, I am as innocent of anything 
 wrong as the child unborn ! " 
 
 " I hope so," said Mr. Merton, " but wait a moment," and 
 he took from his desk a draft for one hundred pounds ster- 
 ling drawn on the Bank of Commerce, in London ; a sheet 
 of paper with the name of John Merton written on it in some 
 twenty places, fac-similes of Mr Merton's handwriting ; a 
 piece of tissue paper with the same fac-similes ; and a block 
 of box-wood on which the name was carved. Laying these 
 upon the table before him and keeping his hand on them, he 
 said : " Mr. Ferris, these were all found in your desk, except 
 this draft, and I want to know who could have put them 
 there but yourself. And look at this check-book. A check 
 cut from the back of the book in which this one fits and yet 
 no entry made of it." 
 
 Eustis opened his eyes in astonishment at the chain of 
 evidence against him, but indignantly repelled the charge, 
 and again declared his innocence. 
 
 " But who will believe you in the face of this overwhelm- 
 ing proof?" asked Mr. Merton. 
 
 *' Heaven only knows," said Eustis, ** how I am to repel 
 this charge. How do I know that the first accountant, who 
 left you last week, and to whose place you promoted me, 
 did not play me this trick .'' " 
 
 ''For the reason," Merton replied, "that he left me to 
 take a better place, and with strong recommendations from 
 me. Had he stayed this would not have happened. He had 
 charge of the check-book and the bank account, which were 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 2/ 
 
 transferred to you, and, besides, what cause of quarrel had 
 he with you ? " 
 
 " I called him a sneak, and threatened to slap his face 
 for speaking disrespectfully of a lady friend of mine," said 
 
 Eustis. 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mr. Merton, ^' another trait in your charac- 
 ter I did not know, and not a very creditable one by any 
 means. Here is a letter from the late first accountant, and 
 it will not help you. Read it." 
 
 Eustis had now become quite calm. He saw that he was 
 in the toils and that it would require all his presence of mind 
 to extricate him from what he knew to be a plot. The letter 
 
 read as follows : 
 
 London, December 2, 18 — . 
 
 *' Sir : I have received your letter of the 30th ultimo. 
 If you remember, when I left your service I handed you the 
 bank account, balanced to the day I gave up my place. The 
 check you refer to has been drawn since I left. 
 
 " You ask my opinion of Mr. Ferris and whether he is 
 capable of committing such a deed. I consider him capa- 
 ble of anything. 
 
 *' I rem.ain, respectfully yours, 
 
 " Edward Harmer." 
 
 This letter almost crushed Eustis. It appeared that 
 there was no escape for him from penal servitude if the 
 matter was brought before a court. Looking Mr. Merton 
 calmly in the face, he handed back the letter, and said: 
 *'The evidence against me is very strong, sir, and at present 
 I have no way of proving my innocence, but the day will 
 come when I can be even with my enemies. I must say 
 that you have not been unkind in this matter, and to save 
 great distress to my father and friends, I accept your terms, 
 and will leave this place until such time as my innocence is 
 made plain. If you so will it, the world v/ill be no wiser of 
 this charge against me, but, oh ! sir, this is death to me and 
 
28 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 the renouncement of all my hopes on earth. I beg of you, 
 sir, not to condemn me in your heart, though the evidence 
 is so strong against me." 
 
 "You are acting wisely," said Mr. Merton, ''and now I 
 will bid you good morning. You will be allowed a month 
 to remain in the county and to make your arrangements for 
 leaving. My advice to you is to go to Australia. There 
 you will find an excellent opening for young men of your 
 ability,'' emphasizing the last word with a sneer. 
 
 Eustis, however, did not notice the sneer, but took his 
 leave, his heart crushed and the w^orld looking dark all 
 around him. There was no silver-lined cloud in his sky to 
 brighten the dull journey before him, and he felt like ending 
 his days by jumping into the Avon, but he reflected that a 
 brave man should scorn to throw away the life God had 
 given him. He determined to place his trust in that kind 
 Providence in which he had always had perfect faith, and to 
 live on till such time as his innocence could be made man- 
 ifest. 
 
 He was amazed at the chain of evidence against him, 
 and, worst of all, he remembered that he was seen at the 
 Bank of Commerce on the day on which the draft was 
 drawn, Mr. Merton having sent him up to London to redeem 
 some notes. One thing troubled him — would Mr. Merton 
 accept the forged check ? If he did not, the bank would 
 have him arrested, and his case would be just as bad as be- 
 fore. He turned back, re-entered the office and found Mr. 
 Merton looking out of the window, with a smile upon his 
 face. 
 
 "I came to ask you, sir," said Eustis, "if you intend to 
 redeem that check, for if you do not I shall fall into the 
 clutches of the law through the bank authorities. I will 
 work my life out until I pay you back the amount." 
 
 "It has been acknowledged," said Merton, "and the ac- 
 count balanced. Take my advice and go to Australia. I 
 will give you a letter that will help you." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 29 
 
 " God bless you, sir," said Eustis, " for your kindness." 
 With tears in his eyes he once more withdrew. 
 
 Eustis went straight to his father's house, and going to 
 his room, flung himself on the bed. He had kept up bravely 
 while there was a chance of any one seeing him, but when 
 alone in his chamber nature asserted itself and he burst into 
 tears. At last he fell asleep, and only awoke when the maid 
 came to his door and announced dinner. He arose and 
 bathed his head in cool water until all evidences of tears 
 had been erased from his eyes, and went to meet his father 
 with a smiling face, though his heart was ready to break. 
 
 The dinner passed pleasantly enough though Eustis could 
 hardly answer his father's questions, and he was very glad 
 when the meal ended and he could withdraw to his room. 
 He told his father that he was not feeling well, and the 
 latter asked no questions. 
 
 Eustis had not seen Julia that day. Since they had been 
 engaged he had made it a rule, and it was his pleasure, to 
 call and see her every day, and to walk with her along the 
 banks of the river until the sun had sunk far below the ho- 
 rizon, but to-day he had not the courage to meet her for fear 
 that he should betray his feelings and give her cause for un- 
 happiness, so he wrote her a note full of love and devotion, and 
 explained his absence on the ground of a slight indisposition. 
 
 Next morning when Eustis came down to breakfast he 
 found his father so engrossed in reading letters that he 
 scarcely noticed his son's presence. Suddenly he exclaimed, 
 " Look here, Eustis, this is something that concerns you." 
 He handed his son a letter. At first Eustis's face flushed; 
 he feared that it was something in relation to the charges 
 Mr. Merton had made against him, but he found that it was 
 a letter from Mr. Smedley offering him ( Eustis ) a position 
 in a bank in Melbourne, Australia, as accountant at a salary 
 of seven hundred pounds a year. Eustis read the letter and 
 then stopped to think it over. 
 
 '' I am afraid that will not suit you, Eustis," said the 
 
30 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 father ; " it will take you too far from Julia. But it is a tempt- 
 ing offer that may lead you to Fortune. That fickle jade 
 does not often open her arms so affectionately to a young 
 man in your position. You ought to take it ; in two years 
 you can return and marry Julia and settle in Australia, 
 which is now the English Eldorado." 
 
 Eustis had made up his mind. He had thought a great 
 deal in the last ten minutes, and saw an escape from his 
 secret enemy, who had so completely enveloped him in his 
 toils. This foe could hardly pursue him to Australia, and 
 if he did, perchance would be discovered and punished, but 
 it tore his heart, when he thought of the anguish his loved 
 Julia would feel at this separation. For himself he cared 
 not as long as she did not know of the charge against him, 
 which was backed by a mass of evidence he could not dis- 
 prove, having nothing to rely upon but his own word and 
 the character for integrity he had always maintained. The 
 offer of Mr. Smedley came in the nick of time. It afforded 
 Eustis an excuse for going to Australia, and a reason for 
 leaving his place at the Merton mills. 
 
 " Father," he said, " this will suit me exactly. The fact 
 is, I have long been tired of the Merton mills, where I am 
 worked to death, and receive a small salary, with little 
 chance of advancement, and no hope of making money 
 enough to support a wife. In Australia it is different, but I 
 want you to obtain from Mr. Merton a general letter of rec- 
 ommendation. Tell him I shall leave Lyneham to seek other 
 employment. Do not mention that I am going to Australia, 
 but give him the impression that America is my destination. 
 I have my reasons for not wishing him to know. I see that 
 Mr. Smedley says my passage will be paid to Australia, and 
 if you will give me a hundred pounds to keep me after my 
 arrival there, I shall make my arrangements and start as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 Mr. Ferris was pleased at his son's determination, and 
 promised him all that he had asked for. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 3 1 
 
 *' Now," said Eustis, " is the hardest task of all — parting 
 with Julia, and I must do it at once, at least let her know 
 my intentions. It may seem like desertion, but I hope to 
 reconcile her to it." So saying he started for the parsonage. 
 
 Shortly after his son's departure, Mr. Ferris was on his 
 way to see Mr. Merton, whom he found in his office, and 
 that gentleman received him cordially. 
 
 '' Mr. Merton," said Mr. Ferris, " I have come to ask 
 a favor of you. You have been very kind to my son, and I 
 want you to continue your kindness. He tells me he is 
 going to leave you to seek his fortune abroad, and I want 
 to ask of you the favor to give him a general letter of intro- 
 duction to help him on his way. I will procure others 
 for him from my friends, and I think he will have no trouble 
 in getting on." 
 
 "Whither is he going? " said Mr. Merton, his face light- 
 ing up. 
 
 "To America," he replied. 
 
 "Ah, that is well," said Mr. Merton ; "he could not se- 
 lect a better place. A young man of his ability will do well 
 in that country, and I will take pleasure in granting your 
 request. Your son and I have talked over his future pros- 
 pects, and I am glad to see that he has listened to my ad- 
 vice. If you will excuse me, I will write the letter you asked 
 for," and with that he turned to his table and wrote : — 
 
 " Lyneham, December 6, 18 — . 
 " To whom it may concern : This is to certify that Eus- 
 tis Ferris has served in my employ, as first and second ac- 
 countant, and has shown himself to be of marked ability, 
 always taking as much interest in my affairs as if they were 
 his own. To whatever part of the world he may go, he car- 
 ries with him my best wishes, and I shall always remember 
 with pleasure his many fine qualities, and will indorse his 
 application for any promotion to which he may aspire. 
 
 "Respectfully, John Merton." 
 
32 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 This letter was written in a large, bold hand, which no 
 one would forget who had once seen it ; indeed, Mr. Ferris 
 remarked to him that it was the most peculiar hand he had 
 ever seen. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Merton, "I pride myself on my hand- 
 writing. I think it is an idex of a man's character. I never 
 saw a man who wrote a small, mean hand who ever amounted 
 to anything." Then he folded the letter and addressed it to 
 " Eustis Ferris, Esq., late first accountant in Merton's mills, 
 near Lyneham, Wiltshire." 
 
 Mr. Ferris took his departure with many thanks to Mer- 
 ton for his kindness, and when the door closed the wolfish 
 countenence of the latter was wreathed in smiles. "Thank 
 my stars," he said to himself, "my plans have worked so 
 admirably that I think I must have some kind fairy watch- 
 ing over me, and now when that fellow is in America I will 
 lay out my lines so that he will never return, and then I will 
 marry this beautiful girl, who is totally unfit for the poverty 
 she would share with him. It will be strange if she does 
 not bite at my million sterling, with the prospect of greater 
 wealth in the future." With these pleasant reflections, he 
 turned to his ledger, and counted up his gains for the last 
 month, which were enormous. 
 
 " I have settled that fellow," he chuckled to himself. 
 " If he ever returns to this country I will have him tried for 
 forgery, and he will find that he can not escape from that 
 indictment. It would have been better had he gone to Aus- 
 tralia, for then I could have had him arrested there and pre- 
 vent his ever returning to England, but perhaps it is as well 
 as it stands. I avoid a scandal and making enemies while 
 I gain my love. I will maintain the character of a noble, 
 generous man who let a forger escape rather than annoy his 
 friends. ' ' 
 
 When Eustis arrived at the parsonage Julia rushed to the 
 door to receive him. He looked pale and haggard, as well 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 33 
 
 he might. It was the first time they had been parted a day 
 since their engagement, and she overwhelmed him with 
 caresses. His heart was too full to allow him to speak, and 
 he led her into the parlor where he knew they would be un- 
 molested, and sitting side by side on the sofa, he, in as few 
 words as possible, told her the unwelcome news of his in- 
 tended departure. She burst into a paroxysm of tears, and 
 he could not console her. She was beautiful at all times, 
 but with her luminous eyes filled with tears and her cheeks 
 pale with anguish, she appeared more charming than ever. 
 How could he tear himself away from her ? At one time he 
 determined to stay and brave the charge which hung over 
 him, but he thought how hopeless would be the attempt to 
 evade the evidence against him, and then how much greater 
 would be Julia's anguish to have him arrested on a charge 
 of forgery that would part them forever, while as matters 
 stood he still had a chance of proving his innocence, which 
 he could not do if in prison. 
 
 While Julia lay weeping in his arms, for, poor girl, this 
 was her first grief, he held her close to his heart kissing away 
 her tears. His eyes dwelt upon her form in loving fond- 
 ness. He might never look upon her again, for before he 
 could return to claim her as his bride those beautiful eyes 
 might be closed in death. He never thought of losing her 
 in any other way. As he saw her then, so he saw her after- 
 ward during the years in which they were parted, as persons 
 who look upon the sun retain its image on the retina of the 
 eye long afterward to the exclusion of other objects. Often 
 in after life the remembrance of that scene brought back the 
 recollection of his lost happiness so that he was never even 
 touched with sentiment for any other living being. Julia 
 was his ideal woman, the angel who was to lead him to a 
 better world. That idea never left him, and though often 
 tempted with the fragrance of the wild rose upon the hill- 
 side, he clung to the perfume of the lily which brought back 
 to him the memory of his early youth— of the girl he wor- 
 3 
 
34 ARTHUR ME R TON. 
 
 shiped with a hope of a fairer life in the future and a cer- 
 tainty of a reunion in heaven. 
 
 " Why do you go, Eustis ? " exclaimed Julia. " You 
 have a good place with Mr. Merton, and he has promoted 
 you already. He will continue to help you, and we will have 
 enough to be happy on. Oh ! do not leave me ! I shall die if 
 you do. Stay with Mr. Merton. Do not let the hopes of bet- 
 tering yourself tempt you to go so far away. Where do you 
 expect to go 1 " She looked in his face so searchingly that 
 he almost determined to give up his purpose, but then he 
 remembered his compact with Mr. Merton. He could not 
 conceive for what purpose Merton wanted to get him out of 
 the country. Perhaps he thought it the only way to shield 
 him from his hidden enemy, whoever he was, but somehow 
 or other Eustis had conceived a distrust for his late employer 
 he could not conquer and for which he could not account. 
 
 *' Darling," he, said, " I am more unhappy than you can be 
 about this business, but it can not be helped. There are 
 reasons why I can no longer stay in Mr. Merton's service. 
 The position is degrading — I am nothing but a slave there, 
 and the work is killing me. I have reached the highest sal- 
 ary I can obtain there, and you know how far that will go 
 toward keeping house. Indeed, I have already given up my 
 place in the Merton mills, and have accepted a position in 
 America." He was so anxious not to have it known by any 
 accident that he was bound for Australia that for the pres- 
 ent he would not even tell Julia where he was going. There 
 was no reasoning with her, and at last Eustis tore himself 
 away with a promise to return in the morning, his heart 
 almost broken at witnessing the anguish of his promised 
 wife. 
 
 On examining the newspapers, Eustis found that the 
 Peninsula and Oriental Steamship Company's steamer would 
 sail from Southampton in three days for Melbourne, Aus- 
 tralia. "The sooner this is over the better," he thought, 
 and wrote at once to secure a passage. He had few arrange- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 35 
 
 ments to make, and that night he was all ready to start at a 
 moment's notice. 
 
 We will pass over the painful scene that followed. Julia 
 at last consented to be pacified on condition that Eustis 
 would return in a year and take her with him to share his 
 fortunes, whatever they might be. She was ready to leave 
 father and sisters and her loved home to be with him, and 
 she made him give so many promises toward the desired end 
 that he could scarcely remember them all. 
 
 He was to send his letters to his father who would de- 
 liver them to her in person, and his father would also for- 
 ward her letters by the earliest opportunity. These arrange- 
 ments made, Julia cleared her eyes, not wishing to make her 
 lover unhappy. Mr. Lester, when apprised of the change 
 in Eustis's circumstances, highly applauded the young man's 
 conduct in determining to strike out for something better 
 than a clerkship in a mill. " Who knows," he said, " but 
 that Eustis may become a great banker in New York ? " 
 
 The parting was made amid sighs and tears and prom- 
 ises such as are universal with lovers. Julia watched her 
 Eustis's receding form until he passed from sight, then, 
 closing the window, she threw herself upon the bed and 
 wept until sleep fell upon her eyelids, and for a time her sor- 
 rows w^ere buried in dreams of the one she loved best in the 
 world. 
 
 The ni?ht before Eustis left he informed his father of 
 the charge made against him by Mr. Merton, and, though Mr. 
 Ferris was horrified at such an imputation against his son, he 
 never for a moment doubted his integrity, knowing him to be 
 the soul of honor. Mr. Ferris knew the world, and saw at once 
 that it was a well laid plot to ruin his son, one in which 
 there was no contradiction. The evidence was all one way, 
 and the father set to work to study the matter out. Far into 
 the watches of the night did he lie in bed thinking over every 
 little event that had taken place in the last year. He could 
 not positively make up his mind, but he formed a theory of 
 
36 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 his own. He saw that his son was in the toils of some 
 devilish enemy, or of some person who had a scheme to 
 carry out. The coils were so well laid that he saw nothing 
 for Eustis to do but to accept Mr. Merton's advice and leave 
 the country for a while, at least until such time as the 
 scheme might be unraveled. He would be on the watch 
 in Eustis's absence, and the latter's enemies, whoever they 
 were, thinking themselves safe, might expose themselves. So 
 he forwarded his son's wishes, keeping up a cheerful counte- 
 nance, as if everything in the world went well with him. 
 
 The last adieus were said between Eustis and his be- 
 trothed, and on the loth of December, i8 — , the P. & O. 
 steamer Kangaroo sailed from Southampton with some 
 two hundred passengers, bound, like Eustis, in pursuit of 
 wealth. The exile was registered on the passenger list as 
 " Eustis Graham"; this was by his father's advice, who had 
 his own reasons for the change of name. For the present 
 we will leave him to make such acquaintances among the 
 passengers as he may choose, or indulge his morbid feelings 
 over the injury that had been done him and sent him an 
 outcast to the ends of the earth, with nothing to cheer him 
 but the hope that he would make a fortune in Australia 
 and return once more to claim his bride. Hope ! that 
 delusive power which has led so many astray and under 
 which so many thousands have sunk by the wayside, thirst- 
 ing for the promised happiness snatched from their lips at 
 the moment it seemed almost within their grasp. 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 We pass over three months, during which time Eustis 
 reached Melbourne, delivered his credentials to the manager 
 of the bank, and was duly installed. A month after he left, 
 his father was taken with a nervous chill, and, after lingering 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 37 
 
 for a week, fever set in and he died. In his sickness Mr. 
 Ferris received great kindness from his friends, particularly 
 Mr. Lester and Mr. Merton. When the latter entered the 
 room, Mr. Ferris, in a feeble voice, said : " Tell me, do you 
 think my son guilty of the dreadful charge brought against 
 him? Why could you not crush the charge at once ? " 
 
 " I tried," said ^^lerton, " as he should have told you. I 
 did not think him guilty, believing it to be a plot by some 
 enemy to injure him. I acknowledged the forged check 
 and paid it. I could do no more to free him from the 
 charge, but the plans were so well laid that I advised Eustis 
 to absent himself for a time, to allow the scoundrel, whoever 
 he was, to unmask himself. I think I have a clew to the 
 villain who forged my name, but time will be required to 
 unearth him. I am laying a trap for him now into which I 
 think he will fall, but do not let this matter trouble you. 
 Your son is out of harm's v/ay, while his enemy is in 
 danger." 
 
 Mr. Ferris pressed his hand, and said: '' Thank you, and 
 may God bless you; but I have a favor to ask of you. I 
 have no relatives here to whom I can trust my affairs. I 
 shall leave all my property to my son, and I want you to act 
 as executor. Can you not get a solicitor and have my will 
 drawn up .'" 
 
 Mr. Merton " was too pleased to perform this service for 
 his dear friend," and proceeded to do what the sick man de- 
 sired. He knew that Mr. Ferris had not long to live, as the 
 attending physician had informed him that the patient had 
 water near the heart (angina pectoris), and that there was 
 no hope for him. 
 
 The next morning Mr. !Merton appeared with a solicitor, 
 the will was drawn leaving the estate to Eustis, and Mr. Mer- 
 ton was appointed sole executor. The latter's heart leaped 
 for joy when the will was executed, for he saw in this a 
 stroke of good fortune which would help him in his nefarious 
 designs. At the end of the week Mr. Ferris died, as the 
 
38 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 medical man had predicted. Mr. Merton took charge of 
 his effects, and attended to the burial of the deceased with 
 as much care as if he had been his own brother. Mr. Lester 
 preached the funeral sermon, and his three daughters attend- 
 ed the funeral. 
 
 Here was fresh cause for grief for Julia Lester, for was 
 not the dead man the father of her lover, and would it not 
 distress him when he knew it ? She sat down amid her tears 
 and wrote Eustis an account of his bereavement. But how 
 was she to send it ? Eustis had particularly enjoined upon 
 her not to send her letters through any one but his father, 
 and to whom was she to go .'' Her own father did not know 
 the address in America, so the letter was addressed to New 
 York, at a venture, where necessarily it lay in the post-office 
 uncalled for, and eventually reaching the dead-letter office. 
 
 Mr. Merton went on settling the estate of Mr. Ferris, but 
 as he did not know Eustis's address, he also wrote a letter to 
 him, directed to New York, which shared the fate of the 
 former communication, and so matters stood. It may seem 
 singular that Mr. Ferris should have appointed Mr. Merton 
 as his executor, particularly as the latter had accused his 
 son of forgery, but then Mr. Merton had shown every dis- 
 position to befriend Eustis, and given him such a strong let- 
 ter to assist him that he could not help thinking the manu- 
 facturer was a good man. He never dreamed that Merton 
 had an interest to get rid of his son ; besides Merton was a 
 man of v/ealth, and could give ample security for the ad- 
 ministration of the estate. Mr. Ferris also thought it would 
 be making a strong friend for Eustis, in case these unfortu- 
 nate charges should ever be pressed against him. Being 
 appointed as executor would make it appear that Mr. Fer- 
 ris had unbounded confidence in his son's late employer, 
 for which the latter would feel grateful, since there were very 
 few of the county gentry who would take any notice of 
 Merton. 
 
 It was nearly four months since Eustis had departed. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 39 
 
 and no tidings had been received from him, to the great dis- 
 tress of Julia Lester and the surprise of her father, who be- 
 came very uneasy about the absent lover. Julia fretted all the 
 time, and Mr. Lester worried so much at seeing his darliag 
 daughter in such a depressed condition that he took to follow- 
 ing the hounds more than ever to kill care, but it did no 
 good — the parsonage was a very unhappy home. 
 
 At the end of four months a letter postmarked " Mel- 
 bourne," came directed to Mr. Ferris, and was put into the 
 hands of the executor, who opened the envelope and found 
 two letters, one to Mr. Ferris and the other to Julia Lester. 
 Mr. Merton was astonished when he found these communi- 
 cations from Australia, supposing Eustis to be in New York, 
 and he wondered what it all meant. He had been misled — 
 for what purpose he could not understand, but for this he 
 did not care, as, go where he would, Eustis was in his power. 
 Merton smiled bitterly when he looked at the letter ad- 
 dressed to Julia, which he opened and read. He could not 
 conceal his rage at the fond expressions in every line ; and 
 when he read, " In a year I shall return and claim my love, 
 to be parted no more in this world, for I am on the road to 
 fortune," Merton's face grew livid. He crumpled the let- 
 ter in his hands, and threw it into the fire. 
 
 What would not Julia Lester have given to have read 
 these, to her, priceless words ! But this wretch would have 
 seen her die at his feet rather than that she should have been 
 made happy by receiving the letter. In fact, he now looked 
 upon her as his own property, thinking he had finally got 
 rid of his rival, for he did not suppose Eustis would ever 
 dare to approach the Lesters in any way, for fear of their 
 having heard the charges against him. 
 
 Mr. Merton was furious when he thought of the terms 
 of endearment used by Eustis towards Julia, and his jaws 
 snapped together more loudly than ever. He walked the 
 floor and raved like a madman. In his whole life he had 
 never before known anything like the sentiment of love. 
 
40 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 He had strong passions and brutal lusts, and he had never 
 dreamed that there existed on earth such pure sentiments 
 between man and woman as were expressed in that letter — 
 a letter that might have been published to the world and read 
 with pleasure by those who can appreciate and honor the 
 sanctity of love existing between two young persons who have 
 never been contaminated by mixing with impure society ; 
 who have been brought up in the country, where the beauty 
 of nature is always before them, the grand old trees, the 
 lovely flowers that carpet the meadows and moorlands, and 
 shine like drops from the sun. 
 
 Merton saw, on reading Eustis's letter to Julia, that feel- 
 ings were expressed to which he was a stranger, and he 
 thought, " How can I win this beautiful girl ? " Eustis com- 
 muned with her as if he were writing to some celestial being 
 who had left her abode in the realms of bliss to come on 
 earth and minister to his soul, then lead him to heaven, 
 where they would be forever united. He was not writing 
 to a human being, but to an angel as pure as snow, with a 
 presence as bright as the morning when the sun begins to 
 light up the eastern horizon with his golden rays, and with a 
 halo around her brows shining softer than the moonbeams 
 on a summer's night. 
 
 Merton did not understand such love as this. It was 
 all new to him. How could a man place a woman on a 
 pedestal and worship her as if she were an angel .? The 
 kind of love he knew of was such as sultans feel for the 
 beautiful Circassian girls, educated by their parents to meet 
 their fate and sold in the bazars of Constantinople for the 
 harem — the immorality of the transaction being less in the 
 case of the Turk from the fact that it is tolerated by his re- 
 ligion. 
 
 Merton fairly gnashed his teeth. '' D n him," he said, 
 
 " I will make him so black before I have done with him that 
 Julia will turn from him in horror. Suppose I do commit a 
 crime to get rid of this man ! What is a crime more or less 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 4 1 
 
 to me who have committed so many ? When he is sitting 
 in his prison cell I shall be in the arms of his angel, and 
 find her, perhaps, nothing more than any other woman. 
 All this stuff is bosh, which no sensible woman should read, 
 and it is just as well in the fire as elsewhere." 
 
 In his letter to his father, Eustis merely gave an outline 
 of his voyage, mentioned his arrival at his destination, his 
 presenting his credentials, and installation in his office, not 
 saying where the office was or what its character, as these 
 details were known to his father. What surprised Merton 
 was that the letters were dated " New York," while the en- 
 velope bore the Melbourne postmark. He mused for some 
 moments, and said to himself : " Eustis is in Melbourne. 
 He suspects me, and I will find out by whom he is employed 
 and crush him. I will take means to inform his angel of 
 his crime, and if she is as pure as he seems to think her, she 
 will never have anything more to do with a forger. But I 
 must intercept some of her letters to him. I want to see if 
 he is as much of an angel in her eyes as she is in his." 
 
 Thus this scoundrel plotted to mar the lives of two be- 
 ings who had started in life with every prospect of gaining 
 God's greatest blessing, the union of two hearts that could 
 never change, but God's designs for the happiness of his 
 children are often marred by the imps of Hades who, wan- 
 dering over this beautiful earth, delight to bring discord and 
 ruin upon those whom their Creator has blessed, and one of 
 these imps was John Merton, who was in reality an emis- 
 sary from the devil. 
 
 Merton lost no time in putting his plans into execution. 
 A week later a man by the name of Kirby Brush was in- 
 stalled as first accountant at Merton's mills. Who he was, 
 or whence he came, no one knew. He was a low-browed, 
 sullen individual, stealthy in manner and unprepossessing in 
 every respect. When he reported to Mr. Merton, that per- 
 son eyed him sternly. " You know what you have to do," 
 he said, " and see that you do it well. Here is a copy of Far- 
 
42 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ris's hand-writing," handing him Eustis's letter to his father; 
 " you will have no difficulty in making a fac-simile with that 
 before you. Now, do not fail me, or I will put you back 
 where you came from." 
 
 "I won't fail," said Brush; " depend on that." And Mer- 
 ton left him to study out his part. 
 
 A few days after this there were strange whisperings about 
 the mills in regard to Eustis Ferris and his reasons for leav- 
 ing Mr. Merton's employ. No one could trace the origin of 
 these reports, but in a short time every one heard the rumor 
 that Eusti* had been guilty of forging Mr. Merton's name, 
 and that the latter, not wishing to distress his friends, had 
 not only allowed him to escape, but had aided him with 
 money to do so. 
 
 It does not take a little snow-bail long to roll up into an 
 immense pile if worked by vigorous hands. So it is with 
 foul reports — detraction is like the earthworms which, cut 
 into many parts, grow and spread till the soil is full of them. 
 The report soon spread to Lyneham, and some kind friend 
 went to Mr. Lester to ascertain if it had any foundation. 
 
 Mr. Lester was so shocked at the story that one could 
 have knocked him down with a feather. ''No! " he shouted 
 indignantly, " there is not a word of truth in it. It is a lie 
 made out of whole cloth, and if I find the perpetrator of such 
 an outrage, I will wring his neck, notwithstanding my Chris- 
 tian office ! " And he started off at once to demand of Mr. 
 Merton that this rumor should be contradicted at once, and 
 to ask him to try and find out who was at the bottom of it. 
 
 For the last three months Mr. Merton and Mr. Lester 
 had been on intimate terms. The former, a week after Eus- 
 tis's departure, had called at the parsonage and, finding Mr. 
 Lester in, sat down to have a friendly chat in his sanctum. 
 After a rambling conversation, Merton remarked : '' Mr. 
 Lester, you may consider me something of a heathen, but, I 
 assure you, I am not. My sins are those of omission, but I 
 believe in the Divine Creator and all his works. God has 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 43 
 
 been so kind to me in blessing me with Vv-ealth that I wish 
 to give some public manifestation of what I feel. I wish to 
 hear you preach those beautiful sermons, which, your parish- 
 ioners say, fall like dew upon a broken spirit, and I want a 
 pew in your church." 
 
 Mr. Lester was amazed, for, though he did not look upon 
 the speaker as an outcast, he considered him as one on 
 whom time would be wasted in trying to convert him to 
 the truths of religion. " I am truly glad," he said," to welcome 
 you to the church. The example of so prominent and 
 wealthy a man will have a good effect on the community." 
 And the reverend gentleman pressed the manufacturer's 
 hand. 
 
 " With all my wealth I have done little for the church," 
 said Merton, "and, no doubt, you will blame me for it, but 
 I am going to make amends. Here are two thousand pounds, 
 one thousand to repair the church, the other thousand for 
 yourself, to fit up the rectory and make- those charming 
 daughters of yours more comfortable. They are too young 
 to be compelled to feel any of the discomforts of life. Re- 
 member that you are my rector and I have a right to pay 
 my tithes in the manner that suits me best. After this, I 
 intend to give three hundred a year to the church for char- 
 ity, to be expended under your direction, and to increase 
 your salary two hundred pounds. Nay, no thanks ; I will not 
 hear them, for it is all for my own gratification. My in- 
 come is over a hundred thousand a year, and I have no 
 one to give it to, therefore make no objection to anything I 
 propose, for this is but a small part of what I intend to 
 do for the parish." 
 
 Mr. Lester was quite overwhelmed with the prospect be- 
 fore him. "God bless you, my dear sir," he said; "you are 
 a good man, indeed, and I will not throw any obstacles in 
 the way of your charities. ' He that giveth to the poor 
 lendeth to the Lord,' and you will be blessed," forgetting 
 that Mr. Merton had never given anything to him or to the 
 
44 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 church before, and attributing his present liberality to the 
 purest motives. 
 
 Of course they became greater friends than ever, and 
 Mr. Merton stopped in at the parsonage almost every day 
 to confer with the clergyman about the church, or to inquire 
 if there were any worthy objects of charity for his atten- 
 tion. On many of these occasions he saw JuUa who, 
 though she thought him a very ugly man, was persuaded 
 by her father to look upon him as a very benevolent one. 
 Thus on hearing of the reports against the character of 
 Eustis Ferris, Mr. Lester hastened to the mills, and found 
 Mr. Merton, as usual, looking over his accounts. 
 
 " I am afraid you will think me a very close man, Mr. 
 Lester," he said, after greeting the pastor, ** but I must 
 be careful if I do not wish my money to fly away. * Take 
 care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of them- 
 selves.' " 
 
 "I should think," said Mr. Lester, ''that you would 
 take a rest, and have some confidential person to do the 
 drudgery." 
 
 '' Oh, " replied Mr. Merton, "' there's the rub.' I have 
 had my fingers burned too often to again put them in the 
 fire. The difficulty is, sir, to find the honest, responsible 
 man," 
 
 "Mr. Merton," said Mr. Lester, "I came to see you in 
 regard to a very painful matter." 
 
 The gentleman addressed put himself in a listening atti- 
 tude. " What can you have to pain you, Mr. Lester ? If it 
 is anything about money matters, do not hesitate to com- 
 mand my services." 
 
 "Thank you kindly," was the reply, "I am already in- 
 debted to you more than I can repay, but this is another 
 subject." He then told of the rumor concerning Eustis 
 Ferris. 
 
 Merton knew about it already. He and his accountant, 
 Brush, had managed matters so that no one could tell where 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. ^t^ 
 
 the report originated, but he started in feigned surprise as 
 Lester told the story. " Great heavens ! " he exclaimed, 
 *' how did that get out ? Can not a man keep his most sacred 
 affairs from scrutiny ? I thought that secret was buried for- 
 ever." 
 
 " Then there is some foundation for the rumor ? " said 
 Mr. Lester, turning pale. "What will become of Julia 
 should she hear it? Who originated such an outrageous 
 story.? Can not we find and punish the villain ? " 
 
 *' Unfortunately, no," said Merton, sadly, "and the less 
 said about it the better. In fact, Mr. Lester, there is foun- 
 dation for the charge, and I have done all I could to keep the 
 matter secret." 
 
 " I will never believe it," said Mr. Lester, hotly. " It is 
 the invention of some scoundrel whom I will leave no stone 
 unturned to discover, so that I can bring him to punish- 
 ment. I have known Eustis Ferris from childhood. He is 
 the soul of honor. How can you, Mr. Merton, for a moment 
 entertain such thoughts ? A man who can judge Eustis so 
 harshly can not be a friend of mine." He rose to go, his 
 face flushed with anger. 
 
 The manufacturer turned pale and his jaws snapped to- 
 gether with a crack that startled the rector, who had never 
 before seen Mr. Merton angry. Mr. Lester had to confess 
 that the man had a most unpleasant countenance, to say the 
 least of it. He might, indeed, have likened it to the face of 
 a Mephistopheles, or something worse. The rector took his 
 hat and walked toward the door. 
 
 " Not so fast, sir," said Merton, regaining his placidity. 
 "You must handle a nettle carefully, or it will sting your 
 fingers. There is no man who has not, at some time of his 
 life, committed faults. He may have been tempted beyond 
 his strength and fallen ; he may have regretted it after- 
 ward, made amends, and become a good member of society. 
 I have known of cases where young men have forged the 
 names of their employers to obtain the means of paying gam- 
 
46 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 bling debts — debts of honor, as men call them — Intending 
 to return the money at once, but were unfortunately dis- 
 covered before they had the opportunity. A rogue may 
 run for years, plundering those about him, while the mere 
 tyro will be snapped up at the first attempt. Don't judge 
 too harshly, sir." 
 
 " But," said Mr. Lester, *' do you mean to insinuate in 
 this unfriendly manner that the man who is engaged to my 
 daughter is a forger .'' " 
 
 " No, sir," repUed Merton ; '* I insinuate nothing, and 
 you will see before this conversation ends that I have been 
 the best friend that Eustis ever had in his life. I took 
 every precaution to conceal the fact of the forgery, and up 
 to ten days ago no one else in the parish ever dreamed of it ; 
 but then came a letter from Australia, which was opened 
 ere it reached me, and in that way the story probably leaked 
 out." 
 
 " Australia, did you say, Mr. Merton ? Why Eustis led 
 us to believe he was going to America," and there was a 
 trace of anger in the rector's face. 
 
 *' Just so," said Mr. Merton. *' He left me under the same 
 impression ; nevertheless, he went to Melbourne. But, Mr. 
 Lester, matters have taken such a turn that it Is quite as 
 well for all parties concerned that you should know the whole 
 story." He took from his desk a letter. *' Read that, sir, 
 and judge for yourself." 
 
 Mr. Lester, with trembling hands, after wiping his specta- 
 cles and recognizing the writing as that of Eustis Ferris, 
 
 read as follows : 
 
 " ISIelbourne, February 3^, i8 — . 
 
 " My dear benefactor : I arrived here safely, and with 
 the aid of your kind letters of recommendation, have suc- 
 ceeded in obtaining a position In the banking-house of Lem- 
 uel and Company, and you will, if I live, have the satisfac- 
 tion of knowing that I have acquitted myself honorably In 
 my new career? My face burns with shame when I think 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 47 
 
 of my base conduct after all your kindness and the trust you 
 reposed in me. But for you I should to-day be branded 
 with the name of ' forger ' and lodged in a felon's cell. On 
 my knees at night I thank God, not only for the forbearance 
 you showed toward me, but the unheard of kindness you ex- 
 hibited in order to forward my fortunes after I had commit- 
 ted so heinous a crime. But vou will find, sir, that the 
 seed you have sown has not fallen on barren soil, and if I 
 live to see you again you can, without dishonoring yourself, 
 take me by the hand. 
 
 " It is not likely, however, that I shall return to England. 
 I shall identify myself with this country, and try and become 
 one of its honored citizens. I suppose you have heard that 
 I am engaged to be married to Miss Lester, the daughter of 
 our esteemed rector, but that dream is over. I could not 
 let her pure nature be soiled by a union with me. She is 
 as far above me as an angel of light is above one of the imps 
 of the infernal regions, and she would be horror-stricken and 
 throw me off with scorn if she heard that 1 had committed 
 forgery. Let me be dead to her. I shall never let her know 
 my whereabouts, and God grant she may forget that such a 
 person as myself ever existed. My life will be one of sad- 
 ness and repentance. I am like the blighted oak which has 
 been seared and scorched by a raging fire. I shall never 
 know happiness again. 
 
 " I trust, kind sir, that you will believe me grateful for 
 all your past kindnesses, and for sheltering my name from 
 the dishonor that would have otherwise fallen upon it. 
 "I remain, humbly and respectfully, 
 
 " EusTis Ferris. 
 
 " To John Merton, Esq., 
 
 ^''Lyfieham^ Wiltshire'' 
 
 When Mr. Lester had finished reading the letter, he 
 handed it back to Mr. Merton, and said: ''And that villain 
 expected to marry my innocent Julia, and left us under the 
 
48 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 impression that he would return in a year to claim her as 
 his wife. I would like to see him come near me ! I should 
 forget the sanctity of my cloth and give him a drubbing he 
 would remember the rest of his life. But, Mr. Merton," he 
 continued, almost beside himself with anger, "you have 
 shown me his letter; now tell me the whole story. My 
 daughter must not remain in ignorance of this. She will be 
 horrified at the idea of having been engaged to a man who 
 has committed a crime, and will tear his image from her 
 heart at once. She will be too proud to grieve about him. 
 Now for the proofs, sir ; let me speak to her fully informed. 
 I pity the poor child, but she has her mother's spirit, and 
 never will waste regrets on a felon." 
 
 " Not so bad as that," said Mr. Merton. '' Be charitable, 
 and say 'one carried away by temptation.' " He laid down 
 at the same time the forged check, the fac- similes of his 
 name, and the piece of box-wood, and left him to ponder 
 over them. 
 
 After attentively examining them, Mr. Lester rose from 
 his chair, and said, emphatically : " A man who could do that, 
 and obtain the money, Mr. Merton, is no tyro, but an ex- 
 pert, and if he were in France would be branded ^Forcat* 
 You were too easy with him, and he v/ill repay your kind- 
 ness with the basest ingratitude." 
 
 *' Not so bad as that," said Mr. Merton. " I am too good 
 a judge of human nature to be deceived — yet, who can tell ? 
 The fairest looking fruit is sometimes rotten at the core." 
 
 " You are a good man, Mr. Merton," said the pastor, 
 " and a better Christian than I am. I can feel no mercy 
 in my heart for this forger, and shall hate him if my 
 daughter gives way under the news. I will tell her as gently 
 as possible, but truth is truth, and you can not paint vice 
 white when it is so black in its nature. What a villain ! 
 What a villain ! To bring misery upon a family that cher- 
 ished and loved him as we did ! The snake in the grass ! " 
 And the rector who had been too indignant up to this 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 49 
 
 point to show any other emotion, burst into tears, and, lay- 
 ing his head on the table, sobbed like a child. Suddenly 
 he arose, pulled his hat over his eyes, and rushed from 
 the room. 
 
 Mr. Merton looked after him, locked the door, and burst 
 into a laugh, bringing his fist down on the table with so 
 much force that the top was split. " There goes an egre- 
 gious old ass. He will be glad now to marry his daughter 
 to the first man that asks her hand, and will be delighted to 
 give her to the great manufacturer whose income ' is over 
 one hundred thousand pounds a year.' " He rang his bell, 
 and the low-browed accountant Brush looked carefully into 
 the room, as if to see whether there was a policeman waiting 
 for him. When he saw the coast vras clear, in he walked. 
 
 " Well, Brush," said the manufacturer, " you did up that 
 letter well. It acted like a charm. The best friend Eustis 
 Ferris had could not have detected the forgery'' The em- 
 phasis on the last word caused Brush to wince. " Here is a 
 hundred-pound note. You will, perhaps, soon have an op- 
 portunity of doubling the money, but don't fail to keep the 
 report going, and if you could manage to get a paragraph 
 into the '' London Times," giving an account of the manner 
 in which Ferris is vround up in this business, it will put the 
 cap-stone to the matter. Now go, and don't let your right 
 hand know what your left is doing." With that Brush 
 sneaked out of the room, while Merton put the proofs of 
 Eustis Ferris's guilt away, locked them up, and sat down to 
 pore over his ledger again. 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 When Mr. Lester left Mr. Merton's office his first im- 
 pulse was to go home, shut himself up, and see no one for a 
 week, but he wanted action to keep his head from bursting. 
 He felt that if he did not obtain some relief for his mind 
 4 
 
5b ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 he would go crazy. He had been invited to take part 
 in a fox hunt that day; it was now too late to join the start, 
 but he thought that by hard riding across the country he 
 could probably be in at the death ; so he quickly changed 
 his clothes, went to the stable, had his hunter saddled, and 
 rode away at a gallop without any one of the family haviag 
 been aware of his presence. He rode at a furious pace— fast 
 enough to use up an ordinary horse — and after about an 
 hour, the baying of the hounds fell upon his ear. His noble 
 roan pricked up his ears and began to pull upon the bit. 
 The parson was a true sportsman and, excited by the familiar 
 sound, he gave his horse the rein. The hounds were coming 
 towards him, and presently he saw the fox scudding across 
 the field, his tail near the ground, and the whole pack in 
 pursuit not a hundred yards away. There were but two 
 riders up with the hounds, and they were urging their horses 
 to their utmost speed. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Lester saw the fox, he pointed his horse 
 in that direction. Rock, giving a snort, started at full 
 speed after the object of the chase. The rector was between 
 the hounds and the fox. He generally kept in the rear, 
 being heavy and not as good a rider as many of the 
 younger men, and, therefore, had never had the slightest 
 chance of taking the brush ; indeed he had no thought of 
 it, but now his opportunity was at hand. His horse was 
 fresh compared with that of the two riders following the 
 hounds, and he gained at every jump on poor Reynard, 
 whose tail was dragging on the ground and who was evident- 
 ly losing his strength. The parson forgot his troubles — 
 Eustis Ferris, the forgery, Mr. Merton, and his daughter 
 Julia, all vanished from his mind as the prospect of snatch- 
 ing the brush increased, and he shouted in ecstacy as his 
 horse sped over the turf, leaving hounds and huntsmen in 
 the rear. 
 
 Mr. Lester had never ridden over this ground before, 
 and was not familiar with the locality. He generally fol- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 5 1 
 
 lowed " the jumpers," and knew by them what kind of a leap 
 to expect. Now he was leading, and had to take the chances. 
 Before him was a stone wall four feet high, with a gate which 
 led to a road in the next field. The fox made for the wall, 
 Mr. Lester's hunter following him, animated with a spirit 
 like that of his master. The horse was hardly three feet from 
 the wall when the fox crawled up its side. The horse rose 
 in the air and over he v/ent, but neither horse nor rider an- 
 ticipated the danger beyond the wall, where there was an 
 unseen ditch. This had lately been dug to make a cause- 
 way, leaving on each side of the gate deep and dangerous 
 holes. 
 
 Only the hand of Providence could stay the fate which 
 awaited horse and rider. They fell with a crash into the 
 excavation amid sharp bowlders. The horse's neck was 
 broken, and the rector crushed beneath him. In a moment 
 the baying hounds came tumbling across the wall, the whole 
 pack passing over the prostrate horse and rider, and con- 
 tinuing their course for fifty yards ; they then scattered over 
 the field, trying to regain the scent of the fox. Reynard was 
 nowhere to be seen ; he had disappeared as completely as if 
 he had vanished into air. 
 
 The two foremost riders came up a minute later on their 
 tired horses and, stopping, opened the gate. As they passed 
 through a dreadful sight met their eyes. The horse lay 
 dead, and the rector under him seemed dead also. The 
 hounds, who had ceased to follow the trail of the fox, had 
 come back on their tracks, and, surrounding the hole, were 
 howling like wolves deprived of their prey. Some laborers 
 were at work not far off, and these the fox-hunters called 
 to their assistance. The dead horse was removed from Mr. 
 Lester's body, he was taken out, and there alongside him lay 
 the fox, which had been killed by the fall of the hunter. 
 
 Accustomed as the sportsmen were to accidents, this was 
 the saddest they had ever witnessed. As the rest of the 
 huntsmen came up, they alighted and stood awe-struck 
 
52 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 around the body of the genial rector who had so often 
 joined in their sports. One, more thoughtful than the rest, 
 put his hand on Mr. Lester's heart, and found it beat- 
 ing. Further examination showed that the pastor's left 
 thigh was broken, his shoulder dislocated, and his head 
 and face badly cut. One of the gentlemen rode off to pro- 
 cure medical aid, while the laborers were sent to bring the 
 easiest vehicle they could find on the farm. In half an hour 
 they returned with an open wagon, and the wounded man 
 was lifted into it and placed upon a mattrass. He groaned, 
 and muttered some incoherent words which no one could 
 understand. One of the party placed his flask to the suffer- 
 er's lips, and the draught seemed to partially revive him. 
 
 The procession moved slowly towards Lyneham, which 
 was about five miles away, one of the gentlemen riding ahead 
 to apprise the family at the rectory of what had occurred. 
 It was a melancholy cavalcade, more like a funeral than 
 anything else, for there was not a man in the company 
 who did not feel deeply the dismal calamity that had fallen 
 upon the children of their rector, who, in case of his death, 
 would be left penniless and without any relations in the 
 world. 
 
 A surgeon met the procession on the way, and, jumping 
 into the wagon, examined the patient. " Ah," he said, 
 *' grieviously hurt, but there is life in him yet." 
 
 When Mr. Lester arrived home, he was quickly removed 
 to his room in charge of the surgeon, who proceeded to 
 dress his wounds and bandage them. Fortunately, his 
 daughters were not at home to witness his sufferings. After 
 the surgeon had set his thigh, pulled his shoulder in place, 
 and bound up his face, he began to regain his consciousness, 
 but a sedative was given him, and he fell into an unquiet 
 slumber, while the surgeon sat holding his wrist to keep the 
 run of his pulse. 
 
 When his daughters arrived and heard that their father 
 was in bed severely injured, there were no bounds to their 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 53 
 
 grief. Julia, pale as marble, and the tears streaming down 
 her face, was met at the door of his room by the surgeon, 
 who put his fingers to his lips, and whispered to her : " Be 
 brave, young lady. On your nursing your father's chances 
 will greatly depend. He is sleeping quietly, and if he has 
 no internal injuries will recover." 
 
 '' May I come now and watch over him ? " she sobbed. 
 
 '' Yes," said the surgeon, " but you must get rid of these 
 exhibitions of grief, which do not help a sick man. Make 
 his room as cheerful as possible, and meet him with a smile 
 when he wakes, which will be in two or three hours." 
 
 Julia Lester was appalled when she saw her father in 
 his helpless condition, but she was a brave girl, and sav/ the 
 necessity for coolness and watchfulness over one she loved 
 better than life. She never left him, night or day, and what 
 sleep she obtained was in an easy-chair by his bedside. In 
 three days Mr. Lester regained consciousness, but was very 
 weak, looking little like the stalwart person who had ridden 
 forth a few days before in all his manly vigor and intelli- 
 gence. The surgeon visited him frequently during the day 
 and night, and continued to assure Julia that if there was 
 no internal disturbance her father would recover, although 
 he might suffer some months from his injuries. 
 
 On the fourth day the patient could express himself 
 plainly and tell his wants, and Julia and her sisters were 
 buoyed up by hope that they would keep him with them 
 many years, but it was not so to be, for the next day inflam- 
 mation set in, and his sufferings were intense. His eyes were 
 fixed upon his eldest daughter all the time when he was not 
 under the influence of opium, and he seemed anxious to say 
 something to her, but could not express himself plainly, 
 while the heart of his affectionate child almost broke under 
 the strain put upon it. On the sixth day his case reached 
 its climax, and the surgeon stated that there was no hope 
 for Mr. Lester, internal mortification having commenced. 
 As he was free from pain the surgeon suggested it would be 
 
54 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 well for him to express his wishes, for in a day or two he 
 would be no more. 
 
 We pass over the anguish that crushed the children of 
 the dying man. All of us some time or other have lost 
 a being whom we loved, and we know the agony that is 
 brouf^ht to our homes by the hand of death, when the fiat 
 has gone forth, but we have to submit, though we may labor 
 to save the life of the loved one and pray to God to con- 
 tinue him or her with us. But when the soul has departed to 
 its Maker, we should follow the example of David when his 
 child died. He arose from the earth and glorified God. 
 So it was with Julia when she saw that there was no possi- 
 ble hope for her father. " She put off grieving," and sat 
 with his hand in hers. Suddenly he awoke in possession of 
 all his mental faculties and motioned her closer to him. 
 
 *' I have a sad story to tell you, my darling," he said, in 
 a faint voice. " I have never before said a disagreeable 
 word to you in my life, but I feel it my duty to speak of 
 this " — he rested a moment to recover his breath. 
 
 ''What is it, dear papa.^" she murmured. "Whatever 
 you wish shall be attended to." 
 
 Mr. Lester's chest heaved in the effort to express his 
 wishes, tears stood in his eyes, and his face was flushed. At 
 last he was able to continue : '' Julia, my own darling, in a 
 few hours I shall be gathered to my fathers and appear 
 before the throne of grace to answer for my sins. My last 
 words to you are, do not marry Eustis Ferris. He is un- 
 worthy of you ; he is a forger and a fugitive from justice. I 
 have seen all the evidence against him. He is now in Aus- 
 tralia, instead of New York, as he told you he would be, en- 
 gaged, perhaps, in further crimes. Give him up — he will 
 end his life in penal servitude." 
 
 Julia gasped for breath in her endeavors to answer her 
 father. Her head reeled, while her father, not noticing her 
 emotion, said : " Julia, my pet, my darling, promise that you 
 will obey me." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 55 
 
 She heard no more. With a wild shriek she fell upon 
 the floor, the blood gushing from her mouth. She was to 
 appearance lifeless, and the dying father had not strength 
 enough left to call for help. He could dimly see her lying 
 upon the floor and apparently bleeding to death. He threw 
 the covers off and tried to reach her with his unhurt hand, 
 but without avail. His head and shoulders almost reached 
 the floor, but he could not assist her ; his strength had de- 
 serted him, and he hung gasping for breath, his soul torn 
 with conflicting emotions at the dreadful scene before him. 
 In a few minutes he gave up the struggle — he was dead. 
 
 The shades of evening w^ere closing around the house 
 when the surgeon came to pay his accustomed visit to en- 
 deavor to relieve the sufferer of pain and give him a quiet 
 night. The two younger sisters awaited him in the library, 
 bathed in tears and anxious to learn whether there was any 
 shadow of hope for their loved father. The surgeon tried 
 to assume a cheerful look, and shook them cordially by the 
 hand. 
 
 '' Well, my dear children," said the good doctor, " how 
 is the patient ? " 
 
 " I think," said the elder sister, " that he must be sleep- 
 ing. Julia has not come out of the room, and it has been 
 very quiet up there for nearly two hours." 
 
 **Then," said the doctor, " I VN'ill go up and take a look." 
 He ascended the stairs and entered the sick-room. The 
 light was dim, and he could see nothing plainly. Advancing 
 toward the bed he stumbled over a body. He rang for a 
 light, which the maid brought and handed to him through 
 the half-closed door, which he quickly shut in her face. The 
 surgeon's horror can be imagined as his eyes fell upon Julia 
 lying on the floor, covered with blood, and the dead body 
 of the rector hanging out of bed, his wide-open, glazed eyes 
 betraying the anguish in which he had expired. The docs 
 tor placed his hand on the rector's heart — it had ceased to 
 beat. No pulse was to be found at the wrist, and, on subse- 
 
56 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 quent examination, it was found that he must have been 
 dead more than an hour. 
 
 The surgeon next turned his attention to Julia, who was 
 moaning as if in pain. It was all a mystery to the doctor. 
 Placing the body of the dead man on the bed again and 
 arranging it so that it would appear as if he had died peace- 
 fully, he rang the bell for the housekeeper and maid, and 
 when they came, said : " Be cool and quiet, make no noise, 
 but help me get your young lady to bed ; her nose has been 
 bleeding." Rolling a blanket around Julia, they carried her 
 to her chamber. 
 
 *'Now," said the doctor, "undress her, cleanse the blood 
 away, and put her in bed as soon as possible." All of which 
 the practical housekeeper proceeded to do. Then the sur- 
 geon went into the pastor's room to see if anything could be 
 done, but he was stone dead. This was a sad state of af- 
 fairs, but medical men are accustomed to scenes of death, 
 and heaving a sigh over his old friend, he went back to look 
 after Julia. 
 
 He found her in bed with eyes wide open and staring 
 straight before her, with an expression in her face pitiful to 
 see, for she was evidently suffering great mental anguish. 
 He took her hand, which was cold and clammy, and found 
 her pulse beating irregularly. " Miss Julia," he said, " where 
 do you feel pain.^" 
 
 She turned her great eyes upon him, and laying her hand 
 on her heart, said, in plaintive tones, " Here, doctor, here. 
 Papa said Eustis committed forgery and was a fugitive from 
 ' justice. Oh ! I want to die ! I can't live with such disgrace 
 hanging over me," and great tears rolled down her cheeks 
 like dew-drops from the leaves of a beauteous rose. 
 
 "Be quiet, my dear," he said. "No one has committed 
 forgery. You are only dreaming and are feverish. Take 
 this anodyne and try to sleep. I will stay and watch over 
 you." 
 
 " Thank God for that," she murmured. " It was only a 
 
ARTHUR MERTOX. 
 
 57 
 
 dream, while I thought it all a reality." In a few minutes 
 she slept, and the doctor sent a messenger to Mr. Merton, 
 whom he knew was intimate with the pastor, to notify him 
 of his death and requesting him to come to the rectory at 
 once. 
 
 Mr. Merton had been very attentive since he heard of 
 the accident, sending such delicacies as are usually given to 
 sick persons, but though he knew that Mr. Lester was se- 
 verely hurt, he had no idea that his life would terminate so 
 quickly. He had inquired many times after his friend, 
 always sending up his card to Julia, to impress her with his 
 kindness, but could never see her. When the news of Mr. 
 Lester's death reached him through the surgeon's messen- 
 ger, his heart leaped with exultation, and though his jaws 
 snapped together nervously, yet it really was with joy. 
 '' Now, thank fortune," he said to himself, " I have the whole 
 matter in my own hands. I must be a fool if 1 can not have 
 things terminate as I wish. Fortune has smiled upon me." 
 
 He grinned as a hungry wolf might do over a poor an- 
 imal that had fallen into his clutches. On ascertaining from 
 the messenger that Miss Julia was very ill, he at once 
 rang his bell. '' Send the housekeeper to me, and hurry 
 about it," he said, in the tones which made every one in 
 the establishment jump when they heard them. 
 
 The housekeeper came quickly. She was a tidy little 
 body of fifty, with good-nature beaming from her face. 
 " Here, Mrs. Kearney," said Merton, " Miss Lester is very 
 ill. Her father is dead. Get your traps together, go down 
 to the rectory and take charge of her. I will be down soon 
 after you. Pull her through this sickness and your reward 
 shall be a hundred pounds." 
 
 "Yes, your honor," answered the little woman, "all that 
 can be done shall be done." And she hurried away to exe- 
 cute her master's commands. 
 
 Mr. Merton followed soon after, and sending for the 
 Lesters' housekeeper addressed that personage as follows: 
 
58 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 " Mrs, Foster, I am next friend to Mr. Lester and his daugh- 
 ters, and naturally the charge of this unhappy family de~ 
 volves on me. Mr. Lester has left his affairs in bad condi- 
 tion, and I doubt if there is any money in the house." 
 
 *' You are right, sir," said Mrs. Foster. Leastwise, I haven't 
 seen any. Mr. Lester hadn't much money, yer honor, an' 
 he was that wedded to fox-huntin' that his horse had hardly 
 a full meal a day, much less his family." 
 
 " That will all be rectified," said Merton. " I will take care 
 there shall be plenty of everything until matters are straight- 
 ened out, but do not breathe to a soul where the suppHes 
 come from until I permit you. Here is a hundred pounds 
 for actual necessities ; when that is gone let me know and 
 I will provide more." 
 
 "An' sure, you're an angel, sir," said Mrs. Foster. '* Who 
 but you would think of all these things.? And thank you, 
 sir, for sindin' down yer tidy housekeeper to nurse the 
 young lady through her sickness, for I'm not that strong 
 that I can sit up of nights, bein' as I'm troubled with 
 rheumatiz the last ten years." 
 
 ** Never mind thanks," said Merton ; "carry out my or- 
 ders. I am in charge now, and you will find it to your 
 interests to consult me about everything." 
 
 The housekeeper watched him as he walked off. " God 
 bless him I " she exclaimed, " there goes a good man. He's 
 no that handsome as he will keep any young lady awake 
 nights a-thinkin' on him, and he's shamblin' in his walk, 
 and he don't look one straight in the eye, as my own dear, 
 dead master did, but he's a good man, for all that, and he 
 won't let my young ladies suffer while the mills stand. An' 
 ain't he a Christian indeed ? An' has'nt he a pew in the 
 church, an' isn't he repairin* the chancel, an' what more 
 would you have in a man than that t Fie may be ugly an' 
 all that, but he's a Christian, nevertheless," and she closed 
 the door, wiping the tears from her eyes. 
 
 In the mean time Julia was attended by the faithful sur- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 59 
 
 geon, who gave all his time to her. Three days had passed 
 since her father's death, but she was wholly unconscious of 
 it. She lay in a dazed condition most of the time, her eyes 
 looking on vacancy. She uttered no complaint and took 
 the medicines and sustenance that were offered her. Noth- 
 ing seemed to do her any good and, at last, the doctor began 
 to think she had lost her reason. 
 
 On the third day it was necessary to bury Mr. Lester, 
 whose body was followed to the grave by his two younger 
 daughters and many of his parishioners, and interred in the 
 shadow of the church where he had often delighted his 
 hearers. There we will leave him to rest in peace. He was 
 saved by death from much unhappiness, for, had he lived, 
 he would have been tortured by the knowledge of Eustis 
 Ferris's crime, and would have witnessed the heart-rending 
 sorrow through which his beloved daughter had to pass. 
 He had been a gay man, and might have deemed it a pun- 
 ishment for engaging in pursuits which detracted from the 
 sanctity of his office. 
 
 Julia laid in her dazed state for many days. Her friends 
 were very attentive and kind, the foremost of whom was 
 Mr. Merton, who called frequently at the house. Every- 
 thing was supplied by him for the patient's comfort that 
 heart could desire. He cheered up the younger sisters for 
 the first two weeks of their bereavement, and after that, took 
 them or sent them out in his carriage. He left nothing un- 
 done to make them forget their loss, and they soon began 
 to regard him as their best friend, though they could not 
 but think him uncouth and could not grow fond of him, yet 
 they had confidence in him, and always welcomed his coming. 
 
 At the end of a month, when the doctor was one day 
 sitting by his patient, watching for any change in her condi- 
 tion, one of the younger sisters entered the room to call the 
 physician. The patient was lying in the same dazed state, 
 gazing at vacancy, when she turned her head, and seeing her 
 sister in deep mourning, burst into tears. It was an unex- 
 
6o ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 pected thing, but the doctor hailed it with delight. " Now," 
 he said, ^' 1 am sure of restoring your sister to health. What 
 she needs are tears to relieve her mind. Pent up tears are 
 like pent up fires in the earth, they are destructive. Let her 
 cry ; it will do her good." 
 
 At length Julia said, in feeble tones : " I know, dear Ada, 
 by your mourning weeds that our loved father is dead. 
 What will become of us all ? " She fell back on her pillow 
 exhausted. The doctor gave her a soothing draught, and in 
 a few minutes she was asleep and slept for many hours. 
 
 Let us pass over Julia's distress when she was told of her 
 father's death and burial. She grieved as only those do 
 whose hearts and souls are devoted to their parents and 
 whose happiness is identified with them. Life seemed no 
 longer to have any charms for her, but, fortunately, time 
 assuages the strongest grief and lifts the burden of sorrow 
 from the heart. The traces of sorrow may be left for many 
 years, or until effaced by stirring scenes and incidents, 
 though some griefs will remain fixed in the camera of the 
 brain, never to be obliterated, no matter what efforts we 
 make to forget them. 
 
 Julia's grief weighed her down, so that she scarcely felt 
 as if she could live from day to day. Indeed, she wondered 
 how she lived at all with such sorrow tugging at her heart- 
 strings. If she slept the pain visited her in her dreams ; when 
 awake she only wished that her senses might be steeped in 
 oblivion. She began to realize what great responsibilities 
 had devolved upon her, in the care of the helpless house- 
 hold under her charge, and she tried her best to arouse her- 
 self to the task of doing her duty to the two young sisters 
 who were now entirely dependent on her. The last words 
 of her father had burned into her brain. " Do not marry 
 Eustis Ferris. He is unworthy of you ; he is a forger and 
 a fugitive from justice. I have seen all the evidence against 
 him." She could not forget those words. They come in 
 the shape of a command from a parent she had never diso- 
 
ARTHUR MERTOX. 6 1 
 
 beyed. What could she do ? How could she act In defi- 
 ance of his dying admonition ? 
 
 Her father had called a man she loved better than all 
 the world 2, forger— s\iQ shuddered when she thought of the 
 dreadful word — but there must be some mistake about it. 
 Some one had misinformed her father, or he had spoken in 
 his delirium, and she had no means of finding out the truth. 
 Seven months had elapsed since her lover's departure, and 
 she had not received a line from him. What if he were 
 dead, and it had been kept from her? Death had been 
 reaping such a harvest of late that Eustis might have fallen 
 a victim to disease in a foreign land, or have been lost at 
 sea. 
 
 She had heard of no wrecks and, yet, how could she, 
 confined to her room, and never having seen a newspaper 1 
 Her sisters went in and out of her chamber with tearful eyes, 
 and gave her no news of any kind. They were thinking 
 what would they do should this dear sister be taken from 
 them, and they be left alone in a cold, unsympathizing world, 
 for in the pale face and attenuated form they saw every 
 indication that Julia might soon be laid beside her father. 
 
 Julia knew that the passage between New York and 
 England took but a short time to accomplish, and she could 
 not understand why in all these months she had not heard 
 a word from Eustis. She did not for a moment, believe the 
 charge against him — her heart was too loyal for that. She 
 was sure her father had been imposed upon by some enemy 
 of her lover, and had he lived would have been foremost, 
 not only to disprove the charge, but to discover who had 
 originated it. But what a dreadful accusation it was — quite 
 enough to make any man fly his country until he could fur- 
 nish proof of his innocence. So she passed the time, day 
 after day, sitting at her room window, and looking out upon 
 wood and dale. 
 
62 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 It was now the latter part of June, and summer was in 
 all its glory. The rectory stood in a sequestered spot amid 
 trees that claimed an age of several centuries. The fragrant 
 honeysuckle wound its way to the highest branches, while 
 the Virginia creeper and other wild vines covered the rocks 
 which had been left to beautify the scene. The leaves 
 hardly stirred, and the silence which reigned about the 
 pleasant place was unbroken. To a poetic mind it seemed 
 a foretaste of that blissful rest which we all fondly look for, 
 but which so few of us can find. The birds under the 
 shadow of the leaves hushed their songs, waiting until the 
 heat of noonday had passed ere carroling their joyous lays 
 to reverberate through the echoing woods. Some hills in 
 the soft haze of distance stretched away to the northward 
 and seemed to stand as a barrier, leaving this beautiful 
 place in such sweet repose that it seemed emblematic of 
 paradise ere man and woman came to mar its serenity. 
 
 Here Julia Lester passed her time, day after day, never 
 tiring of looking on the scene before her, and slowly return- 
 ing to health — would we could say happiness, but that was 
 a state she would never know again. She felt this in her 
 heart, and while she determined to do her best to perform 
 the duty that had been allotted her by Providence, she real- 
 ized that her life on earth would be bitter, and that she would 
 never again know joy. The presentiment grew upon her that 
 she would never more meet Eustis. At times she could, in 
 her mind's eye, see him lying on a cot, with pale face and fe- 
 verish lips, and strange hands ministering to his wants, while 
 she should have been there to tend and care for him. Yet 
 never once in her thoughts did she give the slightest cre- 
 dence to the foul charge that had been brought against him. 
 
 June is the month of flowers, and once a day, sometimes 
 twice, a basket of beautiful roses would be sent to her room. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 63 
 
 When she inquired ^vho sent them, she was invariably in- 
 formed that Mr. Merton was the donor, and, though she 
 liked flowers, she could not help saying to herself : "I wish 
 some one else had sent them ; he seems to be a kind man, 
 but I can not get over my antipathy for him. He is hid- 
 eously ugly." But Merton knew nothing of her thoughts — 
 his flowers were accepted, and he was satisfied. He deter- 
 mined to win Julia, if it took him years. 
 
 She had heard of all his goodness to her and her sisters 
 during her illness, how he had sent down stores and provis- 
 ions for them all, and the choicest wines and cordials. The 
 finest hot-house fruit was procured for her, and there was no 
 wish that she expressed that had not been fulfilled. Of this 
 Julia was daily informed by the tidy little housekeeper whom 
 Mr. Merton had sent to nurse her, and who was never tired 
 of singing her employer's praises, as she had been instructed 
 to do, sometimes ad 7iaiiseam^ for Julia grew silent under 
 these constant encomiums. "What troubles me," she said 
 to her nurse, " is that I am under obligations to Mr. Merton 
 which I can never repay." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear miss," she replied, " don't fash your 'ead 
 about that ; your good wishes will be return enough for him." 
 
 She sent for Mrs. Foster one day when she felt strong- 
 er than usual, and when the housekeeper entered, said : 
 *' Tell me exactly our condition. How much money have we 
 in the house t " 
 
 " Well, miss," said the good woman, wiping the tears 
 from her eyes, *' as to the money in the 'ouse of hour hown, 
 there's not a penny — leastwise not has I knows of; but I must 
 tell you that we have plenty belongin' to Mr. Merton, which 
 'e's never 'appy hunless 'e's sendin' it 'ere. 'E's a hangel, 
 hif hever there was one hin the world. 'E 'as sent hus 
 everythink has 'as been wanted, and more besides, an' the 
 Lord only knows what we'd a done without 'ira, leastwise, 
 it seems so to me." 
 
 " We must learn to do without help," said Julia, while 
 
64 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 her lips quivered. " We must live on our own resources, Mrs. 
 Foster." 
 
 " Ah, then, ye'll all starve," said the good woman. " Your 
 good father didn't leave a farthin' behind, except what is in 
 the furniture. We tried to sell some of that while you were 
 out of your senses, and now the creditors will be besiegin' 
 the 'ouse, miss, for their dues. Your father, God bless 'im, 
 died much in debt — leastwise 'is creditors 'ave brought many 
 bills 'ere, hand I 'ave not a soumarkee to pay them with." She 
 took from her pocket a roll of accounts which she placed 
 in Julia's hands. The latter looked them over, the varying 
 emotion expressed by her countenance showing that the 
 bills were of an amount very much greater than she had 
 expected. 
 
 She raised her eyes to those of the housekeeper, with an- 
 guish depicted in her face. *' Mrs. Foster, " she exclaimed, 
 in tremulous tones, " this means ruin and beggary ! These 
 bills amount to more than a thousand pounds. Where can 
 we raise the money to pay that amount ? " 
 
 *' I don't know" said the housekeeper, bursting into 
 tears, " but I 'ope ^ the Lord will temper the wind to the 
 shorn lamb.' " 
 
 " Yes," said Julia, " that is very well, but the Lord don't 
 help those who don't help themselves. I must arouse myself, 
 and give up mourning over my selfish griefs when such a 
 calamity is threatened to those I love and who are dependent 
 now on my exertions. Get me my clothes, and I will dress 
 myself, and try and cheer my sisters up — poor little dar- 
 lings, they are grieving their hearts away. Call Mary and 
 tell her to come and dress me." But when she had stood 
 up a moment, what with the fatigue and excitement, she 
 was obliged to sit dov/n again, almost fainting. She raised 
 the window and the soft air revived her. 
 
 What a lovely day it was ! and how balmy the atmos- 
 phere ! All nature seemed to glow with a beauty she had 
 never witnessed before. The golden light of summer was 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 65 
 
 playing upon the tangled boughs of trees and the 
 bright clematis climbing the trunks of sturdy oaks ; the air 
 was filled with fragrance from clumps of roses that fringed 
 the border of a mimic lake, where the swallows darted to 
 and fro with a velocicy that almost defied the sight — now 
 swooping down to drink the crystal water, anon darting 
 through the myriads of little insects that filled the air. Two 
 children were sitting on the edge of the water sailing their 
 tiny boats. A light zephyr just rippling the surface served 
 to swell the sails and sent the venturesome barks on what 
 was considered as distant voyages. - The children's voices 
 echoed with delight through the silent woods. It was a 
 lovely scene and a landscape that might well illume a paint- 
 er's canvas. 
 
 Julia, with her head on her hand, looked down upon all 
 this and seemed for a moment to drink in the beauty of the 
 scene ; then she started up and burst into tears. " My God ! " 
 she exclaimed, "how beautiful is this world and how wretch- 
 ed is this life ! Less than one year ago life was redolent 
 with sweet perfumes, but now there is not left me one single 
 joy on earth. In one short half-year, father, lover, and lov- 
 er's father all taken away, and I, perhaps, too, soon to fol- 
 low—and then what will become of those two dear sisters, 
 who will have no one to whom they can look for love and 
 protection ? But I must exert myself in the little time there 
 is left to me for the benefit of others. Farewell, bright 
 scenes which have gladdened my youth ! Farewell, fond 
 remembrances that have grown with my growth and strength- 
 ened with my strength ! I must not cherish them or they 
 will make me loiter by the way. My mind must now awake 
 to the stern realities of life, and I must begin the battle with 
 poverty — the hardest fate one can be subjected to who has 
 never known anything but love and an abundance of every- 
 thing that tended to make life desirable." So saying, she 
 closed the window with a sigh and one long look, as if she 
 was bidding adieu to the world forever. 
 5 
 
66 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 Julia then rang for the maid and told her to take the list 
 she gave her and go around to all the tradesmen men- 
 tioned there and ask them to come to the house. In an 
 hour Julia was informed that the tradesmen were all down- 
 stairs ready to see her, and, supported by the maid, she 
 descended to the study. The men stood in respectful at- 
 titude to receive her. She addressed them, and in a few 
 words told them of her embarrassments and informed them 
 that the property she possessed would be sold and the 
 bills paid — all she asked was a little time to enable her to 
 make arrangements. 
 
 One of the tradesmen stepped forward. " Why, Miss 
 Lester," he said, "you owe us nothing. All our bills were 
 paid a month ago, to the last farthing." 
 
 Julia was astounded ; her face flushed and her eyes shone 
 with a light not seen in them for many weeks, but she 
 kept cool. " Who paid these bills ? " she asked. 
 
 " Mr. Merton," replied the man, " who informed us that 
 he was the executor of the estate." 
 
 " Oh ! " she exclaimed. She did not know whether to 
 feel glad or sorry at this news, for, notwithstanding Mr. Mer- 
 ton 's kindness, there was something about the man she could 
 not like. In judging men there is an intuition in women far 
 keener than any existing in the opposite sex. These gentle 
 creatures can detect the first semblance of affection toward 
 themselves, as the birds among the boughs welcome or shun 
 the strutting male who with trembling wings offers himself 
 a victim on the altar of love. Julia, however, said nothing, 
 but dismissed the tradesmen kindly and went to her room 
 to ponder over this new difficulty. She could not consent 
 to remain under such obligations to Mr. Merton. She con- 
 sidered this to be only a temporary arrangement, not a per- 
 manent relief. 
 
 About the time Julia Lester was talking to the tradesmen, 
 Mr. Merton was writing in his office. He rang the bell 
 and the sneaking clerk entered. " Here, Brush," said his 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 6/ 
 
 master, " take these two letters, copy them in Eustis Ferris's 
 handwriting, and, if you do the job well, it will be the best 
 paying forgery you ever committed." 
 
 Brush winced at this remark. " I wish, sir," he said, 
 ** that you would not call these little exhibitions of pen- 
 manship ^forgeries' It gives me a kind of a crick in the 
 neck." 
 
 "That, sir," said Merton, "is only premonitory of what 
 will happen to you if you do not do my work as I want it 
 done. In six months, if you do well, I will send you to 
 America, where you will be a free man and eligible to the 
 highest office. Sit down there at my desk and copy these 
 letters.'* 
 
 Brush obeyed, and in an hour the letters were finished. 
 Merton examined them carefully. " You are improving all 
 the time," he said. Then taking from a drawer the envelope 
 with the Melbourne postmark, which he had opened without 
 tearing or soiling, he inclosed the two letters, one directed 
 to Julia and one to Eustis's father. He then put on his hat 
 and walked to the rectory. 
 
 On arriving there he was told that Miss Lester was in 
 the study, and sent in his card. Julia was glad of the oppor- 
 tunity of seeing him. Never did fairer vision meet his eyes 
 when he looked on the woman for the possession of whom 
 he would risk half his wealth. If she was beautiful in health, 
 she seemed angelic in her weak condition. Her large, lumi- 
 nous eyes shone like stars, her pale cheeks were slightly 
 tinged with color, her pearly teeth glistened between the 
 half-opened lips, in the act of addressing her visitor, and the 
 shapely hands, lying on her lap, might have served as mod- 
 els for a sculptor. 
 
 Merton stood spell-bound at the sight before him, and 
 stepping forward he gently raised the hand she had not of- 
 fered, and pressed it kindly. " I am too happy," he said, " to 
 welcome you once more to returning health, and hope we 
 may long have you among us to brighten our lives and cheer 
 
68 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 up your dear little sisters, who are now so dependent upon 
 you." 
 
 Julia went straight to the point. There was no sympa- 
 thy between her and her visitor, and she could not for the 
 soul of her pretend to any sentiment. " I am glad to see 
 you, Mr. Merton," she said, " for several reasons. First, to 
 thank you for your great kindness to me and mine in our 
 time of tribulation ; second, to tell you that I know of your 
 generosity in relieving my father's estate from the debts that 
 hung over it ; then to say that I want what little property 
 we have sold that you may reimburse yourself for the ex- 
 pense you have been put to, as we have no claim upon you 
 whatever. I shall always remember your kindness with 
 pleasure, yet I can not consent to remain under such obli- 
 gations even to the best of my friends." 
 
 Merton could have snapped his jaws together louder than 
 he had ever done in his life before, but he controlled him- 
 self. " My dear young lady," he said, in his blandest tones, 
 " everything shall be as you wish, I am too happy to have 
 been of service to you, which has not put me to the least 
 inconvenience. But how unfortunate I am ! where I hoped 
 to please I fear to have given offense." 
 
 " Oh ! no," interrupted Julia. 
 
 "Wait a moment," continued Merton, "and allow me to 
 finish. You may see reason in what I say. Here I am — a 
 lone man with thousands at my disposal, with not one per- 
 son of kin to me in the world, and not allowed to expend 
 that wealth in a manner that would give me most pleasure, 
 even for the children of a dear friend. Your property, if 
 sold, would not cover the indebtedness, and it would be a 
 useless sacrifice. You would have to start out into the 
 world and make a living for yourself and two sisters, who 
 are doubly dear now that they are entirely dependent on 
 you. The world is a cold place, Miss Lester, for those who 
 seek sympathy — who have lost their all and depend on 
 friends to help them. I have tried it and know what it is. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 69 
 
 Friends do not spring up in times of adversity as they do 
 in days of prosperity when you have everything to make 
 you happy and want for nothing, in fact, can dispense favors. 
 It is that condition of affairs that attracts friends. When 
 you have no bones to throw to a dog he will shun you — if 
 you can not feed your friends they become like the dogs. 
 Did you ever read Shakespeare's ' Timon of Athens,' Miss 
 Lester ? If not, read it and ponder over it before I see you 
 again. Do not come to any rash conclusion. Think how 
 much I can do and am anxious to do for you and your sis- 
 ters, and if you still insist on depriving me of the pleasure, 
 then I will submit to the mandate that will cause me more 
 unhappiness than anything in life. Take time to think it all 
 over, and in three days I will come back for your answer. 
 There is one thing you will be obliged to submit to until 
 you can make arrangements for a support, and that is to be 
 my debtor until you can see your way." He extended his 
 hand and she took it. 
 
 Julia was not proof against all this kindness. Her eyes 
 filled with tears and she burst out crying, and then sat down 
 sobbing, while Merton looked on, his eyes gleaming with tri- 
 umph, though she did not see it. "Ah," he muttered to him- 
 self, '' this is the humor in which to win a woman. Such for- 
 tifications are not to be carried by cannon — you must touch 
 their sympathy, gain the name of friend — friendship will 
 soon turn to love." 
 
 "There, now," he said, "don't cry. I will go away and 
 come some other time. You will think differently after con- 
 sidering this matter more closely. And now, good-day. 
 Will you permit me to send my carriage every day to take 
 you and your sisters out riding ? " 
 
 "Thank you," said Julia, her tears starting afresh. 
 
 As Merton reached the door he stopped. " I almost for- 
 got the main object of my visit," he said. " As executor of 
 the Ferris property, all papers come to me. Among others, 
 a letter arrived this morning from Australia directed to Mr. 
 
'JO ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Ferris. I see the direction is in the handwriting of his son, 
 who is, I am told, a friend of yours. There may be some- 
 thing in this letter that may interest you, and I give it to you 
 with authority to open it. If it is a business letter, please re- 
 turn it to me." 
 
 Julia sprang up with great excitement to receive the let- 
 ter. Joy was expressed most unmistakably upon her face. 
 Her eyes gleamed with delight. Her cheeks were flushed 
 and her half-opened lips quivered. She almost snatched 
 the letter from her visitor's hands and clasped it to her breast 
 as she knew Eustis's handwriting on the envelope at once. 
 This was the first happy hour she had felt since her lover 
 departed, and all those days when she had lain half conscious 
 upon her bed, with her eyes gazing on vacancy, she was look- 
 ing for a letter from that far off land whither her lover had 
 fled to escape justice. Oh, long, weary days and sad and 
 wakeful nights ' Oh, long watched for letter, that would 
 bring balm to her wounded heart! The first had now all 
 vanished. The last had come in time to renew life — the life 
 almost perished. Everything would now be explained. 
 Her father's words would no longer be an enigma to her — 
 those words which she had always considered as the effects 
 of fever. Her sorrows seemed to heal as if by magic, and no 
 one would have taken her for the same Julia they had seen 
 an hour before. 
 
 Mr. Merton watched her transports with a cold smile. 
 He thought to himself: "My turn will come next, and all 
 these transports will be buried in the disgrace of the man 
 whom she has exalted to so high a pedestal. To-morrow, 
 she will sing a different tune and will be the first to seek my 
 assistance, for her love will be practically dead. I will be 
 able to say with Richard IH : 
 
 Was ever woman in such humor wooed } 
 Was ever woman in such humor won ? 
 
 And stepping from the room and closing the door quietly 
 behind him, he went away, his heart as bitter against Eustis 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 7 1 
 
 as if that young man had done him a great injury. He did 
 
 not remember that but for him Eustis Ferris would have 
 
 been an honored man ; that he had caused the death of Mr. 
 
 Lester and ruined the Hfe of his daughter. But what did he 
 
 care for that.? He had ruined lives before and would have 
 
 consigned thousands to destruction could he only have his 
 
 desires gratified. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Merton had gone, Julia went to her room, 
 
 with her cherished treasure pressed close to her bosom, and 
 
 when she had locked her door, she threw herself on her 
 
 knees and thanked God for his infinite mercy in bringing 
 
 her so much happiness. She little dreamed of the cup that 
 
 was to be presented to her lips. As soon as she could still 
 
 the tumultuous beating of her heart, she sat down to read 
 
 the work of Mr. Brush's artistic hand. The first letter was 
 
 as follows : 
 
 "Melbourne, March 4, 18—. 
 
 "My darling Julia: This letter will both pain and 
 disgust you, for I know that your noble nature can have no 
 sympathy with one who has descended to the crimes that I 
 have, and if I did not release you from an engagement so 
 degrading to you, I am sure that you would immediately 
 cancel it on hearing of my criminality. I am no more fitted 
 to be linked with you than the hawk with the dove. I left 
 you under the impression that I had gone to America, in- 
 stead of which I came to Australia. America has an extra- 
 dition treaty with England, and criminals can not there hope 
 to escape from the law (for, Julia, I am a fugitive from jus- 
 tice), but in Australia I am lost among the thousand and 
 one villains who seek this country to escape punishment. 
 
 " You can never know what I have gone through with 
 since I left the land where all my happiness in life is cen- 
 tered. You will never know, for after this writing I shall 
 seek the bush and bury myself among the criminals who have 
 gone there for safety. 
 
 "The first step in crime taken, one descends with a 
 
;2 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 velocity he never dreamed of, but your pure mind can not 
 comprehend the gradations of crime which a vile man will 
 go through ere he stops. For you to think of me more 
 would be to profane your pure soul. The jackal and the 
 timid gazelle could never mate any more than you could 
 cast your destiny with mine, 
 
 "Go, then, and forget me, and remember that while you 
 are associated with all that is good and beautiful, I am linked 
 with crime, and you may yet live to hear that I am breaking 
 stone, with a ball and chain to my leg, on the public roads 
 of Australia, where every person can point to me and say, 
 *That is the great forger who so well deserves his fate.' 
 
 *' I have told you all that you need know. Pray God, if 
 you will, that I may descend no lower in crime, but I have 
 lost all right to any one's prayers, and the only consolation 
 I have is to know that I was once betrothed to a pure spirit. 
 My greatest punishment is that she will despise me all the 
 rest of her life. 
 
 " Yours, EusTis Ferris." 
 
 Julia opened this letter with a rapture words can not ex- 
 press. The first lines struck her with astonishment. Her 
 head began to reel, her temples seemed as if about to burst, 
 her eyes became so dim that she could not see the words, 
 and she felt as if she were dying. Clutching the letter in her 
 hand and throwing her arms up in the air, she gave a pierc- 
 ing shriek and fell fainting to the floor. 
 
 The shades of evening were falling when the poor girl 
 began to regain consciousness. On going up-stairs she had 
 told her sisters to take the Merton carriage when it came 
 and go for a drive. No one in the house had heard her 
 scream, the sisters had not returned, and there on the floor 
 lay the unconscious girl without aid. She might have died, 
 and it would have been better for her if she had done so, 
 but Providence decreed otherwise, and she recovered suffi- 
 ciently to crawl to the bed and throw herself upon it. Here 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 73 
 
 she was found by the housekeeper muttering incoherently 
 and with a high fever. The surgeon was sent for, and again 
 took charge of the sweet girl whose condition had before 
 been so alarming. 
 
 When the surgeon came the letter was still clutched 
 tightly in her hand. He administered a quieting draught, 
 and in a few minutes she was in a fitful sleep. The doctor 
 then removed the letter from her grasp, saying : " Now I 
 see that I have to minister to a mind diseased, but I hope I 
 can pull her through." He put the two letters carefully 
 into a drawer and proceeded to watch his sleeping pa- 
 tient. 
 
 We will pass over the next three weeks, in which Julia 
 hung between life and death. She recovered at last, but 
 oh ! so different from the beautiful girl we have before men- 
 tioned. Her face was sad, so sad that it pained one to 
 see it, but there was a firmness and look of determination 
 about the mouth that spoke volumes — a determination to 
 live and do her duty no matter what it cost her. 
 
 The scoundrel who had been the cause of all this misery 
 called frequently to inquire about her, and supplied all the 
 necessaries of life, so that everything ran along smoothly at 
 the rectory. Julia finally came down-stairs and took charge 
 of the house and began to restore it to a more comfortable 
 condition than it had seen for some time. Mr. Merton 
 called in the evening, and was admitted. Julia had been 
 told of all his kindness, and received him pleasantly if not 
 warmly. He spent an hour with her and her sisters, chat- 
 ting so agreeably that when he went away she had ceased 
 to think him so ugly. He came day after day, and always 
 brought something to add to the pleasure of Julia or her 
 sisters, until at last they looked for him, and if he happened 
 not to come the evening passed less pleasantly. Finally 
 Julia commenced asking him to tea, and in the end he be- 
 came the familiar of the house. He was now as firmly es- 
 tablished as if he had known the girls from childhood. 
 
;4 ARTHUR ME R TON. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A HEART that has been bruised by the acts of one dearly 
 loved will either break or lean on another who comes for- 
 ward and holds it up, lets it feel that it has a friend upon 
 whom it can rely, and wards off the cruel shafts too often 
 aimed at those in adversity. Time went on. Julia, like the 
 Spartan boy with the fox gnawing at his vitals, bore her 
 mental anguish unflinchingly. She seldom smiled, but went 
 about performing her duties in the most systematic manner. 
 
 She had formed plans for her future, and now she deter- 
 mined to put them into execution. When Mr. Merton 
 came in as usual in the evening, she asked to speak to 
 him confidentially in the next room. She there confided 
 her plans to him, which were to sell the cottage, reimburse 
 him for the expenses he had incurred in her behalf, and 
 with what was left go to some large town and teach music 
 for the support of her sisters and herself. 
 
 This was the opportunity Merton awaited. He looked 
 anxiously at Julia while she was talking, her lips quivering 
 with emotion and her eyes bedewed with tears. She was in 
 the frame of mind a woman would naturally be in who was on 
 the point of giving up the home of her youth to wander off 
 in search of a livelihood. He smiled inwardly with joy at 
 the situation, and said to himself, " The jewel is mine at 
 last." He tried to look mournful over the decision Julia 
 had reached but hardly succeeded. 
 
 When she had ceased talking he looked at her intently. 
 He thought he had never seen her look so beautiful, not- 
 withstanding the sad expression of her face. " Miss Lester," 
 he said, "yours is a noble determination, and if there existed 
 any circumstances justifying the sacrifice you propose to 
 make I should, perhaps, commend your choice, but there is 
 nothing. You have been brought up in comfort, I may say 
 in luxury, and are totally unfitted to struggle with adver- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 75 
 
 sity. You are by education and nature suited to adorn the 
 highest position in the land, yet you would descend to be- 
 come a music-teacher, subject to the caprices of the common 
 herd, who will delight in making you feel what they con- 
 sider their superiority. Listen to me, and, I pray you, listen 
 patiently. 
 
 ''There may seem to be selfishness in my objection to 
 your proposed plan, but that selfishness is based on a de- 
 sire for your happiness and, if you permit me to say, on mine. 
 It would be impossible for any one to live near you, be with 
 you, or see you calmly following the pursuits of life while 
 your heart is so sore at the recent death of your father, and 
 not love and admire you." At these words Julia started and 
 fixed her eyes upon him, 
 
 "Providence would be thwarted in its intentions were 
 you to be so unfortunate as to be obliged to follow the course 
 you have marked out for yourself, and I should be the 
 most miserable of men to think that with all the wealth at 
 my disposal, and with neither kith nor kin, that you think 
 so little of me as not to allow me to put aside a portion 
 of it for your use." 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Merton," she said, kindly, " but I can 
 not be dependent." 
 
 " Then, Miss Lester, let me approach you by another 
 road. You have two sisters in your care — what would be- 
 come of them in case of any accident ? You are in a deli- 
 cate state of health, unable to perform the work you in- 
 tend to undertake. It is wearing beyond anything you can 
 imagine, and you would sink under it. Away from your 
 friends and among strangers, who would have sympathy for 
 you ? Vv' hat would your dear sisters do without you .? " 
 
 Julia felt every moment as if she would burst into tears. 
 This man with so homely a face, but with a heart so 
 kind, grew to large dimensions in her eyes. He looked like 
 a good friend to lean upon, but she shook her head. " I 
 must trust in God, as my father always taught me to do," 
 
76 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 she said, " but I am thankful to you for all your goodness. 
 I can never repay you for one half you have done for me." 
 
 '' Yes, you can," he replied. " Listen, Miss Lester. I am 
 alone in the world. I have had many blessings showered 
 upon me, but there is a void in my life that I would have 
 filled. I am a rough man, but a diamond is often more val- 
 uable when unpolished. I dread to utter what I wish, for 
 fear it may startle you, but what I offer you is a compliment 
 to your beauty, your worth, and your intelligence. Do not 
 rebuke me for my presumption, for I know I have nothing 
 in me worthy of your consideration." 
 
 Julia partly rose from her chair, but he detained her by 
 gently placing his hand on hers. " Nay, listen," he said. 
 '' Listen to these words, and then decide. I have loved you 
 ever since the first day I saw you, and loved you with a 
 fidelity that hoped for no return. I offer you a love un- 
 bounded in its nature, and lay my wealth and life at your 
 feet to do with them as you please." 
 
 Julia sat staring, her face suffused with blushes, and then 
 she put her hands to her eyes to stop the tears. She had 
 never dreamed of this. She was not one of those conven- 
 tional girls, used to the tricks of society, who could see a 
 proposal long before it reached her, and always held her- 
 self in hand to accept or reject as circumstances framed her 
 wishes. She was frightened at this proposal, coming as it 
 did from a man whom she did not deem capable of so lofty 
 a sentiment, but she had to meet the offer and answer it. 
 Her father had always impressed upon her that it was a 
 compliment to a lady when a gentleman offered her his hand ; 
 this she remembered, and sat down and looked Mr. Merton 
 in the face. 
 
 " Mr. Merton," she said, " it would be a poor return for 
 all your kindness to me to accept your generous offer. I 
 do not think that any woman should give her hand where 
 her heart does not go with it. I have no heart to give ; mine 
 is a withered desert, unworthy the acceptance of any one, 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 77 
 
 and, while I thank you for the compliment you have paid 
 me, I love another, and — " 
 
 *' Stay your words, dear young lady," interrupted jNIerton ; 
 " do not drive me to such misery that my life will be a 
 wTeck. Take time to think. Remember how much may 
 depend upon your decision. I know that I am unworthy 
 of you, but remember how long I have loved you, how will- 
 ing I am to give my life for yours, that I will devote myself 
 to restoring that heart of yours to the tranquillity it has lost. 
 I will not ask your love now, I will gain it in time by such 
 acts of devotion as you could never dream of. Think of 
 your sisters, think how I will cherish them — as if they were 
 my own flesh and blood. Think how they will be cared for 
 — so that the rough winds of adversity will never touch 
 them; they will never drink of the bitter cup of poverty, and 
 their lives will be passed in elysium at your side. They are 
 young — and to secure them from want of any kind I will set- 
 tle twelve thousand pounds on them before we are married." 
 
 "You are exceedingly kind, Mr. Merton, but — " 
 
 "Sleep on this," he said, "and give me your answer at 
 this time to-morrow night. Think what I shall suffer while 
 you are deliberating and, for God's sake, do as I ask you 
 before you come to a hasty conclusion. It is my life that I 
 ask at your hands." 
 
 He bowed low to her, and left the room with an air of 
 humility that would have become a mendicant friar, but he 
 had no sooner reached a distance from the house where he 
 could not be seen than he gave way to wild exultation, so 
 that any one passing might have thought him insane. 
 
 Julia went to her room to ponder over the unexpected 
 offer made to her. She was sure that she could never marry 
 Mr. Merton, for she could never learn to love him, and with- 
 out love she believed no woman should ever marry a man. 
 She did not love — love was too sacred a feeling ever to be 
 trifled with. But she was about to receive a shock regard- 
 ing these tender feelings — one that would shatter her worldly 
 
7^ 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 idols, and make her look upon the affairs of life in a more 
 practical way than she was accustomed to. 
 
 Though her hopes in regard to Eustis Ferris had been 
 scattered to the winds, she still loved him. He had been 
 guilty of crime, and she bade adieu to the idea of ever 
 living her life with him, but she could not help loving him, 
 nevertheless. That secret she kept locked in her own heart 
 never to be divulged. Time might, perhaps, bring a cure 
 and let her weary heart rest. 
 
 Two hours passed away in these solitary musings. Sud- 
 denly she went to a drawer and took out two letters, the 
 one she had received purporting to come from Eustis, the 
 other directed to his father, with seal unbroken. " This," 
 she said to herself, *' may contain something that will excuse 
 him — some extenuating circumstances he did not mention 
 to me. He may have made himself more odious in my eyes 
 than he deserved to be, though God knows his sin is suffi- 
 ciently great as he has represented it. I have as much 
 right to open this letter as any one has, as it may relate to 
 me. My opening it can do no harm, and if it is about bus- 
 iness I can return it to Mr. Merton, the executor." She 
 broke the seal and read as follows : 
 
 •' Melbourne, March 4, i8jo. 
 
 " Dear father : Since I last wrote you, matters have 
 gone on well with me, and I am now holding the position of 
 express agent, bringing gold from the mines to Melbourne. 
 It is a gay life, or I should say rather, a fast one, and re- 
 quires all the cash I can raise to keep up with the proces- 
 sion. 
 
 " This life pays me for coming here — all sunshine and no 
 rain — and when I think how many years I threw away in 
 stupid Wiltshire, I have no patience with myself. One is 
 swimming here constantly in a sea of excitement, and time 
 is not given to think — life is so different in this country from 
 anywhere else, and one floats in a heaven of love and beauty. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 79 
 
 '* The loveliness of the women here exceeds anything I 
 have ever seen elsewhere. I once thought Julia Lester the 
 handsomest girl I knew, but there are beauties in Mel- 
 bourne before whom she would pale, and, then, many of them, 
 father, are rich, and would not object to a connection with 
 a fine-looking young fellow like myself. Your son, dear 
 father, has become a regular tramp — he goes traveling about 
 where he will, and it is impossible to keep him within 
 bounds. 
 
 " Julia Lester was always too saintly for me, and I begin 
 to feel that I don't deserve such a treasure, but, deserve it 
 or not, she is far beyond my reach. You know I can never 
 return to England, and she would not come to me even if 
 I asked her, which I don't intend to do. My fate will be 
 to marry in this country, and I have my eye on a beautiful 
 girl who will make me an excellent wife. Her father would 
 not be considered ' first chop ' in your part of the world, 
 but he has the nuggets, and that is what tells out here. 
 
 ** Good-by, my dear father. Your loving son, 
 
 "EusTis Ferris." 
 
 Julia read this letter without emotion. She saw that it 
 was vulgar and unworthy of a gentleman, and resolved that 
 she would tear the writer's image from her heart. Whatever 
 wickedness he had been guilty of she was not prepared for 
 such a letter as this. A woman will forgive almost any crime 
 in the man she loves, but when he renders himself con- 
 temptible in her eyes there is an end of affection. 
 
 Julia could not help comparing the conduct of Eustis 
 Ferris with that of Mr. Merton, who had tried so hard to 
 make her happy and had given her the last and strongest 
 proof of his affection by offering her his hand and fortune. 
 She already began to feel more kindly disposed toward 
 the latter. She shed no tears over Eustis's letter, but 
 looked upon it with scorn, and then replaced it in the 
 drawer with the other. 
 
8o ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 "While I have that," she said to herself, "and can 
 look at it occasionally, it will strengthen me in my pur- 
 pose." Then she kneeled down and prayed to God to 
 give her light so that she should do all things for the best. 
 At that moment the planet Jupiter emerged from behind a 
 cloud in all his glory, while at the same time an aerolite 
 shooting across the sky and bursting into a thousand golden 
 corruscations, lighted up the heavens in all directions. She 
 stood breathless for a moment at witnessing such a brilliant 
 sight, and, though a well-educated girl and far from super- 
 stition, she could not help viewing this phenomenon as an 
 augury of the course she should pursue. She retired to her 
 bed, and lay thinking through the long watches of the night. 
 In the morning she felt refreshed and ready to undertake 
 anything that might be demanded of her. 
 
 When Mr. Merton called in the evening he found Julia 
 awaiting him in the study. She was perfectly calm, and he 
 observed in her a spirit of restfulness to which she had long 
 been a stranger, and which he felt sure was in his favor. 
 He looked troubled and harrassed when he entered the 
 room, an appearance he could easily assume. He advanced, 
 took her hand, and said, in trembling tones : " Is it life or 
 death ? For on your fiat depends a life that would, if per- 
 mitted, devote itself to you and yours." 
 
 " Mr. Merton," she said, " I have lain awake all night 
 considering the kindness which since my father's death 
 you have showered upon me. You have done so much for 
 me that I can never repay you. The last few hours have 
 shown me the fickleness of those I considered friends and 
 the worth of one on whom I had no claim whatever. I 
 told you there was an obstacle in the way that would pre- 
 vent my becoming your wife. That obstacle exists no long- 
 er. I have read words since I saw you that would obliter- 
 ate the love of a century. I can not offer you a heart such 
 as you are worthy of, but I can offer you the duty and 
 respect which you have a right to claim from me, and if 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 8 1 
 
 in time I do not learn to hold for you a warmer feeling, 
 it will be because I am an ingrate and unworthy of your 
 affection. If you will accept me on these terms I am 
 yours and, as God may help me, I will prove to you a true 
 and faithful wife," 
 
 He took her hand in his and imprinted upon it a kiss. 
 She shuddered a little at the contact with his lips. She 
 could not help thinking of that dreadful mouth which had 
 formerly reminded her of a wolf. She shook off the feeling, 
 however, as if ashamed of it. 
 
 " Now, Julia," he said, "you are mine, and death only 
 can part us. This is the first really happy hour I have 
 had in twelve years. My career has been a checkered one, 
 but you have brought sunshine to its innermost depths. My 
 whole life will be devoted to you, and it will not be my 
 fault if we are not the happiest pair in the United King- 
 dom." 
 
 Thus the engagement took place and, whether for weal 
 or woe, Julia had committed herself to a step from which 
 there was no retracing. That day three months was appoint- 
 ed for the wedding. It took place in the church where 
 Mr. Lester used to officiate, and, owing to the short time 
 he had been dead, the wedding was a very quiet one. In 
 October, 1850, the marriage of John Merton and Julia 
 Lester was registered in the church at Lyneham, and the 
 bridal pair went to the rectory, where Julia had desired 
 to stay. 
 
 A year after her marriage Julia presented her husband 
 with a fine boy that brought joy to the mother's heart, for 
 she already felt that want of something on which to fix her 
 affections which could not be found in Mr. Merton. She 
 was kind to him and ready to perform any duty he required 
 of her, but she found she could not love him, try as she 
 might. 
 
 Love is a magic power which does not come at one's 
 bidding, and can only be retained by thousands of gentle 
 6 
 
82 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 endearments which spring from the pure in heart, who 
 having sworn to their faith on the altar of God, spend their 
 lives in nourishing the growth of a plant which will some- 
 times wither at the approach of the earliest frost. In the 
 space of one year Julia had discovered in her husband 
 traits not calculated to promote affection in the heart of a 
 pure and gentle woman. He had promised Julia that he 
 would settle twelve thousand pounds on her two sisters, and 
 after various excuses had failed to do so. 
 
 Complaints were constantly made to Mrs. Merton by 
 operatives, asking her intercession with her husband to 
 prevent their being dismissed for some trivial offense, and 
 when in the kindness of her heart she appealed to him, 
 he would tell her that women were net capable of judging 
 of such cases. It was almost as bad as if he had struck 
 her a blow. When his son was born he seemed to take 
 very little interest in an event that would have made most 
 fathers happy. He saw that everything was done that 
 should have been on such occasions. When at her request 
 he had put a monument over her father's grave, he placed 
 only a common stone. This mortified her very much and 
 caused her bitter tears. 
 
 The fact is Merton soon found out that his wife had no 
 affection for him. Love would not come at his bidding, and 
 he went so far as to tell her that more than one man at a 
 time in her heart were too many, especially as one was a fel- 
 on. Such an intercourse could not be a happy one. Julia 
 looked through the long vista of years stretching before her 
 and could see nothing to brighten her prospects. Had 
 Merton been anything but a brute he might at least have 
 v/on her esteem, but hers was not a nature to love a man 
 who had the instincts of a wild beast. After her son was 
 born it was as if a new life had opened to her, and she de- 
 termined to try and become fond of the father of her child, 
 but he moved oft' into the most remote part of the house, with 
 the excuse that he did not intend to be disturbed by the 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 83 
 
 brat's squalling. This disgusted her more than anything else 
 he had ever done, and she could hardly look at him when 
 he entered the room. When two hearts are separated by 
 an impassable barrier, there is no use in trying to heal up 
 breaches. The differences spread like streamlets overflowed 
 by the swelling rain ; then they grow into rivers, and are fi- 
 nally swollen into wide and impassable oceans. 
 
 From the first month after Arthur Merton was born 
 there was no peace in the cottage. His mother's heart was 
 wrapped up in him, and she gave him her time and thoughts, 
 while the father, seeing that a new object in life existed for 
 his wife, felt that she would never have that love for him 
 which he had so ardently wished for, forgetting that it was 
 his own fault and that he never displayed any of that tact 
 or affection so necessary to win a woman's heart. She had 
 told him from the first that she did not love him— it was left 
 for him to build the fire and light the flame if he ever wanted 
 to see a ray of love beaming from those beautiful eyes. His 
 nature was antagonistic to everything like love, and thus the 
 two had become as repellent as the opposite poles of the 
 magnet. 
 
 Days passed, and each day the baby grew in grace 
 and beauty. Everything was bought for him that could 
 please a mother's heart, and when six weeks expired a lovely 
 baby-carriage was sent home, and, the weather being fine, 
 it was determined that Arthur Lester Merton, as the baby 
 was named, after his grandfather, should be taken for an 
 airing. At noon he was placed in his carriage and there 
 propped with pillows to give him all possible comfort during 
 the coming ride. The fond mother could not have been 
 prouder than when she saw the precious one in the carriage, 
 winking his little eyes, for the first time subjected to the full 
 light of day. 
 
 The party started off in the direction of the mills, pro- 
 ceeding slowly to avoid ruts and stones that might jar too 
 roughly, under which soothing influence the child went to 
 
84 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 sleep, his mother watching by his side while the careful 
 nurse propelled the carriage along the road. They had 
 gone about a quarter of a mile when a man dressed in trav- 
 eling costume was seen coming from the opposite direction 
 with a carpet-bag in his hand. As he came up he stopped, 
 raised his hat, and looked earnestly at Mrs. Merton. It was 
 no other than the clerk Brush who had prepared the letters 
 purporting to come from Eustis Ferris. 
 
 When Mrs. Merton saw this ill-favored person approach- 
 ing her baby's carriage she became alarmed and put her 
 arms over the infant to shield him from harm, as a hen cov- 
 ers her brood with her wings at the approach of the hawk. 
 The man seeing the lady was alarmed, said, in a low voice : 
 *' Fear nothing, madam, I intend you no harm. I have 
 done you harm enough already, and do not wish to do you 
 any more. I am Mr. Brush, your husband's accountant, 
 and leave England to-morrow, but before I go I have a 
 confession to make which you must hear. I can unravel 
 a mystery and dispossess your mind of the belief that Eus- 
 tis Ferris was untrue to you. The letters you received 
 purporting to be from your friend were forgeries. He 
 never wrote them, and all his letters to you were intercepted. 
 I would like to speak privately to you at your home for half 
 an hour, and what I will reveal will make your blood run 
 cold." 
 
 Julia's heart almost stopped beating on hearing these 
 words. She feared the nurse might understand what Brush 
 was saying, so stood a little to one side, and told the speaker 
 to go on. Her prophetic soul assured her that Brush had 
 spoken the truth ; she thought rapidly and soon worked out 
 in her mind a chain of events that had brought her to so 
 painful a condition. If the statements made by this man 
 were true then her life had been wrecked, but as she looked 
 at her child, sleeping sweetly in the carriage, she said to her- 
 self : " If all this is true, I will take him away and live for 
 him alone where no ill can befall him." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 85 
 
 Turning toward her, Brush continued : " Mr. Merton 
 has gone to Rochester, and will not return until to-morrow. 
 If I do not tell my story this morning you will never know 
 it, for Mr. Merton has commanded me to leave England in 
 twenty-four hours, and never to return without his per- 
 1 mission. I dare not disobey him. For your own sake, 
 madam, grant my request." 
 
 That there was some further dreadful revelation forth- 
 coming Julia could not doubt from what Brush had already 
 disclosed, a revelation that would crush her life out. Julia 
 had borne a great deal in the last two years ; had felt grief 
 enough to have killed an ordinary woman, but hers was 
 that elastic spirit which repels the shafts of adversity. She 
 had suffered so much that she could suffer no more. She 
 had been melted in the crucible of affliction until insensi- 
 ble to mental pain. All she thought of now was shielding her 
 child from ills that might befall him, and if that could be 
 done the world might run on as it would. In a moment 
 she had thought out everything she had to do. If this man 
 were lying she could detect him ; if he were not, then she 
 prayed God to help and comfort her. 
 
 Turning to Brush, she said : '' If this is a wicked inven- 
 tion with which you intend to wreck my life, may you re- 
 ceive your punishment in this and the world to come." 
 
 "So help me God, madam," said Brush, 'Sf I fail to tell 
 the truth, may God condemn me to eternal punishment. I 
 am not a saint, by any means, but I am an angel of light 
 compared with John Merton." 
 
 Julia shuddered, and in a husky voice requested Brush 
 to go on and wait for her, that she would join him in a few 
 minutes. Brush w^ent as she desired. In his heart he pitied 
 the lady to whom he was about to divulge the particulars of 
 a horrible crime, though it may well be surmised that the 
 motives that impelled such a man did not emanate from any 
 remnant of principle, but were instigated by revenge against 
 the man who had ground him under his heel. Brush went 
 
86 ARTHUR ME R TON. 
 
 toward the house, arranging his story on the way, so that 
 he could get through with it as soon as possible, for he had 
 to leave by the afternoon train in order to take passage next 
 morning from England. He dared not remain in the country 
 longer — that would ruin him, for from Merton's grip he 
 could not escape without crossing the ocean. He reached 
 the house, and sat in the porch to wait for Julia. 
 
 She soon arrived, took the child from the carriage, and 
 gave him a fond kiss as she deposited him in his crib, and 
 went down to her visitor. She requested Brush to follow 
 her into the parlor, and, motioning him to sit down, said : 
 " Now tell me this strange story in as few words as possible. 
 If you bear false witness God will punish you." 
 
 "I am not particularly afraid of Heavenly punishment, 
 madam," said Brush, " If it had been intended that I 
 should be punished for my sins I should have passed through 
 all the pains of Tartarus by this time. It is devils on this 
 earth that I fear, and most of all John Merton, Look at 
 his wolfish countenance and ask yourself if there can be any 
 good in a man with such a face." 
 
 Julia shuddered, but said nothing. 
 
 " You will have to believe me," said Brush, *' whether 
 you want to or not, the evidence is so strong. I have been 
 identified with Mr. Merton for ten years, during which time 
 I have been his slave. It will not be necessary to refer to all 
 our dealings. What I tell you will suffice for your purpose, 
 or for your protection. In my younger days Merton con- 
 victed me of a crime that condemned me to imprisonment. 
 Then he helped me to escape to Australia, but he has still 
 evidence against me, and I am as much in his power as 
 ever," 
 
 " How can I believe a man convicted of crime ? " asked 
 Julia, in a faltering voice. 
 
 " Because you will be convinced by the circumstances 
 that what I tell you is true. Two years ago you became 
 engaged to Eustis Ferris, about which time Mr. Merton first 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 87 
 
 saw you. Captivated by your beauty, he determined to win 
 you, and in order to carry out his intentions, sent for me — 
 for he never lost sight of me, as I was necessary to his 
 plans." Brush then detailed the dark plot that had sent 
 Eustis Ferris to Australia and wrecked the hopes of his 
 promised bride. 
 
 Julia thought she would die while Brush was reciting 
 his tale, and when he had finished she wept convulsively. 
 At last she exclaimed : " O God, that such crimes should 
 be permitted to go unpunished I But how do I know that 
 you have not some revengeful motive in telling me this ? 
 Your hands, by your own confession, are too deeply stained 
 with crime to permit me to accept your story without irrefrag- 
 able proofs. Give them to me at once ! Oh ! poor Eustis, 
 how he must have suffered at my infidelity ! And how is it 
 that I never heard from him at all ? " 
 
 " For the reason that all his letters have been intercepted 
 and false ones written to him. Here is a letter he wrote you 
 which I secured. Read it, and you will see what misery 
 Merton has brought upon two people who, but for him, 
 would have been happy. Read this letter, Mrs. Merton, 
 and you will see that it is not forged." 
 
 " Andjiw/ forged the letter I received.^ " she said, indig- 
 nantly. "Why did you commit such a crime ? " 
 
 " To keep out of prison, madam. John Merton can 
 have me locked up at any time, and for that reason I must 
 get out of England as soon as possible. Before going, I 
 determined I would do some good for once in my life." 
 
 '' You must be very wicked," she said, " to be obliged to 
 stand in such terror of any man." 
 
 " I am, madam, wicked to the core, but no crime that 
 I ever committed touched my heart as this one has done. 
 But, madam, time is precious, and I must be off. Here is a 
 letter in John Merton's handwriting. It is a draft he made 
 for me to forge of the last letter sent you, purporting to be 
 a letter from Eustis Ferris to his father. You remember the 
 
88 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 contents. In that letter Eustis Ferris is made to speak 
 slightingly of you, while the unhappy man worships the 
 ground on which you stand. I read the letter he actually 
 wrote at that time. It was so full of love that none but 
 villains like Merton and myself could have had the heart 
 to keep it from you." 
 
 *' Oh, my God ! " exclaimed Julia, " how my life has 
 been blasted ! " and hot, scalding tears fell from her eyes. 
 *' What help have I ? What redress can I obtain ? Who 
 will believe such a disgraceful story } Then this tale of 
 Eustis Ferris committing a forgery will be brought up 
 against him." 
 
 *' He committed no more forgery than you did," said 
 Brush. " It was part of the plan to get him out of the 
 country, so that Mr. Merton could marry you. The plot 
 was so well laid that it would not have been possible for 
 Ferris to escape. The only thing he could do was to go 
 away. Had he defied Merton, long before this he would 
 have been condemned to penal servitude." 
 
 She shuddered and could scarcely hold up. " Oh, 
 poor Eustis," she cried, in agony, "how much you have 
 borne for me, while I, false to you, believed the cruel stories 
 against you, and even my dear father thought you a forger ! 
 Life is over for me, but I hope we shall one day be united 
 in another and a better world. But, Mr. Brush, if all you 
 tell me is true, I will not live another day with Mr, Merton. 
 I will take my child and go to the uttermost end of the 
 earth. My soul can have no communion with such a 
 wretch as that." 
 
 Brush shook his head deprecatingly. "No, madam," he 
 said, " you are in his power and can not escape him. You 
 must bide your time or he will make your life a hell. You 
 have a child, which fact gives him command over you to 
 wound and torture you if you attempt to oppose him in 
 anything, but the power you possess over him by the 
 knowledge you have obtained will enable you to control 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 89 
 
 him in a measure, so that he may treat you more kindly 
 than he does those who are in his hands, and the day may 
 come when you will gain a release from his tyranny. Now 
 he has millions at his disposal and will not hesitate to use 
 them. He is ambitious to stand well in the county. Be 
 prudent, or he will put you in a mad-house and separate 
 you from your child." 
 
 Julia groaned in agony, and fell upon the floor, where she 
 sobbed until her heart almost broke with anguish. She saw 
 no hope of happiness, or even safety from persecution in 
 this world, and felt as if she could take her baby and seek 
 rest in some obscure retreat, where no one could ever 
 trouble her, and where she could devote herself to God for 
 the remainder of her life. She rose from the floor, and look- 
 ing Brush earnestly in the face, said : " Could you not help 
 me to reach AustraHa .? I would go there, if but to ask Eus- 
 tis's pardon — I have been such a traitoress to him ; but per- 
 haps he would scorn me." 
 
 " Attempt nothing of that kind," said Brush. " John Mer- 
 ton has long arms and a deep purse. His power is great, 
 and I hardly hope to escape him. Two days ago he said to 
 me : ' England is not large enough for you and me. In 
 two days be on your way to America, and see that you hold 
 no communication with a living soul ere you leave here.' 
 He flung me a fifty-pound note, and left without another 
 word. I shall not, however, go to America ; I shall go to 
 Southampton and sail for Australia, where I shall see Eus- 
 tis Ferris, tell him of this damnable plot, and throw myself 
 upon his mercy. He will kill me, perhaps, but that would 
 be better than leading the dog's life I do here. Be patient, 
 madam ; all will be right. In a few months your story will 
 be in the hands of the best friend you have in the world, and 
 on him you can rely in case of need." 
 
 " Ah, yes," she said, " do go there. Tell him all, and he 
 will perhaps forgive me, if you will only let him know how 
 I have been duped, and how I have suffered and continue 
 
90 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 to suffer. I will forgive you your crimes against myself, and 
 pray to God that he may forgive you also." 
 
 " And, now, madam," said Brush, " I have but a short 
 time to reach the train. I dare not miss it, so bid you fare- 
 well, and hope you will heed my advice, and, above all 
 things, never let John Merton know that you have held 
 communication with me." With that he started off, and 
 Julia saw him no more. Whether he ever conveyed her 
 message to Eustis Ferris was unknown to her, and for a 
 long time she had not even the satisfaction of knowing 
 whether he went to Australia or not. 
 
 She reached her bedroom almost in a state of stupefac- 
 tion, her head whirling from the effect of the dreadful tale 
 which had been imparted to her by Brush, and, though from 
 his own account he was a great scoundrel, she was satisfied 
 that he had told her nothing but the truth. To say that 
 she execrated the man who called himself her husband 
 would but faintly express her feelings. She had no inten- 
 tion to do him bodily harm, but she knelt down in the soli- 
 tude of her chamber and prayed God to punish him as he 
 deserved to be, and to separate her life from his as far as 
 the antipodes. She sat by the cradle of her boy, and wept 
 bitterly over her misfortunes till the shades of evening be- 
 gan to steal over the landscape. She there thought and 
 thought, until her brain was wearied, and then threw herself 
 upon the bed and wept herself to sleep. 
 
 Julia remained in her room two weeks on the plea of 
 sickness, during which time, though Merton inquired for her, 
 she would not see him for fear she might do something to 
 compromise herself and Brush who, though a scoundrel of 
 the deepest dye, had acted in a friendly way toward her. 
 She remembered the- warning he had given her, not to anger 
 Merton or to arouse his supicions for fear that he would sep- 
 arate her from the child and place her in a mad-house. 
 Such an idea was like death, and she determined to be on her 
 guard in dealing with the cunning scoundrel, her husband. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 91 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Another year passed away, the child grew apace, and 
 the mother's heart was stirred to its depths on witnessing 
 his beauty and intelligence ? She was never lonely now, 
 but felt that she would one day have a protector in her son 
 who would watch over her and redress her wrongs. The 
 father seldom saw the child, and then only when it went 
 out for the fresh air. By a tacit understanding the wife 
 and husband lived apart, and she only met him at dinner, 
 where neither had much to say. After the meal was over, 
 Julia went to her room to caress her child and Merton 
 drifted into the study where he smoked away the hours, 
 thinking that he had wasted money and time in marrying a 
 woman who treated him with indifference and actually 
 seemed to dislike him. There was something in his wife's 
 manner that troubled him. He thought that Brush might 
 have communicated with her before he left Wiltshire, and if 
 so that would explain her peculiar behavior, but he dis- 
 missed the idea, saying to himself : " Brush is at my mercy, 
 and is too much under my control to attempt anything of 
 that kind." And so days and weeks and months passed 
 away while these two were drifting farther apart all the 
 time. 
 
 Julia had suddenly awoke to the knowledge of the crime 
 that had been perpetrated against her, and that she was in 
 the hands of an unscrupulous villain who would not hesi- 
 tate to destroy her and her child rather than have his conduct 
 known to the world. Now that she had been put upon her 
 guard, this delicate, helpless woman was playing a part to 
 prevent coming in contact with her husband, and at the 
 same time trying not to excite his suspicions until she could 
 escape with her child to some place of refuge. She knew 
 she could not obtain a divorce on such charges as she could 
 bring against him, for she could not prove them, so she re- 
 
92 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 solved to bide her time. He, on the other hand, watched 
 her as a cat would a mouse, ready to pounce upon her the 
 moment he saw that she suspected him. 
 
 It was a dreadful life for Julia. She had no companions, 
 her sisters having been sent to a lady's seminary at Roches- 
 ter, and only came home at the Christmas holidays, and 
 since his marriage Mr. Merton had not encouraged visitors, 
 but, on the contrary, had given people to understand that 
 he wanted none. The consequence was that the people of 
 the cottage were left to themselves, and the only occupation 
 Julia had was in taking care of her baby. In one of his fits 
 of ill-humor, Mr. Merton had given the -housekeeper charge 
 of the house, on the ground that Mrs. Merton was entirely 
 incapable of attending to it. This was a relief to Julia 
 rather than otherwise, for she saw less of the man who had 
 ruined her life, and she disliked him so that she would have 
 been happy to have left him forever. 
 
 Day after day her annoyance increased. On the final 
 return of her sisters from the seminary, for the first time 
 in years a ray of sunshine illuminated her heart. The child 
 was then four years old, beautiful and intelligent, and the 
 house was for a time comparatively comfortable. With 
 the accession to her forces, Julia felt more independent, and 
 now that her son was such a big boy she felt that she would 
 soon have a protector. 
 
 Mr. Merton was not pleased at the return of the sisters 
 from school, though they were two pretty girls who made 
 the house ring with laughter. He placed so many restric- 
 tions about them that they soon wished themselves back at 
 school. In fact his time while in the house was spent in 
 annoying the family, so that Julia's position instead of being 
 bettered by the companionship of her sisters, was made 
 much worse, and she determined to remonstrate with her 
 husband on the first opportunity. 
 
 One day Julia was sitting in the study when Mr. Merton 
 unexpectedly entered the room. He started back, for it was 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 93 
 
 the first time in a week he had seen his wife who had sedu- 
 lously avoided him. 
 
 " This is an honor I did not expect," he said, " but 
 please don't let that brat meddle with my books and papers. 
 The nursery is the place for that kind of vermin," and he 
 looked daggers at the child, who ran behind his mother and 
 hid his face in alarm. 
 
 Julia grasped the child and started to leave the room, 
 indignant at the epithet used toward her darling, but Mer- 
 ton put himself in her way with his hand on the door-knob. 
 *' No," he said, " you shall not go out of this room until I 
 have had a talk with you. Sit down ! " His jaws snapped 
 in that wolfish way that she had witnessed on so many 
 occasions in the past. There was no help for it, and she 
 sat down again, clasping the child to her breast as if to pro- 
 tect him. 
 
 *' Now," said Merton, " give me some explanation of your 
 conduct for the last few years. I am tired of it, and I do 
 not see why I should support a set of people in rebellion 
 against me, who do all they can to annoy me. Since your 
 sisters came home you defy me more than ever, and if it was 
 not that I believe you to be weak minded, I would not put 
 up with your conduct a day." 
 
 This was pretty much like what the wolf told the lamb 
 when he was drinking and charged him with muddying the 
 stream. The charge was so unjust that Julia's anger was 
 excited, and she turned upon him with withering scorn, tell- 
 ing him that he had made her life hateful to her ever since 
 their marriage. " Look at me," she said, " I am a wreck, 
 and you have made me so." 
 
 He regarded her with astonishment to think that any 
 one in his household should dare address such language 
 to him. "Are you crazy?" he asked. "Do you court 
 destruction ? " His jaws snapped and his eyes flamed like 
 those of a wild animal. 
 
 But Julia did not quail before him. She was imbued 
 
94 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 with a courage for which she could not herself account. 
 Had she not her boy by her side, and did she not feel safe 
 while he was there ? She said nothing but looked defiantly 
 at her husband. 
 
 Merton was surprised at this, and like a coward, he 
 quailed before her. Then he said : " Listen, Julia, you are 
 taking a wrong course. You do not go to work in the right 
 way to win my good will. You are forging fetters for your 
 limbs that will cut into your flesh ere you come to the end 
 of your journey. You are — " 
 
 *'Tell me what forgery means," she interrupted. 
 
 " Forgery .? " he replied. " Who said anything about 
 forgery ? Do you understand the English language ? " 
 
 " I do," she said. " My father had me taught thoroughly. 
 I want you to tell me what the v^oxd forgery means." 
 
 He looked astonished at the turn matters were taking, 
 but replied: ''Forgery is imitating a man's writing on a 
 check and thereby stealing money." 
 
 " Is there no other kind of forgery ? " she asked. " Can 
 not a man imitate another's writing in a letter and steal 
 away his character and happiness ? " 
 
 " What do you mean by asking me such foolish ques- 
 tions ?" he demanded. " Did you ever know a man named 
 Brush I had in my employ two years and a half ago, and 
 did he communicate with you before he left this place for 
 America?" 
 
 She scorned to lie. "He did," she replied. "What 
 has become of him } " 
 
 He turned livid when she said this, and his jaws 
 snapped loudly. " I thought so," he said, " for you changed 
 from that time. What does Brush's whereabouts concern 
 you. Well, if you want to know, he went to Liverpool, and 
 engaged passage for America under his own name, with my 
 detective at his heels. He then proceeded to Southamp- 
 ton and secured passage for Australia, under the name of 
 James North. The steamxer was to have sailed that night, 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 95 
 
 but I telegraphed to have him arrested under a charge of 
 forgery and robbery, and the fool has been rotting in prison 
 ever since. Did the ass suppose that I would permit him 
 to go anywhere but the place I directed him ? I have a 
 long arm and means to cause myself to be obeyed, and I 
 w^arn you now that you are not exempt from that obedience. 
 I claim this from those who accept my bounty and enjoy 
 my support." 
 
 Poor Julia was almost paralyzed with fear when she saw 
 what power this man could exercise over her and her child. 
 Her eyes were fixed upon him with terror, while the perspi- 
 ration stood upon her brow and her face wore a look of de- 
 spair. She put her hands to her head, as if to keep it from 
 bursting, while her darling boy stood with his little fist 
 clinched ready to protect his mother. *' Go away, bad man," 
 he said, " don't make my mamma cry." Merton gave a sar- 
 donic laugh, snapped his jaws, and strode from the room, 
 slamming the door after him. 
 
 Ever since she had parted with Kirby Brush, Julia had 
 buoyed herself up with the idea that Eustis Ferris had been 
 informed over three years before how it was she had become 
 John Merton's wife and had exonerated her in his heart, but 
 now all these hopes were crushed to earth. Eustis Ferris 
 was, no doubt, still ignorant of the fate that had befallen 
 her. He must have heard of her marriage, for it had been 
 published in many newspapers in England which, no doubt, 
 had found their way to Australia. She wept until her eyes 
 ached to think that all her hopes of an explanation with her 
 ill-treated lover had been dashed to the ground. And then 
 when she reflected how inhumanly Brush had been treated 
 for his kindness to her it made her blood run cold. In her 
 mind's eye she could see him in prison, dragging the weary 
 hours along, his naturally attenuated form reduced to skin 
 and bones by the heavy labor to which he was condemned. 
 He had done her great wrong, it is true, but he had been 
 forced to it by a demon who held him in his power, and if 
 
96 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 he had escaped from Merton, he would have put the man 
 she loved in possession of all the facts of her case, and he 
 would have forgiven her. 
 
 She sat in the study with her child, who tried all his in- 
 fantile endearments to console and comfort her, but it was 
 useless. Her last hope had departed, and she saw nothing 
 in the future but utter misery. She wished to lie down and 
 die, but when she saw her darling with wistful eyes looking 
 up into her face, she clasped him convulsively in her arms, 
 and said to herself, " No ! I will live for your sake, and pro- 
 tect you from the the wicked man whom I so hate." 
 
 From that time persecutions came thick and heavy, but 
 what pained Julia most was Merton's treatment of her sis- 
 ters. He showered every indignity upon them, denying 
 them the necessities of life. The girls, to escape the thrall- 
 dom in which they were kept, became engaged and were 
 married at about the same time, but they were forbidden 
 the house afterward on the ground that they had married 
 without Merton's consent, and he would neither allow his 
 wife to be present at the ceremony nor to visit them. 
 
 Julia's life became so unbearable at last that she deter- 
 mined to escape from her persecutor at the first favorable 
 opportunity. Her boy was now nine years old, and how she 
 had ever struggled through the long years she never knew. 
 Only the love of her child consoled and strengthened her. 
 She was but the shadow of her former self, although still 
 beautiful, but she appeared like an ethereal being who had 
 left the realms above to dwell for a while in this world of woe, 
 to teach humanity how to bear their sufferings and disap- 
 pointments. She did not know, but suspected that a detect- 
 ive was set to watch her, for what reason she could not sur- 
 mise. She frequently, in her walks, met a man who seemed 
 to observe her movements. The tenth year after her mar- 
 riage this person disappeared from the neighborhood, and 
 she determined to put in operation a plan she had long cher- 
 ished. She had saved up what money she could, and de- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 97 
 
 termined when opportunity offered to escape to France and 
 secrete herself in some small village where no one would 
 think of looking for her. 
 
 One day her husband gave the housekeeper an order to 
 pack his portmanteau and started on the noon train for Lon- 
 don for a week's absence. Another train left that night at 
 eight o'clock connecting with one to Dover, and Julia de- 
 cided to take advantage of the opportunity and escape. She 
 packed a small trunk with the necessary clothing for herself 
 and child, and at the proper hour sent for a carriage. She 
 was trembling in every limb, and her heart was beating with 
 anxiety, Here, at last, was the long looked for chance to 
 emancipate herself and child, and she felt hopeful of success. 
 She attired herself in a plain gray traveling costume, with 
 a thick veil. She dressed her boy in girl's clothing with a 
 veil over his face, so that it seemed unlikely for any one to 
 recognize them. She alighted from the carriage at the sta- 
 tion, and went straight to the booking office, holding her 
 child's hand, and booked for Dover. She looked carefully 
 over the room to see if there was any one she knew, but there 
 were only three persons in the office, one of them wrapped 
 in a cloak and apparently asleep. When she booked to 
 Dover, this individual arose, came noiselessly behind Julia, 
 grasped her roughly by the shoulder, and whispered in a 
 voice she knew to her horror, " Come home, and don't try this 
 again." With that he drew her roughly away from the win- 
 dow. 
 
 Merton walked straight to the door with his two prison- 
 ers in charge, pushed them into the carriage, flung the trunk 
 on top, and said to the driver : " Drive back to where you 
 came from, and if you or any other cabman ever call at 
 my house without an order from me I will put you in 
 ' chokey.' " 
 
 Julia entered the house again, dazed with fear and an- 
 guish at witnessing the wonderful power of this man of 
 whom every one seemed to stand in dread, for even the 
 7 
 
98 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 saucy coachman, who always had an impudent word for 
 any one who spoke crossly to him, seemed subdued. 
 
 " Go up-stairs," said Merton, "' and thank your stars you 
 did not reach Dover, for I have a detective there who has 
 been shadowing you for a long time. Had you gone there, 
 he had orders to lock you up and bring your child to me. 
 You are my property, and can not go from me till I permit 
 you. You are not desirable property, to be sure, but a man 
 often keeps a vicious horse without being able to give a 
 reason, perhaps with a hope of some day being able to 
 tame him." 
 
 Julia said nothing, but stood with a look on her face as 
 if she did not care what became of her. He went close 
 to her with a threatening manner and his face wore the 
 expression of a demon. He put his hand upon her shoulder, 
 but she shrunk away from him as if from a loathsome 
 reptile. " What were you about to do 1 What did you ex- 
 pect to do } " he said. 
 
 "To escape from you forever," she replied, " and relieve 
 myself from a thralldom worse than death. You have 
 wrecked my life and parted me from the man I loved, and 
 I hate you." 
 
 Merton laughed in a sardonic manner, and taking up a 
 chair, dashed it to pieces on the floor. " I can crush you 
 just like that," he said, *' and now mind what I tell you. The 
 next time you try this game I will put you in a mad-house 
 and part you from your child. You are not in a condition 
 to have charge of him." 
 
 She staggered as if she had received a blow from a dag- 
 ger, but recovered herself in a moment, seized her child by 
 the hand, and rushing up-stairs to her room, locked the door, 
 and fell exhausted upon the sofa, where mother and child 
 wept together. This was the only time Julia attempted to 
 escape. She saw it was useless to contend against a man 
 with a will of iron and a heart of stone, and so determined 
 to bear with patience the ills from which she could not es- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 99 
 
 cape rather than run the risk of having her child taken from 
 her, which she felt would be the . case if the fiend who 
 claimed her as his property could find an excuse for doing 
 so. He could not obtain her love, of that he was aware, 
 and like all base minds he would take satisfaction in per- 
 secuting her. 
 
 Time went on. Julia's life was a purgatory, and but for 
 her child she would have laid down and died, thanking God 
 for her release, but she felt she had duties to perform to 
 her son and that she must live for him. She had been well 
 educated; and she transmitted her knowledge to Arthur, so 
 that he was better taught than boys of his age generally. 
 She taught him music, and he soon became a fair performer 
 on the piano. She looked after his physical training and 
 frequently went with him to the woods where he would climb 
 to the tops of the highest trees, or clamber out on the lowest 
 branches and frighten his mother by dropping to the ground. 
 He would start off like a deer and make the circuit of the 
 woods in wonderful time, and come in almost as fresh as 
 when he started, his flashing eyes and ruddy cheeks giving 
 evidence of his enjoyment of the sport. He was a remark- 
 ably strong boy, and bade fair to be proficient in athletic 
 exercises. 
 
 But while Arthur was increasing in strength and knowl- 
 edge, his mother w^as fading. The boy could see it plainly, 
 and his tearful eyes rested constantly upon her. At last he 
 persuaded his mother to consult the family physician, who 
 gave it as his opinion that Julia would not live unless she had 
 a change of air, though he could find no physical ailment in 
 her. When the doctor mentioned the matter to Mr. Mer- 
 ton, the latter offered no opposition to the plan of a change 
 for Mrs. Merton. Indeed he had been for some time think- 
 ing seriously of purchasing an estate at some distance from 
 the mills. He had amassed a large fortune by grinding the 
 poor, and his position in the county was becoming unpleas- 
 ant. Since the rector's death the few neighboring gentle- 
 
lOO ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 men who had noticed him had cut his acquaintance. It 
 was reported that he had ill-treated his wife and driven 
 her sisters out of the house, and there was other gossip such 
 as is generally spread by servants ; in fact, people in the 
 parish seemed to think Mr. Merton a very evil person. 
 
 On one occasion he refused to pay a butcher's bill on 
 the ground that it was exorbitant and, as he passed the 
 butcher's shop later in the day, that double-fisted fellow 
 called after his debtor : " Ah, there you go, ye blarsted 
 aristocrat ! May the devil fly away with ye ! An I could 
 get my ten fingers round yer throat, I'd pay ye not only fer 
 refusin' to pay my bill, but fer ill-treatin' yer wife." Merton 
 hurried on out of the man's sight, fearing every minute that 
 he would feel the weight of his brawny arm. 
 
 Another day he passed a school-house while the boys 
 were at recess. As soon as they saw him they set up a cry, 
 ** Stop, wolf," and pelted him with stones. " So much," they 
 cried, " for an ill-treater of women ! " From time to time 
 he received various other insults, and hence determined to 
 fix his abode elsewhere and have an agent at the mills to 
 carry on the work. So it was that Mr. Merton purchased 
 Woodlawn and took up his abode there as has already been 
 related. 
 
 Though bound by natural ties to her birthplace, Julia 
 had suffered too much there to regret leaving Lyneham. A 
 hope, indeed, arose in her heart that something might oc- 
 cur to better her condition in her new home, and she hoped 
 the change of air might restore her to health and enable her 
 to watch over her boy, who was now the object in life upon 
 which her affection centered. We will leave them at Wood- 
 lawn for a time, where they were left by Merton unmolested 
 and to themselves. Every morning at six o'clock the man- 
 ufacturer was up and on his way by rail to Lyneham, and 
 did not return until ten at night when his family had retired, 
 so that he was seldom seen, except on Sundays. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. loi 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Over twelve years had elapsed since anything had been 
 heard of Eustis Ferris. 
 
 He had written constantly from Australia, bat his letters 
 were all intercepted by Merton. Eustis on his part heard 
 nothing ; his loving words were lost to her who would have 
 given so much to have received them. At one time, in de- 
 spair at receiving no letters, Eustis determined to return to 
 England and brave the charge of forgery which hung over 
 him, although he was aware it was so adroitly framed that it 
 would be almost impossible to clear himself. The fact that 
 he had suddenly left the country and remained away would 
 be additional evidence against him. 
 
 While he was thus debating, he received a newspaper 
 with a notice of his father's death, which had occurred seven 
 months before the date of the paper, which also contained 
 an account of a forgery on the Bank of Commerce in Lon- 
 don, by a young man of respectable family near Lyneham. 
 It was supposed that the forger, whose name was not given, 
 had gone to America, as all traces of him had been lost. 
 
 The news of his father's death was a sad blew to Eustis, 
 particularly as he feared it had been occasioned by the 
 threatened exposure of his son. It put a stop to the inten- 
 tion of returning to England, where, without his father's aid, 
 he would be powerless. He felt sure of one thing — some 
 one was desirous to get him out of England, for what pur- 
 pose he could not imagine. He could not doubt that the 
 plot emanated from Merton's former accountant, whom he 
 had had the misfortune to offend. For the present, Eustis 
 determined to rem^ain in Australia and watch the progress of 
 events, although the suspense caused by not hearing frora 
 Julia almost killed him. 
 
 The work he was engaged in was laborious, but it was 
 unflinchingly performed. It was the more welcome, as it 
 
102 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 tended to distract his mind from thoughts of home. He 
 was often occupied until late in the evening at the office, 
 and would go thence to his lodgings on Gray Street, where, 
 after a frugal meal, he would sit far into the night brooding 
 over his troubles. Eustis had taken to smoking as a relief, 
 and had it not been for the soothing effects of tobacco there 
 is no knowing what might have become of him, for this nar- 
 cotic, so unpleasant to wives and lodging-house keepers, in 
 moments of trouble often stays a man's hand who would 
 otherwise make haste to " shuffle off this mortal coil," and 
 lifts him from Tartarus to Elysium. 
 
 Thus Eustis sat night after night smoking in his room, 
 and morning found him lying on his bed hardly knowing 
 how he got there. Every succeeding day told upon his 
 physical condition which his employers regarded with much 
 concern. 
 
 Then came the crowning blow. 
 
 A year and a half after Eustis's arrival in Melbourne a 
 letter reached him bearing the Lyneham post-mark. It was 
 some time before he could command himself sufficiently to 
 open it, and he put the letter in his pocket and continued 
 his work in a very nervous manner until the manager, notic- 
 ing his appearance, said : '' Mr. Ferris, you are not well ; let 
 me advise you to go home." 
 
 "Thank you," said Eustis. "I will take advantage of 
 your offer." So saying, he departed for his lodgings. 
 There, locking his room door, he opened the envelope, which 
 contained a slip from a newspaper, and read : '' Married, 
 April 30, 185 1, at St. John's Church, Lyneham, Mr. John 
 Merton to Miss Julia Lester." That was all, but it was too 
 much for Eustis in his weak condition, and he fell to the 
 floor insensible. 
 
 His landlady in the room below hearing the fall ran up- 
 stairs to see what was the matter, and finding the room door 
 locked sent for help, had it burst open, and finding her lodger 
 apparently dying, sent for the nearest physician. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 103 
 
 The doctor saw the envelope on the floor and also the 
 newspaper slip, and on reading the marriage notice divined 
 the cause of Eustis's sudden illness. As soon as possible 
 the young man was pat to bed, where for three weeks he 
 lay hovering between life and death, but a good constitution 
 and good treatment carried him safely through the crisis, 
 and he finally regained consciousness, but oh, how changed 
 from the handsome young fellow who had left the bank but 
 three weeks before ! He seemed a total wreck, and looked 
 as if he would never again be restored to health. 
 
 After coming to his senses and being informed by the 
 physician how long he had been ill, Eustis remembered the 
 marriage notice, and on inquiring what had become of it the 
 doctor handed it to him, saying : "I think I understand the 
 case, but take comfort in the reflection that what can not be 
 cured must be endured. You are young, just beginning life, 
 and this may be a blessing in disguise." So the well-mean- 
 ing physician went on trying to cheer up his patient, but with 
 very little success, for to all his attempts at consolation, Eus- 
 tis replied: " There is no hope of happiness for me on earth ; 
 death is my only refuge." 
 
 For a time it seemed that his wish would be realized. He 
 lingered so long in a weak condition that the doctor could 
 see no change from day to day, and the invalid became so 
 emaciated that he had not strength to move himself in bed. 
 
 Suddenly there came upon him a revelation, and he saw 
 the whole plot that had been laid against him. John Mer- 
 ton himself was the author of the scheme. The man whom he 
 had always disliked had been anxious to get rid of him that 
 he might marry Julia Lester. The whole thing was plain as 
 daylight to him now, but how his heart ached, when he 
 thought of how his name had been dishonored and how Julia 
 must have suffered when told that he was a forger, and of 
 the anger of the rector at his presumption in wishing to 
 marry his innocent daughter ! 
 
 These reflections were maddening, but still were of service 
 
I04 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 to Eustis, who now determined to get well if he could, in order 
 to inflict condign punishment upon the wretch who had com- 
 mitted such outrages. 
 
 In the end he did recover his health sufficiently to re- 
 sume his position at the bank, but he was the mere shadow 
 of his former self, like some noble edifice swept by a confla- 
 gration, which, though marred in beauty, could yet be rebuilt 
 and restored to its original luster. 
 
 Eustis was received with much kindness by the manager 
 and by all his associates in the bank, where he was a general 
 favorite, but there was an entirely new expression in his face, 
 a determination as if he had set himself some desperate task. 
 Sometimes he would suddenly stop and stare intently, as if 
 at some object in the far distance, then, recovering himself 
 with a great effort, go on with his work. 
 
 Eustis was known by all the frequenters of the bank as 
 one of the most trustworthy of men, and so much business 
 did he bring to the concern that the manager had increased 
 his salary and given him general charge of affairs. 
 
 We must now leave him and return to the Merton family 
 whom we have seen lately settled at Woodlawn. It will be 
 curious to see how persons scattered over the world will all 
 be found working toward a common center, as particles 
 of iron are attracted to the magnet. That unseen power 
 may be fate, or it may be Providence, but whatever it is, 
 when great crimes are committed a Nemesis follows in the 
 train of the criminals to deal out to them the punishment 
 they deserve. 
 
 The innocent may suffer for a time — we can not account 
 for the seeming inconsistency — but in the end the guilty will 
 be punished. 
 
 We left Julia Merton and her son for the first time look- 
 ing forward to some enjoyment in their new home. Al- 
 though they had not been consulted about the removal from 
 Wiltshire, yet the change was greatly to their satisfaction. 
 
 Mr. Merton was seldom at home, except on a Sunday, and. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 105 
 
 consequently, his family were able to enjoy their beautiful 
 surroundings. 
 
 Squire Pentland and his wife had, of course, learned of 
 the new arrivals at Woodlawn, and the next Sunday after 
 church determined to call on their way home and pay their 
 respects to the new comers. Hearing that there was a boy 
 of his own age in the Merton family, the Pentlands took Ron- 
 nald with them, much to the latter's delight, for he longed 
 for a suitable companion of his own age. 
 
 The Pentlands found Julia and her son sitting in the 
 porch and looking on the Medway, as much like two lovers 
 as possible. This pleased Mrs. Pentland, who was of a some- 
 what romantic disposition, and she whispered to Ronald : 
 '' That is a boy of whom you can safely make a friend — he 
 loves his mother as a son ought to love her." 
 
 Julia rose to receive her guests, while Arthur devoted his 
 attention to Ronald, who was in many respects his counter- 
 part. The Mertons had received few visitors for the past 
 eight years, and it miight be supposed that Julia would 
 feel awkward under the circumstances, but in all her troubles 
 she had preserved the grace of manner which seemed part 
 of her nature. Although she had been but a few days at 
 Woodlawn, she already felt the benefit of the change from. 
 Wiltshire ; her eyes were bright and her cheeks had a tinge 
 of color which had nothing of a hectic character, for it was 
 the glow of returning health. She looked, indeed, like a frag- 
 ile flower, but never in all her life had she appeared more 
 beautiful. Although she was turned of thirty and had known 
 much sorrow and suffering, she did not appear more than 
 twenty-five. Mrs. Pentland looked at her in surprise for a 
 moment, then, recollecting herself, gracefully extended her 
 hand, saying : '^ Excuse me, Mrs. Merton, but I was not pre- 
 pared to see one so young and beautiful. Woodlawn will 
 now have charms that will eclipse every place in the neigh- 
 borhood." 
 
 Julia blushed deeply at the compliment, and her blushes 
 
I06 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 made her look more beautiful still, but she soon recovered 
 her self-possession and invited her visitors to be seated. 
 
 Squire Pentland was equally gratified with Julia's ap- 
 pearance, while Ronald did not know which to admire 
 most — the beautiful mother or the handsome boy who was 
 to be his future playmate. The youngsters were soon 
 acquainted, and wandered off a little way to compare 
 notes. 
 
 '' Arthur, my dear," said his mother, " go to the library 
 and inform your father that Mr. and Mrs. Pentland have 
 called to see us, and ask him will he please come out ? " 
 
 The silvery tones of Julia's voice fell like music on 
 the ears of her visitors, and Mrs. Pentland's heart went out 
 at once to the beautiful creature before her. " What a differ- 
 ence it will make in my life," she said to herself, " having 
 this young and lovely woman so near me ! " 
 
 Mr. Merton, for a wonder, came promptly forward to 
 meet the callers, but it was a shock to Mrs. Pentland when 
 she saw him. "Beauty and the beast," she said, to herself, 
 and the squire had to force himself to be gracious. How- 
 ever, the visit passed off well ; the boys were delighted 
 with each other, and the acquaintance of the two families 
 seemed to promise an agreeable addition to the lives of 
 the Pentlands and a new existence to Julia and her son. 
 As to Mr. Merton, he made no remark after the visitors had 
 departed, but returned to the library, and early next morn- 
 ing took the train for the mills, only returning at nine 
 o'clock the following night. 
 
 Merton seemed inclined to turn over a new leaf now that 
 he had changed his dwelling-place, and seemed ambitious 
 to stand well with the gentry of the neighborhood, so his 
 family were allowed more freedom than formerly. Merton felt 
 that the friendship of the Pentlands would be an advantage. 
 The squire looked like a man who could be depended upon 
 and Mrs. Pentland was without doubt a person whose sym- 
 pathies were enlisted in behalf of the beautiful and delicate 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 107 
 
 woman who needed the support of a strong nature to enable 
 her to bear up under the ills of life. 
 
 When Mrs. Pentland left Woodlawn she said to her hus- 
 band : " ^Irs. Merton is the most lovely creature I ever saw, 
 and no doubt her character is as pure as she is lovely. But 
 there is a tragic history in her life, if one may judge from 
 the wistful look in her eyes ; how she seems to be gazing 
 into the distance all the time ! " 
 
 " Well, Ellen," said the squire, " as it is your mission on 
 earth to make others happy, I am satisfied that if there is 
 anything to trouble that beautiful woman you will find it 
 out and offer such consolation as will enable her to bear her 
 burden with resignation. She has much to live for in her 
 handsome boy, who is a perfect picture." 
 
 ''Yes," said Ronald, " I never saw anything to equal Ar- 
 thur Merton. He has never been to school, but has been 
 taught altogether by his mother. He is far ahead of me in 
 books, can read French very well, and plays the piano. I 
 am going to-morrow to hear him play and see some sketches 
 he has made of some of the great oaks. But I can beat him 
 shooting, father ; he has never fired a gun in his life, so he 
 tells me." 
 
 " Perhaps he will soon beat you in shooting, Ronald," 
 said his father, " for if I am not mistaken that boy possesses 
 remarkable powers, and may turn out to be an Admirable 
 Crichton. Take him to your heart and make a fast friend 
 of him. It is well that every boy should form at least one 
 close friendship, for his success in life may depend upon that 
 circumstance." 
 
 A month passed away, and the inmates of Moorland and 
 Woodlawn became quite intimate. Mrs. Pentland went 
 daily to see her invalid, as she called Julia, frequently taking 
 her to drive in a pony chaise, and pointing out all the 
 beauties of the surrounding scenery. It was a new expe- 
 rience for Julia — for the first time she had met with a 
 sympathizing friend. Without attempting to unravel the 
 
I08 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 mystery of Julia's life, Mrs. Pentland determined to throw- 
 around her new friend the segis of her protection, and soothe 
 and, if possible, heal the wounds which fate had inflicted. 
 
 The two boys had become inseparable companions, and 
 Arthur had, under Ronald's tuition, been out on several oc- 
 casions shooting. Arthur proved an apt scholar, and in the 
 course of two weeks' incessant practice was able to shoot a 
 pheasant on the wing and knock over a hare on a full run, 
 which was considered good sport for a tyro, better, in fact, 
 than Ronald had accomplished in his first essays with dog 
 and gun. Squire Pentland, who watched operations, told 
 Ronald that he must make up his mind to yield his laurels 
 to Arthur who would in a month eclipse him altogether. 
 Ronald did not like the idea of Arthur's excelling in his 
 favorite sport, but did not the less esteem his new friend be- 
 cause he was likely to get the better of him. 
 
 While the two families thus were cementing their friend- 
 ship, Mr. Merton seldom appeared upon the scene, and 
 never interfered with the pursuits of his wife and son. 
 
 He had his reasons for not doing so — a desire to ingratiate 
 himself with the neighboring gentry, whom he feared would 
 regard him as 2, parvenu who had made his money in trade. 
 
 Mrs. Pentland remarked to her husband : " Mr. Merton 
 is hideously ugly, but he can not help that ; he doesn't seem 
 to trouble his family much with his company. He is so 
 shambling and uncouth that I presume he is ashamed of 
 his wife's superiority. He doesn't seem to have any con- 
 versational powers, but, after all, he may be a kind-hearted 
 person in spite of his wolfish countenance." 
 
 " My dear," said the squire, '' you are full of noble senti- 
 ments and are ahvays ready to cover up another person's de- 
 fects, but you will be wrong if you take Mr. Merton for a 
 simpleton, for he is the shrewdest person in the parish. His 
 wife is lovely and his son is a noble boy ; for their sakes we 
 must tolerate him. We shall see but little of Merton, I imag- 
 ine, since he is one of those grasping men whose money is 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 109 
 
 their god. He was not born a gentleman, that is certain, 
 but perhaps his associations in time will improve him." 
 
 At length the time came for Ronald to go back to school. 
 He was a pupil in a private school at Chatham, where he 
 was preparing for the University of Cambridge. 
 
 It was but about two hours' journey by rail from Moor- 
 land, and Ronald was in the habit of passing his Sundays at 
 home, an excellent arrangement by which his parents could 
 see him frequently and note how he was progressing in his 
 studies. 
 
 It is not well that boys should be deprived of home in- 
 fluences where it can be avoided, yet the attractions which 
 are found at the great schools of England often neutralize 
 the teachings of a mother, unless in exceptional cases where 
 the seed has been sown in such congenial soil that it can 
 bid defiance to hurtful influences. 
 
 Arthur had never been away from his mother a night in 
 his life, but now that he saw his cherished playfellow de- 
 parting, the thought occurred to him, " Why should not I go 
 with him? " His mother could teach him no more, and of 
 course could not prepare him for the university, where it 
 was intended he should go. Therefore he proposed to his 
 mother that he should accompany Ronald Pentland to the 
 school in Chatham. 
 
 Julia was quite overcome when her son opened the sub- 
 ject, for she had not dreamed of parting with him so soon. 
 He was so necessary to her existence that she felt she could 
 not live without him, in fact regarded him as her protector, 
 for should her husband take it into his head to injure her 
 the presence of her son would be a check upon him. Mer- 
 ton, however, although he saw and felt his wife's dislike and 
 had given up all hopes of overcoming it, accepted the state of 
 affairs as inevitable, and solaced himself for his disappoint- 
 ment by increased devotion to money-making. 
 
 Arthur's mother shed many bitter tears as they talked 
 over the matter of his going to school, but at length, seeing 
 
no ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 the futility of further opposition, she consented to his accom- 
 panying his friend. 
 
 " But, my darling," she exclaimed " what shall I do with- 
 out you ? " 
 
 " Mother, dear," replied Arthur, " were you situated dif- 
 ferently I would not wish to leave you, and would rather do 
 without an education in order to be near you, but in Mrs. 
 Pentland you have a good friend w^ho will watch over you 
 as if you were a sister. Then there is the railway which 
 will bring me to you in two hours, and I promise you that 
 in three months I will be at the head of my classes." 
 
 She kissed him finally, and said : " Now that we have ar- 
 ranged the matter, we must ask Mr. Merton's consent. I 
 don't know what he will say to it." 
 
 " I do not think there will be any difficulty about that," 
 said Arthur, '' for I don't think my father takes much inter- 
 est in me or cares whether I go or stay. Perhaps if I get to 
 the head of my classes he may begin to think there is some- 
 thing in me." 
 
 When Mr. Merton met his family at breakfast on Sun- 
 day, Julia timidly opened the subject and asked his consent 
 that Arthur should go to school at Chatham. He was as- 
 tonished that his wife should ask a favor, and for once in 
 his life said, quietly : *' Yes, if it suits you to have Arthur go. 
 I suppose it is about time the boy went to school, unless you 
 want him to become a mollycoddle." 
 
 Julia flushed at the idea of such a term being applied to 
 her darling, but was well pleased to have the matter settled. 
 The reflection that her son would be with her two days in 
 every week quite reconciled her to the change,, especially as 
 the idea of attending a good school seemed to make Arthur 
 so happy. He was sorry to leave his mother, but boys are 
 boys the world over. 
 
 There comes a time when the young birds will crawl to 
 the edge of the nest and, looking out upon the great world, 
 see so many beautiful objects that they naturally want to 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, III 
 
 spread their wings and fly. Their first essay may prove a 
 failure and life seem less pleasant than they expected, and 
 but for the watchful care of the mother bird they would 
 most likely come to grief when barely entered on the state 
 of active existence. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Arthur Merton was not one of those fledgings who 
 would attempt to fly before his wings were grown. He had 
 been content to stay in the nest under the care of a fond 
 mother and to drink in precepts of virtue and wisdom from 
 her practical mind. 
 
 She had been his only teacher, and now that he com- 
 pared notes daily with his new friend Ronald, Arthur found 
 himself better instructed in all the elementary studies. The 
 mother's heart had been deeply interested in the work of 
 educating her son, and the affection he felt for her had in- 
 spired him in his tasks so that she was rewarded by a zeal 
 that could only emanate from a heart as full of love as her 
 own. 
 
 The day came when the boys vrere to depart for their 
 school, and Squire Pentland took charge of Arthur, to install 
 him in his new field of action. 
 
 The parting between Julia and her son was most affect- 
 ing in spite of the fact that he was going so short a distance 
 and would see her so frequently. 
 
 That evening the squire returned and reported that he 
 had left the two boys happy at school. Julia's tears flowed 
 silently, and she could not help a slight feeHng of jealousy 
 that Arthur could be contented when absent from her. Mrs. 
 Pentland, who had accompanied her husband to Woodlawn, 
 to console Julia, said : " Do not shed tears over what is 
 going to do your son so much good. You will live to see 
 him in Parliament yet, or I am mistaken in the boy." 
 
J 12 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 "Yes," sobbed Julia. "I appreciate what you say, but 
 I have shed so many tears in my Hfe that they flow too easily." 
 
 "Poor child," exclaimed the kind-hearted matron, 
 " would that I could share your sorrows. You must try and 
 lean on me, for I am strong and have hardly had a grief in 
 my life, and I have a joy in my son which seems to me 
 unequaled by anything on earth." 
 
 Mrs. Pentland came daily to Woodlawn to cheer Julia 
 and look after her, and although without Arthur the days 
 passed slowly, yet they were made endurable until his return 
 from school the ensuing Friday night to remain until the 
 Monday following. Then Julia's face was wreathed in 
 smiles and everything was done to make Arthur's short stay 
 at home agreeable. Even his father deigned to inquire how 
 he liked his school, and reminded him that the expense was 
 great, and that he must waste no precious time in idleness. 
 
 Thus four years passed away, the two boys growing in 
 manly beauty and outstripping all their companions both in 
 studies and outdoor sports, but the leader on all occasions 
 was Arthur Merton who bade fair to be what Mr. Pentland 
 had imagined — a veritable Crichton. He could beat every 
 boy in school at running and jumping, was first at cricket 
 and football, pulled the stroke oar in the club boat, and was 
 voted the handsomest and best formed boy at the school. 
 
 Ronald Pentland stood second to his friend in all things, 
 so that the two carried off the chief honors. It sometimes 
 caused Ronald a pang of jealousy to see his friend excel 
 him in so many particulars, but he soon dismissed such an 
 unworthy feeling and rejoiced over Arthur's successes as if 
 they had been his own. 
 
 Arthur and Ronald were undoubtedly two very hand- 
 some youths, although their beauty was of an entirely differ- 
 ent character. 
 
 Arthur was the image of his mother, with dark-brown 
 hair, and features perfect as an antique sculpture. His 
 teeth were like pearls and his lips were wreathed with smiles. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 113 
 
 His chin had a dimple wherein cupids might have lain in 
 ambush to trip unwary maidens. It was a mixture of Ital- 
 ian blood with English which made Arthur's manly beauty 
 so perfect. 
 
 Ronald Pentland, on the other hand, was of the Anglo- 
 Saxon type, with sunny hair, blue eyes, a fair complexion, 
 and a happy expression of countenance. It would seem 
 difficult to say which of these youths was the handsomer, 
 yet his schoolfellows gave the palm to Arthur. 
 
 On one occasion when the two boys were home for the 
 holidays, and were sauntering over the Moorland estate, 
 they encountered at the edge of a wood a boy of about six- 
 teen sitting on the grass and busily engaged with a pocket- 
 knife in fashioning what seemed to be traps. The boy was 
 strong and stout with a forbidding expression of countenance, 
 and he did not look up as the two friends went past him. 
 Arthur and Ronald scrutinized the boy closely, and the lat- 
 ter whispered : " That fellow is poaching ; if he doesn't look 
 out the gamekeeper will get hold of him." 
 
 " I 'opes yer'll know me next time yer claps yer peepers 
 on me," called out the fellow. '' If yer goes about spyin' and 
 speerin' into things as don't concern ye yer mothers' monk- 
 ies will get ther noses smashed." 
 
 The boys stopped, and Ronald said : " Pray, who are you 
 who undertake to be impertinent to people on their own 
 grounds ? " The fellow laughed : " I'll be blessed," he said, 
 " if the thing can't talk. I'm Bill Briggs, if yer want ter 
 know, and I can thrash the pair of you." He sprang up, 
 shut his knife, threw his hat on the ground, and called out, 
 *' Here's a chance for ye two snobs, one or both of ye." 
 
 Ronald in a towering rage advanced toward the clodpole 
 as if to chastise him, when Arthur put his hand upon his 
 shoulder. " Not so fast Ronald, " he said, " this won't do— 
 you have lost your coolness, and in your present excitement 
 that fellow may be too much iox you. It won't do for him 
 to boast that he has whipped one of the Chatham Academy 
 8 
 
114 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 boys. Let me take hold of him, and I will give him a thrash- 
 ing he will remember." 
 
 Ronald was disposed to demur to this, but knowing that 
 Arthur was superior to him as a boxer, he yielded, saying, 
 " If he thrashes you, I shall have to go at him after all." 
 
 *' No," said Arthur, " if he thrashes me, he must remain 
 master of the field, for, it would be cowardly for both of us 
 to attack him." 
 
 '* What are yer talking about," said Bill Briggs, swinging 
 his arms around as if to limber the muscles. " Ef yer afraid, 
 I'll come an' knock a little pluck into yer, but perhaps yer 
 afraid of spoilin' yer Sunday clothes." 
 
 *' Perhaps I am," said Arthur, " but when I have thrashed 
 you soundly you will think I am not afraid of a clodpole." 
 
 The last remark made Bill Briggs furious, he shook his 
 fist and threw a handful of dirt at his antagonists. 
 
 Ronald had reluctantly agreed to keep out of the fight, 
 especially when his friend remarked : " Remember, you are 
 going to see Elsie Vernon this evening, and it wouldn't do to 
 go with a pair of black eyes." 
 
 Arthur threw off his jacket and advanced toward Bill 
 Briggs. " Now, Mr. Clodpole," he said "I will teach you a 
 lesson that you will remember." 
 
 " Good for ye, ye city-bred turkey-cock. Yer better than 
 t'other feller, anyhow. I'll lather ye well for interferin' 
 with yer betters." 
 
 " Now, look here, clodpole," said Arthur, " that kind of 
 talk will do you no good. You are ugly enough now without 
 distorting your face with passion ; keep cool and your pun- 
 ishment will be easier for you." 
 
 By this time Bill Briggs was at white heat, and showered 
 such a torrent of abuse upon Arthur that he could not help 
 laughing. 
 
 " Look a-here," said the amiable Bill, " I'll paint that 
 'ere baby face of youm so that yer dog won't know yer an* 
 yer won't see daylight outer them eyes for a month. If 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 115 
 
 I don't strap you afore I'm done, I'll give you my 'at an' 
 boots." 
 
 " Agreed," said Arthur, laughing. " If you thrash me you 
 shall have my cap and boots ; if I thrash you I will take 
 yours and hang them up in our stable as a trophy." 
 
 " Come on, then," shouted Bill, making a sudden rush at 
 Arthur, who, perfectly collected, stepped aside and in ring 
 parlance '' landed a crusher " under Bill's left ear, when that 
 doughty champion went to grass, plowing up the ground 
 with his nose. 
 
 For a moment Bill was dazed, and, as he subsequently 
 remarked, " felt as if ahorse had kicked him with four shoes 
 on one foot," but he soon recovered himself and squared 
 off before Arthur, striking right and left. This was countered 
 by his antagonist with a stinging blow upon the nose, and 
 Bill went down again. 
 
 He soon raised himself on his elbow, his face covered 
 with blood, and cried out : " Yer a better man than I tuk 
 yer ter be, but yer only a mushroom after all. I'll give yer 
 somethin' yer don't dream of yet." 
 
 " Get up, then," said Arthur, " and take some mushroom 
 sauce. I've only been playing with you so far." 
 
 '' Oh," said Bill, rising and w^iping the blood from his 
 nose, "yer one of them skientifikers who are too big cowards 
 to fight with the means natur gives us, but I'll fix you." 
 So saying, he lowered his head and made a rush at Arthur, 
 who administered a blow under the jaw, sending Bill again 
 to grass. 
 
 That was the last round, for Bill Briggs lay stretched 
 upon the grass unconscious. *' Here, Ronald," said the victor, 
 ** take his hat and get some water at the brook. The hat 
 belongs to me now, and I can do as I please with it." Ron- 
 ald soon returned with the water, and the boys went to 
 work to restore the vanquished hero to consciousness. 
 
 This was no difficult matter, and Bill was soon able to 
 look about him. " Well, you feller, I didn't lick yer as soon 
 
Il6 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 as I thought I would, but never mind, I'll get even with 
 yer afore long." 
 
 *' Now, Bill Briggs," said Arthur, "for that speech I in- 
 tend to take your hat and boots according to agreement. 
 I had hoped to find you a true Briton who could take a 
 thrashing like a man, but I find you are nothing of the sort. 
 I hope the lesson you have learned to day will do you 
 some good, and remember that a gentleman has the same 
 advantage over a clodpole that a gamecock has over a dung- 
 hill fowl." 
 
 "■ Give me my 'at an' boots, and yer may go ter ther devil 
 with yer hifalutin talk," said Bill. 
 
 Arthur, seeing that he had a surly fellow to deal with who 
 was void of all sentiment, flung him the hat, and say- 
 ing, " Take the forfeit, and much good may it do you," 
 walked off. 
 
 Bill Briggs looked after the boys with evil eyes. " It 
 may be a hundred years," he said, " the earth may be washed 
 away, all the hale in the world drunk up, but I'll be even 
 with yer yet an' will sarve yer out in a fashion yer'll remem- 
 ber till doomsday." So saying, Bill Briggs disappeared in 
 the depths of the wood. 
 
 Ronald was the first to speak after he and Arthur had 
 left the field of battle. " I wish you had let me thrash that 
 fellow. You seemed to have an easy job of it, and I shall 
 probably have to do it any way some of these days, before 
 he will respect me." 
 
 " Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," replied Ar- 
 thur. " Bill Briggs will remember his lesson. Look at my 
 knuckles, all skinned on that fellow's tough hide. Elsie will 
 have nothing to do with me this evening if she notices my 
 hand, especially if she hears I have been fighting, for she is 
 a dainty little thing." 
 
 This idea consoled Ronald, and the boys walked home 
 laughing at the astonishment exibited by Bill Briggs at get- 
 ting so complete and speedy a drubbing. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, ny 
 
 The boys agreed not to mention the affair to any one, 
 and it was therefore not likely to be talked about, for Bill 
 Briggs would hardly mention his own defeat for fear of be- 
 ing laughed at. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 We have mentioned Elsie Vernon in the last chapter. 
 This young lady was the only daughter of the Reverend Al- 
 gernon Vernon, rector of the parish, and younger son of 
 Lord Vernon of Castle Redmond, who had received a living 
 in Kent, the income of which enabled him to maintain a 
 creditable position among the neighboring gentry. 
 
 The parish church at Elliston was a fine specimen of 
 early English architecture, having so far escaped the sacri- 
 legious hands of the restorer, while the rectory was a com- 
 fortable old brick mansion built in the reign of Queen 
 Anne of blessed memory. 
 
 Four years after his induction to the living of Elliston 
 Mr. Vernon's wife died and left him the daughter whom we 
 have mentioned. 
 
 Ronald Pentland had known Elsie Vernon from her in- 
 fancy. He was four years her senior, and from the time the 
 little girl could toddle about he had been her playmate. She 
 was an exacting little creature, and pretty as she was exact- 
 ing. From the age of four up to that of twelve, at which 
 period Ronald went to the school in Chatham, Elsie ruled 
 him with a rod of iron, holding him in the fetters of love, 
 for Ronald had told his mother that he intended to marry 
 Elsie when he should be a man, and would then provide her 
 with a splendid coach drawn by four long-tailed, cream-col- 
 ored horses. 
 
 There was no end to the demands made upon Ronald's 
 time by his pretty little friend, who seemed always to have 
 something for him to do. He climbed trees to shake down 
 nuts for her, made ships that would sail upon the mimic 
 
Il8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 lake in the grounds of the rectory, or drew her in a little 
 wagon all over the neighborhood. He cut out paper dolls 
 for her, and helped her keep house in a large box that he 
 had converted into a cottage, and baited her hook when she 
 took a fancy to fish in the pond for minnows. If from any 
 circumstance Ronald failed to make his appearance at the 
 usual hour Elsie would go after him, accompanied by her 
 nurse, and bring him away a prisoner. 
 
 Ronald, however, was a very willing prisoner who seldom 
 failed to do homage to his princess. 
 
 Here, then, were two very young people with whom the 
 course of true love was running smoothly enough, and they 
 might have grown up, married, and passed off the stage, 
 leaving a long line of Pentlands behind them, but just in 
 the heyday of their happiness Arthur Merton came to live 
 at Woodlawn. 
 
 After the boys had been acquainted for a few days, Ron- 
 ald, feeling that he had been recreant to his princess, pro- 
 posed to Arthur to go and see the prettiest girl in the 
 parish. Elsie was delighted with the new-comer and said, 
 in her lisping way : " Now I can hab two horses to my 
 coach. Arthur can pay fox and Roney'll pay dog an' I'll be 
 Pincess an* gib you pize." 
 
 Arthur was much pleased with the little girl, and said 
 she was the joUiest fun he had ever met with. When he 
 told his mother that, he had lost his heart to Elsie Ver- 
 non, Julia smiled. " The idea of your falling in love with 
 anything makes my heart flutter. I could not spare an atom 
 of your affection, so that I fear while I live you will have to 
 sacrifice yourself to me." 
 
 "You dear, foolish mother," said Arthur, kissing her 
 fondly, " I do believe if I ever really fell in love with any- 
 body it would make you unhappy; but you need not fear 
 anything from Elsie, who is quite wrapped up in Ronald, 
 and thinks she owns him." Julia smiled at her son's re- 
 marks, but said, in a serious tone : 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 119 
 
 " Remember, Arthur, never interfere with true love, and 
 be careful not to step between Ronald and Elsie. A woman 
 may have two strings to her bow, but she can never really 
 love but one person." 
 
 Arthur laughed, but in later years remembered her words. 
 
 "Now, mother," he said, "after that wise remark of 
 yours I am going off shooting with Ronald," and he ran 
 away, laughing. 
 
 During the four years the boys were at school in Chat- 
 ham they never failed in their visits home to run over to the 
 parsonage to see Elsie, who grew daily in grace and beauty, 
 and was the pet of the parish. Elsie always welcomed their 
 coming, and when she got any new playthings always brought 
 them out for her friends' inspection. 
 
 She had but one doll in female dress, and that one was 
 intended to represent herself. She had two miniature boys 
 dressed alike, one to represent Ronald, the other Arthur. 
 
 The latter was always placed on her right and Ronald 
 on the left. Ronald sometimes tried to change this arrange- 
 ment, but Elsie would not consent, for reasons she did not 
 choose to tell. 
 
 At the time the boys left school prepared to enter the 
 university they were just verging on seventeen, while Elsie 
 was thirteen, and pretty as a picture. 
 
 The young people had spent two weeks together after 
 the return of the boys from school, and they were now to 
 part for a longer term than usual, for they could only re- 
 turn from Cambridge for any length of time during the 
 "long vacation." Between the sports on the river and 
 attendance on Elsie, the days flew so rapidly that it was 
 hard to tell where they had gone, but when the time came 
 for them to part Elsie was as much distressed as the boys. 
 "Now, mind," she said, "and write me a joint letter every 
 week, and I will answer promptly — papa says I may ; and 
 don't forget to tell me everything. Don't find any other 
 little Elsie to pet, and I promise you if Prince Golden Hair 
 
I20 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 makes his appearance while you are away I won't look at 
 him." Elsie could chatter as fast as a parrot and in the 
 prettiest way in the world, and so the young people parted 
 not to meet again for a long time ; for so it seemed to them, 
 and their greatest pleasure was henceforth to be the antici- 
 pation of meeting at the holidays. 
 
 Arthur stood the ordeal much better than Ronald. His 
 eyes filled with tears, however, as he bade Elsie good-by. 
 
 "Don't forget us, my little friend," he said. "Remem- 
 ber, we are your brothers, and you are our dear little sister, 
 and no Princess Diamond Eyes shall ever come between 
 us." 
 
 Elsie gave a convulsive sob, and then rushed up-stairs 
 to her room, where she watched the boys from her window 
 as long as she could see them, waving her handkerchief un- 
 til they passed from sight. 
 
 Then the boys went to say good-by to their mothers. 
 Mrs. Pentland bore the parting very well. She had packed 
 Ronald's boxes with an outfit such as few boys could boast, 
 not forgetting a liberal supply of plum-cake, while his father 
 contributed some notes of the Bank of England, that would 
 enable Ronald to hold his own among the students at Cam- 
 bridge. 
 
 The parting between Arthur and his mother was painful 
 in the extreme. At Chatham her son had been only a short 
 distance away, but now he was to go to Cambridge, fifty 
 miles farther than London, and the distance seemed to her 
 immense. Her married life had been so unhappy that Ar- 
 thur's most vivid recollections of his mother represented her 
 in tears. He knew nothing of the tragedy that had wrecked 
 his mother's life, but attributed her sorrow to the coldness 
 and indifference shown by his father toward them both. 
 
 Although Julia felt that separation from her son for so 
 long a period would almost kill her, yet she saw what a dis- 
 appointment it would be for Arthur not to accompany his 
 friend to Cambridge, to say nothing of the mortification he 
 
. ARTHUR MERTOX. I2I 
 
 would experience in after-life at not possessing the educa- 
 tion to which his talents entitled him. 
 
 Mr. Merton troubled himself but little in regard to Ar- 
 thur's education, but left the matter almost entirely to his 
 wife, saying he had no time for such matters, and that he 
 knew nothing about bringing up children ; but he was 
 anxious that his son should make as good an appearance 
 at Cambridge as any of the students, and he was especially 
 anxious that Arthur should have everything better and more 
 expensive than young Pentland. 
 
 This was Mr. Merton's idea of education, and while Julia 
 was glad to think that Arthur was not likely to be stinted 
 in his allowance, she was yet deeply grieved at the thought 
 of losing his society so completely, while Arthur on his part 
 felt very uneasy at the idea of leaving his mother in her del- 
 icate condition of health. 
 
 Julia encouraged her son to bear up bravely and secure 
 the honors of the university, which would console her for 
 many deprivations. " When this university business is over, 
 Arthur," she said, " you will belong to me and we will never 
 part again. Where you go there vrill I go, for you are all I 
 have to live for." 
 
 Arthur did not see his father when he left home, for the 
 latter was as usual absent attending to business. Mr. Mer- 
 ton supplied the necessary funds and thought it quite suffi- 
 cient. He troubled himself very little about his son, and 
 the boy never having received any mark of affection from 
 his father could not be supposed to feel any. Arthur knew 
 that his mother had received a terrible shock through his 
 father at some time since her marriage, and that circum- 
 stance satisfied him that his father could not be a good man. 
 
 Squire Pentland, after accompanying the boys to Cam- 
 bridge and seeing them installed in St. John's College, bade 
 them good-by and started homeward by the evening train. 
 
 The next day Arthur sat down and wrote to his mother. 
 
 " Here we are, dear mother, in this old red brick town 
 
122 ARTHUR MERTON. . 
 
 on the Cam. The place is dingy enough, but the college 
 grounds are more beautiful than anything I could have imag- 
 ined. When I went into the great hall of St. John's, I felt 
 very, very small. At Chatham, where I took the honors, I 
 was somebody, but how can I hope to compete with all the 
 grand fellows I see here ! But I will do my best. Only to 
 think of the great men who have been educated here ! But 
 I suppose they were boys once like Ronald and myself. 
 Mother, dear, although the dining-hall would astonish you, I 
 think you would be more interested in the kitchen, where 
 you could roast an ox whole before the fire. 
 
 "There is nothing particularly attractive about the town, 
 but I shall enjoy my home the more when I see it again. 
 Now, darling mother, when I return let me see those sweet 
 eyes beaming brightly and the roses mantling your cheeks, 
 and I shall be happy." 
 
 When Julia read this letter she felt sure her boy would 
 succeed even in the competition of so many clever men as 
 there were at Cambridge, and in her mind's eye beheld him 
 after graduation one of the great statesmen of England — a 
 Fox, a Canning, a Palmerston, or a Peel. 
 
 The same mail which conveyed a letter to Julia, took one 
 from the boys to Elsie Vernon. It was the first letter she 
 had ever received, and she was delighted when her father 
 placed it in her hands. 
 
 " Dear little sister : Here we are as happy as two 
 finches. This isn't the parsonage by a great deal, and we 
 see nothing here to remind us of you, but we think of you 
 none the less. We are both of us in fine feather. 
 
 *' I wish you could see our rooms. There's nothing finer 
 in St. John's College ; Arthur's are upholstered in blue, and 
 Ronald's in corn color. This place is filled with a lot of 
 fellows in black gowns and mortar-board caps who look as 
 wise as so many owls. We will have to wear this classic 
 uniform after a while, although at present they let us dress 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 23 
 
 like ordinary mortals. We don't believe any of these wise- 
 looking chaps could climb a tree faster than we, or beat us 
 running, or pulling a stroke oar. Of one thing we are sure, 
 none of them have a dear little sister that can compare with 
 you, or love her half as much as we our princess." 
 
 Elsie laughed when reading her letter. "Isn't this boy- 
 like ? " she said, showing it to her father, as if she thoroughly 
 understood that particular type of humanity. 
 
 The rector read the letter, and as he handed it back to 
 Elsie remarked : " Those are fine boys, Elsie ; which of them 
 do you prefer? " 
 
 "Why," answered Elsie, "I love them both better than 
 any one in the world excepting you." 
 
 *' Yes," said Mr. Vernon ; " but which is the favorite f 
 You certainly like one better than the other." 
 
 " No," said Elsie " not a bit. Can not sisters love their 
 brothers just alike ? " 
 
 " But these are not your brothers. Which do you think 
 the handsomer ? " 
 
 "They are both equally handsome," replied Elsie, "the 
 two sweetest and handsomest fellows in the world. Papa 
 didn't you have a little sister when you were young? " 
 
 "Yes, dear Elsie," said the rector sighing, "I married 
 her — she was your dear mother." 
 
 " Oh, how nice that was ! " exclaimed the little girl. 
 
 " Yes," said her father, much amused, " and in a few years 
 one of those ' sweetest and handsomest boys ' will begin to 
 think of something else beside brotherhood. When you are 
 eighteen they will both want to marry you." 
 
 " Why, papa," she said, in astonishment, " who ever heard 
 of such a thing ? Ronald and Arthur couldn't either of them 
 marry me, for I've always said I would never marry any one 
 but Prince Golden Hair." 
 
 " You silly little puss," said her father. " Suppose they 
 were to marry some one else — how would you like that ? " 
 
124 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 " Oh, but they can't — they belong to me ; they are to do 
 just as they have always been doing — wait on me. They 
 can live with me and Prince Golden Hair." 
 
 The rector laughed. " Prince Golden Hair would have 
 a happy time with two such handsome fellows flirting with 
 his wife. Suppose Ronald should take it into his head to 
 tire of such a state of things and want a little sister all to 
 himself, just as I did, and go off and and marry her — what 
 then ? " 
 
 " Well," replied Elsie, '' it would be real mean of him, 
 and I don't think I could love him any more. I don't be- 
 lieve he would do it, although he isn't as steady always as 
 Arthur." 
 
 " But suppose after Ronald had gone off and married 
 another little sister — seeing how happy you were with Prince 
 Golden Hair — suppose that Arthur should follow his ex- 
 ample ; what would you think of that 1 " 
 
 Elsie opened her eyes very wide, and looked actually 
 frightened at the idea of such a contingency. Tears gath- 
 ered in her eyes. *' Oh, papa, I should die if that came 
 to pass." 
 
 The rector saw how the land lay, as the sailors say, 
 and continued : " Well, Elsie, you need not fear that Arthur 
 will ever leave you to go after any one else, but I should not 
 be surprised if he were to trip up Prince Golden Hair's 
 heels and do as I did — run off and marry his little sis- 
 ter." 
 
 Elsie dried her tears in a moment, and putting her arms 
 about her father's neck kissed him a dozen times and ran 
 away. 
 
 Elsie was but thirteen, yet the rector, as a man of the 
 world, knew to what such intimacies were likely to lead and 
 that in this case matters would probably end by Elsie's 
 marrying either Arthur or Ronald, which one he cared very 
 little, as both were fine fellows and both would be wealthy. 
 One of them he knew would be a sufferer, and he wanted 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 25 
 
 to have an idea in time how matters stood, to ward off the 
 blow from the loser, for he felt that whoever loved Elsie 
 it would be the love of a lifetime. 
 
 The parsonage of Ellistown nestled in a wood at some 
 distance from the ancient church, and would have been 
 rather lonely but for the little beauty who gave such a charm 
 to the mansion. 
 
 She had a dove-cote, and the snow-white birds circling 
 above the trees filled the air with their soft cooings, coming 
 around Elsie when she gave a peculiar call. Around the 
 mimic lake fluttered brilliant dragon-flies, while the water 
 was washed into tiny waves by the breezes which swept 
 over its surface. 
 
 Not gloomy was the quiet at the near approach of eve 
 when the rays of the setting sun played among the branches 
 of the veteran oaks and silver beeches. Not gloomy was 
 the close-cut lawn lighted up with the glory of the expir- 
 ing day. 
 
 Elsie, when she ran away from her father, had sought 
 her room to bathe her flushed cheeks in cool water. Her 
 glass showed a face with the look of a startled deer when 
 she hears the sound of the hunters. " What has come over 
 me," said Elsie to herself, "that I should act so foolishly. 
 I never felt this way before. I will go out of doors and 
 not let papa see me thus." So she went to the little lake, and 
 there sat on the bank among the violets looking into the 
 clear water and wondering if ever it could come to pass that 
 the boys could ever want any other companion but her. 
 
 The golden tints of evening were changing into gray, 
 the doves fluttered around as if to draw her attention ere 
 they sought their cot, but Elsie did not heed them. One 
 bolder than the rest lighted on her shoulder and rubbed 
 its bill against her cheek, but so absorbed was she in thought 
 that while she stroked the plumage of her pet she was 
 scarcely conscious of what she was doing. The bird after 
 fluttering for a moment over her head took a dip in the wa- 
 
126 ARTHUR ME R TON. 
 
 ter and flew to its home in company with its companions, 
 leaving Elsie still gazing into the water. 
 
 Her father watched her from the window of his study, his 
 heart expanding with pride and pleasure as he witnessed the 
 growing of his daughter towards maturity, the darling child 
 in whom was centered all his happiness and who brought 
 back to him the days of her mother. Elsie seemed to him 
 like a half-blown rose opening to the dews of heaven and 
 the frosts of earth, and he wondered to himself whether 
 she was destined to be nourished by the one or withered by 
 the other. 
 
 That day had given the rector food for serious reflection, 
 for he realized that his darling daughter was no longer a 
 
 child, but — 
 
 Standing with reluctant feet 
 Where the brook and river meet, 
 Womanhood and childhood fleet. 
 
 Like the swell of some sweet tune 
 Morning rises into noon, 
 May glides onward into June. 
 
 So it was with Elsie ; she was gliding into June with all 
 the fragrance of a beautiful rose, and the rector realized that 
 he must exercise a more watchful care over his daughter, 
 for, although harm might not come to Elsie through associ- 
 ation with two such handsome youths as Arthur and Ronald, 
 it might come to one of them, for no matter how much they 
 might esteem each other, yet they could not be rivals for 
 Elsie's love without creating discord, perhaps worse, be- 
 tween them. 
 
 If he could so appreciate her loveliness, what must be the 
 feelings of youth with the hot blood coursing through its 
 veins ? 
 
 " She is too beautiful by far," said the rector to himself 
 as he gazed at Elsie w^ith the dove sitting on her shoulder 
 and the last rays of the sun shining on her golden hair. 
 ** What a pity that things so beautiful should make the heart 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 liy 
 
 so ache. But I must have her portrait painted by Millais just 
 as she looks now in all her innocent loveliness." 
 
 A short time afterward the picture was painted by the 
 distinguished artist, and it excited great admiration when 
 exhibited at the Royal Academy. 
 
 Indeed the picture was most charming, a blonde with 
 golden hair and large blue eyes through which one seemed 
 to look into the depths of the heart, and a smile playing 
 around her lips that might have beguiled an angel. 
 
 So looked Elsie seated on the bank of the little lake with 
 a dove kissing her blooming cheek. Beside the picture 
 hangs another painted some years later, a beautiful woman 
 with the same smiling countenance as in the earlier picture. 
 Diamonds are flashing in her beautiful hair, grown two shades 
 darker, but the bright eyes which once sparkled with mis- 
 chief are subdued, like a star in heaven dimmed by a pass- 
 ing mist. The picture is that of one who has known sor- 
 row, yet the expression on the face indicates that the trials 
 are past and peace now reigns where passion once held sway. 
 The bloom of maidenhood is no longer on Elsie's cheek 
 and the dove has flown from her shoulder, but she is still 
 beautiful and, but for the shadow of sorrow still resting on 
 her brow, there would be no happier woman in England. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Young people as a general thing take little heed of time ; 
 years pass away without thought of the precious moments 
 they are wasting. 
 
 With Arthur and Ronald the four years at Cambridge 
 soon went by. The tedium of study was lightened by vis- 
 its home during the vacations, where their little princess con- 
 tinued to rule them as despotically as when they were twelve 
 years old. 
 
 The young men graduated with all the honors, although 
 
128 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 Arthur was as usual in advance of Ronald, rather to the 
 chagrin of the latter, who feared his father would be disap- 
 pointed at his not standing first. 
 
 Arthur, who was not ignorant of his friend's discomfort, 
 said to him : " You know, Ronald, you have more real talent 
 than I have. I am obliged to study harder than you. My 
 poor invalid mother is so wrapped up in me, and it gives 
 her so much pleasure to see me stand well at the university, 
 that I study to win, while you keep your place by the force 
 of natural ability." 
 
 At the close of the term in 1872, the two friends left 
 Cambridge highly accomplished scholars, besides being pro- 
 ficient in all athletic exercises, but even in boating, fencing, 
 boxing, and cricket Arthur excelled his friend. 
 
 The difficulty with Ronald was that he was anxious to 
 appear well in Elsie's eyes, and therefore could not rest 
 easy under Arthur's superiority. He was anxious to show 
 Elsie that he was in all respects equal to Arthur. 
 
 Squire Pentland had told his son that his friend would 
 always excel him in everything, and Ronald was desirous 
 to show his father that he was mistaken ; but even in shoot- 
 ing, although Arthur had commenced the practice long 
 after Ronald, he had so improved as greatly to surpass his 
 friend. 
 
 Two handsomer men than Arthur and Ronald never 
 left Cambridge. They were just turned twenty, were each 
 six feet in height and well proportioned. Their whole make 
 up was that of two English gentlemen who would do credit 
 to their country, go where they would. According to Elsie's 
 wishes, both dressed alike, and but for their different com- 
 plexions it would have been difficult to tell them apart. 
 
 On leaving St. John's College Arthur and Ronald re- 
 ceived an ovation from their fellow-collegians, who accompa- 
 nied them to the railway station with noisy demonstrations 
 of regard, and each of them bore away a silver oar as a tes- 
 timony of his proficiency in boating. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 129 
 
 Who that has passed through the curriculum of the ven- 
 erable University of Cambridge does not remember the glo- 
 rious days spent within its ancient halls and beneath its 
 magnificent trees in grounds which have no superior in Eng- 
 land or elsewhere, for even Oxford with all its magnificent 
 colleges must yield to Cambridge in this particular ! A uni- 
 versity course amid such surroundings must surely exercise 
 a most favorable influence on the mind of a young man, es- 
 pecially when he reflects on the illustrious statesmen, au- 
 thors, and divines who have preceded him. 
 
 When Arthur and Ronald arrived home they had a warm 
 reception from Ronald's parents and Arthur's mother. As 
 for Mr. Merton, he did not trouble himself about his son, and 
 did not see him until the following Sunday, when he came 
 home as usual from the mills, preferring to spend his time 
 over accounts and in scheming to add to his wealth rath- 
 er than to give pleasure to his household. But he was not 
 missed, for Arthur's mother lavished such caresses and 
 praises upon him that the young man was satisfied, and he 
 asked nothing more. For the present, he had no higher as- 
 pirations than his mother and his home. 
 
 The afternoon of the day the friends reached home, they 
 went together to see Elsie Vernon and receive her congratu- 
 lations. 
 
 Elsie was awaiting their coming on the tiptoe of expecta- 
 tion, and had prepared a reception worthy the occasion. The 
 afternoon was lovely, and she had a table spread on the 
 lawn on which was a collation and a profusion of flowers. 
 At one end of the table were two objects the purpose of 
 which was not evident. The party was composed of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Pentland, Mrs. Merton, Mr. Vernon, Elsie, Arthur, 
 and Ronald. 
 
 It had been some months since Elsie had seen her two 
 
 brothers, as she called them, and during the interval she 
 
 had grown considerably, and the long dresses she now wore 
 
 added perceptibly to her stature. 
 9 
 
I30 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Elsie was now just budding into womanhood and re- 
 deeming the promise of beauty given by her childhood. She 
 was in fact gloriously beautiful, differing from the picture 
 taken by the lake in the maturity which had lately come to 
 her. From her mother she had inherited a very attractive 
 manner which had grown with her to womanhood. Elsie's 
 beauty was quite enough to make a susceptible man lose his 
 senses without this addition to her attractions. 
 
 At four o'clock the party assembled on the lawn under 
 the boughs of a wide- spreading oak which stood in solitary 
 grandeur. Elsie and her father advanced to meet their 
 guests. Ronald could hardly contain himself, while Arthur 
 walked slowly with his mother leaning on his arm. Elsie 
 shook Ronald's hand and exclaimed : " School-days are over 
 now, and you have come back to your little sister. You 
 shall live amid roses and my smiles." 
 
 As Arthur and his mother came up Elsie turned to them. 
 She had words of welcome prepared for Arthur, but did not 
 utter them. He took her hand while she looked earnestly 
 at him without power to say a word ; blushes mantled her 
 cheeks as she kissed Mrs. Merton and Mrs. Pentland affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 Elsie soon collected herself — and chatted away as usual 
 with the party, 
 
 Arthur was a little disappointed at his reception, but in 
 a short time recovered his equanimity. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Vernon had noticed the meeting of Elsie 
 with the young men and formed his own conclusions. The 
 incident was not apparently one of importance, but a small 
 indication in the sky often foretells a tempest that strews 
 the earth with ruin and lashes the ocean in fury. The rec- 
 tor could form some idea of the fate awaiting the three young 
 people in that party. It could not be that either of two 
 young men loving Elsie as they doubtless did would yield 
 such a prize to the other without a struggle, and he shud- 
 dered as he thought of the possible consequences. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 131 
 
 But the rest of the party were troubled by no misgivings. 
 Elsie placed her two brothers one on each side, while the 
 rest of the company arranged themselves around the table. 
 Then Elsie uncovering the parcel took from it two wreaths 
 of roses, one of Marechal Niel the other of Jacqueminot, and 
 placed the former on the head of Arthur, and the latter on 
 that of Ronald, saying : " Thus do I crown the heroes who 
 return from the field covered with honors. May Ihey be 
 victorious in all their undertakings ! " 
 
 The applauding guests drank the health of the heroes, 
 who modestly returned thanks. 
 
 A happier hour was seldom spent than that passed by 
 the party on the lawn under the shadow of the giant oak. 
 The sun was now declining, and the doves, missing Elsie 
 from the lake where she was wont to feed them, sought her 
 at the table on the lawn fluttering around without heeding 
 the guests at table, and her particular pet perched himself 
 on her shoulder. After a distribution of crumbs Elsie 
 made the signal for them to go, and they fluttered off over 
 the lake, stopping for a moment to drink, and disappeared 
 in their snug dwelling. 
 
 "That is a hint," said Mr. Vernon, '' that it is time for 
 us to retire indoors." The rector then gave a benediction 
 over the feast, expressing the hope that God would incline 
 the hearts of all present to be grateful for his mercies, and 
 so guide and purify them that no strife would ever enter 
 their minds, and whatever blessings might fall to one let the 
 others be satisfied with their own portion, and thank God 
 for it. 
 
 Shortly after the guests departed for their homes, the 
 rector and his daughter accompanying them a short distance 
 through the neighboring wood. 
 
 Few words passed between Mr. Vernon and his daugh- 
 ter on their way home, except that Elsie couldn't help re- 
 marking what handsome young men Arthur and Ronald had 
 grown to be, to which her father assented, saying they re- 
 
132 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 minded him of the statues of Hector and Achilles. " I hope" 
 he added, "they will have a better fate." 
 
 No more was said on the subject, and Elsie retired early. 
 While standing before the glass, arranging her hair for the 
 night, she said to her reflection : " I wonder what papa 
 meant by his classical comparison. I am sure he meant 
 Arthur for Achilles, and Ronald for Hector." She sighed 
 as she extinguished the candles and endeavored to com- 
 pose herself to sleep. The effort was in vain, and it was 
 hours before tired Nature's sweet restorer paid her his wel- 
 come visit. 
 
 Next morning, after breakfast, Arthur and Ronald went 
 over to the rectory together, but they did not talk with their 
 usual volubility. At length Ronald remarked : " Arthur, 
 have you noticed how beautiful Elsie has grown to be ? She 
 is an angel, and I could hardly sleep last night for thinking 
 of her." 
 
 " Yes," replied his friend, '* my experience was similar to 
 yours, but Elsie is not an angel, although she is the most 
 perfect creature I ever beheld" — here Ronald winced — 
 " but we shall lose her some day, and then what shall we do } 
 You remember how much she talks of Prince Golden Hair, 
 and you know that every young woman sets up an ideal of 
 her own. She may work her imagination up to the point 
 of believing the man she marries and Prince Golden Hair 
 to be one and the same, but this will only happen where 
 the husband by unbounded devotion has supplanted her 
 ideal. We must make up our minds to lose Elsie some 
 day." 
 
 Ronald turned pale, and he spoke with difficulty. "Who 
 would take Elsie from us, our playmate in boyhood ? Let 
 any man dare try it, and I would challenge him to mortal 
 combat." 
 
 "That's all very well to talk about," said Arthur, "but 
 in England men are not allowed to shoot each other merely 
 because they happen to love the same woman. No, Ronald, 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 133 
 
 you must join me in making Elsie happy, no matter who 
 Prince Golden Hair may chance to be." 
 
 Ronald said no more. There was a lump in his throat 
 that he could not get rid of, and he only recovered his equa- 
 nimity when the rectory appeared in view and he saw Elsie 
 near the lake feeding her doves. 
 
 Elsie seated herself on a low chair near the house while 
 her two subjects sat on a couple of rugs which vvere laid 
 upon the grass, and soon in her guileless conversation, the 
 young men forgot that Elsie had ever harbored a thought 
 of Prince Golden Hair or of any one else except them- 
 selves. 
 
 Days and weeks passed happily away, one day pretty 
 much like another. Much of the time was spent in listen- 
 ing to Elsie's music, which her subjects lauded to the skies. 
 On Saturdays, if the weather were favorable, the young men 
 went out shooting, and they managed to keep the rector's 
 larder supplied with game. 
 
 There was nothing particularly eventful in these excur- 
 sions, except that Ronald had on his father's place — their 
 usual shooting-ground — a young fellow of about his own age, 
 but in appearance far from prepossessing. 
 
 On several occasions while they were shooting Arthur 
 noticed the fellow, and one day asked Ronald who he 
 was, saying he had never seen a more hang-dog counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "Why," said Ronald, laughing, "that is your old friend 
 Bill Briggs, to whom you gave such a thrashing years ago. 
 He is now under game-keeper at Moorland, and an excellent 
 one he is." 
 
 " He may be a good game-keeper " said Arthur, " but 
 according to my remembrance he was preparing to poach at 
 the time I thrashed him. He hasn't grown any handsomer, 
 that is evident." 
 
 Nothing more was said about Bill Briggs at the time, 
 but occasionally Arthur imagined that the fellow was fur- 
 
134 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 lively watching him. But of this he thought little, particu- 
 larly as the assistant game-keeper provided his friend and 
 himself with such good sport. 
 
 For six months Arthur and Ronald lived in Elysium. 
 Prince Golden Hair had not appeared, and Elsie never 
 seemed to regret his non-arrival. 
 
 One day Squire Pentland said to his wife : " I must tell 
 you something which I hope you will not consider bad news. 
 I have made arrangements for Ronald to take a place in 
 the London banking-house of Trenholm and Brent. He 
 has had a good vacation, and it is time he went to work to 
 learn a profession." 
 
 Mrs. Pentland was surprised, for she had hoped that Ron- 
 ald was to remain with her. She could scarcely refrain 
 from tears. " My dear," she said, " what put that idea into 
 your head ? " 
 
 " Why," said her husband, " I have always determined 
 that Ronald should be a banker. Making money is certainly 
 a delightful occupation, and I do not want him to live in 
 idleness." 
 
 Ronald, when informed of the plan, agreed with his 
 father, and said : " I shall be delighted to go to London if 
 Arthur will accompany me and go into some business there. 
 We have been together so long that it would be like lopping 
 off a limb if I were separated from him, and I think he will 
 have the same idea with regard to me." 
 
 " Perhaps it can be managed," said the squire, **for Mr. 
 Merton will naturally want his son to have employment. 
 Although he is a rich man he may lose his money, and a 
 young man who depends altogether on his father is not likely 
 ever to amount to much." 
 
 It was agreed that the squire should approach Mr. Mer- 
 ton on the subject, while Ronald hastened at once to talk 
 over matters with Arthur. 
 
 The latter was delighted at the idea of embarking in bus- 
 iness and making his own living. He knew that his father 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 135 
 
 had no affection for him, and on that account had the 
 greater desire to be independent. 
 
 When Mr. Merton came home on Saturday night he 
 found a letter on his dressing-table from his wife asking him 
 to consent to Squire Pentland's proposition and obtain for 
 Arthur a position in a banking-house. 
 
 It was with reluctance that Julia consented to her son's 
 leaving her again, for she had hoped that after finishing his 
 studies he would remain with her as long as she lived. Feel- 
 ing that she could not change her destiny, Julia had long 
 since made up her mind to accept the situation and let Ar- 
 thur fill the blank in her heart caused by the loss of Eus- 
 tis Ferris. 
 
 When Mr. Merton appeared on Sunday morning he had 
 his wife's letter in his hand and seemed to be in quite a 
 pleasant frame of mind, and greeted the mother and son in 
 what was for him a cordial manner, even asking Julia if she 
 had seen in the paper an account of the large sales made 
 from the ]Merton mills during the past year. On being an- 
 swered in the negative, Mr. Merton sat back pompously in 
 his chair and read it all to her. According to this statement, 
 there had been sold during the year three hundred thousand 
 pounds' worth of manufactured goods, and after paying all 
 expenses Mr. Merton declared that his net profit would be 
 a hundred thousand pounds. 
 
 Mrs. ^Merton congratulated her husband on his success, 
 but she could not help feeling that this great profit had been 
 made through the oppression of the poor operatives in the 
 manufactory. 
 
 "Arthur," said Mr. Merton, looking keenly at his son, 
 " it is time you should put your shoulder to the wheel and 
 help me double my fortune. I want to see my name figure 
 as that of the richest commoner in England. I may one 
 day receive a title of nobility which you will inherit with all 
 the property." 
 
 Arthur groaned inwardly at the idea of serving under 
 
136 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 his father in the mills, and he closed his eyes as if to exclude 
 the dreadful prospect. 
 
 " Many more extraordinary things have happened," con- 
 tinued Mr. Merton, " than that I should obtain a peerage, 
 but I don't propose to subject you to the drudgery of the 
 mills, but intend you shall be a banker. I can furnish you 
 with any amount of capital when you are competent to go 
 into business for yourself, which ought to be the case after 
 three years' hard work in Childs & Go's bank, where I keep 
 my money. When we set up business as Merton & Son 
 you will be able to assume a good position in society, you 
 will make friends, for money is all powerful, and with my 
 management you will command such influence that we shall 
 be able to reach the highest round of the ladder." 
 
 Arthur was quite dazzled by the prospect which his father 
 presented to him, but recovering in a moment, he said : "Al- 
 though I am delighted, sir, at the prospect held out to me, 
 yet I could not be happy without my mother." 
 
 " She may live with you," said Mr. Merton, " for I shall 
 be so absorbed in business at the mills that I shall be here 
 but seldom. You can procure plans for a house which can 
 be finished and furnished in twelve months in such style as 
 my wealth calls for. There you can receive your friends, 
 and add to your importance. In ten years I will be Lord 
 Merton. This place you can have as a country residence. 
 I shall dwell at the mills. Is this arrangement agreeable ? " 
 
 " Perfectly so," said Arthur. 
 
 ''For the present," continued Mr. Merton, "you can 
 provide handsome lodgings for your mother and yourself 
 in London until the new house is finished, by which time 
 you will have a good general idea of the banking business, 
 the secret of which is to be backed by plenty of capital. 
 When your social status is firmly established I will appear 
 upon the scene, and as I have conquered all other obstacles, 
 am certain I can attain the goal I now seek." 
 
 Julia shuddered at her husband's words, for her own 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 13^7 
 
 case was an illustration of how he could triumph over ob- 
 stacles. She had no doubt of his success in the present in- 
 stance, as he was prepared to go to any lengths in attain- 
 ing his object, but she was not pleased at the idea of Ar- 
 thur's succeeding to a title obtained in so questionable a 
 manner. 
 
 Julia, however, expressed her satisfaction at her hus- 
 band's arrangements in a proper manner, but although de- 
 lighted at the prospect of living with her son, she felt that 
 Mr. Merton had delayed too long doing anything to give 
 her pleasure, and she distrusted him so thoroughly that she 
 could hardly help showing it. 
 
 She knew that Mr. Merton's apparent liberality was pure 
 selfishness, and that he did not consider either her welfare 
 or Arthur's in the transaction. 
 
 The prospect of escaping from her husband's society was 
 a cause of thankfulness. It is true he had stated that he 
 would come to London when his plans were matured ; but 
 Julia trusted that his visits might be few and far be- 
 tween. 
 
 That night Julia slept little, thinking of her promised 
 freedom, while Arthur lay awake meditating on the life he 
 must lead in the metropolis and the chance of making a nam.e 
 for himself. 
 
 As for Mr. Merton, he beheld himself a member of the 
 peerage and seated in the House of Lords. Stranger things 
 than this had happened. If the Dublin distiller Guinness 
 could be made a baronet for paying the bill for restoring 
 St. Patrick's Cathedral, why shouldn't John Merton, with 
 money enough to restore half a dozen cathedrals, be raised 
 to the peerage } 
 
 If necessary he would expend a million or two in build- 
 ing a huge iron-clad that could destroy anything afloat, and 
 present it to the Government. 
 
 All through the night these brilliant phantoms chased 
 each other through the manufacturer's brain, and at day- 
 
138 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 light he was up and hurrying to catch the train for Lyne- 
 ham, where he ground as much as possible out of his slaves 
 to enable him to carry out his cherished plan. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 All day Sunday was spent by Arthur and his mother 
 talking about their future, and so much were they engrossed 
 that the young man did not even go to see Ronald, that 
 they might pay their accustomed visit to the rectory. 
 
 For pretty much the same reason Ronald had spent the 
 day with his parents and evening came before he was 
 aware. 
 
 Elsie in the mean while was lonely enough, and began to 
 suspect her subjects of weakening in their allegiance ; but 
 although she wondered at the neglect, Elsie knew that noth- 
 ing serious had happened or she would have heard of it. 
 
 That night she dreamed she was in a beautiful triumphal 
 car, to which all her doves were harnessed, driving through 
 the gates of paradise, where Arthur and Ronald stood to 
 receive her. Elsie's thoughts were so innocent that her 
 dreams were always tinged with heavenly ideas. In hsr 
 heart there was no room for anything sinful. 
 
 On Monday after breakfast, Arthur went to tell Ronald 
 of the arrangements made by his father, whereat his friend 
 was overjoyed. " Now, Arthur," said Ronald, *' go home, 
 saddle your horse, and we'll take a gallop together over 
 the hills. I'll have mother's horse saddled for Elsie, and 
 we'll take the poor little thing with us. How dreadfully she 
 will miss us when we go to London ! " 
 
 "Yes," repHed Arthur, "but don't forget that while we 
 are away. Prince Golden Hair may put in an appearance and 
 console her for our absence." 
 
 " If I thought so," said Ronald, " I should not wish to 
 go away, but would want to stay here and thrash Prince 
 
ARTHUR MERTOiY, 139 
 
 Golden Hair." His eyes flashed, while Arthur, laughing, 
 went home to get his horse. 
 
 Half an hour afterward, as he was returning, he saw a 
 number of men assembled in front of Squire Pentland's 
 house, tv/o of them lifting a person who seemed to have been 
 hurt, while near the gate leading from the stables lay 
 Ronald's horse. 
 
 Arthur hastened to the spot, jumped from his horse and 
 saw Ronald apparently dead and his mother, leaning over 
 the body, crying as if her heart would break. 
 
 A moment later Ronald was laid on his bed. Arthur 
 took his friend's hand, and — while the tears rolled down his 
 cheeks — said, " Ronald, don't you know me ? " At the fa- 
 miliar voice, Ronald seemed to rouse a little and partially 
 opening his eyes, said faintly: *' Is that you Arthur? I am 
 badly hurt ; give me some water." 
 
 " A good sign that," said the squire. '' Put a little brandy 
 with it." 
 
 The doctor came, and found that although badly bruised, 
 none of the patient's bones were broken, and after taking a 
 light anodyne the latter fell into an uneasy slum.ber. 
 
 Arthur, who was greatly distressed at the accident, offered 
 to stay and nurse his friend, but Mrs. Pentland said : " No, 
 Arthur, I must nurse him ; but one thing you may do, and 
 that is go to Elsie and break the news to her as gently as 
 possible ; she will be completely broken down by the intelli- 
 gence, and should not be too roughly informed of the acci- 
 dent. You know, Arthur, that Ronald has watched over 
 Elsie from her infancy, and when he was but four years old 
 would insist on going to the rectory every day to see her in 
 her cradle. His heart has always been wrapped up in her. 
 God will that everything may end as we desire ! " 
 
 "I will go at once," said Arthur, and he went his way, 
 his heart torn by conflicting emotions. Meeting one of the 
 grooms, the man informed him how the accident had oc- 
 curred. 
 
I40 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 When Ronald ordered the horses saddled they were both 
 very fresh, not having been ridden for several days, and when 
 he mounted his own horse the other broke away and jumped 
 over the gate. Ronald's horse followed, and he let him 
 have his head, but in clearing the wall the horse's hoof 
 struck the top, and he fell headlong with his rider. The ani- 
 mal was badly bruised, but got off easier than his master. 
 "That is hall, Mr. Arthur" concluded the groom. "I'll 
 *ave 'im haround soon, an' I 'ope Mr. Ronald will fare has 
 well hunder the 'ands hov 'is doctor has the 'oss will hun- 
 der mine." 
 
 Arthur now hurried to the rectory, and found Elsie by 
 the lakeside with her doves. Seeing Arthur, she went to 
 meet him, and from the expression of his countenance, saw 
 that something had happened. " Tell me, dear Arthur," she 
 exclaimed " what is the matter ? " 
 
 "Be calm, Elsie," replied Arthur, "and when you get 
 over your excitement I will tell you." They walked to the 
 house, entered the parlor, and sat down side by side on a 
 sofa. 
 
 " Elsie," he said, " do not be distressed at what I tell 
 you. Matters may not be very bad, for hunters are often 
 thrown from their horses without much damage being done." 
 
 " Heavens ! " exclaimed Elsie ; " Ronald has been thown 
 from his horse ! " and she burst into tears. 
 
 " But he has broken no bones," said Arthur, " and is 
 now asleep." Then he went on and told the whole story. 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Elsie, " what should I have done had Ron- 
 ald been killed, and how do I know but what he is injured 
 internally and will not recover ! " and she sobbed as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 " Elsie, this grief is unreasonable," said Arthur. " Ronald 
 is not seriously injured. I am sure I would agree to have ten 
 times as many bruises if I could get these sweet tears shed 
 for me." 
 
 " You I " she said, turning quickly around, the tears still 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 141 
 
 glistening in her eyelashes. '' You get hurt ! " laying her hand 
 on his arm and looking affectionately into his face. "I be- 
 lieve it would kill me to know that you were suffering and 
 I not able to nurse and watch over you. It is different with 
 Ronald, who has always been to me as a brother, and who, 
 until you joined us, was my only companion, and has always 
 done everything in his power to please me. I can never do 
 enough to return his affection, and to think of him lying 
 sorely hurt and I not near him ! What will his poor mother 
 do if Ronald were to die ! " 
 
 *' You love him very dearly, do you not, Elsie ? " inquired 
 Arthur, in a voice trembling with emotion. 
 
 " Yes, I do ; no girl ever loved a brother better." 
 
 "And he loves you as well, does he not ? " 
 
 "Yes, I am sure of it," she replied. " I am sure he has 
 given me many proofs of it." 
 
 "Ah," sighed Arthur, "what a happy life you have 
 before you I Ronald will soon be well again, and you will be 
 able to tell him all this, and he will be delighted to think 
 Prince Golden Hair you talked so much about will never 
 come between you and him." 
 
 " Between me and him ! " repeated Elsie. " What has such 
 a childish ideal as Prince Golden Hair got to do with Ron- 
 ald and myself.^" She looked earnestly into Arthur's eyes 
 awaiting an answer. " Tell me at once what you mean." 
 
 Arthur hesitated for a moment, at loss w^hat to say. 
 Should he open the eyes of this innocent creature, and let 
 her know the difference between a brother's love and that 
 higher and more sacred feeling which makes or mars a life, 
 which can transform an arid desert into a delightful land- 
 scape or make the most beautiful spot in the world as dis- 
 mal as a wilderness. Matters had gone so far that Arthur 
 felt he must take a step that would either make him the hap- 
 piest man on earth or else the most miserable. 
 
 " Elsie," said Arthur, " I am not acting wisely or perhaps 
 honorably while Ronald is lying helpless and suffering, and 
 
142 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 therefore, although it may forfeit my happiness, I will stop 
 here and never mention this subject again." 
 
 " No," said Elsie, " I insist on knowing what you mean ; 
 you may be resting under a delusion." 
 
 " If I have made a mistake," said Arthur, " you must for- 
 give me. This morning when I left Mrs. Pentland. to come 
 to you, she was quite overcome with the accident that had 
 befallen her son, and spoke of the deep grief you would feel 
 on hearing of it." 
 
 " Of course," said Elsie ; " how could I feel otherwise ?" 
 
 Arthur continued : " Ronald's mother then spoke of a 
 warmer attachment between you and her son than friendship, 
 which she hoped would lead to a union, and give you both 
 great happiness." 
 
 " I don't understand you yet," said Elsie. *' What 
 greater happiness could I have than to see Ronald well 
 and happy .? " 
 
 Arthur thought he had never seen Elsie so slow to com- 
 prehend the situation of affairs before, but he went on des- 
 perately. " Ronald's mother seemed to think that you and 
 her son would one day be united in marriage and — " 
 
 Elsie jumped up from the sofa, her lips trembling, and 
 with a look of despair upon her countenance. " Oh 
 Arthur," she cried, " does Mrs. Pentland deceive herself in 
 that way, and is it possible that Ronald may think so too .'* 
 It could never be. I love Ronald dearly as a brother, but 
 nothing more, for — " 
 
 " For what, Elsie ? " interrupted Arthur. " And may my 
 tongue be paralyzed if I speak wrongfully, if you love Ron- 
 ald as a brother only, I want to know what I am to you } " 
 
 Elsie put her hands over her eyes, while tears trickled 
 through her fingers. 
 
 " I love you," continued Arthur, "v/ith my whole soul; 
 not as a brother, but as one who would make you his wife 
 and go with you through life in peace and happiness. I 
 hope I am not acting dishonorably, but must speak or die. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 143 
 
 There can be but one love from me to you. Speak, Elsie, 
 speak if it kills me." 
 
 Elsie took her hands from her eyes and there was, in 
 spite of her tears, an expression of happiness on her face 
 such as Arthur had never seen there before. 
 
 " Oh, Arthur," she said, " you have made me so happy ! 
 This will be a day sacred to me while I live. I have loved 
 you, not only with the affection of a sister, but with that 
 stronger attachment which can never be felt but once in the 
 world. I love you with all my heart." Elsie dropped her 
 head on Arthur's shoulder, and this time wept tears of joy, 
 while he pressed the first kiss of love on her innocent lips. 
 
 How rapidly the thoughts flitted through his brain ! He 
 thanked God at the prospect of his union with one whom 
 he considered an angel, with no more similitude to the wom- 
 an of fashion than the rose to the nettle. That she was not 
 one who would shine in the world of fashion he knew, but 
 with her grace and beauty, he was sure she would eclipse 
 those who are educated purposely to entrap men of wealth 
 and position. 
 
 Arthur and Elsie sat for some time in silence. At length 
 she raised her head from his shoulder. " Oh, Arthur, how 
 happy I am ! I feel like the lark soaring to the clouds and 
 singing as he flies. I feel as if I had reached the gates of 
 paradise and obtained a glimpse of heaven. Are you as 
 happy as that ? " 
 
 "Elsie," he replied, '' I am not demonstrative, but I feel 
 as if all the treasures of the earth lay at my feet, while 
 choirs of angels assured me of happiness." 
 
 " I never knew before," said Elsie, " what was wanting ; 
 happy as I have been there was a void in my heart. Only 
 when you were with me did I feel satisfied ; when you were 
 absent, even for an hour, my heart felt its longings return. 
 And now my heart is so full of love that I know not how 
 to express it. I feel like a flower that drinks in the warmth 
 of the morning sun, and as if I would like to fly to heaven 
 
144 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 and thank God for what he has given me. Oh, how I have 
 watched your coming when you have been absent from 
 me, and how I have gazed on your receding form as you 
 passed from my sight ! It seemed as if you took my life with 
 you. This was love, and I did not know it, yet, although I 
 loved Ronald as a brother, I have never felt toward him 
 as I do toward you. I hope it will make him happy to 
 know how we love each other." 
 
 *' No, Elsie," said Arthur, " there will come the trouble. 
 Ronald has watched you from infancy to womanhood, and 
 all his associations are bound up in yours. His is a more 
 excitable temperament than mine, and while I have nursed 
 my love in secret, fearing almost to betray it to myself, I 
 have noticed in him evidences of a stronger feeling than 
 exists between brother and sister. I am satisfied Ronald 
 loves you in the same manner that I do, although he can 
 never love you with the same fervor." 
 
 Elsie put her hands over her eyes. " Heavens," she ex- 
 claimed, " what a dreadful misfortune ! I pity Ronald from 
 the bottom of my heart." 
 
 ''Yes," said Arthur, "what will be life and happiness to 
 me will I fear be death to him. Often as my love grew upon 
 me I have seen you and Ronald talking and laughing to- 
 gether, and you always talked more freely to him than you 
 did to me. I thought how well you were matched, and won- 
 dered to what corner of the world I should wander when 
 you and Ronald had plighted your faith to each other. I 
 determined neither of you should ever know my grief, and I 
 knew that I should always be lovingly remembered by you 
 both. Until to-day, Elsie, I never thought you loved me ; 
 but if you loved any one I supposed it to be Ronald." 
 
 "Oh, Arthur, how could you think so, how could you ! " 
 
 **Why," replied Arthur, "you were so much more com- 
 municative with Ronald, and always gave him the preference 
 in everything." 
 
 "My poor Arthur," said Elsie, "and I loving you all 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 145 
 
 this time so dearly ! You, such a wise man, who has taken 
 all the honors, yet does not know how to distinguish love 
 from friendship ! " 
 
 Arthur pressed the beautiful hand he held in his. " Elsie," 
 he said, " do you see the dilemma we are in ? Ronald has 
 been brought up by his mother to believe that you would 
 one day be his wife." 
 
 " It is too bad," said Elsie, " and I pity him if it is as 
 you imagine, for I know how I should have suffered, Arthur, 
 if I had not gained your love." 
 
 "Then, Elsie," said Arthur, "although it is against our 
 natures, we must dissemble a little for a time, and not pro- 
 claim our affection to the world. We will endeavor to find 
 out if my surmises are correct, and must act as God de- 
 crees. When Ronald is well he will go to London, and in 
 the attractions of the great metropolis let us hope he will 
 form some other attachment ; meanwhile we must wait pa- 
 tiently." 
 
 " Oh, Arthur," said Elsie, " I was in hopes we could pub- 
 lish our love to the world that all my friends could con- 
 gratulate me, but I will do as you advise." She seated her- 
 self at the piano and sang "Love's Young Dream" with a 
 pathos such as Arthur had never heard before. 
 
 Never were two lovers happier, and Arthur and Elsie 
 spent the afternoon exchanging confidences. They told 
 each other all their doubts and fears when mutual love be- 
 gan to make their hearts beat wildly, when first they began 
 to lay awake and think, instead of sleeping through the night. 
 
 By a singular coincidence the symptoms were much the 
 same in both cases, and very similar to the experience of 
 others — an experience that will be constantly repeated un- 
 til the last day, for love will rule the world until eternity. 
 
 And what a beautiful love was this ! so innocent and 
 pure. Could all love be like this the world would be a para- 
 dise. The trees whispered softly, and the birds sang with 
 joy while Elsie's doves circled around the head's of the lov- 
 10 
 
146 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ers as they walked across the lawn, and seated themselves 
 upon the summit of a grassy knoll. Around the knoll the 
 ground was studded with flowers, blossoms from the azaleas 
 floated through the air perfuming all space, while bees and 
 butterflies sipped honey from the roses and lilies. Seldom in 
 summer's green embellished field could one witness a bright- 
 er scene — it was the one place where everything breathed of 
 love, and there sat Arthur and Elsie until the lengthening 
 shadows reminded them of the flight of time, and that they 
 were forgetting their friend who lay on the couch of pain. 
 
 Arthur was the first to remember Ronald, and proposed 
 to Elsie that he should go and look after him. Before leav- 
 ing he told of the plans laid out for him by his father, and 
 that when Ronald got well both would have to go to London. 
 
 Elsie was somewhat disappointed at the thought of Ar- 
 thur's leaving her. " Oh, Arthur," she exclaimed, " after 
 having the cup of joy placed to my lips, it is cruel to snatch 
 it away so quickly ; but it will be some time before you go, 
 and I must make the best of it, and content myself with 
 the letters you write, conveying the assurances of your un- 
 changing affection." 
 
 At the edge of the wood they parted, waving their hand- 
 kerchiefs to each other until Arthur passed from sight. 
 
 Elsie then went to her room, and kneeling down thanked 
 God for the sweet gift of Arthur's love, which was worth 
 more to her than all the world beside. 
 
 When Arthur reached Ronald's bedside he found the 
 latter awaiting his arrival with feverish anxiety. 
 
 " Did you see Elsie ? " he inquired, " and was she much 
 grieved at my misfortune ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Arthur, " she was greatly distressed, and 
 it was all I could do to console her, although I assured her 
 that the doctor said you would soon be about again." 
 
 " Yes ; the doctor says its merely a good shaking up, but 
 I feel as if I had been pounded by a trip-hammer," said 
 Ronald. Poor Elsie, I know how she feels, and that she 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 147 
 
 would rather it had been herself. Elsie loves me as I love 
 her, and if I had been fatally injured the shock would have 
 killed her. I have had a hundred proofs of her affection ; 
 don't you think so ? " 
 
 Arthur was taken quite aback ; the denouement was 
 coming sooner than he had anticipated. '' Ronald," he 
 said, "you should not excite yourself about anything in 
 your present condition. No sister could love a brother 
 more than Elsie does you, as was shown by her distress 
 to-day." 
 
 ** But, my dear boy, that is not the love I want her to feel. 
 I look forward to the day when I can call Elsie wife." 
 
 ''Ronald," said Arthur, "you have been brought up to 
 regard Elsie as a sister, and unless you know the contrary, 
 she may only think of that relationship. A girl may be de- 
 voted to a friend, yet a stranger may step in and she give 
 her heart to him. Elsie has never associated with any young 
 men excepting ourselves because she has lived in seclusion, 
 but place her in fashionable circles in London, and she might 
 encounter a Prince Golden Hair more to her taste than her 
 country friends. She is young yet to be thinking of lovers." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Ronald, " Elsie has been a woman in feel- 
 ing for some time. Don't talk to me of Prince Golden Hair, 
 for he was merely her childish ideal." 
 
 The conversation had become very distasteful to Ar- 
 thur, whose worst apprehensions were realized. Ronald, 
 like himself, loved Elsie. 
 
 "This is all wrong, Ronald," he said, "for your excite- 
 ment may bring on a fever, and then, perhaps, your air-built 
 castles might end in a dangerous illness. Elsie has, no 
 doubt, her own ideas on the subject we have been discuss- 
 ing, and will marry whom she pleases, for no man could re- 
 sist her attractions. We must do all we can to help her to 
 be happy." 
 
 Ronald sighed, and admitted the correctness of this 
 reasoning. He said no more, and in a little while was 
 
148 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 fast asleep and dreaming of Elsie seated in a gold carriage 
 drawn by angels. 
 
 When Arthur found that Ronald was sleeping quietly he 
 went home and was warmly greeted by his mother, who 
 looked at him inquiringly, and said : " Why, my son, I ex- 
 pected to see you with a sorrowful countenance after your 
 friend's misfortune, instead of which your eyes are lighted 
 up in a manner I have never seen before, and I could almost 
 imagine a halo around your head." 
 
 " Dear mother," said Arthur, " you read me like a book, 
 and I can not conceal my feelings even if I wished to do so. 
 I will tell you everything, and am sure you will rejoice at my 
 happiness." 
 
 Arthur then informed his mother of what had taken place 
 between him and Elsie, and the unfortunate turn affairs had 
 taken with regard to Ronald. "I am distressed for him," 
 said Arthur, "for I fear his life will be wrecked, as mine 
 would have been had I not gained Elsie's love." 
 
 Julia was moved to tears by Arthur's confidence. " I 
 have always hoped for this," she said, "and the evening of 
 my life will be cheered by witnessing your happiness ; at the 
 same time my mind is oppressed by the difficulties thrown 
 in your way by Ronald's expectations. I knew that you 
 both loved the sweet child. Our lives have not been happy 
 ones ; let us pray God to make them brighter in the future." 
 
 Arthur's dreams that night were golden ones, but he 
 never imagined that while Elsie and himself were seated on 
 the knoll at the edge of the wood, two malicious eyes were 
 watching him. Some twenty yards from the lovers' trysting- 
 place was a little hut, hidden among the vines, where the 
 rector had formerly been accustomed to retire for the pur- 
 pose of study. Thither Arthur's implacable enemy. Bill 
 Briggs, had chanced to wander, and from that ambush had 
 witnessed all that passed between the lovers. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 That evening when her father came home Elsie informed 
 him of the accident, and he, knowing the relation existing 
 between her and Ronald from childhood, was surprised not 
 to see Elsie depressed, but, on the contrary, with a joyous 
 light upon her face. If the treasures of the world had been 
 poured into her lap she could not have exhibited more sat- 
 isfaction. She kissed her father a dozen times, hung about 
 him as if she would like to communicate some very happy 
 news, helped him off with his overcoat, tugged up-stairs with 
 his traveling bag, ran out and made him a milk punch, then 
 kissed him again, ran her fingers over the piano keys, and 
 altogether acted so strangely that the Rev. Mr. Vernon had 
 to consult his wits to find out what was the meaning of it 
 all. What he noticed particularly was the look of ecstacy 
 which shone in Elsie's face — under the circumstances it was 
 to him unfathomable. 
 
 " Who brought you the news of Ronald's accident, El- 
 sie? " inquired her father. 
 
 '' Arthur did," was the answer, and to save her life she 
 could not avoid blushing when she mentioned the name. 
 
 The rector remarked her confusion. "At what time 
 did Arthur come } " he inquired, " and how long did he re- 
 main ? " 
 
 " Oh ! some time," said Elsie, blushing more and more ; 
 "he stayed to console me, for I was very much grieved." 
 
 " Of course," he said ; " you naturally would be at such a 
 disaster. But when did Arthur go home ? " 
 
 Elsie was truth itself, but there is a sacredness in love 
 matters and she stammered so that no one could tell what 
 she meant to say. " Well— perhaps— I can't say— but his 
 horse threw him this morning and he came here at ten o'clock, 
 and he was bruised very much— and he went away in the 
 evening — and there were no bones broken — and he described 
 
ISO 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 how it all happened — and the doctor said he would pull 
 through — and he was coming for me to ride with Mrs. Pent- 
 land's horse." 
 
 The rector smiled. "Well, Elsie," he said, kissing the 
 confused girl, *' you do credit to my instruction. After five 
 years' hard work trying to teach you the elements of EngUsh 
 grammar, you can not construct a sentence without making 
 mistakes. What has happened, Elsie ? " 
 
 " I don't know," she cried, sobbing, and rushing from the 
 apartment, flew to her room and locked the door. " Oh 
 my ! " she said, looking in the glass, " what a figure I have 
 made Of myself ! If I had stayed any longer with papa he 
 might have learned my secret, and I would not have him 
 know it for the world." 
 
 The rector was a man of the world. He had been edu- 
 cated at Eton and Oxford, and there is very little that a man 
 does not know of worldly matters after leaving these insti- 
 tutions and spending some years in London society. He 
 had gone through the experience of love himself, and knew 
 the signs ; he had watched these young people for years, to 
 see what direction Elsie's fancy would take, and did not 
 care which of the two young men she chose, for both were 
 eligible in every sense of the word. Squire Pentland was 
 ** well to do," and Ronald was an only son. Mr. Merton 
 was a millionaire, though engaged in trade, and his was 
 an only son also. The father was not desirable, but the 
 son and his mother were, and, somehow or other, Mr. Ver- 
 non's heart went out to Arthur, and it delighted him to see 
 the turn matters had taken. Though Arthur was the more 
 conservative of the two young men, he could read both their 
 hearts, and while he felt so pleased he shuddered at the 
 storm he saw in the distance gathering strength and coming 
 nearer every day. He would keep his eyes open and watch, 
 or perhaps Elsie would tell him herself. 
 
 The next morning after his visit to Ronald, who was 
 much better, Arthur proceeded to the parsonage. Elsie was 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 i;r 
 
 watching for him. Running to meet him, putting her arm 
 through his, and clasping one hand over the other, she looked 
 up into his face, and said : " Dear Arthur, I thought you 
 would never come." He looked down into her uplifted 
 eyes and patted her hand. 
 
 Lovers are something like the ostrich, who when pursued 
 by the hunter hides his head in the sand supposing his body 
 will not be seen. So it was with these two — they forgot 
 that there was any one in the world but themselves, and 
 took their seat on the mound where they had been the 
 day before. The rector sat at his study window wonder- 
 ing to himself if there ever was a handsomer couple. A 
 small field-glass lay close at hand, and without the slightest 
 intention of playing the spy, or intruding on their sacred 
 mystery, he took a long look at them, saying, with a sigh : 
 '' The same old story ! ' Love's young dream.' Love, like 
 history repeats itself. I shall soon lose her. May the gob- 
 let from which they drink be filled with the water of life. 
 
 May no maddening draught of Hypocrene be hidden in the bowl, 
 Or darkening clouds e'er rush between two souls so made for love." 
 
 At that moment Elsie was gazing in her lover's face with 
 a trustful look that is only born of love, while Arthur was 
 regarding her so intensely and lovingly as to be oblivious 
 to all the world besides. 
 
 " I know the signs too well," said the rector to himself. 
 " How often have my own lost Miriam and I sat just as they 
 are sitting, drinking in words of love, as the flowers the 
 dews of heaven ! That was a loss to me which Heaven can 
 only repay by granting me a union with my loved one in 
 the eternal life hereafter." He moved away from the win- 
 dow. ''There let the lovers stay and enjoy their hallowed 
 feelings ; it is sacrilege to look upon them while the happy 
 beings are thinking that they are the only two people in the 
 world so blessed." 
 
 So passed the day as did the day before. The flowers, 
 
152 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 those stars of earth, illumined the ground with a beauty- 
 greater than the lovers had ever noticed before. The birds 
 sang sweeter than ever, and flew from bough to bough with 
 notes of love. The doves came for Elsie to feed them, and 
 her pet dove, resting upon Elsie's shoulder, pecked at Ar- 
 thur's hand and fought it with his wings when it dared to 
 touch its mistress. " Ah," said Elsie, '' here is one who 
 loves me better than you do, and will fight to the death for 
 me." Arthur, forgetting that there were eyes in the world, 
 took her face between his hands and kissed her. The dove 
 flew away as if offended, and Bill Briggs, hid in the adjacent 
 thicket, chuckled, and said to himself : ** That's a nail in yer 
 coffing ; if it ain't then I'll be blowed ! " 
 
 The lovers came to one conclusion that day. Arthur 
 told Elsie that he had never kept a secret from his mother 
 in his life, and confessed that he had informed her of their 
 love notwithstanding their agreement to tell no one. *' Dar- 
 ling," he said, *'it is but right that I should ask your father's 
 consent ; I do not like secrecy, much less with one who loves 
 you so well. I shall have to go soon and look after Ronald ; 
 let us go to Mr. Vernon at once." 
 
 Elsie was delighted, for she longed to impart to her 
 father the joy she knew he would feel at her happiness, so 
 they walked to the house and went to the library, where the 
 rector was sitting in a "brown study." Elsie rushed to 
 him and threw her arms around his neck. 
 
 The rector looked up smiling, and said : " Ah, ingrate, 
 you have come to confess. I should have been displeased if 
 you had tried to keep the secret of your happiness from me." 
 
 " No," said Elsie, " we have come to ask your consent 
 and your blessing. We know that you will give both, as 
 you loved my dear mother so well that you can feel for us." 
 
 The rector rose with tears in his eyes, and placed his 
 hands upon his daughter's head : " Bless you, my child, now 
 and forever ! Here is my hand, Arthur, as a token of my 
 love. It is just as I could have v/ished, and I hope, Elsie, 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 153 
 
 your mother will look down from heaven and bless you 
 both." Then he walked out into the open air to conceal his 
 feelings. 
 
 "Now, Elsie," said Arthur, " I must go. Ronald will be 
 expecting me." They went out together, happier in the 
 knowleds^e that the rector shared their secret with them and 
 that he sanctioned their engagement. Elsie accompanied 
 Arthur into the woods within a short distance of the hut, 
 and there they parted as lovers part, while the wretch, Bill 
 Briggs, from the hut saw all that passed between them, ex- 
 claiming, as he left his concealment : " Mr. Arthur, I'll make 
 yer life a 'ell to yer, or me name isn't Bill Briggs." He then 
 sneaked off to his duties. 
 
 Arthur went straight to Ronald, who was feverish and 
 restless, and wandered in his talk a good deal about Elsie, 
 insisting she loved him and that she only waited for him to 
 declare himself, when she wmild accept him as her lover. 
 This was gal? and wormwood to Arthur, who knew the con- 
 trary, and already feelings of antagonism were in his breast 
 against his friend, who seemed too ready to claim what was 
 not his own and never would be. He longed to tell Ron- 
 ald of his engagement with Elsie, but from prudential rea- 
 sons forebore to do so. 
 
 Ronald begged Arthur to request Elsie to come and see 
 him as soon as possible, for he said the sight of her sweet 
 face would restore him to health. "You know, Arthur, I 
 was sure I was dying, and the last thing I thought of v/as 
 Elsie, and how she would grieve for me, poor child. But, 
 Arthur, I will be up and dressed to-morrow by noon ; do 
 bring her to see me." Arthur promised, and after staying 
 with Ronald a couple of hours, ended his day with his 
 mother, who could always sympathize with his feelings. 
 The next day at noon Elsie called with Arthur, and they 
 went together to Ronald's room, where they found him 
 dressed, but lying on the bed. 
 
 When Elsie entered he tried to rise, but could not. 
 
154 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 "Ah, my dear Elsie," he said, "I am dreadfully bruised, 
 and can not stand to greet you, but sit beside me and let 
 me just look at you." She sat down and expressed her 
 great regret at the accident in proper terms. He took her 
 hand, and said : " Let me hold your hand, Elsie ; it will 
 seem then as if you could not get away from me. You 
 would have missed me, Elsie, if I had died, would you 
 not ? " 
 
 "Of course, Ronald," she replied, "what a foolish ques- 
 tion ! To lose you would be dreadful to all of us. God 
 grant that you may live many years to bless your parents ! " 
 
 " And you, Elsie, and you ? " he exclaimed, excitedly. 
 
 " Why to me, also, but you will soon be well, and I hope 
 to see you at the rectory. Papa sends his kindest wishes 
 and will be over to see you to-morrow." 
 
 This was the most Elsie could bring herself to say, for 
 she belonged now to Arthur, and could not be disloyal to 
 him by act or word. She read Ronald's feelings at a glance, 
 and was determined to say or do nothing on which he could 
 hang a hope, Ronald looked disappointed, for he expected 
 that Elsie would exhibit some demonstration on which he 
 could dilate when she departed. He kept her hand in his 
 and even raised it to his lips, but she immediately withdrew 
 it and looked at Arthur as if to say, " I could not help it." 
 She did not think that she had a right to let any one but 
 him touch her hand except in the most orthodox way. 
 
 Mrs. Pentland came in, and warmly embraced Elsie. The 
 fond parent spoke of her son's accident, and the party sat an 
 hour, during which time Ronald kept his eyes on Elsie and 
 could see no one else. He constantly called her pet names 
 which was extremely disagreeable to Arthur and Elsie, who 
 at length took their leave, Elsie promising to come again. 
 She shook hands with Ronald, but not content with that he 
 raised her hand to his lips and covered it with kisses. She 
 snatched it away, and turning abruptly left the room. 
 
 " I shall go there no more, Arthur, dear," said she, " for 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 55 
 
 that does not please me. You are the only one who has a 
 right to kiss my hand, and it is mean in Ronald to do it." 
 
 *' Never mind, darling," said her lover ; ** the best way is 
 to go there no more. It is not at all necessary as Ronald is 
 on the road to a rapid recovery." 
 
 In ten days Ronald was down-stairs and wandering out 
 on the lawn w^here he rested in a summer-house to enjoy 
 the pure air and look out on the Medway. He had been 
 there a little while indulging in delightful reveries of his 
 future life with Elsie, v/hen Bill Briggs came to the door of 
 the summer-house and accosted him with: "I 'ope yer bet- 
 ter, Mr. Ronald, hand hit's time ye were, or the 'awkwill fly 
 away with yer pet dove." 
 
 "What are you talking about, Briggs ? " he inquired. " I 
 do not understand. I'm pretty well, and yet I'm not well, 
 for my limbs are still quite stiff. What did that remark 
 mean .? Don't speak to me in innuendoes ; give me plain 
 English and be done with it." 
 
 " Well, yer know, Mr. Ronald, I hain't bin heducated at 
 H'oxfort, hand can't be hexpected to speak 'igh flown, but 
 that as I've got ter tell ye will make ye mad. Yer lamb is 
 in the 'ands of the wolf." 
 
 *' Cease your nonsense, Briggs, and tell me in a few words 
 what you have to say. If you bother me much longer I 
 will break some of your bones." 
 
 " Hand it's because ye can't get up hand break my bones 
 that I take the hopportunity to tell ye what'll make ye mad 
 as a March 'are. I know ye'd brain me if ye could on first 
 'earin' of it, hand then regret hit. Hit's a story as would 
 make any gent mad, hand ye needn't 'ear hit less ye likes ter." 
 
 " Well, tell it then," said Ronald, "or get along with you." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Ronald, I was once standing below the 
 squire's back porch a-plasterin' one of the huprights, hand 
 I 'card the squire hand Mrs. Pentland talking about ye hand 
 that beautiful creature Miss Elsie Vernon. She was honly 
 twelve years old then, hand as beautiful as a young mackerel, 
 
156 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 hand I 'card the squire hand the lady talkin' 'bout ye both, 
 hand *e says : 'I'll build them a 'ouse hon yon knoll, near 
 the three oaks, hand they hand their children can live 'ere 
 when we're gone.' Hand that's 'ow I knowed ye was in- 
 tended fer heach bother." 
 
 '' Of course," said Ronald ; '* but what is that to you ? 
 You had better not be playing eavesdropper." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Ronald, hit's by playin' heavesdropper that I 
 sarves my friends, hand ses I ter myself, hif so be as the 
 squire's goin' ter build Mr. Ronald and Miss Elsie a 'ouse 
 ter live hin when they're married, what business 'as Mr. 
 Arthur to be settin' with 'er hin the woods hall day long 
 hand kissin' 'er hevery minute } " 
 
 Ronald tried to rise from the bench, but was not strong 
 enough. " You lie, you scoundrel ! " he cried, '' Recall that, 
 or I'll kill you. She would never kiss any man," and his 
 face turned pale from anger. 
 
 '' Well, per'aps I was mistaken, sir, per'aps hit was straw- 
 berries hand cream they was takin' together, but they 
 seemed awful fond of hit, hand hit looked very much like 
 what Molly Stark hand me does when we're wanderin' 'round 
 together." 
 
 Ronald was furious with passion. The idea of Elsie's 
 having kissed any one, even Arthur, had never entered his 
 head. He considered it a boon just to kiss her hand, which, 
 indeed, he thought his right, for he considered her as good 
 as engaged to him, but to think that while he had been 
 lying on a bed of pain his best friend and the woman he 
 loved had been indulging themselves in that way was more 
 than human nature could bear. For some time he could 
 not speak, but, at last, said : " Briggs, I should never have 
 heard this or I should have heard more — all that you know. 
 If I find that you have been lying to me I will punish you 
 so that you will wish you had never been born. Now tell me 
 all you know about it." 
 
 " Mr. Ronald," said Briggs, " what hobject can I 'ave hin 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 57 
 
 givin' false hevidence, hand what has I got to fear from ye ? 
 Hain't I a free Briton ? Ye can't send me to jail for lookin' 
 at a man a-kissin' of a woman, can ye ? " 
 
 *' Silence, you scoundrel," said Ronald in his wrath, "you 
 have an object in all this. Do you think I have forgotten 
 the time when Mr. xlrthur thrashed you within an inch of 
 your life ? " 
 
 " I remember," said Briggs. " It was the time when ye 
 might 'ave pitched in hand ye didn't. But, Lor' bless yer 
 soul, I'm not one of that sort. What was there to prevent 
 me, many's the time, from slippin' a load of shot into 'im 
 when I was hout with ye both, hand me a-beatin' the bush.? 
 Who'd a knowed it wasn't han haccident ? 'E stole yer 
 laurels then, hand now 'e's a-stealin' yer strawberries hand 
 cream. But if seein's believin', Mr. Ronald, just ye come 
 with me to the 'ut hin Parson Vernon's wood. The vines 
 run 'round the 'ouse hin such a tangle that a mouse can 
 scarcely creep through *em, hand there ye can set hand see 
 hall that's goin' on with yer girl. Hand that's hall I've got 
 to say about hit." 
 
 '* When can I go there ? " he inquired in a hoarse 
 voice. 
 
 "To-morrer," said Briggs ; " yer too excited to go there 
 to-day, for hit's a bit of a w^alk. Ye'll be stronger, too, then, 
 and ye can think over the matter ; take yer points, and see 
 for yerself. But hif ye'll be guided by me, ye'll get yer lam' 
 back again hand 'ave all yer strawberries hand cream ter 
 yerself. We'll be to the spot at harf-past three, 'cause they 
 comes from the 'ouse 'bout four, hafter a feedin' the doves — 
 they learns lessons from 'em in billin' hand cooin'." 
 
 " If you exasperate me by talking that way again," said 
 Ronald, " I will knock you down." 
 
 *' Yes, sir," he replied, "hand miss yer chance of seein' 
 the sights to-morrer by a strainin' yer wrists or legs. No, 
 no, Mr. Ronald, leave things to me and listen to what I say, 
 hand ye'll be wiser then than ye are to-day, I'll be 'ere for 
 
158 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ye at three, hand don't ye forget that hit's yer hown rights 
 ye're maintainin'." 
 
 With that they parted, Briggs to look after his game and 
 Ronald to sit and brood until late in the day over what he 
 considered his wrongs. He did not even notice the beautiful 
 weather and white sails of the small craft as they skimmed 
 over the Medway, nor the flowers at his feet with their vari- 
 egated colors. Three or four deer moved gradually up to 
 the place where he sat and put out their tongues for salt, 
 but like everything else they were unheeded. He saw 
 nothing but dark clouds wherever he looked, and even when 
 the declining rays covered the floor he wrapped his cloak 
 closer around him and slowly and painfully walked to the 
 house. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The next day at the appointed hour Bill Briggs found 
 Ronald at the summer-house anxious to set out. Ronald 
 was moody and irritable : " Remember, Briggs," he said, 
 " if you are deceiving me, you shall suffer for it." 
 
 " Ye ain't the only one as has 'ad trouble in this world," 
 said Briggs. " I onst 'ad a case just like yourn, honly a 
 little more so. I 'ad my girl, Molly Stark, hand hanother 
 feller, Jim Stokes, got 'er away from me. 'E got six indict- 
 ments agin 'im for stealin' hand was sent to Haustralia, 
 hand I got my girl back agin. She piped a little at first, 
 but she's as luvin' now as a kitten is to a 'ot brick, hand I 
 get as much strawberries and cream as Mr. Arthur Merton's 
 
 gettin' now." 
 
 " Silence your vulgar tongue," shouted Ronald. " What 
 do I care what happened to you and your Molly Stark ? 
 I'll kill the man that takes from me what is mine. I will 
 not wait for him to go to Australia." 
 
 "Then, Mr. Ronald," said Briggs, ''if there's to be any 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 159 
 
 killin' done I don't go with you. I don't want my neck 
 stretched, no how you can fix it. Do you know what the 
 fox does when 'e wants to get a lam' ? 'E rolls himself up 
 in wool, hand when the lam' comes along 'e grabs hit. 
 That's what yer to do, but if ye kills any one ye hangs. 
 Now, sir, just ye mind me, hand ye'll get yer lam' back." 
 
 "Well, then," said Ronald, "let's move on. I will act 
 according to circumstances, but if you have deceived me 
 and raised this hell in my bosom to injure an innocent 
 girl and my best friend, I will kill you as sure as you are 
 born." 
 
 "If that's all," said Briggs, "I'll live a thousand year. 
 Come on, Mr. Ronald, hand I'll put you through," and taking 
 the young man by the arm he led him away. 
 
 It was a long and tedious way to the hut, and Ronald 
 was nearly exhausted when he arrived at the place, where 
 he was completely hidden in tangled vines so that he could 
 see and not be seen. At four o'clock Briggs nudged him 
 with his elbow. " There comes the turkle doves," he said, 
 " hand now ye'll see something as is worth lookin' at, none 
 of yer barn theatres, but a regular London opera. Just 
 hobserve 'em," and the villain's face gleamed with triumph 
 as he thought of the revenge he was about to secure for 
 himself and the pain he was going to inflict upon Ronald. 
 
 The latter muttered and execrated as the two lovers 
 came across the lawn toward the knoll, Elsie hanging on 
 Arthur's arm and gazing lovingly into his face while he 
 looked into her eyes as if he would penetrate the depths of 
 her soul. They came slowly, as if loath to change their 
 positions even for a moment. She carried a small basket 
 with a beautiful bouquet. They reached the knoll, and 
 there sat talking for half an hour, Elsie looking into her 
 lover's eyes as if there were not another pair in the world. 
 Presently she made a signal and her doves flew from the 
 dovecote and settled at her feet to receive their food, which 
 she gave them from the basket, and the little creatures 
 
l6o ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 trampled over each other to get a fair share, causing great 
 amusement to the lovers. 
 
 The pet dove which Elsie distinguished above all the 
 rest with her affection flew to her lap, where it sat picking 
 at Arthur whenever he took one of Elsie's hands in his, and 
 when he put his hand on her shoulder, the dove flew at 
 him and struck him with its wings. " See there," said 
 Briggs, " even the dove fights for ye. Them dumb creat- 
 ures know as much as wimin-folks, hand can tell when any 
 advantages are taken of other people's rights. Blow me if 
 'e hain't kissin' 'er right in the open ! " 
 
 At this Ronald tried to rise while the perspiration ran 
 down his face, and he looked as if he was going to faint. 
 *' Keep up, sir," said Briggs, *' ' faint 'eart never won fair 
 lady ' ; if ye gives up at this time ye'U never get yer own." 
 
 Ronald was dumbfounded. The two lovers seemed to 
 have reached a point far beyond anything he hoped to at- 
 tain, for there was a look of affection in Elsie's eyes when 
 she gazed into Arthur's face that nothing but death could 
 efface. Ronald's first thought was to rush upon Arthur 
 and kill him before Elsie's eyes, but he soon reflected that 
 such a course would render him hateful to her as would 
 be the case if he attempted to injure Arthur. Ronald had 
 changed much in the last two days. His passion had quite 
 unsettled his reason, and he even listened to the specious 
 arguments of Briggs in favor of removing Arthur in order 
 to recover Elsie for himself. The time was when he would 
 have scorned such companionship and punished Briggs for 
 daring to recommend a dishonorable course. 
 
 " Ye know," said Briggs, " this air an angel 'e's a-takin* 
 from yer. There ain't two of a like hin the world, hand 
 none exactly 'er. 'E's just like a weasel as goes into a 
 warren hand picks out the pet rabbit. Ye can't shoot the 
 weasel as 'e's too sly hand quick for ye, hand the shot 
 might fly back on ye, but ye can set traps for 'im, traps 
 with jaws that'll cut hand wound 'im, make 'im go through 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, l6i 
 
 life with a leg or two or an eye the less, hand 'e wouldn't 
 be so fond of goin' after rabbits. Do you see, Mr. 
 Ronald ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Ronald "you would have me smother my 
 grief and put on a smiling face, take Mr. Arthur's hand 
 when I meet him, and smile on her when she is with him, 
 and even officiate as best man at the wedding ceremony. 
 That is, 'smile and smile and be a villain.' " 
 
 "Well, yes," said Briggs, " somethin' like that, only a 
 little more so, hand if ye honly does as I tell yer, ye'll 'ave 
 'er in two year, if not sooner even. Ye go ter Lunnon ; I'll 
 go with yer, hand though I hain't been ter Hoxford hand 
 Cambridge, nor them other places where they prove that 
 twice two's four by 'igh science, I'll show ye 'ow to be as 
 cunnin' as a fox hand as dangerous as a porcupine with hall 
 'is quills on end. But they're goin' now. She'll go a little 
 way into the woods with 'im, hand then — strawberries hand 
 cream. Better not look at this pictur', Mr. Ronald, hit will 
 honly aggravate ye, hand ye might think a blunderbuss 'ad 
 gone off." 
 
 " I'll see it all, if it kills me," said Ronald, and he looked 
 at the lovers as they came toward the hut. There they 
 stopped, supposing that only the angels in heaven were 
 looking down at their pure and innocent love. Instead of 
 that, two pairs of mortal eyes were watching their every 
 movement, incited by wicked motives — Briggs, by hatred 
 for the man who had once thrashed him ; Ronald, by that 
 desire to slay his rival which many a man feels who has 
 had his loved one taken from him. The latter had gone 
 through so much that day that he had almost lost his 
 reason, and under the tuition of Briggs was ready to do 
 anything. Had a gun been placed in his hands and he had 
 been told to shoot Arthur on the spot, he would have done 
 so. Briggs had the entire control of his mind, but, fortu- 
 nately, so wielded his power that there was no murderous 
 results, 
 
 11 
 
1 62 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Elsie and Arthur stopped close to the hut. " Good-by, 
 darling," he said, " till to-morrow, or perhaps this evening, 
 but farewell till we meet again, and may angels watch over 
 and protect you ! " He kissed her lips as a brother might 
 have done. " Now, run home," he said ; *' I will watch until 
 you are in the house." 
 
 " Here, Arthur dear," she said, " don't forget the bouquet 
 for Ronald, with my affection. I am so delighted that he is 
 improving." 
 
 When they were out of sight Ronald remarked to Briggs : 
 " You lied to me about the great exhibition of love from one 
 to the other, and stated to me in a very vulgar manner what 
 these were. Although I see for myself that he is engaged to 
 her, I have witnessed none of the nauseous spectacles you 
 described." 
 
 " ' Every one to their taste,' as the cat said when she saw 
 the dog kiss the monkey," said Briggs. " It's true 'e warn't 
 slobberin' over 'er hall the time, but if I'd a seen a feller slob- 
 berin' that much over Molly Stark, I'd punch 'is 'ead. Per- 
 haps ye're not as particular as I be, hand I'm afraid yer eye- 
 sight ain't good, but puttin' 'is arm 'round yer girl's waist 
 hand squeezin' 'er hand lookin' down into 'er eyes all the 
 time wouldn't suit me." 
 
 *' Silence, you brute," yelled Ronald, **or I'll murder 
 you. You exasperate me so that I do not know what I am 
 about." 
 
 '' Yes, Mr. Ronald, that's what's the matter. Yer sick 
 hand nervous hand not yourself. What ye've seen has upset 
 ye, hand ye must go 'ome hand sleep on hit. This is a case 
 where ye'll want hall yer wits about ye. Ye must not let on 
 that anything's disturbin' ye. I promise ye that in two 
 year ye'll 'ave it all yer own way, hand marry the girl of yer 
 'eart." 
 
 "Come," said Ronald, "and don't talk to me any more 
 about this." But on the way home Briggs plied him ingen- 
 iously with food for consideration, and by the time Ronald 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 163 
 
 reached his room, he was ready to follow the villain wher- 
 ever he might be disposed to lead. Briggs was, although an 
 ignorant person, shrewd and unscrupulous. Every word he 
 uttered had its effect on his auditor, and was treasured in 
 his heart. The man he had loved so much was now re- 
 garded as his bitterest enemy, and the once despised rustic 
 he took to his bosom as his adviser. Poor youth, in a few 
 days he had fallen very low and selected a counselor, with- 
 out reflecting whither he would lead him ; but love is a pas- 
 sion that overrules the reason. Friendship is obliterated 
 when it interferes with what a man considers his rights in a 
 woman's affections, thoughs he may love another. It is a pas- 
 sion that carries in its train envy, hatred, and malice. It leads 
 to the sacrifice of honor and aggravates revenge. It shrinks 
 from no crime, and often ends in destruction. There is no 
 philosophy in the true passion of love, and no man reasons 
 against it. All so possessed will sleep, perhaps, with fitful 
 dreams, and think, forsooth, in sleep they have cured their 
 passion, but when they wake, the gnawing pain springs to 
 their heart, and wakes the wildest emotions in the breast. 
 When in such moods man will snatch the murderous knife, 
 and deal death to whomsoever stands in his way. 
 
 Ronald retired that night with just such feelings. He 
 would win Elsie, no matter what the cost, and he would sac- 
 rifice his life and honor, if he could only be revenged on the 
 once dear friend, who now stood in the way of his happiness. 
 He saw that there was but one way to reach the desired end, 
 and that was "to smile and smile and be a villain," and not 
 to let any one know that he had a disappointment. He 
 would wear a bright face, be strong in his professions of 
 friendship to Arthur, nurse a desire for revenge, and " assume 
 a virtue if he had it not." He forgot how he and Arthur 
 had played together in childhood, how they had striven to 
 carry off all honors at school and the university, how they 
 had vied with each other in a friendly way in field sports, 
 and how they had waited on Elsie for years without one 
 
164 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 sign of jealousy. Now all this brotherly feeling was scat- 
 tered to the winds — the little god of love had come between 
 them. 
 
 The possessor of Elsie's love desired nothing but good to 
 mankind, and would have given away all he owned. All he 
 desired to hold was Elsie's love — that sufficed for him ; while 
 Ronald, in his heart, was at war with all the world. Revenge, 
 hate, malice, and every vindictive feeling, were tugging at his 
 heart, and he desired full satisfaction for his wrongs^ if it 
 cost him his life. He had conferences with Bill Briggs 
 every day, and each meeting only put him the more under 
 the influence of this vulgar villain. Ronald lost his kindly 
 expression, became moody and discontented, although he 
 tried his best to look cheerful, and when with Arthur en- 
 deavored to act as if nothing had happened to change their 
 relations. 
 
 Ronald recovered, and the time came for him to go to 
 London and take his place in the banking-house of Emer- 
 son & Brothers. To strengthen his determination, he went 
 the day before his departure, and witnessed one of the custom- 
 ary partings between Arthur and Elsie. It almost set him 
 wild, and he would have shot Arthur on the spot, but Bill 
 Briggs was too wary for that. He would have no arms of 
 any kind, not even a walking-stick. If there was inde- 
 cision in Ronald's mind up to this time as to how to act, it 
 all vanished on this occasion, and he swore the deadliest 
 revenge. He would sink the best feelings of his heart to 
 carry out that revenge, no matter who was hurt. 
 
 The next day he departed for London, Mr. Pentland 
 sorely puzzled, but attributing his moody behavior to his fall 
 from his horse. Arthur and his mother had previously es- 
 tablished themselves in comfortable quarters in Cavendish 
 Square, with all the elegancies of life about them. This 
 was the happiest period of Julia's existence, for now she 
 could have Arthur all to herself and be free from the man 
 whom she detested. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 165 
 
 Arthur and Elsie parted as if they were going to separate 
 for years, for although he assured her that he would come 
 down from London every fortnight, it did not console her. 
 She had a presentiment that something was going to happen, 
 and that she should never see him again, but why she should 
 ^ have such gloomy forebodings she could not tell. They 
 spent the whole day together (the day before they sepa- 
 rated), and when they parted that night at ten o'clock, Elsie 
 clung to him as if he were going away forever. Arthur was 
 distressed to see her grief, but after reasoning with her for 
 a time she quieted down, and he was enabled to bid her 
 good-by amid tears and sighs such as lovers only know. 
 They felt how dear they were to each other and how hard 
 it was to live apart. 
 
 Life is not a placid stream, but bitter as their lives may 
 sometimes be to lovers, it is only that they may the greater 
 enjoy the fruition of their hopes. If life were all pleasure 
 we could not enjoy it as much. 
 
 For as the goblet passes round 
 With fennel it is wreathed and crowned, 
 Whose seed and foliage well imbrowned, 
 Are in its waters steeped and drowned. 
 
 Ronald did not leave until several days after Arthur's 
 departure. He determined that he would see Elsie alone, 
 and, if it killed him, learn the worst from her own lips. She 
 should at least know how he loved her and that she had 
 wrecked his life. If his interview had no other good effect 
 it would excite her interest in himself, for a woman always 
 feels kindly toward the man who loves her, although she 
 may not be able to return it, and he had always heard that 
 "pity was akin to love." She could not entirely lose her 
 old affection for him, he thought, and a woman's heart di- 
 vided between two men could not be depended upon to 
 cling to one of them altogether. Something might happen 
 in his favor, and in time he might win her yet. He felt that 
 
1 66 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 bands of steel bound these two together, yet bands of steel 
 will ofttimes break in frosty weather. 
 
 Having thus made up his mind what course to pursue, 
 Ronald went to the rectory the day of Arthur's departure 
 and found Elsie feeding her doves. She welcomed him cor- 
 dially, as of old, and, although looking sad, had smiles for 
 her former playmate, sympathized with him in his sickness, 
 regretted so much she was going to lose him, even for so 
 short a time, and sighed over the lonesome hours she should 
 pass now that he and Arthur were going away, but Arthur 
 had promised her, she said, to come down, if possible, every 
 fortnight, " and, of course, Ronald, you will come also." 
 
 *' That depends,"' said Ronald. " Do you remember, El- 
 sie, the time when you first began to walk and I hung on 
 your footsteps } No, of course you can not remember it, 
 but I do. I watched over you then until you were eight 
 years old, when Arthur came, and you had the attention of 
 both of us until you were twelve. I recall then even, Elsie, 
 when you sometimes spoke of ' Prince Golden Hair,' how 
 my boyish heart would ache at the idea of your thinking of 
 any one but me, and though I liked Arthur very much, I was 
 jealous if you showed him any more attention than you did 
 me. You scorned to be more familiar with one than with 
 the other ; but we laughed and romped more together. You 
 always gave him a full-blown rose when you gave me an 
 opening bud — all of which made me believe that I was your 
 favorite, if you had any. Then we boys went to Chatham, 
 and when we returned you were growing so beautiful that I 
 could not keep my eyes off you. Sometimes when Arthur 
 did come with me you would take my arm, and say : * Come, 
 Ronald, let us go out to the knoll and feed the doves,' and 
 we went — you full of gayety and happinessa — and we spent 
 hours there. Let us go there now, Elsie." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Elsie, starting, "not to-day. We will 
 feed the doves at the lake ; I do not want to sit on the grass." 
 The fact was she thought it would be a desecration to sit on 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 167 
 
 the knoll with any one else after spending so many hours 
 there with her lover, and she could not gratify Ronald so 
 much. 
 
 " Well," said Ronald, " I'm sorry, as it would have been 
 something to remember, the knoll is associated with so 
 many days of my boyhood." 
 
 " But, Ronald, it does not require the knoll to make me 
 remember you, for I shall never forget you under any cir- 
 cumstances. I remember you first of all those I have ever 
 known, even so far back as when I was four years old, when 
 I was never happy without you. You romped with me, car- 
 ried me on your back, dragged me in my wagon, gathered 
 flowers for me, and all day long catered to my pleasures — 
 how can I ever forget it ? " 
 
 "And, then," continued Ronald, " when I left Cambridge 
 I had not seen you for nearly a year, during which time you 
 had grown to womanhood, being just sixteen. To you the 
 stream of life looked as bright as heaven, your face was ra- 
 diant with happiness. 
 
 Deep and still that gliding stream 
 Beautiful to thee did seem 
 As the river of a dream. 
 
 You were far more beautiful than all the world besides and 
 no shadow of ill disturbed the serenity of your life. The 
 waves on the river shore were calling you to look at and 
 cull the flowers on its banks, the birds were trilling to you 
 to come and hear them singing their carols, the stars shone 
 for you as they did for no one else, all nature rejoiced over 
 you as it never rejoiced before, and, Elsie, I rejoiced more 
 than anything else. To me you had been of rare beauty, 
 even in infancy, but at sixteen, my heart went out to you 
 with a passionate love that nothing but death can still. It 
 has grown with my growth, strengthened with my strength, 
 and now, Elsie, I am like a river that has burst its bounds — 
 I can no longer keep my secret." 
 
 Elsie tried to stop him, but in vain. Ronald continued* 
 
1 68 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 " You do not know the misery brought on by love when it is 
 penned up in a man's breast and he can not give utterance 
 to it. It seems to me that I have loved you since I was 
 born, and, now that I am going away from you for God 
 knows how long, I want you to understand it." 
 
 " Of course, I understand it all, Ronald," she said. " Do 
 you think I could ever be so ungrateful as to forget the 
 kindness my dear brother has shown me for so many years ? 
 No sister ever had a greater affection for a brother than 
 I have for you." 
 
 "Oh, Elsie," he cried, impatiently, " that is not the kind 
 of love I want from you. When a man asks for a glass of 
 champagne you might as well offer him a tumbler of rain- 
 water. I want that love which comes from woman's soul — 
 the love which is the very essence of her being — a love that 
 can bring a healing balm to a heart that has but one hope. 
 I want the love of your life — the love of your soul. I am 
 sick of being a brother ; I want the smile of God in my 
 heart, and I can only get it through your love." 
 
 "Why, Ronald," she said, "you are not yourself, your 
 sickness has unnerved you, and you pain me by talking in 
 this way. How could I love you better than a brother ? " 
 
 " What I mean, Elsie," he replied, '' is that you should 
 love me with all your heart and soul — as women love those 
 whom they intend to marry." 
 
 "Ah, Ronald," she said, the tears running down her 
 cheeks, " do not ask that, for I can not love you that way. 
 That is a love which is in God's holy keeping and given to 
 those he sees most fitting to wear it. Do not mar my 
 happiness by wishing me to do what my instincts tell me 
 is wrong. I can always love you as a brother, but could 
 never love you as a wife.'* 
 
 Ronald was prepared for this answer, but he determined 
 that she should know before he left her how deeply he 
 loved her. She would, at all events, always feel kindly to- 
 ward him, and who knew what turn events would take ? 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. . 169 
 
 When he sat and looked at her in all her beauty he could 
 compare her to nothing but a lily illumined by the smile of 
 God. He would gather the flower, if it cost him his life. 
 The dew of youth was on his brow, and his soul sprang to 
 hers as sunlight springs to meet the day. Why should he 
 allow that sweet essence to be breathed by another when 
 he felt that she was the only woman who could pour balm 
 into his stricken heart ? He told her so with all the pathos 
 he could command, but she shook her head. 
 
 " No, dear Ronald, it can not be. When you are going 
 away v/hy do you leave regrets with me instead of the pleas- 
 ant anticipations of meeting my brother again ? Why do 
 you depress me with forebodings of misfortunes to come .-* 
 This may lead to strife, and rather than that should occur, 
 I would enter a convent and spend my life in prayer for 
 those I love, and in preparing myself for a better world," 
 and tears ran down her cheeks again. This seemed to 
 touch the young man's heart. He could not bear to see her 
 show such distress. 
 
 " Well, Elsie," he said, '* I will say no more now, but will 
 live in hope. The light in my heart is dimmed for a time, 
 but I trust it will be illumined by a brighter star in the 
 future, and that star shall be yourself. You know now the 
 love I have for you, and that love shall be the star that 
 guides me through life, for, Elsie, I could not live and see 
 any one else possess what I prize so dearly. Now, I will 
 say good-by, for the hour of departure is at hand." 
 
 " Good-by, Ronald," she said. The tears still flowed 
 from her eyes, for she felt deeply for him though she could 
 not love him as he wished. He had pleaded his cause so 
 eloquently, too, and what woman does not love to hear a 
 man speak eloquently in his own behalf, even though she 
 must reject him ? 
 
 Ronald went with bitterness in his heart. Words could 
 not express what he felt. Arthur's name had not been men- 
 tioned, but he knew that every word she uttered had refer- 
 
I/O 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ence to him, and he had seen enough to satisfy him as to 
 where Elsie's heart was. When he opened the subject of 
 love he was merely opening the way for future operations, 
 when the seed he had sown had developed into a full grown 
 plant. 
 
 Elsie spent hours in her room meditating on the events 
 of the morning. She had a presentiment of evil she could 
 not lay aside, and for a long time tortured herself with the 
 idea that out of this love of Arthur and herself, which was 
 the light of her life, would grow discord and bitter enmity 
 that might destroy the lives of both. She regarded herself 
 as another Helen, to set the hearts of men in a blaze and 
 bring destruction on all who loved her. The following two 
 days were unhappy ones to her, but on the third she received 
 a letter from Arthur, which made her forget that there was 
 any one else on earth but him, and all her sorrow was scat- 
 tered to the winds. 
 
 Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth 
 
 In thy heart the dew of youth, 
 
 On thy lips the smile of truth. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Two days after Arthur had established himself and 
 mother in Cavendish Square, he called at the office of the 
 bankers, Childs & Co., in Leadenhall Street, to deliver his 
 credentials. He found the senior member of the firm in 
 his office, a room divided by a screen of heavy iron-wire, 
 inside of which inclosure sat the banker, with his door se- 
 curely locked. Though everything was visible, he had no 
 intention of being left to the mercy of a robber in case one 
 should wander that way. He received visitors in this room, 
 and talked to them through the screen — a wise precaution, 
 s© that it would not be easy for any one to secure any of 
 the valuable packages lying on the table. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. ^i;i 
 
 The banker received Arthur in this way, and took his 
 letters through a pigeon-hole in the screen, which process 
 added a great deal to the mystery of the operation. He 
 scanned Arthur carefully, and came to the conclusion that 
 he was a fine-looking fellow, but thought to himself that 
 the finest coat does not always hold the best man — then he 
 read the letters. 
 
 ''Ah," he said, "glad to see you, Mr. Merton. Your 
 father, who is one of our heaviest depositors, and I, have 
 been in correspondence about you. You wish to become a 
 banker — a laudable calling and a lucrative one if you have 
 plenty of money to back it. Just look at the banking-houses 
 in London ; they keep the commerce of England in motion, 
 and their bills are honored in every part of the world. For 
 the present you will act as my private secretary, until I see 
 what ability you display. Here, copy this letter in your best 
 stvle and run up these columns of figures." The banker 
 then turned and went on with his work. 
 
 Arthur took a seat at a desk, and soon copied the letter, 
 summed up the figures, and handed his work to the banker. 
 The latter took the papers and looked them over. " Beau- 
 tifully done ; you will prove a jewel if you do everything as 
 well as that. You write a good hand, and work rapidly. 
 Now I will trouble you to back and file these papers," hand- 
 ing him a large bundle, " that will give you as much as you 
 can attend to at one time. I would like my secretary to be 
 able to hand me a paper at a moment's notice. Can you 
 draw a bill of exchange .'* " 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Arthur. 
 
 " Then," he said, " you are partly a banker already. Half 
 the secret of banking is being able to draw a bill of exchange. 
 The next thing is to pay one. Stick to business and do not 
 speculate, and you will be all right." Then he returned to 
 his writing, wasting no more words. 
 
 In an hour and a half Arthur had finished the task as- 
 signed him, and backed and filed the papers, and had at- 
 
172 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 tached an alphabetical index which would enable him to lay 
 his hands on any paper wanted. The banker eyed his work 
 closely. "Well," he said, "I declare you do better than 
 some old hands I have had. Do not get spoiled in Lon- 
 don ; it is a bad place ; a great many temptations here." 
 
 "I am not afraid of them, sir," he repHed. "I have 
 taken rooms with my mother in Cavendish Square. I am 
 devoted to her, and do not care for amusements. My tastes 
 are for country pursuits." 
 
 *'Good," said the banker, "good; and now you can go 
 and look after your m.other. She will feel lonesome with- 
 out you in this big town." And thus ended Arthur's first 
 day's employment in a banking-house. 
 
 Ronald was also successful in pleasing his employers, 
 and the two friends spent their first evening together with 
 Arthur's mother, comparing notes. Elsie had promised 
 Ronald that she would keep inviolable the secret he had 
 confided to her, and he never gave Arthur a hint that he 
 had any other feelings toward Elsie than those of a brother, 
 so that their amicable relations were not interrupted, and 
 everything went on as smoothly as in the days of their boy- 
 hood. In fact, Ronald had recovered his health and spirits, 
 and, owing to the circumstance that Arthur could not see 
 Elsie, he was happier than usual. It was Ronald's policy 
 now to keep them apart as much as possible. 
 
 In a month they both might have been called hahituis 
 of London, they knew so much about the city. They had 
 both also gained favor with their respective employers, and 
 made the acquaintance of a number of young people of their 
 own age who inducted them into the gayeties of the capital, 
 though Arthur, having to look after his mother, left home 
 less frequently than Ronald. So two months passed rap- 
 idly. Day after day the two young men would meet to- 
 gether at lunch-time and take that meal at a chop-house. 
 On one of these occasions when Arthur was walking toward 
 the place of rendezvous he saw Ronald talking with a com- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. i;3 
 
 mon-looking fellow, who skulked away as he approached. 
 He at first supposed it was some porter connected with the 
 house of Emerson & Brothers, but as the man walked off he 
 recognized Bill Briggs. 
 
 When Arthur came up with his friend, he remarked : " I 
 saw you talking with that scamp Bill Briggs. What is he 
 doing in London ? " 
 
 '' Nothing in particular," said Ronald. " My mother sent 
 him up to bring me some things." He blushed as he said 
 it, but this escaped Arthur's notice. There was a time when 
 Ronald would have cut his hand off sooner than descend to 
 a subterfuge, but under the tutelage of Briggs he did not 
 now hesitate to tell a lie. 
 
 In the two months that the young men had been in Lon- 
 don, Briggs had improved his time in making himself ac- 
 quainted with the slums of the city and preparing for the 
 opportunity that would give him the revenge he had nursed 
 for years. He had wrought Ronald up to such a pitch of 
 hatred of Arthur that he had long since been taught to be- 
 lieve his friend to be his bitterest enemy and had been con- 
 vinced that the only way he could succeed with the woman 
 he loved was by Arthur's destruction. 
 
 Ronald often stopped at the banking-house to pick up 
 Arthur and go together to lunch or, if the banker happened 
 to be out, sit and talk over the news of the day. On one 
 occasion there was a good-sized bundle lying on the table, 
 inside the banker's wire inclosure, which attracted his atten- 
 tion. " Pray, what is that ? " said Ronald, pointing to the 
 package. 
 
 " That," said the other, " is a package of bank-notes 
 that I am to take to the Bank of England, but as the banker 
 has locked it up I shall not be able to get it till he returns." 
 
 " Does he always keep the key of that place himself ? " 
 said Ronald. 
 
 "Yes, always," replied Arthur. 
 
 " Then, I propose that we go and get our lunch and come 
 
174 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 back here." Taking up his hat, he said, "Come on." Be- 
 ing in the humor, Arthur followed him. It was the usual 
 hour for lunch and only a few clerks were left in the office. 
 
 After walking a short distance, Ronald said : " You go 
 on and order the lunch ; I will join you in ten minutes ; I 
 have something to attend to." With that they parted, each 
 on his separate errand. Ronald crossed the street, went 
 back a few steps, and then passed up an alley-way for about 
 a hundred yards, where he knocked at the door of a shabby- 
 looking house. The door was opened by Bill Briggs, and 
 Ronald entered. A conversation ensued, lasting about ten 
 minutes, when they separated, Briggs going up Leadenhall 
 Street and Ronald to the chop-house, where he found Arthur 
 just sitting down to lunch. 
 
 They remained together a few minutes, when Arthur sud- 
 denly remembered a matter of business. *' I must deliver 
 this draft before two o'clock. Go on with your lunch ; I 
 will take a hansom and be back in a few minutes." 
 
 Arthur jumped into a cab and drove up Leadenhall Street 
 while Ronald waited for him, an anxious look settling on his 
 face. In a short time Arthur returned, and they finished 
 their lunch, after which they walked up Leadenhall Street, 
 each to his respective bank. The banker had not returned 
 when Arthur arrived, and he sat down to write. In twenty 
 minutes the former came in and unlocked the inner door. 
 
 " Mr. Merton," he said, " did you remove the package of 
 Bank of England notes I left on the table ? " 
 
 Arthur jumped up. *' Why, no, sir," he said, " I have no 
 way of removing it, as you took the key with you ; besides 
 I saw it on the table through the wires before I went out at 
 one o'clock." 
 
 ^' It is very curious," said the banker ; " it is not there 
 now." 
 
 "I waited for you until one o'clock, sir," said Arthur, 
 " thinking you might come in, and then I went to lunch. On 
 my way I delivered the draft for Mr. Bronson, then I 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 75 
 
 came here, and I have only been in twenty minutes. I was 
 gone less than an hour altogether." 
 
 " In that time," said the banker, " the roof might be taken 
 off the house. Call the porter, if you please." 
 
 The porter came. " Jonas," said the banker, "has any 
 one been in this room since Mr. Merton went out.''" 
 . " No, sir," said the porter. 
 
 "Has the outer door been kept locked?" 
 
 " No, sir," the porter replied, " but I was sitting facing 
 the entrance to the bank, and no one came in but the clerks 
 who had gone out to lunch at different times." 
 
 " But you had no business to leave the door unlocked," 
 said the banker, " when we were out." 
 
 " Well, the truth is, Mr. Childs," said the porter, " when 
 Mr. Arthur and his friend went out I was sitting looking 
 at the door, and lost myself for just a moment. I have been 
 up three nights with a sick child, and for the life of me I 
 could not keep my eyes open, and then, sir, I forgot the 
 door, but I never was out of sight of it." 
 
 " Mr. Merton's friend } " inquired the banker. "Who was 
 that .? " 
 
 " Ronald Pentland called in for me to go to lunch with 
 him," said Arthur, "and the package was there on your table 
 when we went out." 
 
 "Then," said the banker, "it is very certain I did not 
 take it away with me by mistake." 
 
 " Of that I am sure," said Arthur. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Merton, the first thing for you to do is to 
 notify the bank what notes are missing. As you go along 
 stop at the telegraph office and telegraph to Scotland Yard 
 to send me two of their best detectives." 
 
 Arthur started on his errand, and the banker, having done 
 all he could under the circumstances, sat down at his desk. 
 There wxre a dozen letters on it which he had not had time 
 to read before going out in the morning, so he ran through 
 them. One in particular attracted his attention. He read 
 
176 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 it very carefully, examined it all over, and noted the water- 
 mark. The letter read as follows : 
 
 " London, September 12. 
 
 *' You have a young man in your employ, Arthur Merton, 
 who is a gambler. He bets heavily, and is not a safe per- 
 son. Watch him. 'A word to the wise is sufficient.' 
 
 " One who knows." 
 
 The letter was written in a fine hand, but there was 
 nothing to indicate from whom it came. The banker read 
 it once or twice. *' I do not believe a word of it," he said 
 aloud. " The lad has some secret enemy. If he is a gam- 
 bler he is unfortunate, for from gambling follows every crime. 
 I am not likely to be deceived in my men, but if 1 should 
 be what a shock it would give me ! " 
 
 Arthur came back in half an hour, his face beaming with 
 health and manly beauty. It was a crisp, cold day, and the 
 blood circulated rapidly in his veins. " I notified the bank, 
 sir, and gave them the numbers, They said they would 
 have a list printed and sent to all the bankers in the city so 
 that the notes could not be passed." 
 
 The banker thought that he had never seen a more in- 
 genuous face. ''Look here, Mr. Merton," he said, "you 
 know young men better than I do ; I have a young proteg6 
 who is the idol of his mother. I have obtained a position 
 for him in a banking-house. He has taken to gambling," 
 and he looked Arthur straight in the face. 
 
 " Indeed," said the latter, " that is a bad sign. A man 
 who gambles has no business in a banking-house." 
 
 " You are right," said the banker ; " I hope you will never 
 indulge in cards." 
 
 " No, sir," said Arthur, in amazement, " why I never played 
 a card in my life. I think my mother would break her heart 
 if I did." 
 
 '^I am sure you never will," said the banker; "you 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. i;/ 
 
 have been so well brought up." With that he resumed his 
 writing. 
 
 The two detectives soon arrived, and after communicat- 
 ing with them and letting them obtain from Arthur all he 
 knew, the banker left the matter in their hands. The first 
 thing they examined was the table, which was covered with 
 blue cloth. On this they found a slight mark of a boot- 
 heel, then on examining the wires of the cage small remnants 
 of yarn were found clinging to them, as if from a yarn stock- 
 ing. A drawer at one end of the table was found open, and 
 there was a trace of footsteps in the yard, but nothing on 
 which they could hang any evidence, and there the matter 
 rested for the time. The thief must have entered by the 
 back window, crawled over the wire cage, and taken the 
 notes, but how any one could have climbed up to the win- 
 dow the detectives could not imagine, so they went home to 
 study the matter out. 
 
 Two weeks elapsed without any sign of the missing notes. 
 All the banks in Great Britain were aware of the robbery 
 and were watching for some one to offer the notes to be 
 changed, but the thief had shown himself the shrewdest one 
 that had appeared for some time. All that could be done 
 by the detectives was to watch and wait and hope to be suc- 
 cessful in the long run. 
 
 A month passed away when one day, just as Arthur was 
 about locking up the office for the day, a note was handed 
 to him which ran as follows : 
 
 " I am in sore distress. You have plenty — I am suffer- 
 ing. My mother was once a dependent of yours. She will 
 remember me, but do not loiter on the way. I am dying of 
 hunger. Charlotte Foster, i6o Charing Cross." 
 
 Arthur's heart was always open to the calls of humanity, 
 and this appeal touched his best feelings. The fact that this 
 person had been in some way connected with his mother was 
 12 
 
i;8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 an additional reason for interesting himself in her behalf, but 
 he determined to go home and consult his mother on the sub- 
 ject. Putting out the gaslight and leaving the office in good 
 order, he departed for home, where he met his mother and 
 told her of the note he had received. She told him that while 
 at Lyneham a Mrs. Foster lived with her as housekeeper and 
 this must be one of her daughters, who were children at that 
 time. She advised him to go and see her at once, which he 
 proceeded to do, promising to return in an hour. 
 
 It was a dark, cold day. A fog was settling down on 
 London, one of those impenetrable mists that often take pos- 
 session of the city, putting a stop to traffic and driving pe- 
 destrians indoors to seek shelter from passing vehicles that 
 are constantly running foul of each other. The smoke from 
 the chimneys mingled with the fog and settled upon the few 
 people who were abroad. London was not on this afternoon 
 a very pleasant place to saunter about in. Arthur drew his 
 Macintosh close about him, and walked rapidly toward the 
 abode of his correspondent. The number indicated a house 
 in a respectable quarter, and he hoped he would not find the 
 writer so great an object of charity as he was led to believe 
 by her appealing letter. 
 
 It was five o'clock when he left Cavendish Square and 
 quite dark. The gas-lights flickered mournfully and dimly 
 through the fog, and the noise of vehicles and the oaths of 
 the drivers formed a hubbub that could only be compared 
 to Pandemonium. It was nearly an hour before Arthur 
 reached Charing Cross, and then it took him some time be- 
 fore he could make out the number in the darkness, but at 
 last he found the door of the house. It was a tall building 
 with some pretensions to elegance in its day, but showing 
 evidence of neglect, and the appearance of affairs was in no 
 way enhanced by the fog and smoke which covered every- 
 thing. 
 
 Arthur rang the bell, but there was no answer, so he 
 opened the door and entered a long passage from which led 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 79 
 
 a flight of stairs. The passage was empty, and finding that 
 no one appeared to answer the bell, he pursued his way up 
 the steps till he saw a dim light at the head of the landing. 
 Here he came upon a man apparently asleep in a chair with 
 an old blanket thrown around him, a slouch hat on his head, 
 and his chin resting on his breast. Arthur could see but 
 dimly, for the entry was dark, and he thought he had been 
 unwise to venture into such a place without knowing any- 
 thing about it. For a moment he considered whether it would 
 not be better to beat a retreat until he could ascertain some- 
 thing about the character of the house, but he was naturally 
 courageous and had great reliance on his ability to take care 
 of himself. 
 
 At that moment the man looked up and, without chang- 
 ing his position, said, in a rough voce : " Are ye lookin' for 
 Charlotte Foster ? If ye be, she's in that room a-waitin' 
 
 for ye." 
 
 " I am looking for that person," said Arthur ; " please 
 show me the way to her room." 
 
 The man rose slowiy, as if crippled, and drawing the 
 blanket close around him, hobbled to the door at the end of 
 the passage. "Be quiet as ye enter," said the man ; "she 
 may be sleepin', and if so ye must wait till she wakes. She's 
 been expectin' ye." He opened the door. Arthur entered, 
 and the door closed behind him with a snap that did not 
 sound pleasant to his ears. He turned immediately and 
 put his hand on the knob, but it would not yield. He was 
 locked in. 
 
 His heart did not fail him for a moment, though he had 
 never been placed in such a situation in his life. The room 
 he was in was a good-sized one, and as far as he could see 
 by the dim light was well furnished. There were live coals 
 in the fireplace, and there was a bed in the room on which 
 some one was lying. The room smelled strongly of chloro- 
 form, and Arthur felt that if he were exposed to its influence 
 even for a few minutes he would be overcome. He went 
 
l8o ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 toward the bed and raised the dim light. Heavens ! what 
 a sight met his eyes ! A woman, apparently young and 
 handsome, lay dead upon the couch. Arthur was perfectly 
 cool, though he felt as if he were suffering under a nightmare. 
 He put his hand upon the body and found that it was not 
 cold, but the wide-open eyes expressed such a horror as he 
 had never seen before on a human face. The mouth was 
 drawn up as with pain, and the bed-clothes gave evidence 
 of a considerable struggle. 
 
 To say that Arthur Merton was horrified at the state of 
 affairs, would be to faintly express his feelings. He antici- 
 pated nothing but evil from the adventure, and wished him- 
 self well out of the difficulty. In the mean time, the chloro- 
 form escaping from some quarter was rapidly filling the 
 room, and he began to feel the effect of it very much. He 
 knocked on the door through which he had entered, but 
 there was no reply. He tried to raise the windows, but they 
 were covered inside by heavy shutters screwed fast. " I am 
 lost ! " he cried. 
 
 The chloroform affected him so that he felt that he would 
 fall asleep if he did not move about. There was another 
 door in the room, which he took to be a closet, but as he 
 pulled it open, a burst of fresh air poured into the room. 
 "Thank God!" he ejaculated. "I am saved, but what a 
 close shave it was ! " 
 
 At this moment Arthur was struck in the head with a 
 sand-bag in the hands of a man who had entered from the 
 back room. He fell to the floor, and his assailant, jumping 
 on him, applied a sponge saturated with chloroform to his 
 mouth. He was now entirely in the power of his assailant, 
 who was the same person he had met in the entry. This 
 fellow, as soon as he had shut Arthur in, recovered the use of 
 his legs with marvelous ease, and running around to the back 
 room entered and knocked Arthur down in the manner 
 described. 
 
 The ruffian looked at his victim for a few moments as if 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. l8l 
 
 he enjoyed it, then he spoke : " There, damn ye, I've got ye 
 at last. When I told ye six years agone, that the day'd come 
 when I'd sarve ye out, I didn't think it would come so soon. 
 Now ter business." 
 
 He laid a handkerchief saturated with chloroform on 
 Arthur's face, and threw his coat open. He then took from 
 under the mattress a box, from which he extracted the en- 
 velope which had been stolen from the banking-house of 
 Childs and Co., broke the seal, and took out some of the 
 notes, which he proceeded to sew with thread and needle 
 into the breast-pocket of Arthur's coat, putting also one note 
 and some gold in his inside vest-pocket. Then he buttoned 
 up the coat again, and gave the body a kick. 
 
 "There," said the wretch, "if that don't send ye to 
 HaustraHa, nothin' will. Damn ye, I spit on yer like I 
 would a dog." Then he took Arthur's silk handkerchief, 
 which bore his initials, and tied it about the neck of the 
 dead woman, so that the tongue partially protruded, and, 
 standing there, complacently contemplated his work, ex- 
 claiming : "Well, if that ain't a neat job I'm a Dutchman, 
 hand it'll take hall the detectives in Scotland Yard to find 
 it out. Now for the detectives— it's time they was on the 
 stand, hand I guess I better be a-lookin' fer 'em. I'll leave 
 that feller to come to, and to get a-staggerin', and they'll 
 say to-morrer as he was drunk. To-morrer ye'll hear a 
 long rigmarole in the papers, as how Kelly and Finch, the 
 tv/o great detectives, worked up this 'ere robbery of Bank- 
 of-Hengland notes, hand not only found 'em on the body 
 of the thief, but convicted 'im of murder. Well, well, I ain't 
 no detective, oh, no, but if I ain't cooked up a kittle of fish 
 as will astonish Lunnon, my name ain't Bill Briggs. Now 
 for the detectives," and he went out. 
 
 As soon as the chloroform was taken from Arthur's nose 
 and mouth he began to revive, and, now that the entry-door 
 was left open, a fine draught of air was blowing into the 
 room. He sat up a moment, but, being much exhausted, 
 
1 82 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 had to lie down again. In five minutes his senses all came 
 back to him, and he was glad to find himself alive. He 
 was conscious that he had been struck with something, and 
 then he thought he had died. He remembered that he had 
 been looking at the body on the bed, and he went there 
 again to examine it, but he was dazed with the events that 
 had occurred, and when he saw the face of the dead woman, 
 from which the tongue was protruding and the eyes starting 
 from the sockets, he could stand it no longer. He turned 
 and fled through the entry-door and down the stairs, until 
 he landed outside on the pavement. Then he stopped to 
 consider, for he was still unsteady, and staggered about like 
 a man who had been drinking. When he reached the curb- 
 stone he ran right into the arms of the two detectives who 
 had been ransacking London to obtain some information in 
 regard to the missing Bank-of-England notes stolen from 
 Childs & Co. 
 
 "That's yer man," said Bill Briggs, ''hand that's 'is room 
 where he kept 'is woman, at the top of the entry. Take 'im 
 in there hand let 'im identify *er." 
 
 "You are our man," said detective Kelly to Arthur, *' go 
 with us quietly, and we won't put the darbys on you." 
 
 " Go where ? " stammered Arthur. " I am going home ; 
 I'm sick." 
 
 " Take us to your room," said Kelly, '' the one your girl 
 lives in — the one you have just left in No. i6o." 
 
 "" Oh ! no," said Arthur, " not there, for God's sake ! 
 It's too horrible. What am I arrested for ? Take me home 
 — No. 140 Cavendish Square — I'm very sick." 
 
 "Yes," said the detective, "but we must see your girl 
 first. Come with us." 
 
 He saw that Arthur was dazed or stupefied, and, putting 
 his hand on the prisoner's arm, led him up the steps to the 
 front door of the house, through which he passed on up the 
 stairs to the first floor. When he put his hand on the door- 
 knob, Arthur held back, and exclaimed, in piteous accents : 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 183 
 
 " Oh ! don't take me in there, it's too terrible to look at." 
 But the detectives forced him in, and stood with him by 
 the bedside where lay the corpse. 
 
 " There's been foul work here," said detective Kelly. 
 " What is your name ? " he said to Arthur. 
 
 "Arthur Merton," he answered. 
 
 " Ain't you the young gent I saw in Mr. Childs's bank- 
 ing-house a month ago .? " inquired Kelly. 
 
 "I believe I am," said Arthur, "though I am so con- 
 fused I don't know who or what I am. I've been chloro- 
 formed, and I think knocked down." 
 
 " Who is this woman ? " inquired the detective. 
 
 "That," said Arthur, shuddering, "is poor Charlotte 
 Foster. She is dead." 
 
 " So I see," said the detective, " but who killed her .? " 
 and stooping down he examined the handkerchief around 
 her throat. "What is this handkerchief with your name on 
 it doing around her throat ? " 
 
 This seemed to confuse Arthur more than ever. He 
 sank into a chair and put his hands to his face. " Let me 
 think," he said. He sat there for two minutes, and then 
 raised his head with a hopeless look on his face. " I can't 
 think," he said, " my brain seems confused. Take me out 
 of this room, it makes me feel sick. Get me home to my 
 mother ; she will feel anxious about me. I hardly know who 
 I am — 140 Cavendish Square — Arthur Merton. Don't for- 
 get. I'm secretary to Mr. Childs." 
 
 " He plays his part well," said Finch. " I never seen it 
 done better, but it won't save him. Where's that feller as 
 brought us here ? He seems to have put out for parts un- 
 known, and we ought to have kept him, as he could tell us 
 more about this. I should not know him again if I saw him, 
 for I've never seen him except in very dark nights and 
 in this fog." Briggs, sure enough, had got out of the 
 
 way. 
 
 "There's something wrong about that informer," said 
 
1 84 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Kelly. ** The next time I get a chance, I'll hold him ; he'll 
 be sure to turn up for the reward, though." 
 
 " Let's examine the prisoner," said Finch, *' and then 
 send around for the coroner." To this they both agreed. 
 
 It was now half-past eight o'clock, and the night was 
 doubly dark from the fog, which even forced its way up- 
 stairs, and covered the walls with dampness. A few coals 
 only were left in the fire-place, and the lamp threw out a 
 most grewsome light. The eyes of the corpse seemed to be 
 watching every movement of the detectives, and to be pro- 
 truding its tongue as if in ridicule. The smell of chloroform 
 was still strong in the room, even affecting the detectives, 
 who on looking around found an uncorked bottle of the stuff 
 and corked it up." 
 
 " And here's a bottle of brandy half drunk up," said de- 
 tective Kelly. 
 
 " Yes," said Finch, " that's where the feller got his liquor." 
 
 " I'm not sure he's suffering from liquor," said Kelly. 
 
 " I am," said the other. " He's playin' a deep game." 
 
 A plaster-of- Paris parrot stood on the mantel, the top of 
 which could be removed. " See here," said Kelly, " this is 
 a stow-hole, and here's a hundred-pound note on the Bank 
 of England, by George ! Let me see the number. Ah, here 
 it is — 6580 D; this may throw some light on the subject, 
 for it's the first clew that we have found to the missing notes. 
 Let's wake this fellow up, and see if he can tell us anything 
 about it." 
 
 They shook Arthur roughly, and he awoke. " Look 
 here," said Kelly, *' it will be easier with you if you tell the 
 truth. Do you recognize this note ? " 
 
 Arthur opened his eyes wide. " ' Tell the truth ! ' " he 
 said, " I could not tell a lie. Let me see the number of that 
 note," and looking at it steadily, he exclaimed : " Why, that 
 is one of the stolen notes ! How did that get here ? I re- 
 member the number." 
 
 *' Come, now," said detective Finch, '* where are the 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 85 
 
 others ? You know. Tell us, and it will go easier with you ; 
 you may get off with ten years." 
 
 "/know!" said Arthur, "why, I belong to the bank. 
 I've been hunting for them. What am I arrested for and 
 why kept here ? " 
 
 " You are suspected of having stolen them notes," said 
 Finch, sternly, " and unless you tell where they are hid I'll 
 put the darbys on you and take you to Bow Street." 
 
 Arthur rose to his feet at once, his eyes flashing and his 
 nostrils dilated, and cried : " Suspect me of stealing ! Make 
 a felon of me ! Who dares do that ? I defy the whole 
 world. And this is why I am arrested } Oh, my God ! 
 This will kill my mother. Take me to her at once, she is 
 expecting me at every moment." 
 
 " He plays his part well," said Finch, whispering to 
 Kelly. 
 
 "You are mistaken," said the other, "he is perfectly 
 natural. Do not try to lead me on a wrong scent, as you did 
 last time." 
 
 "Oh, no," said Finch, "I never saw better acting. We 
 have not searched him yet. Better do it before he gets rid of 
 something that would give us a further clew. Stand up, 
 young man, and let me search you. We will see what you 
 have about you — or will you give up the notes ? " 
 
 "Great God!" exclaimed Arthur, "you certainly can 
 not accuse me of such a thing? " 
 
 "That's all very fine," said Finch, "but, come, let us 
 search you. It will save you the mortification of an exami- 
 nation of your person before all the police at Bow Street." 
 
 " I suppose I can not help myself," said Arthur, " and I 
 will do anything to get out of this room, for I am sick to 
 death, and want to go home. My head is bursting, so come 
 and search me at once, and small good may it do you." 
 
 Arthur, in obedience to a request, took off his coat and 
 handed it to detective Finch, who said : " Here's a package 
 in the breast-pocket, which is sewed up. What is this ? " 
 
1 86 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 "I don't know," said Arthur, looking surprised, "when 
 last I remember, the handkerchief was in it." 
 
 "And now," said Finch, "your handkerchief is around 
 that dead woman's throat," 
 
 " My God ! " said Arthur, going to the bedside and look- 
 ing into the dead woman's face. "What does all this mean, 
 connecting my name with this dreadful tragedy, for such it 
 appears to be ? " 
 
 " It looks," said the detective, " as if you were about to 
 play the principal part in the programme." 
 
 " Stop that, Finch," said detective Kelly. " Young 
 man, do not commit yourself by answering questions. 
 The court is the only authority that can compel you to 
 do that. The first thing you should do is to obtain 
 counsel." 
 
 Meanwhile Finch ripped open the breast-pocket and 
 pulled out the package containing the bank-notes. " Well," 
 he said, " if you ain't the innocentest young man I ever seen. 
 What do you think of this, Kelly ? Hurrah ! Hurrah ! We've 
 got 'em ! " 
 
 " 1 do not know what to think of it," said Kelly. " What 
 have you got to say about it, young man ? " 
 
 Arthur was pale as death and his eyes were almost start- 
 ing from his head. His lips quivered and his nails were 
 driven into the palms of his hands by the force with which 
 he clasped them. " So help me heaven," he said, " I know 
 nothing of this. When I came into this room, since when I 
 remember nothing, those notes were not on my person. I 
 seem to be dreaming." 
 
 " You will find it no dream," said Finch, stepping up to 
 him and unbuttoning his vest. Slipping his hand into the 
 side pocket, he pulled out a Bank-of-England note for 
 one hundred pounds — No. 6581 D — with five sovereigns, and 
 laid them on the table. " What do you think of that, Kel- 
 ly .? " said Finch. 
 
 Kelly shook his head. " Don't know," he said. Whis- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 187 
 
 pering to Finch, he said: "This is a put-up job, though 
 the young fellow may have to suffer for it." 
 
 Arthur could stand no more. The excitement had re- 
 stored him to his senses. He saw in all its bearings the 
 dreadful situation in which he was placed, and covering his 
 face with his hands he sobbed like a child. It was ten 
 minutes before he could speak, and then he said, in a trem- 
 bling voice : " I don't see why you desire to put this dis- 
 grace on me ; I am as innocent as the child unborn. How 
 this has been done or who had any reason for injuring me, 
 I can not imagine, but it means moral, if not actual death 
 to my mother, my affianced wife, and myself. I see no way 
 out of it and nothing but ruin and a blighted name be- 
 fore me." 
 
 "We might as well finish the search," said detective 
 Finch, ''and then go for the coroner." Arthur allowed him- 
 self to be searched, but nothing more was found on his 
 person. He stood like one perfectly stunned, and then 
 sat down overcome with grief and buried his head in his 
 hands. 
 
 Calling a policeman, the detectives placed him in charge of 
 the house, and said to Arthur : " Now, sir, you must go 
 with us to police headquarters. We will not put irons on 
 you, so come quietly and you will get through the matter all 
 the sooner." By this time it was eleven o'clock and the 
 fog was thicker than ever, but a carriage was finally found 
 to take the party to Bow street. 
 
 Next morning the newspapers astounded London by the 
 following announcement : " We are happy to say that de- 
 tectives Kelly and Finch have at last by great perseverance 
 unearthed the robber who stole the twelve thousand pounds 
 in Bank-of- En gland notes from the banking-house of Childs 
 & Co., some five weeks ago. The money was all recovered 
 ( with the exception of one five-hundred-pound note — No. 
 3450 A ) from the person of the robber, who, it appears 
 was a clerk in the bank. There is a tragedy connected with 
 
1 88 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 this affair to which it is not deemed prudent to give pub- 
 licity at present, but it will be known in a few days." Of 
 course, all London was agape to obtain more news of the 
 matter, but there it will have to rest for a time. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 When the senior partner of Childs's & Co.'s bank was at 
 breakfast the morning after Arthur Merton's arrest, he was 
 surprised to find in the newspaper an account of the pro- 
 ceedings, and wondered which of his employes was impli- 
 cated, as no name was mentioned. 
 
 As soon as possible he rode to the bank, where detect- 
 ives Kelly and Finch awaited him, and the former handed 
 him the package of notes. " There, sir, is your money," he 
 said, "minus a five-hundred-pound note which has disap- 
 peared and sixteen sovereigns which have been spent. We 
 captured the robber with the notes sewed up in his jacket, 
 and you will be surprised to learn that he is no other 
 than your confidential clerk, Arthur Merton." 
 
 The banker was horror-stricken, and exclaimed, as he 
 sank back in his chair : " What a calamity ! I would rather 
 have lost all the money than had matters turn out in this 
 way. But, no " he continued, " it can not be ; there is some 
 mistake. It is impossible that Merton can have done this ; 
 he is truth and honesty personified." 
 
 "I hope it may turn out as you say, sir," said detective 
 Kelly, "but it looks badly now." 
 
 " So badly," said detective Finch, " that he will be lucky 
 to save his neck. There's a murder in the case, and in my 
 opinion he's the author of it." 
 
 The cold perspiration stood on the banker's forehead. 
 He was quite overcome with the intelligence. As soon as 
 he could command himself he asked the detectives to give 
 him the particulars. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 189 
 
 Kelly commenced his story by saying that two weeks 
 after the robbery he had received an anonymous letter in- 
 forming him that the writer knew where the notes w^ere 
 and would give up the thief for a certain consideration. An 
 answer sent to the place indicated led to an interview with 
 a certain person and an appointment to meet the informer 
 in Trafalgar Square. When arrived at the spot and sta- 
 tioned in front of the house indicated the detectives had not 
 long to wait before Arthur Merton staggered out of the house 
 apparently under the influence of liquor. " That is your 
 man," said the informer, who immediately disappeared,"and," 
 added Kelly, " we have never seen him since and should 
 hardly recognize him if we met him." He then detailed 
 the particulars, with which the reader is already familiar. 
 
 "There is more in this affair than meets the eye," con- 
 tinued Kelly, " and I think it doubtful if Merton killed that 
 girl, although he professes to know her name." 
 
 " Me and my partner don't agree on all the points of this 
 case," said detective Finch. " I thought Merton was play- 
 ing a part, but that is only my opinirn and won't count be- 
 fore a court." 
 
 *' I don't intend to prosecute him," said the banker, "as 
 I have recovered most of the money. If Merton can give 
 any plausible explanation of how he came by the notes I 
 am willing to believe him." 
 
 '' You forget the charge of murder, sir, that will probably 
 be made against him," said Kelly. 
 
 " May God preserve him," said the banker, " and have 
 pity on his poor mother, who can never stand such a shock ! 
 Why is there so much unhappiness in this world, and what 
 has that innocent woman done to meet such a dreadful 
 punishment ; or what has her sen done that he should be 
 the victim of such a plot ? " 
 
 " He's killed a woman and stolen a lot of money," said 
 Finch. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the banker. " It's an infernal 
 
I go ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 conspiracy, and I will never believe in Merton's guilt until 
 he acknowledges it. Where is he now ? " 
 
 "At present," said Kelly, " he is at the Bow Street police 
 headquarters, waiting the result of the coroner's inquest." 
 
 "Then, I must go and see him," exclaimed the banker, 
 and accompanied by the detectives he proceeded to the 
 house of detention and was accorded an interview with 
 Arthur Merton. 
 
 When Arthur was confronted by his employer, the lat- 
 ter's heart ached at the woe-begone appearance of the young 
 man. His once bright eyes were dim, and had a most pain- 
 ful expression, and he stared at the banker as if demented. 
 The latter held out his hand, exclaiming : " My poor boy, 
 this is a vile conspiracy against you, and you shall not stay 
 here a day longer, if I can prevent it." 
 
 Tears stood in Arthur's eyes, and his lips quivered. " If 
 you can give me your hand, sir," said Arthur, " I do not 
 despair, and I can assure you that I am innocent of the 
 charges brought against me. I went on an errand of mercy 
 and have been entrapped. I see it all now, although I could 
 not at first realize it. I must have been chloroformed, as 
 for hours I could not collect my senses. Does my poor 
 mother, or does Ronald Pentland know of this, for they will 
 be dreadfully affected. My mother has suffered, oh, so much ; 
 and now, to have me accused of crime, it will kill her." 
 
 "Cheer up, Arthur," said the banker, "we will pull you 
 through even if Satan himself has conspired against you ; 
 but give me the particulars of your story." 
 
 "As nearly as possible I will, sir," replied Arthur; "but 
 I was unconscious part of the time while in that house near 
 which I was arrested, and there are, therefore, blanks in my 
 recollections. Worse than all the rest, I have lost a letter 
 which would have exonerated me, and which I read to my 
 mother just before leaving her." 
 
 " It is fortunate you read it to her," said the banker, 
 "for it will be good evidence." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. I9I 
 
 Arthur then told the whole story as near as he could 
 remember. 
 
 "Bad enough," said the banker, when Arthur had fin- 
 ished, " a clever piece of villainy. What enemy have you ? " 
 
 " Not one that I know of," replied Arthur; " if I had an 
 enemy, I might form some idea of the motives in this case. 
 The evidence against me seems very strong, and sympathy 
 for me will not establish my innocence. Now, my dear sir, 
 do me the favor to go and see my mother ; tell her to have 
 patience, for of course she will never believe that I have 
 been guilty of crime." 
 
 " I will call at once and see your mother," said the bank- 
 er, " and do what I can to comfort her ; meanwhile, trust 
 in God, and all will be well in the end." 
 
 Ten minutes after the banker's departure Ronald was 
 announced, who rushed forward and, clasping Arthur in his 
 arms, exclaimed : " What does all this mean ? I got a glimpse 
 of the matter in a morning paper, but it was so absurd I could 
 make nothing of it." 
 
 "It means," said Arthur, "that you will have to cease 
 recognizing your old friend unless Heaven comes to my as- 
 sistance and saves me from a felon's cell. What a blow 
 this will be to my poor mother just as a gleam of sunshine 
 had come to illuminate her existence, and she was beginning 
 to recover her spirits ! This will be the finishing stroke to 
 us both. Listen to my story, Ronald ; we shall not see each 
 other again, for your parents will not consent to your meet- 
 ing one who will so soon occupy a felon's cell." 
 
 " No ! no ! " exclaimed Roland, much excited, *' we will 
 move heaven and earth until you are free. I will go imme- 
 diately to my parents, and you will find that you have true 
 friends in them." 
 
 Arthur then told Ronald his story, at which the latter 
 seemed much astonished. " I see the difficulties in your 
 way, Arthur," he said, "but you will have the best counsel, 
 and your father will spend any amount of money to free you 
 
192 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 from this charge. I will go at once to Lyneham, and tell 
 your father all the particulars ; keep up a brave heart, I will 
 see you again in a day or two," and with an affectionate 
 farewell he quitted the room. 
 
 Once more left to himself Arthur gave way to gloomy 
 forebodings. Dinner was brought to him, but he left it un- 
 touched on the table. 
 
 In the mean time the banker had driven to Mrs. Merton's 
 lodgings in Cavendish Square, and when shown to her par- 
 lor found the lady anxiously awaiting him. " Mr. Childs,'* 
 she exclaimed, "what has happened to Arthur ? I have been 
 up all night watching for him and hearing nothing." 
 
 The banker made a desperate effort to be calm, but the 
 fond mother noticed his embarrassment. " My dear madam," 
 he began, then his voice quivered, " you mothers are all alike, 
 and would like to keep sons in leading-strings for life. There 
 must be a beginning when a young man stays out all night, 
 and Arthur has taken the initiative. He sent me to tell you 
 all about it." 
 
 *' Then he is safe, thank God ! " exclaimed Mrs. Merton. 
 *' I feared he had injured himself." 
 
 " Arthur has met with a little accident " — here the mother 
 again grew excited — '* but you are too brave a woman to mind 
 that ; boys will have accidents, but Arthur has no broken 
 bones, and is in no bodily pain, so dry your tears ; " yet he 
 felt this was an impossibility, for what he had to tell would 
 wring her heart with anguish. 
 
 Julia regarded the banker with anxious eyes. " Speak," 
 she said, " and tell me what has happened. Do not keep 
 me longer in suspense. I can endure anything better than 
 that." 
 
 " Then, listen to me," said Mr. Childs. Arthur is sound 
 in mind and body, but is in temporary difficulties v/hich will 
 subject him to some inconvenience. It is a case of law, and 
 you know the law's delays are proverbial. A great mistake 
 has been made, and Arthur has been arrested for some other 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 193 
 
 person's offenses, but it will all be rectified. It is only a 
 matter of a little time." 
 
 Julia was astounded. " Arthur arrested ! " she cried," what 
 harm could he have done ? " and she sobbed convulsively. 
 
 " Now, my dear madam, you will see the folly of taking 
 things so seriously when I tell you that Arthur is charged 
 with taking money from my bank, and you know as well as 
 I do the im.possibility of his having done so." 
 
 A wild shriek rang through the house, and Julia fell life- 
 less to the floor. 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed the banker, " I have killed her with 
 my blundering ! I am not fit for such a business and should 
 have employed a woman. What a fool I am ! And I thought 
 I was all the time skillfully leading her up to the subject." 
 
 These thoughts flashed through his mind as he pulled 
 frantically at the bell and was rewarded by the sight of two 
 maid servants, who rushed in and conveyed their mistress to 
 an adjoining room, while the banker summoned the nearest 
 physician. 
 
 The same evening Ronald reached home. He found his 
 parents at dinner, and after the first salutations, told them 
 of the terrible events that had occurred in London. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Pentland were greatly shocked, and after 
 the former had read the printed account which his son gave 
 him, he said to Ronald : '' This is a bad business for Arthur. 
 How could he possibly have become mixed up in such a 
 detestable affair ? " 
 
 " Why, father ! " exclaimed Ronald, " You certainly do 
 not suspect Arthur to be guilty." 
 
 ''It is not what I think," said Mr. Pentland, "but what 
 the world will think ; where there is so much smoke there 
 must be some fire. I knew Arthur as a fine boy with great 
 natural talent and generous impulses, but I can not tell what 
 effect London life may have had upon him. I should be 
 sorry if you should ever have such a charge brought against 
 you, Ronald, for even if you were innocent the world would 
 13 
 
194 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 be no more lenient to you than to him. Arthur must prove 
 his innocence, and I am at a loss to know how he will be 
 able to do so, the evidence seems to be so strong against 
 him. I do not wish you to make yourself too prominent 
 in this matter, my son, for, as a man of the world, I know 
 that some of the odium of such a crime will attach itself to 
 a too zealous friend ; therefore, be cautious in your inter- 
 course with Arthur, and let what you do in his behalf be 
 sub rosa. Your mother and I will do all in our power to 
 console poor Mrs. Merton." 
 
 " Why, father ! " exclaim.ed Ronald, " you astonish me. 
 I thought you would be the first to go to Arthur's assistance, 
 and would stand by him to the end." 
 
 '' So I will stand by him," said the squire, "unless I find 
 he is a criminal, and then I will drop him ; he should never 
 have placed himself in a position so compromising. But we 
 will get ready to start for London. Go at once and see that 
 brute his father, and tell him what you know and give him 
 this advice from me to employ the best counsel, and not to 
 spare expense, as his son's life may depend upon it." 
 
 At eight o'clock that evening the squire and Mrs. Pent- 
 land proceeded in the train to London, while Ronald de- 
 parted for Lyneham, where he arrived at half-past ten and 
 found Mr. Merton still in his office. Ronald, knowing how 
 little the manufacturer cared for his son, came at once to 
 the point and related the story of Arthur's mishaps at full 
 length. 
 
 Mr. Merton listened quietly to the recital. " Yes," he 
 said, " I saw some allusion to the affair in the paper this 
 evening. Well, he'll have to hang, for it's not worth while 
 to try and boost up such a fellow as that." 
 
 Ronald was astonished at Merton's coarse brutality, but 
 delivered his father's message. " Did your father say that ? " 
 said Merton. " Well, I suppose it is the thing to do, but 
 that fellow Arthur has upset all my plans in life — plans that 
 I was foolish enough to rely on him to carry out.'* 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. I95 
 
 Ronald then told Merton that he should return to Lon- 
 don that night by the midnight train, and asked if he could 
 do anything for him. 
 
 Merton then wrote a note to his attorney in London, 
 authorizing him to employ two of the most eminent bar- 
 risters in the city to conduct the defense. " I can not go 
 to London myself just now," he said, " and would be glad 
 if your father would confer with my attorney for me." 
 
 Ronald wondered if it were possible for his own father to 
 act as Merton did under similar circumstances, and taking 
 the letter bade Mr. Merton good-night. 
 
 Next morning saw him at the attorney's office, where he 
 delivered his letter. 
 
 The attorney, after studying up the case, retained the 
 eminent barristers Messrs Prosper and Fairchild to conduct 
 the defense. 
 
 Ronald's conscience smote him when he remembered his 
 disgraceful interviews with the scoundrel Briggs, who had 
 so cleverly worked upon his feelings and led him to the very 
 verge of crime. Ronald felt certain that Briggs was at the 
 bottom of all this dreadful business, but the thought that 
 the latter might make it appear that he, Ronald, was an 
 accomplice in the affair, kept him from acting as he should 
 have done. 
 
 So Ronald resolved to do the next best thing, and act 
 as Arthur's friend all through the case. 
 
 The squire and Mrs. Pentland on arriving in London 
 drove straight to Cavendish Square and secured rooms in 
 the same house where Mrs. Merton was residing. 
 
 They found the poor lady in bed with a high fever and 
 quite out of her head. 
 
 The attending physician had heard all about the charge 
 against Arthur, and was prepared to treat the case under- 
 standingly. 
 
 Although London is so large that, in the words of the 
 Frenchman, it has *' ceased to be a city and become a vast 
 
196 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 province," yet there is no place in the world where an 
 event like that we have chronicled would make greater ex- 
 citement. The double crime of robbery and murder was a 
 rare treat for the lovers of the horrible, so that the city was 
 on the qui vive for all the details. The mystery of the crime, 
 the respectable position of the accused, and the incidents, 
 which as usual were much exaggerated by the newspapers, 
 gave the affair unusual zest. London had eclipsed herself, 
 and the report of the coroner's inquest over the body of the 
 woman supposed to be named Charlotte Foster had added 
 much to the sensation. The jury found that the deceased 
 had come to her death from violence at the hands of some 
 person or persons unknown. 
 
 The testimony of the detectives went to show that the 
 deceased must have been dead some time when they saw 
 the body, and that Arthur Merton had only been in the 
 house for a few moments prior to his arrest. 
 
 Arthur's evidence was manly and straightforward, and 
 the fact of his handkerchief having been tied around the 
 victim's neck did not convince the jury that he had had 
 anything to do with the murder. 
 
 The verdict of the jury relieved Arthur somewhat from 
 the odium of the woman's death, but people prefer to believe 
 evil against a man unless he can prove his innocence, so that 
 although Arthur had escaped a trial for murder, many peo- 
 ple believed him to be guilty. 
 
 The chances were at one time that Arthur would escape 
 altogether, for the firm of Childs & Co. determined not to 
 prosecute. The senior partner was convinced that the whole 
 thing was a plot to implicate the young man by the real thief, 
 but all the bankers protested e7i masse against such sentimen- 
 tality, which would tend to destroy all security of employers 
 against robbers. Such a pressure was accordingly brought 
 to bear upon Childs & Co. that they felt compelled to let the 
 law take its course. 
 
 Arthur Merton was accordingly indicted for the robbery 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 1 97 
 
 of twelve thousand pounds sterling from the banking-house 
 of Childs & Co., and was committed to Newgate to await 
 his trial. 
 
 Mrs. Merton had received such a shock on hearing of 
 her son's arrest that it seemed doubtful if she would ever 
 recover from it. She lay in bed consumed with fever and 
 carefully nursed by her friend Mrs. Pentland. 
 
 Fortunately, Julia was insensible to most that was going 
 on and it seemed from appearances that she would soon be 
 free from trouble and find rest in heaven. 
 
 Her physician thought she might possibly recover from 
 this attack, though at the expense of her reason, and 
 that she would remain oblivious to all that had taken 
 place. 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Vernon had seen in the newspapers an ac- 
 count of the robbery and murder, and was of couse dread- 
 fully shocked. He could not believe Arthur guilty, but he 
 saw nothing but misery to his darling daughter, whose love 
 for the young man had now become the mainspring of her 
 existence. He sedulously kept all newspapers out of his 
 daughter's way and cautioned the housekeeper on the sub- 
 ject. His own grief was so great that his daughter began 
 to notice it, and insisted that he was not well and should 
 send for the family physician. 
 
 As the days went by and she did not hear from Arthur, 
 Elsie could endure it no longer. She said to her father : 
 " Papa, I have not heard from Arthur for more than a week ; 
 do you think anything can have happened to him ? I am so 
 unhappy that I can not sleep. I notice that you too look 
 worried." 
 
 You silly child," said her father, " to worry yourself about 
 trifles when there are so many serious matters in life to per- 
 plex us. Arthur's mother is ill— so ill that Mrs. Pentland 
 has gone to London to nurse her. Arthur, no doubt, has had 
 his hands full, and has no time to write." 
 
 "No," said Elsie, decidedly, "that's not it ; he certainly 
 
198 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 could find time to write me a line. Why can not I go up to 
 London and help nurse Mrs. Merton ?" 
 
 " Perhaps you can," replied her father, " after a while, 
 but just at present you might be in the way," and so he put 
 her off from day to day, while the poor child fretted so much 
 at not hearing from her lover that she looked like a droop- 
 ing lily. 
 
 Who could see the end of all this misery ? Death had 
 not yet laid his hand on any of those most deeply interested, 
 but who could tell how soon would come his dread summons 
 to still loving hearts forever ? As a general thing, people 
 look upon death with horror as one who comes to tear them 
 away from a beautiful world and send them to a world we 
 know not of, but if the truth were known death comes often 
 in the guise of a friend to relieve us from pain and misery, 
 and take us from a state of existence where we meet with 
 neither sympathy nor succor. 
 
 V/e will pass over Arthur Merton's trial as rapidly as 
 possible, as there was nothing in the evidence to bring any 
 consolation. Arthur spent a month in Newgate. His coun- 
 sel were thoroughly familiar with his case and believed him 
 innocent. The evidence, it is true, was all on the side of the 
 crown, but they hoped something would occur to throw more 
 light upon the subject than was at present visible. 
 
 Everything had been done to find the man who had fig- 
 ured so mysteriously in the bedchamber, but without avail, 
 and the lawyers went into court depending only on their 
 professional skill to win a case in which there seemed so lit- 
 tle room for argument. A judge once remarked of a brill- 
 iant advocate that his oratory convinced him against his 
 will, but unfortunately one well-proved circumstance brought 
 forward by the attorney-general was more convincing than 
 all the oratory in the world. Facts are like bomb-shells 
 which destroy the ship, while oratory is the grape-shot which 
 only riddles the hull and cuts the rigging. 
 
 When the case of Arthur Merton was called for trial the 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 199 
 
 court was crowded. Three judges were on the bench, and 
 the opposing counsel were all in their places. The facts 
 as already given by detectives Kelly and Finch were once 
 more rehearsed, and all the cross-questioning of Arthur's 
 counsel, could not make them vary their statements. There 
 were no witnesses to prove extenuating circumstances. 
 
 Finally Arthur was allowed to make a statement, which 
 was listened to in breathless silence by the assembled throng. 
 
 The prisoner's appearance was greatly in his favor, and 
 the prevailing opinion seemed to be that Arthur was the vic- 
 tim of a conspiracy. When asked to produce the note he 
 claimed to have received from Charlotte Foster, asking him 
 to come to her assistance, he replied that it had been taken 
 from his person, while he was under the influence of chlo- 
 roform, and the bank-notes fastened to his clothing. The 
 absence of the note from the woman was prejudicial to 
 his case, so that he made no impression on the judges by 
 his testimony. 
 
 The argument of the counsel for the prisoner was quite 
 a literary gem, but unfortunately there was no evidence to 
 sustain it, and the crown counsel brought forward such an 
 array of facts that it was impossible to refute them. 
 
 The counsel for the accused expatiated on the youth of 
 the prisoner, on the improbability of his committing such a 
 crime, owing to his high character, of his reverence and af- 
 fection for his mother, at that moment lying at death's door 
 and whose life depended on the acquittal of her innocent 
 son. Finally, the learned counsel made an eloquent appeal 
 to the jury, which affected everybody in the court-room, and 
 sat down amid the applause of the audience. 
 
 This applause was promptly checked by order of the 
 court, and a solemn silence ensued, 
 
 Then the crown counsel, with solemn mein, addressed 
 the jury. 
 
 He reviewed the evidence critically, dwelt upon the fact 
 of the wealth and social standing of the prisoner's relatives 
 
200 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 which rendered such a crime as he had been guilty of 
 doubly odious. It would be well for the jury to confine 
 themselves to the facts of the case, and not be led away 
 by the sophistry of eminent barristers, whose business it was 
 to make the worse appear the better side, and who worked 
 themselves to such a pitch of enthusiasm as almost to be- 
 lieve the innocence of their client, and in their zeal for his 
 interests forget what was due to the people. 
 
 "The jury may remember," he continued, "how once 
 there was an angel named Lucifer, who rebelled against 
 God and tried to subvert the laws of heaven. He was the 
 most beautiful of all the angels, and but for the power of 
 God would have overturned the universe. Lucifer was 
 tried, found guilty, and thrust into the bottomless pit, where 
 he will have an eternity to reflect upon his sins. 
 
 " Many of Lucifer's followers on earth are beautiful like 
 their great prototype, but they must be taught that they can 
 no more disobey the laws of the land, which are founded on 
 God's ordinances, than Lucifer could disobey the laws of 
 heaven. 
 
 " I ask the jury to decide on the evidence submitted to 
 them, and not be led astray by sophistry and flowery re- 
 marks better suited for the ears of silly women than for an 
 intelligent British jury." 
 
 The learned counsel concluded his remarks amid pro- 
 found silence. 
 
 The judge commenced his charge to the jury by saying 
 that this was one of the most peculiar cases that had ever 
 come under his observation. Here was a young man, with 
 everything in life to make him happy, of a wealthy family 
 and a good reputation, accused of the crime of robbery, and 
 with a portion of the stolen property found on his person. 
 
 "In a case of this kind there is but one course to pursue. 
 The jury must be governed by the facts of the case, and if 
 in their opinion the prisoner at the bar is the victim of a 
 conspiracy, they must acquit him. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 201 
 
 " The jury should not be influenced by the special plead- 
 ing of counsel for or against the accused. Too often justice 
 is defrauded by the flowery oratory of men of great ability, 
 who know how to appeal to the feehngs of men. In the 
 present trial we have had a sample of the eloquence of two 
 opposing counsel, each viewing the matter from a different 
 standpoint, 
 
 " The jury should not allow themselves to be led away by 
 the arguments, but should take the law and the facts. The 
 facts are already in your possession, and, I will state the law 
 in the case," The judge then laid down the law to the jury, 
 and exhorted them not to allow their feelings to carry them 
 away from the facts of the case. " Crime is on the increase 
 in the land, and justice should be the watchword of a Brit- 
 ish jury, but, above all things, justice should be tempered 
 with mercy. The jury should see that the prisoner at the 
 bar receives the benefit of any doubts they may entertain, 
 and may Heaven guide your deliberations." 
 
 There was a painful silence in the court-room while the 
 jurors were moving out to the room appointed for their de- 
 liberations. Every one tried to gain some idea from the faces 
 of the jury of what impression had been made on them by 
 the judge's charge, but no sign could be seen on those stolid 
 English faces that would indicate their feelings. 
 
 The jury were out four hours with no sign of coming to 
 an agreement, the judges and the lawyers had retired from 
 the court-room, but many spectators still remained hoping 
 that the jury v/ould soon finish their labors and acquit the 
 prisoner. At last word came that the jury had agreed upon 
 a verdict, the judges and lawyers resumed their seats, and 
 the members of the jury filed into the room. 
 
 In response to the question. Have you agreed upon a ver- 
 dict ? the foreman of the jury replied, "We have." To the 
 question Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty ? the 
 forem^an answered solemnly, " Guilty." 
 
 For a moment there was a murmur in the room, then 
 
202 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 sobs were heard in different directions, and one woman 
 fainted. A voice exclaimed : " How unjust ! shame on the 
 verdict ! " 
 
 " Silence in court," shouted the crier, while the judge 
 ordered the arrest of all persons making further manifes- 
 tations of either approval or disapproval. 
 
 When order was restored the judge arose and adjourned 
 the court until lo a. m. of the following day, and ordered 
 the removal of the prisoner until that hour. 
 
 Arthur Merton had sat apparently unmoved during his 
 trial. He was pale, and his features looked as if chiseled 
 out of marble, but there was nothing like fear exhibited in 
 his bearing, even when the foreman announced the verdict. 
 He seemed to be judging rather than like one judged. 
 
 At the signal from the officer of the court he stepped 
 down and passed through the throng without the movement 
 of a muscle in his face. Arthur had undergone all the bit- 
 terness of grief, and determined to bear his misfortunes like 
 a man and defy the world. 
 
 There were few in that concourse of people who believed 
 Arthur guilty of the crime of which he was accused. As 
 he passed along some whispered, '' We know he is innocent." 
 But Arthur looked neither to the right nor left and seemed 
 the least unmoved of any of those present. 
 
 The following morning the court assembled at ten o'clock 
 and the prisoner was again placed in the dock. 
 
 The presiding judge looked worn and jaded, as if he had 
 passed through a terrible ordeal. When the prisoner stood 
 up to receive his sentence the judge addressed him as 
 follows : 
 
 *' Prisoner at the bar, you have had a fair trial and the 
 benefit of eminent counsel. The jury have given close at- 
 tention to your case, and having found you guilty of the 
 crime for which you were indicted, it only remains for the 
 court to inflict the sentence of the law, which is that you 
 be confined in prison two years at hard labor, and at the ex- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 203 
 
 piration of that time be transported to a penal colony until 
 such time as the authorities shall permit you to return to 
 your native country. This light penalty is inflicted on you 
 owing to your youth and previous good reputation." 
 
 Arthur kept his eyes steadily fixed upon the judge while 
 he was passing sentence, and when the latter had finished 
 left the court in charge of two policemen w^ith the sympa- 
 thies of all the spectators. 
 
 This feeling was so marked that it afforded a partial sat- 
 isfaction to Arthur, although from that day he was dead to 
 the world. He was taken to Newgate and locked up in a cell. 
 
 He had borne up manfully all through the trial ; not a 
 tear had dimmed his eye, nor a muscle quivered. He saw 
 from the opening of the address of the counsel for the 
 crown that his chances of acquittal were slight. He noted 
 the stolid faces of the jury, men with little intelligence and 
 no sympathy, who were prepared to vote him guilty unless 
 he could prove himself innocent. He had but two friends 
 present, Ronald Pentland and the banker, the latter of whom 
 had testified strongly in his favor. As for Squire Pentland 
 he could not help believing Arthur guilty, since a British 
 jury had so declared, and, as everybody knew, the system 
 of trial by jury was the Palladium of a Briton's rights. He 
 was a conservative to the back-bone and possessed certain 
 ideas which it was impossible to change. 
 
 Mr. Pentland's absence from court pained Arthur more 
 than words could express. "But, after all," he said to him- 
 self, '' what does it matter ? I am dead to the world. Let me 
 bear my burden alone." 
 
 But when Arthur thought of Elsie's grief at his fate, he 
 could contain himself no longer. He threw himself on his 
 pallet and sobbed as if his heart would break. He knew that 
 his darling mother was lying very ill and unconcious of 
 what was going on, and he could only hope that God might 
 relieve her by death from the sufferings she would exper- 
 ience in case she realized that her son was a felon. 
 
204 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 All that night Arthur prayed, not for himself, but for his 
 mother and affianced wife, that they might not suffer for 
 the ills that had befallen him. That night seemed to Arthur 
 an eternity. What would be the two years of prison confine- 
 ment and the subsequent exile from his native land — worse 
 than all, the dreadful association with criminals of the vilest 
 character ! Who can tell what an innocent man must un- 
 dergo under circumstances like those to which Arthur was 
 the victim } If it is dreadful to the guilty, it is worse than 
 a thousand deaths to the innocent. 
 
 The following day was appointed for Arthur's transfer 
 to Millbank prison, and an hour previous to his departure 
 he was informed by the jailer that permission had been 
 given for Ronald Pentland to visit him. 
 
 " Let him come in," said Arthur, '' although the interview 
 will be painful to us both," and Ronald was accordingly 
 shown to the cell. He rushed forward and extended his 
 hand, but Arthur did not take it. '* No, Ronald," he said, 
 manfully, " my hand is that of a felon, and I can not give it 
 to you until the stain is washed out and I stand before my 
 fellow-men entirely relieved of this foul charge, with my in- 
 nocence established beyond a doubt. I may not live to 
 witness my vindication, but I hope to see those who have 
 led me into my present straits brought to justice. I have 
 failed to receive justice from my fellow-man but I hope to 
 receive it from God." 
 
 Ronald could not refrain from tears as he assured Arthur 
 of his sympathy. " I know," said Arthur, " your noble na- 
 ture would not permit you to believe in my guilt. You know 
 me to be incapable of wrong-doing, but what matters, it is 
 only one man, more or less, and a few broken hearts. But 
 tell me, how is my poor mother ? " 
 
 "She is still very low," said Ronald, "and the doctor 
 thinks she may never recover her reason." 
 
 "Then," said Arthur, "she will never know that I am a 
 felon ; my only solace is that we will meet in heaven. Now, 
 
ARTHUR MERTOK. 205 
 
 Ronald, good-by. May God bless you, and may you never 
 feel such pangs as are now piercing my heart." 
 
 Ronald begged Arthur to shake hands with him at part- 
 ing, but Arthur said : " No, not until I am pronounced in- 
 nocent. Your father thinks me guilty ; tell him I have re- 
 fused to shake hands with my oldest friend, his son, while 
 there was a stigma attached to my name. Tell your dear 
 mother to be kind to mine. Mrs. Pentland is the only per- 
 son on earth now upon whom she can rely, now that I am 
 gone from her. She will not trouble anybody long — when 
 she dies, lay her beneath the great oak on the bank of the 
 river. Good-by." Arthur then retired to the farther end 
 of the cell and threw himself upon his pallet, while Ronald 
 took his departure with tears in his eyes, and his heart filled 
 with painful emotions. 
 
 He resolved to communicate to the police his suspicions 
 with regard to Bill Briggs, but time passed on and he did 
 not do so. Bill had disappeared, and Ronald was ignorant 
 of his whereabouts, and then he was afraid that suspicion 
 would be directed to himself on account of his dealings 
 with that deceitful villain. So Ronald quieted his con- 
 science by resolving to do everything in his power to pro- 
 cure a pardon for Arthur. 
 
 That day, at sunset, Arthur was transferred to Millbank 
 Prison, and was set to work next day, a merciful proceed- 
 ing which left the prisoner no time for reflection. His first 
 night in prison was the most dreadful of all Arthur's trials ; 
 it was his farewell to the outer world, the realization of all 
 his misery. He felt that he would never meet his mother 
 again on earth, that he had parted forever from Elsie — that 
 that sweet flower would perish in the storm while the hand 
 that should have shielded her was shackled in a felon's 
 cell. 
 
 " Here," he said to himself, "despair will be my constant 
 companion. I shall even learn to love it, and when the 
 time comes for me to leave these walls, I shall look back on 
 
2o6 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 them as to a place of refuge from the world's scorn, and shall 
 feel as if I were leaving a home. 
 
 With spiders I'll have friendship made, 
 And watch them at their sullen trade ; 
 I'll see the mice by moonlight play ; 
 And why should I feel less than they ? 
 We'll be the inmates of one place. 
 And I the monarch of each race. 
 
 O God, that I should thus view my disgrace, that I should 
 feel better satisfied to remain immured in this dark hole 
 than to breathe the free air with the stigma of crime at- 
 tached to my name ! Even if I regain my freedom, it will 
 come loaded with sighs, for who will be left who will know 
 me except as a thief ? who will be left of those I love ? " 
 
 Thus Arthur sat and grieved until midnight, and there 
 for a time we must leave him in his doleful dungeon pon- 
 dering over man's inhumanity to man, and almost ready to 
 doubt that God is keeping watch over his people on earth. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Vernon read the newspapers care- 
 fully, and wrote to Ronald Pentland to keep him informed 
 of everything relating to Arthur's case, so that he had a full 
 knowledge of all connected with the arrest and trial, but he 
 encountered great difficulty in concealing the matter from 
 Elsie. When a week passed and she did not receive a let- 
 ter from Arthur, she was alarmed, for fear something had 
 happened to him, and Mr. Vernon was obliged to practice a 
 little deception. He wrote to Ronald to send him the fol- 
 lowing telegram : " Mrs. Merton very low. Arthur not able 
 to write, but quite well, though suffering much distress." 
 
 "Poor fellow," said Elsie, when her father showed her 
 the telegram, *' how he loves his mother ! Would that I could 
 be there to help him nurse her ! " 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 20/ 
 
 "Mrs. Pentland is there to nurse her, my darling," said 
 the rector, '' and she is much more efficient than you could 
 be." So another week passed, Elsie growing more restless, 
 wandering constantly about the house without apparent ob- 
 ject. " I think," she said, ''Arthur might find time to write 
 me a few lines." 
 
 "Do not be unjust to Arthur, darling," said the rector. 
 " Remember the relations between his mother and himself, 
 that his heart and soul are wrapped up in her, and that 
 while watching over her he forgets everything else ; even 
 you, Elsie, become a secondary object. He can have but 
 that one mother, and if he should lose her through any 
 neglect of his, life would be but a dreary place to him." 
 So the rector went on making excuses for not hearing from 
 Arthur until life became a burden to him, but Elsie, though 
 she listened to her father's reasoning and bore her disap- 
 pointment as well as she could, grew pale, ate nothing, and 
 spent many hours in tears. She was but the shadow of her 
 former self, and half the time neglected even to feed her 
 doves. She would spend hours at the knoll thinking of 
 her lover, while the doves would circle around her and coo 
 at her feet with scarcely any notice from her. 
 
 At last the trial was over and the sentence passed, of 
 which the rector was duly informed. And now came for him 
 the ordeal he so much dreaded, and which he hoped and 
 prayed might never come — the task of telling his daughter 
 the dreadful news. The morning after the conclusion of the 
 trial, Elsie was sitting in an easy-chair in front of a sea-coal 
 fire in the parlor, her hands over her eyes and tears trick- 
 ling through her fingers. It had been five weeks since she 
 had received a line from Arthur, and she determined to make 
 her father take her up to London to see for herself why 
 he had not written. Ronald had not written either, but that 
 she did not expect after his disappointment ; indeed, she did 
 not wish it. While Elsie was thinking all this over, her father 
 came into the room with such a look in his face, and with 
 
2o8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 tears standing in his eyes, that she sprang to her feet in alarm 
 and exclaimed : *' Oh, papa, dear, what is it ? What dread- 
 ful thing has happened ? " 
 
 He pressed her to his breast. " My poor child," he said, 
 " life has no joy for us, my dearest hopes are scattered to the 
 winds." 
 
 " Is Arthur's mother dead ? " she inquired, in a trembling 
 voice. 
 
 " Far worse than that, dear child. Call forth all your 
 strength and courage, and pray God to enable you to bear 
 the greatest calamity of your life with submission." 
 
 " Oh ! speak, dear papa, and end my suspense ! " cried 
 Elsie. " I know you have something dreadful to tell me, but, 
 if Arthur is living, I can bear anything else." 
 
 " Ah, Elsie," he murmured, almost sobbing, " that is the 
 trouble. Arthur is physically well, but lost to you. A cruel 
 edict of the law has taken him from you forever. He was ac- 
 cused of crime, and unjustly found guilty." 
 
 Sounds like thunder had been gathering in Elsie's ears 
 since her father commenced the last sentence. Everything 
 grew dark around her, one low cry came from her lips, and 
 she slipped from her father's arms to the floor. " My God I " 
 he exclaimed, " I have killed her ! But death would be better 
 than to live and suffer, as she will when she knows all — if 
 she lives to hear it." 
 
 The rector raised his daughter from the floor, laid her 
 upon the sofa, and sent for the family physician. The house- 
 keeper and the chambermaid resorted to such methods as they 
 knew of to revive her. Then they carried the young lady 
 to her room and put her to bed, where she lay, her breast 
 heaving convulsively, her face as white as marble, while cold 
 perspiration bedewed her forehead. The doctor shook his 
 head doubtfully, while the poor rector wrung his hands in 
 despair. It was some hours before the doctor could come 
 to a conclusion, but finally admitted that the case, although 
 serious, was not hopeless. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 209 
 
 We will not pain the reader by a detail of the long ill- 
 ness which followed Elsie's fainting-fit. Her father hung 
 over her night and day, and the physician was at her bed- 
 side constantly. The best nurse that could be found was 
 sent for, and an eminent physician was sent down from Lon- 
 don, who, after spending three days at the rector's and 
 pocketing a hundred guineas, went away, leaving the case 
 in the hands of the local practitioner, which he might as well 
 have done in the first instance. 
 
 For two weeks Elsie tossed about in an hysterical state, 
 but gradually calmed down, and on the fourteenth day 
 opened her eyes and looked at the strange nurse intently. 
 '' Is this the other world ? " she asked, in a faint tone. " I 
 have had so much trouble in getting here ! The world I 
 left was so cruel I could not stay there. Men had no pity 
 there; they sacrificed the most noble without mercy. What 
 can they expect when they are sent away from earth } How 
 can they answer for what they have done to the innocent ? 
 But then they crucified Christ, God's own son, and, of 
 course, after that it mattered not to them whom they^ con- 
 demned. Is there no mercy left on earth .> Are the best 
 and noblest to be destroyed ? God help us all ! Tell me ! " 
 
 " Yes, miss, I will tell you all about it by and by," said 
 the nurse, "but I must tell your father that you have come 
 to. You have not spoken to him for two weeks, and his 
 heart is broken about you." The nurse rose and left the 
 room to inform the rector that his daughter was again con- 
 scious. 
 
 The rector hastened to Elsie's room, and found her as 
 the nurse had said, able to speak, but still under the halluci- 
 nation that she was in a better world. She held out her 
 arms to her father who clasped her to his breast, his eyes 
 full of tears. " Thank God, " he cried, " for all his mer- 
 cies, for this proof of thy goodness to thy sorrowful son in 
 restoring me my darling child. Ah, Elsie, you little know 
 how my heart has been shattered at the idea of losing you ! " 
 14 
 
2IO ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 " Are we not in another world, papa ? " said Elsie. " You 
 talk so strangely. Have I been dreaming or is what I have 
 gone through a dreadful reality 1 Have I lost my dear Ar- 
 thur in this life ? and will I see him only in the life to come ? 
 How you have suffered, poor papa ! You show it in your 
 face, you have aged so — why, see the gray hairs that have 
 come since I left you ! Ah, you must go back with me to 
 that sweet heaven where sorrow will cease to trouble and 
 where those who have loved on earth will be joined together 
 never to part again." 
 
 " Would that we could go there, darling," sighed the 
 father, '* to live forever away from this cruel world, for there 
 there is mercy for all. Here men are digging pitfalls for 
 the innocent and unwary, and dragging down the noblest in 
 the land." 
 
 "Ah, papa," she said, " are men so cruel and less mer- 
 ciful than God who forgives their sins daily, while they are 
 constantly making laws of the most rigorous kind to punish 
 the innocent ? " and the tears bedewed her pallid cheeks. " I 
 thought I was in heaven," she said, " and it is sad to think 
 I am still on earth." 
 
 '^ But you are with me, Elsie, and life would be dreadful 
 without you ; try and live for my sake." 
 
 She took his fevered face between her hands and kissed 
 him on both cheeks. "I will," she said, " if I can, but I 
 have gone through great agony — such agony as I think our 
 Saviour went through on the cross ; and he did not murmur. 
 I will try not to, papa dear." 
 
 Just then the doctor came in much pleased to see his 
 patient doing so well. *' This will not do, shedding tears," he 
 said. ** We must have sounds of joy for your return to life, 
 for I scarcely had a hope of saving you. But we must put a 
 stop to this excitement. You must take this opiate, and 
 your father must not see you again to-day." So saying, he 
 gave her the sedative and led her father from the room. 
 
 In six days Elsie was out of danger, though still confined 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 211 
 
 to her bed. She gradually improved till able to sit up, a 
 mere shadow of her former self, but she never referred to 
 Arthur. A great struggle was going on in her mind, and she 
 watched her unhappy father with the keenest interest. It 
 was he, she thought, who now needed care, for she was 
 troubled when she saw how he had failed. She forgot her 
 own sorrows in those of her parent, who had been both 
 father and mother to her, and had watched over her with a 
 care unsurpassed, but there was an expression of unusual 
 grief on her face — the expression of a saint, who had given 
 up all in this life and looked for happiness in the world to 
 come. 
 
 Six weeks after Elsie recovered consciousness she was 
 able to be moved down-stairs. A carpet was spread for her 
 near the lake, and she was seated in an easy-chair. Her 
 doves recognized her immediately, and swooped down at 
 her feet, where they cooed and struggled for precedence as 
 they had never done before, while her pet perched upon her 
 shoulder and testified his joy by kissing her and fluttering 
 his beautiful wings. "Ah, my poor pets," she said, '' while 
 I have mourned you have been ignored. I should have 
 remembered that I had duties to perform, and that God 
 never intended that any of his creatures should be neglected. 
 And these poor doves, who have only me to look out for 
 them, what must they have thought of me ? " 
 
 Her father had stolen silently behind her chair while she 
 was soliloquizing, and stooped down and kissed her. " I 
 have neglected nothing, my darling," he said ; " your pets 
 have been looked after, and there is not one of your poor 
 who has not been here day after day to inquire after you. 
 But you see that your pets ignore me now and are true to 
 their first love." 
 
 " That is right in them, papa," she said. *' Love is God's 
 best gift, and there is but one sweet love in a life-time, and 
 we should esteem it more than we would diamonds. It puri- 
 fies our nature and lifts us up nearer to heaven. Papa, I have 
 
212 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 work to do, and while I cherish in my bosom the memories 
 of the past, I will perform my duties and hope to have the 
 fruition of my love in the realms above. My heart is sore, 
 but I will not complain. I believe in the innocence of him 
 who is punished by the cruelty of man, and I believe in our 
 meeting again in a better world. Be patient with me, dear 
 papa, for a time, if sometimes I show weakness. But with 
 returning strength will come consolation and pleasure in 
 performing my duty. And now, nurse, please take me into 
 the house ; I have overtasked my strength." 
 
 The doves circled around Elsie's head as she moved 
 away, and then flew to their dove-cote. She threw herself 
 upon her bed, raised her eyes to heaven, and prayed fer- 
 vently, beseeching her Heavenly Father to enable her to bear 
 her trials. 
 
 Mrs. Merton had lain many weeks unconscious, but at 
 length the fever left her, and she lay, pale as marble, like the 
 figure of a departed saint. The third day after she opened 
 her eyes the doctor was by her side with his hand on her 
 heart and looking closely into her eyes, in which there was 
 not the least expression. Turning to Mrs, Pentland, he 
 said : " She will live, but Providence has been kind to her 
 — reason has fled, and she will never know the sorrow that 
 has fallen upon her. Take good care of her. I will call to- 
 morrow. The best thing is to get her back to Woodlawn, 
 where familiar scenes may benefit her, though I do not think 
 she will ever be cured, except by some shock as great as 
 that which unseated her reason," 
 
 In the following two weeks Mr. and Mrs, Pentland re- 
 moved Julia to her home. Mr. Merton was not there to 
 receive her, having, in fact never left the mills since this 
 trouble had fallen on his family. He shut himself up, and 
 murmured, not over the fate of his son, but over the failure 
 of his plans, which he thought would have placed him high 
 in the social scale, and he sorely begrudged the money he 
 had paid in legal expenses, denouncing the counselors as 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 213 
 
 ignoramuses, who could not manage a case which an ordi- 
 nary lawyer would have handled with ease. 
 
 Ronald Pentland did not join his parents on their return 
 home, but remained in London, suffering remorse for the 
 part he had taken in this dreadful matter. He determined 
 to employ detectives to find Bill Briggs, offering them large 
 rewards, for he felt sure that he must be hiding somewhere 
 in the slumps of the city. To drown his remorse, he plunged 
 into the wildest dissipation, and after a month of this kind 
 of life and great inattention to duty, his employers notified 
 him that he was not suited for a banker's life, and advised 
 him to seek some other vocation. With all Ronald's efforts, 
 he could hear nothing of the whereabouts of Bill Briggs, 
 and, disgusted with the world, he returned home, where he 
 told his father he had no taste for banking, since an inno- 
 cent man like Arthur could so easily have a robbery fixed 
 upon him by twelve ignorant jurors, a thing which might as 
 easily happen to him. 
 
 " It is almost sacrilege to talk in that way, my son," said 
 the squire ; " the system of trial by jury is the bulwark of 
 English liberty. Arthur has been tempted and has fallen 
 as our father Adam did — all owing to there being a woman 
 in the case. He has brought great grief upon us all, but he 
 still has a chance to redeem himself, for he is young and 
 full of talent." 
 
 " Ah, father," he said " God save me from ever being tried 
 by an English jury for I should be certain of conviction," and 
 he went out, got his horse and rode madly over the moors. 
 
 The squire said to himself : '' I was wrong to let the 
 young men go to London surrounded with temptations of 
 all kinds, but who would have supposed that Arthur Merton 
 would have robbed a bank ? Had it been his father I would 
 not have been surprised. It was in the boy's blood; better 
 to be brought to justice while he was young — it may cure 
 him. How I pity his poor mother ! To think that such a 
 sweet creature should be the mother of a felon ! Perhaps it 
 
214 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 is as well for Ronald that their acquaintance was so suddenly- 
 ended. Arthur might have led him astray, though he is a lad 
 of much principle and it would be a difficult thing to do." 
 Thus soliloquizing, the squire put on his hat, took a basket 
 of salt, and went out to feed the deer. 
 
 Two days after Julia's return to Woodlawn Elsie came 
 down-stairs, dressed in mourning, and went to her fathers' 
 study, where the rector was sitting wrapped in meditation. 
 He looked at his daughter as if surprised, but said nothing, 
 comprehending what it meant, and not objecting. 
 
 ''Dear papa," she said, "I am going to see Mrs. Mer- 
 lon, and from this time she will be the object of my care 
 while she lives, for, poor dear, she could not survive the 
 shock if her reason returned and she comprehended the 
 dreadful misfortune that has fallen upon her. You see 
 papa, that God has work for us all to do in helping the 
 afflicted, instead of sitting with our hands folded and repin- 
 ing over our own misfortunes. Mine seem so dreadful that 
 at times I can scarcely bear up under them, but when I 
 think how insignificant they are compared with Mrs. Mer- 
 ton's grief, I thank God for his mercy to me. You must 
 come with me, papa, and see her yourself." 
 
 As Elsie was yet weak, the father and daughter walked 
 slowly toward Woodlawn. As they passed through the 
 woods where the lovers had so frequently wandered, she 
 almost broke down when she thought that she would, per- 
 haps, never see the loved face again ; that his life would be 
 apart from her own, and that, even if restored to liberty, 
 Arthur could never come to her. There was a ban upon 
 his name that would keep them apart forever, not that she 
 had for a moment believed him guilty, but she knew that un- 
 less his innocence was made manifest to the world he would 
 never return to his friends. She had not forgotten what her 
 father had said when he told her of her lover's fate ; every 
 word of his conversation was engraved on her brain never 
 to be forgotten, and it came to her memory when her con- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 215 
 
 sciousness returned to her, as the lights and shadows come 
 out on the photographic negative when subjected to the 
 sunlight. She had never referred to the matter in conver- 
 sation with her father until this day, and he, knowing the 
 high-souled character of his child, and how pure and self- 
 sacrificing she was, did not think it necessary to open the 
 subject to her. He knew she would do her duty to the end, 
 never departing from the high standard she had aimed at in 
 life by weak exhibitions of her own grief while there were 
 so many in the world needing her assistance. 
 
 Mrs. Pentland met Elsie and her father at the door, and 
 clasped the dear girl in her arms, shedding copious tears. 
 She found Elsie much changed, and her motherly heart 
 bled at seeing the marks sorrow had made on one so young. 
 She could not conceive why Elsie had grieved so over one 
 whom she held only as a brother, for she did not yet know 
 that Arthur and Elsie were lovers. 
 
 ''Come in," she said, "and see her; but prepare your- 
 self for a shock. It is a blessing that the poor thing has 
 lost her reason, for she suffers no pain." 
 
 As they entered the room where Julia was lying they 
 were surprised to see so little outward change in her. She 
 was pale, but as beautiful as ever. Her eyes did not change 
 their direction or expression as the party entered the room, 
 and Elsie went up to her bedside and took the invalid's hand 
 in her own. 
 
 " She does not know any one," said Mrs. Pentland, "not 
 even me who have nursed her all along. She has not changed 
 the least since she regained consciousness." 
 
 " Mrs. Merton," said Elsie, " don't you know me .? " and 
 she stooped over her. 
 
 The invalid started, and painfully and slowly moved her 
 eyes, which seemed fixed in their sockets. She tried to raise 
 herself in bed, but without success. At length a faint voice, 
 like that of a child, said : "Speak again." These were the 
 first distinct words she had spoken. 
 
2i6 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 "It is Elsie, dear Mrs. Merton, your own Elsie." 
 
 " Ah, I know," she said. " I thought you had left mCo 
 Don't leave me again, I am afraid of myself. Has Arthur 
 come back, and will you be married soon ?" 
 
 " He will come as soon as he can," said Elsie, who could 
 hardly speak for emotion. *' Do you know me .'' " 
 
 "Of course I do," replied the invalid, "and am wishing 
 for you all the time." 
 
 " Then, Mrs. Pentland," said Elsie, " my course is plain ; 
 I will stay here. Mrs. Merton seems to have some recogni- 
 tion of me, and I may do her good. You will, of course, 
 come every day to help me with your counsel, and who 
 knows what we may do between us 1 Don't you think this 
 is best, dear papa ? " 
 
 "Yes, darling, just as you and Mrs. Pentland think best." 
 
 Mrs. Pentland agreed at once to the proposition, for Elsie 
 had been the first one who had drawn any sign of recogni- 
 tion from Julia, and it was decided that she should move 
 over to Woodlawn at once, and commence her watch. This 
 was a painful period of Elsie's life, and the only thing that 
 sustained her was the thought of the duties she had to per- 
 form at the invalid's side. Her only reward was that she 
 would be doing a faithful part to the mother of one she still 
 cherished in her heart though he was dead to her. She 
 knew he was innocent of crime, for he could no more do a 
 wrong act than water could mix with oil. It was with a 
 feeling of gladness that she took charge of Mrs. Merton, and 
 she knelt and prayed that God would help her in the arduous 
 task she had undertaken. 
 
 Julia was mentally nothing more now than a little child 
 whose mind was wandering in darkness, whether toward the 
 light of day or to greater obscurity, no one could tell. She 
 might thus continue for years and yet be traveling toward 
 the light, and her present condition might be the act of a 
 kind Providence which had blessed her with oblivion lest 
 she fall under too great a w^eight of sorrow. Time was a 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 21/ 
 
 blank to her now, but when the hours of the day were num- 
 bered, this poor stricken soul slumbered in holy and calm 
 delight, free from the pains of mortality. The friends that 
 she once loved visited her in dreams. He, the one she once 
 loved with girlhood's affection, wandered hand in hand with 
 her along the banks of the Avon, and the child that had filled 
 the vacuum in her breast gamboled about her knees. The 
 Good Shepherd had been kind to her, and allowed her weary 
 soul rest in sleep while the stars of night shone above her 
 couch, and angels whispered soothingly to her. 
 
 Elsie's first step was to let her patient, who had been 
 kept in bed for a long time, look out upon the beauties of 
 nature and see if her eyes would recognize familiar objects. 
 So, with the aid of a maid, she propped her up in an easy- 
 chair by the window. Julia did not manifest much intelH- 
 gence, but seemed pleased and kept her eyes fixed on a ship 
 that was sailing into port, and there sat quietly until she fell 
 
 asleep. " 
 
 Thus the days passed, Elsie leading Julia toward the 
 light of day, as a mother toils for an infant until it can 
 stand alone. Months passed away, and yet the sweet girl 
 never faltered in her work of love, and then she w^as re- 
 warded by some slight scintillation of reason which often 
 remained with the patient. She was also rewarded by the 
 fact that her patient did not suffer in mind, but was living 
 in a state of peace and tranquillity felt by those alone whom 
 God shields in ways of his own from the bitter stings of 
 adversity. 
 
 Elsie took pleasure in caring for this sweet woman which 
 words can not express. She forgot her own sorrows when 
 she looked at the wreck which grief had made of the one 
 she so closely attended, and she thanked God for turning 
 her thoughts to nobler work than sighing over her own mis- 
 fortunes. She felt with the poet : 
 
 Oh ! fear not in a world like this, and thou shalt know ere long- 
 Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong. 
 
2lS ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 In a cell in Millbank prison sat Arthur Merton after two 
 years' confinement. His closely cropped hair had grown 
 white, not from sudden fear or grief, but from anguish of 
 mind, and from being banned and barred from all that made 
 life valuable. His cell was damp and chilly, and as he sat 
 with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he shivered 
 with the cold. Through a narrow aperture in the wall stole 
 a feeble ray of light which flickered like the flame of a 
 candle and hardly lighted the dismal place where rats and 
 mice and spiders loved to congregate. The damp crept 
 along the floor and clung to the walls. Here, in solitude, 
 dwelt the prisoner, for after six o'clock in the evening not a 
 human voice came to cheer his loneliness. The mice gam- 
 boling about his cell in search of stray crumbs were all he 
 had to comfort him. They liked the prison fare far better 
 than he, and only vanished when the grating of the key in 
 the lock of his prison door announced the keeper. The harsh 
 sounds of the turnkey's voice were a comfort to the pris- 
 oner's soul, for they brought him tidings from the outside 
 world. 
 
 For two long years he had seen none of his friends ; he 
 had persistently declined to do so for the idea of meeting 
 any one who had known him in happier days gave him in- 
 explicable pain, and he would rather stay there and listen 
 to the clanking of his chains than have his wounds reopened 
 by seeing any one of his former friends. It was dreadful to 
 him, when the turnkey summoned him forth to work with 
 the other convicts, to be obliged to listen to the ribald jests 
 of men so low in the scale of crime. He could not bear 
 to have their fingers pointed at him as the " gentleman 
 robber " who had fouled his nest without a particle of use. 
 
 "You were rich," said one, "why not have left the fin- 
 gering of other people's money to us who had none of our 
 
ARTHUR MERTOX. 219 
 
 own, who, working on these walls and sleeping in these cells, 
 find food and shelter in the winter months." 
 
 "Fool! " said another. "Why, when you were stealing, 
 did you not steal a pile and put it under ground ? Why risk 
 it in your pocket ? You are a disgrace to the profession." 
 
 The convicts all knew his history, and his mark, No. 
 10, when seen afar off, brought jests and ribaldry. Of all 
 that company, only one greeted him with kindness — a poor, 
 attenuated man who might be fifty or might be eighty, im- 
 prisonment and time had wrought such changes in him that 
 neither wife nor child would recognize him now. For more 
 than twenty years he had been in prison and had, apar- 
 ently, become reconciled to his fate. Arthur's superiority in 
 appearance made him a target for ribaldry, for prison life is 
 somewhat akin to what we see in the best circles. 
 
 Arthur often begged to be left alone in his dark cell 
 rather than to work with gangs. He would rather lose the 
 air and light than listen to the blasphemy that shocked his 
 ears. His life was wrecked — what mattered it whether he 
 died a year sooner or not ? Dead as were the days he spent 
 by himself, they were actually days of rest and comparative 
 enjoyment, for he would rather be in his cell, where he could 
 hold communion with his mother's soul, than to be in the 
 light of brightest day in company of criminals. 
 
 This day Arthur was sitting by his table, on which stood 
 his evening meal, which remained untouched. A mouse was 
 running about picking up the crumbs, and now and then 
 ran over the prisoner's hand. " Ah," said Arthur, " these are 
 your realms, enjoy them while you may for you are safe here, 
 no cats will trouble you. This is liberty for you ; to me it 
 is death. Oh, death, why do you not come and relieve me 
 of my sorrows ? " 
 
 At that moment there was a rattling of keys and the 
 mouse scampered off on hearing the approach of an enemy, 
 as Arthur looked up in surprise at this unusual visit. The 
 turnkey entered. " Good news. No. 10," he said. " I bring 
 
220 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 you liberty, and ye'U no longer be buried in this dark hole. 
 An' thank yer good Queen for bein' so merciful to ye and 
 providin' ye with a 'ome in other lands, where ye'll almost 
 be yer own master." 
 
 This man had been kindly disposed toward Arthur, for 
 he said to him : "Lacking the bee in yer bonnet about yer 
 bein' innocent, yer the best feller in the lot. But ye know a 
 jury found ye guilty, an' ye can't be innocent. Come, pack 
 yer traps, an' get ready to go on the Kangaroo ; she sails the 
 moment all are aboard, an' Captain Albatross is anxious to 
 be gettin' off." 
 
 '' Liberty ! " exclaimed Arthur, looking at the turnkey in 
 amazement, as if he doubted his senses. " What solace will 
 freedom be to me with a soiled name, known wherever I go 
 as ' late of Millbank prison ' ? The cell and shackle have 
 been my companions for two years. I bade the world ' good- 
 night ' when I entered here, knowing I'd see no more the 
 light of other days. Men have been found guilty of heinous 
 crimes, and, though life has been made hateful to them, they 
 may have well deserved their fate. But that I doubt, for 
 man is cruel, and I am a proof of how the innocent can be 
 betrayed. Now, look at me, with hair grown prematurely 
 white, a form that would have been bent with toil except 
 for muscles of steel and a will to bear up under oppression. 
 See this chain that is nightly locked to the floor to prevent 
 my escape through these solid walls. You have been kind, 
 and have not visited me with the rigors of a jail, but I'd 
 rather bear them all and live where daylight is a stranger 
 than go where I can not prove my innocence, although my 
 limbs, in course of time, are racked with pain from the chill 
 condensation on these moldy walls, I am innocent, I say, 
 and yet I would rather pine in a cell, and eat the coarse 
 food, my soul protesting against a trial so rough that hu- 
 manity would shudder could I tell what I have under- 
 gone. Oh ! you who in liberty often shed tears at human 
 ills of small moment, you would shed them over my tale ! 
 
ARTHUR ME R TON. 221 
 
 Yet I would bear all the ills I have gone through rather 
 than go from here and miss the chance of proving my inno- 
 cence. I am innocent, yet see, my hair has become white. 
 It was not the fears from dungeon life or terrors of the 
 night that has made me thus, but the soul's unrest. I have 
 suffered for another who is now laughing at penalties he 
 should have borne in place of myself. But with all this, 
 I would rather remain." 
 
 " Why, of course," said the turnkey, " of course, yer in- 
 nocent. Don't the Queen proclaim it ? Come out and breathe 
 the pure air which will put new life into you. Men never 
 die with joy. The sails are fluttering, and the sailors, with 
 their ' Yo, heave ho,' are hoisting the anchor to the bows. 
 No time to lose, hurry up, and leave the bee in yer bonnet 
 behind ye. The convict ship don't offer such a chance as 
 this often. Ye're to go to Melbourne, a lovely place, and 
 yer life, compared to now, will be a happy one." 
 
 Bitter tears sprung to Arthur's eyes and coursed down 
 his cheeks. "Oh, no! not there," he cried. "Days here 
 for me out there would pass for years. I would rather 
 die than leave this cell for that far away place. I have 
 learned to love the rain that drips on stormy nights through 
 my prison bars. Bitter enough the cold, but I am nearer 
 here to those I love, and they can claim my remains when 
 my soul is spent. I love my den where oft I've called on 
 death, where, ere my time, some sorrowful wretches have 
 cut their names on the stone walls. I had rather live on 
 here and pass ten years in cutting this solid stone than have 
 the softest couch beneath Australian skies ! Here I can 
 sometimes be alone. In yonder ship I would herd with 
 criminals, outcasts from all the world. Oh ! save me from 
 a convict ship ; one can not keep aloof in that vile den of 
 thieves. O God, pray leave me here in this damp vault ! 
 I would rather live in a cave beneath the sea than dwell 
 with a vile crew on board the prison ship." 
 
 "All right," said the turnkey, "ye're innocent we know, 
 
222 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 but still the governor of the jail says that ye'll embark. His 
 word is law, and ye'd better come with me. The boats are 
 at the bank, and boats don't wait. Move on ! Don't stop ! 
 Stay yer little prayer. Pray when yer on board ship. I've 
 no time to spare in idle talk, but I tell ye now ye'll live to 
 bless the Queen for all her mercies. Come on, or I'll get 
 cross. Pack yer kit, ye'll want it all on board. Come, I 
 can't wait." Arthur's prayers were in vain, he had to go, 
 and, gathering his few belongings, with swelling heart, he 
 followed the turnkey out into the air, where a crowd of con- 
 victs were waiting to embark. 
 
 The Kangaroo was a large ship fitted for the accomoda- 
 tion of convicts. She had a crew of fifty men, to whom 
 forty marines were added to guard the three hundred and 
 sixty prisoners. All along the main deck were iron bars, ex- 
 tending from the bow on the starboard side to abaft the 
 mainmast, and divided into three compartments, strongly 
 barred. Here the prisoners were to be kept. All needful 
 arrangements were made for their health and comfort. 
 
 Behold that ship with lofty spars towed down the Thames 
 by a steamer which is belching forth clouds of smoke as she 
 drags her tow toward the sea. She casts off, and the tars trip 
 up the rigging, loose the ponderous sails, and, as they are 
 sheeted home and catch the breeze, the ship glides quickly 
 through the waves. The winds blow freshly and fair. Three 
 hundred and sixty convicts are now upon the deep, penned 
 up behind those iron bars, their curses echoing between 
 the decks, singing ribald songs, and shouting with joy at the 
 prospect of freedom from work and from prison discipline. 
 It was a dense crowd that had to be closely guarded. A 
 sentry on post carried the keys and watched the entrance 
 doors to see that no one attempted to escape, for what could 
 not such a reckless set of men do, if once they should get loose ? 
 
 The ship passed the tropics, caught the trade-winds, and 
 reached the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope, when she 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 223 
 
 changed her course to cross the Indian Ocean, running down 
 as far south as the fifty-fourth parallel, when she hauled up 
 for Australia, still carr^'ing a fair wind. Everything had 
 gone well so far, and the captain of the Kangaroo congratu- 
 lated himself that no one had ever had less trouble than 
 he in transporting so many desperadoes such a distance. 
 Captain Albatross was a stern but just man, who took good 
 care of the prisoners, but punished them severely if any of 
 them violated the rules, for it was necessary to maintain 
 strict discipline among a concourse such as that. No pun- 
 ishment was inflicted except such as was absolutely neces- 
 sary, but notwithstanding the kindness shown the prisoners, 
 whose lives were pleasant compared to what they underwent 
 at Millbank prison, five or six of the leading convicts had 
 planned a mutiny in which the ship was to be captured, the 
 officers, crew, and marines to be overpowered and thrown 
 overboard, and one of their number was to be placed in 
 command. This plan seemed, at first sight, a difficult thing 
 to accomplish, yet the wretches came near carrying out their 
 design. 
 
 They had made all their arrangements through the help 
 of one of the ship's crew who was in league with them. They 
 had been furnished with files, steel saws, and false keys to 
 make their way out, and had, after a month's time, selected 
 three leaders of divisions who knew where all the guards 
 slept and where they kept their arms. The colleague outside 
 had conveyed to them, from time to time, knives, chisels, 
 iron belaying-pins, and marlin-spikes that would not be 
 missed, and had managed, at the last moment, to abstract 
 from the arm-chests some twenty cutlasses and revolvers. 
 It was determined, when the opportunity should offer, to 
 break out of the iron cage and overpower the guard by 
 force of numbers. It was decided to run the ship on shore 
 at some convenient place, take from her all they needed, 
 and then set fire to her, escaping to the bush, where it would 
 be a most difficult matter for the authorities in Australia 
 
224 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ever to capture any of them. Such things had been done 
 before and could be again. If they did not succeed, they 
 would be no worse off than they were previously. 
 
 It was night upon the Indian Ocean, the ship was under a 
 press of sail, first mounting upon the huge seas that always 
 exist in those latitudes, and then descending to the hollow 
 of the waves, when the canvas flapped from having lost the 
 wind. The Kangaroo was rolling heavily, but there was not 
 much work to do in handling the braces. It was four bells 
 in the middle watch, and the guards had been changed, 
 while the crew lay half asleep about the decks, excepting 
 the sailor who was in the secret regarding the rising. The 
 sentry was dozing against the mast, for what had he to 
 fear ? The keys of the iron doors were at his belt, and none 
 could pass the bars without his consent. The sentry at the 
 cabin door, where hung the alarm gong, was sitting on a 
 camp-stool, with his head leaning against the bulwarks, 
 thinking of home, while the swash of the water against the 
 ship's side, the creaking of blocks, and the rattling of rig- 
 ging, drowned ordinary sounds. It was exactly the night to 
 undertake such an adventure. Twelve marines, detailed for 
 the watch on deck, were sitting with their loaded guns beside 
 them, while the sergeant and corporal stood looking over 
 the bows, watching the phosphorescent bubbles thrown from 
 side to side as the noble ship plowed her way through the 
 dark waters. 
 
 Those on guard in the ship were not as watchful as they 
 should have been. A feeling of security had made them 
 careless, and so the ship moved on as if every one was on 
 the alert and the elements of discord were at rest. The bell 
 had struck five, the sentry at the mainmast started, straight- 
 ened himself up for a moment, and then fell back to a semi- 
 repose, his musket resting against a stanchion. An iron 
 bar in the cage that had been gradually sawed in two was 
 removed, and one convict, who with cat-like eyes watched 
 the sentry on post, glided between the bars and, stooping 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 225 
 
 low, crept toward the sleeping man. A knife flashed in the 
 air and the soldier fell without a groan. His fall was not 
 heard, as the convict caught him in his arms and eased him 
 to the deck. The murderer lost not a minute. Snatching 
 the keys from the belt about the dead sentry's waist, he 
 opened the doors leading into the different sections of the 
 cage, where all the convicts were apparently asleep, though 
 hundreds of eyes were watching the movements of their 
 bloody emissary. One, however, among them all, watched 
 him more keenly than the rest. 
 
 When the doors were unlocked the murderer again 
 crawled aft, his reeking knife in his hand. The sentry in 
 charge of the gong was fast asleep, not dreaming of danger. 
 As the first figure glided aft upon his mission of murder, 
 another man slipped through the door of the cage and fol- 
 lowed, hiding now and then behind a coil or butt or bale, 
 carrying along his ball and chain securely fastened to his 
 waist, for he was one of those who had not been freed, as he 
 seemed to the convicts one who could not be trusted. 
 
 This was Arthur Merton, who for weeks had watched 
 the desperate game going on, keeping his own counsel, and 
 determined what he would do when the time came to act. 
 As the murderer moved aft. No. 10 sprung up the main-hatch 
 ladder to the deck. All was silent. One man was at the 
 wheel, intent only upon steering his course. The mate was 
 leaning over the stern watching the shining wake, not think- 
 ing of danger. All hands seemed dreaming, as if everything 
 was in perfect security. No. 10 crept cautiously aft, looking 
 for the officer of the watch or some one to whom he could 
 give the alarm, and at last saw the mate leaning over the 
 taffrail quite forgetful of the great trust imposed in him. In 
 his belt he carried two revolvers, and a cutlass was at his 
 side. In a moment No. 10 moved on to the poop, and 
 stood by the mate's side ere he knew it. He whispered into 
 the officer's dull ear : " Be alive ! The devils below have 
 murdered the sentry at the prison door, and are well pre- 
 
 1t 
 
226 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 pared with knives and bolts. Hasten and wake your men 
 and rouse up the guard ere it is too late. They mean to 
 rise and kill all hands just as the bell strikes six." 
 
 The mate took in the situation at once, and flew to call 
 the captain, who, before sleeping always prepared for an 
 emergency. The latter was on deck in a moment fully 
 armed. As he reached the deck a shriek came from below. 
 The murderer had reached the spot where the after-sentry 
 was stationed ; high in the air rose the knife, and then it 
 pierced the sentry's heart. He had awakened just in time 
 to see the weapon as it was descending, and he gave one 
 shriek, his last on earth, which reverberated through the ship. 
 
 As soon as he had warned the mate, No; lo seized a cut- 
 lass from the rack and jumped to the hatch which he had 
 ascended, knowing that it would be the first place where 
 the attack would be made. He was there none too soon, for 
 as he gained the spot a convict's head rose above the deck. 
 With one well-directed blow, Arthur clove the man through 
 the skull, and back he fell among his fellows who, hearing 
 the sentry's shriek, rushed forth from the cage on their 
 errand of murder. When the captain reached the deck he 
 saw a man at the main hatch wielding a cutlass in his hands 
 over the heads of the convicts trying to rush up on deck. 
 Each time he struck, one of them fell back below. " That," 
 said the mate, " is the man who gave me notice ; look out, 
 sir, not to harm him." 
 
 The two officers were at the hatch in an instant and, 
 with revolvers in hand, were firing into the struggling mob 
 below so that for the present that point was secure from the 
 attacks of the convicts. The guard upon the upper deck 
 were new at the hatches firing down with good effect, but 
 the guard below were in sore straits. One hundred and fifty 
 convicts had been detailed to seize these guards while they 
 were in their hammocks and take their guns from them, but 
 the villains were a little too late. Fifteen of the guards slept 
 aft and an equal number in the forward part of the ship, 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 22/ 
 
 while ten were on watch above decks. Their arms were 
 slung to the beams above the hammocks, with bayonets fixed, 
 and at the shriek of the sentry every man was on his feet, 
 musket in hand. They instantly formed across the deck. 
 On the starboard side aft stood a Gatling gun, firing three 
 hundred balls a minute, which commanded the whole cage, 
 and now the marines showed their discipline, as every man 
 was as cool as if on parade. The commanding marine offi- 
 cer took in the situation at a glance. He saw the mass of 
 convicts struggling to get up the main hatch, heard the shots 
 overhead, and saw the assailants tumbling down the ladders. 
 He directed the Gatling gun to open on this point, which it 
 did with murderous effect, the convicts falling by dozens, 
 while the marines upon their flank opened a brisk fire from 
 their rifles, which paralyzed them and drove them back to 
 their cage. 
 
 In the mean time the marines forward were having a 
 harder time, being nearly overpowered and losing several 
 of their guns, which fell into the hands of the convicts ; but 
 fortunately they were unprovided with ammunition. The 
 sergeant, sleeping forward with the marines, managed to 
 escape aft, and begged his commander to open fire on the 
 forward part, where the marines were all lying flat upon the 
 deck and fighting upward with their bayonets and cutlasses. 
 No sooner said than done. The officer advanced his men, 
 and ordered them to fire on a line with their eyes. They 
 did so, and the convicts fell like blackbirds ; those that were 
 unwounded fled to the cage, the forward marines following 
 them in their retreat with showers of balls. 
 
 The battle was soon over. The arrangements had been 
 so skillfully made that the convicts from the first stood no 
 chance against the modem arms opposing them. They were 
 like all mobs attacked by regular troops, and ran at the first 
 fire, filling the ship with their yells and groans as they fell 
 wounded or dying. The gates of the cage were closed upon 
 them, and the convicts gave up in despair. They had lost 
 
228 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 the game, and knew they never would have a chance again. 
 Three sentries were placed upon guard, one at every door 
 of the cage, and wires were arranged so that no door could 
 be opened without ringing an electric bell. 
 
 When the ship was secure from further attack, the cap- 
 tain called for the first officer, and said : *' Where is the 
 man who gave the notice of this attack ? In ten minutes 
 more the convicts would have had possession of the upper 
 deck and captured the four arm-chests of loaded guns and 
 pistols, to say nothing of the upper Catling gun. But for 
 him, who knows what our fate would have been ? We must 
 reward that man." 
 
 *'He is here, sir," said the mate, and the captain, turn- 
 ing around saw a tall, well-made youth, leaning on a cutlass, 
 and bleeding in several places. ** Ah." said the captain to 
 him, " you did well, for I saw you cut down six of those 
 rascals yourself. Had you not notified the mate when you 
 did they would have gained the spar-deck, and captured 
 the ship. I thank you here in the presence of the officers 
 and crew." Addressing the mate, he said : " Mr. Wilson, 
 take off that ball and chain and throw it overboard ; so 
 brave a man could never have deserved such a fate." 
 
 " Thank you for that remark, sir," said Arthur. " I am 
 a gentleman, and never committed the crime with which I 
 was charged. You will live to see the day when my inno- 
 cence will be proved." 
 
 "Mr. Wilson," said the captain, "take off his convict 
 clothes ; he is no longer a prisoner. We will make up a kit 
 for him among us. Here, Mr. Snow," addressing the second 
 mate, " you are about his size ; take him below and see what 
 you can do for him." 
 
 " I thank you, sir, with all my heart," said Arthur, ''but 
 I would ask one favor. Let my ball and chain and prison 
 dress be taken care of for me, and if, in after years, I am 
 put on a jury, I would like them to remind me of the un- 
 just sentence once passed upon me." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 229 
 
 "Let it be as he says," said the captain, ''and it will not 
 be my fault if he does not receive a full pardon." 
 
 All this time the ship had been filled with the groans 
 and yells of the wounded and dying. Fortunately, there 
 were three naval surgeons, passengers, in addition to the 
 medical officers of the Kangaroo, and the services of all 
 were needed. On examination it was found that fifty of the 
 convicts had been killed and over eighty wounded. Such 
 was the effects of the fire that many of the dead had five or 
 six balls in them, and the condition of the wounded was 
 dreadful. Hellish as had been the designs of the convicts, 
 humanity required that their wounds should receive atten- 
 tion. There were no cots on board, and all that could be 
 done was to lay them on blankets on the port side of the 
 deck. There a hospital was formed, and such of the crew 
 as could be spared were detailed as nurses. The dead were 
 thrown overboard without ceremony, except a general prayer 
 read over their bodies by the captain. The decks were then 
 cleared up, and in twenty-four hours everything had been 
 placed in good condition, so that few signs of the desperate 
 conflict were apparent. 
 
 Arthur was the hero of the hour. V/hen dressed in proper 
 clothing, he looked what he was, a handsome, gentlemanly 
 fellow, and his story was soon known to his shipmates. He 
 had received three slight wounds in the conflict — one in the 
 left wrist from a knife, one in the shoulder from a cutlass, 
 and one in the leg from a pike. These were dressed, and 
 gave him little trouble. 
 
 The day following the fray the captain assembled all 
 hands on deck and in an impressive manner offered up 
 prayers to God for their happy escape from a dreadful 
 death which would have been inflicted by the fiends in 
 human shape. And then he spoke in kindly terms of hx- 
 thur, saying : " Without his timely aid, the convicts would 
 have gained the upper deck and captured the Kangaroo. 
 We must all unite to have him restored to freedom ; no stain 
 
230 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 should rest on such a brave man as that." The officers and 
 crew all shook hands with him in good sailor-fashion, and 
 he received their kindness in a manly way, and then walked 
 aft to conceal his feelings. 
 
 It was a lovely morning when land was made, but it grew 
 almost calm when Melbourne hove in sight, and the impa- 
 tient voyagers longed for a gale to bring them into port. 
 The sea-breeze soon filled the fluttering sails, and the ship 
 stood in. The pilot came on board and braced full the 
 several yards and sails which fretted aloft as if anxious to 
 gain once more a friendly port ; and what glowing charms 
 met the eyes of those who had made the long voyage as the 
 ship entered the spacious harbor ! 
 
 As the Kangaroo neared the anchorage, a flag was hoisted 
 at the fore to show that mutineers were on board, and 
 straightway the police boat came off to the ship, which had 
 then let go her anchor. All the ship's company breathed 
 freely once more ; danger now was past, and no convicts, 
 even at night, could rush forth to massacre those who were 
 conveying them to comparative freedom and treating them 
 with undeserved kindness. The murderous gang were se- 
 cured and taken ashore, only the badly wounded remaining 
 on board ship. 
 
 From the first Arthur had volunteered his services to 
 assist in nursing the wounded, for though demons in crime, 
 when wounded and suffering they were as full of the weak- 
 nesses of humanity as men of more Christian character. 
 One of the wounded, No. 47, had been badly mangled, five 
 balls entering his body, one of which knocked out an eye. 
 He was a distressing object, and yet God had spared his life, 
 but with what purpose no one could imagine, for he was one 
 of the leaders in the uprising. The surgeon pronounced his 
 wounds mortal, and said, though he might linger for some 
 time, he would probably die within ten days. 
 
 No. 47 was a heavily built, ill-looking ruffian. He had 
 allowed his beard to grow since leaving Millbank prison, 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 231 
 
 and his face was covered with hair up to his cheek-bones, 
 so that his most intimate acquaintance would not have recog- 
 nized him. His sufferings were dreadful, and whatever 
 sins he had committed, he was expiating them now. He 
 could only sleep through the influence of anodynes, and his 
 groans could be heard through the ship by night and day. 
 As he seemed to be most in need of help, Arthur told the 
 surgeon he would take charge of him, to which the latter 
 replied : " Do so ; he will not trouble you long." 
 
 When Arthur assumed the care of No. 47 the latter was 
 sleeping more quietly than usual. Arthur took his seat be- 
 side him, and now and then put his hand on his pulse. The 
 convict at length opened his remaining eye, and started at 
 seeing a man sitting at his side. At last he spoke : " Am I 
 in 'ell } And 'as the ghost of my bitter enemy come to per- 
 secute me ? Go away ! Don't follow me 'ere ; ye troubled 
 me enough on earth ! Oh ! thank the devil, ye've 'ad a 'ard 
 time as well as me, an' yer old afore yer time. I see the 
 marks of the prison on yer face, an' yer 'air's turned white. 
 I'm revenged ! Go away with ye; don't come 'ere again." 
 
 "Come, my good fellow," said Arthur, '' you are a little 
 feverish. Take this and try to sleep ; you must not talk." 
 
 ''No," he said, turning away, "I'll take nothin' from ye, 
 ye'll want to pizen me." 
 
 " Not at all," said Arthur ; " I am your best friend. I am 
 here to take care of you." 
 
 "The same voice," said No. 47, "an' the same gentle- 
 man ! Worth two of the other fellers, an' he a nussin' me ! 
 How queer! I hearn he was done fer. " He furtively 
 watched his nurse through his half-closed eye, for he could 
 not believe that any one would take an interest in such a 
 VvTetch as he. He was in possession of his senses, though 
 suffering much pain. 
 
 Arthur stood with the anodyne in his hand, waiting to 
 administer it, and seeing the convict's eye partly open, 
 said : " Come, my friend, take this. It will do you good." 
 
232 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 " If ye knew who I was an' what I done, yer wouldn't 
 'elp me ter sleep." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I would," said Arthur. *' If you had been my 
 worst enemy I would tend you. Come, drink." 
 
 ''Oh," said the convict, "there it is! He allers was 
 an' allers will be a gentleman." So saying, No. 47 took the 
 anodyne and slept. 
 
 Arthur told the surgeon when he came that the man 
 had been somewhat delirious and talked at random. The 
 doctor felt his pulse, and remarked that it was quieter than 
 when he left, and then went on to another patient. 
 
 No. 47 slept two hours, and woke up asking for water. 
 " Here is some lemonade," said Arthur. The sick man 
 looked at him keenly, and said : 
 
 " Ah, there still ? An' there ye'll be till judgment day. 
 I can't shake it off." 
 
 '' I am your nurse," said Arthur. " Don't be afraid of 
 me, I will stick to you as long as you need my services." 
 
 " Not if ye knowed who I was ye wouldn't," said the con- 
 vict. '' I've been a devil in my day, I've been yer worst 
 enemy. I've been — " 
 
 " Never mind what you have been," interrupted Arthur. 
 '' Misfortune makes us all brothers, and if you had done me 
 the greatest injury, I would forgive you in your present 
 condition." 
 
 *' Ah," said the convict, " ye allers was the gentleman, an' 
 when ye thrashed me so, years ago, ye did it like a gentle- 
 man, an' I warn't a true Briton ter 'arbor malice." 
 
 " Come," said Arthur, " don't talk any more ; you are 
 feverish, and do not know what you are saying." 
 
 " Don't I .? " said the convict. '' Lemme ask yer, did ye 
 never know Miss Elsie Vernon .? " 
 
 " God in Heaven I " exclaimed Arthur, " who are you, 
 and where did you hear that name 1 " 
 
 " When I tell ye," said the convict, " that it was me as 
 parted ye from 'er, ye'll leave me 'ere to die like a dog." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 233 
 
 Arthur's first impulse was to spring upon the man and 
 tear him to pieces, but his better instincts prevailed. He saw 
 now a chance of clearing up the mystery in his case, and he 
 knelt beside the convict, saying : " No. 47, let me tell you 
 candidly that you have to make your peace with God, for you 
 have not long to live. Let me persuade you to repent of 
 your sins, which is the only w^ay you can expect to be received 
 into heaven. No matter what your crimes, no matter what 
 you have done to me, I forgive you, and will tend you 
 while you live as carefully as if you were my brother, only 
 tell me the truth and right a great wrong." 
 
 " Ye allers was a gentleman," said the convict, " while I 
 w^as a blackguard. I believe it's the blood in my veins as 
 hopperates agin me. 'Ye can't make a silk purse outer a 
 sow's ear.' Well, I believe ye'll stick to me, an' I don't want 
 to carry this to t'other world an' be damned fer it. It was 
 an infernal act, an' I'll tell yer, only give me time, fer I'm 
 tired now." 
 
 *' Then, sleep," said Arthur, '' and I'll hear you when you 
 v/ake up. But, remember, the safety of your soul hereafter 
 depends on your telling the truth." 
 
 The convict took the draught and w^as soon asleep. Ar- 
 thur went at once to the captain and told him what had 
 occurred that morning, and also gave him a brief outline of 
 his life, his trial, and sentence. " Now, sir," said Arthur, " I 
 see the hand of God in all this. What I thought would be 
 misery in coming on this voyage will be my salvation, for 
 I am sure this man can reveal the author of the crime for 
 which I have suffered, and that he will be the means of re- 
 storing me my reputation." 
 
 '' Whatever you wish in the matter shall be done," said 
 the captain. " I owe you too much to refuse you anything." 
 
 " Then, sir," said Arthur, " will you send for a magistrate 
 and have this convict's deposition taken ? He seems dis- 
 posed to make a confession." 
 
 " Certainly," said the captain, "I will do so at once." 
 
234 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 As the boat was about to shove off from the naval land- 
 ing with the magistrate on board, Mr. Otis, the chaplain of 
 the station, came down and asked the officer of the boat 
 to take him on board the Kangaroo. " I am told," he said, 
 "that there are some poor fellows on board who need re- 
 ligious consolation. I would like to do all in my power to 
 render their passage from this world to the next as easy as 
 possible." 
 
 ''Certainly, sir," said the officer of the boat, "step in 
 and come on board ; your services are much needed there." 
 The boat then pulled to the ship, where the occupants 
 were met at the gangway by the captain. The chap- 
 lain was an old acquaintance, and was received with great 
 warmth. 
 
 " Ah," said the captain, " on your usual errand of kindness 
 to the unfortunate. Well, there is room for sympathy here. 
 We have some fellows who have been badly wounded and are 
 likely to die, and they want assistance, not only for their bod- 
 ies, but also religious consolation. One convict in particular 
 I would like you to see. He will not last the week out, and 
 he has most important evidence to divulge that will release a 
 very worthy young man from the suspicion of crime. I 
 am sure you can influence the man to make a full confession 
 before he dies. He has been a desperate sinner, but your 
 kind way of dealing with criminals may lead to the best re- 
 sults and restore the young man of whom I speak to his 
 friends. I will introduce you to the young fellow and let 
 him tell you his interesting story. It was he who saved 
 my ship and the lives of the officers and crew by giving 
 timely notice that the convicts were going to rise." 
 
 Arthur Merton was standing aft with his hand on the 
 mizzen-topsail halyards, his straw hat in his hand and his 
 right foot thrown across his left in true sailor fashion. He 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 235 
 
 was dressed in a neat suit of blue, given him by the mate, 
 a check shirt with turned-down collar, and a black silk hand- 
 kerchief tied about his throat, looking as handsome a sailor 
 as one would wish to see. He seemed lost in thought, and 
 his dark eyes had that look which we see in the eyes of those 
 whose minds are travehng in distant scenes and thinking of 
 days gone by. 
 
 "That is my hero," said the captain, "and a splendid 
 specimen he is. There is a beautiful girl, if she is still living, 
 whose days and nights are spent in prayers for him. His 
 mother has lost her reason owing to the charges brought 
 against him.. He is a graduate of Cambridge, too. Look at 
 him ; is he a man to commit crime ? " 
 
 " No, no," said the chaplain, with emphasis, " what a 
 splendid specimen of manly beauty ! How came he so gray ? 
 I never saw so beautiful a face ; it is like the sculpture of 
 Antinous." 
 
 Arthur's hair had been allowed to grow long since he 
 left Millbank prison, and the breeze was blowing his curls 
 about his bright face, which was the picture of health owing 
 to the sea voyage and the renewed hope which had entered 
 his heart. 
 
 " Crime," said the chaplain, " could never become the 
 inmate of a soul like that. Pray, introduce me to him." The 
 captain and chaplain were close at Arthur's side before he 
 noticed them, and then he blushed like a girl at being caught 
 indulging in reverie. 
 
 " I am happy to know you, sir," said the chaplain, after 
 the captain had introduced Arthur. " I am told you are a 
 Cambridge man. That is a bond of sympathy between us, 
 and I shall take pleasure in talking to you about the dear old 
 place." Arthur's eyes brightened at once, and he clasped 
 the chaplain's hand with a grip that made the latter's fingers 
 
 tingle. 
 
 " Ah," said the captain, " I see the masonic sympathy 
 between you ; go and get acquainted with each other, and 
 
236 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 tell him your story, Merton." The good captain then walked 
 forward and joined the magistrate. 
 
 Arthur and Mr. Otis sat down and talked together very 
 pleasantly till the latter stopped suddenly, saying : " We are 
 losing time ; the man may die before he can make a con- 
 fession. From what the captain has told me I see a bright 
 future before you." 
 
 " Oh, no," said Arthur, "there is no bright future before 
 me. Those who loved me and whom I loved most are 
 dead. They can not have survived my disgrace, though 
 I know they never believed in my guilt. That is the only 
 comfort I have. My life will be spent in this clime, where 
 I must make a name for myself, and prove that I never was 
 a robber. There are but two people in the world to whom 
 I cling, my mother and my afftanced wife. I fear my mother 
 died of grief on hearing of my conviction. My affianced 
 is dead to me, for my sentence has placed a barrier between 
 us. Her name could not be associated with that of a convict ; 
 I would not consent to it if she would." 
 
 " These are sentiments of an honest mind," said the chap- 
 lain. " But do not despair, something may turn up that you 
 dream not of. See what Providence has done — sent you 
 here in a vessel that also carried the man who injured you 
 and, it appears, he now wishes to make a confession that 
 will exonerate you. Providence does extraordinary things, 
 and has arranged the coincidence. Tell me your story. 
 If there is any one who knows how to work upon the feelings 
 of a convict it is myself, for I have had great experience 
 with them. Australia is full of them, and many come to sud- 
 den deaths. They have led depraved lives and have defied 
 God in every way, yet as their end approaches, all are desirous 
 to make their peace with their Creator when made to under- 
 stand that there is hope for the greatest sinner who truly re- 
 pents. When I am well posted I will go to work and 
 obtain a confession from the convict, who, I hear, has not 
 long to live." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 237 
 
 x\rthur's eyes filled with tears as he listened to the good 
 man. " Your heart will bleed for me," he said, "but I can 
 not look forward with the hope that you do. I never know- 
 ingly did a wrong in my life, yet Providence parted me from 
 all I loved best on earth. Providence took from me my 
 good name, kept me in prison over two years, during which 
 time my heart was broken, and sent me, a condemned 
 felon, to Australia to herd with the worst criminals on earth. 
 * It is a poor rule that won't work both ways/ " 
 
 '' Don't say that," said the chaplain. " There is a mysteri- 
 ous power that shapes our course through Hfe. You have 
 been tried in the crucible of adversity to test your strength, 
 and to show the metal of which you are made. We do not 
 know why certain things happen, but may be sure they are 
 not without design." 
 
 Arthur then related his history from early childhood up 
 to the time he arrived in Melbourne. The chaplain inter- 
 rupted him on many occasions, to ascertain if there was any- 
 thing on v/hich he could base an impression as to his secret 
 enemy, and thought deeply all the time Arthur was talking. 
 
 " And you think," said the chaplain, " that this convict 
 can give a clew to the mystery ? What are your grounds for 
 such belief.'' " 
 
 ''Because," said Arthur, "he referred to events that 
 happened about the time I was tried, and mentioned a name 
 very dear to me, which he could only have known by living 
 in that locality. Moreover, he seems to have known me 
 well, as he spoke of some things I have done." 
 
 " It is a marvelous story," said the chaplain, with tears 
 of sympathy in his eyes. " I never listened to a more pain- 
 ful one. I wonder you did not go mad. These white hairs 
 are the best proof of what you have suffered in mind, for it 
 is only the more refined and intelligent who suffer such 
 changes of the hair. Among all the convicts I have met and 
 attended, I have never met one who was afflicted by impris- 
 onment in this way. They are generally ignorant and 
 
238 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 stolid, and imbued with little feeling. I propose to take 
 charge of the man before he undergoes examination by the 
 magistrate, and I will try to put him in such a frame of 
 mind that he will answer all questions. You would be sur- 
 prised to see how these ignorant fellows clutch at the hope 
 of salvation after they are once sure that such a thing is 
 within their reach on confession of their sins. Indeed, 
 they often make voluntary confessions. I do not know how 
 hardened this particular one may be, but I hope I can 
 bring him over, as I know so well how to handle such cases. 
 Though steeped in crime, they are in some respects like chil- 
 dren when they are told that they are going to die, and that 
 confession and repentance will absolve them from punish- 
 ment hereafter. I will make a Christian of this man yet, 
 and he may give you back your liberty." They then rose 
 and joined the captain, who had been patiently waiting for 
 them while entertaining the magistrate. 
 
 "I have heard Mr. Merton's story," said the chaplain, 
 addressing the captain, "and it is a most remarkable one. 
 I am satisfied the convict will, if he chooses, be able to elu- 
 cidate the mystery, and restore our young friend to all that 
 he has lost. Come, sir, please introduce me to the pris- 
 oner," 
 
 The party descended to the main deck, the captain cau- 
 tioning the magistrate and Arthur to sit quietly at the con- 
 vict's head, where they could not be seen by him, while he 
 introduced the chaplain to the wounded man. The latter 
 was lying on his back, in a troubled sleep, and the two sat 
 down on camp-stools beside the cot that had been provided 
 since the ship came into port, and thus they awaited his 
 awaking. Several Sisters of Mercy had been sent from shore 
 to attend the wounded, and one of them sat at a table on 
 the other side, to minister to the wants of the sick man. 
 The convict had thrown the covers from his chest, and his 
 muscular arms were lying outside the bed, a model of physi- 
 cal strength. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 239 
 
 ■^* Did you ever see a more powerful brute ? " said the 
 captain, in a whisper. " That fellow planned the mutiny. 
 He was capable of any villainy, and only think how little 
 mercy would have been extended to us had he succeeded 
 in capturing the ship ! He and his gang intended to cut 
 the throats of all hands, throw us overboard, land somewhere 
 on the coast of Australia, and burn the ship." 
 
 At that moment the convict awoke, and cried out: 
 '' Water ! I am dying of thirst ; my innards are on fire." 
 The Sister of Mercy handed him the water, and he drank it 
 greedily, then, turning his head to the captain and chaplain, 
 he said, in a husky voice : " Who are ye ? When I went to 
 sleep Mr. Merton was a-sittin' 'longside o' me. I want to 
 see 'im ; 'e's a gentleman, an' no mistake." 
 
 " This is Chaplain Otis, who has come to see you," said 
 the captain ; " and he wishes to minister to your soul, for 
 you are in a very precarious condition." 
 
 " Soul ! " said No. 47, " I hain't got no soul. Fellers 
 like me warn't made with souls, or I wouldn't a bin 'ere. 
 My father 'ad no soul afore me, an' 'ow can I be expected to 
 'ave one ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, my good fellow," said the chaplain, " you 
 have a soul, the most insignificant of God's humanity have 
 souls, only they sometimes go astray, never having heard of 
 Christ and his teachings. Many commit sins from their 
 ignorance of God's laws. Now, captain, if you will leave 
 me alone with the invalid, I think I can convince him that 
 he not only has a soul, but that there is a chance for him to 
 enter the Kingdom of Heaven, if he truly repents of all his 
 sins, and believes in Christ." 
 
 " That would be a deathbed repentance," said No. 47, 
 " an' reminds me of a verse some feller told me, when I was 
 in prison : 
 
 WTien the devil was sick the devil a monk would be, 
 But when the devil got well the devil a monk was he, 
 
 or somethin' like that." 
 
240 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 "Don't talk that way," said Mr. Otis, "but just let me 
 read to you from the New Testament one or two chapters 
 from St. Matthew's gospel that will tell you who our Saviour 
 was, for before you can be saved you must know Christ." 
 
 " Well," said the convict, " go on an' read. It can't 
 hurt a feller, I suppose, though it's rather late in the day to 
 try an' whitewash me ; I'm black as charcoal, an' as full of 
 crime as an egg is of meat. Go on." 
 
 The chaplain read the second chapter of St. Matthew, 
 to which he listened attentively, and when the reading was 
 concluded the convict said : " Read me some more, I like 
 it. You've a nice voice, an' it soothes me." 
 
 The third, fourth, and fifth chapters were read to him, 
 and then Mr. Otis said : " There, that will do for to-day. 
 Now I want to talk with you and explain everything to you." 
 
 ''An' it was Christ who you say can save me from 'ell ? " 
 said No. 47. " Well, 'e must 'ave bin a good man. There 
 ain't many such now, is there.? I never knew nary one." 
 
 " No," said the chaplain, '* there are none like him on 
 earth. He was the Son of God, who came on earth to save 
 sinners and establish the Christian religion, which is now ex- 
 tending all over the earth, and is saving millions." 
 
 "But, I've bin a terror," said the convict, "I've commit- 
 ted every crime as is known to man." 
 
 "Nevertheless," said the chaplain, "there is hope for 
 you if you truly repent and confess your sins. You have 
 done much harm, and one man of whom I know is now suf- 
 fering for your crime. I mean Mr. Arthur Merton." 
 
 "What do ye know of 'im ? " said the convict, starting 
 and trying to rise, but falling back from pain and weakness. 
 
 "I know all about him," said Mr. Otis. "Don't you 
 know Moorland and Woodlawn in Kent ? Do you not know 
 Miss Elsie Vernon, Mrs. Merton, Squire and Mrs. Pentland, 
 and Mr. Ronald Pentland } And do you not know all about 
 the notes stolen from the banking-house of Childs and Co., 
 and how the theft was fixed upon Arthur Merton ?" 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 24 1 
 
 The cold sweat broke out all over the convict's body, 
 and large drops of perspiration covered his forehead. His 
 face grew paler, and he looked as if about to die. ''Who 
 are ye," he demanded, '* as knows so much of me.^ Are 
 ye a detective, come 'ere to pump me ? I thought ye was a 
 parson." 
 
 " I am a minister of Christ," said the chaplain, " and am 
 here to save your soul if I can do so ; but the first step is a 
 confession of your sins and repentance for what you have 
 done. If you conceal any ill act of your life it will be de- 
 ception, and worse than if you did not confess at all. If 
 you have done any one a wrong you can not expect for- 
 giveness until you have made amends for it, and I say to 
 you now that if you die with this great sin on your soul and 
 offer no repentance by confession, you can not enter the 
 Kingdom of Heaven, but your soul will wander in the re- 
 gions of hell until eternity, suffering for the sins you have 
 committed on earth, all of which you can escape by making 
 a full confession of your crimes and the injuries you have 
 done to others." 
 
 " Will that save me from 'ell.^ " asked the convict. 
 
 *' If you sincerely repent," said the chaplain ; " Christ 
 tells us so." 
 
 " Ow much time 'ave I to repent in .^ " he asked. 
 
 " Perhaps a week, perhaps ten days," was the reply, 
 '* but in that time your heart could become clean, and you 
 would abhor all the wickedness you have done in your life. 
 But let me pray to God to forgive your sins. There is 
 nothing so efficacious as prayer for a spirit that has been 
 steeped in sin. It makes a man see himself as he is, and it 
 softens his heart toward those he has injured. Now, listen 
 to me with all your heart and soul, for what I am about to 
 say has conquered hearts as hard and corrupt as yours." 
 
 ** I'm willin' to be just," said the convict, " and there's 
 one person in particular I'd like to do justice to afore I 
 die, an' that's Mr. Arthur Merton. He's a gentleman all 
 16 
 
242 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 over, an' 'as tended me like a brother — me as give him such 
 a orful lick, that brought him all his trouble." 
 
 "Then, listen to me while I am praying with you," said 
 the chaplain. " It will make you more anxious still to see 
 justice done him," 
 
 Mr. Otis prayed aloud over the doomed man with a fer- 
 vor that might have moved a deeper sinner than the convict, 
 could such a one have been found. The chaplain, knowing 
 what the general life of a convict was, and supposing some 
 of the crimes that No. 47 had committed, laid great stress 
 on these acts, and prayed God that he should repent and 
 confess, and be able to accept the mercy Christ offered the 
 repentant sinner. 
 
 The convict listened very attentively, and when the 
 prayer was ended heaved a deep sigh. " I wish," he said, 
 '' I'd 'ave 'eard all that when I was young ; I'd a lived a bet- 
 ter life. My father and mother never went to church, and 
 when I poached and trapped pheasants an' 'ares, I was pat- 
 ted on the back when they were put in the pot. I don't 
 know as I could become a Christian, but I'd like to keep 
 out of 'ell, an' I'll confess everything I ever done. What's 
 the use of me denyin' now.^ I shall soon step inter the 'ole 
 where I've seen so many go, an' it might as well be known 
 now as on the judgment day, when, you say, all that was 
 ever done in the world will be known. An' I'd like it all 
 writ down for the benefit of other poor devils like me as 
 never 'ad no teachin' an' honly knew when it was too late 
 that there's a settlin' day for 'em hereafter in another world. 
 Lemme get to work confessin' afore the time rushes on me 
 to pass in my checks, for I feel stronger since ye prayed for 
 me." 
 
 " Sister," said Mr. Otis to the Sister of Mercy, " give him 
 some broth, and he will feel better able to make his confes- 
 sion. I will confer with the magistrate, my good fellow, 
 while you take your refreshment. He has come off to wit- 
 ness your confession, for I felt sure you would make one." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 243 
 
 "Well, ye was right," said No. 47, "an' make it I will. 
 The sooner ye bring on the magistrate the better, for some- 
 thin' might happen to make me change my mind. I'm just 
 in the humor now an' feel strong an' 'earty." 
 
 Mr. Otis beckoned to Arthur, the magistrate, and the 
 captain, all of whom had been seated near, listening and 
 admiring the manner in which the chaplain had so soon 
 brought the convict to a sense of his duty, but sickness is a 
 great softener of character, and " when pain and anguish 
 wring the brow " and death stares one in the face, the hard- 
 est criminal often succumbs, and is only too glad to accept 
 the hope of mercy from Heaven held out to him. The 
 worst sinners are then the most repentant, and here was an 
 instance. 
 
 " Mr. Magistrate," said the chaplain, " please listen to the 
 invalid's confession, and I will act as amanuensis. Mr. 
 Merton, sit on the left side, where the poor fellow can see 
 you. Captain, please sit near his head, where you can hear 
 all he says." He also directed the Sister of Mercy to be 
 ready to administer wine or broth in case the convict be- 
 came exhausted. 
 
 "No fear of that," said the convict, in his husky voice ; 
 " an' I want Mr. Arthur to sit just where I kin see 'im all 
 the time, fer what I've got ter say much concerns 'im, an' 
 'e'U see that Bill Briggs won't tell a lie in 'is dyin' moments. 
 An' I'll put 'im on his feet again, if I hang for it. He allers 
 was a gentleman, it's in the blood, an* I want to see him get 
 'is own again. Yes, Mr. Arthur, sit where I kin see yer 
 gray hairs which was brought about by my doin's an' 
 another as will astonish ye even when yer knows who 'e be." 
 
 " Bill Briggs ! " exclaimed Arthur, jumping from his 
 chair. " Great mercy ! who would have dreamed of this ? 
 I never suspected it was you. You are very much 
 changed." 
 
 "An' ye wouldn't 'ave tended me like a brother if ye'd 
 a known it was me ? " 
 
244 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 ** Exactly the same," said Arthur, " we are brothers in 
 affliction, and I would have attended to you the same if I 
 had known you had done me the greatest harm in the 
 world." 
 
 " Well, then," said Briggs, '' ye must be one of them 
 Christians the parson's bin tellin' about, an' now I tell ye 
 I'm the man as put yer in Millbank prison, an' if ye'll for- 
 give me that, an' just shake hands with me, I'll know ye're a 
 Christian." 
 
 " Yes," said Arthur, " I'll shake hands with you, and 
 forgive you, for you will soon have to answer to a higher 
 power. But how could I have incurred your enmity .^ I 
 can not conceive." 
 
 " Why," said the convict, " fer givin' me a thrashin' in a 
 fair stand-up fight when we was both lads, which ye must 
 remember. Now, listen, an' I'll tell yer all about it." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The convict, when raised on his pillow asked for wine, 
 and then commenced his confession, which, stripped of 
 slang and reduced to plain English, was as follows : 
 
 ** My name is Bill Briggs, alias Bill Dexter, alias ' the 
 Nipper,' alias Bill Tiger, by all of which names I have been 
 known by my pals. I was born in the county of Kent, near 
 the estate of Squire Pentland. I had very little instruction, 
 and in early youth was a finished poacher, encouraged by 
 my parents to steal game from the gentlemen's preserves. 
 One day, while setting my traps on Squire Pentland's estate, 
 I noticed two young gentlemen coming my way, fine-look- 
 ing fellows, about my own age, though not so stout. I was 
 * a rough ' of the worst kind, made so by my associations, 
 and, above all things, I hated * a swell.' 
 
 " So I looked upon these two young men as my natural 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 245 
 
 enemies, and determined to insult them, thinking that I could 
 thrash both together, for I was very strong, and a regular 
 'bruiser.' As the young gentlemen passed I used provoking 
 language to them. They were Mr. Ronald Pentland and 
 Mr. Arthur ]\Ierton. The former threatened to punish me, 
 • vrhen I challenged them both, expecting to have an easy 
 time of it, but Mr. Merton insisted on undertaking the job 
 of whipping me. We stood up and faced each other, and I 
 must confess that in ten minutes I got the worst thrashing 
 I ever had in my life, w^hile Mr. Merton hardly received a 
 scratch. He was a gentleman all over, and treated me first 
 rate, for he gave me back my boots, which I had put up 
 against his, and brought me to, after he had knocked the 
 senses out of me. Had I been a full-blooded English boy 
 I would not have minded the thrashing, but the Welsh blood 
 in me prevailed, and I did not forget it. I determined to 
 be revenged on Mr. Merton if it cost me my life, and my 
 days and nights were spent in working out a plan to ruin 
 him. 
 
 " Mr. Merton and Mr. Pentland came home from Cam- 
 bridge when they were about of age. While they were at 
 •school I had got a place as under keeper on Squire Pentland's 
 estate. I had grown a good deal, and supposed that the 
 young men wouldn't know me. I went out shooting with 
 them, to beat the bushes and start the game, and always 
 carried a gun. I was often tempted to put a ball into Mr. 
 Arthur, but I was too great a coward to run the risk of 
 having my neck stretched, although it would have been 
 better if I had killed him and not let him suffer as he has 
 done since. 
 
 " The rector of the parish had a daughter. Miss Elsie 
 Vernon ; she was four years younger than the young men, 
 and, to my mind, she was as lovely as an angel. It was 
 after I got my thrashing from Arthur Merton that I noticed 
 how friendly the three young people were, and I loved to 
 get into a little hut in the Vernon woods and watch them 
 
246 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 together, and thinks I to myself, * I can get even with 
 Merton better here than in any other way.' Though I had 
 received little schooling, and was an ignorant clodhopper, 
 yet I had cunning and understood human nature. I knew 
 that the friendliness between the young people would end 
 in love on the part of the young men, and that Elsie would 
 love one of them. If she should love Merton I was sure of 
 my revenge by ways that I could work out. If she loved 
 Ronald, I should have the satisfaction of wrecking Merton's 
 life, for I knew that he would love but once, and that would 
 be with his whole soul, and that he would suffer more 
 under a disappointment than Ronald. At first I deter- 
 mined to ruin his character, so that Elsie would have noth- 
 ing to do with him, but I could not think of any plan to 
 carry out my purpose, and so let things run on, but there 
 was not a day passed that I did not lie down in that hut 
 and watch those three young people as a cat watches a 
 mouse. To enable me to better watch their movements, I 
 one day stole a field-glass they left lying on the mound, 
 and hid it in my hut. I watched them closely the next day, 
 and soon made up my mind which way the wind blew. 
 
 " Miss Elsie was a capricious little creature, and made 
 the two young men her slaves. She was fond of them both, 
 but as I watched her face through the glass I soon saw 
 that she had given her heart to Arthur. When she would 
 sometimes be running about the lawn arm in arm with Ron- 
 ald, she would return to Arthur and look up into his face 
 with her beautiful eyes, as if to ask if he approved, and he 
 would give her a look which seemed to say : 'You can never 
 do wrong.' When the young gentlemen left in the afternoon 
 she would run up-stairs and watch them from her window, 
 and if they should part at the end of the woods to go their 
 separate ways, her glass would be kept leveled upon Arthur 
 until he got out of sight. I watched them in this way for 
 four weeks, and came to the conclusion that though Arthur 
 Merton and Elsie Vernon loved each other, neither was 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 247 
 
 aware that it was anything more than the love of a brother 
 and sister. 
 
 " I can not tell you the delight I took in this watching. 
 In the first place my motives were revenge, in the second 
 place I took a pleasure in looking at this beautiful girl, and 
 would have given my life to have touched the hem of her 
 garment or even to have had her tread upon me. I looked 
 upon both the young men with bitter hatred, and determined 
 that neither of them should ever possess her. 
 
 " One day Ronald Pentland was thrown from his horse 
 and badly bruised, so that he was laid up for weeks. Then 
 Arthur Merton came to see Miss Elsie alone, which he had 
 never done before. It seemed to be an understood thing 
 with the two young men that they were always to go together 
 and to do nothing to take advantage of each other. On 
 the day that Arthur went to tell her of the accident that had 
 happened to Ronald, they remained in the house several 
 hours, and I watched in vain, but when they came out I saw 
 through the glass that he had told her his love tale. Their 
 faces were bright as a summer morning. She hung on his 
 arm, which she had never done before, and regarded him as 
 if he were the only being in the world, while Arthur looked 
 as if he had gained a kingdom. If I had had a loaded 
 gun at that moment, I would have shot them both, for my 
 feelings were actually devouring me. 
 
 " They sat three hours on the mound while she fed her 
 doves, he now and then kissing her, which almost maddened 
 me. Then they parted, she standing to watch him until he 
 was out of sight, and I sneaked off. I watched them for days, 
 until Ronald Pentland was able to come down-stairs, when I 
 went to him in the summer-house and told him what I had 
 seen. He was wild with rage and jealousy, and I worked 
 his feelings up to such a pitch that he was like putty in my 
 hands. The next day I took him to see for himself, and 
 finally he became so intensely ' outraged,' as he expressed 
 it, that he entered into my plans, which were hinted to him 
 
248 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 though not actually revealed. He nursed his wrath, as I 
 did, with a full determination to destroy his rival by fair 
 means or foul. 
 
 " A few days after the two young gentlemen went to 
 London to enter banking-houses, and it was so arranged be- 
 tween Mr. Ronald and myself that I was to follow in a 
 short time and we would concert plans for the destruction 
 of Arthur Merton." 
 
 *' I can not believe that, it is too dreadful ! " said Arthur, 
 starting up, his face white with horror. 
 
 " Wait a little," said the dying man, " there is worse than 
 that coming and you will need all your nerve to listen to it. 
 
 *' Ronald Pentland did all he could to draw Mr. Arthur 
 into scenes of dissipation and to entice him into gambling- 
 rooms. Failing in his projects to lead him into evil ways, he 
 proceeded to other measures. From this time Mr. Ronald 
 became leader, and no hound ever followed the scent of his 
 game as he followed in pursuit of his friend. 
 
 '* One day, about noon, he stopped at the place where I 
 lived, near Leadenhall Street, where he required that I should 
 be in the day-time provided with tools for certain emergen- 
 cies. I could only be away nights, and then I sought the 
 slums of London, where I associated with criminals, learned 
 all their tricks, and in a short time was an expert burglar. 
 When Mr. Pentland came to my house, he said to me : ' The 
 chance offers now to ruin our enemy forever, but you must 
 be quick about it. I left Childs and Co.'s not five min- 
 utes ago. The door leading to the banker's room is un- 
 locked, the porter is asleep, and there are only two clerks in 
 the place. In the banker's room is a wire screen, behind 
 which he sits when at work. It is locked, but you can get 
 over the top if you have no key that will open it. On the 
 table inside the screen is a yellow package marked " Bank 
 of England." Go at once and get it ; escape by the back 
 window. You know the premises ; I leave the rest to you.' 
 
 " ' And if I get my neck stretched, what then ? ' I said. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 249 
 
 " ' You must run your chances,' he said, * but it is all 
 plain sailing.' 
 
 " I started off, went to the bank, found the porter fast 
 asleep, opened the door and slipped into the banker's private 
 office. I had no time to lose in trying keys, but being very 
 active, was over the top of the cage in a minute, took the 
 package, got back over the screen, opened the window, and 
 got out without any one seeing me. There was a high wall 
 with broken glass bottles on its top and a heavy iron pipe 
 to carry water from the roof, up which I climbed until I 
 reached the top of the wall, knocked away the glass bottles 
 with a hammer I had in my pocket, rove a silk rope between 
 the pipe and the wall, lowered myself down into the alley, 
 and made off, carrying my rope with me and leaving no sign 
 that a detective could work on. When I put that package 
 in Ronald Pentland's hands, he capered about like a wild 
 man. ' Now,' he said, *he can't escape us, Elsie will never 
 be his.' 
 
 *' The robbery made a great stir, but the detectives could 
 never have found a trace of the notes but for me, and now 
 came the question, how to fasten the robbery on Arthur 
 Merton. I had a cousin living in London, who was staying 
 in the house where I lived. She was in bad health, and 
 could not go out to work, so I paid her board and doctor's 
 bills. The doctor told me she had only three weeks of life 
 in her, and might go off any time, as she had consumption. 
 
 " I hired a furnished house in Charing Cross, and when 
 I saw that my cousin was failing fast moved her to this 
 place, much to her delight, for she had few comforts where 
 she had resided. Ronald Pentland gave me all the money 
 I asked for, and was much pleased when I presented my 
 project to him. I kept my cousin over two weeks at the 
 house, when she began to sink rapidly. Then I got Ronald 
 to write a note to Mr. Arthur, in a disguised hand, signed 
 ' Charlotte Foster,' representing herself as a former ac- 
 quaintance of his mother's, and begging him to come and 
 
250 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 see her, as she was in distress. I felt sure he would come, 
 and gave notice to the detectives, with whom I had been in 
 correspondence, that I would deliver up the bank-robber to 
 them if they would be at the place mentioned. 
 
 " Mr. Merton came to the house exactly at the time I 
 calculated, and ascended the steps, where I was disguised 
 and waiting for him. He asked for Charlotte Foster, and 
 I showed him my cousin's room, where he was locked in. 
 My cousin was dying when he went into that room. I had 
 left a jar of chloroform uncorked in the room, intending 
 that he should be overcome by the fumes. I really forgot 
 that they might affect my cousin, and, unfortunately, the 
 chloroform killed her. 
 
 " As soon as I had fastened the door on Arthur Merton, 
 I ran through a cross-entry to a room in the rear, and, 
 looking through the keyhole, saw him bending over the 
 dead body, apparently dazed. I opened the door suddenly, 
 knocked him senseless with a sand-bag, and chloroformed 
 him, to render him helpless, caring very little whether I 
 killed him or not. Then I sewed the bank-notes up in the 
 breast-pocket of his coat, except a hundred-pound note and 
 some sovereigns, which I placed in his vest-pocket, and a 
 hundred-pound note which I put in an ornament on the 
 mantelpiece. This done, I took his handkerchief, marked 
 with his initials, and tied it strongly around the dead 
 woman's neck, to make it appear that Merton had strangled 
 her. I then opened the doors, and he began to revive. He 
 got up and went to the bedside, and, seeing the corpse with 
 tongue protruding and eyes starting from their sockets, 
 staggered down the steps and out of doors. 
 
 " It was a foggy night, and the gaslights could hardly be 
 discerned at a few feet distance, but I had my detectives at 
 the front of the house, and as he landed on the pavement, 
 pointed him out to them. I said : * That's your man, and 
 his girl lives in that house.' The detectives seized him 
 and carried him back to the dead woman's room, where 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 25 1 
 
 they soon found evidence enough against him, while I 
 slipped off. I intended that he should be convicted of 
 murder, but failed in that. He was convicted of robbing 
 the bank, and never was there a more innocent man sent 
 to prison. Those who should have suffered were Ronald 
 Pentland and myself. Pentland was the worst, for he 
 planned the whole affair. That is all I have to say about 
 this matter, and every word is true, so help me God." 
 
 " But," said Arthur, sternly, " how can we know that 
 this confession is true, coming from a man who has com- 
 mitted so many crimes ? You may want to fix the crime 
 on Ronald Pentland to exonerate yourself and escape pun- 
 ishment." 
 
 '* Sir," said the convict, " I am beyond the reach of the 
 law. In tvy-o or three days at most I shall be dead, and 
 the parson, who has prayed with me and told me that there 
 is hope hereafter for so great a criminal as I am, has also 
 taught me that I must not appear in the presence of God 
 with a lie upon my lips. I am ready to take my solemn 
 oath to all the facts I have stated." In the last few min- 
 utes he had been leaning upon his elbow, but he fell back 
 exhausted, and looked as if he were going to die at once. 
 They gave him stimulants, after which he was able to sign 
 the affidavit drawn up by the magistrate, which was wit- 
 nessed by the captain, the surgeon, and the chaplain. The 
 convict was then allowed to sleep. 
 
 When the paper was properly executed. Chaplain Otis 
 took Arthur by the hand. " Now, my young friend," he 
 said, "you are sure of your liberty. With this paper you can 
 go to the Governor, who will write home and ask for a full 
 pardon, which will be granted you at once, and, no doubt, 
 the Government will recompense you, as far as possible, for 
 the injustice done you. Yours has been the hardest trial I 
 ever heard of, and you have come out of it without a stain 
 upon your character. Your life, though hitherto imbittered, 
 will be rendered the sweeter for the vicissitudes through 
 
252 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 which you have passed, and your story will make you a 
 hundred friends where you had one before. I feel like 
 prophesying that you will return to your native land and 
 find there much joy in store for you ; and may God render 
 your future years so full of happiness that you will look 
 back upon the misery you have passed through merely as 
 an unpleasant nightmare." Then all came forward and 
 congratulated Arthur, and the captain invited them to a 
 luncheon in his cabin, where, after two hours of festivity, 
 the company departed to their respective stations. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 When the confession of Bill Briggs was written out in 
 due form, Chaplain Otis laid the matter before the Gov- 
 ernor, informing the latter of all the facts of which he was 
 cognizant in Arthur Merton's case. The Governor took a 
 deep interest in the matter, and promptly issued an order 
 restoring Arthur to liberty, on condition, however, that he 
 was not to leave Melbourne until the home authorities 
 were heard from, when, no doubt, a full pardon would be 
 granted. 
 
 This was a disappointment to Arthur, who hoped to be 
 able to return to England by the next steamer, but he de- 
 termined to restrain his impatience for the next four months, 
 and, in the mean time, try to obtain employment in the city 
 to maintain himself. There was every prospect of his being 
 able to do this, for his courage on the occasion of the mu- 
 tiny had been praised in the papers, and there was no doubt 
 of his being received everywhere with applause ; his appear- 
 ance would be in his favor, and Captain Albatross and the 
 chaplain agreed to assist him in every way possible. 
 
 When the captain heard that Arthur had been restored 
 to liberty, he warmly congratulated him and, giving him a 
 
ARTHUR MERTOX. 253 
 
 twenty-pound note, said : " Take that for present use, and re- 
 turn it at your convenience. If you want more, come to me." 
 
 Arthur thanked the captain, and felt as happy as a man 
 could under the circumstances. The brand of " thief " was 
 removed from him, his innocence was estabUshed, and though 
 he feared that sorrow might be in store for him on his return 
 home, yet he put his trust in God and hoped that his burden 
 might not be too heavy to bear. 
 
 Amons the wounded convicts on board the Kangaroo 
 who came under Arthur's care was No. 40, who was mentioned 
 as the only one in Millbank prison who had had any sym- 
 pathy with Arthur. From the old man's account, he was un- 
 aware of the intended uprising of the convicts, but about four 
 hours before the mutineers broke out, he saw some of them 
 stealthily crawling about the cage and communicating with 
 others in the two contiguous sections. This aroused his 
 suspicions, especially when he saw a man outside, near the 
 bow, pass in something, and heard one convict whisper to 
 another : "The signal will be given at six bells in the mid 
 watch." 
 
 He caught the man by the sleeve, and said : " For God's 
 sake, don't attempt a mutiny, or you will all be killed. To 
 save your lives I will arouse the guard." As he said this, 
 the two men seized him by the throat and, throwing him on 
 deck, laid upon his body until he was nearly dead. Thrust- 
 ing a small swab into his mouth to make matters certain, 
 they left him to his fate. When the firing commenced he 
 recovered consciousness and sat up. While in this position 
 a ball passed through his shoulder, causing him to faint away. 
 After the conflict ended he was sent to the hospital, where 
 Arthur recognized him and attended to his wants. His 
 wound was not dangerous, but it confined him for some 
 weeks. 
 
 According to the statement of No. 40, an enemy of his 
 had thrown him into prison on a charge of forgery and 
 when his term expired convicted him on another charge. 
 
254 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Being sent to Millbank on the last occasion, he determined 
 to stay there, which the authorities of the jail consented to 
 his doing until the convict ship sailed for Australia, where 
 they promised to send him on the statement from him that 
 his persecutor would pursue him till he died. He had with 
 him a discharge from the prison, duly attested by its gov- 
 ernor, and a permit to go on board the Kangaroo, provided 
 that he would fare as the convicts did. He said he was 
 only too glad to avail himself of the opportunity to reach 
 Australia. 
 
 As soon as his wounds were healed No. 40 received per- 
 mission to go ashore, which he lost no time in doing. The 
 old man was a remarkable looking person, and might pass 
 for sixty or for eighty years of age. Since he had been dis- 
 charged from Millbank he had allowed his hair and beard 
 to grow, and the latter hung in large white flakes down on 
 his breast, while his hair hung below his shoulders. He 
 was attenuated to the last degree ; his hands were like 
 claws, and his keen black eyes, sunken deep into their sock- 
 ets, looked like balls of fire. He was very loquacious, and 
 laid great stress upon a mission he had to perform on earth 
 before he died. 
 
 No. 40 proposed to Arthur to accompany him on shore ; 
 the captain gave them a boat, and they started up the river 
 for Melbourne. Who can describe the feelings of the two 
 men as they landed on ten-a fii-ma once more, and found 
 themselves amid the beautiful scenes of nature, the ground 
 covered with flowers and the air redolent with perfumes .? 
 Those who saw them were struck with their appearance — 
 this stalwart young man with white hair, fine form, and 
 handsome face, supporting this peculiar-looking old man. 
 Every one wondered who and what they could be, but all 
 treated them with kindness, and directed them from place 
 to place until they reached the Fitzroy Gardens, and here 
 they sat down lost in admiration at the beautiful grounds 
 where almost every flower known to man grows in profu- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 255 
 
 fusion. They could hardly believe they were free once 
 more to enjoy the loveliness of nature and wander wherever 
 they pleased. They were both so entertained that they ex- 
 changed no conversation, and the day would have been thus 
 spent had not Arthur hurried the old man on, for he was 
 anxious, before the sun went down, to ascertain regarding 
 the means of communicating with his friends at home. The 
 old man did not object to move on, muttering something 
 about a duty he was anxious to perform as soon as possible. 
 
 They had wandered through several streets, the old man 
 scanning the signs as he went along. At last they came to 
 Poulet Street, and No. 40 said to Arthur : " I know this 
 street, and I may find a friend here." 
 
 "Indeed," said Arthur, ''I did not know you had ever 
 been out of England." 
 
 "Yes," he said, sighing, "here is where my first troubles 
 overtook me." He stopped and, looking at a sign over a 
 door, began to ponder over the name on it. " I am getting 
 old and forgetful," he continued; "my memory does not 
 serve me as well as it did twenty years ago, but I am sure 
 that is the name I am looking for — ' Eustis Ferris.' That is 
 the man I helped to send to Australia, and the name she 
 told me to find when I got here, and to tell him how they 
 were parted and of the forged letters and how she was 
 forced to marry. I remember it all now, and thank God 
 for bringing me to this place." 
 
 Arthur thought the old man was losing his mind in his 
 joy at being free, and, laying his hand on his shoulder, said : 
 " Old man, what ails you ? " 
 
 " Do you see the name on yon sign ? " said the old man. 
 " Well, my mission will soon be ended, and I will carry peace 
 to a stricken soul. Providence has directed this. Come 
 in and see a man who has lived on earth with a breaking 
 heart. I started out over twenty years ago to deliver her 
 message, and I hope I have found him at last. Come in 
 with me." 
 
256 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 They knocked at the door, which was opened by a tow- 
 headed boy of about fourteen years of age. '' Is Mr. Eustis 
 Ferris in 'i " asked the old man. 
 
 " Yes, he be," said the boy. '' What yer want .? " 
 
 " Business," said the old man, '' and you had better 
 mend your manners." 
 
 *' Well, walk in, then. The master is in one of his 
 musin' fits, and I don't know as he'll be glad to talk 
 to ye." 
 
 The entry walls were covered with signs. " Agent for 
 claims," " Information furnished in relation to persons in 
 Europe," " Bills of exchange on foreign countries," " Gold 
 bought," "' Agent for P. & O. S. S. Company," and outside 
 the door, in gilded letters, " Eustis Ferris, Counselor at 
 Law." 
 
 The two men were shown into the room where the lawyer 
 was seated. What was he thinking of ? Had time effaced 
 the recollection of his early love, and had the years he 
 had been absorbed in the pursuit of wealth driven all other 
 passions but the love of gold from his breast .'' He was evi- 
 dently "well to do," for his office was handsomely furnished, 
 and two clerks behind a long counter were plodding over 
 bulky ledgers which seemed to give them continual occupa- 
 tion. Back of the office was a parlor, the walls adorned with 
 handsome pictures and the polished floors covered with rich 
 Oriental rugs. In fact there was an air of opulence about 
 the whole establishment. 
 
 The lawyer raised his head as the visitors entered, and 
 seemed surprised at their appearance. It looked to him 
 like a picture of May and December. He was particularly 
 struck with the younger man's face and with the remarkable 
 white hair which waved about his head. He was about to 
 speak when suddenly the blood seemed to recede from his 
 heart, for there before him he beheld a likeness of that face 
 he had loved so much in youth, and which never by night 
 or day had been absent from his thoughts. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 257 
 
 There are dreams of the past, bright visions of joy, 
 Which, let Fate do her worst, she can not destroy. 
 They will come in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
 And bring back the smile which joy used to wear. 
 
 Eustis Ferris rubbed his eyes to see if he were awake or 
 dreaming, but when he looked there were the same loving 
 eyes he remembered in his youth, the beautiful mouth 
 which he thought could not be equaled. It was the face of 
 Julia Lester, only in a masculine frame. 
 
 Since the reader last parted with Eustis Ferris, he had un- 
 dergone sorrows enough to break any man's heart, or else 
 cause him to plunge into dissipation to drown thoughts too 
 oppressive to bear. But he was a man of strength, physically 
 and mentally, and instead of repining over his fate, he had 
 given himself up to work of the hardest kind. His only 
 recreation consisted in long walks in the country where, 
 amid nature's fairest scenes, he could revive the memories 
 of his early love and look forward to the time when he 
 could meet her in another and a better world. He had greatly 
 changed from the handsome, smooth-faced youth who walked 
 with Julia along the banks of the Avon, but he was still a 
 fine-looking man of forty-five, although it seemed to him 
 as if he had lived nearly a century. His mustache and 
 whiskers were iron gray and his thick hair was the same color. 
 His eye was bright as ever, but his forehead showed lines 
 of deep thought which corrugated the white and polished 
 skin. He was the young man we knew at Lyneham but 
 improved by age, with a pleasant melancholy about him 
 which attracted every body. 
 
 After plodding for two years in the bank in which he had 
 obtained a situation after his arrival in Melbourne, Ferris's 
 health failed, owing to the monotonous life, and he deter- 
 mined to seek some other vocation. He devoted himself to 
 the study of the law, and put up his sign on Poulet Street, 
 where we have found him, not only acting in the character 
 of counselor, but as agent for several organizations, through 
 
 ir 
 
258 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 which he made a great deal of money. He had grown in 
 popularity in the city, and was one of the best known men 
 in Melbourne. 
 
 Eustis now asked Arthur Merton in the kindest manner 
 what he could do for him. 
 
 " Thank you, sir," replied Arthur, " you can do nothing 
 for me at present. I was brought here by this old man, who 
 seems to have some business with you." 
 
 The lawyer was struck with the tones of Arthur's voice, 
 and tears came to his eyes. Taking Arthur's hand, he said : 
 " You remind me very much of a dearly loved friend ; you 
 must excuse my giving way to my feelings, but I never saw 
 such a likeness. And now, sir," he said, turning to No. 40, 
 "what can I do for you ? " 
 
 " Nothing, sir," said the old man, " but to listen to me 
 and believe me. I started to see you over twenty years ago, 
 but owing to the arts of the greatest villain on earth, have I 
 been sent from prison to prison until I obtained leave from 
 the governor of Millbank to come out in the convict ship 
 to Melbourne so I could get to you, and here, after these 
 long, long years, I have met you at last. But what I have to 
 say must be told you in private, for my communication 
 is of a sacred nature, and I would not like to lose the good 
 opinion of my companion by letting him know the part I 
 played in a scheme that drove you from your country and 
 parted you from the woman you loved, who, if she still lives, 
 loves you to-day with the same ardor as when you once 
 walked the banks of the Avon together." 
 
 " In the name of all that is sacred," said Ferris, grasping 
 the old man by the shoulder, " who are you, and whence 
 do you come to reopen my wounds ? What harm did I ever 
 do you that you played me such a trick ? Speak, or I will 
 dash out your brains ! " 
 
 " I will," said No. 40, gasping for breath, " but take your 
 hands off. I am not as young as I once was, and can 
 not stand such rough treatment. I 2im parttceps criminis, it 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 259 
 
 is true, but it was against my will, and I now come by the 
 direction of Julia Lester to tell you the story of her life." 
 
 At this name Arthur started. " ' Julia Lester ! '" he said. 
 " Old man, do you know what you are talking about ? Julia 
 Lester is the maiden name of my dear mother. What do you 
 know of her, and how could you ever be connected with 
 her name in any way ? " 
 
 Now the lawyer's excitement increased. He looked 
 into Arthur's eyes. '' It is as I suspected," he exclaimed, 
 "you are the son of JuUa Lester. Is not your name Mer- 
 ton ? " He waited with feverish anxiety for the young 
 man's answer. 
 
 "Yes," said Arthur, "that is my name, Arthur Merton, 
 but what is the meaning of all this ? " 
 
 " It means," said Ferris, "that this is the happiest day 
 I have known for nearly twenty-five years ; that the mys- 
 tery of my life will all be explained, and that, perhaps, out 
 of this old man's confession will come retribution, and that 
 the offender will suffer well-deserved punishment. You are 
 the son of the woman I loved in my youth, and who was 
 parted from mie by some devilish means, of which I am 
 about to be informed. I do not know what you are doing 
 in Australia, but I am sure that one who was born of her, 
 has her features, and even the tones of her voice, can not 
 be otherwise than pure and honorable, though temporarily 
 connected with this old man, who admits that he has been 
 guilty of crime." 
 
 " I am just out of prison myself," said Arthur, frankly. 
 " I served two years in Millbank, and was sent here in a 
 convict ship, but I am as innocent as a child of the crime 
 of which I was convicted. I am free now, and my inno- 
 cence has been proved, but judge not too harshly of this 
 old man. I have been such a victim myself to the vindic- 
 tiveness of others, that after this I shall believe nothing 
 against any man without the fullest proofs. I will tell you 
 my story when an opportunity occurs, and you can see how 
 
26o ' ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 wrong it is to misjudge any one. Since I have known this 
 old man I have seen nothing in him that is not good. 
 Listen to him patiently ; he is very old, and has undergone 
 suffering enough to expiate even a great crime, if he has ever 
 committed one." 
 
 "Weil, then," said Ferris, " let him begin. I am anxious 
 to know the mystery of the last twenty-five years. My 
 heart tells me that I am about to hear something that will 
 make me wish I had never lived. Go on with your story, 
 and you, my young friend, listen to it." They all sat down, 
 and Eustis Ferris awaited the old man's revelations. 
 
 " You don't remember me," said No. 40. " I am the clerk 
 who came into John Merton's mills just before you were ac- 
 cused of the forgery which sent you out of the country. I 
 am Kirby Brush, the man who committed that forgery. Do 
 you remember me now ? " 
 
 Eustis Ferris sprang from his chair, and rushed toward 
 the old man, as if to lay violent hands on him. " Hell 
 hound ! " he exclaimed in his fury, " what is there to pre- 
 vent me from killing you on the spot? Speak the truth, or 
 I will strangle you." 
 
 Though the lawyer was almost at his throat, the old man 
 sat unmoved, and showed not a particle of fear. He re- 
 plied, calmly : " You will not kill me, because I am a weak 
 old man, and you are a young one. I would be a reed in 
 your hands, and, though I have sinned greatly against you, 
 I could not help myself, T was the tool of John Merton, 
 the owner of Lyneham Mills." 
 
 " My father ! " exclaimed Arthur, excitedly. " Old man, 
 beware what you say. Do not let me change the good opin- 
 ion I have had of you ; for, though he has never treated me 
 with affection, and has deserted me in my hour of need, I 
 can not hear my father's name aspersed without resenting 
 it." 
 
 "And you are John Merton's son ! " said the old man, 
 approaching and peering into his eyes. "Well, well, the 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 26 1 
 
 wolf has begotten a lamb, for you have not a trace of John 
 Merton in your composition. I saw you once when you 
 were a baby, and your beautiful mother was at your side, 
 ready to protect you as I approached her. It was on that 
 day she commissioned me to go to Australia, to Mr. Ferris, 
 and tell him the history of her life. The next day, when I 
 was on board the P. & O. steamer, within two hours of sail- 
 ing, I was seized by a policeman and taken to prison. 
 John Merton appeared against me, furnished proofs that 
 convicted me of forgery, and, when I had served my time, 
 repeated his work, and again I was thrown into prison for 
 crimes I never committed. His money kept me in jail for 
 over twenty years, until I chose it as a place of rest and 
 refuge. Sir, I can't love your father, after all he has done 
 to me, and it was your sweet mother who sent me in quest 
 of Eustis Ferris, that he might know her wrongs. She ab- 
 horred your father when she learned his true character. 
 Condemn me, but let me tell my tale. Then you can do 
 with me as you will, for I am weary of life." 
 
 Arthur sat quietly down. He remembered all the harsh 
 treatment his mother had experienced from his father since 
 he had been able to comprehend anything, and how often 
 he had crept to her side at night, and kissed away her tears. 
 
 " Now," said the old man, " that both of you seem to 
 have recovered from your excitement, pray let me tell you 
 my story. I shall not attempt to palliate my offenses. I 
 have done wicked things, because I had not the moral cour- 
 age to oppose the will of the greatest scoundrel in the world, 
 who, though I served him well and enabled him to escape 
 justice for years, during which time he accumulated great 
 wealth, when he no longer wanted me and I was in his way, 
 he kept me in prison until I became the wreck you see be- 
 fore you. I do not care what happens to me after I have 
 finished my story ; my mission will be accomplished, and 
 my mind once more at rest. In prison I have had ample 
 time to repent of my sins, and I believe my earthly punish- 
 
262 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ment has been so heavy that God will deal leniently with 
 me when my soul escapes from this poor relic of humanity 
 and goes to a world where there will be no apprehension of 
 John Merton's persecutions." 
 
 As the old man's tale is a long one, we will reserve it for 
 another chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 "I was born in Wiltshire and received a good education. 
 At school I was noted for excellent penmanship. I could 
 imitate any handwriting so that it was difficult, if not impos- 
 sible, to detect the counterfeit, an accomplishment which has 
 given me so much trouble that it would have been better 
 if I had never learned to write at all. 
 
 *' I was eighteen years old when gold was discovered in 
 Australia, and with the hope of making a fortune I took 
 passage for Melbourne in company with three hundred or 
 more gold-hunters. I then went under the name of John 
 Merton, but, for reasons which I will explain, I afterward 
 changed it. 
 
 "Young and inexperienced, I was disposed to believe 
 every one who made professions of friendship. One man in 
 particular among my fellow-passengers paid me great atten- 
 tion. He was much older than I, and seemed to have con- 
 siderable means at his disposal. When we stopped at differ- 
 ent ports on the passage out he would take me on shore and 
 do everything he could for my pleasure. He was so kind to 
 me that I at last became wholly under his influence. His 
 name was Kirby Brush." 
 
 *'Why," exclaimed Eustis Ferris, "I thought that was 
 your name." 
 
 " Wait until I finish my story," said the old man. 
 
 " After a passage of one hundred and ten days from 
 England we arrived in Melbourne, and Kirby Brush engaged 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 263 
 
 two rooms in the town for our occupancy. He had letters 
 of introduction, and in the course of a week or so procured 
 a situation as porter in the Bank of ^Melbourne. 
 
 "Although Brush well knew my qualifications, he seemed 
 in no hurry to get me a place. He particularly admired my 
 penmanship, which he often said would be a fortune to me. 
 
 " One day, about a month after our arrival in Melbourne, 
 Brush came into my room. ' John,' he said, ' the time has 
 come for you to begin work. I have received a letter from 
 the proprietor of a large sheep farm, twenty miles from here. 
 I think you will be able to get a place there, but you will 
 first have to do a little job for me. I want you to write a 
 mau's name on a check. He owes me money, and I want to 
 get it.» 
 
 "'Why, that would be forgery,' said I, 'wouldn't it?' 
 
 " ' Do you think I would commit forgery .'' ' said Brush, 
 his jaws snapping together like a steel trap." 
 
 Well did Eustis Ferris remember that snap of the jaws. 
 
 " I was terrified at his looks," continued the old man, 
 " for I was morally weak, and feared to lose my benefactor, 
 as I supposed Brush to be. I stammered out an apology, 
 saying : ' You know better than I do. I will do what you 
 wish.' 
 
 " 'You silly fellow I ' said Brush, ' it's only borrowing a 
 man's name for a day or two ; it's often done in business 
 houses ; the man will never be any wiser, for I'll redeem 
 the check before he knows anything about it. It's purely a 
 business transaction. I have often done the same thing, 
 but now I can't copy a man's signature as well as I could 
 five years ago. Now, John, my boy, let your hand be steady 
 when you undertake this job, for, remember, all the respon- 
 sibility falls on me.' 
 
 "An hour later I sat down and filled out the check for 
 one hundred pounds as Brush directed. 
 
 " His eyes sparkled with delight when he saw how well I 
 had imitated the signature, but my heart misgave me, for I 
 
264 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 could not help thinking I had taken the first step in the 
 downward path. 
 
 *' Next morning Brush came to me, and said, ' John, I 
 want you to take that check to bank. I must disguise you 
 a little so that you will not be known.' 
 
 '' After being so disguised that my mother would not have 
 recognized me, I presented the check at the bank, and when 
 asked if my name was John Merton, to whose order the 
 check was drawn, I answered in the affirmative, and referred 
 to Kirby Brush, who said that he knew me and that I was 
 John Merton, on which the money was paid, much to my 
 relief, for, notwithstanding what Brush had said, I felt sure 
 that the transaction was an illegitimate one and would sub- 
 ject me to punishment if detected. 
 
 " A week later the cashier of the bank called Brush 
 into his room, and said : ' Here's a pretty kettle of fish ; 
 the bank has paid a forged check, and you are respon- 
 sible.' 
 
 " ' Sir,* said Brush, ' if that check of Merton's is a for- 
 gery I'll pay the money. I thought he was honest if anybody 
 is. He sailed for England two days ago, and came to see me 
 just before he started, and said a friend had advanced him 
 money to go home. Right or wrong, I'll pay the amount ; 
 and all I ask is to retain the check, and I think I can recover 
 the money.* Brush accordingly paid the money I had drawn 
 back to the bank, the officers of which were only too glad to 
 get it and did not bother Brush with many questions. The 
 latter received the check with the bank indorsement pro- 
 nouncing it a forgery, and rose at once into great favor 
 with the authorities, who considered him a most upright and 
 conscientious person. 
 
 " When Brush came home that evening, he said to me : 
 *Well, you've given me a lot of trouble, and I wouldn't give 
 twopence for your chances if you are apprehended, for this 
 is one of the most barefaced forgeries ever committed in 
 Melbourne.* 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 265 
 
 " I turned pale and almost fainted. ' Why,' I said, ' you 
 told me to do it and said there was no harm.' 
 
 " ' And who do you suppose will believe such a tale as 
 that?' said Brush. ' I know you to be an unmitigated rascal, 
 and if you fail to do my bidding I will have you breaking 
 stone for the next ten years.' 
 
 " I was overcome with terror and wept like a child. 
 
 " From that hour I became the slave of Kirby Brush ; if 
 I showed any hesitation in complying with his demands he 
 would shake the forged check in my face and threaten to 
 have me arrested. 
 
 " Brush amassed money in various ways, and finally estab- 
 lished a stage between Ballarat and Melbourne and selected 
 me to act as guard for the mails which he obtained the 
 contract for transporting. It may seem strange that he 
 should have chosen me for such an office, but Brush feared 
 neither man nor devil, and was a dead shot. He was a very 
 powerful and a very active man and merely wanted to use me. 
 
 "Brush established a character for honesty with the 
 miners aided by letters he received from the • Melbourne 
 Bank, and on his return trips from Ballarat the miners in- 
 trusted to him their bags of gold weighed in common scales 
 and the gold-dust mixed with iron pyrites and other foreign 
 substances. 
 
 "When we stopped for the night on the road Brush 
 would carry the mails and bags of gold to his room and 
 remove a portion of the gold-dust and seal the bags up 
 again. 
 
 '"'' This game he carried on for two years, during which 
 time he transported several hundred thousand pounds' worth 
 of gold, and with what he embezzled, together with his com- 
 missions. Brush managed to pocket some twenty thousand 
 pounds sterling, and yet escape any general suspicion. 
 
 "On one occasion, a miner insinuated that Brush had 
 been 'milking the bags,' whereupon the latter shot him dead 
 on the spot. As there was no law, excepting miners' law in 
 
266 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 the * diggings,' the transaction passed without question, and 
 after that no one objected to Kirby Brush's returns. 
 
 " During this period, Brush was married to a handsome 
 girl of seventeen, named Sylvia Brooks, on which occasion 
 I personated the parson. The simple parents of the girl 
 lived about ten miles from Melbourne, on a sheep-farm. 
 
 ** After this piece of villainy, Brush gave up his stage- 
 coach, and, strange to say, took his old position as porter 
 of the Melbourne Bank. Again he set me to work to do 
 his rascally bidding. I had gained no courage even in the 
 rough life I led, and submitted like a child. At Brush's 
 order I hired the third house from the bank, in the name of 
 Merton & Co., and stocked it with trunks and harness, for 
 which Brush furnished the money. The house was about 
 twenty feet front, and extended three rooms deep. I could 
 not conceive his object, but was soon made aware of his in- 
 tentions. That night he introduced into the house two 
 wheelbarrows and a number of spades, pick-axes, etc. The 
 cellar under the Melbourne Bank had been fitted as a vault 
 for the storage of boxes containing gold-dust, preparatory to 
 shipping them to England. It was ceiled with heavy iron 
 plating, and floored with stone slabs, laid in cement. In the 
 cellar was a fireplace, with strong iron bars running across 
 the chimney. Fire was sometimes built here to smelt gold. 
 Everything looked so strong and massive it seemed as if 
 burglars could have no chance of entering. In the bank an 
 armed watchman kept guard day and night over the massive 
 trap-door which formed the entrance to the cellar. The au- 
 thorities of the bank, who kept the keys to the vault, con- 
 sidered it so safe that they gave little heed to the matter, 
 but Kirby Brush was of another opinion, for, after studying 
 the matter carefully, he determined to rob the vault. 
 
 " By his conduct in redeeming the forged check. Brush 
 had established a reputation at the bank for honesty, at the 
 same time that he made me his slave, so that when he again 
 entered the service of the bank the authorities were ready 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 267 
 
 to intrust him with anything, and relied on him to examine 
 all parts of the building before locking up for the night. 
 
 *' The third night after renting the building before men- 
 tioned, Brush commenced operations. He ordered me to 
 go with him to the cellar, rolled up his sleeves, and, seizing 
 a spade, began to dig. It was near midnight when we set 
 to work, and Brush threw out the dirt Hke a steam-engine, 
 while I wheeled it away and piled it up in the farther end 
 of the cellar. 
 
 " In six nights he had tunneled under the foundations 
 of the adjoining house, and was approaching the bank, 
 propj-^hig the earth overhead with timbers, to prevent it 
 from falling in. Brush directed his course toward the fire- 
 place in the bank cellar, and struck it with the skill of an 
 engineer. At about four o'clock each morning, he made me 
 accompany him home and sleep in the room with him. It 
 was his custom to lock the door and put a loaded revolver 
 under his pillow, saying, ' This revolver is for you in case 
 you open your mouth about what we are doing.' 
 
 " On the sixth night, Brush brought four light jack-screws 
 into the building, cleared away the dirt under the hearth- 
 stone, and fixed the jack-screws so that by working them 
 the hearthstone was raised high enough for him to crawl 
 into the bank-vault. In a few moments we vvere both in 
 the cellar, looking around with our lanterns, and saw some 
 two hundred boxes of gold, awaiting shipment. I shivered 
 with fright, but Brush was perfectly cool. With a screw- 
 driver, he opened the boxes one after another in perfect 
 quiet, and with a celerity that astonished me. From each 
 box he opened Brush took about five ounces of gold-dust, 
 and replaced it with an equal weight of iron pyrites, which 
 he had previously prepared. 
 
 "That night he opened some thirty boxes, while I said 
 nothing. 
 
 " The watchman overhead walked constantly up and 
 down with heavy tread ; sometimes we could hear him 
 
268 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 stumble, at which Brush would smile, for he knew the 
 walker had had his beer drugged, and was trying to keep 
 awake. The rats chased each other around the vault, and 
 watched us with inquiring eyes. Sleep finally overtook the 
 watchman, and his walking ceased for the night. 
 
 *' Our work for the night being over and all marks of 
 our presence carefully effaced, we descended to our tunnel, 
 and lowered the hearthstone again into place. That night's 
 work produced for Brush ^500 worth of gold, and he kept 
 up the business for nearly a year, making me the medium 
 through whom the gold was sold back to the bank. At the 
 end of the year Brush had accumulated about ^100,000, 
 giving me a small portion of the booty, and continually re- 
 minding me that my life was in danger, if I attempted to 
 play him false. 
 
 " Brush knew that ultimately the robbery would be de- 
 tected and reported to the Melbourne Bank, so he deter- 
 mined to decamp before the discovery took place ; he ac- 
 cordingly took passage for himself and me for England, 
 never mentioning to his wife that he was going. 
 
 "Before we sailed he said to me: * Merton, we must 
 change names. After this you will be Kirby Brush and I 
 will be John Merton. I wish this for my own purposes ; 
 if you get in my way you know how easily I can dispose of 
 you ; a slight pressure of my finger on the trigger of my re- 
 volver would send you to eternity, while I would weep bit- 
 ter tears over the accident which had robbed me of the dear 
 young friend and companion in exile. But I do not want 
 to kill you, for you are a mine of wealth to me. Once in 
 England I will make your fortune.' 
 
 " He then made me take a solemn oath to be known in 
 future as Kirby Brush, and to assist him in maintaining the 
 name of John Merton as long as he chose to bear it. 
 
 " I took the oath and signed my name to the paper, for 
 I dared not do otherwise, and ever since I have been known 
 as Kirby Brush. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 269 
 
 " John Merton, as I will now call him, put the paper in 
 his pocket, and said : * I am now going on board the steam- 
 er with our luggage, and as I don't want to be seen too much 
 with you, will lock you up in this room until I come back. 
 
 " ' My God ! ' I exclaimed after Merton had departed, 
 ' v.hat a life I am leading ! Better die at once than continue 
 in this way. I will escape and give myself up ; better spend 
 my life in prison than follow this wretch in his career of 
 villainy.* 
 
 " I looked in vain for something by which I could force 
 the door. I could not jump from the window without the 
 certainty of being killed. At length I found a rope hidden 
 away in a closet, and sufficiently strong to bear my weight. 
 I secured one end of the rope and commenced my descent, 
 but just before reaching the ground a pistol-shot rang in my 
 ear, the end of my thumb was shot off, the rope was cut in 
 two, and I fell stunned and bleeding to the ground. 
 
 " When I came to myself John Merton stood over me. 
 * Fool,' he exclaimed, ' to think you could escape me ! I 
 could have put a ball through your head, and claimed that 
 I thought you were a burglar ; but I chose to cut the rope 
 so that you would get a tumble. Try that game again and 
 I'll put a bullet through your heart. Get up-stairs before 
 somebody comes along and asks ugly questions.' 
 
 "That was the last time I attempted to escape from 
 Merton before taking the step that cost me so many years 
 in prison. 
 
 " We reached England in due time, and John Merton 
 established himself near Lyneham as a manufacturer, and 
 there he is still. Whether the bank ever suspected him of 
 tampering with their gold-boxes I do not know, but it is 
 probable they did not. To dispose of me Merton obtained 
 a certificate that I was insane, and immured me in a private 
 asylum. Strange as you may consider it, I was quite happy 
 when I found myself in the asylum, free, as I supposed, 
 from Merton. I behaved so strangely that my keeper was 
 
2/0 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 convinced that I was a desperate case. The four years I 
 passed in the asylum were the halcyon days of my life. I 
 sought employment in the garden and grew robust and act- 
 ive, a great contrast to my miserable appearance when I 
 entered the asylum, and I thought my persecutor would 
 trouble me no more so long as I remained quiet. 
 
 " One day while I was working in the garden I heard 
 footsteps behind me, and looking round beheld John Mer- 
 ton. My heart sank within me, for I felt that some new 
 evil was in store for me. * Brush,' said my tormentor, 'come 
 with me, I have work for you to do. Your treatment will 
 depend on how you fulfill my washes ; if you attempt to 
 escape I will send you to prison for life.' " 
 
 Arthur here interrupted the speaker. 
 
 " And this man of whom you are speaking is my 
 father .? " 
 
 "Yes," replied No. 40, "the destroyer of your mother's 
 happiness, who by forgery separated her from Eustis Ferris, 
 her betrothed, and drove him to Australia ; who made your 
 mother so unhappy that she attempted to escape from him, 
 whereupon he threatened to put her in a madhouse. Your 
 father has no claim on you ; your duty is to your mother, 
 who has brought you up tenderly. I remember how your 
 father treated her while I was at Lyneham, and I shall never 
 forget her tears as she told me how she had been parted from 
 Eustis Ferris, for she never believed in the charges brought 
 against him." 
 
 At these words Eustis Ferris could not conceal his agi- 
 tation, while Arthur, who remembered his father's cruel 
 treatment of his mother was equally a prey to his feelings. 
 
 ''In England," continued the old man, "is the author 
 of all your woes, and you both owe it to yourselves and to 
 the woman you love best on earth, to go there at once and 
 denounce John Merton to the law." 
 
 Arthur raised his head and exclaimed : " Old man, you 
 are right. I detest the man, and will never be satisfied un- 
 
AR THUR MER TON. 2 7 1 
 
 til I redress my mother's wrongs. Go on with your story ; 
 I will not interrupt you again." 
 
 " John Merton," continued the old man, "took me to 
 Lyneham and lodged me in a room adjoining the one he 
 occupied. The windows were barred and the door at night 
 locked upon me. I was constantly shadowed by detect- 
 ives. To endeavor to escape would be madness, and I sur- 
 rendered to my fate. 
 
 " The day after my arrival at the Merton mills, my per- 
 secutor sent for me, and said : ' I want you to do some writ- 
 ing for me. I have In my employ a young fellow named 
 Eustis Ferris. He is offensive to me, and I want to send 
 him out of the country. Here are some of his letters. Make 
 a check out to the order of Eustis Ferris for ;^ioo and 
 sign my name to it with Ferris's indorsement. Have a sheet 
 of paper with my name written all over it as if some one had 
 been practicing. Do you understand .^ ' he said, fiercely. 
 
 " ' I do,' I said, ' may God have mercy on me ! ' 
 
 " ' I'll have no mercy on you unless you do as I bid you.' 
 
 " That evening, Mr. Ferris, I saw you walking on the 
 bank of the river with your betrothed, and determined to 
 reveal the plot against you, but I could not shake oft my 
 detective. Even if I threw myself into the river he would 
 pull me out. I blush to think what a coward I was." 
 
 Eustis Ferris could stand it no longer. '' Good heav- 
 ens ! " he exclaimed, " can men be permitted to exist and 
 perpetrate such crimes ? May Merton reap the reward he 
 deserves ! I will devote all my energies to bring him to 
 justice." 
 
 " Oh, my poor mother ! " exclaimed Arthur. " I know 
 the anguish she has suffered. My mother must be rescued 
 from the power of that man if she is still living. We must 
 go and rescue her." 
 
 *' That you should do," said No. 40, " and take me with 
 you as evidence against Merton. He thinks I am dead. 
 
 " When you were gone," continued the old man, address- 
 
272 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ing Eustis, " Merton kept up his forgeries through me which 
 brought about his marriage with JuHa Lester. I committed 
 to memory the letters I wrote and made copies which I have 
 with me." 
 
 The old man handed a small packet to Eustis Ferris who 
 looked the papers carefully over and then handed them to 
 Arthur. 
 
 Eustis Ferris had held up manfully until this time, but 
 when he read the letters and realized all that Julia had suf- 
 fered, he gave way to his feelings and sobbed like a child. 
 
 " Little more remains to be told," continued the old 
 man. " Merton became suspicious and having no further oc- 
 casion for my services determined to send me to America. 
 One day he handed me a check. * Forge my name to that,' 
 Ke said, * and you are free.' My heart leaped for joy. I 
 had forged his name so often that a few times more or less 
 made no difference to me. The check was for ^100 pay- 
 able to the order of Kirby Brush. * Now indorse the check,' 
 said Merton. I complied with the order and Merton put 
 the check in his pocket. 
 
 *" Now,' said he, 'these are your orders: go to Liver- 
 pool and embark at once for America. Let me know when 
 you get there, and I will allow you ;^ioo a year on which to 
 live until you obtain employment. If you ever come to 
 England without my permission I will send you to prison 
 for forgery.' He then gave me a bank-note for ^100, and 
 instructed me to inform him when and in what steamer I 
 sailed. 
 
 " That same afternoon, on my way to take the train, I met 
 Mrs Merton and told her my story as briefly as possible. 
 I can see now the look of despair in her countenance, the 
 agony she felt when she learned the truth about her lover. 
 
 " ' Go,' she said, ' to Australia and tell Eustis how I was 
 deceived, how wretched has been my life.' I promised to 
 do as she wished if it cost me my life. 
 
 "I went to Southampton, followed by a detective, and 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 273 
 
 under a new name secured passage to Australia. Then I 
 was arrested under a charge of forgery. At my trial Mer- 
 ton appeared as accuser. He had employed some one to 
 present the check, who not being known at the bank was re- 
 fused payment and the check retained and pronounced a 
 forgery when shown to Merton. 
 
 " At the expiration of my term of imprisonment I was 
 again arrested and at the end of my second term begged 
 the governor of Millbank to let me remain in prison until a 
 convict ship should go to Australia. 
 
 " Here I am, and I am willing to die, for life has no longer 
 any attractions for me." 
 
 " Give me your hand, old man," said Eustis Ferris. "You 
 have sinned for want of moral courage, but you have been 
 true to the mission you undertook so many years ago. You 
 have lifted a weight from my heart, and I now have an 
 object in life — the rescue of the best of women from bond- 
 age to a villain. You will both take up your quarters with 
 me. Arthur, what you have missed in the affection of a 
 father, I will endeavor to supply. As I have no fondness for 
 riches they have flown in upon me. We will try to make 
 your dear mother happy if she is still in existence." 
 
 Arthur pressed Eustis Ferris's hand ; his heart was too 
 full for utterance. 
 
 " Now," said Eustis, " we must get ready to return to 
 England, where I hope once more to look upon your moth- 
 er's face and guard her from the man who has made her life 
 so unhappy." 
 
 CHAPTER XXHI. 
 
 Elsie Vernon v/atched over her patient with unremit- 
 ting care. For the first three months there was but a faint 
 glimmer of reason in Julia Merton's beautiful eyes, though 
 she seemed to know Elsie, and gazed after her as she moved 
 18 
 
274 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 about the room, making Elsie sit by her, and holding her 
 hand until she fell asleep. Julia's reason gradually returned. 
 At first, it was like the glimmer of a candle that has burned 
 to its socket, yet there was an improvement, which Elsie 
 noticed with delight, and in six months her patient was cog- 
 nizant of all that v/as going on around her, and could ex- 
 press her wants very freely. She seemed, however, to have 
 no recollection of past events, beyond the fact that Arthur 
 had left her for a time, and she was daily expecting his re- 
 turn, and anticipating the happiness of seeing him united 
 to Elsie. During the six months Elsie scarcely left her 
 patient, except when her father occasionally came to take 
 her for a walk, and on Sunday evenings, when she would 
 take tea with him, tidy up the house, and see that he did 
 not fall into old bachelor ways, returning at eight o'clock 
 to her duties. 
 
 Ronald Pentland had called frequently at Woodlawn, 
 but Elsie persistently refused to see him. She had, after a 
 long struggle, obtained control of her feelings, and intended 
 that nothing should interfere with the completion of the task 
 she had undertaken. Besides she had heard reports that did 
 not please her. Ronald's habits were growing irregular, and 
 Elsie was told that he drank deeply ; that he would ride 
 like mad over the country, jumping fences and frightening 
 peaceable people along the way ; that his associates were 
 not the choicest, and twice he had been carried home after 
 being thrown from his horse. He was laid up once for a 
 month, during which time he behaved so queerly and 
 spoke so incoherently that his anxious parents did not know 
 what to make of it. The physicians could find no physical 
 ailment, and came to the conclusion that Ronald was suffer- 
 ing from mental disease, and that to cure it would require 
 time and patience, and the removal of the cause, whatever 
 it might be. 
 
 It is seldom that a mother does not find out the trouble 
 of a beloved son, and Mrs. Pentland went to work to make 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 2/5 
 
 a diagnosis of Ronald's complaint. She ascertained that 
 he was madly in love with Elsie Vernon. He told his 
 mother that she had absolutely refused to see him, that it 
 was killing him by inches, and that he had to drink to 
 drown thought, or he would go mad. This was true in a 
 measure, but remorse also affected Ronald Pentland. He 
 could not sleep, and his manly figure was wasting away. 
 Though still handsome, he had the appearance of a de- 
 bauchee^ and he was so changed that he held little commu- 
 nication with his parents. This almost broke his mother's 
 heart, and, in despair, she determined to go to Elsie, and 
 implore her to be kinder to her son. 
 
 Ronald Pentland rarely retired till after midnight, and 
 was up early in the morning either for a mad ride or to 
 range with dog and gun over hill and dale, until, tired with 
 hunting, he would lie down under some tree to sleep. 
 These were the best intervals of rest that he obtained, but, 
 even though sleeping, he would see the friend of his youth 
 in chains and bowed by toil, urged by a cruel taskmaster be- 
 yond his strength. He thought of the affection that once 
 existed between Arthur and himself, and how his friend 
 would allow him to go beyond him in his class to save him 
 from mortification. He remembered also how Arthur stood 
 by him in his boyish battles, and how he had assumed the 
 task of thrashing the brutal Bill Briggs, whom he, Ronald, 
 had later taken as a partner, to drive Arthur to destruction. 
 
 When he thought of all this, Ronald would become ter- 
 rified at the blackness of his crimes, would shriek like a 
 maniac, and hide his head to shut out the vision. Some- 
 times he would try to pray, but prayers would not come to 
 his lips. He would regret his crime, but then would come 
 the thought : " Would I not rather do it all over again than 
 see him possess Elsie, who may yet learn to love me ? " If 
 he could only see her, he could win her love, for she had 
 always been fond of him, and he felt sure that there was no 
 way in which she and Arthur could ever be united, as the 
 
276 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 latter had been sentenced to two years at hard labor and to 
 ten years of penal servitude in Australia. That length of 
 time in prison would naturally change the character of any 
 man, and what woman would consent to look at him when 
 his term had expired ? After consorting with criminals for 
 years, that was out of the question. The proud blood of 
 the Vernons would never consent to such an alliance, and 
 without that consent Elsie would never marry. This argu- 
 ment served to partially console Ronald, but he determined 
 to bring the influence of his mother to bear to insure a meet- 
 ing with the woman he loved to distraction. 
 
 Mrs. Pentland willingly undertook the embassy, and one 
 morning went over to VVoodlawn, and sent up for Elsie, 
 who soon appeared. " Dear Mrs. Pentland," she said, " I 
 feel quite happy to-day ; Mrs. Merton is much brighter this 
 morning, and asked me to sing for her." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Mrs. Pentland, kissing her. 
 " God will reward you for all your care and interest in the 
 dear invalid. Mrs. Merton is suffering from a terrible 
 shock, and some chord in her soul may one day be struck 
 by the feeling of joy, and restore her to her normal condi- 
 tion, for joy never kills. It may be that her present condition 
 is a wise dispensation of Providence to relieve her from the 
 anguish she would suffer if she knew that her son had been 
 transported as a felon." 
 
 Elsie's face flushed at the words. She looked indignant, 
 and replied quickly : " You should have added, Mrs. Pent- 
 land, ' when he was as innocent as a child, through a vile 
 plot that was conceived against him.' " 
 
 " Who knows ? " said Mrs. Pentland, who had not no- 
 ticed Elsie's manner. " My husband, who is a very shrewd 
 man, says that there can be no mistake in a trial by jury, 
 and that the system is the palladium of British liberty." 
 
 " And yet," said Elsie, " I have heard of cases where 
 men, who were afterward proved innocent, have been found 
 guilty and hanged on circumstantial evidence." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 277 
 
 "Well, dear Elsie," said Mrs. Pentland, " don't let us 
 talk about this matter ; it is too painful. Poor Arthur has 
 been condemned, and he has yet over ten years to serve be- 
 fore he can ever return to his mother, if he ever does return, 
 for the chances are that after consorting with the class of 
 people with whom he is thrown, he would not return the 
 same Arthur who left here, and, then, who would receive 
 a returned convict ? " 
 
 *' I would I " exclaimed Elsie, rising ; " I would receive 
 him with rapture. He would be to me the same glorious 
 Arthur I have known from childhood and whom I shall love 
 and respect as long as life lasts. His innocence will yet 
 be established and his character will shine the brighter for 
 the odious charges brought against him. The people who 
 know him will welcome him home and do all in their power 
 to make amends for the terrible treatment he has received." 
 
 Mrs. Pentland was astonished at finding Elsie so strong 
 an advocate for a disgraced man, but she said to herself : 
 "She would have stood up for Ronald just the same had he 
 been in Arthur's place." Aloud she said : " Darling, you 
 are a noble girl, and will be a prize to the man to whom you 
 give your hand, but I came to talk about my poor Ronald 
 who feels terribly that you have so persistently refused to 
 see him." 
 
 " I am sorry," said Elsie, " but when I took charge of 
 Mrs. Merton, I determined to give my entire time to her 
 service. How would it look for me to be receiving young 
 men at a time when my heart is engrossed with the care 
 of an invalid ? I should condemn myself if no one else did." 
 
 " But, Elsie," was the reply, " Ronald's case is so differ- 
 ent. He has been to you as a brother and now you are 
 the idol he worships. You will be enshrined in his heart while 
 he lives. He thinks it is hard that you should separate 
 yourself from him when he would so gladly assist you in 
 your labor of love. You are killing yourself with confine- 
 ment ; the roses are fading from your cheeks, your eyes are 
 
2/8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 not so bright as formerly, looks of care are beginning to 
 show themselves on your face, and it distresses Ronald to 
 think that you refuse a companionship that would cheer you 
 up and might bring the smiles back to your lips and the 
 color to your cheeks. You will break down under your pres- 
 ent system if you continue it. The world does not expect 
 you to sacrifice yourself in your devotion to one who is not 
 a relative." 
 
 " You are mistaken there, Mrs. Pentland," said Elsie, 
 " and we might as well understand each other. I am bound 
 to Mrs. Merton by ties as strong as those of nature — the 
 love I bear to her son who is dearer to me in his disgrace 
 than anybody else in the world. I am his affianced wife, and 
 will so remain until death takes one or the other of us from 
 this sorrowful world." 
 
 Mrs. Pentland gasped with astonishment, but at length 
 she found words in which to express herself. " Elsie," she 
 said, ^'has your close confinement unsettled your brain.? 
 None of us have ever imagined this, and the news will break 
 poor Ronald's heart. He loves you, Elsie ; his whole soul 
 is wrapped up in you, and from the time that he could fix 
 his heart in love that heart has been entirely yours. He has 
 always looked forward to the time when you would con- 
 sent to be his wife, and Mr. Pentland and I have discussed 
 the matter for five years past. Oh, Elsie ! why can not you 
 throw off these feelings which are causing you to lead an 
 unnatural life and give happiness to those who love you so 
 dearly } " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Pentland," said Elsie, "I thank you and 
 yours for all the kindness you have shown me. You will, no 
 doubt, be surprised to learn that before Ronald went to 
 London he laid his heart bare before me. I can not tell you 
 how it pained me to know that he had formed that kind of 
 affection for me when I thought his love only of a brotherly 
 nature. I told him it would be useless ever to think of 
 such a thing as marriage, and that I hoped he would continue 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 279 
 
 his brotherly feelings toward me and not make me unhappy 
 by again referring to the matter. He implied that he would 
 be guided by my wishes, and I have kept away from him 
 that I might not encourage hopes that can never be fulfilled 
 and to enable me to follow the path of duty I have marked 
 out, without having anything to make me more unhappy 
 than I am already." 
 
 Mrs. Pentland seemed still more astonished. " Heavens! " 
 she exclaimed, " Ronald never told me of this ! How the 
 poor boy must have suffered in keeping this secret from his 
 mother, to whom he has always confided everything ! But, 
 Elsie, dear, do not drive him to despair. See him some- 
 times, and do not have it on your conscience that you wrecked 
 a life that might have been a star among men but for you. 
 At least encourage him to do right and not to throw himself 
 away, for no one has so much influence over him as you. 
 Let this be a part of your service on earth. If you bring 
 Ronald to a sense of his injustice to his parents in the reck- 
 less course of life he has lately pursued you will be entitled 
 to our deepest gratitude." 
 
 " I will see him," said Elsie, with tears in her eyes, " and 
 talk to him, but, oh, Mrs. Pentland, do not blame me for 
 what I could not help. I never gave him a word of en- 
 couragement in my life to lead him to address me." 
 
 "Ah, Elsie," said Mrs. Pentland, "your ways were very 
 winsome always, and you have that sweet, coquettish way 
 which wins men's hearts. Perhaps pity for Ronald's miser- 
 able state may cause you to relent and take a happier view 
 of his case ; you would make so many happy — while there is 
 no possibility of your being united to Arthur." 
 
 "Perhaps not," said Elsie, sadly, " but while Arthur lives 
 my heart will cling to him as the ivy to the oak. He is 
 my support, and should he die all my hopes of happiness in 
 this life will perish. I will see Ronald and try to teach 
 him that he has duties in life which call for sacrifices and 
 that he owes it to his parents to try and make them happy." 
 
28o ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 " Thank you, dear, thank you. See Ronald and talk to 
 him. I am sure you will disperse the clouds which are 
 lowering over him as the sun disperses the mists of the morn- 
 ing." Kissing Elsie fondly Mrs. Pentland took her leave, 
 her heart uplifted with joy at the prospect of bringing Elsie 
 and Ronald together once more. 
 
 The following day Ronald called at Woodlawn, for he 
 could not restrain his impatience to see Elsie, but there 
 was not a flutter in her heart at the visit of one who she 
 knew loved her. Her love for Arthur had overmastered 
 all minor affections, and though she had once held Ronald in 
 such high esteem, she looked forward to the meeting as sim- 
 ply with an old acquaintance. When she entered the room 
 Ronald stepped forward to greet her, but she received him 
 calmly, shaking hands as if she had seen him only the week 
 before. 
 
 ^' I am glad to see you, Ronald," she said, " and if I have 
 not received you when you called before it was because I 
 have higher duties to perform than in receiving visits. You 
 do not look well ; you must be careful of your health for the 
 sake of your parents." 
 
 "And do you take no interest in my welfare, Elsie?" 
 he said, *' for without that I care for the good wishes of no 
 one." 
 
 '' Fie, Ronald, fie ! " she said, "that is the most unmanly 
 expression I ever heard from you. Please do not use such 
 words of flattery if you wish to visit me. I promised your 
 mother I would see you and try to remove you from the 
 morbid state into which you have fallen, and I will do so if 
 you will permit me to remain the same friend I have always 
 been to you, but if you disturb my mind by reference to 
 that which is past I shall take refuge in flight, and you will 
 see me no more." 
 
 Ronald knew Elsie's determination too well to reject her 
 terms, and he said : '* I accept your conditions, Elsie. All 
 my life I have been accustomed to your society, and it seems 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 28 1 
 
 hard that I should be deprived of it as if I had committed 
 some dishonorable act and was without the pale of your for- 
 giveness. It may look to the world as if this was the case, 
 while, in fact, I have done nothing but sympathize with you 
 in what you have undertaken — a work that has endeared you 
 more and more to all who know you. But don't you think, 
 Elsie, that you are unjust to yourself in the life you are lead- 
 ing? I can see a change in you, and the roses which were 
 blooming on your cheeks and which gave such luster to 
 your beauty are fading. It is as if I had awakened in the 
 morning after a shower and found my most beautiful rose- 
 bush broken and the flowers scattered on the ground. You 
 should be more careful of your health, for, if you should 
 break down what would become of your patient ? " 
 
 "I walk and take exercise with my father," she said, 
 ''but not so much as I should, as he is growing old and can 
 not stand much fatigue." 
 
 ''Well, then," said he, "let me call for you on such days 
 as you do not go with your father. We will extend the 
 walk. You remember the long walks you and I and dear 
 Arthur used to take ? " 
 
 Elsie's eyes filled with tears at hearing the events of her 
 past happy Hfe thus spoken of, and she could not resist feel- 
 ing most kindly toward Ronald for the affectionate way in 
 which he spoke of Arthur. "Thank you," she said, "for 
 your kind words for poor Arthur. There is, then, one per- 
 son in the world besides myself that does not doubt him." 
 
 "/ doubt him ! " exclaimed Ronald. " I know him to be 
 incapable of crime and as innocent as a babe." He spoke 
 warmly, and no one knew better than he how true were his 
 words. " You must not suppose, Elsie," he continued, " that 
 you are the only one who sympathizes with Arthur in his 
 misfortunes ; his cruel fate almost broke my heart. At times 
 I have almost been deranged when thinking of it, and have 
 been obliged to mount my horse and ride like mad over 
 hill and dale. The country people about here think me 
 
282 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 crazy, but I assure you, Elsie, my conduct has all been 
 owing to my sympathy for Arthur, whom I loved as much 
 as any man ever loved another. When I lost his compan- 
 ionship I felt as if one of my limbs had been lopped off. 
 His sentence will forever remain a stigma upon the jury 
 which convicted him, but he will come out of this trouble 
 some day pure and undefiled. I would have given my life 
 to save him from being sentenced, and worked day and 
 night in his behalf." 
 
 By this time Elsie was weeping bitterly. She seized 
 Ronald's hand, and said : " Did you do all that, dear Ron- 
 ald } I never knew it, and have been accusing all the world 
 for taking no interest in him. Thank you again and again. 
 Oh, I am so glad to have some one to whom I can talk of 
 Arthur and his misfortunes ! Only to think how his noble 
 soul must be crushed under the weight of his disgrace ! He 
 can not endure it long, and I expect at any time to hear of 
 his death. Death would be welcome after the separation 
 from all that his heart holds dear. I shall mourn him while 
 I live, and hope to meet him in a better world. To-morrow, 
 Ronald, we will take a walk and visit some of the scenes so 
 dear to us, but now, good-by, I must go to my invalid." 
 
 Ronald was much delighted at the turn matters had 
 taken. He had been so long mixed up in intrigues that he 
 thought he saw a way in which he could turn the promised 
 walks to his advantage, provided he was cautious and pa- 
 tient in following up his designs. With a light heart he 
 walked home and sought his mother. Mrs. Pentland no- 
 ticed his changed condition at once, and ran to embrace 
 him. ''Oh! my son," she said, "I see that Elsie has been 
 kind to you. God grant that this may continue, and who 
 knows but that it will all end well ? " 
 
 " She has asked me to walk with her, mother, to-morrow, 
 to revisit some of the scenes we loved so well in days gone 
 by, but this is a piece of sentiment connected with Arthur, 
 and not on account of any feelings she has for me. I am 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 283 
 
 only the brother she knew in childhood — Arthur is the love 
 of her life." 
 
 "Persevere," said his mother, *' and sympathize with her 
 in her grief ; nothing wins so much on another as sympathy 
 with their misfortunes. She may yet find in you the quali- 
 ties the other possessed in her eyes, for, Ronald, you were 
 very much alike in many things, and you were the hand- 
 somer of the two." 
 
 Ronald's face flushed as his mother paid him these com- 
 pliments, for he knew how little he deserved them, and what 
 a traitor to his friend and how base he had been, but he sank 
 his rem.orse in the bright view of the future which stretched 
 out before him. The mother and son talked for hours about 
 future prospects and parted at midnight, Ronald to dream 
 over bright visions which for some time past he had given 
 up all hope of realizing. In his brightest dreams there 
 would, however, rise before him the form of the friend whom 
 he had consigned to an ignominious fate, pointing at him 
 and crying out, " Thou art the man ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 More than a year had passed since Arthur's incarcera- 
 tion in Millbank prison, but few of his most intimate friends 
 knew where he was. Elsie had been given the impression 
 that he had been sent to Australia, and that it was probable 
 he would never return from that country alive, as he would, 
 most likely, sink under his disgrace. It was sixteen months 
 after Arthur was placed in prison that Ronald had his in- 
 terview with Elsie. The following day Ronald called at 
 Woodlawn, and found Elsie dressed in mourning, waiting 
 his appearance. She took his arm, and said : " There is a 
 place dear to us both, from memories of Arthur ; some of our 
 happiest days were spent there in company. Those bright 
 
284 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 days seem like a dream to me now. Let us go to the mound 
 where we used to sit and feed the doves." 
 
 " WilUngly," said Ronald. 
 
 " My poor doves," continued Elsie, " how I have neg- 
 lected them ! and my poor father can not supply my place. 
 Do you know, Ronald, papa is failing very fast } This blow 
 seems to have crushed him, and he sits and mopes all day, 
 although I try my best to cheer him up. We will go and 
 see him this morning. He loves you dearly, and I hope you 
 will call and see him sometimes ; but you must be careful 
 what you say, for he dislikes to talk about Arthur." 
 
 " I will do as you wish, Elsie," replied Ronald, " and I 
 think I can bring your father to talk about our dear friend, 
 and to sympathize in our sorrows." 
 
 They walked along side by side, talking as they used to 
 do in days gone by, Ronald's heart beating tumultuously at 
 the idea of being at the side of the woman he loved, while 
 she thought only of the promise she had made Mrs. Pent- 
 land to rescue her son from the fate which threatened him. 
 Having felt a new pleasure in talking to him in regard to 
 Arthur the previous day, Elsie seemed to have forgotten 
 that he was once a suitor for her hand. She did not forget 
 it, but thought she was sufficiently mistress of herself to 
 check Ronald in any demonstration of love, and she longed 
 to have some one with whom she could talk of Arthur, some 
 one who could sympathize with her. She felt, therefore, too 
 contented with the new arrangement to raise any question 
 with herself in regard to the propriety of her course. 
 
 Ronald had deceived her so completely with his prot- 
 estations of affection for Arthur, that Elsie never doubted 
 his sincerity. And why should she ? She had always 
 known Ronald as upright and honorable, second only to the 
 beloved of her soul, and now, when her heart is almost fam- 
 ished for want of sympathy, Ronald comes to her rescue as 
 the only one who believed implicitly in Arthur's innocence. 
 Her father did not say much at any time, though he always 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 285 
 
 listened to her patiently. What a Godsend, then, it was to 
 have Ronald again as her companion ! He listened to her 
 and encouraged her to talk, and entered warmly into her 
 feelings, while, with the duplicity which had become part of 
 his nature, he led her to believe that he had sunk his own 
 feelings in the commiseration he felt for her woes. He de- 
 ceived her entirely in this matter, for she could not con- 
 ceive that the honorable boy who had been almost a part of 
 her life, *' could assume a virtue though he had it not." So 
 Elsie fell into the snare, and gave that confidence to Ron- 
 ald which, at one time, she supposed could never be given 
 to any one but Arthur. 
 
 But who can tell the varying phases of a woman's char- 
 acter? A woman must have some one to lean upon, to 
 whom she can tell her sorrows. Men will carry their afilic- 
 tions in their hearts and the world be no wiser. Man is 
 formed by his Creator to withstand storms which would over- 
 whelm a woman, and he will bear his burden in a silence 
 that is foreign to a woman's character. Take, for example, 
 the case of Eustis Ferris, who, for so many years had borne 
 his misfortunes with a calmness which showed the greatness 
 of his soul. Whatever sorrow he felt he never sought a 
 confidant, nor exhibited his grief to a pitiless world. He 
 never forgot the loss of the woman he loved. She was en- 
 shrined in his heart so deeply that nothing could divert his 
 thoughts from her image and the memory of those blissful 
 days when he walked with her along the banks of the Avon. 
 You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you will, 
 But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 
 
 Elsie had no one on whom she could lean. She could not 
 talk with her father about Arthur, as the subject seemed to 
 distress him, nor could she converse with Mrs. Merton, for 
 it was necessary to avoid any mention of Arthur's name in 
 any way that would give her a clew to the facts of the case. 
 Therefore, it was a gleam of sunshine to her when Ronald 
 presented himself with sympathies, apparently, in unison 
 
286 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 with her own, ready to talk about Arthur whenever she de- 
 sired. So on this day Elsie was eager to begin the conver- 
 sation. Thus far she had known little of Arthur's case be- 
 yond the fact that he had been condemned to twelve years' 
 servitude, for her father had never told her the details of 
 the event, and had sedulously kept newspapers out of her 
 reach. 
 
 They wandered on, talking of Arthur, until the rectory 
 and the mound came in sight. When they reached the lat- 
 ter they sat down, and Elsie was overcome with emotion. 
 Ronald took her hand, and said : *' Dear Elsie, do not pain 
 me by these exhibitions. I feel as you do, and would like to 
 shed tears with you, but can not. I can only give you my 
 deepest sympathy, and wonder why Heaven permitted such 
 indignities to be visited upon an innocent man." 
 
 Elsie allowed her hand to remain in his ; she was, in fact, 
 unconscious that it was there. How his pulses throbbed as 
 he felt her warm fingers convulsively clasp his own ! He 
 had never expected to hold that hand again as he had done 
 in his boyish days. There they sat, indulging in their 
 thoughts, Elsie almost forgetful that Ronald was by her side, 
 when the rustle of wings attracted her attention. The doves 
 had recognized her, and the whole flock came to greet their 
 mistress, whom they had hardly seen for weeks. 
 
 " Dear neglected pets ! " she exclaimed, and gave the 
 familiar chirp, at which her winged friends flew to her feet, 
 the particular pet perching upon her shoulder. *' Ronald," 
 said Elsie, " this reminds me that it is sinful in me to in- 
 dulge in morbid feelings, when I have so many dependent 
 upon me for happiness. These beautiful doves are of im- 
 portance in the eyes of God, and we have no right to neg- 
 lect them. I must look after them oftener. Papa is forget- 
 ful, and the housekeeper has so much to attend to that I 
 expect my pets are not fed regularly. See how clamorous 
 they are for something to eat, and I have not a thing to give 
 them." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 287 
 
 " Well," said Ronald, '' before leaving home I put these 
 rolls in my pocket in anticipation of our coming here." 
 
 " How thoughtful of you, Ronald ! " she said. " But you 
 were ever regardful of me." 
 
 "And hope I shall ever be," said Ronald, impetuously. 
 
 This outburst rather startled Elsie for a moment, and she 
 looked at him anxiously to see if there was any covert mean- 
 ing in what he said, but Ronald's face gave no indication of 
 his feelings. Elsie began to feed the doves, who were tram- 
 pling over and pecking at one another in their eagerness to 
 obtain food. 
 
 "I never saw them behave so badly before," said Elsie, 
 " they have been neglected, and are actually suffering. My 
 conscience reproves me, and I must come every day and feed 
 them." 
 
 '' And will you let me join you ? " inquired Ronald. 
 
 " Of course," she said, pleased to have this excuse to talk 
 about Arthur. At length, when the doves had eaten the 
 last morsel of the rolls, she gave a signal, and they flew away 
 to the dovecote. 
 
 " Now," said Elsie, " let us pay a visit to dear papa. I 
 have neglected him of late, and he will, no doubt, think me 
 unkind." 
 
 Mr. Vernon had been a witness to the scene that was 
 going on outside. He was sitting at the study window when 
 the two seated themselves upon the mound. He could 
 hardly believe his senses at first, and took up his field-glass 
 to satisfy himself that his eyes had not deceived him. His 
 heart leaped for joy when he saw the two seated on the 
 mound, and he hoped that this would break up the morbid 
 feelings in which Elsie had been indulging. In fact, he 
 came to a conclusion too quickly, and thought the old inti- 
 macy between Elsie and Ronald might revive and his 
 daughter be made happy once more by a union with one 
 who, no doubt, would have been her first choice had not 
 Arthur come upon the scene. 
 
288 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 As a student of human nature, Mr. Vernon had seen how 
 often a wounded heart had been healed when a new and 
 attractive lover appeared. He could not bear to see his 
 daughter oppressed with sorrow over a lover who was lost 
 to her forever, and he was, at times, unjust to her for cling- 
 ing to one who had undergone a felon's sentence, and who 
 could never show himself in society again. As they ap- 
 proached the house the rector went to the door to meet 
 them. 
 
 "My dear child," said Mr. Vernon, *'it gives me joy to 
 see you once more in company with your old friend, and, 
 Ronald, I am glad to welcome you, though I have a right 
 to reproach you for being neglectful of me. Now that the 
 ice is broken, I hope you will come often, for I am very 
 lonely since Elsie took upon herself the charge of Mrs. Mer- 
 ton." 
 
 These words were said rather sadly, and the reproach 
 went to Elsie's heart. " Papa, dear," she said, kissing him, 
 " we will come to see you oftener now that Mrs. Merton is 
 improving so fast. She can dress herself with very little 
 assistance, and sits at the window with her binocular glass 
 watching the ships as they pass along. She talks a great 
 deal now, and every day I notice improvement in her mind, 
 but fortunately she remains oblivious of the past and does 
 not speak of the time that Arthur left her." 
 
 " Thank God ! " said the rector. " We should rather 
 desire that she should remain in this state of forgetfulness 
 than otherwise. She is happy now, and what more should a 
 human being ask for in this world ? " All sat in silence for 
 some time busy with their thoughts, when Mr. Vernon roused 
 the two young people from their musing by saying, *' You 
 must stay and take luncheon with me," which they gladly 
 consented to do. They remained an hour with the rector 
 chatting pleasantly, and then the young people rose and, bid- 
 Mr. Vernon good-day, they departed on their way home- 
 ward. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 289 
 
 " Ronald," said Elsie, " I have one favor to ask of you — 
 take me to the hut in the wood where Arthur and I last 
 parted." 
 
 " Anything to give you pleasure," said Ronald. " Come, 
 let us go there," though he remembered with bitterness the 
 parting he had witnessed and what a hatred it had produced 
 against his once dear friend. Elsie was much pleased with 
 his concessions to her wishes, and this day had brought much 
 consolation to her heart. 
 
 When they arrived at the spot in the wood where she had 
 parted with Arthur she quivered like a leaf and sat down on 
 a fallen tree. Ronald did not interrupt her, but let her tears 
 flow on until she gradually became quiet. Then she rose, 
 took his arm, and they walked on. " On that spot, Ronald," 
 she said, " I parted with Arthur for the last time, and it will 
 ever be sacred to me. Bear with my weakness." 
 
 " Elsie," said he, " I am always at your service." 
 
 Elsie looked forward now from day to day for Ronald's 
 coming to Woodlawn. A new life had opened for her 
 since she had found one who sympathized so fully with her 
 sorrows. Ronald made no objection to her encouraging 
 these feelings, for he saw that something like her old spirits 
 were returning to her. 
 
 Three weeks were passed in daily walks, and Elsie's health 
 rapidly improved. Her patient showed no desire to keep 
 her continually by her side but, on the contrary, urged her 
 to go out, saying : '' I want you to look your prettiest, dear 
 Elsie, when Arthur returns, and you can not do that if you 
 remain shut up in the house. I hope to walk soon with 
 you myself, though I am happy here looking for Arthur's 
 ship. I shall know her, for he will make me a signal." 
 
 Ronald had watched keenly the progress of events, and 
 saw that Elsie believed Arthur would never return to her. 
 What disturbed her most was the thought of the shock his 
 proud nature must have felt at his disgrace, and she would 
 sometimes say : *' Much better that death should come to 
 19 
 
290 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 his relief. And to think that he has ten more long years to 
 suffer in Australia ! It is too dreadful to think of. Better 
 that God should take him to himself." 
 
 About this time Ronald was called to London on busi- 
 ness, and an idea struck him which he determined to put 
 into execution. On his arrival in the city he went to the 
 shop of an engraver of low repute, and gave him the drawing 
 of a stamp he wished made. It was the canceling stamp 
 of the Melbourne post-office, dated two months back, after 
 obtaining which, Ronald went to his hotel, where he wrote 
 a letter purporting to be from the chaplain of a convict 
 ship on which Arthur had been sent to Australia, declaring 
 that, overcome with grief and shame at his misfortunes, Ar- 
 thur had died and been buried at sea. It further stated 
 that Arthur was perfectly happy at the prospect of a rest 
 in a better world. Ronald put the letter in the post-office, 
 directed to himself at Moorland, and returned home. The 
 next day the forged missive arrived with the London post- 
 mark attached, to which Ronald added that of Melbourne, 
 and chuckled to himself at the thought of what it might 
 bring to him. Arthur dead, Elsie might in time be willing 
 to accept him on account of his sympathy for Arthur. 
 
 He trembled in every limb as he approached Woodlawn 
 the next day, dressed in a suit of mourning. He was play- 
 ing a desperate game and was liable to be exposed, but this 
 was the only way he could think of to win Elsie, and he 
 had played the villain so deeply before that he did not hes- 
 itate to adopt any course that would enable him to gain 
 his ends. Besides, who could prove anything against him ? 
 He had received a letter he could not question, written 
 by a clergyman. He summoned courage and rang the bell. 
 
 Elsie went to the parlor, where she found Ronald seated, 
 looking the picture of grief. She was shocked at seeing him 
 in mourning, put her hand on his shoulder, regarded him in- 
 tently, and, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, asked : 
 *' What has happened, Ronald .'' " 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 29 1 
 
 He took her hand, and said : '* Elsie, dear, I am the 
 bearer of sad tidings — news that will almost kill you. You 
 must call up all your courage to hear what I have to tell." 
 
 " Arthur is dead," she said, calmly ; " I see it in your face. 
 Is it not so .'' '* 
 
 Ronald silently handed her the letter, which she eagerly 
 seized and read. When she had finished, she fainted. He 
 was appalled when he saw Elsie lying on the floor. '' My 
 God ! " he exclaimed, " I have killed her. What shall I do ? " 
 His courage and calmness deserted him and he felt as if he 
 were a murderer. 
 
 Fortunately at that moment Mr. Vernon entered the 
 room. What was his astonishment to see his daughter lying 
 on the floor with a letter clasped to her bosom. He rushed 
 to her side at once and raised her head to his lap. " Ring 
 the bell quickly," he said ; '' call Mrs. Merton's nurse; bring 
 water and smelling-salts ! " Then he put his hand to his 
 daughter's heart, and finding it was beating his hopes re- 
 vived. 
 
 The man servant was sent for the doctor, the nurse soon 
 came, took Elsie in charge, and, with the aid of the maid, 
 carried her to her room, where, using restoratives, she soon 
 began to recover consciousness. After a few minutes, open- 
 ing her eyes and looking at her father, she said : "Papa, I 
 have just seen Arthur. He is dead, and bids us not to grieve 
 for him as he is happy in heaven where his innocence is 
 known. His sufferings were great on earth and death is a 
 blessed release to him." Then she burst into tears, and 
 came near fainting a second time. 
 
 Elsie remained several days in bed, then she dressed her- 
 self and went calmly to her patient's room, kissing her as if 
 nothing had happened. During the time she had spent in 
 bed she had thought over the condition of affairs. She had 
 w^ept over Arthur and buried him in the deepest recesses 
 of her heart, but she did not forget that she had duties to 
 perform which would require all her care and attention. 
 
292 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 She even felt a sense of relief in knowing that Arthur would 
 suffer no more indignities, and trusted that his character 
 would finally be cleared. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Ronald went daily to inquire after Elsie, and on the 
 fourth day was rewarded with an interview. Elsie was very 
 pale but calm, and in her deep mourning looked like a saint 
 sent to earth to comfort suffering humanity. 
 
 " It is all over now, Ronald," said Elsie ; " and my hopes 
 of ever seeing Arthur again in this world are at an end. He 
 appeared to me in a dream, told me he was happy and re- 
 lieved from the tortures he suffered on earth ; that I must 
 not grieve for him, but rather rejoice that his sufferings were 
 ended. Now, Ronald, I want you to go with me to the spot * 
 where I parted for the last time with Arthur." Elsie then 
 retired to make preparations for her walk. 
 
 To describe Ronald's transports would be impossible. 
 He had expected to find Elsie in despair, but no doubt the 
 dream her imagination had conjured up had given the pres- 
 ent direction to her thoughts ; but he trusted to the oppor- 
 tunities he would have to win her love, as he had already 
 secured her confidence. Ronald had a tortuous path to 
 travel, and it behooved him to keep a good look-out accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 Ever since Arthur had been consigned to Millbank prison 
 he had persistently refused to hold any communication with 
 the outside world, and had rejected all overtures from his 
 friends. He considered himself as dead to the world. He 
 felt sure that Elsie's father would not permit her to write to 
 him, and she might, perhaps, be under the impression that 
 there was some truth in the charges against him. Arthur 
 determined to hold no intercourse with any of his friends 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 293 
 
 save his mother until his innocence should be made mani- 
 fest to the world. 
 
 His mother's silence led Arthur to suspect that she was 
 dead, and he supposed that his friends had determined not 
 to notify him because they did not wish to add to his unhap- 
 piness. 
 
 In the mean while Ronald was on the watch to see that 
 no letters came from Millbank to Mr. Vernon, Squire Pent- 
 land, or other of Arthur's friends, and with this object took 
 care to be at the post-office when the mail was distributed. 
 Thus far he had found no letters from the prison. 
 
 Ronald and Elsie started on their walk, few words being 
 uttered until they reached the little hut. There Elsie seated 
 herself and gave way to her emotions. Ronald quietly 
 waited until his companion became calmer. 
 
 '' He told me to be happy, Ronald, and not demur ; that 
 I must learn to curb these tears. Be patient with me for a 
 while until I learn to bear my load with resignation. We 
 will try to look upon Arthur's death as a blessing in disguise, 
 and think of him as the denizen of a happier land than 
 ours." 
 
 " That is the proper view to take of the matter Elsie," 
 said Ronald, " for who are we that should murmur at the 
 decrees of Providence. We will talk always of Arthur, re- 
 call his virtues, and think that our separation from him is 
 only temporary." 
 
 Such conversation was a great consolation to poor Elsie, 
 who thanked God that she had still left a friend to sympa- 
 thize with and cheer her. 
 
 These walks continued daily for a month, until Mrs. Mer- 
 ton questioned her as to who was her companion. When 
 told that it was Ronald Pentland, Mrs. Merton said : " He 
 is Arthur's most intimate friend ; but, Elsie, Arthur will soon 
 be home, and you will have him to walk with." Elsie could 
 scarcely refrain from tears at this speech, and was obliged to 
 quit the room to hide her agitation, much to Mrs. Merton's 
 
294 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 astonishment ; but as her mind was not yet restored to its 
 normal strength, she soon forgot all about it. 
 
 Five months passed away during which these sympathetic 
 walks continued, constantly lengthening, so that both Elsie 
 and Ronald improved in health and appearance. How little 
 did Elsie dream of Arthur being still alive or of the stirring 
 scenes through which he had passed ! She talked of him 
 constantly to Ronald, and he encouraged her to do so, feeling 
 that he was knitting their souls together by a bond of sym- 
 pathy that would finally enable him to gain his ends. He 
 knew enough of human nature to believe that a wounded 
 heart must have some one on whom to lean. He was not 
 far wrong in his idea. 
 
 One day while they were sitting together on the mound 
 and Elsie as usual was dilating upon the merits of Arthur, 
 Ronald interrupted her. He had borne patiently with Elsie 
 for many months for reasons of his own, but he thought 
 the time had arrived when he could speak freely to her in 
 his own behalf. There was a tacit agreement between them 
 that he should not refer to the subject of his love for her. 
 He was doomed therefore to listen to Elsie's woes without 
 the power of mentioning his own. Here she was cherishing 
 sentiments toward a man disgraced and supposed to be dead, 
 while a living lover ready to make her happy, was constantly 
 at her side. 
 
 Both of Ronald's parents and Elsie's father had been in- 
 formed of Arthur's death, and considered it a fortunate 
 event for all concerned. Ronald's mother urged him to 
 propose to Elsie, feeling sure that she would accept him, and 
 Mr. Vernon was daily hoping that the young people would 
 announce to him their engagement. 
 
 Of this Ronald was well aware, and being assisted by 
 such able coadjutors he determined to bring Elsie to terms 
 on the first favorable opportunity. 
 
 On the occasion we have mentioned Ronald interrupted 
 Elsie, saying : " You seem to forget that Arthur has appeared 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 295 
 
 to you in spirit and begged you not to mourn for him, as 
 he was far happier in heaven than it was possible for him to 
 be on earth ; with all your sympathy for Arthur you never 
 express any for me, who am daily suffering the torments of 
 the damned. My youth is passing rapidly away, and my 
 heart is crushed by the grief you daily exhibit for Arthur 
 in heaven, while you take no thought of me. Only your 
 hand, Elsie, can save me from destruction, so I beg you will 
 stretch it forth and rescue me from a fate worse than death. 
 When I saw that Arthur loved you I failed to press my 
 suit, especially as I did not believe that you loved him more 
 than you did me. After I was thrown from my horse I 
 knew that Arthur had proposed to you, and not knowing 
 whether you had accepted him or not I took the opportunity 
 to tell you of the love I had borne you for so many years. 
 Now, tell me, Elsie, after all these months of patient waiting 
 and sympathy in all your sorrows, if there is any hope for me. 
 If there is not I must bear my burden in silence until death 
 puts an end to my sorrows. Do you not think, Elsie, that 
 there is something due to me who have so loved you — who 
 would lay down his life for you "^ You once forbade me to 
 speak of this matter, and I have obeyed your wishes while 
 my heart was breaking." Here Ronald paused and looked 
 earnestly at Elsie with tears in his eyes. 
 
 Elsie had regarded him intently while he was talking. 
 " Poor Ronald ! " she exclaimed, " and have you indeed suf- 
 fered so ? " 
 
 "Suffered!" exclaimed Ronald, "no one ever suffered 
 more than I do. Oh, Elsie, think of my affliction and less 
 of your own. I offer you a life of love and happiness. Do 
 not throw away your existence in cold asceticism, mourning 
 over one who is happy in heaven, but give a small portion 
 of your heart to me, who will win the whole of it by a life 
 of such devotion as you never dreamed." 
 
 " Oh, Ronald," said Elsie, " you ask too much of me. I 
 have no heart to give, for it is buried in the grave with Ar- 
 
296 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 thur. I am very much attached to you, but could never 
 love you as I loved Arthur. I should consider myself guilty 
 of sacrilege if I loved one man while mourning another. Oh> 
 no, let it be as it is, my friend and comforter." 
 
 " Elsie," said Ronald, " this day decides my fate. If you 
 reject my love now after all my devotion and sympathy I 
 shall go to seek my death, and care not how it comes. I am 
 offered a commission in a regiment going to India, and 
 shall accept it. Whatever befalls me, with my last breath I 
 shall call your name and bless you." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Elsie, "go and leave me weighed 
 down with grief and with no one with whom to exchange a 
 word of sympathy ! You will not be so cruel ; it is con- 
 trary to your nature." 
 
 Ronald saw his advantage, and quickly made the most 
 of it. 
 
 "Dear Elsie," he said, "my future lies in your hands, 
 and yet, although not called upon to make the least sacrifice, 
 you hesitate to make my happiness complete. I should die 
 a thousand deaths if I were to continue here hoping for 
 your love and seeing you every day yielding more and more 
 to this sentiment which has taken such possession of you 
 that you are insensible to reason. Better for me that I 
 go at once as far away as possible. The excitement of 
 an active military career will help to still the painful 
 throbbings of my heart. The best cure for that honest heart's 
 complaint will be a bullet to quiet it forever." 
 
 Elsie shuddered. " Ronald," she said, " do not push me 
 too hard. I can not part with you, for I have no other 
 friend with whom I could commune. Give me a little time 
 to consider this matter and find out what is right for me to 
 do. Give me six months, and until the expiration of that 
 time do not again broach the subject." 
 
 " Six months ! " he exclaimed, " by that time I shall be in 
 my grave. The last few months have almost killed me as 
 it is, and I could not stand such another ordeal. Just think, 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 297 
 
 Elsie, for a moment, of the reasonableness of my request. 
 Marry me and have with you always one who will sympa- 
 thize in every act of your life, who will love and honor 
 with you the memory of Arthur. I will raise a monument 
 to Arthur, inscribed with a declaration of his innocence, 
 and will defy the world to prove him otherwise." 
 
 Elsie rose, and clasped her hands. "You once told me 
 there was a man living whom you believed could prove 
 Arthur's innocence. Go and find that man and let me have 
 that one solace before I die. I know Arthur is innocent, but 
 the world does not know it. You shall have my prayers for 
 your happiness." 
 
 That would have been very poor satisfaction to Ronald 
 who wanted Elsie herself, not her prayers. 
 
 " Dear Elsie," he said, " it will require time to find that 
 man. I have employed detectives, and have hopes of bring- 
 ing him to justice, but I must give an answer soon whether 
 I will accept the commission in the army. If I lose that 
 chance I shall not readily have another. But once married 
 to you I shall have no emulation beyond your love, and we 
 can devote our lives to proving Arthur's innocence and in 
 hunting down the wretch who betrayed him. If I go to 
 the East Indies it will grieve my poor mother dreadfully, 
 and should I die there it would break her heart. Is it such 
 a sacrifice on your part to marry me that you would rather 
 wreck a whole family than unite your life with mine ? Oh, 
 Elsie, in after years when I am buried among the thousands 
 who are killed in battle, or fall by disease in an unhealthy 
 climate, your reflections will be bitter indeed when thinking 
 that one word from you would have prevented so much 
 misery. Only give me hope if you can not now love me as a 
 woman should love her husband. I will devote myself to 
 you in such a manner that you will eventually give me your 
 whole heart. Think, Elsie, what a weary road you would 
 travel through life with no one to sympathize or care for you. 
 Yours is not a nature to live without sympathy. Think of 
 
298 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 your father in his declining years pining away at the des- 
 olate and unnatural life you will be leading." 
 
 By this time Elsie was quite overcome. She held up her 
 hands. ^' Stop, Ronald ! " she exclaimed, " do not break my 
 heart. I am selfish, but you can not know what I feel. Let 
 me have time to think and to confer with my father. Come 
 to me in a month from to-day and I will give you an answer." 
 So saying she rose and walked toward the house, while 
 Ronald was transported with joy. 
 
 *' Was ever woman in such humor won ? " he muttered, 
 *' and I have won her as sure as the sun shines.'* 
 
 Elsie went immediately to her father, whom she found in 
 his study and in very low spirits. He had long been hoping 
 that Ronald's attentions to Elsie would result in their union, 
 and could not bring himself to approve of her unnatural life 
 in devoting herself to the care of Mrs. Merton, fearing that 
 the world v/ould connect her name with that of Arthur the 
 convict. 
 
 Mr. Vernon raised his eyes and smiled when he saw the 
 being he loved best on earth. " My darling," he said, " I 
 was thinking of you, but for that matter, I am always think- 
 ing of you ; but you look pale and sad. I hope Mrs. Merton 
 is no worse." 
 
 *' No, dear papa," replied Elsie, ''but I am a cruel, self- 
 ish creature, who comes to ask your advice." 
 
 The rector opened his eyes, but listened patiently while 
 Elsie related the particulars of her recent interview with 
 Ronald. When she had concluded, Mr. Vernon pondered 
 for a moment, and then said : 
 
 "Elsie, darling, there is one person whom you do not 
 appear to have considered in this matter — that is yourself. 
 Your high sense of the duty you owe to the memory of Ar- 
 thur has blinded you to other things. Arthur is dead, and 
 beyond the influence of any good that one may attempt to 
 do for him. When his soul left this earth it went to a place 
 of peace and rest, where it takes no heed of the cares of this 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 299 
 
 world. Common sense will tell you, that if the soul could 
 see one thing on earth it could see all, and how unhappy it 
 would be in heaven to know of the misery existing among 
 those once loved. When the soul leaves us, Elsie, it is done 
 with earth, and we should not let our recollection of the dead 
 run into selfishness, but should do our allotted duty cheer- 
 fully, and try to give happiness to the living. You were 
 fonder of Ronald Pentland than any one except Arthur ; he 
 is essential to your happiness owing to your mutual sympa- 
 thy for the one you have lost. That bond will make you a 
 happy pair, and you will not, in after life, be harassed with 
 pain, perhaps remorse, for having driven him to exile, per- 
 haps to death." 
 
 " Oh, papa ! " exclaimed Elsie, " I can hear no more — 
 you are right, I am too selfish ; but do you think if Arthur 
 could know he would approve ? " 
 
 "He can not know," answered the rector; "therefore all 
 speculations on the subject are useless. "We must think of 
 the interests of the living. To see you married to Ronald 
 would make me happy and lengthen my days. Had you 
 ever been married to Arthur it would have been more suit- 
 able to hold the sentiments you now profess. You would 
 have been knit together by God's ordinances." 
 
 " May God give me strength to know what I shall do un- 
 der the circumstances. Papa, your happiness shall be my 
 first care. I will now go and look after my invalid. There 
 is a month given me in which to make up my mind, and by 
 the end of that time I may become reconciled to my fate." 
 
 " I predict a happy fate for you, my daughter," said the 
 rector, "if you comply with my wishes." Elsie kissed her 
 father fondly, and they parted, the rector happier than he 
 had been for two years. 
 
 The month passed more rapidly than Elsie had thought 
 possible. She greatly missed her accustomed walks with 
 Ronald, and the deep sympathy which he constantly ex- 
 pressed in her grief for the loss of Arthur. She now real- 
 
300 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 ized that the principal happiness of her life depended on 
 having Ronald near to sympathize with and console her, 
 and finally came to the conclusion which any one might 
 have foreseen she would arrive at. 
 
 When the month had expired Ronald called at the Mer- 
 ton residence to receive his answer. Elsie received him in 
 the parlor, and was surprised to see what a change a month 
 had made in him. During that period he was stretched on 
 the rack of expectation, for he feared that, when away from 
 his direct influence, Elsie might relapse into her old way of 
 thinking, and consider it her duty to remain faithful to the 
 memory of Arthur ; so when he presented himself to Elsie, 
 Ronald looked worn and haggard. 
 
 "Poor Ronald," she exclaimed, "I hope you have not 
 suffered on my account." 
 
 " I could not suffer so on account of any one else," re- 
 plied Ronald. " I have come to-day, dear Elsie, to learn 
 my fate ; do not condemn me to an eternal exile ; think of 
 the power for good or evil you have in your hands, and may 
 God make you merciful." 
 
 Elsie extended her hand. '' Take it, Ronald," she said, 
 " although unworthy of such love as yours ; but it will be a 
 true hand, and may you forget that I ever caused you pain 
 or sorrow." 
 
 Ronald stood for a moment looking at Elsie with joy de- 
 picted in every lineament, and then clasped her to his breast. 
 
 Elsie blushed and shrunk from his embrace, for she did 
 not expect quite so much enthusiasm. She was content 
 with her action, though tears came to her eyes at the thought 
 that, in joining herself to Ronald, she had weakened the tie 
 that bound her to Arthur's memory. 
 
 That was the betrothal of Ronald and Elsie. They 
 talked matters over quietly, and Ronald, after describing 
 the anguish his mind had undergone, persuaded Elsie to 
 name an early day for their marriage. She had made a 
 sacrifice in accepting him, and it mattered little to her when 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 301 
 
 the ceremony took place. She named that day two months, 
 which was her mother's birthday, to which Ronald assented, 
 although two months seemed a very long time to him. 
 
 When he parted from Elsie Ronald went to his mother, 
 and informed her of the happy news. He then sought Mr. 
 Vernon to obtain his consent which the rector was only too 
 delighted to give. 
 
 Ronald resolved that he would devote his life to Elsie, 
 so that he would drive away all regret for her lost Arthur, 
 and no doubt he was sincere in his intentions, for his pas- 
 sion for Elsie was the absorbing one of his soul. He had 
 committed a great crime to obtain possession of her, and 
 now proposed to rescue the name of Arthur from disgrace 
 by fixing on Bill Briggs the crime of the robbery, if he could 
 do so without danger to himself. 
 
 There was great joy in the houses of the Yernons and 
 the Pentlands, but Elsie determined to say nothing to Mrs. 
 Merton about her marriage until after the ceremony had 
 taken place. 
 
 About this time, the husband of Mrs. Merton's younger 
 sister died, and, having no children, and being without 
 means, it was decided to bring her to Woodlawn, the sanc- 
 tion of the mill-owner having first been obtained. About 
 two weeks after Elsie was betrothed, the young woman ar- 
 rived, much to Mrs. Merton's delight. A new pleasure was 
 opened to the invalid, who made her sister sit by her and 
 listen to her talk about Arthur and his expected arrival. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 In due time, a full pardon was sent for Arthur Merton 
 by the Home Office, and Eustis Ferris and Arthur deter- 
 mined to go by the same steamer to England, taking the old 
 man with them. Before sailing, Eustis called at the Mel- 
 bourne Bank, and saw the cashier, who was still at his post, 
 
302 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 though somewhat aged, after so many years. After a little 
 conversation, Eustis asked him if, many years ago, the bank 
 had not suffered a great loss by the robbery of gold on de- 
 posit. 
 
 The cashier hesitated a moment, and then said : " Yes, 
 just before you came to us. We kept the matter secret, 
 fearing that it would prevent the miners from bringing their 
 dust to us, for they are a set of men easily frightened. We 
 tried every means to ascertain at the time of the robbery, 
 but never succeeded in finding a trace. The gold left here 
 in boxes, sealed under my inspection, arriving in England 
 with seals intact, and we could never account for the loss. 
 Up to that time, we had shipped millions to England with- 
 out loss, but making good that robbery almost caused our 
 suspension." 
 
 " Did you ever suspect any one ? " inquired Ferris. 
 
 " No, we did not know whom to suspect." 
 
 " What became of Kirby Brush, your former porter } " 
 said Ferris. 
 
 *'Why," said the cashier, "he left us to return to Eng- 
 land some time before the robbery was discovered." 
 
 '' Did you ever suspect him ? " said Eustis. 
 
 " I would be as likely to suspect the directors of the 
 bank. Why he was as honest a fellow as ever lived, and we 
 had every confidence in him." 
 
 " The trouble was you trusted him too much," said Fer- 
 ris. He then told the story which had been related by the 
 old convict. 
 
 When Eustis had finished, the cashier shook his head, 
 saying : "I do not see how that could be done ; your in- 
 former must have dreamed it all." 
 
 "We can soon find out," said Eustis, "for the robbers 
 must have left some marks of their engineering. Let us go 
 into the gold-vault with a pick-axe, rope, and shovel, and 
 convince ourselves whether this tale is true or not." 
 
 The cashier directed the articles to be brought, and they 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 303 
 
 descended to the cellar, where Ferris at once recognized 
 the place from the description given by the old convict. 
 There were the stone floor, the iron plating overhead, and 
 the heavy stone slabs on the sides of the room. There, also, 
 was the fireplace, with its great slab, which the old man had 
 described as the key to the whole mystery. 
 
 ''Bring a lever," said Ferris, to the man who carried the 
 tools, "and insert it between the hearthstone and the 
 bricks." This was done, but the stone refused to move 
 even with their united efforts. 
 
 " Tear away the bricks, and get another lever ; there is a 
 heavy weight attached to the stone," said Eustis. " No 
 simple hearthstone could resist such a force as that." 
 
 The implements required were soon brought, and the 
 stone pried up, when four jack-screws fell to the bottom of 
 an excavation which extended under the foundation of the 
 bank where the passage had been stopped up with earth. 
 
 " What do you think now ? " inquired Eustis of the 
 cashier, 
 
 " Seeing is believing," said the latter. " It was a cun- 
 ningly devised scheme. And Kirby Brush, you say, did 
 this ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Eustis, "Kirby Brush, and it is in your power 
 to regain your own, for when I left England, Brush was a 
 large mill-owner, and rolling in wealth. He feels so secure 
 that he will never dream of running away, and you can lay 
 hands upon him at any time." Ferris then gave the aston- 
 ished cashier an account of the life of Kirby Brush, alias 
 John Merton, and told him that he was going direct to Eng- 
 land, for the purpose of exposing the man. The cashier 
 then determined to consult the bank authorities, and have 
 a detective sent with power to arrest the bank-robber, all of 
 which was arranged the following day, and a few days later 
 the party started on the P. & O. steamer. 
 
 In eight weeks they arrived at Southampton, and con- 
 tinued on to London, where they spent two days, and then, 
 
304 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 with the exception of the detective, who remained over to 
 communicate with Scotland Yard, took the train on Satur- 
 day morning, and proceeded to the nearest point to Wood- 
 lawn. 
 
 Some months had passed since John Merton had been 
 at Woodlawn. His visits were very unfrequent, and his 
 presence in the house had always a bad effect upon his wife. 
 It took several days for her to recover from these visits. 
 When Elsie was there, Julia always received Mr. Merton in 
 her presence. There was something about Elsie that cowed 
 the manufacturer, and he never remained long, but Elsie 
 had, within the last two weeks, been much with her father, 
 who was ailing. Mrs. Merton had her sister with her, who 
 was a loving nurse. 
 
 On this Saturday Elsie had just left Woodlawn when 
 Merton arrived. Ascertaining this fact, Merton went imme- 
 diately to his wife's apartments. As he entered, Mrs. Mer- 
 ton was sitting at the window with her sister, watching a ship 
 carrying a white flag at the fore. " My dear ! " she exclaimed, 
 " that is Arthur's ship ; I know the signal he promised to 
 make and I shall see him to-day, for I dreamed last night 
 that he had arrived and brought with him a friend that I have 
 not seen for years. You remember Eustis Ferris, sister ? 
 Well, he and Arthur are on board that ship and we will see 
 them to-day or to-morrow." 
 
 It had been months since Mrs. Merton had seen her hus- 
 band and she was not thinking of seeing him, when the door 
 opened and he stood within the room and heard her last re- 
 mark. He was enraged and could not restrain that omi- 
 nous snap of the jaws which resounded through the room. 
 Julia looked frightened and the color left her cheeks, while 
 her sister sprung from her chair and placed herself in front 
 of Mrs. Merton as if to protect her. 
 
 " This is the kind of treachery I meet with in you," Mer- 
 ton shouted to the sister, " encouraging that insane woman 
 to talk of her worthless lover, who is now paying the pen- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 305 
 
 alty of his crimes in Australia. I have come to inquire 
 into the accounts of this house. The expenses have increased 
 over one third since your arrival. Now, pack your boxes 
 and go, and if I ever see you on these grounds again I will 
 bring a suit against you for trespass." 
 
 Mrs. Merton placed her hands before her eyes to shut 
 out the sight of the man she hated, and screamed : " Go 
 away and never let me see you again. Arthur will be here 
 to-day and he will drive you from the house." 
 
 Julia's sister did not quail before the appearance of Mer- 
 ton, but faced him boldly, saying : " You see how your pres- 
 ence affects my sister ; leave the room or I will call for 
 assistance." 
 
 Merton knew that there was no man nearer than the sta- 
 bles, and felt that he could do as he pleased with these two 
 women. Rushing forward, he seized his sister-in-law by the 
 arm, thrust her against the wall, and she fell screaming to 
 the floor, while Mrs. Merton shouted from the window : 
 *' Help ! he is murdering us." 
 
 The maid who had shown Merton to the room ran for 
 aid and coming down to the porch, saw three men who, hear- 
 ing the outcry, were hastening toward the house. "Oh, 
 gentlemen, master is murdering mistress!" she exclaimed, 
 " come and help her ! " 
 
 Eustis Ferris was in the lead, Arthur following closely, 
 while the old man came along as fast as possible. The girl 
 put her hand on the knob to open the chamber door, but 
 finding it locked, cried out : " Oh, gentlemen, burst the door; 
 he is murdering them both ! " 
 
 It did not take long to force an entrance, and Eustis Fer- 
 ris seized Merton by the throat, throwing him heavily to 
 the floor where he lay for a moment stunned. Julia sat 
 gasping for breath and ejaculating, in plaintive tones : " Oh ! 
 Arthur, Arthur, save us ! " 
 
 " I am here, dear mother," Arthur cried, clasping her in 
 his arms. " Your son is here to take care of you, and no 
 20 
 
3o6 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 one shall harm you. That wretch my father shall be ban- 
 ished from here forever." 
 
 Julia stopped at the sound of Arthur's voice, looked 
 into his face, then threw her arms about his neck and clung 
 to him as if she would hold him forever. " At last ! At 
 last ! " she cried, *' never more to part ! Oh, God, I thank 
 you for this day ! I feared he might never return." And ex- 
 hausted with her emotions she fainted away. 
 
 During this time Eustis Ferris stood over Merton's pros- 
 trate form to keep him from rising. " Still at his old tricks, 
 Mr. Ferris," said the old man. " We are just in time to cir- 
 cumvent him. Don't let him escape. The devil will get his 
 own. Was ever juster retribution than this ? " 
 
 " Never," said Eustis, " never. But I wish the detectives 
 had come with us. I fear they have gone to Lyneham ex- 
 pecting to find Merton at the mills." 
 
 Merton heard these words and struggled to rise. " Scoun- 
 drel," said Ferris, "face your accusers ! " and taking him by 
 the collar he placed him upon his feet. 
 
 John Merton was a powerful man and might, perhaps, 
 have escaped, but in his dazed condition, with three men op- 
 posed to him and perhaps many more outside, he felt that 
 a struggle would be useless. He glared at them like a 
 tiger, shuddering to think of the punishment in store for 
 him. 
 
 "Do you know me? " said Eustis. "I am the man you 
 sent to Australia years ago on the plea that I had committed 
 a forgery." 
 
 " And do you know Kirby Brush ? " said the old man, 
 " whom you sent to prison and who helped you rob the Mel- 
 bourne Bank } " 
 
 " Do you know me, Arthur, the son you allowed to be 
 imprisoned ? I have come to redress my mother's wrongs, 
 and shall deal with you as a scoundrel, not as a father." 
 
 " Has hell broke loose ? " shouted Merton. " Am I in 
 the infernal regions ? Is this a delusion or a reality ? You 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. ^q-j 
 
 are mistaken if you think you have entrapped John Mer- 
 ton. My purse is deep, my arm is long. Kirby Brush, I 
 have still an indictment against you that will send you back 
 to prison. Ferris, your forgery still stands against you ; get 
 back to Australia before you are laid by the feet. Arthur, 
 you are an escaped convict and can give no evidence against 
 me. I defy you all ! " and with that he made for the door 
 and might have escaped had not three stable-men appeared 
 at the foot of the stairs. They had been summoned by the 
 maid and told to await orders there. 
 
 Merton could make no headway against this force, and 
 was seized and securely tied hand and foot. Determined 
 that he should not escape, the old man watched the prisoner 
 narrowly, upbraiding him with his crimes and telling him 
 of the pleasure with which he would see the detectives arrest 
 him and take him to Australia for trial, the place where he 
 was so fond of sending other people. "Before I left there," 
 said the old man, " I showed the bank authorities the tunnel 
 you dug. The jack-screws were there just as you left them, 
 and I am going back to testify against you, and Kirby 
 Brush, alias John Merton, alias I don't know what, will be 
 locked up and I'll be there to see it. And, best of all," con- 
 tinued the old man, " Eustis Ferris will marry his early 
 love, and your son Arthur will come into possession of your 
 money after he has paid the bank what you stole from 
 them." 
 
 At this Merton fairly howled, and snapped his jaws like 
 a captive wolf. 
 
 Eustis Ferris had been so busy securing Merton that he 
 had had no time to look at Julia, but when he returned to 
 her apartment, the woman he loved was murmuring Ar- 
 thur's name, and talking of him. At length she sighed 
 deeply, opened her eyes, and seeing Arthur leaning over 
 her, smiled. 
 
 " Joy never kills," said the nurse ; " she will be all right, 
 presently." 
 
3o8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Julia took Arthur's hand in hers, saying : " Oh ! my 
 dear boy, why did you stay away so long ? I have wished so 
 much to see you ! " She put her arms around his neck, and 
 covered his face with kisses. 
 
 Eustis Ferris stood looking at Julia like one dazed, sur- 
 prised to see how little time had affected her appearance. 
 Although she was now forty-two, she did not look more than 
 thirty, and with the color in her cheeks would appear still 
 younger. Eustis dreaded the effect of speaking to her, as 
 she, no doubt, supposed him dead, so he kept in the back- 
 ground, to avoid being seen. 
 
 While caressing her son, Julia suddenly noticed his white 
 hair. " Why, Arthur ! " she exclaimed, " what is this } 
 What do these white hairs mean? " 
 
 '*Itis the fashion in France," was his reply. "But if 
 you do not like it, it will come all right again in a short 
 time." 
 
 " No, no ! " she exclaimed, "do not change it; I like you 
 as you are. Your face framed in that white hair looks 
 handsomer than ever. Elsie will be so proud of you, and 
 she longs so much for you." 
 
 Then Julia saw Eustis Ferris, and trembled, as she said : 
 " Arthur, who is that ? Am I dreaming, or is this a phan- 
 tom?" 
 
 "No, Julia," said Eustis, advancing, and taking her hand, 
 " I am no phantom, but the friend of your youth, returned 
 after years of sorrow to watch over you for the rest of 
 your life." 
 
 Julia threw her arms about Eustis's neck. She could not 
 resist the impulse, and would have done the same had the 
 whole world been present. " My God ! " she cried, " at 
 last, at last, he has forgiven me ! " 
 
 " It has killed her ! " he cried, in anguish. " And have 
 I seen her once more only to witness her death ! " 
 
 " No, no," said the nurse. " Leave her to me, and I'll 
 soon bring her around." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 309 
 
 Julia soon recovered. Her first word was " Eustis,"and 
 he hastened to her side, and took her hand in his. 
 
 " Now, I am willing to die," said Julia. " I have seen you, 
 and am happy, but, oh, what years of misery have passed 
 since last we met ! I can see in your gray hair that you, 
 too, have suffered. I know that you have forgiven me, and 
 that you have brought my boy back to me again, and may 
 God bless you for that ! I do not know how long it has 
 been since I saw him, for I have not been able to take ac- 
 count of time, but it has appeared like an age to me," and 
 tears fell from her eyes. Then she arose and sat by the 
 window, with Eustis by her side, and thus they talked for 
 hours, telling each other the events that had taken place 
 since they parted. 
 
 Julia's sister, flung against the wall by the brutal Mer- 
 ton, had fallen upon the floor, where, amid the confusion, she 
 remained for the time unnoticed, but when she recovered 
 her senses, she sought a far corner of the room, where she 
 seated herself in an easy-chair. Arthur had just entered 
 the apartment when his aunt beckoned to him, and he hast- 
 ened to her, though he had not recognized the pale woman 
 who called him. 
 
 "Arthur," she said, " have you no word of greeting for 
 your aunt May .'' Is it possible you have forgotten me ?" 
 
 Arthur kissed his aunt affectionately. She was dressed 
 in deep mourning, and he knew that she was a widow. 
 "Your dear mother," she said, "has not been herself since 
 you left home. She knows nothing of what has befallen 
 you, for Providence has for a long time deprived her of 
 reason, and she has been as a child. She knew nothing 
 of your trial and punishment, and God grant she never 
 may. She thinks you have been traveling all this time, and 
 has been looking forward anxiously for your return to Eng- 
 land that you might marry Elsie." 
 
 " Poor Elsie," said Arthur, " how she must have suf- 
 fered ! " 
 
310 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 " Yes, Arthur, she has grieved over you, and shown her 
 love for you by unremitting attention to your mother. It is 
 through her watchfulness that Julia has so much improved. 
 I do not know what effect this late excitement may have 
 upon her, but I think it will be for the better. See how co-" 
 herently she is talking to Mr. Ferris. She is telling him 
 the events of her life, but she forgets at the moment that the 
 brute Merton is in existence, and is only conscious that she 
 is seated once more with the man from whom she v/as 
 parted by the basest fraud. But, Arthur," she continued, 
 *' how those white locks become you ! " 
 
 " Dear aunt," said Arthur, " they have been purchased 
 through much misery. Two years of hard labor at Millbank 
 prison and my transportation to Australia almost broke my 
 heart, yet through that transportation my innocence was 
 proved, but of that I will tell you some other time, now, tell 
 me of Elsie." 
 
 " Oh ! Arthur, what I have to say will pain you, though 
 Providence seems to have brought you here just in time to 
 secure your happiness. About twelve months ago, Ronald 
 Pentland received a letter from Australia, announcing that 
 you had died on the passage out, broken down with despair 
 and the hard labor you had undergone." 
 
 " Why ! " exclaimed Arthur, " twelve months ago I was 
 in Millbank prison and had not started for Australia ! " 
 
 "You did not die, that is very apparent," said his aunt, 
 "but every one here thought so. Ronald had been very 
 kind and attentive to Elsie, and had sympathized with her 
 deeply in all her grief, so much so that she saw him every 
 day, just to have the pleasure of talking about you. Then 
 came this letter to Ronald with an account of your death, 
 which almost killed Elsie. She says she had a vision in 
 which you appeared to her and told her not to grieve, that 
 you were happy in heaven. She wept for days, but finally 
 grew calmer, and began to look upon your death as a release 
 from disgrace and pain. Again Ronald came to her, and 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 S^r 
 
 showed her how you would have suffered had you lived 
 through your long term of imprisonment. He was unremit- 
 ting in his attentions, and about four months ago proposed to 
 her. She would not, at first, listen to him, but her father's 
 prayers and those of Mrs. Pentland that she would accept the 
 poor fellow, who was evidently suffering very much at his re- 
 jection, prevailed, and she consented to sacrifice herself to 
 a point of duty. She was persuaded that, as she had 
 shown such unselfishness in the care of my sister, she 
 should continue to exhibit those noble traits of character, 
 and marry the man who had shown such sympathy for her 
 troubles." 
 
 " The scoundrel ! " exclaimed Arthur, " I see it all now ! 
 Bill Briggs described how the villain vrould act. Great 
 God ! am I too late?" 
 
 *'No," said his aunt, "you are not too late ; they are to 
 be married at eight o'clock this evening. Oh, Arthur, for- 
 give her, for she was so pressed by all about her, except 
 your mother who knew nothing about the intended mar- 
 riage, that she was obliged to yield." 
 
 " Thank God, thank God ! " he said, and springing 
 from his chair he rushed to where his mother sat with 
 Ferris. 
 
 "Come, Mr. Ferris," he said, excitedly, "come with me. 
 We have work to do. Mother, darling," kissing her, " ex- 
 cuse us for a short time. I have information of the utmost 
 importance to communicate to Mr. Ferris." 
 
 " Don't leave me, dear Arthur," said his mother, clinging 
 to him. " Oh, don't leave me ! Fve seen nothing of you 
 yet ; don't go." The tears rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 " I must, mother," he said, struggling to free himself, 
 "my happiness in life depends upon it ; Elsie is in danger." 
 
 " Elsie in danger ! " she exclaimed, " then go, Arthur, 
 at once and save her from harm ; for she loves you with all 
 her heart and soul," She released her boy and kissed him 
 again. 
 
312 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 He seized Ferris by the arm, saying, " Come, we have 
 no time to lose," and they left the room together. Arthur 
 told him of the information that he had received from his 
 aunt, and proposed to go to Squire Pentland's, beard the 
 lion in his den, and stop the wedding. 
 
 ^'No," said Ferris, "leave it to me, and I will so ar- 
 range it that Ronald Pentland will be overwhelmed with 
 shame." 
 
 He gave Arthur the details of the plan they were to carry 
 out, and they then turned their attention to John Merton, 
 who was still lying on the floor tied hand and foot, while the 
 old man stood by reproaching him with the crimes he had 
 committed, and promising him the same punishment he had 
 meted out to others. This pleased the stable-men, but was 
 not so much enjoyed by the victim. It was greatly to Mer- 
 ton's relief when Mr. Ferris approached and asked the stable- 
 men, " Where can we lock this man up until the detectives 
 come ? " 
 
 '* Well, your honor," said one of them, *' there's a smoke- 
 house just forninst the stable which has a double lock and 
 no window, barring the loopholes. He'll be safe enough 
 there." 
 
 ''Well, pick him up and carry him there," said Eustis, 
 which they proceeded to do, laying him down on the floor 
 of the smoke-house. 
 
 "Untie his feet, but keep his hands fast," said Ferris. 
 *' Now, two of you keep watch over this building, and do 
 not leave it until my return. I will keep the keys." 
 
 ''And I," said the old man, "will stay with the boys and 
 see that this cunning devil does not outwit them ; for, if I 
 am not mistaken, he has broken out of jail before." 
 
 During this time Arthur did not leave the house. He 
 saw his father carried off a prisoner, and knew that he would 
 be delivered to the detectives when they arrived, but raised 
 no voice in his defense, knowing what a wretch he was. 
 Arthur "had no feelings for his father but detestation, and 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 313 
 
 knew that the law must take Its course. When Eustis Ferris 
 returned with the keys of the smoke-house and pronounced 
 the prisoner secure he felt a sense of relief. 
 
 '' Now, Mr. Ferris," said Arthur, " let us arrange to pun- 
 ish that villain Ronald Pentland." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 On the day of the events which we have recorded in the 
 preceding chapter, Eustis Ferris and Arthur Merton went, 
 at seven o'clock, toward the church of St. Paul's, of which 
 the Rev. Mr. Vernon was the incumbent. It was lovely 
 June weather, and nature was dressed in its most beauti- 
 ful apparel. The trees were covered with luxuriant foliage, 
 the rose bushes were decked with the choicest roses, and 
 the grass was spangled with numberless flowers, so that the 
 ground formed a carpet into which was interwoven the 
 brightest colors. At eight o'clock that evening Elsie and 
 Ronald were to be united in marriage. 
 
 Elsie had sought to postpone the trying ordeal, but she 
 was overcome by the importunities of her friends, and after 
 a hard struggle with her feelings consented to name a day 
 on which she would marry Ronald. She had thought the 
 matter over after she had consented to marry him, but every 
 day only convinced her that she was committing a wrong to 
 the memory of Arthur which she would live to repent. Her 
 only consolation was the knowledge that she was sacrificing 
 herself to a duty which she owed to others. Duty was the 
 watchword which had guided her through life, and she had 
 made this sacrifice for the friend Arthur loved best on earth, 
 and the one who would sympathize with her in all her feel- 
 ings for her dead lover, and encourage her to talk of him. 
 Elsie knew so little of the world that she never supposed 
 that to the generality of women a live husband is worth a 
 
314 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 dozen dead lovers, and did not, therefore, try to bury her 
 sentimental ideas as soon as possible. 
 
 From the day of her engagement to Ronald Elsie's de- 
 meanor changed. She was not at all like the happy girl who 
 had gained the man of her choice. She stayed constantly 
 in her room thinking over what she had done. She no longer 
 cared to walk with Ronald, but preferred to go with her 
 father, giving as an excuse that he was so frail and wanted 
 her arm. When Ronald complained of her neglect she would 
 say : '' Never mind, Ronald ; when v/e are married I will be 
 more attentive to you, but nov/, I must devote myself to papa." 
 
 She took no interest in the preparations for her wedding, 
 but put the whole matter in the hands of Mrs. Pentland, with 
 strict injunctions not to let Mrs. Merton know what was go- 
 ing on ; in fact, she was so unhappy that she did not seem 
 to care for anything in the world. She even neglected her 
 doves, leaving them almost entirely to the housekeeper. 
 Now and then Ronald would accompany her and her father 
 on their walks, but after their engagement when Ronald 
 tried to turn the conversation into a sentimental channel, 
 Elsie shrunk from him. 
 
 Ronald groaned over this state of affairs, and wondered 
 if it would last his lifetime as a punishment for his misdeeds. 
 He complained to his mother of his disappointment, but 
 she would say : " Be patient, Ronald, you have won a prize. 
 Remember that a coy maiden always makes the most lov- 
 ing and truest wife. When Elsie is yours you will have no 
 cause to complain." 
 
 So matters went on until the wedding-day. Elsie's cos- 
 tume was laid out upon the bed ; she sat musing and had 
 almost forgotten that there was such a being as Ronald in 
 the world, when Mrs. Pentland's maid entered the room and 
 said that her mistress had sent her to arrange her hair. 
 Elsie rose with a sigh and put herself in the hands of the 
 maid, requesting her to finish her work with as little reference 
 to her as possible. All the time she was being dressed her 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 315 
 
 eyes had a look that showed that her thoughts were not in 
 the matter of the wedding and that she was engaged in a 
 task which was irksome to her. 
 
 When Arthur and Eustis Ferris reached the church the 
 sexton had just finished lighting it up. The lamps in the 
 body of the church were few, but the chancel looked very 
 well, four large lights and two dozen wax candles being used 
 to illuminate it, casting a pleasant light upon the flowers 
 that were strewed about the altar and the marriage bell made 
 of lilies, white roses, and orange blossoms which hung over 
 the spot on which the bride and groom were to stand. For 
 a country church the arrangements might have been con- 
 sidered superb, and as the sexton eyed it, he said aloud : " I 
 never saw anything prettier than this, but the bride is so 
 bonnie that she deserves it all." 
 
 The sexton was about to walk back into the body of the 
 church when he was accosted by two gentlemen. "We are," 
 said Eustis, " friends of the family who do not wish to be 
 seen, as we are not dressed for the occasion ? Can not you 
 give us a place near the chancel? " Putting a sovereign in 
 his hand, he paused for an answer. 
 
 " Of course," said the sexton ; " come with me. Here is 
 a pew with a pillar at the end of it. If you do not want to 
 be seen you can sit here and see the bride when she leaves 
 the church." The two ensconced themselves behind the 
 stone pillar v/atching unseen the persons assembling by in- 
 vitation in the church. 
 
 In the course of half an hour the families of both parties 
 had assembled, including the grandfather of the bride, and 
 every one was on the tiptoe of expectation to see the bride 
 and groom enter. Then the organ commenced a soft paean 
 which reverberated through the church while the groom and 
 his best man entered and took their places in the chancel 
 and the Rev. Rowley Dimple, the officiating clergy-man, 
 with prayer-book in hand, stood in front of the altar. Elsie 
 came next leaning upon the arm of her father, half a dozen 
 
3i6 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 young girls following her as attendants. Ushers were in the 
 aisles seating the guests, and the general appearance of the 
 whole scene was like that of many weddings which had been 
 celebrated in that church. 
 
 Elsie and her father are before the clergymen, the groom 
 steps forward and takes her hand, and the clergyman com- 
 mences his prayer, but, oh ! how disappointed was every one 
 at the appearance of the bride ! Where were the smiles that 
 should have shone upon her lips ? Where were the roses 
 wont to bloom upon her cheeks ? She was as pale as death ; 
 her mouth was drawn down as if she were in pain, and those 
 beautiful eyes, once the admiration of all beholders, were 
 now nearly concealed by the almost closed eyelids. She 
 tottered as she walked up the aisle and sobbed convulsively 
 as she approached the altar. Her poor father was much dis- 
 tressed at the turn affairs had taken and did his best to cheer 
 her up, but not until she stood in the chancel did Elsie real- 
 ize that two hundred pairs of watchful eyes were upon her 
 and that she had a duty to perform that could not be avoided. 
 She nerved herself, and waited for the minister to begin the 
 ceremony, which he did at once and continued until he 
 came to that part which says : 
 
 " If any man can show just cause why these two may not 
 lawfully be joined together, let him now speak or hereafter 
 forever hold his peace." 
 
 The church was so silent that one could hear a pin drop, 
 when a young man with white hair stepped from behind the 
 pillar where he and Eustis Ferris had remained unobserved, 
 and laying his hand on Ronald Pentland's shoulder, said, in 
 a firm voice that could be heard all over the church : " I, 
 ; Arthur Merton, forbid this marriage. I denounce this man 
 "** as a robber and a villain who by his machinations consigned 
 me to prison. Ronald Pentland, answer to the indictment 
 against you ! " 
 
 When Ronald heard Arthur's voice his heart sank within 
 him. He had not dreamed of harm coming to him, and he 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 317 
 
 felt blessed beyond calculation ; his future happiness with 
 Elsie seemed assured. When Arthur began the indictment 
 of his crimes he reeled like a man struck by a dagger, gasped 
 like one dying, and clutched at the air. For a moment the 
 idea came to him to defy his accuser, but that stalwart form 
 and white hair were too much, for he saw at a glance how his 
 once loved friend must have suffered in mind and body to 
 have become so stricken, and he knew that he could expect 
 no mercy. Those who witnessed the scene had never before 
 in their lives seen such a pitiful face as Ronald's. It 
 looked as if it had grown old in an instant and that death 
 was standing at his side. 
 
 Arthur stood calmly before Ronald, dressed in a suit of 
 black which fitted his form to perfection. The white hair 
 gave a radiance to his beauty, but the stern eye and com- 
 pressed lip showed that no feelings of mercy were left for 
 his former friend. Ronald tried to speak, but Arthur 
 pointed to the church door, and Ronald turned and fled 
 from the chancel. Elsie stood for a moment as if dazed at 
 hearing Arthur's voice, and then her gaze fell upon Arthur. 
 Her first impression was that his spirit had come upon 
 earth to condemn her for her faithlessness to his memory. 
 His face looked to her like that of an angel, and his white 
 hair like an aureola surrounding his head. She threw her 
 arms in the air, and, crying out, " Arthur, forgive me, I did 
 it against my will," fell fainting to the floor. 
 
 All this passed in a moment, and immediately there was 
 great commotion in the church. The people stood up and 
 craned their necks to see what was going on. Squire Pent- 
 land rose in his pew, with flushed face, and, shaking his fist 
 at Arthur, cried out, excitedly : '' You were tried by a jury 
 of your countrymen and found guilty of robbery. Escaped 
 convict, I arrest you in the name of — " He could get no 
 further, but fell back in his pew, and blood gushed from his 
 mouth, He had ruptured a blood-vessel, and the people 
 thought him dead. 
 
3i8 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Mrs. Pentland went into hysterics, and every one tried 
 to render assistance. The village surgeon was the calmest 
 person on the spot, while the old sexton emptied three or 
 four jugs of water on the first persons with whom he came 
 in contact in his desire to be of service. Eustis Feriis 
 stepped into the chancel to give Arthur support if he re- 
 quired any. They both were calm, and even Elsie's fainting 
 did not move Arthur. Before he went to her aid, he must 
 know why she was standing before the altar with the man 
 who had betrayed him. 
 
 Mr. Vernon saw that Elsie was only in a faint, and called 
 for restoratives, which came from every part of the church. 
 Ladies took Elsie in charge, and she soon began to revive, 
 when her father approached Arthur, and said, sternly : 
 " How could you devise such a devilish revenge as this ? 
 Why not have prevented this scene ? Why create such a 
 scandal ? You may have caused my daughter's death ! " 
 
 " In the first place, Mr. Vernon," said Arthur, calmly, 
 " we had but a short time in which to act. In the second 
 place, the crimes of Ronald Pentland have been so great 
 that he should be publicly exposed for the infamy he has 
 brought upon me and was about to bring upon you." 
 
 "But, Arthur," said Mr. Vernon, "how came you here — 
 you, a condemned man, sentenced to along imprisonment ? " 
 
 " My innocence has been proved," said Arthur, proudly. 
 " I have a full pardon, and can prove that Ronald Pentland 
 committed the crime for which I was sentenced. He put it 
 upon me for the purpose of marrying your daughter. Do 
 you think that an innocent man would have fled from such 
 a charge ? " 
 
 " Father in Heaven, I thank thee for averting this disgrace 
 from me and mine ! " said Mr. Vernon, fervently. " There is 
 my hand, Arthur, and I welcome you back to old England." 
 
 " No, Mr. Vernon," replied Arthur, '' I can not take your 
 hand while there is a doubt left upon your mind. Here are 
 the papers connected with my case ; read them at your leis- 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 319 
 
 ure, and, if satisfied in all respects, send for me, and I will 
 come to you." 
 
 " But, Arthur," said the rector, " you will go to Elsie ? 
 Oh ! how she has loved you, and how much she has suf- 
 fered ! She heard of your death over a year ago." 
 
 " Another invention of Ronald Pentland's," said Arthur. 
 " And yet in less than a year she could be willing to marry 
 another ! " 
 
 " Arthur, she loves you to-day as much as she ever did 
 in her life. Go to her at once, and let her eyes rest upon 
 you when she becomes conscious. Do not sacrifice the life 
 of my child, who is all 1 have to live for. I will read your 
 papers, although your word is sufficient with me, and I am 
 satisfied that all you say is true. It was for my sake that 
 Elsie consented to this alliance, and, thinking you dead, I 
 did what I considered was best to prevent her fretting her 
 life away. I implore you, Arthur, go and save my child ! " 
 
 Arthur needed no more urging, but flew to Elsie's side. 
 She was just on the point of recovery from her swoon, her 
 closed eyelids were quivering, and large tears stood like dew- 
 drops in her eyes, and rolled down her pallid cheeks, while 
 her chest heaved convulsively and her hands nervously 
 clutched the air. Arthur gazed upon the face he loved so 
 well, and his heart ached when he saw the marks of care 
 which time had produced. He lifted her hand to his lips 
 and kissed it, when she awoke with a start, and saw him 
 whom she had supposed dead kneeling by her side. She 
 gazed at him intently for some time, and when he said, 
 " Elsie, dear, don't you know me ? " raised her hand and 
 placed it upon his white hair. 
 
 "Is this what you wear in heaven, Arthur? " she said. 
 "Am I dead, and joined to you, there.-* Oh! thank God, 
 thank God, for his mercy ! Now that you are an angel, will 
 I have to leave you again .'* Don't leave me, Arthur, I have 
 suffered so much, so much ! " and she sobbed violently. 
 
 " Elsie, darling," said Arthur, " I am your own Arthur 
 
320 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 in flesh and blood, and will part from you no more. I am 
 far from being an angel. Look up, and let me see the eyes I 
 have so dearly loved. I am free, and proved innocent, and 
 come to bring you happiness." Then she put her arms 
 around his neck, and wept upon his bosom. 
 
 We drop a veil over what followed. Let the good people 
 go home and chatter over the events they had seen. They 
 had been promised a wedding, and had witnessed almost a 
 tragedy. It was evident that Elsie Vernon had gone to the 
 altar with the wrong man, and now Prince Silver, not Golden, 
 Hair, had come at last, and before long they would be 
 treated to another wedding. 
 
 Elsie was taken home by her father in a carriage, Arthur 
 and Eustis Ferris following on foot. The lovers were left 
 alone in the rector's study, where they told each other the 
 story of their lives since parting, and renewed that troth 
 which had never actually been broken. 
 
 At eleven o'clock that night a messenger came from 
 Woodlawn requesting Mr. Ferris and Arthur to go there at 
 once as serious events had occurred which required their 
 presence. They took leave of the Vernons and, as the mes- 
 senger had not waited for an answer, they hastened to Wood- 
 lawn with minds filled with painful conjectures as to what 
 had taken place in their absence. As they approached the 
 house they saw the light of a fire reflecting on the smoke- 
 house where they had left John Merton confined. The fire 
 was built in an iron pot, and a crowd of farm hands and serv- 
 ants stood around it. 
 
 The crowd moved aside as the two gentlemen arrived and 
 there before them lay the dead body of John Merton. Both 
 were shocked for the moment, but painful feelings soon passed 
 away, for how could they have any sentiment over one who 
 had so imbittered their lives 1 Their feeling was rather one 
 of relief that Merton's crimes would not now be published 
 to the world, and satisfaction that this dreadful man would 
 never again harm any one. 
 
ARTHUR MERTOiW 321 
 
 On inquiring into the particulars of Merton's death the 
 stable-man who had been appointed to keep watch with the 
 old man known as Kirby Brush, related that he and the lat- 
 ter had first taken their places at the door of the smoke- 
 house but, as the night was cool and the wind sharp, they 
 moved around to the lee side for protection. They sat there 
 talking until ten o'clock. During this conversation, the old 
 man had exhibited a double-barrel pistol which he had pur- 
 chased in London, determined, he said, that if he met Merton 
 and the latter attempted to assault him, to shoot him on the 
 spot. The old man replaced his pistol and continued his 
 talk. It became colder, and the stable-man went to the sta- 
 ble to light a fire in the iron pot which was kept for the pur- 
 pose of warming the mash for the horses. He was returning 
 to the smoke-house when he heard two pistol-shots, and ran 
 at once to the spot. He found the smoke-house door open 
 and John Merton lying dead upon the ground free from the 
 fastenings which had confined his hands. He then called 
 the other stable-man who hurried to the spot, and on exami- 
 nation of Merton's body two pistol-balls were found in the 
 head, and the old man was nowhere to be found, though 
 parties were sent in all directions to seek him. 
 
 The rope that tied the dead man's hands had been found 
 on the floor, evidently gnawed in two by Merton's teeth. A 
 knife containing small steel saws, files, and a screw-driver was 
 found inside the door of the smoke-house, the lock of which 
 had been unscrewed and lay upon the floor. It was sup- 
 posed that while the stable-man was away lighting the fire, 
 the old man heard a noise in the smoke-house, went around 
 to the door, and, seeing Merton emerging from it, had shot 
 him to prevent his escape. 
 
 This, no doubt, was the solution of the manner in which 
 the villain had met his death. His huge teeth had in the 
 last moment of his life snapped together with a force that 
 caused one of them to break, and the forbidding look which 
 he wore when angry was fixed upon his countenance in 
 21 
 
322 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 death. The man was dead, and there was nothing more to 
 be done. The body was returned to the smoke-house and 
 the door fastened until the arrival of the detectives. Then 
 Arthur and Ferris entered the house. 
 
 Arthur found his aunt awaiting him in the parlor, and 
 in a few words he gave her an account of what had taken 
 place. She only said : '' Thank God, we will all be happy 
 once more." 
 
 Before his mother retired Arthur went to her room, and 
 she sprang forward to meet him, crying : " What has hap- 
 pened, Arthur ? I see by your face that something unusual 
 has taken place." 
 
 " Darling mother," he said, *' Mr. Merton is dead, and 
 you are free, now and forever, from his presence." 
 
 Julia opened her eyes in wonder, but felt no sorrow. '' Ar- 
 thur," she said, *' I have suffered so much from Mr. Merton 
 that I can shed no tears for him. May God forgive him 
 for all that he has made me suffer ! I hope he died without 
 pain." 
 
 "He died without pain, mother, but without time to 
 repent. That is the worst part of his death." 
 
 " Then may God have mercy on his soul," she said. " I 
 freely forgive him for all that he has done to me and hope 
 that he may pass a better life in the world to which his soul 
 has gone." 
 
 Arthur took his mother in his arms and said : " You dear, 
 sweet mother, these are sentiments worthy of you, and you 
 will be blessed. I see in the future the purest happiness for 
 you and a long life of blessings worthy of a woman who can 
 forgive one who has so deeply wronged her. I have seen 
 Elsie, dear mother," continued Arthur, " and she is as true to 
 me as ever. I will not tell you the details of our meeting, 
 but we are to be married in two weeks and are to live to- 
 gether in this house. Will that suit you, mother } " 
 
 " Suit me ? " said Julia, the tears springing to her eyes. 
 *' God is showering so many blessings upon me that I am 
 
ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 323 
 
 afraid I shall find it all a dream. Only think, Arthur, yes- 
 terday I had nothing, to-day I have everything in the world 
 that I ever wished for. Now I must retire ; I do not often 
 sit up as late as this." She kissed her son twenty times at' 
 least, and then rang the bell for her maid. 
 
 That night Julia's dreams were of the most pleasing na- 
 ture and she awoke in the morning more refreshed than she 
 had been for years. Her mind was clear and the events of 
 her childhood began to come back to her. God had restored 
 her reason, the temporary loss of which had saved her from 
 so much misery, and now she was about to enjoy life with a 
 double pleasure from the fact that her path had hitherto 
 been strewed with thorns. 
 
 Arthur and Eustis Ferris slept soundly after the excite- 
 ment through which they had passed. It is seldom that a 
 single day has so many eventful incidents crowded into it. 
 As the rays of the sun streamed through their windows the 
 following morning they arose with hearts full of thankfulness 
 for the happiness that had poured in upon them. The world 
 looked so bright to them they almost feared their joy would 
 not last. 
 
 John Merton slept that night the sleep of death. Although 
 with such a record of crime against him it is to be hoped 
 that the Creator was merciful to his soul. The world was 
 well rid of a great criminal. How dreadful is the death of 
 one who leaves not a single being on earth to regret him ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXVni. 
 
 Two weeks after the events recorded in the preceding 
 chapter, the church was again opened at eleven o'clock in 
 the morning. The banns had been published, and all the 
 villagers had been informed that Arthur Merton was to lead 
 Elsie Vernon to the altar. 
 
3M 
 
 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 Never in the remembrance of the oldest inhabitant had 
 the little village been stirred by so many exciting incidents. 
 First, the interrupted wedding of Ronald Pentland and 
 Elsie ; then the death of John Merton who, according to 
 the verdict of the coroner's jury, was " shot by persons un- 
 known"; and next, the prospective marriage of Arthur and 
 Elsie. On the present occasion all the principal people of 
 the village were invited to attend. Everybody was in holi- 
 day attire, and most of the invited guests brought with them 
 quantities of flowers which covered not only the altar but 
 half the floor of the chancel. All knew the story of Arthur 
 and Elsie's love, and the greatest interest was taken in the 
 wedding. Eustis Ferris acted as best man for Arthur, and 
 Elsie, not to disappoint them, had the same little girls to at- 
 tend her as on the former occasion. 
 
 As Elsie walked up the aisle with her father every one 
 noticed how differently the bride looked on this occasion 
 from what she did on the last. Her face was rosy with 
 health and happiness, her lips wreathed in smiles, and her 
 lustrous eyes shone with a brightness to which they had 
 long been strangers. 
 
 The Rev. Rowley Dimple performed the ceremony. On 
 the former occasion, when the eclaircissement took place, 
 he saw " the deluge," meekly put up his prayer-book, and 
 stepped back to the altar, where he knelt in prayer, medi- 
 tating the while on the mutability of human affairs, includ- 
 ing the loss of his fee. On the present occasion he saw the 
 vision of a handsome gratuity before him, and his counte- 
 nance wore a delighted smile. 
 
 The guests one and all declared that they had never seen 
 a more handsome couple, and as Arthur and Elsie looked 
 lovingly into each other's eyes every one was satisfied that 
 here were two hearts that beat in unison, and would cling 
 to each other and create a little world of bliss about them 
 that would bring light and happiness to all who came within 
 their influence. 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 325 
 
 When Arthur retired from the church with Elsie on his 
 arm, he felt like a conqueror who had the world at his feet. 
 He waited at the door for his mother, who was present at 
 the ceremony, put her in the carriage, and said to the driver, 
 "Home." What a world of happiness did that precious 
 word bring before his imagination ! " Home " was Wood- 
 lawn, the place where his mother had passed the only days 
 of rest she had known for years, and where he expected to 
 spend his life in peace and affluence. 
 
 When a great storm has passed over a home and it re- 
 mains intact, with the exception of a few panes of glass 
 broken or a few bushes torn up, there is not much to be 
 said about it. The storm had overtaken these good people 
 and almost wrecked their lives, but they had faced the 
 tempest nobly, and emerged from it unscathed. The earth 
 looked bright to them, and they determined never to refer 
 to the sorrows they had undergone, but to take life pleas- 
 antly, and live on the hopes of the future. There, at Wood- 
 lawn, we will leave them. 
 
 John Merton had accumulated four million pounds 
 sterling well invested, and as he left no will it all fell 
 to Arthur and his mother. The former paid the amount 
 which had been stolen from the Melbourne Bank, and made 
 a handsome provision for the Melbourne woman who claimed 
 to be John Merton's wife. Thus Arthur and Elsie com- 
 menced a new life with plenty of means to devote to those 
 charitable offices which the good love to promote. 
 
 Squire and Mrs. Pentland were not invited to the wed- 
 ding. It vv-ould have been a mockery ; besides, the squire 
 lay sick, and it was some days before he could rise from his 
 bed. He said to his wife : " I am afraid, my dear, that life 
 will bring us few joys in the future, and we had better move 
 from here to our little place in Wiltshire, at least for some 
 years. I was too much wedded to my jury theory. Even 
 juries make mistakes, and this is one of them. Read that 
 letter Ronald wrote me confessing his sins. Poor boy ! 
 
326 ARTHUR MERTON, 
 
 There was a woman in the case, and that always tends to 
 make mischief." 
 
 Ronald Pentland escaped to Liverpool, whence he had 
 written his parents, making a clean breast of his iniquities, 
 and afterward taken passage for America. He asked Ar- 
 thur's forgiveness, and wished that Heaven's blessings might 
 fall on Elsie's head. A few months later his parents re- 
 ceived letters from him announcing that he was employed 
 as clerk in an insurance office. His mother almost fainted 
 at hearing the news of what she styled " his degradation." 
 The squire sighed and simply said : " Better so, dear wife, 
 than to come before a jury, for I fear that the great pal- 
 ladium of British liberty might deal unpleasantly with him 
 despite the fact that he belongs to the gentry." 
 
 Three weeks passed at Woodlawn after the wedding, and 
 never was there a happier party. Eustis Ferris spent most 
 of his time with Julia, who recovered rapidly now that she 
 was surrounded by those she loved, and had nothing to 
 dread from her husband. 
 
 Arthur proposed that, as a variety in the pleasures of the 
 honeymoon, the family should proceed to Lyneham and 
 take up their abode in the old Lester cottage, which was 
 ordered to be prepared for the purpose. Accordingly, they 
 all started off one fair morning for Lyneham with spirits as 
 buoyant as happy hearts could hold, and in due time took 
 possession. Eustis Ferris accompanied the party, as he was 
 now considered one of the family. 
 
 What fond memories did this visit bring back to the two 
 who had spent some of the happiest days of their lives here 
 as well as some of the bitterest ! But the storm had passed 
 and the clouds that remained were tinged with gold, and in 
 their hearts beat hopes that were not to be disappointed. 
 " Come, Julia," said Eustis, " let us go at once to the Avon 
 where we used to walk and tell each other our hopes of the 
 future. When I see the Avon once more, with you at my 
 side, I shall be sure that this is no dream, but happy reality." 
 
ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 327 
 
 Julia had recovered so rapidly her mental and bodily 
 health that any one who had seen her two months before 
 would not have recognized her for the same person. Her 
 beauty had returned to her, and she looked as happy as a 
 young girl who had realized her hopes of being united to 
 the man she loved. 
 
 When the lovers had walked a mile along the banks of 
 the Avon, they came to a large tree whose overhanging 
 boughs almost touched the water. There Eustis stopped 
 and said, " Julia, do you remember this tree ? " 
 
 "Perfectly, Eustis," she replied; "it was here that you 
 first told me that you loved me, though I knew it before. 
 How often since that time have I come here to rest, and 
 wonder whether you would forgive me for my marriage, or 
 curse me for my unfaithfulness." 
 
 '* There was nothing to forgive, darling," he said. "But, 
 Julia, let us renew here those vows which made us the hap- 
 piest couple in the world," and, taking from his pocket a 
 diamond ring, he continued, " let me place this on your 
 finger as a sign of our second betrothal. You are dearer 
 to me now than you ever were in your life, since the sorrows 
 you have undergone and the wretchedness I myself have 
 suffered." 
 
 Julia held out her hand, and he placed the ring upon her 
 finger, and then she held up her face to be kissed. Eustis 
 took her in his arms and pressed her to his bosom. 
 " Here," he said, " is the shelter that will protect you from the 
 storms of life, and we will look back on the past as on some 
 hideous dream." They proceeded back to the cottage, and 
 on their arrival, their happy faces and endearing manner to 
 each other revealed what their friends had been expecting. 
 
 In one year after John Merton's death, Eustis Ferris and 
 Julia were married. The wedding was a great event, and 
 the services of the Rev. Rowley Dimple were again called 
 into requisition. The reverend gentleman was only sorry 
 that no more of the family remained to be married. 
 
328 ARTHUR MERTON. 
 
 Six months later Eustis Ferris received the following 
 letter : 
 
 " America, Decetnber 20, 18 — . 
 
 " I write to you to ease my mind and tell you how I 
 came to kill Kirby Brush, alias John Merton. 
 
 " I was alone on watch at the time, and heard a noise 
 inside the smoke-house. I listened, and heard Merton mov- 
 ing about. As I approached the door, John Merton stepped 
 
 out, snapping his jaws, and muttering : ' D n them, now 
 
 I'll kill them both ! She shall never marry him ! ' With 
 that, I fired two shots and Merton fell without a groan. 
 Then I came here to America. 
 
 " I am not a murderer. I only killed a wolf who would 
 have murdered the woman whom I respect more than any 
 one in the world, and whose sorrows were owing to my want 
 of moral courage. 
 
 " Do not inquire for me. I am happy here, a man with- 
 out a name. You could not find me in this land of a 
 thousand cities and vast wildernesses. Adieu. May God 
 bless you all, is the prayer of No. 10." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 velous mantle of Brabant lace. This mantle wanders through the mazes of this 
 story like a specter that will not down, and, rarely beamiful as it is, grows in 
 the end into a veritable robe of Nessus. . . . Altogether, 'Lace' is one of the 
 most effective pieces of work that we have seen for a long time.''— Commeixial 
 Advertiser. 
 
 31. AM ERIC AX COIX. A Xovel. By the author of " Aristocracy." 
 
 A satirical picture of impecunious Enelish peers in search of fortunes, and 
 of the daughters of American millionaires in ?earch of titles. 
 
 '"American Coin' is a remarkably clever and readable story."— A^. Y. Herald. 
 
 32. WON BY WAITIXG. By Edna Lyall. A new cheap edition. 
 
 " The sentiment of the story is delicate and uplifting, and the style is uncom- 
 monly spirited and active." — Boston Gazette. 
 
 33. THE STORY OF HELEX DAVENAXT. By Violet Fane. 
 
 "Neither Miss Braddon nor the author of 'The House on the Marsh' could 
 have contrived a more ingenious story than that of 'Helen Davenant.' " — The 
 Academy. 
 
 34. THE LIGHT OF HER COUXTEXAXCE. By H. H. Boyesen, 
 
 author of " Gunnar," "Idyls of Xorway," "A Daughter of the 
 
 Philistines," etc. 
 
 The scenes of this story open in New York, but the action soon shifts to Italy. 
 The characters are mainly American and English. The incidents are picturesque, 
 and the movement animated. 
 
 85. MISTRESS BEATRICE COPE; or, Passages in the Life of a 
 
 Jacobite's Daughter. By M. E. Le Clerc. 
 
 " A simple, natural, credible romance, charged with the color of the time and 
 satisfying to the mind of a thoughtful reader."— J^e Athenaeum. 
 
 36. KXIGHT-ERRANT. By Edna Lyall. A new cheap edition. 
 
 "'Knight-Errant' is marked by the author's best qualities as a writer of 
 fiction, and displays on every page the grace and quiet power of her former 
 works."— T/^ Athenczum. 
 
 12mo, pa pep cover. Ppiee, SO cents each. 
 
 D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, 1, 3, & 5 Boxd Street, New York. 
 
D. APPLETON & CO/S PUBUOATIONS. 
 
 A VIRGINIA INHERITANCE. By Edmund Pendleton, author 
 
 of "A Conventional Bohemian." 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, 
 
 $1.00. 
 
 *" A Virginia Inheritance' will easily take rank among the best novels that 
 have appeared this year, both for the remarkable interest and artistically skillful 
 development of the ptory, and for the brilliancy and originality of its character- 
 sketching."— jBos^ow Home Journal. 
 
 A NYMPH OF THE WEST. By Howard Seelt. 12mo. Paper, 
 
 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. 
 
 "In his 'Nymph of the West' Mr. Howard Seely has presented a lively and 
 picturesque, if somewhat highly colored, study of life on the ranch and the ranoe 
 in western Texas, which region, as well as with the habits of its people, he ap- 
 pears to be unusually familiar. Cynthia Dallas, the heroine, is a fresh and 
 original conception — a frank, high-minded girl, with enough of the innocent co- 
 quetry of her sex to make her almost irresistible." — The Sun (New York). 
 
 A DEBUTANTE IN NEW YORK SOCIETY. IIER ILLU- 
 
 SIGNS, AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM. By Rachel Buchanan. 
 
 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. 
 
 " There is a keenness of social satire, an intimate acquaintance with New 
 York society, and an abundance of wit, which combine to make the book un- 
 usually attractive." — Boston Courier. 
 
 "It seems to be the work of a lady who has witnessed what she chronicles. 
 She makes her report on the actualities and illusions of Mew York society with' 
 out a particle of sarcasm or ill-feeling."— ,/(>wr;ia/ of Commerce. 
 
 NINETTE: An Idyll of Provence. By the author of "Vera." 
 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, '75 cents. 
 
 "The tale in itself is true to nature and tenderly pathetic."— Zon(?on Post, 
 " This is a particularly well-told Btoiy. ""—London Globe. 
 
 A COUNSEIi OF PERFECTION. By Lucas Malet, author of 
 "Mrs. Lorimer," "Colonel Enderby's Wife," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 
 cents ; half bound, 75 cents. 
 
 "It would require us to go back to Miss Austen to find anything that better 
 deserved the praise of fine form, fine grouping, fine coloring, humorous delinea- 
 tion, and precision of design."— ZcMo/i Spectator. 
 
 THE ELECT LADY. By George MacDonald, author of "Home 
 Again," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents. 
 
 " There are some good bits of dialogue and strong situations in the book." — 
 T?ie Athenaeum. 
 
 " Rich in imaginative beauty and fine insight into the mysteries of spiritnal 
 life."— Ziondoft Spectator. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
D. APPLETON d CO/S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 H03IE AGAIX. A XOVEL. By George MacDoxald, author of 
 "Annals of a Quiet Xeighborhood," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; 
 half bound, 75 cents. 
 
 " ' Home Again ' is a more compact and complete story than some of his later 
 works. It is, of course, full of good things, pithy sayings, and deep thought. . . . 
 A master's hand shows itself in every ^ngQ.'''— Literary World. 
 
 THE STORY OF ANTONY GRACE. A XOTEL. By George 
 Manville Fenx, author of " The Master of the Ceremonies," etc. 
 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 cents. 
 
 An admirable story of the struggles, adventures, and ultimate successes of a 
 young boy in London. 
 
 THE NUN'S CURSE. A XOYEL. By Mrs. J. II. Riddell, author 
 of "Miss Gascoigne," etc. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; half bound, 75 
 
 cents. 
 
 A powerful story that is not merely interestiDs: but exciting, delineating fresh 
 and remarkable phases of lil'e in the north of Ireland, and with some admirably- 
 drawn characters. 
 
 «« THE RIGHT HONOURABLE. ?' A KOMAXCE OF SOCIETY 
 AXD POLITICS. By Justin McCarthy, M. P., and Mrs. Campbell- 
 Praed. 12mo. Paper, 50 cents ; half bound, 75 cents. 
 
 "The moral is sound. It is one of dnty victoriously achieved though at great 
 cost : and perhaps verisimilitade is not strained by the idealization which im- 
 putes to the woman's superior strensrth of reiinnciation and moral stamina the 
 successful passasre through the last ai:d most fiery trial. Incidentally there is 
 much bright description of fashionable life and people. Nowhere is there any 
 lack of power or knowledge."— A€«; York Tribune. 
 
 SCHEHERAZIDE: A LOXDOX XIGHPS EXTERTAIXMEXT. 
 By Florence Warden. 12mo. Paper, 25 cents. 
 
 _ "Miss Warden has surpassed herself in ' Scheherazade.' In orieinality, dar- 
 ing, and startling incident it goes far beyond her previous works."— Zonc/on 
 Morning Post. 
 
 " Miss Warden has conceived and wrought out a plot of peculiar ingenuity. 
 ._. . We are not aware that any girl exactlv like Xouma is to be found within the 
 limits of contemporary fiction. She is entitled to the rank and dignity of a crea- 
 tion."— ioriofan Globe. 
 
 "Nonma is a subtle character, far more subtle than anvthing Dickens ever 
 attempted. . . . The book is full of real \\t'Q.''—Pall 2Iail Gazette: 
 
 FLORENCE WARDEN'S PREVIOUS NOVELS. 
 
 The House on the Marsh. 
 At the World's Merct. 
 Deldee ; OR, The Iron Hand. 
 
 A Prince of Darkkess. 
 A Vagrant Wit-e. 
 Doris's FoRTtrms. 
 
 12mo. Paper, 25 cents each. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
D, APPLETON & 00/S PUBUOAT/ONS 
 
 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER'S MOVELS. 
 
 DARLEY EDITION. Illustrated with Steel Plates from Drawings 
 by Darley. Printed on tine tinted paper. 32 volumes. Crown 
 8vo. Cloth, extra, gilt top, uncut leaves, $72.00 per set; balf calf, 
 $144.00; half morocco, gilt top, uncut edge, $150.00. 
 
 LIBRARY EDITION. Complete in 32 volumes. 12mo. Per \ot 
 ume, $1.00. 
 
 1. The Spy.* 17. Wing-and-Wing.* 
 
 2. The Pilot.* 18. Oak Openings. 
 
 3. The Red Rover.* 19. Satanstoe. 
 
 4. The Deerslayer.* 20. The Chain-Bearer. 
 
 5. The Pathfinder.* 21. The Red-Skins. 
 
 6. The Last of the Mohic- 22. The Crater. 
 
 ans.* 23. HomeAvard Bound. 
 
 7. The Pioneers.* 24. Home as Found. 
 
 8. The Prairie.* 26. Heidenmauer. 
 
 9. Lionel Lincoln. 26. The Headsman. 
 
 10. Wept of Wish-ton-Wish. 27. Jack Tier. 
 
 11. The Water-Witch.* 28. The Sea-Lions. 
 
 12. The Bravo. 29. Wyandotte. 
 
 13. Mercedes of Castile. 30. The Monikins. 
 
 14. The Two Admirals.* 31. Precaution. 
 
 15. Afloat and Ashore. 32. Ways of the Hour. 
 
 16. Miles Wallingford. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED EDITION. The Novels of J. Feniraore Cooper, 
 with 64 Engravings, from Drawings by F. 0. C. Darley. Complete 
 in 16 volumes. Price^ for the complete set, in cloth, $20.00 ; half 
 calf or half morocco, $43.00. 
 
 OCTAVO EDITION. With Illustrations on Wood by Darley. 11 
 
 volumes, comprising " The Leather-Stocking " and " Sea Tales " ; 
 also "The Spy." [See volumes in the foregoing list marked (*).] 
 Price per volume, paper, 75 cents ; cloth, $1.25. 
 
 LEATHER-STOCKING TALES. Five volumes in one. 40 Il- 
 lustrations by Darley, 8vo. Cloth, $4.00 ; sheep, $5.00. Cheap 
 Edition. Illustrated by Darley. 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 
 
 LEATHER-STOCKING TALES. 5 volumes. 12mo. Cloth, 
 $5.00; half calf, $15.00. 
 
 SEA TALES. Five volumes in one. 40 Illustrations by Darley. 
 8vo. Cloth, $4.00 ; sheep, $5.00. Cheap Edition. With Illus- 
 trations by Darley. 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 
 
 SEA TALES. 5 volumes. 12mo. Cloth, $5.00 ; half calf, $15.00. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
APPLETONS- TOWN AND COUNTRY LIBRARY. 
 
 (Continued from second page of cover.) 
 
 22. Arius the Libyan : A ROMANCE OF THE PETMITIYE CHURCH, 
 
 (A new cheap edition.) 
 
 23. Constance, and Calbot*s Rival. By Jclia^j Hawthorxe. 
 
 24. We Two. By Ehxa Lyall. 
 
 25. A Dreamer of Dreams. By the author of •' Thoth." 
 
 26. The Ladies' Gallery. A NOVEL. By Justin McCarthy, M. P., and 
 
 Mrs. Campbell- Frael). 
 
 27. The Reproach of Annesley. By Maxwell Grey, author of " The 
 
 Silence of Dean Maitkmd." 
 
 28. Near to Happiness. A NOVEL. 
 
 29. In the Wire-Grass. A NOVEL. By Louis Fexdletox. 
 
 30. Lace. A BERLIN ROMANCE. By Paul Lixdau. 
 
 31. American Coin. A NOVEL. By the author of '• Aristocracy." 
 
 32. Won by Waiting-, By Edna Lyall. 
 
 33. The Story of Helen Davenant. By Violet Fane. 
 
 34. The Light of Her Countenance. By H. H. Boyesen. 
 
 35. Mistress Beatrice Cope; OR PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A 
 
 JACOBITE'S DAUGHTER. By M. E. Le Clerc. 
 
 36. The Knight-Errant. By Edna Lyall. 
 
 37. In the Golden Days. By Edna Lyall. 
 
 38. Giraldi; OR, THE CURSE OF LOVE. By Ross George Dering. 
 
 12iiio, paper cover. Price, 50 cents each. 
 
 (With a few exceptions, the volumes are also bound in cloth, uniform style. 
 
 Price, 75 cents each. ^ 
 
 THE GAINSBOROUGH SERIES. 
 
 3Irs. Gaiiisboroush's Diamonds. By Julian Hawthorne. 
 
 A Struggle. A Story in Four Parts. By Barnet Phillips. 
 
 Saiuuei Brohl and Company. From the French of Victor Cherbuliez. 
 
 Geier-AVallv : A Tale of the Tyrol. From the German of Wilheliiine 
 
 VON HiLLERN. 
 
 3Iodern Fi*ihers of 3Ien, By George L. Raymond. 
 Dr. HeidenholPs Process. By Edward Bellamy. 
 'chn-a-Dreanis, By Julian Sturgis. 
 
 Accomplished Gentleman. By Julian Sturgis. 
 Attic Philosopher in Paris, From the French of Emile Sou%-estre. 
 ss Gascoigne. By Mrs. J. H. Riddell. 
 
 fie Story of Colette. From the Original, " La Neuvaln^e de Colette." 
 Little 3Iaid of Acadie. By Marian C. L. Reeves. 
 Jrthodox. By Dokotiiea Gerard. 
 
 My Cousin, 3Iiss Cinderella. From the French of Leon de Tls-seait. 
 The Story of Happinolanae, and other Legends. By 0. B. Bl-nce. 
 Thoth. By the author of " A Dreamer of Dreams." 
 Derricii Vaughan, Novelist. By Edna Lyall. 
 
 Uniform style. 12mo, paper cover. Price, 25 cents each. 
 
 New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
By ADMIRAL PORTER. 
 
 Incidents and Anecdotes of the Civil War. 
 
 By Admiral David D. Porter. 8vo. Cloth, $2.00. 
 
 " Federal and Confederate generals have written many books descriptive of army operations 
 on both sides of the Civil War. At last we hear from an adequate representative of the Union 
 Navy in the person of Admiral Porter. This gallant officer was in the thick of the most im- 
 portant naval engagements of the war, and writes of what he saw, heard, and did. He is the 
 master of an off-hand literary style ; his descriptions of battles thrill the reader, and he seasons 
 his gravest chapters with a spice of fun. He tells stories witli dramatic effect. Among the 
 events described by the admiral are the attack on New Orleans and surrender of the forts, the 
 capture of Vicksburg, the battle of Grand Gulf, the disastrous failure of the Ked River ^• 
 pedition, General Butler's absurd attempt to blow up FOrt Fisher with p -'^ - 
 evacuation of Petersburg, and the triumphant entry into Richmond. The book is appr<.,^. 
 named. It is not a history, but a brilliant succession of incidents and anecdotes which the 
 na'Tator has selected from his stores of reminiscence as most likely to entertain the reader 
 and give him a correct idea of some of the greatest acts and actors in the Civil War.'' — New 
 York Journal oj Commerce. 
 
 Allan Dare and Eobert le Dial)le. 
 
 A ROMANCE. By Admiral David D. Porter. Illustrated by 
 Alfred Fredericks. 2 vols., 8vo. Paper, $2.00 ; cloth, $3.00. 
 
 " All wonderfully vivid, exciting, and picturesque, with enough plot and incident already 
 to furnish out some half-dozen ordinary novels. Admiral Porter has .surprising vigor and 
 freshness of style in narration of picturesqueness in description of scenes and incidents, and 
 of vividness in character-sketching. His story is wildly improbable, but it rivets the atten- 
 tion, nevertheless, and holds it steadily' by its force, originalit}', and daring." — Boston Gazette. 
 
 The Adventures of Harry larline 
 
 OR, NOTES PROM AN AMERICAN MIDSHIPMAN' 
 BAG. By Admiral David D. Porter. With ^llustra 
 Paper, $1 00 ; cloth, $1.50. 
 
 " ' Harry Marline ' is written in the racy manner that ought to characterizt 
 of doing.s at sea. In reading it one is brought face to face with the stern and I" 
 of a midshipman's life. The descriptions are most exhaustive ; the humor of 
 cock-and-bull stories — 'yarns' we believe they be called aboardship— the cod 
 afloat ; the satires upon the green Secretaries of the Navy (of those old days) 
 most satisfactory. There is hardly a page that does not excite the risibilities 
 and after one closes the volume delightful memories remain. The admiral desi 
 of ' our later Cooper,' or perhaps, by reason of his deep stratum of humor, that ol 
 of America. There are several illustrations, well designed and executed." — HartJ^ 
 Post. 
 
 New York : D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street. 
 
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