- 
 

 
 T^ ."** > 
 
 X*> ^ 
 
 rfX f^TN^ *7 
 
 ^^W; 
 
 *-^<--,W,*ir%K< 
 
 ^C^3^^r^D^^p>^|- 
 
 B^uvV^^^^^^^Vlgl 
 
 r ^.t^,^^ >-53-r . i ti ti C* r f-^-f ^if , > V ( j-r*. .' _^-Jf ^. I y^- -^ s. J A ' ' t- 
 
 \ T-V' '-ii<r I v ^ *1>^ i^'/s^ 
 
 ^ ~ J\ r*~ r \^^r ^Tt ,/*,'~ 4 * *. 
 
 i or -v^si- v' *2_ v f TS-: \^; ^^OH -' 
 
 v *^^ -^-^^a' ^^^ - X<r~* 
 
 3S?=iE^*^\S5i 
 
 V>^^ ^^>
 
 * , . ,,. . 
 
 10 r5^2B^.a V'JSgfe, 
 
 . - *S AU H ^XS^%'4l^^& 
 
 i.^ \^V h -v w \7*?s^_j*-^--- v*. ?-S/' s ^^ i ' N ^7^\C*^T 5S?S^ i^^SF^ 
 *-r -, ^S^_^U- V^^^^^_ \S^^SS^;;\^^J 
 
 
 
 teT" A?^*-?85*-- ^^ig^^fei^^K 
 
 ^, S^^^: ..VfcStSS 
 
 3'^fe 
 
 -t

 
 Nana's Daughter, 
 
 A STORY OF PARISIAN LIFE. 
 
 BY- 
 ALFRED SIRVEN AND HENRI LEVERDIER, 
 
 With a letter from the authors to M. Emile Zola. 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE 25th. FRENCH EDITION. 
 
 When M. Emile Zola wrote " Nana," the world thought that no truer 
 photograph of the kaleidoscopic life which is so truly and essentially 
 Parisian could be brought out by any other author. It remained for 
 Alfred Sirven and Henri Leverdier to combine French wit, ingenuity and 
 realistic word-painting to disapprove this opinion. 
 
 " NANA'S DAUGHTER," by these gentlemen, faithfully portrays, with 
 graphic lights and shadows, that zone of Parisian life from which the beau 
 irtande gathers all that is chic, Frenchy and worldly. 
 
 The character of Nana' : daughter, in vivid contrast to her mother, 
 that queen of the demi-monde, shines like a pure crystal amid the sordid 
 surroundings and "demoniacal plots which at times almost engulphed her, 
 and, irredescent to the last, remains untarnished and spotless, a tribute to 
 virtue. 
 
 The book maintains its thrilling interest to the very end. The charac- 
 ters are skillfully sketched, and the plot most interestingly complicated. 
 
 FOX SALE ON ALL TRAINS, AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 Sent by mail postpaid on receipt of price. 
 
 LAIRD &. LEE, Publishers, 
 
 CHICAGO.
 
 A SPARKLING AMERICAN NOVEL 
 
 ER FATAL SIN 
 
 BY MRS. M. E. HOLMES, 
 Author of " A Woman's Love," " The Redmount Tragedy," Etc. 
 
 "A brilliant story by a brilliant author." Tribune. 
 WITH SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 
 1886, 
 
 BY FRED. C. LAIRD. 
 
 CHICAGO : 
 
 LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS. 
 CORNER CLARK AND ADAMS STREETS
 
 POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 per gale by the jJeWs Agsrfi on tips tfuain, 
 
 LARGE TYPE. GOOD PAPER. 
 ELEGANTLY BOUND. 
 
 Delightful reading to while away a few hours of a weary 
 journey. 
 
 A WOMAN'S LOVE, ...... Mrs. M. E. Holmes. 
 
 HER FATAL SIN, " " 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF REDMOUNT, .... " 
 
 BOUND BY A SPELL, Hugli Conway. 
 
 FORCED APART; or, EXILED BY FATF, - - Morris Redwing. 
 
 A GOLDEN HEART, Bertha M. Clay. 
 
 MILDRED TREVANION, The "Duchess." 
 
 LADY VALWORTH'S DIAMONDS, " " 
 
 A HOUSE PARTY, - "Ouida." 
 
 MORGAN'S HORROR, G. Manville Fenn. 
 
 MY QUEEN, Mrs. Godfrey. 
 
 GOTHAM AND THE GOTHAMITES, - - H. O. von Karlstein. 
 CAUGHT IN A CORNER; or, A Terrible Adventure, - G. W. Waters. 
 NANA'S DAUGHTER, A Story of Parisian Life, " - Alfred Sirven. 
 
 COURT ROYAL, ....... S. Baring-Gould. 
 
 COWARD AND COQUETTE, .... Mrs. Fairman Mann. 
 
 BRISTLING WITH THORNS, ..... O. T. Beard. 
 
 $5,000 REWARD; or, Cornered at Last, - - Frank Pinkerton. 
 
 A LIFE FOR A LIFE; or, The Detective's Triumph, " " 
 
 DYKE DARREL, THE RAILROAD DETECTIVE; or, The 
 
 Crime of the Midnight Express, - " " 
 
 JIM CUMMINGS; or, The Great Adams Express Robbery, u " 
 
 MARKED FOR LIFE, ....... 
 
 The News Agent on this train has all the above books, and 
 will be glad to show them to passengers.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 " AND then 'oo sal have a pink dress, like the boofical mammie's. 
 Rica will dress her dolly. Look out of window, dolly. See the mans has 
 put up the big, big star. " 
 
 The twilight dusk filled the room; the fire was burning red, and glow- 
 ing inside the tall nursery fender. The little figure by the window was 
 dimly discernible. Two chairs were pulled close up to the fire, and two 
 heads were close together whispering. 
 
 " Mans is gone, dolly. Paps er gone to see his 'ittle girl like Rica. 
 Ush ush! Go a peep, dolly; time a dolly was a bye-bye." 
 
 "Miss Rica Miss Rica!" a voice from the fireside called shrilly; 
 " come along, it's tea-time." Then, in a lower tone: " She's that queer! 
 Hark to her talking to her doll for all the world like a Christian." Then, 
 louder: " Miss Rica ! " 
 
 The little figure slipped down from the wide window-ledge and 
 approached the fire. 
 
 " Won't you shake 'ands, Miss Rica? " asked the second person, sitting 
 in the big arm-chair. 
 
 The fire suddenly fell in, and there was a bright blaze. It shone on 
 the tiny little form standing between the two chairs, a face with great gray 
 eyes that looked earnestly at the speaker, almost elfish in its fringe of 
 dark straight locks. The small arms were closed tight over the precious 
 dolly. 
 
 " It's Mrs. Marvel, Miss Rica, " said the other figure. " You remember 
 her? 
 
 The little hand left the dolly, and was placed in the large work-stained 
 one held out to her. 
 
 " I "member," said the child. 
 
 Mrs. Marvel stooped forward and lifted her onto her knee. 
 
 " What have you been doing? " she asked. 
 
 " Talking a dolly, " said Rica, looking at the kind motherly face with 
 wide wondering eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Marvel drew the small form closer to her and kissed her pretty 
 mouth. 
 
 "Bless her, she's a dear child!" she said tenderly. "Ain't she, 
 nurse? " 
 
 " Oh, she's good enough," replied nurse, briskly. 
 
 She was filling a cosy brown teapot with boiling water from the kettle, 
 whisking about busily, and, lastly, lighting the gas. 
 
 " Now, Miss Rica, come to tea," she said, these manoeuvres over. 
 
 5 
 
 2226757
 
 6 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Rica got off Mrs. Marvel's knee, and with many soothing murmurs 
 and much solemnity deposited dolly in a dilapidated cradle standing in a 
 corner ; then she clambered up into her high chair, and contemplated the 
 repast with no abatement of her gravity. 
 
 It was a homely but plentiful meal, and with the bright fire blazing 
 away, the red baize blind carefully drawn, the room looked cheerful and 
 cosy. Nurse and Mrs. Marvel discussed tea-cakes and gossip at the same 
 time, while Rica drank her milk-and-water, and ate her bread and butter, 
 slowly and dreamingly. 
 
 " Don't she never go down-stairs ? " asked Mrs. Marvel during a mo- 
 mentary pause in nurse's voluble talk. 
 
 " Once in a blue moon," returned the other ; " when some of missus's 
 grand friends ask to see her, which ain't often. " 
 
 "And she don't she come up here? " 
 
 " Almost never. Lor' bless you ! folk have got somethink better to 
 do nor to trouble their 'eds about children. They bring 'em into the 
 world that's quite enough for them ; the little 'uns may shift along as 
 best they can ! " 
 
 " If she were mine, it 'ud be different," sighed Mrs. Marvel, tenderly 
 contemplating the tiny flower-like face opposite. " What does the 
 Almighty give us children for, if it's not to love 'em ? " 
 
 "Can't say," returned nurse dryly. " Yes, you may get down," as 
 Rica pushed her plate and cup from her. 
 
 The child put her two hands together, shut her eyes, and said her 
 grace, nurse regarding her triumphantly the while. 
 
 "Yes, 1 ' she said, when it was finished ; " yes, I thinks I've done my 
 duty to the child, if her mother don't do hern." 
 
 Rica came to her side slowly. 
 
 " Boofical mammie is going way way from Rica," she said in her 
 low quiet voice. 
 
 Nurse shot a telegraphic look across to Mrs. Marvel and pursed up 
 her lips. 
 
 " Little girls should be seen and not heard," she remarked senten- 
 tiously. " Come here, Miss Rica, and let me untie your pinafore j it's 
 time you was in bed. " 
 
 The evening toilet completed, Rica knelt down by her nurse's side, 
 and repeated a little prayer for papa, boofical mammie, nursie and self. 
 
 Then the little white-robed figure disappeared through the door to the 
 inner nursery, and carefully closed it. 
 
 " She always goes to bed by herself in the dark," observed nurse, in 
 reply to Mrs. Marvel's look of astonishment. The two sat on chatting 
 till the clock had ticked from half-past six to eight. It was not often 
 nurse had a visitor, and she made the best of her time. 
 
 Suddenly, in the midst of deep and confidential communications, came 
 a knock at the door. 
 
 " It's missus's maid, Mdlle. Rosalie, I expect," nurse said crossly, and 
 she uttered a sharp ".Come in. " 
 
 The door was opened, and as the intruder was discovered to view, 
 nurse rose quickly with a hurried exclamation. 
 
 The new comer advanced into the room. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am, I'm sure," stammered the nurse. 
 
 "Don't trouble, nurse; pray sit down your friend also. I only 
 want to see Miss Ulrica."
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 7 
 
 The voice was soft and sweet, the eyes stars of beauty ; the light fell 
 tenderly on the graceful figure draped in white satin, which gleamed and 
 shone at every movement like pearls. 
 
 It was an apparition of loveliness that caused Mrs. Marvel to stand and 
 stare open-mouthed. 
 
 "Miss Rica's gone to bed, ma'am," said nurse, lighting a candle; 
 " she've been gone this hour and a half." 
 
 " I will be very careful and not wake her, if I can help it," replied her 
 mistress with a smile, taking the candle. 
 
 At the door of the inner nursery she stopped, her trailing garments 
 sweeping the floor in their richness. 
 
 " Does does she always go to bed in the dark, nurse ? " she asked, 
 with a catch in her breath. 
 
 " Always," returned nurse abruptly. 
 
 Then the tall slender figure passed softly in, the door was pushed 
 behind her, and the two women left staring at one another in amazement. 
 
 " How beautiful she is like a hangel ! " whispered Mrs. Marvel. 
 
 " It's all outside," replied nurse bitterly; " there ain't no heart under- 
 neath. " 
 
 The door closed, the mother crept quietly across the room, candle in 
 hand, to the small cot beside the large bed. 
 
 She put the light down on a table near, and bent over the sleeping 
 child. The clothes were tossed away from the little form, the hands flung 
 out on either side; Rica lay on her back, her head nestled comfortably on 
 the pillow. 
 
 The eyelids, with their long fringe of dark lashes, were closed, but 
 something shone on their darkness, and glittered on the little cheek. 
 
 The mother bent lower. The child was breathing quietly, but every 
 now and then a slight sob betrayed the truth ; there were tears on the tiny 
 face. 
 
 The watcher slipped down beside the cot, heedless of her .rich dress, 
 and buried her face in the bed-clothes. 
 
 " Poor little mite ! God forgive me! How wicked I've been! My 
 poor little child ! I have lost all thought of her in this miserable life." 
 
 The little child moved restlessly. Perhaps the light on her eyes half 
 awakened her. The heavy lashes were lifted; she struggled up hi bed 
 her glance fell on the kneeling form. 
 
 " Boofical mammie," she said sleepily, rubbing her eyes, " come a see 
 Rica. " 
 
 The mother started up, and encircling the little figure, drew it into 
 her arms, while she rained kisses on the trembling lips and great wonder- 
 ing eyes. 
 
 " Yes," she murmured, " mammie has come, my own little one your 
 own mammie!" . 
 
 " Mammie go "way, but Rica no key be good ; nursie say so. " 
 
 The voice was very tired, the little head pillowed on the soft white 
 throat drooped drowsily. 
 
 " God have mercy on me for my neglect ! " prayed the mother in- 
 wardly as she laid the child tenderly in the cot again. "I have been 
 wrong, but I will atone ! Go to sleep, my darling ; mammie will come 
 again very soon. She is not going away, my pet. Rica shall come to 
 mammie whenever she likes, and she shall go out with mammie, too. 
 Kiss me, my precious ! "
 
 8 HER FATAL SIN 
 
 The tired little mouth was uplifted, and as she was laid back on the 
 pillow Riea was fast asleep again. Drawing her hand over her eyes to ease 
 the hot pain in them, the mother rose, stood silent for many minutes, watch- 
 ing the little form, then taking the candle, with one lingering look and a 
 deep sigh, went slowly from the room. 
 
 " I awoke her at first, nurse," she said gently as she entered the nurs- 
 ery ; " but she is asleep again. " 
 
 "Yes, ma'am; she's a good child never gives no trouble is Miss 
 Rica. As old-fashioned as a woman, though she is only four year old, but 
 very good." 
 
 " You have always been so kind to her, nurse." The speaker's voice 
 trembled a little. " I should like to think you were with her when I am 
 not here. " 
 
 She stooped to arrange her dress nervously. 
 
 " Thank you, ma'am; yes, ma'am," returned nurse, much gratified. 
 
 " You won't mind if I come up sometimes to see her? " 
 
 " Lor', Mrs. Messenger, ma'am, as if I could mind! She's your own 
 child." 
 
 With another faint smile, and a pleasant good-night to both the 
 women, Mrs. Messenger opened the nursery door and passed out. 
 
 " Well, this is a rum go ! " observed nurse after a moment's pause. 
 " It's 'most a year since she's been up here. What brought her up to-night, 
 I wonder? " 
 
 "Perhaps you wrong her," said Mrs. Marvel, slowly. "It looks a 
 good face, but troubled and sad like. " 
 
 " Well, we've all got our share of this world's troubles," was the phi- 
 losophical reply. " And now, if you're ready, we'll go down-stairs. I 
 ain't been out to-day, so I'll walk a little bit of the way with you. " 
 
 She lowered the gas, and they left the .room, and made their way to 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Mrs. Messenger progressed down the broad staircase slowly almost 
 wearily. 
 
 The soft tender look in her eyes had faded Jaway, a hardness spoilt the 
 tremulous beauty of the mouth. 
 
 She stood for one minute outside a large door; then, with a heavy sigh, 
 pushed it open, and entered the room. 
 
 Two men were seated in opposite chairs, both, apparently, engrossed 
 in their newspapers. 
 
 The one was thin, sharp-faced, with clean-shaven chin and side-wisk- 
 ers, very pale cold eyes, and a strong expression of determination and dog- 
 gedness dwelling on his features. The other was a very handsome man, 
 whose eyes, dark and beautiful, were filled with a glow of unrestrained 
 admiration and passion as the slender graceful form advanced towards him. 
 
 She gave him her hand in silence, and sank listlessly into a chair. 
 
 The thin man shot a glance at her, but did not open his lips. From 
 the shelter of his newspaper he watched the eager confidential manner of 
 the other carefully. 
 
 Mrs. Messenger made but languid response to this conversation, and, as 
 dinner was announced, she put her hand on his arm, and was led down-stairs. 
 
 The luxurious meal progressed slowly. The hostess leaned back care- 
 lessly in her chair, toying with the bread crumbs beside her plate, but mak- 
 ing no effort to amuse her guest, and perfectly indifferent to the long and 
 frequent glances he directed at her.
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 9 
 
 "It was a pity you did not stay longer last night," he said, after a 
 lengthened ana tedious silence. " You would have been amused, I think. 
 A man sang very well. " 
 
 " I was tired," she replied, negligently. 
 
 " There were loud laments, and many inquiries for Mrs. Messenger," 
 he continued. 
 
 " Mrs. Messenger is obliged ; " she looked at him for one moment, and 
 then dropped her eyes. 
 
 A voice broke in here cold and harsh : 
 
 " Are you going to this tomfoolery to-night, sir Geoffrey ?" 
 
 Sir Geoffrey Denvil turned to his host. 
 
 " Yes," he said drawlingly. " Are you ?" 
 
 " Surely you have known Mr. Messenger long enough, Sir Geoffrey, 
 to know what a futile question that is," she spoke very quietly. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey did not reply. 
 
 "Why not speak the truth," sneered Mr. Messenger suddenly, "and 
 tell Sir Geoffrey why I don't go." 
 
 " I doubt whether it would entertain Sir Geoffrey," she replied slowly. 
 
 " We will put it to the proof," said her husband, an angry gleam in 
 his pale eyes. " I don't go to these grand houses because I am not asked 
 that's all. My wife is good enough I am not ! " 
 
 " I think you have the best of us, Messenger," Sir Geoffrey remarked 
 easily, stroking his mustache to hide the expression on his face. " It is 
 confoundedly h^Dt at these entertainments." 
 
 Mr. Messenger did not reply. 
 
 " What a thorough outsider the man is !" was Sir Geoffrey's inward 
 thought, while he drank with much approbation the costly wines provided 
 for his delectation by the " outsider. " 
 
 " Did I tell you," said Mrs. Messenger, after a pause, " that I am in- 
 vited to Deer Castle for the autumn?" 
 
 Sir Geoffrey looked up quickly. 
 
 " And you will go ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Mr. Messenger's eyes met Mrs. Messenger's for one instant. 
 
 " My wife is mistaken, " observed the host slowly. " She will not go 
 to Deer Castle this autumn, Sir Geoffrey." 
 
 The white fingers closed on the bread crumbs suddenly. 
 
 " You see, " she said, turning to her guest, " I was mistaken. It is 
 fortunate," laughing lightly, " that I have Mr. Messenger always by my 
 side to correct my faults." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey consulted his menu. Dinner continued in silence. To 
 Mrs. Messenger the meal was a perfect farce she ate nothing. As the 
 butler withdrew she rose. 
 
 " I will leave you to your cigars and wine," she said, with a faint 
 smile. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey hurried to the door, as she swept towards it. 
 
 Mr. Messenger rose punctiliously, but did not move from the table, as 
 his wife passed him. 
 
 A soft whisper fell on her ear as she stood beside Sir Geoffrey. 
 
 " I will follow in one moment." 
 
 She made no sign, but passed through the doorway, turned to the 
 broad staircase, and mounted it slowly. 
 
 On the first landing she met her maid bearing her wraps.
 
 10 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " Madam wishes her burnous ? " 
 
 "Yes," she said hurriedly; "wait for me here, Rosalie; I am going 
 for one moment to my room. " 
 
 The maid elevated her well-defined brows as she watched the slight 
 figure disappear. She would have elevated them still more if she could 
 have seen her languid mistress fling herself down beside a couch and moan 
 aloud as if in pain. 
 
 " Give me strength let me live ! " she prayed. " I have been wicked, 
 sinful, wrong. I have prayed for death so often ; but oh, God, I repent ! 
 Give me help and strength in the future for my child's sake ! Let me 
 atone for my neglect ; let me cherish now this treasure. " 
 
 She half rose from her knees, her hand pressed to her side. 
 
 Her face grew distorted and white. 
 
 She tottered to her toilet-table, scattered with costly trifles, and 
 with one cold trembling hand opened a casket and took out a bottle. 
 
 "It comes worse to-night!" she murmured. "He warned me of 
 agitation. More drops I must take more drops, or this pain will kill 
 me!" 
 
 She stood for several seconds, then poured a tiny dose out of the 
 bottle and swallowed it. 
 
 She put the glass down with shaking fingers, and waited. 
 
 The color came gradually into the pallid cheeks ; she drew a long 
 breath, another, then left the room. 
 
 The maid was waiting patiently for her mistress, leaning with char- 
 acteristic coquetry over the banisters, to catch a glimpse of Sir Geoffrey's 
 handsome face as she heard the gentlemen leave the dining-room. 
 
 Mrs. Messenger took her cloak from the maid, drew it round her with 
 a slight shudder, and began to descend. On the top stair she stopped 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Give me your latch-key, Rosalie," she said. " After the theatricals I 
 am going to Lady Deere's ball. I shall be very late; you need not sit 
 up." 
 
 " If madame would allow, my seester is en Londres ce soir." 
 
 " And you would like to see her ? Certainly, go by all means." 
 
 " Merci, madame." 
 
 In the hall Sir Geoffrey was waiting, when Mrs. Messenger appeared. 
 
 " He is gone," was his terse remark. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders, and passed through the open door to her 
 carriage. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey was about to step in after her when she placed an oppos- 
 ing hand on his arm. 
 
 " I am going first for Mrs. Coningham you had better take a cab, 
 Sir Geoffrey." 
 
 Sir Geoffrey stepped back at once and doffed his hat as the carriage 
 rolled on. 
 
 His face was black with a frown ; he moved on a few paces and lit his 
 cigar, then his eye caught a hansom slowly creeping through the gloomy 
 square. He hailed it and drove away. 
 
 As the cab disappeared in the distance a form emerged from the dark 
 shade of a neighboring portico ; it stood for an instant watching the re- 
 treating vehicle, then walked quickly back to the house from which the 
 carriage had just rolled away, opened the door with a latch-key, and entered 
 the hall
 
 THE PROLOGUE. II 
 
 The light of the large lamp disclosed Mr. Messenger's thin face and 
 pale eyes, and marked clearly the moodiness and gloom written on his 
 features. 
 
 He walked slowly through the hall, up the staircase, still wearing the 
 light overcoat he had donned when he had parted with Sir Geoffrey Denvil. 
 
 He met no one in the passage, though from below he caught the sound 
 of voices the servants were enjoying their leisure. 
 
 He passed the drawing-room, and halted before the heavy curtains 
 that veiled the entrance to his wife's boudoir. 
 
 Mr. Messenger rarely entered that room. He hesitated now for an 
 instant, then pushed aside, the curtain, and turned the handle with a click. 
 
 He turned up the light, and then stood on the hearth-rug, with his 
 back to the remnant of fire still burning, and contemplated the room with 
 a curious expression on his face. 
 
 Exactly opposite to him on the wall hung two paintings, one repre- 
 senting a man with a clean-shaven face and sharp cold eyes. 
 
 It was himself, taken six years ago. 
 
 The other picture was that of a girl, young, fair, and lovely. 
 Her great eyes gazed earnestly into the spectator's like sapphire stars ; her 
 mouth was parted with a smile, and disclosed teeth, white, even, small as 
 pearls. There was a strong resemblance to the beautiful woman who had 
 sat so listlessly through the long courses of dinner, but the pictured face 
 was possessed of a happiness, a tender wistfulness, that were altogether 
 wanting in the living one. 
 
 " How changed she is ! " he muttered. " That is how she looked when 
 she met her lover, curse him ! Now her face is like a mask, but I am her 
 master ; he can never possess her ! I have paid dearly for my triumph ! " 
 He turned and walked to the writing-table with one backward glance at 
 the lovely face. " But I would give it all again and again if she would 
 look like that in return." 
 
 Would he ever efface the memory of what she had lost ? 
 
 His pale face flushed. 
 
 He let his eyes wander round the room. 
 
 Surely he had atoned ; had she not luxury, splendor unequaled now, 
 where before she had but scantiness and bare necessity ? 
 
 What talisman did she possess that drew her away from her costly life, 
 that brought the longing for the days and things that were gone ? 
 
 Suddenly, as if struck by a sudden idea, he ceased his walk and ap- 
 proached the writing-table. 
 
 He opened the drawers of the desk in succession; there was nothing 
 in any of them that rewarded his search. In one, a profusion of cards . 
 invitations from high places for Mrs. Messenger Mr. Messenger was not 
 included. 
 
 He shut it with a savage click. 
 
 Another receptacle was stocked with dainty writing-paper; he had 
 sent it in for her use two days ago. The third drawer contained a disor- 
 dered mass of books and documents which he recognized at once as trades- 
 men's bills. 
 
 With an impatient " Pshaw ! " and a half look of contempt for him- 
 self, Mr. Messenger rose and was about to leave the table, when a small 
 cabinet, standing behind the inkstand, caught his eye. It was of plain 
 wood, and looked strangely out of place amid its gorgeous surround- 
 ings.
 
 12 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 He hesitated for one moment, then put his hand on the rough knob. 
 It was locked. With one swift jerk he broke the tiny door, and a packet 
 of letters, tied together, fell out. 
 
 His search was rewarded. Very white in the face, Mr. Messenger 
 tore aside the string and scattered the contents on the table. 
 
 About a dozen or so of short notes. He read them through carefully, 
 placing them one on the other, as he had found them. 
 
 They were in a man's hand, written in a lover's strain. In one of the 
 envelopes a withered flower was concealed, and attached to it was a scrap 
 of paper bearing the inscription, " Given me by my darling last night." 
 
 Mr. Messenger's fingers shook as he held the dried, shriveled memen- 
 toes of the once living glowing thing; then, with a sudden movement, he 
 swept all the letters into his pocket, replaced the cabinet, and was leaving 
 the room with hurried steps when the door opened, and he came face to 
 face with his wife. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mrs. Messenger uttered a quick exclamation as she met her husband 
 in the doorway of her boudoir. Her face was very pale; it grew a shade 
 paler as she walked past him into the room and flung her rich mantle onto 
 the couch. 
 
 " Do you want anything? " she said, seeing him stand silent and still. 
 
 " Why are you come home so early? " he returned, not moving; " is it 
 possible the beautiful Mrs. Messenger can be spared? " 
 
 " I have torn my dress," she replied negligently, sinking into a chair, 
 "and must change it." 
 
 George Messenger approached his wife slowly; he cast one sharp 
 glance at her. 
 
 " You have injured your flounce, I see," he said dryly, " not your dress. 
 Eight hundred pounds thrown away ! " 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 "It would be the same were it eight thousand pounds," he continued, 
 frowning. " Your extravagance is something fearful, Beatrix ! " 
 
 She sighed wearily, drew off her long gloves with a jerk, and flung them 
 on the table. 
 
 " I must put a stop to it somewhere. I am a rich man, but you ought 
 to have married a Croesus. " 
 
 " Can we not defer this disquisition on wealth until the morning ? " 
 asked Mrs. Messenger, coldly. 
 
 " No, we cannot," he observed shortly. " It is fortunate you are 
 returned, as I have a great deal to say to you ; there is no opportunity like 
 the present. Do you know what your dressmaker's bill amounts to ? " 
 
 " I never trouble my head about it ; it is for you to pay, not me." 
 
 " Six hundred and forty-seven pounds in six months ! " he said, biting 
 his lip fiercely at her remark. " At this rate I shall soon be in the work- 
 house. " 
 
 " What ! " she looked at him quietly. " Are there no more people to 
 be robbed ? Is your occupation gone ? " 
 
 " Take care, Beatrix ! " he replied in a voice hoarse with anger ; " take 
 care what you say. " 
 
 " Why ? It is the truth, is it not ? "
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 13 
 
 She opened her fan and moved it to and fro leisurely as she spoke. 
 Mr. Messenger took two hasty strides to the door, then came back again. 
 
 " I am determined," he said, speaking very low and quickly " I am 
 determined to come to an understanding with you ; I will no longer be 
 shown up to the world as your fool. I will let these fine people know, 
 who come cringing to your feet, that I am master here, not you that you 
 have nothing ; that you owe everything in the world to me ; that for all 
 your grand airs, if I chose, to-morrow you might be a pauper ! " 
 
 " Don't you consider all this very unnecessary? " asked Mrs. Messen- 
 ger slowly. 
 
 " I don't care if it is. T am going to speak. You shall hear plain 
 words for once. I'm getting tired of this life. Shunted off out of sight 
 anywhere, while my wife, gads about from one place to another ; fills my 
 house with whom she likes men who are not even civil to me, and women 
 who ignore my very presence. " 
 
 " What do you want? " still waving her fan slowly. 
 
 " I want it all changed," said Mr. Messenger doggedly ; " and what is 
 more, I will have it, too ! You've seen the last of your grand friends for 
 some time to come ; so make your mind easy on that point." 
 
 " Is that all? " 
 
 " Don't you find it enough? " he sneered. 
 
 " Your mood is peculiar to-night," Mrs. Messenger said quietly, " and 
 must be treated accordingly. Just now you said I should hear plain words ; " 
 she shut her fan deliberately, and placed it beside her gloves. " In return, 
 I will give you some. I, too, am tired of this life, Mr. Messenger. For 
 six long years I have borne my burden in silence ; now I shall speak. The 
 moment has come when I can no longer support the contempt the loath- 
 ing that fills my heart. I have sought to lose the degradation of being 
 your wife by mingling in the world. It clings to me still it will cling to 
 me forever. Your deceit to me your cruelty to my father, will live 
 always, though, God knows, I have tried earnestly tried to crush the 
 memory of it. Because I have been silent, seemed cold, indifferent, 
 you think I have no heart no feeling. The tortures of purgatory cannot 
 be greater than those I have endured since I became your wife. It was on 
 a par with your mean, despicable character to rob my father yes, rob," 
 she repeated, as he savagely interrupted her, " for I know now the money, 
 instead of disappearing, as you told him, in that disastrous speculation, 
 simply enriched your own pocket to work on a girl's generosity and love 
 to induce her to marry you and save her father. I have only one single 
 gleam of happiness in all my gloom the thought that he never knew how 
 wretched my life was. " 
 
 He moved restlessly to and fro, biting his lip ; but he made no 
 reply. 
 
 " What crime had I done ? " she cried passionately and suddenly ; 
 " how injured you, that you should have acted as you did ? Why did 
 you come like a dark shadow to blot out all joy and light from my life ? " 
 
 " Because I loved you," he said, coming to a stand-still ; " loved you 
 a thousand times more than that other for whom you still pine ? Aye," 
 he added, with a bitter sneer, " I am not blind. It is not regret for your 
 father, nor distrust for me, that has darkened your life, I know. " 
 
 " Loved me ! " she repeated slowly, a great fire of contempt blazing in 
 her eyes. " Loved me ! Was there not some better way of winning me 
 than cruelty and deceit ? Did you think it likely I should prove a good
 
 14 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 wife when I learnt the truth when I knew the man whom I had bound 
 myself to forever was a liar, a " 
 
 Her words failed her ; she turned aside. 
 
 " Bah ! " he said coolly ; " it is rather late in the day for these qualms 
 of conscience. For six years you have stood by and seen me rob and lie 
 without putting out a hand to protest. Instead of that, you have taken 
 the money accruing from these violent measures, and spent it spent it 
 freely. I wonder you have not informed me of your great distaste to my 
 profession before this. I would gladly have reduced your share in the ex- 
 penditure. You must excuse me if I dismiss these remarks of yours as 
 utterly absurd." 
 
 She did not reply, but gathering her dress in her hands, turned to the 
 door. 
 
 " Where are you going ? " he demanded sharply, moving from the 
 fireplace. 
 
 " To my room. Kindly let me pass," as he stood before the door. 
 
 " No, " he said huskily, locking the door, and putting the key in his 
 pocket. "It is just beginning to get interesting. I thought I should 
 break your calmness one of these days. Pray go on. " 
 
 "I have nothing more to say," she replied coldly, returning to her 
 chair ; " but if you are anxious to speak, please be brief ; I shall be late 
 for the ball as it is. " 
 
 "The ball will do without you to-night," he answered. "I meant 
 what I said a few minutes ago. You shall have no more of this sort of 
 thing. Now, I know you in your true colors ; you shall taste life in a 
 different way, or you shall leave my house altogether to starve; go into 
 the work-house I care not which!" 
 
 " I have a more luxurious alternative than that," she said distinctly, 
 letting her great eyes meet his. " Sir Geoffrey Denvil has done me the 
 honor this evening to offer me his hearth and home as a protection. " 
 
 He clenched his hands. 
 
 " Well, why not? " he said, hoarsely. 
 
 " Why not, as you say. I cannot sink lower in my own estimation." 
 
 The sound of her clear cold voice struck him as a blow. 
 
 " And this from you ! " he gasped rather than spoke; " the mother of 
 my child!" 
 
 " Don't speak of her ! " she answered in low concentrated tones. " It 
 is contamination to breathe her name at such a time ! " 
 
 " I'll take care she does not run any risks now or in the future," he 
 exclaimed recklessly. " After your words of to-night you are no longer 
 fit to have charge of the child; not that that will trouble you much for you 
 never see her." 
 
 " Are your hands cleaner than mine? " she asked, rising to hide th6 
 agitation on her face. " Are you fit to watch and guard over so delicate a 
 flower? Will not your coarse sordid nature soil her fair soul? She is a 
 jewel too precious for you, or or me. God help me!" she cried sud- 
 denly, " for I am a wretched woman. " 
 
 " Perhaps this will help to console you," said the man, taking the 
 packet of letters from his pocket and flinging them into her lap. 
 
 She had sunk onto the couch, her white garments trailing around, her 
 face buried in her hands. 
 
 As the letters touched her, her hands dropped. 
 
 She gave one start, then approached him slowly.
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 15 
 
 " So," she said quickly, " you are a spy, too ! " 
 
 " Yes, I am. Take the letters; heal your broken heart with their 
 balm. It is this that has weighed you down all these long years, while I 
 believed in you trusted my honor " 
 
 "Your honor !" she repeated scornfully. "Your honor! A man 
 who lives on ill-gotten gains lies deceives robs to talk of honor ! 
 When I think of what I have lost through you what I have made him 
 suffer through you tortured his great honest heart through your mean 
 cruel nature I am not sane. I could kill you ! See," she passed rapidly 
 to the fire, knelt by the fender, and pushed the packet of letters into the 
 expiring embers K see ! I destroy these last treasures of him that I pos- 
 sess; and as they burn, the flame of my hate for you grows stronger and 
 stronger. It will never die !" 
 
 She rose from her knees, leaned for one moment against the mantel- 
 shelf for support, then, seizing her wrap, turned to the door. " Please 
 give me the key," she said quietly. 
 
 Mr. Messenger stood motionless; he did not answer. 
 
 " The key, if you please; I wish to go to my room." 
 
 " You can stay where you are," he said, sullenly. 
 
 " Do you refuse to give me the key ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Then I shall ring the bell for the servants. They must break open 
 the door." 
 
 She moved to the bell, but he darted forward and gripped her wrist. 
 
 " You don't give yourself airs for nothing," he said, savagely ; " the 
 veil has dropped between us now ; there is no occasion to mince matters. 
 I am master, and I say you shall remain here if needs be all night." 
 
 " Am I a dog to be treated like this ? " she asked, looking at him with 
 the loathing great in her eyes. " I am not afraid !" as he half lifted his hand, 
 then let it drop again. " When a man has a useful thing, he is generally 
 careful of it. You will not injure me. My face is too valuable. We have 
 had enough of this for to-night," she added swiftly ; " loose my hand ! " 
 
 He made no reply, only tightened his hold. His face was white even 
 to the lips. Their eyes met. Passion, revenge, anger in his determina- 
 tion, contempt, hatred in hers. So they stood for many seconds, the only 
 sound in the room the silvery even ticking of the clock, and the loud quick 
 breathing of the man. 
 
 Suddenly he released her with a muttered oath. 
 
 She staggered back. Her fan, gloves, cloak, slipped to the floor, 
 while her hands tore at the lace round her throat. 
 
 A ghastly pallor settled on her face, her eyes glared. She tried to 
 speak no words came. She reached blindly for a chair, but before she 
 could touch it she sank with a groan heavily to the ground. 
 
 Mr. Messenger stood by silent during her brief struggle, and after she 
 had fallen he made no effort to help her. 
 
 He wiped his brow with his handkerchief. The violence of his passion 
 was fleeting. He felt cold and sick, and leaned against the mantel-shelf 
 recovering. 
 
 His wife lay motionless. She had never stirred. Her face was hid- 
 den from him. The clock ticked on monotonously. 
 
 At last he moved. He stooped for her scattered things, put them on 
 the table, then knelt beside the prostrate form, and tried to turn it. 
 
 With hands trembling with a great unconscious fear he lifted the head,
 
 1 6 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 fallen on the delicate throat. Then, as his gaze met the wide staring eyes, 
 the fallen jaw, he started to his feet with a stifled shriek, and staggered to 
 a chair. 
 
 How long he sat he never knew, but his thoughts were a blank ; they 
 could not stir beyond that awful thing lying before him. 
 
 Dead! She could not be dead ; it was a faint ; it could not be death. 
 She was so young and beautiful. Could that quiet rigid form be the lovely 
 living being of a few moments ago ? With a sudden shudder he rose from 
 his chair, stooped, and laid his hand upon her breast. 
 
 There was no response ; it was cold, still as marble. 
 
 What must he do ? Rouse the house ? Send for aid ? It was too 
 late for that. He stood gazing down at the dead woman, rooted to the 
 spot by the overwhelming terror that had come upon him. 
 
 What would be said if they found him alone in the room with her 
 dead form ? He must save himself, but how ? 
 
 Quick ! let him think. He passed one clammy hand over his brow, 
 then his resolve was taken. He dragged rather than lifted the body to the 
 arm-chair, and placed' the beautiful head turned from the light as if she 
 were sleeping, then he paused 
 
 The perspiration was trickling down his face ; he lifted one of her 
 cold hands ; it was the one he had grasped between his own when her con- 
 tempt had lashed his anger to fury. 
 
 There were no marks on the white skin, no signs of their brief strug- 
 gle. He let the fingers slip through his, the arms dropped heavily on the 
 satin skirt, the very shimmer of which sent a shudder through his frame. 
 
 Mr. Messenger replaced the chairs, flung his wife's cloak on the couch, 
 her gloves and fan on the table. Then he stopped, sent a hurried glance 
 axound, drew a long breath, and turned to go. 
 
 He left the lamp burning high, searched his pocket for the key, and 
 with one backward glance, slowly, noiselessly, unlocked the door, and then 
 listened. 
 
 No one was about ; a dim light pervaded the landing. He drew the 
 door after him and stole down the stairs through the hall. 
 
 He still wore his light overcoat. His hat was on a stand ; he put it 
 on, then gently unfastening the hall-door, peered into the gloom. Not a 
 creature was near. He stepped out and pulled the door softly behind 
 him. 
 
 It was a dark night. A small thin rain was falling. He stood for one 
 instant on the steps, his heart beating loud and fiercely, his head swim- 
 ming, his limbs trembling. Then his eye caught the gleam of carriage- 
 lamps creeping near. He steadied himself by a pillar, and descended to 
 the street. 
 
 The carriage progressed nearer ; he knew it ; it was his own, wait- 
 ing for the mistress that would never enter it again. 
 
 With a swift thought he stepped into the road, smeared his boots with 
 the soft mud, then walked back slowly to the house. The carriage had 
 just pulled up as he arrived. 
 
 The coachman recognized him, and touched his hat ; the footman was 
 seated on the box also, holding the umbrella over his fellow servant. 
 
 " What are you waiting for, Evans ? " asked Mr. Messenger abruptly. 
 
 "For missus, sir; she've been gone in most an hour, " returned the man. 
 
 " Ah, she will be with you directly, I expect. A wet night," said hie 
 master, as he returned to mount the steps.
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 1 7 
 
 "Yes, sir; and cold, sir," replied the coachman, wnose temper was 
 not improved by the weather. 
 
 Mr. Messenger nodded, and went slowly up the steps. As he reached 
 the door he uttered an exclamation loud enough for the men to hear. 
 
 " How tiresome ! I have forgotten my latch-key," at the same time 
 ringing the bell sharply, and knocking loudly. 
 
 The door was opened by the butler. 
 
 " I have forgotten my key," repeated Mr. Messenger in answer to the 
 man's surprised look. 
 
 He never, by any chance, summoned a servant to admit him. 
 
 The man stood undecided, seeing the carriage waiting. 
 
 " Shall I shut the door, sir? " he asked. 
 
 Certainly. Why not? " 
 
 u I thought perhaps Mrs. Messenger was coming in," explained the 
 butler, closing the door. 
 
 " Did you not let her in just now? Evans tells me he has been waiting 
 for an hour. " 
 
 The butler stared at this remark. 
 
 " I ain't opened the door to a soul, sir," he replied, decisively. 
 
 Mr. Messenger smiled very faintly. 
 
 " Some one else must have admitted her," he said slowly. " I don't 
 suppose your mistress has come in through the keyhole, Bailey. I am 
 going to my study for a few minutes. I have an important letter to write. 
 Tell Rosalie to ask Mrs. Messenger to speak to me on her way down." 
 
 He turned away, and passed the bottom of the stairs with averted eyes 
 and a sick, cold heart, while the butler ran down to the kitchen. 
 
 Presently he returned, and knocked at the study door. 
 
 " Mademoiselle have gone out, sir. Cook says she told her Mrs. 
 Messenger gave her leave; and borrowed mademoiselle's latch-key to let 
 herself in with, sir." 
 
 " Very well, Bailey ; I will go up myself. " 
 
 As the man retired he rose hastily, and crossed the room to a side-table. 
 
 A case of spirits was standing on it. He poured out a glass of raw 
 brandy, and swallowed it. 
 
 The fearful dread was creeping on him again. Must he face that awful 
 still figure, meet the gaze of those staring eyes distorted likeness of the 
 wondrous violet stars he knew so well ? 
 
 He opened the door, and walked into the halL 
 
 The butler was hovering outside. 
 
 " I waited to catch missus," he said, " and give her your message, sir." 
 
 " Thank you, Bailey ; I will give it myself. " 
 
 He ran quickly up the first flight ; then, as the bend in the staircase hid 
 him from the man's view, he stopped and clutched the banisters for assist- 
 ance. 
 
 Slowly with leaden feet he mounted the few remaining stairs. There 
 was the door. He drew his breath in short hard gasps, as he "advanced 
 nearer and nearer. He was once more on the grim threshold of death. 
 
 Suddenly he gave a start. What was that ? 
 
 A small tired voice fell on his ears : 
 
 " Boofical mammie. Rica come a boofical mammie. Rica come " 
 
 At his feet was a little white figure nestled sleepily in the folds of the 
 curtain. With a terrible pang at his heart he stooped and gathered the 
 child in his arms.
 
 1 8 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " What are you doing here ?" he cries harshly, almost shaking her. 
 
 The little mouth puckered up, the tears melted in the great violet-g^y 
 eyes ; so like, yet so unlike those silent ones within. 
 
 " Rica come a mammie," the little voice whispered. 
 
 Clutching the small form still in his arms, Mr. Messenger went to the 
 top of the staircase. 
 
 Bailey ! " he called loudly. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Where is the nurse ? I find Miss Ulrica wandering in the passage. 
 Fetch her at once. " 
 
 He stood silent as the man disappeared. Rica lay passive in his arms, 
 her eyes wide open and fixed on his face, her little hands clutched tightly 
 together. 
 
 Rapid footsteps on the stairs were soon heard, and nurse appeared 
 very red and cross. 
 
 " I never knew of Miss Rica to do such a thing before," she said as 
 Mr. Messenger transferred his burden to her arms. " I left her sleeping 
 soundly. Naughty girl ! I'm ashamed of you." 
 
 " Mammie boofical mammie ! " sobbed the child. 
 
 " That's it," cried the nurse, turning to her master ; " Mrs. Messenger 
 came up to-night and woke her in her first sleep; it don't never do children 
 good to be 'xcited." 
 
 He made no reply, but pushed aside the curtain and put his hand on 
 the boudoir door. Nurse was slowly carrying her charge up to the nursery 
 again when a cry sudden and awful rang through the silence. She ran 
 down hastily and met her master in the doorway white and trembling. 
 
 " Lor', sir, what is it? " she exclaimed, letting Rica slip involuntarily 
 from her arms to the ground. 
 
 The child ran swiftly across the soft carpet to the white-robed figure 
 in the chair. 
 
 " Boofical mammie ! " she whispered, patting the gleaming satin with 
 her white hand. " Rica come a mammie." 
 
 Nurse took two strides toward the chair and stooped down over her 
 mistress. 
 
 " Merciful Heavens, she's dead ! " she exclaimed with a great shudder, 
 and snatching the child to her arms she turned to the door, passed the 
 sunken form of her master crouched on a chair, onto the stairs, uttering 
 loud cries to rouse the household 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The morning broke bright and sunny after the night of horror. Nurse 
 bathed and dressed her charge slowly, frequently lifting the little figure on 
 her knee, and pressing it to her heart. A great dread was filling her that 
 she would be separated from the child, and she realized almost for the first 
 time how warmly her small charge had entwined herself in her affections. 
 Rica went through her toilet quietly, wondering just a tiny scrap why 
 nursie kissed her so often, but she nestled onto the motherly knee and was 
 deep in the middle of a very thrilling story when the door opened and 
 Rosalie appeared, her face quite discolored with tears. 
 " Madame la bonne, the docteurs wish la bas. " 
 Nurse rose with a sigh, while Rica went at once to the maid.
 
 THF. PRm.OflTTE 1 . 
 
 1LE. 19 
 
 " Poor child ! " murmured Rosalie, stooping to let the child play with 
 her bright chatelaine. " Will madame permit me to carry Miss Rica? " 
 
 " Yes, if you like, " said nurse, the horror of the moment pushing 
 on one side her aversion to the foreigner; " but she can walk. You will 
 find her rather heavy. " 
 
 Rica, however, was lifted by the kind-hearted Rosalie and borne down 
 the stairs to the library. 
 
 The room was full when they arrived. A gray-haired man was talking 
 earnestly to a tall young one with kind eyes but plain, earnest face. 
 
 They were the two doctors. The servants of the household were clus- 
 tered together by the door. 
 
 There was a little murmur and rustle as nurse appeared. 
 
 The younger doctor came forward to meet her. Rosalie stood apart, 
 still holding Rica in her arms. Nurse gave her account clearly and 
 decisively. 
 
 " And you say your little charge had wandered down to the boudoir? " 
 asked the older man after they had heard all. " Was your mistress in the 
 habit of having her there?" 
 
 " No, sir; I can't think what came to Miss Rica, except, as I told you 
 just now, her Mrs. Messenger came up-stairs last night to see Miss Rica, 
 and must have excited her." 
 
 Bailey and then the coachman were questioned, and the two doc- 
 tors conferred together; the servants were dismissed except the nurse, and 
 a messenger was sent to the study to ask Mr. Messenger if he would receive 
 the medical men. 
 
 He answered the summons himself, and advanced slowly into the room. 
 He acknowledged the doctor's presence by a slight bow. His face was 
 very white; he still wore his evening dress; he had paced hisstudyall night. 
 
 " We are arrived at the conclusion that Mrs. Messenger's death was 
 caused by heart disease, accelerated by excitement," said the older man, 
 with a touch of pity in his voice. 
 
 " Can you give us information on this point, Mr. Messenger? " asked 
 the younger doctor in sharp clear tones. 
 
 " None," replied Mr. Messenger. 
 
 " Dr. Bradbury has no former knowledge of Mrs. Messenger, but I 
 am well acquainted with her constitution; she has been consulting me for 
 the last six months," continued the young man. 
 
 Mr. Messenger raised his eyes and looked at the speaker. 
 
 " I did not know that," he said slowly. " What what for ? " 
 
 " She suffered from aneurism of the heart," replied the other, " but, 
 with care, might have lived for many years; that is what makes me positive 
 that she received some very severe mental or bodily shock that caused her 
 death. " 
 
 " I know of none, " said Mr. Messenger, after a short pause, speaking 
 mechanically. "I left the house last night before she she did; she 
 appeared in good health then. " 
 
 " Where was she going ? " 
 
 " To some theatricals at Lady Trillington's, and later in the evening 
 to a ball." 
 
 " She must have returned home to change her dress, her maid sur- 
 mises," observed Dr. Bradbury, " as the one she wore was torn." 
 
 " Have you sent to inquire at Lady Trillington's whether anything 
 happened there? " inquired the young doctor.
 
 20 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 "Yes," replied Mr. Messenger; "the maid's idea was verified. My 
 wife tore her lace flounce, and came home to change her dress for the ball. 
 That is all they know." 
 
 " We need detain you no longer, Mr. Messenger, " said Dr. Bradbury 
 kindly; " pray accept my sincerest sympathy with you in your sad bereave- 
 ment. " 
 
 The younger man said nothing, but watched the retreating form with 
 a curious expression. 
 
 " Are you not satisfied? " asked Dr. Bradbury, noting his colleague's 
 face as he drew on his gloves and prepared to depart. 
 
 " No," replied the other shortly. 
 
 Nurse stood respectfully as the gray-haired doctor passed her, and as 
 the door closed behind him she moved towards the young one. 
 
 " What do you think, sir? " she asked, hurriedly. 
 
 "I am positive the poor lady received some shock or suffered some 
 severe mental strain and excitement," he answered ; " I am not certain, of 
 course, but I have strong doubts of her dying in that chair. " 
 . Their eyes met ; nurse involuntarily clasped Rica's little hand. 
 
 " But as that can't be proved, it is useless pressing it. Mrs. Messen- 
 ger was a very beautiful woman," he added abruptly. 
 
 " Yes, " said the nurse. 
 
 " But what an unhappy look there was in those glorious eyes ! " His 
 own fell at that moment on Rica's upturned face. " Merciful Heavens 
 how like ! " he exclaimed, lifting the child to the table, " and what is your 
 name ?" 
 
 " Rica." 
 
 " You are a dear little mite," said the doctor gravely ; " young to be 
 left in this cruel world without a mother. I should like to pop you in my 
 pocket and carry you away. " 
 
 Rica contemplated him silently for two or three minutes, then suddenly 
 lifted her mouth up for a kiss. 
 
 " Well, I never ! " ejaculated nurse ; " I never knew her to do that 
 afore ! She've took to you, and no mistake, sir." 
 
 "I am fond of children," replied the young man, stroking the little 
 brown head, and looking at her with a smile that transfigured his plain 
 face ; " she must come and see me sometimes. " 
 
 " May I make so bold as to ask you where you live, sir ?" 
 
 " Just a few doors above this ; my name is Strong, Guy Strong. If 
 she should want anything, send hi to me ; my mother would like to see the 
 little one, I know." 
 
 He lifted Rica down from the table, patted her cheek, and turned to 
 the door. Nurse followed him slowly ; she dimly felt that with his depart- 
 ure would come some fresh blow. 
 
 The days that followed were gloomy and depressing. The servants 
 wandered about the house soft-footed and low-voiced, their occupation 
 gone. Mr. Messenger shut himself up in his library, and, save for his law- 
 yer, saw no one. 
 
 The morning of the funeral broke cold, cheerless, and wet. Rica sat 
 by the nursery fire crooning a lullaby to her doll, all unconscious of the 
 tragedy that was being acted in her little life. 
 
 It was a dreary, wretched day to nurse, and all too soon the fears that 
 had assailed her were realized. 
 
 That evening she was summoned to the library, paid her wages, and
 
 THE PROLOGUE. 21 
 
 cursorily told to pack her boxes and depart next day, as the house would 
 be shut up. Her fellow-servants were treated the same. 
 
 Nurse stood by the table as her master counted out the small pile of 
 gold and silver, and pushed it across to her. 
 
 " Am I really to go, sir? " 
 
 " Of course," Mr. Messenger returned quietly. " I leave England to- 
 morrow night. The house will be shut up before I depart. " 
 
 "And and Miss Rica? " faltered the woman, striving hard to over- 
 come her disappointment and pain. 
 
 " She will be well looked after. You may go, Mrs. Brown." 
 
 The pale eyes met hers for a minute, then fell. 
 
 "Isn't she going with you, sir? Oh, you will never leave her alone 
 with strangers ! She will pine and die I know she will ! " 
 
 " I have nothing further to say to you ; you can go, Mrs. Brown," he 
 repeated quietly. 
 
 " P'rhaps, sir, you don't know as how Mrs. Messenger, the night she 
 she died, gave Miss Rica into my charge, sir, and begged me never to leave 
 her? " 
 
 " Mrs. Messenger is dead," said her master coldly, bending for an in- 
 stant over his writing, " and I am the proper person to look after Miss 
 Ulrica. Must I ask you again, Mrs. Brown, to leave me ? " 
 
 " No, sir : I'm going." 
 
 And nurse went away with quivering lips. 
 
 She held up till she reached the nursery, then she sank on a chair and 
 gave vent to her sorrow in tears. 
 
 Early in the morning nurse rose softly, packed her belongings, casting 
 many tender glances at the soft little face she loved so well, and then stole 
 down-stairs. Most of her fellow-servants had left the house, and gloom and 
 silence reigned oppressively everywhere. 
 
 On tiptoe nurse progressed through the hall, let herself out into the 
 street, and with hurried steps made her way along the square to a large 
 house. She rang the bell and asked to see the doctor. 
 
 The young man came ouickly into the morning-room with concern on 
 his face. 
 
 " She is not ill ? " he said, as nurse rose respectfully. 
 
 " No, sir ; but she's going to be take* 1 from me." 
 
 Dr. Strong looked grave. 
 " Where is she goin^ ? " 
 
 " I don't know." Nurse's voice was trembling. " I came to see you 
 sir, to ask you if it would be any use if you were to speak to Mr. Mes- 
 senger and ask him to let me stay with her. I can't bear to leave my 
 precious lamb all alone with stranger ; she ain't used to it, sir. Besides, 
 her poor mother's last words to me -I can't forget them." 
 
 " I will see what I can do, but I am afraid I shall not be able to man- 
 age much," replied Dr. Strong sJ.owly. "Did Mr. Messenger say you 
 must go to-day ? " 
 
 " This very day, sir ; he wouldn't even hear me when I asked to stay 
 with Miss Rica. What he's gourj to do with her I can't think ; he ain't 
 got no relations, and I never h( rd of any belonging to the poor lady ; 
 but my poor baby is too little to be thrown with strangers. Oh, dear 
 me 1" 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Brown, I will run in and see what I can do some time 
 this morning ; unfortunately, just at this moment. I am summoned to a
 
 22 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 most important case, and I cannot spare the time indeed, I must start 
 at once or I shall be very late. " 
 
 " Thank you, sir, and God bless you for your kindness ! He is a cruel 
 
 hard man to " Nurse broke down and burst into tears. " I beg your 
 
 pardon, sir, but I can't help myself." 
 
 " Don't apologize, Mrs. Brown; I quite feel for you. Now I must 
 go. I will certainly look in as soon as possible. " 
 
 Nurse took her way home, feeling much comforted. 
 
 As the morning wore on, and Dr. Strong did not come, she grew un- 
 easy again, and hope fled forever when the nursery door was opened and 
 Mr. Messenger appeared, pale and cold-looking. 
 
 " Put Miss Ulrica's clothes into a box at once," he said quietly, and 
 when that is done, you can go, Mrs. Brown. " 
 
 Nurse hesitated. 
 
 " If you would only let me stay, sir," she pleaded. 
 
 " I thought we settled that last night, " said the master, looking quietly 
 at her. " Please do as I ask you at once. Ulrica, come to me. " 
 
 The child clung to her nurse ; the memory of his harsh words and 
 cruel white face of one night before came back to her, and she shrank from 
 him. 
 
 " Temper eh ? " murmured Mr. Messenger as he turned away ; 
 well, that will soon be cured. In half an hour, Mrs. Brown, I shall 
 expect you. " 
 
 Nurse did his bidding with her eyes blinded with tears, then sorrow- 
 fully and slowly put on the child's outdoor garments and tied on her own 
 bonnet. 
 
 " Go a ta-ta ? " asked Rica. 
 
 Nurse stooped and pressed a farewell kiss to the sweet baby mouth. 
 
 " May God bless and preserve you ! " she said with a sob j then, lifting 
 
 Rica in her arms, she carried her down-stairs. 
 
 i ******* 
 
 True to his word, about the middle of the day Dr. Strong hurried to 
 the large house in the square to plead Nurse Brown's cause. 
 
 He knocked loudly at the door, which, after some moments, was 
 opened with much unbolting and rattling of chains. 
 
 " Can I see Mr. Messenger ? " he asked of the old woman who ap- 
 peared. 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " He's been gone this half-hour, sir." 
 
 " And nurse Mrs. Brown ? " 
 
 " I don't know her, sir ; but there's no one 'ere but me and my 
 'usband. We're taking care of the 'ouse for a month j Mr. Messenger 
 may come back then. " 
 
 " Did he go away alone ? " asked the young man, a faint hope lingering 
 that the nurse might have gone after all with the child. 
 
 " Ves, sir ; leastwise, he only 'ad his little girl, sir that's all. " 
 
 Guy Strong pushed a shilling into the rough hand, and descended the 
 steps slowly as the door was closed again, securely chained and bolted. 
 
 END OF PROLOGUE.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 2J 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TT was winter- time. Jack Frost had been very ousy, discarding for the 
 1 while his delicate touches and white feathery glistening adornments, 
 but binding the land in a sullen black band, that chilled the marrow of the 
 rich, and brought misery and despair to the poor. 
 
 The little village of Wakehurst was almost ice-bound, the small ponds 
 and brooks were frozen hard, and the green turned into one large slide, 
 whereon the children enjoyed themselves vastly. 
 
 The sun had refused to shine all day ; everything was dull and cold 
 bitterly cold. 
 
 The afternoon was fast sinking into evening. All those who could were 
 crouched round the blazing fires. 
 
 On the lake of Wakehurst Park there was a merry party. Chinese 
 lanterns abounded, sledges were scattered about, and in a marquee on the 
 island was spread a splendid collation cakes, tea, coffee, and the 
 irony of the thing ! strawberry and cream ices. Groups of brightly-dressed, 
 carefully-furred damsels skimmed over the smooth surface, attended by 
 their cavaliers in goodly numbers. 
 
 It was a pretty sight, and so thought one solitary spectator. Not much 
 to look at a thin, small form, with poor little arras, protruding from the 
 sleeves of an old jacket, clasped firmly around several packets denoting in 
 their blue-paper covers recent acquaintance with the grocer's shop; feet 
 clad in worn boots three sizes too big for them, and through which the 
 cruel stones penetrated at every step, and the thin trembling limbs only 
 half covered with a shabby skirt. 
 
 The face was thin and gaunt, with great eyes that looked so hungry, and 
 a mass of straight dark hair hanging roughly under the tattered hat. 
 
 How came such an object to be wandering on the brink of the glittering 
 lake, where all was bright, and merry sounds of laughter mingled with the 
 soft delicious strains of music? 
 
 It was a private park with all kinds of traps to catch the unwary tres- 
 passer. Yet here stood a most undeniable vagrant, coolly watching the 
 scene with no intention of moving. 
 
 Once or twice as the bitter wind rustled through the empty trees, and 
 nipped her frozen limbs, she shivered, but still she stood on, unheeded, un- 
 noticed and lonely. 
 
 Suddenly in one of his nearest circles to the shore a boy caught sight of 
 this figure. He skated up to the edge. 
 
 " What are you doing here?" he asked imperiously. " Don't you know 
 you've no right to be in the park? Go away at once ! " 
 
 "I ain't doing no harm," retorted the girl sullenly, "let me alone!" 
 
 " But you must go," reiterated the boy; " you're jolly cheeky too ! I'll 
 tell my father, and he'll soon make you move." 
 
 For answer the girl stooped deliberately, picked up a stone with her 
 chilled fingers, and launched it at her adversary. Fortunately it missed its 
 aim, but none the less infuriated the boy. 
 
 " You little vixen ! " he cried, hurriedly unfastening his acme skates, 
 and springing on the ground. " How dare you do that ! I'll"
 
 34 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 "Tak care, Basil, or you will injure me," cried a laughing voice. 
 " What's the matter ?" Then catching sight of the small shrinking figure : 
 u What, strike a girl, Basil ?" 
 
 " It's all very well, Uncle Guy, but she flung a stone first she did, 
 honor bright ! " 
 
 The new comer bent to the sullen face. 
 
 " Why did you throw a stone ? Don't you know it is very naughty ?" 
 he said kindly. 
 
 " I weren't doing no harm ; I climbed the railing," muttered the child, 
 " and he came up and sent me along. I was only looking at the people, 
 and was thinking they were fairies. " 
 
 " Poor little girl ! Come, Basil, be generous ; see how cold she is take 
 those parcels from her, and then we will give her a nice cup of hot coffee to 
 warm her. 
 
 The boy hesitated a minute, then held out his hand to the ragged maiden. 
 
 She lifted her great eyes to him for one second, and then placed her cold 
 fingers in his. 
 
 " That's right. You can leave her parcels in this corner, Basil. They 
 will be quite safe. Come, little girL " 
 
 He smiled kindly down at her, and the waif trotted over the smooth 
 surface, trying to keep up with his long steps. 
 
 There was a murmur of confused sounds from the tent as they advanced 
 towards it. But as they entered the warm well-lighted interior the buzz 
 of conversation ceased. 
 
 " Guy ! " " Dr. Strong ! " " Good Heavens ! What is it ?" were the vari- 
 ous exclamations. 
 
 The young man laughed, and lifted his companion onto a chair, and 
 moved to the table to get some of the delicacies displayed. 
 
 " Only a stray sparrow," he said lightly. "Ladies, you spare so many 
 crumbs for your pretty red-robbins, I thought you might be generous also 
 to a little brown bird. Mother, this is in your line, I think ?" 
 
 A lady with a kind motherly face rose at once, and, taking a piece of 
 cake from the table, sat down beside the child, and offered her a piece. 
 
 The little brown hand went out and seized the cake, beginning to attack 
 h violently, eating as though she had seen no food before that day. 
 
 " Let her have another piece, Guy," said Mrs. Strong as the last crumb 
 disappeared. 
 
 Dr. Strong looked up into the gray eyes. 
 
 " Would you like some more? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," replied the child. 
 
 "You should say, 'yes, thank you,' or 'yes, if you please,' " observed a 
 little girl who had trotted up to the group. 
 
 She was about the same age as the waif, but such a contrast ! A dainty 
 blue velvet coat trimmed with soft grebe feathers reached to the top of her 
 high boots; she wore a round velvet cap on her yellow curls, her face was 
 piquante and fresh-colored, but spoilt by a precocious look and the unmis- 
 takable vanity that gleamed in her large blue eyes. 
 
 The other child looked straight at her with her great gray orbs, but said 
 nothing. 
 
 Dr. Strong moved away with the empty cup, and his mother, all heedless 
 of the waif's unkempt appearance, lifted her to her knee and tried in a 
 coaxing way to make the child talk.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 2$ 
 
 " She is crying, Guy," she said as her son returned; " I wonder what ails 
 her? " 
 
 " Tired, poor little thing! She must get on her way home; it is nearly 
 half-past six, and quite dark. " 
 
 The child suddenly looked up. 
 
 " Half-past six," she cried, then with a fresh burst of tears: " Oh, she will 
 be so cross, and and I shall get a beating again. " 
 
 Dr. Strong picked her up in his arms. 
 
 " Where do you live? " he asked gently, " and what is your name? " 
 
 "I live with Mrs. Coxon, 23 Ivy Leigh," the child whispered between 
 her sobs. 
 
 " Well, I will take you home and see you don't get scolded. What is 
 your name? " 
 
 " Rica Messenger. " 
 
 Dr. Strong started as though he had been shot, andl gazed long at the 
 child as if he doubted the truth of this statement. Then memory came 
 slowly back to him. Those great gray stars howjcould he have forgot- 
 ten them ? 
 
 His mother watched his face keenly. 
 
 " Do you know the child, Guy ?" she asked. 
 
 He turned to his mother. 
 
 " I am going to take her home," he said quickly ; " I shall not be 
 long." 
 
 He strode away over the ice, stooped for the various parcels, and 
 carrying Rica lightly and easily, he passed into the dark shadows of the 
 wood. 
 
 A fire of indignation burned in his heart. Where was the man whose 
 care it should have been to shield this small treasure from harm ? 
 
 He glanced at the little face pressed against his rough coat ; the moon 
 had risen silvery and beautiful, and it shone on the small mouth, still 
 tremulous with crying, on the heavy fringed eyelids. She had fallen asleep. 
 
 It was a pity to wake her, but as they emerged from the park, he had 
 no other alternative. The road diverged, he did not know which turning 
 to take, so very gently he roused the tired little frame. 
 
 She started up in affright, and he felt the wild beating of her heart 
 through her thin garments. 
 
 " Don't beat me," she moaned. "I'll never do it again, Miss Emma. 
 I'll be good. Yes I'll be good. Don't !" the voice died away in a 
 wail. 
 
 He bent down and kissed the little face. 
 
 "No one shall beat you," he said tenderly. 
 
 " Tell me which way to go." 
 
 Rica looked up, and, realizing it was only a dream, gave a great sigh 
 of relief. 
 
 She pointed to the road on the right. 
 
 He passed several small detached cottages, and at length came to a 
 row of better houses with strips of gardens in front. 
 
 Rica slipped from his arms, and led him to the end house of the row. 
 
 Scarcely had he knocked before the door was opened roughly, and a 
 voice exclaimed : 
 
 " Yes, it's her 1 You wicked, naughty child ! " Then, catching sight of 
 the tall form standing by : "You've nearly frightened us to death! 
 Where have you been, Rica ? "
 
 26 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " Allow me to explain," said Dr. Strong, easily. " I found this little 
 girl wandering about alone, very cold and tired. It is just a little late for 
 a child like her to be out. " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, sir," said a voice softly. The owner was a small, thin 
 woman, dressed neatly in black, with a widow's cap on her snowy hair. 
 " Thank you so much. We were getting quite nervous ; she has been gone 
 so long. " 
 
 " Well, I should put her to bed now. Here are her parcels. Good- 
 night, little one ! " he stooped to kiss the child. 
 
 Rica clung to him convulsively, almost in terror. 
 
 " Come to Rica soon," she cried. " Do come ! " 
 
 " I will come very, very soon." 
 
 " She shall go to bed, sir, nice and warm. Good-night, sir ; and thank 
 you again." 
 
 " Good-night." 
 
 The door closed, the child was dragged into an inner room ; one of Mrs. 
 Coxon's small bony hands pressed close over her mouth. 
 
 Another woman was here standing by the door. She had been listening 
 to the recent conversation. 
 
 " Who was it mother ? " she asked, eagerly. 
 
 The old woman tore the tattered hat roughly from the child's iead and 
 threw it in a corner. 
 
 " Some one from the Hall, I think," she replied ; then, seating herself by 
 the table, she placed Rica, trembling and frightened, before her. " Now, 
 tell me the truth! Where have you been ? Answer me at once," with a 
 shake. 
 
 " To Mr. Bill's for sugar and tea," said Rica, her small hands clutched 
 together. 
 
 " Well, and what kept you so long ? " continued Mrs. Coxon, her lips 
 drawn very thin, an angry gleam in her eye. 
 
 " Mr. Bill was out, I had to wait, "said Rica, glibly. 
 
 " That's a lie ! I've sent to Mr. Bill, and you left the shop two hours ago. 
 Now, will you tell me where you've been ? " 
 
 " Nowheres, " the child answered sullenly. 
 
 " You won't tell me ? Then I must make you. Emma, fetch me the 
 cane !" 
 
 The child fell on her knees with a shrill cry and clutched the other's 
 hand. 
 
 " Oh, no no, don't beat me, dear Mrs. Coxon! I'll be so good. I'll 
 never do it again only don't beat me! I'll tell you now. Oh Miss Em- 
 ma Miss Emma!" as the pale-faced young woman advanced with the 
 cane. Mrs. Coxon, heedless of the child's tears, turned up her sleeve and 
 took the cane in hand. 
 
 " Take off your clothes," she said quietly. 
 
 Rica's voice died away in the paroxysm of tears and sobs that almost 
 choked her. 
 
 She struggled with her pitiless foe, but Miss Emma's cool small hands 
 tore her thin clothes from her body, and the cane fell in thick steady blows 
 until Mrs. Coxon, apparently satisfied with the severity of her punishment, 
 pushed the child sobbing and writhing from her. 
 
 " Now go to bed. I'll teach you to tell lies again. To bed, d'ye 
 hear ! " 
 ^ The poor little hands, with great weals on their frozen surface, stooped
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 2? 
 
 for the scattered garments with subdued moans and terrified looks, just as a 
 knock sounded at the door. 
 
 Miss Emma stood before the child's shivering form, hiding it with her 
 voluminous draperies as her mother went to answer the summons. 
 
 It was Guy Strong. 
 
 " I find I have one of the little girl's packages in my coat-pocket," he 
 began, politely; but before he could proceed farther Rica had slipped past 
 Miss Emma, and with a burst of sobs clung desperately to his knees. 
 
 " Why, little one!" he said, bending down; then as his eyes rested on 
 her bruised skin, the marks of the cruel cane even across her face, he turned 
 on Mrs. Coxon swiftly. " What have you been doing to the child? " 
 
 Mrs. Coxon made no reply, but put out her hand to push Rica into the 
 room, when Guy Strong picked the child up in his arms, and strode to the 
 light. 
 
 " So, this is how you treat children ! " he said, turning to the disconcerted 
 women, his heart surging with anger and contempt. " Beat this poor mite 
 till she falls with exhaustion to the ground ! Shame on you both for your 
 cruelty ! Look at her flesh, bruised almost torn ! Good God, and this 
 is a Christian country ! " 
 
 " I don't know who you are, or what right you have to come into the 
 house in this way," said Mrs. Coxon, white with rage. " Do you know I 
 can give you up to the police for doing it? I'll thank you to go away at 
 once, or I'll call some one to turn you out. " 
 
 Guy was patting and soothing the terrified child; he looked up quietly as 
 she finished. 
 
 " Outside there is a policeman; call him in if you like, or shall I do so? 
 It will go hard with you, Mrs. Coxon, if you are called up before Sir 
 Thomas Morne to answer to this charge; remember I shall be a witness 
 against you." 
 
 She shrank back, cowed for the minute. Then, as she saw him take off 
 his thick coat and wrap it round Rica, she exclaimed: 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" 
 
 " Take her away," he returned quietly. 
 
 " She shall not go. I will not let her. She shall go to no one but her 
 father." 
 
 " I will make it right with Mr. Messenger. Have no fear on that 
 score." 
 
 The woman suddenly lost her bravado. 
 
 " Oh, sir, " she cried, " you will not make mischief with Mr. Messenger ? 
 You will ruin us. Oh, sir, please do not harm us ; we are poor, and 
 indeed we love Rica ; it was only a " 
 
 " Hypocrite ! " said Guy contemptuously. " Had you pity for this child 
 a moment ago ? No ! As you treated her, so I will treat you. If you 
 have no humanity in your bosom, you shall learn what justice can do." 
 
 "You shall not take her!" screamed the woman, now thoroughly 
 enraged, as he turned to the door. 
 
 " Must I call the policeman ? " 
 
 She slunk away. 
 
 " I will send for her clothes in the morning. " 
 
 " I'll be even with you for this!" muttered Mrs. Coxon. 
 
 " You are at liberty to do what you will," he answered coldly; " but this 
 child shall never be in your care again be sure of that. " 
 
 He stepped into the moonlight, and pulled the door behind him.
 
 28 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Guy walked on hurriedly for some minutes, then stopped and looked at 
 his burden. 
 
 Rica's eyes were fixed on his face. She put one little hand out and 
 touched him. 
 
 " Rica loves you," she said, with a catching sob in her voice, " loves you 
 you are good." 
 
 Dr. Strong lost no time in hunting up George Messenger. He discov- 
 ered him with some little difficulty, and then in plain, not to say forcible 
 terms, described the condition in which he had found the neglected child, 
 and the cruelty that had been practiced on her. 
 
 Rica, meanwhile, remained at Wakehurst Park, under the care of Guy's 
 sister, Lady Morne, where, amid the luxury and tenderness lavished on her, 
 she grew strong and happy. 
 
 Both Dr. Strong and his mother begged to have care of the child, but 
 to these entreaties George Messenger turned a deaf ear, and he carried 
 Rica away with him to Paris, where he had continually resided since the 
 time of his wife's death. 
 
 One man, a Sam Loudon, to whom, strangely enough, Messenger seemed 
 to turn as a sort of a friend (for friendship with him had always been an 
 empty term), was perhaps the only soul who knew the truth, but he kept 
 it to himself, and would say nothing but that " Messenger's little girl was 
 the dearest and sweetest in the world ! " 
 
 Rica was afraid of her father ; she did not love him, and was glad to be 
 away from his cold keen eye , with her bonne, a kind-hearted French 
 woman ; and George Messenger troubled his head little about his child. 
 She was fed, clothed, and taught ; she wanted no more. He cut off all 
 communication with Dr. Strong ; he wanted no one or nothing to inter- 
 fere with him. 
 
 One night, as Rica sat playing with her nurse, her father suddenly ap- 
 peared, and to the bonne's astonishment, commanded her to dress the child 
 hi her outdoor garments, and that quickly. 
 
 They went some way, then Mr. Messenger stopped and hailed a fiacre. 
 Rica was lifted onto the seat, her father stepped in after her, and away 
 they rattled past the brilliantly-lit shops, the streets thronged with passen- 
 gers, the cafes and theatres ; on till they came to a quieter part of the city, 
 where the lamps showed only rows of houses, and the pavements were 
 deserted. 
 
 At last, after a long drive, the cab drew up in a dingy court with houses 
 so high and close together that Rica could only see a strip of sky as she 
 stood on the pavement and looked up. 
 
 Her father paid the man, then waited until the vehicle, with many ejacu- 
 lations and extraordinary cries from the coachman, had been turned 
 round in safety and driven away ; then, taking Rica's hand, he mounted a 
 few steps and knocked at the door. 
 
 It was opened abruptly by a short stout woman of the class Pauline 
 called contemptuously " canaille," who, in answer to Mr. Messenger's quick 
 low inquiry, jerked her head backwards and uttered laconically : 
 
 " Au troisieme! " 
 
 At last they reached another landing, and, holding the expiring light high 
 up, Mr. Messenger saw a door. He flung the match to the ground, trod 
 on the dying sparks, then knocked sharply at the door. 
 
 A voice in English answered: " Come in." 
 
 He turned the handle and entered the room. A man was sitting in a
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 29 
 
 shabby arm-chair a man with unshaven chin, ruffled hair, and clothes 
 which, though they bore the unmistakable stamp of Saville row or Bond 
 street, were yet creased and thick with dirt. 
 
 He was half lying, his feet supported on another chair. 
 
 Despondency and vexation were on his handsome, haggard face. 
 
 He jumped up hastily as Mr. Messenger entered, and came forward with 
 outstretched hands. 
 
 " This is good of you, Messenger," he said, quickly moving and speaking, 
 despite his disheveled appearance, with an air of hauteur and tone; " very 
 good of you to come and see a fellow when he's dead broke. I met Sam 
 Loudon the other day, and sent you a message by him. I never imagined 
 you would come. I know the world well now. " 
 
 He spoke bitterly, pushing forward the arm-chair as he did so. 
 
 Mr. Messenger drew off his gloves slowly; Rica was standing behind 
 him, hidden by his tall form. 
 
 " Yes," was all he answered; " I got your message, and I am come." 
 
 " Thanks again. Will you not sit down? " 
 
 Mr. Messenger took a chair from the wall, and seated himself, saying as 
 he did so: 
 
 " Come here, Ulrica." 
 
 The other started. 
 
 " What ! Who is that? " he asked, hurriedly. 
 
 Mr. Messenger pushed the child towards him. 
 
 " Do you see no resemblance, Sir Geoffrey? " he said. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey Denvil gazed at the small face before him ; at the pale, 
 almost transparent skin; the red tremulous lips, and lashes lying thick and 
 dark on the smooth cheeks. 
 
 Rica slowly lifted her eyelids during the scrutiny, and met his startled 
 look as he exclaimed : 
 
 " Good God ! how like " 
 
 Her father drew the child back to his knee. 
 
 " Yes, Ulrica is strangely like her mother," he observed in his quiet, 
 cold way. 
 
 Rica was gaining courage, now the room was light ; no horrible spectres 
 in dark corners to jump out and frighten her. 
 
 She looked round with a reassuring air. There were no pretty orna- 
 ments, and everything was crumbled and dirty. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey watched the child for two minutes in silence. He had sunk 
 back in his chair, and was shading his eyes with his hand, 
 
 " Yes," he said, after a pause, as if speaking his thoughts, " she is like. 
 She will be very beautiful, too." 
 
 Mr. Messenger made no reply to this. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey kept his hand over his eyes for another tew seconds, then 
 hastily turning round, and pouring himself out a glass of water from a 
 pewter jug on the table, he spoke quickly : 
 
 " Now to business. I am glad to meet you, Messenger, for I began to 
 think you had deserted me. Do you know it is a whole year since you 
 have answered my letters a whole, long, terrible year 1 " 
 
 " Yes," said George Messenger. 
 
 He had all those letters safe at home. 
 
 " They were lost, I suppose, or never forwarded ? " continued the other. 
 " You have been moving about a good bit, they tell me. Have you been 
 long in Paris ? "
 
 30 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Some time. " 
 
 " Ah, and I did not know it ! Messenger, I must have some money " 
 he moved restlessly, and his fingers closed on the frayed arm of the chair 
 " on the same security as before. " 
 
 "Yes," repeated George Messenger. 
 
 "Craven must die soon they tell me he is paralyzed now and 
 Bulkeley will come to me. You know what that means ? I have been 
 writing and writing to you about this all the past year. Loudon will not 
 advance a farthing. I tried my luck " he laughed bitterly " my luck at 
 the table last night, and I am ruined I haven't a leg to stand on ; even 
 this hole will be no more my home after the end of the week. " 
 
 He paused ; the man before him made no sign. 
 
 " So you may imagine my relief when I met young Loudon, and he prom- 
 ised to give you my message. It was a glimpse of light in the awful 
 hopeless gloom that has hung over my life these many months. You are 
 the only man I know who will help me." He drew a long breath. 
 " Great Heavens! when I think of the hundreds who toadied to me when 
 I had plenty! and there's not one not one who would hold out a 
 finger to me now, Messenger." 
 
 " You have a very poor belief in human nature, Sir Geoffrey, " said 
 Messenger slowly and quietly. 
 
 " It's proved by bitter experience," replied Sir Geoffrey gloomily ; " but 
 come, it's no use wasting time in regret time just now is more than 
 life almost! You will do this, Messenger only another five hundred 
 pounds, small to you but a gold-mine to me. Who knows fate may be 
 kinder, my luck may turn. I may win win enough to redeem the whole 
 and settle our long account. Then rest assured your kindness will never 
 be forgotten." 
 
 He had risen in his excitement and was pacing the room. 
 
 " You will do this, Messenger ? I have paper, and ink, and " 
 
 "No." 
 
 The word fell like a thunder-bolt. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey stopped his hurried walk, his hands fell on the table, his 
 face, white, haggard, grew even paler. 
 
 " No !" he repeated blankly as if doubting his ears ; " no ! " 
 
 "No," answered the other. "You have had the last penny you will 
 ever receive from my hands. I came here to tell you so myself. " 
 
 Sir Geoffrey looked across at him eagerly. 
 
 " I don't understand you," he said distinctly. " Do you mean you have 
 only come here to push me backwards into the mire, not to give me a 
 helping hand?" 
 
 I do." 
 
 The two men's glances met ; the veil had fallen. 
 
 George Messenger's eyes gleamed with the triumph and hatred he felt. 
 
 The whole appearance of the man was changed. 
 
 Rica shrank back, vaguely frightened at their silence. 
 
 " Take care ! " broke out Sir Geoffrey, in hoarse tones. " I am not in a 
 mood to be trifled with ! " 
 
 " I have no intention of trifling with you," answered the other fiercely. 
 I have much to say that is not of a trifling matter. I repeat again, you 
 will get no more money out of me not because your security is false ; I 
 knew that when I advanced you money four years ago. But I let it pass ; it 
 served my purpose. Not because you are a liar and gambler, but "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 3! 
 
 Well ? " 
 
 " Because I hate you ! " was the answer. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey laughed aloud. 
 
 " Hate me ! " he cried contemptuously. " Go on ; let me hear all ! But, 
 no ! I see it very plainly ; you are settling up the old score. The same 
 longing to be quits with me lives yet, does it ? " 
 
 Rica saw the veins swell on her father's brow. She was growing fright- 
 ened, and crept away from them into a corner. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey folded his arms and surveyed his opponent with a sneer on 
 his worn handsome features. 
 
 "Bah!" he said after a pause. " Who would have credited you with 
 so much weakness ? The man whom everybody thinks is made of gold and 
 iron to bear within him a secret patty grudge against one who, after all, 
 did him no injury whose only fault lay in " 
 
 " Did him no injury ! " broke in the other passionately. " You lying 
 villian! Is it no injury to creep into a man's house to try and steal 
 the most precious jewel it contains? Is it no injury to eat and drink of a 
 man's best, and behind his back pour forth the poison of a tempter's 
 tongue ? Is it " 
 
 " You allude to my friendship with Mrs. Messenger, I suppose ? " inter- 
 rupted Sir Geoffrey blandly, yet with an ugly look round his mouth. u I 
 am sorry you distress yourself so much about so trivial a matter. Our in- 
 timacy was perfectly platonic, I can assure you." 
 
 "Liarl" hissed the other, now white with his pent-up passion. "I 
 know all have known it these four long years. You thought me blind, 
 mad, a fool, perhaps, but I was none of these. I knew while you and the 
 world laughed in your sleeve at me, she was a prize worth the winning ; 
 that while you took my money and turned your back on me, you were 
 speaking openly to her. I know more. I know that the night of her death 
 was the night you chose to suggest flight to her to drag her down with 
 you to shame and dishonor, and after she lay in her grave you gave no 
 thought to her, but sauntered on through life as you had done before com- 
 ing to me to me for help to keep you going! This has held me silent 
 all these years. I knew the end must come. I have watched you sink 
 lower and lower, till the moment came when I could curse you, as I do 
 now ! It was for this I brought my child that she might see and know 
 you as the man I hate, I curse ! " 
 
 Rica had drawn near the bed and was grasping the dingy curtain ; she 
 understood nothing of their words, but their white faces warned her child- 
 ish instinct of danger, and she grew terrified. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey stood quite silent under the torrent of low quick words ut- 
 tered in a voice so hoarse it would not have been recognized. The curious 
 look round his mouth deepened ; it was not pleasant to look at. 
 
 Suddenly, putting one hand on the table, he leant forward and looked 
 up into the other's eyes. 
 
 " You knew I suggested that night for our flight ? " he repeated slowly. 
 " How did you know it ? It was only breathed half an hour before she 
 left the Countess of Trillington's house. No one could know unless 
 unless she " he hesitated, then said swiftly, " she told you of it. Ah, I 
 see I see it plainly ; she told you, and you killed her ! " 
 
 The vehemence of the man overwhelmed George Messenger. For one 
 instant he forgot himself, while the terrible touch of fear that had come to 
 him that awful night encompassed his heart once more.
 
 32 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 His face grew white, his hands trembled. It was enough for the eager 
 eyes opposite. 
 
 " That was it ! there is guilt in your coward face. Now, George Mes- 
 senger, do your worst ; drag me down to the gutter if you will, you cannot 
 drag me down to your level. With all my sins I am not a murderer. You 
 bring your child to curse me do you see" he crossed the room 
 swiftly, and seized the frightened form by the bed " see how I can turn 
 the tables ! Look well at that man ! " he cried to Rica. " Remember 
 what I say : that man killed y " 
 
 The words died in his throat ; the two men were locked in a deadly 
 struggle. 
 
 Rica stood for one instant paralyzed with childish terror, then as the 
 sound of the gasping hoarse murmurings came from the white lips, as she 
 caught a glimpse of her father's face, ghastly and awful, as she saw the 
 stranger's hand still up to her father's throat, the flood of horror and fear 
 welled into her mind, and, not knowing what she did, she beat her little 
 hands against the door, uttering shriek after shriek till suddenly the frail 
 barrier was broken down, and with a cry of glad recognition Rica clung 
 to Sam Loudon's knees. 
 
 He pushed the child behind him, and with two well-planted blows 
 parted the panting murderous forms. 
 
 George Messenger staggered to a chair, while Sir Geoffrey stood wiping 
 his brow hazily, his breath coming in quick, hurried gasps. 
 
 Behind Sam came the woman of the house excited, shrilly voluble, 
 gesticulating wildly. 
 
 Her entrance roused Messenger ; as a blind man he groped for his hat 
 and turned for Rica. 
 
 But Sam had her carefully shielded in his arms. 
 
 " No," he said decidedly and sternly, "you don't have her; if you can 
 bring your child to such a place and such a scene, you ain't fit to have 
 charge of her. I am going to take her home." 
 
 George Messenger made no reply ; with a bent head and curiously vacant 
 expression he went slowly, almost painfully, out of the room. 
 
 Sir Geoffrey seized Sam's shoulder. 
 
 " Don't go, for God's sake ! " he implored wildly ; " or give me some 
 money. This hag threatens to turn me out into the street. The room is 
 damaged, she says. I owe her a month's rent. You know what that 
 means. I shall have to go. For Heaven's sake give me some money, if 
 only enough to take me over to England. Hang the consequences ! Some 
 one must help me there ! " 
 
 Sam drew out his pocket-book. 
 
 " There," he said curtly, " get out of Paris as soon as you like. I came 
 to tell you I have just heard Lord Craven is dead. The lawyers are look- 
 ing for you. He has left you Bulkeley after alL Died before he could 
 alter his will. Now let me pass. " 
 
 He pushed the woman aside, and hurried down the stairs with Rica in 
 his arms, while the sound of Sir Geoffrey's voice, exultant and loud, came 
 to his ears. 
 
 As he reached the street, Sam bent his head, and whispered a few loving 
 words to his precious burden. 
 
 She made no reply, and lay very still. As they approached a lamp-post 
 Sam saw the cause. The past horror had been too much for the child. 
 She had fainted.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 33 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 rolled on. The scene changed. A lovely summer afternoon ; 
 1 the sun was hot, but its rays were tempered by a gentle breeze. 
 
 Spa was crowded. 
 
 The band was playing ; children skipped about, pursued by shrieking 
 voluble bonnes, and apparently life in Spa was all summer and sunshine. 
 
 Among the idlers sitting under the shady trees were two young men 
 one almost a boy, the other a few years older, with a very handsome face, 
 of the pure English type. 
 
 He had his arm in a sling, but was diligently assisting a crippled beetle 
 with the stick he held in the sound hand. 
 
 " I shall be awfully sorry to leave you, Jack, " said the younger one 
 slowly, as he watched his companion's sympathetic efforts. " I don't mind 
 confessing I owe half of my enjoyment to you. It was awfully jolly run- 
 ning against you. " 
 
 " Yes, it was a strange coincidence," observed the other, still intent on 
 his beetle ; " and yet I don't know why one should say that. The world 
 is so small when one comes to know it. There," to the insect, "I think 
 you are all right now. But must you go really, Basil ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I had a letter from my mother to-day, entreating me to come 
 home ; and you know I have had a jolly good holiday ever since oldDrury 
 fell ill, and had to go back to England. 
 
 Sir John Dunworthy shook his head. 
 " I have to go through another fortnight's course at the waters yet." 
 
 " But you have promised to stay with us at Wakehurst, remember," 
 Basil Morne said quickly. " My mother insists on it. " 
 
 " Very well," laughed the other ; " when Lady Morne issues & command, 
 it must be obeyed." 
 
 Basil made no immediate reply. His eyes were fixed on a small cortfge 
 approaching slowly. 
 
 A bath-chair, in which reclined a man with gray ashen face, a shaggy 
 beard, and eyes vacant, cold, and ugly. 
 
 A servant in neat livery pulled the chair, and a girl walked beside it. 
 
 Basil turned quickly. 
 
 " Look, Jack ! " he whispered. " Here she is again the one I told you 
 about. Now, isn't she simply lovely ? " 
 
 Sir John Dunworthy did not move, but he gazed long at the girl as she 
 walked slowly past. 
 
 He saw her eyes as they wandered listlessly around deep, almost 
 violet-gray, shining like stars in their ivory setting, for there was not a 
 shade even of color in the fair skin. It was a cream-white from cheek to 
 the rounded throat that showed above the neat collar. 
 
 She was quite unconscious of the long and many looks of admiration 
 thrown at her ; her thoughts were evidently far away. 
 
 Sir John Dunworthy drew a long breath. 
 
 " She is beautiful ! " he said, his eyes lingering on the retreating figure ; 
 " the most beautiful woman I have ever seen ! " 
 
 " Woman ! " cried Basil; " why, she is quite a girl; she must be younger 
 than I am? " . 
 
 3
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 35' 
 
 " She need not be very old to arrive at that dignity, certainly. But let 
 us stroll back to the hotel; there may be some letters." 
 
 An unspoken thought was in his mind to follow the girl, and feast his 
 eyes once more on her loveliness. 
 
 " There; do you see," murmured Basil, as they sauntered along. " A 
 priest has met them ! He is speaking to them that is the very first person 
 I have seen with them. Hang it all; what a shame ! I wish I were going 
 to stay longer. I would find out who she is. " 
 
 "Just as well for your peace of mind that you are not," returned Sir 
 John, smiling. 
 
 " They are at the Hotel de 1'Europe I have found out that much," 
 continued Basil, unconsciously pulling himself up to his full height as they 
 approached the slight figure again. 
 
 The small group had come to a standstill in the center of the avenue. 
 
 As Basil had noticed, a priest was with them, bending his tall black- 
 coated form to speak to the invalid in the chair. 
 
 The girl was standing silent, one hand grasping the chair handle, and 
 she let her eyes wander negligently over the crowds of fashionably-attired 
 people. | 
 
 She looked up as Sir John Dunworthy and Basil Morne walked slowly 
 past. There was nothing uncommon in their appearance beyond the black 
 silk sling across the light coat; dozens of men of the like stamp were 
 scattered about ; and as they disappeared in the moving throng, she turned 
 to answer a question, without another thought to them. 
 
 " I am fortunate in finding you," said the priest, softly. 
 
 "Yes," returned the girl, listlessly. 
 
 " I brought you the books I promised." 
 
 " Thank you," she said, quietly, almost coldly; a slight pause, and then| 
 she added: " I did not expect to see you here, Father Lawrence." 
 
 " No? " 
 
 " I thought you were to remain in Bruges for some time," she continued, 
 listlessly, her attention riveted on two small specimens of humanity fighting 
 for a balL " 
 
 "I I had to come to Spa," Father Lawrence said with momentary 
 hesitation. 
 
 "Oh, yes," was all she remarked; she was still intent on the infantile 
 struggle. 
 
 " What have you been doing? " he asked after awhile. 
 
 " Doing ? Nothing. " 
 
 " This is a pretty place," waving his hand round ; " you ought to find 
 life pleasant and easy here. " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 The chair was moving on through the crowd ; the long-coated figure 
 was pacing by her side. 
 
 " I suppose your father will remain for some time ? " 
 
 " I cannot say," the girl replied, half petulantly; "you know what he 
 is ! " She sighed a little as she spoke. 
 
 The priest cast a scrutinizing glance at her. 
 
 "You are looking pale, Miss Messenger." 
 
 "It is the heat." 
 
 " You are not troubled ? " he asked, softly. 
 
 The girl turned and met his gaze frankly. 
 
 " What should trouble me, Father Lawrence ? " she said quickly.
 
 36 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 His answer was lost, for at this moment the servant touched his hand. 
 
 " What is it, Sims ? " 
 
 " Shall I turn, miss ? " 
 
 " Ask your master. " 
 
 The man bent down and whispered his question to the invalid, who nodded 
 vacantly, and the chair was wheeled round slowly in the direction of the town. 
 
 The priest chatted on suavely on many subjects, but he only received 
 monosyllabic replies till they reached the archway of the hotel. 
 
 " I may come in this evening? " he asked, as Miss Messenger put her 
 small ungloved hand for one moment into his. 
 
 " As you please ; but you will find it much pleasanter out of doors." 
 
 "I thought your father might like some backgammon," he said quietly, 
 replacing the soft felt hat, and ignoring the indifference in her tone ; " it 
 sometimes interests him. " 
 
 " Come, then, certainly," she replied, more gently ; and with a slight 
 bow she moved in through the lower old-fashioned door, and mounted the 
 
 crooked staircase slowly. 
 ********** 
 
 Eight years and a half had passed over Ulrica Messenger's head since the 
 night she had been carried in Sam Loudon's arms from the room in the 
 dingy Rue St. Sauveur back to Pauline and her little white cot. 
 
 Years of incessant moving about with her hapless father, for George 
 Messenger was a wreck in mind and body. 
 
 Immediately after that terrible interview and struggle with Sir Geoffrey 
 Denvil he fell ill, and became attacked by a species of melancholia which 
 at last settled into softening of the brain. 
 
 The Loudons, father and son, took upon themselves the responsibility 
 of the poor invalid, and it was under their kind-hearted guidance that 
 Ulrica's first five years of comparative orphanage were passed. 
 
 At the end of that time George Messenger seemed to recover slightly ; 
 that is to say, he recognized well-known faces, and proved that his will 
 was not quite dead by insisting with a strange unaccountable restlessness 
 to be perpetually moved about from place to place ; he was never satisfied 
 unless continually changing from one spot to another. 
 
 The Loudons would have kept Ulrica under their charge at this time, 
 but with a cunning glimmer of remembrance, her father refused to let her 
 leave his sight for a day. 
 
 The accusation Sir Geoffrey Denvil had suddenly hurled at him rose 
 with terrible prominence 'in his shattered mind, and he clung to yirica 
 with a madman's fear that in some way retribution would overtake him 
 through her. So began a strange life for Ulrica. 
 
 There was no love in the child's heart for her father ; all the affection 
 she possessed she lavished on Sam Loudon. 
 
 The memory of the night that haunted George Messenger so fearfully 
 had passed from her mind altogether. 
 
 Her childhood had held so many and varied scenes that they melted 
 into a mist of fancies and dreams. 
 
 Thus she held no clew to the strange eagerness her father always evinced 
 to keep her at his side, and as his claims upon her duty increased, she 
 unconsciously shrank more and more from him. 
 
 Sam Loudon, as self-constituted guardian to Ulrica, had insisted, when 
 she was taken from him, on a governess being procured, and her education 
 being carefully attended to
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 37 
 
 Language came easy to the small pupil ; the nurses she had had before the 
 governess came had been of the most varied nationality. She could con- 
 verse fluently in French, leaving her.instructress far behind her in Italian, 
 German, and a little Dutch. 
 
 She was surrounded by everything that money could give ill or well 
 gotten, the fruits of George Messenger's life were heaped in abundance. 
 
 A very mantle of luxury was spread before her, yet the splendor of her 
 father's wealth could not cover the emptiness and loneliness of her lot. 
 
 Sam Loudon had married, and had now a flaxen-haired blossom of his 
 own to cherish, but he never forgot the great gray eyes of his early favor- 
 ite, and as often as a favorable opportunity occurred, he would join the 
 travelers and spend a day with the beautiful sweet -faced girl he called his 
 ward. 
 
 These visits were the one bright spot ori Ulrica's dark lonely horizon ; 
 she revelled in Sam's genial warmth ; she lavished on him all the treasure 
 of her stored love, giving him glimpses of a great, glorious, 'golden nature 
 that all the narrow limits of her cheerless life could not ruin. 
 
 Ulrica let her maid dress her for the solitary dinner with her father in 
 silence. She was always grave preternaturally so for one so young ; but 
 life held few things other than gloomy for her. 
 
 The germ of girlish gaiety lived in her heart, but it was crushed by the 
 sombre gloom of her existence. 
 
 The dinner passed wearily, and Ulrica rose almost with a sigh of relief 
 when the door opened and Father Lawrence was announced. 
 
 Ever and anon as he rattled the dice, and listened to the feeble flow of 
 talk from the invalid, the priest would gaze at the graceful figure sitting 
 by the window, and liken her to some saint of old, with her great glorious 
 eyes and pure flower-like face. 
 ** * * * * # * * ** 
 
 At the Hotel Littoral, Basil Morne was busy packing his multitudinous 
 array of presents, Sir John Dunworthy watching the operations while he 
 smoked. 
 
 " Now, Jack, remember I leave you my commands. You are to get well 
 as soon as possible, and follow me home. " 
 
 " All right," said Sir John ; " anything more ? " 
 
 "No, I don't think so. It" I want anything brought over, I can write. 
 No unless you can find out about that girl," suddenly exclaimed Basil; 
 "that I certainly should like you to do, if " 
 
 " I have discovered her name, if that will satisfy you," observed Sir John 
 quietly. 
 
 " You have! Now, Jack," and Basil sat down with a precious vase half 
 packed in his hand ; " you have known it and kept me in the dark. What 
 is it? and how did you find it out? Is she " 
 
 "One question at a time," laughed the other. "I discovered her 
 name through the merest chance. I was sauntering just now through the 
 town, and I saw Molesworth. He is staying at the Hotel de 1'Europe, 
 you know ; and he asked me if I had seen the lovely girl ^very one was 
 talking about. He told me she was at the same place as himself, with her 
 father, who is a great invalid, supposed to be fabulously wealthy ; that their 
 name is Messenger hers Ulrica, and voild tout I " 
 
 Basil Morne sat silent. 
 
 The stopper fell out of the vase he held, but he made no effort to pick 
 it up.
 
 38 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 His brow was wrinkled. Suddenly he rose with a tremendous exclama- 
 tion. 
 
 " Eureka ! " he shouted. It is she ! Won't he be glad ! " 
 
 Sir John removed his cigar from his mouth and stared at his companion. 
 
 "Ulrica Messenger, of course," continued Basil, lost to all but his 
 thoughts. " Rica little Rica ! Why, Uncle Guy has been looking for 
 her for the last ten years, and he has never been able to find a trace of her ! 
 Won't he just be glad!" 
 
 " This is all exceedingly vague to me," said Sir John. 
 
 " Of course it is. What an idiot I am." 
 
 And then Basil sat down and told his friend the story of Ulrica how 
 she had been beaten, rescued, and brought to Wakehurst Hall, and how 
 she had been taken away by her father, and, despite all Dr. Strong's efforts, 
 been lost to view all these years. 
 
 " And to find her now she is grown up ! It is quite like a .novel, isn't it? " 
 
 " Hum ! I don't know," Sir John observed dryly. " You could not ex- 
 pect to find her a little girl still. In the ten years she would naturally be 
 grown. " 
 
 " Nonsense ! You know what I mean. She was such a jolly little thing, 
 and I remember Connie Wren was awfully jealous of her, and behaved very 
 unkind to her. She always was selfish ! " 
 
 " And she retains that quality now," Sir John observed reflectively. 
 
 "My eye! Ulrica will make Connie sit up, won't she ?" cried Basil. 
 " I'm glad I'm going home now. Uncle Guy will be so^leased, and only 
 think, Jack, I kissed her long ago ! " 
 
 " Get on with your packing, Basil," Sir John said quietly, though with 
 a heightened color, " or you will never make a start to-morrow morning ! " 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 7"rLRICA woke early the next morning ; it was scarcely five o'clock. She 
 \J* pulled aside her curtains and looked out over the wooded hill that rose 
 at the back of the hotel. The first rosy tinge of sunlight was glinting the 
 trees ; above hung a gray soft mist betokening great heat in the coming day. 
 
 She stood several minutes by the open window, drinking in the sweetness 
 of the new-born morning, then suddenly determined to go out and breathe 
 it in all its freshness. She dressed rapidly and stole softly down the stairs 
 to the door. 
 
 She walked through the town, past the Casino, till she came to the ave- 
 nue where the band played. 
 
 She sauntered on for some time very leisurely, buried in her thoughts, 
 when she was astonished to hear a deep rumbling sound overhead. She 
 looked up hurriedly ; the sky was overcast, thick clouds were spreading over 
 the brilliant blue of but a few moments before. The air had grown closer 
 and hot, and while she glanced round drops of rain pattered down on her 
 clean white gown and pretty broad hat. Secure in this for a shade, she had 
 brought no umbrella, and now she was two miles or more from the hotel, 
 and no shelter visible. 
 
 A loud peal of thunder settled her, and gathering her skirts tight round 
 her, she turned back and sped along fleetly. 
 
 Down came the rain ; her hat was soon dripping, and her sleeves cling, 
 ing to the rounded arms in damp and disagreeable fashion.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 39 
 
 The lightning was vivid and terrible. Ulrica was not a nervous girl, but 
 the grandeur of the storm, the struggle between the elements, overawed her. 
 
 She had still a long way to go. The lane, now thick with mud, stretched 
 blankly before her, and she felt very dismal at the sight of it, when at 
 that very moment, from behind, came the welcome sound of a human 
 voice. She stopped, and a man ran up to her side. 
 
 " Will you allow me to offer you my umbrella ? " 
 
 Ulrica hesitated one moment, than a glance at the torrent of rain de- 
 cided her. 
 
 " Thank you very much," she replied ; "I will gladly avail myself of a 
 part. " 
 
 The stranger took in her soaked condition in one look. 
 
 "You are terribly wet," he exclaimed; "I am afraid you will catch 
 cold. Please let me urge you to put on this " hastingly pulling a thick 
 silk handkerchief from an inner pocket, and handing it to her "round 
 your shoulders. If you will allow me to advise you, I should suggest your 
 placing it across your chest, under that wet dress. " 
 
 Ulrica took the scarf with a murmur of thanks and a slight blush. The 
 man walked beside her while she tucked the warm soft ends through the 
 loose neck of her dress, experiencing at once a decided sense of comfort. 
 
 "Thank you very much," she said simply. "It was foolish of me to 
 come out with no sunshade, but the morning was so lovely I was tempted. " 
 
 They walked on quickly through the rivulets of water and falling rain. 
 Ulrica stole a glance at her rescuer, and as she saw his left arm in a sling, 
 she suddenly remembered noticing him the day before in the avenue. 
 
 Shall I hold the umbrella ? " Ulrica said hurriedly, with a tinge of color 
 in her face, as she noticed Sir John Dunworthy's crippled arm. " I am 
 afraid you find it difficult, as your other arm is " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, no. This hand is perfectly sound. I managed to give 
 my left arm a nasty sprain the other day. Besides," he added with a 
 glance at the small white ringers holding the handkerchief close round her 
 throat, " I don't think you would find it easy to hold this heavy concern in 
 such a storm. We have still some way to go. I hope your friends will not 
 be alarmed. " 
 
 " Oh, no ; no one knows of my walk not even my maid. Poor Mary 1 
 she will be greatly distressed ; I have quite ruined my dress, the fruits of 
 yesterday's work." 
 
 Sir John Dunworthy, glancing now and then at Ulrica, thought he had 
 never seen a more lovely spectacle than the damp maiden by his side. 
 
 The rapid walk had brought a glow to the cream-white cheeks, a light 
 to the wonderful eyes. There were no curls to straggle in disheveled 
 locks across her brow, and though the liquid mud was splashed far up the 
 white skirt, it could not hide the trim dainty feet that bore so easily and 
 firmly the supple body above them. 
 
 As they approached the railway station, Sir John turned. 
 
 " Shall we go in here? It is still early, but I fancy they can get you a cab 
 if ycu like, or if we wait a little while, the storm may pass." 
 
 " Yes," said Ulrica, who began to feel tired and wretched ; " I think I 
 will have a cab. I don't believe if I stop walking I shall be able to begin 
 again. " 
 
 " How stupid of me ! I have been going too fast," he cried, reproachfully. 
 " Please forgive me. I am so accustomed to stride about alone, I quite for- 
 got your pace would me more moderate. "
 
 4<> HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Ulrica smiled faintly. v 
 
 " You are not to blame. I had walked a good distance before the storm 
 came on. " 
 
 They were at the station by this time, and Sir John pushed open the gate 
 and led her into a sort of general waiting-room. 
 
 "It looks like a deserted village," he said, lightly; "now, will you sit 
 here while I go and reconnoitre ? " 
 
 Ulrica sank shivering into a seat as he disappeared. 
 
 She heard his footsteps die away in the distance, and sat on, quietly 
 thinking over his pleasant manners and courteous kindness. 
 
 The storm was passing, the clouds breaking, and the thunder growing 
 fainter and fainter. 
 
 In about five minutes Sir John came back. 
 
 " We are in luck," he said, as he closed the door. " I have just got hold 
 of a fly that was going into the town ; it will be here as soon as possible." 
 
 " You are very kind," Ulrica said, warmly. 
 
 "What should I " 
 
 " Please don't thank me," he interrupted. " I only did the most ordinary 
 thing, and feel awfully glad I happened to be near. A storm is a lonely pro- 
 ceeding all by one's self. I sincerely hope you will not derive any harm from 
 such a severe shower-bath. " 
 
 Ulrica smiled. 
 
 She liked his frank easy manner more and more ; there was something 
 wonderfully fascinating in his voice. 
 
 " I hope," he said, after they had exchanged a few platitudes and remarks 
 on the place "I hope I may have the pleasure of renewing our acquaint- 
 ance. Do you stay long in Spa ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; it all depends on my father. If he seems to like the 
 place, it may be weeks months, before we go; if he takes the whim into 
 his head to dislike it, we may go to-morrow perhaps even to-night." 
 
 There was a touch of weariness in her voice. 
 
 (" But you ? " he could not help saying. 
 " Oh, I am nobody ! " she answered, speaking out the truth without re- 
 serve. " I am practically alone ; my mother died when I was a little child ; 
 my father is quite helpless ; he has softening of the brain, with only one 
 strong motive in his feeble mind the desire to be forever moving about. 
 He does not like me to leave him even for a day. " 
 , " It is a hard fate," he said slowly. 
 
 Ulrica looked at him suddenly ; their eyes met. She read a strange 
 eagerness, almost tenderness, in his gaze, but it lasted only a moment. 
 She woke to the fact that she had been discussing her affairs with an utter 
 stranger. 
 
 She rose slowly, and a coldness came in her face. 
 
 " I wonder if the cab is ready, " was all she said j but he was quick to 
 take the hint. 
 
 He went to the door ; the vehicle was just entering the yard. The rain 
 had stopped, and already the sun was shining out, golden and hot again. 
 
 " Good-bye," said Ulrica gently, as she sat in the cab. 
 
 Then putting up her hand, she would have removed the scarf, but he 
 prevented her. 
 
 " Please keep it on," he pleaded. " It will protect you, I hope, from a 
 severe cold. I will do myself the 'honor to call and inquire if you have 
 escaped that malady to-morrow, Miss Messenger."
 
 HER FATAT SIN. 4! 
 
 " You know my name ! " she exclaimed, in surprise. 
 
 He laughed easily. 
 
 " Spa is, after all, a small place ; the inhabitants or the visitors, for 
 the matter of that are not devoid of curiosity. Your appearance here 
 was not unnoticed. Once more, good-bye ! " 
 
 " Au revoir ! smiled Ulrica, and then the cab rolled away from the tall 
 form, with the sunlight gleaming on the uncovered head, picking out the 
 gold in the brown, wavy, short curls, and in the soft, silky mustache, and 
 sending a reflection into the handsome brown eyes that would haunt her 
 memory as she rattled through the wet street. 
 
 Her maid was waiting for her in great alarm, and ran to welcome her, 
 beginning at once to unfasten the small shoes, and remove the ruined 
 gown. 
 
 She glanced curiously at the scarf her mistress wore. 
 
 Ulrica took it off and folded it up carefully. 
 
 " This must be returned to a gentleman when he calls, Mary." 
 
 " What name, miss? " 
 
 " I don't know; but he will call to inquire for me. I was fortunate 
 enough to meet him in the storm, and he lent me this scarf. " 
 
 Mary put away the scarf without another word. 
 
 The rest of the day passed with leaden feet. Ulrica felt a trifle languid 
 and tired from her morning's exertions. 
 
 Towards the close of the afternoon, Father Lawrence was announced. 
 
 There was no liking or sympathy on the girl's side for this dark-faced 
 priest. 
 
 A year ago they had met him in their wanderings, and with a strange, 
 unaccountable fancy, George Messenger seemed suddenly to cling to this 
 man. 
 
 Ulrica at first was quite indifferent; Father Lawrence was a pleasant 
 companion, and seemed to have a soothing influence on the poor, weak 
 invalid. 
 
 But, as month succeeded month, she grew less pleased with him.. 
 
 She could not have told exactly why, but she did not trust him, and 
 secretly resented the authority he seemed tonexercise over her actions, not- 
 withstanding it was carefully veiled by a religious garb. 
 
 Ulrica looked up indifferently as Father Lawrence entered the room. 
 He advanced towards her, noiselessly. Although over six feet, he always 
 trod gently, and generally accompanied his walk by a movement of his 
 hands, rubbing them softly one over the other. 
 
 These appendages were very large, white and thick, and Ulrica had 
 grown to know their very movement as an index to what was passing in the 
 priest's mind. His face was a blank. 
 
 " So you are recovered, Miss Messenger? " he said, as he stood by the 
 graceful figure. 
 
 Ulrica lifted her eyes from her book for one moment. 
 
 " I have not been ill, " she replied, briefly. Father Lawrence pulled a 
 chair up to the window. 
 
 "Not ill, but fatigued," he said, gently. 
 
 " What should fatigue me? " 
 
 The girl indifferently turned over a page. 
 
 " You are not accustomed to such early rising, nor such exertion as you 
 indulged in this morning. " 
 
 Ulrica looked at him very straight.
 
 42 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " How did you know I was out? " 
 
 Father Lawrence shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "There are many ways of learning it," he observed smoothly; "but the 
 simplest is to inquire of a lady's-maid for her mistress' health, and gather 
 that she is indisposed from over-fatigue, consequent on an early walk, and 
 the effects of being caught in a storm." 
 
 Ulrica looked dissatisfied at the explanation. 
 
 " My father is in his room," was all she said, however, and she bent her 
 head over her book again. 
 
 " I know I have just left him. It is you I wish to speak with, not 
 your father. " 
 
 Ulrica leaned back and waited. 
 
 " I have a solemn and sacred event to announce to you, began the priest 
 in his most unctuous tones, watching her face carefully. " It has pleased 
 our blessed Lady to lend me her Divine aid in bringing a stray lamb into 
 the fold." 
 
 Ulrica was silent while he paused. 
 
 " You will scarcely be surprised, " he went on softly, " when I tell you 
 that happy soul is your father. " 
 
 Ulrica let her book slip to the ground; her face grew very pale, but she 
 uttered no exclamation of surprise or objection; she onlyj looked straight 
 across at the priest, with a fire of contempt in her eyes, and scorn round 
 her mouth. 
 
 " Is this the truth? " she asked quietly. 
 
 Father Lawrence had risen, his brows met in a frown. 
 
 " It is like you to doubt," he answered coldly. " I have spoken the 
 sacred truth. You object, of course? " 
 
 " Object !" the girl said very quietly and sadly; " how can I object? You 
 are stronger than I; what use are my words now? It is too late. To you, 
 no doubt, the conversion of a poor broken will to your faith is a glorious 
 deed; to me, knowing and seeing all, I hold it contemptible ! " 
 
 The priest's face flushed a little. 
 
 " You are unjust as usual," he replied slowly, " but your words do not 
 hurt, they grieve me. My child, in your blindness you judge me unjustly. 
 What have you in your life but principles ? and against these principles I 
 bring the weapon of a Holy Church, offering sanctity, absolution to the 
 poor weak sinner, blessing with a glorious graciousness all her children, 
 however deep they may be steeped in sin, even even as your father may 
 be." 
 
 Ulrica glanced up and read a strange expression in his eye. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " she murmured quickly, a sudden and great 
 dread filling her heart. 
 
 " All men are sinners, I meant nothing more than that. I sought you 
 now," he said, after a moment's pause, " to tell you of your father's con- 
 version, and to acquaint you with the fact that in two day's time I shall 
 receive him into the Church by the rite of holy baptism. You will be 
 present ? " 
 
 " No," answered the girl quietly, her voice very low and sad ; " to me it 
 will be a mockery I will not witness it." 
 
 The door was closed, and Ulrica was alone ; she sat on very still for 
 many minutes deep in thought.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OIR JOHN DUNWORTHY called the following morning and received 
 |J his scarf from Mary with a message of thanks. He walked away feel- 
 ing disappointed that Ulrica had not given him an interview, but in a few 
 minutes he told himself he was a fool to expect any such thing ; she could 
 hardly receive a young man who but for an accident was a perfect stranger 
 to her. 
 
 He felt a trifle lonely. Basil Morne had departed early on the previous 
 day, and he missed the merry rattle of the boy's talk. 
 
 There were many people he knew by sight, but few intimate friends, yet 
 he lingered day after day in Spa, and only to catch a glimpse of that grace- 
 ful form walking beside her father's chair. 
 
 The tall black-coated figure of the priest was always with her, but Sir 
 John, watching carefully, noticed that Ulrica never spoke to him, and that 
 all his observations were directed to the invalid. 
 
 The young man cast about in his mind for some way of renewing his 
 speaking acquaintance with Ulrica, but could find none ; until she made 
 the first advance he could do nothing but wait. 
 
 Mary ha^fallen a victim to Sir John's brown eyes and persuasive charm 
 of manner, and had carried his card up to Ulrica with tremendous import- 
 ance. 
 
 " It's your fate, Miss Ulrica," she said, nodding her head wisely. 
 
 The tiniest shade of warmth had dawned on Ulrica's cheek like the 
 deepest glow of a blush rose, but she had only smiled. 
 
 " Sir John Dunworthy, and what a nice gentleman he is, too. He were 
 quite disappointed at not seeing you ! " 
 
 " Put the card in my dressing-case, Mary, " Ulrica had answered with 
 just a faint sigh. 
 
 George Messenger had been baptized into the Roman Church two days 
 after her interview with Father Lawrence, and Ulrica, now that all was 
 over, felt strangely sad at the event. 
 
 It snapped, as it were, the last tie that bound her to any one, for, lonely 
 as her life had always been, her father had made incessant claims on her 
 duty, and now she found herself pushed gently and firmly aside by the 
 priest, who bore with the invalid's peevishness and innumerable wants with 
 the patience and tenderness of a woman, and by the aid of his religious 
 position ruled the broken spirit with the greatest ease. 
 
 The days passed in dreary succession. People had grown used to the 
 sight of the beautiful girl and her invalid father and had left off speculating 
 about them. 
 
 Ulrica liked Spa! If only Father Lawrence had not been present, she 
 would have been passively happy, but his continual companionship was a 
 trial to her, his unctuous voice vexed and irritated her, and his hold over 
 her father filled her with alarm for her own future. 
 
 They were walking one afternoon, as usual, towards the avenue, when 
 a small carriage, drawn by two ponies, was pulled up close to the pave- 
 ment, and the priest hurried to the side with a low bow. 
 
 Ulrica and her father passed on. The girl gave only one glance at the 
 occupants of the carriage.
 
 44 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 A small fair-haired woman, gleaming with bugles and crtme de /* implra- 
 trice, and seated beside her a dark keen-eyed man. 
 
 The chair was drawn slowly down the avenue. Ulrica was not long in 
 finding Sir John's form among the loiterers, and, unconsciously, she gave 
 him a warmer smile than usual. 
 
 Her father was always placed in one particular spot, advantageously 
 chosen for the sake of the music ; and the servant drew up as usual, while 
 Ulrica sent him for one of the loose chairs to sit beside her father. 
 
 She was standing watching the yellow sunlight glint the trees, and fall in 
 feathery lace patterns on the broad path, when she was startled by hearing 
 a curious gasping sound come from the bath-chair. She turned quickly. 
 George Messenger had half risen, his face was distorted, his eyes glaring, 
 his hands working convulsively, while a gray shade was creeping slowly 
 over the sunken cheeks. 
 
 " What is it? What shall we do, Sims? " she whispered. 
 
 "It is a fit, Miss Ulrica," the man returned hurriedly. "I had better 
 fetch a doctor. " 
 
 " Can I help you? " came a welcome voice at this moment ; and, looking 
 up with a white face and trembling lips, Ulrica saw Sir John Dunworthy. 
 
 " Oh, thank you. My father is ilL What shall I do? I have never 
 seen him like this before. " 
 
 " Unfasten his necktie, " exclaimed Sir John, assisting with his one hand. 
 "He must have air. Stand back!" he cried to the crow^. that, of 
 course, assembled round, gaping and unceremonious, making the hot 
 atmosphere still more dense. 
 
 She sent a hurried glance ever the sea of faces. 
 
 Curiosity, and, in some cases, pity, were marked on them, but there was 
 nothing alarming in their gaze. 
 
 Sir John watched her color fade slowly, till the very features seemed 
 marble. 
 
 " I feel certain he is frightened of some one or some thing," she mur- 
 mured, in reply to the young man's anxious, inquiring look. Oh, when 
 will Sims come, and why will people stare so terribly ? " 
 
 At this moment an official was seen bustling in the distance, but before 
 he could reach the crowd it was parted by a strong arm ; a tall form pushed 
 unceremoniously through, and bent over the sick man. 
 
 " I am a doctor, " said the new comer authoritatively, after taking a brief 
 glance at his patient ; " stand back, do you hear ? Merciful Heavens ! do 
 you want to kill the man altogether ? " 
 
 Ulrica's hand was still held between her father's clutching, working fin- 
 gers, but her other grasped the chair-side for support. Sir John longed to 
 draw her from the sight, but he dared not touch her ; she seemed glued to 
 the spot with fear. 
 
 At the words, " I am a doctor," she uttered a faint exclamation of relief 
 and gladness, and in the momentary relaxation from her alarm, did not 
 hear Sir John's cry of surprise and joy. 
 
 " Strong thank Heaven ! " 
 
 Dr. Strong took no notice of either ; he detached the girl's small, white 
 hand from her father's weird, yellow one, and calling the official, lifted 
 the contracted form from the chair, and carried it to a bench beneath some 
 trees. 
 
 Sir John, left alone with Ulrica for the people flocked after the doctor 
 .forgot all ceremony in his anxiety for her, and, pushing her gently in-
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 45 
 
 to a seat, he fanned her with her broad-brimmed hat, and then held a glass 
 of water, which some kind Samaritan had brought, to her lips. 
 
 She repaid him with one look out of her glorious eyes which made his 
 heart beat with a quick strange throb, and sent the blood coursing hotly 
 through his viens. 
 
 If she had seemed beautiful to him that early morning in her fair fresh 
 youthfulness and vigor, she appeared doubly to him now as she leaned 
 back white and silent, with an expression of wishfulness round her mouth 
 that was almost pain. 
 
 He did not^offer to speak, but waved the hat to and fro with his right 
 hand, content in the thought that he was near .her, and was able to help 
 her once again. 
 
 In a few minutes Dr. Strong strode over to them. 
 
 "Your father is very ill," he said abruptly, yet gently;" he must be taken 
 to his room at once; will you tell me where it is ? " 
 
 "I will come with you," said Ulrica, rising hurriedly. "Sims, his 
 man, is just coming j he will help you. Hotel de 1' Europe. What can I 
 do?" ' 
 
 " You will stay here, please," commanded the doctor promptly. " Dun- 
 ta>rth, please see that my orders are obeyed. I will send for you in a few 
 moments. " 
 
 "You are very kind," murmured the girl, sinking into her chair faintly. 
 She was unconsciously relieved not to be wanted. Her strength had been 
 greatly tried. 
 
 " May I stay with you? " asked Sir John as they were alone again. 
 
 " If you will," she answered simply. 
 
 The stricken man was lifted onto a litter and carried slowly away, at- 
 tended by the entire circle of promenaders. The avenue suddenly seemed 
 deserted, the band had ceased playing, the only music now was the rustle 
 of the trees and the birds' notes to one another. 
 
 " You are better? " asked the young man gently, as the crowd vanished. 
 
 She drew a long breath. 
 
 " Better? Yes; but how terrible ! Am I always to live in trouble? " 
 She clasped her hands together and gazed moodily over the sunlit path 
 with eyes that were black with anxiety. " Whatcan have caused it? " she 
 murmured; " what can have caused it? " 
 
 " The heart,. perhaps," suggested Sir John. " Your 4 father, I take it, is 
 far from strong, and the summer has been tremendous enough to knock 
 over any one but a Red Indian. He will be all right, you will see; at all 
 events he cannot be in better hands than Strong's." 
 
 " You know this doctor? " Ulrica asked with some surprise. 
 
 " Yery well ; he is a near neighbor of my own in England. " He thought 
 to himself that he knew, too, what had brought Guy Strong to Spa, but 
 he refrained from speaking of the past for fear of paining her. " Is there 
 anything I can do? " he continued. " Any telegram I can send? Please 
 make use of me. " 
 
 " No," said Ulrica quietly and sadly; " we have^no'friends but one, and 
 he is away with his wife ; I don't know exactly where to find him;" she 
 alluded to Sam Loudon. " But my father will get better he must get 
 better ! " she cried suddenly and nervously; she was brought face to face 
 with a dilemma she had never even dreamed of. What was to become 
 of her when her father was gone? 4 
 
 Sir John Dunworthy soothed her tenderly; he spoke of Dr. Strong's
 
 46 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 talent, cheered her by his bright manliness, and wove the first link in the 
 bond of a true friendship by his gentle courtesy and kindness. 
 
 " You are fated to help me," said Ulrica, by-and-by, a faint smile dawn- 
 ing on her cheek. " I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your great 
 kindness; I have had so little." 
 
 " There is no greater happiness for me in this world than to be your 
 friend, " Sir John answered hurriedly, scarce knowing what he said as he 
 met the gaze of her wondrous eyes. " Don't think me presumptuous; I 
 have watched you so much lately, I seem to know you well. " 
 
 The girl looked at him quietly for a moment ; there w^s a new strange 
 sensation creeping into her heart. 
 
 " My friend !" she said slowly. " Ah, you don't know what that means 
 to me you cannot understand how much the word seems to say. Yes," 
 stretching out her hand " yes, be my friend, if you will." 
 
 He bent his head and touched her hand with his lips. Ulrica rose 
 quickly with a flush on her face. 
 
 "There is the doctor," she murmured hurriedly. "He will I 
 
 must go. " 
 
 Guy Strong advanced towards them with gigantic strides. 
 
 " Your father is on his bed," he said abruptly. " You may come now." 
 
 " How can I thank you ! There is no great danger, is there ? " 
 
 " There is no immediate danger. " Guy clasped her hand. " But you 
 must not get nervous or anxious, or I shall have two patients instead of 
 one." 
 
 Ulrica tried to smile, but her lips were tremulous. 
 
 " Do you know," continued Guy, " that I am an old, old friend ? I car- 
 ried you in my arms when you were a wee thing. You don't remember 
 me?" 
 
 Ulrica raised her eyes to the plain kind face, and after a moment's scru- 
 tiny, shook her head. 
 
 " Don't you remember Basil, and Uncle Guy ? " 
 
 Ulrica let her eyes wander away over the scene, while she cast her 
 thoughts back into the strange troubled mist of her childhood ; and he 
 watched her earnestly. 
 
 " Uncle Guy ! " she repeated, blankly; " Uncle Guy ! Strange, the name 
 seems familiar Uncle Guy and Basil. Yes; and " her face suddenly 
 cleared "and the pretty lady. Yes, yes; I remember now you were 
 good to me when I was a poor little thing at Mrs. Coxon's. How could I 
 have forgotten? And you you carried me in your arms that cold night. 
 I can remember it all so well now. You are Uncle Guy! " 
 
 She put out her hands eagerly to Dr. Strong. 
 
 " Yes, I am Uncle Guy," he said, gently, " and I have come all this way 
 to see you. I have never forgotten your sweet little face; I knew you 
 again directly." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 aLRICA walked back to the hotel in a state of bewilderment and 
 agitation. 
 
 Dr. Strong spoke little to the girl ; he saw how overwrought was her 
 mind, and knew that silence and quiet were the best prescription. Sir John 
 had left them to return to his rooms, but he begged permission to call in the 
 evening.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 47 
 
 Sims met them at the hotel door. 
 
 At sight of his face, all Ulrica's dreaa returned. 
 
 " How is he, Sims? " she asked, hurriedly. " Is he oetter? " 
 
 " Father Lawrence is with him, miss," answered the man; " but I think, 
 sir, you ought to go to him. " 
 
 " Oh, go at once ! " murmured the girl, slipping her hand from his arm 
 and growing pale again. " Shall I come, too? " 
 
 "Yes," was the brief reply. As they mounted the stairs, he added: 
 "Who is this priest? If I recollect rightly, your father used to be a 
 Roman Catholic? " 
 
 " He was not until a week ago. Father Lawrence is a man we met some 
 time past; he has converted my father." 
 
 Ulrica could not prevent a sadness creeping into her tones. " He has 
 great influence over him, " she added slowly. 
 
 They had reached the first landing as she spoke, and she turned impul- 
 sively and put out her hands. 
 
 "I I am so glad you are come ! " she said hurriedly ; " somehow I 
 seem to know you so well, to feel almost as though I were a little girl and 
 you were helping me again. I may call you Uncle Guy, may I not ? " 
 
 He clasped her hands in his. 
 
 " Yes, dear, always, " he answered, and then he sighed. - 
 
 Ulrica turned the handle of her father's door gently. 
 
 He was lying stretched on the bed still in his outdoor clothes. 
 
 Bending over him murmuring softly was the dark face of the priest. He 
 turned as the girl approached. 
 
 " He tries to speak, but can make no sound," he said quietly. 
 
 Guy Strong moved forward and put his hand on the limp wrist. 
 
 " You have excited him," he said tersely. " I left orders no one was to 
 be admitted till I returned." 
 
 " I am his spiritual physician," returned Father Lawrence, rearing his 
 form to its full height ; " at such a moment it is my duty to be at his 
 side. " 
 
 Ulrica had crept into a chair close to the bed; she was watching Dr. 
 Strong's face anxiously. 
 
 There was but a feeble throb in the pulse, and Guy hastily poured out 
 a draught and tried to force it between his pallid lips. 
 
 At the touch of the firm arm beneath his head, George Messenger's eyes 
 opened. They wandered slowly round the room as if in search of some- 
 thing. 
 
 The priest, whose placid face wore almost a frown, bent forward and 
 began to whisper, but the glazed eyes went past his eager countenance still, 
 as if they sought an object. 
 
 There was a weak effort to lift the nerveless hands, but it was useless. 
 
 " He wants something," said Guy as he watched his patient carefully. 
 
 Father Lawrence bent over the sick man and once more murmured softly, 
 but with no avail. 
 
 The gray sunken face twitched, and the lips trembled as if a torrent of 
 words would pour from them, yet they could not part to utter one. 
 
 Guy put his hand on the shrunken body ; there was a wild exciting 
 beating at the heart one moment, almost absolute stillness the next. 
 
 " Shall I bring Sims he may do some good ? " whispered Ulrica, her 
 breath coming quick and fast. 
 
 An indescribable fear had fallen on her.
 
 48 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 She did not love her father, but it was horrible to see him lie so helpless 
 and give no aid. 
 
 Dr. Strong nodded his head ; the end, he saw, was near at hand ; he was 
 only too glad to get Ulrica from the room. 
 
 She rose quietly and moved softly to the door, but before she reached it, 
 her father's eye fell on her. 
 
 With an effort that was almost superhuman, he sat up, his face con- 
 vulsed, his hands working, hoarse gutteral sounds coming from between his 
 pallid lips. 
 
 " He wants you perhaps you can soothe him," cried Guy, putting his 
 arms round the writhing form. 
 
 Ulrica was by the bedside again in an instant. Her father fought for 
 his breath, struggled to speak, but all words died in the confused gasping. 
 
 She shrank with horror from the sight of that awful distorted face, and 
 would have fallen had not the priest put his arm round her and drawn her 
 to a chair at the window. 
 
 Her senses faded for one long moment. The room with its ghastly 
 occupant died away in a dim, curious fashion, and the next she was lying 
 back in a chair and Guy Strong was bending over her. 
 
 " Don't speak," he said quickly, as he saw her lips tremble. 
 
 She gave one glimpse at the bed. 
 
 Something was on it ; a sheet drawn, hid, yet disclosed, what lay be- 
 neath. With a sudden cold shudder she realized the truth. Her father 
 was dead ! 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. 
 
 " Take me away," she murmured faintly ; " take me away ! M 
 
 Guy half lifted her from the chair and hurriedly supported her across 
 the room to the landing. 
 
 Her maid was here, hovering about in case of emergency, and together 
 they assisted her to her room. 
 
 Guy put her on a couch drawn close to the open window, with the soft, 
 sweet sunshine and air streaming in, and after promising a sleeping- 
 draught, and giving strict orders to Mary to administer it, took his de- 
 parture. 
 
 Outside he met Father Lawrence. The priest was walking slowly up 
 and down the passage. 
 
 " How is she ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 " 111 with the shock. I shall keep her in her own room if possible until 
 after the funeral, which must be hastened on. I am just going to inter- 
 view the valet, to get at some idea of the state of things. Can you give 
 me any reason' for this sudden seizure ? " 
 
 Father Lawrence shook his head. 
 
 " None whatever. The poor creature was unable to speak ; he seemed 
 to have been much mentally excited ; but despite all my endeavors I could 
 obtain no clew, and he passed away without the last sacred rite of the 
 Church, to my sorrow. " 
 
 " Hum ! " observed Guy quietly. " Miss Messenger has told me of her 
 father's conversion. Religious excitement is always the most dangerous ; 
 he must have been in very delicate health of late." 
 
 "An additional reason for administering spiritual sustenance," retorted 
 the priest smoothly. 
 
 Dr. Strong made no answer to this ; he was not eager to prolong tht 
 conversation, so, with a bow, passed on into the dead man's room.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 49 
 
 Guy left the man and went out to dispatch a telegram to Paris to Sam 
 Loudon, in the hope that it would find him. 
 
 The afternoon sun was growing red; everybody was flocking to the Prom- 
 enade des Sept-heures, and, after his visit to the post-office, Dr. Strong 
 turned and sauntered along, his thoughts going far ahead of his steps. 
 
 What was to become of Ulrica ? Alone, without a relative even of the 
 most remote kind to whom she could apply, what could she do ? 
 
 It was a serious, an awkward position for a young girl ; one, too, who 
 possessed such peculiarly great personal charms as she did. 
 
 In his musings he wandered past the Britannique. Sir John Dunworthy 
 was standing at the entrance smoking. 
 
 " Well, what news ? " he asked eagerly. 
 
 " The worst," Dr. Strong replied. 
 
 " Dead ? " 
 
 Guy nodded. 
 
 " Good heavens ! how awful for that poor thing ! " exclaimed Sir John. 
 " What is she to do, Strong ? " 
 
 " That is just what I have been debating. I really don't know. I have 
 this instant dispatched a telegram to a Mr. Loudon, who the servant tells 
 me is a sort of guardian ; but it may be some time before he receives it, as' 
 he is supposed to be away from Paris. " 
 
 " But what is she to do ? No friends except this one man in Paris 1 no 
 relations ! Strong, we must help her. " 
 
 Guy threw a sharp, hurried glance at the other's handsome fae. 
 
 " It is a difficult question. If Loudon turns up, things will be all right, 
 but if he does not, I don't quite know what to do." 
 
 " Cannot she return to England with us ? Your mother or mine would 
 welcome her most warmly. " 
 
 " I am not so sure about the latter," thought Guy. Aloud he said : 
 
 " Yes ; I have thought of that, of course. It was for the very purpose 
 of seeking Ulrica out and carrying her home with me that I left Balhurst ; 
 but still it is this immediate present that seems difficult to arrange. Her 
 father's will must settle everything. It appears to me we can do nothing 
 till that is read ; and that cannot be done until Loudon arrives. Anyway, 
 I am more than glad I am here to offer all the help I can." 
 
 They sauntered on till they reached the hotel, and then parted. 
 
 The funeral took place two days following. Sam Loudon never came ; 
 no message even arrived ; it was evident he was still away. 
 
 Ulrica sat in her bedroom through those long dreary two days, listless 
 and wretched. She felt no sorrow at her father's death love for him 
 had never lived in her heart; therefore there was no grief. 
 
 Ulrica felt rather oppressed and stunned by her position. She realized, 
 for the first time, the utter loneliness of her life. She knew of no one be- 
 yond Sam Loudon to whom she could stretch out her hands for sympathy, 
 or ask for advice. 
 
 Guy was as yet strange to her ; and though she thought of him warmly, 
 and of Sir John with a slight flush on her face, yet the question of either 
 of them being actual friends and advisers did not come to her. 
 
 She remembered Father Lawrence with a shudder of dislike, and ment- 
 ally determined to have, if possible, no further communication with him. 
 
 She had only Sam to fall back on ; she longed for him wistfully ; he had 
 never failed. He would come now and take care of her for a while, till 
 she could think over the future and arrange her life.
 
 50 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 So she sat and thought during the long hours, while her kind-hearted 
 Mary was driven to despair at sight of her white troubled face. And out- 
 side the rain fell in depressing and steady fashion, adding considerably to 
 the gloom of the situation. 
 
 Ulrica gazed from her window listlessly at the wet road ; the fine 
 weather had suddenly broken, and Spa was deluged in a most unusual 
 fashion. 
 
 Once or twice the sight of a tall figure in a loose English ulster striding 
 towards the hotel brought the color to her cheeks, but otherwise she sat on 
 quietly watching the few pedestrians as in a dream. 
 
 Guy Strong made no effort to see her until the funeral was over ; he 
 questioned Mary frequently about her, and remained as long as he could at 
 the hotel in order to receive the telegram from Sam directly it arrived. 
 
 In the evening of the day he returned to the hotel, and mounting the 
 stairs, knocked at Ulrica's door. Simultaneously with his doing so, Mary 
 appeared in the corridor. Ulrica answered his summons, and put her hand 
 into his without a word. 
 
 " May I come in and talk to you? " he asked. 
 
 Ulrica was about to reply, when Mary interposed. 
 
 " Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Ulrica, and you, sir, but Father Lawrence 
 sent to ask if you would kindly go into the lower sitting-room. He has 
 something he wants to tell you. " 
 
 Ulrica's lips compressed a little; involuntarily she glanced at Guy. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be as well to hear what his communication is; it may 
 be of some importance." 
 
 " Tell Father Lawrence I will come," Ulrica said to Mary; then as the 
 maid disappeared, she added to Guy: 
 
 " Thank you for your kindness ; you are very good. It is pleasant to 
 know you are here ; the sense of utter loneliness is appalling. I am dis- 
 tressed about Sam's silence. Why does he not send or come? It is so 
 unlike him." 
 
 " You must not fret," Guy answered, soothingly; his ear detected the 
 nervous ring in her voice. Something must have detained him. Have you 
 any idea what, or rather, who was your father's lawyer?" 
 
 Ulrica shook her head. 
 
 " Sam managed all the business; but we had better go down, I suppose. 
 What can Father Lawrence have to tell me, I wonder? " 
 
 " Perhaps your father left some religious commissions in his hands, which 
 he must inform you of; at any rate, it is better to hear him. " 
 
 He turned the handle of the sitting-room door as he spoke, and they 
 passed in. 
 
 Father Lawrence was bending over the table, conversing in a low voice 
 with a small, thin man. As they entered, he drew himself up and bowed 
 to Ulrica, who returned the greeting coldly. 
 
 The priest glanced at Guy with an imperceptible frown. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said, suavely, " but my communication is private." 
 
 Ulrica hesitated only for an instant, then putting out her hand to Guy, 
 said slowly : 
 
 " Dr. Strong is my friend please go on." 
 
 Guy clasped her hand with a grip that was almost pain, but she did not 
 notice it. 
 
 '.' As you please ; of course it is a matter of indifference to me. I have 
 to communicate to you your father's last wishes."
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 51 
 
 Father Lawrence pushed forward a chair as he spoke. 
 
 Ulrica did not take it, but stood upright, her black dress falling in simple 
 folds round her supple figure. 
 
 " I don't quite understand you," she answered, coldly. 
 
 " I allud^ to the final arrangements of his property." 
 
 " Then I think it will be wiser to wait till Mr. Loudon arrives ; he was 
 my father's friend, and managed his affairs." 
 
 " Besides, it is customary to wait until after the will is read," observed 
 Guy. 
 
 " I have the last will and testament of the late Mr. Messenger here," 
 broke in the small man sitting at the table. 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 A wave of color passed over Ulrica's face. 
 
 " When was it made ? " demanded Guy hurriedly. 
 
 " On the fifteenth of August. " 
 
 " Just one week ago ! " 
 
 " Just one week ago, "repeated the man. " I am a lawyer; I drew it up. " 
 
 Both Guy and Ulrica were silent ; a suspicion of the truth was in his 
 tnind ; a knowledge that in some way the priest had triumphed was in 
 hers. 
 
 " You had better read the will," said Father Lawrence softly, "with 
 Miss Messenger's permission." 
 
 Ulrica lifted her eyes to his. 
 
 " Yes, read it," she said very quietly. 
 
 The lawyer coughed, rose from his chair, and began to intone rather 
 than to read from the parchment he held. 
 
 Ever and again as the sentences ceased, Father Lawrence looked at the 
 girl ; there was no sign of disturbance or alarm on her face ; her attitude 
 never altered ; she kept her hands quietly folded the whole time. 
 
 " It is iniquitous ! " exclaimed Guy, as the lawyer began to fold up the 
 document. 
 
 "You use strong words, sir," remarked the priest, with knit brows. 
 " Have you no reverence for the dead ? " 
 
 " This is not the work of the dead ; it is the scheming of the living. I 
 thought a priest's office was to administer spiritual comfort, not to work 
 rank injustice." 
 
 " You do not know Father Lawrence. " 
 
 The words were uttered in clear distinct tones. Ulrica moved a few 
 steps forwards and placed one hand on a chair ; her face was very pale, 
 but her eyes blazed with the contempt that was surging in her breast. 
 
 " I do ; we understand one another. Father Lawrence, you have worked 
 well ; by the terms of this will, if within six months I do not enter the 
 Church of Rome, you inherit every penny of my father's money. You 
 know very little of my character if you imagine such an alternative would 
 influence me ; it is well to bring all communication between us to an end 
 now; once and for all, therefore, here in the presence of witnesses, I declare 
 I shall never enter the Church of Rome, and that I accept the wishes of my 
 father as final. " 
 
 " You have still six months for reflection ; by then, perhaps, you will 
 have changed your mind," the priest remarked sharply. 
 
 " I shall never change my mind on this point. " 
 
 Guy, watching her face, saw the lips compress again, and then a wave of 
 emotion pass over them.
 
 52 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " If everything else urged me," she said swiftly, " the knowledge of what 
 your religion means would be a sufficient barrier to my conversion. " 
 
 She bowed and turned away. Guy stepped forward, drew her hand, and 
 led her from the room. 
 
 They mounted the stairs in silence till they reached the door ; then Guy 
 spoke. 
 
 " There must be something wrong about this disgraceful business, " he 
 said hurriedly ; " will you give me permission to investigate it ? " 
 
 " What can you do ? " returned Ulrica in a low voice. " I am power- 
 less. If Sam were only here ! " She passed her hand wearily over her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I will go at once and send another wire, but first I want you to pr Bra- 
 ise something. " 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " That you will look upon me as Sam for the time, and that you will let 
 me take you away to my mother in England. " 
 
 Ulrica hesitated only for one instant ; a rush of comfort came with his 
 last words. 
 
 " I promise," she answered quietly. 
 
 " Thank you. " 
 
 Guy bent and kissed her hands ; then, as the door closed upon her, he 
 ran down hastily to the other room. 
 
 " The legality of this will must be tested," he said coldly as he entered. 
 
 " Show Dr. Strong the document," was the priest's reply. 
 
 The will was drawn out in proper form and signed by two witnesses. 
 
 " The one is a waiter here, " observed the lawyer, " the other a trades- 
 man in the town, who will answer any questions Dr. Strong may choose to 
 make. " 
 
 Guy put the will down quietly. 
 
 " You forgot one thing," he said to Father Lawrence : " the state of Mr. 
 Messenger's mind when this will was made. " 
 
 For answer the priest took out a capacious pocket-book, and, extracting 
 a paper, handed it to Guy. 
 
 " The medical certificate of Mr. Messenger's physician during the last 
 year, stating that the dead man's mental faculties were unimpaired at the 
 time he signed that will." 
 
 Guy glanced at the signature ; it was well known to him. 
 
 " You are a subtle strategist, Father Lawrence," he observed dryly, "at 
 every point well armed. I sincerely trust you will not find this money bring 
 you evil results. " 
 
 Against himself the priest started, and changed color a little ; he did not 
 reply, however, but returned the letter to his note-case. 
 
 " Miss Messenger has decided to start for England to-night," continued 
 Guy after a slight pause; " she will stay with my mother. As she has given 
 you her decision, from which I am assured she will never move, may I beg 
 that you will in no way seek to approach her? Sach a course can be pro- 
 ductive of nothing but pain and annoyance to her. " 
 
 " Until the six months have expired, I cannot accept Miss Messenger's 
 decision of to-day as final," returned Father Lawrence ; " the wishes of 
 the dead are sacred to me; therefore, I must refuse to agree to your 
 request. " 
 
 " ' Forewarned is forearmed,' " was Guy's reply, and too angry to say 
 more, he left the room.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 53 
 
 A telegram was handed to him as he stood in the passage. He tore it 
 open ; it was from Mrs. Loudon, dated San Remo. 
 
 " My husband is very ill j cannot possibly travel. Please let us know 
 Ulrica's movements." 
 
 This news settled him ; they would start immediately for London, and 
 his mother. 
 
 He determined not to tell Ulrica of Sam's illness until they arrived in 
 England, knowing that the fact would grieve and alarm her. 
 
 He sent for Mary, gave her instructions to have everything ready as 
 quickly as possible, then hurried back to the Britannique to inform Sir John 
 Dunworthy of thtir hasty departure. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JTJHE journey to England was soon at an end. Ulrica was carried fleetly 
 1 away from London, with its smoke and roar, down through fresh 
 green fields and groups of trees, to the country ; thence, after a hearty 
 au revoir from Sir John, she was bowled in a handsome carriage up to 
 Bathurst Hall, the property of Guy Strong. 
 
 " Welcome home ! " Guy said tenderly, as he helped her to alight. 
 
 Her emotion was quickly dispelled, for Basil Morne came on the scene, 
 followed by a girl such a happy, good-tempered, ugly girl, with a mass 
 of red hair and dancing green-gray eyes. 
 
 Dr. Strong found himself enveloped in this young maiden's embrace. 
 
 " Dear Uncle Guy, how lovely ! We didn't expect you till any tune. " 
 
 Guy laughed. 
 
 "Didn't you, Chattie! Now, to make friends with your new cousin. 
 Ulrica, this is Chattie Wren, the dearest tomboy in the whole world. " 
 
 Ulrica's face was hidden beneath her crape veil, but Chattie put up her 
 lips nevertheless for a kiss. 
 
 Basil had already made himself known, and Guy led the young stranger 
 indoors. 
 
 " Here is my mother, Ulrica," he said, as they met a sweet -faced, white- 
 haired lady just inside. " You must learn to love her. " 
 
 "That will be easy, " whispered the girl almost tearfully. 
 
 " Where is Connie? " demanded Dr. Strong. 
 
 " Where do you think? " laughed Chattie. " Up-stairs, having a pleasant 
 afternoon with Jones. There is a ball at the Goodwins to-night, and she 
 is going. " 
 
 " Oh, ah, of course; I forgot. Well, Ulrica, I dare say you would like 
 to go your room? " 
 
 " Yes; I will show her the way," cried Chattie, dancing up-stairs. " You 
 are to have the Robin Room, next door to mine. " 
 
 Ulrica felt her spirits rise from the very instant she entered this peaceful 
 home. 
 
 Little did she dream, as she glanced at her smiling reflection, that a day 
 would come when the sunshine of this hour would be torn from her, and 
 this very room witness her battling with a sorrow that almost killed her. 
 
 No such visions troubled her; she was serene in her new happiness, and 
 when a tap came to the door, she uttered " Come in!" in such light joyous 
 tones, that sounded strange even to her own ears.
 
 54 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 It was Guy's mother who entered, and bent to give the lovely face a kiss. 
 
 " I have come to take you down to dinner, dear. Guy thought you 
 might feel lonely," Mrs. Strong said kindly, smiling affectionately at the 
 girl. 
 
 " How good you are ! Thank you so much ! " 
 
 " I am afraid I must ask you to walk slowly. I am not quite as agile as I 
 was." 
 
 Ulrica, for answer, drew the thin white hand through her arm, and the 
 two paced quietly down the stairs conversing naturally. 
 
 Chattie, in a nondescript garment of green muslin, was assisting as an 
 onlooker. 
 
 It was not Miss Wren's usual custom to dress for a ball until after din- 
 ner, but she had determined to make her first appearance before this much- 
 talked-of stranger en grande toilette. 
 
 "Put that diamond butterfly to the left, Jones," said Connie, turning 
 her dainty head round. "Yes there. Now, Chattie, how do you like 
 it?" 
 
 "Hum!" Chattie observed critically. "Looks like a French fashion- 
 plate ; " then seeing her sister frown, she added : " But it's very nice ; and 
 it won't dance down." 
 
 Then there was a silence while the skirt was lifted with care, and much 
 rustling, over the elaborate coiled tresses. 
 
 " She wears no fringe," said Chattie, as this was successfully accom- 
 plished. 
 
 " How bourgeoise! " exclaimed Connie. " Is she really good-looking? " 
 
 " Good-looking ? Why, Connie, she's lovely ! " 
 
 " Your ducks are always swans," was Miss Wren's retort. 
 
 " Well, you'll see her at dinner, and you can then judge for yourself." 
 
 Chattie walked to the door, stopped before the long mirror to indulge 
 in a fantastic dance. 
 
 " Hum! " mused Connie, as the bodice was laced to her rounded figure. 
 " Sets up for a beauty, does she ? I am glad Amina sent this dress in time. " 
 
 " There goes the gong, Connie ! " shrieked Chattie ; " make haste ! It 
 will be a perfect farce, her sitting through dinner," was her muttered 
 thought, " for I don't believe she can swallow a single mouthful! " 
 
 The whole party were assembled, and half-way through the first course, 
 when Miss Wren, with much rustle and a scattered air of perfume, sailed in. 
 
 In answer to Guy's introduction, she dropped a curtsy to Ulrica, who 
 had risen and held out her hand, and then she arranged herself on the edge 
 of a chair, sitting bolt upright, and creaking painfully whenever she moved ; 
 but her waist was the size of a tumbler, consequently she was happy. 
 
 Ulrica had withdrawn her hand shyly, and felt at first a little uncomfort- 
 able, but the rest of the party were so kind and genial, this feeling soon 
 wore off. 
 
 Ulrica gazed at Connie in admiration and amazement ; she was so pretty, 
 her hair was so golden, her skin so white, her cheeks so pink, she seemed 
 perfectly lovely to the generous mind of the new comer. 
 
 Connie, on the other hand, was mortified beyond measure at the indis- 
 putable beauty opposite ; there was, too, an air and style about this girl 
 that was most agreeable to contemplate. 
 
 " And her gown is cut splendidly too ! " was her vexed reflection ; " she 
 has one of the new skirts. I must tell Jones ; it will certainly not do to 
 be behind her."
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 55 
 
 And there was a frown on the pretty face till Guy, in the midst of a 
 conversation with Ulrica, looked round suddenly. 
 
 " Connie, I quite forgot ; there is a white bouquet arrived for you from 
 London a present from Dun worthy. He desired me to ask you to keep 
 
 him some dances. " 
 
 * * * * **** 
 
 A week passed a happy, delightful week to Ulrica. 
 
 Each day brought Sir John Dunworthy to Bathurst Hall, and somehow 
 the height of enjoyment vanished when he was not present 
 
 After lunch, the four young people went into the grounds, and Connie 
 adroitly claimed Sir John's arm, pleading a little lameness, which was not 
 unfounded, for her shoes, though pretty, were distinctly small. 
 
 Ulrica saw nothing of her plotting ; she was so happy, so radiantly con- 
 tent in her new life. All Connie's spiteful remarks fell unheeded. 
 
 Between Chattie and her sister there was very little love ; the former 
 was the devoted slave of Ulrica, who, in return, had grown to love the 
 impetuous little maiden heartily. 
 
 Ulrica and Chattie ran ahead, and seated themselves on a clump of moss- 
 covered trees, while Sir John was compelled, much against his will, to pilot 
 Connie slowly towards them. 
 
 They chatted on general subjects for a little while, and then Connie said: 
 
 " Does Mr. Mott return to-night ? " 
 
 Sir John was gazing earnestly at Ulrica's lovely face. 
 
 " I suppose so," he answered indifferently. 
 
 Connie frowned as she saw the direction of his eyes. 
 
 " Is there not something queer about his past ? " she went on, determined 
 to claim all Sir John's attention. 
 
 He roused himself. 
 
 " Yes ; I believe he has, or rather had, a history ; but who has not ? I 
 confess I don't particularly care for Mott, but he is wonderfully popular, 
 especially with women. " 
 
 " I wonder he does not marry," continued Connie. 
 | Ulrica gave a slight shudder. 
 | " I cannot bear him," she said involuntarily. 
 j " Poor Mr. Mott ! " observed Connie dryly. 
 1 "Now, I can't make up my mind," sa ; 4 Chattie, knitting her brows. 
 
 " Have you got one, Charlotte ? " asked Sir John lazily, turning the 
 conversation. 
 
 " I will give you a piece of it, if you like, Johnny Jack," was the retort. 
 " Ulrica, wake up you are going to sleep! You have not seen anything 
 yet. Come as far as the old well. " 
 
 Ulrica rose at once, and Sir John jumped to his feet. 
 
 " I must do the honors, Chattie," he said quickly. " Will you come, 
 Miss Wren ? 
 
 Connie hesitated ; the thought of Ulrica going off, even for a few min- 
 utes, with Sir John, was gall and wormwood, but a glance at her feet de- 
 cided her. She knew the path too well, it was rough walking all the way, 
 and every movement meant acute pain ; besides, Chattie made a third. 
 
 " No, I will stay here," she said sweetly, and a little plaintively; " don't 
 be long." 
 
 " All right ! " cried Chattie. 
 
 Sir John and Ulrica were already moving on, and the fair martyr to 
 fashion was left to solitude and to her own devices.
 
 56 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 i 
 
 " It would have been an awful fraud to pretend to come out and admire 
 the scenery and never move from one spot, " cried Chattie as they made 
 their way down a rough incline. " Now, Jonathan Jack, please remember 
 you are showman. " 
 
 " Thanks for reminding me of my duties," said Sir John, whose spirits 
 seemed to rise buoyantly at every step. 
 
 It was gradually dawning on him that he only experienced true happi- 
 ness when in the presence of this girl with the soft creamy skin and won- 
 drous violet eyes. 
 
 He had not tried to gauge the depths of his feelings for her, content to 
 live in the golden, unconsciously beautiful dream that seemed to linger 
 round her. 
 
 " This, then, Miss Messenger," he began gaily " this well to which we 
 are taking you, is one of the ancient remains on my estate. This path we 
 are traveling now is said to have been worn by the feet of the monks who 
 fetched and carried the water. Part of the castle is supposed to have been 
 a monastery. I incline to the thought that some one of my ancestors built 
 a chapel for his own private use, but this is quite an objectionable theory 
 to my mother, who would rather think of our home as bestowed on some 
 Warrior for reward and booty, than imagine one of them a papist. 
 
 " What does it matter so long as you have the castle? " said Chattie, 
 turning to look back. 
 
 " I don't think it does much," replied Sir John. " Miss Messenger, this 
 is awfully rough; let me help you." 
 
 " No, thank you," Ulrica answered, feeling her color rise and her heart 
 thrill strangely; " 1 am quite safe." 
 
 " Only a few steps more," called Chattie, lightly skipping down and dis- 
 appearing in a bend in the path. 
 
 " You must let me help you," Sir John said almost peremptorily, putting 
 Out his hand. 
 
 Ulrica slipped her little one into it, and at the contact her heart thrilled 
 again. 
 
 The young man said nothing more, but he clasped the hand in a firm 
 Way, and guided her feet on to secure places. 
 
 A few more steps were taken, and then they came upon Chattie seated 
 on the broad stonework that surrounded the old well, stooping down to 
 gaze into its depths. 
 
 " Take care, Chattie dear ! " cried Ulrica, drawing her hand from Sir 
 John' sand moving forward hurriedly; " we don't want to lose you just 
 yet !" 
 
 " Oh, I'm all right ! Look down, Ulrica isn't it deep ? " 
 
 Ulrica bent over. 
 
 Down at the very bottom she caught the glimmer of the blue sicy re- 
 flected in the silent water. 
 
 * Draw us some, Jonathan ? " commanded Chattie lazily. " What good 
 are you if you don't do something for your living eh Ulrica ? " 
 
 Sir John looseHed the old bucket with its rusty rattling chain, and they 
 watched it sink lower and lower till only a faint splash told them it had 
 reached its goal ; than Chattie would help to wind it up, and Ulrica, not 
 to be outdone, put her hand on the rail and pulled too. 
 
 Somehow it looked a pretty sight to the young man, those delicate 
 fingers next to his own brown strong ones. 
 
 "Look out!" shrieked Chattie, as the bucket with its cool sparkling
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 57 
 
 burden reached the top ; " mind yourielves ! " and she swung the whole 
 concern on to the ledge. " Now, put down your lips, and drink, pretty 
 creature, drink ! Cups are scarce in this neighborhood. " 
 
 Ulrica took off her broad-brimmed hat and bent her head to the water, 
 with a blush and a laugh, Sir John feasting his eyes the while on her mar- 
 velous beauty. The sun shone on her uncovered hair, glinting its golden 
 threads and deep russet-brown shadings with its warm touch. 
 
 " I like brown hair much better than yellow, don't you, Johnnie Jack? " 
 queried Chattie. 
 
 " Yes," answered Sir John, quietly. 
 
 " I don't," cried Ulrica, as she quickly donned her hat again. " I love 
 real golden hair." 
 
 " So do I when it is real," returned Chattie, dryly. 
 
 " Shall we rest here a little before we begin to climb up again ? " asked 
 Sir John of Ulrica. 
 
 "Please." 
 
 " All right. I'm not tired ; so, while you sit, I will ramble about. Whistle 
 for me when you go. I don't care for solitude, even in broad daylight, and 
 this is a ghostly place, you know." 
 
 And Chattie disappeared as he spoke. 
 
 " Ghosts!" repeated Ulrica, as she seated herself on the moss-covered 
 stones; " I suppose you have any number at the castle, Sir John? " 
 
 " I believe so," replied the young man, putting one foot on the low wall, 
 and resting his elbow on his knee ; " tradition credits us with the usual 
 amount of murderers, robbers, and other unpleasant people." 
 
 " All old families have such legends, have they not ? " continued Ulrica, 
 evading his earnest gaze. " At least, so Miss Wren tells me. " 
 
 " Then it must be correct," said Sir John, with a mischievous movement 
 at the corners of his mouth; " for Miss Wren is an authority on such matters. 
 For my part, I think it brings our ancestors down to a very low level. In 
 a hundred years hence perhaps the descendants of the man who is hanged 
 for murder to-day will hold their heads high on that very account. The 
 motive is the same. I would much rather revere the memory of an ancestor 
 who, by sheer industry and perseverance, had made his way in life, fighting 
 against every possible hardship and poverty. 
 
 " Now it is my turn to warn you. Don't let Lady Dunworthy hear these 
 sentiments, " said Ulrica, laughing lightly, " or, if I judge her right in the 
 short time I have known her, I should say there would be warfare. " 
 
 " You like my mother? " he asked quickly. 
 
 " Oh yes, of course. I am speaking in jest ; she is very kind. " 
 
 In her inmost heart, Ulrica was not quite sure on the point of Lady 
 Dunworthy, but she determined, for Sir John's sake, to try and like her 
 exceedingly. 
 
 " I am so glad you have met," he continued ; " I hope you will be very 
 good friends. " 
 
 " If it rests with me, I can at once promise it shall be so." 
 
 She lifted her eyes and just glanced at him ; but as she met the strange 
 warmth and tenderness in his, she turned her face away till the blush had 
 faded again from the cream-white skin. 
 
 Sir John noticed that dawn of color and felt a new thrill at his heart. 
 He moved his foot and sat down beside her. 
 
 " Now we are alone, I want to say how happy Unmakes me to welcome 
 you to my home," he said hurriedly.
 
 58 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " You are very kind ; it is a great happiness to me to come." 
 
 Ulrica drew the glove nervously from her left hand. 
 
 " Is that really true ? " he began, but before he could proceed further, 
 the bushes parted and Chattie stood before them. 
 
 " The largest toad I ever saw in my life ! " she exclaimed. " If you are 
 rested, Ulrica, let us go up to civilization again ! " 
 
 " Why, Chattie, you aren't half a one ! " Sir John laughed. 
 
 " Well, the toad makes up for me ; he was the size of two ! " 
 
 And Chattie began a rapid ascent. 
 
 The others followed her slowly and in silence. 
 
 Sir John made no offer of assistance to Ulrica ; he simply drew her hard 
 through his arm in a masterful kind of way which brought a heavenly sense 
 of delight to himself, and a strange feeling of happiness to her, so new and 
 so vague she could not define it properly. 
 
 At the top of the hill they paused, and Ulrica, slipping her hand from 
 his arm, plucked a tiny green leaf from a tree near. 
 
 Chattie had walked on. 
 
 " To remind me of my visit to the well," Ulrica said brightly, meeting 
 an inquiry in his eyes. 
 
 " Will you give one to me ? " he asked. 
 
 For answer, she placed it in his outstretched hand, and picked another 
 for herself. 
 
 Sir John took out his pocket-book, dropped his treasure into !|ts inner 
 folds, and replaced it ; then they walked on silently. 
 
 Connie looked up peevishly as they advanced. 
 
 " What a long time.you have been ! " she said sharply, annoyed to see 
 them alone. " Lady Dunworthy sent out to say tea was served in the con- 
 servatory ages ago. " 
 
 " I am sorry," Ulrica said, simply. 
 
 She moved on quickly to overtake Chattie, while Sir John again offered 
 himself as a portable walking-stick, and by slow degrees wooed Miss Wren 
 into a good temper. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 JTJHREE days later Connie departed from Bathurst Hall for Dunworthy 
 
 1 Castle, accompanied by v her maid and two enormous boxes, as if 
 
 bound for a long sea voyage rather than a short visit to a country house. ^ 
 
 Chattie executed a pas de seul on the grass as the carriage rolled away, 
 and Ulrica could not repress a sigh of relief. She tried in vain to become 
 friendly with Connie. The two girls had not a single thought in common. 
 
 She was growing so happy at Bathurst. Never before in her young life 
 had she tasted the sweetness of home and warm affection such as was lav- 
 ished on her now. Her anxiety about Sam, too, was decreased by another 
 letter frt>m him, telling her he hoped, before long, to travel to England and 
 see her. 
 
 He enclosed a draft on a bank for an amount which Ulrica considered 
 enormous. 
 
 The advent of this little bit of paper brought her mind from the present 
 to the future. It would be the last remittance she would receive ; and, as 
 yet, she had made no plans.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 59 
 
 It was pain to think of leaving all her new-found friends and happiness; 
 but it had to be faced. 
 
 Inherent pride determined she must begin to form some arrangements 
 for her independence, and the sooner it was done the better. 
 
 Unconsciously Ulrica looked upon Guy in the light of a guardian and 
 adviser, and, after reading Sam's letter through carefully, she resolved not 
 to wait until her old friend was better, but to go at once to Guy, and have 
 a long conversation with him. 
 
 She had such vague ideas of money. Her purse had always been liberally 
 filled, and her wants more than supplied. Even in the feminine delight of 
 dresses she was unversed, as Sam had placed the furnishing of her wardrobe 
 in the hands of one of the first-class Parisian modistes, and Ulrica had 
 received fresh relays of garments without a single thought to their cost or 
 their design. 
 
 Chattie finished her dance of triumph at Connie's absence, then fled after 
 Ulrica, who was mounting the stairs slowly. 
 
 " What shall we do? " she asked. " I feel as if I were a school-girl, and 
 to-day was the annual wayze-goose, or bean-feast, or whatever they 
 call it." 
 
 " Your days appear to be composed of wayze-geese," remarked Basil, 
 lazily, looking down on their approaching heads from the corridor. " My 
 goodness, Chattie!" he continued, "what have you been doing? You 
 are a perfect scar let -runner ! " 
 
 " Celebrating my sister's departure. I say, Basil, aren't you glad she is 
 gone honor bright? " 
 
 Basil caught Ulrica's eye for a moment. 
 
 " Well, I am rather," he returned, laughing. " You see Connie has such 
 a lot of pride. She looks down on us. " 
 
 " She has other fish to fry, my dear," replied Chattie, wisely. " Ulrica, 
 get on your hat and come out, I won't walk you far." 
 
 " No; I must find Uncle Guy. I want to talk to him." 
 
 " Oh, bother business ! you can do that another time. Look how lovely 
 it is you can't refuse." 
 
 " Please do come," said Basil, with a languishing look in his handsome 
 eyes. 
 
 Ulrica laughed. 
 
 " Very well, then; but mind, Chattie, if I play this morning I must work 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " I will bring your hat in a jiffy, " cried Chattie, jumping up the stairs 
 two at a time, and speedily disappearing. 
 
 " I expect we shall have a jolly time, now Chattie has got rid of Con- 
 nie," remarked Basil, as he swung himself onto the balustrades, "sol 
 give you fair warning. " 
 
 " I don't mind how much fun we have; it is all new to me, remember. Here 
 is Chattie back again! Why, Chattie, you must have flown." 
 
 " So I did on the wings of love! Here you are Ulrica," handing over 
 the broad-brimmed hat; " and now, where shall we go?" 
 
 " Why not stay in the grounds? it is so hot, Chattie." 
 
 " You are so lazy, you mean," she retorted to Basil. 
 
 ' Well, let us make a start anyhow," declared Ulrica, and she set an 
 example. 
 
 As they were scampering through the hall, Guy opened his study door. 
 
 " Ulrica! Come here; I want you! "
 
 60 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Ulrica stopped at once, but Chattie interposed. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Guy, we are just going out; don't keep her. Ulrica ! " 
 
 But Ulrica had already slipped off her hat. 
 
 " You must go without me, Chattie, " she said decidedly. 
 
 Guy had gone into the study again and she followed. 
 
 " I am sorry to stop your walk, Ulrica. " 
 
 " It does not matter ; we were only going for a saunter ;" she threw her 
 hat down on a chair and pulled another up to the table ; " and I wanted to 
 see you. But are you not well, Uncle Guy ? " 
 
 " Well ? " he repeated, not meeting her glance. " Yes, Ulrica ; quite 
 well. Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " You look so worn and tired ; you have been working too hard in this 
 hot weather ; it has upset you. " 
 
 Guy passed his hand over his brow a little languidly. He was indeed 
 looking both worn and ill ; there was a troubled expression in his eyes. 
 
 " There has been a lot of sickness in the town, and they must be 
 attended to, poor things ! " Guy said slowly. 
 
 Ulrica nodded her head and looked at him wistfully ; she knew what 
 that attention meant. 
 
 " Ulrica, " Guy said after a slight pause, "I want to speak to you very 
 particularly. You must look upon me at this moment in the light of a 
 guardian not a tender, loving one like Sam Loudon, but a harsh ogre of 
 the old type." He smiled faintly as he spoke. 
 
 " I do," answered Ulrica laughingly; " I do indeed, Uncle Guy. Do you 
 want to scold me ? Have I been naughty ? " 
 
 Guy turned his eyes steadily from her laughing, lovely face. 
 
 " Not naughty only foolish," he said. "I have just heard that you 
 have promised five hundred pounds to the hospital subscription. " 
 
 " Well ? " asked Ulrica mischievously. 
 
 " But it is not well," Guy replied ; " the draft Sam sent you I know is 
 large, but remember it is the last. " 
 
 " I know that. " 
 
 " Then don't you see how impossible " 
 
 " Oh, I have promised, and I must keep my promise. I shall have lots 
 left for myself even then. " 
 
 " I don't think I can allow it." 
 
 " Oh yes ! you will. Dear, darling Uncle Guy, you will. " . 
 
 Ulrica crept round and nestled her head on his shoulder. 
 
 Guy sat as in a trance ; his lips were touching the hands of the woman 
 he loved better than all the world. His heart was burning with the flood 
 of passionate emotion that filled it ; yet he sat silent and still, for hope 
 was dead within him. 
 
 He knew Ulrica would never love him he was too old, too quiet, too 
 grave, he told himself again and again. 
 
 His work lay before him to pluck out the image of this girl from his 
 breast, and cheerfully witness her giveilHo another. 
 
 Ulrica, bending over him, let her eyes wander to the writing-table 
 they rested on a letter. 
 
 " Uncle Guy, what is that ? " she asked hurriedly. 
 
 Guy looked round, and then tried to cover up the letter. 
 
 " Nothing," he said ; " nothing." 
 
 Ulrica simply drew the letter away. 
 
 " A dressmaker's bill. What have you to do with such a thing ! For
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 6t 
 
 me, too! Great Heavens! 483 us. 4d. Oh," and Ulrica sat down sud- 
 denly ; " how awful ! " 
 
 " It is for a whole year," hurriedly said Guy. " Mrs. Loudon forwarded 
 it to me to-day. Sam does not know it." 
 
 Ulrica sat gazing at the bill. 
 
 " And I have spent all that on myself, while hundreds are starving ! " 
 
 " These things were bought of the first Parisian modiste, remember, and 
 it includes your entire wardrobe, I should say. " 
 
 " Yes, it does. But, oh, Uncle Guy, how terrible ! I never knew about 
 it. Sam always paid every bill. " 
 
 " Now, you see, I was right about the hospital. Send one hundred 
 pounds it is ample. " 
 
 "No." Ulrica rose. " I shall not break my promise. In the future I 
 shalf be more careful. Uncle Guy, will you do something for me ? " 
 
 " Anything in the world that is possible, Ulrica; you know that." 
 
 " Then find me work. I don't care what it is. I will become a servant, 
 go into a shop, turn governess I could do that, for I am well educated. 
 I must work, you know ! " 
 
 Ulrica watched his face in silence. It looked grave. 
 
 " You will help me ! " 
 
 His struggle ended a light had come. 
 
 " I will speak to my mother she is always wise." 
 
 Ulrica nodded her head. 
 
 " Yes, that will be best, dear, kind Uncle Guy ! How happy I ought to 
 be! A few months ago alone and friendless, save for Sam ; now I am rich 
 in so many friends you first, Mrs. Strong, Chattie, Basil " 
 
 "And Sir John Dunworthy," added Guy suddenly. 
 
 Ulrica's face flushed crimson ; she picked up her hat. 
 
 "I know so so little of him," she murmured confusedly. "Now 
 promise you will speak to your mother this very, very day. I am anxious 
 to have all settled. And now I must go; Chattie will grow impatient. 
 Good-bye for the present ! " 
 
 She kissed her hand and flitted away, leaving Guy overwhelmed with 
 pain and misery. 
 
 " She loves him ! " he said to himself ; " the blow has come. Well, I 
 have been an old fool. Oh, God, give me strength to harden my heart and 
 grudge them not one moment of their happiness." 
 
 He rose and paced the floor for a second or two. 
 
 " And now I must speak to my mother. Ulrica must not cannot go 
 into the world alone. My fair white lily, you are too sweet, too good for 
 the evils, the troubles you would meet. No, no, until your lover claims 
 you, your home must be here my mother must be yours, her love shared 
 with me." 
 
 And later on he broached this to Mrs. Strong, whose whole affection had 
 turned to the girl thus brought to her house. 
 
 " She shall not leave me, Guy," she said; "Ulrica is too young, too 
 beautiful to live alone. She shall be my daughter Millie's sister and 
 /ours. " 
 
 Guy stifled a sigh, but said nothing. His secret was well buried then, 
 even from a mother's eyes.
 
 62 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " 7TLRICA, Ulrica, where are you ? " 
 
 U. " Here." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " By the hammock." 
 
 " Phew ! What a race I have had, to be sure ! Basil, great lazy thing, 
 why could you not shriek out ? " demanded Chattie, sinking exhausted on 
 the grass. 
 
 " You made so much noise yourself, you would not have heard me," re- 
 turned Basil with irritating quietness. 
 
 " What is your haste, Chattie ? " asked Ulrica.. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot all about it ! " cried Chattie, breaking off her frown at 
 Basil to smile at her friend. " Lady Dunworthy has sent over ; there is to 
 be a ball to-night a sort of impromptu affair j she wants us all to come. 
 Ah, I thought so ! " 
 
 This triumphantly to Basil, who suddenly threwj'away his book and 
 started into a sitting position. 
 
 " Balls are not for little boys." 
 
 " Are you going ? " rudely demanded Basil. 
 
 " Of course. " 
 
 " Heavens ! what has Dunworthy done ! Only wear a yellow gown and 
 you will look splendid ; those green goggles of yours will show up so well. " 
 
 " Basil, be quiet ! " Ulrica reproved with a smile. 
 
 " Let him go on," observed Chattie in a tone that gave hints of deep and 
 future vengeance, her green eyes flashing brilliantly ; " there will come a 
 day of reckoning. I can wait. But, Ulrica, isn't it jolly! What shall 
 you wear ? " 
 
 " I shall not go," replied Ulrica. 
 
 Not go ? " 
 
 " I cannot, Chattie ; this" touching her black dress " will prevent 
 me. You see, it is impossible. " 
 
 " Oh, dear, then I don't care to go one single bit ! " Chattie groaned dis- 
 mally. " I forgot all about that. Please forgive me. " 
 
 " And I meant to ask you for the first dance," murmured Basil with a 
 languishing sigh. 
 
 " Dance it with me instead," suggested Chattie easily. 
 
 " Can you dance ? " 
 
 " Can I dance ? Herodotus isn't in it with me ! " 
 
 " Charlotte ! " cried Ulrica, laughing. 
 
 "Well, you know who I mean," returned Chattie irreverently "the 
 young woman who hopped before the king. " 
 
 "I will give you a nicely-bound edition of 'Mangnall's Questions' for 
 your next birthday," Basil promised condescendingly. 
 
 " Yah ! " Chattie retorted rudely. " You don't know yourself who it 
 was ; but, Ulrica, to business what shall I do ? Shall I go ? " 
 
 " Go of course ; and I will be your maid, if you will let me. What 
 have you got to wear ? " t 
 
 "Let me see," began Chattie thoughtfully; " that pink striped affair 
 my blue. I have nothing absolutely nothing ! " she ended dismally.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 63 
 
 " Will you let me have my own way for once?" inquired Ulrica suddenly. 
 
 " My sweet lamb ! as if I could refuse you anything. " 
 
 " Then I prepare you a gown for to-night that is settled." 
 
 "Ulrica!" 
 
 " It is settled," said Ulrica severely. 
 
 Chattie bent over the chair and kissed the soft white throat, while Basil 
 threw bits of grass at her. 
 
 " Who brought the message, Chattie ? " he asked. 
 
 " I don't know some man or other. He is in the drawing-room, talk- 
 ing to Mammie Strong and mother. 
 
 " And here he is ! " exlaimed Basil. 
 
 It's Mott." 
 
 "So it is." 
 
 Ulrica looked up carelessly as the new comer approached ; she was 
 busily employed on a small cotton frock for one of Mrs. Strong's village 
 children. 
 
 Three days had passed since she had given her promise to remain as the 
 daughter of Guy's mother, and she was still lost in the wonderful and new- 
 found happiness of a mother all to herself. 
 
 " How d'ye do ? " said Chattie. 
 
 Basil got on his legs, and Ulrica slipped one of her cool, small hands 
 into Mr. Mott's. 
 
 " We are debating the all-important and never-dull question of dress," 
 she said, with a smile. 
 
 " For the ball ? " 
 
 Mr. Mott drew up a chair and seated himself; he looked almost hand- 
 some in his rough riding-coat. 
 
 " Of course you are coming, Miss Messenger ? " 
 
 Ulrica shook her head. 
 
 " No 1 " he exclaimed. " I am afraid there will be universal disappoint- 
 ment. " 
 
 " You are very kind," said Ulrica, with a short laugh. "I had no idea 
 I was so important, but here is one who must console all for my absence." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Chattie is coming, then ! " said Mr. Mott. " May I have the 
 pleasure of a dance ? " 
 
 Chattie blushed slightly. 
 
 " Thank you," she said simply. " It is my first big dance," she added. 
 
 " Ah, then you must enjoy it," observed Mr. Mott, his teeth gleaming 
 as his lips parted in a smile. 
 
 He had drawn out a dainty note-case and booked the engagement. 
 
 " Where is Jack ? " demanded Basil. 
 
 " Gone with a party of guns to some distant spot. The ladies, headed 
 by Miss Wren, join them at luncheon. " 
 
 Ulrica was gazing at her work with a moody brow ; she was measuring 
 two sides of her garment. 
 
 " There is something wrong," she said ; " I must have dropped a piece." 
 
 " Basil, go and look for it," commanded Chattie. 
 
 "No, no, I will go." 
 
 Ulrica rose, but the two young people fled off at one and the same time, 
 leaving her alone with Mr. Mott, just what she did not want, for in some 
 strange indefinable way Ulrica was never comfortable in the presence of 
 this man. A woman's intuition is seldom wrong, and from the very first 
 Ulrica had conceived a distrust and dislike to Horace Mott.
 
 64 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 At last Ulrica forced herself to speak. 
 
 " Do you stay long in this part of the world? " she asked. 
 
 Mr. Mott woke from his dream. 
 
 " It is uncertain ; Lady Dunworthy presses me for a lengthy visit, and 
 certainly the temptation is great pleasant quarters, delightful hosts, and 
 other things." 
 
 His eyes explained what this meant, but Ulrica carefully oided looking 
 at him. 
 
 " Dunworthy Castle is a lovely place," she said instead. 
 
 " Very, and Sir John is worthy of it. We are not exactly 'chums,' but 
 I know enough of John Dunworthy to testify to his thorough manliness and 
 goodness. " 
 
 Against herself the pink flush dawned on Ulrica's cheeks, and grew and 
 grew till they were like roses. 
 
 Mr. Mott whistled softly to himself. 
 
 " So so," was his muttered thought;" I was right love's young dream. 
 
 A pity to disturb it, but " The rest was lost in a meaning smile. "Yes," 
 
 he continued easily, " Dunworthy is a downright good fellow, and I sincere- 
 ly trust he will not make a fool of himself, and get landed by some shallow 
 society girl with no brains beyond her dressmaker. There are several speci- 
 mens of that sort at the castle now, and all-industrious. " 
 
 Chattie appeared at this instant, and after a little more conversation, 
 Mr. Mott departed. 
 
 " He is very pleasant, but I don't quite like him," said Chattie. 
 
 Except at meal-time, Ulrica had not seen Guy since her interview with 
 him in his study ; she knew that he must have learnt her consent to remain 
 at Bathurst, but he had said nothing to her, and circumstances had pre- 
 vented her from speaking to him. 
 
 As she was walking through the hall to the stairs, after dinner, to put the 
 finishing-touches to Chattie's dress, mysteriously hidden in her room, Guy 
 opened his study-door. 
 
 " Your money is here, Ulrica," he said, as his eyes rested on the fair ap- 
 parition. " Shall I give it to you now ? " 
 
 " If you like, Uncle Guy." 
 
 He turned into his room and Ulrica followed. 
 
 She wore a long-trailing gown of some black transparent material, caught 
 in loose folds at the waist by a broad black sash. Her magnificent hair 
 was coiled in one thick mass at the back of her head. 
 
 Sombre as was her garb, she seemed to illuminate the room with her 
 beauty. Dr. Strong put down his cigar and went to a table ; he produced 
 a small packet of bank-notes. 
 
 " I have had another letter from Mrs. Loudon to-day, Ulrica," he ob- 
 served, as he handed it to her, " giving me a detailed account of Sam's 
 stewardship all the expenses of the last year. You would like to see it, 
 would you not ? " 
 
 Ulrica smiled and tossed the bank-notes to and fro in her hand. 
 
 " No, thank you, Uncle Guy. I am content to let things be forgotten. 
 Sam always did right. 
 
 She hesitated for an instant, then said: 
 
 " Your mother has told you? " 
 
 " That you have decided to remain? Yes. " 
 
 " And you are glad? " she asked, softly. 
 
 " I think your decision is a wise one. "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 65 
 
 Guy took up his cigar again, and leaned back against tne mantel-board. 
 Ulrica was silent for a moment, then she put down the papers she held, and 
 moved across to him. 
 
 " Say you are glad I am goin^, to stay," she said, almost petulantly. 
 
 He gazed into the violet depths of her eyes for an instant. 
 
 " I am glad, dear, " he answered. 
 
 " I have wanted you to say that," Ulrica said, putting her hand caress- 
 ingly on his arm; " it makes me realize that I have indeed a home at last. 
 Ah, how good she is how sweet ! She knows just the very words to 
 touch one's heart. I hope I may grow like her." 
 
 "You could have no better wish" Guy moved a little beneath her 
 touch " for, if angels do live on earth, Ulrica, my mother is one." 
 
 Ulrica bent her head suddenly, and touched his hand with her lips, then 
 walked away quickly. 
 
 " I must go," she said, with forced lightness, for her heart was full; 
 "Chattie is waiting." 
 
 By the aid of Mary, Ulrica had succeeded in arranging a ball-dress, 
 worthy, as the maid said, of a queen. 
 
 Chattie was not allowed to look at herself until everything was put on. 
 Then she was led triumphantly by Ulrica to the glass, and stared speech- 
 less at her own reflection. 
 
 " Yes, I am really pretty," she said, after a long gaze. " Ulrica, what 
 have you done to me? I don't believe there will be as pretty a dress there ! 
 Won't Connie stare ! " 
 
 Ulrica drew on a pair of long white gloves, then called Mrs. Wren from 
 the adjoining room to survey her handiwork. 
 
 Chattie flew to her mother. 
 
 " Mamma, look at me ! Has not Ulrica made me beautiful ? " 
 
 Mrs. Wren uttered a little cry of astonishment. 
 
 " What have you done to her ? " she cried. " She looks ^erfect. " A long 
 pause, then : " Quite ^erfect ! " 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 aLRICA was out early the next morning ; Mrs. Strong had several 
 missions in the village, which she willingly and gladly undertook to 
 perform. 
 
 She had just left the lodge-gates, and was beginning to pace the long, 
 white, dusty lane, when she heard rapid sounds from behind, and turned to 
 see Sir John Dunworthy ride up. 
 
 He dismounted quickly, and came forward, leading his horse. 
 
 "I am in luck I " he cried ; " another moment and you would have been 
 gone!" 
 
 Ulrica shifted her basket to shake hands with him, experiencing a decided 
 thrill of pleasure at the unexpected meeting. 
 
 " Dissipation has no ill-effect on you, I see," she said, smiling. "I have 
 left Chattie sound asleep in bed, and from the close-drawn look of Basil's 
 blinds, I should say he was similarly occupied. They came home very 
 late." 
 
 " I have served a long apprenticeship," Sir John returned ; " a little 
 dancing, more or less, does not affect me. But where are you off to so 
 early, Miss Messenger?" 
 
 i
 
 66 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " To the village, on an errand for Mrs. Strong, and I must not waste any 
 time." 
 
 Sir John glanced down the lane. 
 
 " It looks lonely," he said musingly. " Miss Messenger, may I come 
 with you ? " 
 
 " But your horse ? " asked Ulrica, feeling at once pleased and shy. 
 
 " I will leave him in care of Barnes at the lodge only say I may come." 
 
 "If you care to yes," murmured the girl. Sir John led his steed to the 
 lodge, and having disposed of it satisfactorily, hastened back to Ulrica. 
 
 " You don't ask me what I have come for," he observed, as they turned 
 and began to walk on. 
 
 " It is not my business," Ulrica said, very demurely. 
 
 " As it happens, it just is," was Sir John's reply. " I am the bearer of an 
 invitation from my mother, Miss Messenger, asking the pleasure of your 
 company at dinner this evening. We shall be quite quiet, only the house- 
 party. I want Strong, Chattie, and Basil as well. " 
 
 " I will come, certainly. " 
 
 Sir John's face shone with satisfaction 
 
 " Horace Mott wanted to bring the message, but I was too sharp for him; 
 he got before me yesterday, for I had fully intended riding over myself." 
 
 " Did you have a pleasant evening? " asked Ulrica after awhile ; " but 
 how rude I am ! Of course you did." 
 
 "So, so," he replied; "it was too hot altogether for dancing. By the 
 way, I must compliment you on your skill as a dress-maker. " 
 
 Ulrica laughed. 
 
 " Didn't she look pretty? " 
 
 " Pretty is not the word ; she looked most fascinating too fascinating, 
 I think, for the rest of the fair sex. I shall not forget the look of aston- 
 ishment on Connie Wren's face when her sister appeared on Basil's arm ;" 
 and Sir John laughed heartily. 
 
 " But she was pleased, of course, " said Ulrica quickly. 
 
 " Oh, ot course," was the answer, given dryly ; and, as he spoke, the 
 young man reached out his hand for Ulrica's well-stocked basket. 
 
 " Oh, Sir John ! " she cried, " please, please do not ! What will people 
 say if they see you carrying a market-basket? " 
 
 " What they please," he replied, smiling down into the violet eyes up- 
 lifted to him. 
 
 They walked on in silence for a few minutes. 
 
 " It seems such an age since we met," he said at last, breaking the 
 silence. 
 
 " Only about a week," observed Ulrica. " You have been so busy." 
 
 " Have you missed me much? " he asked eagerly ; then, as if ashamed of 
 his conceit, he went on hurriedly : " The fact is, you see, a fellow must do 
 the polite to people staying in his house. Confound them all ! I beg your 
 pardon, Miss Messenger, but they are such bores! However, it pleases my 
 mother, so " 
 
 " So you submit. Have you heard the news ? " 
 
 " No ! " he turned abruptly to her. 
 
 " I am going to stay here always ; Mrs. Strong wants me to call her 
 mother." 
 
 He drew a long breath. 
 
 " I am so glad ! " was all he said, but the fervor of his glance spoke 
 more, and Ulrica thrilled with the sudden happiness that came over her.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 6^ 
 
 u So we shall be neighbors, " she went on quickly ; " we little thought 
 that morning we met in the rain at Spa, that such a thing would ever be 
 did we, Sir John ? " 
 
 " No," he replied, watching the color come and go in her cheeks. "I 
 I wish we were there now!" 
 
 Ulrica looked up. 
 
 Why ? " she asked. 
 
 "Because oh, because it was so pretty at Spa," he finished lamely, 
 balancing the basket in the air. 
 
 " It is much prettier here," observed Ulrica reprovingly. 
 
 " Because, then, it was at Spa we first met, at Spa you promised I should 
 be your friend ; is that not sufficient reason that I should wish to be there 
 again ? " 
 
 Ulrica's hands trembled; she was pale now, but she did not speak. 
 
 Sir John suddenly came to a standstill. ' 
 
 " I want to ask you something. I want to speak to you I must speak 
 to you. " 
 
 " I hear some one coming ! " cried Ulrica, turning suddenly away from his 
 impassioned glance. 
 
 Sir John looked down the lane. 
 
 " So there is, confound it ! " he muttered. Then he came nearer the 
 girl. " Promise me that you will give me five minutes to-night. I must 
 speak to you, or I shall go mad. " 
 
 Ulrica had turned almost white ; his vehemence frightened her. 
 
 " It is Uncle Guy ! " she half whispered. " Don't come any farther j he 
 will drive me. " 
 
 " But you promise ? " urged Sir John. 
 
 " Yes, I promise," faltered the girl. Then Guy drew up beside them, 
 and in another moment she was whirling away from her lover, her heart 
 beating wildly, her hands trembling. 
 
 Guy read the signs ; he understood too well what it meant, but he said 
 nothing. 
 
 All day Ulrica lived as in a dream ; she saw nothing but that pas- 
 sionate, pleading face, heard but that low, fervent voice, and she dreaded, 
 yet longed for the night when she should meet Sir John again. 
 
 At last it came. Chattie would not go to dinner, so it was only Ulrica, 
 Dr. Strong and Basil who went. Connie Wren received Ulrica with ill- 
 concealed rudeness, and inwardly was almost mad with rage. 
 
 Sir John did not go near her ; he only bowed, and Ulrica found herself 
 taken in to dinner by Horace Mott, who transgressed the laws of etiquette 
 by the earnest way in which he gazed at her. 
 
 Would, that dinner ever end? thought the girl, her hands and limbs 
 trembling. And why oh, why did he not come and speak to her ? 
 
 She tried to talk to Mr. Mott, but in vain. All her mind was on her 
 love, and words failed her. 
 
 It was a great relief when Lady Dunworthy gave the signal, and the 
 ladies sailed from the room. 
 
 Ulrica found herself deserted then, for Connie purposely avoided her, 
 and Lady Dunworthy was much occupied. 
 
 After a while, however, one of the guests, a Lady Grace Monkhouse, 
 drawn by the girl's sweet face, suggested kindly that they should stroll 
 
 into the grounds, and Ulrica gladly consented. 
 They walked up and down till th< 
 
 .e gentlemen appeared,
 
 68 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " At last the tobacco-parliament is dissolved. What do you men talk 
 about ? " laughed Lady Grace as Sir John hurried up to them. 
 
 " If you like, we will invite you to one," he answered lightly, his eyes 
 fixed on the girl's face. 
 
 " Well, now you are come, you ought really to take Miss Messenger to 
 see the moonlight on the slope over there. It is lovely ! You must go. 
 Miss Messenger and I have been once, and were lost in admiration. " 
 
 " Will Miss Messenger take me ? " he asked, softly. 
 
 Ulrica lifted her heavily-fringed lids, and their eyes met. 
 
 Lady Grace moved away with a smile and parting word. Still they 
 stood silent a silence full of the mute language of love. 
 
 At last Sir John spoke. 
 
 " Will you come ? " was all he said. 
 
 He could not say more then ; his eyes were dazzled, his heart intoxi- 
 cated with the greatness of his happiness. 
 
 Ulrica turned at once. They moved out of the moonlight into the 
 shadows of the trees, whose branches whispered and rustled in the faint 
 night-breeze as they passed. 
 
 Ulrica was in a land of enchantment, absorbed, bewildered in the mys- 
 terious yet wonderful atmosphere that surrounded her. 
 
 She had followed at his word. Led by this strange magic she would 
 have followed him on as involuntarily as the dead leaf is carried by the 
 passing wind. 
 
 They reached the spot on which they had sat the morning -of her first 
 visit to Dunworthy. 
 
 They stood silent, and looked over the sloping grounds bathed in Dian's 
 silver light. The sound of faint laughter was borne to their ears. Sir 
 John woke from his dream. He stretched out his hand and clasped hers. 
 
 "Ulrica!" 
 
 Slowly her head was raised, and her eyes met his. 
 
 "Iloveyou! You know you have seen," he cried passionately and 
 suddenly. " From the very first moment I saw you my heart went out to 
 you. I have loved you all the time. You you love me, Ulrica ? " 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, meeting his gaze bravely now ; " yes, I love you." 
 
 He drew her slight form into his arms, and pressed his lips to hers, while 
 the trees rustled gently overhead, as if they rejoiced at human happi- 
 ness. 
 
 " My darling, my sweet, my fair love ! " he murmured, holding her pas- 
 sionately to his breast. " It seems too good, too wonderful to be real. I 
 have dreamt of this, Ulrica dreamt that I held you in my arms, and 
 kissed your lips thus, but the dream vanished, and I was alone and wretched ; 
 and now now it is true. You are here. All doubt and fear over! I 
 can scarcely believe it. Tell me again you love me again and again 
 that I may know I am awake, and not dreaming ! " 
 
 Ulrica carried his hand to her lips ; then nestled her head on his arm. 
 
 " I love you I love you I love you ! " she whispered. 
 
 " And you would not listen to me this morning. How cruel you were, 
 Ulrica ! "You nearly broke my heart. " 
 
 She lifted her face to his. 
 
 " Forgive me," she murmured. " I was startled ; I did not know. Your 
 words and face almost frightened me. " 
 
 " And now you have no fear ? " he smiled. " My own darling ! Great 
 Heavens ! how have I lived so long without you? "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 69 
 
 " We must go," said Ulrica, hurriedly awakened to the reality ; " they 
 will miss us. " 
 
 " What if they do ? What does it matter ? To-morrow all the world 
 shall know our secret know that you, my sweet one, will be my wife. " 
 
 Ulrica started at the word, a tiny dark cloud passed over the brilliancy 
 of her joy, a doubt was in her heart. 
 
 " Your mother ? " she whispered. 
 
 John Dunworthy took her hands and carried them to his lips. 
 
 " She will love you for my sake, " he said, earnestly. " Be brave, my 
 darling; remember how precious you are to me. " 
 
 "I will forget all the world when I think of that," whispered Ulrica; 
 then she put her hand in his and they went slowly back through the trees. 
 
 As they approached the lawn Sir John stopped. 
 
 " Shall I speak to-night, my darling," he said tenderly ; " or wait till to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " To-morrow," Ulrica answered hurriedly ; "to-morrow!" 
 
 Then they left the shadows and mingled with the others scattered on the 
 moonlit lawn. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 LADY DUNWORTHY was sitting in her boudoir the next morning. 
 The guests were all arranged for the day, and Lady Dunworthy was 
 free. The men were bound for a long shooting expedition in some neigh- 
 boring covers, and had departed in the early hours of the morning. The 
 ladies dispersed according to their various pleasures. 
 
 It was, therefore, with considerable surprise that Lady Duuworthy found 
 her door opened and her son appear. 
 
 " Have you not started, John ? " she asked quickly. " I thought you 
 were bound for a good day's sport at Pleydell Park ? " 
 
 " The others have gone," returned Sir John, pulling up a chair and seat- 
 ing himself upon it. " I handed the office of host over to Mayne, for this 
 day only, greatly to his delight. " 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Lady Dunworthy, frowning slightly and glancing 
 at her son's attire an irreproachable riding-suit. "Pray, may I ask 
 why ? " 
 
 " I wanted to see you this morning and have a chat," said Sir John, 
 blushing a little, and feeling that he had a more difficult task before him 
 than he had imagined. 
 
 Lady Dun worthy's brow cleared- 
 
 " I am at your service, my dear," she said promptly. " I hope there is 
 nothing wrong. I heard from Morgan last night ; he tells me the rents are 
 very good indeed, and the Glencoe mines also. " 
 
 " Yes," said Sir John, dreamily his thoughts were far away from the 
 Glencoe mines. 
 
 "So you need not trouble about that. Burnet writes, also, very 
 cheerfully. " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy tapped her desk with her ivory-handled pen for several 
 seconds, while Sir John pulled the dogskin glove he held till it was almost 
 unfit for use. 
 
 " What is it, John ? " asked Lady Dunworthy, suddenly.
 
 7<J HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 He got off his chair, and walked across the room to the fireplace, stand- 
 ing, although there was no fire, in the attitude so dear to the masculine 
 heart. Somehow he felt stronger in this position. 
 
 " It is rather a surprise, mother," he said slowly, glancing down at his 
 feet. Lady Dunworthy put down her pen, rose, and sailed towards him 
 with an inquiring air. 
 
 " You have often told me, mother," continued Sir John with growing 
 confidence, " that that I ought to think of marrying. Well, I have de- 
 termined to take your advice." 
 
 Lady Dunworthy gave vent to a little exclamation. Then she suddenly 
 wound her arms round her son, much to his surprise, and embraced him 
 warmly. 
 
 " I am so glad, my dear boy," she said genially " so glad! Ah, I am 
 not so blind, after all. I have seen it all the while. Dear girl, she will 
 make you very happy, I know. " 
 
 " You have seen it all the while ! " echoed Sir John in amazement. 
 
 " Yes, yes," nodded Lady Dunworthy; " and I am delighted. You have 
 my warmest sympathy and blessing. She is a girl after my own heart. " 
 
 "But you know so little of her," cried Sir John, still incredulous of his 
 hearing, though his face beamed. 
 
 " My dear John, how can you say such a thing? Why, I have known 
 Constance Wren ever since she was a baby, and therefore " 
 
 " Constance Wren ! " interrupted Sir John, growing suddenly pale, and 
 speaking very quietly ; " did you think she was the woman I love? " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy's hands dropped from their hold on her son's shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 "Of course I thought so," she replied sharply; " if Constance is not 
 your choice, may I ask who is? " 
 
 " Ulrica Messenger," said Sir John with heightened color, meeting his 
 mother's glance without flinching. 
 
 She sank slowly into the nearest chair. 
 
 " This is no trifling matter, John," she said coldly; "if you are joking, 
 please believe that I do not like it. " 
 
 " Joking! " cried the young man; "joking when I speak of her! Mother, 
 you don't understand me!" 
 
 "I begin to think I do not," answered Lady Dunworthy, frigidly. 
 
 "Yes; Ulrica Messenger is the woman I love," Sir John went on reck- 
 lessly, pained beyond measure by his mother's coldness; " the woman, 
 please God, who will become my wife ! What have you to say against 
 her ? " 
 
 " A girl of no birth, no antecedents, no relations nothing; a mere no- 
 body," replied Lady Dunworthy, contemptuously. 
 
 " These are no blots on her fair name, no stains on her pure nature," 
 cried Sir John, hotly. "You speak the sophistry of the world. Pshaw! 
 I am sick of such narrow-minded prejudices, mother ! " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy rose majestically; the very folds of her dress uttered a 
 mute protest to her son's words. f 
 
 " Have you anything more to say? " she asked, frigidly. 
 
 " Nothing, except that Ulrica Messenger will be my wife, and that I shall 
 announce the fact to-day. " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy turned away. Sir John took two strides after her. 
 
 "Mother," he said, hurriedly, "be just, be kind; she is so young; so 
 very beautiful 1 I love her so much ; you will not condemn that love?
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 7 1 
 
 You will not cast a shadow on its brightness? You will give us your 
 blessing? What are birth and family after all, if we are happy? Dearest 
 mother, you will be kind to her? " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy met her son's eyes for one minute. She drew herself 
 up. 
 
 "You are my son, John," she said, with injured dignity. "As your 
 future wife, I will make Miss Messenger welcome." 
 
 Sir John kissed her broad cheek. His face flushed with pleasure. His 
 mother's voice was not cordial, but was perhaps natural. The news had 
 surprised her; things would be better in a day or two. And seizing his 
 hat and gloves, he departed in haste to meet his love. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy stood motionless as Sir John disappeared. She was 
 overwhelmed with her son's intelligence. 
 
 A dull, resentful feeling rose in her heart against Ulrica. 
 
 She had arranged her son's marriage this long time past. 
 
 Connie Wren was to be his wife. A girl whom she knew so well, and 
 over whom she would have been able to rule with all her accustomed 
 power. 
 
 Nothing unconventional, strange or disagreeable about Connie. 
 
 Now, all this was upset, and by a girl about whom she knew absolutely 
 nothing ; moreover, with that objectionable of all things, a suspicious 
 " city " parentage, whose very beauty was against her, belonging, as it did, 
 to no particular family. 
 
 It was a bitter blow. 
 
 Yes, she must submit, for her son was complete master of his home and 
 estates, and, if he willed, she could be regulated to her dower-house 
 to-morrow. 
 
 And Sir John was in earnest. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy had never seen him so roused before had never read 
 strength of purpose and determination so clearly expressed on his features 
 as now. 
 
 Too agitated to continue her letters, Lady Dunworthy paced up and 
 down ; two bright spots of color were fastened on her cheeks, her hands 
 were clasped restlessly together. 
 
 A fire of anger and resentment burned in her breast against Ulrica, Guy, 
 Bathurst Hal), and fate! 
 
 She determined she would drive over before nightfall, and have a long 
 conversation with Dr. Strong. 
 
 He was the person to be blamed. What right had he to bring a name- 
 less girl into their midst ? 
 
 While she was walking to and fro and thinking, there came a gentle tap 
 at the door. 
 
 " Come in ! " she cried sharply. 
 
 The door opened and Connie appeared, very fresh and smart in a white 
 gown. 
 
 " Dear Lady Dunworthy, " said Connie sweetly, " I have come to chat 
 to you about this cushion. I waited till I knew you were free." 
 
 "John has just left me," observed Lady Dunworthy abruptly. 
 
 She moved to her desk and sat down again. 
 
 "Perhaps I am troubling you now?" Connj "' - *|ed with gentle 
 timidity. 
 
 " No, my dear; you are not troubling me," wal ^ delivered with 
 
 a heavy sigh.
 
 72 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " But something is," murmured Connie, gliding near. " Oh, let me 
 know, and I will try and comfort you. " 
 
 "You cannot," replied Lady Dunworthy gloomily. " Why are you not 
 out, Connie ? " 
 
 " I know you wanted this cushion finished, and I like working." 
 
 Lady Dunworthy sighed again. How different life would have looked 
 had he only chosen this girl ! 
 
 " Now, I know you are worried," said Connie quickly, " and so I will 
 not bother you with any stupid questions about the work ; another time 
 will do." 
 
 Lady Dunworthy threw down her pen. 
 
 "I am more than worried I am terribly distressed, Connie. John is 
 going to be married. " 
 
 Connie's hands closed over her work. Lady Dunworthy was gazing out 
 of the window, so did not see her start. 
 
 " Yes," said Connie very quietly after a pause, not moving, " to 
 whom ! " 
 
 " To that Miss Messenger! " 
 
 A wave of color rushed over Connie's face ; it dyed even the small hands 
 that clinched the rich satin. 
 
 " I hope he will be happy," she said, uttering the platitude after another 
 pause very steadily ; " he deserves it. I will come in about the cushion 
 by-and-by. It " 
 
 "Poor girl," murmured Lady Dunworthy, as the door closed on the 
 graceful form ; " she bears it welL Ah, that is where blood tells ! " 
 
 She might have modified that statement could she have followed Connie 
 as she rushed madly to her room, dashed the cushion on the floor, and 
 crushed the rich silks beneath her feet. 
 
 To be defeated ousted by a girl whom no one knew who came from 
 nowhere ! It was too bitter it was too much ! 
 
 Connie paced up and down her room, her arms folded over her breast, 
 her lips pressed close together. 
 
 As much as lay in her cold heart, she loved Sir John Dunworthy she 
 prized his home, his name, his position ; for years, since she could think at 
 all, she had planned to be his wife; and now now, on the very brink of 
 success for Sir John had paid her real attention (at least so she had 
 chosen to think) before he went abroad the prize was snatched from her 
 by this outcast this vagrant ! Oh, it was more than she could bear ! 
 
 She picked up her garden-hat, and went out into the grounds ; it seemed 
 as though indoors the air choked her. She made her way to a secluded 
 spot, and gave way to her angry thoughts. 
 
 Little did she think that she was observed, that her gestures of annoy- 
 ance were noted by an onlooker. 
 
 From behind a group of trees Horace Mott had seen Connie approach, 
 and a sinister smile curled his lip. 
 
 " So, my pretty maiden, yon too have learned the news ! It has upset 
 your plans, no doubt. This is not what you have waited for so long. Be 
 of good cheer ; their dream will be brief. I hold you in contempt, you poor, 
 paltry, selfish thing ! Nevertheless I am going to work on your side. You 
 hate your rival. I hate mine John Dunworthy ! " His brow grew dark. 
 " I have a long score of hatred to pay him, and would have done it in any 
 case, but doubly so now when love and jealousy fan the flame. Love 
 love ! I " he laughed softly, and turned away down the path- to the old
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 73 
 
 well " I, who thought my heart dead, barren, to be filled with a wild pas- 
 sion of love for this cream-white, violet-eyed girl, who shrinks from me 
 and gives her caresses to him. Well well, all in good timel I can wait, 
 for I hold the trump-card. " 
 
 He was at the bottom of the path as he uttered these words aloud. 
 
 He stopped, looked round, and gave a low whistle. 
 
 In a few minutes the branches were parted, and a tall man, half hidden 
 in the folds of a large cloak, crept out and joined him. 
 
 Their words were few and swift, but as they were exchanged, a look of 
 satisfaction, even triumph, spread on Horace Mott's face, and lingered 
 there. 
 ********** 
 
 Meanwhile, flushed with joy, Sir John had mounted his horse and ridden 
 fleetly to Bathurst Hall. 
 
 Chattie met him in the doorway. He asked hurriedly for Ulrica. 
 
 " I believe you and Ulrica have some plot on hand," she said aggrievedly. 
 
 Sir John laughed. 
 
 " What do you say to a plot ending in marriage ? " 
 
 Chattie uttered a shriek, then shook Sir John wildly by the hand, and 
 rushed off to the library, where Ulrica was seated, writing to Sam. 
 
 " Johnnie Jack is out on the lawn. He wants you he told me himself 
 so you had better go," she cried breathlessly. 
 
 Ulrica rose at once, the gleam of irrepressible gladness lighting up her 
 glorious orbs, while Chattie fled up-stairs to tell her mother and Mrs. Strong 
 the news. 
 
 Sir John rose from the low garden-chair as Ulrica approached him. 
 Without a word he drew her hand through his arm, and they wandered 
 slowly down to the stream that meandered through the bottom of the 
 grounds. Here they were alone save for the babbling music of the brook 
 and the birds' notes ; there was not a sound to break their solitude. 
 
 Sir John drew the slender form to his breast, bent his head, and kissed 
 the sweet trembling lips. 
 
 " My own ! " he said tenderly ; my very very own ! ',' 
 
 Ulrica looked up at him ; there was a mute inquiry in her eyes. 
 
 " Sweet, I have spoken," he answered, reading her wish. " My mother 
 will welcome you as a daughter. " 
 
 Ulrica drew a deep breath. 
 
 "Ah, now I am content," she whispered, gently. " I was afraid your 
 mother might not like me, and I did not want to be the cause of a quarrel 
 between you two. " 
 
 " And you are happy now? " 
 
 "Happy? Too , too happy!" she murmured, resting her head on his 
 shoulder. " Will it last, dear? " 
 
 "A lifetime, I trust," he said solemnly. 
 
 " What are you thinking of ? " he asked at last, breaking the silence. 
 
 " That God is good ! " she answered slowly. " It is this that I have pined 
 for all my life to be loved, to feel there is some one who cares for me 
 through all time that I am dear to some heart. Ah, how gloriously 
 great it seems ! What can I do to show my gratitude? " 
 
 " It is your due, my darling, " he said tenderly ; " you are so sweet and 
 good an angel. " 
 
 Ulrica shook her head with a smile.
 
 74 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 "A very human angel," she said. Then suddenly hiding her face on 
 his coat, she whispered : " But I love you I love you, my darling ! " 
 
 Then they strolled slowly on the stream's brink, weaving in its murmurs 
 with their golden dream, and breathing their tender vows of eternal con- 
 stancy and love. 
 
 The morning slipped away before they were half told, and the luncheon- 
 gong broke harshly on the delicate train of their thoughts. 
 
 " One o'clock! " cried Ulrica with a start. "I had no idea it was so 
 late. We have been out here an hour. " 
 
 Sir John laughed as he kissed her again, and they turned to the house. 
 
 " Now, we must tell our news," he said gaily. 
 
 Ulrica's color rose. 
 
 " Must we ? " she asked in a low tone. 
 
 "Did you think I was going to keep you in a corner all to myself? I 
 expect by this time it is pretty well known. Chattie will have told 
 everybody. " 
 
 This statement was verified, for as they entered the hall they met Mrs. 
 Strong on her way to the luncheon. 
 
 She stopped and glanced at the two happy faces with the great secret 
 written so plainly on their features. 
 
 " My daughter will not stay with me long," she whispered, as she kissed 
 Ulrica tenderly. " God bless you both ! " 
 
 Guy strode in through the wide porch at this moment, and he took in 
 the truth at a glance. 
 
 He grasped Sir John's hand warmly and silently, then turned to Ulrica. 
 
 " What can I wish little Rica that she will not have ? " he said lightly, 
 though his face was very pale. " May every earthly happiness be yours, 
 dear ! " 
 
 Ulrica followed her lover into the dining-room with something like a mist 
 of tears in her eyes, but Chattie's exuberant spirits and merry words soon 
 banished emotion, and they were all laughing and gossiping when a foot- 
 man approached Sir John, and spoke to him in low tones. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " he exclaimed, rising to his feet. Ulrica looked up in 
 affright, and Chattie started. " There has been a gun-accident," explained 
 Sir John, " and Mott is badly hurt. My mother has sent for me. Will 
 you ride back with me, Strong ? " 
 
 " Willingly," answered Guy, rising at once. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, my darling," whispered Sir John to Ulrica, who had 
 turned pale ; " these sort of things are always exaggerated. I expect it is 
 only a scratch. 1 will return at once and tell you all about it." 
 
 " If your mother wants you, stay," she answered; " you must not neglect 
 your duties. I know you would come if you could, and I am very happy. '.' 
 
 " This will prevent my mother coming to you this afternoon, too," he 
 said as they stood in the hall, while Dr. Strong got together one or two 
 things he might want. " You will not mind, my darling? " 
 
 " No, no," she cried quickly; " I do not expect it. Do not speak of it." 
 
 Guy came out of his room, and Ulrica stood waving her hand to her 
 lover till he had vanished from sight. 
 
 The two men rode on in silence; Guy could not bring himself to talk. 
 
 The light of happiness on the other's face was absolute torture to 
 ii'iDw. 
 
 Fortunately Sir John was so wrapped in his thoughts, he did not notion 
 the grave, almost taciturn manner of his frien
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 75 
 
 Not till they were approaching Dunworthy Castle did Guy Strong speak; 
 then he said suddenly: 
 
 " Dunworthy, you have spoken to your mother? " 
 
 Sir John started from his dreams. 
 
 " Yes, " he replied quickly. 
 
 " And she does not object? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 Guy noticed the tiny frown on the handsome face. 
 
 " Of course, she was surprised," went on Sir John; "but that will wear 
 off. If she talks to you, Strong, remember I am firm. Nothing will move 
 me. I love Ulrica. She shall be my wife? ' 
 
 "I will remember." 
 
 A slight pause, and then Guy said, speaking slowly: 
 
 " I hope there will be no unpleasantness. Lady Dunworthy is ambitious 
 and proud, and Ulrica is " 
 
 " My equal ! " said Sir John promptly. 
 
 Dr. Strong did not answer. 
 
 He was beset by doubts and fears. Ought he not to tell this man the 
 truth of Ulrica's parentage ? Was it right to let her go to his home, per- 
 haps some day to be despised for her father's sake? 
 
 He was terribly distressed this fact from him might turn the tide, break 
 off the match, and tear their love-dream asunder. 
 
 No, he could not do it, though he loved her so much though to call 
 her wife would be to him the greatest of all joys by that very love he 
 could not do it. 
 
 No one knew but himself the secret was safe; and once Lady Dun- 
 worthy, she could defy the world's venemous jealousy and cruel tongue. 
 
 " I knocked all that on the head this morning, " declared Sir John, break- 
 ing in on his thoughts. " My mother holds the stereotyped views; unless 
 one's ancestors came over with the Conqueror, one is nobody; but I have 
 very different ideas. Let Ulrica's birth be of the lowest, I love her she 
 will be my wife ! " 
 
 The castle was in confusion when they arrived. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy welcomed Dr. Strong warmly, and conducted him her- 
 self to the wounded man. 
 
 Sir John found, after all, his services were not urgently required, and 
 when he had paid a visit to Horace Mott, who still remained insensible, he 
 strode along the corridor to his " den, " feeling extremely wrathful with his 
 mother for bringing him away from Ulrica so needlessly. 
 
 He gave orders to have the dog-cart prepared; he would drive back with- 
 out delay, and was opening the door of his room when his eye caught a 
 figure coming towards him. 
 
 It was Connie a large garden hat thrown over her flaxen curls, a 
 basket on her arm, and large gauntlet gloves covering her white hands. 
 
 " Where are you off to? " he asked with a smile. 
 
 " To get some grapes for poor Mr. Mott. Is it not dreadful? " with a 
 graceful shudder. 
 
 " Very," replied Sir John; " but you must not be alarmed; he will soon 
 be all right. Strong is with him. You are looking quite pale, Miss 
 Wren." 
 
 Connie smiled faintly; she bent her head over her basket. 
 
 " I have to congratulate you, Sir John," she said slowly. " I wish you 
 every happiness."
 
 76 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " Thank you," answered the young man; then he stood aside, and Con- 
 nie fluttered on. 
 
 Sir John strode into the room with an easy look on his face. 
 
 " Whatever my mother may have thought," was his mental assurance as 
 he sat down and wrote an order to his jeweller in London to send down 
 some rings at once, " I am positive Connie had no more idea of marrying 
 me than she had of marrying that that doormat." 
 
 Wherein he showed very clearly that the minds of the male beings are 
 not endowed with that amount of perspicuity which dwells is. the bosom of 
 the gentler sex. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MR. MOTT'S accident did not prove very serious, but it served as an 
 excuse to L ady Dunworthy to postpone her visit to Ulrica. 
 
 Aweek went by, and then Sir John felt he could stand it no longer. 
 The slight to Ulrica was galling to him, so he went straight to his mother, 
 and spoke plainly to her, with the result that Lady Dunworthy ordered her 
 barouche, and drove over to Bathurst Hall. 
 
 Sir John was delighted beyond measure as he beheld his mother and his 
 promised wife driving back together; man-like, he did not think of what 
 lay beneath their calm exterior. 
 
 Guy had not seen Lady Dunworthy; he was gone away. 
 
 The misery, the hopelessness of his heart had Urged him to do this. 
 
 Struggle as he might, he could not root out his love for Ulrica, and so 
 he determined to leave his home for a while. 
 
 It was the first time he had set aside what he considered his duty, but it 
 was impossible to him to tell Sir John what George Messenger had been. 
 
 He knew so well what her love was to Ulrica, and, were the marriage to 
 be broken off, he dared not think about her. 
 
 Those were curious days for Ulrica at Dunworthy Castle, radiantly 
 happy at one moment, pained and wounded the next. 
 
 Connie still lingered, though Chattie and her mother had gone home 
 long ago. 
 
 She had one determination hi her heart; that was, to yet wrest Sir John 
 from Ulrica's side. 
 
 Though things did not look very hopeful, she did not despair. 
 
 One afternoon, Ulrica, obeying a sign from her lover, went to get a wrap 
 and hat, and go forth into the grounds for a stroll. 
 
 She met Connie Wren on the staircase. 
 
 " How strong you must be, Miss Messenger, really!" exclaimed Miss 
 Wren, languidly; " you go out in all weathers ! " 
 
 " Yes, I am strong," answered Ulrica, brightly. 
 
 She always tried not to see Connie's disagreeable ways. 
 
 " Oh, ah, yes," drawled Connie. " Our family are so delicate ! " 
 
 " I have no family to boast of," laughed Ulrica, " which is a good thing, 
 I think ! " 
 
 Connie shrugged her shoulders and went on her way, while Ulrica ran 
 quickly down to her lover. 
 
 She put on her brightest smites fa* him, and he drew her hand through 
 ' \s arm with a tender touch.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 77 
 
 " Ulrica, darling, I have asked you to come out with me this afternoon 
 for one purpose; can you guess what it is? he said, after a while. 
 
 " No, " whispered Ulrica, softly, though her face grew rosy. 
 
 " Try," urged Sir John, mischievously, bending to look into her eyes. 
 
 She shook her head in gentle confusion. 
 
 " Well, this is it. " 
 
 They had walked to their favorite corner by now, and Sir John made a 
 comfortable seat for Ulrica, and stood against a tree looking down at 
 her. 
 
 " I want my darling to promise me something, " he said, tenderly. 
 
 " Anything," cried Ulrica, looking up " that is, anything I can, Jack." 
 
 " I safely assure you you can perform this promise on your own 
 account." He changed his tone suddenly. "My darling my own, I 
 want you all to myself. I want you for my wife, my treasure ; promise 
 me, Ulrica, that our marriage shall be before Christmas. " 
 
 " So soon!" she said in low startled tones. 
 
 " Are you afraid to come to me, dear ? " 
 
 " Afraid ! " she rose and put her arms around him. " Oh, Jack Jack, 
 my darling, the one thing on earth I love I adore ! Afraid of you ! No 
 no! Listen hold me tight, and I will tell you what I am frightened 
 of. I am afraid my happiness is too great. I have a feeling here," and 
 she struck her heart "here, that it will end soon that it will vanish 
 from me like the beautiful dream it is, and then, Jack my life will 
 end ! " 
 
 He clasped her close in his arms. 
 
 "My darling, don't talk like this!" he cried passionately. "You are 
 tired to-day nervous, worried, but believe me, my own, as far as one 
 can say anything is certain in human life, our future happiness will be cer- 
 tain. Why, my dearest, what ails you ? You are trembling like a leaf. 
 Don't you know how much I love you ? Don't you believe in me, trust hi 
 me, know me, Ulrica ? " 
 
 " Aye, I do, indeed," she whispered faintly. " You are too good for me. 
 Think, Jack, what you have done for me given me sunshine golden, 
 glorious sunshine that makes life worth living. It is not doubt of you ; 
 it is a fear a whisper in the trees a sensation that comes over me at 
 night that this will not last. Don't laugh at me, Jack; I cannot help 
 it." 
 
 " But I shall laugh at you, you simple, precious little dreamer ! There, 
 put down your head, and forget these foolish fears. God willing, Ulrica, 
 you shall have no shadows or fears henceforth, my darling ! " 
 
 Even as he spoke Ulrica started in his arms. Her quick ear had caught 
 the sound of approaching footsteps ; and she drew herself apart from Sir 
 John, as the dead leaves rustled clearer and a man came towards them. 
 
 It was Horace Mott. 
 
 " Pardon my intrusion," he said pleasantly, lifting his hat ; "but Lady 
 Dunworthy begged me to come and find you, Dunworthy. It appears that 
 some old family lawyer has come down." 
 
 " The very man I want to see," exclaimed Sir John. " Are you going 
 back to the house, Mott ? Yes ? Then will you kindly tell my mother I 
 am hastening to her ? " 
 
 " Certainly," smiled Mr. Mott, and he turned away at once. 
 
 Ulrica gave a shiver as he disappeared. 
 
 " How I dislike that man I " she murmured involuntarily.
 
 78 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " Well, now, I think I have grown to like him better. He is very 
 pleasant. Do you know, Ulrica darling, I think it would gratify my 
 mother if you were to speak to him a little more than you do now." 
 
 "Then I will, certainly," the girl answered; though her face looked 
 pained. " But run away now, Jack ; I am going down to the old well 
 you will find me there. " 
 
 " Isn't that rather dreary, all by your little self? " inquired Sir John. 
 
 Ulrica smiled and shook her head. 
 
 " I am not nervous, and your castle is a perfect fraud it has no 
 ghosts!" 
 
 He laughed, and bent and kissed her tenderly ; then turned on his "heel 
 and strode away. 
 
 Ulrica stood watching him till he was lost to sight ; then, with a resolute 
 shake of her shoulder, to dispel the sensation of coming evil that hung over 
 her, she began to walk slowly down the path to the old well. 
 
 She soon reached it, and seated herself on the low wall with a sigh of 
 fatigue. Her thoughts flew to the many times she had come here with 
 Chattie and Basil, and she smiled in fancy as she recalled their merry, 
 quaint sayings ; then her mind went back to the past, and lingered there. 
 
 Somehow she could not drag herself from the memory of those bygone 
 lonely years of wandering, and her face grew grave and sad. 
 
 As she sat thus, a slight noise caused her to look round, and, with a re- 
 pressed scream, she started to her feet; for just before her stood a man 
 she hoped never to see again the priest, Father Lawrence. 
 
 She turned pale and her limbs trembled ; one hand clung to the post of 
 the well ; she could not speak. 
 
 The priest broke the silence. 
 
 " You are surprised to find me here ? " he said softly. 
 
 Still Ulrica could not speak. The presentiment of evil was closing 
 upon her again fast. 
 
 "It was my only way of speaking to you," went on Father Lawrence. 
 " I have been treated shamefully by Dr. Strong. Your dead father's 
 wishes have been utterly neglected in every way ; I have been spurned and 
 reviled ! " 
 
 " What do you want ? " Ulrica forced her pale lips to utter. 
 
 " I have much to say to you. " 
 
 Father Lawrence paused, and the girl, recovering a little from the shock, 
 sank again onto the wall and put her hand to her heart. 
 
 " Why have you come to me like this ? " she said in low bitter tones ; 
 " it is cowardly it is dishonorable ! " 
 
 The priest's face darkened. 
 
 " The means will justify the end," he said smoothly. " What I have to 
 tell you to-day will ' 
 
 Ulrica rose hurriedly. 
 
 " There is nothing that you have to tell me to-day that I care to hear. 
 Let me pass ! " 
 
 Father Lawrence stood in her path. 
 
 " I must speak," he cried. " My duty urges me to it. Stay and hear 
 me. You are about to marry? " 
 
 Ulrica lifted her hand to her throat and loosened the clasp of her cloak ; 
 she felt choked. 
 
 " I decline to discuss my private affairs with any one," she said in low 
 faint tones. Her courage was fleeting fast.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 79 
 
 " It is on this subject I have come. If you will not listen to my religious 
 teachings if you reject my friendship, you must hear me now before you 
 go farther. It is not of yourself you must think now, but of the man you 
 would marry. " 
 
 Ulrica started. Her feeling of oppression and fear had unsettled her ; 
 she felt now actual dread, and her face paled unconsciously. 
 
 Father Lawrence watched her keenly. 
 
 She looked a frail, fair creature to bear sorrow ; yet sorrow was coming 
 to her. His gaze lingered on her. Then he said : 
 
 " Have you ever thought that disgrace and pain might follow on your 
 marriage? Have you ever thought of the degradation you might bring on 
 an honored name? Have you ever thought what you are?. " 
 
 Ulrica put out one hand, and steadied herself against the wall. 
 
 " What do you mean? " she whispered. 
 
 " You are the child of George Messenger, .money -lender, usurer, extor- 
 tioner. Every penny your father amassed was robbed from others. Do 
 you think you are the wife Lady Dunworthy would choose for her son, or 
 her son for himself, if they knew the truth? " 
 
 Ulrica stood rooted to the ground, her hand resting on the wall. 
 
 For one instant her heart seemed turned to stone. A deadly faintness 
 stole over her. 
 
 This must mean separation, sorrow worse than death. 
 
 The agony was too great ; she turned swiftlyfon the priest. 
 
 " It is not true ! " she cried passionately. " I will not believe it. You 
 have hated me planned against me from the beginning. This this is 
 part of your plot against me I know it ! " 
 
 She sank down onto the wall as she spoke, and buried her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 Father Lawrence looked at her for an instant. 
 
 " Will you never judge me right? " he said half sadly. " You tell me I 
 lie. The proof of my words can easily be yours. Ask Dr. Strong. You 
 will believe him. " 
 
 " Why did you come? Why not have left me in ignorance ? " whispered 
 Ulrica faintly. 
 
 " Because I held it my duty ; because I knew you were ignorant of the 
 truth, and that you ought to know it before you went farther." 
 
 Ulrica sat quiet ; she seemed stunned. 
 
 " Yes, you are right. I ought to have known this long ago. It it 
 would have saved me from pain terrible pain now ! " she said after a 
 while. 
 
 " I shall remain in the village until to-morrow ; " Father Lawrence pulled 
 his cloak round him ; " it may be that you will wish to leave this neighbor- 
 hood. Look on me as your friend, and trust me. My words have given 
 you pain well, as you grow in years you will learn that pain is the lot of 
 every creature. I deemed it best you should know all. " 
 
 He bent his head, and pushed through the bushes out of sight. 
 
 Ulrica sat on, gazing after him, her mind almost a blank. 
 
 A cold laugh roused her, and looking round suddenly, she became aware 
 of the presence of Horace Mott leaning against the well-post, a smile on 
 his lips, a strange expression of triumph in his eyes. 
 " Mr. Mott," faltered the girl; " you you here!" 
 " Yes, I have been here all the time." 
 Ulrica said nothing; her hands trembled.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 8 1 
 
 '*This news has upset you," he continued. 
 Ulrica eave a sieh and rose. 
 
 Ulrica gave a sigh 
 
 " I cannot speak to you now," she said agitatedly; " please let me pass." 
 
 " You wish to join your lover?" he queried. 
 
 Her cheeks flushed crimson, then faded to deathly white. 
 
 " Let me pass ! " was all she said. 
 
 Mr. Mott made no effort to move. 
 
 " So," he sneered, "you think your lover will throw this news on one 
 side; will link his honorable name with one that has been dragged through 
 the mire of shame; or, perhaps, you do not mean to tell him eh? " 
 
 The question was put so suddenly, that Ulrica found herself answer- 
 ing it. 
 
 " Yes, yes oh yes; I will tell him now; it will rest with him; but I 
 have no fear, for he loves me he loves me!" 
 
 The last words were whispered very low, but they reached the listener's 
 ear. 
 
 His brows met and his face flushed; he laughed again harshly. 
 
 " You are confident very sure. Well, put him to the test. Tell him 
 all; but," he stopped for an instant, "you have yet to learn that all. 
 Father Lawrence is wrong; there is more and worse to be told." 
 
 Ulrica met his dark, wicked eyes ; her own were distraught with horror 
 and fear. 
 
 " Yes ; go to your lover, and tell him all tell him that your father was 
 a thief a usurer an extortioner and more, tell him that your father 
 was a murderer ; then see if he will make you his wife ! " 
 
 He spoke slowly ; as he finished, he put out his hand to help the girl, 
 for she reeled and almost felL 
 
 "I I don't want help. I am not going to faint," she said quietly, 
 sinking back into her old position and brushing her hot eyes with her cold 
 hands. " I can hear all you have to say tell me everything." 
 
 Horace Mott was silent for an instant ; his heart, throbbing with its 
 passionate love, was swelled now by the admiration that came over him for 
 this girl, so young and weak, yet with the courage of a lion. 
 
 " Your father murdered his wi f e your mother. I have known this all 
 the while," he said ; "but have held my tongue and waited. You have 
 hated me aye, I have not been blind. I could have torn you from your 
 lover's arms before, but I waited. I have a score to settle with you both." 
 
 Ulrica took no notice of these words. 
 
 "You were going to tell me of my father's crime," she said, hi cold, 
 strained tones. 
 
 He laughed at her with flashing eyes, then shrugged his shoulders. 
 \ " You remember the day of your father's death ? " 
 > She made a sign of assent. 
 
 " You recall what occurred just before his seizure ? " 
 ' " No, not clearly." 
 
 " You were standing by the chair ; the crowd moving round you to and 
 fro. I was there. A man passed you, and as your father's eyes rested on 
 this man, he was attacked by a paroxysm of fear, culminating in the fit 
 that eventually killed him." 
 
 He paused for an instant. Ulrica did not yet move. Some horrible 
 sensation was creeping over her, whispering that this was true. 
 
 " That man I know," Horace Mott said, still fixing her with his eager 
 bunting gaze ; " he held this secret of your father's in his kwpiog, and
 
 82 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 George Messenger dreaded that through him justice would come. Once, 
 as a child, you met this man. Do you remember, years ago, being taken 
 to a dingy house in Paris by your father? " 
 
 " I have no recollection." 
 
 " No memory of a struggle a fight ? " 
 
 Ulrica shook her head. 
 
 "No none." 
 
 Horace Mott looked disturbed for a moment. 
 
 " Well, that matters not. If you require proof, Sir Geoffrey Denvil, 
 your father's foe, will give it to you. Mr. Loudon will bear witness to the 
 
 meeting between your father and Sir Geoffrey, and But you want 
 
 nothing more ; you know this is true." 
 
 Ulrica sat still in the same position. 
 
 "Is this all ? " she asked, in the low strained tones so unlike her fresh 
 young voice. 
 
 " No," breathed the man suddenly; " it is not all Ulrica, I love you! " 
 
 Ulrica lifted hejr haggard young face ; her trembling lips were curled with 
 contempt. 
 
 " You are a coward !" she said slowly; " I have always hated you, dis- 
 trusted you. Now I hold you the most contemptible thing on this earth ! " 
 
 He strode forward, and gripped her wrist. 
 
 "Unhand me!" she said swiftly, meeting his gaze fearlessly; "do you 
 forget that I am to be the wife of your friend ? " 
 
 "You!" he laughed bitterly and recklessly "you the wife of John 
 Dunworthy ! Listen. By all I hold sacred, I swear this shall never be 
 never! His lips shall cease from touching yours; his arms shall fold no 
 longer round your beautiful form. You hate me, you loathe me, you 
 despise me, do you, my pretty Ulrica? By Heaven, but you shall repent those 
 words ! " 
 
 His strong arms were wound round her. Struggle as she might, Ulrica 
 could not break herself from his hold. 
 
 Her heart beat almost to suffocation, her numbed lips refused to open, 
 her eyes closed so that she could not see that dark, passionate face close to 
 hers. Horace Mott drew her to the brink of the well. 
 
 "Bend your beautiful head. Look down there," he said swiftly. "It 
 is dark! It is steep! It means death! Yet I will assuredly send you 
 down to that silent water rather than see you John Dunworthy's wife. 
 No, Ulrica ; you are mine henceforth. Listen ! If you defy me and go 
 to him, I give you warning the day that sees you his wife shall end in a 
 night of widowhood. Yes, I will kill him! shoot him like a dog the 
 dog he is! It is a bond between us, and shall be sealed thus." 
 
 Ulrica was conscious that he pressed her still more passionately to him, 
 then his lips touched hers. All the horror, the shame, the misery of the 
 moment came upon her then in its truth. She struggled again and again, 
 and gave one short despairing cry. 
 
 Horace Mott's quick ear caught the sound of hurrying footsteps. 
 
 With a muttered oath he released the girl, and pushed his way through 
 the bushes, as Sir John Dunworthy ran down the path, and found his 
 darling his love stretched in a dead faint at his feet. 
 
 " Let me go back to Bathurst take me to Bathurst!" were the first 
 words Ulrica uttered as she recovered from her fainting-fit. 
 
 Sir John, wild with his distress, had picked up her insensible form and 
 carried it with great difficulty up the path to the lawn.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 83 
 
 There he met Horace Mott sauntering slowly to and fro reading a 
 newspaper. 
 
 " Great Heaven, Dunworthy ! what is the matter ? " throwing away his 
 paper and hurrying forward. 
 
 " Ulrica has fainted," Sir John said in great agitation. " What can have 
 happened ? I was hurrying to her when I thought I heard her scream, 
 and rushed down to find her lying on the ground by the old well. " 
 
 " She must have fallen and hurt herself," observed Mr. Mott. "I will 
 go and send her maid. " 
 
 " Please; thanks, awfully, Mott." 
 
 Mr. Mott was back almost directly, followed by Lady Dunworthy and 
 one of the maids. 
 
 Mary, Ulrica's own little abigail, was gone to London for a holiday. 
 
 " Miss Messenger faulted? Dear me, how extraordinary? " exclaimed 
 Lady Dunworthy. 
 
 Sir John was too much occupied in gazing at his darling's white, still 
 face to notice his mother, and in a very few minutes he was rejoiced to see 
 the heavy lashes uplifte^. 
 
 Horace Mott was close by, but not in sight; he was waiting to hear what 
 Ulrica would say, but her only words were: " Take me back to Bathurst 
 
 take me back!" 
 
 Lady Dunworthy was exceedingly annoyed that Ulrica should wish to go 
 home, and when Sir John hurried away to order the carriage, she said, 
 sharply: 
 
 " Can you give us no explanation of this strange request, Miss Messenger? 
 It is a very extraordinary affair altogether, really ! " 
 
 But Ulrica made no reply; she only sat still on the rustic garden-chair 
 and gazed straight before her. 
 
 Horace Mott watched her carefully, and the maid handed her a smelling- 
 bottle, with great sympathy for Sir John's " pretty young lady. " 
 
 When her son came fleeting back, Lady Dunworthy sailed to meet him. 
 
 " I have the right to ask what has happened, John? " 
 
 " You,know as much as I do," he replied, tersely. " I was foolish enough 
 to leave Ulrica down by the old well alone, and something must have 
 frightened her. " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Why is it, I wonder, that persons of her class always faint or go into 
 hysterics? " she said, with a sneer. 
 
 But Sir John was gone, and very tenderly was assisting his love to rise. 
 
 He drove her back himself to Bathurst, glancing ever and anon anxiously 
 at her white face. 
 
 As they reached Guy's home he bent and whispered : 
 . |i " Will my darling tell me now what happened ? " 
 
 Ulrica looked up at him for one instant, then put her hand in one of his 
 and carried 'A to her lips. 
 | " I was wrong, Jack, " she said in such strained husky tones ; " your 
 
 your castle has ghosts after all" 
 
 " And you were frightened, my own ? " 
 
 ^ " Yes," she answered ; " I was frightened frightened almost to death." 
 : Sir John gave a sigh of relief ; he clasped her small cold hand firmly. 
 ' " You shall tell me all about it to-morrow, my own darling. I was a 
 fool to let you go there alone. " 
 
 They reached Bathurst Hall, and he lifted her down carefully.
 
 84 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Mrs. Strong was shocked at the girl's white face. 
 
 " Ulrica' has had a fright and faulted, " explained Sir John, " and she 
 would come back to you. " 
 
 " My daughter ! " murmured Mrs. Strong, as she enfolded the girl in a 
 warm embrace. " Now I recommend quiet and rest. Leave her to me, 
 John ; she will be herself to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow," murmured Ulrica to herself, and shuddered ; " to-mor- 
 row alas ! " 
 
 Mrs. Strong left the lovers alone for an instant while she went to give 
 orders about Ulrica's room. 
 
 " My darling, my poor white love ! " said Sir John, drawing Ulrica to 
 him. 
 
 She rested against him silently. 
 
 " It is for the last time," she said in her heart. " ; Oh, God, for the last 
 time ! " 
 
 " Promise me to rest, my precious one. I will ride over to-morrow, or 
 would you like a day all to yourself ? " 
 
 Ulrica's throat was choking ; she longed to throw her arms round him, 
 and entreat him to keep her, always to cling to her, but the shame, the 
 awful horror that had come upon her, stayed her. 
 
 She must part from him now ; she must never see him again. 
 
 "Don't don't come to-morrow," she said faintly. "Jack, forgive 
 me ; I am " 
 
 " Forgive you, dear. Why, it is you who should forgive me for letting 
 you go off down to such gloomy places all alone. Now, my darling, listen. 
 Something has upset you ; you shall have a nice, quiet day all to yourself 
 to-morrow, and then when you are better you shall tell me all about it. 
 Does that please my own ? " 
 
 " Oh, you are too good to me too good!" 
 
 There was such a wail in her voice that Sir John's face looked pained. 
 
 " Too good to you, my love, my life!" he murmured, pressing her to 
 him. " Now I must go. Au revoir, my darling. " 
 
 " Good-bye ! " Ulrica's pale lips formed, but could not utter the ward. 
 
 Mrs. Strong came back, and the lovers parted. 
 
 " Take care of her," whispered Sir John. 
 
 Mrs. Strong nodded ; then the young man slowly departed. 
 
 The older woman led Ulrica up to her bedroom, and after a few soothing 
 words left her alone alone! 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 /"IONNIE WREN heard of Ulrica's strange illness with inward delight, 
 VJ which rose exceedingly when she discovered Sir John's uneasiness and 
 distress. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy expressed herself openly about her son's fiancee, and 
 confided to Connie that there was no doubt Ulrica had fainted on 
 purpose. 
 
 Sir John took no notice of their looks and words. Doubt of his fair 
 darling never darkened his mind. 
 
 Horace Mott watched him as he mounted his horse tie next morning 
 and rode away.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 85 
 
 " He is going to her," he thought. " What will follow ? I must 
 watch!" 
 
 So equipping himself hastily, he went round to the stables and mounted 
 a horse also. 
 
 Sir John had walked, not cantered away, and to Horace Mott's aston- 
 ishment, he suddenly turned round and returned. 
 
 " I have just remembered that the hounds meet at Pleydell Common to- 
 day," explained Sir John. " Will you come?" 
 
 Horace Mott shook his head. 
 
 " I was just going to ride to the village ; I want to telegraph to town. * 
 
 The two men separated with a mutual nod. 
 
 Connie spent a long, dull day ; she yawned all the morning, and then in- 
 vented a bad headache for the afternoon to escape Lady Dunworthy's 
 society, which bored her exceedingly. 
 
 Once in her room, she gave herself up to a good hour with her wardrobe 
 and her maid. 
 
 " I would give much to know what ails her," she thought as she stood 
 before her mirror and made her toilet for the evening. She was thinking 
 of Ulrica. " There is some mystery. Oh, if only she would turn out to 
 be an adventuress. But there's no such luck. Sir John looks bothered, , 
 anyway, and her fainting at the old well seems very queer. I wonder why 
 Horace Mott always smiles so disagreeably when he glances at me? I hate 
 that man ! " 
 
 Her dress adjusted, she gazed at herself with satisfaction, and determined 
 to make one good struggle more before she resigned Sir John to Ulrica 
 forever. 
 
 Sir John was just striding through the hall as she swept down the stairs. 
 
 " Ah, Miss Wren, you're a perfect vision of loveliness ! Beware how 
 you approach me ; I am covered with mud, as you perceive. " 
 
 " Have you had a good day? " asked Connie, lifting her eyes with her 
 most effective glance. 
 
 " Splendid simply A I ! Never had a better. You should have been 
 there." 
 
 " Yes ; I should have enjoyed it," she said plaintively; " but you did not 
 ask me. " 
 
 " How remiss of me ! Pray forgive me ; and now I must hurry up, or I 
 shall be late for dinner. " 
 
 " You are not going out again? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 Connie smiled. 
 
 "I am so glad," she said sweetly, "for we are quite alone. Mr. Mott 
 left us to-day ; he was summoned to town, he said. " 
 
 " Mott gone ! " repeated Sir John in surprise. " That must be something 
 new ; he did not speak of it this morning. I wonder what is up. " 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Messenger can tell you," observed Connie very sweetly 
 and innocently, " for I noticed, as we joined them the other day, they both 
 looked distressed. I fancy he must have been confiding some trouble to her; 
 at any rate he follows her about like a shadow." 
 
 " I will ask Ulrica about it," answered Sir John, upon whom this remark 
 fell very flat indeed. . , 
 
 He waved his hand and ran up to his room whistling merrily. His man 
 was busy with his clothes as he entered. He handed a note to his master. 
 
 " This has just come for you, sir. "
 
 86 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Sir John took it eagerly. It was in Ulrica's handwriting. 
 
 " You can go, Gryce," he said kindly. " I shall not want you." 
 
 The man withdrew, and Sir John waited till he was gone; then, with a 
 flush of happiness, pressed the unconscious paper to his lips. Ulrica's let- 
 ters always delighted her lover. They were so sweet and true ; she did not 
 say much, but the depth the sincerity of her nature was visible in every 
 line, speaking fearlessly how greatly she loved. 
 
 He looked at it for a second, then tore open the envelope with a smile 
 of pleased anticipation. 
 
 A small object rolled from the paper and dropped to the floor. He 
 picked it up; it was a ring the ring he had given her. He turned to the 
 letter in surprise; the smile died away as he read the first line. There was 
 no beginning, no term of endearment; it was clearly, concisely, curtly 
 written: 
 
 " When you receive this, I shall have left Bathurst HalL" 
 
 Sir John's hand dropped. What could this mean? 
 
 A cold sensation stole over his heart. He lifted the letter and forced 
 himself to read on: 
 
 " Circumstances have occurred to-day that must separate us forever. I 
 can never see you again never be your wife. If I could ease your heart 
 of the pain these words must bring, I would do it if it cost me my life; but 
 I am powerless. Do not try to find me. I cannot I must not I dare 
 not see you. May God bless you and bring you every earthly happiness! 
 There is nothing too good for you. ULRICA MESSENGER." 
 
 The letter dropped from his fingers; he staggered to a chair. 
 
 At first his brain was stunned, his thoughts would not come; then the 
 full weight of the blow struck home to him. 
 
 Something terrible had happened! Ulrica was gone his love, his 
 light, his very life gone! What could it mean! He bent his head into 
 his hands, and tried to think. What could come that should separate them 
 forever? Who had the right to part them? 
 
 He rose and strode to the window in his agitation. 
 
 Gone ! Where to whom ? Never see her again. Oh, that was too 
 bitter too cruel ! 
 
 He picked up the letter once more. Nothing explained, no word of 
 farewell, no word of tenderness. 
 
 His heart was suddenly assailed by doubt by jealousy. Ulrica had 
 deceived him ; she had never loved him ! 
 
 He trod the paper under his foot, and strode up and down in a tempest 
 of pain, fear, perplexity. 
 
 It lasted only a moment ; then his determination was taken. He opened 
 his door. 
 
 " Gryce!" 
 
 "Yes, Sir John." 
 
 " Send round to the stables and tell them to saddle the mare Stella at 
 once. " 
 
 "Yes, Sir John." 
 
 He would ride over without delay ; she might not yet have gone ; there 
 was not a moment to lose. In his excitement he trembled like a woman. 
 His fatigue was forgotten ; he thrilled to be doing, to end this terrible 
 suspense. Never in his whole easy life had he suffered such grief as now. 
 It crushed his heart and courage by its greatness ; it stunned him by its 
 swiftness.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 87 
 
 Meanwhile Connie had watched him run up-stairs, with a triumphant 
 beat in her selfish heart. Now was her opportunity ; it would be odd if 
 she could not make some good use of it. She turned to the drawing- 
 rooira which, despite its size and grandeur, Lady Dunworthy always used, 
 no matter how small her party. 
 
 She looked up as Connie entered. 
 
 "Ah, my dear," she said, graciously, "and are you better? I hope 
 the headache is quite gone. " 
 
 " Yes, thank you, dear Lady Dunworthy j you are always so kind. I 
 feel quite well now. " 
 
 Connie drew up a low chair to the fire. 
 
 " You overwork yourself," was the elder woman's affectionate reproof. 
 
 Connie shook her head. 
 
 " Indeed, no. I like to help you," she answered sweetly. 
 
 " You are a good girl, Connie," sighed Lady Dunworthy, gazing at the 
 fire gloomily. " Has John come in, do you think ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I met him just this instant. He will be here to dinner to-night. " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy heaved another sigh. 
 
 "For a wonder! that miserable infatuation ah, how I wish it would 
 all end!" 
 
 " But have you no influence with Sir John ? " demanded Connie, mali- 
 ciously innocent. She knew right well the workings of the whole affair 
 why Lady Dunworthy brought herself to receive Ulrica, and why Sir John 
 had succeeded so easily. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy's cheeks colored faintly. 
 
 " My dear child, what influence should I have against a designing intrig- 
 nante, such as that girl is ? " she asked in reply. 
 
 Connie was silent, and at this instant, much to Lady Dunworthy's relief, 
 dinner was announced. 
 
 " We will be unorthodox, and not wait for John," she said, as she rose 
 and sailed to the door. 
 
 As they were crossing the hall, Sir John ran hurriedly down the stairs ; 
 he wore his hunting-coat ; his hat was pressed over his brows. Connie 
 caught a glimpse of his face ; it was white, drawn, and terribly agitated. 
 
 " John ! " exclaimed Lady Dunworthy. 
 
 "I am not coming to dinner, mother," he replied curtly, adding to the 
 man-servant : " Has Gryce sent round the mare ? " 
 
 "Yes, Sir John." 
 
 " Going out again ? " said his mother, her anger betraying itself in her 
 tones. " To Bathurst, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Yes, mother, to Bathurst," was his answer, given coldly and shortly; 
 then he added with his usual courtesy: " But do not let me keep you it 
 is not pleasant out here.". 
 
 "I had hoped you would have stayed with us to-night," observed Lady 
 Dunworthy, with a heavy frown ; " we are quite alone Horace Mott left 
 us to-day." 
 
 " I am sorry, mother, but it is quite impossible " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy turned away, and Connie followed her, biting her lip 
 
 with vexation. Sir John pressed his hat on, took his hunting-crop, mounted 
 
 the mare, and rode away in the darkness, mad with the agony of his misery. 
 
 Again and again the thought, the hope would come that it was not true 
 
 that Ulrica was jesting. 
 
 Then the hope died as the memory of yesterday returned ; her strange
 
 88 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 fainting-fit, her illneae. Yes, some great, some awful thing had come upon 
 the brightness of their love, and shadowed it for a time. 
 
 Heedless of the darkness and the falling rain, he rode at full speed. The 
 action seemed to relieve him, to work off some of the suspense. 
 
 He pawed along the deserted lanes, which so often had been peopled of 
 late with his happy fancies and glowing hopes, where so often he had saun- 
 tered with Ulrica, secure in their solitude, while they weaved the golden 
 fetters of their love's young dream. 
 
 He pushed these thoughts from him ; his whole being clamored to know 
 the truth, learn the worst. 
 
 His voice, hoarse with agitation, summoned the lodge-keeper in haste 
 to the gate ; he galloped up the avenue regardless-of the man's surprised 
 looks, and in another moment he was at the Hall, and off his horse. 
 
 The butler stared with astonishment at his mud-bespattered form and 
 white face. 
 
 " Send some one to hold my horse, Stevens," said Sir John briefly. 
 
 He stood in the doorway, the reins still in his hand. A portmanteau 
 and rug lay just inside. At the sight his heart leaped. They must be 
 hers. He was in time. 
 
 " I will hold it, sir, if you are in a hurry. " 
 
 Sir John nodded his head. 
 
 " Where is ," he began huskily, when a form stood beside him. 
 
 "Why, D unworthy!" 
 
 "Strong!" 
 
 The two men clasped hands. 
 
 " I have this rery instant arrived," said Guy, taking in that something 
 was wrong at a glance ; " and " 
 
 " Where is Ulrica ? " asked the other hoarsely. 
 
 Guy stared at him. 
 
 " Ulrica ? Why, in her room, I should say. I have not seen her ; but 
 j 
 
 " Then then she is gone. " 
 
 And Sir John staggered against the wall. 
 
 Guy read the curiosity in Stevens' face. He grasped Sir John by the 
 shoulder, and forced him rather than assisted him into his study. 
 
 " Now speak," he said sternly. " What do you mean ? " 
 
 Sir John made no reply. He pulled off his wet glove, and with tremb- 
 ling fingers drew forth Ulrica's letter ; then, throwing it onto the table, 
 sank into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 Guy picked up the letter. He read it once a second, a third time 
 before he seemed to grasp the full meaning. 
 
 He was so strangely quiet that Sir John lifted his head, and the expres- 
 sion on the other's face was the finishing-touch to all. 
 
 " For God's sake, Strong, tell me all ! What what does it mean? " 
 
 " I cannot tell I don't know," Guy replied, the words dropping from 
 between his lips with difficulty. 
 
 " You see, she says she will leave Bathurst forever. She may not be 
 gone. It may be only a joke a cruel one but still a joke. " 
 
 At the agony in his voice, Guy woke from his mental prostration. He 
 put his hand on Sir John's shoulder. 
 
 " Dunworthy, don't give way. There is something strange about this I 
 cannot understand. I will ring and ask for for Ulrica." 
 
 He pulled the bell as he spoke, and they waited in silence.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 89 
 
 Stevens answered the summons. 
 
 " I've 'ad Sir John's mare took round to the stables, sir; she was a little 
 blown," he said as he entered. 
 
 " Quite right, Stevens. Send Miss Messenger's maid to me." 
 
 "Do you mean Mary, sir? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 j " She've gone away for her holiday, sir. She went a week yesterday. " 
 : Guy hesitated for an instant, 
 i " Who has been attending Miss Messenger? " he asked. 
 
 " Bruce, sir." 
 
 " Send her to me ; and, Stevens, be careful your mistress is not roused. 
 She is asleep now, and must sleep on. " 
 
 The butler withdrew, and Guy walked up and down in silence till the 
 maid appeared. 
 
 Sir John was seated by the table, leaning his head on his hand. 
 
 " Ah, Bruce," said Dr. Strong, kindly, " has Miss Messenger returned ? " 
 
 He put the question easily, though certain in his heart that Ulrica was 
 gone); but all scandal must be prevented as far as possible. 
 
 " No, sir ; she went out quite early this afternoon. It is time she was 
 home. I hope there is nothing the matter, sir ? " 
 
 " Oh, no." Guy forced himself to speak lightly. " Miss Messenger had 
 to go to London. She must have been detained by her friends." 
 
 " Oh, I wish she had told me, sir. I am sure mistress would have wished 
 me to go with Miss Ulrica." 
 
 " Miss Ulrica knew your mistress was ill to-day, and would need you. " 
 
 The door shut on the maid. 
 
 Guy turned to Sir John. 
 
 " You must wake up, Dunworthy; something is wrong. You must come 
 with me." 
 
 " Where to ? " 
 
 "London." 
 " But how do you know she is there ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I conjecture it. Ah, it is very simple. Where would 
 a soul, worn and worried as Ulrica must be, seek for oblivion, save in a 
 great city like London ? Coire, we will go first to Bathurst, and make 
 inquiries." . 
 
 In another moment they were seated in Guy's dog-cart, dashing through 
 the wet muddy lanes to Bathurst town. 
 
 The shops were closed, the streets deserted. 
 
 Bathurst was an early place ; it retired at ten o'clock. 
 
 The hour was just chiming as they drove into the station-yard. 
 
 Sir John sprang from his seat almost before the cart stopped. 
 
 He was rushing in, but Guy was to quick for him. 
 
 " Dunworthy, " he said hurriedly, " I must speak ! " 
 
 He called one of the porters, then walked leisurely in through the sta- 
 tion-door, Sir John following, white and wan. 
 
 " Oh, Barnes, " said Guy to the station-master, as they entered the book- 
 ing-office, " did I leave my small portmanteau behind me this evening? " 
 
 The man put down his newspaper at once. 
 
 " Your small portmanteau, Dr. Strong? I have not seen one, but I will 
 send and inquire. Glad to see you home again, sir ! I hope you are 
 well? " 
 
 " Quite well, thank you," returned Guy.
 
 90 HER FATAL SIN 
 
 " You said a small portmanteau, didn't you, sir? Here, Bill, go and look 
 for a small brown, sir? yes, brown portmanteau belonging to Dr. 
 Strong. I hope he'll find it, sir, but I don't remember it." 
 
 " Perhaps I left it in town, after all. It is a nuisance, but I wanted to 
 make inquiries. " 
 
 Sir John turned a mute, eager glance on him. 
 
 Guy walked up and down for two minutes, then he approached his 
 friend. 
 
 " Ulrica had a raw day for her travel. Oh, by the way, Barnes, did 
 Miss Messenger catch the four express this afternoon? " 
 
 "Miss Messenger!" repeated the man. "Let me see! Oh, yes, sir; I 
 remember she did. I put her in a carriage myself. " 
 
 Sir John's right hand grasped the side of a door. 
 
 "I nope you you made her comfortable, Barnes," he said in low, 
 husky tones. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Sir John, I did. I wanted to get her a foot-warmer, but she 
 would not have it. She went in a carriage all alone." 
 
 " Ah, it's a tedious journey by one's self," observed Guy, watching Sir 
 John's pale face intently. 
 
 " Yes, sir, and cold, sir. Well, there was one or two people I could have 
 put in the carriage, sir ; but she asked to be alone. There was Mrs. God- 
 win and her eldest daughter, and the gentleman from the castle, Sir John 
 Mr. Mott, I think you calls him. Have you found it, Bill? No? Well, 
 that's odd. I'll hunt through myself, if you will wait, sir." 
 
 " It is no matter, Barnes," Guy cried hurriedly. 
 
 But the man had turned away. 
 
 As he vanished in the darkness of the platform Sir John grasped Guy's 
 arm. 
 
 His face now was ghastly white and fixed, his breath came thick and fast. 
 
 Like a flash of lightning the memory of yesterday crossed his mind. 
 
 Ulrica's strange illness, her mysterious cruel letter, and the poisoned 
 malicious words spoken by Connie. 
 
 " You need not inquire further," he said calmly, his voice sounding 
 strained and harsh. " I know the meaning of all ; she she has gone with 
 Mott!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 T .ONDON at night. Thick rain was falling, in a steady determined 
 J_l fashion, a muggy close fog crept through every crevice, and added to 
 the discomfort of the wet. 
 
 At Euston Station the trains were starting and arriving briskly ; crowds 
 of passengers hurried to and fro, luggage was wheeled by, papers were 
 bought, parting or welcoming kisses exchanged. 
 
 All was bustle and confusion ; inside the station it was warm and com- 
 fortable ; in the waiting-rooms blazed huge fires ; the gas was lit every- 
 where. 
 
 A girl stood motionless by the side of one of the closed bookstalls. She 
 wore a thick, heavy cloak, and a black veil drawn close over her face ; she 
 had no luggage and was quite alone.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 9! 
 
 The sight of this graceful figure standing so quietly provoked few glances ; 
 everybody was too busy with their own concerns to trouble their heads 
 about her. 
 
 It was Ulrica. 
 
 She was dazed and worn out, but her brain was working swiftly. 
 
 She had left Bathurst, but where to go next ? 
 
 At first a thought of seeking out her maid Mary, and obtaining shelter 
 with her for a day, had come but she dismissed it quickly. 
 
 By this means her whereabouts would soon be discovered, and she would 
 be compelled to go through the very thing she dreaded most an interview 
 with Sir John, or, even worse than that, one with Horace Mott. 
 
 Her heart grew sick at the thought ; then, as she felt her limbs tremble 
 beneath her, she thought of her old friend Sam. 
 
 Surely she could turn to him in this the hour of her need ? He had 
 been so staunch, so true. She determined to do so, and asking her way 
 of a passing porter, wuit to the telegraph office outside the station. 
 
 Here she pondered, and dispatched a telegram to Sam in Paris, saying 
 she would write that night full particulars from "little Rica," using 
 that name in case Sir John or any one should trace her having sent to Sam. 
 
 This done, she made her way up to a burly -looking policeman. 
 
 " Please will you tell me of a respectable hotel it must be cheap ? " 
 she asked hurriedly. 
 
 The man looked at her ; he could not see her face. 
 
 " Are you alone? " he said gruffly. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, there's a place just around the corner; it belongs to a cousin of 
 my missis; you can go there. Tell 'em I sent you X 42." 
 
 Ulrica thanked the man, and offered him a shilling from her slender store. 
 But he shook his head. 
 
 "No no; I don't want nothink ; you'll find plenty to do with your 
 money. Round the corner. Oh, p'raps you don't know your way. Hi, 
 Jim! Here, take this lady to The Three Crowns sharp!" 
 
 " Right ye are, guv'nor. This way, lady." 
 
 Ulrica thanked the man again, and followed the little ragged urchin, 
 unconscious of the fact that she in turn was being followed. 
 
 The Three Crowns turned out to be a small, smart-looking public -house. 
 
 Ulrica recoiled at first; she could not enter those swinging glass-doors, 
 from behind which came the sound of loud voices singing a music-hall ditty, 
 she said to herself; but her cicerone had no intention of taking her there. 
 He pushed open a door, marked " Private Bar," and held it for Ulrica to 
 pass through. > 
 
 The room was dimly lighted, and smelt strongly of tobacco. It was 
 empty. 
 
 Ulrica had not tasted food since morning, and then not much. Her 
 misery had been and was still so great, all appetite was gone, but she felt 
 strangely weak. 
 
 " Mrs. Cogger Mrs. Cog-g-er ! " shouted the small boy shrilly, as Ulrica 
 sank onto one of the leather seats beside the table. 
 
 " Well, now, what's up? " demanded a loud voice, and a woman entered 
 the room. She was very fat and very smart; one mass of beads and cherry 
 ribbons. 
 
 " Dan's sent a lady wants somethink," explained the boy. 
 
 Mrs. Cogger curtseyed to Ulrica, who had risen.
 
 92 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " I want a bedroom, please," faltered the girl, " and something to eat." 
 
 Mrs. Cogger eyed her carefully. 
 
 " Yes," she said slowly ; " any luggage, miss? " 
 
 Ulrica shook her head. 
 
 " Ahem ! " Mrs. Cogger coughed ; " it is our custom to " 
 
 " To be paid in advance," finished Ulrica. " Certainly ; how much must 
 I give you? " 
 
 The landlady looked a little confused. 
 
 " Shall you stay long, miss? " she asked. 
 
 " For three days, at least. " 
 
 " Then give me a sovereign in advance, and I'll make you as comfortable 
 as I can. This way, miss. " 
 
 Ulrica gave the boy a shilling, and then toiled up the narrow staircase 
 after Mrs. Cogger's portly form. 
 
 The bedroom was small, scantily furnished, but clean. 
 
 Ulrica sank exhausted into a chair, and, after ordering something to eat, 
 she begged for writing-paper, and sat down to ask Sam for help and advice. 
 
 She did not touch on the subject of her father's crime. She took it for 
 granted Sam would know what she meant ; she merely told him her con- 
 nection with her friends was severed, she was very wretched, and would he 
 help her to earn her living in some way? 
 
 After swallowing a fewmouthfuls she told the landladly she was going to 
 post her letter, and made her way to the office outside the station. 
 
 She was soon there and back, and still the figure followed her stealthily. 
 It was a man in a dark ulster, with a felt hat pulled low over his brows. 
 
 He watched her enter the " private bar " again, then nodded and strolled 
 away. 
 
 "Good! She will stay there for to-night. Poor, ignorant plotter 
 to think to escape me ! I thought she would face her lover and tell him 
 all. Perhaps this is only a blind. I must watch and be careful. " 
 
 The dark, miserable night passed. 
 
 Ulrica had tossed and turned on her hard bed, but at last had sunk into; 
 a troubled sleep. She could not hear from Sam for two days yet, and until 
 then she determined to keep close in her hiding-place. 
 
 The next morning broke wet and cheerless. Mrs. Cogger prepared a 
 substantial meal, and carried it into a small room behind the private bar. 
 
 Here Ulrica sat shivering over a smoky fire. Breakfast she could eat 
 none. She was too ill sick with anxiety till Sam's letter came. 
 
 Outside in the bar several men were drinking and talking, among them 
 a clean-shaven groomlike-looking man. Mrs. Cogger was very busy serv- 
 ing them, and chatting, and by-and-by a woman came in, with whom she 
 shook hands. 
 
 " Well, I don't mind if I do," said this woman, when invited to have 
 something comforting, " for it's blessed cold outside. Dan said he'd sent 
 you a lady-customer last night, Jane." 
 
 " Yes, it was all right ; she came, and is here now." 
 . The groom was talking with the rest, but he had one ear on the 
 woman. 
 
 " Going to stay here ? " demanded the new-comer. 
 
 " Dunno somethink queer about her. Oh, she's respectable ! I don't 
 mean that. Expects she'll stay for three days anyhow, she's paid for it. 
 Seems as if she were troubled like. I think she's waiting for a letter from 
 somewheres. "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 93 
 
 The groom leisurely finished his glass, then, with a good-morning all 
 round, sauntered out of the bar. 
 
 Once outside, he gave a sharp look round, then started down the street 
 and turned a corner. Here he ran against a man waiting. 
 
 " I've found out all, sir. She's agoing to stay for another day or two ; 
 is expecting a letter, or something of the sort. 
 
 "Good, "said Horace Mott ; "there's your money. Keep your eyes 
 open all to-day, and bring me news at once if anything happens. " 
 
 The miserable morning dragged on. Ulrica tried to read, but she was 
 too ill to do anything but rest on her hard bed. 
 
 Mrs. Cogger came up now and then to see her, and was much concerned 
 at her want of appetite. 
 
 " You'll die that's what it is," she said, as she carried the supper down 
 at night untasted. 
 
 The next morning Ulrica sought the landlady, and feverishly begged for 
 work. 
 
 "Give me anything to do anything! I don't care what it is," she 
 pleaded. In her heart she said, " If I don't do something, I shall go mad !" 
 
 The memory of what she had gone through, and the shame and misery, 
 the hopelessness of her position, were too terrible. 
 
 Mrs. Cogger paused to think, 
 
 " I ain't got nothing for you to do," she said ; " but," then she added, 
 " can you sew ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," cried the girl, a flush creeping over her pale lovely face ; 
 "but I I can't go out. I want to work here." 
 
 " I'll manage it. Miss Ward across the way is a dressmaker. She was 
 only asking me this morning for some one to do the odd jobs, stitch on the 
 buttons, and such like." 
 
 " Oh, if you will speak to her, I shall be grateful ! " 
 
 " You'll get eighteen pence a day," said Mrs. Cogger, and disappeared. 
 
 The result of her speaking was that Ulrica found her hands busy all the 
 day sewing brass buttons onto a plaid dress, finishing off the seams and all 
 the bands necessary. It was new and not pretty work, but it kept her 
 
 brain from going, and let her feverish anxiety loose from her burning heart. 
 * * ***** 
 
 "A letter, miss." 
 
 Ulrica dropped her work. It was the eve of the fourth day. It was like 
 a year more, a century of years since that morning at the old well. 
 
 Ulrica looked at the envelope. It was in an unknown hand, addressed to 
 " Miss Barker " (the name she had chosen). For some time past Sam had 
 been unable to write himself, so this did not alarm her. A cheque slipped 
 from the letter as she unfolded it, but it lay unheeded on her knees. 
 
 She was gazing at the lines, grasping the meaning slowly. 
 
 They ran as follows : 
 
 Paris, Oct. 30, 188 
 
 "MADAM : I am instructed by my client, Mrs. Samuel Loudon, to inform you of 
 the death of her husband on the ult., at the same time to forward you the en- 
 closed draft on Coutts* Bank for ^50. Mrs. Loudon also begs me to say that she is 
 grieved to hear of your misfortune and trusts the dishonor you speak of does not affect 
 you individually. She will be unable to offer you any further assistance, and begs that 
 you will not apply to her again. Kindly send an acknowledgement of the cheque. I am, 
 madam, faithfully yours, 
 
 " EDWARD LOWK." 
 
 The letter fluttered to the ground. 
 
 Sam dead i It was iaapossibk: it was horrible I
 
 94 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 To think of his cheery face stiff in death, his warm-toned voice silent for- 
 ever it was more than she could understand, it was awful ! She let her 
 hands sink to her knees, and her head fall onto her breast. 
 
 She was indeed forlorn indeed alone. Where were her tears? Why 
 would they not come and break the band that was stealing round her 
 throat and heart? Was she turned to stone? 
 
 She hardly knew, she scarcely realized that she lived; she seemed numbed 
 with her pain and grief. 
 
 The door opening roused her. 
 
 Mrs. Cogger came in a little breathless from toiling up the stairs, and 
 she sank into a chair. , 
 
 "Come, my dear, this won't do, you know," she said as soon as she 
 could speak; "if you don't eat, I shall have you ill in my house, and I 
 can't abide illness." 
 Ulrica looked at her in a dazed way. 
 
 " I shall go away to-morrow," she said, speaking almost mechanically. 
 
 Mrs. Cogger gave her a swift, sharp look. 
 
 " Yes, of course, " she said. " Now, I've come up to ask you just to trot 
 down with me, and 'ave a bit of supper with me and my good man." 
 
 " You are very good," said Ulrica, still mechanically. 
 
 " You ain't eat nothink for nearly two days, and you must have some- 
 think." 
 
 Mrs. Cogger rose, her sharp eyes had caught sight of the cheque on the 
 floor. 
 
 " Don't leave your money kicking about like that," she remonstrated. 
 
 Ulrica stooped and picked up both the letter and cheque. 
 
 " Now, you'll come, won't you ? " urged Mrs. Cogger good-naturedly. 
 
 Ulrica still seemed stunned and bewildered, but she was conscious that a 
 terrible future lay before her ; she must not get ill, deserted as she 
 was. 
 
 " Yes," she said faintly ; " I will come in a minute." 
 
 Mrs. Cogger nodded, turned on her heel, and went laboriously down the 
 stairs again. 
 
 Ulrica, left alone, sat silent for a moment ; then, drawing her writing 
 materials towards her, addressed an envelope to Mrs. Loudon, and, putting 
 the cheque back, closed it and slipped it into her pocket. 
 
 The insulting letter had wounded her at first, but now she dismissed 
 Mrs. Loudon from her distraught mind ; she had need of all her strength 
 and courage to face her life henceforth. 
 
 She made her way slowly in the little parlor behind the bar, and was 
 welcomed loudly by Mrs. Cogger and her husband. 
 
 "Now, sit ye down, my dear," commanded the landlady, turning round 
 from the fire, " and make yourself at home. " 
 
 Ulrica sank into a chair, and Mr. Cogger immediately proffered her a 
 cup of steaming coffee. 
 
 The girl tried to smile her thanks, but in vain ; she could only murmur 
 a few words. 
 
 The meal was humble but plentiful, and Mrs. Cogger hospitably pushed 
 everything towards her guest. 
 
 Ulrica forced herself to eat, and the food did her good. 
 
 She listened to the gossip of the buxom landlady and her spouse as in a 
 dream, and was grateful that they left her in peace. 
 
 At last, as the meal ended, she rose to go. t
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 95 
 
 " Thank you for all your kindness to me," she said in low tones. " I 
 can never repay you. " 
 
 " I don't want payment," exclaimed Mrs. Cogger ; then, breaking off as 
 the barmaid entered the room : " Now, Jane, what is it ?" 
 
 " A gentleman, ma'am, says he must see you." 
 
 Ulrica turned slowly and faced the door ; some terrible fear was on 
 her. 
 
 There, standing calm and quiet, with a smile on his mouth and gleam in 
 his eye, was Horace Mott. 
 
 She sank slowly into her chair, dimly conscious of his hand on her 
 shoulder, dimly hearing his voice ring out : 
 
 ' " I must apologize. I have been looking everywhere for this lady. She 
 is my wife!" 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 wife!" exclaimed Mrs. Cogger. " Lor', sir ; what a surprise! 
 1 Miss that is to say, Mrs. Barker never said as she was married. 
 
 Horace Mott smiled again, and the grip of his hand on that slender 
 shoulder grew firmer. 
 
 " I don't think we need disguise anything from you, madam," he said 
 pleasantly. " The fact is, my little wife and I disagreed a few days ago. 
 The fault was mine. I own it, and I have come to beg her forgiveness 
 and take her home." 
 
 Ulrica seemed to wake from her semi-trance; she staggered to her feet. 
 
 "No, no; not with you not "she gasped, but the words died 
 
 away in a moan, and her head sank forward. 
 
 Horace Mott drew her unconscious form close to his heart. 
 
 At the contact his eyes flashed and his pulses thrilled, but his voice was 
 perfectly calm as he spoke to the astonished Mrs. Cogger and her husband. 
 
 "She has fainted, poor darling! How ill she looks! I can never for- 
 give myself. I could have cut out my tongue for the angry words I said; but 
 I never thought she would leave me. Ah, madam, you have a woman's 
 true heart; you can sympathize with us. You understand?" 
 
 "I do I do," nodded Mrs. Cogger; and she gave a deep sigh. "Me 
 and my husband had 'caps of squabbles, but that was long ago. We made 
 it all up again, and so will she, poor young lady. She looked_such a mite 
 of a girl, I should never have imagined she was married." 
 
 Horace Mott gazed at Ulrica's pale, lovely face pressed against his 
 coat. 
 
 He laid her gently on the hard sofa, and took up her small left hand. 
 
 He shook his head sorrowfully. 
 
 " Her ring the badge of our love!" he said, as if to himself "you 
 threw it off, my darling, in your sorrow, but I found it, and once more it 
 shall be put on its resting-place." 
 
 There was not a spark of life in the still girlish figure, a flicker of re- 
 turning consciousness on her face. 
 
 He felt his spirits rise. 
 
 This was unlooked-for good luck. 
 
 He had expected great difficulty, perhaps defeat, and hereVas Ulrica 
 herself lending him the very aid he required.
 
 g6 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " She makes no sign," he said, as both Mrs. Cogger and the maid bent 
 over her. " Well, perhaps it is better. I will carry her home, and let her 
 wake to see the things that I scattered about her in our new first happi- 
 ness." 
 
 He knelt beside her, and drew her once more into his arms. 
 
 " Lor', ma'am, ain't he fond aud good?" whispered the maid in Mrs. 
 Cogger' s ear. 
 
 The devotion f the pretended husband had worked its way with both 
 women, and, as for Mr. Cogger, he had lurched sheepishly out of the 
 room. Fainting ladies were not much in his way. 
 
 " Have you fur to take her ? " inquired the buxom landlady. 
 
 Horace Mott shook his head. 
 
 " We live in the country," he said, caressing Ulrica's cold hand with his 
 lips ; " but 1 shall take her to my London house. My carriage is at the 
 door. Poor, pretty darling ! Did she think she could be lost from me ? I 
 traced her easily. And now, if you bring me her luggage, if she has any 
 her cloak and things I will carry her away with me. " 
 
 " But is it safe ? Won't she be ill ? Better let her wait till she comes 
 round," Mrs. Cogger said as the barmaid ran up-stairs at his bidding. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Unfortunately I have seen her in these faints before. She is delicate ; 
 her nerves have been unstrung. She may remain unconscious for some 
 time. I will send for her doctor as soon as we arrive home. " 
 
 The maid brought down the cloak, hat, and veil, and a few odds-and- 
 ends she had found lying about. 
 
 "There, madam, that is for your trouble and kindness." Mott put 
 down a five-pound note. " And that is my address, should you want 
 me." 
 
 He gave her a fictitious name, both of himself and of the locality ; then, 
 throwing the cloak over Ulrica, he lifted her easily in his arms, and with 
 the aid of the two women, who were profuse in their thanks for he had 
 slipped a sovereign into the maid's hand too carried his precious burden 
 to the carriage waiting. 
 
 He placed Ulrica in one corner, sprang in himself, uttered the magical 
 word " Home," and was whirled away. 
 
 " Ah, any one can see that he's a real gentleman," observed Mrs. Cogger 
 triumphantly, holding up the bank-note to her husband's eyes. 
 
 Mr. Cogger smoked in silence for a few minutes ; his ruddy face looked 
 very solemn. 
 
 " That's a lot of pay for little work, Liza, ain't it ? " he asked. " Sup- 
 pose she ain't his wife ? The poor young thing didn't have no chance to 
 speak, and her face was kind of horror-stricken when she see him first. I 
 'ope it's all right." 
 
 Mrs. Cogger sat down suddenly. 
 
 " Lor', Jim, suppose it isn't, and she so nice and pleasant-spoken, too!" 
 The good woman's countenance paled a little suddenly. " That 'ud be 
 awful ;" then her face lightened. " But what a fool I am. See, he's left 
 his haddress, so it must be all right. Look for yourself!" 
 
 Mr. Cogger read the card, and then nodded his head. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is; but I didn't kind o' like the looks of him quite, 
 Liza, and that's the truth. " 
 
 On rolled the swift wheels of the carriage ; the shop-lights flashing in at 
 the windows shone on the girl's white face, and showed the watcher that
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 97 
 
 the motion of the carriage was recalling life to the pallid lips and heavy 
 eye-lids. 
 
 Ulrica moved faintly. She was conscious of a beating and thumping in 
 in her ears, and the whirr of incessant turmoil around her. 
 
 A maze of disturbed color floated before her eyes ; at one time myriads 
 of stars seemed glittering in the gloom ; then all was dark a heavy black 
 darkness that woke a faint indefinable thrill of fear in her slowly throbbing 
 heart. 
 
 Horace Mott gazed at her eagerly. Sfee was very tardy in coming to 
 herself, for which he was thankful. 
 
 He uttered curses at the horses for their slowness, yet their speed was 
 as fast as could be expected in a crowded thoroughfare. 
 
 At last he drew his breath. They were near their destination. The car- 
 riage stopped in a quiet spot, and he leaped out. 
 
 Vague terrors filled Ulrica's brain ; she was dimly conscious of being 
 lifted from some dark place, carried swiftly, it seemed, up-stairs, and then 
 laid gently on some soft cushions in a room filled with delicious, faint fra- 
 grance, and lit by tender, rose-hued lights. 
 
 She struggled to a sitting position. The vague dream became now each 
 instant more real, more acute ; her trembling lips tried to utter a cry, but 
 the sound was frozen on them, as looking round feverishly, her eyes rested 
 on the form of Horace Mott. 
 
 With a sudden access of strength, she rose to her feet, one hand resting 
 on the couch. 
 
 " Where am I? How dare you come near me! Oh, Heavens! what 
 has happened to me ? " She grew ghastly white again, and her lips only 
 whispered the words : " What place is this ? " 
 
 He stood calmly by the fire, a smile of triumph on his lips. 
 
 " This is your home, Ulrica ! " he said coolly and distinctly. 
 
 " My home!" she breathed rather than spoke. Her limbs were quiver- 
 ing with weakness ; she felt sick and cold. She passed one hand over her 
 eyes, as if to dispel the present vision, then gradually sank onto the couch, 
 numb with dread and overwhelming fear. 
 
 " Yes, your future home," continued the man ; " do you like it? Come, 
 let me lead you round, and show you my treasures yours now. " 
 
 He advanced towards her and stretched out his hand, but Ulrica recoiled 
 from him as from a deadly poisonous snake, her great distraught eyes fixed 
 on him, wide with her disgust and fear. 
 
 " Don't touch me ! " she murmured almost passionately ; " don't come 
 near me! I I can't understand all yet ; but I begin to know some of the 
 truth. I " she stopped for an instant " I am in your power." 
 
 He met her eyes full ; the smile never died from his lips. 
 
 "You are," was all he said. 
 
 Ulrica's head drooped ; she did not utter a scream or an exclamation ; 
 she seemed overwhelmed. 
 
 " Ulrica," said Mott, touched for an instant by her silent abject misery, 
 " you need not fear me. I have told you that I love you " she shud- 
 dered slightly, but he took no heed " and as I love, so I honor you. I 
 have brought you here against your will, because I knew, once free, you 
 would never give yourself to me. Now well, now you must ; for though 
 I respect you, though I hold you to be the purest of God's creatures on 
 earth, the world henceforth would not judge you so. Were I even now at 
 this moment to open wide my doors and bid you go forth, it would be use-
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 99 
 
 less. No ; it may be mean, it may be a coward's act, but it is done your 
 good name, that priceless treasure of a lonely woman, is taken from you if 
 you leave me now but as my wife. You " 
 
 Ulrica stopped him; she knelt at his feet. 
 
 " Are you a man? " she whispered in broken sobs. " If so, in pity's name 
 let me go! I could not be your your wife, when every breath in my 
 body, every beat of my heart, is given to to him! Let me go oh, 
 have pity; be merciful! I am in your power, and I plead to you see, I 
 kneel to you ! By all you hold holy; by the name of your mother ; of your 
 God, I I " 
 
 The words died away; she sank, crouched before him ; a dark shadow 
 passed over his face, his lips were compressed; he stooped and lifted her. 
 
 " Let us have no more of this. My mind is made up. Once settled, I 
 never alter. In a day's time you must become my wife. This will be your 
 apartment till then. Everything you want you shall have; but my wife 
 you shall be!" 
 
 " There is no law to make me," Ulrica said, suddenly, as, in an instant, 
 all weakness, tears and womanly pleading fell from her. She spoke coldly 
 and resolutely. 
 
 He frowned. He knew the truth of this well. 
 
 Only by touching her on the subject of her honor could he bring her 
 round. 
 
 He was silent only for one second. 
 
 " True, there is no written law, but there is one existing, nevertheless. 
 Go back to the world. Try to make your living. Where will you get 
 employment with the taint and whisper of shame on your name? Will 
 your lover receive you, or your friends take your hand? Try them." 
 
 " And this you call love ! " said the girl, quietly, yet so contemptuously 
 that he winced. "You love me; yet you first sully my honor my self- 
 respect before you try to win even a passing thought of esteem from my 
 heart. I would rather starve in a gutter die in the street than become 
 your wife ! Let me go. I am not afraid of the world. It is only those 
 who have sinned that need fear. There is no sin in my life God is my 
 witness to that. All shame that comes upon me now is of your bringing 
 you, who profess to love me ! Love! You cannot comprehend you 
 cannot understand the beauty, the depth, the holiness of true love ! It 
 came to me, and will never go. The very thought of such a nature as 
 yours makes me shudder; the very touch of your hand is pollution ! A man 
 to have spoken as you have spoken acted as you have done is no 
 longer a man. He is a devil ! " 
 
 The flood of passionate words poured from her pallid lips with a vehe- 
 mence that astounded Horace Mott. He gazed at her lovely face, white 
 as carven marble, silently as she ceased, then broke into a short laugh. 
 
 " Bravo ! " What an actress you would make ! Upon my word, I think 
 I must have you trained for the stage. You are more lovely now, Ulrica, 
 than I have ever seen you. Yes ; I think I like you better roused than 
 placidly beautiful ! " 
 
 The girl's head drooped with shame ; she drew her cloak round her, and 
 turned to the door. The heat of her agitation was fleeting fast, and with 
 it her strength ; she trembled in every limb. 
 
 "After the words I have spoken," she whispered rather than said, 
 " there is only one course open to you. I refuse to be your wife, neithei 
 threats nor entreaties will move me, therefore let me go. The world is
 
 IOO HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 wide, we need never meet ; perhaps before long a merciful peace and 
 oblivion may come to me. It will be welcome, for the burden of crime 
 and shame that has fallen upon me is almost more than I can bear ; it has 
 broken my heart. What have I to live for now ? This is the last request 
 I shall make to you : let me go now, and you will atone for all that has 
 gone before ! " 
 
 She had moved towards the door, but he stepped before her and laid 
 his hand on hers. 
 
 " I am sorry to be discourteous, but refuse you I must. You have 
 spoken hard words to me, but that will not alter my purpose. As I have 
 compromised you, so I act as a man ought, and lay my hand and heart at 
 your feet, and if you are so quixotic as to refuse this reparation, then I 
 must act for you, and decline to permit you to think for yourself. In plain 
 words, Ulrica, I am your master, and I intend to be obeyed." 
 
 Horace Mott regarded her quietly, then walked to the fireplace and 
 rang the bell. 
 
 A middle-aged woman, clean and very respectable, answered the sum- 
 mons. She evinced no surprise at seeing Ulrica, but turned her whole 
 attention on her master. 
 
 " Graves," said he, "you must wait on this lady; give her everything she 
 requires. She will remain here for a day or two, and then will become my 
 wife, our marriage taking place by special license. Remember, she is your 
 mistress; her commands are your laws." 
 
 "Yes, sir I understand," answered Graves. 
 
 " Good, then. Come with me for one instant ; I wish to speak to you." 
 
 Horace Mott strolled leisurely towards the girl's crouching figure. 
 
 " Silly child ! " he said half contemptuously. " Dry your tears. What 
 use in railing at your fate? It can't be altered now, and your eyes are 
 much too glorious to ruin in this way. Good-night I " 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TTND is that all? " inquired Dr. Strong. 
 
 /I He was sitting at a writing-table; before him was a man an in- 
 describably shabby, dirty, genteel-looking person. 
 
 The room was large and airy; from the windows could be caught a 
 glimpse of the wildest thoroughfare in London it was the Langham 
 Hotel. An inner room joined in which was a bed with curtains, etc. 
 
 " Yes, sir, that's all. We traced the young lady quite easy like to this 
 public-house; she stayed there three days, and then she went away with a 
 gentleman in a carriage. " 
 
 Guy rose softly and closed the door leading into the bedroom. 
 
 " We must find her, " he said decidedly to the detective. " Have you no 
 further clew ? " 
 
 The man shook his head. 
 
 "None, sir," he answered; "though I'm bound to say I still am 
 suspicious. That landlady, Mrs. Cogger, seemed so confused like when 
 we went and questioned her." 
 
 " She has been taken away she never went willingly," Guy declared, 
 as if to himself.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. IOI 
 
 " That's what I mean, sir," the detective chimed in hurriedly ; " I think 
 the landlady knows more than she will say, but I can't get anything further 
 out of her." 
 
 "We must think." 
 
 Guy walked up and down with a white set face. It was a horrible 
 dilemma. Ulrica was gone worse, was, in all probability, in the power 
 of this cniel villain Mott. How to act ? What to do ? In the inner 
 room lay John Dunworthy, ill, prostrate with the blow that had come 
 upon him, unable to give one helping hand ; he had to think, to plan all 
 by himself. 
 
 " Me and my mate are willing to do anything in our power, sir," said 
 the detective, as he watched the man struggling with his thoughts. " Per- 
 ' haps if you was to come to the landlady, it would do some good." 
 
 Guy lifted his head. 
 
 " Yes, I will do that," he answered at once. 
 
 He rang the bell, and Sir John's man appeared. 
 
 " Gryce," he said, " remain by your master till I return ; he must not be 
 disturbed, remember." 
 
 " Very well, sir. " 
 
 Gryce helped him on with his coat, and then nodding to the detective to 
 follow, Guy passed out. 
 
 Gryce sat obediently in the room for a while, reading the newspapers, 
 then he stole softly to the bedroom. The sick man lay dozing uneasily ; 
 he needed nothing. 
 
 The valet turned his attention out of the window, yawning the while 
 most drearily. 
 
 Suddenly he looked round. The door had opened, and a kdy stood in 
 the room. 
 
 Gryce was at once the obsequious servant ; notwitstanding the thick black 
 veil and heavy cloak he recognized the guest at once. 
 
 " Go to No. 15; Lady Dunworthy has arrived; she is asking for you. 
 This is Dr. Strong's room ? Yes ; then I will wait for him." 
 
 Gryce bowed, and hurried away, and once alone Connie Wren threw 
 back her veil and drew a long breath. 
 
 Her face looked really pretty with its. triumphant expression ; there was 
 a fire in her cold eyes, and a flush of color on her fair cheeks. 
 
 " At last it has come at last ! " she muttered, stealing softly to the sick 
 man's side ; " in all my plans I never dreamt of this. How ill he looks! 
 Well, I will cure him." 
 
 She threw off her cloak, sank into a chair beside the bed, and tend- 
 erly laid her hand on the man's fevered brow. 
 
 Sir John moved uneasily beneath her touch at first, but then it seemed 
 to soothe him, and he murmured some confused whispers in which the eager 
 listener caught the name Ulrica. 
 
 " Always her ! " she thought to herself with a frown. " Will he never for- 
 get her? She has deceived him, brought shame and disgrace upon herself, 
 and yet he thinks only of her. Bah I I am a fool ! I must give him time. 
 Then, Madame Ulrica, we shall see who will triumph in the end ! " 
 
 Sir John moved again several times, then opened his heavy eyes. 
 
 At first agleamofjoy shot into them as he saw a woman's form beside 
 the bed, then that vanished, and he sighed wearily as he said with diffi- 
 culty: 
 
 " Miss Wren Connie you here 1 Where where is Strong? "
 
 102 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " Dr. Strong will be here directly. I am come to nurse you," whispered 
 Connie, slipping on her knees beside the bed, dropping her voice to a gen- 
 tle tender cadence. "I want to help you to comfort you now in your 
 great trouble to do all I can to to bring her back. " 
 
 Sir John carried her hand to his lips. 
 
 " You are good," he said slowly " very good. I thank you." 
 
 Connie's heart throbbed ; this was the beginning of the end. 
 
 " Is is my mother here? " he asked, after a pause. 
 
 Connie nodded. 
 
 " But she shall not trouble you I will not let her. Ah, Sir John, think 
 of me as a friend a sister ; trust in me and believe me. " 
 
 The man turned his face towards her ; her soft, womanly words fell on 
 his wounded heart like heavenly balm. 
 
 " I do," he whispered fervently ; " I do, indeed. You are an angel of 
 goodness. If if you will help me now, you will do more for me than I 
 can say. " 
 
 Connie only smiled sweetly ; then she sat beside him till his eyes closed 
 once again in sleep, and his weary turmoil of thoughts were lost in peace- 
 ful oblivion. . 
 
 * * * * * **** 
 
 For a long while Ulrica sat thinking. What was she to do ? 
 
 Horace Mott's cruel, sinister face rose before her, and brought with it a 
 shudder of dislike and fear ; the very thought of his words stung her to 
 madness. 
 
 Marriage with him become the wife of a liar, a villain, such as he! 
 Never ! 
 
 And yet even as she thought this her hands trembled, her heart sank. . 
 
 What could she do? How escape from this prison and its horrible alter- 
 native ? Graves, could she not bribe her ? But with what ? 
 
 Jewels she had none, and in her purse there was one solitary gold coin 
 beside a few shillings. 
 
 Ah, a thought came. She caught her dress in her hand eagerly hur- 
 riedly. She remembered the draft Mrs. Loudon had sent. She had not 
 posted it back ; she would give that. Her hands searched the pocket ; it 
 was empty. Then she had been robbed also. Her last chance was gone. 
 
 Tears were dried up at their source ; she sat like a statue carven in mar- 
 ble, and was in this attitude, when a slight noise caused her to start up- 
 right as Graves came in. 
 
 " You have taken my purse and letter," cried Ulrica feverishly. " Give 
 them back to me at once. Oh, why are you so wicked, so cruel to me ? 
 Don't you see can't you see I am brought here against my will ? That 
 man has dared to drag me here when I was senseless and could not help 
 myself. He is a coward, and he is my greatest enemy ! Oh, woman 
 woman ! Help me ; don't shut off your sympathy and your pity from me ; 
 indeed indeed, I want it. I am alone utterly alone in the world ; only 
 a girl, with no mother, no friends no one to whom I can turn. You are 
 a woman perhaps you yourself have a daughter. Ah, I see by your face 
 you have! Then, for her sake for the sake of this girl who is who 
 must be dear to you, help me now ! I cannot marry this man I cannot 
 I cannot ! " 
 
 Graves looked down at the slender form, with masses of warm brown 
 hair tossed about the shoulders, and for one instant a passing expression of 
 pity dawned on her face. It was gone the next instant.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 I0 3 
 
 " I cannot help you," she said, stooping and lifting the girl to her feet ; 
 * besides, why do you ask me? Mr. Mott wishes to marry you. Surely there 
 is nothing dishonorable in that ? If he had wished to harm you, or to 
 shame you, he could have done so a dozen times ; but he brought you to 
 me. You have been in my care ; he has not even remained in the house 
 since he left you last night. Surely you are foolish ! A man cannot do 
 more than make a woman his wife, and that he loves you I can easily see. " 
 " Loves me ! " cried Ulrica bitterly. " Oh, what poor what despica- 
 ble love! I tell you I pleaded to him last night to let me go. I told him 
 I could never marry him, and what did this good, this honorable man de- 
 clare ? That he had ruined my reputation, sullied my good name, and that 
 if I would live, I must marry him. Love, indeed ! Oh, he loves me greatly ! " 
 Graves was silent for an instant. 
 
 " Perhaps he was wrong to say that," she observed after a while ; "but 
 you must have angered him or he would never have done so. I know Hor- 
 ace Mott well ; he is a true, a brave, good man ; he has proved it to me. 
 I speak as I have found him." 
 
 Ulrica stared at the woman ; she was almost enthusiastic ; but as she 
 met the girl's surprised look, the enthusiasm vanished ; she was once more 
 the stolid, hard woman. 
 
 " Will you let me help you to dress, madame ? " she asked deferentially. 
 " You refuse to give me any assistance to escape ? " 
 Ulrica looked up quietly. 
 
 " Yes," Graves said as quietly ; " my promise is pledged to Mr. Mott. 
 Years ago, I gave him my word that if ever I could repay him for an action 
 he did for me, I would do so. Three days ago he came to me and claimed 
 my promise ; it was to help him marry you. I do not seek to know why 
 he wants that help it is sufficient to me that he does need it, and so I 
 give it to him. A promise with me is as sacred as an oath. I cannot 
 break it. " 
 
 " Not if you know that you are helping him to do that which is worse 
 than cruel which is a sin ?" asked the girl very quietly, though she trem- 
 bled in every limb. 
 
 The woman nodded her head. 
 
 " The motive is not my affair," she said coldly. " I am not curious. I 
 want to know nothing. As I said before, if he wishes to marry you, there 
 can be no dishonor. " 
 
 " There can be there is ! " cried Ulrica wildly. " Dishonor! contam- 
 ination ! horror ! Oh, think think if your daughter were in my place, 
 pleading for aid, would not your heart break ? " 
 
 The soft look came once more over Graves' countenance. 
 " It is of her I am thinking. She was wronged, her life was ruined. 
 Horace Mott avenged her wrong. He gave her peace at the last ; he 
 forced her betrayer to marry her before she died. When I learnt this I 
 vowed to give him whatever he should ask. I have known him for years 
 from a boy. Once again, before my lips are sealed, I tell you he is true, 
 he is brave, he is good ; he does you no dishonor in offering you marriage; 
 rather should you rejoice in winning such a man for your husband. I have 
 done. I shall say no more. Breakfast is served in the next room ; I will 
 wait for you there." 
 
 She passed through the curtains as she finished, leaving Ulrica plunged 
 fcto a maze of troubled thoughts, predominant among which was th one 
 *"* that helg was refused her, and she had to face the future alone.
 
 104 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 T .IKE one in a dream Ulrica performed her toilet. Had she been asked 
 J_I to describe what her sensations were that dull November morning, she 
 would have shaken her head. 
 
 To fathom the true nature of her heart was a task beyond her. She 
 seemed to be another being, existing in another sphere. A century of 
 years seemed stretched between herself and the happy Ulrica glorying in 
 golden love, affection and friendship. 
 
 The memory of Sir John and her misery lived in her thoughts, but the 
 acuteness of the pain was merged into a dull, vague sense of oppression 
 and dread. 
 
 Graves glanced at the girl's white face with a momentary feeling of pity. 
 It was still beautiful, but it was the face of one who was crushed beneath 
 a mental burden that threatened to overwhelm her altogether. 
 
 She had spread a dainty breakfast. 
 
 "Come and eat," she said quietly. "You have tasted no food for 
 hours. " 
 
 Ulrica shook her head. 
 
 " I cannot eat ; the food would choke me. " 
 
 Graves looked at the slender form in the black dress. 
 
 " You have more trouble than the thought of this marriage. Wha^ is 
 it ? " she asked suddenly, almost involuntarily. 
 
 Ulrica turned her wondrous star-like eyes upon the woman. 
 
 " My heart is broken," she said quietly, but unutterably sadly, " and my 
 life is ended. " 
 
 " You are young to say that." 
 
 "I am not yet twenty," Ulrica replied, dreamily gazing into the fire; 
 "and yet " here she pressed her hand to her heart " here I seem an old 
 woman, worn down with weariness, with grief, with shame. " 
 
 "There is no shame in your young life, if faces can be trusted." 
 
 Graves said this as if to herself. 
 
 Ulrica gave a sigh. 
 
 " And yet dishonor will cling to me till I die. " 
 
 The woman opened her lips, but she checked herself, and turning to the 
 table, said no more. 
 
 Ulrica left the fire and went to the window. 
 
 There were houses opposite big, cold, sententious-looking places. 
 Not a face was to be seen at any window. There was an air of calmness 
 and quietness that struck the new comer with a chill of discomfort. To 
 Ulrica it made no feeling at all ; she gazed, but she was scarcely conscious 
 of what she saw. Her limbs were trembling, her head heavy ; she had a 
 pain in her throat. 
 
 " I am going to be ill," she said to herself, as with a prolonged shiver 
 she went back to the fire. " Perhaps I shall die. " 
 
 She sat on a low chair, bending to the blaze, which did not warm her 
 chilled limbs ; and then, so weak had she grown, she swallowed obediently, 
 but with difficulty, the food Graves brought to her.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 10$ 
 
 The woman stood looking down at her as she sank back and closed her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Am I doing right? " muttered Graves to herself. " Her poor distraught 
 face goes straight to my heart; and yet I have promised I cannot go 
 back. Horace Mott could not be the villain she says, or he would never 
 have done what he did for my poor Florrie. No, no; I must trust him. I 
 must keep my promise; yet I wish she had not asked for help it troubles 
 me." 
 
 She withdrew softly, and Ulrica lay before the fire; she had dropped into 
 a doze, and the clock ticked on musically in the silence. 
 
 Suddenly Ulrica woke from her sleep, her heart beating wildly, her head 
 reeling; instinctively she felt that the hour of her struggle had come. 
 
 There, with his arm resting on the broad marble mantel-piece, a smile of 
 triumph mingling with the glow of unrestrained passion and admiration in 
 his eyes, stood Horace Mott, watching her earnestly. 
 
 " Well," he said, gayly, "my poor, pale darling, have you no word for 
 me?" 
 
 Ulrica pressed her hand to her throbbing heart; she called all her courage 
 to her rescue, and rose to her feet. 
 
 " I have a few words, " she said in a voice that sounded weak and strange 
 to her own ears, " and they are but a repetition of what I said to you last 
 night. Give me my my freedom; let me go ! " 
 He only smiled. 
 
 " Still on the same tune ! I thought we arranged all that most completely 
 last night. I don't feel disposed to open the subject again." 
 
 " Have you no pity? " murmured the girl, dropping her face for an 
 instant on her hands. As she lifted it again she went on slowly: " Why 
 do you treat me like this? What harm have I ever done you? You came 
 across my path like a serpent. God knows I had little happiness in my 
 young days, and you broke the golden glorious gladness that had just come 
 to me." 
 
 " Let us be correct," Horace said coolly, glancing at his reflection in the 
 mirror, and caressing his mustache. " It was not I who shattered your 
 happiness ; it was the knowledge of your father's crime. You seem to 
 forget that you are the daughter of a murderer. " 
 The girl shivered as if he had struck her. 
 
 "Forget!" she whispered. "Oh, God, it is written on my heart in 
 letters of fire the shame, the horror of it ! " 
 
 He watched her with a slight sneer as she sank into the chair, and there 
 was silence between them for awhile. 
 
 By-and-by she lifted her head and passed one cold hand across her 
 eyes. 
 
 " Mr. Mott," she said, faintly but clearly, " once more, for the last time, 
 I ask you to be generous. I cannot marry you let me go. I am not 
 afraid of the world. I have suffered so horribly the last few days, I fear 
 nothing now. To marry you would be a sin a mockery. You know 
 my feelings towards you, and as a man a man with a spark of courage 
 and honor about him, I beg you to release me from this place and to 
 promise me I shall be free from you forever. " 
 
 A dark scowl had settled on his face ; he had his arms folded across his 
 breast. He looked at her quietly for an instant, then said, slowly and 
 deliberately : 
 
 " Well, you may go ! "
 
 IO6 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Ulrica rose with strength born of the rush of delight to her heart 
 and brain. 
 
 " God bless you ! " she said hurriedly, clasping her hands tight together ; 
 " I knew you would hear me. Forgive me for all the hard things I have 
 said, but but I was driven to utter them. We will forget all that is 
 past, and say good-bye now, for we shall not meet again." 
 
 She turned away, and was moving to the inner room to get her cloak, 
 her heart still thrilling with the wonderful relief, when his voice, clear and 
 cold, rang after her : 
 
 "Stay!" 
 
 Ulrica turned round, and then she knew that she had mistaken him. 
 There was no generosity, no sympathy, no manly honor in Horace Mott. 
 
 " I say you may go, but first, had you not better hear my conditions?" 
 
 Ulrica unconsciously drew nearer, but she did not speak. 
 
 " I offer you once more my hand in marriage," Horace Mott went on 
 very quietly. " Once more, do you refuse to become my wife ? " 
 
 " I do I must ! " broke from the girl's lips faintly. 
 
 " You ask for freedom ; you may go go now, but as surely as you re- 
 fuse to become my wife, as surely as you leave me, so surely will I strike 
 you to the heart, for I will kill your lover, John Dunworthy ! " 
 
 He met the great sapphire eyes, full of unspeakable dread, calmly with 
 half a smile. 
 
 " Now I bid you go. You are free, but you are warned. Perhaps you 
 have doubts that I would carry out my threat ; try me that is all. I 
 know I am behind my time ; men do not kill, you would say, in the nine- 
 teenth century, for pique or dislike ; no, but they murder for hatred, for 
 jealously, for love the love such as lives burns in my heart for you, 
 Ulrica." 
 
 He strode over to the girl, snatched her two hands in his, and gazed into 
 her white stricken face with eyes that shone like fire. She could not strug- 
 gle, she could not release herself; his horrible threat, his words, ran before 
 her eyes, and beat into her ears. 
 
 " You have your choice," he went on hurriedly and passionately ; " reject 
 me, defy me, and your lover shall be dead before a week is over. Ah, I 
 can do it, and I swear to you I will, if you set yourself against me. Your 
 answer give me your answer ! What is it to be peace or war? War 
 to the bitter end? " 
 
 " Well ? " breathed Horace Mott. 
 
 " How can I fight with you ? " she said, coldly, contemptuously, yet 
 heart-brokenly ; " our weapons are not equal. You have won. For his 
 sake the man I love better than life itself I give myself to you the 
 man I hold the most despicable, the most cowardly, the most horrible of 
 all God's creatures ! " 
 
 Horace Mott laughed, but he winced nevertheless. 
 
 " Hard words, my beautiful Ulrica hard words ! " he said, tightly fold- 
 ing his arms round her, and drawing her shivering reluctant form close to 
 him ; " but they do not wound me. I knew you must yield. I have arranged 
 everything. In two hours' time we shall be man and wife, then let him 
 come between us who dares ! " 
 
 He drew her head to his shoulder, bent his lips and kissed her cold ones 
 long and passionately. 
 
 Ulrica lay silent, still, as though life itself was extinct.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. IO7 
 
 She did not repulse him. She had submitted, and the victory poor, 
 
 pitiful victory, such as it was was his. 
 
 * * * * * * **** 
 
 The November fog crept into the church like a gray spectre that would 
 not be rested. It lingered and wreathed itself round the stone pillars, it 
 hung over the altar and its dim religious light. 
 
 No speck, no gleam of sunshine broke the gray gloom. 
 
 The echoes hollowed and returned from the arched roof; the stillness 
 and strange loneliness were like the silence of a tomb. 
 
 Before the altar was a small group of people. A girl, clad in a black 
 dress, a cloak about her slender graceful form ; a hat that shadowed but 
 could not hide her white, haggard young face ; a man, nonchalant, darkly 
 handsome and resolute; a woman, ordinary looking, in bonnet and shawl, 
 standing behind the bride ; the clerk, with open book for the responses, 
 and the priest of God. 
 
 It was Ulrica's marriage. She heard the solemn tones ring out through 
 the vast silent church, but she heeded them not. She was wondering, in 
 a vague Jdull way, if the clergyman would perform the ceremony if he 
 knew the truth. 
 
 Her lips repeated the words she was bade say, but she repeated blindly, 
 mechanically, as a child heedless of their sense or meaning. She knelt and 
 rose obediently at the clerk's whisper, but she did it all as in a dream. 
 
 It seemed to her another being who stood there in the gray cold mist, 
 taking the solemn vows of love and duty to Horace Mott. She lived only 
 in a vague, dark shadow, incomprehensible and mysterious. 
 
 The clergyman was struck by the girl's pale beautiful face, and might 
 have had his doubts, had not Horace Mott warned him that the marriage 
 had to be performed quietly, as the bride was mourning the loss of her 
 father, and the traces of trouble he would read in her face were from this 
 grief. 
 
 The last word was said ; they knelt in silence for a few seconds ; then, 
 taking his wife's cold limp hand in his, Horace Mott drew her into the 
 vestry. 
 
 He hastily scrawled his name in the register, and put the pen into Ulrica's 
 fingers. 
 
 She hesitated at first, as if she did not know what to do with it, but the 
 clergyman gently guided her hand to the line, and she wrote her maiden 
 name for the last time. 
 
 Graves then attested it and the clerk. 
 
 " Good-by, Mrs. Mott," said the clergyman courteously, and kindly hold- 
 ing out his hand ; " we may not meet again, but I wish you every possible 
 happiness in your married life. You are very young, and may expect 
 that." Then turning to Mott, he said with half a smile: "You must 
 take your wife away to some sunny clime ; her cheeks seem to have lost 
 their roses." 
 
 " We start at once for the South of France, and that will soon restore 
 her," Horace Mott replied with a show of great warmth. " This church 
 is rather cold this gloomy weather; let us hope the rest of the day may be 
 brighter. Come, my darling, we will go. " 
 
 They turned away; Ulrica had said nothing, and again a doubt crept into 
 the clergyman's mind at her strange manner and white face. 
 
 Graves followed quietly; against herself she was sorely troubled. Ulrica 
 had unconsciously touched this hard woman's heart, and this hasty mar-
 
 I08 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 riage, the girl's eyes full of dawning horror, struck her afresh with com- 
 punctuous pangs and pity. 
 
 At the church door Horace Mott turned. 
 
 " You may go, Graves; you have done all I required. Here is a ten- 
 pound note ; celebrate our wedding how you like. I am sure you made 
 Mrs. Mott so comfortable that she will return to your house when we 
 come back from France. " 
 
 Graves took the note; her eyes were fixed on Ulrica's white, drawn 
 face. Knowledge of all had returned to the girl ; she no longer dreamt, 
 she was horribly alive to everything. 
 
 The older woman looked at her, and half timidly put out her hand. 
 
 " I hope from my heart, madam, that you will be happy. I shall be both 
 gratified and honored if you will return to my house. " 
 
 Ulrica took no notice of the hand held out; she turned her wondrous 
 violet -gray eyes on the speaker slowly. 
 
 " You refused me help when I needed it most. I hope I shall never see 
 you again. " 
 
 " Come, that is scarcely cordial," observed Horace Mott, a little ill at 
 ease. " 
 
 Graves' face flushed crimson, but only for an instant. 
 
 " I would have helped you a hundred times if I had not promised. Mr. 
 Mott brought happiness to my child, and " 
 
 " That will do," curtly broke in Ulrica's husband; "I know all about 
 your gratitude. Good-morning. Come, Ulrica. " 
 
 Graves stood watching them as they went down the steps to the street, 
 and walked away. 
 
 A mist of unshed tears was in her eyes; she had not wept for years. 
 
 " God forgive me if I have done wrong ! " was her prayer as she went 
 slowly to her home. 
 
 Horace Mott drew Ulrica's unresisting hand through his arm. 
 
 " We must walk to a cab," he said tersely the church was out of the 
 beaten track " then you must have lunch, buy yourself some clothes, and 
 we will leave for Liverpool to-night. Are you not curious to know where 
 I am taking you ? " 
 
 Ulrica made no reply. 
 
 " Your lips are so pale, your cheeks so thin, my darling, that I have de- 
 cided on a sea-voyage. A trip of seven or eight days is the thing for you, 
 so I have secured our berths in the Oregon, and we sail for New York 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Ulrica still said nothing, and he bit his lip as he glanced ever and anon 
 at her white set face. 
 
 " By Heavens ! I will break her indifference turn her hatred to plead- 
 ing and love if I have to kill her ! " he muttered to himself. 
 
 A hansom crept near them at this instant, and he hailed it. 
 
 They were soon whirled into the bustling streets . Ulrica was entirely 
 ignorant of what part of the city she was traversing. She had been con- 
 veyed in a four-wheeler from Graves' house, and even had she tried to dis- 
 cover the locality, the dense fog hanging over everything would have 
 prevented her. Now she cared not where she went, having one wish only 
 in her broken heart that she might die, and end her despairing shame 
 and misery. 
 
 The cab drew up at a restaurant in Regent street. Horace Mott got out, 
 and, with an imperative movement of the hand, made the girl do likewise.
 
 HER FATAL SIN 109 
 
 He ordered a luncheon, and called for the papers. His orders were 
 obeyed promptly, and a budget of journals placed at his hand. 
 
 He ceremoniously pushed some society papers towards Ulrica, and 
 mechanically she opened them. Reading was far from her intention, but 
 the printing was a relief from the picture of that dark, handsome face 
 opposite, smiling with arrogant triumph upon her. 
 
 Horace Mott, secure in the success of his plans, gave himself up to a 
 few minutes enjoyment of the day's news. He had not progressed far when 
 a faint sound, almost a moan, came to his ears. 
 
 He looked up hurriedly. Ulrica was gazing at the printed page with 
 wide distraught eyes, and a face grown, if possible, paler and thinner. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he inquired in a quick, low voice. 
 
 She did not move or speak, and drawing the paper towards him he saw 
 at once the cause of her suffering. It was only a few lines : 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that Sir John Dunworthy lies dangerously ill at 
 the Langham. Lady Dunworthy is up from the castle to nurse her son, 
 who is in the hands of the best physicians, aided by Dr. Strong. I also 
 understand that Sir John Dun worthy's marriage is postponed indefinitely." 
 
 Horace Mott's lip curled with a triumphant sneer ; he tossed the paper 
 back. 
 
 " Poor, weak fool ! " was all he said. 
 
 In her heart Ulrica was saying over and over again : 
 
 " 111 dangerously ill dying, perhaps, and it is I who brought him to 
 this I who will have killed him ! " 
 
 She sat as in a trance, heedless of the many glances expressive of admir- 
 ation, astonishment, and, in some cases, pity, turned on ner. She would 
 have sat on for hours, had not Mott savagely broken in on her mute agony. 
 * " Eat you must eat," he whispered ; then he ordered some champagne 
 and poured her out a glass. 
 
 Ulrica swallowed a few mouthfuls of soup, but would not touch the 
 wine, and seeing that force in this public place was worse than useless, 
 Horace Mott affected a composure he was far from feeling, paid the bill, 
 and drawing her hand through his arm, led her away. 
 
 Once in the street his jealous anger burst forth. 
 
 " If you dare to think of that man again, I will kill him! " 
 
 Ulrica turned her head slowly, and looked at him curiously. 
 
 " Are you king of my heart? Can you control my thoughts? " she asked 
 him in a strange manner. 
 
 They were the first words she had addressed to him. 
 
 He laughed half confusedly ; something in the girl whom he had so 
 cruelly forced to become his wife brought a wave of self -shame over him. 
 It was gone the next moment. 
 
 " No ; but I can your life, " he cried. " And what is more, I will. 
 Henceforth you are mine mine alone. Understand, you are my slave. 
 If I order, you must obey. It is just as well to give you your lesson early; 
 it will prevent mistakes. " 
 
 A great flood of burning resentment and womanly pride, fed by her 
 hatred and contempt, suddenly welled up in Ulrica's heart. 
 
 They were in Bond street now, approaching a crossing. Gorgeous car- 
 riages filled the roadway, throngs of smart people the pavements. A wild 
 unconquerable thought came into the girl's overburdened mind to free her- 
 self from his hold and escape. She drew her hand quietly from his arm. 
 
 Horace Mott was not conscious of this ; he was looking eagerly from
 
 110 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 right to left to effect a safe crossing, when suddenly Ulrica slipped from his 
 side. He tried to grasp her cloak. She was gone, and was just before 
 him. Uttering a fierce imprecation, he strode after her. 
 
 There was a loud shout of confusion, a babel of cries and voices, and 
 Ulrica, turning with heaving heart and wild frightened eyes, saw the form 
 of her husband, her gaoler, her foe, lying in the mud, a senseless, inanimate 
 form beneath the prancing feet of a terrified horse. 
 
 The sight horrified her it seemed to magnetize her. She stood rooted 
 to the spot, spell-bound with the sickness of horror. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 "TvOZENS of people immediately rushed to the scene of the accident ; 
 \-J the policeman was shouting to the alarmed coachman and occupants 
 of the carriage ; exclamations of horror, surprise, pity, rose from the 
 crowd. No one remarked the slender figure in the black cloak standing 
 with white distraught face and hands clenched tightly together; all attention 
 was turned on the injured man. 
 
 As in a dream, Ulrica saw them lift him from the road to a shop; her 
 eyes were glued on his inanimate form; but as she saw him carried away, 
 with horrible blood-stains and torn clothes, she gave a deep, shuddering 
 sigh, and grasped a lamp-post to prevent herself from falling. 
 
 A sympathetic woman noticed her then. 
 
 " Horrible sight; wasn't it? You look quite pale; go and get something 
 warm. These sort of things don't do no one no good ! " 
 
 Ulrica murmured some unintelligible words, and turning, walked up 
 Bond street at a nervous, agitated speed. Suddenly a sense of wild relief, 
 almost delight, had come in the midst of her horror. She was free free 
 from this man whom she dreaded and feared ! 
 
 Ulrica was rich; she possessed two rings, in one of which gleamed three 
 diamonds. She hesitated for one moment to take anything that had been 
 his; she was almost flinging them into the mud; but stern necessity lay 
 before her, so she refrained. 
 
 Drawing her hat well over her brow, she entered a jeweler's shop, and, 
 with a voice that shook with shame, offered her rings for sale. 
 
 The young man looked at her curiously. 
 
 " We don't buy second-hand things, " he said off hand. " You had better go 
 to a pawnbroker's, you know where they will advance you money on your 
 goods. There is one close by, in Duke street." 
 
 Ulrica thanked him and went away. The young man looked after her 
 and whistled. 
 
 " Strange ! " he observed to his companion; " quite a new wedding-ring, 
 too ! The old story, I suppose been taken in. " 
 
 Ulrica asked her way to Duke street, and timidly entered the pawn- 
 broker's. 
 
 To her ioy she got five pounds on the two rings a fifth part of the 
 diamonds' value, but to her a fortune and then, with the money tightly 
 clasped in her hands, stood debating what to do next. 
 
 She must get away somewhere and be lost, for if her color faded again 
 if he were not badly hurt, he would search for her, and then well, death 
 itself would be preferable.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. Til 
 
 A longing to know, to be satisfied, came over her. She would go back 
 to the scene of the accident. She remembered the way well. It was grow- 
 ing quite dark now as she hurried along ; to her it seemed years since the 
 morning. 
 
 Bond street was comparatively empty now ; the carriages were bowling 
 swiftly homewards, the passengers hurrying to their cozy firesides, no one 
 to recognize the pale trembling girl as she hurried on. 
 
 She reached the corner where her freedom had come ; no sign of the 
 horror remained. A policeman was marching solemnly along ; to him she 
 went. 
 
 " Please can you tell me anything about the accident that happened here 
 this afternoon ? Was was the gentleman killed ? " 
 
 The man answered her civilly; the question did not surprise him, for 
 everyone spoke of the accident. 
 
 " I can't tell you that, miss," he said, "but they know over at that shop. 
 I think he was took to St. George's Hospital, but I ain't sure. " 
 
 Ulrica was thanking the man faintly, and was about to go on, when an- 
 other policeman sauntered up, and in answer to his mate's question, said : 
 
 " He were agoing to the 'ospital, but they found his address some 
 chambers, 1 think, and he's took there. Was you wanting to know, miss? " 
 
 He looked sharply at Ulrica. 
 
 " No, no ; only sorry. I wanted to inquire for him," she managed to 
 say. 
 
 " Ah, it seems a sad thing like. 'Pears the gent was only married this 
 morning ; must have been going to join his wife in a hurry or something ; 
 they found his marriage lines in his pocket along of his letters. Quite a 
 romance, ain't it, miss? But he ain't so badly hurt, only cut and shaken a 
 good bit. They say he'll be all right in a week or so." 
 
 " Yes," whispered the girl, moving away with faltering footsteps ; " quite 
 a romance. " Once away, the horror and fear returned in full force; she 
 put her hand on some railings close beside her, and looked up to the dark 
 sky. " Oh, God," she prayed, " keep me from him. I am in bitter sorrow, 
 help me to bear it ; give me strength, let me not murmur, but submit to 
 Thy will." 
 
 The faint whisper broke from her overcharged heart, seeming to ease 
 her ; a sense of comfort stole over her. What sin had she done in all her 
 young life? God was not punishing her for her wickedness ; she was chosen 
 to bear much, but as He chastened her, so was she loved. 
 
 She grasped the friendly railings fora few minutes longer, then deter- 
 mined to push on, secure some place for the night, and then make her 
 plans. 
 
 Ulrica went slowly on ; once more she was in Regent street, though this 
 she did not know. 
 
 She hurried out of the bustle and confusion in search of some quieter 
 spot ; surely she could find a rest until morning? 
 
 On and on she dragged. Sometimes she stopped hesitatingly before a 
 shop, thinking to go in and ask for directions, then the fear of being found 
 or known sent her on. 
 
 At last she came to a standstill ; she was beside a church, in front of her 
 stretched a great huge building, gas-light and fire-glow gleaming from its 
 numerous windows. A respectable-looking laundress was on the pavement, 
 resting her basket. Ulrica summoned up courage. 
 
 " Can you tell me," she said faintly, almost too weak to speak, " where
 
 112 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 where I could get a bedroom for the night, cheap, respectable, not too 
 far ? " 
 
 The woman looked at her curiously; she noted the rich cloak, and 
 wondered. 
 
 " Well, I don't know," she said. " I lets rooms, but then it wouldn't 
 be good enough. " 
 
 " Oh, yes yes," murmured the girl ; " anything will do." 
 
 "You look ill," remarked the woman, picking up her basket ; " tired, I 
 expect. Well, I'll take you gladly. You look a lady. If you are afraid 
 of me, you can go in there ; they'll answer for me at the Langham, I know ; 
 I have worked for them often. " 
 
 " The Langham ! " gasped Ulrica, sinking back. 
 
 The woman put down her basket, and at this moment a gentleman was 
 
 gassing ; he was about to step into the road to avoid a drunken woman, as 
 e thought, when the exclamation from the laundress arrested him. 
 
 " Poor thing ! she's fainted. " 
 
 In an instant the man was beside her. 
 
 " Can I help you ? I am stronger than you." 
 
 He spoke kindly, and by the lamp-light the laundress" saw he was a 
 clergyman. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, sir. I don't know who she is ; but she was just 
 a-coming home to take a bedroom of me for the night, when she falls 
 down like this. " 
 
 The clergyman stooped and looked into the girl's face. 
 
 "Great Heavens!" he exclaimed. "Mrs. Mott! Why, this is " 
 
 He stopped, all the doubt that had grown in his heart that morning as he 
 spoke the marriage-service over Ulrica's bent head, the uncomfortable 
 thoughts that, together with the memory of her pale, beautiful counte- 
 nance, had haunted him all day, were verified. 
 
 " Do you know her, sir ? " asked the woman. 
 
 The clergyman glanced round over the fast-growing crowd, and his de- 
 termination was soon made. 
 
 " Yes, I know her, " he answered. " I will take her home. Call a 
 cab. " 
 
 So before the very building, in a room of which lay John Dunworthy 
 fighting for life in the throes of brain fever, was stricken down the girl he 
 loved beyond all else the girl who had stunned him, shocked him, broken 
 
 his heart the girl Ulrica Messenger. 
 
 ***** **# ** 
 
 Mrs. Cogger was much alarmed at the second appearance of the detect- 
 ive, in company this time with Guy Strong. 
 
 She was not wont, as a rule, to set much store by her husband's opin- 
 ions, but this time she was bound to confess that in his slow, heavy fashion, 
 he had jumped at something like the truth. 
 
 Tears came to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as Guy questioned 
 her closely, his agitation and distress making him appear to her terribly 
 stern. 
 
 " Oh, dear, sir, I can't say how grieved I am ! The pooi young thing, 
 and I'd grown to like her, although she was only here a few days. But 
 could he be so wicked ; he seemed so fond-like ? " 
 
 " You tell me she fainted almost immediately she saw him ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, the very instant ; but, of course, we thought it was because 
 she was worn out with trouble, and the sudden sight of her husband
 
 FATAL SIN. IIJ 
 
 knocked her over. It was all done so hurriedly, too ; me and Jane was 
 quite flustered. Here's the haddress the gent gave me ; but this person 
 tells me there ain't no such place. Oh, sir, I do hopes you will believe I 
 would have cut my hand off sooner than have helped that Door young 
 creature into more trouble. " 
 y Then Guy woke from his own musing at her distress. 
 
 " I do believe it," he said, with one of his rare smiles ; "but when you 
 deal with villainy such as this, you must be armed at all points. Don't 
 accuse yomrself of anything. I am sure your face speaks the truth, and 
 goodness is written on it. " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, sir ! " exclaimed poor Mrs. Cogger ; " but can't I help 
 you ? Oh, is there nothing I can do ?" 
 
 " Nothing, I'm afraid. We must employ more detectives ; for she must 
 and shall be found, if human brains and hands can do it ? " 
 
 Guy held further conference with the detective before he returned home, 
 The only available clew they had was the coachman, whom Mrs. Cogger 
 declared she would know again, and to find him Guy could think of no 
 better method than advertising. 
 
 When he arrived at the Langham, he found Dunworthy fast asleep, with 
 Connie sitting beside him. 
 
 Guy greeted her gently, but frowned a little when he heard that Lady 
 Dunworthy had traveled up to nurse her son, and was at that instant in 
 the hotel. 
 
 " She must not excite him, " he declared ; " his brain is now in the most 
 inflammatory condition." 
 
 " I will keep her away. You may depend on me. " 
 
 While she was speaking, Connie was plotting. 
 
 " I must be friends with him, or he will prevent my seeing Sir John. I 
 suppose his one and only thought now is that girl. " 
 
 Outwardly she observed gently : 
 
 " You look worn out. Rest a while. Have have you any news ? " 
 The anxious inflection in her voice was cleverly done. 
 
 " No," said Guy with a long-drawn sigh ; " none as yet." 
 
 He did not intend to say much of Horace Mott, till he knew the truth. 
 
 " How sorry I am ! " murmured Connie, uttering the lie easily. " He," 
 with a gesture to the sick-room " he is quite broken down about it, poor 
 fellow J" 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 "TT RE you better?" 
 
 /*L Ulrica moved in a vague strange way. The voice uttering these 
 words sounded curiously distant, yet her eyes were fastened upon a face 
 quite near at hand. She was in bed. Of that she was conscious, for her 
 head rested on a sweet-smelling pillow, over which her masses of hair 
 were strewn, and her arms rested on a snow-white coverlet. 
 
 " Are you better now ? " 
 
 Ulrica's senses cleared ; she turned her head a little nearer the speaker. 
 
 " Where am I ? " she whispered. 
 
 "Safe with friends," was the answer. "No; I know you have never 
 seen me before. Still I will call myself your friend because I have grown 
 to know you during the last twenty-four hours. Now, let me lift you, and 
 try and drink this beef
 
 114 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Ulrica made no resistance ; she allowed herself to be pushed forward and 
 swallowed the beef-tea, but her eyes were wandering round in a curious, 
 wondering way. She looked terribly ill, her face was almost gaunt, but 
 the beauty of her eyes seemed increased rather than diminished, they shone 
 so large and lustrous. 
 
 A gentle hand smoothed back her hair from her brow, and as she rested 
 once more on the pillow, the voice went on : 
 
 " Now, I want you to be good and not ask any questions just yet. You 
 must have some more sleep." 
 
 And the speaker smoothed the thin white hand with her own. 
 
 She was a woman of middle-age, with a plain but benevolently sweet 
 face, and that indescribable air which denotes the lady. 
 
 She sat and watched the girl's eyelids close, and the peaceful touch of 
 slumber steal across Ulrica's lovely countenance before she moved. Then 
 a step sounded cautiously on the carpet, and, turning, she saw a man in 
 clerical dress. 
 
 " How is she now? ' he whispered. 
 
 " Better," she formed with her lips. 
 
 They both gazed silently at the unconscious young face, and then turned 
 away. 
 
 " Have you come to any conclusion, dear? " asked the lady, as they went 
 softly into a room adjoining. 
 
 The clergyman shook his head. 
 
 " I was waiting to ask her about herself when she was well enough ; it is 
 a case which pains and perplexes me. I cannot rid myself of a reproach in 
 that I had a share in her marriage." 
 
 " You distress yourself needlessly, dear," replied his wife gently. " How 
 were you to know? You were deceived yourself." 
 
 Dr. Drewitt sighed a little. 
 
 " My mind misgave me directly I saw her face. How beautiful she is, 
 Agnes, and very young ! " 
 
 " Quite a child yet." 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt was thoughtfully silent for a few moments, then she said: 
 
 " There is a purse in her pocket; perhaps that would give us some clew, 
 but I hesitated to open it. I would rather she told me her story herself. 
 Alan, we we cannot let her go back into the world without a protest. 
 Our home is lonely, and " 
 
 Dr. Drewitt took his wife's hand and looked at her with an inexpressible 
 look of tenderness. 
 
 " And our child's place is empty that is what is in your heart, my wife. 
 Well, unless we can persuade her to go back to her friends, should she 
 have any, our home is hers. " 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt pressed her lips to her husband's hand. 
 
 " She has our Margaret's eyes, Alan," she whispered; "it seemed like an 
 
 angel from heaven when she looked at me last night as you carried her in ! " 
 *********# 
 
 For a brief time the fog left London. The mornings broke sunshiny and 
 bright. Ulrica watched two such mornings steal through the dawn, lying 
 quietly in her luxurious bed. 
 
 She was not exactly ill, but an exhaustion had fallen upon her after the 
 horror of the wedding-day. 
 
 In her excitement she had walked miles, and, added to the mental fight 
 she was enduring, this had prostrated her.
 
 Il6 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Her thoughts were a confused muddle during the two days she lay in bed 
 a mixture of bright sunny moments, then awful gloom, then the con- 
 sciousness of trouble lurking at every corner to spring out and seize upon her. 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt brought her work, and :at very quietly by the girl's side, 
 watching the emotions that flitted across Ulrica's pale face, and wondering, 
 with sad sympathy, what the truth of her suffering was. 
 
 It was a source of undefinable comfort to Ulrica, the presence of that 
 sweet-looking woman, and in that comfort she was content to revel while 
 she felt so weak ; but as her strength ebbed back, Mrs. Drewitt's gentle 
 face recalled another that of Guy's mother, and from that her mind wan- 
 dered on, over every cruel stone in that pathway of mental sorrow, shame 
 and misery. 
 
 It was on the eve of the second day that this agony reached its height. 
 As Mrs. Drewitt sat sewing very quietly, deep in her thoughts, Ulrica sud- 
 denly rose in the bed. She had a flush on her pale cheeks, and her eyes 
 were burning. 
 
 " Give me my clothes,'"' she said, hurriedly, in a low choked voice. " I 
 must get away at once ! " 
 
 She had all in a second experienced the terrible dread and repulsion of 
 Horace Mott's presence ; her memory vividly recalled the fact that he was 
 not dead not even badly wounded, but perhaps, at this very moment, on 
 her track. 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt rose quickly. 
 
 " You shall have your clothes, dear, if you want them," she said, sooth- 
 ingly; " but it is too late to go away now. It is nearly night time." 
 
 Ulrica let her hand be clasped in the older woman's cool tender one. 
 
 " But he will find me," she whispered, her heart beating so wildly that 
 its throbbing was plainly seen in her fair, white throat ; " he will find me 
 again. " 
 
 " He cannot come here," said Mrs. Drewitt, adopting that easy tone of 
 assurance always calculated to have its effect on children and invalids. " I 
 will take care of you. " 
 
 " Will you ? >: Ulrica turned her thin, eager, lovely face round. " Oh, 
 God will bless you ! Help me now, and you will be blessed indeed ! " 
 
 Tears stood in Mrs. Drewitt's eyes. 
 
 " You shall stay with me for a while, dear," she murmured. " You are 
 far from strong, and " 
 
 " Ah, but I must get away ! " broke in the girl feverishly. " You don't 
 know him. He is a fiend. He will find me ! Yes yes, I know he will, 
 and he will take me away, for I married him I am his wife ! " 
 
 " You are safe here," repeated Mrs. Drewitt, scarcely knowing what to 
 say, but putting her arm around the girl and drawing the head, with its 
 masses of hair, gently onto her shoulder. 
 
 Ulrica rested back for a while. 
 
 " Safe ! " she murmured. " If I could feel that if I could have peace. 
 But all is such bustle, such noise ; and London is so small, that is the 
 misery. The Langham! that is the Langham! and Jack is there, ill, 
 dying, all through me. Oh, Jack, Jack, my love, my life ! what shall I do ! " 
 
 The wandering words ended in a burst of passionate sobs. Mrs. Drewitt 
 did not try to check the tears or soothe the girl. She let her weep on, only 
 holding her still in her arms. 
 
 After a few moments Ulrica grew calmer, then she dried her eyes and 
 looked up.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 117 
 
 " How good you are ! " she whispered, with a broken catch in her voice, 
 " to me, a stranger. I am better now ; I will rest on for a while." 
 
 "That is wise," declared Mrs. Drewitt, lightly pushing the pillow com- 
 fortably under the girl's head ; " now, lie still while I finish this corner of 
 my work ; then you may talk if you like. " 
 
 Ulrica lay silent, obediently watching the busy needleflyinand out ; the 
 flood of tears had relieved her ; she felt calmer now. 
 " There ; I am finished ! Now, shall we chat? " 
 Ulrica turned her eyes onto the fire. 
 
 " Will you tell me where I am and how I got here? " she asked gently. 
 
 " You are in my husband's and my house. Our name is Drewitt. He is 
 a clergyman, and he married you three days ago." 
 
 Ulrica gave a faint shudder. 
 
 " He was passing along the very top of Regent street on the evening of 
 the same day, when by God's mercy he happened to see you just as you fell 
 to the ground in a faint. Do you remember? " 
 
 " Yes, " whispered the girl ; " I remember now. " 
 
 She closed her eyes as the horror of that day came back to her, then 
 opened them as a thought came hurriedly to her mind. 
 
 " And you have taken me in and kept me here ? Oh, how can I thank 
 your* I am utterly alone and friendless that is," she added slowly, "I 
 must renounce my friends. There are several who I think would cling to 
 me, but it is impossible." 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt was silent ; she saw the quivering lips, and the tears steal 
 once more into the sad eyes, and her heart ached with her sympathy for 
 this girl's sorrow. 
 
 " Perhaps I I ought to tell you," Ulrica said hi very low tones ; " it is 
 but right, and yet " 
 
 " Tell me nothing," whispered the older woman ; " I am content to keep 
 you as you are. Your face is your character it is enough for me." 
 
 Ulrica pressed her hot lips to the hand held out to her. 
 
 "Yes, I will tell you," she said. "My my father was a murderer 
 he killed my mother ! " 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt's clasp just tightened on the girl's hand. 
 
 " That is not your sin, my child," she said gently. 
 
 " Then you do not shrink from me ? " Ulrica cried. 
 
 " Shrink from you ! Why should I ? " Mrs. Drewitt bent and kissed 
 the sweet face. " Now I am going to sit beside you, and you shall tell me 
 all ; it will ease your heart, I think." 
 
 " It will it will!" replied Ulrica restlessly. 
 
 And so with her hand clasped tight in that of the clergyman's wife, bit 
 by bit Ulrica told her history, dwelling briefly, almost tersely, on her sum- 
 mer dream of gladness, then on to the bitter end. 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt listened without a word till Ulrica's voice died away into 
 silence, then she bent and kissed her again terTderly. 
 
 " My poor tired lamb, the burden is indeed heavy for you ; but be 
 comforted ; there may be sin, shame attached, but it is not yours. Let me 
 tell my husband this story ; he will give you greater comfort than I can. 
 And turn to us, dear, as friends, who will be firm to you whatever comes." 
 
 Ulrica tried to speak, but words would not come easily; she was 
 thoroughly exhausted by her emotion, and by-and-by, still clasping Mrs. 
 Drewitt's hand, she fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
 
 Il8 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 1TTHREE days passed on, and Ulrica, tenderly nursed by Mrs. Drewitt, 
 1 recovered her strength sufficiently to rise and descend to the pretty 
 drawing-room. 
 
 Dr. Drewitt knew all her history from his wife, but they naturally re- 
 frained from speaking on this subject till the girl was more herself. 
 
 It was Ulrica, after all, who first led them to it. 
 
 She was sitting at breakfast in her black dress, looking very pale and 
 wan, yet with all her beauty returned, listening to the lively chit-chat of 
 her kind host and hostess, when she broke in on a short silence. 
 
 " I have a difficult task before me, " she said hurriedly " that of trying 
 to thank you both for all your great, great goodness to me. Words are 
 not easy, but God will bless you for it ! " 
 
 " Now, we are not going to talk about this, if you please," replied Dr. 
 Drewitt promptly, as her head drooped and her eyes filled with tears; " we 
 want to see you smile and look happy, my dear. " 
 
 Ulrica shook her head. 
 
 u I shall never be happy again," she" said slowly. 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt rose, and bending over Ulrica, kissed her gently, saying the 
 while: 
 
 " You have suffered so much that you have grown tired and weak, but 
 after all, dear child, you are very young ; life for you is just beginning. 
 You must try and dismiss these morbid thoughts. " 
 
 " Morbid !" repeated Ulrica with a shudder; "but they are real hid- 
 eously real ! How can I forget my dead mother? How can I forget I 
 I am that man's wife? " 
 
 Dr. Drewitt was silent for a while. 
 
 " Did Mott give you full particulars of your mother's death? " he asked, 
 rising and walking to the window. 
 
 Ulrica passed her hand across her brow and thought. 
 
 "No," she said, slowly; "only only that she had been murdered 
 by " 
 
 " Hum ! You tell me that he forced you to marry him by threatening to 
 kill Sir John Dunworthy?" continued the vicar. 
 
 " Yes," formed rather than spoke Ulrica's pale lips. 
 
 The mention of her lost lover's name pierced her like a sword-thrust. 
 
 The vicar folded his arms across his breast and walked back to the table. 
 
 " Then," he said, with great decision, " it is my belief that he deceived 
 you. Mind, I only say my belief. A man to have treated you as he has 
 love, and so he determined to force you into his power. Where are his 
 done is more than a coward he is a villain. You refused to listen to his 
 proofs of your father's crime? Let him bring forward facts ! " 
 
 "He mentioned one man's name," Ulrica interrupted", scarcely speaking 
 for her agitation Sir Geoffrey Denvil. He knows of " 
 
 " We will find Sir Geoffrey Denvil," replied Dr. Drewitt, promptly. 
 " This matter shall be thoroughly, though quietly investigated." 
 
 Ulrica had buried her face in her hands, now she lifted it. 
 
 " I never stopped to think of deceit," she said, almost dreamily. " Some- 
 how his words seemed to be so true. My young life returned to me. No
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 119 
 
 mention of my mother's name ; no love, no friends, except Sam ; all 
 strange cut off, as it were, from every living thing. His his words 
 seemed all at once to explain all this why I had dreaded my father; why 
 I could never love him. " 
 
 "Still, I repeat, until I get proofs, I shall not believe it." 
 
 Ulrica came forward and took his hand, pressing her lips to it. 
 
 " How good you are ! " she whispered. " How good ! " 
 
 " I said Alan would comfort you," cried Mrs. Drewitt, with wifely pride. 
 
 " Yes; and I mean to help her, too," said the vicar, promptly. " There 
 are two men we must seek out at once to make inquiries of Sir Geoffrey 
 Denvil, and this priest, Father Lawrence; he will throw most light on the 
 matter, I fancy. Leave everything to me, my dear." 
 
 Ulrica clasped his hand nervously. 
 
 " But if he he finds me, must I go with him? Oh, say I need not ! I 
 fear him I loathe him!" 
 
 The vicar patted her bent head; his eyes met his wife's and they looked 
 grave, but there was only a tone of lightness and comfort in his voice as he 
 said: 
 
 " He has not found you yet. ' Sufficient for the day is the evil 
 thereof.'" 
 
 There was a little silence, and then Mrs. Drewitt came near to Ulrica. 
 
 " We have arrived at one conclusion, dear, " she observed, slowly. " Your 
 friend, Dr. Strong, should know you are safe and well; think of his anxiety 
 of the pain you must have caused his mother and himself." 
 
 "Don't," pleaded Ulrica brokenly "don't speak of it! If you only 
 knew what I have suffered when I have remembered them! But I can't 
 see Uncle Guy; he would want to take me back to Bathurst, and that 
 would kill me. " 
 
 " I appreciate your difficulty, " the vicar answered gently, " and shall 
 consider your feelings. Still, my child, you must remember their anxiety. 
 They love you; your words have proved that. Then what must they not 
 be enduring all this time? You have been in our care for a week, and 
 were four days alone before that. You must let me go to Dr. Strong. He 
 shall not *ee you, he shall not even know your whereabouts only he shall 
 learn that you are safe and in good hands. " 
 
 Ulrica sat silent as he ceased. How she longed at that instant to see 
 Guy, to feel his handclasp and hear his kind voice ! And yet, to do that 
 would be to deepen her suffering, for it would but bring her nearer to Sir 
 John Dunworthy, whom she must never see never think of again. 
 
 Then Dr. Drewitt's words went slowly, but surely to her heart. She 
 must not be selfish in her grief. It was ingratitude it was worse, it was 
 cruel to keep Guy in suspense. 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt watched her face, across which flitted the various emotions 
 caused by her struggle. 
 
 " Well, dear ? " she said gently. 
 
 Ulrica gave a quick, broken sigh. 
 
 " Yes," she breathed hurriedly, " it is only right. Go to him; but but 
 I cannot see them I cannot ; it would break my heart. Oh, sir oh, 
 dear Mrs. Drewitt, you have been so good to me, help me still a little 
 further. Give me some work, away from here, in some place where I shall 
 be lost, and known to no one I must escape from that man, for if he 
 finds me, he will make me leave you and go with him ; and then the disgust, 
 the shame, the horror of it ! No, no ; I dare not even think of it ! "
 
 I2O HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " Be comforted," Dr. Drewitt spoke gently ; " we will take care of you 
 to the last extent in our power. Will we not, my wife ? " 
 
 " As our own child," was Mrs. Drewitt's answer. Ulrica tried to speak, 
 to thank them ; but the flood of emotion in her breast choked her words 
 
 in the utterance, and hurriedly rising, she went from the room. 
 
 ** * * * * * * * 
 
 <c To see me ! " exclaimed Guy, looking up from the letter he was writ- 
 ing to his mother. She was quite ill through distress, and it went to his 
 heart to write her the daily record of disappointment and pain that was 
 his lot. " A clergyman, Gryce, did you say ? Show him in." 
 
 There was a flush on his worn face ; a ray of hope had darted into his 
 breast. 
 
 As Dr. Drewitt entered the apartment, he went forward hurriedly, say- 
 ing almost involuntarily, urged he scarcely knew by what feellings : 
 
 " You have come from Ulrica you know of her ? " 
 
 The vicar held out his hand and Guy clasped it ; a mutual thought of 
 liking and trust came into their minds. 
 
 " Yes ; I know of her. She is safe and well. " 
 
 Guy's answer was to turn away and bend his head on his folded arms on 
 the mantel-piece. He could not speak at first, the relief was too great. 
 Dr. Drewitt respected his silence ; he stood quietly by till the other moved 
 round again. 
 
 " Forgive me," said Guy huskily, " but I have suffered so much since she 
 went. I am " 
 
 "I understand," observed the vicar, taking the chair Guy pushed for- 
 ward. 
 
 "Tell me all." 
 
 Dr. Drewitt sighed a little. 
 
 "It is a story of woe and sorrow too heavy for that young heart," he 
 began sadly, and then he went slowly through all Ulrica's misery. 
 
 Guy started as though he had been struck a blow at the mention of her 
 marriage ; he had listened in a quiet, eager way to all that went before. 
 
 " Married !" he exclaimed, in a voice full of anguish. "And to him ! " 
 
 " I regret from my heart that I did not allow my doubt to prevail. But 
 Mott was prepared on every side, and his plausible tale of her father's 
 death, and her consequent grief, disarmed me. Her face haunted me 
 through the day. I could not push it from me, and when I came across 
 her lying fainting just beside this very hotel, I knew my misgivings had 
 been too well founded, and there was some wrong to be discovered. She 
 was ill for nearly four days, but is now stronger, though my wife shakes her 
 head over the girl's lovely worn face." 
 
 Guy passed his hand over his eyes, then said very unsteadily : 
 
 " I must go to her at once. " 
 
 Dr. Drewitt looked grave and pained. 
 
 " She entreated me to prevent you. " 
 
 " She does not want to see me ! " Guy said quietly. Then he broke 
 out passionately : " Oh, Ulrica, Ulrica ! if you had but trusted me if 
 you had but known ! " Then his passion went ; he crossed his arms across 
 his breast and went on : "I can never thank you enough for coming. We 
 must consider what is best to be done for her in every way. " 
 
 "Can we annul the marriage? She is a minor," suggested Dr. 
 Drewitt. 
 
 Guy shook his head.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 121 
 
 " She is under twenty, but she has no guardian appointed by law. I 
 have no power to do it. Sam Loudon might have done so, but he is 
 dead. " 
 
 " Then, if Mott finds her, she will be compelled to go with him." 
 
 Guy nodded his head. 
 
 " I fear so. " 
 
 " My wife hoped that coercion by threats might be of some value." 
 
 " Again Guy shook his head. 
 
 " Useless, for she was married of her own free will. " 
 
 Dr. Drewitt was silent. 
 
 " There is only one way," Guy said after a while, still speaking in a set 
 mechanical way, " and that is to keep her hidden from him, if possible. 
 Tell her she must consent to see me. You, a clergyman of a parish, must 
 not lay yourself open to any chance of scandal, which Mott would most 
 assuredly bring if he gets a clew to her whereabouts. I will accept all the 
 responsibility. I will take her away, and keep her with proper guardians, 
 for a time, at least. " 
 
 "And after!" 
 
 Guy sighed. 
 
 " It is a terrible dilemma for her, poor child, a miserable one," 
 
 " I want to find this Sir Geoffrey Denvil, and also the priest. The 
 memory of her father's suppposed crime is beyond her altogether. " 
 
 Guy looked into the fire for a few moments. 
 
 "It may be true," he said at last, almost reluctantly; "yet I trust not. 
 Certainly the circumstances of poor Mrs. Messenger's death were to me 
 curious. I attended her for six months before she died. She had heart- 
 disease, but there was no doubt to me that some strong mental shock or 
 excitement hastened her end. " 
 
 " There were no marks of violence ?" asked Dr. Drewitt eagerly. 
 
 " None," answered Guy. 
 
 His face had grown more wan and gray as the conversation went on ; it 
 looked now prematurely old. 
 
 They were in a sitting-room away from Sir John's apartments, and so 
 secure from interruption. 
 
 Yet, though none but themselves were in the room, a third person over- 
 heard them, and that third person was a woman, who, crouched down 
 beside the door, listened with an eagerness that made her limbs quiver. 
 
 It was Connie Wren. 
 
 She had learned casually from Gryce that a strange clergyman had asked 
 for Dr. Strong, and, with all her shrewdness, jumped at the conclusion 
 that some news had come of Ulrica. 
 
 She turned cold and sick at the thought. 
 
 Was she to be the witness, after all, of this girl's triumph, and see her own 
 plans fail just as hope was growing brighter and brighter every day ? 
 
 She stood for a second plunged into an abyss of jealous fear, then felt 
 she could not stand the suspense any longer. 
 
 She left her own room, and stole down the passage to the one used by 
 Guy. Fortune was in her favor. 
 
 There was a second entrance and a short passage to this room, and here 
 in the dark, with one eye on the corridor outside and both ears turned on 
 the voices within, crouched Connie. 
 
 Every now and then she lost the thread, but she heard enough to bring 
 the color to her cheeks, and the light to her eyes, and when Dr. Drewitt,
 
 122 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 lifter a long sentence, uttered the words which crushed Guy's heart with 
 their hideous meaning : " She is Horace Mott's wife I married them 
 myself," it was all she could do to prevent herself from crying her joy 
 aloud. 
 
 Her lips curved into a triumphant smile ; her hands unceremoniously 
 grasped themselves together as she listened on. 
 
 Not one single sympathetic thought did she bestow on Ulrica's broken 
 heart and misery ; she dreamt only of her own glory, which would rise 
 immediately from the grave of this girl's lost happiness and wrecked life. 
 
 Dr. Drewitt talked long and earnestly to Guy, their manner business- 
 like. To an unenlightened listener, Guy might have seemed cold, almost 
 hard, but Connie knew right well that his indifference came from, the flood 
 of agitation and the agony of pain he was enduring. 
 
 She frowned even at this. 
 
 " What is there in her, puny thing, that should make them love her ? " 
 was her jealous thought, as she remembered Guy's apathy as regarded 
 herself. 
 
 At last the vicar rose to go, and then the anguish in Guy's heart broke 
 into his voice. 
 
 "I must see her," he said "I must; when she is suffering as she is 
 now, she wants none but friends around her. Tell her she shall be safe; I 
 will pledge myself to secrecy; but entreat her to let me come for .my 
 mother's sake, and for the sake of her old childish love for Uncle Guy." 
 
 Dr. Drewitt wrung his hand. 
 
 " I will do all I can. That is my name Drewitt, St. Paul's Vicarage; 
 it is a most unfashionable neighborhood, near King's Cross Netherland- 
 road. My wife would be glad to see you, I know, if we can win the child's 
 consent." 
 
 Connie glided away as the door opened, and Guy ushered out the Vicar. 
 
 She was far distant, thinking out her plans, as the two men parted. 
 
 " Mott run over taken to his rooms ill! Well, if he were dying he 
 would be revenged on her, or else I am very much mistaken. Let me see. 
 What is his address? Fool that I am! I must remember it I must. I 
 knew it well." 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 TAOWN in the empty sitting-room sat Guy, his face buried in his hands. 
 \-J " Gone lost to me forever! Oh, Ulrica, my darling! the one crea- 
 ture who makes life for me. I would have spared you every pain, and 
 now " 
 
 He rose after a while and paced the floor. 
 
 " Now," he mused, " all I can do is to shield you with all my care and 
 might from this man. Coward reptile! Oh, that I could have killed 
 him before he ruined her life ! But, with God's help, she shall be kept 
 from him. It may be a crime against the law of man, but it is only justice 
 due to her weakness and her broken heart." 
 
 Little did he think that while he pondered and arranged this, a message 
 was fleeing to Horace Mott, who, with his arm bound up, his face cut and 
 discolored, was still able to rise from his chair, a triumph glowing in his 
 eyes, as he read the words : " Go to St. Paul's Vicarage, Netherland-road,
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 123 
 
 King^s Cross, N. You will find your wife there. This from a friend who 
 has discovered all. " 
 
 He tossed the telegram onto a table. 
 
 " 'A friend,' " he laughed as his quick eye took in the mark of the office 
 from which the telegram had been dispatched. " A friend indeed, Miss 
 Constance Wren. Well, I am indebted to you. My wife and I have a 
 
 score to settle, and it shall be done surely, quickly. " 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 Ulrica listened to Dr. Drewitt's account of his meeting with Guy in 
 silence. Every word went to her heart. Guy's appeal to let her see nun, 
 his sorrow, his anger against Mott, and lastly, his offer to take her to some 
 secure remote spot, sank into her breast with a sensation of passing pleas- 
 ure and faint comfort. 
 
 She had never really doubted Guy, even when the thought of her father's 
 crime had been most terrible, and this proof of his great goodness was like 
 heavenly dew to her poor blighted heart. 
 
 Still she hesitated. 
 
 Could she bear to see him, hear him speak of that one who was as a sun 
 to her existence. She had not even dared to open her lips to ask Dr. Drew- 
 itt how Sir John progressed, though her every nerve thrilled to know the 
 worst. 
 
 The vicar read her white agitated face well, and in gentle words told her 
 of the improvement in the sick man's condition, as tenderly as though she 
 had been nis own child. 
 
 When he had finished, Ulrica still sat silent, her hands lying nerveless on 
 her lap. 
 
 " Give me till to-morrow," she said faintly, lifting her eyes at last. " I 
 -r I cannot send Uncle Guy an answer now. " 
 
 " Wise maiden, " observed the vicar, speaking briskly. " Always take a 
 night to solve a difficulty; things look so differently by morning's light. 
 Now I wonder if you feel equal to coming with us this evening to a ' work- 
 ing man's concert?' " 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt shook her head. 
 
 " I don't think I can permit it, Alan," she remarked. " I must still ex- 
 ercise some little control over my invalid; she will be infinitely better here 
 by the fire." 
 
 Ulrica smiled a wan little smile. 
 
 " I don't feel very strong," she said, " or I should like to go. Give me 
 something to do. I can sew." 
 
 " Can you? " laughed the vicar's wife, determining to dismiss all sad top- 
 ics, at all events for a little while. " Then, indeed, I will give you employ- 
 ment. I would stay with you to-night, but Alan gets into a complete fog 
 without me don't you now? Confess, sir." 
 
 " I do confess it, without a blush," was the prompt reply. " You have 
 some good points. Playing an accompaniment to a song is one of them. 
 We shall have to see what this young lady knows of music, Agnes, before 
 long. " 
 
 Mrs. Drewitt acquiesced as she brought out a pile of sewing and sorted 
 among it for some small article to give Ulrica. 
 
 " I used to sing f " the girl said, gazing into the fire with her lustrous eyes 
 dimmed. 
 
 " And shall again," observed the older woman briskly. 
 
 Ulrica rose, and taking one of Mrs. Drewitt's hands, bent and kissed it.
 
 24 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " How can I ever repay you? " she whispered brokenly. " How good 
 you both are how good!" 
 
 The vicar cleared his throat, and Mrs. Drewitt drew the girl for an 
 instant into a tender embrace. 
 
 " Once upon a time, Ulrica, " she said, " I had a child of my own. There 
 are some troubles, dear, that never grow old. Her loss is one. But since 
 you have been with me, somehow the grief has been eased in my heart, 
 and I have been happy; so you see, my child, you do repay me in this sweet 
 way. " 
 
 They stood clasped together for a while, and the vicar went gently from 
 the room; then Mrs. Drewitt smiled and released Ulrica. 
 
 "I am going to make you comfortable," she said brightly. "Here is 
 some work, and here is a delightful book. I suppose it is terrible for a 
 clergyman's wife to own to a taste for novels. Well, I do so don't be 
 shocked. Sit here close to the fire. Ring for anything. Barlow will look 
 after you. Poor Barlow ! she has been with me for years and years, and 
 she is quite distressed ahout your pale face. If you are tired before we 
 comeback it may be eleven o'clock go to your little bed. Sleep is 
 the best thing for your young brain and heart." 
 
 And, with a few more gentle words and a parting kiss, Mrs. Drewitt de- 
 parted, to put on her bonnet and mantle, and accompany her husband. 
 
 They both popped in their heads to bid the girl good-night, in case she 
 should grow weary before they returned. 
 
 Then Ulrica heard the front door close, and she was alone. 
 
 She lay back in her cozy chair and gazed into the fire, thinking over 
 Guy's message and all the love he bestowed on her. 
 
 What must she do? That was the one burning thought in her brain. 
 
 She recognized to the full the pain Guy would suffer at her refusal to see 
 him ; yet much as she longed to do that, great as would be the pleasure of 
 his presence the presence of a staunch, true friend, still her heart failed 
 her. 
 
 But about nine o'clock a circumstance came that aroused Ulrica of her- 
 self. 
 
 The front door bell rang sharply and decisively, and at the sound the girl 
 awoke, her heart beating wildly, and her pulses thrilling in a vague way 
 that unconsciously distressed her, though why she knew not. 
 
 She heard Barlow go to the door, though, as a rule, a younger maid 
 admitted strangers. 
 
 She heard the sound of a voice, and then she heard Barlow come to the 
 drawing-room, and turn the handle. 
 
 " If you please, miss, there's a person wishes to see you ; he has brought 
 a message from the master, he says a note or something. " 
 
 There was just the faintest tone of vexation in Barlow's voice ; she was 
 so used to knowing all her master's and mistress' doings, this sending a 
 note to Ulrica unconsciously pained her. 
 
 Ulrica was quick to see it. 
 
 " There must be some mistake, Barlow," she said gently. " I expect the 
 note is to you. " 
 
 Barlow was pacified at once ; and then a thought came into her mind 
 that perhaps this was, after all, private business of Ulrica's own. 
 
 " I'll go and see again, miss," she said. 
 
 Ulrica bent and stroked the cat ; the beating in her heart had died 
 away.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 125 
 
 What more natural than that one of her kind benefactors should require 
 something ? 
 
 Barlow entered with a note bearing every evidence of hasty dispatch in 
 its small, rather crushed envelope. 
 
 Ulrica took it, and then she knew her vague surmises had been but too 
 terribly well-founded. 
 
 She turned her face from the old servant, and opened the note with 
 cold, trembling fingers. 
 
 " I have found you ; see me without delay. I am in no mood to be 
 trifled with, or be refused. If you do intend to take this line, I warn you 
 that I will expose this clergyman who is giving you shelter, and separating 
 you from your lawful husband. Believe me, Ulrica, I never utter a threat 
 I do not intend to keep. I am waiting your answer. 
 
 "HORACE MOTT." 
 
 Ulrica shivered against herself, all her courage fled 
 
 " I never utter a threat I do not intend to keep. " 
 
 What could that mean but that her lover might still be in danger, and 
 she would bring shame and disgrace on these good people who had rescued 
 her? 
 
 She still kept her face turned away from Barlow. 
 
 "Send send the person in," she managed to say, though her voice 
 shook. " He I know him, Barlow ; he wishes to see me." 
 
 " Then the master does not want anything himself? " asked Barlow, sat- 
 isfied that her idea was right. 
 
 " No," murmured Ulrica. 
 
 Barlow withdrew, and Ulrica stood as still as a statue. 
 
 A slight noise at the door made her turn, and there, disguised in a long, 
 shabby overcoat, with the smile she had grown to hate and fear on his 
 lips, was her husband. 
 
 He moved slowly toward the fire with a limping, halting gait, and then 
 gazed at her, still smiling. 
 
 "Only one thing wanted a husband to finish the picture. For- 
 tunately I can supply that commodity. " 
 
 Ulrica unconsciously shrank from him. 
 
 " Yes ; I am afraid my coat is shabby,' 1 he observed, remarking ner ac- 
 tion, and pretending to misunderstand it ; " but you see I am compelled to 
 adopt a disguise to obtain an audience with my own wife. Strange, is it 
 not ? but quite true. " 
 
 " What do you want with me ? " broke from Ulrica's pale tips. 
 
 He laughed again. 
 
 " Well, I want so many things. First and foremost, some one to be a 
 companion and a nurse to me. You see the result of your doings. I am 
 little more than an invalid at present, I regret to say." 
 
 Ulrica took a quick breath ; she would make a strong effort before she 
 condemned herself forever. 
 
 " I have nothing to say to you. I have no desire to see you. If you 
 are ill through my doings I am sorry, but I cannot pretend to feel the 
 smallest interest in your welfare. Your sufferings can never approach 
 those you have caused me. There is no law to compel me to live with you, 
 and " 
 
 " Your legal knowledge is undoubted, of course,** he interrupted, quietly. 
 
 " A marriage forced upon me by unmanly threats is no marriage in my 
 eyes," Ulrica continued hurriedly.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 127 
 
 " Your eyes are not the optics of the law." 
 
 She took no noticte. of the remark given with an air of maddening indif- 
 ference. 
 
 " I refuse to recognize it. You have behaved throughout as only a 
 coward and villain would have done. You lied to me about my father. 
 You " 
 
 >( Now, how did you discover that ? k " demanded Mott, in a quiet, sur- 
 prised way. 
 
 "Then then it was not true? He did not murder my " The 
 
 words died away. 
 
 " I believe your late father had many crimes on his soul," Mott observed 
 slowly ; " but that he was guilty of murder I think is a cruel calumny. " 
 
 " And yet you " 
 
 Ulrica got no further ; she sank into the chair and buried her face in 
 her hands, stunned by this truth this awful truth thatjiad destroyed her 
 life ; but for this man's lies she would even now be basking in the sun- 
 shine of love and happiness ! The blow was too heavy. 
 
 "Come," said her husband in a drawling way, "don't be so weak. 
 When I informed you of your father's supposed sin, you bore it like a 
 lion, and now " 
 
 The girl made no movement. 
 
 He watched her silently while the clock ticked almost five minutes, and 
 the cat rose and walked slowly to the door. 
 
 Then he changed. 
 
 " Now," he said, sharply, " get your things on; I am tired, and want to 
 get home." 
 
 " I am not going with you," Ulrica answered, raising her head. 
 
 " No? Well, that is curious; but I think you will." 
 
 She met his dark eyes, and, against herself, shuddered. 
 
 " You, perhaps, did not read my note carefully?" he went on. " Then 
 I must explain it. You remember the threat I used so successfully before 
 you honored me by becoming my wife? Ah, I thought so. Well, allow 
 me to point out that, unless you are my wife in deed, and as such obey the 
 vows you spoke, that threat still holds good. I am desperate, Ulrica; don't 
 tempt me, for by heaven, I swear, if you do, John Dunworthy's life is not 
 worth a button!" 
 
 She clutched the chair for support. The words were not 'spoken hotly 
 or passionately, but in a cold, set, savage way, that struck a chill in her 
 veins. 
 
 " More than that," continued Horace Mott, quietly, "this man and his 
 wife are outraging the law when they give you shelter and take you from 
 the lawful protection of your husband. Hesitate, bnly one instant, and I 
 will disgrace them. A clergyman's position is a delicate one. I have but 
 to breathe this scandal in his parish, and you will have the satisfaction of 
 seeing your benefactors covered with shame before all the world." 
 
 Ulrica was silent, motionless, as he ceased; every syllable, every word, 
 struck home. 
 
 She felt, she knew this was true that if she refused to go with this 
 man she must drag the vicar and his wife into a very quagmire of scandal 
 and disgrace. It was enough; she could not repay their goodness to her 
 thus, even though in preventing it she sacrificed herself. 
 
 " You have won," she said, cold as ice. " Once before I remarked that 
 warfare with you was impossible. You have me in your jpower, but though
 
 128 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 you can command me as your slave, you cannot cnange my neart; in that 
 lives a flame of love for John Dunworthy which no act or word of yours 
 could dim for a moment, and side by side with it a flood of bitter hatred, 
 disgust, and contempt for yourself which will remain till I am dead." 
 
 Mott leaned carelessly against the mantel-piece. 
 
 " He laughs loudest who laughs last," he remarked with a sneer. " You 
 are mine, and if you imagine such a flood of hysterical, ultra-sentimental 
 rubbish as that will have any effect upon me well, you are mistaken, that 
 is all." 
 
 Ulrica moved to the writing-table. 
 
 Disgust for this man gave her a new air of imperious dignity. 
 
 " There is veiy little that would have effect upon such a nature as yours 
 except a horsewhip," she said, contemptuously. 
 
 Mott flushed crimson, unconsciously he took a step nearer. 
 
 " Take care, Ulrica ! " he said, huskily. 
 
 She laughed a sharp, mirthless laugh. 
 
 " I am not afraid. I shall be prepared for blows ; slaves must expect 
 them well, let them come, they may hasten the end; if so, they will be 
 welcome. " 
 
 Horace Mott gazed at her. 
 
 He did not know her in this wild, reckless mood. 
 
 Ulrica passed one hand over her burning eyes, then seated herself at the 
 writing-table, and took up the pen. 
 
 She had a task to perform. 
 
 The vicar and his wife must know where she had gone, but not why; 
 she would not let them defy this man, and so bring disgrace upon them. 
 
 "DEAR GOOD FRIENDS," she wrote " My husband has found me; he requests me 
 to leave your house at once, and as I have no alternative but to comply, I am going 
 accordingly. May God in heaven bless you for all your goodness to me ! I shall never 
 forget you, and, through all, always remember that a flood of gratitude and love lives 
 in the heart of 
 
 "ULRICA MOTT." 
 
 She wrote the words steadily and boldly; there was no hesitation abou. 
 it, even when she inscribed the hateful letters of her new name. 
 
 She was changed from a weak trembling girl to a woman, strong, as it 
 were, with an iron nerve and resolution. 
 
 " Wait here, " she said, putting the note on the table. " I will fetch my 
 cloak and hat." 
 
 She went mechanically up-stairs. 
 
 Barlow was dozing in her little sitting-room and did not hear her. The 
 other servants had gone to the concert. 
 
 She wrapped her cloak round her, fastened her shoes, and putting on 
 her hat, went slowly from the room. 
 
 She did not look to the right or to the left, but descended the stairs in 
 the same set fashion, and then stood in the doorway of the drawing-room. 
 
 For one instant the contrast between its warm cozy light and the gloom 
 and cold outside that but foreshadowed her future life, brought a shudder 
 through her, but it was only for a moment. 
 
 " I am ready," she said to Horace Mott. 
 
 With a sharp glance at her, he buttoned his coat tightly round him, and 
 went to the entrance. 
 
 A fine rain was falling, and Ulrica shivered again, but her carriage was 
 steady, her face pale and set, as she followed her husband down to the 
 stepts into the night.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 129 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 JTTHE loud peal of the bell rang through the house. Guy waited impa- 
 1 tiently on the doorstep while the echoes died faintly away. As the 
 latch clicked back, he spoke hastily : 
 
 " Mr Horace Mott has rooms here? " 
 
 The servant looked surprised at bis impatience. 
 
 " He had, sir," he answered, " up to 'an hour ago. He has lived here, 
 on and off, for several years, but this evening he paid up his rent, and told 
 my wife she could rent his rooms whenever she liked. He's gone abroad, 
 I think, sir." 
 
 Guy was silent, crushed by this last blow. 
 
 " Was he alone ? " he asked after a moment's pause, speaking in a harsh, 
 constrained voice. 
 
 " No, sir ; he took his wife with him. We didn't even know as how he 
 was married till he was carried home here after his accident, and they said 
 as how they'd found the marriage certificate in his pocket. He told us he 
 were going away for a while. " 
 
 " Did you see Mrs. Mott ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ; very young and beautiful she were, but she looked awful ill 
 like." 
 
 " Did Mr. Mott leave his address ? " 
 
 The man shook his head. 
 
 " Any letters what comes we're to forward to his bankers." 
 
 " I suppose Ul Mrs. Mott left no message ? " 
 
 " None, sir. I don't think Mrs. Mott opened her lips once, sir in fact, 
 I'm sure she didn't." 
 
 " But there is no train to Dover at this time of night. " 
 
 " Well, sir, I don't know nothing about that. They druv away from here, 
 sir, at eleven o'clock precisely, sir. I don't know which way they went." 
 
 Guy buttoned his coat round his neck. He slipped a sovereign into the 
 man's hand. 
 
 " Thank you," he said, quietly. " I am afraid I have given you a lot of 
 trouble." 
 
 " No trouble, sir, at all. Only sorry you arrived so late. If I see or hear 
 anything of Mr. Mott or the lady, sir, shall I let you know? " 
 
 Guy pondered, and then agreed. 
 
 " That is my card. A telegram there will always find me. " 
 
 The door was closed, and the servant pocketed the sovereign, then 
 mounted to his attic, having looked once again that all the various articles 
 deposited on the hall-table were ready for the occupants of the numerous 
 flats or chambers. 
 
 " Strange go altogether," he mused, rubbing his chin. " Well, it ain't 
 my business, though I ain't done badly by it so far." 
 
 Guy drove back through the streets, empty save for the carriages and 
 cabs bearing many a dainty lady and cavalier from theatre to ball or home, 
 the occasional passenger hurrying through the cold night air, and the stal- 
 wart policemen standing like sentries at the street -corners. 
 
 " And this is the end ! " he mused with sad bitterness. " It was for this 
 I sacrificed myself, tore up my love at the roots, endured the misery I have
 
 130 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 endured, only to see my darling lost, wretched her happiness gone for- 
 ever ! Well, I am punished for my presumption. I set myself up to mark 
 out her life, to give her nothing but peace and gladness, and my work has 
 been destroyed. Oh, Ulrica Ulrica! my one love, my pure white flower, 
 would that I had died before this came to you and wrecked your youug 
 life! 
 
 But now there remained nothing but to tell the truth an undertaking 
 from which Guy shrank with a heart full of pain. 
 
 He entered Sir John's room early. 
 
 " What news, Strong ? " was the eager question put so regularly. " Is 
 there any ? " 
 
 Guy hesitated a moment, then said very gently and slowly : 
 
 "Yes, Jack, there is news. It is not good." 
 
 " Not good! " repeated the young man, raising himself with his elbow on 
 his pillow, and speaking in a low, husky voice. " Go on, old fellow. I 
 am no coward ; I can bear the worst. Ulrica is is dead ! " 
 
 " Dead to you," was the answer. " Jack, she is parted from you forever; 
 she is Horace Mott's wife!" 
 
 "What!" 
 
 The one word was uttered shrilly. 
 
 Sir John's face grew crimson ; his right hand was clenched. 
 
 He seemed paralyzed for an instant ; then the color faded slowly but 
 surely from his worn cheeks ; his fingers relaxed, and, with a gasp, he sank 
 back onto his pillows. 
 
 Guy bent over him with the tenderness of a woman. 
 
 " It is too much for him," he murmured to himself. 
 
 But John Dunworthy's ears were closed. Weakened by anxiety and 
 illness, Guy's words struck his heart as with a blow, and, as theJiorrible 
 meaning came to him, he sank back, lost mercifully for the moment in a 
 dead faint. 
 
 * :: * . * * * * * . * 
 
 Connie Wren had not a pleasant time with Lady Dunworthy. 
 
 She had promisee! Sir John that his mother should not be witn him 
 alone, and that the subject of Ulrica should not be mentioned in his pres- 
 ence, and for the sake of her own plans she had to work this, but it 
 was a very difficult task. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy posed as an injured mother. She was disagreeable to 
 a degree. She refused to see Guy at all, accusing him, in her narrow- 
 minded way, of all that had occurred, and she worried Connie almost past 
 endurance by her tactless remarks whenever she appeared at her son's 
 bedside. 
 
 The night of the afternoon that had brought Dr. Drewitt to the Lang- 
 ham was passed by Connie in a nervous, excited way. She had dispatched 
 the telegram to Mott herself, and then had to sit down quietly and wait 
 the result. 
 
 She could scarcely sleep for her agitation, and as morning broke over 
 the city, she rose and dressed rapidly, determined to go to Guy and, if pos- 
 sible, learn what had happened. 
 
 She found her entrance to Sir John's room barred by Gryce. 
 
 " Dr. Strong said Sir John is not to be disturbed. He has had a bad 
 night. " 
 
 Connie bit her lips. 
 
 M Where is Dr. Strong ? " she asked.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 13! 
 
 " In the coffee-room having some breakfast, I fancy." 
 
 Connie swept away. 
 
 As she entered the coffee-room she found Guy, and seated beside him her 
 sister Chattie and Basil Morne. 
 
 She greeted Chattie with little warmth, for in her heart she was annoyed 
 to see her. 
 
 " What brings you here ? " she asked taking another chair, after shaking 
 hands with Basil. 
 
 " You," said Chattie laconically. 
 
 Guy noted Connie's frown. 9 
 
 " Your mother is ill, Connie, and wants you," he said. 
 
 Connie almost stamped her foot. 
 
 " Mamma has always got something the matter with her," she declared. 
 " What good can I do ? " 
 
 " We have heard so much of your nursing propensities, my dear," Chattie 
 observed quietly, though there was a sparkle of anger and contempt in her 
 green-gray eyes, " that we are anxious to put them to the test. You could 
 not devote yourself to a better case than your own mother." 
 
 Chattie attacked a piece of bacon violently, and Connie felt she could 
 have willingly struck her sister. 
 
 " I can't come till the afternoon," she said sharply. " I presume you have 
 sent for mamma's doctor ? " 
 
 " Yes," was Chattie's laconic reply. 
 
 " And she has Margaret and you to nurse her, " went on Connie. " What 
 more does she want ? " 
 
 " She has the bad taste to be fond of you, and now, when she is ill, looks 
 for some small return for all the sacrifices she has made for you." 
 
 Chattie spoke almost passionately ; tears were in her eyes. 
 
 Basil's color rose, and he began to whistle, and Guy, who had sunk into 
 a partial reverie, looked up now. 
 
 " Chattie, dear," he said gently. 
 
 " Well, Uncle Guy " 
 
 Chattie got no further ; she bit her lip, and went on cutting her bacon 
 fiercely. 
 
 Connie smiled sneeringly. 
 
 " Pray, who brought you here so early this morning, may I ask, Chattie ? " 
 
 Basil stopped short in his whistle. 
 
 " You may. I did," was the remark. 
 
 " Well, I think, on the whole, it is a good thing I am coming home; it 
 is very evident mamma's illness is a very excellent excuse for Chattie to in- 
 dulge her every whim. " 
 
 " You are quite wrong," Basil answered, meeting her gaze with his .hand- 
 some eyes. " Your mother not only knows Chattie is with me, but sanc- 
 tions it; Mrs. Wren cannot be left alone, or Margaret would have accom- 
 panied your sister) " 
 
 " Who is much obliged for your kind consideration," broke in Chattie ; 
 then, turning to Guy, she continued hurriedly and eagerly: " Please go on, 
 Uncle Guy; you did not answer my question. What about Ulrica?" 
 
 Guy gave a quick sigh. 
 
 " Ulrica has been found, but," he added quickly, as Chattie began softly 
 to clasp her hands " but she is lost to us again." 
 
 K What do you mean? " cried Chattie and Basil in one breath. 
 
 Connie made no sign, but her heart was beating to suffocation. ^
 
 132 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 In a few broad words, spoken in tones of concentrated emotion, Guy 
 told all he knew of Ulrica. 
 
 " Married ! Married to Horace Mott ! " replied Chattie. " Oh, Uncle 
 Guy, there must be some mistake ! " 
 
 Basil sat astounded. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 OUMMER once again warm, bright, golden summer-time. The trees 
 O rustled their new garments of fresh green leaves. The air murmured 
 lazily beneath their branches; the sky beamed blue through its filmy laces 
 of white clouds; and earth rejoiced that winter's black ban and spring's 
 uncertain touch were banished in the summer sun. 
 
 The Park was filled with a throng of fashionable riders, carriages and 
 pedestrians, ' whose dainty-hued garments seemed like so many butterflies 
 flitting against the green back-ground. 
 
 Three or four equestrians were grouped beneath a clump of trees about 
 the center of the Row, talking to several damsels and their cavaliers, who 
 were among the strollers to and tro. 
 
 One of the two girls on horseback was reining in her steed with difficulty, 
 while she talked to a tall, good-looking man. 
 
 She had a svelte graceful young figure, with a piquant pretty face smiling 
 under her orthodox riding-hat, which could not hide the radiance of deep 
 red hair coiled neatly in the nape of the neck. 
 
 " You were very unkind last night, Miss Chattie," the man was saying. 
 
 Chattie laughed, and then one saw how little she was really changed, 
 though she was nearly six months older, and had spent all that time in the 
 world, for she had come out and was now a young lady of fashion. 
 
 " Was I, Lord Eric? I assure you I did not mean it. What did I do? " 
 
 " You refused to listen to me, after I had waited all the evening, too, for 
 that opportunity." 
 
 " Had you anything important to say? " inquired the girl, bending to 
 stroke the neck of her horse, speaking rather constrainedly. 
 
 Lord Eric Moseley glanced round at the group near at hand, but they 
 were deep in a conversation and could not hear. 
 
 " I think you know what I wanted to say, Chattie don't you? " 
 
 Chat tie's face flushed. 
 
 " I guess now," she answered, quickly; "but, dear Lord Eric, you must 
 not say it. I thought you knew I am engaged to Basil Morne." 
 
 The young man said nothing at first. He looked down on the ground 
 and buried his stick in the soft turf; then, after a moment's silence, he 
 lifted his head, and said quietly: 
 
 " Yes; I remember you told me; but when I spoke to your sister she 
 laughed at it as so much nonsense." 
 
 " Connie had no right to do that," Chattie said, warmly, feeling pained 
 and annoyed. " Believe me, Lord Eric, I would have spared you this. " 
 
 Lord Eric gazed into her green-gray eyes, so earnest, and to him so 
 bewitching. 
 
 " I believe you from my heart ! " 
 
 Then they were silent again once more, and Chattie let her gaze wander 
 in her troubled thought over the sea of passing faces till it rested on a 
 woman standing quite close a shabby, middle-aged woman, with an old
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 133 
 
 shawl drawn round her shoulders, and her eyes fixed with a strange, eager 
 search on every horseman that passed. 
 
 Chat tie was beginning to wonder in her mind what such a poor, sad- 
 looking creature wanted in a crowd so gay as this, when Lord Eric broke 
 the silence : 
 
 " I am thinking of going off on my travels once more, Miss Chattie. " 
 " When will you go? Not until after Goodwood, of course? " 
 He smiled a little. 
 
 " To tell you the honest truth, the London season bores me to such an 
 extent, I am always glad to curtail it. I should not have remained so long 
 already but for certain circumstances. " 
 
 Chattie flushed a little with pained annoyance; again she understood 
 what it meant, and could not help feeling bitter with Connie for putting 
 her in so false a position. 
 Lord Eric went on quickly: 
 
 " I never told you, did I, Miss Chattie, that I knew all about you before 
 I ever saw you? I met some one abroad who sang your praises so warmly 
 they won my heart. " 
 
 " That must have been Jack Sir John Dunworthy, I suppose? " Chattie 
 said, looking puzzled. 
 
 " Indeed no. It was a lady a beautiful young lady whom I happened 
 to meet in the mogt casual way when last in Paris. " 
 " A lady ! " repeated Chattie, still puzzled. 
 Lord Eric laughed. 
 " I see you will never guess so I must tell you it was a Mrs. Horace 
 
 Mott. Do you " 
 
 But two interruptions came at this instant, one from Chattie, who 
 started, and then murmured: "Ulrica! you have seen her?" and one 
 from the shabby woman, who was turning and gazing at them fixedly, her 
 worn face grown a shade paler. 
 
 Lord Eric did not notice her, and Chattie's excitement at hearing 
 
 Ulrica's name mentioned at last, drove everything around her from her mind. 
 
 " Ulrica ! " she said again. " Lord Eric, she was my dearest friend. Oh, 
 
 tell me where she is what she is doing. Is she looking well? Oh, how 
 
 beautiful she was my poor Ulrica ! " 
 
 Lord Eric looked at the flushed young face with sympathetic surprise. 
 " She is indeed lovely," he agreed ; " but what a sad face! She seldom 
 smiles, and I am told rarely speaks to strangers, so that I may consider 
 myself honored in so much as she seemed to like chatting with me. " 
 " And did she speak often of me ? " asked Chattie eagerly. 
 " No ; your name was not mentioned till the very last day we met ; then 
 I spoke of coming to town, and somehow, among other things, your 
 sister's name was mentioned, and then it was that her cold indifference 
 vanished, and she spoke of you as the angel you are." 
 Chattie took no notice of the last compliment. 
 
 " Lord Eric," she said hurriedly, " tell me more what is she doing, 
 and where is he that horrible man ? " 
 
 " They were in Paris, as I told you. Mott had some heavy speculations 
 on hand, I believe ; anyhow his rooms were thronged with stockbrokers, 
 rich, vulgar moneyed men, among whom his wife looked like a flower of a 
 different world. She told me they never rested long in one place, and 
 might leave that very night for London, which as a matter of fact they
 
 134 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 The woman by the rails had drawn nearer and nearer, till she almost 
 touched Lord Eric's sleeve, but still Chattie and he were so deep in their 
 subject that she was unnoticed. - 
 
 " London ! " repeated Chattie anxiously ; " then if she is here I must see 
 her. Lord Eric, you have done many kind, little actions for me ; will you 
 do me another ? Find out where Ulrica Mrs. Mott is now, and let me 
 know. " 
 
 " I shall be able to do so very easily," said the young man warmly, " for 
 Mott is a man who will soon make his whereabouts known. You do not 
 like him, Miss Chattie ? " 
 
 " Like him ! " cried the girl ; " he is a villain and contemptible cur ! " 
 Then she added more gently : " Some day, perhaps, I will tell you why I 
 say this ; and you will agree with me, I know. " 
 
 " If he has injured his wife, indeed I shall, for I fell a desperate victim 
 to her. She interested me strangely it was so beautiful, so young a 
 face, and yet all hope, all joy of living, seemed dead ; she made one sad to 
 look at her. I thought it disgust for her husband's surroundings for, 
 you know, Mott is famous for his gambling propensities ; he always turns 
 his house into a small establishment which, if discovered by law, would be 
 liable to bring him into great trouble. " 
 
 " And he has dragged Ulrica into this ! " murmured Chattie, . tightening 
 her rein in her indignation. " Lord Eric, more than ever I must see her ! 
 Oh, how I wish I knew where she was at this moment. " 
 
 Lord Eric was glancing into the crowd. 
 
 " I think I may be able to'gratify that wish, Miss Chattie," he said hur- 
 riedly. " Will you excuse me for one minute? " 
 
 He darted away, and Chattie sat on in a fever of impatience, while the 
 woman at the rails stood with one thin work-stained hand grasping the iron 
 bar as if for support. 
 
 Connie, seeing her sister's cavalier depart, turned round. 
 
 " Come, Chattie," she remarked in her most approved drawling fashion, 
 " if you are ready to go. I am sure Uncle Mark must be tired of waiting." 
 
 " Uncle Mark " was their mother's brother, who always accompanied 
 them in their daily rides. 
 
 " I am not ready, " Chattie answered curtly. 
 
 Connie settled herself more comfortably in her saddle. 
 
 " State secrets with Lord Eric, " she laughed, though in her heart she 
 was jealous of her sister's undoubted social success. 
 
 " Have you heard the news, Miss Wren? " broke in a young soldier from 
 the path, eager to be seen talking to the two pretty " Wrens." 
 
 " Something startling? " inquired Connie languidly. 
 
 " Only that Dunworthy is back in England. Saw him myself half an 
 hour ago. " 
 
 Connie's fair cheeks flushed. 
 
 This was news indeed news she had grown tired of waiting for ; but 
 no sign of her pleasure was visible in her voice as she said : 
 
 " And where is this most remiss wanderer? " 
 
 " I believe he is in town now, but he told me he should not stay long j he 
 meant to go direct to Dunworthy Castle." 
 
 Connie's heart beat fast. 
 
 This was the first visit to his home since the affair about Ulrica. It 
 augured well that he was cured, she told herself.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 135 
 
 Chattie heard all, but made no sign. She was thinkly sadly about the 
 girl whom she had loved so dearly. 
 
 " What would I not give to be able to send Jack direct to her, and let all 
 her sorrows end ! " she mused. 
 
 Lord Eric came back at this moment. 
 
 " Eureka!" he whispered. " Draycott saw Mott last night. They are 
 staying in town ; he can' t quite remember where, but he thinks somewhere on 
 Brompton-road. He is going to find out, and you shall know immediately 
 he does so. " 
 
 Chattie put out her small hand. There were two tears in her eyes. 
 
 " You have given me great pleasure, Lord Eric," she said. "Au revoir, 
 and thank you." 
 
 Lord Eric murmured something ; Connie and Chattie, with their uncle 
 and his son, bowed farewell and rode slowly away to luncheon, leaving the 
 poor woman standing by the rails, as if some magnetic influence held her 
 there. 
 
 Her face was white, and her eyes fixed with a strange look straight before 
 her. 
 
 " At last," she breathed through her pale lips " at last, Horace Mott, 
 my hour has come ! I shall be avenged ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 JTTHii, day had been intensely hot, and as night came on the sky clouded 
 1 as though it would end in a fitful storm of thunder and rain. 
 
 In a room well lit with shaded lamps, filled with an atmosphere of tobacco- 
 smoke, and loud with the babble of voices that rose from the men clustered 
 round the card-tables, sat a woman. 
 
 She was close to the long open window, from which could be caught a 
 glimpse of a dingy square, with dusty trees and brown grass in the center. 
 The very faint breeze that moved the lace curtains caressed the soft tendrils 
 of hair that grew on her brows, and fluttered the lace gathered at her 
 neck. 
 
 She held some work in her hand. But her whole attention was turned 
 from the hot noisy room to the still sultry night outside. She gazed at 
 the occasional passengers sauntering along in easy fashion, with a yearning 
 look on her lovely face that filled one with sorrow to see. 
 
 It was Horace Mott's wife the girl he had so shamelessly deceived and 
 forced into marriage, beautiful as of yore, but how changed ! There was 
 not the suspicion of a smile on the sweet lips or in the star-like eyes ; it 
 was the face of a woman who had no hope, no joy in life nothing but 
 endurance. 
 
 She shuddered as the conversation rose sometimes to a shout, often 
 terminating in an oath. 
 
 The man who should have offered her protection from such insults sat 
 by, with his sneering smile on his face, indifferent so it seemed even to her 
 very existence, except as being of exceeding value to him. 
 
 Few of the men approached Ulrica to talk with her ; she had an air of 
 such cold dignity and refinement that held them apart, though many were 
 the whispers as to who and what Mott's wife had been, and why she should 
 have married such a man. They knew only too well that scarcely one of 
 themselves was fit to be in her society.
 
 136 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Mott, from his Seat at the card-table, cast a sharp glance at her every 
 now and then, and frowned unpleasantly when he did so. 
 
 "It's too bad!" he muttered to himself more than once ; " sitting there 
 like a statue ! By Heaven, I shall end it ! She must wake up ; luck is 
 going to the deuce, and her face, if she chooses, could turn the scale. Sho 
 could do it if she likes. " 
 
 As he thought this the door opened, and Lord Elric appeared. 
 
 Mott greeted him effusively, but after a few words Lord Elric made his 
 way to Ulrica's side, and drawing up a chair began to talk eagerly to her. 
 
 There was a flush on the girl's lovely face and a light in her eyes, as she 
 saw the young man, that made her husband bite his lip with iealous rage 
 and anger. 
 
 His life with Ulrica so far had not been a success for him. 
 
 Every command he gave, however tyrannical, she performed ; she ful- 
 filled her duties in a way that aggravated him beyond everything. 
 
 Nothing he did could rouse Ulrica ; even in his passion she sat as calm 
 as a statue, never moving letting his rage exhaust itself. 
 
 Alone with him, she never opened her lips or spoke to him, except on 
 the most ordinary trivialities of everyday life. 
 
 Bullying had no effect, and it roused him almost to the verge of mad- 
 ness to see this girl shrink from the very touch of his sleeve as from some 
 hideous reptile. 
 
 He had won the game with John Dunworthy; he had wrested Ulrica 
 from all she loved, but there his triumph ended. 
 
 With Ulrica he never felt anything but a liar, a coward, and an utter 
 villain. 
 
 " I have come on purpose to see you, Mrs. Mott," exclaimed Lord Eric 
 Moseley, as he shook Ulrica's delicate hand. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you again, " she replied, in her sweet, simple 
 way. 
 
 " I got your address from Draycott," went on the young man, " andca m 
 here directly. I have a message for you from some one you like very 
 much, Mrs. Mott." 
 
 " From some one I like!" whispered Ulrica, fading pale as death. 
 
 " I saw Miss Chattie Wren in the Park to-day, and I told her how I had 
 met you, and how you had spoken of her, and she entreats you to let her 
 come and see you. r 
 
 Ulrica's hands were locked together tightly. 
 
 "See me!" she repeated, agitatedly. "Oh, no no ; it must not be! 
 Dear Chattie!" 
 
 Lord Eric looked at her face with sympathy and admiration. 
 
 " She will be greatly disappointed," he said. 
 
 Ulrica gave a short, choking sigh. 
 
 " Lord Eric, you must give Chattie my love how poor that sounds ! 
 my heartfelt, never-altered love ; but tell her she must not come to me, or 
 try to find me. I could not bear to meet her yet. " 
 
 " I will tell her so to-morrow. " 
 
 Ulrica had turned her face to the window again ; there was a quiver on 
 her lips, and something glistening in her eye, and her voice trembled as 
 she asked: 
 
 " And and how is she looking now? " 
 
 " Chattie always will be the dearest, sweetest girl in the whole world to 
 me." Lord Eric spoke mournfully, then went on :
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 137 
 
 " But it is of no use ; she is engaged to marry Basil Morne." 
 " Basil ! " murmured Ulrica. 
 
 In fancy she could see the boy and girl romping and laughing, teasing 
 one another in the gardens at Bathurst, while she had sat contented in the 
 sweet unconscious dream that was gradually stealing over her. 
 
 " They are very young," she said after a while ; " but I think they will be 
 nappy. " 
 
 Then seeing the pained look on Lord Eric's face, she put out her hand 
 gently. 
 
 " I am very sorry for you. You love her, too. I am sure you could not 
 help it, she is one of earth's angels." 
 
 " Oh, well, I must not be selfish ; I shall grow out of it some day, I sup- 
 pose. " The young man spoke valiantly, but he ended in a deep sigh. 
 
 Mott, looking at them keenly from the card-table, saw their grave expres- 
 sions, and the sweet look in Ulrica's eyes, when she turned to speak to 
 Lord Eric, and a flame of hot color rushed to his brow. 
 
 " Can it be that she has grown to Pshaw ! the idea is folly ! What 
 heart she ever had is buried with that other confound him ! And yet it 
 might be so ; women are strange creatures ! " 
 
 He let them sit talking pleasantly for a while, then raised his voice : 
 
 " Play something, Ulrica, or sing it does not matter which ; only do 
 your share to amuse our guests. " 
 
 Lord Eric's right hand clenched itself unconsiously, as he saw Ulrica 
 quiver at the insolent indifference in her husband's tone. 
 
 " May I take you to the piano? " he asked with tender courtesy. 
 
 Ulrica shook her head. 
 
 " If our guests will pardon me, I will not sing to-night," she said in her 
 clear, sweet voice; " the heat is so great, I " 
 
 A perfect chorus of assent rose at once from one and all of the men as- 
 sembled; only Horace Mott's lips drew in, in a fashion unbecoming and 
 disagreeable. 
 
 " If madame is not willing, here is some one who is!" he exclaimed, as 
 the door opened and a man entered, spelling vulgarity in his every line. 
 
 He was one of Ulrica's daily trials; her delicate nature, her refined soul, 
 shrank from this boon companion of Mott's, even more than it shrank 
 from her husband himself. 
 
 " What am I wanted to do? " asked this individual, in accents that 
 denoted a close acquaintance with whisky. 
 
 " Sing, Major," Mott said laconically. 
 
 Major Carter, as he called himself, lurched at once to the piano, and 
 without more ado, broke into a song which brought loud laughter from 
 Mott and some of the others, but which forced Ulrica's head to droop with 
 shame, and Lord Eric to rise to his feet and exclaim in a loud voice: 
 
 "Stop!" 
 
 Carter turned round with a drunken air of inquiry. 
 
 Lord Eric looked straight at his host. 
 
 " Your wife is present," he said distinctly. 
 
 Mott laughed. 
 
 "Well, what of it? Ulrica is not squeamish; she has heard this sort 
 of thing scores of times, and will have to again, my lord. " 
 
 Ulrica, as pale as death, moved slowly to the doorway, and Lord Eric 
 hastened to open the door to let her pass. Once outside, she stood with 
 dilated eyes and heaving breast.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 139 
 
 " He must not be insulted for me, " ran the mad thought in her mind. 
 
 She could hear distinctly what followed. 
 
 " I am exceedingly obliged to you for your careful thought of my wife, 
 Lord Eric, " said her husband in a voice choked with passion, " but I be- 
 lieve I am perfectly capable of doing that myself. " 
 
 " You have proved that, have you not ? " answered Lord Eric hotly. 
 
 "If my manners do not please you, there is always one alternative. " 
 
 " You mean leave your house. I am going, but before I go I wish to 
 express before you all, the sincere respect and sympathy I hold for Mrs. 
 Mott." 
 
 There was another murmur of assent, in which Ulrica heard her hus- 
 band grunt : " Hang your sympathy ;" and then Lord Eric was standing 
 beside her. 
 
 " Oh, thank you thank you ! " she whispered brokenly. 
 
 "Don't say that, please," urged the young man. "Mrs. Mott, do 
 let Miss Chattie come and see you. You ought not to stay here ; your 
 friends should " 
 
 " I have no friends I can expect no help. Oh, Lord Eric, give her all 
 my messages, tell her I think of her in my prayers every night ; but she 
 must not come she must not. We may not meet again, you and I let 
 me thank you for all your great manly kindness to me ; it has been so 
 pleasant so pleasant." 
 
 Lord Eric watched her turn away with a new mist before his eyes. 
 
 The silence was broken at last by her husband's voice shouting her name 
 loudly. 
 
 She rose mechanically and went to the stairs. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked coldly. 
 
 " Come down I want you. " 
 
 Slowly she descended the stairs and entered the room, reeking with 
 tobacco-smoke and hot air. Carter was stretched full length on a sofa 
 still smoking. The rest had gone. 
 
 "Come in, can't you!" exclaimed Mott savagely as he saw the girl 
 recoil ; " we've had enough of your infernal airs for to-night. " 
 
 " What have you to say to me ? " asked Ulrica, putting one hand on a 
 chair for support. 
 
 " Only this that I have grown sick of your temper, and don't mean to 
 stand any more. What do you mean by pushing that young upstart on to 
 insult me ? " 
 
 " You know I did nothing of the kind," was Ulrica's cold, steady reply. 
 " His own courtesy prompted him to the act. I have long ceased expecting 
 any respect from you. " 
 
 " You will get more than ever you expected from me shortly, " snarled 
 Mott, between his teeth. " By heaven, I mean to bring you off your 
 pedestal ! You shall learn I am your master, if not by kindness, by force 
 instead. " 
 
 " You know how much effect such a threat is likely to have on me. I am 
 no coward ! " the girl said, contemptuously. 
 
 Mott stood irresolute for an instant; then, picking up a pack of cards he 
 held, he flung them full in Ulrica's proud, beautiful face. 
 
 She gave one cry of horror, and put up her hand to her fair cheek, on 
 which the blood was flowing slowly down fiom a cut inflicted by one sharp 
 edge. 
 
 " You pitiful coward ! " she said slowly, from between her pallid lips.
 
 140 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Mott uttered an oath, and lifted his hand again, but Carter flung himself 
 forward. 
 
 " Enough of this, old man ! Let her go ! We may be come down, but 
 we ain't quite so low as striking a woman yet." 
 
 Ulrica, with one backward look of horror, went slowly from the room. 
 
 She heard the two men quarreling inside, but the sound never broke her 
 composure. 
 
 " It is the end, " was her thought. " I can bear no more. " 
 
 She mounted the stairs to her room once more ; she seemed moved by 
 some influence other than her own will. The insult of the blow stood 
 before her eyes ; a voice rang in her ears : 
 
 " Go escape ! Now is the time. They will drink on for hours. Go ! " 
 
 She stood silent for an instant ; then every pulse within her leaped. 
 
 " Yes, I will go. Anywhere will be purer willbebetter thanthis. It 
 is contamination to breathe the same air with him longer ! I have been mad 
 to bear it so long ; I am sane now. God knows I have tried to remember 
 the vows I took tried to crush the hatred, the memory of his cruel deceit 
 and trickery to think of him as the man I had sworn to love and obey. 
 But I can do so no longer. I will escape ; it matters little where. If I 
 die well, death has been before me often I am ready ! " 
 
 While she thought, she was drawing a dark cloak over her dress and 
 taking her purse with the money that had lain in it ever since the day she 
 had taken it in exchange for her ring ; she had had no need of money 
 before. 
 
 Slowly she stole down the stairs, her handkerchief pressed to her wounded 
 face. 
 
 In the hall she stopped. 
 
 She heard the two men talking. 
 
 " You were a fool. I tell you Moseley was dead struck on her ; and is 
 this a moment to indulge in tomfoolery about being jealous. Jealous! 
 why, if you have felt much love for your wife, Horace Mott, you have kept 
 it well hidden, my son; that's alL" 
 
 "Love her," muttered Mott; "I think there is some spell about her. 
 
 She drives me mad. She is my wife I won her Well, that's my 
 
 affair. I had the satisfaction of robbing a man I hated, and for what ? 
 To be scorned mocked at! Heavens, if you felt as I did, Carter, you 
 would not call it tomfoolery ! But there, the end must come ; and, if I 
 kill her, I will break her coldness and make her turn to me, if not of her 
 own free will, then by mine ! " 
 
 " Meanwhile, encourage Moseley. He has heaps of money, I tell you. 
 She must be the magnet that will draw it to our nets. " 
 
 Ulrica glided on with a shudder. 
 
 She slipped open the door carefully, and then held her breath as she 
 closed it. 
 
 " The end must come, " she repeated " the end has come, Horace 
 Mott ! I am gone from you, pray God, forever ! "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 141 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 [LL was still. The distant rumble of wheels in the thoroughfare be- 
 yond was the only sound that came to Ulrica's ears. Her strength 
 
 egan o fail. 
 
 It would be many weary hours till morning, and she had no shelter be- 
 fore her. 
 
 But this was nothing no horror at all, as she recalled what she was 
 leaving. A sink of iniquity and shame, in which her womanhood was to 
 be debased, her honor degraded, her beauty turned into a snare a lure 
 for filthy gain ! 
 
 The thought revived her courage. 
 
 She took a few steps to the right. 
 
 " I will walk about slowly till early dawn, then I must go to some station 
 and wait there till till I have made some plans. Courage, Ulrica 
 cou " 
 
 The words died away in a frightened sob. 
 
 A dark object had glided away from the railings and stood in her path. 
 
 It was a woman a gaunt, haggard woman, seen in the fitful light of the 
 lamp. 
 
 " Who are you ? What do you want ? " faltered Ulrica, shrinking back. 
 
 " You are Horace Mott's wife the girl he forced, through his deceit, 
 to marry him ? " 
 
 The voice, harsh and thick as it was, sounded familiar to Ulrica. 
 
 " I am," she replied. " What of it ? " 
 
 " This : You want a friend ? Ah, I see it by your face. I have waited 
 all night there to catch a glimpse of you if possible, speak to you, but 
 was giving it up as hopeless when you came out. Some instinct must have 
 led me to you to-night. You want aid. Where are you going at this late 
 hour ? " 
 
 Ulrica passed a hand over her brow. 
 
 As she did so, the other caught sight of the blood on her cheek. She 
 checked a sudden exclamation. 
 
 " Trust me. By all you hold sacred, I swear I am your friend. What 
 are you going to do ? " 
 
 " I am going to seek freedom and forgetfulness, " whispered Ulrica. 
 
 The old woman drew her hand through her arm. 
 
 " And I will help you. Ah, you don't remember, child, yet your pale, 
 pleading face has been stamped on my heart night and day. I am the 
 woman who refused you aid when you asked for it. I am that poor, blind, 
 besotted tool of Horace Mott's who would not listen to you. Ah, child, 
 child, don't shrink from me ! I am Graves. I have lived for this day, when 
 I could pour out my aching heart to you, help you to the beginning of a 
 new life, please God, and the end of all your miseries. Come home with 
 me come home ! " 
 
 Ulrica let herself be dragged along ; she was bewildered and weak. 
 
 " What does it mean ? "she asked faintly. 
 
 " It means revenge ! " muttered Graves ; and, after a moment's pause, 
 the young girl and the old woman passed away into the darkness 
 together.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 MRS. WREN'S house, near Regent's Park, was 3ttle more than a cot- 
 tage, but it was surrounded by a garden, both pretty and spacious, 
 and every corner and nook of the rambling old-fashioned residence was 
 beloved by Chattie. 
 
 Connie turned her nose up at it ; her ambition soared to Dunworthy 
 Castle, and there was no room for sentiment in her worldly breast. 
 
 One afternoon, just before the close of the London season, when the 
 sun was hot and brilliant, and the flowers were budding and scenting the 
 air with their fragrance, a crowd of smartly-dressed people wended their 
 way to Mrs. Wren's abode for a garden-party. 
 
 Connie, dainty in pink from parasol to shoe, received one and all with 
 an air of fashionable lassitude, but beneath it her heart was throbbing 
 wildly and her pulses thrilling. 
 
 " Surely he will come. He must come ! Lady Dunworthy declared he 
 would." 
 
 It was of Sir John she thought. 
 
 Nearly three weeks had gone since that morning in the Park when the 
 news of John Dunworthy's return reached her, and yet he had never 
 appeared to her and made no sign until this day, when his mother had 
 promised most faithfully on his account that he would attend the party. 
 
 In another corner stood Chattie. 
 
 Her slim young form was garbed in white, a large broad-brimmed hat 
 shaded her face, which grew more piquant every day ; the sun picked out 
 the gold in her ruddy curls and lit up the strange hue in her eyes. She was 
 not one whit so pretty as her sister, yet attracted far more notice. 
 
 For some time she chatted generally with the groups of people as they 
 arrived ; then, after a little while, she found herself alone with one man, 
 and they sauntered into a quiet path alone. 
 
 " Well," breathed Chattie, " what news? " 
 
 " We have found Mott," replied Lord Eric ; " he went over to Paris for 
 a week or so, but there is no sign of her. " 
 
 Chattie's cheeks were fading as white as her gown. 
 
 " What can have happened? Lord Eric, do do you think he has killed 
 her ? " 
 
 The words were barely whispered. 
 
 The young man shook his head decidedly. 
 
 " No ; of that I am certain. She has fled from him, and he can find her 
 no easier than we can. I have learned through several sources that Mott is 
 like a madman. Did he love her so much? " 
 
 " Love her ! " repeated Chattie in accents of mingled scorn and anger. 
 " What did he know of love? He dragged her down, broke her heart 
 stamped on it; then by threats forced her to marry him. Love! Horace 
 Mott! But let us forget him. Poor poor Ulrica ! Lord Eric, we loved 
 one another more than sisters. She was so pure so true so sweet." 
 
 There were tears in Chattie's eyes as she finished. 
 
 " The thought comes," she went on quickly, " if she has ended it all 
 herself. " 
 
 " You mean, that she has killed herself ? "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 143 
 
 Chattie nodded her head. 
 
 Lord Eric looked grave, but he answered very cheerfully . 
 " Oh no, no ; we must not think that. We shall find her be sure of 
 that. I am most hopeful most hopeful." 
 
 " How good you are," murmured Chattie; " and when we find her I shall 
 telegraph straight to Uncle Guy. He will take her back to Bathurst, and 
 we shall keep her to ourselves." 
 
 " Secrets ! " laughed a shrill gay voice. 
 
 And turning, they saw Connie leaning on the arm of a handsome grave- 
 faced young man. 
 
 He s'epped forward, slipping Connie's hand on one side to grasp Chat- 
 tie's two eager ones. 
 
 " Johnnie Jack ! " 
 
 "Dear little Chattie!" 
 
 That was all ; but what volumes of meaning in those five words ! 
 
 Sir John stood holding Chattie's fingers, as though he touched some 
 haven after a long and troubled passage. Neither spoke then; their hearts 
 were too full 
 
 Connie frowned and broke in with: 
 
 " Come Chattie, if you welcome Sir John so warmly, Basil will be quite 
 jealous. 
 
 " I don't think Basil would grudge me anything not even this," said 
 Sir John. 
 
 And stooping, he touched Chattie's lips with his. 
 
 Connie felt jealous even of her sister. Sir John had welcomed her 
 warmly, but with not a tithe as much pleasure as he showed in his meeting 
 with Chattie. 
 
 " We must not keep you, Johnnie Jack," said Chattie, forcing herself to 
 speak lightly. " Lord Eric, too, must take me back to the rest. Mother 
 will want me." 
 
 And slipping her hand through Lord Eric's arm, Chattie moved away. 
 
 " Let me have your news as soon as you get any," she murmured; " I am 
 not going away yet. " 
 
 Sir John glanced after her with a sigh, but Connie pretended not to 
 hear it. 
 
 " Come," she said, with a pretty little laugh, " I look upon you as my 
 property. I am your nurse, you must remember. " 
 
 " Indeed I shall never forget," the young man answered gravely; " I can- 
 not try to thank you " 
 
 " I want no thanks only tell me about your travels, and what you have 
 been doing. " 
 
 " I fear I have forgotten everything of interest," was his reply. 
 
 Connie bit her lip. 
 
 Was his mind rooted to that girl, and after all she had done, too? 
 Really it was most provoking. 
 
 " But won't you try and think of something very thrilling? " she asked, 
 glancing up at him with a sweet smile. 
 
 Sir John woke from his gloomy thoughts. His conscience smote him 
 as he remembered all the supposed kindness Connie had shown him. 
 
 " Let us sit here, " he said as they came to the chairs, " and I will do my 
 best." 
 
 The afternoon glided on. 
 
 To Connie it was a paradise a very heaven of delight. The goal for
 
 144 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 which she had worked so nard was actually in sight ; her spirits rose to the 
 very acme of bliss. 
 
 At last the sun began to descend. Mrs. Wren's guests took their leave. 
 There were dinners, the last ball of the season to attend, and fashion 
 flowed from Regent's Park to the West End. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy and her son were the two last to depart, the mother 
 looking, if anything, more pompous and sententious than ever. 
 
 " I have persuaded this dear girl to pay us a long visit at Dunworthy, 
 John," she said, patting Connie's hand. 
 
 " Say you will be glad to see me," whispered Connie, coquettishly. 
 
 " I think you know that," was his answer, given courteously, but with no 
 warmth. He was indifferent as to whether she came or not. 
 
 To Chattie he said nothing, only their hands lingered in the farewell 
 grasp, and their eyes, meeting, filled full with tears. 
 ******* 
 
 " But I am strong now quite -j- quite strong. " 
 
 Ulrica spoke the words with a faint smile. Graves looked at her in 
 silence. 
 
 Was it not the girl's spirit she had rescued from that brief, fiery struggle 
 between the brain and the madness of fever? Ulrica was so frail, so thin, 
 so white, she did not seem human. 
 
 " Are you so anxious to leave me? " asked the woman, speaking at 
 length. 
 
 The girl stretched out her worn hand and caught the other's work-stained 
 one to her lips. 
 
 " You know I do not mean that," she answered; "but I long for air. I 
 long to get away, Graves. My heart aches in this city it burns and 
 aches ! " 
 
 " I will ask the doctor to-night, and if he says you may travel, I will 
 take you to the sea. " 
 
 Ulrica murmured, " the sea," softly, to herself j then another thought 
 came. 
 
 " Graves," she said, hurriedly, "what about money? Oh, forgive me; I 
 am utterly helpless to do anything for " 
 
 The older woman stooped over the chair at the window. 
 
 " You are my child, " she answered, tenderly ; " my dear child, that I will 
 willingly care for to the end of my days, if I may." 
 
 They clasped each other's hands, then Graves turned away; there was an 
 eager, almost excited look on her face. 
 
 " Dr. Greenwood can't come himself this evening; he is going to send 
 some one else. " 
 
 " I don't think I want a doctor now," Ulrica said, moving her head, from 
 which all the luxuriant hair had been shorn, to and fro on the chair. 
 
 " Don't you? " Graves smiled faintly. " I think you do." 
 
 " But if he says I may go to the sea, how can I take you from your home? 
 You have your work to do. " 
 
 The older woman stood silent for a second. 
 
 "Yes; I have work to do," she repeated, bitterly; "but that can wait 
 till 
 
 Till what? " asked Ulrica. 
 
 " Till you are better. Now, I want you to get to sleep for a while, and 
 to look your best when the doctor comes. "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 145 
 
 "Ulrica sent a smile of grateful sweetness to the worn face, and rested 
 back with a sigh of utter weakness, yet of a consciousness of peace as 
 she was left alone. 
 
 She clung to this woman this strange, abruptly-mannered, yet gentle 
 nurse, whose tenderness had been without limit* whose care was never 
 diminished. 
 
 Graves seemed now her only friend ; the others, whom she loved, stood 
 as so many spirit-forms in the background, inexpressibly dear, bu<. unap- 
 proachable. 
 
 A chasm of misery and shame stretched between herself and them. It 
 must never be bridged over, at least by her, so she determined. 
 
 With Graves it was different ; there was some bond of sympathy and 
 suffering between them, though Ulrica knew not what its nature was. 
 
 Graves had been instrumental in aiding her to sorrow ; now she held 
 forth her hand to help her from that load of trouble, and Ulrica did not 
 disdain to grasp that nand. 
 
 In a dim, mysterious way, she had some recollection of the word 
 "revenge," uttered that night as they stole away in the shadows; but 
 illness had followed so swiftly, she could not recall exactly what had 
 occurred, and she had not spoken to Graves once on the subject, or even 
 breathed her husband's detested name. 
 
 By-and-by, lying back in her chair, her thoughts wandered into a peace- 
 ful dream ; her weak, weary limbs relaxed ; her hands lay on her lap ; her 
 white, sweet, sad face, from which every gleam of youth seemed gone, lay 
 in the evening sunshine still in sleep. 
 
 The door opening softly did not rouse her, nor the approach of some one 
 to her side. 
 
 Some happy bygone time must have flitted across the vision of her 
 dream, for her pale lips parted, and she smiled ; then the smile faded, and 
 a weary, patient look dawned on her face again. 
 
 " How changed ! " whispered the silent watcher ; " how changed ! " 
 
 Ulrica moved in her sleep, but still the onlooker never stirred. A mist of 
 hushed tea^s stole over his sight, and blotted out the picture for an instant. 
 
 Then the vague consciousness of another's presence seemed to come to 
 Ulrica. Her hands trembled, her lips parted, her eyelids lifted slowly. 
 
 There was an instant's pause, a sudden rising in the chair, a look of de- 
 light, then acute disappointment in the star-like sapphire eyes as she sank 
 back murmuring : 
 
 " Only a dream again a dream!" 
 
 " No, it is no dream, Ulrica," spoke a strong voice, which seemed con- 
 centrated with emotion ; "look again, dear, right into my face." 
 
 Ulrica felt her hands clasped, herself drawn into sitting position ; her 
 gaze met the steady wooing gaze of eyes that had never left her memory, 
 and with a sob of joy she cried faintly : 
 
 " Uncle Guy, at last at last ! Oh, thank God ! " 
 
 Guy drew the frail form into his arms ; he was kneeling beside her, and 
 pressed his lips to her brow. 
 
 " Yes, Ulrica, at last ; and, by Heaven's will, forever now. My poor 
 lamb, my child, my dear one ! " 
 
 " Uncle Guy Uncle Guy ! " she murmured every now and then with a 
 catch in her voice ; " at last ! " 
 
 C^iy's heart thrilled with the joy he could not repress at the delight sha 
 showed ; but the joy was fleeting ; the pain called up by her changed ap- 
 
 1O
 
 146 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 pearance and the knowledge of her position lived longer and more 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Tell me, " murmured the girl, as Guy drew up a chair and smoothed 
 back the soft, short, wavy locks from her hot brow " tell me how how 
 did you find me ? " 
 
 " I have been here often before. All through your illness I came night 
 and day, but I would not see you till you were better. I will tell you how 
 you were discovered, but not now another time, dear." 
 
 Ulrica held his hand tightly clasped between her two hot ones. 
 
 " Oh, the happiness, the joy, to feel your hand, to know it is no myth, 
 but you yourself sitting here ! " she said, lifting her great, glorious eyes to 
 his. " I have pictured it so often in my dreams, I can scarcely believe it is 
 real now. " 
 
 " I can testify to this being solid flesh and blood," Guy said lightly, 
 holding up his hand ; " surely it is substantial enough, Ulrica. " 
 
 Ulrica smiled a weak, wan smile. 
 
 " It is to me the hand of an angel," was her answer. There was a mo- 
 ment's pause, and then she asked, in low tones: " And mother what of 
 her? What does she think of me and of my conduct? " 
 
 " I have a message for you here it is. You can read for yourself." 
 
 Ulrica took the tiny note with trembling fingers. 
 
 " When will my adopted child come back to me? " she read. " I am 
 waiting for her with all the love of old." 
 
 The paper fluttered down, and Ulrica's lips quivered for an instant. 
 
 " I cannot go back. I will not bring disgrace on those I love," she 
 whispered. 
 
 " You did not notice the address," Guy said gently, picking up the note 
 again. "Look: Belleview Cottage, Seamouth. It is the dearest, quaintest 
 little place in the world, Ulrica. I took my our mother down there 
 about a fortnight ago, and all sorts of preparations have been going on 
 since in honor of the interesting invalid." 
 
 Ulrica did not smile as he finished; she was gazing out of the window 
 with a sad, fixed look, and her hands were clasped together. 
 
 "Uncle Guy," she said, after a while. "I cannot go; think what it 
 would be if if he found me. The very thought of him approaching any 
 of you whom I love sends a shiver through me; then think, dear think," 
 she went on hurriedly " if if he came, I should have to go with him, 
 and the misery after my brief glimpse of Paradise would be too great. I 
 could not bear it no, no; I could not bear it ! " 
 
 Guy bent and touched her forehead with his lips. 
 
 " Ulrica, be at peace, dear. Your he will not molest you, for a time 
 at least. He is out of England, and I do not think he will return just 
 yet. " 
 
 " Gone ! " said the girl with feverish eagerness; " really gone ! But where, 
 Uncle Guy where?" 
 
 " To America, I believe." 
 
 Ulrica breathed a deep sigh. 
 
 "The very air seems clearer," she murmured, closing her eyes for an 
 instant. 
 
 Guy did not speak till she looked up again. 
 
 " You will come, Ulrica," was all he said. 
 
 " Give me one moment to think," was her answer. " But first, tell me 
 why has he gone? " 1
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 147 
 
 " He has sailed with two or three others for amusement, I presume; 
 and also in furtherance of some financial speculation. " 
 
 Guy spoke cautiously. He did not intend that she should learn the 
 truth, at least yet that Horace Mott had had to depart hastily from the 
 metropolis, and, indeed, vanish from England for a time, in consequence of 
 an ugly fracas and exposure at his ecarte table. It was sufficient for him 
 that Mott was gone and Ulrica was free for a short while. 
 
 He rose as he ended the words and sauntere.l away. 
 
 Ulrica sat very still, thinking and thinking. Her mind was full of a 
 complex variety of thoughts, pain, and pleasure ; a shudder of remem- 
 brance and a thrill of anticipation, disgust, and love jostled one another 
 together, and at last the brief struggle was over. 
 
 " Well ? " asked Guy's eyes, though his lips were mute, as she looked 
 across at him. 
 
 She stretched out her hand. 
 
 " Yes, " she whispered ; " I can resist no longer ; take me home to her ; 
 let me taste some joy once more before I die! " 
 
 " Die ! " repeated Guy, his voice choked by emotion. " Live, Ulrica, 
 my darling! Live, to give us gladness for days to come." 
 
 Ulrica smiled a peaceful, contented smile; then she looked down, and a 
 shade fell over her face. 
 
 " One thing more," she murmured. " I cannot meet Jack that is be- 
 yond me, Uncle Guy. " 
 
 " Nor shall your strength be tried. Jack knows nothing ; be comforted, 
 and trust in me. " 
 
 " I will ! " cried Ulrica, pressing her lips to his hand ; " I will, for you 
 have never failed, " 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 "JOHN!" 
 
 J " Mother !" 
 
 " Come and settle with us about the lawn-tennis tournament." 
 
 "Oh, yes, Sir John, please." 
 
 Connie managed to put any amount of pretty eloquence in the last 
 word. 
 
 Sir John, who was intent on looking through a Bradshaw, rose from his 
 chair by the open window as the two ladies approached it on the terrace. 
 He kept his finger between the pages still; his face looked handsome 
 as of yore, yet he wore a careworn, wearied expression. 
 
 "Tournament, mother 1 This is the first I have heard of it," he said 
 half irritably. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy looked annoyed. 
 
 " I don't know where your ears have been then, for we have discussed it 
 openly for three days." 
 
 " Perhaps you don't feel equal to the task of entertaining in this sultry 
 weather," Connie added in her gentlest way; "it really does sound ex- 
 hausting. " 
 
 " Oh, it is not a question of strength," Sir John answered with a faint 
 smile in her direction; he was always touched bvher smooth discretion and 
 thoughtfulness when with her.
 
 148 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 She vanished from his mind as soon as her gossamer draperies were 
 wafted away. 
 
 " Of what, then? " asked his mother, tightening her lips in an ominous 
 fashion. 
 
 " Of inclination," he replied shortly; -: and on that score I beg to veto 
 the lawn-tennis tournament altogether. " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy's lace cap quivered with her wrath. 
 
 " Really, John, you are most trying; you know we must give our usual 
 entertainment to the country, and instead of helping, you are only an ob- 
 struction. " 
 
 Sir John's handsome brow darkened. 
 
 " What if I refuse to give any entertainment at all? " he asked in a way 
 he had never assumed before. 
 
 His mother's temper was soon roused. 
 
 She gave a short laugh. 
 
 " What ? Why, you will afford more food for gossip than you have 
 already. " 
 
 Connie could have willingly hit Lady Dunworthy, but she kept a smil- 
 ing face. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! how sorry I am ; the tournament was all my idea, Sir 
 John." 
 
 Sir John's frown vanished slowly, and Lady Dunworthy turned on her 
 heel and sailed angrily away. 
 
 Connie leaned against the window, round which the roses and honey- 
 suckle nodded and gave forth their sweetness to the air. 
 
 She made a pretty picture, in her pale blue batiste gown, exquisitely 
 made, with her yellow locks bunched in studied artistic disorder in a coil 
 in the nape of her neck. 
 
 She sent a deprecating look to the young man, who stood moodily gaz- 
 ing across the lawn, and said with half a sigh: 
 
 " You have been vexed again, and all through me. " 
 
 " Through you! " Sir John repeated, rousing himself; " indeed no, Con- 
 nie. You do nothing that ever vexes me. " 
 
 She turned her head away to hide the triumph that would come, and 
 spoke gently: 
 
 " Poor Lady Dunworthy ! You must not be hard on her. She is Con- 
 servative to the backbone, and the thought of not giving the usual summer 
 fete troubles her. We ought to think of that, Sir John, and act accord- 
 ingly." 
 
 " You have a kind heart," said Sir John, with a smile. " Of course, if 
 my mother is disappointed, that is another matter ; but but she expresses 
 herself so strangely. " 
 
 " It is not every one who possesses tact." 
 
 " Indeed no," Sir John agreed heartily. 
 
 Connie smiled, then touching the Bradshaw he held with her dainty 
 white hand, she asked : 
 
 " Pray, why that book ? Don't oh, don't say you are going away. " 
 
 " Well, I must confess I had serious thoughts of so doing," he replied, 
 smiling ; " but if you command " 
 
 "I do not command I plead," was Connie's answer, delivered with 
 the accompaniment of a blush. 
 
 " Then naught remains but to yield. " 
 
 * Give up the book 1"
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 149 
 
 Connie stretched out her hand, and with a low bow Sir John renounced 
 his Bradshaw. 
 
 " So far so good," she observed. " Now, are you busy, or can you 
 spare me time to stroll round and listen to my suggestions for this afore- 
 said fete ? " 
 
 " I am at your service. " 
 
 Sir John stepped onto the terrace, but the fleeting look of amusement had 
 vanished from his face. He was grave again, as he turned beside Connie 
 and sauntered away. 
 
 " We ought to have Chattie here for this," he said, forcing himself to be 
 conversational. 
 
 Connie frowned, unseen by him. 
 
 " Oh, Chattie is too much wrapped up in Basil's home-coming to care for 
 anything else. " 
 
 " When does Basil arrive ? " 
 
 " Some time this week." 
 
 " And when is this tournament to be ? " 
 
 " Wednesday next. " 
 
 " Oh, then perhaps Basil and Chattie could both come," said Sir John. 
 
 ** ** * * * * 
 
 A week had gone by since their morning stroll. Connie and Sir John 
 had had many others, but in none of them did the conversation get be- 
 yond the most ordinary topics of the day. Still Connie's heart grew 
 more and more elated, and Lady Dunworthy, seeing her son enter almost 
 warmly into her arrangements, was most beaming and genial. 
 
 Sir John spent a wretched week. The thought that Connie loved him 
 had forced itself into absolute conviction as day passed day. 
 
 His Heart had been touched by Connie's sympathetic friendship ; but, 
 beyond that, he had no thought, one way or another, for this girl. 
 
 "I shall never love but you, my darling," he would murmur to Ulrica's 
 image enshrined in his inmost soul. "You, my angel, my spirit of loveli- 
 ness! how could I do ought but love you ? And yet oh, my God you 
 are gone from me forever. Ulrica Ulrica!" 
 
 Wednesday, the day chosen for Dunworthy Castle summer fete, dawned 
 gloriously hot and beautiful. 
 
 As the truth about Connie forced itself upon Sir John Dunworthy, he 
 grew uneasy and miserable. 
 
 " I will go away. It is not fair to be with her when I know I can never 
 be anything to her. She is so good so young, too. She will grow out of it 
 soon. Yes I will go away. " 
 
 As Connie dressed for the entertainment, she smiled to herself in the 
 mirror. 
 
 " To-day, Madame Ulrica, I shall put my foot, figuratively, upon you. I 
 shall win. He suspects that I love him. Well, call it love if he likes. I 
 am determined to be his wife, and to-day shall see that result announced, 
 or else my name is not Connie Wren. " 
 
 Her toilet, more dainty than ever, provoked a murmur of admiration 
 among Lady Dunworthy's guests. 
 
 " How Mrs. Wren contrived to dress her like that is a puzzle to me," 
 was the remark made confidently more than once. 
 
 Connie, moving about in her gown of white moirfe silk, draped with real 
 Valenciennes lace, could have satisfied their curiosity at once if she had 
 taken them up-stairs and shown them a bulky document just received from
 
 150 "SER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Madame Amina, the contents of which her mother knew nothing about, 
 and which, as Sir John's future wife, Connie determined should trouble her 
 very little. 
 
 Having in view the fact that to-day must end the matter, Connie 
 played her part accordingly. 
 
 She looked paler, more delicate than ordinarily. 
 
 Her face wore a serious, though tender look. Whenever she met Sir 
 John's gaze, she affected to smile easily, then bit her lip and turned sud- 
 denly away all of which worked upon him even better than she could 
 ever have dreamed. 
 
 Love and sorrow make us wondrous kind. 
 
 As he suffered himself, so John Dunworthy, without a particle of vanity, 
 imagined Connie to be suffering on his account, and it pained him beyond 
 words. 
 
 He wandered about among the crowd, wishing that he were miles away, 
 yet winning golden opinions from everybody for his genial manner and 
 friendly words. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy watched him, and her selfish nature was satisfied. 
 
 "Connie was right," she nodded to herself; "he only wants handling 
 properly, and he will forget that creature as easily as we could wish." 
 
 Forget Ulrica! Ah, how little they knew this man how little they 
 knew the depth, the intensity with which he clung to her memory ! 
 
 He had schooled himself to think of her as Horace Mott's wife, but it 
 was a task almost beyond him. 
 
 He could not bear to recall her sweet, exquisite face, and know that she 
 was pledged to that villain from whose footstep she had been used to 
 shrink as from a reptile. And it was all through him all for his sake ! 
 To save his life she had sacrificed her own. The bitterness was threefold 
 when he remembered that. 
 
 Guy had told him Ulrica's piteous story as he had learnt it from Dr. 
 Drewitt, and it was only by force of will that he had prevented Sir John 
 from doing murder. 
 
 Mad with the horrible truth ringing in his ears, Horace Mott would 
 have fared ill at his hands had not Guy, by every care, prevented a meeting, 
 and kept by his friend till Mott was lost sight of. 
 
 Then came the journey abroad. 
 
 That weary time courting forgetfulness, yet clinging to memories. 
 
 And now John Dunworthy was at his home once more, and Connie 
 determined he should remain there, at all events for a period. 
 
 The tennis tournament was a great success. 
 
 The band from London discoursed sweet music on the lawn, and Connie 
 assisted her hostess in her most carefully affectionate way. 
 
 Sir John, with bis burden of sorrow, felt out of place and miserable in 
 this scene of gaiety and sunshine. He would have left it but for his prom- 
 ise to Connie. 
 
 " She begged me to stay to please my mother, "he mused; "she little 
 knew the task she put on me, and yet I can scarcely refuse. She has done 
 so much for me, and she suffers, too. " 
 
 He thought this as he sauntered along, and was passing behind two 
 chairs and two sunshades, beneath which were two ladies. 
 
 At this moment he caught the mention of Connie's name. 
 
 " Why did she not marry young Draycott? " said one; " I know he pro- 
 posed."
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 151 
 
 " Why has she not married long before this? " returned the other. " For 
 one and the same reason, and that is at least, so I think, and many 
 others, too that she has some hopeless attachment for some one we know 
 nothing of. " 
 
 " Well, it is a great pity. Connie Wren should marry; she is a nice 
 sensible girl, and " 
 
 And Sir John hurried on. 
 
 "A hopeless attachment!" 
 
 There was the verification of his fear. 
 
 Yes, to-morrow he would leave his home again. His nature shrank 
 from giving further pain, and were he to be with Connie a hundred years, 
 he said to himself, things would never change Ulrica would reign 
 triumphantly as his love forever. 
 
 No hint or suggestion of offering marriage to Connie crossed his mind 
 it would have seemed to him almost a sin. 
 
 The afternoon sun declined, the tournament raged excitedly. 
 
 Connie had refused to play. 
 
 "I don't feel equal to it," had been her remark, and she contented 
 herself with relieving Lady Dunworthy of the most arduous part of 
 entertaining. 
 
 She was indeed growing weary and cross. Why did not Sir John speak? 
 
 She must contrive something she must bring about the conclusion as 
 she had arranged. Her sharp brain worked busily. 
 
 The fte was to end in a dance, and about seven o'clock the lawn-tennis 
 was finished. 
 
 Connie, with a young man beside her who honestly admired her pretti- 
 ness, went for a short stroll before dressing for the evening. 
 
 She took very little notice of her companion's chatter; she was thinking. 
 
 Little by little they wandered into the quieter part of the grounds, and 
 then her quick eyes caught a glimpse of Sir John sauntering alone, deep in 
 thought. 
 
 The moment was come. Just as they reached their host, Connie gave a 
 faint shriek, jerked her foot, and fell to the ground before either *>{ the 
 young men could prevent her. 
 
 "You are hurt?" cried Sir John, turning round, and stooping to lift 
 her. 
 
 " My foot ! " whispered Connie, inaudibly; and then, calling up all her 
 efforts, she relapsed into a very decent semblance of a faint not enough 
 to deceive an expert, but sufficient to take in both the men beside her. 
 
 " What shall we do? " asked her late companion. 
 
 " Run to the house for some water. Don't make a fuss, or you may 
 upset my mother. Be quick 1 She must have twisted her foot 1 " 
 
 The young man darted away. 
 
 Connie was widely awake to all that happened ; she had timed it 
 splendidly. 
 
 It must take ten minutes to get to the Castle and back with water, and 
 in ten minutes a battle might be fought a kingdom lost why not a 
 simple-minded man's sympathy, if not love, gained? 
 
 She rested back motionless in Sir John's arms ; her delicate gown would 
 not be improved by so close an acquaintance with the ground, but what 
 was a gown to the stake for which she played ? 
 
 Sir John bent over her in genuine sorrow and alarm, and uttered a true 
 exclamation of gladness as she opened her eyes.
 
 152 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " You are better ? I am so relieved," he said, as she passed one hand 
 over her brow. 
 
 Connie tried to smile. 
 
 " What is it ? Have you sprained your ankle, do you think ?" 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 " No, no ; it is really nothing. See, I can move my foot ! What a cow- 
 ard you must think me, Sir John, to faint for nothing. " 
 
 "Indeed, I consider you no coward," was his reply, given earnestly. 
 " Can you stand ? Let me help you ; give me your hand. " 
 
 Connie let him lift her to her feet with most realistic weakness. 
 
 " I think it must have been the fright," she said, resting against a tree, 
 and still against him too. " But I am not very strong. The heat tired 
 
 me, and and Don't let me keep you here, Sir John. I am all right 
 
 now, indeed." 
 
 ~ " Do you think I should leave you as you are ? " was his answer, given 
 with a touch of vexation as she turned her face away, and spoke as though 
 tears were forcing themselves into her eyes and voice. 
 
 Connie's heart thrilled. 
 
 " But indeed indeed I wish you would," she whispered faintly ; " I I 
 am not myself to-day." 
 
 " I shall take you to my mother. You wart rest ; you have been doing 
 too much. Well, you will have quiet soon, for I shall go away to-morrow, 
 and the " 
 
 Connie interrupted him. 
 
 " Going away ? " she said with a wailing inflection in her voice ; " I 
 oh, how disappointed your mother will be ! 
 
 Sir John was silent. 
 
 There was no mistaking it now. As plain as could be said by broken 
 words, Connie told him she loved him. 
 
 He shook himself, and spoke hurriedly. 
 
 " Yes ; my home is not pleasant to me now. I cannot stay here." 
 
 " Not when love bids you stay? " 
 
 It was a bold plunge, but it was done. 
 
 Connie, conscious that assistance might come at any moment, could bear 
 the suspense no longer. 
 
 Sir John turned at her tender whisper. He shrank from her out- 
 stretched hands. 
 
 " There is no love for me, for I can give none in return," he said hoarsely. 
 
 " There is love where there ever has been love for you in my heart," 
 was the answer. 
 
 He stood overwhelmed with the miserable awkwardness of the moment. 
 
 "Connie," he said at last, " I cannot ask you to sacrifice yourself I 
 cannot ask you to be my wife. You know why. You know I love Ulrica 
 with all my heart and soul. Can I then offer you an empty heart, a name 
 nothing more? If these please you, take them ; but I warn you, love for 
 another can never come ! " 
 
 Connie nestled close to him. 
 
 " I am content," she whispered, " if I am near you. " 
 
 He made no effort to clasp her in his arms or press his lips to hers. 
 
 " So be it," was all he said. 
 
 And so Connie's betrothal took place on the very spot where Ulrica had 
 lifted her eyes to his and breathed her wondrous love. 
 
 Connie's heart beat fast with triumph, but the man's was as cold as ice.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 153 
 
 CHAPTER XXVH. 
 
 6UY left Ulrica early on that evening of their meeting ; he feared the 
 excitement might tell on her frail strength, and he wanted her to be 
 able to travel down to Seamouth at the earliest opportunity. 
 
 Ulrica's lovely eyes had the first reflection of happiness in them that 
 Graves had ever seen ! there was a tremulous beauty, too, in her sweet lips 
 and the faint color traced on her white cheeks. 
 
 " So you are going from me? " the older woman said sadly, as she ten- 
 derly helped the sick girl to rest. 
 
 Ulrica put one hand in hers. 
 
 " No ; you will come with me, too mother will welcome you." 
 
 Graves shook her head. 
 
 "No, my child." 
 
 " But you can leave your house ; you have no ties nothing to keep you 
 from me." 
 
 And Ulrica laid her head on the other's shoulders, as she said this, 
 pleadingly. 
 
 Graves stroked her soft hair gently ; her face looked stern and fixed, yet 
 her eyes were tender and sad as they rested on the girl nestling close to 
 her. 
 
 " You will be better alone, dear," she answered ; then, as Ulrica began 
 to protest, she continued : " Besides, I have work to do, a mission to per- 
 form, one one that may take time and trouble." 
 
 " But why*not wait till I am better? Then I can help you too." 
 
 Against herself this woman shuddered. 
 
 Let Ulrica share in her task of vengeance a vengeance to be hurled 
 on her own husband ! 
 
 " It is impossible," she said, hurriedly. 
 
 Ulrica was silent for a while, but when her head sank onto her soft pil- 
 lows, and Graves was busying herself with making the bed comfortable, 
 she said very gently: 
 
 "Forgive me for asking but is this work something connected with 
 your dead child ? " 
 
 Graves' face was hidden, but her voice sounded clear as she answered: 
 
 " Yes ; it is a message from the dead. I must fulfill it, even though it 
 cost me my life. Now you are not to talk any more ; this has been a day 
 of great excitement to you ; you must have all the sleep you can get, for 
 you will want all your strength. God bless you, child ! " 
 
 And she stole softly away, leaving Ulrica in a state of new peace, with 
 visions of past and future happiness flitting before her weary eyes, and a 
 sense of comfort and protection hovering over her, such as she had never 
 experienced since her flight from Bathurst. 
 
 After that she grew stronger very, very gradually, and one morning, about 
 a week after that eventful day, Guy pronounced Ulrica able to bear the 
 journey. 
 
 Her old maid, Mary, who had been retained in Mrs. Strong's service, 
 came up to travel with her young mistress, whom she was honestly glad to 
 see again, and Graves had to say farewell to the girl whom she had grown 
 to love as her own daughter, and to whom she had tried with all her might
 
 154 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 to atone for the wrong she had done her in her blind infatuation for Horace 
 Mott. 
 
 Ulrica sighed a great deep sigh of relief as the train moved slowly away 
 from London. Regret was mingled with it indeed, for she did not like 
 parting with her stern-faced, tender nurse, but she consoled herself with 
 picturing their speedy meeting, and as Guy made her cozy in a sheltered 
 corner of the luxurious carriage, she felt almost as if she were gliding away 
 from her misery as from a bad dream, and was once more the Ulrica of old, 
 free to look forward to happiness and peace. 
 
 " She is a strange woman," Guy said as they took their last look at Graves. 
 
 " A good one," Ulrica said earnestly : "she has proved that to me, in- 
 deed. " 
 
 " Who could help being good to you ? "was the thought in Guy's breast ; 
 out loud he answered : " Yes, she has ; her face is certainly not an index to 
 her heart. Now, Ulrica, you must keep silence for a time. Close your 
 eyes ; I promise to rouse you when we come near the sea. " 
 
 Ulrica smiled, and though at first she protested sleep was the last thing 
 in her mind, before very long the swift motion, and balmy summer air acted 
 on her strength, the heavily fringed eyelids shut out the sapphire orbs, and 
 her head rested back against the cushions in slumber. 
 
 Guy gazed his fill at this living realization of his heart's queen. 
 
 How well he knew the sweet face, the tender lips, that even in her 
 dreams trembled with the habit that grief and shame had brought ! The 
 grace, the thoughtful beauty all were graven on his memory. 
 
 It was at once a joy and an intense sadness to sit watching her. 
 
 Guy had suffered much when a witness to Ulrica's love and happiness 
 indeed, as we have seen, he could not bear it at first, and departed to gather 
 strength to live his lonely live in future; but that pain was not as great as 
 the misery that lived in his breast, as he realized the fact that Ulrica was 
 barred from the joy that he had prayed unselfishly might be hers. 
 
 While Horace Mott lived she must suffer, and Guy knew only too well 
 that the cloud which rested now on Ulrica's husband would not be remem- 
 bered long, and then would come the struggle in which the girl would be 
 called upon to bear her burden once more. 
 
 He sat with his arms folded across his breast, looking thus into the future, 
 yearning to clasp Ulrica in his arms and bear her away from all sorrow and 
 pain, content in his love forever. By-and-by she woke, and caught the 
 expression on his face. 
 
 " Uncle Guy," she whispered, softly. 
 
 Guy turned instantly. . 
 
 " Just in time for the sea ! Look, Ulrica, do not the white-crested waves 
 spell health and vigor in their merry dances? " 
 
 Ulrica bent to the window; the breeze blew back her short, wavy locks. 
 She gave a glad sigh as she inhaled the scent of the sea, and beheld the 
 wide expanse of sunlit waters. 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Guy, how lovely. I feel I feel as I did that first day at 
 Bathurst, when I realized what happiness meant. " 
 
 " As you will again, darling, please God ! " 
 
 He busied himself in gathering together the things, and Ulrica sat gaz- 
 ing at the sea, her heart rising as they drew nearer and nearer to it. 
 
 " I should like to be buried by the sea, Uncle Guy, it is so beautiful" 
 
 " Why do you talk like this ? " cried the man, stung to exquisite tor- 
 ture at the meaning. " What have you to do with death, Ulrica ? "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 155 
 
 She saw his pained look, and at once smiled. 
 
 " I am morbid, I suppose, " was her reply, though her wish was un- 
 changed ; " you must scold me, Uncle Guy. Why, are we there already ? " 
 
 The train coming to a standstill answered her, and the next instant Guy 
 was handing her tenderly from the carriage, murmuring in a voice choked 
 with emotion : 
 
 " Welcome to our mother and home, Ulrica ! " 
 * * * * ****** 
 
 Connie lost no time in announcing her engagement. 
 
 She whispered it to Lady Dunworthy as soon as Sir John and she had 
 arrived at the house. 
 
 That walk across the lawn was performed by the young man as in a 
 dream. 
 
 They met several people coming with water and offers of assistance, but 
 Connie stated, with a pretty air of recovery, that she wanted nothing, and 
 hung on to Sir John's arm, limping a little as she walked. 
 
 The sense of conscious proprietorship in her every gesture somewhat pre- 
 pared these for what was coming, but to the majority the news, which 
 Lady Dunworthy announced most pompously, occasioned much surprise 
 and many whispered comments. 
 
 " He is soon off with his old love and on with the new," observed one 
 lady. 
 
 " Ah, well, he was treated very badly," was the remark of another. 
 
 " Her fishing has ended well," a spiteful mother remarked, who had 
 never despaired of securing Sir John sooner or later for her own pretty 
 daughter: " she has positively flung herself at his head. " 
 
 " How pleased Lady Dunworthy looks ! " a more sympathetic neighbor 
 added. 
 
 " Yes; and how wretched Sir John ! " 
 
 John Dunworthy a' that moment hated Connie, hated his mother, and 
 himself above all others; he could have cursed himself for having been 
 caught in so transparent a trap, for now against his better nature he began 
 to see how artfully Connie had brought about the result which was driving 
 him to despair. 
 
 What had he done? 
 
 Pledged himself to another, while his whole being lived only for Ulrica. 
 The thought was madness. Though they were parted by a barrier almost 
 as stern and relentless as death itself, since he had learned the bitter truth 
 from Guy, and realized Ulrica's sacrifice in its intensity, his love had risen 
 fourfold; he treasured it for his angel, his sweet, fair, first love, never to 
 grow less, nor to be erased. 
 
 And now now he was to marry Connie, a girl who in that brief miser- 
 able moment he seemed to know and see all at once in her true colors. 
 
 How could he have been so weak ! 
 
 He started to his feet, and pushed open his window. A broad stream of 
 moonlight stole in. 
 
 It was on just such a night as this that Ulrica had plighted her tenderly 
 whispered vows. How happy he had been then, and how wretched he 
 was now. 
 
 " How could I let you leave me that day," was the sudden sigh of his 
 heart ; " why did I not go to Bathurst, when I started that morning. If I 
 had gone if only I had seen her once again, if "
 
 156 HER FATAL SIN* 
 
 Ah, Sir John Dunworthy, how many " ifs " have gone to swell the flood 
 of human misery that never ceases? 
 
 No ; he could not do this thing, he could not be unfaithful to his love ; 
 he would speak plainly to Connie tell her he could never make her happy, 
 and leave it to her to release him. 
 
 Armed with this resolve he went back to the others. 
 
 The fete had ended in a sort of impromptu dance, but the summer night 
 made much exertion impossible, and though the band discoursed sweet 
 music from a corner of the lawn, the assemblage was broken up into small 
 groups, who chatted and strolled together in the moonlight. 
 
 Connie was quick to miss Sir John. 
 
 She was attired in another white gown for the evening, and moved about 
 a really pretty sight in a trailing robe of soft satin, pearls gleaming round 
 her throat, and diamonds glistening like dewdrops from her hair and laces. 
 
 Her heart was elated, yet she was bitterly mortified. Her betrothed, 
 instead of adding to her triumph, only threw a shadow on it. 
 
 She felt that her enemies and there were many present were whis- 
 pering already their astonishment at Sir John's strange absence, and she 
 was growing really angry when at last the host made his appearance. She 
 went to meet him slowly, putting on her sweetest smile. 
 
 " Where hast thou been, oh, most errant knight ? " she inquired, as she 
 slipped one gloved hand through his arm. 
 
 Sir John gazed at her, and his heart suddenly loathed him. He could 
 never tell why, but a revulsion of feeling came over him, recalling all the 
 contemptuous indifference he once had towards the worldly Miss Wren, 
 only much deeper. It strengthened his resolution. 
 
 " Can you come away from these people ? I want to speak to you. " 
 
 Connie winced. 
 
 She knew in an instant, from his cold, forced tone, what he had to say, 
 but she did not mean to listen. Her thin lips were compressed, and in her 
 downcast eyes there lurked a fire of wrath and vexation, but she acted her 
 part well. 
 
 " I can guess what it is," she said, with a soft little laugh " you want 
 me to write to mamma? Well, dear, I have done so at least, I have 
 sent her a wire, as I was afraid some one might tell her before she receives 
 my letter, and that would wound her so. Now, am not I a true proph- 
 etess ? That was it, was it not ?" 
 
 Sir John stood silent ; he saw that it was too late ; to draw back now 
 would mean exposure, scandal, and perhaps disgrace. 
 
 At this proof of Connie's worldly determination, his contempt grew 
 greater. But he was too much the soul of honor to let her see her pitiful 
 audacity was known to him yet. 
 
 " Yes," he said slowly; " that was it." 
 
 And then he moved forward to speak to some old ladies whom he liked, 
 and Connie was left to smile and gossip in the moonlight, while her heart 
 raged and surged. 
 
 " It is she he is thinking of. Oh, Ulrica Mott, if ever the chance comes I 
 will make you suffer double for this! "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 " TTOU will not walk too far, dear? " 
 
 1 The question was put by Mrs. Strong; her tones were anxious and 
 affectionate. 
 
 Ulica smiled. 
 
 " I will not go at all, unless you wish it," she said at once. 
 
 " I do wish it; but I don't want you to tire yourself. Guy would be so 
 angry. I only wish I could accompany you. " 
 
 " Uncle Guy is a tyrant, and so I shall tell him when he returns to-night. 
 Now, I pledge myself to come back very quickly. I may rest for a few 
 minutes. But " 
 
 " But I will trust you. Au revoir, my dear child. " 
 
 A week had worked wonders for Ulrica; she seemed to thrive suddenly, 
 ad to grow out of all her weakness. Her face, even lovelier now than 
 before, looked each morning more animated, her youthful vigor was ap- 
 parently all returned. 
 
 Mrs. Strong was more than delighted, and was quite angry because Guy 
 would not chime in with her. But this he would not do. 
 
 " She is far from strong yet, mother," he said, as she spoke of Ulrica's 
 wonderful improvement. " We must take great care of her. " 
 
 About the beginning of the second week, business took Guy to London 
 for one day only, and it was on the afternoon of the next, on which he was 
 to return, that Ulrica was about to sally forth for her first walk alone since 
 her illness. 
 
 She let Mrs. Strong wrap the small silk shawl across her chest, though 
 she smillingly averred she did not need it, and was just on the point of 
 starting when Mrs. Strong's maid entered the room. 
 
 " If you please, ma'am, Joe Letts wants to know if you will see him. " 
 
 " Joe Letts ! " repeated Mrs. Strong. 
 
 Ulrica broke in quickly : 
 
 " He brought us some shrimps the other day, mother ; you remember. " 
 
 " Ah, to be sure. Well, Bruce, ask him to come to the window, and I 
 will speak to him. Some trouble, I suppose. " 
 
 Joe Letts lurched onto the narrow verandah that ran around the cottage- 
 like residence. 
 
 "Begparding, ma'am," he observed, touching his cap, a nondescript- 
 looking article in mackintosh, "but your name is Mrs. Strong, ain't it ? " 
 
 Mrs. Strong smilingly answered in the affirmative. 
 
 " Then I've got a message for yer. " 
 
 And Joe fumbled in the many pockets of his blue serge trousers and 
 blouse, and produced a letter. 
 
 Mrs. Strong took it, a little surprised. 
 
 " Will you read it, my dear ? " she asked, handing it to Ulrica. " My 
 eyes are not so young as yours." 
 
 Ulrica looked at the envelope ; the writing seemed familiar. 
 
 She tore it open ; the next instant she uttered an exclamation. 
 
 " It is from Father Lawrence ! He wants to know where I am ; he is 
 ill," she managed to say. 
 
 This sudden recall to her past troubles unnerved her.
 
 158 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Mrs. Strong searched for her spectacles and read the note through 
 twice. 
 
 It was very curt, and dated from a village about a mile inland from Sea- 
 mouth. 
 
 " We must wait till Guy comes," she said quietly. 
 
 Ulrica stood with one hand leaning on the table. She looked and felt 
 distressed. 
 
 She could never forget the shock that Father Lawrence had caused her 
 as he suddenly appeared before her that day at the old well. 
 
 The fisherman broke in : 
 
 " Begging your leddyship's pardings, his riverance beseeched me to ask 
 the Dr. Strong to see him at onct. He wrote that litter last night, when 
 he found out by accident as how yer leddyship was here. He's real ill, 
 and this morning he says to me, ' Joe,' says he, ' ask him to come to me 
 directly ; there's something,' he says, ' something I must tell him afore I 
 dies, : he says ; and so I come, my leddy, and I'll take the message." 
 
 " What does he say about me ? " asked Ulrica hurriedly of Mrs. Strong. 
 
 Guy's mother looked at the note again. 
 
 " ' Give me Miss Messenger's address let me know where to find her. 
 I have searched for her everywhere. I must see her or send her a message. 
 I am very ill ; and my need is urgent. ' " 
 
 Ulrica remained silent for a while. 
 
 " Where is is the sick man ? " she asked Joe again. 
 
 " It's just a matter of a mile from here, your leddyship at Garth, the 
 next village. His riverance come down there a few months back on a visit 
 to Father Peter ; and then when his riverance went away, Father Lawrence 
 stopped behind: He's a good man, is his riverance." 
 
 Ulrica nodded her head absently. 
 
 " Mother," she said quietly, " I will go to him." 
 
 "My darling!" cried Mrs. Strong, agitatedly; "no, no; you must not 
 do such a thing. Wait till Guy comes home he will go. " 
 
 "He is ill perhaps dying. I shall come to no harm. I feel I ought 
 to go." 
 
 Ulrica's troubled face bore witness to this. 
 
 " But I do not think I ought to allow it ; besides, think of the misery 
 he has caused you, Ulrica dear. " 
 
 " Death levels all that," the girl answered. 
 
 Mrs. Strong was silent ; she put out her hand and drew Ulrica down to 
 her, kissing the sweet lips. 
 
 " Go then, my child ! would that I could come with you ; but don't go 
 alone take Mary. And Ulrica, promise me, do not remain long; 
 remember your strength, and how precious you are to us ! " 
 
 " Could I ever forget that ? " whispered the girl. " My more than 
 mother, I know I have suffered at this man's hands, but I cannot refuse to 
 see him, now he is dying ! " 
 
 Mrs. Strong gave Mary strict injunctions to look well after her mistress, 
 and exacted a promise from Ulrica that she would take one of the village 
 cabs to Garth. 
 
 From Joe, Ulrica learnt all there was to know about Father Lawrence 
 how he had come a few months back on an apparently flying visit to 
 the priest of the neighborhood ; how Father Peter had been called away 
 on illness in his family, and how Father Lawrence had taken the care of 
 his parish till he was able to return.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 159 
 
 " And now your leddyship sees as how his riverance himse <s took ill. 
 He has been main bad for weeks past, but he were out in all weathers 
 doing some good or other. 
 
 Ulrica's heart had softened towards the priest long ago, and this tribute 
 to him made her think of him with sad interest. She felt that she should 
 hear some truth from his lips, though she cared little what it might be. 
 Hope and joy were killed for her in life now. All she prayed for was 
 peace. 
 
 She sat quietly in the shambling carriage, and sighed now and again as 
 the soft sea-breeze kissed her pale cheeks. 
 
 A sort of lassitude crept over her when she would permit it, which she 
 never would in the presence of Guy or his mother, and it stole over her 
 now. 
 
 She alighted from the fly wearily, and almost with difficulty. 
 
 This meeting with Father Lawrence recalled so much, that it took all 
 her strength to gather herself together to face it. 
 
 Mary noticed her agitation, and, mindful of Mrs. Strong's injunctions, 
 said: 
 
 " Shall I take you home again, Miss Ulrica? " calling her by the old 
 name, as she always did. 
 
 But Ulrica shook her head, and walked quietly up the path to the small 
 house. 
 
 A nursing sister opened the door, and looked grave as Ulrica inquired for 
 Father Lawrence, 
 
 " I don't think I can let you see him. He is very ill this morning." 
 
 Ulrica spoke of the sick man's note to Dr. Strong, and his wish to know 
 of her whereabouts. <, 
 
 The sister looked thoughtful. 
 
 " He has certainly been most restless. Perhaps this is the cause. Will 
 you come in and wait here while I go and break the fact of your presence 
 to him? I only came late last night. I did not know he had written a 
 letter." 
 
 Ulrica sent Mary back to the fly, and sank onto the hard chair placed 
 in the hall. 
 
 " What is the matter with him? " she asked in low tones. 
 
 " He is suffering from an internal disease, which has afflicted him, it 
 seems, for years. " 
 
 The sister passed up the narrow, uncarpeted staircase, while Ulrica 
 tried to picture the face of the priest as she had known it, and reconcile it 
 with suffering. It had always seemed to her the face of a man who pos- 
 sessed everything in life conducive to enjoyment. How she had wronged 
 him! 
 
 The soft footsteps of the nurse sounded on her ears. 
 
 " You may come up ; he is most anxious to see you. " 
 
 Ulrica rose and mounted slowly. 
 
 " Do not stay longer than you can help," whispered the sister. 
 
 Ulrica nodded and went slowly into the poor, almost wretched-looking 
 bedroom. 
 
 She started as her eyes rested on the gaunt white face, and on the thin 
 hand stretched tremblingly towards her. A stream of sunshine falling 
 Across the boarded floor seemed intrusive and 6ut of place. 
 
 It was the room of an ascetic no comforts, no beautiful objects to 
 gratify the sight, nothing but bare necessities.
 
 l6o HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " You you have come. This is good. " 
 
 The voice was only a whisper of the rich unctuous tones she remembered. 
 
 She drew a chair to his bedside, and spoke from a heart full of sympathy 
 
 " I am glad I was near to come. " 
 
 The sick man made no answer at first ; he only moaned with closed eyes, 
 and the nurse bathed his brow with some vinegar-and-water. 
 
 Ulrica held the hand he had extended still between her own. 
 
 " You wished to speak to me, " she said gently. 
 
 Father Lawrence struggled for a few seconds, and then answered in a 
 husky whisper : 
 
 " Yes ; so that I might make reparation before I I die. " 
 
 Ulrica took the fan from the nurse and waved it to and fro. 
 
 " I wronged you," the sick man went on with difficulty. " Listen. The 
 will read that day was a false one. Your your father left every- 
 thing to you. " 
 
 Ulrica fanned on slowly. 
 
 " Do not distress yourself," she said quietly and sadly ; " I never cared 
 for the money." 
 
 "But I did." The words were uttered in tones of almost fierce self- 
 reproach. " Ah, you did not know no one knew but myself how I 
 have wrestled with this greed of gain, this love of gold I, a priest of 
 God and Our Lady. The temptations I had endured and conquered yes, 
 conquered all till I met your father. Don't despise me more " 
 
 His voice failed. 
 
 " I do not despise you, believe me," the girl said eloquently and earnestly. 
 
 " I do believe you," he answered, fixing his weary, pain-distraught 
 eyes on her for an instant. " You are good and pure pure as an angel. 
 I must go on quickly, or my strength will fail. Your your father, it 
 seemed to me, had some sin on his soul. I set myself to find it out. For 
 a month or so before his death he grew clearer and clearer in his brain. I 
 I succeeded" he drew a heavy breath "I succeeded in converting 
 him, hoping then to get him into my power. Then came the day when he 
 was seized. While Dr. Strong went to find you, he told me as well as he 
 could gasp the reason of your mother's sudden death ; how they had quar- 
 reled, how he had taunted her and angered her, little knowing she was 
 suffering from a severe complaint of the heart, which any great excitement 
 would culminate in death. My voice fails. You will find " 
 
 The sister bent over him and moistened his lips. 
 
 " Shall I go? " asked Ulrica, lifting her agitated face to the other. 
 
 " It is a momentary faintness, and will pass. I think he wants to say 
 you will find a packet among his papers on that table. He spoke to me 
 of it just now yes, that is it." 
 
 The two women sat on either side of the bed till he rallied again. 
 
 After a moment's silence he turned his eyes and looked at Ulrica. 
 
 " You are changed you have been ill, " he murmured. 
 
 " Yes ; but I am better now." 
 
 " And you will have happiness. I have had no peace of mind since that 
 day I saw you in Dunworthy Wood. I waited in the village till the next 
 morning, and fought with myself again and again to go to you give you 
 your rights, and tell you all J knew, but the fiend within me was too strong. 
 I I could not part with the money then. " 
 
 " Do not talk of that," whispered Ulrica. " It has gone to enrich you 
 Church, and "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. l6l 
 
 Father Lawrence shook his head faintly. 
 
 " Not one penny has reached the Church," he whispered hoarsely. " I 
 tried, but could not part with a farthing till till I saw you again. After 
 that my soul seemed to loathe the money. Your father's last wish to me 
 to guard you and keep all for you, grew into a Nemesis. This illness, 
 which has been on me for years, became worse and worse ; then then I 
 was haunted with but one idea one thought to find you to tell you 
 all. I have written letter after letter to Dr. Strong, which, I make no 
 doubt, he never opened ; and now now, when I am at my last, God is 
 merciful ! You will forgive? " 
 
 " What have I to forgive ? " Ulrica whispered, with tears in her eyes. 
 " We are all mortal. Who am I to judge ? You you alone can know 
 your temptations and struggles." 
 
 The priest murmured something with his lips. 
 
 The nurse bent to listen. 
 
 " The money is still in the same securities," she repeated word by word. 
 "I have made over everything to you. Promise to make your claim 
 good. " 
 
 " I promise," Ulrica said at once. 
 
 The money itself brought nothing but a shudder of dislike, but she could 
 not refuse his plea. 
 
 She stooped and tenderly bathed his face, and as she did so his eyes 
 opened, and he caught the gleam of her wedding-ring. 
 
 " You are married ? " 
 
 Ulrica's lips compressed. 
 
 " I am Horace Mott's wife," she answered. 
 
 " And it was I who brought you to this." 
 
 " Not so ! " she broke in quickly. " What you told me was truth, what 
 he a lie. It is he, and he alone, to whom I owe all my misery. " 
 
 The priest motioned to the nurse to raise him a little. 
 
 He put out one weak hand and let it rest on Ulrica's bent head. 
 
 "Child," he said, huskily and slowly, "be comforted. I give you my 
 blessing the blessing of a man who has sinned and atoned. " 
 
 Ulrica slipped onto her knees on the floor. 
 
 Atoned, indeed! The very squalor and poverty that surrounded his 
 death-bed witnessed that. 
 
 " You may have unhappiness yet hi store for you, but be true, good, 
 faithful, as you have always been. ' Sorrow lasteth not forever ; joy joy 
 cometh in ' " 
 
 His head dropped, and his heavy frame slipped from the nurse's hold. 
 
 Ulrica rose with dismay on her face, and the sound of footsteps coming 
 np the stairs, she turned to be wrapped in Guy's arms. 
 
 He had arrived immediately after she had started, and, without another 
 thought, followed quickly. i 
 
 " Ulrica," he said, hurriedly, " this is no place for you. Go go down 
 to the sunshine and air. " 
 
 Ulrica had grown fainter and fainter during the last five minutes. 
 
 " Look to him," she murmured, as she felt for the doorway ; " he is 
 dying ! " 
 
 Guy watched her make her way slowly down the stairs, then turned and 
 bent over the silent form. 
 
 "Not dying, but dead!" he said quietly to the sister, who dropped on 
 her knees and began to pray.
 
 1 62 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Guy went from the room ; he called the woman who had acted as servant 
 to the dead man, and having briefly told her that he would return that 
 evening and give all the help in his power, he went to the carriage and 
 Ulrica. 
 
 He spoke no word to her as they drove home, but he put her back in a 
 corner, and when she shivered he drew the silken shawl closer round her, as 
 though the day were chilly instead of glorious summer warmth. 
 
 Mrs. Strong read from the girl's face that her nerves had been tried, and 
 recommended sleep and rest, but Ulrica pleaded to sit by her side and lean 
 her head on the motherly knee, saying truthfully she was comforted by it. 
 
 Guy went over to Garth in the evening as promised, and yet another 
 surprise came for Ulrica, for about eight or nine o'clock, while she was 
 trying to rid her memory*f the sad scene, to forget the dying man, a worn 
 figure came up the path, and Graves was announced. 
 
 "You have kept your promise you have come to stay," cried Ulrica, 
 genuinely pleased to see her true friend and nurse. 
 
 Mrs. Strong added a few kind words she had heard from Guy how 
 tenderly this woman had cared for Ulrica. 
 
 "No; I am come to sajj 'good-bye,'" Graves answered in a dull set 
 way. " I am going to leave England for a while. " 
 
 " Leave England, Graves, and me ! " 
 
 The indifference in the worn face broke for an instant into pain. 
 
 " Only for a time, my dear one," Graves whispered; " you are safe now 
 with your friends, anw I can do my work now that my mind is at rest about 
 you." 
 
 " You dear, kind creature ! " 
 
 Ulrica nestled to Grave's shoulder. 
 
 " I cannot bear to think you are going away ! But you will come back 
 yes, promise." 
 
 " I promise, darling,, if I live. v 
 
 Then without another word, and despite all Ulrica's protests, Graves 
 went down the path, and vanished in the summer darkness. 
 
 " I will come back to you," she muttered as she went on her way, " with 
 freedom and happiness in my hand for you, child, and satisfaction, fulfilled 
 revenge in my heart for myself. " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 SUY, true to his word, fulfilled nil his self-elected duties, and followed 
 the dead priest to his last resting-place. 
 
 He brought away the letter which Father Lawrence had tried to speak 
 of to Ulrica, and when she had recovered a little from the shock her nerv- 
 ous system had received, he gave it to her. 
 
 Ulrica sat by the rolling waves in a quiet spot beneath the shade of an 
 old boat, when she opened this packet. 
 
 The letter was not long; it told her briefly all about her childhood, the 
 veil that had hung over the name of her mother was withdrawn, and she 
 knew the whole story as the priest had learned it from her father. 
 
 She touched the old love-letters that years ago had brought happiness to 
 that dead mother's heart, and as she read the terse story of deceit and 
 misery that followed for George Messenger had not spared himself in his
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 163 
 
 recital tears welled to her eyes in sympathy for the sorrow that this other 
 young girl had been called upon to bear so long ago. 
 
 "A strange fate," she mused, as she put all the papers together again, 
 and, leaning back, let her eyes roam over the dancing waves ; " mother 
 and daughter both alike. Well, as we have suffered here, perhaps beyond 
 it will be different. If I have not happiness, at least I have peace for a 
 time. God is merciful to me ! " 
 
 She looked up as she thought this, and smiled a welcome to Guy, who 
 now approached. 
 
 " It is lovely here," she said, dismissing all sad subjects and trying to be 
 as light-hearted as she possibly could in his presence, feeling instinctively 
 that he suffered when she was wretched. 
 
 " It is quite cozy," Guy agreed. " Have you got room for one other in 
 your corner, Ulrica ? " 
 
 She moved up at once, and pointed to a portion of the woodwork be- 
 side her. 
 
 " Quantities of room. Is mother coming ? " 
 
 " No ; some one else." 
 
 Guy looked up as he spoke, and then Ulrica felt two small hands creep 
 ove* her eyes, blotting out the sunshine. 
 
 Her heart thrilled. 
 
 " Chattie it is Chattie. Oh, darling! " 
 
 Guy moved away as Chattie sat down on the old boat and clasped Ulrica 
 in her arms. 
 
 " My dear my sweet ! " she whispered, " I have been dying to see 
 you, and Uncle Guy would not let me come till you were stronger. " 
 
 " I am ever so much better, and you will make me quite well. Oh, 
 Chattie, dear Chattie, how glad I am to see your face once more !" 
 
 " And yet you would not let me come when I sent you message after 
 message by Lord Eric. " 
 
 Chattie nestled close to Ulrica's pale, lovely face. 
 
 " That was different, dear ; you could not have come to me there." 
 
 " Well, never mind ; we are together now, and that is everything. Let 
 me hold your hand, Ulrica, and let me look at you." 
 
 Ulrica smiled, and turned to the eager, piquante face beside her. 
 
 " Why, Chattie, you are quite grown-up now. How pretty your hair 
 looks!" 
 
 Chattie* turned her head away suddenly ; she did not want Ulrica to see 
 her lips trembling, or the tears springing to her eyes, brought there by this 
 vision of sweet, frail beauty, which was so pale a shadow of the Ulrica of 
 only a year ago. 
 
 " You must not make me vain," she managed to say. 
 
 " I am not afraid. But come, Chattie, tell me your secret. I know it 
 already, but I want to hear it from your own lips." 
 
 Chattie laughed shyly. 
 
 " About Basil, you mean ? Well, do you know, Ulrica, I was never 
 more astonished in my life never ! " 
 
 " Why ? " asked Ulrica, clasping the hand she held, and drinking in the 
 delight of Chattie's presence with avidity. 
 
 " Because well, one reason was that Basil always said he never could 
 stand red hair, and as mine is nearly akin to carrots, you see " 
 
 Ulrica laughed. 
 
 " I call your hair a beautiful auburn," she observed.
 
 IO4 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " Ah, yes; so does Basil now." 
 
 There was a delicious naivet6 in the last remark. 
 
 * And how is your mother? " Ulrica asked, after she had listened to a long 
 account of Basil, his doings, and his expected speedy arrival. 
 
 " Oh, mother is just the same as usual." 
 
 * And your sister ? " 
 
 Chattie's lips curled with a slight sneer, yet she looked pained. 
 
 " Connie never changes much," she replied. 
 
 She would not say that her sister was at Dunworthy ; she dreaded to 
 bring a shade of sadness on Ulrica's face, which, since their meeting, had 
 grown several degress brighter. 
 
 Chattie knew what Connie's aim was, but she was not aware yet that 
 that aim was already a fait accompli ; for, although Miss Wren had 
 informed her betrothed she had telegraphed to her mother the important 
 news, she had not thought to acquaint her sister with it also; and, as 
 Chattie had been staying with some relations, she knew nothing of the 
 whole affair. 
 
 " Are you still angry with her? " Ulrica asked, putting a little reproach 
 into her voice. 
 
 " I suppose I am," Chattie answered. " It is very wrong, Ulrica, and I 
 have tried over and over again to be friends with Connie, but never can; 
 we have not a single thought in common. " 
 
 Ulrica wisely changed the conversation. 
 
 " Where did you suddenly spring from? And are you going to stay 
 long?" 
 
 " Till you all get jolly sick of me," and Chattie laughed in her old merry 
 fashion. " I have deposited mother with the Drakes, you know, our 
 celebrated relations that Connie is always talking about, and am going to 
 be Mammy Strong's guest for just as long as she will keep me." 
 
 Ulrica gave a little sigh of content. 
 
 " How nice it sounds, Chattie ! " 
 
 " Yes, doesn't it? And in a week's time Basil will be here, too; and then 
 we shall have some larks, or my name is not Charlotte Wrenl" 
 
 Guy came round the corner of the boat at this juncture. 
 
 " All confidences over? Well, then what do you say if we adjourn to 
 luncheon? " 
 
 " I say yes, with all my heart, Uncle Guy. I can smell the cutlets from 
 here. " 
 
 " Not bad for a tip-tilted nose, Chattie." 
 
 Guy extended his hand to Ulrica as he spoke, and she rose to her feet 
 slowly. 
 
 " Why, Ulrica, you are quite stiff ! Have you been sitting here long? " 
 
 Chattie put the question lightly, but in her inmost heart the sight of the 
 girl's weakness struck her with as much pain as a sword-thrust. 
 
 Ulrica laughed. 
 
 " I am getting old, Chattie that is it," she said. 
 
 Chattie's answer was some joke, and she gossiped on lightly till the 
 house was reached, not letting Ulrica see that she noticed anything unusual 
 in the slow steps, and in the many times that Guy came to a standstill, 
 apparently to point out some bit of picturesque scenery, in reality to give 
 Ulrica a few seconds of rest before proceeding. 
 
 As they entered the house, and Ulrica had passed into the room, Chattie 
 pulled Guy back.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 165 
 
 " Oh, Uncle Guy, how changed! How ill she is! What is it? " 
 
 Guy patted the soft cheek and looked tenderly at Chattie's full eyes and 
 quivering lips. 
 
 "You are as soft-hearted as ever, Chattie ; but don't be alarmed. I 
 am afraid you do see a change in Ulrica, but that is not to be wondered 
 at. Remember all she has suffered, and also think of this illness it would 
 pull down many stronger than she ! " 
 
 " Of course, I am a little fool," Chattie observed, "but I confess it did 
 shock me ; but she will get stronger now she is with you, Uncle Guy ? " 
 
 Guy checked a sigh. 
 
 " She is better each day," he answered almost curtly, and then passed 
 on into the dining-room. 
 
 The advent of Chattie brought with it also a different atmosphere. 
 
 The three who had sat after dinner in silence, wrapped in their thoughts, 
 were now routed out of them altogether, and found themselves laughing 
 and chatting in the merriest fashion. 
 
 The color glowed on Ulrica's cheeks, and her depression seemed to 
 vanish at Chattie's approach. 
 
 Guy welcomed all signs of returning youth in the girl who had been 
 plunged so suddenly, and so early into the sorrows of a woman, and he re- 
 joiced at Chattie's success. 
 
 "Call yourself grown-up, "he observed with mock frigidity, as the girl 
 came dancing up the path one morning. " Why, you are an imp a baby 
 an infant ! " 
 
 Chattie aimed a rose at him. 
 
 " No matter," she declared ; " I shall have someone here to-morrow who 
 will protect me from such base insinuations. " 
 
 " Is Basil coming to-morrow? " asked Ulrica. 
 
 " He is, your gracious majesty. I only waited for his arrival before I 
 delighted myself with a donkey-ride." 
 
 " What time does he come? " 
 
 " Some unearthly hour in the morning. Ulrica, shall you be glad to see 
 him? " 
 
 " Very ! " smiled Ulrica; " shall you ? * 
 
 Chattie shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " So, so," she observed indifferently ; " boys are such nuisances." Then 
 tilting her hat low over her eyes, and plucking at the grass, she said slowly : 
 u Yes, I shall be glad to see him very glad." 
 
 " Ah ! " observed Guy, rising and patting Chattie's head patronizingly as 
 he passed, " k will be so pleasant to have some one to tell you your eyes 
 ^re green. " 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried Chattie. 
 
 Ulrica laughed softly. 
 
 " Never mind, Chattie ; remember what the poet says : 
 
 * Eyes colored like a water flower, 
 And deeper than the great sea's glass.' 
 
 Could anything sound more beautiful than that ? " 
 
 " Only this : ' Eyes like stars of purity, blue, with the sapphire of 
 leaven,' and that is what I heard said of your eyes once, Ulrica. " 
 
 Ulrica colored for an instant, then her cheeks grew paler than before. 
 
 " Let us go in and try to persuade mother to come down to the sea," she 
 laid, and she rose. 
 
 " Now, what a fool I am 1" accused Chattie of herself as she followed
 
 1)56 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Ulrica indoors. " Of course I remember now ; it was Jack who said that 
 about her. Oh, my poor darling ! and I have pained her by bringing it to 
 her remembrance. " 
 
 Vexed with herself, Chattie strove hard to efface the sad memories she 
 had awakened, and worked to apparent success. 
 
 Ulrica smiled and joined in the conversation as they made their way with 
 Mrs. Strong's bath-chair to the shore, but her heart was throbbing and 
 beating with pain and intensity of longing. 
 
 " Oh, my love, if I could but see you once again if I could but clasp 
 your hand lay my weary head on your shoulder, what a moment of 
 bliss it would be ! But that can never come. You will have grown to hate 
 me to believe me capable of deceiving of wronging you. You will 
 never know that it was for your sake to save you I yielded, and from 
 my lips you shall never know it. But, oh, Jack, I am growing- weary 
 sick with pain. Love cannot be crushed; it will wound me till I 
 die." 
 
 So ran the current of her thoughts. 
 
 But no one guessed even at it. Outwardly she chatted and laughed, and 
 seemed even better than ever, and Chattie's spirits rose as she saw this. 
 
 The next morning broke bright and beautiful 
 -,Chattie stole into Ulrica's room. 
 
 " Do you feel equal to a drive so early? " she asked, as she saw the great 
 blue eyes were wide open, and that a book lay on the table beside the bed. 
 " Because if so, I thought you might like to come and meet Basil. I have 
 had a letter, and his train only comes as far as Garth, so I shall trot over 
 there. " 
 
 Ulrica smiled. 
 
 " Well, I scarcely think I will come, Chattie. I am sure Basil will wish 
 me many miles away. " 
 
 " I am sure he will do nothing of the kind," observed Chattie, blushing 
 furiously. 
 
 Ulrica laughed softly to herself ; then said, with a well-managed sigh : 
 
 " Do you know, I scarcely do feel up to it this morning, Chattie." 
 
 " Oh, I'm so sorry ; then I won't go," was Chattie's disconcerting remark. 
 
 " Now, Chattie, you vex me. " 
 
 " Do I, darling ? " inquired the girl, demurely. 
 
 " Yes, you do," and Ulrica tried to look severe. " Go off to Garth at 
 once at once, do you hear ? " 
 
 " Mayn't I have some breakfast, please ? " 
 
 Ulrica threw her book at the hamds held demurely before her. 
 
 " Go and eat, you most unromantic creature! I will see Basil when he 
 comes." 
 
 So Chattie danced away, and Ulrica began her task of dressing ; it was 
 a task indeed, as any one would have said, could they have watched the 
 languid movements and long pauses between whiles. 
 ** * * * ***** 
 
 " But where is Ulrica ? " demanded Basil, as he stood in the fresh morn- 
 ing-room, with the sea-breezes softly stirring the muslin curtains on either 
 side of the French-windows. 
 
 " Don't be impatient ; you shall see her directly." 
 
 Basil snatched a kiss from his pretty love ; then, as he held her close to 
 him, he said :
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 167 
 
 " I say; Chattie, old fellow, I've got some news for you some I don't 
 think you will care about. Are you quite sure no one will hear us ? I 
 tried to tell you as we drove here, but it would not come easily." 
 
 " What is it, Basil ? " Chattie asked quickly. 
 
 " Only that Connie has succeeded at last. She has caught Jack." 
 
 " Do you mean that she is engaged to Jack ? " 
 
 There was pained incredulity in Chattie' s voice. 
 
 " Yes ; there is no mistake about it, dear, for I have just seen Jack in * 
 town, and he told me of it himself. It is scarcely complimentary to Con- 
 nie, but, by Jove, he does look wretched." 
 
 " Basil, did you speak of Ulrica ? " 
 
 " No ; I could not. I don't think he knows anything about her being 
 here. " 
 
 " Poor Jack ! " breathed Chattie, with a sigh. 
 
 The sigh was echoed inaudibly outside the window. Ulrica had come 
 softly onto the verandah from the garden; a smile was on her lips a 
 smile of welcome, but it faded away, leaving her face white and contracted 
 with pain as Basil's voice sounded on her ears, and she heard the news that 
 rang the knell to her lost love and'her shattered dream. 
 
 Well, it was sudden, but it was not quite unexpected. 
 
 Ulrica was steeled in the lesson of endurance. , 
 
 She forced her misery back, she choked the sob in her throat, and shft 
 went through the window and welcomed Basil with a lightheartedness that 
 amazed him. 
 
 For one moment all her beauty seemed returned with transcendent 
 splendor. It was almost the Ulrica of old that Basil saw ; but the vision 
 was but momentary. 
 
 As the two happy young people flitted away at a call from Mrs. Strong, 
 Ulrica's brightness fled. 
 
 She staggered to a chair, and sank into it, feeling once again weak, 
 wretched, and ill. 
 
 " It is hard to say," she mused sadly, as she gave way to her languor 
 secure in her solitude, " yet God knows I wish him yes, they happi- 
 ness I And yet Oh, Jack my Jack ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 JTTHE night was dark and close in London when Graves left the train 
 1 that had borne her from Seamouth and Ulrica. 
 
 She made her way to a lodging she had taken. 
 
 Her house and furniture she had sold, and with the money they brought 
 she intended to satisfy her revenge. 
 
 All hope in life was centered once again in that object. 
 
 She was a curious nature faith like a fanatic in things that she could 
 trust love strong as iron for those her heart turned to. 
 
 'She had thought that love killed when her only child's death, caused 
 through shame, was told her ; but Ulrica had wound herself deeper than 
 she could ever know into the strange affections of this woman. 
 
 Horace Mott little guessed the sharp edges of this tool whom he had so 
 skillfully blinded. 
 
 He laughed at her for her implicit belief in him, and her straightforward 
 method of life ; but he misread Graves.
 
 1 68 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 She could have faith and love, but she could also hate, and hatred with 
 her was no term it was existence. 
 
 She sat down in the dusk and worked out her plans. 
 
 It was from Mott's ex-valet a man named Victor she had learnt that 
 her child's betrayer was in America, and thither she determined to go. 
 
 Her thoughts worked fleetly as she sat ; the memory of Ulrica's pale, 
 beautiful face, with its sad eyes, stood out. 
 
 * " I shall do you a service, my child, " she murmured. " God cannot 
 surely be angry with me. Why should this man live? Has he not de- 
 stroyed you as he destroyed my child? It is a duty I alone can fulfill. " 
 
 She was aroused by a loud ring at the bell, and immediately after by the 
 entrance of her landlady, who stared hard at what she called " her mad 
 lodger." 
 
 " A man outside wants to see you." 
 
 Graves was on the alert. 
 
 " Ask his name," she said. 
 
 The other woman handed her a dirty scrap of paper, on which a name 
 was scrawled. 
 
 It was the man Victor's. . 
 
 " Show him in," she said hurriedly. 
 
 The ex-valet came in quietly. 
 
 When the door was shut he lowered his voice. 
 
 " Your trip to America needn't come off. He's back." 
 
 Graves' hands were clenched; the fire of hatred and revenge glared in her 
 eyes. 
 
 " In London? " was all she asked. 
 
 " Yes; at his old rooms, swelling it like the villain he is. He must have 
 come back in the same steamer he went in, for he has been there. Shall 
 you go to him? " 
 
 " This very night. Come with me. " 
 
 " What will you give me for this?" the man asked eagerly. 
 
 For answer, Graves took an envelope from the bosom of her dress, and 
 extracting a bank-note, tossed it to the man. 
 
 " That," she answered contemptuously ; " but you must lead the way." 
 
 Victor whistled softly to himself. 
 
 " All right. Will you come now ? " 
 
 "Wait." 
 
 Graves went into her bedroom, and opened a box. She took out some- 
 thing, and hid it in the folds of her shawl. 
 
 " I am ready," she said to the man ; and together they left the house. 
 
 Through the hot streets, filled with a throng of people who came from 
 their toil to get air, the two walked quickly. They did not speak. 
 
 Vicfor whistled softly, while he congratulated himself on his good 
 fortune, -as his fingers caressed the fifty-pound note he had just re- 
 ceived. 
 
 " She must have set her heart on the job, or she would not go tossing 
 her money about like that. " 
 
 He glanced now and then at the woman's set face, and, against himself, 
 he shivered. 
 
 " She means mischief," he thought, nervously. " Well, I won't be in it. 
 I won't go up-stairs. I'll leave her alone. If she kicks him, it will do him 
 good." 
 
 The big thoroughfares were traversed, the street veached, and Victor
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 169 
 
 pointed to the door, at which Guy had stood that winter night, only a few 
 hours too late to see Ulrica. 
 
 The man would have moved on, but she stopped. 
 
 " Wait till I see whether you have deceived me," Graves said grimly. 
 
 The door was opened by the caretaker of the chambers. He looked 
 surprised as the woman asked for Mott. 
 
 " Yes, he's in ; but he can't see no one. Let me take up your name." 
 
 " Show me his door ; he is expecting me. " 
 
 The caretaker hesitated ; but as she slipped a sovereign into his hand he 
 yielded. 
 
 He caught sight of Victor just as he was closing the door, and he called 
 to him loudly : 
 
 " Hi 1 stop ! You'll do to carry down some boxes. Hi ! " 
 
 He shut the door on Victor, then ran quickly up the stairs, Graves fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 Victor remained, still whistling to himself. 
 
 " A new man that's good, " he said inwardly. " The other lot must 
 have gone, and he'd have known me directly. Lor ! I shall be glad to be 
 away. Her face makes me shudder when I think of it ! " 
 
 The caretaker ran down quickly. 
 
 " Strange looking party that," he observed to Victor. " Did you catch 
 sight of her ? " 
 
 " Yes," was the valet's reply. " I thought as how she were mad. She 
 were going on anyhow. Do you know her ? " 
 
 " Never see her before ; and I don't think Mr. Mott was over-pleased to 
 meet her. He give me a look. But, there, I can't help it. Wait here a 
 minute, I'll soon be back." The man returned into some lower region, 
 leaving Victor in the hall, silent save for the ticking of the clock. It 
 seemed an hour, but it was only a few seconds, and then the man returned. 
 " Come on up-stairs. Gent's room on fourth floor. " . 
 
 The two went up the stairs, Victor not. without some trepidation, it 
 must be confessed. 
 
 " It's deuced quiet," he thought to himself, as the moments passed. 
 
 But even as he did so, a shriek rang out on the stillness, followed by cries 
 and loud voices. 
 
 The two men stood motionless, and grasped each other's hands, then 
 simultaneously turned towards Mott's rooms. 
 
 To return to Graves. 
 
 As she followed the man into the apartment, Horace Mott had flung 
 down his newspaper. Another man was in the room, lounging by the 
 open window. 
 
 " Where the deuce do you come from? " Mott asked, with an oath. 
 
 Graves made no reply at once. Her face was pale as death. Then she 
 smiled. 
 
 " Why ask me when you know? I am come from the deuce, Horace 
 Mott." 
 
 The man by the window rose suddenly, but Ulrica's husband turned. 
 
 " Don't go, Carter; there are no secrets, and you may be amused." 
 
 Graves' eyes traveled over Major Carter's rubicund countenance, that 
 had a perturbed look on it. 
 
 " Yes stay," she said, slowly; " you may be amused." 
 
 Mott laughed, but his face did not look pretty.
 
 170 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " And pray, why have you left your home? What work have you come 
 to do? " 
 
 " Revenge ! " cried the woman, suddenly. 
 
 Against himself Mott winced, but it was only for an instant. 
 
 " Revenge ! For what, pray? " 
 
 " For your treachery your miserable, cowardly sin. You who came to me 
 with lies on your lips when you heard that I had sworn to take the life of 
 the man who destroyed my child; you who deceived me; blind fool that I 
 was; and worked me to your own ends. Yes yes; revenge, Horace 
 Mott ! Life for life ! As you have killed my child, and ruined that poor, 
 young creature whom I I ! helped to become your wife, so shall your 
 life be taken. How do you like that picture, Horace Mott ? Ah, you 
 thought me your willing tool forever; but the veil has been drawn. I 
 know you at last, and I have come for my revenge ! " 
 
 " Are you drunk or mad ? " asked Mott contemptuously. 
 
 " Scoff on," said the woman quietly. " I am neither one nor the other. 
 My brain is as clear as yours. I can read your cowardly black heart to its 
 innermost," she laughed a short, bitter laugh. " Well, fool as you have 
 thought me, I have outwitted you. I have saved her, and in one short 
 moment more I shall have freed her and avenged myself. " 
 
 " Ring the bell, Carter," commanded Mott, contemptuously he moved 
 away as he spoke ; " we must rid ourselves of this Bedlamite. " 
 
 But Carter did not go to the bell; his eyes were fixed on that woman's 
 form, drawn up so horribly, so curiously against the table. Then he 
 uttered an oath and seized Mott by the arm. 
 
 " ' Ware ! " he cried wildly, " she has a knife. " 
 
 Mott's teeth were set in his pale lip; he leaped forward, evaded the 
 thrust, clutched the two slender wrists in his strong hands, and grappled 
 with his foe. 
 
 . Carter, his face frightened to a blue pallor, tried to get to the door, but 
 the struggling forms barred his progress. 
 
 It was an awful, a terrible sight one he would never forget. His eyes 
 were clouded for a time with the intensity of fear. Then they cleared. 
 He saw the steel gleam in the lamplight. Then came one shriek. The 
 woman's hold .was loosened, she staggered back, and Mott fell, gasping 
 and breathless, against the table. 
 
 " Quick ! Call help ! " he managed to say. 
 
 Even as he spoke the door was opened, and the caretaker followed by 
 Victor, rushed in. 
 
 The scene was a strange one. 
 
 On the floor lay the form of Graves, face downwards. Carter, still 
 terror-stricken, grasped a chair. 
 
 The two men at the door advanced slowly, as Mott, recovering himself 
 with an oath, knelt down by the woman and tried to lift her head. 
 
 " What is it murder?" gasped Victor. 
 
 Mott looked and fixed his late servant with his eye. 
 
 " If she is dead, she brought it on herself," he said quietly. " Carter can 
 bear witness to that. Come round here, one of you, and give me a hand. " 
 
 The man of the house knelt beside him, and Victor remained where he 
 was, feeling cold and sick at this termination of the meeting he had been 
 instrumental in bringing about. 
 
 " Who is she? Do you know her, sir? " asked the caretaker hurriedly. 
 " She seemed mad. "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 171 
 
 " Poor soul ! she is mad," was Mott's reply. Looking round again at Vic- 
 tor, he said tersely : " Fetch a policeman. I must be cleared of this. " 
 
 The caretaker rose from his knees. 
 
 " We must have a doctor, too. I had better go. Stay here," he said to 
 Victor with a meaning glance. " I will be back in an instant. This is an 
 ugly night's work." 
 
 He went away hastily, leaving the three men silent, with Graves' still 
 form lying on the ground at their feet. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 QLRICA kept the knowledge she had learnt so curtly to herself. 
 Connie's name was rarely mentioned by one of the party, and John 
 Dunworthy's never, and Chattie could not bear to speak of the marriage, 
 over which her mother and Connie were so jubilant, to the girl whose sad 
 eyes and pale cheeks were a constant reminder that for her all happiness 
 was gone. 
 
 " Ulrica, we are going to walk to Garth along the shore," Chattie said 
 as she danced into the drawing-room one day. " Of course, it is too far 
 for you, but will you meet us down by the old boat, and we can come 
 home together. " 
 
 " Certainly," agreed Ulrica, putting away her work a painting she 
 was making of the garden with the sunlit sea in the distance. " I thought 
 of going there with my book. " 
 
 " We are starting now ; it will take us a good hour and a half; so if you 
 like to wait a little longer, and then saunter down, you can. Uncle Guy 
 is out gone to some sick child, of course ; bless that man. how many sick 
 children has he cured ? Mammy Strong is lying down." 
 
 " We will not disturb her, then," said Ulrica. 
 
 "I will just run and tell Bruce we shall be at the old boat in an hour's 
 time in case we should be wanted. Give me a kiss, old girl. Do you 
 know, Ulrica, you are looking so sweet ? " 
 
 Ulrica smiled, but the smile went as Chattie disappeared. 
 
 She wore a pale pink cotton, a band encircling her slender waist. Guy 
 had gone into her money matters, and all of a sudden she was quite ricti. 
 
 The return of wealth, her father's money, brought no pleasure, save 
 that she was always scheming how best she could use it for the relief of 
 others. 
 
 " Yes," mused Ulrica as she wrapped her shawl round her, " that is it 
 sleep sleep and forget fulness. I am so tired of all." 
 
 She shivered slightly and sank back in her corner to wait for Chattie 
 and Basil. 
 
 Her thoughts would wonder to the sea; though she opened her book, her 
 eyes did not look at it. 
 
 " Is it wrong to wish it? " she asked 'herself ; " is it wicked to long for 
 the end? Ah, well ! I am weak, and the struggle cannot linger forever. " 
 
 She sat still thinking for awhile, and the children's voices were carried 
 on the wind, forming a harmony to her sad, peaceful mood. 
 
 The sound of some one approaching broke the thread of Ulrica's mus- 
 ings. 
 
 " They can't be back already; or have I been asleep? Oh no, it must be 
 Joe, or one of the fishermen. Well, I will talk to him. if he has time. "
 
 17* HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 She shut her book and waited, then drew her shawl still 'closer round 
 her. 
 
 The footsteps had come to a standstill close beside her. A vague intui- 
 tion of pain and pleasure ran over her; she rose, cast her eyes round, then 
 with an exclamation sank back in her seat, her hand pressed to her heart, 
 her book fallen at her feet, the wind playing with the open leaves heed- 
 lessly. 
 
 It was no fisherman she beheld, nor Guy, only a grave, handsome face, 
 with a misery of eagerness in the eyes gazing at her her lover, John Dun- 
 worthy. 
 
 Sir John was by her side as she leaned back against the boat's side, so 
 white and frail. 
 
 " Ulrica, Ulrica ! My God ! I have killed her. It has frightened her. 
 The shock was too much for her, as for me too ! I thought myself brave, 
 but I had not reckoned on this. Ulrica oh, speak to me look at me 
 my one, sweet love ! " 
 
 Slowly the color ebbed into her cheeks, and the eyelids were lifted. 
 
 " It is no dream," murmured Ulrica; " it is you, Jack 1 " 
 
 Sir John pressed her cold hands to his lips passionately, the misery in 
 his heart almost choking him. 
 
 " Oh, my darling ! " was all he could say; " my darling ! " 
 
 Weak as she was, stunned as she was by the shock, the agony in his 
 voice recalled Ulrica. 
 
 "Don't," she pleaded gently "don't, Jack; you bi^ak my heart, 
 dear! Let us thank God that we are permitted to see one another if 
 only once again. You startled me at first ; but now," she smiled faintly, 
 " now, dear, you see I am all right. I can speak to you. You have come 
 to see me. What have you to say ? " 
 
 " I did not seek this meeting, Ulrica. I did not even know you were 
 here. I came down to see Guy and Basil ; but oh, my darling ! if you 
 knew what I have suffered how I have struggled to keep myself from 
 finding you; and now now, when, God knows, I want all my courage, I 
 see you thus ! " 
 
 His eyes dropped for a moment, then he lifted them again to her sweet, 
 pure face. 
 
 " It is fate," he whispered passionately. " Ulrica, we meet never to 
 part. Yes yes, that is it. Oh, my darling, my lost love, at last you 
 will be mine ; at last I can take you in my arms and shield you from all 
 harm to come. It must be so yes, it must be so." 
 
 Ulrica's whole form trembled. 
 
 Oh, what a vista of happiness seemed suddenly to stretch before her ; 
 for one instant she revelled in it, then a cloak fell over that picture a 
 cloak of shame. It could never be. 
 
 " Jack," she said slowly, " my darling, could you but see into my 
 heart and read its secret, you would know what these words cost me. It 
 can never be. I I am bound, tied you are not free ; we must part. 
 It is sweet to see you, to hold your hands, to hear your voice how I nave 
 prayed for it all ; but it is false sweetness. Jack, you must go, you 
 must." 
 
 She broke off and sank back with a shuddering sigh, her face growing 
 pale even to the lips. 
 
 " And you tell me to go when you are like this ! " cried Sir John madly. 
 " It is cruel, Ulrica. Not free ? What bond would hold me from you ?
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 173 
 
 I have never swerved from my fealty to you, my queen, my love. Oh, 
 Ulrica, don't drive me to despair. Would ten thousand women like 
 Connie part us ? You know they would not ; then speak to me, tell me. " 
 
 He drew the frail, slender form into his arms. 
 
 " Ulrica ! " he cried wildly, " speak to me ! Do you not hear?" 
 
 The heavy eyelids opened for an instant. 
 
 44 Take me home, Jack ; I am so tired." 
 
 "I feared this," said Guy tersely, "and hurried on here as soon as I 
 learnt that you had come. Run and get me some water, quick, and then 
 we must carry her home. Ah, Dunworthy, I wish from my heart, old fel- 
 low, you had never met again. It can only mean greater sorrow to you 
 
 DOUL 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 S the sound of the footsteps of the fleeting caretaker died away, Mott 
 looked round savagely at Victor. 
 
 " This is some of your infernal work ! " 
 
 Victor shuddered. 
 
 " Have you killed her? " he breathed. 
 
 Mott left the silent form of the woman and gripped the arm of his late 
 servant with a grip of iron. 
 
 " If she be dead, she brought it on herself. I shall be exonerated from 
 blame, but it is best to be armed at all points. How much do you want? 
 Quick, your price ! Hang you ! can't you speak?" 
 
 " What am I to do? " asked Victor, still appalled with horror. 
 
 " Swear you thought the woman mad ; don't seem as if you had ever 
 seen me before you understand? You shall be paid handsomely. Hush J 
 not a word more. Here they are. 
 
 " The doctor is coming," he gasped. 
 
 The policeman stooped over the body and put his hand on the heart. 
 
 " This is an ugly case," he said as if to himself, then produced a note- 
 book. 
 
 " I will just take one or two notes till the doctor comes, if you please, 
 sir." 
 
 Horace Mett was wiping his brow with his handkerchief. He looked 
 very pale ; part of his elaborate smoking-jacket was torn. Major Carter 
 sat still, never opening his lips. Victor stood by the table. 
 
 " Certainly, " Mott replied ; " I will give you all the information in my 
 power." 
 
 The doctor arrived while he was stating this clearly and concisely, and 
 there was a breathless silence while the medical man made a short exami- 
 nation of the wounded woman. 
 
 " I can do nothing, " he said, as he finished ; " she has been dead I should 
 say about ten minutes ; this," holding up the dagger, " has gone straight to 
 the heart." 
 
 There was a murmur, a shudder through the bystanders, as the police- 
 man took the small weapon and examined it closely. 
 
 14 The name of the maker is on it, which is fortunate for you, sir," he 
 said to Mott. 
 
 The latter merely nodded his head.
 
 174 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 " I suppose I must come with you, " he observed, after he had detailed 
 the circumstances of Graves' attack upon him. 
 
 " If you please, sir." 
 
 Mott moved to his dressing-room. 
 
 " Wake up ! " he muttered savagely in Carter's ear; then with the same 
 nonchalant air he passed out of the room, the policeman following him 
 respectfully but decidedly. 
 
 " She spoke of Ulrica," ran Mott's thoughts as he changed his clothes 
 for some outdoor garments. " If I could but have got some clew before 
 she went. Well, Victor knows more than he thinks, I guess. It will be 
 odd if I don't run my wife to earth she will not leave me in a hurry again 
 when I do find her ! " 
 
 Then with a composed face he returned into the sitting-room, where a 
 sheet was already flung over the dead woman, preparatory to the body 
 being carried away for an inquest. 
 
 Victor, the man of the house, Major Carter, and one or two others 
 were warned their presence would be necessary at the inquiry, and then, 
 with a glitter in his dark eyes that betokened no sorrow for the direful deed 
 his hands had performed, Horace Mott went forth under the protection of 
 
 the law. 
 
 ******* * * * 
 
 Guy bent over the girl's silent form with an agony of love and misery in 
 his heart. 
 
 " If I could but bear you away away from all the trials that beset your 
 young life," he thought to himself. 
 
 Sir John was back almost in an instant, with his handkerchief soaked in 
 the sea water. 
 
 Guy took it from him. 
 
 " Dun worthy," he said quietly, almost severely, " you must leave us; walk 
 along the sands to your right you will meet Chattie and Basil ; but you 
 must not stay here it is cruel to her." 
 
 Sir John's answer was to seat himself down on the old boat, cover his 
 face with his hands, and groan aloud. 
 
 " I cannot go I cannot," he muttered with his head bent. 
 
 " Then you are selfish you think only of yourself. " Guy spoke curtly. 
 
 "You ask me to leave her when she looks like this! " Sir John lifted 
 his face, from which even the youth seemed fled, and pointed at the girl's, 
 whose trembling lips alone showed that life remained in her body, so death- 
 ly white was the lovely countenance. " By Heavens ! Guy, I cannot I will 
 not ! I must speak to her. Fate has Thrown us together, and I will grasp 
 this chance!" 
 
 " To what end? " asked Guy sternly. " Do you love her? You say so, 
 then what can come of prolonging an interview that you see has caused 
 her already so much pain? Believe me, dear old man, 1 feeljforyou from 
 the bottom of my heart I feel, but there is only one course open to you 
 to go away at once and without delay. 
 
 Sir John pressed one hand over his eyes. 
 
 " Well, I will leave you now, but I shall not be far away. And give me 
 your solemn promise, Guy, that if if she should ask for me, you will fetch 
 me directly." 
 
 " I promise," Guy replied ; then seeing the dark fringed eyelids quiver, 
 he waved his hand quickly. " Go now; she wilj be better alone with
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 175 
 
 He could not bear that any one should speak to him at this moment ; 
 his anguish, the passion of his despairing love, was so great. 
 
 Ulrica's eyes, opening from that land of strange unconscious darkness, 
 met the tender well-known ones set in Guy's face. 
 
 " Uncle Guy, you Where what has happened to me ? " she tried 
 
 to whisper. 
 
 " You have been foolish enough to faint that is all," he answered with 
 one of his rare smiles. 
 
 "Faint," she repeated; "why " Then memory Jcame back; she 
 
 smiled faintly, but with intense sadness. " Ah, yes, I know all now." 
 
 " When you feel a little better, Ulrica, "he observed gently, "I will 
 leave you to fetch a bath-chair, you are not fit to walk home. " 
 
 " Indeed I am," she replied, exerting herself to rise into a sitting posi- 
 tion, and bringing a fleeting lovely shade of color into her pale cheeks as 
 fehe did so. " See, I am quite strong ! " 
 
 " A perfect amazon," smiled Guy, though his eyes looked weary as with 
 sudden pain; " still, I think, dear, it will be wiser to have the chair." 
 
 Ulrica's strength was indeed not lasting; as he spoke she sank back al- 
 most exhausted. 
 
 " Yes, you are right, Uncle Guy, as you always are. " 
 
 Guy stood beside her while she rested, her eyes gazing across the sea, 
 which was beginning to ebb and flow now. 
 
 The sun was sinking a little in the heavens, and its golden beams were 
 just tinged with a shade of growing red that comes in the early autumn 
 days. % 
 
 The girl's face was touched by these ruddy golden rays, and it seemed 
 transfigured to Guy, so pure and delicate did it look. 
 
 Suddenly Ulrica put out her hand, 
 
 " Uncle Guy," she said softly, lifting her glorious eyes to him, " Jack is 
 here still?" 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 A shade fell over Guy's face. 
 
 " Is it wrong to see him? Oh, if I could see him just once more, 
 before " 
 
 " Before what? " Guy's voice sounded almost harsh. 
 
 " Before he goes forever I think I should bj better if I did." 
 
 " I will take you home, and you shall see him to-night." 
 
 Who could tell the anguish, the unselfishness in Guy's heart? 
 
 " You promise ? " she asked softly. 
 
 " I promise, dear; he shall come." 
 
 Then he moved away, and Ulrica was left alone gazing across the sunlit 
 waters with a smile on her lips and a strange, new glory in her eyes, till 
 Guy returned with a chair and she was drawn slowly home.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 JTjHE afternoon hours had faded into evening dusk, and thence into the 
 
 1 silver radiance of the moon's warm beams, when John Dunworthy 
 strode through the small village to take arewell of his love. 
 
 Ulrica seemed to grow stronger each moment; she encouraged Chattie 
 to laugh and joke; she refused to see the sense of pain and discomfort that 
 hung over the whole party; and as the moon broke out over the sea she 
 begged Guy to let her put a shawl around her and wander into the garden. 
 
 He shook his head, but she pleaded prettily. 
 
 " For just this once, Dr. Guy," she said, putting her two white hands in 
 his and resting her head on his shoulder. " Only this once ; " then her 
 voice lowered : '' I should like to meet Jack in the moonlight and the 
 music of the waves. " She laughed a short laugh that betrayed her suffer- 
 ing to Guy's quick ear. " It sounds so romantic, doesn't it, Uncle Guy ? " 
 
 " Ulrica, " he said quietly, " are you wise ? Will not this meeting mean 
 more suffering, dear ? " 
 
 " Wise ! " she repeated with a sigh of unutterable sadness ; " who can 
 have wisdom with love ? " 
 
 There was a moment's silence, and then she lifted her face and pressed a 
 kiss on his cheek. 
 
 "Ah, my dear, my true friend, don't chide me don't reason! I must 
 see him once again ; and then ! '' She moved away suddenly, threw the 
 light woolen shawl over her head and shoulders and stepped into the gar- 
 den, her garments of white serge, made in long, plain folds, trailing after 
 her. She was standing in the moonlight, looking like some pale lovely 
 spirit as John Dunworthy came up the garden-path. Their hands were 
 stretched out and grasped silently, their eyes met, dark with the mutual 
 burden of sorrow. 
 
 Ulrica spoke first. 
 
 " Give me your arm," she said gently. " Let us turn down here ; there 
 is a gate at the end, and we can see over the sea. " 
 : " But are you strong enough ? " he asked huskily. 
 
 ^ " To night I feel my old self once more ; and, Jack, I want to speak 
 with you. " 
 
 Tenderly he drew her hand through his arm, and they wandered down 
 to the gate. 
 
 Ulrica leaned against one of the posts and looked across the silver- 
 flecked water. 
 
 Sir John still held her hand as she gazed out to the dark-sea border. 
 
 At last she spoke. 
 
 " Words are not easy, dear," she said faintly. " I have longed, I have 
 prayed in the hour of my darkest misery for such a moment as this, and 
 now when it has come my lips seem almost dumb. " 
 
 " There are only five words I ask you to speak." Sir John's voice was 
 harsh with agitation. " Ulrica, grant me this one request. Say, ' Jack, I 
 love you still. ' My heart craves for that, Ulrica ; it hungers, and must be 
 satisfied J " 
 
 " Love you still ! " the girl breathed softly, tremulously ; " no, no, it is 
 too poor 1 I love you more, ten thousand times more, than when we parted !
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 177 
 
 Jack, you are my hero, my king, my one living thought ! Yes, it is the 
 truth I speak now for the last time. " 
 
 " The last time ! No, Ulrica ; with such words ringing in my ears; do 
 you think I will leave you ? My place is by your side, my darling, from 
 now till the end. " 
 
 Ulrica's hands covered her eyes; she would not see the pleading in his face. 
 
 14 Forgive me," she whispered ; "I am wrong; the sudden knowledge 
 that you were beside me, drove me to say those words. Forgive me 
 oh, forgive me 1 " 
 
 " What is to keep us asunder ? " cried the man suddenly and passionately. 
 " You owe no duty, no obligation to him. " 
 
 " Honor must part us. " 
 
 Ulrica's voice penetrated him like a knife. 
 
 "Jack, "she went on hurriedly, " it was wrong yes, I see k now, 
 wrong to ask you to come to let you come here to-night ; it was better 
 we should have parted on the shore this afternoon ; this must mean more 
 paia to us, but I was weak, I hungered to see your face once more, to 
 grasp your hand, to hear your voice sound in my ears as it used to only one 
 short year ago. But I was selfish,; I should have thought of you, my 
 darling I should have thought of you. " 
 
 " Ulrica, listen to me. Before God, I swear I have been true to your 
 dear memory, as though you had been my wife. I owe Connie Wren no 
 duty ; she trapped me too cunningly. Don't think me mean, cowardly, 
 for saying this, bnt it is true. I have told her my heaK can ever be hers, 
 but she does not marry me for that my title, my rank, my riches are 
 things far more to her taste ; why, then, should I consider her ? Come 
 with me ; we will leave England, go away together. Ulrica, Ulrica ! I 
 cannot live without you ! You must come ! " 
 
 " Jack," Ulrica put her hand on his, " how you are maligning your nature I 
 You to put aside honor, esteem, respect ? No, no, dear one ; the sacrifice 
 shall never be made for me. Go back to the world. Go back to Connie ; 
 you have pledged your word to her, it must never be broken ; is it not for 
 your no oility that I love you ? Yes ; then let not my life be made sadder 
 by the thought that I had been instrumental in bringing the faintest cloud 
 on that honor Be brave, as you can be. God has decreed our lives 
 must be apart ; "we must not rebel against his command. Think, my dar- 
 ling, life is not only in these few short moments of misery ; the world is 
 before you, Jack ; go into it, and remember that my love for you did not 
 tarnish your self-respect and honor, but spurred you on to value them as 
 you value life." 
 
 The words had come quickly from Ulrica's lips. Her face seemed to 
 Sir John the face of an angel ; her voice the sweetest music he had ever 
 heard ; she looked the incarnation of nobility and purity, and every word 
 went home. 
 
 He stood silent for a while. In that moment he fought the bitterest bat- 
 tle of his life. Love struggled urged him on ; but Ulrica had not spoken 
 m vain. He turned round suddenly, then, stooping for her hand, he pressed 
 his lips to it tenderly. 
 
 u I will do as you say, my darling my pure love though the task cost 
 me as it must, a lifetime of misery." 
 
 Ulrica smiled on him, and her lips formed rather than spokes 
 
 " God bless you, my dearest ! Now go quickly 1 Say good-bye to them 
 alL Wo must not meel again, Jack, or our courage will fail."
 
 178 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 He buried his face on his arms, folded on the gate. For many minutes 
 he stood thus, while she placed her trembling hand on his head, giving him 
 a silent blessing. . 
 
 " Yes, I must go, Good-bye, my one sweet love ! God have you in 
 His keeping I I " 
 
 Words choked themselves in a great sob, and, with a gesture of farewell, 
 John Dunworthy turned abruptly away and strode out of the moonlight 
 
 into the dark shadows. 
 
 * ********* 
 
 Connie, meanwhile, was in the very height of to her pleasurable 
 business. 
 
 Her whole time was occupied by the demands of her dressmakers, mil- 
 liners, tailors, etc. 
 
 She was in London, under the chaperonage of her future mother-in-law, 
 though she grew irritable beyond control almost at Lady Dunworthy's in- 
 terference and love of arrangement. 
 
 The fact, too, that Sir John was very seldom in attendance upon her 
 was most annoying to his fiancee, whose small nature would have loved to 
 have paraded her conquest before the world on every possible opportunity. 
 
 No exact date had been fixed for the wedding-day, though Connie and 
 Lady Dunworthy had come to the conclusion that there was really no cause 
 for delay ; and the ceremony might take place as soon as the trousseau 
 could be got ready. 
 
 Sir John, on leaving Seamouth, traveled by express up to London ; but 
 nothing was further from his thoughts than a visit then to either his mother 
 or the girl who was to be his wife. 
 
 He passed a wretched night, and, in the morning, rose with aconclusion 
 in his mind. 
 
 " If I stay in England I shall go mad," he said to himself. "I will go 
 abroad again for some time. Connie can make as much as she likes of her 
 engagement to me, but the marriage cannot shall not be just yet." 
 
 This intention was strengthened and settled as he opened his morning 
 paper, and his eyes rested on a paragraph. 
 
 His orovv darkened, and his teeth met in his lip. 
 
 The words he read dwelt on Horace Mott and the stabbing affray, re- 
 sulting in a verdict of acquittal for him, brought about by the strongest 
 evidence in his favor, given by Vic-tor, the caretaker, and Major Carter. 
 
 " Good God ! And this is the brute to whom she is tied. If we but 
 knew, this is a case of murder, perhaps. Yes yes ; I must go now, for 
 if I stay in England no power of man will keep me from her ; and I shall 
 have proved myself unworthy of her pure great love ! Oh, Ulrica, Ulrica, 
 you little guess, dear, how hard a task you have set me 1 " 
 
 He stood gazing out of the window in a blank way as his thoughts 
 worked on. 
 
 " If there were but one glimmer of hope, I could endure this and more 
 for your sake ; but the way is so dark ; each step but separates me from 
 you, and my feet falter." 
 
 He began to pace the room in a quick, nervous way; then came to a 
 standstill. 
 
 " Come, John Dunworthy, don't let your conscience call you a coward ! 
 think of her, and remember her dear words. Get to your task with all the 
 bravery, the nobility she credits you with. Does she falter and what is 
 your struggle and pain to hers ? "
 
 HER FATAL SIN. I 79 
 
 So thinking, he got his hat, and was driven off rapidly to the hotel, 
 where his mother and Connie were staying. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy was in a small room, which she grandiloquently de- 
 scribed as her boudoir, and Connie was with her. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy uttered an exclamation when her son came in ; Connie 
 blushed, but was by no means averse to her betrothed seeing her in 
 deshabille. 
 
 " At last, John ! Where have you been? " cried his mother. 
 
 " In London for the last day, or rather night," was his terse reply. 
 
 He made no movement to kiss Connie ; he was ready to fulfill his word 
 of honor, and make her his wife, but he was no hypocrite j caresses to her 
 were impossible. 
 
 " And before then? " asked Connie coyly. 
 
 " I went down into the country to see a fnend. What have you been 
 doing? " 
 
 Lady Dunworthy nodded her large head. 
 
 "As busy as two women can be. A wedding does not come every 
 day, remember. John." 
 
 He shivered slightly. 
 
 A wedding! Was it not more like a funeral, so hideous did it seem. 
 
 " Mother, -will you pardon me if I ask you a favor? I want to speak to 
 Connie clone. " 
 
 He put out his hand to lead her to the door. 
 
 Lady Dunworthy beamed graciously. 
 
 "Of course! How remiss of me! Do forgive me; I shall not disturb 
 you for a quarter of an hour." 
 
 " Five minutes will suffice," he replied. 
 
 Connie started, and her face was disfigured with a frown : there was 
 something in his grave voice not pleasant to hear. 
 
 She turned to him with a smile as soon as they were alone. 
 
 " Well, what important communication am I to hear, Jack ? " 
 
 Sir John winced. 
 
 "This," he said coldly ; "I don't think it is necessary, Connie, to go 
 back to the night of our engagement ; I believe you remember clearly 
 what happened how I spoke to you openly, perhaps curtly, saying that 
 I had no love to offer you, and- that a marriage between us could never 
 afford me any happiness. " 
 
 Connie stood with her back to him ; the full effect of her yellow silky 
 hair was revealed, but it had no enthralling beauty to him ; it spoke too 
 clearly of coldness, hardness ^nd unreality ; and the vision of Ulrica's pale, 
 sad lovely face, set in the framework of dark -brown short locks, the rem- 
 nant of her once luxuriant masses, was too prominently before his eyes. 
 
 Connie's two hands were clenched tightly together. 
 
 " Yes," she said, but not very distinctly ; " I remember well." 
 
 "Then my task is easier," Sir John continued. " I do not pretend to 
 say that this marriage is even an agreeable thought to me. The sorrow 
 that has come into my life is not one to be effaced or to be glossed over by 
 such means. In my heart I feel that I am untrue and treacherous to the 
 woman who sacrificed her life's happiness to save me from ill-treatment, as 
 she was falsely made to believe. No ; this would be impossible. It rested 
 in your hands, Connie, that other night, to have delivered me from my 
 painful position, but this you would not do. You have chosen to link your 
 life with me. So be it ; as a man of honor, I can do nothing but gratify
 
 l8o HER FATAL SIN 
 
 your ambition, but at the same time I must beg, with your permission, to 
 postpone the date of our marriage to some more distant opportunity." 
 
 Connie, behind the barrier of her flowing hair, fdt cold and sick with 
 disappointment. 
 
 " What reason have you for this ? " she asked. 
 
 He gave a short, bitter sigh. 
 
 " I wish to go abroad again for some months. " 
 
 " You mean you wish to leave England? " cried Connie, letting her petty 
 spite and never-dying jealousy of Ulrica flame out. " Oh, I begin to 
 understand ! You have met that false creature again, and she is trying to 
 make you break your word. I " 
 
 " Silence ! " 
 
 Sir John's face had never looked to Connie as it did now; his nand fell 
 on her shoulder almost heavily. 
 
 " Dare to speak of her in that way again, and honor or no honor, I swear 
 you shall never be my wife ! Oh, how pitiful how miserable must be 
 your nature to say such things of one who never injured you, and who, 
 even at every cost, has pleaded your cause, like the angel she is ! " 
 
 " I am infinitely obliged," Connie sneered, just looking at him with her 
 cold blue eyes; " but I prefer not to be pleaded for by her " 
 
 Sir John let his hand fall awav from her shoulder. 
 
 " Well, what is it to be my wealth, title, name, or nothing?*' 
 
 In his heart he whispered : 
 
 " If she have the smallest pride she must release me ! " 
 
 But he little knew Connie Wren. 
 
 She moved languidly from the window to the table. 
 
 " Since you have been so candid with me, I may as well return the com- 
 pliment. I am not so easily vanquished, Sir John, and I hold you to your 
 word. It is to be your name, wealth, and title, with your permission." 
 
 " Good ! " the young man took up his hat and went to the door " I may 
 be absent six months. Which would you prefer, to tell my mother your- 
 self or let me do that? " 
 
 He spoke as to the merest stranger. 
 
 " Leave it to me," Connie said hurriedly. 
 
 Sir John bowed courteously, opened the door, and went away without 
 another word. 
 
 Outside in the sunshine he heaved a sigh as if some hope were gone. 
 
 " I have fulfilled your wish, my darling," he said to himself. " Hence- 
 forth I am pledged apart from you, with only the memory of our brief, 
 great happiness to shine in my heart only the* memory of your purity, 
 your unselfishness, to spur me on to good. " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ULRICA was strangely quiet, yet contented at least, so it seemed to 
 the others, after that meeting with her lover. 
 
 She was careful to disguise from them all what suffering lived in her 
 breast, and how miserable she was indeed. 
 
 One short note had come to her a few days later, and she read it down 
 by the sea, the ripple of the waves sounding an accompaniment to it as 
 she read each word:
 
 HER FATAL SIN. l8l 
 
 " I have done as you asked, my darling. If you hear I am gone abroad, 
 you will know it is onry because I cannot lose your memory yet, and for- 
 get the links that almost eat into me with their misery Think of me, 
 pray for me, Ulrica, as 1 will for you; the prayers of such a soul as yours 
 must be heard. I will turn to yo*r dear memory as to a guardian angel, 
 from whom parity and goodness corae. Ulrica, God bless you, my one 
 precious, my only lore ! JACK." 
 
 She earned the senseless paper to her lips, then put it next her heart and 
 gazed at the sea with a mist of unshed tears in her eyes. 
 
 She turned her back on the waves and went towards the cottage, 
 
 " After all, I am wrong to wish for things that cannot come. Let me 
 think of all the blessings I have now love and sympathy from four true 
 
 hearts is not that a treasure i ought to value? " 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 News was slow to travel down to Seamouth. Guy used "to go to the 
 small hotel and read the daily papers; was U some instinct that warned him to 
 keep them from Ulrica's reach? His mother never cared for such things, 
 and Basil and Chattie were too happy to give 1 a second thought to what 
 was going on in the world, so no one but Guy knew of Graves' death and 
 the reappearance of Horace Mott in London. 
 
 He was shocked and puzzled how to act, especially as Ulrica began to 
 express her wonder that Graves never wrote. 
 
 On the morning that John Dunworthy's little note came to her, Guy 
 had gone out on purpose to commune with himself as to how he should 
 break the news to her. 
 
 Ulrica paced the shore slowly; she soon felt tired, and, by herself, was 
 some time in reaching the house. She was just leaving a group of fishing- 
 boats, pulled up high, as the tide came in strong and full now, when a 
 voice accosted her. 
 
 A cold shiver passed through her; a man came from behind one of the 
 boats. 
 
 " Mrs. Mott madam, " he muttered quickly. 
 j Ulrica stopped. 
 
 She recognized him at once as her husband's valet the man he had 
 discharged. 
 
 She put out one of her frail hands and supported her trembling limb* 
 against a boat. 
 
 " What do you want? " she faltered. 
 
 The man looked at her with some pity in his eyes. How changed she 
 was 1 he remembered her wonderful beauty of only a year past. But pity 
 did not last long. 
 
 " I have been waiting to catch you," was his answer. " I have some 
 Information for you. " 
 
 Ulrica looked up at him silently. 
 
 "I'm poor and can't be generous," went on Victor; "but I'll sell it 
 to you." 
 
 Ulrica tried to shake off her weakness. 
 
 11 Information ! sell 1 " she repeated as her eyes closed for an instant; 
 ' that do you want me to give you? " 
 
 Victor checked a whistle. 
 
 1 Then it is true ; she 'ave got money," he said to himself. 
 'Have you got twenty pounds? " he asked, eagerly 
 'It shall be sent you, you can trust .me."
 
 1 82 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 Victor nodded his head. 
 
 " Yes, that I can, ma'am. Well, here goes: Yer husband 'as found out 
 where you is; he.'s coming down after you. I suppose you've heard as 
 he've got off for stabbing that woman Graves to death, he " 
 
 " What ! " 
 
 Ulrica's eyes were fixed on the man with an expression of horror, she 
 turned ghastly pale, and staggered against the boat. Her very lips seemed 
 frozen. Then a sudden burst of strength came to her. She waved him aside. 
 
 "Don't tell me anymore, I cannot bear it follow me. The money 
 shall " 
 
 Victor did as he was bid. He followed the slender form as it walked 
 slowly and with difficulty to the house, and after a few minutes a neat 
 maid brought him an envelope, which, on opening eagerly, he found con- 
 tained four five-pound bank-notes. 
 
 " She is a woman of her word, by George ! " he thought. 
 
 He whistled to himself as he made his way to the hotel and ordered 
 some brandy, then gave himself up to the delight of admiring his bank- 
 notes once again. 
 
 The bar was empty, as he thought; but while he was making his calcula- 
 tions, a hand was put on his shoulder, and a voice rang m his ear: 
 
 " Very good, but yo really should make your plans better. " 
 
 It was Horace Mott, of whose advent Victor had just warned UIrica,but 
 whom he little expected to see. 
 
 The man was nonplussed. 
 
 " This letter, my dear Victor," Mott continued, showing an envelope, 
 " from my dear wife to Graves, found on my floor, has put me in posses- 
 sion of everything I care to know. Ha, ha! Mrs. Mott will not be so 
 
 bountiful of her five-pound notes in future ! " 
 
 * * * * * * * * * * 
 
 Chattie danced up stairs from her walk, but Mary came forward and 
 warned her not to wake Ulrica. 
 
 " She has gone to take a rest ; she has been writing some letters, miss." 
 
 Chattie stole away, and the afternoon crept into evening. 
 
 Guy had gone up to Ulrica's door, but finding everything quiet, he re- 
 frained from disturbing her ; rest, he knew, was the best thing in her weak 
 state. 
 
 As they sat at dinner, a ring came at the gate, and Guy rose with a 
 strange sense of coming evil as Bruce ushered in a gentleman. 
 
 Though he smiled and held out his hand, no one responded. 
 
 "I am sorry to intrude upon you," said Horace Mott pleasantly; "my 
 visit is to my wife." 
 
 Guy put one hand on a chair ; his voice was cold and hard. 
 
 " I am Mrs. Mott's medical attendant, and I regret that I cannot permit 
 you to see her ; she is not strong enough to bear the excitement." 
 
 " I am the best judge of that ; kindly lead me to her room, or inform 
 her of my presence." 
 
 An ominous frown was on Horace Mott's face. 
 
 " Mother, will you go to Ulrica, or shall 1 ? " 
 
 Mrs. Strong had grown pale. 
 
 '" You go, Guy ; tell her she shall never be taken from me. Sir," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Strong, turning to Mott, " I beg to inform you that I refuse 
 to permit Ulrica to go with you ; she will at our instigation institute pro- 
 ceedings for an immediate separation. "
 
 HER FATAL SIH. 183 
 
 " Indeed," was all Mott said, with an ugly look round his mouth ; " that 
 will be both expensive and useless, I think ; in the meantime I insist on 
 seeing my wife. I can quite understand you have a good motive in keep- 
 ing Mrs. Mott with you, madam, now that she is possessed of her large 
 fortune again. " 
 
 Basil rose as if to strike the speaker, but Chattie pulled him back. 
 
 Guy merely pressed his mother's hand, then turned to--Mott. 
 
 " Wait here, sir ; I will inform Ulrica of your presence and wish ; but 
 understand me, if she refuses to see you, 1 shall abide by that wish. " 
 
 He left the room, and went slowly up-stairs. 
 
 Mott stood in a languid easy attitude, but neither of the three left ad- 
 dressed him. 
 
 Suddenly his name was called. 
 
 Guy's voice sounded curiously strained and harsh. His mother started 
 as if she did not know it. 
 
 Bruce held open the door, and led Horace Mott up-stairs. 
 
 On the landing Guy met him. 
 
 "You insist on seeing your wife?" he asked. Even in the twilight 
 Mott could see how gray his face looked. 
 
 " I do, " was the fierce answer. 
 
 " Then follow me ! " 
 
 Mott turned and walked up the small passage. A door was ajar, a soft 
 breeze floated in through an open window. A chair was drawn up at the 
 window, and in this reclined a woman's form. 
 
 " Speak to her," said Guy. 
 
 Mott strode over to the chair, bent his head, and then recoiled. 
 
 His gaze rested on a cold, set face ; two great staring eyes met his , a 
 'mouth, still symmetrical, half open ; it was awful, a beautiful face still 
 the face of death. 
 
 He wiped his br,ow and staggered to the windw, while Guy knelt down 
 beside the chair and buried his face in his hands. 
 
 Ulrica's troubles were ended at last j no fears, no regrets, no shame, no 
 
 love, now she was dead. 
 
 ******* 
 
 " I bequeath to Charlotte Wren all the money I possess in the world on , 
 condition that she marries Basil Morne within a year." 
 
 So ran the short will drawn up on half a sheet of note-paper, and 
 signed by Bruce and Mary, found on the table beside Ulrica. Even to the 
 last her thoughts were of others ; she knew Chattie and Basil had not 
 enough to marry on, and she determined their happiness should come if 
 possible. 
 
 At first neither Basil nor she could bring themselves to accept their hap- 
 piness from the tender dead hand ; but Guy, who seemed to have grown 
 quiet and almost old, spoke eloquently to them on the subject at length, 
 dwelt on the loyalty they owed to that last -written wish, and they yielded. 
 
 Unknown to Chattie, Horace Mott had threatened to bring a law-suit 
 against her to recover his wife's money, left, so he urged, by undue influ- 
 ence, away from him. 
 
 He was never heard of by any of them more, save by Guy, and he kept 
 silent. Only once did he open his lips on the subject, and that was years 
 after to John Dumvorthy, who, grown into a cold, hard, prematurely aged 
 man, came to see him at Bathurst, in one of his fleeting visits to his native 
 land.
 
 184 HER FATAL SIN. 
 
 They were wandering in the grounds bathed in the sunlight, as they had 
 been in those bygone days, when Guy spoke. , 
 
 " Jack," he said, " will you tell me of that man's end ? " 
 
 Sir John shuddered slightly. 
 
 " It was terrible, Guy. Even I, who had cause to hate him as much as 
 any one, pitied him. Several times in my travels I came across him ; each 
 time he looked more miserable and debased. It was at Montreal, our last 
 meeting. I learnt afterwards that he had sunk so low through depravity 
 and want as to take Government money from Russia, to spy out the Nihi- 
 list doings ; and to further this end, he became one of a secret body of 
 conspirators. I saw him the very morning of his last day on earth ; the 
 news of his treacherous calling had come to the ears of the heads of the 
 secret society, and maddened by his treachery, they literally tore him to 
 pieces. It was their last work before they were shipped off to Russia, de- 
 nounced through Mott, and they did it well. The authorities tried to save 
 him in vain. Even I went to get aid to tear him from his late comrades. 
 I was too late ; he had already been executed, and died a traitor's death." 
 
 Gny was silent for a moment. 
 
 " God have mercy on his soul ! " he said slowly after a pause ; then put- 
 ting his hand an John Dunworthy's arm, he went on : 
 
 " Jack, there is something else I want to ask you. Are you never com- 
 ing back to Dunworthy and your wife ? Remember you have duties." 
 
 " I owe none to her," was the stern reply, " Guy, don't speak of this 
 again. Had I ever seen one single spark of kindness, of womanliness in 
 Connie, I might have altered ; but there is none. Three times I flung my- 
 self .on her generosity, and each time she kept me to my word, knowing 
 full well that my heart was broken and buried in my one love's grave. I 
 fulfilled my word. She is my wife ; she has that for which she married me 
 my rank and riches, and she has what gives her happiness. I have my 
 freedom, and that is all I ask. Come, Guy, you know there is little 
 trouble to be seen on Constance, Lady Dunworthy's worldly face." 
 
 Guy did not answer at first ; this last remark could not be contradicted 
 he knew right well. 
 
 " Can you never forgive her, Jack ? " he asked. 
 
 " I hare forgiven her long ago ; but there it all must end. She can never 
 be anything to me. " 
 
 They changed the conversation, and strolled on till the hour came for 
 parting. 
 
 As they clasped hands in farewell once more, they little thought it would 
 be for the last time. . 
 
 Bathurst never saw John Dunworthy again. His yacht was wrecked in 
 the Bay of Biscay, and he perished trying to rescue one of the crew. 
 
 Guy Strong was sitting in his study when the news came. 
 
 It did not surprise him. So much sorrow had come of late for his 
 mother, too, had passed away that he was resigned to all. 
 
 He rose after a while, and going to his cabinet took out a scrap of paper; 
 it was a broken letter formed by Ulrica's dear hand that summer night so 
 longago, and ran thus : 
 
 "DEAREST, TRUEST FRIEND: The end has come. I have known for 
 the past year how weak my heart has been, though you have thought me 
 ignorant ; to-day I have received a shock; 1 can scarcely hold the pen. Gd 
 bless you all mother, Jack, and you ! I am " 
 
 That was all.
 
 HER FATAL SIN. 185 
 
 a In life they had sorrow and pain, " Guy said softly to himself as he 
 touched this treasured letter with his lips, " in death maybe they are 
 united. " 
 
 The paper on which it was written had grown brown and old, but at 
 Bathurst, down by the village church, stood a white cross that, despite the 
 wind and rain, was never discolored, and at its base a mass of flowers was 
 strewn fresh and fragrant by loving hands every day. 
 
 The inscription on the cross was short: 
 
 To ULRICA, OITR BELOVED, 
 
 Aged 19. 
 A very Angel on Earth. 
 
 THE END.
 
 A $10 Book for 25 Cents. 
 
 Emm MAWAL 
 
 OF 
 
 USEFUL INFORMATION. 
 
 THIS TEAR'S EDITION carefully revised and cor- 
 rected to date.' 
 
 PRICE, ONLY 26 CENTS. 
 
 It has 286 PAGES of closely printed matter, absolutely 
 teeming ivith information on 2,OOO subjects. 
 
 IT COKTAfflS 1,000,000 FACTS, 
 
 AND MANY STATISTICAL TABLES 
 
 Of practical value for Commercial Travelers, Mechanics, Merchants, 
 Editors, Lawyers, Doctors, Printers, Painters, Farmers, Lumbermen, 
 Bankers, Bookkeepers, Politicians, Housekeepers, and all classes of workers 
 in every department of human effort; also a compilation of facts for ready 
 reference that we guarantee can not be had in any other book or books at 
 a cost of less than $10. It is an epitome of matters Historical, Statistical, 
 Biographical, Political, Geographical and of General Interest. No one 
 who has seen the book can get along without it, and those who have a 
 copy of it would not part with it for ten times its price. 
 
 AGENTS WANTED. 
 
 Single copies sent postpaid on receipt of 25 cents. 
 
 LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 COR. CLARK AND ADAMS STS., CHICAGO, ILL.
 
 THREE GREAT NOVELS. 
 
 A WOMAN'S LOVE, By Mrs. M. E. Holmes. 
 
 HER FATAL SIN, 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OP BEDMOTJNT, " " 
 
 These three novels, by this most interesting authoress, rank as her 
 best efforts. 
 
 Mrs. Holmes has the rare faculty of grouping together characters, 
 who, while retaining their own individuality, and by vivid contrasts bring 
 out in bold relief the predominant traits of each, yet move from page to 
 page as an harmonious whole, carrying with them the life and bieath of 
 living, breathing creatures. You will find no weak ones in her dramatis 
 persona; each has a niche to fill, a corner to adorn, a note to harmonize 
 the chord, and, holding the story well in hand, she plays with the passions, 
 sentiments, hopes, fears, hearts and consciences of her characters, until the 
 reader, in full sympathy with her, reaches the tantalizing " Finis, " and 
 closes the book with regret Would you laugh? Is your heart dry for 
 tears? Would you like to see youiself, your own aspirations, your own 
 failures, your own hopeless hopes, placed before you? Reader, Mrs. 
 Holmes, in her graceful language, pungent and natural conversations, deli- 
 cate word-painting, and dramatic situations, can show you all these; and 
 that person whose emotions are not stirred and quickened by the turning of 
 these three novels, is, beyond all doubt, deplorably and unhumanly crys* 
 talized. 
 
 For sale on all trains and at all bookstores and news stands, 
 or will be mailed, postpaid, by the publishers, on receipt of price. 
 
 LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS, 
 Cor Clark and Adams Streets, - - CHICAGO, ILL
 
 13,000 COPIES SOLD THE FIRST WEEK. 
 
 HANDBOOK OF USEFUL INFORMATION. 
 
 NEW .AJXTD R.BVTCSEID EDITION". 
 
 Elegantly bound in Leatherette, -with gold side stamp. Price, 2$ cents. 
 
 The times are peculiarly calculated to increase every person's desire to 
 make and save money. New and improved management of business and 
 financial affairs, and economy in daily expenses of all kinds, are the uni- 
 versal study. And almost everyone has felt the need the great and press- 
 ingneed, sometimes of ^.concise and thoroughly PRACTICAL handbook, 
 calculated to aid him in his plans of thrift and management. Especially is 
 there a demand for a low-priced volume of this character for the self- 
 education of young men and young women for the realities of life on the 
 farm, and in the counting-room, the workshop, and the household. 
 
 To meet this great popular want, Mr. E. A. Gaskell, a very skillful 
 writer, has prepared the above volume. It is a remarkable book. It con- 
 tains a larger amount of valuable information on practical matters, in 
 shape for ready use, than can be bought in any other form for $10, 7&- ^ 
 sold at only 25c. It is invaluable to 
 
 Every Farmer, Every Investor, 
 
 Every Mechanic, Every Land Owner, 
 
 Every Workman, Every Housekeeper, 
 
 Every Book-keeper, Every Professional Man, 
 
 Every Tradesman, Every Letter Writer^ 
 
 Every Machinist, Every Patentee, 
 
 Every Clerk, Every Author t 
 
 Every Person who is engaged in earning or making money, 
 Every Person who is endeavoring to save money, 
 Every Person who is investing or handling money, 
 Every Person who owns or is paying for a home, 
 Every Person having Boys to educate for business, 
 
 Every Person having Girls to educate for self-support. 
 In fact, no person who can read the English language should be with- 
 out a copy of it. 
 
 TEACHERS! ,, nmT m *IT niTmTM\ FARMERS! 
 
 STUDENTS! AuFWT\ W AN FFTl YOUNG MEN! 
 MECHANICS tttUim 1 yj \\ ni\ 1 1/Ui BUSINESS MEN ! 
 
 To whom we offer the most liberal terms ever offered. 
 
 It is for sale by every newsdealer and bookseller in the United States, 
 and on all trains, or it will be sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of price, by
 
 POLYGAMIST MORMONS ! 
 
 HOW THEY LIVE 
 
 AND 
 
 THE LAND THEY LIVE IN. 
 
 BY FRED. E. BENNETT, 
 
 DEPUTY UNITED STATES MARSHAL. 
 
 The author of this interesting narrative has, in graphic language, faith- 
 fully depicted the stirring and exciting life he leads in ferreting out, with 
 keen detective ability, the necessary evidence to convict the polygamous 
 mormons, who rebelled against Federal authority. In his experience as 
 Deputy United States Marshal he arrested forty offenders, some of them 
 the most notorious of this notorious people. The Mountain Meadow 
 Massacre, that most foul blot on the history of the great West, is, in these 
 pages, told in all its atrocious reality, and with dramatic skilL The secrets 
 of the celebrated and mysterious Endowment House are herein unfolded, 
 and the manners, customs and life of this peculiar people are told with 
 candor and truth. The graphic descriptions of the great West is of itself 
 valuable to tourists and home-seekers. The reader may say, in all due 
 sincerity, that " Truth is stranger than fiction," when reading the stirring 
 incidents and almost incredible accounts of the mormons, but Mr. Bennett 
 has simply thrown the clear light of investigation on this " dark stain on 
 our country's escutcheon," and placed it before the public in a most fas- 
 cinating manner. 
 
 Fruited in large type on good paper, fully illustrated, and elegantly 
 bound in extra cloth, with ink and gold side and back stamps, 
 
 PRICE $1.50. 
 
 We want agents to handle this book, to whom we offer most liberal 
 terms. 
 
 For sale on all railroads and at all book stores, or will be sent by mail 
 postpaid on receipt of price. 
 
 EKIRD * nee, prf>UBbr. 
 
 COR. CLARK AND ADAMS STS. CHICAGO.
 
 THE FRANK PINKERTON 
 
 ISSUED MONTHLY BY SUBSCRIPTION. 
 $3.00 PER ANNUM. 
 
 Numbers now ready: 
 
 DYKE BARREL, The Railroad Detective. 
 
 A LIFE FOR A LIFE. 
 
 $5,000 REWARD. 
 
 JIM CUM MINGS, or the Great Adams Express Robbery. 
 
 MARKED FOR LIFE. 
 
 In issuing these detective novels, the publishers have been careful to 
 put out the best of the kind. Every book is a complete exposition of 
 some real crime, which has been traced to the guilty person or conspira- 
 tors by some eminent operative in the secret service. These stories, hav- 
 ing facts for a foundation, are written in a fascinatimg manner, free from 
 all improbabilities or mythical romances, but tell the methods, finesse of 
 detective work, the hair-breadth escapes, the perilous situations, failures and 
 triumphs, in readable and intensely interesting style. 
 
 Every day crime comes to light which proves that facts are stranger 
 than fiction, and which rival, in the intricacies of plots and counter-plots, 
 the ingenious romances whifeh a Dumas placed in literature. Selecting 
 the most daring, boldest and audacious of these every-day criminal occur- 
 rences, Mr. Pinkerton has placed them before the reader in all their 
 reality, in a most attractive form, telling the story with all the dash and 
 abandon of one who is relating that which actuall occurred, but clothing 
 it in vivid language, bold conception, and life-like realism. 
 
 The books will be found to abound in thrilling situations, unexpected 
 disclosures and dramatic conceptions, and are copiously illustrated, making 
 the series one of the most popular ever published. 
 
 Subscriptions may begin at any time. Single copies sent by mail, 
 postpaid, on receipt of price. 
 
 . LAIRD &, LEE, Publishers, 
 COR. CLARK AND ADAMS STS.. CHICAGO, ILL.
 
 Nana's Daughter, 
 
 A STORY OF PARISIAN LIFE. 
 
 BY- 
 ALFRED SIRVEN AND HENRI LEVERDIER, 
 
 With a letter from the authors to M. Emile Zola. 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE 25th. FRENCH EDITION. 
 
 When M. Emile Zola wrote " Nana," the world thought that no truer 
 photograph of the kaleidoscopic life which is so truly and essentially 
 Parisian could be brought out by any other author. It remained for 
 Alfred Sirven and Henri Leverdier to combine French wit, ingenuity and 
 realistic word-painting to disapprove this opinion. 
 
 " NANA'S DAUGHTER," by these gentlemen, faithfully portrays, with 
 graphic lights and shadows, that zone of Parisian life from which the beau 
 m*>nde gathers all that is chic, Frenchy and worldly. 
 
 The character of Nana" daughter, in vivid contrast to her mother, 
 that queen of the demi-monde, shines like a pure crystal amid the sordid 
 surroundings and demoniacal plots which at times almost engulphed her, 
 and, irredescent to the last, remains untarnished and spotless, a tribute to 
 virtue. 
 
 The book maintains its thrilling interest to the very end. The charac- 
 ters are skillfully sketched, and the plot most interestingly complicated. 
 
 FOR SALE ON ALL TRAINS, AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 
 
 Sent by mail postpaid on receipt of price. 
 
 LAIRD & LEE, Publishers, 
 
 CHICAGO.
 
 THE BEST POULTRY BOOK * EVER PUBLISHED, 
 
 POULTRY CULTURE. 
 
 How to Raise, Mate, Manage and Judge Thorough-bred Fowls. 
 
 By I. K. FELCH. 
 
 Third Edition, with supplemental chapter on the preparation of 
 poultry for exhibition. 
 
 EVERY POULTRY RAISER should have this book. It contains 
 the ripest results of thirty years' experience and observation. What this 
 book does not tell about the culture of chickens, turkeys, ducks and geese 
 is not worth knowing. It is the only recognized authority. on mating and 
 judging thoroughbred fowls. The book contains 438 pages and 50 illus- 
 trations, beautifully bound in cloth, black, silver and gold. It makes an 
 elegant book for any library. Read the following, among the many 
 opinions of the press. 
 
 Mr. Felch has been a well-known and recognized authority on poultry 
 for many years, and this book will add to his reputation. It is the best 
 book ever published on the subject it treats upon, and should be in the 
 hands of all who wish to keep fully up to the times in poultry raising. 
 American Poultry Journal, Chicago. 
 
 Mr. Felch deals with the matter-of-fact, every-day experience in the 
 poultry-yard and in the show-room. From introduction to end, every 
 page of this book has some practical and useful information for novice, 
 amateur and veteran. We consider " Poultry Culture " the best work on 
 the subject ever issued .from the American press. National Poultry Moni- 
 tor , Springfield, Ohio. 
 
 It seems to be prepared with a view to thorough practical use and to be 
 of very great value to all who engage, whether largely or only in a small 
 way, in poultry culture. Chicago Daily Times. 
 
 It is an ably written aud handsomely issued volume, just arrived from 
 America, and its title, comprehensive though it appears, hardly expresses 
 the great scope of matter dealt with by the author. The work will help 
 anyone wishing to keep fowls to do so in an economic manner. Morn- 
 ing Post, London, Eng. 
 
 It is from the pen of one of the most successful and experienced poultry- 
 men in the country. It has no superior in its class, and is complete, trust- 
 worthy, perspicuous and practical. The Independent, New York. 
 
 The whole book has an er>mently practical and sensible tone, and we 
 think it will be found a safe counselor. Cultivator and Country Gentle- 
 man, Albany, N. Y. 
 
 BENT POSTPAID ON RECEIPT OF PRICE. LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 LAKESIDE BUILDING, CHICAGO, ILL.
 
 >*
 
 ^^-T;,-VV;~->;r^ 
 
 Z^t^T^ fer <* 'ii V^ -- '"* ' 
 
 ipcliSIS & /tofc 
 
 ^ ^ :&&*?:% S^i 
 
 
 'n xrKr^\ v ^f^ 
 
 egC^r^wTi ^^-ri^ - 
 
 fes^g^%^= 
 
 S-V4* **^-e-*-,> : jr ,x-^' aJ!^<^rrS - 
 "2- SfcV A vi * 
 
 :^fcrv- ^ 
 
 '^~^"/ """5"" ' -- "^f*-^ 
 
 \^ 
 m^i^^^K^ 
 
 ^9^1 V^TV^V^^T -^^v^ 
 
 ^^^-^ '-I -,/ ^^ "*i/^ i^^-7' 
 
 ^^JW^ 
 
 ^*1 # <*.%.. f<^://^Iw^ v Xf
 
 U*.^riF>>i7 1 ylC^J^^-. .SZf-^\ i V\ >-^\ ;^ 
 
 -"XAr 
 
 A^M^irfeffiy 
 ^^^^'f^t^S^-' 
 
 ^^fT't^^^^^^f } ^^M^ rtf 
 
 'JVTj^S ^7/( 5 ,V>'X ^ ^J^ -y^'S .""r 7s J ?*4'A-- 
 
 ^^rf^^^^f^^^^^5<^^ 
 
 k ^^. ^ ^ -^ "^ .^ _ -^ ^w. ^5V- "7f ^i<* .^ ^k. ..-it i i - I ^^*L% 
 
 K^^ X^t'W^U - 
 
 - ^ ^>fw.^ ^>v^jv^^< ^?fr^?^ ^j 
 
 ^^^^j^^w^ ^*-a*&i - T - 
 
 ^^^^%^^^ T^^fe^>^j 
 ^^^S^^^Jl^^^ vpt^^^ 
 
 ^^^^S^vP^?^-^ T -^ >> ^^Y ^n?^^ 
 
 t ^>c-i-Vi:_ J ^'i?-^-'.^J^ S^A/jii.^^-^r-i.W * v'j/^-*?^ . ^p->A , v rUkjfL _ ^^