THE DUKE'S SECRET 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME 
 
 Author of "DoRA THORNE," "THROWN ON THE WORLD," "His 
 MOTHER'S SIN," Etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HURST & COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 THE DIE'S SECRET. 
 
 PROLOGUE, 
 
 , Duchess of Castlemayne, sat alone in hei 
 boudoir at Rood Castle, and few women in England were 
 more proud, more handsome and stately than her grace; 
 she had not met even with the traditional rose-leaf; her 
 life had been one of uninterrupted prosperity and bril- 
 liancy; she was born a beauty and an heiress. From the 
 time she lay in her cradle a baby, with a face like a rose- 
 bud, until now a woman, in all the plentitude of her 
 charms she had known no sorrow, no care, no want. 
 The daughter and heiress of the grand old race of Mount 
 Severns, the last of a long and illustrious line, its proud 
 spirit seemed to be concentrated in her. As a girl she 
 was beautiful to a wonder, with the dark, imperial love- 
 liness that one gives to an empress; with her beauty, title, 
 rank and wealth, she was entitled to marry more than 
 well, and she made the best match of the day. From a 
 host of lovers she chose the young Duke of Castlemayne. 
 He was singularly handsome in person and immensely 
 rich. Besides an enormous rent-roll, he had the vast 
 accumulations of a long minority; and when he came of 
 age his was a fortune a king might have envied. Then, 
 from being the most lovely girl in the kingdom, she be- 
 came the most beautiful and popular woman. Always 
 proud, haughty and stately, there was a grace and fasci- 
 nation in her manner which no one could resist. Wealth, 
 honors, favors, homage, jvimiration were lavished on her. 
 She was for many years the queen of society. Her hus- 
 band worshiped her, and she governed him completely. 
 She had oae son, who believed in her as he did in Heaven,
 
 4 THE DUKE'B SECBET. 
 
 and stood almost as much in awe of her. The world lay 
 at her fet; her every wish was law; her every caprice, 
 whim and desire gratified; her every thought and word 
 accepted as the Medes and Persians accepted their laws. 
 No one had ever contradicted or thwarted her. She had 
 never heard a rough or unkind word; and now, on this 
 beautiful July morning, she sits in the midst of her mag- 
 nificence, face to face with the first trouble of her life. 
 
 Her first trouble; and the duchess does not bear it 
 well She looks troubled and anxious. It had always 
 been a very easy matter for her to manage her husband, 
 but this trouble concerned her son, and he was not quite 
 so easy to manage. She looks like a picture just stepped 
 from its frame; her dress of black velvet falls in royal 
 folds, the lace on her head is costly enough for a queen, 
 her white hands shine with gems. She is surrounded by 
 magnificence of every kind. Yet on the white, impassive 
 brow there are lines never seen before. 
 
 " My only son," she said to herself, " the only hope of 
 his race. My handsome, noble boy." 
 
 There was passionate pain and passionate love in the 
 voice as she uttered the words, for the proud, beautiful 
 duchess loved her son with a force and intensity that 
 love seldom reaches. She took up a book, scanned the 
 pages, then replaced it. 
 
 " I must do it," she said to herself, " oetter now than 
 later in the day, when Herbert is about. He is so weak 
 and so impressionable that if the girl cries he would not 
 have the nerve to act so promptly. Oh, my son, my son 1" 
 
 She touched a little silver gong that stood on the table 
 by her side, and the next minute the footman entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Tell Miss Wynter I wish to see her here, and at once," 
 said her grace, and the messenger hastened to obey. 
 Prompt obedience was part of that well-trained household. 
 
 The duchess resumed her seat, and the frown on her 
 fine face deepened. 
 
 " To think that I should have to speak on the matter," 
 she said to herself. " It is abhorrent to me." 
 
 On the table by her side lay a fine white handkerchief 
 delicately perfumed with violets, a knot of ribbon of a 
 peculiar mauve tint, and the duchess looked at them witk 
 unconcealed scorn.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 5 
 
 " It is her fault, I am sure," she said to herself, " and 
 not Bertrand's. I believe the women are always to blame." 
 
 Then she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. 
 Her face flushed, and her eyes filled with angry light. 
 
 " Come in," she said, in answer to a low, timid knock. 
 
 A girl entered beautiful as ever was painter's fancy 
 or poet's dream a tall, slender girl, in whose graceful fig- 
 ure and lovely face there was a promise of magnificent 
 womanhood; her eyes of deepest azure, her mouth deli- 
 cate, proud and sensitive, with a beauty half divine ; her 
 white brow was full of ideality and poetry; her hair, mag- 
 nificent in its waving splendor, was of rich, dark brown, 
 that looked like gold in the sun. She wore a plain black 
 dress, which showed eveiy graceful line and curve of her 
 beautiful figure. There was something of hesitation half 
 shy, wholly graceful in her manner, as she advanced to 
 the table near which the duchess sat. 
 
 " Your grace wished to see me," she said, and her voice 
 was one of the sweetest ever heard sweet and low as the 
 song of the nightingale among the lilies, clear, delicate, 
 silvery. The face of the duchess flushed again as the re- 
 fined, melodious accents reached her ear. 
 
 "You are right, Miss "Wynter, I wish to see you/* 
 haughtily. As she looked at the lovely face of the girl, her 
 face grew more haughty. She pointed with a proud ges- 
 ture, to the handkerchief and the knot of ribbon. "Be 
 good enough to look at those," she said. 
 
 Miss Wynter came to the table and raised the two ar- 
 ticles in her hand ; there was nothing but blank wonder 
 in her face ; neither fear nor dread, but simply wonder. 
 The odor of violets from the handkerchief drew her atten- 
 tion. 
 
 " Can you tell me," said her grace, " to whom these be- 
 long?" 
 
 " They are mine," she replied; "they are mine, your 
 grace." 
 
 " You are quite sure; there is no mistake ?" 
 
 "I am quite sure, your grace; my name is on the hand- 
 kerchief, and I always use the essence of violets." 
 
 Poor child ! all the rest of her life the odor of violets 
 turned her faint and ill it was so associated with the h.or 
 ror of this hour.
 
 6 THE DUKE'S 8ECBET. 
 
 " When,*' asked the duchess, with proud severity, "when 
 did you. wear this knot of ribbon last ?" 
 
 "When?" she repeated. "I am not quite sure, your 
 grace ; it was the day before yesterday, I believe." 
 
 Then came a sudden gleam of anxiety in the blue eyes, 
 and something of startled fear. 
 
 "They are yours," said the duchess. "You acknowl- 
 edge it, and you wore that knot of ribbon two days since. 
 
 " Yes, I believe so," was the faint reply. 
 
 " And where do you imagine, Miss Wynter, these things 
 were found ?" 
 
 " I do not know. I can not tell, your grace." 
 
 " listen I I blush to tell you ; the shame you can not 
 feel I feel for you. They were found in my son's room, 
 in Lord St. Albans's room absolutely found there ! and 
 you must know what that implies it implies your pres- 
 ence there, Miss Wynter." 
 
 Pals, scared, her lips white, her eyes all troubled and 
 frightened, the girl looked up. It was as though a 
 blast of hot wind passed over a delicate flower and 
 withered it. 
 
 " I I do not understand, your grace," she said, her 
 white lips trembling, while she seemed to gasp for breath. 
 
 " I wish I could believe you ', I wish, indeed, that you 
 did not understand me. I am afraid that you know only 
 too well all that I mean. I repeat that these things were 
 found in my son's room, and that their presence implies 
 your presence." 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the proud scorn and 
 loathing contempt with which the duchess spoke those 
 words. 
 
 The white lips opened again. 
 
 "What room? I I" 
 
 Then the sound died away. 
 
 " Do not waste time or talent in inventing excuses," said 
 the duchess. " You admit, I presume, that your room 
 and Lady Nell's are in the eastern wing; you will admit 
 also that Lord St. Albans's rooms are at the other end of 
 the Castle, in the queen's wing." 
 
 " Yes, I admit that. Why ? " 
 
 " That is sufficient," said the duchess. " Now explain 
 to me why articles belonging to you are found ia Lord 
 St Albans's study?"
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 7 
 
 She could hardly hear the murmured answer. What 
 was the girl saying? the wind, the servants, Lady Nell 
 roaming all over the Castle. 
 
 "Nothing of the kind," said the duchess. "What 
 utter nonsense! Speak the truth. How came these 
 things in my son's room ?" 
 
 But the fright and panic seemed to have grown 
 on her ; her whole figure trembled like a leaf in a strong 
 wind. 
 
 " You have one chance," said the duchess, slowly, " I do 
 not say of redeeming yourself, for nothing can change 
 my opinion of you now, but the best atonement you can 
 make to me is to tell me the exact truth." 
 
 "I have nothing to tell," she said, in a low, proud 
 voice. " I have nothing, not one word to say. I can not 
 understand. May I go, your grace ?" 
 
 "No," said the duchess, "you may not go ; "and since 
 you will not speak yourself, I will speak for you. My 
 son's suite of rooms are in the queen's wing ; his study, 
 dressing-room and bath-room are near them, and Sidonie, 
 my maid, occasionally enters them when commissioned 
 by myself. If you are going to faint, you had better 
 take a chair. 
 
 For the sweet face had grown white as with a pallor of 
 death, and one trembling hand clung to the chair. 
 
 " Last week," continued the duchess, quite regardless 
 of the pain and suffering on that fair young face, " I had 
 occasion to send Sidonie to my son's study quite early 
 in the morning. She brought back to me this handker- 
 chief marked with your name. She found it in tha 
 middle of the floor, and listen I was there myself the 
 last thing at night, and I am quite certain it was not 
 there then ; it would not have escaped my observation. 
 I ask how, in the dead of night, your handkerchief finds 
 its way to my son's room ?" 
 
 There was no reply, only a moan from the white lips. 
 
 " You have no answer to give," said the duchess. " List- 
 en again. Two days since, and again early in the morn- 
 ing, my maid had to go to my son's study, and there she 
 found this knot of ribbon, which you recognize as your 
 own, and which she recognized as having seen on you. 
 Again I had been in this room the night before, and I can 
 certify it was not there. It is easy to draw a certain de-
 
 8 THE DUKE'S SEOBET. 
 
 duction from that. I ask you, can you explain why thia 
 knot of ribbon, worn by you two days since, was found 
 on the floor of my son's room on the night of the same 
 day you wore it ? Have you any answer to make ? " 
 
 The only answer was a moan. 
 
 " I have more to say," continued the duchess, haughtily. 
 " I, myself, would not for the world have condescended to 
 do that which my maid did. Can you guess what it is ? " 
 
 No answer, only a more deadly pallor round the young 
 face. 
 
 "She was determined to test for herself the truth of 
 her suspicions, and she, well, I am a woman, and such 
 words come strange to me she watched you last night, 
 you yourself, perhaps, know best what she saw." 
 
 The girl clasped her hands, and a look that the duchesa 
 could not understand came into her face. 
 
 " I must ask you now, and I insist on an answer, how 
 long have you been in the habit of meeting my son, Lord 
 St. Albans, in his study, alone, and when all the rest of the 
 household slept ? How long answer me ? " 
 
 There came no answer, but with a bitter cry, the girl 
 held out her hands. 
 
 "Have pity on me," she cried, "I have not one word 
 to say." 
 
 " I insist upon an answer," said the duchess, sternly. 
 " I will have one ! " 
 
 But again the girl threw up her hands with a bitter 
 cry. 
 
 " I have nothing to say," she said. " Oh, your grace, 
 beKeve me, I have not one word to say." 
 
 The Duchess of Castlemayne once more touched the 
 silver gong that stood on the table. 
 
 " Send Sidonie to me at once," said she. 
 
 And after a few minutes had elapsed the Frenchwoman 
 entered the room. She looked quickly from the tall, 
 commanding figure of her grace, to the slender, trembling 
 form of the young girL 
 
 " Close the door, Sidonie," said her grace, and the maid 
 complied " I wish you," said the duchess, " to repeat 
 before Miss Wynter what you told me this morning and 
 what you saw." 
 
 An expression of almost gratified malice came over the 
 French maid's faoe. It was just possible that she, who
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 9 
 
 prideu uerself on her good looks, had felt some pique 
 tliat the handsome young marquis had never noticed her. 
 A swift, terrible light came into her eyes, a flash of tri- 
 umph brightened her face. She hated with an intensity 
 of hatred the pale, beautiful girl who stood trembling 
 there. 
 
 " Let us have no additions, no exaggerations, but the 
 plain unvarnished truth," said the duchess. 
 
 Sidonie was nothing loth to begin. 
 
 " I will obey, your grace," said the maid, " though it 
 is' 
 
 The duchess held up her hand. 
 
 " I want no comments. The affair has nothing to do 
 with you, does not concern you. State simply what you 
 know." 
 
 The maid spoke to the duchess, but her eyes, full of 
 baleful, subtle triumph were fixed on the beautiful, color- 
 less face of the young girl. 
 
 " I told your grace a week since that I was sent into 
 my lord's study, quite early in the morning, and there 
 lying in the middle of the floor where it was quite im- 
 possible not to see it, I found this handkerchief worked 
 with Miss Wynter's name; wondering how it came there 
 I picked it up and brought it to your grace ; that is it 
 lying on the table. Two mornings since I went again 
 into my lord's study, and found this knot of ribbon. I 
 had seen it fastened on Miss Wynter's dress the evening 
 previous, when I took your grace's message to Lady Nell. 
 That I also brought to your grace and it lies there now." 
 
 "The rest," said her grace, hating the woman in her heart 
 for her triumphant look, yet compelled to take her evidence. 
 
 " The rest," said Sidonie, with affected bashfulness. "I 
 I really " 
 
 The duchess looked at her sternly. 
 
 " Will you keep to the point," she said, or I will dispense 
 with your information." 
 
 Sidonie wore a most coquettish little apron, and as the 
 duchess spoke, she took up the hem and began to examine 
 it minutely. 
 
 " Would your grace forgive me, if I say just this that 
 in what I did I was actuated by good nature and not bv 
 curiosity."
 
 10 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " It is quite immaterial," said the duchess, loftily. "You* 
 information, not your motives, interests me." 
 
 " I had some little reason for thinking, your grace, that 
 all was not quite as it should be. I could not understand 
 why I found Miss Wynter'g belongings in my lord's study, 
 and I resolved to watch. Last night every one retired 
 early, but I remained in the small anteroom that leads to 
 the queen's wing. Soon after midnight I heard sounds of 
 very quick, gentle footsteps; they passed the door and went 
 on to the queen's wing. Then I followed and saw Miss 
 Wynter walking slowly down the corridor where my lord's 
 study is; she stopped at the door and gave a peculiar tap, 
 which I knew to be a signal. It was opened and she went 
 in. For two hours and more, your grace, I heard the sound 
 of two voices talking incessantly; I was quite determined 
 to see the result of it, and I waited until Miss Wynter came 
 from the study and went to her own room; it was after two 
 o'clock and she was carrying a thin, white taper. She 
 seemed frightened and uneasy while she was in the queen's 
 wing, but when she came to the east wing, she was quite 
 at her ease, and did not take any precautions to conceal 
 herself. She went to her own room, your grace, and I 
 heard her draw the bolt of her door. The first thing this 
 morning I came to tell your grace what I had seen and 
 heard." 
 
 " You hear, Miss Wynter, what Sidonie says. Have you 
 anything to say?" 
 
 The white lips parted and the word that came from them 
 Bounded like " pity." 
 
 "It is a case for justice, not pity," said the duchess. 
 " Now, in the presence of the person who has brought the 
 charge against you, I ask you is it true, or is it not ? One 
 word from you will suffice. ' Yes,' or 'No.' Is it true or 
 not?" 
 
 The duchess stood with haughty, upraised head; the 
 maid with the subtle light of triumph in her eyes; and 
 the girl sank slowly to her knees. 
 
 " I have not one word to say, your grace, not one word." 
 
 But there was no pity in the heart of the proud lady 
 who had been wounded where she trusted most; bitter, 
 scathing contempt was in her look and manner. 
 
 "I have told you, Naomi Wynter, that I will have the 
 (ruth from your own lips, yes or no. I have liked and
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 11 
 
 trusted you BO much that if you deny this I shall deem 
 your denial as worthy of credit as the word of your 
 accuser, or even with the evidence against you. If you 
 can clear yourself, do; but the truth, whatever it may be, 
 I will have. My son has always been distinguished for 
 his honorable, sensitive, delicate conduct, for purity and 
 goodness of hie life. When I find that he has been hold- 
 ing secret meetings with you, I, his mother, insist upon 
 knowing how and why. Once more, in the presence of 
 the person who has accused you, I ask, can you deny or 
 explain what she says ?" 
 
 "I have nothing to say, your grace," she sobbed, not 
 one word." 
 
 " You can go, Sidonie," said the duchess. " You have 
 acquitted yourself of your duty ; take care that no word 
 of what you know escapes your lips." 
 
 " Your grace can be assured of my fidelity," replied 
 Sidonie, who flattered herself that she had made one great 
 stroke of her life that day. 
 
 Ske quitted the room, and the duchess was left with 
 the weeping girl alone. 
 
 " ou are young," said her grace, " so young, that lam 
 willing, nay, anxious, to believe that you have been 
 merely imprudent. You cannot have been so mad or so 
 blind as to believe that Lord St. Albans had any intention 
 of marrying you; that would be the only reason, wild and 
 improbable as it seems, the only reason that would at all 
 excuse your conduct. Have you been trying to allure 
 my son? Answer me." 
 
 But there was no answer, and the duchess seemed more 
 and more incensed. 
 
 " Unless you make a free and frank acknowledgment to 
 me, I shall confront you with my son. I will know whether 
 it is he who has sought you or you who have sought him. 
 I promise you this, that if you will trust me and tell me, I 
 will be your friend I will give you the best advice I can, 
 and I will help you to get away from here. Now tell me 
 the best or the worst." 
 
 ' I have neither to tell, your grace," she replied. 
 "You have been seen to enter my son's study when you 
 ought to have been asleep. Will you tell me what took 
 you there?" 
 '1 I can not," she sobb4.
 
 12 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 "You do not attempt after Sidonie's evidence to deny 
 it A denial, out of her presence, would be nothing unless 
 you repeated it while she was here. Is there any one thing 
 you can say which will in any way exculpate you, clear 
 you, explain your conduct? I shall be glad to hear any- 
 thing." 
 
 There was still the same answer; she had not one word 
 to say not one. 
 
 "You are obstinate and obdurate," said the duchess. "I 
 had hoped better things of you. I can make no appeals 
 to your reason. Have you any feeling? If so, I will ap- 
 peal to that. Do you know how I have loved my son, how 
 proud I have been of him? He has been the very joy of 
 my heart. In his hands are vested the interests of the 
 noblest race of England. Have you no pity, no sorrow, 
 no feeling for the mother of such a son? Have you no 
 compassion for the wound you are inflicting on me? 
 Because you have a fair face, are you trying to allure and 
 cajole my son into marrying you? If so, you will fail. I 
 say it in all the bitternes of heart, but it is the perfect 
 truth, I would sooner see my son dead than married to 
 youdead, you hear and yet I love him better than my 
 life. Think, then, how great my horror and aversion to 
 euch a marriage is." 
 
 From tho pale lips of the desolate girl came a cry that 
 would have touched any heart less proud and cold than 
 ban. 
 
 " Ah," said the duchess, with a deep-drawn breath ; 
 *' it is then as I feared or rather expected ; it is no ques- 
 tion of marriage, but of an imprudent acquaintance. You 
 are both young and have probably fancied it was very 
 sentimental and romantic to get up this flirtation together. 
 I am willing to give you credit for most perfect inno- 
 cence, and nothing worse than a foolish disregard for 
 appearance is it so ? Set my mind at ease tell me the 
 worst or the best." 
 
 "I have nothing I can tell nothing," said the girL 
 " Oh, your grace, have pity on me, I am so lonely and so 
 young." 
 
 " Old enough," said the duchess, " to set a trap for my 
 eon. I could sooner bear that than your obstinate silence. 
 If you are guilty, tell me it will be better than defying 
 me. If you are innocent, tell me, and I will be your beat
 
 THE DuKE'S SECRET. IB 
 
 friend. Oh, my son, th?.'_ I should be brought thus krey 
 
 by your folly." 
 
 The pain and passion of the words touched the heart 
 of her listener. The girl sobbed aloud. 
 
 "AY ill you do this much for me?" said the duchesa 
 ""Will you set my mind at ease, and tell me if I have any- 
 thing to dread ?" 
 
 Still no answer and the silence angered the duchess. 
 
 "You are obdurate," she repeated, "but I \vill find 
 means to make you speak. I will see what power the law 
 gives me over you." 
 
 The white face grew even more ghastly as the duchess 
 once more touched the silver gong. When it was answered 
 she asked that the duke should be told at once that aha 
 wanted to see him. 
 
 A few minutes of terrible suspense, and then the foot- 
 man returned. 
 
 The girl shrunk as the door opened. But it was the 
 servant, not the duke, who entered. His grace had gone 
 out, and could not be found. 
 
 " I will not be baffled," cried the duchess; " I will know 
 the truth; I will force it from you. Are you so hard of 
 heart, so obstinate, so foolish as to compel me to force it 
 from my own son ? If there be any sense of girlish mod- 
 -ssty left in you, let me hear it from you." 
 
 She saw this young girl raise her pale, bewildered face; 
 ehe heard her cry 
 
 " What shall I do what shall I do or say ? " 
 
 "Tell me the truth;" said the duchess; "I want no 
 more. Will you, or will you not ? " 
 
 "I have nothing to tell," she cried; " I have nothing to 
 say." 
 
 "Then I shall send for my son," said the duchess, "and 
 the truth you will not tell me, he shall." 
 
 She started, for the girl was kneeling at her feet, pray- 
 ing QS she had never prayed, imploring, pleading as 
 thougb fur dear life. 
 
 " Send me away, your grace send me to death, if you 
 will, but don't let me see him/' she cried. 
 
 " That is my decision," said the duchess. " If you will 
 tell me the truth, you shall go away at once and no harm 
 shall come of it, but if you refuse you shall ba confronted 
 with my son. Take your choice."
 
 14 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She fell Mrith her face on the ground, crying out: 
 
 "I have no choice Heaven help me no choice. I 
 have nothing to say." 
 
 The duchess stood for one minute, her white hands 
 hovering over the bell ; the minute passed, she touched 
 it ; and this time it was to send for her son. 
 
 Lord St. Albans looked up with an air of lively impa- 
 tience when he was told that her grace awaited him in 
 her boudoir, where slie wished to see him at once. If 
 the young lord disliked one place more than another, it 
 was that boudoir where his stately mother was accustomed 
 to deliver all her lectures he could remember hundreds 
 of scoldings administered there. A summons to the bou- 
 doir meant always a lecture of some kind or other, and 
 was always received by him with the greatest dissatis- 
 faction. 
 
 He was a bright, handsome, clever young man, but, 
 strange to say, he was still afraid of his stately, handsome 
 mother. He had always managed the duke ; in fact, 
 these two had entered upon an alliance against the ruling 
 spirit of the household. They never openly rebelled 
 against her grace, but when she was what the duke called 
 more active than usual, they enjoyed a comfortable groan 
 together. 
 
 In all his childish escapades his kind-hearted, indulgent 
 father was his confidant and helper : the duke had never 
 taken on himself the serious responsibility of scolding his 
 son; it was her grace always her grace and the young 
 marquis had a constitutional dislike to scolding. He was 
 brave enough; he would always have turned his face to 
 the foe ; he would not avoid danger, for he loved it. He 
 was a bold rider and a fearlesss shot, an excellent hunter 
 he mounted horses that brave men shrunk from he 
 had the courage of his race, grand, bold, fearless and it 
 never failed him but once in his life. Yet, despite all his 
 courage, his high, mettlesome spirit, his reckless courting 
 of danger, he still retained a fear and awe of his mother. 
 The sword of a foe, the mouth of a cannon, the roar of an 
 on-coming army would never have dismayed him ; but be- 
 fore the frown of the duchess he fled ignominiously. 
 
 History tells us how the bravest generals, the highest 
 kings, the greatest warriors, who have feared nothing else 
 in their lives, have been afraid of their own wives. Tha
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 15 
 
 young Lord St. Albans was afraid of his mother he would 
 haved faced a foe with his sword drawn with a thousand 
 times more courage than he faced his mother when shfl 
 was angry with Lim. 
 
 " The boudoir, Simmons ?" he cried, impatiently to the 
 servant; " you are quite sure her grace said the boudoir?" 
 
 " Quite, my lord," replied the man, calmly, with an ap- 
 preciative inkling of what was wrong; " her grace is wait- 
 ing there now." 
 
 " I must go then," he said ruefully to himself. " Now I 
 wonder what is wrong what have I done? Have 1 
 smoked in the wrong rooms have I used language of too 
 expressive a kind have I failed in something, or have I 
 exceeded in anything ? It is not that ah, thank Heaven, 
 it is not that." 
 
 He did not hurry, although the servant told him that 
 her grace was waiting. 
 
 There was profound silence when he reached the 
 boudoir; he fancied, but it must be fancy, that he heard 
 the sound of some one weeping as if in bitter pain. 
 
 He stood quite still when he entered the room and saw 
 the tableau before him the duchess in an attitude of 
 haughty grace indignant pride, scorn, contempt, loath- 
 ing, all in her face. 
 
 " "What is the matter ?" was his first thought, when ha 
 saw her. Then his eyes went on to the second figure in 
 the group, and he saw the young girl, with her beautiful, 
 colorless face bent to the ground. Then he knew, and the 
 shock made him stop abruptly, and blanched his handsome 
 young face, on which stood all the proud, defiant beauty 
 of his race. 
 
 " I have sent for you, Bertrand," said her grace, " on the 
 most unpleasant business I have ever known in my life." 
 The young lord groaned aloud how well he knew the 
 preamble, but this time it was more terrible than ever. 
 " Not only the most unpleasant, but the most heart-rend- 
 ing." 
 
 " What is it, mother ? Let us get at it at once if you 
 will be so kind. What is the matter, the preliminaries 
 are very dreadful." 
 
 " This is the matter," she replied, pointing with a 
 haughty gesture to the articles on the table. " These 
 lihings belong to this this young person," said tht
 
 1$ THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 duchess, lamer lost for a term, "and I regret I griere to 
 say, they have been found in your study." 
 
 He was brave, but when his mother uttered those words 
 in her hardest voice, with her coldest looks, he was afraid; 
 his lips grew pale, and the defiant light died out of his face. 
 
 " How do you account for their presence there ? " asked 
 the duchesa " It is a most bitter aud cruel shame for 
 any mother to have to conduct such an investigation; 
 above all for the mother of a son who should be a noble 
 man in more than name. Bertrand, I never thought that 
 I should blush for you." 
 
 He was ill at ease, but he tried to assume a carelessness 
 he was far from f eeling. 
 
 " My dearest mother," he said, " you must not waste 
 blushes; you must wait first to see if I have provoked any." 
 
 He never forgot the air of dignity and command with 
 which she turned to him. 
 
 " The matter on which I have to speak to you," she 
 said, "is so serious that I would rather see you dead 
 than know you guilty, and the most terrible, the most 
 guilty part of it all would be to rae that you should laugh 
 at it. I repeat my question, but beg you will answer ii 
 seriously. How came these things in your room ? " 
 
 He looked anxiously at the girl's face ; it was so white, 
 so still, she might have been dead. 
 
 " I really can't tell, mother," he continued. " I am noi 
 accountable for things found in my room." 
 
 "Would you insinuate that this young girl entered 
 your room in your absence ?" she asked. 
 
 " I insinuate nothing, mother," he replied, " nothing 
 at all. It is simply impossible that I can answer your 
 question. I can say no more." 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I know more. If I could have 
 spared you the humiliation of this scene, I would have 
 done so. I asked this unfortunate girl to save herself 
 and me the shame of it, but she refused ; and had she 
 complied with my wish I should have been spared the 
 anguish of having to speak to my only son on a subject 
 that humiliates both of us. You refuse, then, to tell me 
 how those came in your room ?" 
 
 She did not see the look of gratitude and relief that h 
 sent to the girl crouching before her. She could not tell 
 how in his heart he blessed her.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 17 
 
 "All evasions," said the duchess, "are quite useless. 
 Unfortunately, this unhappy and most imprudent girl has 
 been seen going to your study after midnight ; she was 
 heard speaking to you for more than two hours, and ehe 
 was seen returning to her own room. Can you denj 
 that, Bertrand?" 
 
 " I neither deny nor affirm," he replied. 
 
 " The one thing I insist upon is perfect truth," said the 
 duchess. " If you will either of you tell me that, I will 
 be content. I must know what has passed between you, 
 the young girl under my charge, and my only son, on 
 whose shoulders lie the burden of the honors of my race." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the bitterness with which 
 she uttered these words, Lord St. Albans winced under 
 the scornful look and voice. 
 
 " I am not hard of heart," she continued. " If you trust 
 me, I will befriend you both, and help you out of this 
 dilemma; but if you conceal the truth from me, I shall 
 have little mercy on either. Tell me the truth is it a 
 foolish, harmless, absurd flirtation which you have both 
 been mad and blind enough to think romantic, or is it 
 worse than that ? Has my son taken advantage of his 
 position and rank as a so-called gentleman to lead astray 
 a helpless, foolish, senseless girl, or are either of you so 
 mad as to have dreamed that a marriage would ever be per- 
 mitted between you ? I express myself moderately when I 
 Bay that 1 would rather see Rood Castle burned to the 
 ground than so cruelly, wickedly, horribly profaned by 
 the one who should keep its honor intact. Speak, my 
 eon, clear not only yourself but the fair fame of this young 
 girl; it rests in your hands to do so." 
 
 She had risen at the last words, and turned her fair, 
 Bad face to him. 
 
 It was the saddest and most pitiful sight, the beautiful 
 loving eyes filled with tears, the sweet mouth quivering. 
 When he saw her, the young lord made one hasty step as 
 though he would have taken her in his arms, then the ex- 
 pression of his mother's face made him pause abruptly. 
 
 " Bertrand, on the obedience you owe me, I insist upon 
 the truth I " said the duchess. 
 
 The fair, pleading face turned to him with an agonize<? 
 gleam of mute appeal ; his fell before it, and then a kind 
 of supernatural strength and courage came to her. H
 
 18 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 stood, irresolute, hesitating with half determinati&n, half 
 weakness on his face. She went up to the angry duchess. 
 
 "Do not blame him, your grace ; do not say one angry 
 word to him. It is I alone who am to blame." 
 
 He raised his hand with a deprecating gesture, but the 
 girl went on with renewed courage : 
 
 "It is not his fault, your grace ; it is mine all mine." 
 
 " What is your fault ? " she asked, sharply. 
 
 "It was I, your grace, who volunteered last night to 
 go to his study. I declare to you that he did not ask 
 me." 
 
 " Is that true, Bertrand ? " asked the duchess. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders in a very uneasy, shame- 
 faced manner. 
 
 " If the lady says so, mother, it would ill become me to 
 contradict her." But he did not look at the lady as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " You shameless girl," cried the duchess. The vials of 
 her wrath were emptied now on the girl's defenseless 
 head. " You shameless, wicked girl ! " she cried. " You 
 thought, because your face was fair, you could allure my 
 son to destruction. You sought him you confess it 
 you glory in it. I thank God that you have been un- 
 masked in time before my son is ruined." 
 
 He stood by, uneasily moving first one foot and then 
 the other. 
 
 " Come, mother," he said, " be a little more merciful 
 You do not know, after all, whether this is true or not. 
 Do you not think it very generous of her to take the 
 whole burden on herself ? " 
 
 "I think," said the duchess, terribly angry at the 
 thought that he was taking her part, " I think she is a 
 shameless girl, and she quits the Castle this hour in black, 
 bitter disgrace. Every man is more or less weak in a 
 woman's hands ; but if I thought you had encouraged her 
 folly and her wickedness, I would see that your fault was 
 severely punished. So far as I am concerned, I would make 
 an example of you ; Bertrand. You, who ought to be a 
 nobleman, why did you not tell me of the girl's "forward- 
 ness and folly ? " 
 
 The sweet face was looking into his. There was no 
 reproach in it but simple wondering pain ; the eyes 
 naked aim a question, the lips were dumb.
 
 SHE DUKE'S SECRET. 19 
 
 ** Ijet it be a warning to you, Bertrand. Only think, if 
 this girl's folly were known, of the cruel blow to your 
 character and reputation. To think that the duke's heir 
 and only son should have been imperiled by the mad, 
 bold folly of a love-sick girl." 
 
 Naomi started as though stung oy the lash of a whip ; 
 the color rushed in a burning flood over her face and 
 neck ; her lips parted, as though she would fain speak ; 
 then suddenly she grew quiet and calm quiet, but with 
 those sweet, sad eyes fixed on his face. 
 
 "You know what I think of you, Naomi Wynter," said 
 the duchess, and the girl turned with clasped hands to the 
 young lord. They said, more clearly than words could do: 
 
 "I appeal, in this my last extremity, to you !" 
 
 Lord St. Albans looked entreatingly at his mother. 
 
 "I think you are too hard," he said. 
 
 But the duchess interrupted him. 
 
 "Do not speak on the matter, Bertrand; I will not hav& 
 it. I am not too hard. If, when people see wrong, they 
 would speak out plainly, as I have done now, the world 
 would not be one half so wicked as it is not one half. I 
 have no sympathy with the mad folly of a love sick girl 
 a girl bold and forward enough to visit, as I understand, 
 unasked and unsolicited, the study of a young man like 
 you. If this be the girl, what will the woman be like ?" 
 
 Again he tried to stop her, to say that she was too hard, 
 too angry, unjust, severe. But the anger of the duchess 
 was roused now, and who should keep it under control? 
 
 " I can not understand," she continued, "how Miss Gra- 
 ham could send such a person to me ; it is more than enough 
 to ruin her forever. I shall write and tell her what I 
 think about it." 
 
 The pleading, weeping eyes were still fixed on Lord St. 
 Albans' face, the white hands clasped in trembling suppli- 
 cation that he understood, and no other. 
 
 " You leave my house to-day nay, this very hour, Miss 
 "Wynter, and you do as you can. Do not send to me for 
 any character, for I should speak the truth of you, and 
 declare you to be what I know a shameless, forward, dan- 
 gerous girl. I should warn the mother of every son about 
 you, therefore you will have the good sense not to appeal 
 to me, or apply to me; and I shall warn Miss Graham 
 against you."
 
 90 THE DUKES SECRET. 
 
 Then the fair face, with a faint flush, was turnea to 
 her. 
 
 " Supposing that I was the most wicked, do you think 
 it womanly or Christianlike to turn me adrift into the wide 
 world, and take from me my only chance of employment 
 take from me the only fortune I have in the world my 
 good character?" 
 
 "I deny," said the duchess, "that you have a good char- 
 acter; To speak quite plainly and it seems to me that 
 you understand the plainest language after what my maid 
 saw last evening, I do not think you have any character at 
 all." 
 
 If she had struck that fair, sweet face, the girl could not 
 have winced more than she did. 
 
 "That, after deliberately doing that which you must 
 know would take away any girl's character, to speak as 
 though I were doing you an injury or injustice, is the most 
 absurd thing I have heard in my life," said the duchess, 
 scornfully. " You have lost your character, so I can not 
 be said to have taken it from you." 
 
 With a wild cry a cry that, proud as she was, the 
 duchess never forgot the girl looked up at Lord St. 
 Albans. 
 
 "I appeal to you," she said; " I appeal to you!" 
 
 But the appeal was all in vain. He looked very uncom- 
 fortable, very uneasy ; but if he knew that which could 
 exculpate her, or explain away the appearances which were 
 so much against her, he kept it to himself. 
 
 "My dearest mother," he said, "be a little more gentle, 
 a little more moderate." Then, turning with an embar- 
 rassed face to Naomi Wynter, he said : " It will come all 
 right you know it will all come right." 
 
 Those words angered the duchess greatly. 
 
 "The right issue of it remains with me, and not with 
 you," she said, haughtily. <; It will be right thus far 
 that from this hour Naomi Wynter takes her place with 
 one of two classes, the wicked or the foolish." 
 
 And again the girl, with a wild cry, raised her hands in 
 supplication. 
 
 "You hear this," she said; "you hear these cruel words. 
 I appeal to you, Lord St. Albans, I appeal to you !" 
 And again it was utterly in vain. 
 
 "I am dreadfully sorry that all this has kapai4," h*
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 3ft, 
 
 said; "I could not feel more sorry than I do; but you 
 know it will bo all right." 
 
 The repetition of these words seemed to not only irri- 
 tate the duchess, but to cause her most serious annoyance 
 and anxiety. 
 
 " I should like to know, Bertrand," she said, " what you 
 mean by all being right. I can not say that I see much 
 cause for believing that. What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Miss Wynter knows what I mean," he replied, looking 
 significantly at the young girl. Her only answer was: 
 
 " Is my appeal in vain ?" 
 
 And then his face dai'kened. The girl turned away with 
 an expression of utter black despair. 
 
 She went nearer to the duchess, and a certain girlish 
 dignity came to her. She stood erect before her. 
 
 " Your grace quite understands," she said. "Tour son 
 is free from all blame. It is quite true that I went to hia 
 study last evening on my own responsibility, and without 
 the least invitation or suggestion from him that is per- 
 fectly true of last night. You will be good enough to 
 remember always, that I whom you have accused so 
 bitterly I acquit him, freely, entirely, and that whatever 
 blame or shame or disgrace there is, I charge myself with 
 it, and free him; I take the burden of it all." 
 
 "As is only just and right," said the duchess. " If girls 
 will make themselves light of worth if they will, in plain 
 English, run after men, they must put up with the conse- 
 quences to themselves. ' 
 
 The girl bowed her head; her fear and timidity had 
 forsaken her; there was a greater dignity about her, that, 
 even in the midst of her anger, struck the duchess forcibly. 
 
 " There is no more to be said," she continued. " You 
 have accused yourself, Naomi Wynter, and I am glad to 
 find my son guiltless." 
 
 Yet, as she spoke, she was full of wonder at the sight of 
 his face. He did not look particularly guiltless or happy, 
 but dreadfully confused and ashamed; more than once he 
 seemed on the point of speaking, of saying something, 
 then stopped abruptly. 
 
 He looked very much more like a picture of guilt than 
 did the fair-faced girl who stood now in all the calmness 
 of despair. There was hesitation, confusion, sb p me OD 
 bis iace, plainly writen there.
 
 22 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 * Naomi Wynter," said the duchess, and neither in tone 
 or manner was there the least vestige of pity, " I do not 
 know what has passed between ray son and you; if you 
 have been blind enough and mad enough to care for him, 
 your punishment will be quite sufficient. Look your last 
 upon his face now, for you will never see him again. Say 
 good-bye in my presence, for you shall meet on earth no 
 more." 
 
 Once again she raised her face in mute agonized sup- 
 plication to his, but there was no response. He held ou^ 
 his hand to her with a shamefaced, embarrassed manner; 
 he did not say good-bye, nor did he keep his hand in hers. 
 
 No word came from her lips but this one: 
 
 " Forever," she said, then she turned from him. 
 
 " You can go now, Bertrand," said the duchess. " Miss 
 Wynter leaves at once, and there is no further occasion 
 for your presence." 
 
 Still he lingered, not looking now at his angry, indig- 
 nant mother; his eyes fixed on the fair face to be raised 
 to his in supplication never more. He went a step nearer 
 to her, then turned back, opened his lips to speak to her, 
 and then closed them, for no sound came. 
 
 " You can go," repeated the duchess. 
 
 Their eyes met once ; into his came a flame of anger 
 into hers came a shadow like death; then, with a low bow 
 to his mother, Lord St. Albans quitted the room. 
 
 "You have reproached me," said the duchess, "with 
 Bending you adrift into the wide world. You shall not have 
 cause to complain. I will give you a year's salary, and 
 you must do the best you can." 
 
 The girl bowed her head in silence. The duchess went 
 to the writing-table, and taking out a foil of bank-notes 
 placed five in her hands. 
 
 "There are fifty pounds," she said; "now sign a receipt 
 for it" 
 
 But the trembling hands could shape no letters; the ef- 
 fort was in vain; the receipt was never signed. Once more 
 and for the last time during that interview, the duchess 
 touched the silver gong. 
 
 " Send Sidonie to me," she said, " at once," and again 
 the Frenchwoman entered with the subtle, cruel, victori- 
 ous smile. 
 
 "Siclonje," said the duchess, "you do not leave Mifli
 
 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 23 
 
 Wynter again while she is in the house. You go to her 
 room with her, help her to pack up, send for the pony- 
 carriage, see her safely in it, and take her to the station. 
 Do not lose sight of her for one moment while she remains 
 in the Castle." 
 
 " I will not, your grace," said the maid, delighted with 
 the task. 
 
 " Good-bye, Naomi Wynter," said the duchess ; " and 
 I hope your first step, if it really be your first step on the 
 wrong road, may be your last. Go with Sidonie." 
 
 Without a word, or even a glance, in the direction of 
 that proud face and figure, Naomi went away. 
 
 The duchess flung herself down into her chair. 
 
 " What a scene ! " she said to herself ; " and to think 
 that I should have had to speak in this fashion to my own 
 son ! I shall never get over it." 
 
 Not a thought of hers went to the girl whose heart she 
 had just broken ; she hardly remembered her existence, 
 except so far as her son was concerned ; she never 
 wondered what would become of her ; Naomi Wynter was 
 less than nothing in the eyes of Adeliza, Duchess of Cas- 
 tlemayne. 
 
 The duke came hastily to her boudoir. 
 
 Herbert, twelfth Duke of Castlemayne, was a tall, fine- 
 looking man, sixty years of age. In his youth he must 
 have been very handsome ; even now he had a fine open 
 countenance ; a broad, frank brow, keen eyes, finely 
 formed features ; the one defect of his face, which was 
 the weakness of his mouth, was hidden by a thick beard 
 and mustache. 
 
 " You want me, Adeliza ? " he said. 
 
 But the duchess was a woman of quick resource ; she 
 had already decided that it would be better to keep the 
 matter entirely hidden from the duke. She looked up 
 carelessly. 
 
 " Yes, I sent for you, Herbert ; but it was on a matter 
 of no moment ; now that you are here I may as well tell 
 you ; I have sent Miss Naomi Wynter away to-day." 
 
 Herbert, twelfth Duke of Castlemayne, was wise in this 
 respect; he had learned already that the virtue for him 
 was submissive silence. In the beginning of his married 
 life he had occasionally objected or murmured when he 
 was not qiiite pleased; he had demurred against the dis-
 
 4 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 missal of oid servants, against the turning out of an old 
 tenant; he did none of these things now he was a wiser 
 man. When the duchess in her stately fashion twld him 
 she had done anything, if he did not quite approve, he 
 was silent; for this reason he said nothing when he heard 
 that the young governess, whom he really liked, hd been 
 abruptly dismissed. 
 
 " What shall you do about Lady Nell ? " he asked. 
 
 Lady Helen Vaughan was the orphan niece of the 
 duchess, who had adopted her, and for whom she bad en- 
 gaged a governess. 
 
 " She must go to school," was the reply. " I will have 
 no more governesses; they are more trouble th*n the 
 children they are supposed to teach," said the duchess, 
 decidedly; and her lord knew from that decision there 
 was no appeal. 
 
 " You can make inquiries, Herbert, when you go over 
 to Mansfield Hall ; Lady Gregory spoke very highly of 
 that school at Torquay, where she sent her little daugh- 
 ter; the same school would do well for Nell." 
 
 " Just as you like, Adeliza," he said, resignedly. 
 
 "You will inquire about it, Herbert; I cannothafe the 
 child going wild about the house." 
 
 It did occur to the duke that his imperious wife might 
 have given that matter a thought before she had suddenly 
 sent away the young governess. He was too wise to com- 
 mit himself to any opinion of the kind, and the du shess 
 rested content with the result of her labors. 
 
 Lord St. Albans left that room in the nearest approach 
 to a terrible rage that he had ever been in his life. Ha 
 passed up and down the broad corridor, eating his very 
 heart away with anger and dismay. 
 
 "What can she think of me?" he cried. "What can 
 she think ? I can not get to see her ; that dragon, 
 Sidonie, will never leave her ; will take her even to the 
 station. I know; and what will she think of me? I 
 X3f ust try to see her. I do not care what the old dragon 
 says. I must say a few words to her. She will tell the 
 duchess, of course ; but I must manage." 
 
 He went to the western wing, where the school-room 
 was, and opened the door. Lady Nell was alone, with a 
 small regiment of dolls about her. She looked up at hiio 
 With a smile and a nod*
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 25 
 
 "I have a holiday to-day," she said, " a whole holiday. 
 Miss Wynter is going away." 
 
 " Are you sorry, Lady Nell ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes, I am sorry ; but I am glad I have my dolls." 
 
 He smiled as he bent over her. 
 
 " Do you not think that is a little selfish," he said. 
 
 Suddenly the smile left his face, and he turned away : 
 the word selfish had struck him with fresh meaning. 
 
 " Lady Nell," he said, " will you go to Miss Wynter and 
 ask her if she will come here to speak to me ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the child, "I will." 
 
 She was absent for some minutes, during which that 
 word selfish seemed to have some strange attraction for 
 him ; it never left his thoughts. 
 
 Lady Nell returned. 
 
 " Sidonie says ' No,' Lord St. Albans. Miss Wynter is 
 going, and is to see no one unless the duchess consents." 
 
 " All right, Lady Nell." 
 
 Then another idea occurred to him; he took from his 
 pocket a jeweled pencil-case; he took out a leaf from his 
 pocket-book, and hastily wrote a few lines on it. 
 
 "Will you take this to Miss Wynter? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes," said the child; but, with the precocity of her 
 age, she added, " Sidonie will not let her have it." 
 
 " Yes, she will, if you ask her prettily, Lady NelL" 
 
 Again the child ran off, but with the same result. She 
 returned, saying that Sidonie would not allow her to see 
 Miss Wynter, but said that if any more messages came 
 she would send to the duchess." 
 
 " The impertinent " and Lord St. Albans muttered the 
 next word between his teeth. " I will pay her for this 
 some day," he said to himself. 
 
 " Lady Nell," he asked, " did you see Miss Wynter? Is 
 she dressed for traveling ?" 
 
 " I saw her face the time before when I went, but it 
 was white ah, so white ! Lord St. Albans, and hard, not 
 at all like her face, and she was crying so." 
 
 Without another word he dashed from the room and 
 called for his valet, a sharp, witty, quick, brilliant young 
 Frenchman, by name Gaston Leduc. He was devoted to 
 his master's interests, having, at the same time, keen eyec 
 to his own. 
 
 "Gaston," cried the young lord, "I want you here aft
 
 26 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 once ; quick, you have not a moment to lose. Miss Wynter 
 is leaving. I want you to go to Lanceton Station. Find 
 out for what place she takes her ticket, follow her, and do 
 not lose sight of her until you can telegraph to me where 
 she goes. Here is money; now be particular, be exact." 
 
 "I will, my lord," was the servant's answer. 
 
 " You must be careful of one thing, do not let Sidonie 
 see you you understand ? " 
 
 " Quite, my lord. She shall not suspect me, I promise 
 you." 
 
 ' And if there are any inquiries made," said the young 
 lord, "you have been home to see your friends." 
 
 The valet bowed, many words are not needed by that 
 quick nation. And with this, Lord St. Albans was com- 
 pelled to remain content. He understood now that his 
 mother had put Sidonie on guard to prevent his seeing 
 Naomi, and that any attempt at doing so would simply 
 end in greater misery and disgrace for her. He was 
 wretched and miserable. For the first time in his life he 
 had lost his self-respect, and had shown himself a coward 
 a coward he said the word over and over again, and 
 he hated the sound of it. Such hours as fell to his lot 
 after that scene would have made a young man old. 
 
 Gaston followed out the instructions given to him 
 exactly. The result was that early on the following morn- 
 ing the young lord had a telegram to this effect: 
 
 "The person in question went this evening to Grimes's 
 Hotel, London Bridge, and is there still. I will be home 
 at noon." 
 
 When Lord St. Albans received that, he went to his 
 father at once. 
 
 "I shall be away from home for a few days, sir," he 
 aid ; " did you see the man ride up with a telegram ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied the duke; "it was for you, was it? I 
 wondered what it was about." 
 
 "A friend sent it and wants me for a few daya I shall 
 run up to town to see him; you will tell my mother; she 
 is out driving, and I shall go up on the eleven train. Give 
 my love to her." 
 
 And the duke, without intending any exaggeration or 
 misrepresentation, told his wife that Bertrand had just 
 received a message from a friend of his, and had gone to 
 town to meet him.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 17 
 
 "Who is it ?" asked the duchess. 
 
 And the duke remembered that he had quite forgotten 
 to ask the question. It would never do to let his wife 
 know it. 
 
 " Charlton or Andrews," he replied, " I do not know 
 which." 
 
 Nor did the duchess care; anything or any one who 
 would distract his thoughts and his mind was welcome. 
 The idea that he had gone after Miss Wynter never even 
 occurred to her; she was too noble and loyal to suspect 
 others. She occupied herself in sending the little Lady 
 Nell to Torquay, where Lady Gregory's little daughter 
 Was. After that expose, no more young governesses for 
 her. 
 
 Lord St. Albans made the greatest haste to the hotel, 
 fast as steam and horses could take him. It was but a 
 third-rate hotel, and they looked up at the tall, aristocratic 
 young gentleman who dashed up in such impetuous hast* 
 to the door. 
 
 A Miss "Wynter staying there ? No ; they had no lac&es 
 in the house ; it was more frequented by commercial trav- 
 elers than any other kind of people. 
 
 " But surely," he cried, " Miss Wynter was here last 
 evening. I had a telegram from here." 
 
 Then the landlady said: 
 
 " Yes. She did not know the lady's name, but certainly 
 a lady had slept there last evening, but she left at ten 
 o'clock in the morning. They did not know her name, nor 
 had they any idea where she had gone, or anything else 
 about her; she had no cab, but had gone away on foot." 
 
 " Had she brought any luggage with her ?" he asked, 
 and the answer was " No." Then he bethought himself 
 that she had left her luggage at London Bridge Station ; 
 if he rode quickly enough he might catch her even now. 
 He drove off again, and reached London Bridge in less 
 time than any cabman had ever driven before. He went 
 to the office for left baggage And found that he was quite 
 correct in his surmise. She called that morning soon after 
 ten for her luggage and had gone away with it. 
 
 The officials at this office were very kind and very pa- 
 tient with him; they recognized his description of her 
 dress and of her face. Beautiful, and quite white, as though 
 she had been very ilL
 
 96 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 But they could not do impossibilities. They could not 
 tell him where she had gone; whether she had taken a cab 
 or a train or what. One porter thought he remembered 
 her taking a box for a young lady of that description, but 
 he could not be sure; who could, in that crowded station? 
 
 " I will tell you frankly," said the young lord, " it ia a 
 matter of life and death to me. I would pay any sum 1 
 would give any reward to the man who can bring me news 
 of her." 
 
 Very soon the intelligence was all over the station ; one 
 by one AY* 3 carefully interrogated; the man who had not 
 dared to speak in his mother's presence examined the 
 ranks of cabmen, the army of railway porters, the clerks 
 in the ticket-office, the only traces of her at all was that 
 some one had seen, or perhaps fancied they had seen, a 
 young lady answering the same description standing on 
 the platform by the side of a traveling-trunk. 
 
 And thus he lost her; from that time he heard and saw 
 no more of her. He was half mad when the real truth 
 broke upon him that she was lost beyond all recall. He 
 did not return to Rood Castle for a long time, and his 
 mother thought he had done wisely in seeking change of 
 scene; she was even glad that he should stay away, lest 
 the old recollections might be too much for him. She 
 wanted him to forget all the disagreeable incidents. She 
 had her own views for him for the future. She herself 
 wrote and told him that if he was enjoying his stay in 
 town not on any account to hurry or hasten his return. 
 She sent her letter to Rood House where she supposed 
 him to be staying. The young lord was very little in his 
 house; his time was spent in looking for Naomi Wynter; 
 when, after patient investigation in London he found it 
 quite impossible to urace her, he went to Scotland Yard, 
 and placed the case in the hands of the best detective 
 there. 
 
 He offered a reward a very handsome one he gave 
 the most minute description of the lady, and he left word 
 that if anything should transpire, he was to be telegraphed 
 for at once. 
 
 Then he had done all he could, but there was a sorrow- 
 ful impression on his mind that it was in vain, and that 
 the effects of one hour's cowardice would last him for 
 life.
 
 DUKE'S SECEET. 29 
 
 It was three weeks before he returned to Rood Castle, 
 and then he was so changed that the duchess was 
 startled. 
 
 " My dearest son," she said, " you look as though you 
 had never slept or rested since you left home. You must 
 have been quite dissipated." 
 
 He looked steadily at her, and she was careful to say 
 no more. 
 
 The duchess was very kind and indulgent to him ; she 
 went out of her way to give him every indulgence, and 
 to make him happy. She invited the friends he pre- 
 ferred, she made all kinds of parties for him ; but the 
 smile that had once shown in his eyes never came back 
 again. He was a changed man ; the laughter and music 
 died from the voice that had always been blithe and 
 
 gay- 
 
 At first the duchess thought this would pass as his 
 fancy did, even had it been a fancy. Never a word had 
 passed between them on the matter from the day 
 Naomi was dismissed from Rood Castle no mention was 
 ever made of her name. 
 
 The duchess wrote to Miss Graham, stating that she 
 had very serious grounds for great displeasure over Miss 
 Graham sending to her a person of whose character she 
 was not sure, and that slie (the duchess) had very certain 
 grounds for knowing that Miss Wynter was far from 
 being what she ought to be. 
 
 To which, considering that she was writing to the first 
 ducbess in England, Miss Graham replied indignantly, 
 refusing to believe anything against Miss "Wynter's char- 
 acter unless it was really proved. 
 
 " I shall not trouble to reply," said the duchess. " It 
 matters but little ; the girl is gone, and there is an end 
 of it." 
 
 But as time passed on, she grew more and more anxious 
 over her son ; he was like a man living under the shadow 
 of a funeral pall, and as the months passed he became 
 worse. 
 
 It struck her at last, as it did every one else, that he 
 had some secret weight, some secret sorrow on his mind 
 that he was miserable, and would never be the same 
 again. All this dawned upon her slowly, as she heard 
 people iay how different her son was ; but in her heart
 
 30 THE DUKE'S SECBKP. 
 
 she never repented, even for one moment, of what she 
 done. 
 
 At Brightsea, the queen of watering-places, stands a 
 building known all over England a scandal to some, a 
 triumph to others, and a wonder to all, being neither 
 more nor less than the Anglican Convent, where some of 
 the best and kindest women in England spend their lives. 
 Tt was built by he munificence of the Reverend Peter 
 Mackay, and his name is known all over the land. 
 
 Some love, some hate him; some praise, others blame 
 him; some ridicule, some respect him; some say he seeks 
 notoriety, others that he serves Heaven. A civil warfare 
 rages round him and about him, but he never heeds it; 
 his worst and bitterest enemies say that he is mistaken 
 iey will not say worse than that and his friends say that 
 ie is a saint. Which is right and which is wrong does 
 not concern our story, but the fact that his name was 
 known all over England as being one of the most just, 
 humane, and charitable men in it, does. It is said of him 
 that he never turned a deaf ear to one in distress; that he 
 never failed to help when his help was asked; that he has 
 rescued more lost sheep and saved more erring creatures 
 than any other. He was not married he had neither 
 time nor inclination for wooing and it was one of the 
 peculiarities of his belief that he thought no clergyman 
 ought to marry. 
 
 " There was no time for it," he was accustomed to say 
 to those who remonstrated with him. " If I had a wife 
 and children to look after, I must neglect either the sick 
 or the poor, and I do not intend to neglect either." 
 
 That was his way of thinking; right or wrong it does 
 not bear upon the story, except that it had brought his 
 name into such prominence that the hearts of those in 
 trouble or distress turned to him involuntarily. 
 
 His mission, as he liked to call it, was one of the best 
 managed in England. He was Rector of St. George's, 
 Brightsea ; his curates were all men of the same way of think- 
 ing to be quite exact, when they ceased to think as he did, 
 they ceased to be his curates. When he was asked why he 
 had founded an Anglican Sisterhood, his answer was that 
 among the poor and the sorrowful he found work that none 
 but a woman's hands could do. No one could answer that 
 sneers did not make an argument, laughter did not affect it
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET?. 81 
 
 The iteverend Peter Mackay had had two or three large 
 fortunes left to him ; one he had expended in the erection 
 of a convent, one in building churches after his own mind; 
 the rest he had reserved for the wants of his mission; they 
 were so great the children to be rescued, the young 
 girls to be saved, the sick to be nursed, the sad and sor- 
 TOwful to be comforted; he lived in a plain poorly furnished 
 rectory; his own sitting room wore the aspect of a study; 
 there was a praying-desk, a large bible, religious pictures, 
 one or two bronzes of great artistic merit, some fine 
 wood carvings, and some very plain furniture. 
 
 He himself was a handsome man, with a face full of sad- 
 ness and sweetness; some said he was like the Apostle St. 
 John; he had a voice of singular sweetness, a kind man- 
 ner, a charm of persuasion that was seldom equalled. Those 
 who went to him in distress always came back comforted, 
 even if it were only by a sight of a face that was more 
 like an angel's than a man's. The perfection of human 
 tenderness was reached when he went to see a dying sin- 
 ner; the hardest hearts melted under the influence of his 
 words. 
 
 The Keverend Peter Mackay sat alone one warm night 
 in July. He had had a terrible day; the great heat had 
 brought about among the very poor a great epidemic, and 
 he had been for ten hours at least going from one to an- 
 other, breathing terrible odors, seeing horrible sights, 
 hearing foul words and bad language, until his heart had 
 grown sick and sad within him. He had seen children 
 left orphan*, and what was worse, he had seen them with 
 parents so vne that it was almost impossible to believe 
 they were human; he had seen poverty, destitution and 
 vice in their worst form, until, in sheer despair he had 
 raised his head and cried: 
 tj "How long oh, Lord, how long " 
 
 Now faint, tired, weary, and sick at heart, he sat down 
 to rest ; he was tired out, and a certain feeling of depres- 
 sion carne to him. 
 
 For one man to try to contend with that avalanche of sin 
 and iniquity was like a solitary swimmer trying to breast 
 the ocean. As he sat pondering over these things, he 
 heard a ring at the bell. It was one of the rules of St. 
 George's that no one should be turned from the door; no 
 matter how tired the rector was the poorest tramp wag
 
 $2 THE DUKE'S SECBIT. 
 
 never sent away without help for body or mind; but this hot 
 night, when no breath of air was stirring, when his body 
 was racked with fatigue and his soul with anguish, a wish 
 stirred in his breast that it might not be for him. The 
 door opened, and his little page (the worse than orphaned 
 child of convict parents) came in. 
 
 " Am I wanted ? " he asked, in the gentle voice that 
 never deserted him. 
 
 " A lady, sir," was the reply, " particularly wishes to see 
 you." 
 
 " Have you her card or name ? " asked the rector. 
 
 " She says that she is quite a stranger; you do not know 
 Her at all; but she would be grateful if you would see her." 
 
 " Does she seem to be in trouble ? " asked the rector, 
 giving one thought to the untasted dinner and his long 
 fast. 
 
 " Yes, in great distress," was the prompt reply. Fatigue, 
 dinner, past pain, were all forgotten there was a soul to 
 help. 
 
 A young girl came into the room; he saw a slender 
 figure full of girlish grace; he saw shining masses of hair 
 that fell from underneath the dark traveling hat. She 
 stood just before him where the dying light from the 
 western sky fell full upon her; the sound of the waves 
 beating on the shore came in through the open window; 
 and ever afterward, in his mind, the western sunlight, the 
 voice of the waves, and the girl's face were associated. It 
 was a face so young, so fair, so pathetic, so full of misery 
 and pain, so utterly woe-begone, so white, that he looked 
 at her for some minutes quite unable to speak. Then she 
 Baid to him: 
 
 "Forgive me for coming to you; I have read of you 
 that you are always kind to those in distress. I have a 
 sorrow upon me greater than I can bear; I have come to 
 ask you how I am to bear it. They say, that is, I read 
 that you carry out the doctrine of Christ. In all this wide 
 world, so full of sorrow, of truth, and wrong, there is no 
 one so lonely, so friendless, so desolate as L" 
 
 " Poor child," he said, pityingly " my poor child." 
 
 " I have sorrow," she said, " that is unlike any other 
 any one has ever had, it is more bitter, more sharp, worse 
 than death ah, ten thousand times worse than death. 
 Jib, Heaven, if I could have died three dys ago. You
 
 THE DUNE'S SECRET. 33 
 
 wonder why I come to yCu. Some weeks since I read 
 how you had rescued a girl from drowning, and had saved 
 her, body and soul. I thought of it this morning when 
 I went into a druggist's shop to get poison to kill myself, 
 and I thought in my despair I would come to you, to see 
 if you would do for me what you have done for that poor 
 girL I, too, am sorely tempted to die." 
 
 " My poor child," he said again, and this time the 
 music of divine tenderness was in his voice. 
 
 " It would be well for me," she said, if I could weep, 
 but my heart is stone ; my brain seems clasped with a 
 band of iron ; my eyes are balls of fire. I have tried to 
 pity myself, to think of the time when I had father, 
 mother, and home ; but my heart beats and my brain 
 burns. Can you save me from death you who teach the 
 doctrine of Christ ? " 
 
 " I will try, my dear child," he said. And by this time 
 his face, with its angelic sweetness and sadness, had pro- 
 duced upon her the impression it produced on all others. 
 
 " First of all, my child, sit down," he said ; " you are 
 tired and over excited. Great sorrow tries one eve* snore 
 than great pain." 
 
 He was in his element now. A soul needed him; he 
 forgot his ten hours fast, and the hot dinner awaiting 
 him. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " that is it that is exactly true." 
 
 She saw him raise his eyes, and hers followed. The 
 western sun shone on the picture of a most beautiful face, 
 divine in its pathetic grief, the head crowned with thorns, 
 and for one moment she was startled. There had per- 
 haps been grief and desolation more bitter than hers. 
 Her eyes rested there for some minutes; perhaps the cur 
 tent of her thoughts were a little changed. 
 
 " I have been afraid I am afraid," she said, " that if I 
 am left alone I shall kill myself; I want strong, kind hands 
 to help me and keep me from that sin. Will you, for the 
 sake of Him whom you serve, will you do this for me ? " 
 
 "I will, ' he answered. " I promise to befriend you, to 
 help you in every way. Will you tell me what your 
 trouble is?" 
 
 She looked at him with a scared, frightened face. 
 
 " I can not," she said. " That is what makes me afraid. 
 I oannot tell any one; ray lips are sealed. I have a secrtt^
 
 34 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 but I took an oath to keep this secret. Already, because 
 I could not break it, I have lost all I had in this world. 
 Do you believe me ? " 
 
 The pity and patience of his face deepened as he list- 
 ened. 
 
 " Does your trouble concern yourself or other people ?* 
 he asked. 
 
 "Both," she replied. "If it were known, the con* 
 sequences would be more terrible for others than for 
 myself. If I could tell it to any one on earth, it would 
 be to you," she said. 
 
 "Does your secret hold either sin or folly? tell me 
 which." 
 
 " I can not tell, I am no judge ; I can only tell you 
 this, that I am the most desolate creature on this earth. 
 Let me say all I can. I am an orphan ; my father and 
 mother are both dead ; I never had sister or brother ; 1 
 have neither kith nor kin. My mother had a brother, 
 who left England years ago, but she believed him to be 
 dead before she died herself. My father died first ; my 
 mother lived for some years after him, long enough for 
 me to love and miss her. I will not tell you about it ; 
 you see those every day who lose well-loved fathers and 
 mothers that sorrow is not new to you." 
 
 " Still I think no less of it because it is not new," said 
 the rector, kindly. 
 
 The girl continued : 
 
 " My mother, before she dted, left me with a school- 
 mistress, whose name I can not tell you. She left with 
 her a sufficient sum of money to pay for my education 
 and find my clothes, with the understanding that when I 
 was sixteen I should try to get into some situation, but 
 the governess was always to be my friend and guardian. 
 
 ' When I had passed my sixteenth year she found me 
 an excellent situation in the house of a great lady, and 
 there for a time I was happy enough. Something hap- 
 pened then oh, Heaven, if I dared but to tell you what 
 something which angered the lady, and she dismissed me 
 without character. I am alone in the world; lam without 
 kith, kin, or friend. I have fifty pounds hi my pocket and 
 when that is spent I have no means of living no charac- 
 ter. I can get no situation. My strength has left me, my
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 35 
 
 heart is broken. Oh, Heaven, was sorrow ever like unto 
 my sorrow, grief unto my grief ?" 
 
 Her face fell on her hands, and she wept so bitterly that 
 the good rector at last grew alarmed. 
 
 ' I see the difficulty," said the rector, kindly, " and it is 
 undoubtedly a difficulty. There must always be this secret 
 which you can never explain away, but it is one that af- 
 fects your position very seriously will it interfere with 
 your life ?" 
 
 " It has marred it," she answered "blighted and spoiled 
 it. I want you to tell me if there is any comfort, any 
 hope for me ?" 
 
 " I hope so," he replied. " You see it is difficult to ad- 
 vise when one knows nothing of the case. Can you tell 
 me, for instance, whether it has to do with the two most 
 fruitful sources of sorrow in this world love or death?" 
 
 " No," she replied, " I can not tell you anything about 
 ^t. I have said that it shall never pass my lips, not even 
 an allusion to it. I am powerless." 
 
 " Can I help you without knowing it ?" asked the rector. 
 
 " I think so. It is the help of a friend I want. At this 
 moment as I stand before you, I am alone in the world. 
 As I have told you, when my money is gone, I know not 
 where to turn, either to get a living or anything else. 
 But that is not all ; that is the least. I want ease for my 
 pain. I want to know how to bear the most cruel sorrow 
 that a woman ever had." 
 
 " I will tell you that," said the rector. " I can not of 
 course tell of what nature your trouble may be, but I 
 know that trouble should do to the soul it possesses that 
 which fire does to the gold it purifies. You are very 
 young, you must not let thoughts of despair or death 
 come to you. I will tell you how we who believe in the 
 efficacy of it, treat sorrow." 
 
 He talked to her for an hour, forgetting his fatigue, his 
 weakness, his long fast talked until she sunk sobbing at 
 his feet, but with the fiery longing for death and the 
 ghastly despair gone from her heart saddened and con- 
 trite, but oh ! so much easier for the relief of scalding 
 tears. 
 
 " You see," said the rector, " what sorrow will do for a 
 ilouL You say you would like to die, that the life of tbif
 
 86 TEE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 world is ended for you, you can live for Heaven, and that 
 is the true life." 
 
 She could see it as through a glass dimly the beauty 
 and holiness, the grace and the purity of a life that was 
 dawning upon her. 
 
 "And now," said the rector, kindly, "what shall I do 
 for you ? You want rest, you want time to think over all 
 I have been saying. I can find you such a home ; but I 
 must ask you one question. Do not let it pain you. You 
 see that I respect your secret. I ask no question about 
 your life, or the mystery that surrounds it. I take for 
 granted all that you tell me. I trust you, but I must ask 
 you one question. Is there anything in your life that 
 would unfit you for the companionship of good and 
 noble women or rather, I should say, for good and pure 
 women ? Is there anything which, if made known they 
 could blame you for ? " 
 
 She looked at him thoughtfully. Through the clear 
 eyes he could see the beauty of the soul. She was silent 
 for a few minutes, but he saw that hesitation came from 
 innocence, not from guilt. Then she looked at him again. 
 
 " I believe not," she said. " I am conscious of much 
 folly and imprudence, but not of wrong. I think I am 
 sure not of wrong." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said the rector ; e arid now will 
 you come with me ? Stay, I had perhaps better tell you 
 where I propose taking you. You have heard of the An- 
 glican Convent of St. George ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have read of it," she said, 
 
 " I should like to take you there. You will find gentle 
 and humane treatment ; you will find the best and kindest 
 of friends. They will be kind to you for Heaven's sake, 
 my child, and not for any other. If your heart is crushed 
 and bruised, you will find rest and comfort there. Will 
 you go ?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied, unhesitatingly. " I will go anywhere 
 you wish, and do as you wish." 
 
 " That is good," he said. " Now come with me." 
 
 He went into the hall and took down his hat. 
 
 "We shall reach there before the supper bell rings," he 
 said. 
 
 They walked together through the warm streets, where 
 the light of the July day was fast waning, andtb*
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 37 
 
 of the craves beating the shores mixed curiously 
 enough with the noise of the traffic in the streets. It was 
 not far away, and Noami Wynter looked up with some in- 
 terest at the bare stone walls. It was a square building, 
 with many windows, and surmounted by a large cross. 
 Iron railings were in the front, a small flight of steps led 
 to the entrance, in the door was a small aperture, through 
 which the person who desired entrance could be seen. 
 The Bev. Peter Mackay rang, and the door was opened by 
 a sister with a long black vail. 
 
 " I wish to see the superioress," he said. 
 
 With a low, graceful obeisance the black-veiled sister led 
 the way to a little, plainly furnished anteroom. 
 
 " I will take the message at once," she said; and she 
 left them together. 
 
 Then the rector turned with some little air of embarrass- 
 ment to her. 
 
 " I never thought to ask your name," he said. " We have 
 many here whose name we hardly hear; but you must tell 
 me your own name." 
 
 " I can not do that," she said. "I can not tell you my 
 own name. I will use my mother's; she was called Hester 
 Leyburn. I will call myself Naomi Leyburn." 
 
 "That will do," he said, nervously. "I wish, of course, 
 it had been your own name." 
 
 *\It is better than my own; it is my mother's," she replied. 
 
 Then the door opened and the reverend mother entered 
 the room a tall, graceful-looking woman, with a pure, 
 gentle face on which there was always a gentle smile. She 
 bowed low to the Rev. Peter Mackay, and looked with 
 interest at the beautiful, colorless face by his side. 
 
 " Sister I have brought you one in sore distress," said 
 the rector; " she will want all your good offices, both for 
 body and soul. She is tired; she wants food and comfort, 
 and all that you know so kindly how to give." 
 
 "We will do our best for her," said the superioress. " I 
 hope, dear child, you will be happy with us. What is your 
 name ?" 
 
 " Naomi Leyburn," she replied; and the sweet, faint 
 voice drew the superioress's attention to her. She looked 
 with interest at the face so fair, so singularly beautiful, BO 
 colorless, so strange, with its fixed expression of pain and 
 misery.
 
 38 THE DUKE'S SECSET. 
 
 " This young lady," said the rector, " has been in great 
 trouble, in great distress, and I wish her, sister, to remain 
 here until she has recovered in body and mind. I must 
 be her sole reference, and I am quite sure that will satisfy 
 you." 
 
 " Yes," said the superioress; " that is all I require. I 
 may say that it is a fortunate thing, Miss Leyburn, you 
 have come to us; when you feel recovered we shall be glad 
 to have some assistance in the schools. Two of our sisters 
 are very ill, and we need help. You will be most useful to 
 us; but you must find rest, and get quite well." 
 
 The young girl thanked her in a low, sweet voice. 
 
 The rector said: 
 
 " You will have no difficulty, I hope, in finding room 
 for Miss Leyburn. The room that Clara Stewart had is 
 empty, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes, and in any case we would make room, as it is 
 your wish." 
 
 " Then," said the rector, "I will leave you now; and, 
 Miss Leyburn, I will call again to-morrow to see what 
 more I can do for you. I leave you in safe and good 
 hands, my dear child. When you say your prayers to- 
 night ask Heaven to keep you from despair." 
 
 "I will," she sobbed; " and I will thank you when I find 
 Words strong enough and good enough." 
 
 It seemed very strange and novel to her that first night 
 in an Anglican convent the black-veiled figures of the 
 nuns, the ringing of the bells, the strange sweet silence 
 and calm. The sister superioress herself took her to her 
 little room, which might have been called a cell. It was 
 small, beautiful clean, plainly furnished with a little white 
 bed, a small praying-desk and a little stand, a few books, 
 and a desk for writing. 
 
 " If you want rest, dear child," said the superioress, 
 " you will find it here. You take possession of your little 
 room to-day; you remain there until you are well enough 
 and strong enough to help in the schools. You will find 
 that work alone gives happiness ; you will forget all your 
 troubles when your mind is engaged, and you look as if 
 you had seen enough." 
 
 She kissed her kindly on the brow, with the sweet and 
 tender smile of a loving mother on her face. 
 
 M I shall send you up some tea and you must try to eat,"
 
 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 38 
 
 tt&id the superioress. " Good-night, and Heaven bless you, 
 dear child." 
 
 It was all so novel, so strange. "When the door closed 
 upon the kindly face of the superioress, it seemed to her 
 as if she was alone in the world, the strange, solemn hush 
 and calm were so great and beautiful. 
 
 Then, after a time, the door opened, and a pretty, bright- 
 eyed little sister came in, bringing with her a tray, on 
 which was set out a little tea, very plain and homely, but 
 clean and comfortable. The bright-eyed little sister, 
 whom they called Agatha, smiled in her face. 
 
 " Sister superioress says you must eat all the bread and 
 butter, dear child ; also drink all the tea." 
 
 " I will try," said Naomi. 
 
 " Then you will succeed," said Sister Agatha. " One 
 generally does succeed when one tries very hard indeed. 
 Is it not so ?" 
 
 The bright face and cheery voice did her good uncon- 
 sciously. She took the tea that the kindly little sister 
 poured out for her ; it was the first she had touched since 
 the day she left Rood Castle that which was brought to 
 her at the hotel she turned from with loathing. It re- 
 freshed her and did her good ; the deadly pallor left her 
 face, a faint color returned to it, and Sister Agatha looked 
 at her with delight 
 
 " You are better now, dear child," she said " How 
 pleased sister superioress will be to hear it. 
 
 It was so pleasant to hear the constant repetition of 
 those words, "my dear child." It seemed toNaomi as though 
 once again she belonged to some one, and that some one 
 took an interest in her. Sleep came to her eyelids, rest 
 to her heart; once again she laid her head on the pillow, 
 and slept the sleep of an innocent child. This was some- 
 thing like home every one so busy, so active, so kind, 
 BO cheerful; and as she grew better and able to talk to 
 them, they all grew very fond of the delicate, lovely, gentle 
 girl. She was ill for some lime; the good rector and 
 mother superioress were very anxious about her. 
 
 " She gives me the impression," said the reverend 
 mother, " of a girl whose very heart has been crushed." 
 
 "I believe it has," said the rector, "she has suffered 
 tome terrible sorrow."
 
 46 
 
 But after a time youth and a strong constitution helped 
 her, and she began to recover. 
 
 When she was quite well, she went into the school, and 
 vrorked there with all her heart. She seemed well and 
 contented; a certain air of patience was over her patience 
 and strength, but not happiness. 
 
 There was a dreadful shock in store for the rector and 
 the sisters. 
 
 For some weeks she had seemed to be ailing, and at 
 last, by the rector's advice, the doctor was sent for. 
 
 The result of the interview was most unforeseen. 
 
 The sister superior sent for the rector in great haste. 
 
 Naomi Leyburn had disappeared ; no one knew where 
 she had gone. 
 
 She left the convent while all the sisters were engaged. 
 
 "I don't know how to tell you, or what to say," said the 
 sister superior. "You brought the young lady here as 
 Miss Leyburn." 
 
 " Well ? " said the rector, seeing that she hesitated 
 "well?" 
 
 " As Miss Leyburn ; and the doctor says that in a short 
 time, young as she is, she will be a mother herself." 
 
 The rector looked in amaze at the sister, and for some 
 few minutes they were silent. At last he said : 
 
 " You can not mean it, sister superioress ; there must 
 be some mistake. I can not believe it." 
 
 " Indeed, I fear it is true. Doctor Sleigh is a man of 
 too great eminence to make any mistake about it. I sent 
 for Doctor Sleigh because several of our sisters thought 
 the unfortunate young lady must be consumptive, she 
 seemed always so weak and ill ; she fainted after school 
 hours, and they were all greatly concerned about her. 
 Doctor Sleigh is considered very clever in consumptive 
 cases." 
 
 " He made a mistake probably in this," said the rector. 
 
 He was accustomed to open vice and open sin, but he 
 had never had to deal with a case of this kind before, and 
 he was quite at a loss. 
 
 Besides which, there was a look in the eyes of the supe- 
 rioress not quite of reproach, but something like it, and 
 he felt that he had, perhaps, been imprudent, and wanting 
 in deletion. Yet after all, what could he have done?
 
 THE DUKE'S SEOBET. 41 
 
 It WM net in human nature to turn a deaf ear to her 
 appeal 
 
 " I am very sorry," he said. " I am sure it has been a 
 great anxiety to you, reverend mother." 
 
 " It has made me very unhappy," she replied : " but I 
 am glad to say our sisters knew nothing about it. Unfortun- 
 ately, the infirmarian, Sister Martha, was with her at the 
 time while the doctor spoke to her; but I have placed her 
 under obedience not to mention it, so that the secret re- 
 mains between the doctor, Sister Martha, yourself and 
 myself. I know the doctor will respect the confidence placed 
 in him; but even though never a syllable of it should be 
 known, it is a most unpleasant thing." 
 
 " I am deeply grieved," said the rector, and indeed he 
 was. If deceit could hide behind a face so young and 
 lovely, so delicate and fair, where look for truth? and she 
 must have deceived him. 
 
 " Do you think," asked the superioress, " that she was 
 married? I do not like to ask you the question you 
 brought her to us as Miss Leyburn." 
 
 " And even that," thought the rector, "was not her own 
 name. What shall I do. 
 
 Evidently, the best way out of it was to tell the whole 
 truth to the superioress ; t was of no use hiding anything 
 from her, not in the least. 
 
 " I am afraid I did an imprudent thing in bringing her 
 here," he said, " but I was quite at my wits' end; and she 
 seemed so highly respectable, so really good and inno- 
 cent; besides which, she appealed to me in such a man- 
 ner, I really could not help doing it." 
 
 And then he told her all that had passed on that warm 
 July evening when she had found him seated in his study. 
 He repeated her words. 
 
 " I did wonder," he said, " whether she had been un-. 
 fortunate, as so many young girls are; but that which re- 
 assured me was her extreme youth, her natural goodness 
 of character, her extreme innocence and simplicity. It 
 struck me, also, that she must be good and true or she 
 would not have sought for a clergyman in her sorrow. I 
 thought that the mark of a naturally religious mind." 
 
 " So it was," said the superioress, " undoubtedly." 
 
 " I asked her," continued the rector, " one question, and 
 it was this: whether there was anything in her life thai
 
 45? THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 unfitU/d her for the companionship of good and innoceni 
 women. She looked like a simple child when she said 
 ' no.' Yet I can not think that she was married. She 
 spoke of no husband, only of a trouble always the same, 
 the greatest trouble in the world: there was none other, 
 she assured me, like it none. I came to the conclusion 
 that her sorrow was the unkindness of relatives; it did 
 not seem to me to be caused by the nonsense and folly 
 that young people call love." 
 
 " No ; I agree with you in that, she was so sad, so re- 
 signed in every way. She was not in the least like a 
 love-sick girl not in the least." 
 
 " You have no idea where she has gone ? " asked the 
 rector. 
 
 "Not in the least. She has taken some things with 
 her, most of the contents of her box, but not the box 
 itself. We have no idea when she went. She attended 
 the afternoon class, and said her head ached. Sister 
 Agatha took some tea into her room, and she was there 
 then. Directly afterward the doctor came, and we had 
 this most unpleasant interview, and she went back to her 
 room." 
 
 " Were you angry with her ? " asked the rector. 
 
 <r No ; I was horrified, of course, but it was not for me 
 to judge or condemn her. I simply said that I would 
 speak to her on the morrow. I knew that it was quite 
 impossible for her to remain here another day, but I in- 
 tended to send for you, and still to befriend her ; but 
 this morning when the sister, missing her, went to her 
 room she was not to be found. Of course every one in 
 the convent knows now that she has disappeared from 
 among us, but only three people know the reason why." 
 
 " It must have been most distressing for all of you,** 
 said the rector. 
 
 " It was, indeed ; Sister Martha was dreadfully dis- 
 tressed. The worst of it was that the girl herself would 
 not believe it she cried, she insisted that could not be 
 true ; she would not hear one word of it, until he grew an- 
 gry at last and made her listen, Then she was in despair 
 that makes me so frightened for her. I have never 
 Been such despair. She lay weeping on the ground, and 
 we could do nothing with her."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 43 
 
 "Was the doctor angry did lie speak sharply to her?" 
 asked the rector. 
 
 " No. When Sister Martha carried her off, he said it 
 was the saddest case he had ever come across in all his 
 professional career, she was so very young and fragile, so 
 rarely beautiful, too. He seemed to think it quite im- 
 possible that she should live. My great fear is that she 
 has already made away with herself, she seemed to feel 
 quite miserable enough for it quite." 
 
 " I hope not," cried the rector, starting to his feet and 
 pacing with rapid steps the little audience room. " I hope 
 to Heaven she has not. I thought I had brought her to 
 a haven of rest in bringing her here. And you say you 
 have no single trace of her ? " 
 
 " No, that we have not," said the superioress. " You see 
 it is a case in which we can really take no active steps at 
 all; we can not go out to look for her; we can not do any- 
 thing that would attract attention." 
 
 "I must do something," said the rector. "I must go 
 and look for her; after all our trouble and prayers it is 
 hard to think that the precious soul should be lost. I 
 must find her. When I think of her face I can not believe 
 that she is guilty." 
 
 Said the superioress, quietly: 
 
 " That is quite a man's way of judging; I do not judge 
 by her face, but by her actions. She was one of the most 
 modest, gentle, well-bred girls I have ever seen; and I 
 have had some experience, as you know. I have never 
 seen a fault in her except that she was always sad, always 
 with a far-off look in her eyes as though her thought? 
 were not here. To my mind she was one of the most per- 
 fect of girls." 
 
 " It seems hard to think, then, that she can have gone 
 completely wrong, as we have reason to fear. If she has 
 deceived me I shall never have faith in human nature 
 again." 
 
 " Yes, you will," said the superioress, with a faint smile. 
 " It will' take more than that to wither your belief in humau 
 goodness." 
 
 "I must go and look for her, said the. rector. "I am 
 fiure of one thing, you have done .your best for her in 
 every way if I find her, as I pray Heaven I may do, you 
 do your best for her still And sister," lie added,
 
 44 THE DUU'S SECRET. 
 
 M human help is good help from Heaven is better; pray 
 for her and tell all your sisters to do the same." 
 
 "From that night, when the western sun fell on the 
 stained glass windows, whenever the sisters knelt in church 
 for even song, they prayed for the unhappy wanderer ; and 
 the kindly superioress, whose heart had been touched by 
 the girl's quiet, graceful character, shed tears when she 
 prayed for the wanderer, and the homeless, the lost, and the 
 friendless for many a bitter day. But from the day she 
 left them they never saw her again. 
 
 The rector went out to begin a search that was utterly 
 useless; he went to the different hotels, the railway sta- 
 tions, lodging-houses, coffee-houses, but he heard nothing 
 of her: he went to all the piers, to see if in her despair 
 she had flung herself from either; but there was no report 
 of any accident or suicide; he examined the coast-guard 
 and the boatmen, but they had seen nothing; the mo- 
 ment he heard as at Brightsea one hears so often that 
 a body had been found, he hastened to indentify it, 
 always fearing to see the beautiful young face fixed in 
 death. 
 
 And for years the good curate continued that search; he 
 never forgot her; in all his dreams and memories she 
 occupied a prominent place; he never knelt down to pray 
 but that her name was fixed on his lips; for years he 
 thought of her, prayed for her, looked for her, but never 
 saw her again. 
 
 BUD OF 
 
 > 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 ""WHT DOBS HE NOT MABRT ?** 
 
 JOHN RTJSKTO, so every one said, had succeeded to the 
 finest practice in London. One of the best known legal 
 firms was that of Buskyn Brothers. Originally there had 
 been three brothers ; two of them died unmarried, and 
 the third married, lived to a good old age, enjoyed hia 
 life, aiid died, leaving one son behind him. 
 
 That son, John, was the envy of half the legal world. 
 He succeeded to a magnificent practice; but the chief
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 46 
 
 source of his revenue was derived from the management 
 of the grand ducal estates of Castlemayne. 
 
 For long generations past the Buskyns had managed 
 the affairs of the Castlemaynes. They knew everything 
 connected with the estates, the length of the leases, the 
 histories of the tenants; they knew the dowry each lady 
 of the house had brought with them. 
 
 No Duke of Castle maine had ever troubled himself about 
 his rents or his revenues; they were in the hands of faith- 
 fuJ stewards. It had been a remarkable fact through all 
 their history that the elder of each house died, and the 
 younger succeeded at the same time. For instance, old 
 Richard Buskyn was dead, and his son John succeeded 
 him; so the late Duke of Castlemaine, the genial, kindly, 
 hospitable duke, who had never spoken an angry word in 
 bis life, and had been good to every one, was dead, and 
 his son Bertrand, the thirteenth duke, reigned in his 
 stead. The duchess had felt her husband's loss very se- 
 verely, but she was one of those who never yield to feeling 
 or emotion when there was duty to be done. She con- 
 sidered her duties were now doubled, that she must look 
 after her son with more care and diligence than she had 
 ever done, that she must have a firmer hand than ever in 
 the ruling of affairs. She felt herself to be both duke and 
 duchess; her son, to her, was still a child to be managed 
 and guided; that he should ever be quite independent 
 of her was a thing that she never contemplated at all 
 and would have laughed at The duke was dead and the 
 duke reigned in his stead. Duke Bertrand had succeeded 
 to numerous estates to Bood Castle in Derbyshire, to 
 Bood House in Belgravia, to Craig Castle, a stately old 
 fortress in Northumberland, to Hatton Hall in Kent, and 
 to Cumber House, in the Isle of Wight succeeded to a 
 rent roll that was almost unequaled; to a fortune in 
 pictures, statues, works of art, magnificent furniture, jew- 
 els that might have formed a queen's dowry; but they 
 were in the possession of ttie duchess. She would give 
 them up to Bertrand's wife, she said; but no wife was ex- 
 pected yet One of the troubles that she kept shut up in 
 that proud heart of hers was this that her son showed 
 no desire to find a wife for himself, none whatever: on the 
 contrary, he was never well disposed for the society of 
 ; he preferred that of his own sex; of all flirtation hi
 
 46 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 was as innocent as a child. His utter indifference to th 
 fair sex was unpardonable, The duchess never wearied 
 of bringing first one beauty, then another; she talked to 
 him continually of the necessity of marrying. 
 
 " You must have a wife, Bertrand," she said to him 
 almost every day of his life. " A bachelor duke is a thing 
 quite unheard of. You must marry well so as to add to 
 the dignity and honor of your house, and you must marry 
 some one well fitted to fill the position. After the royal 
 family the Castlemaynes hold the first place in England- 
 of that I am quite sure and you must bear it in mind 
 when you marry." 
 
 He never made loot any answer; he nsver said that he 
 should or should not, that he was willing or not willing. 
 At times he smiled or sighed as the humor took him, but 
 never a word said he. Again she would allude to the 
 famous Castlemayne diamonds, said by connoisseurs to be 
 the finest in England. 
 
 "I am only keeping these diamonds until your wife 
 comes, Bertrand." 
 
 His answer was always: 
 
 " No one will look so well in them as youself, mother," 
 and that she quite believed. 
 
 Again her grace would feel uneasy about him and say: 
 
 " Bertrand, I wish you were a little like other men. I 
 do not want to see you, fast, foolish, dissipated or extrava- 
 gant, or anything of that kind; but I wish you were like 
 other young men, and devoted some little time or atten- 
 tion to the ladies. How can you choose a wife if you avoid 
 them ? There is Lhdy Cassandra Lnrville, the prettiest, 
 wealthiest girl in England, why not try to care for her ? " 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " That is no answer," said the stately duchess, " none 
 at all," and her son turned away. 
 
 So ten years passed, and yet she had made no impres- 
 sion on him. The twelfth Duke of Castlemayne had been 
 ten years in his grave; the thirteenth duke had been ten 
 years the reigning head of the house. Ten years had but 
 added to the stately beauty of the duchess, and had taken 
 no charm from her neither that of bright eyes, flowing 
 hair, nor grace of figure. 
 
 Ten years and at last the duke was completely ai baj.
 
 r..~-. L THE DUKE'S SECRET. 47 
 
 Her grace gave him no peace. He must marry why 
 could he not do as other people did ? 
 
 That which distressed Adeliza, Duchess of Castlemayne 
 most, was this the family she detested most was the one 
 that, unless her son married, must succeed her the Ever- 
 leighs of Leigh Major. Laura, Lady Everleigh, and the 
 Duchess of Castlemayne had been rivals since they were 
 babies. The duchess was a magnificent brunette, Lady 
 Everleigh the queen of blondes; they had been rivals in 
 every way. Even Herbert, the twelfth duke, had wavered 
 at first between the two girls, uncertain which he admired 
 the most; ultimately he decided in favor of the duchess. 
 
 Many people thought it a strange coincidence that the 
 beautiful Adeliza should marry the duke and her equally 
 beautiful rival should niarry his next of kin she married 
 Lord Everleigh, Baron of Leigh ; she had two daughters 
 and one son. The daughters, Hilda and Blanche, had 
 lately been presented, and their rare loveliness had created 
 quite a furor. Lord Everleigh had been dead for some 
 years, and Arthur had succeeded him. That which made 
 the duchess so angry was that in the " Peerage," and 
 every other book which told of the English nobility, she 
 read always that Arthur, Lord Everleigh, was heir pre- 
 sumptive to his Grace the Duke of Castlemayne. 
 
 " How absurd this is, Bertrand," she would cry to her 
 son, "how more than foolish; every time that ridiculous 
 Lady Laura reads this it is a fresh triumph to her." 
 
 " Why do you call Lady Laura ridiculous ? " asked the 
 duke. " She seems to be a very nice woman." 
 
 " My dear, I detest her, and I know that she triumphs 
 over me. I know that she is always speculating on the 
 horrible chance of her son succeeding you. She is the 
 most insolent of women. I met her at the Embassy last 
 evening; she laughed positively laughed at me and 
 said, ' Your son seems determined to make my son a duke. ' 
 
 Imagine that insolence. ' My son does nothing of the 
 kind,' I said. ' Then why does he not marry ? ' she said. 
 'I assure you that my son is gaining additional favor erery 
 day that sees his grace unmarried.' Now, Bertrand, you 
 must know that this is utterly odious to me. Why do 
 you not begin in real earnest ? " 
 
 " My dearest mother, be patient I will see Mr. Kufl- 
 kyn to-i lorrow."
 
 48 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She looked up in utmost wonder. 
 
 " You will see Mr. Buskyn ! What on earth has your 
 lawyer to do with your getting married ?" 
 
 He perceived that he had made a most terrible mistake, 
 but thought to get out of it as best he could. 
 
 " I was not thinking in the least of what I said. I hava 
 to see Mr. Ruskyn to-morrow on some very important 
 business, and I will think of what you say, mother, about 
 the other matter." 
 
 The duchess raised her hands in despair. 
 
 " My dear Bertrand, what hope is there for any man 
 who calls love and marriage the other matter? I am 
 afraid it is utterly helpless; but I shall never rest in my 
 grave if Laura Everleigh's son is master of Rood Castle. 
 I would almost sooner see it burned and the title destroyed 
 '.han that time should come." 
 
 " How you hate that poor woman, mother," he saidt. 
 
 " It is not a question of my hating Lady Laura, but of 
 your getting married," she replied. " There are at this 
 moment three of the nicest girls in England waiting for 
 you, and you let every chance pass by. It is a cruel dis- 
 appointment to me, my son." 
 
 " I am sorry, mother. I do not like to disappoint you 
 in any one thing." 
 
 " You have said so ever since you were of age, yet you 
 never take one step in the right direction never. I shall 
 never have the happiness that other mothers have; and it 
 seems hard, for you are my only child. I shall never live 
 as other mothers do to rejoice in my grandchildren, to 
 grow young again in their youth, to see sturdy, noble lads 
 and graceful girls, who can carry on the honors of a fine 
 old race. I am desolate and lonely, because you will not 
 marry, wilJ not bring a young wife home to lighten the 
 old castle. I am growing older and would fain rest at 
 times, but T never can." 
 
 He looked very thoughtful; his mother went on: 
 
 " I am so anxious about it, Bertrand. You will never 
 know how much I think of this fact of your showing no 
 inclination to get married. It is my one trouble in life. 
 I say to myself that if your father had lived it would have 
 been so different; he would have impressed you more than 
 I eem able to do." 
 
 "I am sure that I am always most anxious to pleaM
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 49 
 
 you, mother. I do not remember one instance in -which 
 I have run counter to your wishes in any way." 
 
 " Except in this, Bertrand. You will laugh when I tell 
 you that even when I saw you a little baby in your cradle 
 I speculated as to whom you would marry, and I decided 
 in my own mind that a royal duchess might be proud to 
 accept you. Think, then, what a disappointment it has 
 been to me that you should, of all men in the world, never 
 think of marrying. I am so anxious over it, so full of 
 dread lest Lady Laura's son should succeed, that I would 
 be willing for you to marry any one rather than live 
 single." 
 
 " Ah, mother," he said, with a deep sigh, " if you had 
 but thought that years ago." 
 
 The duchess looked up in stately surprise. 
 
 "Tears ago, Bertrand! Why, did you ever care fo* 
 any one years ago ? " 
 
 " I might have cared for some one, but I knew that it 
 would be of no use whatever." 
 
 She never thought of the little episode of the handker- 
 chief and the knots of ribbon ; she had forgotten the 
 white face upraised to her son's ; she had forgotten the 
 sweet, girlish voice that cried, " I appeal to you, Lord 
 St. Albans ! " In her own mind she thought over those of 
 her own class with whom she had associated, and she 
 could remember no one in whom he had ever seemed 
 interested. 
 
 " Talking the matter over is of no use," said the duchess. 
 " I certainly never dreamed that my lif e would close in a 
 cloud of mortification and regret. It will unless you 
 think more seriously of marriage than you have yet done. 
 I was positively told last week that Lady Laura said her 
 heart had always been fixed on Hood Castle ! I can not 
 endure to think of her living in my rooms, sneering, as I 
 know she would, at everything I held most sacred." 
 
 And the duchess wiped tears of real mortification from 
 her eyes. 
 
 The duke was really distressed. 
 
 " My dearest mother, I did not indeed think you had 
 the matter so completely at heart. I will do my best; I 
 will see I mean that I will look round me. Gheer up/ 
 Lady Laura shall never have Rood Castle."
 
 50 THI DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She did what was a very rare action with hr she 
 bent forward and kissed her son. 
 
 "Do think it well over, my son; I shall rest my hopes 
 an you." 
 
 CHAPTER il 
 
 " THIS WBETCHED SJ2CKET HAUNTS ME." 
 
 LONG after his mother had left him the duke sat buried 
 In deep thought. Over his handsome face came an ex- 
 pression of weariness and unhappiness; once or twice a 
 smothered groan came from his lips. 
 
 ' If I could have foreseen it, if I could have but known!" 
 he said to himself. "My poor mother ! " Once or twice 
 he rose from his chair and paced up and do^m the long 
 room. " I can see no way out of it," he said, "nor do I 
 believe any one else can find one. What shall I do ? " He 
 looked miserable, wretched, dissatisfied. 
 
 He was the wealthiest duke in England ; he had more 
 money than he could possibly spend ; he had estates all 
 over the country, he had houses and lands, he had every 
 order that could be conferred upon him ; his position and 
 influence were unequaled and unbounded ; he had every 
 gift of nature and of fortune which could make a man's 
 heart glad and happy ; and yet he was perhaps one of the 
 most wretched men in the world. There were times 
 when he envied the poorest laborer on his estate. He 
 had been known to stand at a cottage door watching hus- 
 band, wife, and children, and then turn away with tears in 
 his eyes; he had been known to stand and watch a group 
 of children at play, mothers with children around them, 
 and turn away with a moan on his lips. 
 
 As the years passed the simple people who lived on his 
 estate became more and more sure that he had had a great 
 trouble in his life. They talked about the young duke in 
 a kindly, sympathetic fashion, but they always ended by 
 saying that he looked like one who had something on his 
 mind; what that something could be they never made the 
 faintest attempt at guessing. 
 
 The duchess had never seemed quite human in the eyes 
 of these good people; her beanty, her tall, commanding 
 figure, her handsome face, her magnificence raised her 
 ia their eyes far beyond the every-day world. They under-
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBKC, 51 
 
 stood the duke better. Every one wondered why he did 
 not marry all the matrons and maidens of the fashionable 
 world were anxious over it. There were hundreds of 
 pretty girls in the marriage market only one of them 
 ould be Duchess of Castlemayne, and the question was 
 which should be it ? They were only just beginning to 
 realize that it was just possible he never intended to 
 marry at all. 
 
 " What am I to do ?" said the duke to himself. " I do 
 dot believe that in all the wide world there is a man in 
 guch a predicament as I am at this present moment." 
 
 The result of his long meditation and deliberation was 
 that he wrote a note to his lawyer, asking him to meet hire 
 the jnorning following at his office; and the next day 
 found him there punctual to a moment. 
 
 Tiw common idea of a lawyer above all of the lawyer 
 in novels is that of a bald-headed, wrinkled, money-lov- 
 ing man; but John Husky n was very different to this. 
 He was a fine, tall man, with a frank, genial face; and apart 
 from money-making he had a true liking for his profes- 
 sion; he enjoyed an intricate law case; he enjoyed the ins 
 and outs of law, always so uncertain; he enjoyed control 
 over land and money, and he did his best in a thoroughly 
 honest fashion for his clients; he was keen and bright of 
 intellect, and he brought it all to bear on each case in- 
 trusted to him. But his great delight and pleasure was. 
 the agency of the large Castlemayne estates; he had care- 
 fully mastered the details; he knew far better than the 
 duke what he had what stocks, what securities, what 
 farm-leases everything connected with the estate was in 
 his mind, all quite straight, distinct, and clear; he was in- 
 terested in his work; he was proud of the duke's confi- 
 dence in him. 
 
 He wondered a little what this imperative summons 
 was for why the duke must see him so particularly this 
 morning. There was no especial business that he remem- 
 bered, but the duke's note was so worded as to give him 
 the impression that he wanted to see him on vei*y impor- 
 tant business. It was the middle of a very brilliant sea- 
 son, when the duke's time must be fully occupied; and 
 John Ruskyn wondered why he had not sent for him to 
 Hood House instead of driving down to Lincoln's Inn to 
 806 him. Then he smiled to himself as the picture of the
 
 ft THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 duchess came before him, and he felt pretty BUM that the 
 duke did not want his mother to know the purport of this 
 interview. 
 
 He sat before "his writing-table, waiting anxiously for 
 the Duke of Castlemayne's appearance, and when at last 
 his grace entered John Ruskyn was struck with the anx- 
 iety of his face and the nervousness of his manner. He 
 saw that he turned to the door as though anxious to see 
 that it was secure, then he came up to the table and the 
 two shook hands. 
 
 The lawyer made some passing remark, as a matter of 
 course, about the weather; the duke threw himself lan- 
 guidly into a chair, and sighed deeply. A profound silence 
 followed, broken only by the buzzing of a blue-bottle fly 
 in the window. 
 
 " I wish he would speak," said the lawyer to himself. 
 He broke the ice at last by saying he understood that his 
 grace wished to see him on very particular business, so 
 that he had given orders that he should not be disturbed. 
 
 Then the duke roused himself. 
 
 " That is right, Buskyn; I have very much to say to you. 
 I hope we will be uninterrupted. I have a secret to tell 
 you. I know it is of no more use to ask a lawyer's advice 
 without telling him the whole of one's affairs, than it is to 
 take a physician's counsel, and conceal from him all the 
 symptoms of the disease." 
 
 "Your grace is perfectly right," said John Buskyn; "no 
 lawyer can give good advice unless he can see the case, 
 as our American friends phrase it, 'all around' " 
 
 " Certainly not. I have often wished to tell you this* 
 but it seemed useless; now, however, things have come to 
 such a pass that I must take some steps. My mother, the 
 duchess, urges me so continually to get married." 
 
 " I think that every true friend your grace has in the 
 world would do the same thing," said the lawyer, frankly. 
 
 " Do you ever hear people talking about Lord Arthur 
 Everleigh as my heir and next of kin ?" asked the duke. 
 
 "Frankly, yes, your grace, I have often, too. Lady 
 Laura Everleigh is by no means a reticent woman; and 
 she talks quite openly as to the chance of her son's succes- 
 sion. Your grace speaks openly to me, I will do the same 
 to you. I hear from every one interested in you what a 
 Md thing it is YOU do uot marry, Iks Everleighs are
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 53 
 
 Tery much liked, very popular, but they are extravagant, 
 and wholly without thought. If ever Lord Arthur Ever- 
 Jeigh becomes Duke of Castlemayne he will make ducks 
 and drakes of the finest property in England." 
 
 " I do not like him," said the duke, quietly. "I am in 
 the greatest dilemma in which a man was ever placed. I 
 see no way out of it. I can not marry I can do nothing. 
 The knowledge of it eats my heart away. I dread to look 
 at my mother's face; and when she begins to urge these 
 things on me, I am the most miserable man in the 
 world." 
 
 " Your grace ought not to be miserable," said the law- 
 yer gravely. 
 
 "Not only am I completely wretched," he said, "but 
 my life is completely paralyzed. I have no interest what- 
 ever in any single thing ; my life is a burden instead of a 
 pleasure; this wretched secret of mine haunts me; it is like 
 a grim specter always looming over me. It will ease my 
 heart and mind to tell it to you. I need not ask for in- 
 violable secrecy that is a matter of course ; but I do ask 
 you this you are a man of keen intellect, of quick 
 resource, of great knowledge and will I want you to put 
 all these powers into activity for me. Listen to my story, 
 think of it, try how you can best help me." 
 
 " My secret is the story of a folly committed when I 
 was quite a young man, and it was a folly that has 
 paralyzed my whole life. I will tell you the details. 
 
 " The duchess, my mother, had an orphan niece, Lady 
 Helen Yaughan Lady Nell, we called her always left to 
 her care. The child had, I believe, a large fortune, but 
 she was delicate when she came to Eood Castle so deli- 
 cate that my father, who was goodness itself to every one, 
 would not hear of her going to school, but said there 
 must be a governess found for her. One was found ; an 
 elderly, stern-looking woman, who had not a smile in her 
 Whole composition. The child drooped and pined ; she 
 was always crying ; and the elderly governess pursued a 
 rigorous course of punishment for every tear shed. 
 
 "At last my father interfered as a rule he was easily 
 managed, submissive to my mother ; but when he really 
 did exert his authority, even my mother had to obey 
 and he said the child was young, and she wanted a young 
 governess who could laugh, and sing, and play ttith her
 
 54 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 when her lessons were ended. For a wonder my mother 
 did not object, because she loved the child. I was away 
 from home and I may as well add that I returned from 
 my European tour one year earlier than had been ar- 
 ranged I was to travel with the Keverend Eric Beech ; 
 but at the end of two years I asked him to return. I had 
 had enough of it. 
 
 " Perhaps had the duchess known that I should spen(~ 
 the next year at home she would have been more prudent 
 and would have thought twice before she brought a youn 
 and most lovely girl into the house. I came back quite 
 unexpectedly. I remember that I brought home boxes 
 filled with toys for Lady NelL I loved her very dearly ; 
 she was like a favorite little sister to me. She was delighted 
 to see me. I never thought about the governess, never 
 heard her name mentioned, or any allusion made to her." 
 
 "One morning you must pardon me, Ruskyn, if in my 
 secret there is the very madness of love and romance a 
 love story above all, a tragedy that is quite out of keeping 
 with a lawyer's office one morning, a beautiful tender 
 morning in May, when the hawthorn was building on the 
 hedges, and the laburnum blossoms shining like gold, I 
 went out into the park. I had nothing to do, and I re- 
 membered how I had always loved the May mornings. As 
 I strolled along quite unconscious that fate had begun to 
 weave a spell I could never break, I heard the sound of 
 Lady Nell's sweet laugh in the distance. Longing to 
 see the child I went in that direction while my life 
 lasts I shall never forget the sight I saw there. 
 
 " Do you know how the lime-trees look in the early 
 May? th ere light is half golden, half green, so delicate 
 and dainty that there is nothing in nature like it. There 
 was a cluster of them, and the sunlight streaming through 
 them showed every delicate, feathery, graceful leaf; the 
 wind stirred them, and they looked like a tremulous mass 
 of green and gold. And underneath ? Ah, me, the years 
 have fled, the sun rises and sets; but it will never again 
 shine on anything one-half so fair; of course you will 
 think it the old story. I wish the years could go back 
 and I could show you the girl as I saw her sitting under 
 the lime blossoms. 
 
 "I can not, nor can any words, paint her; the sun- 
 fell on a graceful head, turning the rich brown Oftic
 
 THE DTJKE S SECRET. 49 
 
 into a perfect gold, the upturned face was liK a flower; 
 eyes deep blue, deep as the blue of heaven, the loveliest 
 eyes that ever drew a man's heart from his breast; the 
 loveliest mouth, red lips, and little white teeth; a face that 
 looks at you from the canvas of Greuze but is seldom seen 
 in real life. I wonder now, as I recall it, that young, 
 romantic, and foolish as I was, I wonder I did not fall 
 ^here and then on my knees and worship it" 
 
 CHAPTER HI 
 
 BEKTBAND'S LOVE STOBT. 
 
 " THE child saw me and came running to me full cf da- 
 light; the beautiful head was raised to look after her, and 
 the eyes met mine. It was all over with me, Buskyn. 
 Some men take years to love; others do as I did, plunge 
 into it at once. I had not looked into her beautiful, shy 
 eyes one minute before I loved her with the maddest love. 
 Lady Nell broke the ice. 
 
 " ' Lord St. Albans, this is my governess,' she said. ' Is 
 she not a nice one ? The other was old and cross; her 
 face was like a withered apple; this one is so different. 
 Come and speak to her.' 
 
 "With the child clinging to my hand and dancing 
 round me I went to her. She rose ah, Euskyn, the 
 sweetest, fairest vision of girlish youth and beauty fair 
 as the May morning itself. She reminded me of Brown- 
 ing's 'Beautiful Evelyn Bosse,' with 'the red young 
 mouth, and the hair of gold.' How my mother could have 
 so forgotten her prudence as to admit a girl so young 
 and so marvelously beautiful as an inmate of the house- 
 hold, I can not tell; the bear idea of any danger to me 
 through it never seemed to occur to them. I imagine 
 that they thought I should be abroad for some time, and 
 even under the same roof we were not likely to meet 
 that is, if they thought at all about it. I spoke to her 
 some commonplace words, and she answered me; then I 
 hardly remember what passed, except that I stood there 
 rooted to the spot, my eyes fixed on the lovely face. The 
 whole world in these few minutes changed for me; a 
 thousand thoughts and hopes woke suddenly in my 
 heart, a thousand desires ; a brighter blue came over the 
 ky, a brighter green to the grass; the meaning of tht
 
 66 THE DUKE'S SECSIT. 
 
 sunshine, and the birds' song, and the tremulous beauty 
 of the lime blossoms, came to me quite suddenly. I 
 seemed to understand life with all its mysteries, its 
 beauties, its tragedies, as I had never done before; and 
 this because I hac looked at a girl's fair face, and had 
 left my heart under her feet. You must remember that 
 X was only just twenty-one; as you know in our family 
 the leg ^1 coming of age is twenty-three Heaven only 
 knows why, unless it is the steadier age of the two. 
 
 " I was just twenty-one, and I thought very little about 
 love nothing at all about lovers, except that there was 
 something very silly about the whole business. I had 
 been quite indifferent to the whole race of girls; cricket, 
 swimming, shooting, hunting, fencing, anything seemed 
 better to me than hovering about drawing-rooms. I won- 
 dered often how men could waste their time in such fashion; 
 but now, if this girl with one glance from her beautiful 
 eyes had bidden me stay I would have stood by her side 
 forever. I know now that each Castlemayne has had in 
 his life one mad, hot, jealous love like this. It has been 
 a curse or a blessing to the race; but be it which it may, 
 it has fallen on each one." 
 
 ** I know," said the lawyer, " I have heard father talk 
 about it. " 
 
 " The loves of the Castlemaynes would make a long his- 
 tory," said the duke; "most of them have married sen- 
 sibly and well when the love fit was passed. I have been 
 the most foolish, the weakest, the most cowardly of them 
 all; and perhaps I paid the most severe penalty; but I 
 must not wander from my story. Lady Nell, as I said, 
 broke the ice, and we were soon talking as though we had 
 known each other for years. I asked her name, and she 
 told me .Naomi Wynter. I thought there was no music 
 like it. 
 
 " * How strange,' I said, ' that is quite a coincidence. I 
 have always thought Naomi the most melodious and 
 beautiful of names, and have wondered much why it is 
 not more used; and in some strange fashion the music of 
 the name seemed to enter into and become at once the 
 music of my life. 
 
 " We spent perhaps an hour together; you have seen 
 men maddened with wine, or spirits, or drugs that was 
 ay case exactly. I came away from her; it seemed to
 
 THE DUKE'S BECKETT 57 
 
 me that the whole world was going round. I could not 
 speak or hear. I was dazed and bewildered. Her beau- 
 tiful face went everywhere with me. I saw it in my 
 dreams, and in my waking hours it was never from me. 
 It was the first, unreasoning, mad, earnest love of a boy, 
 and you may know what that is. 
 
 " I wrote her a little note, which Lady Nell gave her, 
 telling her I must see her again, and that I would be in 
 the same place on the following morning. 
 
 "We met again and again; each time I loved her more 
 and more, until, in the height of my folly and madness I 
 thought that I could not live any longer without her. I 
 grew bolde r how it was that we were never found out I 
 can not imagine. I became afraid lest Lady Nell should 
 mention our meetings, though I always gave it the ap- 
 pearance of an accident. She never did mention it in any 
 way, although we did not ask her to keep it secret her 
 own keen, kind, childish instinct seemed to teach her 
 that it would be better untold. 
 
 " I asked her to find time to meet me when the little 
 Lady Nell had gone to bed. I had always been accus- 
 tomed to go out into the grounds with my cigar the 
 duchess never tolerated smoking except in the smoking- 
 room so we fell into the habit of meeting every evening. 
 There was a pretty, quaint old summer-house in the park, 
 where no one ever came, and we spent an hour or two 
 there every evening. 
 
 " I am growing older now, and I have learned much of 
 the world since then; but a breath of the old sweetness 
 comes over me as I remember those sweet hours. I won- 
 der if love is as sweet to every one as it was to me; I 
 wonder if any man so thoroughly worshipped a woman 
 as I worshipped her. To be near her, to touch a fold 
 of her dress, to look into her blue eyes, to touch her 
 fragrant hair, to steal a flower that she had worn! ah, 
 well, I can not talk of it. It was the mad Castlemayne 
 that dooms the lover or loved to misery ; it was a sum- 
 mer idyl, for the beautiful summer months passed on, 
 and to us they were nothing but a vision of golden 
 sunlight and fragrant flowers. 
 
 " Ah, Ruskyn, my heart is seared and old ; but if I 
 ould tell you how I loved her or how fair and sweet sh 
 herself was I She had the most simple, innocent heirV
 
 58 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 she was in many things quite as much a child as Lady 
 Nell the sweetest, most transparent soul, you could read 
 her every thought ; she always reminded me of one of 
 those white lilies with a golden heart. At first she was 
 very shy with me, and listened without speaking much ; 
 but after a time she was bright and blithe, and talked to 
 me as the other half of her own soul, and then she learned 
 to love me. 
 
 "Perhaps she loved me all the more that she had no one 
 else to love ; no parents, no kith or kin ; she seemed to 
 be quite alone in the world. Her mother, in dying had 
 left a sum of money for her to be educated, and it was 
 from this same school my mother had taken her ; she was 
 so lonely, so lovely, so innocent, so tender, a man must 
 have been a brute or a fiend who could have beeii unkind 
 to her. 
 
 " They come back to me now and I could weep tears of 
 blood over them those happy evening hours when the 
 sunlight was dying in the western skies, and the birds 
 singing their vesper hymn, when my beautiful child-love 
 Bat beside me, telling me, in her own sweet fashion, how 
 she loved me. Life has held brilliant hours for me, but 
 none so happy as those not one. 
 
 " We speculated sometimes, in an idle fashion, what we 
 should do if the duchess found out our love secret. It 
 was strange that we never seemed to dread my father; 
 but happy as we were in our love, the thought of the 
 duchess finding us out made both our faces grow pale, 
 and our hearts beat; we never decided what we should 
 do, but looked upon it as a remote and dreadful possi- 
 bility. I think we were too happy in our love ever to 
 think much of the future, or that we were doing wrong, 
 or anything of the kind; the glamour of love's young 
 dream was full upon us; I am quite certain th:it she would 
 have died a hundred times over rather than have parted 
 from me, and I would have done the same." 
 
 " So on through the beautiful summer. How we 
 escaped detection is to me a miracle, for when the dew 
 lay on the grass, and the flowers were waking up, I went 
 out to meet her, I could not bear to be away from her; 
 when prudence compelled me to leave her, I counted the 
 hours and the minutes until I should see her again. 
 
 "Mr father often rallied me, and said that 1 mu
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 59 
 
 ft Bharp attack of love fever, but my mother, I remember, 
 did not see any change. Yet all this time I lived only for 
 her and in my love for her; at first we had been quite 
 content to know that we loved each other, but after a time 
 other thoughts crept in. We speculated what we should 
 do if I were sent away from home." 
 
 " I could not live without you, Naomi/' I said. 
 
 " Nor I," she whispered," without you." 
 
 "That seemed to be quite settled; we could not exist 
 without each other, nor, so far as I remember, did we ever 
 think of trying. Another thing was what we should do 
 when Lady Nell was too old for Naomi to teach; we could 
 not see or believe in or imagine a time when w r e could live 
 without seeing each other that was no longer possible. 
 I had until then only spoken to her of love. I remember, 
 ah, my beautiful girlish love, the first time I spoke to her 
 of marriage ; in her innocence and simplicity I do not be- 
 lieve she had thought of it. She had been so happy in the 
 present, she had not looked to the future at all. I asked 
 her one day if she would be my wife. 
 
 "You know, my darling, that the end of love is mar- 
 riage !" I said. 
 
 "I remember the surprised, beautiful, innocent face 
 raised to mine. 
 
 "'Marriage!' she said; 'oh, Bertrand, we must not 
 think of that for many years, it it is only old people I 
 mean people more than twenty years of age who get 
 married.' 
 
 " How I laughed at her sweet simplicity ! She had the 
 greatest dread of the word marriage. 
 
 " 'But you must be married,' I said, ' and yours will be 
 the youngest, fairest head that orange-blossoms have ever 
 crowned. You will be Lady St. Albans or there will never 
 be one. 
 
 " ' But what will the duchess say ?' she said ; ' she expects 
 you to marry a princess royal. I have heard them say 
 that there is no one on earth that she thinks good enough 
 for you. "What would she say to me ?' 
 
 " And for the first time since the glamour of that fierce 
 mad iove fell on me, I realized my true position, and how 
 more than hopeless it was to expect that my mother could 
 ever be induced to look upon such a marriage. 
 
 "I remember how the conviction struck me to the
 
 60 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 quick, and gave me the first real pain I had ever known ia 
 my life." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A SECRET MARRIAGE. 
 
 " I THINK for some few days after that conversation we 
 were neither of us quite so happy. The certainty grew 
 upon me that if ever the least inkling of our love were 
 known we should be parted at once, and probably so effec- 
 tually that it would be forever. It was not to be endured. 
 We talked about it, we spent long hours in deciding how 
 to meet such an emergency. Our fate was to be to us the 
 tragedy of the universe. There was nothing else like it. 
 Youth and love are sometimes sweetest egotism. 
 
 "An idea occured to me one day, and it was this: why 
 not make everything right and secure by marrying her 
 now. The marriage could be kept a profound secret, as 
 so many others had been. We could be very happy. No one 
 would be hurt or injured, and when we thought everything 
 propitious, it could be broken to the duke and duchess. 
 
 " Foolish, boyish, hot-headed, blinded by the mad force 
 of my own passion, it seemed to me the most desirable 
 thing in the world. If we were once safely married, the 
 greatest dread, that of being parted, would be removed from 
 us forever. We talked it over by the hour, my beautiful 
 girlish love and I; she had but one answer to all my 
 vehement passionate prayers, one answer, and it was this: 
 
 " ' It would not be right to keep such a thing from your 
 parents, and they would be sure to find it out.' 
 
 " That was her invariable fear and answer. You can 
 imagine how a hot-headed, impetuous young lover made 
 light of such an argument. Once married we were quite 
 safe we could not be parted. Was not that true ? My 
 girlish, beautiful love could never deny it. Why should 
 we not be happy together ? I continued : why should we 
 wait to be married until we were old, and the brightness 
 of life all vanished why not be married now ? I remem- 
 ber the sweet, wondering face raised to mine. 
 
 " ' Married now, Bertrand how awful ! ' she said. 
 
 "But I told her how delightful would be life; I made 
 the most beautiful future for her. The picture Claude 
 Memotte made was nothing to mine. I sketched for her 
 the pretty little villa that should be the brightest and sun-
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 61 
 
 aiest home in the wide world; there was to be a cheerful, 
 beautiful green lawn, a cedar-tree, a river near gardens 
 filled with choicest flowers. The villa was to be fitted 
 with all needful luxury worthy of Lady St. Albans, the 
 future Duchess of Castlemayne. I remember that she 
 held up her sweet, white hands in utter dismay. 
 
 " ' A duchess Duchess of Castlemayne ! Oh, Bertrand, 
 you know that I could never be that. I was not born to 
 be a duchess. I should not know how.' 
 
 " I laughed at her answer. 
 
 " ' See,' she said to me, ' how your mother the duchess, 
 sweeps in and out of the rooms how natural it seems to 
 her to wear diamonds and command everybody. She is 
 like a queen. I could never be like she is/ 
 
 " ' You never know what you can be until you try,' I 
 said, ' and I think that you would make the most graceful 
 duchess hi the wide world. Indeed I will have no other 
 duchess but you, Naomi.' 
 
 " ' It does not seem in the fitness of things,' she replied, 
 ' not at all. I am only a poor governess. My father and 
 mother were not rich people. I belong to no particular 
 family, and it does not seem right that I should be a duch- 
 ess.' 
 
 " ' Do you not think it right that I should enjoy my lif e 
 in my own position, and have the one I love best always 
 by my side ?' I asked her. 
 
 " 'Yes, that I do/ she replied; 'most certainly.' 
 
 " ' Then you must do what I wish let us be married. 
 Once married, I care for nothing, because nothing can part 
 us; everything will come right in time.' 
 
 " She made one answer that struck me very much. 
 
 " 'Bertrand,' she said, one evening, when I was press- 
 ing her to consent to a private marriage, ' tell me one 
 thing. If you have not the courage to tell your parents 
 now that you love me, how will you find that courage in 
 the years to come?' 
 
 " It was a, conclusive objection, if I could have baft be- 
 lieved so. I answered that if I told them now, they could 
 prevent the marriage, but if I told them afterward they 
 could not part us. 
 
 " Still I must say that she never seemed quite to share 
 iuy enthusiasm. As is the nature of man, the more shyly 
 coyly she determined upon not being married, th/>
 
 62 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 more resolute I became that she should. We talked, we 
 quarreled, we parted, with kisses and tears. We made 
 up our quarrels. I threatened time after time to kill my- 
 self ; I went for days without feod until my mother grew 
 alarmed. I played upon her feelings, in every kind of 
 way ; I prayed, persuaded, importuned and pleaded, un- 
 til at last I won her consent. 
 
 " She laid her fair, girlish arms round my neck, and 
 said she would marry me when I pleased and where I 
 pleased. She took my hand I remember how the action 
 struck me and she laid it on her head, in token of low- 
 liest submission ; and I think that no man was ever so 
 madly, blindly, foolishly happy. 
 
 " Once having won her consent, I was not long in ar- 
 ranging for the rest of the affair. I told my mother that 
 I was going up to town for a few weeks, and might 
 probably go to Scotland. I made every arrangement for 
 the marriage, and Naomi easily managed to come to town 
 for a few days ; she asked my mother's permission and it 
 was readily accorded. She joined me in town, and we 
 were married by special license in the old Church of St. 
 Mary's, on Quay, Southwark. 
 
 " You will find the register there all duly signed. I set 
 myself to work that there should be no flaw in the mar- 
 riage, but that it should be as legal as possible my 
 beautiful Naomi should never have any stigma attached 
 to her name you can see the entry there any time you 
 like ' Bertrand St. Albans and Naomi Wynter.' I have 
 been to look at it several times. We went down to the 
 sea-side for two days. I dare not either think of them or 
 apeak of them ; the tears rise hotly to my eves when I do 
 so. Two such days, and my beautiful girl-wife was as 
 happy as as they say the angels are. It was not much, 
 Buskyn, was it ? two days out of a life, and all the rest of 
 the life to suffer for it not much. 
 
 "I am so overwhelmed and astonished," said John Rus- 
 kyn, " that I can not find words." 
 
 " And I am afraid you will be more astonished still," 
 said the duke. " I am quite sure of one thing that when 
 you have heard all I have to tell you, you will have lost 
 much, if not all, of your respect for the last of the Caetla-
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 63 
 
 " That is impossible, your grace," said the lawyer, and 
 the duke continued his story. 
 
 " Two short days out of a life-time, and then we came 
 back from our dream-land of bliss to stern reality. We 
 had to part and travel separately we dare not be seen 
 together ; that was the first great break in our happiness, 
 and strange to say, that little circumstance of being com- 
 pelled to part brought to my mind more forcibly than 
 anything else the real consequence of my marriage. 
 
 "Until my beautiful young wife had left me she was 
 to return first I had never realized the gravity of what I 
 had done; when I stood on the platform of the station 
 and realized that my wife had gone to my home, I began 
 to see dimly. We had made all our plans and arrange- 
 ments. We were to meet as usual in the old summer- 
 house, and for some months Naomi would remain at Rood 
 Castle. Then she was to give notice, under some pretext 
 or another, either that she preferred going abroad or 
 wanted to travel any excuse that presented itself to us. 
 I was to find the villa and to furnish it, make a beautiful 
 home for her, and she would live there until I saw my 
 way clear to make my marriage known. When that 
 would be I did not know. Strange to say and at the 
 same time I am ashamed to say it no sooner was my 
 marriage an accomplished fact, than a thousand fears and 
 doubts beset me. 
 
 " I could see no way out of a labyrinth of difficulties 
 and danger ; my own uneasy conscience told me that I 
 had done a foolish and almost wicked thing. Probably 
 had I remained with my young wife, the witchery of her 
 beauty and the glamour of love would have kept my 
 conscience sleeping. Awake! it cried loudly. I knew 
 that I had done cruel wrong the only son of a grand old 
 race, I ought to have consulted the feelings of my parents. 
 I knew that if ever they knew or suspected my marriage, 
 it would be a death-blow to them. My stately mother's 
 ptide, and my father's fond affection, would be stricken 
 dead by the blow. Still I did not love my girl-wife one 
 whit the less ; but the serious step of marriage had 
 brought cool reason and calmness into my life again. I 
 felt like a man who had been mad, and who had suddenly 
 return ftd to his senses ; yet, as I said, I did not love my 
 aweet young wife one whit less.
 
 4 TEX DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " I followed her Lome in two days, and once more with 
 her my conscience slept and my heart was glad. Ah, 
 that loving welcome that tender, passionate welcome. 
 I asked myself, as the tender arms stole round my neck 
 and the fair face nestled on my heart, was any bliss in the 
 world to be compared to this ? 
 
 "It happened that the evening I reached home was 
 wet; there was a violent thunder-storm, and I was at my 
 wit's end to know how I should see my beautiful, loving 
 wife. It was quite impossible for her to go out-of-doors, 
 but I thought she might venture to my study my rooms 
 were in the queen's wing, hers and Lady Nell's in the 
 western wing to reach mine she had to cross the picture- 
 gallery, and I knew that at midnight there would never 
 be anyone there; the servants would all be in their part 
 of the establishment, the duchess in hers, and if my dar- 
 ling had courage to cross the gallery I should be there to 
 meet her; but to my chagrin and annoyance she wrote a 
 little note to me saying that she dare not do it; she would 
 be afraid, she would dread meeting my mother, and it 
 would be much better for her not to run the risk so 
 much better. 
 
 " Her instincts were always right. If I had had the 
 sense to attend to them. What do you imagine I did ? I 
 wrote back to remind her that the duty of a wife was obe- 
 dience to her husband, and by that obedience I com- 
 manded her to come. She would have walked over red^ 
 hot plow-shares to do my bidding. She came ah, me, I 
 shall never forget her standing at the door of my study 
 all pale with fear and trembling. 
 
 "I drew her inside and closed the door; her heart was 
 beating madly with fright. I made her sit down and 
 take some wine, and when she recovered siie began in hei 
 simple, child-like fashion to admire my room, my pictures, 
 my pipes, bronzes, books. 
 
 " ' We shall never have a room as beautiful as this in 
 the villa/ she said. 
 
 " ' There is no room in Rood Castle one half so beau* 
 tiful as the room in the villa which will hold you,' I 
 cried. 
 
 " Ah, Buskyn, I never enter that study now but I see 
 her there ; the tall, slender, girlish figure in the dark 
 dress ; the fair face and bright head rising from the
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 66 
 
 white neck, like a flower from its stem. I see the beau- 
 tiful figure going slowly round the room, touching with 
 delicate, taper fingers the different little things that at- 
 tracted her notice ; talking to me in her sweet artless 
 fashion ; every now and then stopping to consider what 
 she could do if any one should come in, and shuddering 
 with fear at the thought. 
 
 "I think of it, and my heart is like stone, my eyes 
 would shed tears of blood. I cry to Heaven to spare me, 
 to the earth to hide me, but I cry in vain." 
 
 CHAPTEB V. 
 
 A SLIGHTED WOMAH. 
 
 "We went on happily enough and safely for some 
 Creeks," said the duke; "the great mistake that we made 
 was that we repeated the visit to my study too often. It 
 'was such an easy way of seeing her; it presented no diffi- 
 culties; we could talk at our ease, and remain undisturbed 
 together. Meeting in that fashion presented far less dif- 
 ficulties than meeting out-of-doors. So we became impru- 
 dent, and every night my beautiful girl-wife found her 
 way through the long corridor, and across the picture 
 gallery to me. Every evening I waited there for her, and 
 drew her in my room, loving her each day better than 
 before. 
 
 "Yet, strange to say, the deeper grew my lo^e, the 
 deeper grew my dread and fear of being found out. I 
 began to grow more cautious. I can not tell what I 
 thought my mother had power to do, but I must have had 
 A vague and terrible idea of her influence. I had always 
 lived more or less in dread of her, and certainly felt great 
 awe of her. I can not tell how it was I am quite sure 
 that I have never been a coward by nature; I have had as 
 much fire, spirit, and energy as any one of my race, but at 
 that time of my life it most certainly ceased to animate me. 
 
 " One evening, I remember, we had a great fright j 
 Naomi was sitting in my lounging-chair, and I was lean- 
 ing over her, talking, when we heard the sound of foot- 
 steps drawing nearer and nearer; some one touched the 
 handle of ray door, and my mother's voice said: 
 
 " ' Bertrand, are you here ? I want you.' 
 
 " We both stood still as death under the shock of the
 
 6 THE DTJKE'S SECRET. 
 
 Surprise. I was afraid she would cry out, or faint, but 
 Btood, poor child, with her hand clinging to me, almost 
 breathless, almost dead. The duchess remained for half 
 a minute, then went to my bedroom door, that she opened 
 and entered. Evidently something attracted her attention 
 there, for she entered the room and remained there. 
 
 " ' This is our only chance,' I whispered. ' You must go 
 quietly, but quick as lightning, down the corridor; and I 
 will go to my mother and engage her attention.' 
 
 " All the love of my heart went into the kiss I gave her. 
 
 " Then with the speed of a lapwing she fled down the 
 corridor, and I went into my room. The duchess was 
 merely looking at a photograph I had recently purchased. 
 
 " ' How beautiful that is, Bertrand,' said my mother, 
 calmly, little dreaming how my heart was beating with 
 tumult and fear, little knowing how my ears were strained 
 to catch the last echo of those flying footsteps ; it 
 vanished, and then I could turn to my mother with a 
 smiling face, and ask her to what I was indebted for the 
 great honor of a visit at that time of night. It was 
 merely some little commission that she wanted from the 
 neighboring town of Lanceham. She was in an un- 
 usually amiable frame of mind, kissed me, and told me 
 not to sit up late reading. We went down the corridor 
 together; she stood for one minute against my study 
 door. 
 
 "'Do you keep this room locked,' she said, carelessly; 
 and I answered : 
 
 " ' Yes, when I have not time to put my papers away.' 
 
 She laughed again as she said : 
 
 " ' They can not be of any vital consequence, Bertrand/ 
 
 " She went on to her room, and the first thing I saw 
 lying on the ground was a pretty little slipper, with a 
 tiny blue rosette. I thought to myself what 'would have 
 happened had my mother entered and found it there. 
 The little incident made me very careful, and I gave my 
 darling child-wife much offence by it. I smile and sigh 
 as I tell you, that I slept with the shoe under my pillow 
 all night. For some days afterward I did not meefc her 
 out-of-doors, and when in the evening I saw he?, the 
 beautiful blue eyes would fill with tears. 
 
 "'Are you learning to love me less, Bertrand '?" she 
 would say, and my answer was always:
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. I 1 ? 
 
 " 'No; but a thousand times more.' 
 
 " ' Why are you so much more careful ? You never 
 speak to me when you meet me,' she would say. ' How is 
 it?' 
 
 " ' Because the more I love yo*o, the more I dread any- 
 thing that could part us.' 
 
 " I began to think that I must soon keep my promise, 
 and look out for a suitable villa for my young wife. I 
 could always get away from home when I liked, and I be- 
 gan to think it would be much happier and less irksome 
 to be able to spend three or four days with her at a time, 
 than to be where I saw her every day, yet was never one 
 moment at ease with her. It would be much better, I 
 decided, and we should run less risk of discovery. 
 
 " I determined to mention it to her, to ask her where 
 she would like to go. She had said once : * To the banks 
 of the Thames' and that would have suited me well ; I 
 could see her very much oftener if she lived somesvhere 
 near town than if she lived further away. I talked to her 
 about it and she was delighted. ' It will have its pleasures 
 and its pains, Bertrand,' she said. ' Now I enjoy living at 
 Kood Castle ; because you are here, it seems like heaven 
 to me. I say to myself that I am within hearing of the 
 same sounds, that at times I am near you; I see you cross 
 the gardens and the parks, I hear the sound of your 
 horse's feet, sometimes you sing or you whistle as you go 
 down the hall and then my heart goes out to you. Then 
 there are the pains ; I see you and you can not speak to 
 me ; I see others talking to you, and I your own wife 
 can not get near you nor dare utter a word or even look 
 at your face.' 
 
 " ' It is an equal pain to me,' I replied. ' I am sure we 
 shall be much happier in a home of our own.' 
 
 " ' And when ? ' she asked me, with unlimited trust and 
 confidence on her child-like face, ' when shall you tell the 
 duke and duchess about our marriage ? ' I told her that 
 I did not know, for that as I loved her more, I grew more 
 alarmed at having to part from her. 
 
 " ' But/ she said, 'you told me that when we were mar- 
 ried nothing on earth could part us.' 
 
 " ' Nor can it,' I replied. 'Nor shall it but I alwaya 
 have a dread of my mother's influence.' 
 
 " I went up to London and found just wh^ I wanted
 
 68 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 on the banks of the river a beautiful, poetical looking 
 villa, with large, light rooms full of sunshine and glorioug 
 views from all the windows, a perfect bower of trees, the 
 gardens full of flower, the prettiest of fountains, a good 
 conservatory everything most delightful and charming. 
 I at once decided upon having it. It was called River- 
 view, and I knew that my darling would be delighted with 
 it. I was full of spirits and high glee as I traveled home 
 again; I busied myself in thinking how she should have 
 the delight of furnishing it for herself and to suit her own 
 taste. I could imagine the blue eyes filled with delight, 
 the beautiful face full of love and happiness; my whole 
 heart went out to her. I longed to see her, to tell her all 
 my plans for our happiness. No train had surely ever 
 gone so slowly as this. 
 
 " As I traveled home I remember, too, that I said to 
 myself there was no happiness on earth equal to that of 
 having a beautiful, loving wife. I decided in my own 
 mind that neither fortune, title, position, nor any worldly 
 honors could be put into comparison with the one great 
 gift of a true heart. I reached Rood Castle at the close 
 of a bright day, and the very sight of the grand old 
 towers rising in the distance stirred my heart with an 
 emotion I had never felt before. There dwelt ruy wife 
 my beautiful girl- wife and in a few hours I should 
 clasp her to my heart while I told her all about her new 
 and beautiful home. 
 
 " It seemed to me that midnight would never come, 
 that the time would never pass, that I should never kiss 
 my young wife's face, or hear her voice again. I was 
 consumed with impatience. 
 
 " My mother thought I was ill, and would insist on be- 
 ing kind to me ; my father wanted to know all the news 
 from town if I had met any one, what they were talking 
 about at the clubs until, well, I saw the only thing was 
 to assume a perfectly calm and quiet demeanor. When 
 I did that they ceased talking, and I was soon at liberty 
 to go to my study. I had pleased myself in purchasing 
 so many pretty little things for her. I dare not bring 
 anything either expensive or elaborate, but I had brought 
 her everything good, and it delighted me so to 
 spread out all these presents on the table cuffs and 
 sollars of real costly lace, handkerchiefs fine as finest
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 69 
 
 lace, fans, parasols everything quiet and simple, such as 
 would not be out of keeping with her position as mistress 
 of Riverview. Then I listened, waiting at the door for 
 her. I must break my narrative just to tell you that my 
 mother had a waiting maid, a Frenchwoman, Sidonie by 
 name, who was always quite willing to give me a smile, 
 and gave me to understand, in one or two little ways, 
 that she was not a prude. 
 
 " I am no coxcomb, no flirt I do not mean to say that 
 the Frenchwoman was in love with me, but she liked me 
 sufficiently to be jealous and watchful. This night as I 
 stood there watching for Naomi, to my great astonish- 
 ment Sidonie came to the door of my study. True, my 
 mother had sent her to ask me a simple question; I re^ 
 membei now that it was the loan of a new book that I 
 had brought from London. I know that if she entered 
 the room she would see all that I had bought for my dar- 
 ling; the only plan was to shut the door. She looked as 
 though she were not altogether disinclined for a little bad- 
 inage, but my great anxiety was to get rid of her. What il 
 Naomi should cross the picture-galley while she was 
 there ? I closed the door, leaving her standing outside, 
 hastily found the book, and took it to her. She looked 
 at me, and I felt quite sure that I read suspicion in her 
 face; there was a cruel, subtle flash of light in her dark 
 eyes a satirical, demure smile on her lips. 
 
 " ' I thank you, my lord,' said she; ' I am sorry to have 
 disturbed you. Her grace wished me sometime since to 
 fetch the book, but I had forgotten it.' 
 
 " I had closed the door and was standing outside it, lest 
 even through the least opening she should see what was 
 inside. She gave a peculiar look at the closed door, and 
 with a low courtesy went away. I was thankful to see her 
 gone before Naomi crossed the picture-gallery, but I had 
 a curious kind of instinct that it was a misfortune that 
 henceforth she would be my enemy. A woman of that 
 class, I believe most honestly, never forgives a man who 
 slights or refuses the advances she makes. 
 
 " A few minutes later on, I saw the shining of the taper 
 my darling held; it was but just in time Sidonie had but 
 just gone, and then I hastened to meet her. One such 
 moment atoned for all. I can remember the rapture of 
 delight as I kissed the sweet, upturned face, and heard
 
 70 THE DTTKP'S SECRET. 
 
 her say how she had longed to see me again. Then t 
 showed her all my pretty presents, and I shall never for- 
 get her innocent pleasure and delight she could not be- 
 lieve all these were hers. 
 
 " ' They are too good for me, Bertrand,' she would say, 
 ' I never had anything like them in my life.' 
 
 " * You forget, my dear,' I said, * that nothing could be 
 good enough for you. You are Lady St. Albaus, and 
 worthy of the most costly gifts a king could offer you.' 
 
 " That which pleased her most was a small silver chain, 
 with a silver locket containing my portrait. I would fain 
 have bought it for her of gold and diamonds, but that 
 would have attracted attention ; the plain pretty silver 
 was what thousands of girls in her position wore. I 
 clasped it round her snow-white neck, and she kissed it 
 with such delight. I persuaded her to try on all the pretty 
 things I had bought for her, but nothing was like the 
 locket. 
 
 " ' That is just what I have longed for,' she said, ' now 
 I can see your face whenever I will; if you had brought 
 me home a sea of pearls, it would not have pleased me as 
 this does.' 
 
 "So we spent the happiest hours of our lives together. 
 She was delighted about the villa. I remember that as 
 she bade me good-night she held a white handkerchief in 
 her hand. 
 
 " ' I will come to-morrow evening, Bertrand,' she said, 
 'and hear all about Riverview.' 
 
 "Ah, Heaven ! if I could have foreseen what the morrow 
 would bring 1 " 
 i 
 
 CHAPTER YL 
 
 TH DISCOVERY. 
 
 " THKBB is one thing that I must tell you, because it 
 explains much of what follows. I suppose that all lovers 
 are more or less foolish. In fact, it is part and parcel of 
 the happiest, but least wise portions of one's life. To be 
 foolish, then, is to be natural, and our folly consisted in 
 always making and repeating vows now, to love each 
 other, to be faithful to each other, to love each other until 
 after death and beyond the grave, and one evening a 
 romantic notion of love and secrecy came over me. I
 
 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 71 
 
 wanted to feel sure nothing would ever make Naomi break 
 her vow of silence to me. It was one of those beautiful, 
 pure evenings when the very breath of the woods was 
 sweet as heaven itself. I had bought her a beautiful 
 little sapphire ring ; it shone on her white hand that 
 night, but I never saw it there again. 
 
 " ' Sapphire means truth and constancy,' I said to her, 
 fcs I slipped it on the beautiful hand ; ' I want to test 
 your truth and constancy to me ; I want you take an 
 oath.' 
 
 " ' There can be no test I cannot stand,' she said, and I 
 believed her. It was all lover's nonsense, you know, 
 Ruskyn ; I could not help it. It was more sweet and 
 toore foolish than anything I have ever done since. 
 
 " ' I want you,' I said, ' to take a solemn oath to me that 
 aothing shall induce you ever to reveal the secret of our 
 taarriage, and I place the sapphire ring, the seal of truth, 
 bn your finger, to keep in pledge of your vow.' 
 
 " ' I will do as you wish,' she said; ' I swear to you most 
 Solemnly, in the presence of Heaven, that I will never, 
 under any circumstances whatever, break the silence I 
 have sworn, unless I have your wish and permission.' 
 
 " ' Swear to me, Naomi, that neither torture nor death 
 will ever make you break it.' 
 
 " ' I swear ! ' she said. But yet I was not satisfied. 
 
 " ' Suppose,' I said, 'that it were possible for any com- 
 bination of circumstances to happen by which we were 
 suspected, would you tell the secret of our love and mar- 
 riage even to save yourself from suspicion ? ' 
 
 "She was quite silent for a few minutes; then she said: 
 
 "'No; I would sacrifice even my fair name, if it 
 pleased you that I should keep my secret a secret still.' 
 
 " ' You would really do that, Naomi ? ' I said ' you 
 love me enough for that ? You would sacrifice your fair 
 name rather than tell that which I wish you to conceal ? ' 
 
 " ' You know that I would, Bertrand, a thousand times 
 over ! ' she replied; and, though I never anticipated it, the 
 time came when she stood the test more nobly and gen- 
 erously than any other woman could have done. 
 
 " I have often wondered since if the fatal catastrophe 
 which happened was caused by the jealous watchfulness 
 4tnd scrutiny of Sidonie, or whether it was carelessness 03
 
 72 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 the part of my girl- wife. I have never known whether it 
 was one or both of these causes. 
 
 "The next night when Naomi came, I thought she 
 looked very lovely ; round her white neck and arms she 
 wore some of the lace I had brought her, and I remem- 
 ber ah ! so well that she wore, too, a beautiful breast- 
 knot of richly tinted mauve ribbon. I complimented her 
 on looking so well, little dreaming where I should see 
 that breast-knot again. 
 
 " We talked a long time that evening about the villa, 
 and the home which was to be hers, little dreaming that 
 we should never talk there again. I remember particu- 
 larly that among other things she said I did not look as 
 well as usual, and I answered that I was tired. Laugh- 
 ingly she said that was a hint for her to go, adding and 
 the words came home to me afterward like a sharp sword 
 that it was her own fault she was there that evening. 
 
 "You did not ask me," she said ; 'I have volunteered 
 to come.' And I replied how dearly I wished she sat in 
 my room all day long. 
 
 " You will see afterward why I mention this. She was 
 with me more than two hours that evening, and I remem- 
 ber feeling that I could never part from her that I must 
 hold her in my arms there until I died ; I could not let 
 her go. I saw that she grew nervous as it grew later, 
 and I said : 
 
 " ' You are growing tired of me, Naomi.' 
 
 " * Indeed, I am not, Bertrand, ; I could never tire of 
 you. I am just a little nervous about getting back again.' 
 
 " ' Why should you be that?' I asked. ' You never have 
 been nervous.' 
 
 " She laughed, my sweet, simple darling. Ah ! though 
 it is so long since, I can not tell you without tears. She 
 laughed, and told me that she had dreamed so often, 
 as she was making her way back, she met a tall female 
 figure shrouded in black, that at last she had grown 
 nervous and afraid to go back. 
 
 " * It is nothing but a dream, Naomi,' I paid ; ' and 
 what is a dream ? ' 
 
 " I remember being so struck by her answer. 
 
 " ' A dream,' she replied, ' is the shadow of fire.' 
 
 "I remember how we stood together, looking acrosa 
 the picture-gallery, where the dead and gone Castlemajnes
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 73 
 
 looked at us from the walls how I held her in my arms, 
 feeling that I could not let her go. 
 
 " ' You will remember, then/ I said, ' that Rirerview 
 is taken. You must tell my mother, in the course of a 
 few days, that you intend to leave. And now good-night, 
 my darling,' I said. 
 
 " Ah, Heaven, it was not only good-night, but good-bye. 
 
 " I watched her as she crossed the long gallery, little 
 dreaming that I should watch her so no more. She car- 
 ried a candle in her hand, and the light fell on her most 
 beautiful young face, and I remember that she looked 
 pale, and that the brilliance of it was dimmed; and then 
 I went to the rest that was mine for the last time that 
 night for many years to come." 
 
 The duke paused, and the lawyer saw great drops oi 
 perspiration standing on his face. 
 
 " I could sooner almost die, Kuskyn, than tell you the 
 rest," he said. " I loathe myself; I hate myself when I 
 think of it. I can not believe that I did it. I know that 
 if I had to judge another for the same conduct, I should 
 put him down as the most contemptible coward that ever 
 lived. I can not explain. I do not even know why I did 
 as I did." 
 
 He stopped again, and again the lawyer saw him wipe 
 the great drops of perspiration from his brow. Again he 
 paced with hurried footsteps the little room. 
 
 " I can hardly bring myself to tell it," he said. " I feel 
 as though the finger of shame was pointing at me, and 
 her breath flashing hot on my face. I must tell you, and 
 you must despise me as you will. 
 
 " That morning I was engaged in some pursuit of my 
 own, when my mother sent for me to her boudoir. Now, 
 to those who knew the duchess, a summons to her boudoir is 
 not a very pleasant thing; it meant mischief always in one 
 shape or another. The duke dreaded it, and I disliked it. 
 The riot act was always read to us there. The moment 
 I heard where I was wanted, my heart misgave me; but I 
 consoled myself by saying that of the only secret I had in 
 the world she could not possibly know anything as for 
 anything else it could not matter. 
 
 "I did not hurry, but the laws of the Medes and Per- 
 sians were as nothing compared to the wishes of the 
 Duchess of Castlemayne. I knew sooner or later I must
 
 74 THZ DUKE'S SBCIST. 
 
 go, and sooner or later I must hear what she had to say,, 
 I went, trying to make myself sure it could be noth- 
 ing of any consequence certainly nothing I need fear. 
 
 " It was strange, grown man as I was, I dreaded my 
 mother. Her least frown or angry word had a great effect 
 upon me. I do not offer that as any excuse for what I 
 did; nothing can excuse that. 
 
 " You can imagine my horror. At first when I opened 
 the door I saw only my mother, standing with an angry, 
 indignant face that startled me. Can you imagine my 
 horror when, looking a little further on, I saw my beauti- 
 ful girl- wife kneeling on the ground ? Her face all wet 
 with tears, her beautiful blue eyes all drowned and sad . 
 our eyes met. Looking further on to the table, I saw a 
 little white handkerchief and a little knot of ribbons that 
 she had worn the night before. 
 
 " In one moment I guessed what had happened. Peo* 
 pie say that when a man is drowning all the events of hia 
 life pass in review before his eyes in a few seconds. I 
 can only say for my part, that during the moment that I 
 stood looking at that knot of ribbon, the whole case came 
 before me. I saw that my mother was so angry that any 
 attempt at telling her the truth must end disastrously for 
 both of us, and that our only chance in the future was to 
 keep our secret for the present. I saw that at once ; yet 
 I might have done differently I am quite sure that I 
 could. 
 
 "Of course the first question was, had I seen these 
 things before, and could I tell how it was that they had 
 been found in my room. I shall never forget the pain that 
 it gave me not for myself, but lest we should be parted. 
 
 " I tried to laugh it off carelessly, and said I did not 
 know. My mother pressed the question home. I saw 
 my darling's face growing whiter and whiter, and her 
 eyes had a mute appealing look that broke my heart in 
 twain. I said to myself that I must steel my heart 
 against it, that discovery meant death by separation to 
 both of us. What my proud mother could do I did not 
 know, but I felt sure that she would part us. 
 
 "It was not all cowardice that made me do as I did; if 
 by braving my mother's anger I could have made sure of 
 my young wife, I would have braved it, but I knew that 
 her anger meant separation there was no doubt of it I
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. Tfi 
 
 tried to answer her carelessly, until she turned from me 
 with impatient contempt, and said I was screening a love- 
 sick girl. Have you ever heard a proud, angry woman 
 scold ? It is well for you if you have not. 
 
 "My mother's anger reached a great length; she said 
 cruel, shameful things to Naomi. Ah, Heaven, my sweet, 
 patient, innocent darling! My mother's wrath waxed 
 higher. I must tell you that horrible Frenchwoman had 
 found Naomi's handkerchief in my room, and then had 
 set herself to watch; she had seen Naomi go to my room 
 and had seen her come out again, so there was no deny- 
 ing the evidence against us, none in the world ; nor 
 could we explain it. 
 
 " "When my mother said that she was shameless, and 
 that she had forfeited her character, my darling looked 
 up at me ; she said nothing for some time, but when the 
 proud, cruel words stung her to the heart she folded her 
 hands like one praying, and raised them to me : 
 
 " ' I appeal to you, Lord St. Albans,' she said. That 
 was all there were no entreaties, no prayers those 
 simple words ' I appeal to you.' 
 
 " I felt them ; they flashed into the most sacred depths 
 of my soul, but I steeled my heart against them. If I 
 told all now we should be parted, and I could not bear 
 to be parted from her I could not bear it. 
 
 " I said to myself that my darling would understand 
 that she would know all would be right that she loved 
 me enough to bear all judgment and suspicion for my 
 sake, as I would have done ah, so fully, so freely, for 
 hers. I knew that in her heart she must know that to 
 tell my mother the truth would be to part us for ever and 
 ever. 
 
 " I believed that she understood it, but in the presence 
 of the duchess, my mother, I could say nothing to her 
 only say to her that all would be right hoping she would 
 understand." 
 
 CHAPTEE VIZ 
 
 A BURNING LETTEB. 
 
 " I KNOW what I ought to have done ; there can be but 
 one opinion about that. I ought then and there, in my 
 mother's presence, to have declared the truth, and owned 
 he was my wife, After the strong evidence brought
 
 75 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 against her, it was the only thing to be done; it was the 
 only thing that could clear her and vindicate her charac- 
 ter. But will you believe that I was mean enough to feei 
 a certain pride in the beautiful and unselfish affection she 
 showed for me ? I saw that she would suffer anything 
 loss of fair name, of character, of honor, ay, even of life 
 rather than betray me or break the vow she had made. I 
 read her faith and resolve her generous constancy in the 
 look of her eyes in the light that shone in her face, clear, 
 high, noble resolve. Then I had no more fear; all would 
 be right; she would never betray me; all would go well. 
 But my mother's anger grew and increased. 
 
 " She declared that Naomi Wynter should leave the 
 Castle at once, that she should dismiss her without char- 
 acter, and that if she dared to appeal to her she would 
 denounce her everywhere as trying to allure her son. 
 I knew my face went burning hot, then deadly pale, my 
 hands trembled, my fingers clinched themselves. I 
 would have given the world to have stood forward and 
 said: 
 
 " ' Mother, this is my wife ; speak kindly to her, and 
 do her justice.' 
 
 "But the fear of losing her and the dread of my 
 mother restrained me. "What matter, after all, if she did 
 send her away, I should soon have a beautiful home for 
 her, and my wife would want no character. 
 
 " It was but a momentary ordeal ! If she were sent 
 away I would install her in her new home to-morrow 
 without fail. I would see her before she went ; one word 
 with her would make all right again ; that word I could 
 speak the moment I left my mother's presence. 
 
 " I would go to her, tell her where to go, and follow 
 her to-morrow then take her home to River view. So 
 sure was I of doing this that the interview, painful as it 
 was, seemed only to me like the prologue before the play. 
 
 "But, as I have told you, my mother became more and 
 more angry ; her words were like hot lashes that stung, 
 and after the worst of them my wife turned to me once 
 again, with upraised face and folded hands. 
 
 " 'Lord St. Albans/ she said, 'I appeal to you.' 
 
 " And once more I stood mute and dumb under her ap- 
 peal; one* more pb, Heaven, forgive m^-J said to he*
 
 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 77 
 
 with a confused and embarrassed air that it would be all 
 right, hoping she would understand. 
 
 " The look she gave me will never leave me while I live. 
 It was not reproachful, not angry, but full of sweet, wist- 
 ful wonder. One word would have set her straight be- 
 fore that proud, haughty woman who was trampling her 
 under foot; one word would have smitten my mother si- 
 lent and dumb, would have humiliated her, and com- 
 pelled her, in justice, to ask pardon of my beautiful, in- 
 nocent young wife ; that word might also have parted us 
 forever. If I left it unspoken, I could go on the morrow 
 and spend a week with her. I could heal all her wounds 
 and make her happier than she had ever been in her life 
 before. If I spoke it, my mother had the power to part 
 us, and I knew not how or when we should meet again ; 
 it was the most cowardly, but, to my thinking, the safest 
 plan. So I made no answer, and then Ah, me, shall I 
 ever forget the change that came over my wife. 
 
 "A certain sad and mournful dignity seemed to in- 
 fold her. The tears still lay on her face, like clear pearls. 
 She came forward a step or two to meet my mother, as it 
 were. I shall never again hear in any voice the sad, un- 
 uttered reproach there was in hers never again 1 
 
 " ' Madame/ she said to the duchess, ' your son is not 
 to blame. I take the whole blame upon myself. I own 
 that I went to his study last evening to talk to him, and 
 I distinctly assert that he did not ask me, that I went by 
 my own suggestion and not by his.' 
 
 " You will remember that we had laughed at her having 
 invited herself that evening instead of my having done it. 
 I wonder my mother was not struck by her calm, digni- 
 fied attitude, her graceful, girlish simplicity ; but she 
 was not. Her clear, sweet voice with its plaintive melan- 
 choly, thrilled me. 
 
 " ' I take the whole blame upcn myself, your grace,' 
 she said ; * I am in fault.' 
 
 " ' I thought so,' said my mother, in a satirical accent. 
 ' I am almost glad to know it.' 
 
 " I know what you think, Euskyn a lash across the 
 face would be the just reward of my conduct. Heaven 
 knows what bitter lashes of scorn have been curled round 
 my heart Heaven knows ! 
 
 I ought, there and then, at all risk, to have declared th
 
 7$ THE DUKE'S SECBIT. 
 
 truth; but the tragedy was fast approaching its climai 
 now. My mother told us to say farewell, for we should 
 never meet on earth again. I laughed to myself as I said 
 that to-morrow I should be with her, never to leave her 
 again. I was proud of her courage, her fidelity, and her 
 truth proud of her devotion to me, and her self-sacrifice 
 proud, ah, miserable wretch that I was ! I had better 
 have hidden myself under the earth miserable coward 1 
 to take advantage of a woman's self-sacrifice 1 
 
 "I said good-bye to her, trying to make her under- 
 stand that it would only be until to-morrow whether she 
 understood me or not I can not tell. 
 
 " Then my mother, with more pride, hauteur, and disdain 
 than she had ever shown to me in her life before, pointed 
 to the door and said : 
 
 " 'Go !' 
 
 "I went. It did not occur to me that Naomi would be 
 sent away that very hour, yet I thought it better not to 
 lose one moment. I went to the school-room the room 
 she always used and found Lady Neil there. I sent her 
 to ask Naomi to come to me, but I know now the message 
 was never delivered to her. 
 
 " Sidonie was on guard, so that you may imagine I had 
 little chance. Then I wrote to her, and sent the letter by 
 Lady Nell, and the insolent French maid returned it, say- 
 ing that if I sent again she would appeal to the duchess. 
 
 " I went myself, but even the door of the corrider was 
 locked this time; I could not get near the room. I would 
 have gone after her to the station, but I knew that would 
 bring fresh misery upon her. I did what seemed to me 
 best I called for my valet, Gaston Leduc, the shrewdest, 
 sharpest man I know. I told him quickly to follow her, 
 and, never leave sight of her until she was settled in some 
 place or other; then to telegraph me. 
 
 " He obeyed me implicitly, but he made a great mistake. 
 She went, poor child, to Grimes's Hotel, London Bridge; 
 why she went there, for what reason or purpose, I have 
 never been able to imagine. Leduc sent me a telegram 
 from there, saying where she was; then, after skillfully 
 carrying out my idea, made the one great blunder which 
 has marred my life. Instead of remaining there until I 
 reached the hotel, thinking she was sure to remain, h 
 made a fatal mistake, and came home.
 
 ' V- THE DUKE'S SECRET. 7t 
 
 " To that oue single mistake may be attributed the 
 whole misfortune of my life; if he had rejoined her, I 
 must in the common course of things have found out 
 where she was, and have followed her. As it was, I lost 
 sight of her then, and I have never seen her since. I was 
 almost mad when I reached the hotel and found her gone 
 almost mad ! I traced her as far as the London Bridge 
 railway station, but I could not hear more of her. I 
 offered any and every kind of reward. I do not hesitate 
 to say that I have left no one thing undone to find her, 
 but quite in vain; from the time she was last seen on the 
 platform of the railway station, she seems to have van- 
 ished entirely from the face of the earth. 
 
 " But and this is the most awful thing of all I have 
 heard from her once ; the letter was sent to me at Bood 
 Castle, and the post-mark was London. It was well de- 
 served, but the most cruel letter. I have brought it here 
 for you to see." 
 
 The lawyer took it from the duke's hand ; the hand- 
 writing was clear and delicate, the paper was worn at the 
 edges, as though it had often been read and reread. 
 "There was neither address, date, nor commencement ; the 
 words were cold and brief : 
 
 " When you stood silent while your mother defamed 
 me when you stood mute when I was sent like the vilest 
 of the vile, from your roof, and you never spoke the word 
 that would have cleared me, you died to me. I write 
 from no wish to renew even the faintest memory of my- 
 self in your heart. I have debated with myself long 
 enough whether I should write or not. Honor, and I 
 believe justice, say yes. I write to tell you that the wife 
 whose reputation you allow to be ruined, without raising 
 your voice to save her, is now the mother of your son and 
 heir. My son was born two months since, and in order 
 that there should never be any mistake or error about 
 the fact of his birth, I went back to lodgings near the 
 church where we were married, St. Mary's on Quay ; 
 Southwark. The same minister who married us baptised 
 my son, and you will find the baptismal register quite cor* 
 rect. I have given him one of your old family names ' Ai- 
 red, son of Bertrand St. Albans and Naomi St. Albans, net 
 "Wynter, born February 16th, 18 , baptised March 9th, 
 Witnessed by the nurse, Mary Higgs.' The clergyman
 
 80 THE DUKE'S 
 
 the Rev. Stephen Duncan, remembered our wedding, and 
 asked after you. I told him you were dead, but I did not 
 add to me. Aired lives and thrives, but I have taken 
 him where you will never see him. You, whose coward-, 
 ice ruined me, cannot complain if you have lost youi 
 child ; it is the just and righteous retribution of Heaven 
 that the man who spoke no word to save his wife should 
 never see his child." 
 
 There the letter ended, and the lawyer laid it down 
 with a perplexed face, and looked at the fire. 
 
 " It transcends all that I have heard of in my life," he 
 said. " I know of nothing like it." 
 
 " I went mad again," said the duke. " I went at once 
 to London, to Southwark, and such a search as I made 
 then has never been made before or since. I went to the 
 register of births for Southwark, and there sure enough 
 I found an entry which corresponded with the church 
 register. 
 
 "There I found the address Naomi St. Albans, 39 
 Broom Street, Soutkwark. 
 
 " I went there, but, Buskyn, I can tell you no more, my 
 brain burns ; give me some water I am ill." 
 
 And the lawyer, as he poured out a glass of choice old 
 madeira, thought that his client, his story, and altogether 
 were the queerest he had ever known. 
 
 " A romance of the peerage, indeed," he thought, " and 
 one, unless I am much mistaken, that will end badly." 
 
 CHAPTER YIH 
 MBS. STANLEY'S NARRATIVE. 
 
 "IinffiDnot tell you, Ruskyn, that the first thing I 
 did after reading the register was to drive like mad to 39 
 Broom Street, Southwark. I could not tell what my 
 feelings were like as I drove through the streets; I was 
 mad with impatience. If I might but find her there still, 
 if for one moment I might look on the beloved face, hold 
 her in my arms and look at my child ? Ah, Heaven, if I 
 could but find her there. Never a man prayed in such 
 desperation before. I would have given my life and all 
 it contained to have found her. If she were there, I 
 would kneel at her feet, and never leave her until she had 
 forgiven me; nothing should part us again; I would take
 
 r THE DUKE'S SECRET. 81 
 
 her straight away at once, with her child in her arms, to 
 my father and mother; let fate do its worst. The courage, 
 that at one time I had either lost or had not possessed > 
 was mine now. I felt that my heart was on fire, yet, when 
 the cab stopped at the number in Broom Street, I could 
 not articulate, and the woman who held open the door 
 looked at me in wonder. 
 
 " ' You are ill, sir,' she said, before I had time to tell 
 her what I wanted. 
 
 " * I am in great trouble,' I replied. ' I want to see you. 
 Are you Mrs. Stanley, the mistress of the house ? If so, 
 I wish to speak to you.' 
 
 " ' I am Mrs. Stanley,' she replied, * will you come into 
 the parlor, sir ?' 
 
 " You know what the type of the London lodging- 
 house parlor is, Ruskyn, a small, square room, with horse- 
 hair chairs, a small table, a few faded pictures. It made 
 me shudder to think that my dainty, delicate darling had 
 lived in this miserable place. 
 
 " The landlady motioned me to take a seat on the sofa, 
 and sat down herself on one of the square hard chairs. 
 
 " ' I want to ask you,' I said, ' if you have had a young 
 lady boarding here a Mrs. St. Albans ?' 
 
 " Her face brightened at the name. 
 
 " ' Yes, we had, sir,' she answered. 
 
 " My heart stood still, and my lips refused to open. I 
 wanted to ask if she were there still, but the sound of the 
 words would not come. The woman went on: 
 
 " * She was here with me for some weeks ; her little son 
 was born here, and she left me three months since.' 
 
 " ' Where did she go ?' I asked, and the answer slew 
 every hope that had risen in my heart 
 
 " ' That I can not tell you, sir, I have never seen or 
 heard anything from her since she left me. I did hear 
 her once say she would go to America.' 
 
 "'America," I repeated; 'why, what would take her 
 there?' 
 
 " 'That I do not know, sir; it was one day when we 
 were talking about the little boy. I can not at all remem- 
 ber how it came about; but I came to the conclusion that 
 she would ultimately go to America. I suppose we mean 
 the same lady, sir. She was a widow; she wore deep crapa
 
 2 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 and a widow's cap; her husband died, she told me, a week 
 after their marriage.' 
 
 " Ruskyn, I swear to you that those few calm words al- 
 most killed me. I trembled beneath them as under a vio^ 
 lent blow. 
 
 " ' She was so young, poor thing, to have been a wife 
 and a widow, that my heart ached for her. I think she 
 must have loved her husband very dearly, for I never saw 
 her that she was not in tears. I have heard her cry through 
 the longest nights; his death has been a terrible blow for 
 her, poor child. She was just like a child in every way, so 
 simple, and sweet, and loving of heart.' 
 
 " ' Tell me all about her,' I said. * I am a relation ol 
 hers, there is a great future in store for her.' 
 
 " ' I knew she was a lady, sir, although she had little 
 money, but there was a manner and distinction about her. 
 I have not much to tell you, sir; only that one morning I 
 was busy about my work, as usual, and the card, " Apart- 
 ment to Let," was in the window. My little maid came to 
 tell me that a lady wanted to see the rooms. 
 
 " ' This room, sir," she added, with an air of simple 
 pride in its possession, ' and one up-stairs. 
 
 " ' I went to her, and found a most beautiful young 
 lady; she had a lovely face, but sadder than any I had 
 ever seen before. 
 
 " ' She was dressed in deepest mourning, and while she 
 talked to me her eyes filled with tears. She told me that 
 she was a widow her husband had died a few weeks af^ 
 ter her marriage and that she had no friend or relative 
 whatever in the wide world. She expected a little child 
 very soon, and wanted to be at St. Mary's on Quay, when 
 it was born. 
 
 " ' My rooms would just suit her, she said, if sbe could 
 have them on reasonable terms. 
 
 " * I liked her at once for her fair, sorrowful young 
 face. I knew and understood what she suffered, my hus- 
 band died when we had been two years married, and I 
 never got over the loss. I let her have the two rooms 
 for as little as I could, and I made her as comfortable as 
 possible. She asked me to find her a nurse, and I did 
 BO Mary Higgs. I had known her many years, and she 
 was a good and competent nurse. 
 
 ' ' I engaged a doctor- one thought very much pf in
 
 DUKE'S SECRET. 83 
 
 this neighborhood Doctor Fildene, of No. 9 Anchor 
 Square. She was here three or four weeks before the 
 little one was born.' 
 
 " ' Tell me all about her,' I cried ; ' all that she did 
 during that time.' 
 
 "'She did little else than cry, sir; and whenever she 
 went out, it was to the old church of St. Mary's on Quay. 
 Some repairs were going on in the transept, and the door 
 was open all day. I have found her there after seven at 
 night, and I have known her spend whole hours there. 
 What she did I can not tell whether it was prayer or 
 thought, or whether she had some association with the 
 beautiful old church, which made her love it so. All, or at 
 at least quite half of her time was spent there. Very 
 often she would say to me : "I wish I might be buried 
 here ; I should like to die at St. Mary's on Quay." I told 
 her often that it was wrong for her to be so despondent. 
 She had but one answer for me, and it was that the best 
 part of her was dead. 
 
 " ' You must know, sir,' continued the woman, ' that I 
 never enter this room without thinking that I see her 
 here. She sat in that little chair by the window ; she 
 never read, she never sewed, she never took the least 
 interest in anything. I believe that if the queen and all 
 the royal court had passed through the streets she would 
 not have gone to look at her. I said often to Jane that 
 is my little servant I did not believe that if the houses 
 opposite to her were on fire, she would raise her head to 
 look at them. It was nothing but tears, tears, tears, until 
 I cried myself when I looked at her. When I told her 
 that such constant grief was most injurious to her, she 
 would shake her beautiful young head, as though to say 
 Aiere was no grief like hers. I remember one day that I 
 said to her she must cheer up, we had many of us lost 
 husbands. 
 
 " ' She had beautiful blue eyes, so fine and dark, large 
 and bright, but always so sad ; she raised them to my face 
 with a look I have never forgotten. 
 
 " ' No one ever lost a husband in the same cruel way 
 as I lost mine." 
 
 " ' I dared not ask her how or why; there was a certain 
 dignity about her which she never lost. 
 
 " ' She was gentle and amiable, but she never spoke of
 
 84 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 herself in any way, neither of her past, present, nor fu- 
 ture.' 
 
 "'But,' I said, anxiously, 'her money; how did she 
 manage over money, had she plenty ? Did she get all she 
 wanted ? Had she all that she needed ?' 
 
 " ' I hope so. I do not know what money she had or 
 anything at all about it. She paid her way and bought 
 what she wanted. I can not tell you any more than that.' 
 
 " ' Do you think she had every comfort ? ' I asked again. 
 
 " ' Sho had comforts, but no luxuries,' she answered. 
 ' When she was ill I wanted her to have wine, grapes, or 
 jelly, but she would not. I do not think she had much 
 money, poor young thing.' 
 
 " ' Can you tell n3 anything about her daily life ? ' I 
 asked, and the answer was ' No.' That, although she had 
 Jived in the same house with her, she had really seen but 
 little of hei, \pjid all that she could tell me was that the 
 greater part of her time was spent, either in the old church 
 of St. Mary's on Quay, or in her own room where she 
 wept always.' 
 
 " How my heart ached. I suffered in hearing of her suf- 
 fering far more than any pain of my own could hurt me. 
 Then I took courage and asked about the little one. The 
 good woman went into raptures ; there never had been, 
 never could be; such another baby it was absolute per- 
 fection. The only thing she had never been able to bear 
 was the sight of the mother's tears dropping on its face. 
 
 " ' I always told her,' she continued, ' that it would bring 
 bad luck to the baby when I saw her tears lying all wet on 
 its face." 
 
 " ' No such ill luck can ever come to the child as came 
 to me,' she would say. 
 
 " ' But how she loved that baby it was pitiful to see 
 her, quite pitiful. Then she took the little one to the 
 church of St. Mary's on Quay, and it was baptized there 
 a curious name, sir Aired. I never heard the name be* 
 fore ; but she said it belonged to her husband's family 
 her husband who had died in this strange, cruel fashion 
 Boon after their marriage." 
 
 " ' How long did she stay with you after the birth of 
 the child ?' I asked. 
 
 " 'Not more than six weeks,' she answered., 
 
 " What happened then ? I asked.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRE1 V S 
 
 " ' She sent for me one morning; she had just paid and 
 dismissed the nurse, and a cab was at the door. " I am 
 going, Mrs. Stanley," she said; "thank you for your care 
 and kindness to me, and good-bye." I cried and wept bit- 
 terly over her and the little one. She said no word of 
 where she was going, nor do I remember the exact date.' 
 
 " ' Should you know the cabman again, do you think? ' 
 I asked. 
 
 " 'No,' she replied, ' I did not see him; he was not sent 
 for from the stand near our house. I know that I was 
 curious enough to ask, for I should have liked to have 
 known where she went- but it was no use my trying to 
 find out, not the least in the world. The only place I 
 heard her mention was America whether she went there 
 or not I can not tell; I should say ttu f . she did. 
 
 " And that was all I could learn, Ruskyn. I rewarded 
 the woman handsomely, and left the hour* where my 
 beautiful young wife had suffered such bitter desolation. 
 I wish to verify beyond all fear of mistake the birth of my 
 son and heir, and I have more evidence than even the 
 most incredulous would have required. I went to see Dr. 
 Mldene, and he told me the boy was strong and healthy 
 and likely to live. I introduced myself to him as a near 
 relative of the lady's, and one most anxious to discover her 
 whereabouts; of course, he knew nothing. He sent for 
 the nurse, Mrs. Higgs, and from her I heard many a 
 detail of my lost darling, which brought the tears into my 
 eyes. 
 
 " I heard no more of her. If my son be living he is 
 Lord St. Albans now, and his mother is Duchess of Cas- 
 tlemayne." 
 
 " Have you any reason to believe that he is living ? " 
 asked the lawyer. 
 
 " No. I have told you the truth. I know no more I wish 
 I did. Since then, nearly twelve years since, I have 
 heard nothing of either of them nothing in the world.'* 
 
 "Twelve years is a long time," said the lawyer; "much 
 may happen in that time twelve long years. Yes, it is 
 all that how much may happen ? " 
 
 " When I think of it," said the duke, " I leei as though 
 I should go mad. When my mother talks to me it makes 
 matters worse. I in fact, I don't know what to r'o." 
 
 And the duke leaned back with a hopeless,
 
 86 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 expression of face that made the lawyer look even mort 
 grave. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "WHKBE IS HB NOW THIS SOU OF MrKB?" 
 
 FOB some minutes there was silence in the room, then 
 the duke raised his handsome, haggard face to his lawyer. 
 
 " What do you think I ought to do? "he asked; but 
 John Ruskyn had not his usual answer ready. He looked 
 perplexed and thoughtful. 
 
 "I am quite at a loss," he said; " I have never been so 
 utterly at a loss before. I must have time to decide. I 
 do not know what to say. It is the strangest case I ever 
 heard." 
 
 " Not only strange, but true," said the duke. " Here I 
 am, one of the wealthiest peers in England. I am young ; 
 I should like a wife to love me, to make me happy. I 
 should like children to grow up around me, and I have 
 neither. I am the last of a good old race, and the man 
 who must succeed me is one whom my mother hates. I 
 am married, yet I have no wife. I have a son, but no heir; 
 there has never been such a position. On one side, my 
 mother urges me every day to get married, and I can not 
 tell her the reason why I dare not even think o* it; on the 
 other side, I know myself that I am married, bvt that the 
 chances are a thousand to one I shall never see my wife 
 again, that I may never even hear of her. I shall never 
 dare to marry, thinking always that she may be living, 
 and may return. Yet I can not bear to do as I am doing 
 now, distress my mother, leaving my name and estate to a 
 man whom I cordially dislike." 
 
 " What if we try advertisements ? " said the lawyer. " If 
 anything can answer, they will, they generally do." 
 
 " I have tried them," said the duke; "during all these 
 years I have been continually advertising." 
 
 "You worded the advertisements so that she would 
 understand them ? " said the lawyer. 
 
 "I am afraid not; when I first lost her I sent there 
 myself, and I had some of the finest detective skill in 
 Englund at my disposal, but beyond tracing her to Liver- 
 pool, there was nothing done." 
 
 " Do you imagine," asked John Buskyn, '* that she if 
 y dad?"
 
 THE DUKE'S sECBE-r. 87 
 
 ' I can not tell. It seems to me, even though I "behaved 
 so badly to her, though I failed her just at the moment 
 when I should have stood her friend, yet, if she were 
 living, she would surely have sent me some sign of her 
 existence; she must understand, for instance, what a 
 dilemma I am placed in over the estate." 
 
 " Perhaps," said John Buskyn, she has never given it 
 one thought. I should like to ask your grace one more 
 question." 
 
 " Ask anything you like," he replied, with a wearied 
 air; " anything on earth you will. I am only too anxious 
 to get really good advice." 
 
 " It will seem like an impertinance," said the lawyer;" 
 but even a physician can not treat a disease unless he 
 knows the full details and symptoms, so I can not see my 
 way unless I know exactly all that is passing in your 
 mind. Tell me just the truth do you wish to find her 
 living and well ? do you love her still, or is there any 
 one else you would like to marry. 
 
 The Duke was silent for a few minutes. 
 
 " You have asked me a question," he said, " which I 
 hardly know how to answer to my own mind; it is now so 
 long since I have seen her I hardly know what to say. I did 
 love her I loved her with the whole passion of my heart. 
 I can not see, looking back through my life, that I have ever 
 cared or even felt interested in any one else; yet I hesi- 
 tate when you ask me what I feel for her now. I did love 
 :her passionately, but I injured her and, when you in- 
 jure any one as I did her, I think you seldom feel the same 
 ior them. I can not tell you, Kuskyn, what I should do, 
 for instance, if I saw her now this moment whether I 
 should rush to embrace her and cry out to her for pardon, 
 or whether I should turn from her with shame, not daring 
 to address her. I can not tell whether my heart would 
 turn to her with its old passionate love, or whether I 
 should shrink from her as one whom I had injured be- 
 yond recall. I can hardly tell you what my own personal 
 feelings are." 
 
 " I can well imagine that you are bewildered," said 
 John Buskvn, quietly, " but it must be looked fairly in the 
 face." 
 
 " It may be," said the duke, "that if I saw her again, all 
 my old love for her would revive. She was so beautiful
 
 88 XHE DTTKE'S SECRET. 
 
 and gracious BO noble. You can imagine how she passed 
 through that scene without betraying me by one word ; 
 noble by nature and by instinct, she would have laid he* 
 head on the block with the same calm, quiet courage foi 
 me." 
 
 " She must certainly have been a noble woman," said 
 the lawyer. 
 
 " I think," said the duke, slowly, " that it has become 
 less a matter of what I may call personal affection with me 
 than anxiety over my mother and the estate. You see it is 
 cruel to her, and in her sight, makes me not only obstinate 
 but foolish. I have no valid excuse to give her as to why 
 I can not marry, and she expects it from me naturally." 
 
 " I should tell her the truth," said the lawyer ; " it 
 would be the best ; then she would understand the matter." 
 
 " No," replied the duke, " it would kill her, I believe. 
 She is so proud, so sensitive, I dare not tell her. After 
 keeping my secret all these years, it will not do to betray 
 it at last." 
 
 " I must tell you quite honestly," he said, " that although 
 I will do my very best, I have not much hope of succeed- 
 ing. I am half afraid that Lady Everleigh will have cause 
 to rejoice yet." 
 
 " Is there no legal way out of it ?" asked the duke, after 
 a pause. 
 
 " Yes ; but one you will hardly care to adopt. You 
 could probably obtain a divorce on the score of her long 
 silence and desertion ; then, of course, the whole thing 
 would be made public, and everyone would talk about 
 it a proceeding very obnoxious, I am sure, to her Grace 
 of Castlemayne." 
 
 The duke sighed heavily. 
 
 " If ever a man did suffer from one moment of coward- 
 ice it is I," he said ; " and yet you must know it was not 
 so much cowardice as the fear of hurting my mother. 
 Now I look back upon those years, I find that I worshipped 
 my mother as few sons have ever done. I cannot think 
 that I was ever, even for one moment, a coward. I loathe 
 the word. Now, Euskyn, I have told you every thought 
 of my heart, what can you advise ?" 
 
 " You have no wish to be freed from the enain ihak 
 binds you and her?" asked the lawyer, cautiously. 
 
 "No, I have not," was the brief reply.
 
 *- THE DUKE'S SECRET. 89 
 
 " Let me ask this one question more," he said ; " have 
 you seen any one since she left you, whom you lite as 
 much or better ?" 
 
 " $0," replied the duke, " indeed I have not ; and, as a 
 matter of principle and conscience, I do not approve of 
 divorce. I do not believe in it. I cannot see how the 
 decree of man can effect the decree of God. I cannot 
 tell to what I may be driven, if my mother continues to 
 importune me, and Lady Everleigh to show such un- 
 warrantable triumph over me. I may some day have 
 recourse to that which I hold in most righteous wrath 
 and abhorrence." 
 
 " I should not advise you," said Mr. Ruskyn, " to spend 
 another fortune in advertisements ; it strikes me that the 
 best plan will be to place it in the hand of one of those 
 intelligent men who are like bloodhounds. I know such 
 a one now ; he is in no office, but is in business for him- 
 self ; and they say he has made a fortune ; that he never 
 (ails when he once undertakes an affair, but holds on 
 tike grim death. That would be the man to employ." 
 
 " Yes," said the duke. Where does he live ? " 
 
 " I have his address here. He is of Russian parentage, 
 but was born in England. He is keen as a ferret, with 
 the eyes of a hawk. To tell you the truth, some of my most 
 Successful cases have been won through his keen research. 
 Bis name is Michael Droski ; his address, Belton Cottage, 
 Finchley. He has no office, there is no parade, no fuss, 
 no ceremony ; but if there is a desperate case to be 
 handled, a desperate mystery to be unraveled, Michael 
 Droski is the man for it" 
 
 " I should like to see him," said his Grace of Castle- 
 mayne. 
 
 " You can do so. I need not tell you that his terms are 
 Very high ; he brings talent, skill, wit, the experience of 
 many years to the task, and he insists upon ample means 
 for carrying it through." 
 
 " He can have what he wants," replied his grace. " To 
 speak candidly, Ruskyn, I would cheerfully give ten 
 thousand pounds to the man who would bring me certain 
 news of Naomi whether she be living or dead, no mat- 
 ter what her state or what her fate. Only think of the 
 relief to me ; think if I could say to myself, * My wife is 
 living in such a place ;' if it were twenty thousand miles
 
 90 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 
 
 away, I would see that her grave was an honored ona 
 she could sleep in no unknown land, in no obscure grave. 
 And then there is one more thing that strikes me with 
 horror ; it is this, that somewhere in this wide world I 
 have a son, Aired St. Albans, who ought now to be grow- 
 ing up under my own eye, heir to my estate, the very 
 pride and joy of my life. Where is he now, this hand- 
 some young son of mine ? and, Ruskyn, suppose that the 
 worst comes to the worst, and I marry again, I can not 
 have two eldest sons or two heirs. If I were to marry 
 some innocent, high-born girl, and then my true heir 
 appeared, it would be a most terrible thing, and cause far 
 greater scandal than anything else." 
 
 " It would be most terribly awkward," said Mr. Rua- 
 kyn, reflectively. 
 
 " It seems to me almost a more awkward matter than 
 the wife," continued his grace. " No one can read the 
 papers without seeing that every day new complications 
 arise in matrimonial affairs, and in some way or other 
 there is generally a loop-hole ; but in the matter of a SOQ 
 there is no such loop-hole, nor do I see any vf&y out o\ 
 the difficulty." 
 
 " Only by telling your second wife, if you ever have one, 
 the plain truth, " said John Kuskyn. " If your grace can 
 wait for half an hour I will send you in a cab to Finchley 
 Road for Michael Droski. I know he is at home to-daj, 
 hunting up evidence and arranging it for me." 
 
 His Grace of Castlemayne decided to wait, and filled up 
 his time by trying some of the lawyer's famous golden 
 sherry. If he could but have got rid of his heart-ache, 
 as well as of his time ! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MICHAEL DROSKI, TflE DITECTIVB. 
 
 AH hour later the duke was engrossed with Michael 
 Droski. The detective was a tall, fine-looking man, with 
 a dark, half-Tartar cast of face, small, shrewd eyes, thin com- 
 pressed lips ; a man who could not only find out a secret, 
 but keep one; a caution highly developed; a man, the 
 duke avowed to himself, who was most decidedly to be 
 trusted. 
 ^ "It is a difficult case," said his grace, looking up with
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRW. 91 
 
 his handsome high-bred face, " I can say that much for 
 myself ; yet they tell me that your skill is unrivaled. 
 You see I have no clear trace. I can help you in no pos- 
 sible way. It is as though I said to you, ' Here is the 
 great, wide world, and there is one woman lost in it go 
 and find her.' " 
 
 "Yes," said the detective, "in plain English, your 
 grace, that is it. But even then I do not despair. I be- 
 lieve I could find a child who had been left in the desert 
 of Sahara. I take no credit to myself, but the fact is I 
 am a man with the keen scent of a bloodhound." 
 
 His Grace of Castlemayne shuddered a little ; to him 
 the mention of a bloodhound was not pleasant. 
 
 " I never boast," said Michael Droski. " I do not like 
 boasting; every man has his gifts; but I must say tldg 
 I have brought to light more mysteries than any one 
 would believe in. One I shall never forget. I was sent 
 for in great haste to a very old-fashioned house in York- 
 shire. It had been empty some ten or twelve years, and 
 as a matter of course every one pronounced it to be haunted. 
 The family who took it found the dead body of a child, 
 seemingly young about eleven was the nearest guess 
 ever made. The body of a child buried in the cellar. Of 
 course suspicion fell upon the last inhabitants. The land- 
 lord was a wealthy nobleman who, being deeply agrieved 
 at the scandal that had fallen on the housfe, under- 
 took the expense of finding and prosecuting them. He 
 sent for me. There was no clue as to where the last in- 
 habitants had gone; the house was let furnished; they 
 had left by the old stage-coach which is now replaced by 
 the railroad, and the old coachman had been at rest for 
 many years. They had had no friends, no neighbors; 
 their names even were forgotten. Yet, do not think ma 
 vain, your grace, I found them found out the mystery. 
 The murderess was the wife, a beautiful, elegant woman j 
 and the child she had killed was not hers but her hus- 
 band's, you understand she had been mad with jealousy, 
 She told me that she had always felt sure that she should be 
 found out. The case never came to trial, for she poisoned 
 herself during the few moments given to dress in. Talk 
 of romance, your grace, that woman had worn a ring with 
 poison in it for years, always dreading the fate that cam/ 
 at last"
 
 98 THE DUKE'S SECBBT. 
 
 " A miserable case," cried the duke. 
 
 "Not a very uncommon one," said the detective. 
 " People little dream of what passes in the world; just as 
 a fair-looking green meadow may be undermined by a 
 black, dangerous coal mine, so the life that seems fairest 
 in the eyes of men may really be hideous with crime. I 
 have seen a great deal in my life. You shake hands with 
 a charming woman, whose smile is like sunshine, little 
 dreaming that those hands so white and beautiful, have 
 dropped poison in the cup of some one who loved her. You 
 admire a man for his frank honest bravery, little dreaming 
 that he has sent his wife to heaven to secure her life in- 
 surance money. If the mask were suddenly withdrawn 
 from all lives, I do not think that any one living could 
 bear the horror of it." 
 
 " You do not seem to have very cheerful views of life," 
 said his Grace of Castlemayne. 
 
 " Mine is not the profession in which men are inclined 
 to cheerful views, your grace. When I am not unraveling 
 mystery I am trying to find out sin and crime ; and I re- 
 peat that few people know how much goes on of either. 
 I remember another case where the gentleman, a wealthy 
 country squire, was almost driven mad by continual rob- 
 beries gold, silver, bank-notes, forged checks. There was 
 hardly a week in which he did not lose, by some means or 
 other, a large sum of money. He had tried all the detec- 
 tives' skill, but it was in vain; they could make nothing of 
 it, and at last they sent for me. I found that he was a 
 widower with three daughters; the eldest of whom, a beau- 
 tiful girl of eighteen, whom he worshipped, kept house for 
 him, I need not trouble you with the details; for some 
 few days I began to think that I was baffled at last, but I 
 found it out. The daughter he loved and trusted was the 
 thief. She had a lover who made her believe right was 
 wrong and wrong was right; but he made her believe that 
 stealing from her father to pay his gambling debts was a 
 pieee of heroism. This discovery broke the old squire's 
 heart. I never like to think of it. The poor girl found 
 out afterward that her lover was a married man; and she 
 is in a lunatic asylum. There is no phase of human life 
 unknown to a detective officer." 
 
 The duke glanced at him with some curiosity.
 
 THE DUKE'B SECBET. 93 
 
 " Will you tell me," he said, " if you have e^er known 
 a case quite like mine ?" 
 
 " I have looked for many lost wives," he replied, " but 
 it has always been in a much lower class. It is not so 
 easy for a duchess to be lost." 
 
 "My wife never was a duchess," said his grace; "she 
 never even used her title of Lady St. Albans." 
 
 " She may never have used it," replied Michael Droski, 
 "but rely upon it she has not forgotten it I think 
 myself there is nothing pleases any woman so much as 
 a title." 
 
 " It did not please her very much, poor child," sighed 
 the duke. " What do you think now of one's chance of 
 finding her, Mr. Droski?" 
 
 He was silent for some minutes, then he said gently: 
 
 " I thiuk I shall find her; there are great difficulties, 
 but I have beaten down even greater. There are cases 
 on which I say at once, ' I shall do this.' I hesitate to 
 affirm it, yet I believe I shall do it." 
 
 " I hope to Heaven you will," said the duke. " All I 
 can say is this, that if you succeed I will make you a rich 
 man for life ; spare nothing neither money, time, trouble, 
 nor anything else." 
 
 " I will not," replied Michael Droski. " I hope your 
 grace will not be offended if I ask one more question. It 
 is this, This lady of whom I am in search, is she likely to 
 have married again or anything of that kind ? " 
 
 " No," baid the duke ; " just as she left me, so, if she be 
 living, you will find her." 
 
 " And find her I will," added the man, full of enthu- 
 siasm for what in his own mind he called his " art." 
 " Your grace must not expect any immediate news," he 
 continued, "seeing that I have all the world to look 
 through. I can not hurry or expedite matters. It may 
 be years," he continued, slowly ; "but I think I can safely 
 swear, sooner or later, I will see your grace either with 
 the certificate of her death in my hands or with the ad- 
 dress of the place in which you will find her living. I 
 pledge myself and I shall not fail you." 
 
 "Well," said the duke, meditatively, "if you do this 
 much for me you may consider your fortune made. I am 
 not an ungrateful man ; and at this moment I am, I 
 should say, the most thoroughly miserable man ia
 
 94 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 England. I am in a dilemma so terrible that I can find 
 no way out of it. If you can find a way for me you will 
 merit my eternal gratitude and thanks ; as for money, 
 you have carte blanche ; spend what you will, but keep 
 your promise." 
 
 So they parted on the very best of terms. The detec- 
 tive full of zeal, the duke with more hope in his heart than 
 had lived there for many a long day. It was, as he had 
 said, one of the most difficult positions in which a man 
 could be placed. His immense estate and time-honored 
 title, his vast wealth, the honors that had accumulated for 
 so many generations, all to fall into the hands of a family 
 which he disliked, was in itself a severe disappointment ; 
 but to know that somewhere in the world he had a beau- 
 tiful wife and a son was a greater anxiety still. 
 
 There was hundreds of ladies who would gladly have 
 married him ; hardly a mother in England who would not 
 have given her youngest and fairest daughter to him. To 
 be Duchess of Castlemayne was the end and aim of many 
 a bright young life. There was no man in England so 
 feted and flattered. Mothers argued with themselves in 
 this fashion that although he might for many years to 
 come shun matrimony, he would be compelled in the end 
 to embrace it. It was well known that his mother, the 
 Duchess of Castlemayne, wished with her whole heart for 
 his marriage, and that she did all in her power to hasten 
 it. She never tired of introducing him to the most beau- 
 tiful women and the most charming of girls. She had 
 planned and managed, time after time, that she should 
 have the first introduction to the most lovely of debutantes. 
 Her anxiety that he should marry was well known. It had 
 been whispered that she would not be very particular as 
 to whom he married, provided that he would only take 
 to himself a wife. Time had been when she had not thought 
 a royal princess good enough for him ; but those times 
 were changed now. It had almost become part of the 
 fashionable education of a young lady that she should know 
 the Castlemayne coronet was to be won. 
 
 Surely never had duke before such a chance. Such 
 fair eyes, smiling faces to greet him wherever he went; 
 such bright to grow brighter for his coming; but he wa 
 harder than stone and colder than marble. 
 
 The girls said that when he talked to them, even on
 
 DUKE'S SECRET. 95 
 
 the most interesting of subjects, even when he listened to 
 their singing of the finest love-songs, even when he 
 danced with them to the sweetest music, he looked as 
 ihough with heart and eyes he was looking for some one 
 lse they little knew, either, how true it was. He never 
 ttent into a room filled with beautiful women without 
 wondering if Naomi, by some strange chance, were among 
 tfhem. He never read of a woman found drowned, killed , 
 On a railroad, slain in a great fire, without wondering if ' 
 Naomi were the victim. He never passed a group of 
 boys playing in the street without one thought as to 
 whether among them was his son. 
 
 So that it was no wonder he walked through the world 
 tike one who was in search of something he could never 
 find. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "THK ONLY WOMAN i DETEST." 
 
 A GARDBN-PABTY at Richmond, given by the Duchess of 
 Tehay at her charming villa, and the elite of London so- 
 ciety are expected. The Duchess of Tehay knew how to 
 make her parties popular. She invited the prettiest and 
 most brilliant of women; she did not underrate the true 
 Value of professional beauties, either they were always a 
 chief feature at her parties. No gentleman ever declined 
 an invitation, knowing that at the ducal villa he could see 
 the most beautiful faces in London. The grounds were 
 very extensive, sloping down to the very banks of the 
 river; a large boat-house stood there, and several beauti- 
 ful little pleasure-boats were at the disposal of the duch- 
 ess's visitors. 
 
 The invitations to this, the last garden-party of tho 
 season, had been sent far and wide. The Duke of Castle- 
 mayne and the duchess, decidedly the most stately and 
 noble of the matrons, came second. Mother and son dis- 
 cussed the invitations over their most comfortable and 
 luxurious breakfast table. 
 
 "Hike the Richmond garden-parties," said her grace; 
 "but if I thought we phould meet that brainless woman 
 with her two impertinent daughters, and that detestable 
 -Bon, I would not go. " 
 
 " What a sweeping accusation, mother. Do you meaa 
 LadyEverleigh?"
 
 . 
 
 9ft THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " She is certainly the only woman I detest," replied the 
 duchess. If I thought she were going I would not go." 
 
 "I should hardly think that she is on the duchess's 
 visiting list," said the duke. 
 
 "She ought not to be; but I have noticed lately, since 
 so much has been said about her son succeeding you, 
 that they mix in quite a different set," and the duchess 
 giglied deeply as she spoke. 
 
 "That may be; and if you look at it in the right light 
 it is a compliment to us." 
 
 " My dear Bertrand," said her grace with calm pride, 
 " where we stand, compliments do not affect us. I have 
 noticed another thing, and it is this that lately Lady 
 Everleigh has been bringing forward those two daughters 
 of hers as beauties. Can you imagine that ?" 
 
 " They are nice looking girls," said the duke, who was 
 very tolerant. 
 
 " I have never seen a nice looking Everleigh yet," said 
 the duchess, hastily. " I shall certainly not go to Rich- 
 mond if she is going." 
 
 " I have not heard," said the duke, " of any one who 
 has either accepted or declined at present. The Prin- 
 cess of L is going, and you like to meet her." 
 
 " There is not a more amiable or accomplished princess 
 in the world," cried her grace. " She is really attached 
 to me ; and I would go anywhere to meet her." 
 
 " I know she is going ; one of the equerries told me 
 last evening," said the duke. " My dear mother, forget 
 all about Lady Everleigh, and think about the princess." 
 
 The Duchess of Castlemayne wrung her hands. 
 
 " If I could," she cried. " If I might but forget Lady 
 Everleigh. Unfortunately for myself, I never can never. 
 Oh, Bertrand, how well I remember the day on which you 
 were born. I thought all my troubles and annoyances 
 had ended forever. I held you in my arms and felt as 
 though I had a sheet anchor. I was sorry for every one 
 who had not a son as beautiful and as noble as mine. 
 And now I must live to see the son of the woman who 
 hates me and triumphs over me take the place I thought 
 my son would occupy. I can see for myself that people 
 look upon Arthur Everleigh as your heir." 
 
 He rose hastily from his seat. 
 
 " My dearest mother, you are morVid on that score," he
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBIT. 97 
 
 said ; " it is nothing of the kind. You speak as though 
 I were an old man, or past the prime of life. You forget 
 my age I am not much more than thirty. Thirty, why, 
 a man is young at thirty." 
 
 The beautiful, stately face looked greatly relieved. 
 
 "That is true, Bertrand. It is not your years that 
 alarm me so much as your decided avoidance of mar- 
 riage. " 
 
 "Give me time, mother. Some day or other I will 
 make up for all this anxiety." 
 
 " If I could but think so," said the duchess, " You have 
 promised so often, and every day that passes you seem 
 further from it." 
 
 " Be patient, mother, just one year longer," he said ; 
 " only one year, and then you shall see what I shall do. 
 I promise you if you will give me another year's perfect 
 peace and quiet, that at the end of that time I wul take 
 some decisive step that will please you very much. Will 
 you be content ? " 
 
 " I will try, my son," she said, gently ; " I think we will 
 go to Richmond ; it is just possible that you might meet 
 some one whom you like there." 
 
 " The beautiful, high-bred face looked so anxious and 
 grieved that the duke could not find it in his heart to say 
 even one word which would dampen her hopes. 
 
 " I will go with pleasure," he said ; " and I will look 
 out for the prettiest girl there." 
 
 " If Lady Everleigh should be there, Bertrand," she 
 said, "you could not do better than to let her see that you 
 ve not really afraid of talking to a nice girl; she says you 
 are." 
 
 " Then she says what is not true, mother. I will never 
 what the world calls flirt with anyjgirl. IJdo not care to say 
 a word more than I mt-an,. or to make any girl think I like 
 her more than I really do. You, I am quite sure, will neve* 
 blame me for that." 
 
 " No ; that is simply the behavior of a man of honor," 
 eaid the duchess. 
 
 She felt somewhat happier. After all what her son said 
 was most perfectly true. He was still young not yet in 
 the prime of life. Why despair and despond ? There was 
 plenty of time for him to marry yet. She looked at him 
 as lie opened the papers; in all the land there could be no
 
 06 *HE DUKE'S SECRE*. 
 
 finer, handsomer, more noble looking man. There was 
 not the faintest symptoms of age ; his face was clear-cut, 
 without line or wrinkle; his hair was thick and clustering, 
 his eyes undimned; it seemed folly to look on him as a 
 bachelor. It was in great measure his own fault; she 
 remembered it was he who had shunned and avoided the 
 fair sex; and Lady Everleigh, for the advancement of her 
 own family had been only too eager to spread all kinds of 
 reports of his confirmed bachelor habits. When she came 
 to look more calmly at it what madness it seemed. 
 
 They would go to Kichmond together, and if her foe 
 was present, perhaps this time the victory would be on 
 her side. 
 
 They went ; and it seemed as though Providence had 
 given the day expressly for pleasure ; it was so bright, so 
 beautiful, the sun so warm, the air lull of perfume. The 
 river was perfection, just stirred by the faintest of breaths 
 so calm at times that in the great quiet one could see 
 the shadows of the clouds and trees. The birds sung 
 their sweetest songs, the butterflies showed their brightest 
 colors. 
 
 The grounds were most beautiful in themselves ; but 
 on this day it was easy to imagine that it was Arcadia. 
 The whole scene the blue sky, the clear rolling river, the 
 ripple of the green foliage, the graceful figures and beau- 
 tiful faces of the ladies made it a scene of enchant- 
 ment. 
 
 The Princess of L was there, as royal, genial, kind 
 
 as ever, delighted to meet her Grace of Castlemayne, and 
 even more delighted to meet the duke, who was a great 
 favorite with all the royal family. 
 
 " I hear very sad accounts of you," said the princess, 
 with her most charming smile. "I wonder if they are 
 true." 
 
 " I will tell your highness honestly," he replied. 
 
 " I hear," she continued, " that in a land of beautiful 
 maidens, you are charmed by none." 
 
 " It is not true," he replied. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it. Nothing will please me better 
 than to know that you have a wife, good and charming, 
 as you have a mother." 
 
 " Do not think, your highness, that it will be possible/
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 99 
 
 he said, kissing his mother's hand. " My mother has 
 always seemed to be the perfection of womanhood." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say so," replied the princess, 
 with one of her kindest smiles. " It is too much the fashion 
 now to affect a want of lore for parents. I like the old- 
 fashioned respect;" and then the kindly princess walked 
 on with the handsome duke by her side. 
 
 That was the first group which attracted Lady Ever- 
 leigh's attention. She had brought both her daughters, 
 and was anxious that they should be acknowledged as 
 belles and beauties. 
 
 "One word of caution, my dears," she said. "Do you 
 see how very intimate her Grace of Castlemayne is with 
 the princess? Pay attention to her; and do not forget that 
 the best match in England, at this present time, is the 
 Duke of Castlemayne." 
 
 The young ladies smiled acquiescence. To know a duch- 
 ess who, in her turn, was liked and trusted by princes^ 
 was a position not to be despised. Certainly tho two girls 
 looked their best. They were fine, tall, handsome girls, 
 with dark eyes, dark hair, and plenty of color, dressed 
 with great care and elegance in costume of rich, creamy 
 silk, picturesquely touched with pink. 
 
 Lady Everleigh watched them, and saw the duke look- 
 ing a little more interested in them, and Hilda, who had 
 certainly a weakness for her handsome kinsman, blushed 
 most beautifully when he addressed her. This gv* Lady 
 Everleigh quite a new idea. 
 
 What if the duke gave up his ideas of celibacy, and 
 could be persuaded into marrying Hilda. Which would 
 be the best; she wondered, to see her son Duke of Castle- 
 mayne, or her daughter duchess ? 
 
 Still more to her surprise, she saw that when tlie "iuke 
 left the side of the royal lady who was pleased to honor 
 him, he went back to Hilda, who was sitting with her 
 sister under the chestnut trees. Could it be possible that 
 he who had been sought by the fairest of women, should 
 be attracted by her daughter ? She did not know that he 
 thought, by some little friendly advances to the family, 
 be could save his mother annoyance. 
 
 Lady Everleigh was radiant. She drew the attention 
 of every one present to the duke's t$te-i*-t&t with he? 
 daughter.
 
 100 iHE DUKE'S SECBST. 
 
 "Marble softened, ice -warmed," and various othef 
 would-be pretty phrases she employed to attract attention; 
 and it was somewhat unusual to see his Grace of Castle- 
 mayne so engaged. 
 
 It was as dramatic and comic as a play to see Lady 
 Everleigh and the duchess together. My lady joined her 
 as she was walking across the lawn, and in her most 
 ingratiating style began conversation on the beauty of 
 the day and the fete. The duchess received every gush- 
 ing remark with calm, cold surprise, until Lady Ever- 
 leigh, indicating with a bland, graceful gesture the little 
 group on the lawn, said: 
 
 " That is a step in the right direction. I am glad to 
 see it." 
 
 " I have not the honor of understanding you," replied 
 the duchess, drawing her lace shawl round her, and turn- 
 ing away with more hauteur than she had ever yet 
 shown. 
 
 My lady laughed to herself. This pleased her. 
 
 " One or the other," she said; " I do not care which." 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 AX UNCOMMON CHARACTER. 
 
 "MoM odious than ever," was the decision or the 
 Duchess of Castlemayne when she came to reconsider 
 Lady Everleigh's conduct. 
 
 " My dear Bertrand, how could you talk to that girl ?" 
 
 " She is a simple, inoffensive girl, mother, and really 
 rather a nice girl than otherwise." 
 
 " You must know how much your notice distinguished 
 her. Lady Everleigh was drawing unusual attention to 
 it." 
 
 " I did it for your sake entirely, mother. I thought if 
 I were agreeable and kind to her they would be less tire- 
 some to you." 
 
 " It was very good of you," she replied coldly, " but I 
 prefer bearing the annoyance to that method of relieving 
 it. Lady Everleigh's eyes said as plainly as eyes could 
 speak, ' See, if my son be not a duke, my daughter will be 
 a duchess.' " 
 
 "All fancy, mother," he replied. 
 
 *' No, it's real enough. I had all the insolence of he*
 
 THE DUKES SECRET. 101 
 
 triumph. I am anxious enough, Heaven knows, that you 
 should marry one of those girls; but it was not of Lady 
 Everleigh or her daughters I came to speak to you; I 
 have had a letter this morning which has puzzled me very 
 much." 
 
 The duchess had gone to her son's study, a beautiful, 
 light, lofty room that overlooked the park, a room much 
 affected by the duke in his studious moods. It was not 
 often that her grace sought him there, but this morning 
 with a look of anxiety on her handsome face and an open 
 letter in her hand, she presented herself to him. 
 
 " Is it anything in which I can help you, mother ?" he 
 asked. 
 
 "It all depends on you, Bertrand. My decision is 
 made; I await yours. The letter is from the Earl of 
 Arden." 
 
 The duke repeated the name after her. 
 
 " The Earl of Arden ! Why, he has been so long out 
 of England one has forgotten his existence almost." 
 
 " You know, of course, that he is distantly related to 
 me," said the duchess, " The Ardens and the Mount 
 Severns are akin. This present earl when I was quite a 
 girl was one of my most fervent admirers." 
 
 " I am not surprised at it, mother," he said, and in his 
 own heart he thought to himself that in her youth she 
 must have been the most magnificently beautiful of women. 
 
 The duchess smiled at her son's compliments ; and she 
 was always well pleased with them. 
 
 " He was many years older than I was, and even then a 
 confirmed invalid. Some short time afterward he married 
 Theresa Everton, a plain woman, but a wealthy heiress. 
 They went abroad at once, and never returned to England 
 his health will not allow him to live in England." 
 
 "It is very unfortunate for him," said the duke; "j 
 should not h'ke to live out of England." 
 
 "Nor should I," said the duchess. "You will remem- 
 ber, perhaps, that the Countess of Arden died some fm 
 or six years ago I told you at the time." 
 
 "Yes, I remember it perfectly," replied the duke, won- 
 dering to what all this would lead. 
 
 "She left one daughter," continued the duchess, " Lndy 
 Valentine Arden, and the earl has written to me about 
 feer."
 
 102 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She watched her son's face narrowly to see if any sign 
 of interest came there, but none appeared. 
 
 "A letter," she continued, "which has puzzled me 
 very much, and the answer to which must depend en- 
 tirely on you. The earl tells me she is a most beautiful 
 girl, innocent and simple as a child ; she knows less than 
 nothing of life, for her ideas are all Utopian. She has 
 never been away from her father for one day he tells 
 me they have been inseparable, and that she is as simple 
 as a child of ten." 
 
 " Bather an uncommon character in these degenerate 
 days," said the duke. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and that is one reason why I am so diffi- 
 dent about the matter. A worldly minded girl, or one of 
 experience one who has seen something of life I 
 should not mind, but a girl simple as a child of ten, 
 beautiful and a great heiress is an undertaking, Ber- 
 trand." 
 
 " Certainly, mother, and a very hazardous undertaking, 
 too." 
 
 " The earl wishes me to take charge of his daughter 
 for two or three years ; she is eighteen years of age, and, 
 as I said before, has seen nothing of life. He wishes her 
 to see something of English society, and is kind enough 
 to add that she cannot see it under better auspices than 
 mine." 
 
 " That is quite true," answered the duke. 
 
 " The earl himself must remain at Nice he says that 
 he could not live in any other place, and he would like 
 Lady Valentine to be with me for two or three years at 
 least ; she will have what I call a magnificent allowance ; 
 she is heiress of Fairlight Park, and, altogether, I should 
 say, she is one of the most fortunate girls in the world. 
 She would be like a daughter of my own ; I should have 
 to introduce her and chaperon her, to take her mother's 
 place, in fact. I myself should like it very much. The 
 question is, should you ? " 
 
 " What difference could it make to me ? " he asked. 
 
 " A great deal, my dear Bertrand ; some gentlemen 
 would not like the introduction of a young and beautiful 
 girl in the household. But you have always seemed so 
 adverse to anything of this kind ; you have lived alone 
 with me for so many years I am afraid you would hardly
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 103 
 
 like such a companion as a young girl of this Kind would 
 be. It would certainly make a difference ; we should 
 have to go out more ; we must give more balls and par- 
 ties ; lead altogether a gayer life than we do now ; be- 
 sides which, if I take a mother's place to Lady Valentine, 
 you must of course in some kind of way take the place of 
 a brother. You are so wedded to your bachelor habits I 
 am afraid you will find it troublesome, Bertrand. You 
 must think it over to-day, and let me know your decision 
 before post-time this evening." 
 
 " I need not take so long a time, mother ; we can very 
 well discuss this question now." 
 
 An idea had suddenly occurred to him that if his 
 mother had some one else to look after she would have 
 much less time for anxiety over him, and that altogether 
 it might, perhaps, be the best possible way out of taking 
 attention from him. 
 
 ' I do not, in fact, think that there need be any discus- 
 sion about the matter. I do not wish to live for myself. 
 My habits, as you call them, are not of much consequence ; 
 I can adapt myself to any others. I am only sorry that 
 yon have no daughter that could comfort you. Let her 
 come, by all means. The more I think of it, the better I 
 like it." 
 
 The duchess looked not only immensely pleased but 
 very much relieved. She did what was unusual with her 
 she bent down and kissed him. 
 
 " I am delighted, Bertrand," she said ; " nothing could 
 have pleased me more. It is but the commencement of 
 the season now ; she will be here by the beginning of 
 next week, I should imagine." 
 
 " Yes ; if you write to-day,'' said the duke ; he laughed, 
 as he continued : " Why, mother, it will make quite a sen- 
 sation. I believe this is the first young lady you have 
 int* ^duced to the world." 
 
 " It is. I have not had many of the cares of a chap- 
 eron," said the duchess. " I must say that it will cheer 
 me. I would far rather, though, that it had been a wife 
 of yours." 
 
 " All comes in time," he replied. " For some reasons, I 
 am sorry that Lady Nell married so young, she was a 
 nice companion for you." 
 
 " I am happy enough, Bertrand, in the promises you
 
 104 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 have given me," said her grace. " Now I will answer *ny 
 letter and give my orders. I must have a suite of rooms 
 furnished for Lady Valentine something girlish and 
 pretty. At her age chintz and lace are better than silk 
 and velvet. She must have nice rooms. I will ask Sido- 
 nie to find a nice, bright maid for her. She will want a 
 horse, too ; but I will leave you to see to that, Bertrand." 
 
 " I will attend to it with pleasure, mother," he replied. 
 
 "For some things," sa'i the d hess, plaintively, "I 
 would far rather she had Joined us > irst at Hood Castl^ 
 I should have liked to havt > trained kor a little before she 
 went much into society . t;s it is, I m st keep her quiet 
 for some little time. I am afraid, from what the earl says, 
 that she has very litt! oducatic n ; the chances are that 
 she will neither dance, sing, nlay, ride, nor anything 
 else." 
 
 " She can soon be taught, my dear mother," said the 
 duke ; " a girl of eighteen will quickly adapt herself to 
 all the habits, forms and customs of the world make 
 yourself quite happy. It amuses me to think what peo- 
 ple will say when they hear that the stately Duchess of 
 Casfcmayne has undertaken to chaperon a young lady. 
 Lady Everleigh will not like it" 
 
 The lea made the duchess even more content. Look 
 a 1 ' any light, it must be disagreeable to her. If Lady 
 Valentine were beautiful, as her father represented her to 
 be, Jie would prove a formidable rival for the Misses 
 Everleigh, horn their lady mother had forced into the 
 front ranks. So her Grace of Castlemayne was happier 
 than she had been since the rumors of Lady Everleigh's 
 imprudent speeches had reached her ear. The duke con- 
 soled himself with the thought that during the next year 
 he should, at least, have breathing time; his mother would 
 have the love affairs of a young lady always perplexing 
 to look aftvT. He sat for some time in his study, think- 
 ing of what had been and what might have been. He 
 might have -iad his wife and son here the wife whose 
 face he had forpotten; the son whom he had never seen. 
 
 He could hardly remember Naomi's face; he had no 
 picture or photograph of her, and during these twelve 
 years his memory of her had grown indistinct and dim. 
 It was strange that he remembered her hands better than 
 ker face; he could recall them; white, soft, with the dain-
 
 THE DUKE'b SECRET. 165 
 
 tiest pink, with the most tender, delicate touch; she had 
 had a fashion of laying them on his head at times, and he 
 always declared it was like the touch of a butterfly's wing. 
 He would have given his life for one touch of that hand 
 now. Ah, if he could but have lived his life over again, 
 neither father, mother nor anything else should come 
 between him and the one he loved. 
 
 He tried to think what this beautiful room of his would 
 be like if Naomi, his wife, sat smiling there if the son 
 whom he had never seen was here to help or to amuse him. 
 
 And then he began to wonder, in a most helpless, aim- 
 less fashion, what Lady Valentine would be like. He could 
 only picture two types of girls one a romp and a hoiden, 
 the other shy, frightened and helpless yet, no matter what 
 she was like, it would be a good thing for him, because it 
 would distract his mother's attention. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 LADY VALENTINE. 
 
 A BEAUTIFUL evening, one of the first in June, and even 
 in the great metropolis its charm is felt; the air is sweet 
 and balmy, the sky clear and blue, the trees are green in 
 the parks. In the heart of the city this evening the shops, 
 warehouses, magazines, store-houses and places of business 
 are closed; in the fashionable quarters there is a dead 
 calm, the roll of carriages was stopped, and the evening 
 engagements are held in abeyance. 
 
 At Rood House there is nothing on the tapis no din- 
 ner, no party, no ball. The duchess had declined all en- 
 gagements, because she was expecting Lady Valentine; 
 everything had been arranged in the most amicable and 
 suitable fashion. The young girl was coming to England 
 under the charge of Lord and Lady Heathcote, who had 
 been abroad for some time and were now returning home. 
 Lady Heathcote had liked her very much, and had been 
 delighted to take the charge of so beautiful and charming 
 a girl. The earl's letters had touched the proud, am- 
 bitious heart of the duchess; he loved this, his only child, 
 so dearly; he was so anxious that she should be happy, 
 Well cared for that she should at last taste some of the 
 gayeties of youth, and see something of the pleasures of 
 life; he was so anxious that, having no mother to BUT-
 
 106 fHE DtTKE's SECEET. 
 
 round her with most tender love and care, she should not 
 give her love and heart in vain. The most beautiful part 
 of the last letter which the duchess had received from him 
 was this: 
 
 " I have never known," wrote the earl, " how much we 
 both lost when my wife died urn til now now that my 
 beloved child must go out into the world and meet her 
 fate as other women do. I see that the greatest safe- 
 guard, the greatest refuge a girl can have, is the love of 
 a mother. There will be no mother by her side to warn 
 her, to counsel and guide her; but you, my dear duchess, 
 will do your best for her I know you will. Men are al- 
 ways awkward when it is a question of feeling or senti- 
 ment. You will find Valentine very beautiful far above 
 the average with a most loving heart; she has seen so 
 little of the world that she will be most likely to admire 
 the first handsome or amiable man that shows her atten- 
 tion. I need not say to you, be particular you will be. 
 With beauty, grace and wealth, she ought to marry weft; 
 above all, let her marry the man she loves. My own de- 
 sire is to see her happy; my own desire is that she shall 
 marry happy, for I have not many years to live." 
 
 That letter made the duchess very thoughtful. It is 
 one thing to chaperon a beautiful girl, but it is quite 
 another thing to see that she faUs in love with the right 
 man. 
 
 " I shall be quite as anxious over her as though she 
 had been my own daughter perhaps much more so. 
 Perhaps no daughter of mine would ever make any mis- 
 take in marriage it would be most unlikely ; but Lady 
 Valentine will, after the fashion of her kind, most prob- 
 ably do so." 
 
 She was pondering over the probable and possible love 
 affairs of the young heiress when the carriage drove up 
 to the door. 
 
 The duke, at her grace's solicitation, had received the 
 stranger. Lord and Lady Heathcote had arranged to 
 leave her at Rood House as they drove to the station. 
 They had not time to alight, but sent messages to the 
 duchess, with a promise to call very soon. 
 
 For once in her lit'e, the Duchess of Castlemayne felt
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 10? 
 
 some little emotion there was a flush on her handsome 
 face and a light in her grand eyes. 
 
 " What will she be like, Bertrand? " she cried. 
 
 " We shall soon see, mother," he answered. 
 
 Then the door opened, and Lady Valentine Arden was 
 announced. 
 
 A tall, slender girl entered, who, although the night 
 was warm, was wrapped in a dark traveling cloak. The 
 duchess went forward to meet her. The loveliest face in 
 the wide world smiled at her from under the shade of a 
 traveling hat a face so lovely that for some moments she 
 was silent from sheer wonder, then the sweetest voice in 
 the world said: 
 
 " Are you the Duchess of Castlemayne ?" 
 
 "Yes; and you are Lady Valentine. How pleased I 
 am to see you. I bid you welcome to England. This is 
 your first visit to your native land, is it not?" 
 
 "Yes, my first; and I have been longing to come here 
 aU my life." 
 
 "There was the most delicious foreign accent, just 
 enough to charm a piquant, beautiful intonation whiok 
 gave greater sweetness to the English tongue than either 
 mother or son ever heard before. Then the duchess be- 
 thought herself of her son, and in a few words introduced 
 him to her charge. 
 
 " I did not know," she said, " that you were grown up; 
 my father spoke of you as though you were a boy." 
 
 " Would you like me better if I were a boy ?" asked the 
 duke, laughingly. "If sc, I shall feel inclined to take 
 some of my years away." 
 
 "You could not no I think it is best but how sur- 
 prised papa will be!" 
 
 The dark, clear eyes looked admiringly at him ; it was 
 plainly seen that the young girl was impressed in his favor, 
 he had never seen admiration more plainly expressed. 
 Suddenly, too, those words returned to him, that she was 
 simple as a child of ten, and he realized for the first time 
 what true simplicity meant. 
 
 "She will say anything she thinks," and he stood aghast 
 at the prospect. Her eyes were upon him. 
 
 " How different Englishmen are from foreigners," she 
 said. " I have grown tired of dark faces, and longed to 
 pee one that was fair."
 
 108 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 The duchess laughed. 
 
 " You have all the instincts of an Englishwoman," she 
 said. " I am like you in that respect ; I prefer English 
 faces. You will like to go to your room now, Lady Val- 
 entine ; you must feel tired after your long journey." 
 
 " It was too pleasant and too full of novelty for me to 
 tire of it ; and all the way I was thinking of you, wonder- 
 ing what you would be like, and if I should be happy with 
 you." 
 
 " A terrible child for saying what she thinks," thought 
 the duchess ; but the duke began to feel a certain pleas- 
 ure in her freshness. 
 
 ' I hope you will be happy," said her grace ; " we will 
 do all in our power to make you so." 
 
 'I did not like the idea at all at first," said Lady Val- 
 entine. " I had never been away from papa for many 
 hours, and I thought I must die if I had to leave him." 
 
 ' You have been his constant companion, then ? " said 
 the duke. 
 
 " Yes ; no father and daughter could have spent more 
 time together than we have. 
 
 "But how have you managed about your education ? " 
 asked the duchess. " The usual thing is for a young lady 
 to spend her time in study." 
 
 "I am not educated," said Lady Valentine. "Papa 
 says there is plenty of time to make up for deficiencies." 
 
 " Not educated ! " repeated the duchess, in a tone of 
 horror. " My dear child, there must be some mistake." 
 
 " I mean not properly educated. I can speak French, 
 Italian and German just as well as English better than 
 English, in fact." 
 
 " Do you play ? " asked the duchess. 
 
 " Yes ; the piano and the harp. I had masters fo 
 both. ' 
 
 " But, my dear child, you said you were not educated/ 
 cried the duchess. 
 
 " I am not ; I have never had a lesson in my life." 
 
 " It seems to me," said her grace, " that you are highly 
 accomplished." 
 
 " That was what papa said. I am accomplished, but 
 not educated." 
 
 "A common state of things, but seldom so frankly 
 owned," thought the duchess,
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 109 
 
 " "We are putting you quite through a catechism," she 
 said. " You shall tell us more when you have rested. "We 
 dine at seven. I thought you would like an hour's rest. 
 You must have a nice cup of tea English tea, in the 
 English fashion that is the best restorative after a jour- 
 ney." 
 
 The young heiress was taken then to the suite of rooma 
 provided for her, where she found her new maid in at- 
 tendance a pretty, bright-eyed Parisian, by name Laura 
 Despines to whom Lady Valentine, in her quick, impul- 
 sive fashion, took a great liking at once. 
 
 She was delighted with the magnificent apartments. 
 
 "I am very fortunate," she said to herself, "to have a 
 duchess for a kinswoman." 
 
 There were no rooms like these at Nice. The outlook 
 from the windows pleased her most; to be able to watch 
 the birds as they flew from tree to tree; to watch the 
 herds of graceful deer in the park; to watch the tall trees, 
 and the free tossing of the great branches in the wind. 
 
 "It was better," she said to herself, "than all the 
 mountain scenery. Nothing could be so sweet, so soft, so 
 quiet, as this beautiful English green." 
 
 She drank the cup of tea, and then, before she would 
 even look at the beautiful dresses awaiting her inspection 
 she wrote to her father. Her letter was amusing in its 
 frankness. 
 
 " The duchess is very handsome," she wrote, " and does 
 not look at all old, but very proud. I should not think 
 that there is a queen or empress who looks more proud 
 or more royal. She is very kind, but when I look at her 
 I think of Semiramis, Boadicea, Cleopatra, and all the 
 queens of history. I thought her son was a boy, but in- 
 stead of that he is a very handsome man I like him very 
 much indeed. I can not help thinking that I shall like 
 him better than his mother. He has beautiful eyes ; they 
 look so kind and true. I was struck with him the mo- 
 ment I saw him. Do you remember, at the Countess de 
 Sarguin's in the large salon, there is a picture of San Se- 
 bastian ? Do you remember how often you and I have 
 looked at that face, and said that it was the most beauti- 
 ful, and yet the saddest, we had ever seen ? Our duke 
 resembles it exactly ; his face has just the same sad,
 
 110 THE DUKE'S SBCBBT. 
 
 clear look upon it. One thing I did notice his eyes and 
 his lips never smiled at the same time. I am quite sure 
 that I shall like him very much indeed. He seemed 
 amused at me, as though I were a child, and the duchess 
 asked many questions about my education. I shall write 
 to you every day, papa, and tell you everything that 
 passes, and I shall send my letters which will be like a 
 diary each week. 
 
 " I shall tell you all about the duke, and all that he 
 does." 
 
 When the Lord of Arden read that letter, he was for a 
 short time quite dismayed. What if, in risking to intro- 
 duce his beautiful daughter into the world, he had brought 
 her to her doom ? But then he consoled himself by think- 
 ing that she was but a child. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON DANGEROUS GROUND. 
 
 THE duke would hardly own to himself that he was 
 cvaious to see Lady Valentine again. She was so wrapped 
 up in her traveling-cloak, hat and veil that he had hardly 
 seen Vier face, only just enough of it to know that it was 
 remarkably beautiful. He longed to see more of it, yet 
 he would not own to himself that he longed to see it. It 
 was courtesy to his mother's guest, he believed, that 
 made him wait patiently for dinner and spend the even- 
 ing at home, instead of going off to his dearly loved 
 club. 
 
 He had st^n that her face was beautiful, but he was not 
 prepared for the vision of loveliness that dazzled his eyes 
 like bright sunshine. 
 
 Lady Valentine came down dressed for dinner, and it 
 was many a long day since the duke had seen such fault- 
 less, high-bred loneliness. She had chosen her most be- 
 coming dress a pale-blue velvet, richly trimmed with 
 pearls and it fitted her to perfection; her figure was all 
 grace and harmony, every Hue and every curve in it was 
 perfect, supple, rounded, graceful, with free and exquisite 
 grace of gesture and motion. He thought of a descrip- 
 tion he had read of a heroine in some story, " whose every 
 movement seemed to bo in harmony with some hidden
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. Ill 
 
 music." Many women are beautiful, but their beauty is of 
 Jittle value unless accompanied with grace. A graceful 
 woman without beauty is far more attractive than a beau- 
 tiful woman without grace. The peculiar and greatest gift 
 grace of gesture, of movement was the first thing that 
 struck him in Lady Valentine; whatever attitude she 
 assumed was always natural and picturesque. His eyes 
 followed her with delight; every fold of her dress had a 
 grace of its own. Her hands and arms were perfect round, 
 white, superbly shaped arms, bare to the dimpled, pea vl y 
 shoulders; hands that were dainty and beautiful; she used 
 them more in conversation than is ueua! with gentle- 
 women in England. Those marvelous white hands said t 
 times even more than her words did. 
 
 He never tired of looking at her face. It was not BO 
 much the beauty of feature which attracted him as the 
 glorious expression the fire, the eloquence, the poetry, 
 the passion it was that, changed twenty times in an hour, 
 from gay to grave, from pathos to fun, from poetry t 
 comedy; he had seen nothing like it. 
 
 The features were very beautiful faultless in outline, *> 
 delicate oval a white dimpled chin, and a lovely fresh 
 mouth that was the very home of love and grace ; every 
 play of it, every line round it beautiful ; dainty curves 
 and dainty dimples that would have driven one distracted 
 who dwelt upon them. Her eyes were as blue as the 
 lovely violet hue that one sees in the depths of a heart's- 
 ease ; she had the dark, straight brows that the Greeks 
 of old gave to their goddesses : a white brow and a mass 
 of fine golden-brown hair, golden in the sunshine, brown 
 in the shade, She was tall, and the grace almoet of child- 
 hood lingered about her. Lady Valentine could do and 
 say things no one else would ; that which in her was fair, 
 child-like candor, in another would have been almost in- 
 tolerable. The duke would not have believed it, if any 
 one had told him he was watching the young girl with 
 more pleasure and delight than he had felt for years. 
 
 It seemed so curious to take her in to dinner, to remem- 
 ber that every day the beautiful, fresh young face would 
 be opposite to him, to remember that every hour in the 
 day he could hear the fresh, sweet voice, with its piquant, 
 dainty accent. Looking from the fair young face of the 
 girl to the handsome face of his stately mother, he said to
 
 112 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 himself that no where in all England could one find two 
 such exquisite women. 
 
 " I can hardly realize," he said to her, " that you will be 
 here every day ; the duchess and I have been so long 
 alone." 
 
 " You have visitors, have you not!" she asked. 
 
 " Yes, very often. We give more balls than dinner- 
 parties. Do you like dancing, Lady Valentine ?" 
 
 "I never tire of it; but then I have never danced with 
 a gentleman yet. Papa never allowed me to go to a 
 ball or dancing-party. I knew some nice girls at Nice; 
 our drawing-room was large, and when the band played 
 we waltzed for hours together." 
 
 " A mild form of dissipation." said the duke, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "We were a mild form of pev;>ple," she replied; and 
 the duchess thought to herself that, child as she was, 
 the young lady had a very good idea of giving an answer. 
 
 They watched her with critical eyes, but her grace and 
 good-breeding were perfect; every moment the duchess 
 grew fonder of her. 
 
 " A girl really after my own heart," she said to herself 
 more than once. 
 
 The dinner passed off most pleasantly; the duchess 
 and her young charge went into the drawing-room, while 
 the duke finished his wine. As a rule when he had no 
 engagements, he spent his evenings at the club; but to- 
 night he never thought of going out; he wanted to amuse 
 his mother's guest. When he went into the drawing- 
 room he thought he had never seen a more beautiful pic- 
 ture. The lamps were lighted, and a flood of soft golden 
 light filled the room^ soft, subdued, and mellow, it fell on 
 the fresh radiant face of the young girl and on the hand- 
 some, stately figure of the duchess; the windows were 
 wide open, and the sweet night wind stirred the hang- 
 ings. The duchess reclined in an easy-chair; Lady Val- 
 entine had taken a book and sat quite at her ease, and in 
 the most graceful of attitudes, on a couch. 
 
 The duke went up to her at once. 
 
 " What are you reading, Lady Valentine ? " ne asked. 
 
 " A very nice story," she replied. " Papa told me that 
 the thing I should enjoy most in England would be the 
 books; we had not many books at Nice. This story in
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 113 
 
 called ' Patricia Tremhalt ' ; it is written by Mrs. E. Lynn 
 Linton, and I like it exceedingly. Patricia is a noble 
 character, but the other is untrue. I detest untruth. 
 
 "I should imagine that you do," said the duke; "still 
 the want of truth is a very common failing, do you not 
 think so?" 
 
 " I hope not," she replied. " I have seen very little of 
 people; but if I knew any one who had told me a real un- 
 truth with the deliberate intention of deceiving me, I 
 should never like him. I often wonder how people have 
 fallen into the habit of being insincere ; it seems to me 
 always so much easier to be quite straightforward and 
 truthful." 
 
 "It is not the way of the world," said the duke, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Is it not ? It will always be my way," she answered; 
 and he began to wonder what she would say if she knew 
 the secret of his life, and how utterly he had failed in 
 truth and honor once. That reflection made him sad and 
 grave; she saw the change that came over his face, and 
 wondered at it. She looked at him with her clear violet 
 eyes. " You are so much like a picture that I love very 
 much at Nice," she said suddenly. 
 
 " I wish I were the picture if I might share the same 
 happy fate," he said, laughingly. 
 
 She did not seem to understand even the meaning of 
 his words. 
 
 "Papa and I went every day to look at it," she con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " It is so strange; but the face might have been copied 
 from yours." 
 
 She was so earnest herself that those who spoke to her 
 were compelled to be earnest themselves. 
 
 " What is the picture ?" asked the duke; " tell me about 
 it." 
 
 " It is the martyrdom of San Sebastian," she replied. 
 "Do you not know it? San Sebastian is tied to a tree, and 
 the soldiers are preparing to let fly their arrows at him; 
 he looks so divine, his face has the light of heaven in it; 
 yet there is something so sad about the face, the eyes, and 
 the mouth; when you speak the likeness is not so strong, 
 but when you are silent you look sad and then your face 
 has just the same lines as San Sebastian's"
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 "You are a keen observer," said the duke. "No one 
 ever told me before that I looked sad when I. was silent." 
 
 " You do," she replied, with a little nod of her charming 
 head; " you look like some one who has unhappy thoughts, 
 really unhappy ones." 
 
 He was slightly confused, not knowing whether his 
 mother would hear the conversation or not. 
 
 " Every one has sad thoughts at times," he said, gently. 
 "I am no exception to the rule." 
 
 "I should have thought," she said, "that you were the 
 happiest man in the wide world." 
 
 The happiest ! Alas 1 it was not so very long since he 
 had declared himself the most miserable of men. 
 
 He looked at the beautiful young face. 
 
 "I have everything to make me happy," he replied; 
 but he knew that even as the arrows had found their home 
 in the heart of San Sebastian, so the one great trouble of 
 his life was the sharpest of all arrows to him. 
 
 " I have often had sad thoughts," said Lady Valentine ; 
 but they have been about my father's health of late, 
 though I am sure he has never been better ; yet he will 
 never be able to live in England again." 
 
 " Do you think that you shall like England ? " he asked. 
 
 " I am sure I shall. I feel more at home here now than 
 I did at Nice." 
 
 To his mind there came something like a wish that she 
 was never to leave them again ; her fair presence bright- 
 ened that magnificent room, made it more cheerful and 
 home-like ; even the duchess felt the charm of the sweet, 
 graceful presence, of the clear sunny laughter. She left 
 her chair and crossed the room to where they were sitting; 
 with a gentleness quite unusual to her, she bent over tbf 
 girl and kissed her fair cheek. 
 
 " I can feel how much Lord Arden misses you by tin, 
 happiness I feel at seeing you. The longing of my heart 
 has always been to have a daughter. I have of ten thought 
 of adopting one. No house ever seems to me complete 
 unless there is a young girl about it." 
 
 " Papa often deplored the fact that he had no son," 
 said Lady Valentine. " You would not change your son 
 for me, would you." 
 
 What a sweet voice it was ! True and clear as a bird'i, 
 with the most beautiful trills.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 115 
 
 ** No," laughed the duchess. " I could not even if I 
 Would." 
 
 " You will have a daughter when your son marries," 
 said Lady Valentine. 
 
 "Yes," repeated the duchess, with a sigh, "that is 
 quite true." 
 
 They were on dangerous ground ; the duke thought it 
 would be much better to change the conversation. 
 
 "I should like much to hear you sing, Lady Valen- 
 tine," he said. " Will you ? " 
 
 " Yes, with pleasure. Nay, I want no lights, I play 
 and sing without notes ; they are only in the way," and 
 she went to the piano, the duke following her and taking 
 his place by her side. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A REMINISCENCE. 
 
 *' "WHAT kind of music do you like best ? " asked Lady 
 Valentine, turning her face to the duke. " Music was 
 papa's one recreation ; he never tired of it ; it is the only 
 thing that I studied with all my heart. I can sing what 
 you like English ballads, French chansons, Spanish 
 songs, Italian scivas, German melodies anything you 
 like ! " 
 
 "Give me an English ballad," he said; and the next 
 moment the room was filled with a flood of the sweetest 
 melody he had ever heard. 
 
 The words were as simple as they were sweet. 
 
 "When twilight dews are falling soft 
 
 Upon the rosy sea, love, 
 I watch the star whose beams so oft 
 
 Has lighted me to thee, love. 
 And thou, too, on that orb so clewr, 
 
 Ah, dost thou gaze at even, 
 And think, though lo t forever here, 
 
 Thou'll yet be mine in heaven? 
 
 11 There's not a garden walk I tread, 
 
 There's not a flower I see, love, 
 But brings to mind some hope that's fled, 
 
 Some joy I've lost with thee, love. 
 And still I wish that hour was near 
 
 When, friends and foes forgiven, 
 The pains, the ills we've wept through 
 
 May turn to smiles in heaven."
 
 116 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 The duke understood what her father meant by saying 
 that she sung as the birds lilted. It was true, he thought, 
 all he had read of the golden-throated daughters of the 
 South, whose voices lure the hearts of men from their 
 breast. He thought of the German Lorelie, who, singing 
 as she combs her golden hair, drew the souls of men in 
 her deadly embrace, drew the highest and most honored 
 under the cold waters, and never let them escape again. 
 
 The girl turned her bright face to him. 
 
 "Do you like that?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes, I think it is very sweet and very sad," he replied. 
 
 "Do you believe it to be true," she continued, "that 
 what we lose on earth we shall find in heaven ? " 
 
 " I do not know. I have never thought of it at all," he 
 replied. 
 
 It was an unusual style of conversation for him. 
 
 " I think of it very often," she continued. " That is one 
 of papa's favorite songs; and I have sung it so often that 
 the words are impressed on my heart." 
 
 " They are very beautiful words," said the duke, rather 
 at a loss how to carry on the conversation, heaven not be- 
 ing the theme that the generality of young ladies chose 
 for conversing with him. 
 
 Her white fingers moved slowly over the keys. 
 
 "Yes," she continued, "I have thought a great deal 
 about it, and I have drawn my own conclusions." 
 
 " What are they ? " asked the duke, wondering what 
 her thoughts and ideas really were. 
 
 " I am sure," she replied, " that it is better for one to 
 have the best love in heaven, instead of on earth. I look 
 at it in this way the life on earth lasts but a short time, 
 while the life in heaven never ends. Is it not better to 
 have the unending life with the one you love than this 
 which ends so quickly." 
 
 " Yes, if you can believe it yourself and make others 
 believe it," said the duke. 
 
 " Who would not believe it? " she asked, with the rap- 
 turous faith of youth. 
 
 " Many people have no faith in heaven at all," said the 
 duke ; " others have a kind of indistinct belief that it 
 exists ; but they are so little sure of it, they would make 
 no sacrifice in this world to win it. To all such, the idea 
 of love in heaven would present but few attractions."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 11? 
 
 The beautiful face grew graye and serious as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " I can only say what I think myself," she said, slowly. 
 " If I loved any one very much, and it were possible that I 
 could choose whether I would live forty years on earth 
 with the one beloved, or whether I would love him for- 
 ever in heaven, I should choose the latter." 
 
 Looking at her bright, spiritual face, with its poetry 
 and its ideality, there was not the least idea but that she 
 would really make that choice. 
 
 " I ha?e never thought about such things," said the 
 duke, " but I do not think I should agree with you; I 
 should be far more inclined to take the earthly love." 
 
 She looked at him with grave consideration. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, "you have never cared very 
 much about any one in that kind of way." 
 
 He wondered what she would say if she knew how much 
 he had cared for some one with how mad a love, and 
 how cruelly he had treated her. With the clear gaze of 
 those superb eyes upon him, the duke felt sure that if 
 she knew anything of his secret there would be no friend- 
 ship, no liking for him. 
 
 " People differ,' she said. " Papa has been so ill, he has 
 suffered so much, he has been so often near death that it 
 seems to me we have been in the habit of looking at 
 things more in the light of heaven than of earth." 
 
 He wondered still more, and he liked her so much the 
 better for it. She was so unlike other girls; but then 
 who but Lady Valentine would have tried to have 
 amused a young duke about talking about heaven ? 
 
 " I do not think," she said, suddenly, " that people 
 often express their best thoughts and highest desires I 
 have often wondered if words could be found for them. 
 I think there are many thoughts, many wishes, many 
 desires we have which could be brought to measure. Do 
 you know a beautiful song called ' Lnperfectus,' written 
 by an American poet ?" 
 
 " No," said the duke, " I do not remember it." 
 
 " Then, if you are willing, I will sing it for you," she re- 
 plied. " It says what I mean so much better tk ji I can 
 pay it myself
 
 118 JHE PUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She began, in the voice that he thought sweeter than 
 any other : 
 
 " I wonder if ever a song was sung 
 
 But the singer's heart song sweeter ; 
 I wonder if ever a rhyme was rung 
 
 But the thoughts surpassed the meter ; 
 I wonder if ever a sculptor wrought 
 Till the cold stone echoed his ardent thought ; 
 Or if ever a painter with light and shade 
 The dream of his innermost heart portrayed. 
 
 " I wonder if ever a rose was found, 
 
 And there might not be a fairer ; 
 Or if ever a glittering gem was ground 
 
 And we dreamed not of a rarer. 
 Ah, never on earth shall we find the beat, 
 But it waits for us in the land of rest ; 
 And a perfect thing we shall never behold 
 Till we pas* the portals of shining gold." 
 
 She turned to him when she had finished. 
 
 " Now," she said, " Do you understand what I mean?" 
 
 " Yes, better than I did. You mean that the highest, 
 the holiest, the best thoughts, desires, and wishes of men 
 ore not so easy to put into words as their lowest." 
 
 " That is it. What do you think of my song ?" 
 
 " I like it. Strange to say I have often thought of that 
 same thing that no matter what we possess, there seems 
 something better worth possessing." 
 
 " A grand old writer says, * That the soul is infinite, 
 and can only be satisfied with an infinite love,' " added 
 Lady Valentine. " Are you tired of my singing, or would 
 you like more of it ?" 
 
 " I should never tire of your singing, or of your conver- 
 sation," he replied. 
 
 And she never dreamed of doubting his words. She 
 turned again to the notes, and for a few minutes her fin- 
 gers wandered over the keys, and then she sung an old- 
 fashioned Scotch ballad so sweetly and with such pathos, 
 that the tears came to the eyes of the duchess. She went 
 over to her. 
 
 " My dear Lady Valentine," she said, "you have done 
 what no other singer has done ; you have brought the 
 tears to my eyes, and happiness that is almost pain to my 
 heart. I hav npt heard ' Je Banks ftnc} Praes ' for many 
 years."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 119 
 
 Stately peeress, a matron of proudest fame, the beloved, 
 honored, trusted widow of one of England's greatest 
 nobles, the mother of the most eligible man of the day. 
 She had a love story in her far-off days, when she was 
 heiress of Mount Severn, and went with her father to 
 Scotland. The shooting party at Glenlie Lodge was j oined 
 by Captain Gordon Stewart, the most honest, handsome, 
 and chivalrous man in her majesty's army. He had the 
 beauty of a Greek god, the courage and chivalry of a Bay- 
 ard, the bearing of a king ; and he loved this beautiful 
 Lady Mount Severn with all his heart. He knew that he 
 might as well have tried to win a star from heaven she 
 was not for him ; the young heiress loved him, too, if love 
 be told in looks but of what use was that ? The heiress 
 of Mount Severn had to contract an alliance, not to marry ; 
 she owned always afterward to herself that she had done 
 wrong. Love was so beautiful ; she had dallied with it 
 for a few days before slaying it, and those few days were 
 fatal to the young soldier. He presumed to tell her of his 
 love, and swore that he would make for himself a fame 
 greater than Napoleon's if she would give him the promise 
 of her hand. She smiled very sweetly and sadly when she 
 told him it could never be ; she kissed his lips for the first 
 and last time and sent him away broken-hearted. 
 
 That last evening he spent at Glenlie Lodge he sung 
 that beautiful old song, always so sweet and always so 
 sad; sung it with his eyes fixed on her and the thorn so 
 sore and sharp in his side. He went away the day fol- 
 lowing, and the next she heard of him was that he had 
 died at the head of his regiment with his face to the foe. 
 From that day to this the duchess had never heard "Ye 
 Banks and Braes;" if she were in a room and heard the 
 opening notes, she left it; but to-night the old spell 
 seemed to have been laid upon her; she listened, even to 
 the last word, and then for the first time in many years 
 tears came to her eyes; she recalled the whole scene so 
 vividly, the sun setting over the Scottish moors, the 
 beautiful face, so full of love for her, which she was never 
 to see again. Ah, me ! that love stories should be so sad 
 while they are so sweet. 
 
 Her heart was softened, some of the romance which 
 had once made life so sweet to her came back Hke a breath 
 of the heather from the Scotch hills. The Duchess of
 
 120 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 Castlemayne certainly the proudest and most stately 
 woman in England had not dreamed that so much 
 capacity for emotion was still left in her, and strange to 
 say, a deep affection for the girl who aroused it woke up 
 within her. It was such a picture of domestic happiness; 
 and as she watched the two a sudden idea occurred to 
 the duchess. 
 
 She had often urged her son to marry; who in the wide 
 world could suit him one-half so well as this beautiful 
 young girl, to whom he had already given more time than 
 she had ever seen him devote to any woman ? 
 
 "With such a daughter as that how unutterably happy 
 she would be, and as she fell asleep that evening the beau- 
 tiful face of the young soldier and the sweet voice of Lady 
 Valentine went with her in her dreams. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 TEE QUEKN OF BXATJT7. 
 
 THE Duchess of Castlemayne resolved this time upon 
 being very prudent; that the duke should fall in love 
 with and marry Lady Valentine seemed to her the very 
 length of her ambition, her most darling wish. The 
 more she saw of Lord Arden's beautiful daughter the bet- 
 ter she liked her, so lovely, so bright, so graceful. Even 
 the least social untruth never escaped her lips; her so 12! 
 was clear as jrystal; she did not know how to be anything 
 but truthful. 
 
 The duchess found her an apt pupil ; she advised her 
 to study the ways and habits of English society for a few 
 days before she went out much. The first thing of course 
 was her presentation, and fortunately her most gracious 
 majesty held a Drawing-room in a few days. The duchess 
 did her best to impress upon the mind of her charge all 
 the grandeur and importance of this occasion. She never 
 wearied of discussing her costume, the length of her 
 train, the height of her feathers, the manner in which 
 her obeisance to the queen must be made ; how careful 
 she must be to courtesy to every member of the royal 
 family ; how she must contrive to leave the royal pres- 
 ence sidewise, an idea which delighted Lady Valentine ; 
 bow merrily she discussed it ; but the evening of this
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 121 
 
 day, while they were speaking of it, she turned her 
 bright face to the duke. 
 
 " Are you not going ? " she asked. 
 
 " No," he replied, " my mother goes with you." 
 
 "And not you!" she cried. "I quite thought you 
 were going." 
 
 Her face fell, and some of the light died out of her 
 eyes. 
 
 " I shall not care about it half so much if you do not 
 go," she repeated. 
 
 " But why not, my dear child ? " he asked. 
 
 " I like to go out with you," she said ; " you see the 
 humor of everything just as I do myself, and there are few 
 people who understand real humor ; very often when I 
 laugh most heartily people wonder what I am laughing 
 at; they are quite solemn and quiet while the most absurd 
 scenes pass before their eyes. Papa says my sense of the 
 comic is almost too great; but I believe in laughter." 
 
 "So do I," said the duke. 
 
 "You stop at the 'theory,' she said, "for you seldom put 
 it into practice; I do not often see you laugh. Were you 
 always melancholy as you are now?" 
 
 "I am not melancholy," he replied. 
 
 "No, perhaps that is not quite the right word; you do 
 not brighten up when any one speaks to you absorbed is 
 the word I mean. You are always absorbed in deep thought. 
 I wonder what it is you think so deeply about." 
 
 If she knew she would not look up at him with those 
 clear, lustrous eyes. What, indeed, would any one say, 
 who knew that he, one of the proudest peers in England, 
 was always thinking how he could find the wife whom his 
 cowardice had lost? 
 
 He shuddered when he thought of it; but the sweet, 
 plaintive voice called him to himself. 
 
 " I have lost quite half my interest," she said, " in my 
 presentation. " 
 
 He could not help feeling touched ; it was so long 
 since any one had spoken to him in that fashion ; never 
 since he had lost Naomi. He had kept aloof from every 
 one since then. 
 
 "It will not last very long," he said. "I have no pre- 
 text for going, or, as you wish it so much, I would go. I
 
 122 THB DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 shall be at home to dinner, and then you will tell me all 
 about it " 
 
 "Yes, I will do that; but it will not be as nice as 
 having you there. The duchess says the best ball of the 
 season is to be given to-morrow at Lady Balfour's. Shall 
 you be there ? " 
 
 " Certainly. I shall escort you both, and we shall find 
 ample store of amusement, Lady Valentine. " 
 
 " I shall enjoy the ball better than the Drawing-room." 
 
 Her words were so frank and freely spoken that he 
 never dreamed of anything beneath them. That she 
 should like best to go out with him, because he was 
 gifted with a sense of humor akin to her own, seemed 
 very reasonable. If any one had told him that in her 
 girlish heart a passionate love for himself was dawning, 
 he would not have believed it. Home seemed brighter 
 than ever with the beautiful face and musical voice. 
 There were times when he could have fancied that a fairy 
 had taken up its abode in the mansion; every wish of his 
 was so instantaneously gratified. Was it by magic that 
 just when he felt thirsty claret cup or iced lemonade 
 stood ready for him ? The duchess had always looked 
 well after her son, but some one else did it better. Who 
 stood ready to greet him every morning with a face like a 
 beautiful blushing rose, holding a flower for his button- 
 hole, which was always inserted with great state and cere- 
 mony ? Whose white hands, shining with gems, poured 
 out his tea, knowing to a nicety how much cream aud 
 sugar he liked ? Who knew exactly what daily papers he 
 preferred, and how he liked them open? Who worked all 
 tkose dainty cigar-cases and slippers which he found in 
 his room ? Evidently some one cared for him very much 
 indeed some one studied his least wish, his daintiest 
 tastes some one must listen arid attend to every word. 
 
 Because he was so like the picture she loved she had a 
 fashion of calling him "San Sebastian." The duchess 
 was amused at it the duke liked it, anything was better 
 than a formal title from those beautiful lips. He, too, 
 very often forgot her title and called her Valentine, all of 
 which the duchess remarked with quiet pleasure, but 
 said nothing; so many of her dreams had been destroyed 
 the moment she mentioned them that she had resolved 
 not to speak of this, the dearest hope of all.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 123 
 
 Lacfy ualfour's grand ball of the season always followed 
 dhe Drawing-room; there one met again the beautiful 
 Saces of the fair young debutantes who on that day began 
 .heir social life. 
 
 Liady Valentine Arden had been much spoken of- -he>' 
 bright radiant beauty had made a great impression or 
 all who saw her. The gentlemen were one and all de& ; r- 
 ous of seeing her again even the ladies, the most crit- 
 ical of them, had nothing to say against her. When it 
 was known that she would be at Lady Balfour's ball with 
 her Grace of Castlemayne, there were few who did not 
 try to get there; a new beauty is always so great a sensa- 
 tion. 
 
 "Have you seen her? What is she like? Blonde or 
 brunette? They say she has a finer figure than the 
 Chandos ! Beautiful as a houri, and rich ! A wealthy 
 heiress, with a lovely face! Poor Arden's daughter!" 
 said one of his friends; " we must bid her heartily wel- 
 come for his sake." 
 
 The chief topic of conversation that night in London 
 was the beautiful Lady Arden. Just at that time all 
 Mammon bent in worship before a beautiful woman who 
 had quite suddenly, and for her beauty's sake, become 
 most popular. She ruled the day the papers were filled 
 with raptures of her her words, her deeds, her ban mots, 
 her dresses, the fashion in which she walked, danced, and 
 rode were all criticised. 
 
 One society journal swore by her, and in a manner 
 made itself by its attractive description of her. A rival 
 journal exalted a rival beauty, and week after week they 
 fought gallantly over these fair women. As no ball was 
 complete without them, they were both invited to Lady 
 Balfour's. The leading beauty, the queen of the day, 
 Mrs. Trelawney, although petted, flattered and feted as 
 few women have been, was generous and large hearted. 
 Mrs. Dulwich, on the contrary, felt something like cor- 
 dial hatred to any girl fairer or even as fair as herself. 
 The rival beauties were friends, they had agreed to reign 
 together, but they did not care to admit a third. A 
 Frenchman, watching how people completely mobbed 
 Mrs. Trelawney in order to look at her, said : 
 
 "Mafoi, but pretty faces must be rare in England w'Sjn 
 BO much fuss is made over one."
 
 124 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 These two beautiful queens of society took counsel to- 
 gether when they met at Lady Balfour's, and it was 
 amusing to watch the distracted looks of the gentlemen 
 while the two lovely heads were bent together. 
 
 Suddenly there was a slight commotion in the room, s 
 Blight murmur ; and the rival beauties, still standing side 
 by side, turned to look at the cause. 
 
 Ah, me, for the crown and scepter ! from that moment 
 each felt it fall from her grasp. A group entered that it 
 would take both painter and poet to describe. First the 
 Duchess of Castlemayne, certainly the most stately, the 
 handsomest, the proudest matron in England, resplendent 
 in superb diamonds every one knows the Castlemayna 
 diamonds are among the finest gems in the world ; with 
 her came a girl, beautiful as a vision, her dress of white 
 and gold falling like sunbeams ; pearls and rubies on the 
 white breast and fair round arms ; her golden brown hair 
 arranged after the Grecian fashion, and crowned with a 
 tiara of pearls. 
 
 Men lost their hearts and women their courago, as they 
 looked at her. 
 
 By her side, evidently engrossed with her, was the 
 handsome woman-hating duke, who had never entered a 
 ball-room quite in this fashion before. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 LA.DT VALENTINE'S CHOICE. 
 
 A MUBMTJK, slight and silvery, followed the group. Lora 
 Carlton was quite right, there was nothing like her. Mrs. 
 Trelawney turned pale, and Mrs. Dulwich picked the 
 loveliest flower in her bouquet leaf from leaf. It was cer- 
 tainly all over with them and everybody else, if this most 
 fair and graceful young queen intended to reign. But 
 did she ? that was the point. Lady Balfour received her 
 guests with unconcealed delight. The Duchess of Castle- 
 mayne honored those whom she visited. Lady Balfour 
 knew of a hundred fair and stately dames who had this 
 season urged the duke to visit them, but who had invari- 
 ably received some apology, and she ; knowing the maids 
 and matrons of Great Britain, understood that in the 
 duke she had even a greater prize than in the duchess ot
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 125 
 
 the new beauty. Lady Balfour, although one of the 
 queens of society, was not above boasting her social 
 success. 
 
 " I am so glad to see the duke here to-night," she said 
 to her confidential friend, the Countess of Boscobel. " The 
 duchess tells me he does not go out half so much as he 
 should do. There is always a shade of melancholy 
 about him." 
 
 " My dear Lady Balfour, with all your experience, are 
 you really so foolish as to believe that it is your ball 
 which has induced the Duke of Castlemayne to break 
 through what I must call his absurd notion of not visit- 
 ing?" 
 
 " No I thought so," said the embarrassed lady. 
 
 "Nothing of the kind. Do you not see he is in love 
 with the beautiful ward of his mother's ? I do not think 
 ha has taken his eyes from her face yet. See he has 
 passed the beauties in deep converse, and has not even 
 seen them. Mrs. Dulwich will never forgive him. Rely 
 upon it Lady Valentine will be the beauty of this season 
 and next." 
 
 " I do not think so," said Lady Balfour, critically ; "she 
 does not look like the girl who would care even to be- 
 come a beauty; unless I am mistaken, she will go in for 
 love; those eloquent eyes and perfect lips mean some- 
 thing more than love of admiration ; it strikes me that 
 one of two things will happen to her, either she will love 
 happily and marry soon, or she will love unhappily and 
 not marry at alL" 
 
 " I do not think she will love unhappily, if the duke be 
 her choice," said the countess. 
 
 Lady Valentine was quite unconscious of ike furor she 
 was creating. It was the first grand ball she had ever at- 
 tended, and her delight was hardly to be imagined. 
 
 She grew a little pale and grave when she found her- 
 self the very center of observation, when the highest 
 personages in England crowded round her, anxious to 
 know her, to compliment her, to look at her peerless face. 
 Something akin to distress came over her. "What did it 
 mean? All these courtly gentlemen with diamond stars 
 bending so low before her. Then she quickly gained her 
 natural dignity, and the duke, who never left her side/ 
 dmired her errace and beautiful manner,
 
 126 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " You will remember," she said to him with the frank, 
 free grace of a child, " that my first dance is to be with 
 you." 
 
 " Do you think I could forget it," he replied. 
 
 '* If I am awkward at first you will not mind, and if I 
 make any mistake you will forgive me," she whispered, 
 as they walked across the ball-room. 
 
 " You could not be awkward, my dear Lady Valentine, 
 if you tried," he said; " it is an impossibility; nature has 
 made you all grace." 
 
 The Duke of Castlemayne, who hated balls, who laughed 
 at dancing, who had never been seen to pay the least at- 
 tention to any lady, was really dancing more than that-- 
 waltzing with the youngest and loveliest girl in the room. 
 
 " My ball will be remembered if it were only for this," 
 said Lady Balfour, with a sigh of unutterable content. 
 
 The duke, too, had cause to remember that ball. The 
 white arms, the delicate, dainty hands, that seemed to 
 touch him with lingering affection. 
 
 " My first dance with a gentleman," she said, " and I 
 have enjoyed it. It is much nicer than dancing with 
 girls." 
 
 " Most probably," said the duke, dryly. 
 
 " And now," she continued, looking up at him with her 
 lovely, appealing eyes, " tell me, do I make any great mis- 
 takes. " 
 
 " Mistakes, no ; your dancing is perfect," he said. " I 
 was going to say you danced like an angel, but angels do 
 not dance. I must say this, that you waltz as beautifully 
 and correctly as though you had been to balls every night 
 of your life." 
 
 " You really mean that ?" she questioned, anxiously. 
 
 " I should not say it unless I did," replied the duke, 
 gently. 
 
 " Then I am quite happy. Prince G has asked me 
 
 to dance with him ; you think I may venture ?" 
 
 " I think the prince is a very fortunate man," was the 
 envious reply. 
 
 The girl's lovely face was pale and earnest as she looked 
 at him. 
 
 " I would rather dance with you, San Sebastian," she 
 sam, " neither prince, king, nor emperor can dance li 
 you, I am sure."
 
 THE DUKE'8 SECBE3 1 . 127 
 
 He smiled at the naive, simple words. 
 
 " The dear child," he said to himself; " how simple she 
 is to tell me so." 
 
 " Show me your tablet," he said. 
 
 She obeyed him in one moment. He looked down the 
 pretty piece of ivory, jeweled and engraved, and there saw 
 the best names in England. 
 
 " You have three waltzes to spare," he said; "may I 
 have them?" 
 
 " You may have just what you like," she said, simply. 
 " I would rather dance with you than any one else in the 
 world through." 
 
 "But you can not break your engagements, Lady Val- 
 entine," he said. 
 
 "Can I not? You know best. I hardly call it an 
 engagement, when a prince with hardly a word, writes 
 down his name as though one ought to be pleased with 
 the honor." 
 
 " Most people would be very pleased," he said. 
 
 She only repeated. 
 
 " I would far rather dance with you." 
 
 But in a few minutes the prince came to claim his own* 
 
 The success of Lady Valentine Arden could be told 
 best by the faces of the rival beauties; meeting again in 
 the supper-room they exchanged confidences. 
 
 "I told you," said Mrs. Dulwich, "I knew exactly how 
 it would be. I foresaw it the moment she entered the 
 room." 
 
 "There is nothing in it. I have not the least fear," 
 said Mrs. Trelawney: "I have been dancing with Prince 
 
 G , and I assure you that he is far from being charmed 
 
 with her." 
 
 " He danced with her three times," said Mrs. Dulwich. 
 
 "Yes; but he told me that during his last waltz he 
 spoke to her three times and she never answered him. 
 Then he foand that she was watching the Duke of Castle- 
 may ne and that her sole anxiety was not for him, but for 
 the lady with whom the duke was dancing. Then- -I am 
 almost afraid to repeat it, lest it should not be true but 
 she told some one else that she thought stout people 
 should not dance. The loveliest face in the wide world 
 could not get over such gauchene as that."
 
 128 THE DUKE'S SECMT. 
 
 Mrs. Dulwich looked much relieved. 
 " There is nothing to fear if she be really in love," sto 
 said, " and it seems to me that she is in love with his 
 grace. I have never known any girl really in love to 
 make any success." 
 
 " Nor I," said Mrs. Trelawney. " I can answer for the 
 prince, and he leads many others. He will never rave 
 about her." 
 
 Yet, in spite of the prince's opinion, in spite of the few 
 unfortunate truths she had uttered, which would have 
 been much better left unspoken, she won golden opinions. 
 She woke the next morning to find herself famous, to find 
 all the fashionable journals in raptures, to find the duchess 
 with a pleasant smile on her handsome face ready to con- 
 gratulate her. 
 
 The duke never forgot the ball. It was almost ended 
 when he saw that the beautiful young face looked tired. 
 He went to her at once. 
 
 " "Would you like the carriage, Lady Valentine ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, very much," she replied ; and when they were 
 driving home she seemed so bright, so happy, so full oi 
 spirits, he said to her: 
 
 " I thought you were tired." 
 
 " Tired!" she repeated. " Oh, no, not in the least I" 
 "Then what made you look so?" he asked. 
 " Did I look tired ? I was not. You were talking to a lady 
 with dark hair, who wore an amber dress, who is she ?" 
 
 " An ainber dress ? You mean Lady Saldore ; she is hall 
 Spaniard, as you would know bv the rose in her hair." 
 " Is she married ?" asked Lady Valentine. 
 " Yes, married, and has several children," he replied. 
 "It was a most delightful ball," she said, with a sigh 
 of unutterable content, "and I was not in the least tired; 
 but I thought you had a great deal to say to that lady. 
 How bright the stars are ! I wonder how often they have 
 looked down on a girl with her heart full of happiness 
 driving home from her first ball." 
 
 " I hope your heart will be full of happiness whenever 
 they look down on you," he said. 
 
 Her words rang strangely in his ears all night. Was 
 it true, after all, that what we miss in earth we shall find 
 in heaven ?
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 129 
 
 And where was Naomi his lost wile, and his son ? 
 
 CHAPTEK XVILT. 
 
 "YOU MUST COME WITH Mi." 
 
 THE Duchess of Castlemayne was looking through the 
 list of amusements, and to her delight found that ever- 
 young and ever-beautiful Patti was to appear that even- 
 ing in her favorite character of . She looked up 
 
 hastily. 
 
 " Lady Valentine you have often expressed a wish to 
 hear Patti; she is singing to-night will you go to the 
 opera ? " 
 
 Lady Valentine, without one moment's hesitation turned 
 to the duke : 
 
 " Shall you go ?" she said, simply. 
 
 " I am afraid not; I have an engagement this evening," 
 he replied. 
 
 Quite serenely, calmly, and as though it wae a matter 
 of course- she 3aid: 
 
 " Then I shall wait until you can go/ 
 
 5'he duchess looked up quickly. 
 
 " I will go with you, of course. Do you think I would 
 let you go alone, Lady Valentine ?" 
 
 " But we shall not enjoy it without the duke," she re- 
 peated; "if he is engaged to-night, let us go to-morrow 
 evening." 
 
 " To-morrow night Patti does not sing," said the duch- 
 ess, briefly. 
 
 This state of things slightly embarrassed her. If Lady 
 Valentine wanted the duke to go anywhere with her, she 
 would find out his unwillingness to do so, and his distastes 
 for the society of ladies in general. Indeed she had mar- 
 veled greatly that he had been so amiable, so completely 
 at ease, and so much at home with their young guest. 
 She was amused now when Lady Valentine turned to him 
 with an air of persuasion on her charming face. 
 
 " San Sebastian, where are you going this evening ? 
 What is your engagement ? How deep is it, and is it 
 possible to give up?" 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " I promised Lord Hursthelm to see him at the club to- 
 night," he replied.
 
 J.30 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " For any especial reason ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, to play billiards with him. I have always been 
 proud of my own style, but they say he surpasses me, and 
 I want to know if it is true." 
 
 "That is not -what you would call a very important en- 
 gagement, is it ? " 
 
 " No, not very," he replied. 
 
 " I will tell you what you must do ; write to him a very 
 nice, kind note, and say that, owing to unforseen circum- 
 stances, you can not conveniently keep your engagement 
 for to-night, but will defer it till to-morrow." 
 
 " Do you really wish me to do that ? " he asked, bend- 
 ing down so as to read clearly the expression of the beau- 
 tiful face. 
 
 " Certainly I do. I long to go to the opera, I long 
 with all my heart to hear Patti, but I can not say that I 
 should really enjoy either unless you were there." 
 
 The duke looked at his mother. She looked at him. 
 No child could have spoken more frankly, more candidly, 
 more simply ; yet, for a young lady to speak in such a 
 fashion, to one who was the most eligible man in England, 
 was certainly embarrassing. 
 
 " I should feel inclined to break any engagement in the 
 world after that," said the duke. " Most certainly I shall 
 go with you." 
 
 The duchess laughed, but there was some little embar- 
 rassment in her laugh. 
 
 " It is a very good thing," continued Lady Valentine, 
 naively, "that I did not find you a little boy, San Sebas- 
 tian, or you would not have been able to take me out 
 anywhere. I can not think why papa always spoke of you 
 as the duchess's boy." 
 
 " Probably because when I wrote to him I used the same 
 term," interrupted the duchess; "and oeing always ill, 
 he has in some measure forgot the lapse of time." 
 
 " I am very glad it was otherwise," said Lady Valentine; 
 "I am glad also that you are going with us I do not see 
 how it is possible to enjoy anything alone." 
 
 "But, my dear Valentine/' interrupted the duchess, 
 " you forget that I should in any case be there." 
 
 "No," said Lady Valentine, naively, "I do not forget." 
 
 The duchess was very thoughtful for some little time 
 after that conversation. It was evident to her that Lady
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 181 
 
 Valentine liked the duke very much that she was, after 
 her own particular fashion, growing attached to him 
 that she did not like to be parted from him even for a 
 few hours. It did not occur to the duchess that the bril- 
 liant young beauty was in love with her son ; she thought 
 it the plainly expressed, frank liking of a girl for the 
 society of the most pleasant and handsomest man in 
 England. If she had known that it was anything like 
 love she would been more alarmed. 
 
 Every one knows what a " Patti " night is like at the 
 Royal Italian Opera ; this one was even more brilliant 
 than usual. 
 
 Looking round at the galaxy of beauty, at the blaze of 
 magnificence and splendor, Lady Valentine was startled 
 out of her usual calm. She was quite unconscious that a 
 thrill of admiration went through the house when she 
 took her place ; she was not thinking of herself at all ; 
 all her thoughts and interests were given to the duke by 
 her side ; that among all these beautiful women sh 
 should be considered the most beautiful never occurred 
 to her. 
 
 " How beautiful Patti is ! " cried Lady Valentine, when 
 the star of the evening made her appearance ; " what a 
 bright, sparkling, animated face and what a voice ! " 
 
 It was the first time in her life that she had any chance 
 of hearing real music, and she was simply entranced. 
 The duke watched her. How the color came and went 
 on her face, how her beautiful eyes seemed to drink in 
 the whole scene. She little knew, and would have cared 
 less to know, that by this time dozens of jeweled opera- 
 glasses were leveled at her, and the question that went 
 from one to another was : 
 
 " Who is that beautiful girl in the Duchess of Castle- 
 mavne's box ? " and the answer, " Lady Valentine Arden," 
 always brought the same remark. " She will be the belle 
 of the season." 
 
 The duke was both charmed and amused when she said 
 suddenly : 
 
 " Why are so many people looking at this box ?" 
 
 "I should imagine it is a compliment to the duchess's 
 diamonds," he replied; and she quite believed him. 
 
 ' ' Now I know what sweet sounds mean," she said. " I 
 should like to come very often to the opera, but you must
 
 132 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 come with me ; although I love music, I should not like 
 this alone. The most beautiful thing in this world is 
 doubly beautiful when it is shared by one we like." 
 
 " I quite agree with you there," he replied. 
 
 The situation was growing piquant. It was quite new 
 for him to hear such frank outspoken words of liking. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE DUKE'S FIBST PRESENT. 
 
 "WHAT book is that I hear you asking about?" said the 
 Duke of Castleinayne to Lady Valentine. 
 
 ' One I have heard of, read of, but have never seen," she 
 replied. " The four German stories written by Fougue, 
 and bound up together. One of them the one I wish so 
 much to read is called 'Undine.' You must know the 
 story," she continued. " Undine is a water spirit whose 
 soul does not come to her until she falls in love, and then 
 a beautiful poet's soul is born within her. Before that tima 
 she had never suffered, neither had she enjoyed; now the 
 suffering and happiness come together." 
 
 " What becomes of your beautiful Undine ? " he asked, 
 watching the play of her lovely face with unconcealed 
 delight. " She marries her hero, and he grows cold to 
 her after a time. Then her relations, the water spirits, 
 begin to punish him, and to save him from their persecu- 
 tions she goes back to him. This is only the merest 
 sketch of the beautiful story that I am giving to you. Af- 
 ter a time, finding that he loves her no more, she goes 
 back to the water spirits, and he marries again. Then 
 comes the most beautiful and pathetic part of the story. 
 By the laws of spirit-land she is compelled to punish him 
 for that. There is a beautiful fountain in the old court- 
 yard, which Undine ordered to be closed, but which her 
 rival, Bertha, has opened." 
 
 " It seems to me," interrupted the duke, " that you have, 
 read this book." 
 
 " No; I have only heard the story told, and I saw a pic- 
 ture ah, me ! I shall never forget it a picture of the 
 beautiful fountain in the old court-yard. Such a picture! I 
 have stood breathless before it. The Gothic arches and 
 superb carvings of the court, the tall, white fountain in the 
 middle, and the group of servants and workmen watching
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 133 
 
 in wonder. At first when the fountain is unsealed, and 
 the stone raised from it, the silver spray rises high in the 
 air; then gradually, to the wonder and terror of the 
 beholders, this spray assumes the figure of a woman, and 
 they know her at last for the lost mistress for whom they 
 all mourn, She walks through the long corridors, weep- 
 ing and wringing her hands, she goes to the door of the 
 room where her husband sleeps and calls for him; with 
 her ice-cold fingers she touches his heart; and the last 
 seen of her she goes back to the fountain, and all that is 
 heard is the falling spray, which, as it falls, seems to sigh 
 like a dying woman ! Is it not a beautiful legend?" 
 
 "Most beautiful," says the duke. " You shall have the 
 book to-morrow. Your legend reminds me of my favorite 
 'Pygmalion and Galatea.' Have you seen it? But of 
 course not you have had no opportunity of going to 
 English theaters. The most mournful cry that I have heard 
 in my life was that of Galatea when she returns to her 
 marble life. She calls Pygmalion, but it is in a tone so 
 mournful that it made my blood run cold. The voice dies 
 and dies, until the last faint sound on the marble lips 
 seems to freeze on them." 
 
 " I should like to see it," 
 
 " I must ask my mother if she can arrange it it will be 
 played next week." 
 
 " You will go ?" she cried, with her usual impetuosity 
 
 " Certainly, if you wish it," he replied, laughingly. The 
 words had become quite a formula with him now. 
 
 So, day by day, they were drawn together by a hundred 
 similar conversations ; so much was new to Lady Valentine 
 in this fresh life, there were so many things she could not 
 understand, there was so much that puzzled her and ex- 
 cited not only her wonder but her contempt, and in all 
 these social difficulties it was her dainty will and pleasure 
 to consult him ; she seldom went to the duchess with any 
 questions. So it came to pass that when she had been at 
 Rood House for a short time, she was quite as much at 
 borne as either the duke or duchess ; she was never afraid 
 to make her way to the boudoir of the duchess, or to the 
 study of the duke, and she was equally welcome in both 
 places. Had she been a daughter of the house she could 
 not have been more completely at home. 
 
 The duke was amused wuen on the day after theii
 
 134 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 conversation he took Fougue's "Book of Stories" to 
 her. 
 
 " Here is ' Undine,' " he said, and her lovely face flushed 
 with pleasure. 
 
 " How shall I thank you ? she said. " How kind of you 
 to give me this happiness." 
 
 He had been fortunate enough to find a superbly illusv 
 trated edition, and her genuine delight in it just the 
 delight of a child with a new book amused him very 
 much. She raised her fair head from the pages, and said : 
 
 " You have given it to me then ? It is my own ?" 
 
 "Certainly," he said. " You will honor me very much 
 by accepting it." 
 
 The color rose to her face when she bent down and 
 kissed the pretty cover. For a moment he seemed hall 
 inclined to lay his hand on the fair-haired head; then, re^ 
 membering, he drew back suddenly. She kissed the 
 pretty binding. 
 
 "I shall always love this book," she said, "because it is 
 your first present to me. I will never part with it. Now, 
 come here to my desk, and write my name inside it. I 
 am curious to see what you will write. You must say 
 why, what is your Christian name ? I have never thought 
 to ask you." 
 
 " My name is Bertrand," he replied, " not Bertrond 
 my mother is very particular about the spelling of it." 
 
 He took the book, and opening it, dipped his pen in the 
 ink-stand to write something. She leaned over his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I wonder what you will write," she cried, laughingly; 
 " in every book meaat as a present that I have seen, it is 
 
 written, ' From , to his sincere friend/ or something 
 
 of that kind; it will be very stiff and formal if you write, 
 From his Grace the Duke of Castlemayne to the Lady 
 Valentine Arden.' " 
 
 "I will do something bolder than that," he cried; "I 
 will write simply, ' From Bertrand to Valentine.' Will 
 that displease -you?" 
 
 " No," she answered, laughingly; "I think they are 
 very nice names, and I like the look of them together." 
 
 It was some days afterward that the duchess said : 
 
 " How fond you are of that green and gold book, Lady 
 Valentine!"
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 135 
 
 T!: was the duke's first present to me," she replied. 
 
 " And is that the reason why you like it so well ? " 
 
 " Certainly, I should like anything that the duke gave 
 me, because I like him," was the candid reply ; and then 
 her Grace of Castlemayne began to look into matters. It 
 seemed to her that matters were growing serious. Here 
 was this beautiful young ward of hers openly professing 
 the most fervent liking for her son surely slie was not 
 in love with him. The duchess felt that would be a 
 combination of circumstances she could not control. But 
 surely the effect was too honestly expressed to be love. 
 
 " I should have much more to trouble about," she said 
 to herself, reassuringly, " if she shut herself up in her 
 room to dream about him, was shy when he spoke to her, 
 if she avoided him, or blushed when near him. She is 
 frank, as though she were his own sister, seeks his opin- 
 ions and society, embraces his ideas just as though she 
 had lived with him all her life. I need not feel uneasy 
 about her." 
 
 Yet she could not feel quite happy. If such a misfor- 
 tune should happen as that this girl confided to her care 
 should love her son, and love him hopelessly, she would 
 never forgive herself. There was certainly a more cheer- 
 ful way of looking at it, and that was the duke might 
 love her in return ; but she could hardly hope for that ; 
 that he who had resisted the fascinations and charms of 
 the finest and most beautiful and popular women in Eng- 
 land, for twelve long years, should in a few weeks fall 
 hopelessly captive before a young girl seemed quite im- 
 possible. She would have been only too delighted, had 
 she thought the duke should share the girl's sentiments ; 
 but watching him narrowly, she could detect no sign of 
 love in him. He was charmed, delighted, frankly pleased, 
 happy in her society ; but " in love," said the stately 
 duchess to herself, with a shake of her head, " in love my 
 son will never be." 
 
 If she had but known of that love of his long years ago, 
 vfhich her imperious pride had trampled under foot ; if 
 she could have seen him then, haunted by one fair face, 
 following Naomi like a shadow, waiting whole hours for 
 one glimpse of her, loving her so passionately that ha 
 forgot everything on earth save her ; if she had known 
 this. how he had clasped that beautiful young wife in his
 
 J.HT?. 1, oiui'S SECRET. 
 
 arms and had sworn that nothing should ever part them 
 how madly, wildly, passionately he had loved her, she 
 would have been astonished. 
 
 And he had lost this beautiful, loving wife, simply be- 
 cause he had not liked to face his mother's anger or out- 
 rage her sensitive pride. 
 
 Where is the duke ? "Will he be long ? Has he been 
 long away ? Will he go out with us ? Will he stay at 
 home with us ? This kind of questions were on her lips 
 a hundred times a day. 
 
 Once the duchess did venture a very slight remon- 
 strance. 
 
 "My dear Lady Valentine," she said, "we must, I 
 think, make our arrangements quite independent of the 
 duke. Gentlemen have so many ngagements of their 
 own that we must depend more upon ourselves. 
 
 " But," she cried, eagerly, " he likes to go with us he 
 is happiest with us." 
 
 " I know that I am quite sure of that, yet I think we 
 must be more independent. He can not go with us 
 always, y o u know. Yesterday you lost your drive through 
 waiting for him." 
 
 "Yes, I know; but, duchess, I would far rather wait 
 for him and still lose it than go without him." 
 
 "My dear Lady Valentine !" cried her Grace of Castle- 
 mayne. 
 
 " It is quite true. When the duke goes with us the 
 sun shines more bright and the air is sweeter, everything 
 looks brighter, the world hardly seems to be the same 
 place. Do you not find it so ?" 
 
 " No," replied the duchess, dryly, " I can not say that I 
 do." But a sword seems to pierce her heart as she re- 
 membered the time when the presence of one made earth 
 fairer and heaven brighter. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 LADY VALENTINE WARNED. 
 
 So matters went on for the next few days, the duchess 
 growing more and more uneasy, yet hoping against hope 
 that she was wrong in her fancies, or that her son would 
 imitate Lady Valentine. In the meantime no news came 
 for the duke. He heard constantly from Mr. liuskyn, he
 
 THE DUKE'S SECKE1-. 137 
 
 heard from the detective, but they had nothing to tell 
 him; the hope of hearing anything about Naomi must 
 have forsaken them, for even he began to look upon it as 
 a chimera. 
 
 But for this tie that he had so lightly contracted in his 
 youth, and even more lightly flung aside, but for this he 
 might now win and woo the beautiful young girl who 
 was not in the least degree shy of showing her liking 
 for his society. It so happened that the rival families 
 met at a ball given by the French embassador. Lady 
 Everleigh, with her two daughters and eon was present. 
 They were in high glee, for Lady Everleigh had suc- 
 ceeded in one of the great desires of her life. Blanche was 
 engaged, and considering that she had no great fortune, 
 she had secured one of the best partis of the day, Lord 
 Beaucan, a handsome and wealthy young nobleman, who 
 might, so the world said, have " done much better." He 
 was seriously and gravely in love with the fair Miss 
 Blanche ; and as all true lovers should do, he believed 
 her to be the most beautiful of women, and he was very 
 anxious that the marriage should take place as soon as 
 possible. 
 
 It was very delightful for Lady Everleigh to be able to 
 tell all her friends how very anxious she was, " for really 
 dear Lord Beaucan was so impatient, and wanted such 
 impossible things done, that she had a really mad time of 
 it," and with the usual sincerity of the world, her thou- 
 sand and one friends listened with kindly, sympathizing 
 smiles, and went away, saying how very absurd Lady 
 Everleigh made herself, as though no one had had a 
 daughter married before. 
 
 At the embassador's ball Lady Everleigh was in great 
 triumph ; Blanche, with her young lord lover, attracted 
 great notice ; and Hilda, as the sister or the future Lady 
 Beaucan, was very popular. So many eligible men sur- 
 rounded her that her mother foresaw a series of triumphs 
 for her, ending in a suitable marriage. She had abandoned 
 all idea of having the duke for a son-in-law ; he had not 
 followed up his short phase of attention to her daughter, 
 and she heard that he was to be seen everywhere with 
 Lady Valentine. If her daughters married well, the suc- 
 cession of her son to the dukedom of Castlemayne was 
 Hot of such vital importance. She felt just easy enough
 
 138 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 about it to enable her to be more at ease than eve? With 
 her stately rival, the Duchess of Castlemayne. 
 
 The duke was dancing with Lady Valentine when the 
 two ladies met, and in the great world, no matter how 
 much people dislike or even hate each other, they meet 
 with smiles and bows, and extended hands, each hating 
 the other in her heart. 
 
 "I have to congratulate you," says the duchess, in her 
 most stately and gracious fashion ; " Miss Blanche Ever- 
 leigh is most fortunate." 
 
 There was a veiled sneer in the words ; whether she 
 meant them or not, Lady Everleigh was quick enough to 
 feel them. 
 
 " You are very kind, duchess. I think Lord Beaucan a 
 very fortunate man, and so the world in general evidently 
 thinks him. Pray may I offer my congratulations?" 
 and she looked with a brighter smile at the handsome 
 duke and his partner. 
 
 The Duchess of Castlemayne would have given her title, . 
 her fortune, and everything that she held most dear, for 
 the power to say, " Yes," and so crushing forever the pre- 
 sumptuous hopes of the two women she detested. But; 
 truth compelled her to speak plainly. 
 
 " I am not aware of any cause for congratulation," shei 
 aaid, " unless you mean in the beauty of my ward." 
 
 Lady Everleigh laughed. 
 
 " No, I do not mean that," she said, " but there is a 
 rumor going about that at last the duke has found hi 
 ideal." 
 
 " I never listen to rumor " said her grace. 
 
 She had not patience to oay more. In the brilliant eyes 
 of her rival she r,eccgnized a fresh security that the duke 
 would never marry come what might. 
 
 The ball was a very successful one. The great rival 
 beauties, Mrs. Trelawney and Mrs. Dulwich, with a host 
 of admirers, were there. During one of his unoccupied 
 moments, the duke amused himself by contrasting the 
 rival beauties with Lady Valentine. There could be no 
 comparison, he said to himself, even so far as natural 
 beauty went. She excelled them, while her simple, grace- 
 ful, earnest manner surpassed theirs as a natural woman 
 always surpasses an artificial one. 
 
 If Lady Valentine could have condescended to try to
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET 139 
 
 charm, to try to fascinate, if she had taken the least pride 
 in a legion of admirers, she would have far surpassed all 
 the beauties. As it was, she cared but to please one and 
 in that she thoroughly succeeded. 
 
 His heart warmed to her as he looked at her. But for 
 this tie which bound him, as it were, to a shadow, but for 
 this the sweet eyes should not brighten, nor the sweet face 
 flush in vain for him. 
 
 It was late in the evening when the duchess went to 
 Lady Valentine, and under the pretense of wishing to in- 
 troduce her to some one, said: 
 
 " Give me five minutes, Lady Valentine, that is, if your 
 partner will allow it." 
 
 " My partner must do as I please," was the reply, " and 
 I please to be with you." 
 
 They walked through the ball-room to one of the pretty 
 4rawing-rooms set apart for tete-a-tetes of different kinds. 
 
 " I want to say something to you, Lady Valentine. Of 
 course I should never dream of interfering with you in the 
 matter of making friends; you have so much good sense 
 that I may safely leave it with you; but I do not wish you 
 to associate with Lady Everleigh or any of her family." 
 
 iJady Valentine raised her beautiful eyes in wonder. 
 It was the first time the duchess had adopted that tone 
 with her. 
 
 " Slie seemed a very nice, bright woman," she replied, 
 half hesitating as to whether she should rebel against both 
 the wordj and the tone of the voice. 
 
 " I say nothing against her," said the duchess, coolly; 
 " I do not tven dictate ; I say simply that I have cause to 
 dislike her, a&d I should be best pleased if you avoided 
 her. Neither my son or myself see her when we can 
 void it." 
 
 The whole expression of the girls face changed when the 
 duchess uttered that magical name. 
 
 "Does not he like her?" she cried. 
 
 There was but one " He " in the world for Lady Val- 
 entine. 
 
 "My son like her," said the duchess. " Oh, no; and I 
 will tell you why it will be best for you to know all about 
 it. If my son dies unmarried, Lady Everleigh's son 
 Arthur, the fair young man over there, talking to the em-
 
 140 THB DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 bassador, will succeed him will be Duke of Castlemayne 
 in his place/' 
 
 Lady Valentine was quite silent for some minutes, and 
 the duchess looked in wonder at the many expressions 
 which came over her face wonder, bewilderment while 
 the beautiful lips parted and the violet eyes filled with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " But your son, the duke, will marry," she said. " Why 
 are you afraid of that ?" 
 
 " Ah, my dear Valentine," said her grace, "if I could 
 but hope that I should be quite happy." 
 
 "Why not?" she asked, with some surprise. "Why 
 should you think that your son should not marry; there is 
 nothing to prevent him, is there ?" 
 
 "Nothing but his own obstinacy," said the duchess. 
 " That has been my trouble for many years ; he would 
 never hear of marrying. I have talked about it time after 
 time; it ends always in the same way he listens, seems 
 to be impressed, and promises that he will see his lawyer. 
 Now what can seeing his lawyer do ; it would be much 
 more to the purpose if he would see some nice girl and 
 love her." 
 
 Lady Valentine laughed. 
 
 " You are quite right. What an idea to see his lawyer, 
 the last person on earth I can imagine any one wanting to 
 see. Yet, duchess, I can not see why this should make you 
 dislike Lady Everleigh." 
 
 " It is not from the fact that I dislike, but because she 
 triumphs over me," said the duchess. She can not wait 
 until the time comes when she may reasonably triumph ; 
 she takes all kinds of airs and graces on herself, she talks 
 quite freely of the time when the Castlemayne title and 
 estate will be her son's." 
 
 " Then she is a very wicked woman," cried Lady Valen- 
 tine. " Why, what nonsense it is ; that son of hers must 
 be the same age as the duke, is he not ?" 
 
 " There is but six years difference between them," re- 
 plied her grace. 
 
 " What nonsense ; why, the duke may 'outlive him by 
 fifty years I hope he will." 
 
 " Still, if he will not marry, his living so long will avail 
 but little," said the duchess, with a sigh. " If Arthur Ever- 
 leigh does not succeeti him, some one else will, although I
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 141 
 
 grant that no other man could be so distasteful to me as 
 this woman's son." 
 
 " But, duchess, your son will marry. Why not ?" 
 
 " Ah, me, that is just the question why not ? but he 
 will not. For twelve years in fact ever since he reached 
 his twenty-first year I am urging him to think of it. I 
 am sure," continued her grace, " that I have introduced 
 some of the loveliest women in England to him ; but it is 
 all in vain." 
 
 The beautiful young face grew somewhat pale and 
 scared. 
 
 " But why ? " she persisted. " Does he not like 
 ladies?" 
 
 " One would think not," said his mother. " I may say 
 that he has spent twelve years in avoiding them." 
 
 " He has been very kind to me," said the girl, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Yes ; he has spent more time with you than all the 
 other ladies he knows put together," and the duchess 
 looked wistfully in the young face. 
 
 " It seems very strange," said Lady Valentine, after a 
 tune ; " he has everything that life can give him. I am 
 sure it must be easy for him to win love. Why does he 
 not marry ? " 
 
 " Alas ! " cried the duchess, " for twelve long years, 
 morning, noon and night, I have asked myself the ques- 
 tion ' Why does he not marry ? " But you will under- 
 stand how very distasteful the sight of Lady Everleigh 
 must be." 
 
 " I shall talk to her no more," said Lady Valentine, and 
 the duchess knew that in the young girl she had found a 
 firm and true ally. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 LOVE AND MTTSIO. 
 
 LADY VALENTIN* could not forget that conversation. It 
 seemed to her that the proud, haughty mother had bared 
 the secret wound of her heart to her. Why should he 
 not marry why should he not marry ? she would ask her- 
 self. In the whole wide world there was no one so hand- 
 some, so noble. He was like a king, his every action was
 
 142 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 noble and grand, generous and princely. Why should be 
 not love and marry as other men did ? 
 
 No wonder that one so young, so pure in heart and 
 mind, so utterly unconventional, so inexperienced and 
 ignorant of all life no wonder that she should, without 
 in the least knowing it, give her heart and her love unre- 
 servedly to one like the duke. No wonder that the heart 
 of the beautiful child went out to him, to be her own no 
 more. It was quite unconsciously done ; she had not the 
 faintest idea of it ; if any one had told her abruptly, she 
 would either have laughed or have grown angry ; yet 
 with all the truth, earnestness, and ardor of her soul, she 
 loved him. 
 
 She did not know it was love which made her long for 
 his presence as the flowers longed for the sun; that made 
 everything in his absence seem dark and dreary; that 
 made the sound of his voice sweeter than any music to 
 her ears; that made her tremble even if he touched her 
 dress in passing by; that made her linger in the corridor 
 and galleries for one look at him, only one glimpse as he 
 passed by; that made anything belonging to him most 
 dear to her; that caused her thoughts to concentrate 
 themselves upon him so that the world outside him was 
 nothing. She never dreamed that it was love. She was 
 very fond of him, of the duchess, of her father, but that 
 she was fonder of him in a different way, and far more 
 than of any one else in the world, she never thought. 
 
 She never dared to go anywhere without him; but 
 that she explained to herself was because he was so kind, 
 so amusing; he knew everything and everybody. She 
 was in perfect ignorance of her own state of mind, and 
 she would never have found it out but for the conver- 
 sation of the duchess. 
 
 " Why should he not marry ?" From that momentous 
 question her thoughts went to another. " Suppose he did 
 marry and brought his wife home to Bood House, as he 
 must do, how would she like that?" Her face flushed 
 hotly. " I hope he will not marry," she cried, impetu- 
 ously. " I am sure I should not like to see a young duch- 
 ess here." As yet her thoughts did not reach so far as 
 that he should marry her. She was anxious for the first 
 time since she had been at Rood House. She could un- 
 derstand and sympathize with the duchess's great wish
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 143 
 
 that her son should marry. She could understand how 
 distasteful it was to her to hear the comments of Lady 
 Everleigh, but she did not like to think of the duke as a 
 married man. He could not go out with her then, he 
 would have to take his wife, and she would be left with 
 the duchess. Was it the prospect of being left with the 
 duchess that made her beautiful lips quiver and her eyes 
 fill with tears ? She was standing at the drawing-room 
 window, from where she could see the park. Suddenly a 
 kindly hand was laid on her shoulder. 
 
 "Lady Valentine," said the duke, "that is the first sad 
 look I have seen on your face since you came to us; now 
 you must tell me what has brought it there." 
 
 He had a charm of manner that was quite irresistable-, 
 if he said must, the person spoken to seemed to have no 
 chance save to do just what he said a charm that fascin- 
 ated every one the true, kindly eyes looked through in- 
 to the heart and soul, the beautif ul mouth had a genial, 
 kindly smile. 
 
 "You must tell me what has brought it there, so that I 
 may send it away." 
 
 She was truth itself, but the maidenly instincts in her 
 could not let her say, " I was wondering what I should do 
 if you were to marry." She turned from him abruptly, 
 although the caressing touch of his hand filled her with 
 happiness. 
 
 " I can not tell you," she replied; " if I could, I should 
 ai once. Come to the piano, and let us have some music." 
 
 Wondering at her manner, for she had always seemed 
 so pleased to talk to him, he followed her. She took up 
 some new t songs at random. 
 
 " Sing this to me," she said, quickly. 
 
 She might have paused, perhaps, had she read the 
 beautiful words first words written by a true singer * 
 pretty, pathetic ballad, called " Recompense." 
 
 " One flower alone, of all the flowers, 
 Sweet with the summer sunlit showers ; 
 One fair queen-blossom on the tree 
 Was more than all the rest to me. 
 
 ' 
 P And one proud face was passing fair, 
 
 One face alone beyond compare. , 
 
 It was, alas ! as lovers know 
 
 My heart of hearts that told me so.
 
 144 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " The wind crept down the garden walk 
 And stole my blossom from the stalk. 
 My passion met with her disdain, 
 I loved her, and I loved in vain. 
 
 " And so I gave the world was wide 
 Scorn for her scorn, and pride for pride. 
 And still, alas ! I found that she 
 Was more than all the world to me." 
 
 " Do you like that ? " he asked, as he watchecl the white 
 lingers moving over the keys. 
 
 She did not turn to him as usual with gay, bright com- 
 ments on his singing. Her eyes were bent upon the 
 keys. 
 
 "Yes, I like it; it is both sweet and sad. I suppose 
 that in this life every one mourns over a stolen rose. 
 Sing another." 
 
 He took up the music. 
 
 "Perhaps," he said, "you will h'ke this better. It is 
 called 'Final Faith.'" 
 
 " 'Oh, sweet and bitter, sad and true, 
 I love you still and only you. 
 Betrayed, forsaken, it is strange 
 Love is love and can not change. 
 
 *" Oh, fond and fickle, false and fair, 
 Do you recall the days that were ? 
 And think of these without a thrill 
 Of pain, for one who loves you still f 
 
 * 'Oh, last and first, the song of love 
 Are full of faith on lips above, 
 And having loved you is it strange 
 I love you still and cannot change ? ' " 
 
 He asked no question when he had finished, but looked 
 into the beautiful drooping face. The silence confused 
 her; she would have said anything rather than it should 
 have lasted. 
 
 " I wonder why so many songs are written about love ? " 
 she said ; and then she bethought herself that this was 
 the last topic she ought to have chosen. He smiled at the 
 naive remark. 
 
 "Love, poetry, and music are closely allied," he re- 
 plied ; " still I do not know why so many songs are
 
 THE DUEEo SECBET. 145 
 
 about love. It is perhaps the most beautiful and musi- 
 cal topic in itself." 
 
 " I like sea-songs, like Dibdin's, or grand old martial 
 ballads best," she said, dreamingly. 
 
 " Do you ? I like the fine old ballads too. Shall I sing 
 one for you ? I perceive that to-day you are far more 
 inclined to listen than to sing." 
 
 " It is quite true, but how do you know it ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 " By the expression of your face, Lady Valentine," he 
 answered. 
 
 " I did not know that you could read my face so well," 
 she said. 
 
 And then he sang for her one of those grand old border 
 ballads full of fire and pathos. She listened until the tears 
 filled her eyes, then she laughed at her own dilemma. She 
 was playing the accompaniment. What should she do if 
 tears fell with a great splash on the ivory keys? Why 
 were tears there at all ? 
 
 " That is better than singing all about love," she said. 
 " I like a little of love and plenty of war. That is the best 
 mixture for a song. Martial music makes my heart beat" 
 
 The duke looked at her with a kindly smile. 
 
 "Tour heart will beat with something else besides war 
 very soon," he said. 
 
 But she turned from him, and would hear no more,. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 THB DUCHESS PRAYS. 
 
 NATURE had been very good to Lady Valentine ; besides 
 giving her a beautiful face and figure, she had given her 
 one of the sweetest voices ever heard. The duke, who was 
 passionately fond of music, was delighted with it; his favo- 
 rite method of passing time was to persuade Lady Valen- 
 tine to play and sing while he listened. She had a grand 
 voice; her whole soul and being seemed possessed of great 
 dramatic force and power. The duchess, who was a pretty 
 good judge of human nature, often said to herself that if 
 Lady Valentine Arden had not been a peer's daughter, she 
 would have been the finest lyric singer of the day ; her 
 whole soul went into her songs, and some of them were 
 very sweet
 
 146 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 The young duke liked to lie back with closed eyes, and 
 listen to this sweet flood of melody as it floated round 
 him. 
 
 " Have I sung you to sleep ?" she asked one day, when 
 she had finished the most beautiful of her songs, " Will 
 he Come ?" 
 
 But when he opened his eyes to look at her she saw 
 that they were full of tears. What vision had come before 
 him as the sweet, sad words fell on his ear, of the fair 
 young face, so bright with love and happiness of that 
 same face the day after, when she had turned to him with 
 that agonized cry: "Lord St. Albans, I appeal to you." 
 Ah, if he had but answered her if he had but stretched 
 out his hands to hold the hands he should touch no more. 
 But he had not spoken, and she was lost to him for ever- 
 more. 
 
 If he could see her for five minutes if he might only 
 tell her that he had not meant it, that it was a mistake ; 
 he had intended to take care of her. But never more in 
 this world should he be able to explain to her. No 
 wonder that his eyes filled with tears, and that when 
 Lady Valentine saw his emotion she thought it was her 
 singing which had brought it there. 
 She laid her kindly hand in his. 
 
 " You have tears in your eyes, duke," she said, " and I 
 do not like to see them there. What brings them there ?" 
 She thought to herself as she looked at him how hand- 
 some he was, and she wondered why he was so sad ; what 
 was it that shadowed the laughing eyes and had deepened 
 the lines of the beautiful mouth ? He was unlike other 
 men ; he seemed to have a secret in his life ; his thoughts 
 were always absorbed in something. Had he a secret ? 
 He was young, handsome, wealthy ; she could not think 
 of a flaw in the gem of his life ; but as she had seen the 
 tears in his eyes, some cause or other must have brought 
 them there. 
 
 She was so artless, so frank, so innocent ; know it or 
 not, she loved the young duke with all her heart She 
 laid her hand on his, and said : 
 
 " I wish you would tell me what brought those tears to 
 your eyes." 
 
 " Tell you ?" he repeated, looking at her in wonder 
 "tell you, Valentine?"
 
 DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Yes no Valentine. I want to know what is wrong 
 with you, and what it is you think about when you look 
 so sad. Who is in your mind ? Ah, I wish you would 
 trust me ! Tell me all about yourself ; then I should 
 know ; I should understand." 
 
 He looked at her in wonder ; until now be had thought 
 of her as a child, placed under her mother's care ; now it 
 dawned across him that she was a beautiful, charming girl. 
 How her eyes brightened and her fair face flushed as she 
 looked at him ! 
 
 He looked confused, agitated, and answered quickly : 
 
 " I would trust you with anything. You are like a 
 sister to me." 
 
 "A sister," she repeated, in a tone of voice that showed 
 very plainly she did not like the word. " A sister, duke ? 
 And if you had had one, should you have loved her 
 very much?" 
 
 "Very much, indeed, Valentine," he replied. 
 
 " As much as you love me ?" she asked, with that pretty 
 charming manner no one could resist. " Better than me, 
 perhaps," she added. 
 
 He was just a little puzzled to answer the question. 
 
 " I do not think," he said, " that I could love any sister 
 more than you," yet he was half frightened as he said it. 
 
 The sweet bright face laughed into his. 
 
 "I am so glad," she said; "for I have seen no one I like 
 as well as you." 
 
 She sat down by his chair, and began to talk to him. 
 In another it would have looked like coquetry or like 
 forwardness; in her it looked just as it was simple, 
 girlish, natural affection ; from that time she would 
 always sing to him in the gloaming; she chose the sweetest 
 and saddest of songs, and when they were ended she 
 would go and sit by him with all the artless affection and 
 vivacity of a child. It happened more than once that the 
 duchess, seeing them, had smiled significantly, and the 
 duke had seen the smile. 
 
 It roused him ; a smile like that on his mother's face 
 meant something now. If she thought there was any 
 nonsense or flirtation between him and this child she was 
 mistaken. 
 
 So, for a day or two, he stood on more ceremony with 
 her, and when the fresh, sweet voice asked ; " Duke, are
 
 148 THB DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 you coining?" "Are you going with me?" "Will 
 you read to me ? " he had always some excuse, some en- 
 gagement, some appointment, until the fair face grew 
 Bad. She went to him one day, and said : 
 
 " Have I vexed or displeased you ? You are so changed 
 in your manner to me. " 
 
 " You have done neither," he replied. 
 
 "You are quite sure honor bright," as the children 
 were wont to say. 
 
 ** Honor bright," he answered, with a laugh. " Why 
 should I be vexed or angry with you, who are always 
 kind and sweet to me ? " 
 
 " That is just what I oouldnot understand," she replied. 
 " Then, if neither vexed nor angry, why should you be so 
 cold and distant ? " 
 
 " I do not think that I have been either," he said. 
 
 " You have been both, duke ; and when you are in 
 those moods I feel as the world must feel when the sun- 
 light has gone from it. If you are neither vexed, angry, 
 cold nor distant, why have you not been out with me as 
 usual ? " 
 
 "I have been busy," he said. 
 
 " Then, to prove that it is all right, will you take us to 
 Lady Prescott's to-night she has a large daucing-party ? 
 We went to Craig House last evening, but without you 
 it was too dull." 
 
 " Without me. Why, Lady Valentine, what difference 
 in the world should I make ?" 
 
 "Just all the difference in the world to me," she said, 
 simply. " There are only two places to me in this world 
 where you are and where you are not." She spoke so 
 calmly and so simply that he could not misunderstand 
 her words. " You know," she continues, with the same 
 kind, frank, girlish manner, " how much I enjoy waltz- 
 ing ; but I almost made up my mind yesterday that I 
 would never waltz again except with you. I did not caro 
 for it ; but if you will come to the ball to-night, I shall 
 enjoy every waltz." 
 
 " But, my dear Valentine, I could not dance every 
 waltz with you," he said, wonderingly. 
 
 " Well, perhaps not every one," she said ; " but you will 
 go and I am so pleased that there is not any foundation 
 for all that I feared over you." 4
 
 THE DUKE'S sECBfiT. 149 
 
 " If I had known that you had such fears, I would have 
 discussed them with you before," he said. 
 
 He thought a great deal about that conversation ; how 
 frank and fair she was ! He thought to himself if he had 
 known no other love, if he had never seen Naomi, he 
 could have taken this young girl to his heart and never 
 let her go ; she was herself so loving, it was impossible 
 uot to love. | 
 
 They went to the ball together, and it was a fact tha 
 she did not seem to hear or see any one but the young 
 duke. The duchess saw it plain enough; there \\as no 
 mistake about it; the girl loved her son. How her eyes 
 followed him how her face brightened at his approach 
 how evident it was to every one near that her girl- 
 ish heart had gone out to him. The duchess did not 
 know whether to feel pleased or displeased. Lady Val- 
 entine loved her son, of that she did not feel the least 
 doubt in the world; but what of the duke? She watched 
 him quietly, and without saying one word. It was true 
 that she had never seen him so devoted to any one before. 
 His handsome head was bent over the fair face; he talked, 
 laughed, and seemed lighter of heart than he had done 
 for many years. A sigh that was almost a prayer rose to 
 his mother's lips. If Heaven would but grant her this 
 favor if her son would but fall in love with this girl 
 who, above all other girls, seemed so well suited to him 
 she felt that then indeed her life would be crowned 
 with success. 
 
 She watched keenly and closely, but she could not de- 
 cide. That Lady Valentine had a great attraction for him 
 no one could deny, but whether it was love or not she 
 could not determine. She saw that when the ball was 
 over, the girl's beautiful face was fresh as a flower, her 
 eyes full of light, and her lips all smiles. 
 
 " I have been so happy," she said, as the duke drew the 
 white wrapper round her shoulders. " This has been the 
 very best ball of the season the very best I thought 
 that it was the dullest ever given." 
 
 The Duchess of Castlemayne thought to herself that if 
 the duke did not see through and understand this he 
 would never understand anything. It was so plain, so 
 palpable to her. The girl evidently loved him -ith all 
 for heart and bad uo idea of concealing it, perhaps
 
 150 THE BUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 quite unconscious of it. Could it be possible that he had 
 never noticed, that he had not seen the warmth of manner, 
 frank, kindly affection, the tenderness that shone in her 
 face and eyes ? The duchess was a worldly woman. She 
 had thought much of another life, but if ever she prayed 
 fervently it was on that night as she drove home with her 
 son and the beautiful young girl whom she longed to 
 welcome as her daughter. She prayed that Heaven 
 would incline the heart of her son to f ulfill her wishes. 
 
 CHAPTER XXin. 
 
 A FROZEN HEART. 
 
 NOTHING happened to show the duchess that Tier wishes 
 were to meet with any fulfillment. The duke continued 
 most kind and attentive to Lady Valentine; she to evince 
 the same frank, open affection for him; but her grace did 
 not hear that which she longed to hear. She dreamed 
 every day of the time when h should come suddenly be- 
 fore her and say: "Mother, this is my wife; I have 
 chosen ; wish us happiness." But that never came. The 
 far-off look deepened; the eyes were always seeking that 
 which he never found. Still, she would never have taken 
 any step in the matter but for this fact, that she saw one 
 slight change in the girl herself; she found her once or 
 twice alone, her face buried in her hands; she grew more 
 thoughtful, something was gone of the glad ring of her 
 voice; when she sung the tears would fill her eyes and 
 the lips tremble as the sweet words came over them. 
 
 She debated long within herself what she should do. 
 The girl was so young, and had been entrusted to her; 
 she could not see her made unhappy, yet she did not like 
 to interfere. One word spoke to either . might be fatal; 
 so she allowed some days to pass without interference; 
 then conscience spoke the girl's happiness must not be 
 trifled with. If the duke was not likely to fall in love 
 with her, either he must go away for a time, or the duch- 
 ess herself must go and take Lady Valentine. It was but 
 a fair thing to do. 
 
 Matters came to a crisis one lovely morning when the 
 three met at breakfast, and the lovely laughing sunshine 
 was so tempting that Lady Valentine begged they might; 
 soon as possible.
 
 DOLE'S siCMt. 151 
 
 "The park will be beautiful this morning," she said. 
 * You will come with us, duke, will you not ?" 
 
 Some glimmering idea that it would not be wise to be 
 seen always with her occurred to him, as it had often done 
 before. 
 
 "I am afraid," he said, " that I have made an engage- 
 ment for this morning." 
 
 "Do try," she said; her face and manner were so earnest 
 that he flushed crimson, and the duchess bent her head 
 over her plate to conceal a smile. 
 
 " I do not see how I can break my promise," he replied. 
 " I said that I would drive over with Lord Clipton to 
 Bichmond. He is giving a dinner at the Star and 
 Garter." 
 
 ' Then you would be away not only all day, but all 
 the evening," she said. 
 
 " Yes. We should not get back much before midnight," 
 he replied. 
 
 It was impossible to help seeing that every gleam of 
 brightness fell from the girl's face. 
 
 " A day and evening!" she said. "I do not like Bich- 
 mond." 
 
 " Have you been there ?" asked the duke. 
 
 " No ; but I am sure all the same I do not like it." 
 
 " I should be pleased to take you there some day. We 
 will dine at the hotel and drive home by moonlight." 
 
 "That will bs pleasant," she said. "I shall enjoy it; 
 but I wish ah, how I wish you were not going to-day." 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes then the du chess said : 
 
 " Now, my dear, if you want a long drive, it is time to 
 get ready for it." But the glory had gone from the sun- 
 shine Lady Valentine no longer desired a drive. 
 
 " I should not wonder if it rains; the sky is not so blue 
 as it was half an hour since. I do not care " 
 
 But the duchess interrupted her with a laugh. 
 
 " Bun away, my dear," she said, " and look your bright- 
 est; the park will be full to-day." 
 
 When she had left the room, the duke rose hastily to 
 follow her. He had some kind of dread of what her grace 
 might say. She merely looked at him. " Bertrand," she 
 said, "will you spare me five minutes to-morrow? I 
 have something very particular to say to you only five 
 minutes."
 
 152 THE DUKE'S SECMT. 
 
 "Shall it be now, mother?'* he asked, with resignation, 
 
 "No; I am going out with Lady Valentine. I shall be 
 at your leisure before dinner to-morrow, if you can spare 
 a few minutes then." 
 
 He knew it was equivalent to a royal command. Man 
 as he was, he still felt something like fear of his mother 
 and dread of long interviews with her. 
 
 He seemed to have almost an instinct of what was 
 coming. When the duchess sent for him to her boudoir, 
 he thought of the time when she had sent for him to her 
 boudoir at Rood Castle. Ah, if he had spoken then. For 
 that time to come over again, he would have given his 
 dukedom and all that it held. He thought of the fair 
 young face he had first seen under the lime-trees, and he 
 could have cursed his own folly and stupidity. 
 
 The duchess rose to receive him ; the time had gone by 
 when she could call him to her side and place him before 
 her to lecture him at ease. The young duke saw from 
 her face that what she had to say was of an anxious 
 nature. 
 
 " Bertrand," she began, "I would have avoided this 
 interview if I could, but it is no longer possible. I must 
 speak ; my conscience will not allow me to be silent any 
 longer. It is some time since I have spoken to you of 
 love or marriage, because I have relied implicitly on your 
 word that y ou would always keep my wishes in mind." 
 
 " I have done so," he replied, briefly. 
 
 "But with little result until the present time," said the 
 duchess. " I have thought much before speaking to you, 
 Bertrand. It seems to be almost like a betrayal of inno- 
 cence ; yet, I can not help it. Lady Valentine was en- 
 trusted to me, as you know placed under my care." 
 
 " I know," he replied. 
 
 " If any harm happened to her I should hold myself 
 responsible for it," she continued ; " and, Bertrand, I 
 fear that harm will come to her from you." 
 
 "From me?" he cried, looking at her earnestly. 
 "Why, mother, how can that be? I would not harm 
 even one hair of her head. I like the child exceedingly." 
 
 " She is not a child," said the duchess, gravely. 
 
 "Well, the young lady, then. I like her very much, 
 indeed." 
 
 " That is just the evil of it," said the duchess. " I would
 
 THE DFKE'S SECRET. 153 
 
 be the last in the world to speak of it to betray the girl's 
 secret ; to speak of that which I have discovered but my 
 heart aches for her and I can not see her happiness 
 wrecked." 
 
 " Speak plainly, then, mother, if I have anything to do 
 with it," he said, feeling horribly certain that something 
 was coming he should not care to hear. 
 
 The duchess, with her white jeweled hand, languidly 
 moved her fan. 
 
 " I do not like the task, Bertrand, honestly ; but I must 
 fulfill it. I fear very much for her peace of mind." 
 
 " I hope not, mother," he said gravely. 
 
 "She is very young," said the duchess, eager in the 
 defense of her favorite ; "not only that, but she is even 
 childish for her age she has seen so little of life, and you 
 are the first Englishman of any prestige she has seen, and 
 will not think it flattery if I add that I do not wonder at 
 her liking you." 
 
 He looked greatly distressed. 
 
 "Do you really think this is true, mother?" he asked. 
 " I would rather give all I have in the world than believe 
 it" 
 
 " "Why ? " asked the duchess, quickly. 
 
 " Because she is such a sweet, loveable, sensitive girL" 
 he answered. 
 
 " Well? " said the duchess, dryly. 
 
 Again the handaome face grew crimson. 
 
 " It would be a sad pity to see so much love wasted," 
 he said, slowly. 
 
 "That is the question," said the duchess. "Need it ba 
 in vain must it be in vain? I have asked you often 
 enough to find a wife. Could you anywhere in this wide 
 world find one more beautiful, more eligible in any way, 
 than Lady Valentine ? Answer me, Bertrand." 
 
 "No," he said, "I do not think I could." 
 
 " I love her. I have seen no girl whom I could so love 
 as a daughter. Hove her, she loves you; now why not 
 make the circle complete by loving her." 
 
 " I hope you are mistaken, mother," he cried. " I hope 
 she does not love me; if she does I am a greater coward 
 than I thought I was." 
 
 " I am sure of it, and I will tell you no half truths, 
 Bertrand she loves you better than any one else will
 
 164 THE DUKE'S 
 
 ever do, with all her heart. I do not believe she has a 
 thought which does not begin and end with you." 
 
 " I wish you had told me before," he said, and she saw 
 that he was in great distress 
 
 " I am grieved to have to tell you now," she replied. 
 " You ought to have seen it before. I feel humiliated. 
 for the girl's sake, to have to mention it ; but now, Ber- 
 trand, answer me one question, you admit that Lady Val- 
 entine is lovely and lovable why not marry her ? " 
 
 The very question he had feared, and for which he had 
 no answer. 
 
 " Why not make her happy make me happy, and win 
 what is a priceless treasure a loving wife for yourself at 
 the same time ? " 
 
 " I have not thought of it in that light, mother," he said, 
 slowly. 
 
 Her Grace of Castlemayne was so carried away by im- 
 patience that she positively, for the first and only time in 
 her life, stamped her foot on the floor. 
 
 " Heaven give me patience ! " she said. " I do think, 
 Bertrand, that you would disturb the serenity of a saint 
 or angel. I talk to you of a girl for whom half London 
 is dying, and you talk about not seeing things in that 
 light. Where is your sense of poetry and romance? 
 Why are you not like other young men ? I know not 
 one, but many, who would give all they have for one such 
 look even as Valentine continually gives you. Is your 
 heart a stone ? I do not understand you. Has no woman's 
 face a charm for you ? Do you never long for the sound 
 of a woman's voice ? You are a riddle to me, Bertrand. 
 Have you one sensible reason to give me why you should 
 not ask Lady Valentine to be your wife ?" 
 
 "Yes; one that embraces all others. I have never once 
 given the thing such a thought," he replied. 
 
 " Will you think of it now ?" she asked. 
 
 He turned to her, with an expression of resigned de- 
 spair. 
 
 " I can make no promises, mother," he said. " Mother, 
 you mean well, but you make my life harder to bear. I have 
 often said that if you leave it to me, all will be well." 
 
 " I must do something at once over Lady Valentine. 
 She must not be sacrificed. If I thought that in time you 
 would learn to love her, I would not interfere, but would;
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 155 
 
 let matters take their course; but if I thought the poor 
 girl was losing her heart to you and in vain I would 
 take her away at once." 
 
 "Give me a few days in which to think it over, mother," 
 he said. "I can not bear any more just now ;" and by 
 his face as he quitted the room, she knew that she had 
 said enough. 
 
 CHAPTER XXTV. 
 
 GOHCO TO HEB DOOM. 
 
 LONG and anxiously did the duke think of all that his 
 mother had said ; he had every reason to believe that it 
 was true; when he came to reflect on all that the girl had 
 said and done, he became quite anxious and miserable. 
 He had not thought of winning her heart; he had not even 
 thought of trifling with her. He liked her extremely, 
 thought her graceful, beautiful and gifted, but the only 
 woman he had ever loved, was his wife, Naomi, whom he 
 had lost through cowardice. "What was he to do? The 
 temptation to bury the past and marry her was greater 
 than any temptation he had ever known before. The life 
 before him looked fair enough; she was young, lovely and 
 loving. He would have the sweetest wife in England, his 
 mother would be happy beyond words. After all, it was 
 most probable that Noami was dead. Surely, if living, she 
 would have sent him one line or one message before now; 
 must he sacrifice his whole life to what seemed to be a 
 shadow ? 
 
 And that sweet buried romance that sweet, far-off love 
 no other could be like it; this face, though fair, was noi 
 o fair as his lost wife's. 
 
 "What should he do ? He was in a far greater dilemma, 
 it seemed now, than he had ever been. Again, the one 
 clear, straightforward path was to go in to the duchess and 
 tell her the truth ; yet it was more impossible, after all 
 these years of concealment, than it had been before. He 
 would rather have faced death ; no matter what complica- 
 tions arose, it was impossible for him now to do that. He 
 could not help admitting to himself that if it had not been 
 for this early romance of his, Lady Valentine, above all 
 others, was the one he should have chosen ; he could have 
 loved her with all his heart, if his heart had not been 
 given to another.
 
 156 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 Even now, if he were sure that he was free, he could 
 have passed his life happily enough with her, but this 
 sense of not being free kept him from saying anything to 
 her. 
 
 The crisis had come at last ; he must either tell Lady 
 Valentine the truth, or leave home not to return till she 
 Was gone. Delay would be dangerous and useless ; she 
 must be told, and she must know the truth. 
 
 But for that tragical past he could have taken her into 
 his arms now and have loved her and gladly have made 
 her his wife. 
 
 He had the feeling usual to a man who knows he is 
 loved, and is not quite sure whether it is in his power to 
 love again or not; half content that he should be loved, 
 half sorry that any girl should give her heart in vain. He 
 saw now that he had unconsciously encouraged her 
 girlish preference; that he ought to have left home or told 
 her he was married. He had not been fair to her. 
 
 " How is it," he thought, " that my life is such a fail- 
 ure ? Where women are concerned I am always wrong, 
 never right." 
 
 Lady Valentine had taken deeper hold of his heart thaq 
 even he knew himself. Love must win love of some kind 
 or another, and her girlish, passionate liking for him had 
 won from him the return of a great affection. He would 
 have liked just then to enjoy his freedom, to have made 
 her happy and loved her; he was in a sea of doubt 
 Naomi had been away from him so long; he half won- 
 dered at times if there could be much wrong in marrying 
 Lady Valentine. 
 
 How many people believed that seven years' absence 
 and desertion form a legitimate pretext for divorce. He 
 could not. In some things he had been weak, and had 
 failed woefully, but he was a firm believer in the 
 sanctity of marriage, and in the holiness of its bonds. 
 However strongly the temptation was urged upon him, he 
 knew what a marriage would be in the presence of God, 
 and what name his children would bear before right* 
 thinking and wise-judging men. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to tell her his fatal secret. 
 He knew how 'deeply she loved him when he thought 
 over all that had passed between them. 
 
 He had thought of her as a child with childish frank*
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 157 
 
 ness and candor; behold, she was a woman in her pas- 
 sionate love. In what words was he to tell her his ter- 
 rible story ? Must he seem anxious for her love, or must 
 he ignore it? He would seem vain, presumptuous and 
 conceited, if he even alluded to her love for himself ; he 
 must trust to inspiration. He had time on the following 
 day to note the truth of what the duchess had said. If 
 ever love shone in a human face it was in hers ; if ever 
 eyes told a sweet love story hers did, and he wondered 
 much at his own blindness in not having seen it before. 
 
 How young and fair and fresh she was ; how graceful 
 and winning; the very kind of life for whom one might 
 lay down his life. 
 
 There was a flower show at Kew, and the duke had 
 agreed to drive the two ladies down. There would be 
 an excellent chance, he thought, among the roses; the 
 duchess was sure to be surrounded by friends, and he 
 would take Lady Valentine away from the crowd, take 
 her down to the banks of the beautiful river and tell her 
 his story. His heart touched him a little when she went 
 up to him with a great light shining on her face. 
 
 "You are really going with us, duke?' 'she asked, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I hope so," he replied. 
 
 " Then it will be a real gala day. How I love roses ; 
 and I have a Parisian hat, the equal of which will not be 
 seen at Kew or elsewhere." 
 
 " A Parisian hat ?" he repeated. "I do not think it 
 can improve you." 
 
 The very glow of health and of the fresh sweet morn- 
 ing was on her face. He said to himself that he had seen 
 no one so exquisite. 
 
 A few minutes later and she stood before him, looking 
 more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Nothing 
 beautifies like happiness; going out with him was the 
 greatest of all happiness to her. She wore a beautiful 
 costume of pale -cream color, artistically arranged; and 
 the Parisian hat seemed to crown the fairest head. 
 
 " You are pleased with me," she said; "I can always 
 tell when you are pleased." 
 
 "Can you," he asked, laughingly; "how?" 
 
 'There are lines round your lips that never relax unless 
 you are please^ quite pleased, I rnewu"
 
 158 THB DUKE'S SECBKT. 
 
 '' Ton must have studied my face well," he said, cars' 
 
 I have," was the naive reply, " I know it almost by 
 heart." 
 
 And then the duchess came in, ready for the excursion, 
 and looked magnificently and superbly dressed. It was 
 said in London that to see the Duchess of Castlemayne 
 and Lady Valentine Arden together was a rare treat 
 They were the very types of the different orders of 
 womanhood the one in the fairest spring-time of youth, 
 Blender and graceful as a young fawn; the other in the 
 full magnificence of womanhood. 
 
 The duke looked from one to the other with pleased,, 
 proud eyea 
 
 The day was beautiful ; warm, without being sultry 
 with a blue sky and fair wind. The drive down to Kich 
 mond was most enjoyable, and Lady Valentine was in the. 
 highest of spirits. To be with him at any time was a 
 source of perfect happiness to her; but to have the pros- 
 pect of a whole beautiful day in the brightest of sunshine 
 was morg delightful than ever; the sweet face was ra-. 
 diant, the eyes eloquent with laughter and happiness. 
 
 She did not look much beyond the present, this happy,, 
 girlish creature; she did not analyze her heart, she did 
 not try to find out how much she loved him, or why ; all 
 ehe knew was that, being with him was her nearest idea 
 of paradise, and without him the whole world was deso- 
 late. It is not often that a girl falls so completely and so 
 unconsciously in love; as a rule, they know some little 
 about it 
 
 She never bethought herself that he was a duke, or that 
 bis wife would be the Duchess of Castlemayne, and one 
 of the wealthiest peeresses in England; she never thought of 
 the glories of Rood Castle, of the dignities that would be 
 lavished on his wife; she thought only of him it was 
 neither his wealth, rank, nor position she cared for, noth- 
 ing but himself. How easily ner secret was read in those 
 shining, lovely eyea 
 
 They found the flower show one of the finest ever held; 
 the flower^ were magnificent, the music fine, the toilets 
 of the ladies most exquisite. There was an unusual 
 number of beautiful women present; and the duke did 
 &ot find it quite BO easy to get her away from the crowd
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 159 
 
 as he expected to do. The brilliant sunshine lingered on 
 a fairy -like scene. 
 
 Lady Valentine was certainly the most beautiful girl 
 present. He realized perhaps for the first time how pop- 
 ular she was; how the gentlemen gathered round her, all 
 anxious for one look at her beautiful face, for one smile, 
 for one gleam of recognition; he saw that if he quitted 
 her side for one moment there were a dozen ready to 
 take his place. The duchess had joined the royal party; 
 and he knew that she would not be at liberty for some 
 little time. 
 
 They stopped for a few moments to look at some 
 wonderful geraniums, and then he whispered to her: 
 
 "Valentine, can you get away from these people? I 
 want to talk to you." 
 
 Ah me ! The happy eyes raised to his, a lovely flush 
 rose to the white brow. 
 
 "You want to speak to me, duke? Certainly, I will 
 get away. Let us go to the lake." 
 
 More than one glance followed them. Was it possible 
 that the duke was caught at last ? 
 
 More than one matron thought to herself that the 
 Duchess of Castlemayne had done a very clever thing in 
 bringing this beautiful young girl into her household. 
 
 Lady Everleigh laughed. 
 
 "I shall not take alarm yet," she said ; "after my ex- 
 perience of the young duke's vagaries it will take more 
 than one walk to convince me that he is serious." 
 
 So, without warning, with sunshine, laughter, music 
 and fragrance all around her, Lady Valentine went to her 
 doom. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A SIN AND ITS PENALTY. 
 
 PEBHAPS no young heart ever beat with greater emotion 
 than that of Lady Valentine as she walked away with the 
 duke, leaving the crowd of fair women and gallant men 
 and sweet music far behind. 
 
 " Let us walk down to the river's bank," said the duke; 
 " I want to talk to you." 
 
 There was but one thing he could want to talk to her 
 about, one thing alone filled her heart and mind ; it must 
 be of that he wanted to speak.
 
 U50 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 Throughout the lovely flower grounds, through the 
 long avenue of chestnuts, past the sweeping lawn, down 
 to the banks of the fair river. The odor from the haw- 
 thorn hedges and the lilacs reached them ; the grass was 
 studded with wild flowers. It was the very hour for love 
 and lovers ; but while one heart beat with passionate 
 delight, the other was heavy with sorrow and despair. 
 
 The duke made a comfortable seat for his beautiful 
 companion by the river's brink. Until the end of her life 
 the sight of a clear, deep river became in her mind asso- 
 ciated with misery beyond words. There was no doubt 
 in her heart, not the faintest, not the least shadow. 
 The blue sky and the sun were not more bright than the 
 shore she believed herself to have reached. She looked 
 up into his face as he sat down by her side, the handsome 
 face with the far-off look in the eyes, and the dreamy 
 half-sad expression. 
 
 He would look brighter than that very soon, she thought. 
 Near her, where the water touches the green leaves, lay a 
 brilliant mass of blue forget-me-nots; she gathered some 
 of them and held them in her hands. She never looked 
 upon the little flower again without tears. 
 
 Then the Duke of Castlemayne turned his face again to 
 her; it was pale with emotion; his voice was low, but to 
 her unutterably sweet. 
 
 "Lady Valentine," he said, " I have brought you hereto 
 tell you a secret and a story that I have told to no one ; a 
 secret that, like vitrol thrown on a face, has burned its way 
 into my life, branded my heart and my soul, and ruined 
 my whole existence." 
 
 It touched him to see how the color faded from the 
 sweet face, and how a look of terror came into the blue 
 eyes. This was not what she had expected ; this was no 
 sweet love story. " They say," he continued, " that every 
 sin brings its own punishment ; then, indeed, is mine 
 heavy, heavier than I can bear. I tell the story of my 
 Bin and its penalty, as a preventive against myself and to 
 save you. I can only do it in this fashion." 
 
 She was silent ; all the happiness that had made earth 
 heaven to her had suddenly died. What was this that 
 she was brought face to face with ? What had stolen into 
 that bright, peaceful paradise what had he to tell her ? 
 
 7* *wuld not be as she had thought he would not clasp
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 lier in nits uxina and tell her how dearly he loved her. It 
 was pain, sot love that she read on his face. 
 
 " I am ashamed to tell," he continued. " If I were to 
 listen to such a story told by the lips of another man, I 
 ihould have hard words in speaking of him I should 
 call him a coward ! You like me, Lady Valentine, you 
 think well of me now ; but when you have heard my 
 Btory you will never like me again." 
 
 She raised her fair face, with its shadowed eyes and 
 quivering lips, to his. 
 
 "Do not say that," she cried; "nothing in the wide 
 world could do that; nothing could make me like you less. 
 Whatever you do, whatever you have done, it is all the 
 same to me. I could like you more, never less." 
 
 The words fell so clearly from her lips, she did not hesi- 
 tate over them. He looked at her gratefully. 
 
 " My dear," he said, " you can form no idea, you have 
 no notion of my story; if, after hearing it, you look at me 
 with horror, rise up and leave me with anger and scorn, 
 it will not surprise me, I deserve it; but on the contrary 
 when you have heard all that I have to say, if you can 
 still be my friend, I shall think myself decidedly the most 
 fortunate man on earth." 
 
 "You may think that now, San Sebastian," she said, 
 with her old child-like naivete, " for nothing that you can 
 say will ever change me. I believe, so great is my faith 
 in you, that if I saw you do wrong the very fvct that you 
 did would make it seem right to me." 
 
 " That is faith indeed," said the dube; * would to Heaven 
 that I deserved it. Believe me, Lady Valentine, that of 
 all the evil and punishment *hat have followed my sin, 
 none is so great a penalty as this telling it to you." 
 
 " You call it a sin," Sue said ; " but I am sure there is 
 no sin in it. "When I look at your face, I am quite sure 
 of it. Sin or no sin, right or wrong, nothing can make 
 any aifference to me ; my belief can never change." 
 
 "Thank you," he said, "you make it more easy for 
 me." 
 
 He never forgot the fair face of the earl's daughter, 
 with its look of lofty pride and most tender love. 
 
 " Give me your hands," he said ; "if, as I go on they 
 keep with me I shall understand ; if you take them from 
 Ci it will only be what I deserve." j
 
 162 FHE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 "They will not te withdrawn, from you, San Sebas- 
 tian," she said, " and wait one minute if it pains you 
 so m h to tell me this story, why tell it ? " 
 
 " You will understand when you have heard it," he 
 replied. 
 
 Only Heaven knew how he was to begin, and what it 
 cost him to tell the story, of the mad folly of his youth, of 
 the act of cowardice for which he had suffered. 
 
 The sun shone on, the wind whispered to the tall green 
 trees, the great boughs stirred, the swift river ran on, 
 the waters washed the gre en roots of the forget-me-nots, 
 the birds sung their sweetest song while he told her the 
 story which seemed to him all shame. She listened at 
 first in utter silence. Once or twice a low moan came 
 from her lips, then they turned deadly pale, and she said 
 no more. 
 
 As he went on it seemed to her that her heart was 
 crushed crushed and broken; she could have fallen on 
 her face and died. In the after years she never knew 
 how she had lived through the anguish of that hour. He 
 did not spare himself, he made no excuses for his weak- 
 ness and cowardice, but told the story just as it hap- 
 pened. 
 
 Her face was white, her lips pale, her hands trembling 
 the blue forget-me-nots had fallen from them; one 
 bitter sigh came from the depths of a crushed heart 
 while the river rolled on and the birds sung. 
 
 A whole volume could not have held the pathos that lay 
 in the few words she uttered: 
 
 "Oh, San Sebastian!" 
 
 There was .1 world of tragic despair in them. Still the 
 white hands were not taken from his clasp; they lay cold 
 and quiet in his. 
 
 " That is the story rf my life, Valentine," he said, 
 " Tell me what you think of it." 
 
 Then as the little whife hands stirred in his, just as the 
 faithful loving heart J*5at with renewed tenderness for 
 him: 
 
 " I am so grieved icr you," she said, gently? and the 
 Words fell slowly from her white lips. " My first 
 thought is for your sorrow and pain." 
 
 He saw the change in the sweet young face, the i ue of 
 death that had overspread it the despondent toao vt the
 
 THE DUKE S SECEET. 163 
 
 dear voice. Oh, what a treasure he was casting from him, 
 the love of this most loving heart 1 
 
 It was piteous to see how her lips quivered, as she tried in 
 vain to keep the big tears from falling. She was so untried 
 in the ways of sorrow. At last, with a deep, breathless sob, 
 she said: 
 
 " Oh, San Sebastian, I never dreamed that you were 
 married 1" All the bitterness of her heart, all the bitterness 
 of her disappointment came out in that cry. '' I did not 
 know that you were married I" It went to his heart; and 
 still the loving hands were not taken from his. 
 
 "Telime," he said, urgently, "what you think of my 
 rtory?" 
 
 The pale face smiled into his. 
 
 " I understand it," she said; " I know exactly what you 
 thought, where you failed. I see why you call yourself a 
 coward. It is because you did not speak at the right mo- 
 ment; it would certainly have been much better if you had 
 done so; but I can understand, judging you quite justly, 
 why you did not. You took, I should imagine, a hurried 
 view of the situation, and decided that you could set every- 
 thing straight afterward, with far less trouble and annoy- 
 ance than you could do it just at that moment. Is that it?" 
 
 He wondered how she should understand him BO 
 thoroughly when the young wife whom he had loved so 
 fondly had failed. 
 
 "You are right," he said, "it was just in that way. I 
 thought I had but to see her again and tell her why I 
 had acted in that fashion. I have never seen her since. 
 It was cowardice, moral cowardice, Valentine." 
 
 " I will not call it so," she replied; " I will never own 
 that you could do wrong! You may make mistakes, but 
 that is all" 
 
 " Then you neither hate nor despise me ? " he said. 
 
 The true woman's heart awoke within her; the love that 
 is all sacrifice and no self came to her. 
 
 " No," she replied. " You have suffered and you are 
 unhappy, therefore I love you more," 
 
 " My true, dear " 
 
 Then he paused abruptly. What right had he to use 
 those words to her? "What had he lost in this treasure 
 that might have been his. 
 
 "I ufiderB.tan.ci now/' ehe said, "all that ow erer puz*
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 iled me. You look like a man who has lost something 
 I always thought so now I see what you have lost Your 
 eyes are always seeking something you never find. Oh, 
 San Sebastian, tell me, tell me, did you love her very 
 much ? Tell me all about her; was she fair ? did she love 
 you ? How could she, having loved you once, stay away 
 from you all this time '( " 
 
 CHAPTER XXYL 
 
 TBUB LOVB NEVEE FALTERS. 
 
 THK beautiful violet eyes were riveted on his face. She 
 was quite unconscious of the love and pain that she her- 
 self expressed in every tone of voice. San Sebastian had 
 always been her ideal of all that was perfect in man; she 
 could not so soon change her ideas of him; she could not 
 judge him as she would another man ; she could not see 
 faults or wrong in him. 
 
 So she sat looking at him with bewildered eyes, and 
 wondering why this horrible cloud had fallen over her 
 life wondering what this horrible pain at her heart 
 meant wondering why life should hold such grief. 
 
 " Did she love you very much ?" That was the burden 
 of her thoughts and her questions; that was the main 
 point. Had he, this man whom she loved with her whole 
 heart, had he known what it was to love and to receive 
 the sweet love of a tender-hearted woman ? 
 
 She had learned to think that he belonged to her; that 
 he was in some vague way her own property and posses- 
 sion. It had been to her like a little world, guarded by 
 her own heart: and lol here, all at once, she finds it has 
 been in possession of another long before she knew even 
 of its existence. Had he been merely a friend or ac- 
 quaintance, his story would have been a shock to her; 
 but being what he was, her hero and her ideal, it was like 
 a death-blow. 
 
 She was like a fair, young child, who had been playing 
 in the grass and flowers, and coming suddenly upon the 
 edge of a precipice, and gazing down into its depths, sees 
 the darkness and flames of hell Life had been a fair 
 poem to her ; she knew less than nothing of its darker 
 side. She knew that there was a fair passion called love, 
 which began on earth and ended in heaven, but she wan
 
 THE DUKE'S SEoiusiT. 165 
 
 quite igmorant of all bad loves of all wrong, sinful loves ; 
 he knew nothing of its tragedies and its despairs, nothing 
 of its shame and degradation. 
 
 This story of his was a terrible puzzle to her, but she 
 took it all in good faith ; there were reasons for all that he 
 had done. She knew how great was the pride of the 
 duchess ; how entirely her son loved and submitted to 
 her. How averse he was at all times and on all occasions 
 from doing anything which would grieve or vex her; 
 therefore she could understand, in some measure, why he 
 had acted as he had done ; and in her own heart per- 
 haps because she had loved him so she was inclined to 
 blame the young wife who had left him for so long with- 
 out one word, and whose absence had placed him in such 
 a dilemma. She laid her hand on her heart as though 
 she were in pain, when she asked him for the third time : 
 
 " Duke, did she love you very much ?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied, " very much indeed. It seems so 
 long ago I can hardly remember it all. I have had no 
 portrait of her to keep my memory alive, and I have 
 great difficulty in recollecting her face clearly. When I 
 try to think of it, it always seems to be blotted out by a 
 mist of tears. Ah, yes, she loved me very dearly 1 Even 
 now I feel the clasp of her warm hands." 
 
 He did not notice how instantaneously she withdrew 
 hers the white, wistful pain in her face was lost on him. 
 
 He went on. 
 
 "I remember her voice; I remember the ecstacy of her 
 happiness when we did meet; I remember how she hated 
 to leave me. My poor Naomi! She must have loved 
 me very much." 
 
 " Did she want to go out with you and be with you 
 always ?" she asked, knowing well the form her affection 
 took. ' Did she want to be with you all day long, and 
 when you left her do nothing but long for your re- 
 turn ?" 
 
 Yes," he replied, "she did all that." 
 
 " And you did you love her as much ?" ohe asked. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, quickly. " She was my first love. I 
 worshipped her; but it is all confused now, and It is long 
 since. I forget much; although she was my wife, after 
 that one week we saw so little of each other, even my 
 of her are all dazed, it seems to rue. If
 
 166 THE DUXE'S SECRET. 
 
 came back to me to-morrow in the same guise she left 
 me I should recognize her; but if I met her anywhere, I 
 doubt" 
 
 "And yet she is your wife," said Lady Valentine, 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " Yes, my wife, and I love her ; but I see clearly now ; 
 my eyes were blinded with the glamour of love ; I see 
 clearly, and I know that in marrying her I did a wrong, 
 foolish thing ; a senseless, selfish action ; it seemed to 
 me, then, very heroic ; now I know that it was only the 
 mad folly of my mad youth. I did a worse action still 
 when I let her go out of my mother's presence without 
 having told the truth. You will never think of me as a 
 hero again, Valentine." 
 
 " Indeed I shall ; you will always be the same to me. 
 Love is not love if anything can change it." The words 
 escaped her without thought ; but when she had uttered 
 them her face flushed crimson. "I mean," she added, 
 " that true friendship can never change." 
 
 He turned eagerly to her. 
 
 " Lady Valentine," he asked, "may I be frank, unworldly, 
 and sincere ? May I say exactly what is on my mind 
 what fills my heart and soul ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " say anything you will ; the more 
 you tell me the more I shall understand." 
 
 Her eyes were fixed on the swift rushing river, and the 
 sunlight that lay on its waters. Oh, Heaven, how the 
 bright sun of her life had set 1 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " say anything you like." 
 
 " Half a confidence is worse than none," he said. " I 
 will tell you every thought of my heart. If I speak 
 plainly, brusquely, forgive me; I mean only to be honest. 
 You can quite understand how terrible my dilemma is; 
 my mother urging me to marry her happiness, almost 
 her life depending on it; and I can not marry, for I do 
 not know whether my wife is living or dead. No day 
 passes on which she fails to appeal to me, to urge me. 
 She has introduced me to the sweetest and best of women; 
 I have hardly looked at them. The world calls me a 
 woman-hater; I am simply a man who once loved a 
 woman so dearly that I flung away my life for her. You 
 will naturally ask me, 'Why do I not tell my mother?' 
 My answer is this, 'She is unhappy enough now; but if
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 167 
 
 I told her this secret of mine, I believe it would kill her. 
 She would suffer so terribly from the mortification and 
 humiliation, it would, I believe, break her heart.' That is 
 why I do not tell her." 
 
 "I am sure it would," said Lady Valentine; and she re- 
 membered what the duchess had said to her about Lady 
 Everleigh. She understood it now. 
 
 " I have never liked to tell her. I may say plainly I 
 never dared ; and each year, as it rolls on, has made the 
 task more difficult. I believe now that I could do any- 
 thing in the world other than tell her ; she would never 
 have another happy moment in her life. I know she 
 suffers from suspense that same suspense would be- 
 come unendurable anguish if she knew all." 
 
 " I agree with you," said Lady Valentine, gravely. 
 
 He continued : 
 
 " I have made every effort, every human and possible 
 effort ; but it has been in vain. I can discover no trace 
 of her, not the least or the faintest. It has spoiled my 
 life ; but I deserved it." 
 
 The little hand stole back into his when he said that. 
 
 "No," she replied, "you shall not say that. I will 
 never have even you, yourself, say one word against your- 
 self." 
 
 " It has spoiled my life. I have had no such life as 
 falls to the lot of other men. My home has not been 
 brightened by love ; my days and my heart have been 
 empty , but I never felt this until I knew You will 
 forgive me for what I am going to say ? " 
 
 " Yes," she said ; and her heart seemed to thrill with 
 the pain of what was coming. 
 
 " I knew all I had lost from my life when I saw you. I 
 am not going to confess that I have a lover's love for you, 
 you would but despise me the more; but when you come 
 to our home, so young, so fresh, so beautiful, so loving, and 
 my motlier so utterly devoted to you, I realize how 
 happy I could have been if I might have asked you to be 
 my wife. I felt my heart going to you, and I have told 
 you now the truth, so that between us there shall be no 
 shadow, no untruth, no false position. You know the 
 truth now, Lady Valentine, the simple truth that if I 
 had been free to woo you and win you, I should have 
 been the happiest man on earth. That which I have told
 
 168 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 vj 
 
 you is the strongest barrier that can be placed betweea 
 us." 
 
 ' * I know it," she answered, in a low voice. 
 
 " Perhaps," he continued, " I have not been so guarded, 
 under the circumstances, as I ought to have been. I 
 have been perhaps, too what shall I say ? how shall I 
 express it ? too familiar. I have shown such liking for 
 you, for your society, that I may have misled you." 
 
 " No," she said, faintly. " The first moment I saw you I 
 liked you. I can not tell how or why, but I did like you 
 in a way that is quite different to the way in which I have 
 liked anybody else. That was not, because you had sought 
 my society, for I had never seen you before ; yet I liked 
 you, your face was just the picture of the San Sebastian I 
 had seen and loved all my life. I remember how my heart 
 went out to you, and I said to myself that it was my San 
 Sebastian come to life. It could not be because it sought 
 me; from the moment I saw you, in some strange way, 
 you seemed to fill the world for me, you became the center 
 of everything to me how could that be your fault ?" 
 
 She was perfectly sure that in those few words she made 
 a complete confession of love to him. She had not thought 
 of that; all she thought of was that he should not have the 
 additional pain of thinking he had misled her. She was 
 eager to impress him with the belief that her great liking 
 for him was natural and came at first, and had not been 
 brought abont by any seeking of his; and she forgot in 
 her anxiety to assure him of this that she was betraying 
 her love for him. 
 
 He saw it, and the grave, simple words pierced his heart. 
 If he had been free, all that world of love should not have 
 been lavished on him in vain. He saw and heard it with 
 the deep sorrow of a naturally noble soul that the girl 
 had unconsciously given to him the deepest trust, the most 
 passionate, the most earnest love of her life. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 THE DUCHESS PUZZLED. 
 
 THEY were silent for a few minutes. For Lady Valen- 
 tine, the whole world had changed, the music had gone 
 from the bird's song, a funeral pall lay over the blue sky 
 and the laughing earth; her youth, her love and hope
 
 DCTEE'S SECBET. 169 
 
 eemed suddenly to have shriveled up and left her. It 
 was like going from a land of laughing sunlight to one of 
 gray, leaden fog and utter darkness. The river still ran 
 on, the birds still sung, but the melody which filled her 
 heart when she first went there, was never to be heard in 
 that same heart again. 
 
 " I have not asked you for a promise of secrecy," said 
 the duke, " for I know that nothing would ever induce you 
 to utter one word of what I have told you." 
 
 " No," she said; " I would rather die." 
 
 " I know it, and, Lady Valentine, if by keeping my 
 secret too closely, if by seeking you constantly, if in any 
 way I have misled you, caused you pain, will you forgive 
 me?" 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive, San Sebastian," she said. 
 " Your friendship has been the happiest event of my life. 
 I would rather be your friend than the dearest love of 
 another. I have nothing to forgive ; if I had not known 
 you I should never have known how beautiful life could 
 be." 
 
 " You make me hate myself when you speak in that 
 strain," the duke said, hurriedly. " If I thought you would 
 ever suffer one moment's pain through me I should 
 despair." 
 
 And she, with an effort that was heroic, said : 
 
 " We will not talk of suffering ; my greatest happiness 
 is to have known you." 
 
 He kissed the white hand that, despite the wound he 
 had given her, lay so trustingly in his. 
 
 " It was quite natural," he said, " that, seeing so much 
 of each other, we should like, and even learn, perhaps, to 
 love each other ; but now we shall be the dearest friends." 
 
 "Yes," she said, quietly, "the dearest of friends." 
 
 But only Heaven knew the pain that filled her heart as 
 she uttered the word. She had awakened suddenly to 
 the knowledge that she loved him as she would never love 
 any one else, and that he could never be anything to her 
 because he belonged to another. 
 
 " I am so glad I have told you ; the weight of a secret 
 is intolerable; now you will share it with me. I know 
 it seems absurd for a man who may be called a man of 
 the world to ask advice of a young girl like you, but 
 /our instinct will reach a point where reason will neve*
 
 170 THE DUKE'S SECMTT. 
 
 take me. You can be the most useful to me; you can 
 be my comrade and ally I want one. I would not 
 bind your sweet life ancl sweet youth to me; it would 
 be selfish, wicked and cruel." 
 
 She understood what he meant, although he said no 
 word, and it was that if ever he found himself free he 
 would fly to her. 
 
 " I will help you in every way I can," she replied. 
 
 " Help me to find Naomi," he cried. " On earth, living 
 or dead, somewhere there must be a trace of her; help 
 me to find her." 
 
 " I will ; I will be your true friend, helper, sister, com- 
 rade all that you require; I will devote myself to you, 
 to doing all that I can for you. I know that in many 
 little ways I can help you, and I will. But it seems to me 
 a desperate hope, indeed, to look for one woman in such 
 a vast world above all, if she does not want to be found. 
 Do you think so yourself ? " 
 
 "I do. I have thought so for many years past," he re- 
 plied. " I am quite sure of one thing, and it is this, that 
 if on the habitable globe there is any trace of her, Michael 
 Droski will discover it. I could not have placed it in 
 better hands; he will find her if she is to be found. It 
 will be so great a comfort to me to know that you share 
 my secret and my sorrow," he continued. " When you 
 hear people call me a woman-hater you will know why, 
 you will remember it is not true, that my fault has been 
 loving one woman too much. If people talk because you 
 and I are much together, because we ride, drive, dance, 
 sing, or talk together; we, ourselves, shall know the truth, 
 and our friendship will hurt no one." 
 
 "If I can help or comfort you," she said, " I care little 
 what any one may say it will be a matter of perfect in- 
 difference to me." 
 
 "You can and will be the greatest comfort in the world 
 to me," he replied. " As I have said, I would not in this 
 state of things bind your sweet life to mine, but I have 
 been thinking very seriously I must do something. If 
 Michael Droski assures me that there is no chance of ever 
 finding her, the law has a certain loop-hole of escape for 
 me; after all these years of desertion I could recover my 
 freedom, but it would be at the expense of publicity* 
 thing from which I shrink more than from death."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 171 
 
 "Tell me one thing," she said, wistfully, do not think 
 it an impertinent question, but do you wish with all your 
 heart to find her ? " 
 
 " I oannot tell," he replied. " Would to Heaven I 
 could. I do not know my own heart or mind. I am con- 
 fused, I can not tell whether if she appeared before me 
 this moment I should be most glad or sorry. It is not 
 want of truth or loyalty. I have suffered so much, and I 
 have forgotten so much. Did she bring me most happi- 
 ness? that is the question I often asked myself, ad I can 
 not answer it. The girl who pleased me then would 
 probably displease now. Another idea that often occurs 
 to me is this : She was a wonder of grace and good 
 breeding. In all my life I have met no one whose 
 manner was so perfect ; but, poor child, whan she left 
 her only home she had no money. I can not think how 
 she has lived all these years. And I have often won- 
 dered if she had to mix with a common class of people 
 if in the struggle to gain her bread she has lost grace. 
 Ah, me, Valentine, I have a thousand thoughts of her, all 
 puzzling ; all unhappy. I can not tell whether I dread or 
 long to find her most. I do not know." 
 
 "It is a strange story," she said, slowly, trampling Her 
 own pain and anguish under foot. "A strange story. Who 
 would have thought you had such a secret in your life. 
 Who would have imagined that you, the wealthiest duke 
 in England, young, handsome, with every gift that Heaven 
 can give you who would imagine that your life was a trag- 
 edy ! Yet, I always thought there must be some reason 
 why your face was so sad. Naturally speaking, sadness 
 had little to do with you. I might have known there was 
 something terribly wrong. It is worse than I thought." 
 
 " It is hard enough in all conscience," he said. "Oh, 
 child, do not waste your beautiful life on me. I am not 
 worthy of it. There are men in this world, loyal, and true, 
 who would give their lives for one kind look from you. 
 Think of them; find some one worthy of the purest, sweet- 
 est love that could ever be given." 
 
 "It is too late," she answered, with a slow smile. " Do 
 not preach to me, San Sebastian. I shall find my life happy 
 enough if I may be your friend. We must go, duke; we 
 have been here a long time. See how the shadows of the 
 trees have changed, and the gold has gone from the river.*
 
 172 THE DUKfc 'ri 5ECKET. 
 
 She made a brave fight; she was determined that &> 
 should not see what she suffered and felt. She would gc 
 back with smiles on her lips; he should not know that 
 she loved him with all her heart, and love him in vaii^ 
 She would go back with smile and laughter; she would 
 meet her friends with gay words; no one shou]d know 
 that she had been to the banks of the river to have her 
 heart broken. 
 
 " "We must go," she repeated, hastily, with a look at 
 her watch; "we have been here more than an hour." 
 
 She continued to talk with him on different subjects 
 no word could tell what it cost her to do so. The 
 duchess by this had left the royal party, and was wait- 
 ing for them waiting impatiently too, for they had 
 several engagements for the evening, including an invi- 
 tation to a ball at one of the royal houses; yet she waited 
 patiently enough. 
 
 Her quick eye had detected the withdrawal of her son 
 and Lady Valentine, even when she talked with her usual 
 brilliancy and wit to the royal party; she had watched 
 them out of sight, and she said to herself that the happiest 
 moment of her life had arrived that her son was cer- 
 tainly wooing for himself this beautiful girl whom she 
 loved like a daughter. She saw that, although Lady 
 Valentine was talking and laughing gayly enough, she 
 looked very pale so pale that the duchess resolved to 
 call her carriage at once. 
 
 "I am right," she said to herself, "he has told her that 
 he loves her, and she is agitated. We will get home 
 quickly; they are sure to tell me on the way." 
 
 The pallor did not leave the beautiful young face, though 
 Lady Valentine laughed and talked as gayly as ever; 
 neither did she say one word of that which the duchess 
 expected to hear not one word. 
 
 "Come to my dressing-room," said her grace to the 
 young girl, " and we w'll talk over the party." 
 
 She went; but even then there was not one syllable, and 
 k*r Grace of Castlema^ tie was more puzzled than aver.
 
 DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER XXTOL 
 
 A NEW BEAUTY IN THE FIELD. 
 
 "I SHOULD say," thought the duchess to herself, "thai 
 ao woman living has ever had so much anxiety over a. 
 good son as I have had." 
 
 She was quite out of spirits and out of heart; and had 
 most implicitly believed that when the duke took Lady 
 Valentine away from the crowd, it was to ask her to be hia 
 wife. What could they have been talking about all that 
 time? She had never been so surprised or so disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 When Lady Valentine reached her dressing-room the 
 duchess said to her : 
 
 " Sit down and join me ; I shall have a cup of coffee ; 
 it is more refreshing than anything else after such a hard 
 day." 
 
 The girl did, listlessly, just as she was told. 
 
 " You look tired, Valentine," said her grace. 
 
 " Yes, I am tired," was the brief answer ; then, think- 
 ing that perhaps she had failed in courtesy, she added, 
 " I think flower shows the prettiest, but decidedly the 
 most fatiguing form of entertainment you have in Eng- 
 land. It is, I should imagine, the constant strain of 
 attention in looking at so many brilliant colors." 
 
 " I always find picture galleries very fatiguing, " said 
 her grace. " But, my dear Valentine, I do not think you 
 fatigued yourself much with the flowers to-day. I fancied 
 you were with Bertrand by the river for a long time." 
 
 " Now," she thought to herself, " if there be anything 
 in it here is an opening, and she will tell me." 
 
 But Lady Valentine was silent ; the duchess took 
 courage. 
 
 " You must have been there quite an hour and a half," 
 said the duchess. "What where you talking about. 
 Valentine?" 
 
 No flush crimsoned her face ; the duchess would have 
 taken courage had it been so ; but the pale, quiet face 
 told no story. 
 
 " We talked about many things," she replied, quietly. 
 " The duke was telling me of his early life, and about 
 fiood Castle."
 
 174 f THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She did not know all the ring bad gone from her voice, 
 nor how dispirited and melancholy it was. The duchess 
 looked up quietly. 
 
 " He had said nothing to her, and she is disappointed," 
 was the idea that occurred to her. She had but faint 
 hope now, and her next question showed her that *11 
 further inquiry was vain. 
 
 "And among all the nice things he has said about 
 Kood Castle, or anything else, is there nothing to tell 
 me ?" she asked, half laughingly, but with every sense on 
 the alert. 
 
 "I think not," said the girl, slowly. "What a lovely 
 river the Thames is. I should like to go from one end 
 to the other of it, and have time to note all the different 
 scenery on its banks." 
 
 From which abrupt change of subject the duchess very 
 naturally inferred that her ward did not care to continue 
 the conversation. 
 
 From that day a change came over Lady Valentine. 
 The duchess noticed it. 
 
 She did not grow thin and pale, but she lost a little of 
 the brilliant bloom, that had been so vivid. She lost 
 some of the sweet sunny laughter that had made music 
 in the house; she never now asked the duke to go out 
 with her, lamented his absence, or longed for his presence 
 in words. At times the beautiful violet eyes wooed him 
 to her side, and the Duchess of Castlemayne began to 
 wonder if she could by any possibility have been mis- 
 taken. They were together very often; they seemed to 
 have endless conversations, but she saw no signs that 
 they were lovers. She resolved to say no more; words 
 were quite useless. 
 
 One morning, when the duke came down to breakfast, 
 his mother seemed unusually interested. She was read- 
 ing one of the society journals, and said to him, as he 
 took his seat : 
 
 "Have you heard of this American beauty, Ber- 
 trand?" 
 
 " No," he replied. " I do not remember " 
 
 "Listen to what the ' Planet' saj-s." 
 
 The " Planet " was her grace's favorite paper, its gos- 
 sip was of the right kind of people, its criticisms refined, 
 its reports were always correct, it contained news that
 
 THE DUKE'S SECKET. 175 
 
 o other paper could get, from sources no other paper 
 had. The " Planet " was the favorite journal of the upper 
 classes, and no one like it better than the Duchess of 
 Castlemayne. She read the following paragraph, to 
 which the duke and Lady Valentine paid great atten- 
 tion : 
 
 "DEBUT OP A GEEAT AMERICAN HEIRESS. 
 
 " AT the drawing-room, yesterday, the great American 
 heiress, Miss Glynton, made her debut. She was pre- 
 sented by the Marchioness of Weedale ; her wonderful 
 beauty, her elegant and exquisite toilet, and her superb 
 parure of diamonds, attracted much attention." 
 
 " That speaks well for America," said the duchess, " now 
 see what else they have to say." She read on: 
 
 " That the Duchess of Xorthshire had given a ball after 
 the drawing-room, and there was quite a crush. Miss 
 Glynton, the great American heiress, was the great attrac- 
 tion, her marvelous beauty had taken the world by sur- 
 prise. She was not at all the American type, rather Eng- 
 lish than otherwise, but a gem rarely seen. The ' Planet ' 
 predicts for this wonderfully beautiful woman a grand 
 tareer." 
 
 In another part of the same journal was a short biog- 
 raphy of Mr. Hardress Glynton, the American millionaire, 
 ho was also of quite a different type from the ordinary 
 ene. He had been most wonderfully successful in life, but 
 he had not begun with the proverbial pick and hammer; 
 he was evidently an educated man, and there was some 
 Blight rumor that he was by birth an Englishman. He 
 nad not, as American millionaires so often do, ' struck ile;' 
 his vast fortune was supposed to come from a silver mine. 
 He had purchased a vast tract of land in America which 
 he intended to make into cattle farms, but it proved of far 
 greater value than that. A silver mine was discovered 
 upon it, and the working of that mine made him one of 
 the richest men in the world. He was a widower " a 
 fortunate thing for him," interrupted the duchess and 
 had brought his only daughter to spend a few years in 
 Europe. 
 
 Of the wonderful beauty of this only daughter enough 
 could not be said. Mr. Glynton was still in the prime of 
 life, and it was just possible that he might marry; but it
 
 176 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 any case, Miss Glynton would bo one of the richest heiresses 
 in the world. 
 
 The " Planet " had more than that \,o tell ; the million- 
 aire had purchased the magnificent mansion in St. James 
 Park, built by a rich foreigner, a house so large, so mag- 
 nificent in its style and decoration that royal palaces paled 
 before it. There was a massive staircase made of silver, 
 the marble and jasper were of the finest; money had been 
 as dross in the building of that superb mansion was as 
 dross to the man who purchased it. Why he called it 
 Brook House no one felt quite sure, nor did he ever say, 
 but he had made it one of the most magnificent mansions 
 in England. It seemed as though the whole world had 
 been searched for treasures; they came from India, Japan, 
 China from America, from east, west, north, south. A 
 visit to Brook House was worth going to England for, it 
 contained so many treasures. Mr. Glynton hud been stay- 
 ing in Paris while this superb establishment was prepared 
 for him, and had only occupied it for a few weeks. 
 
 " It reads like a romance," said Lady Valentine. 
 
 Another paragraph was devoted to the statues at Brook 
 House ; such horses and,carriages had never been equaled ; 
 no money and no trouble had been spared. 
 
 Then the " Planet" gave one of its most amusing chap- 
 ters on the subject of millionaires in general, and this one 
 in particular, with many speculations as to why, in the 
 order of providence, it was appointed that one man should 
 have so much money he could not spend one-twentieth 
 part of it let him live as he would while others died for 
 want of food. Then it went on in the pleasant discussive 
 way common to it to describe what generally happened to 
 millionaires, how their daughters married the oldest titles, 
 ending by a description of Miss Glynton, and a prophecy 
 that she would reign as the most beautiful woman in Eng- 
 land, 
 
 " I should like to see her," said the duchess. " I must 
 say that I admire really beautiful women, but there are so 
 few." 
 
 " My dear mother," laughed the duke, " that is not a 
 very gallant speech. I hope it is not very true." 
 
 "My dear son, it is true enough," said the duchess. 
 Long as I have been in the world, I have not really seen 
 more than three or four perfectly beautiful women. There
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 177 
 
 are hundreds and thousands of pretty, comely, pleasant 
 women, but perfect beauty of face, figure and manner, is 
 difficult to meet with. If this Glynton is what the ' Planet' 
 says, I should like to see her. " 
 
 " You must look to your laurels, Lady Valentine," said 
 the duke. 
 
 " I am willing enough to share them," she replied. " I 
 never had any ambition for being a beauty." 
 
 " Then you are a beauty without ambition," he retorted. 
 
 " Valentine has nothing to fear," said the duchess. 
 " Her style of beauty is her own, and I venture to say 
 that it is unequaled. Miss Glynton will be no rival of 
 hers. Valentine has all the freshness of a girl, Miss 
 Glynton seems to have the charm of a magnificent woman- 
 hood. Most people prefer the brilliant beauty of youth." 
 
 " I should not care to have the beauty of all lovely 
 women put together," said Valentine, with a deep sigh ; 
 " I should not know what to do with it." 
 
 The Duchess answered : 
 
 "Do with it, my dear child ! You maybe quite sure of 
 one thing beauty is one of the great leading powers of 
 the world. The * Planet ' would not have devoted three 
 whole pages to Miss Glynton if she had not had a beau- 
 tiful face as well as a heavy purse." 
 
 "Are we going to Lady HurdalTs ball to-night?" asked 
 the duke ; " if so, we shall see this famous beauty. The 
 ' Age ' says that she will be there, and that the whole 
 fashionable world are wild to behold her." 
 
 "Yes, we will go," said the duchess. I must say that I 
 feel some degree of curiosity. The ' Planet ' would not 
 say all this for nothing." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 WHAT THE "PLANET" SAID. 
 
 BBOOK HOUSE was one of the wonders of London. There 
 is no other place in the wide world where so much 
 luxury and magnificence is displayed in private houses as 
 in London even where the exterior looks dark and unin- 
 yiting the interior is splendid. Brook House stood quite 
 by itself ; it was unique there was nothing like it even 
 in London. One millionaire had built it, another had 
 furnished and decorated it; the pictures, statues, bronze^
 
 178 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 the buhl and marquetry, the priceless china, the gold 
 and silver, and thick, soft carpet, the luxurious furniture, 
 the exquisite flowers made it an earthly paradise. 
 
 In the smallest of the superb suite of drawing-rooms 
 a beautiful apartment known as the rose room sat the 
 mistress of that superb establishment, the most beautiful 
 woman in Europe, the wearer of the purest diamonds in 
 England, one of the wealthiest heiresses in the world. 
 She had been reading the "Planet," and was much 
 amused at the description of herself. 
 
 " It could not have been more minute," she said to her- 
 self, " if I had been photographed. 1 do not think there 
 is anything in America that ran equal this." 
 
 The more she read the more she laughed. 
 
 " If I am not famous throughout England it will not 
 be the 'Planet's ' fault " said Miss Glynton. 
 
 No words could have exaggerated her beauty. It was 
 almost divine, it was rather the beauty of a goddess than 
 of a coquette grand, serene, calm. Words are powerless 
 to describe it ; she was tall and slender, her figure so 
 perfect in its grace and symmetry, so gracious in its lines 
 and curves, so faultless that the eye followed in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 A slender, proud throat, a beautiful head, proudly set, 
 eloping shoulders, hands and arms that were perfect ; 
 she had golden hair, fine, soft and abundant, with eyes 
 blue and clear as the water of an Italian lake, the dark, 
 straight brows of a Greek goddess. And the loveliest 
 red mouth that ever smiled or sighed ; gorgeous beauty, 
 such as the old masters loved to immortalize, the com- 
 plexion fair and pure, the sure sign of grand physical 
 health ; the bright, clear eyes, the fresh, sweet lips, the 
 lovely bloom on her face, were all signs of magnificent 
 health, that in itself was the greatest of all blessings. 
 
 Yet that was, as it were, only the beginning of the won- 
 drous beauty that had set all Europe talking. In Borne, 
 Florence, Vienna, Paris and London, she had been pro- 
 claimed queen by right of her beauty. 
 
 It was when one came to study that perfect face that 
 its strange, haunting loveliness became apparent the 
 tenderness, the passion that was in it. Something 
 brooded In the blue eyes. Was h; pain or pleasure, hate 
 or |OT ? They told a story that no one quite understood.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 179 
 
 The curves of her lips when she smiled were full of some 
 sweet mystery. They said she had all the warmth of ten- 
 derness and passion in her flower-like face. 
 
 When she was reading the " Planet," a smile of amuse- 
 ment curving her proud, sweet lips, a gentleman entered 
 the room. She looked at him smilingly. 
 
 "Uacle Hardress, would you read your destiny and 
 mine ? See what becomes of millionaires and their 
 daughters. See what a brilliant lot is prophesied for me; 
 positively, if I behave well, I may be promoted to marry 
 a British peer." 
 
 " I wonder, pet," he said^ " why you dislike British 
 peers so much ? " 
 
 "I tave more respect, I believe, for British geese," she 
 replied. " Read this, uncle; I must have been quite mis- 
 taken. I really thought America was the only country 
 where peopl were interviewed and described in this 
 fashion at full length." 
 
 "My dear," said the gentleman, solemnly, "that is not 
 the only way in which you have misjudged America." 
 
 He sat down and took the journal from her hands. 
 
 " Ah, so rumor kindly whispers that I am an English- 
 man," he said, " and that you are more of the English than 
 the American type. Rumor is good at guessing. My dear 
 pet " that was his name for her " I must first remind you 
 of one thing; you expressed a desire to pass as my daughter 
 here in Europe, did you not ?" 
 
 "Yes, certainly I did; I have a reason for it." 
 
 "Then you must not call me Uncle Hardress; it will not 
 do at all. Even one servant or one person hearing it, 
 would at once spread a rumor of something wrong, and 
 you know what a suspicious world we live in. You must 
 be careful " 
 
 "I will; I must always say papa and indeed no father 
 could be so kind to his child as you are to me." 
 
 "No daughter could be more loving or more attentive 
 than you are to me/' he replied. 
 
 " I will practice all to-day," she said. " I will make a 
 point of calling you papa every time I speak to you." 
 
 "I have often wondered," he said, "why you choose 
 rather to be thought my daughter than knowu 'jo be my 
 niece." 
 
 "It better in -vrery way," she replied, evaairely.
 
 180 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Now read what the 'Planet' says about us, and let us 
 compare notes." 
 
 He read on: 
 
 "He was a fine-looking man, this fortunate being who 
 owned a silver mine ; he did not in the least degree re- 
 semble the typical millionaire. He was neither short nor 
 vulgar; he had no very decided American accent; he spoke 
 well, made no mistake in his grammar. He was gentlemanly, 
 refined, and intelligent ; he was even more than that 
 he was generous, benevolent, and kind; he did an im- 
 mense deal of good with his vast fortune. How many 
 people had to thank him for tho timely aid which, when 
 rightly given, leada to fortus*" how many orphan children 
 had he saved from the street^; how many poor children 
 had he rescued from poverty and educated; how many 
 voices were raised to bless him whom his country now 
 called Hardress B. Glynton. 
 
 " In his face there is a faint resemblance to that of Miss 
 Glynton a family likeness that is yet no likeness. He had 
 dark, keen eyes, a dark beard, and dark hair. No one 
 could be in the same room with him for five minutes with- 
 out seeing that his very life was wrapped up in that of the 
 beautiful woman who called him papa." 
 
 " What do you think of it, papa ?" she asked; " are you 
 amused, angry, surprised, indifferent, or what ?" 
 
 " A little of all," he replied; " we all know how fierce ia 
 the light that beats upon a throne, so that the penalty a 
 man like myself pays is publicity. We have come to Lon- 
 don for society, pet, and we must bear what society has 
 to say of us. I never imagined that you would make so 
 great a sensation in this select and exclusive court, 
 although I believe you to be the most beautiful woman of 
 your time, my love." 
 
 She was looking through the window at the blue sky ; 
 there was a world of romance and poetry in those lovely 
 eyes of mystery silent and sweet that no one could 
 understand. 
 
 "Have you thought," she said "whether you shall 
 remain in England, or whether you will return to th 
 land of the ' Stars and Stripes '? "* 
 
 "All my future will depend on yours," he replied. 
 " Hitherto our little bark has floated on steadily, and wt
 
 THE DUKE'S SEORET. 181 
 
 aroided all shoals and rocks, but there is the great 
 rooK of matrimony ahead of us yet." 
 
 She went over to him and laid her fair arms around his 
 neck, and kissed him. 
 
 "There will be no such rock for me," she said; "you 
 know that I shall never marry." 
 
 "Nonsense, my dear," he replied, with a hearty laugh; 
 " the handsomest woman in Europe so the papers say, 
 and I swear the most lovable one, to talk of never mar- 
 rying. I guarantee that you make the best match of 
 the day yet." 
 
 " No; I shall live with you always, and take care of you 
 when you are ill, and together we will make such mag- 
 nificent plans for disposing of your money, that the whole 
 World shall bless your name." 
 
 He laughed again. 
 
 "You amuse me always, pet, when you talk in that 
 fashion. You will marry, and I should not wonder at all 
 if you marry your favorite aversion a British peer." 
 
 "I am quite sure that I shall not," she answered, 
 quickly, with a hot flush on her fair face. " We will not 
 quarrel, papa; time will show which is right." 
 
 " Quarrel, my beautiful darling," cried the millionaire, 
 " nay, that we shall never do ; but I wonder often what 
 gives you this tinge of melancholy, this strange idea about 
 not marrying." 
 
 " I am not one of those who think that the only happy 
 life is the married life," she replied. 
 
 " But that is unnatural," he cried, " every girl wants, or 
 ought to want, to get married." 
 
 " Yes, 5 * she replied, gently, " that is just the mistake. I 
 am not a girl, you know, papa, with an untried life before 
 me. I am a woman with most bitter experience: to me 
 the haven of rest is not marriage." 
 
 The clear light glowed in her beautiful eyes, and over 
 her face an expression that always bewildered him. He 
 bent down and kissed the beautiful face raised to 
 him. 
 
 " You shall be married or single," he said, " or jusf 
 what you will ; the only thing I want is to see you happy, 
 pet. I have not another wish on earth. If a British peer 
 should take your fancy and you marry him, you rnll make 
 th wealthiest and happiest of peers. If you wish to
 
 182 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 spend the rest of your life with me, I will be fatker, 
 mother, and everything else to you. Be happy; that is all 
 I wish. They say you are the best- dressed woman in 
 London, and that you wear the finest diamonds ; is there 
 anything else you want ? " 
 
 " No," she answered ; " you have been so liberal, so 
 generous, so munificent to me, I do not believe that I have 
 ft wish unfulfilled in the wide world not one." 
 
 " That is right, pet ; now let us leave the future for 
 the present. Have you looked through your invitation 
 cards ? Where are you going ? " 
 
 "I shall go first to Mrs. Grey's ; she made me promise. 
 Then I thought of going to Lady Hurdale's. I like her ; 
 she is a nice, unaffected woman." 
 
 " That is well," said Mr. Glynton. " I shall arrange my 
 day accordingly. Pet, order some dozen copies of the 
 'Planet.' We will send them to our American friends. 
 I wonder what John B. Button will say ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 THB BELLK OF THB BALL. 
 
 THERE was not a more luxuriously furnished room in 
 England than the dressing-room of the great heiress, 
 Miss Glynton. She stood there now herself, the most 
 beautiful object where all was beautiful. The wealth of 
 a nation seemed to have been lavished there; the carpet 
 was of velvet pile, so thick and soft, it was a luxury even 
 to walk over it; the hangings were all of white silk, re- 
 lieved by golden fringe; the few pictures that hung on 
 the walls were of inestimable value. A marble Flora 
 stood encircled by crimson flowers; the toilet table was 
 one mass of costly glass and silver. A few flowers per- 
 fumed the air. One caught glimpses of velvet from 
 Genoa, of silk from Lyons, of laces worth a king's ransom, 
 of jewels fitted for an empress. No luxury that women 
 love was absent from the room. She was ready dressed 
 for the ball; and some caprice had induced her to dress 
 with unusual elegance. Mr. Glynton was right when he 
 called her the best-dressed woman in London; she would 
 have made any dress beautiful. To-night she wore 
 costume of white yglyet and white fill, tewm*d
 
 THE DUKE'S SEGBIT. 183 
 
 beautiful sprays of hawthorn, and with it she wore a 
 par ure of diamonds. 
 
 The beautiful head with its hawthorn crown, in which 
 diamonds were skillfully interwoven, the rich brown hair, 
 with its gleam of gold ; the grand face, the blue eyes, with 
 their slumbering passion and mystery ; the whole neck 
 and shoulders shining like white satin, the hands and arms 
 fair as a sculptor's dream, made up a picture not to be for- 
 gotten. The exquisite dress fell in the most graceful folds 
 around her. A woman to drive men mad with her superb, 
 passionate beauty, yet never looking like a woman who was 
 to be wooed and won. 
 
 " You have forgotten nothing, Lucy ?" said Miss Glyn- 
 ton, and the maid took from the toilet table two tiny, 
 dainty rosettes a twist of hawthorn with a diamond in 
 each. Miss Glynton held out a beautiful foot, perfect in 
 shape, with dainty slippers that matched her dress. 
 
 " I have forgotten to stitch on these rosettes," she said. 
 
 While Lucy was busy over it, Miss Glynton stood quite 
 still, a fire burning in the silver grate, and she was watch- 
 ing the flame ; suddenly the grand calm of her beautiful 
 statuesque face was broken, a sudden flame lit up the 
 splendor of her eyes, her red mouth quivered. 
 
 " It might be to-night," she said to herself " and if it 
 be, wiU the Heavens fall?" 
 
 There was something half of impatienee, half of scorn in 
 the gesture with which she turned from the fire and took 
 the dainty wrapper that the maid held. 
 
 " To-night or to-morrow, this year or next, what will it 
 matter ?" 
 
 She stood for a few minutes before the great mirror 
 and looked earnestly at her beautiful reflection. It was 
 the gaze of a woman measuring her own power. She 
 looked long and earnestly, and the smile that came over 
 her face was one of security. 
 
 Mr. Glynton was waiting for her. 
 
 He gave one keen, comprehensive glance at her toilet. 
 
 "It is perfect," he said. "No one has your taste ic 
 dressing, pet, " and then they went off to the ball. 
 
 It was wonderful to see the zest with which the mil- 
 lionaire entered the gayeties of the great world balls, 
 dinner parties, concerts, all came alike to him ; he en-
 
 184 THE DUKE'S SICBIT. 
 
 joyed them all with the zest of youth ; it was for this 
 that he came to Europe why not enjoy it ? 
 
 He had not decidedly said to himself that he would not 
 marry ; he left the matter to chance ; if some high-born, 
 beautiful woman fell in love with him, or insisted on mar- 
 rying him, why, of course he must yield, and it was very 
 pleasant so he told himself to be sought after and ad- 
 mired. He understood why grand ladies with marriageable 
 daughters sent him such urgent invitations, and were so 
 eager to accept his. He was not an old man hardly in the 
 prime of life and he knew that he would be considered 
 one of the best matches in the land; and that these patri- 
 cian matrons would give the fairest and youngest of their 
 daughters to him, the famous millionaire. Therefore he 
 enjoyed balls and parties with the zest of a young man. 
 
 " If ever I marry," he would say at times, to Miss Glyn- 
 ton, "it will make no difference to you; you shall always 
 have a fortune that a duke might envy." 
 
 She was quite willing; the fact of his marriage could 
 not in the least degree have displeased her. She loved 
 him well enough to think of his happiness before anything 
 
 " I believe," she said, with a charming smile, " that you 
 enjoy these things better than I do." 
 
 'It is quite possible," he said, with a quiet smile. 
 " When the Duchess of Queenorn began to tell me yester- 
 day, that her daughter Lady Almira adored America and 
 the Americans, I enjoyed it. I have never been in the 
 great world before, but it seems to me I have a perfect 
 understanding of the ways of these fine ladies, and they 
 ^muse me. I see through them so plainly. Then I really 
 enjoy all the gayeties; they are new to me at least with 
 this class of people." 
 
 Then the carriage stopped, and after some minutes of 
 patient waiting Mr. and Miss Glynton found themselves 
 bowing to Lady Teesdale, who, magnificently attired, 
 stood in the large drawing-room to receive her guests. 
 She was most courteous and bland to the great millionaire 
 so delighted to see him thought it was so kind of him 
 to attend her ball; he must be so besieged with invita- 
 tions. She was the more delighted as she had promised 
 o many introductions to him. 
 
 She was equally delighted to see Miss Glynton. Th
 
 THE DUKE'S SBCB1T. 185 
 
 three tttlted for some few minutes, and then they passed 
 on to make room for other distinguished guests. In the 
 crowded ball-room, where that night the most beautiful 
 of women were gathered, Miss Glynton was the belle. 
 People were raving about her; it was not the ordinary 
 style of ball-room beauty, dashing or fast ; the woman 
 was a goddess or queen of beauty, and men worshipped 
 her as such. The mystery and fashion of her beauty 
 attracted them; the calm of the grand face, contrasting 
 with the eloquence and passion of the blue eyes, be- 
 wildered them. 
 
 There was the usual class of people present a royal 
 duke who seldom missed one of Lady Teesdale's balls, an 
 Austrian prince on his travels, a Austrian arch-duke, 
 German princes, French seigneurs, British peers, from 
 his grace the Duke of Buckland to the baronet whose 
 title died with him. The " Guards " were well represented 
 and every celebrity of London of a certain class was 
 there. The beautiful heiress made a great sensation. 
 Over a young girl they would have spoken out their 
 thoughts, called her beautiful or not s suited their tastes; 
 but of this woman they said little; she seemed above 
 ordinary criticism, above the ordinary rules by which the 
 fairest women are judged. 
 
 They admired her, but it was not in a familiar fashion; 
 there was something in her grand calm beauty that awed 
 and impressed even while it attracted; every one con- 
 trived to see her, the ladies admired her as much as the 
 gentlemen. No one had a word against her; she was 
 neither vain, coquettish or given to flirting; she received 
 all the homage offered to her with grand, serene calm, 
 yet there was something'in her eyes that made the hearts 
 of men beat faster as they looked at her something more 
 than beauty. 
 
 She became at once the center of attraction. 
 
 The English royal duke asked for an introduction and a 
 dance; the Austrian the same; and many, who knew of 
 the lady's vast wealth, thought it not at all unlikely that 
 the American heiress might become a princess herself. 
 
 But no homage flattered her; peers and princes could 
 gay what they would. 
 
 As she stood up for the second dance, every eye in the 
 room was upon her; the great chandelier above her head
 
 186 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 poured down a flood of golden light, which fell full on 
 the fair, grand face, the costly white dress and priceless 
 gems. Her beauty was startling as she stood there, the 
 duke talking to her, she listening with a half smile on 
 her face. 
 
 Then Uarry Bellairs, son and heir of Sir Tracy Bellairs, 
 known as the "Handsome Guardsman," came to remind 
 her that the next dance was hia 
 
 They walked through the ball-room, the long suite of 
 reception rooms were thrown open and brilliantly lighted; 
 they went into the large drawing-room where one of Gor- 
 goni's finest pictures hung; Handsome Harry considered 
 that he was a fine judge of paintings, and had taken Miss 
 Glynton to see this, which was considered the gem of the 
 collection. 
 
 Miss Glynton had more than the average taste for fine 
 arts. She had seen some of the finest galleries in Europe, 
 and could discourse most entertainingly on the subject of 
 pictures. 
 
 While they stood before it, Miss Glynton knew that a 
 fresh party of guests had arrived. The sweet silvery 
 sound of a girl's voice reached her ear; at the same 
 moment Handsome Harry turned suddenly and looked 
 through the long suite of rooms. Miss Glynton saw the 
 eniry of two ladies, accompanied by a gentleman. Then 
 came a sigh of relief from the handsome guardsman. 
 
 "You are a judge of pictures, Miss Glyiiton," he said; 
 "so you should be of the beauty of the human face; here 
 is one I think perfection." 
 
 She looked down the room and saw a tall, beautiful girl 
 in a white dress trimmed with leaves. She smiled as her 
 eyes fell on the fair face. 
 
 " Who is it?" she asked, kindly. 
 
 " Tho Lady Valentine Arden," he replied. 
 
 "You forget that I am a novice in London society," she 
 said. " Who is Lady Valentine Arden ? She is exquis- 
 itely lovely, but who is she?" 
 
 " The only daughter and heiress of the Earl of Arden," 
 he answered ; " her father has been an invalid for many 
 years, and lives at Nice he sent his daughter to Eng. 
 land ; she has soon become one of the idols of the fash- 
 ionable world. Look at her face. Have you seen aay 
 thing more beautiful ? "
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 18? 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 MISS QLYNTON INTERESTED. 
 
 " SH* is very beautiful," said Miss Glyton thoughtfully, 
 and then she smiled to herself as she thought that cer- 
 tainly handsome Harry Bellairs wore his heart on his 
 sleeve. If he had told her a thousand times over that he 
 was deeply in love with Lady Valentine Arden, it would 
 not have been plainer to her than it was now. 
 
 " How fresh and young she looks," said Miss Glynton. 
 "' I think you are quite right. Captain Bellairs, I have 
 seen nothing like her in London 
 
 "That is what I like, but seldom hear," he cried, " one 
 beautiful woman praising another. Our rival beauties 
 are or have been Mrs. Trelawney and Mrs. Dulwich ; 
 they are very gushing to each other ; they never meet 
 without embraces and very loving words, yet they never 
 admire each other. Mrs. Dulwich finds a hundred faults 
 with Mrs. Trelawney, which no one else ever sees, and 
 vice versa." 
 
 " It is a difficult matter," said Miss Glynton, smiling ; 
 " these two ladies are rival beauties ; Lady Valentine 
 Arden and myself could never be rivals." 
 
 "Why not?" he asked. 
 
 " She must be some years younger than I am," was the 
 answer, " and I do not suppose the same kind of peopl* 
 would ever like us." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," he replied. 
 
 Then Miss Glynton startled him by turning to him 
 quite suddenly. 
 
 " Who are that lady and gentleman with Lady Valen- 
 tine r 
 
 "The Duke and Duchess of Castlemayne," he replied. 
 
 Then he looked up again in utmost wonder, for a sud- 
 den and terrible shock seemed to have passerl over the 
 beautiful woman at his side. For one half moment he 
 thought she would fall dead at his feet ; her face became 
 'Very white, the jeweled fan fell from her hands, and it 
 seemed to him that her whole frame trembled from head 
 to foot, swayed for a moment as though ske would fall, 
 tad then became rigidly erect.
 
 188 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 He saw that she clutched the back of a chair that stood 
 near to save herself from falling. 
 
 He looked at her in the utmost alarm; but in one minute 
 ghe had recovered herself before he had time to note 
 vrhat had happened, she was herself again. 
 
 " Are you ill, Miss Q-lynton ? " he cried, faintly. " Pray 
 let me get you a chair, while I go for a glass of wine." 
 
 " No," she said in a quiet, low voice, " I am well now, 
 do not leave me." 
 
 But she spoke with white, quivering lips. She was her- 
 self again upright, dignified, and graceful; but the color 
 did not return to her face, and he looked anxiously at her. 
 In reply to his look, for he said no words, she said : 
 
 " I assure you that I do not even need a glass of water." 
 
 " I would believe you, Miss Glynton," he said ; " if 
 there was any color in your face ; but while you look so 
 white, I really can not." 
 
 She tried to smile, but he saw that her lips quivered. 
 
 "I have had the same pain before," she said; " it is like 
 a sharp, sudden stab through the heart, and dies away 
 slowly. I should imagine that many people, even the 
 strongest, have it." 
 
 "Are you strong?" he asked. 
 
 And his manner was so gentle and so kind it pleased 
 her. 
 
 " Yas," she replied, "perfectly strong." 
 
 By that time he had picked up the fan and she had 
 taken it. She laid the feathers against her white breast, 
 and no stir of the rich plumage told of the emotion 
 within. 
 
 " I was asking you who were Lady Valentine's compan- 
 ions ?" she said. 
 
 And again his longing, lingering glance went to the 
 fair young face. 
 
 " The Duke and the Duchess of Castlemayne," he re- 
 peated. 
 
 And at this time, though a cold shudder seemed to pass 
 over the beautiful figure, she neither trembled nor shrunk. 
 
 " Lady Valentine is the ward or protegee of the duch- 
 ees," he continued; "or rather, if I would express myself 
 in the language of ociety, I should say that the duchesn 
 chaperons her."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 189 
 
 "* Does she live with them ?" asked Miss Glynton, in a 
 somewhat disconnected fashion. 
 
 " Yes ; the family are staying at Mayne House now. 
 She is to remain with them, I believe, some years. I, for 
 one, hope it is so." 
 
 There was no mistaking the fervor of his voice. Miss 
 Glynton smiled lightly as she thought to herself how 
 plainly his secret was read. 
 
 " And the duke," she said, " is he married ?" 
 
 There was a hush in her voice, a solemnity, as though 
 she was speaking in the shadow of a cathedral aisle. 
 
 " Married ? Oh, no," he replied. " People call him a 
 woman-hater. I do not know why." 
 
 " Because he hates women, I should imagine," she re- 
 plied; but the light in her eyes, their troubled, passion- 
 ate beauty belied the lightness of her words. 
 
 " Why he should hate them, I do not know. A man had 
 far better hate the flowers and the sunlight than hate 
 women. The world would be a lonely desert without 
 them." 
 
 " Has some woman been cruel to him do you think ? " 
 she asked, and there was still the same solemn hush about 
 her voice. 
 
 " I have never heard it. On the contrary, I have always 
 heard that he disliked and avoided the society of ladies." 
 
 " There must be some reason for it," she repeated. 
 
 " There may be, but, if so, he keeps it entirely to him- 
 self. I am quite sure no one knows it." 
 
 " Is he liked ? " she asked, abruptly; " is he popular ? " 
 
 " The Duke of Castlemayne ? Yes, I should say one of 
 the most popular men in England. I have never met 
 man, woman or child who did not like him. He is a mag- 
 nificent man, but every one is puzzled that he neither 
 flirts, falls in love nor marries like other men." 
 
 " It is strange," she says, with the light deepening in 
 those splendid eyes. 
 
 Handsome Harry, finding that the topic pleased her, 
 went on: 
 
 " The Duchess of Castlemayne is considered the hand- 
 somest, proudest, most haughty, and altogether the most 
 magnificent matron in England. You see what a superb 
 woman she is." 
 
 Again that singular shudder came over Miss Glynton,
 
 190 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 as though a cold wind had rushed by. She looked in th 
 direction he had indicated, and her eyes fell on the grand 
 beauty which, for a quarter of a century, had been the 
 admiration of all England. Again the light deepened in 
 her eyes. 
 
 "Yes," she said, slowly; " she is very grand, very beauti- 
 ful and stately, but she looks hard and cold." 
 
 " She is that; no one harder, or colder, or more ambi- 
 tious. You may imagine, Miss Glynton, what a mortifica- 
 tion it must be to her that her son does not marry." 
 
 "It may be a sorrow," said Miss Glynton; " but whj 
 should it be a mortification ?" 
 
 " I am afraid you will think me a gossip," he said; " but 
 L see the subject interests you, and all London society 
 knows what I am telling you. To the Duchess of Castle- 
 mayne her son's dislike to ladies and aversion to marriage 
 are the most terrible troubles in the world." 
 
 " But why ?" persisted Miss Glynton. " Why ?" 
 
 " I will tell you. Most beautiful women are rivals, and 
 when she was quite young the duchess had a great rival in 
 the present Lady Everleigh ; they married distant kins- 
 men, and it so happens that if the duke dies without a son 
 and heir to succeed him, that the son of Lady Everleigh 
 will take his place, and the knowledge of this is gall and 
 wormwood to the proud duchess. She detests Lady Ever- 
 leigh, but you are ill again." 
 
 She stirred the perfumed air with her fan. 
 
 " No ; I am not ; this room is much cooler than th 
 drawing-room. I am quite well." 
 
 Yet she averted her face lest he should see its trembling 
 and pallor. 
 
 "For many years past," he continued, "the whole fash- 
 ionable world has been interested in this matter. Lately 
 the interest has deepened because the duchess has seemed 
 so bitter against Lady Everleigh, and because the duke 
 has been more attentive to Lady Arden than he has ever 
 been to any one else. 
 
 Society watches the struggle with very interested and 
 Tory amused eyes." 
 
 She drew a deep breath that died on her lips like a sigh. 
 
 "I understand," she said, slowly. "I see, and the 
 duehess fears that Lady Evrligh will lie the winner i* 
 ike race."
 
 tHE DUKE'S SECRET. 191 
 
 There was something in her voice that startled him ; 
 be did not know whether it was triumph, or simple 
 wonder, but it made him look at her more attentively 
 than he had done before. "What passion lay under that 
 grand calm, shone in the blue eyes, and quivered in the 
 musical voice. 
 
 " Yes, she has evidently feared that for some time," 
 said Handsome Harry. Why does not the duke marry 
 as all other dukes do ? But I fancy there is more chance 
 of it now than there ever has been." 
 
 Her blue eyes sought his, and it seemed to him that 
 her very glance was a command. 
 
 " Why now ? " she asked. 
 
 "He has seemed lately to pay so much attention to 
 Lady Valentine. I knew that lately the duchess was in 
 very high spirits, and seemed under the impression that 
 there was something between the duke and her ward. 
 But I do not think so. He is very kind and attentive to 
 her, naturally enough; she is his mother's ward. I have 
 seen nothing like love on his side. He is a very handsome 
 man. Any girl might like him. 
 
 She was watching the little group with a curious, in- 
 tent gaze, so silently that he could have imagined she 
 had ceased to breathe a long, steady, unfaltering gaze. 
 His eyes following hers, admitted that it was a brilliant 
 group to watch. The duchess and Lady Teesdale were 
 talking. Lady Valentine and the duke stood together 
 before a magnificent jardiniere, and she was evidently 
 admiring the superb hyacinths it contained. 
 
 "What do you think of the duke ?" asked the handsome 
 guardsman, for he saw that her eyes lingered longest and 
 most earnestly on him. 
 
 She paused for a few minutes, evidently afraid to trust 
 herself; then she said, with that strange thrill of passion 
 in her voicfe : 
 
 " What should I think of him ? He is very handsome 
 and very aristocratic; but I should say that he stands in 
 awe of her grace, the duchess." 
 
 Captain Bellairs laughed. 
 
 " Burner says so, and adds that he has been iu leading*- 
 Strings all his life," 
 
 She turned
 
 192 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " We have given time enough to them," she continued. 
 " Show me some more pictures, Captain Bellairs." 
 
 Nor would she renew the conversation. It was to be 
 observed after that, that when people talked of the great 
 American beauty and heiress, the handsome guardsman 
 <ras wonderfully silent. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 A FAMILIAE FACB. 
 
 THE Duchess of Castlemayne was always seen at her best 
 at one of these grand balls; her very presence gave an air 
 of distinction to the rooms; then her courtly grace and dis- 
 tinguished manner completed the charms. Every ball- 
 giving lady made an effort to get the duchess to her ball, 
 but few succeeded, but those few made a great success. 
 No member of the royal family was more popular, more 
 sougnt after, or more honored than the Duchess of Castle- 
 mayne. 
 
 Lady Teesdale had a few minutes leisure; most of her 
 guests had arrived, most of them were happily engaged, 
 and she enthroned herself with the duchess on a sofa of 
 crimson velvet. The duke, to the wonder of all beholders, 
 had taken Lady Valentine to join the quadrille. 
 
 The duchess opened the conversation by asking: 
 
 " Have you the Americans here to-night?" 
 
 " You mean Mr. and Miss Glynton ? Yes; they are her*. 
 I may think myself honored by their coming; I have been 
 told their invitations are so numerous that it takes their 
 secretary many hours each day to answer them." 
 
 " Probably," said her grace, with a quiet smile. " I 
 suppose there are few men in England with more money." 
 
 " I should think," said Lady Teesdale, " that he stands 
 alone ! " 
 
 " What is the lady like ? " asked the duchess. ". If 
 the ' Planet ' may be believed, she is something quite 
 above ordinary beauties." 
 
 " You will see for yourself," said Lady Teesdale. " She 
 is here this evening, and I must confess that in all my life 
 I have seen no creature one-half so beautiful. Would you 
 like me to introduce her to you ? " 
 
 " I will see what she is like first," said her grac, 
 tioualj.
 
 MI DUKE'S SECRET. 193 
 
 Presently, among the fair and glittering throng, she 
 Saw one lady somewhat taller and more stately than the 
 rest, with a magnificent face and figure, and a superb 
 dress of white velvet and silk, exquisitely trimmed with 
 hawthorn and a parure of diamonds that were priceless. 
 She moved with such grace and elegance, she was so per- 
 fect in harmony and beauty, that the Duchess of Castle- 
 mayne looked after her in wonder. 
 
 " Who is that magnificent woman in the white velvet," 
 she said, " with Captain Bellairs ? " 
 
 " That is the American beauty," replied Lady Teesdale 
 just a little delighted tiiat anything at her balls should 
 attract the duchess " Miss Glynton. She looks like an 
 empress, does she not ? " 
 
 " There are few empresses, I think, who have had a 
 face or fortune like that. Will you introduce her to me ?" 
 
 Lady Teesdale looked delighted. 
 
 "Certainly; and I assure you that you will admire her 
 much more when you know her than you do now her 
 mind is as charming as her face." 
 
 "The duchess looked thoughtfully at the brilliant 
 American. 
 
 "I must have seen her before," she said; "her face is 
 quite familiar to me, yet I can not remember where." 
 
 " It is more than probable," said Lady Teesdale, " that 
 you have seen her in the Row or at he opera." 
 
 " No ; I can not remember that. Now I look longer at 
 her I fancy that I am mistaken. I have seen a face like 
 hers, but where I can not recall. But I am much inter- 
 ested in your new beauty, and I should like to know her." 
 
 One more faint hope crossed her mind. Her son was, 
 Bhe believed, the most fastidious of men; even with the 
 fresh, fair young loveliness of Lady Valentine he had 
 failed to love, perhaps with the magnificent beauty of 
 this grand woman he might be charmed. It would suit 
 him, perhaps because it was rather of a goddess than of 
 a woman. It was only a solitary hope still it entered 
 her heart. 
 
 It was nearly half an hour after that expressed wish 
 of her grace before Lady Teesdale could find her way 
 to the "beauty's side. Then she found Miss Glynton sur- 
 rounded by adruirerSj and she had some difficulty i& 
 gpealung to her.
 
 DtJKE'S 
 
 " The Duchess of Castlemayne is very anxious for an 
 introduction to you, Miss Glynton," she said. 
 
 The beautiful woman flung back her fair head with a 
 gesture that made the light quiver in her diamonds ; then 
 she paused for a moment to recover herself. 
 
 "The Duchess of Castlemayne," she repeated. "Yes ; 
 certainly ; it will be a great pleasure to me to know 
 her," she replied, hastily. " What a success your ball is, 
 Lady TeesdaleJ" 
 
 " Thanks to you," said the hostess, gracefully. " You 
 make every place brilliant." 
 
 Lady Teesdale was gifted with that bland, quiet cour- 
 tesy which makes life all grace. As she led the beautiful 
 American through the long suite of rooms to where the 
 duchess sat enthroned, she talked in her brightest style 
 to her ; but if she had looked more closely she would 
 have seen that the brilliant face had lost some of its 
 bloom, and that there was a troubled look in the dark 
 blue eyes as when the waters of an Italian lake are 
 stirred. 
 
 The Duchess of Castlemayne in her magnificent dress 
 of rich mauve velvet, pointed lace and pearls looked 
 like an empress; the years had passed lightly over her 
 head; she was handsome, erect and stately, with the royal 
 manner and grace of a queen. She smiled as Lady Tees- 
 dale led the beautiful heiress to her smMed with corte- 
 ous grace and sweetness. 
 
 "I am delighted to meet you," she said, in her most 
 charming manner. " I have many American friends, and 
 I shall be happy to number you among them." 
 
 Then her Grace of Castlemayne looked with a little 
 surprise, for the brilliant face had grown paler, and for 
 some few seconds the troubled light of the blue eyes be- 
 wildered her. Then Miss Glynton became at once a 
 model of grace and elegance; answered her grace in the 
 same way in which she spoke; accepted an invitation to 
 the ball at Mayne House, and delighted the duchess by 
 her courtesy, grace and refinement. 
 
 "You like England, Miss Glynton," she said. "Should 
 you like to live here always, or have you a great affection 
 for America ?" 
 
 "I love England best," she replied. " I think all Ameri- 
 cans have a great love for the little island home."
 
 THE DUKE'S sKCBif. 195 
 
 r 
 
 M I have always heard so," said the duchess. "Mr. 
 Glynton your father is here with you, is he not. I 
 should like an introduction to him before the evening is 
 over." 
 
 " He will be only too delighted," said Miss Glynton; but 
 in her manner the duchess saw a glimpse of something 
 that belied her word. 
 
 " She is republican and proud," thought the duchess ; 
 " and does not care to be patronized by English aris- 
 tocrats." 
 
 It was the only way in which she could account for the 
 subtile shadow she saw creeping over the lady's manner. 
 She was resolved to conquer, and would show the Amer- 
 ican belle that English ladies know how to appreciate ex- 
 cellence wherever they see it, and that there was no taint 
 of patronage in the kindness shown to her. She laid her- 
 self out to be all that was charming; and when she did so, 
 no one could rival the Duchess of Castlemayne. 
 
 " I should like to introduce my son to you," she said > 
 " he is here, and my ward, Lady Valentine Arden. I am 
 sure that you will be delighted with her, and I hope, Miss 
 Glynton, that we shall see a great deal of you while you 
 remain in town. " 
 
 A dim idea floated across her mind that at the close of 
 the season, if her favorable opinion of Miss Glynton con- 
 tinued, she would invite both father and daughter to Kood 
 Castle, and there they would doubtless learn more of the 
 real ways of English nobility than elsewhere. 
 
 Then impatient partners claimed Miss Glynton, and she 
 went away. 
 
 "What do you think of her?" asked Lady Teesdale, 
 most anxious to know. 
 
 " She is perfectly refined and well-bred ; she has a very 
 beautiful manner," said the duchess ; " but most decidedly 
 she gives me the impression of having an immense deal of 
 repressed power and energy. I admire her, but I do not 
 think I quite understand her. How the light in her eyes 
 changes how many varied expressions pass over her face ! 
 Is she like her father ?" 
 
 " After a fashion. There is a family likeness, but her 
 face is more regular than his. He is a handsome man, 
 NQ on could mistake the relationship,"
 
 196 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " I should like to know him," said her Grace of Castle- 
 mayne. 
 
 Half an hour later the duke came to his mother, and 
 they stood for a few minutes watching Lady Valentine. 
 
 "Have you seen all?" asked the duchess, quietly. 
 " Hardly possible in such a crowd, perhaps." 
 
 " I have seen and spoken to most of what people call 
 'the beauties,'" he replied. 
 
 " There is one here," said the duchess, " who surpasses 
 our beautiful Valentine as the moon outshines the stars." 
 
 " Is there ?" he answered, languidly, beautiful women 
 not being of such vital interest to him. " And who is she, 
 mother?" 
 
 " The American heiress, Miss Glynton. I have been 
 talking to her; she is a most charming woman. Some- 
 thing in her face puzzled me it was so familiar; I must 
 have met some one like her. I think, Bertrand, I should 
 like to ask both father and daughter to Rood Castle 
 among our first visitors." 
 
 " I hope, my dearest mother, you will always do just as 
 you please at Rood Castle, and everywhere else," he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "You are very good to me, my son," said the duchess; 
 and her heart beat with pride as she remembered how 
 kind and obedient this beloved son of hers had always 
 been to her; how different ah, thank Heaven! from 
 other sons. 
 
 "It is some time since I have met any one who has 
 pleased me so much, and I should like Valentine to know 
 her. I am not usually very enthusiastic over my own sex, 
 but I have been just carried away with her. I should like 
 to know her, Bertrand; she is quite different from any of 
 the people we meet in society." 
 
 "I shall be very pleased;" he said, listlessly; but he 
 half wished that he lived in a world where no beautiful 
 women existed; they had no charm for him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIH. 
 
 "NOT EVEN A DAUGHTER-IN-LAW." 
 
 THE next minute he had retracted his judgment, and 
 was looking at a face which startled him. 
 
 "There if- Miss Glynton," the duchess had said, and
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 197 
 
 looking in the direction she indicated, the duke saw a 
 picture he never forgot a tall, stately figure dressed in 
 rich white velvet and shining white silk ; a fair, queenly 
 head crowned with hawthorn and diamonds ; a firm, 
 white throat clasped with shining gems ; arms and 
 shoulders white and polished, and a face that made him 
 breathless while he gazed at it. 
 
 What was in it that should stir his heart to its depths 
 as it had not been stirred for years that dazed him and 
 seemed to turn his blood to flame ? There was s^me- 
 thing familiar ; yet he said to himself, as his mother had 
 done before him, he could have remembered the circum- 
 stances well had he met this beautiful woman before. He 
 stood speechless, almost breathless, his eyes full oi 
 startled light His mother saw this motion with delight; 
 she had not seen it displayed for any woman before. 
 
 " If it should be the American after all," she thought 
 to herself. "Well, ours will not be the first ducal laouse 
 that has gone to America for a wife. He could not have 
 one more wealthy or more beautiful, and those are two 
 good things." 
 
 " My dear Bertrand," she said, with a smile, " have you 
 suddenly lost all your senses ?" 
 
 "Not at all," he replied; "but like you, mother, I have 
 a strange, half -painful sense of having seen that most beau- 
 tiful face before; yet it its impossible." 
 
 " You will like an introduction, Bertrand ? " she said. 
 
 "That I shall most certainly." 
 
 Yet there was a strange sense on him. Had this beau- 
 tiful woman bewitched him ? The next moment the 
 white velvet and trailing laces were sweeping before him; 
 the light quivered and burned in the diamonds that 
 crowned her; a queenly head was bent before him for 
 some moments, and raised with queenly grace the next. 
 He heard the murmured words of introduction, but he 
 had not caught the sense of them. 
 
 Before there was time for another word, Lady Val< 
 entine joined the group, and again the ceremony of in- 
 troduction was gone through. 
 
 One taking notice, might have seen that Miss Glyn- 
 ton's face flushed as she bowed to the earl's daughter, 
 and that a quick glance from her blue eyes took in every 
 detail of the young girl's appearance.
 
 198 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 Lady Valentine fell in love with her on the spot, while 
 the duchess, in her stately fashion, seemed to feel de- 
 lighted with her, and was doing her best to be kind and 
 amiable to her. 
 
 Miss Gtynton, after her introduction to the duke, 
 neither looked at him nor spoke to him ; he might not 
 have existed for all the notice she took of him. 
 
 He was somewhat piqued; he was accustomed to atten- 
 tion from most people, and he had something even 
 warmer than that from Lady Valentine. A lady who did 
 not seem aware of his existence was a novelty ; it piqued 
 him into trying to talk to her, but her replies were very 
 brief, mere monosyllables ; yet he saw that to every one 
 else she taked and laughed brightly enough. It could 
 not be because she did not like him they were strangers, 
 and she felt nothing for him. It could but be indifference; 
 but he was not accustomed to indifference, and he did not 
 like it. 
 
 Lady Valentine looked quietly amused. 
 
 "It serves him right," she thought; "if he would talk 
 to ine, I should be pleased enough to answer him. " 
 
 She thought iiie duke's manner rather strange he 
 looked slightly bewildered. There was something in the 
 manner of the American heiress, in her face and figure, 
 that startled him. It was strange, yet familiar ; he said 
 to himself that he was sure he had heard a voice just like 
 that ; then again he thought he had heard no voice so 
 singular sweet and clear. There was something familiar 
 to him in the play of her features, yet he had seen no face 
 BO magnificently beautiful before. She puzzled him; and 
 to shake off the curious effect of her presence, he asked 
 Lady Valentine to dance with him, and she went away, 
 her little white hand lying on his arm and a smile on her 
 lips. The duchess looked after her with kindly affection 
 shining in her eyes, and Miss Glynton saw it. 
 
 "Lady Valentine is very beautiful," she said, gently. 
 " She must be a great source of comfort to you. You have, 
 I believe, no daughters ?" 
 
 "No," replied the duchess; "not even the greatest of all 
 treasures, a daughter-in-law." 
 
 A faint smile rippled over the beautiful lips it diecl 
 away with a touch of scorn.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 199 
 
 " It is the first time I have heard a daughter-in-law called 
 treasure," she said. 
 
 "She would be a treasure to me," said the duchess, with 
 a sigh, followed by a smile. " Some ladies have shadowy 
 ideas about daughters-in-law my life is chiefly spent in 
 longing for one." 
 
 There was such a peculiar expression in Miss Glynton's 
 face that the duchess paused involuntarily. She liked this 
 beautiful woman, but she could not in the least degree 
 understand her. 
 
 " I understand that this is Lady Valentine's first season," 
 continued Miss Glynton. " She seems to be very mueh 
 admired, and no wonder." 
 
 This frank, candid praise from one who might have been 
 jealous pleased the duchess very much. 
 
 "You do not seem to fear a rival," she said, laughingly; 
 then wondered why a brilliant burning flush overspread 
 the beautiful face. 
 
 " Rival ? " repeated Miss Glynton. " Why rival ? " 
 
 " I mean a rival beauty," said the duchess. And then 
 Miss Glynton smiled. 
 
 "We could never be rivals," she replied. "She is 
 younger than I am, and her great charm is her fresh 
 youth. I have had some experience in life, and it has 
 not all been happy." 
 
 " Have you known trouble ? " asked her grace, wonder- 
 ingly ; to be beautiful and heiress to a millionaire, yet 
 to have known trouble, was a problem to her. 
 
 " I suppose," said Miss Glynton, " that every one has 
 troubles of some kind or other ; I can not believe that 
 any creature living escapes them." 
 
 " I am sure not," sighed the duchess, thinking of her 
 own the one great sorrow that grew with years. 
 
 Then the duke brought Lady Valentine back to his 
 mother, and was slightly surprised to find that the belle of 
 the ball had remained talking to her in preference to 
 dancing. He looked at her more inquiringly now, and 
 the marvel of her beauty grew upon him. The notes of 
 the beautiful, plaintive waltz sounded, and he asked her 
 if she were engaged for it 
 
 " I do not remember," she replied ; then, looking at the 
 pretty ivory tablets, she said : "* No, this is the only 
 dance I have free,"
 
 200 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Then may I ask for it ? " said the duke, and he knew 
 that he had pleased his mother when he saw her smile. 
 
 "Yes," replied Miss Glynton, "I shall be pleased. Hike 
 the music of this waltz better than any other I know." 
 
 Then she was surprised to find her eyes raised to his 
 face. She was looking at him with an intense, earnest 
 gaze that slightly confused him; he held out his arm to 
 her with a low bow, and she was on the point of laying 
 her hand on it. Suddenly she shrunk back, the light 
 shone and gleamed in her diamonds, the hand half raised 
 fell at her side again, a strange trembling came over her. 
 The duke looked at her in surprise. 
 
 " I have changed my mind," she said; " I would rather 
 not dance pray excuse me." 
 
 " You are tired," said the duchess. " I have always 
 understood that American ladies were more fragile than 
 English. You look tired, Miss Glynton." 
 
 But the duke said to himself it was not fatigue which 
 had so suddenly blanched her face, nor could he tell what 
 it was. 
 
 "Perhaps," said the duchess, "Miss Glynton would find 
 a change to one of the drawing-rooms pleasant, Bertrand. 
 It will be better than sitting here in this warm room." 
 
 To this Miss Glynton found no objection ; the duke did 
 not offer his arm, but walked by her side ; she was 
 strangely silent, and he hardly knew how to talk to this 
 beautiful woman who had shrunk from dancing with him. 
 The same topic that had served her with the duchesr, 
 served her now Lady Valentine. She was waltzing with 
 a handsome young officer as they crossed the ball-room. 
 
 " I forget," said Miss Glynton ; " is Lady Valentine 
 related to you ?" 
 
 " Yes, but very distantly. My mother, the duchess, and 
 Lord Arden were related, but so distantly they can hardly 
 be said to be related at all four or fifth cousins, I 
 believe." 
 
 " Lady Valentine must be a great addition to your house- 
 hold," said Miss Glynton. " I have a strange fancy that 
 I^heard the duchess spoken of in Paris as having a pro- 
 tegee, but the name was not Lady Valentine." 
 
 A light came over his face. 
 
 "You must have heard of Lady Nell," he said. " At,
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 201 
 
 pardon," for the jeweled fan she held fell to the ground, 
 and he stooped to regain it. 
 
 " Lady Nell,"he continued, " my mother's neice ; she 
 married last year." 
 
 " Married ?" repeated Miss Glynton, and she spoke as 
 one who seeks to gain time. " I had' not heard. Whom 
 has she married ?" 
 
 " Sir Edward Layard. You have heard him spoken of 
 a great traveler and linguist." 
 
 " Is she very happy ?" was the next question, one that 
 surprised him ; bat then Americans have the fashion of 
 asking most extraordinary things. 
 
 "Happy? Yes, I suppose so; the same as other peo- 
 ple. She was very fond of Sir Edwin. Lady Nell is 
 happy, I am sure." 
 
 And then they came to the magnificent room where he 
 wished her to rest. 
 
 " How beautiful these English homes are ? There is 
 nothing in England I admire so much as the interior of 
 the homes." 
 
 " You have beautiful houses in America," he said. 
 
 "Yes, but they do not seem like yours; they are newer, 
 most of them; the decorations are different." 
 
 " You have not been in England very long," said the 
 duke. " Have you seen any of our oldest places old 
 castles, such as Arundel, Am wick or Worcester?" 
 
 " I have seen an old English castle," she replied, " but 
 none of those." 
 
 "I should think," laughed the duke, "that if there is 
 anything in England of which an American would feel 
 jealous it would be of those grand old ruins of ours." 
 
 " I do not think they are jealous," she replied, as she 
 took the offered chair. " I am always ready to do battle 
 for the land of the ' Stars and Stripes.' " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " YOU HAVE WRONGED A WOMAN." 
 
 " To ME," said Miss Glynton, "there is something almost 
 laughable in the average English idea of America. You 
 seem to think it quite a new world. Does any one ever 
 think of the thousands of years it has taken to form our 
 immense forests our primeval forests? Do you think
 
 202 THE DUKE'S SECKIT. 
 
 there are no ruins in America ? Have you read anything 
 of the buried cities cities buried in the depths of ancient 
 forests? Do you think there are no ruins in America? You 
 have no relics of antiquity so grand as those." 
 
 " I have the greatest respect for America," said the 
 duke, " although it is quite true I have always looked 
 upon it as new. It is a nation without history, without 
 traditions." 
 
 "Do you not think," she replied, " the real history of 
 America its ancient history is told by rocks and trees 
 of the primeval forests, not merely by records of pen and 
 ink ? You must remember that the fact of its being a 
 new world to you does not make it a new world to itself. 
 None can judge of America until they have seen it." 
 
 " That I do believe," said the duke ; " and I hope to 
 see it some day. I have often thought how much I 
 should enjoy a trip across the Atlantic. You return to 
 America, I presume, Miss Glynton ?" 
 
 " I am not sure," she replied. " My father has a great 
 love for England above all, for London." 
 
 " Your father has not the ordinary American type, 
 either of physique or manner," said the duke. " I should 
 not have recognized you as an American lady, either. I 
 like to hear you defend that strong beautiful land of 
 yours," he said ; " the love of one's native country is 
 strong." 
 
 " All real love must be strong," she said decidedly. 
 
 " Do you think BO ? I have known many loves that 
 have proved to be weak enough." 
 
 And he thought of his own as he spoke. 
 
 " Not real love," she said, and the beauty of her face 
 deepened. " Many things are called love which do not 
 deserve the name all kinds of weak fancies and senti- 
 mental notions; but real love is a thing quite apart." 
 
 "You are right," he said. 
 
 She went on, unconscious of his interruption: 
 
 "Even in the Scriptures the might and strength of love 
 are recognized. Do you remember those words, ' Many 
 waters can not quench love, neither can floods destroy 
 it. Such words would not be used for the weak fancies 
 and baby passions that men call love." 
 
 The beautiful face was full of superb scorn. The duke 
 8 ne looked at her in admiration, woadrd what she
 
 THB DUKE'S SECRET. 203 
 
 would say if she knew his love story and his secret. He 
 could picture the scorn such a story would call into those 
 beautiful eyes. Thank Heaven, he had not to go through 
 the ordeal! 
 
 "You and Lady Valentine would be good friends, I am 
 sure," he said; "those are her ideas. She takes every- 
 thing in earnest. She is quite different from other 
 people; she is so much more truthful and honest, candid 
 and frank." 
 
 " She has not quite learned enough of the world to dis-. 
 guise all her feelings and thoughts," said Miss Glynton, 
 with a curl of her beautiful lips. 
 
 " You speak as though the world had taught you some 
 bitter lessons, Miss Glynton." 
 
 " It has taught me one," she replied. "I was a dreamer 
 and believer in every one and everything an enthusiast; 
 and I had one sharp, bitter lesson. I do not need a sec- 
 ond." 
 
 " One would hardly think it to look at you," he said. 
 
 "What can you tell from looks?" she said. "Do you 
 believe that men and women carry the story of their lives 
 in their faces?" 
 
 " Some of them ?" he replied. 
 
 " How do you read them ?" she asked. 
 
 " I can not tell by instinct," replied the duke. 
 
 She raised her eyes and looked at him. 
 
 " I wonder if I have the same instinct," she said, slowly. 
 " I fear not. Now, looking at you, I could not tell whether 
 you had a story in your life or not." 
 
 He shrunk with a scared expression in hig face; it was 
 not often that women spoke so plainly to him. "Let me 
 guess," she continued, with a charming smile. " You are 
 a mighty peer, you have wealth, honor, nobility. You 
 are young, gifted; the friendship of men and the love of 
 women must both have been yours. You have no lines 
 on your face, no shadow in your eyes. "Who shall say 
 whether a story lies there or not?" 
 
 " You almost frighten me," he said. 
 
 "Frighten; that should not be possible. Now let me 
 make my guess. The world pays you great homage 
 see to-ni<?ht fair faces brighten for you and bright eyes 
 flash; your life must seem all sunlight to those who know 
 you; but J, reading your face, venture fc iy that
 
 204 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 have a very sad and sorrowful story. Am I right o 
 
 o " ' 
 
 wrong ? 
 
 He bent his head; and she saw the color fade from his 
 face as he whispered: 
 
 "Bight you are right; but no one knows it; how can 
 you, a stranger tell ? " 
 
 "lam right, then?" she said, slowly. "I thought I 
 was." 
 
 ^ " Tell me how you know ?" he asked, startled out of his 
 usual tranquility. " This is the first time we have met, 
 and yet you have read what my nearest and dearest have 
 not read. Tell me ; my curiosity is excited." 
 
 " I will tell you," she replied. " I have, perhaps, hardly 
 been fair. I heard of you before I saw you. I heard you 
 discussed one day ; and the ladies speaking of you said 
 you were a woman-hater. It is one thing to hear a circle 
 of men say, with unmistakable admiration, that you are a 
 woman-hater ; it is quite another thing when the loveliest 
 women with the brightest eyes say the same." 
 
 The duke felt ashamed of his title for the first time. 
 
 Miss Gljnton went on : 
 
 " I said to myself that if you were a woman-hater you 
 must have a reason for it. Men do not hate women nat- 
 urally, do they ?" 
 
 " I suppose not," he replied. 
 
 " You see that I am a close reasoner. It is clear to m* 
 that if you hate women you have a reason." 
 
 " And what would you imagine that reason to be ?" 
 asked the duke. 
 
 " There are but two one is, that you dislike all women 
 because one has wronged you ; the other, that your dislike 
 to women springs from the fact that you have wronged 
 one." 
 
 He gazed at her in utter amazement. 
 
 " No one has ever spoken to me in such a strain be- 
 fore," he said. " I am f oolish, as it may seem ; half 
 frightened." 
 
 " Am I right or wrong ? " she asked. 
 
 ' Right," he replied. 
 
 " But you will not tell me which of the two reasons it 
 is ? " she said. 
 
 11 No ; that would be impossible. Why, Miss Glyntoa,
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 205 
 
 you have stirred the very depths of my heart. I am at a 
 loss what to say." 
 
 "There is truth, then, in the old proverb that a ran- 
 dom shot often goes home." 
 
 "It is quite true," he replied ; "and for a random shot, 
 ^ours, Miss Glynton, was a very extraordinary one. What 
 a strange thing it seems that we should have fallen into 
 this confidential strain." 
 
 " Yes, it is strange," she answered; " but it is to be ac- 
 counted for on quite natural grounds. I heard these ladies 
 discussing you, and the discussion interested me. They 
 called you a woman-hater, and the title was new to me. 
 Then this idea came to me, that either ^ou hated them be- 
 cause you had been wronged, or because you had wronged 
 the whole sex in one. Then comes my introduction to you, 
 and, looking into your face, I read a story there ; perhaps 
 they would have read it with the same result had they 
 thought of ife," 
 
 "Well, one thing is quite sure," said the duke, "I shall 
 never be able to think of you as a stranger again. You 
 seem to have gone deeper into my life than those whom I 
 have known for years. I shall always remember this ball 
 and my first introduction to you." 
 
 All her shyness had vanished; she seemed perfectly easy 
 and self-possessed; she leaned back with a smile on her 
 face, queenly, dignified, yet the very softness of her eyes, 
 as they rested on him encouraged him to talk on. 
 
 "I am rather dazed," said the duke; "I feel as though 
 some hazy notions of a former existence were floating 
 through my brain. I could almost believe that other ex- 
 istence had known you." 
 
 " Very fanciful ideas," she said dryly. 
 
 " I like thinking and reading of that kind of sensation,** 
 lie continued. " It has occurred to me so often, and I 
 have heard many people speak of it." 
 
 " I believe in one life, and in one only," said Miss 
 Glynton. " I think most of us will find it quite enough." 
 
 " Do you feel rested," said his grace, anxiously. " I 
 must not forget, however pleasant it maybe to me to see 
 you here, that the light has gone from the ball-room." 
 
 " I shall not dance again this evening," she said, with a 
 kindly, quiet smile, " after declining to dance with you." 
 
 " Do not let that influence you. I shall be grieved if
 
 206 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 you do BO ; you were tired, now you are rested. I am 
 tempted to try my fate once more, and ask you if you will 
 dance with me." 
 
 " I must decline again," she answered. " I am afraid 
 you will think me very capricious and changeable." 
 
 " I shall always think of you at; one of the most wonder- 
 ful ladies I have ever met If you have really no partner 
 whom you wish to make happy, Miss Glynton, we can not 
 do better, I think, than remain where we are for a short 
 time longer." 
 
 And there they did remain, discussing everything under 
 the sun; the duke growing more and more delighted 
 with her every moment, while she certainly did her best 
 to win his admiration. An hour passed before they re- 
 turned to the duchess, who waited them anxiously. The 
 room was less crowded then, and her Grace of Castle- 
 mayne had a great horror of remaining until the last. 
 She made some smiling remark, and then asked the duke 
 if he would go in search of Lady Valentine. 
 
 "I have not seen her for the last half hour," she said; 
 " she went away with Lord Cardiff." 
 
 The duke left the two ladies together while he went in 
 search of Lady Valentine. The duchess laughed as she 
 said: 
 
 " You will take my son's title from him, Miss Glynton, 
 and rob him of all his glory." 
 
 For one half minute there was a curious look on the 
 beautiful face, and then Miss Glynton smiled in return. 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "I understand. You mean his 
 title of ' woman hater.' I think it has been very unjustlr 
 given, your grace; I see no reason for it." 
 
 "I am delighted to hear it," said the duchess; " I an 
 sure that no one could give him that terrible name this 
 evening. I wish he could lose it forever." 
 
 " He never deserved it," said Miss Glynton, briefly. 
 
 And her Grace of Castlemayne wondered at the authority 
 i her voice as she uttered the words.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A LADY TO GRACE A HOME. 
 
 MB. GLYNTON entered the drawing-room where his 
 heiress sat reading, with a quantity of envelopes in hia 
 hand. 
 
 " All invitations," he said, as he laid them before the 
 beautiful lady, who glanced at him with a careless smile. 
 
 "You will have to keep a secretary," he said; "you 
 will never have time to answer them all, much less accept 
 them." 
 
 She laughed aloud. 
 
 " We have proved the extent of our capabilities," she 
 replied. " One dinner party and three balls are as 
 much as we can manage, and that we should not accom- 
 plish unless you were the most energetic and brightest 
 of men." 
 
 " There is one dinner invitation here that I would like 
 to accept," said the millionaire. " The Duchess of Castle- 
 mayne asks us to dine there next Tuesday. I should like 
 to go there, pet. I have seen no woman so handsome as 
 the duchess ; she is magnificent ; the very type of an 
 English duchess gentle and caressing, yet proud and 
 stately. Her manner is superb." 
 
 *' It is indeed," said Miss G-lynton, dryly. He looked 
 up quickly when he heard the tone'of her voice. 
 
 " Don't you like the duchess, pet ? If you do not you 
 shall not go." 
 
 " Like her ?" was the evasive answer, " why should I 
 not ? Every one says she is the most popular woman in 
 London, and she was most gracious to me." 
 
 " Every one is," he said. 
 
 " But she was more than usually gracious. You do not 
 know how proud and haughty the Duchess of Castle- 
 mayne is." 
 
 " But she was not proud to you," said the millionaire. 
 
 " No ; that's why I can not help liking her a little. I 
 agree with you, it will be as well to accept that invita- 
 tion." 
 
 "I like the duke," said Mr. Glynton. " I may say that 
 I like him better than any Englishman I have ever seen; 
 he was kind and attentive to me. He said how much ho
 
 208 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 should like me to see Rood Castle one of the oldest in 
 England. I was very much struck with his urbanity and 
 kindness. " 
 
 " A sudden friendship," she said. 
 
 "Not quite that a sudden liking, rather; and that re- 
 minds me, pet, my eyes are not closed. I saw at the ball 
 that I was not the only person who seemed to enjoy talk- 
 ing to the Duke of Castiemayne." 
 
 Her face flushed, and a strange light came into her eyes. 
 
 " I was too tired to dance much, and he talked to me," 
 she replied, carelessly. 
 
 " Then I must answer ' yes ' to that invitation. Now 
 let us look through the rest, and see what we shall pre- 
 fer." 
 
 He sat down at her side; and they looked at the num- 
 erous cards and notes of invitation. 
 
 "Lady Purdon at home. I I do not care for her, 
 pet ; she's a woman's rights woman. Mrs. Choular's 
 matinee musicale, I should not care for that. A ball at 
 the French embassy ; yes, we will go. Garden party at 
 Richmond, just as you like, pet," was the running com- 
 mentary made by the millionaire on the notes and cards. 
 " After all," he continued, " see how the world runs after 
 money. It is money in our case ; beautiful as you are, 
 pet, even your beauty would not have brought i n s one 
 tithe of the popularity money has brought." 
 
 "Money is a great power," she said; " there are few 
 greater. I must write to Mayne House at once." 
 
 " Pet," asked Mr. Glynton, suddenly, " have you seen 
 Lady Belle Chalmers, do you know her at all ?" 
 
 " No," she replied, "I do not remember the name." 
 
 " I met her at Glacourts, and I liked her very much ; 
 she seemed to be the merriest, blithest woman I have met. 
 I should like you to know her. If you see any chance of 
 an introduction to her, avail yourself of it." 
 
 " I will," she replied, with a keen, lingering look at his 
 face, on which she read some little sign of confusion. 
 
 "Who is Lady Belle Chalmers; is she married or 
 single?" 
 
 " She is a widow," he interrupted ; " quite a young 
 widow, and holds an excellent position. Her husband 
 had some appointment in the royal household. They had 
 only been married a few *aonths when he died."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 209 
 
 " Did she tell you this ? " asked Miss Glynton, with a 
 Blight upraising of her beautiful eyebrows. 
 
 "Yes; we talked for a long time. I thought her very 
 interesting. If you have an opportunity, you might make 
 friends with her." 
 
 " I will, most decidedly," she answered, wondering if 
 Lady Belle had made an impression on the heart of the 
 millionaire; wondering, also, if it were in the decrees of 
 fate he should marry. If it were for his happiness, she 
 hoped most devoutly that he would do so. Aiid so it hap- 
 pened that during the next few days she met Lady Belle 
 Chalmers. 
 
 The evening of the dinner-party at Mayne House came, 
 and Mr. Glynton fancied that his beautiful heiress was 
 slightly distrait, uneasy, and preoccupied during the whole 
 day. 
 
 " I wonder if the party will be a large one ?" he said, 
 as the time came for them to dress. " Look your best to- 
 night, pet." 
 
 The advice was hardly needed. There was a light, 
 half of triumph, half of defiance, on that beautiful face 
 which doubled its beauty. From the care and attention 
 she gave to her toilet, she might have been going to dine 
 with the queen. Her dress was a marvel of beauty, a 
 rich brocade, white ground, with pale golden flowers, and 
 with it she wore a parure of rich rubies and diamonds. 
 Fine costly lace trailed in beautiful folds around her; the 
 square body of the dress showed the white breast and 
 graceful throat. Every detail was perfection, and matched 
 the marvelous blend of the gold and white dress. 
 
 " I have never seen you look so well before," Mr. Glyn- 
 ton said, as he glanced with admiration at the grand, 
 queenly figure and face; "but, my dear, there is some- 
 thing in your face; you look well, words fail me; I can 
 not quite tell what are you pleased or sorry ?" 
 
 "Neither," she answered, indifferently. 
 
 " There is a look on your face I have never seen be- 
 fore," he said. " I wonder, pet, if Lady Belle will bo 
 there ?" 
 
 " I hope so, if you wish to see her," she answered. 
 
 " I enjoy myself more when she is present than when 
 she is absent," he said, drawing the white wrapper round 
 her shoulders and helping her into the carriage.
 
 210 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 It was a beautiful fine night, warm without being sultry, 
 with a lovely fragrant air, the sun setting and the beautiful 
 hush of the summer evening lying over the land. 
 
 They were late. Most of the guests invited had arrived 
 and were in the drawing-room. To the millionaire's great 
 delight, Lady Belle Chalmers was there, and seemed 
 pleased to see him. 
 
 The Duchess of Castlemayne, looking very stately and 
 magnificent in her dress of rich ruby velvet, received them 
 with great empressement. The duke came forward to re- 
 ceive them with the greatest cordiality. Lady Valentine 
 left the little group of courtiers, who were doing their 
 best to detain her, and began to talk to Miss Glynton ; 
 the duke stood by them, and many eyes lingered with 
 admiration on the two beautiful women and the handsome 
 young patrician with them. Mr. Glynton afterwards ex- 
 pressed himself as being delighted with all the arrange- 
 ments ; he had been asked to take Lady Belle Chalmers 
 down to dinner, and to judge from his face he had found 
 the task most delightful. The duke offered his arm to 
 Miss Glynton, and Lady Valentine fell to the share of 
 one of her most hopeful and fervent adorers, Sir Harry 
 Bellairs, the handsome guardsman. 
 
 The duchess followed with Lord Hargraves ; she was 
 most gracious and bland this evening, delighted that the 
 Americans had accepted her invitation ; above all that 
 her son paid so much attention to Miss Glynton. 
 
 " A royally beautiful woman," said the duchess to her- 
 self, " one who would grace his home." 
 
 The party was not large, but it was certainly brilliant. 
 It would have been difficult to have found three more 
 beautiful women, though each different in their way, than 
 the duchess, Miss Glynton, and Lady Valentine Arden, 
 Mrs. Henson and Mrs. Burdett were present also, both 
 brilliant and clever. The dinner was perfect, the wine 
 superb ; the conversation brilliant and intellectual ; wit 
 and reparte of the keenest, finest kind. 
 
 Lady Belle Chalmers was a great addition; she was 
 cheerful, witty, amusing, and kind-hearted ; a lady just 
 in the prime of life, with a pleasant, happy, and honest 
 face a face that brightened and shone with every fresh 
 gleam of humor. She was not a beautiful woman, but 
 she was elegant, fascinating, and always elegantly dressed ;
 
 THE DUKE'S SECKET. 211 
 
 an accomplished and well educated woman, who spoke 
 two or three different languages quite as well as English 
 who had read and thought, and knew all the leading 
 characters of the day. A thorough woman of the world, 
 with a keen appreciation of luxury and comfort, with a 
 perfect knowledge of the power of money and the power 
 of rank. One of the most agreeable women in England, 
 and universally liked. 
 
 For some years after she was left a widow people won- 
 dered whether she would marry again. She had a nice 
 house and a comfortable income ; she belonged to the 
 best set in London ; she had never been either a coquette 
 or a flirt, and of late every one had come to the conclu- 
 sion that she would remain a widow until the end of the 
 chapter. But Mr. Grlynton seemed devoted to her, and a- 
 wonder was felt by many people as to whether or not he 
 would be able to induce her to change her opinions. So 
 the party was a brilliant success. Perhaps the most silent 
 person present was Miss Glynton ; but though she said 
 little, she listened attentively, and the duke thought her 
 more bewitching than ever. 
 
 "Lady Layard was to have dined with us," he said; 
 " but she was prevented from coming. She promised to 
 look in during the evening if she could. " 
 
 " Lady Layard," repeated Miss Glynton. " I do not 
 remember the name." 
 
 " We were speaking of her the other evening Lady 
 Nell, my mother's niece." 
 
 " I had forgotten," she said; but the face she bent over 
 her plate was a trifle paler, and her heart beat quickly. 
 
 " I am sure you will like Lady Layard," said the duke; 
 ' every one does who knows her." 
 
 But she neither looked at him nor answered him one 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 "I KNOW YOUR SECRET." 
 
 THE drawing-room at Mayne House was one of the 
 finest, largest, and most magnificent in London. It had 
 been entirely redecorated and refurnished by the present 
 duchess, whose taste was of the most artistic and perfect 
 kind. There was no overcrowding either of pictures,
 
 212 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 statues, or flowers; no profuse gilding or comfusion of fur- 
 niture; the different colors were all subdued, delicate in 
 hue, and gracefully contrasted; the pictures were some 
 of them by the great masters of art, others by the most 
 famous of modern artists. From the shade of late plants 
 white marble statues gleamed, copies of the world's great 
 wonders. The daintiest treasures were there choice 
 emeralds, superb marquetry, old buhl work, vases of jas- 
 per and of malachite; the daintiest china. There was a 
 beautiful portrait, said to be quite authentic, of Mary of 
 Scotland; and hundreds of other articles of virtu and art. 
 But there was nothing struck a stranger so much as the 
 beautiful arrangement of flowers; they were everywhere; 
 and yet there did not appear to be one too many. In one 
 of the groups of late plants pretty chairs had been placed, 
 forming something like a little bower; and this evening, 
 with so many beautiful women, it was a fairy bower. 
 
 The duchess had her favorite seat, a luxurious couch, 
 placed near the great windows, and half shielded from 
 view by a superb statue of Hebe, surrounded by flowers. 
 She went there at once, followed by Lady Belle, whose 
 lively conversation amused her. 
 
 The other ladies were busy discussing a fancy fair, in 
 which the fashionable world was vitally interested. It 
 would materially assist the funds of a very charitable in- 
 stitution for children; it would be likewise a fine oppor- 
 tunity for the display of superb toilets; a fair battle- 
 ground for rival beauties. Altogether it was an engross- 
 ing topic, and there was much to say on the subject. 
 
 Lady Valentine had drawn Miss Glinton's attention to 
 a beautiful book of engravings; they were both seated at 
 a table turning over the leaves. No picture in that room 
 was as beautiful as those two fair beads bent together; 
 one in the fresh grace of youth, the other in the magnifi- 
 cence of matured beauty. 
 
 " Do you care about seeing photographs, Miss Glyn- 
 ton?" asked Lady Valentine; "we have some views of 
 Kood Castle which I think are unequaled. 
 
 "Of Rood Castle?" she replied, looking up with a 
 startled glance, her face flushing and paling; " Rood Cas- 
 tle, did you say ?" 
 
 And Lady Valentine did not see that she merely ! 
 peated the words to give herself time. i
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 213 
 
 " Tea, that is the Duke of Castlemayne^ family estate; 
 such a tine old castle ; and the photographs of it are really 
 beautiful; they are artistic, not taken at hazard, but ~ 
 series of the finest views taken by a firm of photographers 
 whom the duchess especially engaged. Would you like 
 to see them ? " 
 
 " Very much," replied Miss Glynton; and then ther*. 
 was a slight quiver of pain on her lips as she smiled. 
 
 " They are on the table near the duchess's couch. She 
 loves Rood Castle, and never passes a day without look- 
 ing at these views. I will go for them." 
 
 " Pray do not give yourself any trouble, Lady Valen- 
 tine," said Miss Glynton. 
 
 " It will be a pleasure, not a trouble," she replied, " I 
 have never seen the Castle ; but, judging from the views, 
 I should say there was not a more lovely spot in En gland," 
 and the young girl paused for one-half minute, wonder- 
 ing if she could tell this peerless and beautiful woman she 
 admired so greatly, that any service she could render 
 her would be a great pleasure to herself. 
 
 "Perhaps she would not understand it," she said to 
 herself. "I suppose to talk of fashionable beauties 
 about loving them is nonsense, after all; but this beau- 
 tiful woman, with her calm, grand face, is not like a 
 fashionable beauty." 
 
 Then she went in search of the book of views. It lay 
 on the table near the duchess; and Lady Valentine looked 
 at her with a bright smile. 
 
 " May I take this ? I want to show Miss Glynton all 
 the beauties of Hood Castle." 
 
 "You may always do just as you like," said her grace; 
 and Lady Valentine went away with the book. Was it 
 her fancy or did the beautiful face look paler? Miss 
 Glynton had moved her chair so that the light no longer 
 fell on her face, but shone in the superb tiara of rubies 
 and diamonds that encircled the fair hair. Lady Valen- 
 tine laid it before her and opened the pages. 
 
 " I have heard the duchess speak of it so often, and we 
 have looked over the book so frequently together, that I 
 know every nook and corner of it." 
 
 But somewhat to her surprise, a white hand was laid 
 on the open pagt. 
 
 " If you will pardon me," said Miss Gljuton, in a
 
 214 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 voice, *' I witt look at them first and try to guess what the 
 places are, and you shall tell me if I am right." 
 
 Sweet-tempered Lady Valentine did just as she was 
 desired ; she laid the open pages before Miss Glynton. 
 Once she had a fancy that the richly-jeweled fingers 
 trembled as they turned over the pages, and once it 
 seemed to her that the grand face had lost all its color, 
 but that musfc have been the changing shadows of the 
 light. 
 
 There was silence for some short time between them. 
 Miss Glynton seemed to be absorbed in the beautiful 
 pictures, bufc she made no comment and spoke no word. 
 No one saw how her lips quivered ; no one saw, as she 
 sat in the shadow, how her face grew dim and her eyes 
 filled with the mist of tears. One white hand was tightly 
 clinched, and by that means she suppressed all outward 
 show of emotion. 
 
 " Now, Miss Glynton," cried Lady Valentine, " is all 
 America half so beautiful as this ? " 
 
 She was fairly startled when Miss Glynton looked at 
 her, the expression of her face was so entirely changed, 
 and there was a far-off, dreamy look in her eyes a look 
 of such sad memory and such suppressed pain. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Lady Valentine, I did not hear," 
 she said, and there was something so sad, so dreary in 
 the tone of her voice, that all the sympathy of the kindly 
 young heart was aroused. 
 
 " I said, have you anything in America so beautiful as 
 this?" 
 
 Miss Glynton smiled faintly. 
 
 " The beauties of America are on a different scale," she 
 said ; " but I quite agree with you that Rood Castle must 
 be a lovely spot. You have never been there ?" 
 
 "No ; but we are going when the season is over. I can 
 not tell how the prospect delights me." 
 
 "You are very fond of the duchess," said Miss Glynton; 
 " naturally enough, you love her home." 
 
 *' The duchess," cried the girl, with bright eyes ; indeed 
 I do love her I think there is no one like her." 
 
 "And the duke, too, is most kind," said Miss Glynton, 
 looking earnestly at the fair, frank, young face. 
 
 " The dike ?" said Lady Valentine, while her face 
 fluehe4 and her eyes brightened, " You will laugh at me
 
 THtt DUKE'a SECRET. 215 
 
 without doub^ but I think the duke is just the one most 
 perfect man in the woild ; he is a hero among other 
 men." 
 
 Over the most perfect lips of Miss Glynton came the 
 faintest ripple of a smile. 
 
 " I know your secret now, Lady Valentine," she thought, 
 "you love the duke." 
 
 Lady Valentine, unconscious of that keen scrutiny, 
 went on: 
 
 "In Nice, where I lived with my father, there is a 
 beautiful picture in the house of one of our friends it is 
 called ' The Martyrdom of San Sebastian,' and as long as 
 I remember, the face of that San Sebastian was my model 
 of perfect beauty; strange to say, the Duke of Castlemayne 
 resembles it exactly. I always call him San Sebastian when 
 we are quite alone." 
 
 And again this faint, cold, half sad smile ripples orer 
 the beautiful lips. 
 
 "The name certainly suits him," she said. "San Se- 
 bastian. It brings the idea of a tall, dark, handsome, mel- 
 tncholy man to one's mind the duke has a fashion of 
 looking half tired, half melancholy too. I shall think of 
 him as San Sebastian, although I may never call him so." 
 
 "In the picture," continued Lady Valentine, "the eyes 
 have a searching look, as though among the crowd the 
 snar^yr looked for one kind face, and in vain. I have seen 
 that same wonderful expression in the duke's eyes often 
 and often." 
 
 " Yet he has lost no one dear or near to him, has had 
 no sorrow to cloud his life," said Miss Glynton, and she 
 glanced keenly at the fair, fresh, young face as she spoke. 
 
 Lady Valentine did not answer ; she sat quite silent 
 and then said, thoughtfully : 
 
 " No one escapes, I am afraid. I wonder sometimes 
 what my sorrow will be," and then she sighed as she 
 remembered that the greatest trouble life holds would be 
 hers if she could never marry the man she loved. 
 
 Then there was a stir in the room, and the gentlemen 
 entered. The duchess ceased her conversation the 
 ladies forgot the fancy fair. 
 
 Miss Glynton saw the millionaire looked anxiously 
 round the room. His eyes brightened as they fell on tbt
 
 216 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 
 
 pleasant, laughing face of Lady Belle ; he went to her ai 
 once, as naturally as a sailor seeks a port in storm. 
 
 Miss Glynton smiled to herself; then she quietly watched 
 the duke. He spoke to one of the ladies; his eyes falling 
 on the fold of pale, golden brocade, he crossed the room 
 and went to her. Lady Yalentine looked up at him with 
 a smile. 
 
 " What do you think Miss Glynton is studying ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 The duke drew a chair near to them, and said it would 
 be impossible to guess, that the study of ladies was so 
 varied. 
 
 " Kood Castle," cried Lady Valentine. " I have made 
 Miss Glynton own there is nothing half so beautiful in 
 America." 
 
 " I hope," he said, " that Miss Glynton may one day 
 see its beauty herself." 
 
 She raised her eyes and looked at him by no means a 
 defiant glance, but a quiet, steady, searching look that 
 puzzled, baffled, and bewildered him. 
 
 " You are very good," she said. 
 
 And he thought to himself that he must be mistaken, 
 that it could not be contempt he heard in the voice. 
 
 " Lady Valentine," he said, " will you sing for us ? I 
 am sure Miss Glynton will be pleased to hear you." 
 
 " I am sure I shall," said Miss Glynton, with a well- 
 pleased smile. 
 
 And Lady Valentine, always above all affectation, went 
 to the piano, and the duke took her place by Miss Glyn- 
 ton's side. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 **I WELL REFRESH YOUR MEMORY." 
 
 LOOKING round that brilliant apartment, with the beauti- 
 ful women and chivalrous-looking men grouped pictur- 
 esquely in it, Miss Glynton thought she had never seen a 
 more brilliant home scene than this; and there was the 
 duke, who had waited to arrange Lady Valentine's music, 
 and return to her side. He was unusually silent the 
 strange ideas that haunted him in her presence, the 
 curious, subtle attraction she had for him was in ftfll 
 force, and he looked at her with a vague wonder as to 
 what it was in her that touched him aw no other woman
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 21. 
 
 had power to touch him. Then through the room rang 
 the sweetest voice that he had ever heard, and it sung 
 these words: 
 
 "It name with the merry May, love, 
 
 It bloomed with the summer prime; 
 In a dying year's decay, love, 
 
 It brightened the fading time. 
 I thought it would last for life, love, 
 
 But it went with the winter snow, 
 Only a year ago, love, 
 
 Only a year ago. 
 
 " 'Twas a plant with a deeper root, love, 
 
 Then the blighting Eastern tree; 
 For it grew in my heart, and the fruit, love, 
 
 Was a bitter morsel to me. 
 The poison is yet in my brain, love, 
 
 The thorn in my heart, for you know, 
 'Twas only a year ago, love, 
 
 Only a year ago." 
 
 Beautiful, sad, sweet words he said them over and over 
 again to himself 
 
 " Only a year ago, love, 
 Only a year ago." 
 
 His young wife might have sung that sad, sweet lament 
 when he so cruelly slighted her. They had only loved 
 each other a year. 
 
 " The poison is yet in my brain love, 
 
 The thorn in my heart, you know." 
 
 aaurmured Miss Glynton. "Those are very beautiful 
 words. Do many people live, I wonder, with poison in the 
 fcrain and a thorn in the heart ?" 
 
 " More than you would imagine," he replied, sadly. " I 
 begin to think myself that no man or woman lives without 
 bis or her hidden trouble, great sorrow, or romance." 
 
 " I have long been sure of it," she said ; and more than 
 ever he wondered what mysterious influence this beautiful 
 stranger had over him. As his eyes lingered on her calm, 
 grand face, the words came over and over again to him 
 
 " Only a year ago, love, 
 Only a year ago." 
 
 The dead love, the dead passion of his buried youth, 
 with its fair hopes, all rose before him thp first
 
 218 THE DUKE'S SECMTL, 
 
 wild love of his youth which had so completely engrossed 
 him he had forgotten everything but the girl he loved; 
 the sweet, sad memories stirred his heart, and when at 
 length Lady Valentine's song ceased, he found the beau- 
 tiful blue eyes of the American looking into his own. She 
 withdrew her glance, rather as though she had been 
 studying his character than interested in him. 
 
 Then again, clear, fresh, and bright, the young voice 
 aung: 
 
 " I stand by the river where both of us stood, 
 And there is but one shadow to darken the flood, 
 And the path leading to it, where both used to pass, 
 Has the step of but one to take dew from the gran - 
 One, forlorn since that day. 
 
 " The flowers of the margin are many to see 
 None stoops at my bidding to pluck them for me. 
 The bird in the alder sings loudly and long; 
 My low sound of weeping disturbs not his song, 
 As thy vow did that day. 
 
 " Go be sure of my love, of that treason forgiven; 
 Of my prayers, by the blessing they win thee in heaven; 
 Of my grief guess the length of the sword by the sheath's, 
 By the silence of life, more pathetic than death's. 
 Go be clear of that day." 
 
 Wonderful words I they seemed to pierce his heart as 
 he heard them ; and looking at his beautiful companion, 
 he saw, no matter how she strove to hide it, that the dark 
 blue eyes were filled with tears. He could hardly believe 
 it at first, that this brilliant, proud woman, who had 
 seemed so cold, so passive, so far away from human in- 
 terest, had tears in her eyes. 
 
 " I have never heard a more beautiful line than that," 
 she said, as though she would fain account for her emo- 
 tion 
 
 "By the silence of life, more pathetic than death." 
 
 " It is full of meaning, and I am sure it is true. I have 
 known the silence of some lives a thousand times sadder 
 than the blank chill silence of death." 
 
 He thought of the silence that lay like a shadow over 
 his own life, and he thought of the silence that lay over 
 the life and fate of his young wife. 
 
 The silence of life ! Ah me ! what volumes might bf
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 219 
 
 written of that strange silence, what mysteries it hides, 
 what pain it conceals, what anguish it covers. In all 
 creation there is no greater marvel than that wonderful 
 silence of life, so much greater and grander than that of 
 death. 
 
 The duke saw that Miss Glynton was deeply touched at 
 the words. 
 
 "I shall begin to think soon," he said, "that the real 
 life of people is the life not seen." 
 
 " You will think correctly," she replied. 
 
 Lady Valentine was succeeded at the piano by a young 
 lady who sang a Spanish ballad, martial and gay, in the 
 most superb style, and he watched the dark blue eyes fill 
 with light and brightness. 
 
 " How susceptible she is to the influence of music ! " 
 he said to himself ; and he asked her if, of all entertain- 
 ments, she did not prefer the opera. 
 
 "It is just what I can imagine you would prefer," he 
 said, " you seem to enjoy music so much." 
 
 " It is the way in which I ever can speak my real 
 thoughts," she replied. 
 
 " Then you do sing," he asked, at once. 
 
 "Yes; I have a contralto voice," she replied. "It is 
 unusual I believe for a blonde to have a deep contralto ; 
 they go generally with stately brunettes." She looked 
 up with a slight laugh into his face : 
 
 " You are going to ask me to sing," she said. " You are 
 wondering what my voice is like, and if I sing well. I will 
 sing for you my favorite song Tennyson's ' Brook.' I 
 wonder if you will like it ? " 
 
 " I could not well do anything else," he replied, and he 
 took her to the piano. 
 
 There was silence in the vast and magnificent room 
 when that superb woman stood up to sing. Lady Valentine 
 had attracted much attention Miss Glynton seemed to 
 command it; she stood near the piano, her rich dress and 
 trailing laces sweeping the ground, her beautiful figure 
 erect, full of life, grace, and ease, the beautiful head up- 
 raised as though to give freedom to the magnificent voice. 
 
 The silence that followed was more eloquent than any 
 applause in words; it was the duchess that asked the grace 
 of yet another song. 
 
 "From your voice I should have thought you an
 
 220 THE DUKH'S SECRET. 
 
 Italian," said her Grace of Castlemayne. It is only from 
 the white-throated daughters of the sunny south that one 
 expects to hear such a rich, mellow voice." 
 
 Miss Glynton smiled as she answered: 
 
 " I was nearly twenty years old before I knew that I had 
 a voice, and then I found it out quite by accident. 1 have 
 treasured it ever since." 
 
 "I should hope so," replied her grace. "I have heard 
 few on the stage and none off it that equal yours." 
 
 They drew round her the spell of music dying away 
 with flattering words and graceful compliments; they said 
 among themselves how royally generous nature had been 
 to one fair, queenly woman, how she had lavished on her 
 gifts of body and mind beauty without parallel and the 
 voice of a nightingale. Society and the gay world had 
 not for many years known such a queen. 
 
 She sung once more to please the duchess a sweet, 
 simple ballad that carried the hearts of her listeners. 
 
 "I am confirmed in my ideas," said Lady Charteris; "I 
 have always believed that a grand voice must live in a 
 grand body. I can not imagine a superb contralto like 
 that coming from a thin frail, or fragile woman a superb 
 voice requires a grand physique. To my mind Madame 
 
 S is the finest singer of these days, and she has the 
 
 finest frame." 
 
 " There is seme truth in it," said the duchess. " Grise 
 was a magnificent woman; I do not remember to have 
 seen such neck and arms. She was statuesque magnifi- 
 cent ! " 
 
 "I think," said Lady Charteris, calmly, "that Miss 
 Glynton is just now the most beautiful woman in Eng- 
 land." 
 
 It was a moment of unutterable triumph for the queenly 
 heiress of Hardress Glynton. On every face admiration of 
 her, and tears of emotion excited by her singing, were 
 seen; she was the centre of all observation and attention. 
 As the Duchess of Castlemayne looked at her, she said to 
 herself: 
 
 " If I could but see such a woman as that my son'a 
 wife, no matter what her nationality might be, I should 
 die happy." 
 
 Her heart was full of longing. Why could not Ber- 
 trand do as other men did ? In this room how many men
 
 THI DUKE'S SECRET, 221 
 
 would have given anything they had for the privilege of 
 being able to woo her ? There -was something peculiar, 
 the duchess felt, in the manner of the beautiful American, 
 both to herself and the duke a vague intangible some- 
 thing she could not, even to her own thoughts, define. 
 
 In the meantime the duke had led Miss Glynton back 
 to the comfortable chair she had occupied. 
 
 " Do you know any of those Scotch ballads ?"Jshe asked 
 him " the old border ballads, I mean, so full of gay and 
 martial music. I prefer them to anything else." 
 
 " Yes, I know some of them ; my mother likes that 
 kind of music, so does Lady Valentine strange that you 
 should have the same taste. There is nothing that Lady 
 Valentine enjoys so much as sitting singing all those: 
 grand old ballads she never tires, and we never tire." 
 
 " I do not see," said Miss Glynton, suddenly, " why all 
 the best songs should be about love ; war and glory ay, 
 and death have as much claim to music as love." 
 
 "Do you think so? "he asked. "It seems to me that 
 love and music are akin." 
 
 The dark blue eyes looked proudly with clear direct 
 gaze into his. 
 
 "You speak with decision," she said, laughingly. "Per- 
 haps you believe in Mrs. Barrett Browning's beautiful' 
 definition of the word 'loving'?" 
 
 " I do not remember it," he replied. 
 
 " Then I will refresh your memory, for I know every 
 word," and then she recited the beautiful words in a voice 
 he never forgot : 
 
 " Unless you can muse in a crowd all daj 
 
 On the absent face that fixed you; 
 Unless you can love as the angels may, 
 
 With the breath of heaven betwixt you ; 
 Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, 
 
 Through behooving and unbehooving; 
 Unless you can die when the dream is past, 
 
 Oh, never call it loving." 
 
 There was no falter in the clear voice, no shadow in the 
 dark blue eyes that met his own, no embarrasment on 
 the beautiful face; yet the Duke of Castlemayne had an 
 uncomfortable sensation that she knew more about him 
 and his history than any stranger could know.
 
 222 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 He had not died when his dream was past; on tne con- 
 trary he had lived and enjoyed himself very much; waa 
 there a shadow of reproach in her face that he had done 
 
 BO? 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVm. 
 
 LADY VALENTINE'S JEALOUSY. 
 
 THE Duke of Castlemayne retired to rest that evening 
 with his mind and heart full of the beautiful American; 
 for the time being the tragedy that lay between himself 
 and Lady Valentine was almost forgotten. He had no 
 thought for her great affection, her simple, child-like love 
 for him. The beautiful American seemed to have taken 
 possession of him. He was astonished to find what a 
 wonderful sense of familiarity he had near her as though 
 he had known her before, and every sound of her voice 
 was to him like a song known by heart, the play of her 
 magnificent features, the clear, direct gaze of her blue 
 eyes, the graceful curl of her lips; even the white gemmed 
 hands seemed like a familiar dream to him. 
 
 " I shall begin to think that I have been to America in 
 my sleep, and have met its fairest representative without 
 waking," he said to himself. 
 
 It was his custom to go to her grace's boudoir to wish 
 her good-night there was no son in England so attentive 
 to his mother as the Duke of Castlemayne. Lady Valen- 
 tine usually sat with her grace for a few minutes to 
 discuss whatever had been the evening's entertainment, 
 but on this evening she was not present. The duchesa 
 said she had gone to rest with a headache if her grace 
 had said heart-ache it would have been nearer the truth. 
 
 The duke threw himself back in the easy chair with a 
 heavy sigh, and his mother looked anxiously at him. 
 
 "You are tired, Bertrand," she said, gently, with that 
 air of solicitude no face save a mother's ever wears. 
 
 " Not only tired," he replied, " but I am perplexed. 
 Miss Glynton haunts me like a German ghost, mother." 
 
 "Miss Glynton! a German ghost! my dear boy, 
 what do you mean ? " 
 
 " All my life I have laughed at what people call occult 
 influences," he said. " I have never believed in any non^ 
 sense about magnetism or the electric influence of ono 
 person over anQ&r. J h a v* b*]ievd ucU thing* Uif
 
 THE DUO'S SECRET. 22$ 
 
 result or morbid imagination but I am beginning to 
 believe in them after all" 
 
 " For what reason ? " she asked. 
 
 "You will laugh at me, I know ; in fact, to tell you the 
 truth, I laugh at myself. Still it is quite true that Misa 
 Glynton produces a most peculiar effect upon me. "When 
 I am with her I have a vague, foolish, nervous sensation 
 that I have known her in some other lif e ; I know you 
 will think me foolish, but it bewilders me. She is 
 almost a stranger to me, yet there are times when the 
 sound of her voice and the play of her features are 
 familiar to me indeed, so familiar as to give me a curi~ 
 ous, uncanny feeling about her. I can not forget her. She 
 haunts me. What do you think of her yourself? " 
 
 The duchess looked thoughtful If her son could not 
 fall in love with Lady Valentine certainly the next best 
 thing would be for him to marry this millionaire's heiress. 
 She said to herself that she must answer that question 
 very carefully. 
 
 " I think her certainly the most beautiful and graceful 
 I may say the most elegant and accomplished woman 
 I have ever met ; but like yourself, I find something strange 
 about her, repressed power or passion of some kind ; 
 like you, too, I have a certain sense of familiarity with 
 her voice and features, although I know it is impossible 
 that we have ever seen her until this season. She has 
 not been in England until now." 
 
 " It must be a fancy," said the duke ; " there can not 
 be any foundation for it, yet we are neither of us fanci- 
 ful" 
 
 " Perhaps you admire her very much, Bertrand, and 
 that is why she haunts you," said the duchess. 
 
 "She certainly stands quite alone in the world of 
 women for me," said the duke. " No womar living has 
 ever given me such curious fancies and ideas as she has ; 
 all the time I am talking to her my mind is filled with 
 the strangest notions. What a clear, direct glance she 
 has, and it never falters. She must have a clear, honest 
 soul ; but she certainly perplexes me." 
 
 The duchess sighed even more deeply. It would be so 
 hopeless to say more to her son to tell him that if he 
 would woo he might probably win this great heiress. She 
 bad learned at last that it was useless talking on sucfc
 
 224 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 matters to him. But that sigh struck her son's heart ; !i 
 knew quite well what it meant. 
 
 Perhaps few men in London felt more unhappy than 
 the Poke of Castlemayne that night. Look where he 
 would there was no gleam of light or hope for him. 
 Where was his lost wife fair, sweet Naomi? His beauti- 
 ful young kinswoman had given him the whole love of her 
 life, simply as a child gives away a kiss or a flower ? He 
 remembered how the sweet, young face and wistful eyes 
 had followed him that night. What of this beautiful 
 woman whose fair presence haunted him as the presence 
 of no other woman had done ? 
 
 He was powerless to help himself; he was chained with 
 those fetters no human power can break; he was a man 
 who had, perhaps, the need of a wife to share with him 
 his honors and responsibilities; his mother's earnest wish 
 influenced him, too. As he stood alone in his room he said 
 to himself that he would give half of his fortune if he could 
 see his way out of his difficulty if he could hear some- 
 thing of Naomi and her son, Then again he hesitated; 
 true, Lady Valentine loved him, and he inadvertently let 
 her lavish the whole love of her heart on him ; then, again, 
 there was this beautiful American, who had so strange an 
 influence over him. 
 
 " There must have been some strange planets in con- 
 junction when I was born," thought the duke. " I seem 
 to be most unfortunate ; all the things I undertake go 
 wrong." And even when saying it he admitted that the 
 wrong was occasioned by his own fault. 
 
 "What could money do after all? It could not purchase 
 freedom for him;|it could not bring any intelligence of his 
 lost wife, it could not solve his doubts and fears about 
 Lady Valentine; it could not solve the mystery of this fair, 
 queenly woman whose calm, clear eyes seemed to read his 
 very soul Money why it seemed worse than useless u> 
 the presence of such difficulties as these. 
 
 Far into the night he sat, thinking of the light that 
 shone in her eyes when she uttered these words: 
 
 "Unless you can die when the dream is past, 
 Oh, never call it loving." 
 
 What had that look in her eyes meant ? Did she think 
 he had never loved any one at all, or having loved that his 
 iov had been weak? She had meant gomething, suck
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 225 
 
 an expression had not come into her eyes for nothing. 
 He dreamed of her all night, and rose unrested and unre- 
 freshed. 
 
 Lady Valentine was in the breakfast-room when he went 
 down, and his heart smote him when he saw her sweet pale 
 face. He remembered how she had sprung to meet him 
 with bright eyes and fairest blushes, how she had greeted 
 him with loving simple words. Ah, the woman's soul 
 all pain and suffering had come to her; she was 
 Undine awakened from her Jng sleep to a life that is all 
 sorrow. 
 
 She loved him, and she wus unhappy; if she had never 
 learned to love him she would never have been unhappy. 
 He did not understand himself, he did not know his own 
 heart or mind, but his heart smote him when he saw how 
 pale and sad that fair young face was. There was unusual 
 tenderness in his manner when he bade her good-morn- 
 ing; the girl looked up at him with shadowed eyes. 
 
 " You have lost your roses this morning, Valentine," he 
 said; " we had better go in search of some, late hours and 
 warm rooms are bad for you." 
 
 "The hours were late, but the rooms were not too 
 warm," she said. 
 
 He touched the pale face caressingly with his hand, but 
 she drew back from him with a gesture of pride. 
 
 " Do not be kind to me, San Sebastian," she said: " I 
 do not deserve it." 
 
 "Why, what does this humility mean, Valentine? Why 
 do you not deserve kindness ? " 
 
 She shook her head after a charming fashion. 
 
 " I may just as well tell you," she said. " I was wicked 
 last night; not naughty, but wicked." 
 
 He looked much amused at the idea of wickedness in 
 one se young and fair. 
 
 " I don't think you know what the word wicked means, 
 Valentine," he said, gently. He could not resist the 
 temptation of drawing that fair head nearer to him, but 
 she looked up again. 
 
 "I)o not be kind to me, San Sebastian; you will not be 
 angry with me when I tell you. I must tell you, for you 
 would be quite sure to find it out." 
 
 " Then tell me," he said, laughingly, " what made you 
 Wicked last uight, Valentine ? "
 
 22b fHE DUKE'S SECM& 
 
 " Miss Glynton," she answered, quickly, Si I was quiU, 
 jealous of her 1 could not help it. "You innst be angry 
 if you will. I was jealous. You do know how different 
 you are with her; you look as though she had magnetized 
 you and I heard what people said." 
 
 " What did they say, Valentine y 1 
 
 " Many things that angered me they said you were u 
 handsome couple." 
 
 " That was not my fault, Valentine. I did not say so. s; 
 
 " Lady Charteris said she would make the most splendid 
 duchess in England ; and some one else I forgot who it 
 was that her Grace of Castlemayne would be thankful 
 even for an American daughter-in-law. ' 
 
 " That would have been a terrible blow to my mother 
 had she heard it," he said, laughingly. 
 
 " Hearing all these things," continued Lady Valentine, 
 " I looked at you, and do you know, San Sebastian, I was 
 just a little startled." 
 
 'At what?" he asked, briefly. 
 
 " Something in your manner to her quite different to any 
 one else, and then -I was jealous. Ah, my dear," she con- 
 tinued, with earnest pathos, " I can give you up for a real 
 choice, but not for a fancy- I can love you and help you 
 as long as I live, -out I can not stand by and see you make 
 love to others." 
 
 " I did not," baid the duke. 
 
 " It looked very njuch like it," said Lady Valentine. 
 
 " Then appearances were against me," he said. " I had 
 ah, Valentine, you know it I had not thought of 
 making love. Vouhave no need to be jealous." 
 
 He took the Jittle white hand she held out to him and 
 pressed it. AL, why could he not clasp the girlish form 
 in his arms, and kiss the roses back into the pale, sweet 
 face." 
 
 " You need never be jealous, Valentine." 
 
 She looked at hVm with sweet, shy affection. 
 
 "You know iny secret, San Sebastian," she said. "But 
 you must not torture me." 
 
 And there wa no time to say more, for the duchess 
 entered the room,
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 LEARNING TO HATE. 
 
 THE fashionable world was all astir over the fancy fair. 
 Of all the charities the hospital for children stood just at 
 that time in the highest favor. Royalty patronized it, 
 , princesses were interested in it, and went out of their 
 way in a fashion more kindly even than usual to help it; 
 yet, and despite of all the help, funds were most urgently 
 needed, the cry of the children had been heard over the 
 land, and it was found that a new ward was absolutely 
 needed, besides money for many other indispensible pur- 
 poses. 
 
 The ladies of fashion, following the illustrious example 
 set them by the most illustrious of princesses, resolved 
 upon going to the rescue. Charity is a beautiful virtue, 
 but when it is combined with amusement it becomes irre- 
 sistible. To help the children's hospital was in itself a 
 pleasure; but to combine that pleasure with the power of 
 exhibiting some of the finest costumes invented by Elise 
 or Worth, was almost more than human. 
 
 A committee of ladies, most of them pretty young 
 married women and recognized belles of society, was 
 formed, and the result may be imagined. A grand fancy 
 fair was to be given, and the Duke of Mildmay offered 
 the use of his magnificent gardens at Twickenham for the 
 purpose an offer most gratefully accepted. The Duchess 
 of Mildmay was an invalid, unable to take any share in 
 the good work. She was staying at Torquay, and in her 
 absence the ladies of the committee asked the Duchess of 
 Castlemayne to head the undertaking. At first she felt 
 inclined to refuse, but she listened eventually to the per 
 suasions of her son. 
 
 "I am afraid," she said to him, half apologetically, 
 " that my notions are somewhat old-fashioned; I cannot 
 imagine even for the most benevolent purpose in the 
 world a princess playing the part of a shop woman." 
 
 " This is a narrow view to take of it," replied the duke, 
 " I think no princess be she great or mighty as she may 
 could do a better, kindlier deed. I see no loss of dig- 
 nity in it; on the contrary, a great princess giving her 
 time and interest to the suffering Children of the nation
 
 228 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 is, I think, one of the most beautiful ideas of the world. 
 I should be well pleased, dear mother, if you would take 
 the matter in hand." 
 
 The wish of her idolized son was sufficient. The 
 Duchess of Castlemayne announced herself as Lady 
 President, and the whole business was complete. 
 
 Dickens himself would have reveled in the meetings of 
 the ladies' committee; how many ladies wished to speak 
 at once, how many clung to their own ideas and refused 
 to listen to any other; each one having an idea that 
 every one and everything must give way to her. 
 
 One of the most important questions asked was should 
 the professional beauties be invited to take a stall; public 
 opinion was divided, the ladies felt that such an attrac- 
 tion would almost double their funds, yet what attention 
 would even the prettiest of them meet with if the beauties 
 were present. Lady Charteris told in a plaintive voice 
 some sad stories of the last fancy fair in which her ser- 
 vices had been enlisted. 
 
 " "We had three professional beauties there," she said, 
 " and I don't think the public even paw any one else ; the 
 money they made was something marvelous. I saw them 
 selling rosebuds at a guinea each." 
 
 " If they really influence the funds, by all means let us 
 invite them," said the Duchess of Castlemayne. " It is 
 money we want, and we must take the best opportunity 
 for making it." 
 
 A speech so very much to the point, and so sensible 
 that it produced a great effect. Letters of invitation were 
 dispatched to Mrs. Trelawney and Mrs. Dulwich, asking 
 each to preside over a stall; the same invitation was sent 
 to Miss Glynton, to Lady Valentine Arden, and other 
 ladies whose names were well known. To the surprise 
 of all Miss Glynton declined. She was willing to help in 
 any way but that ; but she declined the stall. 
 
 " I am not surprised," said the duchess, when she read 
 the note ; " I did not think Miss Glynton would take 
 a stall ; " and in her own heart the duchess highly 
 approved the decision, and liked the American all the 
 better for what she chose to believe was her pride. 
 
 Lady Valentine was delighted ; she regained some of 
 her color and spirits. All kinds of pleasure was so new 
 to her, and this seemed a particularly pleasant kind. The
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 229 
 
 diuce had been very attentive to her ; her pale, sweet 
 face and beautiful eyes had touched him ; the frank, 
 child-like confession of jealousy which she had 
 made had touched him, too had made him more im- 
 patient for news of lost Naomi. If he could hear some- 
 thing certain about her and could free himself from the 
 curious influence that the beautiful American had over 
 him, he would take care that Lady Valentine never 
 looked sad again. He said to himself that he was not 
 exactly what would be called in love with her, but he did 
 love her, and could have spent his life happily with her. 
 It was rather, perhaps, the affection of an elder brother 
 for his sister than of a lover for his love ; but she loved 
 him with her whole heart, and he knew it. 
 
 " Are you going to be kind to me over the fancy fair, 
 San Sebastian ? " she asked him. " Shall you help me ? " 
 
 " I am kind over everything to you, Valentine, and I 
 will help you with all my heart." 
 
 " I want a pretty stall," she continued. " I think I 
 should like flowers, nothing but flowers ' growing and 
 blooming;' flowers in jardinieres, in bouquets; single 
 flowers and every variety. That would make a pretty 
 stall, and please me better than anything else. Do you 
 agree with me ? " 
 
 "Yes, quite. You have a face that will just suit the 
 flowers, Valentine; it will be the best thing you can do." 
 
 " Miss Grlynton has declined taking a stall," said Lady 
 Valentine, with a quick look at the handsome, melan- 
 choly face of the duke. 
 
 " I could not picture Miss Glynton even with the most 
 beautiful stall that could be invented," he replied. 
 
 " And yet you can picture me," she replied, hastily. 
 
 " I tell you the flowers will suit your face, Valentine, 
 and you will suit them." 
 
 " Why should they not Miss Glynton ? " she asked. 
 
 " I can not tell you, dear; only that she seems to me 
 one of those born to be a queen and nothing else." 
 
 " There are no queens in America," retorted Lady Val- 
 entine. 
 
 "Wherever there are women there will be queens-, 
 chosen by nature," said the duke ; and then he paused, 
 for her face had paled, and there was a mist in the beau* 
 tiful eyes.
 
 230 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 
 
 "Which Mud of women do you like best, those whom 
 flowers suit or those who are queens by nature ? " 
 
 " I think both perfect in their way," and Lady Valen- 
 tine sighed. She had never been jealous before, she 
 had never known the fire, and pain, and terror of the 
 most tender passion that ever entered the heart of man. 
 Miss Glynton was the only woman she had ever seen 
 who had attracted the duke, to all others he was indif- 
 ferent. She could not in her heart say that the duke was 
 as indifferent to the heiress as to the rest 
 
 " Miss Glynton will be there I suppose," she said, " and 
 having no stall she will be at liberty to walk about and 
 criticize." 
 
 "We shall all have that privilege," laughed the 
 duke. 
 
 "I am almost sorry now," said Lady Valentine, with 
 delicious naivete, " that I have a stall. I shall be com- 
 pelled to remain there while you will be showing every- 
 thing that is beautiful to Miss Glynton." 
 
 He laughed at the picture. 
 
 " You will see that I am better than you think, Valen- 
 tine, and I will keep my word." 
 
 The next few days were all excitement. It reached its 
 climax when one morning the duchess received a letter from 
 Mr. Glynton, inclosing a check for five hundred pounds, 
 which he placed at the disposal of the committee for the 
 funds of the Children's Hospital, and in which he regretted 
 that Miss Glynton could not accept their invitation and 
 wished them every success. 
 
 " That is princely generosity," said the duchess, with a 
 pleased smile. "Mr. Glynton is one of nature's noble- 
 men." 
 
 " It is very kind of him," said the duke, with unaffected 
 earnestness, " very kind." 
 
 The news was received with enthusiasm at the ladies' 
 committee meeting. Mr. Glynton was praised and com- 
 plimented, and the universal opinion was that the whole 
 affair would be a great success. Lady Valentine was the 
 only one who was not enthusiastic in the millionaire's 
 praise. 
 
 " Five hundred pounds seem a great deal," she said to 
 the duchess, " but it is not much for a rich man like him
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 231 
 
 e thought it would purchase for him an admis- 
 sion into circles where at present he is not admitted." 
 
 The duchess looked up in haughty wonder. 
 
 "Valentine," she said, " that is the most unkind thing I 
 have ever heard you say of any creature." 
 
 " Has it vexed you ?" cried the girl, kissing the white 
 hand of the duchess. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," she replied; "it is an unkind construc- 
 tion of a generous action." 
 
 " Then I am sorry; sorry, you understand, for having 
 vexed you, but not for my idea. I can not help that." 
 
 " You must not repeat it, Valentine," said her grace. 
 
 " I will not," promised Lady Valentine. 
 
 "I thought, my dear, that you seemed to like Miss Glyn 
 ton," said the duchess. 
 
 "So I do," replied the girl; but she did not add that 
 lately she had learned to hate with almost deadly hatred 
 the beauty which seemed to draw the duke away from 
 her. 
 
 Throughout the season they had gone continually into 
 society, and they had met some of the most beautiful 
 women in England, and she had never found out what the 
 sensation of jealousy was like. She knew it now; her clear 
 eyes and quick senses told her that in this woman's man- 
 ner there was something strange that she had a weird 
 influence over the duke; and she could not understand 
 what else it could be unless it was the dawn of love. 
 
 CHAPTEE XL. 
 
 AT THE FAIB. 
 
 THE day dawned brightly on which the fancy fair was to 
 be held. It was as though nature knew Heaven blessed 
 a good deed. The sun shone, as it seldom shines in Eng- 
 land, with mellow, beautiful warmth the warmth without 
 heat; which is so pleasant. The sky was a deep, dark blue, 
 with a few graceful white clouds that seemed to float 
 lightly between earth and sky; summer beauty lay all over 
 the land, the green boughs of the green trees rustled in 
 the silent, southern winds; the green leaves rippled in the 
 sunlit air, the flowers were all abloom, the hedges were 
 covered with wild roses, the green grass was filled with 
 buttercups and daisies, the birds sung as though every
 
 232 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 one of them bad separately and individually lost its senses 
 through joy. 
 
 Even the most fashionable ladies looked and felt very 
 devout over the weather. More than one pair of blue 
 eyes was piously raised to the blue skies, while its owner 
 thanked Heaven for this " really charming day." It may 
 be that the ladies' committee went even further, and be- 
 lieved it a small tribute to their own goodness and 
 virtue. 
 
 The magnificent grounds of the Duke of Mildmay had 
 never been seen to greater advantage ; they sloped down 
 to the very banks of the river, the stream was unusually 
 broad just there, and formed a miniature bay ; needless 
 to say that a picturesque boat-house had been built there, 
 and that two beautiful pleasure boats were always in 
 readiness the " Water Lily" and the " Biver Queen." 
 The Duke of Mildmay had often been envied the posses- 
 sion of this magnificent villa. It was known as River 
 Beach ; he would rather have parted with hi? family seat 
 than his villa on the Thames. 
 
 The trees were matchless grand old oaks, magnificent 
 cedars, graceful ash-trees, silver and copper birches, inter- 
 spersed with tall larches and graceful limes. The whole 
 domain had been given up to the occasion; flags were 
 flying from the pretty boat-house, the pleasure-boats were 
 all ready for use, with gay awnings and cushions; three 
 bands of music were placed in different parts of the 
 grounds, and the white tents, each holding two or three 
 stalls, were placed under the trees. It was as pretty as 
 fairy-land. The most popular of all the refreshment tents 
 was presided over by Mrs. Dulwich, with a perfect bevy 
 of younger beauties; Mrs. Trelawney had a stall of superb, 
 ripe fruit, perhaps the most elegant and attractive table 
 there; picturesque masses of green and purple grapes, 
 pineapple, peaches, apricots, with every fruit that grows, 
 beautifully arranged. Then came the royal stalls, mag- 
 nificently fitted, presided over by the most noble and win- 
 some ladies of the land. Then Lady Valentine's magnifi- 
 cent arrangement of flowers. The duke's words were 
 quite true she suited them her sweet face bending over 
 them was the fairest flower of all. The &ite of London 
 were gathered there, all that was most fashionable, most 
 elegant, and most beautiful. Over all over the fair
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 233 
 
 faces of the ladies, and their rich dresses, over the white 
 tents and their magnificent stalls, the beautiful sun shone 
 with its golden light, and the sweet summer breeze 
 whispered as sweet as the music itself. 
 
 The sun had seldom shone upon a more brilliant, and 
 never on a more beautiful scene. The beauties were in 
 great force. Mrs. Dulwich wore a dress o old gold, with 
 rich, trailing Spanish lace ; Mrs. Trelawney an exquisite 
 combination of cream color and rich amber ; Lady Valfci 
 tine a costume of white and red roses. She looked &t> 
 young and as fair as spring itself. The Duchess of 
 Castlemayne was attired in the most exquisite taste. Such 
 a bevy of beautiful and well-dressed women had rarely 
 been gathered before. 
 
 The duke had kept his promise. He drove the two 
 ladies down, and did all in his power to help Lady 
 Valentine. 
 
 All the pretty flirtations and comedies of the day came 
 to the service. Lady Belle Chambers, in an excellent 
 costume of pale volet, was there, and the moment that 
 Mr. Glynton saw her he said to himself, with the single 
 exception of Pet, she was the handsomest woman present. 
 
 He made his way to her at once, and was more kindly 
 received than usual. 
 
 The story of the check for the hospital had reached 
 Lady Belle, and had charmed her ; she delighted in 
 generosity. 
 
 " Shall I have the happiness of taking you round to see 
 the different tents ?" he asked ; and Lady Belle smiled 
 compliance. 
 
 " Miss Glynton has no stall," she said; "we will go to 
 Lady Valentine Arden's first. I want some flowers. Why, 
 the Duke of Castlemayne is with her and who is that ? 
 It must be handsome Sir Harry Bellairs. Decidedly we 
 will go there first." 
 
 Lady Valentine's face brightened when she saw Lady 
 Belle. 
 
 "Are you going to be my first customer?" she asked. 
 "I am so glad; I feel nervous, and am afraid of making 
 mistakes. Which of my lovely flowers shall you buy, Lady 
 Belle ?" 
 
 "I had hoped for the honor of being the first pur- 
 chaser," said the millionaire, in an injured tone of voice.
 
 234 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " I," said the duke, " have been hoping for the sam 
 honor." 
 
 " And I," said handsome Sir Harry, in a tone of resigna- 
 tion, " have been lingering here ever since the flowers ap- 
 peared." 
 
 " Oh, Sir Harry," began Lady Valentine. But he inter- 
 rupted her with a smile and a bow. 
 
 "Indeed, Lady Valentine, I have set my heart on that 
 choice white rose ; it is for sale, of course V" 
 
 Lady Valentine's fair face flushed rosy red. She hastily 
 drew the pretty bud to herself, and turning to the duke 
 said : 
 
 " This is the very one you selected ; you said that it 
 was the most beautifully formed bud of all. I can not sell 
 it you wanted it." 
 
 She had no more idea that she was revealing her secret 
 than she had of flying. Lady Belle smiled in spite of her- 
 self, and the millionaire looked amused. Handsome Sir 
 Harry felt a sudden inclination to put some one to death, 
 but he did not know who that some one was to be. 
 
 " If you can sell the rosebud, do so," said the duke, 
 feeling rather embarrassed. 
 
 " I would not sell it on any consideration if you would 
 really like it," said Lady Valentine. 
 
 " Nor would I," said handsome Sir Harry, with a dark 
 frown, " under those circumstances, offer to buy it." 
 
 She looked up at him quickly. That the duke, his 
 wishes and desires should be first with her, was so com- 
 pletely natural ; she could not see how it could be other- 
 wise ; it was the pain in Sir Harry's voice that awoke her 
 attention. 
 
 " You shall be my first customer," she said, " and I will 
 find you the prettiest flower ; but this white bud was 
 really for the duke." 
 
 " See the conquering hero come," quoted Lady Belle, 
 while Sir Harry said: 
 
 "We must of course yield to the duke." 
 
 The duke himself longed to give him the white bud, 
 but chivalry forbade it. 
 
 " Look, Sir Harry," cried Lady Valentine ; " here is a 
 beautiful spray of gardenia; you shall have that. The 
 price is marked. There, that is my first sale wish rat 
 tuecess, Lady Bell*."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET 235 
 
 " I deserve sometliiiig to soothe my wounded feelings," 
 said Sir Harry. 
 
 "I can not give you a flower; they all are, even leaves 
 and buds, for sale," she replied. 
 
 " Then give me a kind word," he said, promptly, " that 
 will be even better." 
 
 " I do not know what to say, only that I am sorry I 
 could not give you the bud you wanted, and, I am pleased 
 with what you have purchased." 
 
 " There," cried Lady Belle, " that is a very handsome 
 omende, Sir Harry; you ought to be perfectly satisfied." 
 
 " So I am," he replied, but he showed no signs of giving 
 up his place then. 
 
 Mr. Glynton grew impatient ; he wanted a very beau- 
 tiful bouquet for Lady Belle. Superb as they were, he 
 would have liked something even better : there was one 
 most beautiful, delicate spray of lilies of the valley with 
 white heath and maiden-hair fern ; it pleased Lady Belle, 
 and the millionaire presented it with the best grace in 
 the world. She accepted it, and it seemed to him a very 
 good augury for another offer which he longed to make. 
 
 As the morning wore on the ground filled. The fair 
 was a most brilliant success. The refreshment tent and 
 the fruit stall were great objects of attraction, but the 
 beauties did not carry off the palm. There were many 
 persons who preferred the fair, fresh loveliness of Lady 
 Valentine, others the stately beauty of Miss Glynton. 
 Surely there never had been such a quantity of flowers 
 sold. Lady Valentine had not one moment's leisure, and 
 what was more delightful still, the pretty little frilled 
 basket which did duty for a purse was almost full. 
 
 " I am quite sure you ought to go away," she said, more 
 than once to Sir Harry, who persisted in standing near 
 the corner of the stall. " I am sure the committee will 
 scold me, Sir Harry," she pleaded, but he was more like 
 a sentinel. 
 
 " They may scold, but they can not do that until the fair 
 is over. How ungrateful you are to me, Lady Valentine, 
 when I am doing my best to help you." 
 
 He had made up his mind that so long as the duke 
 stayed he would stay. 
 
 Then they observed something like a commotion ; people 
 geenied to be looking all in one direction. 
 
 V '
 
 236 THE DUKE'S SECMT. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Lady Valentine ; and Sir Harry, 
 returning quietly to his place, said : 
 
 "It is Miss Glynton, and every one is trying to look at 
 her." 
 
 Lady Valentine's eyes went straight to the duke's face. 
 How could he say he was indifferent to this beautiful 
 woman when his face had flushed at the very mention of 
 her name not only flushed, but had grown conscious 
 and embarrassed. 
 
 Sir Harry followed her glance, and took in the situation 
 in a moment. Lady Valentine was jealous of the beautiful 
 American because the duke liked her. 
 
 " I am sure I am right," he thought, and he was pleased 
 to think that she should see all the lovely women in the 
 world had not power to draw his attention for one moment 
 from her. 
 
 CHAPTEK XLI. 
 
 LOVE ON THE WATER. 
 
 A STATELY beautiful group of women made their way to 
 Lady Valentine's stall The duchess was desirous of see- 
 ing how her protegee succeeded. Lady Charteris, Miss 
 Glynton, and several gentlemen were in attendance, and 
 the duchess wondered why the fair young face bending 
 over the flowers grew suddenly pale and pained; she 
 felt rather surprised, too, at finding Handsome Harry in 
 attendance. 
 
 They stood face to face now, the lovely young girl in 
 her dainty fairness amid the beautiful blossoms, with 
 some faint sense of what was dawning in the hearts of 
 both. 
 
 "Berirand," said the duchess, "I am glad you have 
 been helping Lady Valentine; if you have a little leisure 
 Miss Glynton would very much enjoy a row on the river. 
 I have been telling her what an excellent oarsman you are.' 
 
 " I am quite at Miss Glynton's service," he replied, 
 with a low bow. 
 
 "A row on the river!" cried Lady Valentine. "There, I 
 knew that I should lose all that was most pleasant by 
 having a stall. I love rowing, and I love the river." 
 
 " Both loves shall be gratified," said the duchess. " I 
 am sure that the duke will be most delighted, and some 
 one will kindly take care of your flowers while you arc 
 Away."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 "I must not lose any money by it," said Lady Talen- 
 tine, simply. 
 
 "Let me take it for you," said Captain Bellairs. 
 
 " No, that would not do; it must be a lady," she replied, 
 disconsolately, while the duke, the duchess, and Miss 
 Glynton were busily looking over the flowers. 
 
 " Lady Valentine," whispered Harry, and there was 
 passionate pleading in his eyes, " let me take you on the 
 river; do, you have never said one kind word to me to- 
 day, and you know how I worship you. Do let me row 
 you up the stream for half an hour." 
 
 "No, thank you, Captain Bellairs; you are very kind, 
 but I must go with the duke now. What do you say ?" 
 for Harry had muttered something which, under his 
 moustache, had a very queer sound. " What do you say 
 of the duke ?" 
 
 "Nothing nothing," he replied, hastily. "He will 
 take Miss Glynton up the river; that will make him 
 happy; let me take you, then I shall be happy." 
 
 "How do you know it will make him happy?" sh 
 asked. 
 
 " Look there can not be much mistake." 
 
 If he had known how he should pain her he would cer- 
 tainly not have spoken. She did look, and saw Mis* 
 Glynton talking to him in an earnest fashion that cer- 
 tainly made her wonder. The dark blue eyes were look-< 
 ing straight into his. He could not possibly know what 
 a pang went through her heart as she saw the two beau- 
 tiful heads bent over the blossoms together; yet she felt 
 an instinctive dislike to him for the pain he Lad caused 
 her. 
 
 "I am sorry to refuse you," aha said, "but I can not 
 go with you to-day." 
 
 She felt sorry when she saw the handsome young face 
 blanch with pain. 
 
 "You are cruel," he said; "all women are cruel. You 
 are the most cruel, because you are the most beautiful. I 
 hope you will never know what pain is." 
 
 " I did not mean to pain you," she said, gently. 
 
 " Oh, no, you did not think of me at all why should 
 you? lam sorry I have intruded so long upon you. I 
 Ought to have seen I was not wanted." 
 
 She understood this better than she understood the
 
 238 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 duke's quiet; it appealed more strongly to her heart and 
 feelings. 
 
 "Now, captain, you know I am sorry I have hurt you." 
 
 " You would not vex me because you are naturally kind 
 of heart, and would not hurt anything," he said; "but you 
 have shown me that you are perfectly indifferent to my 
 feelings." 
 
 " I knew," said Lady Valentine, " that this would not be 
 a happy day. I shall never like the words ' fancy fair ' 
 again." 
 
 Then she looked up suddenly, for there was some stir 
 in the group. The duke was going away with Miss Glyn- 
 ton and Lady Charteris, the duchess declined going up 
 the river because it was so warm on the water. Lady 
 Valentine looked to see if there was one shadow of regret 
 in the duke's eyes at leaving her; but no, he was listening 
 to Miss Glynton, who soon after interrupted her conver- 
 sation with him to say, with a charming smile to Lady 
 Valentine that she hoped to look over her beautiful 
 flowers again; then she went away leaning on the duke's 
 arm, and the very sunlight seemed to die out for Lord Ar- 
 den's daughter; the flowers lost all their fragrance; the 
 sun, which had appeared so brilliant before, was weari- 
 some in the extreme to her. She was frightened at herself. 
 
 True, Harry remained true and staunch, resisting all 
 the temptations held out to him, devoting his whole time 
 and attention to her; watching the sweet face as it grew 
 paler, and hating himself because he could not help know- 
 ing why it paled; wishing one moment the Duke of 
 Castlemayne were ten thousand miles away; that he 
 would marry Miss Glynton ; and again, with nobler love 
 coming to the rescue, wishing that the duke loved her 
 and would make her happy; it was so plainly to be seen 
 that she loved him. True, people might think that there 
 existed between them the kindly liking one member of a 
 household should have for another; but he knew more 
 than that. To him the girl betrayed her love in every 
 word and every look. 
 
 The duke and Miss Glynton walked down to the rivei 
 bank where the " River Queen," with its pretty little awn- 
 ing of crimson and white awaited them. 
 
 " Are we to go alone ?" asked Miss Glynton. " Will nol 
 Lady Charteris go with us ?"
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 239 
 
 V 
 
 no one seemed inclined to accept the invitation ; 
 the duke was not quite sure in his mind whether he 
 wanted another person. During the whole day he had 
 not been alone with Miss Glynton, and he was anxious to 
 sae whether this same mysterious influence would increase 
 or decrease. 
 
 " How lovely the river is," said Miss Glynton. " After 
 all there is nothing like an English river for beauty." 
 
 " Have you seen the Mississippi ?" asked the duke. 
 
 " Yes. I have been on the Mississippi and the Amazon 
 both," she replied. 
 
 "Then the Thames must seem like a little brook in 
 comparison ?" he said. 
 
 " Yes ; but the Thames has a beauty all its own," she 
 said. " I admire the lovely river reaches, the green banks, 
 the gardens that come down to the water's edge, the 
 reeds and the rushes, the water lilies and the boughs 
 that dip into the river. Our great, rushing, rapid rivers 
 are mighty seas; this is a summer's breath compared with 
 them. Still, I am quite sure that I like this best." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," he replied; and then he busied 
 himself in making her comfortable, in arranging the 
 cushions, in placing the gay awning so that it protected 
 her face from the sun. She was silent for some minutes 
 while he vigorously plied the oars, and they were away 
 from the miniature bay in the middle of the stream. 
 
 "Keep as near to the bank as you can," she said, "there 
 is nothing I like so much as the bank of the river. Do you 
 see those lovely, half-drowned forget-me-nots growing 
 there ? I call that a volume of poetry. Do you sec that 
 great tree, with its boughs just touching the water? If 1 
 were a bird, that is the tree I should choose to liva in." 
 
 He saw more of her that day than he had ever before. 
 He began to understand her character. He saw that she 
 had an artist's eye and a poet's soul. No beauty, either of 
 sound or sight, escaped her. Things which others passed 
 over she found a whole world of delight in. 
 
 " How much you love nature," he said, after a time. 
 "You have the true poet's love for her." 
 
 "I have had all my life," she replied, "and it will di 
 only when I die." 
 
 As he looked at her he thought it was sad that one so 
 beautiful must ever die. And she bending her head
 
 210 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 the side of the boat, watched the feathered spray from the 
 oars and the clear sweet waters as they seemed to float 
 over it. 
 
 " It is like dream-land," ahe said, after a time. 
 
 " A land," said the duke, " that I should like to live in 
 forever." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIL, 
 THE COWABD'S CONFESSION. 
 
 "I THIHK," said Miss Glynton, "that we have been far 
 enough." 
 
 " Are you tired ?" asked the duke. 
 
 " No," she replied ; " to tell you the truth, I do not 
 think I should ever tire. I enjoy this much better than 
 the fancy fair." 
 
 " Do you really ? then it must be as I tell you ; you 
 have a poet's soul," said the duke. 
 
 " Beautiful as it is, we must return," she said ; " why, 
 we are in the very silence of the river ; there are no 
 houses, no sounds ; let us go near the bank, under that 
 tree if you can get the boat there, and enjoy the silence 
 for a few minutes, then we will return back." 
 
 He did as she directed him, rowed near the bank and 
 rested under the great shady boughs of the tree. He 
 laid the oars across the boat, and when the last drop of 
 water had fallen from them into the brimming river, there 
 was no sound to be heard. 
 
 He looked in silence at her rapt face. She had forgot- 
 ten everything except that beautiful world of nature lying 
 around her ; the dark-blue eyes lingered on the clear, 
 sweet river, and its fringed banks, on the lilies that slept 
 on its bosom, on the fringe of green grass, on the tall, 
 straight reeds, on the lovely light and shadows that came 
 and went, on the rippling foliage and the distant hills. 
 All that was artificial, mean or common in this world had 
 fallen from them. In the old galleries of Borne or Venice 
 he had seen in the far-famed pictured faces just the same 
 bright, rapt, heavenly expression. 
 
 She was sitting with her hands folded, her dress of 
 creamy jsilk and rich black lace making her look like a 
 picture just stepped from its frame, her face half turned 
 from him, so that the clear-cut, beautiful profile was seen 
 to admiration. The sunlight came filtered through the 
 leaves overhead ; a bkd was singing in the green
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 241 
 
 branches ; there was the smallest ripple in the water ai 
 it ran past the boat ; a faint whisper of the wind as it 
 sung among the branches, and the duke sat watching the 
 beautiful rapt face. 
 
 As he looked at the clear-cut, lovely profile a new sense 
 of familiarity with it came over him. He seemed to know 
 it better than he knew the full face. With its clear, direct 
 glance it was more familiar to him, and the same weird 
 feeling came over him. He had certainly seen lips with 
 those lovely curves before ; he had seen the same 
 exquisite molding of the eyebrows, the same long lashes, 
 the clear straight brows. 
 
 All at once it flashed across him. The birds sung in 
 the trees, the water washed against the boat with a clear, 
 silvery sound, and it came to him with the unerring 
 swiftness of a revelation. She was like Naomi. 
 
 Stranger, American though she was, born in a distant 
 land, brought up in an atmosphere Naomi had never 
 even breathed, still she was like her. He wondered he 
 had not seen it before. It was that likeness to Naomi 
 which had made him feel so strange when with her, and 
 he remembered that even his mother had found some- 
 thing familiar in her face. It struck him dumb. Then, 
 in speaking, she turned her full face, with its clear, direct 
 glance on him and the likeness diminished. She saw 
 that lie looked like one who had received a shock ; but 
 she asked him no questions. After a few minutes he said 
 to her : 
 
 "I have found out a mystery." 
 
 The beautiful face changed suddenly ; wonder, fear 
 and pain came over it, her lips quivered, and she waited 
 for a few minutes before she answered him. 
 
 " A mystery," she said. " I thought most of the mys- 
 teries of this world had been solved long ago." 
 
 " Whenever I have been with you I have had a strange 
 sense of having met and known you before ; now I have 
 found out what it is." 
 
 " Have you ?" she replied, slowly ; and he saw her lips 
 grow white. " Have you really ?" she added. 
 
 " Yes, you are very much like some one I knew and 
 loved many years ago ; she was a young girl, almost a 
 child ; but there are some lines in your face exactly like 
 hrs."
 
 242 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She was silent again for some minutes, with her face 
 turned away from him and her hands clinched. 
 
 " The old adage that no two faces are quite alike is an 
 exploded idea," she said. 
 
 " It is not quite true," he replied. " I have seen like- 
 nesses myself so strong that I have been quite puzzled 
 orer them. Now, although you have never been in this 
 same quarter of the globe before, this lady whom I knew 
 years ago and you are wonderfully alike. 
 
 " I have read that no two faces, no two blades of grass, 
 no two green leaves are alike, take the world through, nor 
 two pairs of hands. The nicety of creation must be won- 
 derful, if that be the case." 
 
 "It is wonderful," he said, reverently. 'I think your 
 likeness to to this lady of whom I speak is the most 
 wonderful I have ever seen." 
 
 "Perhaps," she said, quietly, "you did not know her 
 rery well." 
 
 " Oh, yes I did ; she lived " he paused abruptly. 
 " Yes, I know her well." 
 
 " Is she living here in London now ? " asked Miss Glyn- 
 ton. " I should like to see my likeness." 
 
 " Ah, no ; I wish she were. I do not know where she 
 is; whether she be living or dead. It is more than twelve 
 years since I have seen her." 
 
 " Then you have forgotten her," she said, quietly. 
 " How can you tell whether I am like her or not ? " 
 
 " I have not forgotten her. I remember her face as it 
 was then. She was very young. By this time she will 
 have grown into beautiful womanhood, if she be living. 
 I do not feel sure that I should recognize her if I met 
 her. You are wonderfully like her. It is only in the 
 profile though I see such a great resemblance, it is not in 
 the full face ; and though it may seem a strange thing to 
 say, I do not remember seeing the profile of your face 
 before." 
 
 " I hope," she said, quietly, " that all the memories that 
 my likeness to one you knew years ago brings to you are 
 pleasant ones." 
 
 " God knows," he said, quietly. 
 
 " Does that mean yes or no ? Are they pleasant or un- 
 pleasant, sad or sweet ? "
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 ** They are both all I never have the courage to face 
 them. I run away from them." 
 
 " I should not have thought you wanting in courage," 
 she said. 
 
 " There are so many kinds of courage," he said, sadly. 
 " I am frightened at nothing human. I am as brave, I 
 hope, as any other man; but once in my life, when tbe 
 Courage of a moment would have saved me, I proved my~ 
 self a coward. But why do I talk to you in this fashion ? 
 I forget that we are strangers two people who have met 
 only in society; and I ought, by all the laws of good- 
 breeding and etiquette, to be entertaining you, instead 
 f which I am tiring you." 
 
 She turned her dark-blue, clear eyes full upon his face. 
 
 " You interest me very much indeed; pray do not think 
 toe heartless. Flattery and compliments are very well in 
 a ball room, they go well with gas-light and artificial 
 flowers; but out here in the fresh, sweet air out on the 
 river, who could be anything but natural, simple, kind 
 of heart. You interest me; you could not bore me." 
 
 " That is kindly said," replied the duke; " it is the very 
 likeness to the lady of whom I speak which draws the 
 truth of my heart from me. I can not otherwise tell why 
 I have spoken as I have done." 
 
 " We all make great mistakes in our life," she said, 
 slowly; "sometimes through pride, through want of jus- 
 tice, or bravery; and you, you say, made one great mis- 
 take." 
 
 "One great mistake," he replied; "one that has 
 shadowed my life, and that nothing can ever undo. It was 
 the cowardice of a few minutes. I thought I could put 
 everything right afterward, but I was mistaken. It has 
 cost me ah, Heaven ! the happiness of my life.'' 
 
 " You must not say that," she cried. " How can you 
 tell?" 
 
 "I know; but, Miss Glynton, forget all I have been say- 
 ing. "What has induced me to talk in this strain ? The 
 sunshine and the river, I am afraid. Will you forget what 
 I have said ?" 
 
 " Is it really your wish that I should do so ?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes, really, Miss Glynton." 
 
 " You never can tell me, then," she said, M what the 
 circumstances were ? "
 
 244 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 For one instant the whole scene came before him ; he 
 saw his proud, haughty mother looking contemptuously 
 at the beautiful kneeling figure ; he saw the face that 
 seemed so full of desolation when she cried out, " I ap- 
 peal to you, Lord St. Albans." It was but the fantasy of 
 a moment, then it was gone. He shuddered. 
 
 " No, I could not tell all the circumstances they would 
 not interest you," he cried. 
 
 She looked at him with grave interest as she an- 
 swered : 
 
 " I have felt sure always that you were not a happy 
 man. To my thinking, you have not a happy face." 
 
 "I do not deserve happiness," said the duke, gravely, 
 " and I shall never have it. But, Miss Glynton, you will 
 promise me never to mention a word of what I have said 
 to you ? The strange likeness took me unawares. And 
 now we will return." 
 
 He took up the oars again, but they were scarcely 
 needed ; the boat seemed to float down the stream. They 
 had been longer than they knew, and Miss Glynton said 
 half quietly: 
 
 " We had better go back at once to Lady Valentine's 
 stall. I promised to buy some flowers, and I must keep 
 my promise." 
 
 So when the "River Queen" lay once more on the 
 bank, they walked slowly back to the scene of the fancy 
 fair. 
 
 "We shall never be like strangers again," said the 
 duke as they draw near to the white tents and the music. 
 
 "No," replied Miss Glynton; "I shall never forget this 
 afternoon on the river. Who should have thought, 
 from seeing you, so calm, quiet, and like other people, 
 who would have imagined that you had a tragedy in your 
 life." 
 
 "I believe every one has more or less," said the duke; 
 "there is more suffering in life than pleasure." 
 
 " Yet we try hard after the pleasure," said Miss Glyn- 
 ton, with a smile as the " Sweetheart" waltz fell upon her 
 ear. 
 
 They went back to Lady Valentine's stall; but over 
 the duke's handsome face lay a cloud of sadness, and the 
 beautiful lips of his companion quivered with something 
 more like pain than fatigue.
 
 THJ DUKE'S SECRET. 245 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIH. 
 
 A STARTLING QUESTION. 
 
 A SWEET face, that by this time had grown very pale 
 and tired, was evidently looking out for them ; two wist- 
 ful eyes, too kind for reproach, greeted them. Captain 
 Bellairs, true to his trust, was still there ; but Miss Glyn- 
 ton uttered a little cry of surprise as she saw that almost 
 all the flowers were gone. 
 
 " Yes," said Harry, " Lady Valentine has had a splendid 
 success. I should say she has sold far more than anybody 
 else. She looks tired. A few minutes on the river now 
 would do her good." 
 
 No light of response came into the duke's eyes; he was 
 watching the face whose wonderful significance he had 
 but so recently discovered. He could not have gone back 
 to the river, much as he loved her and desired to please 
 her ; he could not have returned henceforth the river 
 would be a haunted spot for him. 
 
 " I think," he said, in a low voice, " if you feel as tired 
 as you look, Valentine, it will be best, dear, to order the 
 carriage and drive home. Shall I find the duchess ? " 
 
 "I have just seen her. She has been very kind to 
 me. Thank you, I am tired, but quite able to finish my 
 day." 
 
 He noticed that although she spoke she did not look at 
 him ; the eyes that always shone with such a kindly light 
 for her, were averted from him, and his heart ached for 
 her; he knew that she was jealous of Miss Glynton, the 
 woman who bore he could see it now so strange a like- 
 ness to his lofct wife. 
 
 "Valentine," he said, in a low voice, "you are cross with 
 me; do not deny it, my dear. You are tired, I know; but 
 that is not all, you are vexed with me. You are always 
 truthful; tell me what it is." 
 
 " I do not think you have been kind to me to-day," she 
 said. " I had looked forward to to-day, and it has been 
 very dreary for me." 
 
 " But why, Valentine ?" he asked eagerly. " You have 
 had great success; you have been really the queen of the 
 fete. You have even eclipsed those queens of beauty Meg* 
 dames Dulwich and Trelawneyl"
 
 246 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 The violet eyes were raised to his now, looking into 
 them with quiet reproach deeper than all words, 
 i "Do you think all that, even if every word were strictly 
 true, gives me any pleasure ?" she asked. 
 
 "It should do so," he answered. 
 
 "What, when you were away," she said; " away on the 
 river with well, with the lady whom I know you think 
 beautiful V How could I be happy ?" 
 
 " But, my dear Valentine," he began. 
 
 She interrupted him. 
 
 " No, I am not your dear Valentine, San Sebastian. If 
 I had been you would not have left me so long." 
 
 " What a child it is," thought the duke. " How shall I 
 quiet her ?" 
 
 " Even when you come back," she continued, " you did 
 not ask me if I should like a row, if only for ten minutes." 
 
 " I ask you now." Then the sweet, wistful eyes seemed 
 to brighten just a little, as she continued: "Now that I 
 have looked more closely at you, you do not seem to have 
 enjoyed yourself very much ; you have a shade of melan- 
 choly over you. Perhaps you would have been quite as 
 happy with me," 
 
 The sweet face was looking at him with such wistful 
 pathos, such keen expectation, he could not help saying 
 what was probably true, for the hour on the river had its 
 bitter pain. 
 
 "lam sure I should, Valentine; lam always happy 
 with you. Why do you reproach me ?" 
 
 Then he suddenly became aware that Miss Glynton 
 was watching him and Lady Valentine with an intent 
 look in her violet eyes. Lady Valentine saw the same 
 thin<*, and suddenly awoke to the conviction that a lover's 
 quarrel at a fancy fair was out of place. 
 
 " I should like, said Miss Glynton, in her musical voice, 
 ' to purchase some flowers, Lady Valentine. I see that 
 you have disposed of a great number. Can you find one 
 that would be a memento of a pleasant day ? " 
 
 But Lady Valentine did not stir one step from the 
 duke's side, evidently she was in no hurry to find flowers 
 for her brilliant rival. 
 
 " I am afraid," she said, " that I have none, left thai 
 Would please you, Miss Glynton,"
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 247 
 
 "Weil," laughed the beautiful woman, "I will be 
 pleased with anything you have. I must carry one away 
 with me." 
 
 A curious look of determination came over the fair 
 young face a look of resolve that came into the violet 
 eyes and touched the sweet lips. She said to herself, 
 "No," that the American beauty had taken the duke from 
 her ; but she should not carry off a flower as well. 
 
 The two were once more standing face to face. 
 
 " No," said Lady Valentine, turning carelessly away, 
 " I am sure that I have nothing left that would please 
 you." 
 
 And the determination not to part with even one leaf 
 for her rival was so plainly written on Lady Valentine's 
 face that the duke felt himself compelled to go to the 
 rescue. He knew that Lady Valentine was jealous, even 
 though Miss Glynton did not understand it. 
 
 " I see some very fine strelitza regionce," he said. " Is 
 that a favorite flower of yours, Miss Glynton ?" 
 
 "Yes; I am especially fond of it," said the heiress with 
 a smile. 
 
 The situation amused her, although she did not quite 
 understand it. 
 
 "That is ail promised, duke," said Lady Valentim, 
 hastily. 
 
 No, she had taken the duke away, and had detained 
 him the whole of that bright sunny afternoon; she could 
 not have a leaf, not even a thorn. 
 
 The duke thought matters were growing serious; he 
 must change the aspect of things in some manner. Cap- 
 tain Bellairs watched the whole proceedings with an 
 amused smile. 
 
 "I should bet on Lady Valentine," he thought to him- 
 self. " She will never let the other one have a leaf." 
 
 The war went on; Miss Glynton thinking she must be 
 mistaken that Lady Valentine was sincere in thinking no 
 flower in her stall fit for the price she would give for it; 
 Lady Valentine equally resolved that she should not have 
 even one bud. The duke was obliged to interfere any- 
 thing to change the current of ideas in Lady Valentine's 
 mind. 
 
 ' I have not purchased a bouquet yet," he said. '* Are 
 you quite sure you have nothing for me ?"
 
 248 THE DUKE'S SECIST. 
 
 Her whole face changed brightened, grew tender 
 and sweet. 
 
 "For you!" she said. "Yes, I have something that 
 mil please you ; I have a most beautiful eucharist lily, 
 but it cost an enormous price." 
 
 " Never mind the price," he said. " Charity, we know, 
 at these times is extortionate. Let me have the eucharist 
 lily, Lady Valentine." 
 
 She took the lovely white flower from a vase where it 
 tiad been carefully preserved, and held it up to him. 
 
 " Is it not beautiful ?" she asked, with a smile as fair 
 and open as the flower itself. 
 
 Miss Glynton looked at it with admiration. 
 
 " Why would you not let me have that, Lady Valen- 
 tine ? the eucharist lily is the flower I love best of all." 
 
 The duke rushed to the rescue ; he saw that in another 
 moment Lady Valentine would have uttered some rash 
 words. There was but one thing to be done. 
 
 "Do me the honor of accepting this, Miss Glynton," 
 he said, offering the beautiful white lily to her. 
 
 She took it with a grateful smile and a beautiful blush ; 
 but if he had caressed with one hand he had stabbed with 
 the other. Lady Valentine turned with a face white and 
 set, like a stone mask. So that is what he wanted this 
 flower for ! 
 
 Just as suddenly when she saw the change on the fair 
 young face, it flashed across Miss Glynton's mind that 
 Lady Valentine was jealous of her ; nothing else would 
 explain that strange conduct. Jealous of her and the 
 Duke of Castlemayne ; it must be so. 
 
 " Captain Bellairs," said Lady Valentine, " I wish you 
 would take me to Mrs. Dulwich's stall, I should like some 
 tea." 
 
 She bowed coldly to the duke, still more coldly to Miss 
 Glynton, then turned away with Captain Bellairs. 
 
 " That was not fair," she said, indignantly ; " the duke 
 ought not to have given that flower away/' 
 
 "I do not see how he could help it," said Captain Bel- 
 lairs, honestly. " I must say, even at the risk of displeas- 
 ing you, that in his place I am afraid I should have done 
 the same thing. It was growing quite alarming. 
 would you not let Miss Glynton have a flower ? "
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 249 
 
 " I do not like Miss Glynton," she replied, nor could 
 
 anything induce her to say more. 
 
 The beautiful, brilliant day was drawing to a close at 
 last ; many of the visitors had gone ; there was a con- 
 tinual roll of carriages from the grounds to the high- 
 road; the sun was setting over the river. The ladies had, 
 by the duke's earnest invitation, gone to the villa to refresh 
 themselves; the duchess accepted the invitation for Lady 
 Valentine's sake ; Mr. and Miss Glynton were going to 
 drive Lady Belle Chalmers home to dine with them. 
 They met in a group. While the duchess spoke to Lady 
 Belle and Mr. Glynton, the beautiful heiress saw and 
 noticed nothing but the angry avoidance in Lady Valen- 
 tine's eyes; she never looked toward her or gave the least 
 sign that she recognized her, and Miss Glynton was 
 almost sorry she still carried the eucharist lily in her 
 hand. 
 
 " She must love him," she said to herself. " Unless she 
 loved him she would not be jealous of me." 
 
 No one noticed Lady Valentine's coldness all were 
 busied and engrossed in their own affairs. The duke was 
 to drive back with the two ladies; but it occurred to him 
 that he might as well see Miss Glynton to the carriage. 
 Mr. Glynton had already offered his arm to Lady Belle. 
 
 As they walked through the grounds to the drive, 
 where the carriage stood waiting, she looked up into his 
 face with that direct, steady glance of hers, and said: 
 
 " I wonder if I shall find courage to say what is on my 
 mind, duke ?" 
 
 " I hope you will, if it be anything you have to say to 
 me," he replied. 
 
 " I want to ask you a question, and you must think be- 
 fore you give me your answer," she said. " You have 
 spoken to me of pain; now which do you think is the 
 most cruel deed, to take the life from a human body by 
 poison or sword, or to break a human heart ?" 
 
 " Do you believe that human hearts ever break ?" h 
 asked. 
 
 " Do I ? Yes, most assuredly," she replied. 
 
 " Then I should say the most cruel thing is to break a 
 human heart." 
 
 " Take the words home/' sne said, earnestly. " No, 
 there is no time for questions; here is the carriage and
 
 250 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 Lady Belle is waiting. Only remember alw ays what you 
 have just said." 
 
 CHAPTEB XLIV. 
 
 A I'MIKY DRESS. 
 
 IT was in the deep twilight of the same evening tha- 
 the duke went to the piaiio. He enjoyed singing tohimt 
 self. The duchess had fallen asleep over a book she was 
 supposed to be reading; she would not for the world have 
 allowed any one to guess that she was sleeping. Lady Valen- 
 tine had taken up a book of poems, and was seeking the 
 last rey of daylight at the open window. The air he 
 played was sweet, fanciful, yet with a tinge of sadness in 
 it. It roused her, and she began to listen to the words: 
 
 " By studying my lady's eyes 
 
 I've grown so learned day by day, 
 So Macchiavelian in this wise, 
 That when I send her flowers I say 
 
 ' To each small flower, no matter what 
 
 Geranium, pink or tube-rose, 
 Syringas, or forget-me-not. 
 Or violet before it goes: 
 
 ' ' Be not triumphant, little flower, 
 
 When on her haughty heart you lie, 
 But modestly enjoy the hour; 
 She'll weary of you by and by," " 
 
 She stole up to him, noiselessly, and clasped her white 
 hands across his eyes. He caught them and kissed them. 
 
 " Now," she said, " if even you call me a witch, I will 
 tell you who you were thinking of when you sung those 
 words." 
 
 " You could not, my dear, if you tried," he said. 
 
 " I can. You were thinking about the eucharist lily you 
 gave Miss Glynton, and wondering if she threw it away on 
 the dusty high-road, or if she carried it safely home, and 
 placed it, like the heroines in novels, in a beautiful vase, 
 or whether it lies forgotten on her toilet-table. Now, be 
 quite frank, am I not right?" 
 
 He looked at her with wondering admiration. 
 
 " You are quite right," he said. " It was thinking those 
 thoughts that made me sing that song." 
 
 "Never try to hide your thoughts from me another 
 time/' said Lady Valentine, laughingly. "You will not
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. .J51 
 
 succeed. I am not content, though, for I am quite sure 
 you will give Miss Glynton more flowers to weary of by 
 nd by." 
 
 It was well for Lady Valentine's peace of mind that she 
 did not see how her eucharist lily was treasured, how care- 
 fully it was carried home, how the beautiful, queenly 
 woman took it with her own hands to her own room, how 
 she poured some clear bright water into a costly Venetian 
 glass and put the white flower into it. 
 
 "Drink," she said, as though it had been living and 
 could understand, " drink, sweet lily, after the hot dust 
 and the sun." 
 
 How lovingly she caressed the white leayes, with their 
 beautiful touches of green. 
 
 "From him tome," said the fair, queenly woman, as 
 she stood over it, calmly surveying it. "From him to me. 
 Why, if each leaf could shed a heart's blood, I ought to 
 rend it to pieces; but I will keep it." Then she rang for 
 her maid; there was no trace of that ripple of passionate 
 scorn on her face, no sign of the tempest of emotion in 
 her violet eyes. " Bring me my tablets," she said. " I 
 want to see what engagement I have for to-morrow even- 
 ing." 
 
 The maid returned with the ivory tablets, and Miss 
 Glynton looked at them. 
 
 " Lady Layard's ball. Lady Layard ! That is the Duch- 
 ess of Castlemayne's protegee, Lady Nell. The Castle- 
 maynes will be there, and Lady Valentine too. I must 
 teach that young child a little humility. Yet how pretty 
 she looked when she defied me. She would not let me 
 have a flower. It was useless asking. I suppose, poor 
 child, she loves him." Then aloud to her waiting-maid, 
 he said : " Lucy, I want a very particular toilet for to- 
 morrow evening ; do you think I could get it ?" 
 
 " I should think, madame, that money can procure any- 
 thing. If it be possible, I should say the possibility would 
 be with you." 
 
 " You had better see Madame Elise at once. I want a 
 ball-dress that must be almost a fairy dress, of white and 
 pale green, exactly the green that you see on this flower; 
 and I want listen attentively, Lucy I want the dress 
 made so as to suggest the flower ; touched, you see, with 
 green, not overladen. Then I want as many of thes
 
 25$ THE DUKE'S SBCBET. 
 
 lilies as you can get ; you rnust go to the first florist in 
 London they must be found. I want sufficient for the 
 bodice of my dress and for a bouquet" 
 
 " What taste madanie has ! " sighed the girl, wonder- 
 ing how such an elaborate costume could be got ready. 
 
 "You have the idea of the dress, Lucy," said the 
 beautiful heiress ; " white, touched with green, to sug- 
 gest, so far as a dress can suggest, a flower. It must be 
 trimmed with long, trailing green grasses and the same 
 lilies. You quite understand, Lucy? You can give 
 Madame Elise ' a clear idea, can you ? Remember, it is 
 not so much a matter of taste, it has a meaning, and no 
 instructions of mine must be changed." 
 
 Miss Glynton would not go out again this evening, 
 although three balls were on the list. She did not even go 
 down to dinner, but sent an apology, saying that she \vas 
 much fatigued with the long day at the fancy fair. Har- 
 dress B. Glynton dined alone, then went to spend the 
 evening with Lady Belle Chalmers. 
 
 "While the duke was singing his little song, and won- 
 dering what she had done with his present, Miss Glyn- 
 ton sat with the Venetian glass before her steadfastly 
 watching the flower, her mind full of a thousand thoughts, 
 her heart filled with a thousand memories. From the 
 very expression of her face it was to be seen that there 
 was a great struggle going on in her mind that tender 
 and loving thoughts, fierce and cruel thoughts, divided 
 her mind. 
 
 It was not a pleasant evening that the beautiful heiress 
 spent even in that magnificent chamber, where the treas- 
 ures of the earth seemed gathered ; she did not even 
 think out her thoughts, for she was still perplexed. 
 
 "Perhaps," she said to herself, "the right idea, the 
 right thing to do will come to me in my dream ; but let 
 what may be, Lady Valentine Arden must learn her 
 lesson." 
 
 They were a long way apart ; but it was very evident 
 that the same idea was in the mind of both ladies each 
 had resolved upon giving the other a lesson. 
 
 It did not promise well for the harmony of their next 
 meeting. A strange coincidence happened about the 
 flowers. 
 
 Lady Yal*-*-'^, repenting of her ill-humor and
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 253 
 
 jealousy, also to show the duke that she had quite for- 
 given him, sent to the florist's for a eucharist lily for him 
 to wear at Lady Layard's ball. She reserved for herself 
 always the pleasant task of finding flowers for him; and 
 he was always pleased with what she had; he smiled when 
 he saw the eucharist lily. 
 
 He understood at once that it was the amende honorable 
 that she wished to make; he kissed the white leaves be- 
 fore she fastened it for him. 
 
 " I shall never be so foolish," said Lady Valentine, " as 
 to be jealous over a flower again." 
 
 " You i/ever need," replied the duke, and they drove off 
 to Lady Layard's, while hundreds of pale, golden stars 
 burned in the blue skies. 
 
 Lady Valentine had hardly given a thought as to 
 whether Miss Glynton would be there or not. She was 
 too happy in being friends again with the duke indeed, 
 better friends than ever, for he had never said so much 
 to her as on the night on which they made up their 
 little quarrel. Yet it was a little relief when they 
 reached the magnificent ball-room to see no trace of her. 
 
 And Lady Valentine was for some time queen of the 
 fete ; all the most eligible men in the room surrounded 
 her, every dance prayed for as though a life depended on 
 it. There were pretty girls and beautiful women in abund- 
 ance, but wherever Miss Glynton was not, there Lady 
 Valentine was always queen. Something of relief came 
 over her. She had proimsed to be amiable, and she had 
 no intention whatever of being jealous; still, as she owned 
 to herself, it was much better not to be tempted there 
 was not such danger of falling. She was talking happily 
 enough to one of her partners when a few words, casually 
 spoken by a lady passing by, arrested her attention. 
 
 "A very happy coincidence, she said "very happy; 
 the most novel announcement of an engagement that I 
 remember to have heard." 
 
 " Do you think it an engagement ?" asked another 
 voice. 
 
 But Lady Valentine did not hear the reply the speakers 
 had passed on; but she remembered the words. She 
 fancied once or twice that the sound she heard was the 
 murmur of admiration. Suddenly the gentleman to 
 she was talking, cried:
 
 264 THE DUKE'S SBCBET. 
 
 j 
 
 "What a beautiful woman! Who is she? What an 
 exquisite dress !" 
 
 Lady Valentine followed his glance, and almost started 
 with horror when her eyes fell upon that queenly woman 
 in her magnificent dress, diamonds shining on her white 
 breast and white, rounded arms surely the most beauti- 
 ful woman that ever graced a ball-room. She had not 
 failed in her design for a dress, for the very moment that 
 Lady Valentine's eyes were upon that superb costume, 
 she said to herself: " Why, she has tried to look like a 
 eucharist lily herself!" 
 
 The next moment she saw the duke bowing before her, 
 his eyes brightening with pleasure at the lovely woman. 
 It was certainly a coincidence that he should wear the 
 flower she had made the marvel of her whole costume. 
 Yet Lady Valentine knew, and was just enough to own, 
 that this at least was her fault, not his. 
 
 Surprise, anger, bitter jealousy, unreasoning fear at 
 first made her white and speechless. Her partner won- 
 dered what had suddenly chilled the laughter and silvery 
 words; he little dreamed that the loving young heart 
 beating so near him was torn by anguish too great for 
 words he little dreamed that the sight of that beautiful 
 woman had stabbed the young girl as with a sharp- 
 pointed sword. He almost forgot his companion in the 
 wonder of those beautiful eucharist lilies. 
 
 " Who is that lady ?" he asked again, and Lady Valen- 
 tine compelled herself to reply: 
 
 Miss Glynton, the American beauty and heiress." 
 
 " Could you introduce me, Lady Valentine ?" he asked, 
 almost impatiently. 
 
 " No," she replied, coldly ; " I do not know her that is, 
 not enough to introduce any one else to her." 
 
 What a bitter, cruel, crying shame it seemed to her that 
 this Avoman should have dared dress in that fashion ; it 
 was done to captivate him, and was the very thing she 
 knew to please and fascinate a man. Such deference, 
 such a desire to please ! 
 
 As for the duke himself, when his eyes fell upon that 
 beautiful apparition, he did not know whether to feel 
 most nattered or most annoyed for Lady Valentine's sake,
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 25$ 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 "DO YOU LIKE 1088 GLYNTON?" 
 
 " I SHALL feel half ashamed to meet him again," saici 
 Lady Valentine to herself as she went to her room. " I 
 wish there were no dinners ; I know that I have behaved 
 wretchedly to Miss Glynton, but there are limits to human 
 endurance, and I have come to the end of mine. Why 
 should she have taken up all his time and attention ? 
 why should he have given them to her? He knows how 
 dearly I love him, and he should not have left me for 
 her. She shall not take him from me, beautiful, calm and 
 grand as she is. I will give him up to no one in this world 
 but to her to the woman who is his wife." 
 
 She was a child in years, but a woman in heart this 
 beautiful young girl who had given her love so entirely 
 to the duke. Since he had trusted her with his story sh 
 had, if possible, loved him better. She had a correct 
 judgment, clearer ideas, broader views of life than many 
 other people. She could understand the the duke's folly, 
 his mad love for a beautiful young girl, and his dread 
 lest his mother whose hope and pride he was should 
 know it. 
 
 To others that which he had done might seem like the 
 excess of cowardice ; she, knowing the proud, haughty 
 nature of the duchess, could make allowances for it ; she 
 could see that, over a nature brave and fearless as his 
 was, she had a terrible influence. 
 
 " I know," sighed Lady Valentine, "that if I had been 
 even her daughter, I should not have dared to tell her a 
 love story that would have displeased her. It is a mis- 
 fortune when mothers are proud." 
 
 She was loath to admit any flaw in this idol of hers ; 
 she would rather find excuses for him than admit, even 
 to her inmost heart, that he had ever done wrong. There 
 had been nothing definitely settled between them. The 
 duke knew she loved him, but there seemed to be an 
 understanding between them that if ever the duke found 
 that he was free, he should marry Lady Valentine. No 
 words to such an effect passed between them, but it WM 
 tacitly understood. 
 
 More than once the duke had wished it otherwise; il
 
 266 *ES DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 ueemed to him so unutterably sad that her bright young 
 life should be spent in that fashion. Yet he knew she 
 loved him well enough to be happier waiting in that 
 fashion for him than in sharing the throne of a king. 
 
 The duke saw lovers and admirers surrounding her. 
 He knew that the " handsome guardsman " would have 
 given his life for her love, and he cursed the fate which 
 had attracted this true, beautiful love where it could meet 
 so little return. He quite understood why Lady Valen- 
 tine had been what he was compelled to own was barely 
 courteous to Miss Glynton; he saw the jealous pain that 
 had blanched the fair, young face; he was vexed with 
 himself, yet what could he do ? 
 
 " No man living," thought the duke to himself, " gets 
 into such positions as I do. Circumstances compelled me 
 to do as I have done to-day, and yet I have wounded the 
 best heart in the world." 
 
 He was in the most dazed, confused state of mind; but 
 one idea seemed pre-eminent above all others, h must 
 make up to Lady Valentine for the pain he had caused 
 her. Strange that the same motive brought both of them 
 down to the drawing-room before the dinner-bell rang. 
 
 Lady Valentine looked very charming in her evening- 
 dress of white lace, trimmed with the lovely bells of the 
 dark-blue convolvuli; she wore a wreath of the same 
 flowers on her head; they seemed to match the violet eyes, 
 and showed to perfection the sunny brown hair. She 
 was somewhat startled to find the duke waiting there, evi- 
 dently for her; her fair young face flushed, then paled. 
 She went up to him at once, her trailing white lace mak- 
 ing a line of light across the floor. She stood just before 
 him, her head drooping and her hands tightly clasped. 
 She did not look up at him, but her lips quivered slightly. 
 
 "I am ashamed of myself, duke," she said. " I really 
 did not know that I had such a perverse, evil temper. I 
 did not, indeed, but I could not be civil to her, and I did 
 try. I will tell you all my faults befoi-e you have time to 
 speak. I had thought so much of a happy day, and very 
 soon after it begins, she comes in with her beautiful face 
 and charming manner, looking, I know, quite irresistible; 
 and then you go away with her on the beautiful sunlit 
 river. I know she looked most beautiful out there in the 
 sunshine, and she had you all to herself. I could fancy
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 25? 
 
 all the time all the pleasant words you were uttering to 
 her." 
 
 "My dear, you are quite mistaken; she gave me a ter- 
 rible shock." 
 
 "A shock!" cried Lady Valentine, half delighted, yet 
 half ashamed of her delight "a shock! what was it?" 
 
 " Nothing that she said or did, my dear ; but T saw her 
 to-day more clearly than I have done before. I saw the 
 profile of her face, and there was such a strange likeness 
 in it to some one I once knew that it was a shock to me." 
 
 "Is that all?" laughed Lady Valentine. "lam afraid 
 that I was in great hopes she had done or said something 
 that had really shocked you. A likeness is nothing. But 
 I must go on with my own story. You came back and 
 brought her with you." 
 
 " Nay, not exactly that ; I could not and did not try to 
 prevent her coming ; but it is not quite fair to say I 
 brought her. It was a settled engagement for her to re-* 
 turn to the flower-stall ; you must be just to me, ever* 
 though you quarrel with me." 
 
 Lady Valentine's face brightened ever so little. She 
 rather enjoyed hearing him defend himself in this fashion. 
 
 " Grant even that," she said ; " when you saw that I re- 
 solved she could have no flowers, why did you give her 
 that beautiful eucharist lily, which you must have known 
 I saved for you ? That was the most cruel blow of all." 
 
 The duke laughed a little uneasily. 
 
 "I did not see what else I could have done," he replied; 
 " no gentleman could have stood there and listen to a lady 
 asking in those pleading terms for a flower, and then take 
 away, without offering it to her, the very best flower; 
 besides, Valentine, my dear, why do you dislike her? 
 * Miss Glynton, I mean ? " 
 
 "You know why I dislike her, San Sebastian; you 
 know quite well that I am jealous of her, and that you 
 give me cause, and you tall to her, and spend more time 
 with her than you do witli any other lady. You know," 
 she continued, with a loving smile that quite disarmed 
 him, "you have spoiled me ; until Miss Glynton came 
 you never seemeof to notice any one but me, and now 
 quite suddenly, and without any fault of mine, I have to 
 take a second place. It is not quite fair, is it ? " 
 
 " My dearest Valentine, you must know that 1 would
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 never put you in any second place. You have a place 
 quite your own in my breast no one can take it." 
 
 " Are you quite sure of that, duke ? " she asked, and her 
 face was fresh and fair, her eyes so clear and true, she 
 looked so young and loving, he took one little white 
 hand in his and drew her closer to him. 
 
 It was an imprudence, but he had not stopped to think 
 of that. The love in her eyes, her face, her words, had 
 made him more reckless than he was wont to be. 
 
 "Valentine," he said, " we must not quarrel ; I can not 
 quarrel with you, and will not let you quarrel with me. 
 I never meant to vex 3 7 ou." 
 
 She did not take her white hand away, but laid the 
 other on it, and the duke took both prisoners and held 
 them fast. Then it seemed natural that he should draw 
 her even nearer to him, and one arm stole round the sup- 
 ple figure. 
 
 "We must not quarrel, Valentine," he said. 
 
 " Then you must not take beautiful ladies on the river 
 and give them my flowers," she said. 
 
 "I will not ; I will never do anything again that will 
 possibly vex you, Valentine, dearest, even in the least; 
 now do you believe me ?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied. 
 
 It was exquisitely sweet to her that he should stand 
 by her in that caressing fashion; she had never been so 
 happy before. 
 
 " You know, Valentine," he said, with a smile half lov- 
 ing, half sad, that if I were free, if it were not for this 
 tie this vague, shadowless tie which, nevertheless, binde* 
 me more strongly than death but for that you know ho\f 
 gladly, how lovingly I would ask you to be my. wife. 
 Now this moment you know why I never must speak to 
 you of my love until I know whether I may do so or 
 jot ; you understand you know there never was a man 
 in a position so peculiar as mine." 
 
 " I know," she replied, quietly. 
 
 " Therefore, tied, trammeled, chained, as I am, I can 
 neither say nor do as I like ; you know that I can not 
 appear as your lover, you know that I must not even be 
 your loved until I know more of my fate." 
 
 "I know that I am the Tingenerous one to add to your 
 troubles by being jealous. I want to share them, an
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 259 
 
 you to bear them not increase them ; indeed, I will be 
 quite good in the future. I can not promise to be very 
 amiable to Miss Glynton, but I shall not certainly be as 
 unamiable to you for a long time." 
 
 He would have liked to thank her by a kiss; but that 
 would not do, he must be prudent 
 
 " I should like to ask you just one question, as we are 
 speaking of the matter," she said. "Tell me, do 
 you really like Miss Glynton really T* 
 
 He was silent for a few minutes, then he answered. 
 
 " I can not really tell you, Valentine," he said, frankly. 
 "There are times when I think I like her very much 
 indeed there are times again when I am in some strange 
 way afraid of her, and would avoid her. She has a pecu- 
 liar influence over me which I can not understand." 
 
 " I dt> not like to hear that," said Lady Valentine, 
 frankly, " Are you quite sure that you do not like her 
 one-half as much as you do me ?" 
 
 He looked puzzled for a few minutes, then said: 
 
 "It is in quite a different fashion, Valentine; I can 
 neither measure one nor the other." 
 
 Then her Grace of Castlemayne entered with statelj 
 step, and the tete-a-tete was ended. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVL 
 
 A PICTURE FOB LOVEB8. 
 
 LADY VALENTINE was by no means selfish; she had one 
 of the finest natures in the world. She was frank, open, 
 bright, and with all her cleverness had a winning sim- 
 plicity that was rare. She meant what she said, and she 
 spoke her thoughts. She was unworldly enough, too, to 
 show her likes and dislikes pretty frankly. She certainly 
 never had to make a great effort to control herself. 
 
 "It is direct encouragement," she said. "He just for 
 courtesy's sake gives her a flower, and she dresses herself 
 in this outrageous fashion. 
 
 Yet, outrageous as it might be, she was compelled to 
 own that it was magnificent and original. Before Miss 
 Glynton she had been queen of the ball-room, now she 
 had a rival, if not a superior, but nothing of that kind 
 would have troubled her, save for the dress and the flowers. 
 If Miss Glynton had covered herself with diamonds and
 
 260 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 rubies of the most costly kind, Lady Valentine would 
 have laughed indifferently; as it was, her magnificent 
 attire seemed to show that there was more than ordinary 
 friendship between hei'belf and the duke. Go where she 
 would, Lady Valentine was sure to hear some laughing, 
 good natured remark about it. 
 
 " I believe we shall have an American duchess after 
 all," said more than one shrewd matron, within her hear- 
 ing. "The flowers look very peculiar ; quite a novel 
 way of expressing ideas." Until to Lady Valentine it 
 seemed as though she was surrounded by hissing whispers 
 that distracted her. 
 
 Miss Glynton's dress would have had no significance 
 in a stranger's eyes but for the duke wearing the same 
 flower. How bitterly she repented now having given it 
 to him. What would she not have given to have it back 
 again ? Why should she not ask him for it ? It had 
 been hers to give it was hers to take away. She would 
 wait her opportunity, and finding him alone, would ask 
 for it. The ball, before so bright and pleasant, was 
 spoiled to her ; even the pleasant memory of that happy 
 half-hour spent with him could not lighten her heart it 
 was all wrong. Yet she could not quite see that the duke 
 was to blame. Her anger and indignation were against 
 Miss Glynton. No lady had any right to make such an 
 advance, no matter how much she cared for a person. 
 The girl little thought that one great object had been to 
 teach her a lesson ; her indignation would have been re- 
 doubled had she known that. 
 
 While the duke, who had not at first seen the beautiful 
 American, wondered why people smiled so kindly and in 
 such an amused fashion at him why they talked to him 
 about his colors ; he did not understand it ; but he knew 
 quickly enough what it meant when he saw Miss Glynton 
 in all her magnificence ; he was pleased, flattered, amused; 
 his laughing eyes and laughing lips told how much he 
 appreciated it. 
 
 He came quite suddenly face to face with her, and their 
 eyes met. Hers fell on the white bloom he carried, then 
 the magnificent face flushed, and Miss Glynton bent her 
 head. He talked to her on different matters until the 
 groups had passed and they were alone, then he looked 
 at her with laughter and pleasure both in his face.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 261 
 
 '* Is it permitted to admire what is the most beautiful 
 toilet I have ever seen?" he asked. "A characteristic 
 toilet, I may call it." 
 
 " I am glad you admire it," she said ; " all admiration 
 is a source of pleasure." 
 
 He could not tell, either from her voice or manner, 
 whether she was using the word ironically or not ; but he 
 did think that this woman, whose face reminded him of 
 Naomi, was the most charming woman he had ever 
 beheld. 
 
 " I do not believe that you care much for admiration, 
 Miss Grlynton," he said. " If you did you would be kinder 
 to some of these sighing admirers of yours." 
 
 " Kindness is often cruel in the sense you mean it," 
 said the fair woman, calmly. " If the whole breeze that 
 bends the summer boughs were made of lovers' oaths, it 
 would not even ever so faintly touch my heart." 
 
 " Then your heart must be very hard," he said. 
 
 " It is well for me," she answered, with a little bitter 
 laugh. " People with the hardest hearts suffer least." 
 
 " And enjoy least," he added, " do not forget that. But* 
 Miss Glynton, I am not to be stranded on the shore of 
 argument; I want to talk about this toilet. It is mysti- 
 cal, beautiful. Tell me if it was for me you wore it? I 
 know the seeming vanity and self -presumption of such a 
 question, but I pray of you to answer it." 
 
 He was agitated far more than she knew. Surely what 
 love he had left in him was given to Lady Valentine, yet 
 there was something almost wonderful in the influence 
 that this beautiful woman had over him. He had not 
 intended dancing with her, because he was resolved not 
 to grieve Lady Valentine in the least. He said to himself 
 if Miss Glynton was at the ball he would not seek her. 
 The pain on the young girl's face had touched him, and 
 he had determined it should have a place there no more; 
 but now he was powerless. The sweet, sad notes of a 
 waltz came floating to them ; she looked up at him, speak- 
 ing no word with her lips, but never did eyes say more, 
 and the next minute they were among the dancers. 
 
 " You havo not answered my question," said the duke. 
 
 " Nor do I intend to," she replied, laughingly. " You 
 want to know I read your thought if I have chosea
 
 262 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 this dress you gave me, in so kind and courteous a man- 
 ner, that flower. Is it not so ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied the duke, briefly; "that is it." 
 
 " Then I am sorry to say I can not gratify your curios- 
 ity. You must find it out if it be worth discovering." 
 
 " Find it out," said the duke, dismayed. " I am the 
 yery worst in the world at finding out." 
 
 "You will find exercise for your diplomatic talents," 
 she said, and she laughed and blushed over again as she 
 saw the white bloom he wore in his breast. "People will 
 say you carry my colors," she said. 
 
 " They have done so, and a great deal more besides, 
 but you will not care for that." 
 
 " I care but little what is said. The voice of rumor, of 
 scandal, never touches me. I could not heed it if I tried. 
 Now we can take our places." 
 
 It seemed to him that she gave up her mind entirely 
 to the beauty of the music; there was not the least at- 
 tempt at coquetry. He never could get over the impres- 
 sion that those clear blue eyes were looking over him. 
 He did not see Lady Valentine among the dancers, and 
 he did not know where she was. He wondered what she 
 should think of this toilet, and lost himself in a reverie. 
 
 " Duke," said a sweet clear voice, " you should always 
 attend to what you are doing : the idea of dancing and 
 falling into a reverie so profound that you do not even 
 know when the music stops." 
 
 He apologized half laughingly, and then went through 
 the ball-room into one of the many flower-scented rooms 
 that Lady Layard had set apart for the express purpose 
 of conversation. 
 
 The room they entered was arranged peculiarly ; there 
 was a large group of suberb eastern plants in the middle 
 of the department; in the centre of them was an easy- 
 chair, and a small scented fountain. The dripping of the 
 silver spray alone broke the silence. There was only room 
 for one and Miss Glynton smiled as she took the seat. 
 "This is not very sociable," she said, while the duke took 
 his seat between two great crimson flowers ; one entering 
 the room would think at first sight that he was alone, it 
 was only on drawing quite near that the pretty interior 
 Could be seen. " What a curious arrangement," said Misa
 
 TKB DUKE'S SECRET. 263 
 
 Glynton, " what a pretty little fountain ; and, duke, what 
 a eery sweet woman Lady Layard is." 
 
 "Sweet," be replied. "Well, I knew there was some 
 word which described her exactly, now I know what it is. 
 Lady Nell," the old name came quite natural to his lips 
 "is not beautiful, not pretty, but she is just what you ex- 
 press it sweet. She was a most amiable child," and the 
 duke sighed deeply, as he remembered what had been 
 into his life through the innocent agency of Lady NelL 
 
 She looked at him keenly, as he sighed, and did not 
 seem displeased. 
 
 "A strange thing," she said, musingly. "You have 
 been surrounded by the fairest woman in the world, and 
 yet you have been a woman hater at least the world says 
 
 80." 
 
 "The world, as usual, is wrong," replied the duke, 
 gloomily. 
 
 He wished that this fair woman could know why they 
 called him woman hater it was because he had loved one 
 woman too well. 
 
 " Can you reach those flowers," she asked, as though 
 anxious to change the subject. 
 
 " No," he replied ; " and that reminds me of the most 
 charming little ballad I read yesterday, about climbing 
 flowera This is just the time and place for it. Would you 
 like to hear it?" 
 
 "Yes," she replied, lying back in the most indolent fash- 
 ion "that I most certainly should; but you must not 
 apeak louder than the murmur of the falling spray." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " You like everything in harmony," he said. " N(Hf 
 listen, Miss Glynton, these words are music : 
 
 " 'Up to her chamber window 
 
 A slight vine trellis goes, 
 And up this Borneo's ladder 
 Clambers a bold white rose. 
 
 " 'I lounge in the ilex shadows, 
 
 I see the lady lean, 
 Unclasping her silken girdle, 
 The curtain's folds between. 
 
 * * She smiles on her white-rosloT^ 
 
 She reaches out her hand, 
 And helps him in at the window } 
 I see it where I stand,
 
 264 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " ' To her scarlet lips she holds him, 
 
 And kisses him many a time, 
 
 Ah, me, it was he that won her, 
 
 Because he dared to climb.' " 
 
 She opened her eyes when the rich voice ceased. 
 
 "Yes, that is a pretty poetical fancy," she said "very 
 sweet poetry is twice poetry, when one hears it in the 
 midst of flowers. 
 
 Then the words died on her lips, for the door of the 
 room opened and Lady Valentine Arden entered alone 
 and walked up to the duke, evidently thinking that he, 
 too, was alone. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 "I BELIEVE THERE HAS BEEN A CUKSE ON ME." 
 
 LADY VALENTINE ARDEN quite believed the duke to be 
 alone. She did not see the particular arrangement of 
 the flowers, nor the beautiful face framed therein. She 
 went up to the Duke of Caytlemayne, her face pale, and 
 her eyes full of light. 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you," sL. said, " but I could not 
 find you." Her voice took an imperious tone as she 
 added : " I want you to be very particular. Please give 
 me back, at once, the flower you are wearing the flower 
 I was so foolish as to give you at once do you hear, 
 duke ? " 
 
 He smiled at her earnest manner; but the smile, in her 
 jealous mood, was hateful to her. 
 
 " What an impetuous demand," he said. " "What is the 
 matter ? What have I done ? " 
 
 " You have done nothing. Never mind what is the 
 matter. Give me the flower at once." 
 
 " I do not feel willing to part with it ; you gave it to 
 me," he replied. 
 
 " Therefor I have a right to demand it back. I was 
 foolish to give it to you, but I have learned my lesson." 
 
 " Why, Valentine, your are quite angry. Some things 
 are beyond all bounds, till limits of patience, and this is 
 one of them." 
 
 " What is one of them ?" 
 
 " What is one of them ?" asked 1 lie duke, gently. " You 
 forget that I do not know yet what is wrong?" 
 
 "Wrong!" cried Lady Valentine. "I I have no
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 265 
 
 patience with it. Do you really mean to say, duke, that 
 you iiave not noticed how Miss Glynton has dressed her- 
 self just like a eucharist lily. She must have studied it, 
 and it is to please you, I know." 
 
 " Oh, Valentine," cried the duke, with a look of horror 
 on his face, " hush, you do not know " 
 
 " I do not care to know anything. Give me back that 
 flower, that I may destroy it, and trample it under foot 
 I said I would not be j " 
 
 " Hush, Valentine," cried the duke ; " do you not see ?" 
 and following his glance, her eyes feh 1 on the beautiful 
 smiling face of Miss Glynton. 
 
 " If I had known that you were going to speak of me, 
 Lady Valentine," she said, " I would have warned you of 
 my presence." 
 
 It was quite a dramatic scene the two beautiful faces look- 
 ing at each other, the duke anxious and bewildered. Lady 
 Valentine's eyes sought his with a look of unutterable re- 
 proach. 
 
 " You should have told me," she said. 
 
 " I had no time. How could I tell that you did not see 
 Miss Glynton ?" 
 
 " It is all for the best," said Miss Glynton, with a calm 
 smile; " I think it is perhaps for the best that we should 
 know what people think of us. So you think, Lady Valen- 
 tine, that I chose my dress exactly for the purpose of pleas- 
 ing his grace, the Duke of Castlemayne?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Lady Valentine, " I do." 
 
 " And I, in my turn," said Miss Glynton, " acknowledge 
 that you are quite right. I gave myself both time and 
 trouble over my dress, and it was done purposely to please 
 him. What then, Lady Valentine?" 
 
 She never looked at the duke, while she spoke, but kept 
 her eyes fixed on the young face, that alternately flushed 
 and grew pale. 
 
 " What then, Lady Valentine ?" she repeated. " Because 
 the diike was courteous when you failed in courtesy be- 
 cause I tried to repay the compliment he paid me because 
 I have chosen, perhaps in a fanciful fashion, to carry out 
 my own idea why you should feel annoyed I do not un- 
 derstand. " 
 
 For all answer Lady Valentine turned to the duke and 
 held out her hand.
 
 266 THI DUKE'S SECHBT. 
 
 " Give me what I ask," she said, " and nothing furthei 
 will matter to me." 
 
 Miss Glynton went on quite calmly. 
 
 " This is rather an unusual kind of scene, but I fancy I 
 can understand it. Lady Valentine is annoyed because 
 the flowers I wear and the flower the duke wears are the 
 same. Lady Valentine gave it to you, duke, you are 
 bound to return it when she asks for it." 
 
 " I have never been placed in such strange circum- 
 stances before," said the duke. " I hardly know what to 
 do." 
 
 " Do as I wish," said Lady Valentine, quickly. 
 
 " Do as I wish," said Miss Glynton, with a calm smile 
 on her grand face. "Give Lady Valentine what she 
 asks." 
 
 Slowly enough the duke took the eucharist lily from his 
 breast and held it out to her. There was a strange smile 
 on Miss Glynton's face as she watched the scene. The 
 girl eagerly took the white blossom, tore it into a dozen 
 pieces, and threw them away. 
 
 " There is an end to it," she said, carelessly. 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Glynton, " an end of the flower, cer- 
 tainly, but the consequences have to follow. "What you 
 have just done is an act that must bear many interpreta- 
 tions. To begin with, it is an avowed act of hostility to me. 
 Perhaps you do not -wish to deny this ? " 
 
 " No," said Lady Valentine, " I do not." 
 
 '* But you seemed inclined to favor me with your liking 
 once. Lady Valentine why have you changed your 
 opinion of me ? " 
 
 She waited for an answer, but none came. There was 
 a passionate flush on the girl's fair face as she turned 
 away. 
 
 "That was all I wanted, duke," she said, trying to 
 speak calmly. " I am sorry to have interrupted a tete-a- 
 tete." 
 
 " I am sorry that you did not see me the first moment 
 you entered it would have saved a very unpleasant 
 scene," said Miss Glynton. " I am sorry, too, that you 
 are vexed with me, because I like you, Lady Valentine." 
 
 "You are very kind to say so," replied the earl's 
 daughter, as she swept one of her most haughty and
 
 THE DUEE'S SECRET. 267 
 
 graceful courtesies before the lady who was equally 
 proud and graceful as herself. 
 
 It was impossible to say which fair lady had won the 
 victory. The scattered white leaves lay on the ground. 
 Lady Valentine had swept from the room, and Miss 
 Glynton had resumed her seat with the grace of a queen. 
 The duke still stood looking bewildered. 
 
 " That comes of poetry and flowers," she said. " How 
 sorry I am that Lady Valentine did not see me." 
 
 " I must have lost my senses," said the duke. " I may 
 say I have lost them. I ought to have told her you were 
 here ; but she was so quick, so impetuous, so eager, I had 
 no chance." 
 
 " There can only be one interpretation put upon it,* 
 said Miss Glynton; "yet that is a strange one." 
 
 " Why is it ? " he asked. 
 
 " I can only imagine," she replied, " that Lady Valen- 
 tine has done me the honor of being jealous of me. I can 
 not tell why." 
 
 " She is so impulsive," he repli ed. " What would be 
 jealousy in another is nothing but impetuosity in her." 
 
 Miss Glynton leaned her beautiful head on the crimson 
 fauteuiL 
 
 " I wish," she said, gently, "that I knew you better; I 
 should like to say something to you. If it would not of- 
 fend you." 
 
 " I am quite sure of that," he replied, warmly. " You 
 could never offend me, and I shall be only too pleased to 
 hear anything you may say to me." 
 
 " I can say it in a few words, duke. Never play with a 
 woman's heart It is the most deadly amusement a man 
 ever engages in, and the most unworthy. If you love, 
 say so, and marry her; but never play at love and forget 
 the price to be paid." 
 
 " I have never played with love in my lif e, or misled 
 any one even by a single word," said the duke, quickly. 
 
 " You must not think I am speaking at random, or'pre- 
 suming," she continued; "but I can not help drawing, 
 from the little scene that has just occurred, the conclusion 
 that Valentine is evidently jealous of me. Now jealousy 
 never exists without love; you know best whether you 
 have given her cause for either." 
 
 He could never tell how the sensation came to him, but
 
 268 THE DUKE'S SEOBET. 
 
 he had it strongly that he was in some way accountable t 
 this beautiful woman for his actions, yet how foolish. 
 What had it to do with her ? She rose as she uttered the 
 last words and stood before him. She touched his arm 
 for one moment, with the tip of her white fingers. 
 
 "Forgive me if I have said too much; I mean nothing 
 but kindnesa Lady Valentine is so young, and the young 
 suffer so keenly." 
 
 " She shall never suffer through me," he replied, hast- 
 ily. 
 
 "I wish," she continued gravely, "that I might say 
 something else to you. Give me the privilege of an old 
 friend." 
 
 " I will give you any privilege you like," he answered, 
 "any you will." 
 
 "Then I shall take that of a very old and perfectly true 
 friend, and ask you one question. Why do you not marry 
 Lady Valentine, whose girlish, loving heart, whether 
 you know it or not, I believe you have won why not 
 marry her ?" 
 
 " Because I am the most unfortunate man that ever 
 lived; I believe there has been a curse on me all my 
 life." 
 
 "Most people draw down their own curses; perhaps you 
 have done so. Let it be as it may, remember this that 
 the most cruel thing a man can do is to trifle with love, or 
 play with a girl's heart." 
 
 "I have never done it," he cried again; but a smile of 
 incredulity rippled over her lips. 
 
 " We must go ; we hare had a pleasant time among the 
 flowers here only for that unfortunate little contretemps. 
 Now, duke, you must go and find Lady Valentine, and 
 make your peace with her." 
 
 As soon as they advanced into the room Miss Glynton 
 was surrounded and carried off. Her impatient partners 
 looked angrily at the duke ; it was not fair to have 
 monopolized the belle of the ball so long. He went him- 
 self in search of Lady Valentine, and found her with a 
 little escort of admirers. She had declined dancing ; 
 and though she was laughing and talking gayly, he saw 
 that she looked pale and there was a faint quiver on her 
 lips in the midst of her smiles. He tried to draw nearer 
 to her and join in the conversation, but she gave him no
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 269 
 
 encouragement ; she never let her eyes rest on him for 
 one minute ; by no means and artifice could he engage 
 her attention for one second. 
 
 At length, one by one, the little group went away ; 
 there was something in the duke's i'ace, and something in 
 hers which they did not understand. At last they were 
 as alone as could be in a crowded ball-room. 
 
 "Valentine," said the duke, "is it possible you are 
 angry with me ? " 
 
 " What do you think about it yourself," she replied, 
 coldly. 
 
 " I should say decidedly not; you could not be more 
 sorry than I was." 
 
 " You ought to have told me at once. Your own sense 
 should have told you what I had come for; you have 
 allowed me to be humiliated before the one woman whom 
 you know I dislike, and I shall never forgive you for it 
 never. Ah, Captain Bellairs, is this our waltz? I am 
 quite ready," and she went away with a smile on her lips, 
 while a sharp sword wounded her heart 
 
 CHAPTER XLVHL 
 "CHOOSE BETWEEN us." 
 
 IT is long past midnight, but the Duke of Castlemayne 
 has said to himself that most decidedly he can not, will 
 not go to rest without having seen Lady Valentine. The 
 more he thought of that unlucky scene the more he de- 
 tested his own share in it. If he had but been quicker 
 but then he never dreamed that she would speak to Miss 
 Glynton. He had been perfectly innocent, and could not 
 bear the least shadow of blame; he hated the whole 
 recollection of it. 
 
 He could see that it was natural for Lady Valentine to 
 have felt a little jealous; that he frankly admitted; he 
 had felt that the beautiful toilet was intended as a most 
 flattering compliment to him, and he saw nothing wonder- 
 ful in the fact that Lady Valentine was not well pleased 
 over it; considering, also, that the flower she had given 
 him identified him, after a fashion, with Miss Glynton; he 
 did not wonder that she asked for it back. 
 
 He did not wonder that she had not seen the fair, 
 queenly woman who had granted him the tete-d-tete f but
 
 70 THE DUKE'S 
 
 then he had net realized how completely the flowers had 
 hidden her from sight. One thing he did realize, and 
 that was the insanity of pain he had seen in this fair 
 young face; he knew how proud she was and how greatly 
 her pride must have suffered. Altogether it was to him a 
 perfect impossibility that he could rest without seeing 
 her. They had driven home all together, but the duchess 
 had offered the fourth seat in her crrriage to Sir Monro 
 Kelly, and conversation between them had been impos- 
 sible. 
 
 The duchess had asked for some coffee as they reached 
 home; after which the two ladies began to discuss the 
 ball, and he waited impatiently for a chance to speak to 
 Lady Valentine. It had often happened in this way be- 
 fore, and then, when the duchess took up i book just to 
 compose herself for a few moments before going to rest, 
 he and Lady Valentine had talked very happily; but he 
 began to think it was not to be so to-night; not one glance 
 was given in his direction not the faintest intimation of 
 his presence. She did not seem to be aware of his exist- 
 ence, but as she sipped her fragrant coffee she talked con- 
 tinually to the duchess. 
 
 " It is too bad," he said to himself ; what have I done 
 that she should treat me so ? " 
 
 When he found everything else failed he wrote three 
 lines and laid them down before her. She raised the 
 folded paper, and without looking at it, destroyed it as she 
 had done the liiy. Then he spoke out, and the decided 
 anger in his roice pleased her. 
 
 " Mother," he said, " you can spare Valentine for a few 
 minutes. I want her to step out here; this balcony is so 
 pleasant, and the room is warm heavy with all those flow- 
 ers the air is full of fragrance, one would think all Lon- 
 don was full of mignonette. Come, Valentine." 
 
 The duchess languidly took up a book which lay upon 
 the table. 
 
 " Go to that impatient son of mine for a few minutes, 
 Valentine," she said ; he looks at me as though he had 
 been troubled." 
 
 " Valentine,"' said a sad and imploring voice, " do come; 
 you can not think how charming it is ; all the stars in 
 Leaven are shining, and the wind is beautiful over the 
 trees."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 271 
 
 " Go to him, my dear, for a few minutes," said the 
 duchess, who could refuse nothing to her idolized son. 
 
 The habit of obedienee was so strong upon Lady Val- 
 entine that she rose at once ; she could have refused the 
 duke she never dreamed of refusing the duchess. 
 
 She crossed the room, drawing a black lace shawl over 
 the shimmering beauties of her ball dress, and looking 
 fresh and fair as the morning with the least possible 
 tinge of pain round the sweet lips. The duchess opened, 
 her book and sunk back in her chair with the faintest sigh 
 of relief ; she had ceased to hope. But given the sweet- 
 ness of a moonlight summer's night, full of music and 
 perfume given the solitude of the balcony and the pale 
 light of the stars, it would be odd surely if her son could 
 resist all that. But then she said to herself, with a shrug 
 of the shoulders, she had ceased to hope ; neither moon- 
 light, nor beauty, nor anything else touched him while 
 Lady Valentine half crossed the room, and then he came 
 to her ; the long glass door leading to the balcony was 
 open ; he drew her to him and closed it. There it seemed 
 as though they stood alone in that soft summer darkness 
 with every star in heaven shining on them. 
 
 "Valentine," he cried, impetuously, "how cruel you are 
 to me ; why will you not speak to me ? "What have I 
 done ? Do you know that you are driving me mad ?" 
 
 "I thought," she said, "you wanted me to see the stars." 
 
 " Never mind the stars. Valentine, how can you be so 
 unkind ? You must see that you are making me miser- 
 able. Now do not look at the trees ; look at me. I could 
 not help it to-night ; I was quite as much vexed as you. 
 Why be so angry with me ?" 
 
 She raised her face, so young and fair, in the white 
 moonlight, to his. 
 
 " Have you asked me here purposely to talk about this ?" 
 she said. 
 
 " Yes, I have. Do you think I could rest sleep be 
 happy, or anything else, until you had spoken to me, Val- 
 entine ? I could not. I would have sat up all night but 
 I must have seen you. Dearest Valentine, I am so 
 sorry." 
 
 " I do not quite understand," she said, slowly. " You 
 have treated me strangely altogether. When I came here, 
 you you made me love you. I cannot tell whether it
 
 SJ72 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 was your fault or mine. Then you trusted me, told rue 
 the story of your life, and I promised to help you 4;o be 
 your truest friend ; and it was arranged that if you found 
 yourself free I had your heart and love, and I was as happy 
 as I could be with your affection and trust. Now this 
 woman comes between us and takes you from me." 
 
 " She does not, Valentine," cried the duke. 
 
 " Yes, pardon me, she does. You have never paid half 
 BO much attention to anyone else as to her." 
 
 "I have told you," he said, "that she has the strangest 
 influence over me I cannot help myself." 
 
 "Then if you cannot help it, why contradict me when 
 I speak about it?" 
 
 "I mean that I can not help the influence she has over 
 me, Valentine. I can not account for it ; I try to shake 
 it off, but I can not." 
 
 "Do you love her?" 
 
 " No, it is not that kind of influence," said the duke ; 
 " there is something weird and uncanny about it." 
 
 "I know," said Lady Valentine, "that there never was 
 a position so peculiar as yours, or so painful. I have, told 
 you, and I meant it, that I would rather be your friend 
 than the wife of any other man; but I can not bear to see 
 you devote your time and attention to a stranger like Miss 
 Glynton. If your own wife came back to you living and 
 true, I should not be jealous. I should be honestly, frankly, 
 nobly glad ; if you were, I should love her and do all 1 
 could for her; but I will not even know this woman who 
 dresses for you, and makes every one talk as though you 
 were going to marry her to-morrow. Some things are too 
 inuch for human nature; that is too much for me; she had 
 no right to dress in that fashion for you !" 
 
 " She had no meaning in it it was mere caprice, Valen- 
 tine." 
 
 "No, it was not caprice, it was a settled, regular plan 
 for pleasing you and attaching you to herself; and then, 
 oh, Sebastian, she heard me say I was jealous; she heard 
 me ask for the flower. I will never meet here again, 
 never." 
 
 " Do not say that, Valentine," he cried, " you will think 
 better of it ; you could not refuse to meet her." 
 
 "Then you must promise me to give up flirting, or 
 whatever you call it. She must not use what you call
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 273 
 
 her influence, nor must you submit to it. The time has 
 really corue when you must choose between us. It makes 
 me very unhappy to see all that I see. If she is to be 
 your friend and confidante, you do not want me. If I 
 am your friend, you do not want her." 
 
 " Logically argued, Valentine," he said. 
 
 " Never mind logic," said the girL " I have made ap 
 my mind ; choose between us choose the one you like 
 best." 
 
 "My dearest Valentine, be reasonable." 
 
 " I can not. I do not intend ; you might as well call 
 one of those stars down from heaven as to ask me to 
 change my decision. I know nothing about reason, nor 
 do I wish, but I do know what ;you must do to preserve 
 my friendship you must give ip Miss Glynton or give 
 up me. Good-night, duke." 
 
 And before he knew where she was she had gone back 
 to the duchess, and was bidding her good-night. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 A PREMONITION. 
 
 " BBRTRAND," said the duchess, laying down her book 
 with the most polite attempt to stifle a yawn, " I would 
 not stand out in the night air any longer. Valentine has 
 gone she seemed very tired, I thought. I will say good- 
 night," and the duchess looked anxiously at her son as he 
 eame into the room. 
 
 If he would but trust her, would but talk to her as 
 other sons did to their mothers would but trust her ! 
 She saw lines of care and anxiety on his handsome face, 
 but could not tell why they were there. 
 
 "The night air must be cold," she said, "and you do 
 not look well to-night, Bertrand." 
 
 "I am well enough, mother," he said; "It is your fancy. 
 You are always thinking about me, and you imagine 
 things." The duchess merely replied by a sigh; it was 
 not the least use speaking. 
 
 " I think," he continued, " I will have one cigar out 
 here under the stars, and then I will go in. Good-night, 
 mother." 
 
 "Good-night, my son," she replied; but as she kissed 
 him she had fallen on hi* neck weeping, and prayed him
 
 274 THS DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 to marry one of the beautiful women who surrounded 
 him. 
 
 She had not told him her new trouble, and it was this : 
 aome kind friends had told her Lady Everleigh had been 
 heard to say that few matches in England would be good 
 enough for her son, who might almost be considered the 
 duke's heir. 
 
 Should she tell him, she wondered, and then a sicken- 
 ing sense of the uselessness came over her it would do 
 no good. 
 
 She left him with a grave, sad face, and once that 
 night, as she lay awake thinking over the promise of his 
 boyhood and her ambitious dreams of him, it occurred 
 to her that if, after all, there had been anything in his 
 liking for that girl, Naomi Wynter, it would have been 
 almost better to encourage it. Bad as that would have 
 been, so disappointing to her hopes, it might have been 
 better than seeing Lady Eveiieigh's son in his place. 
 She had not thought once of that little episode after 
 the girl had once been sent away; but to-night her 
 thoughts had turned to Naomi. She wondered for the 
 first time if her son had really loved the girl. It could 
 but have been a boyish fancy, nothing more, for he had 
 never spoken of her since. 
 
 " It is the one bitter, black misfortune of my life, I sup- 
 pose," said the duchess, " and I must bear it." 
 
 Sleep was even further from the duke's eyes than from 
 hers. Never was a man in such a dilemma. He wished 
 a thousand times over that he had never been born. He 
 could see no way out of his difficulties, they grew deeper 
 every day. If he could have married Lady Valentine at 
 once, that would have disposed of all his difficulties with 
 her, and with every one else; but then he could not 
 marry her, and she knew why. Another thing was did 
 he feel quite sure that he loved her enough to marry 
 her ? No man can love two women, and he could not 
 understand the influence that this beautiful American 
 had over him. 
 
 " I can not possibly be in love with her," he said to 
 himself, and yet he had a vague idea that he was so. 
 
 He saw himself surrounded by difficulties. Lady Val- 
 entine was jealous and offended. She would not be ami- 
 able to Miss Glynton; if he devoted himself to Lady
 
 THE DOn'8 SECRET. 275 
 
 entme the world would expect that he was going to 
 marry her; if he saw much of Miss Glynton, Lady Valen- 
 tine would be most bitterly offended. 
 
 Now what was he to do ? The only way in which he 
 could avoid the gordian knot was to go abroad and leave 
 difficulties at home, even that, the only plan left, would 
 be a great source of grief and trouble to his mother. 
 There was no comfort in the cigar, none in the odorous 
 night ah", none in the golden eyes watching him, none in 
 the white moonlight that lay all round him. His life had 
 been a failure through his own fault, and he could not 
 make the tangled thread straight. He has learned his 
 lesson the price of it was the misery of his whole life, 
 besides all the pain that he had brought to others. 
 
 He flung away the remains of his cigar, and went to his 
 i-oom. 
 
 The following day the duchess mentioned that she would 
 like to give a ball; some friends of hers had just arrived 
 from Paris, and she was anxious to do them all honor. She 
 would give a brilliant balL 
 
 " And," added her grace, " it will be the last. I do not 
 remember to have been in town so late as this for many 
 years. Bertrand, if you are not engaged this morning, 
 stay and discuss the invitation list with us. Lady Lay ard 
 will be able to come, I hope. I have not seen her as much 
 as I should like to have done. Then we must have Mrs. 
 Trelawney, Mrs. Dulwich, and the Glyntons." 
 
 She could not help seeing that her son looked at Lady 
 Valentine, whose eyes met his. 
 
 " I know no one," continued her grace, " who in a short 
 time had so completely made herself mistress of her world 
 as Miss Glynton. I should say at this moment she is de- 
 cidedly the most popular woman in London." 
 
 But to her surprise no one answered. Her son's face 
 was hidden in his coffee-cup ; Lady Valentine simply 
 bowed. 
 
 "Altogether we shall have a brilliant ball," said the 
 duchess. " I am quite in high spirits over it, and then, 
 when it is over, we must really think about going. You 
 hear, Bertrand ?" 
 
 " I hear, mother. I am at your service," he replied. 
 
 He did"not think it judicious just then to tell her that 
 he was in the greatest dilemma of his life; that because
 
 276 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 two of the fairest women in London were interested in 
 him, and he could not marry either, he meant to wander 
 away to the very ends of the earth. 
 
 "While the duchess and Lady Valentine were discussing, 
 pro and con, who was young, who was beautiful, who 
 was witty, and who danced well, the duke was looking 
 into the long vista of years which promised so badly for 
 him. There was no help for it he must be a wanderer 
 on the face of the earth. It was his own fault, his own 
 folly; he deserved it. He could not go on living with 
 his mother, seeing Lady Valentine every hour, and meet- 
 ing Miss Glynton daily, any longer. He saw himself 
 wandering from one far-off land to another, living and 
 dying alone, with the bitter knowledge that Lady Ever- 
 leigh's son might succeed him and all this for a few 
 weeks' folly and a few minutes' Cowardice. What was the 
 use of being a duke with one of the largest rent-rolls in 
 England ? The poorest peasant was happier the poor- 
 est man who either had his wife by his side, or knew 
 where to find her grave. His mother's voice roused him: 
 
 " Bertrand, I am afraid you do not like the idea of a 
 grand ball; you are so silent." 
 
 "It will be a great pleasure to me; and we owe some 
 hospitality to the De Maris, who were very kind to us in 
 Paris. I'm all attention, mother." 
 
 But the shade did not pass from his handsome face ; 
 the eyes were shadowed, and a quiver of pain was on his 
 lips. Lady Valentine looked at him attentively; he 
 opened the great sheet of the " Times," and while ap- 
 parently studying it, she watched him. When the duch- 
 ess went to write her letters, she went over to him and 
 laid her hand on the paper. 
 
 " Let me look at you, she said ; " never mind the 
 "Times" I want to s^e your face and your eyes. Ah, 
 San Sebastian, the old melancholy is back again what 
 is it? Now, whenever I see you sad I begin to wonder 
 if I am in fault. What a pity it is that I am so jealous 
 and queer-tempered. I am little comfort to you." 
 
 "You are the greatest comfort I have in this world," 
 he replied. " Even to look at you is a comfort to me, 
 because you know my secret, and it seems to break down 
 the horrible, ghastly silence that surrounds it when I 
 look at you."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 277 
 
 ""What has brought it back to your mind this morn- 
 tog ?" she asked. " Do not be unhappy over Miss Glyn- 
 ton ; I will be as kind as possible to her if you will not 
 make me jealous. I wish I could take all your troubles, 
 all your cares, all your anxieties, away from you and 
 they are heavy enough." 
 
 "They grow heavier," he said, with a deep sigh. "I 
 wonder, Valentine, that I hear nothing from Michael 
 Droski. It seems a strange thing that he succeeds for 
 every one else and fails for me." 
 
 "Perhaps he will not fail. You want patience and 
 faith ; you are beginning to lose both," she added, sadly. 
 
 "I am sorely tried," he replied. "If no one can suc- 
 ceed for me I must try and search for myself. There are 
 many times when I think to myself that I will start off and 
 look through the world until I find her, or some news of 
 her, some trace of her, living or dead. But the world is 
 wide, and when those fail who have been trained for such 
 work how can I succeed ?" 
 
 "You must not think of it you would not succeed," 
 she replied. "It is bad enough as it is, but we can bear 
 it better together much better. I should be miserable 
 if you went away." 
 
 "My poor child my dear, loving Valentine, what- 
 trouble I have brought upon you !" 
 
 Looking at him, she saw that his eyes were full of tears. 
 
 "I can not bear that," she cried, in a voice full of pain. 
 " "What can I do to help you ? I must do something. If 
 my jealousy has added to your pain, forgive me; I will 
 never add to it again; that is," she added, with a sudden 
 smile, " if I really can help it. I will try. I hope my 
 temptations will be in proportion to my strength." 
 
 He made no answer, and she felt bitterly conscious that 
 she could not console and soothe him as other women do 
 the men they love. 
 
 " I shall be all you wish, San Sebastian," she said. " I 
 will not add to your troubles." 
 
 "I wonder, Valentine," he said, " if it would be of any 
 use for me to write to Droski, or to John Euskyn about 
 him ? I do not even know in what part of the world he ia 
 at present." 
 
 "You know the old proverb," said T>< K!V 
 "'No news is good news.'"
 
 278 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 "I have long ceased to believe that," he replied. 
 "Twelve years of ' no news ' has taken away all my faith." 
 He rose from the chair and folded the paper. " I can not 
 give my attention to it," he said. "I can not read; 1 
 have a miserable, very unpleasant foreboding of some- 
 thing about to happen." 
 
 "You have been brooding over your troubles; try and 
 forget them for a time." 
 
 He left the room with a weary sigh. 
 
 If he could but forget. And before many days had 
 passed he and Lady Valentine both remembered thip con- 
 versation as a strange coincidence. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 A VISITOR WITH NEWS. 
 
 THE ball given by the duchess to her friends from Paris 
 was half over when Lady Layard the Lady Nell of olden 
 times arrived. Everything had been perfect ; the 
 flowers, the decorations, the music, the lights, and never, 
 perhaps, had more beautiful women gathered together. 
 But the queen was certainly Miss Glynton. She had 
 never looked more charming, more fascinating, than on 
 this night The duke felt himself mysteriously attracted 
 to her, and yet he knew that he must not yield to the at- 
 traction. He had watched with great anxiety the meeting 
 between Lady Valentine and Miss Glynton the young 
 girl's face had flushed slightly, but on the fair face of the 
 other he read nothing but kindness. That puzzled him a 
 little ; he could not see why Valentine should be jealous, 
 while Miss Glynton evidently meant kindly and felt kindly 
 toward her ; he saw more than kindness in the beautiful, 
 imperial face he saw compassion and pathos that puzzled 
 him still more. He said to himself that he must be very 
 careful ; he must neither vex one nor the other. It was 
 time that he dropped out of this gay world, when he no 
 longer felt at liberty in it 
 
 The ball was, as always happened with the duchess, 
 a great success. The Parisian guests arrived early, and 
 the duke, as in duty bound, danced what he called his 
 duty dance with the young daughter of the grand old 
 French race. Then he was free, and hastened to Lady 
 Valentine. When that dance was over the Glyntons ar-
 
 DtTKE'8 SECBJ7T. 279 
 
 rived. Miss Glynton wore a magnificent costume oi 
 white silk and rubies, that shone like points of scarlet 
 flame. She had never looked more queenly or more 
 beautiful ; she smiled brightly at the duke, and by an 
 almost imperceptible but wooing gesture brought him to 
 her side. While he stood talking to her, Sir Edward and 
 Lady Layard entered the room. She looked up at him, 
 and a little exclamation of pleasure escaped him. 
 
 " That is Lady Nell," he said. Surely the face had 
 grown pale, and the queenly figure seemed for one 
 moment to shrink and falter. " I have long been very 
 desirous that you should know Lady Layard," he said. 
 " Will you permit me to introduce her ? " 
 
 "Not just yet," she replied, in a voice of constraint. 
 " Do not ask me about any introductions, and do not ask 
 me to dance. You see that I am not very conventional 
 with you ; take me to that pretty conservatory ; I want 
 to talk to you for a few minutes." 
 
 He was delighted, yet he sighed as he complied. If 
 Lady Valentine saw them, she would hardly like it. How 
 could he refuse so courteous an invitation from so fair a 
 lady ? He longed with burning impatince to set himself 
 free. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Miss Glynton, when they stood once 
 more among the fragrant blossoms, " I am afraid that I 
 have displeased Lady Valentine very much indeed. I 
 have been thinking that I did not do just as I should have 
 liked others to do to me ; but I was taken aback ; I had 
 not much time to think, and for some minutes I never 
 dreamed that she had not seen me. I was looking at her. 
 I did not know she had not seen me until she spoke of me, 
 and then I knew. Is she very angry with me ?" 
 
 " No one could be quite pleased with anything of that 
 kind," said the duke, " but I can not for a moment allow 
 that you were to blame. I can not see how you could 
 help it." 
 
 " You really acquit me, then, of anything but want of 
 mind," she said. 
 
 " Most decidedly I do," he replied. " I think, to tell 
 the truth, that we were all three slightly confused." 
 
 " I am glad you acquit me," she said, gently, " I should 
 not like to have had your bad opinion." 
 
 " "Sou could never have that," said the duk, "aevwr."
 
 280 THE BUZZ'S SECRET. 
 
 And again he wondered to himself what was the secret 
 of her weird, strange influence over him. No other eyes 
 looked so clear and direct into his as hers did, no other 
 face seemed to have the power. 
 
 If he could but understand himself and his own heart, 
 if he could but know which of these two women he loved 
 best. It seemed to him always that Miss Glynton took 
 possession of him in a queenly, royal fashion all her own. 
 Yet he could not tell whether it was so or not. 
 
 More unhappy than ever was his Grace of Castlemayne 
 on the evening when half the beauty and fashion of Lon- 
 don had gathered under his roof. The two fair faces 
 haunted him, and he said to himself that surely he was a 
 man accursed. He forgot that there is no curse so great, 
 BO bitter, so withering, as that brought on man by his own 
 folly. 
 
 More than one present noticed the melancholy on the 
 handsome young face, and wondered what was wrong 
 with the duke. He could not help envying the men pres- 
 ent; they had no deadly secrets weighting their hearts 
 with lead; they could be happy as he could never be 
 again. They could give smiles and tender wonls without 
 feeling as though they were perjuring themselves. He 
 would have given his dukedom, his vast revenues, his 
 palatial homes, his wealth of pictures, gold, silver, and 
 precious stones all, to be free as the poorest of them. 
 
 "Duke," said Lady Valentine, in a low voice, as she 
 stopped near him for one minute, "do look happy; your 
 face is all shadow. I have heard several people wonder 
 what is the matter with you." She smiled as she added: 
 "Some say that Miss Glynton has been cruel to you; and 
 some say that it is I, Lady Valentine; but I never could 
 be cruel, and you know it. Try to smile and look cheer- 
 ful. "What makes you look so silent to-night ?" 
 
 "I can not tell. I have a horrible feeling of depression 
 on me, for which I can not account, though I own it is a 
 very bad night for it." 
 
 "Find some lively, bright, pretty girl, with whom you 
 can have a good waltz," said Lady Valentine. 
 
 "I choose you then," said the duke; "you combine all 
 qualities." 
 
 ' r But I am engaged to Harry Bellairs for the next wait* 
 
 "
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 281 
 
 She spoke lightly, but Le saw a mist of tears in her violet 
 eyes, and he knew that she felt more than she said. 
 
 " Heaven bless her," he said, as the handsome guards- 
 man carried her off. " She has the most loving heart in the 
 whole world. How happy I could be with her." 
 
 Then he paused abruptly even in his thoughts for a 
 pair of proud beautiful eyes seemed to be looking at him, 
 and the face of a woman who was a queen among women 
 dashed into his. 
 
 " It is idle," thought the duke, " even to waste one 
 thought upon the matter; but if I were free, I wonder 
 which of these two I should love best." 
 
 For in his heart had come a knowledge that he could 
 no longer conceal from himself that Miss Glynton occu- 
 pied quite as great a share of his thoughts as Lady Valen- 
 tine. 
 
 There was a grand supper at midnight; the table 
 groaned beneath the weight of gold and silver plate a 
 king might have envied it; fruit and wine of the most 
 recherche and costly kind; dainty, delicate dishes that 
 might have tempted a sybarite. If ever man seemed 
 worthy, surely it was the handsome, wealthy nobleman 
 who presided at that magnificent table. But he saw the 
 skeleton that lurked behind his chair; that half embraced 
 him with his long, meager arms; that kept from him 
 every ray of brightness; that took the harmony from the 
 music, the fragrance from the flowers; that took the light 
 from the fair face of the women. Better to be a laborer 
 in the field, a breaker of stones, a hewer of wood, than a 
 duke with such a skeleton forever by his side. 
 
 The Duke of Castlemayne had just sat down when a 
 servant came to him and said that a gentleman wished to 
 see him. 
 
 "Who is it?" asked the duke, carelessly. 
 
 " He has sent neither card nor name," was the reply, 
 "but bade me tell you that he wished to see you on very 
 important business." 
 
 " No one can have business at midnight," said the duke, 
 impatiently. " Tell him to come to-morrow." 
 
 His Grace of Castlemayne was not expected to know 
 that, whoever the stranger was, he had slipped a golden 
 key of admission into the servant's band; and James, be- 
 ing of a gay disposition, had settled within himself that
 
 282 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 he would take the pretty upper housemaid to the play to- 
 morrow. The duke was so sweet-tempered, so good- 
 humored, that no servant ever feared him. The man per- 
 sisted. 
 
 " I might mention to your grace," he continued, " that 
 the gentleman rode up in desperate haste." 
 
 " Ask his name," said the duke. 
 
 And the servant was absent for a few minutes. 
 
 There was a musical sound of women's laughter, a mur- 
 mur of sweet voices; champagne corks were flying, every 
 one was good-humored and animated. The duke was very 
 busy. Miss Glynton sat nearly opposite him look which 
 way he would, the fire of her rubies seemed to catch his 
 eyes. Lady Valentine was on his left hand. 
 
 He did not give his thoughts to the strange gentleman, 
 who had asked for him on business until the servant re- 
 turned and gave him an envelope. With a slight apology 
 to his nearest neighbors he opened it and took from it a 
 card. On the card he read the magic words: 
 
 " Michael Droski with news." 
 
 Did any one at that sumptuous table notice how, for a 
 few minutes, the duke's face grew even ghastly pale? 
 
 "Michael Droski," the name that had haunted him 
 lately, because he longed to see the man. With news. 
 What news ? Great heavens, was Naomi found ? 
 
 The lights, the jewels, the flowers, the fair faces of the 
 women seemed for a few minutes all one confused mass. 
 
 " News of Naomi at last after all these years. Was she 
 living or dead? was she found? and was the little son he 
 had never seen with her? He could not recover himself; 
 the whole world seemed to be whirling round him. It 
 seemed like an hour since he saw the card, yet he was 
 still holding it in hit* hand, and the servant stood waiting 
 his reply. " Michael Droski, with news !" He felt the 
 strongest inclination to shout out the words; he had to 
 control himself by the greatest possible effort 
 
 " What answer, your grace ?" asked the man at last, 
 honestly believing that his master would fall asleep over 
 the card. 
 
 Then the duke looked up with a curious, dazed expres- 
 sion in his eyes. 
 
 " Ask the gentleman to wait. I will try to be with him 
 ia inJf an hour. Show him into my study."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 The man bowed and went away, leaving the duke still 
 in the greatest bewilderment. 
 
 He tried to attend to his guests ; some one, he never 
 knew who it was, poured out a glass of champagne, and 
 he drank it off ; then by some sudden impulse, finding 
 that Lady Valentine's eyes were fixed on him, he passed 
 the card down to her the card which bore those magical 
 word " Michael Droski, with news." He watched her as 
 she opened her eyes in a lingering glance of wonder and 
 amaze a glance intercepted by Miss Glynton. 
 
 Lady Valentine returned the folded card to him in 
 flilence. 
 
 How that long half-hour passed the duke never knew, 
 every moment was to him like an eternity; it seemed 
 that the wine-glasses would never be empty, the dishes 
 never finished ; but at length he was free, and as the 
 brilliant procession went from the supper-room to the 
 ball-room, he quietly left his guests and went to the study 
 where his visitor awaited him. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 "JTOUB WIFE IS FOUND." 
 
 THERE, in the duke's study, waiting for him, sat the 
 famous detective, whose name is now as well known as a 
 household word. A tall, keen, strong-looking man, but 
 bearing about him this evening evident marks of travel; 
 he looked tired and worn, like some one who had been for 
 days and nights without sleep but the light in his eyes 
 was as keen and as bright as ever. He rose when the duke 
 entered, and bowed. 
 
 " I hope I have not annoyed your grace in coming at 
 this hour," he said. " I reached London some hours since, 
 but I had something still to do before my task was com- 
 pleted." 
 
 " I am glad to see you," said the duke, simply. " Neither 
 the day nor the hour could matter." 
 
 " It is after midnight, and you have a grand ball. I 
 could not have chosen a more inopportune time, I fear; bu^ 
 I have news," he added, quietly, " and I know that is more 
 to your grace than sleep or dance." 
 
 "Much more," said the duke. "You are welcome, as I 
 have said, at any time. So you have news ?" He spoko
 
 284. THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 quietly, but Michael Droski saw that the handsome face 
 was pale with emotion. " I have waited many years for 
 t. You have news of my wife ;" then for a few minutes it 
 seemed very probable to the detective that the duke would 
 swoon like a woman. He recovered himself with a great 
 gasp. " I have waited so long," he repeated, " and it has 
 come at last." 
 
 "Yes," said Michael Droski, " it has come at last. I do 
 not want to boast; but I told your grace that if it was 
 possible to be done I would do it. I have brought you the 
 strangest news that I could by any possibility bring. To 
 say that truth is stranger than fiction, is to say little ; 
 in this case the truth is so strange that unless it were 
 amply corroborated I venture to say no man would believe 
 it." 
 
 He seemed trying to give the duke time to recover him- 
 self, he had drawn up the blind and opened the window, 
 so as to admit a current of fresh air; he placed the duke's 
 chair just where he could get the benefit of it, and added, 
 gently: 
 
 "If your grace will be seated, I will tell you the story 
 that seems to me, in its way, more wonderful even than 
 the 'Arabian Nights.'" 
 
 "Tell me just one thing," cried the duke, and his voice 
 was hoarse with emotion, his face white with passion, " tell 
 me one thing, before Heaven is she my wife Naomi, 
 living?" 
 
 " Yes," repiied the detective, " she is living and well." 
 
 Then a great silence fell between them, and for some 
 time neither spoke. The duke hid his face in his hands, 
 caring little whether his companion heard the deep sobs 
 that shook his whole frame or not. 
 
 Naomi was found after twelve long, cruel years of 
 silence and absence, of torture and suspense to him; she 
 was found, living and well sweet Naomi, who had loved 
 him so well. He could see the fair, young face when she 
 called out: 
 
 " I appeal to you, Lord St. Albans," and he had been 
 deaf to her prayer. Oh, Naomi, the fair, lost love, the 
 sweet young wife of his youth. In that moment all faint 
 shadows died, and he knew that in his heart he had 
 known no other love than hers no other. 
 
 ^ T aomi livitg and well In one moment he went through
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBEX. 285 
 
 again the whole of that scene at Hood Castle; he saw his 
 proud, haughty mother sitting in judgement; he saw the 
 table, on it the little knot of breast ribbon and dainty 
 white handkerchief. 
 
 Ah, if he had even that little knot of ribbon now! He 
 could see the graceful, girlish figure, the fair, downcast 
 face and he groaned aloud to think what a coward he 
 had been. 
 
 She was living. He had resisted her appeal, he had 
 let her see that his fear of his mother was greater than 
 his love for her. He remembered the expression of her 
 face as she quitted the room, and now she was living 
 and well! 
 
 Just then the band in the ball-room struck up a beau- 
 tiful waltz, the very air seemed to pulsate with the sweet 
 music; it roused him and made him remember that the 
 time was passing, and he was dreaming, not doing. 
 
 "I have had a hard chase," Mr. Droski said; "it has 
 been by far the most difficult task I have had yet to look 
 for one lady in a world so large as this is a task, but it has 
 ended happily." 
 
 Then bhe duke raised his white, haggard face to the 
 dark, keen countenance of the officer. 
 
 "Tell me all now," he said; "I am prepared. I was 
 afraid at first just at first. I have waited so long ; now 
 tell me all." 
 
 "There are gaps in my story," he said; "vacancies I 
 can not fill up, but they will be filled up by the right per- 
 sons " 
 
 "Stop one moment," said the duke, "only one; be care- 
 ful, for Heaven's sake, about what you tell me ! "Were 
 false hopes to rise in my heart only to be crushed!" 
 
 "I am quite sure of my facts," he replied; "I could have 
 returned some weeks ago, but I would verify them all. I 
 shall not tell you one single circumstance that I can not 
 prove the only thing to me is that the news I have to tell 
 is so wonderful I do not know how to tell it. Tour wife, 
 your grace, is living and well. The curious part of the 
 story is this: your grace could never guess even knowing 
 as you do that your wife is living and well you could 
 never guess where she is." 
 
 " No, that I could not," he replied ; I can not guess. 
 I can. believe what you tell me, but I can not guess. It
 
 286 THE DUKE'S SECMBT. 
 
 is just as much as I can do to understand ; my brain is 
 quite bewildered." 
 
 " If you were asked to mention the most improbable 
 place on earth wherein to seek her, what place would you 
 name?" 
 
 " I can not tell," said the duke ; I am growing in-pa- 
 tient." 
 
 " Your grace may believe me when I tell you that not 
 only is your wife one of the most beautiful and wealthy 
 ladies in London, but that she is at this very moment 
 here, under the same roof with your grace." 
 
 The duke sprung from his seat, with a low cry. His 
 white lips parted ; but for some minutes no sound came 
 from them. 
 
 " Here ? " he cried ; " under my roof impossible ! 
 You are mad, Droski! Much travel has driven you 
 mad." 
 
 " No, your grace ; I am sane enough ; there is no mis- 
 take. I shall not speak without proof. I tell you that 
 your wife, who was once Naomi Wynter, is now at this 
 present moment under your roof." 
 
 " I begin to understand," he said. " You have brought 
 her. I thought you meant that she was here before." 
 
 " So I do Your grace's wife is one of the most honored* 
 even among your noble circle of guests," said Michael 
 Droski. "Is it possible that your grace has no idea, no 
 knowledge, no foreshadowing even of the truth ? " 
 
 " No," replied the duke, briefly, " I have not." 
 
 " Do you know that your wife is among your acquaint- 
 ance ; that her name is one of the most honored, I hear, 
 among your friends ? Do you know that you Lave met 
 her continually ; that you have dined with her danced 
 with her?" 
 
 " No no !" cried the duke ; " it is quite impossible. I 
 do not believe it I could not believe it ; it is against all 
 reason and common sense." 
 
 " I asked you once if you should know her, and you 
 told me 'No.' Your grace spoke truly ; you have met 
 and have not known her. Let our thoughts go back to 
 the ball-room ; think over the ladies there, and tell me if 
 in no one you recognize your own wife ?" 
 
 " No," he replied ; " I should not. I repeat, Droaki,
 
 DUKE'S BEcfcEl 1 . 287 
 
 that you must be mad to tell me my lost wife is a stranger 
 under my roof. Does she know me ?" 
 
 The detective could have laughed aloud at the sim- 
 plicity of the question. 
 
 Of course she would know your grace by your name ?' s 
 
 "But there is no Miss "Wynter, no Lady St. Albans 
 there," he cried. 
 
 " She would not be likely to call herself by either name," 
 said Michael, with a smile. 
 
 "If you know the name she calls herself, tell me," he 
 cried, and suddenly, as with the swiftness of lightning 
 the thought occurred to him that one face there had 
 brought his lost Naomi to mind. He laid his hand on 
 the man's arm, and the breath came in thick, hot gasps 
 from his lips. 
 
 " Miss Glynton, the supposed American heiress ,is your 
 grace's wife, Naomi Wynter," the detective said ; "and I 
 can prove it as clearly as one sees the sun at noon- 
 day." 
 
 CHAPTEK LH. 
 
 MICHAEL DROSKl's REPORT. 
 
 THE Duke of Castlemayne sat for some time like one 
 dazed. In vain did he try to clear his thoughts or 
 brighten his ideas ; he could only look at his informant 
 with eyes so full of pain and wonder that the detective 
 himself was touched by it. 
 
 "I knew that your grace would be astonished, he 
 
 " And I have seen her, spoken to her, spent hours with 
 ker, and did not recognize her." 
 
 "No, you did not recognize her ; but here is just one 
 thing to be said," replied Michael Droski ; " your grace 
 never could have thought of her appearance as a fashion- 
 able beauty, and a great heiress." 
 
 " No, never," he replied ; " but it is like a parody, like 
 a satire on love, to think that I should not know her now. 
 I can account for all. Strange to say, I recognized in 
 Miss Glynton a strange likeness to my lost wife ; she is 
 much taller, and quite different in figure from the slender, 
 simple girl I loved so dearly ; her face is different quite 
 changed ; but the eyes and the beautiful curves of the
 
 288 THE DUKE'S SECEEH 
 
 lips are unaltered. Strange to say, that in the full face ?, 
 see little likeness, but it struck me when I saw her pro- 
 file. How blind I must have been ! " 
 
 " I do not think so," said the officer, calmly. " I think 
 your grace said the young lady was only seventeen when 
 you married her ? " 
 
 " And that was all, Heaven help her," said the duke, 
 ; " only seventeen." 
 
 " That was twelve years since ; she would be little mor 
 than a child, then ; now she is in the full beauty of per- 
 fect womanhood," said Michael. " I do not think it 
 wonderful at all that you did not know her. It would 
 have been far more wonderful if you had." 
 
 Again incredulity was fast rising in the duke's mind. 
 
 " There must be some mistake it cannot possibly be 
 true. How can this be, Droski ? " he asked, suddenly ; 
 " my wife's father had been dead for many years, even, 
 when I married her, and Miss Glynton lives with her 
 father she is his heiress." 
 
 " She is his niece," was the brusque reply. " He is no 
 more her father than than I am," he added, quite at a 
 loss for a comparison. 
 
 " His niece," cried the duke. " Why, what could be the 
 motive of that." 
 
 "If you ask me, your grace, I should say that her 
 motive is this; she never intended you to know who she 
 was, and surrounded herself by what she would think a net- 
 work of diguise. She must have known that you had a 
 full knowledge of her father's death, and the surest means 
 of disguise that she could take would be to make her 
 appearance in society with a father; that circumstance 
 alone would have thrown you off your guard, even had you 
 suspected her." 
 
 " That it would," sighed the duke. " But, another thing, 
 Droski, my wife's relations and friends were, I believe, all 
 poor, and Miss Glynton is reputed to be one of the wealth- 
 iest heiresses in England how can that be? Then, my 
 wife was not an American, but as sweet an English girl as 
 ever the sun shone on." 
 
 " I can explain it all to your grace in a few words, and 
 you can verify the circumstances afterward; if your grace 
 remembers, the last heard of your wife, then Lady St. Al- 
 bans, was in Duncan Street; she left there with her little
 
 THE DTTKE'S SECRET. 289 
 
 Bon, and from that time no trace could be diacoyered of 
 them every effort was in vain." 
 
 "It was so," said the duke. 
 
 " Well, your grace, I take up my thread from there. I 
 must help my memory." 
 
 He drew from his pocket a small note-book, and opened 
 it 
 
 "'I have every detail here," he said. "The most diffi- 
 cult part of the task was the beginning; when I had once 
 found a trace, I knew that tlie worst paH of my work was 
 over. From Mrs. Stanley's in Duncan Street, Lady St 
 Albans, taking her little child with her, went to Liverpool. 
 It appeared she had said something to Mrs. Stanley 
 abont going to America; that gave me the idea of Liver- 
 pool, and by dint of some very hard work and what I 
 may call brilliant inspiration of guesses, I found that she 
 had gone to Liverpool, and stayed at a coffee-house, in- 
 tending to sail for New York by the ' City of Prague,' but 
 a few days before the ' City of Prague ' sailed her child 
 was taken ill. The doctor said that a sea voyage would 
 be dangerous for it, and she removed it from the coffee- 
 house to the outskirts of Liverpool. She lodged there 
 with a Mrs. Towers, at a poor but pretty little place in 
 the country, called Mulberry Cottage, about two milea 
 from Liverpool. She lived there two years with her little 
 son." 
 
 "Two years," cried the duke; "and no one could find 
 her. I spent thousands in those two years, and I would 
 have spent thousands more. She so near, yet no one could 
 find her." 
 
 " 3be was out of the world, as it were," said the officer. 
 " One generally looks for the lost people in large towns. 
 I talked some time with this Mrs. Towers, who toid me she 
 had always had au. idea that her lodger belonged to a bet- 
 ter class. Lady St. Albans was very poor ; she contrived 
 to keep herself and her child by sewing, but it was a 
 struggle. The child was a boy, noble and handsome as a 
 prince ; he could just talk, and the woman seems to have 
 been passionately fond of him. All that I could make out 
 from her was this : that one day her lodger went to Liver- 
 pool to see some lady about some work, and that she 
 brought this work home wrapped in a newspaper ; that, 
 later in the evening, the landlady heard a great cry from
 
 890 THE DUKE'S SECBET, 
 
 her room ; she hastened there, thinking that something 
 terrible bad happened, and found her standing up, white 
 and trembling, reading a newspaper, her eyes quite wild. 
 
 " ' Is anything the matter ?' she cried. 
 
 "And Lady St. Albans said : 
 
 " * No. Only something I read here in this paper, start- 
 led ma. Nothing is wrong/ 
 
 "True to the habit and instinct of her class, the land- 
 lady looked for that paper, but it was not to be found 
 evidently her young lodger had destroyed it. All that 
 the woman could tell me besides that was that exactly one 
 week after that her lodger left; she could not give me 
 the faintest idea where she had gone, and there seemed 
 again no possibility of tracing her. The landlady her- 
 self said that a cab came for the little luggage there was, 
 but she herself was not at home when her little lodger 
 left. The servant-girl that had helped the cabman had 
 left her long ago, had married, and died soon after. That 
 seemed to me an end of all hope, until a sudden thought 
 occurred to me. 
 
 "She had seen something in the paper which had 
 startled her; in all probability the secret of where she 
 had gone and what had affected her lay there. If I could 
 but see the same paper. Yet, out of all the thousands of 
 papers published in England, wbich might it be? It 
 might be even a foreign paper. The only sure informa- 
 tion I had about it was that the paper had come from the 
 house of some lady living in Liverpool who, what, or 
 where, no creature could possibly tell. That was a check, 
 your grace, even on the wildest imagination. I went to 
 Liverpool again, knowing the year, and I contrived to 
 get all the files of the principal papers published during 
 that year. I need not tell your grace all the time that 
 it took and trouble that it gave me. After weeks of re- 
 search for I read every paper though I found this ad- 
 vertisement: 
 
 t " ' If Helen Glynton, late of Henholm, in Surrey, be still 
 living, and will apply to Hardress B. Glynton, Fifth 
 Avenue, New York, she will hear of something to her 
 Advantage.' 
 
 *It did not seem in any way to concern Lady St
 
 THE DUEE'8 SECRET. SOI 
 
 ATbans, that paragraph, yet it was the only one that 
 seemed in any way to refer to any mystery, or any ro- 
 mance. I took a sudden resolution ; I went back to 
 London, and searched the register of the child's birth to 
 find the mother's maiden name. I found it thanks to 
 the correctness of the modern law I found it, and it was 
 Wynter not Glynton, as I had hoped. Still I could not 
 help thinking there might be a chance ; very often whai 
 seems a blind chance of that kind is better worth iollow- 
 ing than a more certain clew. I resolved to go to 
 America ; it seemed to be the last and only chance ; ife 
 was indeed, a slender one. 
 
 I went to New York, and was not long in finding out 
 that the name of Hardress B. Glynton was as well known 
 there as that of Rothschild is in London. I found the 
 house on Fifth Avenue was a palace, and that the rich 
 merchant had an only daughter some said, others said a 
 niece ; but let it be which it would, the young lady had 
 come from Europe some eight or nine years since, and 
 was considered the most beautiful woman, in New York. 
 There was many rumors about her. Some said that she 
 was his niece, and that he had sent to England for her to 
 adopt her ; others that she was the great merchant's 
 daughter, and she had been sent to Europe to be educated. 
 Though I was on the spot it was months before I could 
 learn anything certain about her. 
 
 " I should not like to tell your grace all the secrets of 
 the profession we have to learn cunning ; we have, as it 
 were, to study to deceive. From outsiders I could learn 
 nothing, but after a time I managed to get into the house 
 disguised. 
 
 " You will not like to hear it, but I had to do it. 1 
 found my way at last into the lady's suite of rooms, and 
 there was ample evidence. Her maiden name had been 
 Wynter, and the name of her mother, Helen Glynton. I 
 found several books from Helen Glynton to John Wynter, 
 and then it was all clear to me. 
 
 "Helen Glynton, the sister of the millionaire, had 
 married John Wynter, and Naomi was their only child. 
 Evidently she had seen the advertisement that I had read, 
 and had crossed the Atlantic at once in search of her 
 uncle. True, she was known here as Miss Glynton. Sh 
 Word no wedding ring. She had left England with
 
 292 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 little child in her charge, and there was no mention her* 
 of the child; neither Mr. Glynton nor any one else seemed 
 to have the faintest notion that she had ever been mar- 
 ried. 
 
 " They had been to Spain, to Rome, to Italy, and now 
 had resolved on coming to England. I was sure, but 
 wanted to be more sure. I remained in New York some 
 time after they had left and there made myself quite sure 
 of many things. 
 
 " Hardress B. Glynton, the millionaire, had never been 
 married; he had never been what was called a lady's 
 man. He had devoted himself to the business of making 
 money, and he had made it. I found after much research 
 and trouble that his niece had been with him over eight 
 years, and that she came over in one of the steamers of 
 the Inman Line, 'The City of Berlin/ I came back to 
 London and searched the list of passengers who had 
 sailed that year in the 'City of Berlin;' among them was 
 Naomi Glynton, as the poor young lady, perhaps to 
 please her uncle, had called herself. 
 
 " That made me feel quite certain ; every doubt and 
 difficulty vanished although I could not discover, and 
 have not discovered what became of the child. I returned 
 to London some days since, but I would not call to see 
 you until I had the whole details at my finger's end. I 
 soon found the status that Miss Glynton holds in society, 
 and that she is here to-night, one of her grace's most 
 honored guests." 
 
 CHAPTER LUL 
 
 "I CAN MARRY NO OTHEE WOMAN." 
 
 THE Duke of Castlemayne sat for come time in perfect 
 silence. 
 
 " It must be true, Droski," he said, at length, " but 
 what am I to understand by it? If Miss Glynton be 
 really my lost wife, although I did not recognize her, she 
 must have known me. She, of course, would not know 
 my name. What am I to think? She has never given 
 me the faintest sign of recognition. She evidently never 
 intended to know me ? " 
 
 He thought of the hour on the river, and all lie had said 
 to her, and his face flushed hotly as he remembered it
 
 THE DUKE'S SEOBET. 293 
 
 "I think," said Michael Droski, "I may speak my 
 toind frankly ; it is decidedly a bad lookout for your 
 grace. It looks as though she had not wished you to 
 know her." 
 
 "Yet," said the duke, "if that has been the case, she 
 would surely not have returned to England she would 
 surely not have ventured into the same society, where we 
 must meet every day." 
 
 " She was, perhaps, quite sure in her disguise," said the 
 detective. 
 
 The duke paced the room with quick, uncertain steps. 
 
 "I hardly know what to do," he said; " but one thing is 
 quite sure, whether my wife forgives me or not whether 
 she quarrels with me or not, I owe all my life to you. I 
 am grateful to you, and I will prove my gratitude; you 
 shall be a rich man ; you have worked hard for me, and 
 you shall be generously repaid you shall not need to 
 work any more. You have chased from my life its darkest 
 perplexities; whatever new troubles may be in store for me, 
 the old ones are ended; now I know my true position 
 my wife is living and well I know that I can marry no 
 other woman. I know the struggle now that lies before 
 me. I can meet it; but to you I owe a debt of gratitude 
 which must be eternal." 
 
 Tears of emotion dimmed his eyes, and he held out his 
 hand to the man who had worked so hard in his cause. 
 
 "I thank you," he said, simply. "Money can never 
 repay what you have done I thank you." 
 
 And Michael Droski, looking in the handsome, face, 
 said: 
 
 " This is the proudest moment of my life, your grace 
 the very proudest. I think," he continued, "that I will 
 leave your grace now; my \vorkis ended, the rest all lies 
 in your hands; whether you claim the lady, whether you 
 speak to her at once, or whatever you do, I am quite at 
 your service should my evidence be needed. Your grace 
 knows my address at Finchley a line there at any time 
 will bring me here. I think it will be as well, perhaps, 
 to wait for a few days now before I see your grace again." 
 
 A few minutes afterward he was gone, leaving the Duke 
 of Castlemayne standing puzzled, bewildered, and most 
 uncertain what to do. 
 
 One thing he did do, and no one will think any the
 
 294 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 worse of him. He knelt down, his face buried in his 
 hands, and thanked Heaven with his whole heart. 
 
 Whatever else might betide, she was found. The in- 
 tolerable suspense of not knowing whether she was living 
 or dead was no longer his the uncertain future need no 
 longer be dreaded. She must do one of two things 
 either forgive him and come back to him, or there must 
 be a separation. Let it be which way it would the horror 
 was ended, was over; and it seemed to him that then only 
 did he realize the intolerable suspense and anguish of 
 these years. He felt like a tired man to whom come sud- 
 denly a sweet sensation of rest. He could have lain down 
 there and then and slept soundly. 
 
 The weight was off his shoulders, he could sleep in 
 peace ; he sat down for a few minutes to collect his 
 thoughts. So that was Naomi, that proud, beautiful 
 woman, whose every gesture was full of imperial pride 
 and grace that was his fair young wife, Naomi, who had 
 loved him so well ; how changed, not only in figure, but 
 in heart and mind ; how proudly and coldly they looked 
 at him now, those sweet eyes ! how proudly the sweet 
 lips curved when they smiled! It was all his own fault, 
 it was he who had changed her, he who had turned that 
 sweet, loving nature into bitterness. 
 
 " Naomi is found ! " he said the words over and over 
 again to himself, so as to fix them on his brain; the sweet, 
 loving young wife he had lost so long ago, she whom he 
 had treated with such cruel cowardice. 
 
 She was his wife legally, lawfully his, and he had loved 
 her with all the fierce, wild, sweet passion of first love, 
 but he did not know how to meet her, he was at a loss 
 what he should do. He could not go up to her, take her 
 hand, and say to her: " Naomi, I have found you at last." 
 She would wither him with the scorn of her beautiful 
 face and the flash of her beautiful eyes ; he must wait 
 and think what to do; there was no hurry for a few hours, 
 or even for a few days, and he must think long and 
 seriously about it ; so much would depend on the first 
 step he took. 
 
 Then a fierce longing seized him to look upon her. She 
 was under his roof, this imperially beautiful woman who 
 had half London at her feet. She was near him in two 
 loiuutes he could look upon her face, listen to her voice,
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 296 
 
 touch her hand. How could he help falling on his knees 
 before her and crying out: 
 
 "Oh, Naomi, my wife!" 
 
 He must go back and look at her he must see what 
 were the changes in that beautiful face, and why he could 
 not recognize her. He would not think of the Lady Val- 
 entine; he said to Limself that he should go inad if he 
 stopped there any longer. He was going to see Naomi; 
 he had thought of the night when he waited for her in 
 his study at Kood Castle, the summer wind stirring the 
 ivy on the grand old walls, and the moonlight falling like 
 silver beams, and now, after twelve years of absence, he 
 was going to look at her again. 
 
 He walked slowly back to the ball-room, his face and 
 lips quite white, his eyes troubled, and just as he crossed 
 the broad corridor the Duchess of Castlemayne swept in 
 her rich satin and jewels across the lower end of the halL 
 
 "BertranI," she cried, " my dear boy, how very ill you 
 look, and where have you been all this time ? Let me 
 ring for some wine; come in here for a few minutes. 
 
 She turned aside to the morning-room, and he followed 
 her. 
 
 The Duchess of Castlemayne laid her fan on the table, 
 and turned \vith anxious eyes to him. 
 
 "My dearest boy," she said, "you are not well I you 
 must have some wine." 
 
 He flung himself into the nearest chair. 
 
 " You are right, mother, I am not well, and I will have 
 some wine." 
 
 i She rang for it, and he drank it quickly; it revived him, 
 and he said: 
 
 "I knew that I wanted something, and that must har 
 been it. Thank you, mother, you are always kind." 
 
 It was true; she was proud, haughty, imperious by na- 
 ture; but there was one thing quite certain, she loved her 
 son with a passionate love. She had been imperious and 
 almost intolerably despotic over him, but she worshipped 
 him as the greatest treasure she had on earth. She never 
 failed in kindness to him. He drew her beautiful proud 
 face down to the level of his own ; he had laid his head on 
 her breast, longing with all his heart to tell her his story, 
 but the old fear and the old shamo were too strong upoa 
 lain he could not.
 
 296 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 " Where have you been, Bertrand ?" she asked, at lasi 
 " I have missed you so long. ' 
 
 " I had to see some one on business," he replied. 
 
 " Business, my dear, at midnight, and when you were 
 so busily engaged, too. It must have been of strange im- 
 portance." 
 
 " It was, mother; the person I saw had been abroad, 
 and had only just returned to England; I was obliged to 
 see him. I did not know I had been so long away. We 
 will go back to the ball-room. What a success your ball 
 has been, mother." 
 
 To his great relief the duchess said she would follow 
 him in a few minutes. He wanted to be alone when he 
 saw Naomi, for the first time knowing who she was. The 
 duchess laid her white jeweled hand on his head. 
 
 "I am not satisfied, Bertrand," she said; "you look ill; 
 your face and lips are quite white, and your head burns. 
 Ah, my dear, be careful of yourself you are all I have in 
 the world." 
 
 " I am all right, mother," he said, " there is nothing 
 the matter with me." 
 
 " I have sworn to myself," said the duchess, " never to 
 Bay one more word on the subject, but it is so terrible to 
 me that it is almost a nightmare. Bertrand, ask yourself 
 what I, your mother, should do, if anything happened to 
 you, and the son of the woman I hate became Lord of 
 Castlemayne before I die ? Have you ever contemplated 
 such a thing ? I have." 
 
 His face quivered with emotion as he kissed her 
 again. 
 
 " Have no fear, mother, I am not ill, I never was better, 
 and trust to me I shall have good news for you soon 
 trust me." 
 
 And she watched him back to the ball-room, his head 
 rect and his eyes filled with a bright, happy light. 
 
 CHAPTEE LTV. 
 "THE NAME i LOVE BEST." 
 
 HE must be alone when he saw her, lest happy cries or 
 loving words should fall, against his will, from his lips. 
 He could not bear that any creature should be a witness 
 of his emotion that any should b* near
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 297 
 
 The mugic of one of Strauss's waltzes sounded clearly 
 and distinctly as he reached the ball-room ; he heard the 
 measured rhythm of light feet, the rustle of rich silk, 
 the slight murmur of silvery voices, and laughter. He 
 did not see her at first ; he stood leaning against the pedes- 
 tal of the beautiful statue of Hebe Hebe, in white marble, 
 with clustering crimson roses at her feet. He leaned 
 with his elbow on the top of the pedestal, watching 
 the fair women who passed and repassed ; but he did not 
 see her for whom his soul looked out of his eves. At last 
 the number of dancers grew less, and then he saw her. 
 
 She was talking to the Prince De Ligne, a fair-haired, 
 handsome Frenchman, whose eyes were bent in earnest 
 admiration on her face. The light in the rubies seemed 
 to gleam and glitter like sharp points of crimson flame; 
 the rich white silk fell in graceful folds round her 
 queenly figure. She had the proud, graceful bearing of 
 an empress, and the prince looked like one of her sub- 
 jects. 
 
 And this was Naomi, his fair, young wife; this regal, 
 imperial lady, with the rubies in her hair Naomi, the 
 sweet, tender, gentle girl, who had loved him so dearly. 
 
 It was most incredible. There was not the faintest 
 resemblance in figure. 
 
 Naomi had been very slender and girlish this lady 
 was in full perfection of a glorious womanhood, much 
 taller than when he had lost her. The golden-brown 
 hair had a deeper sheen; the features seemed to have 
 changed, and to have grown more perfect and regular. 
 And, then, as he looked at her more and more earnestly, 
 the face of his girl love was there again; there could be 
 no other such eyes, no other such curves on the beautiful 
 lips. The longer he looked at her, the more he wondered 
 that he had not from the first recognized her. Yet how 
 could he have dreamed that this beautiful Naomi was 
 one of the wealthiest heiresses in England. The girl 
 who had been sent in shame and disgrace from the 
 stately walls of Eood Castle was sought after now by 
 peers and princes. How could he ever have dreamed of 
 such a change ? 
 
 He would never have been surprised to find her among 
 the poor and lowly ; he had never in his dreams fancied 
 her in any other class.
 
 298 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 She was looking with a smile at the prince a beauti- 
 ful smile, that seemed to begin in her eyes and end on 
 her lips. He remembered the smile ; but it had been 
 more sweet and more shy when she was his Naomi. 
 
 He recognized her at last ; he felt now that even had 
 he never heard Michael Droski's story, it must, in time, 
 have dawned upon him who she was he must have 
 guessed it in time. All the longing of his heart and soul 
 seemed to go out through his eyes ; he felt that he could 
 never address her again as a stranger, yet she evidently 
 did not intend to be anything but a stranger to him. 
 
 One or two passing by him spoke jestingly to him ; the 
 dancing was at an end for a few minutes, and the dancers 
 went off for refreshments. Naomi was coming in his 
 direction, the Prince de Ligne walking by her side 
 coming nearer to him. His wife, whose name he dare 
 not utter, passed so near to him that the rich silk touched 
 him, and the perfume of the flowers she carried reached 
 him. 
 
 He longed, with unutterable longing, to cry out 
 " Naomi, my darling, come to me." But the beautiful 
 eyes looked at him with the cold, proud, clear glance of 
 a stranger. 
 
 His breath came in thick, hot gasps; his heart beat loud 
 and fast. Such pain came into his eyes that she, glancing 
 carelessly at him as she passed, involuntarily hesitated for 
 half a moment, then went on, with a murmured word of 
 kindness on her lips. Could it be Naomi oh, Heaven 
 with a stranger's smile for him ? 
 
 On the impulse of the moment he followed her. No 
 matter if twenty princes were by her side no matter, she 
 must speak to him, and he must see if there was any trace 
 of Naomi in the queenly woman's ways. He followed 
 them down the long ball-room, where Naomi took a seat, 
 where tier after tier of fragrant blossoms sent out rich 
 perfume. The prince stood for a few minutes by her side, 
 and no one liked to Interrupt thelele a-tete; then the prince 
 had to leave her in search of his partner, and the duke 
 immediately took his place. She turned her head with 
 careless, queenly grace. 
 
 "You are not dancing much to-night, duke," said she. 
 
 " Ah, no, it can not be Naomi ?" his whole soul cried 
 Out in passionate anguish. Naomi could nevr speak 89
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 299 
 
 to him. He had been lier heart's idol, aud she spoke now 
 lightly, coolly, carelessly, as though she was the stranger 
 he had believed her to be." 
 
 " I do not feel quite in humor for it," he replied. "Why 
 could he not break the trammels of silence, why not cry 
 out to her then and there, " You are my wife, Naomi;" he 
 could not. 
 
 " You are not looking quite so weh 1 to-day," she said, 
 and she drew aside the rich white silk, that he might 
 take a seat by her side. 
 
 He wondered if she could hear his heart beating if 
 she could guess at his torture of agitation and pain but, 
 surely not, for her smile was calm and bright. He looked 
 into her face into her eyes; there was not the faintest 
 shadow of betrayal there. 
 
 " I suppose," she said, " every one should be in the 
 humor for dancing if they come to a baD, but I like watch- 
 ing others dance, quite as much as dancing myself. This 
 has been a splendid ball. I do not know that I have ever 
 seen so many beautiful women, or such exquisite toilets." 
 
 " We are happy and fortunate in pleasing you," he said, 
 " You see so many brilliant entertainments." 
 
 " I see a great deal," she replied, quietly. 
 
 "How Lady Valentine enjoys dancing," he said, hoping 
 to see some change in her face at the mention of that 
 name, but she smiled lightly as she answered: 
 
 " Yes, she enjoys it thoroughly, and she dances ex- 
 quisitely. I consider her the most graceful dancer in the 
 room." 
 
 Could it be Naomi? Ah, no! impossible. He had 
 been mad or dreaming, or Droski was mad. What had 
 this fair, cold, proud queen to do with Naomi? He 
 thought of something which would be a test of some 
 question he could ask which would either confuse or sur- 
 prise her. 
 
 "Valentine is a strange name for a girl, is it not ? " he 
 said, suddenly. "The St. Valentine of old was a man. I 
 wonder the name is given indiscriminately now to boys 
 and girls. I think there is a great character in names," 
 he continued, nervously. " No other names would suit 
 Lord Arden's daughter one-half so well the frank, light 
 tenderness and simple candor that distinguish her, are all 
 ia her name. I wonder it is a piece of downright
 
 300 THE DUSK'S SECRET*. 
 
 rudeness, I know but have so often wondered whal 
 your Christian name is. I am sure that it is an uncommon 
 one." 
 
 "Why should you think so?" she cried, laughingly, 
 but of embarrassment or confusAon there was not the 
 faintest trace of it in her eyes or face not the most 
 trifling. 
 
 "I do not answer," because you yourself are of an 
 uncommon type," he said. " You must know that I have 
 often thought and wondered what your name was 
 whether you had been named after a flower, a queen, a 
 goddess, or what." 
 
 She laughed aloud the sweet, musical laugh he loved 
 so much. 
 
 "Nothing so poetical," she replied. My name is what 
 people call a Bible name can you guess it ? " 
 
 She looked at him quite calmly, quietly, with frank, 
 wide open eyes so frank that his heart chilled again. 
 This could not be his sweet, sensitive Naomi. 
 
 "If you will guess," she said, " I will tell you when 
 you are right." 
 
 His heart almost stopped beating when he looked at her, 
 
 " I am very much afraid," he said, " that I do not know 
 as many Bible names as I ought. Some of them are very 
 fine. I can not think of one that suits you." 
 
 " Try," she said, with a very encouraging smile. 
 
 "Hester, or Esther, Judith, Ruth?" 
 
 He lingered on the word Ruth it was very near to 
 Naomi, he thought. She shook her head with a smiJe. 
 
 " Not yet," she said, " not yet." 
 
 "I am at a loss; it is not Vashti, I am sure is it 
 Miriam ?" 
 
 "You have guessed accurately," she said. "It in 
 Miriam." And indeed her name was Naomi Miriam 
 Wynter ; in all probability he had never heard of the second 
 name; she had never used it until now. 
 
 "Miriam is one of the finest names in the language/' 
 she continued; " I think I prefer it to any other. But you 
 look disappointed, duke," 
 
 He was perplexed. She looked so frank, so fair, so can- 
 did. Was she playing with him, teasing hiro, or telling 
 him the truth ? Dare he venture to ay someth.vag more ?
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 301 
 
 If she was really Naomi it could not hurt her; if she were 
 not she would not understand it. 
 
 "The name I love best in the whole wide world," he 
 aid, "is Noami." 
 
 And for half a moment there was profound silence; it 
 lasted but for half a moment, yet he could hear the beating 
 of his own heart. 
 
 She repeated the word after him, quite calmly. 
 
 " Naomi," she said. " Yes, it is a pretty name; but, I 
 Denture to think, slightly old-fashioned." 
 
 "I love it," he said, "and with reason." 
 
 " Reason rules us all," she quoted, laughingly. 
 
 He looked at her earnestly, lingeringly; but there was 
 not the faintest sign in her face ; she might have been the 
 most perfect stranger to him. 
 
 "You seem to understand the philosophy of names," 
 she said. 
 
 "I do not understand the philosophy of life," he added; 
 " if I did I should be a happier man." 
 
 "Philosophy and gray hairs come together," she an- 
 Bwered, laughing; and the next moment a little group of 
 dancers had formed a circle round her. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 " I WOULD SOONER BE DEAD." 
 
 THE brilliant ball was ended, and the duke saw Mr. 
 Glynton escorting Lady Belle Chalmers to her carriage. 
 He turned to look where that gentleman's beautiful heiress 
 was, and found her surrounded by gentlemen; one held 
 her bouquet, another her fan; each seemed anxious to take 
 her to the carriage door, but the duke took possession of 
 her. 
 
 "I have been searching for you, Miss Glynton," he 
 Baid. " Permit me." 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm without one word, and 
 the little court of admirers fell back; there was something 
 in the duke's face that made an impression on them. 
 With his own hands he drew the mass of crimson and 
 gold round her beautiful shoulders, speaking no word, 
 but looking at her with his whole heart in his eyes. 
 
 " I shall see that you are safely placed in the carriage,* 
 he said; "Mr. Glynton is engaged."
 
 801 THE DUKE'S SECMS*. 
 
 He would go with her, and he did, to the astonishment 
 of his own servants. He stood bareheaded by the carriage 
 door, anxious that she was well wrapped. Lady Bell 
 was with them; Mr. Glynton had offered to set her down. 
 "The night air is sweet enough," said Naomi; " it will 
 not hurt me.' 
 
 " It is like many other things, both sweet and danger- 
 ous," said the duke, and a smile rippled over his beauti- 
 ful face. 
 
 " You speak in epigrams to-night," she said, carelessly. 
 She did what was very unusual for her; she held out 
 her pretty gloved hand to bid him good-night. 
 
 The duke held it perhaps for one moment longer than 
 etiquette required. She did not hear the passionate 
 murmur that fell from his lips. He longed with his 
 whole heart to cry out to her there and then: "Tell me, 
 for Heaven's sake are you my wife, Naomi?" 
 
 He feared that if she vanished from Lis sight before he 
 had wrung the truth from her he should never know it. 
 He felt inclined to clasp her in his arms and keep her at 
 any cost. 
 
 He felt that she withdrew her hands in some little won- 
 der while she said " Good-night." 
 
 He must let her go with his hungry desire for the truth 
 tmsatisfied. He could not detain her; even now Mr. 
 Glynton was looking at him in some little wonder. 
 
 " Good-night," he said slowly, and the next moment 
 no beautiful face was between him and the stars in 
 heaven. He returned to the house with a wild sense of 
 his own inability to cope with the situation. 
 
 The ball-room was rapidly thinning; his beautiful 
 mother, quite indefatigable, was still doing the honors; 
 but Lady Valentine was not dancing, and he went up to 
 her at once. It seemed like an inspiration from heaven 
 that he should go to her in his difficulties and take coun- 
 sel from her. What would she think of the news he had 
 to tell? 
 
 He went up to her, and his heart smote him when he 
 saw how her whole face brightened when she saw him. 
 
 " Valentine," he said, gently, " I want to talk to you. I 
 must see you alone, and to-night. I have something very 
 particular co say to you. How long will it It* before 
 these people go, do you think f *
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 303 
 
 She looked round the ball-room with quick cyea, noting 
 the number of dancers. 
 
 " An hour longer, I should think," she replied. 
 
 " Where can I see you, Valentine ? It will hardly do 
 for us to leave the room together, but will you go to th 
 picture-gallery, and I will follow you in a few minutes." 
 
 It was no unusual thing to seek the picture-gallery for 
 cooler air; it was brilliantly lighted, and there was a re- 
 freshing sweep of the summer wind from one of the long, 
 open windows. Lady Valentine looked round on the 
 pretty picturesque gallery; it was not a large one, and the 
 family portraits were not there; but it contained a few 
 fine works by the old masters, and some by modern artists; 
 the deep bay-windows were shrouded by rich hangings, 
 there was a rich crimson carpet on the floor, and a few 
 fine statues. Lady Valentine sat down, wondering what 
 had caused the duke's agitation, and what he wisned to 
 see her for, and the next moment he was by her side. 
 With her frank impulse she took the hand that he had 
 laid on her shoulder, and elapsed it in her own. 
 
 " I can see that you are in trouble," she said, in a low 
 voice. " How white and ill you look; how I wish all your 
 suspense and misery was ended. " 
 
 " It is ended, Valentine : at least the suspense of it," 
 he replied, gravely; but the sudden paling of her lips re- 
 minded him that she had a vital interest in what he had 
 to say; to her it would make all the difference in the 
 world whether his wife were living or dead ; he must be 
 cautious, and break the astounding intelligence gently to 
 her; he felt the hand that touched his own grow deadly 
 cold, and he remembered, with bitter pain that she loved 
 him with her whole heart, and he had to tell her that his 
 wife was living. 
 
 " You have had news. I know you have seen Droski. 
 Oh, duke, what does he say ? Is she is she living 
 found?" 
 
 The pale, quivering lips could hardly articulate the 
 words, and the Duke of Castlemayne felt as though he 
 were about to plunge a sword in that loving heart. 
 
 " I have the strangest news for you, Valentine," he 
 said. " It is so wonderful that even I, whom it concerns 
 most, can hardly believe it, yet I know it to be true. It 
 relieves me of one kind of suspense, but it deepens my
 
 304 THE DUKE'S 
 
 suspense in another way. I was wretched before, but it 
 seems to me my wretchedness is redoubled. I feel as 
 though I could not tell you, Valentine as though I can 
 hardly hope that YOU will believe one word that I say. 
 Valentine, my wife -is living and found." 
 
 She was quite silent; the pallor of her face, and the 
 chill of her hands alarmed him; he did not like to break 
 that silence even by a sigh. 
 
 The moments were like hours to him with that silent, 
 drooping figure by his side; at last, and by a supreme ef- 
 fort of strength and will, she raised her face to his. 
 
 " I am so glad, if it be to your happiness," she said, gen- 
 tly. " I am glad she is living. I am glad she it found. I 
 am glad of anything that makes you happy 
 
 "Thank you. I knew you would be kind, Valentine, 
 and I have come to you in my trouble, for it is great; she 
 is living she is here in London." 
 
 Looking at her, he saw in spite of her efforts, her face 
 quivering with pain. 
 
 "In London," she cried, faintly; *' so near to us. How 
 strange. Did he bring her with him ?" 
 
 "No, she came first," he replied, and in that moment the 
 great and powerful Duke of Castlemayne would have given 
 something to have found himself a thousand miles away. 
 
 " Came first and did not come straight to you. That 
 ueems strange," she said in a low voice. 
 
 "I have news stranger still; I do not think she will 
 ever come to me again. I will tell you all that haa 
 passed, and you will decide for yourself what you think." 
 Still he could not find the courage to say to her in 
 so many words: " Miss Glynton is my wife." It seemed 
 to him that he had not realized the full force of the news 
 until he had to communicate it to another. " Valentine, 
 will you believe that I have seen my wife without recog- 
 nizing her, that I have met her time after time, have 
 talked to her, and yet I had not the faintest notion of 
 her identity, not the faintest ?" 
 
 She looked at him with unutterable surprise. 
 
 ' Is that possible ? I should not have thought it so." 
 
 " It is more than possible, it is true, and you have done 
 this same thing. You have spent many hours with her, 
 and have talked much with her." 
 
 " To your wife," she said, shudderingly.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 805 
 
 *' Yes, to my wife. She has been here to-night, Valen- 
 tine. She was at the ball." 
 
 " Your wife," she repeated again, " here to-night." 
 
 " Yes; one of my mother's most honored guests one 
 of the fairest and proudest women present," he went on. 
 
 " You know by sight and by name every lady who was 
 here this evening; is there one whom, under any guise, 
 you could imagine to be my wife ?" 
 
 " No," she replied," quickly, " not one. Besides which 
 we know them all, their families and histories; there was 
 no stranger present." 
 
 " She is no stranger to us," he replied. " Oh, Valen- 
 tine, can you not guess ?" 
 
 "Indeed I can not," she said, "thinking over every 
 lady present to-night I can not imagine one whom there 
 is the least probability that you should recognize as your 
 wife." 
 
 "Yes, she was here; the queen, they said, of the ball." 
 
 " There is only one person whom I should hate it to 
 be," she cried, " only one from all London, from all the 
 world. I would rather it were any one than this one" 
 
 Her face grew whiter than death, her lips trembled. 
 
 " Say, oh, surely it is not the only woman in the world 
 whom I dislike; Heaven itself could not be so cruel as 
 that." 
 
 " Who is it you dislike so much ?" he asked, knowing, 
 yet dreading the answer. 
 
 "It is Miss Glynton," she replied; "she is the only 
 woman who has ever made me feel jealous or unhappy. 
 Ah, duke, do not say do not tell me that it is Miss Glyn- 
 ton, the only one creature living whom I dislike." 
 
 She clung to him with almost hysterical passion, her fair 
 white arms and hands tossed in wild passion. 
 
 " I will not have it," she cried; you shall not say her 
 name; any other I welcome and love for your sake, but 
 not that one. She has hurt me so; she hurt me when she 
 took you away from me. I would sooner be dead than 
 that she the proud, cold, beautiful woman should come 
 back as your wife I would sooner be dead. 
 
 Her head dropped, she fell on her knees by the old oaken 
 chair, and buried her face in her hands. 
 
 He had never seen a woman weep as she wept then, 
 Mid he stood by helpless, not knowing what to say, longing
 
 306 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 with all his heart to console her, yet with a strong sense 
 that he must use no more loving words to her. 
 
 He had suffered much since the days of his folly, he had 
 seen others suffer, too; but his heart had never been so 
 riven with anguish as when he stood by Lady Valentine's 
 side, and could find no word to comfort her. 
 
 CHAPTER LVL 
 
 "HER CHARACTER HAS CERTAINLY CHANGED." 
 
 " VALENTINE," said the duke, gently, " every tear of yours 
 is a stab to me. What can I say or do to comfort you ? 
 I wish I had died rather than have brought this trouble 
 on you. How can I comfort you ?" 
 
 The despair in his voice touched her more than his 
 words; she tried to still the terrible sobs that choked her; 
 she tried to stop the rain of tears. Nothing could have 
 touched her so keenly as to know that she was giving him 
 pain. 
 
 " How can I comfort you ?" he cried. " Oh, miserable 
 that I am I, who would have saved you from all trouble. 
 Valentine, my dear, your tears are killing me." 
 
 Then she rose from her knees, and he drew her near to 
 him. The girlish, slender figure trembled with emotion, 
 the fair young face was drowned in tears. 
 
 "I am sorry," she said. "Do not let my tears hurt you 
 they have done me good. Is it true, duke, and sure, 
 without mistake ?" 
 
 " I believe so. There seems no reason to doubt Droski; 
 he has complete evidence, complete proof. But, Valentine, 
 it seems more like a fairy tale or a romance than anything 
 else. Naomi was so pure, so sweet and simple, so friend- 
 less; Miss Glynton is so rich, so honored. I should never 
 have dreamed of looking for my lost wife in the ranks of 
 the proudest and most exclusive of women. I have sor- 
 rowed often over a picture of Naomi working hard for her 
 daily bread, but I never thought of her in affluence and 
 magnificence." 
 
 " No, nor did I," said Lady Valentine. " Of course, if 
 she is your lost wife, that changes everything. What 
 seemed to be bold and forward before I knew this, now 
 appears to be quite natural; she had a right to your timt
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 307 
 
 and attention. You did not in the least recognize her, 
 did you?" 
 
 "No, not at all; it was the last idea that could have 
 entered my head." 
 
 "But why did she not make herself known to you? 
 Why has sbe kept up this mystery and disguise? I do 
 not understand it." 
 
 " Nor do I, and that is the reason why I felt that I must 
 consult you at once and know what you think. I am 
 quite puzzled over it. If she never intended to come back 
 to me why did she come to London ? I can not absolutely 
 say that she sought us, but she could have avoided us, 
 even more easily than she had visited us; no one forced 
 her to know us; my mother was introduced to her, but 
 she could have declined that introduction; she need not 
 have followed it up; she need not have known me or 
 you, but she seemed to do both; she never showed the 
 slightest avoidance of us." 
 
 "No, she did not," said Lady Valentine, musingly. 
 " That is quite true." 
 
 " I can not understand her motives at all," said the duke. 
 " If she did not wish or intend to know me, or even to 
 return to me, why has she purposely sought our acquaint- 
 ance ? If she ever intends to know me why has she not 
 made herself known to me ?" 
 
 "It is strange," said Lady Valentine; "perhaps she 
 has been waiting to see if you love her enough to penetrate 
 the disguise." 
 
 " I do not think she wishes me to find her out," said the 
 duke, quickly; "indeed, if it were not that I am sure 
 Droski is right and would never tell such a story without 
 ground for it but for my firm faith in him, I should say 
 it was a dream. 
 
 " After he had told me, Valentine," said the duke. " I 
 went to look at her. You can understand the feeling that 
 drove me. I looked long and earnestly at her, then 
 gradually I saw the likeness, and the face of my young 
 wife seemed to grow before my eyes. I could have 
 cursed my stupidity that I had not seen it before, the 
 gesture of her hands, the play of her features, the curves 
 of her lipa I wondered how it could have escaped me. 
 She came sailing down the room with the Prince de Ligne; 
 her dress touched me as she passed; she looked at mt
 
 $08 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 with careless eyes, a careless smile, and I Oh, Valen- 
 tine, the truth was in my eyes, and she must have read it 
 there." 
 
 "Soon afterward I saw her alone, and I resolved to 
 tell her; her calm and serene indifference piqued me 
 angered me. I resolved to tell her. I went up to her 
 and took a seat by her side; we began to talk; I purposely 
 led the conversation to the subject of names, and asked 
 hers. 
 
 " I looked at her as I did so straight in the face. Hers 
 never changed; her eyes did not fall; there was not even 
 the faintest ripple over the calm of her features. She 
 told me her name was a Bible name could I guess it ? I 
 said ' Ruth ' among others, very softly and distinctly it 
 is so allied to Naomi that one seldom hears one without 
 thinking of the other. She laughed even gayly, and 
 when I said ' Miriam,' she answered, ' Yes, my name is 
 Miriam.' That is a plain proof to me that she never in- 
 tends me to recognize her." 
 
 " Of course," said Lauy Valentine, " it is just possible 
 that she might have a middle name without your knowing 
 it" 
 
 "I never heard of it; my mother spoke of her as 
 Naomi Wynter; but whether it be so or not, the fact that 
 she conceals her name Naomi shows me quite plainly 
 she did not intend for me to know her." 
 
 " It looks like it said Lady Valentine. " The position is 
 just a few degrees more awkward than it was before; of 
 course, she Naomi, I had better call her does know 
 how diligently you have sought her all these years." 
 
 "No, she can not possibly know that," he replied. 
 
 " Nor does she know that this detective has followed so 
 closely on her track, and has made himself master of her 
 position and of her story." 
 
 " No certainly she knows nothing of that," said the 
 duke; still I can not see what difference her knowledge 
 of that would make." 
 
 "Perhaps," said Lady Valentine, "she had some plan 
 of her own; she may have said to herself that she would 
 wait so long a time and watch you." 
 
 The duke shook his head gravely. 
 
 "She is not one of that kind," he said, "she loved mt
 
 THE DUKE'S 3E0BET. 309 
 
 too dearly, Valentine ; but now I know that she must hate 
 and despise me." 
 
 "Do you think that she has come back in all the 
 bravery of her splendor to show you what you have 
 
 ' 
 
 " I can not tell; but no, I think not; I can not fancy 
 that she could ever be guilty of an unworthy action, or 
 that she could ever act from an unworthy motive; she 
 was so sweet, so simple, and free from all w'orldliness; no, 
 I can not think thafc, Valentine." 
 
 " Her character has certainly changed since then. I do 
 not find one fault with her, or criticise her, but we must 
 both own that she is a woman of the world." 
 
 " Yes, I should say she is," replied the duke. 
 
 " Then if she's changed in one respect, why not in others; 
 perhaps, though it seems hard to say, perhaps she does 
 not love you now." 
 
 "It may be so; I cannot tell," said the duke; "but, 
 Valentine, what do you advise me to do ? Shall I speak 
 to her and tell her that I recognize her, and o#k her to 
 come back to me, or shall I go in this uncertainty, which 
 is enough to drive any man mad; what would you 
 advise ?" 
 
 " I am at a loss," she replied. " I tell you frankly that it 
 seems to me even a more difficult position than what it 
 was before. You must feel very grateful to Droski," she 
 added, with unconscious satire. 
 
 " I am grateful; I do not think there is another man in 
 all the world who would have solved the mystery for me." 
 
 "You will reward him handsomely?" she said. 
 
 " That I shall, most handsomely; it sets the great ques- 
 tion of my life at rest. I have found her now, the only 
 thing I have to know is this, will she forgive me, or will 
 she refuse ?" 
 
 "No one can tell; but it seems to me as though she 
 would refuse," said Lady Valentine, and there was surely 
 no despair in her face; " then what shall you do ?" 
 
 " I must be guided by circumstances," he replied. " I 
 do not see my way clear at all." 
 
 Then Lady Valentine looked up to him with tender 
 eyes. 
 
 " You have not told me one word about your little son," 
 he said,
 
 $10 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Nor do I know ore word to tell you, Valentine, " nai 
 one." 
 
 Droski could make nothing out about the boy. She 
 certainly took him with her from England. She must have 
 found a home for him somewhere in America. He never 
 went to her uncle's house, for her uncle never knew that 
 she had been married. That is another reason why I 
 should like to know what has become of my child. I 
 should like to see him; my heart aches when I think of 
 him. I was a miserable coward. I did wrong, but I have 
 been awfully punished. Do you know, Valentine, there 
 are times when I think my punishment greater than my 
 crime." 
 
 " She would not think so. Tour denial of her would 
 seem so cruel and hard to bear. There is something on 
 her side, you know." 
 
 "I admit it," said the duke; " conscience makes cowarda 
 of us all. I tell you honestly, Valentine, there is something 
 about her that awes me. I feel a reluctance to go to her 
 and ask her the straightforward question as to whether she 
 is my wife." 
 
 " It will come to that," said Lady Valentine. 
 
 And then he told her the whole story just as Droslq 
 had told it to him. She listened in wonder; her first 
 thoughts seemed to be marvelous; her second, wondei 
 at the good fortune of the girl. 
 
 "I have read of such things of men who have made 
 marvelous fortunes, and of relations who have been found 
 and adopted, but I never expected in real life to meet 
 such." 
 
 " It is a romance," said the duke; "but, oh, Valentine, 
 I wish she had come back to me poor and more like she 
 was when she left me. I shall never find my simple, 
 sweet Naomi again in this superb lady. "What shall I 
 do?" 
 
 "I should do nothing just yet," she replied. "The news 
 has been a shock to you a great shock; get over that, 
 and take a few days to think it well over." 
 
 And the duke thought that was the best advice 
 take on the subject
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 311 
 
 CHAPTEK LVIL 
 
 ** THAT MT WIFE IT CAN NOT BE 1" 
 
 MICHAEL DROSKI was made a rich man. The sum that 
 Went from the duke's backer to his was something almost 
 fabulous; but he had worked hard for it and deserved it. 
 The duke spent a long time in looking over the papers 
 and documents and copies of papers that he had 
 brought with him. Nothing could be more clear; and he 
 saw at once that there was not the faintest lingering 
 chance of any mistake. It seemed clear as the noonday 
 Bun in the heavens that Mass Glynton was really and truly 
 his lost wife, Naomi Wynter. 
 
 While there had been even ever so faint a doubt, ever 
 o faint a chance that there had been a mistake, the duke 
 had felt almost a reprieve; but now it was clear to him 
 as though she herself had told him who she was. How 
 was he to approach her, this stately imperial lady, at whose 
 feet this great world was sighing, he did not know. Did 
 she care for him ? Mighty duke as he was, would she con- 
 ider it in no way honor to share his name and his title ? 
 
 He asked himself one question; and even in his own 
 heart he could hardly answer it. It was this Which of 
 the two did he love best Lady Valentine, or the grandly 
 beautiful woman whom he had made his wife ? All the 
 fire, poetry and passion of his youth seemed to awake and 
 to be renewed within him when he thought of her. Yet 
 the tender compassion and loving affection he had for 
 Lady Valentine seemed to him as great. 
 
 The time was rapidly coming now when he must take 
 Borne steps in the matter. It was evident to him that 
 Naomi did not intend to make herself known to him; that 
 she would probably leave London without in the least be- 
 traying her identity. The London season was almost over, 
 and he had heard of several places where she had promised 
 to visit. If she went away now he did not see in what 
 fashion he could meet her again. He must take some 
 steps. 
 
 It astonished him to find himself so overawed by her. 
 Why could he not go up to her and say, " Naomi, my 
 wife, I know you ! " Between him and her stood the 
 recollection of his cruel cowardice, the long, chilling
 
 312 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 separation of twelve years, a distance further and wider 
 than that of the grave. And during the days that his 
 doubts and fears assailed him most strongly, the duke 
 was one of the most unhappy men in England. 
 
 He saw her next at an afternoon concert given by the 
 Duchess of Westeven for the benefit of some charity which 
 engrossed fashionable attention. The duchess had gener- 
 ously thrown open her magnificent rooms, and the con- 
 cert was given at Westeven House. 
 
 It was most fashionably and numerously attended; 
 the beauties gathered in full force, and les elegantes 
 also Lady Valentine Arden and Miss Glynton, Lady 
 Layard; there was also a cluster of Belgravian matrons, 
 with the Duchess of Castlemayne at their head. The 
 duke escorted the ladies of his household; and from 
 where she sat, to her great interest, Lady Valentine saw 
 that she was paler than usual; that the grand beauty was 
 softened, and even increased, by the veil of tenderness 
 and thought. Her toilet was simple and elegant. A 
 dress of cream-colored silk trimmed with gold and orna- 
 ments of gold. She wore a eucharist lily in her hair and 
 one in the bodice of her dress. But this time no resent- 
 ment rose bitter in Lady Valentine's gentle breast. If 
 this were really his wife let her do anything in the world 
 she would try to bring about a reconciliation between 
 them. 
 
 Afterward Lady Valentine could never speak of the con- 
 cert for the simple reason that she never heard one note 
 of the music; she was wholly engaged in watching her 
 rival, who was quite unconscious of her gaze. 
 
 She watched the different expressions of that beautiful 
 face ; how a tender phrase of music softened it, how a 
 martial phrase brightened it, how a sorrowful phrase 
 shadowed it. 
 
 " That woman has lived under a disguise," said Valen- 
 tine to herself; " she has tried to seem careless, proud and 
 cold, while she is none of the three." 
 
 Once Lady Valentine saw her look at the duke, and 
 after that one glance she never again doubted for one mo- 
 ment that Miss Glynton was the duke's wife. 
 
 She was looking at him, as she believed, quite unper- 
 ceived; and for once her heart shone in her eyes. Lady 
 Valentine leaned back faint and pale in her chair; there
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 313 
 
 was no mistaking such a glance as thai Then the duke 
 leaned over the back of the chair and whispered to her. 
 
 " Valentine, I have been watching her, and I have come 
 to the conclusion that she has been trying to disguise her 
 nature as well as her name. I wonder now if she will 
 pass on with one of those imperial bows that always 
 make me feel as though she were some empress, and I her 
 slave." 
 
 He waitfci, and what he had foreseen happened. She 
 passed him bv, and made no attempt to stop to speak him; 
 passed him with a cold, careless bow, just as a stranger 
 would have done, 
 
 "No," he said to himself, " I will not bear that; nothing 
 could make mo; she shall speak to me." 
 
 He followed her and overtook her as she was going down 
 the grand staircase leaning on the arm of the millionaire. 
 She looked up with the calmest, coolest wonder as he ap- 
 peared, flurried and almost breathless by her side. 
 
 " Miss Glynton," he said, "you are leaving without one 
 word to me." 
 
 " I did not know that your grace wanted a word," she 
 replied, laughingly. 
 
 " Certainly I do. Did you like the music? Have you 
 enjoyed the concert ?" 
 
 " Yes," she replied, with a touch of weariness, " just as 
 much as I ever enjoy anything." 
 
 " That ought to be with all your heart," he said. "Why 
 did you pass me without one word, Miss Glynton ?" 
 
 She smiled the cold, careless smile that she gave to 
 every one. 
 
 " Did I ? I did not think of it. I was thinking of the 
 soprano who sung that beautiful ballad of Sullivan's." 
 
 "And so forgot me," said the duke. 
 
 " You would laugh if I said that I did not remember 
 you even enough to forget yon," she said. " I did not 
 give one thought to the matter." 
 
 " I should say that ought to crush me, cried the duke; 
 " but I do not feel crushed. I shall make every effort to 
 spring up again intact." 
 
 His heart was beating with passionate longing; but he 
 knew that to attempt one word on this crowded, bril- 
 liantly lighted staircase would be the greatest mistake h 
 could make.
 
 314 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you anywhere this 
 evening ?" he said. 
 
 "We are going to a conversazione at Cromwell House," 
 she said; that will not be very tempting to you." 
 
 " It will be if you are there," he said; but she made no 
 answer, only turned her proud face away from him. " Is 
 that your only engagement ?" he asked again. 
 
 " It is the only one that we shall keep," she replied. "I 
 am tir6d to-day. I like concerts best in the evening; 
 music always makes me more or less melancholy, and it 
 is rather too early to feel melancholy." 
 
 " Why should that be ?" he asked. 
 
 " Because all sweet sounds are sad as sweet," she 
 replied. 
 
 "They ought not to be so to you;" but she never gave 
 the faintest sign of having heard; she never noticed any 
 compliment he paid to her, no matter how pretty or dainty 
 it was. She drew the crimson and gold mass round her 
 shoulder and shivered slightly although it was June and 
 the day warm. He walked on by her side in silence ; the 
 conversation between them seemed to have died a natural 
 death. No one could have been more calm, more care- 
 less than she. 
 
 She did not look at him ; as for any embarrassment or con- 
 fusion there was not the faintest trace of it. He felt that 
 if this kind of thing went on much longer it would drive 
 him mad. They parted as coolly and as indifferently as 
 she had met him. He stood looking at the carriage as it 
 drove away. 
 
 " That my wife," he said to himself in passionate anger, 
 " that cold, heartless, proud, imperial beauty my loving, 
 gentle Naomi. It can not be ! " 
 
 Later on that evening he told Lady Valentine of the 
 interview. 
 
 "I should like," he said, "before I take any very 
 Berious steps, to call upon her just once in her own 
 house to see if any solution of the difficulty will arise 
 from that. What do you say ? Would my mother call 
 there to-morrow, do you think; and YOU, Valentine, 
 too?" 
 
 " The duchess would go anywhere you wished, I am 
 sure; and if I could serve you, I would go through fir* 
 nd water for you."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 315 
 
 * Gad bless you, Valentine," he said; and these kindly 
 words brought tears to her tears. 
 
 The duchess was most willing. 
 
 "I had already thought of it, Bertrand," she said. "Mr. 
 Glynton was so very kind over the fancy fair that I shall 
 be glad to show my esteem for him." 
 
 So it was arranged that they should all three call at 
 Brook House on the morrow; and until the morrow came 
 no rest, sleep, or peace came to the Duke of Castlemayne. 
 
 "I could not live through much more of it," he 
 groaned aloud; "this is worse than the suspense, for this 
 is intolerable, and I lived through that." 
 
 The loving eyes of Lady Valentine detected the nervous 
 emotion and agitation under which he suffered; and in 
 her kindly fashion she did her very best to cheer him. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 "SHE IS INDIFFERENT TO YOU." 
 
 THE Duchess of Castlemayne felt some little surprise, 
 which she was far too well bred to express, even by a 
 look, when they were shown into the magnificent drawing- 
 room at Brook House; the perfect and exquisite taste 
 displayed struck her more than anything else. 
 
 She had expected everything new, with plenty of gild- 
 ing; but these rooms were decorated and furnished as 
 harmoniously and perfectly as her own. It was no mean 
 home of a parvenu or of a plebian; it differed from others 
 simply in being more magnificent. 
 
 Miss Glynton was alone. The millionaire had gone on 
 a wooing expedition, and his return was uncertain. She 
 received her visitors with the most exquisite grace. The 
 duke could not help recalling Lady Valentine's words, 
 " A perfect woman of the world." In her manner to the 
 duchess there was the faintest shade of graceful defer- 
 ence; to Lady Valentine, easy graceful courtesy that 
 completely ignored all jealousy or rivalry to the duke. 
 She was simply gracefully charming. 
 
 The three ladies were soon engaged in an animated dis- 
 cussion, the duke adding a word here and there. He 
 wondered, as he sat there, what good he could have 
 imagined would result from this visit only to puzzle him
 
 310 r , HE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 still more; ror, if this proud, beautiful woman, who did 
 the honors of her house so gracefully, were indeed Naomi, 
 then all love for him, all interest in him, was certainly 
 dead in her heart. 
 
 His attention was suddenly recalled by hearing his 
 mother speak of Rood Castle, and he found that she was 
 giving Miss Glynton a most pressing invitation to go there 
 during the autumn. He listened in breathless agitation. 
 She thanked the duchess gracefully, earnestly; there was 
 a slight flush on her beautiful face, a light brighter than 
 usual in her eyes as she declined. 
 
 They had so many arrangements for the autumn months 
 that she did not think it would be possible to spare even 
 a few days. 
 
 The duchess repeated what a great pleasure it would 
 be to her if she could change any of her arrangements, 
 even? if she only spent three days with her. 
 
 But Miss Glynton was quite firm; there was no possi- 
 bility of her being able to make a visit. 
 
 " It would have been a great pleasure to me to have 
 seen Rood Castle," she said, " for I hear that it is verily 
 the beau ideal of an old English castle. I am sorry not 
 to be able to accept your grace's kind invitation." 
 
 In the proud beautiful face there was not a trace of 
 confusion or embarrassment; no one could ever have 
 dreamed that the imperially beautiful woman sitting there, 
 declining to visit one of the finest old castles in the 
 country, had been turned with shame and disgrace from 
 its walls; had been dismissed with bitter, scathing words 
 by the one who now entreated her presence there as 
 crowning grace. Nothing seemed more wildly improb- 
 able: 
 
 The duke, looking at her and listening to her, thought 
 himself the victim of some wild chimera or some mac* 
 fancy. 
 
 His eyes, full of wonder, met Lady Valentine's; and ID 
 her glance he read unutterable surprise. If this indeed 
 were the Naomi who had been sent away in high wrath 
 from Rood Castle, she was a model among women. She 
 turned in her graceful fashion to Lady Valentine. 
 
 "I am sorry this season is over,'' she said. "I hav* 
 made some very pleasant acquaintances; and it is doubt' 
 ful whether I shall meet many of them again."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 317 
 
 Somethiag impelled Lady Valentine to speak; she could 
 keep silent no longer. 
 
 "Are you leaving England, then?" she asked. "Do 
 you intend to return to America." 
 
 The duchess looked shocked by this very abrupt ques- 
 tion; but Miss Glynton replied with a smile. 
 
 "I do not think we shall be in London again at least 
 for many years." 
 
 She spoke quietly, and as though the fact had no par- 
 ticular interest for any one. The duke looked bewildered. 
 Lady Valentine was growing quite excited; her face 
 flushed, and his Grace of Castlemayne grew nervous, 
 knowing what a champion she was in his cause. 
 
 "I am sorrry," said the duchess; and her clear low voice 
 fell like a calm over them. " Perhaps to strangers who 
 have the wide world to choose from England may not be 
 the most attractive country ?" 
 
 " No," said Miss Glynton, quietly, " I do not think it is 
 but I shall carry away from it some very happy and pleasant 
 memories." 
 
 " She never intends me to recognize her," said the duke 
 to himself with dismay. 
 
 " She will leave England without one word to him," 
 thought Lady Valentine. 
 
 Then Miss Glynton turned the conversation to some 
 other subject; and the duke felt that he had been foiled in 
 the object of his visit; if anything he was even further from 
 her than he had been. She had spoken of leaving- London 
 and England as coolly as she would have spoken of crossing 
 the room. She seemed to look upon the f;tct that they might 
 never meet again as something quite natural, and not to be 
 avoided; and yet this woman was supposed to be his wife. 
 He saw from Lady Valentine's face that there was some 
 little fear lest she should frankly speak out the thoughts 
 that were, he thought, weighing on her mind. 
 
 The duchess had already prolonged the call some few 
 minutes beyond the proper regulation time, and he felt 
 relieved when at last she rose to go. 
 
 "I hope," said her grace, that we shall meet again before 
 you leave London." 
 
 " It would be a great pleasure to me," said the beau- 
 tiful woman, calmly;" but I am afraid my engagements art 
 to numerous that I am hardly able to make fresh ones."
 
 318 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Would Miss G-lynton waive ceremony and dine with 
 us on Tuesday ?" said the duke. " Mr. Glyuton, I know, 
 joins the Eichmond party on that day." 
 
 She looked up at him with a sinile. 
 
 " And you think I shall not like being alone. It is very 
 kind of you to think of it." 
 
 As the duchess eagerly joined in, it was agreed upon, 
 and the visitors left. Not one word could the duke and 
 Lady Valentine exchange until they had reached home, 
 and her grace had gone to rest after the fatigue of the 
 day. Then he sought her in greatest haste. 
 
 "Valentine," he cried, " do come and talk with me; my 
 mind is all chaos. What did you think of that interview V" 
 
 " I have never been so puzzled. If you were not so cer- 
 tain I should decidedly think the whole story a mistake. 
 If it is no mistake, then I should say that most decidedly 
 all care or affection for you is quite dead in her heart, and 
 that she never intends you to recognize her." 
 
 " I am afraid that it is," he said, sadly. " Why, then, 
 did she come ?" 
 
 " She may have half a dozen reasons for that. Perhaps 
 she wanted to see how you were getting on, what you 
 were doing, if you had married again, or anything of the 
 kind. I do not mean actually married again; but if you 
 were supposed to care for any one. She wanted, prob- 
 ably, to see just how you were situated." 
 
 " If she had interest enough left in me to make her do 
 that she would hardly be so cool and so careless," said 
 the duke. 
 
 " There is just one thing more," said Lady Valentine. 
 " Perhaps coming to London may have bean entirely the 
 uncle's wish, and she could not disobey if he wished her 
 to come. I fancy that is the real reason, because though 
 ahe has been here in London so long, and must have 
 known that we were here, she never even sought or avoided 
 us. She wanted to see how the land lay; but she is in- 
 different to you." 
 
 " But, Valentine, she can not be so cruel as to wish to 
 keep me always in suspense. She must have known that 
 my mother's life is darkened with anxiety over me. She 
 must know that I have suffered suspense such as very 
 few suffer. She cannot mean to punish me all Bay lift i* 
 "
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBEl 1 . 319 
 
 " You must ask her," said Lady Valentine. " It will ba 
 useless to delay. You must tell her that you recognize 
 her, and ask her what she means to do." 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I must do what you say. I made up 
 my mind while we were at Brook House this morning. 
 That is why I pressed her to dine with us. If she comes 
 on Tuesday I mean to speak to her; it is time something 
 was done. Great Heaven, to think that Naomi should 
 Vive so near to me for so long and yet should make no 
 single effort; and she must have seen how unhappy I am. 
 How unsettled. I have said nothing of the kind to her. 
 Why, Valentine, she must have grown hard of heart, she 
 who was so loving once." 
 
 She went nearer to him in her anxiety to comfort him, 
 and laid her hands lovingly on his shoulders. 
 
 " Let your heart rest now," she said. " You have done 
 your best. You are in that most trying position any man 
 could be placed in. Now let your heart rest. On Tues- 
 day you will be able to see her and talk at your ease. I 
 will manage it for you; you need not fear. I will talk to 
 the duchess. Now, try to forget it all until Tuesday, and 
 on Tuesday you Trill know the best and worst of it." 
 
 He kissed the little white hands that rested so lov- 
 ingly on his shoulders, wondering in his heart whether, 
 if his wife came back to him in all her fair young lovli- 
 ness, whether she would be dearer to him than this gentle 
 girl. 
 
 " Until Tuesday," he said; and she re-echoed the words. 
 Until Tuesday." ' 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 LADY VALENTINE'S SCHEME. 
 
 TUESDAY came; the morning dawnec! bright and beauti- 
 ful, and indeed what comfort oould be derived from out- 
 ward circumstance his Grace of Castlemayne needed it. 
 He was in a most terrible state of doubt and indecision; 
 he was miserable beyond all powe<" of word to describe. 
 
 Lady Valentine had promised to secure a tete-a-tete. 
 She Lad persuaded the duchess to be content with a small 
 dinner-party. Lord and Lady Montavon, Lady Belle 
 Chalmers, Sir Arthur Hunt, Miss Glvnton were the guest*
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 i avited. Lady Valentine bad already arranged the pro- 
 gramme in her own mind. 
 
 The duchess dearly loved a rubber at whist; and Belle 
 Was an excellent player. With Lord and Lady Montavor 
 'ihey could form a quartet for whist, which would keep 
 tiiem engaged. She could entertain Sir Arthur, who was 
 Always perfectly happy if he could only find some one to 
 play the Hccoinpaniuu ents of his very mild tenor songs. 
 
 "Iwi^play for him, Bertrand," said Lady Valentine, 
 ** until lie has gone through his whole repertoire. I know 
 raore than twenty songs he sings. You will easily manage 
 the rest; speak openly of the magnificent Turner you 
 bought the other day, tell Miss Glyntou about it, then say 
 how pleased you will be to show her the picture-gallery; 
 in this way it will seem most natural that you should have 
 u tete-a-tete with her; and if you are very long or I think 
 that matters are very unpleasant, I shall come to the res- 
 cue, Bertrand." 
 
 Evening came; the long hours of the long day had 
 passed. Lady Valentine went to dress, wondering as she 
 did so, what would happen before that eventful day closed. 
 Perhaps the knowledge that she should stand in rivalry 
 before the most beautiful woman of her time prompted 
 her to make a more than usually exquisite toilet. She 
 wore a dress of pale-blue velvet trimmed with beautiful 
 point lace a dress that from its exquisite grace and per- 
 fect fit made her fair young beauty fairer than ever; she 
 veore neither flowers nor jewels; but the rich shining 
 masses of hair were artistically arranged, and Lady Val- 
 entine was satisfied with the result. She had not the 
 grand, passionate beauty of Miss Glynton, the finished 
 perfect womanhood, the stately grace, but her fair young 
 loveliness had a winning charm all its own; even she, 
 brave and courageous as she was naturally, even she felt a 
 little trepidation now that the time was come. She was 
 first in the drawing-room the duchess was never early. 
 She wished to receive Miss Glynton when she came. The 
 first arrivals were Lord and Lady Montavon, then followed 
 Sir Arthur. Lady Belle and Miss Glynton came together. 
 In spite of herself Lady Valentine's heart sunk when 
 she saw that magnificent 'face and figure, the exquisite 
 toilet. If Miss Glynton had tried the world over she 
 could not have found anything so exquisite as the costuuaf
 
 THE DUKE 8 SECRET. 321 
 
 ehe had chosen for that evening. It was all white lace, 
 trimmed with beautiful heart's-ease and green leaves. 
 She wore a knot of the most lovely purple heart's-ease in 
 her brown hair; the white lace was looped up with sprays 
 of heart's-ease, and the beautiful costume enhanced her 
 grand loveliness as no other dress could have done. 
 
 Lady Valentine impulsively held out her hand to her 
 superb rival. She was her rival, and she was paining 
 the very heart of the man Lady Valentine loved best. 
 Still she was Bertrand's wife, and the mother of his son. 
 The loving heart was warm to her, even though she was 
 her rival. 
 
 They looked at each other, these two who were in such 
 deadly struggle, yet unconscious of it. 
 
 " Before the night is over," said Lady Valentine, " Ber- 
 irand will know his fate and I shall know mine." 
 
 She looked at the small white hand of her rival the 
 hand that was to deal out life or death. Then the duchess 
 came in, and the party was complete all but the duke. 
 Lady Valentine wondered why he lingered; he was so late 
 and BO long that she began to think he was not coming. 
 She was greatly relieved when the door opened and he 
 entered the room. 
 
 Lady Montavon was nearest to him. When he had 
 spoken to her and her husband, had shaken hands with 
 Sir Arthur, and exchanged greetings with Lady Belle, he 
 crossed the room to where Miss Glynton and Lady Val- 
 entine were standing. 
 
 Lady Valentine in her heart felt proud of him; there 
 were resolve and determination on the handsome face 
 courage and bravery. She knew from the expression of 
 his eyes there was to be no more playing with him. Miss 
 Glynton did not offer him her hand, but she spoke with 
 the usual polished indifference; but something in the 
 duke's face seemed to strike her, and she was less at her 
 ease than usuaL 
 
 " We are quite a small party," said the duke. 
 
 " I am glad," she replied. " I am tired of large parties," 
 while Lady Valentine stood by in sheer wonder. These 
 two talking so pleasantly, so lightly. Could they be hus- 
 band and wife, with the barrier of a great tragedy between 
 them?
 
 322 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Who will ever understand life or what it holds?" sh0 
 asked herself. 
 
 Dinner was announced, and the duke gave his arm to 
 Lady Montavou; Lord Montavon followed, with Miss 
 Glynton; so it happened that she sat next to the duke. 
 She had plenty of time for observations then. She no- 
 ticed that he eat nothing; that plate after plate was taken 
 away untouched; that although he talked, laughed, and 
 entertained his guests royally, he was really distrait and 
 thoughtful. Once or twice she found his eyes fixed on 
 her face with a most peculiar expression. 
 
 It seemed to the duke that the dinner never would end 
 in his fierce impatience to seek the beautiful woman and 
 force the truth from her. 
 
 Now that he had nerved himself for it he hated him- 
 self for not having done it before. Why should he have 
 been frightened ? She was his wife, no matter how they 
 were parted; and he had a right to make her speak. She 
 should keep her secret from him no longer. 
 
 A flame of resolve leaped into his eyes; a flame of 
 courage made his heart leap. Her beauty and magnifi- 
 cence, her coldness, pride, and indifference should awe 
 him no longer. If this dreary episode of eating and 
 drinking were but ended ! 
 
 At last, and to his infinite relief, the duchess gave the 
 signal, and the ladies withdrew. The duke looked at her 
 as she passed him by, with her air of imperial pride and 
 grace; the time was coming when that same pride would 
 fall before the words he had to utter. 
 
 Time slowly passed, but he was free at last; the gentle- 
 man joined the ladies, and then Lady Valentine's pretty 
 little scheme was at once put into action. The duchess 
 was delighted, so also were the others; it was a pleasure 
 they seldom enjoyed. She arranged the card-table in 
 the most comfortable fashion, and was rewarded by see- 
 ing them deep in the mysteries of the first hand. Then 
 she went to Sir Arthur. 
 
 " I have been promising myself the great pleasure of 
 
 playing some of your accompaniments this evening, Sir 
 
 Arthur. I hope you will not disappoint me." 
 
 m His face flushed with delight. To find a beautiful belle 
 
 like Lady Valentine anxious to play his accompanimentf
 
 THE DUKE S SECRET. 
 
 was a novelty for him, and while she was talking to Sir 
 Arthur, she heard the duke speaking to Miss Glynton. 
 
 He spoke so every one in the room could overhear him. 
 He began speaking of his recent acquisition the beauti- 
 ful " Turner," and asked her if she would like to see it. 
 
 She said: "Yes, very much." 
 
 Then he asked, carelessly, if she had seen the picture- 
 gallery at Brook House; if not, how pleased he would be 
 to shew it to her. She enjoyed looking at good pictures, 
 
 It seemed, as Lady Valentine had said it would be, a 
 perfectly natural arrangement. Lady Valentine's hands 
 trembled on the keys as she saw them quit the drawing- 
 room together. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 "YOU ARE MY WIFE." 
 
 THE scene that evening will never die from his memory, 
 will never fade from his brain. Every look of hers 
 seemed photographed on it; every word she uttered re- 
 mained with him until he died. 
 
 They went up the beautifully lighted staircase together, 
 he talking about pictures, and Miss Glyuton replying in 
 her calm, graceful manner, until they reached the picture- 
 gallery. She seemed to forget altogether that she was 
 alone with him. She gave him the impression that she 
 was thinking entirely of the pictures, aud not in the least 
 of him. 
 
 She paused before the " Turner." 
 
 " It is very beautiful," she said. " How true genius 
 makes itself felt. Can you believe that when I stood be- 
 fore Millais's ' Chill October ' I felt cold ? I could really 
 feel the cold wind that seemed to stir the reeds. I enjoy 
 Turner's paintings." 
 
 Yet as he looked at her, he thought to himself, " What 
 picture on earth could ever be so beautiful ?" 
 
 She was standing where the light fell full on the heart'e- 
 ease in her shining hair, on her beautiful face. The 
 clouds of soft white lace swept the crimson carpet, and 
 there was a light on the sprays of heart's-ease. Tall, 
 graceful, she was the very embodiment of womanlj 
 beauty. She was not in the least degree embarrassed or 
 confused at finding herself alone wit' bun: Jjer 
 thoughts were given to the painting!
 
 324 THE DTTEE'fc SECRET. 
 
 If it had been Lord Montavon or Sir Arthur with her 
 she could not have been more indifferent. She did not 
 seem to notice that he was looking intently at her. 
 
 " I like Millais's pictures," she said. " Do you know 
 the 'Stella andVanesse?' My favorite is the ' Black Bruns- 
 wicker.' I never look at that picture without tears." 
 
 She walked on with the graceful, easy, stately motion 
 that seemed peculiar to her, the calmest smile on her face; 
 and this time she stood before an exquisite painting of 
 Firth's. Her face lighted with admiration. 
 
 " This is very fine," she said. 
 
 He went nearer to her; it was not for this he had 
 asked her to come to the picture-gallery not for this 
 and the hour had come. 
 
 He stood some little distance from her, and whispered 
 her namo softly, so softly that the sound seemed to float 
 round her, " Naomi," and he waited the effect. 
 
 She never moved, the color did not vary in her face, 
 the smile did not vary on her lips, her eyes retained their 
 kindly light. 
 
 "Naomi," was the soft sound that whisperer* through 
 the gallery. 
 
 It did not reach or did not touch her. 
 
 " Naomi," he whispered again. 
 
 She neither moved or stirred, but after a few minutes 
 she turned to him with the same careless smilo. 
 
 " That is a very favorite picture of mine," she said. 
 "I did not know that you had the original." 
 
 Then a great flame of color rushed into his face, and a 
 great light in his eyes. Was it daring defiance, or what ? 
 She did not make the faintest acknowledgment of having 
 heard him speak 
 
 He made a rapid step toward her. 
 
 "Naomi," he cried again, and this time his voice was 
 full of pain. " Naomi, you can not ignore me in this 
 fashion; you shall not. You must hear me, Naomi." 
 
 But the beautiful eyes, upraised to his in calm, proud 
 wonder, had no recognition of his words in them. 
 
 " Naomi, you must hear me/' be repeated. " Am I a 
 stick or a stono ? Am I made of ice or of marble ? Do you 
 think that I have neither brains nor heart, mind nor 
 memory ?" 
 
 She looked calmly at him.
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 325 
 
 "I think," she said, " that your grace has gone mad; I 
 can think nothing else." 
 
 "You will drive me mad," he said. "Naomi, speak to 
 me speak, I entreat of you, one word !" 
 
 " The word that I can speak is to suggest that you will 
 allow me to pass. I am not accustomed to the society of 
 mad men." 
 
 She turned, as though to quit the gallery, but he stood 
 before her. 
 
 " Pray pardon me," he said; "you must not go until you 
 have heard what I have to say." 
 
 " You forget yourself," she cried, her face flushing and 
 her eyes shining brightly. " I am more astonished than 
 I can express. You talk this this intolerable nonsense 
 to me and keep me prisoner here. I will cry out for 
 some one to come to my rescue, unless you permit me*to 
 pass." 
 
 " No, for your own sake you will not do that. I want 
 you to hear me, Naomi." 
 
 " Naomi," she repeated, impatiently; "why do you per- 
 sist in calling me Naomi ? " "Was there a slight faltering 
 of the sweet voice as she uttered the name, or was it his 
 fancy ? " Why," she repeated, angrily, " do you persist 
 in giving me that name ? " 
 
 " Why do I persist ? Because it is yours, because it is 
 the name of the girl whom I loved with the maddest love 
 ever given to any creature; whom I loved so well that I 
 made her my wife, and and lost her through my folly." 
 
 " It is all very dramatic, your grace," she replied; " but 
 what has that to do with me ? " 
 
 "Everything," he cried, passionately. "You are that 
 Naomi my wife." 
 
 No words could tell the ripple of the scorn that passed 
 over her beautiful face the utter contempt of the light 
 laughter that came from her lips. 
 
 " I should like to know whether you are rehearsing for 
 effect, or whether you have gone quite mad ? " 
 
 " Neither," he replied. " I repeat that you are the wife 
 I lost twelve years ago twelve long years ago for whom 
 I have sought by sea and land over the whole wide world, 
 for whom I have mourned as men seldom mourn." 
 
 He stopped abruptly; the terrible scorn in that beauti- 
 ful face dazed him.
 
 326 THE DUKE'S SEOBET. 
 
 "Let me pass. I have nothing to do with this youi 
 wife, your loss, your search, your sorrow, do not concern 
 me; do not touch me." 
 
 " You are my wife, Naomi Wynter, and I claim the right 
 to speak to you." 
 
 " It grows amusing," she said. " It is useless to be 
 angry; I may as well laugh; the farce will end, I pre- 
 sume, when ^our grace pleases. I can not and shall not 
 struggle to pass. I will wait until your mad fit has 
 
 " I am not mad, and you are my wife," he repeated. 
 
 She sat down in one of the crimson velvet lounging- 
 chairs, and carelessly opened her fan; he did not know 
 that she trembled so violently that she could no longer 
 stand. 
 
 " I must wait your grace's time," she said, " but tins is 
 a lesson to me that I was acting imprudently in leaving 
 my friends to go to look at a picture; but I shall never 
 do it again in England." 
 
 " Oh, Naomi, how can you be so cruel ? you who were 
 so loving, so kind ! Why will you not say that you are 
 my lost wife ?" 
 
 " Wife," she repeated, scornfully. " Why do you dare 
 to say that I am any man's wife ?" 
 
 She held out her white hands shining with gems. 
 
 "Do I look like a wife ? Do you see any wedding-ring 
 there?" she asked, 
 
 "No, not now; perhaps you wear it on your heart, 
 Naomi ; there was one there once, for I placed it on your 
 finger; do you remember the morning, Naomi? I placed 
 it there, and kissed it where it shone. Give me your 
 hand now, and let me see if my ring is lost among the 
 jewels there." 
 
 She was too much taken by surprise to refuse He 
 took the white hand in his, and looked among the pretty 
 gems. 
 
 "No," he said; "poor little ring! it is not there, 
 Where is it, Naomi your wedding-ring ?" 
 
 She laughed, but his quick ear noticed this time that 
 her laugh was unsteady. He wondered if he were even 
 At the beginning of the victory 
 
 " You would have made a fine actor," she said; " but
 
 THE DUKE8 SECBET. 327 
 
 why you have taken the trouble to go through all this 
 for my special benefit, I can not understand." 
 
 "At least," he cried, indignantly, "I should be an 
 actor witk a human heart. Whereas you, Naomi, are an 
 actress utterly without one. You can have no heart, no 
 conscience, to torture me so. Do you think that even in 
 twelve years I have forgotten you ? Heaven knows what 
 I have suffered. What I have endured no words of mine 
 can tell; and now that I stand once more before you, you 
 refuse to speak the words which would deliver me from 
 the greatest suspense and the greatest pain any man 
 could suffer." 
 
 There was that in his voice which compelled her to 
 listen. She did; it was only to open her beautiful eyes a 
 little wider and speak again : 
 
 " For whom does your grace really take me ?" 
 
 " I take you to be the person you are," he replied, "my 
 beloved, long lost wife, Naomi Wynter. " 
 
 CHAPTER LXL 
 
 "NAOMI, WHERE is MY SON?" 
 
 His words made no impression on her. What was he to 
 do with this beautiful, obdurate woman ? Would it be war 
 to the knife between them ? Would she drive him to the 
 last extremities ? What couid he do with her ? Call the 
 law to assist him ? Ah, no; there would be no chivalry in 
 that. Suddenly he remembered that he had not tried his 
 most powerful plea. If this woman of marble and ice 
 were to be melted, he would melt her now. 
 
 She was leaning back in the velvet chair, her face raised, 
 her whole attitude expressive of languor and indifference. 
 She held the jeweled fan, every now and then using it as 
 though she were tired. She was showing no constraint, no 
 uneasiness, no confusion. Just this minute her eyes wan- 
 dered listlessly from painting to painting, as though she 
 she had forgotten him and all that he was saying. He 
 went nearer to her; he knelt down by her side, and, 
 taking the fan from her hands, he clasped them both in 
 his, and looked entreatingly in her face. 
 
 " Naomi," he said, " where is my son ? ** 
 
 He uttered the words in a clear, low voice, and 
 seemed to cut the air as they fell 
 
 " Where is my SOB ? "
 
 328 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 He had startled her at last; her very lips grew white J 
 the color faded from her face; the light died from her 
 eyes; a shudder that sho could not control came over 
 her. 
 
 " What have you done with my son, Naomi ? Where 
 is he ? Are you so cold, so cruel to me that you will 
 never let me see my child ? You have seen him, caressed 
 Mm, taught him to love you; but I oh, my God ! my 
 heart lies bare and desolate I have never seen him. 
 Where is he, Naomi ? What have you done with him ? 
 Did you ever teach him to utter my name ? Did you 
 tell him although that for a few minutes I had been a 
 contemptible coward, yet that I loved you and should 
 love him ? Do you speak to him, Naomi, of the father 
 from whom you so cruelly kept him? I want to see my 
 boy. I I have heard how beautiful he is. I know 
 from those who have seen him, and I long for him. Let 
 him come to me, Naomi; if you are cold and cruel, the 
 child will love me; he will put his arms round my neck 
 and kiss my face. Oh, Naomi, where is my boy ? " 
 
 She rose from her seat. She drew her hands from 
 his clasp. He saw that she shuddered and trembled. 
 She drew back from him, holding out her hands as though 
 she would ward off a blow. 
 
 "Hush," she cried; "for Heaven's sake, hush!" and 
 he knew that she had made the confession of her iden- 
 tity in those few words. He saw his advantage, and 
 pursued it. 
 
 " If I may never have my wife, at least give me my 
 child. Do you know who he is, Naomi ? And yet you 
 dare to keep him hidden. He owns one of the most 
 ancient and honored names in England. He is Lord St. 
 Albans he is my heir. My dukedom must be his some 
 day. His life is most precious and invaluable to me 
 Give him to me, Naomi; he is mine my very own just 
 as much as he is yours. Oh, Heaven ! how cruel you have 
 been to keep him from me all these years !" 
 
 The warmer his words grew, the more she shrunk from 
 him. She seemed to have lost all notion of escaping him 
 now. She retreated, waving him from her, with loving, 
 moaning cries, until at last she reached the great gilt 
 railing that surrounded the magnificent copy of Hiram 
 Power's " Greek Slave," and there she stood a beautiful
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 woman at bay. Her white, wild face, her outstretched 
 hand, and the low moan that came from her lips filled him 
 with dismay. 
 
 " Naomi," he cried, "I don't wish to pain you to hurt 
 you. I would not for the world; but tell me. where is my 
 boy?" 
 
 No answer came from the white lips of the beautiful, 
 desperate woman. She trembled so violently that he felt 
 quite sure she would fall. 
 
 "Naomi," he cried, "be reasonable; speak to me. 
 What have I said that has agitated you so deeply ? What 
 have I done? What is the matter? Speak only one 
 word; say that you are my wife, and all will be well." 
 
 But her beautiful head had dropped on her breast, her 
 white eyelids closed over her blue eyes, and he saw that 
 she was unconscious of hife words. It was only natural 
 that he should raise the fair, drooping head and pillow it 
 on his breast, that he should kiss the colorless face; and 
 as he did so, the old mad, passionate love that he had 
 once felt for her swelled up in his heart again, and everj 
 other fancy died. 
 
 How many years had passed since he had held her in 
 his arms. How many times he had kissed that lovely 
 face. And what would she say when she opened her eyes, 
 and found where she was? What had pained her so 
 greatly ? Why had she, so cold, so proud, so indifferent, 
 fainted, when he asked for hin child ? What did it mean ? 
 
 It was but natural that, holding her once more in his 
 arms, he swore that nothing should ever part them again. 
 Then he heard a deep sigh, and he saw her white eyelids 
 open; but the was powerless to help herself; he had 
 clasped her in his arms, and held her as though not even 
 death should take her from him. 
 
 It was useless to struggle, to appeal, the passionate love 
 of his heart had found a voice, and she must hear it 
 
 " My darling," he cried, " nay, you can not escape. 
 You know you are my own why should you try to deny 
 it ? If I were not quite certain that you were my own 
 wife, should I kiss you like this or this? Nay, you 
 need not try to raise that beautiful face; it has been here 
 before. Oh, Naomi, how the sweet memories of those 
 happy days come over me ! What a coward I was ! Can 
 you ever forgive me ? If I could give my life to undo it,
 
 330 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 I would. I would have died to have undone it, directly 
 it was done." 
 
 She made no answer, but tried to free herself from his 
 embrace." 
 
 " It is of no use, Naomi," he said; "I see how it is. I 
 might have prayed and pleaded for hours, and you would 
 have been deaf, cold, and dumb. I must master you first, 
 and that by force of my own love. Naomi, I will release 
 you at once, if you will tell me where is my son." 
 
 Again the shudder of more than mortal fear came over 
 her. 
 
 " It will be useless, Naomi, after this, for you to deny 
 that you are my wife. Even had I no other evidence, I 
 should feel sure of it, from the way in which you shrink 
 fromtbe mention of my child; if you are not the mother 
 of my son, why should you shrink and shudder when his 
 name is mentioned ? You can not go back to your posi- 
 tion of proud indifference, and feign ignorance. The 
 time has come when you must speak. Naomi, whisper 
 to me one word; say 'Yes' to my often asked question. 
 Are you my wife ?" 
 
 Then, with a desperate effort, she freed herself from 
 his circling arms, and tried to stand erect, but could not 
 control the trembling of her limbs. Once more she 
 clasped the gilded railing and looked at him, quite unable 
 to speak. 
 
 " You see for yourself, my dear," he cried, " that 
 Heaven itself interferes ; you are ill, you can not stand. 
 Oh, Naomi, there are two voices pleading in your heart, 
 the voice of the wife who loved me, and the voice of the 
 mother who Holds my child in keeping for me." 
 
 Down went the fair, queenly head again, and once 
 more he wondered what there was in the mention of his 
 child that should cause this strong emotion. He laid his 
 hand lovingly on her golden-brown hair. 
 
 " My darling Naomi, did you think I should let you 
 die out of my life, and make no effort whatever to save 
 you ? Did you for one moment think although I dis- 
 honored myself by that one act of cowardice, did you 
 believe that I cared so little for you ? God knows I have 
 poured out money like water; I would have given the 
 last farthing in my purse; I would have parUd with my
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 331 
 
 last jewel, with the last acre of my estate, to nave found 
 you. Do you believe me, or do you not?" 
 
 No answer; he did not heed her silence, but went on: 
 
 " I gave time also. I went ah! who shall ever tell 
 you the story of my wanderings ? Wherever it seemed 
 most probable to me that I might find traces of you, I 
 went. I employed the most skillful men in England to 
 find you. I can honestly say that I did not leave one 
 thing undone, and it was through the skill of one of these 
 aien that I have found you at last." 
 
 She raised her head with a haughty gesture, as though 
 she would deny that she had been found; but he bent 
 down and lovingly kissed the shining hair. 
 
 " I can swear to you, Naomi, that I have done all a 
 man could do to atone for the wrong. I have sought for 
 you far and near, longed for you, prayed for you, wept 
 for you. Heaven knows how I have longed for you, but 
 no words can tell. And my darling," he continued, in a 
 low, passionate voice, "I have suffered also, because I 
 love you. You can form no idea of what life has been 
 since I lost you. The knowledge that somewhere in this 
 wide world I had a wife and child has been to me simple 
 torture. Do you think that my heart never longed for 
 you ? Do you think that in my dreams by night and by day 
 you were not the one object? I have been the most 
 miserable of men. I have spent the most wretched 
 years. Have you no pity for them ? " 
 
 Still she made no answer. He went on: 
 
 " You could never dream, Naomi, what my poor, proud 
 mother has had to suffer. She has been so anxious to 
 see me married. She dislikes the Everleighs so much, 
 and Lady Everleigh has been so insolent, so cruelly in- 
 solent to her, so triumphant over her ! She has boasted 
 so much that her son would succeed me, that he would 
 take my place. She has said openly that I should never 
 marry, and has hinted at the reason why. Think what 
 my poor, proud mother has endured ! For many years, 
 with great bitterness, she has been praying me to choose 
 a wife from the number of women to whom she intro- 
 duced me. The fact that I did not marry has darkened 
 and spoiled her life; but, Naomi, you know that I could 
 not give one thought to any other m.arnag wkile you
 
 332 THE DUKE'S SECEET. 
 
 He knew she was listening to bis words; he could hear 
 the deep-drawn, bitter sighs; he saw that she made no 
 more impatient movements to escape. 
 
 "I did you a cruel wrong years ago, Naomi most 
 cruel. But you have been as cruel to me. I never in- 
 tended, when you left Rood Castle, to be one day away 
 from you, my dear. You have left me in suspense, pain, 
 anguish of mind, bitter, unavailing sorrow and regret for 
 twelve years. Twelve years ! " he repeated. " Now, 
 Naomi, in the name of justice, I ask you, which of us has 
 sinned most greatly against the other? Which has been 
 most cruel ? Answer me that." 
 
 CHAPTER LXH 
 
 AN INDIGNANT WOMAN. 
 
 THE Duke of Castlemayne repeated his question 
 
 " "Which of us two has been most cruel toward the 
 other ? " 
 
 Then she raised her colorless face. 
 
 He saw that she would not again deny that she was not 
 his wife. She looked at him more calmly. 
 
 " You," she replied; " you who left me in the hour of my 
 distress and shame. You, from whom a word would have 
 saved me, and you refused to speak that word. I am 
 Naomi Wynter the simple, foolish, unhappy girl who 
 placed her trust in you, and was rewarded with the basest 
 desertion. I am Naomi, but your wife never again?" 
 
 The words fell clear and calm, cutting the silence that 
 reigned around them. 
 
 "We will not discuss that now," he said; "perhaps 
 when you know more about my sorrow, and what I have 
 suffered you will be more merciful more pitiful. Just 
 let us speak of yourself. Oh, Naomi, what a meeting for 
 us!" 
 
 "How could you do it?" she said; and the piteous 
 reproach in her face and voice touched his heart more 
 than any words could have done. " How could you ? I 
 was so young, so friendless; I loved you so much, I was 
 your wife. How could you do it ?" 
 
 "I do not know. Listen to me, Naomi: I have no ex- 
 cuse I can offer none ; none that would avail me in the 
 least. There could never be any excuse for such a thing 
 in any man. The only explanation is that for the
 
 TSS JUKE'S SECBET. 338 
 
 being I was paralyzed. You know that my mother was 
 very proud, very haughty; she had great influence over 
 my father arid myself. No man living ever could or has 
 given me the slightest sensation of fear, but I honestly 
 believe that I was afraid of my mother." 
 
 " And you sacrificed me to her ?" she said. 
 
 "To my eternal sorrow and remorse! Yet, judge me 
 fairly, Naomi : love for you was as strong in my heart as 
 fear of my mother. I was afraid if she knew of our mar- 
 riage, she would at once have it set aside and parted us. 
 I did not know how, but she had always seemed to me so 
 powerful. Then I thought that if you went away I would 
 follow you in a few hours and take you to Kiver View 
 where we might have lived in peace and happiness for 
 years. I sent a message to you; but that horrible woman, 
 my mother's maid Sidonie, would not allow it to be de- 
 livered. I wrote a note to you. She would not give it to 
 you. Then I sent Leduc with orders not to leave you 
 until he could telegraph me to come to wherever you 
 were. All the misery and sorrow of these long years 
 have been caused by the mistake he made in leaving you 
 before I came. He saw it when it was too late; but from 
 that moment until this I have never relaxed in my efforts 
 to find you." 
 
 " Strange," she said, bitterly, " that you should take so 
 much trouble to find what seemed so little worth keeping 
 most strange !" 
 
 "Naomi," he said, humbly, "I make no excuse; if I 
 had been face to face with a foe, I should not have run 
 away; if the feet of my foe were pressed on my throat, I 
 would not cry for mercy. I will challenge any man for 
 courage; but mine failed me before my mother's wrath. 
 I was young when I made that fatal mistake I should 
 not make it now. There is no humiliation so deep that I 
 would not make to obtain your pardon for it My darling, 
 \ sinned; but Heaven knows that 1 have suffered. You 
 were so gentle once, Naomi, so kind, so lovely, that you 
 would not have refused pardon even to your most bitter 
 foe." 
 
 " A foe would have proved a truer friend than my hus- 
 band," she replied. " Have you ever thought how 
 atrocious, how horrible your conduct was ? I was vour 
 lawful wife a young wife with no one but you to love,
 
 334 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 and in your rery presence you allowed your mother to 
 brand me as a lost woman. You stood by when she 
 accused me of having sought you, of having forgotten the 
 modesty and delicacy of my sex and age, of having thrust 
 myself on your notice. You stood by mute and dumb, 
 refusing to speak the word that would have saved me. 
 And after that you dare to kiss me, to call me wife, to 
 expect that I shall forgive you ? Never ! I appealed to 
 you," she continued, in a voice of passionate emotion. 
 "And what was your answer? You looked at me and 
 made no reply. I might with more hope have appealed 
 to a marble statue. You left me, shamed, branded, dis- 
 graced, when one word from you would have saved me. 
 Then you ask who has been the most cruel, you or I ? 
 What manner of man can you be to ask such a question? " 
 
 " I must have been mad," he said, humbly ; " yet 
 Heaven knows that it was the only cowardly act of my 
 life, the only one." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, for it was bad enough to mar 
 the Hie of a better and nobler man than you. I have 
 read much and I have seen much of the world; but I 
 never heard of a parallel incident; for a man to sacri- 
 fice his wife's honor and good name to the fear of his 
 mother. Then you ask me which was most cruel ? I 
 laugh such a question to scorn. I did what you made 
 me do. Your silence shamed and branded me ; your 
 silence drove me, with a red brand on my brow, from 
 your mother's roof into the wide world ; your silence 
 took from me the name of wife, and gave me another 
 that your mother was not slow to upbraid me with; your 
 silence blighted my life, and and broke my heart." 
 
 She fell on her knees, leaning her head against the 
 gilded railings, and weeping as woman never wept be- 
 fore; the tears fell like rain down her beautiful colorless 
 face drawn, bitter sobs. Here was a sorrow before 
 which he was powerless; every word she had uttered 
 was true, and they had lashed him like the sharp thongs 
 of a whip. He was humbled before her; he could not 
 bear the sound of her weeping; it seemed to tear his 
 yery heart, and he laid his hand on the golden head, 
 very hair of which was so dear to him. 
 
 " Naomi, do not; you distress me so greatly."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 335 
 
 She flung off the caressing hand, her face flushed, her 
 eyes flamed righteous anger on him. 
 
 " Do not touch me," she cried. " I will not bear the 
 touch of your hand; it is horrible to me." 
 
 She rose from her knees and stood before him with the 
 greatest disdain, the most bitter scorn in her face. 
 
 " Do you think," she said, " that a few kisses, a few 
 simpering words, can undo the wrong you have done 
 me?" 
 
 Her bitter contempt seemed to rouse him at last; he 
 grew very pale, and the lines round his mouth deepened 
 as he withdrew further from her. 
 
 " You know how to wound, Naomi; your darts shoot 
 home. I begin to see there is no hope for me; I was 
 foolish enough to think there was." 
 
 She turned to him wrathfully. 
 
 " Did you fancy that I was so weak, so infirm 0f pur- 
 pose, so dead to my great injury, so little gifted with self- 
 respect, that when you met me, you had nothing to do 
 but offer me a fine apology, humble yourself graciously, 
 aud all would be as it was ? were you so mad as to think 
 that?" 
 
 " I am afraid I was," he replied, humbly, " but you 
 have taught me my mistake." 
 
 " A worm turns when it is trodden upon," she cried. 
 "Had I been really what your silence made the duchess 
 believe me, then you would have in all probability de- 
 fended me, stood by me. It was because I was your law- 
 ful wife that you had no word to say for me." 
 
 "Naomi, do not reproach me any more; I can not bear 
 it My own heart and conscience have said enough all 
 along; I cannot bear it." 
 
 "I have no wish to do so," she said. "Let me go; I 
 will leave London to morrow." 
 
 " But, Naomi," he cried, passionately, " surely you will 
 not leave me again; you can not, it would be too cruel. 
 Where is my son. Let me love him. Your heart is 
 harder than the nether millstone toward me; surely hi 
 will not be so ? Surely you will not leave me with my 
 heart bare and desolate as when I found you ? " 
 
 * I have nothing to do with it," she replied; "your 
 silence made me an outcast from your heart your home, 
 jrour name; I will remain where your silence placed mo.*
 
 336 IKE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 His colorless face fell, and he clinched his stru_j n<*ndg 
 like a man in agony. 
 
 " Answer me at least a few questions before you leave 
 me, Naomi, in pity and in kindness. Do you never 
 intend to return to me ?" 
 
 "Never," she replied. " I would sooner die." 
 
 " Have you never intended to do so." 
 
 " Never from the moment I left," she replied. " Noth- 
 ing would ever make me consent to it." 
 
 " I offer you," he said, " that which has always been 
 yours; the whole and sole love of my heart. I offer you 
 my whole life and fortune; everything that I possess in 
 this world I lay at your wilL Will you stay with me, 
 Naomi ?" 
 
 " No," she replied, " I will not. So far as worldly ad- 
 vantages go, I have had better offers of marriage than 
 even yours. I have had none from any man whom I 
 despise more." 
 
 " Say no more unkind things to me, Naomi I have 
 heard enough to kill me. Will you tell me whether you 
 came to London with any desire to see me again ?" 
 
 " No, I did not," she replied; " I came to London 
 because it was my uncle's wish, and if I had raised too 
 manv objections he would have been suspicious, naturally." 
 
 " Then you never thought I should recognize you," he 
 said. 
 
 " No; I felt quite sure you would not," she replied. " I 
 am mucli taller than I was when you left me cowering 
 before that stately lady, your mother taller, stronger, 
 and changed altogether. I never thought that you would 
 know me. I would never have returned to England had 
 I thought there was any chance of such a thing; I would 
 have remained in America." 
 
 "Then you did not care to see me again, Naomi?" 
 
 " No. I am quite sure I did not," she replied. 
 
 " Do you know, Naomi," he said, sadly, " when I heard 
 the truth about you, I was foolish enough to think that 
 it was love for me that had brought you here." 
 
 "You were mistaken," she said. "Since the morning 
 I left Rood Castle I have never had the least intention of 
 returning to you. I will remain where your silence 
 placed me."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 837 
 
 ** In Heaven's name, what will become f me ?" cried 
 the duke. 
 
 " You must get a separation and marry Lady Valen- 
 tine Arden," she said. 
 
 " There may be two opinions on that matter," said a 
 quiet, low voice, and looking up they saw Lady Valentin 
 Arden standing before them. 
 
 CHAPTER LXIE. 
 
 THE LOVE-TEST. 
 
 " I HAVE spoken once," said Lady Valentine, " and you 
 were too much engrossed to hear me. Miss Glynton, you 
 made an observation which was, to say the least of it, 
 uncalled for. Lady Valentine Arden is not to be given in 
 marriage as it may please any stranger to propose." 
 
 It was a most dramatic scene. The fine, stately figure 
 and handsome face of the duke; the magnificent face and 
 figure of Miss Glynton the rich tint of the violet heart's- 
 ease, the costly trailing laces, the story told in her atti- 
 tude, the story told in her face the love, pain, jeal- 
 ousy and defiance; tho fair girlish figure of Lady Valen- 
 tine, her sweet face flushed with emotion, her lips quiv- 
 ering with indignation at what she considered an imper- 
 tinence. 
 
 There was no mistake about it, Lady Valentine loved 
 the duke with her whole heart. 
 
 She was frank, simple, candid, impulsive. Her thoughts 
 generally went direct from her heart to her lips. When 
 her eyes fell on the duke's face, she knew at once that 
 there was something vitally wrong. She had seen noth- 
 ing like it before; he looked as though his heart had 
 been wrung. She did not stop to think of what was 
 right, prudent, or imprudent. She only knew what her 
 own heart dictated. She went up to him, and laid her 
 hand caressingly on his shoulder. 
 
 " What has she done to you, San Sebastian ?" she asked. 
 " You look as though your heart was broken." 
 
 "It is broken," he said. 
 
 "That is the one you love, that is the one you should 
 marry," cried Naomi. " See how naturally she goes to 
 console you how her instincts show her that you are 
 wounded ! There can be no mistake about the lady's feel* 
 ings, my lord duke, whatever may be yours."
 
 338 THE DUKE'S SECKET. 
 
 But Lady Valuntine was not to be daunted; she was not 
 in the least degree ashamed of hr affection for the duke. 
 She looked at the beautiful, flushed face, and nodded her 
 head gravely. 
 
 "It would be as well for you. Miss Glynton, as you call 
 yourself, to confine your attention to your own feelings; I 
 am quite equal to the management of mine. What have 
 you been, doing to make him look so wretched ? I would 
 not hurt him I am a truer Mend to him than you are." 
 
 " Very likely, Lady Valentine. I do not aspire to the 
 honor of his grace's friendship; I have known its cost too 
 much. I am quite willing to renounce it in your favor." 
 
 " How can you speak in that way, Miss Glynton ? Nay, 
 I will speak, duke why should I not ? I will not use 
 that false name again. How can you speak so coldly, so 
 cruelly, Duchess of Castlemayne ?" 
 
 "So," said Naomi, with white lips, "you know this 
 story?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lady Valentine, who seemed to have reck- 
 lessly thrown aside everything in her ardent champion- 
 ship of the duke; "yes, I know it, but you shall hear the 
 reason why it was told to me, not as idle gossip, not as 
 an excuse that the duke leads a life unlike other men, 
 away from the smiles and love of women." 
 
 "Hush, Valentine say no more," cried the duke, " it 
 is quite useless." 
 
 " Speak on, Lady Valentine, if you will," cried Naomi. 
 " I should like to know why the inmost secrets of the 
 duke's heart have been told to you." 
 
 " Not because he loved me," said the girl, undauntedly. 
 
 She drew nearer to him and clasped her white hands 
 round his arm with an air of defiance, as though she 
 would say, " See, if one woman does not love him another 
 does love him. " 
 
 " Not because he loved me," she said. "I wish he did. 
 But because like the noble and chivalrous gentleman 
 that he is he saw that I, a y oung, very foolish, very ig- 
 norant girl, was giving the love of my heart unawares. 
 To warn me to put me on my guard; to show me that 
 he was not free te marry, that is why he told me his story. 
 Duchess of Castlemayne." 
 
 " I should never bear that title," said Naomi, quietly.
 
 IBB DUKE'S SECRET. 339 
 
 **It is yours now," said Lady Valentine, curtly. " You 
 
 can not help but bear it" 
 
 Then the two rivals looked at each other as though they 
 would fain measure each the strength of the other. 
 
 " Valentine," said the duke, " I am the sinner; it is I 
 who have cruelly injured her." 
 
 " There are two sides to every question," said Lady Val- 
 entine, with a profound nod of her pretty head. " I shall 
 never pretend to excuse what he did, because it was inex- 
 cusable. Still, if you really love him, you would soon for- 
 give him. True love is never unforgiving; but if I spoke 
 my thoughts, Duchess of Castlemayne, I believe that you 
 are quite as cruel for you to stay from him for twelve 
 years, to keep him from the love and knowledge of his 
 little child quite as cruel in you as it was in him not to 
 speak the word which would have cleared you, and drawn 
 down his mother's anger on him. I do not believe, 
 Duchess of Castlemayne, that you know what true, unsel- 
 fish love is; and " 
 
 Naomi opened her eyes wider still, as she heard the 
 plainly spoken words of her rival. 
 
 " I must eay, Lady Valentine, that you are a remarkably 
 frank-spoken young lady." 
 
 "Nothing but frank speaking will avail in your grace's 
 case," and she noticed how Naomi shrunk again from the 
 title. " I should not have done as you have done, even 
 with the same provocation," she continued; "I should 
 have made allowance for the fear, which for a few mo- 
 ments paralyzed what was a true and noble love. I should 
 have trusted him more, and have known by instinct that 
 he would soon make it all right." Her face flushed, and 
 her eyes brightened as she went on. " You have really 
 avenged yourself you have made him suffer for twelve 
 long years, and you have spoiled his life." 
 
 The wonder that came on the proud, beautiful face was 
 strange to see, but these sharp words did Naomi more 
 good than anything else could have done. 
 
 " Where is his son ?" she continued. " Even if your 
 strained notions of right and wrong, honor and dishonor, 
 bade you keep him away from him, why did you not send 
 his son to comfort him--do you not think that, perhaps, 
 you have been just a little selfish in keeping the beauty, 
 the grace, the love of the child, all to yourself ?"
 
 840 a ; HE DffKE-e SECRET. 
 
 She stopped abruptly, for the T?nite pain that came OYt>. 
 that beautiful face made her pause; there was something 
 in the story of the child that was as bitter as death to her. 
 
 " I could not help hearing what you said as I entered 
 the gallery it was that you would never return to the 
 duke, never be his wife again; but that he must get a legal 
 separation from you, and then marry me. I think those 
 are the words you used." 
 
 " Yes, those are the words," replied Naomi. 
 
 " I am not at all ashamed to say that I wish it could be 
 so," said Lady Valentine, with another nod of her fair, 
 charming head. "My love is better, greater, more noble, 
 and more self-sacrificing than yours could ever have 
 been." 
 
 " Ah, no, do not say that 1" cried Naomi, faintly, " do not 
 say that." 
 
 "I know this one fact; that mine would stand any test, 
 and yours has not even stood the test of one unkind acfe.on. 
 and twelve years absence. It must Lave been a half love 
 to begin with." 
 
 Then Naomi seemed, as it were, to gather herself to- 
 gether. She looked around and for the first time realized 
 where she was; she arranged the drooping heart's-ease in 
 her dress, and then looked at the two opposite her he 
 tall, stately, and handsome; she so young, fair, and lovely. 
 She looked at the while hands clasped over his arm, at the 
 rapt devotion of the girlish face, and her heart smote her. 
 This love was deeper than hers. 
 
 "I have heard enough for the present," she said, 
 calmly. " I must go Lady Belle did not wish to remain 
 late; but before I go I must express my great displeasure. 
 I do not think your grace should have toM the secret that 
 is as much mine as yours; ami I do not thiuk it right for 
 Lady Valentine to interi'ere between man and wife." 
 
 "I should always take the duke's side against every 
 one, quite blindly," she replied. "I always think it takes 
 a woman to match a woman a man never can." 
 
 " I want no one to take the duke's part against me," 
 she said. " I am quite sure now that the best thing will 
 be for the duke to find some clever lawyer, who would 
 discover some illegality in his marriage, or some reason 
 why it should be dissolved, and then make you happy, 
 Lady Valentine."
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 "I am sure he would do that," murmured the girL 
 " You throw away a treasure and ask me to pick it up, 
 Duchess of Castlemayne; are you as willing to give me 
 /our son as you are to give your husband ? " 
 
 She heard a low cry, that was like a moan, come from 
 rival's lips; and then Naomi said: 
 
 " I can bear no more, I must go." 
 
 " Naomi," cried the duke, " when may I see you again ? 
 I I must have news of my child I must see him. I 
 see that you look tired and ill to-night; only tell me a 
 time, and I will be content." 
 
 " I will write to you," she said, "a few lines to-morrow. 
 Po not keep me let me get out into the air, or I shall 
 fall down dead." 
 
 Then Lady Valentine unclasped the white hands that 
 had held the duke's arm, ana vent up to her rival 
 
 " You look ill," she said. " Come with me I will take 
 you to your carriage, and take your excuses to the 
 duchess. I will tell her that you are not well" 
 
 She smiled to herself as she saw the duke kiss his wife's 
 hand. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXT7. 
 
 "YOU OUGHT TO BE A DUCHESS." 
 
 NEVEK did any human face present a greater picture 
 of perplexity than that of Naomi the next morning as 
 she sat in the silence of her superb boudoir. Whether 
 it was pain, sorrow, trouble, or anxiety, who was to tell ? 
 The fair brow was knitted, the graceful curves of the 
 beautiful mouth were drawn, the fine, clear eyes were 
 shadowed with thought. There was a look of care and 
 pain on the grand face that ill suited its regal beauty. 
 
 " I wish," she said, to herself, " that an angel could 
 come from Heaven and tell me what to do. I Lave lost 
 the guide of my own reason and conscience I do not 
 believe that I know right from wrong." 
 
 She looked up as Mr. Glynton entered the room; even 
 in the midst of her own preoccupation, it occurred to her 
 that be looked somewhat embarrassed and agitated. He 
 went up to her and kissed her forehead. 
 
 ' I am glad to find you here, Pet," he said ; I want to 
 talk to you. You look very preoccupied. Are you busy, 
 my dear, this morning ? "
 
 342 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 
 
 " No," she replied, " not at all. I have no engagement, 
 my time is quite at your disposal." 
 
 Still be seemed rather to avoid than to hurry the con- 
 versation. 
 
 "It is a lovely morning," he said, " are you going 
 out?" 
 
 " No," she replied, " I shall remain in-doors." 
 
 Then, Mr. Glynton abruptly started from his seat and 
 began to walk up and down the room, casting every now 
 and then looks so expressive of concern at her, that she 
 began in her tarn to feel anxious. 
 
 "Pet," he said, suddenly, "I wonder you give no 
 thought to marrying." 
 
 " We have settled all that," she said. " I have told you 
 that I never shall. There will be no marriage or love for 
 me. I shall live with you always, and be as happy as I 
 can." 
 
 Still he did not seem satisfied. 
 
 " I had hoped that your ideas would change," he said. 
 "I have something to tell you, and I hardly know 
 how." 
 
 She looked up at him with a bright smile. 
 
 " Suppose," she said, " that I can guess what it is, and 
 in so guessing save you a world of trouble." 
 
 " Ah, my darling, you are very bright and clever, but I 
 do not think that you can guess this," he said. 
 
 "I think I can, and I think that every one else in 
 London can guess it. You want to tell me that you have 
 asked Lady Belle Chalmers to be your wife, and you do 
 not know how to set about it is not that true ? " 
 
 His honest, earnest face, was filled with emotion. 
 
 " What an extraordinary thing," he cried. " That is 
 just what I want to tell you. I felt nervous. You see, 
 pet, there are many ways of looking at everything. Mj 
 marriage, my dear, may make some little difference to 
 you. Had you succeeded to nay whole fortune, you would 
 have been the richest woman in England. I do not know 
 that it would make you any happier." 
 
 " I am sure it should not," sho said. 
 
 " I have thought a good deal about it," he continued. 
 " For some time I kept aloof from the charms and fascina- 
 tion of Lady Belle, for your sake, that you should not be 
 disappointed in the magnificent inheritance that it seemed
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 343 
 
 to me I nad promised you; but and I feel as shy as a 
 school-boy in telling you about it the fact is, I can not re- 
 sist her, I can not help myself; she is so bright, so charm- 
 ing, so clever, and yet so completely at her ease with me, 
 i can not bear to be away from her. I did not know, as 
 truly as Heaven hears me speak, that life could be so beau- 
 tiful. I have enjoyed being a rich man more than I can 
 tell you, and I have thought that wealth was the best and 
 brightest thing a man could have, but I was mistaken the 
 love of this woman has turned earth into Heaven for me." 
 
 " I am so glad, so glad," she murmured, and a mist of 
 tears rose to her eyes. 
 
 " I think every one ought to love once before he dies," 
 he continued, thoughtfully; "if I had died last year, I 
 should have missed, in my life, the greatest happiness man 
 ever knew. Now, pet, I have been thinking of you, and 
 wondering why a woman so young, so beautiful, so charm- 
 ing, should have set herself so resolutely against love." 
 
 She looked at him, half sadly, yet with a smile curving 
 her dainty lips. 
 
 " What makes you incline to marriage, uncle ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Because I love happily," he replied. 
 
 " Can you imagine what my answer might be by your 
 own ?" she said, gently. 
 
 " You love unhappily !" he cried, with sudden vehem- 
 ence, that startled her. She had not expected him to 
 find her quite so quick. 
 
 " I have done so," she replied, " and now there will be 
 neither love nor marriage for me. Do not ask me any 
 questions. I could not answer them; it was years ago. 
 If you love me, never renew the subject. Now tell me 
 about Lady Belle ?" 
 
 " She has promised to be my wife, pet; she loves me- 
 positively great lady as she is, she loves me. I have 
 not kept one thing from her I have told her everything 
 altout myself. She knows all about my family. I told 
 her that you were my niece, and not my daughter. She 
 seemed very much astonished, but I explained to her 
 that you had been so long my adopted daughter that ti 
 seemed most natural. I requested her not to speak of it, 
 and we may trust her. Now what I have to look at is 
 this having for many years looked on you as my heiress,
 
 344 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 I must, before 1 marry myself, make a liberal, just, hon- 
 orable provision for you. I thought of settling a certain 
 Burn on you, and then making my will. I should settle a 
 certain sum, too, on Lady Belle, to be hers uncondition- 
 ally, to leave as she likes at her death. If we have no 
 children, the great bulk of my fortune will revert to you; 
 if we have children, it will be theirs. I thought, pet, of 
 giving you " and then, as though afraid of trusting the 
 very air round him with such a secret, he bent down and 
 whispered to her. 
 
 She started, and grew pale. 
 
 " My dear uncle, you are too generous I" she said. 
 " What an enormous sum of money !" 
 
 He smiled proudly. 
 
 " You will be a millionaire's heiress after all," he said. 
 " I am telling you this so that you may understand 
 exactly what your fortune is. Your home will always 
 be with us. Lady Belle loves you very dearly, and I 
 venture to think you will be very happy with her. 
 
 " I am sure of that," said Naomi. 
 
 Yet it occurred to her that there would be a great differ- 
 ence between being sole mistress of this magnificent 
 mansion and being merely beloved by its mistress. 
 
 " You will then, in all probability, reside altogether in 
 England, and very often in London ?" she said. 
 
 " Yes. Lady Belle will not care much for traveling. 
 There is a fine estate in Surrey to be sold; it is called 
 'Beech Hall' now; but I hope to buy it, and rename it 
 ' Glynton Park.' That will, I hope, be our home, pet 
 yours and ours." 
 
 Then he kissed her again, and gave a great sigh of 
 relief. 
 
 " I am so glad that it is over, Naomi," he said. " You 
 do not know how I dreaded telling you this the prospect 
 was more than that of making an offer of marriage; now 
 I am the happiest man in England, and my dead sister's 
 child shall gain, not lose, by my happiness Now I must 
 go and tell Lady Belle how comfortably we bave arranged 
 everything. We shall be married in a few weeks, pet." 
 
 " So much the better," she said. "I do not see why 
 you should wait." 
 
 "Lady Belle Glynton," he said musingly. "It will be 
 a good name, pet one we little though i ever would be in
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 345 
 
 our family; but you you ought to be a duchess, at least,* 
 ie added, bluntly. 
 
 She blushed scarlet. What a curious *.hing he should 
 Say that. 
 
 " I am content to be "Naomi Glynton," she said, and then, 
 with a few more kindly and affectionate words, Mr. Glyn- 
 ion went away. 
 
 He left her with an additional care in her heart, and a 
 deeper line on the fair, regal brow. 
 
 " My perplexities increase," she said to herself. 
 
 There was another discreet little rap at the door, and 
 a footman entered with a card. He held it out to her. 
 
 " The lady desired me to say that her business was im- 
 perative, and she would be glad if you would see her." 
 
 Naomi took up the card and looked at it. 
 
 " I will see her here," she replied, for the name on the 
 card was that of Lady Valentine Arden. 
 
 CHAPTER LXV. 
 
 THE STORY OF AN ARTLESS GIRL. 
 
 NAOMI'S thoughts wandered to that scene in the picture- 
 gallery, to the handsome, melancholy face of the duke, 
 and the sweet face of Lady Valentine. 
 
 " How she loves him ? " thought Naomi, " how she 
 loves him ! She placed herself before him as though she 
 would defend him from everything in this world. It 
 would be better a thousand times if he procured a separa- 
 tion from me and married her." 
 
 Then she sighed bitterly, as she said to herself: 
 
 " Was this the end of a life-long love ? I wish I knew 
 my own heart better. No girl could have loved more 
 fondly, more deeply, than I did. I would have given my 
 life for him with a smile in those days. No girl was ever 
 so cruelly wounded, so scorned, so outraged ? He calls it 
 the cowardice of a moment; he says that he did not speak 
 lest he should be parted from me; but how can I forget? 
 The picture is burned in my brain; the proud, scornful 
 woman who branded me with her shameful words, the 
 handsome young lordling who stood by, ' waiting ' to take 
 the brand from my brow, until it should be safe to do so. 
 
 " And that proud woman who scorned me, who slan- 
 dered and shamed me she would go on her knees to me 
 now to beg of me to be her son's wife. I am the same
 
 346 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 Naomi she drove away in shame too great for words; 
 then I was unknown, obscure, penniless Naomi Wynter; 
 now I am Miss Glvnton, one of the richest heiresses in 
 England. 
 
 " Now her enemies encompass her, they triumph over her; 
 they boast to her that no son of her son shall ever take 
 the place of his father's place; they boast that the son of 
 her enemy shall rule in her son's stead; and I hold her in 
 my power. I prayed Heaven, with mad, wild prayers, to 
 give that woman into my hands, and Heaven has done so. 
 Let me take my triumph over her. One word from me, 
 and he goes lonely to his grave, uncheered either by love 
 of wife or child, and she will see every hope of her 
 life in ruins around her. Another word from me, and 
 wealth that is almost fabulous, with a wife for whom 
 princes and peers have striven, is his 1 Which word shall 
 I speak ? What shall I do ? She shall drink the cup she 
 gave me to drink, even to its dregs. She shall suffer every 
 pain she made me suffer; and then then I will think 
 what word I shall speak what I shall do." 
 
 She rose from her seat, and began to pace wearily up 
 and down the magnificent room. Let her eyes rest wherfc 
 they would, on ail sides they saw nothing but luxury and 
 magnificence, opulence and splendor ; her very soul 
 seemed to be oppressed by it. Oh, to stand once more 
 by the white gate in the pleasant woods of Rood, and 
 meet her lover, believing in him and his love ! to throw 
 off, if but for one hour, the weight of wealth and the 
 sense of the tragedy that had darkened her lif e ! to lay 
 her arms once more round Bertrand's neck, and ask, as 
 she had done a hundred times before, did he really love 
 her with his whole heart better than all the world be- 
 sides ? How he had kissed her as he answered, " Yes." 
 
 Then she grew impatient with herself. She was not 
 sure that she wanted his love; when one has suffered so 
 keenly, it is difficult to know the real state of heart and 
 mind. 
 
 Could she ever forgive him this want of courage which 
 seemed to her so cruel, so base ? She never could forgive 
 it, and as the thought lay in her mind, the door opened 
 suddenly and the Lady Valentine Arden was announced. 
 She had no time to say whether she would see her or
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 347 
 
 not, for Lady Valentine stood there with grave, anxious 
 eyes looking in her face. 
 
 " You want me, Lady Valentine," she said. " I am a 
 your service." 
 
 Naomi wondered at the grave anxiety on the fair, sweet 
 face, OH the wistful look in the tender violet eyes. The 
 girl stood before her, tall, grave, erect, her dress of sim- 
 ple black, and a black hat with a dark plume shading her 
 face. Naomi's heart was touched by her aspect; she did 
 not look in the least like a successful or even a happy 
 rival; she looked sad and sorrowful, as though the thoughts 
 that filled her mind were too heavy for words. 
 
 She went up to Naomi, and in spite of the slight 
 resistance took her hands. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I wanted to see you. I have some- 
 thing very special, very particular that I wish to say to 
 you. Some people would have been afraid but I am 
 not afraid of you." 
 
 A spirited declaration, considering the scene which 
 had passed. Naomi liked her all the better for it. It in- 
 terested her at once. " I have nothing to be afraid of. 
 I have done no harm. I have come here to speak for one 
 whom I love a thousand times better than I love my life. 
 Still I repeat that some people would have felt shy at 
 coming to see you; you have so much in your favor." 
 
 " That is true," said Naomi, simply. " You have much 
 to say to me. You will stay some time; let me remove 
 your cloak and hat. " 
 
 Lady Valentine thanked her, and took the heavy cloak 
 from her shoulders, then removed the hat from her fair 
 head. She looked so fair, so girlish, that Naomi could not 
 take her eyes from her; then she drew her to an easy- 
 chair. 
 
 "You must rest while you talk to me," she said; "it is 
 po much easier to talk when one is quite at ease." 
 
 She placed Lady Valentine in the crimson lounging- 
 chair, and then sat down herself. But Lady Valentine 
 rose quickly, and coming over to her, she knelt down by 
 her side. 
 
 "Do not send me away from you," she cried; "I have 
 that to say to you which is heavy on my heart. Do not 
 send me away from you; I must be near you; I must feel 
 that in some way you are my friend."
 
 348 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " I will not send you away," Naomi replied, taking the 
 two small, white hands in hers, and holding them in a 
 friendly clasp. " I will hear all that you have to say." 
 
 She was touched by the fact that in spite of jealousy, 
 rivalry, of all that had passed between them in the picture- 
 gallery, the young girl had sought her out, and trusted 
 her. 
 
 " I want to tell you first about myself," said Lady Val- 
 entine. " I will tell you the whole truth, just as though 
 you were my sister. I will keep nothing from you, and 
 you will see that although you have suffered much, others 
 have their share. 
 
 " I came here to England some months ago, and until 
 then, Naomi let me call you Naomi, it brings me nearer 
 to you until then I had spent my whole life with my 
 father, who is a great invalid. We spent the most quiet 
 and retired of lives ; he was not well enough to visit or to 
 admit visitors. I hardly knew what society was like; as 
 to seeing young and handsoi le men, I never thought of 
 it. 
 
 " When I came to England and saw the duke it was 
 like a revelation to me. I declare to you," she added, 
 with sweet impetuosity, " that I did not know there were 
 such men in the world. I think that unconsciously to 
 myself I must have loved him from the first moment I saw 
 him. The grave, proud beauty of his face, the sweetness 
 of his temper and disposition, the grace and chivalry of 
 his manner, his kindness to me, all took my heart captive 
 before I knew that I had a heart, or that I could lose 
 it 
 
 " Before I knew anything about it, Naomi, I worshipped 
 him. If I had been brought up like other girls I should, 
 perhaps, be ashamed to tell you; but no one ever talked 
 to me about love and lovers no one. When I lived in 
 Nice the only thing that impressed me was a picture that 
 hung in the salon of a lady we visited there a beautiful 
 picture called ' The Martyrdom of San Sebastian,' and the 
 face of the martyr was just like the face of the duke it 
 struck me at once. 
 
 " I can not tell you when I began to love him, or when 
 love of him became dearer than life; it must have been 
 from the moment I saw him. I did not know it, Naomi 
 I came to the duchess almost as her own child, and I
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 349 
 
 loved her at once. I believe I am the only one in the 
 
 wide world who has ever caressed her and loved her. I 
 loved the duke too; not knowing there was anything to 
 conceal, I concealed nothing. I frankly showed my pleas- 
 ure and happiness when he was with me, my regret and 
 pain when he was not. I never cared to go out without 
 him; when we received invitations I waited to see if he 
 accepted his. I loved him so dearly and so well that the 
 sound of his voice brought the hot color burning to my 
 face. If he touched my hand I felt like a leaf in the, 
 wind; if he gave me anything a book, or a flower I 
 treasured it more dearly than a miser treasures gold. 
 
 Ah, Naomi, the one spot where he was held all the 
 light and brightness of the world to me; when he was 
 away the world was one dreary blank. My heart was full 
 of happiness; there were times even when I was beside 
 myself, and he must have read my heart like an open book. 
 My face must have told him ray delight when he was with 
 me. I had heard people say of him that he was a woman 
 hater, a man who cared nothing for the society of ladies. 
 I knew better; to me he was always quiet and kind, and 
 I loved him. Heaven help me when I remember how 
 dearly and how well. Yet all this time he was only kind 
 to me, Naomi, nothing more; kind as he would have been 
 to a sister if Heaven had given him one." 
 
 CHAPTER LXVL 
 
 AN ELOQUENT PLEA. 
 
 " IN all that followed I and I alone was to blame. I 
 know now that the duke never thought of me but as the 
 child placed under his mother's care ; the very openness 
 and frankness of my affection threw him off his guard; he 
 laughed when I told him I did not care to go to a ball 
 without him; that I would rather dance with him than 
 with any one else. He laughed when I wanted to ride or 
 drive with him, but the duchess did not she grew graver. 
 I know the people began to talk about us, and I believe 
 the duchess would have given anything if he would ask 
 me to marry him; but, oh, Naomi, even then his heart 
 was full of you and the search for you. I do not know 
 what opened his eyes at last; but he began to understand 
 that my worship of him had in it all the tragic elements 
 of * woman's love; perhaps the duchess spoke to him;
 
 348 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 " I will not send you away," Naomi replied, taking the 
 two small, white hands in hers, and holding them in a 
 friendly clasp. " I will hear all that you have to say." 
 
 She was touched by the fact that in spite of jealousy, 
 rivalry, of all that had passed between them in the picture- 
 gallery, the young girl had sought her out, and trusted 
 her. 
 
 "I want to tell you first about myself," said Lady Val- 
 entine. " I will tell you the whole truth, just as though 
 you were my sister. I will keep nothing from you, and 
 you will see that although you have suffered much, others 
 have their share. 
 
 " I came here to England some months ago, and until 
 then, Naomi let me call you Naomi, it brings me nearer 
 to you until then I had spent my whole life with my 
 father, who is a great invalid. We spent the most quiet 
 and retired of lives ; he was not well enough to visit or to 
 admit visitors. I hardly knew what society was like; as 
 to seeing young and handsoj le men, I never thought of 
 it. 
 
 " When I came to England and saw the duke it was 
 like a revelation to me. I declare to you," she added, 
 with sweet impetuosity, " that I did not know there were 
 such men in the world. I think that unconsciously to 
 myself I must have loved him from the first moment I saw 
 him. The grave, proud beauty of his face, the sweetness 
 of his temper and disposition, the grace and chivalry of 
 his manner, his kindness to me, all took my heart captive 
 before I knew that I had a heart, or that I could lose 
 it 
 
 " Before I knew anything about it, Naomi, I worshipped 
 him. If I had been brought up like other girls I should, 
 perhaps, be ashamed to tell you; but no one ever talked 
 to me about love and lovers no one. When I lived in 
 Nice the only thing that impressed me was a picture that 
 hung in the salon of a lady we visited there a beautiful 
 picture called ' The Martyrdom of San Sebastian,' and the 
 face of the martyr was just like the face of the duke it 
 struck me at once. 
 
 " I can not tell you when I began to love him, or when 
 love of him became dearer than life ; it must have been 
 from the moment I saw him. I did not know it, Naomi 
 I came to the duchess almost as her own child, and I
 
 THE DUKE'S SECKET. 349 
 
 loved her at once. I believe I am the only one in the 
 wide world who has ever caressed her and loved her. I 
 loved the duke too; not knowing there was anything to 
 conceal, I concealed nothing. I frankly showed niy pleas- 
 ure and happiness when he was with me, my regret and 
 pain when he was not. I never cared to go out without 
 him; when we received invitations I waited to see if he 
 accepted his. I loved him so dearly and so well that the 
 sound of his voice brought the hot color burning to my 
 face. If he touched my hand I felt like a leaf in the 
 wind; if he gave me anything a book, or a flower I 
 treasured it more dearly than a miser treasures gold. 
 
 Ah, Naomi, the one spot where he was held all the 
 light and brightness of the world to me; when he was 
 away the world was one dreary blank. My heart was full 
 of happiness; there were times even when I was beside 
 myself, and he must 'nave read my heart like an open book. 
 My face must have told him niy delight when he was with 
 me. I had heard people say of him that he was a woman 
 hater, a man who cared nothing for the society of ladies. 
 I knew better; to me he was always quiet and kind, and 
 I loved him. Heaven help me when I remember how 
 dearly and how well. Yet all this time he was only kind 
 to me, Naomi, nothing more; kind as he would have been 
 to a sister if Heaven had given him one." 
 
 CHAPTEE LXVL 
 
 AN ELOQUENT PLEA. 
 
 " IN all that followed I and I alone was to blame. I 
 know now that the duke never thought of me but as the 
 child placed under his mother's care ; the very openness 
 and frankness of my affection threw him off his guard; he 
 laughed when I told him I did not care to go to a ball 
 without him; that I would rather dance with him than 
 with any one else. He laughed when I wanted to ride or 
 drive with him, but the duchess did not she grew graver. 
 I know the people began to talk about us, and I believe 
 the duchess would have given anything if he would ask 
 me to marry him; but, oh, Naomi, even then his heart 
 was full of you and the search for you. I do not know 
 what opened his eyes at last; but he began to understand 
 that my worship of him had in it all the tragic elements 
 ef t woman's love; perhaps the duchess spoke to him*
 
 850 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 perhaps some of the many rumors about ut /eached him; 
 for some days be was very quiet and grave ; then he told 
 me all the story of his love for you, of his marriage, and 
 all that followed. Naomi, I would have given my life tc 
 be loved as he loved you. I would have died for it. 
 
 " I must tell you all/' she continued. " You had been 
 twelve years away from him; you had given him no proof 
 that you were living; I loved him with all my heart, and! 
 clung to him, weeping in despair when I knew that between 
 him and me was the barrier of a wife and child. He told 
 me how long he had looked for you, and how long in vain; 
 he hardly thought you were living; but we agreed that if 
 no news ever ame of or from you in the time to come, we 
 would after a certainty think of each other. I do not 
 think and I speak the words with sorrow I do not think 
 he was so much in love with me as he was sorry for me. 
 All the great love of his soul was given to you. 
 
 " Ah, Naomi, you would know him better, and love him 
 better, if you could have seen how gentle and kind he was 
 to me. Be sure my humiliation was greater almost than 
 I could bear, for I knew that he was telling me a story 
 to show me that I must not love him. While life lasts I 
 shall never forget his promise to do all I could for him. 
 All hope died in my heart from that hour. I said nothing; 
 1 did my best. I tried always to be bright and cheerful; 
 to be hopeful when I talked to him; but the wound in my 
 heart never healed, and never will. Then, Naomi, you 
 came upon the scene. If I had known that you were Ber- 
 trand's wife, I would have trampled self under foot, and 
 have been the first to welcome you for his dear sake; but 
 I did not know. I saw that he was attracted by you more 
 than I had ever seen him attracted by another, and I hated 
 you for it I was madly jealous of you. "What I suffered 
 when he gave you the beautiful eucharist lily I had saved 
 for him, no words can ever tell. I was jealous of you, and 
 I hated you," she added, with a hot flush. 
 
 " I said to myself, over and over again, that to his own 
 lawful wife I could give him, and let him go, blessing 
 him, but not to a stranger like you. Naomi, the night 
 you wore the dress like the eucfcarist lily, I could have 
 slain you I was mad with jealousy. The day that you 
 were on the river with him I hated you with intense 
 hatred I was mad with jealousy and a deaire foj
 
 851 
 
 vengeance. I spoke to the duke about you; my heart 
 was aore amd heavy; and he told me you were like his lost 
 wife, Naomi; neither of us ever dreamed that there was 
 the faintest possibility of your being Naomi; we never 
 thought of it but as a chance resemblance. 
 
 " I can not tell you what I suffered when I saw he grew 
 more and more interested in you. I told him the jealous 
 pain that made my heart ache. He talked to me kindly, 
 and made me promise to be good. You know the rest - 
 how the man who has been for so long tracing you 
 brought him news of you at last. I shall never forget the 
 moment in which he sent the folded card to me and I read 
 on it, * Michael Droski with news.' 
 
 " The wonderful news came to him that his wife was 
 living, was even then under his roof was even then one 
 of the most popular, and fashionable, and beautiful women 
 in London. 
 
 " He was stunned, Naomi. He could not believe it 
 he could not realize it He went to look at you, and came 
 back to tell me it could not be. He spoke to you, and 
 came to tell me that he could not believe it. Then it 
 was proved true. But, oh, Naomi, how cruel you were 
 to him how you crushed him with your bitter words. 
 You, who pretend to love, or have loved him so well, how 
 could you refuse the pleading of his voice and his face ?* 
 
 "He has injured me more cruelly than any man has in- 
 jured the wife he pretends to love." 
 
 " If he had plunged a dagger in my heart I would have 
 forgiven him; if he had given me poison, if he had 
 trampled on me his heel on my face, I would have for- 
 given him." 
 
 " That is servility not love," cried Naomi. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. You are his wife; you have 
 very claim on him, but my love is truer and deeper than 
 yours has ever been." 
 
 " I do not believe it," said Naomi. 
 
 " But I know it," replied Lady Valentine, dauntlessly; 
 " do you think that if I were in your place I should re- 
 fuse to forgive him ? I tell you this, no matter how greatly 
 he had injured me, I should forgive him if he asked me 
 to." 
 
 Naomi looked into the fair flushed face, her beautiful 
 face foil of disquiet
 
 352 THE DUKE'S SECBBT. 
 
 "Tell me, Lady Valentine," she said, "if we could 
 change places if lie liad left you branded with shame 
 and disgrace; if he had refused to speak the one word 
 which alone could clear you from the stigma of shame- 
 would you forgive him ? " 
 
 She was silent for a few minutes. 
 
 "Yes," she replied; " if I were in your place now, I 
 would forgive him. I love him with deeper, truer lova 
 than yours. If he killed me I would smile on him in 
 dying I would forgive and bless him in my last "breath." 
 
 "You love him," indeed," said Naomi, with involun- 
 tary admiration. 
 
 " Yes; it is that very love that brings me here to plead 
 for him; it is harder to plead for him than it would be 
 to die for him. If I, who love him better than my life, 
 can come to you and ask you to restore him to your love 
 ask you to go back to him if I can so far trample self 
 under foot, surely you, after twelve long years of silent 
 resentment surely you may forgive a wrong from which 
 he has suffered quite as much as you have done." 
 
 One noble mind paid involuntary homage to anothert 
 
 " You are a brave girl," said Naomi, " but you do no. 
 understand how that terrible wrong has corroded my 
 heart all that was kind and gentle in me seems to have 
 died a violent death." 
 
 " It is but fancy," said Lady Valentine. " See I am 
 your rival, yet how kind you are to me. Who could have 
 believed that I would be kneeling by your side, holding 
 your hands and feeling my heart drawn to you? 
 Who could have foreseen that ? Why do you call your- 
 self cold and unkind ? Such a face as yours never hid a 
 a cold heart yet" 
 
 "That proud, insolent woman, Lady Valentine th 
 words she said to me burned themselves on my heart and 
 brow." 
 
 " All that is another thing. I am not asking you to 
 forgive the duchess. I can imagine that you feel very 
 angry with her; it is for your husband I plead. He gave 
 you the love of his life, he gave you his name, his fortune, 
 everything that he had, and at the critical moment of 
 your life he failed you. Not from cowardice, I shall 
 never hold that opinion, but because he was afraid of 
 losing you altogether if he told the truth. See all thai
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 553 
 
 %e did to remedy his mistake; dee all that he has done 
 lince; think what remorse, what sorrow he has suffered 
 ver since, and can you hesitate for a moment about 
 forgiving him ? Ah, if it were but me, I would run to 
 him, I would go with outstretched arms, and bury my 
 anger, my resentment, in the sweetest kiss I could give 
 him. As for the duchess, be just, Naomi; perhaps had you 
 or I been Duchess of Castlemayne, we might, under the 
 eame circumstances, have done the same thing. She is 
 proud, but if you knew her you would love her! Ah! 
 Naomi, you are more beautiful, more gifted, much wiser 
 than I am; do not let me outdo you in love. lam so 
 anxious to see Bertrand happy, that if, by the sacrifice of 
 my life, I could atone to you for the wrong done, and 
 win his forgiveness, I would die now and here. It 
 would be easier for me to die than live," she continued. 
 "I can not realize what my life would be without 
 him." 
 
 " Yet you come here and ask me to forgive him and go 
 back to him. Do you know that if I refuse and persist 
 in my refusal, he could perhaps in time get a divorce from 
 me and marry you ?" 
 
 " Yes, I know it; but I know also you will not do it; I 
 know also that my love for him is so great that I prefer his 
 happiness to mine. I would a thousand times see him 
 happy than be happy myself; besides, you forget, Naomi 
 his son you forget his son." 
 
 " I do not forget him I could not forget him if I would," 
 he replied. 
 
 Lady Valentine rose from her knees and stood before 
 her, erect, with a dignity new to her, her face shining with 
 light and emotion. 
 
 " You are a woman, Naomi," she said, " and a beautiful 
 woman too; but you have no true woman's heart if you 
 Condemn the man you love to be a lonely, blighted, misera- 
 ble nwn; you can have no idea of the depth and truth of 
 love unless you understand forgiveness. I should call such 
 love as yours selfishness, because you think more of your- 
 self than of him. Even the old proverb rebukes you ' To 
 err is human, to forgive divine.' If you have in your love 
 none of that divine element which leads men to mercy, 
 tiien why then, I think Duke Bertrand had far better 
 peed his life in loneliness and exile than spend it witfe
 
 354 THE DUKE'S SECMftr. 
 
 you. Surely the worst than can befall a man is to hare 
 for his wife a woman without a heart. If you can not for- 
 give, you have no heart you know nothing of the divine 
 element of love. You though the words sound hard they 
 are true you do not deserve heaven; for those who can not 
 forgive the trespasses of others do not deserve to be for- 
 given themselves." 
 
 " What do you want me to do ?" whispered Naomi, in 
 a low voice. " Tell me and I will do it." 
 
 " Will you ? Then may Heaven bless you ! Let me 
 take that rose you have in your dress to the duke and 
 tell him that you are waiting to see him. May I ?" 
 
 And for an answer Naomi laid the rose in her hands. ; 
 
 CHAPTER LXVH 
 
 FORGIVENESS. 
 
 " ABE you quite sure, Valentine ?" repeated the duke, 
 over and c <rer again. " You have not fancied it oj 
 dreamed it ? It is no good-natured ruse to draw me into 
 her presence ? You are sure that she sent me this rose 
 from her own self, and said she was waiting for me !" 
 
 "Oh, man of little faith," laughed Valentine; and he 
 did not notice how white were the lips that laughed. 
 " How must I convince you ? I have told you so many 
 times over. She is now in her own boudoir, one of the 
 most beautiful rooms in that superb house; she looks ae 
 beautiful as an empress. She wears a morning dress oi 
 white and blue; her hair is arranged with less artistic 
 taste, but to my thinking, with greater elegance than 
 ever. I can even tell you what she is doing she stands 
 by the window, thinking of all I have said to her, and 
 waiting for you." 
 
 " You must be a witch, "Valentine," he said, with great 
 emotion. 
 
 " If I were, I should soon fly away," she said. " Now, 
 Bertrand, go at once lose no time. I am sure she will 
 forgive you, and all will be well again. She has a noble 
 soul, but she has been cruelly wounded." 
 
 " If she does forgive me and all goes well, I shall owe 
 my happiness to you," he said. 
 
 " Never mind, my dear, to whom you owe it, provided 
 nly that it comes," she said. " Now go this
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 355 
 
 lale a cab and drive to Brook House you will not be 
 long going." 
 
 She fastened the rose to his coai, and he failed to see 
 how the little hands trembled. Yet some sense of the 
 effort the girl was making must have come to him, for 
 when he reached the door he turned back to her and, going 
 to her, kissed her forehead, looking anxiously in the 
 Bweet face. 
 
 " You have been to see her you have done all this for 
 me, Valentine and why ? " 
 
 " Because I love you, and I want to see you happy," 
 she replied. " You ought to fly to Brook House, Bertrand, 
 instead of wasting precious moments like this." 
 
 He went, and then Lady Valentine went to her ow 1 * 
 room, giving her maid orders that she was not to be 
 disturbed. If Duke Bertraud could have seen her weep- 
 ing there he would have known what the sacrifice cost her. 
 
 He went direct to Brook House. Everything was just 
 as Lady Valentine had foretold. He was shown to Naomi's 
 boudoir. She was there, looking beautiful enough to 
 bewilder any one; her golden hair loosened and lying in 
 a rich, great wave on her shoulders. She was standing 
 by the window, and when he entered the room she met 
 him face to face. Her eyes fell first on the flower she had 
 sent him what a faithful messenger Valentine was, even 
 though the message she took was so much against hey 
 own interest. 
 
 " Naomi," said the duke his face flushed, his voice 
 trembling with emotion, the glamor of the old love seem- 
 ing to sweep over him again; the past years, with their 
 long burden of waiting and sorrow, fell from him. This 
 was the girl- wife he loved with such blind passion. He 
 could have fancied himself away with her on the pleasant 
 lands of Rood. " Naomi, you are willing to see me," he 
 cried; and then he stopped in wonder. All the pride and 
 defiance had died from her face; she was the simple lov- 
 ing Naomi of old again. She seemed to take up the 
 broken thread of her life from where he had left her, 
 kneeling at his mother's feet. She opened her anna with 
 ft cry that he never forgot. 
 
 " Oh, Bertrand, how could you do it tow could yoa 
 tow could you how could you ? "
 
 356 fHE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 He caught her in his arms and clasped her to his heart, 
 while she sobbed out the words on his breast. 
 
 "How could I, my darling, my sweet wife? That is 
 the very question I have been asking myself ever since 
 how could I ? I do not know. I was mad with the fear 
 of losing you. My mother to me even then was the very 
 embodiment of aristocratic power. My darling, if I 
 sinned, Heaven only knows how I have suffered. No one 
 can tell, no words can tell. I would give my very life to 
 undo it. After all these years of sorrow and pain have 
 you no word of forgiveness for me ?" 
 
 " I never intended, I nevej thought of forgiveness," she 
 replied. " It is Lady Valentine that has made me see 
 that I must forgive if I would be forgiven. The words 
 seem hard to say, Bertrand, when for twelve long years I 
 have brooded in silence over my wrongs." 
 
 " Naomi, have you any of the old love left for me in 
 your heart?" he asked; is there one thing that pleads 
 for me ? Ah, yes, surely the face and the voice of the 
 child that calls me father, surely that will not plead to you 
 in vain." 
 
 The golden head sunk lower on his breast. 
 
 " Twelve long years ago," he said. " I have loved you, 
 longed for you, missed you, sorrowed for you, searched 
 for you. Ah, my darling, perhaps it is all on my side, not 
 on yours. Naomi, neither my rank nor wealth have 
 brought me joy. I have been a mystery to every one, and 
 a misery to myself; do you not think I have suffered long 
 enough more than you ? You have had the love of our 
 boy to console you; you have not been desolate at heart 
 as I have been. Naomi, does he live, this son of mine, of 
 whom you have never spoken to me yet ? Say, my dar- 
 ling, that you forgive me, and that you will tell me about 
 my son. 
 
 For some few minutes there was silence, unbroken ex- 
 cept by her bitter sobs, and it was the first time that he 
 had beaten down the last of the barriers raised in her 
 heart against him; he did not try to check the bitter weep- 
 ing; he soothed the golden head; he caressed the fair, 
 shining hair with his bauds and his lips, murmuring sweet 
 and loving words, such as he had whispered years ago. 
 Bnt for the pasiionate fit of weeping, but for this tender
 
 THE DUKE'S 8ECBET. 367 
 
 dre&my comfort he gave her who knows how this story 
 would have ended ? His kindness conquered her. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, my darling wife," he said, " that if you 
 have any tears to shed you can shed them here." 
 
 He tightened the clasp of his arm round her; he whis- 
 pered such loving words to her that no woman could listen 
 to them unmoved. The bitter sobs ceased, the passionate 
 tears fell no longer; she lay in his arms tired, yet at rest, 
 like a wearied child. 
 
 "My wife, my darling, have you forgiven me?" he 
 asks. "Say that one word to me. It was a grievous 
 wrong a deadly injury, but I will atone as no man ever 
 atoned before. Whisper to me one word of pardon, and 
 I shall be the happiest man in the world." 
 
 She thought of Valentine's words, of the light in her 
 fair face, the flash in her violet eyes, the true, firm voice 
 that had at first persuaded her, then told her pitilesa 
 truths; surely her love was not less noble than this girl's, 
 who declared that even if he slew her she would forgive 
 him and bless him in dying. 
 
 She looked up into his face. 
 
 " Do you know," she said, solemnly, " that there is one 
 who loves you with a deeper and truer love than mine ?" 
 
 " I will not believe it," he replied. " It is not now a 
 question of any other love, but entirely of your own. I 
 want your pardon. Will you give it to me, Naomi ?" 
 
 " Yes," she whispered. " I never intended to forgive 
 you. Just as you had cast me out from your life, I 
 intended to remain outside it. I never meant that you 
 should recognize me or claim me again ; but I forgive you, 
 Bertrand, and the past shall be buried between us." 
 
 His eyes were dim with tears. Heaven had been very 
 good to him after all. He had made the most terrible 
 mistake a man could make in life, and now it was all hap* 
 pily ended. 
 
 The ormolu clock struck one before they remembered 
 time was passing. Naomi looked up in dismay. 
 
 " Why, Bertrand, you have been here two hours, and it 
 does not seem two minutes!" she cried. " It was always 
 so hours flew like minutes when we were together, and 
 they lengthened into days when we were apart." 
 
 "May it always be so," cried the duke. " Ob, Naomi, 
 all the old love for you comes back to my heart Do you
 
 368 THP, DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 remember how I used to watch for you and wait for you t 
 J begin to wonder how I have lived through all these 
 long years without you." 
 
 And seeing that there was great danger of the love- 
 making coming over again, Naomi said : 
 
 " My uncle will be at home at two for luncheon. " 
 
 "May I stay and join you?" he asked. 
 
 " No." And she looked up at him with serious, loving 
 eyes. " No, not to-day, Bertrand. I am not so cold nor 
 BO heartless as you think. I have gone through as much 
 as I can bear to-day just as much." 
 
 " But, Naomi, must I leave you in suspense ?" he asked. 
 
 " No, that would - be kind either. Come back this 
 evening. I will give up all my engagements. I will stay 
 at home to receive you; and I will tell you my story since 
 we parted." 
 
 " You will come back to me, Naomi ?" he said, wistfully. 
 
 "Yes, I will come back," she replied. "Come this 
 evening, and I will arrange it all; but go now, because I 
 can not bear any more." 
 
 Aad with that he was fain to be content. 
 
 CHAPTER LXVHI. 
 
 A NOBLE NATURE AND A NOBLE LOVE. 
 
 How IMPATIENTLY she had waited through the hours of 
 the day, how long they had seemed to her; yet as they 
 passed she could come to no decision as to what she 
 should do. She never thought that events would take 
 this turn. She had never had the faintest intention of 
 going back to the duke. When she left England it was 
 forever, she believed, and she did her honest best to for- 
 get even the name of the man whom she had loved so 
 much, and who had caused her so much unhappiness. In 
 the new world no one knew anything of her; she would 
 never be pained or tortured by hearing his name, by 
 hearing any allusion to him. She had left it all behind, 
 even as she had left the white cliffs of England behind 
 her. She alone knew how many years it had taken her 
 to beat down her love, to trample it under her feet, to 
 live without it, to lose the sting of its sorrow and shame. 
 She had done hard battle with time, because she loved 
 him BO well; and he crushed that love out of her heart; 
 lie had crushed much more with it; much of her faith m
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 359 
 
 numan nature, of her kindness of heart. One can not 
 kill a great love without destroying the best part of one's 
 nature with it. 
 
 Then, when she believed her love to be dead, Naomi 
 looked her life in the face. She could never marry; true 
 that if she chose to appeal to the law she ruight do so, 
 perhaps with a chance of success, but that she would 
 never do; that was not what she wanted; she had had 
 quite enough of love, lovers and marriage; she wanted no 
 more. 
 
 Looking at her life as it lay before her, she saw what it 
 would be like, and embraced it. She would have every- 
 thing that money could buy magnificence, wealth, luxury, 
 grandeur, were all spread before her; she could have any- 
 thing and everything her heart desired ; she could have 
 dresses and jewels fit for a queen; she could travel; she 
 could see the greatest wonders of the world, but she could 
 call no man husband; she could have no child of her own; 
 she would be able to help the poor, the sick, the miser- 
 able; she could make the widows sing for joy; she could 
 shield the orphan and the friendless; she could do any- 
 thing except love or marry ; she took her life as it was, 
 accepted her fate, and made the best of it. 
 
 She was far too noble a woman to be content with the 
 pleasures of the world. No one knew the amount of good 
 she did in her quiet, graceful, unobtrusiv manner. There 
 was no great ceremony; she built no church, she founded 
 no great public buildings, but she saved many a family 
 from utter ruin and destitution. 
 
 In that far-off Annrican city where she had dwelt so 
 long the very hearts of the people blessed her; there 
 Were hundreds who owed the happiness of their lives to 
 her, and the blessing of the people is the highest crown 
 man or woman can wear. 
 
 Then came her uncle's natural desire to travel, to return 
 to his native land, where his heart really was. It was a great 
 pleasure to her to see the wonders of the world, its fair 
 cities and places. The more she traveled the more her 
 mind opened, the deeper became the forgetfulness of the 
 past which had so dark a background for her. 
 
 "When Hardress Glynton spoke of going to England, 
 for a few minutes she faltered; she knew that she had t 
 express but one idea, utter one word, and he would cheai*
 
 360 TEE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 fully renounce that wish. But why should it be ? She 
 might live in London fifty years, and never see those she 
 dreaded to see; they lived in one world, she quite in an- 
 other; they need never meet. 
 
 But when Brook House was finished she saw her mist 
 take. They were received in the very first circles; dukes 
 and duchesses held out friendly hands to them, peers and 
 princes were pleased to see them. It was not only the vast 
 wealth of the millionaire, but the marvelous beauty of the 
 supposed daughter that brought them so prominently 
 into notice. She who had thought never to hear his 
 name again, found herself now living among his friends 
 and acquaintances, visiting the same houses he visited, 
 going to the same entertainments; and she saw that the 
 time must come when she must meet him. It did not 
 matter; how should it? Her love was all dead. She 
 could meet him without agitation, without the awakening 
 of the old love that was so surely dead, so surely slain 
 and buried out of sight. Yet as the days passed on and 
 she heard him spoken of her opinion of him changed. 
 
 " A women-hater," they called him, this gallant young 
 lover of hers, whose face she remembered so full of love 
 and tenderness, whose eyes had drunk in her fair young 
 beauty as twilight drinks in dew. 
 
 A woman-hater ! He must have changed marvelously 
 since then. She heard him spoken of constantly as one 
 who shunned the society of ladies, who went alone on his 
 way through life, who never asked for the smile of any 
 woman, or for a gracious word. She heard that in spite 
 of his brilliant position, his wealth, his rank, he was always 
 melancholy, always sad. 
 
 And then as she was drawn more and more into the 
 whirlpool of fashionable life, she heard more of the duch- 
 ess, of her bitter disappointment because her son seemed 
 averse to marriage; of Lady Everleigh'svain triumph over 
 her ; and then for the first time she realized what his suf- 
 ferings had been. She never thought of that part of it 
 before; she had pictured him always as gay, happy, suc- 
 cessful. To think of him as lonely, melancholy, with 
 blighted, ruined life had not occurred to her. Now she 
 realized his part in the matter. 
 
 He was one of the first peers in England, the descend- 
 ant of a grand old race; his name and title dear to ktff
 
 THE DUKE'S SECBET. 361 
 
 Mart, and he was aloue. He could ask no woman to share 
 his heart, to share his title, to brighten his home; he must 
 pass through life with a bitter secret eating away bis 
 heart; love of wife or child could never be his never 1 
 
 He was condemned to a life such as no man could en- 
 dure married, yet with no wife title, fortune, estates, 
 honors, all to pass to a man whom his mother hated, to 
 the son of a woman who triumphed so basely over her. 
 Then, when she understood what he had to suffer, she 
 wished to see him. When she was going to a party or 
 a ball she dressed herself with the greatest care; it might 
 some any evening, this event on which she had begun to 
 dream and muse. 
 
 It did come; she stood face to face with him, and he 
 did not know her. His eyes looked into hers with the 
 careless glance of a stranger. Her heart for a few minutes 
 seemed to have ceased beating, and then she remembered 
 the love of other days was crushed and buried out of 
 sight. 
 
 She saw also that what people said of Vnrn was quite 
 true he looked melancholy; there was always a veil of 
 sadness over his face, there was no ring in his laughter, 
 no ring in his voice. He looked like a man who suffered, 
 like a man with a story; and she alone knew what the 
 story was. She might have relented to him but for the 
 duchess; whenever Naomi saw that stately and beautiful 
 lady her whole soul rose in hot rebellion against her. 
 And her dislike to the haughty woman hardened her 
 heart against that woman's son. 
 
 Then she began to notice that the fair young Lady 
 Valentine was jealous of her. It was only human nature, 
 then, that she should enter the lists against her. She 
 had meant no harm; she had never intended the duke 
 should have the faintest idea of her identity. At the end 
 of the season she was going away, and might never see 
 either of them again ; but in the meantime she must give 
 Lady Valentine a lesson. All this abruptly ended when 
 the duke claimed her as his wife. It was an emergency 
 she had not prepared for, had not anticipated. He 
 claimed her by every right, human and divine; she waa 
 his by the law of Heaven as well as by the law of man. 
 She could no longer hold his sin before her, for he had 
 repented of it; he had asked her forgiveness; he had
 
 362 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 humiliated himself before her; he had explained much of 
 what had seemed to her incomprehensible. 
 
 Now what was she to say to him when he came ? 
 
 Lady Valentine's womanly, noble words had touched 
 the inmost core of her heart; she thought of them over 
 and over again as she stood there debating within her- 
 self the grand question of her life; what would she say 
 to him when he came ? 
 
 " That girl has a nobler nature than mine," said the 
 beautiful, thoughtful woman to herself; " a nobler nature; 
 and she loves him with a nobler love." 
 
 "What should she say to him ? Should she go back to 
 him, take her place as his wife, make herself known to 
 the world as the Duchess of Castlemayne ? Her heart 
 beat high at the thought. She saw how brilliant was the 
 life that lay before her. She saw how happy she could 
 make him, how different his life would be for him. How 
 proud and pleased the duchess would be and there 
 crept into her heart, noble and generous as it was, a 
 slight degree of feminine satisfaction that her grace 
 would be dowager duchess; and much as she had wished 
 for the title, Naomi knew she would not like hearing it. 
 There is something in the word " dowager " not always 
 pleasant to those who still retain their beauty and desire 
 to please. 
 
 He would be here soon; what should she say to him 
 yes or no ? Should she be Duchess of Castlemayne or re- 
 main Miss Glynton until the end of her life ? 
 
 Did she wish to charm him that she dressed with such 
 elegance and care; that she wore diamonds in her hair 
 and on her white breast; that she wore a white lace 
 trimmed with white lilies that should remind him of ft 
 wedding-dress ? 
 
 That told more than anything else what she meant to 
 say, 
 
 CHAPTER LXIX. 
 
 BURIED AT SEA. 
 
 IT was the prettiest home scene possible. It brought a 
 gleam of comfort and warmth to the duke's heart when he 
 entered. The beautiful room, with its lights and flowers, 
 the beautiful woman in her diamonds and white lace, who 
 awaited him with that fair flush on her face. 
 
 " Naomi," said the duke, as he entered the room, " I
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 363 
 
 oan nqt tell you in what an awkward position I feel myself 
 to be; my impulse is to rush up to you, clasp you in my 
 arms, and call you my darling wife. If I did it you might, 
 perhaps, order me away again; if I omit it I shall feel 
 miserable." 
 
 "Let us mat? a compromise," she said. "Do not rush 
 up to me; do not call me darling wife; but here is mj 
 hand, kiss it, and say, ' How are you, Naomi?"' 
 
 "No!" he cried, impetuously, "that I will not," and be- 
 fore she had time to resist, he clasped her in his arms and 
 devoured her beautiful face in kisses. He kissed the 
 white brow, the white eyelids, the fragrant, quivering lips 
 until she could find her voice and cry out. 
 
 " No more !" 
 
 " I have to make up for twelve years," he said. " Think 
 of the kisses you owe me, Naomi." 
 
 " It is not fair to begin by kissing me," she cried. 
 " You should have listened to me first, and then have 
 asked permission to to kiss me, supposing our interview 
 ended pleasantly." 
 
 " I have not the least douot of that," laughed the duke; 
 " but I am tired of the role of patient husband. I begin 
 from this moment to be a tyrant. I mean to have my 
 own way ; I do not intend our interview to end, nor do I 
 intend to bow to your sweet, cold, cruel will any longer, 
 my Naomi" 
 
 She drew back startled; she was not prepared for this 
 passionate demonstration; it upset all her arrangements 
 and plans; but he was resolute. 
 
 " I will have no more of it, Naomi," he said. " I wor- 
 shipped you once, I worship you now; I was a cruel to 
 you once, I will love you doubly all the rest of my life." 
 
 The beautiful face softened; and this time, when he 
 threw his arms round her and drew her to him she did 
 not resist. 
 
 " Naomi," he whispered, " my heart is full of impatience 
 where is my child ?" 
 
 Then of her own free will she laid her arms round his 
 neck and kissed his face. 
 
 " I will tell you," she answered. " Come with me 
 where I can see the stars as I tell you." 
 
 She led the way to the beautiful balcony, from which 
 he could see the sparkling night sky with its glitter of
 
 864 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 golden stars; the moonlight on the trees and green parka. 
 
 " The stars saw so much I have to narrate that I can 
 tell you better under this light than in a room " 
 
 She stood there; the clouds of rich lace falling from 
 her, the diamonds shining in her golden hair, the fairest 
 vision his eyes had ever seen. 
 
 " I have wanted to tell you for so long. I shall begin 
 Bay story from the time you left me." 
 
 Passionate kisses closed her lips. 
 
 "You are never to name that time again." he said; " it 
 is all over and ended; promise me you will not." 
 
 " I will not," she said. 
 
 She told him every detail of her history, how quite by 
 accident she had seen the advertisement inserted by her 
 uncle in the papers, answered it, and went out to him. 
 
 " I meant to tell him the story of my marriage when he 
 aw the boy," she said, " but he never saw him. He was 
 quite well, my little Aired, during the first half of the 
 journey, and then he began to sicken of some childish 
 fever that ended fatally. I can talk to yc a now, Bertrand, 
 without tears. I have shed them all. My heart burrs 
 and my brain seems to be on fire wh?n I think of him; 
 but I have no tears. I loved him so utterlv, so com- 
 pletely, that I wonder I lived one hour after he died. I 
 hated the health and strength that would not let me die. 
 Every one the captain, the doctor, the passengers was 
 very kind to me and my beautiful boy; for three whole 
 days and nights I sat with him in my arms; I watched 
 every breath. Ah, Heaven, I can not tell you all abou t it, 
 it would kill me to put it into words. It has beex> a great 
 tearless agony of which I have told no one." 
 
 He kissed and soothed her with loving words. 
 
 "So I have no son, Naomi. I have only you !" he said; 
 **you must give me double love to make up for it." 
 
 "He died, Bertrand," she said, "when the sun was 
 setting over the sea, with a calm, sweet smile on his face, 
 as though he already saw the angels there. I never re- 
 member what followed his death; but that hours after- 
 ward I awoke up and found myself alone. The stars 
 were shining on the sea; my brain whirled, my limbs 
 trembled. I wanted my baby. I crept up the ladder, and 
 just as I reached the deck I saw the doctor. I held out 
 my hand* to hj*n. 'I want my baby!' I cried. Ha
 
 THE DUKE'S BECBET. 365 
 
 farted back, and then I saw a little group. Oh, Bertrand ! 
 sleeping or waking, can I ever forget how the stars shone 
 on the sea ! 
 
 "A little group the captain, who held my hand 
 when baby died, and told me ' how little angels went 
 home,' the doctor and a sailor who had a coffin in 
 his arms and the captin was reading prayers. 
 
 "'Stop!' I cried. 'You are not going to bury my 
 baby in the sea ! you can not, you dare not !' 
 
 " ' We must, my dear/ said the captain. 
 
 '"But you can not; no man could have the heart. 
 Look what a great wide ocean it is ! you can not leave 
 my little child in it all alone such a little child 1 
 Why, the coffin will never sink; it will be washed forever 
 through those great waves ! Oh, if it must go, put it in 
 my arms, and let me go with it.' 
 
 " ' She should not have been here,' said the doctor. 
 
 "A little child, alone in the great, lonely, desolate 
 ocean 1" I cried in anguish. " If it were nearer land I 
 should not care so much." 
 
 " The captain laid down his prayer-book and came to 
 me. He pointed to the shining stars, and the waves came 
 rushing by as though they were singing a requiem over 
 a newly made grave. 
 
 " ' Look up there, my dear,' he said, in his kindly, homely 
 fashion; 'your little child is there, bright, shining, happy 
 among the angels of heaven. It is not your pretty, 
 laughing child who is shut up here; this is only the pretty, 
 fair shell that held the beautiful soul. When you think 
 of your baby, look up at the stars in heaven, not down at 
 the stars reflected in the sea. Kiss the little coffin, my 
 dear; we made it as pretty as we could: kiss it, and 
 say, ' I give my little child to Heaven.' 
 
 " I did as he told me ; and then, ah, Bertrand ! I looked 
 at the water; the great, green waves were smooth and 
 bright; the shadow of the stars lay in them; and as I 
 looked, something first cleaved the bright green water, 
 confused for a moment the picture of the stars, and then 
 the waters closed again. That is where your little son 
 lies, Bertrand, in the midst of the great wide Atlantic 
 Ocean. What a grave for that little, loving child ! 
 
 " Time heals every sorrow," she said, after a ti^ae. " 1 
 have learned to think of my child in heaven; but thert
 
 366 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 
 
 we two things I can not bear: one is the long wash anl 
 roll of the waves, the other is the stars shining on the sea. 
 Mind, I must never live within sound of the sea. Why, 
 Bertrand, you are crying !" 
 
 The great strong frame was shaken with sobs, the dark 
 handsome face was wet with tears. 
 
 " Oh, Naomi, it is my sorrow, too. You have known it 
 for twelve years; it has just come to me; it is new to me, 
 but none the less sharp and bitter." 
 
 She did what would have seemed to her quite impossible 
 before she kissed his tears away. 
 
 "He was just like you, Bertrand," she said; "he had 
 the loveliest face and such bonny curls. When we crossed 
 the ocean to come back to England isy unc/e and I I 
 was wondering all the time where that little coffin was/' 
 
 Then he took her in his arms and leaned his head on 
 her shoulder. The} 7 wept together over the little one lost 
 so long ago; and after that between tbem there could be 
 no quarrel or parting more. 
 
 An hour or two afterward the duke looked up with a 
 smile into his wife's face. 
 
 " When will you come home with me?" he asked; and 
 she answered: 
 
 " Your own heart ought to tell you that there is one 
 amend you ought to make me. When you have made that 
 I will come." 
 
 "I know what it is," he said, " and it shall be done." 
 
 CHAPTER LXX. 
 
 KEOONCIL1ATION. 
 
 AGAIN the beautiful Naomi, Duchess of Castlemayne, 
 stands in her room alone. It is the morning after her in- 
 terview with the duke, and she is wondering if he has 
 read the desire of her heart rightly. If he has she will go 
 away with him at once when he asks her; if not, then she 
 would keep him in suspense a day or two longer. 
 
 But he had divined it, for while she stands arranging 
 some of hey best loved flowers the Duke and Duchess of 
 Castlemayne are announced. She grew pale and trembled 
 slightly as the tall, stately figure of the duchess swept into 
 the room. 
 
 She was face to face with the woman who had crushed 
 her, at last
 
 THE DUKE'S SECRET. 3CT 
 
 said Duke Bertrand, "I have told my mother 
 11, anJ she has come to ask your forgiveness, and to ask 
 for mine." 
 
 Then the dowager duchess spoke. It cost her an effort. 
 She looked pale and agitated. She came forward and 
 took Naomi's hand in hers. 
 
 " I am a proud woman, Naomi," she said, " and I do 
 not remember that I have humbled myself to any one in 
 my life. I have never begged pardon of any man or 
 woman. I humble myself before you now. I beg your 
 pardon for my unjust suspicions, my rash, cruel judg- 
 ment, my cruel treatment of you. Oh, child ! why did 
 you not speak ? " 
 
 " I could not; my promise kept me silent," said Naomi. 
 
 " If I had known the truth ! " said her grace, with 
 tears in her eyes. "I was cruel to you; scornful and 
 proud ! Will you forgive me, Naomi ? " 
 
 " I will," she replied, solemnly ; and the Dowager 
 Duchess of Castlemayne laid her head on the breast of 
 her son's wife, and shed there the happiest tears she had 
 ever shed in her life. 
 
 " My dear," she said, " I could not believe Bertrand at 
 first. He had to repeat his story many times. I could 
 not understand it or realize it." 
 
 " It must have surprised you," said Naomi, thoughtfully. 
 
 " I have promised my son," continued her grace, " to 
 say nothing to you of the pain it has caused me. Nothing 
 can excuse him but the excess of youthful folly. Making 
 love to you was wrong, but concealing his marriage, in 
 spite of what had happened, was to my mind the greatest 
 wrong of all; and that is the last word I have to say upon 
 the subject. Naomi, welcome to my house and heart. 
 Love my son, be a good wife to him, and we shall be happy." 
 
 Duke Bertrand went up to his wife. 
 
 "Did I guess the one thing you wished ?" he asked. 
 
 "Yes," she replied. 
 
 " Then give me my reward, Naomi." 
 
 She went up to him and laid her arms round his neck. 
 
 "I am content and happy," she said; I will go with you 
 where you will." 
 
 " So," said the astonished Mr. Glynton, when the do^r- 
 ager duchess had finished telling him the romance, " 
 have been entertaining a duchess all these years I"
 
 368 THE DUKE'S SECRET, 
 
 Her grace had desired to tell him the story herself. The 
 two most concerned stood by in silence. He was rather 
 amused than otherwise, and thought more of the fact that his 
 niece had been a duchess all these years than anything else. 
 
 He promised never to tell the secret, and he never did. 
 He married Lady Belle, and worshipped her until the end 
 of his life. He confided every thought to her, but he 
 never told her the duke's secret, and the world never 
 knew it. The dowager duchess had already arranged 
 everything in her own mind. First, with great pride, she 
 announced the engagement, to the total overthrow of all 
 Lady Everleigh's hopes; then she went to Italy taking 
 the duke and duchess with her. 
 
 From Italy the marriage was announced, but neither 
 date nor place was given, and those who read it smiled, as 
 they thought the dowager had been in such haste to get 
 it over, that she had omitted all the details. The world 
 thought more of Lady Everleigh's defeat than of the dow ; 
 *ger's success. 
 
 "The dowager dare not lose a day," they said; "the 
 duke proposed one day and married the next; he wa 
 married at some out-of-the-way place in Italy. 
 
 But that was his business. All that the world troubled 
 itself about now was this that next year the beautiful 
 Duchess of Castlemayne would be its queen. Ladj 
 Everleigh was abroad; she had been too arrogant, too 
 sure, and very few sympathized with her in her downfall. 
 With both her daughters married and her son in India 
 she had time to muse on the vanities of the world anV 
 all belonging to it. 
 
 Two years later on there was another wedding, which 
 brought untold happiness to Kood Castle. Lady Valen- 
 tine took compassion on Harry Bellairs, and made him 
 the happiest man in the world. 
 
 The dowager duchess has no longer any fear of the 
 succession, for three healthy, handsome boys call her 
 " Grandmamma." But Naomi, Duchess of Castlemayne, 
 amid all her happiness, thinks of the little coffin lost in 
 the green shining waves, and dreads more than anything 
 else the sound of the moaning sea.
 
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