MHKHI
I
91
9HHI
A NOBLE LORD.
THE SEQUEL TO
"THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW."
BY
, EMMA D. E. N, SOUTHWORTIL
AUTHOR OP "FAIR PLAY," "now HE WON HER," "CFIAXHED BRIDES," "BRIDE'S FATE,'
"CRUEL AS THE GRAVE," "TRIED FOR HER LIFE," "RETRIBUTION,"
"THE LOST HEIRESS," "FORTUNE SEEKER," "DESERTED WIFE," ETC.
The monarch mind, the mystery of commanding,
The birth hour gift, the art Napole&iie,
Of winning, fettering, moulding, wielding, bunding
The hearts of millions, till they nmve as one.
FITZ-GREENE UALLECK.
PHILADELPHIA:
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS;
306 CHESTNUT STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1572, by
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
MRS. EMMA D, E, N. SOUTHWORTH'S WORKS.
Each Work is complete in one large duodecimo volume.
A NOBLE LORD. Sequel to " The Lo-t Heir of Linlit!iyw."
THE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW.
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SI A OF A COUNTESS.
THE MAIDEN WIDO W. Sequel to " The Family Doom."
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE.
THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.
THE DESERTED WIFE.
THE CHANGED BRIDES.
THE BRIDE'S FATE. SEQUEL TO CHANGED BRIDES.
TRIED FOR HER LIFE. A Sequel to "Cruel as the Grave."
THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN.
THE GIPSY'S PROPHECY.
THE FORTUNE SEEKER.
THE LOST HEIRESS.
THE CHRISTMAS GUEST.
THE BRIDAL EVE.
THE THREE BEAUTIES.
FAIR PLAY; OR, THE TEST OF THE LONE ISLE.
HOW HE WON HER. A SEQUEL TO FAIR PLAY.
THE FATAL MARRIAGE.
THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD.
LOVE'S LABOR WON.
THE MISSING BRIDE.
LADY OF THE ISLE.
THE WIFE'S VICTORY.
THE TWO SISTERS.
FALLEN PRIDE; OR, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL'S LOVE.
INDIA; OR, THE PEARL OF PEARL HIVE II.
VI VI A; OR, THE SECRET OF POWER.
THE CURSE OF CLIFTON.
THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER.
THE WIDOW'S SON.
ALL WOR TH A IS III-: Y.
RETRIBUTION.
Price of each, $1.75 in Cloth ; or 31.50 in Paper Cover.
Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any or
all of the above books will be sent to any one, to any place,
postage pre-paid, on receipt of their price by the Publishers,
T. B. PETERSOX & BROTHERS,
306 CHESTNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA.
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
i. BENNY'S HAVEN 21
II. ARIELLE 30
in. POOR BENNY'S PURGATORY 37
iv. BENNY'S BURDEN TOO HEAVY TO BE BOKNE.. 47
V. THE BURG LARY 54
VI. THE NIGHT ALARM AT WOODBINE COTTAGE... 63
VII. THE DETECTIVE 72
VIII. THE DUEL. 82
IX. AFTER TIIK FATAL DUEL 03
X. BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET 101
XL HOW BENNY WAS BETRAYED 116
XII. HOW BENNY WAS COMMITTED FOR TRIAL 125
XIII. THE LITTLE PRISONER 133
XIV. THE LITTLE OUTCAST IN PRISON 145
xv. BENNY'S FATE 152
xvi. BENNY'S STRUGGLE 102
XVII. TRIUMPHS OF TIME THE YOUNG PRIMA DONNA. 171
XVIII. THE PRIMA DONNA AND TUB RETURNED CON-
VICT 182
XIX. TWO FATES 191
xx. BENJAMIN'S STORY 197
(10)
20 CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
XXI. THE TWO < 209
XXII. THE OUTCAST IN SEAKCH OF HIS PEDIGREE... 219
XXIII. MISTKESS AND MAN 228
XXIV. THE LITTLE SUPPER 236
xxv. THE EARL'S LOVE 245
XXVI. THE BROTHERS FACE TO FACE 253
xxvii. THE OUTCAST'S LOVE 259
xxviii. THE OUTCAST'S LAST OFFERING 272
XXIX. LOVE'S MARTYRDOM 276
XXX. WHAT THE SACRIFICE COST 289
XXXI. THE LOST STAR 297
XXXII. FETTERED LOVE 306
XXXIII. COUNSEL AND CLIENT 317
XXXIV. STARTLING NEWS 328
xxxv. BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME 335
XXXVI. TO THE WAR ! 347
XXXVII. LOVE'S MISTAKES 353
xxxviii. BENNY'S RISE 3(51
XXXIX. VICTORY AND DEATH 3G8
XL. PROOFS 380
XLI. AT SETON ON THE LOCH 390
XLII. NEWS OF SUZY 300
XLIII. NEWS FOR THE DUKE AND DUCHKSS 402
XLIV. "PASS TNG THE LOVE OF WOMAN." 410
XLV. VICTORY OF LOVE 417
A NOBLE LORD.
CHAPTER I.
BENNY'S HAVEN.
It is a home to die for, as it stands
Through its vine foliage, sending forth a sound
Of mirthful childhood o'er the green repose
And laughing sunshine of the pastures round. FELICIA HEMANS.
" WHY, what a pretty boy ! But surely, Charlie, dear,
you never got this boy out of the work-house !" exclaimed
Mrs. Faulkner, half in admiration, half in pity, as she
gazed at Benny.
" Well, 1 did, then, and I have got him regularly inden-
tured to me," answered the Captain, drawing a document
from his pocket and holding it up before his wife.
"But then this fair, refined looking lad! He never
could have belonged to the working classes ! And I'm
sure he'll never do for a servant," said Molly.
The Captain shrugged his shoulders.
" It is hard telling where such children come from. I
like him all the better for his good looks. And as to his
never doing for a servant, we'll see that."
" But what odd clothes he has got on ! "
"It is the work-house uniform ; but we'll change all that
to-morrow, and put him into a page's livery army blue,
with brass buttons. Eh, my lad ! wouldn't you like a dress
(21)
22 A NOBLE LORD.
of that sort?" inquired the Captain good-naturedly, turn-
ing to his new servant.
"Oh, yes, sir, please !" eagerly answered Benny, smiling
all over his face, and gazing around upon the prettiest room
he ever was in in his life, except the grand drawing-room
at Brunswick Terrace, Brighton.
" You must look straight at me when I speak to you,
Benjamin ; do you hear '/ " said the Captain.
" Yes, sir," said the boy.
" Is his name Benjamin ?" inquired Molty.
" Yes, Benjamin Hurst. And he is bound to me until
he is eighteen years old," replied Captain Faulkner.
" He is too delicate to make a good servant. You'll
repent your bargain," persisted Molly.
"We'll see! Benjamin, can you wait at table?" in-
quired the Captain.
" Yes, sir," answered the boy,
" Did you ever do it ?" inquired Mrs. Faulkner.
"No, missus; but I know I could," said the boy, still
letting his eyes wander around the charming room.
"Bravo!" exclaimed the Captain, approvingly.
"Are you an orphan, Benjamin?" kindly inquired the
lady.
The boy's fair face clouded over.
" No, missus," he answered sadly.
"Well, then, where are your parents?"
The boy hesitated for a moment and then answered :
" Mother's in the 'sylum and father's ruiincd away ; "
and as he spoke, the tears filled his eyes.
" Poor fellow ! Well, never mind. You will be happy
with us here," said Moll} 7 , pitifully.
" If you do 3'our duty," added the Captain.
" Now come in to supper, Charley," said Molly, rising to
lead the way into the neat dining-room.
"And you come too, my lad, and lake your first lesson in
waiting," said Captain Faulkner.
BENNY'S HAVEN. 23
And the husband and wife went and sat down to the
well-spread table, and Benny stood waiting, attentive,
eager, anxious to be useful.
With his quick intelligence and ready obedience he
easily learned his duties, and completely satisfied his new
master and mistress.
When supper was over, Mrs. Faulkner rang for the cook,
and told her to take the new boy into the kitchen and give
him his supper, and then to make a bed for him in the loft
over the scullery.
"Aud mind," said the cook, as she took him away,
" after this yer to clear off the table as well as wait on it."
" Yes'm," answered Benny, cheerfully.
"And you must be up early in the morning, and come
down here and make the fire for me against I get up," con-
tinued the cook, who seemed to think the boy was taken
into the house only for her benefit.
But Benny willingly agreed to all her requirements, for
he was pleased with his new master and mistress, pleased
with the cottage and the country, and pleased with his own
prospects.
And when he had had a good supper and found himself
in his bed, in a clean, bare, well-ventilated loft, he could
not go to bleep for thinking how prosperous and happy he
was.
He had always been anxious to be a " good boy." He
had often run great risks to " hook " groceries, or fruit, or
anything for his friends, because they would reward him by
calling him a " good boy," and he would believe them.
And now, lying on his bed, he aspired to deserve his
prosperity and happiness by being a very good boy, yes,
the very best of boys ! And he resolved to rise very early
in the morning to perform his duties.
Poor fellow ! Proper teachers might have make a good
and useful man of him, but would Captain Faulkuer, the
ruined gainuster, be the proper teacher ? We shall see.
Z4 A NOBLE LORD.
Ah ! well, there are hundreds of thousands of boys and
girls as well meaning, as badly trained as Benny Hurst.
I take him as an example only because I knew him.
Legislators spare hundreds from the saving of the inno-
cents, and then have to spend millions in the punishment of
the criminals that neglect has left them to become ! Even
an old wife's proverb might teach them better economy :
"An ounce of prevention is better than a pound of cure."
But to return to Benny, who, in his weary pilgrimage
through the desert of this world, had just now come upon
an oasis.
Benny, having charged himself to do so, awoke early in
the morning, and went down into the kitchen and made up
the fire for the cook.
And then, as no one in the house was stirring, and as he
did not know what else to do with himself, he went out
into the garden.
It was midsummer. There were green trees and shrubs
and grass, and ripe fruit and bright flowers, and a soft blue
sky, and a pure, fresh atmosphere.
" This was Heaven ! Yes, surely this was Heaven ! " he
mused. Benny had never in his life seen the country in
the summer! No wonder he thought it was Heaven.
Presently the children, up long before their parents, ran
out into the garden, and seeing the young stranger, gath-
ered around him with child-like friendliness, and asked him
what was his name, and where he was from, and whether
he wouldn't like to see the bee-hive and the hen-roost.
And Benny, charmed with the beauty and brightness
and kindliness of his little friends, told them that he was
the new boy, and meant to do his best.
And then Charlej' would have taken him off to look at
the duck pond, only that the shrill voice of the cook was
heard, loudly calling to Benny to come into the house and
learn to lay the cloth for breakfast.
B EN NY'S H A YEN. 25
And Benny, though loath to leave his little friends, ran.
eagerly into the house to do as he was bid.
That day Benny was put into his new page's livery a
dark blue jacket and trowsers, with three rows of buttons
on the breast of the jacket. And a very pretty page he
made, fit for any lady's boudoir.
And that day Captain Faulkner, Mrs. Faulkner and the
cook alternately gave Benny instructions in his new duties,
which, to the lad's wondering mind, seemed utterly incon-
sistent with and contradictory to each other.
For instance, Mrs. Faulkner said to him :
"And above all things, Benjamin, remember this: that
whatever you do, you must always tell the truth."
" Yes, missus," answered the boy.
" And never, never, XEVER tell a lie."
" No, missus."
And a little later in the day Captain Faulkner said to
him :
" It will be your duty, Benjamin, to attend the door bell.
And when any one asks if I am at home you must say that
you don't know, but that you'll go and see. Do you under-
stand?"
" Yes, sir ; but must I say it when J know you be at
home ? " inquired Benny.
" Certainly, you blockhead ! You must literally obey my
orders, and say that you don't know whether I'm at homo
or not ; but you'll come and see. And then come straight
to me for further orders."
" Yes, sir."
" You understand now ? "
" Oh, yes, sir."
In the afternoon Mrs. Faulkner said to him :
' Benny, you must be honest, you know."
" Yes, missus."
" And never take even so much as a pin that don't belong
to you."
26 A N O 15 L E L O R D.
"No, missus."
lu the evening, while he sat by the kitchen window with
the cook, that worthy woman said to him :
"And long as you tend on the house, boy, and see any
little thing laying around loose like, such as a spool o' cot-
ton, or a paper o' needles, or any trifle, you pick it right up,
and bring it to me to put away, you know, Benny, and then
I'll give you a hot cake when I bake, and you needn't say
nothing about it to nobody; do you hear, boy? "
< Yes'm."
" That's a good boy."
Benny went up to his cool loft that night feeling very
much confused with all these contradictory orders. But
having also much pleasanter things to think of, in the chil-
dren and the garden, and all the new charms of his present
life, he quickly ceased to trouble himself in the vain attempt
to reconcile inconsistencies.
He was very happy in his new situation ; there was not a
good thing in it that he did not keenly appreciate : his own
clean clothes and airy lodging and good food, and the pretty
cottage and fruitful garden and pleasant country, and the
good-humored master and mistress and the friendly chil-
dren !
And he firmly resolved to deserve his good luck by being
the very best of boys.
And by way of keeping this resolution, he lied boldly
whenever Captain Faulkner ordered him to do so.
Captain Faulkner had contracted some new debts in the
neighborhood where he now lived, and he did not mean to
pay them. The gallant Captain was in the habit of con-
tracting debts, and not in the habit of paying them. And
now he made Benny deny him to every man who came to
the house with a bill.
" Here comes another one up the lane, boy. Go to the
dour, and tell him I'm not home. Tell him I'm at the sea-
BENNY'S HAVEN. 27
side, and won't be home for a month," said the Captain one
morning, as, looking through his bed-room window, he saw
the approach of a dun.
Benny went down and opened the door to the unwelcome
visitor, when the following colloquy ensued :
" I wish to see the Captain," said the visitor.
" He an't home, sir," replied Benny boldly.
" An't home ! Are you sure ? "
" Oh, yes, sir ; certain sure. The Capting, sir, have gone
down to the seaside, sir, which the doctor ordered of him
there for his 'ealth, sir," answered Benny, improving upon
the story that had been put in his mouth.
" At the seaside is he ? " repeated the visitor incredu-
lously.
" Oh, yes, sir ; and won't be home for a month, sir, which
the doctor ordered, fearing of gonstumption."
" Consumption ! Yes ; he looked like consumption of
beef and beer ! when I saw him at the window as I came
up the lane ! " said the visitor, with an incredulous laugh.
Benny was "taken aback" for a moment, but being a
sharp boy, he soon recovered his self-possession and in-
quired :
" Did you mean the gemman as was a tying of his kervat
at the windy up there, sir ? "
" Of course I did. I saw him plain enough."
" Lor' bless you, sir ! that were masters brother, sir, as
is the very moral of 'iin, sir ; and come down from London
last night, sir, to see missus and the children, sir, which he
is going up to town this arternoon, sir, said Benny, telling
the first plausible story that came into his head.
The dun was no match for the street boy, and whether he
entirely believed the statement or not, he had to go away.
Benny went back to his master and repeated to him the
whole interview.
And oh ! shame of manhood ! the noble Captain laughed
28 ANOBLELORD.
heartily, and clapped the poor ignorant boy on the back,
saying :
" Benjamin, you are the very brightest boy I ever saw in
my life ! that you are ! You are a real treasure, Benjie !
you are, indeed ! I wish I had half a crown to give you ! "
" Please, sir," said Benny, plucking up spirit to make his
desires known, " I don't want half a crown. I'd rather
have"
" What ? A whole crown, I suppose ? " laughed the
Captain.
" No, sir ; I meant a half a holiday some o' these days,
please, sir."
" What do you want with half a holiday, Benjamin ? "
" Please, sir, to go and see Suzy Juniper, sir, please."
" Ha ! ha ! ha ! ho ! ho ! ho ! Suzy Juniper, eh ? Who's
Suzy Juniper ? Your young woman ? " laughingly inquir-
ed the Captain, who was ia a very good humor with his
bright page.
" She's a friend o' mine, please, sir," answered Benny
simply.
" Ah ! a friend of yours ! " laughed the Captain.
" But a very nice girl, for all that, sir ! " added Benny,
who did not quite like his master's tone.
" Oh, of course ! a very nice girl ! "
"And a deal cleverer 'n I am, please, sir. She " He
stopped and hesitated. Ever since the double tragedy of
the Flowers girls, he had associated in his own rnind so
much of vice and crime with the Thespian ballet, that, even
little outcast as he was, he was ashamed to tell the occupa-
tion of his little friend.
"Well, what about her?" good-naturedly inquired the
Captain.
" She's a carpenter's daughter, please, sir."
" Oh, a very decent origin ! Well, Benjamin, when you
have been with us a mouth, and continued to be as sharp
B E N N Y S H A V E N. 29
and serviceable as you are now, you shall have your half
holiday to go and see Miss Suzy. And every mouth, as a
reward for good conduct, you shall have the same indul-
gence,"
" Thank y', sir, please, sir," answered Benny, pulling his
forelock.
And from that day, if it had been possible to have in-
creased his zeal and diligence in the service of the Captain
and his family, Benny would have done it.
The poor boy was very happy at this time. Next to his
pleasure in serving his master and mistress, was his pleas-
ure in playing with the children, with whom he mixed on
almost equal terms ; for children, when unperverted., are
very democratic, although they ccmbe trained to become the
most intolerant little snobs on earth. But there was a very
loose system of family government at the Faulkners', and
the poor bound boy was permitted to associate freely with
the children. Indeed, so much faith had his mistress in
Benny, that whenever she would lose sight of her little
ones for any length of time, and inquire for them and hear
that they were out with Benny, she would say :
" Oh, if Benjamin is with them, it is all right ; he will be
sure to take care of them."
30 ANOBLELORD.
CHAPTER II.
ARIELLE.
She comes, the spirit of the dance !
Now gliding slow with dreamy grace.
Her eyes beneath their lashes lost ;
Now motionless with lifted face,
And small bauds on her bosom crossed.
And now with Rushing eyes she springs
Her whole bright figure raised in air,
As if her soul had spread its wings
And poised her one wild instant there!
She spoke not, but so richly fraught
With language are her glance and smile,
That when she disappeared they thought
She had been talking all the while FRANCIS Osooon,
BUT the month drew to a close, and the day came when
the boy was to have his half holiday.
vBut they gave it to him on Sunday afternoon, when he
could best be spared, for if the family never went to church,
neither did they ever work on the Sabbath day.
" I suppose you'd just as lief have your holiday now as
any other day, wouldn't you, my lad ? " confidentially in-
quired the good-natured Captain, who treated his bound boy
with great familiarity.
" Oh, yes, sir, and a heap liefer ! 'Cause Suzy's always
off o' Sundays," smiled Benny.
" Off? what do you mean by off? " laughed his master.
Benny blushed. Uot for the world would he have
answered, " Off the boards," so he replied evasively :
" She an't got nothing partic'lar to do, sir."
" Oh ! well, get along with you. And be sure to be home
time enough to get ready for your work to-morrow," were
the last charges the Captain gave to his boy.
And at twelve, noon, Benny, in his clean linen and well-
brushed page's suit, and his well-polished shoes and new
cap, and feeling happy as a prince, set out to walk to Lou-
don. He exulted in the consciousness of being clean, well
A R I E L L E. 81
lodged, well fed, well clothed, well liked, respectable and
independent. Yes, even independent ! for the yoke of the
kindly, shiftless Faulkners was so light that he scarcely felt
it, or felt it only as a protection.
He was eager to reach London and the Thespian Yard to
show himself in his new clothes to Suzy Juniper.
He walked very fast, he ran, and sometimes he sprang up
behind a cab and got a free ride for a mile or two before he
would have to jump down again to avoid the lash of the
driver.
Thus in less than an hour he found himself on Waterloo
bridge, and in a few minutes more he entered the dark alley
leading to the courtyard behind the Thespian theatre, at the
back of which stood the old pile of buildings where the
Junipers lodged.
He found the father and mother, with their large family,
sitting at their early dinner.
Benny took off his smart cap, and bowed to them ; but
they only stopped eating and stared at him, until Suzy
sprang up, overturning her chair in her haste, and ran to
him, exclaiming :
" Why, it's Benny ! Why, Benny, what ever has come
to you ? Where have you been ? They told us you had
died in the 'ospital."
" I think I must a died there, Suzy, and gone to Heaven,
'cause I'm so jolly 'appy now !" replied the boy, laughing.
But before another word could be spoken, all the other
Junipers, who now recognized Benny, left their seats at the
table and came around him with more exclamations than I
could repeat, and more questions than he could answer.
" Let the boy sit down and have some dinner, and then
he'll tell us all about it. How smart and handsome he do
look, to be sure ! " said Mrs. Juniper kindly, as she placed
another chair at the full table, and made Benny crowd in.
" Now all on you sit down again and eat yer dinner before
82 A NOBLE LORD.
it spoils. We'd only just begun, Benny, which it is a baked
leg o' mutton and potatoes, and a happle tart, being Sun-
day," explained Mrs. Juniper.
Benny, having a fine appetite of his own, did his duty
faithfully in helping to demolish the joint, and afterward the
pie. But in the intervals of his exertions, he managed to
satisfy the curiosity of his friends by Celling them :
" As I've heerd the misses say, Mrs. Juniper, how I were
reely guv up for dead and tuk out to the dead-house, which
they was just agoing to nail me down in the coffing, when
all of a suddint I cum to, and opened of my eyes and sit
right up in the coffing, and ast them what the blue blazes
they meant by going for to bury a cove alive ! I don't re-
inember it myself > but that's what the cusses says I did,"
said Benny, giving the story with all the exaggerations that
the gossips of the hospital had added to it.
" Which it's my belief as they bury many and many a
poor body alive, that I do ! " exclaimed the mother of the
family.
" Lord bless my soul," groaned the father, as he left the
table and lighted his pipe to smoke the subject. He could
always see more clearly through the fames of tobacco.
"And it's my belief," said Benny, as he cut his apple-tart
" it's my belief as I reely did die and go 'to heaven."
" How can you talk so, Benny, when you know very well
as you're on earth now ! " said Suzy.
" You wouldn't think so, if you knowed where I'm a
living, Suzy," answered the boy.
And he told them all about his being removed from the
hospital to the work-house, and his being bound to Captain
Faulkner, and about his life at Woodbine Cottage.
" Well, if you an't in heaven you're in luck, that's cer-
tain, Benny," said Mrs. Juniper.
" But, Suzy, you've lost all your nice pink and white color,
and you're just as pale and thin as as as anything ! " .said
Benny, looking wistfully at his little friend.
A R I E L L E. 33
" That an't polite of 3-011, Bonny," answered the girl.
" But what's the matter ? Are you ailing ? " he per-
sisted.
" No," answered Mrs. Juniper, speaking for her daughter.
" It's the life she leads ; practising and rehearsing all the
morning, and studying all the afternoon and acting all the
evening. I wish the child had never seen the stage, that I
do. But now I believe it would break her heart to take her
off it. And besides, it do pay handsome, that's a fact, and
it promises to pay handsomer still ; for they do say as she'll
be a star some o' these days."
" Benny, did you say as Woodbine Cottage was near the
Helenic Gardens ? " inquired the girl.
"Yes, Suzy; why?"
"'Cause I'm engaged to dance there to-morrow. It is
only a shilling, and may be } 7 ou can come."
" You going to dance at the Helenic Gardens !" exclaimed
Benny, in surprise.
" Yes, Benny. Our manager have a many bids for me to
dance at places. And o' Monday I'm agoing to dance at
the Helenic. May be you can come and see me."
" I should like to, Suzy."
" And may be you can get your master and missus to
come and bring them nice children as is so fond of you,
Benny. I'm sure I'd dance my best if I thought they'd be
there."
" You should always dance your best, Suzy, if you wish to
rise in your profession," said Mrs. Juniper.
" I know it, mother ; but sometimes I do get that tired !
and then, if anything happens to put the spirits into my
toes, I get over it and dance my best. I know if them chil-
dren as is so fond of Benny was to be there to-morrow it
would put the spirits into my toes, and I would dance like
hevery thing."
"If that'll do you any good, Suzy, I'll do my best to get
34 A N B L E L O R P.
'em leave to go," said Benny, though his heart aohed at the
idea of his "respectable" master and mistress finding out
that his own little friend Suzy Juniper danced on the stage.
But the very next words of Suzy relieved his mind on
that subject.
" They're not agoing to put me down in the bills as
' Little Miss Juniper, the Infant Wonder/ any longer,
Benny," she said.
" Ah ! they an't, an't they ! " exclaimed the boy.
" No ; and as I am too tall to pass for an ' Infant Won-
der,' and they don't care about my appearing as a half-grown
girl, which is never interesting, they're going to make me
out as a fairy-like young lady, and set me down in the bills
as Mademoiselle Arielle. Isn't that a pretty name ? "
"Beautiful name ! But the people who go to the Thes-
pian will know you are the ' Infant Wonder ' all the time."
"No, the manager says not. The 'Infant Wonder' has
taken leave of the Thespian forever. And now we are
going on a tower through the country, where I am to appear
as Mademoiselle Arielle, from the Theatre Francais, Paris.
And I am to come back to the Thespian next winter rind
appear as the Signorina Zephyrina, from the Italian Opera,
Florence. Don't you see ? And they'll never know me
again as the old ' Infant Wonder.'"
While the boy and girl were talking Mrs. Juniper was
making tea.
And she soon called them to the tea-table.
After that refreshment Benny got up arid took leave of
the kind family, and set out to walk back to Sydenham.
He reached home in such good season as to receive the
praises of his master.
The next morning, while Benny was working in the gar-
den, surrounded by the children, who were diligently help-
ing and hindering him, he began to tell them of the won-
ders of the Heleuic Gardens which, by the way, poor
Benny had never seen except from the outside.
A R I E L L E. 35
He further told them that that day was a matinee, when
the price of admittance was so low that almost everybody
could go, and that there would be dancing and singing and
playing, and that children could go in for half price.
And he so excited the spirits of the children that they
ran in with one accord to besiege their parents, and beg to
be sent to the Helenic Gardens.
" There are four of you fit to go, and with Benny there
will be five five at sixpence a piece ; that will be half a
crown. Charley, dear, have you got half a crown about you
to give me to send the poor children to the matinee at the
Helenic? It's only a shilling, you know, and children
half price. And Benny can go with them and take care of
them. They will be quite safe with Benny," said Mrs.
Faulkner.
And while she spoke, her "Charley dear" was feeling in
all his pockets, whence he produced first a shilling, then a
sixpence, then two three-penny bits, and lastly six pennies.
" There ! I declare I didn't think I had so much money
about me. But there you. are : half a crown altogether,
lacking only one penny," said the Captain, as he good-
humoredly emptied his pockets for the pleasure of the chil-
dren.
" Oh, I've got two pence, so we're all right ! And now,
children, come and let me get you ready," said Molly
Faulkner, as she carried off her brood.
"Please, Charley, dear, call to Benny in the garden, and
tell him to clean himself to go with the children to the
matinee," she added, as she passed out of the room.
So Benny took the children to the Helenic Gardens, and
arrived early enough to find them front seats, where they
sat watching the curtain in eager anticipation until it
arose.
There were several performers who sang and danced to
the great delight of the children, as well as to that of the
simple crowd that collect there at matinees.
30
A NOBLE LORD.
But at length Mademoiselle Arielle flew upon the stage,
alighted, and was greeted with " thunders of applause," in
which Benny and his little companions heartily joined.
Suzy immediately recognized her little friend and his
companions, and smiled upon them as she executed her
most graceful pirouettes.
To say that the children were delighted would scarcely
be doing justice to their state of ecstacy. They had never
seen anything of the sort before, and the exhibition had all
the charms of novelty added to its other attractions.
" But Suzy acts better 'n she dances though ! " said Ben-
ny proudly.
" Who acts ? " inquired little Mary.
Benny flushed.
He had forgotten, for a moment, that he wished to con-
ceal the identity between the dancer and his little friend
Suzy.
"Who acts?" again impatiently repeated little Mary.
"Oh! she she as is now dancing. I say she acts bet-
ter 'a she dances. I seen her act at the Thespian, you
know," explained Benny.
" Oh ! " exclaimed little Mary, and she looked with more
interest than ever at the fairy dancer on the stage.
And Suzy, or " Mademoiselle Arielle," finished her dance
with a wonderful pas, kissed her hand to the children and
vanished.
She was applauded with enthusiam, recalled by acclama-
tion, and danced and kissed her hand and vanished for the
Last time.
The performance was over, and Benny took the children
home clamorous with delight over all they had heard and
seen.
"The children have been a great deal happier, and not
half so much trouble, since we have had Benny, Charley,
dear," said Mrs. Faulkner.
POOR BENNY'S PURGATORY. 87
" Ob ! I say ! see here now, Molly, if you mean to take
my page for a nursery maid, I shall take your pretty nurs-
ery maid for a page ! " said the Captain.
" I dare you to do it, Charley. There are some things I
won't stand, you know ! "
This little skirmish took place between the married pair
while Benny and the children were at work in the garden.
Benny had been very happy for the whole month that he
had lived at Woodbine Cottage, and never more so than on
this day ; but, ah ! this was destined to be the poor outcast's
last happy day !
CHAPTER III.
POOR BENNY'S PURGATORY.
"One among the million, fainting on the way.
Stricken by the heat and the burden of the day;
Everywhere a struggle, and the struggle all for self,
For the wickedness of pleasure or worthlessness of pelf.
Dense are the crowds, and distracting is the strife;
Alas ! for the woefulness and wear.ness of life! "
SOON after this last happy clay, Benny fell into trouble.
Partly from the goodness of his heart, and partly from the
illness of his training, he committed a grave fault, by which
lie lost the confidence of his master and mistress, and the
companionship of his little friends.
It happened in this way :
One morning Mrs. Faulkner, with the help of her cook
and a famous cookery book, had make a quantity of cur-
rant jelly for winter use. After filling some dozen of com-
mon glass tumblers with this jelly, and pasting up their
tops with white paper, she put them all out on a deal table
in the sun to "set."
The children were all playing in the garden, where
Benny was at work.
38 A NOBLE LORD.
They had helped to pick the currants the day before.
They had seen something of the process by which the beau-
tiful ruby berries were turned into still more beautiful ruby
jelly. They had even tasted the jelly, and found it good.
And now the sight of so many glasses glowing in the
sunshine, and smelling sweeter than all the fruits and
flowers together, was almost too great a temptation for the
integrity of the children.
They hovered around the table, and touched and smelled,
and longed to taste and eat.
Benny called them off again and again, but to little pur-
pose, since again and again they would return to the table.
" You'll knock that there over presently, mind you, Miss
Lily. That 'ere table's mighty shaky, you see," he said
warningly, but fruitlessly.
" Me only want to look," persisted the little willful one.
" Miss Ada, 'deed you mustn't lift up that big tumbler ;
you'll let it fall presently."
" No, I won'tj Benny. I only want to smell."
" Master Charley, sir, if you keep putting } r our tongue to
the edge of the tumbler, you'll wet the paper and make it
come off."
"You" shut up! I only want to taste the jolly, where it
is leaking here."
"'Deed, Miss Lily, dear, if you try to climb up on the
end of the table "
CKASH !
Down came the table, glasses, jelly and all, cutting short
the expostulations of poor Benny !
The slight table had tilted under the weight of the will-
ful children, who had persisted in climbing or leaning upon
it, and a heap of spilled jelly, mingled with broken glass,
lay upon the ground.
The crash was followed by a dead silence, as the panic-
stricken children stood gazing on the wreck.
"We've done it now!" said little Mary, gravely.
POOR BENNY'S PURGATORY. 39
" And won't we catch it now, neither ? Oh, nay eye ! "
exclaimed Master Charley.
Ada and Lily began to cry.
" There, now, don't tune up your little pipes for nothink!
Crying never does no good. So what's the use o' crying ?
Besides, what could you expect of tumblers but to tumble
down ? Didn't the tumblers at the Helenic Gardens tum-
ble ? And they was people. And if them flesh and blood
tumblers tumbled, and got praised and paid for it too, what
can you expect of these poor insensible glass tumblers ? "
said Benny, by way of cheering up the fallen spirits of the
children.
" Benny ! don't tell on us, please ! " pleaded Ada.
And Lily and Charley chimed in and added their petitions
to- hers.
Mary said nothing, but looked gravely on.
"Don't tell on us, Benny! Don't tell on us !" pleaded
the other three children.
" Who tell ? ME ? Why, I never split on a pal in my
life! I'd die first. And I've had rich chances! Why,
lawk ! there were Sneaking Sam, and a 'ward o' fifty
pound offered for him. And 1 knowed where he were all
the time. And me and Rosy and granny all but starved
to death that time. And I never spilt on him. 'Cause
why ? It would a been mean. And besides, if he'd been
lagged, they'd a made him a lifer," said Benny heroically.
The children stared at him in utter astonishment. They
comprehended not one word of what he said. At length
Charley spoke :
" I don't know what you're talking about, Benny. But
I want to know one thing you won't tell on us ? "
" No ! " said Benny, " I won't ! And now all on you cut
and run, and leave me to face this here music ! "
" The children all gladly ran away from the scene of the
disaster, and left Benny on the spot.
40 A NOBLE LORD.
He stood for a moment reflecting how lie could best cover
the children's fault. He had some little instinctive mis-
givings as to the right of deceiving his kind mistress, but
then he would deceive her only to protect her own children
from punishment, and so he dismissed these misgivings as
so many weaknesses.
" I'm sorry for missus a losing of all her jelly, arter
taking sich a deal o' pains to make it ! But splitting on
the kids won't do her no good, and punishing o' them won't
fetch back the jelly ! So, blowed if / split ! "
"With this resolution Benny wandered away from the
spot, and resumed his work of weeding out the flower-
beds.
It was not until sunset that the misfortune was discovered.
Then the cook went out to bring the glasses in, and see-
ing the catastrophe, ran back into the house, calling to her
mistress.
" ma'am ! ma'am ! what a dreadful thing has hap-
pened ! "
" Heaven have mercy upon us ! Which of the children
is it?" exclaimed the terrified mother, naturally supposing
that one of her little ones had been tossed by a bull or
bitten by a dog.
" I don't know which on 'em it were, ma'am ; but every
bit o' the jelly is ruined ! " answered the cook, speaking at
cross purposes.
" The jelly ! " exclaimed Mrs. Faulkner, puzzled.
" Yes, ma'am ; the jelly ! which them little plagues of
my life have knocked over the table, and broke every one
of the glasses. I say it, and I stand to it, ma'am, begging
your pardon, as children is the devil !" exclaimed the cook.
" For goodness' sake, let me come and see what's the
matter ! " said Molly.
"Come then, ma'am, and see for yourself! And then, if
you don't think as them ere little ones deserves a good
POOR BENNY'S PURGATORY. 41
switching, Til give up," said the cook, leading the way to
the scene of the catastrophe.
Molly gazed on her lost treasures, and could have cried.
"Where are the children ?" she inquired.
"Oh, away down in the bottom of the garden, ma'am,
like little thieves as have set fire to a barn and run away
by the light of it!"
"Where is Benny?"
" There he is, ma'am, a weeding out the flower beds.
But lor' ma'am, he never did the likes o' that ! A more
steadier or a more carefuller lad don't live, ma'am."
" Oh, I know it wasn't Benny ! But he may know some-
thing about it. Call him here, cook. And call the chil-
dren."
" What's the row ? " inquired Captain Faulkner, walking
up as the cook walked off.
" Oh, Charley, dear, look there ! About three pounds'
worth of red currant jelly utterly destroyed ! And we
haven't any more currants on the bushes, and no more
sugar until the children's fairy grandmother sends the next
month's supply! And, oh, Charley, dear, it was for your
sake I made it ! I know you are so fond of game, and
game is nothing without currant jelly ! "
"And who the devil did this mischief, then?" inquired
the Captain, waking up to a realization of the misfortune.
" Of course, the children. There was no one else in the
garden, except Benny, and he would never have done it."
" Molly, these children want to be taken in hand. Upon
my word and honor, they are growing up as wild as un-
broken colts. Where are they ? "
" They are coming now. And here is Benny," said Mrs.
"Faulkner, as the boy advanced, followed by the four terrified
children.
It was ridiculous and it was pitiable, the contrast between
the abject terror of the children and its cause the destruo
42 ANOBLELORD.
tion of a few dozen glasses of jelly. But then the poor
children possessed a papa who doted on his stomach and a
mam ru a who doted on him.
" Benjamin, come here! Do you know anything about
this ? " inquired Molly.
" Yes, missus," answered Benny promptly.
"Who did it?"
" Please, missus, Farmer Greenfield's black bull."
" What ? " exclaimed Mrs. Faulkner.
"How is that?" inquired Captain Faulkner.
"Tell me all about it, Benjamin," said Mrs. Faulkner.
" Please, missus, Farmer Greenfield's black bull do be in
Farmer Greenfield's meadow, behint the garding. And the
bull, he lep over the hedge and came a rampaging through
the garding, and he run over the table, so he did, and upsot
all the jelly afore I could stop him."
"Good gracious ! Why didn't you come to the house and
tell me at once ? " inquired Molly.
"Please, missus, I druv him out fust, and then I did just
turn 'round to come and tell you when cook called me, so
she did."
" Charley, you must really complain of that bull. I can't
have him jumping over the hedge and destroying everything
in our garden. And, good gracious ! he might toss or gore
one of the children some of these days, and then there ! I
always was afraid of him ever since he was put in that pad-
dock, and often and often have I warned Benny against
him," said Mrs. Faulkner earnestly.
Captain Faulkner laughed a heartless, sardonic, wicked
laugh. And then his face grew still and stern, and he
said :
" Molly, don't you see that that infernal little rascal is
lying as fast as a horse can trot ? The idea of Farmer
Greenfield's black bull jumping over a hedge of six feet
high to get into our garden ! Preposterous ! Look here,
POOR BENNY'S PURGATORY. 43
you lying little villain ! The next time you undertake to
lie, just be sure that you know what you are talking about.
A bull couldn't leap over a six-foot hedge ! It would be im-
possible. And now, do you see, your extravagant invention
has betrayed j'ou ! It was you yourself who knocked over
the table, and destroyed all this valuable jelly. Confess at
once, sir, if you would escape a worse punishment than that
I mean to give you ! "
" I didn't never turn no table over, master ; nor no more
did I break the tumblers, nor spill the jelly," said Benny
firmly.
" How dare you to tell me such a lie as that? Don't you
know that it is mean, wicked, abominable to lie ? " demand-
ed the Captain, totally oblivious of the fact that he him-
self had taught the boy to do so.
"I'm telling on you no lie, sir, this time; for I didn't
never knock over the table and spoil the jelly," persisted the
boy.
At this moment the conscious faces of the children caught
the eyes of the Captain.
" You were with him in the garden most of the time.
You may know all about this thing. Say, Charley, do you
know who knocked over that table?"
" The black bull did it ! " answered Master Charley,
bold!} 7 endorsing the statement of Benny.
" How dare you utter such a falsehood, sir ? You ! the
son of a gentleman, to tell a lie ! Shame on you, sir! "
" Oh, Charley ! Charley ! how could you tell a story ? "
added his mother.
" Go to the house, sir, and stay there till I come. I'll
cane you well for this," said the Captain.
And the boy, crestfallen, crept awa} r .
"Now, then, you little ones; you will tell the truth.
WHO DID IT ? " demanded the Captain.
'The blat bull did it," answered Ada.
44 A NOBLE LORD.
11 De bat bud did it," added Lily.
"There now, you see, Charley, dear, yon have been un-
just. The black bull must have done it!" exclaimed Mrs.
Faulkner.
" My dear Molly, how absurd ! It is just simply impos-
sible ! No black bull, or any other sort of bull, could possi-
bly have leaped over a six-foot hedge to have done this dam-
age. This boy here did it. There is no doubt whatever
about that. And he has so corrupted our children that lie
lias induced them to join him in telling this lie. Look at
Mary, there. She has said nothing as yet. Now I will
question her, and I will guarantee that we hear the truth.
Mary, who knocked over the table and destroyed the
jelly ? "
"We did, papa," answered Mary, hanging her head.
"Who? You?" inquired the Captain, puzzled by her
answer.
" Yes, papa, we did : I and Charley and Ada and Lily.
We got upon the edge of the table to lick the jelly where it
leaked. And we were all at one end, and so we pulled it
over, papa," answered Mary, weeping.
"That is right, my little daughter; always tell the truth.
There, don't cry any more. You sha'n't be punished," said
the father, patting her head.
Then turning to Benny, he sternly demanded :
" And now, sir, what about the black bull ? "
The boy turned his eyes on little Mary, and kept silence.
By the rules of his thieves' code of honor, the only one he
had ever learned, he was condemning little Mary for " split-
ting" on a faithful "pal," and he felt himself betrayed
and deserted.
" How about that black bull of Farmer Greenfield's,
sir ? " fiercely repeated the Captain.
"It were a Irish bull o' my own, sir, I'm thinking," an-
swered the boy, with a faint smile.
POOH BENNY'S PURGATORY. 45
" None o' your insolence, sir. How dare you ! Sir, you
have lied to me ! And by your example, sir, you have
taught my children to lie. Charley, Ada and little Lily
have all repeated the falsehood you put in their mouths "
" I told the story to keep 'em from being punished, please,
sir; I didn't know as there was any harm in it, please, sir.
And I didn't tell 'em to jiue me in it, please, sir," said poor
Benny, standing alone, pleading his cause as well as he
could.
But he left out the best argument he could have used in
his defence. If he had only thought to say to his virtuous
and indignant master :
"You also taught me to lie, sir, and rewarded me when I
did it well."
But Benny did not once think of calling his master's
consistency in question. Pie had made the best defence that
he could, and now he stood patiently waiting his doom.
"You thought there was no harm in it!" exclaimed the
Captain, taking up the line of prosecution again. " You
thought there was no harm in lying, and in teaching my
innocent children to lie ! for, by your example, which they
imitated, you did teach them. Sir, I do not know anything
so base, so cowardly, so infamous as falsehood, except per-
haps theft, which is as bad, but no worse. And those who
lie will certainly steal "
" Please, sir"
" Be silent, sir ! I know of no punishment that I could
inflict upon you too severe for your fault " continued the
Captain.
But just at this point little Ada and Lily began to cry.
" Please, sir " again began Benny.
" Hold your tongue ! " thundered the Captain. " And go
instantly to the house, and up into the loft where you sleep,
and wait there till I come. Then I'll decide what to do with
you."
46 A NOBLE LORD.
" Please, sir, let me speak just 0710 word. Please, sir, take
it out on me like blazes ; but please, sir, don't take it out on
poor little Miss Ada and Miss Lily ! Please, master, they's
such little things, they don't know notliink ! " pleaded Benny
for the weeping children.
"How dare you dictate to me about my children, you
wretched young work-house vagrant ! Be off with yourself.
And see here ; this association between you and these chil-
dren must be stopped, sir ! And now listen ! if ever I catch
you speaking so much as one word to one of these children
again, I will take you and cane you within one inch of your
life. I'll break every bone in your body. I will, by !
Begone ! "
As soon as the poor bound boy had left the spot, the noble
Captain turned to his progeny.
"You see, my dears," he began, " the disgrace that follows
falsehood. And falsehood, let me tell you, is much more
reprehensible in little ladies and gentlemen than in persons
of that boy's order. Well, what the blazes do you want ? "
He broke off to speak to the cook, who came down the
garden walk.
" Only this, sir," said the latter, " there's that man with
the livery stable bill again wants to see you."
" Tell him I'm not at borne. Tell him I've gone to town,"
said the Captain impatiently.
" The woman might have had the sense to have said that
without coming to bother me. Benny would have had !
But then he is in disgrace now, so it's no use talking of
him," growled the Captain.
" And now, my children," he continued, taking up his
lecture, "bear this in mind; always, in future, to shun
falsehood and speak the truth. You have all offended in
that respect except Mary. Mary, my dear, I commend you
for your courage and truthfulness. Charley, Ada and Lily,
I am sorry I cannot commend you for the same qualities.
BENNY'S BURDEN. 47
Ada and Lily are but babies, and could not be supposed to
know better than to do as tbey did though they must never
do it again. But you, Charley, my son, I am deeply pained
by your conduct. However, I see that you yourself are
thoroughly ashamed of it, so I will trust you will never re-
peat it. And I will say no more than this : you must bear
in mind that you are a gentleman, and a gentleman never
lies ! And now let us go in to tea."
CHAPTER IV.
BENNY S BURDEN TOO HEAVY TO BE BORNE.
And he -was bound a helpless slave,
With no one near to love, to save,
In all the world of men.
A triendless, famished, work-house child,
Morn, noon and night he toiled and toiled.
Yet he was happy then.
But weeks and months had passed away,
And all too soon the bitter day
Of wrath and ruin burst.
The children feared him for his fate,
And mistress' scorn and master's hate
Him, their poor servant, curst. TUPPEB.
BENNY went away to his loft and sat there alone. He
was quite unconscious of having done any wrong, but bitter-
ly conscious of having suffered injustice ; for now he remem-
bered what he had before forgotten namely, that his master
himself had often ordered him to tell .a falsehood at the
street door to any unwelcome visitor, and had praised him
when he had told it well.
" To think as he'd order me to tell bouncing whoppers
over and over ag'in, to keep a great big man like he from
being ill-conwenienced with bills, and then come down on
me only just for telling a little story to keep the little bits of
children from being punished ! I say it's blamed hard, I
do ! And a cove don't know what to make of it," said
48 ANOBLELORD.
Benny to himself, as he brushed the indignant tears from his
eyes, and waited for the coming of his master.
It was not the threatened punishment he dreaded. He
was no coward, and besides, he was inured to pain ; but to
be banned from the society of the children he had loved and
lied for and suffered for, seemed very bitter to the lonely
boy.
He did not dread any other puuishment, and indeed he
had no occasion to do so.
The auger of his master was very short-lived. And the
good-huniored, unprincipled Captain had no more intention
of keeping his word and beating his boy, than he had of
performing his promises and pa3 7 ing his debts.
After a while Benny was ealled down stairs to wait on the
supper table.
His master and mistress were at the table, but the chil-
dren had gone to bed. He waited on them in silence, for
they never spoke to him. He was glad, poor boy, when his
duties were done, and he was at liberty to return to his lonely
loft.
He got up early the next morning, to try to recover, by
zeal and diligence in his work, the lost favor of the family ;
for his young heart was aching in solitude, and longing for
sympathy.
He waited on the table at breakfast. The children, as
usual, ate this meal with their father and mother. But
again the bound boy had to serve in silence. Neither master
nor mistress spoke to him, except to give a brief order.
And the children seemed afraid to look at him. Benny's
heart was so oppressed by this silence and coldness that he
felt as if he should suffocate, or as if he must speak and be
spoken to, or die.
Remember that he was the son of Willie Douglas and
Eglantine Seton, and derived a delicate and sensitive organ-
ization from both parents.
BENNY'S BURDEN. 49
He could bear very much ; he could bear and had borne
hunger, cold and pain ; but he could not bear to be shut out
from sympathy with his kind.
Benny took up a plate of muffins for an excuse to speak,
and he offered them to one of the children, saying:
" Won't you have a muffin, Miss Ada ? "
He had better kept silence. Even kind-hearted Molly
looked up, and said coldly :
"I don't want you to speak to the children, Benjamin. I
am very angry with you for teaching them to tell stories.
And they have our commands not to have anything to say
to yon."
"Yes, sir," added the Captain sternly, "and you have
had orders not to address one of them again. How dare
you do it, sir ? Leave the room this moment, sir ! "
Benny went out, his heart almost bursting with grief and
indignation.
The cook in silence gave him his breakfast, but the food
seemed to choke him.
To wash the dishes and rub the knives formed part of his
daily duties. He accomplished this task, and then went out
to weed the garden.
The children were there as usual, and his own boyish
heart yearned toward them ; but they walked apart, and he
did not dare to approach them.
Like Cain, he was banished, and like Cain, he felt his
burden too great to be borne.
This exclusion continued for days and weeks. And every
day he felt his isolation more and more oppressive.
The autumn came, and Captain Faulkner had a visitor
staying with him at Woodbine Cottage. This was a visitor
whom Molly did not like at all, but whom she tolerated for
" dear Charley's sake." This was a certain Colonel Brierly,
late of her Majesty's service, now retired upon half pay.
This Colonel was a childless widower, who lived in London
3
O(J A N O B L E L O R D.
lodgings whenever he did not get an invitation to some good
country house. He was a great epicurean, an amateur cook
with specialties in salads, soups, and punches aud " cups."
It was not easy to keep him out of the kitchen ; and more
than on-e cook, in houses where he visited, had given warn-
ing on his account ; more than one kitchen maid had slyly
pinned a dish towel to his coat tails.
But nothing could break the Colonel of putting his finger
in the family pie, or helping to improve " the broth ; " for, to
do him justice, he never spoiled it.
He was addicted to telling the most marvellous stories of
his campaigns and adventures in India. By his own account,
no living man had ever fought so many duels, hunted so
many tigers, or broken so many ladies' hearts, as the in-
vincible Colonel. In person, however, lie was certainly no
Apollo, but a tall, thin, hard-featured, red-faced, grey-headed
old gentleman, with a rough voice, which he was much given
to exercise in very objectionable language, especially while
emphasizing some of his incredible stories.
This last-mentioned habit Molly Faulkner could not tol-
erate in their visitor, and so she often arose and withdrew
from the dinner table where they would be sitting, long
before it was time for her to leave the gentlemen to their
wine. On such occasions even Charley Faulkner would be
half inclined to call his guest out.
But if the brave and gallant Colonel was somewhat ob-
jectionable in the dining-room, he was ten times more so in
the kitchen to every one except Captain Faulkner, who
liked the guest all the better for his cooking proclivities.
The cook not only gave warning, but actually left tlio
house, declaring that she would not stay in any place where
the gentlemen demeaned themselves down to the level of
sauce-pans and gridirons, and gave her so much extra work,
cleaning up after them in the morning.
And then they had to got a char-woman to come in every
BENNY' s n u K D E N. 51
day, to fill her place until they could provide themselves
with another cook. But the char-woman went away every
day directly after dinner.
It therefore fell to Benny's lot to help to get the next
meal.
Colonel Brierly and Captain Faulkner seemed to like this
arrangement very much. They now had the kitchen. all to
themselves, with Benny to do their will.
Every afternoon, after their early tea, Molly Faulkner
would take her children and go up stairs in disgust.
The Colonel and the Captain would smoke in the garden
until it was time for them to think about supper.
Then they would call Benny and betake themselves to
the kitchen, where the Colonel would throw off his coat,
turn up his wristbands, and go in to the compounding of
some rare salad, soup, or something of the sort.
Benny was their most obedient slave, and did their will
submissively until one fatal evening.
On that evening the Colonel had procured a terrapin,
which he was going to cook after a famous receipt.
The fire was made in the kitchen range, and a pot of
water was boiling.
"Take the terrapin out of the tub and bring him here,
boy," said the Colonel.
Benny was half afraid to touch the ugly beast, whose
long, snake-like head and neck were protruded from his
shell, and reaching around as if in search of something to
snap up ; but nevertheless the boy conquered his fear, and
took the creature up in his hands and carried him to the
Colonel.
"Please, sir, here he is," said Benny.
"All right; now drop him into that pot of boiling
water," said the Colonel.
Benny stood still and stared.
" Well, why the deuce don't you do it ? " demanded the
Colonel.
f>2 A N O B L E L O R D.
"Please, sir, he's alive ! " said Beuny.
"Of course he's alive, you idiot! He wouldn't be fit to
cook if he wasn't alive. Drop him in the boiling water at
once ! "
Obediently Benny approached the boiling water, and
held the struggling creature over its hot steam for an
instant, and then, shuddering, drew back.
" Why the blazes don't you drop him in ? Are you
quite a fool ? " demanded the Colonel.
" sir ! please, sir, don't make me do it ! It is boiling
so hard ! It will scald him to death ! Oh, please, sir, kill
him easy before you drop him in ! " pleaded the boy.
" You infernal little son of a gutter, if you don't do what
I order you in one second, I'm blasted if I don't take and
chuck the terrapin into the pot and you after it! " exclaim-
ed the Colonel in a voice of thunder, as he sprang toward
the boy.
With a start of terror, Benny inadvertently let the terra-
pin fall into the boiling water so suddenl}', that the water
splashed up into his own face and scalded him.
And then he burst into tears, not from the pain of his
burns, but from pity and horror.
That mode of putting a living creature to death may be
necessary and proper, for aught I know, but little Benny,
outcast as he might be, was no more fit for the cruel work
than was either of his dainty little sisters and brothers at
Cheviot Plouse.
" I say Faulkner," began the Colonel, with half a dozen
abominable expletives, " this fellow of yours wants the dis-
cipline of your horsewhip. Why don't you give it to
him ? "
"I know he wants thrashing, Brierly ; and I don't know
why I don't thrash him. And, indeed, I don't know why I
don't send him about his business. He's an awful little
liar, for one thing," answered the Captain.
BENNY'S BURDEN. 53
" He is, is he ? I'd like to have the training of him for
a little while. S'pose you let me have him up to Lon-
don ? "
" Perhaps I will. I'll see/' answered Captain Faulkner.
And then, as the dressing of the terrapin demanded all
their attention, they left the subject of Benny and devoted
their minds to cookery.
That night Benny, lying alone in his loft, thought over
all the loneliness and misery of his position, and felt a
longing to return to his old companions in Junk Lane.
Beggars and thieves and worse they were, but they had
never been cruel or unkind to him.
He could bear anything better than this loneliness. His
heart felt breaking in his solitude.
He took a sudden resolution. He would run away and
go to London, to his old friends the beggars and thieves,
who would hide him away from cruel Captain Faulkner and
horrible Colonel Brierly.
He would never see the pretty, friendly children again,
and the thought gave him pain, until he said to himself that
that would not be worse than to see them every day and
not to be allowed to speak to them.
So Benny got up and dressed himself very quietly, and
went down stairs from his loft to the scullery below it.
There was no one to hinder him. He unbolted and un-
barred the door, and opened it and went out.
It was a dark and drizzling night in November; but he
did not mind the weather; it rather favored his flight.
He passed around to the front of the house, and down the
front garden walk, and through the gate, and out into the
lane.
The lane was ver} 7 dark, but it was narrow and straight,
so that he could not miss his way.
The lane led to the high road, where there were gas lamps
and sidewalks.
54 ANOBLELORD.
Benny hurried along as fast as he could walk, until he
suddenly stopped short in great surprise and delight.
A man was leaning against a lamp-post.
The man turned around, and Benny recognized his step-
father, Tony Brice.
CHAPTER V.
THE BURGLARY.
Shadows there are, who dwell
Among us, yet apart,
Deaf to the claim of God.
Or any ki ndly heart.
Voices of earth and heaven
Call, but they turn away;
And Love, through such black night,
Can Bee no hope of day. A. A. PEOCTOR.
YES, it was Tony Brice ! big, bull-necked, bullet-headed,
red-haired Tony Brice ; but oh, so altered so aged, haggard,
ragged and wretched !
Benny could scarcely recognize him.
They stared at each other for a moment in doubt, and then
both at once spoke :
" Why, daddy ! " cried Benny.
" Why, Beany, my man ! " cried Tony.
" Oh, daddy, I'm so glad to see you ! " said the lonely lad,
bursting into tears.
" So am I you, Benny, my brave bo}' ! " said the wretched
man.
" They told me as how you had runned away to forring
parts, never to come back no more ! " wept Benny.
" They told you a lot o' lies, then, 'cause you see I have
come back. And what's more, they told me a lot o' lies also.
They told me as you'd died in the 'ospital. And here you
are ! " growled Tony.
" Well, they thought I died. I 'most did die. And the
T H E B U U G L A R Y. 55
undertakers was going to nail me down in the coffing; but I
was too game to stand that, daddy ! " exclaimed Benny,
suddenly drying his tears and laughing.
"Eh ? too game for what ? " inquired Tony.
" Too game to let them nail me down in the coffing, when
they thought I was dead. Oh, you don't know how game I
was, daddy ! Just as they was going to hammer away. I
come to, and lept up, and guv 'em a black eye apiece, I
did ! " said Benny, repeating another version of the exag-
gerated stories that, half in jest and half in earnest, had
been circulated about his sudden resuscitation in the dead-
house.
"Well, I swow ! Benn} r , that's a bouncer! " said Tony.
"No ; t an't. You go ask the misses in the 'ospital," re-
plied the boy, who fully believed the stories that had been
told him.
His faith convinced Tony, who exclaimed :
" Well, dash me, but that's the queerest go as ever I hear
in all my days ! And they told me in Junk Lane as you'd
died in the 'ospital. You didn't go back to Junk Lane,
Benny ? "
"No, daddy. 'Cause why? They sent me from the
'ospital to the work'us. And from the work'us they binded
of me out for a gentleman's servant."
" Blow their imperance ! To bind a man's only son out,
without his knowledge and consent! So you're bound out,
are you ? Who's your master ? "
" A Capting Faulkner. But I've run away. I run away
this wery night, and were on my road to London when I met
you," explained Benny.
Tony gave a long, low whistle, and then he said:
" Come along wi' me, my boy. We mustn't stand here.
The bobbies will be a spotting on us. Let's walk a spell."
They sauntered on together, and Tony said :
" So you ran away ? Quite right, my bully boy. But
56 ANOBLELORD.
what did you run away for, aside o' the nateral love o' lib-
erty ?"
" I couldn't stand it no longer, daddy. I couldn't indeed.
I tried hard, for love o' the children, but I couldn't ! "
" They mistreated you, did they ? Like 'em ! Tell rue
all about it, my man ! "
Benny told him.
" And so you slipped out after they were all asleep ? "
" Yes, daddy."
" Who fastened the door after you, Benny f"
" Nobody didn't, in course. There wa'n't nobody to do it.
The cook went away all along o' Colonel Brierly's goings on.
And the nuss-rnaid sleeps long o' the child'en in the front
part o' the house up stairs. And lor, daddy, how queer you
do talk ! In course I wasn't a going to call anybody to shet
the door after me when I was up to cutting away ! " said
Benny, in surprise at his daddy's unusual stupidity.
Tony Brice chuckled.
" And so, Benny, you left the door open ? "
"Why, in course, daddy !"
" And they was all fast asleep in the house ? "
" In course, daddy ! "
"Do them two gemmen, that Capting and his wisitor,
sleep sound ? "
" Well, I just think as they do, daddy. They set up
drinking punch till they can hardly stand on their feet, and
then they help each other up stairs and off to bed. And
they sleep that sound a cannon wouldn't wake 'em."
"Any man-servant about the house, Benny ? "
"No, daddy, nor servant whatsomedever, 'cept 'tis the
nuss-maid."
"Any dog?"
No, daddy."
" And the house is at the end of a lonesome lane ? "
" Yes, daddy."
THE BURG LAKY. 57
"Benny, I think as you was werry wrong to leave that
door open. Some murderer might get in and kill them
child'en as you're so fond of," said Tony, shaking his head.
" Oh, so there might ! " said Benny, starting, and chang-
ing color. " I never thought of that before. I might have
locked it on the outside too, mightn't I, daddy?"
" Yes, you might. Benny, I think I must go back and
lock that door to purtect the innocent child'en, you know,"
said Tony, with a cunning leer, whose wicked meaning
escaped poor Benny's observation.
" I think I must go back and lock that door to purtect the
child'en, Benny."
" Yes, daddy, so do," eagerly exclaimed the boy.
" Is the house far off, Benny ? "
" No, indeed, daddy."
"I wonder what o'clock it is ? "
" I heerd the clock o' St. Mark's strike one, just afore I
met you, daddy."
" Then I've got time enough. Come along, bully boy,
and show me the way," said Tony, turning back.
They went on together until they reached the entrance of
the lonely lane leading to Woodbine Cottage.
" Is that the house down there, where you can see noth-
ing but chimneys through the trees ? " inquired the man.
" Yes, daddy, that's the house. And you go through the
garden gate, which, in course, I had to leave that open too.
And you go round on your left hand to the back o' the house,
and there you'll see the kitchen door open. There's a vine
growin' over the top of it, and a bee-hive close by. So you'll
know it."
"Oh, I'll find it fast enough. You stay here, Benny,
till I come back," said Brice, as he walked on down the
lane.
Benny sat down on a stone under the hedge and waited.
He was very tired and very willing to rest for a while.
But as soon as he sat down lie began to grow sleepy.
58 A N C) H 1. K L O R D.
He watched and listened until Brice's burly form disap-
peared in the darkness and the echoes of his footsteps died
away, and nothing was to be seen but the lonely lane, and
nothing was to be heard but the drizzling rain.
Benny nodded, recovered himself; nodded again. And
he repeated this process some half a dozen times before he
finally fell fast asleep.
He had slept some time, when he was suddenly aroused
by a quick succession of violent noises. There was the
report of several shots fired fast, one after the other, and
there was the swift rushing of feet.
Benny started up in a panic and rubbed his eyes. He
saw lights glancing from windows in the cottage at the end
of the lane, and he knew at once that the whole household
had been aroused. Two men were running up the lane
the pursued and the pursuer. The foremost one had a large
pack upon his back, which retarded his progress. The hind-
most one was disembarrassed and was gaining rapidly on the
foremost, who suddenly wheeled around and fired a pistol.
The hindmost man dropped, and laid perfectly still.
And the next moment Benny recognized Tony Brico in
the man who carried the pack and fired the pistol.
" Up, bully boy. Cut and run for your life. London,
yon know. Cracksman Jack's," exclaimed Brice, as he flew
past the boy.
Benny, suddenly startled from his deep sleep, perplexed,
bewildered, terrified, scarcely realizing what had happened,
yet feeling that his only safety consisted in instant flight,
staggered to his feet and ran off as fast as his legs could
carry him.
Outside, on the high-road, everything was as quiet as if
nothing terrible had occurred in the lane. It was very dark,
and Benny slackened his pace and peered about to see if he
could catch a glimpse of Tony anj'where. Brice was no-
where to be seen. Then Benny heard some one coming
T H E B U R G L A R Y. 59
from the direction of the lane. The boy shrank into still
deeper shadows, and watched for the passing of the new-
comer.
The figure that walked rapidly by seemed only a denser
shadow than that which enveloped and obscured all other
objects. Yet Benny thought it was Captain Faulkner, and
lie now knew also that the man who had been shot by Brice
must have been Colonel Brierly, and that the Captain was
now hurrying to give the alarm to the police.
Captain Faulkner walked rapidly a few yards ahead of
the spot where Benny crouched, and then turned sharply
off, and went on in a direction at right angles to that which
the boy meant to take.
Benny watched him out of sight and hearing, and then
arose to resume his flight.
But at that moment a hand was laid on his shoulder, and
a voice whispered into his ear :
" Hold on. Yer mustn't go this road, j'er'd be nabbed
in half an hour. Pie's gone for the bobbies. Cut across
this common and on to the Westminster Road, and so to
London. I must take another track. But you make for
London and Cracksman Jack's. Do you mind now ? "
"Yes, daddy, I mind. Was you here all the time ?"
" Sartain. And so close a hint you, as you might a felt
my panting at the back o' your head. There, cut away,
now ! There ben't a minute to lose."
With these words the robber and possible murderer was
off.
Benny clambered over a hedge and ran across a field, and
then clambered over a second hedge and got out upon a
common, ran across the common and came out upon the
high-road.
The darkness of the night and the drizzling rain favored
his escape. And the dawn of day found him in London,
and in the neighborhood of the Seven Dials.
60 A NOBLE LORD.
He knew the den of thieves indicated to him by Tony
Brice, and known to the craft as Cracksman Jack's. It was
a tumble-down old house, in a court, in the darkest, dirtiest
and densest part of the neighborhood.
Benny passed in and found himself in the midst of its
wretched denizens beggars, tramps, thieves and worse, of
men, women and children. He was a stranger to most of
them, and they were jealous of the entrance of strangers.
They looked at him suspiciously, and then recognized him
as the little tramp that he was, and therefore one of them-
selves.
"What d'yer want here, boy?" inquired a good-natured
looking, poor wreck of a girl, who was loitering on a miser-
able door-step.
" Why, please, Miss Mary Hann, I wants the cracksman,"
answered the lad.
"Why, it's Benny!" exclaimed the girl, recognizing an
acquaintance. " I declare, child, I didn't know yer. But
then I ha'n't seen yer for more than a year. Yer want the
cracksman ? "
" Yes, Miss Mary Hann."
" Jack ! " called the girl, turning her head toward the
door.
A low-built, thick-set, bettle-browed, black-headed and
altogether very ill-favored fellow made his appearance from
the inside of the house, growling :
" Wull, wot d'you want now ? "
" Here's some 'un wants to see yer," said the girl, point-
ing to Benny.
" Wot do you want, kid ? "
" Please, Mr. Jack, daddy, he "
" Hello ! " exclaimed the cracksman, interrupting the
boy. " Why, it's Tony Brice's lad ! Where did you come
from ? He thought as how you was gone up the spout ! "
Before Benny could explain where he did come from, and
T H E B U U G L A R Y. 61
why he had not " gone up the spout," the cracksman hur-
ried other questions upon him.
" Hello ! I say ; where's your daddy ? Did he send you
to me ? But in course he did. Why didn't he keep faith
with an old pal ? There I kept watch by the blasted elm
more'n three hours, waiting for him. Did he give you a
message for me ? But in course he did. So out with it !
Wot's up. with him ? Was he copped? "
" No, Mr. Jack, but he told me to come 'ere to you, and
he'd be along by and by," said Benny.
" Why, wot's he been up to now ? Have he cracked a
case ? "
" No, Mr. Jack, not cracked, sneaked."
" Any swag ? "
" Lots ! He's coming on with it too."
" That's bully ! "
" But oh, I say, Mr. Jack," said Benny, turning suddenly
very pale.
"W'y, wot's the matter, bully boy?" demanded the
cracksman.
" Daddy'll have to go in lavender." *
" Eh ! wot ! wot's he been up to now, besides sneak-
ing?"
" Oh, Mr. Jack, he have shot a man down dead as run
after him in the lane," replied Benny, in a low, faint voice,
as he reeled and leaned up against the door-post.
" Whee-ee-ew ! " commented the cracksman, with a long
whistle.
Benny burst out crying, and sobbed hard.
" Come, come, my bully man ! Brace up ! Daddy'll be
all right soon as he gets here, you know. And as for you,
you're safe enough anywhere," said the cracksman cheer-
fully.
" I don't know that. But I wasn't a thinking on myself.
* In hiding from the police.
62 A NOBLE LOK1).
I was a thinking on poor daddy, an.'l how I saw him shoot
the man down dead, and if so be the bobbies cop him aiid
me, they'd make me swear his life away," sobbed Benny.
" Bosh ! they couldn't make you do it ! You'd never go
for to swear away your own dadd} T 's life, 3-011 know."
"But I saw him shoot the man down dead!" sobbed
Benny, whose instinct was to tell the truth on all occa-
sions upon which he had not previously been instructed to
lie.
" S'pose you did ? That's nothink. Swear you didn't.
Swear you saw another man do it. And let's see your
daddy's red-headed and freckle-faced. Ssvear now to a man
as different from him as possible. Swear it was a tall,
black-headed man, with a long face and a hook nose, you
know ! That'll get your daddy clean off from being scrag-
ged though I doubt as they'll give him fourteen years for
the robbery that is, if so be they'll catch him, which they
won't not if. we know it, eh, bully boy ? "
"No," said Benny, as his face brightened, for although
lie had been terribly shocked by the sight of the murder,
and was deeply depressed by the memory of it, yet now
that he was told that it was his duty to swear his father
clear of the crime, he felt his spirits rise.
"And here he comes now," added the cracksman, as a
ragged man with a pack on his back, entered the court,
singing:
Old clo' ! Any old clo ? "
" Hello, old chap ! What have you got there ? Old clo'
sure enough ? " inquired the cracksman.
"Not much ! " said Tony, as he took the pack from his
shoulders and set it down with a rattle on the ground.
" Whee-ee-ew ! Silverplate ! " commented the cracks-
man.
"And watches and sich. But it was by the old clo'
dodge that I got 'em safe through the streets under the
T II E N I G H T A I, A R M. 63
\verry eyes o' the bobbies," said Tony, with a boastful and
defiant air that ill concealed the trouble of his guilty
breast.
"Bring 'em in!" said the cracksman hurriedly, leading
the way into the house.
And there we must leave them engaged in devising some
way by which they could conceal their plunder and protect
Tony.
CHAPTER VI.
THE NIGHT ALARM AT WOODBIKE COTTAGE.
What's the business,
That such a hideous uproar calls to parley
The sleepers in the house? SHAKESPEAKB.
FOR an hour after Benny had left the house, the sleepers
therein remained undisturbed.
The extreme quiet of the situation favored deep repose,
but at the same time made the senses of the sleepers more
susceptible to any unusual sound about the premises.
That night Mrs. Faulkner had retired earl) 7 , with her
children and nurse, and they were all very fast asleep in
their apartments in the second floor front.
Captain Faulkner, somewhat overcome by punch, had
been helped up to his wife's room by Colonel Brierly, and
had dropped down in his clothes on the sofa to sleep him-
self sober.
Colonel Brierly, seasoned old toper that he was, had
drank about twice aa much as his younger companion, but
yet retired to his bachelor bedroom on the first floor back as
sober as a saint. Having a good digestion also, he slept
lightl} 7 , and dreamed pleasantly, eating all his best dishes
over again in his visions, until a very slight noise in his
room quietly awakened him.
64 A N O B L E LORD.
It was so dark that he could see nothing ; but he lay and
listened, not without some disturbance of his nervous sys-
tem; for it is rather trying to the firmest heart, to wake in
the night and hear some unknown person prowling about iu
the darkness around your bed.
Colonel Brierly at length slipped silently off his mattress,
and felt his way cautiously to the gas-burner and the match
safe that hung beneath it, and drew a match..
By its sudden flash he saw a man with a full sack on his
back, and a pair of pantaloons in his hands.
The man dropped the pantaloons and ran off with the
sack.
Colonel Brierly lighted the gas and then gave chase to
the man, halloing out as he went :
" Ho ! Faulkner ! Faulkner ! Thieves ! thieves ! "
The thief ran down stairs, through the back-passage and
out at the kitchen door, the Colonel pursuing him and
shouting at the top of his voice :
"Stop thief! stop thief!"
But the burglar darted through the garden, out at the
gate, and up the lane as fast as his legs could carry him.
The Colonel, who had caught up his revolver when leav-
ing his room, now fired three or four shots, in quick succes-
sion, after the flying thief, who, notwithstanding, continued
his flight.
Meanwhile the family at the cottage had been roused by
the uproar.
Molly was the first to wake, and on hearing the cries of:
"Ho, Faulkner! Faulkner! Thieves! thieves!" she
sprang up, and ran over to the sofa on which her husband
was sleeping off the fumes of his punch, and she laid hold
of him and shook him vigorously, while she shouted in his
ears :
"Charley! Charley! There's some robber broke into
the house, and Colonel Brierly is calling you to help to
catch him ! "
THE NIGHT ALARM. 65
Over and over again, and with many hard shakes, she
had to cry these words into the ears of the intoxicated man,
before she could arouse him to a comprehension of the case.
Even then he only stared stupidly at his wife, and asked
which of the children was in tits.
" Go wet your head, Charley, and come to your senses !
There are thieves in the house ! " she shouted in his ears.
Then indeed he sprang up, dipped his head in a basin
of cold water, wiped it hastily, and seized his revolvers,
sobered and ready for action.
" Where ? " he inquired.
" There ! " answered Molly, pointing through the front
window, which she had opened. " There ! You can't see
anything, but I heard them run out of the gate, and Colo-
nel Brierly after them. Listen ! There ! some one is
shooting ! " she exclaimed, as the sound of several pistol
shots reached her ears.
Captain Faulkner darted out of the room, ran down stairs
and out of the house, hurrying as fast as he could to the
assistance of his guest.
But the lane was now dark and silent; nothing but the
dim outlines of the hedges could be seen, nothing but the
drizzling of the rain could be heard.
Still he went on, calling :
" Brierly ! Brierly ! Where the deuce are you ? "
But there was no answer.
Near the cutlet of the lane he stumbled over a prostrate
form and fell to the ground.
At the same moment a faint voice spoke and said :
" For Heaven's sake, help me ! I am bleeding to
death ! "
" Brierly ! Good Heaven ! Where are you hurt ? " ex-
claimed Captain Faulkner, recognizing the voice of his
guest, and struggling to his feet in the darkness.
" In the leg ; but I'm faint from loss of blood. I believe
4
66 A NOBLE LORD.
an artery is severed. That scoundrel of a burglar turned
on me, and fired just as I was about to seize him."
" Well, I wouldn't talk if I were you. You'll waste your
strength. Now what the deuce am I to do? If I had a
light here, I might stanch the blood at once ; but I haven't.
And how the deuce am I to get you to the house ? Do you
think, if I were to help you up, that you could manage to
walk by leaning on me?" inquired the Captain, in great
perplexity.
"No, no, no couldn't think of it! If I were to stand
up I should bleed to death in a very few minutes," an-
swered the Colonel, in a fainting voice.
" I could run back to the house and fetch the two women
to help to carry you ; but I am afraid to leave you here.
You might faint. What the deuce had I best do ? What
would you rather I should do, old fellow ? "
"I don't know, I'm sure," groaned the wounded man,
growing fainter every minute.
"Wot's the row, masters?" inquired a countryman who
had quietly come up.
"A gentleman has been shot by a burglar while pursuing
the miscreant. And I want help to take him to the house
at the other end of the lane," explained the Captain.
" Here I am at your service, master. And glad I am to
be on hand. I was going home, after sitting up with a sick
neighbor all night, when just as I was passing the 'high-
road near the opening of the lane I heard your voices in
distress, and I thought I would just come and see what was
amiss. No offence, I hope ? "
" Of course not. Only lend us a hand here."
" Certain. Master, if you'll support the gentleman's
Lead and shoulders, I'll support his legs."
" Yes, that will do," said Captain Faulkner.
And between them they raised the wounded and groan-
ing man, and bore him gently on toward the cottage.
THE NIGHT ALARM. 67
The whole house was lighted up now, as if light was the
very best protection against hidden dangers.
And all the members of the little family, mother, nurse,
and little children, half dressed and half frightened, were
assembled in the front hall.
Seeing them standing in the blaze of the gaslight, as he
drew near with his burden, Captain Faulkner called out :
"Now, Molly, don't be frightened; for we're bringing
home a wounded man."
" Is it the robber ? " inquired Mrs. Faulkner, hastening
out to the gate to meet them, and fully believing that Cap-
tain Faulkner and Colonel Brierly had wounded and captured
the burglar, and were bearing him home in triumph.
"But, good Heaven! It is the Colonel himself!" ex-
claimed Molly, as she recognized the wounded man.
" Yes, my dear lady, it is I. And the scoundrel has done
for me, I do believe," groaned the Colonel, as they bore him
into the house.
" Oh, come now, master ! Not so bad as that, neither,"
said the countryman cheerfully.
They carried him to his own chamber and laid him on his
bed, and then began carefully to undress him. They found
the wound in his leg already almost stanched by the clotting
of the blood. They bound it up as it was, until they could
procure the services of a surgeon.
" Now where is Benny ? I must send that boy for Dr.
Herby at once," said the Captain.
" Oh, Charley, dear, I'm sure I forgot to tell you ! I was
so shocked at seeing the Colonel wounded that I forgot all
about that boy," said Mrs. Faulkner, who was standing by
the Colonel's bed.
"What about him, Molly ? " inquired the Captain.
" Oh, Charley, he's gone ! "
" Gone ! "
" Yes ; run away ! "
68 A NOBLE LORD.
"Are you sure ? "
*' Oh, Charley, dear, yes. As soon as you ran out in the
lane we were all frightened at not having a man in the
house at such a dreadful time, and we all went together to
Benny's room to call him, and we found that he was not
there. And we called him, and searched for him all over the
house, but he was certainty gone."
" Well, I swear ! That diabolical little miscreant I see
it all now has opened the door to the burglars, and let them
in ! " exclaimed the Captain.
" I always thought the little sneak looked like a snakes-
man," murmured the Colonel.
"A suakesman ! " echoed Molly, in perplexity.
"Yes, dear lady; but you don't know what that means.
In thieves' Latin, a snakesman is a thin, lithe boy, trained
to wriggle himself, like a little serpent, through a small
window, side light, or panel, into a house, and open a door
to bigger burglars."
" Oh, Benny was thin enough, goodness knows ; but he
didn't look wicked."
" Ah ! his innocent looks made him all the fitter instru-
ment of evil. But what the deuce, Faulkner ! are you
going to leave me without surgical help until my wound in-
flames ? " groaned the Colonel, trying to draw up his suffer-
ing limb and failing to do so, and then groaning worse than
ever.
" I beg your pardon, Brierly ! This new discovery has
quite upset me. I'll go for a surgeon at once, and to the
police quarters too, while I'm about it," said the Captain,
preparing to be off.
" Oh oh oh ! The rascals have got both my watches,
with their chains and diamond seals. One is a chronometer
a heavy gold chronometer ; and the other oh, oh, oh !
blast the fellow ! how my wound smarts ! the other is a
small gold, enamelled watch, studded with diamonds. But
THE NIGHT ALARM. G9
you would know them, should the scoundrel be taken with
the property on him."
" Oh, yes, of course ! Don't disturb yourself," said the
Captain, drawing on his gloves.
" And I suppose you have suffered equally, Faulkner, my
poor fellow ? " said Brierly.
The Captain burst out laughing.
" I should like to know what they could find worth carry-
ing off in our house. Molly and I have no money, nor do
we own a watch or an article of jewelry between us, nor a
single piece of plate, unless Britannia ware will pass for
such," he said.
"And they've taken all that, and our spoons and forks
to boot ! " said Mrs. Faulkner ruefully.
" Electro-plate ! Oh, how the rascals are sold ! They
took this for silver, in the dark, you see ! " said the Captain,
roaring with laughter.
"Faulkner, will you go for a surgeon?" impatiently
demanded the Colonel.
" My dear fellow, I am off now ! Friend, will you oblige
me by remaining here with these frightened women until
I return," inquired the Captain.
"With all my heart, sir," answered the countryman.
But Captain Faulkner scarcely waited to hear the reply,
before he bounded down the stairs and out of the house on
his errand.
On the high-road, as we know, he passed close by the
burglar and the boy, without suspecting the proximity of
either.
He hastened first to the residence of the nearest surgeon,
knocked him up, informed him of the outrage, and gave
him directions how to find the cottage in the lane.
The doctor promised to hasten immediately to the assist-
ance of the wounded man.
And Captain Faulkner left him and hurried away to the
police quarters.
70 A N O B I. E I. O R D.
He found the night-watch at the station house, just about
to be relieved. He inquired for the principal officer who
might then be on duty, and he was at once shown into a
stuffy, musty, close little office, where the gas was still
burning and the weary official at the desk still watching.
He went up to this person and gave his name and stated
his case, all of which was taken down in writing by a clerk
seated at the end of the same desk.
He charged his bound boy, Benjamin Hurst, alias Ben-
jamin Brice, with being associated with a burglar or bur-
glars, and with having, on the just preceding night, opened
the doors to one or more thieves, who robbed the house of
money, gold watches and other articles, and seriously
wounded a gentleman visitor of the family, while he was
in pursuit of them, and then made off with their booty.
" Have 3 T ou any suspicion as to who were the parties that
robbed your house, Captain Faulkner?" inquired the In-
spector.
"Not the slightest suspicion as to the identity of any
one among them except the boy. It is certain that he
opened the door to the burglars," answered the Captain.
"Where is that boy?"
" He ran away with the thieves after the robbery. I
thought I had mentioned that."
" No, you had not. And it is important. You know the
boy, and you do not know the others ? "
" Exactly."
" Do you happen to know any of the boy's friends, asso-
ciates, or haunts ?"
"No; he is an orphan, and I got him from the work-
house last spring. Yet, stay ! Yes, I do know some of his
friends and places of resort, or rather I know one of each."
" Let us hear what you know, if you please, Captain."
" He has some friends that he visits in London, called
let me see a curious name Beech? Hazel? Pine?
THE NIGHT ALARM. 71
No Juniper ? That's it Juniper! There is a carpenter
and his family of the name of Juniper. They live in the
yard behind the the the 'Victoria?' no the Thespian
Temple theatre."
" Oh, yes ; I know. And they have a girl named Suzy
a pretty little dancing girl ?"
"That's it! 'Suzy' a friend of Benny's; though I
didn't know she was a dancing girl. Benny spent his half-
holidays with her. She is the only friend he has in the
world, as far as I know."
" We must watch the stage carpenter's family. We shall
probably thereby light upon Master Benny, and through
him discover the perpetrators of this daring robbery. In
the meantime also, we shall set our most experienced detec-
tives on other tracks," said the Inspector.
And then he asked Captain Faulkner a number of other
questions, to which he received some satisfactory and some
unsatisfactory answers.
And then he gave his client a number of valuable hints,
all tending toward the discovery of the robbers.
And finall}'', as it was now broad daylight, the Captain
arose and took his leave.
When he returned to Woodbine Cottage, he found the
Colonel in a deep, wholesome sleep.
" The doctor says he will be all right in a week or ten
days, if he will keep quiet and abstain from stimulants,"
said Molly, as she met her " dear Charley " in the hall.
" The devil himself can't make the Colonel do that," re-
plied the Captain.
Then they went in to breakfast.
" And only think, Charley, dear," said Molty, as they sat
down to the table, "the horrid burglars have taken away all
our electro-plate service, and we have got to use the tin cof-
fee pot from the kitchen."
"Never mind, Molly ! Revenge is sweet ! This happen-
72 A N O B L K L O R D.
ed fill through the treachery of that little serpent, Benny !
But we will have him in limbo before a week is over our
heads. You'll see," said the Captain with assurance.
CHAPTER VII.
THE DETECTIVE.
A most seemly fir and reverend gentleman I
We'll trust him. MESSBMOF.B.
BKXXY could not be found, although he was diligently
sought for by the most experienced detectives not that
they cared so much to capture the boy, except as a means
of capturing the man, and perhaps the gang of men, en-
gaged in the burglary.
A skillful detective, in the disguise of a home missionary
clergyman, visited the Junipers, and under the pretence of
seeking the boy for the purpose of entering him as a resi-
dent pupil in one of the public charity boarding-schools for
boys, made many inquiries concerning Benny.
Good, motherly Mrs. Juniper was at once interested.
" And a good job, sir, it will be, to take the poor, misfor-
tunate orphing and put him to school, to have him reared up
in the way he should go according to the Scripter," she
said, suiting the style of her conversation to the cloth of
the supposed clergyman.
" But I do not know where to find the lad unless you tell
me," answered Spry, the disguised detective.
" Lor, sir, I can tell you that easy enough. He be a
page living along of one Captain Forkiner, at Woodbine
Cottage, Hawthing Lane, Sydingham."
" He was living there, but he is not now. He was en-
ticed away some ten days ago."
" Lor ! see at that now ! Who could a done it ? Old
T H E PET ECTI V E. 16
Ruth Drug she's dead, and a good job too ! Madge she's in
the rnad-house, which is another good job ! And that ras-
killy ruffing begging your parding, sir, it's that bad Tony
Brice, his pappy-in-law, as I mean he's been run away this
ever so long, and a good riddance of bad rubbish, sir ! Any
way, they're all gone, them male and female reporates as
were leading of the boy to his everlasting ruing. And so
I can't think who have enticed him awa} T ."
" No more can I," said Mr. Juniper, who happened to be
present.
" I had hoped that you would be able to assist me in res-
cuing this interesting lad from his evil associates," said the
pretended clergyman.
" So we can, sir. Indeed we can ! " put in eager, affec-
tionate, confiding little Suzy. " No matter where Benny is,
he will be sure to come to see us soon. Benny is good, sir.
Oh, indeed, indeed Benny is good, sir. Ever since I knew
Benny, he was always doing the very best he could to please
everybody old folks and children, and the poor dumb crea-
tures too ! for Bennj T felt for them all, sir, he did ! Oh, you
don't know what a heart poor Benny has ! Oh, if he was
only a great rich gentleman, he would do so much for the
poor, sir. Oh, I hope you'll find him soon, and put him to
school, and give him a good education, and then, may be,
he'll make the riches for himself."
" You are quite enthusiastic and eloquent in praise of
your young friend, my little maid, and no doubt he deserves
all your encomiums," replied the pretended minister, who
saw in this innocent and confiding little girl his most effec-
tual aid in the capture of the boy.
" Oh, sir, he does deserve all the good one can say of him ;
he does indeed, sir. Poor Benny! he never thinks of him-
self; he always thinks of others ! Nothing is too mean for
Benny's pity, sir. I've seen him give his own crust to a
poor famished dog, and go hungry himself. Oh, I'm so glad
he is to go to school ! "
74 A NOBLE LORD.
"And you, my little maid, you seem to go to school to
some purpose. You speak well," said the disguised detec-
tive, wishing to draw the child out.
" No, sir, I don't go to school. But I learn how to speak
properly through studying my parts."
" Your ' parts ! ' " echoed the cunning detective.
" My parts in the play, sir. I am an actress, sir. I hope
you don't think it very wicked of me to be an actress ? "
inquired Suzy, glancing timidly at the professional black
coat of the pretended minister.
" Oh, not at all, my child ! It is the person, not the pro-
fession, that is concerned in Christianity. The illustrious
Sarah Siddons was at the same time a good Christian and a
great actress," replied the pretended minister.
"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that!" exclaimed Suzy, with
sudden animation; "that's what I want to be just! I
want to be a good Christian and a great actress ! For oh !
I do love the church service. I never miss it on Sundays.
It warms my heart, and sets my whole soul in a glow.
And oh ! I love and honor more than tongue can tell, Him
whose very name I reverence too much to speak except ill
prayer or praise," murmured Suzy reverently.
" How the child talks ! But then she is a little actress
the ' Infant Wonder' of the Thespian and that makes all
the difference between her and other children," thought the
disguised detective, as he gazed at the eloquent face of the
little artiste. Then speaking kindly to her he said:
" And you also love your art ? "
" Oh, yes, yes ; I do indeed ! It makes my heart burn."
"And you wish to be at once a good Christian and a
great actress ? Well, you can be both."
"And I'm so glad to hear that. For Mary Kempton,
you must know, told me that I could not be both ; that I
couldn't be any sort of an actress and any sort of a Chris-
tian at the same time; and that I must either give up my
THE DETECTIVE. 75
art or give up my Christianity. She almost broke my
heart. What is to become of my family," said the little
bread-winner, looking protectingly around upon her father
and mother, and her elder brothers and sisters. " What is
to become of my family if I give up my art ? "
"Certainly, what indeed! It would be very unchristian
in you not to provide for them."
"Oh, sir, I'm so glad to hear you say so. And you a
clergyman too. For oh, sir, it is not only my family that I
have been thinking of, but Benny, sir. Poor Benny ! I
see ( no light in Heaven or earth ' for poor Benny, unless I
succeed in making a fortune on the stage."
"And when you have made a fortune on the stage, what
then ? " inquired the detective, with a smile.
"Oh, then, sir, I mean to provide for my father and
mother, and set my brothers up in business, and give mar-
riage portions to ray sisters and "
The little girl stopped suddenly, but the pretended cler-
gyman continued for her :
" Then you will marry Benny and so make his fortune ? "
" Yes, sir ; and we'll live in a pretty place in the country,
with trees and lambs and things that Benny likes. And
we'll give away a great deal.
' We will feed the hungry and clothe the poor,
And all shall bless us who leave our door, '
said the child, quoting a poem* that she had often recited
with great effect, and which, no doubt, had had its influence
in forming the best parts of her character.
"A very pretty little programme for the future," said the
detective, rising, as if about to take leave.
Mr. and Mrs. Juniper, out of respect to the supposed min-
ister, whom they believed to be professionally catechising
and "improving" their daughter, had kept silence during
the interview between the detective and the child.
* Whittier's Maud Mailer.
7G A NOB L E LORD.
Now the interview seemed over, Mrs. Juniper could hold
her tongue no longer. Her maternal pride broke forth iu
these words :
"Which them as is good judges do say, sir, as my gal has
great talents for the stage, and is bound to make her fortune
when she grows to .be a woman."
"There is no doubt of it," said the obliging detective;
" and let me tell you, my good woman, that all the greatest
actresses and singers in the world have sprung from the same
rank of life with your little girl here."
"Indeed, sir! Well, it do seem as if the poor and hum-
ble ought to have something sometimes to encourage them."
"Certainly they ought."
" Yes, sir, she's right there where she says she will make
a fortune for herself and all her family ; but as to her talk
about ever marrying of Benny, that's all nothing but childish
nonsense, you know, sir."
" Of course ; of course. It is not likely that the future
queen of the stage will so lower herself," agreed the com-
pliant detective.
" As if I hadn't said, over and over again, that success
itself would not be sweet unless shared with Benny," said
Suzy.
" Well, well, we will see," said the detective.
" Yes, yes, we will see," agreed Mrs. Juniper.
" And I'll tell you all what it's all childish talk, and it's
no use to mind it. But let our gal get to years of discretion,
and then, fortin or no fortin, fame or no fame, if she's then
a mind to marry Benny, blowed if she shan'n't marry him !
If she makes our fortin, must we pay her by breaking of her
heart ? And who's got a better right, I'd like to know, to
have her own way, than her as wins all our bread ? When
she's twenty years old, if she wants to marry Benny, she
shall marry Benny ! Blowed if she sha'n't ! Do you hear
that, girl ? If you want Benny when you get to be a
woman, you shall have Benny !"
THEBETECTIVE. 77
" Yes, papa, dear ! " answered Suzy.
" Well, now, my friends," said the disguised detective, " [
feel so interested in the future well-being of this lad, that I
shall call again to-morrow."
" Do, sir, in welcome," replied Mrs. Juniper.
"I shall not be here, sir. I am going down to-morrow to
commence a week's engagement at the Brighton Theatre
with Madame Vesta's troupe. But oh ! I hope you will find
Benny! And I shall feel so anxious until I hear. Wouldn't
you please condescend to write to me, sir, just one little line,
to let me know when you find him ? "
" Certainly, rny dear. Where shall I direct my letter ? "
" Oh ! to Mademoiselle Zephyriue, care of Madame Vesta,
Brighton Theatre, Brighton."
" Mademoiselle Zephyrine ? " echoed the detective.
" Yes ; that is my stage name. I hope you don't think
it is wicked for me to call myself by another name ? "
"Nonsense, nonsense, my child. Even ministers of the
gospel sometimes preach under their own name and write
under another name, that the}- call their nomme du plume,
Mademoiselle Zephyrine is your nomme du theatre" said
the pretended minister encouragingly.
"And indeed I'm so much obliged to you, sir, for setting
of her mind at ease on that and her profession too. It was
very ill convenient to have Mary Kempton a coming here
with the best of intentions, and upsetting of her mind so
about its being sinful to act on the stage and that, as the
child couldn't reel}' half do her duty," said Mrs. Juniper.
" And who is this Mary Kemptou, whom I hear you
quote so often ? "
" A very good girl, sir, barring her being a bit of a
fanatic all along of attending the Eeverend Mr. Sturgeon's
preaching," answered Mrs. Juniper.
" Oh ! a dissenter. That accounts for it all. But set
your mind at ease, my good woman. Your daughter is
78 A NOBLE LORD.
fulfilling her duty in that state of life to which she is
called."
" Oh, sir, you make us so happy when you say that !
And coming from a reverend gentleman like you, of course
it sets our minds completely at rest. Suzy, you hear what
the reverend gentleman says ? And now you won't worry
any more, will you ? "
"No, mamma, no more," answered the little girl.
The pretended clergyman then took leave, with a promise
to come again the next day.
And the next morning Suzy joined Madame Vesta's opera
troupe at the London Bridge Railway station, and started
with them to commence that engagement at Brighton which
was to have such a great influence on all her future life.
The Junipers left at home watched for Benny, but the
boy did not come.
The detective, in the disguise of a benevolent clergyman,
came every day, only to be disappointed.
At length the detective went and reported his ill-luck to
the party supposed to be most interested to Captain
Faulkner of Woodbine Cottage.
" Oh, leave the lad alone ! " said that good-natured good-
for-nothing, who had got over his short-lived auger against
Benny, and only remembered the affectionate boy's winning
ways. " Leave the lad alone. There's been no murder
done. Brierly is on his legs again, all right. He never
was half so badly hurt as he was scared. And he was
scared, badly scared, in spite of his boasted feats of valor in
the Indian warfare," added the Captain, with a jolly laugh.
" So leave the lad alone ; I don't wish to have him pun-
ished, for blame you ! your punishments are ten times
worse than the sins punished."
" We do not care to get the boy for the boy's sake, sir.
But we believe him to be connected, as snakesman, with a
baud of burglars to whom we attribute the many daring
THE DETECTIVE. 79
robberies of the past month. And we wish to get hira in
our hands as a means for the discovery of the band. Young
lads are timid, and can usually be terrified into giving up
their older accomplices."
" I somehow think that Benny cannot be. There is a
sort of crude, untrained heroism about the child, that would
lead him to sacrifice himself on a false sense of honor to his
accomplices," said the Captain.
"No. Benny '11 never peach, on a pal," added Master
Charley.
" There ! " exclaimed the Captain, beginning to lose a
little of his good humor. " You see what it is to have a boy
of that class in one's house ! Already he has taught my son
his thieves' honor in good set thieves' Latin. Pray what is
the meaning of " peaching on a pal ?"
" Betraying an accomplice," answered the detective.
" Telling on a playmate," at the same instant answered
Master Charley.
" With your leave, Captain, I must still prosecute my
search for the boy," said the detective, who thereupon took
leave and went a\vay.
But days passed and still Benny was not found.
Meanwhile Captain Faulkner, through his most unfortu-
nate intimacy with Colonel Brierly, was fast relapsing into
his former bad habits.
He staid out every night to a very late hour. H,e spent
about three evenings in the week at the lodgings of Colonel
Brierly.
Their friendship, if it could be called such, was of the
most uncertain quality.
Both were hard drinkers. Captain Faulkner, though
good-humored, was very reckless in conversation ; while
Colonel Brierly was decidedly quarrelsome and insulting,
in his cups.
A careless jest from the Captain, an insulting repartee
80 ANOBLELORD.
from the Colonel, might at any moment break the bond that
bound these bonsvivants together.
The " impending crisis " came at last.
It happened that, one evening, Captain Faulkner was
invited to meet a few gentlemen at supper, at the lodging
of his friend Colonel Brierly.
The company met in due time, and supped sumptuously,
the dishes having been prepared after the Colonel's own
receipts. Choice wines " graced " the board, and were
freely imbibed by the guests.
At the end of the supper, when every guest had already
drank a great deal too much, Colonel Brierly rang the bell,
and ordered a punch-bowl, a kettle of boiling water, half
a dozen different sorts of liquors, half a dozen different sorts
of fruits and spices ; and having obtained all that was nec-
essary to this hell-broth, proceeded to brew his own cele-
brated Punjaub punch, which he afterward served out with
his own hand to his guests.
It was while they were sipping this punch, and agreeing
that if the Olympian gods had ever been so lucky as to
have tasted this exquisite beverage, they would never have
condescended to nectar more, and while they were uttering
other nonsense of the same sort, that their host, tete-monte
with his punch, suddenly mounted his hobby of marvellous
story-telling.
On this occasion the scene was changed. It was no
longer tiger hunting in India, but deer-stalking in the
western wilderness of North America.
"Where, sir," he said, addressing more particularly his
nearest neighbor at the table, " I was once on leave, and on
a visit to a friend stationed at one of the frontier forts
commanding the fort, in fact," he added, correcting himself.
"A fine country that, by all accounts," said his neighbor.
"Fine country, sir!" exclaimed the Colonel, turning off
a bumper of punch. "Fine country, sir! You never saw,
THEDETECTIVE. 81
heard of, or read of so fine a country in your life, sir ! Stu-
pendous forests ! Magnificent game ! I tell you, sir, I
have seen forests of titanic oaks, whose boles were yards in
circumference, standing scarcely three feet apart, and with
their limbs and twigs so interlocked and interwoven as to
form an impenetrable green thicket ! Yes, sir! And I have
seen bounding through these forests magnificent deer, sir !
majestic creatures six feet high, whose splendid antlers
branched ten feet apart! Yes, sir!" exclaimed the Colo-
nel, glancing around the table.
" Wonderful ! "
"Amazing! "
" Stupendous ! "
So exclaimed all the gentlemen at the table, with the
exception of Captain Faulkner, who was in one of his most
reckless, jolly and chaffing moods, and who now pursed up
his lips and gave vent to a long, low, offensive
"Whee-ew!"
Colonel Brierly, quarrelsome as usual when in his cups,
turned fiercely upon him and demanded :
" What do you mean by that, sir ? "
" Oh, nothing particular," answered the Captain, laugh-
ing.
" Death, sir ! Do you mean to doubt my word ? " de-
manded the Colonel in a loud voice, and with a heightened
color.
" Oh, no, certainly not. I never doubt a gentleman's
word," replied the Captain, with a very questionable laugh,
that infuriated the Colonel.
" Then, if you do not mean to impugn my veracity, sir,
what the devil do you mean? I insist upon knowing!"
exclaimed the Colonel.
"Oh, well, if you must know," coolly returned the Cap-
tain, " I was but wondering how the deuce those majestic
deer, with antlers branching ten feet wide, managed to
5
82 A NOBLE LORD.
bound through those magnificent forests where the titanic
oak-trees stand but three feet opart."
For a moment the Colonel was dumbfounded, and then he
exclaimed :
" By Jupiter, sir, that was their business not mine, or
yours ! "
A laugh at this retort went round the table.
" You have him there, Brierly," said one.
" Ah, yes, he has you there, Faulkner," said another.
" So much for asking inconvenient questions, old fellow,"
added a third.
The good-natured good-for-nothing laughed with the rest,
and soon forgot the little contest.
Not so Colonel Brierly ; he never either forgot or forgave
it; though, at the separation of the supper party and the
departure of his guests, he received the adieus of Captain
Faulkner as politely as he received those of the other gen-
tlemen.
And the two boon companions met as usual, three or four
evenings out of every week.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DUEL.
Indeed, at last, close scrutiny must show
A duel cowardly, and mefln arid low ;
And men engaged in it compelled by force.
And fear, not courage as its proper source :
The fear of tyrant custom, and the foar
.l.otit knaves should censure and lest fools should sneer.
It. is to trnmiJle on our Maker's laws,
To hazard life for any such ill cause. COWPER.
AT length the opportunity offered itself to Colonel Brierly
to take his revenge, and he took it.
The occasion was another little supper, given by a literary
Bohemiam at the Red Lion Inn, Strand.
T H E D U E L. 83
There were about half a dozen gentlemen present, among
whom was Colonel Brierly. The supper was over, and the
wine was circulating very freely, when Brierly proposed a
game of loo.
The table was immediately cleared, and the cards were
brought.
About three rounds had been played, with more or less
luck to each player, and the cards were dealt for the fourth
round, and the usual question :
" What do you do ? " was asked of each player in succes-
sion.
" I take ' miss,' " answered Colonel Brierly when the
question came to him.
" I beg your pardon, but I have taken ' miss,' " said
Captain Faulkner, whose turn was before that of Colonel
Brierly.
"Why didn't you say that before, then ? It is too late
now," said the Colonel, taking up the "miss" cards, and
putting down his own.
" Colonel Brierly," said the astonished Captain, " I did
say that I would take it."
The Colonel contemptuously shrugged his shoulders.
" I tell you, sir, that I did say I would take it," repeated
the Captain, flushing to his temples.
" Did any gentleman hear Captain Faulkner say that he
would take ' miss ? ' " inquired the Colonel, with a tone and
manner intensely insulting to the Captain.
I did not."
" Nor I," answered several.
" Did any one ? " persisted the Colonel.
It appeared that no one had heard the Captain declare for
" miss," though several suggested that the Captain might
have spoken, though the}' had not heard him.
" There, you see, sir, your assertion is unsupported.
None of these gentlemen heard you say that you would take
' miss/ " sneered the Colonel.
84 A NOBLE LORD.
" Colonel Brierly," said Captain Faulkner, his face
deepty flushing, " do you venture to express a doubt of my
veracity ? "
" I do."
" SIR ! " exclaimed the Captain, changing color.
"I do most distinctly assert that I doubt your veracity,
Captain Faulkner," scornfully repeated the Colonel.
A murmur of disapprobation passed around the table.
" Colonel Brierly, there is but one answer a gentleman
can make you," said Captain Faulkner, turning deadly pale,
as he threw down his cards, arose and left the table.
" Let him go," said the Colonel defiantly. " And now,
gentlemen, to our game. I take 'miss.' Fitz-John, it is
your lead."
" Thanks. I shall not play," said Fitz-John, an innocent
young Bohemian enough, but with a lion's heart to back a
friend, and he laid down his cards, left the table and follow-
ed Faulkner, whom he considered to have been insulted
without just cause.
He overtook the Captain in the hall outside.
" Faulkner, you have been grossly and unwarrantably in-
sulted. Brierly is a bully and a coward. And whatever
you mean to do, I am with you," he said, drawing the Cap-
tain's arm within his own.
" Thanks, my dear Fritz. I knew you would be with me,
and I meant to have sent for you. Thanks, dear old fellow,
for your prompt anticipation of my wishes," said the Captain
with emotion.
" What do you intend to do?" inquired the young man.
"My dear Fitz, what but one thing can a gentleman do
under such circumstances ? Come with me into the coffee-
room. We can find a private corner somewhere there at this
hour," replied the Captain.
They went together to the coffee-room and found a table
in a box, at which they sat down.
T H E D U E L. 85
Captain Faulkner called for writing materials, which were
supplied to him.
" You will go to the scoundrel on my part, my dear Fitz-
John, and demand from him a retraction of his words, and
a public apology for the public insult he has offered me.
Should he refuse, then demand from him the last and only
satisfaction he can give me. That he dare not refuse."
"No, the miscreant! because he knows he is a dead
shot," thought the young man, as he went away upon his
errand.
Captain Faulkner called for cigars, and sat smoking and
waiting for the return of his messenger.
Half an hour passed, and then Fitz-John returned, and
reseated himself at the table looking very grave.
" Well," inquired the Captain.
" The scoundrel is stupid and stubborn. He absolutely
refused to retract his words, although every man at the table,
with one exception, entreated him to do so," replied Fitz-
John.
" The villain ! I expected this. Of course you told him
of the only other alternative ? "
" No, I did not. I am with you, as I said, Faulkner, and
whatever you do I will see you through it. But I thought,
before giving your challenge, I would come back to you once
more. You have a wife and children, Faulkner, and that
infernal rascal is a dead shot," said j'ouug Fitz-John very
gravely.
" I know, I know. Poor Molly ! poor babes. But a
man's honor should be dearer to him than wife or children,
Fitz-John. You will therefore take my challenge to that
fellow, and ask him to name some gentleman on his own
part to act with you in arranging the details of the meeting."
Young Fitz-John once more entreated the Captain to
consider well before going further in an affair of so grave a
character.
86 ANOBLELORD.
But Faulkner was firm of purpose.
" You know," he said, " that I am no professed duellist ;
so far from being one, I have never in my life been engaged,
either as principal or second, in any hostile meeting. Be-
sides, I love my wife arid children " Here the Captain's
voice broke down, and his face turned pale. " But a man
cannot pass over an insult such as I have received. You
know it, Fitz-John. Now go, good fellow, and deliver my
challenge."
" To the worst man and the best shot in England ! "
sighed the young man, as he went upon his fatal errand.
Captain Faulkner lighted another cigar, and smoked and
waited. He waited a full hour, at the end of which Fitz-
John once more entered the box, and seated himself at the
table, looking even graver than before.
" Is it arranged ? " inquired Faulkner, in a low voice.
" Yes," replied Fitz-John. " Do you know a place called
the Devil's Dyke, down on the south coast, near Brighton ?"
The Captain burst into a loud, harsh laugh.
Fitz-John looked shocked and inquisitive.
" I was only thinking what a deuced appropriate name
that is for the ground upon which a duel is to be fought, if
it is the ground. Is it ? "
" It is the ground. It is a solitary place, well suited to
the work."
" < Excellently well.' "
" The weapons to be used are pistols. We are to leave
town quietly, by the midnight express, for Brighton ; on
our arrival, to take rooms at the ' Ship' hotel ; and at five
o'clock to-morrow morning an hour when the spot is sure
to be deserted, and the tide low we are to meet on the
sands below the Dyke."
"And should there be a fatal termination to the duel, the
survivors can easily reach New Haven in time to take the
early boat for Dieppe, and thus escape," added the Captain.
T H E D U E L. 87
" Yes ; that has been thought of in the selection of the
spot," said Intz-John.
" What is the hour, old fellow ? " inquired the Captain.
"A quarter to eleven."
" We have just an hour and a quarter left before we must
catch the train. That leaves me about three quarters of
an hour in which to settle up all my worldly affairs, sup-
posing I had any affairs to settle, which I haven't. I have
only to write to Molly poor Molly ! and poor babies ! But
old Melliss, when I am gone, will take much better care of
them than ever I could have done ; for he only hated me,"
said the Captain, with a deep sigh, as he drew writing
materials before him.
He wrote but a short letter to his wife, but it took him a
long time to finish it ; for he frequently paused and sighed,
as he told her of the insult he had received from Colonel
Brierly, and the obligation that rested on him, as a man of
honor, to demand satisfaction. He begged her forgiveness
for all he had caused her to suffer, and recommended her, in
case of his death, to seek the protection of her father for
herself and her young family. He concluded with sending
tender messages to his children, and he signed himself her
" Poor Charley."
In a postscript he begged her, if she could possibly avoid
it, not to prosecute Benny.
H*e folded, sealed and directed this letter, and gave it in
charge of Eitz-John, saying :
" If I should fall, Fitz, you will take this to my poor wife
at Sydenham, and deliver it yourself."
" Yes, certainly. But let us look forward to a more
righteous end."
"After giving that letter to my wife, you will call on Mr.
Melliss, the great banker, who lives in Charles street. Tell
him that his good-for-nothing son-in-law is killed off out
of his way, and ask him, in Christian charity, to look after
88 A NOBLE LORD.
his widowed daughter and orphaned grandchildren. Will
you promise me that, Fitz-John ? "
" Yes, certainly ; I promise to do that, if it should be
necessary : but it will not be necessary. We do not mean
to have any widows or orphans in the case, or anybody
killed out of anybody's way. We intend only to wing our
scoundrelly antagonist, to teach him to keep a civil tongue
in his head, that's all," said the young man, speaking more
cheerfully than he felt.
" I believe that is all I have to say now, Fitz. And it
must be nearly time for us to be off."
" Very nearly. The carriage was ordered at half past
eleven to take us to the station, and it wants but five min-
utes to that time," said Fitz-John.
And even as he spoke, a servant came in and announced
the carriage.
Both gentlemen arose, took their hats and went out as
upon an ordinary journey.
They reached the London Bridge station in time to catch
the train for Brighton. This train was the last for the night,
and it stopped at Sydenham. It was the train by which
Captain Faulkner usually returned home, after spending the
evening out. He thought of that now, as he went up to the
ticket office and took tickets for himself and his friend. He
thought of it as he passed Colonel Brierly and his second,
who were standing on the platform, waiting for a guard to
give them a first-class carriage.
By the judicious administration of half a crown to the
guard, Captain Faulkner secured a coupe for himself and
friend.
They had scarcely got seated when the train started.
Captain Faulkner felt as if he were going home as usual,
to his wife and children. He could scarcely realize that he
was going to fight a duel.
Very soon the train ran down to Sydenham, which w\s
the first station, blew the signal, and stopped.
T H E D U E L. 89
Captain Faulkner arose, as if to get out as usual ; then
recollecting himself, he sank back in his seat with a groan.
Then a sudden impulse seized him to jump from the coupe
to the platform, and hurry home through fields and lanes
now rich in Autumn's beauty, home to his cozy cottage and
lovely wife and little children, and to leave Colonel Brierly
to go to the Devil's Dyke, or the Devil himself, alone.
But the train started, and his fate was sealed.
In due time it ran in to the Brighton station, where a few
cabs were still waiting to take late travellers to their desti-
nations.
Captain Faulkner and Mr. Fitz-John took a cab between
them to the "Ship" hotel, where they were followed by
Colonel Brierly, his second and the surgeon, in another cab.
The whole party ordered rooms, and soon retired.
Captain Faulkner and Fitz-John took a double-bedded
room between them, and then feed a waiter to bring them
coffee at five in the morning, and also to order a cab fcr that
hour.
These arrangements having been made, Mr. Fitz-John
would have persuaded his principal to lie down ; but the
Captain said that ho wished to write another letter, and
begged that his second would lie down and leave him to
himself.
Fitz-John then threw off his coat and laid down on the
outside of his bed, meaning to watch with his principal.
But fatigue soon overcame him, and he slept soundly.
Captain Faulkner sat down to write his second letter.
This was to Mr. Melliss. ISTow that he was so near an
event that might terminate his earthly existence, "poor
Charley" was forced into a stricter self-examination than he
had ever instituted before. For the first time he felt re-
inoree for having first "stolen the old man's daughter/' and
then brought her and her children to such misery.
He wrote to Mr. Meiliss as he felt, as a dying man ; tell-
90 A NOBLE LORD.
ing him that in his present crisis, when all the seriousness
of life and death weighed upon his spirit, he felt, for the
firet time, the enormity of his pin, and would, if possible,
atone for it. He begged the bereaved and outraged father
to forgive him, and to forgive his wife, the erring daughter.
He said he did not ask that father to protect his widosvi-d
daughter and her orphan children, because he knew that
father would do so. And he ended, as he had begun, by
entreating forgiveness.
He folded, sealed and directed this letter, and laid it
aside to give to Fitz-John in the morning.
Then he threw himself on his bed, not expecting to sleep.
Yet sleep soon overtook him, and he slept until he was
aroused by the knocking at his door.
He and his friend sprang up at the same moment.
Fitz-John opened the door, and found the waiter.
" If you please, sir, it is five o'clock. Here is the coffee,
and the cab is waiting," said the waiter.
"All right. Bring the tray in and put it on the table,
and let the cab wait," said Fitz-John.
" Yes, sir. Any farther orders ? "
" No. I'll ring if I want anything."
The waiter touched his forehead and went out.
" Come, Faulkner. Douse your head into a basin of cold
water, dry it with a coarse towel, brush your hair and come
to coffee. We can breakfast when we return," said Fitz-
John, as he cheerfully set the example of making a hasty
toilet.
" Yes, when we return ! " sighed Captain Faulkner.
Then he took the second letter from the table and gave it
to Fitz-John, saying:
" Fitz, I feel now as if I would like to be at peace with
all the world, even with my unrelenting old father-in-law.
Yes, even with that wretched man who is thirsting for my
blood this morning, and only because I happened to turn
T H E D U E L. 91
one of his boasting stories into ridicule ; for that is the real
origin of this duel, Fitz ! Well, wishing to be in charity
with all mankind, I have written to ni}' father-in-law. This
is the letter. In case I should fall, will you take it to
him?"
" I will. But come now, none of that ! Take your coffee
and brace up !" said Fitz-John encouragingly.
They sat down to the little table and drank two or three
cups of coffee each.
Then they took their hats and went down and got into
their cab, and directed the cabman to drive to the " Devil's
Dyke."
" And not over the downs, but by the beach," said Fitz-
Jolm.
"But the tide, sir," suggested the cabman.
" Oh, it is ebbtide now. It will be low tide by the time
we get there. And we shall return before the tide turns.
Go on."
The cabman touched his hat and went on.
A strange weird drive of death was that through the gray
of the autumn morning, along the sands of the seashore ;
on one side the beetling rocks, on the other the rolling sea.
And a long ride it seemed, considering the distance ; but at
length they neared the spot.
Fitz-John ordered the cabman to stop. And he and
Faulkner alighted, taking their pistol-case with them.
Fitz-Johu directed the cabman to wait there. And then
he drew the arm of his principal within his own, and they
both walked on toward the duelling ground.
They reached the foot of that yawning chasm known as
the Devil's Dyke, and found themselves alone there.
"The other party has not come up," said Faulkner.
"No. I am glad of it. I am glad that we are the first
upon the ground," said Fitz-John.
But even as he spoke, they discovered three persons
92 ANOBLELORD.
approaching from an opposite direction, and whom they
soon recognized as Col. Brierly, his second Mr. Aiken, and
the surgeon.
They lifted their hats as they approached, and our friends
courteously acknowledged the greeting.
The seconds Mr. Fitz-John on the part of Captain
Faulkner, and Mr. Aiken on that of Colonel Brierly pro-
ceeded to step cff the ground and place their principals.
They planted their men ten feet apart, standing sideways
toward each other, with their backs to the downs, their faces
towards the sea.
The seconds then retired.
An instant afterward Aiken gave the signal.
" One, two, three. Fire ! "
At the fatal word both antagonists wheeled around and
fired.
Captain Faulkner sprang into the air, fell forward upon
his face, and lay motionless.
Colonel Brierly, who was unhurt, forgetting all the
"points of honor," threw away his pistol and ran towards
his fallen foe.
But Fitz-John and Aiken had reached the fatal spot
before him.
Fitz-John had raised the head of the fallen man upon
his knee.
" My friend is dead ! " he groaned. " Fly, and save your-
self, Colonel Brierly.
AFTER THE FATAL DUEL. 93
CHAPTER IX.
AFTER THE FATAL DUEL.
Since ill-respected honor bade me on,
1 held as little counsel with weak fear
As you. What I did, I did in honor,
Led by the impartial conduct of my soul ;
And never shall you see that 1 will beg
A ragged and forestalled remission. SHAKESPEARE.
" BEIEKLY, we must fly ! There is not a single instant
to lose ! The cab still waits. We must take it and drive
like the very demon, if we wish to get to New Haven in
time to take the boat to Dieppe!" exclaimed Mr. Aiken,
Colonel Brierly's second, speaking in great excitement.
"By my soul, I'm ver} r sorry for this ! Is he dead? Are
you quite sure?" anxiously inquired the Colonel, of the
surgeon, who was kneeling down beside the body of poor
Faulkner.
" He is quite dead," answered the surgeon.
" Brierly, we can do no good here. We shall all be in a
devil of a mess, if we don't clear out ! " urged Aiken.
4 ' I know it ! By , I never was so sorry for anything
in my life ! "
" Sorrow '11 do no good now. Save yourself!" said
Aiken, taking the Colonel's arm and hurrying him off the
ground.
Then seeing that young Fitz-John still lingered, looking
upon his fallen friend, he called to him :
" Come, Fitz ! Heaven and earth ! Come ! We can
wait no longer for you."
" Go, then. I have a duty to do here ! " said Fitz-John.
" Man ! you'll have duties to do in the Pentonville Peni-
tentiary. Do you know what we have been doing will be
construed felony by the law, and that it is punishable by
imprisonment and penal servitude ? "
94 ANOBLELORD.
The young man started! "Imprisonment!" "Penal
servitude ! " Horrible fate ! More horrible than death !
And had he really made himself liable to such degradation ?
He could have braved pain or death for the sake of re-
maining by the body of his fallen friend; but not imprison-
ment ! not penal servitude !
He cast a look of sorrow and remorse upon the face of
the dead man, and then hastily followed the others.
They found the cabs waiting where they had left them.
He thought of the letters in his pocket, and of the sol-
emn promise he had made his friend, to deliver them to
their destination in the event of his death ; but impris-
onment! penal servitude! disgrace! He could not meet
that.
" I will send the letters by mail. That will do quite as
well," he said to himself.
And he entered the cab, ordered the cabman to drive
to New Haven, and promised him a guinea over and above
In's fare if he would get him there in time to take the boat
for Dieppe.
The other cab was already far ahead.
His cab bowled along as if life depended on its speed.
In a word, both cabs reached New Haven in good time,
and the survivors of the fatal duel embarked upon the carty
boat for Dieppe, and made good their escape to France.
Meanwhile poor Molly Faulkner had passed a restless and
anxious night at her home in Woodbine Cottage. She had
eat up to a very late hour waiting for her " poor Charley."
She had heard train after train blow the signal whistle,
as it slowed and stopped at the Sydenham station. And as
each in turn came on and stopped, she had said to herself:
"There he is now!" And she had waited ten or fifteen
minutes, and then sighed and said to herself:
" He didn't come by that train ; but he will come by the
next."
AFTER THE FATAL DUEL. 95
At length, however, the twelve midnight train from Lon-
don came shrieking. She thought he was on that train
certainly, for, after all, that was the train he usually came
down on.
And he was on that train, as we know, but he was also on
his way down to Brighton to fight that duel.
When the train started again, shrieking out of the sta-
tion on its way, poor Molly sat and watched and listened,
expecting every moment to hear the familiar, welcome
sound of her Charley's footsteps coming down the lane, and
the pleasant click of the gate latch that always announced
his arrival at home.
She watched ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, and did not
even then give him up.
" He may have met some friend at the station, and, late
as it is, stopped to talk to him. Poor Charley is the very
mischief for talking, both in season and out of season," she
said to herself, and she waited five, ten, fifteen minutes
more. And then her courage broke down.
Charley had not come home by that train, and now it was
certain that he would not come home that night, for there
would be no other train until morning.
Watching, suspense, anxiety, and finally disappointment,
completely overwhelmed her spirits. She also felt horribly
lonesome and sorrowful. She felt that she must see some
one, speak to some one, or die.
The clock struck one, with a preternaturally loud detona-
tion.
She jumped up from her seat by the front window, and
walked rapidly into the nursery, where her sleeping children
lay. She looked at them in their little beds, and then went
on to the cot occupied by her young nurse, Bessy Morriss.
" Bessy ! Bessy ! " she said, gently shaking her.
" Yes, ma'am ! Please, the baby's all right," answered
the girl, half asleep.
96 A N O H L E L O R D.
" Bessy ! Bessy ! I'm sick to death. I'm so nervous I
could scream. Wake up ! "
"Law, ma'am! Whatever have happened?" cried the
girl, now thoroughly aroused.
"Nothing has happened that I know of, except that the
last train from London has gone by an hour ago, and Cap-
tain Faulkner has not come in."
" Law, ma'am ! he have missed the train, that's all," said
the girl consolingly.
" Yes, I suppose that is all. But, oh, I'm so nervous ! "
" That's along of sitting up so late, ma'am. Please, I
think you'd hetter go to hed, ma'am, and sleep it off. The
time passes quick in sleep, so it do, ma'am, and before you'll
know it, the morning will be here, and the Captain too."
"Yes; probably. At least, I think your advice very
good, and 1 will follow it," said Mrs. Faulkner.
And good little Bessy, though it was no part of her duty
to do so, slipped out of bed and helped her mistress to un-
dress, and waited affectionately on her until she retired to
rest.
And poor Mollie Faulkner, ignorant of the trouble in
store for her, fell asleep, and for the remainder of the night
slept well.
She slept until very late in the morning.
The young nurse arose at the usual hour, and dressed the
children as quietly as she could, that they might not dis-
turb their weary mother.
Mrs. Faulkner continued to sleep until near noon. Then
she woke up, and finding how late it was, immediately rang
her bell, which was answered by the little nurse.
' What did you let me sleep so long for, Bessy? Why
didn't you wake me up as soon as the Captain came,
home?" she inquired.
"Please, ma'am, the Capting haven't come home yet;
and I let you sleep 'cause I thought you wanted of it,"
8aid the little nurse.
AFTER THE FATAL DUEL. 97
" The Captain not come home yet ! " echoed Molty,
turning pale. "Why, do you see what o'clock it is ? It
is nearly twelve, noon ! "
" I know it be, ma'am ; but the Capting haven't come."
" Oh, my Heaven ! my Heaven ! what keeps him ?
What can have happened ? " exclaimed Molly, wringing
her hands.
" May be, ma'am, he were at one of the Colonel's suppers
last night, and is enjoying of one of his bad 'eadaches to-
day," suggested the little girl.
" That is very, very likely," admitted Moll}'.
" In course it is, ma'am. You know, if he had a catched
the train and got home, he would 'ave 'ad 'is 'eadache here
all right. But as he missed of the train and 'ad to stop in
London all night, he got caught with his 'eadache in town,
and can't come home till he gets better."
"I see! Yes, that must be the reason of his absence.
But oh ! these irregularities do cost me so much anxiety !
Oh, Charley, dear, if you knew how much trouble you give
me, you wouldn't do it, love ! I'm sure you wouldn't," sighed
poor Molly, apostrophizing her absent husband.
" I told cook to make some fresh tea and cream toast for
you, ma'am. Will I bring it up ? "
" Yes ; no, I don't care ! Oh, if I only knew where in.
all London my poor Charley is stopping, I would go to him ;
but in all London !1' sighed Molly hopelessly.
" You may depend, ma'am, if so be he were sick enough
to need you, he would find somebody to send for you," said
the little nurse consolingly.
" Yes, I think he would," agreed Molly.
She saw no reason for any extraordinary anxiety now.
She reflected how often her erratic Charley had caused her
the deepest anxiety for nothing. She was refreshed bj 7 her
sleep besides, and so she was the more fitted to be patient.
She dressed herself as usual and went down stairs, ate
6
98 A NOBLE LORD.
her breakfast, nursed her baby, walked in the garden,
played with her children a little, and then came back into
the house and sat down to her needle-work, to wait for the
hours to pass that would bring the evening, when " Char-
ley," recovered from his penal "headache," should return.
Still, though she waited calmly, she could not dismiss all
anxiety from her mind. Vague fears tormented her at
intervals.
" What could have happened to him ? " she asked her-
self.
" Probably a headache, after a revel ! But possibly an-
other arrest for debt ! " she answered to herself.
"Another arrest for debt ! " This was the very worst she
feared for him. The idea of such a calamity as death in a
duel never once entered her mind.
"And if he were arrested for debt, he would send me
word. Oh ! it is only his usual wine headache that has
overtaken him in London, because he couldn't catch the
last train last night and get home in time to have it here.
But oh ! I wish he would come ! I wish I knew exactly
where he was, or even where that horrid Colonel Brierly
could be found! But I don't know anything about their
haunts. Oh, my poor Charley, how much trouble you do
give me, my dear ! "
So, waiting, sighing and gently complaining, Molly
passed the day.
Evening came, and the children were called in from their
piny in the garden, to get their supper of milk and bread,
and to be put to bed.
But their mother interposed on this occasion.
" I don't want them to go to bed until their father comes
in. Remember that they haven't seen him since yesterday
morning. Give them their supper, and then wash and dress
them nicely, and bring them in here to wait till their papa
comes," she said to the young nurse, as she took her place
AFTER THE FATAL DUEL. 99
at the front parlor window to wait for the early evening
trains, as on the preceding evening she had watched from
her bedroom window for the late night trains.
After a while the children, nicely dressed, and delighted
with the privilege of sitting up for papa, joined her there,
and half distracted her mind from her anxiety with their
innocent prattle.
The gas was lighted in the parlor, hour after hour passed,
train after train came shrieking and thundering into the
station, and went shrieking and thundering out again, and
still he came not.
Anxiety was just beginning to be insupportable again,
when the sound of carriage wheels was heard in the lane,
approaching the house.
" That's Charley, at last ! Poor fellow ! he must have
been quite ill, to have to get a cab to come from the station
in ! Children, papa has come !" said Molly, jumping up as
the carriage stopped at the gate.
But at that moment little Lily pulled a flower-stand over
on herself, and her mother stopped to pick both up, which
occasioned a few moments' delay, at the end of which thr
young nurse, Bessie Morriss, opened the door and naively
announced :
" A lady as come in a carriage to see Mrs. Faulkner."
Molly started with surprise. A lady to see her! Such
a very unusual circumstance ! What could the lady want ?
And at such an hour too ? Oh ! she must be some one come
to her from dear Charley ! Dear Charley was too ill to
come home, so he had sent for her ! Or else he was arrested
for debt, and had sent for her all the same ! concluded poor
Molly, as a spasm of terror for Charley's safety seized her
heart, and in some degree prepared her for what she had to
hear.
All this occupied but an instant of time.
"Did the lady give her name, Bessie?" inquired Mrs.
Faulkner.
100 A NOBLE LORD.
"No, ma'aru. When I asked her for it, she said I need
only say that a lady wished to see you."
" Where have you shown her ? "
" Please, ma'am, I haven't shown her anywheres. She's
standing at the hall door yet."
" Bessie ! how stupid of you to leave any lady stand-
ing at the hall door! Never do such a thing again ! Show
her in at once ! " said Mrs. Faulkner impatiently, and
trembling, but more with alarm than from any other cause.
The little nurse retired for a moment, and then ushered
in the visitor.
Mrs. Faulkner turned, and saw standing before her a
graceful young woman, elegantly dressed in black.
The lady threw aside her vail, revealing a lovely young
face, lighted by large tender hazel eyes, and shaded by
golden-brown curling hair.
"It is Fay Darnmer !" cried little Lily.
" Fay-ee Dammer ! " exclaimed Ada.
" Fairy Grandma ! " said Charley.
And the three children ran to her and seized her skirts.
"This lady is our Fairy Grandmother, mamma," ex-
plained little llary, as she went up to the visitor and
demurely offered her hand.
Yes, it was Angela Melliss, the banker's young wife,
Molly's hated step-mother, the children's " Fairy Grand-
mother."
What had brought her here ?
We must go back and see.
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. 101
CHAPTER X.
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET.
Can honor set a lep? No. Or an arm ? No.
Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. 8
"Who hath it ? He who died o' Wednesday.
Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it ? No. SHAKESPEARE.
ABOUT three hours before her visit to Mrs. Faulkner,
Angela Melliss had come in from her afternoon drive, and
had gone to her room to dress for dinner.
As was her frequent custom, she sat down before her
dressing-glass, with the evening paper in her hand, that she
might look over it while her maid was combing her hair.
On this occasion, while glancing down the columns of
the paper, she suddenly started, and hurriedly exclaimed :
"Put up my hair in any sort of way, Mary, as quickly as
you can, and hand me my dressing-gown. This is most
horrible ! "
"What has happened, dear Madam? I hope nothing
dreadful has happened," said the maid impulsively, as she
hastily gathered up her lady's golden-brown ringlets, and
put them into a net.
Mrs. Melliss was trembling too much to answer.
She drew on the dressing-gown handed her by Mary, nnd
taking the paper from the floor where it had dropped, she
hurried with it to her husband's room.
The banker was under his valet's hands.
" Send your man away, Walter, dear ; I must speak to
you," said Angela, dropping into a chair.
" Leave the room, John," said the banker, taking the
hair-brush from the servant's hand.
" Now then, what is it, my love ? " he inquired, as soon
as the man had gone. Then seeing how pale she was, he
exclaimed: "Good Heaven, Angela ! what has happened?"
102 A NOBLE LORD.
" Head ! " she faltered, laying the paper before him on the
dressing-table, and pointing to a certain paragraph.
The banker took it up and read :
" A SHOCKING EVENT NEAR BRIGHTON. Devil's Dyke
was, early this morning, the scene of a tragedy. A duel
was fought on the spot between Colonel Barrett Brierly, late
of the Honorable East India Company's service, and Captain
Charles Faulkner, late of the Royal Guards, which termin-
ated fatally in the case of Captain Faulkner, who, at the
first fire, fell, shot through the heart, and died instantly.
The surviving principal of the duel and the two seconds suc-
ceeded in making their escape to France. The body of the
unfortunate Captain Faulkner is tying at the ' Ship,' where
an inquest was held, and a verdict of manslaughter returned
against Barrett Brierly as principal, and John Fitz-John and
James Aiken as accessories. The cause of this hostile and
fatal meeting has not yet transpired."
The banker finished reading the paragraph, laid down the
paper and looked into the pale face of his young wife.
" Where is his widow ? You know, I am sure, Angela,"
said Mr. Melliss, speaking with forced calmness.
" Yes, I know where she is. She is living at Sydenham,"
replied Mrs. Melliss, in a low, sorrowful tone.
" Go, then, at once, my love, and bring her and her chil-
dren home. Tell her I forgive " His voice broke down,
and his frame shook as with an ague fit. " Tell her any-
thing you will, my love ; but if she has not heard of her
husband's dreadful fate, do not tell her that. But tell her
that she will find him here. I should rather she should be
here, in the bosom of her family, when she meets the shock
the news of his sudden death will bring. Go to her, Angela.
It will be a sorrowful errand, my child, but you will perform
it well. I will go down to Brighton by the next train, and
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. 103
see to the removal of the body. The funeral must take
place from this house," concluded the banker as he rang the
bell.
His valet answered the summons.
" Order Mrs. Melliss' brougham to be brought around
immediately, and send one of the grooms to fetch a fly for
me," said Mr. Melliss.
And the man, wondering what on earth was the matter,
went out to obey his master's directions.
" I will go and get ready at once," said Mrs. Melliss, and
she arose and returned to her own room.
She quickly dressed herself in a black driving dress, and
was in the act of di'awing on her gloves whenfa parlor maid
rapped softly at the door, and being told to come in, entered
and said :
" If you please, ma'am, cook says as you are going out just
as dinner is ready to be dished, she begs to know your
wishes about it."
" Oh ! Never mind about dinner, Jane ! I cannot think
about that now! Mary Kempton, go and use your judg-
ment in the matter," said the lady.
The next servant who came to the door announced Mrs.
Melliss' brougham. And the lady being quite read}^ for her
drive, went down stairs.
She found her husband in the hall, waiting to hand her
into the carnage.
" Be very, very prudent in your mission, my dear Angela !
If it be possible, do not even permit her to suspect the
calamity that has befallen her until she is safely housed
here," said the banker, as he led her out.
" I will do my very best," replied his wife, as he placed
her in her carriage.
His own ordered fly was waiting. And his servant was
standing by with his hat, gloves and shawl.
So he took leave of his wife, closed the carriage door, and
told her coachman to drive to Sydenham.
104 A NOBLE LORD.
Then he sprang into his own ordered fly, and directed the
driver to go at his utmost speed to the London Bridge Rail-
way station. promisinghim an additional fee if he should
catch the Brighton express train.
The fly whirled away first.
Mrs. Melliss' brougham left the door.
As it passed out of Charles street, Mrs. Melliss, looking
from the window, saw Rachel Wood turning the corner,
with a parcel of work in her hands, which she was bringing
home.
The banker's wife immediately pulled the check-string
and stopped the carriage, and beckoned the seamstress to
approach. -
Rachel came up to the door, which the footman had
already opened for her.
" Oh, Rachel, my good girl, I am so fortunate to meet
you! Come right in here and sit by me, and I will explain
as we drive along," said the lady.
The seamstress, much wondering, got into the carriage,
and took her seat as requested.
" Tell the coachman to drive on," said the lady.
And the footman closed the door, gave the order, and
resumed his place.
"I hope you have the evening at your disposal, Rachel,
for I need you very much just now," said Mrs. Melliss.
"Yes, madam. I have completed the work you gave me
to do, and I was bringing it home when you called me, that
is all," said Rachel.
"Never mind the work, Rachel. I have a terrible thing
to tell you. Captain Faulkner was killed in a duel this
morning, and I am on my way to Sydenhani, to bring his
poor widow home to her father's house, before breaking the
news to her," said the lady.
The seamstress gazed upon the speaker in silent horror
and amazement.
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. 105
"Heaven and earth! what an awful calamity! Oh, how
will you ever tell her? " at length exclaimed Rachel.
"How, indeed?" shuddered Mrs. Melliss.
"When did you hear this ? How did you hear it ? " in-
quired Rachel.
Mrs. Melliss told Eachel all that she had learned from
the newspaper paragraph.
" Oh, Heaven have mercy on the poor widowed wife and
orphaned children ! " fervently breathed Rachel Wood.
" Heaven has mercy on them, for the heart of the
grandfather is moved to send for them and bring them
home," said Mrs. Melliss.
And then she told Rachel all that had passed on the sub-
ject between herself and Mr. Melliss.
And the lady and the seamstress talked of nothing but
the fatal duel, the dead man and the poor unconscious
widow and orphans until they reached Sydenham, and
turned into Hawthorne lane.
The lights in the front windows of the Cottage drawing-
room, placed there for "poor Charley," quite illuminated
the house and the upper end of the lane.
The scene looked cheerful. But its very cheerfulness
depressed the spirits of the tender-hearted women, who
knew what sorrow was presently to change all that light to
darkness.
They had, however, scarcely time to think about it before
the carriage drew up at the garden gate before the cottage.
The footman jumped down and rang the bell.
And Molly's poor little simple maid answered it, as has
been said.
She could not tell whether her mistress was at home or
not; but she would take the visitor's name in and see, she
said.
But Mrs. Melliss directed her to say only that "a lady "
had called to see her mistress.
106 A NOBLE LORD.
And the little maid took in the message, and soon re-
turned with a request that the lady would walk in.
" Come, Rachel," said the banker's wife, as she entered
the house.
"Dear Mrs. Melliss," said the seamstress, trembling,
" give me a few minutes to recover myself. Go on before.
I will follow in a moment."
The lady then entered the house, and was shown into the
drawing-room.
She was instantly recognized by the children, who crowd-
ed around her with exclamations of:
" Fay Dammer ! "
" Fay-ee Dranma ! "
" Fairy Grandmother ! "
" You will kindly pardon my little ones, madam. They
know no better than to be so rude in their welcome. And
you will please to let me know who it is that honors us with
this visit," said Mrs. Faulkner, as she rather formally
greeted her visitor.
"I come from your father," murmured the banker's young
wife, in some embarrassment.
" I am aware of that, dear madam. I am also aware that
you have often come from my dear father, and that you have
been the trusted medium of countless benefits from him to
me and my children, though I have never had the pleasure
of seeing you before, or even of hearing j T our name. But
sit down, dear madam ; please sit down," said Molly, druw-
ing forward the best resting chair.
Mrs. Melliss accepted the offered seat just as Rachel
Wood, recovering from her agitation, entered the room.
"Ah, Rachel, you here! I am very glad to see you.
You have just come in good time. 1 am sure you know
this lady. I wish you to introduce her to me, since she
does not introduce herself. She comes from my father
again, dear Rachel," said Mrs. Faulkner eagerly.
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. 107
" Madam, have I your permission to tell, at loM ? " in-
quired Rachel.
Mrs. Melliss nodded assent. She was too much disturbed
to speak.
Rachel turned to Mrs. Faulkner, who was waiting impa-
tiently.
" Madam," she said, " this lady visitor of } r ours, who
calls herself your children's Fairy Grandmother, and who
has been your benefactress from the beginning, and who is
now the best friend you have in the world this lady,
madam, is Mrs. Melliss, the wife of your father ! "
Mollj 7 gazed from the seamstress to the lady, in stupid
amazement.
" You my father's wife ? " at length she slowly in-
quired.
" Yes, dear Mrs. Faulkner, I am your father's wife, and
his daughter's friend," gently answered Angela.
Again Molly stared from the lady to the seamstress, and
then she slowly inquired :
" You my friend ? What then turned you from being
my bitterest enemy into being my friend? "
" Dear child, I never was your enemy ! I have always
been your friend," answered Angela.
Molly stared at her in silent wonder.
" I always warned you that you did your young step-
mother cruel injustice, Mrs. Faulkner; but you would not
believe me without proof, and I was not at liberty to tell
you before, what I am happy to tell you now that it was
and it always was your step-mother, and no one else, who
has helped you in your trouble, and who has heaped upon
you the blessings that you are now enjoying, and who has
been striving for years to bring about a reconciliation
between your father and yourself, but has never succeeded
in doing so until to-night."
" Dear Rachel," interrupted the banker's young wife,
108 A NOBLE LORD.
"you must do my husband justice. He this evening, un-
solicited, quite voluntarily, sent me here to ask his daughter
to come home with me, bringing all her children."
" Oh, Kachel ! " said Molly, piteously clasping her hands
" Oh, my dear Each el, is this really true, that you tell me
about my step-mother? "
" True as truth, Mrs. Faulkner."
" Oh, then, how bitterly cruel and unjust I have been in
my harsh judgments, and in my deep hatred ! Oh ! how
can you ever forgive me, Mrs. Melliss ? " inquired poor
Molly.
" My child, you have never offended against me ; so I
have nothing whatever to forgive. The bugbear of a step-
mother that you feared and hated so much was never I, but
it was only a grim chimera of your own imagination ! " said
Angela pleasantly.
"That's so! "eagerly exclaimed Molly, delighted to see
such a clear way out of her dilemma; "that's so, indeed!
Of course it was never you, it could never have been you,
that I hated ; for who could hate such an angel as you ?
No one could not even such a little devil as I ! No, indeed,
my dear lady ! It was not you I hated ! It was a chimera
of my own imagination. You never said a truer thing than
that. I had made unto myself an image of a step-mother
who had been an old maid, tall, raw-boned, skinny, with a
sharp nose and thin lips, and with false hair and false teeth
and enamelled complexion, as to her person ; and with a
false heart and artful mind and vindictive temper, as to her
soul ! And I hated her with all my might. But I never
hated you."
"No, you never hated me! So, therefore, let us say no
more about that. But your father has sent for you to come
home to him, with all your children, to-night, my dear. Can
you do so ? "
<l I am delighted at the thought of going but it is very
sudden."
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. 109
"Yes; but it's best to 'strike while the iron's hot,' as the
old proverb advises. I should go at once, if I were you,
Mrs. Faulkner," said Rachel.
" I should be only too glad to do so, but you see I am
waiting here for my poor Charley, whom I expect from Lon-
don by every train," said Molly.
The mention of the dead man's name by his unconscious
widow produced a sudden silence, that lasted until Molly
herself again broke it, by saying:
"You see, Charley hasn't been home since yesterday
morning. I did expect him last night, but he did not come.
He either missed the train last night, or else he has run
down to Brighton or to Worthing, or some other place, as he
sometimes impulsively does, for a day's airing. Ah, you
don't know how much anxiety my poor Charley causes me
by his thoughtlessness!" said Molly, shaking her black
curls.
" To be sure," said Mrs. Melliss, who now saw her way
clear to draw her poor step-daughter home before revealing
her heavy bereavement. " And you are right in your con-
jecture, my dear. We happen to know that Captain Faulk-
ner did go down to Brighton last night with a party of
gentlemen."
" There ! I said so !" exclaimed Molly.
" Your father, who has his own reasons for desiring an
immediate and complete reconciliation, has gone down to
Brighton to bring him up this very night. Your father
desires that the family meeting shall be at his house. So
now you have no objection to go, have } 7 ou ? "
" Oh, none at all. Not the least."
" Then get ready, dear," said Mrs. Melliss.
Molly called the nurse to bring the children after her, and
then ran up stairs.
"Oh, how fortunate you have been. Mrs. Melliss, to gain
her consent to go to London without exciting her suspicious
110 A NOBLE LORD.
that anything was wrong, and without tampering with
truth either ! " said Rachel, as soon as they were left alone.
" Ah, yes, Rachel ! " But what am I about to do ? To
' keep the word of promise to her ear, and break it to her
hope.'
" It seems cruel, but unavoidable. She must be at home
before she is told," said Rachel.
" Yes, she must. She must be under her father's pro-
tection, and in reach of medical assistance ; for I warn yon,
Rachel, that this great sorrow will go very hard with both
her mind and bod}'," sighed Mrs. Melliss.
She had no time to add more, for just at that moment
Molly entered, followed by all her children, the nurse carry-
ing the youngest baby.
" I was not long, was I ? Fortunately, you see, the chil-
dren were all dressed to receive their father. And I had
only to put on their wraps," said Molly pleasantly, as she
entered.
The children crowded around their Fairy Grandmother,
and seized her hands and skirts, and wanted to know if she
were now going to take them to Cinderella's Palace.
Rachel Wood called them off, and took them to the
brougham, where they were all, with some difficulty, crowded
in. Mrs. Melliss and Molly followed the children into the
carriage.
Rachel Wood and the nurse were left to shut up the house
and to follow in a hired fly that was to be sent from the
Family Hotel.
The drive back to town was, to the children and their
mother, a journey full of glee. The children romped and
laughed and babbled, and jumped and tumbled about over
each other and over their Fairy Grandmother to their heart's
content.
And their mother laughed to see them.
In due time they reached London, the West End, and
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. Ill
finally Charles street, and drew up before the banker's resi-
dence.
The fly, with Rachel and the nurse, came up almost at
the same moment.
Mrs. Melliss led her step-daughter into the house, and
installed her into a handsomely furnished suite of spare
rooms.
And there Molly took off her own and her children's
wraps. And then the children were allowed to run through
the house for a little while, and then they were given some
light and wholesome refreshment and put to bed.
Rachel Wood went home in the hired fly.
Mrs. Melliss ordered supper to be served for herself and
her visitor.
" Will you not wait, dear, for papa and Charley ? " in-
quired Molly, with a look of anxiety.
"I think not. Your papa will scarcely return before the
last train ; that will make it much too late for our supper,"
said Mrs. Melliss, who thought it much the best that Molly
should be fortified by a good meal for the shock she must
shortly sustain.
So the two ladies supped alone together.
And then Angela would have persuaded Molly to go to
bed, in the faint hope that she might also go to sleep, and
thus escape hearing the bad news until morning.
But Molly very naturally insisted upon sitting up until
the return of her papa and Charley.
They sat together until one o'clock, and then began to
listen for the door bell to ring. At length, near two o'clock
after midnight, the door bell did ring.
And as all the servants had been sent to bed, Mrs.
Melliss herself went out to answer it.
" Stay here, my dear, until I return," she said to Molly.
She ran and opened the door to her husband.
" Well, dearest, have you brought my daughter home ? "
whispered the banker.
112 A NOBLE LORD.
"Yes, and her children," answered Angela.
"Does she know anything ? "
"Nothing. She thinks she comes here to meet her hus-
band and to assist at a family reconciliation."
" Poor child ! poor child ! "
" Dear, you look so weary. Will you not take something
before you see her ? "
"No, no; I require nothing," said Mr. Melliss, as he
mechanically hung up his shawl and hat.
Angela had been trembling to ask another question.
She asked it now, in two whispered words :
"The body 1"
"It will reach town to-morrow, in charge of the under-
taker. The funeral will be held at this house. Now let us
go to my daughter."
Angela opened the back drawing-room door, and went
before her husband to the sofa where her step-daughter sat
eagerly expectant.
" Your father, my dear," she said.
Molly sprang up and ran, and then stopped, trembling.
Her father came to her, put his arms around her, and
silently folded her to his breast.
"Papa!" she murmured, kissing him "dear papa,
though I cannot say I am sorry for having married my
poor Charley, yet I can say, with earnest truth, that I am
very, very sorry rny marriage should have so displeased you.
You forgive me, dear papa ? ;;
" I forgive you from the bottom of my heart, rny own
dear daughter ! "
"And my poor Charley ! You forgive him too ? "
" I forgive him with all my sonl."
"Then where is my Charley ? Lurking behind, I sup-
pose, so as not to interrupt our first meeting! Poor Char-
ley is always so considera e i:i these little matters. But
you will let him come in n w?"
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. 113*
The hour had come in which she must be told of her hor-
rible bereavement. Yet neither the banker nor his young
wife could summon courage to tell her.
She looked from one to the other, and saw that there was
something withheld from her knowledge.
"Where is Charley? Why does he not come in?" she
inquired, in a slightly tremulous tone.
" My dear child, your husband did not return with me,"
said the banker gravely.
" Not return with you! Oh, why? Is anything wrong
with my dear Charley ? "
"Come and sit down, my darling," said the banker, lead-
ing her to a sofa, and placing her between himself and his
young wife.
" Oh ! why don't you answer my question ? Oh, papa !
what is it that you are keeping from me ? " she cried, in a
piteous voice.
The banker covered his face with his hands, and his
young wife wept.
" Heaven of Heavens ! What do you both mean ?
What has happened ? Is Charley ill ? Is Charley Oh,
my heart ! Is Charley dead 't "
Her father took her in his arms, and tried to soothe her.
Her step-mother kneeled down beside her, and begged
her to try to be calm.
But she declared that she knew some terrible calamity
had befallen her, and she insisted upon knowing what it
was.
Then they gently, tenderly told her the terrible truth.
And here I. would willingly draw a vail over the scene
that followed.
Poor Molly had never in her life possessed the least self-
control. And now she abandoned herself to the wildest
anguish and despair, ending in strong convulsions.
7
114 A NOBLE LORD.
Her father laid her on the sofa, and her step-mother
loosened all her clothes.
The household was aroused, and a physician was sum-
moned.
And she was conveyed to bed, and hy medical advice she
M-as put under the influence of a strong narcotic, that
finally gave her agonized spirit rest.
The next morning, while the young widow was still
sleeping under the influence of morphia, the body of her
husband was brought to the house and laid out in the front
drawing-room.
That forenoon the letters from poor Faulkner, mailed
from Paris by Fitz-John, his absconding second, arrived.
Mr. Melliss laid carefully aside the letter addressed to his
daughter. Then he opened and read the one written to
himself. And if he had never forgiven poor Charley before
he must have done so now.
On the fourth day, while Molly was still very ill in bed.
the funeral took place. Before the coffin was finally
closed, the j'oung widow, at her own earnest prayer, was
lifted out of bed and carried to the room where the dead
lay, that she might take a last look at all that remained of
her gay and handsome Charley.
But the ordeal was too severe for her. Again she gave
way to the wildest agony of grief, and again fell into
spasms, and so was carried off to bed and quieted only by
powerful narcotics.
Not the least trying scene in this tragedy was the grief
of the poor children beside the open coffin of their dead
father, where they too had been taken, that they might kiss
the cold face before it was forever hidden from their view.
But Angela Melliss took them to herself and soon con-
soled them, for the grief of innocent children is happily
very short-lived.
The remains of Captain Faulkner were finally laid in the
BAD NEWS AT CHARLES STREET. 115
family vault of Walter Melliss, in the Kensal Green Ceme-
tery.
Days passed before the young widow could sleep without
opium, or take any food except in a liquid form, or even bear
the sight of her own children.
Weeks passed before she could be persuaded to leave her
own room, or take an airing with Mrs. Melliss in a carriage.
But at length youth and nature conquered sorrow and
despair, and the active duties of life drew her from her
seclusion.
It was on the third day that she had made her appear-
ance in the drawing-room, when she was told that a person
at the door wished particularly to see her.
She directed the servant to admit the " person," who
entered the drawing-room, and proved to be Adams, the
detective employed by the late Captain Faulkner to look up
Benny.
He greeted the mourning widow with deep respect, and
apologized for intruding on her privacy in these early days
of her widowhood, but pleaded the compelling force of the
law.
" The fact is, Madam," he said, " that desperate young
snakesman, Ben. Hurst, who let in the burglars on the
night of the robbery at your house, is taken at last, and is
now in the hands of the police. And you are wanted,
Madam, to give evidence against him."
116 A NOBLE LORD.
CHAPTEK XL
HOW BENNY WAS BETRAYED.
Then earth arose, and In her might,
To vindicate her injured right,
Thrust him in deeper dens of night A, A. PBOOTOR.
THIS was the manner in which Benny came to be
Wrested.
For weeks he had hidden himself away in that misera-
ble den in that wretched court with Tony Brice, the Nut
,'racker and other pickpockets, snakesmen and burglars
not that he for an instant suspected that he himself was in
any degree implicated in the robbery at Woodbine Cot-
tage, and the assault with intent to kill in Hawthorne
Lane ; but that he feared to be taken as a witness against
his father.
When some weeks had passed, however, without any
apparent cause for alarm, Benny became more confident
of safety, and he also grew sick to see his playmate, Suzy
Juniper.
So one Monday morning he stole out of his den in the
court, and glided through lanes, alleys and back streets,
until he reached the court-yard behind the Thespian Tom-
pie and the back buildings where the stage carpenter and
his family lodged.
He opened the door and went in to the large family room,
where, as usual, he found the father, mother, and all the
girls and boys gathered for their midday meal, which was
not yet quite ready to go on the table.
Suzy was the first to recognize Benny, and she ran
eagerly to meet him. She looked worn and weary, but
flushed with excitement as she accosted him with :
" Oh, Benny! I arn so glad to see you ! Wherever have
you been this long, long, long time?"
HOW BENNY WAS BETRAYED. 117
" I've I've been away," said Benny, still careful not to
betray his fatber by any cbance. "But I'm so glad to find
you home, Suzy ! I tried to time my visit so as to catch
you just after you came home from rehearsal."
" I don't go to rehearsal no more, Benny. Ob, such
news ! I have left the London stage for good, Benny !
Oh, I have got such lots to tell you ! But come in and
speak to mother and father and the children first ; they're
a looking at you, ever so ! "
Benny went further into the room and shook bands with
Mr. and Mrs. Juniper, who greeted him with cheerful kind-
ness, and said that he must stay to dinner, " which it was
their favorite dish of tripe and inyons, with a pot of beer
round." And then he shook hands with all the little Juni-
pers, and they greeted him noisily, and informed him that
" Suzy was a going to France along of the great Madame
Vesta, and was a going to make all their fortunes right off! "
" Yes," said Suzy, " that's so, Benny ! Come and sit
right down here by me on this little bench, like we used to
do, and let me tell you all how and about it, Benny."
Benny, much pleased, and also a little bewildered by all
that he saw and heard, took the seat beside his little play-
mate, who immediately put her left arm around his waist,
and drew his right arm around hers, " like we used to do in
Junk Lane, Benny," she said, and then prepared to tell
him all her news.
" You know the last time you- was here, Benny, when I
told you so many offers was made for me to sing and dance
and act at other theatres ? "
"Yes."
" Well, one come to our manager, from the agent of the
great Madame Vesta, who was forming a troupe to go to
Brighton for a short season. Well, you see, our manager
was trying it on with Shakespeare again, which he can't
come it, you know, Benny, and never could. Howsever, it
118 A NOBLE LORD.
was to be a Shakespeare go for two weeks, and so I wasn't
wanted here, and was let of to go to Brighton along of
Madame Vesta's troupe. So I went. Oh ! it's a heavenly
place compared to London, Benny is Brighton."
" I know. I've been there," said Benny.
" Yes, you told me all about that, you know, and how the
beautiful children on Brunswick Terrace took you in and
gave you a slice of the Twelfth-day cake, and all that ! "
" And how I got the ring, and was made king ! "
" Yes. Well, Benny, I had good times at Brighton, too.
I played every night in such beautiful and splendid dresses
as a'most dazzled my own eyes, and mostly with wings
too ! I was one time a Flower Fairy, a Diamond Queen, an,
Air Spirit, a Fountain Fay, a Spring Sprite, and, oh ! once
I was the Angel of the sun, in a glorious dress of golden
gauze spangled with diamonds, and wings of the same, to
represent the sun's rays, you know ! "
" That must a been splendid !"
" It just was ! Well, you see, Madame Vesta took notice
of me and picked me out from all the rest, and so and so
and so "
" And so the long and short of it is," interrupted Mrs.
Juniper, "the great Madame Vesta wants to take my gal to
France with her, to be under her own pertection, which she
offers her sich good wages "
" Salary, mamma," amended Miss Suzy.
" Sich good salaries then, an' me and her father don't feel
justified in refusing of her."
" Specially as the great Madame do promise and vow that
our gal shall have private chutors and time to get her
schoolin'," added the stage carpenter.
" Which Madame says I must have some education to
make the most of my gifts," put in Suzy.
Benny looked from one speaker to another in sympathetic
pleasure, though upon the whole he seemed rather bewil-
dered by all this.
HOW BENNY WAS BETRAYED. 119
" And so, in fine, she is to go to Paris with Madame when
Madame returns from her engagement ill Vienna," said
Mrs. Juniper.
" When will that be, Suzy ? " inquired Benny.
"About the first of January, when Madame will open her
new theatre. An't you glad, Benny ? "
"I'm glad o' your good luck, Suzy; but Fin sorry you're
going away."
"Oh, but, Benny, I'm going to begin to make a fortune.
And that'll be for your good as well as mine, dear. And,
oh ! Benny, I forgot to tell you ! oh, how selfish it was of
me to be a thinking only of myself! Benny, there's a
stroke of good luck for you too ! "
"For me!" exclaimed the little outcast in astonishment.
" Oh, yes, indeed ! You know these missionary gents as
go about looking up poor boys and girls to put them to
school ? "
" No, I don't. I never see none on 'em. I don't know
what you mean."
" yes, you do, Benny ! Good gents in black coats
as"
" Oh ! you mean Gospel Grinders, as puts a printed
pamphlet in your hand when you're starving for a piece of
bread ! And tells you to be good and read it when you
don't know one letter from t'other ! "
" Oh, Benny, Benny, that's not the way to talk of the
pious clergy ! "
" That's the way Tony and the Nut Cracker talks on 'em,
and they knows."
"No, they doiCt know, Benny. And you mustn't mind
'em. They try to make you a bad boy, Benny. And
they've been trying to do it all their lives. But they can't
make a very bad boy of you, Benny, that's certain, because
you've got such a good heart ! But you mustn't speak ill
of dignities, Benny."
120 A NOBLE LORD.
I
"Well, then, I won't, Suzy, if you don't like it. I won't
do nothink to tease you."
" That's you, Benny. I knew you wouldn't.*
" And now what about the parson, Suzy ? "
" Oh, Benny, yes ! The parson is a real sweet-spoken
gentleman, as does a great deal of good, which he is con-
nected with a public school which he wants to put you to.
Benny."
" Put me to school ? What does he know about me ? "
inquired Benny, distrustful and alarmed.
"Oh, I'm sure I don't know as he knows anything more'n
we've told him ! And we've told him nothink but what's
good of you, Benny. And he comes two or three times a
week to inquire after you, Benny."
" I don't like him. I'm going home, Suzy," said the
wretched boy, whose life, passed among thieves and beggars,
had sharpened his wits to detect a detective.
" What are you afraid of, Benny ? Don't go till after
dinner. See ! I'm dishing of it up now. And only smell
how good it is ! Tripe and inyons ! We don't have that
every day, I can tell you," said Mrs. Juniper, as she sat a
large bowl filled with the savory mess steaming hot upon
the table.
" But I want to go home. I don't want to see that man
as is looking after me," persisted the boy, notwithstanding
the tripe and onions.
" Well, you shall go home the minute you've had your
dinner," said the good mother of the family.
"And a pot of beer," added the kind-hearted father.
" And you sha'n't go holne a minute before that," said
Suzy positively.
And Benny yielded to the will of this innocent little
Delilah.
They gathered around the table and made very merry
over it.
HOW BENNY WAS BETRAYED. 121
But ah ! the meal was scarcely concluded, and the little
pots of beer were not half empty, when the door opened
and the disguised detective walked in.
The stage carpenter and his wife and his daughter at
once arose from the table and most respectfully greeted the
visitor.
" Oh, keep your seats, keep your seats, my friends, and go
on with your dinner. There is no pleasauter sight in this
sinful world, than a father and mother with their young
brood gathered around the family board/' said the pretended
parson.
" Would your reverence do us so much honor as to join
us ? " inquired Jerry, who honestly believe tripe and onions
to be an irresistible temptation to all classes of society.
" No, thank you. Have you heard anything yet of our
interesting young friend, Benjamin Hurst?" inquired the
disguised detective.
" Why, Lor' bless your reverence ! there he is now ! " said
Jerry, pointing with his fork to Bennj*, who, poor boy ! had
already recognized in the pretended parson the disguised
detective not that he had ever seen the individual before,
but that he had a thorough acquaintance with the species.
" Oh ! Ah ! So that is our interesting little friend, is
it ? That is Benjamin Hurst, is it ? "
"Yes, sir, that's the boy; and a better boy, barring the
bad example of his companions, you won't find nowhere,
sir," said honest Jerry Juniper.
" No, that you won't, sir," added Jenny Juniper.
As for Suzy, she looked wistfully into the supposed minis-
ter's face, to see if he really were so well disposed to Benny
as he professed and she believed him to be ; but she could
make nothing that she had not already made out of that
smiling countenance.
" So this is onr young friend, is it ? " said the pretended
parson, going around the table and standing beside Benny.
122 A NOBLE LORD.
" How do you do, sir ? And where have you been this long
while, away from your anxious friends ? " he inquired.
" Please, sir, I au't beeu up to nothink to be tuk for, sir !
please, sir, indeed I an't ! " pleaded Benny.
" Why, of course you haven't. Who said you had ? "
jocosely inquired the visitor.
"Please, sir, nobody didn't! But, please, sir, I knows
you, sir ! Please, sir, I know as you an't no parson, sir.
Please, sir, I know as you're a detective. But, please, sir, I
an't been up to nothiuk to be tuk for, sir ! " pleaded Benny.
It was wonderful, but from the moment that Benny had
instinctively detected the detective, every one in the room
believed him, and followed suit.
" I wouldn't 'ave 'ad this 'appened in my 'ouse for a ten
pound note down ! " said the stage carpenter indignantly.
" What ever has the boy been up to, sir ? " demanded
Mrs. Juniper.
"Benny hasn't been up to anything bad. I know he
hasn't," added Suzy positively.
" I am sorry to undeceive you, my good friends, but this
young rascal is about the greatest young rascal now in Lon-
don ! "
"He's not! Benny's not! You great, big, ugly, hairy,
clawry, old story-telling fie-for-shaiue, you ! Pretending to
be a good parson, coming to put Benny to school, and all
the time being of a deceiving old detective, coming to take
him to prison like the wickedest old willian in all the
plays I play in so you are ! " burst forth Suzy, in a torrent
of childish indignation.
" Whe-ew, my dear! It's clear to me that the great
Madame will need to have you educated, before she can
make a great actress of you," said the detective, with a
laugh.
Suzy turned away from him in childish scorn, and ad-
dressed herself to Benny.
HOW BENNY WAS BETRAYED. 123
" Oh, Benny, Benny, I'm so sorry ! I didn't know he
was a detective. None of us didn't, or we would never a let
him darken our doors, so we wouldn't."
" Don't cry, Snzy. You couldn't help of it. Them sort's
a deal too sharp for the likes o' you. Lord bless you, Suzy !
they'd deceive yes they'd deceive each, other. And 1
couldn't say more'n that," said Benny.
"And you an't niad long o' me, Benny ? " pleaded the
little girl.
" Mad long o' you, Suzy ? I never was mad long o' you
in my life. And no more I couldn't be."
"And you an't been up to nothink they can hurt you for.
I know you an't, Benny."
" Lor' bless you ! no ; not a thing. I know what they
want: they want to make me 'peach; but they'll have a
healthy time doing that, you mind ! " said the boy, over-
coming his own fright and plucking up a spirit to reassure
his little friend.
"But what have he been a doing of?" inquired Mrs
Juniper.
" Yes ; what ever is he took for ? You haven't told us
that yet," added Mr. Juniper.
"He's took for being implicated in a burglary where
there was a very considerable amount of property stolen)
and an assault with intent to kill made, and all but a mur-
der committed. That's what he's took for," said the detec-
tive, who had now laid his hands on the accused.
"What! that child!" exclaimed the stage carpenter,
staring.
" Yes, sir, that boy. And it was his master's house that
he helped to rob."
"What! the place where he was living page, and run
away from ? " inquired Mrs. Juniper.
" The same, ma'am. He admitted a set of burglars to
his own master's house to rob and murder."
124 A NOBLE LORD.
" I didn't, Suzy. I didn't do no such a thing," exclaimed
Benny, bursting into indignant tears.
"I know you didn't, Benny," said his little friend, in
perfect trust.
"And I wouldn't never a helped to rob no house as Lily
and Charley and Mary and Ada lived in, so I wouldn't ! "
wept the boy.
" I know you wouldn't, Benny. You needn't tell me,"
said Suzy.
" Then, pray, how came you by this, sir ? " inquired the
detective, who had been quietly searching the person of the
boy, and now produced from his pocket a small gold thimble,
marked with the name of M. M. FAULKNER.
"That was give to me in London here, sir; indeed, in-
deed it was, sir ; and I was a bringing of it for a gift to
Suzy."
" Oh, it was given to you. Of course it was ! And by
whom ? "
Benny did not understand, or would not.
" Who gave you this gold thimble ? " inquired the detec-
tive, varying the form of his question.
Benny could not or would not tell.
" Come, then, my fine fellow. We'll see what the magis-
trate will say to you ! " said the detective, taking the boy
by the shoulder, to march him off.
" Oh, sir," said Suzy, smothering her resentment, that she
might plead the cause of her friend " Oh, sir, please, you
won't hurt Benny, sir ! Please, he's a good boy, sir ! In-
deed he is ! He didn't do it, sir ; indeed he didn't ! You
may take my word for that ! "
" Oh, yes ! we'll take your word for that ! Of course we
will ! Come along, you j'oung rascal !" said the detective,
first answering the little girl, and then giving the boy a
jerk.
" Oh, sir ! please don't hurt Benny ! I'm sorry I sauced
BENNY COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. 125
at you just now ! But I won't do it never no more, if you
will please not to hurt Benny," she pleaded.
" Suzy, don't you cry ! I'm all right ! I an't been up to
nothink. And if I an't been up to nothink, they can't do
nothink with me. They want me to peach ; that's what
they want. And they'll have a healthy time a getting of
me to do it ! " said the boy, defiantly.
" Come along, sir ! " said the detective, dragging him.
" Well, I'm a coming along, an't I ? But you'll let a cove
take leave of his friends first, won't you ? " cried Benny,
breaking suddenly away from his captor, and giving his
hand to Mrs. Juniper and then to Suzy to say " good-bye."
But when he offered his hand to Mr. Juniper for the same
purpose, the honest stage carpenter took up his old hat and
said:
" I'll go along and see you through this, my boy.
"Thank y', sir," said Benny.
" Oh, papa, thank y' too from me ! " added Suzy.
And then the detective walked off with Benny, followed
by Mr. Juniper.
CHAPTER XII.
HOW BENNY WAS COMMITTED FOR TRIAL.
" True to the only faith he knew." DEENS.
WHEN they reached the magistrate's office, which was but
a short distance off, they found the place still full of the
usual morning crowd of petty delinquents who had been
arrested on the previous evening for such minor offences as
drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and so forth.
Many of these had to be examined and disposed of before
Benny's turn came.
126 A NOBLE LORD.
When at length it did, the detective led the boy up before
the magistrate and said :
" Please your worship, this is the young snakesman the
police have been in search of so long, and I arrested him
this morning."
"Ah ! What is the charge against him ? "
" Please your worship, he was concerned in the robbery at
the late Captain Faulkner's place, Woodbine Cottage, Haw-
thorne Lane, Sydenhara, where there was a quantity of pro-
perty stolen, and an assault with intent to kill, that almost
ended in a murder."
" Ah ! ah ! " said the magistrate, putting on his spectacles
and leaning over his table to take a nearer look at such a
precocious young criminal.
" Please your worship, this is one of the worst young
villains in all London, and connected with the most desper-
ate set of thieves and burglars to be found anywhere.
With the Nut Cracker and his gang!" continued the
detective, with much unction.
"Ah ! ah ! Now what have you got to say to all this,
boy?" inquired the magistrate, still staring through his
spectacles at the little prisoner.
" Please your vorship, I an't been up to nothink at all ! "
answered Benny, raising his blue eyes frankly to the face
of the magistrate.
" Ah ! you haven't ! Where are your witnesses, offi-
cer?"
"The witnesses are Mrs. Faulkner, widow of the late
Captain Faulkner she is now with her father, Mr. Melliss
of Charles Street and a Mr. Riley of Sj'denhatn, and a
Mr. Briggs of Lower Norwood."
" When can you produce them ? "
" To-morrow morning, your worship."
"Then the prisoner must be detained in custody until to-
morrow morning half-past eleven, officer. That will give
BENNY COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. 127
us time to clear off all smaller cases before this comes up.
Take him away."
And Benny was taken to the station-house and locked
up.
The stage carpenter went with him to his temporary
lodging, and took leave of him at the door, advising him to
keep a stiff upper lip.
" Never you mind," said Benny ; " I'm not scared.
Give my love to Suzy, and tell her as I'm all right."
And the stage-carpenter went home and reported, and
tried to console his weeping little daughter, by telling her
that he felt quite sure the boy would come out all right in
the end.
The next morning, at half past eleven o'clock, the little
prisoner was again brought before the magistrate, where he
found assembled his late mistress, in her deep mourning,
and with her two men whom he had never seen before.
As soon as the prisoner was brought up, the clerk dipped
his pen in ink and prepared to take down the charge which
Mrs. Faulkner, being duly sworn, was requested to make.
Poor innocent Molly began by saying:
" Mr. Magistrate, I want you to understand that I don't
wish to have this poor boy punished at all. All I want you
to do is to frighten him a bit, so as to make him tell where
the stolen goods are and give them up ; for you see, sir,
they are many of them relics and memorials of my poor,
dear, dead Charley."
The magistrate looked puzzled for a moment, and then
asked :
" What is it that you want, madam ? "
" I don't want to have the poor boy sent to prison. I
only want you to frighten him a bit, to make him give up
the stolen goods, and then let him off."
" O ! Then, if I do understand you, madam, you wish to
COMPOUND A FELONY ? "
128 A NOBLE LORD.
" Yes ! " said Molly eagerly, as if glad to have her kind
intentions so briefly expressed ; " that's what I want to do
to ' compound a felony.' "
But, mind you, poor Molly had no more idea of what
compounding a felony meant than than you or I have.
The magistrate smiled in a sour sweet sort of way, and
without taking any further notice of her innocent intention
to " compound a felony," he requested her to make her
statement.
"And mind you, missus, you needn't to go for to con-
found no felonies, not on my account, 'cause I hadn't no-
think to do with it. They want me to peach ! that's what
they want me to do ! which I hope they'll get it," said
Benny.
" Hold your tongue, sir ! " commanded the magistrate.
And then Mrs. Faulkner made her statement. She told
all she knew of the boy, from the time he entered her late
husband's service, to the time he was supposed to have
assisted in the robbery of their house.
And the clerk took her words down in writing.
Then a Mr. Riley, from Sydenham, testified that he had
been walking in the neighborhood of Hawthorne Lane
about one hour after midnight, on the night of the robbery
and attempted murder, when he was startled by a cry for
help, and had gone to the lane, where he found a man lying
on the ground, bleeding from a wound in the leg, and
another man, Captain Faulkner, endeavoring to raise him ;
that he had helped to carry the wounded man, who was
called Colonel Brierly, down the lane to Woodbine Cottage,
the residence of Captain Faulkner, where they found
drawers broken open and rifled, and other signs of the
recent robbery; that he had remained with the wounded
man and the terrified family while Captain Faulkner went
to call a surgeon, and to give information of the robbery to
the police.
BENNY COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. 129
The third witness, John Briggs, stationer at Lower Nor-
wood, testified that he had been to a convivial party at
Sj'denhara, and was standing under the shelter of a tree just
at the point where the lane went in from the high-road,
waiting for an omnibus to take him home, when he saw the
prisoner approach, followed by a tall, stout man. He saw
them both pause at the entrance of the lane, and saw the
prisoner point up the lane, and heard him whisper to his
companion that that was the house, and that it was the
kitchen door which was open. And then both disappeared
in the shadows of the lane. And the witness saw no more
of them, for the omnibus he was waiting for came by, and
he immediately got into it and rode home.
And that was all he knew of the robbery at Woodbine
Cottage.
Although this testimony bore very heavily upon the young
prisoner, he seemed really to brighten under it.
And why ?
Because lie learned from it that Colonel Brierly, whom
his " father " had shot, had not been killed, as he had
supposed, but had been only slightly wounded that there-
fore his "father" was no murderer, and in no danger of the
gallows.
Nevertheless Benny resolved to be true to the only faith
lie had ever been taught, and not upon any account to
betray his father to imprisonment or transportation.
" What have you got to say to this charge?" sternly de-
manded the magistrate.
Now Benny might have fully and entirely exculpated
himself from all suspicion of complicity in the robbery, by
only revealing the truth, telling how he had run away and
left the door open behind him, and had accidentally met his
''father" and told him all about it, and how his "father"
had offered to go back and shut the door, and made that
8
130 A NOBLE LORD.
errand the pretence, unsuspected by Benny, to commit the
robbery.
But to vindicate himself in this manner would have been
to betray his supposed father. And Benny would have died
before he would have done such a thing.
So he hung down his head and kept silent.
"What have you got to say to all this, I ask you,
sir ? " again demanded the magistrate.
Still Benny kept silence. And there was a strange
blending of native gentleness with acquired defiance in
the look and manner of the boy, utterly incomprehensible
and perplexing to those who knew nothing of the dread-
ful fatality that had given him gentle birth and ruffianly
training.
" Answer, sir ! What have you to say to this charge ? "
a third time was demanded of the boy.
And now he lifted his fair, refined face and fixed his
mild blue eyes upon the questioner, and answered calmly :
" Nothink, sir."
The magistrate, meeting those innocent eyes, pitied the
poor boy, and said :
" Now attend to me, you sir. You are very young
quite a child ; and on account of your tender years, you
may be let off, if you will do what you ought to do."
At the unexpected kindness expressed in this address,
tears filled the eyes of the boy. And the magistrate, en-
couraged by these signs of sensibility, went on to say :
" If you will give such information as shall lead to the
arrest of the miscreants concerned in this robbery, you
will only be retained for a short time as Queen's evidence
against them, and will afterwards be discharged free of any
penalty."
The magistrate ceased to speak, and waited for the pris-
oner's answer.
But Bennv fell into silence.
BENNY COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. 131
" Will you do this ? " he inquired.
Benny did not answer.
" Will you give up your companions ? "
" Benny ! answer, child ! If you will tell who robbed
the house, you will go free, you know," whispered Mrs.
Faulkner, approaching him.
But Benny shook his head.
" My lad, you'd better tell his worship all you know, if
you want to get out of this clear," whispered Jerry Juniper.
But Benny shook his head.
" Are you going to give information, sir, or not ? " in-
quired the magistrate.
" No, I an't ! " said Benny, taking up his mood of defi-
ance. " I won't peach on my pals no, not for nothink as
you could do to me. / an't afeard ! "
" You see before you a very hardened young offender,
your worship ; tender in years, but hardened in crime,"
said the officer who had the boy in charge.
" Hold your tongue, Adams ! " said his worship.
Then turning to the little prisoner again, he said :
" Do you know that by your obstinacy you incur a very
great penalty? and that unless you will give the required
information, I shall have to commit you to Newgate, to
answer to the charge of burglary at the Old Bailey?"
At the sound of those terror-striking words, "Newgate,"
" Old Bailey," Benny turned sick and pale, and leaned
against the railings in front of the justice's table.
The magistrate noted these symptoms of yielding, and
tried his subject again.
" You have only to give us the names of the men who
have drawn you into this trouble and tell where to look for
them, and you need have no fear for yourself. Will you
do so ? "
Benny was silent.
" Will you do so ? Answer boy ! "
132 A NOBLE LORD.
"No, your worship; I won't peacb, not for nothink as
you could do to me."
" He is incorrigible," sighed the justice.
" Oh, Benny, just think ! They'll put you in jail, and
try you in court, and may be send you off to Bottomy Bay,
where you'll never see Suzy no more ! " said Jerry Juniper,
ready to cry.
" I wouldn't mind it if it wasn't for Suzy," sobbed the
boy, as his chest heaved with a great swell, and the tears
rained down his face.
" Suzy's heart would break, Benny. Tell his worship
what he wants to know, for Suzy's sake ! " pleaded Jerry.
" Do, Benny," added Mrs. Faulkner.
"I'd do most anythiuk in the world for Suzy 'cept peach,
but I can't peach on my pals ; no, not even for Suzy," wept
the boy.
" Your worship," said Jerry, coming up before the bench
and tugging at his forelock, " might I be so bold, as for to
speak ? "
" Yes, man, if you can speak to the purpose."
" I think I can, your worship. Which I meant to say,
if as how it be more of a hobject to catch them burglarious
willains as misled this boy into this here trouble, than it be
to punish this here boy hisself, 1 think as I have a little
gal at home as can coax him to tell where them reprobates
is to be found which they was play-fellows ever since they
was babies, sir, and are mightily wrapped up in each other."
" Very well. I am exceedingly unwilling to commit a
child like this upon so heavy a charge. I will give him an-
other chance. I will remand him until this hour to-morrow.
And, in the mean time, if you or your girl can persuade him
to give up the villains who really committed the robbery,
and to turn Queen's evidence against them, you or she will
be the means, at the same time, of saving the boy and serv-
ing the community," said the justice.
THE LITTLE PRISONER. 133
"Thank your worship. We'll try," said Jerry, touching
his forelock, and retiring.
" Officer, remove the prisoner," was the next order.
Aud the magistrate arose from his seat, and the police-
man cleared the room.
" Give my love to Suzy. Tell her never to fear. I am
all right," said Benn.y, as, in the custody of the officer, he
passed Jerry Juniper.
" Suzy and I'll come to see you to-morrow," answered
the stage carpenter, turning to shake hands with the boy.
"And please, Mrs. Faulkner, give my duty to Master
Charley and the little young ladies, and tell 'em as how I
never done it, and I would a died sooner'n cracked a case
where they lived."
"I'll tell them, Bennj'," said the lady through her tears.
"Aud Mr. Juniper!" said the boy, calling after the re-
treating stage carpenter.
"What is it, Benny?"
" Don't let poor Suzy cry about me. Tell her as how I'm
all right ! "
CHAPTER XIII.
THE LITTLE PRISONER.
Branding him with a deeper brand,
A shame he could not understand. A. A. PBOCTOB.
" OH, father ! how about Benny ? " breathlessly inquired
Suzy Juniper, who had been for hours on the watch for her
father's return, and now ran out to meet him.
" I can't tell you quite just now, my little maid. 'Tan't
decided yet," answered Mr. Juniper, as he entered his own
home.
" How about the boy ? " inquired Mrs. Juuiper, placing
134 A NOBLE LORD.
a chair for her husband, while all the j'oung Junipers gath-
ered around him with eager, questioning faces.
" I've just told Suzy as nothing is decided yet. But this
I know, he's got a chance to get clear off, if he ivill" said
the stage carpenter, nodding his head as he took bis seat.
" Oh, father, I'm so glad ! For of course he will," ex-
claimed Suzy, while her mother joined her in expressions of
delight.
"Well now, you see, I don't know so much about that,"
said Jerry dubiously, shaking his head. " This here is what
it is whether he be guilty, or whether he be innercint "
" Oh, innocent, father!" This from Suzy.
" Well, innercint be it then. Which, innercint as he may
be, he's unfortinitly known to be cornected with a gallus bad
lot of cads. Which, on account of his tender age, and on
conditions he will give such infermations to the perlice as
shall lead to them being took up and brought to justice, he
will be received as Queen's evidence on the trial, and so get
clean off hisself."
" Of course the boy'Il do that," said Mrs. Juniper.
" I'm not so sure, do you see ! But if he do do it, he'll
get off hisself scot free."
"And if he don't do it ?"
" It'll go gallus hard with him. He'll be lagged for seven
or ten or may be fourteen year. Not only house-breaking,
you see, but 'sault with intent to kill mixed up along of it,"
eaid Jerry sorrowfully, shaking his head.
" Oh, father ! " breathed Suzy, clasping her hands. " Can
nobody persuade him to give up the wicked men ? "
" I don't know, dear. / couldn't, and his Worship
couldn't, and the lady, his former missus, couldn't. But the
magestrit wouldn't commit him yet a while, but just re-
manded of him until to-morrer, to give him another chance.
And I'm thinking, my little maid, that if I take you to him
in prison to-morrer, you can persuade him to blow on them
fellers and save hisself."
THE LITTLE PRISONER. 135
" Oh, yes, yes. yes, father ! I know I can. Beimy'll do
anything in the world for me. I'm so glad that you thought
of it, j'ou good pappy ! " said Suzy eagerly.
And so delighted was she at the prospect of being the
means of saving her young friend, that she forgot all about
her own fine fortune as the protegee of the great Madame
Vesta, and she talked of nothing but poor Benny.
And very early the next morning, Jerry Juniper and his
little daughter presented themselves at the police station-
house, and requested admittance to see Benny Hurst.
Being recognized by the policeman who had Benny in
charge, they were at once admitted.
Benny was not in the large common room, where all the
crowd of transient prisoners were detained. By order of the
magistrate, he had been placed in a cell to himself, lest "evil
communications " with older and more hardened offenders
should confirm him in his resolution to shield his supposed
confederates in crime.
As soon as the cell door was opened, Suzy ran in, and
found him sitting alone on the side of a narrow little bench
that had served him as a bed, and that was the only piece
of furniture in the bare den. He was playing idly with his
finger, and his sad blue eyes were fixed on vacancy.
As soon as she saw him, so lonely and forlorn, she threw
her arms around his neck and burst into tears, crying :
" Oh, Benny ! Benny ! Benny ! Benny ! to think of
your being here in such trouble ! And it all our fault too !
for it was just the same as if we had betrayed you into the
hands of that detective. Oh, Benny, I don't know how
you can ever forgive us, or be friends with us, or even so
much as bear the sight of us, any more ! But we didn't
mean to do you any harm. Indeed we didn't, Benny, dear!
We never thought that man was a detective, looking after
3'ou ! We truly thought he was the city missionary, as he
pretended to be."
136 A N O H L E LORD.
" I know it, Suzy. Don't cry, please. I an't mad long
o' you. How could I be ? You couldn't help it, Suzy,
dear. There, don't cry! please don't!" pleaded Benny,
beginning himself to shed tears, of which he felt ashamed.
" You are so good, Beuny, so good ! and to think we have
brought you to this ! But we didn't mean it," repeated the
girl.
"You never brought me to this, Suzy. Neither you nor
yourn didn't. You was always the best friends as ever I
had, you and yourn. So 'twa'n't you, you see. It was
them detectives bust 'em ! " said the boy.
" There, my lass," now began Jerry Juniper, coming for-
ward ; " that'll do ! Don't take on no more. You see you
break the lad right down ! Just take a consideration on to
it, that you couldn't help his being brought here, but you
can help to get him out of here."
"And simmerlerly just think, Suzy, as how even if T be
here, and even if I should be lagged, I'll never do nothink
dishonoble. They may put me in prisin, or they may send
me to Bottomy, or they may scrag me, but they'll never
make me blow on anybody !" said the boy triumphantly.
"Oh, Benny! Benny! don't say that! I come here a
purpose to beg you give up the wicked men that did the
robbery as you a-re took for. You know who did it, Benny.
And you know where they are !"
" If I do and mind, I don't go to say as I do but if so
be I do, I'd die afore I'd tell ! " said the boy stubbornly.
" Oh, Benny ! not even for my sake ? "
"No, not for yourn ! " shaking his fair head.
" Oh, Benny ! do you love them bad bad men better'n
you love me ? " wept his little friend.
"No, I don't love 'eui one bit even supposing I knows
'em, which I don't own I do and I love you a great deal,
Snzy!-''
" Well, then, why won't } 7 ou tell on them for my sake, if
you love me more than you love them ? " urged the girl.
THE LITTLE PRISONER. 137
" I say as I don't love them a bit s'posing as I know
'ern, as I don't say I do and I love you heaps. But I
never did peach, and [ never will ! '" said the boy, still very
stubbornly.
Suzy burst into fresh tears, and wept as only a distressed
child can.
" Oh, please don't cry any more ! It cuts, Suzy ! It do,
indeed. Don't, Suzy ! I would do a most anythink iu the
world to please you, Suzy ; but I can't peach, you know,
dearie ; I can't no how."
Poor Suzy was not at this time gifted with much power
of logic or eloquence. She could only cling to her little
friend, and weep and plead, but all in vain ; for though
Benny was moved by her tears to weep with her, he still
shook his head and repeated that he "couldn't peach no
how, not even for her sake, not even if they killed him."
Jerry Juniper looked on and listened, half in anger, half
in sorrow. At length he broke forth with:
"I'll tell you what, my lad, if you don't peach, you'll be
lagged may be for fourteen year."
The boy raised his sad blue eyes to the face of the man,
and said :
" I'm sorry, Jerry, but I can't peach ! don't you see as
how I can't ? And don't you know as- if so be I could,
I'd do it for Suzy in a minute ? " And here he burst into
tears and clung to Suzy, sobbing hard.
But he was true to the only point of honor he had ever
been taught. Poor little outcast that he was, he could no
more have betrayed his companions to save himself than his
father the Duke of Cheviot, or any grand old Douglas of
his line, could have committed any act that they deemed
dishonorable.
But still Suzy wept and pleaded, and Jerry argued and
scolded, and Benny resisted, sobbing the while as if his
heart would break, until at length the policeman came to
take the boy before the magistrate.
138 A NOBLE LORD.
Even then Jerry and Suzy did not desert him, but fol-
lowed on to the magistrate's office.
The office was crowded with spectators of the very lowest
class, for somehow or other the report had got around that
the police had arrested the little snakesman of the Nut
Cracker gang, and that they were trying to get him to
" peach."
Benny was led through this crowd, and placed once more
Lefore the justice's heuch.
The witnesses against him having all given their evidence
on the day before, there was nothing new to be heard, and
nothing more to be done than to commit him to prison,
either as a culprit to await his trial at the Old Bailey, or as
a witness to appear as Queen's evidence against the older
and harder criminals.
" Well, my boy, I hope you have made up your mind to
do your duty," said the magistrate.
Benny lifted his head with a strange pleading look in his
clear eyes.
" Will you give up the names of your confederates in this
robbery ? " continued his worship.
" Please, sir, I can't peach," answered the boy.
" ' Can't ! ' you mean you won't, don't you ? "
Benny looked directly, though very meekly, in the mag-
istrate's face, and answered nothing.
" Do you mean to say that you ivorft give up your con-
federates ? "
" Please, sir, I said I couldn't peach, and I can't."
" Does that mean you won't, I ask you ? "
"Yes, sir, it do," answered Benny, without withdrawing
his gentle eyes from the face of the justice.
"Well, of all the incorrigible little cases! Officer, what
does this mean?" inquired the magistrate, turning toward
a policeman.
"Why, your worship, he won't give information," an-
swered the latter.
THE LITTLE PRISONER. 139
" My good man," said the magistrate, turning now to
Jerry Juniper, " did you not tell me that you thought you
could induce this wretched boy to save himself by giving up
his confederates ? "
" I told you as I had a little gal at home as might, your
"Worship, which here she is ; but werry sorry I am to tell
you as we've both on us failed so to do," answered Jerry
Juniper, coining forward hat in hand, and pulling his red
forelock.
Here Suzy began to weep again, and to plead with the
little prisoner, saying : ,,.
" Oh, Benny, it isn't too late yet ! Tell his Worship,
Benny ; do, dearie ! Save yourself, for my sake."
" I'd do anythink in the world as I could do, for your
sake, Suzy ; but I can't peach," replied the boy, bursting
into tears.
"Make out the warrant for the committal of Benjamin
Hurst to the prison of Newgate, upon the charge of bur-
glary and assault with intent to kill," said the magistrate,
addressing his clerk.
Suzy threw her arms around the boy's neck, and in an
agony of sorrow and terror implored him to yield before it
should be too late.
But Benny, weeping bitterly, persisted in his purpose
"never to peach on his pals."
" Take him away," said the magistrate, as soon as he had
signed the warrant.
And the policeman took Benny by the arm to lead him
off.
" Good-bye, Suzy ! Don't cry, Suzy ! I'm so sorry I
hurt you, Suzy; but I couldn't peach, you know," said the
boy, holding back to shake hands with his friends.
Desperation gave the pretty little maiden courage.
" 01), Mr. Policeman, don't take him off just yet ! not
just yet ! Let me speak to the magistrate one minute ?
140 A NOBLE LORD.
Ob, sir ! Mr. Magistrate, please don't send Benny off to
prison yet ? not just yet ? Oh, please give him one more
day to consider, and give me one more chance to try and
coax him to tell you what you want him to tell? Benny's
a good boy, sir; indeed he is ! He never had nothing to do
with robbing his master's house ; indeed he hadn't ! And
if he knows who did rob it, or who shot the gentleman he'll
tell me, sir ; indeed he will ! Only give him one more day
to think about it, and me one more chance to coax him ? "
" You are very good at coaxing, as I perceive, my poor
little girl. But I'm afraid your efforts would be lost upon
the prisoner. I know the sort of boy that he is. My good
man, you had better take your little daughter home. Offi-
cer, remove the prisoner," said tbe magistrate, rising.
And Benny was immediately carried off by the police-
man.
And Jerry Juniper led his weeping little daughter away.
" Hush crying, Suzy ! Crying don't do no good. Let
us be thinking of something as may do good. Who was
that lawyer as defended of Benny's mother when she was
tried for the murder of the ballet girl, and who saved her
life, you know ? " inquired Jerry Juniper of his daughter,
as they passed down the street, after having left the magis-
trate's office.
"I don't know, father; I was so little then. But oh ! I
tell you who does know," said Suzy, between her sobs.
Who then ? "
" liachel Wood ; she knows ! "
" I wonder if she lives in Junk Lane yet."
" I don't know. We could go and see, father."
" So we could ; turn about now, and let's go there with-
out loss of time. For if we can only get hold of that
young lawyer, as has a heart in his buzzum, we may get
him to defend Benny ! And then he may get the boy
clean off, or else with a very light penalty," said Jerry, as
THE LITTLE PRISONER. 141
they turned into the Strand and bent their steps toward
Low street.
They turned down Low street and down Ship Alley and
into Junk Lane, and soon reached the old tenement house.
They climbed to the fourth story and rapped at the left-
hand front room.
The pleasant voice of the seamstress bade them enter.
They did so, and found Rachel Wood sitting in her low
sewing-chair, with her hands busy with her needle-work
and her foot on the rocker of her adopted baby's cradle.
"Why, Suzy, dear, is this you? And how do you do,
Mr. Juniper? And who would ever have thought to have
seen you here ? " she inquired, rising and giving them her
hands.
"And what wind blowed us here ? ye would like to ask,
if it weren't impolite, Miss Rachel. Ah ! but it was a
werry ill wind, Miss Rachel," said the stage carpenter,
shaking his head.
Suzy said nothing, but put up her hands and wept behind
them.
" Sit down. And then tell me what is the matter," said
Rachel quietly, as she placed two chairs for them and re-
seated herself in her own.
Then, while Suzy wept in silence, Jerry Juniper told
Rachel Wood of Benny's arrest and imprisonment on the
charge of having been concerned in the robbery of his late
master's, Captain Faulkner's, house.
Rachel Wood was dreadfully shocked.
She had not been near Mrs. Melliss or Mrs. Faulkner
since the funeral of Captain Faulkner, and she had not
heard of the arrest.
And to go further back than that, as she had not been at
Woodbine Cottage from the time she helped to install the
family there, until she went with Mrs. Melliss to bring them
away again, she had never even known that Benny Hurst
142 A NOBLE LORD.
was alive, and had been in their service, much less that he
had been charged with admitting burglars to rob their
house.
All this was new, startling and dreadful intelligence to
Rachel Wood. She wept over the fate of the poor, friend-
less boy, whom she firmly believed to be innocent of the
robbery.
" I know," she wept, " that he was taught to pilfer, as a
duty he owed to his grandmother; but there was a rough
honor about the poor mistaught boy, that would for ever
have prevented him from robbing those whose bread he
ate."
" There an't a doubt as he knows who did rob the house,
but he won't tell, even though he was offered to be let go
free if he did," said Jerry Juniper.
" The same rough honor prevents his ' peaching ' as he
would call it, poor boy ! " sighed Rachel.
" But what we want for to do, Miss Wood, is for to get
hold on that young lawyer as defended of his mother, Madge
Brice, and saved her neck, you know ! If we could get him
to defend poor Benny, he might get clean off, or only with a
little punishment."
" You mean Mr. Percy Melliss ? "
" Aye, aye, that's the gentleman ! I couldn't think of
his name before."
" Oh ! I'm so sorry ! " said Rachel, with a grieved look.
"I am so very sorry ! If he were on the spot, I do believe
he would take up the case at once with zeal. But he is not
in town not even in England. You see, he broke himself
down with his labors at the bar, and he has been ordered by
his physicians on a sea voyage for his health."
" And he's gone ? " groaned Jerry, with a look of despair.
" Gone ! I told you so. He sailed for New York last
Saturday."
" And he was 013' last hope ! Now, what's to be done ? "
sighed the stage carpenter.
THE LITTLE PRISONER. 143
"Nothing that I know of can be done but endeavor to
persuade that poor rnistrained boy that it is his duty to turn
Queen's evidence in this case," said Rachel.
"But an't it too late?" inquired Jerry, while Suzy
suddenly stopped crying, and looked up with new hope in
her eyes.
"No, indeed. Of course it is too late now to prevent his
having been committed to answer the charge of burglary.
But it isn't too late even now for him to give up the rob-
bers, and turn Queen's evidence against them, and so
appear at the Old Bailey in the witness box, instead of in
the felon's dock. It an't too late for that. And I have no
doubt in the world but that the prison chaplain will bring
all good influences to bear upon the boy, to make him give
up the wretches who have brought him to this pass," said
Rachel Wood.
" Lord grant it ! " sighed Jerry Juniper.
" Oh, Miss Rachel, and won't you please to go to see poor
orphan Benny ? And won't you please try to coax him to
do what's right, to save himself? " pleaded Suzy.
" Indeed I will, dear. I will go to-morrow."
"And oh ! will you please to call for me and take me with
you, so as to add my coaxing to yours ? "
Yes, Suzy, I will."
''And now, my lass," suggested Jerry Juniper, "it is
time for us to be going. Mother will be wondering what-
ever have become of us."
" Good-bye, Miss Rachel ! Mind you be sure to call by
for me," said Suzy, as she kissed and took leave of the
seamstress.
" Good-afternoon, Miss Wood," said the stage carpenter,
picking up his old hat to take his daughter home.
There was lamentation in the stage carpenter's house that
night, when the mother and the children learned from the
father that their favorite, Benny Hurst, was a prisoner in
Newgate.
144 A NOBLE LORD.
There was pity and sorrow in the banker's house in
Charles street, when the ladies there heard from Rachel
Wood of the condition of the poor, friendless boy who had
been the faithful little slave of one lady, and the grateful
little beneficiary of the other.
"Poor Benny! And he was so fond of my children!
Oh, never let them know about this ! They would cry their
eyes out ! " said Mrs. Faulkner.
" He is the same lad, you say, Rachel, whom I once
remarked in the hall outside your room door, and who
attracted my notice at once by the singular fairness and
delicacy of his features and complexion, and his most extra-
ordinary likeness to the little Earl of Wellrose ? " inquired
Mrs. Melliss.
" The very same, madam."
" How did the unfortunate child fall into such misery? "
" His wretched old grandmother took him from our house
on a begging tramp, and I lost sight of him for along time.
And indeed I had the strongest reasons for believing him
to be dead until this very day, when I heard all at once
from his friends that he was alive, that he had been living
as page at Woodbine Cottage, and that he was in prison
under the charge of being concerned in the robbery of the
house. But, before Heaven, I do not believe the poor boy
to be guilty."
" Neither do I," said Mrs. Faulkner. " He didn't look
like that sort of boy."
"At any rate, his extreme youth pleads for him. You
say that there is a chance for him to clear himself, by giving
up the names and abodes of the real robbers ? " inquired
Mrs. Melliss.
"Yes. madam; for the authorities are very anxious to
get hold of the band," answered Rachel.
"Then I shall try very hard to induce the boy to give
them up, when I go to see him in prison; for I shall cer-
tainly go to see him, Rachel."
THE LITTLE OUTCAST IN PKISON. 145
" Heaven bless you, Mrs. Melliss ! "
"And although my dear Percy is on mid-ocean BOW, and
not available for this service, yet some other able advocate
may be found, and the funds shall not be wanting to retain
him. All this I will see about to-morrow."
" Heaven bless you, Mrs. Melliss," repeated Rachel, as she
arose to take leave.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE LITTLE OUTCAST IN PRISON.
Deflled
By the air he breathed in a world of sin ;
But the truest, teuderest, gentlest child,
Man ever trusted iu. MKBKDITH.
POOR Benny, inured to misery from his very birth, bore
his fate with a patient fortitude that casual observers might
have taken for sullen defiance.
He even slept through the first night in his cell at New-
gate. And with a courtesy that was as much a part of his
inherited nature as was the clear hue of his complexion, he
thanked the turnkey who brought him a mug of coffee and
a hunk of bread for his breakfast, and who took him to the
rude wash-room allotted to the prisoners of his ward, and
afterward gave him leave to walk in the closed and grated
court-yard.
As soon as the hour for the admission of visitors arrived,
Rachel Wood and little Suzy Juniper presented themselves
at the gate and begged leave to see Benny Hurst.
They were taken to a central yard closed in with stone-
walls and iron gratings, where they found Benny, sitting by
himself on a wooden bench, and looking very lonely and
forlorn.
There were several other prisoners sauntering about in
9
146 A NOBLE LORD.
the yard, but they neither spoke to nor glanced at the soli-
tary boy.
Eachel and Suzy hastened toward him, and spoke to him
before he perceived their presence.
"Benny, dear, good-morning," said the seamstress very
gently. And,
" Good-morning, Benny," at the same instant said Suzy.
The boy jumped up, his face radiant with surprise and
pleasure.
" Oh, Miss Rachel, is it you ? I'm so jolly glad to see
you ! It's wery good in you to come and see a poor cove as
is in quod for nothink, and to bring Suzy too; which, to be
sure, she never could a come 'less you had brought her,
'cause her father can't leave his work every day along o'
me," he said.
" I'm very sorry to see you here, my poor boy," said the
gentle seamstress, weeping.
"And I didn't do it, Miss Eachel! I didn't indeed!"
said the poor child a little obscurely, as he lifted his blue
eyes frankly to her face ; " indeed, indeed I didn't do it !
Suzy knows I didn't ! "
" No, that you didn't, Benny. I told Miss Kachel so,"
added the girl.
"I know you didn't, Benny," calmly answered the seam-
stress.
" Oh, do you know it ? I'm so jolly glad you know,
'cause "
"'Cause what, Benny?"
" 'Cause, if you didn't know it all out of your own head,
as Suzy knows it, you mightn't believe me, when I tell you
I didn't. The magistrate he didn't believe me, bust him ! "
"He didn't know you as well as I do, Benny."
"No, and so he sent me here. And I'm to be tried for
burgl'y in the first degree ; for they do say as it's burgl'y in
the first degree when there's housebreaking with 'sault with
'tent to kill. And I didn't do it, Miss Rachel."
THE LITTLE OUTCAST IN PRISON. 147
" I know you didn't, my poor boy ; so you need not
trouble yourself to say so again."
" But for all that, bere I am to be tried for burgl'y in tbe
first degree, and lagged for ten year, or for fourteen, or may
be for twenty year, or may be for life ; for they do say as
they can make me a lifer for burgl'y in the first degree."
" No, Benny, my dear, not so bad as that ! And there is
a way of escape for you, Benny, by which you can not only
clear yourself, but confer a great benefit upon the whole
community."
" I know what you mean, Miss Rachel. You mean as I
can peach ! But I can't, Miss Rachel ; I can't, indeed ! "
said the boy, shaking his head.
" My poor child, it is your bounden duty to give up the
men who committed this robbery."
"~No, it an't, Miss Rachel. Beg your parding, but it
an't no cove's duty to peach on his pals," persisted Benny.
" My poor, poor boy ! will you sacrifice yourself for those
bad men ? "
" They wouldn't peach on me not one on 'em wouldn't,
and I won't on them ! " persisted the lad.
And though all the old arguments and entreaties were
used with him. neither the reasoning of Rachel Wood nor
the weeping of little Suzy could move him from his pur-
pose.
While they were still pleading and expostulating with the
boy, Mrs. Melliss, attended by the prison chaplain, came
into the yard.
It would appear that, on first coming to the prison that
morning, she had asked for the chaplain, had been shown
into his room, and in half an hour's interview had succeeded
in interesting his reverence in the little prisoner, Benny
Hurst.
And now they had come together to see him.
Rachel Wood, after respectfully returning the kind greet-
148 A NOBLE LORD.
ing of Mrs. Melliss, took leave of Benny and led little Snzy
away, to leave the field free to Mrs. Melliss and the chap-
lain.
" Do you remember me, my boy?" inquired Mrs. Melliss
kindly.
" Yes, ma'am. You are the lad}' who gave me a suit o'
clothes once, the werry best suit as ever I had in my life.
I thank you kindly, ma'am," said Benny, smiling, and pull-
ing his fair front locks, by way of a respectful salute.
"And do you know this gentleman ? " she inquired, indi-
cating the chaplain.
" Oh, yes ! I know him fast enough ! " replied Benny,
laughing. " He's Lady Green ! "
"Lady who?" inquired Mrs. Melliss, much perplexed.
" Lady Green. Lor', don't you know ? Lady Green,"
said the boy, laughing.
" Child, are you out of your senses ? This is a gentle-
man a reverend gentleman, the chaplain of the prison,"
replied Mrs. Melliss, in a sort of consternation.
"2 know who he is ! And I know his little game too.
But he can't come it ! not on this child ! " said Benny,
shaking his fair-haired head in good-humored defiance.
" My poor boy, you must not speak so of this good gen-
tleman. It is very disrespectful to him, and unbecoming
in j'ou," said Mrs. Melliss seriously, laying her hand on the
head of the lad. "And what in the world, sir," she in-
quired, turning to the chaplain, " dues he mean by ' Ludy
Green ? ' "
The reverend gentleman smiled good-naturedly as he
explained :
" It is a name that a class of prisoners bestow upon their
prison chaplain, for what reason I cannot possibly imagine,
unless it be because they think him very 'green,' to be so
often imposed upon by their professions of penitence.
" Oh, I see," said Mrs. Melliss.
THE LITTLE OUTCAST IN PRISON. 149
"You say you know me, my boy, and know my little
game. Now, what do you suppose my little game to be ? "
inquired the chaplain, with an indulgent smile.
" Why, to get me to peach on my pals. Which, begging
of your parding, sir, I can't do it," said Benny.
His words were the signals for Mrs. Melliss to commence
her attack upon his fatal resolution.
She went over the same ground taken by all who had
preceded her in trying to persuade the guiltless boy to give
up the guilty parties, and with no better success.
" I must leave this poor little fellow to you, reverend sir.
You have more experience than I have, and will be better
able to cope with his perverted ideas of honor than I am,"
said Mrs. Melliss, rising to take her leave.
The chaplain courteously attended her out to her car-
riage.
Before entering, she said :
"I hope that unfortunate child may be induced to save
himself by giving up his guilty companions. But, in any
case, I shall lose no time in seeking out able counsel to de-
fend him."
" I thank you in the name of all humanity, dear madam,"
said the chaplain, as he put her into the carriage.
The next day Mrs. Melliss succeeded in engaging the
services of a learned and eloquent young barrister, a Mr.
Frederick Freefield, for the defence of the forlorn little
prisoner in Newgate.
She took Mr. Freefield to Benny's cell, and she implored
the child to confide in him as his counsel.
But Benny, turning his tearful eyes from the lady to the
gentleman, answered :
" Missus, and your honor, I'd do any think in the world
to please you but peach. Please don't ask me to do that,
'cause I can't. If I couldn't do it for Suzy Juniper, I
couldn't do it for nothink nor nobody."
150 A NOBLE LORD.
It was utterly useless to assure the boy that to enable his
counsel to defend him successfully, he must confide in him
entirely; and that his confidence would be held sacred.
Benny could not be moved from his point "not to peach."
He held his secret with the tenacity of death. So his coun-
sel could get no help from him for the defence.
Nevertheless Mr. Freefield felt all the more deeply inter-
ested in the fate of the poor, mistaught, but loyal-hearted
boy.
In attending Mrs. Melliss back to her carriage, he said :
" We will not be discouraged, madam. It wi-ll be some
weeks yet before the opening of the Sessions at the Old
Bailey. In the mean time continued imprisonment may so
break the boy's spirit as to bring him to listen willingly to
our advice to save himself by becoming Queen's evidence
against the miscreants who have brought him to this pass.'' 7
" Oh, try your very best to persuade him so to save him-
self, sir," pleaded the lady.
"I certainly shall. No doubt also the chaplain of the
prison will use all his influence," replied the gentleman.
And they took leave of each other.
Benny felt all the weary irksomeness of " continued im-
prisonment." Each day it grew heavier and still heavier.
Neither his foster-father, Tony Brice, nor his friend, the
Nut Cracker ever came near him, though they must have
known his condition. And their neglect hurt Benny more
than all the rest.
Yet for all that he would not " peach " on them no,
though the chaplain and the lawyer and the ladj y argued
with him, and though Eachel Wood and Mary Kempton
and little Suzy Juniper wept over him, he stood steadfast
upon the false principle of honor he had been taught.
The chaplain of the prison became deeply interested in
the poor, mistrained, but true-souled child, and began at once
to improve the time and beguile the tedium of his long im-
prisonment by teaching him to read, write and cipher.
THE LITTLE OUTCAST IN PRISON. 151
This was the very first opportunity the boy had ever had
of learning anything of the sort.
With gratitude and eagerness he gave himself up to his
lessons. Never had teacher a more willing, attentive and
intelligent pupil. To use the words of Mr. Jerry Juniper,
"Benny devoured his books."
The chaplain set him lessons every day ; and whenever
any of his friends, either Mrs. Melliss, Kachel Wood or
Mary Kempton would come to visit him, and to renew the
subject of his turning Queen's evidence, Benny would decline
that discussion, and say :
" But if you would only please to hear me my lessou."
And of course they always complied with his request.
And thus, by his bright intelligence and zealous attention,
and with the help of several teachers, Benny rapidly ad-
vanced in this rudimentary knowledge.
He also received moral and spiritual light from the reli-
gious instructions of the good chaplain.
He was grateful and docile, and he was also quite obe-
dient, except upon the one point of refusing to give up the
burglars. There was no moving him from that.
By the time the Sessions opened, Benny had learned to
read the New Testament, to write his own name, and to work
sums in the first four rules of arithmetic. Besides this he
had committed to memory the Ten Commandments, the
Sermon on the Mount, and several of Dr. Watts' hymns.
But he never learned to inform against his confederates.
When he was engaged in his simple studies he seemed
almost happy. And at all times he was very patient he
never complained. Only once in a while, with a sigh that
seemed to come from the bottom of his heart, he would
breathe forth his deepest want.
" Oh, I wish I could get out ! "
And then he would go patiently back to his lessons.
At length the day came, and the Sessions opened.
152 A NOBLE LORD.
CHAPTER XV.
BENNY'S FATE.
The felon outcast of the land. A. A. P.
THE sessions of the Central Criminal Court opened.
It was a wintry morning when Benny was taken from
Newgate jail to the Old Bailey Court.
And London saw the strange spectacle of a fair child in
the felon's dock ! a gentle child, who should rather have been
in some humane reformatory school.
Overawed by the bench of wigged and robed and ermined
judges, and the bar of wigged and gowned lawyers, and the
crowd of spectators that filled the hall, the poor boy stood
panic-stricken for a moment.
Then his eye wandered timidly over the assembly, in
search of some friend who might be in it. But he saw not
one kind or familiar face. If his friends were there, they
were hidden in the crowd.
He raised his blue eyes deprecatingly to the bench of
judges, and then turned them timidly toward the bar of
lawyers and pleadingly to the box of jurors.
They all seemed to him to be very busy about something
that he could not understand. Again his weary eyes turned
from them and wandered anxiously over the sea of heads,
searching for some kind face to comfort him, and finding not
one.
If only he could have seen his foster-father Tony Brice,
or the Nut Cracker, or any of the villains for whom he was
innocently suffering, he might have found strength to bear
his troubles.
But to be deserted by them all in this hour of his utmost
need ! To stand alone in the dock with a multitude of ene-
mies around him ! His burden was too hard to bear. His
childish heart sunk in his bosom, and he burst into tears.
B E N N Y S FATE.
153
" Come, come, bully boy," whispered the rough turnkey
who had him in charge, " brace up ! They can't hang you,
you know ! It's only transportation at worst !"
" Oh, sir," said Benny, nervously catching hold of the
turnkey's trowsers, " don't leave rue ! Stay by me, please !
stay by me, please !"
" I'm going to. It's my duty, you know. Here now,
take my pocket handkercher and wipe your eyes. 1 wouldn't
let 'em see me crj r , if I was you."
" No more I won't," said Benny, industriously drying his
eyes. " 'Cause I an't been up to nothink whatsomedever."
" All right, then ; if you can prove that, you're cleared."
" But I can't prove nothink. They proves whatsomedever
they pleases ! " said the boy.
At this moment an awful personage in a long black gown
and a full-bottomed white wig came to the side of the dock,
and said :
" Well, my boy ! "
Benny, appalled by the gown and wig, lost all his new-
found fortitude and trembled from head to foot, as if he
thought his last hour had come.
" You don't seem to know me, my boy ! Your advocate,
Mr. Freefield," smiled the apparition.
" Oh, is it you, sir ? Beg pardon, sir I didn't know you,
indeed," replied Benny, gazing in ever increasing awe upon
the black gown and white wig.
" I came to tell you not to be so cast down. Be of good
courage. We hope that all will go well. When you are
arraigned that is to say, when the clerk asks you if you
are guilty or not guilty you must stand up, bow to the pre-
siding judge the stout old gentleman in the red gown,
ermine cape and curled wig, sitting in the middle of the
others on the bench look honestly in his face and say, 'Not
guilty, my lord.' Can you do this, my boy ? "
" Yes, sir ; 'cause I an't been up to nothiuk," answered
Benny.
154 A NOBLE LOUD.
" I believe you, my poor child. Be of good courage.
Now ! " said Mr. Freefield, as he moved from the side of
the dock.
At that moment the Clerk of Arraigns arose, with a
formidable document in his hand, and proceeded to read the
indictment, which, divested of its unintelligible jargon,
seemed to charge the prisoner, Benjamin Hurst, with felo-
niously breaking into the house of one Charles Faulkner,
gentleman, then living at Sydenbam ; with purloining
thence a large quantit}' of valuable property belonging to
said Charles Faulkner; and with making an assault with
intent to kill, by shooting a loaded pistol and wounding
seriously the person of one Barnabas Brierly ; and so forth,
and so forth, and so forth.
Benny scarcely understood a word of this rhodomontade ;
but when asked whether he were "guilty, or not guilty," he
bowed to the judge, lifted his head, and answered clearly :
" Not guilty, my lord."
The counsel for the Crown took the indictment from the
Clerk of Arraigns, and proceeded to open the case by tell-
ing the gentlemen of the jury that they had now before
them one of the most abandoned and dangerous young
criminals in England, if not in the world a monster of
juvenile depravity one in whom crime seemed to be
hereditary and inexterminable the son of a man who was
a confirmed pickpocket and burglar, who was much more
frequently in jail than out of it, and of a woman who was a
murderess, and had been tried for her life at that very court,
and had only escaped the extreme penalty of the law upon
the doubtful plea of insanity, and who was now expiating
her crimes by life-long imprisonment in the Criminal
Lunatic Asylum ; that this wretched boy had been a thief
from his infancy up to his present age ; that imprudently
received into a respectable and benevolent family, where he
was treated as a child of the house, he had thanklessly and
BENNY'S FATE. 155
basely repaid their protection and fostering care by bringing
into the house the band of burglars with whom he was
known to be connected, and by robbing them of a large
quantity of plate, jewels, money and other valuable property,
and by murderous assault upon a friend and guest of the
house. And though the learned counsel for the defence
might pretend to say that his, the prisoner's hand never
fired the pistol that wounded Col. Brierly, yet did the law
hold him guilty of that deadly assault, inasmuch as he was
confederated with the wretches who made it. And he
hoped that both judge and jury would do their duty by
punishing with the utmost rigor of the law a crime that
was known to be fearfully on the increase and so forth,
and so forth, and so forth.
At the end of his opening speech, the counsel for the
Crown called his witnesses.
The first who took the stand was the widowed Mrs.
Faulkner, who, weeping bitterly, gave her evidence regard-
ing the robbery, which bore very heavily upon the little
prisoner.
The next witness was John Briggs, the man who had
seen Benny in company with a suspicious looking individual
at midnight, on the night of the robbery, and who had
heard the prisoner give his companion particular directions
how to find and enter the house, by a door that he, the
prisoner, had left open.
This evidence was still harder on the little accused. And
the severest cross-examination of the witness by the coun-
sel for the defence did not tend to weaken it in the least
degree.
The third witness was Mr. Baley, the man who had come
to Captain Faulkner's assistance, and had helped to carry
the wounded Colonel Brierly to the house.
He testified to these facts, and also to the confused condi-
tion of the house, several of the rooms of which bore signs
156 A NOBLE LORD.
of forcible entry, and also the absence of Benny from the
bed where he usually slept.
This witness was also cross-examined without effect.
The last witness was the detective who had arrested the
prisoner, and had found upon his person the little gold
thimble, which was here produced and identified as the
property of Mrs. Faulkner.
When these witnesses had all been examined and cross-
examined, the counsel for the Crown summed up the evi-
dence for the prosecution, and called upon the jury to con-
vict the prisoner.
But then Mr. Freefield, the counsel for the accused, arose
for the defence.
Of course he went over and politely contradicted all that
the counsel for the Crown had stated concerning his client.
He begged the gentlemen of the jury to look upon that
poor child in the dock, and see if they could find in his fair
face and open brow any signs of that hereditary depravity
and personal guilt ascribed to him by the learned counsel
for the Crown.
This boy had been a most unfortunate and pitiable child
from his very birth a worse than orphan, cast upon the
tender mercies of the thief and murderess who had brought
him up, and yet who, thief and murderess as they were,
were much less culpable than the upnatural parents who
had given this fair child life, and then abandoned him to
his fate.
He would prove that this boy, so far from being the
''monster of juvenile depravity" he had been called by the
counsel for the Crown, had been, from his infancy- up, gentle,
obedient, kind-hearted and generous. Even in still tenderer
years he had worked, and begged when he could not work,
to support an aged woman and a sick girl.
He would prove that, while the boy had been in the ser-
vice of Captain Faulkner, he had been the affectionate com-
BENNY'S F A T E. 157
panion and protector of children but little younger than
himself; and that when he left their service, he did so iu
fear and horror of their guest, who had terrified him with
threats; that he could have had no share in the robbery
with which he stood charged.
He would prove further, that while the boy was in
prison he had been perfectly gentle, docile, obedient and
anxious to please. And finally the advocate said he should
confidently expect, from the gentlemen of the jury, the
acquittal of his young client.
Then the counsel for the prisoner called the witnesses for
the defence. These were Jeremiah Juniper, and his wife
Jane Juniper, llachel Wood and Mary Kempton. Each,
sworn and examined in turn, testified to their intimate
knowledge of the little prisoner from his infancy to the
present time; they each bore witness to his gentleness of
manner, kindness of heart, obedience, docility and generos-
ity : but, Oh sorrow ! when cross-examined by the counsel
for the prosecution, they could not bear witness to the hon-
esty or truthfalness of the poor child, who had been taught
theft and falsehood as sacred duties from his infancy up !
So their testimony in favor of the poor boy broke down.
Mrs. Melliss and the jail chaplain were called, and in
turn testified to the perfectly blameless conduct of the gen-
tle boy while suffering imprisonment.
But being cross-examined, they were in turn forced to
admit that the little prisoner was obstinate in his deter-
mination never to give up the names of the burglars who
had robbed his master's house.
So their testimony in favor of the little prisoner was also
much weakened.
The defence rested.
The Judge arose and summed up the evidence on both
sides, bearing very heavily on the young prisoner.
In conclusion, he said that the accused, being confederated
A NOBLE LORD.
with the criminals who had perpetrated the burglary and
made the assault with intent to kill, and shielding them now
by his silence, was in law held equally guilty with them of
the burglary and the attempt to kill, and that the jury would
find a verdict in accordance with the facts.
And so he left the case in their hands.
The jury asked and obtained leave to retire to consider
their verdict.
And they left the court room in charge of a bailiff.
Then, there being nothing else to do, the judge fell to
reading his Times, and the lawyers lounged about, or went
out to get a glass of pure water, of course.
Benny's friends took the opportunity of coming up to
speak to him.
The chaplain and Mrs. Melliss came first.
" Oh, missus," said the child, " I do thank you for speak
ing a good word for me. And do you think they will let me
off?" he asked patheticall}'.
" I don't know, my poor boy. But even if you should be
convicted, there may be still hope ; for you may receive a
full pardon on condition of giving up that band of burglars,"
said the lady.
" I never will get off on them terms, missus," sadly
replied the boy.
Then he turned to the chaplain, and said :
" Your reverence don't think, do your reverence, as I'm as
wicked as that first gentleman made me out to be."
"No, my poor boy, I certainly do not," answered the
chaplain.
Kachel Wood and Mary Kempton and the Junipers were
waiting modestly for their turn to come up and speak to
Benny ; but before the opportunity came there was a stir at
the upper end of the hall, caused by the entrance of the
jury-
The friends around the prisoner dispersed to their seats.
BENNY S FATE.
The crier called order. The judges settled their wigs. The
lawyers resumed their seats. The spectators became atten-
tive. And the Clerk of Arraigns inquired :
"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your ver-
dict ? "
" We have."
"Do you find Benjamin Hurst, the prisoner at the bar,
guilty, or not guilty of the felony wherewith he stands in-
dicted ? "
"Guilty."
There was a pause of a few minutes. Then a few formula
were gone through with ; and then the little prisoner was
told to stand up.
Benny arose and once more bowed to the bench, thinking,
perhaps, poor child ! that a little politeness here might help
his sad case.
The judge, in pronouncing sentence, told the little prisoner
that he had had a fair and impartial trial ; that he had been
convicted of burglary in the first degree, by an intelligent
and conscientious jury ; that the crime of burglary, as the
learned counsel for the crown had stated, was fearfully on the
increase ; that there seemed really no security for life or
property in the metropolis ; that the most skillful and effec-
tive aids of the burglars were the boys, called among them-
selves " snakesmen," and employed to enter houses through
such apertures as small panels, windows, or side lights, as
would be inaccessible to the passage of men ; that but for
these "snakesmen" many successful burglaries could not be
accomplished ; that he, the prisoner at the bar, had proved
himself a most daring, expert and unscrupulous abettor of
the burglars whom he had admitted to rob his master's
house, and all but murder his master's guest; that his crime
was all the more heinous and detestable, because that master
had been his kind protector and confiding friend ; that it be-
hooved judges, in the face of all these facts, to punish such
160 A NOBLE LORD.
crimes with the utmost rigor of the law; that the extreme
penalty of the law for burglary in the first degree, where
there had been assault with intent to kill, was transportation
for life ; but that, in consideration of his, the little prison-
er's youth, he the judge should sentence him to transpor-
tation to the penal colonies for the term of fourteen years
only; that, in conclusion, he would remark, if he, the young
prisoner, could be brought into such a frame of mind as to
understand his duty to his sovereign and his country, and
conld be induced to give such information to the proper
authorities as should lead to the apprehension and convic-
tion of the dangerous band of burglars with whom he was
connected, then he might be considered a proper subject for
the mercy of the crown, and find it in the commutation of
his sentence, if not in a full pardon.
Having concluded, the judge ordered the prisoner to be
removed.
And the crier of the court called the next case.
The turnkey and another officer led Benny from the dock.
The boy was too bewildered by the address of the judge to
have any very clear conception of his own condition. Many
who watched him thought him stupid and insensible ; but
he was not either.
As they led him away, Rachel Wood and Mary Kempton
met him.
" Don't be discouraged, Benny. You may yet be saved,"
said Rachel.
" For you heard what the judge said about the pardon,"
added Mary.
" I know ; but I can't be pardoned 'less I peach, and I'll
never do that. No, I'll be lagged for fourteen year! Think
of it ! Might just as well be for life, you know. And
and I wouldn't mind so much if it wa'n't wa'n't for leav-
ing Suzy !" added the boy, bursting into tears and sobbing
as if his heart would break."
BENNY'S FATE. 161
Mary and Rachel would have tried to comfort him, but
the turnkeys were obliged to hurry him out of the way.
As the little prisoner passed out of the hall he noticed in
the crowd of miserable wretches around the building, two
men more miserable looking than any of their companions.
They were Tony Brice and the Nut Cracker !
" Daddy ! " cried the boy gladly, eagerly stretching out
Ills hand toward his foster-father.
Tony heard him, but immediately slunk away and hid
himself in the crowd.
"And I only wanted to whisper to him that I would
never peach," said the child to himself, weeping from his
wounded heart, as they led him away to his cell in New-
gate.
Meanwhile Tony Brice and the Nut Cracker slunk away
to the den of guilt they called their home.
Even Tony Brice, low as he had fallen, bad as he was,
felt ashamed of himself for having deserted the boy and
left him to suffer for his crimes.
" It's hard on the kid ! It's deuced hard on the kid ! "
he said, blowing his nose.
" Oh, bosh ! none of that, you know. Hard on the kid !
What's hard on the kid? To go a sea v'yge ? Why, lots
of b'ys run away and go to sea for the fun o' the thing,"
answered the Nut Cracker.
"It is hard to be lagged for fourteen year, for a thing he
never done that it is," said Tony.
" Oh, the devil ! What's fourteen year in a forring coun-
try at his age, and come back a young man in his prime,
with plenty of experience ? Nothing ! If it had a been
you, now, 'stead o' he, you wouldn't a got off with no four-
teen year ! You'd a been a lifer, you would ! "
"That's so," agreed Tony, with a sigh.
"And besides, he an't gone yet. You heard what the
judges said about a parding? "
10
162 A NOBLE LORD.
" Yes, on conditions he'd peach."
" Well, he may peach yet."
" Who ? Benny ? Benny peach ? T wish T was as sure
of a ten pound note to-day as I am that Benny'll never
peach. Benny'd die before he'd peach ! "
"Well, may be so! And now let's talk of something
else. There's a plant ! " added the man in a whisper, as
they both entered the dilapidated house in which they
lived.
CHAPTER XVI.
BENNY'S STRUGGLE.
God will judge thee and them aright. A. A. P.
THEKE was a convict transport ship to sail in a few days,
and Benny was doomed to be sent out in her.
It was ascertained, however, from the highest authority,
that a full pardon would be given him on condition that he
would give such information as should lead to the apprehen-
sion and conviction of the burglars whose "snakeMQ^n" he
was supposed to have been.
But the poor boy had still his mistaken spirit of honor
within him, and would suffer anything rather than betray
his foster-father and false friends.
A day or two before the transport was to sail, and while
yet there was a last chance left for the little prisoner, his
true friends resolved to make one final appeal to him.
Mrs. Melliss, Rachel Wood aud little Suzy Juniper went
to him in company.
They found him in his cell, at his lessons, pale and
patient, as usual.
"What are you studying this morning, my poor boy?"
inquired Mrs. Melliss, after the first greetings were over.
BENNY'S STRUGGLE. 163
"Only my reading lesson in my ' Second School Beader,'
missus," answered Benny, lifting bis sad, blue eyes to the
lady's face.
" Does the Chaplain still hear your lessons ? "
' Oh yes, missus, every day."
"And you like his instructions?"
" Better'n anything in the world, missus."
" And you wouldn't like to lose them forever ? "
" No indeed, missus."
" But, my poor child, unless you follow our counsel and
do as we wish you to do, you will have to give them up in
two days, and give them up forever. You will find no in-
structors in Van Dieman's Land, my boy," said the lady,
with her eyes full of tears.
Benny turned a shade paler and looked down at the open
book on his knees.
" But, my child, if you will do as we wish you if you
will win your full pardon by giving information against the
evil men who have brought you to this pass if you will do
this, then you shall have even better instruction, under bet-
ter circumstances than you can possible get here. You
shall learn not onty what you are learning here, but every
thing else that you have the inclination and capacity to
learn."
The boy raised his head, his whole face beaming with a
look of eager longing and delightful anticipation ; but the
next instant its expression changed to one of sadness and
despair, and he dropped his eyes once more upon his book.
" There is to be " began the lady ; but watching the
boy with his sensitive and changing face, her voice broke
down, and she faltered, " Tell him the rest, Eachel. The
child distresses me so, I cannot continue."
" Listen, Benny," said Kachel, sitting down by him and
taking his hand.
" You have heard for even you, poor little fellow as you
164 A NOBLE LORD.
are, must have heard of the beautiful Duchess of Cheviot,
who is so distinguished for her benevolence? "
"Oh, yes, indeed," said Benny, his whole face brighten-
ing at the recollection ; "I seen her once too. At Briting,
you know. I told you all about it."
" Yes, I remember ; it was at the Duke's marine residence
on Brunswick Terrace, Brighton, where the little Ladies
Douglas had you called in, and gave you a piece of their
Twelfth-day cake."
" Oh, yes ; I seen her then. She was lovely."
" Have you ever seen the Duchess since ? "
"No; but I've dreamed of her oh, so many times. I
never told nobody ; but I have."
" I don't wonder."
"And at the 'Ospital, you know; when I was ill, you
know. I used to dream as she'd come and look over me,
and lay her hand on my head. And once I dreamed as her
tears fell warm on my face. And then, bless you ! I
dreamed as it wasn't no dream, and I tried to wake up.
Wasn't that funny?"
" My poor child ! That was no dream at all. The beau-
tiful Duchess went to see the sick children in the Hospital
very frequently. And she used to linger by your bod, and
bend over you and sometimes weep for pity. And in your
semi-delirium - you must have been half conscious of her
presence, though we never suspected it."
" You don't say so ! " said Benny, pondering. " And
that lovely lady came to see me when I was ill, and I didn't
know it! I thought as it was nothing but a dream. Oh, I
wish I had knowed for true ! I think then, if I had
knowed it for true, I could a waked up to see her, I would
a tried so hard. Oh, I wish I could get out and go to the
Park once more. And then I would watch till I would see
her carriage go by. And the little Earl oh, au't he a
swell, neither ? He gave me a pair of shoes once, he did !
Oh, I wish I could get out ! "
BENNY'S STRUGGLE. 165
" My poor boy, even if you could get out, you could not
see the Duchess, nor any of her children. They are all
spending the winter in Florence, on account of the little
Lady Hester's health, which is delicate."
" / know her. She was the littlest lady of all. But
wasn't you agoing to tell ine something about something? "
" Yes, my boy. I was going to tell you that the good
and beautiful Duchess, whose wealth is almost equal to her
benevolence, feeling a deep compassion for poor neglected
children like you, is about to establish a poor boys' board-
ing school, where boys are to be lodged and boarded, clothed
and taught."
Benny listened with his whole face intent with interest.
" And where boys of superior talents like you, Beuny-^
are to be instructed in the higher branches of science and
literature, and even prepared to enter a college or to study
a profession.
Benny's face ever increased in interest.
"And, child, a highly educated young curate is to be the
Head Master of the school. And I, your old friend, am to
be the matron, and to look after the boys' clothes and
meals."
" Oh ! My ! Won't that be BULLY ! " exclaimed the
boy, with a short gasp of surprise and delight. " And
Billy and Tommy and Johnny Juniper can go, can't they ? "
he added, in his sweet unselfishness.
" Yes, Benny, perhaps ; though the school is to be
founded for a much poorer and more needy class of boys
than the stage carpenter's. But you can certainly go,
Benny."
" Oh, I wish I could ! Oh, I wish I could ! " said the
boy, clasping and unclasping his hands nervously.
" And so you can, Benny. It lies with yourself. Does
it not, Mrs. Melliss ? " said Rachel, appealing to the lady.
" It does indeed, my boy. You have only to give the in-
166 A NOBLE LORD.
formation that is required of you, to win a full pardon.
Then you will be set free from this prison. Then you will
be entered into the Duchess' school, where you will be
cleanly and comfortably lodged and boarded, clothed and
instructed ; where you will be under the constant care of
your old friend, Miss Wood here, who will always be like a
mother to you ; and where you will frequently see the
beautiful Duchess who was so kind to you, and who will
of course, be a frequent visitor at her own school ; and
finally, where you may not only learn the common and in-
dispensable branches of knowledge, but where you may be
instructed in the higher branches of literature and science,
and be prepared to enter college, or to study the profession
of your choice, as Rachel has already told you."
" Oh ! I wish I could ! Oh ! I wish, I could ! " pa-
thetically repeated the boy, still nervously clasping and un-
clasping his hands.
" And so you can, my child, if you please."
" Oh, no, no, no, I can't, missus ! I can't, unless I in-
form against never mind who. And I can't turn informer
against them."
" What lamentable folly to think that you cannot ! My
child, it is your sacred duty to inform against those law-
breakers," said Mrs. Melliss.
But Benny only shook his head, resolving to remain
silent as death upon that subject, no matter what might be-
come of him.
" Please, ma'am, let me try now," whispered Suzy to
Mrs. Melliss.
The lady nodded assent, and Suzy went and sat down on
the bench beside Benny, and said :
" Listen to me, Benny."
" Don't Suzy ! don't say nothing to tempt me to peach.
It's no use, and it hurts so to refuse you," pleaded the boy.
" But I must, Benny. There's only t\vo more days to try
BENNY'S STRUGGLE. 167
and save you! Oh, Benny, dear, just listen to me! I'm
going to talk about myself now."
""Well, I'll hear you talk about yourself, willing."
" Well, then, Benny, next week I am to go to Paris witli
Madame Vesta, to enter ou the course of study and practice
that is to make me, she says, a celebrated prima donna.
Think of that, Benny."
" Oh ! that is bully ! I'm so glad, Su/y ! How happy
you will be ! " exclaimed the boy, smiling brightly, in sym-
pathy with her good fortune.
" Yes, but I'm not glad ; and I shall not be happy. No
matter how fortunate I may be, how could I be glad or
happy, knowing that you were away out there among stran-
gers and taskmasters in the convict colonies for fourteen
long years? I should be so miserable, Benny, that I don't
believe I ever could become a great prima donna," said
Suzy, weeping.
Benny burst into tears, and su')bed until his whole small
frame shook with emotion.
" Oh, don't cry so hard, Benny ! Please don't," ^aid the
little girl, embracing him. "You know you can change it
all, and make us quite happy."
Benny shook his head sadly.
"But now look ou the bright side just one minute,
Benny. Supposing you should give the information that is
wanted, and win your full pardon and get out of this, then
you'd be put into the Duchess' school, and be so clean and
comfortable and happy. And you would be training for a
profession there, while I should be training for the opera in
Paris. And in the holiday times you could even come over
to Paris to see me ; and whenever I should come to London
to see my mother, I would go to your school to see you.
And so we could visit each other and compare notes about
how we got on in our education, and be a pleasure to each
other and to our friends. But you would be the best of all
1G8 A NOBLE LORD.
pleasures to me, Beany," said the little girl, her face beam-
ing with bright anticipation.
" Oh, I wish I could ! I tvish I could ! " sighed the boy
from the depths of his troubled heart.
"And then," continued Suzy, who saw she was moving
him, "then. Benny, in a few years we should both of us
grow up. And I should be a prima donna at the grand
opera, and you they say you've got such talents, Benny !
you would be a great lawyer, and may be a member of
parliament. And we, who lived together when we were
babies in Junk Lane, would live together in a palace in
May Fair ! And we two would clothe the ragged and feed
the hungry, and build schools for the poor children."
" Oh ! I wish I could ! I wish I could ! " sobbed Benny.
" Oh, you can, child ! You can, if you will only think
so! " said Mrs. Melliss, Rachel Wood and Suzy Juniper, all
speaking at once.
" Oh, no, no, no, I can't ! I can't ! It an't for me ! It
an't for me ! " sobbed the boy, falling and rolling on the
stone floor of the cell, utterly overcome by the agony of
renunciation.
"You might tear that boy limb from limb with wild
horses, but you'd never move him from that point, mum,''
said a turnkey, who now made his appearance to tell the
visitors that "time was up," which meant that they were
to take leave and go.
"Good-bye, Benny! Oh! you poor child, good-bye!"
said Mrs. Melliss, holding out her hand to the boy.
He raised himself from his fallen position and gave his
hand to the lady, sobbing.
" You're not mad long o' me, because I can't peach, mis-
sus, be you ? "
" Mad ! no, my poor child, only deeply grieved ; for cer-
tainly your inability to do so, wherever it comes from, is
harder on you than on any one else."
BENNY'S STRUGGLE. 169
" And you'll come and see me once more, missus, before
they take me away ? "
"Yes, my boy; I will come again to-morrow."
" And bring Suzy ? "
"And bring Suzy."
" And you, Miss Rachel will you come ? And tell Mr.
Juniper and Mary Kempton. I want to bid 'em all good-
bye, before they take me away."
"Yes, my poor child. All shall come to take leave of
you," answered Rachel.
" Oh ! I wish I could see the little Faulkner children once
more before I go. But that's impossible. But, oh ! please,
Mrs. Melliss, ma'am, please tell 'em as I never helped to
rob the master's house."
''I will tell them, Benny, and they shall believe it," an-
swered the lady.
And then they all took leave of the boy, and followed the
turnkey out of the cell.
In the hall outside they met the chaplain, on his way
to visit the little prisoner.
The reverend gentleman warmly greeted Mrs. Melliss and
her companions, and then eagerly inquired :
" Have you succeeded in persuading him to give informa-
tion against those burglars ? "
"Ah, no! he is immovable on that point although the
prospects we held out to him were so bright and alluring.
Oh ! sir, if you had seen that poor child's agony, in re-
nouncing all that we offered him liberty, home, education,
friends, prosperity all upon a false idea of honor ! "
"Ah ! what strength to do and bear and suffer is in that
young heart ! Oh ! if it had but been trained aright ! "
sighed the chaplain.
"And I am so pained to think that now he must go out in
that transport ship, among the most hardened criminals,
and with no good influences around him ! "
170 A NOBLE LORD.
" But be comforted a little, madame. He will have good
influence. A Christian missionary is going out in the same
ship. I have recommended this hoy to his especial atten-
tion."
" Oh, I am so pleased to hear you say that ! " said the
lady.
, But the turnkey who was to see the visitors out, seemed
so very impatient, that the lady and her companions imme-
diately took leave of the chaplain and left the prison.
Faithful to their promise, they went the next day to New-
gate, to make still another appeal to the young prisoner, and
if it should not prove successful, to take a final leave of him.
On applying at the gate for admission, they were told HE
WAS GONE.
" ' GONE ! ' " they echoed simultaneously.
" Yes, gone," answered the turnkey ; " took off by Black
Maria* at seven o'clock this morning."
" But was not that a day sooner than was expected ? " in-
quired Mrs. Melliss.
" It were, ma'am, certainly; but it's none o' my business."
" Where is the transport ship ? "
" At Gravesend, ma'am if so be she have not sailed ;
which they were to sail as soon as the tide served, after get-
ting the convicts aboard."
" Rachel, Mary, Suzy, we will speed down to Gravesend !
We may be in time to take leave of him on the ship," said
Mrs. Melliss.
And they hurried out of the prison and into their cab.
And they feed the cabman heavily to make double time ;
And they sped to Gravesend and down to the water-side.
They inquired for the convict transport ship.
They were told that she had sailed, but that they might
yet catch a glimpse of her canvas as she stood out to sea.
* The prison van.
TRIUMPHS OF TIME. 171
CHAPTER XVII.
TRIUMPHS OF TIME. THE YOUNG PKIMA DONNA.
Hers was the spell o'er hearts
Which only Acting lends,
The youngest of the Sister Arts,
Whore all their beauty blends ;
For, by the gifted Actress brought,
Illusion's perfect triumphs come;
Verse ceases to be airy thought.
And Sculpture to be dumb. CAMPBELL.
FOURTEEN years have passed since our poor little outcast,
Benny Hurst, was transported to the penal colony of Van
Dieman's Land, to expiate a crime he never committed, and
since our pretty little "prodigy," Suzy Juniper, was taken
to Paris to be trained in her beautiful art.
These years have brought their trials and triumphs, and
wrought their changes for good or for evil, upon all the per-
sons concerned in our true story.
The Duke and Duchess of Cheviot, first in honor as in
place, are now a stately couple in early middle age.
They have a grown-up family around them : one hand-
some and talented son, and six beautiful and amiable
daughters.
Their son, the Earl of Wellrose, has faithfully kept the
promise of his boyhood as to the good he should do when
he should "grow to be a man." He now represents his
native borough of Cheviot, in the House of Commons, and
devotes all the powers of his fine mind to originating, sup-
porting and forwarding all wise, good and great measures
for the prevention of crime, the relief of suffering, the ele-
vation of the working classes, and for the general improve-
ment of the human race.
Their eldest daughter, the Lady Jessie Douglas, after
having been presented at Court, and having been crowned
the reigning belle of the season, gave her hand in marriage
172 A NOBLE LORD.
to the Viscount Moray, eldest son and heir of the Earl of
Ornoch.
Their second daughter, Lady Clemence Douglas, in her
turn presented, admired and flattered, ended her first season
by marrying young Elphiustoue of Elphinstone. This was
not so brilliant a marriage as that of her elder sister, but it
was, nevertheless, a very happy one, and, as such, quite sat-
isfactory to her parents.
Their next two daughters, Ladies Hester and Eva, had
been but very recently presented. They were as beautiful
and as much sought in marriage as their lovely elder sisters
had been, but they were still unwedded.
Their two youngest daughters, the Ladies Maud and
Mary, were still in the school-room.
So much for the Duke and Duchess of Cheviot and their
family.
Of the Earl of Ornoch and of his Countess, whom we first
knew as the beautiful Anglo-Indian, Hinda Chimboza, it is
only necessary to say that, having married their only son,
the Viscount Moray, to the lovely Lady Jessie Douglas,
they had but one remaining wish to give their one sweet
daughter, Lady Hinda Moray, in marriage to the handsome
and distinguished young Earl of Wellrose.
And Rumor says that the Earl is " nothing loath " to
accept the priceless gift.
The Elphinstoues of Elphinstone, whom we knew in their
youth as Captain Frank Harry and Lady Margaret Doug-
las, are blessed with a numerous family, the eldest of which,
a son, married, as we know, the second daughter of the
Duke of Cheviot.
And the wealthy banker, Walter Melliss, and his lovely
young wife Angela? What of them?
In years the banker has grown old, but he is still enjoy-
ing a vigorous and " green old-age."
His lovely wife is no longer young, but is if possible more
TRIUMPHS OF TIME. 173
beautiful in her ripe maturity than she had ever been even
in her youth.
Poor Molly Faulkner never married again ; but devoted
and still devotes herself to the care of her children, now
grown, or fast growing up. They live in a pretty villa at
Brompton.
The Duchess' School for Indigent Boys still flourishes
under the care of the Reverend Mr. Miles as Head Master
and Miss Rachel Wood as Matron. Rachel has kept her
word never to marry. Her whole affections are fixed upon
her adopted boy. He is a pupil in the school, and promises
soon to take, its very highest honors.
Mary Kempton is well married to a dissenting minister,
and having no children of their own, they work diligently
among the neglected children of the ignorant and the poor.
The Juniper family have long since emigrated to Aus-
tralia, where they are prosperous sheep farmers.
I have had to record many changes in these few pages ;
but then fourteen years had fled.
It is now the middle of April and the height of the Lon-
don season. Parliament is in session ; the Queen has held
her first drawing-room ; and the Italian Opera has opened
at Covent Garden.
Three sensations in chief occupy the fashionable mind
and employ the fashionable tongue.
First the rising young statesman, Lord Wellrose, who now
represented the borough of Cheviot in the house of Com-
mons, and had first taken his seat at the meeting of Parlia-
ment in the preceding February, had just made his " maiden
speech," which had waked up the dozing old Conservatives
to the knowledge that they had now for an opponent a very
strong young giant-killer indeed, and that his war upon the
worn-out policy of the past would be to the death.
Secondly, the new beauty, the Lady Hinda Moray, the
daughter of the Earl and Countess of Ornoch, had been
174 A NOBLE LORD.
presented at the Queen's first drawing-room, and was voted
by all the clubs in London to be the most brilliantly beauti-
ful girl in England save one.
And that brings us to the cause of the third sensation
the lovely young prima donna of the Italian Opera the
fairy-like, wondrous "Arielle," of whom men said that she
was more a " spirit " than a woman, and whose beauty,
grace, genius and goodness were the themes of every
tongue.
She made the greatest sensation of all. Her worshippers
were unnumbered. And among them were to be found the
most noble, princely and imperial dignitaries in Europe.
But her only favored lover, Rumor said, was the new
lion of the liberal party, the rising young statesman, the
handsome and talented Earl of "VVellrose.
It had been thought natural, proper and probable that
the Earl should marry his distant 3 r oung relative, Lady
Hinda Moray, the reigning beauty of Belgravia. It was
certain that such a marriage would be highly gratifying to
the respective families of the j-outhful pair ; certain also
that the attentions of the young Earl to the young beauty
and her evident pleasure in receiving them, had given strong
color to the rumor of their intended marriage; finally it was
equally certain that the Duke and Duchess of Cheviot and
the Earl and Countess of Ornoch looked forward with confi-
dence to this desired union, which they considered merely a
question of some little time.
But this was before the Italian Opera came, and before
the fair young prima donna electrified London with her
marvellous beauty and genius.
The Earl of Wellrose, in his character of constant attend-
ant, went with Lady Hiuda and her mother to hear the cel-
ebrated singer on the night of her first appearance in Lon-
don. Arielle that night carried the hearts of her audience
by storm. It would be scarcely too much to say that every
TRIUMTHS OF TIME. 175
man present, young or old, gentle or simple, fell more or less
in love with the most lovely songstress.
Among them, the Earl of Wellrose.
The next night he avoided the private boxes occupied by
his mother and her friends. And he took a stall in the
orchestra where, undisturbed, he could feast his eyes and ears
on the beautiful vision before him.
That next night also, after the performance was over, he
went behind the scenes and effected an introduction to
Arielle.
The fair singer looked at him with so much surprise and
interest as to excite the wonder of those present, and to draw
from herself an apology and explanation :
" Forgive me, my lord. I was startled a little. But what
shall I say ? Your lordship's face and voice seemed to me
so familiar, so intimate like those of one that I had always
been used to see and hear. Ah ! pray forgive me, for after
all I find it quite impossible to explain, or even to understand
myself," she said, with a very sweet, naive smile.
The Earl bowed.
" If face, or voice," he said, " recall to you any pleasant
association of the past, I shall begin to set a value upon
both, that neither ever had before."
She looked up at him again, and caught the warmth of
his smile and the light of his eyes, and she forthwith in-
vited him to supper ; a very imprudent thing to do on such
a short acquaintance ; but then Suzy for of course you
know this was Suzy did many an imprudent thing, though
she never did a wicked one ; and then, to be sure, the Earl
of Wellrose was not like other young men : he was a young
man of perfectly unimpeachable conduct and character;
and then, again, he was so like Benny ! He was the very
image of Benny, grown up and well dressed of poor lost
Benny, fourteen years gone, never heard of, but never for-
gotten, and never unloved.
176 A NOBLE LORD.
Through all the successes of her brilliant youth she had
remembered and mourned the companion of her childhood
mourned him all the more for the deep sadness of the
contrast between his fate and hers.
With the world at her feet, she sighed for the poor boy
who had played with her in her infancy.
Crowned with fame and wealth and surrounded with lux-
ury and adulation as she was, she often sighed for the poor
old days in the tenement house in Junk Lane, where they
were often cold and always hungry, and where they had
nothing in the world to comfort them but only love.
Ah, but how much love she had had then ! father's and
mother's love, sister's and brother's love, and her dear play-
mate, Benny's love ! nay, his whole, whole heart ! for
Benny knew neither father nor mother, sister nor brother, to
divide his affections with Suzy.
Ah, even in the midst of her brilliant fortunes, how she
longed sometimes to go back, if only for a few days, to the
poor old times and poor old places, dearer to her memory,
dearer to h'er faithful heart, even for their poverty, and to
live over again the poor old life, sweetened by the presence
of all she had loved and lost !
Then arid there they were all together, and though often
half-famished or half-frozen, yet they were all fond of each
other; and then, when food or fire were attainable, how
passing sweet they were, enjoj'ed by all together!
Now they were scattered far and wide father, mother,
sisters and brothers, except one were all at the antipodes,
and though she was glad to know that they were all pros-
pering in their distant homes, still there were times when
she longed, with an unutterable and insupportable longing,
to hear some dear home voice, to see some familiar old face.
And Benny? where was he? A guiltless convict in a
distant penal colony beyond the seas. Lost, gone and un-
heard of for fourteen long years.
TRIUMPHS OF TIME. 177
Fourteen years that had developed herself, the poor little
" prodigy " of the Thespian, into the most celebrated prima
donna of her time.
Fourteen years that had done what, for Benny ?
Thus, looking back upon the past, thinking of the number
of years that had gone by, she recollected that they formed
the exact term for which Benny had been transported to Van
Dieman's Land ; and that should he now be living, he might
now return again to his native land.
If he should now be living ? But who could tell whether
indeed he were ? Was it likely he could have survived the
long years of exile, sorrow and shame that he must have
suffered ? Who can tell ?
It was while these thoughts were passing through her
mind, and the memory of old times was revived all the more
vividly by the presence of old places and old associations, on
her return to England, that Suzy, as we shall call her when
off the stage, first met the young Earl of Wellrose, to be
startled and overcome by his wonderful, his perfect likeness
to her dear, lost old playmate, Benny.
Do you wonder now that she was startled into suddenly
inviting him to supper ?
Somewhat surprised and amused, but also quite pleased
with this unexpected mark of confidence, the young Earl
accepted the invitation as frankly as it was given.
That evening he forgot or disregarded all other claims
upon his time and attention, and went to sup with Suzy at
her elegant little palace in Park Lane, that had been en-
yaged, furnished, for her use before she left Paris for
London.
There she now lived, guarded by her elder brother Wil-
liam, whom we used to know in Junk Lane as Billy Juniper,
chiefly remarkable for his love of " horse cake," but now
grown up to be a very fine looking youug man indeed, with
11
178 A NOBLE LORD.
a full tawny beard, and, alas ! also a very fast young man,
with a taste for cigars, wine and dice.
He had emigrated to Australia with the rest of his family,
but not liking colonial life and agricultural labor, light as it
was with him, and hearing that his sister had made a most
brilliant debut in Paris, and thinking that she was going to
have a very good time, and loving pleasure himself better
than anything else in the world, he had made up his mind
to come back to England and live with Suzy to take care of
her, as he said. He had joined her in Paris, and accompa-
nied her to London, and was now living with her in her mini-
ature palace in Park Lane.
And there is no doubt that in one sense he did take care
of her.
Besides her brother there was also a grave matron, the
childless widow of a poor curate, who lived with Suzy as
housekeeper and companion.
These were the people that the young Earl met, the first
evening he supped with Suzy. And certainly he was some-
what surprised at the very quiet domestic life of the cele-
brated prima donna, and somewhat disappointed also, that
there was not the slightest chance of a tete-a-tete with his
charming hostess.
As for Suzy, she was deeply delighted with her guest.
It seemed to her that her old playmate, poor Benny, sat
opposite to her, as she had always dreamed and hoped that
he would grown up, well educated, well dressed, good and
happy !
The Earl was such a perfect counterpart of the outcast,
that, as she looked at him, she almost deluded herself into
the belief that -lie was really Benny redeemed and transfig-
ured before her.
This imbued her looks and tones, when addressing her
guest, with an involuntary friendliness and tenderness that
was as free from the least shade of immodesty or coquetry
TRIUMPHS OF TIME.
as from any other sort of guile. And the young Earl did
not misjudge the purity of her heart, though he could not
quite understand her manners.
But every moment he found her more lovely, and every
moment it seemed more difficult to leave her.
He did not overstay his time, however; but when it came,
he arose and took leave feeling that he had spent one of
the happiest evenings he had ever seen in his life.
As soon as their guest had gone, Mr. William Juniper
turned upon his beautiful sister, and said:
" I say, Suzy, this won't do, you know ! "
" What won't do, Willy ? " she inquired, raising her
brows.
" How long have you known this swell?" he demanded,
without answering her question.
" The Earl ? Only since this evening."
" Whee-ew ! " exclaimed Master Willy, with a long whis-
tle " this is getting on ! But I say, you know, Suzy, this
really ivon't do ! "
" What won't do, Willy, I ask you again ? "
"T/m won't. This swell won't. He's a flight above
your reach, I can tell you, Suzy, if you are a prima donna!
He's the Earl of Wellrose, the Duke of Cheviot's son, and
heir. That's what he is."
" I know what he is. And I do not care for that. I
liked him at first sight, because he didn't seem like a
stranger at all, but like an old, old, dear, dear friend. He
felt near to me, Willy."
" Well, I swear ! If that isn't the softest rubbish I ever
heard in all the days of my life ! It's well I sacrificed all
my prospects in Australia and came over here to look after
you, blest if it isn't ! See here, Suzy ! That swell's over
head and ears in love with you, and don't take no trouble to
conceal it. And similar!)'' you act as if you were over head
and ears in love with him, aud didn't care about hiding it.
180 A NOBLE LORD.
Blest if it isn't a good thing I did come to take care of
you !
" Willy, I can take care of myself. I am of age. And
you may go a trifle too far. I will not have my guests
affronted. You know nothing of the exigencies of my life.
I must live here as I lived at Paris, Berlin, St. Petersburg
and other continental cities. I must give elegant little sup-
pers here as I did there. And you are not, because you are
kind enough to ' take care of me ' you are not to fancy
every gentleman an ogre, and affront my visitors. I shall
receive the Earl, as I receive others. Good-night," said
Suzy.
And she retired, and left her rough but well-meaning
brother to his own reflections.
Did Suzy receive the Earl as she received her other
guests? No doubt she intended to do as she said, for she
was the very soul of truth and honor.
However that might be, it is certain that from that eve-
ning forth, the brilliant young patrician, Lady Hinda
Moray, missed from her circle the most favored of her
admirers, while the lovely prima donna numbered among
her worshippers the handsome and talented Earl of Well-
rose.
Rumor soon connected the name of the rising statesman
with that of the renowned songstress, and whispered that
Arielle would add one more to an illustrious list of artistes
raised by marriage to the peerage.
Of course this rumor never, by any chance, reached the
ears of the Duke or Duchess of Cheviot. They believed
their son was pleased with the Lady Hiuda, and that in due
season he would propose and be accepted by her.
The Duke, however, though a handsome, healthy man in
the prime of life, was growing rather impatient to see the
perpetuation of his race insured.
So one day he took his son to task.
TRIUMPHS OF TIME. 181
"As my heir and only son, Wellrose, I confess that I feel
anxious to see you married. You admire Hinda Moray,
and she likes you. What should delay your early mar-
riage ? " he inquired.
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Lord Wellrose, "un-
less it is that I feel there is still a plenty of time to spare."
" Ah, yes ! ' plenty of time,' if all my daughters were
sons, Wellrose, or if a few of them were. But as I have but
one son, I confess that I should like to see half a dozen
grandsons or so. Now I do not know what should hinder
your marriage."
"Hinda might hinder it," laughed the young Earl.
" Find that out immediately for yourself, my son. Ask
her, ask her. The sooner the better," said the Duke.
Lord Wellrose laughed, but gave no pledge.
He had really not made up his mind on the subject.
He was very fond of his distant cousin, the beautiful
Lady Hinda; he was also very much charmed by the lovely
young singer. He said of them that they were beyond all
question the two most perfect beauties in Europe Hinda
being the most beautiful brunette, and Arielle the most
beautiful blonde.
But at this period he was not really very deeply in love
with either of them, or with any one else. His mind was
more occupied with a great and comprehensive bill that he
was about to bring before the House for the reclamation of
juvenile offenders and the amelioration of the condition of
the destitute classes, than with any question of love or mar-
riage.
And yet every evening when he was not in his seat at
the House of Commons, he might be seen in an orchestra
stall at the Italian Opera, and afterwards in the elegant
drawing-room of the young prima donna, at Park Lane.
Ah, if he had only known that then his sole attraction
for Suzy was not his manly beauty, his brilliant talents, his
182 A NOBLE LORD.
rank or wealth, but his perfect likeness to her early friend
Benny !
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PKIMA DONNA AND THE RETURNED CONVICT.
Yet scorn not thou, for this, the true
And steadfast love of years,
The kindness that from childhood grew,
The laithful to thy tears. FELICIA HEMANS.
IT happened one evening after the opera was over, that
Lord Wellrose was conducting the beautiful prima donna to
her brougham, that was waiting at the stage door.
As usual a great crowd was around the door waiting to
get a glimpse of Arielle as she passed.
One young man in particular, pale, emaciated and poorly
dressed, was pressed so near the carriage as to be seriously
in the way of the Earl, as he handed the actress to her
seat.
" Stand aside, my good fellow j you impede us," said his
lordship.
But at the same instant a slight scream from Arielle
startled him.
" Stand aside, sir ! " he repeated sternly. " Do you not
see that you are really frightening the lady? "
"Oh, no, no; he doesn't! he doesn't frighten me, my
lord ! He is Benny my dear old playmate Benny, whom
I have not seen nor heard of for fourteen long years !
Move a little, "my lord, if you please. And oh, Benny,
come here to me, my dear!" said Suzy, leaning from the
carriage, unceremoniously pushing the Earl out of the way,
and beckoning the pale spectre to approach.
He came at once, the crowd still pressing closer behind
him to get a sight of the beautiful singer, whose unvailed
PRIM A DONNA AND THE CONVICT. 183
face was now leaning from the carriage door in full view of
all.
Suzy neither cared for them, nor even saw them. She
only saw the friend of her childhood.
" Oh, Benny ! I am so glad to see you, and so so grieved
to see you this way ! " she added, bursting into tears of
mingled joy and sorrow.
"And to think you should know me, after all that is
come and gone ! And to think you should speak to me,
now you are so famous and so wealthy ! " murmured the
poor young man, in a voice choked with emotion.
" Oh, Benny, did you think that could make any differ-
ence with me ? Oh, get in here and come home with me,
and tell me all that has happened to you since we saw you ! "
she said, clasping both his hands and drawing him toward
herself.
Almost involuntarily he yielded to the impulse. And
before he realized what he was doing, he found himself
seated opposite to her in the pretty little brougham.
Once more she leaned from the carriage window, and said
to the astonished Earl, who was standing near :
" Lord Wellrose, will you kindly beckon a policeman to
clear the way ? These people are so rude ! And please
also tell the coachman, " Home ! " she added.
" I wonder if I am awake," muttered the Earl to himself,
as he obeyed all the orders so cavalierly given him.
The police cleared the way. The coachman started his
horses, and in due time the little brougham drew up to the
miniature palace in Park Lane.
" Open the Rose parlor, Smith ; and mind, I'm not at
home to any one at all this evening ! " she said to the ser-
vant who attended the door.
" If Lord Wellrose should call as usual, Miss ? " inquired
the man, hesitating.
" Not at home to him either. Not at home to any one,
I tell you ! Now open the Hose parlor ! ;;
184 A NOBLE LORD.
The man, after a furtive glance toward his mistress'
strange companion, led the way to the back of the house,
and opened a door leading into a lovely bower, fitted up and
decorated with rose-colored furniture and hangings, and
opening upon a conservatory of the rarest and riches roses.
" Serve supper here as soon as possible. Tell Mrs. Brown
she need not join me this evening," said Suzy to the
bewildered servant, who went out, muttering to himself:
" Veil, if this 'ere an't the rummest go as hever I see !
That young cove be some poor, misrepertable relation or
other of hern, as is a blackmailing on her, or something ! "
Meanwhile Suzy turned toward her poor guest, and
noticed again how very thin and pale he looked, and yet how
perfect, notwithstanding, was the likeness between him and
the Earl of Wellrose !
The outcast seemed but the faded and defaced counter-
part of the Earl.
" Oh, Benny, dear, sit down ! Oh, Benny, I am so glad
and so grieved to see you ! Sit down, Benny !" she said,
as she threw off her own light opera hood and cloak, and
dropped into one of the luxurious little chairs.
The poor outcast turned his eyes around the room with a
dazed and bewildered look, and then fixing them on. her
compassionate face, answered :
" I am not fit to sit down here."
" Oh, don't say that, Benny ! Don't say that, brother,
or you'll make me wish, for all that has come and gone, that
we were both children, back in Junk Lane again. Please
sit down, Benny," she pleaded, beginning to weep.
He looked around again upon the rich and delicate chair
coverings white satin, embroidered with roses and he
sighed as he sank into the nearest seat.
" Dear Benny," she said, drawing her chair toward him,
"when did you get back? Have you been in London
long? And why didn't you find me out, and come to see
PRIM A DONNA AND THE CONVICT. 185
me ? " she continued, hurrying question upon question with
breathless eagerness.
" My time was out last Michaelmas, you know," said
Benny, answering a little aside from her questions. "And
I longed to get home. Oh, Suzy, you don't know how one
longs to get home when they're in a foreign land and not
allowed to come. I used to dream of home."
" Home ! Ah ! poor boy, what sort of a home has
England been to you ? What sort of a home has the world
been to you, poor Benny ! " she said, and her eyes filled
with tears.
" But it was home. And all I loved in the world was
here. And all these long years of exile I did so long and
weary to get home. At length I think Heaveii took pity
on me, and sent me home every night."
"Sent you home every night, Benny?"
"In dreams, I mean. Yes, every night as soon as my
eyes would close in sleep, I would be at home. I used to
long for night to come, so I could go to sleep and go home.
And every day I used to tire myself out with more work
than I need to have done, so I might be sure to go to sleep
at night and go home in my dreams. At last, when the
long, long years all rolled by, and my time was out, I took
passage in the very first ship that was homeward bound.
And, Suzy, I never was so happy in all my life, as I was
when I stood on the deck of that ship, and she stood out to
sea with her head toward home ! " said the poor outcast, his
pale face lighting up again with pleasure at the recollection.
" Home ! Oh, poor boy ! home ! " repeated Suzy, with
sorrowful sarcasm.
" Yes, home ! Ah ! you've never been outcast from your
native land, or you'd know the feeling on getting back
again. It was a long voyage though. And we only reach-
ed London three days ago. It was night when we dropped
our anchor, Suzy ; but I was one of the first to come ashore.
186 A NOBLE LORD.
I bent down and kissed the ground, Suzy ! I did! I cried
too. I could not help it. That same night I went to the
house in Junk Lane. But all the people that I used to
know there are gone, not only from the house, but from the
neighborhood. And the house is turned into a ragged
school by day and a lodging for the homeless by night."
" Yes, Benny, that is Mrs. Melliss' charity."
" Is it ? How good she is ! I remember her so well !
Suzy, I lodged in that house that night. I slept in your
mother's old room, where you and I used to play together
and have grand parties out of ha'pennies' worths of ginger-
bread or taffy," said the poor outcast, with the old tender-
ness melting his blue eyes, and the old sad smile wrinkling
his pale cheeks.
" Oh ! did you, Benny ? Did you, really ? Oh ! I should
so love to see the poor, dear old place again ! Some day
you and I will go there and see it together, Benny, for the
sake of old times." she answered, with a sympathetic smile.
But the outcast sadly shook his head.
" That will never do, Suzy," he said. " For the sake of
' old times,' you may let me sit and talk to you here in your
own house. But you must never be seen in public with
such as I."
'' Oh, Benny, Benny ! You hurt my very heart when
you talk that way ! Don't I tell you all that has come and
gone can make no difference between you and me ? You
are Benny and I am Suzy ! " She wept.
" You are a renowned prima donna and I am a returned
convict," he answered.
" Benny ! Benny ! you will break my heart. You never
deserved to be cast down so low ; I never deserved to be
lifted up so high. And it makes me wish I could roll back
all these years and find ourselves children again, in the
poor, dear old tenement house, with all our dear friends
around us ! " she said, weeping abundantly.
PRIMA DONNA AND THE CONVICT. 187
" Don't cry, Suzy ! Indeed I didn't mean to hurt you.
But }-ou must look facts in the face, dear. It is not fit that
1 should be seen with you"
"And why is it not? You look like a gentleman, Ben-
ny ; you speak like a gentleman ; you are a gentleman,
Benny, notwithstanding all that has come and gone ; and
in heart and soul you always were a gentleman, Benny.
And you need only to be well dressed to be seen anywhere
with anybody. Well, there ! you are the living image of
Lord Wellrose that is, Lord Wellrose in poor health. If
you could get your health and a fashionable suit of clothes, I
do not believe any one could tell either of you apart. Yes,
you are a natural gentleman, Benny; while I Nothing
on earth can ever make a lady of me ; and I have sense
enough to know it."
"I am no fit judge of a lady or a gentleman, Suzy; but
I know one thing ; that your good, true heart is worth a
kingdom, if a man had it to give you."
" I wish all that was so, for your sake, Benny. But now
tell me what you have been doing since you got back to
England, and why you did not seek me out and come to
see me. You say you lodged in the poor, dear old room we
used to play in. Now what did you do the next day ? "
" The next day I walked to the Strand. And the fust
thing I noticed there was the great bills posted everywhere,
with 'ARIELLE!' I knew the name, Suzy. I knew it
must be yours. I remembered that day, at the Helenic
Gardens, when you danced under the name of Arielle. So
I went to Covent Garden, and hung about the Theatre all
day, in the hope of seeing you go in or come out from
rehearsal. But I did not see you."
"I was not at rehearsal that day. But why, Bennj-,
didn't you go to the box-office, and find out my address
and come to see me ? "
" Look at me, Suzy. Was it likely that I would wrong
188 A NOBLE LORD.
you so much as to go inquiring after yon, as if I were an
acquaintance? No, Suzy. But I watched again at night.
And I saw a very elegant little brougham drive up to the
stage door. And I heard the loungers on the corner say,
' That is she ! ' And I saw you come out of the carriage
closely vailed, and go in at the stage door."
" Oh, Benny ! Why did you not make yourself known to
me, then and there?"
" Why ? Ah, Suzy ! /, a poor, returned convict ! You,
a celebrated prima donna. Would it have been likely that
I should affront you so grossly as to claim acquaintance with
you there ? No, dear, no ! But from that hour I watched
morning and evening, and 1 saw you every time you came
and went."
" You did ! And you never made yourself known to me !
And I never saw you ! And I suppose, if I had not chanced
to see you to-night and speak to you, you never would
have come to me."
" Never, Suzy never, for your sake ! But I should
have watched you from a distance, and I should have
delighted in your triumphs, all the same. It was the
pressure of the crowd that forced me up against your
carriage and precipitated this denouement. "
11 Yes. I bless the crowd, though I blamed it, only this
evening. But denouement, Benny ? I have been noticing
all this evening that you no longer speak as you used to
speak when a boy. You have improved yourself, Benny ? "
she said, looking in his face.
" Yes, perhaps, a little. You know I learned to read and
write while I was in prison here. Well, when a boy knows
how to read and write and wishes to gain knowledge, he can
learn almost anything else. I have taken every opportunity
to learn as much as I could."
" I am so glad to hear you say that, dear Benny ! But I
think, Benny, that when you showed such a good disposition
PRIM A DONNA AND THE CONVICT. 189
to improve yourself, they might have pardoned you and sent
you home ! / do."
"Why, Suzy, did they acquit me because I was innocent?
No ! They convicted me because I would not betray my sup-
posed accomplices. And do you think that they would par-
don me because I had been unjustly convicted, or because I
behaved well under that ordeal? No! because still I would
not betray my supposed accomplices, whom the authorities
were so very anxious to arrest. No, Suzy ! I had to
' dree my weird,' as the Scotch say. In other words, I had
to bear my doom. And now, Suzy, since you are so kind
and good to me, tell me what has become of all our old
friends ; for I have not been able to find any of them, or to
hear news of any of them. And first of all, your own
family, Suzy."
" They are all in Australia. You see, my father and my
brothers were unwilling to be always dependent upon me,
though I could have kept them all in comfort all their days,
and would have been willing to work for them all my life, if
I could only have kept them with me. But they took the
Australian fever, and must needs go out there and try their
fortunes at sheep farming. So the first thousand pounds I
made, clear of expenses, I gave to my father and sent them
all out."
" And they all left you ? "
" Every one ! And I thought my heart must have broken,
for I had not a soul near me who loved me, or whom I loved.
And, Benny, the very night that I achieved my first and
greatest triumph, when I knew that all the city was ringing
with my name, I sat down and wept in solitude and home-
sickness, and longed for the poor old times in the poor old
house in Junk Lane, with my father and mother and you to
love me ! "
" Ah, Suzy ! Suzy ! I wish you could accept your brilliant
destiny with gratitude and joy."
190 A NOBLE LORD.
" But I cannot. Never mind that. Whom else do you
wish to hear of, Benny ? "
" My poor mother."
" Still hopelessly insane, Benny ! I visit her, for your
sake, on every visiting day."
"The Kemptons?"
" Mary is married to a Baptist preacher at Corydon, and
is doing well. The rest of her family went out to Australia
with mine. Mrs. Melliss paid their way."
" Eachel Wood ? "
" Is matron of the Duchess' School for Destitute Boys.
But you knew she was going to be, before you left."
" Yes. Captain Faulkner's widow and children ? "
" They live at Brompton, supported by Mrs. Faulkner's
father. The children are grown up, as you and I, Benny.
Is there any one else you would like to hear of? "
"No, no one else."
" And here comes the footman, to announce supper," said
Suzy, as a man-servant drew aside a sliding door that divided
the little apartment, and displayed an elegant little supper-
table set for two.
Suzy took the arm of her poor friend and went to the
table.
Her glance compelled the waiting footman to show as
much respect to her poorly clad guest as if he, that guest,
had been the Earl instead of the Outcast.
A few minutes after supper was over, Benny arose to take
his leave.
" Come to me at two to-morrow afternoon, Benny. I have
something particular to say to you," said Suzy. as he bade
her good-night.
The poor outcast bowed, and promised.
TWO FATES. 191
CHAPTER XIX.
TWO FATES.
\VTiy. let the stricken deer go weep,
The hart, ungalled, play;
For some must watch, while some may sleep,
Thus runs the world away. HAMLET.
SUZY slept little and wept much that night. And it
took a great deal of rose-water to cool her eyes the next
morning, before she went to rehearsal.
In the green-room she fouud Lord Wellrose, apparently
waiting for her evidently curious to hear some explanation
of her strange conduct, and some account of her stranger
acquaintance of the night before.
Though courtesy obliged him to he quite silent upon the
subject until she should speak, yet she quickly perceived his
uneasiness, and in the intervals hetween her business in the
rehearsals, she talked to him of her early life and humble
friends.
"You know, my lord," she said, "that I am a child of
the people "
" Like Rachel, Ristori, Jenny Lind "
"And all the rest," she added. "But, my lord, I was
much humbler horn than any of those. I could scarcely
have been poorer, lower, than I was in my childhood. If
Madame Vesta had not seen me and pitied me, I should
never have been richer or higher, I think."
" You ' think.' Well, let that go, for the present."
" In my childhood I had a friend, dearer to me than any
one else in the world. We were of the same age. My
mother used to tell me that we were fond of each other in
our cradles, and that strangers always took us for twins.
When we were but a few months old, Benny's mother used
to leave him with my mother when she went out to work.
In the same way on Sundays, my mother used to leave me
192 A NOBLE LORD.
with Benny's mother while she went to work. That was
the way in which the baby love began. I do not remember
that ; but so far back as I do remember, we two were insep-
arable companions. There's the prompter's call ! " she ex-
claimed, breaking off from her narrative to run upon the
stage and sing her part.
Lord Wellrose walked np and down the green-room, his
soul flooded with the tide of harmony that swelled from the
stage and filled the building.
After a while she came back to him, and took up her
subject just where she had left off.
" We were very, very poor ! As I told you, we could
scarcely have been poorer. We were very often half fam-
ished and half frozen. But we shared everything with each
other. When Benny had no fire, I brought him in to ours.
W T hen we had no fire, Benny took me in to his. If Benny
had a ha'penny roll, he always divided it with me. If I
had one, I shared it with him. We two poor little heathen
were like the primitive Christians in one respect we ' had
all things in common.' The call-boy again ! " she exclaim-
ed, breaking off and running away.
There was another rapture of divine harmony, that filled
the place and transfigured the world for a time, and then
again she came back and resumed her reminiscences.
" You may judge, Lord Wellrose, how dear to my soul
was this friend of my childhood."
"I can judge."
" But I could never make you realize how gentle, affec-
tionate, compassionate he was ; how true and faithful he
was ; how utterly unselfish, how devoted to his friends.
And yet, Lord Wellrose, there were those about him, those
lie loved and trusted, who taught him always evil for good;
who led him into sin by his own purest affections; who
taught him, for love of them, to break the laws of God and
man, and to believe that he was doing a brave and good
TWO FATES. 193
deed. My lord, you, in speaking of your own pure child-
hood, have told me how you used to boast of the great
things you would do for humanity, when you ' should grow
to be a man.' Benny would caress his starving companions
and beg them not to mind, for that he would ' crack a case '
and get them plenty of ' prod ' when he should ' grow a big
man.' All this, you see, out of the misled goodness of his
heart."
" It is very deplorable."
"Yes; but I loved Benny dearly, notwithstanding all.
You may judge, therefore, Lord Wellrose, what a deep, last-
ing, incurable sorrow it was to me, when I was entrapped by
an artful detective into betraying my dear playmate to the
hands of the police, to trial, to conviction, to transportation
for fourteen years ! And all for a crime that he never com-
mitted ! "
Here Suzy dropped her face upon her hands and wept.
Lord Wellrose was deeply touched. He laid his hand upon
her bowed head, and in earnest, tender tones, inquired:
" Can I do anything for him, for you ? "
Suzy sadly shook her head.
'No; thanks, but no, you can do nothing. He had to
' dree his weird ! ' It is over now. He is back here again.
It was he whom I met last night. You do not wonder now
at anything I did, do you ? "
"Indeed, no. And I should like to do something for the
young man."
" If there should be anything that you There ! I must
go again," she said, hastily drying her eyes, and hurrying
off to take her part in the last and longest scene of the
rehearsal.
When it was over, she once more rejoined Lord Wellrose
in the green-room.
He asked permission to attend her to her home.
''Thanks, no; not this morning, if you please, my lord.
12
A NOBLE LORD.
Come this evening, after the opera, if you have no other
engagement, and I shall be very glad to receive you," she
said, with a smile.
Lord Wellrose handed her to her carriage, bowed, and
went away very thoughtful.
And Suzy drove home to her pretty house in Park Lane,
to keep her appointment with Benny.
As soon as she entered the hall, the footman in attend-
ance touched his forehead and said :
" If you please, Miss, the person that was here last night
have come again, and is waiting to see you."
" Where is he ? "
" In the servants' hall, Miss."
"In the servants' hall!" echoed Suzy angrily.
"If you please, Miss, he rang the servants' bell at the
servants' door, and said he would wait in the servants' hall,
himself," said the footman, who strongly suspected that the
strange visitor was some poor, shabby, disreputable relation
of his 3*oung mistress.
" Then show him into my sitting-room. And never keep
him waiting in the servants' hall again. He is a very old
friend of mine. Do you hear ? "
" Yes, Miss," said the man, touching his forehead as he
turned to go upon his errand.
Suzy went into her bright little sitting-room, fragrant and
blooming with the bouquets that had been showered upon
her the evening before ; and she threw off her bonnet and
vail, and her rich India shawl, and sat down to wait for
Benny.
He came at last, ushered in by the same doubting foot-
man, who immediately shut the door and withdrew.
He was still very pale and thin still like the faded out
fac-simile of Lord Wellrose ; and his clothes were very,
very shabby, but his face and hands were as clean as those
of any gentleman ; and his fair hair, combed back from his
TWO FATES.
broad, pale forehead, turned into the soft curls so familiar to
Suzy's memory of his childhood.
" Good-morning, Benny. I am very glad to see you.
Oh, dear ! I didn't mean that. I should have said that to
the Earl or anybody. Benny, dear, I am gladder, much
gladder to have you back in England, than I have been of
anything else that has happened to me since you were forced
away," she said, giving him both her hands, as her eyes
filled with tears.
" You are ! oh, you are wonderfully good to me, Suzy ! "
he faltered, with much emotion.
"No, I'm not. I'm a heathen, I think, to have let you
go away, Heaven knows where, last night, when I had four
or five empty rooms in the house. A very heathen,
Benny ! "
"Suzy, you are a saint, more like. And you were right
to let me go. Besides, iny dear, I would not have staid for
a thousand guineas," he answered gravely.
" But why ? But sit down first, Benny. Sit down, and
then tell me what you mean why you would not have
staid in my house ; and, moreover, why you went to the
servants' door this morning, and waited in the servants'
hall ? "
" Because, dear Suzy, dear, fortunate sister, I could not
do otherwise without injuring you. It is not fit or right
that I should visit you at all. Much as I longed to see you,
I should not have come here at all, if I had not so faithfully
promised to do so. When I did come, I purposely rang at
the servants' door and waited in the servants' hall, as became
the poor fellow that I am. For, Suzy, what am I ? Not even
a ticket-of-leave man! Worse even than that! I am a
returned convict, who had to serve out his full term of
punishment."
Suzy burst into tears and wept vehemently, saying, be-
tween her sobs :
196 A NOBLE LORD.
"Oh, Benny, Benny, never, never say anything like that
to me again. It cuts through and through my heart like a
knife ! You were sent out there for the sins of others, not
for your own. You ought at least soon to have had a
ticket-of-leave, and chance and help to recover and improve!
But no, you had neither. Oh, Benny, why was it that you
had neither ? I know you deserved both."
"Ah, no, Suzy; in the law I deserved no indulgence.
My fate followed me even out there. Listen, dear Suzy."
" Yes, Benny."
" You knew Tony, my step-father ? "
" Of course, Benny."
" And you knew the Nut Cracker ? "
" Nut Cracker ? No, Benny."
"No, of course you didn't. Well, he was a pal of my
step-father's, after my step-father went entirely to the bad.
It was my step-father who committed that burglary for
which I was lagged. I beg your pardon, Suzy ; I should
have said transported. I am trying to forget the thieves'
Latin as fast as I can, but the force of habit is very strong.
Well, it was Tony, my step-father, who committed the
crime for which I was transported. And it was the Nut
Cracker who received the stolen goods and disposed of them,
and who harbored father and me. I had nothing to do with
the burglary, and knew nothing about it until it was done
and over."
"Of course I always knew that you had nothing to do
with it, Benny."
"But, you see, I knew who did it, and where the thieves
and the goods were both to be found. And then the evi-
dence was very strong against me also. And I tell you,
Suzy, it was a great stretcli of clemency, or of policy, to
give me the chance, as the Court did, to clear myself by
turning Queen's evidence and giving up the burglars ! "
"Oh, if you had only, only done it and saved yourself!
BENJAMIN'S STORY. 197
Yon might now be a graduate of the Duchess' school, with
a presentation to Oxford," wept Suzy.
" Well, well, it was my fate to be compelled to do as I
did. I could not tell on them then, Suzy. I only tell you
now, because my doing so can now in no way hurt them,
while it will explain much in my after misfortunes."
" Yes, Benny. Go on."
CHAPTER XX.
BENJAMIN'S STORY.
" She bowed her head on her breast in ruth,
With the rose-buds loose iu her languid hands,
While he told her tales of his outcast youth
In the far-oil' convict lauds."
"I MUST explain that, on the voyage out to Van Die-
man's Land, the chaplain on the ship was very kind to me
and gave me instructions. When we reached the convict
colony, I was still kindly treated and put to light labor. I
tried to do right, and to please all in authority over me,
and I succeeded in doing so."
"You were always sure to please, dear Benny; you
always did."
"Ah! but my fate! After some months I was placed
out, as a gardener's boy, in the house of a wealthy colonist.
There also I tried to do right, and to please my master and
mistress, and still I succeeded."
" Of course, Benny."
'' But, ah ! my fate ! I had been in that service about
fifteen months, and was liked and trusted. One night,
during the temporary absence of my master, I was ordered
to sleep in the front hall of the house, for the better protec-
tion of the mistress and children. I slept in the hall four
nights, and nothing happened. On the fifth night I was
198 A NOBLE LORD.
waked up by screams. I started to my feet. It was pitch
dark in the house, and through the darkness there was the
sound of rushing feet and muttered oaths, and above all,
continued screams. I was groping toward the room from
which the screams came, and which was my mistress' room,
when there was a sudden rush of some one past me, and a
sudden flash of light and crash of sound, that was so close
it nearly blinded and deafened me. But in the instantane-
ous flash I saw the face of my step-father, with a pistol in
his hand, and I saw the fall of the woman he had shot, and
whose screams he had silenced forever."
" Oh, Heaven of Heavens ! how horrible ! " cried Suzy,
covering her face with her hands.
" Then there was the silence of death in the darkness.
And then a gathered group and a muttered conversation }
and then the flash of a match and a lighted candle, which
showed me my step-father Tony, the Nut Cracker, the
Drum Breaker, Cracksman Jack and two ill-looking men
who were strangers; and the murdered woman in a pool of
blood, on the floor at their feet.
"'All quieted,' said one of the strangers, as the light
flashed.
" ' Hello ! that's not so. Here's a kid must be silenced ! '
swore the other stranger, drawing a knife.
"'Let the kid alone! He belongs to me!' swore my
step-father, snatching the knife from the hand of his com-
rade. ' That's my son, that is, and I'm proud of him ! As
skillful a snakesman and as faithful a pal as you'd find in
the world. Why, bless you, he was lagged for us, when he
might a been let off if he'd listened to the gospel -grinders
and peached on us I An't that so, Cracksman ? '
" ' That's so,' said Cracksman Jack.
" 'Well, then, he must go along with us any ways/ said
the stranger.
" In horror of them, Suzy, I refused to go. They laughed
BENJAMIN'S STORY. 199
in ray face, and the Nut Cracker took hold of me, while the
others packed silver plate, jewelry, money, clothing and
even food into sacks brought by them for that purpose. I
implored my step-father by all I had suffered for him to
leave me alone.
" 'Would you stay here to be found and to be forced to
put the bobbies on our track, you little sarpiut? " inquired
Tony.
" I reminded him that I had never yet betrayed him.
" 'Well, then, you know if we was to leave you here, and
you the only one left alive, you'd be forced to give a full
and partic'lar account of this here ewent, or else to be
scragged as an accomplish. And you might be scragged
whether or no. And so the long and short of it is this, that
we must do one thing or the tother with you we must
either take you with us, or kill you where you stand.'
"'Kill me where I stand,' said I.
" ' Now, it's all for your own sake, you know, so I think
we'll take you with us. What do you say, pals ? ' he in-
quired of his companions.
" ' Brain him, and be done with it ! ' said one.
"'Yes, quiet him that way!' said another.
"'Fetch him along with us,' said the Nut Cracker.
'He stood by us in our trouble, and was game through
the whole on't.'
" So, Suzy, they decided to take me with them. I re-
sisted to the last. I had rather died then and there, than
have gone with them, I had such a horror of them. I had
been used too used to thieves, but not to murderers! And
oh ! I had by this time found out, that in order to escape
with all their booty, they had murdered all in the house
mother, babes, female servants all but myself, who im-
plored them to finish their bloody work and kill me."
With a slight cry, Suzy hid her face.
"Forgive me, dear, for telling you these horrible things,"
said Benny.
200 A NOBLE LORD.
" Go on. If you could live through them, I can surely
listen to them. Go on."
"I resisted to the last: but what could a slight hoy do
against six determined men? I hoped that they would kill
me when one of them raised his pistol ; but instead of fir-
ing it, he struck me a stunning blow on the head. That
was the last I knew, until I opened my eyes and found
myself in the bush."
" Your captors were the terrible Bushmen of the Colo-
nies, then ? "
" They were. I learned afterward that ray step-father,
Tony, and the Nut Cracker and Cracksman Jack and the
Drum Breaker had all been arrested and tried at the Old
Bailey, for the robbery of a bank and the wounding of a
watchman ; and that they had been convicted, and sen-
tenced to transportation for life. As very desperate char-
acters, they had been sent to Tasman's Peninsula, and set
to the hardest labor, under the severest restrictions. By a
deep concerted plot, they murdered their guard and made
their escape. Subsequently they joined the most formida-
ble gang of bush rangers in the colony, and they lived by
murder, robbery and rapine."
Suzy shuddered.
"But their end was drawing near, dear Suzy! I wan-
dered with them in the bush, their most unwilling captive,
until at length a strong body of soldiers, in conjunction
with armed police, was sent in pursuit of them, traced them
to one of their rendezvous, laid in ambush there, and sur-
prised and surrounded them. There was a desperate fight,
for they were desperate men. But every one of the gang
was killed or taken. My wretched step-father was mor-
tally wounded, and he died in jail before his trial came on.
Cracksman Jack was killed outright in the fight. The Nut
Cracker and the Drum Breaker were afterward executed."
" Oh ! horrible ! most horrible ! But you, Benny ? you ? "
BENJAMIN'S STORY. 201
" I, Suzy, told my story told how I had been violently
carried off by the Bushmen. There was really not evidence
enough to convict me of any complicity with them, but the
circumstances of my near relationship to the most notorious
of the Bushmen were so suspicions, and also the record of
my trial and conviction at the Old Bailey was so much
against me, that all late good conduct was forgotten, and I
was sent to Tasman's Peninsula, to join a gang of the very
worst convicts."
" Oh, Benny! Benny!" moaned Suzy.
" Don't weep, dear. I carried with me the memory of
all the good instruction I had received from the chaplain at
Newgate, and from the missionary on board the convict
transport ship. This saved me, Suzy, even in that hell,
with devils for my companions. It saved me. There were
very few chances of improvement there, but I made the
most of all. After five j'ears of bitter slavery there, I was
given a little liberty to work for myself, under certain re-
strictions, and to receive a part of my wages. I then tried
my best to do right, and to please those in authority over
me, and again I succeeded ; but, Suzy, the old black cloud
hung too heavily over me. And I never got a ticket-of-
leave. I had galling restrictions upon my liberty. The
weary years rolled on, and I grew more and more home-
sick and heart-sick, as the time of my exile approached its
end. But every night, just so soon as my head would be
upon the pillow, I would fall asleep and dream of home.
In effect every night, in my dreams, I came home. But I
have told you all this before, dear."
" Yes," said Suzy, weeping still, "yes. Oh, how I wish
you had found my dear father and mother out there ! They
are wealthy sheep farmers now, Benny, and they would have
employed you, and took you right into the bosom of their
family and loved you like a son. I know they would. How
strange and unfortunate you did not meet them ! "
202 A NOBLE LORD.
" More unfortunate than strange, dear Suzy. Australasia
is a large place Australia alone nearly as large as Europe.
To what part of the island did they emigrate, dear ? "
" To Carpentaria, in North Australia."
" And I, you see, was on Tasman's Peninsula, a thousand
miles or so south of them, with no knowledge of their being
out there, and with no liberty to seek them, if I had known
where they lived."
" Benny, dear, what do you intend to do, now that you
have come here ? "
" I have not thought yet. You know it will be difficult,
if not impossible for me, a returned convict, to get emplo} 7 -
ment from any one, for no one will employ a stranger with-
out a recommendation. And who could give me a recom-
mendation ?"
" / could, Benny. And I would, heartily."
" But you should not, Suzy. I would never consent to
that."
"But why?"
" Because it would bring reproach and trouble on you."
" I do not care if it should. But how could it do so? "
" In this way. You would give me a recommendation and
a reference to yourself. Upon the strength of that, some
one would employ me. Then some one else would be sure
to find out that I was a returned convict, and would expose
me. Why, Suzy, you would even be liable to criminal pros-
ecution, for giving a false character, my dear."
" But it wouldn't be a false character. If I were to say
all that is good of you now, Benny, it would be true."
"Ah, but, dear, opposed to all your faith in me would be
the hard fact of my being a returned convict."
" Oh, Benny, ruy poor brother, what can I do for you ? "
"Nothing, Suzy. I am fit for nothing but service, and
no one would employ me."
" Benny, I am your sister your heart's dear sister ! Let
BENJAMIN'S STORY. 203
me do a sister's good part toward you, as I do for Bill. Let
me advance the funds to set you up in some business that
would be to your taste, Benny."
" I thank you deeply, dear, happy little sister; but I can-
not accept your generous offer. I cannot and will not
sponge upon your resources, little sister."
" Oh, Benny, to let me advance the funds to set you up in
some business would not be sponging on me. I only want
to loan you the money, Benny. You would pay it back to
me again."
" No, Suzy, I should lose it and never be able to repay it.
"No, Suzy, I know nothing of business, and I should be sure
to fail."
" Benny, you will break my heart if you don't let me do
something for you ! Benny, I have no agent but my brother,
and my business bores him. Couldn't you be my agent,
Benny?"
" And supplant your brother ? No, Suzy ! "
" You need not supplant him, but only supplement him.
I have business enough to employ two such agents as Bill
makes. Be one of them, Benny."
"No, dear Suzy, I am not fit to be your agent or your
brother's co-laborer. I should bring discredit on you both ;
and that I never will do."
Suzy burst into tears and wept passionately, sobbing and
gasping forth her lamentations.
" I am wretched ! I am miserable ! And people think
me so fortunate and happy ! Oh ! if they only knew how I
suffer, they would pit}" instead of envying me, who cannot
even save or help my own old playmate in his bitter need !
What is fame or fortune to me, when my heart is bleeding
and aching all the time ? My dear father and mother are
far from me ! I shall scarcely ever see them any more !
My sisters and brothers, all except one, are gone ! And a
stranger fills my mother's place in my home ! And I am
204 A NOBLE LORD.
lonely, lonely, lonely ! And now when my fortune could at
least bring me some happiness by enabling me to help my
old playmate, he is too proud to let me help him ! "
" Suzy ! ' proud ? ' I, proud ? Of what, oh ! Heavens !
have I to be proud? I, who have been ground down to the
dust ! No, dear sister, I am not proud, but I hope that I
am too just and generous to take the least advantage of
your magnanimity," said the poor young man earnestly.
" But you will not let me help you ! You will not let
me do a single thing for you ! And I wish, I do ! that you
and I were back again in the poor, old house, in the poor,
old times when we used to hunger and shiver and play
together; for we loved one another like true brother and
sister then, and we were happy in our poverty ! Oh yes ! I
wish that you and I could go back to the poor, old times, in
the poor, old tenement house again ; or else that we were
both in our quiet graves," she said, with a fresh burst of
grief.
The poor outcast bowed his head, but whether in assent
to her words, in amen to her prayer, or in submission to her
will, she could not know until he spoke.
" Suzy, little faithful sister, weep no more. You shall
help me, if you will, in the only way in which you can do
so without compromising yourself in the only way in which
you can make me happy.
" Tell me ! Tell me ! Tell me quickly ! " she exclaimed
vehemently.
" ' Make me as one of thy hired servants/ " he said very
gravely.
" Benny ! Benny ! What do you mean ? "
" I told you, dear, that I was fit for nothing but service.
Take me into your service, Suzy. Give me a footman's
place in your household."
" A footman's place in my household ! "
" I will never, never, never degrade you so, my brother ! "
she indignantly exclaimed.
BENJAMINS STORY.
" It will be no degradation, little sister. It will be a
service of affection and devotion that I shall render you.
Besides, I shall have the comfort of honestly earning my
own bread ; and above all, the happiness of living in the
same house with my happy little sister, and of seeing her
every day. Take this into serious consideration, Suzy."
" I will not take it into consideration for a single moment.
1 will never, never do such a thing as that, Benny."
" I think you will, dear Suzy ; because you will come to
know that it will be the only thing you can possibly do for
me. Good-morning, Suzy."
" You are not going ? " she said, drying her eyes.
"Yes, dear, I must not stay long, and set your household
wondering what business such a poor fellow as I am can
have with their mistress."
" What do I care, and why should you care, how much
they wonder at us, so that we do right? You will come
again at this hour to-morrow, Benny ? "
" No, Suzy. I must not come again to see you. It is
not fit that I should do so."
" Not fit ! Oh, Benny ! when so many not half so good
as you are come to see me, and whom custom obliges me to
receive ! Oh, Benny, come again to-morrow."
"No; I cannot come here again as a, visitor. I cannot
come here again until you take me into your service which
you will sooner or later do, Suzy ; and when I can see you
every day, and watch over you faithfully. And then it
must be no longer Suzy and Benny between us, since we
will be no longer little children on terms of equality ; it
must be How do people address you, Suzy ? On the
bills you are 'Arielle' nothing else. But surely your
visitors and servants do not call you 'Arielle.' "
" No, Benny, they do not. It is so extremely ridiculous.
They call me ' Mademoiselle Arielle,' as though I were a
Freuch woman because I was educated in France, and
206 A NOBLE LORD.
because I sing in the opera, I suppose. Lord knows why
they do it, 2 don't. My English servants call me simply
'Miss.' 3 '
" Either will do. Good morning 'Mademoiselle.' When
you require a footman, and are willing to take one without a
character, I shall be at your orders," said the poor young
man jestingly, so as to raise her spirits, as he turned to leave
the room.
" Benny, come back to me ! Where are you stopping ? "
she anxiously inquired.
" In the old house at Junk Lane by night. Nowhere in
particular by day."
" And you will not come to see me to-morrow ? " she
pleaded.
" No, dear Suzy ; for your own sake I must not."
" But if I consent to take that proposition of yours into
consideration, will you not come to-morrow to talk it over
with me ? "
" No, Suzy ; for it would be quite useless, and I must not
visit you here unless in a case of the greatest necessity, if
such should arise. No ; I have said all that can be said in
favor of my plan. You will think of it, and if you think
favorably of it, as I trust you w r ill, you can send to let me
know that you have decided to engage me. Then I will
come to you as your faithful servitor, and upon no other
terms. I would die before I would do anything to compro-
mise you, Suzy. Good morning, little sister."
She held her hand out to him. He raised it to his lips,
bowed and withdrew.
And Suzy, left alone, fell to weeping again.
" The only one who has come back to me out of my lost
childhood, and the dearest one of all, and he will not let me
lift him up ! " she complained
Her lamentations were interrupted by a knock at the door.
" Come in," she said crossly.
BENJAMIN'S STORY. 207
It was her costumer.
" This new dress for Mary Stuart, Mademoiselle, will you
have it trimmed with gold or silver lace, or seed pearls ? "
inquired the costumer.
" Trim it with black crape, if you like, I don't care, what
you trim it with," snapped " Mademoiselle." Then hlaming
herself, she said, "I beg your pardon, Madame. I did not
mean to speak so uncivilly ; but indeed I am vexed. Pray
use your own perfect taste in the decoration of the robe, and
I shall be quite satisfied with it."
The costumer smiled, nodded and withdrew.
At the same hour Benny went back to his poor lodgings
in the house at Junk Lane, where he had been permitted to
leave his box of clothes with the old woman who had charge
of the place.
As the ragged school was dismissed for the day, Benny
got leave to go up to the room where he slept at night, and
where he had left his trunk.
The room had six small single beds in it, but nothing
more.
At this hour there was no living creature in it except him-
self.
He drew his box out from under his bed, unlocked it and
took from it a little parcel.
He sat upon the side of the bed and unrolled and looked
at it.
It consisted of a baby's fine white merino sack embroid-
ered with white silk, and a baby's little fine white knitted
woollen sock, with white silk cord and tassels.
He took the sack in his hands and narrowly examined the
embroidery, thinking :
" That poor, wretched Tony Brice gave me this on his
death-bed. He had managed to keep it through all the
vicissitudes of his miserable life. Pie had hoped, he said,
that some day it might make my fortune and his own. And
208 A NOBLE LORD.
he went on to tell me that I was not the son of Madge
Hurst whom he married, and consequently that I was not his
step-son. He told me that I was the son of a lady ; that I
was palmed off upon Madge Hurst in place of her own child,
which died soon after birth ; that this was confessed to
Madge by the midwife who attended her, and who, in con-
junction with the doctor, had practised the fraud upon her ;
but that was all, even the midwife could tell, for she died be-
fore she could utter the doctor's name. And a parcel con-
taining this little sack and this little sock, supposed to be a
part of my infant outfit, and the work of my mother's hands,
and which was found by Madge among the effects of the
midwife, is all that they could find to afford a clue to my
birth. Madge kept it carefully as long as she retained her
senses or her liberty. Then Tony took charge of it and con-
trived to keep it safe through all the troubles and changes of
his life, hoping some time to profit by it. Ah ! if they had
only possessed the wit and knowledge to discover what I now
see, they might have been more successful in their search for
my parents. For here is the sure clue. On the top of the
little slipper, and around the border of the sack, among the
embroidered wreaths of eglantines, is wrought the crest of
the Barons of Linlithgow"
THE TWO. 209
CHAPTER XXI.
THE TWO.
She with jewels on head and hands,
And I in the garb of a servant poor,
While between us both there stands
A thousand years er more !
There are some things hard t-o understand ;
Oh. help us, Lord ! to trust in Thee !
But I'll ne'er forget her soft white hand.
Or her eyes as she looked on me. OWEN MKBKDITH.
THREE days passed, during which Benny haunted the
neighborhood of Covent Garden Theatre, morning and
evening, for the pleasure of catching a glimpse of Suzy, as
she went back and forth to the rehearsal or to the opera.
But while thus watching for her, he tried to avoid attract-
ing her attention, or that of any one else.
Oa the evening of the third day, after he had seen her
go in at the stage door for the opera, and while he was
waiting weary hours to see her corne out at the end of the
performance, a man from the theatre came up and addressed
him.
"Be your name Benjamin Hurst? "
" Yes," said Benny, wondering.
" Then I were to give you this. It's a bank note, I
shouldn't wonder. Marmselle is werry charitable, and
flings money about like dried leaves in Nowember. And
you look as if you might be a hobject," said the man, as he
handed Benny a sealed envelope and hurried away.
Benny was not acquainted with Suzy's handwriting, but
he suspected this note to be from her.
He took it to the nearest gas-light, opened it and read as
follows :
<{ DEAK BENNY Come to my house early to-morrow
morning. Come on your own terms. SUZY."
13
210 A NOBLE LORD.
He pressed the little note to his lips and put it in his
bosom.
He waited until she came out, wrapped in her soft white-
hooded opera cloak, and escorted by Lord Wellrose, who
carefully handed her to her carriage.
He saw the door close, and then he turned away to his
humble lodgings in Junk Lane.
Very early in the morning he arose and carefully brushed
his poor clothes, and washed his face and combed his hair;
and thus having made himself as clean and neat as his cir-
cumstances would permit, he set out to walk to Park Lane
to keep his appointment with Suzy.
The distance was long, but he had no money to pay his
omnibus fare. Therefore he had started early to walk all
the way. '
It was ten o'clock when he reached the little palace
In opposition to Suzy's repeatedly expressed wishes, he
rang again at the bell of the servants' door.
On being admitted, he inquired for Mademoiselle Arielle,
saying also, that he had been ordered to wait on her at this
hour.
He was told in reply that Mademoiselle was at home, and
had given orders that he should be shown to her presence
immediately upon his arrival.
Benny took off his poor hat and followed the footman,
who conducted him up stairs to the Rose Parlor, where he
had last seen Suzy.
"The young man Hurst, if you please, Miss," said the
footman, throwing open the door for Benny to enter, and
then closing it and retreating.
Suzy was dressed in a plain white muslin robe, and
seated at a little table, upon which lay some sheets of
music.
She immediately arose and held out her hand, saying
earnestly :
THE TWO. 211
" I am very glad to see you, Benny, though you do come
only on your own hard terms. And I only agree to these
terms because you will not permit me to help you on any
others, and because also, having you near me, I hope to
induce you to let me serve you, my brother, in some better
way. Pray sit down."
" I thank you, Suzy," said the young man, seating him-
self, for in truth he was very tired with his long walk.
" Now, brother, dear, we can talk plainly with each other,
can we not ? "
"Yes, little sister, but it must be for the last time. After
I become your servant there can be no more such talk
between us."
" Oh, dear me ! dear me ! " mourned the poor child,
wringing her hands.
It seemed very hard to her to speak of wages to her old
playmate. In fact, after several efforts, she gave it up, and
said :
" Benny, I would rather write what I have to say to you
in regard to one particular of your engagement, if you don't
object."
"Anything you please, Suzy."
" Everything else but that, I can talk about. I hope you
will feel no scruple in accepting this small advance on
account, Benny?" she said, slipping a sealed envelope into
his hand.
" No, Suzy, especially as it is really necessary to procure
my livery before entering your service. Your liver}' is blue,
white and silver, I think. I wonder who makes it up."
" You are not to go into livery ! I won't have that ! "
exclaimed Suzy, bursting into angry tears. " You wish
quite to break my heart, Benny, I believe ! But I can be
obstinate as well as you ! And I say I will not have you
degraded by any badge of servitude ! Livery, indeed !
You in livery ! I should as soon expect to see the Earl of
212 A NOB L E LOR D.
Wellrose in livery ! the Earl of Wellrose, who is f-o inuch
like j'ou that you and he might be taken for own brothers!"
Benny started and changed color.
Suzy, too much absorbed in her own passionate denuncia-
tions, did not perceive his emotion, but continued vehe-
mently :
" Yes, that he is ! enough like you to be your own
brother ! And he may be your own brother, for aught 1
know ! " she added maliciously.
" Suzy," said the youug man, speaking with forced calm-
ness, "as you are so well acquainted with the Earl of Well-
rose, do you happen to know whether he is in any way
related to the Scottish house of Seton-Linlithgow ? "
Suzy looked up at him from the corners of her tearful
eyes and answered saucily :
" Is the Earl of Wellrose related to the Scottish house of
Seton-Linlithgow? Well, I should really think he was.
On the surest side of the house, too : on his mother's side.
Why, I thought every one knew that his father, the Duke
of Cheviot, married Eglantine Seton, Baroness Linlithgow
in her own right. What's the matter, Benny ?" she sud-
denly inquired, seeing the young man grow very pale, and
throw his hands to his head.
" A sudden turn. Never heed me, Suzy. What were
you saying, dear, about the livery ? "
" I was saying that you should never, never, NEVEK be
degraded by such a badge of servitude," began the young
girl, flushing up again with indignation at the ideas recalled.
" I say that I should just as soon expect to see the Earl of
Wellrose in livery ! there ! "
" You are right. Suzy ; I will not wear the livery."
" Thank you for conceding so much, Benny. I was
afraid that you would hold out for the livery. Now listen
to me further. Since you will serve, at least you shall serve
no one but me. You shall stand near my chair at meal-
THE TWO. 213
times, and never leave it. You shall not so much as hand
a chair, or a plate, or a glass, or anything whatever to any
person present except to me. The footman in livery shall
wait upon every one else. You shall wait on no one else
but me. And no one shall wait on me but you. That will
be a bond between us. And oh, Benny, I have just thought
of something, and I wonder I did not think of it before ! "
" Yes, Suzy."
"This is what it is: You shall be my butler and house
steward. Since you insist upon taking nothing better than
a service with me, you shall take the best service in my gift.
You shall be both butler and house steward."
" But, little sister, shall I not be displacing some one
else?"
"No; for I have neither butler nor steward, nor ever
have had."
"Nor ever would have, but for your goodness in trying
to make a better position for me," said the young man with
emotion.
"I am not so sure of that. I certainly need both butler
and house steward ; and you shall be both, Benny, and be
at the head of my household, and keep the keys of the
wine cellar, and pay the wages of the servants. And when
we go back to Paris, you shall go with us there, Benny, if
you will. And we shall never be parted in this world
again, Benny, unless you wish it," said Suzy, in a tremulous
but happy tone.
" Heaven knows I never wish to leave you," answered
the young man, in an agitated voice.
" Then that is settled, my good brother. You will come
to-morrow, to enter upon your office ? " inquired Suzy,
after hesitating for a word.
"Yes, little sister, I will come to-morrow."
"For, after all,'' said the young girl cheerfully, " it will
be an office, rather than a service, that you will have with
214 A NOBLE LORD.
me. Why, dear me ! a Queen has always a domestic officer
called the ' Master of the Household.' And they call me
the 'Queen of Song.' So why may not I set np a 'Master
of the Household ? ' " she added, laughing.
So delighted she was to think that she had found a place
in her establishment that Benny would take, and that was
not quite menial.
"Little sister," said the young man, "I cannot now say
much my heart is too full. But I am deeply grateful "
She put her hand upon his lips.
" Hush, Benny, hush ! That word has no business be-
tween you and me. We have been brother and sister in
our infancy and childhood, with but one interest between
us. If I had had my will, we would have been brother and
sister up to this day. But fate was against us both. But
as far as you will let it be done, we will be brother and sis-
ter again, and to the end of our lives. And now, good old
brother, it is time for me to go rehearsal."
While plie spoke there came a rap at the door.
"Come in," she said.
A footman entered.
" If you please, Miss, the brougham is at the door."
"Very well, Smith," she carelessly answered the footman.
Then turning to Benny, she said very formally :
" Mr. Hurst, I shall expect you to enter upon your duties
to--morrow morning."
Benny bowed low in reply, and then left the room.
" The house steward, Smith. You will in future take all
your orders from him," she said in careless explanation, as
she put on her hat and mantle, that were lying on the sofa
beside her.
" Yes, Miss," answered the footman.
And when he had attended his mistress to her carriage,
and returned to the servants' hall, he informed his fellow-
domestics that their young mistress was about to provida
THE TWO. 215
for one of her poor relations, by making him her house
steward.
" One of the Yerl of Wellrose's poor relations, you het-
ter say, for there never was two peas so much alike as them
two," said Miss Jenny Smith, the footman's sister and
Suzy's dressing maid.
And so it was quite settled, in the servant's hall, that the
new house steward was some poor, unacknowledged kinsman
of the noble Earl of Wellrose, whom his lordship had rec-
ommended to their mistress.
Meanwhile Suzy went to her rehearsal at Covent Gar-
den Theatre, where she sang with even more animation
than usual.
And Benny walked very thoughtfully away from the
house. He had much to occupy his mind.
A week before this he had arrived in England, after his
fourteen years' absence, and had been filled with the deep
delight that only a returning exile knows, once more to
touch his native soil, to view his native sky, to breathe his
native air.
But then had followed the feeling of deep desolation, the
sense of his own solitude in the crowded city.
But now all that was changed !
Suzy, once his dear little child friend, but whom lie had
not ventured to seek, not knowing how prosperity, wealth
and fame might have affected her, Suzy the celebrated
singer whom he worshipped only at a distance Suzy had
found him out, had sought him and drawn him to her home
and had shown herself the very same dear, loving, trust-
ing little sister that she had been to him in their poverty-
stricken infancy and childhood.
And now she had made an office for him in her house, in
which he could really be of use to her, and which would
also make him independent.
She had done all that he would permit her to do for him,
216 A NOBLE LORD.
and he knew that she would do much more, if he would only
let her that she would do quite as much for him as for
one of her own numerous brothers.
While thinking of all these things, he came upon a large
old church, standing hack from the street in its shaded
church-yard. He saw that the door was ajar. He opened
the iron gate and walked in from the roar of the street to
the quietness of the church-yard.
He entered the old church. It was at this time quite
empty. And the subdued light shining through its stained
glass windows filled it with a rich, solemn, pleasing gloom.
Benny sat down in one of the lower pews, bowed his head
upon its front, and earnestly thanked the Lord for the peace-
ful life that was opening before him, and earnestly prayed
that he might be able to serve and benefit his little adopted
sister, and that she might be forever saved from the great
temptations and perils that surrounded and pervaded her
art-life.
Then he arose comforted and strengthened, and went
forth out of the church.
And not only on his constant friend Suzy did his thoughts
run, but on that mystery of his unknown birth that was be-
ginning to possess a morbid and absorbing interest for him.
As he walked down Oxford street, he mentally summed
up his case, so far as it was known to him.
He knew, for Tony Brice on his death-bed had told him,
that he, called Benny Hurst, was not the son of Madge
Hurst, but that he was the offspring of unknown parents,
who had found it necessary to conceal his birth, and who had
effectually done so, by the agency of a midwife and a confi-
dential medical attendant, who had palmed him off on his
delirious foster-mother, in place of her own dead child which
was taken away and buried; that this much had been con-
fessed by the midwife, who had died before she could divulge
the name of the confidential medical attendant; that the
THE TWO. 217
name of the latter had never been ascertained ; that the only
mementos of his abandoned infancy were the little sack and
the little sock, both embroidered with a wreath of eglan-
tines, and with a family crest.
He knew, for he had looked into a book of heraldry on
the table of a street vender of old books he knew that that
crest was the crest of the ancient and noble Scottish house
of Seton Linlithgow.
He knew, for Suzy had told him, that the Duke of
Cheviot had married the sole heiress and last representative
of that house Eglantine Seton, Baroness Linlithgow in
her own right.
He knew, for his own eyes assured him, that there was
the strongest possible resemblance between himself, poor
Benjamin Hurst, the abandoned son of somebody, and the
noble young Earl of Wellroso, son of Eglantine, Duchess
of Cheviot and Baroness of Linlithgow.
He knew, from his own personal experience, that the
beautiful Duchess had more than once encountered him in
his wretched childhood, and had shown strange emotion at
the sight of him.
He remembered that wintry evening at Brighton, when
he had stood on the sidewalk in front of her house on
Brunswick Terrace, and by the whim of the little Lady
Jessie, he had been brought in by a footman, and after hav-'
ing been washed and brushed and polished up a little, and
made decent, had been taken to a parlor where the children
were holding a Twelfth-night festival ; how the children
had made much of him, and little Lady Jessie had given
him a slice of the Twelfth-day cake ; and the ring having
been found in that slice, he was jestingly made the King of
the festival, and told to crown his Queen ; how he had gone
trembling up to the beautiful Duchess, and laid the crown
at her feet, and tried to speak the words set down for him,
but she had looked on him with such compassionate, tearful,
218 A N O B I, E LOUT).
tender eyes, that he had lost all his self-control, and burst
into a storm of passionate tears and sobs, for which he
could not account ; and how the Duke had ordered him to
be kindly sent away.
He remembered, later on, lying ill of a fever in the hos-
pital, and in a dreamy, half-conscious state, seeing the lovelj'
face of the Duchess bending over him, hearing the tender
tones of her voice murmuring words of love and pity, feel-
the light, warm rain of tears upon his face, and trying to
wake up and speak his thanks, and failing to do so.
He had thought this all a dream until he had been
assured by Rachel Wood that it was a reality.
He had not seen the beautiful Duchess since that time,
now fifteen years past.
Why was there such a perfect likeness between his poor
self and her noble son ?
Why had the crest of Seton-Linlithgow been embroider-
ed on his own infant sack and sock, and the eglantines
also ?
Why did the beautiful Duchess weep over him, as he lay
in the hospital bed ?
Was he perhaps her poor little disowned brother? or
rather Aa//"-brother, he meant. And did she know it, or
suspect it ?
If so, why should she have left him in the hospital then,
and never inquired for him again ?
Ah ! he remembered the reason now.
Of course he was too ill to be removed at that time. And
the very next day he had been taken to the dead-house for
dead, and his death had been reported to the Duchess, as
well as to others.
And how should she know, more than others, that he had
recovered from the deathly trance that had been taken for
death ?
And besides, as Rachel Wood had told him, she had gone
abroad almost immediately after his reported death.
THE SEARCH FOR A PEDIGREE. 219
And he himself had been transported within a year after-
ward.
And fifteen years had passed, and no doubt she had quite
given him up for dead, and utterly forgotten him.
But the whole subject so troubled his soul that he resolved
to go into a bookstore and examine the Peerage, to find out
all he could about the ancient and noble Scottish House of
Seton-Linlithgow.
Then he looked down upon his shabby clothes, and doubt-
ed whether any bookseller would let him examine his books.
So he decided to go to an outfitter's first.
He kept on his way until he reached the Strand and
found a shop that suited his purposes. He went in and
selected the articles he wanted, and took out the sealed en-
velope that had been placed in his hand by Suzy. He
opened it, and found that it contained four five pound notes.
He took one to pay for the complete suit that he purchased,
and then taking his large parcel under his arm, he went
with it to an humble tavern on one of the side streets, and
asked for a bed-room, where he proceeded to change his
dress.
His next visit was to a barber's shop, where he got his
hair and whiskers trimmed and dressed.
CHAPTER XXII.
THE OUTCAST IN SEARCH OF HIS PEDIGREE.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood. TENNTSOH.
AND now, being neatly clothed in a suit of clerical black,
with spotless linen and fresh gloves, he looked more than
220 A NOBLE LORD.
ever like a gentleman, more than ever like his unknown
brother.
He walked on until he reached a bookstore.
He went in and requested a young shopman to allow him
to look at " Burke's Peerage" for the year.
" Certainly, my lord," answered the young man very
deferentially, handing down the great red volume in ques-
tion. " Will your lordship please to take a seat ?"
" You mistake," said Benny very quietly.
" 1 beg your lordship's pardon. I'm sure I understood
your lordship to ask for 'Burke's Peerage,'" the shopman
apologized.
" So I did. You have not mistaken the book ; but you
have mistaken me for some one else," said Benny, with a
smile.
" Oh ! Pm sure I hope you'll excuse me. I did take you
for Lord Wellrose, who comes in here quite often." the
young man explained, losing much of his deferential de-
portment.
" Oh, there is no offence at all," Benny answered, with
a little laugh, as he sat down, laid the great book on his
knees, and began to turn over the leaves in search of the
Barony of Linlithgow. He found it.
T.INLITHGOW.
LIXLITHGOW, BAKONESS (Eglantine Douglas) of Seton-Linlith-
gow, Co. Inverness, North Britain, born June 15th, IS ; succeeded
her father December 20th, 18; married, July 25th, 18, to Wil-
liam Douglas, tenth and present Duke of Cheviot, (see ante CHE-
VIOT, DUKE.) By this union her grace has issue .
Here followed a list of the children of that distinguished
marriage, commencing with the eldest and only sou and
heir.
" William- Alexander-Cromartie-Seton Douglas, Earl of
Wellrose, born October 30th, 18 ," and going on with
the names of the daughters in due order.
THE SEARCH FOR A PEDIGREE. 221
Then followed the history of the long lineage, beginning
nine hundred years back, when the founder of the familj',
one Madoch Setou, for some important service rendered to
majesty, was rewarded with the Lordship of Linlithgow by
Malcolm First, King of Scotland.
Benny ran his eye down the lines, where the family his-
tory of nine centuries was compressed into two double-
columned octavo pages, until he came to
John-Alexander-Madock Seton, eighteenth Baron, who was born
March 7th, 17 ; succeeded his father May 14th, 18 ; married,
August 25th, 18 , the Lady Anne Moray, daughter of the Earl
of Ornoch, and had issue
Eglantine, present Baroness.
Benny closed the book, and holding it upon his knees,
fell into deep thought.
" There were no other children of the late Baron, so I
cannot be her unowned nephew. The late Baron died
December 20th, 18 . That must have been more than
five years before I was born, so I cannot be her unowned
younger brother. Yet I must be something to the beauti-
ful Duchess ; all circumstances go to prove that. I was
born in her own native neighborhood, in Scotland; I was
an unowned child, outcast from my birth ; I bear a perfect
likeness to the Earl, her sou ; she once or twice manifested
the deepest and tenderest interest in me ; and the only
mementos I have of nay infancy are the little garments
marked with her family crest. Let me be sure of that,"
he said to himself, as he once more opened the big red book,
and turned to the article LINLITIIGOW, and examined the
arms and crest of the family.
Yes, the crest engraved and described there was the same
that was embroidered upon the little sack and sock a lark
with expanded wings, rising from a baron's coronet, and
holding in its beak a spray of ripe eglantine rose berries.
222 A NOBLE LORD.
He closed the book with a sigh, and fell into still deeper
thought.
But the article " LINLITHGOW " had referred the reader
for further information to the article, "CHEVIOT, DUKE
OF," ante.
So again he opened the book and turned back the leaves
until he found
CHEVIOT.
CHEVIOT, DUKE OF, William-Angus Douglas, Earl of Wellrose,
Viscount Angus, Baron Douglas of Douglas, and a baronet, Coun-
ty of Inverness in North Britain, born April 3d, 18 ; succeeded bis
uncle as tenth duke August 7th, 18 ; married, July 25th, 18 ,
Eglantine Seton, Baroness Liulithgow, and has
Here followed a list of the children similar to that given
under the head of Linlithgow ; and a pedigree even more
ancient, noble and renowned than that of Seton-Linlithgow ;
and the arms and quarterings of the family ; and last of all
a list of the numerous seats. Among them the inquirer
particularly noticed Seton Castle, Seton, County of Argyle.
He closed the book and took it to the counter, saying :
" I will buy this book, if you will put it up for me."
"Certainly, sir," said the shopman, still a little sulkily,
in remembrance of having mistaken " this plain gentleman "
for the noble Earl of Welb^ose.
" In the meantime, will you let me look at a map of Scot-
land ? " inquired Benny.
The shopman handed down the required article, and laid
it before the inquirer.
Benny opened it on the counter and began to examine it
closely.
On the west coast of Argyleshire he found the little port
of Kilford, and a few miles inland the village of Seton,
above which Seton Castle was known to stand.
So close together stood the little fishing hamlet to which
he had been taken to be concealed, and the ancieilt feudal
THE SEARCH FOR A PEDIGREE. 223
hold of the renowned house whose crest was wrought upon
his infant garments !
"I will take this map also, if you please," said Benny,
handing it back to the salesman, who put it into the parcel
with the other large volume, and inquired :
" Where will you have these sent, sir? "
Benny gave the address of the little hotel where he had
engaged a room.
" What name, sir ? "
" Never miud the name ; the number of the room will do
No. 7."
"Very well, sir; the books shall be sent immediately."
Benny took his hat to leave the shop, but recoiled toward
the back of it, where he leaned on the counter pale and
faint, for there, before the door, stood the equipage of the
Duchess of Cheviot !
A footman in livery of purple and gold was in the act of
letting down the steps.
At the same time the beautiful Duchess quietly, but
richly dressed, descended from the carriage and entered the
shop.
"Why, Wellrose, my son, you here?" she exclaimed, in
a low, quick voice. Then, as something in the pale face of
the young man seemed to correct her mistake, she dropped
her tender eyes, and said very gently, " I beg your pardon,
sir; I took you for some one else," and passed on to the
counter.
He caught his breath and stood for a moment, feeling
deadly cold, with his heart beating like a hammer, and then,
as a man walking in darkness, he put out his arm and
groped his way from the shop.
The Duchess looked wistfully after him for a moment, as
some strange emotion, half of pity, half of pain, disturbed
her bosom. Then turning to the shopman, she inquired :
" Who is that young gentleman ? "
224 A NOBLE LORD.
" Beg pardon, your Grace, but I really do not know. I
never saw him before," answered the shopman, with a low
bow.
" He looks ill," said the Duchess in a compassionate tone,
gazing after him as he passed out of sight.
u There is something odd about him, your Grace. lie
has been for two hours poring over the ' Peerage,' and over
the map of Scotland, and ended in buying both and order-
ing them to be sent to "
" Thanks. That will do," said the Duchess gently,
arresting the garrulity of the shopman.
She made her purchases, children's books, each of which
she carefully examined before selecting.
She directed them to be sent to her school, and then she
re-entered her carriage and gave the order :
" Home."
Meanwhile Benny returned to his room at the Black Lion,
where he sat down and took himself to task for the most
unreasonable emotion he had betrayed at the sight of the
beautiful Duchess.
After some slight refreshment, he went out again.
He spent the afternoon in collecting his scanty effects,
which had been left in the care of the old porteress of the
lodging-house in Junk Lane, and in purchasing the articles
necessary for a respectable outfit.
All these things were directed to be sent to his room in
the Black Lion, where, later in the afternoon, he returned
to pack them into the large new trunk he had purchased.
In the evening he went to Covent Garden Theatre, to
Lear " Mademoiselle Arielle " sing.
He had not had the opportunity of doing so before, for he
Lad had neither'proper clothing to wear, nor money to buy
Lis ticket.
He might now have gone into the boxes ; but in the very
shyness and sensitiveness of his nature, he preferred to lose
himself in the dense crowd of the parquette.
THE SEARCH FOR A PEDIGREE. 225
He found a seat there and waited impatiently for the rise
of the curtain.
And when at length it did rise, he was indeed disap-
pointed.
Mademoiselle Arielle was not on the stage, arid though
the chorus had been a choir of angels, he could take no
pleasure in their singing.
The scene changed, and a solo and a duet, and then
another chorus, were sung.
And then the drop-scene fell upon a grand tableau, but
Arielle had not appeared.
The young man was so surprised, disappointed and anx-
ious, that he could not resist the desire to question his next
neighbor.
"What has happened? Will Mademoiselle Arielle dis-
appoint the audience to-night? "
" Oh, no ; but she does not come on until the second act."
Oh ! "
" Hush ! The Royal party are coming in," whispered
his neighbor.
At the same moment there was a half-suppressed excite-
ment sweeping through the crowded audience, like a breeze
through the leaves of a forest.
The band struck up
" God save the Queen ! "
The audience arose en masse.
Benjamin Hurst stood up, and looking toward the Royal
box, saw the Royal family taking their seats.
And in close attendance upon her Majesty stood the beau-
tiful Duchess.
Benjamin looked a neither queen nor princesses after
that. He looked at only her. And he asked himself:
" Why is it that my heart is so troubled at the sight of
that lovely lady ? That I am something to her I know.
But what of that ? I am not worthy so much as to ' touch
14
226 A NOBLE LORD.
the hem of her garment ! ' I, whose infancy and childhood
were passed in sin and shame ; I, whose youth was spent in
the penal colonies ; I, who hold myself unworthy even to
enter my old playmate's house, except as her hired servant.
I will never trouble the beautiful Duchess no, even though
I should discover myself to be but that's impossible her
own lawful son.'"'
While these sad thoughts were passing through the mind
of Benjamin Hurst, the band finished playing the National
Anthem ; the audience sat down ; the prompter's bell rang,
and the curtain rose, revealing the fair Arielle alone on the
stage.
Her appearance was hailed by the most enthusiastic ap-
plause. And Benjamin, forgetting the trouble of his soul,
so rejoiced in her triumphs that his blue eyes fairly danced
with delight.
She sang a solo, that so enraptured her audience that it
was encored and encored.
As she was retiring the third time amid a storm of
applause, a gentleman, sitting in the front row of the or-
chestra seats, arose and threw a bouquet of the richest and
rarest roses, in the midst of which was a diamond, that, in
dropping, blazed like a falling star.
As this gentleman stood up, Benny recognized him.
He was the Earl of Wellrose.
Arielle picked up the bouquet, and smiled and courtesied
to the giver, and then raised her eyes and encountered, afar
off, the intense blue orbs of Benjamin Hurst fixed earnestly
upon her. She smiled on him also, and with a courtesy for
the whole audience, glided off the stage.
She came on again in a duet, and then with the chorus.
And whether she sang alone, or with one or two or many,
or whether she came on or went off, she was greeted or fol-
lowed with " thunders " of applause and showers of bouquets.
But no other bouquet was so choice as that one with the
blazing star, thrown by the Earl of Wellrose.
THE SEARCH FOR A PEDIGREE. 227
When the curtain fell upon the last magnificent tableau,
the evening of triumphs ended in, one grand ovation to the
fair prima donna.
And the crowded audience slowly worked itself out of the
theatre.
In a strange delirium, half of delight, half of despair,
Benjamin Hurst pushed out into the street, and posted him-
self where, unseen, he could see Suzy when she came forth.
She came at length, wrapped in her soft white opera
cloak and hood, carrying in her hand the rich bouquet with
the blazing star in the midst, and leaning on the arm of the
Earl of Wellrose, and smiling sweetly to herself.
The Earl put her in her carriage, lingered to speak a few
words in a low tone, then bowed and withdrew.
The footman put up the steps, shut the door, gave the order
to the coachman, and leaped up to his place behind just as
the coach started.
Like a sleep-walker, Benjamin Hurst sauntered along in
the direction of his lodgings at the Black Lion.
All that had passed that evening seemed to him like the
phantasmagoria of a midnight dream. The magnificent
scene, the splendid audience, the beautiful Duchess in the
Royal box, the divine songstress on the stage, the dazzling
lights, the glowing colors, the entrancing music, the tran-
scendent procession of scenery and incident in the opera, the
supernal tableau and the final grand ovation, seemed rather
to belong to the visionary than the real world.
He reached his lodgings and went to bed, and passed from
the waking dream to the sleeping one. And in the last, as
in the first, the forms of the beautiful Duchess and the fair
prima donna passed before him.
He awoke earlj r , and recollected, in his first conscious mo-
ment, that that morning he was to enter the service of the
young prima donna.
He arose and made his simple toilet, and ordered his
frugal breakfast.
228
A NOBLE LORD.
And when he had eaten it, and had called for his bill and
paid it, he sent for a cab and had his large trunk strapped
on behind, and his small effects packed inside, and then he
got into it himself and directed the driver to take him to
number , Park Lane, and to stop at the servants' door.
In good time he reached the miniature palace, drew up at
the servants' entrance and alighted.
He directed the driver to bring in his effects, and then
paid and dismissed him.
He went into the servants' hall, where, before he had time
to announce himself, the footman, Smith, accosted him with :
" If you be the new house steward and butler, sir, my
mistress left word as you was to come up to her immediate."
"Very well. I am quite ready to go," replied Benjamin.
" Then come with me, if you please," said the footman,
leading the way.
The man took Benjamin up stairs, and to the door of the
Rose Parlor. He opened the door, announced :
" The new house steward and butler, if you please, Miss,"
and immediately retired.
Benjamin found himself alone with Suzy.
CHAPTER XXIII.
MISTRESS AND MAN.
" GOOD-MORNING, Benjamin. I am glad to see you here
to-day. I saw you at the Opera last night, and I was glad
to see you there too," said Suzy, holding out her hand.
Benny took it and bowed over it, but did not speak.
Emotion that he could neither understand nor conquer, kept
him silent.
"Please sit down, Benjamin," she said, pointing to a
chair beside her.
MISTRESS AND MAN. 229
He shook his head slightly, bowed and remained
standing 1 .
" Oh, well, if you will not sit, you must stand, I do suppose.
'A willfu' mou maun ha'e his way,' as the Scotch say.
Benjamin, you enter upon your duties to-day. And I need
scarcely tell you that I will make them as light and as
pleasant as possible. The housekeeper, Mrs. Brown, has
prepared a room for you a very pleasant room on the third
floor back, looking upon the little inclosed shrubbery. It
has been fitted up for you very nicely. I have seen it my-
self, and I like it. That will be your own private apart-
ment, Benjamin, where you can retire when you wish to get
away from everybody."
She paused and looked at him. But again he only bowed
in silence. And so she continued :
" Besides that, Benjamin, there is a little office in the
front basement where J T OU can sit to transact the business
of the house. It is fitted up with book-shelves and cup-
boards, and a writing-desk and table and comfortable chairs.
I think you will like it, Benjamin, I did, I'm sure," she
added.
And then again she paused. But again he only bowed
and remained silent.
"You do not speak to me, Benjamin. You have not
spoken to me since you came into the room. Why is it ? "
"Oh Susan, Susan," he said, in a choking voice, "it is,
perhaps, that my consciousness is so darkened and burdened
with the memory of my past life. When I remember what
my life has been when I recall my stained and defiled
infancy and childhood, my disgraced and dishonored youth,
my cursed and ruined manhood I feel that I ought not to
be here."
Susan covered her face with her hands and wept. He
continued :
" I feel that I am unworthy to be here. I feel, Suzy,
280 A NOBLE LORD.
that your very meanest lackey, if he knew my past, would
not obey my orders, nay, that he would not even tolerate my
presence in the house, but would give you warning."
Susan wept bitterly. He went on :
" That, perhaps, was the reason, Susan, why at first I felt
unable to reply to you," he concluded, and then he stood
meekly before her.
Susan lifted up her head and dashed the tears from her
eyes, as she answered:
"No one shall ever know your unfortunate past life,
Benny. It is not given to the ignorant and narrow-minded
to know some things of which they are incapable of forming
just judgments. You are not responsible for your past,
Benjamin. You were and are naturally honest, true, just
and generous, affectionate, self-devoted, magnanimous ! I
who have known you as long as I have known myself, am
sure of this. The sins of your childhood, Benjamin, were
habits taught you as duties. They were no more a part of
yourself than were the little ragged jacket and trousers that
I remember so well. In the greater misfortunes of your
youth, j'ou were without a shadow of blame; you were then,
indeed, a blameless victim who suffered a criminal's punish-
ment. But your manhood, Benny, if you will only think so,
need not be blighted by these antecedents. They were mis-
fortunes that still darken your inner life because you are so
sensitive; but they should not be permitted to affect your
outer life at all. Oh, dear boy, accept what good I can do
you, and spend your leisure time in self-improvement, that
you ma}' be prepared for something better," she added, as
she held out her hand to him.
And never knight touched the hand of a queen with more
reverence than Benjamin Hurst showed, when he bowed
over the hand of Susan and pressed it to his lips.
Then she rang the bell. And to the page who answered
it, she gave a direction to send her companion and house-
keeper to the room.
MISTRESS AND MAN. 231
The latter soon made her appearance.
" Mrs. Brown," she said, " this is the new house steward
and butler I told you about. You will please show him his
office, and take the keys of the wine cellar and tire house-
hold account-books to him there. You will also send all the
tradespeople's bills to him for settlement. He will pay the
servants their wages, and be in authority over them. You
will have his meals served to him in his office."
" Very well, miss," answered the housekeeper.
" And now, Mr. Hurst, here are certain instructions for
your own guidance," said Susan, turning to the young man
and placing in his hand a letter.
Benjamin took it and bowed, and left the room with the
housekeeper.
"I will take you up stairs first and show you your bed-
room," said Mrs. Brown, leading the way.
She took him to the third floor back, and opened the door
of a spacious chamber, neatly but plainly furnished with
every possible comfort, and having two lofty windows that
looked down upon a back yard, where green trees, sweet
shrubs and climbing vines were very pleasant and refreshing
to the sight.
Benjamin looked around it with evident satisfaction.
" You will know where to find this again. And now I
will show you the house steward's office," said the matron.
And she led the way down four flights of stairs to the
basement story, where she showed him a front room of good
size furnished as Susan had described.
"And now, if there's anything else }'ou need, I have
orders to supply it," she said.
" Thanks. Nothing more whatever at present," said the
young man.
And the housekeeper left him, to return in a few
moments, bringing with her the household account-books.
" Up to this time they have been under my charge.
And I think you will find them correct," said Mrs. Brown.
232 A NOBLE LORD.
" I have no doubt of it," answered the young man, with
a smile, as he received them from her.
And when the matron had left the room he proceeded to
open the books, to make himself familiar with their con-
tents.
His front window commanded the sidewalk before the
house, and his desk was immediately below the window.
He sat poring over the account-books until he heard the
sound of carriage wheels, and looking up, saw Susan's
brougham draw up before the door.
He watched until he saw her come down and enter the
carriage and drive off.
He knew that she had gone to rehearsal. And then
he applied himself again to the revision of his account-
books.
It was only to become familiar with an unfamiliar subject
that he now studied.
He saw no more of Suzy that day.
He had chosen his own lot, chosen it in his self-humilia-
tion, at the memory of his poor, degraded childhood and
youth. And of course he must abide by it.
He might have been her agent, in place of her very in-
efficient brother Bill.
And brother Bill would no doubt have been well pleased
to be relieved from the duties of his office, while still enjoy-
ing its privileges, which consisted mainly in the freedom of
his sister's house and table and pocket and fame.
But he, Benjamin, was, as we have said before, overshad-
owed and overwhelmed by the memory of his sinful and
shameful, though irresponsible childhood. How little he
was blameworthy, all our readers know. But in his morbid
remorse and humiliation, he felt that he would be less un-
happy in an humble position than in any other.
Did he love Suzy then ?
As a sister, yes; he loved her as never brother loved sister
MISTRESS AND II A N. 233
before. But as a lover who longed to become a husband ?
No, not yet. His love was disinterested.
Did Suzy love him ? As a brother, yes ; she loved him
as sister had never loved brother before. But as a lover,
and a possible husband ? No, indeed !
She was beginning to love the Earl of Wellrose in that
light.
Drawn to Earl Wellrose, first of all, by something in
his face that at first sight had reminded her of her best
beloved early friend and playmate, she had received him
with pleasure.
Later on, charmed by the fascination of his manner and
the profundity and brilliancy of his mind, she had learned
first to wonder at him, then to admire him, and DOW to
love him.
Benjamin Hurst knew nothing of all this, as he sat
patiently poring over his account-books. He knew that
his beloved foster-sister was the worshipped of all London ;
but he suspected not that she favored one more than an-
other of her worshippers.
The moment of his illumination was, however, at hand.
That very evening, after the opera, " Mademoiselle
Arielle " was to give a " little supper."
Arielle's little suppers were very elegant, recherche and
refined affairs. Usually there were but four present, seldom
more than six, never more than eight.
On this occasion, there were to be but six : the Earl of
Wellrose ; Mademoiselle Zephyrine, the secunda donna of
the opera ; the Honorable Stuart Fitzroy, the j'ounger son
of the Viscount St. Paul ; Arielle, the hostess ; and Mr.
William Juniper, her brother, and La Pettite Fee.
The supper was to be served at half-past eleven r. M. It
might have been a breakfast if it had been ordered to be
served half an hour later.
And Benjamin Hurst, in his capacity of butler, was to
234 A NOBLE LORD.
stand behind the hostess' chair, and according to particular
arrangement, to wait only on her.
The matron who stood in the double character of com-
panion and housekeeper to Mademoiselle Arielle our
Susan Juniper informed Benjamin Hurst of what was
afoot, and gave him a hint of what would be expected of
himself.
Therefore, as the hour for tfre supper approached, Benja-
min went into the elegant little supper room, opening from
the drawing room, tosee that all things were in order. Not
that he was any sort of a judge of supper tables, poor boy !
but his hard life had made him an excellent judge of men,
and he was sure he should know, by the very looks of the
footmen under him, whether they had faithfully performed
their duty and all was right.
When he saw the supper table, he had no complaint to
make.
It seemed to him, with its rich decorations of the most
fragrant hot-house flowers, its splendid service of gold,
silver, porcelain and glass, and its rainbow lights from
stained gaseliers, to be just perfect. He did not need to
look at the confident faces of his underlings to see this.
" You have done verj- well indeed, Smith and Jones.
Nothing could be more elegant," he said, happy to be able
to approve so heartily.
" Thank you, sir ; glad you like it, sir," said Smith and
Jones, who had come to the wise conclusion that it might be
prudent for them to stand well with the new house steward
and butler, whether he were simply an ordinary person, or
an unacknowledged poor kinsman of the Earl of Wellrose,
whom their mistress certainly distinguished above all her
other adorers.
Benjamin Hurst then went to his room to make a toilet
proper to the occasion a fine black cloth dress suit with
white vest, white cravat, white gloves and white handker-
chief very like a gentleman's.
MISTRESS AND MAN. 235
At eleven o'clock, " Mademoiselle Arielle " came home
from the opera.
She hastily changed her carriage suit for an evening dress,
and then sent for Benjamin Hurst to attend her. in the Kose
Parlor.
He went in and found her seated on the sofa. She was
very richly dressed, in a light hlue satin, with a point lace
overskirt, and jewelry to match, of fine pearls and turquoise,
and a bouquet of blue and white violets on her bosom. Her
light golden hair, parted on the top of her small head, and
carried back from her temples and caught up behind with a
comb of silver filigree set with pearls and turquoise, fell in a
shining shower of curls upon her neck. She held in her
hand a fan of blue satin spangled with silver, and a larger
bouquet of blue and white violets.
"I have asked you to come up here, Benjamin," she said
" that I might say to you this. You need not attend at the
supper table to-night unless you really wish to do so. There
is no necessity, you know."
" But I wish to do so," said Benjamin.
" Then it shall be as you please ; but you will wait on no
one but me, remember. And a service of affection it will
be," she said.
And Benjamin, understanding that the little interview
was over, bowed and withdrew.
Half an hour later, Arielle and her guests were assembled
in the elegant little drawing-room, when the doors of the
dining-room were drawn back, as by invisible hands, and the
3'oung butler appeared and said :
" Mademoiselle, supper is served."
236 A NOBLE LORD.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LITTLE SUPPER.
Then all was jollity,
Feasting and mirth, light bearteduess aud laughter. ROWE.
ARIELLE arose and took the offered arm of the Earl of
Wellrose, and led the way to the supper table, followed by
the Honorable Stuart Fitzroy with Mademoiselle Zephyrine,
and Mr. William Juniper with La Petitie Fee.
It was a round table, and as each gentleman handed his
companion to her seat and sat down beside her, it happened
that a lady and gentleman were placed alternately around
the board.
The supper was composed of the most choice dainties of the
season, in meats, fruits, pastry and confections, with the rarest
wines and cordials.
Benjamin Hurst waited behind the hostess' chair, aud
changed her plates or filled her glass ; and waited on no one
else, but kept his eye on the two footmen who were in attend-
ance under him, to see that they did their duty. And Smith
and Jones, who thought that they were now overlooked by
a man who, in spite of his youth, understood the duties of
his office, exerted themselves to win his approbation.
Jest and laughter, raillery and repartee ran around the
table, and " all went merry as a marriage bell."
But very early in the feast the tastefully dressed young
butler, standing behind Arielle's chair and waiting exclu-
sively upon her, attracted general though covert attention.
His rare personal beauty and delicacy, and his perfect resem-
blance to the Earl of Wellrose, excited much admiration and
astonishment.
" Who the deuce is that languid swell of a new butler of
yours, Suzy ? " inquired Mr. William Juniper, who sat on
THE LITTLE SUPPER. 237
the left hand of his sister, while the Earl of Wellrose sat
upon her right.
" Hush ! I will tell you after supper," replied Arielle, in
a very low tone.
And the wine circulated and the feast went on amid much
merriment.
Benjamin, watching from his post behind the hostess'
chair, observed much : first, that Suzy took no wine, only
lifting her glass to her lips when invited to do so by a guest ;
secondly, that the Earl of Wellrose took very little ; and
thirdly, that the Honorable Stuart Fitzroy and Mr. William
Juniper drank a great deal too much.
He also noticed that the attentions of the Earl of Well-
rose to Arielle were at once tender, delicate and respectful ;
and she took a shy delight in his society. But that the
admiration of Mr. Stuart Fitzroy for her was freely and
somewhat coarsely displayed, and that she shrunk from it in
ill-concealed disgust. Furthermore, he noticed with aston-
ishment that her brother clearly favored the vulgar advances
of Mr. Fitzroy, while he discouraged the delicate attentions
of Lord Wellrose.
Not having the key to Mr. William's strange conduct, he
could not understand it at all.
The little supper came to an end at length.
The party adjourned to the drawing-room for a few
moments to exchange a little more raillery and repartee,
jest and laughter, and then to prepare to separate for the
night.
Tho two young ladies from the opera went away in their
brougham. Then the Earl of Wellrose made his bow and
departed.
When all the other guests had gone, Mr. Stuart Fitzroy
lingered.
Suzy stood up where she had received the conges of her
friends, and, though she was very tired, she forbore to sit
238 A NOBLE LORD.
down, lest the Honorable Stuart should take her act as a
tacit invitation and follow her example, and then prolong
his stay.
So she remained standing, as if waiting for him to bow
and go, until her wise brother, Mr. William, said :
" Sit down, sit down, Mr. Fitzroy; it's early yet quite
early."
Yes; indeed it was "quite early" only two o'clock in
the morning. So, to Arielle's extreme annoyance, Mr.
Stuart Fitzroy sat down and made himself at home.
Arielle dropped heavily into her seat, without making the
least effort to disguise her weariness and dissatisfaction.
That was not the worst of it; for, after a very few min-
utes of light conversation with Mr. Fitzroy, Mr. William,
who had been standing with his back to the fireplace, now
deliberately sauntered out of the room, leaving the obnox-
ious suitor alone with his sister. Arielle darted a glance of
indignation after the deserter, who should have been her
protector, but who had become in a manner her entrapper.
But she had little time to think. Mr. Stuart Fitzroy,
somewhat inflamed by the wine that he had drank, ap-
proached her, took her hand, and said :
" Mademoiselle, this is an hour that I have long looked
for, hoped for, sighed for, in vain ! "
She withdrew her hand and rang the bell.
A footman answered it.
"Smith," she said, "ask Mr. Hurst to be so good as to
come here."
The footman disappeared.
" Mademoiselle, for heavens ! before we are interrupted,
hear me ! I my intentions are honorable. I I ex-
plained them to your brother. In fact, I I wish to lay my
heart and hand and fortune at your feet hand, observe,
Mademoiselle ! I am aware that many hearts and many
fortunes are ready to to be laid at your feet, but I lay also
my hand and name ! I "
THE LITTLE SUPPER. 239
Here the door opened, and the young house steward
entered the room.
"Mr. Hurst, attend this gentleman to the door; put his
hat on his head ; give him his cane, umbrella or gloves, or
whatever else he may have left about ; see him safely to his
carriage, and tell his coachman to take him home, and to
look well after him when he gets him there."
And so saying, she swept out of the room.
Benny immediately approached the Honorable Stuart
Fitzroy, and saying very politely :
" Will you take nay arm, sir ? " drew that gentleman'o
arm within his own.
But the Honorable Stuart was not so far gone as not to
know that he was contemned and despised and dismissed."
He jerked his arm away from Benjamin's, and exclaiming
elegantly :
"Well, I'm dashed," pushed out of the room, seized his
hat, and decamped.
Benjamin ordered the footman to turn off the gas, and.
then he retired to his own room in the third floor back.
Late as was the hour, Suzy as we shall always call
Mademoiselle Arielle in the privacy of domestic life was
too indignant to go immediately to her much-needed rest,
but went impetuously to a little smoking room off from
the conservatory, where she knew she should find her hope-
ful brother.
" Well, sir ! " she exclaimed, as she threw open the door
and found him enjoying his otium cum dignitate, leaning
back in a resting chair, with a pipe in his mouth and his
heels on the mantel shelf " Well, sir : a very honorable
young man, and a very good brother, and a very safe protec-
tor I have found in you ! I think you had better convey
your invaluable qualities back to Australia. I shall write
to our father and tell him so."
" Hallo ! I say now, Suzy, hold on, you know. You're
240 A NOBLE LORD.
coming it a little strong, an't you? What do you mean?
what's the row?" he inquired defiantly, taking the pipe
from his mouth.
" I mean, you cowardly Oh, I will not speak to my
mother's son as he deserves! I mean, William, that you
entrapped me into an interview with that man Fitzroy,
whose every wt>rd was an insult."
"Hallo, I say! Is that so? Because, if it is, he's got
to account to me for it, if he is twenty times my Lord Vis-
count's sou. But he told me he meant to offer you mar-
riage."
"His offer of marriage, couched in the terms that it was,
was an affront-."
" Oh ! he did keep his word to yon, then, and offer you
marriage. Well, now, let me tell you, Suzy, that that's a deal
more than that magnificent swell the Earl of Wellrose ever
did, or ever will do," said Mr. William, coolly resuming his
pipe.
" SILENCE, SIK ! " she indignantly exclaimed, her bine
eyes blazing on him. "Never let me hear you speak one
word against the noble Earl of Wellrose again, lest I break
with you in good earnest."
"Now, Suzy, don't be stagey, whatever you do. Leave
heroics in Covent Garden, and let us have common-sense in
Park Lane. I'm not saying anything against the Earl.
But I warn you not to set your heart on him. Because such
a magnificent swell as he is will never go to propose mar-
riage to you. Besides, he's engaged, as all the world
knows, to the great beauty, Lady Hinda Moray, the Earl
of Ornoch's daughter. So what hope can you have ? "
Suzy wheeled her chair around, turning her back full
upon him, for an answer.
" Yes, you may treat me with contempt, Susan, but what
I tell you is the truth. And I tell it to you for your good.
I warn you to expect nothing from Lord Wellrose; and at
THE LITTLE SUPPER. 241
the same time I advise you to accept the honorable proposals
of my friend Mr. Fitzroy."
"A spendthrift, wine-bibber, and gambler! How dare
you advise your sister to take such a man for her husband ? "
demanded Suzy, without turning around.
" Come now, Suzy, you would not let me speak one word
against your friend the Earl, and here you are abusing my
friend Fitzroy the worst way ! I don't say that he has not
his little faults ; all men have ; but "
"His little faults ! " echoed Suzy scornfully.
" Yes, his little faults, for that is all / consider them ; but
with all his little faults he is a gentleman. And even you
can't deny that he has made you honorable proposals. He
has laid heart, hand and fortune at your feet."
"His fortune!" echoed Suzy contemptuously. "And
what is his fortune? A load of debts that he cannot pay."
" Well, he offers you the best he has to give.
" ' He gives you all, he can no more,
Though poor the offering be ;
His heart and lute are all the store
That he can offer thee,' "
sung Mr. William, in a chaffing manner. Then, changing
his tone, he said :
" It is not quite so bad as that either. He is the son of
Lord St. Paul. He offers you an old and an honorable
name, and a distinguished family connection."
" If he were the eldest son and heir of Lord St. Paul,
instead of being the penniless younger son, I would not
think of him for an instant as a husband," retorted Suzy.
And then, again but that is of little consequence to you
he is my very good friend."
" I am sorry to hear it," said Suzy to herself.
"He shows me many kind attentions," continued Mr.
William, as if he had not heard her. " He invitos me to
15
U42 A NOBLE LORD.
dinner, takes me out boating, introduces me to his friends.
I might wait a long time before my Lord Wellrose would do
anything of the sort."
" I should hope so," said Susan very gravely. " And there
is the whole secret of your advocacy of that man Fitzroy !
You, my brother, who should be my protector, are weak
enough and false enough to be bribed by a few flattering
attentions, into favoring the suit of a ruined spendthrift for
the hand of your sister ! You who ought to be my defender
from all such ! " she added very bitterly.
Mr. William was touched.
" And I am your defender, Susan ! And I will be 3 r our
defender ! It is because Fitzroy loves you, and offers you
honorable marriage and a noble connection, that I favor his
suit. If he should offer anything else, I should pitch into
him and thrash him within an inch of his life, if he were
the son of fifty noblemen ! But I won't tease you any more
about him ; indeed I won't. Give us your hand, old girl,
and let's say good night, for it's three o'clock in the morn-
ing !
Suzy gave him her hand sulkily enough. She could not
quite get over the affront she had received.
"Oh, by the way, I forgot. I say, look here ! about that
languid swell of a butler of yours, who looks like a gentle-
man in disguise, and is the perfect fac simile of Lord Well-
rose ! Who the deuce is he ? And where did you pick him
up ? " inquired Mr. William, detaining the hand of his
sister.
" Is it possible you did not recognize him ? " inquired
Susan.
" Him ! Who ? No, I didn't. I was so taken up with
his likeness to Lord Wellrose, that I never once thought
whether I ever had seen him before or not. And now that 1
I do think, I am sure I never saw him before. Who the
deuce is he, then ? "
THE LITTLE SUPPEE.
"He is Benjamin Hurst," said Susan gravely.
"Ben jamin Who?"
"Benjamin Hurst."
"Benjamin Hurst! And who the deuce is he ? Never
heard of him in my life before."
"Oh, William ! is it possible that you have utterly for-
gotten Benny ? little Benny who used to be my little play-
mate in the poor old times, in the poor old house in Junk
Lane ? " said Susan sadly and reproachfully.
"Whe-ewl" commented Mr. William, in a long, low
whistle. " So your new butler is little Benny that was !
Well, I should never have thought it! Little Benny that
was transported for burglary fourteen years ago, because
he wouldn't peach on his pals ! Why, when did he get
back ? Where did you pick him up ? "
Susan sat down and told her brother where and when
she had again met Benny.
"And I knew him the minute I saw him, William I did,
indeed," she added.
"And you gave him a good situation, and made him your
butler."
"And house steward. It was the best I could do for him,
William. It was the very best he would let me do for him,
I mean."
" Suzy, darling, that was bully ! You're a trump ! " said
Mr. William heartily.
" I'm so glad you think so, Will," said Susan, once
more rising to bid her brother good- night.
After she had left the little smokery, Mr. William con-
tinued to smoke until he had finished his pipe, and then he
too retired to bed.
The next day, about the hour of noon, as Benjamin was
sitting over his account-books, in his little basement office,
the door was opened, and Mr. William Juniper entered and
clapped the young man on the back, exclaiming heartily :
244 A NOBLE LORD.
" Hallo, Ben, old chap ! Is this you ? I shouldn't hare
known you from the Lord Bishop of London, if my sister
hadn't told me who you were. I say old fellow, I'm so gkd
to see you ! Give us your paw ! "
"Thank you, Mr. William," said Benjamin, rising and
placing his thin hand in that of William Juniper.
" I say, look here you know ! Wa'n't you a little game-
cock, to set all the big wigs at Old Bailey at naught, and
allow them to send you over seas for fourteen years, before
you'd peach ?"
To this question Benjamin made no reply. He only
placed a chair and said :
" Will you sit down, Mr. William ?"
"Not this time, old fellow ! But I'm coming in here to
have a crack with you often, and smoke a pipe in honor of
old times. I say, you smoke, you know, don't you ? "
" No, sir."
" TUe dence, yon don't ! Then you must learn, yon know !
Now I'm off. I only came in to give you a grip of wel-
come, and to tell you that if ever you want a friend to call
on me. I'm the same old Billy, to you, as I was when we
used to fall out and get our hands in each other's hair and
roll all the way down from the top to the bottom of the
stairs before either of us would give in ; and afterwards
be better friends than ever."
" Thank you, Mr. William."
"'Bill,' except before folks I Now, then, I am off," he
said, and he went out.
Days passed, and both Susan and William Juniper treated
Benjamin Hurst more like a brother than a servant.
And daily he thanked Heaven for the peace that had de-
scended upon him.
THE EARL'S LOVE. 245
CHAPTER XXV.
THE EARL'S LOVE.
Oh, a woman's like a dew-drop, she's so purer than the purest!
And her noble heart's the noblest yes, and sure her faith's the surest.
EGBERT BROWNING.
THE young Earl of Wellrose carried the very spirit of
"honor into all the transactions of his life, yet was his con-
duct toward the youthful prima donna very ambiguous.
He loved her; there could be no doubt of that in his
own mind, in hers, or even in poor Benny's.
The Earl's devotion to the singer was the talk of all the
clubs. Happily it had not yet become the gossip of the
boudoirs.
He made her munificent presents of the rarest articles of
vertu, and which she accepted with a sort of deprecating
grace. For, in truth, while she was very unwilling to take
Biich magnificent gifts, she was much too gentle to refuse
them, especially when they were chosen with so much good
taste and propriety, and offered with such tact and delicacy.
He devoted himself to her in almost every way, but he
never spoke of love or marriage !
And she loved him ; there was no question of that, either
in her mind or in his, or in poor Benny's. She had been
drawn to him, first of all by his perfect likeness to the lost
friend of her childhood, but now she was bound to him by
the goodness of his heart, the brilliancy of his mind, and
the charm of his manner.
He was what poor Benny might have been, if Benny
had been educated. And now " she loved him with a
love that was her doom."
Yes, she loved him and she trusted him ; yet she feared
with a deadly fear to lose him, because he never spoke to
her of love or marriage.
246
A NOBLE LORD.
-And poor Benny! Benny, waiting behind the chair, at
the little suppers where the Earl was a favorite guest, and
watching with the most devoted affection over the welfare
of Suzy Benny saw the mutual love between the noble
Earl and the beautiful singer ; saw the hesitation and in-
decision in the mind of the man, and the fear and dread in
the heart of the girl.
He saw it all, because his vision was enlightened by love,
for no\v he too loved Suzy, and no longer only as a brother
loves a sister. He loved her as the Earl of Wellrose loved
her, only infinitely more.
As he watched them at these little suppers, and saw,
evening after evening, the same little drama performed
the attachment between them; the doubt in the mind of
the man, the dread in the heart of the woman he said to
himself that had he, Benny, been an earl or even a prince,
and had been so blessed as to win her love, he would never
have hesitated an instant to ask her to be his wife. The
Earl of Wellrose was a gentleman of stainless honor.
What did he mean ?
Benny, with his vision enlightened by pure love, saw
clearly enough what the Earl of Wellrose meant.
He was waiting for something: possibly for a favorable
opportunity to make to his parents the astounding an-
nouncement that he wished to marry an opera singer ; per-
haps for the rising of parliament ; perhaps for the marriage
of Lady Hinda Moray ; but whatever it might be, he was
certainly waiting, and meant to wait.
And meanwhile Suzy, loving him with all the deep pas-
sion of her awakened heart, trusting him, yet fearing to
lose him, grew sick and pale with "hope deferred. "
Her brother William gave her no comfort. He never
missed an opportunity of reminding her that it was alto-
gether useless for her to expect a proposal of marriage from
such a " heavy swell " as he was meaning the Earl of
Wellrose, of course.
THE EARLS LOVE.
Upon these occasions Suzy would burst into tears, and
say, with a little self-deception, or perhaps a little hypocrisy,
that " she was sure she did not want anybody to propose
marriage to her, because she had no wish to be married at
all ; that she wished everybody would mind their own busi-
ness ; and for the matter of that, dukes had married ac-
tresses before now witness the Duke of St. Albans."
But Suzy grew pale and thin, though scarcely less lovely ;
for now there was a tender pensiveness in her face, a touch-
ing pathos in her tones, more beautiful and endearing than
the most brilliant bloom and gayest spirits.
The many worshippers of her genius said that she was
wearing herself out ;- that she would meet the swan's fate
and die in music.
Benjamin's heart ached for her sorrow. Night after
night he lay awake in his room, wondering when the Earl
of Wellrose would put an end to the suspense that was
killing the fair young singer.
At length one evening when, as usual, the Earl supped
with the young prima donna, and Benny stood behind her
chair, he heard his lordship say, in answer to some remark
of hers, that as soon as parliament should rise, he, the Earl,
should go off in his yacht for a cruise in the Mediterranean.
Benny could not see her face; but he knew, by the
sudden silence that came upon her, how heavily the blow
had fallen.
The Earl bade good-night, and went away rather earlier
than usual.
Suzy remained seated in her chair in the drawing-room.
Benjamin went down to his little office room, deeply
troubled in mind.
He remained sitting over his account-books, but doing
nothing, until the clock on his chimney-piece struck two.
Then he started up, and remembered a neglected duty.
It was his custom at twelve o'clock, midnight, to go over
248 A NOBLE LORD.
the house to see that all was right, and then with his own
hands to secure the fastenings of the doors and windows,
and to turn off the gas.
And now lie had remained so long in his sad reverie, that
he was two hours behind his usual time.
He arose and went quickly, but noiselessly, up the stairs.
He looked to the hall doors and windows, which he found
fast.
Then he passed into the drawing-room, where the gas was
burning very low.
He was crossing the room toward the front windows, when
his eyes fell upon an object that chilled his blood with
horror !
For there in the large arm-chair sat the form, of Suzy,
white, cold and still, and to all appearance stone dead.
He flew to her, frantically caught her in his arms, and
wildly called upon her name.
But it was as if he held a corpse. There was no warmth
in the limbs, no light in the eyes, no breath between the
lips of the senseless body.
He laid her down on the sofa and violently rang the bell.
And then, without waiting for any one to answer it, he
ran madly up the stairs, calling aloud for help, until he
reached the housekeeper's room door, just as that worthy
matron put out her night-capped head in terror, and de-
manded :
" What on the face of the earth is the matter? "
" Oh, Come ! Come quickly, Mrs. Brown ! I fear that
she is quite dead. It is it is Suzy. Mademoiselle Arielle,
I mean ! Oh, come quickly ! She is in the dravving-rooui
on the sofa. Dead, or in a deathly swoon!" exclaimed
Benjamin in great excitement, as he ran down stairs,
followed, as fast as her age would permit, by the house
keeper.
"This is a fainting fit! Bring some brandy!" directed
THE EARI/S LOVE. 249
the housekeeper, as soon as she saw the unconscious form of
Suzy.
Benjamin flew to do her bidding, while she laid the girl
down flat upon the sofa and began to rub and beat the life-
less hands.
Benjamin came back with the brandy, and was immedi-
ately sent for smelling salts, which he also quickly brought.
And while the experienced matron was using every proper
means to restore the senseless form to consciousness, she
closely questioned the young man.
" How on earth did this happen ? And how did you find
it out ? And how came you to be up so late ? And she
too ? Why, it must be near three o'clock in the morning ! "
And all the while she hurried these questions one upon
the other without waiting for an answer, she was also dili-
gently rubbing the patient's cold hands, or applying the
smelling salts to her nose, or putting the brandy to her
motionless lips, but without present good effect.
" Why can't you speak, Mr. Hurst, and tell me all about
it ? " she impatiently exclaimed.
" I can tell you very little, ma'am," answered Benny, who
then stated the case, and asked if Mademoiselle was in any
danger.
" Not in the least ! Though what on earth could have
caused her to faint I have not the slightest idea. Have
you ? "
Yes, he had ; but he did not mean to tell Mrs. Brown.
So keeping his eyes fixed upon the face of the fainting girl,
he said :
" I think she is coming to herself. Is she not? "
"Yes," said the housekeeper, after a scrutinizing look.
And soon, with a deep, gasping sigh, Suzy recovered her
breath, opened her eyes, and looked strangely around.
;< There, my dear, you are better now. Take a tea-
spoonful of brandy," said the housekeeper, putting the full
spoou to her lips.
A NOBLE LORD.
Suzy obediently swallowed the fiery liquid, which half
strangled her, and caused her to cough a great deal and to
weep a little.
" There, never mind its strength and fire ; it will do you
good," said the housekeeper, patting her on the back.
"Why did you give me that burning stuff? I think it
has taken all the skin off the inside of my throat. And
what has been the matter here at all, that you are all
standing around me ? " half angrily demanded Suzy be-
tween her gasps.
" You were found here in a dead swoon by Mr. Hurst,
when he came in to turn off the gas. He called me to your
assistance, and I came, and I have brought you to yourself.
Take another teaspoonful of brandy."
" Thanks, no. I am sorry to have given so much
trouble," said Suzy, with a weary sigh. Then turning to
her dressing maid, who had just now joined the group, she
paid, "Jenny Smith, give me your arm to my room. I
will go to bed." I
" Oh, pray let me assist you ! The girl is not strong
enough to give you ranch help," pleaded Benjamin Hurst,
coming in her sight from the head of the sofa.
"Oh, are you there, Benny ? Thanks very much. Yes,
certainly you may help me. Give me your arm," she said,
rising from the sofa.
He drew her arm within his own, and supported her with
firmness and tenderness as she attempted to leave the room.
" Don't look so distressed, Benny. This is really noth-
ing. I am much better now, and I shall be all right to-
morrow," she murmured, with a smile, as she noticed Ben-
jamin's troubled countenance.
He tenderly sustained her drooping form up the stairs,
and to the door of her bed-chamber, where he left her in
charge of Mrs. Brown and Jenny Smith, who had followed
her closely.
THE EARL'S LOVE. 251
Benjamin went up another flight of stairs to his own back
room.
But he did not go to bed.
The summer day was now breaking, and Benjamin sat
down at the back window that opened above the little
shrubbery.
And as he sat and thought over all Suzy's long sus-
pense and distress, caused by the hesitation and inde-
cision of her lover, and her recent despair occasioned by
the announcement of his approaching departure on an ex-
tensive cruise, Benjamin took a sudden resolution.
Tf no one else Avould interfere to save her, he would. If
no one else would speak to the Earl of Wellrose in her in-
terests, lie would. If no one else would ask the noble Earl
what were his lordship's intention in regsird to the beauti-
ful young prima donna, whom he had made the object of
his devotion, and whoso heart he had won by that devotion,
lie would. For Suzy's sake, he, poor Benjamin Hurst,
would bring the noble Earl of Wellrose to book.
Even as, in his wretched childhood, he had never hesitated
to risk his life or liberty in the service of his old protectress,
Ruth Drug, or of his poor, suffering acquaintance, Rosy
Flowers, so, in the interests of his childhood's playmate,
Suzy Juniper, now the celebrated prima donna, Made-
moiselle Arielle, he would not hesitate for one moment to
take the distinguished young Earl of Wellrose roundly to
task, for his thoughtless conduct in regard to her.
"Thoughtless conduct;" Benjamin never considered it
anything worse than that. He never once suspected Lord
Wellrose of any premeditated wickedness. He, like Suzy,
had the utmost confidence in the young Earl's principles.
And, moreover, he had the strongest and the most unac-
countable affection for him. His heart warmed toward him.
He could believe no evil of him. He felt sure that he
might safely go to him and say all that was on his mind to
252 A NOB IE LORD.
say, without being misinterpreted, or in any manner mis-
judged.
He strangely felt that he might go to him as man to man
almost as brother to brother and plead the cause of love
and faith. And so he firmly resolved to do, before another
day should pass over his head.
So resolving, Benjamin, overcome by fatigue, fell asleep
with his head on the window-sill.
The sun, shining brightly and hotly in at the window,
awoke him.
Pie collected his faculties, arose and made his simple toi-
lf-t, and then went below stairs to attend to the duties of
his office.
There were none of the female servants stirring yet, so
he could not hear how Suzy was this morning.
At eight o'clock Mrs. Brown came down stairs, and, in
reply to his anxious question, informed him that " Made-
moiselle " was fast asleep.
The hours of the forenoon passed heavily away.
At eleven o'clock Mrs. Brown went softly into Suzy's
room, and returned and reported her still sleeping quietly.
" But you had better send a message to Covent Garden
Theatre, to say that Mademoiselle Arielle is indisposed, and
will not be at the rehearsal this morning. She is due there,
you know, at this hour, Mr. Hurst."
" L will take the message myself," said Benjamin.
And having got through his morning duties, he dressed
himself in his best clothes and went to Covent Garden
theatre, where he delivered his message to the expectant
manager.
And then he set out to walk to Cheviot House, Piccadilly,
to seek an interview with the Earl of Wellrose.
THE BROTHERS FACE TO FACE. 253
CHAPTEE XXVI.
THE BROTHERS FACE TO FACE.
You cannot know the good and tender heart,
Its girl's trust and its woman's constancy :
How pure, yet passionate! how calm, yet kind I
How grave, yet joyous ! how reserved, yet free
As light where friends are! ROBEBT BROWNING.
IN an elegantly furnished sitting-room, belonging to his
own private suite of apartments, the young Earl of Wellrose
was seated at a table covered with books, papers and writing
materials, when the door opened, and his own valet noise-
lessly entered and bowed.
" Well, what now, Perkins ? " inquired the Earl, with
a yawn.
" If you please, my lord, a person brought this and waits
an answer," said the valet, presenting the little pearl tray,
upon which lay a small, neatly folded note.
The Earl took the note listlessly, opened it, and read :
" Will the Earl of Wellrose kindly permit me to see him
alone for a few minutes ? I come from No. , Park Lane.
"BENJAMIN HURST."
" Mademoiselle Arielle's steward," muttered the Earl to
himself. " He comes with some message or some letter
from her, that he is to deliver to me alone," Then speak-
up, he said :
" Certainly, Perkins. Tell the young man to come up."
The valet bowed and withdrew, and after a few moments
returned and ushered in the visitor, and again retired.
Benjamin Hurst stood a few feet within the door, and
bowed.
" Come here, if you please," said Lord Wellrose, moving
his seat a little way from the table.
Benny approached arid stood near the Earl.
254 A NOBLE LORD.
The brothers, so much alike in person and in dispo.-iti'on,
so widely apart in social standing, so closely connected by
the ties of blood, so utterly unconscious of their relation-
ship, stood face to face, and looked at each other with more
of deeply curious interest than either could explain to him-
self.
" You come from Mademoiselle Arielle, I presume ? " said
the Earl.
" No, my lord ; I come only from her house," replied
Benny.
" But you bring some message or letter for me?"
"None, my lord."
" Then, my good fellow, what brings you here at all ? "
inquired the Earl, in some little surprise.
Benjamin Hurst hesitated. He now felt that it was very
difficult to enter upon the delicate subject of his visit. Yet
he was firmly resolved to do it. After a short pause, during
which the young Earl looked at him with a most embarrass-
ing attention, as if waiting for him to go on, he said:
"My lord, I fear that you will think it very presuming
in me to come to you as 1 come this morning, and speak to
you as I must speak
Here the Earl of Wellrose lifted his eyebrows question-
ingly, but said nothing.
" But, my lord, I come here in the interests and for the
sake of Suzy " continued Benny.
" Suzy ! " repeated the Earl, more and more surprised
and perplexed.
" I beg your pardon, my lord. I should have said Mad-
emoiselle Arielle. But perhaps your lordship may know
that this is only her pretty nomme de theatre; and that she
is of English birth, though of French training," Benjamin
explained.
" I have heard so from her own lips, w the Earl assented.
" Then, my lord, you may have also heard from her, who
THE BROTHERS FACE TO FACE. 255
has no secrets from her friends, that long before her French
training and her splendid success under her French name,
long before all that, even in the days of her childhood, when
she lived in her humble English home, and bore her obscure
English name, she had a child friend, of her own age, dearer
to her than brother or sister ; for he loved her beyond every-
thing on earth or in heaven," murmured Benny, his voice
nearly breaking down.
" Yes, my poor fellow, I have heard all that too ; and how
she wished and endeavored, in memory of that childhood's
friendship, to do a friend's part by you, and place you in
some better position than that which you now occupy in her
house ; but that you would accept of nothing better than it.
I never heard why j r ou would not," said the Earl, with a
compassionate look ; for his heart was strangely, strongly
drawn toward the poor outcast.
"A mixed motive of mingled pride and shame, I believe,
my lord. She could not have told you the whole of my mis-
erable past, or you would know that I am not even worthy
of the place I now, through her goodness, hold in her house.
But I am not here to speak of myself, my lord, but of her.
And your kindness to me makes it much easier to do so. I
have your lordship's permission, I hope."
" Certainly. Speak on," replied the Earl, as a slight
shade of annoyance passed over his face. " Go on with what
you have to say, and be sure that no injustice shall misinter-
pret your words or motives."
" I thank your lordship," said Benjamin, drawing a deep
breath.
" And pray sit down, while you speak. You do not seem
strong," said the Earl kindly.
Benjamin bowed and availed himself of the offered seat.
"And now?" inquired Lord Wellrose.
" My lord, what I had to say to you is this : that there is a
rumor everywhere afloat, to the effect that still another peer-
256 A NOBLE LORD.
ess is to be recruited from the ranks of art. And from the
bottom of my heart I hope that the rumor may be true,
which intimately connects the names of the Earl of Well-
rose and Mademoiselle Arielle and honorably, I mean of
course. Again let me repeat that from my heart and soul
I hope and trust that the rumor may be correct," said
Benjamin solemnly.
Without reply, the Earl arose and walked uneasily up and
down the room, opened a window, and then, as if annoyed
at having shown even so much disturbance, he returned to
the table and resumed his seat, and said quietly :
" Well, my good fellow for you really are a good fellow
well, what of all this ? "
Benjamin Hurst lifted his head and looked at the Earl so
gravely, earnestly, solemnly, that his lordship's eyelids low-
ered beneath the steady blue gaze.
" What can it possibly matter," said Lord Wellrose,
forcibly keeping down and controlling the extreme sense of
annoyance he experienced " what can it possibly matter
whether rumor, which is so often false, so seldom true,
should be false or true in this single instance? "
" Nothing whatever, my lord, to the gossips who circulate
the report ; but little, also, as regards your lordship's name ;
and not much even as regards hers ; for these are all merely
external circumstances. But, my lord, there is more in-
volved in this affair than mere town talk, or even than nolile
and famous names. There is a whole life's happiness in-
volved in it, Lord Wellrose," said Benjamin, with much
emotion.
The Earl was beginning to lose some of his cool self-
control. He impatiently tapped his slippered foot with the
point of a little cane that he held in his hand, and after a
short silence, said suddenly :
41 For Heaven's sake, man, go on, and say your worst ! "
"My lord, forgive me that I must do so. I would
THE BROTHERS FACE TO FACE. 257
willingly avoid the duty, were there any one else to do it.
I am, also, so conscious of a seeming impertinence in my in-
terference, that I can only trust in your lordship's goodness
for a favorable consideration."
Here Benjamin paused for a moment. Lord "Wellrose
impatiently waved his hand ; and Benjamin resumed :
" Lord Wellrose, you have been for the last three months
constantly visiting Mademoiselle Arielle, both at the opera
and at her house. You have lavished upon her the zealous
attentions of a devoted lover. These constant and pointed
attentions, together with her most favorable acceptance of
them, has occasioned the talk in the clubs, and in all other
places where such matters are likely to be discussed. It is
confidently asserted that you will marry her. It is of very
little consequence to the world at large whether this asser-
tion be true or false. But it is of vital importance to her."
"Of vital importance to her!" echoed the Earl, as if
speaking to himself.
" Yes, Lord Wellrose. Her father, my lord, is an humble
but honorable man. He is in Australia now. Had he been
present here in England, he would have politely inquired
into your lordship's intentions long hefore this."
The Earl's face flushed.
" Does any one dare to believe that I could have " he
began, but he could not go on. His color deepened, as
Benny answered the half-formed question :
" No, my lord ; no one ventures to impute evil to you
that is, evil intention. But wliat says the poet Page?
' More evil is wrought from want of thought, than ever from
want of heart.' "
" Explain yourself. "
" I will. It is no disparagement to your honor, my lord,
to say that your admiration and affection for Mademoiselle
Arielie is patent to all observers. It is no reproach to her
delicacy to say that your devotion has won her heart."
16
258 A NOBLE LORD.
Lord Wellrose covered his eyes with his hand. Benjamin
continued :
" Your devotion, nay lord, has not only \von her confidence
and affection, but has led her very naturally and properly
led her to expect no less than the offer of your hand in
marriage."
" I have been criminally thoughtless ! " sighed the Earl.
Benjamin, perceiving the effect he produced, went on to
say:
" From day to day she looks for the offer of .your hand
naturally and properly looks for it, as I said before."
" I cannot justify my conduct ! " said the Earl.
" And from day to day she wastes and sickens with ' hope
deferred ! ' " continued Benjamin.
" I shall never be able to forgive rrn'self," murmured Lord
Wellrose.
"Yes, my lord, you will! for you are a noble man sans
reproche. You will do all that honor requires of you. And
then you will forgive yourself, if indeed you will have any-
thing to forgive ! Oh ! my God ! I know how presumptive
and insolent my words must seem ! " exclaimed Benny, iu
much distress.
But the Earl of Wellrose took his hand:
"Presumptive! insolent!" his lordship said. "No; to
me they seem good, true, brave words words in season, for
which I thank you ! Leave me now, Benjamin Hurst ! I
need to be alone, and so, probabl}', do you. Good-bye.
Trust the welfare of 3 ? our childhood's friend to me," said
Lord Wellrose earnestly.
" I do, my lord, I do ! " answered Benjamin, as he bowed
himself out.
The Earl of Wellrose remained immersed in deep
thought.
" I wonder if I am awake," he said to himself. " Or is
there another man in Europe from whom I would
taken all that I have taken from this poor, pale boy ? "
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE. 255
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE.
I give thee prayers, like jewels strung
On golden threads of hope and fear,
And thoughts more tender than e'er hung
In a pure angel's pitying tear. ANON.
BENJAMIN HURST returned home, feeling that his mis-
sion had been successful. But } r ou kuow what he had done.
He had sacrificed his own heart for her happiness. He
loved her more than the Earl did or could ; for he had but
ner in the whole world to love, while the Earl had many
others. But then he was born for sacrifice. And besides,
he loved her with a love so pure, so holy, so almost divine,
that her happiness was essential to his own peace. To pur-
chase her happiness, he would have been willing to pay the
price of his own life or liberty ; yes, he would have been
willing to be put to death, or to be sent back to the penal
colonies for life, if necessary. Already he had made what
sacrifice he could the sacrifice of his own heart ; for to pro-
mote her marriage with the Earl was no less. And ah ! too
soon the question was to be put to the test whether he would
go further, whether he would lay down his life for his love !
The Earl called at Park Lane that afternoon, and sent up
his card to Mademoiselle Arielle.
And she came down to receive him.
They had an interview that lasted more than an hour.
And when it was over, and he had taken leave and gone
away, Suzy went singing gayly up to her own room, no sign
of the night's illness or the morning's languor in her step
or voice. And Benjamin knew by these sure tokens that
all was well.
He felt satisfied for her ; but for himself, a feeling of des-
olation swept over his soul, like the cold, dark blast of a
sudden wintry s tor in. And he sighed, and found himself
260 A NOBLE LORD.
wondering whether his life was to be a long one, and hoping
that Heaven might make it short.
At dinner-time he waited as usual behind her chair; and
he noticed then that her very countenance seemed trans-
figured with happiness.
There was no one at the table except herself and her
brother, and no one waiting on them but Benjamin. And
they always spoke freely before him. So Mr. Bill opened
the conversation with his usual theme.
" That heavy swell is agoing to the Mediterranean in his
own yacht, is he ? And a good riddance too ! Only, if he
was half the gentleman the Honorable Stuart Fitzroy is,
he'd invite me to go along with him, seeing as he is so sweet
on my sister," he said.
At any other time Suzy would have made a sharp reply,
but now was so calmly, serenely happy that she could not
find it in her heart to rebuke her offending brother.
" It is not certain that he will go to the Mediterranean,
Will.," she said.
" Oh, isn't it ? Well, I heard him tell you so last night
at supper; that's something. Yes, and I saw that you felt
very far down in the mouth at it too ! That's more. And
this morning you've braced up again. That's most of all.
And you tell me that it is not certain his lordship will go to
the Mediterranean. And that's everything. Now I want
to know what the deuce is up? " demanded Mr. Will.
"One thing that is up is this, that if you cannot behave
yourself more like a gentleman, we must part company,
Will.," said Suzy firmly.
" Well, if gentlemen allow their pretty sisters to receive
the particular attention of noblemen who never speak of
marriage, and never intend to do so. then be certain I never
can act like a gentleman," retorted Will., who, be it observed,
could always do a brother's duty by bullying his sister, but
never once by calling her suitor to account, as poor Benny had
dared to do.
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE. 261
Suzy was half angry only half angry and much too
happy to quarrel with Will.
" It is all right, Will. all quite right ! Trust in me,
and trust in him. And now let us speak no more about it
for the present," she said pleasantly.
" It may be all right. And it had better be all right, for
his sake as well as your own. He'll never do you a wrong,
Suzy, if he knows what's good for his health and longevity,
I could tell him that. For if he were twenty times an
Earl, I wouldn't stand any nonsense from him, where you
are concerned ! " said Mr. William, nodding his head iu a
very determined manner.
" My doughty brother, you will not be called upon to
show your zeal and courage in my defence. Very soon you
shall be convinced that there is no sort of necessity for you
to do so, and that all is right. So now let us dismiss the
subject," said Suzy, smiling.
" In a moment. Tell me first ; is he coming here to-
night ? "
" The Earl ? "
" Yes, the Earl."
"No; he is not coming here to-night. His bill for the
Improvement of Prison Discipline for the Eeclamation of
Criminals will be up before the House of Commons. A
great debate is expected upon it, and he must be there,
perhaps all night."
" Good. Well now, will you do me a favor, Suzy ? I
assure you I would not ask it if Lord Wellrose was going
to be here this evening," said Will., in an almost pleading
voice.
" What is it ? " inquired Suzy, always dreading to be
asked to do anything by William, whose demands were
scarcely ever right or reasonable.
His present demand certainly was not. Perhaps he
knew it j for he hesitated and cleared his throat before he
said:
262 A NOBLE LORD.
"-Will you let me bring my particular friend, the Honor-
able Stuart Fitzroy, here this evening?"
" Will. ! you know I do not like that man," said Suzy,
deprecatingly.
" Well, upon my sacred word and honor, I think you and
I a pretty pair of a sister and brother ! You do not like
my friend, the Honorable Stuart Fitzroy, and I do not like
your friend, my Lord Wellrose. But this is the difference
between us : I let your friend come to supper two or three
times a week ; while you never let mine at all. Blest if I
don't think, under all the circumstances, that I am the bet-
ter fellow of the two ! " grumbled Mr. William with an in-
jured air.
He spoke quite as if Suzy's little palace in Park Lane
was his own house instead of hers.
But Suzy only smiled at him.
" I think you might let Stuart Fitzroy come here once in
a way. He has never once been invited here since you
boxed his ears ! " growled Mr. William.
" Oh, Will ! I never boxed a man's ears in my life ! "
said Suzy, deeply shocked.
" Well, you as good as did it ; so there. And he's never
been invited here since. I say, can't he come this even-
ing ? " persisted the brother.
" Well, yes, if you wish him to come very much," as-
sented Suzy, with a sigh.
" I do wish it very much," said Mr. William.
" Then it is settled," said Suzy, as she arose and left the
table.
Benjamin heard the whole discussion, never dreaming,
poor, fated fellow ! how deep a stake he had in the issue.
Suzy went up to her room to prepare to go to the opern.
She soon came down cloaked, hooded and vailed, and took
her seat in the little brougham which was waiting to re-
ceive her.
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE. 263
That night it happened that Benjamin's duties permitted
him to indulge himself with an evening at the opera.
When the hour came, he went and took his usual modest
seat in the crowded parquette.
The opera for the evening was " La Somnambula," and
of course Mademoiselle Arielle took the part of Amina.
The house was, as usual, crowded from parquette to
gallery.
Lord Wellrose was not in his usual seat in the front row
of orchestra stalls. Benjamin, who noticed his absence,
knew the reason of it. He had heard Suzy say that Lord
Wellrose must be in his seat in the House of Commons that
evening, because his lordship's Bill for the Improvement of
Prison Discipline for the Reclamation of Criminals was to
be up that night, and it behooved his lordship, of all other
members, to be present there.
But his stall at the opera was filled most uncannily
filled, Benjamin thought, for the Honorable Stuart Fitzroy
occupied it. And by his side sat Mr. William Juniper.
The curtain rose on the village festival in honor of the
betrothal of the heroine to the hero of the play. But
though the music and singing were excellent, no one paid
much attention to them until the entrance of Mademoiselle
Arielle as Amina.
She was received with the usual outburst of most enthu-
siastic applause.
And she smiled and courtesied, and courtesied and smiled
until the storm subsided, and then she began to sing.
And never, said her worshippers, had her beauty been so
divine, or her voice so enrapturing.
They thought she slurred the pathetic songs in the
second act. But in the last scene of the third act, the
scene of the reconciliation with her lover, her song burst
forth with such a gush of irrepressible rapture, that all the
critics then and there declared that there was not, never
264 A NOBLE LORD.
had been, and never would be such another celestial song-
stress on earth.
The curtain fell amid an earthquake of enthusiasm.
And Mademoiselle Arielle left the theatre weary, but
very happy.
Benjamin went out with the crowd.
Near the stage door he saw Mademoiselle's little brougham
waiting.
And he saw her come out, lenning on the arm of hrr
brother, and closely followed by the Honorable Stuart Fitz-
roy.
Mr. William handed her into the carriage, and then paus-
ing with his foot on the step, inquired :
" Can you give myself and Mr. Fitzroy a seat as far as
Park Lane, Suzy ?"
She looked extremely annoyed, hesitated, and then
answered :
" No, Will, I really cannot. You must indeed excuse
me."
"Oh, very well. You have accommodated the Earl of
Wellrose before now, and even your own house steward,
with a seat in your carriage," he growled.
" Will," she whispered in a very low tone, " if you are
not ashamed of yourself, /am ashamed enough for both of
us. Bring your friend to supper in a hansom, if you must
bring him at all. And now be so good as to shut the door,
and order the coachman to drive home."
Mr. William sulkily obeyed. And the little brougham
rolled off at a rapid rate.
" And she did not even pick up my bouquet from the
stage, though it contained a ruby ring a royal princess
might have envied," grumbled the Honorable Stuart Eitz-
roy in a very injured tone.
" Perhaps she didn't know it was yours," suggested Mr.
W T illiam.
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE. 265
" Oh yos, she did, for I didn't throw it until I had caught
her eye. Then I threw it, and she saw me throw it, and
she knew it was mine, and that was the very reason wliy
she didn't pick it up ! I don't know what you call that sort
of conduct, but /call it exceedingly ill-bred," growled the
Honorable Stuart Fitzroy.
" Oh, come now ! none of that, you know, about my
sister 1 She's not ill-bred ; but she's capricious 1 I fancy ail
girls are so at times, even Royal Princesses. And a man
of the world like yourself should make allowances for the
weakness of the sex."
" I say it is not very encouraging," said the Honorable
Stuart Fitzroy, with a very injured look.
11 Not encouraging, when she invites you to supper ?
Bosh I Come, here's a hansom, with a fairish sort of horse.
Let's take it and go on," replied Mr. William, as he sig-
nalled the cabman to draw up on the sidewalk.
They entered the cab and ordered the cabman to take
them to Park Lane.
Benjamin Hurst hailed a passing omnibus, got upon the
top, and started in the same direction.
He was the last to reach the house, for the omnibus set
him down at a corner some streets off from the aristocratic
neighborhood of Park Lane.
But be was still in good time to attend to his evening
duties.
He went to the Rose Parlor, where the elegant little
supper was laid, and where the light was subdued by ro-
seate shades and the air filled with fragrance from the Ruse
Garden beyond.
He saw that all was perfect there.
He heard the voices of the Honorable Stuart and Mr.
William, as they entered the adjoining: drawing-room.
And soon after he heard the melodious tones of Suzy, as
she carue in and welcomed them.
266 A NOBLE LORD.
The supper hour was eleven. As soon as the clock struck,
Benjamin drew the rose damask satin curtains that divided
the Rose Parlor from the drawing-room, and said with his
usual formula :
" Mademoiselle is served."
Suzy arose and took the offered arm of Mr. Stuart Fitzroy,
and led the way to the table, followed by Mr. William con-
ducting Mrs. Brown.
The four sat down, and the feast began.
Benjamin stood behind Suzy's chair, and as usual waited
on her alone filling her glass, passing her plate, watching
and anticipating her wants.
The two young footmen, Smith and Jones, attended to
the other members of the supper party.
And the wine was passed, and the Honorable Stuart and
Mr. William became very merry.
Before they had been an hour at the table, Benjamin
knew, to his disgust, what he had strongly suspected even at
the theatre namely, that both these young men were in-
ebriated, and growing more so every five minutes.
Suzy was slow to perceive this. But Mrs. Brown observed
it, and tried to catch Suzy's eye, that she might telegraph
her to rise and leave the " gentlemen " at the table. But as
is usual in such a case, she found it impossible to attract the
attention of her subject, though she drew upon herself that
of the Honorable Stuart, who, after watching her for a few
minutes, probably divining her intention, turned to Mr.
William and inquired, in an audible whisper :
" What the deuce is the matter with the old girl ? "
" I'm sure I don't know, unless she's had more cham-
pagne than is good for her," replied Mr. William, with a
low laugh.
" My love, I think we had better retire," said Mrs.
Brown, speaking plainly at last, as she calmly arose from
her seat.
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE. 267
"I say, she thinks we're at dinner, and she's going to
leave us over our wine ! hiccupped the Honorable Stuart.
"Don't go, Suzy," said Mr. William, seeing that his
sister was preparing to follow her companion.
" Excuse me, for I must leave the table," replied Suzy
with gentle dignity, as she moved away.
" Oh, by , this will not do at all ! Our guardian
angel must not be permitted to take flight in this way ! "
said Mr. Stuart Fitzroy, rising and following her.
" Return to your seat, sir, if you have any grace at all ! "
Suzy haughtily commanded, averting her head.
" So I will return, my dear ; but you must return with
me," he stuttered, taking her hand and attempting to draw
her back.
She snatched her hand from him with a flash of scorn
and anger.
"Sit down, Suzy, and don't be a fool!" Mr. William
advised.
She turned a look of sorrow and reproach upon her
brother, and moved toward the door.
Then the Honorable Stuart caught her around the waist,
and laughing in a foolish, coaxing manner, attempted to
take her back to the table.
Her brother also laughed.
Benjamin Hurst started forward, his usually gentle blue
eyes blazing with wrath. But even before he could come to
her rescue, Suzy had thrown her rude assailant off, and
gained the door, where, standing for an instant, she said,
with dignity :
" Benjamin Hurst, I charge you to see that gentleman
out of the house, and attend him to his home. He is
clearly not in a condition to take care of himself, any more
than to be responsible for his ill-breeding."
And so saying, she passed out of sight.
"There! now you have done it! You see, you went too
far ! You were rude, you know," stuttered Mr. William.
268 A NOBLE LORD.
"Rude ! Really ! Indeed ! I should have been considered
rude to a lady ! I suppose; but is a gentleman expected
to stand on ceremony with such as she?" inquired the
Honorable Stuart, with a scornful laugh, for he was both
very drunk and very angry.
"I say, look here, you know ! What the deuce do you
mean by that ?" hiccupped Mr. William, as he poured out
and turned off another bumper of champagne.
" Come, sir 1" said Benjamin Hurst, firmly. " Made-
moiselle desired that I should see you safe out of this house,
and into your own. I am ready to attend you."
" So am I ready !" laughed the inebriate defiantly.
"But hold on ! I say, look here, you know !" repeated
Mr. William, in half-muddled dignity. " What do you
mean, you know ? "
" I mean to go home, that's what I mean. Here, you
fellow ! show me to the door," answered Mr. Stuart Fitz-
roy, with a reckless air.
Benjamin handed him his hat and gloves, and then took
his arm to assist his rather uncertain steps.
Jones held open the room door, while Smith went before
and opened the street door.
Benjamin Hurst took his charge out upon the sidewalk
and began to lead him along, with the intention of hailing
the first empty cab that passed.
The fresh air seemed to help the inebriated man, who
walked somewhat more steadily.
Meanwhile, Mr. William sat over the wine at the de-
serted supper-table, pouring out and drinking champagne as
freely as a thirsty man would drink water. And he brooded
over the contemptuous words that Fitzroy had used in
reference to his sister.
"What devil did he mean by by 'such's she?'" he
inquired of himself. Then he drank more wine, and mut-
tered :
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE. 269
"Meant something 'fensive, know he did. What dev'l
was't ? " And he drank still more wine, and grumbled :
" Ought to called called 'm to 'count for 's words, 'bout
my sister." And again he drank yet more wine, and then
he staggered to his feet, muttering :
" Do it yet. Do it, sure. Call 'm to 'count for 's 'suiting
words, 'bout my sister ! "
And so, crazed with drink, he left the house and went in
the direction taken by Benjamin Hurst and his charge.
The fresh air helped him also, and partly sobered him, so
that he was able to walk steadily and quickly, and to over-
take speedily the man he was pursuing.
" I say, look here, you know ! Hold on ! I want to
speak to you!" he said, laying his hand on the shoulder
of Fitzroy.
" Well, fellow ! well, what do you want of me ? " grandly
inquired this last inebriate.
" Want t' know what dev'l you meant by the words y>
used in reference t' my sister? "
"Meant what I said that a gentleman needn't stand on
ceremony with such as she," doggedly replied Fitzroy.
" Look here ! I say, you know ! What dev'l d' you mean
by such 's she?" persisted William, following him up.
" I mean she's only a very common person ! Now don't
bore me about your worthless sister ! " said Fitzroy scorn-
fully.
"You false-tongued, base hound!" exclaimed William in
a fury. " You lie like"
The words had scarcely left his lips when Fitzroy wheeled
around and struck him full upon the mouth, crying :
"Take that, you dog, for daring to insult a gentleman ! "
The sting of that blow drove the already infuriated young
man to perfect frenzy. He drew back for an instant and
threw himself with all his force upon his assailant, seizing
him by the throat and hurling him. with violence to the
ground.
270 A NOBLE LORD.
Fitzroy fell heavily, struck the back of his head against
the sharp corner of a curb-stone, quivered for a few seconds,
and then lay perfectly still.
And all this happened with the rapidity of lightning, so
that Benjamin Hurst could not, if he would, have interfered
to prevent the catastrophe.
" Come ! I say ! get up and have it out like a man ! " said
Mr. William half fearfully, half recklessly.
Benjamin Hurst stooped down and passed his hand under
the back of the man's head to raise it from the curb-stone,
but quickly withdrew his hand and gazed upon his fingers
in consternation and sickening horror.
" Come ! up with you, if you've as much heart as a hare,
and have it out with me here and now ! " repeated Mr.
William, bending over the fallen man, and speaking half
in dread and half in defiance.
" Mr. William my Lord ! he will never get up any
more," said Benjamin, in awe.
"Never get What the devil do you mean ?" inquired
the young man, almost sobered.
" He is dead, sir," solemnly answered Benny.
"DEAD!" wildly exclaimed William Juniper, his face
blanching, his chin falling, and his eyes starting with
horror.
" Quite dead ! " answered Benjamin, with a shudder.
" The back of his head is crushed upon the sharp corner of
the curb-stone. Oh, see ! " he added, exhibiting his hand
stained and smeared with blood and brains.
" Oh, my Lord ! my Lord ! Am I a murderer ? Have I
lived to commit a murder, and to perish on the scaffold?"
cried William Juniper, wildly wringing his hands and
gazing in horror and terror upon the dead man.
"And it will ruin Suzy ! and break my poor mother's
heart ! And I never meant to kill him. Oh, my Lord !
my Lord ! what shall I do ? what shall I do ? " he cried,
tearing his hair.
THE OUTCAST'S LOVE. 271
These frantic, despairing words brought Benjamin to his
senses.
With him, to think quickly and act promptly, on an
emergency, was quite natural.
" Mr. William," he said, speaking fast, " you intend go-
ing to Paris on your sister's business to-morrow, do you
not ? "
"I did. But where shall I be to-morrow? In Newgate
probably ! " cried the } r oung man, tearing a handful of hair
from his head.
"No ; go now ! hurry ! fly ! You have just time to catch
the mail train that leaves for Dover at 2:30, to meet the
early steamer. Fly, Mr. William, for Suzy's sake ! You
have money with you ? "
" Yes No, not a shilling ! " answered the wretched
young man, shaking.
" Take my pocket-book, then ! Yes ; there, take it !
This is no time for hesitation or scruples. That's right.
Now fly ! I hear footsteps coming around the corner,"
breathlessly spoke Benjamin, as he forced his porte-monnaie
into the hands of the half-frenzied homicide, and hurried
him away.
He watched him cross the street, and turn down another
leading in the direction of the Dover railway station.
Then Benjamin turned to meet his fate.
272 A NOBLE LORD.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE OUTCAST'S LAST OFFERING.
As earth pours freely to the sea
Her thousand streams of wealth untold,
So flows my silent love to thee.
Glad that it,s very sands are gold. ANON.
HE thought, with pity and horror, of the murdered man ;
he thought, with pity and terror, of Suzy's brother; with
the deepest sorrow and anxiety, of Suzy herself; but he
never once thought of the awful peril in which he placed
his own life and liberty.
He turned to face the approaching footsteps.
Two policemen came around the corner and up to the
fatal spot.
" Now then, what have you been up to? " demanded the
first one, stopping short, speaking to Benjamin, but looking
down upon the fallen man.
Benny instantty took a firm resolution to give no infor-
mation that might criminate Suzy's brother.
"What's all this, White? A man dead drunk?" de-
manded the. second officer, coming nearer, and turning the
bull's eye of hia lantern full upon the face of the murdered
man.
"He was certainly drunk when befell," replied Benja-
min truly, but incautiously.
" Fell ? " echoed the first man, whom his companion had
addressed by the name of White "Fell, do you say?"
And he took the lantern from his comrade, and stooped and
examined the body. "This man never fell of himself. Here
are marks of violence on his face and throat. He has been
knocked down and probably robbed, and seriously injured.
Hold the lantern a moment, Sefton."
The second officer took the offered light and held it, while
the first one knelt down to raise the head of the corpse;
THE OUTCAST'S LAST OFFERING. 273
but he quickly withdrew his hand, gazed at it in curiosity,
and uttered an exclamation of consternation and horror.
" Heaven and earth, here's been a murder! Secure that
man
i "
In an instant Sefton seized Benny, while White sprung
his alarm rattle.
" You need not take so much trouble. I will go with you
quietly, for I have nothing to fear, ll did not kill the man,"
said Benny.
" Then of course you'll be all right, you know. But we
must take you all the same ; for by your own admission you
saw him fall, for you know you told us he was drunk when
he fell. Now you see he didn't fall. The marks on his
face and throat prove that he was knocked down, either by
you, or by some one in your presence. So you must go
along with us, whether to be considered as a witness or a
principal the magistrate will decide," said Sefton, keeping a
firm hold of Benny's arm.
With a deep sigh, as though yielding to the inexorable
fate that pursued him, and had pursued him through all his
life, Benny dropped his head upon his breast and was silent.
Meanwhile the alarm rattle was going at a startling rate;
so that even at that most lonely hoirr of the morning in the
streets, two o'clock after midnight, a small crowd began to
collect, with excited faces and eager inquiries :
" Hallo ? "
" What's up ? "
" What's the row ? "
" Is it a robbery ? "
"Is it a murder ?"
" Who is killed ? "
" Who did it ? "
" How did it happen ? "
These and a score of other questions were all asked in a
breath by the curious crowd.
17
274 A NOBLE LORD.
Policeman White told all he knew of the circumstances
as briefly as possible, and they listened as well as they
could in the tumult.
" It is the body of a gentleman," said one.
" Will we take it to the St. James ? " inquired another.
"No," said Policeman White. "We will leave it just
here as it lies, until we take this suspected person to the
station-house, and then we'll report the case to our Sergeant
and take his orders about where it is to be carried."
And then he beckoned two of his companions of the force,
and ordered them to guard the body, while he and his com-
rade Sefton should take the prisoner to the station and
report the murder.
Atid then Benjamin Hurst was marched off between two
policemen to the station-house in Little Vine street, where,
in a close, ill-favored office, a sleepy Sergeant sat at a desk,
with three or four sleepy attendants around him.
" What is it, White ? " inquired the Sergeant.
" If you please, sir, a gentleman, name and person still
unknown to us, found murdered out here in Piccadilly,"
answered the policemen.
"A murder, do you say?" inquired the Sergeant, waking
up, while all his satellites, startled by the dreadful word,
roused themselves and gathered around to hear the par-
ticulars.
" Yes, sir, a murder ! A gentleman, name and person as
yet unknown to us, found murdered out here on the pave-
ment in Piccadilly," repeated the officer.
"Who is this young man that you have here in custody ? "
inquired the Sergeant, looking with curious interest at the
fair, refined face of the prisoner.
"If you please, sir, one who was found under very sus-
picious circumstances near the dead body, without being
able to give any satisfactory account of his being there,"
answered the officer.
THE OUTCAST'S LAST OFFERING. 275
" Bring him forward, and state the whole case," said the
Sergeant.
The policemen led Benny up to the desk, and while the
Sergeant settled himself to listen attentively, related all
the circumstances of his discovery of the dead body ou the
sidewalk in Piccadilly.
" What is your name, young man ? " inquired the Ser-
geant of Benny, when the officer had finished his story.
" Benjamin Hurst, sir," replied the young prisoner.
"Now I warn you that you need not say a word to crimi-
nate yourself ; but if you can say anything, and prove any-
thing to clear yourself from suspicion, you had better do so
at once."
" I thank you, sir," said Benny, with a slight bend of
the head.
" Can you, then, tell us anything about this murder ? "
" No, sir, I can tell you nothing about it except this
that I certainly did not kill the unfortunate man," said
Benny earnestly.
The sergeant of police listened to him, looked at him
and believed him, but had to do his stern duty nevertheless.
" If you can prove that now ? " he began.
" I cannot prove it, sir," answered Benny resignedly, as
he recognized in all its horror the full import of the awful
sacrifice he was about to make to save the life of Suzy's
brother, and the peace of Suzy's mind.
" Can you not explain your presence on the premises at
the time of the murder ? "
" No, sir, I cannot."
"At least you can tell whether you were acquainted with
the deceased."
Benny reflected for a moment as to whether it might be
safe to answer this simple question ; and then still feeling
doubtful on the subject, he answered civilly :
" If you please, sir, I prefer not to answer any more
questions."
27(3 A NOBLE LORD.
" You may be right. You are at least very discreet.
Yet I am sorry for you, for we shall be obliged to lock yon
up. Officer, remove the prisoner," said the Sergeant.
Policeman White took possession of Benny to lead him
away, while Policeman Sefton, coming forward and touch-
ing his hat, inquired :
" If you please, sir, what is to be done with the body of
the murdered man for the present? There's the St. James
near at hand, and quite convenient, and there's "
" Have the body brought here for the present. The
Inspector will be here soon. And the coroner must be
notified immediately," said the sergeant.
And Policeman Sefton went out to obey these orders,
while Policeman White conducted Benny to a lock-up room
occupied by five or six other prisoners, and secured him there
for the night.
CHAPTER XXIX.
LOVE'S MARTYRDOM.
Some die, that some may live ;
Life all they have to give.
Some weep, that some may smile;
Some lose, that some may gain ;
And count it good the while,
And welcome all the pain.
Some freeze, that some may glow ;
Some starve, that some may feed ;
Some plant, that some may mow;
And each shall get his meed ;
For those are Christ's, we know,
And these the world's indeed. E. D. E, N. S.
VERY early in the morning, Benjamin Hurst was brought
from the station house to the police court for examination.
As his case was the most important one, it was the first
one taken up by the sitting magistrate.
The room was filled with the usual ill-looking and ill-
favored crowd that flock to such places, like crows to a battle-
field.
LOVE'S MARTYRDOM. 277
Besides these, there were nearer to the magistrate's bench
a few police officers, with their prisoners, and a few news-
paper reporters, with their note-books.
" He looks more like a missionary than a murderer," said
one of these gentlemen to another, as they gazed at the
young prisoner in his suit of clerical black cloth, and with
his golden-haired head and fair, delicate face of almost girl-
ish beauty.
<l Yes, decidedly more like a missionary than a murderer,"
emphatically repeated the first speaker, making a note of his
own words, which that afternoon duty appeared in the papers.
" There's nothing in a prisoner's looks. Witness Palmer,
who looked more like a philanthropist than a poisoner, didn't
he ? " inquired the second speaker.
The first one apparently considered the question unan-
swerable, since he never answered it.
" He looks astonishingly like the Earl of Wellrose ; only
not in such high health as his lordship thinner and paler,"
said one.
" Yes ; like his lordship might look after a spell of sick-
ness," said another.
And then everybody became still, because the examina-
tion was about to commence.
Each of the two policemen who had discovered the mur-
dered man and arrested the supposed murderer, in turn gave
in his report, and their reports corresponded accurately.
" What have you to say to this charge ? " inquired the
magistrate, sternly regarding the prisoner.
"Nothing, your Worship, except that I did not kill the
man," respectfully replied Benny.
" You were with him when he was killed ; you saw him
fall ; you admitted as much to the policeman here."
" I said that he was drunk when he fell," Benny amended.
" Then you saw him fall, of course ; and it appears from
the marks of violence upon his face and throat, testified to
278 A K B L K LORD.
by both these officers, that he fell, not because he was drunk,
but because he was murderously assaulted. Now, since you
saw him fall, and he fell by assault, you yourself must have
made the assault or seen it made. Now then, if you your-
self made the assault, you are not expected to criminate
yourself here by any admission of the fact. If, on the other
hand, you did not make it, but saw it made, you are strongly
advised to tell all you know about it, and thus save your-
self."
" I did not assault the man, your Worship. That is all I
have to say," replied Benny.
" Then I shall have to remand you to prison to await the
issue of the Coroner's inquest," said the magistrate.
And Benjamin Hurst was led away.
He passed in charge of two policemen, pressing their way
through the densest crowd that had ever filled that room,
and out into Little Vine street, now thronged with a vast
multitude of people gathered together and attracted to the
spot by the astounding report of the murder of the Honor-
able Stuart Fitzroy, by Benjamin Hurst, steward in the
service of Mademoiselle Arielle.
These assailed the prisoner with such hoots and jeers that
he was glad to reach the privacy of his prison cell.
Meanwhile the body of the murdered man had been con-
veyed to a room in the station house, where the Coroner's
inquest was to be held upon it at eleven o'clock that morn-
ing.
And meanwhile Suzy Juniper, or Mademoiselle Arielle,
over-fatigued by her professional and social duties of the
evening previous, slept long and sweetly, in blissful uncon-
sciousness that her brother William was a homicide and a
fugitive from justice, and her friend Benny a prisoner
charged with murder.
The news of the tragedy had not even reached the little
palace in Park Lane as yet. It was not in any of the
LOVE'S MARTYRDOM. 279
moruing papers, for they had all gone to press some hours
before it happened.
Suzy slept on very sweetly until eleven o'clock, and would
have slept longer still, had she not been aroused by a knock
at her chamber door.
" Who is that ? " she cried, startled and bewildered.
" It is I, Miss," answered the low voice of her house-
keeper.
"Mrs. Brown! Why, what's the matter? Come in !"
cried Suzy, frightened, she scarcely knew why, unless it was
at the unprecedented circumstance of being suddenly waked
up out of her refreshing morning nap.
The housekeeper entered with a face as pale as death.
" I should not have disturbed you, Miss, knowing how
needful your morning rest is, if it had not been for Oh
Lord ! how shall I tell you ! " exclaimed the matron, clasp-
ing her hands.
" In the name of Heaven, what do you mean ? " cried
Suzy, jumping out of bed in great alarm.
" Now please don't be frightened, Miss ! I don't know as
anything's the matter ! I don't indeed ! Please don't be
frightened ! "
"You're frightened yourself unless j-ou're crazy!
What is wanted, then ? " demanded Suzy, changing the
form of her question, as she hastily drew on a dressing'
gown.
" Why, miss, there's a person down stairs, a man in black,
who came and asked to see you on most important business.
And when I told him it was a rule without an exception
that you were never to be disturbed until you rang your
bell, and that you hadn't rung it yet, he replied that there
must be an exception in this case, for that he must see you
immediately on a matter of life and death which could not
possibly wait."
"Is that all? Bosh! It is probably some poor actor
280 A NOBLE LORD.
who wants an engagement, and considers it a matter of life
or death whether he gets it or not, as it may indeed be a
matter of feeding or starving," added Suzy, with a sigh.
" I hope it's no worse, miss."
"I will see the poor man. Tell him so, and send Jenny
Smith here to help me to dress," said Suzy.
Mrs. Brown went down and sent the dressing-maid to
her mistress.
Jenny was as pale and scared as her predecessor had
been.
" Have you seen this morning visitor, child ? " inquired
Suzy.
"Yes, miss," answered the maid, in a trembling voice.
" Now what is there in the poor man to frighten you all
so, I should like to know ? "
" He beant a poor man, miss. And he do look so solemn
and act so masterful, let alone refusing to go away and in-
sisting on seeing you immediate, and sitting himself down
in the hall as if the house belonged to him, and not to men-
tion his having of two other men outside awaiting for him."
" Two other men outside waiting for him, Jenny ! He
may be a hall thief! "
"So we thought, miss ; and so my brother Joe is staying
there watching of him."
"Why didn't you call Mr. William ? "
"If you please, Mr. William haven't been seen about the
house this morning, and when Joe went to his room, he
found it hadn't been slept iu at all."
" Why, that is very strange ! Will, never stays out all
night ! But Oh, to be sure, he was to start for Paris
this morning, and probably decided to take an earlier train
than he had first intended. He has gone to Paris. But
why didn't you call Mr. Hurst to see this importunate per-
son ? Mr. Hurst was the proper one to see him, after all."
" Oh, miss," said the little maid, beginning to weep,
LOVE'S MARTYRDOM. 281
" Mr. Hurst haven't been seen this morning neither, nor
likewise his bed not slept in last night."
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Suzy, turning pale, and
now fully understanding the fright of the housekeeper.
"And so, miss, what with Mr. William being missing,
and Mr. Hurst being missing, and this solemn man in black
coming and taking possession of the house and ordering of
us about, and insisting on seeing of you immediate, whether
or no, me and Mrs. Brown do be so knocked over as we don't
know whether we stand on our head or our heels."
" Something has happened," exclaimed Suzy with sud-
den energj', as she sprang to her feet and hurriedly com-
pleted her toilet.
"Come with me, Jenny Smith. I can't face that man
alone, whoever he is," she said, as she left the room, fol-
lowed by her maid.
In the passage outside she met Mrs. Brown.
"Why did you not tell me that Mr. William and Benja-
min Hurst were missing ? " demanded Suzy.
" Oh, miss, I did not like to overwhelm you with all the
bad news at once ! " said the housekeeper.
"Lead the way to my brother's smoking-room, Jenny,
I will receive the man there. I cannot bear the idea of
having him into one of my own rooms, whoever he is," said
Suzy.
And the little maid ran down the steps before her mis-
tress and opened the door of a smoking-room on the first
floor.
"Now, Jenny, tell Smith to show the man in here, and
do you come too," said Suzy, throwing herself into one of
her brother's arm-chairs.
Jenny ran off on her errand, and in about two minutes
returned, soon followed by a footman, who opened the door
and announced :
" Mr. Ketchum."
282 A NOBLE LORD.
Suzy looked up, and saw before her a stout, elderly, gray-
haired man of grave appearance, dressed in black.
" You wished to see me on important business, I hear? "
inquired Suzy.
" Yes, Miss."
" Will you be so good as to sit down and state your busi-
ness ? "
" Yes, Miss." answered Mr. Ketchum, taking another
arm-chair, and taking his time about it.
" Will you state your business ? " repeated Suzy.
" It is a very painful one, Miss. Pardon me if I hesitat-
ed to mention it to a young lady. You've heard of the
murder last night, or early this morning in Piccadilly ? "
" MURDER ! No ! Heaven ! Who's murdered ? " cried
Suzy, growing pale to her lips, and on the very verge of
fainting.
" Don't be frightened, Miss. It's no one akin to you, as
I'm happy to say. It is the Honorable Mr. Stuart Fitzroy,
son of my Lord St. Paul, who is, unhappily, now travelling
on the Continent."
" But, Heaven of Heavens, when was it done ? How did
it happen ? " cried Suzy, clasping her hands in an agony
of dread, as she remembered the offensive conduct of the
deceased on the preceding evening.
" The gentleman was murdered in Piccadilly, about two
hours after midnight this morning."
" And is is the murderer known or suspected ? " gasp-
ed Suzy.
"I beg you will not distress yourself, Miss, particularly
as it is very desirable that you should be perfectly cool in
giving your evidence before the Coroner's jury."
" Coroner's jury !" echoed Suzy faintly, and with white
lips.
" Of course, Miss. I am here with a subpoena to take
you as a witness to the inquest.''
LOVE'S MARTYRDOM. 283
"I I know nothing about it! Great Heavens ! I know
nothing about it ! " faintly cried Suzy, shaking as with an
ague fit.
The Inspector went coolly to a little open cabinet of
liquors that stood on a stand in a corner of Mr. William's
room, and he filled a small glass and brought it to her, say-
ing:
" Drink this, Miss, and try to brace up a little. I know
it is horrible hearing for a young lady, but you, personally?
have no cause for distress."
Suzy took the glass and drank the cordial, for she did not
want to faint, and was really on the verge of doing so.
"Tell me now, I implore you. Why am I summoned to
give evidence in what I know nothing of? Who is the
Is any one suspected of the murder? " she inquired, some-
what restored by the cordial, and also somewhat encouraged
by the Inspector's words.
" There was a young man taken on the spot, under the
most suspicious circumstances."
"Who who who was ?" faltered Suzy, still scarcely
able to breathe, much less to speak, and barely able to keep
from fainting.
" The young man who is charged with the murder, Miss,
lias been in your service for several mouths, and up to this
time when he is in jail. His name is "
"Benjamin Hurst!" exclaimed Suzy, covering her face
with her hands and groaning in anguish. "Oh, Ben 113' !
Benny ! It was my fault again mine ! Oh, Benny ! my
Benny ! I was born to be your evil genius ! But he neve,',
never did it, sir! He never did it ! I would stake my life,
my soul, upon his innocence ! " she cried, weeping vehe-
mently.
" He'll have a fair trial, Miss, and if innocent will be
found according. But with respects, I think you are de-
ceived in that young man. May be you don't know
284 A NOBLE LORD.
Ah ! to be sure yon don't, or you would never have taken
him into your service. But we have been looking up his
record, Miss, and have found out that he is a returned con-
vict. Bless you, Miss, he was one of the worst characters
about London from his babyhood. Lord love you, Miss,
why, he stole as soon as he could creep ; lied as soon as he
could talk ; became snakesman to a gang of desperate bur-
glars when he was but ten years old, and ended years ago
by admitting a burglar into his master's house, who robbed
the house and nearly murdered a visitor who was staying
there. For which he was lagged for fourteen years. He
had just served his time out and returned, when you took
him into your service. How he ever got into a respectable
house, is a wonder to all. It must have been by a forged
recommendation, or a false character, as it is called, Miss? "
said the Inspector interrogatively.
Suzy did not answer him ; she could not, she was sobbing
BO convulsively.
" Don't take it so hard, Miss; although of course I know
it is hard to discover that you have been harboring in your
house a returned convict, who might at any time have robbed
the premises and murdered the inmates."
Suzy, who had been trj'ing to speak for some time now
burst forth with the energy lent by rage.
" Hold your slandering tongue ! " she fiercely exclaimed,
forgetting the decorum of the palace, and falling back upon
the manners of Junk Lane.
" Ever}' word you speak against Benny is a lie, and worse
than a lie cruel injustice ! "
" Really, really, Miss," began the astounded Inspector,
"thfs is very extraordinary language actionable, in fact."
" I don't care if it is ; it is true, every word of it. I know
all about Benjamin Hurst. I know him better than any-
body in the whole world knows him. And I have known
him from the time when we were babies in rags together.
LOVE'S MARTYRDOM. 285
And I know that he was unjustly convicted fourteen years
ago, and I am sure that he is unjustly accused now. ' Stole
as soon as he could creep,' did he ? ' Lied as soon as he
could speak,' you say ? If lie did, he was taught to do both.
Some very young children do hoth without being taught.
It comes natural to them. They require to be taught not to
steal, and not to lie. And who ever said to that poor, gentle
child, ' Benny, it is a sin to lie ; it is a sin to steal ? ' No
one ever did. Oh, you law officers, with the law-makers at
your backs, you are a precious set of impostors, you are !
fools or knaves, I don't know which. For, look you, what
fools you are not to use the 'ounce of prevention/ which is
so much better than the ' pound of cure ; ' not to teach the
child to be honest and truthful, to save the trouble and ex-
pense of trying and convicting and punishing the young
criminal ! not to build many cheap little infant schools, to
save the enormous cost of keeping up your fortress-like
prisons, and all the paraphernalia of criminal law ! And
what knaves, to punish such neglected and ignorant outcasts
of society, when you should all law officers, law makers,
judges, juries, Lords and Commons scourge your own backs
till you faint, for your sins against the poor children, who
are so completely in your power to make them good or bad ! "
" Eeally, really, really. Miss," began the Inspector, per-
ceiving that Suzy had stopped from mere want of breath to
go on " really this is very intemperate language."
" Call this a Christian and civilized nation, indeed ! " con-
tinued Suzy, recovering her breath, and taking not the
slightest notice of the Inspector's interruption. " Call this
a Christian and civilized country, where Benny was, and
thousands upon thousands of innocent children like him are,
left to bear cold and hunger and nakedness and disease in
dens of guilt and misery, where they are taught ' oaths for
prayers ' and ' sins for duty ? ' "
" Miss, I bog your pardon." said the Inspector, rising
1186 A NOhLE LOKD.
hastily, " but 1 liave a duty to perform here, which I shall
set about immediately. I hope 1 shall meet uo opposition in
the discharge of my office."
" It is a grim joke," continued Suzy, referring to the
boasted civilization and Christianity of the age. Then
turning to the Inspector, she answered him : " Certainly you
will receive no opposition in the discharge of your duty. If
I cannot set the law right, I will not break its conditions.
My brother is, unluckily, in Paris, on my business ; but my
servants will render you every assistance," said Suzy, reach-
ing her hand to the bell-pull.
" Stay, Miss, one moment. We have ascertained, from a
respectable cabman who voluntarily came forward to give the
information, that he, the said cabman, drove your brother
and the deceased from Covent Garden Theatre to this
house, between the hours of ten and eleven, last night, and
was dismissed at the door, where he left them. It appears
that that unfortunate deceased spent the remainder of the
evening here, and was on his way home when the fatal
assault was made upon him. He was next found dead in
Piccadilly, with this Benjamin Hurst standing over him."
Suzy sickened at the words, as she reflected that she her-
self had sent the unfortunate young man to attend Mr.
Stuart Fitzroy to his home.
"Therefore, you see, miss, I shall have to summon all the
servants in the house as witnesses, to testify as to what
occurred here last evening. I shall also have to examine
the room and effects of this man Hurst, and I have brought
with me a search-warrant for the purpose."
"Very well; you roust do your duty, I suppose," she
said, in a dying voice, as she stretched out her hand and
pulled the bell-rope.
Smith answered the summons.
" Tell Jones to order my brougham immediately. I am
going out. And do you return here and show this person
to Mr. Hurst's room," said Suzy.
LOVE'S MARTYRDOM. 87
Then, with a slight bow to the detective, she beckoued
Jenny Smith to attend her, and left the room to prepare for
her painful attendance at the coroner's inquest.
" For goodness' sake, miss, take a cup of coffee before you
go out ! Remember that you have had no breakfast," said
Jenny Smith, anxiously.
" Breakfast ! I never thought of it. Well, bring me a
cup of strong coffee. Perhaps I had better take it before I
go," sighed Suzy.
" And something with it, miss ? "
"No; I could not swallow a morsel. It would choke
me," said Suzy, bursting into tears.
Jenny Smith left the room, and speedily returned with a
cup of strong arid fragrant Mocha, which her mistress drank
with feverish eagerness.
" You must come with me, Jenny. I cannot go to that
horrid place without a woman's attendance. And I would
rather have you, Jenny, than Mrs. Brown. Go, and get
ready as quickly as you can," said Suzy, as she put down
her empty cup and drew on her gloves.
The girl, eager to go to a scene of such intense interest
and excitement as a coroner's inquest on the body of a
murdered man, and that man Mr. Stuart Fitzroy, went out
quickly, and soon returned dressed, to attend her mistress.
The young lad}' and her maid went down stairs to Mr.
William's room, to await the return of the Inspector.
He came at length.
" Well, have you found anything in Benjamin Hurst's
possession likely to criminate him ? " sarcastically inquired
Suzy, with a curl of her lip.
"Not much. I. have found a richly embroidered infant's
sack and a little sock or shoe, neither of which would seern
to be the rightful property of this young man. Therefore I
have taken possession of them for the present, as they may
lead to something," said the Inspector, producing the arti-
cles and exhibiting them to Suzy.
288 A NOBLE LORD.
She took them, and looked at them in surprise and curi-
osity. She too saw the crest of the Barons of Seton-Lin-
lithgow embroidered among the eglantine leaves, and she
suddenly recollected the conversation she had held with
Benny, when he had inquired of her whether there were any
family connection between the Cheviots and the Seton-Lin-
lithgows. And she thought, with a strange thrill of emo-
tion, about the wonderful likeness existing between the Earl
of Wellrose and the poor outcast, Benjamin Hurst; and of
the agitation betrayed by the Duchess of Cheviot years ago,
when, with her son the Earl, she had stood by the bed of
the poor unknown outcast in the children's ward of the
Middlesex Hospital; and now of these relics found in Ben-
jamin's possession ! What on earth did it all mean ? Was
possibly this poor outcast the unacknowledged brother of
the Earl ? Oh, no, no, no, that could never be ! The high,
pure, noble nature of both the Duke and Duchess of Che-
viot forbade the injurious thought. What did it all mean
then ? she asked herself, as she gazed upon the relics.
She was roused from her reverie by the voice of the In-
spector.
" We must be going, miss, if you please. The inquest is
already in session."
Suzy started, and handed back the little sack and shoe to
the officer, murmuring :
"Yes, they may indeed lead to something."
She then turned and told Jenny Smith to see if the
brougham was at the door.
It was reported to be waiting.
" Your housekeeper will have to accompany you, miss.
She is also summoned as a witness. I took the liberty of
telling her to get ready as quickly as she could. And here
she comes," said the Inspector, as Mrs. Brown, bonneted
and shawled, and very much frightened, entered the room.
" Smith and Jones, who have been subpoenaed to attend
WHAT THE SACRIFICE COST. 289
the inquest, will follow iu charge of one of my men. And
now, if you please, miss," said the Inspector, as he politely
escorted Suzy and her attendants to the door, and placed
them in the carriage.
He then mounted to a seat on the box, and directed the
coachman to drive to the police station house, Little Vine
street, Piccadilly.
CHAPTEE XXX.
WHAT THE SACRIFICE COST.
It is my life at thy feet I throw. BROWNING.
As the carriage turned from Piccadilly into Little Vine
street, the crowd was so thick that the coachman could
scarcely drive through without running over some one.
The news of the murder had not yet had time to get into
the afternoon papers, but it had spread far and wide, so that
half the West End seemed to be crowding into Piccadilly
toward Little Vine street.
As the carriage drew up before the police station house,
the crowd so blockaded the sidewalk that the police officers
were obliged to open the way before the witnesses could
alight and enter.
The Inspector got off the box and opened the door for
them, and when Suzy and her companions, both closely
vailed, alighted, he gravely escorted them into the station
house, and to the room where the coroner's inquest was
being held.
It was held with closed doors, guarded by policemen, so
that the room when they entered it was not at all crowded.
Here at last was breathing space. But, ah ! what a
scene !
18
290 A NOBLE LORD.
In the middle of the room stood a long table, and upon
it lay the body of the murdered man, covered with a black
pall. At the head of this ghastl} 7 table sat the coroner, a
grave, gray-haired man of some sixty years. At the foot sat
the assistant coroner, and on each side of the table sat six
jurymen.
At a smaller table or stand near the coroner's right hand,
eat a clerk with writing materials before him.
At other stands or tables here and there, sat other officers
engaged in the inquest, and also the reporters of the press.
Along the walls, on benches, sat the witnesses summoned
on the investigation, and also a few privileged spectators.
It appeared that many witnesses had alread} 7 been exam-
ined : to wit, the policemen who had discovered the body of
the murdered man, and the surgeons who had performed
the autopsy.
And now Benjamin Hurst had been brought from his
prison cell, and was up for examination.
Suzy seemed to see him, and only him, as the Inspector
gravely conducted her and her attendants to seats among
the witnesses.
Benny was standing before the coroner, undergoing a
severe cross-examination.
He was deadly pale, without a vestige of color in his fair,
pure face ; but he was perfectly firm and steadfast as one
who had made up his mind to a complete sacrifice of him-
self, and felt all the horror of its conditions.
The coroner having told him that he was already proved
to have been with the dead man at the time of his death,
demanded that he should inform the jury how that death
came about.
All listened for his reply, but none so intently as Suzy.
She clasped her hands together, and gazed at him with an
intensity of interest that seemed to cause him to turn and
meet her eyes. And then for the first time he was aware
of her presence iu the room.
WHAT THE SACRIF1 C E COST. 291
He met that intense gaze, and utterly misunderstood its
meaning. She was only silently beseeching him to be
cautious how he answered, and to say nothing to criminate
himself. But he thought that she was imploring him to
screen her brother, and his resolution was strengthened to
do so, even at the sacrifice of his own life.
He answered the coroner as he had answered others, truly.
" The man fell while he was drunk, and striking his head
upon the corner of the curb-stone, killed himself."
" He fell because, as has been proved by the post-mortem
examination, he was knocked down with great violence.
You must have done it, or seen who did it. If you did it,
you are not expected to criminate yourself here, by confess-
ing ; if, however, you did not do it, but saw who did, you
may clear yourself from suspicion by denouncing the mur-
derer."
" I did not do it. I have no more to say," answered
Bonn}'.
" You deny having committed this murder. Can you
also deny having seen it committed ? "
Benny was perfectly silent.
The question was repeated.
" I have said that I have nothing more to tell your
Worship, and I have nothing more," he repeated.
"You have said enough. Stand aside," ordered the
coroner.
The officer who had Benny in charge withdrew him.
Suzy was next called and sworn, and examined as to the
hour that the deceased had left her house on the preceding
evening ; the state that he was in ; and whether he left
alone or in company, and if so, with whom.
Now if Suzy had not been on her guard, she must have
told much that would have gone far to convict Benny. For
she might have told how, before leaving the supper-room
that night, she had ordered Benny to attend Mr. Stuart
Fitzroy to his home.
292 A NOBLE LORD.
But she was on her guard, for Benny's sake, and so she
baffled investigation by confining herself to answering in
the fewest possible words the questions that were put to her.
" The deceased supped with you last night ? "
Yes."
" What occurred at the supper ? "
" He got drunk."
" Then he was drunk when he left the house ? "
" I suppose so."
" At what hour did he leave ? "
' I don't know."
" You don't know ? "
"No."
" How is that? He was your own guest."
" When I saw his condition I left the supper-room. I
never saw him in life again."
" A moment, Miss," said the coroner, as poor, inexperi-
enced Suzy made as if she would have sat down. " We
have not quite done with you yet. Do you know of any
cause of quarrel or enmity between the deceased gentleman
and your butler, Benjamin Hurst ? "
" Of none whatever. They had not even a speaking
acquaintance, so far as I know. It is not likely. Benja-
min Hurst is a pure, truthful and honest man ; and the
deceased is, or was what his reputation represents him,"
said Suzy, departing from her rule of short answers, just so
soon as she got a chance to defend Benny.
" You may sit down, Miss," said the coroner.
And so Suzy withdrew, and was succeeded by her house-
keeper, Mrs. Brown, who was the next witness.
Being put upon her oath and questioned to that effect,
she said that her name was Martha Brown, and that she
now lived at No. , Park Lane, as housekeeper and com-
panion to Miss Juniper, who was professionally known as
Mademoiselle Arielle.
WHAT THE SACRIFICE COST. 293
" You are something of a chaperone or duenna also to the
last witness, are you not? "
" Yes, sir ; if your worship thinks fit to call me so."
" You are, then, usually present at her little suppers ? "
"Yes, sir."
" You were present last night, when Mr. Stuart Fitzroy
supped with her ? "
" Yes, sir."
" Who else was present ? "
" Mr. William Juniper and the servants ; no others."
"What occurred?"
" Mr. Stuart Fitzroy drank much more wine than was
good for him, and behaved in such an ungentlemanly man-
ner that Miss Juniper and myself left the table, and also the
room."
" And then ? "
" I do not know what happened after we left."
" You may sit down."
Mrs. Brown retired and Suzy breathed freely. She had
been intensely anxious lest it should come out in Mrs.
Brown's examination that she, Suzy, had sent Benny home
with Mr. Fitzroy.
But her relief was not long. Her heart seemed to stand
still again when the name of Joseph Smith was called, and
her first footman took the stand.
This witness, being sworn and questioned, said that his
name was Joseph Smith and that he lived at No. , Park
Lane, as footman in the service of Miss Juniper. He cor-
roborated every part of the testimony given by the two last
witnesses as to the little supper party, the wine drinking,
and the intoxication and ungentlemanly deportment of Mr.
Fitzroy.
Then the coroner inquired:
" What was the nature of this ungentlemanly deportment
of which you speak ? "
294 A NOBLE LORD.
"Profane language at the table, sir. And when Miss
Juniper and Mrs. Brown, in consequence, got up to leave the
room, he seized Miss Juniper around the waist, and tried to
force her back against her will."
" Did her brother resent this rudeness to his sister ? " in-
quired a juryman, who had been very attentively listening
to the testimony.
"No sir; he laughed, and sided with Mr. Fitzroy; and
told his sister not to be a fool."
" What ! How was that ? " inquired the same juryman,
in some surprise.
''Well, you see, sir, Mr. William wouldn't have behaved
so, if he too hadn't been some'at the worse for the wine
he'd drank."
" Ah ! so he was drunk also ? "
" Well, sir, since you put it so, and I am on my oath, I
must say he was"
" And so this man was allowed to insult his hostess with
impunity ? "
" I beg your pardon, sir ? " said the witness interroga-
tively, and not understanding.
"Did no one interfere to save the young lady from in-
sult?" inquired the juryman, changing the style of hia
question.
" Well, sir, no one but Mr. Hurst. He did. As soon as
he saw Mr. Fitzroy seize her around the waist, he sprang
forward and made as if he would have knocked him down.
But before he got round the table, Miss Juniper had got
free, and she ordered him "
" Ordered whom ? " inquired the Coroner.
" She ordered Mr. Hurst to get Mr. Fitzroy's hat and
put it on his head, and take him home, as lie was no more
capable of taking care of himself than he was of behaving
decent, she said."
" Ah ! and what happened next ?"
WHAT THE SACRIFICE COST. 295
" Miss Juniper and Mrs. Brown left the room. And Mr.
Hurst started out with Mr. Fitzroy, to take him home."
" You know that for a fact ? "
" Yes, sir; I let them out."
"And how did Mr. William Juniper then conduct him-
self?"
" We left him smoking and drinking, sir. And saw no
more of him. But I knew that he was going to Paris by an
early train this morning, and I heard he had gone."
" Do you know that he went ? "
"Not of my own knowledge, sir; but I know he made
arrangements to go yesterday. And the general impression
about the house is that he went."
Joseph Smith was permitted to withdraw. And Aaron
Jones was called to the stand, who corroborated every word
of the last witness' testimony.
It was done ! All that Suzy dreaded had happened.
Benjamin Hurst was all but proved to have murdered
Stuart Fitzroy.
Pale as marble and as firm, Benny said to himself:
"Her brother is saved, and I I can die for her peace."
Suzy burst into a storm of sobs and tears, and had to be
led from the room.
But she refused to go home ; and still attended by Mrs.
Brown and Jenny Smith, she sat in her carriage outside to
await the news of the verdict.
That Benny never committed that murder, and that he
was shielding the real criminal, she felt sure. But who was
that criminal for whom he was sacrificing his life ? A
horrible suspicion whispered that it was no other than her
own brother.
She sat and wept, refusing to be comforted, until a great
commotion in the crowd outside the police station house
advised her that the verdict of the coroner's inquest had
been rendered.
296 A NOBLE LORD.
It was soon proclaimed from one to another throughout
the crowded streets. It was to the effect that the deceased
had met his death at the hands of Benjamin Hurst.
The uproar of the streets at the announcement of this
verdict was perfectly terrific.
Mrs. Brown was frightened, and she Implored Suzy to
order the coachman to drive home.
But Suz}', through her storm of sobs and tears, declared
that she would wait to see the poor boy brought out on his
way to Newgate, so that she might speak to him, and assure
him of her love and trust and entire sympathy.
But ah ! she waited in vain. She could not see or speak
to him, for presently one of her footmen came to the
carriage door, and touching his hat, said :
" There he goes, Miss ! "
" Who ? Where ? " inquired Suzy, looking around and
seeing no one that she knew.
" The prisoner, Mr. Hurst, Miss, locked up in that ugly
wehicle as looks like a tall hearse, and called the Black
Maria. He's committed to Newgate jail to wait his trial
for wilful murder. Shall I tell the coachman to drive home,
Miss ?
"Yes," said Mrs. Brown, taking upon herself to answer,
for Suzy had fallen back in her seat, totally overcome by
distress.
She was taken home and laid upon her bed.
And that night the manager of the Covent Garden
theatre had to come before the curtain and make the best
apology he could for the non-appearance of Mademoiselle
Arielle.
And, in a word, she never appeared upon that stage
again.
THE LOST STAR. 297
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE LOST STAB.
Like the lost Pleiad, seen no more below. BYRON.
Could'st thou be shaken from thy radiant place,
Even as a dew-drop from the myrtle spray,
Swept by the wind away ? HEMANS.
"MADEMOISELLE AKIELLE" was never seen on the
stage again.
The shock of Stuart Fitzroy's tragic death, and Benjamin
Hurst's committal on the charge of murder^ utterly pros-
trated her nervous system.
She held herself and her beautiful art in a great degree
accountable for the calamities that had occurred.
If she had never been an opera singer, she reasoned
Stuart Fitzroy would never have seen and admired her, and
sought her acquaintance, and been her guest, and left her
house in the charge of Benjamin Hurst, who then- would
never have been committed for his murder.
As these thoughts pierced her heart like sword blades,
suddenly the theatre, with all its allurements became utterly
hateful to her. And she longed to leave her brilliant pub-
lic career, and to find peace in the privacy of domestic life,
if only Benny were free ah, if only Benny were free and
out of all danger !
For whom was Benny offering up his life now ? she asked
herself, as she lay prostrate on her bed.
She feared it was for her brother.
And yet that could scarcely be, she thought; for she
remembered that when she had seen her brother and Stuart
Fitzroy together, scarcely an hour before the death of the
latter, they had been good friends, and also that the evi-
dence before the coroner's jury had proved that Stuart Fitz-
roy had left the house in the charge of Benjamin Hurst,
298 A NOBLE LORD.
and that they had left her brother alone at the table over
his wine.
Therefore she concluded that it could not be her brother
for whom Benny was sacrificing himself.
For whom, then ?
She could not even conjecture.
She longed to go to the prison to see him, and to gain his
confidence, so that she might save him, or persuade him to
save himself; but ah ! the shocks of the preceding day, and
the anguish of the night, had left her on this second morn-
ing so utterly prostrated that she could scarcely stand.
She had, indeed, arisen from her bed, and attempted to
dress herself; but in the process she had so nearly fainted
as to be compelled to lie down and rest on the sofa of her
boudoir.
It was while she was thus reposing that the manager of
the Covent Garden Theatre called in person to inquire about
her health, and the probability of her being at rehearsal
that morning, or at the opera that evening.
She sent word that he might come up and see her.
He was therefore soon ushered in by the footman, Smith.
He entered bowing, and took the seat near her sofa, to
which she invited him.
" You see my condition, Mr. . It is all over with
me. I think I shall never sing in opera again," said Suzy,
holding out her hand to him.
" I am extremely grieved to find you ill ; but for Heaven's
sake don't say that, Mademoiselle ! Your engagement with
us incomplete, too ! You would ruin me ! " exclaimed the
manager, in consternation.
" I am sorry for you, but I cannot help it ; for 1 am worse
than ' ruined,' and those I love best in the world are worse
than ' ruined,' in your sense of the word. I will pay the
forfeit ; stand a suit for damages ; do anything, suffer any-
thing, in short, rather than go upon the boards again ! I
have left the stage ! I have left it forever! "
THE LOST STAR. 209
" But for the love of Heaven, Mademoiselle, in common
honor ! in common honesty ! consider "
" I cannot consider ! I am too wretched ! Look at me !
Do you thiuk it possible that even with the aid of drugs I
could be got into condition to appear at the opera to-night ?
No ! nor to-morrow night, nor next night. ' In common
honesty ' I sent for you to tell you this. If it does not sat-
isfy, you, I will send for a physician, who will give a certifi-
cate to the facts. My engagement with you will terminate
next week. That will be before I shall be able to appear, I
know. And after that I will never make another with any
theatrical manager."
She spoke in a faint and tremulous voice.
" But, my dear young lady, think ! "
" I cannot think ! I am too wretched ! I have been frank
with you, and now please to leave me ! Do not thiuk me
unkind, but please to go," she said, growing fainter and
paler.
" The shock you have sustained has certainly unhinged
your mind, as well as your nerves."
'' Yes, it has. Now go. I recommend you to telegraph
to Geneva for Madame S., who is taking her holiday on Lake
Geneva. She will come to you in an emergency, no doubt.
Now, good-morning," faltered Suzy, kindly and politely dis-
missing her visitor.
There was no help for it. The manager had to take him-
self and his disappointment home. There was no doubt that
the young prirna donna was too much prostrated to appear
upon the stage for some days yet. And the only hope he
had in her was, that after a little time, she might be able to
rally sufficiently to complete her engagement.
"Well," he said to himself, as he left the house, "her
excessive grief proves one thing very clearly that this
handsome scamp who was murdered was her favored lover
after all, instead of the infatuated Earl of Wellrose, whom
300 A NOBLE LORD.
everybody thought to be the man. And now to follow her
advice and telegraph for Madame S. And, meanwhile, little
Fee must take her part, and do the best she can with it."
The manager had scarcely driven away from the house,
before the carriage of the Earl of Wellrose drew up before
the door.
He too, with all London, had of course heard of the hor-
rible murder of Mr. Stuart Fitzroy, in Piccadilly, as that
unfortunate gentleman was returning from a little supper
with Mademoiselle Arielle in Park Lane, and of the conse-
quent illness, and absence from her part, of the young prima
donna.
And now he came to make anxious inquiries about her
health.
He sent up his card and compliments and inquiries.
And he soon received for answer the message that Mad-
emoiselle begged that his lordship would come up and see
her.
This was a pleasure he had not expected, and he followed
the footman with alacrity.
He found Suzy still reclining on the sofa, very pale, faint
and tremulous.
She greeted him with gentle courtesy, and begged that he
would sit down near her.
11 But I am very much grieved to find you in so much
sorrow," said his lordship tenderly.
" It is for Benjamin Hurst! You know he was commit-
ted to Newgate on the charge of the murder. And oh !
Lord Wellrose, he never did it ! Benny never, never did
it!" she said, bursting into tears, and sobbing hysterically.
" I do not believe that he did ; and so take this comfort
to your heart, my best beloved that, being guiltless, he
will surely be acquitted," he said, gently taking her hand.
" ' Being guiltless, he will surely be acquitted ! ' Oh, my
lord! my lord! does that always follow? A guiltless
THE LOST STAR. 801
child, he was sent to the Penal Colonies for fourteen years !
A guiltless man, he is now committed to Newgate upon the
charge of murder. And he may be convicted, and then
Oh ! I cannot bear it ! I cannot bear it ! Oh, Benny !
Benny ! if they put you to death, I shall die ! I shall die !
I never could outlive the dark and dreadful day ! " she
moaned, sobbing, as if her heart would burst.
" My best beloved," said the young Earl gently, and all
the more calmly because she was so much excited " my
own dearest Susan, you must not despair because a Coro-
ner's Jury has brought in a verdict against him. It was
really upon very insufficient evidence. And coroners, more-
over, are mostly Dogberrys. A judge is another sort of
man a man of superior learning and wisdom, who holds
his high office in virtue of these qualities. Benjamin will
have a fair trial. And as the evidence is really quite in-
sufficient to convict him, he will be acquitted ; and after his
acquittal, my dearest Suzy, it shall be my very first care to
advance him in life."
" Oh, thanks ! thanks ! thanks ! Oh ! you give me hope !
You think there's good ground for hope ? You really do ? "
eagerly exclaimed Suzy.
" I know there is ground for hope, and none for fear.
Benjamin's imprisonment and impending trial are misfor-
tunes that we cannot prevent ; but they will be the extent
of his troubles, and we can mitigate them. I will see to
engaging the best counsel for him. It shall be my first
business to do so to-day."
" Oh, I thank you so much ! And you will go to see him
in his cell to-day, and speak some kind words to him ?
poor, friendless boy ! "
" Indeed I will ! And let me tell you, Susan, that there
is something in the poor young man that interests me
strangely."
" Oh, Lord Wellrose forgive me for daring to hint it,
302 A NOBLE LORD.
but " Susan hesitated, and her pale face flushed for an
instant.
" But what, my dearest ? Speak freely," said the young
Earl, gently.
"Oh, Lord Wellrose, there may be some deep reason in
nature that you know not of, for this strange interest you
feel in Benjamin Hurst," she said, and then again paused.
" Truly there are hidden things in nature, dearest Suzy,"
he said soothingly, though he did not see the drift of her
words.
"And that may give you the right to help Benny," she
continued, and once more paused in embarrassment.
" I have the right to help him, and all who need my help,
dearest Suzan. But there is something you have to say to
me, and find difficulty in saying. Now, surely you may
speak freely to me, my own," he said gently, pressing her
hand, that he still held.
" Oh, Lord Wellrose," murmured Susan, in a very low
tone, and blushing deeply, " I hope you will forgive me for
venturing to make such an assertion ; but I must not hesi-
tate to say anything that may serve to deepen your interest
in poor Benny. Lord Wellrose, poor Benjamin Hurst,
humble as he is, may be your own poor kinsman."
"Impossible!" broke impulsively from the lips of the
astonished young man. Then, in a quieter tone he asked:
" What makes you think so, dearest ?"
" Oh, in the first place, the strong likeness ! If you were
dressed alike, strangers might take you for twins," said
Susan.
The young Earl smiled slightly, as he said:
" The likeness is undeniable. But do you not know that
such likenesses have been found to exist even between per-
sons of different nationalities ? "
"Yes, my lord; but I fancy that in every such case there
must have been some blood relationshship, however distant,
THE LOST STAR. 303
or even unknown. But the likeness between you, my lord,
and my poor friend Benny, is not the only reason I have
for believing that he may be your lordship's poor kinsman."
" Then what more, dearest ? "
" Lord Wellrose, Benjamin was not the child of the
woman whose name he bears, and who brought him up as
her own. He was a deserted child, of unknown parentage.
All that is known of him is this : that he was born in or
near Seton Castle, the seat of your grandfather, the late
Baron Linlithgow ; and the only relics of his childhood
that he possesses, are two little articles, a sack and a
sock, both of which are embroidered with the Eglantine,
which your lordship knows to be the symbol of the Seton-
Linlithgows, just as the Kose was the symbol of the Sin-
clairs of Roslyn."
" Yes," said the Earl, with a smile, " and many of the
daughters of Seton-Linlithgow were named after their
flower, as many of the ladies of Roslyn were named after
their rose. But go on, my dearest Susan."
"Nor was there so much in all this, had not the crest of
the Barons of Seton-Linlithgow been embroidered among
the leaves of their symbolic flower, the Eglantine. That
fact alone would have been worthless. Any lady of the
house of Seton-Linlithgow might have given the cast-off
garments of her infant to any servant or peasant woman
needing clothing for her child ; but taken in connection
with the strong likeness between your lordship and the
possessor of these relics, I think they mean much. What
do you think, Lord Wellrose?" inquired Suzy, looking
intently into the face of the Earl.
The son of Eglantine Seton, Baroness Linlithgow, Duch-
ess of Cheviot, mused for a few moments. A vision passed
before him of some young scapegrace of his grandfather's
race having some love affair with some servant in the family
or some peasant girl on the estate, and of Benny's being
S04 A NOBLE LORD.
the consequence of their folly ; and of some nurse or house-
keeper at the Castle giving the left-off infant dresses to
clothe the destitute child. But all was very vague. So
he inquired :
" Do you know what you have stated to be faots, my
dear Susan ? And have you seen these relics, as you call
them?"
" Let me be accurate," said Suzy. " I know the like-
ness to be a fact ; and so do you. I have seen the relics ;
and so may you. All the other facts I have from hearsay ;
but I believe them, and I believe they may be proved."
" Well, my dearest, whether this young man may have
any claim upon me from kinship or from mere humanity,
he has certainly a claim stronger than either of these : it
is that you, my beloved, are interested in his fate. When
I leave you, Susan, 1 shall go as soon as possible to Mr.
Percy Melliss, the most eminent lawyer for criminal cases
in the world perhaps, and I shall retain him, and any other
lawyer or half dozen lawyers that he may recommend to
assist him."
" Oh, I do thank you so much ! And, Lord Wellrose, my
purse, my whole fortune is freely at Benny's service, to
secure the best counsel for him yes, if it should take all I
possess in the world ! Oh, angels in Heaven, bear me wit-
ness how freely I would give all I possess in the world to
have Benny once more out of prison, and free from the hor-
rible danger ! " she exclaimed, with a shudder, bursting again
into hysterical sobs and tears.
" Take comfort, dearest one," said the young Earl, with
much emotion. " As to the finding and retaining of the
best counsel to be had, that shall be iny care and my cost,
my duty and my pleasure."
" No, no," said Suzy eagerly, through her tears. " You
may perhaps have the right to help Benny, and I am glad
to know that you will do it; but I have certainly the right
THE LOST STAR. 305
to help him, and I mean to do it ; not only because he was
a loved and trusted member of my household though that
circumstance, considered in itself, is much but more because
he has always seemed to me like one of my own brothers,
only dearer, far dearer than any brother I have, because he
was just of my own age, and in our infancy shared my
cradle and my food and play like my twin-brother. My
lord, help him all you can, but let me bear the cost, for the
precious old love's sake. You do not misunderstand me, I
hope ; do you, Lord Wellrose ? " inquired Suzy, in an anx-
ious tone.
" Misunderstand you, true heart, pure spirit ? No, indeed.
I understand you and confide in you, and love you perfectly.
And I go from you now straight to the cell of the imprisoned
boy, that I may comfort him for your sake," said the Earl,
as he raised and pressed her hand to his lips.
" God bless you for these good words. Give my love to
Benny. Tell him that I know he is innocent ; and that I
wifl come to see him just so soon as I can stand on my feet."
" I will tell him," said the Earl.
And then he took leave of his love, and left the house.
As he entered his brougham he gave his orders to the
coachman in accordance with his resolutions.
And as the carriage bowled along in the right direction,
Lord Wellrose fell into a deep reverie on the subject of Ben-
jamin Hurst's possible relationship with his own family, the
circumstances of his birth and his deserted condition ; of his
likeness to himself, Lord Wellrose ; of his possession of the
relics, and of Suzy's words.
19
306 A NOBLE LORD.
CHAPTER XXXII.
FETTERED LOVE.
I tell you, he walked up and down
That prison crowned with love's best crown,
And feasted with love's perfect feast,
To feel he killed, for her, at least.
Body and mind, and peace and fame,
Alike youth's end and manhood's aim. BROWNING.
FKOM Park Lane, Lord Wellrose went straight to Lin-
coln Inn Fields, and sought out the chambers of Mr. Percy
Melliss, the great criminal lawyer.
So great was now the fame of this learned lawyer and
eloquent advocate, that he might have been a Queen's Coun-
sel if he had but chosen to abandon the cause of the poor
and needy the men and women, aye, and little children,
"more sinned against than sinning" the cause of human-
ity, the cause of Christ, the cause of God.
So when he might have risen to be Queen's Counsel,
Queen's Advocate, Solicitor-General, Attorney-General, or
even, in time, Lord Chancellor, he chose to remain only the
great criminal lawyer, with the questionable reputation aud
all but reproach that attaches to the name.
Their deep mutual interest in the " cause " had so fre-
quently brought Lord Wellrose and himself into company,
that a very warm friendship had grown up between the
gifted advocate and the young Earl.
When Lord Wellrose had been preparing his famous
" Bill for the Reclamation of Criminals, and the Reform of
Prison Discipline," he took frequent occasion to consult Mr.
Percy Melliss, who gave him valuable aid in his humane
enterprise.
And so their friendship had matured.
And now the young Earl sought the great criminal law-
yer in behalf of Benjamin Hurst, a prisoner in Kewgate,
FETTERED LOVE. 307
charged with the murder of the Honorable Stuart Fitzroy
son of the Viscount St. Paul.
Arrived at the house, he sent up his card, on which he had
written in pencil, under hie name, " life and death."
He was at once admitted, and after going up two flights
of stairs and passing through two or three rooms, each occu-
pied by two or three clerks, he was shown into aback cham
ber, where the great advocate sat writing at a table, covered
with papers.
Mr. Melliss immediately arose to receive Lord Wellrose.
" Busy ? " inquired the Earl, with a smile.
"Always," responded the lawyer, setting a chair for his
visitor.
" Nevertheless, you see, I interrupt you," said the Earl,
apologetically, as he took the offered seat.
" Your lordship is most heartily welcome," answered the
advocate, as he reseated himself at the table, and, turning
his face toward his visitor, assumed an attentive expression.
"You have heard all about this murder in Piccadilly, of
course ? The papers are full of it, and it is the talk of all
London."
" The murder of Stuart Fitzroy. Yes, certainly. Who
lias not ? "
" No one, probably. But I come to you this morning in
behalf of the young man who is charged with the murder,
and whom I believe from my soul to be as guiltless of that
crime as you or myself," said the young Earl, earnestly.
" There is, at least, no good evidence against him. But,
for the murder of Lord St. Paul's son, I suppose the coro-
ner and his jury thought they must commit somebody, right
or wrong, and so they committed this poor young man. Do
you know anything of him ? " inquired Mr. Melliss.
" Know him ? " echoed Lord Wellrose, with some emotion.
" Yes, I know him well, and feel the deepest compassion for
his misfortunes. I come this morning to ask you to under-
take his defence. Can you do it ? Are you too busy ? "
308 A NOBLE LORD.
"I am busy. I am always busy, very busy. And yet I
have always time to do everything that I ought to do. I
ought to defend this young man, and I will certainly find
time to do it."
" Spoken like yourself, good friend ! Thanks," said the
Earl, as he opened his pocket-book and took from it a Bank
of England note for a hundred pounds, which he quietly
laid upon the lawyer's table as a retaining fee. Then he
arose to depart.
" I will get through a little pressing business this fore-
noon, and early this afternoon I will see my new client,"
said the lawyer, rising to attend his distinguished visitor to
the door.
The Earl of Wellrose went next to Newgate.
He was well acquainted with the Reverend Mr. Ross, the
Chaplain of the prison, who was also the Duchess of
Cheviot's almoner to the poor and friendless prisoners.
His lordship asked for the chaplain, and was shown to his
reverence's room.
Mr. Ross was not the same chaplain who had been in
office there when Benny, the child, had been incarcerated
for burglary, and consequently he knew nothing whatever
of the history of the new prisoner, Benjamin Hurst.
But when the Earl of Wellrose entered the chaplain's
room, the latter thought his lordship had only come upon
some benevolent errand to him as the Duchess of Cheviot's
almoner.
The chaplain was quite an old man, with a tall, spare
form, clad in a thread-bare suit of black, a fine bald head,
adorned with a few thin locks of silver hair, and a pale, thin
face, with a holy calm upon it, full of the love of God and
man.
He arose to meet the young Earl, and offered him his
hand and begged him to sit down, and inquired after the
good Duchess, his mother.
FETTERED LOVE. 309
Lord Wellrose thanked him, and sat down and replied
satisfactorily to his questions, and then opened the subject
of his visit by asking the chaplain if he had yet seen the
new prisoner, Benjamin Hurst.
" Who is charged with the murder of young Stuart Fitz-
roy ? No, I have not yet seen him. I was indeed about to
visit his cell when your lordship's name was announced.
Alas ! " sighed the aged minister, using a very old-fashioned
interjection " Alas ! I have heard this is also another case
of neglected childhood growing up to depraved youth and
criminal manhood ! The papers state that this wretched
young man has been a thief and an outcast, and the com-
panion of burglars and cut-throats, from his infancy up.
It is said that he has but recently returned from a fourteen
years' transportation for burglary. And that he obtained
the situation of butler at the house where he was engaged,
only by a false character and forged recommendation. All
this will tell very much against him in the coming trial.
But I must visit him and save him, if through the Lord's
help, I may. Our Divine Master ' came not to call the
righteous, but sinners to repentance/" said the chaplain
reverently, bowing his head.
The young Earl looked gravely at the speaker for a
moment, and then said :
" ' WHO hath sinned, this man or his parents, that he is
born blind?' Even if all the crimes falsely imputed to
Benjamin Hurst were committed by him, still let us ask,
'Who hath sinned, this man, or his parents,' or you or I,
and all society, ' that he is born blind ' morally and spirit-
ually blind ; and that he has grown up blind morally and
spiritually blind? "
The chaplain reverently bowed his head and answered :
" I know that we all have sinned."
"Yes," said the young Earl. "We have all sinned in
this respect, more than in all others."
310 A NOBLE LORD.
"Each one of us, the very poorest of us, might save at
least one little destitute, neglected child from remaining the
companion of thieves and outcasts, and from growing up to
become a thief or a murderer," added the chaplain.
And there was silence between the two for a while, and
then the young Earl said :
"All that the gossippiug daily papers have falsel}' said of
Benjamin Hurst might well have been true ; and yet still
it might have been truly said of him, that he was ' more
sinned against than sinning.'"
" Yes, yes ; that is what your gracious mother, the Duch-
ess, often says of the worst criminals confined in this
prison."
" And she is nearly right. But in this case of Benjamin
Hurst, she is entirely right. He is indeed, Heaven knows,
more, much more, very much more, 'sinned against than
sinning.' In his ignorant infancy he became the charge of
thieves and outcasts; he was taught evil for good, sin for
duty. He learned the lessons and performed the tasks
for love of those around him. He became, for their sakes,
because he knew no better, a beggar, a liar and a thief, just
as another 'more fortunate child, from the same motives of
conscience and affection, might have become a philanthro-
pist, an advocate of truth and a benefactor of his kind.
One whom I love and trust, and who has known Benjamin
Hurst from his babyhood and hers, has told me so much of
his sweetness of temper, goodness of heart, gentleness of
manners and docility of disposition, that I can see perfectly
well how easy it was for the thieves and outcasts who were
his only protectors, and who had won his childish heart, to
turn all his inherent good qualities to evil uses. But these
evil uses were habits, that were no more a part of the boy's
nature than were his poor little ragged jacket and trowsers
a part of himself. And he was one who only needed to be
shown the Right to see its beauty, to love it and prefer it to
FETTERED LOVE. 311
the Wrong; just as lie would have preferred clean and
whole clothes to ragged and filthy ones. And almost the
first glimpse he had of the Right was caught within these
prison walls, from your venerable predecessor, the then chap-
lain. I have heard how eagerly and gratefully he learned
the good lessons taught him here. And I have seen for
myself how he has profited by them. I have only recently
known Benjamin Hurst well, but all I have seen of him has
shown me a young man true, pure, brave, just and singularly
refined in person, in manner and in spirit; a young man
rare in any rank of life, and wonderfully rare in his."
" Your lordship is very earnest in your advocacy of this
young prisoner. I trust your lordship may be right," said
the chaplain.
" When you see and talk with Benjamin Hurst you will
know that I am right. I think you said that you were
about to visit him in his cell. If so, I should be obliged
if you will take me with you. I wish to see him privately,
or at least with no other witness than yourself. Can you
gratify me? " inquired the young Earl.
" Certainly, my lord, with pleasure," answered the chap-
lain. And he touched the bell.
An officer of the prison answered the summons.
The chaplain whispered a few words to him. He went
out, and after some moments a turnkey entered and re-
spectfully intimated that he was " at the service of his
reverence."
Mr. Ross arose and invited Lord Wellrose to accompany
him.
The turnkey led the way, and the Earl and the chaplain
followed through many passages, and up and down many
flights of stairs, until they came to a row of cells, at one of
which the man stopped and suddenly thrust in a key, opened
the door, and admitted the visitors.
The poor voiiug priouuer, when suddenly exposed to view,
312 A NOBLE LORD.
was found sitting on the side of his rude bunk, engaged in
reading a small volume.
On seeing his visitors, he quickly turned down the leaf
of the volume he was reading, laid the book aside, and arose
to greet that one visitor whom he recognized, with the
heartfelt acknowledgment :
" I knew your lordship would come to see me in my
trouble ! I thank your lordship very much."
" My poor fellow, I am very sorry to see you here," said
the Earl, taking his hand and pressing it, and still continu-
ing to hold it, while he added, " This gentleman who ac-
companies me is the Reverend Mr. Koss, the prison chap-
lain, and he wishes to be your friend." Then turning to
Mr. Koss, he said, " Keverend sir, this is Benjamin Hurst,
who, though a prisoner here, charged with a crime I feel
sure that he did not and could not commit, possesses my
entire confidence and esteem."
" Oh, thanks, thanks for these good and gracious words ! "
said the young prisoner earnestly.
" I hope and trust in the Lord, that I may be able to
serve you, my young friend," said the chaplain, kindly
shaking hands with the prisoner.
There were few accommodations for visitors in these rude
prison cells. Therefore the three sat down on the side of
the bunk, that did the double duty of bed by night and
bench by day.
" What have you been reading?" inquired the chaplain,
taking up the little book that Benny had laid aside. "Ah,
I see ! " he said, as he opened it.
The book was the New Testament, and the leaf was folded
down at the twenty-sixth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel,
describing the Saviour's agony in the garden of Geth-
semane.
" Why did you select this particular part of the Scripture
to read this morning ? " inquired the chaplain.
FETTERED LOVE. 313
Benny looked down at his own fettered limbs, and around
upon the heavy stone-walls and strong iron gratings of his
prison cell, and then raised his mouruful blue eyes to the
face of the chaplain. And the good man was answered.
" I see," he said with a sigh, as he laid down the book
and arose and stood with his back to the grated door, facing
the two young men, the unconscious brothers, who were
still seated side by side on the edge of the bunk. And as
he looked at them his aged face grew deep in interest.
How much alike these young men, though severed so far
in rank and position ; only that one was so pale, thin and
wasted, and the other was in such ruddy health, that the
one seemed but the faded-out image of the other !
" They are enough alike to be the children of the same
parents," thought the minister. "And yet what a con-
trast ! " And at the thought the good man sighed.
The young Earl with almost womanly tenderness, held
the white transparent hand of his unknown brother and
wondered at the more than sympathy, at the warmth of
affection, he felt for the poor, patient young prisoner.
And as for Benny, a strange feeling of protection and
peace came over his spirit.
" It grieves me very much to see you here, Hurst, eveu
for a few days. But it can only be for a few days, my
friend, for the Sessions are near at hand, when you will be
tried and most certainly acquitted. I hope you know
this?"
" I know that I am not guilty, my lord ; but whether the
jury will believe so, I do not know. But it seems to me
that I am fated. It does not matter though," answered
Benny sadly.
" Are you a Christian, Benjamin ? "
" Yes, my lord, however unworthj' to bear that name."
" Then you must not be a fatalist. You will be acquitted,
Benjamin. But I wish you to be more than acquitted. I
314 A NOBLE LORD.
wish you to be vindicated. I wish your character to come
pure from this ordeal as fine gold from the fiery furnace.
For this reason I have to-day retained for your defence, the
most learned lawyer and eloquent advocate in the country.
I mean. Mr. Percy Melliss, of whom, no doubt, you have
heard."
"Oh, yes," said Benny, immediately recollecting the
name of the young lawyer who, years before, had so success-
fully defended his, Benny's, foster-mother " Oh, yes, my
lord, I have heard of Mr. Melliss. But, oh, how shall I
ever be able to thank you enough for all your goodness and
kindness to me ? " inquired Benny, raising his sad eyes
gratefully to the eyes of the Earl.
" My poor boy, by letting me serve you as much as I wish
to do," said the Earl, caressing the thin, pale, fettered hand
that he held between his own. " I like you, Benjamin. I
wish to see you prosperous and happy. And when you
shall be acquitted and vindicated, you must let me do a
great deal for you, indeed. You must take a great deal
from me. We can, any of us, take anything from one who
loves us, can we not, Benjamin ? "
The poor young man, overcome by this gentleness of
sympathy, dropped his face upon his fettered hands, burst
into tears and sobbed. After a little while he composed
himself, and said :
"Forgive this weakness, my lord. I have not been used
to such kindness, except from one."
" There, there ; it is perfectly natural. You are not
physically strong, and you have been severely tried. Now
let us look* beyond this dark present to the fair future, not
BO far off. When you are fully acquitted and vindicated,
both by the court and the press, we must see to giving 3-011
a fresh start in life. You are not fit for service, Benjamin.
You must not go into it again. You must select some pro-
fession that will be more to your taste. You are quite
FETTERED LOVE. 315
young enough to study law or medicine; or, if you prefer it,
as all England is arming now for the Crimean war, you
might enter the army. It would give me the greatest hap-
piness to purchase a commission for you in some good regi-
ment, or to enter you at some law school, or medical
college."
"Too much! too much, my lord! You you " Benny
began, but his voice was choked with emotion.
"Ah, Hurst, if you would but keep in mind that we are
the sons of one Father, you would not then think or feel
that I, the fortunate brother, could do too much for you, the
unhappy one," said Lord Wellrose.
He spoke, of course, of the universal human brotherhood,
yet Benny's pale face flushed at the words.
" Benny," said the Earl suddenly, yet with great gentle-
ness, "do you remember the time when we first met? "
" In London, my lord ? " inquired Benjamin.
"No, in Brighton."
A smile lighted up the wan features of the young man
as he answered :
" Oh, yes, my lord. I remember well the little gentleman
who emptied his own pockets and levied contributions from
the purses of his little sisters, to buy shoes and stockings for
the barefooted boy they met on the Esplanade. I remember
well, my lord. I remember, also, how, a few days later, the
little angels, as they seemed to me then, had me brought off
the dark, snowy sidewalk into their bright, warm parlor, and
gave me a piece of their Twelfth-daj 7 cake. I remember all
the incidents of that evening. Such bright spots in my
dark life were too few to be forgotten. I remember, my
lord. And the first time I saw you in London, I recognized
you at once. But it was not for me to speak."
" I very soon recognized you also, Hurst. And now re-
member, my boy, that this friendship of ours began in our
boyhood. And trust me as an old friend/' said the young
316 A NOBLE LORD.
Earl, with a smile. And then he gave place to the almost
forgotten chaplain, who came and sat down by the young
prisoner and talked with him for a few moments, and then
proposed prayer, in which Lord Wellrose joined them.
When they arose from their knees, the young Earl, look-
ing around upon the bare, comfortless cell, said :
" I see, Benjamin, that you require a good many articles
here to make 3 - ou decently comfortable. I will call on the
Governor and obtain leave to fit up this place for you. I will
also send you some books to while away the tedious hours.
Mr. Melliss, your counsel, will call this afternoon. I hope
you will confide entirely in him. And another faithful
young friend of yours will come to see you to-morrow. She
bade me tell you so, with her love."
" Ah ! my lord, how is she ? I have been wishing to ask
you all this time, but could not bear to breathe her name in
a place like this. How is she ? " earnestly inquired Benny.
"She is suffering from the shock she has received, of
course. But she hopes to be well enough to come to see you
to-morrow."
"Does she think me guilty of this murder?" inquired
Benny, with quivering lips.
"No. She would stake her life upon your innocence.
She will tell you so when she sees you to-morrow. Keep up
your spirits, Benjamin," said the Earl, in the cheerful, en-
couraging tone which he had maintained during the whole
interview.
" Oh, I thank Heaven that she, at least, does not think
me guilty ! " said the young man, earnestly.
" Very few people can believe you to be so, Benjamin,"
observed the Earl.
" Does she suspect who did the deed ? " inquired the
young prisoner hesitating, anxiously.
" No ; but she suspects that you know who did it, and will
not tell even to clear yourself. She suspects that you are
COUNSEL AND CLIENT. 317
shielding the real murderer, even at the risk of your own
life," said the young Earl, gazing wistfully into the face of
the prisoner, who started, turned white as death, and met
the Earl's gaze with a look so conscious, that in an instant,
as by a flash of revelation, Lord Wellrose knew whom it was
that Benjamin Hurst was shielding Suzy's brother, who had
fled, and left Benjamin Hurst to suffer for him possibly
even to die for him !
The conviction was so sudden and overwhelming that the
young Earl felt himself obliged to sit down again to recover
from the shock.
And at the same moment the door was opened by the
guard, and Mr. Percy Melliss entered.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
COUNSEL AND CLIENT.
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor Iron bars a cage,
For spirits pure and calm do take
These for a hermitage. SIR WALTER EALEIGH.
THE Earl of Wellrose aroused himself from his preoccu-
pation, and presented the counsel to his client.
And then, having promised to visit the prisoner again on
the ensuing morning, he bade good day to both, and, attend-
ed by the chaplain, left the cell.
He took leave of the reverend gentleman at the gate, en-
tered his carriage and directed his coachman to drive home.
When he arrived at Cheviot House, he shut himself in his
own apartments, and gave his mind to painful reflections.
He felt convinced that Benjamin Hurst was shielding the
real murderer with his life ; and that that murderer was
William Juniper!
And yet, when he came to review the evidence givcu
318 A NOBLE LORD.
before the Coroner's jury, he could find nothing whatever to
connect young Juniper with the crime, while there was very
much to criminate young Hurst.
When Suzy had been affronted by Mr. Stuart Fitzroy, it
was not William Juniper, but Benjamin Hurst, who became
fired with just anger.
When Stuart Fitzroy left the house, in a state of intoxi-
cation that rendered him incapable of taking care of him-
self, it was not William Juniper, but Benjamin Hurst who
attended him.
And finally, when the body of the murdered man was
discovered within three minutes after the fatal deed, it was
not William Juniper, but Benjamin Hurst that was found
standing over the corpse !
And yet in the very face of these facts the Earl of Well-
rose felt convinced, not only of Benjamin Hurst's innocence
but also of William Juniper's guilt.
Under these circumstances how should he proceed ?
Should he denounce Suzy's brother to the proper author-
ities, and thus become the fatal agent in bringing him to
trial, and perhaps to condemnation and death ?
It was a horrible thought !
But even if he could bring himself to accuse William
Juniper of the murder of Stuart Fitzroy, what evidence
had he to put forward in support of his accusation?
None whatever, except his own firm moral conviction.
And moral conviction however firm, is not legal evidence.
But yet, believing and feeling as he did, should he leave
poor Benjamin Hurst to suffer for William Juniper, the in-
nocent for the guilty ?
His painful reverie was interrupted by the dressing bell,
and by the entrance of his valet.
He dressed and went down to the drawing-room, where
he found his mother and sisters, the still beautiful Duchess
and her fair daughters.
COUNSEL AND CLIENT. 319
They were discussing some matter of very distressing
interest, for even their fair, calm faces bore signs of much
disturbance.
" How very shocking ! " murmured the Duchess with pale
cheeks.
Lord Wellrose thought his mother was referring to the
recent murder in Piccadilly, and as she had not addressed
herself to him, he did not feel called upon to make any com-
ment. The next words undeceived him.
" How many did you say were injured, mamma ? " in-
quired Lady Hester.
" There were thirteen unfortunates killed outright, my
love, and thirty-nine dangerously wounded," answered the
Duchess.
" Why, what has happened ? " inquired Lord Wellrose,
aroused from his abstraction.
"Oh, a shocking accident, my dear, on the Paris and
Marseilles Railroad ! A collision between the express and
a freight train, in which a number of lives have been lost or
endangered," answered the Duchess with a shudder.
" Shocking, indeed ! Why, I had not heard of it ! " said
the Earl.
" The news came by telegraph to the evening papers.
There are but few particulars given. But I suppose we
shall see all about it in to-morrow morning's papers," re-
plied the Duchess.
And at that moment the sliding doors were run back, and
the groom of the chambers appeared, and said :
" Her Grace is served."
"My father does not dine at home to-day?" inquired
the Earl, as he gave his mother his arm, to lead her in to
dinner.
" No, he is at Windsor. There is a cabinet council,"
answered the Duchess, and the subject was dropped.
The next morning the young Earl called by appointment
320 A NOBLE LORD.
at Park Lane, to escort Suzy on her distressing visit to poor
Benjamin Hurst.
On reaching the house, he was shown at once into the
Hose Parlor where he found Suzy with her bonnet on, wait-
ing for him. The poor girl had changed, even within the
last twenty-four hours. She was fearfully pale and wasted,
though her manner was more composed than it had been
on the preceding day.
"Oh, Lord Wellrose, you did not quiet me with false
hopes yesterday, did you ? You would not have given me
false hopes even for that purpose, would you ? " she inquired,
in a beseeching voice.
" Indeed I would not, my dearest one ! " he answered
earnestly.
"And Benny is really in no imminent danger? "
" Indeed, no. He is nearly sure to be acquitted."
" Nearly sure ! " sighed Suzy. " Oh, Lord Wellrose, how
awful to think that there should be the remotest chance of
his conviction ! " she cried, wringing her hands.
" Believe me, I do not think that there is. The evidence
is not sufficient to convict him ; and besides, we have re-
tained Mr. Percy Melliss, the greatest criminal lawyer in
Europe, for his defence."
" Oh, a hundred thousand thanks for all your goodness "
began Suzy, but the Earl gently stopped her by inquiring
if they should set out for their visit then.
She readily assented, and he led her to the carriage that
stood waiting at the door.
"And oh, Lord Wellrose, I wished to speak to you about
another matter. You must know that my brother left me
four days ago to proceed to Paris on my affairs."
"I understood so; yes," replied the Earl, wondering.
" He was to see the manager of the Theatre Frangais by
appointment, and make arrangements for my engagement
there."
COUNSEL AND CLIENT. 321
" Yes," said the Earl, seeing that Suzy paused.
" Well, he should have been there the evening of the
same day upon which he left here."
" Certainly."
" And now, the queerest part of the business is, that he
did not get there at all ! "
" No ! " exclaimed the Earl, all the more interested
because of the suspicion that had entered his mind, connect-
ing Suzy's missing brother with the murder of Stuart Fitz-
roy.
" No, indeed. And while I have been waiting here, expect-
ing every hour either to see or to hear from nay brother, this
morning comes a telegram from the manager of the Theatre
Franc,ais, inquiring what has delayed my agent, that he
does not come to treat with him according to agreement.
Now, what do you think of that, Lord Wellrose ? "
" He may have been taken sick on the road," suggested
his lordship, doubtfully.
" So he may ; but then he would have written, or he
would have got some one else to write," said Suzy. " And
oh, Lord Wellrose, there has been a most awful railway
accident in France ! " she added, growing paler.
" I know it, my love ; a very horrible catastrophe indeed,
profoundly to be deplored. But it does not concern your
brother in the least."
" Ah, I don't know. He may have been one of the vic-
tims."
" But, my dearest, your brother was travelling, if I under-
stand you, from Dover to Paris. And this accident hap-
pened between Paris and Marseilles."
"Yes, I know; I thought of that, but still" She
paused and sighed.
" Still ? " echoed the Earl, with an inquiring smile.
" Still I fear 1 know not what, or why. Perhaps I am
a woman naturally born to fears,' as poor Constance says
20
322 A NOBLE LORD.
And where there is doubt or danger, I fear the worst,
rationally or irrationally."
As she spoke, the carriage drew up before the gloomy
walls of Newgate.
Upon the Earl's application, they were at once admitted
within the building, and conducted first to the chaplain's
room.
The venerable man received the young Earl with grave
respect. And when the latter presented Suzy, he shook
her hands with much kindness of manner.
At the Earl's request, he willingly consented to accom-
pany them to the cell of the prisoner Hurst.
He rang for the proper officer to attend the party, and
they immediately went thither.
They found the j'oung prisoner in consultation with his
counsel, who had arrived about an hour before.
" We interrupt 3*011," said the chaplain, who preceded the
party into the cell.
"Not at all. I was just leaving," replied Mr. Percy
Melliss, gathering up his papers to go.
He shook hands with his client, bade him keep up his
spirits, and then came out of the cell and bowed to the Earl
and the lady, and hurried away.
" That is Percy Melliss, the great criminal advocate. I
should have presented him to you, had he not hurried away
so fast," said the Earl, as they, in their turn, entered the
cell.
The care of the Earl had already improved its appear-
ance.
The stone floor was covered with a thick carpet, two com-
fortable chairs and a small stand covered with books stood
against the wall, and clean bedding and white draperies
covered the bunk.
" I owe you many thanks, Lord Well rose, for the many
comforts you have so kindly sent me. The upholsterer was
COONSEL AND CLIENT. 323
here as soon as the doors were opened this morning, to fit
up my cell. I thank your lordship very much indeed ! "
said Benjamin, earnestly, as he arose to welcome the Earl.
" There, there ! I have done nothing worth mentioning,
my good fellow. But here is a friend come to see you,"
said the Earl, as he handed Suzy into the cell.
" Oh, my dear Benny ! " exclaimed Suzy, in a low voice,
as she held out both hands to the young prisoner and burst
into tears.
" Don't cry. Indee-d it is not so very bitter to be here,
when friends are so kind," said Benny, earnestly.
" Ah ! poor brother ! You have had so little kindness
and sympathy in your life, that you reconcile yourself even
to a prison when it brings friends around you," wept Suzy.
"And who would not? 'Love is the greatest good in
the world.' And I did not know that any loved me, until I
got into this trouble," said the young man, smiling.
"Oh, Benny!" sighed Suzy. Then changing her tone
as she sat down beside him, she said, " Benny, you. are doing
now exactly what you did fifteen years ago. You are in-
nocently suffering for the guilt of another. You are shield-
ing with your own person the real criminal! Oh, Benny!
if not for your own sake, for my sake, clear yourself by
giving him up to justice. Yes, even if he were my own
brother, I should still implore you not to sacrifice yourself
for him, but to clear your own innocent name and fame by
giving him up to justice," said Suzy, utterly unsuspicious
that it was her own brother, for whom the poor young man
was offering himself up.
" Dear Suzy," said the prisoner, " If you really care for
me, speak no more of this. I cannot stir from the ground I
have taken."
"Then you admit that you are shielding some one?"
inquired the weeping girl.
"No, I do not admit anything of the sort," said Benny
324 A NOBLE LORD.
gently. "But listen, Suzy. I am in no sort of danger of
conviction. My counsel assures me that the prosecution has
no case to go upon at all that I shall be certainly acquitted
by the jury."
" Oh, Benny, yes ! but will you be acquitted by public
opinion ? Will not suspicion cling to you for the rest of
your life ? Will not you still suffer and continue to suffer
for the guilt of another ? "
" Suzy, even if your theory were correct, which I do not
admit, still, would it not be better that I should suffer some
suspicions than that another, more unfortunate than guilty,
should suffer the extreme penalty of the law ; and all con-
nected with him should be plunged in unmerited shame and
sorrow ? "
" No," answered Suzy, with sudden energy. " ' Let
justice be done, though the Heavens fall.' A guilty man
had better die for his crime than an innocent one suffer the
slightest unjust suspicion through him ! What do you
think, Lord Wellrose?" she inquired, turning to the Earl,
confident also of his answer.
"I agree with you perfectly; a falsely accused man should
clear himself at whatever cost to the real criminal,"
answered the Earl.
" But if the falsely accused man should be quite alone in
the world, while the guilty man should have father and
mother, brothers and sisters, who would be brought to shame
and sorrow by his exposure and punishment, then would not
the falsely accused be justified at least in keeping silence ?"
earnestly inquired Benny.
" By no means," emphatically answered the Earl.
As he spoke the door was opened, a visitor was announced,
and a lady dressed with Quakerly simplicity, in a gray
gown, shawl and bonnet, entered the cell.
She bowed to the lady and gentleman present, without
recognizing either, and then advanced to speak to the young
prisoner.
COUNSEL AND CLIENT. 325
" Benjamin Hurst ! how little you are changed except in
growth ! Benjamin, I should be so glad to meet you again,
if it were anywhere else than here," she said, taking his
hand and pressing it affectionately.
But the young prisoner gazed on her in dumb amaze-
ment.
" Why, Benny, you don't seem to know me at all ! And
I should have known you anywhere ! Look at me, my boy.
Don't you recognize me now ? "
" Miss Rachel Wood ! " exclaimed Benny, in joyful sur-
prise, starting up as if he would have embraced her, then
recollecting himself, blushing and sinking back on his seat,
but adding, in a more subdued manner : " Oh, I am so
rejoiced to see you ! It was so good of you to come ! And,
Miss Rachel, I want to tell you at once, I did not commit
the murder for which I am to be tried."
" I did not believe you did, Bonn}' ! But I am glad to
hear you say so, for all that," said Rachel, warmly.
"Ah, but he knows who did! And he is suffering
innocently for the guilty, just as he did when he was a poor
friendless child ! " said Suzy, suddenly breaking into the
conversation.
The quiet, Quakerly looking woman turned with surprise
to gaze upon the elegantly dressed young lady who had
spoken to her.
" You do not recognize me, Miss Rachel. There is some
one else besides Benny, it seems, who has a short memory
for faces. I am Suzy, and I am very glad to see you again,"
said the young lad}', offering her hand.
" Suzy Juniper ! " echoed Rachel Wood in surprise, as
she took the delicately gloved little hand and held it while
she gazed in the lovely face of the young girl.
" Yes, Suzy Juniper ! And now do you recognize me ? "
inquired Suzy, smiling.
" Now I do. But I should scarcely have done so, if you
326 A NOBLE LORD.
had not told me your name. You are more changed than
Benjamin Hurst is," said the quiet, Quakerly woman, gazing
on the lovely young creature before her.
" Externally I am. But not at heart, for I am so glad to
see you, Miss Rachel ! It is like old times. Are you not a
little glad to see ine, too ? " inquired Suzy, in a plaintive
voice.
" Indeed I am, my dear, and greatly surprised," said
Rachel Wood, taking the kiss that Suzy offered in the over-
flowing love of her faithful young heart.
" And the Earl of Wellrose ? Surely, Miss Rachel, you
know Lord Wellrose ? He is one of the visitors of the
Duchess' school, where you are the matron," said Suzy.
And the Earl, at the mention of his own name, arose and
bowed, and resumed his seat.
" I have the honor of some slight acquaintance with his
lordship,' said Rachel, returning the bow, " but the gentle-
men visitors of the school have more to do with the teacher's
department than with the matron's."
" Rachel !" broke in Suzy, once more, " I began by tell-
ing you that Benjamin Hurst is doing now in his manhood
precisely what he did fifteen years ago, in his friendless
childhood ! He is shielding the guilty at the risk of his own
life ! Oh, Rachel, please unite with us in trying to persuade
him to clear himself from the false imputation of this
crime."
" Miss Rachel, I implore you, do not attempt to do so.
Do not distress yourself or me by urging a course that I
cannot pursue," entreated the young man.
"We must trust in Providence to the clearing up of this
mystery. It is evident that Mr. Hurst will not clear him-
self at the expense of another, even when that other is the
guilty party. Let us not pursue the discussion," said Lord
Wellrose.
Benjamin Hurst thanked his lordship with a grateful look.
COUNSEL AND CLIENT. 327
Aud soon after this the visitors departed, after having
promised to return the next day.
Suzy went home and telegraphed, and then wrote to the
manager of the Theatre Frangais, to say that her brother and
accredited agent, Mr. William Juniper had left London for
Paris on the third of the current month, to treat with him
concerning an engagement for herself and troupe at the
theatre ; that she had been daily and hourly expecting to see
him, or to hear from him on the subject of his mission ; but
up to the date of her letter, she had neither seen nor heard
from him ; that she was suffering great anxiety on her
brother's account ; and she besought the manager to have
inquiries set on foot in. Paris, as she feared that her brother
had met with foul play.
The manager wrote back by return mail to say that he
had notified the Parisian police as to the disappearance of
the missing young gentleman, and that he would write again
to inform Mademoiselle, as soon as anything should be ascer-
tained on the subject.
But day after day passed and no news of William Juniper
came from the other side of the Channel, and Suzy's anxiety
daily increased.
The term of her engagement at the Coveut Garden theatre
expired, and she positively declined all overtures toward a
reengagement there, or a new engagement anywhere else.
The newspapers reported that Mademoiselle Arielle had
abruptly left the stage, and left it for ever ; that she was
suffering from a slight indisposition, and had retired only for
a short season ; that she had entirely lost her voice, and would
never sing a note again ; that she was about to start on a
professional tour through the United States of America ; that
she was going to be married to a German grand duke ; that
she was going into a French convent to take the vail ; that
she had gone to the Insane Asylum.
Every rumor was inconsistent with every other.
3*28 A NOBLE LORD.
And every new report contradicted the last preceding one.
Meanwhile Suzy lingered in London, living in strict
retirement at her little palace in Park Lane, seeing no
company but the Earl of Wellrose, and going nowhere but
to Newgate, to visit the poor prisoner there.
Benny bore his confinement with his usual patience and
fortitude, and waited for the opening of the Sessions at the
Old Bailey.
A fortnight had passed in this way, when one morning
an event occurred that changed the whole aspect of affairs
so far as the young prisoner at Newgate was concerned.
It was the day before the opening of the Sessions.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
STARTLING NEWS.
Ring out the old 1 Ring in the new ! TENKYSOK.
THE Earl of Wellrose was sitting with Benny in his cell,
and speaking words of comfort and encouragement, to pre-
pare him to meet his arraignment with cheerfulness and
strength, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and
Percy Melliss, accompanied by the governor of the jail, and
the high sheriff of the county, entered the cell. The faces
of all three bore signs of unusual disturbance, though it
seemed to be of a pleasant nature.
Lord Wellrose and Benjamin Hurst looked at them and
at each other, expecting they knew not what.
The three new-comers bowed to the Earl, and then Mr.
Percy Melliss turned to Benny, and said, with some excite-
ment :
" Mr. Hurst, you can bear trouble with great fortitude.
Can you bear happiness as well? "
STARTLING NEWS. 329
Benny looked at his questioner with surprise, and then,
as a gleam of his old humor twinkled in his eyes, he
answered :
" I don't know. The experiment has never been tried
upon me."
" I think you can bear it, however," said the lawyer, with
a smile. " Now listen, Mr. Hurst. And Lord Wellrose,
you too will be astonished I I am glad, however, that Miss
Suzy is not here to-day. If she had been, our communica-
tion must have been deferred until her departure.
" It seems to me that you are taking unusual pains to
prepare us for something," said Lord Wellrose, with a smile
not devoid of curiosity.
" Yes, I am preparing you for something. Benjamin
Hurst I " he said, turning to the prisoner, " we bring an
order for your immediate discharge. You are entirely
cleared from all imputation of guilt. You are a free man
from this hour."
" Thank God I " exclaimed the astonished and delighted
prisoner, even without knowing or suspecting the cause of
his deliverance. " Oh, thank God !"
And he burst into tears of joy and gratitude.
" Mr. Hurst, I am delighted," added Percy Melliss,
warmly grasping and shaking the hand of the young man.
" I congratulate you with all my heart though I do not,
in the least, understand the turn affairs have taken. God
bless you, Benjamin Hurst," said Lord Wellrose, earnestly
shaking his hand.
" Thanks, thanks," said Benny, half choked with emotion.
The Governor of the gaol then begged permission to read
the order for the prisoner's discharge, and he read it.
" But how came all this about.? " inquired the Earl.
" Let us get out of this place first, and then I will tell
you. It is a strange story, not without its sorrow for some
concerned, though in fact my pleasure at the vindication of
3^0 A NOBLE LORD.
my client here made me forget that. Come ! I have a
four-wheeled cab at the door. Come, Mr. Hurst. My Lord,
will you accompany us ?
, " Certainly," said Lord Wellrose, rising.
Benny was already standing with his hat in his hand.
They left the dark and gloomy prison and went out into
the street, where the afternoon sun was shining brightly.
" We will drive to the Morley House and take a private
parlor for an hour or two, if your lordship pleases?" said
Mr. Melliss.
" Certainly," said the Earl.
And they all entered a cab that was waiting before the
door, and Mr. Melliss gave the order to drive to the Morley
House.
When they arrived there, Mr. Melliss, who acted for the
little party, got out and engaged a private parlor, to which he
ordered refreshments to be brought, and in which the three
soon found themselves comfortably seated around a table, .
with a bottle of light wine and a plate of biscuits before
them.
Here Mr. Percy Melliss told his strange story. It was
in brief this :
That among the victims of the fatal accident on the
Paris and Marseilles Railroad, was William Juniper, who,
though not instantly killed, was fatally injured.
He had been dragged from beneath the ruins of a railway
carriage, and conveyed, in an insensible condition, to the
nearest house, where, for several days, he lingered in a state
of coma.
Just before his death, as often happens in such cases, he
came to his senses, and to the full consciousness of his con-
dition.
His first act was then to ask for the attendance of a cler-
gyman. and a magistrate.
And in answer to his call, the venerable cure of the par-
ish and a notary from the village came to his bedside.
STARTLING NEWS. 831
To them he made a full confession of the unintentional
murder that he had committed, and that had driven him
from his native country.
This confession was taken down from his lips in writing,
and duly sworn to, signed, witnessed, sealed and dispatched
to the proper authorities in London.
It had arrived on that day. And the order for the
release of Benjamin Hurst had been immediately sent to
the sheriff and the governor of Newgate.
These two officers, glad to be the emissaries of deliverance
to the prisoner, were on their way to his cell, for the pur-
pose of discharging him, when they were joined by Mr.
Percy Melliss, who, ignorant of what had happened, had
come for a last consultation with his client before the trial.
The sheriff told him of the pleasing nature of their
errand, and he was of course sincerely delighted with the
turn affairs had taken.
So Mr. Percy Melliss had scarcely heard the good news
two minutes before he communicated it to his client.
" But, oh Heaven ! this news that has saved me, what
will it do for her, the dead man's sister? " sighed Benny.
" She is just and right-minded. And although there will
be the natural grief for the lost brother, yet she will suffer
less than she would have done, had you remained under
the heavy imputation of blood-guiltiness. She will know,
besides, that there has been no murder in the case, since
there was no intention to kill. In due time she will take
comfort," said Mr. Percy Melliss.
"Ah, she will be awfully shocked by the news. Who
will venture to break it to her? " murmured the young man
sorrowfully.
" That will I," answered the Earl of Wellrose gravely, as
he arose from the table.
" Ah, my lord, it will be a most painful task ! " said
Benny.
332 A NOBLE LORD.
" I know it," murmured the Earl. And then, after a
pause, he said : " Mr. Hurst, will you do me a favor ? "
" Assuredly, my lord."
" Will you then, follow my advice to you which is, to
take a room here for the present, and wait till I can have
an opportunity of consulting with you about your future
career ? "
" I will, Lord Wellrose, with thanks," replied Benjamin,
who, from some occult reason, arising out of their uncon-
scious blood relationship, or from some hidden sympathy or
pure love and trust, or from all these causes combined, never
felt the slightest sense of humiliation in receiving favors
from his unknown brother.
" Quite right. Good-day, then. I will see you to-morrow
morning. Good-day, Mr. Melliss," said the Earl. And
bowing to both his late companions, he left the room.
Outside he took a hansom and drove to Park Lane to
break the news of her brother's death to Suzy.
He sent in his card, and in a few moments was invited
into the drawing-room, where he was received by Mrs.
Brown.
The housekeeper's face wore the traces of recent tears, and
her manner was very grave as she greeted Lord Wellrose,
and said :
" I hope your lordship will excuse Miss Juniper this
morning. She has just heard of the shocking death of her
brother, and "
" She has heard it then ! From whom ? Who has in-
cautiously shocked her with the news ? " exclaimed the
Earl.
" No one did, sir. She received a letter this morning
from the French priest who attended her brother on his
death-bed. He died a Christian, I am happy to say, sir.
Poor young man ! His head was a little turned with the
company he kept, but his heart was not bad," said the
STARTLING NEWS. 333
housekeeper, willing to say all thjs good she could of the poor
boy cut off in the flower of his wild youth.
" No," said the Earl. And then, " How is Miss Juniper
this morning ? "
" Sir, she has been in hysterics ever since she got the
news until about fifteen minutes ago, when we gave her an
opiate, which composed her. She is now sleeping quietly."
" Keep her so," said the Earl, as he arose to go. " And
please to tell her when she awakes that I have been here,
and will call at this hour to-morrow, when I hope she will
be able to receive me."
And he bowed and left the house.
The next morning, when he called at Park Lane, Suzy
received him in her Rose Parlor. And though she was
deadly pale, she was perfectly calm and collected, and she
met him with quiet courtesy.
In reply to his expressions of sympathy and condolence,
and to his implied rather than expressed questions as to her-
self, she answered that she should leave that day for France
to be present at her brother's funeral ; that soon afterward
she should sail for Australia, to make a visit of duty to her
parents.
" They must inevitably hear of their bereavement, you
know, Lord Wellrose. And it is better that they should
have the comfort of a visit from me at the same time," said
Suzy.
" You are quite right, dearest," said the Earl kindly.
He staid a long time with her that morning, and with a
promise to meet her at the railway station, and escort her to
Dover to see her on board the Calais boat, he left her.
From Park Lane he went immediately to Trafalgar
Square, and called at the Morley House to see Benny.
The young man received his visitor in his small bed room
on the third floor the only apartment that his limited
means could command.
334 A NOHLE LORD.
"Now, my dear fellow, 1 have come on business. I wish
to settle with you to-day about your future career. You are
quite young enough to strike out into a new path. Now
what path would you like to take the church, the law,
medicine, the army, or the navy ? Take time to think, be-
fore deciding," said the Earl kindly.
" If I might choose " began Benny. And then he
blushed like a girl, and paused.
" Choose ! It is what I desire you to do. What would
you like ? "
"All j'oung England is arming for the Crimean war. I
should like to enter the army."
Ah, poor boy ! He had never known his father, yet he
had inherited his father's martial passion. William Douglas
had also wanted " to enter the army."
Lord Wellrose reflected for a few moments, during which
Benny misinterpreted his silence, and hastened to say :
" Ah, forgive me, my lord ! I spoke impulsively and
without discretion. I know now how improper my wish is,
since I have not the ph} T sical powers of endurance that
would fit me to be a common soldier in war time, nor yet the
education that would prepare me for the duties of an officer.
You are right, my lord."
" You mistake me, nay dear Hurst. 1 have been turning
over in my mind the best and quietest way of meeting your
views. And I have found it now. I have a young friend
Ensign Charley Blount, of the Regiment of foot. His
regiment is ordered to the Crimea, and he does not want to
go there. He wishes to sell out and stay at home. Good !
His commission shall be purchased for you. You shall enter
the army and go to the war, Mr. Hurst ; and although 3^011
enter it only as an Ensign, which is the lowest grade of com-
missioned officer, yet I feel persuaded that you will rise."
BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME. 335
CHAPTER XXXV.
BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
"Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood. TENNYSON.
AND since "'tis only noble to be good," tbe young Earl
of Wellrose was noble, in the best and highest sense of the
word, for he was good and not only good, but wise and
brave.
So thought poor Benjamin Hurst, as he gazed upon his
unknown brother and generous benefactor, with a heart too
full of gratitude for words.
" This is the third day of this month. The regiment is
expected to sail on the first of the next mouth. You will
have four weeks for preparation ; ample time ; and if I can
give you any assistance in any shape, I am very heartily at
your service," said Lord Wellrose cordially.
" My lord," faltered Benny, in a voice choked with emo-
tion, and with eyes full of tears, " I cannot express the
thanks that fill my heart to breaking. Oh, my good lord,
I am not worthy of your goodness, and if you knew all my
past life, you would not think me fit to fill the honorable
position your generosity would obtain for me ! I do wish to
enter the army, but I am only fit to be a common soldier,
and scarcely fit for that ; for what honest soldier would con-
sort, if he knew it, with a returned convict ? Not one !
Ah, no ! ah, no ! my woeful past can never be blotted out ! "
said Benny, burying his face in his hands and groaning
deeply.
The young Earl laid his hand affectionately on the out-
cast's shoulder and said :
" Your past life of bitter wrong and unmerited shame can
836 A NOBLE LORD.
and shall be blotted out. You are but a youth still. You
shall begin life anew from this day. You are true, honest,
courageous and very intelligent. You have educated your-
self under difficulties that might well have discouraged the
firmest heart. In the midst of undeserved degradation you
have prepared yourself for an honorable career, and you
shall have it," said the Earl, with much emotion.
" Oh, my lord, my lord, you overwhelm me with your
goodness ! But still I must tell you, that you do not know
all of my past life. If you did you would never think me
a fit " Benny's voice broke down.
" My boy, I do know all your past life, and I pronounce
you blameless in it all ; and I have nothing but sympathy
and compassion, and finally forgetful ness, to bestow upon
it," said the Earl kindly.
" Oh, Lord Wellrose, there is something behind that you
do not know, and that you must be told before you get this
Ensign's commission for me, and throw me into the company
of gentlemen," said Benny.
" Well, well, my dear boy, if there be any circumstance
connected with your past life with which you think I am
not acquainted, and which you wish to tell me, speak now ;
understanding, however, that it will make no difference in
ray views and purposes toward you."
"Ah, Lord Wellrose, you think you know the worst, but
you do not. You know, indeed, that I was brought up
among thieves and beggars, and taught to do their deeds."
" You were not to be blamed, but very much to be pitied
for that misfortune."
" You know that I was tried for burglary and convicted,
and sent to the penal colonies, where I passed fourteen
years in the company of felons."
" I know that you were most cruelly and unjustly con-
victed, and that you passed your time there blamelessly,
doing your appointed work, and using every opportunity for
BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME. 337
self-improvement, and that you educated yourself in the
face of the most appalling obstacles. Yes, I know all that.
What more am I to be told as ' the worst ? ' "
" My lord, you know that I was the companion of thieves,
that I was a convict ; but you do not know, that before all
that I was " Benny's voice broke down, so that he could
scarcely go on. " I was the child of sin and shame, name-
less and abandoned from my birth."
The Earl took the outcast's hand, and held it affection-
ately while he gravely replied :
" I know the whole story, as far as any one knows it as
far even as you know it yourself. The sin and the shame
were not yours not yours," he repeated.
" No, not mine," sighed Benny, " but yet the penalty
and the punishment must fall on me ; for I put it to you,
Lord Wellrose I put it to you, in common honor, whether
you can properly purchase a commission for me that will
put me in the company of gentlemen whether these gentle-
men, if they knew my antecedents, would not demand my
expulsion from among them ? "
" My dear Benjamin, if they should know your antece-
dents without knowing your true character if they should
know your penal sufferings without knowing your perfect
guilelessness no doubt their judgment would be harsh and
their actions severe. But since they cannot know the whole,
they shall not know a part. Half truth is always so decep-
tive ! They shall know nothing of your past, Benjamin.
It is, in fact, none of their business."
"Oh, Lord Wellrose, my very name my name, which
has figured so much in the police reports connected with
this murder my name would betray me ! " said Benny
despondently.
"I have been thinking of that, and have been providing
for it," said the Earl.
Benjamin looked up inquiringly.
21
338 A NOBLE LORD.
" The name you bear, that of Benjamin Hurst, is not your
own."
" No," said the poor outcast sadly, " I have not even a
legal right to the name I bear, since I am not the son of
Magdalene Hurst; nor have I even a Christian right to it,
since I have never been baptized."
" Then give it up. Cast it off with the slough of your
past life. Begin your new life with a new name a name
that I will give you, if you will accept it at my hands a
right noble old name too, my family name Seton Douglas !
And Heaven knows that you may have a natural, if not a
legal right to it, for though my dear father is a sort of saint,
yet I have heard that there have been some wild men in
our family. What do you say to the name, Benjamin ? "
Benny had turned pale as death. In his secret soul he
had lately believed that he was a disowned or unknown rel-
ative of that family, and he had longed with a hopeless
unuttered longing, to bear that very name.
"Oh, Lord Wellrose, nothing on earth that you could
bestow on me would make me so happy and so grateful as
the possession of that name. I will never do anything to
dishonor it ! " he said.
" I am very sure that you will not. So, as you have
never been baptized, we will go to church some day and
have you baptized and registered as Benjamin Seton Doug-
las. And when your commission shall be purchased, as it
shall be in a day or two, you will enter her Majesty's service
as Ensign Seton Douglas. And now I must leave you for
the present. God bless you ! " said the Earl, rising to go.
" One moment, my lord. I distrust myself sadly. Have
I education enough to do the duties of an ensign ? I know
nothing whatever of military tactics," said Benny, modestly.
"You have education enough. You do not require to
koow much of military tactics to be an ensign. And even
if you did, the drill sergeant of your company would soon
BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME. 339
instruct you. But the duty of an ensign is very simple
just to bear the colors of his company. Besides bless us !
do you suppose that half the young gentlemen who
receive commissions in the army have graduated at military
academies ? By no means. Not a tenth part of them.
They have to go into camp or garrison and be drilled by a
sergeant. And some of them are too lazy, stupid and care-
less to learn. You are neither, I am sure, so take heart of
grace," said the Earl, smiling happily as he left the room,
leaving Benny also happier than he had ever been in his
life.
Lord Wellrose, since he had seen so much of Benjamin,
and noticed the extraordinary likeness the poor outcast bore
to himself, the Earl, and heard so much of his early history,
became gradually convinced of some unknown or unac-
knowledged relationship existing between them.
" I feel sure that the poor boy is our cousin in some
degree perhaps in a very near degree. He may be our
first cousin. At -all events, since he has been so cruelly
abandoned and bitterly wronged, I will do what I can to
repair his injuries and atone for the sins of his parents," he
thought, as he entered his cab and gave the order:
" To Cheviot House."
He thought of speaking to his mother of Benjamin's sad
story. Ah ! if he only had done so ! But the subject was
a delicate one for him to Abroach, and so, upon reflection, he
abandoned the idea.
The next morning the Earl of Wellrose set about the
business that was so dear to his heart. His name, influence
and wealth so soon effected his object, that in two days more
he had the happiness of placing in his protege's hand the
document that commissioned him as Ensign Benjamin
Seton Douglas, in her Majesty's regiment of Foot.
He received his commission on the sixth of the month, with
orders to join his Regiment on the twenty-first.
340
A NOBLE LORD.
The same day Benjamin called by appointment on Suzy.
This was the first occasion upon which he had seen her since
her brother's death and death-bed confession, and his own
consequent release from prison.
Suzy received him in a plainly furnished little sitting-
room. She had never occupied the gay and beautiful Hose
Parlor since the death of her brother. She was dressed in
deep mourning, and it may have been that the intense
blackness of her dress made her face appear even paler than
it was, for it seemed marble white now.
She advanced to meet her visitor very kindly, saying
softly.
" Oh, Benny, I am so rejoiced that you are free, and fully
vindicated ! Oh, my dear boy, when I think of the sacrifice
} - ou were about to make for me more than the sacrifice of
3'our life when I think of how you meant to die with a
load of unmerited ignominy on your memory for my sake,
to save my brother's life and my name from reproach,
Benny, I think that I and all my fame and all my fortune,
if I could give all to you, would be too little to repay you !
But you are vindicated and released. Oh, I rejoice, and
thank God that you are, my brother ! my dearest brother ! "
she said, taking both his hands and pressing them to her
heart.
" Dear Suzy, it is very sweet to hear you say this very
sweet and comforting. But, little sister, I cannot fully
rejoice in my freedom, since it has come at such a cost to
you," said the young man, with emotion, as he took the seat
she offered him.
" Don't, Benny, don't say that. It is best as it is. Since
my poor misguided brother had the misfortune to do that
fatal deed that made him a fugitive from justice, and left
you to suffer unjustly in his place, it is best oh, so much
best as it is ! Think, Benny, deep as my sorrow is for the
sudden loss of my poor brother, how much deeper it must
BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME. 341
have been had you suffered death in his stead, for his deed!
Think what my anguish and despair must have been, to
have discovered that when it was too late ! Benny, the
knowledge would have sent me to my grave, or to a lunatic
asylum. It is best as it is. This I can bear. I have the
comfort of knowing, through his death-bed confession, that
he did not intentionally commit murder. The man Fitzroy
richly deserved to be knocked down by the brother of the
woman whom he had insulted and traduced. But his death
was as much an accident as if he had fallen down. My
brother was guiltless of intentional homicide; and you are
vindicated and released. It is best as it is. And now let
us talk of something else of your new name and your
commission. Ensign Douglas, I congratulate you ! " she
said, with a smile, as she offered him her hand.
He took the little hand and pressed it to his lips.
" Oh, my dear Benny. I am so glad, for your sake ! " she
continued, now speaking earnestly. " I honor the Earl of
Wellrose even much more than I ever did before, for his
appreciation of and kindness to you. You are going out as
an Ensign; come back as a General, Benny! And then
who knows but it may be, ' Rise up, Sir Benjamin Douglas ! '
Stranger things have happened," she said, with a smile.
Benny laughed.
" All cannot rise like you, dear Suzy. I shall do my
best; but I never expect to rise higher than a lieutenancy,
at the very most," he said.
" Where is your regiment stationed, Benny ? " she asked.
"At Southampton."
"And when do you join it? "
On the 20th of this month."
" Just two weeks from to-day," said Suzy, after some little
calculation.
" Yes."
"And when does the regiment sail for the Crimea?"
342 A NOBLE LORD.
" On or about the first of next month, Suzy."
" Let me see : an ensign is the color-bearer of his
companj', is lie not?" she inquired, with some interest.
" Yes, in a company of Foot ; but in a company of Horse,
the color-bearer is called a cornet," explained the young
man.
" I wish you had been commissioned as a cornet in a
company of horse, then. I like Horse better than Foot,"
said Suzy.
" So do I ; but ' beggars must not ' You know the
proverb, Suzy."
" Oh, yes ; and you are very fortunate very, very fortu-
nate ! And the Earl is very kind. Commissions are not
always to be got, even by those who are able to buy them
and a choice of commissions hardly ever. Well, so you are
the color-bearer of your company ! Then I shall do myself
the honor of presenting your company with as handsome a
pair of colors as can possibly be manufactured. And, mind
you, be sure to plant them on the towers of St. Petersburg,
if there be any towers there I know nothing about them
myself."
"I will do it, if I die for it! " said Benny, rashly, never
stopping to consider that the allies might never be per-
mitted to reach St. Petersburg, or that, if they did, his
regiment might not be with them, or if it should be, he
might not be living ; he never thought, in a word, of the
thousand accidents that might prevent him from keeping
his rash vow a thousand chances to one against his ever
doing so.
" All right ! I knew you would, Benny," she said, as if
it were a feat already accomplished.
"Now, dear sister of my heart, tell me of your own plans
and purposes. Lord Wellrose told me that you intended to
go out to Australia. Do you still really mean to take that
long voyage ? "
BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME. 343
" Yes, Benny. I have never been there, you know. And
I have not seen my parents since they went there, four
years ago. It seems a long time. I must go now to see
my father and mother, and try to comfort them for the loss
of my brother. They are growing old now, Benny," she
added sadly.
" Yes," answered the young man, " but they are growing
old in much peace and comfort, secured to them by their
dutiful daughter. And they have the happiness of seeing
all their children healthy and prosperous."
" Yes, except one," sighed Suzy.
"How long shall you be absent, Suzy?" inquired the
young man.
" Many months perhaps a year or more, Benny," she
said, growing very serious. " Benny, my brother, my
brother, who would have died for my sake, Benny, I will tell
you a secret. I am going out to Australia, it is true, to see
and to comfort my aged father and mother. But, Benny, I
shall stay out there to give the Earl of Wellrose time to
forget me. This is my secret."
Benjamin looked at her in unbounded astonishment.
" Yes," she said, smiling sadly. " I know what you are
thinking of, my brother. You are thinking how, a little
while ago, I was nearly breaking my heart about the Earl
of Wellrose. Very true, Benny ; but that was because,
while I loved and honored him so much, and while he visit-
ed me every day, I had no assurance from him that he
loved or respected me, or had any good intentions toward me.
Your timely interference, delicately conducted as such a
thing possibly could be, brought matters to a crisis. The
Earl came and told me that he loved me, and that he wished
to make me his wife just so soon as he could obtain his
father's and his mother's consent. That it would take time
and reason to gain this. But that, after waiting a reason-
able time for their consent, if they should still withhold it,
A NOBLE LOR T).
be should feel not only free to marry me without their con-
sent, but also bound in honor, as well as drawn by love, to
do so."
" He is a pure and noble soul ! " said Benny, with enthusi-
asm, though not without a natural pang at seeing how
utterly Suzy was lost to his hopes forever.
"Yes," said the young girl warmly. "He is indeed a
pure and noble soul. His words made me very happ3 r , so
happy that I forgot myself, so happy that I allowed him to
place a betrothal ring on my finger and to bind himself to
me for ever. He had selected it that morning, and brought
it to put upon my finger as the pledge of his faith, so that
I might never doubt him, again. See, here is the ring. I
could show you the motto on it only I do not wish to draw
it from my finger. The motto is In truth," she said,
holding out her hand and exhibiting a pure solitaire dia-
mond of priceless value, plainly set in a heavy gold circle.
" I have noticed it before, though I did not know it was
the Earl's gift. It is a gem of the purest water, I should
judge. And I notice that you have not lately worn any
other ring."
" Never ! For love of this ring, 1 have discarded all
others from my hand, even the rich ruby ring that I liked so
much because it was the gift of the Empress of Russia, and
she is snch a lovely lady. I sang before Her Majesty three
times in the Opera-house of St. Petersburg. I shall never
sing on any stage again," said Suzy, with a sigh.
"No, certainly if you marry the Earl," said Benny.
" I shall never marry the Earl," said the young girl vervj
gravely. "And that brings me back to what I was about
to say of my motives. For a little time I was very happy
in the Earl's love forgetting that I was unfit to be hia
wife."
" Unfit to be his wife, Suzy ! " echoed the young man,
who, in his own blind and passionate love, believed her fit
to be a king's wife.
BENJAMIN'S NEW NAME. 345
" Yes," she said calmly, " for he is the Earl of Wellrose,
and he will be the Duke of Cheviot. And I am the
daughter of a poor stage carpenter, and only by accident
elevated to be a popular opera singer. I do not blame his
family for objecting to me ; for though, in my silly vanity,
I once boasted that actresses and opera singers had often
been raised by marriage to the peerage, yet I know now
that this has been but seldom so, and that these cases were
very exceptional ones, by no means to be taken as prece-
dents or examples, I know that I, the poor stage carpenter's
daughter, developed into an opera singer, am not fit to be a
countess now and a duchess hereafter. The very idea terri-
fies me."
"But I thought you were happy and contented in the
Earl's love," said Benny, simply.
" And so I was very happy and confident in the Earl's
love ; deliriously happy and confident. But the awful
events of the last few weeks have sobered me down, and
brought me to my senses, Benny have made me remember
that it is not fit I should marry the Earl and bring discord
into his family. Oh, yes, I honor the Earl as much as ever
as much as ever! Ah, Heaven truly knows I honor him
more than ever ! And my soul is satisfied with the know-
ledge of his esteem for me. And it is this satisfaction which
gives me strength to make a sacrifice for his sake to renounce
him for his own good. I will not shock or wound him by giv-
ing him up suddenly. But I will go out to Australia, as in
duty bound, to visit and console my poor old father and
mother. And I will stay out there until absence shall have
broken the force of habit, and the Earl of Wellrose shall
have forgotten his indiscreet love for the lowly-born opera
singer."
" I do not think that he will ever forget that," said
Benny, judging the young Earl's heart by his own.
"Ah, j T es; I am not so vain as to believe otherwise,"
sighed Suzy.
346 A NOBLE LORD.
"But tell me; does Lord Wellrose know or suspect this
design of deserting him?" gravely inquired the young
man.
"Why, no; assuredly not! If I were to let him oven
suspect it, that would defeat my whole purpose. No, I \viil
do nothing suddenly; but I will go away and stay away
until his heart has cooled toward me, and then, when time
has prepared him for the change, I myself will propose the
annulment of our betrothal," said the young girl.
" Suzy," said Benny very gravely, "you mean well, but
you do ill. You are betrothed to the Earl of Wellrose, and
bound to him by every tie of honor. And in common loy-
alty to him, you should not take this important step with-
out his knowledge and consent. If you really intend to
try the effect of absence on his love and constancy, with the
view of finally freeing him from what you deem a rash and
indiscreet engagement, you should tell him so. He would
probably reply to you, that his love and faith would stand
the test. But in any case you should tell him."
"Do you really think so, Benny?" inquired the young
girl, with a startled look.
" Assuredly I do. It is his right to be told."
" Then I will think of it, Benny," she said very thought-
fully.
And the young man, who had made quite a long call,
arose and took leave of his friend, with a promise to come
again. Suzy kept her word with Benny, but that was all.
As she had promised to think about his advice, she thought
about it; but the more she thought about it, the more disin-
clined she felt to follow it.
" No," she said to herself, " no ; if I am to do Lord
Wellrose any good by absenting myself from him, I must
be silent as to my motives. If 1 were to tell him that I go
for the purpose of giving him an opportunity of forgetting
me, that would only strengthen his resolution to remember
TO THE WAR! 347
me. No ; I will go, and I will be silent as to my last mo-
tive in going. / will do right; I know that. And if, at
the end of two years' separation, he is not cured of his in-
discreet love if then again he claim my hand, he shall
have it, certainty."
So saying, Suzy ordered her brougham, and went to Ox-
ford street, to the establishment of a celebrated manufac-
turer of regalia, to order the magnificent pair of colors that
she designed to present to Benjamin's company, for Benja-
min's sake.
She told the proprietor the purpose of her visit, and
mentioned the company of the regiment she wished to
honor. And he showed her a book of appropriate designs,
and she chose the most elegant one she saw, and ordered a
pair of colors to be made from it.
The proprietor promised to have them put in hand imme-
diately, and sent home within the week.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
TO THE WAR!
Sound, sound the clarion ! (ill the fife !
To all the sensual world proclaim :
One crowded hour of glorious life
IB worth an ago without a name. SIR WALTER SCOTT.
MEANWHILE the month slipped swiftly away, and the
day approached when Ensign Douglas must leave London
to join his regiment at Southampton.
Benjamin went to take leave of Suzy the day before he
was to start.
" Our parting is not to be here, my dear, you know. I
shall go down to Southampton by the same train with
yourself, in order to present the colors to your company.
348 A NOBLE LORD.
And I shall remain at Southampton until your regiment
sails," said the young girl, as she kindly took the young
soldier's hand.
Benjamin's face lighted up with pleasure.
" Then I shall see you occasionally, for the next ten
days ? " he said gayly.
" You shall see me daily, for the next ten days, dear
Benny," she answered affectionately.
" But the Earl ? " suggested Benjamin, as a doubt crossed
his mind as to whether Lord Wellrose would approve of the
journey of his betrothed.
" Oh, the Earl ! " said Suzy, smiling. " You are very
much devoted to his lordship's interests."
" There is only one person in the world whom I love more
than I do the Earl ; and there is no one on earth whom I
honor so much. Yes, Suzy, I am devoted to his lordship's
interests ; they are dearer to me than my own life, than my
own happiness. He treats me as a brother. He gave me
his name. What more could he do for me than that?"
answered Benny, very seriousty.
"He loves you as a brother, Benny. I know that. I
never saw anything like it in my life. You are going to
take leave of him to-day, I suppose ? "
" Yes, dear."
"Then he will tell you more about my journey. And
you must meet me at the railway station to-morrow," said
Suzy, as Benny arose to go.
From Park Lane, Benjamin went to Cheviot House, to
bid good-bye to Lord Wellrose. He sent up his card :
E^SIGX DOUGLAS.
And he was almost immediately admitted, and shown to
the private apartments of the Earl, and announced as :
" Ensign Douglas."
As he entered the room, his heart suddenly seemed to
stand still in his bosom ; his breath was suspended ; for the
TO THE WAR! 349
Duchess of Cheviot, "the beautiful Duchess" still beauti-
ful with her family grown up around her was passing out.
She bowed slightly and smiled on her son's visitor, and so
disappeared.
Benjamin caught his breath, and recovered himself as
the young Earl arose and came forward to greet him.
" You leave London to-morrow, Benjamin, I believe ? "
he inquired.
" Yes, my lord, I do. And I have come to-day to take
leave of your lordship, and to thank you again, and to say
that I shall never cease to thank you for all your kindness
much more than kindness to me," said the young man,
with much emotion.
" Say no more about it, Benjamin. It is enough that it
makes me very happy to be of service to you. But we do
not part to-day. I go down to Southampton with you,"
said the young Earl pleasantly.
" My lord ! you ! " exclaimed Benny, pleasure beaming
in his eyes.
" Yes. My little queen in Park Lane goes down to
present the colors to your company, and has accepted my
escort for herself and her companion, Mrs. Brown. So we
will make up a party and take a compartment together.
What do you say ? "
" I am delighted, my lord."
" I have another motive in going down with you. I wish
to introduce you to some of the officers of your regiment, es-
pecially to the Senior Surgeon, Doctor Christopher Kinlock.
He is a very good man indeed. And he has a sort of claim
upon us. He comes from Scotland, from my mother's
neighborhood, from her estate indeed, being a native of the
village of Seton. He was the adopted son and the heir of
old Doctor Seton, a distant kinsman or clansman of the
Seton-Lnlithgows, and so, as I said, has a sort of claim on
us. My father procured him a commission as surgeon in
350 A NOBLE LORD.
the same regiment yon are about to join, and he goes out
with it, of course. I think that in him you will find a val-
uable friend," added the young Earl, very far from dream-
ing of the important discoveries that would result from the
meeting of Ensign Douglas and Doctor Kinlock.
Benny, after again frying to express his sense of obliga-
tion to the Earl, took leave and departed.
Early the next morning the travelling party of four,
namely, Lord Wellrose, Benny, Suzy and Mrs. Brown, with
his lordship's valet and the young lady's maid, met at the
railway station and secured a compartment to themselves in
a first class carriage.
The train was the express, and soon steamed down to the
seaport upon which the eyes of the world were now fixed,
for there were gathered the vast British army about to set
sail for the East.
In due time the train reached Southampton.
Lord Wellrose and his party went to a hotel, where they
took a handsome suit of apartments, and established the two
ladies comfortably.
It was yet early in the afternoon ; so after a refreshing
toilet and lunch, Lord Wellrose proposed to take Ensign
Douglas to the quarters of his regiment, to report for duty.
They sat out and in due time reached the quarters of the
colonel commanding, where Ensign Douglas was introduced,
and where he formally reported.
This ceremony being over, Lord Wellrose took his pro-
tege to the quarters of the senior surgeon and introduced
him to Doctor Kinlock.
The Scotch surgeon was a man of about fortj'-five years
.of age, prematurely bald and grey, but with an erect form,
clear eyes and a resolute countenance.
He received Lord Wellrose with much deference, and wel-
comed the young Ensign with kindness.
" Ensign Douglas, my lord, did you say ? Oh, aye, a
TO THE WAR! 351
kinsman of the family, I presume ? " said the Surgeon,
looking from one to the other of his two visitors, and then
answering his own question by adding, " Oh, aye, certainly.
The likeness shows that, my lord. I never saw twin brothers
so much alike in person as your lordship and this young
gentleman.
Lord Wellrose did not contradict Doctor Kinlock. He
felt that he could not. And then and there the surgeon re-
ceived an impression that he afterwards transferred to all the
offcers of his regiment namely, that the new ensign was a
near kinsman of the Earl of Wellrose.
His lordship commended his young " kinsman " to the
good offices of the surgeon and then took leave.
And soon after a messenger from the quartermaster came
after Ensign Douglas and took him to his tent.
The next day the Earl of Wellrose called again on the
Colonel of the regiment, and obtained leave for Miss Juni-
per to present a pair of colors to Company .
It was arranged that the colors should be presented at
parade the next morning.
When this matter was settled, Lord Wellrose sought out
Benjamin, told him the arrangement that had been made
for the presentation and reception of the colors, and laugh-
ingly added that he, Ensign Douglas, who was destined to
bear them on to victory, must be prepared with a little
speech for the occasion.
Then he returned to the hotel and told the news to Suzy,
who received it half in delight and half in terror.
And he, seeing her comic dismay, thought to tease her a
little by telling her that she must be prepared with an ap-
propriate speech to deliver when presenting the colors.
But Suzy, who saw his drift, and meant to defeat it,
reminded him, that in her professional capacity, she had
ln-en as much accustomed to public speaking as to public
singing, and should not in the least mind addressing the
"Greys."
352 A NOBLE LORD.
The Earl bowed in deference to this self-assertion.
Suzy had told a vain story, however, for early the next day
she came to the Earl of Wellrose and implored his lordship
to save her from the most trying part of the exhibition, by
presenting the colors and making the speech in her name.
" For after all, you kn$>w," she said, " that it is a very dif-
ferent thing from playing a part. It is much easier for me
to sing or speak as Amina or Norma, in the presence of a
mixed audience, than it would be for me to speak directly
in my own person to a company of soldiers ; and I can't do
it, Lord Wellrose," she added.
" 1 will relieve you of that duty, ray dearest. But you
the donator of the colors will stand by my side at the cere-
mony, I hope ? "
" Oh, } r es ; certainly I will do that," said the young girl,
smiling.
It was the hour of the grand parade when the colors were
finally presented.
Lord Wellrose, who presented them "in the name of the
fair donor," made a short speech, full of patriotism.
Ensign Douglas, who received them on behalf of his com-
pany, also made, in reply, a short speech, eloquent with deep
emotion, in which he said, in effect, that he was prepared to
die in defence of these colors if necessary ; that they should
never be taken by the enemy except from his dead hand !
finally, the highest ambition of his life was this that fate
would permit him to plant these colors on the walls of the
imperial palace of St. Petersburg !
It was an absurd burst of youthful enthusiasm and
extravagance, and yet it was highly applauded.
And so the ceremony of the presentation of the colors
ended.
A few days after this, the army, consisting in all of thirty
thousand men, embarked and set sail for the East.
Lord Wellrose and Suzy, after having taken the most
LOVE'S MISTAKES. 353
affectionate leave of Benjamin, and given and received prom-
ises touching a frequent correspondence, returned to Lou-
don.
Suzy's next business was to give up her little palace in
Park Lane, and take lodgings, while waiting for the sailing
of the ship that was to carry her to the antipodes.
It was just three weeks after the sailing of the English
forces for the East, that Suzy took leave of Lord Wellrose
and all her London friends, and accompanied by her com-
panion, Mrs. Brown, and her maid Jenny Smith, embarked
on board the East Indiaman Wendover, bound for Sydney.
Lord Wellrose felt her loss severely, but he was not the
sort of man to yield to despondency. He devoted himself to
the interests of his great bill for the " Reform of Prison
Discipline and the Reclamation of Criminals," and in good
works soon recovered his good spirits.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
LOVE'S MISTAKES.
Let them stand
In thy thoughts, untouched by blame.
Could they help it, if her hand
He had claimed with hasty chum?
That was wrong, perhaps ; but then
Such things bo, and will again. E. B. BROWNING.
THE Earl of Wellrose occupied himself with the humane
cause to which he had consecrated his life. And he found in
his work an antidote to that depression of spirits consequent
upon his separation from his betrothed, and from his protege
whom he had grown to love with more than the love of a
brother.
But busily engaged as he was with public affairs, he still
found time to go into society more frequently than he had
done when " Mademoiselle Ark-lie " was at Coveut Garden
22
354 A NOBLE LORD.
theatre and at Park Lane, and all his leisure time given to
her.
Yet with all his public and private engagements, he felt
the time long while waiting to hear from his betrothed.
He knew tliat unless the Wendover should chance to
"speak" some homeward-bound ship, many weary months
must elapse before he could hope for a letter from her.
Meanwhile he wrote by every Australian mail, that his
letters might reach her soon after her arrival at Sydney.
At length Parliament was prorogued, and the London
season closed.
The Earl of Wellrose, released from official duties, would
have gone on a yachting excursion to the Mediterranean,
but his mother, the Duchess of Cheviot, made it a point that
he should join her autumn party at Seton Court, in Scot-
land.
The family had not been there for so many years, she said,
that it was now quite time they should visit the estate and
look into the condition of their tenantry. And besides, she
urged, there was no better place for game of all sorts, from
blackcock to red deer, than Seton Court and Chase ; and
furthermore, if Wellrose wished to invite any number of his
young friends to meet him there, they should be made very
welcome.
His married sisters with their husbands and children,
were all to join the party. The Earl and Countess of
Ornoch and Lady Hinda Moray were also coming. And
the venerable General and Mrs. Chimboza were expected.
But the gathering would not be complete, or at all satisfac-
tory, if her son Wellrose was absent from it.
Now Lord Wellrose cared very little for blackcock shoot-
ing or red deer stalking ; but being social and affectionate,
like all his brave and tender race, he cared a great deal for
the dear friends and relatives who would be gathered at
Seton Court, and he cared a great deal more for his mother's
LOVE'S MISTAKES. 355
wishes; so he promptly gave up his expedition to the
Mediterranean, and placed his yacht, the Arielle, at the
disposal of the Duchess and her friends, if her grace should
please to go to Scotland by sea. He also proposed to keep
the Arielle at anchor at the little port of Killford during
the autumn, in the event that the Duchess and her visitors
should please to diversify their inland amusements by a sea
voyage up the wild and picturesque west coast of Scotland.
Tlie Duchess was delighted with the plan, and thanked
her thoughtful and affectionate son, and accepted the offer
of his yacht.
And when Lord Wellrose saw the real pleasure he had
given his mother, he felt that in resigning his expedition to
the Mediterranean for her sake, 'le had made no sacrifice
at all.
The yacht was then at Portsmouth, quite ready for sea.
An agreeable family party was immediately made up for
the voyage. It consisted of the Duke and Duchess of Che-
viot, their son the Earl of Wellrose, and their sons-in-law
and married daughters, as follows: the Viscount and Vis-
countess Moray, Mr. Albert and Lady Clemence Elphin-
stone ; and their young unmarried daughters, the Ladies
Hester and Eva Douglas ; and lastly their cousins, the Earl
and Countess of Ornoch, and Lady Hinda Moray.
There were no others.
" I prefer that for the voyage this should be exclusively a
family party. Our visitors will join us at the appropriate
time at Seton Court," said the Duchess, who ordered all tho
arrangements.
It was agreed that the whole family party should meet at
Cheviot House on the evening of a certain day, and that
they should take a special train for Portsmouth the next
morning.
Consequently on the evening of the twentieth of August
a pleasant circle was assembled in the drawing-room of
356 A NOBLE LORD.
Cheviot House. This circle included all the individuals
named for the yachting party; among them, of course, the
lovely Lady Hinda Moray the most beautiful girl in Eu-
rope, as all the clubs declared. She was, perhaps, the most
beautiful brunette in the world ; with a perfect form and
perfect features ; with a stately little head adorned with a
profusion of bright, soft, purple black ringlets ; with large,
brilliant, tender, purple black eyes, arched with slender
black eyebrows, and fringed with long black eyelashes, and
with a rich complexion deepening into vivid crimson upon
the delicate oval cheeks and plump, ripe lips.
All the men in London were in love with her, except the
Earl of Wellrose. He had not even seen her for some
months.
But now, as he looked upon her this last evening, seated
in the drawing-room of Cheviot House, and with her beauty
enhanced by a toilet that was perfectly tasteful and becom-
ing, he thought that she was the most beautiful creature he
had ever seen in his life, and he wondered why he had never
thought so before.
Then he repented, and hoped that he had not, in think-
ing this, committed treason against his betrothed.
Yet withal he was glad that this sweet girl was going
with the family party to Scotland.
" She is my cousin, and I have always liked her, and
always shall, though I never noticed what a perfect beauty
she really is, until to-night," he said to himself as he fur-
tively gazed at her.
That night, after he had retired to his own apartments,
he found upon his dressing-table a letter from Suzy, the
first he had received from her since her departure. He
seized it with eager joy. It bore two postmarks " COR-
VETTE REVENON," and " HAVKE."
It had been brought them by a French ship homeward
bound, that had been spoken by the Wendover, and it had
come by the way of Havre.
LOVE'S MISTAKES. 857
So much he saw by the envelope.
This was not only the first letter he had received from his
betrothed since her departure, but the first he had received
from her at any time.
As they had never been separated since their first acquain-
tance, there had never been any necessity, nor even any
opportunity for a letter correspondence between them.
Now, after their first parting, to get her first letter was an
event of great importance and interest to him.
How would she write to him, he asked himself as he
eagerly opened the envelope and unfolded the letter.
The letter disappointed and depressed him by what he
considered its coldness and formality.
Suzy had indeed written to her lover in a very matter-of-
fact, though friendly sort of way. She dated her letter " On
board the ship Wendover, Atlantic Ooean." And she com-
menced it with, " Dear Lord Wellrose." She told him all
the incidents of her voyage ; what sort of a man the captain
was; who her fellow-passengers were ; what kind of weather
they had had ; what ships they had spoken ; what fish and
water-fowl they had seen ; who were seasick, and who were
sea-worthy. But not one word about her own feelings. She
ended her letter by a paragraph written some days later than
the first date, in which she told him that they had just
spoken the French ship Revenon, homeward bound, and that
they would send a boat out to her to take out letters, and
bring hers. And she signed herself " Yours affectionately,
Susan Juniper."
" She might as well have sent me a leaf from the ship's
log-book," said the lover impatiently, as he refolded the for-
mal little letter, and thought how earnest, fervent, ardent,
his letters to her had been.
It was true he remembered that she had not-received them
yet, and could not receive them until her arrival at Sydney.
And then he went to bed, and fell to dreaming of the
358 A NOBLE LORD.
brilliant, tender, flashing, melting eyes of the Lady Hinda
Moray.
Very early in the morning, the yachting party assembled
in the breakfast-room, already dressed in their travelling
suits.
They were all very merry over the prospect of their sea
voyage, and of the fine weather which every sign in the
heavens seemed to promise them.
After dispatching a good breakfast, they entered the car-
riages that were in waiting to take them to the railway
station.
Lord Wellrose found himself in the same carriage with
the Duke and Duchess of Cheviot. There was a fourth seat
vacant.
"Where is Hinda?" inquired the young Earl, glancing
at the vacant seat.
" She is in the coach with Albert and Jessie," answered
the Duchess, referring to her son-in-law and daughter, the
Viscount and Viscountess Moray.
" I thought she was to have come with us," said the Earl,
in a tone of disappointment.
" She was to have done so, but allowed herself to be car-
ried off at the last moment by Jessie. However, we shall all
be together on the train, as we have engaged a double com-
partment for ourselves," said the Duchess, with a smile.
In due time they reached the railway station, where, in a
few moments, they found themselves comfortably seated in
the capacious double compartment that had been secured for
the party.
Lord Wellrose, to his complete satisfaction, found himself
seated by his beautiful cousiu, the Lady Hinda Moray.
And they were all scarcely settled in their places before
the train began to move out of the station, and in a few mo-
menta, with accelerating speed, to steam swiftly toward
Portsmouth.
LOVE'S MISTAKES. 359
Lord Well rose talked with his cousin of the past season
in London, with all its trials, triumphs and defeats, artistic,
social and political. And he found Lady Hinda as bril-
liant, witty and attractive in conversation as she was iu
person.
He afterward remembered that railway ride to Ports-
mouth as one of the shortest and pleasantest he had ever
enjoyed.
It was but a little past noon when they reached the
seaport.
They did not go to a hotel, but took carriages from the
station directly to the water side, where the beautiful yacht
was waiting to receive them.
It was fitted up with every comfort, convenience and
luxury that wealth, taste and skill could command.
A sumptuous repast was awaiting them in the elegant
saloon.
And the travellers partook of it with an appetite sharp-
ened by their long morning's ride.
As soon as the tide served the yacht sailed.
The voyagers were blessed with beautiful weather, with
long, clear, mild days, and with soft, mild, moonlight
nights.
All day long it was delightful to sit on deck, breathing
the pure air and looking out upon the blue sky, the calm
sea, and the wildly beautiful distant coast. And even late
at night it required some resolution to leave the moonlit
scene, the starry heavens, the silvery ocean, the shadowy
shore, to take needful rest.
So they sailed down the south coast, doubled Laud's End,
and up the wild western shore.
The weather was almost too fine for a quick passage, for
though the wind was fair, there was but little of it.
It was the evening of the fourth day of the voyage that
the yacht ran into the little harbor of Killford and dropped
anchor.
360 A NOBLE LOR P.
There they found the little steamer Sprite waiting to
take them through the Straits that connected the harbor
of Killford with the Loch.
" We e'en expectit your Grace yestreen ; aye, and the
day before. We hae been doon here ilka day sin' Sun-
day," complained old Saundy Gaunt, a gray-haired retainer
of the family, as he stood, bonnet in hand, to welcome the
Duchess, as the steamer ran alongside of the yacht.
The Duchess smiled as she gave him her hand, and
answered :
" But you see we are here at last, Saundy. ' All good
things come to us, if we wait long enough for them,' it is
said."
"Aye? Do they so? I did na ken. I hae been wait-
ing all my life lang for gude luck, and it has na coom yet,"
grumbled the old man.
"And what sort of good lucWiave you been waiting for,
Saundy?" laughingly inquired the Duchess, as she took
her seat on the deck of the steamer, surrounded by the
party.
" Just a wee sheiling o' my ain, wi' a bit ait field at-
tached," promptly answered the old man.
"Why, 1 thought you had that, Saundy ? "
"Na; only a cutty stool beside Duncan Gray's peat fire."
"Then you shall certainly have a cottage and garden of
your own, Saundy. And I will direct the new bailiff, Mr.
McDonald, to see to it at once. There now, I told you that
everything good comes to us, if we wait long enough for
it," smiled the Duchess.
" Aye, sure, when ladies like your Grace hae the power
and the will to send them," replied the old man, as he
deeply bowed his thanks.
Meanwhile the little steamer turned about and headed
up the Straits, that were anything but straight, tacking
frequently from right to left, and from left again to right,
BENNY'S RISE. 3G1
to round the points of the high rooks reaching from each
side to the middle of the channel, and almost interlocking
each other.
So, at length, they passed through the Straits, and en-
tered the loch.
There a scene of beauty and grandeur unsurpassed and
indescribable broke upon their view : the broad loch, entirely
surrounded by fir-crowned hills, and at its upper end the
white turrets of Seton Court, the whole bathed in moon-
light.
They steamed up this beautiful loch, and landed at the
stairs leading up into Seton Chase.
At the head of the stairs, carriages were waiting, that
took them all up to the house, where the housekeeper, Mrs.
Bruce, had all things in readiness for the reception of the
family.
The Duke and Duchess, with all their party, passed
through a double line of servants drawn up in the hall to
welcome them home.
Then the guests were shown to their apartments.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
BENNY'S KISE.
The death-shot hissing from afar
The shock the shout the groan of war;
Though few the numbers, theirs the strife
That neither spares nor speaks oflit'e. BYBOW.
THE Earl of Wellrose knew where to find his own.
And there, on his table, he found letters awaiting him.
The mail had travelled much faster than the yacht had
sailed, and these letters had been forwarded every day from
London, and had been accumulating for the last four days.
362 A NOBLE LORD.
Lord Wellrose carelessly looked them over until he came
to two, lying side by side one from Suzy, and the other
from Benny.
He eagerly snatched up Suzy's letter and hastily opened
it.
It was very short and disappointing. She commenced as
before, with :
" Dear Lord Wellrose "
Then she told him that she had nothing to tell him. She
reminded him that in her first letter she had described the
ship, officers, crew and passengers, and that she had nothing
left to write about. Since the}' had spoken the French
Corvette Revenon, they had not seen a single sail, no, nor a
shark, nor a whale, nor an iceberg, nor anything. The voy-
age was insupportably dull and tedious, and she would be
glad of anything for a change, even a tempest or a pirate !
Then there was a short concluding paragraph, dated a
few days later, and announcing the approach of a home-
ward-bound ship, made out to be the Lord Stanley, from
Sydney to Southampton, and which would take letters home
to England.
" I am sorry now that I grumbled," she wrote in conclu-
sion, " for we have been very fortunate in this that in the
last six weeks we have spoken two homeward-bound ships,
and have been able to send letters. And I am informed
that it often happens that an outward-bound ship does not
meet a homeward-bound one in the whole voyage, which
must be very dreary.
She signed herself his " affectionate friend, Suzy."
The lover sighed as he laid this letter down, and wondered
why she wrote in such a coolly kind and matter-of-fact
manner, and whether she loved him still, and whether
indeed she had ever loved him at all.
And then a vision of Lady Hiuda's melting dark eyes
passed before him. But with a self-condemning shudder ho
turned from them and took up Bunny's letter.
BENNY'S RISE. 303
All ! here was no lack of warmth indeed ! Gratitude,
affection and enthusiasm tilled its pages.
It was dated at Gallipoli, a little town on a peninsula to
the west of the Dardanelles, where some divisions of the
allied armies were still encamped. It told him of the
quaint little town, of the strange race that inhabited the
place, of the condition of the French and English camps,
and of a rumor in camp that they were soon to move higher
up the countrj-.
There was a letter also from the surgeon, Dr. Christopher
Kinlock, in which he spoke very highly of Ensign Douglas,
and of the esteem in which he was held by the whole regi-
ment.
Lord Wellrose laid his letters aside, and made a hasty
toilet to join 'his party at their late dinner.
There had been a little womanly diplomacy in the 'plan
of the Duchess when she made up her party for the High-
lands. She wished to bring her son, Lord Wellrose, and
his beautiful cousin, Lady Hinda Mora)', together under the
same roof, where, meeting every day for many weeks, she
hoped they might form that mutual attachment for which
both their families wished.
And very soon the Duchess saw, with almost equal pain
and pleasure, that the dark-eyed Anglo-Indian, Hinda, had
given her ardent young heart to the noble and handsome
young Earl.
With " equal pain and pleasure," because only half her
wish was accomplished in that Hinda loved Wellrose; but
she doubted and feared that the other half would never be
fulfilled that Wellrose would never love Hinda. And if
not ah ! what life- long sorrow for that lovely girl !
The autumn weeks went swiftly by. The company
assembled at Seton Court amused themselves with excur-
sions to celebrated localities in the neighborhood rich in his-
toric interest, and in voyages to the coast isles, rides to the
364 A NOBLE LORD.
mountain fastnesses, or, nearer home, in archery meetings
on the lawn, or billiards in the house.
Not until October did the pleasant circle break up.
And then the Duke and Duchess of Cheviot, with their
own immediate family circle, and with the Earl and Countess
of Ornoch and the Lady Hinda Moray, left Seton Court for
their marine residence at Brunswick Terrace, Brighton.
It was here that bad news reached them from the East.
The allied forces at Varna had been attacked by Asiatic
cholera, which was making fearful ravages among them.
" Hitherto," wrote Surgeon Kinlock to Lord Wellrose,
"Ensign Douglas has escaped the plague; but he devotes
himself with unflagging zeal to the suffering soldiers. It is
next to impossible but that he must fall a victim to his own
labors."
On reading this, the Earl of Wellrose was filled with the
most painful anxiety on Benny's account.
He wrote to Benny, imploring him to take care of him-
self, and not to throw his life away.
He wrote also to Doctor Kinlock, urging him to use
every means in his power to prevent the young ensign from
sacrificing himself.
And he wrote to the Colonel of the regiment, much to the
same effect, adding with emphasis :
" He is my kinsman and adopted brother. If he were
my own brother, he could not seem nearer or dearer to me ;
I could not feel a warmer and deeper interest in his life and
well-being."
These letters, and especially the one addressed to the
Colonel, probably saved the life of the devoted young officer,
for shortly after their receipt at Varna, Ensign Douglas was
detailed on duty that took him far from the possibility of
sacrificing his life for the cholera patients.
There came no more letters from Snzy. Since the letter
brought by the ship Lord Stan?f>y, the lover had heard noth-
BENNY'S RISE. 865
ing of his beloved. And whatever cause he may have had
to doubt her love, he certainly never doubted her friendship
or her punctuality. He justly concluded that if no more
letters arrived from her, it was because the Wendover, in
which she went out, had spoken no other homeward-bound
ships since the Revenon and the Lord Stanley. She would
write to him, he thought, as soon as she should reach port,
and in due time he should receive her letter.
And meanwhile his beautiful dark-eyed cousin, the Lady
Hinda was so charming!
More news came from the Orient very important news
now. The allied forces had invaded the Crimea, had been
met by the Russians on the the banks of the Alma, and the
great battle had been fought and won, and the allies were
in full march for Sebastopol.
A private letter from Surgeon Kinlock to his patron the
Earl of Wellrose conveyed the additional information that
Ensign Douglas had greatly distinguished himself on the
field ; that he had not only preserved his own colors, but
wounded and bleeding as he was he had rescued the regi-
mental colors and borne them into the English lines, where
he fell, fainting from loss of blood.
He had been very severely wounded, but was now doing
well, and in a very fair way of recovery. He had also been
recommended for promotion.
How the affectionate and generous heart of the young
Earl filled and glowed with pride and pleasure, at reading
of the gallant conduct of the brave young " kinsman ! "
" I knew he would do honor to the name I gave him," he
said to himself.
And then he inclosed the surgeon's letter in a letter of
his own to Suzy, in Australia, bidding her read the inclosed
and see what Benny had already done with his colors, and
predicting that he would yet plant them, if not on the walls
of St. Petersburg, certainly on those of Sebastopol.
866 A NOBLE LORD.
Just as he was about to send these letters off to Suzy, he
received one from her, dated on the day of her arrival at
Sydney, where her father met her.
The letter was written in a very friendly style, and was
filled with descriptions of the town, the country and the
people, as far as Suzy had had the opportunity of observing
them.
But there was not one word of love from beginning to
end, except perhaps in the rather formal greeting of " Dear
Lord Wellrose," and the formal ending "Affectionately
yours."
And Lord Wellrose would have grieved very much over
this "cool friendliness " in his betrothed, if it had not been
for his lovely cousin Hinda, who comforted him.
After this, the news from the Crimea came thick and fast.
Balaclava had been taken, and the cry of the allies was
still, "On to Sebastopol!"
Another private letter from Surgeon Kinlock to Lord
Wellrose informed his lordship that Ensign Douglas had
been promoted to a lieutenancy, and placed upon the staff of
his Colonel, with whom he was now a deserving favorite.
The next mails from the East brought proud news. The
great battle of Inkerman had been fought, and a glorious
victory won. And the allied armies had made a splendid
march to Sebastopol, and were now before the walls of the
city.
Another letter from Dr. Kinlock to Lord Wellrose informed
his lordship that Lieutenant Douglas had signally distin-
guished himself at Inkerman, and had again been recom-
mended for promotion.
And again the generous soul of the young Earl rejoiced
in the well-doing of his protege. And this letter also was
sent off to Suzy in Australia.
In due time a long time her answer came back to him.
Among other things, she wrote :
BENNY'S RISE. 367
"You have plucked 'a brand from the burning/ which,
I trust, will light all your onward life with joy."
After this there came a lull in the war-storm. The allied
armies were before Sebastopol. And the siege threatened to
be a long one.
Meanwhile, in February, Parliament met.
The Duke and Duchess of Cheviot, with all the rest of the
great world, came up to London for the season.
Lord Wellrose resumed the labors of humanity to which
he had devoted his time and talents.
Lady Hinda Moray was again the belle of Belgravia, and
generally pronounced more beautiful than ever.
And this was certainly true. She was more beautiful
than ever, because she was happier than ever. The light of
a pure and peaceful love beamed in her face ; for she loved
the noble young Earl of Wellrose, and she knew that he
loved her in return.
He had never told her so, but all his self-control had failed
to conceal the blissful truth from her eyes.
How he struggled with his passion ! How he told him-
self, day and night, that he should be false to every principle
of honor and manhood, should he suffer his affections to
stray from his betrothed.
He avoided Hinda as much as possible ; though, as she
was his mother's guest at Cheviot House that season, com-
mon courtesy required him to be frequently in her society.
He would have left London to escape temptation, had not
his parliamentary duties kept him in town.
He wrote to Suzy by every mail, and told her all the news
of the day, and sent her papers, magazines, new books and
new music.
But his letters were no longer the ardent outpourings of
passionate love they had once been. They were as coolly
friendly and matter-of-fact as her own had always been.
And meanwhile the mouths slipped away, and brought
368 A NOBLE LORD.
near the time when the allied armies should achieve their
great triumph.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
VICTORY AND DEATH.
Come when his task of fame is wrought
Come with her laurel wreath, blood-bought
Come in her crowning hour and then.
Thy sunken eye's unearthly light
To him is welcome as the sight
Of sky and stars to prisoned men.
Thy grasp is welcome as the hand
Of brother in a foreign land. HALLECK.
IN September came the most important news. The allied
armies had taken Sebastopol, and the Crimean war was vir-
tually at an end.
This news found the Duke and Duchess of Cheviot, with
the Earl of Wellrose and the ladies Hester and Eva Doug-
las, at Cheviot Castle, where they were spending the early
autumn.
While they were still discussing the great victory, a pri-
vate letter arrived from Doctor Kinlock to the Earl of Well-
rose.
After describing the taking of the city, he went on to
write :
"Your brave kinsman, Lieutenant Douglas, has kept his
word. With his own hand he planted his colors on the
walls of Sebastopol. But ah ! in doing this, in the face of
a murderous fire, he has been severely wounded by a bullet
through the left lobe of the lungs. He has been recom-
mended for promotion, but, it is doubtful whether he will
live to profit by it. Certainly he will not, if he stays here.
I have advised him to be sent home with the invalid troops
who are to sail for England in a few days.' 3
VICTORY AND DEATH. 369
Lord Wellrose groaned as lie laid this letter aside, and half
bis joy in the great victory was turned into grief.
And even thus, throughout the land, the public rejoicing
at the national triumph was tempered Ity the private
mourning of those whose beloved ones had bought the vic-
tory with their blood.
In a few days there came another letter from Doctor Kin-
lock, in which he wrote :
" Young Douglas has received his promotion. He is now
a captain, but not yet assigned to any company. I fear he
never will be. He is sinking slowly, bnt surely. All his
desire, now that the war may be said to be over, is to get
back to England, to press your hand once more and die.
If I were not hoping from day to day that his desire may
be granted, and that he may be sent home, I should even,
entreat your lordship to come out here and comfort the
dying boy, whose only earthly wish is to see your face."
" I will go," said Lord Wellrose to himself; then, sud-
denly recollecting all the circumstances, he added : " Bnt I
might miss him. Ah ! he might be on his way home while
I should be on my way out. I must wait for another letter
from Kinlock, I suppose. And Douglas is so ill ! he may
die in the interval."
As these troubled thoughts passed through his mind, he
turned over a leaf of his letter and read a paragraph dated
a day later, and which was as follows :
* * * "I had written so far when I received a message
summoning me to head-quarters. I immediately reported
there, and instantly received orders to go to England, by
the Relief, in charge of a party of invalid troops. Captain
Douglas goes with us. I am extremel}' glad of this, as I
shall be able to attend personally on him during the voy-
age. We s'lil for Southampton the day after to-morrow.
23
370 A NOBLE LORD.
So you may expect us very soon after the receipt of this
letter, if you do not see us before."
"And so he is coming home, and I shall see him again,
poor, brave, gentle boy ! I thank the Lord for this. And
who shall say that home air and kind friends and good
nursing may not save his life and restore his health ? " said
the Earl to himself, as he folded this letter and laid it aside.
Then he rang for his valet, who immediately appeared.
" Perkins, pack my portmanteau, and order the trap for
four o'clock, to take us to the railway station. We leave for
London by the 5:45 train," said the Earl, as he passed out
of his room to notify his mother of his sudden journey.
He found the Duchess and her daughters in their delight-
ful morning room, with the great bay-windows overhanging
the sea.
They were at work on various little fancy articles for a
charity fair, to be held in aid of the widows and orphans of
the war.
They looked up from their graceful work and welcomed
the beloved son and brother with smiles.
And the Duchess drew a chair near to herself, for him to
take.
"Thanks, mother, dear: no. I cannot sit. 1 am leaving
for London by the 5:45 train," he said, leaning over the
back of the chair.
" This is very sudden, Wellrose," she remarked, raising
her brows in surprise.
" Yes ; but 1 go to meet a friend who is returning from
the Crimea wounded, perhaps dying."
" Oh, go, then, at once, if you can be of any service to
him. It is a holy duty. Who is he?" inquired the
Duchess.
"Captain Douglas, of the Regiment of Foot."
"Douglas ? Is he a connection of our family ? "
VICTORY AND DEATH. 371
" Most probably; there are so many Douglases as many
Douglases as Campbells, I should think."
" Very true. But your friend how does he come ? "
" He comes in the Belief, which sailed from Gallipoli for
Southampton, with invalided troops on board in charge of
Dr. Kinlock."
" Kinlock is coming home, then ? "
" Yes ; having charge of these sick and wounded men, as
I said. The ship may be expected at Southampton any
day now ; and I wish to be there to meet my poor friend."
"You are quite right. Go, dear. And remember, that
if we can be of any use to your wounded friend, you must
call upon us," said the kind-hearted Duchess, as she em-
braced and dismissed her son to his humane errand.
The "trap" was announced.
And the Earl, attended by his valet, entered it, and was
driven rapidly to the rustic station, which he reached just in
time to catch the night express to London.
His servant took tickets in a great hurry.
And in a few minutes Lord Wellrose found himself com-
fortabiy seated in a first-class carriage, flying southward.
He reached London in the small hours of the morning,
and passed from the Great Northern to the South-Western
railway train, with which it connected ; and so he continued
his flight to the sea as if he had been flying for his life.
He reached Southampton in time for an early breakfast.
He took apartments at the " Lord Admiral." And after
a refreshing bath and change of dress, and a good breakfast,
he set out to walk down to the docks, to inquire for the
expected ship.
He was more fortunate than he could have hoped to be.
The ship had just arrived, and was at anchor about half a
mile from the land.
A steam tender was already leaving the shore to bring
her passengers to land.
372 A NOBLE LOUD.
By presence of mind and promptitude in passing a few
shillings to the men who were withdrawing the gang plank,
Lord Wellrose succeeded in boarding the "tender" at the
last moment, and was soon steaming out toward the Relit*/.
In a few momenta the tender was alongside of the ship.
The decks of the Relief was crowded with what ?
Were these men " ghosts" or shadows ?
They might have been Charon's passengers crossing the
Styx. So pale, so thin, so ghastly they were !
Living skeletons crowned with death's heads !
Here were the maimed, the halt and the blind ; the sick,
the dying and the dead.
Yes, and ( the dead.' Many had died on the passage, and
had been buried in the sea. But some had died within a
few hours ; so recently, so near home, that their bodies had
been saved, to be given to their friends.
Lord Wellrose, from his youth up, had been accustomed
to sights of misery, in his frequent personal ministrations
to the wretched. But he had never seen anything like
this. And he grew sick and dizzy as he gazed.
Soon the bustle of transferring these poor wrecks of man-
hood from the ship to the tender attracted his attention.
Some managed to crawl without assistance, and then drop
down helplessly upon the deck of the tender.
Some crept on, leaning on the arms of comrades.
And some were carried bodily, like dead weights.
Lord Weilrose was a stranger to all present. In his
breathless anxiety to know the fate of Benny, he would
have questioned one or more of the men. But their suffer-
ing seemed so great, their self-absorption so complete, that
the young Earl restrained himself, forbore to trouble them
and endured his suspense as well as he could.
At length the form for which he so eagerly watched,
appeared. But, oh ! how changed !
Was this a man in the tlesh, or a disembodied spirit, that
VICTORY AND DEATH. 873
approached, leaning on the arm of the middle-aged surgeon,
Dr. Kinlock ?
Benny was clothed in his old, war-worn, battle-stained
uniform, that hung loosely upon his emaciated figure. His
face was so thin that it had taken an almost triangular
shape from the broad forehead, down the hollow cheeks to
the sharp chin. His complexion was so bloodless, that
" pale " would riot describe it ; it was a clear, fair, trans-
parent bluish white. His large blue eyes, sunk in their
deep, shadowy hollows, seemed larger, bluer and brighter
than before. His golden hair had faded to a silvery fair-
ness. And in a word, if Benny was dying, he was as
beautiful in death as is a setting star.
So thought the Earl of Wellrose, as he came gently for-
ward and took the wan hand, and said, with suppressed
emotion :
" Oh, my dear Benjamin ! I thank God that you have
lived to get home. And now we will hope that good air
and good nursing will restore your health."
The face of the young soldier grew radiant with joy, as he
grasped the hand of the Earl between both his own, exclaim-
ing:
" Yes, thank God ! I thank God that I live to see you
once more ! Now I am willing to die !"
" We will not talk of death. We will not have you die.
You have everything to live for now, Benjamin," said the
Earl.
But a violent fit of coughing seized the invalid, and he
turned and crept away to the side of the ship, and sank
down upon a seat to recover himself.
" And now, Dr. Kinlock, welcome home. And much
thanks for your devotion to my cousin, here," said the
young Earl, cordially shaking hands with the surgeon,
whom, however, in the first moments of meeting Benny, he
had forgotten.
874 A NOBLE LORD.
"Thanks, ray lord. I am very happy myself in the
thought that I have hronght Captain Douglas safe to
England. And for more reasons than one,"' added the
surgeon so emphatically, that the young Earl looked in-
quiringly at him, as though he would have asked :
" What do you mean ? "
" He is your cousin, you say, my lord," remarked the sur-
geon, in answer to the unuttered question.
" All the Douglases are cousins, you know," replied the
Earl, with a smile.
" Like the Stuarts, and the Camphells, and the other
Scottish clans. But is that all, my lord ? " inquired the
doctor, in a low voice.
" That is all, so far as I know," replied the Earl, in a
grave and somewhat surprised and questioning manner.
" Then, my lord," said Dr. Kinlock solemnly, "I have
something to tell you that I fear will startle your lordship
considerably. But not now ; not now ! See, my patient is
recovering himself. Ah, poor fellow ! he is so sensitive !
When he gets into those violent fits of coughing, he shrinks
from observation like a wounded animal. But here he
comes," added the surgeon, as he arose and gave Benny his
arm to support him to the side of the ship.
Lord Wellrose also lent his aid, and thus the Earl and
the surgeon got the invalid on board the tender, and placed
him on some cushions in the stern of the deck.
Benny sank down with a sigh of relief, and wearily
closed his eyes and dropped off into the sleep of prostration.
The young Earl, standing over him, gazed mournfully
down upon the fair, wan, wasted face, and then raised his
eyes inquiringly to the surgeon.
Doctor Kinlock gravely shook his head, and sighed.
And the Earl was answered.
The sick and wounded men were still coming on board.
" Where are all these poor creatures to be taken, doctor ? "
VICTORY AND DEATH. 375
inquired the young Earl, regarding the suffering crowd
compassionately.
"To the Military Hospitals at Wai worth, for the present,
where I have orders to deliver them over to the surgeon in
charge," replied the surgeon,
" Is Captain Douglas expected to go with them ? "
"That will be at his own option. He is on sick leave.
He can go to the hospital to be treated, if he please, or ho
can go anywhere else, if he prefer," replied the surgeon.
"And yourself, doctor?" inquired the young Earl, after
a pause,
" Oh, I shall be on leave also. After I have delivered over
my charge, I shall be at liberty to go anywhere. I have
scarcely thought yet where I shall go. My old home at
Seton is standing still ; but I am an old bachelor, without
any particular attraction there more than elsewhere," said
the surgeon with a bitter-sweet smile.
" Then, doctor, I have a proposal to make you, and I shall
be very glad if it meet your views. I have nothing in this
world to occupy me at present, and I think I cannot employ
my leisure better than by devoting it to this brave young
man, who has no near relative to look after him. I shall
invite him to be my guest, and so I shall take charge of
him. And if you can kindly favor us with your company,
we shall be very happy to have you. What do you say ? "
inquired Lord Wellrose.
"Thanks, my lord; but where do you propose to go?"
asked the surgeon.
"I must take your advice upon that question. We have
all Britain to choose from. And of course. Captain Douglas'
health must be our first consideration. What do you coun-
eel ? "
The surgeon reflected for a moment, but did not reply.
And the Earl continued :
" I am willing and-'anxious to go anywhere to benefit the
376 A NOBLE LORD.
health of Douglas. I wish to save his life, if possible. I
would spare neither pains nor cost to do so."
"And in other respects, is it equally immaterial to
your lordship where you go?" inquired Doctor Kinlock.
"Equally,! assure you. I have hut one wish in this
matter to save Douglas, if it be possible. Here is the Isle
of Wight not far off. .What do you say to that ? "
"I don't recommend it, my lord."
"The south coast here, then Brighton, Torquaj*, Pen-
zance ? "
" No, my lord ; he has had enough of the sea air."
" Then, niy dear Kinlock, suggest something yourself,"
said the Earl.
" Then, my lord, I should certainly recommend the brac-
ing air of the Highlands."
'' The Highlands ! " echoed Lord Wellrose in some sur-
prise.
" Yes, my lord, the Highlands decidedly the Highlands,"
repeated the surgeon.
" This is certainly the season when many invalids go to
the Highlands, but not consumptive invalids. And Captain
Douglas I should take to be consumptive."
"' He is not so, in the usual acceptation of the word, my
lord. He is suffering more from general debility than from
an}' other cause. And by general debility, in his case, 1
mean a general and profound depression of body, mind and
spirit. Look at him now, as he sleeps. He scarcely seems
to live pr breathe. He lies as one dead."
The young Earl followed the direction of the doctor's
glance, and sighed deeply. And then he said :
" He shall go to the Highlands. And I deem myself
very fortunate in being able to offer him a home quieter and
more comfortable than any hotel or lodging-house to b,e
found in those regions. The family are at Cheviot Castle
this season. And thus Setoii Court is left in charge of the
VICTORY AND UK A T TT. 877
housekeeper and steward and a few old retainers, who will
all be glad to see us. What do you say to the plan, Doc-
tor ? "
" It is an excellent one."
" Then, as soon as we get back to my hotel, I will tele-
graph to the housekeeper to have the rooms aired and every-
thing ready for us. Of course you will go with us. That
is understood, I hope ? "
"Yes, my lord, I shall be most happy."
" Right. You will also be near your old village home,
which will be an advantage," added the Earl.
And while he spoke, as the last of the sick and wounded
had been brought on board, the tender dropped away from
the side of the great ship, and steamed toward the shore.
As soon as she touched the pier, the bustle of landing the
invalided troops began. Many among them had friends
who had come down to meet them. And their meeting
added to the confusion.
The noise awoke Benny, who opened his eyes and looked
wearily around until his glance met the face of the Earl
when he smiled radiantlj'.
Dr. Kinlock was very much engaged in superintending
the landing of the invalids under his charge.
But Lord Wellrose himself went on shore and engaged a
carriage, and had it drawn up as near as permissible to the
steamer. And then he raised Benny, and supported him
tenderly to the carnage, and placed him comfortably in it.
And Lord Wellrose, taking Benny's fair head upon his
breast, gave the order to the coachman to drive slowly to the
" Lord Admiral."
On reaching that hotel, his lordship's groom and valet
were found to be in attendance.
And with their assistance, Captain Douglas was taken up
to the rooms that had been engaged for his accommodation,
and laid upon a comfortable lounge.
378 A NOBLE LORD.
Lord Wellrose ordered a dainty luncheon, such as he hoped
might tempt the invalid's delicate appetite. And then he
came and sat by Benny's lounge, and took his wasted hand,
and said :
" We will soon bring you around, my boy. English air
and English fare will soon restore you."
" It is rest and peace it is meat and drink only for me
to lie here and look at you," said Benny, with a tone and
glance of such pure love and perfect content, that reached
the young Earl's heart.
" I really do believe you like me, Douglas," said the Earl,
with a smile.
" Like you ! " echoed Benny, with a look of ineffable
affection "like you ! Why, you have changed all my life
from darkness to light ! You have made life bright to me,
and even death easy ! "
" But we will not talk of death. We will have nothing to
do with death at present, on any terms whatever. You are
going home with me to Seton Court, where you and I will
live together, en garcon, for a few weeks, and where our
good, motherly old housekeeper will nurse you back to health.
Setou Court is at the foot of the mountain, and at the head
of the loch. It is one of the most sublime and beautiful
places in the Highlands. Tourists make pilgrimages to it ;
artists paint it ; poets be-rhyme it. I feel sure that you will
like it."
" I feel sure that I shall like any place where I may only
lie and look at you till I die," said Benny, affectionately.
" Die, again ! I say we will have no d3 r ing. And here
comes luncheon, which looks more like living," said the
young Earl pleasanth', as the waiter entered to lay the cloth,
followed by an assistant with a well-laden tray in his hands.
By the Earl's direction, the waiter drew a table up by the
side of the invalid's lounge, laid the cloth and arranged the
luncheon upon it. There were fresh oysters, fragrant soup, a
VICTORY AND DEATH. 379
roasted pheasant; some light, delicious wine; ripe peaches,
apricots and grapes.
And then, because Lord Wellrose with his own hand
served the invalid with the most choice of the viands spread
before him, Benny tried to eat, and found, to his surprise,
that he really could do so, for appetite came with touch and
taste and smell.
" And now try a little of this Moselle," said the Earl.
And though two waiters were in attendance, with his own
hand he filled Benny's glass and passed it to him, knowing
that the wine would really do him more good when poured
by a loved hand.
For these two unconscious brothers loved each other " with
a love passing the love of woman."
After luncheon, Benny fell asleep again, with his hand
clasped in the hand of the Earl.
Lord Wellrose did not leave him until night. And then
he left him comfortably in bed, with his own valet, Perkins,
to sleep in the room.
Lord Wellrose was engaged in looking over the evening
paper, when Dr. Kinlock's card was brought to him.
He requested that the doctor should be shown up.
And in a few moments Dr. Kinlock entered the room.
" I've got them all off my hands at length, poor fellows,
and heartily glad I am of it," said the surgeon, as, at the
Earl's invitation, he dropped into a chair.
The Earl congratulated him. And then he reported
Benny's condition, and inquired of the doctor what the
chances might be for his restoration to health.
But the doctor was very reserved in giving his opinion.
He said that young Douglas must always have been consti-
tutionally very delicate, and that he would seem to have
suffered, in his childhood, from much neglect, privation and
exposure, that had still further undermined his fragile
health.
380 A NO BLR LORD.
"I fear it has been so indeed," sighed the Earl.
" You care very much for this youug man, my lord," said
the surgeon.
" I care so much for him that there is not another man on
earth, except nay father, that I prefer before him," said the
Earl earnestly.
" You have known him long, my lord, I presume."
" I have known him since his childhood, though for many
years I lost sight of him."
" And you do not know, I think you once said, exactly in
what degree of relationship, if in any, he stands to your
lordship ?
" I do not indeed," said the Earl, gazing upon the surgeon
in surprise and questioning.
" Then, my lord, I fear I am going to startle your lord-
ship very much. I have not yet let the secret pass my lips
even to him. But it is my painful duty to reveal it to your
lordship. I wish you could could spare me by antici-
pating it. But -your lordship has no suspicion of the par-
entage of this young man ? "
"None."
"LORD WELLROSE. HE is YOUR OWN BROTHER!"
CHAPTER XL.
PROOFS.
ConcralmoTit is no more. They speak
All cncumsuinco that may compel
Full credence to the tale they tell. BYRON.
11 GOOD Heaven, man ! " exclaimed the Earl, standing up,
and staring at the surgeon as if he thought him insane.
" Your own brother. Earl of Wellrose, the son of your
own father and mother," continued the surgeon.
P HOOFS. 381
" MAN, you are mad to say it ! " exclaimed the Earl.
" Your elder brother, my lord ; born two years before you
saw the light," persisted the surgeon, rising and standing
before the Earl.
"You must utterly have lost your reason. Sit down, I
beg you, and try to collect your thoughts," said Lord Well-
rose, who was himself profoundly agitated, not only by the
suddenness, strangeness and importance of this revelation,
but by something also in his own mind that assured him of
its truth.
" I will sit down, and be very quiet. And do you also
follow your own advice and my example," calmly replied
the surgeon, as he resumed his seat.
The Earl of Wellrose sank into a chair, saying :
" Uow, in the name of Heaven, give me your reasons, if
you can possibly have any, for making this most astounding
statement."
" My lord, I will. But permit me first to put a question.
Does your lordship remember ever to have heard of an
elder brother, the son of your parents' early marriage, who
was said to have died in his infancy ? " gravely inquired
Doctor Kinlock.
"Oh, yes; quite often. My dearest mother has fre-
quently spoken with me about that little lost one," said the
Earl, thoughtfully.
" Your lordship is then aware of all the circumstances
under which that child was born, and was supposed to have
died ? "
Yes."
" Will your lordship pardon me for asking you, in the
interests of justice, to recount those circumstances ? "
" Most certainly. My father and mother, as is now gen-
erally known, were first privately married in London.
Their first child, my elder brother, was born some ten
months afterward at Oruoch Castle, in Scotland. For cor-
382 A NOBLE LORD.
tain reasons he was taken by Dr. Seton, the attendant phy-
sician, to be put out at nurse. But being very fragile, he
died the same night, while under the charge of the doctor."
i " Those are the circumstances as known to your lord-
ship ? "
" Those are the circumstances as known to me."
" Then, Lord Wellrose, I have this to add : That brother
did not die, as was supposed. That brother lives now, in
the person of Benjamin Seton Douglas," said the surgeon,
gravely.
" After your first startling disclosure, I expected to hear
this also. But now tell me what proofs you possess of the
truth of this story," said the Earl, with more calmness
than could have been expected.
" Certainly, my lord. I should surely never expect you
to receive this statement without proof. To begin with,
then, I must remind your lordship that at the time of .your
elder brother's birth, I was the pupil and assistant of Doc-
tor Seton, the medical attendant of your mother."
" I know."
"On that wild March night, when your elder brother was
born, I sat up till morning, waiting for the doctor's return.
In the gray dawn of the morning he came home, bringing
with him the dead body of a newly born male child, which
he represented to be the child of a charity patient named
Magdalene Hurst. He said that he had brought it to the
house for post-mortem examination and then burial. With
my assistance he performed the autopsy. And the same day
the death was duly registered, and the child was buried."
"And this child was not my elder brother?"
"No. This child was what Doctor Seton represented
him to me to be the child of a charitj' patient who was too
poor to bury him. Your infant brother, very fragile indeed,
but still living, lay then upon the bosom of that woman,
Magdalene Hurst, who, while in a state of unconsciousness,
PROOFS. 383
had been bereaved of her own babe, and had had this one,
your infant elder brother, dressed in its clothes and put in
its place by her side, and so palmed off upon her as her own.
Pardon me, Lord Wellrose, for telling you these truths."
" It is your duty to tell me them, since you believe them.
And you say that you have proof."
" I have proof, my lord."
" Go on, then ! "
" The child of Magdalene Hurst died, and was buried, as
I said. The child of William and Eglantine Douglas, now
Duke and Duchess of Cheviot, lay on her bosom in its stead.
And yet Magdalene Hurst knew nothing of this fraud that
had substituted the living noble for the dead peasant."
" Go on ! go on ! "
" At length, however, the old nurse, who had been Dr.
Seton's only confederate in this ' pious fraud' as the old
doctor honestly considered it came upon her death-bed, and
being smitten with remorse, summoned Magdalene Hurst to
receive her confession. And when Magdalene came, she
told the astonished woman of the fraud that had been put
upon her. And then, before she could utter another word,
she died, leaving the woman in perfect ignorance of the real
parentage of her foster-child, or of any clue by which she
might discover it."
" The last part of this story I have heard already, from
Benjamin ; but there was nothing in the part told me to lead
me to suspect that Benjamin was more than a distant kins-
man of the family. Oh ! good Heaven ! if your story be
true, as you believe it, how much, how dreadfully, how
awfully has my brother been wronged ! " said the young
Earl, earnestly.
The surgeon looked at him in amazement and admiration.
Here was no selfish consideration of his own lost rank as
eldest son and heir only the thought how much his brother
had been wronged !
384 A NOBLE LORD.
" As yet, Lord Wellrose," he said, " I have produced no
proof of the truth of what I have advanced. I proceed to
do so now. I was, as I said before, and as your lordship
knows, a pupil and assistant of Dr. Seton. I was with him
in the latter years of his life, and I attended him in his last
illness, and on his death-bed. I was with him when he sent
in haste for your father and mother, saying that he had a,
disclosure to make to them. I was with him when they came
to his death-bed side. But they came too late the power
of speech had left him. And it was awful to stand there
and see his agonizing efforts to make the disclosure he had
summoned them to hear. He died and took the secret with
him to the grave, as every one supposed."
" My mother always feared it concerned her first-born
son," said the Earl.
" Her maternal instincts were true. It did concern him.
Dr. Seton died, and was buried ; and I, his assistant and
heir, Christopher Kinlock, succeeded to his property and to
his practice. And years passed on. The doctor's death was
a thing of the past. His unrevealed secret was forgotten."
" Not by all ! Not by my father and my mother ! I
think that all their lives they have been troubled, at times,
by the recollection of the doctor's death-bed and speculation
as to the nature of that disclosure which he tried and failed
to make them. But I interrupt you. Pray go on !"
" A long time passed. A generation grew up. This
Russian war broke out. I wished for a surgeon's commission
in the army, and through the Duke of Cheviot's kindness I
obtained it. I had to break up my bachelor's establishment
in Seton the establishment, in fact, I had inherited from
my predecessor. Among the furniture that I had determined
to dispose of was an old writing desk and bookcase. I had
emptied it of all its apparent contents, and then ordered it
to be carried away to the auctioneer. But in moving the
old mouldering desk it fell to pieces, and revealed a secret
PROOFS. 385
drawer filled with papers. I took possession of the papers
which at first glance seemed to be only old love-letters and
old memoranda of debts secret debts, I mean. I had no
time to look into them then. Your lordship knows how
sudden my appointment was, and how quickly I was called
upon to report for duty,"
" Yes, of course I know."
" So, having no time to examine these papers, which I did
not indeed think of much importance, but which a morbid
curiosity incited me to read when I should find time, I bun-
dled them all up and packed them into my trunk to look
over at my leisure. I took them with me to the Crimea. I
had no idea of their immense value to one. I had put them
in the bottom of'my trunk. And in the terrible scenes that
followed I forgot them. Later on, my young friend, Lieu-
tenant Douglas, was dangerously wounded. ' If I die, Dr.
Kinlock, take charge of my effects, and send them to Lord
Wellrose,' he said, as he lapsed into unconsciousness. I took
charge of his boxes, as he had desired. It was in the sim-
ple action of giving out his linen that I came now and then
across the name of Benjamin Hurst. I took little account
of it at the time."
" It was the name he bore once, as I suppose you now
know," said the Earl.
" Yes. And when the young man recovered sufficiently
to permit of conversation, I called his attention to the fact
that this strange name was marked upon some of his cloth-
ing. He smiled, but gave me no explanation."
" Poor fellow ! He kept silence, in regard for me. / had
given him his new name."
"Aye, my lord ; so I thought. And a mere instinct of
justice, if not of brotherly love, must have guided your
action. But I did not know it then. In a few days the
order came to me to sail for England, in charge of the inva-
lided troops. Among these was Captain Douglas, to whom,
24
386 A NOBLE LORD.
for good reasons, I gave particular attention. It was dur-
ing our voyage home that I had ample leisure to look over
that old bundle of yellow, mildewed papers that I had dis-
covered in the secret drawer of my guardian's writing-desk
when the old worm-eaten book-case was accidentally broken
to pieces, in the attempt to move it. I really felt not the
slightest interest in those old papers beyond the languid curi-
osity of an idle voyager in want of amusement. So I looked
but carelessly over the old love-letters of the bachelor doctor's
boyhood, and the memoranda of old debts sometime to be
paid, and old wrongs to be set right by post obit restitution.
At length I opened a paper that took away my eyesight
and my breath for a full minute. Aye, my lord, it did.
As I gazed upon it, a mist passed before my vision, and I
gasped. Here, my lord, is the paper ; look at it for your-
self," said the surgeon, placing in the Earl's hand a folded
paper, yellow with age and speckled with mildew.
The Earl took it with calmness, and opened it with care.
First there dropped from the paper a little fine, white,
knitted sock, which his lordship picked up and examined
with much interest.
" I have seen the fellow to this," he said, as he scrutinized
the wreath of eglantines and the crest of Seton-Linlithgow
embroidered in the instep.
" You have seen the fellow to that, my lord ? " echoed
the surgeon.
" Yes, in the hands of Captain Douglas. It was a relic
of his childhood. He showed it to me before he left Eng-
land for the Crimea. No doubt lie has it still in his posses-
sion," replied the Earl, as he carefully laid the mute witness
aside, and proceeded to the examination of the faded writing
on the paper. He read as follows :
SETOTT, March, 18 .
"Memoranda of the facts relating to the secret birth and
PROOFS. 387
concealment of the first-born son of Eglantine, Baroness of
Linlithgow, and William Douglas of Douglas Cheviot, late
a lieutenant in her Majesty's Regiment of Foot, sta-
tioned in Canada. I was called to Ornoch Castle, in this
shire, on the night of March , 18 , to attend the Baron-
ess of Linlithgow in her confinement.
" At twelve, midnight, she gave birth to a male child, and
immediately fell into syncope.
"Besides myself, only Lady Shetland and the nurse were
present. Circumstances that are known to all the parties
interested in this statement and none others need see it
rendered it expedient, for the sake of the family honor, to
conceal the birth of this child, and he was committed to me
to be disposed of.
"After I had recovered my patient from her syncope, and
got her, under the influence of morphia, into a refreshing
sleep, I took the child, and while the mother slept in uncon-
sciousness, I carried him to the little seaport of Killford,
and to the house of the woman whom I had already en-
gaged to take charge of a new-born child when it should
arrive, without telling her the real parentage of the child.
" This woman, by name Magdalene Hurst, was steward-
ess of the coasting steamer Shaft, but was at this time con-
fined of her first child, a boy.
" On reaching the hut where the woman Magdalene
Hurst lodged with an old midwife by the name of Jean
Craig, I found that my patient was in a profound sleep, and
that her child had died while she slept.
" Immediately occurred to me a means by which I might
conceal the existence of Eglantine Seton's child more effect-
ually than by simply putting him out to nurse. I broached
my plan to the old woman in attendance, and used such
arguments as convinced her of the expediency and propriety
of substituting the living infant for the dead one. I clench-
ed my arguments by the gift of a few guineas. And I
388 A NOBLE LORD.
secured her secrecy by a threat of the consequences to her-
self, as well as to others, should she betray the trust.
" The clothing of the dead and the living child was then
exchanged. The living child was laid at the bosom of the
foster-mother, and the dead one was taken to Seton Old
Church, and buried.
" Magdalene Hurst was led to believe that the child on
her bosom was her own, and Eglantine Seton was told that
the child who filled the nameless coffin at Seton Old Church,
was hers.
" In a few weeks, Magdalene Hurst, stewardess of the
Shaft, went back to London, taking with her the foster-
child whom she believed to be her own, and whom she had
named Benjamin, after his supposed father.
" Feeling now the infirmities of old age creeping upon
me, and knowing that I may be called suddenly hence, and
not wishing to take such a secret away with me to the
gi'ave, nor yet deeming it expedient to divulge it at this
present time, I make these memoranda, for the information
of those whom it may in future concern, and for those only,
knowing that they will guard, as I have guarded, the honor
of the house of Seton-Linlithgow.
" Signed with my hand, and sealed with my seal. ALEX-
ANDER SETON, of the village of Seton, physician and sur-
geon."
After reading this strange document to the end, Lord
Wellrose folded it carefully and held it in his hand and fell
into deep thought.
Dr. Kinlock refrained from breaking in upon his reverie.
At length Lord Wellrose inquired :
"Does Captain Douglas know of the existence of this
document? "
" No, my lord, he does not," answered the surgeon.
"Have you mentioned, or hinted to him, in any way, the
fact of the discovery you have made? "
PROOFS. 889
" No, my lord ; no. I deemed it best, for many reasons,
not to do so. In the first place he was in a condition of
weakness, with tendency to hemorrhage of the lungs, that
made absolute quietness vitally necessary. Any excitement
must have been very dangerous, and would have been prob-
ably fatal to him. In the second place I thought it due to
your family to make the communication first to yourself, my
lord, or to your father, the Duke of Cheviot. In the third
place, we were very near England when I made the discov-
ery ; and before I had thought over the subject many days,
I found myself in Southampton waters. I hope your lord-
ship thinks that I did well."
" You did well," said the Earl, with much emotion.
" Your lordship thinks the proof of your brother's birth
conclusive ? "
" Yes, I think it conclusive. With the corroborative tes-
timony we have in our hands, I think it quite indisputable.
But, oh, gracious Lord of Heaven, how bitterly has my
brother been wronged in all these years ! " groaned the
Earl, covering his face with his hands.
" Your lordship takes no thought of yourself at all in
this matter," said the surgeon in amazement.
"Why should I? No one has injured me. But, Great
Heaven ! how he has been wronged ! Doctor, we must save
him. The best medical skill in England in Europe in
the world, must be engaged for his restoration to life and
health ! "
The surgeon gravely shook his head.
" My lord," he said, " I tell you frankly I have no hopes
of saving Captain Douglas' life. He was born with a con-
stitution enfeebled by the sufferings of his mother even
before his birth ; that feeble constitution was further under-
mined by the privations and exposures of his infancy and
childhood ; and it has received its death-blow in that awful
winter before Sebastopol, and in that last fatal wound
390 A NOBLE LORD.
received when he planted his colors upon the walls of the
citadel."
"1 tell you, no! He must and shall be saved! All my
fortune shall be devoted to his service. The best medical
skill in the world shall be secured for him."
" Ah ! my lord, there is a limit to the power of wealth,
and to the skill of physicians. They cannot raise the dead ;
they cannot restore the dying ! "
" Then God can ! Prayer shall aid work, and we shall
save him yet ! " said the young Earl, in holy triumph.
CHAPTEE XLL
AT SETON ON THE LOCH.
Face to face with the true mountains
Standing silently and still,
Drawing strength from Fancy's dauntingB,
From the air about the hill,
And from Nature's open hauntings,
And most debonaire good will. E. B. BROWNING.
WHEN the surgeon had left the room, the Earl of Well-
rose went to his newly discovered brother's chamber. He
found the invalid sleeping calmly. He stood by the bed and
gazed compassionately upon the fair, wan, unconscious face.
" He must take my titles and estates away from me, and
yet Heaven only knows how much I love him ! And ah !
Lord of Heaven ! how cruelly and bitterly he has been
wronged ! " the young Earl murmured as he gazed.
Then with his own hands, and with almost womanly
tenderness and care, he drew the coverlet up over the
delicate chest, closed the curtains and lowered the gas.
Then he opened the communicating door and passed
silently into his own room.
His valet was there ready to attend him.
AT 8 ETON ON THE LOCH. 391
" I shall not require anything more to-night, Perkins.
You can go," said his lordship.
The valet bowed and withdrew.
Lord Wellrose threw himself into an arm-chair beside a
table, with his elbow resting upon the top and his head
bowed upon his hand. He felt no disposition to retire to
rest. His mind was oppressed with thoughts of the startling
revelation he had received from the surgeon. He could not
for an instant doubt its truth. Beyond all question Benja-
min Douglas was his elder brother, the son of his parents by
their first rash, childish marriage.
But the heaviest of all was the thought how that elder,
even in helpless infancy, had been cast down into the lowest
depths of the social hells, while he, the younger, had always
lived in the heaven of family love, and moral, religious and
intellectual culture, enjoying privileges that should have
been the blessings of both.
But now full justice must be done to that deeply injured
elder brother, at whatever cost to himself, the younger, or to
any one else.
As he could not sleep, ho drew his chair closer to the table,
drew writing materials toward him and wrote two letters.
The first and least important was a short one addressed to
Mrs. Bruce, the housekeeper at Seton Court, directing her
to have the house opened and aired, and rooms got ready to
receive himself and his guests, who expected to reach Seton
on the evening of the fourth day from the date of that
letter. The second, and most important one, was addressed
to his father, the Duke of Cheviot, at Cheviot Castle,
earnestly requesting the Duke and Duchess to join their son
at Seton House, at the end of a week from date, assigning
as a reason for this request, very important business, that
would be better discussed at Seton than at Cheviot.
He closed and sealed these letters, and rang for a late
waiter, into whose hands he placed them, with the order
that they should go by the first mail.
39^ A NOBLE LORD.
And then, having done all that it was possible to do in,
the premises that night, he retired to rest.
The next morning, the Earl of Wellrose, Captain Doug-
las and Doctor Kinlock left Southampton for London by an
early train. A double compartment in a first-class carriage
had been engaged and fitted up comfortably, with addi-
tional cushions and rugs. So the journey was accomplished
with more ease to the invalid officer than could have been
hoped from his weakened condition.
On reaching London they took rooms at the nearest
hotel, the Paddington, where they passed the remainder of
the day and the night.
The next morning, with precautions for Captain Douglas'
comfort, the party started by the Great North-western train
for York, en route for Scotland.
They reached that old cathedral town in the afternoon,
rested there until the next morning, and then resumed their
journey. The afternoon of the third day brought them into
Edinburg. And thus, by short and easy stages they in
turn reached Glasgow, Stirling, Callender, and finally, on
the evening of the fourth day, they reached by coach the
little port of Killford, where the steamer Sprite was waiting
Lord Wellrose's orders to take them up the loch to Setou
Castle.
Immediately on leaving the coach the party went on
board the steamer.
It was a cold, clear, starlight night, and to Benjamin, who
sat on deck, wrapped in his old camp overcoat, the majestic
8cener} T of loch and mountain was but dimly apparent ; but
the very obscurity of the Landscape lent the weird charm of
awe to its beauty. They passed the narrow, winding
" straits " that connected the sea with the loch, and where
the turns were so short that every few minutes it seemed
as if the bows of the boat were going straight up to the
land. At length a final turn brought them out upou the
AT SETON ON THE LOCH. 393
broad expanse of the loch, encircled by its lofty mountains,
now looming dimly through the clear, starlight night.
Benny uttered a low exclamation of delight.
" You should see the loch by daylight, or by moonlight,
when indeed it is exceedingly beautiful, " said the Earl.
" It is beautiful exceedingly now, under the dim light of
the stars," answered Benjamin, in a low, hushed tone.
And then the brothers relapsed into that silence which is
more eloquent than words, as they gazed upon the darkly
glorious scene.
A few minutes more brought them to the foot of the
water-stairs leading from the loch up into the wooded hills
of Seton Chase.
Lord Wellrose gave his arm to his brother, and supported
him in going up the stairs, at the top of which they found a
large and commodious close carriage waiting to take the
travellers to the house.
Lord Wellrose, Captain Douglas, and Doctor Kiulock
took their seats, and the horses started.
They drove up a winding road through the thick woods,
to the top of the hill, where they entered an avenue of oak-
trees that presently led them up to the front of the house,
where the windows were shining with hospitable lights.
Mrs. Bruce, the aged housekeeper, with the household
servants at her back, received the party at the door. She
had been the Earl's nurse a quarter of a century back, and
this circumstance constituted a bond of strong affection
between herself and her foster-child. She had been pro-
moted from the nursery to the head of the house at Seton
Court, and was passing her old age in ease and comfort.
She now stood there in the lighted hall, looking trim and
neat in her black silk dress and white muslin cap, necker-
chief and apron, smiling and courtesying her welcome.
" How do you do, Mrs. Bruce ? " said the young Earl,
affectionately, shaking her hands and kissing her rough
cheeks.
39-1 A NOBLE LORD.
" I'm weel, arid blithe to see ye, my bairn my laird, I
mean ! " replied the old nurse, suddenly correcting herself.
'' Your ' bairn ' always, dear nurse ! Whatever I may be
to others, I am your ' bairn,' " said the young Earl, with his
kindly smile. " And now here is my kinsman, Captain
Douglas, who has come back from the war wounded and ill,
and in need of tender and skillful nursing. You must take
as much care of him as you used to take of me when I was
ailing," he added.
"Ah! God bless his bonny face! he's unco like the
family, and might be your lordship's aiu brither, by the
looks of him. But eh, sirs ! he's unco fair and fragile, to
hae been a soldier, noo. Aweel, laddie, the guid mountain
air, wi' my ain nursing, will sune bring ye round again,"
she said, nodding and courtesying to the invalid guest, who
smiled and thanked her.
There were spacious, comfortably furnished old-fashioned
bed-rooms, lighted with wax candles in tall silver candle-
sticks, and heated with glowing wood fires in the massive
open fire-places, waiting for the travellers. Here they
refreshed themselves with a wash, and then went down to
the smaller dining-room, where a good supper was ready for
them.
Soon after supper they went to bed.
In the morning Benny arose earl} r , and with the assist-
ance of a footman whom Lord Wellrose had appointed to
wait on him, he made his toilet, and went to the morning
parlor, to which the footman showed the way.
This parlor had a modern French window opening upon a
balcony, and overlooking the loch.
As the morning was very fine, Benny ventured to step
out upon the balcony, where a magnificent and beautiful
scene burst upon his view the loch with its clear, deep blue
waters glittering in the morning sun, and its girdle of lofty
mountains, with their base clothed in deep evergreens, and
AT SETON ON THE LOCH. 395
the sharp, bare peaks gleaming in the morning light with
all the colors of the rainbow. Benny, always sensitive to
beauty, fairly caught his breath as he gazed.
A light hand was laid upon his shoulder.
He turned, and saw the Earl standing by his side,
" What do you think of the view ? " inquired his lordship,
with a smile.
" What do I think?" echoed Benny, in a calm ecstacy.
"There is Paradise still on earth. Eden could not have
been fairer than this. Only to breathe and see here, seenia
joy enough. It is a heavenly place to live in or to die in,"
he added, in a lower tone.
" To live in, yes. But, as I observed once before, we will
have no dying. I most decidedly object to that sort of^
thing, except in centenarians. They have a right to die, if
they insist upon doing so. But as for a young man like
yourself, he has no right to think of such a proceeding; and
therefore "
As the Earl said these last words he stepped back into the
parlor, and presently returned with a tartan shawl, which
he carefully placed around his brother's shoulders, saying,
with a smile :
" If you do not take better care of yourself, Douglas, I
shall have to be your valet. What would Kinlock say if he
saw you out here without a wrap ? "
" He would say," exclaimed the surgeon, who at that
moment joined them, "that standing shivering on a bleak
balcony, while gazing at a magnificent scene, is taking the
poetry without the comforts of life, the elegancies without
the necessaries ; or, to bring it right home to your hearts
and stomachs, it's like having the dessert without the din-
ner ! There, the tea and muffins are cooling on the break-
fast table, to say nothing of the haddock and eggs."
Lord Wellrose laughed, and they all went in to breakfast.
And after breakfast Benny was obliged to lie down on the
396 A NOBLE LORD.
sofa of his room. Whether it was from the reaction of his
excitement on reaching his native shores, or whether it was
the fatigue of his long journey, or from the progress of an
incurable malady, or from all these causes combined, Benny
was again prostrated with weakness, so he was compelled to
keep his sofa.
" How is this, Kinlock ? Why does he not get stronger ? "
inquired the Earl of the surgeon, as soon as they found
themselves alone together.
" I told your lordship the truth from the beginning. I
never deceived your lordship," said the surgeon, gravely.
" Do you mean to say that he will never be better ? "
" He will be better and then worse, as is the way with
people suffering as he does; but, my lord, he will never
recover," gravely replied the doctor.
" You medical gentlemen may sometimes be mistaken,
may you not ? "
" Certainly."
" Then I will cling to the hope that yon are mistaken
in this instance," said the Earl, as he arose and went to his
brother's apartment.
CHAPTER XLII.
NEWS OF SUZY.
I loved .... forty thousand " lovers "
Could not, with all their quantity of love,
Make up my sum. SHAKLSPF.ARE.
HE found Benjamin reclining on the sofa.
" How do you feel now? " he inquired, taking a seat by
his side.
" Tired a little tired, but very comfortable and happy,"
replied Benjamin, holding out his hand to his brother.
NEWS OF S U Z Y. 397
"It is but tlie effect of your long journey," said Lord
Wellrose, taking the thin white hand and holding it in his
own.
"My lord," began Benny, after a short silence, "ever
since I reached home, I have been longing to ask you more
particularly about "
He hesitated in some embarrassment, and his pale face
flushed.
"About Suzy?" suggested the Earl.
" Yes, my lord ; about Suzy."
" And I, also, have been wishing to speak to you of her ;
but as you did not mention "
And here Lord Wellrose paused, in a little less embar-
rassment than Benny had betrayed.
The fact is, there had been, and still was, a singular reti-
cence in both these brothers on the subject of Suzy. And
the reason was obvious : both loved each other with a broth-
erly love, and both loved, or had loved, Suzy, with a love
that was certainly not brotherly.
" You hear from her often ? " said Benny, half-question-
" I hear from her, and write to her by every mail. We
exchange letters about once a fortnight."
" She is well, I hope ? "
" She is well ; but our correspondence is by no means
what you would suppose it to be."
"Indeed!"
" Indeed no. She writes to me as though I might be her
respected pastor instead of her betrothed. You shall see a
recent letter she wrote me. It is a sample one. And it
will be no breach of confidence, since there is not a word in
it that might not be proclaimed from the church-steeple,"
said the Earl, as he arose and left the room.
He returned in a few moments with Suzy's letter. He
put it open into Benny's hand.
398 A NOBLE LORD.
And oh, he saw and marked that frail hand tremble as it
touched the paper !
Benny began to read the letter a cool, friendly, formal
letter, such as any girl might have written to a male relative,
with whom duty compelled her to correspond, but such as
certainly no girl ever before wrote to her betrothed lover.
Benny finished reading the letter, raised his eyes to the
face of the Earl, and stared with surprise and perplexity.
Lord Wellrose smiled.
" Why, what on earth does she mean ? What in the world
is the matter ? " inquired Benny.
" Nothing is the matter. The child has found out her
mistake in having fancied that she ever loved me with a real
and lasting love," said the Earl, calmly.
" How long has she written to you in this style ? "
"Always that is, ever since she began to answer my
letters at all."
" Then it must have been, and must still be, mere timidity
that caused her to write so coldly. Suzy was timid iu some
respect."
"It was not timidity in this case. I will prove it to you.
The letter that you have just read is the last but one I re-
ceived from her. This one that I am now about to show you
is the very last. In it you will see that she deliberately re-
quests me to free her from her engagement to me, assigning
as reasons the unsuitableness of the proposed marriage, the
opposition of my family, her own personal unfituess for the
rank I offered her, and more than all, the change in her own
feelings, which has taught her that she -never truly loved me
as she once thought she did. Moreover, she gives me no
chance to refuse her request, for she tells me, in conclusion,
that she is coming home to England, and shall be on the
seas before another letter from me can reach her."
While the Earl spoke, Benny's memory was busy with the
past.
NEWS OF FUZY. 399
He remembered that just before they parted, Suzy to go
to Australia, and himself to go to the Crimea, she had con-
fessed to him apian she had formed of absenting herself from
England until the Earl should be cured of his indiscreet
attachment. He remembered that he himself had begged
Suzy to impart her plan to her lover, and get his consent
that this test should be put to the strength of his love. And
she had said that she would think of his advice. He won-
dered now whether she had told her purpose. And now he
asked the question :
" Did your lordship suspect that she would change in this
way ? "
" Never ! It has taken nearly two years for the truth to
gradually reach me."
Benjamin looked anxiously at his brother.
How calmly the Earl took his disappointment ! But per-
haps he was only exercising self-control. Benny ventured
another question :
" And you, Lord Wellrose ! You ! How is it with you ?
What shall you do ? "
" It is well with me, 'Benjamin. Just so soon as Snzy
shall arrive in England, I shall take great pleasure in see-
ing the child, and freeing her from her foolish engage-
ment."
Benjamin stared at the Earl in speechless astonishment.
" Don't look so shocked, my dear fellow. Our harmless
passion was a brief hallucination, and nothing more. I
was fascinated and dazzled by the beautiful singer, and
she " the Earl paused.
" Was fascinated and dazzled by the splendid young
nobleman, the lion of Parliament, and the idol of society,"
said Benjamin, finishing the sentence in his own way,
with fond enthusiasm.
" There ! " said the Earl, patting Benny's hand, and
laughing quietly. "How much I wish that all the world
400 A NOBLE LORD.
had as great faith in me as you have. But to come back to
Suzy. It is all over between us. I shall always love the
child as a dear, good little sister. But for the rest, I only
wait to compty with her request, and free her from her en-
gagement, before offering my hand to Lady Hinda Moray ;
who has long had my heart."
As the Earl ceased speaking he looked at Benjamin, and
was startled to see the change that had come over his wan
face and wasted form. His face was marble white and half
concealed under his trembling hands, and his form was
shaking as with a chill.
"Douglas! Douglas!" said the Earl, bending anxiously
over him.
" Oh ! if I could only live now ! Oh ! I wish I could
live now !" murmured Benny, in a very low tone.
" Live ! my dear boy, you must and shall live. You have
so much to live for now; so much more than you know.
Never give up ! Despair kills more than disease does.
Ah, that cruel cough!" murmured the Earl, suddenly
breaking off from his discourse, as a violent paroxysm seized
and shook the invalid, as if it would have shaken his fragile
frame to dissolution.
"Yes, I have her to live for now," said Benny, as soon as
the paroxysm had passed off. " Yes, Lord Wellrose, I will
tell you all now. I loved her, my lord. Oh, Heaven, how
I loved her ! With no ' brief passion,' with no transient
hallucination ; but with a deep, true, vital love, that 'grew
with my growth, and strengthened with my strength,' from
infancy to childhood, to youth, to manhood; through good
and through evil; in presence and in absence; in hope and
in despair ! "
" Ah ! I suspected this ! " murmured the Earl, in an
almost inaudible voice.
" It is little to say that I would have died for her. Any
man might have done that for his beloved. But I would
NEWS OF SUZY.
have died an ignominious death on the scaffold and left my
poor memory to infamy, only to have saved her brother
from a felon's grave, and her fair name from the shadow of
reproach. That was how I loved Suzy, Lord Wellrose,"
said Beuuy, with an unusual outburst of emotion.
The Earl was deeply moved.
" You loved her so, and yet you would have promoted her
marriage with me ! " he said.
" Yes, my lord, because I thought she loved you, even as
I loved her. And her happiness yes, and yours too was
dearer to me than my own," said Benny, earnestly.
" But now you know she never loved me so never really
loved me at all. She only fancied so : drawn first to like
me by my strong resemblance to you, her life love. The
tremendous sacrifice of your life and good name that you
were about to make for her sake, naturally awoke her heart
to the knowledge of your great love and her own. And she
did well and wisely in going away to her parents at the
antipodes, and there to wait for time and Providence to set
us all right. Be comforted, my dear Douglas, for she
returns your love."
As the Earl spoke there was a knock at the door, pres-
ently followed by the entrance of a footman, who said
respectfully :
" My lord, their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Che-
viot have arrived, and wish to see your lordship."
" So soon ! I did not expect them quite yet," said the
Earl to himself. " Tell their Graces I will attend them
immediately," he added, to the servant, who went away
with the message.
" Dear Douglas, you hear that my father and mother
have come. I must leave you for a little while, but I will
soon return," said the Earl, as he left the room.
"What a comfort it must be to have a father and mother
25
402 A NOBLE LORD.
living," murmured Benny to himself as his brother closed
the door.
Then the racking cough seized and tore him with violence.
CHAPTER XLIII.
NEWS FOR THE DUKE AND DUCHESS.
Alas ! the mother that him bore
Had not known her son. SIR WALTER SCOTT.
MEANWHILE Lord Wellrose went down to the drawing-
room to welcome his parents. But he had to wait a few
moments for the Duke and Duchess, who had gone to their
dressing-rooms to change their travelling suits.
At length they both entered together. And after an
affectionate greeting, they sat down, and the Duchess said:
" Your letter surprised us very much, Wellrose."
" We set off at once, to know what was the matter,"
added the Duke.
" Heavens, Wellrose ! how your face changes ! What
can have happened ? "
" Out with your bad news at once ! It will not improve
by keeping," said the Duke, uneasily,
" There is no bad news, father, though there is something
te tell that will startle you very much."
" Tell it then."
" First let me offer my mother a glass of wine and a
biscuit," said the Earl. And he rang and gave the order.
After the refreshments had been brought and tasted, the
Duchess said :
" For mercy's sake, my son, do not keep us longer in sus-
pense."
" No, do not," added the Duke.
NEWS FOR THE Dt'KE AND DUCHESS. 403
"Then read tin's document, my father; and see if you
recognize this little relic, my mother," said the Earl, as he
drew a small parcel from his bosom, and placed Doctor
Seton's confession in the Duke's hand, and the little embroi-
dered sock on the Duchess' lap.
The Duke unfolded the paper, and began to read.
The Duchess picked up the little sock, looked at it, and
with a half-suppressed cry, turned her eyes on Wellrose.
Her color came and went ; she trembled much ; she could
scarcely articulate the question :
"Where did you find it?"
"Folded in the document that my father is reading,"
replied the Earl, in a low tone.
She rose pale and trembling, and stood behind the Duke's
sofa, and leaned over his shoulder to look at the document.
His face was as pale as hers. His eyes seemed starting
from their sockets, as they followed the lines of that written
confession. But, conscious of his wife's approach, without
taking his eyes from the paper, he put out his hand and
drew her to a seat at his side, wound his arm protectingly
around her, and let her read as he did.
Their faces paled and paled as they read. Sometimes
her head dropped upon his shoulder, and a great heaving
sob convulsed her bosom. And then his arm closed tighter
around her ; but his eyes never left following the lines of
that paper until he had read it to its close. Then he turned
toward his wife, and their eyes met, in grief and horror.
The Duchess found her voice first:
" Oh, my son ! my son ! my first-born ! my best beloved !
Oh, my innocent ! my helpless ! what has become of you ?
What has been your fate ? " she cried, wringing her hands
in an anguish too deep for tears.
The Earl of Wellrose, who had been standing pale and
silent before them, now dropped on one knee beside her,
Baying :
404 A NOBLE LORD.
" Dear mother, be comforted. Your son, my brother,
lives."
" Lives ! " echoed the parents, in a breath.
" Yes, lives! Be assured of it ; for I know it."
" Lives ! " said the Duke again. " Aye, but his life may
be worse than death."
" Not so," said the Earl hastily. " He has won honor in
the service of his country. He was foremost in the glorious
charge at Inkermann. His hand placed his regimental
colors on the walls of Sebastopol. And though he has
returned wounded and ill, be will yet do well."
They listened to him with breathless interest. Suddenly
the Duchess caught his arm, strained her eyes into his and
murmured hoarsely :
" He is he is he is "
" Yes, dear mother, he is the Captain Douglas, of whom
you heard me speak so often, and whom I went to South-
ampton to meet; though at that time I neither knew nor
suspected his near relationship to us."
" Thank Heaven, the boy will do us no discredit," ex-
claimed the Duke, in happy ignorance of his poor son's
miserable childhood and youth.
"Amen! Aye, thank God!" murmured the Duchess.
Then turning to the Earl, she hastily inquired:
" Put where is he? tell me ! Let me go to him at once !
Ah ! I have been away from him long enough his whole
lifetime ! Let me see him at once ! Sick and wounded,
too ! Let me go to him at once ! "
And the Duchess arose and drew her shawl around her.
" Dear mother, be patient. He is not far off. You shall
see him very soon. He is in the neighborhood," said the
Earl, diplomatically.
" Why did you not bring him to this house ? " inquired
the Duchess. But before the Earl could answer the ques-
tion, the Duke put another one :
NEWS FOR THE DUKE AND DUCHESS. 405
"How did you make this discovery, Wellrose ?"
The Earl addressing both h'is parents, related the history
of Dr. Christopher Kinlock's accidental discovery of the
documents hidden away in the secret drawer of Dr. Seton's
secretary.
" So Kinlock knows all about it? " said the Duke.
" Yes ; but he is discretion itself," replied Lord Wellrose.
" Does your brother also know the secret of his birth ? "
" No, my father. Dr. Kinlock and myself thought it due
to you and my mother, that you should be told of it first.
So I wrote, requesting you to meet me here."
" You were right. But I might repeat your mother's
question, and inquire why you did not bring your brother
here."
" My father, he is here. I left his sofa side when I came
down here to see you," replied the Earl.
The duchess arose, with a slight cry.
" Take me to him at once," she said.
" Dear mother, be patient for a few moments, for his sake.
He knows nothing of this secret yet. And in his weakened
condition it will be necessary to break it to him gradually.
!MV father, if you will trust that duty to me, I think I shall
perform it more judiciously than another could," said the
Earl.
" You counsel wisely, Wellrose. It shall be as you say.
But when will you do this ? "
" My dear father, when he wakes, refreshed from his noon-
tide nap, he will be in the best condition to bear the excite-
ment of such a revelation."
"And how soon will that be?" inquired the Duchess,
anxiously.
" In about two hours, mother, dear," replied the Earl.
Then, after a little while, the question of the confused in-
heritance naturally arose.
" Heaven knows how glad I am of the restoration of our
406 A N'OBLE LORD.
eldest son. But without doubt it will complicate the ques-
tion of property very much," said the Duke, uneasily.
" Oh, do not think of property at such a time," pleaded
the Duchess.
" And I am sorry for you, Wellrose. This may deprive
you of your heirship," continued the Duke.
" Do not think of me, dear father. My brother must have
justice, and he can have it. I see clearly enough how all
this may be arranged," said the young Earl, earnestly.
" You were always unselfish, "Wellrose. But let us ex-
amine this question in a legal point of view for a moment.
You may not be so great a loser as at first sight it would
appear," said the Duke reflectively.
Eglantine and her son both lookedup inquiringly.
"Our first youthful marriage, secretly solemnized in
England, and afterward openly acknowledged in Scotland,
was certainly legal in the last-mentioned country, though
not in the first. The sou of that first marriage would cer-
tainly be the lawful heir of all his father's and his mother's
estates in Scotland."
" Most assuredly," put in Lord Wellrose.
"But not in England," continued the Duke. "And
although he is even now Master of Seton, and will be, after
bis mother, Baron of Linlithgow, he cannot possibly become,
after me, the Duke of Cheviot. This title, with all its ap-
pendences, in England, will be the inheritance of yourself,
Wellrose, as the sole son of the second marriage, which was
legal everywhere," said the Duke.
" And yet, father, in strict justice, if not in law, my elder
brother should have been heir to all."
" In strict justice, yes," admitted the Duke.
"Then, I repeat, my brother shall have strict justice. It
can be managed. A petition to the House of Lords would
surely get a decree constituting that first marriage legal iu
England, as it is in Scotland, aud making my elder brother
NEWS FOR THE DUKE AND DUCHESS. 407
the heir to all your titles and estates in both countries. Such
decrees, under such justifiable circumstances, have been
granted heretofore, and will be hereafter," urged the Earl.
" I ara, of course, aware of that, Wellrose. But you, my
son you who have been brought up to consider yourself the
heir ? " said the Duke, with tears in his eyes.
" I repeat, that I must not be thought of in this matter.
I have held my brother's birthright long enough. I must
hold it no longer. Besides, I can make my own place in the
world, dear father."
" Heaven bless you, my boy ; you have a noble heart,"
said the Duke.
" Kinlock is here, father. Would you like to see him ? "
" Yes, I should. I should like to hear from his own lips
further details of this discovery."
" Then I will send him here to talk with you, while I go
up to my brother's room and break this news to him."
And the Earl kissed his mother's hand and left the room.
He found Dr. Kiulock pacing up and down the hall.
'' Have you seen my brother lately ? " inquired Lord
Wellrose.
" I have just left him," answered the doctor.
"He is awake, then?"
" Oh, yes, awake, and much refreshed."
" Then I will go to him. Tho hour for the revelation has
come. Go you, dear doctor, to my parents. They are in
the blue drawing-room waiting for you," said the Earl, as
he bowed and passed up the stairs.
He found Benjamin still reclining ou his sofa, but looking
brighter and stronger from his sleep.
The Earl sat down beside the invalid, took his hand in
his own, and while he held it, said :
" My father and mother are here for a few days. They
wish to see you, Benjamin, as soon as you are strong enough
to .see thorn."
408 A NOBLE LORD.
" It is very kind of their Graces. I thank them very
much. I hope they are well ? " replied Benny.
" They are very well. They both take a great interest in
you, Douglas. They feel sure that you must be a near rela-
tive of the family."
Benny lifted his eyes inquiringly to the face of the Earl.
He seemed to think that there was something to be told.
"Arid I, Douglas, have told you often, that I feel con-
vinced you are very nearly related to us."
" Indeed I hope it may be so. I would like to be your
cousin, Lord Wellrose."
" You may be even nearer kin to me than that. Very
singular, your exact resemblance to myself, and your earliest
garments marked with the crest of my mother's family."
" It was," admitted Benny, still looking inquiringly into
the face of his brother.
"Would it surprise you much to find out for a certainty
that you are very related nearly to us indeed ? " inquired
the Earl, looking wistfully into the clear eyes that were up-
turned to his.
Benny's color came and went; he breathed fast, but fal-
tered forth the words :
" No ; I do not think it would."
" Then, my dear Douglas, read this paper," said the Earl
placing in his hand the written confession of Dr. Seton, and
watching him closely.
As Benny read, his wan face paled and flushed alternate-
ly. And when he finished, he let the paper slip from his
hold, and he lifted his hands and laid them over his face.
" Douglas ! Douglas ! my brother ! " murmured the Earl,
anxiously bending over him.
" My brother ! " echoed Benny, in a tone of infinite ten-
derness, as he uncovered his face and took the hand of the
Earl, and pressed it to his heart.
"This has startled you very much, Benjamin," said the
Earl.
NEWS FOR THE DUKE AND DUCHESS. 409
"Yes, yes; and yet it should not have done so. My
heart told me the truth long ago, long ago ! that night
when, at Brunswick Terrace, in Brighton, I kneeled at her
feet to offer her the crown of Christmas roses, and burst
into tears, I knew not why; and that day in the Middlesex
Hospital, when her tears fell upon my sleeping face, and I
tried to wake in vain, my heart told me the truth. But I
did not understand its language," said Benny, in strong
emotion.
" But now you do. And now you know you have a
father, and above all, a mother, and a brother, and many
fair sisters. Your mother, our mother, longs to see you,
Benjamin, just as soon as you are strong enough to receive
her."
" Oh ! now ! now ! let me look upon her lovely and
gracious face again ! It has never left my memory since
that bright day at Brunswick Terrace," he said, as again
his color came and went in quick successions of flush and
pallor.
The Earl pressed the invalid's hand, and arose to leave
the room ; but, at a strange gurgling sound from the direc-
tion of the sofa, he turned.
Then he uttered an exclamation of horror unspeakable.
Benny had fallen back, white as death, and his bosom and
pillow were crimsoned with his life blood.
410 A NOBLE LORD.
CHAPTER XLIV.
" PASSING THE LOVE OF WOMAN."
" Kind friends may be to thee,
But love like HIS thou'lt Bee
Never again."
LORD WELLKOSE had great presence of mind. He laid
the fainting form flat upon the sofa, and then went and rang
the bell.
To the footman who answered it, he said :
" Go, and request Dr. Kinlock to come here immediately,
and quietly."
The man went away to do his errand, and the surgeon
quickly made his appearance.
The Earl pointed in silence to the form lying on the sofa.
" I thought so," said the doctor, going up to his patient
and feeling his pulse. " But you need not be alarmed, my
lord. This is not much of a hemorrhage. A very little
blood makes a great show. And see, it has quite ceased to
flow," he added, as he went to the washstand and wetted a
towel to wipe the face of his patient.
Then he administered restoratives. And finally, as Ben-
ny breathed again, he settled him more comfortably on the
sofa, and enjoined the strictest quiet.
He even recommended Lord Wellrose to withdraw from
the room and leave him alone to attend to his patient ; add-
ing, that if he should need assistance in the duty, he would
ring for Mrs. Bruce.
As Lord Wellrose went out, he beckoned Dr. Kinlock to
follow him into the hall, and there inquired :
" What shall I say to my mother ? She expects to see
him this afternoon."
" Tell her Grace that he has had as much excitement as
he can bear for one day. He must rest quietly until to-
morrow morning, when, if he should be bettor, it will be
safe for her to see him."
" PASSING THE LOVE OF WOMAN." 411
Lord Wellrose went below stairs with this intelligence.
He found his mother alone in the drawing-room.
He said nothing of the hemorrhage, but spoke only of the
patient's weakness and fatigue, and of the doctor's orders.
"And you told him all?" inquired Eglantine.
" I told him all," replied her sou.
" And how did he take it ? How did he take it ? "
" With very great emotion, and yet with less than I ex-
pected. He said that his heart had told him the truth long
ago, and he should have known it, had he understood the
language of his heart."
" But what, then, did the poor boy mean ? His heart
had told him the truth ? How could his heart tell him any-
thing, since he never saw his mother's face?"
" Dear mother, he has seen you often. You have touched
him and spoken to him more than once."
" Heaven of heavens ! When and where ? " she asked,
in profound agitation.
Then Lord Wellrose told much of the story of his hap-
less brother's life, suppressing only such parts of it as would
have overwhelmed his hearer with shame, as well as with
pain.
Then the Duchess learned, for the first time, that the pale
infant in the beggar's arms, whom she had pitied and suc-
cored at the church door, on the morning of her second
bridal ; the starving street boy, whom her kind-hearted
children had called in from the sidewalk on that winter
night, at Brunswick Terrace, and had treated with a portion
of their Twelfth-day cake ; the poor, dying child she had
wept over in the Middlesex Hospital ; and the fair, refined
looking young man she had met in the bookseller's shop in
the Strand, were one and the same, and her son !
Oh ! how she wept to hear even thus much ! How much
more bitterly she must have wept, had she heard all !
" And my heart also spoke ; but, ah ! I too misunderstood
its language ! " she said ; weeping vehemently.
412 A NOBLE LORD.
At that moment the Duke came in. And she hastily
dried her tears, and smiled.
"You have missed hearing our poor boy's story, Willie ;
but I will tell it you to-night."
"Yes, dear, you shall do so. I shall feel deeply inter-
ested in hearing it. Take comfort, my dear Eglantine.
Surely all is well now. We have two sons instead of one."
"And now, dear Wellrose, tell me how he came by the
name of Douglas, since no one could have known his right
to bear it until the surgeon's discovery ? " she inquired.
" I gave it him," answered the Earl.
" Ah ! you did not misunderstand the language of your
heart, when it claimed him as a brother," said Eglantine,
with emotion.
"I felt sure, by his close resemblance to the family, con-
nected with other circumstances he communicated to me,
that he was our kinsman. How near a kinsman I never
guessed. So when he told me the name he bore was not
his own, and not a very desirable one either, and that he
had no name, and had never even been baptized well, by a
sudden impulse, or inspiration, I offered him mine. I told
him how I could make it his own if not directly by law,
yet by Christianity. And so took him to Christ's Church,
and got him baptized by the name of Benjamin Seton
Douglas. Under that name, I got him his commission as
ensign in a regiment of Foot. Under that name, he has
distinguished himself in the Crimean war."
" Under that name he may hereafter claim the Barony
of Seton-Linlithgow," said the Duchess.
"And the Dukedom of Cheviot, mother," added Lord
Wellrose.
The Duchess looked up inquiringly.
" It is his right, dear mother. I have pointed out to my
father how this right may be secured to him. And what-
ever it may cost to you, to me, or to any other, he should
have it."
" PASSING THE LOVE OF WOMAN.'' 413
" And you, Wellrose ? "
" I ! Oh, I shall be the founder of another line of nobles
from the ancient house of Douglas," said the Earl, jestingly.
" After all I think more of the hour when I shall press
the poor boy to niy heart, than of anything else. It is
hard to have to wait until to-morro\v. Ah ! I see what you
are thinking of, Willie," she said, as she noticed her hus-
band's grave smile. " You are thinking that if I have
managed to wait all these years for my first-born, I can
wait these few hours. Yes, but I did not know he was ou
earth all that time ; now that I know he is here, in this
very house, hours seem ages till I see him."
" ' Time and the hour weareth away the weariest day, 3 "
said the Duke, with a kindly smile.
So the day and the night passed, and the morning came.
At eleven o'clock in the forenoon, the autocrat of the
sick-room, Doctor Christopher Kinlock, came down stairs
and notified to the Duke and Duchess that they had his
professional authority for visiting his patient.
The Duke arose and drew the Duchess' arm within his
own. Her heart was beating fast ; her color went and
came ; she panted with emotion.
" Come with us, Wellrose," she faltered.
And the young Earl arose to attend them.
He went up stairs before them, and led the way to his
brother's room.
He opened the door, and the three entered together.
They found Benny lying on the sofa, propped up with
pillows, his fair, wan face turned toward them in eager
expectation, his golden hair flowing loose.
" How beautiful he is ! " thought the Duchess ; and as
she met the full gaze of those clear, gentle blue eyes, and
caught the smile of the delicate features, she felt as if "her
heart must break at that moment. A rush of tenderness,
pity, love, filled her bosom, and almost overwhelmed her.
414 A NOBLE LORD.
She left her husband's arm and tottered toward him, and
sank beside his sofa and dropped her head upon his heart,
sobbing :
" My son, my son ! Oh, my poor, poor, wronged boy !"
He would have risen and knelt at her feet, but for his
great weakness. But he put his wasted arms around her
neck and murmured :
" Mother, mother ! sweetest name on earth."
Then both were silent, looking into each other's ej^es, for
a while, she sobbing at intervals ; he with his pale hand
caressing her hair.
But soon she remembered that there was another present
waiting to welcome their son. And she arose from her pos-
ture and said, in a low tone :
" Your father, my dear."
And the Duke came and knelt, and silently embraced
his fading boy. For at first he could find no words to
speak. Then, after some inarticulate murmurs of affec-
tion, he said, with much emotion :
" You know how it was that we lost you so long, my poor
boy ? You know, I hope, that neither I " his voice fal-
tered "nor your dear mother" he choked "could have
been so heartless, so cruel " here he broke down alto-
gether.
Benjamin took his hand, and kissed it.
" I know all, dear father," he said. " It was no one's
fault ; it was my misfortune. It was kismet."
"Kismet! Ah, you have been in the East. A Turk is
killed in battle. He falls, crying, ' Kismet' and dies con-
tentedly," said the Duke, with that strange mingling of
irrelevant matter with the most solemn business on hand,
tha: we sometimes meet in the most awful crises in life.
" Yet I am indeed no fatalist, dear mother," said Benny,
turning to the Duchess, who seemed longing for a glance or
a word from her new found SOD.
" PASSING THE LOVE OF WOMAN." 415
" No ; for I am sure you are too good a Christian to be
that, my boy ? " she said.
" 1 have heard of your gallant conduct in the Crimea, my
son ; of your heroism at Balaklava, at Inkermann, at Sebas-
topol. You did honor to the name you bore there," said the
Duke, proudly.
" I did but my duty," murmured Benny.
" And where got you the wound with which you are suf-
fering now, my brave and modest boy ? At the taking of
Sebastopol, if I have heard aright in planting the colors
of your regiment on the walls, in the face of a murderous
fire. Was every man a hero that day also?"
" I do not know," said Benny, smiling; "but 1 do know
that I never should have had the chance of doing what I
did, if it had not been for "
He paused and looked all around the room until his eyes
lighted on the form of the Earl of Wellrose, standing
apart ; and then his face grew radiant, and he held out both
his hands. For more than princely father or beautiful
mother, Benny loved this dear brother.
The Earl came to him, smiling.
" If it had not been for him, my father, Heaven knows
where 1 should have been now ! " said Benny, clasping his
brother's hands.
" We know all that he was to you, my boy, even before
he suspected you to be his brother. And now that he
knows your position, he is ready to unite with us in restor-
ing you to all your rights."
" What rights ? " asked Benny simply, looking from one
to the other.
For he had not given so much as a thought to the
worldly advantages he would gain from the establishment
of his birthright. He had thought only of the rich inherit-
ance of love he would receive.
"What rights?" he asked again, seeing that they only
looked at him in surprise.
416 A NOBLE LORD.
" Four rights as our eldest son and heir your rights to
the inheritance of all my titles and estates," said the Duke
of Cheviot gravely and firmly.
Benny turned paler than ever before, and looked from his
father's face to his dear brother's.
"Does your Grace wish me to understand then, that I
shall displace, disinherit HIM ? "
" Yes, my boy, lawfully, naturally, inevitably. You are
the eldest son, and must take the rank that he has so long
erroneously held," replied the Duke, as one speaking from
authority.
" THEN I'LL DIE FIRST," said the " elder brother."
" BENJAMIN ! " exclaimed father, mother and brother, in
one breath.
" I will go down to the grave first ! I shall die if I do
not try hard to live ; and I will not try to live : I will try
to die, rather than displace, disinherit him" repeated
Benny. And oh ! the ineffable tenderness he threw into
that little monosyllable " him"
They gazed at him in amazement. Such love, such dis-
interestedness even they had never known.
"My dear brother," said the young Earl, "your love,
your magnanimity touches me deeply. But you may not
make this sacrifice ; for if you cannot think of yourself, you
must think of her Suzy."
" I love Suzy. I have proved how I love her. And I
know I know that she also would never wish to dispossess
you. Had she been born with a nature so selfish I could
never have loved her."
" You hope to marry Suzy some day ? " quietly said the
Earl.
" If I live, which is doubtful."
" Then for your posterity you should take your rights."
" Posterity ! shadows ! dreams ! Leave all that to time
and Providence. That does not exist now. But what I
VICTORY OF LOVE. 417
see visibly before me what I touch tangibly is my
brother, iny dear brother," he said, with infinite tenderness
iu his tone and look, as he took the hand of the Earl and
pressed it to his heart, while he gazed in his face with unut-
terable love.
And then the cough seized and shook him.
His mother begged him to be calm, and not to excite
himself.
But just as soon as he had recovered from the paroxysm,
he, still gazing in his loved brother's face, murmured softly :
" My brother, my dear, dear brother, you were more than
a brother to me in my bitterest need more than a brother
to me when you did not even suspect our brotherhood. I
could not even live, knowing that I had dispossessed you."
Again the cruel cough seized and shook him, as if it
would have shaken him to dissolution.
They implored him not to talk.
The warning came too late. The new excitement had
brought on the hemorrhage again. Blood gushed in tor-
rents from his lips, and he fell back in syncope.
CHAPTER XLV.
VICTORY OF LOVE.
Oh, for some heavenly token,
By which I may be sure
The vase shall not be broken
Dispersed the essence pure !
Then spake the Angel of Mothers
To me, in gentle tone :
Be kind to the children of others,
And thus deserve thine own. I. W. H.
IN a moment all was grief, terror and confusion. The
surgeon, the only self-possessed person about the bed,
26
418 A NOBLE LORD.
cleared the room of every one except himself and the jld
nurse, Mrs. Bruce.
" No, your Grace, he is not dead, nor dying ; but his life
depends upon quiet," he said, in answer to the questions of
the agonized mother, as he led her out into the hall.
" Then Heaven bless you for the words," she said.
And he went back to his patient. And she paced up
and down the hall, wringing her hands and moaning:
" Oh, my son ! my son ! Oh, my poor, poor boy ! To
find you, only to lose you ! to see you die ! Not to be able
to make your future atone for your bitter, bitter past ! "
" Dear Eglantine, do not -weep so bitterly," pleaded the
Duke, coming to her side.
" Ah, if he had had a happy life, I could have better
borne to see him die ! But he has had such a miserable,
most miserable life, and now he must die without even ever
enjoying happiness ! "
" Dear mother, it is not certain that he will die. He
ma} 7 recover," said the young Earl, coming up to her other
side.
" Oh, Wellrose, no one ever lost so much blood and lived.
His poor face is white as snow ! Oh, my child! my child !
Oh, my poor, wronged, dying child ! " she moaned, weep-
ing and wringing her hands.
At this moment the surgeon came out of the room, whis-
pered to Lord Wellrose, and immediately returned.
" What did the doctor say ? How is my boy ? " anxious-
ly inquired the mother.
" He is just the same. And the doctor wishes me to
telegraph to Glasgow for Dr. Kerr, who is one of the most
eminent surgeons of the day," answered the young Earl.
" Oh, do so at once ! Lose not an instant of time,"
urged the anxious mother.
And the brother hurried away to dispatch a servant with
a message to the nearest telegraph station.
VICTORY OF LOVE. 419
Meantime the Duchess continued to pace up and down
tlie hall, occasionally stopping to listen at the door of the
sick-room.
The daily routine went on. Luncheon was announced at
the usual time. And the family sat down at table ; but no
one ate.
Early in the afternoon a telegram came from the Glas-
gow surgeon, in answer to the one that had been sent him.
He would come down, he said, by the night train, and be
at Seton early the next morning.
This was promising news.
Later in the day the doctor brought a report from the
sick-room. " The hemorrhage had entirely ceased, and the
patient had recovered from his syncope, but was as weak as
he could possibly be to live."
" Is there any hope ? " almost breathlessly inquired the
Duchess.
" There is always hope, your Grace," said the doctor to
the mother.
" Do let me see him. I will be very calm. Do let me
see him," pleaded the Duchess.
"'Not to-day, your Grace. The most absolute quiet is
vitally necessary to him," said the doctor resolutely.
The Duke took his arm and walked him off to the oriel
window at the end of the hall, and inquired :
" Now how much hope is there really ? "
"Not the faintest shadow of a hope, your Grace," an-
swered the doctor.
" Even so I feared. But in this case, why may not his
poor mother be permitted to see him ? "
" Because, your Grace, although we may not hope to save
his life, we must not therefore hasten his death. And any
such agitation as a visit from his mother under present cir-
cumstances would cause, might be instantly fatal to him.
He could not survive another hemorrhage five minutes."
420 A NOBLE LORD.
The Duke sighed deeply, and went down stairs to give
orders that a boat should be sent down the loch, to Seton,
to meet the Glasgow surgeon on his arrival.
And the Duchess returned to her chamber, and passed
the night in praying as only a mother can pray for her
child.
Early in the morning the Glasgow surgeon arrived.
After a short interview with the Duke and Duchess, he
was shown to the chamber of his patient.
After a very careful examination of the case, and a very
close consultation with Dr. Kinlock, he entirely coincided
with the army surgeon's opinion, and approved his treat-
ment. The patient, he declared, could not possibly be in
better hands than in those of the country doctor.
He remained at Setou Court twenty-four hours, and then
went back to Glasgow, promising to revisit the patient at
the end of the week, or sooner, if called upon.
And the next morning, being the third from the day of
the last terrible hemorrhage, the Duchess was permitted to
see her sou.
She had schooled her soul to calmness ; had promised her-
self and others that she would preserve a perfect composure,
and neither do, nor say, nor look anything that might dis-
turb the sufferer.
And so she went into his room.
He was propped up in bed, and the light from the bay-
window fell full upon him.
She went up to his side. She could control her words
and actions, but not her looks ; so when her eyes fell upon
his colorless and fleshless face, and met the gaze of his hol-
low eyes, her own face expressed all the deep anguish of her
soul.
He held out both his pale hands to her. Evidently he
thought that he was dying, and thought that she knew he
was dying ; for his first words were :
VICTORY OF LOVE. 421
" Sweet mother, it seems very hard for yon, very, very
hard for you, to lose your poor boy almost as soon as you
have found him."
She could scarcely restrain her tears as she pressed his
thin hands to her lips and bosom, and then stooped and
pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss.
" But, dear mother, it is so much better for me to die.
See how my life would compromise you all, and complicate
the question of inheritance, and above all, how it would
injure my dear brother," he whispered, speaking faintly and
with difficulty, and caressing her hair with his poor hand.
She lost all her self-control, and forgot all her promises.
She fell sobbing on his neck, exclaiming:
" Oh, my son ! my son ! Oh, my poor, poor wronged boy !
Live ! live ! live ! oh, try to live, for my miserable sake !
Oh, do not die and leave me to a life-long remorse ! Oh,
live ! live ! that I may make your future life so bright and
happy that you may forget your past ! "
" Sweet mother ! " he murmured, still with his pale hand
caressing her beautiful hair " sweet mother, you have faith,
I know. Have then a RADIANT faith. Believe that, in
the better world, your poor son's life will be brighter and
happier far than even your dear love could ever make it
here. Have a glad, RADIANT faith."
" Oh, my child ! my child ! If you had had a happy life,
like all your brothers and sisters, I think I could better
bear'to let you go!" she sobbed, weeping bitterly. "Oh,
oh, if I could could roll back the years, dear love ! undo
your dreadful past, and make that happy, I could I think
I could bear to let you go."
"Dear mother, can any but Heaven do that? Sweet
mother, if you sorrow so bitterly over my miserable past,
let that sorrow teach you to pity and succor the thousands
and thousands of poor, neglected, innocent little ones, su<-h
as 1 was once, who every day perish of want, or live oh,
A NOBLE LORD.
mother! to grow up in ignorance, vice and misery, to fill
the prisons or to freight the gallows. Sweet mother! you
are very rich and powerful ; save the children, for my sake,
and I shall not have suffered and died in vain ! " he said,
and his brow grew radiant as the face of an angel.
The doctor came quietly to lead the lady away. The in-
terview, he whispered, had been too long already.
She stooped and kissed her boy's bright brow again and
again, and then she went away.
The doctor came back to the bedside of his patient.
" You must not give way to thoughts of death," he said
encouragingly ; for, though he had not a hope in the world
of saving Benny's life, yet he continued to flatter him with
delusions.
" It is better that I should die, doctor. My position is a
false one. Legitimate in one country, illegitimate in another,
I am in a false position ; and my life compromises everybody,
complicates everything connected with me, and most of all
my beautiful mother and my beloved brother. Don't you
see that I must die ? " he murmured faintly.
" Not by any means. All these complications can be
straightened out by a simple act of the House of Lords, as
has been "
" Let us talk no more about it, dear doctor. Even if I
could live, no such thing should be done, with my consent.
And if it were done without it, I would never profit by
my dear brother's loss. But I shall die. And there an end."
The doctor said no more then.
Later in the day, when the Earl of Wellrose inquired as
to his brother's state, Dr. Kinlock answered :
" The worst of it, and what makes the case so utterly
hopeless is, that he does not seem to care to live."
" Oh, if Susan were here ! Why does not that ship come
in ? " murmured the Earl to himself.
At that very moment a footman catne in, and brought the
mail bag from the Seton post-office.
VICTORY OF LOVE. 423
Lord Wellrose emptied it. There were many letters for-
warded from London. Among them was one that Lord
Wellrose seized first of all. It bore the Southampton post-
mark. It was from Suzy, and it announced her arrival in
England. Mrs. Brown, the curate's widow, was her com-
panion. They were coming up to London, and should take
apartments at the Brunswick Hotel, Berners street, whore
their letters were to be addressed.
Lord Wellrose, neglecting all the other contents of the
mail bag, took Suzy's letter, and went to his mother.
He found the Duchess in her boudoir, weeping.
He put Suzy's letter in her hand, and begged her to read
it.
She complied as well as her tear-laden eyes would let her.
And then she looked up inquiringly at the face of her son.
"It is from the girl he loves, and whom he resigned be-
cause he thought I loved her : and in the magnanimity of
his soul preferred my happiness to his own."
" Wellrose ! what is all this, my dear?"
" Listen, mother dear, and I will explain," said the young
man. And he told the story of his acquaintance with Suzy
and Benny, leaving out such portions of it only as must have
wounded the spirit of the Duchess.
"And now, dear mother, I wish you to invite this young
lady to come here. If anything on earth can rouse and save
my brother, it will be the presence of his love."
" She is a pure-spirited and noble-hearted girl, from all you
have told me, Wellrose. And if she can do my poor boy
any good, she shall be most welcome," said the Duchess.
And she immediately sat down and wrote the letter of in-
vitation, that it might be in time for the first mail.
Lord Wellrose also wrote, telling her that Benjamin was
ill at Seton Court, explained as much of the circumstances
as he deemed prudent to trust in a letter, and implored her
to accept his mother's pressing invitation, and come at once
to Seton Court to rouse Benjamin.
424 A NOBLE LORD.
These letters dispatched, Lord Wellrose went up to cheer
his brother with the intelligence.
" I have good news for you, ray dear fellow," he said,
cheerfully, as he sat down by his brother's bed.
Benny lifted his blue eyes inquiringly.
" Susan has arrived in England. She is in Southampton.
Nay, indeed, by this time she must be in London."
" Suzy has come back! Suzy is in London! Oh! I
wish I could see her!" said Benny eagerly, brightening up
at once.
" You shall see her in a few days. My mother has written
and invited her to come here."
" Suzy coming here ! " said Benjamin, joyfully.
" Yes, assuredly, as soon as our letters can reach her, and
she can make the journey ; for she will not neglect so press-
ing a call, I am sure, nor will she lose an hour on the road."
" Thank Heaven ! And oh ! I thank you too, AVellrose !
I owe all the good I have, under Heaven, to you. I thank
you, my dear brother."
"Cheer up, now! Take your nourishment. Resolve to
live, for Suzy is coining. And our mother will make her
welcome."
" Does our mother know ? "
"She knows of your mutual love; for I told her this
morning. That is the reason why she wrote for Suzy."
" Bless you ! Bless her ! " said Benny, fervently.
"Now here comes Mrs. Bruce with your broth. I order
you to take it all, and then to go to sleep," said the Earl, as
he went out.
Oh, magic of love ! Elixir of life ! From the time that
Benny heard that Suzy was coming, and began to look for-
ward to her arrival, he brightened and mended day by day.
And his mother saw it and rejoiced.
On the third day from the sending of the letters, Suzy,
having travelled day and night, arrived at Seton Court.
She was not at all like the brilliant Mademoiselle Arielle
VICTORY OF LOVE. 425
of that dazzling London season that began in triumph and
ended in tragedy. She was a " grave fairy," with golden
hair, blue eyes and blooming face, habited in a plain metho-
distical suit of gray serge, that might have became her
grandmother.
The Duchess received her with a kiss, called her her dear
child, and took her to a pleasant bedroom where she could
change her dress, while Lord Wellrose went to prepare
Benny to receive her.
In a few minutes more, Suzy, leaning on the Duchess'
arm, entered Benny's chamber.
He was lying as usual propped up by pillows, and with
the light of the window falling on his fair, wan, spiritual
face. He held out his hands to his love. But as soon as
she saw what a mere shadow he was, she sank on her knees
beside his bed and burst into tears, and sobbed as though
her heart would have broken.
Under other circumstances this violent emotion might
have hurt the invalid. But he was stronger now. He put
his hands around her fair head, and murmured softly :
''Weep no more, dear Suzy. Dear, dearest Suzy, weep
no more. You are here now, and all is well."
But she could not stop weeping all at once. Indeed, she
wept the more.
"Mother," inquired Benny, softly, "is she to be my
wife?" .
"Yes, dearest, if she will," as softly answered the
Duchess.
"If she will! Why, of course she will. We have been
engaged ever since we were seven years old ; have we not,
love ? " he inquired, caressing the fair hair.
" Yes, Benny, only for one short season when I lost ray
senses. But oh, my dear ! when I saw you about to lay
down your life for my sake, I knew how you loved me, and
discovered how I loved you also," murmured Suzy, in an
almost inaudible voice.
426 A NOBLE LORD.
"Engaged since we were seven years old, dear mother,
and that was nearly twenty years ago," said Benny, brightly
smiling up into his mother's face.
"And that is quite a long engagement quite long
enough. It should be ended soon now in marriage," an-
swered the Duchess, smiling back.
" Suzy, love, our childish dreams will be realized," mur-
mured Benny, trying to raise her. But he was as yet too
feeble ; so she got up and sat by his side, holding his hand,
and continuing to hold it until the surgeon came with his
peremptory orders that all should now leave the room, that
his patient might seek repose in sleep.
A little later in the day Suzy was presented to the Duke,
who received her courteous!}', and kissed her cheek.
A little later still, she had a word apart with the Earl of
Well rose.
" I see that you not only forgive me, but thank me, Lord
Wellrose, for setting you free," she said pleasantly.
He bowed and smiled.
" I wish you much joy, fair sister," he said.
" Thanks. And you ? When am I to congratulate
you ? " she archly inquired.
11 In a few days, I hope."
And then he gave her his arm, to lead her in to dinner.
From that time Suzy was encouraged to spend the greater
portion of every day in Benny's room. And his improve-
ment was thenceforth very rapid. The surgeon expressed
astonishment at it. The old nurse declared it was a miracle.
Soon Benny was able to leave his bed, and soon after, his
chamber. In a fortnight from the day of Susan's arrival,
he dined with the family.
Meanwhile the autumn was waning into winter, and the
weather in the Highlands becoming very bleak.
One day the Glasgow surgeon arrived on a visit, and ho
advised that Captain Douglas should spend the winter on
the South coast.
VICTORY OF LOVE. 427
Therefore the family all went down to the Duke's marine
residence at Brunswick Terrace, Brighton.
Here they were soon joined by the daughters of the Duke
and Duchess, and also by the Lady Hiuda Moray.
And here Benjamin 0, triumphs of time ! found him-
self in the same sea-side palace, the beloved son, the centre
of a fond domestic circle, where once he had been taken in,
a poor street boy. He was recognized as Captain Benjamin
Seton Douglas, Master of Seton, and heir of the old Scottish
Barony of Linlithgow, in right of his mother by her first
marriage ; heir also, in certain contingencies, of the ancient
Dukedom of Cheviot.
But Benny would in nowise consent that any step should
be taken to reinstate him in any position by which the
brother he loved more than life should be a loser. Nay, he
declared most positively, that if any movement should be
made to establish his right to the heirship of the Dukedom
of Cheviot, at his brother's expense, he would at once give
up parents, country, and home, and take Suzy and go with
her to the uttermost parts of the earth.
And they knew that he would keep his word.
And then he stretched forth his hand, and elapsed his
father's, saying gayly, and yet tenderly :
" I am the son of * Bonnie Willie Douglas ' and his fair
bride Eglantine, and not of the most noble the Duke and
the Duchess of Cheviot. You never dreamed of inheriting
your great-uncle's dukedom when you married my mother,
dear father, did you ? " he asked, with a smile. "And after
all," he continued, " why all this talk about an inheritance
so many happy, happy years off yet ? Our father is a man
in his prime not over forty-five or six, and may and prob-
ably will live a half century longer. Trust in Providence
and in the triumphs of time. "
***#***
Time has accomplished its many triumphs, and will
also accomplish many more. It is now fifteen years since
428 A NOBLE LORD.
Benjamin Seton Douglas, Master of Seton, married his
love, Susan, and took up his residence at Seton Court, on
the loch ; since the Earl of Wellrose married Lady Hinda
Moray, and fixed his abode at Wellrose Park, in Sussex.
The Duke and Duchess of Cheviot are now a handsome,
healthy, happy couple, really considerably over sixty years
of age, but not looking more than forty, and likely to. live
to complete their century. Both their sons and all their
daughters being married, they have even more grandchil-
dren than her gracious Majesty the Queen, which is saying
a great deal.
Captain and Mrs. Seton Douglas have five fair daughters,
but no son ; and as their youngest daughter is eight years
old, it is nearly certain that they never will have one.
But the Earl and Countess of Wellrose have both sons
and daughters.
And the complicated question of inheritance will clear
itself in this way :
The eldest son of the Earl of Wellrose, styled Viscount
Douglas, is of course the lineal heir, after his father, of the
Dukedom of Cheviot. He is a dark, gipsyish looking
youth of fourteen, with much of his mother's warm Hindoo
blood in his veins. With the precocity of his part Eastern
nature, he has fallen in love with his fair cousin Eglantine,
the eldest daughter of Captain Seton Douglas, and she
certainly returns his affection ; while the parents on both
sides, for excellent reasons, favor their attachment. And
in the future marriage of these young people the estates
of both brothers will be united.
THE END.
T, B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS' PUBLICATIONS.
NEW BOOKS ISSUED EVEKY WEEK.
Comprising the most entertaining and absorbing Works published,
suitable for the Parlor, Library, Sitting Room, Railroad or
Steamboat Reading, by the best writers in the world.
fjgjt' Orders solicited from Booksellers, Librarians, Canvassers, News
Agents, and all others in want of good and fast selling
books, which will be supplied at very Low Prices. ^l
MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS' WORKS.
The Curse of Gold, $1 50
Mabel's Mistake,
Doubly False,
The Soldiers' Orphans, 1 50
Silent Struggles, I 50
Tho Heiress, 1 50
The Wife's Secret, $1 50
The Rejected Wife, 1 50
Fashion and Famine, 1 50
The Old Homestead, 1 50
The Gold Brick, 1 50
Mary Derwent, 1 50
The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each.
MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH'S WORKS.
Tho Changed Brides, $1 50
Tho Brides' Fate. A Sequel to
"The Changed Bride?," 1 50
Fair Play, '. 1 50
How He Won Hjr. A Sequel
to "Fair Play," 1 50
Fallen Pride, 1 50
The Prince of D.irkii^s, 1 50
The Widow's Son, 1 50
The Bride of LlBwelly.i, 1 50
The Fortune Seeker, 1 50
Atlworth Abboy, 1 50
The Bridal Eve 1 50
The Fatal Marriage 1 50
ILiunted Homestead 1 50
The Lost Heiress, $1 50
Lady of the Isle, 1 50
Vivia; or the Secret of Power,. 1 50
Love's Labor Won, ] 50
Deserted Wife, 1 50
The Gipsy's Prophecy, 1 50
The Mother-in-Law, 1 50
The Missing Bride, 1 50
The Two Sisters, 1 50
The Three Beauties, 1 50
Wife's Victory, 1 50
Retribution, 1 50
India ; Pearl of Pearl River,.. 1 50
Curse of Clifton, 1 50
Discarded Daughter, 1 50
The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each.
MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS.
The Planter's Northern Bride,.. 1 50
Linda ; or, the Young Pilot of
the Belle Creole, 1 50
R >bort Graham. The Sequel
to "Linda," 1 50
Courtship and Marriage, 1 50
Ernost Lin wood, 1
Marcus Warland,... .. I
Ilena; or, the Snow Bird,
The Lost Daughter,
Love after Marriage,
Eolino; or, Magnolia Vale,....
The Banished Son,
Helen and Arthur,
Forsaken Daughter,
Planter's Daughter,.,
The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each.
f REDRIKA BREMER'S WORKS.
1 50
1 50
1 50
1 50
1 50
1 50
1 50
1 50
Father and Daughter,.
The Four Sisters,.
TheNeighbors, 1 50
The Home, M \ 50
The above are each in paper cover, or in cloth, price $1.75 each.
Life in the Old World; or, Two Years in Switzerland and Italy,
By Miss Bremer, in two volumes, cloth, price,
1 50
1 50
$3.50
Sooks sent, postage paid, on receipt of the Retail Price, by
T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, Pa. fl)
2 T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS' PUBIICATICKS.
BEST COOK BOOKS PUBLISHED.
The Young Wife's Cook Book, Cloth, $1 75
Miss Leslie's New Cookery Book, Cloth, 1 75
Mr*. Halo's New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75
Mrs. Goodfellow's Cookery as it Should Be, Cloth, 1 75
Petersons' New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75
Widahield's New Cook Book, Cloth, 1 75
The National Cook Book. By a Practical Houscwil'e, Cloth, 1 75
Miss Leslie's New Receipts for Cooking, Cloth, 1 75
Mrs. Bale's Receipts for the Million, Cloth, 1 75
The Family Save-All. By author of ''National Cook Book,".Cloth, I 76
Fnmcatelli's Celebrated French, Italian, Gorman, and English
Cook Book. The Modern Cook. With Sixty-two illustrations.
Complete in six hundred large octavo pages, Cloth, 5 00
WORKS BY THE VERY BEST AUTHORS.
The fallowing books are each isued in one large duodecimo volume, in
fiper cover, at 1.50 each, or each one is bound in cloth, at $1.75 each.
The Initials. A Love Story. By Baroness Tautpliceus, $1 50
Why Did He Marry Her ? By Miss Eliza A. Dupuy 1 50
The Macderinots of Ballyclonm. By Anthony Trollope, 1 50
Lost Sir Massingbcrd. By the author of " Carlyon's Year," ] 50
The Planter's Daughter. By Miss Eliza A. Dupuy, 1 50
Dream Numbers. By T. Adolphus Trollope, author of "Gemma,"... 1 50
Leonora Casaloni; or, the Marriage Secret. By T. A. Trollope 1 50
Thy Forsaken Daughter. A Companion to "Linda," ] 50
Love and Liberty. A Revolutionary Story. By Alexander Dumas, 1
Family Pride. By author of " Pique," " Family Secrets," etc 1 50
f?i',lf-rf;icrifice. By author of " Margaret Maitlnnd," elr 1 50
The Woman in Black. A Companion to the "Woman hi Wl he/' ... 1 50
A Woman's Thoughts about Women. By Miss Muloeh,. 1 50
Fli !(,> lit ius in Fashionable Life. By Catharine Sinclair, ] 50
Rose Douglas. A Companion to " Family Piide," nnd " Sell Sacrifice," 1 50
False Pride; or, Two \Vn ys to Matrimony. A Charming Took 1 50
Family Secrets. A Companion to "Family Pride," and " P;que,"... 1 50
The Morrisons. By Mrs. Margaret Hosmer, 1 50
Beppo: T'ne Conscript. By T. A. Trollope, author <>f " G< inmit,".... 1 50
Gemma. An Italian Story. By T. A. Trollope, author of Eeppo," 1 50
Marietta. By T. A. Trollope, author of " Gennun," 1 60
My Son'? Wife. By author of " Caste," "Mr. Arle," etc 1 50
Tiie Rich Husband. By author of " George Geith," 1 50
Harem Life in Egypt and Constantinople. By F.mmeline Lett, 1 50
Tho Rector's Wife; or, the Valley of a Hundred Fires ] 50
Woodhnrn Grange. A Novel. By William How iu, 150
Country Quarters. By the Countess of Rle^ini: Inn. 1 60
Out of the Depths. The Story of a "WownV Life," 1 60
The Coquette; or, the Life and Letters of Eiiza Wharton ] 50
The Pride of Life. A Story of the Heart. By Lady J;me Scott 1 50
Tho Lost Beauty. By a Noted Lady of the Spanish Court 1 50
Saratoga. An Indian Tale of Frontier Life. A true Story ol 1787,.. 1 50
Married at Last. A Love Story. By Annie Thomn- 1 50
Tne Quaker Soldier. A Revolutionary Romance. By Jmlire J<UK >..... 1 50
Tho Man of the World. An Autobiography. By William North,... 1 50
Tho Queen's Favorite ; or, The Price of a Crown. A Love Story,... 1 59
Self Love: or, The Afternoon of Single nnd Married Life 1 60
The above books are each in pnper cover, or in cloth, price $1-75 each.
gi* Books sent, postage paid, on Receipt of tb.3 Retail Price, by
T. 3. Peterson & Broilers, Philadelphia, Pa.
PETERSON'S MAGAZINE
*
CHEAPEST AND BEST OF ALL!
Splendid Offers for 1S72.
This popular Monthly Magazine gives more for the money than any in the world.
It has the best colored fashions, the best original stories, and the best engravings
of any lady's book. Great and costly improvements will be made in 1872, when it
will contain
ONE THOUSAND PAGES!
FOURTEEN SPLENDID STEEL PLATES!
TWELVE COLORED BERLIN PATTERNS !
TWELVE MAM350TH COLORED FASHIONS!
ONE THOUSAND WOOD CUTS!
TWENTY-FOUR PAGES OF MUSIC!
All this will be given for only TWO DOLLARS a year, or a dollar less than
Magazines of the class of " Peterson." Its
THRILLING TALES AND NOVELETTES
Are the best published anywhere. Att the most popular writers are employed to
write originally for " Peterson." In 1872, in addition to its usual quantity of short
eiories, *FIVE ORIGINAL COPYRIGHT NOVELETS will be given, viz: BOUQM
AV'ITH A PRICE, by Ann S. Stephens; THE ISLAND OF DIAMONDS, by Harry Danforth;
Oxen Too OFTKX, by Franlc Lee Benedict; LINDSAY'S LUCK, by Miss F. Hodgson; and
A WIFE, YET Not A WIFE, by the author of "The Second Life."
MAMMOTH COLORED FASHION PLATES
Ahead of all others. These plates are engraved on steel, TWICE TH* USUAL SIZE,
rui'l contain six figures. They will be superbly colored. Also, several pages of
Household and other receipts ; in short, everything interesting to ladies.
TERMS Always in advance:
One copy, for one year $ 2 00
1 vi< copies, for one year 8 00
Eight copies, for one year 12 00
SUPERB PREMIUM ENGRAVING!
Svery person getting up a club of five at $1.60 each, or eight at $1.50 each, will
1 > entitled to an extra copy of the Magazine, for 1872, and also to a copy of the
r;:nerb parlor mezzotint (size 24 inches by 18), " Five Times One To-Day," which,
a: ;i store, would cost four dollars.
Xg- Specimens sent gratis, to those wishing to get up Clubs.
Address,
CHARLES J. PETERSON,
L No. 30G Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH'S WORKS.
Each Work is complete in one large duodecimo volume,
A NOBLE LORD. Sequel to " The Lost Heir of Linlithgow."
TEE LOST HEIR OF LINLITHGOW.
THE FAMILY DOOM; or, THE SIN OF A COUNTESS.
THE MAIDEN WIDO W. Sequel to " The Family Doom."
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE.
THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS.
THE MOTHER-IN-LAW.
THE DESERTED WIFE.
THE CHANGED BRIDES.
THE BRIDE'S FATE. SEQUEL TO CHANGED BRIDES.
TRIED FOR HER LIFE. A Sequel to "Cruel as the Grave."
THE BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN.
THE GIPSY'S PROPHECY.
THE FORTUNE SEEKER.
THE LOST HEIRESS.
THE CHRISTMAS GUEST.
THE BRIDAL E VE.
THE THREE BEAUTIES.
FAIR PLAY; OR, THE TEST OF THE LONE ISLE.
HOW HE WON HER. SE Q UEL TO ' ' FAIR PLA Y."
THE FATAL MARRIAGE.
THE HAUNTED HOMESTEAD.
LOVE'S LABOR WON.
THE MISSING BRIDE.
LADY OF THE ISLE.
THE WIFE'S VICTORY.
THE TWO SISTERS.
FALLEN PRIDE; OR, THE MOUNTAIN GIRL'S LOVE.
INDIA; OR, THE PEARL OF PEARL RIVER.
VIVIA; OR, THE SECRET OF POWER.
THE CURSE OF CLIFTON.
THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER.
THE WIDOW'S SON.
ALL WORTH ABBEY.
RETRIBUTION.
Price of each, $1.75 in Cloth ; or $1.50 in Paper Cover.
Above books are for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any or
all of the above books will be sent to any one, to any place,
postage pro-paid, on receipt of their price by the Publishers,
T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
3U6 CIIJJSTXL-T STKEET, PUILAD&LFUIA, PA.
9