A 
 
 FATAL RESEMBLANCE 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 EDWARD ELLEKTON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 F. P. LENNON 
 
 19 ASTOR PLACE 
 
 1885 
 
COPYRIGHTED BY 
 
 F. P. LENNON, 
 
 1885. 
 
 8TETTINER, LAMBERT 4 CO., 
 129 * 131 CROSBY ST., NEW YORK. 
 
 1AA.VA 
 
L? F3 
 
 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 i. 
 
 IN a little nook among the Cat-skill Mountains, where 
 fifty years ago one might least expect to find a residence, 
 comparatively inaccessible as the mountains were then, 
 there stood an old stone farm-house. Recent coats of 
 whitewash had daubed the exterior walls, but* in many 
 places the action of the weather had turned the white to 
 a dirty gray and otherwise mottled the primitive-looking 
 building. 
 
 A little distance from the house was a very roughly 
 built barn, around which, on this bright summer after 
 noon of 1835, straggled a couple of cows. Beyond lay 
 a patch of ground sparsely cultivated, owing probably to 
 the sterility of the soil, and a little farther away still 
 were the many-seried trees of an extensive wood. In 
 the background rose lofty mountains, now so covered by 
 a blue misty haze that one could hardly tell where the 
 mountains ended and the sky began. 
 
 There was a pleasant, restful look about the scene, and 
 a drowsiness that might lull one to delightful uncon 
 sciousness, were it not for the advent of a lively lit 
 tle girl from the farm-house. She came out skipping 
 and singing, and twirling her calico sun-bonnet round her 
 hand instead of putting it on, and looking with her 
 streaming hair, bright face, and step that hardly touched 
 the ground, as if she might be some little mountain 
 
2 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 sprite who only showed herself in the sunshine. Skip 
 ping and singing, she took her way to the wood. Evi 
 dently it was no new nor fearful place to her. The 
 close ranks of the trees and the heavy shade of the inte 
 rior that might have daunted older and bolder hearts, had 
 no terror for her young confidence. 
 
 She penetrated the dark recesses, springing from emi 
 nence to eminence, where the ground between some of 
 the trees rose into hillocks, and she pushed aside and 
 sometimes it needed all her tiny strength the young 
 brandies that, having twined, obstructed her path. Occa 
 sionally she stopped to watch the ugly hoptoads that, 
 scared at her approach, jumped by her, and to look at 
 some great, long-legged insect making its toilsome journey 
 up a tree. 
 
 " How sorry I am for you," she said in one of those 
 halts, " for I guess you must have been naughty, and God 
 turned you from birds and butterflies into these ugly 
 things. Just like the little girl that Dyke read about to me 
 the other night, how the fairy turned her into a frog. He 
 said it wasn t a true story, but it seems like as if it might 
 be true, for folks that ain t good ought to be turned into 
 ugly things. Try and be good, now, poor toads and bugs, 
 and maybe God ll turn you back." 
 
 With which salutary advice she resumed her way. 
 Arriving at one part of the wood where the trees seemed 
 of larger trunk and higher growth than any of the others, 
 she paused as if she had reached the end of her journey. 
 
 Far above her through the leaves shone a little patch of 
 bright blue sky, while all about her was that intense soli 
 tude so oppressive to some natures. Neither the twitter- 
 ering of a bird nor the rustling of a leaf broke the silence, 
 and after she had stood as if waiting for some sound, she 
 put her little brown hand on the nearest tree, and said to 
 it affectionately : 
 
 " I couldn t come out here this morning because Meg was 
 sick, and Dyke asked me not to leave her. But I can 
 stay with you this afternoon, and I ve lots to tell you, and 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 3 
 
 a story besides the story that Dyke read to me last night 
 about a wicked old Roman king. I ll tell it all to you, 
 only first I must speak to the other trees." 
 
 She went about to three or four of the stately maples, 
 patting their trunks affectionately, and telling them she 
 was glad they were so well and had so many bright green 
 leaves, to which it is needless to say the trees listened in 
 silence. 
 
 As if impressed by that silence herself, when she re 
 turned to the tree she had addressed first, instead of be 
 ginning to impart her promised information, she stood 
 looking up to the patch of sky that beamed down upon 
 her blue and clear. 
 
 " O trees, if you could only speak ! " she said at length, 
 " wouldn t you have a lot to tell way up there so high, 
 it seems as if God was always talking to you. I wonder 
 if He ever lets you see heaven that Meg tells me about ? 
 I d like to be a squirrel or some of them climbing things, 
 and then I d live on the top of the highest tree I could 
 find, and so I d hear, too, what God says to you all." 
 
 A breeze was beginning to rustle the leaves. The im 
 aginative child immediately interpreted it to mean a 
 clamor from the trees for her promised news. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I ll tell you," she said, as if in haste to allay 
 their impatience. 
 
 " Meg got a letter yesterday. Old farmer Brown, com 
 ing up from the village, brought it, and I think it made 
 her awful sad, for she and Dyke talked about it, but they 
 didn t let me hear ; only Dyke told me this morning that 
 to-morrow we re all going down to Barrytown to see 
 some elegant place where there s a bigger family of trees 
 than all of you are, and lots of flowers. So, to-morrow 
 I won t be here, nor maybe the next day ; but I ll prom 
 ise that I won t like any of the Barrytown trees as well 
 as I do all of you. And now I ll tell you the story that 
 Dyke read." 
 
 And she told the story ; the story of the old Roman 
 emperor who did nothing more useful than delight the 
 
4: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 people with magnificent shows, and who met the end of 
 most of the Roman emperors, assassination. She told it 
 all in her simple way, but with a correctness of detail 
 and incident most creditable to the instruction of Dyke 
 (whoever he was), and that would have delighted the 
 hearts of our modern teachers of history. Nor did she 
 end with the conclusion of her tale, but delivered a hom 
 ily (most probably Dyke s) on the deserved end of such 
 useless lives. 
 
 Evidently this child of the mountains was neglected 
 neither in morals nor the sciences, and as one looked at 
 her tiny size, and wondered whether she had yet reached 
 the age of seven, and saw her wide, full, open brow and 
 sparkling eyes, one was still more inclined to wonder 
 that such premature intelligence should be united with 
 such a simple and yet such an ardent imagination. 
 
 The shadows had begun to lengthen and the patch of 
 sky to grow dark, and warned by these signs that it was 
 time to return, she made haste to kiss the trees as she had 
 promised to do, and flinging back many a childish good- 
 by, she retraced her steps through the wood. 
 
 II. 
 
 The next morning, so early that the sun had not time 
 to send his beams far down the mountains, and the in 
 mates of the barn-yard looked as if even they had been 
 rather unduly aroused, an awkward-looking, lumbering 
 wagon, drawn by a horse so superior in aspect to the ve 
 hicle that it seemed a sort of burlesque to put them to 
 gether, waited before the door of the little mottled farm 
 house. 
 
 In a few minutes there came out of the house the little 
 girl whose acquaintance we have already made, and by her 
 side was a florid faced, good-natured looking woman of 
 middle age. At the same time there came from the di 
 rection of the barn a country-looking youth of eighteen. 
 He was country-looking in the fact that his face had the 
 
A FATAL RKSEMBLAKCE. 5 
 
 sunburnt hue of country men, Ids hands the large and 
 chubby size produced by country work, and his clothes a 
 certain home-spun, rustic look. 
 
 A closer observation of his features and his manner, 
 as he assisted his companions to places in the wagon, re 
 vealed some things that were not common to coarse coun 
 try lads. There was a native grace about his movements 
 that could only come from some cultivation of mind, and 
 an ingenuousness and nobility of countenance indicative 
 of a soul that had far higher aspirations than the breed 
 of cows or the price of pigs. 
 
 One of his companions we have already described, and 
 save that her hair and much of her face were concealed 
 by a large close bonnet, she looked the same as she did 
 on the preceding day ; the other companion, the woman, 
 had nothing to distinguish her from the rest of her class, 
 unless it might be a striking honesty of countenance. 
 
 The drive down the picturesque mountain road, fre 
 quently by the side of steep and fearful-looking ravines, 
 and at other times by thick growths of vegetation that in 
 the gloaming might be construed into grotesque figures, 
 was one to be enjoyed by even those to whom it was no 
 novelty. And the eyes of the little girl, looking out with 
 witching brightness from her close protruding bonnet, 
 sparkled with delight at every new scene, and her little 
 tongue hardly ceased from asking questions long enough 
 to give Dyke a breathing spell. But he was nothing loth 
 to answer her; indeed, it seemed to be as much pleasure 
 to him to reply as it was to her to inquire, and he often 
 turned round to look lovingly at the eager face. 
 
 They passed but few houses, and these at long distances 
 apart, until they had ridden many miles, and left the 
 stony mountain road far behind them ; then they came to 
 straggling settlements, which were dignified by the name 
 of villages, and rode through irregular openings that the 
 few residents expected to become streets by-and-by ; and 
 sometimes they came upon open-mouthed, curiously- 
 staring rustic people, who looked as wonderingly as if a 
 
6 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 one-horse country wagon containing three people was a 
 novelty to them. At length, they stopped to eat the 
 bountiful lunch Meg had provided, and to feed the horse 
 from the bag of fodder carried in the back of the wagon, 
 and to water him from a little bubbling stream near, in 
 all of which proceedings the child took as much interest 
 as Dyke did. 
 
 The remainder of the drive for an hour or two was 
 along a hot, unshaded road, and Meg s substantial size and 
 dark stuff dress, attracting the heat most uncomfortably, 
 sent that good soul into a teem of perspiration, drawing 
 from her at the same time a volley of such ejaculations as : 
 
 " Bless me, but it s hot ! It was unconscionable of Mr. 
 Edgar to send for us such a day as this. I ll melt, I know 
 I shall." 
 
 Dyke was equally hot, to judge from his moist face, 
 but he made no complaint, and the little girl, though 
 looking hot also, was still too interested in objects about 
 her to mind that slight discomfort. 
 
 Meg at length succumbed to sleep, and Dyke halted 
 to adjust her so that the jolting of the wagon would not 
 pitch her about, and possibly throw her out, and then he 
 took the little girl on the seat with himself and drove on. 
 She seemed to have tired of questioning, and from her 
 silence he thought she too was asleep, but as often as he 
 stooped and looked under her bonnet her eyes were wide 
 open. 
 
 "What s the matter?" he said at last, a little puzzled 
 by this unusual behavior. " Wha,t makes you so quiet ? " 
 
 " Because I was thinking of that Mr. Edgar we re 
 going to see. How funny that his name is just like mine. 
 Is he anything like that big dark man that came to see 
 Meg ever so long ago ? " 
 
 " What a memory you have ! " answered Dyke. 
 " Why, that s three years ago, when you were the littlest 
 bit of a tot. Yes ; it s the same gentleman, but we won t 
 mind about him now until we get to his place. Let us 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 7 
 
 talk about the birds and the squirrels. See ! there is a 
 little red fellow now running along that fence." 
 
 And the child, immediately interested, forgot her for 
 mer inquiry ; a f orgetf ulness that Dyke fostered by be 
 ginning immediately a story about the chipmunks. 
 
 By that time they had reached the place where a lum 
 bering boat was to take them across the river, and as 
 there was barely room for Dyke s horse and vehicle on 
 the rough, narrow deck, necessitating especial care on his 
 part to prevent an accident, Meg was aroused from her 
 nap, in order to be placed with her little charge in safer 
 quarters in another part of the boat. When they arrived 
 at the opposite side, the sun had turned, and a delightful 
 breeze was springing up ; moreover, the rest of their 
 way lay through a heavily shaded road, and the child was 
 in ecstasies with the great old trees that loomed up on 
 each side of her. 
 
 Dyke had to tell her their names, and how many years 
 he thought they were growing, and whether the branches 
 that were extended, as if to meet other branches, did not 
 do so out of affection, all of which questions Dyke an 
 swered very patiently, and to the best of his ability. 
 
 Meg, quite refreshed by the cool breeze, adjusted her 
 costume, and expressed her approval of the change in the 
 weather, and by that time they had arrived at the en 
 trance of a private carriage road, at the end of which, 
 half embowered in trees, they caught occasional glimpses 
 of a large stone house. 
 
 III. 
 
 Dyke was in some uncertainty about the propriety of 
 taking his lumbering vehicle any further, and he was 
 debating with himself whether it would not be better to 
 have his companions alight and walk up to the house, 
 when a respectable, though country-looking man appeared, 
 issuing from a small dwelling just at the entrance to the 
 road. 
 
8 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " You re the people that s coming to see Mr. Edgar, 
 aren t you? " he said, going confidently up to Dyke ; be 
 ing answered in the affirmative, he continued : 
 
 " Get right down, and come into my house here ; I m 
 Mr. Edgar s gatekeeper. He told me lie was expecting 
 you, and you can make yourself at home with my wife 
 until you rest a bit ; then she ll show you up to the house. 
 I ll take care of your horse," as Dyke stopped to pat the 
 animal. 
 
 The offer was gladly accepted, and Meg took a great 
 deal of pains in smoothing out the little girl s hair, and 
 brushing down her somewhat rumpled dress, in order to 
 make her, as she herself expressed it, " at her prettiest." 
 "For," she said, turning to Dyke, u there s no knowing 
 what may happen, and it s our duty to bring things around 
 if we can." 
 
 But Dyko looked troubled and made no reply. The 
 gatekeeper s wife conducted them to the house, the 
 largest and the handsomest dwelling the little girl had 
 ever seen, and she locked with wonder at the furniture, 
 so different from what she was accustomed to see in her 
 simple mountain home. Dyke also was a little curious 
 and interested, but Meg acted as if such elegance was not 
 at all unfamiliar. 
 
 Mr. Edgar came into the parlor to see them, and the 
 child s description of " a big dark man " exactly described 
 him. He was a big, dark man, so tall and straight and 
 lithe that his height seemed even greater than the six 
 feet it must have been ; and his complexion, eyes, and 
 hair were swarthy enough to have justified the supposi 
 tion of Indian blood in his veins. He bowed, and smiled 
 at his visitors, showing the gleam of large, even, and ex 
 quisitely white teeth through his moustache, and crossing 
 to the little girl, he said : 
 
 " You have grown very much since I saw you last ;" 
 then he paused, during which his eyes went sharply all 
 over her little person. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 9 
 
 " What is this your name is ? " he asked, somewhat 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Ned Edgar," said the child confidently. 
 
 The gentleman s face lost its pleasant expression, and 
 he turned with a displeased look toward Meg, who has 
 tened to answer witli a courtesy : 
 
 " She likes to be called Ned, sir, and I didn t think it 
 was any harm to indulge her." 
 
 " Perhaps not a while ago, but she is getting too big to 
 be called by a boy s name now. Give me your name pro 
 perly, my child." 
 
 All the little sprite s self-will was aroused. "With her 
 impulsive, childish reasoning she could see no right of 
 this dark stranger to interfere with her privileges. Dyke, 
 who had the most right of anybody, never objected to 
 her boy s name, and she certainly was not going to give 
 it up to please this man. So, with all her temper in her 
 eyes, she answered : 
 
 " My name is just what I told you, Ned Edgar. Meg 
 says my mother wanted me called Ned, because her 
 brother that she loved so was Ned, and I won t be any 
 thing else," stamping her tiny foot. 
 
 " Ah ! " the gentleman said, turning his face away ami 
 retreating, while Meg, having recovered from her horrified 
 astonishment both at the child s outspokenness and at her 
 temper, rushed to her, and almost implored her to tell the 
 gentleman that her name was Edna. 
 
 " And please don t mind her temper, sir," apologized 
 Meg ; " she ll be sorry for it in a minute, and ready to 
 beg your pardon." 
 
 " Oh, it makes no difference," said Mr. Edgar coldly, 
 " but I would like to see this young man for a few min 
 utes," turning to Dyke, and then he led the way to an 
 other room, beginning abruptly when he had taken a seat, 
 and motioned the lad to another : 
 
 " You are the nephew of this woman who is with you, 
 are you not \ " 
 
 " Yes ; her sister s son," was the reply. 
 
10 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " And you are acquainted with all the circumstances of 
 that child s birth and life ? " 
 
 " I have heard them," was the brief response. 
 
 " And how much does the child know about herself ? " 
 The swarthy face had something like a blush for a mo 
 ment, as it bent with involuntary eagerness toward the 
 young man. 
 
 " Nothing ; save that my aunt and I love her as dearly 
 as though she were truly our flesh and blood." 
 
 In proportion as the swarthy face grew flushed and 
 eager, Dyke s open countenance became calm and deter 
 mined. 
 
 " And if this child should be left with you, should in 
 deed always remain unclaimed, what then?" 
 
 Dyke rose. 
 
 " Should such be the case, I would hail it as a fourfold 
 blessing. My arms are strong enough to work for her, 
 and all that I need to give newer and better strength to 
 them is the assurance that she never will be claimed." 
 
 Mr. Edgar also rose, but instead of replying he began 
 to pace the room. Sometimes he covered his face with 
 his hands as he walked, and again he folded his arms and 
 looked before him with the air of one in deep mental dis 
 tress. He stopped at length. 
 
 " It might be best for myself if I could give you such 
 an assurance, but I dare not do it ; the feeling here," 
 striking his breast, " will not permit me to do so. I could 
 curse him who has left me in such horrid doubt." 
 
 For an instant his face became savage-looking ; then, 
 as the expression vanished, he continued : 
 
 " I sent for you because I had not the time to go to 
 you, and I wanted to see Edna before I started on a long 
 journey abroad. I am almost convinced that she is not 
 my child, and yet I cannot promise you that my feelings 
 will not change, and that I shall not claim her as my 
 daughter some day. However, until that day comes, 
 until I have proof that she is my own, you may continue 
 to have the care of her, and I shall see that you are paid 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 11 
 
 a much larger sum quarterly than you have been here 
 tofore." 
 
 Dyke s voice was a little tremulous : 
 
 " So, Mr. Edgar ; I cannot accept your offer. The 
 little farm which we have upon the mountain affords 
 sufficient support for us now, and as the care of Ned or 
 Edna," slightly blushing because he had used the mascu 
 line diminutive, "is a work of love, no money can pay 
 us. So, if you insist on our acceptance of money, we 
 must insist on resigning the care of the child." 
 
 There was no gainsaying his firm determination, and 
 Mr. Edgar, after a searching look at him, said with a half 
 
 sigh : 
 
 " Well, let it be so." 
 
 IY. 
 
 Fifty years prior to the time at which our story opens, 
 there resided in one of the country districts of England 
 a gentleman by the name of Edgar. Haughty and re 
 served, almost to moroseness, he seemed to derive little 
 enjoyment from the vast wealth bequeathed to him as the 
 sole remaining scion of a once titled family, further than 
 was afforded by the collection of valuable paintings and 
 statuary. He was always negotiating for the purchase of 
 some celebrated work, and every apartment in the baronial- 
 like mansion contained more than one piece of rare and 
 exquisite workmanship. 
 
 How he spared sufficient time from his beloved occupa 
 tion to woo and marry a lady from a neighboring district 
 puzzled his few friends, and they were hardly surprised 
 at the rumors shortly after circulated that the lady was 
 not happy in her new position. Be that as it may, she 
 died in childbirth, leaving to her haughty lord and master 
 sturdy twin-sons. Something of the father showed itself 
 then, and for a time it seemed as if the springs of parental 
 tenderness had swallowed up the moroseness and taci 
 turnity that had marked his former life; but, as the boys 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 frew up, and were away for long periods at college, the 
 andsome, middle-aged gentleman returned to all his 
 former ways. 
 
 The boys, though twins, were as unlike each other in 
 disposition as it was possible for brothers to be. Edward, 
 the elder, though something like his father in pride and 
 reserve of character had withal a frankness and gene 
 rosity that endeared him to many. Henry, the younger, 
 developed all the qualities of a dare-devil and bravado, 
 without the traits which sometimes go far to redeem such 
 a character. There was also a trickiness in his nature 
 peculiarly repulsive and exasperating to his brother. So 
 they grew to have little in common, and at length to 
 entertain for each other a bitter hatred. When they came 
 home, the country about was speedily full of accounts of 
 Henry s rollicking actions. Now it was a merry party of 
 companions like himself who w r ent tearing over the 
 country at midnight, and who often left disagreeable evi 
 dences of their raid. Again, it was some hunt that 
 wantonly trespassed on private grounds and brought 
 exasperated rustic gentlemen to remonstrate with the 
 father of the wild young man. But Mr. Edgar, with all 
 his sternness, could neither subdue nor frighten that 
 headstrong, wayward character, and at length, after re 
 peated acts tli at had the whole district in arms, he settled 
 a meagre allowance upon his younger son, and thence 
 forward renounced all relationship with him. . The young 
 man was forbidden ever to step across the threshold of 
 his father s home. 
 
 He seemed to take the edict quietly enough, betraying 
 neither remorse for his conduct, nor affection for his 
 relatives. But, to a skilled observer, there was a look in 
 his dark eyes and about his handsome mouth which be 
 trayed a secret, yet deep and bitter vindictiveness. 
 
 To his brother, who extended his hand, willing and 
 wishing to part friends, he presented a most scowling 
 countenance, and dashing away the proffered hand, he 
 hissed : 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 13 
 
 " Never; you are not my brother! " 
 
 A little while after, Edward Edgar married, entirely 
 to his father s satisfaction ; and, as if to bring disgrace on 
 the family name, his brother married at the same time the 
 pretty daughter of a farm hand, but one of whom report 
 spoke in a light and no guiltless manner. 
 
 With strange similarity, both wives gave birth at the 
 same time, each to a daughter, and Henry deferred the 
 christening of his child until he should learn the name of 
 his brother s babe. 
 
 Then he hastened to have his offspring also baptized 
 Edna. 
 
 Thus, there were two Edna Edgars not three miles 
 apart ; but, while one had elegant attendance and the 
 most lavish parental love, the other had little better than 
 abject poverty Henry s allowance being hardly sufficient 
 to support his debauches and love, deep enough from 
 the young, illiterate mother, but little more than indiffer 
 ence on the part of the dissipated father. 
 
 The wealthy Mrs. Edgar died when her babe was a week 
 old ; and before another week had elapsed, her child was 
 stolen stolen from the mansion and from the very arms 
 of its nurse. The latter was found in the morning in 
 sensible from the administration of some drug ; and 
 when consciousness was restored, she was so stunned by 
 fright as to be able to tell only an incoherent story about 
 the sudden entrance into the nursery, late the preceding 
 night, of a man who looked like a gypsy, and of his violent 
 application of something to her face, while she was nurs 
 ing her little charge. 
 
 Suspicion settled immediately upon the gypsies who 
 had an encampment in the vicinity, and a thorough search 
 was made, but without success. Singularly enough, 
 Edward Edgar never suspected his brother of the deed ; 
 and while the whole country about was excited and dis 
 mayed, and sympathized with the anguish of the bereaved 
 father, not a syllable connected Henry Edgar s name with 
 the cruel and daring action ; not until he himself sent 
 
14: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 word to his brother that the missing infant was in his 
 house. 
 
 Edward Edgar hurried to the poor abode, there to be 
 confronted with two infants so exactly alike that he could 
 not distinguish his own, and to be told by Henry that it 
 was lie who had stolen the child, and that he knew the 
 babes apart, having put a hidden mark 011 the one he had 
 stolen ; but that he would see his brother infernally con 
 demned before he would tell him which was his own, or 
 by what means he ha,d been enabled to put upon the child 
 letters letters that he alone could reproduce. He further 
 r,a : d that the letters were the initials of her own name, 
 E. E., but he refused to say upon what part of the infant 
 he had marked them. 
 
 Not even the threat of a prosecution for his crime 
 could move him. He was just as ready to go to prison 
 as to go anvwhere else/ he said defiantly, and Edward 
 Edgar shrank from the shocking publicity that must be en 
 tailed by a criminal prosecution of his own and only 
 brother. His brother s wife, compelled to abject subjuga 
 tion by her husband, was quite as non-committal, and she 
 was so well instructed that the closest observation failed 
 to detect in her a sign that might betray her knowledge ; 
 she hung over both infants alike, and never pressed one to 
 her heart that she did not lavisii on the other the same 
 caress. 
 
 There seemed to be but one way out of the agonizing 
 dilemma, and that was suggested by faithful Meg Standish 
 for Mr. Edgar to take both the babes, and as they grew, 
 something might be developed which would enable him 
 to tell his own. 
 
 He determined to follow the advice, and Henry con 
 sented to yield the two children, provided that he should 
 receive in return a liberal amount of money. Mr. Edgar 
 acceded to the demand, but he stipulated for legal posses 
 sion of the infants, in order that the future might be se 
 cured from any claim of Henry Edgar or his wife. 
 
 To that demand, after some deliberation which was due 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE . 15 
 
 perchance to the imploring look of the abjectly obedient 
 wife, Henry Edgar also consented, and the necessary legal 
 forms being complied with, the two babes were transferred 
 to Mr. Edgar s grand home. 
 
 Both Mr. Edgar and Meg Standish watched closely tho 
 parting of the young mother with the children, feeling 
 that at such a time some instinct of maternity must betray 
 itself. But her husband never left her side for an instant, 
 and under his scowling, determined look, she dared not 
 show a motion other than he had commanded. She hug 
 ged and cried over both little ones equally, but that was 
 all ; and the very next week her husband left England, 
 taking her with him, but where he went no one knew. 
 
 Nurses from the continent were procured for the chil 
 dren, and Meg set all her wits and all her affection to work 
 to discover in which one there might be such evidence of 
 the lovable disposition of her own young mistress as must 
 establish beyond a doubt the identity of Mr. Edward s child. 
 In the course of the year, when the little ones gradually 
 began to develop physical differences by which they could 
 be distinguished, as well as differences in their infantile 
 dispositions, faithful Meg fancied she had quite discovered 
 which was the child of her master, and her warm heart went 
 out to the little one they called " Eddie," while Mr. Edgar, 
 singularly enough, seemed to think that the other babe, 
 who was called Edna, was his. His father also inclined to 
 that fancy, but as, since the death of his daughter-in-law, 
 to whom he was much attached, he seemed to be somewhat 
 imbecile, Meg paid little attention to his preference. 
 
 Strange and miserable were the feelings that warred in 
 young Edward Edgar s breast. Almost convinced that 
 Edna was his child, and at the same time fearful that, after 
 the lapse of years, he might tind that he had been lavishing 
 his affection on the offspring of a low woman of doubtful 
 reputation, hs came at length to permit himself no attach 
 ment to either. 
 
 When the children w T ere two years old, some property 
 in America was bequeathed to Mr. Edward Edgar. The 
 
16 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 bequest, however, required his presence on the spot, and 
 as his father was fast sinking, he waited only his death to 
 make the journey, determining to place the children, be 
 fore he went, under suitable but separate care. He de 
 sired to separate them because he would not have his child 
 the companion of the daughter of such a woman as his 
 brother s wife. 
 
 " And where will you send them ? " asked Meg, her 
 heart in her month lest the child she loved should be 
 sent from her care. 
 
 " To institutions probably, if I can find any that will 
 take the charge of such young children." 
 
 The woman s honest face was aglow. " You may do 
 what you like with Edna, for there s some at about her 
 that I can iia take to, and that tells me she is none o 
 yourn, Mr. Edward. But Eddie you ll na take from me. 
 She has her mother s own turns wi her, and it s past me 
 comprehension that you don t see them. Let me keep her, 
 Mr. Edward, and I ll take her wi me to America, to me 
 sister that s been writin for me this mony a month. She 
 has a farm there, somewhere, and a bit o money saved be 
 sides, and I m not without me own savings. " So Eddie 11 
 be taken good care on, and she ll have the love that they 
 wouldn t gie her in an iiistitootion." 
 
 The gentleman yielded, and on the evening of the 
 same day old Mr. Edgar died. His will, made at the time 
 that he discarded his younger son, and never subsequently 
 altered, gave everything to the elder, who, immediately 
 after the interment of his father, placed the Edna that he 
 deemed to be his own child in a sort of nursery in the 
 suburbs of London, and allowed the other to accompany 
 Meg. Then he went to America, to Barrytown, where 
 was situated the property that had been bequeathed him. 
 
 There seemed to be something in his new life that 
 pleased and in a measure satisfied him, for he continued 
 to make his home in Barrytown. As if in projecting and 
 supervising improvements on the estate, he was lulled 
 into temporary f orgetf ulness of his internal horrid strug- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 17 
 
 gle a struggle to master the yearning of liis heart for the 
 companionship of his child. He had loved his beautiful 
 young wife with an intensity of which only strong and stern 
 natures are capable, and his soul constantly longed to pos 
 sess something that was hers. But his fear of making a 
 mistake with regard to the children, and his utter re 
 pugnance to loving the child of that brother whom he now 
 fiercely hated, was equally strong. So while one feeling 
 made him fear to be utterly indifferent to Meg s little 
 charge, the other permitted him to do no more than see 
 that there was paid for her care a fair sum quarterly, and 
 to visit her once in her mountain home. She was four years 
 old at the time, and pretty and cunning enough to tempt 
 him to kiss her warmly. But he could not divest himself 
 of the idea that she was his brother s child, and so, much 
 to Meg s secret indignation, he suffered his demeanor to 
 betray nothing more than the passing interest of a 
 stranger. 
 
 He asked all sorts of questions about the little moun 
 tain farm, ascertaining that Meg and her nephew, with the 
 assistance of a hired man, were alone in its managment, 
 Meg s sister having died ; and he seemed particularly inter 
 ested in Dyke, then a lad of seventeen. The latter, for a 
 country boy, had enjoyed unusual advantages of education, 
 being under the tuition from his childhood of an erratic 
 but well educated man who, making his home with some 
 relatives in the village of Saugerties, turned an honest 
 penny by giving lessons in the " three r s" to the children 
 of his scattered neighbors. In Dyke whose correct name 
 was Dykard Button he took a lively interest, not only 
 teaching him the three famous rudiments, but ably impart 
 ing much instruction in the higher branches. He lent his 
 own choice books to the lad when he was able to read 
 them, and that was how Dyke was enabled to read for 
 Edna s, or as she delighted to be called, u Ned s " mature 
 delectation such tales as had Roman emperors for their 
 heroes. 
 
 Perchance the well-informed, much-travelled, and aris- 
 
18 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 tocratic gentleman was amazed to find such mental ability 
 under so rustic a guise, and that he could not help admir 
 ing the manliness of the lad. Be that as it may, he paid 
 Dyke so much attention in the matter of respectful in 
 quiries about the youth s daily avocations, that Meg was 
 proud and happy, and almost forgave his indifference to 
 her little charge. 
 
 After this mountain visit, Mr. Edgar returned to his 
 JBarrytown estate, and lived for three years longer in 
 strange seclusion. His neighbors were not many, and a 
 little too far removed from him to give his life and habits 
 the scrutiny they especially the unmarried female portion 
 would like to have done. They believed him to be a child 
 less widower, and they would have extended to him their 
 heartiest hospitality, but all their advances were received 
 with a hauteur which repelled any future effort. 
 
 He heard at regular intervals from those who had 
 charge of the child he was almost convinced was his own, 
 and every letter spoke of her growing beauty and intelli 
 gence. She knew her letters and could read a little, but the 
 nursery, being only for very young children, afforded no 
 further educational facilities, and it was necessary to trans 
 fer h jr to some school. Edgar determined to attend to the 
 matter in person, and it was in consequence of this reso 
 lution formed in haste,, and leaving little time to prepare 
 for his departure, that he wrote to have Ned brought from 
 her mountain home to visit him. 
 
 He would see her before going, in order to compare 
 her with the other Edna whom he would also shortly see; 
 hence the cause for the little one s journey to Barrytown. 
 
 Y. 
 
 As Mr. Edgar would leave for New York on the ensu 
 ing afternoon, Meg resolved to depart the next morning, 
 so that "Ned" had little time to explore the woods about 
 the estate, and to make the aquaintance of any of the trees, 
 as she longed to do. Her usual fancies were at work, and 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 19 
 
 not a rustle of the leaves that she heard from the open 
 window beside which she stood waiting for Meg to finish 
 her simple toilet, nor a twitter of the birds that reached 
 her in the early, sweet-scented morning air, but told her a 
 story as sweet and simple as her own little guileless 
 heart. 
 
 She yearned to be abroad among- all the alluring influ 
 ences, and calling to Meg that she could wait no longer, 
 she darted from the room, down the broad stair, and 
 through the front entrance, which to her delight was 
 wide open. Along the path she skipped, clapping her 
 hands and singing to herself as she was accustomed to do 
 at home, and indeed with every evidence of forgetfulness 
 that she was anywhere but in her mountain woods. Sud 
 denly she came on the path which led to the garden, and 
 attracted by the scent of the flowers that every breeze 
 wafted to her with an overwhelming sense of odorous - 
 ness, she pursued her way until she came upon great, 
 variegated beds arranged in all sorts of shapes, and nes 
 tling at the foot of hills, and in the midst of greenhouses, 
 through whose crystal panes were seen tall foreign exotics. 
 
 She had never seen any but wild flowers, and now the 
 beauty and variety of those before her overwhelmed her 
 for a moment. Then, not daring to pick any, she flung her 
 self on her knees beside one of the beds, and took long in 
 halations of the fragrance. 
 
 " You dear things," she said, "how God must love you 
 when He makes you so pretty." It was her first and usual 
 thought ; pretty things were God s favorites, and she con 
 tinued to apostrophize them in her quaint way, until she 
 was startled by a deep voice saying behind her: 
 
 " Wouldn t you like to pick some of the flowers? " 
 
 It was Mr. Edgar, big and dark as he was yesterday, and 
 very much out of " Ned s" good opinion because of his 
 unwarrantable interference with her name. But Meg had 
 talked to her a long time about the matter, and had seemed 
 to feel so badly because of "Ned s " temper before the gen 
 tleman, that the child with her usual impulsiveness had 
 
20 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 promised to ask Iris pardon the moment she saw him ; and 
 with much trepidation of heart she had waited for that 
 moment all the evening. But Mr. Edgar did not reappear. 
 Now, hard as it was, it seemed to be her bounden duty 
 to keep her promise to Meg, and, without waiting to let 
 her courage weaken, she rose, shook back her lose -flowing 
 black hair, and said a little tremuolusly : 
 
 " Meg said I was naughty to you yesterday, and that I 
 ought to ask your pardon. Please forgive me." 
 
 81ie held out her little brown hand, and looked up into 
 his face with a charming blending of confidence and can 
 dor in her own countenance. 
 
 He was touched in spite of himself, and for an instant 
 he fancied there was something in her expression which re 
 sembled his lamented wife, but the next moment he im 
 agined that he detected in her features the closest resem 
 blance to those of his hated brother, and he said half 
 coldly : "I forgive you ; and now you had better pick 
 your flowers, and go back to the house : they will want 
 you for breakfast." 
 
 He turned away, and the child, delightedly availing 
 herself of the permission, seemed to forget all about him. 
 
 Directly after breakfast, the party left for their moun 
 tain home, Mr. Edgar shaking hands with Meg and Dyke 
 and Ned, but not offering to kiss the latter a slight 
 which was most agreeable to the little one, for she had 
 a sort of fear of this big, dark man. 
 
 YI. 
 
 Two months had passed, and Farmer Brown coming up 
 from the village brought another letter to Meg Standish, 
 and this time the contents caused more exclamations from 
 Meg, and more private conversations with Dyke than the 
 former letter had done. 
 
 " What do you think he s driving at ? " she asked of her 
 nephew, when for the third time the two privately dis 
 cussed the contents of the epistle. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 21 
 
 " He s driving at one thing," answered Dyke gloomily, 
 " though perhaps he s not aware of it himself ." 
 
 "And what s that ? " asked Meg, mopping her good- 
 natured face with her apron, and drawing closer to her 
 nephew in her eagerness to hear. 
 
 " To take the child away from us altogether, for it will 
 come to that in the end. It s fear that c !^"ed after all may 
 be his own that is urging him to this step; else why should 
 he decide now to give her equal advantages with the other 
 child ? You told me, Aunt Meg, how bitter he was in his 
 determination not to have the children together ; yet here 
 is his letter saying that the other little girl will be with us 
 in a fortnight, and that both are to go to that school in 
 Pennsylvania." 
 
 Meg s face was mopped again ; the intensity of thought 
 that the subject required brought the perspiration from 
 every pore. 
 
 " But isn t it wonderful," she said, " how he trusts you, 
 Dyke ; to think of his telling you to take the children to 
 that place, wherever it is ; there must be some at about you 
 that took wi him." 
 
 But Dyke was insensible to the compliment ; he was 
 thinking with a sorrowful heart of this sudden and unex 
 pected interference of Mr. Edgar just as he had begun 
 to be happy in the thought that .Ned would remain with 
 him and Meg for at least a long time to come. 
 
 " I had such plans for her," he said at length ; " I meant 
 to have given her all my knowledge, and then to send her 
 somewhere for accomplishments, but now he will do it 
 all, and in a little while she will be far removed from us." 
 
 " He s the best right to her, he s her father," put in 
 Meg. 
 
 " Yes ; but he doubts it," answered the young man 
 almost fiercely, " and he ll always doubt it, and perhaps let 
 his doubts cloud her life in one way or another. But we 
 gave her the love without stint or hindrance, and we 
 would always give it." 
 
 "Well, lad, don t thee take it so hard." In moments 
 
22 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 of deep feeling, Meg resumed the dialect of her childhood 
 which she had lost somewhat in her long residence among 
 the gentry. " It be ant so hard after all ; thee ll take the 
 child to school, and thee ll go to see her, and Mr. Edgar 11 
 let her spend her holidays wi us." 
 
 But though the youth did not again complain, he took 
 small comfort from his aunt s words. 
 
 Meg had many housewifely preparations to make for 
 the little stranger, and many replies to give to Ned s ques- 
 tionrco ncerning her, when she was informed that a little 
 girl of her own age and of her own name was coming 
 from England to visit her ; both Meg and Dyke, knowing 
 her passionate attachment to them, were afraid to tell her 
 at first that she was to go away to school with the little 
 girl. So Ned had the brightest anticipations of the visit, 
 and counted the days, and went frequently to her beloved 
 trees, and repeated to them all the news. 
 
 " Meg says she s a nice little girl, just as old as I am, 
 and it s so funny, with just my name, only they don t call her 
 Ned. Meg says when we were babies that she took care 
 of us, and that we both lived in an awful big, grand house ; 
 bigger and grander than the one down in Barry town that I 
 told you all about ; and this little girl s papa is that Mr. 
 Edgar that I told you about also, and he s sending her to 
 see me ; but he is not coining with her himself, he s sending 
 her out with people that s coming people that he knows ; 
 and whon she comes, I ll bring her out here, and show 
 her to all of you, dear maples, and pines, and cedars. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Edna arrived on her mountain visit. It was the after 
 noon of a lovely October day, when the sun s rays fell ge 
 nially on the side of the mountains, making deep shadows 
 above and below them, and lighting up with exquisite bril 
 liancy the half turned leaves of the adjacent woods. The 
 little stone house had a more picturesque look in this mel 
 low sunlight, and the inmates of the farm-yard seemed 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 23 
 
 to betray some curiosity as a covered, two-seated wagon 
 drawn by a sleek-looking, w T ell-f ed team drew up in front 
 of them, and the driver descended to assist the occupants to 
 alight. At the same time .Dyke, and Meg, and Ned ap 
 peared from the house, and in a little while the threo 
 travellers were made heartily welcome. As age has the 
 preference, we shall say a word first of the worthy couple 
 to whose care the little English girl was intrusted. 
 
 They were a well-to-do, honest, and not un intelligent 
 man and wife who had been born arid reared on Mr. Ed 
 gar s English estate ; their only child, a son, had emigrated 
 to America some years before, and having married and 
 settled in Albany, had frequently written for his parents 
 to join him. That fact became known to Mr. Edgar, and 
 as his restlessness w r as urging him to an immediate course 
 of travel in the East, he availed himself of the opportunity 
 to advise the couple to gratify their son s wish in order 
 at the same time to bring the little girl to Meg ; and as a 
 handsome sum of money accompanied his counsel, their 
 consent was soon won. 
 
 To Meg their arrival was like that of her own relations, 
 for she knew them well, and only regretted that she 
 could not induce them to stay with her a month. They 
 insisted upon leaving the very next morning. 
 
 Such was the good-hearted, simple couple in whose 
 trusty charge the little lady was placed, and now we shall 
 give her a due share of attention. Of course, she did not 
 remember Meg, and she hardly returned that good soul s 
 hearty caress, which coldness the latter attributed to 
 natural shyness. Nor was it to be expected that she 
 should remember Ned, or that the latter should remember 
 her, and when Meg in the exuberance of her own loving 
 heart bade them run into each other s arms, she stood 
 perfectly still, while Ned impulsively obeyed the request 
 and kissed the little stranger warmly. 
 
 " Let me look at you," said Meg, when they were all 
 in the house, and the plainly but expensively dressed 
 little girl had removed her bonnet and tippet. 
 
-24 
 
 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 She was the same height and build as Ned, with the 
 same color hair, and dark expressive eyes ; but the ex 
 pression of her face differed ; it lacked the sunny candor 
 which fascinated one in ]STed s countenance, and while the 
 formation of her features gave promise of much greater 
 beauty than her little cousin ever would possess, just now 
 the latter had the advantage. Meg looked earnestly for 
 some resemblance to Mr. Edgar or his brother ; there was 
 the same family likeness that her own little charge had, 
 but nothing more. 
 
 The couple had a letter from Mr. Edgar for Dyke, and 
 Dyke opened it to find a more complete detail of instruc 
 tions than the former missive had contained. 
 
 The arrangements for entering the little ones at school 
 had been completed so that Dyke would have no trouble 
 further than the journey with them ; and then the letter 
 went on to state that Mr. Edgar preferred the children to 
 be kept in ignorance of their relationship, and that he 
 had sent his own little daughter, as he styled Edna to 
 Meg s secret wrath to make this mountain visit first in 
 stead of placing her directly at school, in order that the 
 children might become acquainted with each other, and 
 so feel less the loneliness of entering an entirely strange 
 home. A fortnight he thought would make them suffi 
 ciently acquainted, and their school-life could begin about 
 the first of November. The same supply of clothes which 
 came with his own daughter, would be found in an ac 
 companying trunk for Meg s little charge. 
 
 Ned was impatient to show her young visitor all the 
 things in which she was herself so interested, but the 
 dainty little English miss betrayed a provoking want of 
 curiosity ; indeed, she seemed to be holding in constant 
 scorn all her surroundings, and when coaxed out to see 
 the milking, gathered her dress about her, and put her 
 hand to her nose. 
 
 " I don t like it," and " I m afraid of them ugly 
 things," pointing to the great, stupid-looking cows, and 
 recoiling from Ned who would have pulled her forward. 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 And the next morning, wlion. Ned in delighted and 
 eager haste conducted her companion to the wood, and 
 found that she positively refused to go farther, because of 
 her fears to enter such a dark-looking place, she was 
 ready to cry from disappointment. 
 
 " I told the trees you wore coming," she said, the tears 
 welling in her eyes, " and I d have shown you where tlio 
 squirrels have their nuts stored for the winter, and tlio 
 berries that come out for the little birds winter food, an 1 
 ever so much." 
 
 "Told the trees I was coming," said the English 
 Edna, who had lost everything but that first astonishing 
 sentence. " Do your trees here speak ? " 
 
 " No ; not like you and me," said Ned impatiently, 
 "but I understand them, and every time the leaves move 
 I think I hear them saying something." 
 
 The little English girl burst into a laugh. 
 
 " You re so awful funny," she said in answer to her 
 companion s look of indignant surprise. " I suppose it is 
 because you don t know much, living here with that 
 queer old woman, and that funny -looking man." 
 
 Ned s temper was aflame in an instant such daring 
 aspersions cast on her best beloved friends, and especially 
 Dyke who was her hero, were too much for her childish 
 human nature, and without pausing an instant she new at 
 her cousin, tearing her hair, and scratching and biting her 
 with all her strength. 
 
 The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Edna 
 was completely off her guard, and maddened by the pain, 
 as well as blinded by efforts directed at one and the same 
 time toward her hair, eyes, and cheeks, she could only 
 scream lustily, and endeavor to parry the strokes by thrust 
 ing out her arms. The two fell at last, and once down 
 Ned s rage seemed to have spent itself ; she rose, leaving 
 her companion still prostrate and screaming, and darting 
 into the wood, was soon hidden from sight. 
 
 The little English girl picked herself up, and truly she 
 was in sorry plight. Her dishevelled hair hung partly over 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLA.NCE. 
 
 her face, and was full of the dirt and tiny bits of brush 
 wood on which she had fallen, while one of her cheeks bore 
 swollen and bloody marks of the little virago s teeth. Her 
 dress was torn and dirty, and her whole person was sug 
 gestive of a most desperate encounter. 
 
 Screaming all the way, she returned to the house. 
 
 " Bless me soul ! " exclaimed Meg when she saw her, 
 and Dyke, brought by the screams from the barn, had his 
 fears aroused for Ned. 
 
 " Where is Ned ? " he asked, in his anxiety for her, los 
 ing concern for the child before him. 
 
 But Edna was in too violent a paroxysm of grief to an 
 swer, and it was not until Meg had soothed her that they 
 could get any coherent statement from her. Then the 
 blame was all upon Ned ; the artful child not telling a 
 word of her own provocation. 
 
 Dyke, who knew every shade in Ned s disposition, asked: 
 
 " Didn t you say something to her that made her fly at 
 you like that ? Just think what you said to her." 
 
 " I didn t say anything; only I wouldn t go into the 
 woods with her because it was so awful dark," and the 
 sobs continued. 
 
 " Where is she now 1 " asked Dyke. 
 
 " She s in the wood," spoken from the depths of Meg s 
 bosom. 
 
 Dyke hurried to the wood, while Meg thought within 
 herself, "Lawks me ! if this Is the way they re getting ac 
 quainted, what ll it be by-and-by ? " 
 
 Dyke sought the wood ; he knew Ned s haunts, for he 
 had often been there with her, and interpreted for her 
 her fondly imagined language of the trees. Now he found 
 her curled up at the foot of one, and sobbing as if her heart 
 would break. Her grief came from a twofold source, a 
 keen sense of Dyke s displeasure her fits of temper so 
 pained him and remorse for her savage treatment of the 
 little stranger. 
 
 " I ve been so wicked," she had sobbed out to the trees, 
 
A FATAL KKSEMBLANCE. 27 
 
 as she had thrown herself down, " and now God won t 
 love me, and you won t love me either." 
 
 Dyke took her up in his strong, young arms. 
 
 " Tell me, Ned," he said with that grave air which he 
 assumed whenever her temper broke out and which went 
 to her little heart, " tell me about it." 
 
 She put her arms around his neck, and rested her tear- 
 stained cheek against his, while she answered : 
 
 " Please forgive me, Dyke ; I ve been awful wicked. I 
 just went at her and scratched her and bit her, but I m 
 awful sorry, and I ll beg her pardon too, if you ll only 
 forgive me this time, Dyke." 
 
 " But tell me about it," he persisted gravely. " "What 
 caused you to do it ; did she say anything to you ? " 
 
 Ned was silent ; she had been taught by both Meg and 
 Dyke, but particularly Dyke, to tell the truth strictly, and 
 now did she do so, her answer must reflect upon Edna, and 
 also hurt Dyke s feelings. With all her anger against the 
 little visitor, in her natural generosity of heart, she could 
 not bear to say anything that would reflect upon her. 
 
 But Dyke persisted, and at length he won the whole 
 story, with an addition of : 
 
 " Don t mind it, Dyke ; she ll like you by-and-by, and 
 maybe she s real nice too after all. Don t you think so ? " 
 
 But Dyke reserved his opinion, and instead, talked in his 
 gentle, yet grave and impressive way of the dreadful fu 
 ture the child might be storing for herself in yielding to 
 those passionate bursts of temper. And she listened while 
 the tears streamed down her cheeks, and looked so pretty 
 and so pitiful that the lad could not refrain longer from 
 comforting her. 
 
 She walked with him to the house very soberly ; but 
 the moment that she caught sight of Edna, whoso tears had 
 long since been dried, and who was amusing herself watch 
 ing Meg s culinary operations, she darted to her, threw 
 her arms around her neck and burst out with : 
 
 " I m so sorry I hurt you ; I know I was awful wicked, 
 but please forgive me, and I ll try to love you very much," 
 
28 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 The humble and penitent speech was received with an 
 indifference that gave but little indication of much gen 
 erosity of heart. 
 
 YIIL. 
 
 We pass over the days which intervened before the de 
 parture of the children for school. The tears and sadness 
 of "Ned, " when she found that she was to be separated 
 from those she loved so well, not to mention her friends, 
 the trees, to whom, with touching simplicity, she poured 
 out the complaints of her heart. Nothing but Dyke s 
 promise to bring her home for every holiday that he would 
 be permitted to do so, could make her consent to go, and 
 at the last, when Edna, witli an impatience that betrayed 
 itself by pouting lips and a childish scowl, was hurrying 
 to her seat in the wagon which was to take them to Sau- 
 gerties, thence by boat to the other side of the river, where 
 they would meet one of the primitive conveyances of the 
 time, Ned was hanging about Meg s neck as if she could 
 never, never tear herself away. 
 
 And during the journey her only comfort seemed to be 
 in nestling by Dyke s side, holding his hand, and listening 
 with swimming eyes to the interesting descriptions the 
 young man gave of the places they passed, while Edna 
 paid constant attention to her own little person ; not even 
 Dyke s animated accounts could win her from her interest 
 in herself ; the ribbon fastening her tippet, the gloves fit 
 ting so smoothly her shapely little hands, the folds of her 
 dark dress, all were subjected over and over again to fond 
 and prolonged attentions, and her fine eyes were often 
 raised with a very conscious look of her own beauty and 
 importance. 
 
 The journey was completed at length, and the first sight 
 of the large gray, plain-looking building conveyed to lit 
 tle Ned a feeling of utter desolation ; but for Dyke s sake, 
 who had told her if she grieved it would break his heart, 
 she struggled hard to be very brave and calm. Upon Edna 
 
A FAT AT, KESIMBLANCE. 29 
 
 the effect was quite different. She felt instinctively that 
 she was about to meet people more like the well-dressed 
 ladies she had "been accustomed to see in England, and that 
 her innate love of elegance and luxury would not be of 
 fended by such vulgar surroundings as she had during her 
 mountain visit ; besides, she rather longed to be away from 
 Dyke. Child as she was, she had been ashamed of his 
 country look, and had mentally contrasted him with the 
 elegant gentleman who had introduced himself to her as 
 her papa, just before she left England. So that it was 
 with a very sprightly step she ascended the steps of the 
 wide portico, and followed into the parlor the smiling ma 
 tron who came out to meet them. 
 
 Poor litle Ned followed, clinging to Dyke s hand, and 
 shutting her teeth very hard together, to suppress her 
 grief. 
 
 The pleasant-looking matron was most tender in her 
 attentions, assuring Dyke, whom, to Edna s surprise, she 
 treated with marked respect, that frequent letters had 
 passed between herself and Mr. Edgar relative to the 
 children, and that the latter should have all the care and 
 comforts of their own home. 
 
 " But we are in some dilemma about their names," she 
 continued ; " both being Edna Edgar, how shall we dis 
 tinguish them ? " 
 
 " This one," said Dyke, putting his arm reassuringly 
 about his own little charge, " we call Ned at home." 
 
 The lady shook her head, smiling still. " That would 
 hardly do here, being a boy s name. I suppose we shall 
 have to call one Miss Edgar, and the other Miss Edna." 
 
 " Let me be Miss Edgar," put in Edna, who, with the 
 stateliness of twenty-five, was sitting in one of the stiff- 
 backed chairs, and gazing curiously about her. Her cousin, 
 in too much grief to care even about the threatened loss 
 of her pet name, was nestling against Dyke and holding 
 her head down, so that he would not see the quivering of 
 her lips and the filling of her eyes. 
 
 The matron, not a little surprised at the rather bold 
 
30 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 and unexpected request of the little girl, turned and looked 
 at her somewhat reprovingly ; but Miss Edgar was neither 
 dismayed nor abashed. The lady turned back to Dyke. 
 " Perhaps this little girl will tell us which she prefers." 
 
 But poor Ned had no will, nor voice to speak, and 
 when Mrs. Mowbray, touched by the dejected attitude of 
 the child, would have drawn her to her, and spoken tender 
 words, Ned could restrain herself no longer. With a 
 great sob she threw herself upon Dyke s breast, and cried 
 as if her little heart would break. Even the matron s 
 eyes were moist, while down poor Dyke s cheeks streamed 
 tears of which in his manliness he was ashamed , but which 
 he could not restrain; but Edna stared indifferently, now 
 and then arranging some portion of her dress. 
 
 The painful leave-taking was over at length, and Dyke 
 went away laden with loving messages to Meg, and equally 
 loving ones to the trees, all of which the young man 
 promised to deliver, but he was heavy-hearted enough 
 himself, and had it not been for the fact that Ned, as she 
 was still to him, though the matron, had decided to call 
 her Miss Edna, could write a very little, thanks to his 
 efforts, and that he was cheered by the prospect of hear 
 ing frequently from her, he would have been as inconsol 
 able as she was. 
 
 IX. 
 
 As the school days went on, Miss Edgar talked con 
 stantly to her companions of her elegant English papa 
 and all that she expected to have when she became a 
 young lady ; and she paid as much attention to her little 
 toilet every day as though she were already grown up, 
 and she strove to imitate the manners of those of her 
 teachers who, in her childish judgment, had more claim 
 than the others to gracefulness or elegance. 
 
 Miss Edna sometimes spoke, but oftener thought, with 
 a full heart of her simple mountain home audits two fond 
 occupants, and her toilet, or the toilet and manners of 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 31 
 
 those about her, gave her little concern. Her whole 
 anxiety was to please Dyke. He had asked her to be very 
 obedient, and very faitlif ul to her studies, and she followed 
 his requests to the letter, telling him in the little notes she 
 was permitted to write every month how hard the lessons 
 were sometimes, but that thinking of him made them 
 grow easier. 
 
 And how Dyke kissed the crooked and cramped writing, 
 especially the signature, " Your own little JSTed," of each 
 tiny note, before he put it carefully away. It was well 
 that he could not foresee how one day he would read 
 over those notes when anguish should have broken her 
 spirit and his own. 
 
 As the months rolled by, and the character of the chil 
 dren developed, Ned s homesickness somewhat disappear 
 ing in constant occupation and her own unwearied 
 diligence, it was evident that Miss Edna, as propriety 
 demands that we also must call her for the present, was 
 becoming a universal favorite. Her heartiness in play in 
 recreation time, her unselfishness, and her readiness to 
 assist, endeared her to the young hearts about her ; then 
 her quaint, sweet fancies about the whole vegetable world 
 interested and charmed them. They loved to listen to her, 
 and to draw her out on topics so unfamiliar to their un 
 imaginative minds. Twice she had succumbed to her 
 fiery temper ; once, when an atrocious lie had been told 
 by one of the larger girls on a little one, and Miss Edna, 
 knowing the circumstances, flung them unflinchingly in 
 the larger girl s face, and provoked a storm that was only 
 quelled by the interference of one of the teachers. The 
 other occasion was, when her cousin learned by accident 
 that the father of one of her classmates pursued an avoca 
 tion not in accord with her own elevated notions of a 
 gentleman s business. She flung some scornful remark at 
 the child, and Edna, who was present, with her usual im 
 pulsiveness turned upon the haughty speaker : 
 
 " She s as good as you are, and you re a mean, hateful 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 thing to speak so. Nobody knows what your own 
 father is." 
 
 " He s a gentleman" said Miss Edgar, drawing herself 
 up to her little stately height, and emphasizing the word 
 gentleman in a most decisive way. 
 
 "Nobody knows that," persisted Edna, hot with the 
 temper which was so easily aroused, " it s only yourself 
 who keeps telling us so, and it d be a good deal nicer if 
 you didn t brag so much about him, anyway." 
 
 Miss Edgar gave a scornful toss to her head, and 
 answered, with a provoking mimicry of her cousin s tones : 
 " You haven t any papa to talk about, unless that ugly- 
 looking greenhorn, Dyke." 
 
 Edna could endure no more ; and in the battle that en 
 sued, and in which as usual the little mountain girl was 
 much the stronger, the smaller children, who happened to 
 be the only ones present, fled affrightedly to tell the tale, 
 and to summon help. 
 
 Edna was punished for her dreadful conduct ; but, as 
 usual, her remorse for having yielded again to that which 
 gave Dyke such pain was her most acute tormentor, and 
 for hours after she was dissolved in tears and ready to 
 make any amends that would allay her troubled conscience. 
 In her penitence, she forgot the provocation she had re 
 ceived, and she went of her own accord to ask her cousin s 
 pardon, which act of humility made Miss Edgar quite 
 triumphant, and she bestowed her forgiveness with all the 
 haughty grace of a conqueror. 
 
 Miss Edgar herself had received a reprimand, for the 
 little listeners had repeated what she said; but, owing 
 to a most cunning, sycophantic way of eluding disagreeable 
 consequences, which, child as she was, she possessed to a 
 remarkable degree, her reproof had been slight, and while 
 poor Edna, driven by her remorse to send an account of 
 it to Dyke, was writing in her little cramped hand a detail 
 that had not a word of blame for her cousin, and only 
 censure for herself, and a pitiful plea for pardon from 
 Dyke, Miss Edgar was carrying herself with haughtier 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 33 
 
 airs than ever, and giving her version of the matter to her 
 companions. 
 
 When Dyke read that little pitiful note, he shut his 
 teeth hard together, and through them said to himself : 
 " It was that little devil that provoked her to it. I know 
 it was, though Ned doesn t say so in her letter." 
 
 Both children learned rapidly, little Miss Edgar, how 
 ever, requiring less study to master a lesson than did 
 Edna, and she also evinced more talent for music, astonish 
 ing Mrs. Mowbray one day by solicit! :ig lessons upon the 
 harp in addition to the piano. " You need not be afraid," 
 she said, lifting her eyes very fearlessly to the pleasant 
 face above her. " My papa will be perfectly willing. I 
 heard him say before I came away from England that 
 I was to learn everything I had a taste for." Mrs. Mow- 
 bray was silent from astonishment ; the confidence and 
 self-possession of this chit of a girl not yet quite eight 
 years old almost dismayed her, and it was with a shade 
 in her countenance she answered at last : 
 
 "I shall write to your papa and tell him of your 
 desire." 
 
 " But may I not begin the lessons now ? " persisted the 
 child, her confident air increasing. 
 
 " Not until we hear from Mr. Edgar," was the decisive 
 answer. 
 
 Could Mrs. Mowbray have known the real motive of 
 the child s request, she would have been painfully con 
 cerned. Little Miss Edgar desired lessons upon the harp, 
 not for her love of the instrument, but because it possessed 
 advantages for exhibiting a beautiful arm. She had over 
 heard a conversation between some of the larger girls 
 which enlightened her upon the subject, and having long 
 since learned from some simple, but indiscreet tongue of 
 the beauty of her arms, her childish vanity was immedi 
 ately fired. She waited impatiently for her father s letter, 
 and when it came, she was summoned to Mrs. Mowbray s 
 room to hear its contents. But that good sensible woman 
 did not, as the little lady thought with secret indignation 
 
34 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 slie had a right to do, read the letter verbatim. She 
 simply quoted from it the parts which concerned the 
 child, and which were to the effect that she might take 
 any lessons she chose, providing always such lessons re 
 ceived the approval of Mrs. Mowbray. Then she quoted 
 another part which said that, as Mr. Edgar intended to 
 prolong his stay abroad, his daughter could spend her 
 long summer vacation either at the school, or in the 
 mountain home of her little companion, the other Edna 
 Edgar. The matron was careful not to read for the little 
 eager ears the part which requested that Miss Edna should 
 receive instructions precisely similar to that imparted to 
 Mr. Edgar s daughter, for the gentleman, for purposes of 
 his own, had from the first sent instructions to the effect 
 that the children were not to know that it was to him 
 Miss Edna was indebted for her education. Mrs. Mow- 
 bray also had been made acquainted confidentially with 
 the relationship existing between the children, but she had 
 managed so adroitly that every one else in the institute, 
 including even the teachers, believed them to be only 
 friends, to whom strange accident had given the same 
 name and a singular resemblance. 
 
 Miss Edgar s pleasure at hearing she might take lessons 
 on the harp was a good deal marred by her disappointment 
 at learning that her papa was not coming home. She had 
 confidently expected to spend the vacation with him in 
 Barrytown, of which place Edna, with great good nature, 
 had frequently told her, and her delight at the prospect 
 of such a visit making her unwontedly generous, she had 
 said that Edna should spend some of the time with her. 
 But Edna, with becoming spirit, had replied that she loved 
 her own home too well to spend from it even a day of her 
 holidays. Now, however, all little Miss Edgar s hopes 
 were dashed, and she pouted and was sullen with both 
 teachers and companions, and her next letter to her father 
 was a wild plea for him to return, which plea Mr. Edgar 
 answered very fondly, but at the same time he stated that 
 he would not come to America for several years. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. & 
 
 X. 
 
 Miss Edgar preferred to spend her vacation in the in 
 stitute, rather than be obliged to travel with rustic-looking 
 Dyke, and her choice was very much to Dyke s satisfaction ; 
 for, after so long an absence, the young man wanted Ned 
 all to himself. Ned was also well pleased, for she felt 
 that Edna would have been a sort of discordant spirit in 
 the little home, and not alone have prevented her own 
 enjoyment of the scenes she loved so well, but interfere, 
 perhaps materially, with even Meg s pleasure and comfort. 
 And how the child enjoyed her return home ! She could 
 hardly refrain from kissing even the cows, especially the 
 brindle that, at the touch of the little hands, turned with 
 what seemed to be a look of affection in her great stupid 
 eyes. Then her friends, the trees; with what ecstatic 
 delight she embraced each, and talked to them all ; telling 
 about her school life, and how she had never forgotten 
 them. 
 
 Somehow, that holiday was different from, and more 
 delightful than any succeeding one ; for other years 
 bringing more knowledge and experience, destroyed 
 gradually all the sweet quaint fancies that made her life 
 now like some happy dream. And how her delighted 
 enjoyment of everything rejoiced Dyke s honest heart, 
 and made him quick to plan diversions that were at once 
 a surprise and a novelty. Even Meg s heavy step grew 
 lighter, and her hands quicker at their daily work since 
 the whole house was brightened by that sweet, winsome 
 presence. Then the mountain rides the three took behind 
 sleek well-fed Sam, who knew the road so well he needed 
 hardly any guidance, and during which Dyke repeated 
 he mountain legends that had such a charm for Ned. 
 Often in the moonlight, when Meg dozed in the wagon, 
 and Ned with a red cloak about her sat looking like a 
 mountain sprite herself, and Dyke being largely read in 
 mountain lore, repeated story after story, the child had 
 little difficulty in fancying many a fairy among the 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 bushes ; even the bushes themselves, to her eyes, looked 
 in the moonlight as if they might be green wood nymphs. 
 She had no fear of any of the mountain genii, for, owing 
 to Dyke s able, though simple instruction, she was quite 
 confident that nothing could hurt her so long as she her 
 self remained strictly truthful and good. How the 
 memory of these times was to come to her one day, when, 
 sick with the hollo wness of the hearts about her, and faint 
 with the burden of a cruel wrong, she was to long for 
 even one hour of those happy, guileless, childish times. 
 
 XL 
 
 Year after year glided away, unmarked by anything 
 more important than Ned s annual visit to her mountain 
 home, in which visit her cousin always refused to join 
 her. Miss Edgar, now a tall and graceful girl, entertained 
 for Dyke and his plain little home the dislike of her 
 childish days. She grew at length to refuse to see the 
 young man when he came to the institute, alleging, in 
 answer to Ned s indignant reproaches for such unkind- 
 ness, that Dyke was not her relative, nor friend, and that 
 she could not be expected to keep up an acquaintance 
 with such a vulgar-looking, ill-dressed person. It was 
 well the mountain girl had gained at last some control of 
 herself, or Miss Edgar would have experienced, as she did 
 twice before, a most unpleasant contact with her cousin s 
 hands. As it was, Ned contented herself with flinging a 
 sharp and passionate reproach at the haughty speaker, 
 and she descended to Dyke with an agitated face and 
 mariner. She had only left him to bring her cousin, and 
 when she returned alone, he understood at once the cause 
 of her agitation. " Edna wouldn t come," he said, smiling 
 a little, "is not that it?" But Ned, true to her old 
 childish regard for people s feelings, and Dyke s in par 
 ticular, could not bear to repeat what Edna had so 
 unkindly said. " I know it all," said Dyke, smiling still. 
 "Miss Edgar is ashamed to know me. I do not look 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 37 
 
 sufficiently like city people to suit her. But i a man s a 
 man for a that, eh, Ned? " with a smile becoming broader 
 as he saw4;he youthful f ac"e beginning to tremble, " and 
 you like me despite my clothes, do you not \ " For 
 answer, she flung her arms about his neck, and hid her 
 face on his shoulder until her tears were dried. 
 
 Ten years : it has been a long, and yet a short period, 
 those ten years that have passed since we first became 
 acquainted with Ned ; and how does she compare now 
 with the simple child whom we then knew ? She has the 
 same candid, winsome expression of counto iance, which, 
 with her beautiful eyes and hair, and tall graceful figure, 
 make her a very attractive-looking girl. Then she lias 
 manners that are charming from their very simplicity, 
 and the same loving, forgiving, generous heart of her 
 childhood. She has her temper still ; that temper which 
 lias cost her so many tears and heartburnings, but which 
 no efforts, and she has made desperata ones, have been 
 able to hold entirely in command ; it is true, it no longer 
 takes the vulgar form of a personal encounter, but it 
 blazes out in word and look. She has learned well, having 
 taken so naturally to the languages that she is a better 
 linguist than musician, and better than all, she has a solid 
 foundation of study on which to raise any future super 
 structure. 
 
 Her cousin has developed into an exquisitely beautiful 
 girl, but with the vanity of her childish days deepened 
 and intensified, only now, with the cunning of her sex, it 
 is well concealed ; and while she has succeeded in acquiring 
 a charm of manner bewitching to superficial observers, 
 she has also a certain insinuating tact by which she wins 
 easily people who are susceptible to blandishment. She 
 has developed a marvellous skill in music, and a voice 
 whose glorious notes made the professor say, on one occa 
 sion, she would have little difficulty in becoming ^primci 
 donna / that praise the young lady received with apparent 
 modesty, but her heart swelled with secret pride, and her 
 
38 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 blush and exultant smile when she was alone told how 
 love of admiration had cankered the very core of her heart. 
 
 The cousins are hardly better friends than they have 
 been in childhood, for Ned, with her innate love of 
 honesty, and a penetration that comes from her own 
 simple, upright character, is enabled to read somewhat 
 Edna s characteristics, and she shrinks from her accord 
 ingly. Still, of late years there have been none of the 
 open ruptures that have marked their early acquaintance ; 
 and to casual observers they appear to be on very fair 
 terms of friendship. 
 
 This is to be the last year of their school life, and just 
 as both shall have reached that " brightest era of a woman s 
 life," eighteen, they are to graduate with all the honors 
 of the institute. Mr. Edgar has written to his daughter 
 that he is coming home at last coining home in time 
 to be present at her graduation ; and that he will ba ac 
 companied by an elderly lady, a widow, who lias been a 
 friend of his father s, and who will act as a sort of 
 chaperone to his daughter in society ; that he has disposed 
 of his English estate, and will henceforth make his home 
 in Barrytown. 
 
 Miss Edgar can hardly contain herself for joy, and her 
 delight makes her good-natured enough to rush to Ned 
 with the news. "And you must come and see me, Ned." 
 Latterly she also has evinced a preference for the masculine 
 diminutive, and she lias adopted it until her cousin is 
 "Ned" to every one save the teachers. "And you must 
 stay with me a long time. Papa will quite approve of it, 
 I know." But Ned shakes her head even while she 
 smilingly murmurs her thanks. Nothing can tempt her 
 from her own little home among the mountains. 
 
 Dyke and Meg are also to be present at the graduation ; 
 Ned has written to them so urgently that Meg, though so 
 much older and stouter grown as to make travel in her 
 case almost a hardship, feels herself constrained to gratify 
 her darling s wish, and a dressmaker is engaged to come 
 up from Saugerties to make Meg a new, and for her, 
 
A FATAL BESEMBLANCE. 39 
 
 quite a resplendent gown. Dyke also treats himself to a 
 new suit for the occasion, but it is not much more city- 
 like than the rest of his clothes. Somehow, Dyke, un 
 like other young men, does not give much thought to his 
 appearance. He does not go courting as others do, per 
 haps owing to the isolated position of his home and, 
 perchance, also owing to a love which has dwelt in his 
 heart for over fourteen years. Then his mind is so full 
 of the bits of knowledge with which he is constantly 
 storing it, and more than all, of an invention of which 
 he has been full since his boyhood, that he has little room 
 for other things. The invention is something to econo 
 mize farm labor and, should it be successful, must bring 
 a goodly profit to the inventor. Recently he has formed 
 the ac( juaintance of a skilled man of business in Saugerties, 
 and with his help in obtaining a patent and introducing 
 his invention through the country, he expects in time to 
 be quite successful. And how does he look on this morn 
 ing that he is ready to start with Meg for Pennsylvania ? 
 The ten, well-nigh eleven years which have passed since 
 we saw him first sit well upon him. His rugged country 
 life has given a fine bloom to his complexion, and his 
 form has the magnificent development that delights an 
 anatomist. He looks every inch the strong, firm, honest 
 fellow that he is. 
 
 XII. 
 
 That memorable graduation day! memorable to both 
 our heroines, because it was their first introduction to an 
 audience composed of more than their own school associ 
 ates, and the occasion to one, of her meeting with a father 
 whom she knew only by letter, and a childish memory 
 that every year somewhat obliterated ; and to the other, 
 of gratifying, by the honors she received, the two fond 
 hearts which were so bound in her welfare. 
 
 The rules of the institute forbidding elaborate dress, 
 the graduates appeared in simple white, adorned alone 
 by natural flowers. 
 
40 A FATAL 
 
 Miss Edgar s heart was beating to suffocation, as from 
 her elevated position she looked over the audience and 
 selected almost at once a distinguished-looking gentleman, 
 with an equally distinguished-looking elderly lady beside 
 him, and felt that he was her father. She longed for the 
 moment when her name would be called to sing a pathetic 
 solo, and to give an exhibition, of her skill on the harp. 
 She felt no dread of the embarrassment that might be 
 caused by a first appearance before so many, for, being 
 well assured of her ability, and knowing from the numer 
 ous admiring looks already directed at her that her 
 appearance was all she could desire, she imagined that she 
 should be perfectly self-possessed. Ned, seated beside her 
 cousin, with equally beating heart, was looking for Meg 
 and Dyke, reassured when she saw them, and smiling in 
 answer to their looks of fond affection. Her part in the 
 exercises was rather limited, being one instrumental per 
 formance and the valedictory. 
 
 Miss Edgar was announced to give the solo. She rose, 
 and for the moment had a strange calmness that enabled 
 her to walk with exceeding grace to a position directly in 
 front of the audience. Then she unfolded her music and 
 strove to begin. But a sort of stage fright had overtaken 
 her, owing to the mass of upturned faces ; it seemed to her 
 as if every countenance had changed into eyes that were 
 burning through her. Her tongue clove to the roof of 
 her mouth, her knees trembled, and the blush of shame 
 and consternation dyed her face, ears, and neck. But the 
 old professor at the piano understood it all, and he played 
 bar after bar of an inspiriting melody, until his favorite 
 pupil lost her fright, and her natural vanity came to her 
 aid. She sang then as perhaps even her enraptured 
 teacher had never heard her sing before. Her glorious 
 voice rose, filling every part of the large and lofty school 
 hall, and it swelled into magnificent cadences that en 
 tranced her hearers. The applause burst forth simultane 
 ously, and was loud and long, people rising in their seats 
 the better to view the beautiful singer, and the distin- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 4J 
 
 _ _ mtleman turned to his companion and 
 said eagerly : " That is my daughter." Her performance 
 on the harp called forth another enthusiastic burst of 
 applause, and again and again the distinguished-looking 
 gentleman bent to his companion and whispered some 
 laudatory comment. He was eager for the close of the 
 exercises when he should press to his heart this peerlessly 
 gifted and beautiful creature. 
 
 Miss Edna Edgar was summoned to the piano. She 
 had the same graceful figure and fawnlike step of her 
 cousin, and as she moved to her place, people seemed to 
 evince as great a desire to behold her as they had mani 
 fested to see her cousin. From her name and marked 
 resemblance to the preceding performer, though lacking 
 the remarkably brilliant beauty of Miss Edgar, the 
 strangers present supposed they were sisters, and her 
 creditable, though not very able performance, was listened 
 to with nattering attention. To Dyke and Meg no fingers 
 ever touched piano so sweetly, and their honest faces 
 flushed with pleasure, and their hearts beat high at the 
 applause bestowed on their darling. 
 
 Mr. Edgar turned to his companion, saying : " That is 
 my brother s daughter, of whom I have told you; she 
 does not yet know that I am her uncle." The expressive 
 face of the stately old lady had a shade upon it for a 
 moment, and she looked more earnestly at the young 
 performer before she answered: "Her resemblance to 
 your daughter, and consequently to you, Mr. Edgar, is 
 very marked. Still, she seems neither so lovely, nor so 
 gifted as your child. Do you intend to tell her to-day of 
 your relationship to her? " 
 
 The dark handsome face grew darker for a moment ; 
 "I did not intend to do so. What do you advise?" 
 u That you tell her, Mr. Edgar. She is your own flesh 
 and blood, and not to be visited for the sin or indiscretion 
 of her parents." " You are right," he whispered, " but 
 I cannot tell her yet." 
 
 The valedictory was announced, and as the sweet, dis- 
 
42 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 tinct, but at first slightly tremulous tones floated out, 
 Dyke and Meg squeezed hands under Meg s shawl, and 
 as the speaker gained confidence, and won a closer and 
 more enraptured attention by her perfect elocution 
 and natural manner, Meg cried outright for joy, and her 
 nephew s eyes for an instant shone with a suspicious 
 moisture. When at length all was over, and the pupils 
 were permitted to receive their friends, Miss Edgar flew 
 to her father s embrace ; but, even in that moment of 
 honest emotion on his part, when she felt his tear upon 
 her cheek, vanity and triumph that he was so handsome 
 and distinguished-looking, so superior to everybody else s 
 father there, were the feelings uppermost in her breast. 
 
 Ned, forgetful of everything but that she was witli 
 Meg and Dyke, was embracing each, and crying and 
 laughing in turn. 
 
 Mr. Edgar was introducing his companion to his 
 daughter, and the elderly lady, bearing that impressive 
 something about her which marks the grand dame of 
 the old school, acknowledged the introduction with a 
 manner that made her sixty years as charming as sixteen. 
 She had a sweet face, and so clear a complexion that 
 ono, in looking at her, forgot the wrinkles that marked 
 her features. 
 
 "And now," continued Mr. Edgar, to his daughter, 
 "bring us to your friends," looking in the direction 
 of the group of which Ned was the centre. 
 
 " Is not that young man .Dykard Button ? He is 
 very much older and manlier grown ; and I suppose 
 that is Meg Standish with him. What an old woman she 
 has become." 
 
 Tlio young lady obeyed, and she was obliged to affect 
 a cordiality in her greeting of the mountain friends 
 whom she had ignored so long, when she saw how 
 truly warm were her father s salutations. 
 
 And the elderly lady, introduced as Mrs. Stafford, shook 
 hands with Meg in her plain country dress, and placed her 
 delicate white jewelled hand in the great brown hard 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 43 
 
 palm of Dyke with as sunny a smile and as much 
 graciousness of manner as if both were her equals in 
 the social scale. To Ned she gave a look which seemed 
 to express her secret confidence that they would be 
 intimate friends some day. 
 
 Dyke was interested in watching Mr. Edgar. The 
 decade of years seemed to have made such changes in 
 that gentleman s appearance. His abundant black hair 
 and thick mustache were much streaked with gray, and 
 his handsome forehead was indented with lines that told 
 of harassing care or thought. But the young man s 
 observations were terminated by the object of them 
 insisting on the whole party accompanying himself and 
 his daughter to Barry town, and there making at least, a 
 brief stay before going to their mountain home. Meg 
 was quite willing to do so, for it would recall the old 
 happy times when Mr. Edgar was her master, but 
 Dyke politely demurred. Perhaps he feared that the 
 grandeur of the place would make Ned discontented 
 with her own humble abode, and perhaps also he was 
 selfish enough to fear that Mr. Edgar s generosity would 
 go to the extent of inviting Ned to make a permanent 
 stay with his daughter. Under the influence of such 
 feelings he could not give his consent immediately ; but 
 he gave it at length, though his heart was filled with 
 a strange gloomy foreboding. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The beauty and luxury of that Barrytown home 
 ravished the young heiress with a delight that readied 
 its culmination when she found that the thoughtful 
 kindness of her father had provided even a trained pony 
 for her use. She and her cousin had been taught to ride 
 at school, and happiness as usual making her exceedingly 
 good-natured, she insisted that Ned should have the first 
 canter on the graceful and gentle little animal. There 
 was a groom in attendance, but Dyke being within sight, 
 
4A A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Ned took the responsibility of inviting him to attend 
 her, and Miss Edgar, in her exceeding great joy, forgot to 
 make secret fun of him as she might at another time 
 have done. 
 
 So the pair went out to the road, Dyke keeping a 
 little behind, both to admire the graceful rider and to 
 war with his own unhappy thoughts. Something that he 
 had never realized before came to him now. He passed 
 his hand over his forehead and said between his teeth : 
 
 " Fool, blind mad fool that I have been, not to have 
 been prepared for this." But Ned was turning in her 
 saddle to see why he loitered, and calling to him with all 
 the simplicity -of her early years, reminding him when 
 their horses were again together, of the quaint fancies of 
 her childhood about the trees and plants, and demanding 
 in her playful eager way answers to every one of her 
 remarks. 
 
 He averted his face whenever her eyes sought his own, 
 and he replied to her with what firmness he could 
 assume ; but every tone of her voice pierced his heart, and 
 every touch of her fingers, as sometimes in her eager con 
 versation, when they were ambling slowly along, she 
 flung her hand upon his arm, was like a cruel blow, for 
 he felt that soon tone and touch must bo lost to him 
 forever. That night he sought Mr. Edgar for a private 
 interview. 
 
 If the gentleman was surprised, he did not betray the 
 feeling, and he invited the young man to a seat with ex 
 ceeding graciousness. But Dyke replied : 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Edgar; but my business will be 
 communicated better standing. It is about Edna " he 
 had almost said Ned " I have come to know if you have 
 any plans for her future." 
 
 The gentleman did not answer for a moment ; instead, 
 he looked very earnestly at the young man as if he would 
 read his thoughts, and when he did speak, there was a 
 strange uncertainty about his manner. 
 
 "I really have no plans further than to continue 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 to keep lier in ignorance of her relationship to me, and to 
 remunerate you from time to time for jour care of her." 
 
 "Then you desire that she shall make her home with 
 my aunt and me, as she did before she left us to go to 
 school?" 
 
 " Yes ; unless you object." 
 
 Dyke flushed hotly. " I must object, Mr. Edgar, for 
 her sake. You have educated her beyond such a life, and 
 it would be unjust, not to say cruel, to bury one of her 
 attainments and gifts in a home so plain and lowly as 
 ours is. Had you eleven years ago resigned all claim 
 upon, and all interest in her, we would have reared her 
 according to our means, and she might not then be so un 
 fitted to be one of us. Now she is a lady, and far, far 
 above us. Also, Mr. Edgar, she is your flesh and blood, 
 and entitled from that fact to much consideration on your 
 part ; let the generosity which has impelled you to 
 educate her provide for her now." 
 
 How the heart of the speaker rose up and well-nigh 
 choked him as he uttered the last words ; but Dyke s was 
 a brave nature, and rather than turn aside from a purpose 
 once surely chosen, he could have borne to pluck out his 
 own heart. 
 
 Mr. Edgar was somewhat annoyed ; it was the second 
 time in the course of a week that the fact of Ned s being 
 his own flesh and blood was thrust into his face, and 
 much though he might recognize that fact secretly, he 
 disliked any open allusion to it. Besides, he had not now 
 the slightest doubt that the beautiful girl whom he called 
 his daughter was really such, and in proportion as bis 
 heart went rapturously out to her, so did his indifference 
 to his brother s child increase. Every time that his eyes 
 rested upon her he fancied that he detected new and 
 marked resemblances to his brother, his hatred of whom 
 neither time nor distance seemed to soften. Having 
 educated Ned, and having offered to remunerate any 
 future care of her, he felt that he had done all that could 
 
4:6 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 be required, and no thought of her now disturbed him, 
 until Dyke brought her so unpleasantly before him. 
 
 He made a turn of the room before he answered ; 
 then, with his hands behind him, and his head thrown 
 slightly forward, he said : 
 
 " Marry her, Dyke ; I shall dower her well, and then 
 both her future and your own will be assured." 
 
 Scorn flashed from the young man s eyes, and his 
 voice was tremulous with sudden anger. " Your niece "- 
 with a line emphasis on the latter word " Mr. Edgar, is 
 not a chattel to be disposed of in such a manner. She 
 has a heart to be consulted, and were I her equal by birth 
 and education, as I am greatly her inferior, still would 
 such a marriage be impossible, because she regards 
 me only as a brother." 
 
 Mr. Edgar was silent, but his head was erect now, and 
 his eyes looking through Dyke s face. Secretly, he was 
 admiring this blunt, fearless fellow, for he half suspected 
 that the young man loved, and loved dearly, the fair sub 
 ject of their discussion. " What would you have me 
 do ? " he said at length. 
 
 Dyke answered slowly ; every word was a knell to his 
 own affection. " Since you have given her equal ad 
 vantages of education with your own daughter, give her 
 the same advantages of a home. They can be like sisters 
 and, after all, they will be the most proper companions for 
 each other." 
 
 The gentleman made another turn of the room ; lie 
 could think best when walking, and he was mentally dis 
 cussing this proposition with all its advantages and 
 disadvantages. 
 
 Did he give his brother s child a home, her companion- 
 si lip might render unnecessary for a longer time the 
 company which, for his daughter s sake, he intended to in 
 vite to the house might secure to him for a year or two 
 that country solitude which now, being enlivened by his 
 daughter, would be doubly delightful and might in 
 deed procure for him a longer term of his child s society ; 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 47 
 
 for when company, and especially of the opposite sex, 
 came to the house, it was natural to suppose that Miss 
 Edgar s marriage might speedily follow. 
 
 Thus it seemed well to agree to Dyke s proposition, and 
 Mr. Edgar did so briefly, and then seemed to consider the 
 interview ended, and the young man went out out to 
 walk in the dark sllont grounds. He needed solitude to 
 compose himself, and something in the darkness seemed 
 to help him also, as if it brought nearer that great, 
 invisible Presence which strengthens for sacrifice, and 
 supports in trial. Then he sought Meg, and broke the 
 news of the change in Ned s prospects to her. At first, 
 delight that her darling would be indeed a lady, having 
 all the grandeur to which she was truly entitled, over 
 powered every other emotion ; then came a feeling of 
 wild grief, as she realized how Ned s good fortune 
 must sever the old relations between them ; and lastly her 
 anxieties all turned to Dyke. 
 
 " What ll you do ? " she said through her tears. " It 
 was for her you wanted everything, and now she 11 no 
 come wi us any more." 
 
 "Never mind me, Aunt Meg; I m a man, with a 
 man s strength, and I ll work the same as if it was for 
 her. Indeed, I shall be comforted by the thought that 
 she is well provided for. Some day she will marry one 
 of her own kind, and I shall be proud and happy to see 
 her happiness." His voice quivered in spite of himself, * 
 and his aunt detected it. 
 
 " Ay, lad ; thee lt be proud .and happy when thy hair 
 is gray, and thy form is stooped, and thy old aunt is gone, 
 and thee st ne er a hearth of thy own to sit by, through 
 loving and waiting, with never the heart to ask and 
 
 He stopped her with a kiss. 
 
 "You wouldn t have me ask, Aunt Meg, when the 
 very asking might make her consent, for fear of ingrati 
 tude ; consent, even though she couldn t give me her 
 heart s love." 
 
 "That s true, lad ; it might be so." And then her 
 
48 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 thoughts reverted to all that Dyke had told her of his 
 interview ; he had prudently reserved Mr. Edgar s pro 
 posal to him to marry his niece, saying : 
 
 " And didn t Mr. Edgar say some at about your own 
 matters ? And didn t you tell him anything about your 
 invention ? " 
 
 Dyke smiled. 
 
 " He was too full of the other subject ; and besides, 
 what need to tell him ? If the invention succeeds, as it 
 seems likely to do now, he may hear about it, and then, 
 you fond, foolish old aunt, there will be enough to grat 
 ify your pride." 
 
 Again kissing her, he left her. 
 
 XIY. 
 
 The next morning, after another interview with Meg, 
 Dyke sought Ned. 
 
 " I want to see you alone," he said, for Miss Edgar was 
 in a part of the room writing an order for something 
 that was to be brought from lihinebeck. 
 
 The unusually grave, and even somewhat troubled 
 expression of his face alarmed Ned, and without even 
 waiting to tell her cousin that she was going into the 
 grounds, she took his arm and hurried forth. 
 
 Neither spoke until they had reached a very secluded 
 part ; then Dyke, motioning his companion to a seat on 
 the mossy eminence, threw himself down beside her. 
 
 It was a harder task than he had thought, this breaking 
 to Ned of the change in her fortune, and she sat so 
 quietly waiting for him to begin. She asked no question, 
 but her great, lustrous, guileless eyes looked at him very 
 earnestly. He could have looked at her forever, she 
 formed so sweet a picture with her wealth of raven hair 
 coiled simply at the back of her head, and her rich, dark 
 complexion. But he had to begin. 
 
 " Would you like to live here always, Ned ? " 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 49 
 
 " No ; is that wliat you liad to say to me ? " her lips 
 parting into a lialf smile. 
 
 He resumed : " Mr. Edgar proposes that you make 
 your home here with his daughter ; you will be treated 
 as if you were her sister." 
 
 The smile faded from her lips. 
 
 " Mr. Edgar is very kind, but I prefer my home with 
 Meg and you." 
 
 Dyke said again : " But Meg and I think it best for 
 you, Ned, to accept Mr. Edgar s offer." 
 
 " What ! not to live with Meg and you any more not 
 to consider that dear old place way up among the moun 
 tains my home for the future ? " 
 
 She could say no more for the great lump which came 
 suddenly into her throat, and in another moment she 
 had burst into tears and was crying with all the abandon 
 of her childish days. How Dyke s own heart beat, and 
 how something in his own throat rose up ; but he set 
 his teeth firmly together, and fastened his hands into the 
 earth beside him, that he might not, in spite of himself, 
 clasp this beloved one to his heart and whisper that she 
 might make his home always hers if she would. 
 
 His nature, strong and ardent as it was, was too noble 
 for such a course. He was not her equal, and if he were, 
 he would refrain from asking her heart s affection until 
 he had given her time and opportunity to test it. So 
 he answered, when he had recovered his wonted calm : 
 
 " Remember, Ned, that you are a woman now, and 
 must submit to the dictates of your judgment rather than 
 those of your heart. A residence here will be better for 
 you in many ways. Mr. Patten, who has busied himself 
 about my invention for some months past, has everything 
 in readiness for us to travel together about it now, and 
 Meg being long anxious to see some cousins of hers in 
 Albany, I shall leave her with them while I am away ; 
 so, you see, the little mountain home is no place for you. 
 What in the world " brightening a little " would you 
 
50 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 do there ? ~No piano, no society, no books such as you 
 have been accustomed to ? " 
 
 " Why did you give me such an education ? " she 
 asked through her tears. " Better you had saved the 
 money spent on me, and brought me up simply in that 
 little mountain home. I should have been just as happy, 
 I am sure." 
 
 " Did I ever tell you that I had paid for your educa 
 tion 2 " asked Dyke. 
 
 "No; but I supposed, of course, you had ; am I not 
 right in supposing so ? " 
 
 He was silent, not knowing what to reply. How he 
 regretted not having obtained Mr. Edgar s permission to 
 reveal to her the truth about the matter. His silence, 
 however, was giving to her the revelation he fain would 
 have made* 
 
 " I see it all now," she said, springing to her feet. 
 
 Mr. Edgar lias paid for my education." 
 
 Dyke also arose. 
 
 "He did not want you to know that, Ned, and you 
 must tell him how it has come about, for I do not ex 
 pect to have an opportunity of speaking to him privately 
 again." 
 
 " But wny should he do so much for me ? " she per 
 sisted. 
 
 " Because he is wealthy, and he knew your f amilv in 
 England." 
 
 She continued : " It is singular how every one belong 
 ing to me died, and that there was only Meg and you to 
 take care of me." 
 
 " We gave you such care as we could," said Dyke, 
 anxious to get her thoughts away from her family, lest she 
 should divine other things about herself, as well as she 
 had divined who had paid for her education ; " and I don t 
 think in the matter of the affection you gave us it made 
 much difference whether we were your own, or not." 
 
 " Indeed, no ; " was the earnest reply. " You were my 
 brother always, and always shall be my brother." 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 51 
 
 With a sharp pang he felt the truth of her words ; as a 
 brother, and as a brother alone, would she ever love him. 
 But he went on bravely enough: "You see now, Ned, 
 that, owing so much to Mr. Edgar, you can hardly refuse 
 him when he wishes you to live here for companionship 
 for his daughter." 
 
 " Perhaps he just educated me for that," speaking a 
 little sarcastically, and drawing herself up. 
 
 " No, no ; you are mistaken. I am sure he did not 
 entertain such a thought." 
 
 " Well, let Mr. Edgar alone for a few minutes, and tell 
 me about yourself. Are you poor, Dyke ? " 
 
 He looked at her in surprise, and before answering, 
 demanded to know why she asked. 
 
 " Only because, as your sister, I have a right to know 
 all your circumstances, and to know also whether Mr. 
 Edgar, in his great generosity to me, has done anything 
 for you ? " 
 
 Dyke smiled. 
 
 " My circumstances at present do not need any aid from 
 Mr. Edgar ; and if this invention succeeds, I shall be a 
 rich man." For one whirling moment a great hope filled 
 his heart ; if he became a rich and noted man, and Ned 
 should remain unmarried, perhaps her hand might one 
 day be his. It was a hope so sweet and bright that it 
 gave a more cheerful tone to his voice as he continued : 
 u All my aunt s savings and my own are sunk in this 
 invention, and if it should tarn out a failure we would be 
 pretty poor ; but there is no fear of that, everything is so 
 promising now." 
 
 " And how long before your hopes can be fulfilled ? " 
 Her face was flushed and eager. 
 
 " A year, perhaps two ; for people, especially country 
 people, are so slow to accept improvements." 
 
 " Well, for the present then, I shall accept Mr. Edgar s 
 offer of a home." 
 
 Her lips quivered and her eyes were full, but she did 
 not let Dyke see. 
 
52 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 XY. 
 
 Life at Weewald Place, as Miss Edgar christened her 
 father s spacious home (having taken the name from one 
 of the novels she had managed to read surreptitiously at 
 school) was enchanting enough, could Ned divest herself 
 of a certain uncomfortable feeling of dependence. Every 
 where she turned there w T as a haunting reminder of her 
 obligations to Mr. Edgar ; a feeling that was intensified 
 by his own cold, stately courtesy toward her ; for, while 
 he was careful to see that she received equal attention 
 with his daughter, he could not vail his own feelings 
 sufficiently to treat her with more than the utmost polite 
 ness. Her face recalled, or he imagined it did, the 
 lineaments of his hated brother, and he often forbore, 
 even when talking to her, to allow his eyes to meet hers. 
 So, while his countenance kindled with pleasure at the 
 approach of his daughter, it often fell at the coming of 
 his niece ; and while his voice frequently assumed an ex 
 quisite tenderness in addressing Edna, it was more 
 frequently cold, almost to repulsion, when speaking to 
 Ned. And Ned felt the difference ; felt it many times 
 with a sickened heart as she contrasted it with the warm 
 affection of Meg and Dyke. 
 
 Mr. Edgar s coldness weighed upon her the more that 
 she constantly remembered how much she owed to him 
 in the matter of her education. In accordance with 
 Dyke s wish, she had taken an early opportunity of ex 
 plaining to the gentleman how she had learned, or rather 
 of herself had divined her indebtedness, and she had 
 attempted to express her gratitude. But Mr. Edgar 
 sternly desired her to stop, and his manner, even more 
 than his words, had made her feel that she was never to 
 refer to the subject again. 
 
 Regarding other things she had nothing of which to 
 complain. The servants were as deferential as if she also 
 were Mr. Edgar s daughter, though they were not slow in 
 ascertaining and repeating among themselves that she 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 53 
 
 was only a dependent, and really belonged to a poor home 
 up among the mountains, and Mrs. Stafford took a kindly 
 interest in her. 
 
 Miss Edgar herself, delighted with the novelty and 
 beauty of a home that exceeded even her expectations, 
 and in rapture with a father who seemed disposed to 
 gratify all her wishes, was exceptionally companionable. 
 It added to her pleasures to have Ned share them, and 
 she often astonished our heroine by a sudden embrace, 
 and an exclamation expressive of her delight that they 
 were together. 
 
 The cousins took long daily rides a gentle, graceful 
 pony having been provided for Ned and, to her, those 
 hours in the saddle were the happiest ones of the day. 
 There was a sense of independence and freedom on the 
 horse s back that proximity to Mr. Edgar s presence pre 
 vented her from feeling in the house, and she was very 
 thankful that the gentleman never offered to accompany 
 them. 
 
 It was well she did not divine that she herself w r as the 
 obstacle to his attendance. lie would not endure of tener 
 than was absolutely necessary the company of his 
 brother s child. 
 
 One afternoon, somewhat tired from a longer canter 
 than usual, and very thirsty, the riders drew up with 
 longing eyes before a spring bubbling by the side of the 
 road. The groom, in obedience to the imperative order 
 of Miss Edgar, who wanted at all times to be certain that 
 the man could never overhear her conversation, was a 
 long way behind. There was no house in sight, and Ned 
 decided to dismount and help herself to a drink in the 
 manner she used to do when a child ; but, ere she could 
 spring from her stirrup, there was a rustling among the 
 foliage on the other side of the road, and in a moment 
 there appeared a tall, graceful young man carrying what 
 might be a portfolio of sketches. He was evidently no 
 rustic, for his dress was of stylish city mode, and it was 
 worn with a certain neglige quite becoming. He seemed 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 to understand the desire of the ladies, and with a bow as 
 graceful as it was courteous, he said in a deep, low, musical 
 voice : 
 
 " Do not, ladies, be at the trouble of dismounting ; 
 allow me to bring you a drink in our rustic way." 
 
 He laid his portfolio down, and darted into the wood 
 which skirted one side of the road. When he returned 
 he bore with him leaves skilfully formed into cups. 
 Filling one with the sparkling spring water, he presented 
 it to Miss Edgar. She quaffed, and returned the leafy 
 vessel ; her eyes meeting his, and her face suffused with 
 a hot blush. She had never seen such eyes, nor such a 
 face ; to her girlish fancy, all unformed in the matter of 
 manly beauty, both were perfect, and the unbounded 
 but respectful admiration his look expressed set her heart 
 to beating rapidly. 
 
 Ned also quaffed from the second leafy cup he presented 
 to her, but further than to thank him briefly she scarcely 
 looked at the bearer, and she was somewhat surprised to 
 find her cousin asking of the groom, who had overtaken 
 them and whom she had beckoned to her side when they 
 were out of sight of the stranger, if he knew the latter. 
 
 u Yes, Miss ; he is Jim Mackay s son. Jim Mackay, 
 the gardener, that lives a little below there," indicating 
 with his whip a point south of the direction they were 
 taking. " He s never been much good to his father, having 
 ways different from us country-folks, and taking to books, 
 and painting and such things. An uncle of his took him 
 away to Europe a few years ago, and now he s just come 
 back, and his father says he s as bad as ever about books, 
 and making pictures of everything." 
 
 Miss Edgar made no reply, and the groom fell back to 
 his usual respectful distance. 
 
 The next day they took the same route, Ned forgetti ig 
 the occurrence of the previous day until handsome young 
 Mackay started before them ; there was no excuse to stop, 
 Miss Edgar being afraid to feign thirst as she would like 
 to do, lest her feint should be discovered by her cousin, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 55 
 
 and so there was only an exchange of bows. But the 
 heiress could devise other means of meeting one who had 
 made such an impression on her susceptible heart ; and 
 all that she had heard about him but enhanced her strange 
 predilection. "His ways so different from those of 
 country-folks, his taste for books and painting," what 
 were they all but indications of a refined and cultured 
 mind ? It would be like some of the stories she had so 
 surreptitiously read, for her to help him secretly to lend 
 him books, to impart to him some of her own instruction, 
 and at length to make him feel how much he owed to 
 her; it would be delightful, and quite justifiable, since 
 her father so unaccountably deferred asking company to 
 the house. Also, by making this young man her protege 
 there would be afforded an opportunity to satisfy partially 
 her craving for admiration, for she felt that the handsome 
 face that had looked up to her while she drank was then 
 and there caught in the toils of her beauty. She had 
 some misgiving about the propriety of this quixotic plan 
 of hers, and of the stern disapproval of her father should 
 lie hear of it ; but her misgiving was of short duration. 
 She craved excitement, and since Weewald Place furnished 
 non-3, she would embrace this opportunity of making it 
 for herself. 
 
 Thus Dick Mackay found himself the recipient of an 
 order for some sketches of the scenery about Barrytown, 
 and he was further delighted by the present of a valuable 
 book on the art of sketching. The note that accompanied 
 the present besought the utmost secrecy, and contained 
 at the same time a most flattering offer to assist the young 
 man in any way that was in the writer s power. 
 
 Dick had one confidant a sister a year younger than 
 he was; a fragile, delicate girl, but one so gentle and 
 winning in disposition that she gained love as easily as 
 she breathed. She sympathized with Dick ; she entered 
 into all his tastes, she admired him, and she wellnigh 
 worshipped him ; all of which feelings the handsome, 
 dreamy, poetical young fellow returned. To her then 
 
56 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Dick showed the note, and told everything, even to the 
 revelation of his own sudden but deep attachment for 
 Miss Edgar, and he laughed at the castles in the air which 
 his sister built. She could see neither the impossibility 
 nor the improbability of a future marriage of her brother 
 to the heiress. In her eyes, Dick was handsome and clever 
 enough for a princess, and good enough to win even Mr. 
 Edgar s warm regard could that gentleman but know him ; 
 at which sweet praises Dick laughed again, but he did not 
 contradict her. Stranger things had happened, and love 
 that stops at no barrier might even overthrow Mr. 
 Edgar s opposition. 
 
 XYI. 
 
 The canker of discontent entered more and more into 
 Ned s heart, being enhanced by the change which had 
 come into her cousin s manner ; for Edna, fast in the toils 
 of an attachment she dared not reveal, and for the secrecy 
 of which she was always anxiously planning, had grown 
 unaccountably estranged from Ned. She seldom rode or 
 walked with her, and often seemed disposed to avoid all 
 conversation, and the sensitive, spirited girl was too proud 
 to seek any explanation, or to make any complaint. She 
 never dreamed of the secret acquaintance progressing 
 under her very eyes, nor that it was fear of her own 
 truthful, straightforward character which made Miss 
 Edgar assume so chilling a demeanor. 
 
 She heard rarely from Dyke, as his frequent journeys 
 and ceaseless business pertaining to his invention left him 
 little time ; he did not add that by this infrequent writing 
 to her he was schooling himself ; schooling himself to be 
 prepared to yield her entirely, when occasion should 
 demand it; and Meg, since Dyke was not likely to be 
 home until spring, had decided to spend the winter in 
 Albany. 
 
 It was now November, and as Ned counted the months 
 until summer, before which season she could not expect 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 57 
 
 to make the briefest visit to her mountain home, her 
 heart sank. 
 
 " I cannot endure it," she said, pressing her forehead 
 against the window of her own room by which she was 
 standing ; that room, in whose comfort and elegance she 
 found less charm than in tracing in imagination against the 
 sky the outlines of her own loved mountains. Then she 
 thought, as she had often thought lately, about Dyke s 
 means, and whether she might nofc earn her own liveli 
 hood; and a livelihood that might even enable her to 
 make frequent remittances to Meg. She was sure she 
 could be happy doing some tiling like that, and then her 
 summer visit would be truly delightful. 
 
 She went to her desk, and wrote to Mrs. Mowbray, the 
 womanly and kind-hearted principal of the Pennsylvania 
 institute. 
 
 It was a characteristic letter, honest and open as her 
 own nature, and so clearly stated that to the good lady 
 who received it, it was a complete mirror of the writer s 
 feelings. 
 
 She waited for the answer with feverish impatience. 
 It came promptly, and she read : 
 
 "My DEAR Miss EDNA EDGAR: It was, as you sur 
 mised, with a good deal of astonishment that I read your 
 letter. I think I understand the feelings you describe so 
 clearly, and knowing your nature as I do, I must admit 
 that I sympathize with them. Whether, however, it will 
 be best for you to choose a self-supporting life while Mr. 
 Edgar s home so generously shelters you I cannot say. 
 I would advise you to place the matter before him. 
 
 " Singularly enough, at the very moment of receiving 
 your letter, I was handed another from a very wealthy, 
 but exceedingly eccentric friend of mine. She is a 
 widow, and living now on the Hudson, not many miles 
 from your present home. She desires a companion, a 
 young lady who will be willing to accommodate herself 
 to whims and vagaries ; her duties will be exceedingly 
 
58 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 light (but I add from myself that I fear they will be very 
 trying) and her remuneration will be quite liberal. 
 
 " If, my dear Miss Edna, you are disposed to try this 
 position, and that you gain Mr. Edgar s consent and ap 
 proval, the place is open to you." 
 
 Ned went with the letter to Mr. Edgar ; she met him 
 in the broad entrance hail, and at the same moment a 
 servant crossed, carrying a rare and exquisite southern 
 exotic. The gentleman, attracted by the beauty and rarity 
 of the flower, stopped the bearer. 
 
 " Mr. Dick Mackay sent it, sir ; it is the first of the 
 kind that has blossomed in one of the new sort of green 
 houses his father s had put up, and Mr. Dick cut this 
 flower off to send to Miss Ned Edgar." 
 
 Mr. Edgar frowned, and looked with something like 
 angry wonder at the young girl who was now standing 
 beside him ; but he said no more, only motioned to the 
 servant to deliver the gift. 
 
 Ned, being full of her errand to Mr. Edgar, took it 
 mechanically, and she gave hardly a thought to the 
 strangeness of Dick Mackay whom she rarely saw, and 
 then never to bestow upon him the slightest recognition- 
 making any such gift to her, and she turned immediately 
 to Mr. Edgar to ask him for a private interview. 
 
 That gentleman was secretly very much displeased ; 
 was the bad blood of his brother already showing itself in 
 his child, that she could, in defiance of all propriety and 
 all obligations to him, form such an acquaintance with a 
 gardener s son as emboldened the latter to the presump 
 tion he had just witnessed ; a presumption that amounted 
 
 to familiarity, judging by the fact that the plant was sent 
 to Miss " Ned " Edgar ; in the house, owing to his daughter s 
 preference for the name, she was called Miss Ned Edgar. 
 
 Such being the case, Ned was no companion for his child, 
 and he led the way to the library with his wonted courtesy, 
 but with a very grave and stern face. At the door he 
 paused to say with an ill-concealed sarcasm : 
 
 " Allow me to ring for your flower to be taken care 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 59 
 
 of ; it may wilt before you can give it your attention," 
 with a slightly marked emphasis on the word your. 
 
 But unsuspecting I^ed noticed neither his sarcasm nor 
 his emphasis ; she noticed nothing save his sternness, 
 which chilled and frightened her, and when the servant 
 appeared she gave up the flower mechanically, heard like 
 one who heard not, Mr. Edgar s directions for its care, 
 and sank into the seat he drew forward for her like one 
 cruelly oppressed. 
 
 " You wished to see me," he said coldly, when he had 
 waited an unusual length of time for her to begin. 
 
 She was roused at last ; the old hot spirit flamed 
 within her, and while her cheeks flushed and her eyes 
 sparkled with secret indignation that she had borne this 
 servitude so long, she handed him the letter. 
 
 " This will tell you my object in desiring this inter 
 view." 
 
 Her very voice was trembling from suppressed indig 
 nation. 
 
 He read the letter, a,nd evidently more than once it 
 was so long before he looked up. 
 
 Did she wish to leave Weewald Place so as to facilitate, 
 perhaps, her marriage with Dick Mackay ? Such was the 
 thought that flashed through his mind and which kept 
 his eyes fastened to the letter, even after lie had perused 
 it. Had she, even in her bold-facedness, come to tell 
 him that she had made this low match for herself, as her 
 father before her had done for himself ? 
 
 He looked up and waited for her to speak. 
 
 She arose. 
 
 "I thank you, Mr. Edgar, for the charity" there was 
 a trembling emphasis on the last word "which has 
 educated me and given me a home ; I thank you partic 
 ularly for the education which I now feel will enable me 
 to gain my own support." 
 
 She was obliged to pause ; for pride, anger, regret that 
 she was indebted for anything to this proud, stern man 
 were cvermasterino; her. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 He also arose. 
 
 Her spirited face and manner disgusted him ; he fan 
 cied that she lacked all gratitude, indeed, all heart, and 
 that she was incapable of the very candor which he con 
 sidered his due. 
 
 " You are old enough, Miss Edgar, to decide for your 
 self in this matter. To a young lady who has undertaken 
 such a step as this letter indicates, without consulting me, 
 neither my approval nor my consent are necessary." 
 
 She was stunned ; in her natural simplicity and im 
 pulsiveness, she had never thought of acquainting Mr. 
 Edgar with her intention to write to Mrs. Mowbray ; as 
 he was not her relative, and that she was merely a de 
 pendent, it did not seem to be any part of her duty. 
 
 She answered, as soon as she recovered her voice : 
 
 " I was not aware that in writing to Mrs. Mowbray be 
 fore I acquainted you I was wanting in any regard for 
 you. If such has been the case, I am very sorry." 
 
 It was her old fashion of asking pardon for a fault in 
 almost the same breath with her temper ; but Mr. Edgar 
 was not to be appeased. He looked upon her now as 
 somewhat of an actress, and he was really anxious to have 
 her influence removed from the house. 
 
 He answered with an unmistakable decision : " I 
 wish to say no more upon the subject, and whenever you 
 decide to leave your present home, I shall see that you 
 are provided for your journey." 
 
 He held the door open for her to pass out, bowing as 
 she did so. Then he sent for his daughter. 
 
 Miss Edgar obeyed the summons in some trepidation, 
 having learned that Ned had just come from a private 
 conversation with her father, and not knowing but thai- 
 con versation might have had some reference to herself. 
 Still, she felt assured that Ned knew nothing, and she 
 congratulated herself on the forethought with which she 
 had instructed her lover always to call her Ned Edgar. 
 She had carefully forborne to tell him at the same time 
 that she was usurping the name of her companion, for 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 61 
 
 every hireling in Weewald Place termed our heroine by 
 the masculine diminutive ; and though Mr. Edgar never 
 used it, he at no time, after discovering his daughter s 
 preference for it, disclaimed against it. 
 
 Knowing all this, Edna smiled as she saw the plant 
 borne to her cousin s room. 
 
 " My dear," said Mr. Edgar, leading his daughter 
 fondly to a seat, "I want you to answer very frankly 
 some questions I am about to ask." 
 
 Her heart beat wildly ; had he, despite her efforts at 
 secrecy, heard anything about herself and Dick ? 
 
 " Do you know anything of Miss Edna s acquaintance 
 with Mr. Mackay s son ? Has she made you her con 
 fidant ? " 
 
 She breathed freer. 
 
 " No, papa," opening her beautiful eyes very wide. 
 
 " She must have permitted him to make her acquain 
 tance, for he has been bold enough to send her a hand 
 some floral gift to-day. She has also acquainted me with 
 her intention of engaging as companion to a lady in 
 C . Has she said nothing of all this to you ? " 
 
 Miss Edgar breathed very freely ; she could truthfully 
 answer, " no, papa," to his last question ; but she was 
 careful not to add that it was her own coldness which 
 repelled every confidence on the part of her cousin. 
 
 " Well, my dear, it is evident that Miss Edna is not a 
 companion for you ; I am very glad that she has not 
 given you her confidence ; there might have been con 
 tamination in it. She is enamored, I fancy, of this gar 
 dener s son, and perhaps wants to leave us in order to 
 marry him. She probably feared my displeasure too 
 much to tell me ; but as she is not my daughter, her 
 marriage with this low fellow can neither hurt nor annoy 
 me. You, my love, will never disgrace your father by 
 an unequal marriage." 
 
 He stooped and kissed her. 
 
 Ned was too proud to yield to tears ; but the quivering 
 
62 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE 3 . 
 
 of her lip, the heaving of her breast, and the moisture 
 which came into her eyes despite herself, when she was 
 alone, told how much she suffered. 
 
 She wrote at once to Mrs. Mowbray, assuring her of 
 Mr. Edgar s consent, and urging her to complete all 
 
 arrangements with the lady in C , that she might 
 
 enter at once upon her new position. She did not write 
 to Dyke, fearing to give the honest fellow increased anx 
 iety, and feeling that she could write to him with better 
 heart when she should have become accustomed to her 
 new home. 
 
 Such arrangements as Mrs. Mowbray could make were 
 speedily completed, and Mrs. Doloran, the wealthy and 
 
 eccentric widow of C , wrote to Miss Edna Edgar 
 
 that she was quite ready to receive her. 
 
 Her departure was marked by nothing save the moth 
 erly solicitude of Mrs. Stafford ; that lady would be 
 assured that Ned was amply provided for her journey, 
 and when the girl protested at so much preparation, she 
 insisted that she must obey Mr. Edgar s orders, at which 
 Ned bit her lip and was silent. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran s eccentricities took most extravagant 
 turns, not alone in the matter of dress, which made her 
 secretly a constant subject of ridicule, but in the friend 
 ships she formed and in the disposition of her vast 
 wealth. Her ample house was always open to ev3ry one 
 whom she chose to honor with her acquaintance, and were 
 it not for the prudent care exercised over her by a nephew 
 to whom she was very much attached, she might often be 
 the prey of those who were most benefited by her lavish 
 kindness. She insisted on having about her for weeks at 
 a time any one who pleased her fancy, or contributed to 
 her amusement by the gift of story -telling, no matter how 
 brief might have been her acquaintance with the person, 
 or how contrary to the rules of propriety might be her 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 63 
 
 favor to him, and in this way she often tried sorely her 
 elegant, reserved nephew. Nothing but his affection for 
 this strange woman his dead mother s only sister and his 
 firm conviction that, left to herself, she would become the 
 speedy prey of dishonest persons, retained him with her. 
 He had an ample fortune in his own right so that he had 
 110 need of his aunt s wealth, though gossiping tongues 
 attributed all his devoted attentions to the fact that he 
 expected to become her heir. 
 
 Ned s arrival was too late for her introduction to Mrs. 
 Doloraii or even to Mrs. Doloran s nephew, Mr. Carnew, 
 and after refreshments had been provided for her, she was 
 shown to her room. The apartment was pretty and home 
 like enough to invite to rest one even less wearied, but she 
 was too full of sad emotions to slumber. Again and again 
 she enacted her parting with Mr. Edgar ; he had given 
 her his hand,, and told her to apply to him when she 
 should be in any need, but the manner of his speech had 
 seemed to freeze her very soul, and it renewed her 
 determination to endure the most abject want in prefer 
 ence to any future aid from him. Miss Edgar, in the 
 moment of parting, had resumed the affectionate manner 
 with which she had treated Ned when they first came to 
 Weewald Place. Her affection was resumed, not because 
 it had returned (it could scarcely return, for, correctly 
 speaking, her nature was incapable of feeling any affection 
 save for those who ministered to her own selfish wants), 
 and not because she experienced any sudden pity for her 
 orphan companion going forth to earn her living, but be 
 cause she was delighted at Ned s departure ; and, as usual, 
 anything that made her happy made her good-natured. 
 She knew not what spy-like qualities her cousin possessed, 
 nor what unhappy discovery she might make, if she con 
 tinued to live beneath the same roof ; so, under the 
 influence of joy that there was removed at least one 
 person who she felt would denounce her secret attach 
 ment did she know it, she had thrown her arms about 
 Ned s neck, arid kissed her warmly enough. And sensi- 
 
64: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 tive, loving, forgiving Ned, touched by even that late 
 mark of affection, had thawed under it, and forgiven and 
 forgotten all the coldness that had gone before it. 
 
 " Write to me," Miss Edgar had whispered, with her 
 cheek, to all appearance, pressed fondly enough against 
 that of her cousin, " write to me frequently ; " and Ned 
 had promised to do so, as well as she was able for the 
 gulp in her throat. 
 
 These were the memories which banished sleep, and 
 which made it, when it did come, so brief that she awoke 
 with the dawn. She dressed herself, and waited for the 
 November day to be fully ushered in ; and when the sun 
 light broke upon everything with a radiance that seemed 
 to belong to an earlier season, she threw a shawl about her 
 and descended. 
 
 Early as the hour was for a gay country house, where 
 breakfast was served late, some one had evidently gone out 
 before her, for the door of the main entrance was wide 
 open. The air was somewhat chilly, but bracing, and 
 under its invigorating influence, as she pulled her shawl 
 about her and hurried on with elastic step, she felt her 
 spirits rise. She had that sweet, ardent youth which re 
 quires so little to elate or depress it, and as she passed 
 through walks, the beauty of which, in summer time must 
 have equalled those of Weewald Place, and looked about 
 her at the vegetation that, not yet bare, was even bright 
 witli the colors which indicated its decay, she felt her 
 griefs grow lighter and lighter. Independence was before 
 her, and it only needed a patient, enduring will on her 
 part to achieve it. 
 
 Suddenly she came to a hedge of evergreen higher 
 than herself ; looking through the interstices, which in 
 some places were large enough to admit of the passage 
 of a hand, she saw a broad and well-kept gravelled walk. 
 Wondering whether it led directly to the house, and how 
 she could get upon it from her present position, she was 
 further attracted by the sound of approaching footsteps 
 on the gravel. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 65 
 
 In a moment there came into sight a very tall, stout 
 woman, followed at a respectful distance by a tall, thin, 
 awkward-looking man carrying a cup and saucer. The 
 woman was dressed in a flowing robe of the brightest 
 yellow silk, that trailed on the walk behind her like some 
 gay plumage, a shawl of light green of the same material 
 thrown scarf wise over her shoulders, and a red lace veil 
 depending from her hair. Her hands were bare, but 
 beautifully white and covered with sparkling rings, and 
 her countenance, when she came into full view of the 
 astonished and amused Ned, was that of a very handsome 
 woman about fifty years of age. Her form was straight 
 to stiffness, and she made it more painfully so, by holding 
 her shoulders rigidly back and keeping her head at the 
 highest possible elevation. She took such long heavy 
 steps, that her gait was more like a manly stride, and it 
 taxed her awkward-looking attendant to maintain the 
 precise distance which she evidently required, for she 
 turned once, and said sharply : 
 
 " You re too far, Donald ; too far by two paces." 
 Donald exerted himself to make up the two paces, and 
 the lady, satisfied, resumed her walk ; but she had only 
 taken a stride or two, when she stopped again, and de 
 manded Donald to bring to her the cup he held. 
 
 He obeyed, but with the air of one most dissatisfied 
 with his work, and she, having sipped from the cup ex 
 tended it for him to take. Instead of doing so, he dashed 
 it from her hand, breaking the vessel, and sending abroad 
 a very appetizing odor of coffee. 
 
 " I ll noo be your lap-dog any longer, wi your Donald 
 keep two paces farther, and Donald keep two paces nearer, 
 and Donald hand me me coffee, and Donald carry the cup 
 agen. It s fine wark Donald Macgilivray scome to when 
 he s after a leddy s beck and call like a cur that s afeered 
 o a beatin. You ll just get some other dog to do your 
 biddinV 
 
 He was standing as erect as was the astonished lady to 
 whom he delivered this unexpected tirade, with his arms 
 
66 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 folded, and his stubble-indented Scotcli face set in sullen 
 wrath. 
 
 The lady burst into a loud laugh, and at that moment 
 an elderly and somewhat strange-looking gentleman ap 
 peared upon the scene. He was strange-looking, botJi 
 because of his deeply bronzed and parchment like face 
 and his odd dress, pantaloons like a sailor s and a short 
 cloak slung over one shoulder. With an air of protecting 
 freedom he advanced to the lady s side. 
 
 " I heard Donald s voice, and I heard you laugh," he 
 said in such deep, clear and pleasant tones, that they 
 seemed out of harmony with his appearance. " What is 
 the matter ? " 
 
 " The matter ? " Why that fool of a Scotchman objects 
 to being my dog any longer. He d rather be an ill-treated 
 slave than a well-fed cur." And she laughed again ; a 
 laugh so loud, so hearty, and so prolonged, that it set 
 peeping Ned to laughing also. 
 
 But the Scotchman was not disposed to take any mirth 
 ful view of the occurrence ; he stood looking as angry 
 and dogged as ever. 
 
 The lady turned her mirthful face to him, and said, as 
 soon as she recovered her voice : 
 
 " I don t much blame yon, Donald, and tell Cawson 
 when you get to the house to find a place for you some 
 where, at whatever work you choose to do." 
 
 The Scotchman s face changed instantly : he had ex 
 pected to be summarily discharged, and instead he was 
 promoted. 
 
 " O me leddy," he said, looking as if he was ready to 
 fall on his knees at her feet, " you are too good, and 
 
 She waived him away, and taking the arm of the elderly 
 gentleman was turning to pursue her course, when she 
 caught sight of Ned through the interstices of the hedge. 
 Ned had been so interested and amused, that she did not 
 once think of changing her position. 
 
 "What have we here?" said the lady, dropping in her 
 astonishment the arm on which she leaned. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 67 
 
 "What are you?" she continued, as Ned, violently 
 blushing, started back ; and too impatient to wait for an 
 answer, she continued to her companion : 
 
 " Take one of your flying leaps, Mascar, and let me 
 know all about it." 
 
 The gentleman obeyed, retreating to the opposite side 
 of the road, and there collecting such force and energy 
 for his spring that it brought him flying over the top of 
 the hedge and placed him almost at the feet of the as 
 tounded girl. She was frightened enough to scream, 
 and only restrained herself by a great effort. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," he said in that strangely pleasant 
 voice. " My flight to you has only been for a very harm- 
 Jess purpose. Since you are on these grounds you must 
 be acquainted with some one in Mrs. Doloran s house. 
 It is she who has commissioned me to get your name." 
 
 " I am the person whom Mrs. Doloran expects to re 
 ceive as a companion ; my name is Edna Edgar," was the 
 trembling reply. 
 
 "Edgar," said the gentleman with a sudden and 
 strange excitement in his manner. "Did you say 
 fflgar?" 
 
 " Yes ; " she answered ; but there was no further op 
 portunity for him to question, for Mrs. Doloran was 
 screaming from the other side of the hedge : 
 
 " Bring it over here, Mascar ; I want to know all about 
 it." 
 
 He laughed as heartily as Mrs. Doloran herself had 
 laughed a short time before, and said with a merry twinkle 
 of his sharp, black eyes at Ned : 
 
 "ft is a young lady who doesn t know how to leap over 
 hedges ; it will go back to the end of this path and meet 
 us where the path converges to the road," indicating with 
 his hand as he spoke the direction Ned was to take, and 
 then he prepared himself for another flying leap back to 
 his impatient companion. 
 
 Ned pursued the course indicated, her mind very much 
 divided between anxiety lest she should not please this 
 
68 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 exceedingly eccentric lady, amusement at the oddities she 
 had already witnessed, and astonishment at the surprise 
 which the mention of her name had occasioned in the 
 strange gentleman. Lost in the maze of her thoughts 
 she reached the end of the walk before she was aware of 
 it, and saw approaching her the strange couple. 
 
 " Miss Edgar, the young lady who has come to be your 
 companion, Mrs. Doloran," said the gentleman, gracefully 
 relinquishing the arm that leaned upon his, and bowing 
 low to both ladies. 
 
 " Umpli ! " said Mrs. Doloran, holding her head at a 
 greater elevation, while she inspected this new addition 
 to her household. 
 
 "And what s your Christian name?" when she had 
 finished her survey. 
 
 "Edna!" 
 
 " Faugh 1 it s like most women s names, good for nei 
 ther sense nor sound. 
 
 " I used to be called Ned," ventured our heroine, anx 
 ious at any hazard to win the favor of this woman, with 
 out which she might be returned to Weewald Place. 
 
 " Ned, eh ! well that was sensible ; nothing like mascu 
 linity in some shape for raising a woman to dignity ; eh, 
 Mascar ? " 
 
 Mascar assented by a bow to the speaker, but a look 
 at Ned expressive of his secret mirth. 
 
 The lady continued : 
 
 " Women are such emotional creatures, running after 
 their fancies one moment and running away from them 
 the next, adoring the men in one breath, and vilifying 
 them in the second, that they have become the fools of the 
 world ; but you are young yet and may be educated to 
 better things. How old are you ? " 
 
 " Almost nineteen." 
 
 " Umpli ! not so young as you look have you any fol 
 lowers ? Are you in love ? " 
 
 The young lady blushed violently as she answered in 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 69 
 
 the negative, and the gentleman s face was contorted with 
 suppressed mirth. 
 
 They were within sight of the broad porch of the 
 house, and Ned in her embarrassment, turning unconsci 
 ously to look in that direction, saw a gentleman descend 
 the steps and come toward them. Mrs. Doloran, follow 
 ing the course of Hiss Edgar s eyes, also observed him, 
 and said eagerly : 
 
 " There s" Alan ! " 
 
 She seemed to have forgotten Ned in the watch she 
 maintained on the approaching person ; indeed, she ap 
 peared to be secretly admiring the easy grace and manly 
 swing of his gait ; as he came nearer, even Ned was struck 
 with the clear, eagle-like look in his dark eyes, and the 
 firm, yet kind expression about his mouth, the upper lip of 
 which was covered by a thick, black moustache. 
 
 Waiving all forms, Mrs. Doloran grasped Ned s arm 
 and pulled her forward with a jerk, holding her as if in 
 a vise, while she said : 
 
 u This is Ned Edgar, Alan, the companion you made 
 me engage. She isn t nineteen yet, and pretty enough to 
 have you noticing her, and she making a fool of herself 
 by falling in love with a man who wouldn t marry her if 
 he could. She says 
 
 At which point of her unnecessary speech, an angry 
 flash from Alan s eyes stopped her ; it was evident, that, 
 if to no one else, at least i/i some things she succumbed 
 to the will of this young, slender, but hrm-faced individ 
 ual. 
 
 He said quietly, but in a voice that was deep, and like 
 his face, iirm : 
 
 " Now that you have so summarily introduced the 
 young lady, be good enough to introduce me." 
 
 Mrs. Doloran broke into one of her hearty laughs ; so 
 hearty, so prolonged, and so funny that it was irresistible ; 
 Mascar joined in it, while the gentleman, called Alan, bit 
 his lip in a fruitless endeavor to maintain his own gravity, 
 and Ned laughed also in spite of herself. 
 
70 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran only stopped when the tears came into 
 her eyes, and then, placing her arms akimbo a fashion 
 which she severely deprecated in every other female, but 
 leniently tolerated in herself she said : 
 
 " Alan s my nephew Alan Carnew he is a good fel 
 low enough when his will is not opposed, and a pretty bad 
 one when anybody attempts to drive him. He likes wo 
 men when they re women, because he hasn t sense enough 
 to see that women were only made after all the brains 
 had been given to men, and he won t know what the 
 world is till he gets a wife that will fool him to the top 
 of his bent. Now, I m going into breakfast and to see 
 what Cawson s done for that poor fool, Donald ; I m go 
 ing in with Mascar, here," taking that gentleman s arm, 
 " and you, Ned, can follow with Alan. Use your oppor 
 tunity, for you won t have many of them, as I don t in 
 tend to allow you and him to be much together." 
 
 " A wholesome introduction, upon my faith," exclaimed 
 the gentleman, called Mascar, laughing as he received 
 the arm extended to him, and turned to accompany its 
 owner ; but young Carnew was flushed with anger ; he 
 did not answer, however, and after a moment, during 
 which it might be he held some wrathful struggle with 
 himself, he turned to Ned, saying, with a smile that 
 seemed to change his whole countenance and make him 
 very handsome : 
 
 " Obedience, in this instance, seems to be the only 
 course for us. So we shall follow my eccentric aunt." 
 
 She smiled in reply, and he continued as they walked : 
 
 " I have read Mrs. Mowbray s correspondence to my 
 aunt concerning you, so that I know whence you come, 
 but she did not say what relation you were to this Mr. 
 Edgar of Barrytown." 
 
 " I am no relation," was the answer. 
 
 " That is a little singular, since you bear his name and 
 he has taken such an interest in you ; but fate sometimes 
 provides for us strange coincidences " he sighed faintly, 
 as if he was oppressed by the memory of some gloomy 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 71 
 
 coincidence in his ow T n life " and," he continued, " it is 
 rather unusual for a young lady like you to give up vol 
 untarily a home such as Mr. Edgar provided in order to 
 eat the bread of strangers." 
 
 " But it will be earned bread," she could not refrain 
 from answering. 
 
 " Why ? Have you found it so hard to eat bread that is 
 bestowed ? " And then, as if he was anxious to leave the 
 topic he himself had introduced, he did not wait for her 
 answer, but continued : 
 
 " Your duties here will be light, but they will be most 
 trying ; my aunt s whims sometimes change every hour, 
 and I fear she will make you the puppet of them ; how 
 ever, when her yoke presses too hard, you can return to 
 your recent home." 
 
 They were now on the porch itself, and he was ready 
 to pass her gracefully into the house, little dreaming how 
 his last words had evoked within her a stern determina 
 tion to submit to the most extravagant of Mrs. Doloran s 
 whims rather than return to Weewald Place. 
 
 XYIII. 
 
 Ned s duties, as Mrs. Doloran s companion, were ex 
 ceedingly trying ; but there was so much amusement in 
 the lady s various oddities that often our heroine s tears, 
 on the point of secretly flowing, were checked by the re 
 membrance of the laughable whim which had given rise 
 to the awkward or unpleasant duty. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran s house, which she insisted upon calling 
 Rahandabed, after the hero of some wild East Indian 
 story told to her by the gentleman she had called Mascar, 
 was constantly full of guests, among which, in spite of her 
 frequently avowed contempt for the sex, it was fairly rep 
 resented. The guests were mostly New York people, 
 Mrs. Doloran s residence having been there until the 
 death of her husband left her free to follow the caprices 
 which were the bane of her unfortunate consort s life, 
 
1T2 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 and that made him liardly sorry when his demise came, 
 since it was his only chance of release from so odd and 
 exacting a companion. Their union had been childless, 
 and that perhaps was an extenuating cause for her fre 
 quent sudden and amusing infatuation for chance ac 
 quaintances. Alan Carnew, an orphan at an early age, 
 when not at college or travelling, made his home with the 
 Dolorans, taking his aunt abroad on the death of aier hus 
 band, and fondly hoping that on their return some change 
 would be effected in her eccentric ways. He was doomed 
 to disappointment : foreign scenes but imbued her with a 
 deeper love for the grotesque in dress and the singular in 
 forming friendships. She returned with her trunk full 
 of the brigl it hues of nearly every foreign loom, and ac 
 companied by a gentleman whose acquaintance she had 
 insisted on making. 
 
 Her strange fancy was caught first by his odd and 
 striking dress, as he stood in an outer room of one of the 
 Italian palaces that Alan had brought her to see, and next 
 by his conversation with a companion; it was in English, 
 and was a spirited account of some exciting adventure in 
 India. Had not Alan restrained her, she would have gone 
 up to him and asked him to repeat his narrative ; as it 
 was, she gave her nephew no rest until he learned that 
 the stranger was an unmarried English gentleman, who 
 had resided for some years in India, which country he had 
 left to return to England in order to receive a fortune 
 bequeathed to him, and that he was now about to make a 
 tour of the world for pleasure. 
 
 " Then we shall have no difficulty in inducing him to 
 come to America with us," said the impetuous lady. 
 
 " Aunt Doloran, are you crazy ? " replied her astonished 
 and indignant nephew. 
 
 "No, my exemplary Alan, but very much in love with 
 a project of my own which could never be complete 
 without this delightful Indian gentleman. I intend, when 
 I return, to transfer my residence from New York to 
 some pretty spot along the Hudson, and summer and 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 3 
 
 winter my friends shall have a carnival. This gentleman, 
 with his exquisitely horrid stories of all that he has seen 
 and heard in the Indian jungles will be just the thing. 
 Maybe he ll consent to become my steward, or head man 
 in some way." 
 
 Alan, horrified, could only gaze at her. But, as every wo 
 man does, she carried her way, and the Indian gentleman, 
 though he was not asked to become her steward, did actu 
 ally accompany herself and her nephew to America. The 
 latter, in spite of ail his protests and entreaties to his aunt 
 to have some regard for propriety, was obliged to manage 
 the introduction ; and Mr. Mascar Ordotte (his very name 
 being such an odd one was in his favor with Mrs. Doloran) 
 was in no wise loth to attach himself to the train of a 
 woman who, from the moment of his acquaintance with 
 her, afforded him infinite amusement. He accepted very 
 readily her invitation to accompany her to New York, 
 and once there, required little persuasion to prolong his 
 visit until they should be settled in their country home. 
 
 To Alan, this new acquaintance was most undesirable, 
 even though occasionally there was a fascination about 
 Ordotte s manner and conversation that he found hard to 
 resist, but as his aunt was neither to be moved by entrea 
 ties, nor by threats to deprive her of his own companion 
 ship, and as he feared that his departure might give rein 
 to some unpleasant gossip from those who were unac 
 quainted with the guilelessness of her motives, and as he 
 hoped for a termination of Ordotte s visit, he tolerated 
 all, and treated the visitor with a rather cold, but marked 
 politeness. 
 
 Nor did the grave, handsome, and scholarly nephew 
 mingle as much as might be expected from his youth, be 
 ing hardly twenty- six, with his aunt s guests; he joined 
 their pastimes occasionally, but it was a well-known fact 
 that he preferred his solitary rides across the country, and 
 his books, to all their sports, and many a feminine heart, 
 grew sick with disappointment that no charm of beauty 
 
74: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 seemed potent enough to win the heart of this handsome 
 heir of "Rahandabed." 
 
 Ned, of course, was thrown much with the company, 
 being in constant attendance upon Mrs. Doloran ; but she 
 was so shy and reserved that she attracted little attention 
 save when some absurd request made to her by the widow 
 drew every eye upon her. 
 
 She was a month in her new home, and during that 
 time she had heard once from Dyke, his letter being sent 
 to her from Weewald Place. She had answered, inform 
 ing him of the change she had made ; but she had done 
 it in such a manner that, unless of his own intuition, lie 
 could never divine the unhappy feelings which had 
 prompted her. And she had also written to Miss Edgar, 
 according to her promise, a brief, but friendly note, and 
 received in reply from that young lady quite a gushing 
 epistle, detailing how Mr. Edgar had decided to throw 
 open his house to company that winter, and previous to 
 doing so, intended to take his daughter for a brief visit to 
 New York. 
 
 December s chilly blasts had set in, and the evenings 
 found the gay company in the spacious winter parlor to 
 which blazing grate lires at opposite ends of the room, 
 and crimson moire curtains, imparted an air of delightful 
 comfort deep in the amusement of charades, or tableaux, 
 or laughable puzzles that taxed alike mental and mirthful 
 faculties. Mrs. Doloran was the queen of the assemblies, 
 and with her grotesque and startling dress, to which her 
 unusual height imparted greater oddity, she presented a 
 most novel sight. Her jewels she wore upon all occasions, 
 varying them only as to kind, and insisted upon 
 adorning her hair witli either lace or silken drapery. 
 Her dress, ample enough in the skirt to have clothed two 
 ordinary women, trailed far behind her. and was always 
 of some hue of the rainbow. 
 
 Poor Ned was obliged to be constantly in the shadow 
 of this great, ill-dressed woman, and she never knew what 
 moment would call forth such requests as : 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 75 
 
 " Sing me a lullaby, Ned ; I want to forget that I am a 
 woman, and go back to my cradle days ; " or, "tell me 
 about that delightful story you were reading yesterday, 
 where the namby-pamby heroine fell into a pond and was 
 mistaken for a fish by the fishermen, and for a goose by 
 her fool of a lover." 
 
 And Ned was obliged to obey, while her face burned 
 with blushes, and her voice was painfully tremulous, for 
 Mrs. Doloran s whims were as likely to want gratification 
 in the presence of the whole assembled company as when 
 she was alone with her young companion. One evening, 
 the lady s fancy settled upon Ordotte, rather than upon 
 Ned. Calling him from the group with whom he had 
 been deciding on the manner in which some game should 
 be played, she said in the loud tones she always used : 
 
 " Give the company that story, Mascar, that you said 
 Ned s face here put you in mind of." 
 
 The allusion to Ned s face brought every eye upon the 
 young girl, even the piercing look of Alan Carnew, who 
 happened to make one of the party that evening, and she 
 dropped her eyes beneath the battery of glances, and 
 blushed until she thought she must suffocate under the 
 sudden rush of blood. 
 
 Young Carnew pitied her ; her modesty charmed him, 
 while the quiet, uncomplaining way with which she at 
 tempted to do the absurd things so often required of her 
 appealed to his heart, and frequently made him strongly 
 inclined to interfere in her behalf ; feeling, however, how 
 futile would be his efforts in such a cause, and interested 
 in watching the struggle that he saw it cost her to dis 
 charge such repugnant duties, he remained aloof, never 
 seeming to take further notice of her than courtesy 
 required. 
 
 Neither had Ordotte noticed her particularly since the 
 morning on which he had showed such surprise at the 
 mention of her name. Now, however, when he was thus 
 loudly and impetuously appealed to, he left the group to 
 which he had been talking, and, approaching Ned, said. 
 
76 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 with the air of one who was stirred to mention deeper 
 things than might be prudent : 
 
 " Miss Edgar s face reminded me of a mystery an 
 Indian mystery that is all." 
 
 " All ? " vociferated Mrs. Doloran, " why, we want the 
 mystery, the whole mystery; how delightful that it 
 occurred in India. Who knows but that Ned here, with 
 her Indian hair and eyes, will be the solving of it." 
 
 A strange look passed over Ordotte s face, a look at 
 once sad and iierce, and catching it for the instant that her 
 eyes lifted, Ned involuntarily shuddered. 
 
 " The mystery," answered Ordette, " has the same 
 elements as other mysteries a woman s face, a wayward 
 life, and a burning wrong. Nothing more, I assure you." 
 
 He dropped his hands, and turned smiling to Mrs. 
 Doloran. 
 
 She would have the details. 
 
 " A^eave your elements into a narrative," she demanded, 
 " don t leave us to imagine that Ned is really the woman 
 of the mystery." 
 
 In her eagerness she had risen from her seat, and stood 
 with one hand on the back of Ned s chair. 
 
 Ordotte shrugged his shoulders and laughed ; one of 
 the laughs that were so good an imitation of Mrs. Doloran s 
 own as to set most of the company laughing, despite their 
 extreme curiosity aroused by the gentleman s words. 
 
 "My mystery," he resumed, when his mirth had sub 
 sided, " must remain such even to me, the time has hardly 
 come for its revelation ; but if, by the singular fact of Miss 
 Edgar s face reminding me of it, there can be won for 
 that young lady the regard which her amiable qualities 
 deserve, then shall my mystery have its just revelation." 
 
 To one person, and one person alone, did his words 
 convey a double meaning, and that person was Alan 
 Carnew. 
 
 Watching the tawny face of the speaker, he imagined 
 that he had read in its expression, not alone what the 
 words had conveyed to the company, that the amiable 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 77 
 
 qualities of the young lady deserved different treatment 
 from Mrs. Doloran, but also that Ordotte had a knowl 
 edge of something pertaining to Ned. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran, however, was too dull of comprehension 
 to assume any part of the remarks to herself, and eager 
 only to gratify her desire of hearing an account of the 
 mystery, she persisted : 
 
 " This is frightful of you, Mascar, to plunge us all into 
 such doubt. I insist that you tell us at least what you 
 know." 
 
 At this moment a servant entered with some message, 
 which he delivered in alow voice to Mr. Carnew, who im 
 mediately arose and crossed to Ned. 
 
 " There is a gentleman to see yon ; he is in a great 
 hurry, and begs if it be possible that you will see him 
 immediately." 
 
 Mrs. Doloran also heard the message delivered by Alan, 
 and with her wonted impetuous drift of attention from 
 one subject to another, immediately said : 
 
 " A gentleman to see you, Ned ? I thought you had no 
 followers, no lovers, no males of any kind in your wake." 
 
 Ned had arisen, and between embarrassment at the 
 situation in which she found herself, and shame at the 
 loud and coarse remarks of Mrs. Doloran, she presented 
 a pitiable but most interesting picture. Carnew s man 
 hood came to her rescue. 
 
 " Allow me to escort you from the parlor, Miss Edgar," 
 lie said, presenting at the same time his arm with an ex 
 quisite grace. She gladly took it, and under cover of his 
 courtesy made her exit. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The gentleman who wanted to see Ned was Dyke 
 Dyke, travel-worn and with a strangly haggard look in 
 his honest countenance. Ned almost flew into his arms, 
 but he avoided much of her embrace, without exactly 
 seeming to do so. Since he loved her so passionately he 
 
78 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 must guard every avenue by which that love might escape 
 and show itself unbidden to her unsuspecting eyes ; so, 
 did he suffer the warm caress which in her sisterly love 
 for him she would have given, he must have snatched her 
 to. his breast and told how day and night she had been the 
 star, that guided him. And the time had not come for 
 that, for he had not yet made his fortune, nor had she had 
 the opportunity of giving her heart to a worthier lover. 
 
 He held her at arm s length on the pretence of noting 
 the changes in her, and she laughed and cried in a breath 
 with joy, and could hardly keep still in her desire to do 
 something for him, and to ask him so many questions in 
 the same moment. 
 
 " I did not expect to see you until summer," she said ; 
 " how did you get here, and at such a time of the night ? 
 But you must stay to night ; Mr. Carnew told me that any 
 friend of mine should be treated with the hospitality ex 
 tended to the guests." 
 
 Dyke shook his head : 
 
 " I cannot Ned, for I must travel all night in order to 
 catch up with Mr. Patten ; I turned out of my way to see 
 you, because I could not rest after your last letter I 
 could not understand why you had left Weewald Place." 
 
 "Was not I plain enough ?" she said laughingly, and 
 then she cunningly endeavored to throw him off the 
 scent of her true motive in going away, but he was not to 
 be turned from the clew he had shrewdly divined on 
 reading her letter. 
 
 " You were very unhappy at Weewald Place," he said, 
 looking at her with that peculiarly searching expression 
 which as a child she could never withstand ; and it had 
 something of its old power over her now, for she dropped 
 her eyes and blushed. "Tell me, Ned," he said, "tell 
 me frankly." 
 
 But, after all what was there to tell ? A coldness on the 
 part of Mr. Edgar which she in her sensitiveness might 
 have exaggerated, and an estrangement on the part of 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 79 
 
 Edna that she considered atoned for by that young lady s 
 last outburst of affection. 
 
 Dyke, however, knowing so well Ned s loving, generous 
 nature, comprehended as much from her meagre and 
 hesitating statements as though lie had really been a 
 witness of Mr. Edgar s manner, and he treasured all up 
 in his own heart. 
 
 " Now tell me about your life here," he said ; and she 
 told him, reserving only the humiliations which her duties 
 sometimes entailed upon her ; and the account sounded 
 satisfactory enough, with her light tasks that, as she 
 enumerated them, hardly seemed to deserve the name, and 
 the company with which she said the house was filled, 
 and the pastimes that occupied many hours of each day. 
 Dyke said he was glad she had so much variety, and he 
 strove to make himself believe that he was glad that she 
 was so happily situated, even though she might be already 
 on a course which would bear her far from him. 
 
 The last moment of the time he had allotted for his 
 stay arrived, and no persuasions of Ned could induce him 
 to prolong it, even though she repeatedly urged Mr. 
 Carnew s invitation. 
 
 "Who is this Mr. Carnew," he said at last smilingly, 
 " that you lay such stress upon his invitation ? " 
 
 " Oh, I didn t think to tell you ; he is Mrs. Doloran s 
 nephew, and in some sense master of the house." 
 
 At this instant there was a knock at the door, and a 
 message from the servant to say that refreshments awaited 
 the stranger, and a room was at his disposal, all by Mr. 
 Carnew s order. 
 
 "There, did I not tell you?" laughed Ned, delighted 
 that Dyke should have such attention ; but the young 
 fellow would not wait, and half ready to cry that Mr. 
 Alan s kindness should be so slighted, she accompanied 
 him to one of the side doors that led to the grounds. 
 There he had to wait a moment while she brought a 
 servant with a lantern, and in doing so she encountered 
 Mr. Carnew. 
 
80 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " Alick, the man, tells me that your friend refuses to 
 accept our hospitality ; do you think it needs my personal 
 invitation ? " 
 
 He spoke so kindly that it banished her embarrassment 
 at meeting him, and she answered : 
 
 " I think not ; he is in a great hurry." 
 
 "Nevertheless, I shall take it upon myself to try," lie 
 said, and so he accompanied her back to Dyke. 
 
 She performed the introduction, and Mr. Carnew 
 acknowledged it as gracefully and graciously as if the 
 great, country-looking fellow was his equal in the social 
 scale, while Dyke could hardly refrain from staring so 
 intently at the handsome man before him as to lay him 
 self open to the charge of rudeness. Carnew was so 
 eminently handsome, with that clear, penetrating honest 
 look in Ms eyes which never failed to win Dyke s 
 admiration. 
 
 But he could not be persuaded to stay, and Alan, with 
 a kindly expressed regret and adieu, turned away and left 
 the two together. 
 
 "When shall I see you again?" asked Ned, clinging to 
 the great, hard brown hand, that was of itself loth to 
 withdraw. 
 
 " Not until summer, I fear ; there is so much to be done 
 in the way of travel yet, that I shall not have an hour for 
 myself until then." 
 
 She had already asked him all about his invention, and 
 while he had answered truthfully, he had still managed 
 to conceal from her that his prospects were hardly as 
 bright as they had been. Now, whether for the moment 
 that he was off his guard, or that his gloomy anxiety had 
 overmastered him, there was a despondency in his tones 
 that startled her. 
 
 She looked up. the lamplight from the hall on the verge 
 of which they were standing, showing fully her anxious 
 countenance, and bringing him back instantly to his 
 wonted guard. He forestalled the question that he felt 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 81 
 
 she was about to ask, by saying, with his accustomed 
 cheerfulness : 
 
 " You must ascribe my heavy-hearted speaking, just 
 then, Ned, to my fatigue, having journeyed a long distance 
 to-day, and to my anxiety to meet Patten. In June next, 
 Meg will be home, and then I shall come for you to spend 
 your summer with us, like you used to do when you were 
 little Ned." 
 
 lie stooped suddenly and kissed her and was gone, fol 
 lowing the flash of the lantern which at that moment 
 appeared round the angle of the house. 
 
 She went back to Mrs. Doloran, and found herself an 
 object of most undesirable attention on the part of that 
 lady, who would know all about Ned s " follower," as she 
 termed Ned s visitor ; but here again Alan Carnew came 
 to her rescue, and so diverted his aunt s questions by 
 amusing interruptions of his own, that the attention of 
 the company was withdrawn from Ned, and after a little, 
 amused herself by the wit of her nephew, Mrs. Doloran 
 forgot the blushing, embarrassed object of her searching 
 and pointed observations. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Mr. Edgar was preparing for his trip to New York 
 with his daughter, when a servant announced that Dykard 
 Duttoii wished to see him. 
 
 The gentleman s brow clouded slightly ; lie imagined 
 that he knew the object of Dyke s visit ; it had refer 
 ence to his niece, and he was not a little annoyed that he 
 was perhaps about to be reproached for what his own 
 conscience more than once had twinged him suffering 
 Ned to leave his house so unprotected and while the 
 scowl deepened upon his brow, he ordered the young man. 
 to be admitted to his presence. 
 
 Dyke s manliness was never abashed, no matter into 
 what haughty presence he might be ushered, or amid 
 what splendid surroundings he might lind himself, nor 
 
82 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 what might be the nature of his errand. His singular 
 honesty of purpose raised him above the awkwardness 
 and embarrassment of coarse and conceited minds, and 
 gave to his bearing a grave simplicity which won and re 
 tained involuntary respect. And Mr. Edgar felt this 
 when Dyke was ushered into his presence, perhaps more 
 than he had done on any previous occasion, for his brow 
 cleared, and he accorded to Dyke the gracious salutation 
 he might have given to an equal. 
 
 The honest fellow stated his errand at once. Had Mr. 
 Edgar renounced all interest in his niece ? 
 
 " She has withdrawn herself from my interest," was 
 the quiet reply. 
 
 Dyke grew hot. " Would you suffer the merest friend, 
 especially if that friend was a young girl who had ac 
 cepted the hospitality of your house, to leave it in such a 
 friendless condition; would not your manhood have 
 prompted you to accompany her to her destination, and 
 ascertain for yourself that her new home was her proper 
 place ? Would not your sense of common charity have 
 impelled you to impress upon any unprotected orphan 
 thrown into your charge, that you were her friend, and 
 not one of whom she was to be afraid, and by whom she 
 was to be repelled ? The orphan you have suffered to go 
 forth in. such a manner has a tie upon you which you will 
 not be able always to conceal and repudiate, and it may 
 be a part of the justice of Heaven to show you one day 
 that you have made a bitter mistake." 
 
 Edgar himself was now stirred to wrath ; words like 
 these burned into his soul, and his eyes flashed with the 
 foreboding look of a temper which once loosed knows 
 little bounds. 
 
 " You are insolent, young man ; I shall brook no such 
 language." 
 
 " Hear me out," said Dyke with a firmness which Mr. 
 Edgar felt impelled to obey. 
 
 " Since you were satisfied to let her go, why not have 
 written to me of her desire ; I, at least, would attend her, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 as I have attended her before, and ascertain the suitable 
 ness of the life she had decided to accept. Instead, you 
 sent me no word, and I only learned from her letter that 
 she had gone forth to earn her living. Better you had 
 surrendered all claim to her long ago, and permitted Meg 
 and me to educate her for a simple, useful station. Now 
 she is a lady, and yet she is compelled to be a hireling." 
 
 " Cease your insults," thundered Edgar, so maddened 
 by reproaches, the truth of which he could not deny, that 
 he was unable to hear more. 
 
 But Dyke was undaunted. Drawing himself to his full 
 height, and looking unflinchingly into the flashing eyes 
 before him, he resumed : 
 
 " I have come to-day to get your final answer : Will you 
 resign forever all claim of, and interest in Ned ? " The 
 name came so readily to his lips he would not change it 
 for another. 
 
 " And if I do, what then ? " replied Edgar. 
 
 " Then I shall not be so hopeless of her hand one day ; 
 unprovided for by you, she will be somewhat nearer to 
 my own station in life, and when I have won the com 
 petency that will insure for her a happy home, and if her 
 hand be not given to a worthier suitor, I shall lay my heart 
 at her feet. Did your interest continue to provide for 
 her, my hope could never be realized ; the difference in 
 our social scale would close my lips." 
 
 In spite of Mr. Edgar s indignation at what he con 
 sidered the unabashed impertinence of this young man, 
 he could not but secretly admire him, and also secretly 
 pity him ; remembering the incident of the flower sent 
 by Dick Mackay, and Ned s own, as he considered it, 
 want of candor, he felt that her affections, if not already 
 bestowed upon Dick, would in all probability be given to 
 some one like him, handsome but worthless, in preference 
 to the honest country fellow before him. He wondered 
 to himself if it would not be truer kindness to tell this 
 trusting man all that he had observed so unfavorably in 
 his niece ; but when he attempted to do so he failed he 
 
84: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 had not sufficient heart to crush Dyke s hopes, and he said 
 instead : 
 
 " I renounce from this moment all interest in my 
 brother s daughter. You are at perfect liberty to do for 
 her whatever your regard may prompt. When I meet 
 her I shall salute her with the courtesy of an acquaintance ; 
 further than that she is and she shall be nothing to me." 
 
 He bowed and turned away, and Dyke went out with 
 a strange sense of oppression and gloom. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The cloud that had suddenly overcast Dyke s prospects 
 regarding his invention, instead of brightening, became 
 darker, until it burst upon him one morning in the re 
 ception of a letter from a person that he did not know, 
 and which, owing to his own frequent change of abode, 
 was some time after date in reaching him. 
 
 The letter told him that Mr. Patten, whom he had so 
 trusted and depended upon, had but used that trust and 
 dependence for his own gain and the aggrandizement of 
 an influential company to whom lie had imparted all the 
 secrets of Dyke s invention ; that a patent had been 
 obtained in their name for what Dyke s long years of 
 patient thought and work had achieved, and that Dyke s 
 very efforts, which he had been so painfully and deter 
 minedly making during the past four months, had actually 
 gone to help the success of the company. 
 
 " I write you all this," the letter went on to say, u be 
 cause I know this scoundrel Patten and hate him 
 thoroughly, and I have also heard something of your hard 
 working, honest life. It has been proposed even to dupe 
 you still further by keeping you in ignorance of Patten s 
 treachery, and have you continue to canvass the country. 
 All this I overheard yesterday ; for your sake I am sorry 
 that the revelation came to me so late. I do not know 
 that you can gain any redress, as might and money are 
 hard to be overcome, and this company has enough of 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 85 
 
 both to save themselves and to protect even this wretch 
 Patten." 
 
 That was all, save the utterly strange signature, and 
 Dyke read it over and over like one trying to make out 
 a foreign language. Recently, he had himself doubted 
 Patten, the man s actions and statements being strange 
 arid unsatisfactory ; but his doubts, wanting proof, had 
 taken no tangible form, and he had sought to dismiss 
 them. 
 
 Now they all came before him and gave vivid color 
 to this written accusation ; still, he would n;)t believe it ; 
 the consequences to him, should it be true, were too 
 dreadful. He put the letter into his pocket and ordered 
 a conveyance. By hard driving, he could reach the sta 
 tion, whence he knew Patten was to board the train for 
 New York. It was only the night before he had received 
 a message from him to that effect, and there was noth 
 ing in its plausible tenor to indicate an iota of the 
 treachery lie had already perpetrated. 
 
 His horse was in a foam of porspi ration, though it 
 was a sharp bracing winter day, and Dyke himself was 
 little better from his hot thoughts as he drove into sight 
 of the rude depot, where a few straggling passengers 
 awaited the coming of the down train. Springing from 
 his wagon, and throwing his rein to a lounger, he bounded 
 on the platform of the depot, for already the whistle of 
 the approaching train sounded, and the few passengers 
 were stirring themselves in preparation. Among them 
 was a little, nervous, wiry man ; he threw uneasy glances 
 on all sides of him, and fairly started when, Hushed and 
 perspiration-covered Dyke strode up to him. 
 
 "You can t go aboard this train, Mr. Patten," said 
 the young man, " nor aboard any train until you settle 
 accounts with me." 
 
 " But I must, Mr. Dutton," pretending not to see in 
 this summary check anything more than an ordinary de 
 tention of business. " Our interests demand my pres 
 ence as soon as possible in New York." 
 
86 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " Your interests may," said Dyke, with a fine, sarcas 
 tic emphasis, but my interests demand your presence 
 here." 
 
 The train puffed into sight, and Mr. Patten stooped 
 for his valise beside him ; bnt Dyke grasped his shoulder. 
 
 " Patten," said he, " you are dealing with a desperate 
 man, and if it goes to the length of brute force, by God 
 I shall use it." 
 
 It was the first time an oath had ever passed Dyke s 
 lips, but the sense of his bitter wrongs had transformed 
 him. 
 
 And Patten cowered beneath the angry eyes above 
 him, and trembled under the strong grasp upon his 
 shoulder, and made no further effort to board the train, 
 seeing which, Dyke said, with a quietness that was so 
 stern it was almost as terrible as his anger : 
 
 " Come with me." 
 
 They entered a house which made pretensions of being 
 a hotel, and, amid the bustle occasioned by the departure 
 of the train, they were comparatively unnoticed. Both 
 knew the place, for both had sojourned there, and no 
 one questioned or opposed when Dyke led the way to a 
 private apartment in the rear of the bar. There, closing 
 the door, and standing with his back against it, he took 
 from his pocket the accusing letter, and extended it to 
 his companion. 
 
 " Read, Patten," he said, and give me one word for 
 answer, yes or no." 
 
 Patten, in mortal fear, knowing his puny strength 
 beside this great athletic fellow, read as he was requested 
 to do ; then he was silent, overwhelmed that his treach 
 ery had been so speedily and so accurately discovered. 
 
 " Speak," commanded Dyke, reading in the man s very 
 silence a confirmation of his worst fears. 
 
 Patten recovered himself ; it was necessary to tell 
 some story to be saved from the summary vengeance 
 which threatened in Dyke s eyes, and he said, trying to 
 assume a confidence and courage lie \vas far from feeling. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 87 
 
 "This is not the first time, Mr. Dutton, a man has 
 been vilified by a malicious enemy. The patent this 
 company has obtained, though for an invention similar to 
 your own, will not entrench upon yours when you get 
 it." 
 
 " When I get it," repeated Dyke sarcastically. " And," 
 lie continued, " how is it you have never said a word about 
 any invention similar to mine being in the market? Was 
 it because you were in the interest of this company from 
 the first, and that you had made your plan to deceive 
 me ? " 
 
 " No, no, Mr. Dutton ; believe me, I made no plan 
 to deceive you. I 
 But Dyke cut him short. 
 
 "I want no quibbling, Patten; I want the truth, and 
 I shall have it if I have to force it out of you." 
 
 He strode to the now trembling wretch. 
 
 " For God s sake, Mr. Dutton, you would do no vio 
 lence ; remember that I am unarmed, and much smaller 
 and weaker than you are." 
 
 " Yes," muttered Dyke, " unarmed, but armed with 
 the wrong and ruin you have brought upon me. An 
 swer me, Patten ; have you sold the interest you pledged 
 to me, to this company ? Are you their hireling ( " 
 
 He caught Patten by the throat as he spoke, and his 
 eyes had the glare of frenzy. 
 
 " Spare me," whined the cowering man, now in mor 
 tal fear for his life. " Spare me, Mr. Dutton, and I will 
 tell you all." 
 
 Dyke relaxed his grip, and listened with what quietness 
 he could assume to the account of a duplicity which not 
 alone had stolen from him the work of a score of years, 
 but cruelly impoverished him and destroyed by one fell 
 blow every bright hope of his future. He had assisted 
 the broken and hesitating statement by questions that the 
 deceiver, through fear, was forced to answer, and he 
 knew now the full extent to which he had been duped ; 
 and as he looked at the whining, cowering wretch 
 
88 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 before him, and realized the bitter blight wrought by his 
 treachery, it seemed as if a demon rose within him, and 
 impelled him to crush this author of his ruin. Twice he 
 clinched his hands and lifted them as if about to strike, 
 but each time that restraint which he had all his life ex 
 ercised over himself came to his aid, and he suffered his 
 hands to drop. 
 
 " Go," he said at length, when he had mastered his 
 passion sufficiently to speak; "go and complete your 
 infernal treachery. I spare you only because you are 
 too contemptible to suffer at my hands." 
 
 He opened the door, and Patten, glad of the oppor 
 tunity to escape, darted forth. 
 
 Dyke paced the room to quiet himself and to think ; 
 but all his thoughts resolved themselves into the same 
 stern facts the loss of the combined savings of Meg and 
 himself, the ruin of all his future prospects, and the hope 
 lessness of any redress. Still, something must be done, 
 if nothing more, something to keep Meg from knowing 
 the extent of the blow, and with no very clear thought as 
 to what he should do after he readied New York, further 
 than to consult a lawyer, he went out to ascertain the time 
 of the next train down. 
 
 In New York, the lawyer to whom Dyke applied was 
 one of the first in his profession, and he became singularly 
 interested in the young man s deplorable story ; but it 
 was a hopeless case, and he said so frankly. Not all his 
 skill could avail to take it into court, and if it could, nothing 
 but Dyke s simple word of mouth was to be adduced as 
 evidence against Patten ; Dyke had not even a voucher 
 of any kind for the secrets regarding his invention which 
 he had imparted ; nor a paper to show that Patten was 
 pledged to his interests. It was simply a case of cruelly 
 misplaced confidence, and, as such, there was no help for 
 the poor ruined victim. 
 
 The young man did not answer when the lawyer de 
 livered his opinion ; he sat looking straight at the finely 
 cut intelligent face before him, with an expression that, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 89 
 
 inured as the lawyer was to harrowing looks on the faces 
 of his clients, moved him to the soul. It corroborated 
 so painfully all of the sad facts he had heard. That 
 Dyke s was no common nature he well judged, and 
 prompted by his sympathy, and by the fancy which he 
 had taken to the young man, he said : 
 
 " Since your circumstances have suffered such a reverse 
 by this wretched business, will you accept a position in a 
 1 arge business house here ? The remuneration may be some 
 what small at first, but it will increase with the develop 
 ment of your business qualities." 
 
 Dyke hailed the proposition. It would give him work 
 for mind and body, and provide for him that subsistence 
 for which he scarcely knew where to turn now ; it might 
 also, after months of close economy, restore to his aunt a 
 portion of the savings he had so miserably lost, lie 
 could possibly let the little farm among the mountains, 
 induce Meg to make a longer stay with her relatives, and 
 not yet undeceive her with regard to his expected 
 success. So he accepted the offer, and in a week, having 
 completed his few arrangements, he was installed as one 
 of the junior clerks in a large wholesale commission house, 
 and his letters to Meg and _N"ed, without being in the least 
 untruthful, were so carefully worded that neither dreamed 
 of the bitter and blighting change which had come over 
 his prospects. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The winter and spring passed, and Ned who in every 
 trying hour, and sometimes she had many of them, com 
 forted herself by thinking of the summer when she should 
 go home, as she fondly regarded the little mountain 
 farm had begun to count the days that must elapse until 
 June arrived, the time she had set for her departure. 
 Her remuneration was, as Mrs. Mowbray had said it would 
 be, quite liberal, anJ even more than that, for Mrs. 
 Doloran had frequent impulses of generosity, in which she 
 
90 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 made the young girl handsome presents. Ned happened 
 to suit her whimsical disposition, and even to win by her 
 gentle, reserved demeanor a little of her affection, though 
 these facts did not restrain any of her absurd require 
 ments. And Ned had been as saving as the veriest miser ; 
 not a cent went for any purpose save the one, that of 
 hoarding in order to be able to pour into Meg s lap all of 
 her little earnings. Not that she thought Meg needed it, 
 but it would be an outlet for that affectionate gratitude 
 which, impelled her to make some return for all the love 
 and care that had been bestowed upon herself. 
 
 Dyke wrote as infrequently as ever, and his carefully 
 worded letters gave her no intimation of what he was 
 doing. She supposed that his long sojourn in New York 
 was in the interest of his invention, and that when she 
 saw him in the summer time, he would give her all the 
 particulars he omitted to write now. 
 
 So, as the summer came on apace, and Hahandabed as 
 sumed all its summer glory, inviting the guests, of which 
 the house was wellnigh full, to constant out-door pastimes, 
 Ned seemed to grow as gay-hearted as any of them. Her 
 eyes frequently sparkled with pleasure, for she was con- 
 otantly thinking of her summer visit. How she pictured 
 every object in the surroundings of her mountain home : 
 the mountains themselves, the lofty objects of her childish 
 fear and wonder ; the wood, to the trees of which she had 
 given in her childhood a human individuality ; the little 
 farm, with its patches of late ripening vegetables, its rude 
 barn, and its two stupid, patient cows . the house itself 
 with its few low, roughly ceil inged rooms, and lastly, 
 warm-hearted, loving Meg and Dyke. She saw them all, 
 and thinking of them so much Ivy day, she dreamed fre 
 quently of them by night. In her last letter to Dyke, a 
 letter written in the early part of May, she wrote very 
 joyfully of her expected visit, reminding him that there 
 were scarcely four weeks until the arrival of the time ap 
 pointed for him to come for her. It had been part of 
 Dyke s plan to obtain a vacation of a few weeks, during 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 91 
 
 which he would take both Ned and Meg home, and en 
 joy with them a brief season of repose and happiness, 
 continuing, however, to conceal from them his misfortune. 
 But, on the very day that Ned s letter came, he was in 
 formed of his promotion to a department of the business 
 which would require his closest personal supervision ; the 
 increase in his salary was not large, but the promotion it 
 self was a compliment to the young man s business tact 
 and integrity ; and his friend, the lawyer, whose interest 
 in the young fellow continued, strongly counselled him 
 not to refuse. It seemed to be much the better course 
 despite the disappointment it would entail upon Ned and 
 himself, and after a night s deliberation he accepted it. 
 
 Then he decided to write frankly to Ned ; he could 
 not keep her in ignorance longer without telling un 
 truths, and Dyke s whole soul shrank from such a course. 
 
 So he broke his news to her very gently, very ten 
 derly, but very honestly, without, however, letting her 
 know the poverty of his financial circumstances, and he 
 concluded with : 
 
 " The blow was very hard at first, Ned, but, thank 
 God, I am recovering and able to hope that good will 
 come out of even all this wrong ; if a man keeps his 
 heart right, it makes little difference after all what be 
 falls him, for life is so short, and God is overhead to pro 
 tect and support us. 
 
 " I am so sorry for your disappointment and for my 
 own, for, like you, I had been counting the days which 
 must pass until we were once more together in our lit 
 tle home ; but iny own brave sister " (what control he 
 was obliged to exercise, not to pen a warmer term), 
 " you will bear this as you have borne other things, and 
 perhaps in the course of another year our wish may be 
 gratified." 
 
 " Jake " (by Jake was meant the hired man who had 
 helped Dyke in the care of the farm) " has married, 
 and he and his wife are living in our little home, and 
 will take care of it for us. 
 
92 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 1 
 
 " My heart fails me to tell Aunt Meg what I have told 
 on, and she is so easily satisfied so long as she thinks 
 
 am doing well, that 1 fancy it will be the better course 
 to say simply that I am needed in New York, and can 
 not spare the time to see her for some months. She is 
 quite happy in Albany, being the recipient of an affec 
 tion from her nephews there, as fond and lavish as she 
 herself bestows ; indeed, they have more than once writ 
 ten to me that they, having as natural a claim upon her 
 as I have, would like to keep her with them always." 
 
 With a tender, brotherly remembrance, the letter ended. 
 
 Ned, full of delight and expectation, had flown to her 
 own room to read it ; now she felt as if her heart would 
 burst with agony. So rudely shattered all her summer 
 hopes ; but it was not that thought which gave her the 
 keenest pain ; it was the thought of Dyke s bitter blow. 
 She remembered so well what he had said to her that 
 morning nearly a year ago in Weewald Place, that if he 
 failed, how poor he and Meg would be ; he had failed, 
 and consequently he must now be poor ; poor, and per 
 haps even struggling in his poverty to remunerate for 
 Meg s support, despite all that he said about the affection 
 of her other nephews. She flew to her trunk and brought 
 forth her hoarded savings; they amounted to a little 
 over two hundred dollars. How delighted she was to 
 have such a sum, even though she did not know whether 
 it would be of much assistance to Dyke. But he should 
 have it immediately, and she gathered up the shining 
 pieces and put them into her purse. Then she wondered 
 how she would get them to him ; she was ignorant of the 
 forms of sending money, and could only think of giving 
 it in charge of some of the servants who occasionally 
 went to the city. But she shrank from that plan, not 
 being certain of the honesty of the person to whom she 
 might intrust it, and feeling some repugnance to ac 
 quainting a servant with her business. 
 
 She also shrank from asking Mrs. Dolaran, fearing 
 that lady would in turn ask her all sorts of unpleasant 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 93 
 
 questions. At last slie thought of Mr. Carnew ; he would 
 know and direct her, and though she hesitated a little to 
 approach him, because of the gravity and reserve which 
 always marked his manners, she felt assured he would 
 treat her graciously, and not being a woman, he would be 
 unlikely to concern himself more than was necessary with 
 her business. 
 
 So, to Mr. Carnew she applied, finding him in the li 
 brary, and astonishing him not a little by her errand, 
 which she stated in a very straightforward and modest 
 manner. 
 
 " I can give you a check payable to the order of your 
 friend," he replied, " and you can inclose it in a letter." 
 
 " Thank you ; that will do," and she pulled out her 
 little purse. 
 
 He drew up the check on a city bank, payable to Dykard 
 Dutton, thinking within himself as he wrote that Dut 
 ton whom he remembered the instant lie hoard the 
 name, as the country-looking fellow to whom Ned had in 
 troduced him was Ned s lover, and that he was worthless 
 and unmanly enough to take this poor girl s earnings, for 
 Ned had told him nothing of the circumstances that 
 might render sufficiently laudable Dyke s acceptance of 
 her gift. And he pitied Ned, and at the same time 
 had a sort of contempt for her; contempt that she had 
 so little character as to love this worthless fellow ; but he 
 suffered none of his feelings to appear, and he handed 
 her the check w r ith charming courtesy. 
 
 " Thank you," she said again in her simple, modest 
 manner, raising her clear, frank eyes for a moment to 
 his, and taking her way gracefully out. 
 
 He watched her, admiring her in spite of himself, and 
 feeling for an instant something like a secret pang that 
 she had a lover. But the next moment he laughed at 
 his odd fancy, and turning to his books again, forgot her 
 for the time. 
 
94: A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Ned s affectionate letter, with the check inclosed, safely 
 readied Dyke, and when he saw that evidence of her lov 
 ing generosity, and read the tender little message which 
 came straight from her heart, he was well nigli unmanned. 
 Again and again he pressed the written characters that 
 had something of their old childish cramp still, to his 
 lips before putting them away with the bulky parcel of 
 her other letters. 
 
 Then he replied, returning the check, with the assur 
 ance that his salary was sufficient for all present wants, 
 and that he had been touched to the heart by her loving 
 thoughtfulness. 
 
 Ned was sorely disappointed ; she felt so certain that 
 Dyke needed it, if not for himself, for Meg, and with the 
 letter and check in her hand, she was trying to tl link how 
 she could get the money to Meg ; to send it by check to that 
 good simple soul would it make it necessary for some of 
 the Albany nephews to know about it, and Ned wanted 
 her gift to be secret. She could think of but one plan : 
 to go to Albany herself ; it was only to step on the train, 
 and to be whirled in a few hours to her destination ; 
 surely, nothing extraordinary nor venturesome in that, 
 save the fact that she would travel alone ; but she had 
 travelled alone from Barrytown, and now she was even 
 more of a woman than at that time. She knew Meg s 
 address, Dyke having incidentally mentioned it in one of 
 his letters, and she felt that her native intelligence would 
 guide her safely. Then, how delighted Meg would be to 
 see her ! Her own spirits rose at the thought, and she 
 went with fleet steps to return to Mr. Carnew his check, 
 arid to get back her money. 
 
 " So your friend refused to take your gift," he said, 
 slightly smiling, but thinking that her lover was a better 
 man than he had deemed him to be, and again he was 
 conscious of a moment s secret pang that she had a lover; 
 butj as before, he was only grave and courteous. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Her chief anxiety was acquainting Mrs. Doloran with 
 her intended absence of a week, and her heart sank a 
 little as she imagined that lady refusing to let her go ; 
 but Ned determined to make her journey at all hazards, 
 and, should her determination cost her her present position, 
 she was sanguine enough of another, even though it 
 might be only that of nursery governess. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran, however, was exceptionally reasonable, 
 and even kind, on hearing Ned s request. They were 
 alone when the girl told her, the latter being careful to 
 choose the time, and the widow, in her impulse of gene 
 rosity, said Ned might take a month, and insisted on pre 
 senting her then and there with a sum of money which 
 was more than sufficient to defray all the current ex 
 penses of her absence. And Ned went to bed that night 
 thankful and happy. 
 
 But the next morning, when the whole company was 
 assembled on the lawn after breakfast, and Mrs. Doloran 
 attacked by a sudden indisposition which, not sufficient 
 to confine her to her room, was yet enough to make her 
 unusually whimsical and fretful, began to revert to her pro 
 mise of a month s absence made to Ned the night before, 
 she regretted extremely having given any such pledge. 
 Who would take Ned s place while the latter was gone ; 
 who would be the shy, sensitive, obliging, and uncom 
 plaining butt that this poor, tried lady s companion had 
 been during all those months ? No ; she could not have 
 it, and impelled both by her peevishness, and by the hope 
 of badgering Ned out of her intended journey, she said 
 suddenly, when there was a momentary lull in the noisy 
 conversation : 
 
 u You did not tell me last night, Ned, that there was 
 any real necessity for this journey of yours to Albany. 
 What is it that is taking you there ? " 
 
 Everybody in the company looked up, and looked di 
 rectly at poor Ned ; even Alan Carnew sat with a book 
 before him ; he was the more interested, as this was the 
 first intimation he had of Ned s intended journey, and 
 
96 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE:. 
 
 not knowing whether she meant to take her final leave of 
 Rahandabed, he waited anxiously for further develop 
 ments. 
 
 She was sitting slightly in the rear of Mrs. Doloran, 
 whose ample person partly shaded her, and she answered 
 only loud enough to be heard by that lady : 
 
 " I am going to visit an old and very dear friend." 
 
 Captious Mrs. Doloran was not at all satisfied with the 
 reply. 
 
 " Going to visit an old and dear friend," she repeated, 
 in her loud unfemiiiine voice, " that is all very well to 
 say ; it sounds very sweet, and very true, too : lie 
 is an old and dear friend a very dear friend, no 
 doubt. I dare say he is the same that called on you here, 
 a little while after you came ; now be frank, Ned, and 
 tell us all about it ; you are going to be married, are you 
 not, and you are going to do it in a very sly, quiet man 
 ner, coming back to us as if nothing at all had happened ; 
 or, perhaps, you are already married 
 
 Would nothing stop this woman s tongue ? Ned was 
 bursting with indignation ; surely no remuneration could 
 pay for such insults as these ; but Mrs. Doloran was 
 mounted on one of her favorite hobbies, and she was go 
 ing to ride it until she was tired. 
 
 "I do not doubt in the least but that you are married ; 
 you are so quiet, and so shy, and so just like what a mar 
 ried woman would be, and 
 
 But Ned could endure no more ; her whole fiery tem 
 per was aflame. She rose from her seat forgetful of 
 everything but that she was the butt of most heartless 
 insults. 
 
 Her large, lustrous eyes sparkling with anger, her 
 cheeks of the richest crimson, and the firm indignant 
 poise of her graceful form as she stood excited universal, 
 though secret, admiration. Alan Carnew s eyes were 
 piercing her through, as she said : 
 
 "It may belong to wealth to insult the poor, Mrs. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 97 
 
 JDoloran, but it is a base womanhood which insults the 
 defenseless of her sex." 
 
 Her voice trembled painfully while she spoke, but the 
 firm poise of her person had not once yielded, and when 
 she had finished she walked away with the mien of a 
 queen. 
 
 " By Jove ! " said Mascar Ordotte, seated on the other 
 side of Mrs. Doloran, "I never felt so much like applaud 
 ing anybody in my life ; that girl lias the right kind of 
 spirit." 
 
 A remark which Alan Carnew echoed in his secret 
 heart. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran, with her wonted sudden change of tem 
 per, had gone instantaneously from her peevish and wanton 
 attack upon Ned, to fear and dismay lest Ned should 
 leave her altogether. 
 
 " Go after her, Mascar," she pleaded, " tell her I am 
 sorry for all that I said, that she can have two months to 
 visit her friends in Albany; and here, take her these as 
 peace offerings 
 
 Hurriedly divesting herself of a diamond ring, her 
 necklace of brilliants, a lace handkerchief, whose purchase 
 price must have been at the very least a couple of hun 
 dred dollars, and she would have poured into Ordotte s 
 ] lands more of her personal adornments but that he stop 
 ped her, saying, laughingly : 
 
 " No doubt the young lady will come to terms without 
 requiring so many gifts." 
 
 He was nothing loth to go upon the errand, for he had 
 liis own secret reason for wishing Ned not to take her 
 final departure from Ilahandabed. Did she do so, it 
 might entail upon him some trouble to keep constantly 
 informed of her whereabouts. 
 
 Ned s temper, according to its old fashion, was quickly 
 succeeded by penitence, and calling to mind the many 
 favors she had received from Mrs. Doloran, and remem 
 bering also that the lady, owing to her whimsical mind, 
 was hardly responsible for what she said, and that she, on 
 
98 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 accepting the position, had been warned of the trying 
 nature of its duties, she was full of censure for herself. 
 So Ordotte came upon her crying heartily, and looking 
 almost as lovely in her tears as she had done in her tem 
 per. 
 
 He delivered his errand in a very pleasant, kindly way, 
 and she was touched anew by these proofs of Mrs. 
 Doloran s generosity. 
 
 " Take them back," she said, " and tell her that it is I 
 who crave forgiveness for having forgotten iny place so far 
 as to make that hasty, angry speech. Tell her I am very, 
 very sorry." 
 
 And the pretty mouth quivered again, and the eyes 
 filled once more, and Ordotte hurried back with his mes 
 sage, in order to be out of sight of so much beauty in 
 such touching distress. 
 
 In the exuberance of her delight, Mrs. Doloran would 
 go herself to Ned, and in a little while, during which the 
 company were on the pinnacle of amused expectation, she 
 returned, with one of her ample arms about Ned s waist, 
 and her face expressive of the utmost satisfaction. 
 
 So, Ned s journey to Albany was amicably settled and 
 the next day, promising to return in a week, but being 
 assured she might remain two months, she was driven to 
 the station by Donald Macgilivray. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The Albany relatives of Meg Standish consisted of a 
 single and a married nephew children of her only de 
 ceased brother who lived and worked together They 
 were carpenters and in sufficiently comfortable circum 
 stances to enable them to keep their own shop adjoining 
 their own very cosey little dwelling, so that Ned, when 
 arrived at her journey s end, tired, dusty, and hungry, 
 having been too timid to seek refreshment anywhere, 
 found herself ascending the stoop of a very neat and sub 
 stantial-looking house. It was evening and too dark 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 99 
 
 to distinguish well the face of the woman who admitted 
 her, but the voice that responded to her inquiry for Meg 
 was cordial and pleasant. 
 
 " Yes, Miss, she lives here ; come in and I ll tell her." 
 
 Ned went into a little room opening from the hall, and 
 in which a lighted lamp emitted rays enough to show the 
 neat and tasteful appearance of the apartment ; in a few 
 minutes she recognized Meg s well-known step. 
 
 The fond old creature could hardly credit the evidence 
 of her eyes ; was it really Ned. in the flesh that stood be 
 fore her, and not some cruel deception of her own 
 imagination ? But Ned s voice calling to her, and Ned s 
 arms open to enclasp her, assured her ; she embraced her 
 darling, while, tears of joy streamed down her wrinkled 
 cheeks. 
 
 What an evening that was ! Meg was so proud and 
 happy to show the young lady to her relatives, to mark 
 their admiration of her beauty, and their wonder and 
 pleasure at her unaffected manners. She won them all, 
 from the brawny, cordial nephews themselves and the 
 good-hearted wife, to the little toddling, two-year old 
 child, who took to nestling on the young lady s lap, with 
 the same confidence that she showed to her mother 
 and Meg. 
 
 And to Ned, the affectionate hospitality of these people 
 was delightful ; it was so honest, so simple, so different 
 from the regard shown to her in K-ahaiidabed. Her own 
 loving nature expanded under it, and she ate and drank 
 of the simple but inviting repast prepared for her, and 
 laughed and talked with perfect abandon. 
 
 Meg s relatives knew Ned s whole story, both from Meg s 
 own frequent recitals, and from Dyke s letters, which, 
 owing to his aunt s inability to read writing, they were 
 obliged to read for her; and it was no slight subject of 
 indignant wonder to them that Mr. Edgar should persist 
 in concealing his relationship from his niece, as she was, 
 if indeed she was not his daughter ; but as it was his 
 desire to do so, and Meg would not displease him, her 
 
100 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 relatives were equally careful to drop no word that might 
 reveal lier identity to their young visitor. 
 
 The next day, when Meg and she were alone, the men 
 being at work, and the good woman of the house engaged 
 in extra culinary operations for the benefit of her young 
 guest, the latter took out her purse and poured its contents 
 into Meg s lap. 
 
 "All for you, Meg," she said, her eyes sparkling with 
 delight ; they have been so good to me in Rahaiidabed 
 that I have been enabled to save it." 
 
 But Meg could not speak ; she was so touched by this 
 proof of affectionate gratitude that a lump rose in her 
 throat, and a film came over her eyes ; she could only 
 throw her arms around Ned s neck and kiss her. And 
 when she recovered herself, she put the money back into 
 the little purse, and said through her tears : 
 
 " It s a proud and happy day for me to have you re 
 member me so, but I can na take it, my darling ; I have 
 iia need of it, being well provided for by the toys here, 
 God bless them. They seem glad enough to have me 
 with them, and were well pleased when Dyke s last letter 
 came, saying that he couldn t go back to the mountain 
 home yet, and that I d have to stay here another while." 
 
 All Ned s persuasions could not induce her to accept 
 the gift. She constantly replied : 
 
 " I have na need of it." 
 
 Then Ned begged Meg to keep the money in trust for 
 her, but even at that the old woman demurred ; at length 
 to satisfy the young girl, who seemed so pained by all 
 these refusals, she consented to keep half of it in that 
 manner. 
 
 "Keep the other half yourself," she said, "for there s 
 nae telling now that we re off from each other, Dyke and 
 you and me, and you among strangers, what may chance 
 that you d need a bit of your savings." 
 
 And Ned was obliged to yield. 
 
 The good people provided for their young visitor such 
 entertainment as was afforded by drives to places of 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 101 
 
 interest in and about the city, and they were extremely 
 sorry that her stay must be so limited ; but she had said 
 she would not remain longer than a week, and she felt it 
 to be her duty to keep her word, even though she had 
 Mrs. Doloran s permission to stay two months. 
 
 Fate decreed, however, that Ned should be unable to 
 fulfil her promise, for, before the close of the week, she 
 was confined to her bed with some sort of a fever. The 
 physician, who was hurriedly summoned, could not tell at 
 first whether it was the contagious illness raging in 
 another part of the city, but for safety s sake lie advised 
 the family to send their patient to the hospital They 
 were indignant at the proposition, and he, seeing that, and 
 being touched by their unselfish regard for one who, by 
 some chance, he learned was no relative, induced them to 
 appropriate a part of the house for her especial use, and 
 to be content to have one person alone in attendance upon 
 her. Of course that person was Meg, and never was 
 patient nursed more tenderly, nor even skilfully ; for the 
 old woman in her youthful days had acquired a quantity 
 of valuable knowledge regarding the sick, added to which 
 she had strong common sense, and affection now made her 
 quick and certain in the use of both. 
 
 One of her nephews suggested sending word to Dyke, 
 lest the young lady should die, and lie, thinking so much 
 of her, would hardly forgive them for such neglect, but 
 Meg shook her head, replying : 
 
 " There t na need of it ; we ll bring her through with 
 the help of the Lord, and what d be the use of worrying 
 that poor fellow, and bringing him from his business all 
 the way up here. Na, na; her disease is a slow one, but 
 she ll come round all right in a few weeks." 
 
 The disease was a slow one, consuming five weeks be 
 fore the poor, weary, wasted patient could even sit up in 
 the bed. 
 
 Then one of her first questions was, had any word been 
 sent to Mrs Doloran. 
 
 " Na, dear ; we didn t know rightly the directions to 
 
102 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE 
 
 send to, and you were too sick to tell us ; but what s the 
 differ ? When you re well enough to go back, if she wants 
 you she ll take you and welcome, and if she don t there s 
 plenty of other places for the like of you ; so don t be 
 troubling yourself, but take your rest." 
 
 And truth to tell, Ned was glad to follow the advice ; 
 she was so weak and tired that it was an exertion for her 
 even to think of Rahandabed. 
 
 How kind everybody was to her in the little household, 
 and not one would hear of remuneration in any form ; 
 she used to lie awake sometimes in the night, wondering 
 whether God gave all the heart and feeling to the people 
 in humble circumstances ; her experience of the rich had 
 been so different from all this tender treatment. Eight 
 weeks from the day of her arrival in Albany, she was 
 ready to leave the historic city ; she would have gone a 
 week before, but every voice was raised in protest, and 
 she felt obliged to yield to their combined and earnest 
 entreaties. 
 
 She had not written to Rahandabed, being content to 
 trust to what Meg had said about other places being ob 
 tainable ; and so long as Mrs. Doloran had given her two 
 months, it might be as well to explain matters in person 
 as by letter. 
 
 She looked pale and emaciated, and her strength seemed 
 very fragile, but she insisted that she was stronger than 
 she appeared to be, and she allayed their fears by promis 
 ing to write immediately, and in case Mrs. Doloran 
 decided not to re-engage her, to return to them without 
 delay. 
 
 Meg and one of her nephews accompanied her to the 
 train, where the young man purchased her ticket and saw 
 that she was comfortably seated. She looked so ill, owing 
 to her pallor and emaciation, that, as she raised her veil to 
 bid him good-by, many a pitying eye was directed to her, 
 and he himself felt like purchasing another ticket and ac 
 companying her all the way, but, when he intimated his 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 103 
 
 desire, she protested so energetically that he was obliged 
 to forego it. 
 
 And so she was whirled away with Meg s fond face 
 looking up to her from the side of the track, where the 
 old woman would insist upon standing, so as to get a last 
 view of her darling. 
 
 Could Ned have foreseen the circumstances under 
 which she would next meet that fond old countenance, 
 she would rather have journeyed to the most distant part 
 of the earth, than go to liahaiidabed. 
 
 XXY. 
 
 "Not expecting to find at the C station any of the 
 
 Rahandabed carriages, Ned was about to engage one of 
 the public conveyances in waiting, when some one be 
 hind her said, with a strong Scotch accent : 
 
 " Eh ! Miss Edgar. This way." It was Donald Mac- 
 gilivray, with his Scotch face all aglow from delighted 
 surprise. 
 
 u They ll be glad eneuch at the house to sec you," he 
 continued, " for Mrs. Doloran s gang daft wi thinking 
 you never meant to come back, and Mr. Ordotte s gang 
 up to Albany looking for you ; but he had 1100 directions 
 to find you. So I was thinking it d be iiae easy wark for 
 him to get you. He s thought to be coming back on this 
 train, and that s why I m here to fetch him, but to my 
 mind it ll be as good if I fetch you." 
 
 All this time he was leading the way to a handsome 
 open carriage, arid as Ned took her seat, feeling consider 
 ably relieved that she would not be sent away from 
 Rahandabed, the man seemed struck with her changed 
 appearance. She had thrown her veil back, so that her 
 white, wasted face was fully seen. 
 
 " You ve noo been sick? " he said, with an honest con 
 cern in his tones. 
 
 She replied with a brief affirmative, as she leaned back 
 with a sense of delightful rest among the cushions. 
 
104: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Donald attended to his horses, waited another moment to 
 be sure that Ordotte had not arrived and was not loitering 
 somewhere, and then drove off, turning speedily into the 
 shaded fragrant roadway which led to Kahandabed. But 
 he could not keep from communicating scraps of news to 
 the young lady. Every few minutes he turned to tell her 
 something of the doings at the house during her absence, 
 and at length he imparted that which immediately aroused 
 her indifferent attention. 
 
 " There s anither young lassie at the house wi 1 a name 
 like your ain, an a face the same as if you war t\va beans 
 on ane stalk. The company war all talking about it. She 
 came wi friends of Mrs. Doloran, an they say she s verra 
 weel to do in the matter o the miller. Her father lives 
 in Barrytown, but he s in England now." 
 
 Ned was surprised ; that it was Edna she did not 
 doubt, but it seemed so strange that she should come to 
 Rahandabed. She was not displeased, however, for since 
 their last parting she entertained only kindly feelings for 
 her cousin, and she was also gratified to tind that she 
 would not be compelled to meet Mr. Edgar ; with all her 
 generosity, she could not divest herself of a certain fear 
 and dislike of that gentleman. 
 
 Donald, instead of driving all the way up the main 
 carriage-road, turned into another that led to a side en 
 trance of the house. 
 
 " I war thinking you d nae want to meet wi Mrs. 
 Doloran. and the rest o them, till you d have a bite and 
 a bit o rest. They d be fashin ye wi questions, an ye 
 noo weel able to answer them. So I drove ye here, 
 instead of the front, that ye wouldn t meet wi any of 
 them. Ye can bide aweel in one of the rooms; an I ll 
 get some of the lassies to bring you a bite." 
 
 Ned was grateful for this thoughtful kindness. She 
 felt so weak, and tired, and ill able to meet Mrs. Doloran 
 just yet, and with a " thank you," the sincerity of which 
 went to honest Donald s heart, she accepted his offer. 
 
 Macgilivray had hardly exaggerated when he said 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 105 
 
 Mrs. Doloran had gone " daft " over Ned s protracted 
 absence. Her captiousness, which had delighted in mak 
 ing poor Ned its victim, having now no especial butt, 
 vented itself sometimes in most disagreeable freaks, often 
 causing her to break into disgraceful tits of temper, during 
 which any servant who had occasion to go to her 
 presence, and who was luckless enough to manifest any 
 awkwardness in the discharge of duty, was likely to have 
 the most convenient object hurled at his or her head. 
 Immediately after, however, the delinquent was sure to 
 be presented with some valuable gift as a token of for 
 giveness ; so the domestics scarcely objected to this 
 vulgar mode of chastisement, since they knew that it 
 meant in every instance an accession to their purse. The 
 guests, however, were a little tired of ebullitions of tem 
 per, which were as likely to occur in the middle of a 
 most enjoyable repast as at any other time, and though 
 Mrs. Doloran s wealth and lavish hospitality covered all 
 her sins, still, with a selfish desire for their own comfort, 
 they devoutly wished for Ned s return, that the eccen 
 tric widow might go back to the old tenor of her ways. 
 
 So, when Ned quietly walked into the summer parlor, 
 where Mrs. Doloran, in most peevish mood, sat with 
 some of her guests, there was a general brightening of 
 countenances and a chorus of glad exclamations. The 
 widow, in her delight, rose so suddenly as to throw down 
 her chair, and to throw ic with such force that it fell 
 against a tall, slight, heavy-faced young man who had 
 been standing just behind her ; the blow sent him to 
 display his full length on the tapestried floor. Mrs. Do 
 loran, however, did not pause to look behind her, nor 
 Avas she deterred by the burst of " oil s " and " dear meV 
 which followed the young gentleman s ludicrous fall, 
 accompanied by audible attempts, in the shape of sudden 
 coughs, to suppress laughter. 
 
 She took her wonted strides to Ned, and having folded 
 that young lady in a very undesirable embrace, brought 
 her forward to the company, most of the members of 
 
106 A FATAL KE3EMBLANCE. 
 
 which by this time had gained a semblance of composure, 
 even to the fallen young man, who had picked himself 
 up and retreated blushiiigly to a curtained embrasure. 
 
 Ned looked like the ghost of her former self, and now 
 that Mrs. Doloran had time to notice that fact, she be 
 gan at once : 
 
 u Have you been to the spirit land, Ned, or have those 
 friends of yours done what Ordotte tells us they do in 
 Ireland, sometimes kept yourself and sent us your 
 wraith ? " 
 
 " I have been quite ill," was the gentle response. 
 
 But Mrs. Doloran was full of another subject, about 
 which she was more anxious to inquire than to ask the 
 particulars of Ned s illness, and with her wonted sudden 
 transition to a different topic, she resumed : 
 
 " We have a young lady here of your name, Edna 
 Edgar, and witli the strangest resemblance to you, only 
 that you are not as brilliant nor dashing. She told us 
 how you were schoolmates, and that it was by accident 
 you came to have the same name and such a marked re 
 semblance, for you were 110 relation. Now you tell us 
 all about it, Ned." 
 
 " I can only tell you what you have already heard," 
 was the reply, the speaker thinking at the same time 
 how fortunate had been Donald s thoughtfulness in her 
 regard, for Mrs. Doloran evidently did not dream of 
 asking her " companion " if she needed refreshment or 
 rest ; possibly she thought it unnecessary, as it was al 
 most time for the late dinner. 
 
 Disappointed in Ned s answer, she said, with some as 
 perity^ 
 
 " It is very improbable, such a statement as that ; 
 nature doesn t give such striking resemblances to people 
 without a cause. Has it never struck you that you might 
 be related to these Edgars in some way ? How did they 
 get to know you in the first place ? Here, sit down, and 
 fell us all about it," struck, perhaps, by the increasing 
 pallor of Ned s countenance. The girl was glad to sink 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 107 
 
 into a chair, and she answered as gently as she could, 
 feeling, however, a little of her old indignation at such 
 impertinent probing into her family history. 
 
 " Mr. Edgar knew my parents in England, being per 
 haps drawn the more to them because of the similarity 
 of the name ; when they died, he was prompted, both 
 by his pity for my orphan condition and by the singular 
 resemblance I bore to his own child, then also an infant, 
 to take the interest in me which afterwards culminated 
 in his sending me to school with his own daughter, and 
 giving me a home previous to my coming here. Such 
 are the facts, Mrs. Doloran, told to me by those whose 
 veracity I know too well to doubt." The last words 
 were spoken with a decision intended to silence Mrs. 
 Doloran on any further questioning; but, if the self- 
 willed widow could not pursue lur inquiries, she could 
 at least give vent to her thoughts on the subject. 
 
 " It s a remarkable case of coincidences," she continued, 
 " and the most wonderful thing about it is the way you 
 two girls just accept what has been told you. That Miss 
 Edgar, who came while you were away, doesn t see any 
 thing strange in the coincidences any more than you do." 
 
 " Why should she ? " broke in Ned with some im 
 patience, "it is not the first case of curious resemblance 
 between people who are no relation even, history records 
 such things." 
 
 " Ugh ! " said Mrs. Doloran, shrugging her shoulders 
 with an affection of disgust, " you are too practical ; if 
 you had a bit of romance in your soul you would make a 
 clear case out of this. But I wish Miss Edgar would 
 come ; I want to compare her with you not that the re 
 semblance will be such a marked one, now you re so white, 
 and sick-looking and I wish Mascar was here, not that 
 he s much good in this case, for he professes to believe 
 implicitly just what you and Miss Edgar say about your 
 selves. There she is now " happening to glance in the 
 direction of the open window, just beyond which appeared 
 
108 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Hiss Edgar, on horseback, attended by Mr. Carnew, also 
 mounted. 
 
 The whole company rushed to the veranda to see the 
 dismounting, and Mrs. Doloran, pulling Ned along with 
 her, followed in their wake. 
 
 How beautiful Edna looked ; how magnificently she sat 
 her horse, and with what charming grace she just touched 
 the palm of Alan s hand, extended for her dainty foot, as 
 she dismounted. He must have whispered some compli 
 ment, for her face and neck were dyed for an instant, and 
 the confident way in which she took his arm to ascend to 
 the veranda gave evidence that his attention pleased her. 
 
 Ned, as she saw it all, experienced a sudden and most 
 unaccountable pang, whether of jealousy or envy of her 
 cousin, or sudden love for handsome Alan Carnew, she 
 could not tell, but she was most distressed that it should 
 be so, and she was very angry with herself for her 
 weakness. 
 
 Up the steps came Edna, looking like some beautiful 
 picture as, with one hand, she held her whip and the 
 train of her riding habit and so full of bewitching 
 animation, that it was little wonder Alan Carnew bent to 
 her in the tender way he did. She caught sight of Ned s 
 pale face over Mrs. Doloran s shoulder, and dropping 
 Carnew s arm, she rushed to her with the prettiest grace 
 imaginable. 
 
 " I am- - " the sweetest of kisses on one cheek " so 
 glad," another sweet kiss on the other cheek "to see 
 you," a third sweet kiss on Ned s mouth " you naughty 
 dear; never to tell me in your last letter that you were 
 going away for a while, and I took the trouble to write to 
 you that I was coining here on a visit, which letter, of 
 course, owing to your absence, you did not get. And 
 when I got here, no one could tell me further of your 
 journey, than it was to see some one in some part of 
 Albany. O you darling! I have so much to tell you." 
 
 All of which gushing effusion looked very pretty, and 
 very condescending to the company, for they remembered 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 109 
 
 that Ned was only a hireling after all, beholden to Mr. 
 Edgar s bounty for her education, and as a consequence 
 of these things, to be regarded in the social scale very 
 much below the heiress, Miss Edgar. 
 
 Upon Ned herself, this lavish outburst, although it was 
 a little too lavish to accord with her shy, sensitive nature, 
 had the effect of opening her heart all the more to Edna. 
 That Edna was sincere she did not for a moment doubt, 
 and Ned s generous soul always warmly responded to 
 affection. 
 
 They looked very pretty together, being the same 
 height and having the same graceful pliant figures, had 
 Ned s form not lost its wonted curves by her recent illness. 
 Mrs. Doloran was observing them very critically even to 
 the secret amusement of the company, applying her eye 
 glasses which she wore on a chain, but never before had 
 been known to use. 
 
 " When Ned gets back her color and her flesh," she 
 said, looking over her glasses instead of through them, 
 "there will not be much difference between mem. I 
 wish Mascar was here, to tell me what he would think 
 
 now." 
 
 Alan Carnew, having waited until the first gush of Miss 
 Edna s salutation was over, advanced to give his own 
 greeting to Ned. 
 
 "Have you been ill?" he asked, struck as everybody 
 else had been by her appearance, and putting info his 
 tones so deep a concern, and into his magnificent eyes, as 
 he looked down into her own, such an earnest solicitude, 
 that she was thrilled through and through. Tones and 
 look were in her dreams all that night. 
 
 Just as the summons to dinner sounded, Ordotte drove 
 up to the house in one of the public conveyances, Mac- 
 gilivray having taken it upon himself to imagine that, as 
 Ordotte did not arrive from Albany when expected, it 
 was most improbable that he should come from any other 
 place, at least on that day, to give him (Donald) the 
 trouble of harnessing up and taking the carriage again 
 
1 10 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 to the station. And Mrs. Doloran, who sometimes hap 
 pened to see just what would be most desirable to pass 
 without her observation, saw Ordotte driving up in the 
 public and inelegant vehicle. Not even her delight at see 
 ing him could make her impervious to the fact that he 
 had arrived in such a manner, when her orders had been 
 for Macgilivray to meet every train up or down, Ordotte 
 having written that he might go to New York from 
 Albany, but that in any case he would return that after 
 noon or the next. Nor could the gentleman s own 
 assurance, that it made not the least difference, pacify her. 
 81 le would rebuke the offender without delay ; and while 
 Ordotte went to his room to dress for dinner, she dis 
 patched a summons to Macgilivray to come at once to the 
 dining-room. 
 
 " You re in for it, Donald," said the servant who 
 brought the message ; " I heard her talking to Mr. Or 
 dotte about your not taking the carriage for him." 
 
 Donald gave a dry laugh. 
 
 " Weel, weel ! I was a match for me leddy before, when 
 she wanted the coffee carried behind her, leek a gale in the 
 w r ake of a ship " putting forth a most inappropriate 
 simile " an maybe I ll noo be found wantin this time." 
 
 And quite unabashed he took his way to the resplendent 
 dining-room. The company were all seated, and the 
 waiters were serving the first course when Donald 
 entered. As the entrance to this summer dining-room 
 so situated that the windows on two sides of it looked out 
 on a spacious veranda was broadly open, he did not 
 think it necessary to use any preliminary courtesy before 
 entering, but took up immediately a position near the 
 door, facing Mrs. Doloran who sat in state at the head of 
 the table. 
 
 " Your favor, me leddy, and what would you leek to 
 say to Donald?" 
 
 Mrs. Doloran suspended her gastronomic operations, 
 and so did everybody else, for the appearance of the 
 Scotchman in his stable dress, and the odor of the stable 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. Ill 
 
 from liis clothes, was exceedingly disagreeable to sensitive 
 eyes and nostrils. Handkerchiefs were taken out quickly 
 and applied. Alan Carnew flushed hotly, and looked 
 disgusted enough to leave the table, but Miss Edgar, who 
 sat next to him, with admirable tact sought to draw his 
 attention from the threatened scene. 
 
 The lady of the house, however, was no respecter of 
 persons, and since Donald was in her employment, it was 
 her right to rebuke him when and where she would, 
 regardless of the visionary or olfactory organs of her 
 guests. 
 
 u You disobeyed my orders," she said in her most 
 severe tones, and shaking at Donald with every word the 
 head dress of gay -colored feathers that surmounted some 
 lace drapery of equally gay colored hue. " I told you to 
 meet with the carriage to-day the train from Albany and 
 the train from New York, in order to drive Mr. Ordotte 
 to Rahandabed." 
 
 " Right, me leddy ; them war the orders you gev Don 
 ald. Always wi your leddyship s favor, ye said I war 
 to meet the Albany train. I done so, an fetched up 
 Miss Edgar ; an wi your leddyship s favor still, I war 
 iver so weel minded to bide by your leddyship s instruc 
 tions as to take out the beasties agen, but it war noo in 
 me power." 
 
 With every word, Donald had advanced to Mrs. Dolo- 
 ran, the stable odor from his clothes causing a closer 
 application of the scented handkerchiefs by those lie 
 passed, and as the shrewd Scotchman intended it should 
 do now pouring full into Mrs. Doloran s face. 
 
 But the lady could endure that she scorned even to 
 apply her handkerchief, and she looked with a little 
 contempt about the table on those who were making such 
 conspicuous use of their gossamers. 
 
 k What do you mean?" she said, very severely still, 
 and with a toss of her head that set her feathers into a 
 ludicrous quiver. 
 
 "Why, you see, me leddy, old Mollie got a sudden 
 
112 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 colic, and her mate, brown Jim, war threatened wi tlie 
 spavin, an 
 
 " There were other horses on the place," interrupted 
 Mrs. Doloran, angrily. " Rahandabed does not depend 
 on the two you mention." 
 
 "Right, me leddy," answered the Scotchman, with 
 the stolid earnestness of one before a court of justice, 
 "that war so, but the other likely team war out wi Mr. 
 Breakbelly." The name was Brekbellew, but from the 
 first, Donald had humorously twisted it into Breakbelly, 
 and as the owner of the luckless name was present at the 
 table, and was the same whom Mrs. Doloran s chair had 
 prostrated that afternoon, handkerchiefs had to be taken 
 from noses and crammed into mouths to prevent a most 
 impolite explosion of mirth. Even the unfortunate gen 
 tleman had a sort of ghastly smile upon his lips. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran could endure strongly unpleasant odors, 
 but it was one of her whimsical hobbies to tolerate no 
 language that bordered on the vulgar. She rose from 
 her chair, and while her feathers kept time in most tragic 
 vibration to every indignant word, she waived Donald 
 away, and said : 
 
 " Go, vulgar man ; go back to your own proper 
 place." 
 
 " Ay," said Donald, turning right about, " an why did 
 ye summon me from me ain proper place ? " 
 
 And he walked as soberly out as if he was not keenly 
 conscious that he had given to the company, when they 
 should be out of sight and hearing of Sirs. Doloran, an 
 occasion for as hearty a laugh as ever had emanated 
 from any (especially the masculine portion) of her 
 
 guests. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Ordotte met Miss Ned Edgar in search of whom to 
 Albany, being sent by Mrs. Doloran, he had been nothing 
 loth to go with an expression of ludicrously affected 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 113 
 
 surprise. He even assumed a ridiculous attitude, and said, 
 with an imitation of absurd rant : 
 
 "My dear young lady! where have you been? I 
 scoured nearly all the haunts of civilization in Albany 
 without obtaining news of you, and as a last and desperate 
 resource I thought of securing the services of a balloon 
 that I might hover over chimney tops in order to spy you 
 by some quiet hearthstone. But, as it was summer, my 
 aerial flight would have been in vain you would hardly 
 have been found by a hearthstone." 
 
 At which nonsensical speech Ned laughed, as did every 
 body else, but she did not feel called upon to tell the 
 precise locality of her sojourn in Albany, and so she was 
 silent. 
 
 Ordotte resumed : 
 
 " Having failed so ignominiously to find you, I could 
 not return immediately to Rahandabed. I visited New 
 York first, to restore my courage." 
 
 From the manner in which he lowered his voice, there 
 might seem to be some strange significance in his words, 
 but if there was, it passed unnoticed. 
 
 Life now at Rahandabed was exceedingly pleasant, 
 even for Ned, Mrs. Doloran s exactions being rendered 
 lighter by Edna s good-natured response to them, as if she 
 would save the " companion," and by Carnew s frequent 
 kindly interference, to spare Ned the mortifications which 
 had marked her earlier stay in the house. 
 
 Whatever might be Edna s motive in being thus 
 amiable, she carried that quality to such a degree that 
 Ned s warmest affection was won for her, and she hailed 
 the private tetedrtetes which the two occasionally had, 
 with an intense delight, Miss Edgar, with remarkable 
 shrewdness, was careful to say nothing in those seeming 
 confidences that could wound Ned s nice sense of truth 
 fulness, nor shock any of her rigid ideas of propriety. 
 The communications were very innocent, detailing only 
 such facts as that, when her papa took her and Mrs. 
 Stafford to New York the previous winter, she made so 
 
114 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 many pleasant acquaintances, and enjoyed the city life so 
 much, that he, to please her, deferred his plan of opening 
 the Barrytown house to company, and permitted her to 
 remain in the metropolis, of course remaining with her 
 and escorting her everywhere. 
 
 " Then," the sweet, confiding tones continued, " I in 
 duced papa to let me have Annie Mackay for my maid. 
 You remember Annie, Ned ; she was Dick s only sister, 
 that handsome Dick whom papa could not bear, and who 
 has gone away to be a painter or a writer or to embrace 
 some of the lazy professions, as papa calls them ; well, she 
 came to me, and she was so gentle and so sweet that I 
 quite loved her. 
 
 " Then papa got news from England sudden news 
 about a brother of his that he had thought dead ; it ex 
 cited him very much. He decided to start in the next 
 steamer for England, and wanted me to accompany him. 
 Think of it ; such a fatiguing voyage on so short a notice 
 it was out of the question. So he went without me. 
 Immediately after, I received an invitation to visit some 
 of my newly made friends who lived on Staten Island, 
 and as Mrs. Stafford, whom papa insisted on retaining 
 with us everywhere, was somewhat indisposed, I induced 
 her to remain with her maid in the hotel, while I went 
 to visit for a few weeks my Staten Island friends. Annie 
 Mackay, my maid, accompanied me ; that was in the be 
 ginning of last June, and she became so ill that I was 
 obliged to limit my stay to a month. We rejoined Mrs. 
 Stafford, and she, kind soul, was so concerned about the 
 poor girl that at my suggestion she accompanied her 
 home, and permitted me to accept the invitation of some 
 friends to Rahandabed. So I only arrived here a few 
 days before your own return from Albany. Papa has 
 written that he will be home in a couple of months. 
 Mrs. Doloran made me write in reply that he must come 
 here, as she will not suffer me to leave her for some time, 
 and I confess, Ned, that I enjoy it here very much." 
 
 Ned fancied that she knew why Edna enjoyed it very 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 115 
 
 much ; Alan Carnew s rather marked attentions to her 
 were no doubt the source of the enjoyment, and her own 
 heart suffered again one of its little pangs that made her 
 almost despise herself. 
 
 Of such tenor were Miss Edgar s artless communica 
 tions, and as Ned listened to her, and looked at the be 
 witching play of features that were well-nigh perfect in 
 their beauty, she did not wonder that Carnew seemed to 
 be caught in the toils. Then Edna was evidently 110 flirt, 
 for, though every gentleman in the house looked and 
 acted as if he would have given his dearest possession for 
 a smile from her lips, or a favor from her hand, and poor 
 Brekbellew was like a faithful cur in his attentions, she 
 treated all with the same eminently proper lady-like 
 courtesy, but nothing more. On occasions even when 
 remarks were made intended to evoke laughter at Brek- 
 bellew s ludicrous devotedness, she, instead of taking part 
 in the mirth, dropped in her graceful way some very 
 pretty pitying expression that won, as she felt it would 
 do, Alan Carnew s approving and admiring look. 
 
 With that tact and shrewdness that had showed them 
 selves in her very earliest years, she had read Carnew s 
 character, and all her amiability to Ned, and all her 
 avoidance of flirtation, and all her reluctance to make 
 sport of poor, sheepish, but wealthy Brekbellew, arose 
 from the fact that she knew such a course of acting would 
 please Alan Carnew. With her overweening, though 
 well-concealed vanity, she yearned to have at her feet this 
 handsome scholarly gentleman, even though a secret tie 
 that she dared not acknowledge, and could not repudiate, 
 must prevent upon her part any reciprocation of his 
 tender feelings. 
 
 There was one person in the house from whom she un 
 accountably shrank Mascar Ordotte. Whether it was that 
 his shrivelled, tawny face, rendered so by his long sojourn 
 under a fierce Indian sun, repelled her, or the way that he 
 had of looking through her with his little keen black eyes, 
 as if he doubted every word she said, or was inwardly 
 
116 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 sneering at her gracious manner, made her feel very un 
 comfortable, certain it was that she avoided him whenever 
 she could. 
 
 And our poor Ned ! how was she disciplining this un 
 bidden and unwished for regard on her part for Alan 
 Carnew ? A regard now so strong that she thrilled at the 
 sound of his voice and flushed beneatli the glance of his 
 eye ; but she was certain that he loved Edna, and know 
 ing that, it became her duty to restrain herself by all the 
 stern measures in her power. So she resolved to avoid 
 meeting his eyes, and when he spoke, and was not address 
 ing her, to fix her attention determinedly upon something 
 else ; a resolution that was not so difficult regarding her 
 looking at him, but which was extremely difficult in the 
 part that referred to his speech. His voice so deep and 
 firm, and so harmoniously changing its tones to suit his 
 topics, thrilled her through and through, and, as it were, 
 despite every effort chained her attention to it. 
 
 After a little, Carnew observed how Ned s eyes steadily 
 refused to meet his own ; and amused and interested, as 
 well as wondering what could be the cause, he as steadily 
 endeavored to make them turn upon him. But they 
 flashed over him, below him, beside him, everywhere save 
 directly at him, and while Edna s eyes at every oppor 
 tunity were looking into his with most bewitching 
 earnestness, Ned s were either cast modestly down or 
 fixed at some point beyond him. lie became piqued at 
 last, not understanding sufficient of the feminine heart to 
 know that this extraordinary manner was really a delicate 
 compliment to his power, and he refrained from noticing 
 her save when it became absolutely necessary. 
 
 Ned felt the change most keenly, but she had too much 
 womanhood to yield to her feelings. She went bravely 
 about her duties, thinking that Alan would marry Edna as 
 soon as Mr. Edgar returned, and then her attachment, 
 which cost her so much pain now, having its object re 
 moved for certainly Mr. Carnew and his bride would 
 not continue to live at Ilahandabed would speedily die. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 117 
 
 Such was the future pictured by our heroine for Alan 
 Carnew, while he at the same time held a struggle with 
 himself to maintain toward her the cold demeanor he had 
 assumed. Her very reserve but increased his regard, 
 and he found himself frequently wondering whether that 
 Mr. Dutton was really her lover ; and yet every time he 
 so wondered he called himself a fool for thinking in 
 the least about anything pertaining to her. 
 
 November had come again, and Rahandabed, with its 
 color-changing and falling leaves, its great trees swaying 
 with half-bare branches in the sighing winds, and its 
 few last and fast-fading blossoms had a melancholy beauty 
 particularly pleasing to Ned. She delighted in taking 
 long, solitary \valks, whenever .Mrs. Doloran chose to 
 spare her, sometimes extending her excursions to roman 
 tic spots beyond Rahandabed. One of these was an old, 
 deserted, and half-ruined mill, beneath which a clear 
 stream still wended its way, and within which some 
 lover of the picturesque had placed a rustic seat. A bridge, 
 partly new from recent repairs, led to the mill from one 
 side, though to a climber the mill was easily accessible 
 from the opposite side. The country boys sometimes 
 climbed from that side in through the old, ruined windows, 
 and played their games on the mouldy floor. The rustic 
 seat in the mill was a favorite haunt of Ned s, the whole 
 place was so deserted every time she had gone there that 
 she felt quite sure of the seclusion she desired ; then its 
 romantic and half-weird surroundings charmed her, and, 
 added to the pleasant sound of the water going gently 
 over the dam, aiforded her keen delight. 
 
 On this November afternoon, she took her way to the 
 spot, regretting the lateness of the hour, for darkness set 
 in so speedily on these short autumn days. However, she 
 would have a few minutes to spend in her favorite haunt, 
 and she hurried on, drawing a gratified breath when at 
 length she was esconced in her nook, looking out from 
 the old mill-walls at the weird scene before her, and listen 
 ing to the monotonous plashing of the miniature waterfall. 
 
118 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Her thoughts went back to her childhood and to her 
 talks to the trees, and though the darkness began to creep 
 apace, she still lingered, lost in her retrospection. Sud 
 denly she heard the sound of indistinct voices from the 
 side of the mill accessible only to climbers, and she started 
 up in some affright. But there was no other sound, only 
 those indistinct tones floating up, as if the speakers 
 stood directly under one of the ruined windows. 
 
 Impelled by that curiosity which is sometimes ex 
 perienced by the least curious of us, Ned, instead of im 
 mediately departing, as she had arisen to do, waited. One 
 of the voices was suddenly raised, and it was pitched in 
 such a key that every word was borne to Ned. 
 
 " No love is deep that will not make every sacrifice ; 
 have I not given you proofs enough in all the risks I have 
 run ? What would you have ? An open acknowledg 
 ment? It would be my ruin, and the moment that you 
 oblige me to make such, I, rather than endure, the anger 
 and obloquy that must follow, shall die by my own hand." 
 
 To Ned s horror she recognized Edna s voice, and, with 
 out waiting to hear further, she rushed from the mill, in 
 tending to confront her cousin and let her know what she 
 had heard, and how she had heard it. She did not stop 
 to question the identity of the party, whether male or 
 female, to whom Edna was addressing such strange and 
 shocking words ; she only felt that the speech must be due 
 to some imprudence, and that it was her duty to tell that 
 she had heard it. But the noise of her footsteps on the 
 floor of the mill and across the bridge which she was 
 obliged to pass in order to get round to the other 
 side, where were the strange parties, alarmed the latter, 
 and they took to flight, for which they had ample 
 time, Ned requiring two or three minutes to cross the 
 bridge and go up the road far enough to effect a passage 
 to the other side of the mill. When she arrived on 
 the spot, it was deserted, and as it was quite dark, witli 
 not even a glimmer from a star, it was fruitless to 
 seek to discover what direction the mysterious parties 
 
A FATAL EKSKMBLANCE. 119 
 
 had taken. But Ned called her cousin s name aloud, 
 thinking she must be hiding somewhere near, and that she 
 would be assured by the sound of her voice. There was 
 no response ; and growing a little timid herself in the now 
 almost perfectly black solitude, she hurriedly retraced 
 her steps, and pursued her way to Kalian dabed. What 
 was her astonishment to see in one of the brilliantly lighted 
 parlors that she passed. Miss Edgar, sitting calm and com 
 posed, with not the slightest evidence of having been 
 so recently out of the houss ; her hair was not even ruffled, 
 as the wind had ruffled Ned s, and she was talking to Brek- 
 bellew, who hung over her chair, with that sweet gracious- 
 ness that was no more than she bestowed upon every one, 
 but that kept him, poor sheep that he was, in a constant 
 fever of love. 
 
 Ned could not understand it ; in the first place, unless 
 by extraordinary rapidity, Edna would scarcely have had 
 time to return to the house, and then the quickness of her 
 return must surely preclude such absolute composure as 
 she had witnessed. Could it be that she was mistaken ; 
 that the voice she would have sworn was Edna s, was only 
 made such by her imagination ? She knew not what to 
 think, and lost in a maze of doubt, she watched her cousin 
 all the evening ; but Edna was the same beautiful, brilliant 
 girl, with not the slightest evidence about her of any 
 secret imprudence. 
 
 And she seemed to be especially courted that night, as 
 if her charms had grown more attractive, even Carnew 
 leading her again and again to the piano, where her 
 magnificent voice rang out with exquisite force and 
 sweetness. 
 
 Mrs. Dolorah said, in one of the pauses between the 
 music : 
 
 .That creature seems to have all the gifts under the 
 sun. It is no wonder the men are half -mad about her. I 
 declare she has turned my head ; and there s Alan, who s 
 been holding his heart against every sortie for the last six 
 
120 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 years, rea dy now to yield everything to her. The lad s 
 gone, as anybody can see by looking at him." 
 
 Ned forgot herself and looked at him, and judging by 
 the expression of his face as he bent to Edna to whisper 
 the name of the song he wanted next, Mrs. Doloran was 
 quite right. 
 
 That eccentric lady continued : 
 
 " Matters can be settled very speedily as Mr. Edgar has 
 written to say that he is coming home much sooner than 
 he expected to do ; that we may expect him about three 
 weeks from to-day ; his letter came this afternoon, and 
 Edna wanted to show it to you, Ned," turning to her 
 companion, " but you were out on one of your walks." 
 
 Here was another incident to confound her conviction 
 that it was Edna s voice she had heard near the mill; 
 surely, if her cousin were in the house looking for her in 
 order to show her father s letter, she could not be at the 
 same time in the spot where Ned was so sure she had 
 heard her speak. 
 
 XXYII. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran was seized with a whim to give Mr. Edgar 
 a gorgeous reception on his arrival, and though his 
 daughter, whose cultivated taste shrank from the vulgar 
 display that passed for elegance and brilliancy with the 
 eccentric lady, remonstrated with her, and assured her 
 that her father was a man of very quiet, simple tastes, 
 Mrs. Doloran would have her w r ay. As Mr. Edgar had 
 named the very day of his expected arrival in New York, 
 and had said that he would proceed immediately to Ra- 
 handabed, it was not difficult to calculate almost the 
 precise hour of his coming. Thus preparations were 
 begun that turned the spacious winter drawing-room into 
 a sort of outre apartment from the quantity and quality 
 and striking color of the velvet hangings with which the 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 121 
 
 walls were dressed, to the total exclusion of the costly 
 pictures that had previously adorned them. Whence she 
 derived her odd and execrable taste no one could con 
 ceive, and while everybody laughed secretly, no one save 
 Alan and Edna were bold enough to remonstrate, or to 
 condemn. But she was not to be restrained by either 
 remonstrance or condemnation, and every day found her 
 superintending something more and more grotesque. 
 Her absurdity reached its height when she ordered a hand 
 some dais at the extreme end of the drawing-room. 
 
 " What for ? " asked Alan in angry amazement. 
 
 "To receive my guest, sir," was the haughtily given 
 answer. 
 
 " Do you propose to put him and yourself on exhibition, 
 then ? " spoken with an angry scorn that awed for a second 
 even his indomitable aunt ; but it was only for a second : 
 her will was too strong to be put down by anything short 
 of death, or perhaps poverty. 
 
 " I propose to do just as I like, sir, with my guest, and 
 with everything else that is mine. Is not that the proper 
 womanly spirit, Mr. Brekbellew ? " turning to that poor, 
 timid gentleman who, whenever he could not be by Edna s 
 side, was the constant attendant of Mrs. Doloran. 
 
 And Brekbellew answered with becoming meekness: 
 
 "Yes, ma am: an eminently proper spirit ;" at which 
 Carnew, too angry to speak further, turned on his heel 
 and left the pair. 
 
 Of course, Ordotte was constantly appealed to, as the 
 preparations progressed, and actuated by the exceeding 
 amusement the whole affair afforded him, he frequently 
 gave such a suggestion as turned into newer and stranger 
 extravagance Mrs. Doloran s own preconceived whim. 
 
 The eccentric lady was quite in her element; her days 
 rose upon work in which she delighted, and which was 
 an effectual bar to those fitful moods of temper that made 
 her a burden to herself, and an annoyance to those about 
 her. Even the servants basked in her good humor, not 
 being in their wonted constant fear of a sudden and 
 
122 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 violent contact with the article most convenient to Mrs. 
 Doloran s hand, and Macgilivray said in his dry way : 
 
 " It s the line speerit me leddy s in just now ; but bide 
 aweel, and see how the auld lioniie 11 make her her ain 
 self again." 
 
 Ordotte was bidden to have ready his most exciting 
 Indian stories, the lady saying : 
 
 " I have no doubt a gentleman of Mr. Edgar s wide 
 travels and cultivated tastes will enjoy the terrible and 
 the mysterious in nature, as you depict it, Mascar, in your 
 dreadful tales." 
 
 " I have no doubt of his enjoyment of my Indian 
 stories," Mascar repeated, with an emphasis on the word 
 my, and a singular intonation of the other words, all of 
 which, however, owing to Mrs. Doloran s preoccupation 
 with her own excited thoughts, were lost upon her. 
 
 The preparations extended even to arrangements for 
 illuminating the grounds, and as the season was exception 
 ally fine, Mrs. Doloran s anticipations were very bright. 
 
 Carnew could hardly restrain his anger and disgust. 
 
 " Your father," he said to Edna the afternoon before 
 the expected arrival, when they were taking a stroll to 
 gether through the grounds, " will think we are all fools 
 here." 
 
 " No," she said in her most bewitching way, " my father 
 will understand the case almost immediately, and while 
 he may be much amused with your good aunt, he will 
 draw the line between her and those who in sheer kind 
 ness pander to her whims ; all that he does not understand 
 I shall make clear to him." 
 
 " Thank you," he said, his face slightly flushing. 
 
 Her heart was beating with painful rapidity ; what was 
 this concern that he expressed about her father s opinion 
 but a sign of his regard for herself, and, if so, might she 
 not hope that one day this regard would be all that hers 
 was now for him ? Kay ; might she not even now be 
 assured that his affections were her own ? True, no word 
 had been spoken, but all the little signs by which a sus- 
 
A FATAL KKSKMBLLNCE. 123 
 
 ceptible woman judges of the regard she may have in 
 spired, were time and again betrayed. And how in her 
 heart she cursed and loathed the secret folly that must 
 prevent her acceptance of his hand should he offer it. 
 
 In the midst of her burning thoughts she glanced at 
 him, but he was not looking at her ; indeed, he seemed 
 to be in some far distant reflection. Secretly piqued, she 
 put her hand on his arm. 
 
 " Do you know that, glad as I shall be to see my father, 
 I am also a little sorry at his coming." 
 
 " Why ? " spoken without looking at her. 
 
 " Because he will be anxious to return to Weewald 
 Place, and I shall have to accompany him." 
 
 Carnew looked at her then ; a look which frightened 
 her a little by its intense piercing earnestness, and she 
 hastened to add : 
 
 " This place with its endless varieties and its gay com 
 pany is in such contrast to my lonely life at home. Do 
 you wonder that I dislike to leave it ? " 
 
 She had such a wonderfully child-like, confiding way 
 of putting the question, and she raised such trusting, in 
 nocent eyes to his, that he was won, as he had been many 
 a time before, by the spell of her beauty and her artless 
 manner. She saw her advantage, and she pursued it. 
 
 " And I have learned so many life-long lessons here." 
 
 "What are they ? " he was suddenly interested. 
 
 " One, that true goodness of character triumphs over 
 every ill. I have reference now to your aunt s compan 
 ion, and my dearest friend, Ned Edgar. Knowing, as I 
 am aware you do, that she could have had a home always 
 with us, have you never wondered that she should leave 
 it to become a sort of servant ? " 
 
 " Yes, at first I did wonder a little, but I am not wont 
 to concern myself about other people s business." 
 
 " Her leaving it was a surprise to me, the more so that 
 she never by a word hinted at the cause ; and it was only 
 when my father himself asked me if I knew anything about 
 her secret acquaintance with the son of a gardener on our 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 place, a Dick Mackay, and expressed his disapprobation of 
 lier conduct, that I began to think his manner to her might 
 have driven her from us. As she was so reticent, I have 
 never had courage to mention the matter to her, but, 
 studying her as I have done since I have been here, and 
 being brought into daily contact with her unselfish good 
 ness, I believe that which my father said of her to be 
 false. Some one must have misled him, and I only fear 
 that his manner to her when he meets her here will be as 
 cold as it was during the last davs of her stay in Weewald 
 Place." 
 
 She sighed most feelingly, and looked down at the 
 pretty white hand resting upon his arm. 
 
 " Tell me another of the lessons you have learned," he 
 said, too much charmed with his companion just then to 
 speculate upon what she had so unnecessarily told of her 
 cousin. 
 
 " The other lesson," she spoke with some hesitation, as 
 if not certain of the propriety of her communication, "is 
 that a woman s heart undisciplined is the scourge of 
 many." 
 
 " You have reference to my aunt," he said dryly, 
 " but give me your third lesson, if you have learned so 
 many." 
 
 " The third," putting both her hands upon his arm, 
 " is that he who judges, but reserves his opinion, who 
 loves, but yields not to his attachment, is wiser in his 
 generation than the fools who make honest speech of all 
 they know, and gushing revelation of all they feel." 
 
 She had spoken wildly and more frankly than she had 
 intended to do, impelled by a certain recklessness arising 
 from the fact that her own ardent wish could never be 
 fulfilled. 
 
 And Carnew blushed as hotly as any girl might have 
 done. Had she penetrated his secret attachment to Ned ? 
 That attachment to which he struggled so hard not to 
 yield and which, having heard what he did about the 
 gardener s son, even though the story were not true, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 125 
 
 must now speedily die. Such was the thought that ani 
 mated him, and made his voice a little tremulous as he 
 asked : 
 
 " Who taught you the last lesson ? " 
 
 The answer came in a whisper : 
 
 " You." 
 
 ~No more was said until they reached the lawn where 
 the whole gay company was assembled to watch the com 
 pletion of the preparations for illumination. They stood, 
 also, ostensibly to watch, but there was on the part of 
 each a desire to compose hot and unpleasant thoughts. 
 Ned stood near them, pleasantly interested, and Carnew, 
 when he could do so unobserved, studied her face. It 
 attracted him despite himself, though he linked with it 
 the unfavorable story which Edna had told him, and lie 
 thought that Ned s own marked reserve toward him 
 since her return from Albany might be even an evidence 
 of the truth of that story; if her troth was plighted to 
 this gardener s son, she might deem it her duty to be 
 thus excessively modest, and was such the case, her mod 
 esty was certainly to be commended. But strange 
 thoughts flashed through his mind : what if her visit 
 to Albany during all those weeks had anything to do 
 with this Mackay? And did Dykard Dutton, whom Car- 
 new had long since regarded as Ned s suitor, know all 
 about it, and was he hurt by it ? But at this stage of his 
 uncontrolled thoughts, the young man became suddenly 
 ashamed of himself, and he turned resolutely away to 
 give all his attention to some arrangement of colored 
 lights that Mrs. Doloran was insisting was quite wrong. 
 A little commotion in the vicinity of Ned drew his at 
 tention to her again ; the commotion was made by a 
 man in a laborer s dress approaching her with a note 
 which he said was for Miss Ned Edgar. She took it in 
 dumb surprise, but in an instant her keenest fears were 
 aroused for Dyke ; possibly it was some bad tidings from 
 him, and she asked trembingly, as she looked at the super 
 scription. 
 
126 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " Miss Ned Edgar," written in an entirely strange 
 hand : 
 
 " Who gave you this ? " 
 
 " A gentleman out on the road ; and there s to be no 
 answer," was the reply ; and the man, with the best bow 
 he knew how to make, took a hurried departure. 
 
 It was well that Mrs. Doloran was too much engaged to 
 notice her " companion," or she probably would have in 
 sisted on knowing the contents of the note ; as it was, every 
 body in Ned s vicinity was watching the young girl, and 
 though she did not look at any of them, by a peculiar in 
 tuition she felt their critical observation, and she blushed 
 hotly as she opened the note, and in perfect amazement 
 read: 
 
 " Within an hour the last and greatest sacrifice I can 
 make shall be completed. Can any love demand more ? " 
 
 That was all ; neither date nor signature, and the pen 
 manship was so utterly unfamiliar. She looked up, and 
 in her bewilderment directly across at Carnew and his 
 companion, Edna. Carnew was watching her so intently 
 that his eyes to her heated imagination seemed to be 
 flaming through her, and Edna, slightly leaning forward 
 in her eagerness to watch her cousin, was pale as death. 
 
 In an instant Ned s brain was whirling with excited 
 thought ; the words that she had heard at the mill, " ~No 
 love is deep that will not make every sacrifice," and which 
 she was so sure had been uttered by Edna s voice, came 
 back to her and startled her with their similarity to the 
 expressions in the note. Then Edna s present appearance, 
 her unusual pallor, the evident anxiety with which she 
 watched her cousin, all told that she had some, and per 
 haps imprudent, secret ; but again, the superscription 
 made her hesitate. " Miss Ned Edgar " surely it was 
 meant for her, for never by any possible chance was her 
 cousin addressed as Ned. To end her suspense, she would 
 go immediately to Edna, give her the note, and ask for an 
 interview. But, at that instant everybody s attention was 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 127 
 
 attracted by the sudden and rapid advent of a carriage into 
 the grounds, and the sudden scream of : 
 
 " My father ! " from Edna, who had recognized its soli 
 tary occupant, as for an instant he put forth his head 
 from the carriage window. 
 
 Immediate excitement ensued, rendered ridiculous in 
 no small measure by Mrs. Doloraii s indignant outburst 
 of: 
 
 " The man s come too soon ; here are the lights not 
 half completed, the dais in the parlor isn t finished, nor 
 the velvet drapery, nor the antlers hung in his room, and 
 I don t believe Mascar has his stories ready, and I am 
 not in costume, and why didn t he wait ? " 
 
 Appealing to everybody about her, but looking long 
 est at her nephew, who was secretly delighted at this 
 early arrival ; it would probably spare him much morti 
 fication. 
 
 Edna, with an apparent forgetfulness of self which 
 seemed very charming, had broken from the company 
 and dashed after the carriage, in order to meet her father 
 when he alighted, on seeing which Mrs. Doloran com 
 missioned Alan to do the honors of receiving the guest, 
 until evening, when she would present herself in state. 
 
 " And we can have the illumination to-night," she said, 
 taking Ordotte s arm, and going on a tour of survey. 
 
 The company scattered ; some to accompany Alan to 
 the house, others to take their accustomed strolls through 
 the grounds, and Ned, in uncertainty as to what she had 
 better do, stood twirling the note between her fingers. 
 Carnew said as he passed her : 
 
 " Come with us to the house, Miss Edgar ; my aunt 
 will not need you for some time, and I am sure you are 
 anxious to meet your old friend, Mr. Edgar." 
 
 There was the faintest touch of sarcasm in the last 
 words, but faint as it was, Ned caught it, and wondering 
 why he had used it, she forgot her usual prudence and 
 looked him full in the face. He returned her look 
 carelessly and passed on. She followed, and was in time 
 
128 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 to see Edna hanging on her father s arm, with all the de 
 light of an eager and happy-hearted child. There was no 
 pallor no anxiety about her now. She was brilliant and 
 joyous, and proceeded to make the introductions with in 
 imitable grace. 
 
 " And Ned, papa," she said, putting her cousin for 
 ward the moment she saw her ; "here is Ned, our own 
 Ned." 
 
 How Ned s heart throbbed with gratitude for this affec 
 tionate recognition. 
 
 But Mr. Edgar only bowed in his stateliest manner, and 
 suffered his fingers to close coldly over hers for an instant, 
 while he asked for her health with the same conventional 
 courtesy that he might have extended to any acquain 
 tance. She answered as coldly, and blushing hotly, with 
 drew to another part of the room, while Carnew, watch 
 ing the scene with intense interest, recurred again men 
 tally to all that Edna had told him. 
 
 Father and daughter ; they were a pretty sight together ; 
 she so beautiful and so affectionate, and he so handsome, 
 although strangely careworn, and so exquisitely tender 
 to her. The tears rose in Ned s eyes as she watched 
 them, and feeling that she would suffocate if she re 
 mained, she hurried out of doors for one of the solitary 
 strolls that generally composed her. Taking a secluded 
 part of the grounds, she wandered on, so absorbed in her 
 thoughts as to be quite unconscious of the scenes she 
 passed, until she came suddenly upon a little group of 
 men whom she recognized as farm hands of Kahandabed. 
 They were grouped about something which they seemed 
 to be examining with great earnestness, and as they 
 started on hearing her footsteps, and turned with some 
 thing like dismay to look at her, a man who had been 
 inside the little circle rose from a crouching position, and 
 seeing her, came forward. It was Macgilivray, with a 
 more solemn expression than even his grave Scotch face 
 usually wore. 
 
 " Take you reel awa , Miss Edgar ; its noo sicht for your 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 129 
 
 eyes ; a puir daft lad that s killed liimsel is doon there ; 
 he s shot through the heart ; wi a paper pinned to his 
 breast that says it s for love he done it a dour love that 
 makes a man do the leek o that." 
 
 " Who is he ? " asked Ned, white and trembling. 
 
 " There s nae telling yet ; we don t leek to touch him 
 till the authorities gets here. I ll gang to the house wi 
 word now." 
 
 And he left Ned, who also retraced her way to the 
 house. 
 
 XXYIII. 
 
 The excitement was intense among the servants, and 
 extended even to the guests when it became known that 
 a young man had shot himself on the grounds of Ra- 
 handabed. u The authorities," as Macgilivray had termed 
 the country coroner, was not long in coining to the spot, 
 and after such an official investigation as he best knew 
 how to make, the suicide was borne to one of the barns on 
 the estate, and there laid out with a sort of rude and shrink 
 ing kindness. No one knew him, and nothing was found 
 upon his person to reveal his identity. Not even a porte- 
 monnaie was found in his pocket ; nothing but a little scrap 
 of paper pinned to his breast, on which was written in a 
 bold, manly hand : 
 
 " For love I have done it." 
 
 The pity of the female servants was excited by his 
 handsome appearance. Not even the throes of death had 
 disturbed his regular features, and save for the ghastliness 
 of his face, one might well think him sleeping. 
 
 With that morbid curiosity that sometimes actuates 
 alike high and low born, the guests went out to see 
 him. Indeed, everybody went except Ned, Mrs. Doloran, 
 Mr. Edgar, and Edna. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran, in strange contradiction to herself, re 
 fused to share any of the morbid curiosity, replying in 
 angry astonishment, when asked to accompany some of 
 the guests to view the suicide, 
 
130 A FATAL KKSEMBLANCE. 
 
 " What ! ask me to look at tlie dead fool ? The only 
 pit} 7 is lie didn t blow out liis brains instead of liis heart, 
 that we might see how little he had, and what poor stuff 
 they were. For love, indeed, he shot himself. He d bet 
 ter said, for lack of honest sense." 
 
 And she went on the instant to select the toilet in 
 which she intended to receive her new guest. With lu 
 dicrous Wiiimsicalness, she was determined on not ap 
 pearing in his presence until she should meet him in 
 state that evening, on that account intending even to 
 dine in seclusion. 
 
 Mr. Edgar refused to see the suicide, because he had 
 110 interest in the matter, and Ned did not go for the 
 reason that such a death had an appalling horror for her ; 
 but it was none of these things that deterred Edna. 
 
 It was the horrible fear that she should recognize the 
 dead man, and her heart beat with sickening speed, and 
 her face paled and flushed in a breath at every observa 
 tion upon the event made by the company. And yet, 
 with the feeling that restrained her, there was at the same 
 time an almost irresistible desire to see him, but to see 
 him alone, to look upon the dead face when no curious 
 eye would be upon herself, and involuntarily she glanced 
 about the room, as if she feared she was even then the 
 object of suspicious scrutiny. 
 
 But, there were no eyes fixed very earnestly upon her 
 save those of Ned, who was longing for an opportunity 
 to speak about the mysterious note she had received. 
 Strangely enough, though its words seemed printed be 
 fore her everywhere she turned, she did not dream of 
 connecting them with the suicide. 
 
 To stricken, guilty Edna, Ned s anxious look conveyed 
 a verification of all Jier fears. She, too, thought con 
 stantly about the note, feeling assured that it was for 
 herself, and perhaps contained a warning of the dreadful 
 thing that had happened. What should she do ? Where 
 could she flee for help 
 
 In whom could she confide ? Was it necessary for her 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 13 i 
 
 safety to tell lier wretched secret to Ned? Ned, whose 
 rectitude was so strong that she would die rather than 
 betray any confidence, or violate her slightest promise ? 
 She looked at her father, beside whom she was seated, 
 and to whom Carnew was showing some rare prints, and 
 she shuddered as she pictured the anger and scorn with 
 which he would greet the knowledge of his daughter s 
 foolish conduct ; and then she looked at Carnew, and a 
 vise seemed about her heart as she imagined his con 
 tempt. What if Ned should be impelled to speak to him 
 about the note she had received, and the suspicions that, 
 in connection with the suicide, it must have engendered 
 in her mind? Her face became ghastly at the thought, 
 and, feeling that she must do something to prevent such 
 a revelation, she excused herself to the two gentlemen, 
 and crossed to Ned. 
 
 a You are going to dine witli Mrs. Doloran, in her 
 private parlor, are you not ? " she said in a half-whisper, 
 though Ned being seated in an embrasure, there was no 
 one to overhear. 
 
 u Yes," was the reply. 
 
 " Then meet me as soon as you can leave her, will you ? " 
 spoken quite in a whisper now ; u I shall be in my own 
 room." 
 
 " Yes," said Ned ; " for I also have something to say to 
 you, and 
 
 She was about to add what she thought of the note she 
 had received, and indeed to give it to Edna, but at that 
 moment Brekbellew came up to them and claimed Miss 
 Edgar s attention. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran was so unsually and vexatiously captious 
 at the meal which she and her companion ate together in 
 that lady s private parlor, that it seemed as if poor Ned 
 was to be deprived of all opportunity to have her prom 
 ised interview with Edna ; but few mouthfuls passed her 
 own lips. She was too full of anxiety and of a nameless, 
 nervous dread to be able to eat. But the voluble, whim 
 sical lady did not notice that. Ned was a figure-head, so 
 
132J A FATAL EESEMBLA.NCE. 
 
 to speak, at which she could direct all her remarks, and 
 she was in no humor to care whether they were replied 
 to or not, but she was in a humor to talk, and babble, 
 babble she went, to the agony of the young girl who saw 
 hour after hour pass away without bringing Mrs. Doloran 
 any nearer to the end of her garrulity, or to the close of 
 her meal, having, in the interest of her tongue, suspended 
 eating so frequently and so long. And did the poor com 
 panion venture to request a brief leave of absence, it 
 would have brought upon her such an avalanche of imper 
 tinent questions that it were better to refrain altogether 
 from seeing Edna that evening. But, at last a message 
 came to the effect that the company were impatiently 
 waiting the presence of Mrs. Doloran. That recalled the 
 eccentric lady, and made it necessary that she should con 
 clude hastily her meal and deliver herself into the hands 
 of her maid ; so Ned was free for a little while. She 
 hurried to Miss Edgar s room. Edna opened the door to 
 her; her face as white as the. white, fleecy dress she wore, 
 and she was trembling in such a manner that the very hand 
 she extended to Ned shook like that of an old, palsied 
 woman. 
 
 " I thought you w r ould never come," she whispered, 
 " and I am so wretched." 
 
 To Ned s astonishment she was crying crying as if 
 her very soul would melt. 
 
 Her cousin could not speak. She was too much 
 astounded to find a word of comfort, or even inquiry ; but 
 her tender heart ached in sympathy with this strange, un 
 known grief; nay, every instinct of her true womanly 
 nature was aroused, and all went forth in pity and love to 
 Edna, as if she had been an own sister. She forgot even 
 her previous suspicions, her half -distrust, her doubt, and 
 she wound her arms about the sobbing girl and pressed 
 her closely to her. 
 
 Edna roused herself. 
 
 " I have so much to tell you. But may T trust you ? 
 Will you think of me as a sister and guard my troubles in 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 133 
 
 your own breast ? "Will you swear, Ned, never to betray 
 my secrets if I tell them to you? Will you swear 
 solemnly ? " 
 
 She disengaged herself from the tender clasp, and drew 
 back as if to study Ned s face. 
 
 Ned was startled. An oath was to her something 
 dreadful ; and this oath, once made, would bind her so 
 sacredly she who regarded a mere promise with a 
 martyr s sense of duty that, no matter to what it com 
 mitted her, it would still be inviolable. Then also her 
 previous suspicion, and distrust, and fear of Edna came 
 suddenly back, and all her emotions showed themselves 
 in the troubled working of her countenance. 
 
 "You shrink, you hesitate," said Edna, "and I shall 
 not force you. I have no right to burden you with my 
 sorrows, and I shall not. But you were the only one in 
 the wide world I could turn to, and I felt that you 
 loved me." 
 
 The last words touched anew the sympathetic listener ; 
 still, true to that prudence with which she was unusually 
 gifted, she said gently : 
 
 " Your father surely is your truest friend. You will 
 not refuse to confide in him ? " 
 
 " I cannot," spoken in a strangely rigid way. 
 
 " Then, will it do if I promise to keep your secret just 
 so long or so far as it is consistent with duty to keep it ? " 
 
 " No ; I must have your oath to keep it uncondition 
 ally. Otherwise, there is but one course for me to pur 
 sue one dreadful course at which even yon, when you 
 hear it, with your gentle charity, will pity more than 
 blame. Could you take the oath I ask, you would be able 
 to advise and to console me. You have suspicions ; you 
 had them before even I asked for this interview. You 
 think I have been guilty of imprudence, perhaps of 
 wrong. You are in some measure right. In any case, 
 since you refuse what I ask, I shall be soon beyond the 
 reach of all earthly consequences." 
 
 She turned away and threw herself sobbing into a chair, 
 
134 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 leaving Ned aghast at the implied terrible threat in the last 
 words. " Beyond the reach of all earthly consequences " 
 could mean nothing else than self-destruction, and, too 
 guileless to dream for a moment that it was only a part of 
 her cousin s shrewd and clever acting in order to work 
 upon Ned s too easily enlisted sympathies, she had but 
 one thought, that it was now her duty, even to the taking 
 of the oath, to prevent this last dreadful crime. 
 
 " Only tell me," she said, kneeling beside her cousin, 
 "that my keeping of this secret will not do a wrong to 
 anybody, will not bind my conscience in a dreadful re 
 morse, and I shall take the oath." 
 
 Edna turned to her, even slipping from her chair, until 
 she too was on her knees, and with her arms about Ned, 
 until their faces almost touched. 
 
 " There is no wrong done now," with an almost in 
 audible emphasis in the last word, "to anybody but me." 
 
 " Then I swear," said Ned, " never to reveal what you 
 shall tell me." 
 
 " Solemnly swear ? " said Edna. 
 
 " Solemnly swear," repeated Ned, and Edna s heart 
 beat with exultation, for Ned had taken the oath, and had 
 taken it upon her knees. 
 
 She arose, and Ned rose also. 
 
 There were no more tears now, no further passionate 
 abandon to grief. She could be something of her own 
 old self again, and tell her secret how she would, for it 
 would be as safe in Ned s breast as if it were buried in the 
 grave. Still, she affected to shiver, as she said : "I am 
 a married woman, Ned. 
 
 " I was married by a clergyman not very far from Wee- 
 wald Place, but so secretly that no one in my father s 
 house dreamed of such a thing She paused through 
 sheer fright at Ned s appearance ; the girl was ghastly, 
 and she seemed to have difficulty in breathing. 
 
 "What is it, Ned? why are you so affected? Surely 
 it is no more than others have done before rue and I 
 loved him." 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 135 
 
 Ned had regained her breath, and she answered sternly : 
 
 " How could you marry without the knowledge of your 
 father ? How could you be so false to your duty as to re 
 ceive any suitor without acquainting him ? " 
 
 Edna sank to her knees and sobbed : 
 
 "Do not upbraid me; I was imprudent, erring if you 
 will, but at least pity me now ; I am sorely punished, for I 
 feel that the suicide whom they have found on the 
 grounds, is my husband." 
 
 Her listener started back in terror and dismay at the 
 announcement. 
 
 " Your husband ! " she repeated. 
 
 " Yes, said Edna starting suddenly to her feet, " and 
 I have felt that the note which was given to you this 
 afternoon was meant for me, and was only given to you 
 in mistake." 
 
 The note ; she had forgotten it for the moment in the 
 feelings excited by Edna s strange revelation ; now, she 
 pulled it from her pocket, and put it into her cousin s 
 hand. 
 
 Twice, three times she read it ; then she put it to her 
 lips and moaned : 
 
 "My God ! it is he ; that is his farewell to me." 
 
 In her excitement Ned forgot to inquire just then why 
 the note was addressed to her, but she was thinking of 
 the mysterious words which she heard at the mill. She 
 repeated them now, and asked if Edna had uttered them. 
 
 u Yes," was the reply, " and I heard you call my name, 
 but fear lent wings to my feet. He concealed himself in 
 the vicinity, but I fled to Ilahandabed, and had just time 
 to be in the house and assume a most composed attitude 
 when you arrived, and were no doubt surprised at my un 
 ruffled presence there. But come with me now, Ned, and 
 let me convince myself whether my dreadful fear be true. 
 In company with you, I can summon courage to look at 
 him ; alone I could not. Nobody w r ill miss us " as Ned 
 shrank from the proposition, and Edna attributed the 
 shrinking to the unseemliness of leaving the house un- 
 
136 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 escorted at such an hour " for my father tliinks I am 
 confined to my room with some sudden, slight indispo 
 sition, and Mrs. Poloran will hardly want you for an hour 
 yet. Come ! do not refuse me I am beside myself as it 
 is, and to bear this dreadful suspense longer will kill me. 
 
 She put her hands to her head in a wild way that fright 
 ened Ned and made her consent, in spite of her aversion 
 to look upon the suicide. 
 
 Flinging a long dark wrap to her cousin, Edna folded 
 another about herself, and putting into her pocket a piece 
 of wax candle and some matches, the two went forth, and 
 descended by a back staircase to the grounds. 
 
 Edna had taken care to inform herself just where lie 
 was laid, and as the night was a bright, clear one, they had 
 little difficulty in finding the path to the out-houses. No 
 one seemed to be about, for which Miss Edgar was thank 
 ful, though if they had been met by any of the servants, 
 the only persons likely to be on that part of the grounds, 
 she was prepared to say (mite frankly that they were only 
 gratifying their curiosity to see the suicide. 
 
 There were so many out-houses that the difficulty w^as 
 to find the one, and with a nerve that to Ned was most 
 appalling, Miss Edgar lifted the latch of door after door, 
 of milk-house, and wash-house, and barn, and lighting her 
 candle went forward undismayed. Her search was un 
 availing, until they came to one temporary structure, the 
 door of which was broadly open. A gust of wind seem 
 ing to bear the very breath of the charnel house assailed 
 them, and blew out the candle the moment it was lighted. 
 Nothing daunted, she lit it again and went forward, Ned 
 slightly in the rear. The corpse was there, on some 
 rudely improvised trestles, and covered face and all by a 
 sheet. "Without a moment s hesitation, Edna, holding the 
 candle aloft in one hand, drew down the sheet with the 
 other. Impelled by a feeling strangely apart from her 
 self, and yet seeming to centre within it every emotion of 
 her soul, Ned too leaned forward as the sheet was drawn, 
 
A FATAL 11ESEMBLANCE. 137 
 
 and beheld tlie still wliite features of handsome Dick 
 Mackay. 
 
 She could not speak. She could hardly breathe, and 
 in her agonized surprise she turned to her cousin, but at 
 that same moment Edna flung the candle down, and in 
 the darkness that succeeded, the candle going suddenly 
 out from the force of the fall, her sobs could be heard as 
 if si ic had dropped on her knees beside the dead man. 
 
 Ned found her voice and gropii\g, clutched Edna s 
 shoulder, seemingly from its low position on a line with 
 the suicide s pallet. 
 
 " Come back," she whispered, " I am getting ill." 
 
 The girl arose, and the light from without showing in 
 through the open doorway being sufficient to guide them, 
 she did not again light the candle, but retraced her way 
 hurriedly and silently, not a word being spoken until her 
 room was reached. Then Ned, who had somewhat re 
 covered herself, and was influenced in turn by feelings of 
 pity, disgust, indignation, and sorrow, said with some 
 severity : 
 
 " How could you marry him, and marry him without 
 acquainting your father ? " 
 
 " Ask me why women have been foolish before my 
 time ? " answered Edna impatiently ; " why they fall in 
 love with handsome faces, and give their hearts before 
 they know what it is to have a heart ? O Ned ! if I 
 could undo that one mad act, and restore him to life, I 
 would gladly die myself." Her grief was real this time, 
 for a transient remorse had seized her ; remorse for the 
 daeadful crime of which she knew but too well she had 
 been the cause. 
 
 " His family," gasped Ned, " his poor old father, his 
 young sister of whom you have spoken to me so often 
 ah ! I understand now the strange interest you seemed in 
 your conversations to take in them all. But none of his 
 people know that you are his wife, do they ? " 
 
 " His sister knows." 
 
 " And will she keep the matter secret now, when her 
 
138 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 brother lias committed suicide will she not rather in her 
 grief be likely to tell everything about him ? " 
 
 " I don t know ; that is what I fear " and Edn a s tears 
 burst out afresh; "but I have one hope- -no one has 
 recognized him ; he may be buried unidentified." 
 
 "fflna!" 
 
 The appalling tone in which her name was uttered 
 compelled the weeping girl to look up ; but she cowered 
 from the stern-looking face that met her. 
 
 " Would you adcl further crime to what you have al 
 ready done, by not, if no other means can be found, your 
 self telling that you have recognized in this suicide the 
 son of poor old Mackay ? Would you leave this aged 
 father to wait in an agonized suspense for tidings of his 
 missing boy ? The most dreadful certainty is better than 
 an uncertain waiting. O Edna! do not let this first 
 wretched act of yours crush every kindly impulse of your 
 womanhood." 
 
 " But what will become of me f " moaned Edna. " His 
 sister may, as you say, tell all when she knows of this 
 dreadful occurrence, and what then shall /do ? " 
 
 " Bear the consequences ; they will hardly be so dread 
 ful since the unfortunate man is dead, and you are a widow 
 instead of a wife. Your father, in consideration of that, 
 will condone your act, I think." 
 
 " You don t know my father ; he is unforgiving he h 
 even vindictive and he would never, never consider me 
 his child again." 
 
 " Then accept it, if lie does not," said Ned warmly ; 
 " will it be anything to what you have brought that poor 
 wretch who lies dead by his own hand ; to the grief you 
 have brought upon his family ? You were daring and 
 defiant enough to marry him ; be equally daring to con 
 front the consequences." 
 
 " I cannot, oh, I cannnot," she moaned. 
 
 "Then /sha 1 ! reveal the identity of the dead man; 
 the oath you exacted does not bind me in that respect. I 
 can say at least, that ./have seen and recognized him." 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 139 
 
 " And will you say that I was witli you when you rec 
 ognized him ? " asked Edna, her voice so tremulous that 
 she could hardly enunciate the words. 
 
 " If circumstances require the truth, I shall ; but your 
 conscience is making a frightful coward of you. Why 
 should it be more remarkable for you to have looked at 
 the suicide, than that the other guests of the house should 
 have done so ? " 
 
 Edna roused herself : 
 
 " You are right ; my fears are making a coward of me. 
 I shall tell my father that I have seen and recognized 
 Dick " pronouncing the last word witli a gulp " and 
 " a knock at the door interrupted her. It was a message 
 from Mr. Edgar to know how his daughter was, and the 
 messenger at the same time stated that Mrs. Doloran was 
 searching the house for Ned. 
 
 "I shall go to Mrs. Doloran immediately," said the 
 young lady, rising to depart. 
 
 " And I," said Edna to the messenger, " shall join the 
 company in the parlor in a few moments. Tell my father 
 so." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 What refined, fastidious, quiet-looking Mr. Edgar 
 thought of the great, ill-dressed, loud, and forward wo 
 man to whom he was presented by Carnew, it required his 
 most stern self-control to prevent from showing, at least 
 in his face. She gave herself the most absurd airs and 
 with her immense size, and her dress of gay-colored satin 
 that shimmered in the light like a great surface of metal 
 lic sheen, and her head dress of plumes that added to her 
 height, and made her seem like a female warrior, she was 
 a most novel and ludicrous sight. Those of the company 
 who were riot within the range of her vision were con 
 vulsed with laughter, and those who were, had to resort 
 to many manoeuvres to hide their mirth. 
 
 Carnew was crimson from anger and shame, but with 
 his imperturable self-command, lie permitted no more 
 
140 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 evidence of his feelings to appear than the flush itself 
 gave, and he fulfilled his part of the presentation of his 
 aunt with a quiet, gentlemanly grace which charmed Mr. 
 Edgar. That done, }.?.e turned away ; but Mrs. Doloran, 
 whose whim it was to keep him just then, caught his 
 arm. 
 
 " Now do, Alan, let your gallantry come to my rescue 
 awhile. You know that Mr. Edgar, having travelled so 
 much, will expect to be entertained by a varied conversa 
 tion. And what variety can a woman s poor mind 
 
 devise 1 You know, Mr. Edgar " with a languishing 
 
 raising of her eyes, and an affected setting back of her 
 head that was most mirth-provoking. 
 
 " I am one of those who know the true value of the 
 sex : the little insipid nothings that till the female mind ; 
 the vagaries, the emotions that upset the female heart. 
 Therefore I am anxious to retain about you something 
 that savors of brains." With a look at her nephew meant 
 to be conciliatory, but that only roused his indignation to 
 white heat. 
 
 Mr. Edgar bowed ; the only thing he could do under 
 the circumstances, as in the character of such an honored 
 guest he could neither reply as he would to that unwo 
 manly speech, nor, in deference to the nephew whom lie 
 very much admired, betray by a look his utter disgust of 
 the speaker. 
 
 But, Alan, who was bound by no such regard, and who 
 was now so angry that even his wonted command had 
 deserted him, said a little hotly : u lt is better for me to 
 go, Aunt Doloran, than stay to witness your inoculation 
 of Mr. Edgar with ideas so disparaging to yourself as a 
 woman." lie bowed low to his aunt, and before she could 
 recover from her astonishment and indignation at his 
 boldness in administering such a public reproof, he had 
 bowed also to Edgar, broken from her grasp, and was 
 hurrying away. 
 
 " There s a fool for you," in her anger bursting out in 
 to her customary inelegant speech ; "lie can t take the 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 truth, and never could ; but here is one catching 
 sight of Ordotte, who had just entered the parlor and was 
 approaching her, " who holds rny views of things." 
 
 Ordotte had been presented to the guest earlier in the 
 evening, and he now came forward with that ease of 
 manner which to thoroughly cultured Edgar savored 
 a little too much of ill-bred familiarity, and began at 
 once with clever tact to soothe Mrs. Doloran s irritation 
 and to draw out the guest. In her new-found interest 
 the lady forgot her previous uncomfortable feelings, and 
 talked volubly and nonsensically enough to corroborate 
 her previous assertion of the impoteiicy of the female 
 mind. 
 
 " But your stories, Mascar ; your Indian stories," she 
 said suddenly, in the very middle of one of her pointless 
 tales, remembering that that part of the programme ar 
 ranged for Mr. Edgar s entertainment had not been yet 
 carried out. 
 
 Ordotte laughed a laugh that showed in full his white 
 even teeth, whiter looking by contrast with the tawny 
 hue of his face and snapped his eyes at the new guest in 
 a way that rendered the latter a little uncomfortable. 
 
 " My Indian stories," he said, when he had ceased 
 laughing, " will have, I have no doubt, a very singular 
 and fascinating interest for Mr. Edgar. Which shall I 
 tell, Mrs. Dolorau ? The one where I lay in a jungle all 
 night with the dead tiger on my breast, or ? " 
 
 "~No ; don t tell any of them yet ;" said Mr. Doloran, 
 rising. Wait until I get Ned here ; I enjoy your stories 
 better when I have her face to watch, ever since you said 
 her face recalled one of them to you." 
 
 But the messenger dispatched for Ned reported that 
 the young lady was neither in her own room, nor in any 
 of Mrs. Doloran s apartments. 
 
 " Then search the house for her," said the lady, impa 
 tiently ; and so messengers were sent in different direc 
 tions. Mr. Edgar, taking advantage of the slight lull 
 
142 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 that had occurred in the conversation, begged to be ex 
 cused, while he also sent a message to his daughter. 
 
 Ned entered the parlor, pale and tremulous from her 
 recent emotions, and pitiably indisposed to make one of 
 the party awaiting her. But she nerved herself to it, 
 and bowing, dropped into the chair beside Mrs. Doloran. 
 
 It was well that that lady was so anxiously interested 
 in the anticipated Indian story, or Ned would have been 
 assailed by most sharp and impertinent questions. As 
 it was, she hardly noticed her after having motioned her 
 to the chair beside her own. 
 
 Ordotte begun : 
 
 "Klipp Kargarton, the hero of my tale, was one of 
 the strangest fellows I ever met. He had all the quali 
 ties to win hearts, but they seemed to have been so 
 smothered by some blight that it was only, at times one 
 knew that he was not the heartless, sullen, and taciturn 
 man he seemed to be. When I met him for the first 
 time in Singapore, he was doing business there for some 
 firm, but shortly after, at my suggestion, he gave up his 
 position and accompanied me to Calcutta, where I had al 
 ready invested some capital in an English house. I ob 
 tained for him a position in the same house, and we 
 became such warm friends that he occasionally gave me 
 scraps of confidence which wonderfully enhanced my inter 
 est in him. lie was an excellent sportsman, and one of 
 the memories that I shall never forget, is of his face 
 when he, with some others, were out for a day s hunting 
 in the jungles. At such times he seemed to be like an 
 other being, and his courage in pursuing and attacking 
 the fierce beasts was a source of envy to more than one of 
 us. 
 
 " On one occasion he and I, owing to his ardor in the 
 hunt, an ardor which I unconsciously caught, became 
 separated from the rest of the party, and we found our- 
 soives actually on the lair of a tiger with her cubs. The 
 tiger we dispatched after some trouble and a scratch or 
 two 11^)011 ourselves, but the two cubs, uti-ange to say, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 143 
 
 Klipp would bring home alive with liim. No argument 
 of mine would dissuade liim from his project, nor make 
 him see that he would get just as much for the skins, 
 which we could take off as we had already taken the 
 mother s, and at the same time be spared the trouble of 
 of carrying the live beasts. Pie would have his way, and 
 I was forced to carry one of the cubs, while he took the 
 other. Our great fear was to meet the father of the ani 
 mals, unless, perhaps, he had been met and dispatched 
 already by some of our party. Our stock of ammunition 
 was very low, so we courted no more game, but made 
 our way to civilized haunts as quickly as possible. 
 
 " Then Klipp stated his object in bringing the cubs 
 alive. Only a day or two before, a female tiger captured 
 for some zoological show that was to leave for England in 
 a few months, had given birth to cubs which had died. 
 The grief of the beast, they said, was excessive, and 
 Klipp, with his great, kindly heart, thought of her when 
 he saw the cubs in the jungle. 
 
 "And the bereaved tigress actually welcomed the little 
 strangers, and fondled them as if they were indeed her 
 own departed ones. At. which Klipp, to my surprise, 
 looked disgusted. 
 
 " Her nature is as little to be relied upon as if it were 
 human, he said to me ; and when I laughed, he said 
 again : 
 
 " They say parental instinct is so strong that in the 
 face of any deception a father would recognize his child ; 
 but it is not so. : 
 
 Up to this point of the story, no one save Mrs. Doloran 
 had manifested anything but a polite interest ; now, how 
 ever, Mr. Edgar w T as sitting erect, his face as pale as the 
 snowy bosom of his shirt, and his eyes flaming through 
 Ordotte. But he, pretending not to notice the sudden 
 and strangely awakened interest, proceeded : 
 
 " As I said before, Klipp was a very strange man ; in 
 deed, some thought that his mind was not altogether 
 sound, but those people did not know the singular events 
 
144 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 in his life. He went every day to see that tiger and her 
 adopted children, and every day he returned more and 
 more disappointed and disgusted with her increased fond 
 ness for them. 
 
 " One day, in his deep disgust, he said to me : 
 
 " We are all brutes, and a man may be pardoned 
 when lie does a great wrong because of his brutish nature. 
 I expected to see in that animal something that would 
 shame us men ; an instinct that would make her turn 
 away from these strange cubs, and not receive them as 
 men do who have other children palmed upon them for 
 their own. 
 
 The perspiration was standing on Mr. Edgar s brow, 
 and the fingers of the hand that rested on Ids knee worked 
 convulsively. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran, who was angry that Ordotte had not 
 told her that Indian story, could contain herself no 
 longer : 
 
 " Why did you keep that tale from me, Mascar ? " she 
 said with indignant reproach. 
 
 He answered with a laughable assumption of penitence 
 and humility : 
 
 " My dear madam, it was hardly of a kind to interest 
 you ; but Mr. Edgar," with a profound bow to that 
 gentleman, " has, no doubt, encountered so many strange 
 phases of character that I thought it would not be un 
 interesting to add one of my experiences to his own." 
 
 The lady was somewhat mollified : "Well, Mascar, I 
 shall forgive you. And now finish the tale." 
 
 " The tale is finished," with another bow, and a quick, 
 sharp look at Edgar. 
 
 " But Klipp, and the cubs, and the dear old tiger, what 
 became of them all 2 " asked Mrs. Doloran, her voice 
 raised in trembling eagerness. 
 
 " The dear old tigress and her cubs were taken to 
 England ; and Kipp, I left him in Calcutta." 
 
 " Couldn t you ask him to come here ? O Mascar, it 
 would be delightful ! Just write and invite him here." 
 
A FATAL K i SEMBLANCE. 145 
 
 And her gushing eagerness set the plumes on her head to 
 quivering in a most ludicrous manner. 
 
 " I can t do that very well," answered Ordotte, steal 
 ing again a sly, sharp look at Edgar, " owing to Klipp 
 having left Calcutta without leaving any trace of h : * 
 destination ; so letters from my Indian friends informed 
 me over a year ago. But if you wish, Mrs. Doloran, 1 
 could write to the managers of the zoological show >n 
 London, inviting the tigress and her cubs here, providing 
 the interesting beast is still alive. They might consent 
 to let them come." 
 
 The last part of his speech being spoken with the same 
 imperturable gravity and earnestness that the former had 
 been, rendered it irresistibly comic, and Ned, who had 
 paid but little attention to the story, laughed in spite of 
 herself ; but Mrs. Doloran arose, and said with offended 
 dignity : 
 
 " No, sir, you will do nothing of the kind ; I shall not 
 have Ilahandabed turned into a jungle." 
 
 Mascar dropped on one knee in front of her, and clasp 
 ing his hands, said with an excellent assumption of the 
 tragio-comic air that it convulsed with laughter most of 
 those who witnessed it : 
 
 " Pardon, a thousand pardons, madam ; I but thought 
 to minister to that inherent love of nature which in you 
 is so beautifully developed. On my bended knee I as 
 sure you that I shall not write for the illustrious tigress." 
 
 It was of little moment to Mrs. Doloran that such 
 speeches and attitudes made her supremely ridiculous : 
 they gave her prominence in her own eyes, and that grati 
 fied her vanity ; then the homage of Ordotte, assumed 
 and ludicrous though it was, pandered to her innate 
 vulgar love of display ; she might be laughed at, but, at 
 the same time, if she could attract attention, it made little 
 difference to her. She had the one comfort of vulgar 
 minds the thought of her wealth, which in the eves of 
 many covered all her oddities. 
 
 And so she said, with, what she considered a graceful 
 
146 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 bending of her person to the suppliant, and a pretty tapping 
 
 1 1 1 j.1 1 J? 
 
 01 ms cheek with Jier ian : 
 
 " When you sue for forgiveness in such a manner, I can 
 not refuse you." 
 
 Mr. Edgar looked and acted like one in a dream, and 
 in an unpleasant dream. Uis face still retained its snowy 
 pallor, and as if that bleached hue had driven out the 
 lines upon his forehead and about his mouth, they ap 
 peared more numerous and prominent than they had done 
 since his arrival. His eyes were fixed upon Ordotte, nor 
 did they seem to have the power of withdrawing them 
 selves until his daughter, escorted by Brekbellew, came 
 up to him. She arrived in the very middle of Ordotte s 
 ludicrous plea for pardon, and with difficulty preserved 
 her composure ; the poor sheep by her side so lived in her 
 
 presence that he scarcely saw the laughable incident be- 
 j* i 
 lore him. 
 
 How beautiful she looked ; not a trace of any secret 
 grief, or recent emotion about her ; certainly nothing to 
 indicate that she felt even half as much as Ned felt the 
 terrible thing that had happened. 
 
 Yigor and joy seemed to return to Mr. Edgar with the 
 advent of his (laughter; it was as if her presence dissi 
 pated some ugly unreality ; and he rose, thanked Brek 
 bellew for his attention, and immediately transferred her 
 to his own arm. 
 
 " Edna and I will have a little saunter together," he 
 said, bowing to Mrs. Doloran, " and later," turning his 
 eyes to Ordotte, " I shall be happy to have some conver 
 sation with this gentleman." 
 
 "All! his Indian stories have interested you, then," 
 said Mrs. Doloran enthusiastically. 
 
 " Yes ; a little," replied Edgar with some hesitation, as 
 if afraid to commit himself. 
 
 And he turned rather hastily away with his daughter. 
 
 JSTe<l watched them. She wondered if her cousin would 
 tell her father then of her ghastly discovery, or if she 
 would wait until the morning. They turned away in the 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE 14:7 
 
 direction of the conservatory and, at the same time, Mrs. 
 Doloran called Ned to accompany her and Mascar ; they 
 were going to attend to some detail of the illumination 
 that was to take place at midnight. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The opportunity of speaking to Ordotte that Mr. Edgar 
 desired, arrived just before the guests went out to view 
 the illumination. Edna having been claimed by Carnew 
 for the songs which she sang so well, and to which it was 
 his delight to listen, had gone with him to the music- 
 room, and Mrs. Doloran having disappeared to change her 
 toilet for one as gorgeous perhaps, but a little more suit 
 able for the grounds, Mascar was for the moment free. 
 He had not forgotten Edgar s wish to converse with him, 
 and seeing that gentleman apparently holding a sort of 
 dreary conversation with Brekbellew, he went up to him. 
 
 Edgar changed color ; he was aware that he did so, and 
 he fancied that Ordotte s eyes twinkled mischievously at 
 the sight. He chafed secretly that it should be so, with 
 out well knowing why, in the first place, he had any need 
 to give such an exhibition of his feeling, and, in J;lie 
 second place, why he should care particularly for what 
 Ordotte thought. But that gentleman said in his easy, 
 familiar way : 
 
 " Thinking that Mr. Brekbellew would like to go to the 
 music-room, I came to offer you my company." 
 
 Brekbellew was intensely grateful ; his heart and his 
 eyes had followed Edna when she went away leaning 
 upon Carnew s arm, and though, through politeness, he had 
 offered to remain with her father, he had found it difficult 
 to concentrate sufficient attention on what Mr. Edgar was 
 saying to be able to reply intelligently. To be delivered 
 then from such a situation, and to be free to go after his 
 heart s idol, and to imagine also that Ordotte had come to 
 his rescue purely for his (Brekbellew s) benefit, was some 
 thing to make his breast swell with gratitude, and his poor 
 
14:8 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 little insipid face kindled as lie looked liis thanks to his 
 deliverer, and murmuring to Mr. Edgar a polite excuse 
 for availing himself of the opportunity offered, he hurried 
 away. 
 
 Edgar and Ordotte looked at each other after his de 
 parture ; a look on the part of the one that told of hidden 
 fear and agony ; on the other, of contempt and triumph. 
 But each look was so brief, the faces returning immedi 
 ately to their wonted expression, that a spectator might 
 imagine all to be only the outcome of his own heated 
 fancy. 
 
 Edgar was the first to speak : 
 
 " Your Indian tale had a deeper and more subtle point 
 than you cared to have appear on its surface." 
 
 Ordotte shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Every tale, every common incident of life, may have 
 its deep and subtle point if our consciences are pricked." 
 
 " What do yon mean ? " 
 
 There was suppressed passion in Edgar s low tones. 
 
 " Nothing, save as you interpret it. As I told you in 
 the preface of my story, I have had much experience 
 with the different phases of human nature. Men have 
 been, and are my study, and when I speak, it is out of the 
 fulness of a heart that often, unawares, lias touched the 
 keynote of another s secret trouble. Whether I have done 
 so in your case, I leave you to judge." 
 
 Edgar stared at him. Who was this man who seemed 
 to know his secret trouble ? For, despite his love for Edna, 
 and his absolute conviction that she was his daughter, at 
 times a strange haunting doubt mingled with it all. 
 Fight the doubt he did, and crush it ; but it rose again, 
 and with it rose more than once Ned s face in mute re 
 proach. What, if she after all were his child, and that 
 all those years he had been holding to his heart the 
 daughter of a woman of loose and low character ? 
 
 Ordotte s tale had roused anew these horrid doubts, and 
 they raged until they were dissipated by Edna s presence, 
 which he had hailed as a drowning mariner might hail a 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 149 
 
 plank. Now, however, they were back in greater fury. 
 He stooped toward Ordotte, and said in a broken whisper 
 that was somewhat painful : 
 
 " If you have guessed that I have a secret trouble, you 
 have guessed well. Whether your intuitive knowledge 
 leads you to think it is a crime also, I know not. I only 
 ask, I adjure you to tell me if vou are in possession of 
 any secret that will help me." 
 
 Ordotte rose. Perhaps he felt it was time to end the 
 conversation ; it was coming so near a dangerous border. 
 Edgar rose also. 
 
 " No, Mr. Edgar ; you are wrong in thinking that I am 
 in possession of any secret of yours, or that it is in my 
 power to help you. I have learned to read faces a little, 
 and your face has given me my knowledge of your 
 character." 
 
 " An unfavorable knowledge, eh ? " 
 
 Spoken with almost a child s eagerness, and of which 
 speech he was heartily ashamed the moment he had 
 uttered it. 
 
 But Ordotte answered with a gravity that was almost 
 sorrowful : 
 
 " I fancy that you have been blinded in many instances 
 by pride and self-will. But pardon me, Mr. Edgar, for 
 my great freedom of speech. As you have found out by 
 this time, I am an odd fellow. Here is Mrs. Doloraii " 
 spoken with such a change of voice that it seemed like 
 another person " bearing down upon us, and armed with 
 all the accoutrements of war, to judge from the glistening 
 tilings about her." 
 
 The glistening things, as Ordotte termed them, consisted 
 of a silver banded cloak that was already about the lady s 
 ample person, and a veil of silver tissue thrown over her 
 nodding plumes. In her wake followed Ned, looking 
 more ready to weep than to laugh, and wishing with a 
 sick heart that the night s festivities were over. 
 
 Supper was to be served immediately after the illumi 
 nation, and as the guests passed into the grounds there 
 
150 A FATAL EESEMBLAJSTC-E. 
 
 could be heard the clatter of the servants work in the 
 dining-hall. Somehow, Ned connected the sounds with 
 the falling of clods upon a coffin, and when the handsome 
 and many-colored lights broke upon her view, showing a 
 scene so weirdly and picturesquely beautiful that the 
 guests became enthusiastic in their admiration, she saw 
 everywhere the still white face under the sheet in the 
 out-house. 
 
 After supper, Mrs. Doloran would put into execution 
 her pet scheme of exhibiting herself and her guest on the 
 dais. She had the colors arranged purposely to throw 
 into startling effect her own already startling costume, and 
 now since Mr. Edgar was so handsome and so distinguish 
 ed-looking, he would certainly add to her appearance 
 there. Seated in that elevated position, she would be 
 what she wanted to be at all times, the cynosure of every 
 eye, and even, as in her vain, secret, unstable heart she 
 wanted to do, enhance Ordotte s admiration for her. It 
 did not occur to her what her guest might think of such 
 a proceeding ; as her guest, he would be obliged to ac 
 quiesce politely in what she wished, and her absurd vanity 
 cloaked everything else. But Alan was watching her. 
 He had watched her secretly all nig] it, throwing many a 
 covert, but angry glance at the dais, which he felt was 
 destined to bring him new shame. So, when his aunt was 
 designedly leading Mr. Edgar to that part of the room, 
 Carnew wliispered his fears to Edna, whom he had been 
 escorting since supper. 
 
 " Let us forestall her," said Edna mischievously ; " it 
 will hardly be as ridiculous for us to mount there, as for 
 your aunt in her absurd costume, and my father, who 
 certainly will not like it. And we can keep the places so 
 long that she may lose the desire to do likewise." 
 
 He 1 railed the suggestion, and together they hurried, 
 easily getting in advance of Mrs. Doloran, who did not 
 dream of their desire, until to her amazement she saw 
 Miss Edgar in the very place designed for herself, and be 
 side her, her provoking nephew. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 15i 
 
 Anger made her dumb for the moment ; then her 
 wrath burst out regardless even of the presence of her 
 escort : 
 
 " How dared they ? Those seats were intended for us. 
 But I shall order them down immediately." 
 
 " Do nothing of the kind ! " It was Ordotte s voice 
 just behind her. He had seen and divined the purport 
 of Carnew s manoeuvre, and he had hastened to Mrs. 
 Doloran to prevent, if he could, the outbreak which he 
 feared would follow. 
 
 He continued : 
 
 " The lady and gentleman who are in the places fill 
 them very acceptably, and Mr. Edgar, did you invite him 
 to such a position, might plead his inability, or his reluc 
 tance to be raised to so great an elevation." 
 
 She was hardly mollified, but Ordotte rattled on, and 
 Edgar, were he not so heart-sore and disgusted, might 
 have found it in him to laugh at the ludicrous positions in 
 which this woman delighted to place herself. 
 
 Edna and Carnew did fill the places very acceptably 
 and most becomingly. The bright colors of the dais 
 harmonized well with her simple white costume, and the 
 dark beauty of her blushing face was never seen to better 
 advantage. Looked at there, as she sat in most graceful 
 attitude with her head modestly drooping, she was an 
 exquisite creature, and Edgar s heart beat once more with 
 all a father s swelling triumph and admiration. She was 
 his child. No doubt could move him from that convic 
 tion. Perhaps her beauty assumed even a deeper hue 
 from contrast with the young, erect, and handsome man by 
 her side, and many a female heart in the little assembly 
 sickened from pangs of its own jealousy and envy. 
 When, to throw a little playfulness into the impromptu 
 scene, and make the guests think it was a premeditated 
 pantomime, he, with a talent which no one suspected was 
 in him, feigned to be the wooing lover of a sly, coy, and 
 bashful maiden, Edna took the cue, and the little pan 
 tomime went well and gracefully on, to the guests in- 
 
152 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 tense surprise and delight. Even Mrs. Doloran was won 
 at last, and she applauded and laughed louder than any 
 body else. 
 
 But Ned was silent and shivering. The pantomime 
 was but a succession of pangs to her, for, now that Edna 
 was free to marry, would not all this dumb show of love 
 on Carnew s part become a reality ? What fortune seemed 
 to surround the girl a happy home, a tender father, and 
 now the removal of the very consequences of her own 
 imprudent, if not erring act, that would have impeded 
 her marriage witli a rare good man, as Ned regarded 
 Alan ; while she, who had no real home, no father, and 
 who loved Carnew with all the strengtli of her large, lov 
 ing heart, must stifle her affection and behold him the 
 husband of another and such another. In her bitterness 
 she almost wished that Annie Mackay would reveal her 
 brother s marriage. Then she was frightened at herself for 
 having such a desire, involuntary and brief as it was. 
 Still, if Edna did but show even in her countenance a lit 
 tle trace of feeling for what they had both endured in 
 the early part of the evening, Ned imagined that she 
 would not feel quite so bitter. But the longer Ned looked 
 ed at her, the brighter grew the lovely face, and it was 
 only too evident that no shadow of the dead man rested 
 upon her. 
 
 The festivities closed, and much to the satisfaction of 
 Carnew, without the further exhibition of tiny ridicu 
 lous whim by Mrs. Doloran. He seemed to feel that 
 it was due to Edna s timely thought. Accordingly, he 
 was very grateful, and he said his good-night to her with 
 a tenderness that set her cheeks glowing and her heart 
 beating violently. She had hardly recovered from her 
 emotion, when her father, who had found it impossible, 
 without a rudeness of which he was not capable, to leave 
 Mrs. Doloran until that moment, came up to her to give 
 her his escort to her room. But at his own sumptuous 
 apartment, which was just above one of the parlors, he 
 stopped suddenly, and opening the door drew her in with 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 153 
 
 him. She wondered somewhat, and was a little bit dis 
 mayed, for her guilty conscience sent up its fears at once. 
 Still, his manner was that of inimitable tenderness ; and 
 when, having closed the door behind them, he drew her 
 forward until the softened light from a large shaded lam]") 
 fell full upon her face, and folding his arms about her, said 
 with a voice so tremulous and strange it hardly seemed to 
 be her father : 
 
 " O my daughter ! " Her own feelings gave way, and 
 she cried upon his bosom, lie felt her tears and thought 
 they were the evidence of her affection for him, of her 
 sympathy w r ith his own emotions, at once so intense and 
 so inexplicable. He did not dream that her tears were 
 those of relief ; relief from the horrid fears his strange 
 manner to her had engendered, for she knew not what 
 might have become known to him. Now, however, that 
 she was assured her secrets were still safe, his paternal 
 love still undiminished, she grew confident and demon 
 strative in her return of his affection. She wound her 
 arms about his neck, she drew his face down to her ow r n, 
 and she held him as if she would never let him go. 
 
 " My own, own child ! " he murmured, with a peculiar 
 and lingering emphasis on the word own ; and lie con 
 tinued to repeat the phrase as if there was a balm in it for 
 his doubting and agonized heart. 
 
 Never had Edna known him to be so demonstratively 
 tender, and encouraged by that fact she was more than 
 once on the point of telling him .of young Mackay s sui 
 cide. Something whispered that it would be easier to 
 make the revelation now r , than to defer it until the morn 
 ing. Yet an inexplicable fear restrained her, until he 
 said, noticing that she continued to weep : 
 
 " Why do you cry, still, my child ? Surely you are not 
 unhappy." 
 
 " Ah, papa, not unhappy myself, but unhappy for 
 others." 
 
 Again he folded her up to him. 
 
 "My darling! You have your mother s tender heart. 
 
154: A FATAL RKSKMBLANCE. 
 
 Did only a servant have a sorrow which she heard, she 
 made it her own. For whom, my child, do you weep ? " 
 
 She lifted her streaming face. 
 
 " They have discovered that the suicide who was found 
 on the grounds, papa, is Mr. Mackay s son, Dick." 
 
 "What!" and with his exclamation he started from 
 her in wonder and dismay ; he asked rapidly, and it 
 seemed to her fear-stricken as she had again become 
 sternly : 
 
 " Who recognized him ! " 
 
 Her cowardly heart, lest she should be asked for expla 
 nations which she would be unable to make, would not 
 let her say as truth demanded : " I did," and though a 
 moment before she had not intended to tell a lie, now she 
 said without faltering : 
 
 " Ned came to my room to ask me to accompany her 
 to see him." 
 
 " Did she know that the suicide was young Mackay ? " 
 
 How stern was his voice ; Edna cowered from it, and 
 cowered from him as he looked at her. 
 
 " I don t know. She only came to me to go with her, 
 and we both saw that it was he." 
 
 " And her manner while she looked at him," the stern 
 voice resumed, " was it such as to make you think there 
 had been any great affection between them ? " 
 
 4 I don t know. After looking a moment she said she 
 was getting ill, and we returned." 
 
 Edgar said again, but more as if he were talking to 
 himself : 
 
 " My surmises have been correct ; there must have 
 been some bond of affection between them, or else why 
 should lie come here to die ? She, perhaps, actuated by a 
 late prudence, has refused to reciprocate his affection, and 
 he may have been driven by his despair to this deed. In 
 any case, I feel that his death lies at her door." 
 
 " Oh, my darling ! " suddenly approaching her and 
 again folding her to him : " that I have subjected you for 
 any time to the influence of this woman ! " 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 155 
 
 "0 papa! do not be too hard upon her; women 
 sometimes cannot help being weak, and she may not have 
 been guilty of what you think." 
 
 Her own fears that she had gone too far in criminat 
 ing Ned, and that the meshes she had woven about an 
 other might extend far enough to entangle herself, made 
 her earnest and touching in her plea for her cousin. But 
 her father answered : 
 
 " It is your gentle charity which urges all this ; you 
 are too guileless to suspect the wrong-doing of others. 
 And has she proclaimed the discovery she has made, or 
 does she mean to let the poor wretch fill an unknown 
 grave?" 
 
 " O papa ! " with a passionate burst of tears, " she 
 asked me if I would tell you that we had recognized 
 him." 
 
 " Asked you, to tell me f " he repeated ; " she would not 
 dare to tell me herself, feeling, no doubt, that I should 
 penetrate whatever mask she might assume." 
 
 In his indignation ho forgot that his own coldness 
 to Ned must have imposed a most effectual barrier to 
 any voluntary communication on her part. 
 
 lie was silent then, recalling the sad, pale, anxious face 
 which his niece wore all the evening, a face in such unfavor 
 able contrast to the bright, happy-looking one of his daugh 
 ter. That was another and a strong link in the chain of 
 corroborative evidence against the unfortunate girl ; the 
 bad blood of her low mother was showing in her, and once 
 more the doubts raised by Ordotte s tale were allayed. He 
 was more convinced than ever that Edna was his child. 
 
 Edna continued to weep, more from her secret fears 
 than any other cause, and when she saw that her father 
 was still absorbed in his stern reverie, she said with a 
 sob: 
 
 " Eorgive her, papa ! " 
 
 He roused himself. To her dying day she never for 
 got the expression of his countenance. Her novel-read 
 ing had given her a vague idea of stern and vindictive- 
 
156 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 looking faces, but this one, with its compressed month, 
 its rigid lines, its corrugated brow, and more than all, its 
 flaming, piercing eyes, was much more terrible than any 
 thing she had ever imagined. After that first wild look 
 at it, she felt that she must scream with terror if she saw 
 it again, and she covered her own countenance with her 
 hands. 
 
 " Forgive her ! Was it you, Edna, my own daughter, 
 who had done a tiling like this, my heart and my home 
 should be closed to you at once and forever. Provide 
 for you I might at a distance, but never should I consent 
 to see again a woman who could so degrade her family 
 by stooping to such an affection ; a daughter who could 
 so disgrace her father by receiving for a moment clan 
 destine attentions, and from a suitor so much beneath her. 
 Ned is to me now, and shall be henceforth an utter 
 stranger." 
 
 " But, papa," said Edna, taking her hands from her 
 face, and keeping her eyes down, " you will not tell these 
 suspicions of yours to any one you will not let Mr. Mac- 
 kay know 
 
 u No," he interrupted, " for the satisfaction of your 
 poor, little, tender, foolish heart, I shall promise you that 
 nothing of this shall pass my lips to any one. It would 
 do little good now, since the poor wretch is beyond all 
 earthly help, and it might only add to the grief of his poor 
 old father to feel that, at the bottom of it, was a woman 
 who had been one of my household. Let Ned keep her 
 guilty secret, if it be through her, as I now firmly be 
 lieve it to be, that this man has come to his death. I 
 shall not reveal it." 
 
 That assurance made her tears cease to flow, and well 
 knowing there was no danger of any private conversation 
 between Ned and her father, in which perhaps her false 
 hoods might be detected, she looked up and became some 
 thing of herself again. 
 
 " I had decided to leave here to-morrow, Edna, " Mr. 
 Edgar said, "and now all that you liave told me makes 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 157 
 
 me more eager to go. I shall give orders for the trans 
 portation of poor Mackay s body to his home. Plis 
 father is a worthy old man, and deserved a better son 
 than that scapegrace." 
 
 " To-morrow ? " repeated Edna. 
 
 " Yes ; you can be ready, can yon not ? I am most 
 anxious to remove yon from many influences here that 
 ill-bred, coarse Mrs. Doloran, and Ned. With Carnew 
 I am charmed. It seems one of the strange freaks of na 
 ture that he should be so nearly related to that vulgar 
 woman." 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa ; I can be ready, and I shall be glad 
 to go." 
 
 And that assertion was truthful ; she was glad to get 
 away from meeting Ned. Knowing how she had calum 
 niated her, she was not yet so hardened in guilt as 
 not to feel a little qualm of conscience for her fiendish 
 work. Her great hope was that their departure might 
 be so hurried as to leave no time for a private interview 
 with her cousin. For Carnew there was no regret at 
 leaving him ; since her father admired him so much, she 
 knew he would be invited to Weewald Place, and she 
 doubted not his immediate acceptance of the invitation. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The events of the succeeding day, with that strange 
 fate whicli is often more propitious to the evil-doer than 
 to the good, were quite in accordance with Edna s secret 
 wishes. Her father, unable to sleep after she left him, 
 waited only the first glimmer of the dawn to go and look 
 at the suicide. And he remained so long by the side of 
 the dead man, impelled to his unseemly vigil by a 
 strange fascination, that he was found there by some of 
 the servants. Later, when it was by his order the body 
 was prepared for removal to Barrytown, everybody be 
 lieved that it was he, who, in taking an early stroll about 
 the grounds, had recognized the dead man. Nor did 
 
158 A FATAL KEJSiJMBLA.NO.EJ. 
 
 Edgar drop a word to contradict the belief. For Mrs. 
 Doloran, when she heard that her guest was bent upon 
 his departure, and that, immediately after the late break 
 fast, her anger knew no bounds. 
 
 Nice return for her hospitality to take himself away 
 just as she thought she should enjoy him. She hated 
 him now, and hoped she would never meet him again. 
 And when Alan came to say that Mr. Edgar was wait 
 ing to bid her adieu, sho refused to see him, nor would 
 she permit Ned, who was really ill enough looking to 
 be in her bed, to leave her for a moment, lest she perhaps 
 should say a courteous farewell. 
 
 And so Alan had to apologize with what grace he might, 
 for his aunt s lack of courtesy. 
 
 IIo was, however, assured by Mr. Edgar s manner, and 
 by that gentleman s earnest invitation to himself to visit 
 Weewald Place, that Mrs. Doloran s eccentricities were 
 quite understood. 
 
 " But Ned, papa," said Edna, with a charming warmth 
 " I cannot go without bidding her adieu." 
 
 Mr. Edgar, in the indignation that the very mention 
 of Ned s name aroused, forgot for the moment the pres 
 ence of Alan, and answered sternly : 
 
 " It is my wish that you should not see her." After 
 which his daughter said no more, but dropped her 
 eyes very becomingly, and appeared to be somewhat 
 sorrowful. Carnew was disturbed and pained. Linking 
 what Miss Edgar had told him only the day before of 
 Ned s secret acquaintance with young Mackay, and Mr. 
 Edgar s coldness to her because of that acquaintance, with 
 the facts that, in the suicide, Edgar had himself dis 
 covered this identical Mackay, and was now so eager to 
 leave Rahandabed, and so stern in his order to his daugh 
 ter not to see Ned, he could come to but one conclusion 
 that the story of the previous day, which his informant 
 wanted so charitably not to believe, must be quite true, 
 of which truth, perhaps, Edgar had even some secret 
 proofs, but that, in his magnanimity, he would not openly 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 159 
 
 condemn the imprudent, if not erring girl. Then her 
 own pale and sick-looking countenance that he saw when 
 he went to speak to his aunt in the latter s apartment, 
 seemed to be a proof of the unpleasant things against 
 her. Well might she look pale and sick if, as he now be 
 lieved, young Mackay s suicide lay at her do;:>r. And not 
 until that moment did he realize how much he himself 
 loved Ned. But he knew it now, knew it by the agony 
 of his own thoughts, and though he performed all the 
 parting ceremonies with perfect courtesy, it was with 
 somewhat of a pre-occupied air, but little flattering to 
 Edna. 
 
 Piqued and saddened by it, she said, as he assisted her 
 to a place in the carriage : " May I be assured that you 
 will accept my father s invitation to Weewald Place ? " 
 
 She lingered purposely, as she spoke, with her hand 
 upon his arm, and her eyes looking fixedly into his own, 
 so as to throw all the witchery of her exquisite beauty 
 about him. But the effect was lost, for he saw only one 
 face the face that he must learn to forget. He bowed, 
 however, and murmured that she might be quite assured 
 of his acceptance of her father s invitation. 
 
 Poor, old honest Mackay ! It seemed a strange turn 
 of Heaven to give him this reward for his long life of 
 struggle and rectitude. Perhaps, had the news been 
 broken to him by another than Mr. Edgar, he might not 
 have exercised such stern control of his feelings ; but as it 
 was, even in his intense grief for he loved his boy, 
 scapegrace though he deemed him to be he was im 
 pressed and, after the manner of poor human nature, a 
 little flattered by Edgar s unusual condescension. He 
 bowed his head when told the news, and for a few minutes 
 let his tears have their way down his furrowed cheeks. 
 Mr. Edgar had thought it better to tell at once all that was 
 known of the circumstances attending young Mackay s 
 suicide, but he did it very gently, impelled to that course 
 by the same feeling which had caused him, in the first 
 place, to assume the charge of the body a feeling that 
 
160 A FATAL KESE. MELANGE. 
 
 because, through kin of his, trouble had come to these 
 poor people, it was in a measure his duty to show them 
 some kindness. 
 
 " And a paper pinned to his breast, you say, Mr. Edgar ? " 
 the poor old father repeated, when the gentleman had 
 told the ghastly story. 
 
 " Yes; saying for love he had done it. Do you know 
 anything of his private affairs, Mackay ; anything that 
 might have driven him to such a deed?" 
 
 " Nothing ; but how should I know ? He was away 
 from home so much. In the last eighteen months he 
 has scarcely been here a week. His sister, Annie, may 
 know. They took to each other warmer than most 
 brothers and sisters ; only she s away now with her aunt 
 in Rochester, and so delicate that I m afeared this news 
 
 will be the death of her too, and He stopped 
 
 suddenly, for the thought of the loss of both his children 
 caused a great lump to rise in his throat, and he turned 
 away, unable to say more. 
 
 Edgar was really touched. He placed his hand on the 
 old man s arm and said with a strange treinulousness in 
 his own tones : 
 
 " Do not let her know anything about it yet, and when 
 she returns she may be strong enough to receive the in 
 formation. How long is she to remain with her aunt? " 
 
 Mackay, having by an effort recovered his voice, 
 answered : 
 
 " As long as she likes ; I wasn t particular, so long as it 
 was doing her good." 
 
 " Very well, then, let her stay, and send her no word of 
 this." 
 
 To which proposition the old man assented. 
 
 And Edna, when told all that by her father, felt in 
 tensely relieved. Annie Mackay away from home, and 
 not likely to hear about her brother s shocking death for 
 some time, lifted a weight of fear from her own heart. 
 She knew not whether the pledged and faithful secrecy 
 of the young girl in the past, would or could be maintained 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 161 
 
 in the face of such a tragedy, and though she hoped 
 much from her own influence over Annie, and from the 
 latter s affection for herself, still it seemed to be a lucky 
 stroke of fate to have her absent just now. She wrote to 
 Ned how Annie Mackay was away, and too ill to be made 
 acquainted with what had happened, but she did not say 
 a word to indicate her own feelings. Indeed, the letter 
 was as bright and chatty as the effusion of a gushing and 
 guileless school-girl. In vain Ned tried to gather from it 
 some little trace of remorse or penitence, or at least of that 
 deeper feeling which is at all times the accompaniment 
 of a truly Christian heart. There was nothing of the 
 kind, and the very sympathy expressed for old Mackay 
 had a cold, unfeeling ring about it that made Ned turn 
 away from the letter with bitter disappointment. 
 
 Young Mackay was laid to rest in the little conn- 
 try cemetery, on a bleak afternoon, when the dreary 
 aspect of nature seemed in mournful keeping with the 
 bereaved old father. Quite a concourse of the country 
 people witnessed the interment, for the Mackays were 
 well known, and old Mackay much liked and respected. 
 
 Edgar did not attend the funeral, but he assumed all 
 the expense, and to make further amends, he offered the 
 old man the better and more lucrative situation of head 
 gardener in Weewald Place, which offer was gratefully, 
 if not gladly, accepted. 
 
 Edna was gay and melancholy by turns ; for, hardened 
 as she had become, she could not keep down the still white 
 face that rose so often to reproach her. Her father, be 
 cause of his deep affection, singularly watchful of her, 
 noticed her fitful moods and attributed them to the lonely 
 contrast that Weewald Place was to Rahandabed. Mrs. 
 Stafford, though kind, and gentle, and cultured, was hardly 
 sufficient society for a girl of Edna s lively temperament, 
 and he himself was perhaps too old and too much inclined 
 to melancholy reticence to prove an agreeable companion. 
 Such were the arguments he pleaded to himself in ex 
 tenuation of her varying disposition, even though his 
 
162 A FATAL RESEMBLA.NCK. 
 
 secret heart sent up a little protest against it all. He 
 could not help feeling that, having been absent from her 
 father so long, she might surely enjoy having him to her 
 self for a little, and show that enjoyment by appearing 
 happy in his presence, instead of manifesting, as she fre 
 quently did, a listless, almost dejected air, and an absent, 
 half -sad look. 
 
 One day that he had contemplated her thus for some 
 time, he said suddenly : 
 
 " What do you think of my asking Mr. Carnew to visit 
 us immediately ? I thought to wait a month or so before 
 renewing my invitation to him, but there is really no 
 reason to wait so long." 
 
 " O papa," she answered, " it would be so delightful," and 
 the sudden color that glowed in her cheeks, and the im 
 mediate straightening of her form, with the pleasure 
 showing in her whole changed countenance, attested the 
 truth of her words. 
 
 Edgar felt he had made a new discovery : that his 
 daughter loved Carnew, and that her manner, which lie 
 had been attributing to other causes, was due solely to the 
 fact that her heart was in another s keeping. Wondering 
 if the affection was mutual, and if so, whether Carnew 
 had openly professed it to Edna, he asked : 
 
 "lias Mr. Carnew paid you very marked attention 
 during your stay at his home ? " 
 
 "No, papa," opening her beautiful eyes with that look 
 of innocent wonder which she knew how to assume with 
 such excellent effect, "nothing beyond that which he 
 would pay to any lady guest. I was the latest arrival to 
 Rahandabed, and being unaccompanied by any male 
 escort as the other ladies were, I supposed he deemed it 
 his duty to attend me when I rode, and to pay me some 
 attention at our evening parties." 
 
 Her father was somewhat relieved ; charming and de 
 voted as he thought her to be, he still feared that she 
 might have been receiving marked attentions without 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 163 
 
 first asking his consent, and in that case there would have 
 been a strange parallel between her and Ned. 
 
 But at the same time he felt also a little throb of pain 
 that this child whom he loved so intensely could so soon 
 and so readily give her affections to another ; could be 
 willing to leave his home to brighten that of a stranger. 
 Still he took himself to task for the feeling. Why should 
 he expect to keep her more than other fathers kept their 
 children, and why should he want the very brightest of 
 her years bound to him, an old man now as he imagined 
 himself to be, though hardly in his fiftieth year, when 
 the law of simplest reason demanded that she should move 
 in a different and more useful sphere ? Then, even in the 
 event of her marriage, she need not be separated from 
 him. Her husband might .be induced to make Weewald 
 Place his home, and in that case Edgar would not only 
 have the society of his daughter, but that of a son. That 
 view cheered him a little, and he resolved to watch Car- 
 new closely when lie came, and should he prove, on a 
 longer acquaintance, to be as deserving of regard as he 
 already seemed to be, he would not only not object to his 
 attentions to Edna, but even try to forward them. Hav 
 ing thus resolved, he went immediately to write a note 
 of invitation to Carnew, which note he intended to dis 
 patch by hand, so that the bearer might bring to him 
 immediately Carnew s answer. 
 
 Edna was still blushing with pleasure. Her father s 
 desire to invite Carnew, the absence of any censure or re 
 monstrance on his part when he interrogated her about 
 the gentleman s attentions to herself, indicated that he 
 would not object to the young man as a suitor, and Edn-i 
 determined to wind about him when he came every coil 
 of her many charms. She did not dream for a moment 
 that it was shy, reserved, calumniated Ned, who, without 
 knowing it herself, had won the heart of handsome Alan. 
 Carnew. 
 
164: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Mr. Edgar s departure caused Mrs. Doloran to have 
 one of her most tantalizing moods. Her vanity had been 
 sorely wounded by it, for, had that gentleman been at all 
 impressed by her blandishments, he certainly would not 
 have departed so soon. And, as was usual, everybody 
 about her paid the penalty of her miserable failing ; but 
 the keenest brunt of it fell upon Ned. She made the most 
 absurd demands of the poor girl, often by so doing expos 
 ing her to the ridicule of many of the guests, and she 
 querulously censured her in public and in private, until 
 Ned, in desperation, was seriously determining the 
 question of leaving the lady s service. She could at least 
 go to Albany to Meg s relatives, to whom she punctually 
 wrote, and she had sufficient money saved to defray her 
 expenses until another situation could be found. But she 
 must write to Dyke first ; she could not take such a step 
 without consulting him. And accordingly she wrote, 
 detailing pretty fully the many ills to which she was sub 
 jected in her present home, but withal saying that, as 
 it was now the beginning of winter, and perhaps rather 
 an awkward time to think of securing a position in any 
 family, if he thought it better, sire would endure her 
 present abode until the spring. 
 
 Dyke read that letter with eyes that very nearly swam 
 with tears of pleasure ; it, as it were, gave him an assur 
 ance that her heart was still her own, and might (ah ! how 
 his own heart beat at the thought) one day be his. Ilr 
 had given so much satisfaction to his employers that al 
 ready it was contemplated to promote him to a position 
 beyond his most sanguine hopes ; the fact had been hinted 
 to him that very day, and he had ample reason to expect 
 that by the spring he would be in a position to offer Ned 
 at least a comfortable and an assured home. As his wife, 
 his large loving heart could shelter her from every ill 
 such as she now endured. So, in the fulness of his de 
 light, he wrote that he could not for one moment expect 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 105 
 
 her to remain in a place where her daily annoyances were 
 so great, and that he quite approved of her proposal to go 
 to Albany. In April, he was positive he would be able 
 to secure a position for her, and in the mean time her stay 
 with Meg and Meg s relatives might afford her perhaps a 
 little rest and recreation. If she would tell him the pre 
 cise time of her departure, he would endeavor to get a 
 couple of days leave of absence in order to escort her. 
 Not a word had he said of his real intention, and yet he 
 flattered himself that she would see through it all, and 
 understand that the position he would be able to secure 
 for her would be that of his wife. Ned, however, was 
 obtuse in that respect. She divined nothing of the kind 
 from the simply-worded letter ; and while her heart beat 
 with renewed affection for the honest, large-hearted fel 
 low, it was the affection of a sister, nothing more. She 
 soliloquized about the contents of the missive : 
 
 u Since he is so certain of securing a position for me in 
 the spring, why should I not endure Mrs. Doloran until 
 then ( ( After all, if I go to these good people in Albany, 
 they may insist upon doing as they did before, charging 
 nothing for my expenses, and then I should feel not a 
 little unhappy. No, I have changed my mind, I shall 
 endure Kahandabed until April." 
 
 And she wrote to that effect to Dyke ; and he, blinded 
 by his own love, took her resolution to remain at Rahan- 
 dabed as a proof that she understood the true meaning 
 of his letter, but that, with her natural and beautiful 
 modesty, she had refrained from a single question which 
 must draw him out upon the subject. Nor would he be 
 any more explicit until the actual moment arrived when 
 he could pour out at her foot that affection which had 
 begun when he first saw her as a baby, and which had 
 increased since with every year of his own life. 
 
 Carnew dispatched an immediate acceptance of his 
 invitation to Weewald Place. Indeed, he was rather 
 glad of the change it would afford, lie was tired of the 
 frivolity about him, disgusted with his aunt, whom his 
 
166 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 manhood would not permit to abandon to tlie sharp 
 practices and the unkind gossip of many about her, and 
 he was bitterly disappointed in, and heart-sick at the 
 thought of Ned. Having by accident seen in the mail- 
 bag her recent letters to Dykard Dutton, all sorts of un 
 pleasant reflections arose in his mind. Was it for 
 the sake of Dutton she had discarded Mackay and driven 
 the latter to suicide? Had she been frank enough to 
 tell Dutton anything about the wretched affair ? And then 
 he tried to hate Ned, to stigmatize her to himself as a 
 secret flirt, a schemer for a husband ; but one look at the 
 sweet, pale, sad face, disarmed him and sent him back to 
 other thoughts with a sigh in his heart, and a great wild 
 longing that she was what he once thought her to be. 
 
 He departed for Weewald Place very quietly, no one 
 knowing of his departure until he had actually gone, and 
 then a brief note to Mrs. Doloran borne by Macgilivray, 
 who had driven the young master, as the Scotchman 
 always termed Alan in speaking of him, to the station, 
 informed that lady of her nephew s intended absence for 
 a few weeks, but the place of his destination was not 
 mentioned. Why Alan had acted with such secrecy he 
 perhaps could hardly have explained to himself, save that, 
 as his aunt so avowedly disliked Mr. Edgar, it would but 
 add fresh fuel to her anger did she know he had gone 
 to visit that gentleman, and in that case her temper 
 would be more disagreeable than ever to those about 
 her during his absence. But his present course was 
 hardly better. Upon reading the note, she turned in a 
 perfect fury to Ned : 
 
 " What do you think of that ? Alan leaving home 
 without consulting me, and then daring to write that he 
 has gone, and never to name the place that he has gone 
 to? " But she did not wait for Ned s reply. % She burst 
 out at astonished Macgilivray. "When did he give this 
 note to you ? " 
 
 The Scotchman did not lose his prudence. Divining 
 from the information that Mrs. Doloran had already im- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 167 
 
 parted that there was some motive for secrecy on the 
 part of the young master, he determined to be very care 
 ful not to reveal the precise time of Alan s departure, nor 
 the train he had taken. 
 
 lt Me leddy, he put that note into me han just as the car 
 riage stoppit doon at the station, an just before he steppit 
 into the car. But if you want mair precise information, 
 it war just as I war a thinking aboot tightening the girths 
 of black Bess the off horse, an war aboot to get doon to 
 luik at the left fore shoe of Jim the near horse, an 
 
 " Stop," commanded Mrs. Doloran, more infuriated 
 than ever, u I didn t ask you for such stuff as that. 
 What train did Mr. Carnew take ? " 
 
 The Scotchman s face assumed a most bewildered ex 
 pression, and he looked from Mrs. .Doloran to Ned in 
 such an amusingly helpless way, that at another time the 
 girl would have been provoked to laughter. 
 
 " Speak, man ! " thundered the irate woman. 
 
 " Well, you see, me leddy, a train war going up and a 
 train war coming doon, and what between the note that 
 he gart me gie you, and Jim s left fore shoe 
 
 " You re an utter fool," interrupted Mrs. Doloran ; 
 " can t you tell whether he went up or down ; did you 
 see him get on the car ? " 
 
 Macgiiivray was averse to downright lying, but he 
 could easily reconcile his conscience to a little equivocation 
 or prevarication, and in this case the latter seemed es 
 pecially commendable : 
 
 li Yes, me leddy ; I seen him steppit aboord the car, 
 but then it might be the car gang doon, and then agen, it 
 might be the car gang up, for, as I said before 
 
 But again he was interrupted. 
 
 " Since you are such an unmitigated idiot about the 
 trains, tell me about the time that he boarded the car." 
 
 This time, to insure success in the part he was playing, 
 Macgiiivray assumed rather a knowing look. 
 
 " I think I can tell you that, me leddy, if ye ll noo 
 hurry me, but bide aweel while I get it straucht." 
 
A FATAL KESEiMBLANCE 1 . 
 
 Mrs. Doioran seemed to be trying to possess her soul in 
 patience, and the crafty Scotchman, with the forefinger of 
 his right hand pressed to the side of his nose as if to help 
 his recollection, resumed : 
 
 " It war verra near twa hours, an twenty-one minutes 
 after lunch, when I got the order to be ready to drive the 
 young master doon to the station, an when we started it 
 war verra near three o clock." 
 
 " Oh, then he must have taken the train up," inter 
 rupted Mrs. Doioran. 
 
 " Bide a weel, me leddy ; we had a stappage on the 
 road ; Black Bess s shoe hurtit her, and we had to stop 
 round to Payne s the blacksmith to have it fixed; the 
 young master said there war time eneuch. That took 
 twenty-seven minutes and a half, and there war muckle 
 mair time in getting to the station, for he gart me not to 
 drive fast. Sae I dinna hand in my mind the exact hour 
 you want, me leddy, but if it war noo much past four 
 o clock, then it war verra near to five o clock." 
 
 Mrs. Doloran s temper was at white heat by this time, 
 and she almost drove the Scotchman from the room. 
 
 He went, congratulating himself that his departure had 
 not been summarily hastened by the advent of a missile 
 at his head ; probably he had been saved from the un 
 pleasant contact only because there was nothing very 
 convenient to her hand. 
 
 But Ned had to bear the woman s tirades, and to listen 
 to passionate speeches, flung with demoniacal injustice at 
 Carnew, until her head ached as well as her heart. 
 
 At length, Mrs. Doioran seemed to have found an 
 anchor for her restless thoughts. In her denunciations of 
 Alan s conduct, she had named first one place, and then 
 another as his likely destination, but only to discard the 
 idea as soon as she had given it expression ; now, how 
 ever, she seemed to conclude that it was after Edna he 
 had gone, and immediately she said so, adding : 
 
 "Why clid I not think of that before? The girl be 
 witched him, and of course he cannot live without her. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 169 
 
 Depend upon it, Ned, lie s gone to Weewald Place, and 
 he ll come back, I suppose, with his bride." 
 
 Had she been a grain less selfishly absorbed than she 
 was, she must have noticed the change which her words 
 caused in the face of her companion. Pale before, it was 
 ghastly now, and the dark heavy lines under the big black 
 eyes seemed to grow darker and larger. 
 
 But Mrs. Doloran continued : 
 
 " I wouldn t object to his marrying her ; I don t ob 
 ject to her, I only object to her father. I shall write to 
 him immediately, and tell him just what I think of his 
 sneaking away from Rahandabed like this." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Was Carnew not the firm, grave, thoughtful character 
 that he was, he must have been so won by the exceed 
 ingly pleasant cordiality with which he was received by 
 the Edgars, as to have fallen easily into the trap rather set 
 for him by both father and daughter. 
 
 But, though he basked in the kindness, earnest and 
 simple as it was on Edgar s part, and was often fascinated 
 to a degree by the charm of Edna s beauty and accom 
 plishments, there was something about her which kept 
 him from the slightest desire to make her his wife. Per 
 haps it was that in her violent desire to hasten matters 
 she forgot herself sometimes and betrayed a faint and un- 
 definable lack of modesty that, above all other virtues, 
 Carnew prized in woman ; and perhaps it was also due to 
 the fact that he was haunted by the pale, sad face at Ra 
 handabed. 
 
 All that Mr. Edgar saw of the young man but con 
 firmed his first regard, and his praise of Carnew to Edna, 
 when the two were alone, inflamed more ardently her de 
 sire to win him. 
 
 She was his constant attendant even in the tour of the 
 house, when her father displayed to him the treasures of 
 art which he had transferred from his English home, and 
 
170 A FATAL E38KMBLANCE. 
 
 she surprised him by her scholarly remarks. lie did not 
 know that, in the anticipation of talking to him about 
 those very objects of art, she had made them a subject of 
 special study and of particular inquiry from her father. 
 
 On the second morning of his stay, as he was about to 
 enter the breakfast room, he met her bearing a number of 
 letters. 
 
 "I was too impatient for the servants distribution of 
 them," she said, " so I went myself to the mail bag. I have 
 been expecting a letter from Ned." 
 
 He started a little ; having forgotten that the Misses 
 Edgar were possible correspondents, it came to him now 
 with a strange thrill of anxiety that Edna would, of course, 
 write to Ned about her father s visitor. No inquiry for 
 the young girl had been made by Mr. Edgar, and only a 
 brief one by Edna when her father was not present, to 
 which inquiry Carnew had replied that he had seen but 
 little of Miss Edgar since Edna s own departure from Ea- 
 handabed, and to his relief she did not ask, as he had half 
 expected her to do, if Ned knew of his coming to Wee- 
 wald Place. 
 
 His start, however, was not perceived, and having 
 entered the breakfast room, whither Mr. Edgar had not 
 yet descended, she proceeded to look at the superscrip 
 tions on the letters. There were none for her, but the 
 very last that she looked at was directed to Alan. He 
 knew at once the stiff, crooked penmanship of his aunt, 
 and he wondered what ill wind had borne to her his 
 present w r hereabouts. 
 
 " If you will permit me," he said, " I shall read it 
 now." 
 
 She bowed assent, and proceeded to arrange her father s 
 letters by his plate, while Alan retired to a curtained 
 embrasure. 
 
 He read with mingled feelings of astonishment and 
 anger : 
 
 " NEPHEW ALAN " 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 171 
 
 Mrs. Doloraii had been too angry to insert the custom 
 ary My Dear." 
 
 " There was no necessity for such secrecy about your 
 visit to "Weewald Place ; everybody in the house knows 
 it is after Edna you have gone, and we are all expecting 
 you to return with her as your bride. But it is surpris 
 ing that you should make such an early visit to this boor, 
 Edgar, without acquainting me, your aunt. However, 
 you are like the rest of your sex, unstable and unap- 
 preciative." (With woman s inconsistency, she had for 
 gotten that it had been her wont to direct all such tirades 
 entirely against her own sex, attributing to the sterner 
 sex the very virtues for the lack of which she now cen 
 sured her nephew.) " You will wonder, of course, how 
 I got my information of your whereabouts. My own 
 sharp wits gave it to me, for that fool Macgilivray, who 
 brought me your note, couldn t or wouldn t tell me a 
 thing beyond that you might have taken a train up, and 
 then again, you might have taken a train down. I have 
 spoken my mind pretty freely to Ned, and she quite 
 agrees with the view I take of your conduct in this mat 
 ter." (Ned had not opened her lips to express an opinion 
 either way, for, had she even felt it her duty to speak, 
 Mrs. Doloran s ceaseless garrulity gave her no opportun 
 ity to do so.) And then came the signature : 
 " Your indignant aunt, 
 
 " E. F. BOLOBAN." 
 
 Carnew thrust the letter into his pocket, and turned as 
 if to survey the winter scene without. But the angry 
 flush mounting to his forehead, and the sparkle in his 
 eyes, told that his thoughts were hardly upon the prospect 
 before him. lie well divined why she had inserted that 
 about Ned ; it was that he might know how another than 
 herself concurred in the judgment she had pronounced 
 upon his conduct. It was well that she did not know 
 how that paragraph in her letter had stabbed him in an 
 other way. It was that Ned would think he had gone 
 after Edna. He forgot that lie had never given Ned the 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 slightest sign to make her suppose that he cared for her. 
 And then his thoughts took another and an unkindly turn 
 toward his aunt s u companion." "Why was she so ready to 
 concur in that adverse opinion of him ? Why could she 
 not in her woman s heart have found some excuse for his 
 conduct, even though it did seem a little inexplicable ? 
 lie was sure that he would have done it in her case. 
 And yet in her case, where her conduct seemed inexplic 
 able, he had condemned her many times. But we are 
 so partial to ourselves, and so loth to extend to others the 
 sweet, sweet charity with which we mantle our own feel 
 ings^ 
 
 His first impulse, while all those thoughts coursed burn- 
 ingly through his mind, was to return to Rahandabed 
 immediately and disprove his aunt s assertion of having 
 gone for a wife ; his next impulse, and the one which he 
 obeyed, was to write a brief, cool note to Mrs. Doloran, 
 in which he set before her very sharply how mistaken 
 were all her conclusions, and how disagreeably officious 
 she made herself by expecting him to accord to her the 
 submission of a child in frock and pinafore. He ended 
 by sarcastically thanking her and Ned for the kind judg 
 ment they had passed upon him. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran was as furious when she read that note 
 as when she had been foiled in her endeavor to elicit in 
 formation from Macgilivray, and she threw it to Ned to 
 read, saying as she did so : 
 
 " He is a wretch ! and I wish 1 had never seen him. 
 How dare lie insult me like that ? The interest I took 
 in him, the kindness I showed him was that of a mother, 
 and this is his return. Have you read it I " pausing sud 
 denly in her excited walk through the apartment, and al 
 most glaring at Ned. 
 
 The latter rose. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Doloran, I have read it, and from it I in 
 fer that you must have made some strange statement of 
 me. Mr. Carnew thanks me in his sarcastic manner for 
 my kind judgment upon his conduct. As I at no time have 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE 173 
 
 given any opinion of his action, it is your duty to explain 
 what lie means. I have borne many things as your 
 companion, but it certainly does not belong to my posi 
 tion to bear misrepresentation by you." 
 
 She stood so firmly, and with such an unusually indig 
 nant look upon her face, that Mrs. Doloran shrank a 
 little ; but she covered her fear by answering imme 
 diately : 
 
 " Larks and daisies ! what airs we give ourselves. You 
 are only my ( companion anyway, and as such it was 
 your duty to concur in my views of things." 
 
 " Never my duty to concur in unjust views," broke in 
 Ned, her voice tremulous with indignation, " nor, to my 
 knowledge, have I done so." 
 
 " Well, when I censured Alan, you never brought for 
 ward anything in his defence," said Mrs. Doloran, glad 
 of any statement under which she could shield herself. 
 
 " It was not my place as your c companion, " for the 
 first time in her life Ned used a scornful emphasis, " to 
 interrupt your tirades, and they were so unceasing that 
 they gave me no opportunity to do so ; but neither was 
 it your place, Mrs. DoToran, to construe the silence in 
 cident to my position into an untrue statement of my 
 opinion of your nephew s conduct." 
 
 " Larks and daisies," said Mrs. Doloran again, with a 
 toss of her ludicrously bedecked head, " one would sup 
 pose you were in love with Alan yourself, you make such a 
 fuss about these harmless remarks of mine ; but you have 
 no chance, Ned ; Alan would never stoop to marry his 
 aunt s companion, " and then she laughed a shrill, 
 forced laugh that showed the more plainly the crow s feet 
 about her eyes, and even gathered one side of her nose 
 into somewhat unsightly curves. 
 
 " I shall endure your remarks no longer," said Ned, 
 quivering from head to foot. " It is not my duty to bear 
 insult. I shall leave your house within an hour." 
 
 And she left the room before Mrs. Doloran had quite 
 realized the sudden action. She was not prepared for 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 that result, and she was a little dismayed by it ; still she 
 was too proud to seek an immediate reconciliation, and 
 she determined to wait the hour before making any de 
 cision*. Ned went immediately to her room and began a 
 hasty packing of her trunk without well knowing where 
 she was going. Albany suggested itself, but she shrank 
 from going there without first acquainting the good peo 
 ple or her intended visit ; then, the village of C 
 
 came to her mind. Only the day before she had supplied 
 Macgilivray with money that he might procure a tem 
 porary home with some of the villagers, with whom the 
 Scotchman professed to be acquainted, for a maid of Mrs. 
 Doloran w r ho had been actually driven from Rahandabed 
 by that lady herself. The maid was a prepossessing 
 French girl, but a few months in the employment of 
 Mrs. Doloran, and by her skill in hair-dressing and other 
 feminine matters giving much satisfaction until it was 
 evident her volatile, forward manners, and attractive ap 
 pearance had brought her into serious trouble. Indeed, the 
 guests were talking about it before even Mrs. Doloran s 
 observation was awakened, and more than one gossip-lov 
 ing tongue had not hesitated to say that one of the gentle 
 manly guests was the cause of it. The unfortunate, girl 
 herself maintained an unabashed face until charged with 
 her conduct by Mrs. Doloran ; then she burst into tears 
 and acknowledged the truth, but refused to tell the name 
 of him who had been the cause of her unhappiness. 
 
 The mistress of Rahandabed was righteously shocked. 
 No sentiment of pity for the erring young creature en 
 tered her heart, nor was she touched when the girl, sink 
 ing on her knees, implored to be kept that she might 
 earn that month s wages, as she had sent the last of her 
 former earnings for the support of her little sister who 
 was at school. Parentless, friendless, homeless, where 
 could she go, what should she do? And her sobs were 
 pitiful enough to rend the hardest heart. But Mrs. 
 Doloran only answered sternly : 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Ask him with whom you have sinned to help 
 you." 
 
 The Frencli girl raised her streaming eyes. 
 
 " Ah, madame ! I cannot," and then she pleaded again, 
 " Do, madame, let me stay this month." 
 
 But madame was inexorable, and Josephine was allowed 
 just three hours in which to take her departure. Ma 
 dame even told the story to Ned, who, owing to her some 
 what isolated position among the guests, had heard no 
 whisper of the tale before, and Ned s sympathetic heart, 
 for Mrs. Doloran had even told Ned of the French girl s 
 pleading to be kept, was touched to the core. She man 
 aged to see Josephine before her departure, and she was 
 touched anew by the tale from her own lips. 
 
 The girl was very young, very pretty, and she had been 
 brought up without a mother s care ; surely a charitable 
 heart could make many allowances for her ; thus thought 
 Ned, while the dutiful provision which she made for her 
 little sister, and the devotion that she showed in refusing 
 to name her betrayer, though she might claim from him 
 present and future help, evinced qualities of character ad 
 mirable enough to enlist any one s pity. So Ned s heart 
 weiit.out to her, and Ned s mind was quick and fertile in 
 devising an expedient to help her. 
 
 Somehow, she had grown to like better and to have 
 more confidence in Maegilivray than any of the other 
 servants, due, perhaps, to the fact that the Scotchman was 
 as respectful to her as to the most important of Rahan da- 
 bed s guests. 
 
 To the other domestics, being only the hired " com 
 panion " of their mistress, she was little better than an 
 upper servant, and they treated her accordingly. 
 
 To the Scotchman, then, she applied for assistance in 
 finding a temporary home for the French girl, and he, 
 having friends, and even kin, living in the village of 
 
 C , promised to obtain a place for her immediately. 
 
 " And there is nae need yet of the siller, Miss Edgar," 
 
176 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 responding to her offer of lier purse ; " I ken there won t 
 be muckle charge." 
 
 But she insisted, and he reluctantly accepted, and shortly 
 after the three hours which Mrs. Doloraii had allowed for 
 the departure of Josephine, the girl found herself in the 
 comfortable, though exceedingly plain little home of an 
 elderly widow, wdiose only a child, a daughter, was at 
 service with a wealthy family in the village. Whether 
 Macgilivray knew the story which for a fortnight or more 
 had been the theme of servant gossip, as well as of secret 
 parlor talk, or whether he believed what Ned had simply 
 told him, that the French girl had been summarily dis 
 missed, and having no means and no home to which to 
 go, was in distress for immediate shelter, she did not 
 know, nor was she concerned to know ; but she was anx 
 ious to see the widow with whom Josephine would so 
 journ, feeling that, should the woman, when she knew the 
 circumstances, object to furnish more than the most tem 
 porary home to the girl, at least she might advise some 
 thing to be done in the case. So she called upon the 
 widow that very evening, and found, to her unexpected 
 satisfaction, a simple, homely, but good-hearted old 
 Scotchwoman, who said, when N ed had told her all the 
 circumstances : 
 
 " I kent well what was the matter, though Donald said 
 never a word when he brought her here, only that the 
 auld hornie had gotten as usual into his leddy, and made 
 her drive this puir child out frae hame all in a minit. Its 
 an ill wife that d noo do a gude turn to a puir lassie like 
 her. Nae, Miss, she is welcome to a home here if she 
 leeks it well eneuch to bide wi an auld Scotch body leek 
 me, an I hand sense enough to hauld me tongue about 
 her to the neebors. They ll be wanderin an talkiii , but 
 I ll jist-say it s a freend o me aiu come to bide wi me." 
 
 Thus was Josephine provided for through Ned s in 
 strumentality, who little dreamed that in so short a time 
 she would be herself in nead of home, and as in the vil 
 lage of C - the French girl had found so providential 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 177 
 
 a shelter, why should not she find one also ? And though 
 the home of the widow was scarcely large enough to give 
 her accommodation, still Macgilivray had other friends 
 who might be induced to accept her as a boarder until she 
 should give her friends in Albany timely warning. 
 
 And Macgilivray, though unable to control his surprise 
 at her departure, was as prompt in promising to obtain an 
 abode for her as he had been for Josephine, though he 
 coupled his promise with an apology for the plainness of 
 the home offered, at which Ned smiled, wondering what 
 he would think of the plainness of the mountain home of 
 her childhood. 
 
 " And are you sure I can go there immediately ? I 
 want to leave Rahandabed within an hour," she asked. 
 
 " There s nae doubt of it," he answered, " for they re 
 glad enough to take a boarder or twa in the summer, and 
 they haena noo objection to ain in the winter. But I m 
 sair troubled aboot the takin o you there mysel. You 
 see, me leddy gart me drive some of the guests doon to 
 the village as syne as lunch d be finished, and that puts a 
 stoppit to me endeevor for you. But dimia greit," as he 
 saw a shade come over Ned s face, " I lltellJiin Slade(an 
 under coachman of Rahandabed) where to bring you, and 
 to tell the folk anent you. When they ken that I sent 
 you they ll be civil eneuch, for they re me ain cousins." 
 
 Ned, with a relieved mind, returned to her room 
 to complete her preparations, and whan she was cloaked 
 and bonnetted for departure, she sought Mrs. Doloran. 
 That lady assumed a dignified pride and composure. 
 
 " I have come to say good-by," said the girl, her voice 
 trembling a little. 
 
 " Oli, have you ? Then you are determined upon go 
 ing," was the coldly spoken reply ; " and I suppose you 
 have come also to ask for a recommendation. I assure you 
 beforehand that I shall only recommend you for an un 
 bearable temper and whimsical fits that make you turn the 
 most harmless things into crimes." Tier rage and chagrin 
 at Ned s determination to go were now beyond all control. 
 
178 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 and she spurted out the first insulting words that came to 
 her mind. 
 
 " I did not intend to ask you for a recommendation," 
 the girl replied, her voice and face showing, in spite of 
 her efforts to control herself, how she was stung and 
 angered. 
 
 " I only came in a spirit of common Christian charity 
 to see you before I left you forever." 
 
 " And I, in a spirit of common Christian charity," 
 mimicking NecTs tones, " will order your wages paid before 
 you go, though it is not customary with a hired person" 
 the emphasis stingingly long and marked on the last two 
 words, "to pay anything when the departure is as abrupt 
 and impertinent as yours is." 
 
 " I have not asked for your wages," broke from Ned, 
 now trembling from head to foot with suppressed indig 
 nation, " nor do I wish for any ; and lest 1 should forget 
 entirely the spirit in which I entered your presence, I 
 shall say at once to you good-by." 
 
 And turning about, she went hastily from the room, 
 leaving Mrs. Doloran a prey to the most violent rage. 
 She had not intended nor expected that Ned would keep 
 her word and really go away from Kahandabed, nor did 
 she mean that it should be so even now ; but her pride 
 was too great to permit her to take any steps to the con 
 trary just yet. 
 
 She would let Ned depart, but she would take pains to 
 ascertain where she was going, and in a day or two she 
 would send for her. 
 
 And with that resolution she hastened to find Ordotte. 
 
 " What ! " he said, his tawny face showing greater 
 dismay than it had ever expressed before in Mrs. Dolo- 
 ran s presence. 
 
 " You have actually let Miss Edgar go ? " 
 
 " What could I do ? " deprecatingly. " She would in 
 sist upon misunderstanding something I had said, and 
 nothing would keep her after that." 
 
 Ordotte looked at her in a disagreeably searching 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 170 
 
 way that she peevishly avowed made her shiver, but he 
 did not reply immediately. Probably he guessed better 
 than the lady intended he should do, the cause of Ned s 
 reported misunderstanding. When he did answer it was 
 only to say quietly : 
 
 " Miss Edgar must return." 
 
 XXXIY. 
 
 Edna Edgar was happy. Her father each day declared 
 himself better pleased with young Carnew, who seemed 
 to enjoy Weewald Place with a heartiness that he rarely 
 showed in Rahandabed. 
 
 His eyes glistened with pleasure over the rare objects 
 of art that Mr. Edgar displayed with the pride of a con 
 noisseur, and his dark cheeks sometimes glowed with color 
 as he took his own animated part in interesting discus 
 sions witli the well-read gentleman. 
 
 To Edna, as became the esteemed guest of her father, 
 he paid the most delicate attention, but nothing that 
 could be construed into any warmer feeling. Yet, she so 
 interpreted every action on his part. She loved him as 
 even in her brief, youthful infatuation she had never 
 loved Mackay, and for a tithe of love in return she would 
 have put her passionate, wayward heart under his feet. 
 
 In the solitude of her own chamber at night, when the 
 ardor of her emotions banished sleep, she reflected upon 
 his conduct to herself during the day, she took comfort 
 and assurance from the fact that it was not his nature to 
 be demonstrative, perhaps, not even to show up to the 
 very moment of proposing for a lady s hand, any strong 
 desire to possess the same. His attentions to her cer 
 tainly were marked, and she was confident that before 
 the end of his stay he would speak to her father. 
 
 For Alan lie was utterly innocent and unsuspicious of 
 the feelings with which the daughter of his host regarded 
 him ; did he dream of them, he would that moment, 
 with becoming thanks for the courtesy that had been 
 
180 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 shown him, have shaken from his feet the dust of Wee- 
 wald Place. One face alone had taken possession of his 
 heart, and do what he would in the way of calling 
 frequently to his mind all the adverse things he had 
 heard of her, Ned s image retained its place. Often 
 when he seemed to be most attentive to Edna, it was be 
 cause of her physical resemblance to Ned. One day that 
 Mr. Edgar had taken him to inspect some very old pictures, 
 and to ask his advise about having them retouched, he 
 paused on their return before the door of a room next 
 to his own apartment. 
 
 " Edna has not shown you this, I presume," he said. 
 " I requested her not to do so." 
 
 " No, she has not," answered Carnew. 
 
 Edgar threw open the door. It was a small apart 
 ment, fitted up like a lady s boudoir, and having in the 
 centre an easel, the front of which was covered with 
 silken drapery. He threw aside the drapery, and re 
 vealed an exquisitely painted head and face of a lady. 
 Carnew started, for it was such an exact likeness of Ned. 
 As he looked longer, the resemblance to Edna came out, 
 but neither so strong nor so startling as the resemblance 
 to Ned. 
 
 " Whom do you think it is like ? " asked Edgar in a 
 tremulous whisper. 
 
 " Like Miss Edgar, who is Mrs. Doloran s companion.," 
 replied Carnew. 
 
 " You are mistaken, sir ; it is an exact likeness of my 
 daughter." 
 
 And the voice. of the gentleman, before low and trem 
 ulous, was now loud and decidedly angry. Carnew turned 
 to him in astonishment, at which Mr. Edgar seemed to 
 recover himself, for he resumed in his natural tones : 
 
 " That, Mr. Carnew, is the portrait of my wife, painted 
 when she was the age which my daughter is now. I 
 have detected, or fancied that I have detected " his 
 voice sank a little " a marked resemblance between it 
 and my daughter. I requested Edna to leave it to me to 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 181 
 
 bring you here that I might hear you exclaim on your 
 first sight of it, how like it was to her. But I am dis 
 appointed, Mr. Carnew." 
 
 "Kot entirely, Mr. Edgar," Alan hastened to say, 
 " for I can assure you that it does bear a marked resem 
 blance to your daughter ; the features are certainly an 
 exact reproduction of Miss Edgar s. It is the expres 
 sion which is so striking a reminder of the young lady 
 with my aunt." 
 
 "We will go, Mr. Carnew." 
 
 He dropped the silken hanging, and taking Alan s arm, 
 turned from the room. Bat some strange mood had 
 seized him ; instead of leaving the young man as it was 
 his wont to do when they had been, as they were this 
 morning, a couple of hours together, he still clung to him, 
 even when they reached the library, and after a moment s 
 hesitation, as if he were arguing with himself, he requested 
 him to enter. 
 
 " You will think me a strange man, Mr. Carnew," he 
 began, talking rapidly, as if to hide some emotion, "but 
 even at this distance of time, with twenty-two years 
 stretching their gap between us, I cannot look at the pic 
 ture of my wife without feeling the old pain of loss, 
 the old keen yearning to behold her once more. That is 
 why I wish so wildly my daughter to resemble her, and 
 I only visit that portrait at intervals of months, that 1 
 may trace the resemblance more assuringly, and that 1 
 may save myself the pangs which come at every sight of 
 her pictured face. I love my daughter with greater 
 strength of affection perhaps, than many fathers love 
 their children. She is my only one, and as such I can 
 not bear to contemplate a day arriving when she may be 
 taken from me, when her love and her virtues may have 
 to grace a distant home, and her father be left to a child 
 less solitude. But, even in such a contemplation, could 
 I be sure that he who may gain her hand would be worthy 
 of her heart, I might not look forward with such dread. 
 All this is strange to you, Mr. Carnew, but young and 
 
182 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 unmarried though you are, still you can sympathize with 
 the feelings of a father, and that father the father of an 
 only child." 
 
 Alan bowed, wondering at Mr. Alan s unusual commu 
 nicativeness, but having no suspicion of what further lie 
 was destined to hear. 
 
 " To know that Edna had given her heart to one whom I 
 approved, and to one whom, judging from his natural kind 
 ness, would be content to make his home with father 
 and daughter rather than separate them, such a prospect 
 would make my old age indeed happy." 
 
 lie paused, and looked with piercing earnestness into 
 the face of his companion ; but the latter still suspected 
 not an inkling of the truth. 
 
 Both had been standing all the while ; Mr. Edgar, too 
 much engrossed by his own emotions to think of seating 
 himself or of inviting his guest to do so, and Carnew, too 
 much astonished and interested to think of another po 
 sition than the one he had first assumed standing by 
 the library table. 
 
 And when that piercing look elicited nothing from the 
 young man beyond the curious and interested face he 
 already wore, Edgar went close to him ; he put his hand 
 on Alan s arm a hand that trembled visibly and said 
 with a tremor which he tried desperately, but without 
 success, to keep out of his voice : 
 
 " Mr. Carnew, I was once a lover myself. I can read 
 the signs. You are in love with Edna, and you are the 
 one I would choose for her her heart she herself will 
 give you, but her hand I can promise you." 
 
 Had Carnew been stabbed suddenly in some vital part 
 he could hardly have been more shocked, or pained. Ed 
 gar s words were so unexpected and so undesired ; then, 
 how to tell this father that his only child was not beloved 
 as the father s heart desired her to be. Oh ! it was hard. 
 The color surged into his cheeks, and his own voice trem 
 bled a little : 
 
 " Mr. Edgar, I am sensible of, and I deeply appreciate 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 183 
 
 the honor you would do me ; but it has surprised me, and 
 all the more, that I have not been conscious of giving any 
 encouragement for such an offer upon your part. My 
 affections are pre-engaged." 
 
 " Pre-engaged ! " It was the only word he could utter, 
 so choked was he by disappointment and something even 
 like resentment. But in a moment he recovered him 
 self, and resuming that courtesy which he rarely long 
 forgot, and witli which he could mask every emotion, he 
 seized Alan s hand and said : 
 
 " Forget, Mr. Carnew, that I have so far violated my 
 duties of host as to speak to you upon such a subject ; 
 with that kindness with which I have already credited 
 you, attribute it to a father s weakness. As Edna knew 
 nothing of my intention, and indeed it was sudden and 
 unpremeditated upon my own part, your friendly rela 
 tions with her need not be affected." 
 
 And wringing Alan s hand, he turned to leave the 
 room ; but the young man called him, impelled by what 
 sudden feeling to do so he himself could hardly tell, and 
 looking strangely embarrassed when the gentleman turned 
 at the summons. 
 
 " Mr. Edgar, as you have honored me by an unexpected 
 confidence, so am i impelled to confide in you. When I 
 announced to you that my affections were pre-engaged, I 
 felt that I should also have told you to whom ; the more 
 particularly, that you have had at some time an interest 
 in the young lady Miss Edgar, who is the companion of 
 my aunt." 
 
 Edgar became so rigid that he seemed to be rooted to 
 the spot on which he stood, while his face paled, until it 
 looked positively ghastly. It was 011 his lips to say : 
 
 " I cannot congratulate you on your choice ; " but even 
 in that moment of, to him, bitter agony, he restrained 
 himself, actuated by a dictate of charity. Why should he 
 blight by a word the prospect of his niece, unworthy and 
 ungrateful though lie deemed her to be ? Besides, it would 
 be the keener revenge to let Carnew, who had slighted an 
 
184 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 offer and affections every way worthy of him, fall into 
 the trap he had himself prepared let him marry JSTed if 
 he would. She had goaded Mackay to his death ; she 
 would probably break Carnew s heart when he came to 
 know her true character. 
 
 " You do not speak," said Alan, unable longer to control 
 his suspense, " and yet you have had some opportunity of 
 learning Miss Edgar s character. To me she seems to 
 possess virtues the most estimable." 
 
 " And it is not for me to disabuse you of your opinion," 
 was the reply ; " any interest which I may have felt in 
 Miss Edgar, the companion of your aunt, has completely 
 ceased." He bowed and left the room. 
 
 Alan flushed, and unhappy paced the apartment. His 
 stay now in Weewald Place must come to an immediate 
 close ; he even shrank from seeing Edna again given to 
 understand, as he was by her father, that she was not un 
 willing to yield to him her heart, he bitterly reproached 
 himself for having accepted the invitation to Weewald 
 Place. He had done it, he had to acknowledge to his 
 secret soul, that he might be distracted from his persistent 
 thoughts of Ned ; and the result was, that her very absence 
 threw a charm about her which was more potent than 
 ever. Oh, that he could forget her ! Now, when even Mr. 
 Edgar, who was once her protector and her best friend, re 
 fused to say a word in her favor, that he could believe her 
 to be unworthy of his regard ; but up came the sad, gentle, 
 lovely face, and he covered his own face with his hands 
 and groaned. 
 
 Mr. Edgar deemed it best that his daughter should 
 know at once what had passed between himself and his 
 guest ; he was all the more anxious to tell her in order to 
 learn how deeply her affections had been won. And he 
 sought her on leaving Carnew. 
 
 She bore the communication with an unexpected 
 heroism ; her pride was so great that not even to her 
 father would she admit her suffering, and though she 
 paled a little, and bit her lip until the blood welmigh 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 185 
 
 came, immediately after that, she laughed, and flinging her 
 arms about him, more to prevent him from discovering 
 her real feelings than through affection, she said : 
 
 " As good fish in the sea, papa, as ever were caught. 
 If Mr. Carnew won t take me, Mr. Brekbellew will you 
 remember how devoted he was." 
 
 An expression of disgust crossed Mr. Edgar s features. 
 
 "Mr. Brekbellew is so contemptuously beneath your 
 notice, my love, that I do not like to hear you mention his 
 name even in jest." 
 
 "Very well, papa, I won t," caressing his hair, and 
 letting her cool white fingers rest upon his hot forehead. 
 
 But in solitude Edna s heroism completely disappeared. 
 She laid her head on her dressing-table and shed the most 
 bitter and angry tears she had ever shed in her life. By 
 what covert charms had her cousin succeeded where her 
 own more exquisite beauty and accomplishments had 
 failed? ITow she hated her. If one little word of hers 
 could have averted from Ned the direst evil, she would 
 not have spoken it. Rather would she have crushed her 
 if she could, and then she sought to think what means 
 were in her power of preventing Carnew s marriage with 
 her. But she dared say no more evil of Ned than the 
 insinuations she had already artfully made, lest all might 
 recoil upon her own head. Could she have looked but a 
 little way into the future, she would have beheld her re 
 venge a revenge awful enough to win even from her 
 pitiless heart a cry of horror. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Carnew took his leave of Weewald Place with the best 
 grace he could assume ; and he found himself back in 
 -just four weeks after his departure thence. He 
 had not sent any word to his aunt, preferring to come 
 upon her as suddenly as he had left her, and thus he was 
 surprised to find Macgilivray with one of the Rahandabed 
 carriages at the station when he stepped from the train. 
 
186 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 "Not waiting for me, Donald, surely," lie said, when 
 he had returned the Scotchman s glad and respectful 
 greeting. 
 
 "Nae, Mr. Carnew; me leddy sent me for visitors 
 that s expected frae this train ; but they re noo comin , as 
 I ken," Carnew and another gentleman being the only 
 passengers to alight from the car. 
 
 " I ll take the place of the visitors," said Alan, stepping 
 into the carriage. 
 
 " Aye, an mair welcome," responded the Scotchman 
 half to himself. 
 
 " How are they all at the house ? " resumed the young 
 man. 
 
 " They re a weel but me leddy hersel ; she s a maist 
 daft since Miss Ned s awa ." 
 
 " Since Miss Ned s away ! What do you mean ? " 
 And the young man paused in the act of comfortably ad 
 justing his cushions, and almost glowered at the coach 
 man. 
 
 Macgilivray s honest face wore a shade of sorrow. 
 
 " I thoueht it vera likely that you d noo ken hoo it 
 happened," and out of the fulness of his sympathizing 
 heart he told Ned s story, Carnew taking his seat on the 
 box beside him the better to hear. Donald had heard 
 the account of her summary dismissal from Mrs. Doloran s 
 maid, who had bean an unintentional listener to the 
 stormy interview between that lady and her " companion," 
 when the latter announced her intention of leaving liahan- 
 dabed. He knew from servant gossip long before the 
 unhappy tale of Josephine, and he had bc^n told by the 
 old Scotch wife, with whom Josephine abode, of Ned s 
 constant charity to the unfortunate girl, so that he was 
 sufficiently informed to give Carnew all particulars; and 
 he did so in his homely fashion. C.irnew listened with 
 that tell-tale color that never came only when excited by 
 strong emotions, and even with labored breath. 
 
 " And Miss Ned is now boarding here in C , you 
 
 say ? " he asked, when Macgilivray had finished. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 187 
 
 " Yes, she s wi kinspeople o me ain, and vera weel 
 treated, she says hersel ." 
 
 " Drive me back to the village, Donald, to the hotel ; 
 I shall stay there for a few days ; and tell me where Miss 
 Ned is stopping. On your return to Rahandabed, say 
 nothing of having met me." 
 
 " Dinna fear, sir ; I kent lioo to keep me ain counsel 
 this mony a day." 
 
 In his room in the hotel, Carnew was almost exultant. 
 To have that about Ned which had so pained him in his 
 aunt s letter quite disproved, as it was disproved by 
 Macgilivray s story that gave the substance, if not the pre 
 cise language, of Ned s denial of Mrs. Doloran s charge, 
 and to hear of her tender charity to an erring one of her 
 own sex, were like vindications of her character from 
 Heaven itself. How could lie longer do violence to his 
 own heart by stifling his affection for one who evinced 
 such admirable qualities ? Her very spirit in leaving his 
 aunt endeared her to him. What though there were 
 some secret passages in her life in which she coquetted 
 with affections, and perhaps even broke a heart what 
 woman was entirely free from the weakness of her sex ? 
 And to one who had such estimable virtues as Ned showed, 
 surely much might be pardoned. Besides, she was more 
 of a woman now, and increasing years in such a character 
 as hers must develop unusual strength and steadiness. 
 Thus did he reason with himself, and not until he was in 
 the very flush of joy from his arguments did the ugly 
 thought of Dykard Dutton come, the young man whom he 
 had once met, and to whom lie had seen Ned s letters ad 
 dressed. Somehow, of late, in tl linking of Ned, there 
 had not intruded any thought of Dutton, her possible 
 lover; it was only Ned herself, pure, simple, free, as 
 Carnew s heart longed for her. Now, however, when he 
 had worked himself into an enthusiasm about her virtues, 
 Button s image rose up as if to forbid it ; rose up with 
 that honest, manly, brave look that had won such involun 
 tary respect from Carnew on the night of their brief 
 
188 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 meeting. The remembrance of the joy she showed in his 
 company that night, the money she had once sent him, 
 but which had been so promptly returned, her letters to 
 him all came before him now in a most tantalizing 
 manner. His joy was dampened, but even in the midst 
 of his depression his kindly nature asserted itself. For 
 the noble traits she had shown she deserved to be made 
 happy, though her happiness should be bestowed only 
 through his pangs. He would learn what prevented or 
 delayed her marriage to Dutton ; and if it were poverty, lie 
 would sweep away the obstacle. Thus resolved, he took 
 his way to the address which Macgilivray had given him. 
 
 Ned had found such a comfortable home with Mac 
 gilivray s simple kinspeople, that she deemed it as well 
 not to think of Albany for the present. Here she could, 
 at least, without doing violence to anybody s feelings, 
 pay her way ; and why might she not remain thus until 
 spring, when Dyke seemed so certain of being able to pro 
 cure another situation for her? She need not even tell 
 him, nor Meg, of her change, for it would cause them 
 so much anxiety, and probably even bring Dyke from his 
 business to see her. 
 
 Jim Slade, who had driven her from Rahandabed, was 
 compelled to disclose her whereabouts the very same 
 evening to Ordotte, for that gentleman had been in 
 defatigable in his inquiries among the servants, until he 
 ascertained who had driven the young lady to the village ; 
 and before Ned retired to rest that night, she was the 
 recipient of a half-sharp, half -penitent note from Mrs. 
 Doloran, asking her to return. The note was written in 
 accordance with Ordotte s request. The reply was kind 
 and respectful, but in it Ned firmly declined ever to 
 go back to Kahandabed. Ordotte was dismayed, while 
 Mrs. Doloran was furious, and the man who brought her 
 that message owed it to his skill in evading a blow that 
 his head was not broken with a small, but costly alabaster 
 vase. The ornament shivered into fragments almost at 
 his feet. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 189 
 
 She sent again the next day, and the third day ; by Or- 
 dotte s advice, she deigned to go herself in her most pom 
 pous state with her liveried lacqueys, which fashion she 
 had copied, but grotesquely, as she copied everything 
 else from abroad, and she almost overpowered the good 
 people into whose simple little home she entered. But 
 she was well known by reputation, her eccentricities 
 being a frequent theme of conversation in nearly every 
 house in C- . 
 
 Ned met her kindly, but as firmly as when she parted 
 from her. 
 
 " And so you absolutely refuse all my overtures ? " 
 said Mrs. Doloran, the half -entreating air with which she 
 had first spoken entirely disappearing, and a very angry 
 one coming rapidly in its place. 
 
 " I think it is best for both of us," was the gentle 
 reply, "that I should not return to Rahandabed." 
 
 " And what am I to tell Alan ? " in her anger raising 
 her voice as if she were at home. 
 
 " Since you accused me before of misrepresenting you, 
 I refrained from writing to him of your unkind and un 
 grateful departure." 
 
 u I trust that it has been neither unkind nor ungrate 
 ful," was the response, "and if your own heart, Mrs. 
 Doloran, does not prompt you to tell exactly why I left 
 your service, then certainly nothing that I can say will 
 avail." 
 
 Exasperated by the gentle firmness which neither en 
 treaty, nor insult, nor threat could move, Mrs. Doloran 
 screamed rather than said : 
 
 " Your audacity is only equalled by your impertinence, 
 and I shall tell Alan how fortunate I am to be rid of 
 you. You are a viper biting the hand that fed you." 
 
 u Mrs. Doloran," in a voice so full of indignant agony 
 that it sounded hoarse and strange ; but Mrs. Doloran 
 flounced out of the room, her heavy-trailing silk dress 
 making an alarming rustle, and out to her carriage with 
 out even a word to the amazed folk of the house. They 
 
190 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 had all heard the loud and angry tones, and knowing 
 something of Ned s story from Macgilivray, and much of 
 Mrs. Doloran s temper from the same source, all their 
 sympathies went out to the young girl whom already, 
 from her gentle, kindly ways they had learned to like. 
 
 Ordotte was more disappointed at Ned s refusal to re 
 turn than he thought it prudent to express to the widow, 
 and with similar prudence he refrained from telling her 
 that he intended to have a watch kept upon Ned, lest 
 she should leave without his knowledge. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran did not write to her nephew of Ned s 
 departure ; she knew, no matter what her version might 
 be, that he would attribute the fault to her, and she pre 
 ferred to wait his return, and answer his questions about 
 Ned in her own sarcastic way. 
 
 XXXYI. 
 
 Ned, never dreaming of another visitor in her little 
 quiet home, felt her breath almost taken away by the an 
 nouncement one afternoon that a gentleman wished to 
 see her. Could it be Dyke, was her first thought, and 
 how did he get her present address ? But a moment s 
 reflection solved the latter query, as he could have ascer 
 tained it easily in Rahandabed. It must be he, she 
 thought, with violently palpitating heart and some trou 
 ble perhaps, had brought him. 
 
 She hurried to the little parlor to meet, not Dyke, but 
 handsome, flushed, gentlemanly Carnew. She was speech 
 less from surprise. 
 
 " Miss Edgar," he said, almost tenderly, as he approached 
 her w r ith extended hand, " I have only to-day returned to 
 
 C , and learning, while on my way to Rahandabed, 
 
 that you had left my aunt, I could not go on without 
 seeing you." 
 
 She blushed brightly and answered: 
 
 " How kind of you, Mr. Carnew." 
 
 He shook his head disclaimingly. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 191 
 
 " Hardly so kind as I might have been. I might have 
 forborne my visit and remained at home to have pro 
 tected you from my whimsical annt. I have learned all 
 about it, you see, though not from the lady I have just 
 mentioned. Sit down," leading her to a chair, and seat 
 ing himself near her, " and permit me to speak to you in 
 a very frank, brotherly manner." 
 
 She could not conceal her surprise. Mr. Carnew s 
 manner was so different from what it used to be. He 
 was almost like Dyke in the kindly, protecting air he had 
 assumed he who had been so reserved and she lifted 
 her wide, clear eyes in a manner that showed her won 
 der, and also her pleasure. He smiled and continued : 
 
 " Will you give me the right of a friend, Miss Edgar, 
 to question you upon your circumstances, what means 
 you have of living now, out of position as you are, what 
 you intend to do in the future ? " 
 
 " I am not in any want," she answered, smiling back 
 at him. " Mrs. Doloran s compensation for my poor ser 
 vices has been so ample as to place me beyond reach of 
 need for some time to come. Regarding the future, I 
 think I shall be able to secure another position in the 
 spring." 
 
 "Another position! Do you mean that you will hire 
 yourself out again as a lady s companion ? " 
 
 " Yes," with a smile that was almost a laugh. 
 
 " Miss Edgar, may I be very frank, even to the verge 
 of impertinence ? " 
 
 " As frank as you please, Mr. Carnew," wondering 
 what he wanted to know. 
 
 " I have sometimes thought that you were engaged to 
 be married"- - she started, and he regarded her emotion 
 as one of astonishment that he had guessed her secret so 
 well "but that want of means prevented an immediate 
 fulfilment of the contract ; if such be the case, it will be 
 my delight to remove the obstacle, to give to Mr. Duttoii 
 and yourself " lie could get no further, for she had 
 
192 
 
 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 risen to her feet, and exclaimed in an. amazed, perplexed 
 way : 
 
 " Mr. Button ! Who said I was engaged to be married 
 to him?" It was Mr. Carnew s turn to be confused. 
 He also rose. 
 
 " Pardon me, Miss Edgar ; no one has ever said a word 
 to me about it ; I surmised such to be the case from the 
 devotion you seemed to show him." 
 
 "Poor Dyke!" said Ned, her voice very tremulous, 
 "he is my brother, the dearest, truest, best friend I have, 
 but not my lover ; " and then with her eyes swimming, 
 and her cheeks flushing until the color mounted to her 
 forehead, she told the tale of her childhood ; all Dyke s 
 fatherly care of her, Meg s motherly tenderness, and all 
 about the little mountain home which she loved so well. 
 Her own deeply stirrred feelings made her eloquent, and 
 never, Alan thought, had she looked so beautiful. Her 
 love of and gratitude to these simple people was another 
 virtue in her most estimable character, and when she had 
 finished, unable to restrain longer the confession of his 
 heart, he said, almost as tremulously as she herself had 
 spoken : 
 
 " Since you are not engaged, may /"sue for your hand ? 
 My heart is already yours." 
 
 Had she heard aright? Had he whom she loved so 
 well, actually proposed to her ? Was it true, then, that he 
 had not gone to offer himself to Edna, but that he really 
 loved her? Heaven was too kind, and with a gasp 
 that was almost a sob, she put her hands into his so ap- 
 pealingly outstretched, and with a great, glad thrill of 
 delight, he knew that he was answered. 
 
 " But your aunt," she said, when the violence of her 
 emotion having passed, she was able to look up and to 
 speak calmly. 
 
 Carnew felt like uttering some very profane exclama 
 tion in connection with his relative, but he repressed it 
 and said instead : 
 
 u As I am quite of age and have ample means in my 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 193 
 
 own right, I do not know that my aunt will have any 
 authority in this matter. I shall announce my engage 
 ment to her to-day, and I shall have preparations made 
 for receiving you at Rahandabed." 
 
 "Oh, no!" she shudderingly responded, "after all that 
 has passed between Mrs. Doloran and myself I cannot 
 meet her." 
 
 " As my affianced, Ned, you will have nothing to fear. 
 You will iind Mrs. Doloran, the lady to whom you were 
 companion, and Mrs. Doloran, the aunt of the party to 
 whom you are engaged to be married, two very different 
 persons. Also, my pride will not be satisfied unless the 
 guests of Rahandabed receive you as an equal, which they 
 will only be too well pleased to do now. They have had 
 the pleasure of slighting you; I want them to have the 
 agony of receiving you." 
 
 Thus he argued down every objection she interposed, 
 and he was so lovingly iirrn about it that she was 
 obliged to yield. When he left her she promised to be 
 ready to accompany him to Rahandabed the next morn 
 ing. 
 
 And when he left her she went up to her room and 
 cried from very joy. Tier happiness was so unexpected, 
 so great. Then she wrote to Dyke a full account of 
 everything that had happened, and- a whole page filled 
 with her own blissful feelings. Her pen seemed to dance 
 over the paper, and she could have filled another sheet, 
 but that she had some mercy on Dyke s eyes and time. 
 She closed it with : 
 
 " I know, dear Dyke, all this will make you as happy 
 as it has made me, and that you will give your choicest 
 blessing to your " OWN NED." 
 
 Dyke received that letter in the midst of one of his 
 busy days ; still he could have snatched a few moments 
 for its perusal, but he only pressed it secretly to his lips 
 and put it into his bosom, lie preferred to read it in 
 the solitude of his own room that evening when he could 
 drink in all by himself the pleasure, the bliss which her 
 
194: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 letters gave him. And that day something most unex 
 pected came to him. 
 
 The head of the firm sought him, and offered him a 
 partnership in the business. 
 
 " We have watched you closely, Mr. Dutton," he said, 
 "and we have observed in you business faculties most 
 valuable, but most rare. They will stand to us in the 
 place of money you would otherwise have to give, and 
 they will be of equal assistance to the firm." 
 
 Button went home with an elastic step. Now would 
 he be able to provide well for Ned without even waiting 
 for the spring. He could bring both her and Meg to 
 New York for the remainder of the winter, and in the 
 summer he could have the little mountain home improved 
 into a pretty country residence. He would have means 
 for all that now. Thus delightedly planning, he was in 
 too high spirits to delay long at his supper, and he hur 
 ried to his room to read his precious letter. 
 
 After one perusal it fell from his hand, and his head 
 dropped forward on the little table beside which he sat. 
 What a:i agony shook him ! It seemed as if his heart 
 would burst in that, wave of sorrow. And for the first 
 fierce moments his soul cried out against fate, which ever 
 seemed determined to snatch joy from him just as it was 
 within his grasp. Then his manhood returned ; that true 
 manhood which is brave in adversity and disappointment. 
 He called up all his own hopes and wishes for Ned, that 
 she might be a lady, mingling in the society which she 
 was so well fitted to adorn ; here was the fulfilment of all 
 Ids. wishes ; surely he ought to rejoice. And he tried to 
 do so, but his heart ached in the effort, and his temples 
 throbbed with agony. Ned had been so dear, so constantly 
 cherished. He took out from a secret recess the packet 
 of her letters ; every letter she had ever written to 
 him, from the first childish epistle that she sent from 
 school. He opened them one by one, and read them all. 
 Then he folded them again, and tied them in their old 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLAMJE. 195 
 
 position, adding the one lie had that day received, and put 
 them back. 
 
 How conld he write to her with his heart so blistered ? 
 How could he congratulate her on a happiness that was 
 his own death-blow ? And for a little his head fell for 
 ward again on the table, and he yielded to his agony. But 
 in it there was no reproach of Ned. He knew now that 
 she had not understood any of his letters, and that she 
 had never dreamed of his lover-like affection. 
 
 He looked up at last, the fiercest of his feelings con 
 quered ; and with a trembling hand he sought his writing 
 materials. She never dreamed when she received that 
 true, tender answer to her own letter, in what agony it 
 had been penned ; she did not even dream that the blister 
 upon her own name was caused by Dyke s tear. She 
 pressed the letter to her lips and to her heart, for it was 
 so tender and so good ; but even she did not know how 
 self-sacrificing, how noble was the writer. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran went into hysterics when told by her 
 nephew of his intention to make, not Edna, but deter 
 mined, impertinent Ned, his bride; her own peculiar 
 hysterics, that threw the whole house into a confusion, 
 and demanded fast and furious attention from those about 
 her. She kicked with her feet, and worked with her 
 hands, and jerked with her head, to the imminent danger 
 of all in her vicinity, and then she paused long enough to 
 stigmatize Alan for his ingratitude, and to predict for 
 him dire unhappiness in his choice of a wife, after which 
 she laughed and cried in a breath, and then resumed her 
 violent contortions. 
 
 Everybody in the house, from the latest guest to ^ the 
 newest servant, heard in a very short time the cause of the 
 commotion made by Mrs. Doloran, for gossiping tongues 
 were plenty to repeat all that the mistress of Rahandabed 
 said in her foolish temper; and consternation, disappoint- 
 
196 A FATAL KESEMBLAJSTCE. 
 
 irieiit, and envy, and even something like dismay actuated 
 the hearts of most of the feminine guests, especially those 
 who had treated Ned only as a hired companion. 
 
 Carnew knew his aunt so well that he was not unpre 
 pared for such a scene, and he retired to his own apart 
 ment until she should be in. a more rational condition. 
 
 " Mascar, where are you, and where am I ? " when her 
 temper brought no result save the disappearance of Alan, 
 and an array of attendants, and she raised her head from 
 the couch to which, with main strength, she had been 
 borne, and she affected to speak with so much feebleness 
 that it was extremely ludicrous. 
 
 "Here, Mrs. Doloran," and Ordotte showed himself 
 from a corner of the room, whither he had taken refuge 
 until her pugilistic efforts should cease. 
 
 " Won t you give me my salts and find my fan, and 
 arrange this cushion I am so exhausted," and back went 
 the head with feigned helplessness, while her maid stood 
 aside to let the gentleman obey the many behests. But she 
 opened her eyes and said, as if she were delivering her 
 last will and testament : 
 
 " Does not your heart bleed for me, Mascar ? Well has 
 the poet said, Better is a serpent s tooth, than a thank 
 ful child. : In her various emotions she was not conscious 
 how she had twisted the quotation. " And what have I 
 not done for him ? Brought him up, and loved him as if 
 he was my own son. Oh, my sorrows are greater than I 
 can bear." 
 
 And again the eyes were closed, and the whole attitude 
 that of one about to faint. With perfect gravity, Ordotte 
 motioned the maid to attend her mistress while he sur 
 veyed the scene from a little distance. As soon as she 
 pretended to recover he was at her side. 
 
 She sat up, trying to appear very weak, and very much 
 of a martyr ; her voice was most languishing as she bade 
 her maid retire to the adjoining room, and as she again 
 addressed Ordotte : 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 197 
 
 "You have not delivered your opinion of Alan s 
 shameful conduct." 
 
 Ordotte stroked his mustache once or twice, and then 
 answered quietly : 
 
 " My opinion is, that Mr. Carnew has shown excellent 
 judgment in his choice of a wife. Miss Ned is a young 
 lady quite worthy of becoming your niece." 
 
 u Mascar ! " 
 
 She fairly shrieked his name, every trace of her pre 
 tended weakness gone. She was even sitting bolt upright, 
 her hand clutching his arm. 
 
 " Think," she said in her high shrill voice, " Ned had 
 to earn her living y I paid her for being my companion ! " 
 
 " And highly favored you were to get her to be your 
 companion ; and working for one s living is rather to be 
 commended. Come, Mrs. Doloran, be yourself again, 
 and accept what can neither be controlled nor avoided. 
 Alan will certainly marry this love of his, and if you con 
 tinue to show your displeasure, you will drive him entirely 
 from Itahandabed. I have heard you say that you loved 
 him too well to give him up entirely ; besides, how the 
 country will talk if you permit this rupture to be. Call 
 your accustomed good sense to you, and receive Miss Ned. 
 Accompany Alan when he goes for her, and my word for 
 it, you will be much happier than by seeking to gain your 
 ends in this manner." 
 
 But his arguments, weighty with her as they had been 
 always heretofore, had to be repeated, and made still more 
 forcible before she could bring herself this time to yield, 
 and it was only when he had impressed upon her that 
 Alan would have his way regardless of her, that she con 
 sented to send for her nephew. When she had thus 
 consented, with her usual talent for quick transitions of 
 feeling she became astonishingly changed, and Alan 
 found her as ready to accede to his wishes as she was be 
 fore opposed to them ; nay, even eager to hurry their 
 fulfilment. She could scarcely wait until morning to go 
 for Ned. 
 
198 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 In the morning she insisted upon going in the same 
 stylish equipage in which she had made her former call, 
 and Alan, assured that she had the friendliest spirit, did 
 not oppose her. He took his seat beside her without a 
 word of remonstrance, and once more the good people 
 with whom Ned sojourned were surprised by a visit from 
 the wealthy and eccentric mistress of Rahandabed. - But 
 this time, there were no loud and angry words from the 
 lady to shock and amaze them, for she absolutely rushed 
 at Ned and folded her in her ample arms in a way that 
 took the gill s breath for a moment. 
 
 " You dear, charming, sly creature," she said, " never 
 to let me know that you had won Alan s heart ; but then 
 Alan tells me you didn t know it yourself. And how 
 mistaken I have been to think he loved that bewitching 
 Edna. And Mascar speaks so beautifully of you. What 
 have you done to win them all ? And me ! Can you ever 
 forgive those dreadful things I said to you ? But I didn t 
 mean them, Ned ; it was only my temper that spoke. 
 See how good I shall be to you, now." And Ned was 
 subjected to another uncomfortable hug, while Carnew 
 looked on with an expression of such amusement that it 
 came near evoking from Ned a burst of laughter. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran had actually worked herself into feeling 
 all that she said. Hers was one of those shallow, emo 
 tional, though sometimes obstinate natures which may 
 be easily turned, and she would continue to imagine that 
 she had quite forgiven, and really liked Ned, while 
 nothing occurred to lessen the esteem in which the young 
 lady was held by Carnew or Ordotte. 
 
 So Ned was triumphantly re-established in Rahanda 
 bed ; the guests fawned upon her, those who most slighted 
 her being most forward in their attentions; the servants 
 paid as much court to her as to Mrs. Doloran, and that 
 lady fairly lavished attentions upon her. Indeed, Ned 
 might be said to queen it in Rahandabed, and often she 
 was so happy, she questioned the reality of it all. Car- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 199 
 
 new was most devoted, lie rode with her, walked with her, 
 and was by her side constantly in the evenings. 
 
 She bore her honors with a sweet, modest dignity ; no 
 one could detect an iota of pride or triumph in her man 
 ner ; she was as gentle and simple and kind as in the old 
 days, even insisting upon giving something of her old at 
 tendance to Mrs. l)oloran, until Alan interposed. 
 
 u You are not a companion in that sense of the word 
 any longer," he said. 
 
 Sometimes Carnew yearned to ask about Mackay, for 
 every word of what Edna had once said to him seemed to 
 have been burned upon his brain ; but as often he re 
 frained from doing so. If she had been guilty of coquetry 
 with him, a coquetry which had even sent him to his 
 death, he did not, after all, want to know it, and if she 
 were not, he would not for worlds pain her by letting her 
 know that lie had ever entertained such a suspicion. So 
 he was silent on the subject, and she spoke only of the 
 past as it referred to Dyke and Meg and her mountain 
 home ; she never spoke of Mr. Edgar, nor of her life in 
 Weewald Place. It was such an unpleasant memory she 
 could not bear to revert to it, and Carnew, divining her 
 dislike to speak of it, would not intrude upon her silence 
 by a single question. 
 
 She had not received any letter from Edna since Car- 
 new s return from his visit to her father, so she felt that 
 she might with impunity refrain from writing to her 
 cousin. She was most reluctant to write, as her letter 
 would have to contain an account of her engagement, and 
 that might cause a pang to Edna. 
 
 The winter passed as never a winter since she was a 
 child had passed to Ned before, for her life was so happy. 
 Often, as the thought of Carnew s strong, true love 
 thrilled her with delight, she exclaimed to herself : 
 
 " I am so happy ; what have I done to deserve it ? " 
 
 It was only the calm before the storm. A cup so bitter 
 was to be ere long at her lips, that her worst enemies 
 might look on aghast while she drank it. 
 
I 
 
 200 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 In the second month of the spring Ned was to be 
 married ; a quiet ceremony performed in Rahandabed, 
 followed by a wedding breakfast, after which the young 
 couple were to take a brief trip to New York, Washing 
 ton, and a few other prominent cities. In deference to 
 Ids aunt, to whom Carnew was especially grateful for her 
 kind treatment of his betrothed, he had agreed to make 
 the trip thus short, but he intended to take his bride to 
 Europe the ensuing winter. 
 
 And Dyke and Meg must be at the wedding ; Ned. sent 
 the most loving letters to them, letters with affectionate 
 
 Iostscripts appended by Carnew., entreating them to gratify 
 er. But Meg was confined to bed from an attack of 
 rheumatism that the doctor said would render her unable 
 to travel for three months to come, and Dyke wrote in 
 his tender, loving way that lie could give no decided 
 answer yet. She did not dream that his indecision came 
 from the cowardice begotten of his love for her. He 
 doubted if his heart could bear to see her given to another ; 
 whether his very manhood would not forsake him at the 
 sight. He kissed her letter and put it away, but not with 
 the packet of her former letters ; those in some sense were 
 more precious, more his own. 
 
 It became incumbent upon Ned to write at last to 
 Edna, from whom she had not received a single line in all 
 those months, in order to apprise her of her approaching 
 wedding, and to write also to Mr. Edgar, which she did 
 in her kindly way, thanking him for all that he had done 
 for her, and asking him to forgive any annoyance or dis 
 pleasure she had ever caused him. 
 
 What was her amazement to receive from Edna the fol 
 lowing reply : 
 
 "MYDEARKST NED: Can you imagine anything 
 more singular? At the very instant I. received your 
 btter, I was about to write to you, to apprise you of my 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 201 
 
 approaching wedding. Only, I shall be married at an 
 earlier date, three weeks from to-morrow ; yours will be 
 three weeks later. My engagement has been very brief, 
 and the ceremony will be quiet and hurried. We are 
 going to Europe immediately after it, my husband and 
 I ; papa does not feel well enough to accompany us. But 
 all this time, I declare, I have not told you who is to be 
 the bridegroom. No less than our old friend, Mr. Brek- 
 bellew " 
 
 Ned could read no further, for a moment, from aston 
 ishment. Brekbellew, who had been the butt of Rahan- 
 dabed, he had only departed a month before ; whose 
 insipid conversation she had heard Edna frequently ridi 
 cule ; who had nothing to recommend him save his wealth, 
 and Edna surely had 110 need of that ; could it be possible 
 that she was about to give her heart and hand to that 
 man? And how had her father s consent been won to 
 such a union ? She resumed the letter, but it explained 
 nothing that so puzzled, and in some sense shocked her. 
 It only said : 
 
 " You know how devoted the poor fellow used to be 
 to me ; I felt I must reward him. As our wedding is to 
 be so quiet and hurried, I cannot invite you to be present 
 at it; and as we shall leave in such haste, there will be no 
 time to see you ; but I know, my dear Ned, that you will 
 give me your very best wishes, as I give you mine. 
 
 " Yours lovingly, EDNA." 
 
 A postscript stated that Mrs. Stafford had gone to Eng 
 land to make her permanent home there. 
 
 She also received an answer from Mr. Edgar, an 
 answer that chilled her to the very soul it was so coldly 
 courteous. Miss Edgar having chosen to remove herself 
 so completely from his authority or advice, he knew not 
 why she should deem it necessary to ask his forgiveness 
 for anything, or even to apprise him of her intended 
 change in life. There was not the most remote allusion 
 to his daughter s marriage, nor the slightest wish for 
 Ned s happiness. 
 
A FATAL, RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 She crushed the letter in her hand, and thrust it into 
 her pocket, with an uncontrollable feeling of anger and 
 disappointment. This cold, aggravating man might 
 surely, at such a time, have given her one kind word. 
 
 Edna s letter she showed to Carnew. lie read it 
 through without a word, and then he looked at her a 
 peculiarly amused and lingering look. For once, mas 
 culine wisdom had been greater than feminine astuteness ; 
 he divined, or imagined that he divined, the motives 
 which prompted Edna s hurried and ill-matched mar 
 riage -pique at her disappointment in securing a more 
 eligible offer, and ambition to be married before Ned 
 should be. But seeing that his guileless companion had 
 no such thoughts, he did not tel] her what his own were, 
 but returned the letter to her with a broader smile still, 
 and a hope that Edna would be happy. She was on the 
 point of showing him Mr. Edgar s letter also, but she re 
 frained, thinking that, if she did, it would make Carnew 
 dislike him ; and since she owed her education and her 
 home, for a part of her life, to the gentleman, she could 
 not bear, in common gratitude, to diminish any friend 
 ship he might have won. 
 
 That same afternoon, Macgilivray brought a message 
 to her from Josephine. 
 
 She s scarcely a there," said the honest, sympathizing 
 fellow, his expressive Scotch way of putting that her mind 
 was not right, " an the doctor says she ll dinna last till 
 morning. She s sair tribbled, Miss Ned, an she s ca d 
 mony times for you. Perhaps you wad nae min gang to 
 the pair creature." 
 
 Of course, Ned did not mind ; she even gave up her 
 afternoon ride with Alan, leaving a Little note of excuse 
 for him lest, did she tell him, he might object to her 
 visiting Josephine just then. He had already demurred 
 at the frequency of her visits to the girl, signifying his 
 readiness to provide for the unfortunate creature in every 
 other way than in allowing her any of the society of his in 
 tended. He could not bear the thought of his pure, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 20$ 
 
 lovely betrothed sitting at the bedside of that erring 
 woman. But the erring woman was soothed and bene 
 fited by Ned s visit to such a degree that the old Scotch 
 wife, with whom she stayed, regarded the young lady as 
 little less than an angel ; and Ned s own tender charity 
 disposed her to minister, in whatever way she could, to 
 the comfort of Josephine, even to the verge of offending 
 Carnew. But, generally her plea for the poor girl won 
 him, and lie so far yielded as not to forbid her visits. 
 
 The secret that the poor French girl so well kept, not 
 even telling it to Ned, preyed upon her with bitter effect. 
 It made her ill, and sent her to her bed before even the 
 birth of her child. For days she lay there, silent and 
 uncomplaining, until the strain went to her brain, and she 
 was "not a there," as Macgilivray had expressed it. 
 Then she called for "Mademoiselle" Ned; it was the 
 one name upon her lips ail that night and all the next 
 morning, and the Scotcli wife watched for Macgilivray 
 when he drove to the village, which he did every day, 
 either with or for guests, in order to ask him to tell the 
 young lady. 
 
 When Ned arrived at the little cottage, she found all 
 in commotion. Josephine s baby had been born two 
 hours before, but still-born, and the young mother would 
 hardly live through the night, the doctor said. But she 
 was quite herself, with a consciousness of and a resigna 
 tion to her circumstances almost touching. She asked 
 for " Mademoiselle," begging that she might be sent for ; 
 and when informed that Macgilivray had promised to 
 tell the young lady, tears of gladness and relief came 
 into her eyes. When Ned came, she extended botli of 
 her thin hands to greet her : 
 
 " The doctor has told me that I will not live," she said, 
 " and I would be so glad, only for my poor little sister 
 
 she has no one " tears prevented her speaking, and she 
 
 covered her face with her hands and let her tears have 
 their way through her wan white fingers. 
 
 " I shall see to her," said Ned, " always see to her ; 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 only yesterday Mr. Carnew paid her school bill a year in 
 advance, and he has told the managers of the institute to 
 draw upon him for all her expenses." 
 
 " O mademoiselle, how can I thank you ? What have 
 you not done for me ; you are an angel. If the blessing 
 of a poor, sinful creature like me can be of any use, you 
 have it ; but God will bless you." 
 
 She covered Ned s hands with kisses, and shed her 
 happy tears upon them. 
 
 " They told you about my baby," sin resumed, "didn t 
 they ? And how glad I am that it is (load ; for, poor little 
 one, what would it do ? Draw your chair closer, made 
 moiselle, for I want to say something very secret. I want 
 to tell you, you who have been so good to me, and now 
 that I am dying, who the father of my child is ; but you 
 must promise me not to tell any one, for I love him, and I 
 want to show my love of him by going down to my grave 
 without giving his name to any but you. It is " with 
 a sort of gasp in uttering the words, " Harry Brekbel- 
 lew. " 
 
 Ned gave a violent start, and for a moment she became 
 as pale as the poor sick creature beneath her. 
 
 " You are surprised, mademoiselle ; you did not dream 
 of him, for he never looked at me before anybody ; but 
 we met many times when there was no one to see, and 
 he told me how he loved me from the first time I came 
 to the house ; and I grew to love him, until now, made 
 moiselle, even now, I love him so much I cannot say one 
 word against him." 
 
 " But he has wronged you so," burst from Ned ; " he 
 has deserted you when it was his duty to marry you." 
 
 " I shall be soon gone, mademoiselle, and as my child is 
 dead it makes no difference." 
 
 " But it will be my duty to speak of this," said Ned, 
 her face very pale still. 
 
 " Oh, no, mademoiselle !" and she tried to raise herself 
 in the bed in order to make her entreaty more effectual, 
 " I could not die if his name were told." 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 205 
 
 There was but one course for Ned to pursue ; to tell the 
 dying girl that Breakbellew was about to be married, and 
 that it would be criminal not to reveal his character to 
 the lady he would marry. Tier very soul shrank from 
 the task, for she feared the shock it would give to her 
 who " loved too well, but it was the only way to win 
 her consent to the revelation of his name. And in tlio 
 interest of justice, for the sake of Edna, whom she imag 
 ined as having full trust, at least in Brekbellew s upright 
 character, it seemed to be her duty to do so. She stooped 
 down and told it as gently as she could. 
 
 But all her gentleness did not temper the shock. Jose 
 phine could bear his heartless desertion in her hour of 
 trouble, his cruel forgetfulness, for she was still 
 buoyed with the hope that her devotion to him in the 
 matter of not revealing his name would touch him, 
 and that her very death would cause him to have 
 a tender memory of her ; but to hear that he was about 
 to marry, proved so conclusively that he no longer cared 
 in the least for her ; indeed, that he had flung away all 
 recollection of her, that every vestige of the slender hope 
 that had animated her, fled. 
 
 " O mademoiselle ! " she said, taking in her hot grasp 
 both of Ned s hands, " that is the last pain. You can tell 
 the lady his name, for my heart has broken now." 
 
 It seemed so, for relinquishing Ned s hands she turned 
 her face to the wall with a great sigh, and she did not 
 speak again. The young lady waited a long time, and the 
 old Scotch wife came in and leaned over her. 
 
 " She s amaist awa ," she said, nodding her head tit 
 Ned. " She ll noo bide till night." 
 
 Her words came true, for, even as she spoke, there wai 
 a motion of the head on the pillow, a swift, upward open 
 ing of the eyes fora second, a gasp, and all was over. 
 
206 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Ned was so pained and distressed, and even shocked 
 by all the circumstances attending the death of Joseph 
 ine, that she could scarcely hide her feelings from Carnew. 
 lie saw that she was pale and troubled, and at times 
 most unwontedly pre-occupied, upon all of which he ral 
 lied her, and said that he was glad the French girl was 
 out of the way, since, having such an effect upon Ned, 
 what would it be if she had continued to live ; and he 
 hoped his betrothed would not happen upon any more 
 cases of the kind. He liked sisters of charity, but not 
 exactly in his own family ; and then he laughed and made 
 wry faces at Ned and his aunt, who had heard nothing of 
 the young lady s good offices in behalf of Josephine until 
 ihe death of the girl, when she exclaimed : 
 
 " Gracious, Ned ! how could you ? Don t you know 
 you might injure your own reputation by going near such 
 a creature ? I wouldn t have her a minute in Rahandabed 
 after what had occurred." 
 
 And Mrs. Doloran s nose went up to a much higher an 
 gle than its usual elevation. 
 
 Ned wrote to Edna, never doubting that she would 
 break off her engagement immediately, when she learned 
 the baseness of Brekbellew. But what was her astonish 
 ment to receive in reply : 
 
 "My DEAREST NED: The circumstance you mention 
 is by no means so dreadful as your imagination pictures 
 it to be. Were you more acquainted witli the world, you 
 would know that it certainly was not sufficient to break 
 off an engagement of marriage. In us of the frailer sex, 
 virtue of the strictest kind is expected and demanded, 
 but in our lords and masters these dreadful things are 
 merely youthful indiscretions. So Mr. Brekbellew being 
 only guilty of a youthful indiscretion, it would be most 
 unjust for me to punish him as severely as you seem to 
 infer that I ought to do, and it would be most unwise 
 for me even to hint that I had heard of his folly. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE, 207 
 
 " Wishing you, my dearest Ned, a deeper wisdom in 
 the future, I remain, Yours, 
 
 " EDNA." 
 
 Ned was disgusted, and for once she fairly contemned 
 her cousin. Was the latter utterly devoid of heart that 
 she could write thus, when Ned had depicted in strong 
 est language the love, devotion, and suffering of the un 
 fortunate French girl and the heartlessness of Brekbel- 
 lew ? But it must be so, else how could she so easily 
 and so soon forget poor Mackay ? 
 
 In little less than three weeks all E-ahandabed received 
 the wedding cards of Mr. and Mrs. Brekbellew, and also 
 the announcement that they had gone immediately to 
 New York, thence to take passage for Europe. 
 
 u That beautiful girl," said Mrs. Doloran, " to marry 
 such a monkey ; but that just proves my theory about 
 women ; they re fools from the first to the last of them," 
 evidently forgetting that she was including in the same 
 category herself and Ned, for whom she now professed 
 such an ardent affection. 
 
 " And that stiff, unmannerly old father of hers," she 
 resumed ; " it s a wonder how his pride could ever be 
 reconciled to such a match why, he snubbed that fool 
 Brekbellew when lie was here." 
 
 And Alan and Ned wondered also, but they were too 
 much absorbed in the preparations making for their own 
 wedding to give the subject over-much thought. 
 
 Dyke wrote at the very last that he was not coming ; 
 and it was true that his business (he being the newest 
 partner in the firm) claimed very close attention, but he did 
 not say that he was glad it was so, for he felt now that he 
 could not witness unmoved the marriage of Ned. She 
 had written that he must give her away, that Alan said 
 so, and that that fact contributed so much to her happi 
 ness, all of which Dyke answered in the inimitably ten 
 der way so peculiarly his own a way that told so much, 
 arid yet that told nothing he would conceal. 
 
208 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Ned cried from disappointment when she received the 
 letter. Neither Meg nor Dyke to be at her wedding ! 
 All Rahandabed could not make up for their absence, and 
 Carnew coming upon her, still in tears, also read the let 
 ter. 
 
 " It is too bad," he said, sympathizing^ ; " but we 
 shall punish him, Ned. We shall stop long enough in 
 New York to have him call upon us, and if this driving 
 business of his won t even let him do that, we shall call 
 upon him, if necessary, at his business place." 
 
 " O Alan, how good you are ! I never thought of 
 that," looking at him with smiles and tears. 
 
 " Well, prove your gratitude by drying your eyes at 
 once, and permitting me to tell Ordotte that you will let 
 him give you away. lie is most anxious to have that 
 privileged position." 
 
 " Is lie, really \ " half interested and half amused. 
 
 " Why, yes ; he has been talking most mysteriously 
 about his right to do so, and if I were not familiar with 
 his strange innuendoes and strange insinuations, put forth 
 to excite my aunt s laughable curiosity, I would say he 
 knew some secret about you, Ned." 
 
 " No secret about me," she rejoined, laughing. " Every 
 thing plain as the day. I have had it from Meg a hun 
 dred times a poor little English waif in whom Mr. Ed 
 gar became interested because I happened to bear the 
 same name as his daughter, and he knew my parents ; 
 only for those fortunate facts, I might have grown up a 
 poor, neglected orphan." 
 
 Alan did not answer ; he loved her so well that lie 
 questioned nothing about her. She was the queen of his 
 heart, and he wanted no more. 
 
 The wedding morning arrived, and even the weather 
 seemed to have some nuptial design, for never had the 
 sun shone more brightly, nor the foliage about the 
 grounds of Rahandabed looked greener. The very birds 
 were carolling in such a way that they woke up Ned 
 even before it was time for her to arise. She could not 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 209 
 
 sleep again, however, and she rose, as it were, to " nurse 
 her joy." All night she had been in the little mountain 
 home, a child again, talking to the trees in her quaint, 
 childish language, with fond old Meg, and true, tender 
 Dyke about her ; and as she realized that all that was 
 entirely gone, that on to-day she was to pass a Rubicon 
 which would separate her forever from her maidenhood, 
 that never in all the years to come could she ever experi 
 ence any of her childhood s delights, burning tears started 
 from her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. Yet 
 she did not for a moment doubt her happiness. She 
 was only obeying the strange impulse of regret for 
 something lost which to strong natures comes most 
 forcibly in moments of greatest happiness, or perchance 
 it was an unconscious sympathy with Dyke, something 
 only to be explained on the principles of second-sight 
 and presentiments, for at that same hour, early though it 
 was but he had scarcely slept all night Dyke was read 
 ing her letters, reading them for the last time while she 
 was a maiden, he said to himself. 
 
 When Ned found the tears on her cheeks, she brushed 
 them away hurriedly, and then laughed as she did so, be 
 cause of her silly superstition, for she had read some 
 where that : 
 
 " The tears of a bride on her wedding morn, 
 Bring grief and neglect, and the finger of scorn." 
 
 Owing to Ordotte s frequent interposition j Mrs. Dolo- 
 ran s desire for vulgar display in the preparations for the 
 wedding had been kept decently subduod, though in the 
 matter of her own toilet she was provocative of mirth on 
 every side. 
 
 Never was a sweeter bride than Ned. Tier own exqui 
 site, modest taste had prevailed in the choice of a dress, 
 and as she entered the great state parlor where the cere 
 mony was to be "performed, and where the guests, and, in 
 the background, the servants were assembled, everybody 
 grew enthusiastic in admiration. She was leaning on the 
 
210 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 arm of Ordotte, and even his tawny face was somewhat 
 flushed as if with pride and delight. Carnew, to many 
 an envious heart in the assembly, never appeared so hand 
 some. Happiness had given to his cheeks a rich flush, 
 and to his earnest, dark eyes an exquisite sparkle. 
 
 The brief ceremony was over, and Ned was an Edgar 
 no longer, but Mrs. Carnew, wife of the richest and hand 
 somest man in C . But of those advantages she 
 never thought ; he was her love, tender and true, and in 
 that she rested, and had her treasure and her joy. The 
 pleasant wedding breakfast also was over quickly, and 
 then nothing remained but for the bride to put on her 
 travelling dress, and speed away with her husband from 
 Rahandabed. Mrs. Doloran hugged her very tight, and 
 kissed her again and again, and then she hugged Alan, 
 and kissed him, and after that she turned to Ordotte, and 
 in her excitement seemed about to subject him to the 
 same ordeal, only he, divining her intention, slipped out 
 of her reach. 
 
 Macgilivray, honest, delighted Macgilivray, drove them 
 to the station, and as he afterward expressed to his fellow- 
 help : 
 
 A bonnier bride ne er steppit." 
 
 Never having travelled, beyond her journey when a 
 child to the Pennsylvania School, thence to Barry town, 
 and afterward to Albany, the journey was a constant 
 source of delight to Ned, and to Carnew, who had tra 
 velled so much both in the old world and in the new, her 
 simple, unaffected enthusiasm was most refreshing. He 
 loved to watch her silently, as, with, the glimpses that she 
 caught of the pretty places along the river, the color rose 
 in her cheeks, and the sparkle came to her eyes. She 
 was hardly wearied when they reached New York, and 
 the thought of seeing Dyke seemed to imbue her with, 
 fresh spirits. 
 
 " I tliink, Ned," said Carnew the next morning, after an 
 elegantly appointed breakfast in their own apartment in 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 the Astor House at that time one of the leading hotels 
 in the city " that we shall call on Mr. Dutton. I am 
 afraid your impatience would never brook the delay of 
 sending to him to call upon us. So if you like, we shall 
 go immediately." 
 
 " Shall we ? " her wide eyes alight with pleasure. " How 
 very thoughtful and good you are, Alan ! " 
 
 " Am I? " He was standing near her, and he could 
 not resist the impulse to draw her to him and fold her in 
 his arms. 
 
 " My own," he murmured. Was it the spirit of proph 
 esy which occasionally, all unconscious to ourselves, comes 
 upon us, that impelled her to say almost as if another and 
 not she were speaking : 
 
 " Will the day ever come, Alan, that you will not find 
 it in your heart to call me that ? " 
 
 And he answered lirmly ; clasping her closely : 
 
 "Never!" 
 
 Neither dreamed of the black, cruel, horrid phantom 
 which was so soon to separate them. 
 
 Dyke, in the private office of his business house, in 
 consultation with the senior partner, was told some one 
 wished to see him. 
 
 " Let the party come in here," said the senior partner, 
 and he retired to a desk in a remote corner of the room. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Carnew appeared. It was Ned s plan to 
 send in no cards, in order to surprise Dyke, and never 
 was a surprise more effectual. Though knowing that their 
 wedding trip was to include New York, he never dreamed 
 of their visiting him, and now as lie looked at the lovely, 
 blushing, smiling bride, it seemed to be all a dream. But 
 she did not leave him in dreamland long. Forgetful of 
 everything but that the honest fellow whom she loved 
 with all a tender sister s warm affection stood before her, 
 she rushed to him, put her arms about his neck, and kissed 
 him heartily. Even the senior partner could not help 
 looking up, and wondering, and almost envying Dyke, for 
 Ned was so lovely. 
 
212 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Dyke was crimson up to the roots of his hair and down 
 to his shirt collar with surprise, delight, and a host of 
 emotions. Something even like moisture came into his 
 eyes, but he managed to conceal that and to avert a re 
 currence of it. 
 
 Ned drew him to Carnew, introducing : 
 
 " My husband ! " 
 
 with a naivete and pride that was charming, and Dyke 
 wrung Alan s hand and congratulated him in a voice that 
 to himself was unexpectedly steady. It was no use for 
 him to beg to be excused from giving the day to the 
 couple, for the senior partner, from his corner, overhear 
 ing some of Mrs. Carnew s entreaties, came forward, apol 
 ogizing for his intrusion, but saying that, having heard the 
 young lady s solicitations, he could no longer refrain from 
 adding his request to hers that Mr. Dutton would take 
 the day. Then followed introductions to the gentleman, 
 and Dyke finally was induced to go out with his friends. 
 
 What a happy day it was ! In the brotherly attention 
 which Carnew paid him and the sisterly affection of which 
 each moment he was the recipient from Ned, Dyke felt 
 the pain in his heart lulled, and when he saw how truly 
 happy was Ned, he rejoiced for her sake. With himself, 
 all his agony should not weigh a feather against her joy. 
 
 Then lie had some news for her. The relatives with 
 whom Meg lived in Albany were all going to Australia 
 promises of most lucrative employment being tendered to 
 them by friends already in that distant country. They 
 were going in June, and by that time Meg would be able 
 to travel, the doctor said, and Dyke intended to bring her 
 to the little mountain home, at least for the summer. 
 Meg was longing for it, and he himself was anxious to 
 ppend a few weeks there. The senior partner had told 
 him that he could be spared at that season of the year 
 for two months if necessary. 
 
 "Delightful !" said Ned; "and Alan and I shall visit 
 you there. I want him to see the mountain home of 
 my childhood," 
 
A FATAL EESEMBLANOE. 213 
 
 Dyke blushed a little. 
 
 " 1 don t know about the propriety of your making a 
 visit there now. Meg has dissuaded me from my desire 
 to make some improvements in the little place. She says 
 it would lose its charm for her if it were altered, and 
 that, as she is so old and scarcely expects to live a great 
 while longer, it will not be much for me to defer my 
 plan." 
 
 "And she is right, dear old Meg," responded Ned, 
 tears showing for a moment in her eyes. " I am glad 
 she requested that. For me, too, it would lose its charm 
 if you had it altered. 
 
 " But don t you see," said Dyke, " how little and how > T ^ 
 poor the accommodation is for you if you should visit it. 
 The married lady, Mrs. Carnew, will hardly, I think, be 
 content with what amply suited the little girl, Ned 
 Edgar." 
 
 And Dyke smiled. 
 
 "Mrs. Carnew will be just as amply suited," mimicked 
 Ned, " and as for Mr. Carnew, he has become so plebeian 
 since he married poor little Ned Edgar, that I believe he 
 could accommodate himself to a mud hut." 
 
 At which they all laughed, but immediately afterward 
 it was settled that some time in the ensuing summer the 
 young couple would visit Ned s mountain home. 
 
 That day ended, as all happy days do, far too quickly, 
 and Alan and Ned continued their bridal trip. 
 
 XL. 
 
 The happy couple were back in Tiahandabed, Ned flit 
 ting about in her handsome suite of apartments with the 
 delight of a bird, and Alan settling down to the life lie 
 loved, of his wife, his books, and his long romantic rides 
 about the country. Mrs. Doloran was most unusually 
 amiable ; some of the guests said that it was because she 
 had proposed to Ordotte, and that he had accepted her. 
 Whether such was the case, Ordotte was, if possible, more 
 
214: A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 attentive to her, and slie had become so much like ordi 
 nary women that she was now without a " companion," 
 having dismissed two who had succeeded Ned, and fur 
 ther declared she intended to continue without one ; more 
 than that, for a whole month she had not once broken 
 into a violent temper, so that Macgilvray said: 
 
 " The auld hornie must have heavy work elsewhere, 
 when he forgets me leddy so long." 
 
 The month of July came, and Dyke wrote that Meg 
 and he were in the little mountain home. He had gone 
 to Albany for her, made a stay of a few days while his 
 relatives were preparing for departure to Australia, and 
 now he was trying to live over again the old- happy times 
 when Ned was like a little sprite of the mountains. It 
 was his usual letter, bright, tender, cheerful, even in some 
 sense amusing, for he had the faculty of telling common 
 place incidents in a humorous way. Ned was so glad to 
 receive it, and so sorry that it came just as Alan had set 
 off on one of his long solitary rides, from which he would 
 not return until evening. She was eager to show it to 
 him, for he had only waited some such news, to prepare to 
 accompany her on a visit to the home of her childhood. 
 But she curbed her impatience, and flitted about the 
 numberless little pretty things a woman of leisure finds to 
 do, until it was time to go to her music. Alan wished 
 her to cultivate that, and his slightest desire was her law. 
 She had scarcely seated herself at the instrument, when a 
 servant summoned her to Mrs. Doloran s private parlor. 
 
 Wondering a little, for such a summons was most un 
 usual since she had ceased to be a "hired companion," 
 r:."! 10 left the piano, continuing to hum the air she had just 
 b jgun to play. She was so happy, that there was a strange 
 f jcling of wanting almost to hug the sunshine as it 
 straggled through the half-closed blinds of the veranda 
 y/hicli she passed on her way to Mrs. Doloran s apart 
 ments. There was no shade, no presentiment of how she 
 would leave that lady s presence. 
 
 When Ned entered the parlor, there were more persons 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 215 
 
 in it than the mistress of Rahandabed. There was a 
 middle-aged woman, evidently of the lower class, with a 
 little, plainly dressed, sleeping girl about a year old in her 
 arms, and beside her was a young, and well-dressed man. 
 Though, not good-looking, he would attract attention from 
 his set, determined features. They were all seated in the 
 centre of the room, and Mrs. Doloran was beside them, 
 sitting bolt upright, a position she assumed only when she 
 was excited, or angry. 
 
 Utterly unsuspicious of what awaited her, Ned came 
 smilingly forward, but the smile froze upon her lips, when 
 Mrs. Doloran, without moving a muscle of* her rigid face, 
 or inclining in the least, her stiff, erect form, pointed to 
 the babe in the woman s arms, and said loudly and sternlv : 
 "Mrs. Carnew, this child is said to be yours ; your child 
 by a private marriage with Richard Mackay, who com 
 mitted suicide some months ago upon these grounds." 
 
 Ned was bewildered ; the accusation was so sudden and 
 so outrageous, that the very emotions it called up as she 
 recovered her voice, made lier appear almost guilty. 
 
 " Such a charge, Mrs. Doloran, is too absurd even to be 
 answered ; if such be the purpose for which I have been 
 summoned, I must retire immediately." 
 
 And she turned to leave the room. 
 
 " Not so fast," said Mrs. Doloran rising, and hastening 
 to interpose her form between Ned and the door, " this is 
 something more than an absurd charge, as you will learn 
 before long. These people are armed with the most con 
 clusive proofs of your guilt, and, to leave no link wanting, 
 the minister who married you to Mr. Mackay, is to arrive 
 here to day. I used to suspect that you were a sort of 
 actress, Ned, but I never dreamed that you could have 
 gone to the length of discarding your own child." 
 
 " Yes, ma am," spoke up the woman with an unpleasant 
 boldness of voice, " this is the lady s child. She was con 
 fined in my house a year ago this month, and I d have 
 always kept the little thing, for I d grown to love it, but 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Mr. Dickson, here, who was the bosom friend, it seems, of 
 Mr. Mackay, come to me, and he says, says he : 
 
 " l It would be an injustice to the child, not to reveal its 
 parentage, especially as its mother was a lady, and had 
 made such a wealthy match, and 
 
 " How dare you ? " burst from Ned, no longer able to 
 control herself, "how dare you tell such an atrocious lie ? 
 I never saw you before in my life." 
 
 " These heroics are very fine," said Mrs. Doloran, who, 
 having heard the story of the strangers, had made up her 
 mind to believe it. Anything that promised a sensation, 
 even though it cruelly sacrificed some one, was hailed by 
 her, and friendships for her own sex were too weak and 
 fleeting to be permitted to stand in the way of an event 
 that promised excitement, or novelty. 
 
 " I repeat it," she continued with an aggravating sar 
 casm, as she saw Ned trembling from indignation, "these 
 heroics are very fine, but they carry no proof of your 
 innocence. "Why, this young man lias in his possession 
 letters of that unfortunate Mackay to him, in which you, 
 Ned Edgar, are constantly mentioned, as the object of his 
 love, and afterwards as his wife ! " 
 
 " It is true, Mrs. Carnew," said the young man rising, 
 but preserving a most respectful bearing, "I first met 
 Dick Mackay abroad, and we formed so great a friend 
 ship for each other that he made me his confidant, when 
 he became acquainted with you. He wrote to me fre 
 quently about you, and even sent to me a letter just before 
 his death, telling me that he contemplated suicide, because 
 though his wife, you did not return his love, but preferred 
 to him a Mr. Carnew, and asking me to see to his child, 
 for you, its mother, had discarded it. I could not get 
 away from London where I then resided, but as soon us 
 opportunity offered, I did so, and I hastened to this woman, 
 who informed me that for ten months she had received no 
 compensation for her care of the child, nor had any one 
 called to see it. 
 
 " I confess, Mrs. Carnew, that I was indignant, not at 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 217 
 
 the father, who, because of his long silence, I feared 
 had carried out his threat of death, but at the mother. I 
 made it my business to come here and make secret in 
 quiries. I found that poor Mackay had indeed committed 
 suicide, and on these very grounds, and that his wife had 
 unfeelingly married not a year after the event. That nerved 
 me anew. I returned to this woman s house, and brought 
 her and the babe back with me in order that the dead 
 might be in some measure avenged, and that justice might 
 be done to the innocent offspring. 
 
 " I have also written to the Reverend Mr. Hayman of 
 Rhinebeck, who Mackay told me performed the cere 
 mony, and he promised to meet me here to-day." 
 
 He had spoken very calmly but very firmly, and Ned 
 had listened with a sort of strange curiosity mingled with 
 her indignation. Before he had finished she understood 
 it all. It was Edna s story lie was telling, Edna who had 
 confided in Xed to the extent of revealing her secret mar 
 riage, but who had forborne to tell of the existence of her 
 child, and she answered with what calmness she could as 
 sume : 
 
 " You are entirely mistaken in supposing me to be the 
 w r ife of Mackay, or the mother of that babe. I am nei 
 ther, and I shall not longer remain to be insulted by such 
 an accusation. If you, Mrs. Doloran, will not protect me 
 from it, my husband will, when he returns. " And with 
 out even a second glance at the parties, she went from the 
 room. 
 
 But, in her own apartment, when she sat down to think 
 calmly of what had occurred, there came to her for the 
 first time since she had been so dreadfully accused, the 
 remembrance of her oath to Edna. A sudden pain shot 
 through her temples, and she could almost feel the blood 
 receding from her face. Then, also, came before her the 
 note delivered to her on the lawn, and addressed to Ned 
 Edgar; through her own forgetf illness to demand it, she 
 had never received any explanation of why her diminu 
 tive had been used. 
 
218 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Had Edna, fearing some such exposure as this, deliber 
 ately planned to have her swear ? Was that a part also, 
 of Edna s malicious deception, in order to save herself ? 
 The room swam about her with the thought, and for a 
 moment it seemed as if she were going round with it. 
 Though seated, she clutched the sides of her chair to save 
 herself from falling. If only Alan would come ! But if 
 he were there, she could not tell him what she knew 
 she could only deny the accusation ; but he, knowing and 
 loving her as he did, would not for a moment credit the 
 charge. There was comfort in that thought. But how 
 should she prove her innocence to Mrs. Doloran, who evi 
 dently had given entire ear to the wretched story ? And 
 then she remembered what had been said about the Rev. 
 Mr. Hay man coming that very day to Rahandabed. He 
 would disprove the charge instantly, for she had never 
 seen the gentleman. 
 
 Oh ! for the day to pass, that Alan might come ! And 
 she spent the hours, never leaving her own apartments, 
 in a restless, wretched manner. The fact that she so 
 secluded herself was construed by Mrs. Doloran into a 
 fresh proof of her guilt, and she appealed to Ordotte to 
 second her opinion ; but lie shrugged his shoulders and 
 said Mrs. Carnew should be granted at least the justice of 
 being supposed innocent until fully proved to be guilty, 
 upon which the lady looked angry, and said that Ordotte 
 was entirely too partial to Mrs. Carnew. 
 
 Mr. Diekson and his companions were made especial 
 proteges of Mrs. Doloran. One would think they had 
 brought her news of some treasure, so grateful, so kind, 
 and so considerate of their comfort was she. She insisted 
 that Rahandabed must be their home until the dreadful 
 thing was settled ; and she lent a greedy ear to all the con 
 versation of Mrs. Bunmer, the woman who accompanied 
 Mr. Dickson. He was evidently sincere and earnest in 
 his undertaking, actuated by the motives that he had 
 mentioned : love for his dead friend, and a desire to see jus 
 tice done to the neglected offspring ; but the woman 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 219 
 
 evinced a disgusting garrulity a readiness to tell, even to 
 the very servants with whom she came in contact, all 
 about Mrs. Carnew s neglect of her own child. So the 
 dreadful story was known in all Eahandabed before Car- 
 new returned, and it was believed (by some of those who 
 had envied Ned, gladly believed) by all except two per 
 sons, Ordotte and Macgilivray. The latter, in his dry, 
 honest Scotch way, scouted it at once, and had a war of 
 words with more than one of his fellow-help about it. 
 
 Alan returned, but a watch had been kept for him, and 
 before he could get to his wife, he was summoned to meet 
 Dickson. Mrs. Doloran had a vein of shrewdness in her 
 nature. With the tact of her sex, she divined that it was 
 better to let Carnew and Dickson have an uninterrupted 
 private interview before she introduced the woman, Bun- 
 rner. Dickson s quiet, gentlemanly, earnest manner 
 would carry surer and quicker conviction to her nephew 
 than to meet him first with the story of the garrulous, un 
 prepossessing female. And she was right. After Car- 
 new had recovered from the first sort of dazed shock that 
 Dicksoii s story gave him, he actually found himself with 
 a forced calmness, reading carefully every one of the let 
 ters which the gentleman produced. 
 
 There were nearly a dozen of them, none of them very 
 long, but all well written, both as to composition and pen 
 manship, and tilled with accounts of the writer s affection 
 for Ned Edgar. She was never spoken of as Edna, and 
 was even referred to as, not the daughter of Mr. Edgar, 
 but as one whom his bounty supported, and whom lie 
 loved as an adopted child. He came to the last letter, 
 the letter which announced his contemplation of suicide ; 
 that ran : 
 
 " Do not censure me, friend of my soul, for doing that 
 which wiser and better men in harrowing circumstances 
 have done before me. I can endure my life no longer. 
 Ned will never acknowledge our secret marriage ; she will 
 never consent to be known as the wife of a gardener s son. 
 She is here in a place called Rahandabed.; hired conrpan- 
 
220 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 ion to a wealthy lady, who has a handsome and wealthy 
 nephew. She says she was there all the time I supposed 
 her to be in Weewald Place, and during which time 1 
 was endeavoring to earn a living in New York, and, in 
 accordance with her request, had refrained from writing 
 to her. That she obtained permission to go to New 
 York, where our child was born, and then that she re 
 turned here. I followed her in secret, and by hiding 
 myself upon the grounds, I managed to see her. 
 
 " You wonder why I so deferred, to her ; why I did not 
 assert my rights and remove her from temptation. O 
 my friend, if you have ever loved as I have done, you 
 will understand, and pity, and forgive me. I loved Ned 
 so madly that I could not lift my linger against the light 
 est wish of hers ; and further, what means have I to sup 
 port her what kind of a home could I provide for her 
 compared to the one she has now ? I saw her, as I told 
 you, and I suppose in my desperation I spoke wildly. 
 I accused her of being willing to violate every law, of 
 being ready to accept the attentions of this handsome, 
 wealthy Carnew. She looked, grave at that, and an 
 swered that Mr. Carnew too rarely noticed her for me 
 to have any jealousy. O Walter, how I loved her ; I 
 felt, as I looked at her, as we both stood in the shadow 
 of an old deserted mill, witli the darkness of the evening- 
 closing about us, that I could make any sacrifice, after 
 all, for her happiness. 
 
 " We were startled by the sound of approaching steps, 
 and she fled to Ilahandabed, while I hurried in an op 
 posite direction. 
 
 " That night my resolution was made. She had said 
 to me that no love was great which would not make every 
 sacrifice. I would never be in circumstances to rescue 
 her from the life of a dependent, and my existence would 
 be a bar to her marriage to a better man. So I would 
 make for her the greatest sacrifice it was in my power to 
 make. I would end my life. I know not if she will 
 see to our child ; I sometimes think that she has as little 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE 221 
 
 love for it as she has for me ; but, in any case, Walter, 
 you will see to it. You have means, and you, I feel, will 
 do your poor dead friend this service. 
 
 " P. S. They are having some sort of a fete in the 
 grounds of Rahandabed, and I have dispatched a laborer, 
 whom I have found on the road, with a note to ( Miss Ned 
 Edgar. He is to inquire for her among the gay com 
 pany which, from my hiding-place, I can see assembled 
 upon the grounds, but he is not to wait for an answer. I 
 wonder, when she reads: Within an hour the last and 
 greatest sacrifice I can make shall be completed. Can 
 any love demand more ? if she will guess what it is ; if 
 she will shudder, if she will pity, if she will love me. 
 And to-morrow, when they find my body cold and stark, 
 will any thrill of compassion run through her frame, will 
 any of her old regard for me come back? But what is 
 the odds ? I shall only have died for a woman s sake ! 
 
 " Good-by, Walter, old friend. Would that my heart 
 held only its love for you. 
 
 " Yours, in death, 
 
 "RICHARD MACEAY." 
 
 Carnew looked up, and across at his companion with 
 eyes that fairly blazed, and a face so pale and rigid, that 
 Dickson shrank from it. As the whole life of a person 
 drowning is said to pass in instantaneous, but most dis 
 tinct view, before the eyes that are closing forever, so every 
 iota concerning Ned seemed to come instantaneously be 
 fore Carnew. The note that so strangely had been given 
 to her on the afternoon of Mr. Edgar s arrival at Ralian- 
 dabed, and which evidently w T as the note referred to in. 
 Mackay s letter. Her two months absence a year ago, 
 during which she said she had been ill, and her sick ap 
 pearance on her return fully corroborating her statement, 
 but, O God! how all these facts substantiated the 
 wretched charge against her. All that Edna had told 
 him regarding Ned and Mackay rushed to him ; Ned s 
 appearance and evident illness just after the identity of 
 
222 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 the suicide had been proclaimed, all his old doubts and 
 thoughts about her, even her very remark in the hotel in 
 New York, * would the day ever come, in which he w r ould 
 find it in his heart not to call her his own, all came to 
 him with a tantalizing minuteness that seemed fairly 
 devilish. He rose, saying with a voice that had under 
 gone as great a change as his face had done : 
 
 " I shall take these letters for the present." 
 
 Dickson did not object, and Carnew went out of the 
 room, without expressing any wish to see Mrs. Bunmer. 
 But he was met by his aunt. 
 
 " How has Mr. Dickson s account affected you ? " she 
 asked coldly, her eyes fairly glittering. 
 
 He did not answer her, but only pushed by her as if 
 he had not heard her question. But she opposed his 
 further progress. 
 
 "Are you not going to see this woman, Bunmer? 
 And Mr. Hayman has arrived ; he is waiting in the par 
 lor for you." 
 
 Mrs. Doloran was in her most enjoyable element ; not 
 that, really from a spirit of viciousness, she wished to see 
 Ned. unhappy and disgraced, but because with childish 
 credulousness, and that fickle disposition that formed such 
 prominent traits in her shallow nature, she believed Ned 
 to be fully guilty, and she disliked and despised her ac 
 cordingly. She would show her as little mercy as she 
 had shown the French girl. And, with characteristic 
 selfishness, no thought of her nephew moved her to pity. 
 Did he suffer, it would only be a little variety in his life, 
 and something which he merited for having, against her 
 wishes, married only a " companion." So there was no 
 sympathy in her face and certainly none in her voice. 
 
 Alan put her aside again, and said in the same changed 
 tones which he had used to Dickson : 
 
 " I am going. to Ned." 
 
 Impatient, restless, fevered Ned ! She had heard that 
 Alan had returned. Her own maid had informed her, 
 having heard it, when she went to tea, from the gossip- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 82t5 
 
 loving, watchful servants who knew tliat Mr. Carnew s re 
 turn was looked for with great eagerness by Mrs. Doloran. 
 And Ned wondered why he did not, according to his 
 wont, come immediately to her. She never dreamed that 
 he would see any of the strangers first ; and, as for the 
 tenth time she opened the door of her parlor to listen for 
 his step along the corridor, her maid, who seemed to di 
 vine the cause of the anxiety, said respectfully : 
 
 " I heard one of the help say at the tea-table, that Mr. 
 Carnew was talking to Mr. Dickson ; that they were talk 
 ing together a long time." 
 
 " You may go to your own room, Jane," said Mrs. Car- 
 new coldly. " I shall ring when I want you." 
 
 So the wretched story had become servants talk, since 
 they knew the name of the strange gentleman, and that 
 he was closeted with Carnew, and instead of coming to 
 her, her husband had chosen to listen to the stranger s 
 accusation. Pale before, she became deathly then, and 
 her head throbbed as if it would burst ; but at that mo 
 ment Alan s step sounded in the corridor, and in another 
 instant he was standing before her. She saw his face, 
 and it struck a sort of terror to her heart ; but she ex 
 tended her arms to him, and she cried with an agonized 
 entreaty : 
 
 " O Alan ! my husband ! " 
 
 He did riot move ; he did not even lift a finger to re 
 spond t) her motion. He only looked as if he were 
 frozen into that erect position, and as if his eyes were two 
 burning orbs, looking over a blank of ice beneath them. 
 Still she kept her arms extended, and she moved towards 
 him, for it could not be that he, her husband, doubted 
 her ; but when she was so close that she might have 
 thrown her grasp about him, as if she, too, had become 
 suddenly frozen by the icy spell which seemed to bind 
 him, her hands dropped to her sides, and she tottered 
 back. He appeared to recover some volition then ; for 
 he approached her, and in that same altered voice, which 
 
224 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 seemed too much altered ever to give place to his own 
 again, he said : 
 
 "Ned!" 
 
 At the sound of her name pronounced in that manner, 
 a manner which was further horrible proof that her hus 
 band believed the wretched story, something of her old 
 spirit came back; the old, sudden, flaring temper that had 
 been wont to bring such trouble upon her childhood. 
 She drew herself up, and while the color rushed into her 
 cheeks, and even reddened her brow and neck, she an 
 swered : 
 
 " What would you say to me, if, during your absence, 
 I listened to, and believed some miserable accusation 
 against you f If I gave the traducers full ear, before even- 
 I asked one question of you ? And this is what you have 
 done to me, your wife ! " 
 
 How beautiful and noble she looked as she stood gaz 
 ing into his very eyes fearlessly and frankly, and how 
 marked was her resemblance to Edna. To Carnew it had 
 never seemed so great before. And how confirmatory of 
 her innocence was her appearance. Guilt could never 
 wear the expression that her face wore unless, indeed, 
 she was a consummate actress. 
 
 He did not speak again, but led her by the arm to an 
 inner room, then, placing a chair for her beside a little 
 centre-table, he opened the bundle of Mackay s letters ; 
 one by one, beginning in order with them according to 
 their dates, he opened them and placed them before her, 
 and bade her read. She obeyed, growing like one in a 
 ghastly nightmare as she proceeded, and he, sitting oppo 
 site, watched the varying expressions of her face. 
 
 Had Edna deliberately palmed herself upon Mackay as 
 Ned, and as the latter remembered the life at Weewald 
 Place, she felt that it would not have been a difficult mat 
 ter. None of the Mackay family had sufficient inter 
 course with any one in Mr. Edgar s house to ascertain the 
 truth. Edna could easily, for purposes of her own, have 
 pretended to her lover that she was riot tho Edna Edgar 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 225 
 
 who was Mr. Edgar s daughter, and the heiress of Wee- 
 wald Place. With equal ease she could have gone further, 
 as she evidently had done, and deceived her lover to the 
 extent of making him believe that it was she who had 
 gone to Rahandabed to earn her living ; but for what 
 purpose had Miss Edgar told so many malicious lies ? If 
 to conceal her own imprudent love, surely there were 
 other ways and means than laying her guilt upon Ned s 
 shoulders. When she came to the last letter, the letter 
 that spoke of the note that had been delivered to Miss 
 Ned Edgar on the grounds of Rahandabed, and of which 
 she had first forgotten, and then neglected to demand any 
 explanation, Ned gave a cry a cry forced from her by 
 the remembrance of that note which had been intended 
 for Edna but given to her. She pushed the letters from 
 her and rose to her feet. In that moment as she looked 
 down at the mass of cruel lies, and then, as she looked 
 across at the white, rigid face with its eyes burning into 
 her own, for the first time in her whole life tha.t she ever 
 hated anybody, she hated Edna ; and yet her oath bound 
 her from saying a word of the truth, and Edna was be 
 yond reach of any entreaty to undo the terrible wrong. 
 With these feelings struggling in her bosom, she crossed 
 to her husband ; she took his cold hands in hers, she 
 knelt at his feet, and looking up into his eyes, said in 
 tones that, from their earnestness and their agony, seemed 
 to be irresistibly convincing : 
 
 " Alan, as God is in heaven, I am innocent of this hor 
 rible charge. Richard Mackay w r as never my lever, never 
 my husband. Oh ! that I should even have to deny such 
 as this to you. I thought your love was such that no 
 doubt could ever cross it." 
 
 He raised her up, almost with his wonted tenderness, 
 to his knee, and supported her there ; but still he did 
 not speak. His heart was yet too much torn with doubt 
 and agony to allow him any voice. But his action had 
 opened the fiood gates of her heart, and she clasped him 
 
226 A FATAL KESEMBLAJSTCE, 
 
 closely, and cried upon his bosom with the abandon of a 
 child/ 
 
 Some one knocked for entrance at the door of the outer 
 room. Carnew put his wife down, and answered it. It 
 was a message from Mrs. Doloran to the effect that Mr. 
 Hay man was waiting, and as he was obliged to return up 
 the river some miles that night, it would oblige him if 
 Mr. Carnew would see him at once. 
 
 Ned also heard the message, the latter not being de 
 livered in a very subdued key, and when Alan returned 
 to her, her tears were wiped away, and she confronted 
 him with something like a smile. 
 
 " I heard the message, Alan, and it has restored me. 
 Let us go to this Mr. I layman immediately, and lie will 
 disprove this horrible story ; he will know at once that it 
 was not /he married to Mackay." 
 
 She was so eager that it was she who rather led him 
 along to Mrs. Doloran s private parlor ; and she was so 
 confident, and even so happy, feeling that convincing 
 proof of her innocence was so near, that she was strong 
 and brave, and smiling, and almost entirely her own old 
 self. 
 
 Mr. Dickson was in the private parlor, and Mr. I lay 
 man. The woman Bunmer and the baby were in an 
 ante-chamber, ready for instant production on being re 
 quired. Mr. Haymaiiwas a delicate-looking little gentle 
 man, with very fair whiskers and a very weak, strangle 1 
 sort of voice, as if something within him was perpetually 
 struggling with his vocal organs. 
 
 He rose, and Mr. Dickson rose, as Mr. and Mrs. Oar- 
 new entered, but Mrs. Doloran remained seated in her 
 most severe attitude. On came Ned clasping her hus 
 band s arm very tight, but smiling and looking with all 
 the candor and innocence of a child. 
 
 Dickson had been instructed by Mrs. Doloran to intro 
 duce the minister ; probably because she wanted to de 
 vote her whole attention to watching the effect of the in 
 troduction upon Ned. The young man performed his part 
 
A FATAL EKSEMBLANCti. 27 
 
 respectfully, and even gracefully, and then the Reverend 
 Mr. Hayman said in his strangled voice, as he bowed to 
 Mrs. Carnew: 
 
 " I remember distinctly the pleasure of meeting you 
 before ; it was on the occasion of your private marriage 
 to a Richard Mackay, on the evening of the twenty-ninth 
 of August, now almost two years ago. I remember it so 
 distinctly, because both you and the young gentleman 
 seemed very much flurried, and you were even married 
 with your veil down. When you went into the vestry to 
 sign your names, and I remarked upon the strangeness of 
 such a name as Ned for a lady, you threw aside your veil 
 for an instant, as if in f orgetf ulness, and I recognize now, 
 only possibly somewhat more mature looking, the face 
 that 1 saw then. Further, I ventured to inquire if the 
 lady was any relative of the wealthy Mr. Edgar of Barry- 
 town, and I was told that she wa,s an inmate for the pres 
 ent, of his home, and supported by his bounty, for whicli 
 reason it would be most imprudent to make her marriage 
 known, and I was asked to keep my counsel about it. I 
 promised to do so, and kept the promise until Mr. Dick- 
 son s letter reached me informing me what urgent reasons 
 there were for breaking my pledge and begging me to 
 come here." 
 
 All this he said, looking straight at Ned, whose smile 
 vanished, but whose spirit rose at the very audacity of the 
 charge. 
 
 " You are entirely mistaken," she said, her voice and 
 her lips quivering, " I never saw you before in all my 
 life." 
 
 A prolonged and derisive " oh " from Mrs. Doloran 
 followed Ned s answer, w T hile the minister for an instant 
 seemed slightly nonplussed by the firmness and even 
 hardly concealed indignation of Ned s reply. But he 
 returned to the charge, even putting a little ministerial 
 sterness into his accents : 
 
 " I regret exceedingly, Mrs. Carnew, to be obliged to 
 repeat my statement: you are the lady whom I married 
 
228 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 to Richard Mackay on the evening of the twenty-ninth 
 of August, now nearly two years ago." 
 
 " Can you swear to that ? " asked Carnew leaning for 
 ward, and speaking still in his changed voice. 
 
 " I can," returned the minister. 
 
 " Then you would swear to a lie," burst from Ned, the 
 indignant tears showing in her eyes. 
 
 " Heroics," said Mrs. Doloraii sarcastically from her 
 chair. 
 
 Alan turned to his wife ; she had never relaxed her 
 grasp upon his arm, and now her hold was so tight, it 
 seemed as if her fingers were a vise. God help her! The 
 anchor to which she clung, her husband s trust in her, was 
 fast slipping away ; she read it fully at last in his eyes, as 
 he uttered but one word : " Come ! " and then he turned 
 with her to the door. Mrs. Doloran stirred herself : 
 
 " Alan, you have not seen Mrs. Bunmer, nor the child." 
 
 He waived her back with a sternness that even she 
 could not oppose, and he went on silently with Ned to 
 their own apartments, to the inner room which they had 
 left but a little while before. There, he withdrew him 
 self from her grasp, and stood before her. For one 
 moment his face was white, and stern, and rigid, as it had 
 been in his aunt s parlor ; but the next, all the agony of 
 his soul broke into it, and, with a cry that pierced like a 
 sword the heart of her who heard it, he threw himself into 
 a chair, and covering his face with Ids hands, sat bowed 
 and broken-looking, as if old age had suddenly overtaken 
 him. 
 
 She flew to his side, she took his head in her arms, and 
 she dropped her own burning tears upon it. 
 
 " O Ned ! " he said at last, " why deceive me so ? Why 
 not have told me before our marriage that you were a 
 widow ? There was no crime in your having married two 
 years ago, and I would have loved you the same, for I 
 loved you so well, Ned, and I would have provided for 
 your child." 
 
 "Alan! my husband ! lam innocent of all this oh! 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 229 
 
 if I could only tell you, but I am bound by an oath, by a 
 solemn oath." 
 
 " What oath ? " looking at her with eyes that seemed 
 to be burned back into his head. 
 
 "I cannot tell you. I am so bound, I cannot speak; 
 but, if I could, O Alan ! then you would know how I am 
 wronged." 
 
 " But what oath caii disprove the minister s readiness to 
 swear that he performed the ceremony for you ? What 
 oath can give the lie to these convincing letters of the un 
 fortunate Mackay ? What oath can prevent the linking of 
 your own actions into overwhelming proof against you ? 
 You obtained my aunt s permission to visit your friends 
 you were absent at the very time that the child was born 
 you overstayed your time because, according to your 
 statement on your return, you had been ill, and your 
 feeble appearance when you did return, confirmed your 
 story. 
 
 " O Ned ! do not longer keep up the part you have as 
 sumed. Your duplicity now is breaking my heart more 
 than all that has gone before." 
 
 She clung to his knees again, and answered with a sort 
 of piteous horror : 
 
 " I was in Albany, while I was away from your aunt ; 
 m Albany with Meg, and Meg s relatives, and I was sick 
 with a fever caught there. They can tell yon ; they can 
 all prove what I say," but even as she spoke, there 
 flashed, in a sort of sickening way through her mind, that 
 Meg s relatives had gone to Australia, " and Mr. Hay- 
 man may confound me with some one who resembles me." 
 
 She seemed to speak with the energy of despair, and 
 only that her sobs choked her, she would have continued. 
 
 But Alan, though his heart and his love pleaded for her, 
 could not believe her. Mackay s letters were such over 
 whelming proof ; then, she had not once written while on 
 her reputed visit to Albany, another suspicious fact. He 
 mentioned it. 
 
 " Because I was taken ill so soon after reaching there," 
 
230 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 she replied between her sobs, " and when I recovered I 
 was deemed too weak to do so, and told that I could make 
 all explanations when I returned." 
 
 " But some one could have written for you," lie per 
 sisted. 
 
 " O Alan ! can t you understand ? They were all more 
 or less illiterate people, and I did not have the heart to 
 ask any of them to undertake the task of writing to a lady 
 like Mrs. Doloran." 
 
 " But the minister, Ned ; how could lie mistake you for 
 another ? " 
 
 "I don t know; such things have happened I have 
 read of them. O Alan ! if I could only tell you, but my 
 oath, my oath." 
 
 Her face was buried on his knee, and she was sobbing 
 passionately. 
 
 He looked down at her ; down at the lovely head with 
 its loosely coiled mass of soft, dark hair ; down at the 
 slight, willowy, quivering form, and he thought of her re 
 semblance to Edna, of her own words, uttered a moment 
 ago, " Mr. Hay man may confound me witli some one who 
 resembles me," but, in a moment lie rejected as absurd the 
 suspicion, the half hope which had come to him. The re 
 semblance between the two girls, while it was certainly 
 singularly marked, did not go to the extent of making 
 their faces exactly alike ; and the reverend gentleman had 
 stated distinctly that he saw Ned s face. Also, it was im 
 possible that Mackay could be so deceived : no ; Carnew 
 was certain, much as he tried to struggle against it, that 
 his wife was guilty ; there was even stealing upon him a 
 horrible conviction that Ned s friends in Albany, if, indeed, 
 she had any there, knew her secret, and would perjure 
 themselves to save her ; that this mysterious oath of which 
 she spoke was only a subterfuge to explain her position ; 
 in short, that she had been playing a part ever since she 
 came to Rahandabed, that she was acting now, and that 
 her present grief was only a part of her clever role. 
 
 He stood up, and partly shook her from him \ in a 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 231 
 
 helpless, suppliant way, she still endeavored to cling, but 
 he stooped, unwound her hands, and went from her ; went 
 to his own room, and locked himself in. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Ned dragged herself up also, and almost fell into the 
 chair her husband had vacated. What should she do ? Her 
 brain seemed too much on fire to think, and her temples 
 throbbed so violently, it was a relief to hold them. To 
 whom should she go ? How should she act ? Again and 
 again she asked these questions of herself in a senseless 
 sort of way, much as a demented person might inco 
 herently repeat a certain form of words : but at length, 
 when more than an hour had passed, and another burst of 
 tears had come to her relief, making her eyes feel as if 
 they were only burned balls moving in a painful way in 
 their sockets, her thoughts became a little clearer. Some 
 thing she must do, and do immediately ; she would go 
 mad if she remained in that inaction. She would go to 
 Mr. Edgar and demand to be informed where a letter could 
 find his daughter, then she would write to Edna, adjuring 
 her to release her from her oath, or to be Christian 
 enough to undo herself the horrible wrong she had done. 
 She would go to Meg, and bring her to corroborate her 
 story of her Albany visit. She would summon Dyke, 
 and at that stage of her resolutions her feelings gave way 
 again, and she was sobbing once more. 
 
 Dyke, and -Meg, and the little mountain home, and her 
 happy childhood oh ! how in this hour of bitter anguish 
 she longed for them all ! but more than all for true, tender 
 Dyke, who always loved her, and who, somehow, in this 
 dreadful time, she felt would not have doubted her, in 
 the face of a thousand such accusations. 
 
 Her bruised heart turned to him ; he would understand 
 her, and pity her as no one else could do ; he would advise 
 her, he would help her. Instantly her resolution was 
 taken : she would go to Dyke she would go that very 
 
232 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 evening. Fortunately, there was a late train. The neces 
 sity for immediate exertion lent her strength. 
 
 She summoned her maid and sent for Macgilivray, 
 meeting the man in the corridor when he came. 
 
 Imperturable as his Scotch face always seemed to be to 
 any emotion, it now showed an involuntary concern for the 
 pallor and sadness of Ned s appearance. But, without 
 noticing his expression, she said rapidly, and in a whis 
 per: . 
 
 " Be ready to drive me to the station in a quarter of an 
 hour. I shall meet you a little beyond the entrance to 
 the grounds." 
 
 As Carnew, esteeming the Scotchman for his honesty 
 and prudence, had taken him into his own special service, 
 Macgilivray, though wondering and having his own fears 
 at such a strange request, was obliged to obey ; so he 
 bowed, and answered : 
 
 " All right, me leddy ; " since Ned s marriage he would 
 so distinguish her. 
 
 She knew it was unnecessary to caution him to silence 
 about her journey ; the Scotchman was proverbial for his 
 reticence on the most trivial affairs. But Ned forgot her 
 maid, whom she had sent for the coachman, and who was 
 not so proverbial for her reticence. 
 
 Mrs. Carnew went to her room. With feverish haste, 
 she threw off her handsome dress, and put on one that 
 she had worn when she was only the u companion." Of 
 every jewel on her person which had been Carnew s gift 
 she divested herself; her portemomiaie, filled with his 
 hands, she placed on her dressing-table beside the jewels, 
 and, going to her trunk, she took from it what little had 
 remained from her earnings with Mrs. Doloran, after she 
 had sent a handsome present to Meg. There was suffi 
 cient to defray her expenses until she should reach Dyke. 
 Then, when she was apparelled for the road, she went and 
 listened at her husband s door. There was a hope that he 
 would hear her ; that he might even suspect her purpose 
 and come forth, when she could once more re-iterate her 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 233 
 
 innocence before she left him. But everything was silent ; 
 not even a faint moan came to her ear ; and in that grave- 
 like stillness she went back to her room, and wrote a note 
 to him a note that she sealed and left on her dressing- 
 table beside his gifts her jewels and portemonnaie. She 
 stole out then, passing by his door again, and stopping to 
 kiss one of the panels, as if to delude herself into the belief 
 that it was a kiss wafted to him, and then she went on. 
 But Jane saw her Jane, who was supposed to be in her 
 own apartment until summoned to assist her mistress to 
 retire and Jane had the hardihood to follow. 
 
 On through the darkened grounds, for the moon would 
 not rise until nearly midnight, the young wife fled. Flee 
 ing from husband and home ; that was the thought in 
 her mind as she hurried to where Macgilivray waited ; 
 but it was from a husband who believed her unworthy of 
 his love, and a home that had ceased to be such when 
 Alan ceased to love her. 
 
 The darkness on the outskirts of the grounds was so 
 great that it struck a sort of chill to her, and it brought 
 up, somehow, the dark night when she accompanied 
 Edna to look at the dead Mackay. Again she saw the 
 suicide, and Edna kneeling beside him, and all the horri 
 ble events of that night. Little she dreamed then that it 
 would cast its influence so far ahead upon her own life ; 
 that it would blight and blacken her hopes, her love, her 
 existence. She drew her cloak closer about her, and hur 
 ried on. 
 
 " By your ain sel , me leddy ? " said the astonished, and 
 now very much concerned Scotchman, as he flashed the 
 carriage lamp on Mrs. Carnew s pale and somewhat fright 
 ened face. 
 
 " Yes, Donald ; I am going to take the train up the 
 river. I have left word for Mr. Carnew. Now drive 
 quick, please. There is no time to lose." 
 
 She stepped into the carriage as she spoke, and Mac 
 gilivray felt impelled to obey her order. But, at the 
 
234: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 station, when there were still some minutes to spare, the 
 honest fellow could not refrain from saying : 
 
 " I m sair tribbled, me leddj, at your gang like this ; it s 
 noo me place to speak, but the leek o you takin sich a 
 journey at this time o the night, and with none but your 
 ain sel , it s 
 The train was shrieking its near approach, and Ned 
 stopped him by saying : 
 
 " Thank you, my good fellow, for your concern about 
 me ; but it is quite right for me to take this journey 
 unattended, and I have travelled before, you know." 
 
 She smiled and waved her hand to him from the plat 
 form of the car which she had ascended, but it was too 
 dark for him to discern either very plainly. 
 
 " Eight for her to tae the journey," he muttered to 
 himself ; " aye, an right for the folks that came to-day to 
 break her heart. She s gang awa her ain sel , because 
 she s noo her husband s love any more, an it s plain eneuch 
 that she s gang frae his haine an his heart." 
 
 But the honest Scotchman kept his own counsel, little 
 dreaming that before Carnew himself should be apprised 
 from Ned s note, of her departure, the whole servants 
 hall, through Jane s account of all that she accidentally (?) 
 saw, would be discussing his wife s flight. 
 
 Carnew, absorbed in his agony, hardly noted the flight 
 of the night. When the garish dawn of the morning 
 looked in through his windows, it found him in the same 
 position, flung across his bed, on which he had thrown 
 himself after entering his room and locking his door. 
 Everything passed in review before him, from the mo 
 ment that he saw her first, to the day of his marriage ; 
 every suspicion, every doubt that he had entertained of 
 her, returned to him with a sort of new and horrible sig 
 nificance ; even the forgotten fact of Mr. Edgar s cold 
 ness to her Mr. Edgar who had been her educator, her 
 benefactor there certainly must be grave reason for the 
 withdrawal of his interest, and perhaps even graver cause 
 for the departure of Ned from Weewald Place to earn 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 235 
 
 her own living. And jet, through it all, through his 
 doubt and suspicion, through his grief and indignation, 
 through every outraged feeling that seemed to be mas 
 tering him like so many demons, the pale, tearful, re 
 proachful, beautiful face of his wife appeared, and he 
 found himself clasping it in imagination to his heart, and 
 letting fall upon it the unmanly tears wrung from him by 
 his fierce sorrow. 
 
 Like a drowning man clutching at straws, he cast about 
 him for some help, some hope; his great love was des 
 perately pleading for her, and desperately struggling 
 with the stern passions which rent him, and it won a sort 
 of victory at last. He would hold in abeyance his entire 
 conviction of her guilt until he saw Mr. Edgar. That 
 gentleman would be able to throw some light on all which 
 was now so dark ; he could at least tell what Ned s con 
 duct had been while she lived in his house, and whether 
 he thought it probable that she could be guilty of so much 
 duplicity. Having come to this conclusion, and being 
 wearied in body and soul by his long hours of fevered 
 thought, he dropped at last into a heavy slumbar. But 
 still his thoughts were busy with Ned. It seemed as if 
 she came to him, softly, for fear of awaking him, and 
 dropped a light kiss upon his forehead, that he opened 
 his eyes and smiled at her, that he extended his arms to 
 invite her to his embrace, but she glided from him, wear 
 ing the sad, reproachful look he had seen last upon her 
 face, and then, as she disappeared entirely, not going 
 through any door, but vanishing in that impalpable way 
 in which people do in dreams, he saw that she was dressed 
 for a journey ; that she even carried a little travelling 
 reticule. He tried to call her back, but his tongue re 
 fused to move, and his agonizing effort to produce somo 
 sound awoke him. 
 
 It was full day ; the sun was shining brightly through 
 his open windows, and there came faintly to him the 
 sound of voices from the garden below. He started up, 
 still under the influence of his dream, and unlocking his 
 
236 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 door, staggered forth into the adjoining apartment. There 
 he was met by Jane. 
 
 " O Mr. Carnew ! I was just going to ask your valet 
 to waken you. I thought I heard Mrs. Carnew ring for 
 me, and I went to her room, but she is not there. As I 
 am always summoned to go to her before this hour of 
 the morning, I couldn t help being a little uneasy, some 
 how." 
 
 She told the truth in some measure ; she was uneasy, 
 but from curiosity, for all night she had kept herself 
 awake to learn if Mrs. Carnew returned ; she had even 
 the hardihood to prowl about in the vicinity of her mas 
 ter s room to discover whether he were really in his own 
 room and ignorant of his wife s proceeding. "With the 
 first light of the morning, she had stolen to Ned s pri 
 vate dressing chamber. She saw the jewels, and the porte- 
 monnaie, and the note beside them addressed to Alan, 
 and she drew her own inference an inference that made 
 her company quite agreeable at the servants breakfast table. 
 
 Carnew did not answer her ; he hardly looked at her, but 
 went to find Ned. 
 
 He was yearning for her presence, as it seemed to him 
 he had ne^er yearned for it before. He entered her 
 room, and lie saw her portemonnaie, and her jewels, and 
 the note. With a hand that trembled so he could scarcely 
 steady it to break the seal, he opened it. 
 
 " MY DARLING HUSBAND : I am going to Dyke ; lie 
 will help and advise me. lie is the only friend to whom 
 I can turn now, for were a thousand vile accusations 
 brought against me, his love for, and trust in me would 
 cast them all aside. And he may be able to devise some 
 means of proving to you my innocence. Until that time, 
 until you can hold me to your heart again, feeling that I 
 am as worthy of your love as you thought me on our 
 wedding morn, I think it is better .that I should remain 
 away from you. But you will be with me always, Alan ; 
 my heart holds only you, and it never, never held any 
 one else in the relation you bear and h^v-e borne to me. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 23 T 
 
 I kiss you, my own, a thousand times, and may God bless 
 you and keep you. 
 
 " Your loving and innocent wife, 
 
 " NED CARNEW." 
 
 The letter fell from his grasp, and he sank with a groan 
 into a chair. Instead of softening and winning him, the 
 little, pathetic note only closed the tender springs of his 
 heart that had been opened despite himself during his 
 vigil of the night, and that had been made to flow even 
 more plentifully by his dream of the morning. She had 
 chosen to flee from his home, his protection, and to Dyke, 
 of whom she spoke even in her note in terms of endear 
 ment only befitting a lover, or a husband. With strange 
 inconsistency he became violently jealous of Dyke. He 
 called to mind all Ned s fondness for Dutton, the very 
 kiss she had so openly given him in the office in New 
 York, her solicitude for him on all occasions, and at 
 the same time he quite forgot the right, the duty 
 which was hers to love him. 
 
 He quite forgot that he himself had thought that very 
 affection a noble trait in his wife s character, and that he 
 had even loved Dyke, because the latter was so fond of 
 Ned. 
 
 As men violently disturbed by passions of their own 
 rousing are seldom capable of seeing, even in an in 
 distinct way, an unbiassed side of the case, so Carnew drove 
 on to another rock that threatened the destruction of his 
 happiness. 
 
 Ned had deserted him! He would not lift a finger to 
 bring her back, but he would go t that very day to Edgar 
 and satisfy himself upon the point he had raised the pre 
 vious night. Ah, down in his secret heart were the hope, 
 the wish, the passionate yearning, that, in spite of what 
 Edna had once told him regarding her father s little 
 regard for Ned, in spite of what his own eyes had witnessed 
 of Mr. Edgar s coldness to Ned, in spite of the fact that 
 Ned had always been strangely silent upon the subject, 
 
238 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Mr. Edgar would say something tliat would imply his 
 own doubt of Ned s guilt. If Edgar doubted, could not 
 lie, lier husband, doubt also ? And if he doubted, could 
 he not take her to his heart, to his love again ? 
 
 O Ned, how hard your sweet face fought for the 
 victory ! 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Mrs. Carnew slept no more upon her night journey 
 than did her husband in his bitter vigil. So impulsive 
 had been her action, and so absorbed was she in the emo 
 tion by which her very soul was torn, that she never 
 thought of the difficulties to be encountered in a journey 
 to her mountain home at that unseasonable time. 
 
 The train deposited her in a village opposite Saugerties, 
 at a late hour, and then there was the river to be crossed, 
 and a twelve-mile drive that led up the mountains. 
 
 For the first time she realized her awkward situation, 
 an unprotected young woman out at that hour of the night, 
 and her heart beat violently. Still, she assured herself 
 somewhat by remembering that she was very plainly and 
 darkly dressed, and that her veil concealed as much of her 
 face as was possible without obscuring her vision. And, 
 as she looked about her in the little waiting-room, she had 
 some thought of seating herself quietly in a corner until 
 morning. The impracticability of that idea, however, 
 showed itself in a moment, for a couple of loungers 
 seated themselves at no great distance from her, and 
 though the light in the place was too feeble to discern their 
 faces plainly, she felt they were looking at her. Not even 
 daring to hazard a question of them, she left her seat and 
 went forth. She knew that hotel facilities were much 
 greater than when she was a child, and she hoped that 
 that there might be something of the sort convenient. 
 She had not walked long before the appearance of a 
 certain building seemed to promise a fuMhnent of her 
 hope, and to her satisfaction she found it was so. But 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 239 
 
 the accommodations were most rude, only intended for 
 railroad employees the people told her civilly enough, and 
 then they as civilly added that, as she had been belated, 
 and knew not where to go until morning, they would try 
 to accommodate her, which accommodation not only 
 furnished her lodging, but included her breakfast for 
 what seemed to be a very moderate sum. She had some 
 delay in crossing the river, the rude boat used for 
 the transportation of passengers being slow in crossing 
 the stream, and not over-prompt in starting ; but that 
 being at length accomplished, she had only to hire a con 
 veyance for the mountain drive. At the place where she 
 decided to apply, the man looked hard at her, when she 
 said she wanted to go to Mr. Button s ; but lie made no 
 remark further than to tell her the price of the drive, and 
 how long it would take to reach her destination. 
 
 How the lumbering ride and the scenes about her, 
 the familiar aspect of which came back with a suddenness 
 that seemed to bridge over at once the gap of years inter 
 vening since she passed through them last, brought torhe 
 mind the old, happy days ! 
 
 Changes in those times were not quite so rapid as in 
 these days of scientific speed, and Ned recognized, or at 
 least thought she recognized, the same unpainted houses, 
 at such long distances apart, and even the very same 
 roomy, open, shaky-looking barns belonging to the un 
 painted houses, but situated from them the length of a 
 field. Even the mountain road, which the horse so slowly 
 and laboriously ascended that the sleepy driver seemed to 
 awake a little to the difficulty, and to sympathize with 
 the beast to the extent of panting somewhat on his own 
 account, was apparently the same she had driven along 
 in her childhood. There were the stately trees that once 
 to her had such human significance, and now they were 
 passing the ravine which she used to people with the 
 elves that Dyke told her about. Again, they came in 
 sight of the gorge, with its unknown and dreaded depths, 
 and then some grand old peak of a majestic mountain 
 
240 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 came In sight, with the sunlight gilding it, and the light 
 blue sky kissing it, and all nature about it shrouding it 
 in solitude and sublimity. Not a sound disturbed the 
 stillness save the creaking of the wagon and the occasional 
 puffing of driver and beast, but to Ned it seemed as if the 
 solitude was peopled with voices voices that cried "lost," 
 to signify that all she was leaving was lost to her forever. 
 She tried not to look about her, so that the voices might 
 cease, and she tried, by thinking alone of what Dyke would 
 say when he saw her, to shut out the memories of her 
 childhood. But they only came the more, making her 
 heart and her head ache ; and for the last hour of the 
 ride, she held her clasped hands on her forehead, to en 
 deavor to lessen the violent throbbing of her temples. 
 
 At length they came in sight of the dear old dwelling. 
 It had the same mottled appearance she remembered so 
 well. True to his promise to Meg, Dyke had not altered 
 an iota of its old, simple fashion. She stopped the sleepy 
 driver and told him he need come no farther. She would 
 alight and walk the rest of the distance. She wanted no 
 stranger s eye on her meeting with Dyke, and she waited 
 until the vehicle had turned about and was proceeding 
 down the road before she went on. Then, though she 
 had been so impatient to reach her journey s end, she 
 walked very slowly. Her heart was beating as if it would 
 burst from her trembling frame, and the color was going 
 and coining in her face with fitful rapidity. 
 
 Some one came out of the little dwelling some one 
 who walked slowly also, as if grief or care might have 
 weighted his steps. In a moment, she saw it was Dyke, 
 and he was coming toward her ; but he did not see her, 
 for his head was down. She threw her veil far back and 
 quickened her steps. He raised his eyes on the sound. 
 On she came, opening her arms to him, and with a cry of 
 strangely mingled ioy, and sorrow, and relief, she threw 
 
 / i i 
 
 herself upon his breast. 
 
 He put out his hands and held her there, too much as- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE, 
 
 tounded to titter a single word, and yet somehow divining 
 that her singular visit was not made in pleasure. 
 
 Tears came to her relief, and she sobbed upon his bosom, 
 as she had sobbed the night before on her husband s knee. 
 He knew now that she had come to him in trouble, and 
 he did not ask a single question while her burst of grief 
 continued. He only held her to his heart as if, despite 
 what terrors, what troubles might menace her, he would 
 shield her from them all. But his face had grown very 
 pale, and his heart was beating almost as violently as her 
 own was doing. 
 
 When her tears had ceased, and she had lifted her head 
 from his breast, lie said : 
 
 " Now, Ned ; what is the matter ? And how have you 
 come all this distance alone ? " 
 
 " Come off the road somewhere, where we can talk," 
 she answered, continuing as she took his arm, " not into 
 the house, I don t want to go there yet ; I don t want to 
 see Meg until I have told all to you. I am so glad that I 
 met you." 
 
 " Yes, Ned ; I also am glad that I met you before you 
 saw Meg." 
 
 There was a strange and sorrowful significance in his 
 tones, but she did not notice it. 
 
 " Come to the wood," she said, " I can tell you all 
 there." 
 
 And to the wood they went ; the old beloved wood of 
 her childhood, with its serried ranks of trees, now some 
 what thinner, for the age of progress had penetrated there 
 in the shape of a greater frequency of the woodman s axe. 
 They seated themselves beneath one of the stately trees ? 
 she, with her hands clasped upon his knee, and her 
 anxious, tear-stained face lifted to his own ; lie, stooped 
 forward in his eagerness to hear, and his mouth com 
 pressed and rigid as it always became when his heart was 
 stirred. 
 
 She told her pitiful story ; from the first to the last of 
 all that had happened, save that she did not break her oath 
 
242 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 to Edna, but she said as she had said to her husband, that 
 she was bound by an oath, which, if she could only divulge, 
 would immediately prove her innocence. 
 
 " But don t ask me where, nor to whom I gave the 
 oath," she added, " for I cannot tell you." 
 
 Dyke did not answer that plea, but he said, while the 
 rigidity about his mouth became more marked ; 
 
 " And your husband did not believe you f He believed 
 instead what these strange people said." 
 
 " But Dyke, how could he do otherwise in the face of 
 so much against me. These letters of Mackay, the min 
 ister s assertion, all that I have told you ? How can we 
 blame him for thinking me guilty ? " 
 
 " His love for you, Ned, should have been stronger 
 than all that." 
 
 He arose then, as if to shake from him some painful 
 feeling, and he walked away a few steps. Then he re 
 turned and seated himself again : 
 
 " I want a little time, Ned, to think what is best to be 
 done for you ; and you, after your long journey, and all 
 that you have endured, sadly need rest ; so, when you have 
 had some refreshment, and have gone to bed, I shall try 
 to form some plan for us." 
 
 She rose at once, but he gently pulled her back : 
 
 " I have something else to say. There is a change in 
 Meg ; she is not quite herself. I do not mean that she is 
 insane, nor yet idiotic, but there is a sort of strange dotage 
 upon her which might shock and pain you if you came 
 upon her suddenly. She has lost her memory to a great 
 extent, and while she will know you and greet you with 
 affection, she will have forgotten those things that it might 
 be your delight to have her remember. When I went to 
 Albany for her, I noticed the change, but it was very slight 
 then. I remained with her in Albany after our relatives had 
 gone to Australia, in order to consult a physician. He said it 
 was a gradual softening of the brain ; that she would proba 
 bly live a lon^ time, but that she would never recover. I 
 found a good honest woman who was willing to accom- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 243 
 
 pany us here, and I did not tell you about this change 
 when I wrote, because I could not bear to sadden your 
 anticipations of your visit to your old home. But I was 
 glad to meet you to-day in order to prepare you before I 
 brought you into the house. Now, Ned, we shall go." 
 
 He gave her his hand to assist her, and she with the 
 other hand brushed away the tears his recital had caused. 
 How everything that she loved was changing ! Would 
 Dyke change too ? In appearance he had changed, and 
 sadly so. He was slightly stooped, he who had been so 
 erect ; and his face was lined, and his hair was slightly 
 gray, and his w r hole manner was touchingly indicative of 
 silent suffering. Even in her own sorrows Ned sadly 
 noted all that, but she also knew that while his heart con 
 tinued to beat, and his intellect remained unclouded, he 
 would never change to her. 
 
 Meg knew Ned, and evinced as many extravagant signs 
 of delight at seeing her as she might have done in the 
 days of her soundest mind, but her malady was soon ap 
 parent ; she remembered nothing of Ned s marriage, nor 
 of her visit to Albany where she had seen her last, nor 
 did she make a single inquiry about the cause of Ned s 
 present and unannounced appearance. Some indistinct 
 remembrances of the young girl s childhood she had, and 
 of her school-days, and that she had gone to live with Mr. 
 Edgar, but further than that everything seemed a blank. 
 She would nod and smile when reminded of certain in 
 cidents, but it was evident she did not remember them. 
 She comprehended perfectly when Dyke spoke of refresh 
 ment and rest for their visitor, and she even busied her 
 self in helping the hired woman to set the repast : 
 afterward, she accompanied Ned to the latter s own old 
 room, and waited until she was comfortably in bed. Then 
 she stooped and kissed her, and Ned held for a long time 
 to her own, the precious old face. 
 
 Her fatigue caused her to sink at once into a deep 
 slumber, and when she awoke the long bright day was 
 nearly done. For a moment as she looked about her on 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 tlie old, familiar surroundings of her childhood, it seemed 
 as if all the years which had intervened were only a dream, 
 and that she was really a happy child again. In that one 
 brief, whirling moment, Ranandabed, Mackay, even her 
 husband, were no longer realities, and under that im 
 pression she started up ; and then the delusion fled. The 
 cruel weight came back to her heart, the wild, burning 
 thoughts to her brain. She thought, while she bathed her 
 face, of Dyke s promise to think out some plan ; in all 
 those hours he surely must have done so, and she hurried 
 her toilet in order to join him. But, when she came out 
 of her room, Anne McCabe, the strong, stout, good- 
 natured looking hired woman, said that Dyke had left a 
 note for her, and then she got the note, and Ned read : 
 
 " DEAR NED : I have been thinking a good deal while 
 you slept, and I have come at last to a course of action ; 
 but I would rather not tell you what it is, until I have 
 tried it. You have sufficient trust in me to bear with my 
 secrecy. This plan of mine will take me away, for per 
 haps some days, but you, Ned, remain quietly as you are. 
 Anne McCabe is quiet and good-hearted, and little given 
 to curiosity. She will do all she can for your comfort. 
 It is a pleasure to Meg to have you, and the quiet and rest 
 will be beneficial to yourself. Be as cheerful and hope 
 ful as you can be, dear Ned, and He who guides us all 
 will steer you also safely into light and happiness again. 
 You shall hear from me soon. 
 
 " DYKE." 
 
 As she read it over and over, wondering what could be 
 the plan that took him from her side at such a time, no 
 inkling of the truth came to her. 
 
 Dyke, with a singular, far-seeing prudence, would not 
 spend one night under the roof that gave shelter to Ned. 
 If her husband s love had already succumbed to accusa 
 tions against her, might it not further yield to suspicion 
 from any trifling source? Might not her very secret 
 flight to Dyke, who after all was no relation, be construed 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 245 
 
 into something more against her character ? At least such 
 were the fears that came to him, and that made him de 
 termine, before he reached any other resolution, to leave 
 the house while Ned slept, for he could not explain his 
 motive to her who was so guileless, so unsuspicious. Arid, 
 when that was settled, he seemed to see his way clearer. 
 As he remembered Edna s character, when she was a 
 child, and as from what little he had managed to glean 
 about her in her more mature years, that character did not 
 seem to have lost any of its unlovely traits, he did not 
 think it improbable that she was in some way the source 
 of all the mischief. The oath of which Ned spoke, beg 
 ging him not to ask where, nor to whom she had made it, 
 somehow confirmed his suspicion. To him, from the first 
 time the children saw each other, Edna had been a sort of 
 evil genius to Ned, and though the letters of the latter, 
 when she was a child at school, never complained of Edna, 
 still he felt that every one of her childish troubles there, 
 were due to her cousin. And the evil genius possibly 
 had not become less as the children grew ; it had flamed 
 probably on many occasions, until it had cast this last 
 blight. Such were Dyke s thoughts, and he could not 
 curb them. He knew that Edna had married and gone 
 abroad. Ned had given him that news in one of her 
 letters just after the event, and even those facts somehow 
 convinced him the more. He was almost prepared to 
 swear that Edna was Mackay s wife and the mother of the 
 child. And since he was so convinced, he determined to 
 repair at once to Mr. Edgar and confer with that gentle 
 man. Afterward, he would see Carnew. So, leaving 
 the note for Ned, and instructing Anne MeCabe to be 
 very attentive to the young lady, ha packed what he 
 needed for his journey, kissed Meg, who, while she re 
 turned his kiss fondly, expressed no surprise at his de 
 parture, and taking the hired man with him in order that 
 the vehicle might be returned, he drove rapidly to 
 Saugerties. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 XLIIL 
 
 All Rahandabed was in commotion on the 
 after Ned s flight. Every servant in the place knew it, 
 Mrs. Doloran knew it, and the guests knew it almost as 
 soon as Carnew himself knew it. Were he not in such a 
 state of grief and perplexity, he must have wondered a 
 little how her flight became known so speedily ; but, as it 
 was, he thought of nothing only that she had gone, and 
 gone to Dyke, that she had not taken with her one of his 
 gifts, that the evidence of her guilt was most conclusive, 
 but that in spite of it all he passionately loved her. For 
 some time it did not occur to him how she had gone, and 
 whether to New York, or to the little home in the moun 
 tains, for he had not heard Dyke s letter which told of his 
 return from New York. At length, however, he found 
 himself wondering about it, and becoming anxious for her 
 safety on such a journey at such an hour, lie sent for 
 Macgilivray, as being the most likely to have driven Ned 
 to the station, and Macgilivray told him all that he knew. 
 He had driven Mrs. Carnew to take the late train up the 
 river, and he had purchased her ticket for Tivoli. Car- 
 new asked no other question, but dismissed him. The 
 honest Scotchman was convinced then of tiie truth of the 
 impression lie had received the night before ; the young 
 wife had indeed " taken hersel awa frae her husband s 
 heart and her husband s hame," but, as before, he pru 
 dently kept his own counsel, though he was vexed and 
 indignant and puzzled, to find that his fellow-help knew 
 so much. They even asserted to his face that he had been 
 in waiting with the carriage for Mrs. Carnew the night 
 before, and that he was like the rest of his long-headed, 
 canny race, in keeping the affair to himself, but it didn t 
 do him much good, for they had found out anyway. To 
 all of which he replied in his dry manner : 
 
 " Then it s frae the auld hornie you got your informa 
 tion, and mebbe the same auld deil wouldn t mind tellin 
 you where Mrs. Carnew s gang." Knowing their ignor- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 247 
 
 ance upon that point, lie gave that shot with supreme 
 satisfaction to himself. 
 
 But one of the help retorted : 
 
 "Wait till Mrs. Doloran sends for you, as she ll be 
 sure to do, when she finds out you drove Mrs. Carnew away 
 last night. You ll not carry such a bold face with her, 
 even though you are not in her special employ just 
 now." 
 
 But the Scotchman answered with the same dry grav 
 ity he had used before : 
 
 " Dinna greit ! me lady has tackled me before, and 
 Donald has noo been wantin in his ain way o answerin 
 her." 
 
 The servant s prediction was verified. The moment 
 that Mrs. Doloraii heard from her own maid, who was of 
 the kind to retail all sorts of gossip to her mistress, that 
 Macgilivray was implicated in the flight, he was sum 
 moned to her presence ; it was her way to get all the 
 information she could from menials, before taking any 
 other step. 
 
 The coachman was as wary, innocent, and non-com 
 mittal as he had been on a former occasion, when she 
 had endeavored to extract information about Alan ; and 
 in a perfect burst of fury, she threatened to have him 
 summarily discharged. 
 
 " Yera weel, me leddy ; when Mr. Carnew bids me I ll 
 
 ng, arid have noo to say but to thank him ; but till then 
 11 noo greit." 
 
 She fairly drove him from the room, in her vulgar fury 
 actually hurling after him a silken-covered foot-stool. 
 It missed him, owing to his own dexterity, but it shat 
 tered two of the stained-glass panes in a window that 
 lighted the passage leading to her apartment. 
 
 Then she sent for her nephew ; an imperative sum 
 mons, to which he returned a respectful reply, but one 
 declining to see her. Such an answer did not diminish 
 her anger, and with her face blazing, and even so swol 
 len that her very temples seemed to project, she descended 
 
248 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 to find Ordotte. He was just entering the breakfast-room 
 with his hands full of roses ; it was his self-appointed 
 morning task, while the roses were in bloom, to put bou 
 quets of them beside each lady s plate; but everybody 
 saw that Mrs. Carnew always received the largest and the 
 handsomest flowers. 
 
 With a pleasant good morning to Mrs. Doloran, he was 
 going to Ned s plate, selecting the roses as he went. 
 
 The lady s anger gave way to scorn. 
 
 " You can save yourself the trouble, Mascar ; I suppose 
 you have not heard, but Mrs. Carnew, overwhelmed by 
 the disgrace of having her guilt found out, has fled from 
 Rahandabed. She went away, secretly, last night." 
 
 Ordotte had not heard of the flight, and he was, per 
 haps, the only person in the whole place who had not, 
 owing no doubt to his little intercourse with the servants ; 
 there was a something about his tawny face and strange 
 manner that both awed and repelled them. Now, as he 
 listened to Mrs. Doloran, he dropped the flowers in his 
 surprise, and ejaculated : 
 
 " What ? " in such an astonished manner, that one 
 would think he had received an internal shock. 
 
 " Yes, she s gone, the brazen jade," resumed Mrs. Dolo 
 ran. " She knew she couldn t face it out, and so she 
 thought she had better go." 
 
 " But where has she gone ? " asked Ordotte ; " and 
 what does Alan say 1 " 
 
 The lady shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " That fool, Macgilivray, drove her in the carriage from 
 here last nigh t, but he is as close as an oyster about it ; 
 and as for Alan, like the fool that he is, he s shut up in 
 his own room, and won t see anybody. I am sure we re 
 well rid of her ; Rahandabed would have been disgraced 
 while she continued here. Faugh ! how I detest her." 
 
 " Poor creature ! Is there no loop-hole for her ? " said 
 Ordotte almost involuntarily. 
 
 Poor creature ! " repeated Mrs. Doloran, anger and 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 249 
 
 contempt struggling in her tones. "Do you wish to 
 insult me, Mascar ? " 
 
 " Not for all the rajahs in the Punjaub, madam," replied 
 the gentleman with assumed penitence, and bowing pro 
 foundly, " but I was only thinking, had the proofs of her 
 guilt been so very clear, so entirely conclusive " 
 
 "Mascar Ordotte!" shrieked the lady, "have you 
 taken leave of your senses ? Do you want any more con 
 clusive proofs than those letters from Mackay that you 
 read, than what I told you of how Mr. Hayman acted, 
 and what he said ; than all the woman Bunmer tells ? " 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Doloran, men have been hung on the 
 very strongest circumstantial evidence, and after their 
 death their innocence has been proven." 
 
 " Well, you had better undertake to prove her inno 
 cence," her voice fairly hissing from anger and scorn. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Doloran," he had assumed what to any 
 body else would have been a most comical attitude, and 
 mock expression of penitence and humility, " we shall 
 allow the dear young lady to be quite guilty ; we shall not 
 raise the ghost of an event to prove her innocence." 
 
 He was actually on one knee, with Mrs. Doloran s hand 
 to his lips, a scene stealthily witnessed by the butler, who 
 had retreated to his pantry when the two entered the 
 room, and afterward detailed by him to his fellow-help 
 with an actual impersonation of Ordotte s attitude, that 
 sent the whole servants hall into convulsions of laughter. 
 
 But Mrs. Doloran was appeased, and she forgave the 
 suppliant, and arm in arm they continued the tour of the 
 table, placing the roses, and leaving Ned s place signifi 
 cantly vacant. 
 
 Early in the day, Alan was ready for his journey to 
 Weewald Place, and Macgilivray drove him to the sta 
 tion, feeling certain that his master was going after the 
 runaway wife. 
 
 Mr. Edgar was at home, and he responded in person to 
 Mr. Carnew s card. But what a change had taken place 
 in him! Alan started wlnn he saw him, and extended 
 
250 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 his hand almost as if he were in some uncertainty about 
 the gentleman s identity. His hair had become entirely 
 gray ; not a black streak was to be seen in it, and his beard 
 and moustache were equally bleached. Heavy furrows 
 indented his face, and his eyes had the deep, hollow look 
 of one accustomed to long and painful vigils. 
 
 For a moment, it seemed as if he were struggling with 
 himself in order to be cordial, and he evidently succeeded, 
 for after that moment s indecision he shook Carnew s 
 hand warmly, and wanted to conduct him at once to one 
 of the guest-chambers. But Alan kindly declined. 
 
 "My errand," he said, "is too important and too un 
 happy to allow of my taking any rest until I have stated 
 it. I have come " a sudden flush rushing to his face 
 " to ask you some questions about my wife ; to ask you 
 to tell me frankly what you know of her character. What 
 was her conduct while under your roof, if the charges 
 here brought against her " he drew out of his pocket 
 Mackay s letters, " seem likely to you to be true ? " 
 
 And he put the packet into Edgar s hand. 
 
 " Come to the library," said Edgar, " we shall be more 
 comfortable there," and he led the way. 
 
 Carnew, in a fever of doubt, fear, and expectation, 
 watched Edgar s face while that gentleman slowly read 
 every one of the letters. He did not speak when he had 
 finished, only put the packet aside, and looked across at 
 the haggard, anxious face of his visitor. 
 
 "Speak," implored Carnew, "what weight do these 
 letters carry to you ? " 
 
 Edgar answered deliberately, as if he were testing his 
 words : 
 
 " Let me tell you first what I know of her pertaining 
 to this unfortunate Mackay." And then he recounted in 
 in the same deliberate manner how he had received his 
 first intimation of Ned s secret acquaintance with the 
 gardener s son, by one day, during her stay in Weewald 
 Place, meeting a servant carrying to her a rare exotic, the 
 gift of this same Mackay. How he had interrogated his 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 251 
 
 daughter Edna npon she subject, and what that young 
 lady had told him ; and lastly most damaging statement 
 of all what Edna had told him of their secret visit to 
 the body of the suicide when it lay on the grounds of 
 Rahandabed ; how Ned had gone to Edna and requested 
 her to accompany her. 
 
 Carnew s heart seemed turned to ice, though his he:icl 
 and his eyes were burning. The very blood in his veins 
 seemed to have frozen ; he found himself wondering in a 
 vague, incoherent way if all power of motion had gone 
 from him ; but the summit of his agony was reached ; 
 with a low, bitter cry, he threw his head forward until it 
 rested upon the table, and then he was motionless. 
 
 Edgar rose and went to him. He put his hand softly, 
 tenderly upon his shoulder, and he said with tones that 
 trembled from emotion : 
 
 " Mr. Carnew, you are not alone in suffering." 
 
 Alan raised his head and perhaps seldom did two more 
 agonized faces gaze at each other. 
 
 Edgar resumed : 
 
 " In me you behold a man who has carried a hidden 
 agony for years. A horrid doubt was engendered for 
 me by a near relative a doubt that cankered all iriy 
 pleasures ; a doubt that, if it slumbered for a little, only 
 awoke to gnaw and torment me with new vigor. And 
 so it continued until a very few years ago. Then I did 
 conquer it, and I was happy. In the love of my beautiful 
 child alone I lived, and I fancied she reciprocated my 
 affection. I imagined her devotion to be such that she 
 could make no choice of a husband unless first assured 
 that he would meet my approval I who would have sacri 
 ficed my life to give her happiness ; and yet, Carnew, how 
 am I rewarded % How does she repay my love, my devo 
 tion ? By giving her hand to one who should have been 
 almost beneath her contempt to one with whose im 
 becility I was disgusted." 
 
 He stopped, as if overcome by his emotions. 
 
 " And yet she was married with your consent ? " broke 
 
252 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 from Carnew, interested, despite his own emotions, in 
 tliis strange recital from a man like Edgar. 
 
 " Because she would marry him, Carnew ; because she 
 dared to say that she would defy my opposition. Brek- 
 bellew could support her as luxuriously as I could do, and 
 she did not seem to care for anything more. To save 
 her, and to save myself from the unpleasant gossip that 
 would ensue did I refuse my consent and close my doors 
 to her, I yielded ; but she married without my blessing, 
 and she went abroad without my good wishes. You cannot 
 be blind, Carnew, to the change in my appearance. The 
 chords of my heart seem snapped. I am sick of life." 
 
 He sank into a chair and covered his face with his 
 hands. 
 
 Both were silent for a long time ; then it was Edgar 
 who broke it by rising and saying, as again Ii3 crossed 
 to Carnew and placed his hand on the young man s 
 shoulder : 
 
 " We can sympathize with each other ; our griefs are 
 akin ; you have an unworthy wife, I an unworthy child. 
 In both cases, the proofs are too plain to be disputed, to 
 be doubted, and it only remains for us to bear our sorrows 
 with what fortitude you may." 
 
 As a fellow-feeling is said to make us w r ondrous kind, 
 so the fact that both were suffering made Edgar sin 
 gularly tender ; he w^as drawn to the young man, as if he 
 were bound by some tie of blood, and he forgot all the 
 feelings which had been engendered by Carnew s for mer 
 refusal of Edna s hand. He was almost impelled to repose 
 full confidence in him ; to tell what the horrid doubt had 
 been of which he spoke ; and to lay bare the thoughts that 
 Edna s rebellious marriage had awakened in his mind ; 
 how th 3 very obstinacy and even temper she had shown 
 upon that occasion had recalled to her father, with a 
 pang of horror and dismay, the disposition of his hated 
 brother ; never had the character of the latter been so 
 reproduced, possibly because never had his beautiful 
 daughter so boldly exerted her own headstrong will. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 253 
 
 And when she had gone from Weewald Place, with her 
 brainless husband, he had shut himself up to give full 
 vent to his dreadful reflections. Could he, after all, have 
 been mistaken ? Was Edna not his own, but poor, de 
 spised Ned, who, because of her very position in his 
 house, might perhaps be pardoned for her secret notice 
 of the gardener s son? All this he was strangely im 
 pelled to tell, and to tell further, that again his feelings 
 toward Ned had been changed by the perusal of Mackay s 
 letters. His daughter could not be guilty of such duplicity ; 
 she came of too noble a race ; so Ned, since the proofs of 
 her guilt were so great, must be his brother s child. 
 
 But lie did not tell this to Carnew. Some unaccount 
 able repugnance to open his sores further than he had 
 already done kept him silent. 
 
 There was nothing to restrain Carnew from disclosing 
 all the feelings of his heart ; he felt that nowhere could 
 he meet with so sympathetic, so pitying a listener, and he 
 told everything : his doubts, his fears, his suspicions, 
 before his marriage ; his amazement, his agony, his horror 
 since ; and through it like a refrain ran the confession 
 that under all circumstances he passionately loved Ned. 
 
 " But everything is over now," he said with a bitter sad 
 ness ; u I shall settle an ample amount upon her, but I shall 
 never live with her again." 
 
 He rose then, and by a sort of tacit consent, though he 
 remained over night, and though both gentlemen sat 
 together until long past midnight, neither Ned nor Edna 
 were again mentioned. 
 
 He left early on the following morning, being in fever 
 ish haste to confer with his lawyer on the subject of the 
 settlement for his wife ; he thought of going abroad after 
 that, but he was not quite decided. 
 
 XLIY. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day of Carnew s departure 
 from Weewald Place, Dyke arrived there, and he sent up 
 
254: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 his card to Mr. Edgar. That gentleman looked very 
 much displeased upon receiving it, having yet fresh in his 
 mind the story of Carnew, in which the latter had even 
 confessed his jealousy of Mr. Dutton, and remembering 
 how boldly, on more than one occasion, the same Mr. 
 Button had spoken to himself, it was hardly strange that 
 he felt disinclined to accord much favor to him. How 
 ever, he descended to the reception room where Dyke 
 waited, and bowed with his wonted courtesy, as he re 
 quested to know the object of the visit. 
 
 Dyke paused a moment to steady his tones ; he even 
 spoke with more than his usual slowness, that his feel 
 ings might be well restrained. 
 
 " I have come in the interest of Mrs. Carnew, to ask 
 you, as her near relative, to assist in proving that she is 
 innocent of charges that have been made against her; 
 to " 
 
 " Stop ! " interrupted Edgar ; it will probably save time 
 to tell you that Mr. Carnew has been here. He came, 
 like you, with some Hope that I might be able to refute 
 these charges. He told me the whole story, and he sub 
 mitted to me the proofs of her guilt which had been given 
 to him. The interests of truth and justice demanded that 
 I should be frank in telling what I happened to know of 
 Mrs. Carnew ; what I accidentally learned w r hile she was 
 in this house, what I heard after she had left it." 
 
 " May I ask what these tilings were \ " 
 
 Dyke s tones were very slow still. 
 
 Edgar warmed a little while he answered him, while 
 he told what had given the knell to Carnew s hopes. 
 
 The young man s feelings were gaining the mastery, 
 and they were slipping from so tight a rein, that they 
 threatened to be all the more violent. His deliberate 
 manner of speech gave sudden way to a rapid, impas 
 sioned tone : 
 
 "Has it never occured to you, Mr. Edgar, that Mrs. 
 Carnew is the victim of a very web of calumny ; a web 
 deliberately woven to shield another, and a guilty party \ 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 255 
 
 "No doubt, Mr. Carnew lias told you how his wife spoke 
 of an oath she was forced to take. That, to a clear judg 
 ment, must tell its own story, and ought to bring home to 
 you at least a desire to investigate the case." 
 
 " I do not understand you, sir," broke from Edgar, 
 flushed and perspiring from anger. 
 
 " Then I shall make my meaning clear. Has it never 
 occured to you, as it has occurred to me, and as it ought 
 to have occurred to Mr. Carnew, that Edna Edgar, now 
 Mrs. Brekbellew, and your reputed daughter, may be the 
 guilty party, the wife, married in secret to Mackay, and 
 the mother of his child ? " 
 
 Edgar fairly reeled for an instant ; then he caught a 
 chair, and steadying himself by it, responded fiercely : 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 He seemed unable to say more, and Dyke resumed : 
 
 Then it is time that you entertain this suspicion ; it is 
 time that you reflect 
 
 " Cease ! " thundered Edgar ; and his manner and tones 
 recalled to Dyke how he had once before, when Dyke 
 was a mere lad, spoken to him in just such a manner. 
 " How dare you make such an insinuation to me, her 
 father! Leave this house, and nev r er again presume to 
 enter it. Go ! " He pointed to the door. 
 
 Dyke did not move. 
 
 " I shall go, Mr. Edgar, when I have said something 
 more, to which you. must listen. You have no absolute 
 facts upon which to base your belief that Mrs. Brekbel 
 lew is actually your daughter, and what, if in the future, 
 in the strange dispensations of a retributive Providence, 
 proofs should be forthcoming that she is not your daugh 
 ter, but that she, who to-day is so vilely calumniated, 
 whose love is outraged, whose heart is broken, is your 
 child, what in such a time will be your feelings ? Look 
 to it, that retribution in that shape does not overtake vou. 
 Good-by." 
 
 He was gone before Edgar could answer a word, but 
 
256 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 he had put a barbed arrow into that proud, quivering 
 heart, that no effort could draw out. 
 
 On to Rahandabed was Dyke s next proceeding ; on, 
 to force Carnew into the belief that he himself held oi 
 Ned s innocence ; on, to wring from those who accused 
 her the justice they would not give. His impatience 
 could scarcely brook any delay, and allowing himself time 
 for neither rest nor refreshment, he reached C - late 
 that same night. There he had to stop, for he could 
 scarcely present himself in Rahandabed at such an hour ; 
 so he supped and lodged in the hotel, and early the next 
 morning continued his journey. 
 
 Carnew had not breakfasted when Dyke was announced, 
 and the servant who brought up his name told it to 
 another servant, who managed to convey it to Mrs. Dolo- 
 ran s maid, who gave the information to Mrs. Doloran, and 
 that lady, driven by her curiosity into unwonted hardi 
 hood, actually went to her nephew s suite of apartments, 
 and ensconced herself in his parlor, in order that she might 
 see the stranger as he came out of Carnew s study ; her 
 information being to the effect that Mr. Carnew would 
 receive Mr. Dutton in his private library. 
 
 As Carnew had been surprised at the change in Mr. Ed 
 gar, so was Dutton surprised and even shocked at the 
 change in Carnew. Scarcely more than two months before 
 he had seen the young man in the full bright flush of a 
 handsome, vigorous manhood ; now he beheld him, worn 
 and haggard, as if weeks of illness had passed over him. 
 The change softened Dyke s heart. He felt that it was 
 grief for .Ned which had caused it, and he broached his 
 errand kindly and even tenderly. But Carnew was not 
 disposed to be softened ; he had suffered so much ; he was 
 so sore from the accumulated proofs of his wife s guilt, 
 and, more than all, he was so weak from the struggle that 
 he had waged with himself all the preceding night to 
 cast her entirely out of his heart, and in which he fan 
 cied he had succeeded, that he was not inclined to receive 
 Dyke in any friendly spirit. Further, his unreasonable 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE., 257 
 
 jealousy made him regard his visitor as one who would 
 even perjure himself in the interest of Ned. With such 
 feelings he was not stirred to pity, as he saw the prema 
 ture age and suffering in Dyke s appearance, and with 
 coldest courtesy" he motioned him to a seat, and seating 
 himself opposite, listened politely, but that was all. 
 
 Dyke told his story with simple brevity : what he knew 
 of the character of the two Ednas when they were chil 
 dren, and his suspicions. 
 
 Not a muscle of Carnew s face moved, and he answered 
 a little wearily : 
 
 " This is absurd on your part, Mr. Dutton, and prepos 
 terous as well, that you should, in the face of the clearest 
 evidence against Mrs. Carnew, attempt to fasten the 
 charges upon Mrs. Brekbellew. In the first place, if the 
 latter had the cleverness for such a course of deceit, there 
 would not be wanting times and circumstances, during 
 such a protracted period, of betraying herself in some 
 manner. Your supposition is most illogical." 
 
 He warmed a little as he continued : 
 
 " There is hardly a link wanting in the evidence against 
 Mrs. Carnew ; her very visit, ostensibly to Albany, made at 
 the very time this child was born, is a most significant 
 circumstance." 
 
 It was Dyke s turn to fire up, and he answered in 
 dignantly : 
 
 " Mrs. Carnew s visit was made to Albany at the time of 
 which you speak." 
 
 " Was it ? " spoken coldly, for here was an opportunity 
 for Dyke to assert what was untrue, in order to serve 
 Ned ; and the same cold voice continued : 
 
 " Can you prove it ? Were you there at the time ? " 
 
 "No; I was not there at the time; but I can prove 
 that she was there and " he stopped suddenly, re 
 membering his little means of proof ; Meg remembered 
 nothing of the visit ; her relatives were on their way to 
 Australia, and he could not even write to them until he 
 should receive their letter. 
 
258 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Carnew smiled grimly at the sudden break in the hotly 
 spoken speech, and he said with an unmistakable decision 
 as he rose : 
 
 " It is no use, Mr. Dutton ; we cannot banish nor dis 
 pute the facts which stamp Mrs. Carnew as being, when I 
 married her, the widow of Mackay, and the mother of his 
 child. As such, she ceases to be my wife. I shall go to 
 New York to-day in order to have settled upon her a suffi 
 cient annual sum, and then, I shall forget her." 
 
 Dyke could not control himself ; he also rose. 
 
 " Since she ceases to be your wife, she shall also cease 
 to be dependent upon your support. Discarded wife 
 though she may be, she is not without friends, Mr. 
 Carnew." 
 
 The indignant, defiant speech roused Alan s hot, jealous 
 blood, and he answered with a bitter sarcasm : 
 
 " No doubt, since she has your home and your heart" 
 with a taunting emphasis on the last word, "to rush to, 
 when she flees from her husband s protection." 
 
 " Say but another word like that, Mr. Carnew, and I 
 shall forget that you are her husband." Dyke advanced 
 threateningly, the blood firing his cheeks ; but Alan did 
 not move, nor did the expression of his fac3 change. 
 
 " Your wife is as pure as the snow when it falls," Dyke 
 continued passionately ; " and that even you, whose trust 
 in her should have been great enough to shield her in the 
 face of every accusation, could have no taunt to throw at 
 her, I left my home within two hours after she had entered 
 it. I have not seen her since, nor shall I return to her 
 while she claims its shelter. But, as I hold a brother s 
 right to her, I can work for her support. I did it before, 
 and now that she is wronged, calumniated, discarded ; that 
 you, her husband, refuse to believe her, it will be my 
 duty, more than ever, to provide for her." 
 
 It was impossible not to admire the young man ; he 
 seemed so noble, so brave, so true, and even Carnew felt 
 u brief involuntary admiration and respect ; but after that, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 259 
 
 his old feelings returned, and lie answered with his former 
 coldness : 
 
 " Mrs. Carnew can do as she chooses about using her 
 allowance, it shall be made regardless of her feeling in 
 the matter." He rang for a servant to escort Dyke out, 
 and he waited until the servant came, and Button with a 
 brief, " good morning," had departed. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran had an excellent view of him as he passed 
 out, and she was still surveying the door through which 
 he had gone, when Alan came from the study into her 
 presence. He started when he saw her, and then he 
 colored with resentment at her intrusion. 
 
 " What is the meaning of this unannounced visit ? " 
 he asked sternly. 
 
 "Now, Alan, none of your tragics," by which she 
 meant that her nephew was not to show any indignation. 
 " I am going to know the meaning of the way you re act 
 ing. You haven t let me know a word about Ned 
 
 " Why should I ? " he interrupted ; " you settled her fate 
 by declaring that she should never enter Rahandabed 
 again." 
 
 " And you have really sent her off you dear, good, 
 sensible boy." 
 
 "No, I did not send her off. She went herself," be 
 coming petulant. 
 
 " I know she went herself ; but you have sent her word 
 that she is never to come back ; that you will never re 
 ceive her again as your wife ? " 
 
 He bent his most stern and piercing look upon her. 
 
 "How much of my conversation in that room," point 
 ing to his library, u have you heard ? " 
 
 She pretended to be indignant. 
 
 " Not a word. Do you suppose I came here to listen 
 to your private conference ? I came here to know what 
 you mean by shutting yourself away from everybody since 
 Ned s flight, and where you went the day before yesterday, 
 when you took that journey, and who that man is, calling 
 upon you so early this morning ? You are just involving 
 
260 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 the whole house in mystery, and treating me, your aunt, 
 shamefully." 
 
 " Then I must continue to treat you, my aunt, shame 
 fully, for I shall satisfy your curiosity no further than to 
 say, that I did not send word to my wife that I would n >t 
 receive her again. As I have not yet breakfasted, you 
 will please excuse me." 
 
 He left the room. His aunt was furious with disap 
 pointment. She had not gained an iota of the information 
 for which she had come, but she consoled herself by re 
 porting to the guests that word had been sent to ]S T ed never 
 to return to Rahandabed ; her husband would under no 
 circumstances ever receive her again. 
 
 A couple of hours later, she was thrown into further dis 
 may by the announcement from Ordotte that he was going 
 abroad ; he would leave Rahandabed that very evening, 
 in order to secure an early passage to England. Her sur 
 prise and her regret were so genuine, that she forgot to 
 indulge in the hysterics with which she usually received 
 unpleasant announcements. Instead, she held up her 
 hands, and continued to gaze at the speaker in a sort of 
 speechless horror. Ordotte laughed a little at the spectacle 
 she presented ; then he composed his face, took her up 
 lifted hands within his own, and led her gently to a seat, 
 where he bent over her and said very softly : 
 
 " My going away has to do with a secret ; with a mys 
 tery, in which even you, my dear Mrs. Doloran, may find 
 yourself some what involved. But you must not reveal 
 this to a soul ; you must not even tell that I have gone 
 anywhere but to England for a few weeks ; whereas, I am 
 really going to India after I leave England. But I shall 
 not be absent more than a few months. Next winter will 
 see me here again, and with such a sensation as shall make 
 Rahandabed famous for generations." 
 
 The lady s dismay had vanished ; delighted interest had 
 taken its place. 
 
 u Can it be possible, Mascar? " she said. " How novel, 
 how beautiful ! But why may not Alan and myself ac- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 261 
 
 company you ? In the present state of his feelings, this 
 journey would be the very thing for him." 
 
 The tawny face affected to be distorted with horror. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Doloran, were any one to accompany me. 
 it would prevent forever the unravelling of the mystery. 
 Do you not remember what I told you of those strange 
 people in India who can leave their bodies in one place, 
 and stalk forth in a visible spirit to a great distance ? 
 "Well, I mean to visit one of those ; having lived as long 
 in the country as I did, I made the acquaintance of some 
 of these people, and to good purpose, for the acquaint 
 anceship will serve me vastly now. But, were I to go 
 accompanied, they would refuse to cast any spell for me, 
 and my journey would be in vain." 
 
 " But we need not accompany you just there," persisted 
 the lady ; " we could even remain in England until your 
 return." 
 
 Ordotte shook his head. 
 
 " I have a task to do in England which necessitates my 
 going alone. I regret that it should be so, as much as you 
 do, my dear Mrs. .Doloran, and nothing but the fact that 
 I am about to unravel a tremendous mystery sustains me 
 in my effort to tear myself from Rahandabed." 
 
 " Tell me the mystery," demanded the lady 
 
 " Do you wish me to kill myself ? " he answered, assum 
 ing a passion that somewhat frightened his companion. 
 " Ishould have to do so if I breathed a word of this awful 
 mystery;" with an awful emphasis"*on the next to the 
 last word, " and I have only told it to you, that you would 
 sympathize with nfy anxiety," changing his manner to 
 one of sorrowful tenderness, "that you would wish me 
 good speed on my journey, that his voice became 
 very tender " you would cherish my memory during 
 my absence ; not that you would harrow my soul by wish 
 ing to accompany me when it is impossible for me to 
 consent." 
 
 He drew back a little, and looked the picture of dejec 
 tion. 
 
262 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 The lady was touched, as slie always was wlien Ordotte 
 seemed to be affected. 
 
 " O Mascar ! wliy accuse me ? I never meant to liar- 
 row you you know I love I think too much of you 
 
 I " the rest of the sentence was lost in a hysterical 
 
 sob. 
 
 Ordotte came back to her, and dropped on his knees at 
 her feet. 
 
 " Cease to weep, my dear Mrs. Doloran ; I believe you, 
 and I know the depth, the sincerity of your friendship 
 for me "-he always studiously avoided the word affec 
 tion u and I know that though my stay abroad should 
 extend to six months, your friendly feelings will not 
 diminish ; the hospitable doors of Rahandabed will not be 
 closed to me."- 
 
 " Never, Mascar, never ; I am mistress " here, and you 
 shall always be received with open arms." 
 
 And, as if she would exemplify her words, she opened her 
 own arms and seemed about to fold them round the kneel 
 ing gentleman, but he evaded her endeavor in some sly, 
 skilful way of his own ; and then being certain that he 
 had paciiied her, and quite reconciled her to his solitary 
 departure, he seated himself beside her, and began to dis 
 cuss the probable length of his journey. 
 
 "When the hour of his departure came, Mrs. Doloran 
 would accompany him to the station, and what was her 
 surprise to see her nephew there ; he had just stepped 
 from his carriage, and was giving some order to Macgil- 
 ivray. Regardless of all propriety, she leaned from her 
 own conveyance, and called to him. 
 
 He was obliged to go to her, but he bit his lip with 
 vexation ; he had the strongest objection to being ques 
 tioned on his intended journey an objection that was not 
 lessened as he caught sight of Ordotte s face. 
 
 But Mrs. Doloran for once was not so anxious to seek 
 information as to give it. She began with impressive 
 volubility : 
 
 " How strange and how delightful ; both of you going 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 203 
 
 to New York ; and when I tell you, Alan, that Mascar 
 is going away for the purpose of unravelling a mystery, 
 
 an awful " she stopped short and suddenly, for the 
 
 gentleman she had mentioned, finding no other way to 
 remind her of her promise of secrecy, brought his foot 
 heavily down upon her own ; but even that did not im 
 prove her memory ; it only extorted from her an 
 
 " O-o-o-oh ! Mascar, you were very awkward just 
 then. You have hurt my foot dreadfully," and then she 
 went on with all that she knew of the motives for Mas- 
 car s journey, while he, with a most expressively amused 
 look, muttered something about attending himself to his 
 
 ticket, instead of allowing the footman to do it, and left 
 r , 
 
 the carriage. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran, in the full tide of her account, did not 
 oppose him, as she would have done at another time. 
 
 "Isn t it all very wonderful, Alan?" she still continued, 
 when she had repeated every word that had passed be 
 tween Ordotte and herself ; " and if he could only have 
 taken you and me, as I wanted him to do." 
 
 "I should certainly have declined the privilege of 
 accompanying him, if he had consented," -returned Alan 
 ironically. 
 
 " Then may I ask where you are going now \ " she 
 retorted angrily. 
 
 " As you have already guessed, to New York." 
 
 " And what are you going to do there ? " she questioned 
 in the same angry tone. 
 
 " Nothing that concerns you" 
 
 And after that there was no further time for conversa 
 tion, for the train was in sight, and all of Mrs. Doloran s 
 feelings were absorbed in her parting with Ordotte. She 
 cried upon his shoulder in spite of all his efforts to pre 
 vent her, and she even managed to get her arms around 
 his neck, from which embrace he was obliged to use vio 
 lence to release himself, or he would have missed the 
 train. And all the way home she cried to herself ; 
 being alone in the carriage, there was no one to help her 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 if she went into hysterics. But she soliloquized upon her 
 aggravated trials, how unprotected she was left, Mascar 
 and her nephew both gone ; and then she called her 
 nephew a brute, and otherwise stigmatized his treatment 
 of her. She did not dream that his treatment of her was 
 due to her own harsh judgment of Ned. Had she ex 
 pressed one pitying word for Mrs. Carnew, had she 
 uttered one doubt of her guilt, Alan would have gone on 
 his knees to serve her ; but the more severe she grew to 
 the discarded wife, the more the young husband felt like 
 being cold and insolent to her. 
 
 Promises witli Mrs. Doloran were most unstable things. 
 She kept one only so long as it suited her ; and thus it 
 was with the promise of secrecy which Ordotte had exacted 
 from her. No sooner had she returned to Eahandabed, 
 than all the guests were regaled with the mysterious ob 
 ject of Ordotte s journey. And by that time, her imagi 
 nation having had time to work, her account was so mys 
 terious it would have puzzled Ordotte to recognize even 
 the bare elements of that which he had said to her. 
 
 XLY. 
 
 On the train, Carnew selected the most retired seat he 
 could find, even drawing his hat over his eyes in order 
 to signify more unmistakably his desire for his own com 
 panionship. But as he neared New York, he felt some 
 one drop into the vacant seat beside him ; even then he 
 did not remove his hat, nor make any motion, not until a 
 familiar voice pronounced his name. He looked up to 
 meet the tawny, smiling face of Ordotte. 
 
 " Pardon my intrusion," he said in his cool, easy man 
 ner, " I have not done so, you see, until the last moment ; 
 and I would not do so, only to clear some undefined no 
 tions about my journey which your aunt may have left 
 in your mind." 
 
 Carnew roused himself a little. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 265 
 
 " I really have not given myself a thought about your 
 journey. I scarcely heard what my aunt said." 
 
 " Then so much the easier to explain myself," with a 
 manner that was proof against any rebuff. " You see, 
 my dear fellow, when I bound Mrs. Doloran to secrecy, 
 I did it knowing perfectly well she would repeat every 
 thing I said to her, just as she did to you, despite my 
 painful reminder of stepping on her foot. And when 
 you return to Rahandabed, you will find upon all sides of 
 you such a version of the mysterious causes which led 
 to my journey that you will ha -dly recognize me, or your 
 worthy aunt. In order, then, to clear up beforehand 
 these mysteries that await you " 
 
 Carnew interrupted him. 
 
 "I assure you, Mr. Ordotte, I have not the slightest 
 interest in anything you mention. I must beg to be ex 
 cused from listening any longer." 
 
 Once more he drew his hat over his eyes and leaned 
 back in his seat. 
 
 Ordotte leaned over him and whispered, if that could 
 be called a whisper which had to be spoken loud enough 
 to drown the noise of the cars : 
 
 " "Will you make me the same reply when I say that 
 you are most deeply concerned in this mystery I am going 
 to have explained ? " 
 
 Carnew sat bolt upright. 
 
 " I do not understand you, sir." 
 
 "Nor can I explain myself further; but that perhaps 
 is sufficient to win me your attention for a few minutes." 
 
 Carnew looked cold and haughty still, but he did not 
 make any attempt to relapse into his former position, and 
 Ordotte continued, with an expression of face not at all 
 in accord with the serious words he was saying ; but that 
 was his ruse to make the people about him think he was 
 only holding a light and bantering conversation. 
 
 " You have never given me much friendship, Carnew, 
 and you have done your best to make my stay short in 
 Rahandabed. You have been most dissatisfied and worried 
 
266 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 about your aunt s preference for me, fearing that she 
 might do the desperate thing of marrying me ; not that 
 you would lose anything by her marriage, but because 
 you did not want the family disgraced by her union with 
 such an Indian mountebank as you regarded me. Nay, 
 don t disclaim my assertion yet ; I have not finished," as 
 he saw Carnew about to speak ; but the latter would in 
 terrupt with : 
 
 " Instead of being about to disclaim your assertion, I 
 was going to say that you certainly had read correctly my 
 feelings toward you." 
 
 Ordotte laughed so that his exquisitely white teeth 
 were quite visible for a moment, and resumed : 
 
 " Well, I am leaving Rahandabed now, without hav 
 ing married your wortny aunt, and if it be decreed that I 
 should never return, then will be dashed for you one of 
 those singular joys which only come once in several 
 generations. I have watched you, young man, as I watch 
 everybody with whom it is my lot to be thrown, and 
 despite your unfriendly feelings toward me, I have liked 
 you. Not knowing that I should meet you on the train, 
 I had some intention of seeing you privately before I left 
 Rahandabed, in order that I might say a little of what I 
 have just now stated ; but your good and worthy aunt 
 really left me no opportunity. Come now; are we 
 friends?" 
 
 He laughed again, as if he had been telling a good story, 
 and had with an effort restrained his mirth until it was 
 finished. And he did not give Carnew time to reply, 
 for he resumed immediately that his laugh had gone 
 back to a smile : 
 
 "Do not take the trouble to protest your suddenly 
 acquired friendship for me, nor to display your penitence 
 for your treatment of me in the past. I should be over 
 come if you did ; but think of me as one who has gone 
 abroad in your interest ; and should success reward me 
 and enable me to restore to you something that you now 
 deem lost forever, why then overwhelm me with your 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 267 
 
 contrition and your friendship. Until the arrival of that 
 time, farewell ! " 
 
 He glided away before Carnew could stop him by word 
 or motion, and as the train was just then rushing into its 
 destination, he was not able, in the bustle that ensued, 
 to catch even a glimpse of him. 
 
 The young man regarded it all as the senseless vagaries 
 of a man who, now that he was leaving Rahandabed, 
 wished to create in his favor a diversion on the part of 
 one whose dislike he had so clearly read. What could he, 
 a foreign stranger, do toward restoring that suddenly van 
 ished happiness ? Oh, no ; the mysterious innuendo was 
 of a piece with the singular conversations in which Ordotte 
 always indulged, and that so easily won foolish, credu 
 lous Mrs. Dolorari. For him they had neither truth nor 
 charm, and his lip curled with scorn as he reflected upon 
 the recent attempt to enlist his interest and curiosity. 
 Even the suspicion that he once had of Ordotte s secret 
 knowledge of something pertaining to Ned, and that now 
 recurred to him, no longer affected him. 
 
 His mind was irrevocably made up. Ned was guilty 
 beyond the merest shadow of a doubt, and doubly so 
 since she had chosen to desert him and flee to the protec 
 tion of Dyke ; and with an inflexible will he executed his 
 plan of the settlement for her. But when it was all con 
 cluded ; when he had signed his name to the last of the 
 documents required in the case ; when he knew that the 
 cold, hard legal announcement, unaccompanied by any 
 softening word from himself, would go to Ned a strange 
 film came over his eyes, that made him hasten his adieu 
 to the lawyer, and almost stagger forth into the sunshine. 
 After that, he tried to mature his plan of going abroad, 
 but it was useless. Every impulse of his heart pleaded for 
 a return to Rahandabed, and he tried to excuse his in 
 decision by thinking that his presence was necessary to 
 protect his aunt from being victimized by her own follies ; 
 but that was only a species of self-deception too flimsy 
 for even his wilfully obscured vision ; for he knew that 
 
268 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 the secret and all powerful motive was the fact that 
 Rahandabed was redolent of Ned s presence, and not 
 after all at such a great distance from her; to go abroad 
 would place thousands of miles between them. So back 
 to Rahandabed he went, leading a more secluded life 
 than ever, with his books and his solitary rides that always 
 took the direction of Ned s mountain home, and daily in 
 creasing in petulance and irony to Mrs. Doloran. 
 
 Ned had received at last the anxiously looked-for letter 
 from Dyke ; every day, since his departure the hired man 
 had gone down to the post-office in Saugerties, but only 
 to return empty-handed until Dyke had been gone live 
 days. 
 
 Then he bore a packet with the well-known superscrip 
 tion. She tore it open, and read : 
 
 " DEAR NED : My news is so unsatisfactory that I have 
 scarcely the heart to write. Still, into the blackest dark 
 ness may come, when we least expect it, a streak of light, 
 and I feel that it will be so in your case. My little plan 
 in your behalf has quite failed. I thought perhaps to learn 
 from somebody something that would cast a doubt 011 
 these cruel charges ; but I have learned only that your 
 husband intends to settle upon you a large amount yearly. 
 Use your own judgment about accepting it, but remem 
 ber, dear Ned, that if your heart should shrink from 
 taking any support from one whose trust has turned to 
 doubt, my home is yours as it used to be in your child 
 hood, and my means are ample for your support. Nor 
 need you hesitate to accept what I offer, through a proud 
 fear of being dependent, for, my business demanding my 
 constant presence in New York, with whom could I trust 
 poor, dear old Meg ? Anne McCabe is good, it is true, 
 but in dear Meg s present state, it would make me very 
 anxious to know that there was only Anne McCabe with 
 her. So you see, dear Ned, what a charity will be your 
 acceptance, at least for the present, of the proposition 1 
 submit ; that is, in case you think it better to refuse your 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 husband s offer. But even should you accept the latter, 
 your present home can continue to be such, can it not ? 
 
 "I shall be unable to return to you, as I resume busi 
 ness to-morrow, but you shall hear from me often, and 
 now, dear Xed, no matter what occurs, do not lose heart 
 nor hope. Remember that the clouds cannot always 
 lower, and that your innocence, and trust in Heaven, will 
 win at last the reward that Heaven alone can give. 
 
 Yours, 
 
 " DYKE." 
 
 He had been very careful not to say of whom he had 
 tried to learn something that might cast a doubt on the cruel 
 charges ; not to hint that he had called upon Mr. Edgar 
 and upon her husband, and not to intimate that his sudden 
 and premature return to business was due to his resolu 
 tion to keep away from his home while it sheltered Mrs. 
 Carnew. 
 
 And none of these things dawned upon her mind as she 
 read the letter ; nothing but the desolate fact that her 
 husband had indeed repudiated her, when he intended to 
 make a settlement upon her ; in her misery she never 
 questioned what Dyke s plan had been, and though she 
 recognized his noble soul in the gentle, generous, and deli 
 cate wording of his letter, still it took nothing from her 
 wretchedness. She went to her room and sobbed over the 
 letter, until its neatly written page was a mass of blisters. 
 
 That same evening, when she had begun her answer to 
 Dyke, thanking him for his offer and accepting it, since 
 she could be useful to dear old Meg, one of the neighbors, 
 who lived a little further down the mountain, and who 
 had been to Saugerties that afternoon, brought up another 
 letter addressed to Mrs. Carnew, in the care of Mr. 
 Dykard Duttoii. It was the letter from the lawyer, an 
 nouncing the settlement that her husband had made upon 
 her. Not a word from Carnew. Just a few brief, legal 
 lines, and nothing more. Her old temper rose, and, for 
 the time, indignation supplanted every other feeling. He 
 
270 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 might at least have sent one kindly word. She was con 
 vinced that, if an hundred such charges had been brought 
 a >-ainst him, she would not have doubted, and with that 
 iiery spirit still sustaining her, she pushed aside her half- 
 written letter to Dyke, and wrote to her husband : 
 
 " MB. CARNEW : Since you evidently consider our mar 
 ried relations sundered, I cannot accept the settlement 
 you have made. I do not need, nor shall I touch one cent 
 of the amount. 
 
 NED." 
 
 She was determined to be as brief and cold as possible, 
 and she swallowed the gulp in her throat, and brushed the 
 film from her eyes, resolved to give way no more to her 
 unhappy feelings. But that was so easy to resolve, and 
 so hard to do ; when her letters were finished, and ad 
 dressed and sealed, and she retired to the darkness and 
 solitude of her own little room, where Carnew s image 
 came tender and trusting as he once was, and the dreary 
 future spread before her, in which, perhaps, she was to 
 know him no more forever, her fortitude again gave way, 
 and the pillow upon which she rested her head was 
 saturated with her tears. 
 
 Was there no way out of this horrible blank, nothing 
 which she could do to help herself ? Yes, there was some 
 thing ; something of which she had thought before, but 
 had not done. She could write to Mrs. Brekbellew, 
 making her appeal so strong that a heart of stone must be 
 touched by it. But then came the thought, would Mrs. 
 Brekbellew be willing to take any steps in Ned s behalf, 
 when so doing must expose herself? "But why should 
 I suffer so bitterly when she is the guilty one ? " moaned 
 Ned. 
 
 " And her husband may not think it so dreadful if the 
 story comes to him from her own lips. At all events, it 
 is her duty to clear me ; to release me from my oath. 
 To-morrow I shall write to her father for her address." 
 
 And on the morrow she did so, a brief, polite note, con- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 271 
 
 taining no more than the request for Mrs. Brekbellew s 
 foreign address. 
 
 The three letters went forth together, the hired man 
 starting early with them in order to be in time for the first 
 mail from Saugerties. 
 
 Mr. Edgar received his first, and he smiled a little 
 scornfully, wondering if the note was of Dyke s prompt 
 ing, remembering the latter s insinuations against Mrs. 
 Brekbellew, and what he or Ned could expect to gain by 
 writing to his daughter. However, he answered it, but 
 saying respectfully and briefly that, as Mrs. Brekbellew 
 was travelling upon the continent, preparatory to an ex 
 tended stay in London, he could not give her exact ad 
 dress ; but any letter addressed for her, to " Brekbellew 
 & Hepburn, Strand, London," would be forwarded to her. 
 
 A little later in the day, Carnew received Ned s com 
 munication. He was indignant at her rejection of his 
 settlement, and divining that her independence was due 
 to Dyke, he was more violently inflamed than ever against 
 that individual. He tore the little note into pieces, and 
 flung them into a large empty vase that rested against one 
 side of the fire place. He would not answer it, and the 
 settlement should remain. 
 
 The day after, Dyke received his reply, and when he 
 had read it, he put it away with a sort of sad satisfaction ; 
 he was glad that Ned had refused the settlement, and it 
 was a joy for him to work for her ; but he wished that he 
 could entertain a little less bitter feeling for Carnew. As 
 it w r as, he almost hated him for his distrust and doubt of 
 Ned. 
 
 XLYI. 
 
 " Ordotte, old fellow ! where did you come from, and 
 how do you do, and where have you been, and w r hat have 
 you been doing, and when did you arrive, and where are 
 you stopping, and " the numerous questions were cut 
 short by the speaker s positive inability to continue them. 
 
272 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 lie was a short, thick-set man, with a very red face and 
 puffy cheeks, and a mouth that seemed always on the 
 point of blowing something away. He had little light- 
 blue eyes, however, which had a certain trusty winning 
 sparkle, and a way of clasping a friend s hand that went 
 right to the friend s heart. He was still shaking Mr. 
 Ordotte s hand with a vigor and significance that quite 
 atoned for his loss of speech, when that gentleman good- 
 humoredly broke in : 
 
 " You swoop down upon me with so many questions 
 at once that it will be an hour s task to answer you. I 
 came yesterday from Liverpool, where I landed from 
 New York, the day before ; I am in excellent health ; I 
 have been, as you have been aware from my letters, so 
 journing with a Mrs. Doloran, of Rahandabed ; I have 
 been doing nothing in particular, and I am stopping for 
 the present at the Grosvenor Arms." 
 
 " Capital, old fellow," accompanied by a vigorous slap 
 on Ordotte s shoulder ; " you have answered all my ques 
 tions in a very neat manner. And now come along; 
 we ll have a chop together down here at the Picadilly, 
 and this evening I ll introduce you to our club. By 
 Jove ! how your letters used to amuse them. Why, we 
 had extras the nights your letters came. I used to read 
 them to the whole assembled club I mean the parts that 
 described that place Rahan - something (but no mat 
 ter for names), and that odd Mrs. Doloran. Everybody 
 used to go into fits, and call them devilish fine." 
 
 " Read my letters aloud to the whole assembled club ! " 
 repeated Ordotte, stopping short in the walk both Lad 
 begun, and looking at his companion with a sort of 
 horrified stare. 
 
 " Why, yes, old fellow. I didn t tell you so when I 
 replied to you, lest the fact that they were going to be 
 read aloud might impede your style. Now don t be cut 
 up about it. Of course, I did not read anything pertain 
 ing to private affairs, only your amusing descriptions and 
 your capital hits at the different characters you met. For 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 273 
 
 instance, that imbecile fellow Brekbellew, whose uncle I 
 wrote to you was in business on the Strand with the 
 father of one of our fellows, Hepburn. The fellows in 
 our club laughed about him till the tears ran down some 
 of their cheeks." 
 
 By this time Ordotte had either been quite appeased, 
 or he deemed it best to appear so, and both had resumed 
 their way to the Picadilly, Ordotte s friend continuing : 
 
 " Didn t he make a lucky marriage, though a beauti 
 ful girl and an heiress. When they came here on their 
 wedding trip, they stopped at old Brekbellew s for a day 
 or so, and Hepburn, of our club he s the youngest and 
 the richest man in it saw her. He raved about her for 
 a fortnight afterwards. Whatever induced her to marry 
 such a man ? Why, his uncle says he hasn t the brains of 
 a calf, and what with his idiocy, and his capacity for be 
 ing gulled and victimized, and his insane desire to create 
 a princely impression about himself, even his large for 
 tune will dwindle in a little while ; but then Iris wife is 
 said to be immensely rich." 
 
 By this time they had reached The Picadilly, and Mr. 
 Munson s volubility was inspired afresh when an appe 
 tizing lunch was placed before him and his friend. 
 
 " Nothing like our London porter," he said with a blow 
 of satisfaction as he put down his empty glass, and re 
 filled it. " You have gotten into American ideas," as he 
 saw that Ordotte s had scarcely touched his. 
 
 " You people over there don t know how to breed bone 
 and muscle as we do," touching with a gesture of pride 
 his own short, stout arm. 
 
 " You forget," answered Ordotte, laughing, " the ef 
 fect of my Indian life. Remember I have been ten years 
 in that ghastly country with not much opportunity for 
 making bone and muscle." 
 
 " That s a fact, old fellow." speaking with his mouth 
 half-full. " I remember when you came from India to 
 get all that money that was left to you ; you were even 
 more of a scrawny, tawny-looking being than you are 
 
274: A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 now. And then you went to Italy, didn t you, and met 
 that queer Mrs. Doloran there ? " 
 
 Ordotte nodded. 
 
 " And how long are you going to stay here ? and how 
 did you come to leave Rahan devil take the name ? 
 You didn t say anything in your last letter about coming 
 to London." 
 
 " I didn t know it myself at the time ; something hap 
 pened shortly afterward to make me decide on the jour 
 ney, and I am not going to stay in London longer than to 
 made arrangements to go to India." 
 
 " To India again ! " Mr. Munson s glass, on its way to 
 his mouth, was stopped at about a foot from that capa 
 cious receptacle, and his little sparkling eyes were trans 
 fixed with astonishment. 
 
 " What the devil are you going to do there ? " 
 
 " A little business bordering perhaps on the occult. 
 You know there are jugglers there, and persons having 
 the gift of second sight, and people who approach you 
 visiWy in spirit, and converse with you, and tell you mys 
 terious things, but whose fleshly bodies may be at that 
 precise time fifty miles distant." 
 
 " Don t, Ordotte, don t tell me any more ; you are 
 withering the marrow in my backbone," and in order to 
 restore the vigor of the said marrow, he emptied his glass 
 and called for another, making the third measure of 
 porter. 
 
 But Ordotte, without noticing the interruption, con 
 tinued : 
 
 " I am going to see one of these persons, an old man 
 who dwells in the Terai, and with whom I have had, 
 when I lived in India, more than one mysterious conver 
 sation. If I can find him, I sjiall ask his help, and I do 
 not think he will refuse. If I cannot find him, I shall 
 search for another of his kind." 
 
 " Upon my soul, Ordotte, you talk as if you had been 
 studying the" black art." 
 
 " Perhaps I have the black art of reading other 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANXJE. 275 
 
 people s hearts " and then lie finished at a draught his 
 first cjlass of porter. 
 
 Mmnon ate on in silence, looking as if he were 
 strangely divided between his desire to satisfy his vora 
 cious appetite and his wish to ask more questions. At 
 length the latter prevailed, and as the grease from his 
 wen-buttered chop trickled smoothly down his ample 
 chin, he inquired how long would Ordotte s stay be in 
 India, and whether he would return to England, or to 
 New York. 
 
 " I cannot tell the length of my stay in India, as my 
 errand may require more time than I think, and I shall 
 not return to New York from there unless 1 can learn 
 that Mrs. Brekbellew has also returned to that city. 
 I have quite a desire to see her for the sake of old times ; 
 you remember what interesting accounts I gave of her, 
 and if she should remain abroad, I shall certainly make 
 the effort to meet her somewhere." 
 
 " Well, old fellow, I think / can keep you posted as to 
 her whereabouts. You know her husband writes to his 
 uncle regularly. I guess he does it as a stroke of policy. 
 He may be his uncle s heir, and, anyhow, every letter 
 directed to them comes to Brekbellew & Hepburn first, 
 and the firm forward it to the young couple. The re 
 in Paris now, spending lots of money, and Mrs. Brekbel 
 lew s beauty and accomplishments are the theme of every 
 salon. I shouldn t wonder if her poor idiot of a husband 
 hadn t by this time become like most French husbands of 
 a certain class, a sort of figure-] lead." 
 
 And having finished his chop and his porter simulta 
 neously, and his companion also having finished his 
 slighter gastronomical operations, both sallied forth, after 
 a little, taking leave of each other, and Ordotte walked 
 slowly back to his hotel, ruminating on all that he had 
 heard about Mrs. Brekbellew. 
 
 That evening lie sent a note of excuse to Mr. Munson, 
 pleading fatigue as the cause of his inability to be present 
 at the club meeting, and expressing deep regret that he 
 
276 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 should be obliged to forego the pleasure. And while 
 Munson, having read the note to the assembled members, 
 was discanting upon his own unexpected meeting with 
 the writer of the same, and the mysterious object of his 
 journey to India, Ordotte was penning a letter to Mrs. 
 Doloran. It was the first he had written her since he left 
 Rahandabed, and he filled it with the items which he 
 knew would most please her. In an incidental way he 
 mentioned what he had heard of Mrs. Brekbellew s 
 triumphs, and he promised to write again as soon as he 
 reached India. 
 
 XL VII. 
 
 Life in Rahandabed moved at its old gait ; indeed, it 
 was faster and more vivacious than ever, owing to Mrs. 
 Doloran s desire, now that Ordotte was away on such a 
 mysterious journey, to fill up the time with excitement so 
 that it would pass the quicker. 
 
 The house was so constantly crowded with guests that 
 it presented more the appearance of a hotel than a family 
 country mansion, and excursions by day and parties by 
 night continued without intermission. 
 
 Carnew was disgusted with it all, but as no one, not 
 even his aunt, dared to invade his solitude, he was not 
 disturbed further than by seeing occasionally a little of 
 the lamentable folly. He knew it would be useless to 
 attempt to check it, or even to remonstrate, as Mrs. Do 
 loran s self-will was now roused to such a pitch that even 
 the restraint Alan used to exercise upon her seemed to 
 have lost its power. In one thing he did interfere, and 
 by so doing called down upon himself the real or seeming 
 animadversions of pretty much the whole house, for the 
 entire society of Rahandabed was formed of fashionable 
 satellites, who revolved around the mistress, and possessed 
 their souls only through hers. It was, when she an 
 nounced her charitable intention of keeping the woman 
 Bunmer and her baby charge, in Rahandabed. For Mr. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 277 
 
 Dickson she had actually obtained, through the influence 
 of her friends, a very lucrative position in New York, and 
 to Mr. Hay man she had sent a handsome donation, with 
 the promise of renewing the same annually ; but for Bun- 
 mer and the child, since Mrs. Carnew had so shamefully 
 discarded her own offspring, it became "her duty," spo 
 ken in accents of the most stern virtue, to provide for 
 them in a tender manner. So, in the servants hall was 
 Mrs. Bunmer installed, with a very comfortable apart 
 ment entirely to herself, and no labor required of her 
 but the careful nursing of the baby. 
 
 Alan swore when he discovered all that, but his aunt 
 assumed a greater appearance of virtuous indignation than 
 ever, and went into such hysterics that the whole house 
 came about her, and her nephew was glad to retreat to his 
 own solitary and secluded apartments. 
 
 When the letter came from Ordotte, she read it to 
 everybody, and insisted upon reading it to Carnew, for 
 that purpose sending for him. lie returned a short but 
 respectful reply, declining the proposed pleasure, as he 
 had no interest in Mr. Ordotte. 
 
 " But he shall hear it, for all that," persisted Mrs. Do- 
 loran, and straightway she went to his apartments. He 
 was in his own room, and that was locked against her. 
 Down she went on her hnees, so that her mouth could be 
 on a line with the keyhole. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Doloran 
 
 " Good God ! " said Alan to himself, as the words, 
 fairly shouted through the aperture, made him start in his 
 chair, and sent into convulsions of subdued laughter some 
 of the servants who were surreptitiously listening in the 
 next apartment, " how shall I rid myself of her ? " 
 
 " I have had a most pleasant voyage," pursued the sten 
 torian tones, " and one that I should have enjoyed ex 
 ceedingly were it not for my regret at leaving feahanda- 
 bed and you " 
 
 " Thank Providence, some one appreciates me," thrown 
 in from herself by way of a reproachful parenthesis. 
 
278 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " When I arrived in London, I met a dear old friend, 
 Mr. Munson by name ; " " but what s the use of reading 
 the whole of such a nice letter to you ; you wouldn t ap 
 preciate it. I ll just go on to what it says of that lovely 
 Mrs. Brekbellew ; she s in Paris, with the Emperor him 
 self at her feet. If you had married lier, now, as I wanted 
 and begged you to do " she had never asked him to do 
 anything of the kind, but that didn t make any difference 
 in the present instance " instead of that shameless, brazen, 
 good-for-nothing Ned 
 
 She was cut short by the sudden opening of the door, 
 so sudden that, as the door opened outwards, it sent her 
 flat on her back in a most ungraceful sprawl. 
 
 The hot words on her nephew s lips could come no 
 further as he saw his aunt s position, and if they could, 
 they would not be heard, for she set up a succession of 
 screams that brought the whole corps of listening servants 
 into the room. Alan, seizing his hat, fled from the apart 
 ment, and ordering his horse, dashed away on a frantic 
 ride. 
 
 But he had taken his wonted direction, and as he rode 
 through the fresh, blooming country, somehow there stole 
 into his troubled thoughts the reminiscences which Ned 
 had told him of her child-life, when she talked to the 
 trees ; and then there came conjectures about her present 
 life, what she was doing, how she employed her days, 
 whether Dyke did refrain, as he had said he would do, 
 from visiting her, and whether her heart had become 
 really as cold to him as her last brief note would indicate ; 
 and lastly, he felt such a wild, uncontrollable yearning to 
 ascertain something about her, that he actually turned 
 
 about and rode straight to C again, where he put up 
 
 at the hotel, and dispatched a messenger to Macgilivray to 
 request the latter to take home his horse. 
 
 Then he took the train up the river, crossed to Sauger- 
 ties, found a better place of refreshment than Ned had 
 discovered, and the next morning sallied forth, hardly 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 279 
 
 knowing what tlie object of his journey had been, nor 
 what he now intended to do. 
 
 The village, though quite worthy of the name then, 
 was not so populous nor so well-built as in these progres 
 sive days, nor did the people have such a smart, half-city 
 look. And everybody stared at him ; so elegant a look 
 ing gentleman had not greeted the eyes of many of them 
 before, and all unconscious of any rudeness upon their 
 part, they continued to look from the well-brushed nap of 
 his hat to his brightly -polished, snug-fitting boots. Finding 
 that staring seemed to be in perfect propriety, he did a 
 little of it on his own account, and at length, felt his 
 eyes to rest with unusual curiosity upon a very old man, 
 apparently blind, who was sitting on a bench in front of 
 a cobbler s shop. His face had that winning serenity which 
 is not infrequently seen in the faces of the blind, and that 
 seems to spsak of a peace in their souls unknown to those 
 who are in possession of their eyesight. His attire was 
 poor but scrupulously clean, and his small hands and at 
 tenuated fingers showed that they had never been em 
 ployed in much rude labor. 
 
 He was quite alone on the bench, and Carnew, impelled 
 he scarcely knew how or why, seated himself beside him ; 
 at the same time three pair of round eyes looked at him 
 fi om the cobbler s window, and three little, round, straw-. 
 berry mouths were opened wide in childish astonishment 
 at the stranger. 
 
 " Excuse my speaking to you, said Carnew kindly, 
 " but I am a stranger here, and would like to ask a few 
 questions." 
 
 The old man turned his sightless eyes on the speaker, 
 with that singularly intelligent way that the blind occasion 
 ally have, and answered in a voice that evinced education 
 and natural refinement : 
 
 " There is no apology needed for speaking to me, sir; 
 and ask as many questions as you choose, I shall be happy 
 to answer them." 
 
280 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " Have you lived long here ? Bo you know most of the 
 people about ? " 
 
 " I have lived here forty years, and I know everybody 
 within a reach of ten miles, and everybody knows me. I 
 came here from Edinburgh, where I was educated in the 
 university ; I came here because I had failed to get along 
 at home. I fancied that I had a turn for farm labor, and 
 that in a new country I d make a good hand. I was mis 
 taken ; my taste for books was too strong, and I threat 
 ened to be as great a ne er-do-weel here as at home. But 
 Providence was good to me. From one and the other of 
 the neighbors, though there weren t near as many then, 
 I got something to do in the way of teaching the children. 
 As my own wants were small, and as I never married to 
 increase them, I managed to eke out enough for my sup 
 port." 
 
 " Since you know the people within such a range, do 
 you know any one by the name of Dutton ? " 
 " " Dutton ! " the sightless face kindled with delighted 
 animation. " Do you mean Dyke Dutton, that lives out 
 here on the mountains ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think that must be the same." 
 
 " Do I know him f " returned the old man. " It was 
 I who educated him, and a pleasure it was to me to do so, 
 he was so quick to learn, and so grateful, and so noble ; 
 yes, sir ; " placing, in his enthusiasm, his hand on Carnew s 
 arm, " noble is the word to apply to him. Why, he never 
 forgot me. Others that I have done more for grew up, 
 and got rich, and wouldn t know me if they saw me ; but 
 he, even in his adversity, didn t forget me. My Christ 
 mas and Easter present of money came to me just the 
 the same. He thought to conceal from me the poverty 
 he was in, when that scoundrel Patten, to whom he trusted 
 the getting of his patent, deceived and robbed him, but 
 there s not much like that can be concealed in these parts, 
 sir. The whole village somehow got hold of it, and if 
 that scoundrel Patten was to show his face here, lie 
 wouldn t have life enough left in him to get back to 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 281 
 
 where lie came from. But, speaking of Dyke s good 
 ness, sir, one day, about six weeks ago, when he was in a 
 great hurry, going down, he said, to Barry town, he stopped 
 for a minute to see how I was getting along, because liesaid 
 it might be a good while before he would be up hsrc 
 again. I knew by tho tons of his voice that lie was trou 
 bled ; but as he said nothing about it, I didn t like to as" : 
 him. Afterwards, however, when they got it here in the 
 village that letters had come in his care for Mrs. Carnew, 
 and when farmer Dean, who lives just a couple of miles 
 from Dyke, brought the news that Mrs. Carnew was stay 
 ing there with old Meg, I couldn t get it out of my mind 
 that he was troubled about her. You see, sir, she was 
 raised with him, and only went away to go to school ; but 
 afterwards she made a grand marriage, and perhaps she 
 isn t happy. But, excuse me, sir, for talking so much ; I 
 am so fond of Dyke that I caii t stop myself when his 
 name is mentioned ; and then maybe you knew all that I 
 have told you. You see, if it wasn t for his kind pres : 
 ents," going again into the subject of Dyke s goodness, 
 " I d have to be more beholden to these good people," 
 motioning back to the cobbler s shop, " than I am. And 
 now, sir, what did you wish to know about Mr. Dutton? " 
 forgetting in his childish simplicity that he had imparted 
 pretty much his whole stock of information. 
 
 Carnew was a little puzzled what to answer, in order to 
 pretend that he knew very little of Mr. Dutton, and seiz 
 ing on the first idea that presented itself, he answered : 
 
 " I have heard that his home is situated in a very pic 
 turesque spot, and I thought as I was in this part of the 
 country I should like to see it." 
 
 " Well, about its situation," responded the old man, in 
 a tone that indicated a little of his disappointment at not 
 being asked something directly relative to Dyke s self, 
 " that depends on individual taste ; before I lost my sight, 
 ten years ago this very month, I thought it was a pretty, 
 romantic spot, but I have heard since that some people 
 think the scenery is too wild. As to seeing it for your- 
 
232 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 self, sir, there will be no difficulty about that ; at the very 
 next corner you will find people glad to let you have a 
 conveyance and a driver to guide you." 
 
 ".Do you think I should find Mr. Dutton at home ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, sir ; whenever he is at home, somebody down 
 here knows it ; for every time the hired man comes down 
 for letters, or anything else, he is always asked about 
 Dyke. Last time he was down, he said Dyke was back 
 to his business in New York." 
 
 " Well, then, whom do you think I shall find at home." 
 
 " You ll find old Meg; she s a sort of daft now, they say ; 
 has what the doctors call softening of the brain, and so 
 doesn t remember what happened last week. And you ll 
 find Mrs. Carnew there, and a hired woman." 
 
 " Have you ever seen Mrs. Carnew ? " 
 
 " When she was a little girl, but not since ; she was as 
 handsome as a picture then ; and how Dyke loved her ! 
 They say she has grown up beautiful." 
 
 By this time, the owners of the three pair of round 
 eyes and the three strawberry-months had become so 
 venturesome that they dared to get into exceedingly close 
 proximity to Mr. Carnew, and were even about to lay 
 rather familiar hands upon his clothes. Within doors, 
 the honest cobbler and his good-natured helpmate had 
 bsen holding a whispered conversation about the stranger. 
 
 Alan smiled, as lie noticed the encroaches of the little 
 ones, and while he felt in his purse for a coin apiece for 
 them, he asked the old man for his name. 
 
 " Peter Patterson," was the reply. 
 
 " Well, Peter," said Carnew, shaking the old man s 
 hand, and leaving in it a golden douceur, " I have quite 
 enjoyed listening to you, and now I shall go to the corner 
 and hire a conveyance to take me out to Mr. Dutton s 
 home." 
 
 The conveyance was soon procured, and the driver, 
 being a voluble fellow and well acquainted with the 
 topography, not alone of his own village, but seemingly 
 of all Ulster County, entertained his passenger with the 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 283 
 
 history of the occupants of ever) 7 farm-house they passed, 
 an account of the last new road that had been projected 
 and partly made through the mountains, with a view to 
 building a sort of hotel on one of the most accessible 
 peaks for summer tourists. That capitalists from New 
 York were already on the ground, and that both road 
 and hotel would be completed in another season. 
 
 " The place is just four miles beyond Mr. Button s, 
 sir ; if you d like to see it, I ll drive on, and you can stop 
 at Mr. button s coming back." 
 
 " I do not want to stop at all at Mr. Button s ; I only 
 wish to drive by his place to see its situation." 
 
 "Well then, shall I drive you the four miles beyond ?" 
 
 Garnew assented, and the driver continued his com 
 municative strain, until they came in sight of Ned s home. 
 
 " That s Mr. Button s house," said the driver, pointing 
 with his whip to the little mottled dwelling, and Carnew 
 leaned forward, his heart beating violently, and his cheeks 
 flushing. The smoke was curling in a lively, home-like 
 way up from the chimney ; a fat, speckled cow was grazing 
 in a field near-by ; and a man was working at something 
 just outside the barn. The door of the little house itself 
 was open, and some one, at the sound of the wheels 
 passing, came to the doorway to look out. Carnew 
 shrank behind his companion and pulled his hat over his 
 eyes ; but it was not Ned, it was only a stout, middle aged 
 working-woman. He wondered if she were Meg, about 
 whom he had heard so much ; but he thought not, for 
 Meg had been described as quite old. So, reassured that 
 Ned was not in sight, he pushed his hat back again, 
 resumed his first position, and once more looked about 
 him. There were the woods, her woods, about which she 
 had told him such quaint tales of her childish fancies ; 
 and beyond were the grand, old mountain peaks, look 
 ing in the sunlight of the summer-day like gilded monu 
 ments of a primeval age. What peace there was about it 
 all ! A peace that seemed to make Carnew more tired 
 
284: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 than ever of his own unsatisfactory life, ana of the hollow, 
 heartless people who made up the society of Rahandabed. 
 
 The additional four miles lay through scenes as pic 
 turesque, but wilder than those they had passed, and lato 
 in the afternoon they came upon a perfect hive of laborer > 
 A temporary structure had already been erected in the 
 doorway of which stood what were a couple of evidently 
 city gentlemen, though dressed in the easy costume that 
 bespeaks men who have renounced all the restraints of 
 fashion. They looked with a good deal of curiosity at 
 Carnew, who, tired of his somewhat cramped position in 
 the wagon, had alighted to stretch his limbs. 
 
 He bowed to the gentlemen, and then advancing, told 
 how he had heard of their undertaking, and had come to 
 gratify his curiosity by seeing it ; after which he presented 
 his card. 
 
 " What ? Carnew is it ? " exclaimed the younger of the 
 two gentlemen, with delighted surprise. u Are you, my 
 dear fellow, the Alan Carnew of some place along the 
 Hudson some place with an odd name?" 
 
 " The very same," replied Alan laughing. 
 
 " Well, I am Charles Brekbellew, cousin of that poor 
 idiot, Harry Brekbellew, who made a long visit at your 
 place with the odd name, and who ended by marrying a 
 great beauty and an heiress. Now, if you have formed 
 any personal and private opinion of that same weak devil, 
 Harry Brekbellew, who, like other devils of the same ilk, 
 get the best plums from fortune, don t let that opinion 
 extend to your humble servant. I am his first cousin, son 
 of his father s brother, and shipped from England here, 
 six years ago, because I wouldn t truckle to a rich old 
 uncle, a banker in London, and another Brekbellew. 
 Harry used to write to me once in a while about his times 
 in well, in that place with the odd name; and that s 
 how I came to hear about you. He said you were a good 
 soi-t of chap, but not much for mingling with the rest 
 of them, which course on your part, if the rest of them 
 ware like my cousin, did you much honor. He didn t 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 285 
 
 have the grace to ask me to his wedding but here I am 
 rattling on and forgetting all the courtesies. Mr. Carnew, 
 allow me to present to you my friend and partner, Mr. 
 McArthur." 
 
 As Mr. McArthur was an Irishman of the type whose 
 hearts entirely rule their heads, it is needless to say that 
 he responded to the introduction by giving Alan s hand 
 a most cordial shake, and then he followed up his cordiality 
 by wanting to know if Mr. Carnew wouldn t step within 
 and join them in a bit of lunch, to which Mr. Brekbellew 
 responded by taking Carnew s arm, and insisting thnt he 
 should do so, saying as he led Alan within : 
 
 " Now that you are with us on the mountains, why not 
 make a stay of a week ? We have everything you need 
 in the way of dress, and I am sure our manner of living 
 will be a pleasant novelty to you. Come, say you will, 
 and let me dismiss this man of yours. One of us will 
 drive you down to Sangerties at the end of the week." 
 
 Carnew s heart leaped at the offer ; to be for a whole 
 week in the very vicinity of Ned ; to have, perhaps, op 
 portunities of making, in the gloaming of the day, sur 
 reptitious visits to the immediate neighborhood of her 
 home, and to catch secret glimpses of her, perchance, were 
 enough of themselves to make him inclined to accept the 
 invitation, even if his companions had been less sincere 
 and genial than they were. And then both pressed him 
 so earnestly, tempting him with all the wild, novel 
 pleasures of the place, that he found it difficult to resist. 
 80 the driver was dismissed, and Carnew remained with 
 Mr. McArthur and Mr. Brekbellew. 
 
 XLYIII. 
 
 Carnew found his new abode to be one of pleasant 
 novelty ; life there seemed to be something like what ho 
 used to read when a boy of the life of the people in the 
 backwoods ; everything was done simply, in a manner 
 almost primitive, and there was such a genial glow shed 
 
286 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 over it all by his two pleasant companions. he very 
 second day he found himself entering into all their ways 
 with a zest that was refreshing to himself, and most 
 agreeable to his friends. They took him quite into their 
 confidence. 
 
 u You see, Mr. Carnew," said Brekbellew, who in 
 neither countenance, voice, nor manner resembled his 
 cousin, and who, while he could not lay the slightest 
 cla : m to physical beauty, bore that evidence of manhood 
 which wins involuntary favor. " You see," he repeated, 
 we haven t undertaken this enterprise so much to make 
 money out of it as to give ourselves a new object of in 
 terest. If it just pays the expense, we shall be satisfied ; 
 if it does not, McArthur there will lose pretty heavily, 
 but he won t mind, for he is pretty rich, and hasn t any 
 wife to call him to account. As for me, I m a poor devil 
 anyhow, and the little I sunk in the enterprise won t 
 beggar me. There is no one to call me to account except 
 that old uncle on the other side, and as I told you, he 
 washed his hands of me six years ago because I dared to 
 hold some opinions of my own. My cousin Harry will 
 come in for all that fortune." 
 
 " You are better without it, Charlie," said McArthur, 
 in his rich Irish voice ; " carve your own way in the 
 world as I did." 
 
 Carnew looked at the last speaker, thinking he was 
 rather young to have carved his own way to the wealth 
 he was said to possess ; but he also thought, as he con 
 tinued to look, it was hardly to be wondered at when one 
 noticed the physiognomy of the man. Perception, judg 
 ment, observation, memory were all most strikingly de 
 veloped, while benevolence shadowed all, and mirth, the 
 true, Irish, witty mirth, stood out as strongly as the other 
 qualities. It was a face, like Brekbellew s, not possessing 
 the beauty that goes to silly women s hearts, but a face to 
 delight the physiognomist, and the form which it sur 
 mounted was somewhat slender, but well-knit and com 
 pact. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 287 
 
 "We came up here," pursued Brekbellew, "last sum 
 mer, Dan and I, and we stayed a fortnight tenting it. 
 Don t you think we are pioneers ? Well, that was the 
 way the idea came first, the idea of building a sort of 
 summer-house up among these mountains, and running 
 it for tourists like ourselves. It came to McArthur who 
 was rusting for something to do, and lie broached it to 
 me, allowing me, just to say that I had some money in it, 
 to put in the magnificent sum of one hundred dollars. 
 Yes, sir ; that is the extent of my share in this great en 
 terprise." 
 
 And the speaker affected to swell with most laughable 
 importance. 
 
 " Of course," he continued, " the hardest job would be 
 making the road, and getting the materials up here for 
 our building. We looked about us for awhile, and finally 
 hit on that place of Dutton s " Carnew started slightly, 
 but he was not observed " four miles below here ; it was 
 such a pretty spot, and not quite so high as this, and in 
 stead of having any new road made, we could have im 
 proved the old one. But Dutton wouldn t sell ; it was 
 an old homestead, and he couldn t part with it. I saw 
 him dow r n in New York, at his place of business, and I 
 never was so much taken with a stranger in my life. 
 There was such an air of simple honesty about the man. 
 I was so impressed by him, I had to take McArthur to 
 see him on the pretense of business, of course, and he 
 came aw^ay with tli3 same feeling ; didn t you, Dan 2 " 
 
 Dan nodded his head. 
 
 Carnew bit his lip with secret vexation ; this was the 
 second time within two days that Dyke s praises had been 
 pressed upon him. 
 
 " It would have been a desirable site," he answered, in 
 order to get the conversation out of the channel of enco 
 miums. " I noticed it as I was driven here. And would 
 you object to my becoming a partner in this undertaking ? 
 I also, like Mr. McArthur, have some spare funds 
 
 " Couldn t think of it, my dear fellow," interrupted 
 
288 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 McArthur; "I cannot share the honors of this enter 
 prise any further than I have done ; the success or the 
 failure must be ours alone, must it not, Charlie ? " 
 
 To which Charlie responded an emphatic 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 That was the honest-hearted Irishman s way of refusing 
 to entrap even a rich friend into what iniglit prove a 
 failure. 
 
 That evening Carnew took a walk, a solitary walk that 
 led him down the mountain in the direction of Mr. Dut- 
 ton s house. It was a brilliant sunset when he started, 
 but it was moonlight when he had traversed the four 
 miles which intervened. The little mottled, well-remem 
 bered house was in sight, with the light from a lamp 
 shining through one of the windows. Like a culprit try 
 ing to escape from justice, he stole nearer and nearer to 
 the little dwelling. If he could only get one sight of her, 
 he would be satisfied, he would be happy. 
 
 Every wooden shutter was thrown back, so that if the 
 lamplight would not expose him he might steal in turn to 
 each of the windows that were situated at accessible 
 heights from the ground, and perhaps a kind Providence 
 would reward him. He did so, and through one of the 
 open windows near which lie stood, he beheld with a great 
 throb of his heart the object of his search. She was 
 seated by a little table in the centre of the room, on which 
 stood the lamp that sent its rays so far, and she seemed to 
 be reading a letter to an aged woman by her side. 
 
 As only her profile was toward him, he could not see 
 what ravages separation from her husband had made in 
 her countenance ; he could only see the clear, chiseled 
 profile, the low, coiling mass of soft, abundant hair, and 
 the slender, graceful figure. Then the tones of her clear, 
 sweet voice floated out to him, and he caught that she was 
 reading a letter from Dyke. He strained his ears, but 
 that was scarcely necessary, for her words came to him 
 distinctly : 
 
 " You w r ill not mind, dear Ned, that I still remain 
 
A. FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 away. And, perhaps, even you will be comforted a little 
 by knowing that I am relieved of so much anxiety in feel 
 ing that your gentle care is about dear old Meg. Surely 
 He who forgets nothing that is done for His name s sake 
 will reward you for your unselfish affection, will reward 
 you by proving your innocence, and restoring to you 
 your husband s love and trust. Have courage and hope 
 a little longer, and this night of trouble will be followed 
 by a clear and perfect day." 
 
 At this juncture, whether by that magnetic pressure, 
 which makes us feel that eyes we do not directly see are 
 looking at us, or whether Alan, in his eagerness, forgot 
 himself so far as to incautiously shift his position, Mrs. 
 Carnew stopped her reading abruptly, and turning so that 
 she faced the window, she saw her husband s countenance. 
 
 The suddenness of the sight, the seeming impractica 
 bility and impossibility of his being in such a place at 
 such an hour, and in such a manner, all combined to make 
 her think it was an apparition, an apparition that boded 
 some evil to him, according to the old superstitious 
 legends of her childhood, and with an agonized scream 
 she attempted to stand, but reeled, and fell back fainting 
 to her chair. 
 
 Alan fled ; though a moment before he was softened, and 
 touched even in Dyke s favor, by the hearing of that let 
 ter, which had not one harsh word of himself, now his 
 old pride had returned. He would not be caught thus 
 surreptitiously looking at his wife, for the world, and he 
 fairly dashed along the mountain road by which he had 
 come, not relaxing his speed until he had run a mile or 
 more. 
 
 When Mrs. Carnew recovered, knowing that old Meg 
 would not understand her, and Anne McCabe w^ould be 
 unable to help her to any solution of the mystery, she de 
 cided not to say a word of what had caused her swoon, 
 and she satisfied the sympathizing inquiries of the woman 
 by answers which, while they were truthful, still did not 
 betray what she wished to conceal. Poor old Meg asked 
 
290 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 nothing ; only put her arms around Ned, and pillowed 
 her head on her breast as she used to do when she was a 
 strong and comparatively young woman, and Ned was a 
 little, helpless child. 
 
 But Mrs. Carnew thought about the strange cause of her 
 fainting fit all the more because of her silence upon it, 
 and when she replied to Dyke s letter, which she did that 
 very night, she begged him to find out something about 
 her husband s health. She did not tell him why she 
 made such a request, further than to say it was owing to 
 a sudden and strange anxiety, because she felt that Dyke 
 would think what she saw was only an hallucination of 
 her own disturbed brain, and that he would deem her 
 weak and unwomanly for yielding to it. 
 
 And Dyke did smile a little when he read her request, 
 but he loved the writer none the less for it, and as he 
 slipped the letter into the fastening which bound her 
 other letters he kept them all together now he resolved 
 to go to Rahandabed, that he might ascertain in person 
 the information desired by Ned. 
 
 Alan had regained his mountain quarters in such a 
 state of breathlessiiess that his companions wanted to 
 know if he had met a bear, and if the killing of it had 
 thrown him into such a panting condition. 
 
 " No ; but I ve had a long quick walk up your moun 
 tain, equal in exertion to an encounter with a bear," 
 answered Carnew laughing, and then he fell to the late 
 supper which had been delayed for him, and took his own 
 animated part in the bright, genial conversation of his 
 companions, as if his heart and his head were not on fire 
 with thoughts of his wife. 
 
 At midnight, when his friends had retired, he stole out 
 to walk and think. 
 
 If but one message would come from her ; one little 
 word of wifely love,^or remembrance, he felt he would be 
 willing to condone everything, and implore her to return 
 to him. But this wilful obstinacy and pride upon her 
 part, made him equally determined and proud, and as he 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 291 
 
 looked up to the clear, moonlit sky, lie shut his teeth hard 
 together, resolving no love on his part should betray him 
 into yielding one iota, until she had made the first advance. 
 But, when he turned in at last to sleep, his fitful slumber 
 was beset by visions of Ned as he saw her that evening, 
 reading Dyke s letter. 
 
 He remained with his mountain friends a week as he 
 had promised to do, and every evening he rambled in the 
 direction of Ned s home ; but only far enough to be in 
 sight of the house ; he was afraid to risk again a nearer 
 view, for, though on the first occasion he had fled so 
 quickly that he was certain he had not been recognized, 
 he might not be so fortunate again. Sometimes one or 
 both of his friends accompanied him, and though they re 
 marked the lingering look with which he turned from 
 Button s place, they little dreamed, not knowing that 
 Carnew was married, of the dear, dear object under Dut- 
 ton s roof. 
 
 On the day of his departure, Brekbellew drove him to 
 Saugerties, and obtained from him a promise to revisit the 
 mountain quarters before the setting in of cold weather. 
 
 " And next season, Mr. Carnew," he said, as he shook 
 Alan s hand, " we ll be able to give you the welcome of a 
 prince," to which Alan responded, by reminding him of 
 the promise he and McArthur had given to visit Rahan- 
 dabed during the winter. 
 
 As Carnew neared C , his last interview with his 
 
 aunt when she had attempted to read Ordotte s letter 
 through the keyhole, and had failed so disastrously came 
 to his mind for the first time since he had dashed away so 
 frantically, and filled as his thoughts were with disturbing 
 and weighty matters, the ludicrousness of the scene struck 
 him as it did not do at the time of its occurrence, lie 
 laughed to himself, laughed even after he had reached 
 
 C , and had taken his seat in the conveyance he hired 
 
 to take him to Kalian dabed. 
 
 It was evening when the vehicle turned into the broad, 
 
292 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 admirably kept road which led to the house, and the 
 wonted festivity was under way. 
 
 Scarcely looking at the flashing lights, and the gaily 
 dressed ladies flitting past the open windows, he directed 
 the man to drive to the side of the house, and having paid 
 and dismissed him, he went quietly to his own apartments. 
 He had hardly entered when a servant knocked for 
 admission. 
 
 " Mrs. Doloran desired to know the moment you re 
 turned home, sir, and having been told that you are here, 
 she wants to know if you will go to her, or if she will 
 come to you." 
 
 Carnew frowned, thinking, that perhaps she meant to 
 renew her attempt at reading Ordotte s letter, and he con 
 cluded, that he had better consent to the interview in order 
 to prevent a repetition of the keyhole scene. 
 
 " Tell Mrs. Doloran that I will see her here." 
 
 He had no desire to traverse the gay house as he would 
 have to do to reach any place of interview appointed by 
 her. 
 
 In an incredibly short space of time, as if she might 
 have been waiting in the next passage for the servant s 
 answer, Mrs. Doloran presented herself. Her very dress, 
 devoid as it was of taste, or becoming color, was an eye 
 sore to her nephew, and the way in which she rust]ed and 
 rattled her ample silken skirts, caused an aching in his 
 ears ; but he saluted her respectfully, and waited for the 
 announcement of her errand. 
 
 " Alan Carnew," she had evidently worked herself up to 
 the pitch of anger at which hysterics usually supervened, 
 bat for some purpose of her own. she seemed determined 
 t3 waive the hysterics for the present, if not indefinitely. 
 * I demand this instant from you an explanation of your 
 conduct ; what do you mean by shutting yourself up with 
 a strange man for a whole hour early in the morning, 
 going off after that for a week, nobody knows where, 
 and having during your absence that same strange man 
 coming here asking for you, and when you re not to be 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLA2s T CE. 293 
 
 liad, asking for me, just to know how your health is, and 
 when I told him that you had the health of all fools, 
 without a pain or an ache that disturb people of brains, he 
 just bowed and thanked me, with the air of one of the 
 rajahs that Ordotte talks about? Now, sir, I demand 
 a full and instant explanation of all this." 
 
 Carnew pursed up his eyebrows to indicate a surprise, 
 which he certainly felt, that Mr. Dutton of course it was 
 he, since he was the gentleman who had been closeted 
 with him, though not for an hour, on the morning of his 
 departure should have come again to Kahandabed, and 
 only for such a purpose as his aunt stated. Could it be 
 that he had brought a message from Ned ? But no, in 
 that case he would not have asked for Mrs. Doloran ; so, 
 with his eyebrows still pursed, and his whole manner in 
 dicative of grave wonder, he replied : 
 
 " I am as much astonished as you are, madam, that in 
 formation of my health should be the single object of any 
 person s visit to Rahandabed." 
 
 " Now, Alan, don t provoke me to something desper 
 ate. You know I have not Ordotte to soothe and protect 
 me. I want to know immediately who that man is? " 
 
 " What man ? " questioned Carnew, with perfectly 
 simulated innocence. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran stamped her foot, and fairly roared : 
 
 " The man who called here yesterday, and who was 
 with you in your study there," pointing to the library- 
 door, " the morning that you went away in such a huff." 
 
 Alan stroked his mustache. 
 
 " If you really saw this mysterious man yesterday, and 
 answered his question about my health, it is a wonder to 
 me that you did not then avail yourself of the opportunity 
 to learn his name. Certainly, when he sent his request 
 to see you he sent his card with it." 
 
 " No, he didn t ; he just sent a request to see me with 
 out any card, and told me to my face that it was only be 
 cause he could not see you that he asked for me." 
 
294 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " And you did not inquire liis name ? " in a tone full 
 of doubt and sarcasm. 
 
 " Do you think I was so stupid as not to ask that ? I 
 asked it the first thing and the last tiling, but he wouldn t 
 give it. He smiled, and said it made no difference. What 
 do you think of that ? " 
 
 " That he is to be admired for his prudence ; that he is 
 to be commended for not pandering to a foolish woman s 
 insensate curiosity." 
 
 Mrs. Doloran could scarcely speak for temper, but 
 there must have been some still more powerful motive at 
 work, for she managed to prevent a violent outbreak, and 
 said as firmly as her raging passion would allow her to 
 do: 
 
 " Since he would not give the information I wanted, I 
 demand it from you." 
 
 " Wha.t information ? " 
 
 Knowing of how little avail anger and firmness had 
 been in the past with his aunt, when she was as decided 
 as she seemed to be now, he determined to try an entirely 
 new plan, regardless how soon it brought on her hysterics, 
 for in. that case she would be removed, at least from his 
 presence. 
 
 " His name, booby the name of this man ? " 
 
 " What man ? " 
 
 And thus Alan provokingly kept it up, affecting complete 
 ignorance of what he was to answer, until Mrs. Doloran, 
 fairly beaten on her own ground, and beaten in such an 
 ignominious fashion, broke down at last, not into her 
 usual hysterics, but into a very storm of crying. 
 
 " When you know how it would relieve me," she said, 
 " just to tell me his name, you ungrateful boy that I ve 
 loved, and loved, and loved but Alan had shut and 
 locked himself into his study. 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 295 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Ordotte had made his mysterious journey to India and had 
 returned, not, however, to New York, nor yet to London, 
 but, directed by the contents of Munson s last letter, 
 to faris. To Paris, where Mrs. Brekbellew was still 
 the lovely butterfly of fashion, fluttering around the 
 flame of destruction, and where her husband was fas", 
 sinking into the vortex made by his own follies. 
 
 While he had that kind of cunning and bravado in 
 small and mean things which is often to be found in very 
 weak characters, he utterly lacked the cunning to 
 save himself from being thoroughly victimized, and the 
 courage to command his wife to desist from her extrava 
 gant course. He smarted under her open contempt of 
 him, and he winced beneath the extravagance into which 
 she forced him, but he- had not the manhood to resist 
 either. 
 
 By nature he was economical without being parsimo 
 nious, but she taunted this quality in him to such a degr.ee 
 that he rushed to the gaming-table, with tke hope that his 
 winnings would make him indifferent to her folly. 
 
 That course made him an open mark, and while Mrs. 
 Brekbellew, by reason of her beauty and extravagance, 
 was the boast and the toast in fashionable salons, Mr. 
 Brekbellew was to be found nightly staking large sums, 
 and accepting his losses he rarely won with a sort of 
 imbecile indifference, which was stimulated, perhaps, by 
 his deep, and often secret potations. 
 
 Is ed s appealing letter had been carefully forwarded to 
 Mrs. Brekbellew, and she had received it before she was 
 a month in Paris ; but the only effect it produced was to 
 make her laugh quite heartily ; so heartily that her hus 
 band heard her from the next room, and he ventured to 
 thrust his head in and inquire the cause of the mirth. 
 
 " Nothing that concerns you, this time," was her light 
 and contemptuously spoken reply, " though your idiocy 
 is a constant source of mirth. I don t know w T hat I 
 
296 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 should do, if you were to get brains like other people. I 
 would have nothing to laugh at." 
 
 He withdrew before she had quite finished ; her sar 
 casm and ridicule pricked him like pins driven deep into 
 tender places, but he had not the courage to resent it. 
 
 "I knew that would send him back, the fool," she so 
 liloquized. " And now, Mrs. Carnew, you have come to the 
 wrong one for justice, or mercy. I, to expose myself for 
 the sake of clearing you, give an opportunity to that 
 idiot " pointing to the room into which her husband 
 had retreated " to taunt and perhaps denounce me in 
 revenge for all my reviling of him, and cause myself to 
 be thoroughly hated by my own father ? Oh, no ! I should 
 be as great an imbecile as Harry Brekbellew is, if I did. 
 You swore an oath, Mrs. Carnew, and you shall have to 
 abide by it, even if it does separate your husband from 
 you forever. It is only fair that you should have some 
 unhappiness in your married life. I have misery, utter 
 misery in mine. I hate my husband. 
 
 For an instant she bowed her head to let the bitter tears 
 that welled into her eyes have way. Then she roused 
 herself, tore the pitiful little letter into scraps, flung the 
 latter into the great open fire-place, touched them into a 
 flame with a match, and watched until the last shred had 
 gone into ashes. 
 
 That was how Ned s appeal was answered. 
 
 When the couple had been four months in Paris he 
 continuing to gamble with the recklessness of a madman, 
 and she to reign a very queen of beauty and fashion he 
 w r as brought up in short order by a very angry and threat 
 ening letter from his uncle Brekbellew, of the firm of 
 Brekbellew & Hepburn. 
 
 " What are these reports that I hear ? " the old gentle 
 man wrote in firm, large, black characters, "that your 
 gambling losses have eaten into the very capital of your 
 fortune, and that just ho\v soon the gaming houses them 
 selves will be enriched by the balance of the capital has 
 been, openly discussed by every roue in Paris, and that 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 297 
 
 your fine wife lias taken to herself, instead of your escort, 
 the attendance of fashionable connts and dukes, and out 
 does even her French friends, the mesdames, in setting 
 the example of wifely estrangement. Are these reports 
 true, sir, and what do you suppose shall be my course if 
 they are ? I ll throw you to the devil, sir, you and your 
 fine wife, and leave every pound of my money to that 
 other scapegrace, Charles Brekbellew. He is doing well, 
 sir ; he has gone jointly into some railroad enterprise in 
 America, and if he did contradict me to my face, and not 
 agree with my opinions on public matters, at least he has 
 proved himself a thrifty, sensible man. 
 
 " I expected to have my bachelor home made 
 bright and cheerful, and my declining age rendered 
 pleasant, by the residence of you and your wife with 
 me ; but as it is, sir, I suppose you would both scorn sucb 
 a proposition. Either write immediately that you are 
 coming to live with me, or prepare to be totally disin 
 herited. 
 
 " Your indignant uncle, 
 
 " HENRY BREKBELLEW." 
 
 That letter caused young Brekbellew to reflect that is, 
 to do as much of that admirable and oft-commended action 
 as his little, addled brain was capable of doing. lie was 
 going to the devil ; he saw that in a sort of misty, help 
 less-way, and his wife did not care how soon he reached 
 his infernal destination ; he saw that also, with an impotent 
 rage. A couple of months more of her present extrava 
 gance and his own gambling expanses, unless luck should 
 turn in his favor, would quite impoverish him. To be 
 sure, there was her fortune to expect. On her father s 
 death it would be very large ; but then, after all, he 
 could not be certain of enjoying that. Mr. Edgar s openly 
 expressed dislike of him, his coldness on the very morning 
 of the wedding, and the meagre dower he had given to 
 his daughter, all told unmistakably, even to his weak in 
 tellect, that his chances of enjoying Mr. Edgar s wealth 
 
298 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 were rather poor. If the gentleman should conveniently 
 die, he might bequeath his wealth in such a manner that 
 only Edna could touch it, or he might, as even affection 
 ate fathers were known to do sometimes, entirely disin 
 herit her because of her marriage without his approval. 
 The outlook was unpromising in every direction save that 
 proposed by his uncle, and, regarding himself, he was 
 willing enough to pursue that course. A quiet life in 
 England would repair in his health and purse the ravages 
 made by his Paris excesses, and he exerted all his feeble 
 determination to insist that his wife should agree with 
 him. But he dreaded the effort, knowing how she lived 
 in the adulation and excitement about her ; he felt that she 
 would scorn his uncle s invitation, and he groaned as he 
 thought of the contempt with which she would treat him. 
 Still, when he should tell her how near he was to financial 
 ruin, and should suggest his fears regarding her own 
 fortune, he thought and hoped she might be affected in the 
 right direction. 
 
 To fortify himself still more for the interview, he drank 
 a whole bottle of wine, and then sent a request to his 
 wife to be permitted to see her. 
 
 Mrs. Brekbellaw was just then in the hands of her maid, 
 and any request from her husband was so unprecedented 
 and so audacious she having completely humiliated and 
 snubbed him since they had come to Paris that she re 
 plied to the messenger with a ludicrous surprise : 
 
 " Mr. Brekbellew wishes to see me ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered the girl in French, which language 
 Mrs. Brekbellew had also used, " he is most anxious to see 
 inadame immediately." 
 
 " When Nanette finishes, he may come in ; tell him I 
 shall ring when I am ready." 
 
 So poor Brekbellew waited, like the obedient cur that he 
 was, until a silvery little tinkle told him that he might 
 enter his wife s dressing apartment. 
 
 She was seated before her mirror like some lovely 
 vision, and the infatuation of the days in Eahandabed 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 290 
 
 when the spell of her beauty ravished him, seemed to come 
 to him again. He saw so little of her recently, that his 
 present sight of her was almost like the renewal of an old 
 acquaintance. And it rendered the announcement of his 
 errand still harder. Indeed, he only stood before her in 
 creasing her contempt for him, by his awkward, embar 
 rassed manner. 
 
 " Well, Breky," that was one of her derisive terms for 
 him, " what do you want ? Please be quick, for the 
 Count de Chamont is to be here this evening. I expect 
 him every moment." A slight flush rosa to Brekbellew s 
 cheeks. Weak as he was, he winced more beneath the 
 taunt implied in her haste to forsake him, her husband, 
 for the company of another of his sex, than at her open 
 contempt of himself. But he choked down his resent 
 ment, as he was accustomed to do, and took from his 
 pocket his uncle s letter. 
 
 " Read that," lie said meekly, extending it to her. 
 
 She did so, and, having finished its perusal, looked up, 
 asking lightly: 
 
 " Well, what has all that to do with me ?" 
 
 " To do with you f " 
 
 Her coolness astonished him into something that seemed 
 like spirit. 
 
 " Why, madam, it has to do with your means of living. 
 In a couple of months more at the rate of our living here, 
 I shall be a beggar. Has not that something to do with 
 you ? " 
 
 " Why, Breky, you poor fool ! that is the very thing I 
 want you to become ; then I can write to ray father with 
 a good grace that you have ruined me by your gambling 
 excesses, that I cannot live with you any longer ; and he 
 will either come and take me home, or come and allow 
 me to continue to live here. Ills fortune is ample enough 
 for all my wants." 
 
 Brekbellew s little spirit still sustained him. 
 
 "Perhaps you ought not to be so sure of his fortune. 
 He didn t behave very handsomely when you were mar- 
 
300 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 ried, and lie may carry liis dislike to the husband yon 
 chose, so far as to leave you to the beggary caused as much 
 by your own extravagance, as by your husband s gambling." 
 
 She laughed a long, low, musical ripple before she 
 replied, shaking her head at the same time in a saucy, co 
 quettish way, that to even the poor wight before her, 
 was most aggravating : 
 
 " You are mistaken, Breky ; as you always are when 
 you attempt to use your poor little brains in the way of 
 forethought, or reflection ; I am my father s only child, 
 and it is you he dislikes, not me. He will be so rejoiced 
 when he learns that I do not care for you ; that 1 have 
 discovered he was right in his estimate of you, a poor, 
 little, contemptuous imbecile, that no woman with ordinary 
 brains could possibly esteem, that he will instantly take 
 me to his heart, and his home, and his fortune again." 
 
 For once, the poor little creature s temper was fairly 
 aroused. His wife s lash had cut so deep, that, like the 
 trodden worm, he had turned at last ; the fumes of the 
 wine were also rising to his brain, and he actually almost 
 threateningly advanced to her, at which she rose, and con 
 fronted him with exceeding dignity, while he retorted : 
 
 " Who was it that wrote to the poor, little, contemptu 
 ous imbecile, that no woman with ordinary brains could 
 esteem, to come to Weewald Place and propose to her, 
 that she was ready and eager to marry him. Who did 
 that unwomanly thing, answer me that, madam ? " 
 
 But Mrs. Brekbellew replied with great stateliness : 
 
 " Have you the letter which contains that unwomanly 
 proposition ? " 
 
 The next to the last word was pronounced with sar 
 castic emphasis. 
 
 " No ; fool that I was to give it up to you, after we 
 were married." 
 
 " Then don t taunt people with statements that you can t 
 substantiate." 
 
 " Why did you marry me ? " resumed Brekbellew, the 
 wine, and his unwonted temper, giving him extraordinary 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 301 
 
 courage : " You were rich and did not not need my 
 money ; you never cared for me. Why in thunder, madam, 
 did you marry me ? " 
 
 "Why ? " she repeated with provoking deliberation pnd 
 calmness, " because I loved Alan Carnew, and hearing 
 that he was about to marry Ked Edgar, I would not give 
 her the satisfaction of having a husband before /had one. 
 You were the most convenient suitor at the time, and you 
 evinced the dog-like qualities of faithfulness and obedience 
 which always mark the model husband ; hence, I proposed 
 to you." With another long, low, silvery ripple of 
 laughter. 
 
 " And you actually married me without loving me in 
 the least, without even meaning that show of affection 
 with which you greeted me in Weewald Place ? " 
 
 " Actually, Breky, actually." 
 
 " Then you are a devil, madam, and the sooner I go 
 to my uncle, and tell him how /was duped, and forced by 
 your very treatment of me to the gambler s life I am 
 leading, the better for me. He will recommend a separa 
 tion instantly, and I shall adopt his recommendation." 
 
 She retorted, but in the calm, passionless voice she had 
 used throughout : 
 
 " And you, sir, are a deceiver, and the sooner I go to 
 my father, and tell him how / was duped into marrying 
 a man who had deceived and deserted a poor French girl, 
 
 leaving her and her child to die in the village of C , 
 
 the better." 
 
 Brekbellew retreated as if he was shot. That secret he 
 deemed so safe, not having heard a word from any quar 
 ter which connected his name with his unfortunate vic 
 tim. How did his wife, of all others, obtain possession of 
 it? And he continued to stare at her, speechless and 
 aghast. 
 
 She resumed, having for a moment silently enjoyed his 
 discomfiture. 
 
 " That was your secret, and I respected it. It was re 
 vealed to me before I married yen, and the writer im- 
 
302 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 plored me not to risk my own happiness by wedding a 
 man so lost to every sense of honor, so heartless as you 
 were 
 
 " Josephine herself told you," burst from Brekbellew. 
 
 "You are mistaken; I did not hear a syllable from 
 Josephine ; but, as I was going to say when you inter 
 rupted me, I never intended to reproach you with it ; I 
 never intended to let you know it was in my possession, 
 but this evening you have driven yourself upon it. Now 
 take your course : return to your uncle if you choose, but 
 do not include me in any of your plans." 
 
 She rang the bell for Nanette, and poor, little, crestfallen, 
 dismayed Brekbellew retired from the apartment, like 
 the miserable whipped cur that he was, and she descended 
 to the elegant salon. 
 
 An hour later, and she was surrounded by her admir 
 ers. She seemed to be in excellent spirits, giving out 
 witty French repartee with a clever archness surprising 
 in one to whom the language was not a mother tongue, 
 and eclipsing by her beauty every French woman pres 
 ent. 
 
 A servant brought her a card. She glanced at it, look 
 ing not quite pleased when she read the name, and seem 
 ing for the moment to hold some mental debate. Then 
 she gave an assent, and in a few moments, Ordotte, smil 
 ing, gracious, and with as distinguished an air as marked 
 any of the Frenchmen of title in the salon, presented 
 himself. 
 
 L. 
 
 Mrs. Brekbellew, not withstand ing her secret dissatisfac 
 tion at meeting any one from Rahaiidabed, and particu 
 larly Ordotte, of whom she had always a strange, undefin- 
 able dread, gave to him a most cordial welcome, and 
 presented him with charming grace to every one in the 
 company. Her secret displeasure arose from her fear that 
 Ned might not have continued to keep her oath, though 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 303 
 
 in that case she was prepared herself to swear a hundred 
 oaths, if necessary, to her own innocence, and she doubted 
 not, now that Mackay was dead, and her own previous 
 plans being so well laid, that she would be able to prove it, 
 at least to her father, should the story ever reach him. 
 
 Ordotte exerted himself to charm, and being quite con 
 versant with the language, having been educated in Paris, 
 he succeeded, as he usually did when he chose to do so. 
 
 Mrs. Brekbellew forgot, in the affability and charm of 
 his manner, all her fears, and she threw herself into the 
 pleasure of his society with the same zest that others were 
 doing. 
 
 In the middle of one of those accounts of mysterious 
 incidents which take their rise from the lightest trifle, and 
 yet sometimes lead to consequences that shake a throne, 
 he had paused, ostensibly to wipe his brow with his hand 
 kerchief, but really to watch Mrs. Brekbellew, for he had 
 invented the very story he was telling, and was leading 
 it up to a certain point in order that he might have an 
 opportunity to say something else. 
 
 She was listening to him, her eyes glistening, and her 
 pretty lips apart in intense and delighted curiosity. 
 
 " As 1 was saying," he resumed, withdrawing his gaze 
 from her and looking about him carelessly for a moment, 
 " the strangest things happen in the most trifling way. 
 Just from the fact 01 my having made an acquaintance, at 
 first a mere prosy acquaintance, in India, consequences 
 have ensued that have changed, not only the whole tenor 
 of my life, but actually caused me to leave America on a 
 a second and most mysterious journey to that land of 
 rajahs arid tigers. And while there this time, I had the 
 singular fortune to meet one of those old wizards who seem 
 occasionally to do such startling things. He appeared to 
 favor me, possibly because I had been in the country be 
 fore, and knew somewhat how to humor him; and one 
 of the souvenirs which he gave me was a sort of essence, 
 looking merely like colored water, but exceedingly frag 
 rant." 
 
304: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 While he spoke, he took out of a leather case, in his 
 breast pocket, a vial not more than a half-inch in length. 
 It sparkled as he held it up, and when he took out its tiny 
 stopper, the odor was almost overpowering for an instant. 
 Everybody bent forward, aglow from surprise and inter 
 est, but Mrs. Brekbellew seemed to be fairly breathless. 
 
 "This essence," Ordotte continued, "is for the purpose 
 of making marks on human flesh." A sort of shudder 
 went through the little circle, which he perceiving, smiled, 
 and hastened to add, " not any mark to torture, but a mark 
 for some reason to be made without being afterwards de 
 tected until tbis essence is again used, when the mark, 
 whatever it may have been, stands out once more distinctly 
 for a few moments and then disappears. Suppose we try 
 it on the wrist of some lady present? Who knows," 
 laughingly, " but we may get at some lost fortune in this 
 w T ay, or some romantic history. Mrs. Brekbellew, will 
 you give me the privilege of putting it upon one of your 
 wrists ? " 
 
 Laughing and disclaiming against the fact of any secret 
 mark being found upon her, she extended her pretty 
 wrist, the Count de Chamont gallantly unclasping her 
 bracelet. 
 
 " We will take the left wrist, if you please," said Or 
 dotte ; " being nearer to the heart, it w r ould be more 
 certain to figure in any romance." And the gallant count 
 immediately unclasped the heavy bracelet of that wrist. 
 
 Ordotte poured a single drop upon the beautifully- 
 moulded and snow-white wrist extended to him, and it 
 was singular how far the one drop seemed to diffuse 
 itself, spreading a full inch in every direction, so that if 
 there had been a secret mark anywhere in the vicinity 
 of the wrist, and the essence possessed the power claimed 
 for it, it must have shown distinctly. But nothing ap 
 peared save a slight discoloration of the kin, for an instant, 
 and Mrs. Brekbellew withdrew her hand, saying smilingly : 
 
 " I told you, you would find nothing there." 
 
 " Shall we try the left wrist of some other lady ? " 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 305 
 
 asked Ordotte with ludicrous earnestness. " I insist 
 that it must be the left wrist, for never was romance 
 spoiled yet by anything so far removed from the heart as 
 the right wrist." 
 
 Another pretty hand was extended to him, and he again 
 applied his mysterious test, but with no other effect than 
 it had upon Mrs. Brekbellew. 
 
 . " Now," he said, " will some gentleman permit me to 
 mark letters upon his hand, or wrist, in order to test all 
 the powers that are claimed for this wonderful sub 
 stance. " 
 
 The Count de Chamont obligingly extended his hand, 
 and Ordotte took from his leather-case a tiny brush hav 
 ing an ivory handle. Dipping this into the essence, he 
 proceeded to make on the back of the Count s hand a large 
 capital letter C. It stood out distinctly, showing a dull- 
 red color, and, after the lapse of a few minutes, began 
 to fade, until not a trace of it could be discerned. Then 
 Ordotte poured a single drop of the essence upon the 
 spot, as he had done on the wrists of the ladies, and again 
 the dull-red C came plainly forth, for a few minutes, then 
 died away. 
 
 After that, Ordotte affected to be anxious about any 
 further waste of his precious essence, and he put it back 
 into his leather-case ; and to the remark that secret marks 
 were rarely placed upon the wrist, he answered that the 
 fact of their being rendered so secret by the essence might 
 make the wrist a very convenient and probable place to 
 mark. 
 
 Then he turned the conversation into the channel into 
 which, for a purpose of his own, he had caused it to drift 
 before he had spoken of the essence. 
 
 " We were speaking about the part that trifles play in 
 the most important affairs. Nature has strange plans of 
 her own in every one of them, often making the con 
 sequences that ensue only the retributive justice for some 
 law transgressed ; just as in her similitudes she has a pur 
 pose for an end, though, before the end be attained, an 
 
306 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 innocent person may have to suffer for guilt of which he 
 or she knows nothing." 
 
 He turned his eyes quite carelessly to Mrs. Brekbellew s 
 face. 
 
 " Which fact brings to my mind," he pursued, keeping 
 his eyes upon her face, the singular likeness you bear, 
 Mrs. Brekbellew, to Mrs. Carnew, and the unpleasant cir 
 cumstances in which you might have found yourself had 
 you been in Rahandabed three months ago." 
 
 The color fled from her countenance so suddenly and 
 so completely that it looked ghastly, and it occasioned 
 more than one comment of surprise and curiosity among 
 those about her. But she recovered herself in an instant, 
 and forced a smile to her lips, as she said : 
 
 " What do you mean ? How could my resemblance to 
 Mrs. Carnew cause me any unpleasantness ? " 
 
 Had not her betrayal of herself, a moment before, by 
 her startling loss of color, convinced Ordotte that the 
 tenor of his own shrewd thoughts about her was correct, 
 he might have been imposed upon by her present appear 
 ance ; she seemed so full of a pleasant, innocent surprise, 
 and nothing more ; even as it was, lie hesitated a moment 
 before saying what was upon his lips, lest he might be 
 mistaken, and his bold stroke be a venture even too deep 
 for him ; but his instant s reflection convinced him, and 
 he answered very slowly, very significantly, and looking 
 straight into her eyes all the while : 
 
 "With your living likeness before all her accusers, 
 Mrs. Carnew might have been able to show them that 
 suspicion could, with equal propriety, have attached itself 
 to you." 
 
 Mrs. Brekbellew fairly held her breath in her desperate 
 effort to show no outward sign this time, but it seemed for 
 an instant as if her very heart would burst in the agony of 
 the endeavor, and despite all that she could do, her voice 
 trembled, as she said : 
 
 " I know now to what you refer poor Ned s unfortunate 
 story. She wrote to me about it." 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 307 
 
 " She wrote to you," repeated Ordott e in those same 
 slow, significant tones which made Mrs. Brekbellew feel 
 like strangling him, "and you, no doubt, replied, com 
 forting her and sympathizing with her." 
 
 She could endure no more ; she felt that if one word 
 further was to reach her from his detested lips, she should 
 scream, or faint, or do some other startling thing ; so she 
 rose, making some remark about the intense heat of the 
 room, and taking the arm of the Count de Chamont, who 
 had also risen to assist her, she went into one of the ad 
 joining apartments. 
 
 Ordotte was secretly delighted. He had settled in his 
 own mind, beyond the reach of any further doubt, the 
 fact that Mrs. Brekbellew was the wife of Mackay, and 
 not Mrs. Carnew; and he felt assured that when he 
 should send the next morning a request for a private inter 
 view with Mrs. Brekbellew, he would not be refused, as 
 he might have been, had he not touched so keenly her 
 sense of safety that evening ; so, with the happy air of a 
 man who has won an unexpected triumph, he addressed 
 himself to the rest of his little audience, and interested 
 them so much that they forgot to comment upon Mrs. 
 Brekbellew. 
 
 That lady had requested to be left alone, and retiring 
 to a part of the house where no sound of her gay com 
 pany could reach hear, she strove to calm and reassure 
 herself. 
 
 That Ordotte believed she should have been the one 
 accused, instead of Ned, she had read unmistakably in his 
 eyes, but how did he know, she asked herself over and 
 over. Had Ned then broken her oath, and told him, and 
 had he come to Paris to beard her with her guilt ? But 
 why taka this roundabout course, if such were his object ? 
 Why not openly and briefly accuse her ? Did her father 
 know ? Had Ned told him also ? And then she remem 
 bered how particularly cold and short was Mr. Edgar s 
 last letter. 
 
 She beat her foot into the carpet in her rage, and 
 
308 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 clasped her hands together, until the nails cut into the 
 flesh ; but all brought her no help. On every side she 
 seemed to see a confirmation of her fears that ISTed had 
 broken her oath and told everything, and that nothing 
 she could do would avert now the guilt from her own 
 shoulders. 
 
 Then she reverted to ISTed s letter, which had been so 
 explicit and so touching ; Mrs. Carnew had detailed every 
 link in the circumstantial evidence against her, so Mrs. 
 Brekbellew was in full possession of every particular, 
 from the arrival of the woman Bunmer with the child, 
 and the statement of the minister, to .Ned s own departure 
 from Rahandabed. And as she thought of it all, still 
 beating her foot and clinching her hands, she strove to 
 reassure herself by saying : 
 
 " Why am I such a coward ? Since every one of them, 
 from Bunmer to that dolt Hayrnan, took Ned for me, 
 why cannot I face all this out ? My word, my oath, if 
 necessary, will have as much weight with my father as 
 !N ed s will. Why do I let his random remarks cow me 
 in this manner? And I shall not. I shall send word to 
 these people below that I am indisposed, and then I shall 
 have him up here, and extract the worst from him, and 
 show him my scorn and indignation for what he has had 
 the effrontery to say to me." 
 
 Thus Ordotte found himself privately requested to go 
 above stairs, and a prudent servant conducted him to 
 Mrs. Brekbellew. 
 
 She was seated, and in the subdued light of the room 
 he could hardly tell the difference between the color of 
 her face and the white hue of her dress. 
 
 With a motion, she desired him to take a chair near 
 her own, and then she said in a tone of cold, and offended 
 dignity : 
 
 u I have sent for you, Mr. Ordotte, to give you the op 
 portunity of explaining what you said to me this evening : 
 why the mere fact of my resembling Mrs. Carnew should 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 309 
 
 make it possible for me to be accused of what she may 
 have done ? " 
 
 Ordotte answered with the easy manner of one reply- 
 i 
 
 ing to the most ordinary question : 
 
 " The only explanation of what I have said is to accuse 
 you boldly, madam, of what has been visited on poor, 
 slandered Mrs. Carnew ; you were the wife of Mackay, 
 and you are the mother of his child." 
 
 She rose then, in her haste and anger upsetting her 
 chair, and he also stood up, but in the same calm, easy 
 way in which he had spoken. 
 
 " You forget yourself, sir ; you transcend every privi 
 lege that admission to my presence has given you, and I 
 can only regard your statement as proceeding from a 
 brain disordered by wine or by a madman s frenzy." 
 
 She strove hard to speak with the same cool dignity 
 with which she had first addressed him, that she mi^ht the 
 better impose upon him, and force him at least to a par 
 tial retraction of what he had said ; but in spite of all her 
 efforts, her voice and her form trembled 
 
 Ordotte, looking at her sharply, deemed it as well to 
 come to his point at once. 
 
 " Mrs. Brekbellew " his voice had changed to such a 
 deep, firm tone, it seemed to be like another person 
 speaking : 
 
 " All your dissimulation with me is wasted. I know 
 what you have done, and had you not sent for me to 
 night, I should have sent to you to-morrow morning for 
 the purpose of saying what I shall say now. I desire 
 from you, over your own signature, a statement to the 
 effect that you were the wife of Mackay, that you are 
 the mother of his child, and the successive steps by which 
 you contrived to have Mrs. Carnew accused of all that 
 you have done. I desire this statement in order to show 
 it to Alan Carnew. As you have been the cause of his 
 separation from his wife, so you must effect their recon 
 ciliation. I also desire this statement to show to Mr. 
 Edgar." 
 
310 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 "Pray," she said with tremulous sarcasm^ "is there 
 any one else you desire to show this statement to ? " 
 
 " No," he answered, in the same deep, firm voice ; " I 
 shall spare you any further disgrace. As my object alone 
 is to prove Mrs. Carnew s innocence to those who are 
 nearest to her, I shall be satisfied in attaining that. Your 
 husband and your husband s relatives shall be left in 
 ignorance of your prior marriage." 
 
 " Mr. Ordotte," she fairly hissed his name ; " I regret 
 that you have come upon such a foolish errand. If I had 
 forgotten myself so far as to marry in secret a gardener s 
 worthless son, and if I had given birth, also in secret, to 
 his child, I say, if I had done these degrading things, do 
 you think I would be so unjust to my own interests as to 
 grant what you so coolly request ? You certainly have 
 reckoned most insanely, and since that alone, to use your 
 own words, was the object of your intended call upon me, 
 we shall consider this interview ended." 
 
 She crossed to put her hand upon the bell, but he in 
 tercepted her. 
 
 " Although," he said, with an air and tone which she 
 could not oppose, " the sole object of my desire to see 
 you was, and is, to obtain the proof of Mrs. Carnew s in 
 nocence, still, I have something more to say, and as that 
 something more will be rather lengthy, I advise you to be 
 seated." 
 
 He drew a chair forward for her. She motioned it 
 disdainfully away. He bowed, and resumed : 
 
 " A gentleman was once placed, through the ill-feeling 
 and spite of his brother, in such circumstances as not to 
 know his own infant daughter from the infant daughter 
 of his brother, whose wife was a low woman of ill-repute. 
 The brother asserted that he knew, having privately 
 marked the child with a certain subtle essence that had 
 been obtained from India in some way by one of his 
 riotous companions. The peculiarity of this marking 
 essence was that only for the few moments which it lay 
 upon the flesh could be detected whatever might have 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 311 
 
 been imprinted there, and as the brother refused to say 
 where he had marked the child, but that somewhere upon 
 her person were the letters E. E., and that he alone had 
 the secret of reproducing these letters, the father was un 
 able to tell which was his o\vn child. The brother, 
 having lost his wife shortly after the birth of the chil 
 dren, departed to some foreign country, and the unhappy 
 father, fearing to do injustice to his own child, took both 
 the infants." 
 
 He paused abruptly because of the labored breathing 
 of Mrs. Brekbellew. With a vague dread of she knew 
 not what, she was linking his story with the senseless 
 marking scene of an hour before, and the very gleam of 
 his eyes those eyes that even in Rahandabed seemed to 
 be constantly reading her through now acting upon her 
 like a painful probe, made her almost unconsciously 
 breathe hard and heavily. 
 
 " You had better be seated," he said, again attempting 
 to place a chair for her, but she waved it away as she 
 had done before, and he resumed : 
 
 "The brother went abroad, and at length to India, 
 where he met some one who became in time his most 
 confidential friend. To this friend the brother in his 
 softened moments, which only came when his health 
 was broken, and his mind was filled with regret for the 
 happiness that in his earlier years he had thrown so ruth 
 lessly aside, opened his heart. He told the story of what 
 his own malice had accomplished with regard to his 
 brother s child, and at the same time confessed that he 
 could not conquer himself sufficiently to take any steps 
 of reparation ; but he said that after his death his friend 
 might tell all he knew, and he told this friend in what 
 part of India this marking essence had been procured. 
 
 " Strange, very strange circumstances, sent this friend 
 to the very house which sheltered two young girls mar 
 vellously alike in appearance, bearing the same name, and 
 in every particular corroborating the story told by this 
 brother. The friend marked it all, and waited. He knew 
 
312 A. FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 that his lips were sealed until he should hear of the death 
 of this brother. From the time that he had left India 
 he had heard nothing directly of the brother, and only 
 very indirectly, that the latter had disappeared no one 
 seemed to know where. 
 
 " At length, when a time came in which one of those 
 young girls was vilely accused, and, the friend thought 
 from his careful observation of her character, unjustly so, 
 he conceived the idea of going to India and searching for 
 some trace of this brother. lie did, but found nothing 
 more than that he had left the country in an exceedingly 
 feeble condition of health, shortly after the friend himself 
 had gone, and it was supposed he must have died in some 
 foreign hospital. That information the friend deemed 
 sufficient to free him from his oath, and having secured 
 the marking essence, he came to Paris to test it first on 
 one of the young ladies to whom he has referred. He did 
 so to-night, and by it he has made the discovery that she 
 who passes for Mr. Edgar s daughter is not sustained by 
 any proof. Do you now recognize the characters in my 
 story, Mrs. Brekbellew? The gentleman of whom I 
 spoke is Mr. Edgar ; his brother is your father, and the 
 friend is your humble servant : " bowing profoundly as 
 he said the last words. 
 
 " I refused to use any more of the essence to-night, lest 
 there might not be sufficient to make the test upon the 
 wrist of Mrs. Carnew." 
 
 He stopped, but his listener did not answer him. She 
 seemed frozen in her horrified amazement, and he fancied 
 that her eyes, beautiful as they were, resembled the wild 
 eyes of frantic animals he had seen in the jungles. 
 
 But, at last her voice came to her ; a broken, husky, 
 and utterly changed voice. 
 
 " I do not believe you. This tale is an invented Indian 
 story, like those you told in Rahaiidabed." 
 
 He bowed, as he replied : 
 
 " Thank you for the compliment to my veracity, but 
 you shall have the proof of the truth of my story in a few 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 313 
 
 weeks, when not only Rahandabed, but Paris and London 
 shall gossip of the downfall of Mrs. Brekbellew, who had 
 been a usurper all her life." 
 
 She turned from him and wrung her hands. O God ! 
 how her cruel wrongs to another were about to be visited 
 upon her own head. Then she turned back and extended 
 her clasped hands to him in entreaty : 
 
 " Have you no pity for me ? I never did you a wrong. 
 What will you gain by exposing me 2 " 
 
 " Had you any pity for her whose happiness you have 
 blighted ? And you ask what I shall gain by exposing 
 you ? I shall gain the approval of my own conscience for 
 having unmasked evil. No, Mrs. Brekbellew, I have no 
 pity for you further than to refrain from proceeding to 
 the extreme measure of acquainting your husband with 
 what you did prior to your marriage to him, and that you 
 are not the daughter of Mr. Edgar. And further, I shall 
 guarantee that Mr. Edgar and Mr. and Mrs. Carnew will 
 preserve the same silence. I know, that in consideration 
 of all that I shall tell them, they will be easily won to the 
 pledge I shall exact from them. The only source you will 
 have to fear will be the gossip of Rahandabed, for, in 
 justice to Mrs. Carnew, the whole truth must be told, not 
 alone to the mistress of that place, but also to each of the 
 guests. However, gossip so distant may not be wafted 
 here, and if it should be, perhaps your fertile brain may 
 find some means of depriving it of its effect. This is the 
 utmost I can do for you, Mrs. Brekbellew, and this I 
 pledge myself to do, if you will give me the clear, written 
 statement for which I have asked." 
 
 He retreated a little, as if he considered all argument 
 at an end, and she turned away as if to reflect upon his 
 proposition ; but she was unable to think. Her head 
 seemed to be on h re, even while her limbs were trembling 
 as if from a chill, and she had a sort of wild desire to 
 clutch at something, like a person falling from a height. 
 At length she compelled her thoughts to fall into some 
 thing like order. What if she still braved it all by a firm 
 
314 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 denial 1 Since E"ed had been mistaken for her by the very 
 persons who alone could have told the difference, what 
 proof of her guilt could be obtained apart from her own 
 admission ? 
 
 There was indeed one, Annie Mackay, who she feared 
 could be got to testify against her, if she had not become 
 the crazy, though harmless creature her brother s suicide 
 had made her. And that she still remained demented 
 Mrs. Brekbellew was well aware, for in every letter she 
 wrote to Mr. Edgar, she requested to be informed of 
 Annie s condition, and he as often answered that she was 
 still with her aunt in Rochester, and was still harmlessly, 
 but entirely and incurably insane. So, with that one, 
 fierce, defiant impulse uppermost, and forgetting for the 
 instant the other sword suspended above her, in the fact 
 that Ordotte would prove she was not Edgar s daughter, 
 she turned, and said quickly : 
 
 " You have no proof of what you assert of me in re 
 gard to this Mackay, and I deny it all ; and I shall con 
 tinue to deny it." 
 
 She had forced to her aid a courage the reaction of 
 which she knew would be sickening, but its present help 
 was worth that, for it enabled her to stand very firmly, 
 and very erect, and to speak with something of her own 
 old voice. 
 
 But Ordotte answered, almost as if he had expected 
 such a speech, and was quite prepared for it : 
 
 " Then, Mrs. Brekbellew, I have only one course to 
 pursue; to-night, I shall see your husband I am well 
 aware of his nightly resort and acquaint him with all 
 that I have told you ; in the present state of his reduced 
 fortune, it will concern him a little to learn that you are 
 not the heiress he supposes you to be. Immediately after 
 that, I shall write to a friend in England who will make 
 it his business to acquaint your husband s uncle, the 
 wealthy old bachelor, Mr. Henry Brekbsllew, with the 
 fact that the wife of his nephew is but the portionless 
 niece of Mr. Edgar. And my third proceeding shall be, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE, 315 
 
 to cause it all to become common gossip in every club- 
 room in Paris and London ; not alone the fact of yonr be 
 ing no heiress, but the fact also of your secret marriage to 
 Mackay, and your umnotherly treatment of your own 
 child. I have ways and means to circulate such news 
 rapidly, and scandal-loving people will believe all, despite 
 a thousand denials from you. Good-night, Mrs. Brek- 
 bellew." 
 
 He turned away, and had reached the door. She glared 
 after him like a madwoman, but she seemed to have no 
 pow T er to speak. His hand was upon the knob of the 
 door. With a gasp she rushed to him. 
 
 " Stay," she cried, " give me a moment to think." 
 
 He turned back, but still kept near the door. 
 
 She sank to her knees. 
 
 " O Mr. Ordotte ! have some pity upon me. To do 
 what you say will deprive me of everything. My hus 
 band is his uncle s heir, and if his uncle should hear these 
 things about me he may insist upon a separation between 
 us. If my husband should hear them he may become in 
 dignant enough to sue for a divorce. Then, what means 
 of support should I have ? O Mr. Ordotte ! listen to 
 me. Let your heart be touched ! " 
 
 Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and were he not 
 fortified by the thought of Mrs. Carnew, away from her 
 husband, and suffering for the wrong-doing of this very 
 suppliant, he might have been touched, and have actually 
 yielded to the frantic plea, but as it was, he answered 
 only: 
 
 " By agreeing to the plan I propose, Mrs. Brekbellew, 
 you may preserve your husband s affections and those of 
 his uncle. I can do nothing else for you." 
 
 " Nothing else," she moaned, and then, seeing how cold 
 and determined was the tawny face above her, she rose, 
 gasping : 
 
 " Come to-morrow, then ; I shall have the statement for 
 you." 
 
316 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " Pardon me, Mrs. Brekbellew ; to-morrow will not do. 
 I must have it to-night." 
 
 " To-night ! " she repeated, and again feeling that there 
 was no appeal from that hard, determined man, she said, 
 through her tears : 
 
 " Come into the library." 
 
 He followed her, and as they went, stray sounds of the 
 music and mirth below floated up to them, causing the 
 wretched woman to shiver and groan inwardly. Would 
 she ever take part in the same again ? 
 
 Ordotte dictated the statement, and she attempted to 
 write, but her hand trembled so she could not form a 
 legible letter. She took a second sheet of paper, but the 
 result was the same ; then a third, and so she continued, 
 until the first page of five successive sheets was blurred 
 and spoiled. 
 
 " I cannot write it to-night," she said ; " you see I can 
 not. Come in the morning." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " he answered coolly, throwing himself back 
 in his chair. " I can wait until you become calmer, wait 
 until morning if necessary." 
 
 Finding that there was no escape, she forced herself to 
 the task at last ; wrote from his dictation a clear, confirma 
 tory statement of all of which he had accused her, at the 
 end signing her name and dating it. 
 
 She was rising from her chair then. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Mrs. Brekbellew," he said quietly ; 
 " you have not done all yet. I require a letter from you 
 to Mr. Edgar, stating what you have done to-night, and 
 explaining how you were able to escape from his espion 
 age long enough to contract this secret marriage, and long 
 enough afterward to give secret birth to a child. This 
 statement," taking the latter from the table, "would 
 scarcely be sufficient without something of the kind to 
 convince Mr. Edgar, and if necessary, to convince Alan 
 Carnew." 
 
 " Such a letter is outside of your proposition, sir," she 
 said, aghast at this new requirement. 
 
A FATAL BKSKMBLANCE 317 
 
 " I require it now," he answered quietly. 
 
 If only slie could have strangled him as he sat there ; 
 and for an instant she glanced down at her small white 
 hands and then at him, as if she might be measuring her 
 strength for an attack. 
 
 He arranged himself more comfortably in his chair, as 
 if he expected to have to wait some time for her com 
 pliance with this additional demand, but his face preserved 
 its cold, hard, determined expression. 
 
 She resumed her seat, and tried to think that a letter 
 such as he required would make her fate no harder than 
 would the written statement she had already given. And 
 what difference could it make, since she was after all not 
 Mr. Edgar s daughter ! She felt, somehow, that having 
 angered him so much by marrying Brekbellew, he would 
 have littls difficulty, perhaps even he would be rather 
 glad of the excuse to cast her altogether out of his pater 
 nal affections. Then, she thought, w T hat if Ordotte s story 
 were not true : but there was so much within even her 
 own experience to convince her of its truth ; the strange 
 resemblance between herself and Ned, the similarity of 
 their names, and Mr. Edgar s interest until recent years 
 in Ned, all these circumstances were certainly strongly 
 corroborative of his tale. But, what if the essence shoulid 
 fail to produce any more mark upon Ned s wrist than 
 it had done upon her own ? Even, not doubting that the 
 letters had been ingrafted, might not despite what Or- 
 dotte had said of length of time making no difference the 
 twenty-three years that had elapsed since the time of the 
 marking, have obliterated them beyond even the power 
 of the mysterious essence to recall 3 And, in that case, 
 Mr. Edgar would be in as much doubt as ever, and she 
 could still claim to be his daughter. But, somehow, she 
 could not get herself to adopt that doubt, and looking 
 back again at the tawny face reclining against the crimson 
 cushion of the chair, she seemed to read in every line of 
 it a sort of undeniable assurance that everything he said 
 was true it was- almost as if some one had told her that 
 
318 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 lie liad already tried the essence in secret upon E"ed, and 
 that it had worked as he expected it to do. 
 
 She turned back to the table and resumed her pen. 
 But what or how should she write to him whom she was 
 accustomed to address as " my dear father " ? She could 
 not say that now, neither could she bring herself to write 
 Mr. Edgar, or even Sir ; and at length, in desperation, she 
 determined to begin without addressing him at all, and to 
 write it in a brief, business-like way. So, she drew the 
 paper to her, and wrote with nervous haste a mere repeti 
 tion of what she had written at Ordotte s dictation. When 
 she announced that she had finished, he rose and stood 
 beside her while he read it. 
 
 " This will not do, Mrs. Brekbellew," he said with stern 
 determination, as he returned her letter to the table, "it 
 makes nothing clear ; you do not give a single explana 
 tion of how in any instance you contrived to escape from 
 Mr. Edgar s espionage sufficiently long to further your 
 plans. I shall have to dictate this letter, as I have already 
 dictated your statement." 
 
 He drew his chair close to hers, placed another sheet 
 of paper before her, arid said as he resumed his seat : 
 
 " Please state there how you first became acquainted 
 with young Mackay, how, when, and where you were 
 married to him, and by what means you deceived him into 
 believing that you were Miss Ned Edgar, and not Miss 
 Edna Edgar. When you have done that I shall dictate 
 the rest to you." 
 
 Even if the circumstances about her were not the des 
 perate ones they were, she could hardly have resisted the 
 stern determination of the will opposed to her own ; 
 something in the keen, glittering eyes, which never 
 turned for an instant from her face, frightened and subdued 
 her, and left her helpless as an infant in the toils of her 
 own making. She wrote as he had commanded her to do, 
 and thus it was with the rest of the letter. Ordotte com 
 pelled her to disclose evory link in her hidden chain of 
 guilty facts ; it seemed at times, from his sharp dictation 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 319 
 
 as to what ghe should write, as if lie must have known of 
 those secret events from some marvellous intuition, and 
 often she stopped to look at him with a sort of ghastly 
 surprise, but his face, with its keen, glittering eyes, pre- 
 i-.ented no other aspect than that of an indomitable resolu 
 tion. 
 
 It was finished at length, and as she looked at the 
 closely written pages, and thought how fully exposed hi 
 them was every circumstance of those acts which, even 
 were she Edgar s child, must fill his heart with anger and 
 loathing for^her, she bowed her head involuntarily on 
 the table and sobbed aloud. 
 
 Ordotte merely pushed back his chair a little and 
 waited. 
 
 While she sobbed she had some wild desire to append 
 a few words of penitence ; to beg her father, or uncle, 
 whichever he was, not to cast her memory entirely out of 
 his heart ; but, when she lifted her head and dried her 
 eyes, she thought half scornfully that such an appendix 
 would only be an additional humiliation, and productive 
 of no benefit. ~No ; her letter might go as it was, and she 
 would put out of her heart every remembrance of the 
 past. Not even a throb of motherhood for her abandoned 
 offspring came to her. It was Mackay s child, and the 
 hatred which she had for him as the cause of her present 
 trouble and disgrace extended itself to the neglected little 
 one. Its future was nothing to her, so long as it was kept 
 out of her way ; and that, Ordotte had promised her should 
 be done. 
 
 " Do you wish to write anything more ? " he asked, when 
 her emotion had quite ceased, and he had assured himself 
 that her letter was completed, so far as regarded the facts 
 which lie had requested. 
 
 " No," she answered sullenly. 
 
 " Then direct it, if you please." 
 
 He folded it for her ; and when she had written Mr. 
 Edgar s name, he sealed it w r ith the wax at hand, and put 
 it, together with her statement, into the leather case, a 
 
320 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 compartment of wliicli contained the vial of essence. 
 Then he said a respectful good night, to which, if she 
 heard it, she was quite indifferent, and he left the room, 
 guiding himself to the porte-cochere, where he met some 
 of the other guests also taking their departure. 
 
 LI. 
 
 For a long time Mrs. Brekbellew sat staring at, with 
 out seeing, the handsome lamp in front of her, and with 
 her hands lying listlessly in her lap. Her thoughts were 
 drifting in a wild, helpless way to Rahandabed, to Wee- 
 wald Place, where, as soon as her letter and her state 
 ment were read, she felt that execration would be heaped 
 upon he execration from every one ; from him whom 
 she had o long called father ; from Alan Carnew, whom 
 no excitement into which she plunged could make her 
 forget ; and from Ned, whom, as she pictured the hap 
 piness fast approaching the latter, in the restoration to 
 her husband, and the finding of a father, she fiercely 
 hated. Not even the fact that Ned had so faithfully 
 and nobly kept her oath had power to touch her, and 
 if in her present blight she in some way could utterly 
 crush Mrs. Carnew, she would not deem her own fortune 
 so hard. But it was maddening to think of Ned in the 
 full enjoyment of all of her lost pleasures. She shud 
 dered at the contemplation ; and then she thought of her 
 poor, weak husband, for whom she felt the same sort of 
 contempt she would have given to a drivelling idiot. But 
 all that must be changed now; she could not afford to 
 scorn him any longer ; instead, she must propitiate him, 
 and propitiate his wealthy uncle. 
 
 She dragged herself up wearily, and looked at her tiny 
 watch. It was an hour past midnight ; how the time had 
 flown during that horrible interview and since, while she 
 had been yielding to her own equally horrible thoughts. 
 But her husband must be in his room by this time, though 
 she could scarcely be said to know anything about it, never 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 321 
 
 having troubled herself before about the hour of his 
 return from his nightly play. However, he was in his 
 room, having been put to bed in a state of wild intoxica 
 tion by his valet, who had to assist in carrying him from 
 the carriage that had brought him home. 
 
 When his wife entered, he was tossing about on the 
 pillows, ejaculating between his hiccoughs : 
 
 " Fifty thousand, by Jove ! Won t the old coon think 
 I went it hie. Such a steady hand, too ; no flinching. 
 I lose with as much sang froid as other fellows win hie 
 Mrs. Brekbellew whew ! she ll be glad to know I took 
 her advice so soon. Gone to the devil at last, as she told 
 me to do hie let her father support her hie no wo 
 man of ordinary brains hie- 
 But Mrs. Brekbellew waited to hear no more. He was 
 in no condition to listen to her communication ; and, im 
 patient as she was to make it, she felt that it must be 
 deferred until the morning. But his random words, maud 
 lin as they were, caused an added weight upon her heart. 
 Had he really lost that night at play another fifty thou 
 sand ? If so, from what his uncle s letter had stated, his 
 fortune must be almost entirely gone, and in that case 
 ruin for him must be also ruin for her. 
 
 She dismissed her maid, who had been sleepily wait 
 ing for her, and threw herself dressed as she was upon the 
 bed, to obtain if she could a little slumber before the morn 
 ing came. But her slumber was fitful and feverish, and 
 the first streak of dawn, as it shone garishly through the 
 Avindow, awoke her with a start, and utterly unrefreshed. 
 She could rest no longer, and waiting only to bathe her 
 heavy eyes, she hastened to her husband s room. 
 
 He was sleeping heavily, and as she stood by his side, 
 looking down upon his face that, with its utter want of 
 intellect, and its marks of constant and deep dissipation, 
 was a most unsightly object, she felt as if her very soul 
 rose against him in utter disgust. To obtain some con 
 trol of her abhorrence, she turned away and walked to 
 the window ; but even there his breathing reached her. 
 
322 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 She turned back after a moment, and seating herself 
 in a chair by his bedside, called him. He stirred un 
 easily, but he did not open his eyes. Forcing herself to 
 the task, she grasped his shoulder, as she called him again. 
 
 He awoke, and in his bewilderment, caused both by 
 her unusual presence and his own disordered brain, he 
 sat up and looked wildly about him. 
 
 " Try to recall your senses, Harry," she said in a voice 
 which she partly succeeded in making gentle ; " I have 
 something to say to you." 
 
 Was that really his wife who spoke ? His wife using a 
 tone that was not contemptuous, and actually calling him 
 Harry, instead of the scornful diminutive of Breky ! 
 He rubbed his eyes and looked about him again as if to 
 assure himself that he was not dreaming. And as he 
 looked, the events of the preceding night returned to 
 him. His uncle s letter, the interview with his wife, his 
 loss at the gaming-table a loss which would impoverish 
 his fortune to even the desperate extent for which Mrs. 
 Brekbellew had wished. And then he wondered if she 
 already had heard of it, and had come to announce her im 
 mediate departure from him. He felt convinced that 
 such must be the object of her most unusual visit, and 
 that perhaps in a sort of pity for him she had determined 
 not to inflict her wonted contempt. 
 
 So, in resignation to that which could not now be averted, 
 and in a sort of thankfulness that it was to be in some mea 
 sure tempered, he turned his eyes upon her again, noting 
 for the first time that she was still dressed in her recep 
 tion toilet of the evening before, and that her face was 
 frightfully pale and weary-looking. 
 
 If the morning light was not by this time streaming 
 brightly into the room, he might have thought it was yet 
 night, and have wondered how he came to be in bed at such 
 an hour. But every moment his mind was becoming 
 clearer as to recent events, though he could not remember 
 how or when he retired, having, immediately after his 
 
A FATAL KESKMBLANCE. 323 
 
 loss of the night before, gone to drown it in a deep 
 potation. 
 
 " Do you think you are quite able to comprehend what 
 I am going to say?" Mrs. Brekbellew resumed, when 
 she thought she had given sufficient time for him to collect 
 his disordered wits, and being careful to preserve the 
 same tone that she had used before. 
 
 He nodded, being almost afraid to speak, lest some 
 how the sound of his voice might bring upon him the old 
 and dreaded contempt. 
 
 She leaned toward him a little. 
 
 " I have been thinking about your uncle s letter and 
 about your circumstances, and about wliat is my duty in 
 the matter." 
 
 " Here it comes," he thought with a sinking heart, 
 " she s going to say that it s her duty to go back to her 
 father." But Mrs. Brekbellew, quite unsuspicious of his 
 thought, continued : 
 
 " I have been thinking about these matters all night, 
 and I have decided " he looked at her piteously " to 
 agree to what your uncle proposes. You may write to 
 him, as soon as you choose, that we accept his proposition. 
 "We will make our home with him." 
 
 Poor little Brekbellew hardly dared to believe that he 
 had heard right ; and it never occurred to him to think 
 that anything had happened to make this change in his 
 wife. If he could be quite sure that his hearing had not 
 deceived him, that he was not dreaming, that his wife 
 really had spoken those wonderful w r ords, he could be 
 happy, for he felt that, by telling everything to his uncle, 
 the latter, in consideration that the couple would make 
 their home with him, would not at least disinherit him ; 
 and, by quiet, economical living for the future, the 
 remnant of his fortune might be saved. Revolving these 
 things in his mind, he sat so still that he hardly breathed. 
 
 His wife said again : 
 
 " Did you hear, Harry ? And when will you write to 
 your uncle ? " 
 
324 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Her questions were surely proof that lie had heard 
 aright in the first instance ; he could not doubt his hearing 
 any longer, but he* answered very softly, as if he were 
 under some spell : 
 
 " I shall write to-day." 
 
 " And tell him," she said, "that I shall be devoted to 
 you both ; that I shall make his home as pleasant as 
 I can." 
 
 She rose to go. He put out his hand as if to detain her, 
 though for what purpose he would have been unable to 
 explain, feeling still as if he were under some magical 
 spell. She looked back at him, compelled herself to smile 
 and vanished. 
 
 LTI. 
 
 Ordotte was in such glee over what he had extorted 
 from Mrs. Brekbellew that his gay spirits might be taken 
 for the effervescence of a true Frenchman ; and as sleep, 
 because of grief and mortification, did not visit Mrs. Brek 
 bellew until nearly morning, so the same quiet restorer, 
 owing to satisfaction and delight, kept away from Or- 
 dotte s couch ; and as the unhappy woman he had left had 
 her mind filled with harrowing thoughts, so was his 
 imagination fed, but with most pleasant pictures. He 
 perplexed himself trying to decide which he should do 
 first go to Mr. Edgar, or to Alan Carnew ; but at length 
 lie decided upon the latter course, as it was more important 
 that Mrs. Carnew should be restored to her husband with 
 out delay than be made acquainted with the father, whom 
 she had never known as such. And then he became im 
 patient for the arrival of the morning, when lie should 
 take passage on the first vessel going to New York. 
 
 Mrs. Carnew was still an inmate of the little mountain 
 home, devoted to Meg and trying to interest herself in 
 the lighter household duties. But the constant struggle 
 to bear her trial was telling upon her ; and as day after day 
 and week after week wore on without bringing that for 
 
A FATAL KESKMBLANCE. 325 
 
 waich licr very soul was crying one word from her hus 
 band, her health began visibly to fail. Even Anne 
 McCabe, the hired woman, noticed that ; and though she 
 knew nothing of the sad part of Ned s history, she often 
 thought within herself that there was some secret trouble 
 weighing upon the young lady, and her warm, honest 
 heart often grieved about it. 
 
 She wished that Mr. Button would come home to see 
 it ; he might be able to help it in some way. But Mr. 
 Button considered it his sacred duty to remain away, for 
 the reason already stated ; and as Ned, in her replies to 
 his frequent letters, never said anything about her health, 
 he could not be expected to know that she was rapidly 
 losing health and strength. 
 
 She never said anything about her husband, after the 
 letter in which she had asked Dyke to get information to 
 his health, and to which she had received in reply that 
 Dyke had obtained undoubted assurance of his perfect 
 health. 
 
 Perhaps that which seemed like the surest knell of all 
 her hopes was the cruel neglect of Mrs. Brekbellew to 
 answer her appealing letter. Sometimes Ned was in?l inerl 
 to hope that it had miscarried, but that was only a brief, 
 vain hope, for she felt in her inmost heart that Mrs. 
 Brekbellew had received her letter, but would not answer 
 it. 
 
 In Rahandabod there was little difference in the gay 
 life that still reigned there, save that Mrs. Doloran was, 
 if possible, more eccentric and more fractious than ever. 
 She received letters regularly from Ordotte, which she 
 read to the whole house her nephew excepted inter 
 jecting comments of her own that made it hard to know 
 whether the writer was not absolutely deficient in com 
 mon sense. Alan shut himself away from her more de 
 terminedly than ever, feeling that she was now entirely 
 beyond his influence, and in his anger that she should 
 judge Ned to be so guilty though with strange inconsis 
 tency by his own course toward Ned, he seemed not to 
 
326 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 tli ink her less so he hardly cared what victim she might 
 bosoms through her own absurd folly. 
 
 If JSTed would but send one word to him ; but, as the 
 days and weeks wore on, and not a syllable came, he tried 
 to resent her neglect, by compelling himself to forget her. 
 He shut away everything that could remind him of her ; 
 and he even wrote to his mountain friends, Me Arthur 
 and Brekbellew, to excuse him from paying his promised 
 autumn visit ; and he tried to think the reason alleged in 
 his note reading in which he was engaged, preparatory 
 to a trip abroad was really true ; but under that he knew 
 was another and more powerful motive : he would not 
 trust himself again in such proximity to Ned ; did he do 
 so, he must break through every barrier imposed by his 
 own pride, and go to her. lie reminded his friends, how 
 ever, of their promise, and won from them a renewal of 
 their pledge to visit Rahandabed before the winter passed. 
 Carnew was resolved to go abroad early in the spring. 
 
 The winter holidays were approaching, and even in 
 their snowy dress the grounds of Rahandabed had an in 
 teresting, and to one sufficiently well wrapped to defy the 
 cold, inviting look. Within the house, every apartment, 
 heated as it was with ample, blazing, and most cheerful- 
 looking fires, and furnished with the most comfortable 
 and luxurious furniture, had the air of pleasant ease 
 especially adapted to Mrs. Doloran s idle, pleasure-loving 
 guests. 
 
 On this morning, three days before Christmas, Mrs. 
 Doloran was in high spirits ; in such spirits that her ex 
 hilaration seemed to have communicated itself to the very 
 help, and to have bred among them a state of glee that 
 anywhere else might have been considered quite demo 
 ralizing. 
 
 Even Bunmer, as she was called by the domestics, who, 
 in imitation of Mrs. Doloran, dropped the appellative of 
 "Mrs.," shared in the general jojful bustle, though she 
 was not quite sure what it was all about, and she ventured 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 327 
 
 at the breakfast table to ask again for information on the 
 subject. 
 
 " Didn t we tell you once," replied one of the waitresses, 
 who had good-naturedly taken upon herself the serving 
 of the coffee, "that Mrs. Doloran had a letter from Mr. 
 Ordotte, saying he was coming home, and such news as that 
 will just make her like an angel for a week ? The house 
 will be topsy-turvy until he comes, preparing for him." 
 
 " And what is he to her, that she should be so glad to see 
 him ? " ventured Bunmer again. 
 
 " He s her right-hand man in everything ; and a good 
 sort of fellow, too. Isn t he, Dan \ " and the waitress 
 turned to the butler seated at her right hand. " Didn t 
 you hear him sticking up for that Mrs. Carnew, when 
 Mrs. Doloran and the rest of them were down on her ? " 
 
 " That I did," replied Dan, but his mouth was too full 
 and his breakfast too tempting for him to say more. 
 
 Macgilivray, however, who was seated at the opposite 
 end of the table, and who never could resist an opportunity 
 of speaking in favor of Mrs. Carnew, especially when 
 there was present the woman Bunmer, whom he disliked 
 and distrusted, said in his dry way : 
 
 " And you wad 1100 be an honest mon if you did nae 
 rejoice in your heart at the same ; for if ever there was 
 a puir wronged chiel, Mrs. Carnew is ane." 
 
 His fellow-help were so well accustomed by this time 
 to his frequent assumption of the cudgels in Mrs. Carnew s 
 behalf that they manifested little surprise, but Bunmer, 
 at whom the Scotchman invariably looked whenever he 
 spoke of the lady in question, could not be quite so easy. 
 As a u guilty conscience makes a coward," so her own 
 secret consciousness made her somewhat fear the Scotch 
 man s steady glance, and on this particular morning im 
 pelled her to the suspicious course of defending herself 
 before even she was charged with anything. 
 
 She said, bridling up : 
 
 "I don t know why, Mr, Macgilivray, you should look 
 
328 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 at me every time you speak of Mrs. Carnew. I haven t 
 done any wrong to her." 
 
 "When the cap fits a body, it s right eneuch for that 
 body to wear it," answered the Scotchman, growing 
 more determined and bolder in his defence as he saw the 
 woman irritated by it. " And it wad noo be onleekly if 
 you had wronged the puir chiel ; such things ha happened 
 before, for there s a power in siller to makit niony an 
 evil." 
 
 His random words made a hit of which he little dreamed, 
 and the woman, coloring, rose from her chair, saying she 
 would not remain to be longer insulted. Every one looked 
 up surprised, but no one opposed her retreat to her own 
 room, and Macgilivray merely remarked, as he resumed 
 his breakfast : 
 
 " It s noo insult to speak as a body thinks." 
 
 Three hours after, it was discovered that Bunmer had 
 gone. Her disappearance was found out by the pro 
 longed crying of the child, whom she had left, and who 
 had awakened from the slumber in which it was at her de 
 parture. When a thorough search had been made for 
 her, her disappearance was announced to Mrs. Doloran, 
 but that lady was too much absorbed in her preparations 
 for the arrival of Ordotte to give herself much concern 
 about the flight of Bunmer. And when asked what 
 should be done with the baby, she answered impatiently : 
 
 " Don t bother me about such a trifle now. Do any 
 thing you chose with it." 
 
 A license which did not help the servants out of their 
 dilemma, for no one of the female domestics could be 
 spared from her duties to give the attention, or care 
 which was needed by the poor, little, abandoned child. 
 
 It was Macgilivray who assisted them out of their 
 difficulty. 
 
 "I ll "take it to C ," he said, " and find some o me 
 
 ain folk to tak care o it. Puir little bairn, we can t leave 
 it to dee ! " 
 
 And that same afternoon he took it, carefully wrapped 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 329 
 
 up, and lying close to his honest heart, to the village, 
 where he found at least a temporary home for it. As he 
 returned to Rahandabed, he muttered to himself : 
 
 "Bunmer knowed vera weel what she went for, an 
 syne may be the auld Hornie 11 find things not all his 
 ain way ; the puir wronged chiel that had to gang f rao 
 her ain hame may be back again. You can nae mair 
 keep innocence doon than you can break an egg in an empty 
 poet." 
 
 LIIL 
 
 Alan was aware of the preparation going on about him ; 
 he could scarcely have been otherwise from the noise and 
 bustle almost at his very door, but, absorbed as he en 
 deavored to be in his books, it concerned him very little. 
 In the midst of it all, however, a letter came to him, 
 which changed the whole tenor of his thoughts. Indeed, 
 he read it twice to be sure that he had not mistaken its 
 contents. It was from Ordotte, and ran : 
 
 " I have arrived in New York from Europe, and I 
 shall delay my return to Rahandabed in order t<> meet 
 you here. I have news to communicate, which you will 
 enjoy better hearing it out of proximity to your aunt. 
 Indeed, I cannot see her until 1 have seen you. Come 
 to me immediately. I am sojourning in the Astor House, 
 and I can scarcely contain my impatience to meet you. 
 
 " MASCAR ORDOTTE." 
 
 For the moment Carnew was inclined to regard this 
 letter as a part of Ordotte s other eccentricities ; that, if 
 he obeyed the summons it contained, he should find him 
 self in New York on a very objectless errand ; but, again, 
 its tone seemed so earnest that he could not disregard it, 
 and at length, after he had read it five times, he decided 
 to go. So, that evening, he found himself in New York, 
 and waiting in Ordotte s apartment in the Astor House 
 for that gentleman to appear. 
 
 He came in almost immediately, his anxiety to meet 
 
330 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Cariiow the moment lie should arrive, not permitting him 
 to be absent long. 
 
 Without speaking, he rushed forward and grasped 
 Alan s hand, shaking it with such joyful cordiality, that, 
 in spite of Came w s dislike for the man, he felt compelled 
 to return it at least in part. 
 
 Then Ordotte drew a chair forward so that he might 
 seat himself very close to Carnew, and opening the breast 
 of his coat, he took out the leather case that contained the 
 articles which were to prove so much. 
 
 Carnew was deeply mystified ; all the more that not 
 a single word had been spoken so far, and that still with 
 out a syllable, Ordotte opened and placed before him a 
 closely-written, paper. 
 
 Carnew read it ; it was the statement Mrs. Brekbellew 
 had written, and when he had finished, he raised his eyes 
 like one in a strange, troubled dream. 
 
 Then, for the first time Ordotte spoke. 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " he said, manifesting such 
 a youthfully eager delight, that it gave to his wonted 
 sober appearance something of a grotesque look. " But, 
 before you say a word," he continued, " let me give my 
 story." And in a rapid, but clear and distinct manner he 
 told everything. How his interest was first awakened in 
 Mrs. Carnew, by hearing her name from her own lips 
 when she came to Rahandabed ; his judgment of her 
 character derived from Ids own close observation, his un 
 favorable opinion of Mrs. Brekbellew when she visited 
 Rahandabed, and Iris confidence in Mrs. Carnew s inno 
 cence, even when circumstances seemed most desperately 
 against her. Then he explained the true object of his 
 journey abroad, and all that had resulted from it, even to 
 a minute account of his interview with Mrs. Brekbellew, 
 and he added that should further proof of the truth of 
 what he had stated be required, he could furnish it in the 
 letter that he held for Mr. Edgar from Mrs. Brekbellew, 
 having no doubt that Mr. Edgar would consent to show 
 the letter as soon as had he read it himself. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 331 
 
 Carnew did not interrupt by a word ; it seemed to him 
 as if lie could not speak if he would, and when Ordotte 
 had ceased, he still continued to look like one in an awful 
 night-mare. Nor would his companion say any more. 
 Intuitively he divined the feelings that must be at work 
 in Alan s breast, and he sympathized with them too keenly 
 to break upon them by any comment of his own. 
 
 The fact that Ned would shortly be proved to be Ed 
 gar s daughter, instead of Mrs. Brekbellew, was nothing 
 to him beside the fact which he had read in the state 
 ment of her innocence, and which Ordotte had confirmed. 
 Fool that lie was to have been so blind, so deficient in 
 suspicions of anybody else than his wife. Why could he 
 not have remembered the resemblance between Ned and 
 Edna, and have given the former the benefit of at least a 
 doubt ; and as before, every trifling circumstance rose up 
 to confirm his conviction of her deceit, so now, with equal 
 impulsiveness and haste, many trifling circumstancas arose 
 to confirm the story of hor innocence. He forgot what 
 had been an overwhelming proof of her guilt in the fact 
 of the minister s recognition ; and his love for her, roused 
 with new violence as he thought of her bitter wrongs. 
 Unable to endure his thoughts he staggered to his feet, 
 and as if he forgot the presence of Ordotte, covered his 
 face with his hands and groaned. Then^ uncovering his 
 face he began to pace the room. His companion did not 
 disturb him, feeling that it was better to let the young 
 man s feelings have their vent, 
 
 " What should he do ? " How could he ever repair what 
 he had done ? What atonement could he make to poor, 
 calumniated, outraged Ned ? How could he convince her 
 thaf he had never once ceased to love her ? If he had only 
 gona to her when he was near her ; if he had only entered 
 her little home the night on which his presence was so 
 nearly detected ! And then he cursed himself for the 
 pride which had kept him from her. And what if now 
 he should be punished by finding her ill, dead perhaps, 
 unable to listen to his penitence, to say at least that she 
 
332 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 forgave him ! He was maddened at the thought, and he 
 stopped a moment in his walk, seized by a wild desire to 
 flee to her immediately. But, somehow, in the same 
 instant there came to him the thought of Dyke ; his last 
 interview with Dyke, when the young man had pleaded 
 for her who was so wronged ; when he had shown in hie 
 declaration not to return to his home while it held Mrs. 
 Carnew, his noble regard for the honor of the wife whom 
 her husband neglected, and in that moment Carnew hated 
 himself almost as much for his treatment of Dyke, as for 
 his neglect of Ned. And then the thought came to him 
 to seek Dyke first. He would probably find him at his 
 place of business in the morning, and he, perhaps, being 
 the noble fellow he was, would find an easy way of 
 reconciliation to Ned. 
 
 That decided, he seemed to remember the presence of 
 Ordotte, and going up to that gentleman, who had re 
 mained very quietly seated, lie grasped both of his hands 
 and said in a voice husky from emotion : 
 
 " What shall I say to you, my friend, for what you have 
 done ? How shall I thank you ? And what amends can 
 I make for my coldness in the past ? 
 
 Ordotte jumped up nimbly, and partially turned his 
 head, perhaps to conceal a sudden moisture in his eyes, 
 as he answered : 
 
 " You do not need to say anything ; and as for thanks, 
 I am so happy in being the means of re-uniting Mrs. Car- 
 new and yourself, that I am amply rewarded. Regarding 
 amends, why, in the future, when you see me endeavoring 
 to entertain that amusing aunt of yours, do not judge me 
 too harshly. That is all." 
 
 The protracted and hearty grasp of his hands by Car- 
 new assured him that much more than he asked was 
 granted. 
 
 LIY. 
 
 Dyke seemed to himself to have become an old man, 
 though he had hardly reached his prime. Suffering often 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 333 
 
 ages much more quickly than years, and life had given 
 him such bitter disappointments. But his sorrows had 
 not soured him ; he still retained his simple, healthy trust, 
 accepting good wherever he found it, and nover suffering 
 the dross of human nature to blind him to the fact that 
 there was often beneath it the gold of some noble 
 quality. 
 
 Knowing so well what it was to suffer, his heart went 
 out in boundless sympathy to all forms of the same, and 
 the gentle, kindly gravity of his manner won general re 
 spect and liking. He had schooled himself to a resigna 
 tion that did not complain, even in secret, and he had 
 from his earliest years that Christian philosophy that sees 
 in everything the wisdom of a higher power. Thus the 
 happiness which was so wanting now would be complete 
 in another sphere, and he could, like many more brave 
 spirits, labor and wait. 
 
 Was Ned s innocence proven, and was she restored to 
 her husband, there would not be quite such a weight 
 upon his heart, nor would he add to the precious packet 
 of her letters each one as it came from her now, with such 
 a trembling hand, and such a great, quivering sigh. Occa 
 sionally, he permitted himself to read them all over, from 
 the first little cramped epistle of her school-days to the 
 very last, that so carefully concealed all she was suffering. 
 He fancied that the reading of them made him braver for 
 his own duties, and more resigned to everything that had 
 befallen him. She seemed so noble, from the nrst simple 
 expression of her warm affection for himself and Meg 
 down to her brave, uncomplaining acceptance of the bit 
 ter cup prepared for her, and he always kissed the letters 
 and put them away, breathing a heartfelt prayer that her 
 innocence would soon be cleared. 
 
 The same evening that Ordotte told his story to Car- 
 new had been one of the times when Dyke permitted him 
 self to read Ned s letters, so that the next morning he 
 went to his business more absorbed in her than usual, and 
 
334 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 feeling with an unwonted irritation his impotence to helo 
 her in the matter of her wrongs. 
 
 How was he astonished to be summoned a little after 
 his arrival to meet a gentleman, and to find that gentle 
 man Alan Carnew ! 
 
 They were alone in the private office, so that Carnew 
 was spared the necessity of putting any great restraint 
 
 upon his feelings. 
 
 " When last we met, Mr. Dutton," he said, " you came 
 in a measure to sue to me ; now, I have come to sue to 
 you ; to beg your interference in my behalf with JSTed. 
 I have discovered that she is innocent of everything with 
 which she has been charged, and that I I have been a 
 brute." 
 
 He stopped, for emotion had unmanned him ; and to 
 gether with the sleepless night he had passed, and his 
 absolute refusal to touch nourishment protesting to Or- 
 dotte s entreaties that it would choke him, until he had 
 seen Dutton had made him a little dizzy. 
 
 Dyke strove to calm his own feelings, excited by this 
 sudden and unexpected statement, and he drew a chair 
 forward for his visitor, and said as quietly as he could : 
 
 " Sit down, Mr. Carnew ; you appear so feverish and 
 unwell that you had better rest a little." 
 
 lie dropped into the chair, but, having recovered his 
 voice, immediately resumed : 
 
 " I must tell you at once all that I have heard." And 
 he did so, pouring forth in an eager, impassioned way 
 everything that Ordotte had told him, adding when he 
 had finished : 
 
 " Do you think she will ever forgive my blindness and 
 stupidity ? Do you think I shall ever have her heart 
 again as I once had it ? You know her so well, you who 
 have known her from her childhood. Forget the taunt 
 I once flung upon your honor regarding her, and speak, 
 Dutton, as I feel you alone can speak. O God ! that I 
 should have thrown her from me as I did ! " 
 
 He broke down utterly then, strong man though he 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 335 
 
 was, and covering his face with his hands, something like 
 a great sob escaped him for an instant. 
 
 Dyke was white to the very lips ; white even while he 
 exulted at this strange fulfilment of all his wishes for Ned, 
 for the sight of Carnew s suffering, arising as it did from 
 his love for her who had dwelt so long and fondly in his 
 own heart, aroused again in some measure his own past 
 anguish. 
 
 But he bent forward, and answered in his grave, kindly 
 way : 
 
 " You have always had her love. It needs but one syl 
 lable from you to tell her that your heart is still hers, to 
 bring her to your arms again." 
 
 " Then we shall go to her this minute, Button." 
 
 He rose wildly. 
 
 Dyke gently forced him back into his seat. 
 
 " Wait a moment," he said, " I have a little advice to 
 give." 
 
 " Anything, Button ; I shall do anything you say, as 
 long as you tell me that I may win my wife again." 
 
 And he looked up with the submission of a child. 
 
 Dyke smiled. 
 
 " I think it would be better to wait a couple of days. 
 In the mean time, with your permission, I shall write to 
 her of these wonderful tidings, and tell her you will be 
 with her almost immediately. That will be better, per 
 haps, as it will prepare her for your visit, and for her new 
 found happiness." 
 
 " But a couple of days, Dutton ! How can I wait a cou- 
 pie of days?" 
 
 Dyke s white lips parted again into a smile. The color 
 had not yet returned to his face, but no suspicion of his 
 suffering entered into the inind of the impatient man be 
 side him. 
 
 He resumed : 
 
 " Since you. think it the better course, Dutton, I con- 
 sent to it. But you will come with rne. We will go to 
 Ned together." 
 
330 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Dyke shook his head. 
 
 " Your meeting will be better with as few witnesses as 
 possible. And Ned will understand when you tell her 
 how much I rejoice in her happiness." 
 
 Something in the tone of the speaker, and an instant 
 after, something in the expression of his grave, pallid 
 face caused for the first time a suspicion of Dyke s real 
 regard for Ned to enter Carnew s mind ; but with it 
 came also, as it had never quite come before, the realiza 
 tion of Dyke s true nobility. It forced him to compare 
 him with himself, and the comparison shamed him. He 
 rose, a little unsteadily still, and, grasping Dyke s hand, 
 said tremulously : 
 
 " Dutton, you are a noble fellow. May God forgive 
 me for my treatment of you ; but if the future can make 
 amends, it shall do so. And now he hesitated, as 
 if with sudden diffidence. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked Dyke, reassuringly, and return 
 ing the warm pressure of Carnew s hand. 
 
 "When you write, I would rather that you refrain 
 from telling Ned what we have learned of her relation 
 ship to Mr. Edgar. I want nothing to come between her 
 thoughts of me." 
 
 And he looked with a sort of pitiful wistfulness into 
 Dyke s face. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish," answered the latter, the 
 smile still about his lips. That proposition accorded with 
 his own thoughts just then. It was better that for the 
 present Ned should have nothing to think of but her 
 husband. 
 
 They parted, Carnew to return to Ordotte, who decided 
 to go to Wcewald Place, where Carnew would also repair 
 afrer he had rejoined his wife, and Dyke to write to Ned. 
 
 He wrote immediately, so that the letter would be cer 
 tain to reach her in time a long, full, clear letter that 
 stated nothing obscurely, and omitted nothing save what 
 he had been requested to omit. At the end he said sim 
 ply of his own feelings : 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 337 
 
 " I thank God in my heart for you, dear ISTed, that the 
 day of your happiness has dawned at last. 
 
 " Your brother, 
 
 " DYKE." 
 
 He took pains to place in addition to the direction " in 
 haste," knowing that would facilitate its carriage to Ned 
 should there be no one in Saugerties from the immediate 
 vicinity of the mountain home at the time of the arrival 
 of the letter ; the mail master, to whom Dyke was well 
 and favorably known, seeing those words upon it, would 
 find means of forwarding it immediately. And so it 
 happened. The letter was brought up by one of the 
 residents of Saugerties, and reached Ned shortly after 
 mid-day. Catching sight of the words " in haste," her 
 heart leaped to her mouth. Could the letter be a sum 
 mons to her husband, that he was ill, or dying ? She could 
 scarcely steady her trembling hand to open it ; but when 
 she did so, and read it, and realized fully its glad con 
 tents, a scream of joy burst from her, and, rushing to 
 Meg, she put her arms around her and cried like a very 
 child from joy. 
 
 Meg laughed, and petted her darling without compre 
 hending or questioning the cause of her tears, and Anne 
 McCabe ventured to ask when Mrs. Carnew s burst of 
 emotion had spent itself a little : 
 
 " Was there any trouble in the letter ? " 
 
 " Trouble, Anne ? Oh, no ! but such joy. How shall I 
 contain myself, how shall I wait ? My husband is com 
 ing ; he will be here this very day." 
 
 Then Anne guessed a little to herself of what might 
 have been the secret trouble which seemed to press so 
 upon young Mrs. Carnew^that it had reference to the 
 husband who was coming so speedily but she forbore to 
 ask any further question, feeling that perhaps in time 
 she would be made acquainted with every tiling, and she 
 began to busy herself in preparation for the visitor. Ned 
 took up her station at the window it was too cold to 
 
338 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 remain at the door but as the window commanded a 
 full view of the wide, bare, snow-covered road, her view 
 was quite as good. 
 
 There was no one to pass by their isolated place, Dut- 
 ton s being the highest abode on the mountain, so that 
 when it was almost evening, and she could just discern 
 some vehicle coming along the road, she felt that it con 
 tained her husband. She rushed to the door, opened it, 
 and unmindful of tlia piercing cold, darted down the 
 path leading to the road. 
 
 On came the sleigh, but before it reached its destina 
 tion, Carnew saw the slender, graceful, girlish figure. 
 
 " You need come no further," he said to the man who 
 had driven him from Saugerties, and springing out be 
 fore even the vehicle had quite stopped, he rushed to the 
 figure on the path. 
 
 In another moment, she was folded in his arms with 
 her face pressed to his own. 
 
 LY. 
 
 Edgar had become so much of a recluse that he was 
 never seen beyond his own grounds, and the only person 
 to whom he seemed to care to speak was Mackay, the 
 
 fardener. Whenever lie took his walks about the place, 
 e always stopped for a brief conversation with the old 
 man. It might be that the rich, cultured gentleman felt 
 a sort of secret sympathy with this poor, old father whose 
 offspring, like his own, had given a cruel stab to the 
 paternal heart. But ho would not acknowledge such a 
 reason even to his own inmost soul, and while he himself 
 was careful not to reveal any of the facts that he had 
 heard of young Mackay s secret marriage, it never oc 
 curred to him that the story might be carried to the old 
 man s ears from another source, and so it finally happened. 
 The gossip of the help of Rahandabed extended itself 
 to the help of other country seats, and a few days before 
 the winter holidays it actually got into the kitchen of 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 339 
 
 Weewald Place. Some of the shocked servants were for 
 keeping it carefully from old Mackay, while others 
 deemed it their bounden duty to tell him. And the lat 
 ter had their way. 
 
 That same night the old man was told why his son had 
 committed suicide, and that his abandoned child was in 
 Mrs. Doloran s care. 
 
 The poor old creature was dazed, and even the gossip 
 who broke the story to him felt that it would have been 
 a truer kindness not to have disturbed his ignorance. 
 
 " You say he was married,- he said at last ; " married 
 to Miss Ned Edgar, and that she s married again, and 
 that his child is living. I must do something about it. 
 I must see Mr. Edgar." 
 
 And straightway he went to the grand house, in his 
 bewilderment ascending to the great, grand entrance, and 
 asking to see Mr. Edgar. 
 
 That gentleman, being near the entrance hall at the 
 time, heard his voice, and, much surprised, came to him 
 immediately. 
 
 " Come in here, Mackay," he said, seeing that the gar 
 dener was laboring under some strong agitation, and he 
 opened the door of one of the reception chambers. 
 
 " You seem to be in trouble," he said as kindly as the 
 exceedingly stern gravity which his manner had recently 
 assumed would allow him to speak ; " what is it ? " 
 
 " It s about me boy, Mr. Edgar, me boy that killed him 
 self," his lips quivered, and for an instant he paused to 
 pass his sleeve over his sunken eyes. " I was told to 
 night by one of the help in your kitchen that he married 
 the lady who used to live here Miss Ned Edgar they 
 called her and that his child is in one of the village ; 
 down the river. I have heered that Miss Edgar was no 
 flesh of yourn, that it was only your kindness as kept her 
 here, and I didn t come to say anything to you about 
 that. I ve only come to ask if there wouldn t be some 
 way of my getting the child. I was told that the mother 
 left it, that she s married again, and doesn t want to own 
 
34:0 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 it. But it s my flesh and blood, it s the child of me poor, 
 misguided boy, and I m an old man, Mr. Edgar, and I 
 might say a childless old man, for Annie, the doctors 
 say, will never be better. Will you tell me some way of 
 getting the little one ? " 
 
 His eagerness, and the emotion he tried to suppress 
 were pitiful ; even the cold, stern man who had imagined 
 himself rapidly dying to every sympathy was touched. 
 He was obliged to turn away for an instant before he 
 could trust himself to speak with his ordinary voice. 
 Then he said : 
 
 " Perhaps I have been to blame, Mackay, in not letting 
 you hear from my lips what you have heard to-night ; 
 but I refrained from doing so in kindness to yourself, 
 and " he lowered his voice a little as if he were speak- 
 ing only for his own ears "perhaps, to spare a little my 
 own feelings, that any one who had ever been of my 
 household should have brought such sorrow upon you. 
 But," raising his voice again, " I can still make amends. 
 Leave the matter to me for a day or two, and I shall de 
 vise some means of getting your grandchild to you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; may God bless you," and the old 
 man turned from the room, remembering as he re-entered 
 the hall that it was his place to descend to the lower en 
 trance, but Edgar called him back, and dismissed him 
 through the grand door by which he had entered. 
 
 Then he sent for the butler. 
 
 " Summon immediately all the servants to their dining 
 hall. I wish to speak to them there." 
 
 The order was obeyed with astonishment and conster 
 nation. Such a thing had never happened before ; and 
 while Edgar, because of his grave, stern manner and ex 
 treme reticence, was excessively feared by his help, his 
 generous treatment of them prevented their fear being 
 accompanied by its usual attendant dislike. 
 
 He had adopted the English custom of a full set of 
 servants, even though such a number seemed to be quite 
 unnecessary, so that the large dining-hall contained quite 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 341 
 
 an assembly of men and women when he entered it to 
 speak to them. And, unconscious as they were of his ob 
 ject in thus gathering them, most of them quailed befbro 
 the keen, stern look of his eyes, as he turned them upoi. 
 every face before lie spoke. 
 
 " I desire to see the man or woman among you wh 
 recently told to old Mackay the cause of his son s sui 
 cide." " 
 
 His voice was so loud and distinct it fairly rang through 
 the room, causing those who had quailed before to quail 
 still more ; but the female servant who w T as the culprit 
 was not deficient in something of the courage that dis 
 tinguishes the virago, added to which she thought it bet 
 ter to face the matter bravely of her own account than to 
 be discovered by some informer among her fellow-help. 
 So she rose from her place, and said quite loudly and dis 
 tinctly : 
 
 " I am the person, Mr. Edgar, who told Mr. Mackay 
 about it." 
 
 Edgar turned his eyes upon her with a look that the 
 rest of the help afterwards averred was enough to riddle 
 her through, and lie said in the same tones he had used 
 before : 
 
 " You will present yourself this evening for payment 
 of whatever may be due to you, and you will leave this 
 house before nine o clock to-morrow morning. Barnes," 
 to the butler, " that is all." 
 
 He turned and strode away, leaving the help too dumb 
 founded to speak until they ceased to hear the last sound 
 of his steps. 
 
 The next day brought Ordotte to Weewald Place, and 
 Edgar, when he received his card, was in little mood to 
 see him. He remembered him with dislike as the man 
 who in Kahandabed had spoken with such irritating 
 mysteriousness, and he felt somehow as if this interview 
 would be an unpleasant repetition of the same. Still he 
 could not decide on a refusal to accord him an interview. 
 
342 A. FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 and so lie descended to the reception chamber where Or- 
 dotte waited. 
 
 Bowing coldly and haughtily, he desired his visitor to 
 be seated, which invitation the latter accepted imme 
 diately, saying as he did so : 
 
 " I have so long a story to tell you, Mr. Edgar, that I 
 must request you also to take a chair, and to give me your 
 closest attention." 
 
 " If your story should 1)3 as pointless as the one to 
 which I listened when I met you in Rahandabed, I doubt 
 the propriety of giving it very close attention," answered 
 Edgar, making no attempt to seat himself. 
 
 " I have come to explain that very pointless story," re 
 sponded Ordotts, " and to supplement it by a still more 
 extraordinary tale ; but I must beg, Mr. Edgar, that you 
 be seated. My tale is too long, and, as you will find be- 
 fore I have proceeded very far, too interesting, for you tj 
 hear it standing." 
 
 Edgjar took a chair at some distance from his visitor, 
 but without any relaxation of his cold, haughty manner. 
 
 Ordotte was not abashed ; he felt too certain of his 
 power ta produce a speedy change in that rigid counte 
 nance, and he began at once : 
 
 " When your young wife died many years ago, she left 
 to you an infant daughter whom you dearly loved. When 
 the child was two weeks old the house was broken into, it 
 was supposed by gypsies, and the babe was "stolen. A 
 fortnight after, your brother sent to you that your child 
 was in his house. You found such to be the case, but 
 found also that his own babe, of the same age, so exactly 
 resembled your own that you could not tell them apart. 
 Your brother swore that he could do so, having put a 
 secret mark upon your child which would only reappear 
 under the action of the Indian essence that had been used 
 to make it. That secret mark comprised the capital let 
 ters E. E. on the child s left wrist." 
 
 A change had come into Mr. Edgar s countenance ; it 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 343. 
 
 was losing its pallor, and becoming flushed and heated. 
 But Ordotte. did not seem to notice it. He continued : 
 
 " In jour dilemma, you proposed at last to take both 
 children, giving a large sum of money so as to have legal 
 claim to your brother s child. Your brother then left 
 England, taking his wife with him, and seven, years after 
 ward I met him in India." 
 
 The flush had increased in Edgar s face, and the per 
 spiration stood in great drops upon his forehead, but he 
 made no motion to wipe it away, and Ordotte still seemed 
 not to notice any change in his companion. 
 
 " "When I met Henry Edgar in Calcutta," he continued, 
 " he was poor, having dissipated everything he had ever 
 possessed ; he was a widower also, and childless, having 
 lost his wife and son a couple of years before, and he was 
 in somewhat failing health ; but at times he was a genial 
 companion, and having it in my power to better his posi 
 tion, he became attached to me. After we had been some 
 time associated ho gave me his confidence ; all that I have 
 told you. 
 
 " Hating you for being your father s favorite, and for 
 being the cause, as lie imagined, of his own disinheritance, 
 he thought that nothing would stab your heart so keenly 
 as to steal from you your motherless infant. It was a bold 
 undertaking, but he knew the house so well that he felt 
 he could venture it. lie did so, and succeeded in stealing 
 the sleeping babe from the nurse s arms. He brought it 
 home, intending to start with it almost immediately for 
 the gypsy camp, which he knew was within a few 
 miles of the neighborhood. lie felt that he could dis 
 pose of it there. But when his wife saw the child, 
 so like her own, the springs of pity in her maternal heart 
 welled up ; she begged her husband to forego his plan, to 
 do anything he would, but not to give it to the terri 
 ble fate that might await it among the gypsies. He, 
 too, noted and was surprised at the exact resemblance of 
 the babes, and it caused another thought to enter his 
 mind. Only a week before, one of his riotous companions 
 
34:4: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 had been affording amusement to his friends by experi 
 menting with a little vial of essence that had been brought 
 from India by a sailor uncle. This essence produced on 
 human flesh, marks which only remained while they were 
 subjected to its action. Henry Edgar, much inter 
 ested in it, begged from his friend what remained in the 
 vial. He remembered that now, brought it forth, marked 
 his brother s child as I have told you, disclosed to his wife 
 how he intended to harrow his brother s soul, and, as she 
 was very much in awe of him, frightened laer into the 
 most abject submission. 
 
 " Suspicion settling in some manner upon the gypsies, 
 Henry Edgar was enabled to secrete the little stranger in 
 his own home for a fortnight, during which time his wife 
 nursed it with her own child. He did that in order to 
 make assurance doubly sure ; that the very fact of nurs 
 ing at the same breast, might help to cement, in some way, 
 the singular resemblance. 
 
 " When he sent for you, Mr. Edgar, he was defiant of 
 every consequence ; he had gained his revenge in depriv 
 ing you of the certain knowledge of which was your child, 
 and he was equally satisfied, when you proposed as the 
 last way out of the dilemma, to take both children. 
 Knowing with what detestation you regarded the low 
 woman lie had married, he felt that in thus confounding her 
 child with your own, he had given you a lasting wound. 
 
 " His wife, apart from the submission which she was 
 compelled to yield to her husband, was satisfied to resign 
 her child when she knew it was going to your care. It 
 would be better provided for than with her. 
 
 " All this Mr. Henry Edgar told me, and after that, I 
 studied him with more interest, feeling that I understood 
 the cause of his odd impulses. 
 
 " The story I told you in Rahandabed, giving my hero 
 the name of Klip Kargarton, was a true one ; only the 
 hero was Henry Edgar. We hunted in the jungles as I 
 then described, and brought the cubs of a tiger away. I 
 explained to myself his strange anxiety to get the cubs 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 3i5 
 
 to the tiger who had lost her own, and his disappointment 
 when the beast did not seem to know the difference, by 
 thinking that it was a sort of experiment to assuage, per 
 haps, his own remorse. He wanted, if even by such far 
 fetched and absurd means, to assure himself that you 
 had been able by a sort of instinct to know your own 
 child at last. But when I ventured to speak to him about 
 it, to suggest the propriety of his return to you, and to 
 venture to predict your forgiveness in consideration of the 
 atonement he would make, by proving to you which was 
 your child, he would not listen to me. 
 
 " His hatred of you at such times seemed to come up 
 with as much vigor as it could ever have done. Once, 
 when he thought he was dying, he said to me that if he 
 should die, I might, if I ever met you, disclose the con 
 fidence he had given me. He could not help me in the 
 matter of the essence, for there had been none of it left 
 after he had marked your child, but he and I both knew 
 that if it had been once obtained from India, it could 
 surely be obtained again. 
 
 " He did not die then, however, and when I was about 
 to leave India for England in order to take possession of 
 a wealthy bequest, he said to me the last night we passed 
 together : 
 
 " 4 Should anything ever occur in your future life, should 
 you ever make any acquaintance that might cause you to 
 wish to reveal my story, you may do so, if you will ascer 
 tain first the fact of my death ; or, if you cannot get an 
 absolute certainty of that, but still can discover nothing 
 to tell that I am alive, you may consider yourself released 
 from your promise. 
 
 " We parted then, and though we corresponded infre 
 quently for a time, before a year had passed, I ceased to 
 hear anything from him. 
 
 " In Rahandabed I met Miss T^ed Edgar, and as I heard 
 her name from her own lip;?, I thought of Henry Edgar. 
 There was a family likeness between them, and I was 
 satisfied in my own mind that she was one of the children 
 
346 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 of whom he had spoken. Later, I met the other Miss 
 Edgar, and shortly afterwards, you. Your likeness to 
 your brother was startling, and knowing so much of your 
 secret history from his lips, I could not resist the tempta 
 tion of probing you a little. 
 
 " I did so, as you have admitted remembering, with the 
 story of Klip Kargarton, and the result convinced me 
 that the wound given by your brother rankled still. Much 
 as you fancied you loved the beautiful being whom you 
 called your daughter, there were moments when you feared 
 that you might be mistaken. 
 
 " I was not at liberty to settle your doubts, because I 
 had made no effort to inform myself of your brother s 
 death ; nor did I have with me the essence without which 
 I could not prove which was your child. In order to get 
 that, I should have to journey to India, and I was enjoy 
 ing myself so well in Rahandabed, that I could not bring 
 myself to leave the place. Also, there seemed to be no 
 very good reason why I should disturb the existing order 
 of things. 
 
 " Miss Ned Edgar, from my close observation, bade fair 
 to become in time Mrs. Carnew, though she was too 
 modest and too humble to dream of such a thing for her 
 self then, and in that case sha would be quite as well off 
 as if she were acknowledged to be your daughter. 
 
 " As I told you during the conversation we had in Ra- 
 handabed, I have been enabled from early boyhood to 
 divine character, sometimes with a sharpness surprising to 
 myself. .And having this power I exerted it fully in 
 reading the characters of the Misses Edgar, discovering 
 that while one, she who has since become Mrs. Carnew, 
 had a rigid principle of rectitude, and a most unusual 
 capacity for self-sacrifice, the other had a marvellous 
 power for sacrificing her friends whenever they opposed 
 her own interests, and an utter disregard for all the little 
 ways of honor. This discovery, however, I kept quite to 
 myself, not even acting upon it in any way, until Mrs. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 34:7 
 
 Carnew was accused of that of which I felt her cousin, 
 Mrs. Brekbellew, had been guilty." 
 
 He was obliged to p.ui30, for Edgar had risen to his 
 feet, as if he were about to utter some angry interruption 
 But he only sat down again, and for the first time wiped 
 the perspiration from his face. 
 
 " Shall I proceed ? " asked Ordotte. 
 
 Edgar nodded. 
 
 "Then," resumed Ordotte, "-it seemed to be my duty 
 to exert myself to go abroad for three reasons ; the first, 
 to obtain what proofs I could of Henry Edgar s death, if 
 indeed he had died, as, remembering the feeble state in 
 which I left him, I felt convinced he must have done ; 
 the second, to get the Indian essence of which he had 
 spoken, and the third, to extort from Mrs. Brekbellew a 
 confession that would clear her calumniated cousin. 
 
 " Regarding the first object of my journey, I succeeded 
 in tracing Henry Edgar only to the time that he too left 
 India, eight months after my own departure thence, in 
 tending to enter some European hospital, but, with that, 
 my clew ended ; I could ascertain nothing further about 
 him. I considered myself released from my promise to 
 him, and having, after much travel through India, ob 
 tained the essence, or what, from Edgar s description of 
 it, seemed to be such, I went to Paris, and cabled upon 
 Mrs. Brekbellew. 
 
 " Without letting her know my object, I, in the pres 
 ence of her company, tried the essence upon her wrist. It 
 failed to bring forth any letters. Shortly after, in a pri 
 vate interview with her, I told her much of the story I 
 have now told you, revealing the real object of my ex 
 periment upon her wrist, and convincing her that it had 
 proved she was not your daughter. But I did not say to 
 her what I shall now say to you ; that it may be the 
 essence w r ill not work upon Mrs. Carnew s wrist. Not 
 knowing the name of the drug, I have nothing to assure 
 me that I have really obtained the right article, save as it 
 tallies with the description that Henry Edgar gave of it. 
 
348 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 But its possession helped me to obtain that which was 
 even of more importance than what it was expected to 
 prove the innocence of a cruelly wronged woman." 
 
 He stopped for a moment to take from his breast Mrs. 
 Brekbellew s statement. Placing it in Edgar s hand, he 
 resumed : 
 
 " Read, in the words of her whom you have regarded 
 as your daughter, a confession that fully exonerates Mrs. 
 Carnew." 
 
 Edgar mechanically opened the paper, but again he had 
 to wipe his perspiring face before lie could read it. When 
 he had read it, he arose. 
 
 " I must retire for a little, Mr. Ordotte," lie said with 
 a sort of strange, sad entreaty in his voice, that was in 
 pitiful contrast to the manner with which he had first ad 
 dressed his visitor. " Will you excuse me ? " 
 
 " Certainly, 1 replied Ordotte, rising also and bowing ; 
 " but permit me to give you this letter from Mrs. Brek- 
 bellew," and he drew from his breast the letter that he 
 had also extorted from her. 
 
 Edgar took it, and retaining the statement, he turned 
 with both from the room. 
 
 LYI. 
 
 The bowed, broken, blighted man ascended, not to his 
 own apartment, nor yet to his private study, but to the 
 room that contained the painting of his wife. Flinging 
 aside the silken curtain that hung before it, and placing 
 loosely in his breast the papers given him by Ordotte, he 
 dropped on his knees, and covering his face with his hands, 
 leaned the latter 011 the base of the frame of the easel on 
 which the picture rested. 
 
 All the anguish that he had ever suffered since he had 
 looked last on the fair, dead face of the original of that 
 portrait, now swept across his soul anew ; he experienced 
 again every harrowing doubt, every fear which he had so 
 often felt during those long twenty-four years. His pride 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 349 
 
 in, and liis love for Edna, so frequently despite tlie assur 
 ance that lie endeavored to give himself disturbed by 
 the thought that after all he might be deceived ; his stud 
 ied coldness to Ned, his satisfaction at hearing anything of 
 her which might justify that coldness, and put down the 
 gentle, reproachful face that occasionally visited him in 
 his fevered dreams ; the ungrateful return which Edna 
 had made for his love and lavish indulgence ; the positive 
 heartlessness she had shown regarding his feelings ; the 
 lack of womanliness in her choice of a husband, and now, 
 the discovery of her dreadful deceit, all came before him 
 with a sickening vividness and horror. But that which 
 harrowed him more than all the others was the thought 
 that he had been giving his love and tender, fatherly care 
 to her who had proved herself so miserably undeserving, 
 and who after all was not his child ; while to the one who 
 had actually made the very marriage he had sought for 
 Edna, and in other things, according to the recent account, 
 had comported herself in a way worthy of his affection, 
 he had given coldness and contempt. He buried his 
 face deeper in his hands and groaned aloud. 
 
 Still, the next instant he felt that he could not bo fnre 
 of what Ordotte had stated ; for had not Ordotte himself 
 said that the test might fail when it should be applied to 
 Mrs. Carnew ? And in that case he would be in the same 
 horrid doubt as ever. 
 
 An involuntary motion that he at that instant made, 
 disturbed the letter he had placed in his bosom ; it fell in 
 a rustling manner to the floor. He was attracted by the 
 sound, and uncovering his face he looked down at it. 
 
 The superscription was uppermost, and he recognized 
 Edna s penmanship with a sort of shrinking horror. 
 Still, he lifted the letter, and rising, seated himself directly 
 in front of the picture. Then he broke the seal and read : 
 
 " This is to certify that the statement I have written 
 to-night, and given to Mr. Ordotte, is correct. I became 
 Richard Mackay s wife after I had deceived him into be 
 lieving that I was Ned Edgar. I met him for the first 
 
350 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 time when Ned and I were out riding on horseback. He 
 gave me a drink of water from a cup, which he formed of 
 a leaf, and I was struck with his beauty, as I knew he was 
 with mine. 
 
 " I contrived to see him afterward many times, allow 
 ing him at first to think that I was Miss Edgar the heiress, 
 but afterward duping him into believing that I was Ned. 
 I did that, when I found my affections involved, to save 
 myself, and to test his attachment. 
 
 " He, glad to find that I was only a friend, dependent 
 upon Mr. Edgar s bounty, urged me to marry him, say 
 ing if I would do so he would go to New York, and en 
 deavor to make a living by which in the future he could 
 support me ; that the very fact of being my husband 
 would give him ambition and courage. 
 
 u I consented, stipulating for the strictest secrecy ; and 
 one evening, during the week before Ned s departure for 
 Bahandabed, I retired early to my room on the pretense 
 of ajieadache. There, telling my maid not to come to 
 me until late next morning, I arranged my dress so as to 
 make my resemblance to Ned even more perfect than I 
 knew it was already, and I stole from the house. 
 
 " A distance down the road I met Mackay, who was 
 waiting with a conveyance. We drove to Khinebeck, 
 where we were married by Mr. Hay man, and I registered 
 as Ned Edgar. Then we went to a hotel, remained until 
 the early morning, and drove back to Barrytown. 
 
 " I knew that Ned was accustomed to early walks about 
 the grounds, and so closely resembling her, I hoped to 
 escape any unpleasant recognition, and I succeeded. I 
 reached my room without being discovered, and it was 
 not suspected that I had been away from home all night. 
 
 " Mackay had promised me to go to New York imme 
 diately, lie did so, and I wrote to him that I had ac 
 cepted a position as companion to Mrs. Doloran in C- . 
 In a few months, I accompanied you to New York for 
 the purpose of being introduced into society. While 
 there I found means of frequent secret communication 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 351 
 
 with Mackay, to wliom I explained my presence in New 
 York by saying that I had been requested to accompany 
 Miss Edgar, and for that reason had left Kahandabed ; 
 that Mr.^Edgar s kindness allowing me to have a maid, I 
 had given the situation to his sister. 
 
 " I brought Annie Mackay with me from Barrytown 
 as my maid, because I knew that she was her brother s 
 sole confidant, and because I felt that I also, during the 
 fast-approaching month of June, must have a confidant. 
 She, never having seen me in company with her brother, 
 and knowing that I was Mr. Edgar s daughter, did not 
 dream that it was I who was her brother s wife ; for, as he 
 had told her all when he supposed that I was the heiress, so 
 did he undeceive her when, as he imagined, lie was himself 
 undeceived. So, she also supposed it was Ned he had mar 
 ried ; and when, being obliged to tell h?r the truth, I did 
 so, she was startled and horrified. But I told her that I 
 had practised this deception on her brother because I loved 
 him so passionately, and because I knew if he should dis 
 cover how much 1 was above him it would break his heart. 
 She was consoled, and she pledged herself to keep my 
 secret as faithfully as I myself kept it. Not even to her 
 brother would she give a hint of his mistake. 
 
 " I did love Dick Mackay when I married him. I loved 
 him so wildly that I thought I was willing to make every 
 sacrifice for him ; but, afterward, when I reflected 
 upon what I had done, I became desperate from remorse 
 and fear. I no longer loved him. I wanted to get away 
 from him forever. But I had to be cautious, and to pre 
 tend that I cared for him still, lest he might betray me in 
 some way. 
 
 " I passed sleepless nights in endeavoring to contrive 
 some means of getting away from you during the month 
 of June following my marriage with Mackay, and during 
 which you intended to have me accompany you to some 
 seaside resort in the vicinity of New York. Fortune fa 
 vored me. Just when I had begun to be in absolute 
 despair, you were summoned to England " 
 
352 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 Edgar looked up from the letter to recall that English 
 visit upon which he had been summoned. 
 
 He had gone on information sent to him by one of his 
 English friends, a gentleman who was chaplain to an hos 
 pital, and who knew Edgar s early history. The informa 
 tion was that a man in exceedingly weak health, and giv 
 ing the name of Henry Edgar, but who refused to tell 
 anything else, had obtained admission to the hospital, and 
 by his name, and other things about him detected by 
 close observation, aroused the suspicion, and finally firm 
 conviction of the chaplain, that the dying man was the 
 long unheared-of Henry Edgar. On such information 
 had Edward Edgar hurried to London, praying that it 
 might be his brother, and that he might live long enough 
 to clear the horrible mystery of which he had been the 
 cause. But the man on Edgar s arrival had been in his 
 grave a week ! He thought of all that now, as he contin 
 ued to look away from the letter, and he thought also how 
 it tallied with the last clew of his brother which Ordotte 
 had obtained. 
 
 At length he resumed reading, beginning again at the 
 words : " you were summoned to England, and you pressed 
 me to accompany you. I refused, alleging my fear of the 
 voyage, my dislike to leave the society by which I was 
 surrounded, everything that I could think of as an excuse. 
 You reluctantly gave me my way, and I saw with relief 
 your departure upon a journey that must certainly occupy 
 a couple of months. There only remained Mrs. Stafford 
 to be disposed of, and that I succeeded in doing by feign 
 ing to accept an invitation to Staten Island. 
 
 "Mackay managed everything else for me. He had 
 fpund an humble but respectable widow in a part of "New 
 York City willing to offer me a refuge, and thither I 
 went, accompanied by Annie Mackay, instead of to Staten 
 Island. 
 
 " Mackay showed this widow, Mrs. Bunmer, our mar 
 riage certificate, and told her that we wanted everything 
 so secret, lest Mr. Edgar, upon whose bounty I depended, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 353 
 
 should find it out, and in his anger at my making such a 
 marriage, would cut me off entirely. But we did not tell 
 her where Mr. Edgar lived. 
 
 " My child was born in her house, and I remained there 
 until July; then I joined Mrs. Stafford, who was quite 
 unsuspicious, even though I had told her not to write to 
 me while I was away, as it was an unpleasant exertion 
 for me to answer any letters save those from my father. 
 Almost immediately, I was invited to visit Bahandabed 
 by the very friends with whom Mrs. Stafford and I were 
 spending a few weeks preparatory to our return to Barry- 
 town. I accepted the invitation intending to take Annie 
 with me. 1 felt as if I must never lose sight of her. But 
 she became ill, pined to go home, promising me sacredly, 
 however, to keep all my secrets ; and when Mrs. Stafford 
 volunteered to accompany her, preferring to do so that 
 she might return to her own home in Weewald Place, I 
 did not object. Mrs. Stafford felt no uneasiness at leaving 
 me, as I was with friends. I went to Rahandabed, writing 
 to Mackay that I was going back there with Miss Edgar, 
 and that on no account must he come into the neighborhood. 
 I would always communicate with him in writing, but, as 
 he loved me, he must not come within miles of Rahanda- 
 bed. That as /could not attend to our child, he must be 
 father and mother to it. I felt assured that he would do 
 all 1 asked, for I knew how madly he loved me. 
 
 " Rahandabed was so gay, so delightful, I tried to throw 
 away every care and be happy, too. I tried to forget 
 Mackay ; only when through very fear I wrote to. him. 
 I expected to meet Ned, but she had gone to visit somo 
 one in Albany, and did not return until I had been a fort 
 night the guest of Mrs. Doloran. 
 
 I met Mr. Carnew, and deeply as I once had fancied 
 I loved Dick Mackay, I now loved Carnew. I struggled 
 against it, but I could not resist being delighted with his 
 attentions, nor could I bring myself to reject them. But 
 I did not intend to do any great wrong. I meant if he 
 
354: A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 sliould propose to me to tell him then why I could not ac 
 cept him. 
 
 u But Mackay disobeyed my wishes. He came into the 
 neighborhood of Raliandabed. I caught sight of him one 
 afternoon as I was riding on horseback with some of the 
 guests. My blood boiled with anger and hatred, for I 
 feared that he would accost me. But he did not; only 
 stood there looking at us, and as I passed, making a mo 
 tion that seemed careless to others, but which I interpreted 
 to mean for me to come out to meet him upon that road. 
 I did so that same evening, and found that I had inter 
 preted his motion aright. 1 pacified him as well as I 
 could, and won from him a renewal of his pledge of se 
 crecy, by promising to meet him again in a more secluded 
 spot 
 
 " But that second secret interview was partially over 
 heard by Ned, who recognized my voice. I fled when I 
 found her searching for me, and afterward I contrived 
 to make her think that she was mistaken. 
 
 " When Mackay decided to take his own life, he sent a 
 note to Rahandabed, intended for me, but directed to 
 Miss Ned Edgar, for I had not undeceived him. I saw 
 her open the note and read it, and I knew at once, from the 
 bewildered expression of her face, that she had received 
 a communication which was intended for me. But there 
 was no opportunity for me to recover it, much as I burned 
 to do so, until Mackay s suicide was discovered. My 
 heart misgave me that it was he. In my fear and horror, I 
 confided part of my secrets to Ned, but I bound her by 
 oath, never to reveal them. Together we went to the 
 out-house where they had laid him, and I recognized my 
 husband 
 
 Edgar threw the letter from him, in a sudden paroxysm 
 of anger and disgust ; he remembered so distinctly the 
 very words of Edna, when she had told him that Ned had 
 sought her for company in going to view Mackay s re 
 mains. And then he remembered Dyke s plea for Ned, 
 her oath of which he had spoken as a very link of evidence 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 355 
 
 in her favor. And yet lie, Edgar, had been so cruel, so 
 blind! 
 
 lie arose and paced the little apartment for a few 
 moments to endeavor to gain some control of his agitation. 
 
 Then he forced himself to finish the dreadful letter. 
 
 " As 1 have told so much," it continued, " I may, in 
 justice to myself, say that I married Brekbellew because 
 I could not win Carnew, and also that I might go abroad 
 to get away from any consequences of my secret mar 
 riage. 
 
 "EDNA BREKBELLEW." 
 
 The letter was finished, and finished without a word 
 expressive of penitence or remorse for the terrible wrongs 
 of which she had been guilty. In her statements, there 
 had not been the faintest trace of sorrow for the poor, 
 old man whose son she had killed, nor for the wife whose 
 happiness she had blighted ; and, more than all, she had 
 not shown for her abandoned offspring even the common 
 regard of motherhood. 
 
 Surely, here were traits to warrant her being the child 
 of low parentage ; no daughter of her, to whose portrait 
 he now lifted his eyes, could have had such a character. 
 Once again he went and knelt, as he did before, in front 
 of the picture to let his anguish have its way; then, when 
 he had somewhat calmed himself, and felt that he could 
 return to Ordotte with some degree of composure, he 
 descended to that gentleman, who, finding that he was ex 
 pected to pass so long a time in solitude, had wandered 
 to the other rooms on the hall, and was interesting him 
 self in every object that he saw. 
 
 " Pardon me," said Edgar, when at length he found 
 him, " for forgetting so strangely all the rules of hospi 
 tality. But I shall try to atone for my negligence. I may 
 claim your company for some days, may I not ? " 
 
 lie seemed so absolutely broken in appearance and 
 voice that Ordotte, throl^h sheer sympathy, had to make 
 an effort to answer him. 
 
 " Mr. Carnew and his wife will be here to-morrow. I 
 
356 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 intended, with your kind Dermission, to remain to meet 
 them." 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Ordotte ; and are they coming be 
 cause " he hesitated strangely ;; because Mrs. Carnew 
 has been told that she may be my daughter? " 
 
 u j^To; Mr. Carnew was desirous that she should be 
 told nothing about it, in order to have nothing to distract 
 her from her reunion with him. So we arranged that she 
 was to learn nothing about this mysterious proof of her 
 parentage until she should learn it here, in your presence." 
 
 A pleased look came into Edgar s face. 
 
 " I am glad of that," he said, " very glad ; and will you 
 satisfy me further by promising that Mrs. Carnew shall 
 not be told until I give permission? Her reconciliation 
 with her husband will be so much happiness that it can 
 make little difference to defer for awhile the story of her 
 parentage." 
 
 Ordotte bowed, as he answered : 
 
 " I think I can promise that any revelation made to 
 Mrs. Carnew shall be made only with your consent and 
 approval." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Ordotte." 
 
 In his voice, as well as in his manner, there was painful 
 evidence of the struggle going on within him ; as if he 
 wanted to depart from his wonted cold, stern bearing, but 
 was still bound to it by the pride with which he so con 
 stantly masked "his feelings. 
 
 The signal for the late lunch sounded, and Edgar sum 
 moned a servant to conduct his visitor to one of the guest 
 chambers, in order that he might be refreshed by an ab 
 lution before he descended to the dining-room. 
 
 LYII. 
 
 Happy ]^ed ! Her joy seemed so complete that she 
 almost doubted it, and she feared to go to sleep, lest she 
 should wake and find it all a dream. The visit that she 
 had contemplated making with her husband to the home 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 of lier childhood could never have been so full of delight 
 as was this one, when he was with her after so cruel a 
 separation. And when she heard from his own lips how 
 he had never ceased to love her, how his l>ve had driven 
 him to make that secret visit which had so frightened her, 
 and how he had only waited for one word from her to 
 make him flee to her, she threw her arms about him again 
 and murmured : 
 
 " My own true husband ! " 
 
 They were so absorbed in themselves that they forgot 
 the presence of Meg, to whom Carnew had been intro 
 duced lovingly by Ned, and with whom he had warmly 
 shaken hands, the old woman had smiled and nodded, 
 and seemed as pleased as Ned could wish her to be, but 
 evidently without comprehending what it w^as all about. 
 They had not even closed the door of the room in which 
 they sat, and Anne McCabe, in the apartment adjoining, 
 where she was engaged in preparing as sumptuous a supper 
 as the larder of the little home afforded, heard sufficient 
 to fulfil her own prediction of some time knowing what 
 had been the trouble in Mrs. Carnew s life. 
 
 " Can you tell me now, Ned," said Alan, as she lifted 
 her head from his breast, u to whom you gave the oath of 
 which you told me, before you left Kahandabed ? " 
 
 " Yes, I can tell you now. Mrs. Brekbellew confided 
 to me, at the time that Mackay s body was found, that 
 she had married him in secret, first making me swear 
 never to reveal it. As she has herself revealed it, I do not 
 consider tiiat I am any longer bound by my oath." 
 
 " And how could you keep that oath in spite of all that 
 afterward happened ? " asked Alan, holding her a little 
 from him and looking down into her face, with new 
 marvel at the character that could thus sacrifice its own 
 dearest interest to a principle of honor. 
 
 " I wrote to her, telling her everything that had oc 
 curred, and begging her to release me from my pledge ; 
 but, if she received my letter, she has never answered it." 
 
 " Received your letter \ " broke from him in a burst of 
 
358 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 indignation. " I feel sure she received it, but to have 
 answered it would have been to disclose her own perfidy," 
 becoming so hotly indignant, as he remembered how art 
 fully Edna had once insinuated to him that Ned had a 
 secret acquaintance with young Mackay, that he could 
 not restrain himself from coupling Mrs. Brekbellew s 
 name with a curse. 
 
 Ned put her hand over his mouth. 
 
 " We are so happy now," she said, " you and I, we have 
 so much to be grateful for, that we can afford to forget 
 Mrs. Brekbellew. We shall neither mention, nor think 
 of her any more." 
 
 And then she stopped by repeated kisses the further 
 stigmatizing of Mrs. Brekbellew, to which his feelings 
 with regard to that lady fain w^ould have given vent. 
 
 Anne McCabe announced the supper, and Ned con 
 ducted her husband to the homely little dining-room ; but 
 that evening it seemed the most charming place in all the 
 world to the re-united couple. Ned headed the table, and 
 served the tea to Alan and Meg with the joyous vivacity 
 of a child. Indeed, she could hardly be still, she was so 
 happy, and though she looked very sweet, and very lovely 
 in her simple dark dress, unrelieved by anything save a 
 plain white collar and bands to match at her wrists ; still, 
 for the first time, as Alan sat opposite to her, he noticed 
 how slight she had grown ; how even her face had lost 
 its fulness, though that fact was now somewhat concealed 
 by the bright, happy flush on her cheeks ; and he felt with 
 a throb of pain that possibly the reconciliation had come 
 none too soon. A few weeks more of what she had 
 already endured, would have placed her beyond the reach 
 of any earthly reparation. 
 
 It was hardly to be. expected that either could eat, 
 though both made absurd pretenses of doing so, and then 
 \vlien each discovered the other s clumsy feint, there was 
 no much ridiculous protestation, that it set them to 
 laughing heartily. If Dyke had only been there to enjoy 
 it all but Ned was consoled when Carnew assured her 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 359 
 
 that lie intended to make D lit ton often join them in the 
 future. 
 
 Anne McCabe was in some concern about sleeping ac 
 commodations for the handsome gentleman ; the rooms 
 were all so small and plain but Ned assured her with 
 the brightest smile that her husband could accommodate 
 himself to any circumstances, and Alan surveyed with 
 actual pleasure Dyke s room the apartment assigned to 
 him when he entered it. 
 
 " Its difference from what you have been accustomed 
 to, will make it a delightful novelty, won t it, dear ? " said 
 
 Ned laughingly, as she insisted upon making him closely 
 quainted with every object in the room. 
 " If it were far less, to know that it was under the roof 
 
 with you, would impart to it the sweetest of all charms, 
 he said gallantly, and then he dropped into a chair, and 
 insisted on drawing his wife down to his knee. 
 
 " I must talk to you Ned ; I must hear you talk to me. 
 My heart is so full, it seems as if nothing else will 
 satisfy it." 
 
 And so it happened that everything came to be dis 
 cussed once more, and even more fully. The conversation 
 took such a tarn, that Alan found himself again excusing 
 his conduct, by laying before his wife every link of what 
 had seemed to be such dreadful evidence against her. 
 Her unaccountable absence from Rahandabed, her sick 
 appearance when she returned, all of which had given 
 such color to the charges against her. And Ned, as she 
 listened to him, could hardly blame him for entertaining 
 conviction in the face of so much proof ; but then, she, 
 in her turn, told all about that unfortunate visit to Albany, 
 and how Meg had nursed her through the fever, and how 
 afterward the people who had been so kind to her had 
 gone to Australia. Carnew remembered then what Dyke 
 had said to him relative to that visit, and he understood 
 now Dyke s silence when he had asked for proof of Ned s 
 Albany sojourn, for he saw Meg s mental condition. 
 
 The better part of the night passed before either thought 
 
360 
 
 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 of slumber, but then everything had been explained, and 
 Carnew realized that never before had he appreciated, or 
 known, the guileless, truthful, noble heart of his wife. 
 
 After breakfast the next morning, she would take him 
 out to show him everything about the farm, regretting 
 that the severity of the season prevented her taking him 
 to the old, loved wood of her childhood. 
 
 " But, next summer, Alan, you must see it." 
 
 " Yes ; next summer, JSTed ; and now, can you get ready 
 immediately to accompany me from here ? " 
 
 " Immediately ? " with surprise, and a little shade of 
 dismay in her voice, " I was hoping you would stay here 
 a week at least." 
 
 She was on the point of adding something about delay 
 ing as long as possible her meeting with any of the 
 people at Italian dabed, but she checked herself, fearing 
 that she might give him pain. 
 
 " I should be glad to stay a week, a year, if you wished 
 it, Ned, but we both owe something to Ordotte for what 
 he has done, and I have promised to meet him some time 
 to-day." 
 
 " Ordotte ! " she repeated ; " indeed, we do owe a great 
 deal to him since lie has been the means of proving my 
 innocence. Where are you to meet him ? " 
 
 " In Barrytown ; in Mr. Edgar s house." 
 
 " Mr. Edgar ! " 
 
 A new, strange, and half melancholy light came into 
 her eyes. 
 
 " I had forgotten about him," she continued, " is lie to 
 be told of what his daughter has done ? " 
 
 They had returned from their survey of the farm, and 
 were about entering the house, when Ned asked the last 
 question, and Alan waited to answer it until both were in 
 the little sitting-room. Then he turned to her : 
 
 " ]N ed ; do you suppose Ordotte or myself could permit 
 Mr. Edgar to remain in ignorance of his daughter s con 
 duct, when Mr. Edgar himself, having heard the calumny 
 against you, fully believed it ? Simple justice to you de- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 361 
 
 manded that he should be told. By this time, no doubt, 
 lie is in possession of the whole story." 
 
 She colored a little, and the melancholy light in her 
 eyes increased. 
 
 " " How must Mr. Edgar feel," she said softly, " if he 
 lias learned it all. He loved his daughter so well; he 
 was so proud of her ! " 
 
 "How did you feel, my darling, when your whole 
 happiness was dashed by the very acts of this daughter he 
 loved so well ? It is but a just retribution perhaps, for 
 the unmerited coldness with which he has always treated 
 you." 
 
 She did not reply to his speech, only after a moment s 
 silence she asked again : 
 
 " Am 7 to meet Mr. Edgar ? " 
 
 " Yes ; in company with me. Do you shrink from the 
 meeting ? " 
 
 " A little ; I fancy that even the knowledge of my 
 innocence may scarcely change his wonted distant manner 
 to me, since my guiltlessness has only been proved at the 
 expense of his daughter s character." 
 
 " Well, we shall see ; " answered Alan, kissing her ; and 
 then he left her, to give an order to the hired man to be 
 ready to take them to Saugerties, in time for the next 
 down train. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 It was Ordotte who met Mr. and Mrs. Carnew on their 
 arrival in AVeewald Place, and after he had shaken hands 
 with the lady, and bowed in grateful pleasure to her mur 
 mured thanks for what he had done, he begged to be ex 
 cused while he drew Alan aside ; there was a brief 
 conversation between them in a very low voice, and then 
 both rejoined Mrs. Carnew. Immediately after that Ed 
 gar entered the room. Neither Alan nor J^ed were pre 
 pared for the change in him ; he seemed such an utterly 
 broken old man. His hair and beard were quite white, 
 
362 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 while liis eyes, that had been so keen and large, seemed 
 now to have shrunken in size, and to have lost their 
 lustre. He was strangely stooped, and even his gait had 
 a sort of totter ; while his manner, that manner which 
 had been so stern and so repellant, was strangely, almost 
 touchingly gentle and submissive. 
 
 He came forward like one about to plead for some 
 favor, and as Ned watched him, both shocked and touched 
 as she was, the tears sprang to her eyes. It was to her he 
 came first, addressing her in a voice that was in full keep 
 ing with his appearance, cracked, and even husky. 
 
 " Mrs. Carnew," he said, " I am such an old, blighted 
 man now, that perhaps you will waive the apologies I 
 ought to make for my treatment of you in the past, for 
 what I ought to say since you have been so wronged by 
 one of mine." 
 
 Ned could control herself no longer. Over the hand 
 he had extended, and which she had warmly grasped, she 
 bent her head and let her tears fall as they would. 
 
 " You weep ? " he said in some surprise. 
 
 " For you," she answered, looking up ; "I am so sorry 
 for you." 
 
 He turned from her to the two silent and sympa 
 thizing gentlemen, asking in the same cracked, husky 
 voice : 
 
 " Has anybody told her ? Does she know ? " 
 
 Both gentlemen simultaneously shook their heads, 
 and he seemed to be satisfied. Withdrawing his hand 
 from Mrs. Carnew, he crossed to Alan. 
 
 " Once before I bade you welcome here, when I did 
 not dream of such a cloud as this, and thought perhaps 
 to cement my own happiness before your visit should 
 end ; now you are also welcome. You will remain for a 
 few days, will you not ? All of you ? " 
 
 He turned to each successively, and Ordotte, with a 
 look at Alan, meant to convey to that gentleman that it 
 was better to consent, undertook to answer in the affir 
 mative for the party. 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 363 
 
 Upon which Edgar rang for servants to conduct them 
 to their rooms. 
 
 It required all Alan s comforting powers to make his 
 wife cease to grieve about Mr. Edgar. 
 
 "I am so sorry for him," she said; "he seems so ut 
 terly blighted. If the change had been described to 
 me I could not have believed it. If Edna were to see 
 him now it would surely break her heart." 
 
 ,It was the first time she had mentioned Mrs. Brekbel- 
 lew s name since the subject of that lady had been closed 
 between herself and Alan, and he could not refrain from 
 saying : 
 
 " I doubt if anything this side of the infernal regions 
 could break her heart." 
 
 Poor old Edgar, as we also are impelled to call him, 
 since he has all the marks of age, met his guests at the 
 dinner-table ; it was painful to watch his struggle to re 
 tain his old wonted dignity ; and the very evidence that 
 he gave of his own consciousness that his old power was 
 gone, made the exhibition still more painful. 
 
 Carnew and Ordotte, for sake of the pale, troubled 
 lady who sat opposite the host, endeavored to lighten the 
 gloom of the meal by cheerful conversation ; but the 
 weight still remained, and all were glad when they could 
 retire. 
 
 Almost immediately after, a message was brought to 
 Alan, requesting him to meet Mr. Edgar in that gentle 
 man s private study. He kissed his wife as he left her 
 to obey the summons, and he entreated her to have 
 out of her face on his return, the troubled look that 
 made him so anxious. She smiled as she promised to en 
 deavor to do so, and in order to keep her word, she threw 
 herself on a couch that slumber might dissipate her 
 thoughts of Mr. Edgar. 
 
 Edgar was seated when Carnew entered his presence, 
 and he motioned the young man to a chair near him. 
 
 " Ordotte has told me that he made you acquainted 
 with everything," he said, in the cracked voice that 
 
364 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE . 
 
 seemed to have taken permanently the place of his 
 own. 
 
 Carnew bowed an affirmative. 
 
 "And you are quite convinced of the entire innocence 
 of your wife ? " 
 
 He spoke with a slow, trembling voice that, in addi 
 tion to his cracked tones, made it somewhat painful to 
 listen to him. 
 
 " I am quite convinced," was the reply. Edgar fum 
 bled at something in his breast-pocket, and drew forth 
 Mrs. Brekbellew s letter. He placed it open before his 
 companion. 
 
 " That, Mr. Carnew, will insure still further your con 
 victions. Read and know how your wife has been 
 wronged." 
 
 Carnew pushed it from him. 
 
 " I do not need to have my conviction still further in 
 sured. I know my wife s innocence, and I only regret 
 my stupid blindness to it before." 
 
 " But read this letter, Mr. Carnew, in obedience to my 
 desire to have you do so ; " and Edgar placed the closely- 
 written letter under Alan s eyes. 
 
 Thus requested, Alan read it, his face flushing and his 
 lips setting themselves more firmly together in the effort 
 required to suppress his indignation, as he learned the 
 long tissue of cruel deceit that had been practised by 
 the writer. When he had finished he made no com 
 ment, at which Mr. Edgar seemed relieved ; and he has 
 tened to prevent any remark upon it, for he said, as he 
 took the letter and hurriedly replaced it in his breast : 
 
 " We will not refer to that subject again, Mr. Car- 
 new." 
 
 Alan bowed ; he could not trust himself to speak just 
 then, for if he did, he must have given vent to his in 
 dignation, and that he would repress for the sake of the 
 unhappy man beside him, whose stabs were deeper than 
 any that had been inflicted upon himself. 
 
 Edgar spoke again : 
 
A FATAL K::SEMBLANCE. 365 
 
 " It was my wish that Mrs. Carnew should not be told 
 for a little of her relationship to me." 
 
 Alan having mastered his indignant feelings, replied : 
 
 " Yes ; so I was apprised by Ordotte immediately on 
 my arrival here." 
 
 " And would you mind, would you object," speaking 
 like one about to prefer some pitiful petition, "if I 
 asked you to let her ignorance continue ? " In his touch 
 ing earnestness, he leaned forward and placed his trem 
 bling hand on Carnew s arm 
 
 "if this test of which Ordotte speaks were to be ap 
 plied to her, it might fail as it did he hesitated be 
 cause he would not mention Mrs. Brekbellew s name 
 " on its former application, and then I should be in the 
 s:ime dreadful doubt, for Ordotte is not sure that the es 
 sence is the same that my brother used. But " he 
 leaned forward a little more, and placed his other trembling 
 hand on his listener s knee, " make your home with me, 
 Alan, you and your wife, and give me an opportunity 
 of atoning to her for my conduct of the past." 
 
 His whole blighted soul seemed to be in his eyes as he 
 raised them to Carnew s face, and he waited for the an 
 swer with the appearance of one expecting a life and 
 death decision. 
 
 Alan was a little startled at the proposition, not that 
 so far as concerned a residence in quiet and elegant 
 Weewald Place, he would not have been better satis 
 fied than in noisy and somewhat vulgar Rahandabed, but 
 he was astonished that Mr. Edgar should manifest such 
 a desire, and especially immediately after he had dis 
 claimed against telling Ned of her relationship. Like 
 his wife, however, he could not help being touched by 
 the blight that had come to the poor gentleman, and also 
 like her, he wished to give him some comfort. He an 
 swered kindly : 
 
 " I must consult Mrs. Carnew before I reply to your 
 request, and if she should consent, it must not be as the 
 
366 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 recipient of any of your bounty. As in Rahandabed, 
 her husband s means shall and must provide for her." 
 
 c> As you will," responded the cracked voice, " only 
 consent to what I ask ; and go now, and see Mrs. Carnew, 
 so that my suspense may be ended." 
 
 He leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes to wait 
 while Alan should be absent. 
 
 Ned w T as awakened from the slumber she had courted, 
 to hear the errand upon which her husband had returned 
 to her. Her wide eyes were alight with pleasure in a 
 moment. 
 
 " To live here ! O Alan ! I should be delighted ; and 
 now that poor Mr. Edgar is so changed, and so lonely, it 
 will be one of our sweetest tasks to keep him company, 
 and to cheer him as much as we might. Besides," throw 
 ing her arms in coaxing entreaty round her husband s 
 neck, " life here will be so much more pleasant than in 
 Rahaiidabed; it will be quiet, and gentle, and genial, 
 and there it would be she stopped suddenly, re 
 membering that her remark would possibly reflect pain 
 fully upon his aunt, but he playfully took up the sentence. 
 
 " And there it would be noisy, and vulgar, and uncon 
 genial." 
 
 She blushed, and tried to hide her face by burying it 
 on his shoulder, but he gently forced her head up, and 
 compelled her to meet his eyes, all blushing as she was. 
 
 " I know it all, Ned," he said, an accent of deep earnest 
 ness underlying the outward playful seeming of his voice, 
 " and my feelings have warred against it as much as your 
 own ; but I intended it this time to be of short duration 
 for both of us. In a couple of months at most we should 
 have embarked for Europe." 
 
 " I would rather remain here," she replied ; " and if you 
 will only consent to do so, Alan, I shall be very happy. 
 You see, it will avert that which I have been most dread 
 ing, a return to Rahandabed. I cannot meet Mrs. Dolo- 
 ran I cannot meet any of those people." 
 
 " But you must return with me for a short time, that 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 367 
 
 amends may be made for that horrible calumny ; that 
 these very people in Rahandabed may know how grossly 
 you have been wronged," he urged with some impatience. 
 
 She pleaded all the more. 
 
 " Don t ask me to do so, Alan. Surely, whatever 
 amends may be required can be made without my pres 
 ence," and, at length, she won her way. 
 
 He left her to take her answer to Edgar, who received 
 it with a sigh of relief, and such expressions of grateful 
 satisfaction as made even Alan glad that he had granted 
 the request. 
 
 When Ordotte was made acquainted with it he ap 
 proved most heartily, indorsing everything that Mrs. 
 Carnew had urged, and adding that there would be little 
 difficulty in setting Mrs. Doloran s mind right on every 
 thing pertaining to Mrs. Carnew, when it was strength 
 ened by the presence of Mr. Carnew and himself. " That 
 is, my dear fellow, if you are willing to trust to my mode 
 of execution, this delicate and interesting mission." 
 
 " Willing to trust you," said Carnew, grasping Ordotte s 
 hand. " After all that you have done for us ; owing, as 
 I do, my present intense happiness to you " 
 
 " Stop, stop ; my dear fellow ! " interrupted Ordotte, 
 laughingly. " You forget the intense happiness I have 
 given myself in all this, not the least of which has been 
 your friendship for which I always longed, but could 
 never succeed before in winning." 
 And he wrung heartily the hand in his grasp. 
 
 Thus it was arranged that the two gentlemen should 
 repair to Kahandabed, where Alan would make only the 
 briefest possible stay, after which he would return to make 
 his home in Weewald Place. 
 
 Before they went, Edgar visited old Mackay ; it was a 
 rare thing for him to call upon the old man in his little, 
 lonely home, and the latter, though surmising the busi 
 ness upon which the gentleman had come, felt honored by 
 the condescension, and he tried in his simple way to ex 
 press his appreciation of it. But Edgar stopped him. 
 
368 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 The soreness of his own heart had strangely levelled all 
 social distinctions. 
 
 " I have come about that of which you spoke to me the 
 other evening," he said quietly ; almost witli the air of 
 one talking of business foreign to his own thoughts, but 
 that his melancholy appearance denied the seeming sug 
 gestion. 
 
 " I have commissioned some one who is going to C 
 
 to have your grandchild sent to you ; do you understand ? 
 It shall be sent to you ; a nurse shall be found for it, and 
 she will come with it, and she will hVe with you, and take 
 care of it ; and I shall defray the expense that may be 
 incurred." 
 
 Old Mackay s lip began to tremble from emotion, and 
 he was about to speak, to pour forth his thanks, but Edgar 
 continued : 
 
 " I have more to say ; there is an error to be rectified 
 an error under which you and I and many others have 
 labored." He stopped short, and looked away from the 
 eager old face before him for a moment, as if to recover 
 from some sudden emotion, or, it might be, to reflect upon 
 the words he would use ; when he turned back, he resumed 
 in the quiet way that had marked his communication from 
 the beginning : 
 
 " The mother of your son s child is not the young lady 
 who has been accused of being such, bat another person." 
 
 " Another person," repeated the old gardener in a dazed 
 way. 
 
 "Yes; another person," resumed Edgar, speaking as 
 firmly and decisively as his cracked voice would allow him 
 to do. " All the proofs of the innocence of her who was 
 charged with being the mother of your son s child are in 
 my possession, and she, with her husband, will henceforth 
 make her home with me. So, from now, Mackay, you 
 will remember not to link her with your grandchild, and 
 you will correct, whenever you have an opportunity of 
 doing so, the wrong impressions of others. That other 
 person, she who is the mother of your son s child, will 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 369 
 
 never trouble you in the possession of it, and I shall pro 
 vide always for its care. In consideration of that, Mackay, 
 you will not ask any question about the mother of the 
 child." 
 
 And old Mackay, absorbed more in the thought of get 
 ting possession of his grandchild than in any speculation 
 about its mother, gave a quivering assent. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Hayman. was surprised, and even 
 thrown into a little consternation on the reception of the 
 cards of two gentlemen who waited to see him in his 
 pretty, cozy parlor, " Alan Carnew " and " Mascar Or- 
 dotte." The owner of the former name he. well remem 
 bered, since his own never-to-be-forgotten visit to Rahan- 
 dabed, where he was confronted with such a strange 
 scene ; but the latter name was quite unfamiliar. How 
 ever, he repaired immediately to the presence of his 
 visitors, and was introduced by Alan to Ordotte, who, at 
 once, in his own peculiar, original way told the object of 
 their visit. 
 
 " Strange circumstances, Mr. Hayman," he said, " have 
 made us think that even you, careful and accurate 
 as your ecclesiastical profession enjoins you to be, may 
 have been mistaken in the identity of the lady whom, a 
 few months ago, you were summoned to C- - to recog 
 nize as the person you had privately married to a Rich 
 ard Mackay some time before. As you recall all the 
 circumstances now, the mere glimpse of her face which 
 you obtained, as she forgetfully lifted her veil, the possi 
 bly not over-bright light by which you saw her features, 
 might you not have been mistaken in supposing her to be 
 the lady whom you saw in C- , especially if she re 
 sembled closely in figure and height, and even somewhat 
 in countenance, another lady of her own age ? Take 
 time to reflect, dear, reverend sir, and then answer us as 
 
370 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 you would do if at the last moment of your life you were 
 asked to give an account of this." 
 
 The reverend gentleman was exceedingly conscientious, 
 and being thus gravely adjured, he did call to mind, as 
 closely as he could remember, every circumstance of that 
 private marriage, and he did come to the conclusion that 
 he could, very possibly, and very probably, too, have been 
 mistaken in his recognition of the lady in C , espe 
 cially if there were another lady who closely resembled her. 
 
 And he thus expressed himself at the close of his re 
 flections. 
 
 " Then, dear, reverend sir," exclaimed Ordotte, jump 
 ing up, and seizing the reverend s hand, " we congratu 
 late you on your discovery, and you may congratulate us 
 upon ours. We have discovered that the lady whom you 
 
 met in C , Mrs. Carnew, is entirely innocent, having 
 
 been the victim of some one who resembled her, and who 
 artfully used her name. But, all s well that ends well, 
 and she and her husband here are having a second honey 
 moon," upon which Mr. Hay man bowed, and shook Alan s 
 hand in congratulation. 
 
 When they had left the little parsonage, and were once 
 more on their interrupted journey to Kahandabed, Car- 
 new said, a little impatiently, to his companion : 
 
 " What was the need of that visit, Mascar ? In Hea 
 ven s name did you suppose I wanted any more proof of 
 my wife s innocence \ " 
 
 "No, Alan, no; I would not wrong you by such a 
 thought. I did it for our mutual satisfaction, and to dis 
 abuse the minister of his error. Every one who has be 
 lieved that horrible calumny ought to be told the truth." 
 
 " You are right, Mascar ; and how shall I thank you 
 for your forethought about it all," answered Alan, his 
 impatience quite gone. 
 
 " As I have told you before, my dear fellow, I am so 
 well rewarded that I do not need your thanks. And 
 now" with a quiet humorous chuckle "just bend your 
 mind to the task of devising some means for me to escape 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 371 
 
 the scolding of your aunt for not having written a line 
 to her since the letter that announced my departure from 
 Europe." 
 
 u You do not need my help," replied Carnew, laugh 
 ing ; " you are such a favorite in Rahandabed that my 
 aunt will easily forgive you. Hint to her that you have 
 acquired a new stock of Indian stories, and she will hasten 
 to be reconciled." 
 
 " By George ! I have it," burst out Ordotte with as 
 sumed rapture. " When we arrive in Rahandabed, you 
 go immediately to your own apartments as if nothing had 
 happened, and allow me to manage everything." 
 
 " Agreed," said Alan, laughing heartily, for he could 
 imagine the extravagant proceedings of his aunt. 
 
 All Rahandabed had been in a state of flurry since the 
 arrival of the letter of which Ordotte had spoken, and 
 when more than sufficient time had elapsed for the 
 traveller not only to have reached New York, but to have 
 been safely housed in Mrs. Doloran s hospitable mansion, 
 her anger and disappointment knew no bounds. She 
 raved at everybody, and even sought her nephew to com 
 pel him to share her violent discontent. But he had 
 taken his departure, no one knew where, and, as usual, 
 Macgilivray, who could have told at least that he had 
 driven him to the station to take a down train, amusingly 
 evaded giving any information ; he could do so with the 
 greater impunity as he knew that Mrs. Doloran was pow 
 erless to disturb his place with his master. And \vhen 
 her violence reached such a pitch that no pastime was 
 free from the disagreeable ebullition of her temper, both 
 guests and servants ardently wished for the advent of 
 some one who could restore peace to the house. 
 
 Every day, at the arrival of every train from New 
 York, by her order a carriage was in waiting for Ordotte, 
 and Jim Slade, who had been promoted to Macgilivray s 
 place on the departure of the latter to Carnew s especial 
 service, devoutly prayed each time that he would not be 
 disappointed. 
 
372 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 u p or? " as he expressed it to his fellow-servants, " sure 
 she sends for me, and badgers me as if I had the divilish 
 little foreigner in one of me pockets ; and only that I 
 learned to dodge when I was a boy, I wouldn t have a 
 whole skull on me to-day." 
 
 Macgilivray met the trains also, not knowing when his 
 master would return, but feeling that he ought to be on 
 hand. Thus both gentlemen found conveyances for 
 
 them when they did at length arrive in C , and 
 
 while, when they reached Rahandabed, Alan went quickly 
 and quietly to his own apartments, Ordotte was ushered 
 into the presence of Mrs. Doloran. But that lady con 
 sidered herself intensely aggrieved, and for once she was 
 going to show even Mascar Ordotte her offended dignity. 
 She received him in her most pompous state, her tall, 
 erect figure held with a ramrod-like stiffness, and the ex 
 pression of her face, surmounted by its grotesque head 
 dress, combining the utmost severity and anger. But 
 Ordotte was not dismayed. He had rehearsed his part 
 to himself, and he lacked neither the desire nor the skill 
 to play it. 
 
 With an exact imitation of the lower classes of the 
 East, he acknowledged her august presence; then he 
 waved his hand in a mysterious and pathetic way to the 
 company about her, -after which he dropped on one knee 
 before her, raising his hands and clasping them in suppli 
 cation, and at last he stood up, folded his arms, shook his 
 head in a very sad manner, and then let it drop forward 
 upon his breast in an attitude of unutterable dejection. 
 As he had shrewdly supposed, Mrs. Doloran s curiosity 
 was so excited that her anger and dignity were forgotten ; 
 she fairly rushed to him, seized one of his folded arms 
 with both of her heavily jeweled hands. 
 
 " What is it, Mascar ? What lias happened ? " 
 
 In obedience to the rest of his role, he slowly unfolded 
 
 his arms, and lifted the forefinger of his right hand to 
 
 his lips, where he pressed it very firmly ; then he pointed 
 
 to an inner apartment, and motioned that she should ac- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 373 
 
 company him there. She took his arm at once, saying in 
 her loud, impetuous manner : 
 
 " You have something to tell me, my dear Mascar 
 some secret." And bowing distantly to her surprise! 
 and amused companions, she repaired with him to the 
 room to which lie had motioned. 
 
 "Now tell me," she said, hardly waiting to be well 
 within the room. But Ordette provokingly delayed his 
 communication. Not content with pretending to assure 
 himself that the door was quite closed, he went about, 
 knocking on the walls and peering into the corners, until 
 his companion, even in the midst of her intense curiosity 
 and impatience, began to wonder if he had not become a 
 little insane. He desisted at length, and approaching her, 
 said in a very solemn voice : 
 
 " I am now about to reveal to you the sequel of all my 
 Indian stories. I have solved a great mystlery, and I 
 shall tell you a wonderful tale." 
 
 She was so impressed by his manner, his voice, and his 
 words, that she was powerless even to make a reply ; she 
 could only stand and stare at him as if she had partly 
 lost her own reason. He pulled her down into a chair, 
 and seating himself beside her, lowered his voice to a 
 most mysterious whisper. When he finished his long 
 story, to which she had listened with the same dumb 
 amazement that had characterized her at its beginning, 
 her comprehension of it all was as mysterious as had 
 been the manner of the reciter of the tale. Somehow, 
 she had caught the story in this wise, that Ned Edgar, 
 Mrs. Carnew, was a very wonderful being ; so wonderful, 
 that the wise, fortune-telling people of India, had cast 
 her horoscope, and discovered that she had been dread 
 fully wronged, and they had put Ordotte, who wa3 
 one of their favorites in the way of finding out how she 
 was wronged, and they had commanded him to see that 
 full reparation was made to her, threatening, that upon 
 whoever refused to make this reparation they would work 
 their charms, so that the most dreadful punishment should 
 
374 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 ensue, that Ordotte, owing to their help, had discovered 
 ib was Mrs. Brekbellew who was guilty of everything of 
 which Mrs. Carnew had been accused. 
 
 These were the facts that Mrs. Doloran had gained, and 
 she was so imbued with fear of the awful people in India, 
 that she became instantly amenable to Ordotte s directions. 
 Indeed, she begged him to tell her what she should do, 
 promising the most abject and implicit obedience. 
 
 His advice, so earnestly solicited, enjoined first, a gen 
 tle and kindly interview with her nephew, then an assem 
 bly of everybody in Itahandabed, even to the servants, 
 when Ordotte would tell the story of Mrs. Carnew s inno 
 cence, and proclaim the guilty party, and thirdly a most 
 contrite and affectionate letter to Mrs. Carnew, all of 
 which directions Mrs. Doloran so faithfully observed 
 that the same day saw the fulfilmerit of the three. 
 
 Thus Rahandabed was again the scene of exciting gossip 
 in reference to Mrs. Carnew, and Macgilivray in his de 
 light lost so much of his Scotch gravity, that he became 
 an object of amusing wonder to his fellow-help. And he 
 became also somewhat of an object of envy when Mrs. 
 Doloran, in obedience to Ordotte, having discovered what 
 disposition had bean made of Mrs. Brekbellew s deserted 
 offspring, sent for Macgil ivray to receive both from 
 Ordotte and Mrs. Doloran a substantial reward for his 
 kindness, and to be further commissioned to find if possi 
 ble, among his kin in the village a w T oman who would be 
 willing to go with the -child to Barrytown, and take per 
 manent charge of it there. It is almost needless to say 
 that Macgilivray succeeded in executing his commission, 
 and word having been sent to that effect to Mr. Edgar, 
 that gentleman sent his own carriage to meet the woman 
 upon her arrival at the station, and she and her charge 
 were driven to the small and plain, but comfortable home 
 of poor old Mackay. We draw the veil upon the emotion 
 with w T hich he received his grandchild. He forgot every 
 thing, but that he saw the eyes of his unfortunate son in 
 the eyes of his little one, and that it was Dick s own ex- 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 375 
 
 pression which played about the mouth of the laughing 
 babe. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran had never been so amiable, surprising even 
 those who knew to what to attribute its cause ; whether 
 it was that Ordotte during his absence had acquired new 
 powers of interest, or that her friendship for him had 
 been increased by their separation, even that gentleman 
 with all his fully credited penetration of character was 
 unable to tell. But, nevertheless, it delighted him to 
 bask in it all himself, and to know at the same time that 
 it was adding to the general happiness of the house. 
 First, however, when the lady s manner to him assumed 
 a greater sweetness than it had ever evinced before, and 
 an intimacy strongly suggestive of affection, he said to 
 Alan : 
 
 " Will you object, my dear fellow, if my attentions to 
 your aunt should become very tender? If, in fact, should 
 she reciprocate them, I should ask her to become Mrs. 
 Ordotte I " 
 
 Alan could not forbear laughing at the expression of 
 the tawny face ; it was so unusually serious, and even 
 perplexed, and he asked, as soon as he recovered his 
 voice : 
 
 " Are you in earnest, Mascar?" 
 
 " Never more so ; you see, Mrs. Doloran s friendship 
 for me quite touches me, it is so disinterested, and she 
 yields even her dearest whims to my wishes." 
 
 " Well, Mascar, if you really can esteem my poor, fool 
 ish aunt sufficiently to make her your wife, and she is 
 willing to renounce her widowhood, I do not know of a 
 greater service you could render to us all. Your very 
 presence here, marvellously subdues her temper, and she 
 willingly yields a deference to you which she would do 
 to no one else." 
 
 " Then you are willing to accept me for an uncle, if I 
 can win Mrs. Doloran to bestow her hand upon me." 
 
376 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 ""With all my heart, my dear fellow. I wish even 
 that it could take place very speedily, for then I could re 
 nounce all anxiety about my aunt, and not feel as if I 
 were neglecting something every time that I leave Ra- 
 handabed." 
 
 "I- don t know," replied Ordotte dubiously shaking his 
 head, " perhaps if I were to attempt to precipitate mat 
 ters, I might spoil everything. But when shall you re 
 turn to Weewald Place ? " 
 
 " I would go immediately this very day, for everything 
 that I wished to attend to here is settled now, but that I 
 feel I must remain to receive young Brekbellew and Mr. 
 Me Arthur, of whom I told you. I invited them here, 
 and this morning I received a note, saying they would 
 arrive before the end of the week. Ned writes that she 
 is intensely happy, having just the life of quiet which 
 she always enjoys, and that, though she does not see much- 
 of Mr. Edgar, she still contrives opportunities of minis 
 tering to him a little, which add to her own delight ; also, 
 while she is longing to have me with her again, still, as 
 she hears from me frequently and knows that I am well, 
 she is quite willing to resign my return to my own con 
 venience. So, in that case, I suppose I ought to remain, 
 but every day that I am away from her seems like a 
 year." 
 
 His patience was not put to the test he anticipated, for 
 the close of the week brought not his two friends, but a 
 letter of apology and regret ; young Brekbellew had been 
 imperatively summoned to London by his uncle, and the 
 tone of the summons convinced both himself and his 
 friend, Me Arthur, that it would be most unwise to disre 
 gard it. He would sail for England the very day on 
 which he w r rote, and McArtlmr would accompany him ; 
 but, on their return both would fulfil their promise with 
 pbasure. 
 
 Alan was delighted to be free to return to Ned, and 
 when L is aunt parted with him, it was with the strictest 
 injunction upon her part to come back with, his wife as 
 
A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 377 
 
 as soon as possible, at least for a brief visit, to which 
 command Alan promised obedience. 
 
 Jim Slade drove him to the station, and Macgilivray 
 sat upon the box beside Jim ; for the Scotchman was not 
 only going to the station with his master, but was going 
 to accompany him to Weewald Place, where Alan had 
 promised him lie should still be Mrs. Camew s coachman. 
 And Donald had a light heart in his bosom, and a very 
 cheerful glow all over his honest Scotch countenance, for 
 he could have served Mrs. Carnew in the love of his 
 heart, and without a penny of hire. 
 
 Mrs. Carnew was intensely happy ; the great, quiet 
 house just suited her, and to know that it must occa 
 sionally be in her power to minister even in little ways 
 to the poor, changed, lonely master of the house, was a 
 comfort to her. He seemed determined, however, not to 
 give her much opportunity, for, after the first day of 
 her husband s absence, in which he requested her to avail 
 herself of the music-room as long and as often as she 
 choose to do so, he seemed to keep studiously out of her 
 sight, save at meal times. Then, however, she was so 
 quietly and tenderly attentive to him, that it touched 
 him in spite of himself, and more than once she found 
 his eyes fixed with a mysterious earnestness upon her 
 face. She wondered a little at it, and could she have 
 seen him immediately after such times repair to the 
 chamber that contained his wife s portrait, and there, 
 seating himself before it, view the pictured faca with the 
 same mysterious earnestness that, in his gaze at herself 
 had so puzzled her, she would have wondered a great deal 
 more. 
 
 He made those studies of the portrait because some 
 how, Ned s face, when occasionally at table it was raised 
 with such a commiserating expression to his own, strangely 
 resembled the portrait, and he studied the latter to as 
 sure himself that he was not mistaken. 
 
 Ned had written to Dyke more than once long, 
 
378 A. FATAL BESEMBLAJfCE. 
 
 fond, faithful letters, descriptive of everything about 
 herself, and he rejoiced in her happiness. 
 
 " They cannot have told her yet of the relationship she 
 bears to Mr. Edgar," he soliloquized, as her letters spoke 
 of him as Mr. Edgar, and nothing more, " and perhaps 
 it is as well," he "continued ; " she is as happy without 
 knowing it." 
 
 And his answers to her were all that her affectionate 
 heart could wish them to be. 
 
 When Alan returned to Weewald Place, his efforts suc 
 ceeded in winning Mr. Edgar somewhat from his seclu 
 sion, and Ned had further opportunities of paying him 
 little, kindly attentions. Once, as she met him on her 
 way to put a letter in the mail-bag, she dropped it acci 
 dentally, and he, stooping for it, saw the name " Dykard 
 Dutton." He seemed painfully startled as he lifted it, 
 and returned it to her hand. 
 
 "Dykard Dutton," he repeated ; " do you write to him 
 frequently ? " 
 
 " Yes," she responded with a smile, " he was the first 
 companion of my childhood, and ever since he has been 
 my brother." 
 
 " Yes, yes," he answered somewhat quickly ; " I know, 
 I remember all that. And he had an aunt, an old woman, 
 who was kind to you, too. Invite them both here. Say 
 that I desire very earnestly that they should come." 
 
 " His aunt, poor old Mej," replied Ned, " is not herself 
 any more ; she has softening of the brain, the doctors 
 say. But I shall give your kind invitation to Dyke." 
 
 " Softening of the brain," repeated Edgar, as if he were 
 speaking to himself, and then he put his hand to his fore 
 head, and passed it back and forth for a moment, as if 
 he might be trying to realize that his brain, with its 
 constant weight of harrowing images, might not also be 
 softening. Then he turned away, saying as he did so : 
 
 " Invite them Ii3re very soon." 
 
 But to that invitation which Ned hastened to tender, 
 Dyke replied very respectfully and very gratefully that 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 3T9 
 
 it would be most inconvenient for him to accept it at 
 present, this being the brisk season of his business, and 
 that for Meg, a change from her own accustomed sur 
 roundings would hardly be well for her. He had writ 
 ten the truth strictly, but he did not add that he was glad 
 at being enabled so to write. ]STed was happy, and work 
 and absence from her, were the best things for him. 
 
 So, the quiot, short winter days went on in Weewald 
 Place, and whatever little gossip had ensued among the 
 servants relative to Mrs. Carnew, who, from having been 
 deemed so dreadful and guilty, was now, in a senso, the 
 honored mistress of them all, had been most secret, for 
 they all remembered the summary way in which Mr. Ed 
 gar had treated the last newsmonger. Old Mackay had 
 made it his business to tell them that Mrs. Carnew had 
 been wronged, and that she was not the mother of his 
 grandchild. 
 
 In the midst of this quiet life came a letter from Mrs. 
 Doloran, giving information of her intended marriage to 
 Ordotte in a fortnight, and begging Alan and his wife 
 to be present at the ceremony. It was accompanied by 
 another letter from Ordotte, couched in amusing style, 
 and also begging the pleasure of the company of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Carnew. He had induced his affianced to have the 
 ceremony quite an informal affair, and to let Rahandabed 
 to some responsible parties while they should be abroad 
 on their wedding tour. She had begged to be taken to 
 India, to look with her own eyes upon the scenes of the 
 wonderful stories she had heard, and Ordotte intended to 
 gratify her. That news determined Alan upon leaving 
 Weewald Place for a few days, and Ned. could not refuse 
 to accompany him. 
 
 But Edgar, when lie heard that even Mrs. Carnew was 
 going away for a little, seemed to be strangely affected, 
 lie took her hand with a touching childishness, and hold 
 ing it fast, he looked into her face for some moments 
 without speaking. Then he asked, using his voice with 
 difficulty : 
 
380 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 " How long shall you be gone ? " 
 
 She turned to her husband, who replied for her : 
 
 " Two weeks." 
 
 He sighed then, but said no more. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Love, or some equally powerful influence, had so mas 
 tered Mrs. Doloran, that Ned hardly recognized in the 
 unusually quiet-mannered, and what was even more un 
 usual, the low-spoken woman, who met her with a succes 
 sion of embraces, the loud, imperious creature she had 
 left. Even her dress had undergone a marked change ; 
 its color and its mode were not in their wonted grotesque 
 contrast to those about her, and she looked decidedly bet 
 ter in consequence. 
 
 As Raliandabed was to pass so speedily into the tem 
 porary possession of strangers, all of the guests had gone 
 except the few specially invited to be present at the wed 
 ding, and immediately on the conclusion of the ceremony, 
 and the subsequent breakfast, everybody would take his 
 or her departure. 
 
 The day before the wedding, Ordotte and Alan had a 
 private conference, during which the former attempted 
 to transfer to his companion the little vial of essence. 
 
 Alan declined to take it. 
 
 " Of what use is it to me ? " he said. My happiness 
 nor my love of Ned would not be increased by having it 
 proved that she is Mr. Edgar s daughter. I would rather 
 she should not know it, for then, perhaps, he will not bur 
 den her with property of which she has no need, /am 
 as rich as he is, and I want iny wife to be beholden only 
 to me." 
 
 " Still, take it, my dear fellow. You do not know 
 what circumstances may arise in which you may wish to 
 have it." 
 
 And he continued to press it in such a manner that Car- 
 new at length accepted it, 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 381 
 
 That same day a letter arrived to Alan from young 
 Brekbellew. 
 
 " I am in wonderful luck," the epistle ran ; " my uncle 
 thinks I have done so well in America, that I deserve a 
 lift from him, and he has taken a fancy to McArtlmr. 
 Together I think they will make a sort of Aladdin s for 
 tune for me. He insists on McArthur dining with him 
 three times a week, and he has a wonderful spread for us. 
 My cousin, Harry Brekbellew, and his wife, live with 
 him. He made them come over from Paris, when lie 
 heard that Harry had lost nearly all his fortune there, 
 and he has actually compelled the poor fellow to work as 
 a clerk in his counting-house. McArthur and myself 
 sometimes drop in there to see poor Harry perspiring and 
 secretly swearing over his toil. His beautiful wife, whose 
 extravaganc3 in Paris, they say, was the main cause of the 
 ruin, has a most desolate life, that is, for one of her gay tem 
 perament, in my uncle s house. She has no society, my 
 friend and I being the only ones ever invited, has only 
 a meagre allowance, and expresses in her face her dread 
 ful unhappiness. I think my uncle gloats over it all. 
 Mrs. Brekbellew has not the tact to please the old man, 
 and he retaliates by twitting her sarcastically on her pres 
 ent privations. I tried to talk about you several times, 
 but the topic seems to displease Mrs. Brekbellow, for she 
 always either turns it, or leaves the room. Harry is 
 pleased enough to talk about you ; he told me that you 
 were married to a lady bearing the same maiden name 
 that his wife did, and who resembled her closely in ap 
 pearance. 
 
 " When you were with us on the mountains we thought 
 you were a bachelor like ourselves, but some day McArthur 
 aid I shall claim the privilege and pleasure of being in 
 troduced to Mrs. Carnew. 
 
 " Answer as speedily as you can. 
 " Your friend, 
 
 BREKBELLEW." 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE!. 
 
 Alan showed that letter to his wife. She was so 
 happy that she could afford to pity sincerely the unhappy 
 Mrs. Biekbellew, and a tear of commiseration fell upon 
 the letter. 
 
 " She deserves it all," said Alan, savagely. 
 
 Mrs. Doloran became Mrs. Ordotte, and she seemed to 
 become her new honor well ; she was blushing and radi 
 ant as a much more youthful bride might have been, and 
 she leaned upon her husband s arm with all the grace of 
 one who, having gone through the ceremony a second 
 time, might be supposed to know how to avoid every 
 awkwardness of such an ordeal. 
 
 When the hour came for her departure, her farewells 
 were characterized by a feeling unusually sincere, and 
 that made her nephew experience for her a deeper throb 
 of affection than he had felt perhaps ever before. 
 
 And so Kahandabed was left at length to the care alone 
 of the servants whos3 task it was to prepare it for the 
 reception of its future temporary owners, and while Mrs. 
 Ordotte was whirled with her husband to New, York, 
 Mrs. Carnew, with her husband, returned to Weewald 
 Place. There, Alan united with Ned in contributing to 
 Mr. Edgar s happiness; but the poor, blighted gentle 
 man seemed incapable of responding to their efforts, and 
 he continued to sink until he could no longer leave his 
 bed. Then Ned constituted herself his chief nurse, and 
 the old man grew to feel that no voice was so soothing, 
 no touch so tender as was hers. Sometimes lie caught 
 her hands, and held them while he looked into her face 
 with such melancholy wistfulness that she was fain to 
 turn her eyes away. Alan was sometimes present on 
 those occasions, and he also was fain to turn away from 
 the wistful look ; to him it conveyed so plainly the strug 
 gle of the father to claim that which he still strangely 
 hesitated to be convinced was his own. 
 
 One evening, when Ned had retired for a little, leaving 
 her husband with the invalid, the latter said suddenly 
 
A. FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 383 
 
 and with a much stronger voice than he had used for 
 some time : 
 
 " If Ordotte were here I would have him apply the 
 essence of which he spoke, to Mrs. Oarnew." 
 
 " He gave the essence into my charge," replied Alan. 
 
 " Did he ? " speaking with a sort of joyful animation, 
 and raising himself slightly in the bed. " Then, Alan, 
 you can apply it to-morrow ; but do not let her know 
 our object ; pretend that it is only to test the power of 
 this wonderful drug that it forms letters which speedily 
 erase themselves. Can you ? Will you do so ? " 
 
 He raised himself still more, and he looked with wild 
 longing into the face beside him. 
 
 " Yes ; " said Alan, feeling that it would be no difficult 
 task to keep from Ned the true object of the application. 
 
 So, the next morning at the breakfast table, Carnew 
 told his wife of Mr. Edgar s desire, and unsuspicious 
 Ned saw in it only the vagary of a sick man ; in his 
 various travels he possibly had obtained the drug, and 
 now in his illness it had occurred to him to test its re 
 puted properties. Such was the impression which she 
 retained when Alan finished speaking, though he had not 
 said more than Mr. Edgar wished to test the power of 
 an Indian essence by applying it to her. It did not 
 occur to her to wonder why the application should be 
 made more to her than to Alan, or to Mr. Edgar himself, 
 for she gave the subject no further thought than to assent 
 smilingly her readiness to submit to the test. 
 
 And when an hour later, in Mr. Edgar s room, Alan 
 asked her to bare her left wrist for the application, she 
 did so with the same unsuspicious readiness with which 
 she had heard about the essence at the breakfast-table. 
 Had her eyes been lifted from the hand she was extend 
 ing, to the prematurely aged face watching Irjr from the 
 bed, she must surely have felt that there was some un 
 usual significance in the proceeding, but they were not 
 lifted, and it was with the very brightest of smiles she 
 watched the tiny vial in her husband s hand. She did 
 
384: 
 
 A FATAL KESEMBLANCE. 
 
 wonder a little that his hand should be so tremulous, but 
 even that momentary wonder was absorbed in the inter 
 est with which she watched the dropping of the liquid. 
 Over what a surface that single drop spread ! And what 
 a vivid color it produced ! And would it do what she had 
 been told it so wondrously did form letters on human 
 ilesh ? Yes ; there they came, two capital E s in garnet 
 color, distinctly visible upon her wrist as if they had 
 been printed there. Alan looked at Edgar. He was 
 sitting bolt upright in the bed, his face convulsively 
 working, and his hands clutching the air. 
 
 " Take her away," he said hoarsely, " and tell her who 
 she is ; then bring her back to me." 
 
 As if exhausted from his effort to speak, he fell back 
 heavily, his head sinking among the pillows like one who 
 had lost consciousness. But to Alan, who hung above 
 him in alarm, he motioned to have Ned taken away. 
 
 Roused at length to the fact that something extraordi 
 nary was being enacted, and suddenly and strangely op 
 pressed, Ned looked at her husband, piteously begging : 
 
 " What is it, Alan ? What does it mean ? " 
 
 He did not answer her, but he put his arm about her 
 to reassure her, and then ringing the handbell just with 
 in his reach for the nurse who occupied the adjoining 
 room, he drew his wife gently out of the apartment, tak 
 ing her to the library, where, still holding her to him, 
 he told her the whole story of her birth, and what Or- 
 dotte had discovered. 
 
 " And /am Mr. Edgar s daughter," she said in a dazed 
 way, when Alan had finished. 
 
 " Yes ; you are Mr. Edgar s daughter, and ever since 
 we have been in this house he lias been struggling des 
 perately with his conviction of that fact. But he is 
 quite assured now, and ha is waiting for you, Ned." 
 
 She rose from his knee where he had held her, and she 
 went in an unsteady way to the door ; then she looked 
 back at where her husband still sat, and extending her 
 arms to him she cried : 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 385 
 
 " O Alan ! my husband ! come with me ; I cannot meet 
 my father, knowing him to be such, without you." 
 
 He went to her, and caught her in his hands. 
 
 " My brave little Ned," he said, " Heaven at length 
 has done you justice." 
 
 Then he accompanied her to the door of Mr. Edgar s 
 room ; further he refused to go, saying : 
 
 " Your meeting this time will be too sacred for wit 
 nesses." 
 
 And she was forced to enter alone. 
 
 Mr. Edgar seemed to be asleep ; the nurse whispered 
 that she thought he was asleep, and then, in obedience to 
 Mrs. Carnew s wish, she retired, and Mrs. Carnew stood 
 looking down at the white, still face. It was so white 
 and still, that it made her tremble even more than she 
 had done on her entrance to the room. "What if it were 
 death that made it look so, and that he should never 
 wake to tell her with his own lips that he now fully be 
 lieved her to be his daughter. She stooped to him until 
 her breath fanned his face. He stirred, and woke, look 
 ing at her in a bewildered and half unconscious manner 
 for a few moments ; then his memory seemed to return, 
 and his eyes regained their old earnest, wistful look. At 
 length, it all came back ; the scene of an. hour before, his 
 own wild emotions soothed by the opiate the nurse had 
 administered, and his impatience before he had fallen 
 into that slumber to have Ned made acquainted with 
 the story of her birth. He lifted up his arms to her, and 
 cried huskily : 
 
 " My daughter." 
 
 "My father." 
 
 She responded, as she wound her arms about him, and 
 shed upon his breast her happy tears 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Now that his doubt was gone, that he possessed in Ned 
 a daughter in whom he constantly discovered new re- 
 
386 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 semblances to her idolized mother, Mr. Edgar seemed to 
 rally. He was able to leave his bed for a portion of each 
 day, and he insisted upon inviting Dyke and Meg to 
 make their home in "Weewald Place. Failing that, they 
 must at least promise to spend some weeks witli Mr. Ed 
 gar ; and Ned, when she had written the letter, was ob 
 liged to read it to her father to assure him that she had 
 made the invitation most urgent ; but even then he was 
 not satisfied until he had appended in his own trembling 
 hand a repetition of the invitation, and Ned, in the pri 
 vacy of her own room, wrote again beneath that : 
 
 " By all the love you have ever borne me, Dyke, do 
 not refuse this favor ; my happiness cannot be complete 
 until you and dear old Meg are here to witness it ; so, if 
 you will not make your home with us, at least come to us 
 for a little while. Come and see my father. 
 
 " Your own 
 
 And Dyke, when he read the letter, could not refuse 
 her. 
 
 " Since," he said to himself, " it will gratify her so 
 much, why should we not go for a little while ? " 
 
 And he put her letter away and strove to be happy in 
 the thought of her great happiness ; but, despite his ef 
 forts there remained the old pain in his heart ; for Ned 
 was so dear, and his nature was so strong and tender, it 
 was still hard to let her be to him only the sister she 
 supposed herself to be. But his feelings were known 
 alone to his own secret soul ; not a word, not a sign should 
 ever betray to any one his hopeless love. Being a part 
 ner in the firm, he could easily arrange for a fortnight s 
 absence, and lie departed for the little mountain home in 
 order to bring Meg to Barrytown. 
 
 When he arrived in Saugerties, he was surprised to 
 find a crowd gathered almost in front of the post-office, 
 and still more surprised to learn that the object of the 
 gathering was to witness the castigation then being vigor 
 ously administered to some victim. Dyke worked his 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 387 
 
 way to the front of the crowd, and beheld with new as 
 tonishment that the subject who writhed beneath the 
 lashing strokes of a stout whip, was his old enemy, Pat 
 ten. The man who was giving the punishment was the 
 stout, powerfully-built smith of the village, and one of 
 Button s numerous friends. He was spurred on to Lls 
 work by the delighted cries of the spectators, but more 
 than aJl by the enthusiastic applause of old blind Patter 
 son, to whom the strokes of the whip as they fell seemed 
 to convey as much as if he actually saw the proceeding. 
 
 " Don t spare him," urged Patterson, " let his scurvy 
 hide have it for his treatment of honest Dutton. Give 
 it to him well. Don t let his body have a sound spot in 
 it." 
 
 By this time, Dutton was recognized, and a cheer went 
 up for him, while the castigation went on with new vigor, 
 lie tried to raise his voice in behalf of the miscreant, but 
 no one would listen to him, and it was only when the 
 smith s arms were tired of their work that Patten was 
 released. He was more dead than alive, and he skulked 
 away like a miserable cur, not knowing where to hide 
 himself, and followed by the hoots of the village boys. 
 
 " It was I spotted him, Mr. Dutton," said old Patterson 
 in a glow of delight, as he wrung Dyke s hand, " just 
 there above the post office ; he was asking about some 
 parties here, and I knew his voice, and I collared him. I d 
 have given it to him myself, but Jim, the smith, just then 
 came along, and he rushed and got a cowhide and gave 
 it to the villain. I suppose he thought we didn t know 
 of his doings or that you hadn t friends here to take 
 your part, but he s sensible of his mistake by this time, 
 and I doir t think Saugerties will be cursed by his pres 
 ence again." 
 
 And a second time Dyke s hand was shaken heartily, 
 while others pressed about him to assure him of their 
 satisfaction at the punishment of the villain. 
 
 Meg was like a child preparing for her journey to Bar- 
 rytown ; of course, Anne McCabe had to accompany her ? 
 
388 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 for the old creature was not capable of waiting upon her 
 self, and one afternoon, when Weewald Place looked its 
 brightest in summer attire, Dutton and his two humble 
 companions arrived. 
 
 The servants wondered at the welcome which these 
 humble people received. Princely guests could not have 
 been the object of more attention, and Mrs. Carnew was 
 seen on numerous occasions to embrace the old woman. 
 But it was all made plain when they were informed, 
 as Mr. Edgar insisted upon doing himself, that Mrs. Car- 
 new was his daughter, and that Mr. Dutton and Meg 
 Standish were the people with whom she lived when a 
 child. No further explanation was vouchsafed, and re 
 membering the lesson they had received regarding indis 
 criminate gossip, they were careful to pass but few re 
 marks. 
 
 Dyke was hardly prepared for the warmth with which 
 Mr. Edgar received him ; and he was touched by the al 
 most abject penitence he showed for his former treatment 
 of him. 
 
 " 1 did you such a gross wrong, Mr. Dutton," he said, 
 continuing to hold Dyke s hand, " you were the only one 
 of us who believed in her always. Do you remember 
 when I offered to dower her if you married her, how 
 nobly you refused my offer ? " 
 
 " Say no more about it, Mr. Edgar," answered Dyke, 
 averting his head a little, and speaking with slight huski- 
 iiess; upon that subject he could not and would not 
 speak. But, though Edgar respected his wish, he read 
 more than Dyke dreamed he did, and he knew now, as he 
 felt he had known five years before, that Dutton loved 
 Ned with a lover s love. 
 
 The fortnight passed, and Dyke would take his depart 
 ure. No inducements from Edgar and Carnew, no affec 
 tionate entreaty from Ned could alter his determination. 
 The little mountain home, he said, was the place for Meg, 
 and the utmost they could win from him was the promise 
 of an annual visit. Edgar felt that he knew the reason 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 389 
 
 of Dyke s refusal to make Weewald Place his home, but 
 he also kept Dyke s secret, and while he pitied him for 
 his silent, hidden suffering, he admired him for that 
 strength of character which made him so firmly reject 
 the sweet temptation of being often in Ned s presence. 
 
 A year elapsed ; a pleasant, peaceful year varied only 
 by letters from Mr. and Mrs. Ordotte, in which was en 
 thusiastically described the pleasure that lady took in her 
 Indian travels; indeed, so much enjoyment did they 
 afford her, that it was possible their stay would be pro 
 longed another twelve months. Letters had come also 
 from Brekbellew, giving glowing accounts of the regard 
 in which his uncle still continued to hold him and 
 McArthur, and doleful details of his cousin s married life. 
 One letter contained : 
 
 " A rupture between him and his wife seems imminent, 
 not a little hastened by the penuriousness and severity of 
 his uncle. Young Mrs. Brekbellew has grown daring 
 and defiant, and of late has formed acquaintances not at 
 all to the old gentleman s taste, nor, for that matter, to 
 the taste of her poor, little, brainless husband. But these 
 acquaintances are enabling her to see something of the 
 gay life she evidently longs for, and none of us will be 
 surprised to hear some fine morning that she has actually 
 left her husband." 
 
 The prediction seemed to have been verified very 
 shortly, for his very next letter contained an account of 
 Mrs. Brekbellew s flight from the house of her uncle, and 
 her temporary shelter with one of her fashionable ac 
 quaintances. 
 
 " And she absolutely refuses to see her husband," the 
 letter continued, u and report is already busy coupling her 
 name with that of a dashing military officer." 
 
 That letter Carnew showed neither to his wife nor to 
 Mr. Edgar. 
 
 The end came suddenly to Mr. Edgar ; so suddenly 
 that the physicians, in making an autopsy, said he had de 
 veloped a new and sudden affection of the heart ; and 
 
390 A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. 
 
 when his will was read, it was found that he had be 
 queathed his fortune to Dykard Dutton. " For," the 
 paper ran, " knowing that my beloved daughter is amply 
 secured in the love and fortune of her husband, I would 
 do a late justice to the man who so nobly has proved him 
 self worthy of my regard." 
 
 The bequest of his wealth, while it was a delight to 
 Mr. and Mrs. Carnew, was an intense surprise, and even 
 a source of some regret to Dyke, for it placed him above 
 the necessity of pursuing any business. But his active 
 mind soon found outlets for his means in schemes of 
 benevolence, and his leisure was employed in the scientific 
 studies which he liked so well. 
 
 Not even then would he consent to make Weewald 
 Place his home, nor even after Meg s death, which took 
 place quietly and painlessly. He preferred his home 
 among the mountains he said, which home he enlarged 
 and beautified, so that Mr. and Mrs. Carnew could spend 
 a part of each summer season with him. 
 
 McArthur and Brekbellew found so many inducements 
 to remain in England, that they did not return for some 
 years, and then Brekbellew showed Carnew a paragraph 
 from a French paper. 
 
 " Died in one of the hospitals here, of cancer in the 
 face, a Mrs. Brekbellew. Her maiden name was Edna 
 Edgar, and she is said to have been once a great heiress, 
 and a woman of extraordinary beauty." 
 
 One day, Carnew received a letter from a Catholic 
 priest in New York. It contained news that made the 
 last link in the chain of superabundant evidence of Ned s 
 innocence. 
 
 The letter ran : 
 
 " I am desired, dear sir, by a woman named Anne Bun- 
 mer, to state to you some facts the concealment of which 
 has troubled her conscience. These facts refer to her as 
 sertions of the identity of Mrs. Carnew with a Mrs. 
 Mackay. 
 
 " She desires me to tell you that, when confronted with 
 
A FATAL RESEMBLANCE. , 391 
 
 Mrs. Carnew, she was perfectly convinced that lady, though 
 very closely resembling Mrs. Mackay, was not Mrs. Mac 
 kay, but that, fearing to lose the remuneration which she 
 hoped to get for her care of Mrs. Mackay s child, she 
 persisted in her false charge. Her fear of detection made 
 her flee from C , and her conscience afterward so tor 
 mented her, that she has at length requested me to inform 
 you of the truth. 
 
 " Respectfully, 
 
 " REV. CHAS. A. HARRINGTON." 
 
 Alan hastened to show the letter to Ned, and both 
 thought with thankful, swelling hearts, how ample and 
 how complete was the justice that had been rendered for 
 that foul wrong. 
 
 There is little more to be told. The Ordottes returned 
 
 to open again an hospitable mansion in C , but one 
 
 conducted on less indiscriminate principles than in former 
 days, and it is to be hoped that our heroes and our 
 heroine lived for many years in the enjoyment of that 
 happiness which must come at some time from a life of 
 rectitude. 
 
L "7 -7 
 
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